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astarionancuntnin · 3 months ago

Note

Hyello! I don’t know if you do requests but I thought I’d ask so the request is that x reader is honestly pretty badass and Astarion does something that pisses her off and so she barges into his tent after a long day to tell him off and fight him but decides that amidst the anger there is also hunger and decides theres a a way he can make it up to her and smutty content insues, preferably very like animalistic?? think closer by nine inch nails lol i do like the idea that they're both fighting for dominance in the interaction, you choose which one wins lol hope I’m not bothering you

did i listen to closer on repeat to bring you this? perhaps

and i never really put it out there, but hell yeah im taking requests! thank you for being my first <3

(also thank you for your patience i was heavily focused on my last chapters for die for you before approaching this ask and then it really went overboard LMAO you said "animalistic" and i took it literally, i hope you enjoy!)

Run, Little Fox

pairing: astarion x reader!ranger!tav

rating: E

word count: 5.1k

cw: 18+. smut, biblicaly accurate Astarion primal!astarion, predator/prey, knife play (if you squint), rivals/hate sex, mildly dubious consent, fighting for dominance, p in v, blood/vampire bites, creampie, very slight somnophilia (but id rather mention it, never too safe)

read on ao3

my masterlist

or keep reading down below~

That’s it.

That was once too many.

This brat of a rogue had gotten on your nerves more times than you could recall, and today you decided you had enough. Your group trusted and respected your position as their leader, a brave and cunning ranger whose decisions everyone agreed with — as they were for the greater good — so why couldn’t he do the same? It wasn’t enough that he questioned your every move in front of everyone else, no, he grew bored of you ignoring his remarks. He just had to act on his impulses and get you in trouble this time.

You had intended on getting information out of a group of adventurers, when he had tried to pickpocket them in the middle of your discussion, and when he got caught, things obviously went south. You tried to talk things down, but they wouldn’t hear it. One thing led to another and next thing you know, they laid in a pool of their own blood and you stood with no more information than you started with. All of it, because of him, and he had the gall to say it was your own fault for not defusing the situation better. Really?!

The stress of this adventure — the impending doom that those tadpoles in your brains were — was already enough weight on your shoulders, you didn’t want to deal with Astarion’s trickery on top of it anymore. No — you couldn’t. You had enough of his unnerving attitude; enough of his shameless flirting when it was clear you weren’t interested; enough of his impetuous disdain and insolence that matched your own. Tonight, you would set the record right.

Once back at camp after this horrendous, unending day by his side, the first thing you do after dropping your loot and equipment at your tent, is bolt straight for Astarion’s.

Still covered in a mix of your sweat, today’s unfortunate souls’ blood — and your own — you burst through the entrance of Astarion’s tent without so much as a warning to find him peacefully laying, with one arm behind his head and the other already flipping through the pages of a book he had found, and most certainly stolen, during today’s stroll.

He barely lifts his head to notice your intrusion, his eyes darting your way, half-lidded. “Looking for a cuddle?”

The sheer audacity of the smirk he gives you.

“You—” You fully step into his tent, staring him down with an anger that couldn’t be contained, as you close the flaps behind you, “Have been a pain in my ass for long enough.”

He scoffs, “Darling, we haven’t been close like that yet — unless this is your way of asking?” He closes his book and puts it aside to focus on you, as he rests on his elbows, his taunting smile never leaving his lips. What you wouldn't give to wipe it away from his smug face.

“The last thing I want is you anywhere near me.”

“You see,” he checks his nails, bored. “I have a hard time believing that, dear.”

“Get over yourself.” You cross your arms over your chest, annoyed at how well he could annoy you. “What makes you think I want anything to do with you after the commotion you caused today?”

“For one, you came to me, in my tent. If that's not a dead giveaway, I don't know what is,” his eyes dart back to you. “And to further prove that point, you still haven’t left — even though you claim I am the reason for your frustration. Really, it's as if you relished my company after all.”

You open your mouth to contradict him, but your words are left hanging when he gets up, his shirt slightly unbuttoned revealing the lines of his muscles concealed underneath and you can’t help but let your eyes wander longer than you intended, gulping as you do so. He chuckles lightly before he speaks up again.

“Secondly, I’ve seen the way you’ve been looking at me.”

Your eyes shoot up to his face again, and you ask defensively, “Would you rather have me not look at you?”

He gives you a mischievous look as he eyes you up and down, and he meets your gaze with just as much intensity.

“Third, and lastly, I can smell you, darling.”

“I haven't washed yet.”

“You know that isn't what I'm referring to.”

Your heartbeat quickens, as the air seems to draw out of the tent, “Well, whatever you think this is, isn't your doing,” you lie plainly in the hopes he buys it, but his smirk leads you to believe he sees right through it.

“You’re not fooling anyone but yourself, dearest.” He tilts his head, a long silence settling in between the two of you, with your breathing as the only sound audible in the space of his tent. “Maybe… There's another reason you might be frustrated. That all this, pent up anger building inside, is because of something else that you can’t control.” He closes the distance between the two of you, stopping but a whisper away from your face, and his voice gets lower, deeper. “Something that you would rather not have to deal with, but for some reason just can’t get rid of. Something that just rubs you the wrong way, and is the same reason why you can’t help but want to stay in my presence.”

You scoff, challenging his gaze, “If that something you’re referring to is you, Astarion, then you’re right — you are the sole reason of my frustration as of late, but I could do without your irritating presence.”

“Oh, but I could make it much more pleasurable.”

You lean back, and turn your head aside, trying to make some distance between the two of you, ”You give yourself too much credit.”

He slides a finger down your throat, leaving an unexpected shiver in its wake as he exposes your neck, when he pushes your vagabond strands of hair away, before he continues.

“Why don’t you give me a chance to show you exactly what I mean? We would both benefit from this, really; I could fix your predicament, and in exchange, I could receive… a little something from you in return.”

You contemplated the opportunity laid before you for just a second before opting for the reasonable choice. You grab his hand, pulling it away from you and when you speak up again, the anger in your voice is gone, leaving place for your much smoother, yet very assertive tone. “If you want my blood, you’ll have to earn it.”

You release his hand and he keeps it in the air where you left it, cocking his head to the side as he looks at where your hand had held him, “Earn it, you say?”

You nod, “We wouldn’t want you to become soft now, would we?” A smile of your own takes place on your lips. “If I am to be your meal, it’s only fair that you work for it.”

His eyes dart back to yours as a smirk appears on his lips, “I’m all pointy ears.”

“I’ll be hiding in the woods. If you can find and catch me, you get to drink from me. But if I catch you instead, you’re never getting a drop from me.”

He sighs, “That’s hardly a fair proposition, darling.” As you’re about to contradict him, he continues, “Here’s mine instead: if you catch me, fine — I’ll keep chasing boars and whatnot in the woods — but if I catch you…” He leans over the crook of your neck, whispering. “I get to drink from you every. night.”

You grab him by the chin, bringing him face to face with you, “If I catch you, you don’t get to put the party at risk anymore. You will be kicked out of the camp if you do.” If you had to put your vitality on the line, he had to bet something just as valuable.

His fangs glow in the faint lighting of his tent as he smiles. “Deal.”

You drop his chin as he steps back and you notice how something about him seems to be shifting; the pupils of his eyes widen, darkening; his own breathing stops; the hands at his side turning into claws, with his long and sharp nails peaking out, ready to hunt. There was nothing left of the rogue in distress that you picked up a few weeks ago, who could’ve pretended to be nothing more than an innocent, but rather pale, elf.

When he opens his mouth to speak again, you spy his elongated fangs; much longer than you remember them to be, and his voice—

“Run.”

You don’t lose a second more; the vision of nightmares before you triggered your fight or flight reaction and without your weapons, the choice was clear. You turn around and slide through the flaps of his tent, bolting straight for your tent, where you quickly manage to pick up your trusty dagger and your set of bow and arrows.

Thankfully, everyone else at camp had gone off to bed, so no one notices you as you pick a frantic run towards the deep woods, making distance from the hungry vampire on your tracks.

The woods are dark, with only the faint light of the moon guiding your tracks. Once far enough, or so you think, you hide behind a tree to control your breathing; you had no intention to lose to this, you needed all the advantages you could get. With your experience as a ranger, you were almost assured to catch him off guard.

Almost.

What you had seen in his tent before sprinting off was like nothing you had ever seen before. Of course, you knew Astarion was a vampire, but this was… different.

Terrifying.

A beast, straight out of those scary bedtime stories you recall from your childhood; a monster guided by his thirst for flesh and blood, who would show no mercy, no remorse. It was merely enough to make you question this challenge with him, Gods, how embarrassing would it be to lose your life to a stupid game you had initiated purely out of spite?

The rustling of leaves nearby brings you back into focus, the adrenaline in your veins keeping you on edge for any sound. You ready your bow before you peek out of your hiding spot to aim where you heard the sound and wait patiently for another moment, your eyes never leaving the bush right until you hear another crack — right when you release the arrow, your aim striking true as you hear a loud thud. You wait a few more seconds, and when no sound can be heard from the bushes you leave your cover, advancing towards your prey. When you push the branches away, you’re face to face with none other than—

A boar.

Shit. Well — guess you caught your next meal.

Another rustling of leaves has you drawing out your bow again, ready to strike, but you’re unable to tell where it comes from.

“How does it feel, little fox?” You hear him through the woods, his deep and raspy, but unnatural voice almost echoing through you. “To be the one being hunted?”

“I’m hunting you, too, in case you forgot,” you mumble mostly to yourself, not wanting to draw out more attention and telling on your location.

Although you were confident in your capacities, you couldn’t deny the fear building up in your chest. The unnerving feeling of knowing he was around, knowing he was onto you, but unable to find him through the dense woods, the reminder of what he looked like before you ran for your life, a creature of darkness—

“Keep running, you delicious little thing,” his voice already seems to be coming from somewhere else, where exactly you couldn't tell, as if he was constantly moving and it came from everywhere all at once. “You’re making this too easy for me.”

Damn him. He could be anywhere, it was useless to stay there, out in the open, when he was clearly onto you. Then again, he could also intentionally be pushing you to run, only to lead you into a trap of his, right where he wanted you to be.

No, you’re smarter than this. You won't let your emotions get in the way of this: you were a hunter, born and raised for this kind of situation.

He is just another prey; you can outsmart him. You are better than him.

You put away your bow and arrows; you know your long range weapons would be of no use to you if you couldn’t see your target. If he’s trying to make you run, he has to be further ahead, so the smart choice would be to go back on your tracks.

You turn on your heels in a heartbeat and start sprinting in the opposite way, not even bothering to look behind you for any sign of him, as you hear the clear rustling of branches around you. At this moment, you know he’s right on your tail, the sounds of the forest barely covering the sound of his own movements between the trees — if that was even him. You assume it is, but who’s not to say it isn’t just another boar? Either way, all you can do now is keep running, hoping he will tire before you.

But you were against a creature of the night, someone — or rather something, now — much more in its element, in the darkness of the woods, than you were.

You don’t run for long before you stop abruptly in your tracks to change directions, leaving the clear road for the crowded forest, where you think you could lose him.

You're temporarily reassured when you don't hear him anymore, and allow yourself to breathe again. Your heart is pounding in your chest, faster than ever, as the fear of being chased — of your life being on the line — created a warmth within you that pooled right down to your core. The risk of being caught, as for once you’re the prey, and you can’t explain it, but it excites you. Although Astarion had gotten on your every nerve, you had to give it to him — he was right that his unnerving attitude had gotten a rise out of you in the most carnal way — but you’d never admit it to his face.

A good minute passes by with no sign of him, and you feel safe enough to peek out of your hiding spot, investigating the beaten path for any sign of life. When you’re met with a dead silence, you move away from the tree you had been leaning against, only to come face to face with Astarion, who drops from the branches just above you. His eyes are somehow a much deeper shade of red, his pupils fully blown out, and he even seems taller as he smiles down on you, and that’s when you perceive the additional fangs that appeared next to the smaller ones you knew.

You’re fixated on his sudden presence, assessing your opponent the way you would a wild animal, and you remain unmoving, focused on your own breathing.

“Nowhere left to run, I’m afraid,” the voice that comes out of his mouth is otherworldly, almost a growl and nothing like his sultry voice he used to try and charm you before. It’s as if anything that once made him pass as a mortal was gone the second you ran off from him.

You want to turn around and sprint in the opposite direction, but he's faster than your thoughts. Before you can even move a finger, he grabs you by your neck, his sharp nails digging into your skin enough to draw blood as he pushes you against the nearest tree, slightly lifting you from the ground. Instinctively, you reach for your dagger, but he is fast to catch onto your intentions and takes it away from you, throwing it on the ground far from reach. With no other options left, you reach for his hand around your neck, trying to hold on as your vision blurs from the chokehold he had on you.

“Caught you, little fox,” he leans into your neck where you bled from to breathe you in, and licks your skin from the bottom of your neck up to your jaw, tasting your sweat mixed with the dry blood left on you. Your camp clothing leaves you dangerously exposed as opposed to your armour, and he had every intention to take advantage of it. “You will make a fine meal indeed.”

He presses his entire body against you, and you can feel not only his oddly cold breath down your neck, but also his hard bulge rubbing against your navel, right above the heat between your legs.

A particularly bad idea crosses your mind, and you know you’ll blame it on the lack of oxygen later, but for now, it’s the only option you have.

Your hand slides down to his crotch, where you squeeze his length through his trousers, making him shudder against you and loosening his grip on your throat. You take this chance to free yourself as you quickly push him away and against the earthy ground of the forest, pinning him down using your entire body weight. You land right next to your knife and grab it just in time before he comes to his senses, now holding it against his throat.

“I win,” you say, breathless, over him.

You remain unmoving, with the threat of your knife keeping him in place, but unsure what to do next — until he laughs. You’re taken aback, but you keep your position, pressing your blade deeper into his throat.

“Well done.” His voice softens, still deeper than what you’re used to, but less guttural than it was a minute ago. “You have me completely and utterly helpless. What will you do next, I wonder?”

You don’t get to answer before you feel him moving under you, his hardness rubbing against that sweet spot between your legs. Your breathing quickens once again, caught off guard by the delicious movement of his hips against you.

