#wonderful capabilities in every child | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mo0nfairy · 1 month ago

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ᥫ᭡ . # ۫ , ⸺ BLOMSTERTID, PART TWO !

summary :: Centuries-old mage, Y/N L/N, possesses magical abilities unheard of. A few citizens monopolize the remnants of magic they find, of which they now title “Hextech”. Hearsay of this power bleeds through all of Runeterra, until Piltover and Zaun find themselves in an anarchic war to obtain said power. Before Y/N can even blink, however, the humans neglect their plans when they realize they’d rather have Y/N instead.

chapters :: the masterlist.

word count :: 10.9k

content warnings :: NO SPOILERS! yandere!viktor, obsessive!viktor, g/n reader, violence/gore, s3lf-harm, (very light) s3xual implications, needles, vomit, & terminal illness.

viktor's yandere traits are . . .

worshiper, heroic, & obsessive

⋆ ｡ ˚ ⋆ ⸺ When the moon rises and the vibrant world eases, Viktor always finds himself dreaming of the same thing.

He imagines himself consuming the correct remedies and garnering the ability to walk, to run, to stand tall on his two feet. He is merely a child, but he is well aware of his weaker form. In the fragrance of these illusions, he can become capable and mighty; he can be the fearless warrior who protects his loved ones from lurking danger.

To heal and obtain strength — that is the haunting desire which paints his dreams.

The young boy now greets the sun in all of its blistering heat. The cloudless sky casts a shimmering glint upon the rusted scrap metal and bent screws of his handmade boat. Viktor’s frail hands place the creation upon the surface of a river stream. In the light of his childlike wonder, he imagines himself the captain, guiding his loyal crew across a grand sea overwhelmed with thunder and lightning. His dreams remain stagnant in his brain, though, where they have remained his entire life.

The jagged gears and sprockets hasten down the current before Viktor can bring himself to his wobbly knees. The boat has now accelerated to speeds little he cannot keep up with. When his crooked cane escapes from his grasp, he falls down with it. His nose aches from the harsh plummet against the ground and specks of tears begin to build in his bambi-brown eyes. He winces from the few painful jolts in his weak legs before he is finally able to stand once more.

When he searches, Viktor cannot find his beloved boat anywhere in sight. His eyes follow the stream ahead, which descends into an abysmal cave. He measures the weight of his options, but ultimately decides that his boat is too precious to abandon.

With a gulp, he carefully treads forward into the cave. Here, there is no light to guide him, only sound. And every drop of water and subtle echo of breath has his tiny heart hammering. He imagines some great, big, green-hued monster to crawl from the darkness and chow down on his thin bones. Viktor imagines the utmost worse to occur, but does not relent with his original intentions. He has to be brave, he asserts to himself.

When he rounds a corner, he spots a strange patch of light in the distance. Within this light, he recognizes the familiar cog of his boat peeking from behind a rock. He is moments away from cheering and celebrating the return of his greatest invention, until he notices the journey he will have to endure to retrieve the boat.

Viktor will have to squeeze himself through a narrow crack, threatening to release the avalanche of boulders from above. Still, he concludes his boat to be more important than his safety. He wastes no time in rushing forward to enact on such.

There is a struggle as he sinks down to lay on his stomach, but he captures success when he finds his small frame to fit perfectly through the tight gap. Chunks of rock protrude rudely into his emaciated form as he crawls, but he continues onwards. Viktor reaches his hand out, grasping air momentarily, before he finally lodges the wheel of his boat between his two fingers. With a soft “yes!”, he yanks the boat back into his possession.

Before he can leave, however, he finds something striking in his periphery. In its journey, his boat landed in a space overwhelmed with glistening crystals.

Viktor eagerly slithers himself into the expanse. Bringing himself to his feet, he proceeds to marvel at the sight before him.

The one fraction of the area that fascinates him the most is the great boulder directly in the center. It twitches and heaves with faded life, while radiating an aura of blue and purple luster. The opalescence is muted from its old age, but the sparkles still captivate him beyond belief. It does not take much to impress a boy raised in the lanes, after all. It is beautiful, Viktor thinks to himself.

And in the height of his desire for answers, he slowly places a hand upon the surface.

His vision abruptly goes dark and flashes of images then skim through his head.

Viktor sees a person, almost. They have jagged skin and colorful flesh, with swirling hues of blue and purple levitating from their open palm. The scars treading along their skin spell out some form of incantation. The letters are ineligible, but Viktor still attempts to grasp the meaning within the short spurts of clarity casted across his brain. Incomprehensible whispers in this language permeate from every corner of the cave, as though the bats have been assigned the task of delivering a message.

Viktor cannot grasp any of the statements spoken, but one word is emphasized with acute clarity.

Y/N.

There is a vision of a grand tree, bristling with life and color, before that image is replaced by his normal sight of the cave. The floors and walls surrounding him all rumble and vibrate, threatening to crumble. A few loose stones descend from the ceiling and nick his ragged clothing.

Viktor does not waste a second more before he is scrambling toward his point of entry. Squished through the skinny gap, around the several corners, and out the sunlit entrance — he has successfully escaped the crumbling cave with his boat held tightly in his grasp.

A thundering pain then sinks into his leg. The force brings him to the ground with a violent wince. When he looks to the source, he finds that his leg is in its normal condition. What he doesn’t find, however, is his cane. Somehow, he had endured the entire escape without the support of his cane, which has now been swallowed by the tumbling rubble of the avalanche.

Viktor tries to catch his breath and find a feasible explanation. Was it adrenaline that got him to safety, or possibly… Magic?

The topic of this “earthquake” spread throughout the Under-City, before ascending into the glamorous land of Piltover. Without wasting a beat, Piltover swiftly claimed rights to the cave and utilized the expanse for resources, all of which Viktor watched from the high surface of a neighboring water tower.

Seeing the men work themselves to the bone, shipping off samples of what was his discovery, Viktor makes a promise to himself.

He will fight tooth-and-nail to cross the bridge of Piltover. Then, he will reclaim possession of those crystals and protect them as his.

He will succeed, he solemnly swears to himself.

In the span of the years that followed, this mysterious creature, Y/N, has ushered Viktor to chase after his brightest dreams: to heal and obtain strength. They have been his light as he guides himself to this goal; his lantern through a violent blizzard.

The journey to success began when Viktor first dipped a toe into adulthood.

The remaining years of his adolescence were spent in a ridiculous back-and-forth cycle with several prestigious schools in Piltover. Viktor was an exemplary student, that has been made abundantly clear. However, the elites in the academies were wary of his background as an Under-City citizen.

Time after time, he persevered past every expectation of him and flourished with flying colors. Viktor was prepared to stand outside their offices, down on his knees with fresh coffees in hand for their approval.

It wasn’t until a few days after his eighteenth birthday were his efforts finally taken into account. It was through the eyes of Heimerdinger that Viktor finally received recognition, who offered the young scholar the role of his assistant.

Viktor accepted the offer with embarrassing speed.

The role of an assistant is not his dream, though. It is merely one stepping stone toward the finish line of his goals. These are facts he has to relentlessly remind himself of. Upon scrutinizing the failed efforts of a Talis scientist, however, he realizes how difficult this task is. Possibly bridging on the edge of impossible, if he is honest with himself.

After an abrupt explosion, Viktor was sent to study the materials used in Jayce’s experiments and verify their safety. He ventured into his isolated office and began his scrutinization of the notes and toolsets scattered around. A steel metal box, adorned with intricacies of blue and gold, calls out to his curiosity. Flicking the metal tab open, Viktor lifts the heavy lid and finds the very last thing he expected to see.

Held in copper claws are fragments of the crystals he discovered as a boy. All glistening and pulsating in those tones of blue and purple.

“Y/N…” The word crawls out strangled from his throat. Accompanied with his stuttering gasps, he has been rendered to a man absolutely breathless.

His hands tremble like a thundering earthquake as they take one of the crystals into his gentle grasp. And just like that, all the resentment and festering anger he harbored for Piltover had vanished. As though merely touching these shards provided him with the impossible tranquility found in forgiveness.

All he needed now was to return to you, then anything other than serene bliss can melt away.

Viktor offered (with a stifling fervency) to join Jayce in his efforts to learn more of this magic. From here, “Hextech” was born.

Many, many years have now passed since their partnership. In these years, only puny progress has been made in Viktor’s chase for his dreams. With what success they’ve grasped, they’ve managed to capture the attention of scientists and investors across the world.

Jayce, the born-and-raised Piltie he is, has claimed all credit for the perseverance of Hextech with loud, prideful words and his chest puffed out like a bird. He revels in the bouquets of applause and praise he is drowned in.

Viktor, on the other hand (and despite being the sole reason behind Hextech’s success), cannot find it within himself to care for Jayce’s entitlement. All he has ever cared for is you and the dreams you keep safely nestled in your palms. Everything else is immaterial.

2021 has now reached its lively Summer. Unfortunately, the goals Viktor set out for himself that year are miles away from fruition. His primary focus has been the runes he saw adorning your form and what definitions remain in every scratch. Translating the characters will lead to your location, he is positive of such.

With that being said, all these wasted days have been spent finding himself in the same dead ends he’s visited countless times. He can feel his worn body eroding with every passing second, with the glimmer of his dream now beginning to flicker with old, neglected light.

Home again, Viktor partakes in his evening routine before bed, a routine he has followed for years. The thick paper in his at-home office is used to its utmost value, where the ink of his pen bleeds his heart out onto the draped scroll.

If it weren’t for his broad vocabulary and expensive handwriting, you would think these scrolls were the works of a teenage girl gushing about her crush. In reality, it is Viktor releasing the pent-up emotions he’s forced into captivity during the hours at work. Here, within the safety of his home, all of these feelings can be exposed in all of its ugly brilliance. His sentences may be frivolous, but they are overwhelmed with an ardent need.

Without realizing, he sometimes finds himself unconsciously sketching your face from his memories as a boy. That breathtaking, tragically enchanting face has haunted him beyond belief. And that is especially the case now, as he signs off yet another letter to you with his signature “Yours Forever and Always, Viktor”. He takes one last longing glance to your features he sketched over the romantic words.

Propping himself onto his cane, he curls the scroll into itself. He then treads to his bedroom and rests the scroll on the flower bed just outside the window. Joining this letter is another gift he addressed to you.

Viktor takes hold of his handmade boat he carried with him into adulthood. It is now miserable and rusted, but remains one of the most sacred items he owns. He nestles it safely beneath the thick hedges of the flowers, ensuring no gusts of wind or fluttering birds can disrupt its placement.

These actions are taken with one intention in mind: garnering your attention.

Surely, from wherever you may be, you will catch sight of the boat and be reminded of the connection you formed with him long ago. He is sure of this, despite waking every morning to the same, untouched flower bed. Still, this neglect is not anywhere near enough to hinder his efforts.

Slowly, he situates himself into his bed and faces his body toward the window. Sleep is something that rarely ever finds him, but in the midst of these rarities, he sleeps like a restless child on Christmas Eve. One day, Viktor will wake to your heavenly silhouette peering at him through the window. He falls asleep with this prayer ghosting his lips.

Another day of fruitless work is what he is met with the following morning. No soft, jagged hands stroking his hair or crooked smile to rival the early-day sun.

These failures, mended with the countless rough patches Hextech has faced in recent months, have taken a perceptible toll on Viktor. Again and again, he rearranges the runes of the Hexcore and provides it with a multitude of subjects to learn from. Still, he does not earn even a glimmer of a possible translation. All this effort forged into finding your whereabouts has resulted in defeat, yet again.

The hours of the day drag on in agonizing lethargy. The walls of the headquarters could almost resemble the metal bars of a prison. Here, however, the office space provided by Heimerdinger’s connections and Talis House money was far more luxurious than a dank cell.

A window with intricacies molded into the surface provides a blinding light from their high-view point in the city. The gold spheres painting the marble floors and bright walls could almost resemble eyes scrutinizing his every move. The space is vacant, except for the wide desk built into the wall with notes and gadgetry scattered about the surfaces.

The room is dull in comparison to others in the building, yes, but neither he nor Jayce had time to concern themselves with appearance. Maybe… Maybe you’ll help with decorations when the time comes. Maybe you’ll adorn these boring walls with those opalescent crystals and shimmering jewels of yours. You can provide this room with life, just the same as you did for him.

So engrossed in the bewitching pondering of you, Viktor fails to notice another person in the room. Sky, he thinks he can recall her name as. She rambles nervously about nonsense he cannot be bothered to discern. It is only when she treads a little too close to the Hexcore is he finally brought out of his inner turmoil. Her elbow unintentionally nudges a nearby house plant toward the Hexcore.

A scolding bridges on Viktor’s tongue, but is replaced by a suffocating silence when the Hexcore clings to the plant.

A bolt of purple springs from the runes and clasps to the plant like a hand, twitching as it absorbs the energy from the leaves. When the potted plant wilts, the Hexcore bursts with new energy and flourishes with greenery that reaches the ceiling. It radiates in the colors of blue and purple he knows all too well.

From the illumination is a character of one of the runes. Viktor watches in enraptured amazement as said rune unfolds and spells out something tangible.

“SAN T RY”, the letters speak.

Santry? Maybe it is an incantation or a phrase native to the language you speak, he is not sure. Nonetheless, the heavy ache in his chest eases and welcomes the light of excitement.

His brain dares to assume you would then somehow blossom with the flowery, there to breathe life into the dream he’s spent years striving after. Much to his horror, however, all the thriving organic matter soon withers away. As the decaying fragments descend, Viktor rushes over, discarding his cane. He clings to the dead remnants piling on the floor as though it were you who died in his hands.

As quickly as it had begun, it has now ended. And through the shocked silence, he is sure he can hear the tortured remains of his heart die alongside this damn house plant.

Still, the tortured soul does not impede his intentions of translating the runes of the Hexcore. If anything, his motivation has endured an incredible increase.

His crafted boat and another written scroll have found their home on his flower bed, once again, but Viktor is far from his bedroom. He remains in his at-home office, grinding the hours of the past week into understanding the meaning behind this groundbreaking discovery.

Why was there such a dramatic reaction to biological matter? Does this serve as a step forward in the direction of his dreams or does this eradicate all his original effort? Will he have to scour through every note he has written in the past decade to find something that explains this revelation?

And could it… Is it really you?

The runes scribbled on his notepad may as well have been chicken scratch. Despite his unwavering intelligence, he still cannot piece together the meaning of the characters the Hexcore had given him. At this point, translating a mere syllable would be enough for Viktor to shout “eureka!” from the highest building in Piltover.

“Viktor.”

Time stands still.

The voice that permeates through the office is almost strangled, as though his brain can’t quite grasp what the voice actually sounds like. Still, it is an elegant conundrum of the most ethereal music he has ever heard. And he knows, he just knows where this beautiful melody has perfused from.

Oh, Y/N.

My angel. My dearest.

His brain begs for him to turn around and bless his vision with what he knows will be the most perfect sight he’ll ever witness. His body, however, has been reduced to that of a frozen statue, completely stiff and still.

“Look at me.”

The demand falling from your tongue erases all of that.

His body seems to move on its own, beginning to slowly, breathlessly, turn around. He knows it will be too much for his weak body to endure, yet still, he cannot stop himself. It is as though you’ve plunged a hand into his nerves and began conducting his movements like a puppeteer.

Viktor finds you standing across the room and a sob is yanked from his chest. Your figure has personified in a mess of blinding brightness and confusing colors — a watercolor portrait detailing every speck of the word perfection. It strains his eyes to look at you. Yet still, he cannot bear to look away. Not now, not ever.

What is clear in his vision, though, is what you present in your hands. You hold the rusted boat he crafted as a child, with your fingers exploring the gears and cogs plastered against the scrap metal. As you fidget, you tread closer to where he sits. And with tears seeping down his face, Viktor watches your every move in absolute devastation.

“I’ve been searching for this for quite a while.” You hold the boat in an admirable presentation. “For you, as well.”

His heart exhales, almost. As though something had been digging their tight nails into the gooey tissue and finally, finally eased their grasp.

When you bend down beside him, glorious face just inches away from his, Viktor can truly feel his freed heart melting down to puddled nonsense. Your hand then finds his cheek and you cup his boney face in your palm. Your touch feels like fuzzy static from the devices he tinkers with. Electrifying, and most imperatively, warm.

“My beautiful masterpiece.” Your voice still remains a mellifluous scratch and punctures his soul with every timbre and tone.

He can’t help but feel small beneath your gaze. Like a nasty insect. Weak, immaterial, and easy. Skittering across your flesh and ensnaring his prickly limbs around this grand sugar cube he’s stumbled upon. He is something so trifling in comparison to you. Potent, imperative, and intricate. Exuding saccharin with every step you take and indifferent to this foul pest lapping up any sliver he can get.

“How could you let this drag on so long, Viktor?” You question. “You were cut from the cloth of my flesh. Soaked in the rivers of my blood. There is no you if not me. You and I are one.”

Viktor has been rendered to a man overcome with twitter-patted hysteria. He is shocked he is even still able to breathe, no less, maintain consciousness in a moment of such frenzied elation. No words escape him in response; all he can do is stare and revel at the sight he’s been slaving his entire life just to find a glance of.

Another euphoria-induced beat passes before you do the unthinkable. With a few measured glances to his mouth, Viktor watches in astonished rapture as your eyes flutter close and your mouth subtly parts. Then, you lean into him.

Just before your lips touch, impaling him with the inevitable exaltation he’ll surely die from, he blinks and finds himself face-down at his desk.

Reality may as well have slapped him across the face.

A light, delirious gasp leaps from him as consciousness settles in. Viktor finds his lips puckered against his knuckles, where drool seeps from the corner of his mouth and onto the notes beneath his head. He buries his face into his hands with a jagged, frustrated groan.

