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bsdawgz · 3 months

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「 ✦ Cruel ✦ 」 Bungo Stray Dogs, Port Mafia: Dazai Osamu

a/n: follow-up from this fic, i hope i did ok! i really like writing pm dazai... also i wanna thank everyone who has followed me/liked/reblogged my posts. i really didn't expect to get any attention at all, so it means so much to me T_T and i will def get to writing ab the other characters soon~

genre: angst. so much of it. and the nasty.

content warning: f!reader. unrequited(-ish) feelings (but not rly). toxic ass relationship (like, RLY unhealthy), dependent relationship... i hope you don't find MC deplorable because personally i find her real af

MDNI! rough sex, choking, fingering, degradation both from dazai and self (bitch, slut), humiliation, trauma, bj (facefucking). dazai is rly rough with main character and not very communicative beforehand, but he checks up on character during. sex is consensual, but main character continues to force herself to do things she doesn't want to for the sake of wanting to please dazai (there is no pressure or coercion involved on dazai's part, to clear that up). if there's anything else you think i should add, please let me know.

summary: after failing to stop sleeping with the port mafia executive, dazai osamu, despite your unrequited feelings, you've come to terms with the fact that you can't bring yourself to leave him behind. but dazai's determined to show you there's nothing in him worth fighting for.

this place is all too familiar to you.

you’re bent over dazai’s desk and he’s towering over you from behind, pressed up against your body. there’s a haughty grin on his lips as he’s rucking up your skirt, grabbing your ass roughly and making you wonder when you began wearing short skirts all the time, if you’ve started doing it for the sake of easy access. after all, how many times in the past year that you’ve known this man has dazai actually taken the time to properly get you out of your clothes before fucking you, let alone gotten completely undressed for you himself? you could probably count it on one hand.

the thought makes you feel somewhat ashamed, knowing that you’re having routine sex with someone who won’t often do something as simple as strip naked for you. somehow the simple act of undressing feels all the more intimate, which makes you feel all the more distant from dazai, making him feel that much more removed in these fleeting moments you share. but of course, you don’t dare to mention it to him – not now, not ever. just let dazai’s hands roam where they wish, because more than anything, you want to please him. more than anything, you just want him to want you – whatever that might mean.

the last time you saw dazai, you had resolved to leave him for good, determining that your relationship was going nowhere. you were well-aware that dazai was only using you for sex, and that you were in the throes of an unrequited love with one of the most dangerous men in yokohama. but staving yourself off of a man like dazai, who could bring you in and out of heaven, was like trying to quit an addiction. you’ve never found yourself more attached to anyone in your life. it wasn’t long until you found yourself sleeping in his bed again. it was futile trying to fight it now.

“i said to look me in the eyes.” vicious words interrupt your thoughts, followed by an exasperated mutter of, “stupid bitch,” as you feel a few light slaps on your cheek. hands that once traveled up your skin so gently, caressing you and handling you like a fragile object, are now grabbing your neck and squeezing its sides, forcing you to meet his arrogant gaze. this is a different dazai than the one you know, a more cruel, more callous one. “ah, there’s my good girl,” he whispers coldly with a smirk, your jaw caught in his slender fingers as you now properly meet his gaze. “now, open your mouth for me… good. see how much prettier you are when you shut up and stop asking so many questions?”

he slips his thumb into your mouth, wetting it with your tongue before swiping your own saliva across your puckered lips. “good… suck my fingers like the slut you are,” dazai murmurs erotically into your ear, his hot breath tickling your neck as he dips his fingers in and out of your mouth. “this is what you want, right? what you keep coming back for.”

his words are mean tonight, like he’s punishing you for trying to get too close to him. vengeful, almost. although it’s quite typical of him to get impatient and even indifferent, dazai’s not the type to bring this kind of demeanor into the bedroom… at least, he’s never shown this side of himself before. but tonight he is more than determined to bare it all to you, to show you what he is really made of – and teach you to stay away from him, for good.

as he looks into your big, trusting eyes, which have never gazed at him with malice, he bitterly reflects on his decision. the vastness of those eyes of yours have never held anything but pure intentions and righteousness. they represent everything that he is not… and they hold the same values that got odasaku killed. you are a mere civilian who threw herself into the port mafia’s radar by sleeping with one of its infamous executives. at this point, your name has snaked its way into the mouth of dazai’s underlings; his enemies have readied themselves at your door. dazai was selfish to think he can keep you all to himself, his precious little treasure.

this was bound to happen, anyway. better that it ends now.

before you fool yourself into thinking a man like him can amount to anything more than a killer.

before your hands get soiled with blood.

before you’re shot dead…

… and before he’s convinced himself that he has a right to any of this. a right to see you, a right to hold you, a right to one day love you.

that’s why tonight, he’ll push you to your limits until you cry out in pain and pleasure; and when you’ve had enough of him and tell him to stop, he’ll leave wordlessly and never return, so you’re left only with the memory of his callousness and utter disregard for you.

gazing into the expectant eyes that are staring into his, dazai hikes his hands up your shirt to palm your breasts only to be surprised to feel nothing but bare skin. “no bra? you really are a slut, huh?” he shakes his head with a dry laugh as he tugs your shirt over your head, discarding the article of clothing on the floor. “always so desperate to be fucked.” nipples hardening at the brush of his hand, you bite back a sinful moan as he teases you with fleeting touches that send pulses to your core. the sight of you so vulnerable in his arms makes him hard; you feel his erection pressing into your back as he plays with your nipples. before you know it, those beautiful fingers of his are reaching for where you want him most – between your thighs, pushing aside your panties and sliding between your slickness.

he gasps mockingly as if he’s surprised you’re wet for him, an arrogant smirk forming on his lips. his hands know you well, his fingers finding the spot that makes you feel the best and rubbing in agonizingly slow circles. you can’t help but let his name roll off your tongue and let him know who you belong to, a quiet prayer on your tongue. succumbing to his touch so easily feels almost like a sin, but if it’s dazai, you’d do it in a heartbeat every time. even if it meant going to hell for it.

intoxicated by his cologne and blinded by his touch, when you feel his lips traversing your neck, you’re thinking to yourself like a fool: yes, this is how it should be. dazai’s awfully gentle now. this is how it should always be. you’re starved for him, begging for him to want you.

begging for him to love you.

but this man will never love you.

because this man is the devil.

“get on your knees, pretty girl.” there are those sweet words of his – ‘pretty girl.’ that term of endearment that he’s whispered affectionately against against your neck when his arms are wrapped around your waist at night, when it’s too dark to head home and you find yourself tangled under the sheets until daytime – those words that have confused you, that have left your brain a muddled mess, that offered you a glimpse into the gentleness that could be. tonight, there’s not a trace of kindness in his unyielding voice – nothing to confuse for kindness. his hands are rough, reckless. tossing you over, he faces you with a look that’s condescending and rotten. “get on your knees, and remind me why i keep you around in the first place.”

you’ll take it.

you’ll take it all –

– even if he’s hitting the back of your throat and gripping your hair so tightly that you can barely breathe, that tears are welling in your eyes, that you’re choking on him. you can hardly keep up with his pace, hands clawing at the floor in a desperate attempt to steady yourself. you’re a distraught mess, lips swollen from his shoving himself into you, saliva dribbling down your chin, an undignified whore. but you’ll take it. you’ll take it all, if that’s what it takes to keep him even for a moment more. you’ll squash the feeling that this is so, so wrong, the awareness that he’s fucking you like an object, the knowledge that you’re nothing but a piece of meat to him.

if that’s what it takes to keep him, even if just for a little longer –

– you’ll take it all.

but when he sees those tear-stained eyes of yours, he just can’t bring himself to do it anymore. he pulls out of your mouth completely, leaving you coughing uncontrollably and desperately gasping for breath. a wave of guilt washes over him, knowing that he put you in this condition in the first place. “come here,” he says harshly, trying to keep up his façade as his fingers dig deep into the flesh of your hips. he tosses you onto the bed, the spring mattress squeaking under your weight, then you feel his body against yours from behind as he covers your eyes with one large hand until you see nothing but black. “don’t tell me you still like this?” he asks in a serious tone. he’s so close to you that you can hear his soft pants against your neck, feel the heat radiating from his skin; he must still be worn out from before.

but you say nothing, nothing at all, your lips sealed in a tight line.

he scoffs at your silence, his grip on your body loosening. “use your words. aren’t you going to tell me to stop?”

you turn to look at him, and your gaze finally meets his once more. your eyes are clouded with tears, your cheeks flushed, your lips trembling. but your eyes are unwavering. that grotesque look that he just can’t stand – those big eyes, still full of devotion, unconditional resolve. eyes that are full of nothing but righteousness. he’s the source of your pain, and yet you look at him with nothing but kindness. you look at him as though he can offer you some sort of salvation —

but this man can’t even save you from himself.

“i’m… i’m not.” your voice is meek, a sob escaping you.

you find your body shaking frantically, suddenly hyper-aware of your nakedness and the fact that dazai’s practically completely clothed.

he takes a seat next to you on the bed and wraps a blanket around you, deep brown irises staring into your eyes dubiously, as though he can’t believe a word that you’re saying. then, reaching out to cradle your face gently in his hand, he strokes your cheek with his thumb. his tender caress makes you sick to your stomach and you feel bile rising in your throat – you wish he would go back to fucking you senselessly and calling you names, if only just to make this cruel fantasy go away.

“don’t touch me like that anymore!” you suddenly blurt out of spite, shoving dazai away angrily. “don’t you know how confusing you’re being right now?” you cover your face in your hands like a child just to keep him from seeing you break down, as if you could possibly hide your stifled cries and the tears streaming down your stained cheeks.

“i see,” he says in a quiet voice, hesitating as he retracts his hand. there’s a grimace on his face as he withholds his words, resisting the urge to say something, anything, to ease the pain. but he knows there’s nothing he could say to take back all that’s been done. a tension hangs in the air, disrupted only by the sound of your shaky breath as you heave into the palms of your hands, pressed firmly over your mouth to silence your heartbroken cries. bending over in pain, there’s an empty pit in your chest as you crawl into his lap like a kicked-down dog. dazai makes no movement to get up, just lets you fall against him and hums softly to comfort you, stroking the tendrils of your hair like a wandering ghost.

when your tears finally subside, leaving nothing but your shattered memories, you glance up at him only to find he’s been gazing at you the whole time. on his face, there was a pained expression. something like regret for the past, or maybe even the future.

he looked as though he had been crying, too.

(c) BSDAWGZ Don't steal or plaigarize cos that's mean... and if you enjoyed the fic, please share! Remember, likes don't share my work, reblogs do! ^^~ Beautiful dividers by @ v6que~!

#BSDAWGZ #bsd smut #bungo stray dogs smut #dazai smut #dazai osamu smut #dazai osamu fic #bsd angst #bungo stray dogs angst #dazai angst #dazai x reader #dazai x reader smut

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thedreamlessnights · 5 months

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Someone to shed some light - pt. 5

Astarion x gn!reader (NSFW)

{series masterlist}

Synopsis: You and Astarion come across the camp, and its discovery adds a complication to the mix. The two of you share an intimate night together.

Warnings: 18+ - Blood drinking, mentions of past abuse. Explicit sexual content. Penetrative sex, fingering, first time sex.

Word Count: 7.7k

A/N: As you can see, this chapter is an eventful one. I hope you'll all enjoy! This story is going to get wild, and we're going to start seeing some new (and perhaps familiar) faces 👀 Also, thank you so much to @aerynwrites for making the amazing header image and for looking over this chapter! I appreciate you so much ♥

The thick, awkward silence in the air follows you all the way to the stream - tailing along with you like it’s your shadow.

You’ve never been more grateful to see a body of water in your entire life, and it’s not due to the thirst slowly building in your mouth, or the grime on your skin itching to be cleaned off. It’s because you’re dying to do something that isn’t walking, dying to curb the silence, and dying to think of anything that isn’t Cazador.

How long have the two of you been traveling, now? How long since you’d come across Gandrel? The trees have been too dense to tell the time with any accuracy, but there’s a break of them over the water, and the sun is mid-sky when you glance at its position.

Hours, maybe.

Hours of thinking up a thousand different conversation topics. Trying to find something to fill the deadening quiet. None of them seemed appropriate, though; not in the aftermath of finding out that an evil vampire had enslaved Astarion for two centuries and is now relentlessly hunting him. What could you possibly say after that?

Nothing, you’d eventually decided. You’d say nothing. But that hadn’t made any of it any better.

The camp shouldn’t be far, now. But that can wait.

You sink to your knees on the bank, taking a handful of the mercifully cool water and splashing it over your face. It’s sweet when you bring it to your lips, blissful on your burning-hot skin, and you can’t help letting out a sigh of relief.

“I can’t wait to get out of these woods,” you say softly, more for yourself.

“They were your idea, my sweet,” Astarion replies, somewhere behind you.

“Freedom was my idea,” you combat defensively. “The woods just happened to be a temporary part of that.”

“If you’re planning to run from my mother, then it certainly won’t be temporary,” Astarion says. “I’d become very, very friendly with the woods if I were you.”

You drop your hands, shaking away the remaining water as you try - and fail - to bite away your frustration. “Why can’t she leave me alone? All I want is to go back to my home.”

“And I want to wake every morning with a virgin at my side,” he snipes, every word laced with melodramatic condescension, “but life doesn’t give us what we want.”

This time, your anger cuts through your chest like a knife as you shift to face him. “Well!” you exclaim. “Congratulations then, Astarion, because you do!”

He freezes, a glint in his eye, and you know you’ve made a grave error. “Do I, now?” he purrs. “Interesting.”

You ignore him, turning back to the stream, but your cheeks go hot. “Well?” you finally say. “Are you going to get cleaned up or not?”

To your surprise, he doesn’t respond.

You glance at him and find him staring at the water like it’s a poisonous bog. “Oh, come now, Your Highness. Don’t tell me the stream isn’t good enough for you?”

He scowls at you, but his gaze is quick to flit back to the stream as he speaks. “Running water used to burn like acid, dearest. I’ve never tested if it still does.”

Your mouth snaps shut. No more teasing him, you resolve. It’s only making you look like a complete ass. “Oh,” you finally say.

Astarion sinks down into a squat, hesitantly dipping his fingers into the water and giving a hum. “Well. I suppose that answers that question,” he says, shifting onto his knees.

He’s just as dirty as you feel. Gandrel’s blood is splattered all over him, and the grime of the woods has etched streaks of dirt onto his skin. Somehow, despite all of that, he’s still as beautiful as always. Maybe even more so, like this.

You feel a strange sense of disappointment when he starts rinsing the mess away.

It’s blazing hot out. It was easier to ignore earlier when you were under the shade, but the light is in full effect over the stream, and it’s unavoidable, now. You’re covered in sweat and dirt and the gods know what else. The itch to get clean is maddening.

At first, you try splashing water onto your skin and your filthy shirt, but all it ends up doing is drenching yourself - not cleaning anything at all. You’re left dirty, wet, and frustrated, and, well. Who knows when the next bathing spot will be. You’re already soaked…

You peel off your shoes and socks, get to your feet and take two steps back, then jump in.

The water is freezing cold, but it’s wonderful - euphoric under the pounding sun. It washes away the dirt and blood and sweat with ease, carrying them away as you kick around. The mild current feels like silk over your limbs. For a moment, you even float around on your back, enjoying the peaceful murmur of the water.

Then you remember that you aren’t alone, and you go upright. Astarion is watching you with a mixture of curiosity and disdain, distracted from his task. As soon as he sees you looking, he instantly goes back to trying to clean the stains out of his shirt - which is going about as well for him as it had been for you.

You watch his struggle for a moment before a string of words leave your lips. Words that wouldn’t have come out if you’d taken the time to think about it.

“You should join me!”

He glances at the water. It’s completely clear and a beautiful blue, but that doesn’t seem to matter to him. “Darling,” he says, letting out a haughty laugh, “you want me to jump in there? Only the gods know what’s in that water.”

“You’re using it to clean your shirt,” you point out, “which isn’t going very well, Your Highness. It’ll be the closest thing to a bath for miles.”

He simply scowls in response, and you shake your head.

“Alright,” you relent. “Stay up there in the heat, then, covered in blood and dirt. Just don’t start complaining to me when you start to feel dirty.”

His scowl deepens, but he gives up on the shirt and shifts until he’s sitting on the edge of the bank. “Fine,” he says sharply. He looks down and hesitates, tilting his head. Is he wondering how deep it is? If water used to burn, then he probably hasn’t gone swimming in…

Two centuries.

You let yourself stand, your toes sinking into the mud. The water isn’t much higher than your rib cage, and the crease between Astarion’s brows fades away. Following in your lead, he takes off his boots and socks, then lets himself slide into the water. He grimaces for a moment at the temperature, sinks under the surface, and comes up sopping, wiping water out of his eyes.

You almost feel bad, looking at that silvery mop of curls, but he doesn’t say anything. He simply pushes the mass of wet hair out of his face, then resumes his process of cleaning the blood out of his shirt. Or, trying to. It seems thoroughly fixed into the cream fabric.

For some reason, your attention on him feels like an invasion of a private moment, so you take to making sure you’re cleaned off, averting your gaze - especially when he takes off his shirt to scrub away the stains. The brief flash of porcelain skin you catch has your cheeks blooming with heat; it’s the most you’ve ever seen of him.

To distract yourself, you speak. “I’m surprised you actually got in.”

“Well,” he says. “Unfortunately, my warm baths have been conveniently misplaced. This will have to suffice.”

“Of course,” you mutter, paddling absentmindedly through the water. “For a moment there, I thought you might like something that’s remotely fun. My mistake.”

You’re still turned away, which is why the splash of water that hits you catches you by surprise. “Oh, you bastard,” you gasp, instantly sending another splash back at him.

He pauses, flashing you a wicked grin, and then you’re hit with another one, and another, and another. You’re splashing him back as much as you can and trying to swim away from the splash zone, and he’s splashing you, and you’re both breathless and calling taunts into the air. The sun is in your eyes, and water is in your lungs, and for a brief, blissful moment, it’s like all your worries have slipped away.

When the two of you are finally worn out, muscles aching, you push your way to the shore and lay on the grass, trying to catch your breath as your eyes flutter shut. The sun is golden and warm overhead, and with your now-drenched clothes, it feels wonderful.

A moment after you’ve gotten out, Astarion joins you. You hear the light thump of his wet shirt landing on the grass next to you, and then he’s sighing. “Gods - it’s hopeless,” he mutters. “Hopefully one of those Zhentarim knew something about fashion.”

His footsteps head back to his pack, but the feeling of warm sun on your skin is relaxing enough to keep you where you are as he digs around. When he stalls, you finally sit up, coughing some of the leftover water out of your lungs. Another joke is poised on your lips, but when you catch sight of his back, the words turn to ash on your tongue.

The soft pink lines seem like an intricate tattoo at first, but as your eyes continue to take it in, you realize that the skin is raised - far too much to ever be a tattoo. Scars. They’re scars.

You only see them for that brief moment before Astarion has found a new shirt and pulled it over himself, blocking out the sight of them, but even after they’re gone, the markings burn under your eyelids.

He turns to face you, and when he sees your face, the lightheartedness in his eyes immediately fades to something sharper. He knows you’ve seen.

“Your back,” you say softly. “It must have been painful.”

He looks away. “A gift from Cazador,” he says, his voice surprisingly soft. “A poem. He spent the night carving it into me.” He pauses, and pain flashes over his eyes. “He made a lot of adjustments as he went.”

You briefly think to yourself that - evil, powerful vampire or not - if you ever come face-to-face with Cazador Szarr, you’ll tear him to shreds with your bare hands.

Gods. You want to say that you’re sorry, but you already know Astarion won’t take it well. He clearly despises pity, and you’re not going to give it to him.

Instead, you get to your feet, ignoring the way your drenched clothes now stick to you, and head to your pack. “Why didn’t your mother kill him?”

He scoffs. “Believe me, she tried. Unfortunately, killing a vampire isn’t exactly easy. Rescuing me was the main priority, and, honestly? It was a miracle she even managed that.”

You nod, picking at a loose string on your sleeve. “Do you have any idea where he is now?”

“Baldur’s Gate, no doubt,” he replies stiffly. “In his ridiculous palace. He’s a Lord, you know.”

Ridiculous palace. It’s an ironic thing for him to say, but then you recall that Astarion probably doesn’t enjoy Erelin’s palace, either. Then, very much delayed, the reality of his words sinks in. “Hold on. You mean to say that there’s an evil vampire lord in Baldur’s Gate, and no one knows?”

“Oh, some do; they just don’t care,” he says, tilting his head. “You see - it’s all about power. He has a fair amount, and people will do anything to get even a taste of it. You should see his servants. They come to the door, begging for his eternal gift, and they’re stupid enough to think he’ll give it to them if they work hard enough.”

The concept of that is sickening. You fear nothing more than being thrown back into your personal prison, and here people are, volunteering to be in one - and one that’s far, far worse than yours, at that. All for what? Immortality? It doesn’t even remotely appeal to you.

From the look on his face, Astarion feels the same way.

Gods. You can’t even imagine what he’s experienced; not even half of it. Everything you’ve been through pales in drastic comparison to his two centuries of torture. Shame sweeps deep through your gut, dark and oozing, and it’s all you can do to not despise yourself.

Still - he complains about the petty things more than you do. And he hadn’t faulted you for wanting to run. He’d just told you not to bother, because you’d be caught.

“I don’t understand them,” you remark quietly, gathering up your things. “I can’t… imagine wanting something so much I’d give up my freedom for it.”

He shakes his head, and something reproachful paints itself into his expression. “Power is addictive, dearest. You’ll learn that soon enough.”

You sling your pack over your shoulder once more, and Astarion follows in your lead. “Well,” you say, “I suppose we’d better see what that camp is all about.”

You smell the camp before you see it.

The smoke you’d seen yesterday has faded in the air, but the smell of it is present: a distant, hazy odor that lingers in the forest. You and Astarion squat down to be safe, observing from behind the treeline, and it becomes immediately clear what it is.

Banners of silver and blue - those are Calthirian colors. This is your kingdom. What’s left of it, at least.

You’d been right. This rebellion is a prominent force, from the looks of it. No wonder Erelin had married you off instead of fighting. Still, it makes you wary to go waltzing straight into the place, expecting everything to turn out right. A level of paranoia lays over your skin like sweat, making it hard to think clearly. What if someone recognizes you? Do they know what you look like?

“Well,” Astarion remarks, “I suppose we’ve received our answer. And now that we have, we should be on our merry way.”