“What do you think you’re doing?” You ask, the words almost getting stuck in your throat.

“Fulfilling my part of the bargain, of course.”

“That’s not—” he lifts his hips higher, the tip of his crotch rubbing against your clit, and your body tenses at the contact. He’s rock hard and between your thin camp clothes, it's almost as if you were rubbing skin to skin against each other. A pleasurable shiver running across your spine, and you allow yourself to close your eyes for just a moment, fighting between giving in to your desires or stopping yourself from letting this go any further; it was clear which side of you was winning over, as your hunger for that something more was becoming impossible to ignore. You soften your grip on his wrist and your dagger against his throat, and that’s all he needs to gain back dominance over you, flipping you back under him and seizing your wrists to pin you down the same way you had him only seconds ago.

“Now,” he says, “this is much better, don’t you think?”

“Oh you prick,” you groan, fighting to free yourself from his grip on you, but he only tightens his grasp around your wrists. His immortal strength beats yours and your hand twists under his crushing grip, making you finally release your knife.

You curse under your breath for letting yourself be bested by the most annoying member of your party; the one who you had dreamed to put back in his place was now dominating you instead. A mix of anger and shame swirls in your stomach, along with something else that you want to deny, but can’t for the life of you understand.

Your eyes meet his, dark and hungry and so incredibly close to you. His lack of breath is strange in comparison to yours, so heavy that your chest rises with each breath you take, brushing against him. It wasn't a position you were used to, either, and you find yourself liking it more than you thought you would; with his entire body pining against yours, his legs surrounding yours and keeping them closed together, your wrists held strongly above your head; a prey caught by her predator.

You remain unmoving in this position for what feels like an eternity, until he licks his lips, his eyes falling to the space in your neck that was exposed just for him.

He leans into you, his deep voice shooting a warmth straight to your core. “This little game of yours made me quite hungry.”

You gasp when you feel his bulge rubbing against you once more and touching that sweet spot that made you rub your thighs together.

“Perhaps,” he whispers, “you've grown an appetite of your own, little fox?”

You take a few breaths, "If you wanna feed, be my guest. You…” you sigh, defeated. “You earned it. Just— be quick about it.”

You turn your head aside, looking away and giving him space to feed, only for him to lean back, “Quick? Oh darling, you’re mistaken if you don’t think I won’t draw this out as long as I possibly can.”

He pushes your wrist up above your head where he can hold them both with one hand, while his other hand slides down to your chest, his sharp nails grazing against the curve of your breast. You close your eyes as his hand continues its journey down your navel, and into your pants, rubbing against the moist spot that kept growing in your panties.

“But don’t worry — I’ll make sure we both get our fill tonight,” he growls.

Your hips move of their own accord, wanting more of him and his touch, almost against your own will.

“Greedy, greedy, little fox.” He flashes a toothy smile, “Can't get enough? I'm not surprised.”

Your eyes open back up and you stare at him, frustrated, “Gods, do you ever shut up?”

“You have such a way with words.” He sighs, pulling his hand out of your pants. “You know, it's a wonder we haven't gotten killed because of your social prowess.”

“If you think you’re so much better than me, why don’t you—”

His lips collide with yours into an hungry kiss, one bold enough to shut you right up. A part of you is disgusted, furious, even, that he would push himself onto you, but your body’s reaction betrays you, as you kiss him back with the same intensity. It’s sloppy, his elongated tongue invading your mouth and rubbing against yours, until he bites into it and sucks, letting your crimson hit his lips.

You moan as you pull back, rolling your tongue around to feel the puncture he made, and he smiles down on you, his teeth tainted by your blood.

“Ah… delicious.”

Something comes over you, a supernatural strength — almost animalistic — and you flip him back around on his back to take control once again. Your dishevelled hair frames your face over him, and he gets to see you panting, teeth bared, with angry eyes towering over him. There's a flash of surprise in his eyes before they take back their lusty look, and his hands fly to your shirt, ripping it open as his nails tear through the fabric as if it were air. Your shirt is quickly discarded, exposing your skin to the cool night air that raises the hairs on your back.

In the frenzy, you give the same treatment to his shirt, using that strength to destroy his clothing and revealing the very muscles you spied earlier in his tent. He raises himself up to meet you where you sat over his hips, his mouth finding yours and kissing you feverishly as he did before, while his hands work to remove your pants.

With a grunt from him, you're pushed back on the harsh forest ground where he rips away your trousers, leaving you only with your panties to cover you. You gasp into his mouth, breathing in his cold breath, when the night air that matches his breath hits the thin fabric of your undergarments. The shock of temperature affects you more than you had anticipated, as you are completely soaked from your arousal that had pooled down there since the beginning of the night. Astarion instantly notices it, and laughs ominously.

“Are you still going to deny it now?” He pushes your underwear aside and slides his dexterous fingers between your folds, discovering just how dire your situation is. “Hells, look at how wet you are, just for me.”

His fingers feel good, and fucking Hells you didn’t want to admit it — he was an absolute asshole — but that ship had sailed a while ago, and now you just wanted to know how good he would feel inside you.

“If you still want to feed, you better do it now before I change my mind,” you groan.

“Change your mind?” He scoffs. “I'm afraid that isn't an option. I won fair and square, little fox; now I get to devour you every night.” He flips you around, the sudden roughness of the earthy floor rubbing against your sensitive nipples making you gasp in surprise. You feel him move behind you, and you're not sure how or when it happened, but he must've removed his own trousers as you feel the ghost of his cock hovering just over your entrance. Your heart threatens to burst out of your chest with anticipation, and this feeling goes into your throat when he grabs you by the nape of your hair and pulls you into him, making you arch your back and clearly exposing your neck to him in the process. “Starting tonight.”

Within the same beat, he thrust into you, his hips slamming hard against your skin, and his fangs dive into the crook of your neck, finally taking what is rightfully his.

You cry out at the stabbing pain in your neck, this one much more different than the first time he bit you, as his elongated fangs dive deeper into your neck to draw out more of your life source, and the additional fangs leave more marks into your skin. It hurts and yet, you find your core growing warmer and wetter; between his bite and his reckless thrusting into you, with the added sensation of his initially cool skin getting warm from your blood. His thrusts gain in speed and force, and in that position, there is nothing else you can do but take it.

Even as you try to reach behind you with that last remaining will to have control, to grab his hair and pull him forward, Astarion takes a hold of your arm and pushes back against you, using his entire body weight to hold you firmly against the rough ground, and his hips to slam into your needy, little cunt. With your hair still pulled back, but your wrist now stuck in his grasp, he continues to take his fill of you with no restriction.

“Look at you, finally put in your place,” he growls as he licks up the drops of blood leaking from the fresh wounds in your neck. “Is this what you’ve been desiring all these times your eyes got lost at the sight of my body? What you’ve been dreaming of? To be properly used, like a bitch in heat? Ravaged by a beast?”

You manage to get a few words out between rushed breaths, sneering.

“F— Fuck. Y— You.”

He snickers wickedly, “I guess that answers my question. Don’t worry, pet. Your secret’s safe with me.”

“Oh you—”

“Shh now,” Before you can even finish your sentence, his hand quickly moves from your wrist to your mouth, muffling any sounds coming from you. “We wouldn’t want to risk waking our dear friends, now, would we? Unless that’s what you want?” You groan in the palm of his hand and he chuckles. “You depraved little thing. I’ll give you just what you desire.”

His hand previously holding your hair goes down your body to hold your hips in place as he fucks you, and his teeth sink into your shoulder on the other side of your neck. The gesture meant only to keep you steady as he fucks you senseless. With his fangs deep into your skin, his nails cutting the soft skin of your hips and his dick pounding your abused cunt, you scream into his hand as you reach your climax. It’s nerve wracking, mind shattering, and leaves you completely drained.

With a final push inside you, Astarion’s hips still and he growls into your neck, taking his last sip of you, as he pulses around your inner walls, filling you up with his warm seed. Your muscles fail you, as your body goes limp against the earthy ground, and you barely feel anything else — leaving you almost unconscious. Behind you, Astarion pulls out of you, and a weak moan escapes you as you feel his load leaking out of you.

While you’re recuperating from this treatment, Astarion loses his monstrous features: his nails retract, his pupils go back to those annoyingly charming red ruby eyes, his fangs retract just enough to fit back into his mouth, and he mimics breathing again; now passing as a mortal again.

With the minimal strength you manage to gain back, you push yourself up, and gather the few pieces of clothes that were shredded during your nightly session; tomorrow you would definitely need to find new camp clothes, these were the only ones you had and they were utterly ruined. Thank the Gods everyone else was fast asleep and you’ll be able to walk back to your tent without any remarks.

As you’re about to take your leave, completely disregarding the rogue who looked just as messy as you were, you hear him clear his throat.

“It’s always a pleasure to be doing business with you, my dear. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

You roll your eyes before shooting him a glare. “Don’t push your luck.” Your cheeks still flushed, your hair all over the place, and your form barely clothed, making you not as convincing as you had hoped for.

You only catch a glimpse of his smirk in response to you as you walk away, and when you catch yourself actually looking forward to it, you tell yourself it's only for the opportunity to put him back in his place.

Perhaps another white lie to coat your true feelings, but no one needed to know about that.

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#my posts #my writing #ask #wtv-my-current-hyperfixation #astarion smut #astarion ancunin #bg3 smut #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x female tav #astarion x you #writing request

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dandelions-143 · 2 months ago

Text

Secrets (finale)

Secrets 1 - 4 found here: Hyunjins Masterlist

All other members: Masterlist

Pairing: Non-Idol Hyunjin x Plus size/Mid size fem reader

Word Count: 2,700

Warnings: MDNI, 18+ ONLY, Sexual content, Strong language, Emotional Intensity

Summary: Hyunjin reenters your life, this time on your terms. With a heart still mending, you agree to a second meeting. But the question lingers—has the man you love truly changed?

A/N: as of right now this will be the final installment of Secrets. You may possibly get to see these two in other members stories that will be posted later. I really hope you enjoyed this story. It was very fun and challenging to write! Also I will be pausing any other posts of the bad boy series until October is over, due to Kinktober coming up! Stay tuned for more!

Two weeks had elapsed since that pivotal conversation in your mother's lush garden. Hyunjin had caught only fleeting glimpses of you as he concluded his business with your father. These brief encounters—a passing glance in the hallway, a distant figure in the garden—only intensified his longing. With each passing day, the weight of your absence grew heavier, and the looming departure tomorrow evening felt like an impending doom.

Hyunjin found himself in the spare bedroom of his temporary apartment, a space he'd leased for the month but which now felt suffocating with memories and unfulfilled hopes. Before him stood an easel, supporting a canvas awash with vibrant hues. His hands, once steady and sure, now trembled slightly, leaving smears of paint across his palms and fingers. The portrait taking shape on the canvas was unmistakably you, though rendered in hazy, dreamlike strokes—a reflection of his current state of mind.

As he gazed at the painting, a heavy sigh escaped his lips. The sound seemed to echo in the quiet room, emphasizing his solitude. You had always been a constant presence in his thoughts, a guiding star in his universe. But now, faced with the very real possibility of losing you forever, those thoughts had transformed into an all-consuming tempest. Every waking moment was filled with your image, your voice, your touch—memories that both comforted and tormented him. Even in sleep, he found no respite, his dreams a kaleidoscope of shared moments and imagined futures.

"Fuck," he groaned, his voice echoing in the empty apartment. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the room, highlighting the scattered art supplies and half-finished canvases. Hyunjin's eyes darted to his phone for the hundredth time that day, willing it to light up with your name. The sinking feeling in his gut grew heavier with each passing minute, whispering that he had lost you forever.

He stood up abruptly, unable to sit still any longer. His fingers ran through his hair, leaving it disheveled as he paced the room. The wooden floorboards creaked under his restless steps, a rhythmic accompaniment to his racing thoughts. The painting of you on the easel seemed to mock him, your eyes following his movements, a constant reminder of what he might have lost. Hyunjin's gaze kept returning to his phone, silently pleading for it to ring, to show any sign of your name on the screen.

Suddenly, the silence shattered like glass. The shrill ring of his phone cut through the air, sending Hyunjin's heart leaping into his throat. He lunged for the device, nearly knocking over a cup of paint-stained water in his haste. His hands trembled as he picked up the phone, fingers slipping on the smooth surface. Not bothering to check the caller ID, he answered without hesitation, his voice breathless. "Hello."

He tried to calm his racing heart, acutely aware of how loud his breathing sounded in the quiet room. There was a brief pause, the silence on the other end stretching for what felt like an eternity. Then, your voice came through the speaker, soft and hesitant, sending a shiver down his spine. "Hyunjin... I've been thinking about everything." His breath caught in his throat, his grip tightening on the phone until his knuckles turned white. He waited for you to continue, hardly daring to breathe. "Can we meet? I think we need to talk face to face."

Hyunjin's heart raced, pounding so hard he was sure you could hear it through the phone. He replied, his voice barely above a whisper, "Yes, of course. Where do you want to meet?" He held his breath, the anticipation of seeing you face to face, of finally having the chance to talk things through, was almost unbearable. He could hear the nervousness in your voice as you replied, the slight tremor matching his own internal turmoil. "I'm actually on my way to the address you gave me right now. I should be there in ten."

His eyes widened in shock, darting around the cluttered space of his apartment. Paint supplies were strewn about haphazardly, evidence of his restless attempts to capture his emotions on canvas. Half-finished paintings leaned against walls, their subjects a blur of colors and shapes. The air was thick with the acrid scent of turpentine, mingling with the earthy smell of oil paints. He quickly surveyed the chaos, his heart racing at the thought of you seeing his living space in such disarray. With only minutes to spare, Hyunjin began a frantic attempt to tidy up, his mind torn between the urgency of cleaning and the anticipation of your arrival. He moved in a whirlwind, shoving supplies into drawers and closets, his hands leaving smears of paint on every surface he touched.

"Uh, yeah! Yeah... I'll be here. My apartment is 224B," he said, biting his bottom lip as he rushed around to clean up as much as he could. His heart pounded in his chest, the anticipation of your arrival making his hands tremble slightly. "See you soon," you said before hanging up. Hyunjin's heart raced as he ended the call, his eyes darting around the cluttered room. He had mere minutes to make the space presentable before you arrived.