Dreaming of kissing the partner of his dreams, is he a teenager again? Then again, you’ve always had your clever ways of making him feel as such. This romantic disposition of his did not flourish until the later years of his adolescence, of which he assumed were the normal changes every young man faces. Then, as a mature adult, he can continue his efforts of translating the runes with complete clarity.

Bridging on almost two decades later, these feelings have yet to cease. Viktor is still horrifically and irrevocably in love. Not even the promise of heaven could help fizzle out these emotions. What is heaven compared to you, anyway?

He peeks his gaze through the creases of his fingers and finds he had fallen asleep on his planner. In the ink (now diluted and splotched from drool), he finds the date of the fundraiser he had promised Jayce to attend. With a glance at the clock, he realizes he has several minutes to prepare himself until the event begins. Another groan rumbles from his throat.

All Viktor wants is to return to the dreamscape of your enchanting words and magic-spun lips. Is that too much to ask for?

Dusk has now begun to fade down the horizon, illuminating the artwork of Mel Medarda in a scintillating glow. The art is irrelevant to all, however, as scientists and engineers across the globe have traveled here to sell their million-dollar ideas to Piltover’s greatest investors.

Viktor now stands behind Jayce as they saunter through the gallery, stifling a grunt with every dry conversation he’s unnecessarily dragged into. The scientist they’ve found themself shackled in a conversation with trails on about his success in other nations. He is quite famous for his fruitful discoveries and resolute intelligence, but Viktor could not care less about what this stranger has to offer them.

Standing here, idle chatter and rich laughter perfusing from every corner, all Viktor can find himself thinking of is you. He juggles with the reality of the previous events, trying to differentiate whether it was another sugar-spun dream or a message sent straight from your pen. He’s never had a dream so explicitly vivid before, after all. Could it have been a sign? Was this your reciprocation? Do you truly possess the same feelings for him as he does for you?

“That sounds incredible. Doesn’t it, Viktor?”

A nudge from Jayce and Viktor is barely yanked back to reality.

“Ehh, yes. Yes, it does…”

Without another click, Viktor then returns to his favorite place: the thought of you.

That dream was the encapsulation of his greatest desires falling into his palms. The only proof he has that it was an actual dream and not reality were the current speeds of his fluffed-out heart. To witness you through his naked eye, to feel the genuine touch of your hand, to mold his needful lips against yours — it would kill him instantly. The fact that he is still alive now is all the evidence Viktor needs to realize that, unfortunately, it was just another dream in a sea of thousands.

This does not halt his brain from soaking in the contents of his dream, however. All he could think about in the midst of this stupid cocktail party was your face, your body, your voice. God, could there be anything so indubitably perfect in this world?

And your kiss, oh, the things Viktor would do to receive such vehement affection. Your presence is enough to kill him, yes, but your kiss would revive him, just to kill him all over again.

A delicious juxtaposition between life and death — that is what you are made of. This lethal, intoxicating essence swims through your veins and weeps from your soul; it is a weapon any sane man would be ecstatic to succumb to. Viktor surely would, he has no hesitation with his judgment. He merely thinks of your face and is moments away from collapsing to his knees.

A server treads by with a platter hoisted over their shoulder. On the surface are several gold-painted champagne glasses. Viktor has no second to think before the server is shoving one of the glasses into his hands, no regard for his resistance.

He makes the motion to grasp the server's attention and return the glass, but something about it stops him. Twirling the glass in circles and watching the liquid swirl with the motions, he finds himself entranced. Viktor has never been one to drink alcohol, as it does more harm than good for his feeble body. With this glass now in his hand, he can’t prevent himself from contemplating the flavor. And perhaps the flavor could even be similar to you, maybe.

Would your kiss be as smooth as the thick liquid? Would it sting like the bubbling effervescence of the champagne? Just like the bolts of fervent electricity he garnered from the Hexcore? Would it be rich? Sour? Sweet? Maybe a mouthwatering collision no one has ever tasted before?

Viktor’s mouth waters as these thoughts invade his brain. If he were correct, he’d bottle the essence and get himself drunk on the taste for eternity. Even if it was poison, he would welcome the paradisiacal venom with a sun-bright smile.

Just before his lips meet the edge of the champagne glass to truly test what his angel may taste like, something captures his attention.

The words “Hextech” and “sell” should never exist within the same sentence, yet Viktor hears them crystal-clear from the mouth of this scientist. All bubbly, blissful nonsense frolicking through his mind is brought to an abrupt cut.

Viktor has caught the man halfway through a proposition regarding the sake of Hextech.

“Just between us scientists, you can tell me the truth. You’re surely getting nowhere with your experiments in that cramped office, no?”

Viktor tries to intrude and bring an end to the idea before it is even spoken aloud, but he is rudely interrupted.

“Imagine how much prosperity and success you can bring to the Hextech name with me there! All the profit you’d earn with my skills and experience.”

His nails dig violently into his palm as he drags on with his proposition. Like hell will he let some greedy capitalists put his hands on what sliver he has of you. It hurt to simply let Jayce touch the Hextech materials, despite the fact they were originally in his possession in the first place. To send it overseas to god-knows-where would wound him in ways he would never heal from.

A brutal rejection bridges on Viktor’s tongue. Maybe even a foul remark to add insult to injury. When he glances at Jayce, however, he finds the man's expression to be scrunched into puzzlement. Almost as though he were considering this scientist's offer.

A sharp shatter then pulsates through the room.

Viktor looks to his hand and finds he had shattered his glass in the height of his fury, cold champagne seeping down his folded sleeves.

A few partygoers fall silent and look at the sudden intrusion of volume, but soon return to their chit-chat when nothing feasible comes from the noise. Jayce, on the other hand, wastes no time in trying to inspect the glass shards punctured into Viktor’s pale palms. He yanks himself away before he can place a finger on him, however.

“No!” Viktor asserts.

He is not embarrassed of his outburst, either, despite how composed he presents himself to be. Not when you are on the line. How could he ever remain calm with this prospect knocking on his door?

A sharp glare to Jayce and the man begins fumbling through an explanation.

“I-I never said we would take the offer, just that-”

“Just what, Jayce?”

Viktor’s voice increases in volume. Eyes follow, but he does not care.

“It-It’s just… I’m worried, Viktor. You are clearly not in good shape and I don’t think the future of-”

Viktor swings his frail arm behind him before surging it toward Jayce’s face.

The punch does not land, as Jayce dodges it with ease, ultimately resulting in Viktor to trip over his leg. He lands on the marble floors with a violent thud, piercing pain spreading through his sensitive body upon impact.

All eyes are locked on the two now, hushed whispers drifting through the silent room. As fast as it had begun, it was now over.

Jayce attempts to assist his partner, but Viktor bluntly slaps his helping hand away and brings himself to his feet. If he has proved anything over the past decade, it is not Jayce he needs. It is you and only you. When he is met with the possibility of losing you, he cannot restrain the rampant, infuriated emotions coursing through his bloodstream.

Viktor then limps out of the building with rage still perfusing from him like a thick perfume. Jayce acquiesces, but does not attempt to follow his lab partner. The Talis name cannot be tarnished, after all.

He apologizes to the scientist with shame plastered across his expression. With a paranoid glance over his shoulder, he speaks in hushed tones and proposes the topics they spoke of beforehand.

Meanwhile, Viktor hastens to the sanctity of his home. It is the only safety he has been nestled with in the trajectory of his life. It is all done by your hand, as his home is where you are. Yes, with a slyly-sewn excuse, he was granted permission to keep the Hexcore in his possession, of which he wasted no time in snagging away. Now, he will protect and nurture this fragment he has of you by whatever means necessary.

Viktor soon trudges past the threshold adjacent to his living room, the mahogany doors creaking as he does so. Sauntering through, he is then met with an instantaneous peace.

His library is the place he possesses the utmost pride for, since all books present have been written by his hand. Here, every etch of ink correlates to you.

You are not something he can contain within the whorls of his mind, no. You must be expressed in any form of physicality Viktor can garner. Writing assists him in translating the runes, but it also serves as another desperate attempt to assure himself you are real and not just some psychic phenomenon he experienced as a child. You are real, you must be. You do not have a choice.

Many of the books detail your physicality, as much as his fuzzy, muddled brain can decipher. Other books are unorganized gibberish regarding your whereabouts. The runes, the crystals, the Hextech — all this science is just stepping stones leading him closer to you.

The other pieces, the more hidden ones, are for more frivolous exertions. Nights when these fantasies cloud his mind, he jots them down in messy splotches of ink and marvels at the ideas he bleeds onto paper. Said ideas are too intimate for him to revisit without flushing like a young boy stepping into the world of puppy-love. Nonetheless, they assuage him on the lonelier nights cramped in his office.

All of these books overwhelm the several isles of shelves within the grand library. Through the warm wood and soft lamplights, Viktor rushes past and does not bother to drag his thin fingers across the leather spines, as he usually does in admiration of his work. Instead, he rushes to the set of double-doors opposite to the other doorway.

Through this entrance is his at-home office; the room in which most of his time is spent. The area is nothing short of dull, but serves its purpose — that being supporting Viktor’s hard work and delusional fits.

That is certainly the case now, as the man chucks his cane to the ground and collapses onto a neighboring sofa. The materials are bristly and jut into his skin uncomfortably, but he cannot find it within himself to care. Not when his precious Hextech is at risk of being sold off like livestock. Not when you are moments away from being shoved onto a ship and sent overseas.

“Ridiculous. Selling you? How dare he even consider it!”

Viktor’s gaze finds the rolling chalkboard situated just beside his desk. On the green surface is a sketch of your face, drawn perfectly centered in the mess of numerous equations and jotted formulas.

“There is not enough money in the world- in the galaxy for me to even consider disposing of you!”

He stands to feet, wobbling slightly, before he limps over the chalkboard. He rests a gentle palm upon the surface where your cheek would be.

“No… Never you…”

Viktor had not realized how shockingly realistic the drawing of you was until this moment. All the hours spent sketching your face have resulted in him becoming quite savvy in his artistic abilities, as it shows, to a degree where he finds himself captivated with the sight. As though you were standing right before him, just as you were in his dreams.

“Never you…” His thumb caresses the jut of your traced cheekbone. “Perfect, magnificent you…”

With a light thud, his weary head lands against the board, where your foreheads align. From here, the neglected taste of champagne then returns to his memory. Truly, how would you taste? What emotions would he be flooded with if his dreams weren’t so rudely halted?

Viktor is now breathing heavily before the chalkboard, practically panting against the rugged surface. The idea of kissing you is not foreign by any means, but as he is still fresh out of the arms of his fuzzy dreams, his body cannot restrain itself from reacting dramatically to the concept.

He then presses a languid kiss to your chalk-drawn mouth. Sure, the surface may not have the softness and jagged texture he is certain you possess, but the concept alone is enough to get his heart burning.

Viktor’s mind becomes overwhelmed with the thought of you, like some hungry parasite latched into the fleshy grooves of his brain. How you’d taste, like lapping up the juice seeping from the forbidden fruit. How you’d feel, like the warm blanket of heaven’s clouds embracing him. Viktor is overwhelmed with the contemplation of everything; all the madness and repose that would follow with your lips on his.

The kiss hastens, until he begins utilizing his tongue in the state of vehemence. Thick chalk pervades through his mouth, but he is too far muddled by the fantasies bleeding through his head to pay any mind. He is messy and inexperienced with his mouth, yes, but the feverish need seared into his affections eradicates any nervous ticks or fearful hesitation.

Viktor’s efforts are abruptly cut short when he is overwhelmed by a coughing fit. He failed to anticipate how his fragile body would react to the thick chalk. It is an inevitability he should have realized sooner, had he not been so blissfully blinded by the imaginary, dusty lips of his lover.

What was expected as a few coughs to rid his throat of the dust resulted in him choking on rugged gags. His body slams against the surface of his desk as a desperate means for support.

Blots of hot blood and chunks of chalk amalgamate and splatter out from his retches. Far too light headed to notice, a few drops of this excess land on the Hexcore. Immediately, it begins pulsating with new life. From this vibration, a heavenly aura of violet and blue perfuses and sways in languid circles. A new set of runes he has never seen before join the cloud of color, which spell out incomprehensible letters as they glisten and churn.

This sudden change soon grasps Viktor’s attention, who is now met with a new sense of clarity upon discerning the sight. When the revelation simmers, he may as well have died right at his desk.

“Oh, dearest…” A wide, almost manic smile stretches on his thin face. “Is it me you need?”

The emotions swarming through his body have rendered him weak, but he has never known strength like he does in this moment. Viktor should have known from the beginning: you have always been calling out to him. It was never the measly plants that triggered a reaction, it was him! It was always him!

And so fervently will he give himself over to you. Whatever it is you desire, Viktor will personally deliver on a golden platter. He will be your warrior and your servant; he will set the world ablaze to ensure your happiness.

“Y/N… I promise…”

Viktor collapses before he can bring this new revelation to fruition.

The sounds of a robotic beeping is what greets Viktor next. The steady rhythm guides him as consciousness pervades his body. Through his blurry vision, he finds white walls, white floors, and himself in a white bed beneath white sheets. Everything is stale in its dull, depressing appearance.

Turning his heavy head, he finds a figure seated beside him with their head buried in their hands. A glimmer of hope sparkles through him.

“Y/N?”

Jayce raises his head with sharp speed and Viktor is met with acute disappointment. He fails to notice the trepidation and pity in his partner's eyes.

“Viktor… The doctors, they, uh, they said…”

He sinks further into the mattress. His goals, his dreams, everything he has ever wanted — none of it will be his.

Even beneath the weight of shocked grief, all that permeates through his weary head is you.

The runes inked on your flesh, how he’ll never caress them. The crooked frame of your smile, how he’ll never earn it. The contours of your jagged hands, how he’ll never hold them. The symphony of your musical voice, how he’ll never hear it. Viktor will never be able to have the one thing that matters most to him and this fact punctures him worse than any weapon forged by man.

“I-I know- I know you don’t want to hear this right now, but…”

Viktor’s waiting gaze deepens. “But…?”

Jayce’s eyes dart around the room, searching for something other than Viktor’s eyes to look at. With a deep breath, he breaks the silence.

“Hextech is going nowhere, Vik. We just keep finding ourselves at dead ends and clearly, it's taking a toll on-!”

“Wait, what are you suggesting?”

“What I’m saying is…”

Jayce stammers before finding the words to speak.

“Some scientists arrived overseas and I gave them a tour of our office. I think we should-”

“You what!?”

“I-I just showed them around and they provided some guidance. All I’m saying is that I think it’d be best for us to-”

“Absolutely not! I will not give up Hextech!”

The beeping of his heart monitor accelerates.

“You’re not listening, Vik. There is no you, anymore.”

Beep, beep, beep.

“What is that supposed to mean!?”

Beep, beep, beep.

“With how much… time you have left, I-I made the decision to give your role to one of the scientists.”

Beep, beep, beep, beep.

“I’m sorry it had to be like this.”

Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep.

“No, no, Jayce. Please- Please don’t do this.”

Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep.

“I’m sorry, but I promise this is for your own good.”

Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep.

“I will do- I’ll do anything, Jayce, don’t- don’t do this to me!”

Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep.

“There’s nothing I can do, Vik. It’s out of my hands.”

Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beepbeepbeep.

“We’ll be collecting the Hexcore from-”

BeepbeepbeepBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP-

“I WON’T LET YOU HAVE THEM!”

Viktor falls to the tiled floor, his shout spurting out like a glass shatter. Sharp and ragged, it is a tone he cannot recognize; the picture frame displaying the heart-shattering devastation of his unmet dreams.

The tubes strapped to his narrow limbs snap and spring into the air. Tears seep down the jagged juts of his cheekbones. Viktor’s slender, ghastly fingers grip the edge of the bed frame and he drags his limp body forward. Crusted fingernails dig into the ankles of Jayce, who abruptly stands from his seat and cowers away from the crazed man.

“They’re mine!”

The door bursts open and a gaggle of nurses and doctors follow the intrusion. They swarm into the scene like a school of fish darting away from the jaws of a great-white. Before Viktor can merely blink, they ensnare their hands around his thin body and restrain him to the cold ground. Despite his resistance, the needles of their syringes glint in the glow of the lamp.

Jayce mumbles another apology under his breath before he scurries away from the mess he has made.

The night passes quietly. So quietly, in fact, the staff that had stuffed Viktor with needles before had forgotten of his existence altogether. The door to his room has remained closed since their departure, and obliviously, they remain unaware of what remains beyond that threshold.

Just after the clock strikes three, the door peers open. A tiny squeak perfuses through the lengthy halls of the hospital, but the quiet night does not react to this intrusion. A head of brown hair peeks out from the opening. Assuring the coast is clear, Viktor takes a careful step out. He takes another, then once more, before he finds himself in a hurried limp out of the premises.

The streets are cold and unforgiving. Every street lamp and drunk pedestrian has his heart hammering. The sight of a horribly-emaciated man in a hospital gown will surely raise a few eyebrows, but nonetheless, he perseveres. As he stated before, nothing else matters when it is you on the line.

Viktor soon reaches the doors of his home. He wrestles with the key momentarily before the lock clicks and he’s barreling through the entrance. It is a weakened effort, but he rushes through his home and arrives at his office. When he finds his beloved equipment safe and sound, he releases a pent-up sigh of relief. His lanky hand rests upon the arm of the neighboring couch, as his body is just mere inches away from sinking into unconsciousness.