“Unfortunately,” you murmur in agreement. “You don’t think they’d give us directions to the nearest village?” It’s a long shot, and mostly a joke, but having traveled all this way to leave no better off is a sinking disappointment.

“They’d sooner recruit us,” Astarion answers. “Or kill us.”

You stare for a moment longer, then shake your head. “All right - new plan, then. We get the hells away from here. I’ll scale another tree and see if I can see anything.”

Astarion frowns, but doesn’t seem to have any better ideas. He follows silently as you creep through the woods, watching out for any nearby scouts.

You don’t like this place. It feels ominous, in a way.

Your breathing doesn’t return to normal until you’re a decent amount away, and you can’t help feeling like you’ve narrowly avoided something awful. Astarion stays on the ground while you climb another tree, and this time, the forest provides something very useful to you.

A city. Your city.

Baldur’s Gate, in all her glory, lies in the distance. It’ll take days, maybe even a week, to get there - but gods, is the sight of her a relief. Warm beds. Familiar faces. These days, there’s not many people you trust, but the ones you do are all in Baldur’s Gate. If you’re ever going to find any true escape, it’s there.

And, you think, your stomach sinking, there’ll be Ancunín outposts for Astarion to get back to his mother.

Astarion is pacing along the base of the tree when you hop down again, and his eyes brighten when he looks at you. “Gods. You saw something, didn’t you?”

“Baldur’s Gate,” you tell him, unable to mask the smile that spreads over your lips. “It’s a few days away, but it’s there.”

“Thank fuck for that,” Astarion sighs. “I couldn’t take much more of this.”

But you know what he’s really saying. He’ll finally get back to safety.

The two of you will have to have a talk sooner or later. You aren’t sure if he’s expecting you to return with him, and you’re not keen on arguing with him. You don’t want to leave him, but if it comes down to it - you can’t go back to Erelin.

Can’t, not won’t. It’s not even a choice. Every part of you rejects the suggestion like an unsuccessful transplant; every inch of you viscerally objects to returning to that palace. You’d bring him with you if you could, but you know that he’d never feel safe. Not while Cazador is out there, hunting for him.

The realization sombers the air as the two of you continue, skirting your way around the camp and in the direction of the city. You do a bit more hunting, and so does Astarion. Your food cooks in silence as the sun starts to set, and he seems to be lost in thought - just like you are.

When the crunch of a nearby branch sounds, the two of you leap two your feet without a second thought, reaching for your weapons. When you see who it is, your knife tumbles out of your hand.

“Cal?”

He looks more worn down than you’ve ever seen him, but it’s undeniably him. Chestnut hair. Grey eyes. A full, trim beard. He’s dressed in Calthirian colors, and his eyes widen in recognition as he stares at you, looking like he can’t believe you’re real.

“By the gods, is that really you?” he asks. “How? When? Last I heard, you’d returned to the queen’s palace - we’ve been trying to find a way to get you out, but - well, it doesn’t matter. You’re here! You’re really here!”

He glances behind you, and when he sees Astarion, he pauses. His eyes trail over the wedding rings you both wear, and the blood drains out of his face. “Oh no,” he says softly, taking a step back. His expression hardens, and his hand flits toward the sword at his belt. “No, no, no. Tell me that is not who I think it is.”

“Oh, him?” you say quickly. “This is Lirien. He helped me escape.”

“Of course it is,” Cal replies flatly. “Instead of Astarion Ancunín.” He shakes his head. “You think I can’t tell when you’re lying? I raised you! Gods - why? Why in the hells would you bring him? Do you have any idea what people will do when they find out?”

Astarion scowls. “I can hear you, you know,” he says.

Cal ignores him. “What am I going to tell them?” he mutters to himself, pacing, looking like he might topple over. “What am I going to do?”

“Nothing,” you say adamantly. “Cal? They’re not going to hear about it. Not about me, and not about him. Alright? We’re leaving.”

But Cal, instead of softening for you like he usually does, simply clenches his jaw. “You can’t be serious. This camp has been searching for a way to get you out for the last month,” he says. “We’ve lost… hundreds of men. They’re planning to mount a rescue mission for you, two days from now! Of course I’m going to tell them you’re here!”

“Well, I got myself out before they did,” you tell him, even though that isn’t really true. “And now, I’m going.”

Cal stares at you, incredulous. “What the hells did they do to you?” he asks. “Brainwashing? Torture?” He shakes his head in disbelief, then steps closer. “I won’t hide you. You were born to rule, understand? I raised you better than this.”

He mutters something under his breath before you can respond, and your and Astarion’s weapons fly toward him, falling neatly at his feet. You start forward, but Cal has snatched them up before you can make a grab for them. You have another knife in your bag, but - gods, do you really have it in you to kill him? Even now?

Before you can decide, he’s reciting another incantation. Warmth blooms on your skin, and something electric fills the air, hazing the air and tickling the inside of your lungs.

“What was that?” you ask, flinching at the sensation. “What did you do?”

“A tracking spell - over the both of you. It’ll tell us where you are even if you run. Don’t go trying anything. I don’t want to hurt you, but I will.”

This side of him is something you don’t know, not even a little, and it breaks you. Betrayal cuts through you like a knife, etching permanently into a sharp, painful spot between your ribs. Something sours on your tongue.

You’re a pawn. You always have been, even to him. Erelin had been bad enough, but this? Cal cares more about your position than he does you. It hurts so much that you think something in you might actually rip apart and spill out of your gut, seeping into the grass below.

You have to swallow down the nausea to speak, but the slime of this situation coats your throat and your words when you talk. “Wait until tomorrow,” you request. “Give me one more night away from them. Please.”

He sighs. “I don’t have much of a choice in that. Aris won’t be back until morning anyhow. Come on, you two - I’ll get you situated.”

He starts off toward the camp, but neither you nor Astarion follow after him. Your mind is flying over thoughts at a thousand miles per minute, trying to think of what to do. Gods, what in the hells are you going to do?

“If I have to get the guards to drag you, I will,” Cal calls. “You’ll spend the night in chains. Come willingly, and you’ll get a tent. It’s your choice.”

You start walking. Your hands are shaking like a leaf. You look to Astarion, whose expression has tightened, who looks even more pale than usual. He’s scared, and you are, too. You have no idea what the hells these people want from you. Cal may have taken your weapons, but there’s still the other knife in your bag. Astarion has his teeth, and there’s two of you…

Astarion meets your eyes curiously, and his gaze flits over to Cal, raising his brows. His intention is clear, and it's the same thing you’ve been thinking to yourself. After a moment of torturous internal debate, you nod.

What had you once thought to yourself? That you were willing to do anything for freedom? Gods. Apparently, you are.

You’re just bracing yourself for a fight when the flicker of torches passes through the trees, and you hear the chatter of voices. More men, and from the look of it, they’re all armed. “Cal, is that you?” one calls, lifting his torch higher in the approaching dark so he can see. “New recruits?”

All hope left in you dies at the sight of them. Astarion tenses at your side, his hands clenching into fists. Shit, you think. Shit, shit, shit. They’re going to take you both, and you’re completely fucking helpless to stop it.

“Yes. Another round,” Cal says casually. It occurs to you that he probably doesn’t want to announce your identity right off the bat, and you can’t decide whether or not you’re grateful for it.

“Aris will be happy to hear that,” the guard replies. “With the siege, we need everyone we can get. You’re sure they can be trusted?”

Cal glances back at you, smiling grimly. “Positive.”

“Good.”

The two of you are escorted all the way to the camp, and the guards trail away when you reach the outskirts. “This way,” Cal says, leading the two of you to one of the empty tents. “There’s room for both of you, since you seem so fond of each other.”

You stare at the tent, wanting nothing more than to tear through it like a rabid animal.

“Don’t be like that,” Cal implores. “Whatever they did to you, we’ll reverse it. We’ll get you back as you were, hm?” He waits for you to respond, but you don’t. If you do, you think you might actually lose your mind.

“Alright,” he finally sighs. “Feel free to explore camp, get something to eat, but don’t go past the outer torches. If I wake tomorrow and don’t find you here, the whole of this camp will come after you. Understand?”

You swallow hard, your nails piercing into your palms. “Fuck you, Cal.”

He shakes his head and turns away - but as he moves past you, you catch a flash of movement by his pack. You say nothing, and he’s gone before he’s noticed. You and Astarion are left in front of the tent, alone.

Well. Here you are.

The tent is larger than you’d expected when you retreat into it, Astarion following after you and sheathing the dagger he’d stolen. There are two bedrolls, some blankets and pillows, and a large amount of space to the side. No amount of blankets and pillows can make any of this better.

Silence falls, sour and agonizing. You want to throw up. You want to drink yourself to death. You want to cry. And you really, really want to punch something.

“So…” Astarion says slowly. “I suppose we’ve met each other’s parents, now.”

You let out a laugh, but it’s bitter. “And what lovely introductions we’ve had.”

His brows pinch in feigned offense. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you mean.”

You try to smile, but it falls flat. You’re so angry it feels like fire is bursting from your chest. Pressing your face into your hands, you try to breathe, wanting this not to be real - please, gods, don’t be real - but it is. You can smell the torches burning in the distance and feel the soft breeze that’s pressing through the partially-open flap of the tent.

Astarion sighs, then pushes the flap to the side and crawls through.

“Where are you going?” you ask.

“To find something to make this situation bearable,” he says, and then he’s gone.

You don’t think he’s foolish enough to fight against the tracking spell with nothing but a dagger, but it doesn’t stop anxiety from fluttering in your gut.

You can’t stand sitting still, so you leave, too - not following after him, just restless. Drifting.

For a long while, you wander aimlessly around the camp, trailing from place to place with no destination. A person or two gives you an odd look, but you really don’t give a damn. Your problems are much larger than some strangers and their opinions. All of it will turn irrelevant come morning.

Is it fury you feel, seeping so darkly through you? Has your anger turned ice-cold? It’s as if your life has all been an illusion, some kind of cruel trick. Was any of it real? Did Cal ever really care about you, or were you simply a means to an end?

You often try not to think about your parents, but you allow yourself to do so now. Would they approve of this? Would they have wanted this for you, if they were here? Or would you be nothing more than a pawn to them, too?

You don’t know. You’re starting to wonder if there’s anyone who’s ever really cared for you.

The approach of velvet-blue sky brings you wandering back to your assigned tent. It’s different than it had been before - but you can’t recognize quite how. Not until you get inside, at least.

Astarion has set up a meal: candles and wine and much fancier food than was in your packs or at the ration stations. You stall at the opening, and he nods for you to come in. You take a seat across from him, admiring his work. With the tent closed, it almost feels private. You can almost forget the camp out there, even for just a moment.

“What’s all this?” you ask.

He hands you a goblet, and you take it without another thought. “Well, darling,” he says softly, “I thought we should enjoy our last night of freedom. Who knows where we’ll be come morning.”

You press the glass to your lips and drink, finding a dark, heady wine on your tongue. “We didn’t have wine,” you recall to yourself. “Where the hells did you get this?”

“Oh, you know,” Astarion sighs, waving a dismissive hand. “Around.”

This time, it’s a real smile that overtakes you. “Just like that dagger?”

“Of course,” he says, tilting his head. A mirroring smile plays on his lips, and he takes a sip of his wine. “If he didn’t want it taken, he shouldn’t have had it out in the open. Besides,” he adds, rolling a shoulder, “I was only returning it to its rightful owner.”

You shake your head. “I still can’t believe he did that. I never thought he was capable of… anything even similar to that. I thought he - cared. About me.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Astarion replies, but there’s a quiet sympathy on his face. “Especially if they intend for you to rule, which they almost certainly do.”

“Of course.” Your throat tightens, and you take another sip of wine. You feel drawn so incredibly tight. It’s like a part of you is waiting to burst.

“So,” Astarion muses, swirling the glass around, “our last night of freedom. Any idea what you want to do with it, my sweet?”

You let out a huff, staring down at your wine. “Aside from blowing this entire gods damned camp up?” You let out a shaky exhale. “No idea.”

“No?” he asks. “No lifelong list? Something you’ve always wanted to try?”

There must be a thousand things you want to do while you still can, but none of them are coming to mind. You’re wound as tight as a rope, fuming, and would give absolutely anything to stop thinking.

When you shake your head, Astarion leans forward, setting down his glass. “Nothing comes to mind?”

“I - I don’t know. All I can think about is how… angry I am. I don’t know what I want.”

“Then allow me to make a suggestion, darling,” he says, taking the wine out of your hand, neatly setting it on the chest he’s using as a makeshift table. He leans forward, trailing his thumb along your cheek, and something in your stomach jumps. “We’re here, aren’t we? We might as well take the opportunity to distract ourselves.”

“Astarion-”

“That’s what you want, isn’t it?” he asks, his voice low and honeyed. “I’ve seen the way you look at me. I’ve felt those little… trembles of excitement when my teeth are in your neck.” He pauses, tilting his head, and another smile plays on the corners of his lips. “No need to be coy,” he purrs. “Your body has already given you away.”

And you do want it. You want it so badly that you can hardly stand it. “And what about you?”

“What?” he asks, frowning. “What about me?”

“What do you want?”

He lets out a disbelieving laugh. “Gods. Isn’t that obvious?” he asks, “I want you.”

You’re caught between the ever-growing want now steadily coursing through you and - something else. Something you don’t recognize. “If you’re sure.”

“Of course I’m sure,” he insists, frustration bleeding into his voice as he pulls back to look at you. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

You give him a half-hearted smile. “Well, for one, I’ve never done this before. Remember?”

The frustration bleeds out of his face, and the line that’s been creased between his brows disappears. “Please,” he says incredulously. “You say that like it’s a bad thing. Haven’t you heard of vampires preferring virgins?”

Something flutters in your gut at his words, at the heated way he’s taking you in. “Alright, then, vampire,” you say, before your fears can suck you in. “Do what you will with me.”

His eyes darken. “Oh, I most certainly will,” he murmurs.

He leans in, and his lips meet yours, fragrant with honeyed wine, ardent and sweet. Gentle at first, but that quickly becomes a haze of need - his hand tightening on your cheek, your hand tightening on his shirt.

Gods, you think. Kissing Astarion is like hearing a new melody and knowing that it will never leave your mind. The kiss you’d shared at the wedding has already haunted your mind plenty, but this? This is incomparable. Electric. He coaxes your mouth open with ease, and arousal shoots down your back like a bolt of lightning. When his tongue brushes against yours, every muscle in your body goes slack.

In the midst of everything, you’re still inexperienced. Your hands don’t know what to do or where to go. One settles on his shoulder, the other keeps itself clutched in his shirt. You can’t tell if it’s right, but if it’s wrong, Astarion doesn’t say.

He places his free hand at your side, using it to stabilize himself as he crawls over you, still kissing you, straddling your legs with his hips. Then that hand is at your waist, and his lips are at your neck, and you’re letting out a soft, wanting noise.

He huffs, kissing up your jaw, gently nipping at the sensitive flesh of your earlobe. “Eager little thing, aren’t you?” he hums.

And what the hells are you supposed to say to that? Of course you’re eager. You’ve been wanting him for ages. The building need between your legs says that more than enough. You’re viciously turned on, and the smugness of his voice isn’t helping, but there’s still an awkwardness to the situation.

You have no idea what you’re doing. You can’t tell if anything you want is remotely right. In between the pleasure and passion, there’s a building anxiety that’s becoming more and more prominent. It’s distracting you from what he’s doing, which is leaving you nothing but frustrated.

“You’re thinking too much. Relax, darling,” Astarion murmurs, pulling away. “Close your eyes for me.”

And you do. You take one last look at him, so impossibly beautiful in the warm candlelight. His curls have dried tousled from the river, his eyes are half-lidded and dark, and there’s a certain amount of expectancy laced in his gaze that makes you shiver. Then, satisfied that you’ve enclosed the image to memory, you shut your eyes. The darkness helps, you think. A little.

“Good,” Astarion praises, and his lips return to your neck. He takes your hands and places them at his waist, and you’re more than happy to keep them there as he kisses down your jaw. In the darkness of your closed eyes, every touch becomes intensified. Every thought begins to slip away in favor of the feeling of him.

Sharp teeth, grazing along sensitive skin. The icy touch of his skin, sating the scorch of the arousal that shudders through your veins. The soft, almost ticklish brush of his curls against your neck as he kisses along your clavicle. The moment his hands stall at your top, your breath hitches, and your body flinches - an automatic defense you’ve ingrained over the years.

But you want him to touch you. You want this. So you take in a steadying breath and compel your muscles to relax, and he continues - not teasingly slow, but not rushed, either. Taking his time with you.

You’d thought he was beautiful when you first met, but you have to admit: you’re glad that your first time with him, as horrible as the outside circumstances are, is happening here, and not on your wedding night, when you were so hesitant of him. You wouldn’t have enjoyed it, then, even if he’d been the exact same with you. But now?

Gods, you’re enjoying it. And, judging by the growing hardness between his legs, he’s enjoying it too.

You’d like to think you’re a patient person, but you really aren’t. The more your want grows, the more your impatience does as well. Your breathing has turned heavy, and as his hands, slowly taking on your warmth, grasp lightly over your ribs, the rhythm of your lungs turns shaky - your entire body singing in want for something you’ve never even experienced.

Just as you’re truly getting desperate, he pulls away again, his hands trailing along your abdomen as he nips at your ear. “You poor thing,” he says, his voice light and teasing. “How did you stand it all this time, alone with me?”

You open his eyes and find him staring down at you, observing the sight of you. You shake your head, failing to bite away the smile that’s threatening to show itself. “Sex wasn’t exactly my priority in the middle of the woods, Astarion. The circumstances were awful.”

“True,” he remarks, tilting his head. His fingers graze over your thigh, still clothed with fabric, but you almost can pretend you don’t know better. “Still,” he says softly, his hands stalling at your lower navel, “here’s hoping we’ll get more time to enjoy this.”

Before he continues undressing you, he pauses, and that crease between his brows forms again. “Just to be clear,” he says, “you do want this?”

Your response is immediate, albeit breathy with want. “I do.”

He flashes you a grin, suddenly wicked. “Good.”

To your dismay, he crawls off of you, but it’s immediately remedied when he places his hands on your shoulder and eases you to the soft floor of the tent, coaxing your legs apart with his knee.

Any clothes you’re still wearing are quickly disposed of, and needless to say, being so naked while he’s still fully clothed leaves you feeling entirely too vulnerable. “Planning to take me with your clothes on?” you ask, and he pauses, blinking - shaking his head, as if shaking away a stray thought. “Of course not,” he says, the corner of his lips tugging into a smile. “Simply admiring the view, darling.”

His shirt comes off, first, tugged over his head. All silky-smooth skin that you want to trail your hands over, admire inch by inch. Gods, he’s beautiful, shadows reflecting over lithe muscle, supple skin and unearthly beauty you shouldn’t be able to touch. But you are. You gently lift a hand to him, running your fingers over his forearm, and he smiles, undoing his trousers.

Your entire body tenses in anticipation of him, but your gaze can’t stay in place. It meets his for a moment, taking in the dark ruby color of his eyes. It flickers over his nimble fingers, studies the tendons in his hands, dances over his chest and abdomen. Something stirs in you, something that aches well beyond the temporary arousal, something that cuts deeper. It’s something that, selfishly, wants him to stay. Wants him to curl next to you in the nights, wants him to leave his mother behind and continue on with you.

An impossible want, but it’s still there. After this, where will it leave the two of you?

You aren’t sure - but if this is the only chance you’re going to get at it, you’re damn well going to take it. Astarion leans over you, kissing you softly, and then his talented fingers are going to work between your thighs. They work a smooth, blissful friction that you’ve never been able to achieve by yourself - and, though the anxious rooting inside of you wants to shut your eyes, you don’t. You hold his gaze.

For just a moment, he looks almost distant, but his eyes clear - and something darkens in his gaze as he looks at you. He props over you, watching you as you squirm in pleasure, his lips slightly parted.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, and you nearly come apart right there. You don’t, though. He pulls his hand away and you’re left shuddering, panting and aching. Then, he moves closer, places a hand on your thigh to coax your legs apart, and works a finger into you.

His hands are warm by now, but - gods. The feeling of him, compared to your feeble attempts, is nearly shameful. He takes his time with this - goes slow, watching your face intently. He doesn’t want to hurt you, you realize.

Your impatience is less now, as he increases it to two, then three; the stretch, despite his best efforts, is bordering on painful. The almost-pain fades the further he goes on, bleeding into something else that’s so intensely pleasurable you want to beg him to just take you.

When he finally stops, he tilts his head. “Oh, you’re ready for me, aren’t you?” he asks, his voice silky and low.

“Please,” comes your response.

“Darling, no need to beg,” he says. “I won’t keep you waiting.”

And he doesn’t. He props himself over you, lowering himself to kiss you, and your leg hitches around his waist. His skin is warm from touching yours, but it’s cold where your arms move to wrap around his neck. You’re mindful of his scars, because you doubt he likes them touched, and he brushes his nose against your cheek as he pushes into you. Slowly, again, but you’re not going to complain. There’s that wash of pain again, and then - oh, gods. Pleasure. Delicious, blissful friction. Your chest heaves and your mouth lets out a loud, needy sound.

Only then do you remember you’re in the middle of camp, but honestly? You’re so removed at this point that you don’t even care. If all of Calthir hears you getting fucked to the heavens by their enemy prince, so be it. Cal’s probably fucked off to somewhere else anyway, no doubt burdened by guilt. He has to feel some sort of guilt, doesn’t he?

“Gods,” Astarion pants, drawing you back to the present as he slowly deepens his thrusts. You swallow hard, watching the crease of pleasure form between his brows, studying the flash of fangs between his lips. You’re drunk on pleasure, the feel of him, the tiny solitude in this tent that separates you from the rest of the world. He kisses you again, and this time it’s heated, desperate, messy.

His tongue molds against yours, his fangs graze your lip. Gods, his pace is picking up. Your muscles are starting to tense - the flushed warmth that’s building under your skin is growing. He lets out a soft moan and grips your shoulder, and you instinctively tilt your head for him, giving him access to your neck.

He studies your expression for a moment, as if he’s confirming what you’re offering, and then - gods. He sinks his fangs into your neck.

If you’d thought the practice was intimate before, it’s so much more now. You barely even feel the pain of the piercing skin - all you feel is him tasting you, groaning into your skin, his hips still rolling evenly.

He only takes a little, but when he pulls away, there’s that rosy flush to his cheeks. When he kisses you, you can taste yourself on him, metallic iron. His movements are less graceful, now. His gaze is dark and intense, and his grip on you is stronger when he takes your shoulder again, thrusting harder - enough to have you tensing, the both of you panting.