With frantic energy, he began shoving art supplies into drawers and closets, his mind a whirlwind of anticipation and nervousness. Paint-stained rags disappeared into a nearby hamper, and half-finished canvases were hastily propped against the wall, their still-wet surfaces gleaming in the afternoon light. The scent of turpentine hung heavy in the air, a testament to his recent artistic frenzy.

As he heard a soft knock at the door, he took a deep breath, steeling himself for the conversation that could change everything. The sound seemed to echo through the apartment, making his pulse quicken even more.

That's when he remembered the paint on his hands. "Shit," he mumbled, his eyes widening in panic. He dashed to the kitchen sink, nearly tripping over a stray easel in his haste. "Coming!" he yelled, his voice slightly strained as he scrubbed his large hands vigorously under the running water. The cool liquid mixed with the vibrant colors, creating a swirling rainbow in the sink. He managed to get most—but not all—of the paint off, leaving faint traces of blue and green under his nails.

Hyunjin ran his wet hands through his black messy hair, hoping to tame it a bit. Droplets of water clung to the strands, giving him a slightly disheveled but endearing look. He quickly dried his hands on a nearby towel, leaving colorful smudges on the fabric. Then he stepped to the door, taking one last deep breath to compose himself before opening it smoothly.

As the door swung open, Hyunjin's breath caught in his throat. There you stood, your eyes meeting his with a mix of uncertainty and determination. The air between you crackled with tension, unspoken words hanging heavy in the silence. Your familiar scent wafted towards him, stirring memories of shared moments and whispered promises. Hyunjin stepped back, gesturing for you to enter, his chest tightening at the sight of you. "Come in," he said, his voice softer than he intended, betraying the emotions swirling within him.

You stepped inside onto the rug and took off your shoes, leaving them right next to Hyunjin's. The simple sight of your shoes beside his made your heart squeeze a bit, a physical representation of the closeness you once shared. The apartment was homey, a bit messy but you liked it. The warmth of the space enveloped you, a stark contrast to the cool autumn air outside.

Then you began to notice things... mainly how the apartment was decorated. Your eyes scanned the small yet modern kitchen, taking in the sleek appliances and the soft, warm lighting. The countertops were cluttered with various art supplies, evidence of Hyunjin's recent creative burst. A half-empty mug of coffee sat on the island. The whole scene felt intimately familiar, as if you were stepping into a dream you'd had countless times before.

Your gaze swept across the open living room, taking in the modern furniture adorned in comforting beiges and deep browns. "Hyunjin..." you began, words momentarily failing you. The apartment's decor mirrored exactly what you'd once described as your vision for a shared living space—a conversation you'd had when discussing plans to move in together.

You turned to him, your eyes brimming with a complex mix of emotions—surprise, confusion, and a glimmer of hope that you couldn't quite suppress. The familiar layout and color scheme stirred vivid memories of shared dreams and plans, making your heart flutter erratically in your chest. Every detail, from the soft beige walls to the strategically placed artwork, echoed conversations you'd had about your ideal living space. You wondered, with a mixture of awe and trepidation, if this was mere coincidence or a deliberate, painstaking choice on Hyunjin's part. As your gaze met his, words failed you, the weight of unspoken questions hanging heavily between you, almost tangible in the charged air.

Hyunjin shrugged slightly, a knowing smile playing on his plump lips, his eyes twinkling with a mixture of nervousness and anticipation. "I couldn't help myself," he admitted softly, his voice carrying a hint of vulnerability. "I wanted to be surrounded by you, by our dreams... I guess it was my way of holding onto hope." Your eyes widened, a kaleidoscope of emotions flickering across your face—surprise, tenderness, and a surge of affection you couldn't quite contain. The realization that Hyunjin had gone to such lengths to recreate your shared vision touched something deep within you, melting away some of the ice that had formed around your heart. Taking a hesitant step closer, you spoke softly, your voice barely above a whisper, "Hyunjin, I've been thinking a lot about you... about us..." You shook your head, struggling to find the right words to express the tumult of emotions swirling within you.

Hyunjin's eyes softened as he watched you struggle for words, his gaze filled with patience and understanding. He moved closer, closing the distance between you until you could feel the warmth radiating from his body. "I understand," he said gently, his voice barely above a whisper, the softness of his tone wrapping around you like a comforting blanket. "Take your time. I'm here to listen, for as long as you need." His familiar scent enveloped you unleashing a flood of memories that threatened to overwhelm you. Stolen kisses in hidden corners, lazy Sunday mornings tangled in sheets, shared laughter over inside jokes—each memory washed over you, reminding you of the depth of your connection. You took a deep, shaky breath, gathering your thoughts before continuing, your voice trembling slightly with the weight of your words. "I've realized something important during our time apart, Hyunjin. Despite everything that's happened, despite all the pain and confusion, my feelings for you haven't changed. They've only grown stronger, more certain. I miss you, Hyunjin. I miss us—the way we were, the way we could be."

You watched as Hyunjin's handsome face transformed, lighting up with a potent mix of relief, hope, and unbridled joy. His eyes, usually so guarded, softened visibly, brimming with unshed tears that made them glisten in the soft light of the apartment. A small, tender smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, slowly spreading until it illuminated his entire face. He reached out, his movements slow and deliberate, as if afraid you might disappear if he moved too quickly. His hands enveloped yours, his touch sending a familiar warmth coursing through your body, igniting every nerve ending. His fingers, slightly calloused from his art, intertwined with yours, fitting perfectly as they always had. "I've missed you too," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, cracking slightly on the last word. "More than you could ever know. Every day without you has been... incomplete. You're the missing piece, Y/N. You always have been." The raw honesty in his voice, the vulnerability in his eyes, made your heart swell with a renewed sense of hope and possibility.

You gazed up at Hyunjin, your eyes meticulously tracing his features as if rediscovering them for the first time. The warmth of his hands, still bearing faint traces of vibrant paint, served as a tangible reminder of the passion he poured into his art. An invisible, magnetic force seemed to draw you closer, the familiar connection between you intensifying with each passing second. The air around you felt charged, crackling with unspoken emotions and shared memories. "Hyunjin," you whispered, your voice barely audible, trembling slightly with the weight of your words, "I've lost a lot of trust, but... it can be rebuilt. I want to try."

Hyunjin's eyes widened, so many emotions flickering in their depths - hope, determination, and a hint of vulnerability. He gently squeezed your hands, his long fingers intertwining with yours, creating a perfect fit. His voice was soft yet resolute, carrying the weight of his sincerity. "I understand completely, and I swear I'll do whatever it takes to rebuild that trust. We can take it slow, day by day, moment by moment if that's what you need." His gaze held yours, unwavering and intense, as he continued, "I want to prove to you that you can trust me again, that we can make this work. I'm committed to us, to you, with every fiber of my being."

His words rang with undeniable sincerity, each syllable resonating with the depth of his feelings. You found yourself believing everything he was saying, your heart softening despite your best efforts to remain guarded. Yet, the way he looked at you made your pulse quicken, sending a rush of warmth through your body. Hyunjin's deep brown eyes, flecked with gold in the soft light, kept darting to your lips, lingering there before meeting your gaze again. His tongue would occasionally sweep across his own plump lips, moistening them and making them appear irresistibly enticing. The gesture, probably unconscious on his part, sent a shiver down your spine. You stepped away from him, trying desperately to keep your composure. You'd just agreed to take things slow, to rebuild trust gradually, but your body clearly had other ideas, yearning for his touch.

Hyunjin noticed your hesitation immediately, his artist's eye attuned to even the slightest change in your demeanor. He mirrored your action, taking a step back to respect your need for space. His hand ran through his hair, tousling the dark strands - a gesture you recognized as a sign of his own nervousness. It was oddly comforting to see that he was just as affected by your proximity as you were by his. "I'm sorry," he said softly, his voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves, "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. We can take this as slow as you need. Your comfort, your trust - they're the most important things to me right now." His words were genuine, laced with care and understanding. But despite the physical distance between you, the tension remained palpable - electric and alive. It was a testament to the deep, unbreakable connection you shared, a bond that had weathered storms and now stood on the precipice of renewal.

He ran his long fingers through his messy hair, not doing much to keep it out of his eyes. He looked tense but so were you. “You don’t make me uncomfortable.. I’m just trying to..” you didn’t continue your sentence because Hyunjin was suddenly in front of you his lean body pressed to yours. His warm breath fanned across your face, sending a shiver down your spine. Your eyes locked with his, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. The air between you crackled with electric tension, your bodies drawn together like magnets. Despite your resolve to take things slow, you found yourself leaning in, your lips mere inches from his.

"I'm sorry, I just need—" Hyunjin began, his voice husky with desire, but you silenced him with a searing kiss. Your lips crashed against his, igniting a fire that had been smoldering beneath the surface for far too long. The kiss was electric, sending jolts of pleasure through your body as Hyunjin's arms instinctively encircled your waist, pulling you flush against him.

His lips were soft yet demanding, moving against yours with a passion that left you breathless. You could taste the faint hint of coffee on his tongue as it tangled with yours, exploring and rediscovering. The familiar scent of his cologne—a heady mix of sandalwood and citrus—enveloped you, evoking memories of passionate nights spent tangled in bed.

As the kiss deepened, Hyunjin's hands began to roam, his fingers leaving trails of fire in their wake. They traced the curve of your spine, sending shivers coursing through you, before settling on your hips, gripping them firmly. You melted into his embrace, your body responding to his touch as if no time had passed, as if you were made for each other.

A soft moan escaped your lips as Hyunjin's mouth left yours, blazing a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jawline. His lips found that sensitive spot just below your ear, and you gasped, your fingers threading through his silky hair, holding him close. "God, Y/N," he murmured against your skin, his breath hot and heavy, "you feel so incredible... I've missed your taste, your scent, everything about you."

With gentle yet insistent pressure, Hyunjin guided you backward until your lower back met the cool edge of the counter. In one fluid motion, he lifted you, his strong hands gripping your thighs as he settled you on the countertop. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, drawing him closer, needing to feel every inch of him pressed against you.

The familiar spark between you erupted into a roaring inferno, consuming all thoughts of taking things slow. Hyunjin's hands roamed your body with reverence, reacquainting themselves with every curve and contour. His touch was both familiar and exhilarating, as if he was rediscovering a favorite piece of art, committing every detail to memory.

You arched into him as his lips found your neck, kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin. Each touch of his lips sent waves of pleasure coursing through you, and you could feel the wetness building between your thighs. The need to have him closer, to feel his skin against yours, became overwhelming. "Hyunjin..." you whimpered, his name falling from your lips like a prayer as he lavished attention on your collarbone.

Hyunjin slowly straightened, his dark eyes meeting yours. They were filled with a mixture of desire, adoration, and a silent question. His fingers curled around the hem of your shirt, seeking permission. In that moment, time seemed to stand still. You knew that if you nodded, there would be no turning back. The air crackled with tension as you made your decision, your heart racing with anticipation.

With a small nod, you granted him permission. Hyunjin's movements were gentle yet purposeful as he slowly lifted your shirt, his knuckles grazing your skin and leaving goosebumps in their wake. As the fabric cleared your head, your hair fell into your eyes. Hyunjin paused, a tender smile playing on his lips as he reached up to brush the strands aside, tucking them gently behind your ears. The simple gesture, so full of care and intimacy, made your heart swell.

Then, as if drawn by an invisible force, his lips were on yours again. This kiss was different—deeper, more passionate, filled with unspoken promises and barely restrained desire. You lost yourself in the sensation, in the taste of him, in the feel of his body pressed against yours. As Hyunjin's hands resumed their exploration of your newly exposed skin, you knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, your connection—this undeniable, all-consuming love—was worth fighting for.

His hands roamed your body with reverent intensity, expertly unclasping your bra and tossing it aside. As his lips trailed down to your newly exposed skin, you arched into his touch, a soft moan escaping your lips. The warmth of his breath against your sensitive flesh sent shivers down your spine. Hyunjin's eyes, dark pools of desire, met yours as he whispered against your heated skin, his voice husky and filled with adoration, "You're so fucking beautiful. Every inch of you is perfection."

Hyunjin's hands slid up your long skirt, the fabric rustling softly as he hiked it up to your thighs. His fingers caressed every inch of you. The contrast between his warm hands and the cool air made you shiver with anticipation. "So soft... and all mine," he murmured, his voice deeper than before, dripping with sexual tension. His effortless sexiness, the way his muscles rippled under his skin with each movement, made you ache to remove his clothes, to feel his bare skin against yours.

Your hands moved to the hem of his shirt, tugging it upwards with urgent desire. Hyunjin obliged, breaking contact for just a moment to pull his shirt over his head. The sight of his toned chest and abs, now fully revealed, made your breath catch in your throat. Your fingers traced the contours of his muscles, feeling them flex and tense under your touch. The warmth of his skin and the slight sheen of sweat made him glisten in the dim light. A low groan escaped his lips at your touch, the sound sending a jolt of arousal straight to your core. "Your turn," you whispered, your eyes locked on his, dark with desire, as your hands moved to undo his belt.

With deft fingers, you unbuckled his belt, the metallic clink echoing in the charged silence between you. You popped open the button of his jeans, the anticipation building with each small action. Hyunjin's breath hitched audibly as you slowly lowered the zipper, the sound seeming impossibly loud in the quiet room. Your eyes never left his, watching as his pupils dilated further with each passing second. The tension between you was electric, palpable, as you pushed his jeans down his hips, revealing more of his toned body.

As his jeans pooled around his ankles, you couldn't help but admire the sight before you. Hyunjin stood there, his sculpted body on full display, every muscle defined and begging to be touched. His chest rose and fell with quickened breaths, his excitement evident in every aspect of his being. Your hands trailed up his thighs, feeling the muscles tense and quiver under your touch. The warmth of his skin seeped into your palms, igniting a fire within you. Your fingers hooked into the waistband of his boxers, teasing the sensitive skin there. You could feel his arousal growing harder beneath the thin fabric as your fingertips trailed over his skin, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from him.