Viktor’s gaze, swaying with dizziness, then finds the rendition of your face he sketched on the chalkboard (which has since been smudged by the works of his mouth, but not that he’ll ever admit that to anyone). In a dazed attempt at finding your chalk-ridden lips again, Viktor begins to limp over to the chalkboard. In his efforts, his weak body fails him and his hands reach for his desk to maintain his balance. Here, he is greeted by the sight of the Hexcore, still glistening and pulsating with its hues of blue and violet. Still beautiful as ever, he thinks to himself.

He sits himself in the adjacent chair and continues to marvel at the runes illuminating the dim room. Viktor’s brain, always hungry, then treads toward the runes etched into your flesh, spelling out the same vocabulary scribbled across his desk.

As a child, he always wanted to be you. His mother often found him etching these runes with markers across his arms and legs, scolding him as she scrubs the doodles. As an adult, however, he found he’d rather be with you. Now, those inked stains have since washed away and he can’t help but ponder over their permanence.

An idea then flickers in his brain.

Viktor grasps the letter opener left languidly on the surface of his desk. With a few rushed breaths of fear, restless assurances begin permeating his brain. He no longer has a choice anymore. A second more of waiting and you’ll be ripped from his weak hands like candy from a baby. Spending his entire adolescent years without you was torturous enough. To do so for the rest of his lifetime will kill him before this illness does.

He faces this revelation head-on and begins reminiscing about the day he spoke to you. The day you truly spoke to him, no dreams or fantasies in sight. When you grasped one of the plants on his desk and gifted them life, before scribbling out a message just for him.

“SAN T RY”, you spelled out in magic runes.

Forever the mad scientist he is, Viktor has dissected every scratch and itch of this rune, trying so desperately to decode your letter. Now, things are different. There is no ‘tomorrow’ to start anew, there are no more second chances. All he has left is tonight. And he will stop at nothing to understand the words you whispered to him.

The tip of the letter opener punctures into his thigh with a wet squelch. A muffled groan of pained agony fights against his clenched teeth as he finishes carving the first character. Then, Viktor moves onto the next. Moist blood seeps down his thighs and spills onto the marble floors as he continues, spreading like the excess of a thick soup.

Sweat cascades across his body. His legs begin to quiver. The blistering ache almost becomes a second home. Still, Viktor refuses to relent and soon, he sits in a pool of his warm, oozing blood and gapes at his work of art. Sloppily engraved into his pale-white flesh are deep-red incisions spelling out your last distinguishable message.

A sense of pride fills his chest at the prospect of displaying his level of reverent devotion to you. At the prospect of earning his place at your side, to a degree where the pain seems like an afterthought. Huffs of lightheaded, delirious laughter fill the empty silence. Unbeknownst to him, a lazy finger makes contact with the Hexcore.

The Hexcore then begins to tremble, palpitating like the speeds of Viktor’s heavy heart. A light then floods from the runes and drowns the room in its blinding effort. Through the flashes of white, Viktor is overwhelmed with visions of an uncharted territory. Tall trees align the edges of a pathway, where whispers of incomprehensible incantations dance with the cold winds.

“SAN T RY”, the phrase that has haunted him for weeks, finally receives its final pieces.

A few bolts of prismatic lightning from the Hexcore and the word “SANCTUARY” glistens in a blinding presentation on his thigh.

And without another second wasted, that is exactly where he rushes to.

On the outskirts of the Under-City, Viktor stands at a clearing in a deep, overgrown forest. The trees that swayed in his vision from before are identical to those here, aligning the path he has been treading on. Blood continues to hasten down his thighs and into the dirt beneath his bare feet. Despite the searing pain, he continues forward. With the inevitability of losing you just upon the horizon, no pain in the world could falter his efforts now. The fear is more formidable than any torture he could endure.

As he continues limping forward, the ground suddenly begins to rumble violently. The force of it sends him to his knees, his frail hands digging into the soil for stability. A whirlwind then sprouts from the ground, forming a thick cloud of dirt and wind around him. Viktor cowers into himself in a desperate attempt at protection.

This tornado accelerates and spreads, engulfing him in its entire wrath. Roots then pierce out the soil and stretch into two tree trunks, chunks of dirt spattering upon the aggressive intrusion. The roots soar into the air and intertwine with one another, intricate grooves of warm brown slithering up their jagged bark. They soon meet and their limbs intertwine like two loving hands, forming an oval shape.

Just before he is sure the force of this whirlwind will take his body with it, the wind reaches its breaking point and bursts into the air. The storm has now been reduced to a gentle fog resting against the forest floor. The ground stops rumbling, the whirlwind eases, and Viktor can finally see the night sky in sheer clarity.

Trailing his vision forward, his attempts at standing are halted when he finds the newly-grown trees. The space within the oval has been filled by a sort of gray haze, almost like a portal. It is reminiscent of a surface of water, Viktor notes. Glistening like a midsummer lake beneath sunlight, with hues of violet and blue swirling around the edges. There are icicles descending from the leaves of the two trees like a weeping willow, as well, which sparkle in swaying hues of the same tones.

Scrutinizing further, Viktor is almost certain he can discern what lies beyond this newfound portal, but the mist is too distorted for him to reach a conclusion. When the image of you flickers through his mind, he garners strength he did not know he possesses. He then barrels past the threshold in animalistic speed. His vision is overwhelmed with a blinding white as he lands with a violent thump, before it eases back to its normal precision.

The clean pavement is harsh against his skin as he stands to his feet. Illuminated by heavy moonlight, Viktor finds himself on a quiet street. There are a myriad of shops and centers aligning the pathway as he saunters through. A library, a performance hall, an alchemist’s laboratory, a farmers market — an entire civilization has been cultivated right beneath the nose of the Under-City.

He limps over to several of the locations, pounding his fists on the door, calling out his lover's name, but none of his efforts are brought to fruition. Soon, he abandons his intention of entering the locked premises and continues onwards.

When he reaches the end of the street, Viktor discovers a tree that could touch the moon with its tall height. The trunk is almost as thick as a building with several holes punctured into the wood. From these holes, a blue and violet hued sap bleeds out and cascades into a fountain centered in front of the tree. Blossoming leaves adorned in these same colors stretch down from its branches and nearly graze the ground.

Through the leaves, golden lights flicker with warmth. Here, the broad branches of the colossal tree support the weight of several homes, all connected to one another with wooden bridges. One of the larger branches hidden beneath the canopy of leaves serves as a form of bridge. Surrounding this tree are towering mountains, which this bark-woven bridge leads to.

Viktor thought crossing the bridge to Piltover would reach the height of his amazement, but Topside riches have never left him this breathless. Then again, he has yet to find something that engrosses him with wonder the way you do.

When the tip of his foot collides with the edge of the fountain, he realizes he has been mindlessly wandering forward, too enthralled with the sights he has discovered to care for clarity. He attempts to scrutinize further, before his body is overcome with a sudden rush of lethargy. He collapses against the edge of the fountain and clings to the corners for stability. Blood seeps from his nose and oozes onto the pristine stone.

Before Viktor can scold himself for this disgusting weakness of his, two pairs of arms ensnare around his waist and hoist him to his feet. A sparkle of hope tells him it is you, but with flesh too smooth and bones too prominent, his delusions are brought to a halt before they could even run free. The appearance of these two remains a mysterious blur as they guide Viktor forward.

In his sluggish state, he watches his feet travel up the staircase wrapped around the trunk, limping past the lively houses, and across the bridge connecting the tree with the mountains. And passing this bridge was not reminiscent of his previous journey into Piltover, no. Had it not been these strangers keeping him upright, he’d have collapsed to his knees upon the newfound sight before him.

Nothing short of a palace has been built into the mountainside. Those familiar tones of blue and violet paint the expanse, accentuated with a rich gold. Stained glass windows reflect in the moonlight and irradiate the land in its colorful glow. Ensnaring the walls is a beautiful ivy, where Dusk-Petals and Moonflowers adorn the growing vines and blanket the intricate, elegant architecture.

A grand waterfall descends from the mountains above the palace and into the several rivers spreading throughout the land, meeting the fountain below in its journey, as well. The palace is almost a moat, but the sea of trees disturb any attempt of obtaining the title. The trees resemble the several he has already seen with drooping leaves and twinkling icicles, painting the land in heavenly hues of that familiar azure and violet.

It is far more extravagant and palatial than anything he has ever seen in Piltover. It is more grand than anything he has ever seen in his entire life, for the matter. He couldn’t conjure a better estate for you than this, as you deserve to rest in the pinnacle of luxury and opulence. And this palace is not lacking in those areas in the smallest slight.

Dragging forward (as Viktor has completely abandoned using his feet anymore), they pass through the stone-carved doors and enter the palace. Once through the entrance, Viktor begins to study the interior. And the interior is an almost perfect reflection of the exterior.

Blue and violet permeate the expanse through surrounding furniture and decor, most of which support the weight of art sculptures and trinkets Viktor fails to discern in his lethargic state. They go hand-in-hand with the spreading greenery, which you have evidently and happily allowed to perfuse throughout the entire place.

These details spread through the several twists and turns these helpful strangers drag Viktor through. They finally reach a halt in one of the numerous rooms.. Softly, they loosen their grasp and guide him to the ground. They promptly take their leave without a single word spoken.

A greenhouse is where he has found himself, he assumes. The walls and ceilings all consist of windows, with intricate white frames woven across all surfaces. The edges of the stone pathways beneath his feeble body are adorned with hedges and flowers, all varying in different colors. They compliment the wisteria drooping from several miniature trees, their thin branches adorned with several ornaments that exude a golden light.

Languidly bringing himself to his feet, once again, he finds one of the larger wisteria trees hovering over a pond. It resides in the corner with a small arrangement of rocks surrounding the edges, supporting the stream of a small waterfall leading into the pond. Here, birds surround the stream and bathe their feathers.

The embodiment of tranquility, that is how Viktor would describe this. He almost considers the possibility he had died in that hospital bed and this was the heaven waiting for him. All that is missing in his nirvana is you- oh, God, it’s you.

Simply shifting his gaze to the left, he finds a slab of stone residing in the middle of all this greenery. Upon the surface are several clay pots and cloth-woven bags overflowing with fertilizer. And tending to these products is no other than you.

A strange, overwhelmingly perfect light radiates from your body. Beneath this light, he finds you are draped in a cloak of varying adornments, all shimmering in opalescent hues. There are jewels and crystals sewn into your torso, pearls and wind chimes dangling off shoulders. There are feathers draped down your arms, with seashells aligning your ankles. Harp strings are woven around your every limb and tied into pretty knots. Your body is a centuries-old story told through the embellishments aligning your flesh.

And Viktor, oh Viktor.

No words could encapsulate the ethereal, deific, uncanny, godlike emotions this moment has overwhelmed him with.

There is no room to merely think with these feelings suffocating his brain. It is as though the melody of your love has swelled in their highest magnificence, the Dusk-Petals and Moonflowers blossoming into its most surreal beauty. It is the perfect moment.

Everything he has ever wished for conjured up into a single creature; the light at the end of the tunnel every sorry soul dreams of reaching — he almost doesn’t even believe it to be true. As though the creeping hands of his desires have ensnared their hands around his throat, allowing him one last morsel of illusory bliss before his life fades.

When you then turn over your shoulder, blessing him with the sight of your beautiful, tragically beautiful face, there is no denying the authenticity. This moment leaves a harsh toll on his physical state, as well.

Viktor’s eyes begin to roll back into his skull, but he strives against the force to continue indulging his vision in this glorious sight. Nausea pulsates in his stomach like a wrangling insect, but a few hard swallows keep the sickness at a weak bay. His knees tremble, threatening to buckle once again, but he maintains his posture with acute effort.

It is a battle against him and his body, of which inevitably, leads to failure. Throat pulsing with gagged coughs, Viktor then leaps to the ground and finds a nearby, empty plant pot. He empties his guts into the container. The excess looks like coffee grounds; all blood-stained and chunky. Guilt and shame are expected, but they have no room to thrive. Not when you are here.

He is, in fact, met with the very opposite when he watches from his periphery as you tread closer and bend down to his level. Weakness overwhelms him as he begins to digest more of your physicality. His body sways again from the weight of it all, beginning another descent back to the ground. You halt the motion by catching his cheek in your palm. The effort is enough to set his skin aflame, with a simultaneous bitter chill tickling down his spine.

His body is overwhelmed with these suffocating emotions, but is also blissfully light and peaceful. Horrifying euphoria stirred with devastating tranquility — a delicious juxtaposition.

And the way Viktor looks at you could rival the most devoted of religious followers finding the face of heaven. Eyelids lazy and drooping, framing the glassy tears building in his honey-brown eyes. His gaze is buried into you, more attentive than he has ever been with his brows furrowed into a weak, stuttering curl. Mouth hung agape in fervent shock, drool pools on his tongue and his bottom lip trembles like a child who skinned their knee.

He doesn’t even think before he’s leaning in to kiss you.

“This was not an easy effort, I can imagine.”

His intentions are bluntly interrupted, yes, but he could not have imagined a better way to be halted. A deific incantation, a call straight from heaven, a harmony the world's best musicians have devoted their whole lives trying to emulate — that is how Viktor would best describe the tones that drift from your lips. In fact, your voice catches him off guard to such an aggressive degree, he forgets he had even tried to foolishly kiss you in the first place.

“If I may ask, how did you find us?”

A flurry of words drift through Viktor’s head, toppling out of his mouth through stuttering gasps and pathetic attempts at the human language. It all becomes a mess of English and his mother tongue the further Viktor trails on of how he found the sanctuary, his first encounter with you as a child, and all the turmoil he gleefully endured just for this moment. Sprinkled in with gallons upon gallons of praise, of course.

There is some clarity, however. Fragments, albeit, but he does manage to establish coherency. One statement strikes abundantly clear.

“My Y/N, there is not a line in the world that I would not cross for you.”

And of course, inevitably…

“I love you.”

Those three words, heavier than the world he’s been blessed to stand on with you, continuously tumble out of his mouth. Viktor repeats the same sentiment again and again and again, each time possessing the same heart-shattering devastation.

You do not react, however. Despite his wishes for you to be overcome with euphoria upon receiving his confession of devotion, all you do is stare. You do not return his affection, either, but he is too muddled to notice this.

“You work beside Jayce Talis, correct?”

Viktor’s eye twitches. A flicker of betrayal catches flame, but the ignition is weak.

“Then, I am sure you have heard the Council speak about the influx of ‘Shimmer’, as they have titled it.”

The jealousy (that failed to overpower the miserable rapture, albeit) is eased instantly. If it is not Jayce you are concerned with, then what is it about Shimmer that has engrossed his beloved so?

“As gutted as I am to admit my faults, I am partially responsible for this distribution.”

Through the distorted daze of Viktor’s jubilation, he clings to your every words. You? Y/N? A drug lord? This does not make any sense…

“I am not aware how, but someone has grasped possession of my Dusk-Petals. They are only bred at my hand, so I fail to understand where they have retrieved them, but nonetheless, they have obtained them. They have derived the possessive component of my Dusk-Petals and have utilized the essence as the major component in this “Shimmer”. All for the sake of power and profit.”

Not a word is uttered from Viktor as your explanation settles. His darling has been so overcome with guilt and he was so oblivious! He attempts to scavenge the power to adorn you in reassurances, but beneath the weight of your light, he might as well have been a lifeless corpse on the stone pavements of your greenhouse.

“If I had a…”

Your gaze returns to his, expectantly. He nods along dumbly to every word parting from your mouth.

“Messenger, of sort, I may garner the opportunity to halt the expansion of this poison.”

A gasp, equivalent to that of one witnessing a murder, flees from Viktor’s chest. Yes, yes, yes, a million times, yes!

“Oh, my Y/N, you do not have to ask! Of course I will help you!”

He attempts to scoot closer to you, practically throwing himself into your warm arms. You hinder this effort.

“You… Y/N, you could shatter this entire world to nothing but scattered shards and I would crawl over the sharp glass with utter elation! As long as I can deliver whatever demand you send directly into your palms, I will do it all with a smile-!”

He interrupts himself with a coughing fit, rendered breathless from his own blabbering. He scrambles to wipe his hand of the inevitable blood that has spattered from his throat. In this effort, however, he is startled to find no blood at all. Not even a mere drop.

His gaze returns to you in all your heavenly form. You return his gaze, almost knowingly. His body cannot resist just melting beneath your attention.

“I love you, sweet angel.” Viktor confesses for the umpteenth time. “I cannot feel anything but my love for you.”

Your expression remains blunt and calm, as it remains stagnantly. Nothing short of utterly bewitching.

“Very well.”

Like the triumph of a curtain call, Viktor’s dreams have come true: to heal and obtain strength. After an entire lifetime, he is finally strong. Here, beneath the light of you, everything sings.

Now, his dreams have shifted. Viktor will be your loyal warrior.

No matter what it takes.

⁺ 🎧 , 🪷 you are currently listening to . . . ⁺ 🪺 , 🎵 ꪆ

❝ I WILL LOVE YOU TILL I DIE AND

I WILL LOVE YOU ALL THE TIME . . . ❞

gif creds.

(you are free to imagine Y/N however you’d like to. nonetheless, this and this were my inspiration for what Y/N looks like, in case you were wondering. (nothing adhering to the gender or physicality, just their style and character!)).

tag list: @honey-beeuwu @mrprettycom @makangelo @thelonelyme @solavily @eldritch-bunny @decaffeinatedclodbagelweasel @orbitingmarswithp @frickidyfrog @phantomdomi @mermaidm0tel6 @numbu5 @applepinsss @anon34570 @biohazardousbunny @vogelaqwry @lorely788 @mellowangeltree @myathegoat @alix-37 @lavandercinnamon @vrnicky @mellowfishauthoreggs

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cressidagrey · 1 month ago

Text

Stars all aligned - Chapter 16 (The End)

Summary:

If there was one thing that both Azriel and Zahra Archeron had in common, it was that they were both very good at blending into the background.