When the pleasure finally takes you, it’s so intense it’s almost painful. It starts somewhere deep within, working its way through you, singing through your veins until the world blurs at the edges. Blinding, white-hot waves of it ebb and flow through you, taking you away from every sensation but that of Astarion, skin balmy against yours - floating somewhere in the depths of your mind until you finally come down.

Astarion shudders through his climax just after you, letting out a sudden, wanting noise - as if it’s been punched out of him. As if it had surprised him, just the way it had surprised you. You want to memorize it. You want to take that sound and remember it forever.

When it’s all passed, you’re left covered in sweat, sated, and very, very vulnerable. The arousal that had drifted away your insecurities is waning, and you’re left wanting to hide - to crawl away. But Astarion gently kisses you, carefully pulling out of you, and exhaustion takes over instead.

The Gur. Finding out about Cazador. Cal’s betrayal. All of that in one day, and it’s taking its toll. Your eyes feel heavy. Your muscles feel achy and worn out. Your thoughts are clouded over, too intertwined and complicated to drag apart when you’re like this.

You sit up and grab a stray rag, intending to clean yourself, but Astarion tugs it out of your fingers. “No, darling, let me,” he says.

And you do.

He confuses you - that he can be so vicious and so tender. He’d killed Gandrel without hesitation, without remorse - though, admittedly, you’d let him. Let him. As if you had some control over him. As if you could have stopped him. It should scare you, perhaps - that callous, venomous side of him - but it doesn’t. The rough edges of him you keep finding only make you want him more. The details don’t sate you. You always want more.

And now, you suppose you’ll find out what comes next.

The tent is silent. You fumble through your pack and find your sleeping clothes, and Astarion does the same. You’re hesitant, not wanting to push too far. You know very well sex doesn’t mean anything more - however much you might want more - and you know for certain that Astarion had not offered you anything aside from that. Still, the thought of curling up alone tonight has your chest aching.

When you finish dressing, you find that Astarion has pulled the two bedrolls together, fluffed up by the pillows and blankets. He raises a brow and pats the spot next to him, and it’s really very childish, the way your chest fills with a delirious sort of joy. You make your way next to him, and he folds you into his arms.

His skin is cool again. The little sounds of him are relaxing - the movements of his ribs when he breathes, the bob of his throat when he swallows, the light sigh he lets out when his head meets the pillow. It almost makes up for the silence in his chest. The void of sound where a beating heart should be.

For just a moment, before sleep pulls you away, you wonder if he remembers how it felt - to have something alive, thrumming in his chest.

tags: @amica-aenigmata-naboo @sadslasher13 @peachy-possum @the-lonely-abyss @maddiedrmr @starved-kitten @catching-fire-in-the-wind @aoirohi @g0retash

#astarion #astarion x reader #astarion ancunin #astarion x you #astarion x tav #baldurs gate 3 x reader #mywriting

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nahoney22 · 7 months

Note

Idk if im allowed to ask for another request for the 3000 celebration but your writing is just so good that I can't help myself. Feel free to ignore if you're getting too flooded with requests lol but would I be able to get "tease me until I can't take it anymore" and "I just want to be used by you tonight. Van I be your personal toy?" Smut with F!Reader and sub!crosshair. Keep up the amazing work

3000 Prompt List Celebration

Crosshair X F!Reader

word count: 1k

NSFW

prompts:

“Tease me until I can’t take it no more.”

“I just want to be used by you tonight, can I be your personal toy?”

warnings: NSFW, 18+ only. Explicit sexual content and language. Sub!crosshair, light dom!female reader. Established relationship, dry humping/grinding, blowjob, teasing, cum denial, praise, pet names, smut without plot (kinda). NSFW under the cut. Not proofread, a little rushed ngl.

Authors note: of course you can ask for another request! I’m just sorry it’s taken like 5 years and it’s not the best. 🩵 @thrawns-babygirl

“I just want to be used by you tonight, can I be your personal toy?”

You stared up at your lover, eyes a little wide and completely stunned at what he just asked. For the last day he had been acting… different. His demeanor had shifted over the past few hours, growing more tense than usual. You had noticed him struggling to articulate something, his words hovering on the tip of his tongue.

But as he looms over you, trained eyes piercingly sharp as they gaze down at you, the question just slipped past his lips. “You want me to use you?” You repeat, quite sure you had heard him correctly but there’s nothing wrong with double checking.

You sense his resolve, his shoulders squaring and eyes finding it hard to stay on yours so with a smirk, you place one hand to his shoulder and push him off you, maneuvering deftly so you were straddling him instead. “Answer me.” You demanded, a fiery desire coursing through you as it appeared Crosshair was yielding control of the situation.

“Yes.” He rasps with a gulp, his eyes a little wide as your confidence shines through straight away. Have you wanted to dominate him as much as he wanted to be submissive to you? He’s sat up, watching you as you begin to tease him with a subtle roll of your hips against his lap, heart hammering in his chest.

He doesn’t particularly know where this sudden desire came from but he wanted a change of pace - he wanted you to take control.

“Now this is an interesting turn of events, Crosshair,” you chime pleasantly, “and not something I’m not going to pass up.”

He remains tight-lipped as you pull your top over your head, tits bouncing free from its confines and you try hard not to blush to the sound of his quiet moan as a result. He almost fails being a sub in a split second, as he so very nearly latched his lips to your stiffening nipples but you were quick to deflect him.

Pressing your hands to his chest, pushing him back until his back hits the mattress you gave him an incredulous look. “Did I say you could kiss my breasts?”

He sighs and shakes his head. “No.”

“No, what?”

He pauses for a second, a deep exhale parting his lips as his cock twitches in his pants at your dominance and how you clearly wanted to be addressed differently. “No… ma’am.”

“Good boy.” You smirk, adding more pressure to his crotch that sends him crazy. You moan yourself a little, the feeling of the thickness of his cock in his pants against your pussy felt so good. In fact, it isn’t long until you are standing, pulling your pants off (too slow for crosshairs liking) until you take yet another seat on his lap and feeling the friction even more. “I can’t wait for you to be inside me, darling.”

Crosshair huffs in response but the lust in his eyes showed everything you needed to know. When you slide his pants off, you sit back and admire how his cock twitches just under your gaze. “Aw, do you need your cock touching?”

The stoic man’s hands clench the sheets beneath him, in torture how you were dragging this out but it is what he wanted after all. “Just,” he whines unable to finish his sentence as his cock already oozes just by the sight of you

“Just, what?”

“Tease me. Tease me until I can’t take it any more.”

His words surprise you once more but the sex crazed smile on your face had you shifting between his legs, fingers gently caressing over his bare thighs. “As you wish.”

Slowly, tortuously slowly, you placed your tongue flat against the inside of his thigh and moved up along his proudly standing erection.

The flat of your tongue slid along his cock as your lips slowly enveloped the head. Crosshairs long lashes fluttered, dark, lust filled eyes finding your gaze.

Your boyfriend whined as he felt his tip touch the back of your warm throat. You moaned at the taste of him, slurping and spitting on his cock just how you wanted to.

His hips start to jut, his heavy breaths becoming ragged as your name slips beautifully past his lips. You know him, you know when he’s about to hit his high and as soon as he gets to his peak, goes curling and moans strangled in his throat, you pull back.

“W-What? Why… babe?” He gasps at the lack of orgasm, by now he would be painting your pretty face with his cum but alas, your face remains clean and smug.

“You’re my toy, remember? You only get to finish when I’m done with you, silly.”

He is watching you with wide, blown eyes as you begin to crawl over the top of him, breasts sliding against his throbbing cock until you maneuver on top of him, your pussy just inches away from his head that was almost begging to be touched by your wet lips.

“You look so good; wanting and needy.”

“You’re fucking incredible.” He breathes, nothing but love on his face and you smirk as you sink onto his length, eliciting the most guttural groan he had ever released.

“Mmm, maker… so, s-so warm.” He rests up on his elbows, hips naturally thrusting up into you but as you tut at him and push against his lower abdomen to halt him.

“No moving.” You commanded and he let out the sweetest whimper of pleasure.

“Please, I need to fuck you so hard.” He sighs, pushing past the firm hold you had as he begged for his needs that you weren’t so willing to give just yet.

“No. Moving.” You repeat, forcing his hips back down as you begin to delicately grind your hips and down against him, his cock stretching you so well that a small curse passes your lips.

“You wanted to be teased, Crosshair,” you rasp, your index finger trailing up his chest that heaved under your touch, caressing up his neck until you grab his chin between your fingers, leaning over his lips, “so this is going to be a long evening for you.”

Masterlist

Tags @andyoufollowyourheart @littlefeatherr @kaitou2417 @eyecandyeoz @captxin-rex @jesseeka @ashotofspotchka @oohyesplease @theroguesully @mustluvecho @ladykatakuri i @jambolska-grozdova @arctrooper69 @padawancat97 @rain-on-kamino @either-madness-or-brilliance @staycalmandhugaclone @ko-neko-san @echos-girlfriend @fiveshelmet @dangraccoon @plushymiku-blog @chrissywakingup @kixs-husband @pb-jellybeans @nunanuggets @sleepycreativewriter @erellenora @zippingstars87 @tech-aficionado @grizabellasolo @therealnekomari @tech-depression-inventory @brynhildrmimi @greaser-wolf @tinyreadersmur @seriowan @kaminocasey @marvel-starwars-nerd @ladytano420 @ladyzirkonia @raevulsix @imalovernotahater @whore4rex @imperialclaw801 @temple-elder @mysticalgalaxysalad @photogirl894 @fantasyproductions

#nahoney22 writes #crosshair x reader #tbb crosshair #bad batch crosshair x reader #crosshair x fem!reader #the bad batch #star wars #tbb #clone wars #crosshair bad batch

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clatoera · 7 months

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Always Remember We're Burned For Better Chapter 20: We Will Never Go Back to That Bloodshed

Well everyone...we made it. It has taken nearly nine months but here we are. We are at the end of ARWBFB (save for the Epilogue). This has been one of my biggest undertakings and I am so so so proud of it. You guys have followed me through two board exams, applications, and so so so many different speciality rotations during this journey. You have been incredibly patient but also incredibly supportive. I NEVER could have finished it without you guys. I wanted to get this up sooner or at least on the 13th. I failed at both of those, but I hope you will understand when you see that this chapter is the longest by a significant amount. I am so proud of this fic, and I hope you all decide that it was worth giving your time to sharing with me.

The chapter title comes from The Great War. A fun fact would be that this line actually loops back to "we will never go back to that bloodshed, crimson clover" with Crimson Clover being the title of chapter one. It's come full circle (save for the epilogue).

This chapter is designed like Chapter 4 was. Each segment is divided by a lyric that encapsulates the vibes. It is not as happy, but it is the start of happily ever after.

AO3

Masterpost

As always..this is for everyone who has helped me and loved me and supported this story. I cannot even tag everyone but I will try. A LARGE portion of this goes to @ohhowwehavefallen who has talked about MOST things that happen in this chapter with me in depth and has enabled me (VSC immortalized forever with this one, so is Cato buying the academy). @kentwells who actually helped me make major decisions regarding the sequel, which affected the way Marvel and Glimmer ended here. Thank you for putting up with me. @dukeysquid and @mackcoleslaw for the constant constant support. @clarascrabarmy who talks me off the ledge and is my go to night reader (and night validator that im crazy). @mollywog who has tolerated this fic for 9 months. @crookedlyniceperson who comes in with the memes EVERY single time. @cyansadnessI dont even get to talk to you much any more but you were an OG reader and I am giving you kisses for your love. There are so many more who I am afraid I may have missed (and I know I have missed) but i'm emotional and hormonal and crying as I type this.

This is, and always has been, for you guys who have given me your support and love. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. I never would have finished without the love and support of every single person who has read this.

Thank you.

How evergreen, our group of friends

The kitchen, despite the literal war that had raged on outside in District One, was quite literally untouched. Untouched, as in, no one had ever used it even prior to the games or the war that should have resolved the house itself to rubble.

They had quickly discovered that despite varying levels of damage to the districts, the Victors Villages were left nearly untouched. Call it symbolism, call it fate, call it making a point, but this was not a fact any of the surviving victors were going to debate or question.

For now they were all just going to be thankful to even have a place to live, especially one that wasn’t an underground bunker in a district that resented them.

It’s Clove, who is opening and shutting every single cabinet in the bright white kitchen. The golden handles and marble countertops are pristine– perfect and completely new. Every drawer is completely stocked with spices and the same sorts of things her own home had come with, but it is evident that these cabinets had remained untouched from their initial stocking. There was no dusting of cinnamon around the pores of the bottle, no slight film of salt from pouring over a steaming pot. They were still perfectly alphabetized, perfectly aligned in the spice drawer, as if the kitchen itself was taken right out of a capitol home decor magazine.

Funnily enough, though the kitchen was clearly new, it was so…Glimmer. Or at least the Glimmer she had been forced to become.

Gorgeous white marble countertops, shimmering golden metal for every door handle and knob on every drawer. The utensils were a beautiful gold, and even the appliances were designed to blend right in with the shining and glamorous surroundings.

In one drawer, she found incredibly sharp knives with mother of pearl handles, in another were soft baby pink pans. It was very much designed for the fifteen year old teenage girl who had won the house as part of her victor’s spoils.

Somehow, even without the Capitol’s influence, Clove still believes Glimmer would have turned out a golden, pink-loving girl. Or at least, it’s comforting to imagine it that way.

Clove curls her fingers around the shimmering handle of one of the paring knives, bringing it to eye level to inspect it. The blade is alarmingly sharp for one designed to dice vegetables or carve into fruits, further supporting Clove’s suspicion that it had never been used prior to well, right now. She weighs it in her hand, feeling the way it settles in her palm. Her other hand comes to run over the couple of inches of metal, evaluating the quality. It was top of the line in terms of cooking, of course, nothing but the best for any victor, but it may even serve well in terms of slicing through-

She drops the knife, flinching only a little at the realization of how the metal colliding with the marble will dull the beautiful little blade. It startles her, not the sound of the metal on rock, no that any District Two girl could sleep through like a lullaby, but by the harsh realization of her own thoughts. She would likely never slice through anything but food again, there would be no more blood spitting on her from pulsing arteries, no more tendons severed.

Clove would probably never kill anyone else ever again. The thought is both disconcerting and comforting, leaving Clove alarmed and settled.

“Are you okay?” A soft, sleepy voice asks from around the entrance to the kitchen. When Clove looks up she sees Glimmer, rubbing at her eyes with her long cream colored sleeves. She shuffles into the kitchen in fluffy white slippers, a sweater that reaches halfway down her legs, and exceptionally messy loose braids that tell Clove that yeah she probably did just wake up.

“Good morning, Princess.” Clove scoffs, gently grabbing the dropped knife and twisting it nimbly between her fingers. “It’s four in the afternoon, Glimmer. Did you have a busy night?”

“I was with Cash and Gloss all night, we’re trying to figure out what to do about our parents.” Glimmer sits herself at the island continuing to rub at her eye with the heel of her hand, exhaustion written all across her pretty face. “I didn’t come back until this morning.”

Clove flinches at her own insensitivity– while she was well used to being, well, alone. An orphan. On her own. Whatever, it was..new for the others. Cato’s family was still in the wind, but Glimmer and her siblings, as well as Marvel, were new to the world of being parentless. “God, Glimmer, I’m sorry–”

At least Glimmer had Cashmere and Gloss, the same could not be said for Marvel, who was the only surviving member of his entire family. Clove could easily relate to that, because even if anyone survived, they were dead to her long ago.

Glimmer just nods her head, acknowledging but not verbally accepting the apology her friend offers.

Nothing had been necessarily right between the four of them since the vote. Cato and Clove, they were perfectly fine, of course. Marvel however had lost any progress he had made with Glimmer, and Cato nor Clove had yet to fully return to her good graces. It wasn’t even like any of them could blame her for being mad. She had been right.

“Thanks for letting us stay with you.” She decides, instead filling the space between them with gentle words of appreciation. “Like..literally in your house with you.”

“You don’t have to thank me, you know that.. It’s nice not to be alone.” Glimmer sighs, resting her chin on her hand and looking across the island to Clove, who is still twisting a knife in her hand. “I don’t know if i’m quite ready to be alone yet.”

They weren’t necessarily far from anyone. Marvel spent the days over here with them, Brutus was in one of the empty houses, Cash and Gloss each in their own and then Enobaria was– “Is Enobaria staying across the street in the empty one or down the road–”

Glimmer cocks an eyebrow, the littlest smirk making an appearance on her face. “She’s staying with my sister.”

“Oh!” Clove looks nearly taken aback as she opens another drawer, absently sorting through the perfect, unused cutting boards and kitchen aids to distract herself from the awkward tension between her and her host. “I didn’t know they were even friends.”

“Girl..” Glimmer giggles, leaning in closer on the island, nearly pressing her upper body into the marble. “You know Enobaria and Cashmere are..” She makes a gesture with her middle and pointer finger that Clove can’t interpret, and the confused look on her freckled face must convey that to the blonde girl. “Right?”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“Do I need to spell it out for you, Clove? They’re fucking. They’re a thing.”

“What! No, I mean just because they’re staying together doesn’t mean–” The heat in Clove’s cheeks at the realization leaves her flustered, and flustered is not a look Clove wears well.

“Well that's what everyone thinks about the four of us.” Glimmer teases, before bringing her hand out infront of her to inspect the remnants of her nails. “Seriously. They’ve been a thing for like…god Cash won sixty-four? So… ten…ish years? Probably? I dunno. But it’s not a secret. I’m shocked you couldn’t tell.”

“Well I didn’t see them together much, okay? And noone thinks that the four of us are all fucking, Glimmer. That’s crazy Capitol type shit.” Clove defends, desperately looking through the drawers for a change of topic. Maybe she could understand why Enobaria got so irritated when ever she and Cato got caught–

Yep. Okay. Makes sense!

“Sure they don’t Clove, you don’t see the looks people give us?”

Clove digs through the drawers, finding the still boxed mixer and the perfect white plates, nothing seeming even a little out of place. She is flustered and the heat in her neck and face won’t even allow her to respond to such comments.

“For fucks sake, Glimmer, have you used anything in this kitchen.”

“Drawer closest to the refrigerator has two little plates and two forks. We used to …uh…we would eat a lot of cake.” Glimmer finds herself grabbing at the skin around her nail with her teeth, tugging at the cuticles until they ripped off. She couldn’t resist the urge to constantly be picking at and degrading something about her body, and right now her nails were all she had access to. “Other than that, not really.”

“How did you survive, Glimmer? Seriously?” Clove rests a hand on the back of her hip, strumming along the top of her hip while also trying to massage out some of the pain of her lower back that never seemed to go away.

“Well, everything I ate was precooked and preweighed, I had to keep a certain look you know?” Glimmer shrugs, kicking her feet just a little at the height of the chair, twisting just ever so slightly to keep herself comfortable. “I wasn’t really allowed to go beyond that. Cooking was never important.”

“You’re gonna have to learn to make something Glimmer, especially if you ever have kids–” Clove teases, but the biting response of Glimmer wipes the smile right off of her face.

“I told you in the Capitol I'm not doing that. I’m never doing that. I don’t want to.” Glimmer snaps before she pushes herself out of the chair so she can make a quick escape if the conversation goes any further south.

“You used to, I’m sorry, Glimmer. That's who I knew you as. The girl who wanted to settle into her life and be someone’s mother. And for what it’s worth, Glim Glam, I think you’d have been good at it.” Clove puts a hand up in defense, before she awkwardly goes back to going through the remaining cabinets, stopping prior to the refrigerator and pantry.

She pauses, and turns to face her friend. She gives a heavy sigh, bracing herself on the counter behind her, when she begins.

“I’m sorry. I am. About the vote. You were right, and as soon as you pulled me into that room– I knew you were right. About his sister and about our friends’ kids and everything. I just wanted to feel like some wrong was made right, Glimmer. It wasn’t going to be me back in the games, and I wanted them to feel what it was like. But then you mentioned Cora, and god knows if she’s alive, but if she is she couldn’t ever go to the games. Or Finnick’s kids, or yours or– I don’t know. All of a sudden it wasn’t just like..nameless kid tributes. It was people we knew. It was kids we knew. It was little girls who looked like you and little red heads in four and! It was kids we love or will love and– you were right. And I’m sorry.”

There is a stunned silence for a few seconds that feels like years to Clove, as Glimmer looks at her with the look of a doe caught in the lights of a car.

“....thank you.” Glimmer whispers in response, but something palpable has finally shifted between them. Whatever permafrost had threatened to take hold on the boundaries of their friendship started to melt away in that moment. Maybe not a heat wave, but a start. “I…thank you, Clove.”

Clove gives Glimmer another once over as they stand staring at each other. The months of this war had taken a toll on Clove of course, evidenced by the aches in her body and the scars along her skin. Her scars would fade, as her bruises had, and even the pain isn’t visible. On the outside Clove still looked almost exactly like she always had.

On Glimmer though, the changes were blatant. The golden glow of her skin was long gone, replaced by pale, nearly gray undertones. That long platinum hair was longer than ever, but now revealed multiple inches of a honey blonde natural color that had been hidden since before she even won the games. Even the actual structure of her face and body had changed. Any capitol enhancement had long since grown out or metabolized away, leaving Glimmer with deep collar bones and sinking skin on her cheeks.

She looked exhausted but she also looked starved. She looked sick.

“Glimmer…you look hungry.” Clove gives her a look that must be riddled with pity, for the blonde looks away and at her hands instead. “Will you please let me make you something? I know there probably isn’t much in here but I can send the boys out…” B

Before Glimmer can argue or decline, Clove swings the door open to what she expected to be a barren refrigerator and is taken back by the fully stocked fridge that awaits her.

Well. Full. And Stocked. Maybe not with actual kitchen staples or ingredients for meals, but definitely full.

“What in the fuck–”

“Marvel does that sometimes. And Cato’s been talking nonstop about your cooking for literal months. They went yesterday, I think. I..don’t think either of them knew what they were doing but they’ve got the spirit. They mean well.,” Glimmer explains, not bothering to put up a fight with Clove and deny her this opportunity. Even if she didn’t eat it– Cato and Marvel sure fucking would. This was their new Hunger Games.

“Good intentions…that's why there’s seventeen tomatoes?” Clove raises an eyebrow, the ghost of a smile gracing her face as she surveys the fridge. Sure it was a little..odd.. Seventeen tomatoes, three bags of flour, at least fifty eggs, a dozen heads of garlic… odd but good intentioned nonetheless. “I’m going to guess they wanted pasta?”