You could visibly see his pale skin pebble with goosebumps just before you pulled his boxers down, the anticipation making your movements both eager and torturously slow. As the fabric fell away, joining his jeans around his ankles, Hyunjin's impressive length sprang free. The sight made you unconsciously lick your lips, your mouth suddenly dry with want. Your hand wrapped around his shaft, feeling it pulse beneath your touch, hot and hard and impossibly smooth. Hyunjin let out a low, guttural groan, his head falling back, exposing the long column of his throat. You began to stroke him slowly, teasingly, watching in fascination as his abs clenched with each movement of your hand.

Your thumb circled the sensitive head, spreading the precum that had gathered there. The slick warmth made your movements smoother, more sensual. Hyunjin's hips bucked involuntarily, seeking more of your touch, more friction, more of everything you had to offer. "Y/N," he breathed, your name like a sin on his lips. His voice was husky with need, rough with desire. "I need you. Now." The raw want in his tone sent a shiver of anticipation down your spine. With those words, Hyunjin lifted you off the counter in one fluid motion, his strength evident in the ease with which he moved you. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, your bodies pressed flush against each other. You could feel the heat of his arousal against your core, separated only by the thin fabric of your skirt.

He carried you to the bedroom, his lips never leaving yours. The kiss was deep, passionate, filled with promises of pleasure to come. As he gently laid you on the bed, his eyes roamed your body hungrily, taking in every curve, every inch of exposed skin. The intensity of his gaze made you feel both vulnerable and incredibly desired. But then he stilled for a moment, his brows furrowing in confusion. You felt his finger trace over your ribcage, his touch gentle yet questioning. The sudden change in his demeanor was palpable, concern replacing the burning desire in his eyes.

"Y/N, where did you get these?" Hyunjin asked, his voice laced with a hint of anger. His fingers traced the fading yellow-green bruises along your ribcage, his touch feather-light yet sending shivers through your body. The marks, a week old, were a stark reminder of your confrontation with Joo Won.

You hesitated, memories of that night flooding back. Joo Won's face contorted with rage as you told him your heart belonged to Hyunjin. His fingers digging into your skin as he roughly grabbed you, shouting accusations and threats. The fear, the pain, the relief when you finally broke free and ran.

"It's... it's nothing," you whispered, your voice barely audible. But Hyunjin's eyes, usually warm and loving, now blazed with a protective fury. You could see the muscles in his jaw clenching, his body tensing above you.

Desperate to salvage the moment, to feel his love rather than relive your pain, you pulled him closer. Your lips found his, urgent and needy. "Please, Hyunjin," you breathed against his mouth, your hips pressing insistently against his. "I need you. I need to feel you, to forget everything else."

For a moment, Hyunjin remained rigid, torn between his desire to protect you and his need to love you. Then, with a soft sigh, he melted into your embrace. His kiss deepened, becoming a promise, an assurance. "I'm here now," he murmured, his lips trailing fire down your neck. "Let me take care of you, let me make you feel good."

His hands, so gentle yet possessive, roamed your body. Each touch seemed to erase the memory of Joo Won's anger, replacing it with warmth and desire. Hyunjin's fingers skimmed over your curves, his palms cupping your breasts, thumbs brushing over sensitive nipples. You arched into his touch, a soft moan escaping your lips.

Hyunjin's mouth followed the path of his hands, leaving a trail of heated kisses down your body. He lavished attention on your breasts, his tongue swirling around each nipple before continuing his descent. When he reached the junction of your thighs, he looked up at you, his eyes dark with desire but still tinged with concern.

"Let me make you feel good," he repeated, his breath hot against your sensitive skin. Without waiting for a response, he dipped his head, his tongue finding your most intimate areas. The first swipe of his tongue made you gasp, your back arching off the bed.

Hyunjin's skilled mouth worked magic on your flesh, alternating between long, languid strokes and quick, teasing flicks. His hands gripped your thighs, holding you in place as he devoured you with fervor. The pleasure built rapidly, your fingers tangling in his thick hair as you felt yourself approaching the edge of ecstasy.

The room filled with the sounds of your pleasure – the wet noises of Hyunjin's mouth, your breathless moans, the rustle of sheets as you writhed beneath him. Your thighs began to tremble, your grip on his hair tightening. "Oh god, Hyunjin... I'm so close," you gasped, your voice high and breathy.

In response, Hyunjin redoubled his efforts. His tongue circled your clit with increased pressure and speed, while one of his hands left your thigh to slide two fingers inside you. The dual stimulation was overwhelming, the coil of pleasure in your core winding tighter and tighter.

With a particularly clever swirl of his tongue combined with a curl of his fingers, Hyunjin pushed you over the edge. Your body tensed, waves of pleasure crashing over you as you cried out his name. Your back arched off the bed, your thighs clamping around his head as you rode out your orgasm.

Hyunjin didn't let up, his tongue and fingers working in tandem to draw out your pleasure until you were trembling and oversensitive. Only then did he slowly kiss his way back up your body, his lips finally meeting yours in a passionate kiss that tasted of you.

As you came down from your high, you felt Hyunjin's hardness pressing against your thigh. His eyes, dark with desire, locked onto yours as he positioned himself at your entrance. With a slow, deliberate thrust, he entered you, both of you gasping at the sensation of being joined once again. The feeling of fullness, of completeness, overwhelmed you as Hyunjin began to move. His hips rolled against yours in a familiar yet exhilarating rhythm, each thrust sending sparks of pleasure through your still-sensitive body. Your hands roamed his back, feeling the muscles flex and ripple beneath your fingertips.

Hyunjin's breath was hot against your neck as he whispered words of adoration. "You're so beautiful," he murmured, punctuating each word with a thrust. "So perfect. I love you so much." His words, combined with the sensations he was creating in your body, brought tears to your eyes.

As the pleasure intensified, your nails dug into Hyunjin's skin, leaving crescent-shaped marks on his shoulders. Your bodies moved in perfect synchronization, the world around you fading away until there was nothing but the two of you, lost in a moment of pure, unrestrained passion.

Hyunjin's movements became more intense, his thrusts deeper and more purposeful. A light sheen of sweat coated both your bodies, the feeling of skin sliding against skin sending shivers down your spine. Your legs wrapped tighter around his waist, urging him on as the pleasure built to an almost unbearable crescendo.

With a final, powerful thrust, Hyunjin pushed you both over the edge. Your body tensed, a second wave of pleasure washing over you as you cried out his name. Hyunjin followed moments later, his release mixing with yours as he buried his face in your neck, breathing heavily.

As you both lay there, basking in the afterglow, Hyunjin's arms wrapped around you protectively. The warmth of his body and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your chest filled you with a sense of peace and belonging. You tilted your head to meet his gaze, finding his eyes filled with love and adoration.

In that moment, as Hyunjin's eyes bore into yours, you both knew. This was more than just passion or desire. This was a connection that ran soul-deep, a love that could weather any storm. Hyunjin was your person, just as you were his. You owned each other, mind, body, and soul. And in that perfect, quiet moment, you both silently vowed to never let go, to face whatever challenges lay ahead together.

It didn't take long for you to drift off to sleep, held tight in Hyunjin's strong arms. He lay there watching you, mesmerized by the gentle flutter of your eyelashes and the soft rhythm of your breathing. Your skin glowed in the dim light, and he couldn't help but trace the curve of your cheek with his fingertips. You were the most precious thing to him in the entire world, a realization that both thrilled and terrified him.

Though he may not have shown it before, Hyunjin was now determined to make up for all the wasted time and mend your broken heart. He thought about all the moments he'd missed, all the times he could have loved you the right way but didn’t. The weight of his regret was heavy, but it fueled his resolve to do better, to be better for you.

You were his to protect, and as Hyunjin lay there in the dark bedroom, his mind began to race. The memory of those bruises on your skin made his blood boil. He didn't need you to tell him who gave you those marks; he knew. His jaw clenched as he imagined Joo Won's hands on you, hurting you. The protective instinct that surged through him was almost overwhelming.

Slowly, careful not to disturb your peaceful slumber, Hyunjin reached for his phone. The blue light illuminated his face as he typed out a short, cryptic message to Minho. "Need a favor before I leave.” He hesitated for a moment before hitting send, knowing that once he did, there would be no going back. But as he looked down at your sleeping form, so vulnerable and trusting in his arms, he knew he had to do whatever it took to keep you safe.

As he set his phone aside, Hyunjin's mind was already formulating a plan. He would make sure Joo Won never laid a hand on you again, no matter what it took. With a soft sigh, he pulled you closer, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "I love you," he whispered into the darkness, a promise and a vow wrapped into three simple words. "And I'll always protect you."

Taglist💕

@cashtonsbetch @katsukis1wife @hyunjinhoexxx @ihrtlino @breezy-simp @vixensss @yaorzu-blog @tirena1 @whatdoyouwanttocallmefor @chuuyaobsessed @doohnut @babigriin @iovecb97 @kpflyn @rylea08 @sheerfreesia007 @tsunderelino @cookiesandcreammy @rockstarkkami @moonchild9350 @syedazarintasnim @myflowercloud @143hyunes @luvyblossom @shecheatedwithme @antisocialties @akaligogrrr @thisaintredwine @rose-w-00-d @jisuperboard @velvetmoonlight @kayleefriedchicken @skzfelixlove @athforskz

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thatonebirdwrites · 26 days ago

Text

Catco and Family

On AO3

For Kara, Catco existed as part of her family. Many of the employees there had a suspicion she was Supergirl -- there's only so many times that she breaks her phones or keyboards before people start to wonder, then there was the whole panic incident where she destroyed the elevator.

Yet none of them had ever given away her secret.

That all changed when Lena sold Catco to Andrea Rojas.

Andrea walked into the CEO office as if she owned it. "Ah, Kara Danvers and James Olsen." She nodded to both of them and made a show of examining the office's amenities.

"Who are you?" James demanded.

"Me? Did Lena not tell you?" Andrea smiled, but the smile felt like a predator watching her prey. "She sold Catco to me. I am your new CEO."

"What?" Kara stared, stunned. "But... but she wouldn't do that without telling me..."

"Oh?" Andrea raised an eyebrow similar to how Lena would. "Perhaps you should ask her about it then." She walked to the desk and looked it over. "I plan some major changes. One being all of you will require new contracts. Non-competing contracts."

James scowled. "That would doom any of us that leaves Catco."

"Then why leave?" Andrea settles into the chair with a sign. "Give me a chance, Mr. Olsen. If you do your job well, then there will be a place for you here. And I do love giving people raises if they do the work."

Kara clenched her fists. She turned and stalked from the room, upset and on the verge of tears. Why did Lena sell?

The question haunted her the entire walk/flight to L-Corp, but when she tried to go past security, a guard stopped her.

"ID please."

"I'm Kara Danvers here to speak with Lena Luthor." She tugged out her wallet to show it. "Lena always lets me up."

The guard frowned. He glanced at his tablet. "You're not on her list. Let me contact her assistant."

Another guard grabbed her arm and pulled her out of the security line. Kara tugged her arm free, upset. What was happening?

The first guard returned. "Miss Huang says you may come up, but after this, you must go through her to set up a specific appointment."

Kara blinked, unable to fathom this development. Lena and her shared lunch or dinner here, and she'd never had to go through this prior. She'd just been waved through and gone up without any need for appointments.

Dread curdled in her stomach. Tears pricked her eyes, but she refused to cry. There had to be an explanation. Lena wouldn't just throw her out like this, right?

The doors opened onto Lena's floor, and Kara walked up to Jess's desk. The Assistant glanced at her. "Jess? What -- what is going on? Is Lena okay?"

Jess pursed her lips, her expression not at all the open one she had prior, but one that studied Kara as if she was a problem to be solved. "Miss Luthor is at her desk. You have twenty minutes before her next meeting."

Jess was incredibly loyal to Lena, and despite asking two more times, Jess gave her no information. Only tapped her wristwatch.

Kara pushed open the doors and entered Lena's office. What once had been a lovely place for them to chat and eat, where Kara's paintings had once hung on the walls, the room had been stripped of all color.

White and grey adorned all the furniture, walls, and no paintings hung anywhere.

"Lena?" Kara didn't know what to make of her best friend. Lena wore a crisp navy blue suit, her hair in a tight ponytail, and her desk was cluttered with schematics and other paperwork. "Um, what's going on? I usually can just come up."

"Hmm?" Lena looked up, and her gaze fixed Kara with a piercing stare. "Hello to you too, Kara Danvers." She pushed her chair back and stood. "I am instituting changes here." When she smiled, it did not reach her eyes.

It was fake, and her scent wasn't the usual sweet scent. It held a touch of acidic, which Kara only smelled on those who were angry or close to a panic.

"Lena, please." Kara stepped up to her desk and reached out, but froze when Lena took a step back. "I -- I don't understand. Why did you sell Catco? Why didn't you tell me? Are you okay? What's wrong?" The words tumbled out, and desperation seared through her. "You know I'm always here for you!"

"Are you?" Lena raised an eyebrow. "Or just keeping tabs on me, the Luthor?"

"What?" Kara stared at Lena, stunned. "What does your last name have to do with anything? You're Lena."

"Indeed." Lena walked over to a white cabinet next to her white sofa. She poured scotch into a glass. "I sold Catco because I needed funds for a new project. One that requires expensive materials. Andrea Rojas gave me an excellent offer." She gave Kara another fake smile and sipped her scotch. "It's just business, Kara. Catco was an investment, now that investment must go elsewhere."

Kara shook her head. "But -- but you bought it to avoid this very situation. Andrea wants to do non-competing clauses in contracts. I wouldn't be able to do journalism ever if I decided to not work for her."

"Hmmm. That's just a business decision. She wants to retain her talent." Lena swirled the scotch in her glass, her eyes on the amber liquid. "And it is no longer my jurisdiction. The sell was finalized yesterday, Kara."

Kara stepped close to Lena and laid a hand on her arm. She felt Lena stiffen under touch, how her heartbeat skyrocketed, and the sharp intake of breath. Her acidic stench wove with another scent -- one that was far sweeter and warm, and one Kara had smelled often when they'd shared cuddles during movie nights.

"Lena," Kara said, gently, "I'm not here to condemn your decision. I wanted to know what happened. And if you need the sale profits to go toward a new venture, then great! Maybe I can help?"