They just never thought that their family were going to be the ones who never saw them at all.

Warning:

Penultimate chapter! Bashing of like...every IC member, though we have now reached the point where Rhys and Cassian are the good guys, discussion of chronic pain, discussion of Infertility, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Underage Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Accidental Baby Procurement

If any of this triggers you or makes you uncomfortable, please, take care of your own mental health and don't read it.

(Lovely dividers thanks to @sweetmelodygraphics)

Which one of you blabbed? he seethed mentally to Rhys. Guess who came to a visit.

Azriel was seething with rage. He could sense Zahra's hurt, her anger, the emotional turmoil simmering beneath her calm exterior. She was protecting him, defending him, shielding him from her sisters...and it only fueled his anger further.

He wanted to step in, to shield her from everything, to protect her from the harm her sisters were capable of causing. But Zahra was standing tall, her gaze steady, as she faced her sisters. Let her have this moment, Rhys' voice whispered in his mind. Cassian and I are on our way.

"We don't want to take anything from you," Feyre broke the silence, her voice wavering. "That's not..."

But Zahra shook her head sharply. "No. It doesn't matter what you want," she said coldly. "What matters is what you have been doing. You have spent the last few years ignoring me. You have all but disowned me. You have constantly reminded me that Ia m nothing to you. The constant reminders that I am nothing to you. You have all but disowned me. And now, you come here and expect me to give everything up? For what? For you? For the family that never once treated me as one of them?"

The words hung heavy in the air. Zahra's voice was unwavering, her gaze unwavering. Azriel's chest ached with the need to protect her. His hands itched to shield her, to hold her, to comfort her. But he stayed back, his body rigid with restraint.

This…This she had to do on her own. He knew that she was strong enough for it. Zahra was so strong. So utterly strong. So resilient. She could do this on her own, she needed to proof to herself, that she could do this on her own.

Elain's eyes were watering, her hands clutching at the fabric of her dress. "I...I didn't know," she whispered.

Azriel really wondered what Elain was thinking to keep insisting on this. He didn’t believe for one moment that there hadn’t been signs. That Zahra had succeeded in hiding away every single bruise, every single injury so well that her sisters couldn't have noticed if they actually cared about.

Zahra snorted at that moment, the sound harsh. There was no true amusement in her voice as she answered: "Of course, you didn't," she said dryly. “I did everything so that you wouldn’t find out. I was willing to take that secret to the grave with me.“

“Why?” Nesta demanded

“Because I shouldn’t have to sacrifice myself to make you act like you care,” Zahra snapped.

It was so obvious from her tone…the pain, the anger…a wound that had cut deep, that had never healed.

Zahra stepped towards her sisters, her eyes burning with a fire that Azriel had never seen before. "You never once asked," she said, her voice rising. "You never once tried to even act like you cared about me. You buried your heads in the sand while I went through hell alon.."

Her words echoed in the silence that followed, the weight of her pain and her anger palpable in the air. Elain was openly crying now, soft sobs escaping her. Feyre was pale, her hands trembling. But Zahra's gaze was fixed on Nesta, a glare laced with bitterness and anger.

"You have absolutely no idea what I went through," Zahra continued, turning her gaze upon Nesta. "The pain, the shame, the humiliation. You never once even wondered why I should have an affair with him. Instead you made fun of me. Instead you treated me even worse. You never once wondered where I got the money from. You should have known that Feyre’s hunting wasn’t enough to sustain us! If I didn’t do what I had to, we would have all starved!“

Azriel's heart ached with each word that came out of Zahra's mouth. The pain, the anger, the years of pent up emotion was finally coming out, the dam broken.

She was not holding back, her words sharp and scathing, aimed directly at her sisters. The air was thick with tension, the silence broken only by Elain's soft sobs.

Nesta's mouth had dropped open, her eyes wide with shock. "You...you did that for us?"

Zahra laughed bitterly. "Who else, Nesta? Who else would it have been for? I did what I had to do to keep the rest of you alive."

Elain's sobs had escalated to loud, hitching gasps. Feyre's face was ghost-white, her hands twisted together in a white-knuckled grip. But Nesta looked as if Zahra had slapped her, the words a blow to her very core.

“Even when you never treated me like your sister, you are mine.”

Everything wrapped up neatly in one single sentence. It was a death knell.

A killing blow.

And he loved her all the more for it. He couldn’t help but marvel at the strength she possessed. She was the strongest, bravest person he had ever met, and the knowledge that he was hers filled him with a sense of possessive pride.

Elain was openly weeping now, tears streaming down her face. Feyre was silent, her eyes wide, her hands clutched to her chest. But Nesta's face was a mask of shock, pain, and shame.

"I did it all for you," Zahra continued, her voice cracking slightly, "and yet, not once did you show me a shred of care. You never once even asked if I was alright."

Her words echoed in the silence, the truth of them hanging in the air like a thick, suffocating fog. The pain, the loneliness, the rejection. It was all there, laid bare for her sisters to see. And it was clear from their stunned, guilty faces that they were seeing it all for the first time.

No one spoke. No one moved. The only sounds were Elain's sobs and Zahra’s ragged breaths. Azriel wanted so badly to cross the room, to hold her in his arms, to take away the pain he knew was coursing through her.

So he did.

Just in time to feel more than hear the arrival of Cassian and Rhys.

Azriel's eyes met Cassian's, and he saw the surprise and concern written on his brother's face. Rhys' expression mirrored the same emotions, his eyes darting between his mate and Zahra.

Azriel pulled Zahra against him, wrapping her in a tight embrace, shielding her from her sisters' gazes. He could feel the tremors running through her body, the aftershocks of the emotional storm she had just weathered.

“I thought I told you to leave her be,” Rhys said, his voice even.

Azriel didn't loosen his hold on Zahra, his arms still tight around her. He felt her sag against him, weary and emotionally drained.

“We just wanted…” Feyre protested weakly. “We were worried."

“Zahra was with Azriel. What was there to be worried about?” Cassian said drily.

“She’s our sister,” Elain burst out, tears still streaming down her cheeks. “We were just worried for her.”

Azriel’s jaw clenched. Worried for her, now? After all these years? It was too little, too late.

"Now you're worried," he growled, his voice a low rumble. "And where was this worry all those years when she was suffering?"

“Az…” Zahra murmured, her voice soft and broken and he pressed a kiss against his wife’s head

Azriel's anger faded slightly at the sound of her voice. The vulnerability, the sheer rawness of emotion in her words made his heart ache. He held her tighter, his eyes still fixed on her sisters.

“I said it before and I’ll say it again,” Rhys said sharply. “She doesn’t owe you anything and respecting her choices is the least you can give her, if you ever want her to actually talk to you again. If you truly, actually want to try and make amends.”

Elain and Feyre looked stricken, their eyes filled with guilt and remorse. Even Nesta was looking at Zahra, her mouth opening and closing like a fish.

“But we…we never meant...” Feyre started, only to falter under Rhys’ glare.

“You never meant?” Rhys repeated, his voice hard. “You never meant to hurt her? You never meant to ignore her existence, to never once show any care for her? You didn’t meant to disrespect her choices? Again? For cauldron’s sake, Feyre!”

Zahra flinched at Rhys’ raise voice.

She’s waking, the shadows whispered at that moment.

Given her an out that she needed desperately.

“Go take care of Azalea,” he whispered in Zahra’s ear. He could nearly feel some imperceptive tension in her frame ease at the sound of their daughter’s name.

She nodded, giving him a quick squeeze before gently slipping from his embrace.

The tension in the room felt like a physical weight, the air thick with it.

Azriel couldn't help but watch as his wife walked out of the living room, the door of their bedroom closing behind her.

Silence descended again after she left, the room seeming suddenly empty without her. Azriel turned his attention back to her sisters, meeting their gazes with a cold glare. His gaze lingered on Nesta. The oldest sister, the one who should have protected Zahra, the one who should have seen and understood her struggles. Instead, she had been the most hurtful, the most dismissive.

“How could you?” he said finally, his voice a low rumble, “How could you just ignore her? Your sister? For two decades you just…you just acted like she didn’t exist. And she believed it. She believed she was nothing to you.”

Silence met his words, all three sisters looking guilty and distraught. Even Cassian was quiet, his face grave as he looked at the aftermath of Zahra's emotional upheaval.

Azriel wanted to shake them, to make them understand the depth of the pain they had caused, the damage they had done. He had seen it for himself, the way Zahra had believed she was nothing, the way she had resigned herself to a life of being invisible, of being nothing to her own family.

"How can you say you care for her now," he snarled, his voice sharp, "after you let her suffer alone for so long? How can you pretend that your worry means anything to her after all these years?"

Elain was still crying openly, her hands clutched to her chest. Feyre looked like she was struggling to hold back her tears. But it was Nesta who finally spoke, her voice quiet but intense with emotion.

"We…we never knew…" she whispered. "We should have seen it…should have asked her, should have realized what she was going through…"

Azriel's anger flared again. "You should have," he agreed. "You should have cared enough to ask, to notice, to remember that she was your sister. But you didn’t. You just ignored her, left her alone, abandoned her."

He sighed, the anger embering in his gut.

“And you know what’s the worst part?” he asked Nesta sharply. “She’ll forgive you. One day, she will forgive you, because you are her sisters. Because she loves you more than you ever deserved her to. Because she’s good right to the bone. And I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure that people don’t take advantage of that part of her,” Azriel said sharply.

The sisters flinched at his words, the truth of them a blow. Feyre looked at him, her eyes pleading, her face wet with tears. Azriel held her gaze, his expression stern.

He knew that Zahra would forgive them one day. He knew that because he knew her heart. And that was what angered him the most. They didn’t deserve her forgiveness, they didn’t deserve her love.

But he also knew that Zahra's forgiveness would not come easily. It would not come without effort, without remorse, without proof that they truly regretted their actions. And even then, he knew it might never truly heal the wounds they had inflicted.

"Zahra will forgive you," he said coolly, "because she is good and kind. But do not take her forgiveness for granted. Do not presume that she will give it without you earning it."

Nesta nodded, her face white, her gaze fixed on the floor. Azriel could see the guilt, the pain etched into her features. But he knew that it was not enough. Not yet.

"It will take time," he said quietly, "and effort. And you will have to prove, again and again, that you understand the depth of your actions, the harm you caused. And even then, it might not be enough. Because she is my wife now, and she and our daughter are my first priority."

“”From where exactly do you have a daughter?” Feyre blurted out. “She wasn’t…Zahra wasn’t pregnant, was she?”

“The shadows kidnapped her,” he said drily. “They have moral issues with keeping babies in dungeons.”

Feyre's eyes widened, her mouth dropping in shock. Elain gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. Even Nesta looked taken aback.

He couldn't help but feel a small pang of satisfaction at their dumbfounded expressions.

***

Zahra had retreated to the safety of the small bedroom, the door tightly shut behind her. The pain, the anger, the years of pent up emotions had all come bursting out in a wave that had left her trembling.

She laid down on the bed, burying her face into the pillow. The sobs came again, a shuddering, bone-deep release of emotion.

Her mind replayed the words she had said, the emotions that had spilled out, the hurt and the pain laced through her voice. It had needed to be said, the truth needed to be laid out. But the aftermath was…messy. The look on her sisters' faces, the shocked expressions…

She couldn't bear to think about it, not right now. All she could do was sob, sobbing into the pillow, her body shaking with the force of her emotions.

A soft coo next to her, and she looked up to find Azalea sleepily reaching out for her.

The sight of her baby girl made her throat constrict. Azalea was blinking up at her, her little hand reaching out for her. The sound of her soft coo only fueled the emotions churning in Zahra's chest.

She reached out, picking up their daughter and cradling her close against her chest. Azalea snuggled against her, her tiny body warm and familiar.

Azalea never screamed. Or cried. Or demanded attention unless she could see them… then she sometimes gave a questioning soft coo, wanting them to interact with her.

Zahra found comfort in the familiarity of her daughter's presence. Azalea was quiet, always quiet, yet always observing, always needing to be part of the action.

She held her tight, her cheek pressed against the soft, downy hair. Azalea cooed again, her hand coming up to pat Zahra's face, almost as if she knew her mother needed comfort.

The tears continued to fall, sliding down Zahra's cheeks and disappearing into Azalea's hair. The pain and the hurt still burned deep, but holding her daughter helped blunt the raw edges.

She sat there, rocking back and forth gently, her eyes closed, focusing on the weight and warmth of her daughter in her arms, the steady rhythm of Azalea's breathing. Slowly, slowly, her sobs quieted, her racing heart slowing down its panicked pace.

“Come on, let’s go see Daddy.” She said softly.

Azalea cooed in response, her big, innocent eyes looking up at her. Zahra couldn’t help but smile, as she lifted her in her arms, settling her against her hip.

She stood up, holding Azalea close against her, and made her way towards the door. The silence in the rest of the house was stifling, as if the whole building was holding its breath. Zahra paused outside the door, her heart pounding.

What was happening out there? What were her sisters thinking? What was Azriel thinking?

She took a deep breath, steeling herself, and pushed open the door.

The battle lines had clearly been drawn.

Azriel was standing by the kitchen, his back to the door. His shoulders were tense, his hands clenched into fists. Her sisters were on the other side…Cassian and Rhys right there in the middle, clearly ready to throw themselves in the fray if something did happen.

The silence seemed thick enough to cut with a knife.

Zahra stepped into the room, her heart in her throat. All eyes turned to her, Azriel the first to turn around. His face softened as he took in her appearance - Azalea in her arms, her eyes red and puffy, her face streaked with dried tear tracks.

He held out his hand for her and she fitted herself against his side. His eyes were soft, full of concern and love, but there was a hardness to his features, a flicker in his gaze. He reached out to brush his knuckles over her cheek.

“Are you alright?” he murmured, his voice low. His hand moved to the baby in her arms, gently touching Azalea’s soft hair.

“I will be,” she whispered, looking up at him. The warmth of his touch, the understanding in his eyes eased some of the remaining pain, some of the hurt. “I just...I needed to hold her for a bit.”

Azriel nodded, his eyes lingering on her face for a moment longer before turning to her sisters and the High Lord and Cassian. His expression hardened, his protective instincts clearly flaring at the thought of what they had done to her.

They remained silent, their gazes shifting between her and Azriel. It was Feyre who finally spoke, her voice hesitant.

“Zahra...we -”

“Don’t,” Zahra interrupted, her voice weary but firm. She didn’t want to hear their apologies, not yet. She couldn’t stomach that. Not right now.

Azriel’s arm slipped around her waist, supporting her.

“I’ll need time,” Zahra said weakly.

“And you’ll have it,” Azriel said firmly, his arm tightening around her. He met the gazes of her sisters, his eyes hard as steel. “As much time as you need.”

”I am so sorry,” Feyre breathed, her eyes fixed on Azalea.

Zahra couldn’t help herself as she pulled her daughter nearer to herself.

Azriel tensed beside her, his arm around her waist like a vise. The sight of her sister’s apology, the look on her face...it was too much, too soon. Zahra took a ragged breath, trying to calm the rush of emotions in her chest.

“I need time,” she repeated, somehow managing to keep her voice from shaking too badly. “I - I just...I need time.”

Feyre nodded, tears spilling over her cheeks. “I understand,” she choked out. “I just...I never wanted to hurt you, but I did and I…”

Zahra felt Azriel's grip on her tighten, his body rigid with barely controlled anger.

She placed a hand on his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart under her palm. “It’s alright,” she repeated, more for his benefit than her sisters’.

She couldn’t look at Feyre anymore, the sight of her tears making her own heart ache. She turned her gaze to the other two, her eyes locking with Nesta and Elain.

They were watching her silently, a mix of guilty sorrow and regret on their faces. Elain’s usually soft features were pinched with shame, Nesta’s cold expression betraying a hint of remorse.

And they were staring at her baby. “What’s…what’s her name?” Nesta asked, her voice shaky.

“Azalea,” Azriel answered, his voice hard. Zahra felt a flicker of satisfaction at his cold tone. He wasn’t going to forgive them easily, not after witnessing the pain they had caused her.

Elain looked stricken, her eyes wide. “She’s beautiful,” she whispered. Nesta simply nodded, her eyes glued to the baby.

Zahra felt a small pang in her heart at Elain’s words. She knew the compliment was sincere, but there was also a pang of hurt, a reminder of the years of silence, the years of being ignored.

She pulled Azalea closer, her grip instinctive and protective.

Azriel’s hand was rubbing circles on her hip, grounding her, reassuring her.

“Thank you,” Zahra brought out.

“She looks like Azriel,” Nesta said suddenly.

“She is biologically his niece,“ Cassian said flatly. “But she is Azriel’s and Zahra’s daughter.”

There was a moment of silence, the statement echoing through the room. Azriel’s breath hitched beside her, his grip on her hip tightening for a moment. The implications of the words hung in the air, a stark reminder of the unconventional ways in which Azalea had come to be.

Zahra, however, felt a strange sense of calm. The words were merely stating a fact, a truth that could not be denied. “She’s ours,” she agreed with Cassian, sticking out her chin, daring her sisters to say something. But they didn’t.

Nesta swallowed. “Congratulations,” she said softly, much to Zahra’s shock. “She’s adorable.”

Zahra blinked, surprised at the unexpected well wish. The words seemed almost genuine.

“Thank you,” Zahra murmured, her voice soft. Azriel’s hand tensed on her hip again, his protectiveness on full display. Zahra could see the muscles in his jaw clenching, his eyes flicking between her sisters and their daughter.

The room was filled with a strange sort of tension. She should have known that it was gonna be Cassian that had absolutely no problem with breaking it with a bright grin, waggling his fingers in Azalea's direction who immediately reached out for him.