“That sounds right. I think I heard Cato saying something about that, but they lost me when I heard them trying to remember if onions and garlic are the same thing.” Glimmer shrugs, but finds herself going back to sit at the island, no longer on the verge of running out of the kitchen at any moment.

Clove starts grabbing armfuls of the tomatoes to transfer them to the countertop, feeling the soft flesh of one under her fingertips. She probably wouldn’t even need the chef’s knife, but damn if she wasn’t going to take the opportunity to use it. “Do you have a big- you know what, nevermind.”

She decides against asking for a stock pot, knowing fully well Glimmer would have no idea what she was talking about. Instead, she rummages through the cabinets until she does in fact find a blush pink soup pot practically bigger than Clove herself. She immediately sets herself to gently slicing the skin off of the tomatoes, delighting in the way the acidic juice dripped down over her fingers.

“You should give him a chance, Glimmer, he’s a good guy.” Clove suggests, tossing each individual skinned tomato into the giant pink pot one at a time.

“I’m not the one not interested, Clove, you know that.” Glimmer reminds her bitterly, reaching forward to attempt to grab a tomato, dropping it when the acid in the juice burns the raw skin around her nails. “He doesn’t want me.”

“Now that isn’t true and you know it. You two seemed fine and then the vote happened and you shut him down again.” Clove points out, turning to the cabinet behind her to grab her selection of the endless array of unused spices. “Which, I get it, you were hurt–”

“He can’t just make my trauma a personal vendetta, Clove. He can’t advocate for slaughtering babies in an arena under the name of defending me and the things that happened to me.” Glimmer hops off the chair once again, this time letting herself scope out the refrigerator and whatever the hell the boys had come up with to fill it with.

“It happened to him, too, Glimmer. Maybe not as much as it did to you. But it happened to him, too.” Clove collects salt and sugar and various other jars of spices she currently can’t name but knows for some reason she needs to add them. “Glim. Sometimes we care more about avenging the people we love, rather than actually doing what's right. The things that are done to people you love..sometimes that's just worse.”

“You don’t know what it’s like, Clove. To be seen as the girl who fucks everyone. Whether I wanted to or not. And trust me, I didn’t want to. And no matter how hard I try, for the rest of my life, that is how everyone is going to see me. Do you know what the best part of all this is, Clove? That I never have to be seen in public ever again.” She filters through the fruit– half a dozen containers of strawberries, a single mango, an entire box of blueberries– before letting herself grab a single blueberry for a snack.

“We don’t see you that way, you know? Not me, not Cato, and god Glimmer you know Marvel doesn’t either.” Clove assures, using the palm of her hand to measure out the various herbs and spices she’s tossing in. There’s no recipe– she’s just doing what feels right. Such is the theme for all aspects of their lives right now. “And you never have to do that again. Hell, never have sex again at all for all I care, obviously I do but–”

“Yeah, Clove, I know. We share a wall. The wall your bed is on.”

“Oh! Right! Well.. anyway!” Clove fakes a grimace and mouths ‘sorry’ before she places a lid on her creation. “Come on. Let's go find the boys, then I'll show you how to make the pasta.”

“I think they’re laying in the yard.” Glimmer waves off, before grabbing another handful of berries to pop into her mouth.

“They’re…laying in the yard?” Clove raises a dark eyebrow, confusion mapped across her face. “Are they dogs?”

“Something about missing grass and fresh air in Thirteen, I don’t know, I could hear them through the window.” Glimmer shakes her head, but stands in the doorway of the refrigerator. “Do you need anything out of here?”

“They’re fucking weird.” Clove clears off a workspace to knead and roll out the pasta, recognizing that this is probably the first time these counters have been used for anything ever. “uh yeah I need eggs and flour… Honestly, I usually make Cato come do this part because I like to watch his hands knead the dough but…let them…become one with nature or whatever they’re out there doing.”

“Why do you need flowers in noodles? I didn’t think you could eat those?” Glimmer cocks her head, holding out the cardboard carton of a dozen eggs to her, but pausing with a perplexed look on her face as she searches the refrigerator for a bouquet of some sort. “I can go check the garden–”

“What? No Glimmer, Flour not flowers.” Clove wipes her hands on the side of her shirt– Cato’s shirt, actually–, and comes next to her friend to point at the various bags on the bottom shelf. “It’s like..it’s white powder, I can’t explain it. It makes bread. Noodles. Cookies… pizza. It makes all the good stuff you probably don’t eat. But we are going to change that.”

There are a few moments of silence, as Clove measures things. It’s nearly peaceful, with the only sounds coming from the dough being flopping and kneaded into the marble.

Silent, that is, until Glimmer finally breaks.

“Thank you for staying with me.” Glimmer manages to get out, when tears Clove didn’t even know were coming just start pouring out of her friend. “I-i’m going to be alone for the rest of my life, I don’t want to be alone yet.”

Clove pauses her hand folding, brushing her flour covered hands on her shirt before she rests her elbows on the counter, leaning in to truly hear her friend. “Glimmer, you aren’t going to be alone forever.”

“But I am! Yeah, Cash and Gloss are here but..they aren’t here. My parents are gone. You and Cato are going to go home, I don’t want to be alone yet.” Glimmer sobs, furiously wiping at her eyes with her sleeves, Mascara from god knows when smearing along them. “Noone wants a girl that everyone has had, at least not for more than a night, Clove! I’m alone and when i’m alone I just..I swear it’s like someone’s going to come in and they’re going to touch me and they’re going to hurt me and–”

“You’re scared.” Clove realizes, and her heart completely and utterly shatters for the girl. She sees her not as the twenty something girl in front of her, but instead a scared fifteen year old victor she never got to grow out of being. “It’s okay to be scared, but no one's going to hurt you anymore.” She nearly reaches for her hand, she nearly reaches to do anything to comfort her, but something tells her that sudden touch is the furthest thing from what Glimmer needs right now.

“Someone is always ready to hurt me, Clove. It’s all anyone wants out of me. Noone wants me but they all want me. I just think about all the things they’ve done to me, Clove. How many times they’ve shot me up with something or gave me a handful of pills and just told me to swallow them. Who knows what they’ve done to me…” Glimmer cries, hot tears tracking down her face and onto the fabric of her sleeves. They speckle her sweater, soaking into the cream colored fabric and turning it dark. The levee has broken within Glimmer, and the rushing waves of grief cannot be stopped. “When I won..my sister and brother used to sleep down here. So when I wake up screaming they could come up to me. And then in the Capitol I was NEVER alone and as soon as I was…Cash would come in. She’d hold me, tell me how sorry she was that she let me become a victor, that she didn’t stop me from trying to go to the games. And then, god, once I had Marvel, he practically moved in and he slept me and I actually felt safe. I could sleep. Even back when we were just friends…he’d let me sleep in his room in the Capitol, he was never touchy or pushy or anything. He just let me sleep and sometimes he’d hold me and it was the best sleep I had since I won.” Glimmer wipes at the tears again, ignoring how messy she had to look right now. It was her own kitchen and really what did she have left to lose? Glimmer rambles on, “And you two are here and so I try to sleep and it isnt working as well as it used to and in thirteen I was so afraid every time I heard someone was in the hall that they were going to come in and —“

“When was the last time you slept, Glimmer? Actually slept?” Clove eases, sliding her a dish towel to use to clear the tears from her eyes. “You have to be exhausted.”

“Probably the games, funny enough. Weird that I felt safe enough there but- it is what it is. I tried in Thirteen! And here! it’s just…I can still feel their hands on my skin a-and feel them breathing on my neck and hear their voices and the sound of their feet coming to get me. If I fall asleep they’re there taunting me and grabbing me and-and-and!“ Glimmer continues to recount her nightmares and real life horrors, her breath catching in her throat and coming out in heaving, panicked, desperate gasps. “I just don’t see what the point of all this was. I don’t have anyone and I’m terrified in my own house and my parents are gone and what did I survive it all for if I’m going to be alone?”

“You aren’t going to be alone. You aren’t, and you can stay with someone or something but, God Glimmer. Out of all of us, all of the things we have gone through, you Glimmer deserve a happy ending. You deserve to feel safe and loved and god, Glimmer, you deserve to be happy.” Clove finally grabs at her arm, gently squeezing her forearm. “You are safe, Glimmer. And no one gets to hurt you ever again. I promise, Glimmer. You are going to be happy.”

Glimmer…does not learn how to make pasta that day.

Ten minutes of egg and flour stuck to her fingers is enough to send her back to the verge of tears and back to a safe distance away where she instead watches only.

Once the dough is chilling and the sauce is stewing, they retreat to the living area, sprawled out on the baby pink couches.

They sit in comfortable silence while the sauce cooks, Glimmer curled up on the foot of the couch, Clove outstretched on the other end with a book of District One history spread out in her lap.

It’s peaceful. Comfortable. Safe.

When Clove notices the Glimmer has fallen asleep, she grabs the fur throw blanket from the back of the couch and tosses it over her friend. Never in her life had she planned to care for some random victor girl from District One, with enough trauma and abuse in her short life for all of them combined, but here she was. War, she supposed, changed the way you see the world.

She doesn’t even need to call the boys in for dinner like a mother calling for her kids to come in at sundown, because like the bloodhounds men tend to be, they all but run through the glass back door like the children they never got to be once the smell of dinner reaches the outdoors.

“Clove? Clove, are you cooking? Do I smell food?” Marvel slips in the door first, literally just edging Cato out to get in before him. “Holy mother of god, that's food. I can SMELL the spice, there's salt in it isn’t there. You’re a fucking saint.”

“You’re a moron.” Cato rolls his eyes, but pushes Marvel out of the way just so he can beat him to the island. “…there is salt and stuff right?”

“You’re also a moron.” It’s Clove’s turn to roll her eyes instead, as she fishes a single pasta noodle out of the water to try it. “If i remember correctly you did talk about my cooking every day for weeks…”

“Months.” Glimmer chimes in as she makes her appearance. It’s only been a couple of hours since she fell asleep on the couch but even the brief nap has her looking noticeably better and more rested. “Every day for months.”

Clove catches Glimmer (but not Cato) off guard with how fast she moves when she reaches out to grab Marvel’s wrist as he goes to dip a spoon into the sauce. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Clove, I'm serious,this is the best moment I've had in months, let me have this. I need something good in my life.” Marvel half pleads, and the tired tone in his voice paired with the exhaustion behind his eyes is all that it takes before Clove is releasing his wrist and turning away.

“Do NOT go in twice, I will cut off your fingers.” She threatens and has to nearly slap Cato’s fingers away from the pasta noodles where they are cooling. “You two are like fucking children.”

“Oh my god.” Comes from Marvel, but it sounds somewhere between a cry and a gasp. “Clove this is the best thing i’ve had-maybe ever. Maybe that's the war trauma but-” Ignoring her threats he risks it for another dip, and then steps immediately a few steps out of her reach. “Can you stay here? Seriously, can we keep you? Cato you can stay too, if that helps.”

Marvel slides to the other side of the island, safely out of reach of all three of them as he debates just dipping a coffee cup and drinking the sauce. “For fucks sake, Cato, kiss her. Or Glimmer, you do it. I don’t care. One of you..just..appreciate her.”

“I’ll still kill you.” Cato warns, but he is slightly distracted by the handfuls of fresh pasta he is dropping into his mouth. “Clove is very appreciated, thank you very themuch.”

“.....are you crying?” Glimmer leans onto the counter, propping her chin in her hand as she outright smirks at her once boyfriend. There's the spark of light behind her eyes that Snow had snuffed out long ago starting to glow just a little again.

“No!” Marvel defends himself indignantly, but they all hear the sniffle and the stifled“......maybe a little.”

I can go anywhere I want, anywhere I want just not home

Two months after their initial arrival in One, at the end of the second great war, after months of Clove feeding them, many tears from Glimmer at their goodbye, and promises of continued communication under the new mechanisms and options– phones communications, along with travel between districts, were allowed once again– Clove, Cato, Brutus, and Enobaria were on their train home.

Maybe it was irony, or maybe it was fate, but they take the incredibly short trip home on the same train they had come to the Capitol on in their prior games. Neither had ever noticed how the high speed trains went from One to Two in under half an hour, but then again, why would they have paid attention when they were young invincible victors with the entire world at their fingertips?

Still, even a twenty seven minute train ride feels like absolute eternity when you do not know what waits for you on the other end.

She is sitting as she always has on these trips– curled up with her back against his chest, settled between his legs, head resting on his shoulder. Her fingers snake up to where his arm is resting on the back of the couch, and she laces her fingers in with his.

Clove sighs as her eyes flutter shut, choosing not to watch the passage of destroyed buildings, burned farms, and mass civilian graves. There was a time in her life where no amount of bloodshed or the loss of life made her bat an eye— it was what they were trained for— but now…something about it made her stomach turn.

“It doesn’t feel like we’re going home.” Cato mumbles into the crown of her head, sliding his other hand firmly around her waist and holding her tighter to him. “It doesn’t feel like we even have one.”

“I don’t think we do.” Clove twists in his arms just a little so that she can see his face and languidly brings her free hand up to graze along his jawline. “I mean, we have a house, but I don’t think anyone will want to see us. Exiled to Victor’s Village ..” Her nails scratch along the planes of his skin gently, as she cranes her neck back to really look at him.

She has spent over half of her life looking at him, learning with him, and ultimately the last six loving him. Looking at him now, though, it’s almost like seeing him through new eyes.

Scars that the capitol would never take from him along his arms from retraining, golden blonde hair that had grown out enough it reached nearly to his eyelashes, the brightest sky blue eyes that harbored exhaustion far beyond that of a twenty one year old man.

And yet. It almost felt new to look at this man right now, in the same position on the same train they had been in time and time again.

It was new to see him in a world without The Hunger Games.

In a world where they would not wake up day to day to train the next class of tribute children, a world where they would not mentor victor and victor to parade home with pride to their district. A world where they would not raise their own children to volunteer for the games, where they would sacrifice them with a smile on their faces for the glory of being the parents of their own victor child, or pretend it did not shatter them to lose that same glorified baby to the games because they wouldn’t want to raise anything less than ideal little victors.

There was a version of them, somewhere, that dedicates the rest of their lives to the Hunger Games.

This is not that version of them. Not anymore.

Maybe it is because she knows what the life of a victor truly holds now. She learned in the confessions of Finnick, in the strangled screams of Glimmer in the middle of the night. She learned in the stories of Johanna, in the depravity of Haymitch. She learned in the desperation of Katniss, the destruction of Peeta. She learned of it in the loss of her mother.

She learns of a different life of a Victor, now. In the disapproving, but secretly adoring, looks from Enobaria when Cato carries her across a room. In the appreciative murmurs of Brutus, when he has pancakes with chocolate chips before him. In the updates on Annie’s growing family, in Marvel’s silly, stupid, but nonetheless endearing jokes.

Above all else she learns of it in the love of Cato, who saw her at the lowest shell of herself, and loved her even still.

Cato raises an eyebrow at her, shaking her just a little. “You’re thinking of something.” It’s his turn to bring a hand to her face, unwinding from her waist so he can tilt her chin up to meet his eyes more properly. “The corners of your lips twitch when you’re thinking too hard.”

Clove smiles gently, allowing the corners of her mouth to come to a soft grin. “I was just thinking about the last time we were on this particular train. On our way to the Quell. I didn’t think we’d be on our way back like this.”

“I also thought we were only leaving that arena in pine boxes. I didn’t think I’d be coming home. I never thought we’d come home together alive. ” He nods, looking past her rather than at her as he recollects the feelings and emotions of that day, leaving their district for what they expected to be the last time. Their days were numbered, or so they had every reason to believe.

For the first time, maybe in the entirety of their short lives, that was no longer the case.

Clove stretches both her arms out to wrap them behind his neck, relaxing fully and truly into his arms. “Is it crazy to say it feels like we won?”

The station is barren and silent when the train stops. There is no great crowd to welcome home the newest victor this time, no officials to celebrate them.

And yet, when the four of them are back on the train platform, surrounded by the rubble of what was once the greatest district in the country, there has never been a sweeter homecoming.

My house of stone, your ivy grows, and now i’m covered in you

The walk home is harrowing. Two months of cleanup had barely touched the majority of the evidence of the violence, especially along the bases of the mountain, where the various villages had to stack their dead. Slowly but surely they had been transported back to their towns to properly be buried under the traditions of each of the different villages.

That, of course, was just for the bodies that had even been recovered.

Nearly half of District Two’s population was unaccounted for, and reconstruction efforts had only barely begun to move the piles of rocks that represent the rubble of what was once towering buildings and neighborhoods full of homes.

The true carnage of the war, the gravity of the loss in this district alone was yet to be understood and tallied. Cato cannot say a word on the walk home, as every time he thinks about the bodies of his parents and sister rotting away under the ash of two, his throat feels like it is going to close on him. Clove by extension says nothing either, only threading her arm around his, holding that same arm with her other hand. There are no words to negate the pain of loss, to ease the ache of the unknown.

The gate to Victor’s Village is somehow perfectly intact, and from what they can see beyond, so are the pristine lines of ornate houses. A layer of ash covers the ground like fallen snow, and the air feels unseasonably cold up here. It is as if the ghosts of the victors, the families, all of the dead haunt these gates, encasing them in a blanket of melancholy as a reminder that they are the survivors yet again.

The chill especially wraps around Clove, sending an ache deep to her joints, a reminder that while she is a survivor, she was a victim, too. They have survived but they do not come home unscathed, they do not come home the victors they left as.

There are lights on in the two houses across the street from their own, and the reminder of life of their mentors is one of the only calming thoughts they can cling to.The rest of the houses sit empty, stale air circulating through them with no victors left to call them home. There is no evidence that there was once life in these houses, no shoes on the porch, no watering cans in the yards. Just like that what was once the fullest victors village has become a ghost town.

The decision to come back had not been an easy one. District One was in a far better condition, and frankly, none of them were quite ready for life on their own after so much time relying on each other for company and sanity during the war. They didn’t even really have motivation to come back– what did they have waiting behind for them. Eventually the announcement came – much to the dismay of many many many citizens– that the surviving Victors would continue to receive monthly stipends (albeit not near as much as pre-war days) as reparation for the torture and violence inflicted on them at the hands of the prior government ever since their victory. It made it easier to know that upon their return they weren’t going to have to assimilate into societal roles (and for Glimmer, the real relief came that she would never have to work in retail in one).

Ultimately, the decision to come back was their own. This place, despite the horrors, the violence, the brutality…it was their home. Maybe it was those things that made it home.

They stand in the charred grass at the very edge of their yard, Clove with her head resting against his body, Cato running his hand over her arm in an attempt to warm her body to ward off the ghosts of pain that the cold brings on. He rests his head on top of hers as they look at the grandiosity of the home they left behind, still frozen in time, as a relic of the time they were eighteen and in love, feeling invincible.

“Hey…babe?” Cato wrinkles his brows together, lifting his head from atop hers. “Do you have a key?”

Well of course they didn’t have a key– it wasn’t like they had considered leaving one under the doormat on their way to their certain deaths.

“Fuck.” Clove laughs against his arm, burying her face in the dark wool of his coat. Her laugh is contagious to him, and he’s shaking his head with a laugh not too long after her. Out of all the obstacles that should have kept them from ever crossing the threshold of their home again, they had not thought to anticipate a key being one.

She flashes him a playful smirk, raising her eyebrows teasingly. “Are we going to break into our own house?”

Sure, Cato could probably just go through the front door. Of course with the current state of Two, that door would not be replaced because a couple of kids broke into their own house.

“We left the bedroom window unlocked.” Cato reminds her, catching her off guard as he grabs her by the waist and throws her over his shoulder. “I mean.. I hope we left the window unlocked.”

Clove nearly shrieks as she ends up in the air, his hands giving taunting pinches on the very top of her thighs as he fully carries her to the back yard. The grass is overgrown in some places, burnt in others, Clove notices as she stares at the ground from her place on his shoulder.

Cato surprises Clove again when he flips her from his shoulder to his arms, one hand under her knees and the other under her shoulders as he cradles her against him. “Okay. You’re going in.”

It’s not even surprising how easily he lifts her to a standing position on his hands, how he can push her towards the bedroom window with such ease. All that to say, Clove's short arms and legs do not make it any easier, with her fingertips barely able to reach the window screen to pry it off. When she does she sends it flying down behind her, and only from the groan she hears from Cato can she tell it hit him. It is using all the dexterity of her little fingers that she is able to slide the window up and open.

“Got it!” Clove calls down to him, and lightly twists her ankle in his palm. “You gotta throw me a little.”

“I can’t throw you through the window–” Cato scoffs, shaking his head adamantly. “No way in hell.”

“Cato I can’t reach, You need to just give me a little boost-”

“A little boost i’m already holding you above my head–”

“Cato! A little toss!” Clove insists, jolting her foot with a little annoyance. “I’m serious, we need to get in–”

“Fine! But if you bust your face open don’t blame me.” Cato grumbles, and grabs her by the bottom of her shoes. “Okay, ready?”

Clove nods, already bracing her hands on either side of the window. When he gives her the little bit of a toss (more than a little, considering the strength he doesn’t even realize he exerts sometimes), Clove is able to flip in through the window.

All Cato can hear is a slight scream from his wife as she tumbles into the house.

“Clove…babe…you alright?” Cato calls up, an edge of panic infiltrating his cool tone. “Baby…”

Clove appears in the window, resting her elbows on the window ledge as she smiles down at him with a coy smirk. “You look like you’re here to beg me to sneak out.”

“If I remember correctly it was me who had the house first..” Cato responds to her smirk with his own, running a hand over the side of his hair. “Will you let me in? I didn’t throw you through the window just so I could still break down the door.”

“Patience, patience, Cato.” Clove teases, but the smile on her face could keep Cato going for the rest of his life. “I’m coming, meet you out front.”

Cato beats her to the front door. Patience has never been his strength, and frankly, it’s fucking cold and she is taking a weirdly long amount of time before she comes down. “Clove open the door, I'm not playing around.”

When the door does swing open to Clove, somehow already changed into one of his shirts and one of his shirts only, she greets him with a dark smirk, looking up at him from thick lashes. “Welcome home.”

The thin layer of dust that covers every surface in their house is a problem for another time.

Later…after.. Clove sits between his legs in the bath, the water as hot as they can possibly get it, soothing every ache in the crooks of her spine. His fingers trace imaginary shapes over the back of her hand, her head against his chest and shoulder. Hot water had been one of the biggest losses in Thirteen. Clove had imagined this particular moment for months. So much so that it was the first- well…second– thing they did once they were back in their home.