"Help?" Lena repeated. Her brow furrowed, and her lips twitched downward. "What do you know of biophysics, Kara?"

Kara struggled with how to answer the question without giving away her heritage, but the truth was, there was no way she could explain without being honest about her heritage.

Without admitting she was an alien. She'd hid that for so long, tried so hard to keep folks from knowing her full heritage. The secret ate her up inside, filled her with shame and guilt, and more than anything, she wished she could erase that part of her.

To be just Kara with Lena, without any superhero duties, without any powers. Just the two of them existing as best friends, or maybe even more than that.

Lena raised her eyebrow as if challenging her, and Kara realized this was a test.

"I -- I work on science projects as a hobby," Kara said, haltingly. "I never shared this with anyone, Lena. Not even Alex." Earnest desperation filtered into her tone. "I hid it because... because ..." She trailed off unable to voice it. Her throat closed, and she felt like she was strangling herself, the secret the noose around her neck.

"Because what, Kara?" That raised eyebrow, the challenge in her voice, the stiffness to her posture, and her scent -- did she know Kara's secret? Did she find it abhorrent and was that why she shut Kara out like this?

She needed to be honest. To tell Lena the truth, but the words would not form. The fear of loss bound her to silence. So she said nothing.

"Kara, unless you produce a degree related to biophysics, I will not be needing your help on this project." Lena's voice turned stern. "Science hobbies are not job-worthy experience."

"It's more than just a hobby," Kara whispered. "And -- and my degree won't be accepted in most places here."

"That's a shame." Lena threw back the last of the scotch. "So what else do you need, Kara?"

"I was notified yesterday," Kara pushed the words out, even as dread twisted her stomach and left her wanting to puke, "that I won the Pulitzer's for my coverage of your brother and Red Daughter. I'm allowed to bring someone with me, and I -- I wondered if you'd like to come?"

"Hmm." Lena narrowed her eyes. "Give the details to my assistant. She knows my schedule best. If I'm free, I'll come." Again the fake smile curled her lips, her eyes a narrowed glare. "The article was exceptionally written. Congratulations, Kara."

Kara couldn't make sense of Lena's reply. Normally Lena would jump at the opportunity to join Kara at any event, and Lena had often asked Kara to come to many a gala as her 'date.'

"Lena," Kara said, desperately, "Please, what is it? What's wrong?" Fear and worry throttled her. "I know how hard grief is. But don't shut me out like this. I can help."

Anger reddened Lena's cheeks. "I don't need your pity, Kara."

"It's not! I've lost a lot of loved ones, Lena. Support from your family really does help." She lightly touched Lena's arm again. "You're part of my family. You always will be."

Tears shimmered in Lena's eyes. "Right, family." She poured another glass and stared into the amber liquid. "A family of liars, of half-truths. That's the only family I know."

"Lena," Kara dropped her hand to her side. Her secret threatened to crush her.

Kara was a liar. She'd lied again and again about Supergirl, hid her alien identity, and where did that leave her with Lena? Shame percolated through her sinews, and tears pricked her eyes. She desperately wanted to hold Lena close, to reassure her that she was loved, that Kara was here to always protect her.

But how could she if she failed to be honest?

"Tell me what you need," Kara said, unable yet again to voice her truth. "Please, tell me, and I'll do it."

Lena sighed. "Leave me alone for a bit." She sipped her amber liquid and sat down on the sofa. "And don't bother Jess about the Pulitzer's. I'll come. I promise."

This time the smile she gave Kara crinkled the edges of her eyes, but a deep sadness weighed on it. Her scent altered to a sadder profile, and her heartbeat back to a more steady pattern.

Or as steady as Lena's heartbeat could be. Kara could hear the slight murmur. It had been the first thing she'd memorized about Lena.

"Okay. For how long?"

"The award ceremony is a week away, yes?" Lena glanced at Kara and immediately looked toward her balcony. "I need the week to think and recover."

"Okay. Just let me know if you need me. I'm a phone call or text away, okay?"

Lena's sad smile returned to her lips, and she nodded.

Kara left with a heavy heart.

***

Kara spent the week close to a panic. Andrea handed out the new contracts with the warning that all needed to be signed by tomorrow at noon, and if any wished to resign, they'd need to sign a non-compete clause.

Then came the meeting, where Andrea listened to their pitches for thought-provoking, heavy investigative journalism, and dismissed most of them. Instead, she assigned pop pieces with clickbait titles.

"The world is changing," Andrea said in her announcement at the start of the company wide meeting. "We must change with it or fall into obscurity. I bought this company because of the hope to revitalize it for this new world. Starting today, half the investigative journalism team will be reassigned to other departments. People don't want to read long pieces anymore."

Kara listened with a growing dread.

James did not stay silent tough. "This is outrageous! Our investigative journalism defines Catco. We turned this company into a force to be reckoned with, and now you want to undo all that hard work?" He gestured to Kara. "We even have a Pulitzer award winner on staff!"

"Please," Andrea said with a wave of her hand. "She's not even here half the time. Don't think I haven't reviewed all of your files. Kara Danvers spends more time out of the office than she does doing her job. She has the least amount of articles than most of you, and yet she has a private office? I find it strange for her to hold so much privileges, when other employees work harder for less pay and less recognition. No, that too will change. Absenteeism will no longer be tolerated."

Andrea looked directly at Kara when she said last that sentence.

Kara stared, stunned. Each point Andrea made stuck like a dart to her heart. She hadn't realized how much privileges she'd had here, and the absenteeism? She couldn't avoid it sometimes due to her Supergirl duties. She'd always gotten every article she was assigned in on time, or at least she'd ask for an extension and Lena and James had always granted it.

"You don't understand any of us," James sneered. "You're going to destroy Catco, and I won't stand here and let you do it."

Andrea flicked her fingers at James as if to dismiss him. "Then leave. Just know if you resign, you will not be able to go to any other journalism outfit." Her smile didn't reach her eyes, and she lifted an eyebrow as if to challenge James.

He scowled. "So be it. I'm your best photographer. I'll take my talents to some other industry." He pivoted and stormed out of the room, and the door slammed behind him.

Silence descended on everyone seated around the table. Even the online component was silent.

Andrea let the silence drag before she stood and adjusted the camera. "All right, everyone. Expect an email in your inbox with your new assignments. If you have any qualms, feel free to schedule an appointment with my assistant. Meeting adjourned."

Kara sat in her chair long after Andrea and the others left.

Her family teetered on the edge of a precipice, and now Andrea had set her one work home on fire.

"Kara?" Nia gently touched her shoulder. "You okay?"

Kara took a deep breath and pushed away from the conference table. "I'm fine." She walked, woodenly to her desk, opened her laptop, and checked her inbox.

Her assignment was to write a fluff piece about the best cafes in town.

***

Kara dipped her paintbrush into the water cup and leaned back on her stool. The painting contrasted the landscape of Krypton with National City's skyline, and there at the center of the picture, Lena stood on her balcony, her face uplifted to the sky, where Kara hovered in plain clothes.

Maybe she couldn't push the words out, but what if she gave Lena this painting? What if she tried to tell her in other ways?

It's not the first time she'd tried. Over and over, she'd struggled with when to share the secret. With when to burden Lena and likely put her in even more danger.

How many attempted assassinations could Kara thwart before one finally hit Lena for good?

No, Kara couldn't let that happen. She kept the secret to protect Lena from more harm, right?

The sky in the painting looked bleak, empty. She dipped her paintbrush into several warm hues and painted spots of stars and a crescent moon.

But it all felt so flat.

Frustrated, she threw her paintbrush and it embedded itself in the side of her counter, the wood splintered.

Lena was hurting, and Kara was here, painting like a fool. As if any of this could ever fix things. She desperately wanted to fly to Lena's side. To wrap her up and tell her how much she was loved, that Kara would do anything for her.

A knock sounded at her door before the click of a key and the twist of the doorknob. Alex stepped into the entryway. "Kara?" She shut the door behind her. "You okay? I heard about Catco from Nia."

Kara stomped to the sofa and dropped onto it, her face in her hands. "Andrea is ruining it." Pain coated her voice. "Catco's a home to me, Alex, and it's just all wrong. I don't understand what's happening."

"So Lena did sell it." Alex sat on the sofa next to her. "Do you know why?"

"She needed the sale to invest in a new project," Kara said, tonelessly. She dropped her hands into her lap, and flicked a piece of candy off the TV table. It flew and embedded itself in the wall next to the flatscreen.

"Huh. That's weird." Alex frowned and grabbed a napkin. She sweeped up the rest of the candy before Kara could flick another piece. "She bought it for you I thought."

"She said it was a good investment," Kara protested, weakly.

"Right, you two keep saying that, but everyone knows that's not true." Alex rolled up the napkin and dropped it into a used cup. "She had no experience leading a media empire, didn't even like journalism, and yet she bought it after you came to her for help saving it? Then she leads it despite not having any training? And don't even with the glances you two kept giving each other when you thought the other wasn't looking."

Every bit of evidence made Kara sink deeper into the sofa. She wished it'd swallow her up forever.

"No, Lena didn't buy it for anyone but you. So whatever is going on?" Alex tapped her fingers against her leg, and for the first time in a long time, she looked reluctant to speak. Usually she just bluntly said the truth that Kara needed to hear, but that hesitation fueled Kara's growing anxiety.

Alex knew something was wrong with Lena too.

"I don't know what to do," Kara whispered.

Alex sighed. "Don't push things. Whatever happened Lena will tell you when she's ready, okay?"

Kara pressed a hand to her face. "She asked me to leave her be for a week. But she promised to come to the Pulitzer's."

"See? That's a good sign." Alex's comforting felt bizarre to Kara. "She cares, and she did just lose her brother. Us humans work through our grief in different ways. It'll be okay, I'm sure."

Kara wasn't sure who Alex meant to convince. "I need to tell her the truth, but I can't seem to do it. The words won't come." She jumped to her feet and walked over to her canvas. "I thought, maybe, if I gave her this instead?"

Alex turned. "It could help, but you need to tell her directly, Kara, to avoid misunderstandings. Believe me, those can ruin a relationship." She grimaced, likely reminded of her relationship with Maggie and how increasing misunderstandings eventually broke it apart.

Kara didn't know what to say to that. The truth stared at her from the painting.

She was a coward. A selfish coward. She'd wanted Lena as her best friend, her cuddle buddy, and maybe something more without ever allowing herself to fully commit.

She was lying to herself. Lying to Lena. Lying to everyone.

She tore the canvas in half. "Fine," she said. "I got a week to figure out how to tell her. And I'll do it directly. Happy?"

"It's not me you need to say that too, Kara," Alex said, gently. "Do this how you and Lena need it."

"What if she rejects me?" That wretched fear had Kara pacing in a growing panic. "What if she hates me? I've lied to her for years. She hates lying."

"Kara. Stop." Alex caught her arm. "Maybe give her a chance? She might surprise you."

Kara knew Alex was just trying to comfort her, but it brought her no comfort. All she could think of is how closed off Lena had been, how she'd been barred from accessing Lena freely, and how Catco was in the hands of someone hellbent on ripping apart all of her and James' hard work.

***

On Krypton, one's house was integral to one's life. That family bound a person forever, and building up the house was as important as the work within one's guild.

These thoughts wove through Kara as she headed to the Art Museum where the Pulitzer's Award Ceremony would be hosted.

For Kara, on Earth where guilds and houses didn't truly exist, she'd created her own family. One built upon a tenuous foundation, where half-truths and lies cracked and tilted the family she'd built atop it. Her house on Earth hid in the dark, loomed in the shadows, crept forward in disguise.

Kara Zor El Danvers was a fraud, wasn't she?

She thought of Jindah Kol Rozz. "You know nothing of the nature of destruction. You are a child, living in light. But there is darkness in all things. In every soul you know. Who will it take?"

Was she a child living in light?

The secret suffocated her. That was her darkness, her pain, her fear, her loss. Coiled deep within her heart, and she'd done this willingly to herself and her family.

She'd set them on this dark journey of lies.

She thinks of the alien detector device Lena had been so excited to show her. How Lena thought it'd somehow bring more transparency to the world, but instead had ended its production to make imagers instead.

What if Kara had not sabotaged it and just relied on her instincts to trust Lena?

Would Lena have accepted her? They could have been a powerhouse together, a Super and a Luthor working to better the world for all people. She could maybe even work on science projects with Lena, where she didn't hide that part of her.

Because she'd been genetically modified to do science, and yet all she had was her Supergirl suit and journalism.

She'd strayed so far from her role in House of El.

The door to the museum opened at her approach. Her footsteps echoed against the tiles. She smiled and nodded at the greetings of the hosts, of other attendees. Workers led her through the atrium and into the large auditorium with a stage at its back, heavy red curtains hiding it from view. Tables were scattered across the floor with high stools, and paintings and plants hung from the walls. The ceiling held a massive chandelier, and the soft yellow glow permeated the space with light.

A light Kara darkened with her lies.

Alex, Kelly, Nia, Brainy, and J'onn were already here. Kara walked toward them, her heart in her throat. Her eyes scanned the rest of the guests, and she paused at the sight of Sam. She leaned against a pillar by one of the paintings. Her suit grey and white, and her eyes scanned the party nonchalantly.

What was Sam doing here?

Sam caught her eye, but she didn't smile. Her piercing look seared through Kara, as if Sam demanded Kara do something. Sam broke the eye contact first and looked up at the balcony above the stage.

Following Sam's gaze, Kara froze, her eyes widening. Lena stood there like a goddess, her eyes locked on her tablet. She wore a simple maroon suit, her hair in loose waves around her face. Beautiful and magnificent.

Kara didn't deserve her.

Brainy pulled away from Nia and the group and bounded over to Kara. "I have a wonderful surprise." He pulled out a small silver container, pressed his finger inside it, and held it up. Kara couldn't see anything there. "I have crafted you a new suit based on Lena's designs." He tapped the side of Kara's glasses. "Now when you whip off your glasses, the suit will materialize over your clothes."

"Oh, thanks, Brainy." Her stomach clenched at the mention of Lena's contribution to the new suit. "I'll try it out after the ceremony."

Brainy nodded. "Let me know if there are any complications. Congratulations, Kara. You're doing excellent work."