“She likes me,” the general chuckled, his usual easy smile plastered on his face. "I am clearly the favourite uncle."

Rhys rolled his eyes, the tension breaking somewhat. “She just want to grab your fingers, you oaf.”

“Nah, she’s smart, she knows who the cool uncle is,” Cassian retorted, reaching out to hold Azalea’s little hands in his bigger ones. Azalea cooed, grabbing hold of his fingers with a serious expression, her tiny hands looking laughably small in his grasp.

Azriel rolled his eyes but the tension in his shoulders relaxed a little, his gaze fixed on their daughter. It was hard, even for him, to stay completely serious and protective when the Lord of Bloodshed was making funny faces at Azalea and she was giggling like a little maniac.

Zahra couldn’t help but smile at the scene, the tension in the room slowly easing.

Azalea’s giggle was like a ray of sunshine, bright and pure. She was usually quite reserved, her emotions more often than not kept hidden, but she was clearly enjoying the attention.

Cassian, meanwhile, couldn’t resist the temptation to start pretending he was eating her fingers, making exaggerated ‘nom nom’ sounds and grinning widely when Azalea shrieked with delight.

Even Azriel couldn’t help but smile at the sight, the corner of his lips curving up. It was impossible not to be charmed by Azalea’s infectious happiness.

Feyre chuckled, her earlier tears wiped away now. Even Rhys and Nesta looked less tense, their gazes on Azalea as she continued to pull on Cassian’s fingers.

There was a part of Zahra that wanted to hold on to the good moment, to bask in the relief provided by Azalea’s laughter and Cassian’s antics. But the elephant in the room was still there…

She knew there was more that needed to be said, more that needed to be discussed. The pain, the hurt, the years of silent isolation… She couldn’t simply ignore it all now just because Azalea was being cute.

Despite this, she didn’t know how to start, how to voice her hurt without the pain and the anger taking over again.

Azriel seemed to sense her turmoil, his hand on her hip moving to the small of her back, gently rubbing soothing circles.

“We need to talk,” she said, her voice steeling. "We will talk. Soon. But not now. When I am ready. And not when you decided that you need to apologise because you feel bad."

Her sisters nodded, their expressions solemn. It was Feyre who spoke up, her eyes wide and sincere.

“Of course,” she said, her voice low. “We will wait until you’re ready, just… just know that we do want to change, to fix things…”

Nesta and Elain nodded silently, their gazes fixed on Azalea who was still grabbing at Cassian's fingers.

Azriel’s hand on her back began to rub soothing circles again, his silent support grounding her. She took comfort in his presence, in the knowledge that he was right behind her, ready to back her up.

“We understand,” Nesta spoke up suddenly, her voice more firm than it had been before. “We will be patient. We will wait.”

Even Elain, who was usually the more soft-spoken sister, nodded emphatically.

Azriel's hand on her back tensed, but he remained silent. His whole body was taut with suppressed anger and the need to protect, but he held himself in check, letting her handle the conversation.

“Thank you,” Zahra said quietly, her voice a little stronger now.

Feyre smiled softly, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “We won’t try to make excuses or to justify our actions,” she said, her words firm like a promise. “We messed up, we own that. We’ll wait until you’re ready and then we’ll listen. No interruptions, no excuses, no defenses.”

Zahra would believe that when she experienced it.

Azriel's hand on her back continued rubbing soothing circles, as if sensing the scepticism in her mind. He was still wary of her sisters, unwilling to trust their word so easily.

But he was also willing to take her lead on this.

Azriel was many things, but he respected boundaries and choices. He would always give her the space and the time she needed to deal with things her own way, while still being a steadying presence, a quiet strength by her side.

Despite his reservations, he was trying hard to keep his own anger and opinions to himself. But she knew him well enough to sense the tension in his body, the way his muscles kept clenching and unclenching, evidence of the restraint it was taking him to keep quiet.

The others in the room likely noticed it as well. Nesta and Elain were both discreetly watching him, their expressions wary. Even Cassian, who was usually oblivious to these things, was stealing quick glances in his direction.

“Just… just give me some time,” she said quietly, her eyes flickering to each of her sisters in turn. They all nodded, their faces solemn.

Cassian was the next to speak, his voice uncharacteristically soft. "Take as much time as you need, Zahra.”

It was strange, hearing a tone from the usually brash and boisterous general she hadn’t thought him capable of. But his words were genuine, his expression sincere. And coming from Cassian, saying that was just one more reminder of how much her relationship with her sisters had been damaged.

Azriel's hand on her back squeezed briefly, a silent signal of his agreement.

The others remained quiet, their gazes flickering between her and Azriel. It was a strange dance they were all doing, a careful balancing act of emotions and words left unsaid.

But it was something. Something closer to peace than she ever thought she would have.

"Whatever you need," Rhysand promised, fiercely. The High Lord’s voice was firm and unwavering, the power evident in his words.

Zahra could sense the sincerity in them, the genuine regret and determination. It wasn’t enough yet, not nearly enough after all that had happened, but it was a start.

It was something.

The support from her sisters, the promises from Rhysand and Cassian…

They were something. A foundation to start rebuilding on.

The road to forgiveness would be long and rocky, she was sure of that.

Azriel's hand on her back squeezed again, silently reassuring her.

Her eyes met his for a brief moment, the look in them speaking more than any words could.

In the warm, deep hazel of his eyes she saw worry, determination, a hint of anger and a lot of love. She saw acceptance and support, understanding and patience.

And she knew that no matter what she decided, no matter how long it took her, he would be there with her. Always.

***

Notes:

I could probably write another 16 chapters in this story, but I do feel like right now it's an alright space to stop. A bit of an open ending, with a kinda hopeful look in the future.

#acotar fanfiction #azriel x oc #azriel x reader #azriel fanfiction #azriel fanfic #Azriel x Archeron!Reader #Stars all aligned

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erenjaegerwifee · 4 months ago

Text

Summers In Pandora 🌸 Day 5 - Jealousy

Paring: Neteyam x Fem!Omatikaya!Reader

Summary: Neteyam wants your attention but you’re too busy giving it to someone else

Warnings: MDNI 18+, established relationship, jealous neteyam, rough sex, explicit language, orals (f receiving), p in v, neteyam getting mad he keeps getting interrupted,

Word Count: 2.5k

Index: kelku - house, sevin - pretty

Disclaimer: All my characters are aged-up! If this makes you uncomfortable feel free to scroll and don’t read!

Main M.list | Event M.list

“Baby come on, just the tip” Neteyam’s hands roamed your body as your stood in front of the mirror of your kelku fixing your top while you get ready for your daily clan duties. Neteyam should always be getting ready but he seems to rather rut against your ass begging to fuck because he woke up with a ranging boner.

“Nete, we have to leave I’m gonna be late for class.” you loved your job in the clan, it mainly consisted of teaching young healers but you like to help out wherever you can. You and Neteyam have been in a relationship for the pass 3 years, you both just turned 19 so you thought it was bit immature to mate so soon. Even thought you were not opposed to the idea; both your parents told you to wait until you turned 21.

It has been about a year now you and Neteyam moved in together and it has been wonderful, you never realized before how horny he is until you started living together, not that you’re complaining. He is so active during the day and still he tries to fuck you every chance he gets. “Baby please I won’t take long” his hands squeezed the skin on your waist as he kissed your neck trying to convince you to get naked with him.

You almost gave in before you head a knock on the wood next to your kelku doorway flap. “y/n are you ready? We're gonna be late” you heard Neteyam hiss at the voice on the other side of the tent. One of your newer students has taken it upon himself to follow you around like a tail. Which often meant he walked you to the healer's hut and back every day.

Neteyam hated every part of it, why is this boy walking you around like you don’t have a man to do it for you. He doesn’t like it one bit. Neteyam was so tired of him showing up at your shared kelku as if he doesn't know Neteyam also lives there. He let go of you and threw on his towel on hastily around his hips matching towards the entrance flap, neteyam swings it open coming face to face with the man himself. “Why do you keep coming here? Can’t you give her space and wait until she gets to the fucking healers hut then see her? I am very much capable of walking my woman to and from her working station boy.”

“When she tells me to leave her alone then I will until then you can’t tell me what to do” he sounded like a spoiled child.

“Boy don’t make me pull rank on you, that is my wife-”

“Girlfriend, that's your girlfriend. I still have a shot”

Neteyam was about to knock him on his ass when you ran out of the kelku towards him, “Neteyam no, don’t hurt him he’s harmless”

“Harmless? You call this harmless? He's basically a stalker.” Neteyam tries to walk around you but you place your hands on his chest, “No no stop baby come on, I have to go I’ll come by and see you a little later, ok? Go get ready for training” every pause in your sentence you kissed his both cheeks so he would calm down. With a sigh you know he was going to let you go.

Neteyam wrapped his arm around you and kissed you deeply on the lips, he tilted his head sticking his tongue in your mouth as if her was stacking claim in front of the other man, you melt into him so easily, you always loved it when he kissed you, when he did anything to you.

You pull away from and breath and gave him one last peck before saying goodbye for the day, you send him a sweet smile as you walked away with the boy trailing behind you like a puppy. Neteyam watch you walk your perfect figure away from him, sighing before walking back into the hut to get ready for the day.

“Seriously you need to stop doing that, I’m not gonna be there to save you one day and Neteyam will knock you on your ass with his little finger.” you express to the boy. His ears pinned back as he nodding to your words, he never intended to make up upset, but seeing you with another man just makes him angry.

“I’m sorry...” he said in a small voice, “It’s fine but you need to watch your behavior around him, it’s bad enough as it is” you told him as you walk into the healer's hut to start your lesson. After it was over you make your way to the training grounds to see Neteyam.

When you get there, you watch him spar with another warrior and you say hi to his father and his brother, “Hey Mr. Sully, Lo’ak how’s it going?” they turn towards you and greet your back, “y/n how many times have I told you that you can call me Jake, or dad. You're my daughter in law.”

“Oh, not yet dad, he has competition now” Lo’ak raised his eyebrows at you making jake raise a questioning eyebrow you. You turn back to look at your future mate sparring with the other warrior, “What did you hear?” you asked Lo’ak. “I hear that Neteyam is deeply frustrated about the puppy dog that follows you around.” his comment made you laugh.

“Lo’ak please, I don’t want anyone but Neteyam he has no competition.” you turn your head to admire you boyfriend’s godly figure. “Why don’t you just tell him to leave you alone?” Jake asked, “Well dad, I don’t want to hurt his feelings, or make it weird he is one of mt students, I’d hate to have to teach someone who resents me” you sigh and Jake nodded.

“I mean, I can see where he’s annoyed even now, I hate it when my wife has to associate herself with other men” Jake told you. “Oh, so he got the jealousy from you?” you laugh then Neteyam walked up to you three, “hi baby” he wrapped an arm around your waist to pull you close and kiss you. “Hello bro, we aren’t also standing right here”

“Shut up Lo’ak, so baby lesson’s over? Wanna go home and have lunch?” he asked you. “Sure, let’s go” you held his hand as he led the way to your shared kelku. He walked in behind you closing the flap and pulling you close to by your waist and kissing you, “Neteyam hm, I thought we were having lunch” you said in between kisses. Neteyam picked you up and you wrapped your legs around his slim waist, “yea baby I’m gonna eat”

He laid you down on the hammock that sat in your common area, he didn’t want to wait to make it to your bed. Neteyam got down on the floor between your legs and pushed your loincloth up taking in the view of your pussy. You had a blush on your face looking down at him between your legs and without warning he just buried his head into your pussy flicking your clit with his tongue.

Neteyam slid his tongue up your folds while he ran his hands up your body under your top toying with your nipples. The sensation drives you mad and you throw your head back with a moan of his name, “fuck nete-” he sucked on your clit in the way he knows you like it, “yea sevin, you taste so good” Neteyam laps up all your juices, flicking on your clit you were so close to coming when your kelku flap burst open.

“Y/n? Are you here? Tsahik said she needs yo-” your puppy dog says as he walks in seeing Neteyam’s head dipped between your thighs. You scramble to pull the throw blanket over your legs and Neteyam’s head hiding him from view. Neteyam slide out from under the blanket menacingly, he turned his head to the boy standing at his kelku entrance. “I’m giving you one second, run away or I will hurt you.”

Neteyam’s lips glistened with your juices even while he spoke to the boy and sent him running away from your kelku. When neteyam turned back to you, you had the blanket up to your nose and you were crouched up under it looking at Neteyam. He was pissed he had enough if this situation, for weeks you have been saying that puppy dog was harmless but it seems you were wrong. Neteyam had no idea he was so comfortable barging into your kelku. How often does he do that?

“Baby, was that the first time he came in like that?” you hesitated before shaking your head ‘no’. “He did it before, while you were training, but I promised nothing happened.” Neteyam straighten his back and gritted his teeth, “It doesn’t matter if nothing happened when did he get so fucking comfortable to burst in here like that? And only when I’m not around, I bet he thought I wasn’t here when he did it.” you shrug your shoulders not knowing if talking would make the situation better or worse. Truthfully you didn’t know what brought on his behavior, but you didn’t want Neteyam to get upset so you never told him. “And you didn’t think to tell him to stop coming into your private space?”

You heard it in his voice, he was pissed about this, he had every reason to be as well, “why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want you to get upset”

“Fuck Y/n did he ever see you in any kind of intimate positions when he bargained in?” his voice was strained but you decided not to lie. “Uhm well, not really, the first time I was making lunch for when you would come home to eat and I wearing that robe you made for me, the silky one. After that he kept coming back every couple days, he never ventured in he stayed by the doorway.”

Neteyam rubbed his hand over his face, you liked that robe, ever since he made it for you, you loved to wearing it, but you usually did so without any clothes underneath, and Neteyam loved coming home to his naked girlfriend only covered in the thin piece of silk. He thought your nipples looked so cute against the cool fabric, the way they printed out sent him mad.

It wasn’t your fault, you didn’t know you were accidently flashing the boy, it was his fault so not respecting your space but he’ll teach him a lesson right after he does you. For keep secrets. Neteyam ripped the blanket off your body and stood up tossing it to the side, he took a step back and ordered you, “stand you, strip”

He watched you get up and strip off your clothes for him. Your hands moved to cross over your chest but he stopped your quickly placing his hands on your wrist and pulling them apart, “no don’t hide these from me.” Neteyam walked up to you and places his hands on your tits playing with them and he brought his mouth to yours kissing you.

You whimper into his mouth as he kneads the flesh of your tits, he tugs at your nipples making them hard and sensitive. You thought he might take you to the bedroom but instead he picked you up and sat on the hammock seating you in his lap. Neteyam didn’t break the kiss though, his hands move down your body touching everything he can.

He always was such a passionate lover; always make you feel loved when he touched you. “Neteyam-”

“Shh baby, I’m tired of being interrupted, I want some time with you, need to show everyone who you really belong too” his lips moved down to your neck sucking on your skin, he leaves deep purple marks and pulls away to admire his work every time before moving on and making another one. He kissed you down sucking on tits flicking his tongue on your nipple.

You squirm in his lap and thread your hands through his braids keeping him close to you, Neteyam takes one of your hands out of his hair and brings it down to his cock, you didn’t even realize when he took off his loincloth. You gripped his thick cock squeezing it before bringing your other hand down to stroke it with both hands. Neteyam whimpers feeling your soft palm on his cock.

He moved away from your nipples and back up to kiss your lips twirling his tongue around yours. He pulled away from the kiss but his lips still touched yours as he said, “spit on it”

You tilt your head down spitting on his cock rubbing your slit over his length. Neteyam lifted your hips up and over his cock lining you up before he slowly lowered you down on his length. Your jaw was slack as you looked down at him but he wasn’t looking at you, he was looking down at his cock disappearing inside your cunt. “Always so tight baby”

His eyes dart back up to your face when you bottom out and moan, he gives you a minute to adjust before he is lifting your hips up and down on him. Neteyam loved watching you on top, it’s probably one of his favorite positions. He loved watching your tits bounce in his face. Neteyam quicken his pace bouncing you faster on him listening to the way your moans got louder and the way you stuttered out those pretty ahs for him.

“Listen baby, you listening?” he said as he sets a pace for you. “You. Will. Not. See. Him. Again. Do I make myself clear?” Neteyam said every word each time bouncing you in his cock. You clenched down on him at his words, you always did love it when he got possessive for you.

“Oh-okk, ok” you chanted. “Let me hear you say it you’re not gonna what?”

“Not. Gonna. See. Him” you stutter out on his cock. Neteyam smiled at your submissive nature knowing you’d never get like this for anyone but him, “good fucking girl.” Just then he saw a figure outside his doorway flap, someone was peeking through. He recognized the boy immediately and decided to have a little fun with it.

“Oh Eywa fuck, fuck yea” you moan getting close to your orgasm making Neteyam smile watching you lose yourself on him.

“Tell me baby, who owns you?” he smiles up at you even though you weren’t really in your right mind. “Yours-you Neteyam!” you screamed his name while cuming hard on his cock gushing your juices on his thighs. “One more time baby say it again who owns you?” he said, his voice was strained he was getting close too. “You Nete- you!” you mewl in overstimulation as he cums deep in you. Your jaw went slack once more as he held you down on him to take him seed, he drops his head on your shoulder kissing your neck as his dick pumps cum inside you. You felt him twitch when he bites down on your neck softly feeling the way you clenched down on him.

With his tongue on your neck, he looks over your shoulder and saw the boy was gone. He really hopes he got his point across this time as he plays with the end of your tail that’s wrapped around his forearm.

🌸 I hope you all enjoyed reading! I have tons of fun with this one! If you didn’t know before I’m a Neteyam girl at heart!

🌸Reblogs, comments and likes are always appreciated!