Their names were still carved into the bedpost, their laundry still in pre-sorted piles on the bathroom floor. Clove’s skin yearns for the softness of the clean sheets they had left behind (though maybe they were not so clean with the dust and ash layer on every surface). In the morning, Clove will treat herself to tea with the rest of the honey in the cabinet above the sink and to the left.

“You know, I think Enobaria had the spare key.” Cato realizes with his lips on Clove’s neck, and he deserves the light smack to the side of his head once he says it.

“I do not want to think about Enobaria right now, thank you very much.” Clove mumbles, tilting her neck so he can have more more more as she feels his other hand wrapping around her waist and sliding lower.

“We made it home, sweetheart.” Cato kisses into the skin of her neck, pulling her somehow even closer. “We’re home.”

“We are home.” Clove repeats, but the emphasis she places changes the meaning of the statement. Yes, they are home. But they are home.

He is hers and she is his.

They are home.

And If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were still around.

Home is not as idyllic as they may have remembered, but it was home.

The thunderstorms that once lulled her to sleep, jolted her awake with a racing heart. The sound of rain no longer rain, but too identical to the distant sound of bombs in their homeland. When she ends up sitting on the porch in the middle of the night, forcing herself to face it, she is always joined by a heavy blanket being draped around her shoulders, and Cato sitting wordlessly beside her. What they don’t know is that in a district not too far away, another girl screams herself awake from nightmares of the past, and is joined by the innocent affection of a man who slides into bed next to her only to sleep, who holds her only with the intention to comfort her while expecting nothing in return.

The cold hurts more than she imagined it would. It is not just the recollection of nearly freezing to death that frightens her anymore, it is the pain in her body. Their home is somehow always chilly, her wrists and shoulders and back always aching fiercely. Cato knows her, he has her entire life, and is always adamant to add another blanket to the bed or turn up the heat even when it leaves him himself sweating.

Brutus and Enobaria still let themselves in multiple days a week for breakfast.

A few weeks into their return, a knock on their front door long before breakfast startles them both. He’s sitting at the kitchen island admiring the concentration on her face as she carves into something she will undoubtedly transform into something fantastic in an hour or so.

“Who comes to see us?” Clove raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t look away from her task before her. “Enobaria and Brutus have never knocked, and you know Glimmer and Marvel couldn’t be awake this early..”

“They’ll leave.” Cato shrugs, reaching out a hand to nab some of the intricately carved strawberries Clove had already finished with. “Ignore it.”

The knocking only increases in frequency and volume, and Cato rolls his eyes as he pushes himself away. “I’ll get rid of them.”

Clove can’t wipe away the smirk that rises as she watches him walk away, all shirtless with sweatpants slung so low on his hips that it wouldn’t take much effort from her when he comes back to–

She hears the door swing open but does not hear him scare anyone off with a threat, nor does she hear anything at all. “Babe?” Clove calls out behind him, wiping off the blade of her knife with a towel before she lays it down on her cutting board. “Cato?” She calls again, quickly covering the distance from the kitchen to the front door. Cato isn’t even in the doorway, and Clove doesn’t know why that makes her heart race.

Once she makes it to the door, to see what is waiting on the porch, her heart fully stops.

Wrapped around Cato’s torso are the long baby limbs of his baby sister, little arms clinging around his neck, long blonde curls covering where her face is absolutely buried in his neck. He’s got both arms around the girl, one hand holding her head to his shoulder. Immediately to his left, with her hand on his arm, is his mother. War was unkind to her, as the woman Clove once looked up to and yearned to emulate in some ways looked more fragile than ever.

“Hi Clove, Honey.” Cato’s mother greets her with an exhausted, bone tired smile. There is a lack of light in those blue eyes, a sorrow Clove hopes never to imagine.

Clove furrows her eyebrows, tilting her head just a little and it is enough of a question for the older woman to perceive it.

His mother takes in a sharp breath and shakes her head very quickly in the negative and it is all Clove needs to see to know that this is it, this is all that remains of Cato’s family. A mother and a sister.

“I missed you, so so much kiddo.” Cato whispers to the girl, gently running his hand over the back of her head over and over again.

Clove steps forward and gently places a hand on the taller woman’s arm, ever so slightly squeezing. “I’m so sorry.”

The blonde woman presses her lip together and nods, taking her arm off of her son and instead wrapping them around Clove in a hug. “I’m glad to see you again. I don’t think he would have survived it without you.”

“I wouldn’t have either.” Clove admits, allowing herself to squeeze a little tighter to the woman, analyzing her change in body structure.

“He’s been gone a long time.” His mother informs them both, patting Clove’s cheek gently before she goes back to wrap her son and little daughter in her arms.

“Where have you been?” Cato gets out, his voice nearly cracking as he looks down on his mother. “Where did you go?”

“We’ve just been on the move, huh baby?” His mom brushes Cora’s little arm, pulling her attention from where she is hiding in her brother’s arms. “We have just moved constantly, no one could catch us if they didn’t know where we were.”

“Is home…” Cato starts, unable to force the rest of the words out into the world.

“Gone. long gone.” His mother explains, as Cora raises her head and latches eyes with Clove.

“You can stay in my house.” Clove immediately offers out, waving slightly at Cora. “Hi, sunshine.”

Immediately Cora lifts her little blonde head and practically wriggles out of Cato’s arms, nearly running into her once she has her little feet on the ground. With his arms free Cato wraps his arms fully around his mother in a hug, and Clove can see the way he melts into his mother;s arms like a little boy

Clove initially wants to kneel to Cora’s level, to become eye to eye with her. However, this six year old child is nearly to her shoulder’s already, and Clove is taken back by how tall this little girl has become. “You’ve gotten so big!”

“I’m as tall as you!” She cheers, and this bright angel of a child wraps her arms around her sister in law. “I missed you, Clove.”

“We missed you too, Cora Jade.” Clove promises, leaning down just a little to kiss the top of her head. “I think you’re going to stay in the house next to us for a little while!” She can no longer scoop her up, with how tall and gangly she has become in the last year. Clove tries anyway, scooping Cato’s sister to sit on her hip despite the fact they are nearly the same size. Cora immediately relaxes against her, and somehow, some way, Clove feels like something deep inside her relaxes with relief, too.

And though I can’t recall your face, I’ve still got love for you

For kids who had been trained to kill, who have taken lives, they were more surrounded by death than ever before. They hadn’t expected the influx of funeral services and war memorials they would be expected to attend.

His father had of course been the most painful, with the heart broken sobs of his baby sister, asking when she’d see her daddy again. It was devastating for Cato, too, who had to learn how to be an adult man in a world without games without his father to guide him. The loss had hit him harder than he dared to admit.

At the end of what felt like the tenth funeral service they felt obligated to attend, this one of an old classmate and her younger sister, while Cato played nice with another ex-classmate Clove found herself wandering to a part of the cemetery that she had never allowed herself to cross into.

It was sacred ground, really, treated with utmost respect. Perfect lines of simple limestone grave markers stretched in perfect lines of 25, save for the last row. No tribute came home to be buried from seventy five. The victors, they were in a separate area even still, with lavish, over the top headstones. But here, in a well maintained corner of the District Two cemetery, rest every single tribute who did not make it to victor status.

The boy from her games did not even have solid grass on top of his grave plot yet, and the ceaseless bombing did nothing to aid in that process. The girl from Cato’s games is a little further grown over, with a thin but respectable layer of fresh grass that grows in all directions. She can remember some of the others, mildly. The boy who lost against Glimmer, the girl who Johanna took out.

It is not her own peers, though, that interests Clove.

She weaves through years and years of games, of either single or double headstones from every single Hunger Games, from 75 to 62, and finally to the one she had avoided the entirety of her life.

Six feet below her feet was the remaining body of Sevina Kentwell, being the closest Clove has been to her mother in nearly eighteen years.

It is a simple marker, like all of the others. With the name of the tribute, the date of their birth, and what place they came in their games. Somehow, seeing first runner up, though she had known it the entirety of her life, manages to rip her heart from her chest, coating the white limestone with the spray of hot, wet blood.

Or at least it’s how it feels.

There is no mention of the life Sevina had prior to the games. No mention of the daughter she left behind, how she was a mother who loved deeply and to the last day of her life, how she was the daughter of a cruel woman who only became that way after the loss of her child.

Clove does not know when exactly she ends up on her knees, kneeling before the stone that is no taller than her in this position.

It is when she notices the little symbol on every stone– some knives, some stars, some hearts– that she realizes there is some small personalization that makes these tributes people. Children.

Clove’s right hand reaches out, shaking just enough that she notices, as she traces her pointer finger over the etching of her mother’s name. It is then, as she reaches the I, that she realizes the dot over the initial is a clover.

The weight of a war, of physical torture, of two Hunger Games, the destruction of her home, and a loveless, empty childhood hits her. If she were not already on her knees she would have fallen to them, as it feels like she is the one who just had the breath slammed out of her against that cornucopia.

The death of her grandmother meant next to nothing. She had openly spoken out against Clove after her appearance in Two, proudly sharing the narrative that she was a traitor and that her daughter died because of this mistake of a child. Yes, she raised Clove and turned her into a victor with her cold demeanor and cruelty, and for that Clove had no choice but to be thankful, but still, she did not feel a great loss at the news of her death by rebels in Two.

She thought nothing of the news that her father and his entire new family also died in the roles of loyalists. He had been dead to her long before the war.

The entirety of her family would die with Clove. Maybe tomorrow, maybe in sixty years, but there would be no one left to remember any of them after her inevitable death.

Maybe that was the gift she could give to the ghost of her mother– the erasure of the people who treated them so cruelly.

That of course meant the erasure of Sevina Kentwell and Clove herself, as well.

While Clove had spent the entirety of her life to become a victor, to carve her place in history, right now the idea of slipping into anonymity and living a mundane enough life to not be remembered didn’t sound like the worst ending in the world.

Sevina Kentwell died nearly eighteen years ago, but somehow it hits Clove like it is the first time all over again. This feeling– the elephant on her chest, the choking, gagging sobs that she could not control, the tears that felt like burning salt on her cheeks– may as well have been from the little girl whose mother never came back for her.

She felt an overwhelming need to speak out loud– to the air, to the universe, to whatever could hear her– that she couldn’t really explain. It felt silly, to just speak into thin air, and yet she doesn’t have it in there to stop herself.

Clove wipes her tears on the back of her sleeves, rocking back to sit on her heels. She pushes her hair behind her ears, before she crosses her arm over her chest, tucking her hands along her hips on opposite sides of her body.

“I’ve always kind of wondered what was so wrong with me as a baby, if I was so unlovable of a little girl that it was just..so easy to leave me. Grandma always told me thats the case…that I’ve been fucked up since I was born and that it was easy to leave a crazy little girl. That the risk of dying was better than having to spend eighteen years with me. I believed it, too.” Clove leans her head back, squeezing evergreen eyes closed and taking a deep, shaky breath to the sky, desperate for cool morning air to fill her lungs and quench the burning that ravages the back of her throat. “I can’t remember what you look like. I’ve seen pictures but I can’t remember. I don’t remember the sound of your voice, or what it was like to be held by my mother.”

“I want to be angry and I want to blame you for everything that is just so fucked up about me, but I don’t know. I probably wouldn’t have been sent to training if you were a victor, huh?” Clove sniffles heavily, the skin of her face burning from the continued assault of tears that just cannot cease to flow. “And then I wouldn’t be a Victor..And then I never would have met Cato.”

She isn’t quite sure she can believe it, though it is rational. If she had not needed to win the games herself, she never would have been sent to training to become a victor, and by extension would have never crossed paths with Cato.

There is another part of herself though, the far less rational part, the part that let her fall for her training partner, that believes in any universe, in any version of reality, some way somehow, they would always find each other (though that she would never say out loud).

“I married him, you know. I’ve never said it out loud.. I’ve never told anyone about it.” Clove whispers to the universe, words barely falling past her lips. “But I did. I guess I wasn’t so terrible and unlovable after all, or maybe I was, and he’s a little terrible and fucked up too. We’re made for each other in that way. He’s…the love of my life.” She finds that her right hand is twisting at her left ring finger, the empty digit lacking any physical or public reminder of such love. It didn’t matter. They knew. “Enobaria took really really good care of me, too. Like she had promised you. I don’t know if I would have survived without her. Both literally as a baby, but also in the games.”

She exhales shakily. Her breathing is weighty and consuming, as she feels her throat tightening with the burning feeling of exhaustion. “I wish I had a mom these days, not that you’d know what a world without the games is like anyway…but it would be nice. To have a mom for the rest of my life….Whatever it looks like.”

Clove rests her body weight on her hands in front of her, steadying herself as she catches her breath and regains her composure. She raises her left hand again, branching herself on her mother’s headstone so she can push herself to a standing position. She brushes off the grass on her knees, smoothing down the skirt of her formal black dress. Digging the heels of her hand to stop the tears, she is unconcerned with the fact her makeup is certainly smeared around her eyes. Clove takes a shaking, stabilizing breath, gently reaching down to pat the top of the rock.

“I miss my mom. I miss you, and I don’t even know you but I know that I love you.” Clove brushes her deep hair behind her shoulders, standing up straight like the victor she will forever be. She is all that is left of, and all that there will ever be, of the woman who eternally rests deep under her feet. “I owe you, quite literally, for my life. In all senses of it. So uh..thank you. For ruining your life to give me mine.”

Clove takes one final shaky breath, craning her neck to the sky to stop the flow of tears. She wipes at her cheeks quickly, before shoving her hands in the pocket of her coat. Clove weaves back through the tribute corner, and before she even reaches the little gate she sees Cato leaning against one of the metal posts, one ankle crossed over the other, hands in the pockets of his own coat.

As soon as she’s within reach his arm is around her shoulders, using his hand to smooth down the hair at the top of her head before he kisses the crown of her hair gently and swiftly. Of course he can see the tracks of tears, the pink tint under the field of freckles, but he doesn’t comment on it. This was a private moment for her.

“Ready to go home?” He pulls her in closer to his side, body heat warming her against the cool, rainy air.

“I think we have one more stop to make.”

Everything you lose is a step you take

The only thing left of the academy which they met, trained, and ultimately, became themselves is a set of chipped marble stairs. The grand archway is reduced to piles of rubble, the long stretch of the building that was once home rests in various piles of rocks and decay.

Their classmates were mostly dead, either after being forced into roles as peacekeeper soldiers or victims of various bombings. There were no more dorms that they had once snuck around, no more rooms full of knives or spears or dummies to use as target practice. There were no more closets to sneak off too or bad showers with cold water and low water pressure.

All that was left of their childhood were the very steps they sat on now.

Cato sits beside Clove, hand in hand.

“I thought we’d spend the rest of our lives in this building.” Clove admits, brushing the hand that is not interlaced with his over the remnants of the grand staircase. “I imagined we’d be the most successful mentors, well, ever.”

“Spend our lives in the building? I thought we’d own it. Rename it to the Kentwell-Hadley Training Academy, then we could claim every District Two victor forever. It would be like our legacy.” Cato teases, but the longing edge in his voice tells Clove that no, that is not entirely a joke. He clears his throat, shifting so his chin was sitting on top of the crown of her head instead. “Do you ever think about the day we met?”

“Yeah, you broke my collarbone.” Clove smirks, craning her neck so she can look him in the eyes. They would never be back in the place they met, in the place she realized she loved this arrogant, temperamental boy. This, right here, was as close as it would get. “I thought we were going to hate each other forever…that we’d go out killing each other in the most violent, showy way we could.

“And you stabbed me!” Cato indignantly nudges her with his shoulder, but brings his other hand up to cradle her face in his. I never thought, in a million years, we’d be lucky enough to be right here, Clove.”

“Alive?” Clove teases, but takes the opportunity to lean in and press her forehead to his. “On the rubble of the academy?” As much as she teases, she knows what he means. He means hand in hand, far from the enemies they were the day they met. He means the love they share.

“Together. I never thought we’d get to be together.” Cato admits, leaning in somehow closer still, so that their noses also could touch. “All this shit Clove, and the only constant in my entire life, from the time we were actual children, has been you. It has always been you.”

“Yeah, well, you’re not getting rid of me any time soon.” She promises, wrapping her arm around his neck so that she can pull her upper body flush to his as she finally finally finally connects her lips with his. Clove melts in his arms as he fully wraps his arms around her and holds her as close as he humanly can to him. When she pulls back, resting her nose against his once again, she laughs. “What do we do now with the rest of our lives?”

“I could say each other–” Cato taunts, but laughs as he gives the slightest shrug before she can refute him. “I don’t really know. We’ll figure it out, like we always do.”

“Together?” Clove teases, leaning back so she can fully lock eyes, green with blue, as a coy little smile creeps onto her face. “I love you. More than I loved the games.”

“Aren’t I special.” Cato soaks her in. Wet dark curls framing her face, freckles like constellations across her nose. If he got to see this for the rest of his life.. He’d die happy. Hopefully not for many many many years, but happy nonetheless.“I love you too. More than anything.”

“You just have to one up me..” Clove rolls her eyes playfully, but she does not actually move from her place in his arms. “You know, if you want to actually get married again, you do have to ask again.”

“Are you going to say yes?” He pinches her hip playfully, causing her to squirm in his arms which he uses as the opportunity to grab her even tighter.

“Depends on the day.” She warns, but grabs his face in both her hands immediately after. She can see it all in his eyes. The nine year olds they once were, the twenty one year olds they are now. Their entire past lies crumbled beneath them, but with her arms around his shoulders and his around her hips the entirety of their future rests in their arms.

All the uncertainty of this new world, it didn’t matter. The future, whatever it would be, would be okay. Whatever their future held, would be just fine, so long as it held them.

Cato and Clove.

“Always and forever, Cato. It’s you and me, always and forever.”

I had the time of my life with you.

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natasha-in-space · 1 year

Note

can I request an imagine about saeyoung comforting you when you're sick? 😤

Ayyy one of my favorites tropes! :D

"What are you doing here...?"

This was somewhat of a dumb question coming from you, but your mind was just too groggy and fatigued with illness to think rationally at the moment. You had been stuck in your bed for the whole day now, getting up only to use the bathroom or drink some water in between your feverish naps. This was one of those days that you just wanted to pass by you as quickly as possible so that you could get on with your life as if nothing has even happened soon after. Nobody likes getting sick, yet it's a part of human experience that you just have to suffer through, whether you want to or not.

You could hear your partner chuckle slightly under his breath as he came into the room and closed the door behind him as quietly as possible so as to not disturb you too much with an unwanted noise.

"Oh, just checking up on my sick little alien, that's all."

Taking a seat beside your bed, Saeyoung pressed his hand to your sweaty forehead, making you lean into his cool touch out of pure instinct. You must have looked like a complete mess right now, considered the fact that you have not left your bed for the entire day. Well, it's not like you cared much about that right now, anyways. Either way, you could see concern slowly rising in his eyes as he studied you carefully, like a true doctor assessing you from just one look alone.

He would make a handsome doctor... Or a very pretty nurse at that...

Oh God, this fever is making you think of a few very bizarre things-

"Ugh, I told you to just leave me alone for the day... I don't want to get you sick as well." You groaned, shutting your eyes tightly and turning your burning face to the opposite direction from the redhead that was slowly filling your every thought like a different sort of sickness. If there's one good thing out of this fever, it's that he probably couldn't tell the difference between your feverish blush and the embarrassed one. "I'm just going to sleep all day and hope that my body does all the work for me."

"Who says you can't do exactly that, though?" You could hear him shuffling about, probably cleaning up all the used up tissues that were scattered about on your nightstand. "You can just lay there and get better, while I bring you anything you need, so that you don't have to strain yourself. And I'm sure Saeran wouldn't mind cooking you up some yummy soup that's going to do wonders to your tummy! You're acting like you're living all alone, when it's obviously not the case."

Despite your resolve, you could feel yourself starting to smile as the images of what your partner was describing slowly formed in your mind, making your chest feel warm and fuzzy at the notion of being cared for like that. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to just... let go and let others take care of you for once. And you did miss having company around you, even if you tried to deny it. Being sick sucked, but it sucked even more if you're dealing with the struggles of it all by yourself.

"...Okay. That actually sounds... kinda nice. Thank you, Saeyoung."

You gave him a tired but warm smile, which he returned with one of his own, running a hand through your messy hair and making you sigh in satisfaction as result of his pleasant touch. "That's a good kitten.*

Soon after, you found yourself sitting up in your bed, prepped up by a few pillows and holding a plushie of your hacker boyfriend close to your chest, with the real Saeyoung carefully placing a bowl of steaming porridge on your now neatly stacked bedside.

"What's that?" You asked, rubbing at your eyes and trying to sniff out any distinguishing scents from the dish, only to fail miserably due to your clogged up nose.

God, you hated being sick.

"Saeran decided to make you a bowl of dakjuk, and since cooking is a field of science too advanced for my genius brain, I decided to go along with my little bro's suggestion. Smells amazing, so I'm sure you'll feel better in no time! I wonder if he'll cook the same for me if I get sick..." He placed a hand to his chin, as if he was lost deep in thought, making you giggle at his adorable display.

"I'm sure he would, love. It's a shame I won't be able to taste it fully, though." You replied, smiling warmly at the thought. Saeran's care showed in his actions more than anything. You were certain that he'd be more than willing to help his brother get better, albeit not nursing him back to health directly. "Will you feed me?"

Saeyoung winked at you, booping your nose with a tip of his finger. "You don't even have to ask, my cutest patient! Doctor Choi will take utmost care of you and your soup."

Can't forget about the soup.

Even despite your sickness, you could feel the overwhelming warmth and smooth texture of a porridge-like mixture filling your mouth, making you close your eyes and appreciate the cozy flavor of this dakjuk to the best of your abilities. Gulping down the first spoonful, you nodded with approval, your eyes twinkling with happiness for the first time today. "Mm! You know, even if I can't taste much, I can tell that that's a very good dakjuk. Do tell Saeran that I loved it, okay?"

"Oh, I already did before I brought it here." He shrugged, making you raise an eyebrow in a silent question. "I know Saeran's food is going to be amazing, so why wait, eh?"

"You're impossible sometimes." You snickered, playfully rolling your eyes at him. Saeran's annoyed glare was all you could picture at the back of your mind, only making you want to laugh even more.

Once you've finished your porridge, Saeyoung tucked you back into bed, although you had to shoo him away before he could place a kiss to your lips as he usually did. You did promise him to double your daily kisses once you get better in response to the put he gave you, but you definitely did not want your partner to get sick because of you, which is why a small sacrifice had to be made. You chattered between yourselves for about a hour more about this and that, jumping from one topic to another, as it often happened whenever you two started up a conversation. Listening to Saeyoung babbling away excitedly about his day or his interests always did put a smile on your face.