Kara wasn't so sure. Not anymore.

Not since her daily texts to Lena stopped.

Not since Lena sold Catco.

Not since Lena shut her out and blocked her entrance to L-Corp.

Not since the foundation of her family fractured under the pressure and weight of her secret.

No, she wasn't doing excellent work.

She was a coward. A selfish, coward, and she couldn't let this continue.

Alex, Kelly, and the others tried to talk to Kara, but she couldn't engage them in conversation. She did everything she could to excuse herself, and she hurried for the balcony.

Lena had stepped away from the balcony's railing and through red curtains to a hallway and stairwell for the lower stage.

Kara caught her there.

"Kara!" Lena looked up in surprise. "Lovely seeing you here." Her smile was warm, and her eyes crinkled. Yet her scent held that acidic tone, not at all the sweet one she usually had. No, something was still wrong. "I admit, I hoped to surprise you. I asked to assist the ceremony since, you know, we worked hard together to find my brother, so as your best friend, I offered to to be the one..."

Panic wove through Kara as Lena continued to speak about her plan to present Kara with the award.

"Lena please!" Kara interrupted in desperation. "You can't give it. Not until…" She took off her glasses, breathed in deeply, and blurted the truth. "I'm Supergirl!" Words tumbled from Kara's mouth in an avalanche. "And I'm so, so sorry. I should have told you ages ago, but I loved being just Kara with you. And I was afraid to lose you, and I can't lose you."

Lena froze, her eyes wide, but she said nothing.

Fear swept into terror that this was the end of her friendship, and Kara couldn't bear that. She leaned toward Lena and spread her hands in anguish. "So I thought I could be just Kara with you, and I convinced myself I wouldn't lose you then…. but I've been a fool. And I've been selfish. If I could just be Kara with you, if I could just…" Kara struggled to hold back her tears. "I've been lying to myself too. I thought I was protecting you, but I've been hurting you, haven't I? And I can't bear that. Gosh, Lena, I'm so sorry."

Lena said nothing. Her mouth briefly parted, but no words exited. She only stared at Kara as tears brimmed in her eyes.

"Lena," Kara said, anguished, "Please say something."

And yet, Lena said nothing.

The host announced behind them the ceremony would start soon.

Lena stepped around Kara, silently, and walked away.

***

It takes over an hour to stop Midnight, the newest alien to try to kill Kara and her family. She'd saved Lena from Midnight's black hole blasts. The suit Brainy made -- had pants! -- and worked like a charm, able to deflect far more energy and punches than her prior one.

Armor had been stitched into every layer, likely Lena's contribution. She felt as if Lena was hugging her with the suit.

Once Alex and J'onn secured Midnight and clean-up began, Kara searched the evacuees. She found Sam and Kelly with Lena, but they had ducked into one of Lena's towncars.

Sam turned to look back over the crowd. Her gaze caught Kara's, and she frowned, her eyebrows furrowed. Kara dodged around several paramedics tending to wounded, but as she neared the towncar, Sam shook her head.

Ducking inside, Sam shut the door and the towncar pulled away.

Kara watched it go, confused and worried. She could hear all three of their heartbeats. Kellly and Sam's was a steady, healthy beat.

But Lena's was not. Weaker than normal, the murmur more pronounced.

She thought of Lena's speech. How she'd extolled Kara's honesty, truthfulness, and altruistic virtues.

But that was all wrong. Kara wasn't honest. She hadn't been truthful to Lena or Kelly or Sam.

She'd hid her true self, only allowed it out in brief glimpses during game nights, walks in parks, or jokes over lunch. Only Alex and Lena had seen those true glimpses, but of the two, only Alex knew the full story.

A hand touched her shoulder. "Supergirl?"

She turned to see Nia.

"We need your help moving some debris. Sorry." She glanced toward the street, where the towncar vanished from view the intersection.

"Okay." Kara put aside her worries and got back to work.

No matter what happened after today, Kara would not let Lena go without a fight. Lena was part of her family, and Kara did not give up on family.

She had to have hope that somehow, someway, Lena and her could work through this dark chapter.

And Lena herself had said during the ceremony, "I'll always be your friend."

Kara held that sentiment close and chose to hope.

To hope that everything really will be okay between them.

Because if not, Kara feared she'd fall deeper into darkness, and finally be what Jindah Kol Rozz had predicted. "But there is darkness in all things. In every soul you know."

She hadn't fully understood Jindah, but as she turned to follow Nia, she finally understood.

Kara Zor El Danvers believed herself to be good. To be a child of light, to be a fighter of justice and hope.

But the darkness of her lies casted long shadows, poisoning everything she touched.

As she worked to repair the Museum, Kara vowed to never lie to Lena ever again. She'd do whatever it took to repair this and rebuild their foundation better and stronger than before.

#kara danvers #supercorp #lena luthor #supergirl #supercorptober #supercorptober2024 #supercorp fic #This is Kara's side of the tale from L-Corp and chilled Scotch by the way

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beescake · 11 months ago

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yea i very much agree with ur take on sollux in his relation to older technology, u get it

please id love if youd share some more of ur analysis on his character (as well as ur art bc that shit is 👌👌👌)

either way, thanks for feeding my brain worms

im glad it resonated!! :') always happy to explore his character, he contains multitudes!!!

i think i may be out of sollux analysis for now, in the sense where i don't have anything new to add that hasn't already been covered in these posts? (please add if there's more...)

why i like sollux (lackadaisicallexicon, 2014)

comprehensive sollux status guide (syblatortue, 2016)

bioware machine (lime-bloods, 2016)

fridgestuck (LaureledEevees, 2017)

mary sue (3d-gla22e2, 2019)

favorite sollux trait (3d-gla22e2, 2020)

doom-bound static (gendertrickster, 2023)

however i will say there's another thing i really like abt him:

his Range!

he has a v flexible face.. even with his neutral expression, you cant help but read a tinge of melancholy/pensiveness to it.

he deters people from getting too comfortable with him by acting crude, but no matter how unapproachable he looks you can't help but wonder if he's ok. seems like he's never content with himself.

just like karkat, anger gives him purpose = something to care about & react to. without it he can appear aimless/uncertain.

it's especially interesting when you compare him to aradia, who despite having endured a lot of shit, ends up enjoying the freedom of expanding her worldview, riding the unpredictable tide of the narrative and observing the changes. sollux... doesn't.

he doesn't like watching major things progress in a way he can't predict. the lack of certainty actually overwhelms him.

and it's pretty clear why; imagine the only reassurance you get after unknowingly killing ur gf is that "it needed to happen". the only way to appease that sort of emotional turmoil is by intellectualizing those events as inevitable and out of your control.

(hs, A6I5)

when you’re just a tool for the author, trying to sit out is just feeble self-preservation until you’re needed again. if you’re not called on stage to help/assist in some way, it feels like your presence spells doom (either you or someone else will get hurt). so you avoid Events as best you can.

#ask #anon #homestuck #sollux captor #2023 #vioart #i love expressive characters eheh my fave emotions to draw are actually anger and incredulity. vry cathartic for me #im also super relieved the prev analysis was received well ngl it was like. splitting my chest open it was . very personal #largely bcs my appreciation of him is weirdly abstract? seems as if i had to come up w sm conceptual meaning just to say i like his vibe #but rlly i was just working backwards frm that conclusion like wow this character looks cool lemme think harder abt why i like it #i may have sounded a bit callous too.. but truly he is 1 of my top 3 faves alongside karkat & aradia. i brain them regularly in rotation

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awfulmidis · 1 month ago

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Lost Media Found! I knew my cousin vin and said he found this game that was said be buried in sadam andler's closet. an unknown gem, known as nedm. people, and omong gamesters, know this today as "not even doom music", as stated to be a hidden pilgrim of the Meme. But in truth there has been no real answer what nedm stood for. I say it is Nintendo Entertain Dumbo Mondo! Because it was told this was one of those games id software sold their engine to and made a s****y super nintendo shooter!!wtf!?! but in truth it was just a bootleg port for the it made from New Germany. Well anyways we dug a bit deeper on this conntecting the schemy publisher of the bootleg beeing SlyEye, a third-party coop. Ties with Segtendo, idk, idc. Point being they owned the dev team GIGABAD Studio, a colleges dorm squad formed in florida. Know a guy know a guy situation between John Carmack and and Tommy Tallirico (what a bambino!) Vin played the game on Lint.tv and some of the original devs showed up! They talked about how they sold the license to the game for fucking 50k euros. I'm American so I can't get those numbers working at the moment but that's a wallop of fondue! They legit moved onto working in the industry on the side, like the type of guys you'd see in the credits but in the smallest of all texts scrolling by after a 70$ AAA game. They did mention that the bootleg is a complete botched port and the original game made for DOS-MS was vastly different in everywway, so far as saying it's as good as DOOM was but more. This was sort of a small team trying to make it big but gets swindled by the last minute type of crud. Somehow no different than the Action 52/Cheetahmen situation. They even said they had a whole comic that came with the game it was supposed to be shipped with, saying it was like a 1-to-1 story mode as the game goes on. Not a lot info spread aferwards, the stream got cut due to a DMCA takedown from the band Jerry Flintstone from copyright infringement, which alas was just a false auto flag. very luckily i was recording cousin Vinstripe, The Mafia Gamer play this game and paused to listen to the music. This was said to be the final boss's theme song or one of many. the dev said they don't know who made this. they only went by the intitials. A.M.

[ excuse the quality my roommate was downloading deadlock on steam without the thottling so it sounds like an aol.voice chat =[ ]

#nedm #midi #awful midi #lost media #lost media found! dot com! it's on the website #misinformation #unreality #....unless????

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olvitier · 8 months ago

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Sorry its so late buf i am in an Edling mood tonight and I will never stop thinking about the idea of how theyre the epitome of right person wrong time.

(obviously in a context of like fandom shenannigans where canon events arent 100% set in stone like edling arent canon but also idc !! they are to me! im ignoring it let me be insane) ANYWAY

Even if they wanted to be together post promised day Ling has all the responsibilities of Xing and his clan and Edward would never hold him back from that for a second. Im of the opinion that brotherhood Edward feels a lot of guilt for wanting love from the people around him particularly those he sees as good (winry, alphonse, etc) especially if hes done things hes perceived as hurting them (maes’ death, the transmutation, etc etc). Which is why I think Edward connects with Ling so well cayse he doesnt carry the weight of a lot if his past mistakes, and then when the stone happens its like goddamn it i roped this guy into my shit again. Like i dont know Edward doesnt really dedicate himself so fully to people outside of winry and ed a lot so its interesting like!!

He cares about a lot of people like the majority of the allied cast and we see him be openly affectionate towards Nina and Hughes pre their deaths but I think Ling is the only person hes ever decided to stick with WITHOUT alphonse? I may be wrong but the whole sure Ill stay with you and trust my brother and Winry to stay safe and follow you around the outskirts of the east for a week till the promised day to protect my new friend is so??? what?? huh???

But anyone my point is post promised day Edward cant really ever see a future with Ling because of all the responsibility Ling holds outside of him and its veyr tragic imo like especially because in a different scenario if Ling didnt have those responsibilities and Edward wasn’t so dedicated to the people around him to a fault of never thinking about his own desires I think they could have the possibility of a future.

Like I have read a lot of fanfiction abiut Ed traveling to Xing and living with him there but?? I realistically cant see him ever doing that just solely because Edward is not the type of person to settle down! like its my one and only criticism of the fma manga is that I cannot see Edward ever being satisfied with a simple life? Like even in Fma 03 which is my favourite interpretation of Edwards character once he gets stranded in our world he learns?? Rocket Science?? For the chance to get back to Amestris but he doesnt really seem to take that goal all that seriously especially considered Alfons ends up getting involved in a lot more aircraft projects than Edward like Edwsrd genuinely enjoys learning!!

Im pretty sure he was the one who dragged Alphonse into Hoenhiems office when they were kids after he left, probably to Al’s reluctance of if they were allowed in there, and started ripping through all of his old books just to learn. Edward never stops and it gets so bad that he never stops to even consider himself constantly worrying about getting his brother back or improving the states of others lives especially when! ya know! the whole country is at stake!!

So in a circumstance post promised day where Ed decides what he wants to do (my personal favourite interpretation is either an alchemical researcher outside of directly performing alchemy, ie revolutionizing the circle matrixes and discovering nee combinations or becoming a professor of some kind) I dont think he would give that up to settle again. And obviously Ling cant exactly up and leave being Emperor unless he decides he doesnt want to, im not the most knowledgable on Lings characterization so I wont speak there but!

They have so much fun together and compliment each other and genuinely care about each other so much but their happiness and fulfillment as people to themselves and others make it so its nearly impossible they would ever realistically end up together and its really doomed and tragic!! idk i think about it a lot.

#fma #edward elric #edling #fma thoughts #andrew be normal challenge it is NOT this deep this anime came out over a decade ago gay people arent real pre 2013 idk man im just insane #thought id share anyway please give me your thoughts fellow edling fans #specifically edling fans cause i dont wanna debate ship legitmacy #day speaks

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montammil · 5 months ago

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June of Doom Day 1 - "Help me."

| Failed Escape | On the Run | Fetal Position |

Catching up on June of Doom as much as I can haha. Next one I think I'll do is CCE, but for now, here's some Rowan/Sawyer content.

Sorry it's shorter than most of my works, haven't been feeling too motivated but I've been forcing myself to get there haha.

CW: Implied drugging, failed escape, intimate/yandere whumper, implied trauma, noncon touching (not sexual), concussions, slight gore

...

It had been three months since Sawyer managed to escape from Rowan. Those three months felt like a weight had been lifted off his chest, yet was still somehow more stressful than being in his kidnapper's grasp. He was glad to have freedom again, but terrified every time he went outside. Hell, even when he was inside his shitty motel room he was scared that Rowan would be somehow in his walls.

The fear made it so difficult to do things as simple as getting groceries and going to the laundromat.

There were so many people outside, everywhere. Rowan could blend in with them no problem, and then get Sawyer alone and take him back to his own personal hell.

But... there had been no signs of Rowan ever since Sawyer got out. There hadn't been any flowers on his doorstep, no messages on his phone, no emails to his old Indigo work account.