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flemingology · 2 months ago

Text

loving every curve ─ leah williamson x reader

in which: you learn to be intimate again with leah after your pregnancy

warnings: smut (18+), fingering (r receiving), oral (r receiving), dirty talk, language, post-pregnancy insecurities, body dysmorphia

wc: 4.9K

a/n: I was going to queue this for friday but I couldn't wait LOL. hope you all enjoy!

Pregnancy with Leah was a journey that you wouldn't trade for the world. You and your wife had been unsuccessful a couple times with the IVF journey, so when one day you received the good news, the both of you were on top of the world and couldn't wait to meet the little wonder that was going to be growing in your belly.

It was pure bliss, really. Ever since you found out you were pregnant, Leah had stepped into a role that you'd never seen her take up before. She was a very caring person before, but she had stepped that up a notch. It came to a point where you even had to tell her to refrain a little, that you were more than capable of going to work and doing household chores in the first months of your pregnancy – Leah was reluctant to give in, but when she noticed after a few weeks that she wouldn't be able to keep up with the household chores compared with her busy footballing schedule, she gave in.

As the months passed, and you started experiencing the hardships of pregnancy, Leah was the perfect partner. She would be by your side every time you were heaving up your breakfast, wouldn't leave your side if you were feeling weak and would be experiencing blood sugar drops, she would accommodate to all of your cravings – meaning she would sometimes drive to the shop at 3am, eyes still full of sleep, but on a mission to get you pickles and mustard, because that was seemingly what your stomach made you crave that night.

One of the hardest things, though, that you didn't expect, was how wary you were of your body changing. The first couple months nothing visibly changed, not until you started showing. You and Leah loved the little bump in your stomach, a testament to the little life that was growing in your belly. But as the months passed and your stomach started to grow more and more, came the big visible changes on your body. You were well aware that you were going to put on weight and that your body wouldn't look the way it had before you grew pregnant, but you were still in your head about it.

The stretch marks, the bloated feeling, the swollenness – that accompanied with naturally heightened emotions, it wasn't nice. You knew that it was normal and that it was only happening because your body had to accommodate for the child that was growing inside of you, but you couldn't get it out of your head.

Leah reassured you every day that she thought you were beautiful, that you'd never looked this good throughout the 5 years of your relationship. She would tell you about the "pregnancy glow" all the time, and would claim that she'd fallen in love with you over and over again ever since you started to show.

You thought it was going to be better after you'd given birth, but the stretch marks and the loose skin didn't magically disappear – you had certainly hoped it would. You'd stuck to applying cream to your stretch marks throughout your whole pregnancy, so you knew the skin would form back to normal rather sooner than later, but you still found it hard to look at yourself in the mirror. The body you had worked so hard for over the last couple years was no longer there, and as much as you had a lovely little baby boy to show for it, you couldn't help but miss it.

It was Friday night, set date night for Leah and you. It was the first time since the birth of your son that the two of you would be going out for date night, rather than staying in. Amanda had taken him for the night, very excited about the prospect of her grandson staying with her for the first time.

You were in your bedroom, looking through the options in your wardrobe, struggling to pick out what to wear. Truthfully, you didn't know what you would even fit in, at this moment in time. You'd lost some of your pregnancy weight but certainly not all of it, and you weren't sure if you would fit into any of the dresses that you owned. You'd tried a couple, to no avail. You wanted to look good, look good for you and look good for your wife, who had been nothing but exceptional to you the past 9 months and more.

You heard a soft padding of footsteps up the stairs, Leah probably noticed that you had been in there for quite some time. She entered your bedroom and you couldn't help but feel remorseful when you shot her a look. She was clad in a straight black pair of trousers, combined with a white, sleeveless top. A very simple outfit, but she looked amazing. She had her hair down, a welcome change to the ponytail she always had it in.

"Hey baby, you good? Just checking, you've been in here for quite some time now," Leah said softly, body leaning against the doorframe. You shot her a defeated look. "I don't know, Le. Nothing fits me anymore, I don't know what to wear," you vaguely gestured towards your wardrobe. You nearly missed the pitiful look that crossed your girlfriend's face before she made her way over to you, wrapping her arms around your waist from behind, leaning her chin on your shoulder.

"What about that one," Leah proposed, pointing towards a yellow dress that she gifted you for your anniversary last year. "Tried, it's too tight on my thighs," you responded. She hummed, looking elsewhere. "The red one," she questioned, met with another shake of your head. "Nope, felt like it was suffocating me," Leah nodded, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. "How about just a pair of jeans and a shirt then, hmm?"

"None of my jeans fit me, Le. Why do you think I've been walking around in sweatpants the past two weeks," you said, a slight hint of annoyance clear in your voice. "Okay, I'm sorry," she said softly, rubbing her hands over your stomach appreciatively. Before long, she turned you around in her grip, looking you into the eye.

"Would you rather stay home instead, chill on the couch and watch a film, that works for me too," Leah proposed. You casted your gaze down. That sounded perfect, but you didn't want to take this away from her and from you both. You knew how excited Leah had been for today, the day accentuated with a red circle on the calendar that hung in your home office. It'd been ages since the both of you spent some quality time outside the house, finally finding a vacant spot that you two wanted to make use of as best as possible.

She took your chin in between her thumb and index finger, slowly pushing your head back up. She placed one of her hands on the side of your face, rubbing your cheek affectionately. You braved a look at her, eyes slightly watery. "Are you sure," you questioned, but before you could express yourself further, Leah was already nodding. "I'm sure. All I want is to be with you, and I want you to be comfortable. We've got plenty of time together to go out for dinner, but if you'd rather stay in tonight, then we're staying in," she said, putting a strand of hair behind your ear. She wiped away a stray tear that had escaped your eye, pressing a soft kiss against the wet trail it had left behind.

"Come on, love, I'll change real quick and then we can get comfortable on the couch, hmm? I'll order us some food and then we can just enjoy a chill evening together, how's that sound," she said, her gaze still holding yours. You nodded, burying your face in the crook of her neck. "Perfect," you mumbled, earning an appreciative chuckle from your blonde lover who was rubbing her hands up and down your back affectionately.

A couple moments later you made your way downstairs, now dressed in a pair of fuzzy sweatpants and one of Leah's old Arsenal hoodies. You threw some of your softest blankets on the couch and made the both of you a cup of tea, that you were placing on the coffee table by the couch just as Leah came down too, having changed into something more forgiving than what she was wearing before.

"Mm, you read my mind," she said as she walked over, grabbing her mug from the table and taking a swig of her tea. "Just how I like it, thank you baby," she pressed a sweet, lingering kiss on your lips before pulling away and ordering some food.

"Pizza sound good?", she asked. "Pizza sounds great."

Your night went on quietly, the two of you cuddled up on the couch watching a show you'd discovered together, eating your pizza and stealing kisses from each other now and then.

When the third episode you watched in a row was coming to an end, Leah shifted her body so you were now laying on top of her instead of between her legs. She looked you in the eye and pushed a strand of hair behind your ears, a soft, loving gaze looking over you. "I love you, baby. So much," she started. "I don't care if we're out eating at a fancy restaurant or ordering pizza and binge watching our show, as long as you're my company, I don't care what we do," she smiled, pressing a soft kiss against the tip of your nose.

"You're the best, Le. Thank you for being so understanding. And thank you for being the best mum our baby boy could've wished for," at this, you could see Leah's eyes growing wet with unshed tears, forever emotionally affected when her son was mentioned. You grabbed her face in both hands and leaned in closer, pressing a firm kiss against her warm lips. She tasted salty, testament of a tear that managed to escape right before you leaned in.

Leah was the one who broke the kiss after a couple moments, you chasing her lips as you couldn't get enough of her. She chuckled before speaking up, "You're amazing. You carried this little human being inside your stomach for 9 months and then gave birth to it, bringing life to our son. I'm so proud of you and I'm way beyond amazed at what you did. You're wonderful, mama," the new nickname caused a tingle in your chest, but it also sent a shot of arousal somewhere deeper, something you didn't expect to happen.

Your breath hitched and you pulled back a little, cheeks flushing slightly red, to which Leah cocked an eyebrow at you. "Oh?", she questioned, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. "That was an interesting reaction," she teased further, placing her hands on your thighs that were on each side of her body, now straddling her.

"Shut up," you said, throwing your head back and looking up at the ceiling. "I'll keep that one in mind," she said before pulling you back down to her, clasping her hands together at the back of your neck and pulling you into a heated kiss. Her lips were firm against yours, her tongue swiping across your bottom lip soon enough to ask for permission. You eagerly granted her that, opening your mouth to which you couldn't hold back a soft moan. Leah's tongue explored your mouth, kissing you with a fervor she hadn't for a while.

Truth be told, Leah and you hadn't really done anything like this since the birth of your son. You and your body were still exhausted from the pregnancy and as much as you wanted to be intimate with her, both the tiredness and the insecurity had held you both back. Leah had been patient, she had been incredible and hadn't pushed for anything. She knew you wanted to take things back up on your own accord and that's why she gave you space. But now, with her toned body beneath you, her hands roaming all over your upper body and her tongue licking into your mouth, you couldn't help but feel the arousal building between your legs.

"Le, please," you whimpered, sounding embarrassingly desperate after only a few minutes of kissing and wandering hands. She pulled away, a frown etched onto her face. "What's wrong, baby, are you okay?", she asked, worry laced into her voice. You grunted. "God, yeah, I'm more than okay. I-," you took a deep breath and looked her in the eyes. "I need you."

Leah's eyes widened slightly at your words, the look of surprise quickly changing into something else, a playful glint now appearing in her eyes. "Yeah? You sure?", she asked, more out of politeness than actual concern, her hands already starting to wander up your chest, inching closer towards your breasts.

Leah had always been more of a boob than bum girl, and safe to say she was devastated to learn throughout your pregnancy that any of her touches in that area caused you to wince due to the sensitivity of them.

You nodded sheepishly, closing your eyes when you felt Leah's hands grazing your boobs. Despite still clothed, you could feel goosebumps starting to form across your back, your body clearly affected by the slightest of touches provided by the woman tucked underneath you.

"Let's go upstairs, you might be a bit more comfortable", Leah said as she pulled her hands away from you. You knew she was only being mindful of you and your body, but truth be told – you couldn't care less now. You needed her and you needed her now.

You grumbled in response, leaning your head down into the juncture between Leah's shoulders and neck, starting to roll your hips against hers. You heard how Leah's breath hitched, fingers digging into your hips at the sensation. "Needy, huh?", she teased, to which you sunk your teeth into her neck, pulling a hiss out of your girlfriend before soothing the sing with a languid lick of your tongue.

"God, I missed you," Leah whimpered. "I missed this and I missed you, I missed the feeling of your body on top of me," she continued, her words clearly affecting you as you could feel the arousal between your legs growing. Before long, Leah sat the two of you up straight before sliding from underneath you, throwing her legs over the edge of the couch and getting up. "I was serious when I told you I wanted to go upstairs, baby," she smirked, holding her hands out for you to take, hoisting you up from the couch and leading the two of you upstairs to your bedroom.

As much as the touches were hungry and fleeting downstairs on the couch, the air had changed now. Leah's actions were slow, deliberate, calculated. Like she had planned this out weeks ago, like she knew exactly what she wanted to do to have you unraveling underneath her touch.

She closed the door behind you and was back onto you within a moment, wrapping her arms around your waist and kissing down the nape of your neck, licking a couple stripes from your upper back up until your ear, softly nipping on your earlobe which caused a low moan to fall from your lips.

You moved your arms behind you, steading yourselves by grabbing Leah's thighs. She continued her ministrations, kissing and licking across all your sensitive spots – she hadn't forgotten anything about how to properly please you. She still knew your body like the back of her hand; knew where to kiss, knew where to lick, knew where to touch.

But just in a second, the vibe hanging between the two of you had flipped completely. Leah manoeuvred the two of you towards the bed, but whilst doing so you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. It wasn't much, and it certainly wasn't long, but it brought the insecurities back from a couple hours ago that Leah had meticulously been working away.

Whereas you had been leaning into your girlfriend's touches and affection, you were now subtly pulling away, not trying to make it too obvious what was happening. You didn't want to get in your head about this. You wanted to enjoy this moment. You needed this, really. But you couldn't keep the thoughts at bay, and they were consuming your brain. You became too aware of your skin under Leah's fingertips, and you held a hand to her chest just before she could push you down onto the mattress.

Leah thought you needed a break for some air, but when you leaned your head down against her chest, she knew this was more than that. You couldn't see, but you knew a concerned frown would be etched onto your girlfriend's face. You felt bad, too. Downstairs, you had seen how excited she got when you told her you needed her – the twinkle in her eye gave everything away. One of your hands fisted Leah's shirt, desperately trying to ground yourself while your thoughts were running rampant around your head.

"Hey, hey, baby are you okay?", Leah tried, slowly coaxing your head away from her chest and pushing it back to eye-level. "Did I do anything wrong, did I hurt you?", you could hear how her voice was filled with concern, clearly thinking she was the one that caused you to want to take a step back.

"No, Le. It's not you," you took a deep breath. "It's me," you looked her in the eyes and continued speaking. "I'm just so self-conscious of my body and I don't know if I want you to see it like this," you took her hand in yours and played with her fingers. "I know you've seen it before, and you've definitely seen it since pregnancy, but not in this situation. And it's just got me in my head," you finished, the feeling of embarrassment not letting you go just yet.

Leah breathed out a sigh of relief before she moved around you, sitting down on the bed and patting her thighs, signaling you to come sit on her lap. You followed her instructions, sitting sideways on her lap, your arms around her neck. She gave you a second to get comfortable before she spoke. "You're beautiful, baby. I know these may be empty words but I promise you that I mean it. Your body is the living proof of the little boy you brought to life – that's an incredible achievement."

She held your gaze, trying to get through to you. "This, right here," she pointed between you and her. "is more than just based on pure bodily attraction. Yes, I still find you incredibly attractive. If anything, I find you more attractive than I did before your pregnancy, but I'm also just so in love with you. And that's not just based on how you look or how you feel beneath me, that's about you. You as a person, as a friend, as a lover and especially as a mother. I want to make love to you because you're you, not because you have a toned abdomen or because you have a bicep bulge." Leah held your face between her hands and pulled you closer to her, pressing a sweet kiss against your forehead. "Now, if you let me, let me show you just how much I love you, please."

You rested your forehead against her and exhaled deeply, affected by Leah's words. You gathered your thoughts and looked up at her, giving her a slight nod. She smiled. "I'll be gentle, I promise," you reciprocated her smile and leaned back in to her, softly pressing your lips against hers.

A couple moments later Leah shifted the two of you so you were now underneath her instead of on your lap, and brought you up the bed so you were resting comfortably against the pillows. "Good?", she questioned, you bit your lip and nodded. "Yeah, perfect."

Leah positioned her body on top of you, careful not to rest any weight on you. She placed her thighs on either side of your hips, leaning her head down and starting all over again. She pressed kisses against your cheeks, your nose, your neck, your jawline and eventually started moving down your body. Her hands wandered all over your clothed upper body, causing goosebumps to form over your skin.

"Can I take this off, love?", Leah questioned, looking you in the eye as she was playing with the hem of your hoodie. You slightly nodded, but your girlfriend didn't seem satisfied with the lack of response. "I'm gonna need words, baby," she continued, to which you verbally responded yes. "Good girl," she said quietly under her breath, but you caught it and you felt a jolt of arousal course through your body.

She took off your hoodie, revealing your upper body that was only covered by a bra now. "This too?", she asked, to which you seemed a bit more hesitant. "We can leave it on too, I don't mind," she reassured you, but you knew you'd have to get over it anyway. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. You trusted her. She loved you and you knew that. "No, it's fine. Go ahead, please," you said.

Leah put an arm around your back and helped you up, unclasping your bra with the other hand – she couldn't conceal the smug grin growing on her face as she expertly removed your bra with one hand. "Still got it, huh," she teased, followed by you rolling your eyes and laying back against the pillows. "Shut it, Williamson."

Leah let her gaze fall to your chest, and she took a deep breath. "God, you're beautiful," she said, before leaning in closer. She seemed a little hesitant to connect her lips to your nipple, but any insecurity melted away once you tangled one of your hands into her blonde locks and tugged her against you.

A heady moan fell from your lips when Leah's warm mouth enveloped your nipple, the other one being rolled between her thumb and index finger. Her tongue flicked over the sensitive peak and you felt yourself involuntarily bucking into her. "Fuck, Le, that feels so good. I missed you," Leah hummed against you, the vibrations against your chest sending jolts of pleasure down to your core.

She let your nipple go with a pop and turned her attention to the other one, expertly sucking and flicking the nub until she felt she had adequately teased you. She came back up, lowering her body down on the bed as her head now rested on your stomach. "Can I take your sweats off, baby?", she asked, still mindful of getting consent from you for every thing she did. You appreciated it, but you'd come to a point where you just wanted her to get over with it. "Yes, Le, please," you whimpered. In other situations you would probably be embarrassed at how desperate your voice sounded, but you couldn't care less now.

Leah understood the need in your voice, and took both your sweatpants and underwear off in one swift movement. "So gorgeous," Leah mumbled under her breath. She came back up your body and leaned her head against the inside of your thigh, slowly pushing the other one open with her hand. "Still okay?", she asked. "More than okay, Le. Please, I need you. Really need you," you grumbled.

Leah took the hint and wasted no more time in getting down to it, burying her face into your heat and licking a long stripe from your entrance up until your clit. You let out a loud moan at the sensation, core already sensitive from how long it had been since you had been touched like that. "Fuck, Leah, just like that," you managed to get out, hands covering your eyes as you were overwhelmed by how good it felt.