"I love you." You murmured, squeezing his hand in yours and slowly closing your eyes once more, drifting off into a peaceful sleep.

A content smile adorned your flushed face as you felt him place a single loving kiss to the warm skin of your forehead, before caressing the back of your hand with his thumb. "I love you too, kitten. Get better for me so that I can kiss you properly the first thing tomorrow morning, okay?"

#mystic messenger #mysmes #mysme #mm #saeyoung choi #saeyoung x reader

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mbti-notes · 3 months

Text

Anon wrote: Hello mbti-notes, 28F ENFP here. I have written to you a few times, one of them about my relationship with my 27M INTJ boyfriend and the other about my childhood trauma regarding my ENTJ mother and how it was keeping me from pursuing my art career.

I have been on the road of Fi development and lately I have started to develop Te. Some major life events happened since the last time I wrote to you; I had gotten diagnosed with ADHD after suspecting having it for years; then, my younger cousins got diagnosed with level one autism (Formerly known as Aspergers), and after my mother conversed with their mothers, we reached the conclusion I and other members of the family are also autistic and ADHD, since I displayed symptoms of both as a child.

With this new knowledge, I have been making all the changes necessary to accommodate myself and do the best I can and pull my own weight. I am almost finishing University, and my boyfriend (he’s pretty much my husband at this point) started his doctorate and is now an art teacher at our local arts University. (those issues I had written to you prior were resolved and we have been very happy together and supportive of each other since).

I have been slowly tearing down my perfectionistic tendencies; I am no longer unhappy about my work or extremely self-critic to the point I put myself down. I have gained confidence and trust in myself and handling problems, crafting solutions, planning (even if short-term) and improvising. I have been re-enganging my Ne in a healthy manner, focusing on my projects and progress instead of being scattered and wanting to do everything and anything.

Despite that, and all the growth I have done already, I feel that I have an unsurnamable mountain of obstacles to pass through. Over the last year, I have realized just how little my ISTP, probably autistic and bipolar father and ENTJ, probably ADHD mother completely failed to prepare me for life. I was emotionally neglected, made a scapegoat for their problems, made to pick up after myself because of my autism and ADHD being seen as failures of character instead of disabilities.

They saw I was intelligent, and rationalized it as “not needing help”; then, when my problems with executive disfunction and organization started flaring up due to their neglect, they yelled and blamed it on me, worsening the situation. I grew up with no understanding of boundaries; I wasn’t allowed to advocate for myself and everytime I tried I was yelled at; I wasn’t allowed to discover myself and my identity properly so I clinged to my special interests like a moth to a flame; I was shamed for my way of functioning and that impeded me of developing proper knowledge of myself and what I needed.

I now notice my social differences, my trouble dealing with and regulating emotions (and why I put off dealing with them), and my lack of social skills and differentiating levels of relationships. I feel angry that the time I needed to be using to deal with these issues, during adolescence and early adulthood, was taken away by autistic burnout, depression, and dealing with a disfunctional family who had no idea how to care for me and never tried to, and spent pursuing bad relationships, hyperfixations and changing interests, all the while not being able to put effort into what I really wanted because of the shame and judgement they placed on me.

I have been trying my best to pick up the slack, but it’s hard. I can see now how I was unjustly punished for my differences my whole life. I finally understand now why people get upset with me with things like being unable to regulate tone or asking clarifying questions (when I’m just trying to understand them).

I have accepted myself; I know my difficultities now and I know what I have to do to regulate myself, but I still can’t stop feeling angry at this injustice. I do my best to be proactive and helpful in the communities I join and make friends, but people will turn on me the moment I do something impulsive like vent to chat about my parents doing something rude to me that day (which happens regularly). The bridges I put effort into building get destroyed in minutes, and I feel like all my progress is undone.

Family is a tricky issue for people, I get it. There are different times and places to say things, I get it. But It still happens. I know the way to fix it would be to leave, but due to the housing crisis, inflation and my expenses of trying to finish my degree, I can’t move out of this place and still currently live with them. Rent is unnafordable, my boyfriend is going through his degree and busy, and I’m already at capacity fully comitting myself to art and doing the best job I can with chores and house stuff.

I know my parents have issues and I try my best do understand and be empathethic, but they aren't doing anything to get better or to resolve them. My dad is on disability and unemployment aid right now, he does minimal chores and watches TV and sleeps all day. My mother is a pre-school teacher and constantly overworks herself because that's how she learned to get through life.

A few months ago, my mom almost ended her marriage because in her words, she developed a "platonic crush" for another man. It was a huge fight, and one they tried to drag me into. When they're not having outright fights, they act lovey-dovey; but they soon have another nasty fight, and the cycle goes on.

My dad is extremely misoginistic, judgemental, and cynical. Everytime he tries to engage me in conversation, I act uniteresting so he leaves me alone. I am uncapable of building a relationship with them after all they did to me.

I just can’t stop feeling I got dealt a sh*tty hand in life and there is nothing I can do about it. I realize this is Si grip talking, but this enviroment completely kills all my optimist, motivation and will to move foward in life, and I’ve been doing this dance for way too long and just want it to end once and for all so I can keep progressing. I know I’ve already come a long way, but I can’t stop feeling it still isn’t enough, and I’m afraid that feeling won’t ever go away. So I turn to you for guidance on what to do.

Currently I am sitting on a few unfinished projects (a comic and animation) that will be my portfolio só I can start working while I finish my degree. My parents are paying for the remainder of it (honestly, the least they could do after the horrible lifetime they gave me) but I plan to start paying for it myself as soon as I get some work. I guess what I'm trying to get at is that I'm doing everything to try and make things better, but I feel like they never will, and I don't know how to deal with that.

----------------------

Whenever people tell me about how they're making progress, even trying to develop lower functions, but also suffering from inferior grip, the alarm bells go off in my head, because it usually indicates some form of troublesome denial. In terms of type development, inferior grip is one of the most serious signs that something is not right psychologically.

I never want to poopoo on people's efforts to improve. I definitely believe that you've been putting forth your best efforts. However, if the outcome is inferior grip, it means there's a problem with your approach or method.

The way that you're stuck in blaming your parents for your misfortunes is not just a sign of Si grip, but also Te loop. If you're suffering from Te loop, it means Fi development hasn't progressed to the point where you are ready for Te development. Being a lower function, trying to develop Te when you're not ready is only going to exacerbate Te loop and eventually lead you into Si grip.

I won't deny that the people around you every day have a big influence over you. As a Feeler, their moods can easily affect yours. When that happens, the best thing to do is to draw up boundaries, to try to shield yourself from those negative influences as much as possible. However, what you've done is the opposite.

You've been drawn into the negative influence through blaming them, fighting back (mentally), judging them for their flaws, indulging pointless "what if" scenarios about your past, etc. In short, you have been swallowed up by the negativity partly because you didn't do enough to protect yourself from it. This is related to Fi development because Fi should inform you about what is needed for self-protection.

Now, since you find yourself in a hopeless place and can't accept the feelings of helplessness, the recourse is Te loop. You wish to actively "correct" everything that you perceive is "wrong". However, this is a futile endeavor. Why? Because those things are not for you to correct. You have overstepped/violated boundaries by wanting to solve problems that aren't your responsibility. This only serves to entangle you in them.

You mom and dad's flaws, your mom and dad's relationship, are none of your business, but you are all up in there. Even if they try to involve you, as an adult, you have the power to refuse. Because you care about them, it's hard for you to refuse, but refuse you must. That's what it means to draw healthy boundaries.

Yes, it's tragic to have been deprived as a child. One thing you realize more and more deeply as you get older (especially if you have children of your own) is that parents are human, their knowledge is limited, and people can only do the best they can based on what they know. Many, many people are ignorant about psychological issues because they have had no opportunity to learn about them. What's worse, sometimes what they have learned is misinformation or outdated information based on what was being taught when they were growing up.

I say this not to excuse the bad things that parents do, but to foster empathy for the fact that people can't do better when they don't know better. You are the same. You didn't think to change your behavior or didn't know how to do it in the right way until you learned about ADHD. You live, you learn.

Empathy for others starts with empathy for oneself. Instead of pitying yourself or being angry about your past, healthy Fi should prompt you to express empathy for your struggles today. There aren't enough signs that you possess this depth of empathy, which indicates Fi development has a long way to go yet. It's hard to feel empathy when you're in the thick of negativity, but that's the time when it's most important to practice it.

An important part of having empathy for yourself, aka self-compassion, is allowing yourself to move at a realistic pace in life, a pace that takes your challenges into fair consideration, rather than always trying to live up to unreasonable ideals. Feeling "not good enough" and being afraid of that feeling never going away is directly related to Fi development and lack of self-acceptance. You must accept the truth of yourself and the facts of your situation before you can move forward in a meaningful way.

Also, if you find yourself speaking inappropriately or not giving enough consideration to social context when your feelings get too big, it means you haven't done enough to set up a good social support system and create more appropriate opportunities to explore your personal issues. Expecting parents or colleagues to give you support that they are not capable of giving is basically wasting energy barking up the wrong tree. In other words, don't look for love in all the wrong places. This is related to Fi development in terms of doing what it takes to care well for your well-being.

You are well into adulthood. At some point, it has to be fully your responsibility to craft the life you want. By continuing to blame your parents for not living up to your ideals, you are the one keeping yourself tied to past unhappiness, rather than moving forward. It is a choice you make.

I always say that forgiveness isn't about other people. Forgiveness is something you do for yourself. It's not good for you to live in a state of resentment, anger, or hate. It's not good to keep revisiting and rehashing such emotions on an endless loop. Therefore, you have to learn to forgive the mistakes of the past so that you can have the emotional stability necessary to focus on improving your life today and into the future.

Forgiving your parents for being the imperfect human beings that they are is difficult but necessary, not for their sake, but for yours. You can set yourself free from the past at any time through learning how to be more accepting, empathetic, and forgiving, which is very much tied to Fi development. This would be a healthy way of lifting yourself out of Si grip and mending your mental health.

#enfp #auxiliary fi #te loop #si grip #boundaries #self compassion #empathy #forgiveness #blame #anger #resentment #ask

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tallyanimatez · 2 years

Note

ehehehehe I’m back which means I can now pester you about your feathers au >:D . All jokes aside though, it’s a really cool idea. I was wondering if you had any headcanons or general info for Heartslabyul in your feathers au. If you’d rather talk about just one character, then I’d love to hear about my boy Ace (I am not a simp I swear).

Ah hah! S I M P

I feel my brain slowly deteriorating from writing this, I'm recovering mentally o(-(

Loading|▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰═ 90%|

>Access granted!

Heartslabyul's information

Riddle Roseheart

Your first victim during your rookie days, you really thought you were going to hell.

He's strict with everything, from rules to security, it was surprising that you managed to bypass the "perfect" protection against outsiders ( god it was painful to hold your breath often ), and here you were, tinkering with their equipments.

You didn't have a good impression with Riddle in the first place, he called you an idiot and insulted Grim, which really determined the reason you accepted the mission from Crowley. You despise him

The mission was a failed successfully... Riddle caught on that somethings were wrong about the equipment, but he caught on too late so the outcome didn't change, however, you know he'll be on your tail.

You tried avoiding him as much as possible since you'll likely be the no.1 suspect on his list, whether you like it or not.

That was until one day, you saw him very lonely by himself during lunch, it reminded of how society always was when you chose to stay here, a huge distance.

You swallowed up your pride to go over to him and sat at the opposite chair, Riddle immediately looked up and asked why you did that. You told him it just reminded how you felt when you're younger, nobody was there for you so you sympathize with him.

Riddle was in a red mess. After denying that he was lonely and calming down after 3 hours, both of you decided to take a stroll around while you hope that you can distract Riddle long enough so you can ditch him to go back with Grim, but no matter how hard you try to shake him off, he is one clingy strawberry.

What felt like forever, the sun finally sets, both of you bid your goodbyes, Riddle hoped he could see you again.

That "see you again" never happened, he waited for you to show up, yet you never did. He tried looking for any clues of your disappearances but there was nothing! As if you were a part of his imagination...that can't be true right?

Didn't you say you were lonely? He promised he wouldn't let you go, no matter the consequences!

Trey Clover

hey @honey-milk-depresso come get your man

He became a victim of yours on accident, no questions asked.

You did feel bad since Trey was one of the few people who treat you like a normal human being even if he didn't knew who you were. Tho that was none of your concerns.

Everything started when Tweedle dumb broke a rule, since he was practically whining till your ears bled and with the lack of any targets to aim for, you followed him to met the Vice leader, Trey Clover himself.

He...was a nice person, like a big brother you never had. The warm welcome was at least nice, you felt attracted to him like a moth to a lamp.

Yet, there was something you didn't like about him, if a moth gets too close to the lamp, they might not realize that it's actually a roaring fire and turn to ashes, or more was it your paranoia because you were different.

He's annoying sometimes, you shut down many of your attempts at sabotaging certain racers, to trying to indulge in what you want to distract you for a little bit.

As much as you try to run away from the warm flames, you can't completely escape

Ace Trappola

The number one person you almost absolutely despise, no cap.

Tweedle dumb, you call him that since he often gets into trouble with other people during the racer's gathering due to how straight forward he is sometimes, but he is able resolve them with no problem and sneakily flee the scene.

Despite all the trouble he often caused along with Tweedle dumber, you consider him as one of your few friends you ever have. The first two to get to you when you're alone in a crowd and lost.

Your first ever target you hesitated to shoot, you couldn't shoot him no matter if it was needed for Grim's win, as if a part of you was saying it was immorally wrong.

At first, it really clashed with your perception since you hated this world and everything in it, you also didn't want to be noticed by outsiders for too long before your name has a standing on these grounds. You tried making many distractions and excuses to brush off Ace.

However, Ace was very quick witted so eventually he caught up with your schemes and told it straight to your face , so you couldn't run away any longer and chose to stay with him.

You're worried that he might catch on about your true identity sooner or later, or he might already know who you are. You know Ace is smart, no matter how much of a dumbass he looks, looks are deceiving.

He might have more alternative motives to keep you with him than letting you go~

Deuce Spade

Tweedle dumber, the end.

Deuce is...not that bright compared to Ace. Hell, you even think he knows nothing when you just decide to disappear in the crowd just to throw him off.

Your first few friends, the one who is willing to beat anyone up if they dare say an insult to you. For the sake of your sanity, you had to stop him multiple times from almost making many many racers get their bones crushed or wings injured.

But for the lack of brains, he definitely makes it all up in the brawns. Deuce physical stamina is no joke, he is still able to catch up once he spots you, no matter how fast you run so you have to give up on physical escape as it's a death wish.

From what you've heard about his stories, he was a delinquent before due to how his scores didn't match his hard work of studying, until he overheard his mom talking to his grandma in tears if she failed to be a good mother. From that day on, he swore to never make his mother cry and pursue to become a great mage. You wanted to laugh at the last few words, but an effort is an effort and you'll respect that.

In recent days, Deuce started to insist on helping with heavy gears or equipment whenever he sees you carrying them or tinkering with them, even though he's actually helping you with sabotaging without realizing it, you declined his offer as you don't really need it.

If the door is shut, it stays shut. He cannot budge it without the wits to do it.

------------------------------------

Authors note: My brain is running on auto pilot when I write everyone in this dorm.I already have Cater on a separate post so you guys can check here, I won't be including him here cause too much brain power.

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iris-hawthorne · 2 years

Text

mia feys role in the fey clan: a long winded study (rant)

Doing hot guy shit and like actually shedding literal tears over how absolutely messed the Fey clan is.

The game tends to selectively gloss over the fact that the older generation completely and willfully destroyed the youngest (and quite frankly, probably one of the last) generation of the Feys. I will now ramble about it aimlessly and in excruciating detail.

Misty left the Kurain Village when Maya was two. At this point, for the record, Dahlia and Iris were already around 6 or 7. Misty was well aware of the type of person AND mother that Morgan was, and still willfully abandoned her daughters who were not old enough to care for themselves, effectively leaving them in the care of a sister she most likely was well aware was abusive.

Mia, as a result was more than likely left to have to parent herself and her infant sister as a twelve year old, because I doubt that Morgan was being an adequate parent for either of them. (Much like how Maya will eventually be foisted into a similar quasi-parental role for Pearl, if that wasn’t already her role before we even see it in game.)

All the while, Misty Fey was having an extended temper tantrum up in the mountains. For almost twenty years. She is painted in a relatively sympathetic light by the game, because she is only shown for the brief period she is trying to protect her daughter, and then she is killed before there is ever time to question her actions for the past two decades.

In my opinion, the game could have done a much better job leaning into how complicated her and her actions are.

The biggest question for me is why would she leave them in the Kurain? The most sympathetic answer is that the abuse in the Fey clan is most definitely generational. It is entirely possible Misty was fueled by extreme guilt for the damage she personally had done to the family reputation. It was most likely, in her mind, better for her children to remain within the village, even when the evidence to the contrary was staring her in the face.

A more cynical answer is that perhaps she wanted more than anything for them to be eligible to become the family leader. This is interesting as it places her in a relatively parallel position to her sister, despite how different they are.

I think that either option, and more than likely a mixture of both, could be true.

Still, no matter her reasoning, the point still stands that the girls were put in an insane amount of danger. And a HUGE weight was put onto Mia personally.

Mia, in my mind, is so amazing because she embodies such an exceptional level of triumph over the abuse and generational trauma she was subjected to/ (Maya, too, has her own opposite but complimentary triumph in her choice to continue to attempt to be a leader for the Fey clan, but on her own terms. I could talk about that at length too, but this is already getting long).

Mia chose to be a lawyer to investigate her mother’s disappearance and the events that happened following DL-6. A fortunate side effect of this choice was that she was able to leave Kurain, and establish a life for herself outside of the insane amount of religious pressure that she was handed at birth.

Dahlia is an amazing narrative foil to Mia in this way in a way the game doesn’t really explore. Dahlia’s attempts to distance herself from the family (which I fully believe was the intention of the staged kidnapping) end up sending her down a deep hole. She absolutely tears herself to shreds failing to resolve her own trauma. Whether she admits it explicitly or not, the last time we see her is her fighting against death itself to do what her mother wished of her.

Mia manages to leave the Kurain in a much more well-adjusted way, even if those actions were fueled by her family demons.

Still, that freedom was so, tragically short lived. Investigating her mother’s disappearance is what got her murdered. All the while, Misty is M.I.A. Even the death of her eldest daughter as an indirect result of her actions, isn’t enough to get her out of hiding.

Mia’s dying wish was that someone would continue to protect Maya. Because she knows that as strong and capable as Maya has become, there is still a lot of very scary shit looming on the horizon, with the Fey clan in the state that it’s in. She knows that for years she has been the only person in Maya’s corner, and I can only imagine she was terrified at the idea of her being left alone.

She stepped up in such a major way for Maya, so completely beyond what any other Fey would even consider, including their own mother. And that is what literally brings me to tears about her.

#mia fey #maya fey #ace attorney #dahila hawthorne #iris hawthorne #iris fey #content warnings -#religious trauma -#abuse -#also i talk a lot of shit about msty fey if u like her i wld advise against reading this #i see so much hate about the characters i like just straight up in their tags #so i'm tryna extend the same courtesy i wish other people would lol

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bradenthompson · 7 months

Text

The Starfield Experience II: The Freestar Rangers

While it's still fresh on my mind, it's time for episode 2 of my Starfield maiden voyage. Last time, I joined with the Crimson Fleet and got my sneaky fingies on a cool 200,000 credits. On this excursion, however, me and my first crewmate Mathis were honest men with no bounty. And we were gonna perform our community service by way of frontier justice.

"But captain," you say, a puzzled look fixed tight on your brow, "I thought you were playing an evil character." Don't you worry. I'm every bit as unhinged as I was in my pirating days. Because dialogue always gives me some completely bloodthirsty options, which I promise to choose every time. Crooked cop time babyyyyyy

De-escalation Tactics

We arrived in the town of Akila City (game is very loose with the distinction between Cities and Towns) just in time for a classic scripted Bethesda moment. We all remember walking into Solitude for the first time and seeing that guy on the chopping block. We all tried to save him, and all our level seven characters were lacerated on the spot. A storytelling crutch? Probably, but there's no reason it can't be effective. Plenty immersive to walk into a new settlement and already see some shit going down.

Just that type of shit was going down in Akila, as soon as me and Mathis got boots on the ground. Local bandits were holding up the bank, had taken hostages, and the rangers were outside trying in vain to negotiate. A tense situation indeed. Maybe two ruthless pirates who had just shot down a civilian ship on the way here can help.

I'd been pumping some skill points in speech, by now. Failed persuasion checks were getting on my nerves, but successful checks were making me feel cool. That and, on my brief trip to Neon, I had picked up a very goofy looking future suit that gave a passive 10% persuasion success. This is all to say I talked the bank robbers out the building, not a hostage lost.

While I was in town (Akila has some great music) I tried repainting my ship, thinking the Crimson Fleet colors would cause Mathis and I some problems out in space. How stupid of me to think the game would account for that sort of thing. You can land on Planet Police State with a ship painted the way only pirate ships are painted and nobody cares. Clue #1 that I could get away with a lot, within this faction system.

And speaking of factions, my success with the GalBank situation got me on the path to getting deputized.

I See You, Space Cowboy

First I had to talk to ranger Emma Wilcox, in the very cool space saloon. She wanted me to complete just one job before they considered letting me join up. Overachiever that I decided to be, sporadically, I took all four jobs the ranger kiosk had at the time, thinking I'd really impress by clearing the board. Rescued a hostage, took out a gang of spacers--real basic rng quests. The one where I had to kill a Crimson Fleet captain was funny. Mathis didn't like me doing that very much, despite us both quitting at the end of that questline. But as long as he stayed on the ship while I went out and split some wigs, he didn't mind. What he doesn't know won't hurt him, I suppose, but this begs another question: why can't I take criminals alive? Spoiler alert, but the rangers are gonna urge me to resolve problems without violence later. This peaceful justice creed does not extend to the rng quests. Okay.

But after completing all four and hitting myself bc no shit that doesn't make a difference, Wilcox saw potential in me and took me up to the marshal. Or who I have to assume is the marshal. That's Daniel Blake, pictured above, who gave me a dorky vest and a very cool pistol.

In hindsight, there's very little warmup to the questline's main problem. I was immediately sent off with ranger Wilcox to a farm that would prove to be the first victim of the overarching villain. There's this gang out in the canyon trying to 'wrassle away their farmland, say no more, we march down and make confetti outta 'em. The ship they flew in on was recently stolen from a company called HopeTech, which became our next destination.