That was probably because Rowan had no idea where he was (hopefully) and Sawyer was now confined to using a cheap flip phone instead of his smartphone that Rowan had broke.

Sawyer tried not to think about Rowan. He tried to focus on the here and now, and the here and now was buying a few bags of chips at the gas station.

He did his best not to look over his shoulder the entire time he shopped. Every little sound made him jump. People chatting quietly with each other. The cashier running change for another customer. Someone opening the glass freezer door across the room.

Fuck, everything freaked him out nowadays. But he needed to get groceries sooner rather than later. His room had only a microwave and a mini fridge in it, so if he didn't want to go hungry tonight he needed food. He wanted nothing more than to buy a pack of cigarettes, but he couldn't even do that with his little money and lack of ID.

He set down the items he bought onto the counter and waited for the cashier to ring him up. Each moment felt like an hour.

"That'll be $8.36."

"Thanks," Sawyer said, fishing through his pockets. He took out some crumbled bills and counted them out, then dropped the money into the man's open palm. "Keep the change." He needed the money, but he also needed to get out of here asap.

The cashier thanked him. As soon as Sawyer got his change back he left. He went outside with his bagged goods, thankful for the cool breeze outside.

It was already dark outside and he only had the light of the streetlamps to guide him back to his motel room.

It was cold tonight, almost freezing. He should've gotten a jacket from the store, but he'd be fine without one. If he froze to death that would be preferable to going back to Rowan.

Breathing in the crisp air helped him feel a little better, less like he was suffocating under the stress of being outside. At this rate, he was going outside even less than when he was in captivity.

He thought a car was about to pass him, but when it started to slow down by the curb Sawyer's heart nearly stopped.

The car... looked exactly like Rowan's.

Rowan had found him.

No no no no no no no no no no no...

His blood turned to ice and his stomach twisted into knots. All he could manage to do was take a few steps back, dropping his bags of food. The car door opened, and out stepped Rowan. His hair was messier than usual and he wore all black clothing, which was a stark contrast to the cozy wool sweaters and dress shirts that Sawyer was used to seeing him in.

Sawyer didn't waste a second on standing around in shock. He immediately bolted off running in the alleyway right behind him. His lungs were already burning but he couldn't let that stop him. He could hear Rowan call his name from far behind, echoing off the walls.

"Help me!" Sawyer shrieked, running faster than he ever had before. "Someone help me, please! Help-!"

His words were cut short when he ran face first into a brick wall. He blamed the poor lighting for his misstep, and the throbbing pain in his head kept him from getting up as fast as he wanted to.

Rowan slowed down. He was cornered, so he curled up into a ball in an attempt to make himself seem smaller. Maybe it would work. Maybe if he tried hard enough he would just disappear.

"Sawyer," Rowan breathed out, clearly exhausted. Sawyer wasn't sure what happened between the kidnapping and now, but it looked like he had gone through some shit too.

But whatever happened to him wasn't Sawyer's concern. This was his kidnapper, his tormentor, the man who abused him for months. He wasn't going to pity him.

Rowan collapsed on his knees, then pulled Sawyer close to him. It felt strange being so close to someone again; it made Sawyer feel dirty.

Even with the awkward position, Rowan was so much stronger than Sawyer. There was no way he was breaking free of his grip any time soon.

"I missed you so much..." Rowan muttered against Sawyer's hair, squeezing him tighter. "So so so much." His hot breath made Sawyer turn his face away. He was desperate to escape this, any of it. Rowan flashed a knife in his direction, and that was all it took for Sawyer to stop squirming.

The last thing he needed was another injury from his deranged stalker.

Rowan tutted, examining the side of his head with his free hand. "Oh, poor thing. I bet that hurt. But don't worry," he cooed, kissing his forehead. "I'm going to take care of you. That's why you did all of this right? You just wanted me to pay more attention to you." A dark chuckle escaped his throat. "Well, you'll get it, don't you worry."

Next thing Sawyer knew, Rowan had tucked the knife away somewhere in his coat, then forced him to his feet.

Sawyer was sure he was concussed and most likely had a broken nose, so his balance was compromised. But as always, Rowan managed to keep him upright.

He steered them out of the alley and to his car. He contemplated putting him in the trunk, but settled for the backseat instead, since it looked like his beloved wouldn't be awake for much longer.

"You can relax, my dear." Rowan kissed his bloody nose. Sawyer didn't even have the awareness to be disgusted. "Since the typical punishments aren't working on you, I think I've worked up a new solution. You're not allergic to ketamine, are you?"

#rowan oc #sawyer oc #june of doom 2024 #day 1 #whump #yandere whumper #intimate whumper #implied drugging #tw noncon drugging #whumper x whumpee #whumpee x whumper #carewhumper

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listleven · 19 hours ago

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A SUCCESS STORY FROM POWERFUL LITTLE ME

Heres a little wake up call. Before learning about the law I used to be so delusional. So far gone from reality like. Ignorance was fucking bliss I was manifesting crazy shit and when I realized this was the work of loa, I doom scrolled to educate myself on something I was already good at. Let me show you a glimpse of what I used to do.

When I was in middle school I had learned about manifesting. And I went about it in a strange way. I was a really good student up studying always made me a little crazy. School made me a little crazy. And I would pick myself up and go every morning because I had to. I preferred school over home but I hated both. So I was kind of indifferent to it. At this time I heard of manifesting. It was the end of December and I was just sick of school. So utterly sick I wanted to never come back. And I don’t know what made me do this but I would swear up and down that something was going to happen to me and I wasn’t going to school. And I kept saying this to myself to motivate me to pick myself up. (I have no idea what I was on, I was so delusional) I didn’t know what I was doing like I still went to school everyday but i was just joking around a little off my hinges you know. Anyway i got appendicitis 💀. And I stayed home for a the whole of February 💀.

I didn’t connect this to manifesting bc it seemed like a coincidence and I had been having stomach pain + frequent hospital trips for a few months so it was like it already happened. Anyway I went back to school and my home room teacher was my English teacher. And in English we had this thing where we wrote a book entry everyday and after two weeks we turned them in. Now I was always on time with this but since I had surgery I didn’t do mine and procrastinated on it even when I went back to school. So the Friday I woke up and figured she’d check them I was so scared it was the due date. But again idk what possessed me but I woke up shook my head and decided she wouldn’t come to school even though she never specifically skips Fridays.

I turned out she fell down some stairs and didn’t return for the rest of the year. The guilt ate me up. I confessed 😭. I told my friends it was me. She was already over weight and I was so worried. I did this with my math teacher when I didn’t do the hw but she always came back the next day. From that day manifesting scared me. I didn’t use subs, meditations or anything I just knew in a disregarding way.

After a horrific few months of introspection. I’m understanding things and have been consistently manifesting things for myself the past few days. Now I want to point a few things out. Me manifesting getting appendicitis took ignoring my life and having a “feeling”(It was NOT a feeling I was delusional asf and made things up to help me cope) but I persisted without knowing it would ACTUALLY happen. It took a month of persistence while manifesting my teacher not coming took an hour. There was no goal. I already had what I had wanted and in both cases didn’t care for the 3d. I didn’t do anything wrong to delay my manifestations the first time. I simply did not care about time. Or about 3d. Because i didn't even know what i was doing at the time id never heard of loa just manifesting. It didn’t matter that it manifested in a month and the other in an hour. I didn’t waver during either. I was a delusional ahh kid. I didnt do any of those things bc I didn't know what i was doing. I think it was escapism. Trying not to identify with my reality in order to bear it. And on feb 1st i had gotten surgery.

Another thing. I was religious during this time bc of my family. So I definitely had limiting beliefs but that did not stop anything. Despite having them I manifested what I wanted. When we only focus on tackling limiting beliefs we make them worse by giving them value and over stressing them. I will get more into this in a future post just wanted to point out that if 12 year old stubborn, crazy, delusional, religious, me could do it so can you.

~ With love Jyspire

#loa blog #loa tumblr #loablr #loass #loassblog #loassumption #loa #4d reality #self concept #shifting motivation #self love #love

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mako-neexu · 6 months ago

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Id chapter is insane. im so stressed even after more than 2 months of its release. because the Class who won for the entirety of Ordeal Call (dare i say it: the entirety of FGO?) so far are the Avengers. (so far... at least for me..lets hope ruler and foreiner OCs are good...also idk read my og tags for this)

its probably just me overthinking... i dont know if sakurai thought this far but its just so good. because... like. the current arc's focus is on the Classes and the recent main story focused on Avengers.

Avengers. heroic spirits. Extra Class. Those who speak of hate yet are born from love and those who speak love yet are born from hate. The basis of each and all of the heroic spirits in the Throne are simply because they are all records. They are spirits and shadows of those who have lived long ago and those are currently living somewhere or those who have still yet to live and are from the future. Either way, anyone summoned from the Throne is what makes them a Servant. A copy of the real thing. Beings made of ether, ghosts who are a set of records and memories given form.

Avengers are the very embodiment of holding onto the past. Oblivion Correction, being able to remember even beyond time loops or universes could be considered more of a curse than a blessing for these flames whose lives burn endlessly from hate and anger and sorrow from towards those who have wronged them. Flames who would burn endlessly and would stop at nothing even should their retribution be at the cost proper human history's ashes.

Records. Human and beast shaped memories given form. They are beings of stagnacy and cannot grow well past beyond their current state. As only those who are currently living have the privilege of being the only ones to grow. Do you understand me? Do you understand what I'm getting at?

Avengers are more records and fragments of themselves - Alters, Innocent Monsters, collective will of hatred from many people condensed into one - beyond any Class of the Throne. As such they cannot grow. They will never grow for they will remain as flames and inhuman creatures that will ultimately consume and burn all that is within their sights.

And yet, the very Avenger considered to be the greatest, to be the representative and leader of the group was able to transcend the impossible.

Only the living have that right to escape their impending deaths, their doom, their fate. Servants, nothing more than familiars, don't have that right anymore. Not anymore as they don't truly exist in the present.

And yet. And yet.

The Count of Monte Cristo claws an eye out, splits his skull open, rips an entire arm out, bleeds himself dry to change himself. Change himself down to his very core and almost every aspect of him, all for the sake of one person alone.

He was able to take a step forward. An extreme impossibility in and of itself to these burning spirits who are broken records incarnate.

Just one step. Look away from the past without discarding it, still carrying it close, still remaining who he is and yet his sights are on the night sky above, to that star twinkling so gently, so brightly ahead of him that there is no helping that feeling of breathlessness he feels.

Far different from choking on smoke, far different from drowning beneath the icy waves of a prison tower by the sea.

To that person who is his fate, who is his star, his light, and fire in this second life, they extend a hand out to him with a dazzling smile.

Oh.

The Count of Monte Cristo, far beyond salvation and absolution, must think, This in itself is poison. This in itself is ambrosia given form.

With a hand, a resolute gaze telling him he isn't alone, Edmond Dantes, King of the Cavern, the Count of Monte Cristo was able to move forward, change himself and turn into a flame that would pave the way for that star which seeks its own wishes to be fulfilled. To that partner, co-conspirator, accomplice who always walked forward and never wavered in wanting to fight by his side, the Avengers won here and now.

Because to be loved is to be changed.

And being able to change, find yourself capable of it, there is growth. And in growth, for these heroic spirits, ghosts, those who have long passed...

What is that, if not, victory to all of the Avengers themselves?

#Victory for the mark of growth for these cursed souls doomed for destruction and vengeance because of the past.#But because of love from the present- love from now they became more than flames-#more than what the world dictated them to be because of LOVE.#FUCK ISTG ID CHAPTER GET OUT OF MY HEAD #fgo #fate grand order #edmond dantes #jalter #hessian lobo #antonio salieri #avenger class #COUHGING UP BLOOD #fujimaru ritsuka #guda

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catdemontraphouse · 7 months ago

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Question for yall because I wanna hear what u guys theorize and think about this:

So like, in Kuro lore the soul of a person can be removed and that ends their life, but if you plant fake memories into a person’s cinematic record, if it’s done properly, they can become almost indistinguishable from their former living selves.

So wtf is the soul? If you don’t need the soul to move around, have emotions, remember things, form opinions, and make new memories then what is the purpose of the soul? It seems like a soul is not what makes a person have personhood, if that makes sense. It almost feels more like something you need to have on you to cross over and you can’t cross over without it. Is it a sort of “key” that starts the cinematic record and when you die you sort of, metaphorically speaking, return it to the front desk?

Sebastian referenced the Ancient Hellenic practice of putting coins in a dead person’s mouth to pay the ferry toll on the river Styx when he took RCiel’s soul, so is the soul a form of ID more than the literal essence of a person? Like Idk it’s confusing and interesting to me. Does that mean people who got their soul eaten by a demon are akin to those in the Ancient Greek belief who didn’t have the coins and were doomed to wander the banks of the river for eternity?

Oh also that was referenced in the anime during season one, specifically in the form of a nod to a painting which included the ferryman of death Charon 🤷‍♀️ I forget the name of the painting

Oh ok so it’s legit just “isle of the dead.” Thats a location that appeared in both the end of season 1 and the start of season 2 so eh, food for thought.

Makes me wonder if we are looking at something akin to the ancient Kemetic belief about various parts of the spirit rather than the modern western concept of a soul.

Thoughts?? Plz share them if you’ve got some!

#black butler #kuroshitsuji #manga #grim reaper #theory #or like round table discussion idk #long post #sebastian michaelis #demon #reapers #undertaker

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girldragongizzard · 18 days ago

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Chapter 17: Second Megnitude

That voice, that insidious crackly hissing voice, begins reciting the most incredible clichéd pap inside his very mind.

“With a sky of dragon belly Where a fearful terror reigns While the city cowers beneath it We sing and turn your fate”

And yet, despite how ridiculous and silly it is, he feels something begin to happen.

—

Let’s establish another bit of important planning I’ve done, as I’m landing in the Eastern end zone of the Fairport stadium (it has an official name, that of some businessman, but I don’t care for it).

I’ve left almost everything valuable that I own with Rhoda.