Leah sucked, licked, kissed expertly, making sure not a single part of your pussy was left untouched. She shuffled between your legs and made place for her arm, two of her fingers now teasing your entrance as she was sucking on the sensitive, swollen bud of nerves sitting proudly at the top of your folds.

You could tell she was teasing you, fingers ever so slightly dipping in but pulling out before you could even properly feel it. You bucked your hips into her, trying to get some friction from her fingers. Leah chuckled and before you could register it, she inserted her fingers into you completely, the two of you moaning at the feeling.

"Oh, fuck," your breath hitched in your throat when Leah pulled back out, before pushing her fingers inside again. "Fuck, baby, that's so good. You feel so good inside of me," you continued, before a particularly good thrust of your fingers caused you to let out another wanton moan.

"You're so tight, love. I can tell it's been a while, you feel so good. I love making you feel good and I love seeing the faces you make while I'm fucking you," Leah had always been more on the vocal side during sex and you absolutely loved it, especially in moments like these where you needed a little more reassurance. Leah kept pumping her fingers in and out of you, not letting up by any means when she heard your moans grow higher in pitch.

"You're gonna make me cum, Le, please don't stop," you said, the ever so familiar sensation growing in your stomach. "Tell me you're beautiful," Leah said. Your eyes flew open and a confused frown etched onto your face, trying to process her words while she was still slamming into you with fervor. "I said, tell me you look beautiful. I'm not letting you cum before you tell me you look beautiful," she continued, sounding very determined.

You threw your head back and grunted, trying your hardest to keep your orgasm at bay – not the easiest of tasks with Leah going back to sucking your clit. "Please, Le," you pleaded, wanting nothing more than to release all the tension that was building up in your body.

Leah hummed against you in disapproval before detaching her mouth from your core. "It's easy, darling. Just tell me you're beautiful."

You grumbled, "fuck, I'm beautiful," you said, hoping she would finally let you cum now.

"Again," Leah said, speeding up her thrusts a bit more while looking you in the eyes. "Tell me again. Look me in my eyes and tell me again."

"I'm beautiful," you said again, tears welling up in your eyes with the intensity of pleasure that was coursing through your veins.

"One more time. Tell me one more time and I'll let you cum," Leah mumbled under her breath, before dipping her head back into your core, nuzzling herself deep, licking up and down your slit as she kept fingering you.

"I'm beautiful," you yelled, before you felt Leah give a tight squeeze against your thigh, signaling you that you were allowed to cum. Within seconds the coil in your belly snapped, overwhelming your body with pure pleasure. Your back arched off the bed, Leah trying to keep you in place to help you ride out your high – her fingers still pumping in and out of you, now with less intensity than before. You let out a long, low moan when you came down from your orgasm, your body falling back against the pillows – spent.

You chuckled and looked down at your girlfriend, who was wearing a smug smile as she leaned her face against your inner thigh. "You're insatiable, Le", you said, before she slowly pulled her fingers out of your core, to which you hissed – a feeling of emptiness overcoming your senses. She made sure you were watching her as she sucked her digits off one by one, swallowing every last drop of cum you had left on her fingers.

You threw your head back and groaned, feeling a new spike of arousal go down to your core as you watched her sensually bob her mouth up and down her fingers. She came back up after a while, letting you catch your breath for a little while longer before she spoke.

"You really are beautiful, baby. And I love you so incredibly much. I'm proud of you. Thank you for allowing me to do this," you opened your eyes and caught her gaze just as she finished speaking. You leant in and pressed a passionate kiss against her lips, pouring every single ounce of love and adoration you had for the woman next to you into the kiss. "Thank you for doing this. I needed it more than I thought I did. Thank you for being patient," you finished.

"Glad I could make you feel good, mama," she quipped back, a teasing glint in her eye at the use of a nickname she knew you liked, a revelation she only discovered a couple hours ago.

Before long, she found yourself on top of you again and you went at it for a second round, and a third. And maybe, after a warm shower together, even a fourth.

#woso #woso community #woso imagine #woso x reader #leah williamson #leah williamson x reader #arsenal wfc #england wnt

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ragingbookdragon · 11 months ago

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(Wonderful render by @ave661 (if you've never seen her work, please go and check it all out!)

**********************************************************************

It’s a rare moment where Simon is home for longer than two weeks and she’s excited and ready for it. She’s more so ready to hand him the baby and take a straight two-day vacation where she could pretend she’s a normal human being who’s only friend isn’t a babbling child. Now, Simon was a good dad, called every night when he wasn’t busy and read their child a bedtime story over the phone, took on the majority of housework and shopping when he was home, but raising a child while your husband was halfway around the world was hard. She didn’t take anything of what her husband did for granted; she knew how hard he worked when he was home, knew he was every bit as capable of being a parent as she was—and he was.

Shopping on New Year’s Eve was hectic anywhere and it took her at least three hours to finally get into the store, shop, and get home. As she stepped into the flat, she noticed how quiet it was, and for a moment assumed that maybe her husband had taken their daughter out while she was gone. But after setting the bags down in the kitchen, she stepped into the living room and paused, a soft smile coming across her lips as she caught sight of Simon lying on the couch, their daughter curled up underneath one arm.

She pulled her phone out, quietly snapping a photo, and walked over, gently sitting down next to his hips; Simon stirred at the difference in weight and cracked an eye open, looking over at her beneath his hood.

“Love?” he murmured, and he started to shift but she stopped him with a hand on her arm.

“You don’t have to get up, baby,” she calmed, and softly ran her hand through her daughter's hair. “Have you both slept all day?”

“Mhm,” he said, curled into his daughter. “She’s been tired since she got up at one.”

She watched them and rested her hand on Simon’s arm, rubbing it. “It’s a quarter to five, you hungry?”

He nodded and let out a sigh, starting to move again. “Yeah, lemme get up and cook.”

“No, no,” she shushed, and firmly laid her hand down. “I’ll fix dinner, you stay.”

“But I do dinner when I’m on leave, love. You always make dinner.”

She smiled. “Let me take care of my loves, okay, babe?”

Simon blinked, looked at her and laid his head back down. “Okay.”

Bending over, she nudged his hoodie up a bit to press her lips to his temple. “You’re a good husband and daddy, Simon,” she whispered. “I’m so thankful for everything you do for us.” She felt the way heat drew along his skin and she smiled against him. “My perfect Simon,” she added. “The best husband and an even better daddy.”

Simon shifted until his eyes weren’t visible beneath his hood. “Go away,” he muttered, but the small grin on his lips said otherwise.

“I love you too,” she snorted.

Before she could pull away and stand up fully, she was pulled back and his lips brushed her cheekbone. “I love you.”

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klemen-tine · 1 year ago

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White Whale

Platonic!Yandere Batfam x Male!Deaf Reader

First Batfam post... this obsession for DC and specifically the Batfam has come out of nowhere and has me by the throat.

But here you guys go.

Thoughts

Sign/Morse Code

Speaking

TW: Hints at past attempted rape, disability discrimination

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Things have been quiet, but at the same time hectic, in the Wayne manor as of lately. Almost everyone was there, sharing the same space and eating the same meals. Almost. The third oldest brother, Y/N, was missing. It stung to say, but the truth of the matter was that he had run away. Leaving behind the external processor of his cochlear implants, and only taking a backpack of clothes. He had left behind the credit card Bruce gave to everyone, only taking out a large sum of cash the day before and booking it.

Only one note, ‘I’ll be fine.’ All the trackers left in a straight line on his bedside table, some still covered in blood from when he must have dug them out of his body. It made some of the family members wonder if Y/N had always been aware or if he had found them by chance.

It’s been three months, and everyone was about to go crazy. How could they not? Y/N, for how independent he was and capable, was deaf and has only known the Manor. Jason, the closest to Y/N, has been more vicious on the patrols and was constantly pacing back and forth in the library. Reading and rereading all of Y/N’s favorites (even though he hated them), and sometimes even just sitting in Y/N’s room. Taking in what he had left behind, barely taking any clothes, none of his electronics (his phone was still here), and one of his favorite books that he always kept in his room.

Jason’s going to put a tracker in that book once they get Y/N back.

Nevertheless, sometimes he just sits there. On Y/N’s bed, and takes in the room, sometimes he’s alone and sometimes he’s with a sibling. Every now and then he’ll see Bruce in here, thumbing through Y/N’s journals.

When Jason closes his eyes, could feel the ghost of Y/N’s touches, the feeling of Y/N’s smaller and thinner body resting against his as he read. Thin fingers gently pressed against Jason’s throat to feel the vibrations, picking up when Jason spoke in a higher or lower tone, laughing when he made an obnoxious voice for a character he absolutely loathed. Cold hands gently cupping his face under the sweaty red helmet, grounding Jason to the present.

Dick, as the eldest child, prided himself in being in-tune with his siblings. He would bend and twist himself to keep himself available and aware of his siblings' emotions. He was the guy everyone went to when things were wrong or they needed advice. So, he wonders what he did wrong for Y/N to leave without saying anything. Their third older brother never hinted at anything being wrong, or even any sign of him wanting to leave. There was no change in his moods, no change in interests, no major cash withdrawals besides the night he left.

His older brother instincts were stressed and have been stressed since his little brother had disappeared. In his hands, he fingered a silver stud that Y/N had left behind. Smart of him, because a small tracker was placed underneath the tourmaline gem. The blue hiding it wonderfully while also looking beautiful on Y/N’s skin. Decorating his ears that he had pierced himself (he can still hear Alfred’s outrage whenever he is reminded of that), and being the only piece of jewelry that they wanted him to wear.

Still, Dick had wished he had taken them. He wonders if Y/N knew about the trackers in these earrings, or the trackers in the pairs of shoes he left. If he did, the other did a great job in not letting anyone know. However, if he didn’t, then it made this all the more frustrating. How could their deaf, non-combatant, and to be frank average intelligence, brother get out of this heavily monitored manor? Tim had spent years upgrading the systems, making it stronger and stronger each time.

So, how? More importantly, why?

Dick couldn’t wrap his head around the reason why Y/N would want to leave. He’s fed great food, he has a nice bed, he can read great books, and he’s always surrounded by family. It’s not like they limited his time outside, he can basically come and go when he wants.

As long as he was back in the manor by nightfall, Y/N could go anywhere.

What sucked even more was that none of them had the slightest clue where he could be. Y/N could be dead for all they know.

Dick subdued that thought, having faith that the self-defense they had drilled into Y/N would keep him safe until they found him. However they all intimately know how unfair and unkind the world can be. Y/N, sweet and defenseless Y/N, was all alone somewhere in the world. The worst outcomes kept reappearing in his mind and playing on Y/N’s past traumas.

Why couldn’t his brother see that he was safest here? Everyone praised the Lord that Y/N expressed no interest in being a vigilante, and that his career of choice was instead choosing to be an editor. He took a gap year this year, which everyone rejoiced over. Y/N was a hard worker, and was someone who fully dived into things without taking a break. Like Tim.

Still, Dick wished Y/N would see what they saw. Y/N needs them, just like how they need Y/N. Dick flopped into the couch, thumbing through his photos and finding one of him and Y/N. When they do find him, they’re going to have to remind him where he belongs.

++++

Y/N took in the sun rays with a content smile. His once pale skin now has a slight tint to it, and his hair now lighter due to the sea water and sun. The white beaches reflect the warm rays and the blue waters look like familiar eyes. It took him a while to get used to being on his own, which was proof that he needed to do this. Never in his life has he felt so free.

The wind tossing his hair and the view of waves crashing on the shore had him smiling. The Moby Dick in his hands as he reread the pages, noting the post-it notes he had in it, jotting down his thoughts and musings. The Dominican Republic beaches were already something to die for, but here on the hidden beaches, where only a handful of people knew of its location, were worth killing for. Y/N looked back at the small bungalow he was renting, paying in cash to keep his name off the lease and only staying until March before he will leave for Europe, and smiled. A cute little thing that looked like it could topple at the slightest storm. The electricity was powered by a generator and there was no hot water. Maybe warm, but never hot. Which Y/N was shockingly fine with. It wasn’t like it was cold here like how it was in Gotham.

His biggest stressor was cooking. Which furthermore proved how he needed to do this. Out of all his brothers, he is the only one who doesn’t know how to cook. He can make the basics, like mac-n-cheese, ramen, rice, and basic pasta dishes. However, when his landlord had given him a fish to eat, Y/N stared at it with great embarrassment.

It’s not like he had a phone, or even the internet, to google it.

He had almost set the kitchen on fire but that’s something he’s not going to tell his landlord about.

Thankfully, despite how well-hidden this bungalow was, the community around was strong and well-receptive to him. When he first told them that he was deaf, which was completely by accident, he started getting free food and notepads to write on. However, no one treated him differently. He wasn’t coddled, besides once again the free meal every now and then but he’s positive that also has to deal with how frightened he looked when he was asked to help out with cooking one time, nor was he pestered.

As much as he loves his family, the Wayne family could be… a lot. Always around him, constantly monitoring him, coddling him like he was going to break at the slightest hint of him facing a struggle. Some of them unknowingly, or unintentionally, use his deafness against him as a reason why he couldn’t do certain things. He is grateful to Bruce for giving him his hearing somewhat back, the cochlear implants truly made life easier, but Y/N was curious about the part of him.

He lost his hearing at the age of 10, a gradual process that started when he was 8. The nerves in his ears deteriorated to the point not even the sound of a building explosion could be heard by him. Being deaf in East Gotham as a 10-year-old was basically a death sentence. It didn’t help that Y/N was naturally curious, meaning there were a lot of things he stuck his nose in that he shouldn’t have. It is only because of Jason that he is alive, which the other will always deny but Y/N stands by.

Jason and him had met when they were both 6, being neighbors with similar living conditions had made them close. Jason was with him when his hearing started to disappear, and he was with Jason when Catherine had died from an overdose. The two of them took to the streets and set up a small base in an abandoned building.

He was with him when they decided to steal the Batmobile's wheels, clinging onto Jason’s red hoodie when the local vigilante had lifted him up by the collar of said hoodie. Those eyes that peaked through the mask drifted from defiant blue eyes to terrified E/C eyes.

They had become twins, brothers with different last names and different birthdays, but twins nevertheless. Inseparable and always joined at the hips, only leaving each other when Jason went on patrol as Robin and Y/N chose to stay behind with Alfred. While Jason learned how to kick someone’s ass, Y/N learned how to treat them when their own asses got kicked.

He cried when Jason died. Sobbed and deteriorated as he slept in Jason’s room, and sobbed some more when he tried to read some of Jason’s books. He let Dick comfort him, taking him on daily excursions to the beach and riding on the back of his motorcycle. Bruce had read to him, just how Jason used to, and while it wasn’t the same he appreciated the man trying. Alfred continued to be the emotional support they all relied on him to be, and constantly patted his shoulders and baked him his favorite treats.

Y/N screamed at Bruce when he brought Tim back, stating that he was the new Robin. He made it clear he wasn’t mad at Tim, but Bruce. He gave the man the cold shoulder for weeks while making sure Tim was accommodated for. He cried again when Jason came back, hugging the other and cupping Jason’s older face between his hands. He rested a hand on Bruce’s shoulder when Damian showed up, feeling for him and showing emotions that Bruce could not.

Y/N loves his family with everything in him, and he knows that he is loved back. However, the love from one person was different from the love of multiple people. Y/N knows, is intimately aware, that their love is the type disguised as golden necklaces and stained glass windows. When in reality, they are chains and the gold bars of a cage. He knows they kept him dependent on them for life necessities, such as food, money, and a place to sleep.

He was never allowed to get a job. When he tried he was rejected or never called back. He was allowed to cook, but only the basics, as Alfred didn’t want him hurting himself. His curfew was before nightfall, meaning in winter 4:30 was when he had to be back inside the manor.

They gave him his hearing so the silence would continue to be deafening. It is why he left the external processors. Whether Y/N liked it or not, he was deaf. He is a part of that community, and it is about time he got used to that part of himself.

The young adult knows his family loves him, and wants to care for him, but as an adult he knows that he needs to learn some things about life on his own.

Bruce taught them all well. Alfred taught them all well. His older brothers and younger brothers taught him well. Y/N is ready for this. He has been for a while.

Closing his book, marking the page with the bookmark, he watched a sperm whale breach for only a moment before disappearing under the waves. Unable to hear the sound it made, but the sight of it was enough. He set the book down on the towel and made his way to the waters.

++++

It was an accident. It truly was. However, it was a happy accident that had everyone packing and getting ready for the trip.

One of Tim’s classmates had just returned from vacation, and she was showing photos of the sperm whales that gathered. Tim looked because it was shoved in his face, and he nearly snatched her phone out of her hand. In the back, dressed like a local, he was there. His eyes focused on the breach sperm whales, but Tim would recognize him from any angle in any get up.

He asked what beach she was at, and she said Playa Rincon, Dominican Republic. Y/N was in the Dominican Republic. But for what? Y/N has never shown any interest in the tropics or even the ocean in general. Sure he loves the beach, but that was it. Never has he expressed his desire to go to another country to experience it.

So, what could have been there that would draw Y/N in? With the amount of money he withdrew, he could have bought a plane ticket anywhere in the world, and he chose the Dominican Republic. Without a doubt using a fake idea, a fake name, and he was probably using a different name to either rent a place or buy a house.

Sure, they can all just go over, but if they do they would have to tear apart the country to find him. They work fast, but words can travel faster.

There has to be a reason why Y/N went. Something there that would at least narrow the search.

Tim looked around Y/N’s room, searching for anything that would give him a hint. Anything.

He glanced at the bookshelf where the only book missing was the Moby Dick. A book about how a group of whalers get bested by a giant sperm whale that is believed to be a god. It is a book about a Captain that has a self-destructive obsession with the white whale called the Moby Dick. Based on a true story of a crew on a ship called the Essex.