Look Guys, Bezos did make it to space

We land at Hopetown, which I wanna imagine has a larger quest associated with it, but then again maybe that's what I'm doing right now. Seems to be one of the more intensely designed settlements in the game. We're essentially in a company town. Everyone here works for Hopetech, lives on a planet where the only thing around is their job, and carries an eerie devotion to the company and its founder. This is Ron Hope. He talks like an Oblivion NPC, which is to say too slow, and I earmarked him for death real early.

So I tell him about one of his stolen ships, he already knows, he wants me to keep it on the DL since it'd tarnish his brand if people knew ships could be stolen off the assembly line, yada yada. The conversation I was having with him here and now wasn't super important. What was important was introducing Hope as a character so him maybe/maybe not being evil later doesn't feel like it's outta nowhere. Well fuck me for knowing how these stories work, but of course he did it. I don't even know what 'it' is, as of right now, but I know it was him. Why else would we be meeting him so early? The butler did it.

We're off to Neon next, where I understand most stolen ships wind up. A player may deduce this on their own through normal gameplay; if you're one to plunder ships and sell them off, Neon is one of the places to do this. Either that or critically thinking. Neon's the only city that abjectly sucks, according to context clues. In case I wouldn't know, I'm told explicitly to head to Neon.

I head to Neon. With quickness, because now I know how fast travel works (tip: you can select objective markers while you're out in space and, should it be a system you've already been to, you'll fast travel without opening the map). Meeting up with a fellow ranger whose name I forget but--spoiler alert--it doesn't matter, I'm led to mechanic Billy Clayton, whose name I remember for some reason. He wants to help us but is currently having a Bethesda Moment (we need to do something for him first). That thing we have to do is clear up an outstanding debt with a loan shark. Alone, I march to the warehouse said loan shark operates from, don't even open up a dialogue, immediately spray the office with bullets, and return to Billy. Good news, Billy! Debt problem's been fixed!

Thankful, he points us in the direction of a noted ship thief named Grace. She's a brick wall. Won't give up nothing bc she ain't scared of the fuzz. That is until I pass a persuasion check and she immediately buckles under the pressure. Persuasion skill continues to be totally absurd. But for our efforts, she hands us an encrypted slate that, should we be able to crack the encryption, will lead us to her contractors.

The* Plot* Thickens*

It's not that I didn't know what was going on. Rather, by this point, I was certain the game would never trust me to figure things out on my own. I double-checked: there's in-universe museums that spells out a lot of the lore. Some of which being pertinent to reveals later in this questline. Odds are slim most players would be brushing up on Starfield history of their own volition, and look, I get it. Really, I prefer getting this sort of shit through questlines. But by this point I was feeling a sort of... monotony? I'm gonna be told what to do and where to go regardless of whether or not I intuit these things myself. There's little incentive to do anything but precisely what the quest givers tell me. Speaking of...

That ranger on Neon whose name I forget tells me there's someone on Akila who may be able to crack the slate. His name is Alex Shadid and, dude, I liked him a lot. On sight. He's socially awkward, dreams of being the type of person who goes clubbing on Neon which is cute, and he's good with computers. Alex was my first and really my only pick for a second crewmate, when this questline finished up.

I pass the slate off to Alex and report back to Daniel Blake. Based on clues in my previous field work, Daniel is running with the theory that the crew responsible for this ship theft (stealing one ship and harassing one farmer is still the impetus of the entire story) is one called the First. A company of veterans from the Colony War now doing mercenary work out in the stars. Daniel used to serve with them, and knows of two supposed members: Maya Cruz and Marco. Maya's our first target, as someone matching her description just booked an emergency surgery and extended stay on a space station hospital called The Clinic. Off to the clinic, then!

Two quick things before I divulge this super exciting Maya Cruz quest:

>Whenever I speak to Daniel Blake, while there's no outwardly "evil" dialogue choices to make, there's good cop/bad cop options. Do you want clean justice or do you wanna repaint the walls of your ship in the blood of outlaws? I always picked the most violent things to say to Daniel. Always some version of "I'm going down there and making orphans of all their children!" and at no point does the Sheriff think I may be a problem. He, nor anyone in the rangers, ever thinks less of me for being completely unhinged and hostile.

>I've been dabbling in the ship builder and, hey, Todd: why can't my ship have wings? Been all over looking for wing parts and there's not a one. I consulted reddit, damn you. Don't try none of that "uh but but but atmosphere" bullshit. This is not a realistic space sim, we ain't Kerbals here (that game DID have wings!!!!). Before launch, I was dreaming of what my ship would look like, and it always had wings. Let me add wings. If you do DLC that adds more ship parts, deliver me my wings plz thx.

Oh, and the Maya Cruz quest is pretty boring. There's one interesting moment where you gain access to her private hospital room and find the surgeon dead on the ground, but after that it's flying off to a derelict planet and trouncing about in a cave up to a very lame encounter with Maya, who says something or other about whatever bullshit idk. I shot her.

Polo.

Thankfully, the hunt for Marco has some teeth. There's a ranger at a remote club called the Red Mile. It's a real rough place (everywhere in Starfield is a real rough place, Red Mile, can I get ya to try harder).

The ranger in question is Autumn Macmillan. She's a Starfield NPC, so she's immediately callous and rude. I'm mean right back, so ig it evens out. She doesn't know where Marco is, but suspects the club's owner, Mei Devine, does. To get to her, we have to provide the club with some entertainment. The titular Red Mile is a dangerous gauntlet that wasn't all that dangerous bc I'm doing this at an above average level. So I run the Red Mile no sweat, Mei is pleased, tells me where Marco's ship is currently parked.

Before I leave, Autumn runs up to be and actually apologizes for being an ass earlier. I was also an ass but don't have the option of apologizing. Game unconditionally sides with me. Okay, I'll take it. Me and Autumn are cool from then on out, and I zip off to meet up with Marco.

It's now, at the top of the questline's last third, that things get interesting. I was ready for a dogfight, hearing that Marco is hiding out on his spaceship, but no. He's parked on some obscure planet and willing to have a chat. Sounds like he wants me to know something important?

That important thing is rangers are dweebs and being a mercenary is awesome. He's even ready to give me the location of de capo di tutti i capi on the condition we let him go. Since I'm ready for the story to keep chugging along regardless of my actions, I massacre his entire ship and get the final location anyway. Hardly knew ye.

With the combined slates of Grace, Maya Cruz, and now Marco, Alex Shadid has the information necessary to triangulate the location of the First. Daniel Blake orders me to head down there and raise hell. Well, not in those exact words, but it's a Bethesda game. Of course it's gonna be a fight.

The Black Rifle Coffee Company

Well ain't my predictions all fucky.

Thought for sure, with all these ranger characters I was meeting and the precedent set by the Crimson Fleet story, that all the rangers were gonna back me up in this final raid. Nope! Going it alone. Not even a ranger. Still just a deputy. But whatever, I still got my main man Mathis.

We buy some more guns and touch down on Arcturus II. Mathis and I step out, enter the large doors of an abandoned mech factory, and are greeted by the intercom voice of First boss Paxton Hull. He lays out his motivation, and I'm curious whether this was intended as a serious morality check.

In essence, the First are, as stated earlier, veterans of the Colony War. Their main point of anger is an event in the final moments of the war they were about to secure total victory for the Freestar Collective before both sides declared a truce. They're still mad about this. I'm supposed to be sympathetic to their position (maybe) as forgotten "heroes" of the war, despite their primary motivation being "well one time we killed a thousand civilians but we wanted to kill a million."

I wasn't so hot on these guys. Even as an evil character. They reminded me too much of Operative Culture. Yk, those guys who did (or maybe pretend to have done) military service and, perhaps as a means of coping with a lot of abject atrocities the US army commits, circle the wagons and perceive all violence as justifiable. Y'know who I'm talking about. Their pro-gun beliefs are based in a nonsense John Wick fantasy, or adjacently related "wolves, sheep, and sheep dogs" bullshit. Am I wrong to project this on the First, here? I don't think so. They get no sympathy from me, the guy who shoots people if it progresses the quest slightly faster. Their grudge is based in not "winning" the war by their own fucked up definition.

My character sure is one to talk but, in fairness, Mathis and I were gonna light this place up regardless of any sympathy for the First. Which we did! It's quite the gunfight. Lotta NPCs. I haven't spent a credit on ammo since.

We shoot out way to Paxton who, in a funny bit of characterization, can't help but be impressed by our ability to mow down his whole organization. He knows he's toast but wants to die fighting. Before doing so, however, he passes off a slate. The contract for stealing the ship from HopeTech (yeah, one stolen ship is still the main thing here) was ordered by none other than--

Oh, no kidding

It was Ron Hope all along! I have Mathis kill Paxton (just want him to feel involved) before throwing the bitch (spaceship) in reverse back to Hopetown. Marching right inside, we catch Ron Hope in the middle of praising a low-level mechanic for something or other. Uh-uh-uh, not gonna work on me. I KNOW you did... hold on, lemme remember. You... oh yeah. You SWITCH THE SAMPLES orchestrated your own ship theft in order to...

I'll be honest, I kinda needed Hope to explain why he's the baddie. Yes the ship theft was an inside job, but to what end I wasn't sure. If I have it correct, Ron let the First steal the ship so he would also look like a victim, which would throw us off the scent of him, and please follow along, selling farmers bad fertilizer that would demolish their farmland but leave behind soil that had a lot of otherwise useful minerals. He would then chase these farmers off their land and develop it into HopeTech... something or other. I'm not saying it's badly written. I'm sure it lines up with the lore and everything. But man, I was waiting for that [attack] prompt to pop in somethin' brutal.

But I am given a choice: take twenty-thousand credits worth of hush money, arrest him without violence, or kill him on the spot. How the other two options shake out, I can't say, because obviously I chose killing his ass dead. And his security escort! That employee he was praising earlier had mixed feelings about this. Our ensuing conversation when something like this:

mechanic: Ron Hope is dead!

me: he sucks and deserved to die

mechanic: I guess?

me: yeah

mechanic: okay bye

Now to go explain this all to Daniel Blake. Hoping he takes the whole "I killed Rom Hope" thing well, since Hope was a sitting member of the Freestar Collective's top brass. A ranger killing him would be very, very bad.

It matters very little

Sure, Daniel was pretty annoyed that Hope is dead, but I did have the slate Hope made ordering the First to steal the ship, among other things, so I killed him without consequence. I'm even promoted.

Deputy in a stupid vest no more! I'm now a Freestar Ranger in full, ready and able to take exactly zero ranger missions from this point onward. I'm given a cool spacesuit, a rifle I'm not gonna use bc I don't have any skill points in rifles, and a badge I cannot equip. Only look at in my inventory. But I am a ranger! I am a ranger! I am a ranger!

I'm shocked to find Alex Shadid cannot join my crew. Not that he isn't allowed. He's just not available to be recruited. Excuse me, I thought his introduction of "hi my name is Alex Shadid and I've never been to space in my life but oh I would just love to see the stars" was setting me up the ball. But no. And no other rangers at Akila are recruitable either. But that doesn't mean no rangers are...

Turns out, back at the Red Mile, Autumn is more than happy to hop on my ship. Yup, my second crew member is a ranger who thinks I'm dirt. Except now all her canned dialogue is eerily polite. But I say fuck it. Hop on my ship, Autumn, and let's never go back to the Red Mile again. Everyone is very mean there.

It's now me, Mathis, and Autumn, on my--oh yeah, I nearly forgot. My other reward for becoming a ranger was a brand new, probably overpowered for this point in the game, spaceship. Capacity for five crewmates. Best of all?

ITS GOT WINGS.

In Conclusion

While I can't say I was ever grabbed by the narrative, the moment to moment gameplay of the Freestar Rangers questline proved very fun. Lots of dudes to shoot, if that's your thing. It's got some engaging setpieces, takes you to a satisfying number of locations in the name of feeling big, but that's not without plenty of disappointments. The "villain" of it all feels unsubstantial, and really the whole story feels disconnected from the larger world of the game. It's got plenty to do with the Lore and all that, but at no point did it ever feel bigger than running errands. Crimson Fleet managed a far better climax in comparison, awful space battle notwithstanding. But the idea of Autumn being on my crew is funny enough to consider this a satisfying use of my Starfield time.

Next up, corporate espionage or: my god the stealth in this game kinda sucks.

#starfield #freestar rangers #viddy games #had a double bourbon while cowboying around #but i like cognac more #or rum #like a dark rum #mmm

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opinated-user · 2 years

Note

Aliana flaws

- Cruelty. A tendency to torment her foes, often giving them chance to escape.

While this might be considered a flaw, in TSR it is not. Precisely because no one ever treats it like ine. Aliana's a "badass" because she can hurt the bad guys, but she's also not perfect because she let Kylo Ren escape again! But no one ever says anything about her unwittingly letting their main enemy go (that way putting them in even more danger) only because of her sadistic nature, unlike you know Luke, who gets a whole tub of trash for hesitating to kill his child nephew. Ok seriously now. Just imagine if, after Aliana shoot Leia with lightning, she would simply be kicked out of the rebellion, would not be given a promotion or any kind of excuse, or would simply be arrested on the spot for attacking the general and would have to deal with the consequences. Or for example if she got the First Order agent in her hands, and she would immediately go to torture him instead of interrogating, which would greatly scare Rey, Finn and Poe, and they would begin to avoid Aliana or openly call her out. Great idea for a conflict and development. It's a pity that Aliana always has to look holy... Moreover, that "often" kind of shows that Aliana doesn't learn from her mistakes at all, which ironically makes her look just as stupid as Kylo Ren lol.

- A doormat for allis. Prone to putting up with poor treatment.

Doesn't that, well... contradict the points about cruelty and a strong sense of justice? Like don’t you feel a dissociation in a character who is both incredibly cruel, fair and, technically, lived almost alone for about a decade, but at the same time can’t stand up for herself and needs someone to wipe her snot due to the fact that someone (who isn’t even dear to her but simply a necessary ally) was not friendly with her? Another question, is Aliana really so unsocialized that she cannot resolve differences diplomatically? Doesn't she have some talant to form alliance with underclass? Poor people are people as well, surprisingly, so what's the difference?

- Poor seff care.

And again, factually that this is not a flaw, this is another reason to make readers sympathize with Aliana. Has she ever lost because she was tired? No. Has she ever been so tired she couldn't handle a mission properly and ended up failing it? No. Has she ever had to run from the fight because she was clearly losing? No. The only time she gets hurt is when she dropped her weapon to protect Rey. But even than it was not the effect of her poor self-care, it was a conscious sacrifice. Aliana's depression is another complete retcon to make us feel sorry for her.

This is the main problem with Mary Sue inconsistency and constant contradictions, breaking the world and other characters in order to wrap them around Aliana.

A tendency to torment her foes, often giving them chance to escape.

that's not cruelty, it's recklessness. the same one that rey later learns herself and puts everyone in danger because she just had to come out in fury and not listen to anyone just like alaina. alaina might be cruel and have a too big sense of self importance that makes her lose sight of the situation, giving enemies a chance to escape because she didn't made sure that they didn't before trying to torture them. cruelty is no the issue on this situation.

A doormat for allis. Prone to putting up with poor treatment.

i get the feeling that what LO understands as "poor treatment" is nothing else but mean comments from one sources, which sours the idea that alaina has the respect and appreciation from absolutely everyone, even if she doesn't deserve it.

Poor seff care.

i agree with you, anon, this is a retcon and a poor one at that.

#lily orchard

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quixoticanarchy · 3 years

Text

In blatant disrespect to my numerous obligations I have instead opted to speed-read bits of HoME #9 tonight and my GOD I am having a Moment about the forbidden wholesome epilogues with Sam and his kids

#shadowfax went on the boat to valinor??#discussing all his friends?? what became of them after the quest??? obviously tying up some threads but im here for it #also the comments about frodo and about legolas & gimli???#i was trying to resolve a completely different question i had and failed but now im here #the vibes are incredible i am losing it slightly #tolkien #history of middle earth #skravler

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btssavedmylifeblr · 3 years

Text

Void - Part 7 (M)

title banner by @rude–jude♡

Genre: Sci-fi with a little angst and a LOT of smut

Pairing: BTS x Reader (yup - all seven)

Summary: You are the only female crew member on a 12 year space mission with seven handsome men. The sexual tension is real, y’all.

Word Count: 10.9k

Part 7 / ?

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Warnings: explicit sexual content, alcohol masturbation, voyeurism, more non-monogamy

The men at the table stare at you, dumb-founded. Jungkook’s mouth hangs open. Hoseok hides his mouth behind his hand; his eyes are wide with shock. Jimin spins around, trying to gauge the others’ reactions. Namjoon leans back in his chair, face unreadable, his chin resting on his hand as he looks from you to your powerpoint. Jin laughs uncomfortably then clears his throat and silence falls again.

Yoongi speaks first. “You put sources on your powerpoint about how we should all start fucking?”

“It’s important to cite your sources,” you mutter, shuffling your feet.

Taehyung sits up straighter on his cot. “Are you saying we should start fucking you or each other?”

“Well, the bonobos do both. They are fully bisexual. Almost all aggressive contests are settled by sex. Even when two males squabble over a female, they often resolve it by rubbing their genitals together.”

“What?” Hoseok injects. “You want us to start rubbing our genitals together?” His cheeks blush.

“No, no, no.” You shake your head. “I meant you all should have sex with me.” Your own cheeks heat up as you say it. “I can’t control what you do with other people. In an ideal world, it would be both. But it seemed best to start with me.”

Jungkook mouths the words “start with” to himself, still staring at the table.

“But like, how would that work logistically?” Taehyung asks.

“Well, there are seven of you, so that could be like one per day. Take a week off for my period.”

Jimin splutters, whirling to face Yoongi. “Did you put her up to this?”

Yoongi shakes his head, frowning.

“No one put me up to this!” you argue. “This is what I think is best for the mission.”

An explosion of opinions pours out of all the men at once. Hoseok is swearing under his breath. Taehyung is trying to get Jimin’s attention, but Jimin is arguing with Yoongi. Jungkook wants to know how you decide who goes first. Jin says something to Namjoon that you can’t hear.

“So, um…” You struggle to regain command of the room over the chatter. “My period starts tomorrow, so take a few days to think about it.”

“Officer.” Namjoon’s deep voice cuts over everyone else and the conversation at the table ceases. “You and I need to speak privately. Now.”

The commander stands up from the table and gestures toward the door. The rest of the crew looks back and forth between the two of you wearing expressions of shock and confusion.

You avoid their gazes as you follow Namjoon’s direction out into the hallway. He steps out after you, closing the door behind him. A flurry of chatter resumes after the door shuts, but it’s too muffled to hear what the rest of the crew are saying. You and Namjoon stare at each other.

“So…” you say, shifting your weight between your feet.

“Let’s talk in my office,” he says, squeezing past you and moving in the direction of the sleep pods.

You examine him from behind as you follow him to his office, trying to gauge what he’s thinking. Are his shoulders tense? Is he angry with you? Are you about to be scolded?

His office is also his bedroom. And you did just offer to fuck him, no strings attached. But of all your crew, Namjoon is the one that you have the most strictly professional relationship with. His walls are almost as impenetrable as yours. But he is a man, right? And men like sex, right? It would have been more awkward to not include him. This wasn’t about personal feelings. It was about the mission. And you were all in the mission together.

________

Sweat pools at the base of your spine under the hot studio lights. A reporter drums her long red nails on her clipboard as the sound technician adjusts the microphones between interviews.

Press junkets are your least favorite part of the job, made all the worse by your mission director insisting you all dress in full launch gear, despite the launch still being two weeks away.

“This is the last one.” Namjoon turns around from his front and center seat to whisper to the rest of the crew.

Yoongi groans, rubbing his face with his hands. “Why do we have so many of them when they all ask the same questions?”

The eight of you have been trapped in this room all day as a parade of different reporters trail in and ask the same inane questions.

This new reporter opens with a softball. “How’s the food?”

“Good!” Namjoon patiently answers this question for the third time today. “The ICSE has recruited the top food scientists to figure out which foods hold their flavor and nutrition best in long term storage. And our chief botanist here is going to keep us well stocked with fruits and vegetables. Right, officer?” He gestures for you to chime in.

“Yup!” You are grateful to Namjoon for pitching you a question that isn’t about you being the only woman in a crew full of men. You’ve already had to explain how periods in space work twice today (short answer: pretty much the same way they work on Earth). “We have lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers, peas, bean, soy, carrots, cabbage, chilis, potatoes, lemons, oranges and strawberries, plus a bunch of fresh herbs. They even found a way for us to grow mushrooms out of our culinary compost.”

The reporter makes a disgusted face at the idea of compost mushrooms and pivots to a new line of questioning. “What will you miss most about home?”

“Why don’t we go around the group?” Namjoon prompts. Even your commander seems to be fading in enthusiasm by this point. “I’m going to miss long walks in the fresh air, and my family, of course.”

Most of the crew answers with some variation of friends and family. Yoongi will miss his brother’s cooking. Taehyung will miss his dog who is going to live with his parents. Jungkook will miss long showers and his mom.

“What’s one personal item you’re taking with you?” she asks.

Namjoon is bringing a Chinese elm bonsai tree that he calls his tiny friend. Hoseok is bringing a stuffed Earth plushie given to him by his niece. Jin is bringing vodka.

The reporter narrows her eyes at the mention of alcohol and leans forward. “So what do you do if you feel a crew member’s judgement has been compromised?”

“We have protocols in place,” Namjoon answers. “Tests of cognitive impairment and such. We’re also coached in what we call “expeditionary behaviors” which are key to maintaining peace and cooperation on board.

Yoongi chimes in. “The key to solving all disputes is our ability to be honest with each other. When there is a problem, we sit down as a group and discuss it.”

“Our readers are saying what a tragedy it is that we are shipping seven of our most eligible bachelors off to space for a decade.” She laughs. “Any broken hearts being left here on Earth?”

“Oh!” Namjoon draws back and looks unsuredly at the rest of the group. This was not a question he was expecting to be asked today. “Umm…” he laughs nervously.

“My mom is devastated!” Jin cracks from the back row and the rest of the crew laughs in relief.

But the reporter doesn’t want to let go of this idea so quickly, so she turns to you. “Well, you must certainly enjoy having such handsome crew members.”

“Uh…” To your complete mortification, you actually blush in response. You clench your fist to try to get a grip. To your right, Hoseok’s hand flinches, as if he can feel the need to hold you back. “I’m going on this mission to find life on other planets.” You grit your teeth. “My only interest in my crew is whether or not they do their jobs.”

The woman shakes her head, laughing. “Doesn’t hurt that they look good doing it.”