In particular, I’ve left my ID, name change paperwork, and SNAP and debit cards. The pendant that Chapman made me is not with me either. I still have my purse and tablet, in hopes that they’ve both got the enchantments necessary to survive whatever is coming my way, so I can use the tablet to try to talk to Säure.

Now, whether I’ll survive is a different matter, but I’ve also got a lot of things going for me at the moment.

I’m trying to focus on my uncertainty and anxiety, though, making myself a more obvious target to my adversary, hoping he can feel those emotions radiating from me. So I’m not going to reiterate just what’s going to save my hide right now.

But once my velocity has slowed enough that I can bounce around to face my incoming doom, I do so, and then I let loose with my territorial song once again, just to let him know I’m here and I’m challenging him.

“grrrrrrrrRRUMBLE-SQUAAAAAWK-NOKNOKNOKNOKNOK!!!”

I can see that the sun is about to start setting, shining through a string of poplar trees that are lined up along part of the freeway, visible just above the high wall of the stadium.

And just above that is the increasingly growing shadow of Säure, wings stretching from South to North like an incoming storm, his underside all limned silvery and gold from the sunlight.

His belly scales glow like pearls the size of Winnebagos.

They might actually be bigger than that. His size baffles me.

He roars right back at me and it’s a little bit like being hit by a cosmic oscilloscope.

I stand my ground.

—

Once she makes her final challenge, his eyes pinpoint the speck that is that whelp of queer ersatz royalty, Meghan.

But his thoughts and intentions are dashed by the next verse.

“The smokey columns rise And dance in wind's refrain Pushed by wings of envy We sing and turn your fate”

Consciousness reeling from whatever foul Architecture these words are constructing, he does manage to remind himself that he can take his time to really burn this one, this Meghan.

He needn’t do his dive bomb routine. He can just soar and spear her with his death ray until the poem has run its course, and maybe even after that.

And he opens his mouth to do so, before his impulses can be interrupted by more words.

—

I do wonder which of us has the greater hubris. Säure or me?

He’s already made numerous mistakes, and he’s digging himself deeper and I’m sure he knows it. Right now he should be in the grips of whatever the Poet has in store for him delivered by Chapman’s speakers.

And, also, since he’s now become the new nightmare of Fairport by terrorizing nearly everyone in the city for so long, that puts him squarely in Ptarmigan’s crosshairs, if her quip about Finland was perchance a lie.

Some of the other stuff I said she said was a lie on my part.

And he’s the clear villain and maybe I’m the people’s champion. And narrative physics should be in my favor.

Oh, I hope.

However, I know that I’m far enough away from the infrastructure of the stadium that he can light me up without doing much damage to it. And I’m counting on magics and powers that are as yet untested by a direct attack on this scale. I’m counting on Rhoda’s need for me to be strong enough that her proclamation will bend everything in my favor, and this will be the only proof of that, if it works. And I really don’t know what Poetry can actually do. It seems almost childish to call on it.

Furthermore, while I think that my imperviousness to my own flames might extend to other forms of heat, that’s really only a wild guess. A fervent wish.

And then, there’s still also the question of whether I can even get him to come down and talk to me if his breath somehow doesn’t hurt me.

He could just try to land on me.

Worrying in thought takes far fewer words than what I’ve written here. I’ve considered these fears and swallowed them within the two heartbeats it also takes me to realize the Poet’s verses won’t likely be done by the time Säure attacks me.

And there it is.

His jaws move and his head becomes the largest sunlamp. I don’t even understand how that works, only that I’ve seen something similar in a movie. And it sparkles with static. It's a true laser.

My nictitating membranes have flipped up reflexively, like natural sunglasses, but I’ve still got brilliant spots on my retinas where his mouth marks the sky.

And every inch of me and the ground around me for several yards reflects that fizzing indigo-white light.

I can smell ozone, the turf smoking, and the hot metal of the goal posts baking in the laser.

And that’s without tasting the air with my tongue.

—

Once he’s started, he doesn’t even think. He just sets himself to the task as the hideous words continue to filter through him.

“We know you think you own us But your cries they reek of shame And we rise to turn and face you While we sing to turn your fate”

He can’t feel Meghan’s fear anymore, and he hopes that means she’s gone and no longer a problem for anyone. But he’s on automatic. He’s going to torch that spot of ground until he’s about to land on it.

—

The figure lurking in the control booth of the stadium watches impassively through UV blocking wraparound sunglasses that were maybe a little too pricey for not being actual laser grade safety goggles.

Even with them on, it’s nigh impossible to tell what’s happening out there. Not with human senses, anyway.

Timing here is going to be everything, and even though Säure is obviously flying in as slowly as he can it’s still a meteoric descent.

It might not matter if Meghan survives, honestly, but the world would be a nicer place if she did.

The modifications to the stadium’s electrical systems that the Janitor managed to cobble together at the last minute better not go to waste, either. That required a deal that was surprisingly costly.

Siblings sure do love to stick it to you when you’re desperate for time.

Behind the figure in sunglasses, in the darkness of the room, something large moves.

—

“No one owes you allegiance No one here feels your pain Struggle to no avail, Dear Säure We sing and turn your fate”

And that seems to be it. There’s a distinctive pause in that onslaught of supposed poetry, and his mind clears.

Just in time for him to cut off his own blitz, close his mouth, and pull up before slamming into the entire stadium.

He doesn’t feel anything more in particular. While the poem was being recited, something was happening, but now it’s not, and he has no idea what it was.

And as he rises, he steals a glance at the ground below him.

The circle that marks ground zero of his attack is charred completely black and he can’t see Meghan in it anywhere. If her corpse is there, it’s as black as the grass beneath it.

So he takes a deep breath as he works his wings, filling his blood with oxygen to feed his muscles, and to soothe his nerves.

What a nothingburger.

It’s all done and maybe now he can deal with the remaining Architects who’d swarmed his county on his terms, rather than that whelp’s.

He closes his eyes and imagines the peace of his soon-to-be newly reconstructed lair.

And that vision is interrupted by a, “wump, wump, wump, wumpwumpwumpwmprrrrrrrRRRRRRAWACK-NOK-NOK-NOKNOKNOK!!!!”

—

There’s a movie I never watched that had a super famous scene in it, like, back in the 80s. I remember my classmates talking about it on the playground, and one of my friends at the time just fast forwarding to the scene on his parents’ VCR when I visited so I could see it. I wasn’t at all interested in the movie, but this stuck out to me.

There’s a soldier in the jungle, and behind him is a muddy cliff. And as the camera zooms in, an eye appears in the cliff. My memory of it is that we see both eyes slowly opening, but I’ve gone back and checked and it’s just one eye that’s there.

I like to imagine what I just did looked a bit like my memory of that movie, the black patch on the ground slowly opening a pair of flame orange dragon eyes followed by an opening dragon mouth full of teeth.

Säure couldn’t possibly have seen it. He was too far up by then and I saw him looking away. I couldn’t see his eyes. But I like to imagine it anyway.

It’s pretty amazing just how covered in soot I became from that laser attack. But I also feel like maybe I learned something about physics.

I’ve definitely learned something about myself.

Is all this black ash all over me a layer of dead skin? Or several? Am I ablative?

Taking a deep breath after having croaked my loudest call yet, I glance down to find that my purse is now a molten wreck on the ground. All the leather is nothing but charred scraps fluttering around the remains of my tablet.

Shit.

If Säure does take the bait the Poet is about to deliver to him, and comes down here to talk to me, I’m going to have to lean on my emergency vocabulary.

I don’t think this is going to work, but I’ve got to try.

On the other hand, I also expect a few more attempts on my life, first.

—

“No applause is necessary. Snapping like a beatnik will suffice,” the Poet’s voice audibly carries a smirk. “And now that you’re my captive audience, it’s probably worth mentioning that if you take your human disguise, the bone conduction speakers installed on your horns will drop off. So, if you are done with my show, feel free to tune out at any time.”

He’s in the midst of arching his back and twisting to find Meg and slam down onto her as hard as possible when these words slice through his consciousness.

And he thinks this is easy. He can just switch to his disguise and back in a matter of seconds, incidentally allowing himself to change his position more quickly at the smaller size and weight.

But before he does, the Poet quips, “Oh, and please do attempt that at the highest altitude possible, Dear. You’ll want plenty of time to figure out how to remove your costume, afterward, won’t you?”

That gives him a pause of alarm.

Of course! He’s been played like a puppet this whole time. Why should he assume anything the poet is saying right now is the truth? It’s meant to manipulate him one way or another. He knew this while flying into the whole mess. Even if he’d stayed at home, he’d have been playing into their hands.

He can’t disregard what the Poet says, unfortunately. Which leaves him only one reasonably safe thing to do, remain in his true form for as long as possible. Morning Glory Stadium has been overdue for demolition and replacement for nearly a decade now, anyway.

Time to force that issue.

He could just land carefully, folding himself up into his humanoid form as he reaches the ground, to confront Meghan that way, but he doesn’t want to, and it seems like the thing they’re all trying to get him to do.

So, he scans the charred area of the field and its surroundings, but he still can’t find her. He likes to think of his eyesight as exceptional, as he can see clearly to the horizon no matter how high he flies. But the truth is, if something is small enough he just can’t focus clearly on it.

It hardly matters. If she’s still in the stadium, as her challenge seemed to indicate to his ears, he highly doubts she can evacuate in time to avoid being crushed.

So, he folds his wings and slams down into it with all the force of his incredible mass.

And as he does, he catches sight of something fluttering like a moth down the ball field, away from his center of impact, desperately attempting to get out from under him.

—

Maybe I don’t want to test being crushed, actually.

Just before he pulls his wings in to drop, I feel like I notice some kind of telegraphed movement and I just bolt. It’s almost as if I’m a fly that’s about to be swatted, and my body moves before I realize what’s even happening.

The greatest source of movement in my vision is now the ground as I’m sprinting up to takeoff speed, so I’m hyperfocused on that.

Blades of carefully manicured grass proceed toward me in the deepening twilight of sunset under the swiftly dropping doom above me. Every couple of divot ripping gallops, a white stripe of chalky paint flies under me. Sometimes I think I spot a bug, but I think that’s my imagination.

Wings are up, waving to feel the wind and judge a sense of lift while providing the balance I need to shift to a two legged gait, and I bring my forelegs up to my chest. I’ve still got quite a ways to go before I make it out of the stadium.

Which is good, on the one claw, because I don’t see any obvious thermals in front of me, and I’ll need that room to gain enough altitude to make it over the stadium wall before I slam into it at the velocity I’m trying to go.

On the other claw, I think Säure might just hit both ends of the stadium at the same time, he seems big enough to do it, and I’m not sure I can make it out before he does.

I take a big leap and I flap.

Two more flaps in quick succession and I’m airborne, and I just keep going. I breathe in as much oxygen as I can and I focus on that feeling of being chased I’ve experienced so frequently lately.

Either I’ll make it or I won’t, but I’m going to ride every sliver of an advantage I can think of.

And then I experience something fascinating.

Säure is big enough that he’s compressing the air underneath him as he falls. Actually, anything falling does this, though it’s more noticeable with an object that has flat sides, like a box. Drop a box on a dusty concrete floor, and you can see the particles being pushed out from under it by the wind of its descent.

Säure, like me, is normally aerodynamically shaped to avoid pushing that much air around as he flies through it. But he’s now attempting to body slam the stadium, to hit the ground with as much surface area as possible, and he can’t help but reflexively spread his wings a little as he nears impact.

And, with my wings spread, the feel of that wind is a bit more intense than I ever could have expected.

It’s warm from the compression, and lifts me up from below and behind like the billowing currents from a jacuzzi jet.

It’s almost gentle, but it makes staying upright in the air harder, and it pushes me forward at a constantly accelerating rate.

For a few even more terrifying moments I’m worried the wind will slam me into the stadium seating.

I’m now moving so fast I can’t imagine pulling myself up in time.

But as the air pressure rises, I’m less dense in relation to it, and the current also has to go up and over the stadium wall, and I’m flapping, and using my fire below me to create my own thermals, and it’s the direction I want to go, and I’m suddenly free!

And there’s parking lot, freshly heated by the now setting sun.

I don’t know if I’m quite clear yet, but it feels like safety and affords me the moment to wonder if anybody else happens to be in or near the stadium. I didn’t see any runners using the track, but somebody might be taking shelter there in the ruckus of today’s attacks.

Oh, I hope not.

And then the wind blows sharply and as hard as anything I’ve ever felt, tumbling me snout over tail, wings wrenched this way and that, just before I’m hit by a literal shockwave full of dust and debris.

There is a sound.

The entire city hears it.

Possibly the county.

They must feel it.

It has to have registered notably on the Richter scale, though I’m not on the ground to sense it that way myself.

I’m so disoriented and numbed by the whole experience, I’m not even sure I’m still alive.

—

In the darkness of trees on the lee side of Fairport Arboretum, as far from the sun as possible, Wentin steps into an unoccupied trail and opens its mouth.

It starts hacking and coughing just like a gigantic housecat with a hairball, arching its back and thrusting its face toward the ground.

Within seconds, its convulsions are productive and a person-sized lump unfolds from its throat and sprawls out on the gravel and mud of the trail.

Wentin doesn’t wait, doesn’t say anything. Instead, as soon as its charge is vomited up completely, it turns and leaves.

It has business to attend to.

The person-sized lump moves and starts to half-flail and half-brush wetness away from what appears to be a hair covered face.

“Bleh,” Ptarmigan says, instantly regretting the act of speaking as it exposes her tongue to Wentin’s digestive fluids.

Well, that plan was demolished.

—

Säure had turned and twisted, using his wings unintentionally to maneuver effectively, so that he landed on his belly, tail to the East, head facing the sunset. And he’d opened his eyes from blinking just in time to watch the shockwave of his landing slam the whelp Meghan into the wall of the Sportsplex Arena just across the parking lot and street.

That portion of the building’s wall implodes with the impact.

He starts to get up, lowering his head to glower at the mark of her destruction, to walk over and crush that structure as well.

And within two steps, he hears a voice in his ear. His left fucking ear, not his head. It’s not coming from his bespeakered horns. There’s something near his ear with an obnoxious, whiny voice.

And it says, “I forbid you from flying higher than the trees around you.”

#writeblr #dragons #original fiction #serial fiction #transformation #transgender

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