“I’ve always felt bad for the whale.” Tim raised an eyebrow, staring at his brother who was stroking their youngest brother’s head as Damian slept on. The book In the Heart of the Sea in between his thin fingers as he met Tim’s inquiring gaze.

“There is no proof as to why the whale rammed into the Essex, but many believe it was due to a mistake. The hammering in the hull of the ship sounded like another whale.” Tim signed, ‘But why do you feel bad?’ Y/N smiled, “Because, not only were they being hunted but now a book written about how this one whale is the reason a reputable Captain goes mad really does paint them in a bad light.”

‘Whaling has been outlawed.’

“Still, I bet this book only increased it for a while.” Tim watched Y/N bookmark his page, closing the book before returning his hands to Damian’s head.

‘Do you like sperm whales?’ Y/N beamed, “I do. They really are such an amazing animal, I hope I get to see one in person.”

Tim stood straighter, pulling out his phone and doing a quick Google search. The Dominican Republic is the only place where sperm whales stay all year.

“There’s no way.”

“What.” Tim brushed past Damian, rushing down to the Batcave and ignoring the glare the youngest sent him. It didn’t take long to find whale sighting information. It took even less time to find the pattern. Series of reds, blue, yellows, and green decorating the waters around Dominican Republic. The red dots were where the most recent sights were, and he stared at the location his classmate was at when they saw the whale. Where Y/N’s photo was accidentally taken.

There is only one spot that the red dots haven’t reached yet, and if the pattern stayed true, they had about two to three days.

Tim fished out his phone, calling Bruce, “I know where Y/N is.”

+++

Bruce loves his sons. He would risk himself for them and would do everything in his power to ensure they are safe. Yes, they had been Robins, yes Jason had died, yes his and Dick’s relationship was still rocky, but damn did he love them.

He stared at a photo of when Y/N and Jason were 13, 6 months freshly moved into the manor, and it was him and Dick standing on opposite sides of them. Jason grinning brightly, holding a more timid Y/N’s hand who was holding onto Bruce’s jacket. Dick was crouching next to Jason, laughing at something the other had said before the picture was taken. Y/N, when they first moved in, had been terribly shy. He always hid behind or stayed next to Jason, and watched Bruce and Alfred with hesitant eyes. Jason on the other hand was outspoken with his mistrust, but willing to comply with their rules for some things.

Bruce remembers when Y/N first helped Alfred dress their bruises and scratches. Alfred taking on a more unruly Jason, while Y/N helped with the minor stuff on Bruce. He had rubbed Y/N’s head with his ungloved hand afterwards, and he watched as those E/Cochromic eyes widened before a large smile took over his young face. Bright and happy with little care in the world.

He had wanted to keep that on Y/N’s face forever.

Bruce will be the first to admit that he didn’t do a great job in that. All his failures hung in front of him, and Y/N and Alfred were reminders that those failures didn’t affect just him. Yet, Bruce watched Y/N power on. Continuing to keep his chin up and shoulders back, taking on the new day with more determination.

Y/N had learned to be strong on his own, and while yes, Bruce is extremely and undeniably proud of him, he is also worried. Terrified. Something he shared with everyone else. The world is unkind to people who are different. It’s unkind to people in general, but to add in something about yourself that you cannot control and that is different from everyone else, it is terrible. Y/N, for how normal he pretends to be, is far from it.

It stresses Bruce out. He is constantly worried for him, constantly double-checking and ensuring that Y/N is okay. Bruce doesn’t want to admit that he is softer to Y/N because he is deaf, because that is not the complete truth. If anything, Bruce knows he is more controlling of Y/N because of that. Always having to know where he is, who he’s with, what he’s doing and whether it is safe enough for him or not.

A helicopter parent that the child cannot hear.

So when Tim had told him of how Y/N had somehow managed to get to the Dominican Republic, and was most likely living there, Bruce wanted to flip a table. All for some whales. He was more stressed than impressed over the fact that his son, who had no experience with Robin or anything illegal, managed to not only get a fake passport, a fake ID, and then live in another country for three months.

“Oh that kid?” One of the locals recognized who Bruce was asking about, a smile on their face as they recalled what an excellent free diver he was. The man grinned, pulling out a camera that had Bruce raising an eyebrow, “I’m an underwater photographer. That kid is a natural in the ocean.” Bruce stared at the photos, and even he could admire just how in place Y/N looked amongst the coral reefs and deep blue. Long legs looked fluid, and his body lithe like the fish he swam amongst.

Y/N looked free.

“Pleasant to talk to as well. It's a shame he’s deaf, he’d be a great teacher for other free-divers.” Bruce wanted to deck this man across the face for stating that Y/N couldn’t do something because of his lack of hearing, but that would be hypocritical. How many times has he used Y/N’s disability against him?

According to Tim, this area is the next stop for whale sightings, meaning Y/N has to be somewhere around here. The family has split up, asking the locals and looking around the tourist areas.

“Did he say where he was staying?” The local shook his head, “No, didn’t ask either.” Bruce wants to break the man's fingers just to make sure the other doesn’t know. The local, as if sensing the dangers he was in, gulped, “But if I had to guess, he most likely lives near coral reefs.

“Somewhere he could free dive constantly without having to go out on a boat. Afterall, for how short of a time he’s been doing it, he’s extremely impressive. A lot of this sport takes practice.”

Bruce nodded in thanks. It is the Brucie Wayne smile now on his face, “Thanks, and how much for the photo?”

Y/N stumbled back to his place, his cheeks flushed and a giggle on his lips. In his hands was a bottle of homemade tequila from one of the locals he had just gotten done partying with, and the taste was thick on his tongue but he couldn’t deny that the heat in his belly was addicting. Stumbling into the tiny bungalow, he set the bottle down on the kitchen table and resisted the urge to take another sip.

Doing a quick stretch, he watched the waves crash against the beach, the full moon illuminating the waters and the white sand.

Only one more day and the sperm whales should be at this side of the island. Maybe they’ll be here tonight. Scratching the nape of his neck, Y/N released a pleased sound before making his way to his room to grab stuff for the shower. He moved in the dark, knowing where everything was and not needing to add to the electricity bill.

The room itself was nice, probably the most grand room in the entire space. Above the bed was a large window that allowed for natural light, constantly illuminating the room. In the soft light of the moon, Y/N navigated his room with practiced movements. The fire in his gut making him stumble sometimes, but nothing serious or even alarming. When he lifted his gaze, his eyes landed on the book on his bedside tables and something else.

Furrowing his brows, Y/N walked to that part of his room, and his eyes turned hazy momentarily as his fingers brushed over the external processor of the cochlear implants, thumbing them and feeling the cool metal under the pad of his thumb. Fond memories of when he first got his hearing back, if only somewhat, and the way the world burst into noise.

He chuckled when a memory popped up of him and Jason arguing, and Y/N had taken off the processors and closed his eyes so he couldn’t see or hear Jason’s argument. The fight dissolved into laughter, Jason hugging Y/N and the both of them landing on the carpeted floor.

They were the external processors he left behind when he left the Wayne manor. Decorated in small stickers that Tim and Dick jokingly put on them, and the small scratches from when Damian had accidentally dropped them.

The processors he left behind to start this new life figuring out how to cope with silence.

The processors… he left… behind…

His E/C eyes widened and he made a quick sprint for the door, dropping his clothes on the floor. He has to go outside where there is open space and where he can hopefully be seen by a local. His family of vigilants excelled in close-combat and combat the needed tight spaces. It wasn't like Gotham had a lot of room to begin with.

He had to get out of here. Y/N has to leave, or at least give himself a chance.

When he threw open the door, he almost collided into the broad chest of one of his brothers. His eyes glanced up and he met the crazed and desperate eyes of his twin. The red helmet off of his head and exposing the bags under his eyes. Guilt crushed Y/N’s chest, and he wanted to cup Jason’s cheeks within his hands. He wanted to assure others he was safe, that he was fine, and that he was ready to do this.

But they would never get it.

He took a step back instead. Jason followed, and Y/N nearly screamed when he felt the floor creak beneath his feet. 4 other pairs of feet moved, making the wood creak and vibrate under his feet and alerting him that they were all in his home.

‘Ready to come home?’ Jason signed, and Y/N felt the wood creak. Y/N shook his head, never taking his eyes off of the man in front of him. Jason's facial expression changed.

‘Too bad.’ Y/N dodged a pair of hands that were behind him and barely side-stepped another pair. Jason stood in front of the door, ensuring that Y/N could not leave through it. He remembers just how slippery the other could be, and he was not risking it.

Y/N raced to the kitchen, grabbing the handle of the tequila bottle, and holding it like a bat. In front of him was his family, Damian, Tim, Dick, Jason, and Bruce. None of them were dressed in their vigilante outfits, and that is because Y/N is not a criminal that needs a suit to fear. He is their brother who needs guidance from his family.

“C’mon Y/N, vacation is over.” Dick said, and Y/N had difficulty reading his lips but he understood it.

“No.” Dick’s jaw clenched and he could see Tim grab something from his pocket.

“Y/N. If you wanted to see the whales you could have asked.” Y/N scrunched his nose, and tightened his grip on the bottle, “Put that down, and let's go.” Y/N shook his head, “No. I want to stay here.” Dick’s lips pursed and Damian scowled, “Why? You have no hot water, you can’t cook, there is literally nothing here other than those whales.” Y/N’s face must have made a terribly pained expression because Damian looked like he had been the one to be chastised.

“I want to learn how to do things on my own.”

“That's so stupid Y/N. Come on.” Y/N shook his head, “No! No, I-I want to stay. I am the only one who get tre-treated like glass. Not even Babs gets treated like me!” Jason glared, “That is different Y/N, and you know it.”

“How?! She is in a wheelchair, and I am deaf. We are both handicapped, but when she wants to do something you have little complaint but when I want to do something you have an entire novel!” It's not fair. Y/N shouldn’t be mad at Barbara, because it is not her fault. But even he couldn’t stop the feeling of resentment building in his chest when he sees how free Barbara is compared to him.

Y/N doesn’t hate Barbara. He couldn’t hate her, because she’s his sister just like everyone else were his siblings. But he is frustrated. So undeniably frustrated. He spent an ungodly amount of nights laying awake and staring at his ceiling as he thought about it. Trying to find the reason why he is treated like the slightest gust would send him stumbling. He wanted a valid reason.

“I am deaf. I am not stupid or-or incapable of taking care of myself!”

“That is not why we are doing this!” There’s no point in yelling because he couldn’t hear it, but Y/N could see the way their throats flexed and mouths opened wider. Y/N shook his head, “I am not glass! I want to learn how to be inde-independent.” He had to slowly say that last word, but he got it.

“I. Am. Staying.”

This is exactly why Y/N left. This is why he left the way he did. Why he had too. They don’t get it. They’ll never get it. How could they understand? They have always been able to make their own decisions. They have always been able to do things that Y/N only wishes he could do. They had such a stangle-hold on his life that the slightest hint of wiggle-room, they only tightened their hold even more. It was suffocating and painful.

It was even more painful because Y/N still loves them, and he knows they love him. That this was just a version of their love that was unfortunately, or fortunately for everyone else, reserved for only him. A chain and leash meant for only him. A cage for him. With intricate gold bars that looked beautiful, but still kept him trapped.

He missed Bruce’s signal, but he watched how Damian was the first to move. Y/N isn’t too sure how he dodged Damian, the little gremlin he was, but he also knows that they weren’t going hard on him. He knows they are not treating him like a criminal, but as a brother. Which means, Y/N was somewhat at an advantage. Bruce and Jason had made sure Y/N knew the fundamentals to self-defense and how to use his surroundings.

His biggest downfall however, was him focusing on Dick and Damian, and forgetting that one of them technically could still intervene. Tim, with whatever he was holding didn’t join the fray and Jason was too busy guarding the door as a just in case. Which is why when a large hand gripped the wrist that was holding the still intact tequila bottle, twisting the joint in a way that had Y/N dropping it, had him crying out in shock. His short fingernails digging into the callused skin of his adopted father, Bruce Wayne.

The man stared at him with a heated glare and Y/N fought off the urge to shrink under the heavy gaze. However, he threw his weight back, trying to dislodge the grip around his wrist. Bruce used his other arm to immobilize Y/N’s upper body, stopping him from throwing an elbow or scratching his hand. Trapping Y/N’s body and making his already racing heart nearly burst in panic.

“No! Let go!” Y/N wanted to stay. He has to stay. His foot stomped and he released a cry, and when he looked down he wanted to cry. The tequila bottle had shattered, and Y/N was the only one who was barefoot. He could feel the glass cutting into the skin and the sting of alcohol entering the wound.

‘Shit!’ He grit his teeth, trying to push aside the pain and get Bruce’s grip off of him. Only, someone was touching his feet now and he didn’t mean to panic but he kicked up. Memories from Crime Alley filled his mind as large hands gripped his ankles, and Bruce’s grip changed to better accommodate someone who was no longer standing.

His throat closed up and he began gasping as he tried desperately to ground himself. His eyes blown wide and tears now streamed down his face as those hands were replaced with others. The darkness of the bungalow now shifted to the darkness of Crime Alley, and the way the counter and island now looked like the buildings of the Alley way had Y/N screeching. Thrown back into the past with painful shove and memories that clouded his vision.

“Jason! Jason! Help, help they’re touching me.” Another pair of arms replaced the ones around his arms, and the hands around his ankles let go, but it did nothing. Y/N was effectively back to the past where it was only him and Jason. Those strong arms encircled around him, keeping his own arms pinned and secured, and they began to rock.

Tapping on his skin and Y/N’s mind began translating it. There was no ASL or Morse Code in Crime Alley, but when Jason and him realized he was going deaf they made their own. One that is unique to them.

One Y/N still remembers, and so does Jason.

‘It’s okay. It’s okay, no one is doing anything. It’s just me and the family.’ Y/N shook, and he struggled to catch a breath. There is a hand on his chest, trying to ground him, and he wonders if that hand is the one that is gripping his lungs and making it so hard to breathe.

‘It’s okay, it’s okay. You are here. You are safe. We’re safe, and we’re going home.’ Before Y/N could process that, there was a sharp prick in his neck, and before he could shout once more a hand covered his mouth, and his body tried to escape the grip. His thrashing only got weaker and weaker as whatever drug was given to him.

His eyes grew blurry and the last thing he saw was Jason’s face.

++++

Waking up was hard. His head felt heavy and his limbs couldn’t move. Opening his eyelids seemed impossible, but when he did he groaned. The light was too bright and his limbs too heavy to do anything other than to continue groaning.

A hand rested on his forehead, and Y/N was too exhausted to try and shake it off. He could hear some shuffling and he furrowed his brows. He took off his external processors a few months ago…

That night returned to his memory full force and Y/N groaned from the headache. The hand on his forehead moving to massage his temples.

“Shh, I know. You had a crazy time.” It's been a long time since he heard Bruce’s voice, but it was still deep and gravelly just how he remembers. Y/N turned his head with difficulty, and met those blue eyes that have been staring at him intently.

Y/N opened his mouth, but closed it. The argument he had with everyone was still fresh in his mind, and he couldn’t help but to continue feeling bitter. Bruce, sensing his son’s thoughts sighed exasperatedly, “Y/N, I admire your drive for wanting to be independent, I really do. But pulling a stunt like that is exactly why we worry.” Y/N scrunched his nose, “You don’t trust me.”

“That’s not-”

“It is. If you did trust me you would let me stay out later than nightfall and would be okay with me traveling without a babysitter.” Bruce removed his hand, and stared down at Y/N. His expression is painfully neutral, “Y/N.”

“You, and no one else in this household, trust me. Then you sit here, listing out everything I do that makes you lose your trust in me, but it’s hard to lose what I never had,” He was voicing his opinion, an opinion that he has had for a while but has never said anything about because he didn’t want to interrupt the balance.

More importantly, he didn’t want to admit it to himself. They always called him trustworthy, but they never did trust him. He trusted them though. He trusted them with his life, with his secrets, and his insecurities. Then they throw all of that back in his face and expect him to continue making the same mistakes.

Bruce sighed, as if he was talking to a child that has needed to be told multiple times why they can’t put a fork in a toaster. He met Y/N’s E/C eyes, staring into the irises and seeing the truth behind his words. One of his fingers gently touched one of the external processors, “It’s not that I don’t trust you, I don’t trust other people. This world is awful to people who are different.” Y/N scrunched his nose, and Bruce continued, “You still panic when your ankles are touched.”

“That’s not fair! That was a stressful situation and you all just made it worse and then-”

“I know. I know. Dick knows and he is sorry about that, but you stepped on glass.”

“You made me drop the bottle.”

“You shouldn’t have been dri-”

“I’m 23. I’m legal to drink in every country.”

“Y/N-”

“I was fine.” Y/N wanted to cry. He had a taste of freedom and then it was taken from him. Forcefully so.

Bruce stood up, almost knocking the chair back as he did so, and Y/N flinched. He was unable to move still, because whatever drug Tim had given me must have been a muscle relaxant as well. He watched as Bruce schooled his emotions, quickly swallowing them down and then sighed.

The man leaned down and pressed a kiss into Y/N’s H/C locks. His hand now cupping Y/N’s ear and external processor, “You are grounded until I say otherwise, Y/N. You will stay within these Manor walls until I believe you have learned your lesson.” He ignored Y/N’s face of exhaustion and disappointment. Not at himself, but at Bruce. The man made his way to leave, but before he closed the door, he looked back at his son. His son who had turned away from him and was taking note of the bars over the windows.

Bruce closed his eyes, feeling his disappointment in the situation and shut the door behind him, making sure to lock it.

_________

THIS WAS SO LONG!!!

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