_______

Namjoon opens the door to his office and gestures for you to enter. The number of papers on his desk seems to have multiplied, which theoretically shouldn’t be possible.

“I’m going to say three words to you,” Namjoon says as he closes the door behind him. “And then I need you to repeat them back to me: banana, river, finger.”

“Namjoon,” you cross your arms. “I’m not cognitively impaired right now.”

He mirrors your closed stance. “Please repeat the words.”

You sigh. “Banana, river, finger.”

He pulls a piece of paper from his desk and wipes it clean, before handing it to you, along with a pen. “I need you to draw a clock face.”

“Seriously?”

“Set it to quarter past eight.”

“This isn’t necessary, commander,” you grumble as you take the pen and paper, drawing a rudimentary clock face and setting the hands to 8:15. “See?” You hand the paper back to him and he inspects it.

He nods, rubbing his chin. “Repeat the three words again.”

“Banana, river, finger.” You put your hands on your hips. “You think my judgement is compromised?”

Namjoon sighs. “Everything seems to be in order. You must admit, your behavior recently has been uncharacteristic to say the least. Are you sure everything is okay?”

“Well, no, everything is not okay, that’s why I’m doing this.”

He leans against his desk, looking you up and down. “I fail to see how fraternizing with the entire crew will improve things.”

The back of your neck heats up in embarrassment, but you press on. You need the commander to be onboard with your plan.

“You admit we have a morale problem, right?”

He nods. “Hard to suggest otherwise. What with all the recent events.”

“Okay, so I was going through the principles of expeditionary behavior last night as I figured out what to do. Principle One: Communication - talk so you are clearly understood, talk about intentions before taking action, share information freely.”

“I know the principles.” Namjoon interrupts.

“But don’t you see? That’s why I had to call the meeting. Why I had to get everything out in the open, share information freely.”

“That explains why you needed to inform the crew of your relationship with Jimin. It doesn’t explain why you think it would be good to involve everyone.”

“Principle Two: Self-care - manage psychological and physiological health, balance work, rest, and personal time, be proactive to stay healthy and mitigate stress.”

Namjoon arches an eyebrow. “A lack of sex doesn’t damage your health.”

“With all due respect commander, I think it does.”

“There are outlets to relieve sexual urges other than exploiting our only female crew member.”

“Well, they were all trading porn with each other. That’s how this whole thing started.” Namjoon purses his lips in thought. That seems to be new information to your commander. You continue your argument. “Principle Three: Team-care - monitor team for signs of stress and fatigue - which we have a multitude of, cooperate rather than compete, encourage participation in team activities.”

“Are you considering this a team activity?”

“Well, yes. Like the bonobos do.”

Namjoon shakes his head. “Let me speak so I am clearly understood. I can’t prevent you or the rest of the crew from doing what you want to do with your personal time. But I can’t participate in it either. I’m the commanding officer on this ship. It’s inappropriate. We can’t have an equitable relationship.”

“That’s why it’s not a relationship though, it’s just sex. And if everyone involved is consenting...”

He rubs the back of his neck. “Let’s be honest about intent for a minute. Is that really what you want? You want all seven of us?”

“Umm…” Your stomach churns as you are unable to admit that, yes, that is what you want. “I think it’s best for the mission.”

“Part of principle three is to volunteer for unpleasant tasks if they benefit the team. Are you sure that’s not what you’re doing right now, officer?”

“Yes, I’m sure.” Though embarrassing to admit, boning your attractive colleagues is not an unpleasant task in the slightest.

“You should also consider the fact that whatever forms do get signed will have to be sent back to mission control. And may get out to the press.”

“I thought HR decisions were confidential.”

“Juicy stories have a tendency to find their way out. Especially when they distract from failed missions that added years on to our trip.”

“I understand, commander. Information must be shared freely. I still think this plan is necessary if we’re going to complete this mission successfully.”

“Okay.” Namjoon sighs, dropping his hands to his sides. “It would seem there is no talking you out of it.”

“No, sir. I intend to implement with full commitment.”

The two of you stare at each other for a minute. An immovable object and an unstoppable force.

“So… should I go?”

“Yes, you’re dismissed.”

________

After the press junket is mercifully over, Hoseok catches you in the hallway.

“Hey, you coming to Tae and Jimin’s quarantine party tonight?” Tonight is the last night you all are allowed to see other people before you enter your two-week quarantine prior to launch. “Seems like you could use a drink.”

“I don’t know,” you sigh, leaning against the wall.

“What’s on your mind?” He leans next to you.

“That last reporter, she got in my head.” You rub your forehead.

Hoseok rubs the back of his neck. His jawline tenses as he mulls over what to say.

Hoseok is so handsome. And smart. And newly single. He broke up with his girlfriend a couple of weeks ago before signing the final mission papers. And now he was going to be the one of only seven people in your whole world.

In another life, you would want to date him. You’d be dying to go to a party with him and plot how to get him alone for part of the evening. In another life, you would have fallen in love with him. But in this life, he’d been dating someone else for the whole time you’ve known him. And you have a mission.

What’s most grating is that the gossip columnist isn’t wrong. You’d be hard pressed to find a better set of men anywhere on Earth than the seven you were leaving with. They were all attractive, smart, kind, disciplined, athletic young men. It would be much easier to be entirely professional if you had a crew of balding middle-aged men.

“Do you think it's a mistake? Me going on this mission?” you finally ask.

“What?” Hoseok gasps. “No! Why would you think that?”

“The mission director said it was supposed to be only men. That mixed gender crews are too complicated.”

“Have we ever done anything to make you feel like we don’t view you as a professional?”

“No, no, of course not.” Other than being ridiculously good-looking.

Hoseok’s fingers twiddle nervously. “And we won’t. We’re a team. You’re our colleague. This mission is so much bigger than any one of us. And you’re the best candidate for this position.”

“I’m the only candidate.”

Hoseok smiles. “Well, that’s exactly my point. We’d be lost without our biologist. Besides, you were better than all the male candidates even before they dropped out.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Oh yes, I do. Are you forgetting how badly you kicked my ass all over organic chemistry? And I was the chem major! It was such a disgrace.” You both laugh.

You smile at the memory: early morning study sessions, Hoseok bringing you coffee in exchange for your homework help.

“Come on,” he insists. “I know you. You can’t not go. You’re going to be the first woman on Europa. It’s been your destiny since college. Don’t you want to see it with us?”

Yes, you wanted to see it so badly. You picture the two of you looking out over the icy surface together.

“Come tonight.” Hoseok insists. “It’ll be fine, you’ll see. We won’t mess this up for you.”

“Thank you, Hoseok.”

_______

You leave Namjoon’s bedroom and climb into your own sleep pod, the question of what mission control or the press know about what’s happening on this ship weighing on your mind.

Unfortunately, googling it for yourself won’t work. It takes between 10 and 20 minutes for a single signal to get from your ship to Earth, depending on exactly where you both are in your orbits. Then it takes another 10-20 minutes to return. Usually if you wanted to research something, you’d submit a formal request to your research assistants back on Earth, who would gather a collection of relevant documents for you and send you a bundle of them all at once. But asking your research assistants to assemble a dossier on your rumored sex life was out of the question. You need someone you can trust.

You pull out your laptop and compose the following email.

Hi Dianna,

How are you doing? I’m sorry I’ve been slow to respond to your messages lately, things have been a bit messy out here. I was wondering if I could ask you a favor. Are there rumors about my personal life going around the ICSE? Or in the press? I was wondering if you’d be willing to run a quick google search and let me know what you find.

Thank you! I hope you and Melissa are doing well.

Dianna should have been on this mission with you. You wish you could talk to her in person. You’ll have to send her a video message when you have more time. But you are interrupted in your thoughts by a knock on the door.

“Who is it?”

“Jimin.”

You hit send on the email and open the door.

“Can we talk?” he asks.

You nod and stand to one side to allow him into your pod.

He sighs and rubs the back of his neck. “So I’m confused.” He runs a hand through his hair as he steps into the pod. “Last night you were mad at me for suggesting you date Taehyung. You said you wouldn’t be passed around between crew members. But now you want to have sex with the entire crew?”

“I’m not being passed around. This is my plan. I’m in control.”

He shakes his head. “The end results seem to be the same though. I don’t understand.”

“This way we don’t have to pretend this is something it’s not. It can just be sex, just release. We don’t have to pretend it means anything more than that.”

“But it means something to me.” Jimin frowns. “I have feelings for you.”

You sigh. “They’re not real though. It’s hormones and boredom. It’s just because I’m the only woman here.”

“No it’s not!”

“Yes it is! You didn’t feel this way about me on Earth, right?”

Jimin stammers for a minute. “People can change. Relationships can change.”

“Jungkook and Taehyung didn’t have feelings for me on Earth either and now that they’ve seen me naked they’re suddenly 'in love' with me. That’s not real. That’s just biology. We’re just apes in space with too much time on our hands.”

“Jungkook’s in love with you too?”

“I don’t know. He thinks he is.”

Jimin frowns, but seems less sure of himself. “Is this because I suggested sharing? Cause that was a dumb idea and I take it back.”

“No! You were right. It’s what’s best for the mission.”

“So what? It’s like this or nothing? I have to share you to have any of you?”

You don’t answer him. Currently, no one else has actually signed, so Jimin might get you all to himself anyways.

“Am I… am I not enough?” Jimin asks. “I can be more. I can do better. I can do whatever Yoongi does that you like so much.”

“This isn’t about Yoongi. It’s about the mission.”

“You said you liked me. You said you wanted to be with me. Was that just about the mission?”

“It’s not about what I want.”

“Yeah, yeah… it's about the mission.”

He turns to go, but you catch his hand in yours. His thumb rubs across the back of your hand. All the men are just as touch-starved as you are. It’s probably unfair that you are playing to that now.

You see an idea flash across his face right before he scoops you up into his arms, kissing you passionately. “I’m going to show you,” he whispers between kisses. “I’m going to show it's real. I’m going to be what you need. My feelings are real.”

Then he places you back down and leaves. You lean against the door breathless.

________

Mistake number one: You should not have challenged Jin to beer pong.

Mistake number two: You should not have said goodbye to your parents and dog right before going to a party full of strangers and booze.

Mistake number three: You should not have gone to find Hoseok when you are this drunk and he smells that good.

You collapse onto the couch beside Hoseok, too tired to stand up anymore. Hoseok smiles to see you, face flushed red.

“Hoseok,” you whisper, even though he’s already looking at you. “Hoseok, I have something important to tell you.”

He leans in closer. “Yeah?”

“Europa’s oceans are ninety-six kilometers deep.”

He laughs. “Of course, I know that! I wrote my graduate thesis on Europa’s oceans!”

“Yeah, but like…” You wave your hand. “That’s like soooo deep. Like not intuitive, you know? Like that’s ten times deeper than any ocean on Earth. I can’t even conceive of how deep our oceans are, let alone Europa’s.”

You scoot closer to him on the couch. “That’s like…” You pull out your phone to do some basic math. “That’s like 120 Burj Khalifas!!”

Hoseok nods. “Yes… It is super deep.”

“Stacked on top of each other!” You slap your knee in emphasis.

“Yes, I know!” He laughs again.

You sigh. “Can I tell you a secret?” You lean in closer and put a hand on his thigh. He leans in too. “There just has to be life down there. I know there has to be.”

“I hope so.” He rests his hand on yours.

“We’re going to find it together, you and I.” You grab his hand and squeeze it.

Hoseok looks down at your joined hands and you worry that maybe you’ve gone too far. Maybe tomorrow this will be an awkward and embarrassing moment. But right now it feels nice. His hand is warm. You wonder if it would be too much to lean your head on his shoulder.

But then Hoseok’s phone buzzes in his lap. His ex-girlfriend’s name flashes across the screen and you drop his hand.

“Sorry,” he mutters, getting up off the couch. “I should take this.” He leaves and the couch next you is colder.

“Hey!” Jin stumbles over to your seating area. “Have any of you guys seen Namjoon?”

“I think he went to meet that girl he won’t tell us about,” Yoongi answers from a chair a few feet away. When did Yoongi get here?

“So everyone is getting laid tonight, huh?” Jin laughs.

“Not everyone,” Yoongi mutters, nursing his beer.

“Don’t be such a grump, Yoongi. It’s basically our last night on Earth! Take advantage!” Jin laughs before wandering back into the crowd.

“I’m not getting laid tonight either!” You yell across the room at Yoongi. More direct than you would be when sober.

He cracks the first smile you’ve seen from him in days, raising his beer into the air in a little clinking motion. You do the same with your plastic cup full of what Jimin had described as “Tae’s jungle juice”. It was red and smelled like tequila.

“Why aren’t you getting laid?” you ask, taking a swig of the juice for courage.

“Got dumped, not really over it yet,” he answers matter-of-factly. “What about you?”

You shrug. “The only men here are about to be my only companions for the next twelve years. Seems like a bad plan to fuck them.”

Yoongi laughs. “Suppose so.”

“Well, don’t you worry. If that reporter is right, we’ll all be having space orgies in a month anyways.”

Yoongi chokes on his beer. “Shit.” Beer dribbles down his chin as he laughs. “I think we need to find you some ice water and a cab.”

“Probably a good plan,” you mutter as you lie down on the couch and close your eyes.

________

When you wake up in the morning, there are still no signed HR forms in your messages. Had you been a fool to think any of them were interested? How much time does it take to decide such a thing? Perhaps by putting the idea out there explicitly, it had lost all of its taboo appeal.

There are two other things waiting for you to notice though: your period and a calendar reminder that today is chili pepper pollinating day. After dealing with the first of those problems in the bathroom, you head for the lab to find Hoseok.

You find the science officer in the lab as always, sitting with his knee tucked up against his chest.

“Hey, um…” You shuffle your feet. Want to fuck me? No wait…

He blinks at you, bleary-eyed.

“Oh, you don’t look good. Were you here all night?” you ask.

“Um, was I? Yeah. I suppose. Lost track of time.” He rubs his eyes, before looking you up and down, then casting his gaze back to the floor.

All you want to do is ask about the forms. Or the meeting. Or what he thinks of you now. But you don’t.

“I need to pollinate the chili peppers today.” Usually Hoseok is the person who assists with that. “But I can get one of the other guys to do it if you need the sleep.”

“No!” Hoseok lurches forward, standing up a bit too rapidly and needing to put his hand back on the bench to steady himself. “I mean, I’m fine.”

You should disagree with him. He is exhausted. But you’d like more time to talk to him.

Pollinating the chili peppers is both time-sensitive and time-consuming, hence why it took two of you to get the job done. There were no insects on your ship to do the job for you and if the plants didn’t get pollinated, they wouldn’t bear any fruit. Chili peppers were your favorite crop. Not only a vital source of Vitamin C, but all your food benefitted from having a bit of spice added to it.

You and Hoseok head for the greenhouse together. The initial set-up gives you something to talk about in the beginning. Hoseok gathers the pollen from one flower onto a paintbrush, then hands it over to you to paint onto the stigmas of each little flower on the next plant.

Slowly the conversation dries up as you fall into a silent rhythm. Other than enjoying the chili peppers, this was also one of your favorite tasks on the ship because of the high likelihood that the two of you would brush hands periodically. It always gave you butterflies. But today he seems extra intent on keeping his distance from you. Was he disgusted by you now? His hands are trembling.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

His hand twitches so hard that a little rain of yellow pollen cascades onto the floor. He curses in frustration before turning to face you. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

"I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“This, um, plan of yours…” he gestures to the vague tension in the air. “It doesn’t feel like you.”

“I’m trying to save the mission. That has always been my top priority.”

“Yeah, I’m still not clear on how this benefits the mission.”

“I outlined it all in my presentation. Plus Yoongi said…” you start to say, but are cut off by Hoseok's derisive snort.

“Look, if you’re in love with Yoongi, go date him, okay? Don’t feel obligated to include the rest of us out of pity.”

You frown. “I’m not… I’m not in love with him. It’s just sex. Just biology.”

“This isn’t you!” Hoseok argues back. “You hated the idea of anyone ever treating you that way. And now you want all of us to… to… use you like that?” He splutters out the end of the sentence.

“No one is using me! This is my plan!”

He sighs. “Well, I can’t be a part of it. Excuse me.” He leaves you alone in the greenhouse.

Your lower lip trembles and you bite it to stop it. He’s disgusted by you. Yoongi was wrong; Hoseok doesn’t want you. It takes you the rest of the day to finish the pollinating on your own.

_____

There are no forms waiting for you when you wake up the next morning either. Perhaps this was a mistake after all. If the men aren’t looking for release in the same way you are, then there’s no point to any of this. Even Jimin has been keeping his distance, so all you’ve done is mess up the one relationship you did have and offend your commander and colleagues.

Your tablet buzzes with a notification. It’s a reply from Dianna.

It’s great to hear from you! I hope things aren’t too crazy up there. I haven’t heard any rumors at work, but I’ve not been directly involved with your mission. We’ve started the plans for Titan and it’s taking most of my focus. I can ask around though if you want me to. I was surprised to find this article when I googled. Is this accurate? I assumed you would have said something.

Hope you are well! Melissa and I are going to send you a video of our new puppy.

Dianna

There is a pdf of a magazine article attached to the email entitled “Love Amongst the Stars”. At the top is one of the official launch photos of the whole crew that has been zoomed and cropped so that it’s only you and Jimin sitting next to each other. The tagline reads “How two astronauts had to leave Earth to find each other”. It makes you cringe so hard you have to put the tablet down for a minute before you can read on.

It’s some sort of fluff piece about a secret affair between you and the mission specialist. You scan the article, trying to figure out what they know. “A source close to the couple spoke with us...” Who is their source? You haven’t told anyone on Earth about what's going on with Jimin.

“Coworkers said they always sensed a special connection between the two…” This is nonsense. Jimin is one of the crew members you knew the least about prior to launch.

“Other crew members are very supportive…” Uh, sure.

“Maybe we’ll even get our first space wedding…” You groan out loud, closing the pdf.

Maybe that seals it then. You’ll just be space-married to Jimin for the next 12 years and that will be that. The idea makes you feel a bit claustrophobic in your tiny sleep pod, so you throw on your exercise clothes and head for the gym to try to clear your head.

_____

What you call “the gym” is actually just a bunch of resistance bands and cardio equipment stashed into the walls of one corner of the hangar. When the gravity was off, you had a variety of different choices for which equipment to use. There was a treadmill in the ceiling and an elliptical in the wall so multiple people could use the equipment in your off hours. But with the gravity on, the stationary bike on the floor is your only option.

As you begin your warm-up on the bike, you mull over your next move. Why hadn’t any of the other men come and talked to you yet? Jungkook had confessed to you, why wasn’t he signing up now? And Yoongi? Yoongi said he wanted a form only a few days ago. Why did it feel so different now?

Were you stupid? Had you embarrassed yourself in front of your entire crew for no reason? Maybe Namjoon and Hoseok were right and this was a bad plan. You pedal faster, trying to burn out some of the tension in your lungs.

The radio buzzes and Taehyung’s deep voice sounds in your in-ear. “Looking for a location for our biologist.”

“I’m in the gym,” you radio back, pausing your bike ride to catch your breath.

Moments later, Taehyung pokes his head in the door of the hangar. It’s good to see him up and about, even if his arm is still in a sling.

“Hey.” He steps into the room, adjusting his hair with his one good hand. “I need to talk to you about this, um, ape sex thing.”

Oh my gosh, is it finally happening? Maybe Jimin was right. Maybe Taehyung is more interested in you than you had realized. He fishes into his pocket and pulls out his tablet. You wish you weren’t so sweaty and gross for this conversation. Taehyung is such an intimidatingly attractive man.

Taehyung opens up the tablet and flips to the form as he walks closer to you. It’s happening. He’s going to sign the form. Shit. Then what will you do? It’s one thing to say you want to have sex with your whole crew, but what if he’s hoping to go right now? You need a shower.

Taehyung has nice hands. Long strong fingers delicately navigate the touch screen. It seems totally improbable that a man this attractive would be into you, even if you were the only woman in the universe. It adds to your suspicions that hormones are driving everyone crazy. Perhaps if you slept with him once, he’d lose all interest.

He finds the form and then turns his gaze up to you, staring you down with those eyes. It’s a good thing Taehyung rarely turns his full gaze on you, because it is almost too much to bear. Shit, is he going to sign it? Is he waiting for you to give him some sort of signal?

“You can’t do this to Jimin,” he says.

“What?” Not what you were expecting. “Do what to Jimin?”

“This.” He gestures over the HR form. “Signing these forms with everyone. Having sex with everyone. You’re going to destroy Jimin.”

“Jimin’s the one who suggested this whole thing in the first place.” It’s a lie. You know it's a lie. Or at least a gross exaggeration. But Jimin was the one who first brought up the idea of sharing. All for the benefit of the man in front of you now.

“No way.” Taehyung scoffs, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow. “No way was it Jimin’s idea that you sleep with the whole crew.”

“Well…” You can’t bear his gaze anymore and look down at the floor. “He wanted me to sleep with you.”

“What?” He puts down the tablet. “Why would he want that?”

“He, um…” You rub your arm. “He thinks you’re in love with me.”

“What?” There is only surprise on Taehyung’s face. It’s actually a relief to see that Taehyung is as shocked by that idea as you were. “Why does he think that?”

“I don’t know…” You feel kind of dumb now. Of course, Taehyung doesn’t feel that way about you. Look at him. “Cause you told him you were jealous. Cause you can’t stand to be in the same room as us.”

Taehyung bites his lip. “Oh, um, shit, sorry, that’s not what I meant.”

“What did you mean?” you ask. If Taehyung wasn’t jealous of Jimin, then...“Who are you jealous of?”

“Nevermind…” Taehyung stumbles backward, putting his tablet back in his pocket. “Forget I said anything.”

“No wait,” you get up off the bike to chase after him, catching by the sleeve. As he turns around, you make a show of turning off your microphone. He does the same. “Are you jealous of me?” you ask. “Do you like Jimin?”

Taehyung’s eyes widen and he bites his lip. He glances toward the camera in the corner of the room, then stands up and begins unzipping his jumpsuit.

“Um…” You are distracted by the golden arms that peak from either side of the tank top as the zipper reaches his groin. “What are you doing?”

“Need something to block the camera.”

“We have towels,” you mutter. But now he’s attempting to peel the tank top up over his head.

“Yeah, but this way anyone watching will think we’re having sex.” He answers. “Shit, can you give me a hand?” In his attempts to remove his shirt, he seems to have forgotten he is wearing the arm sling and is now stuck with his shirt over his head. His injured shoulder is black and blue from his accident with the ROV.

You gingerly try to disentangle him without getting too close to his warm, bare skin. You succeed in freeing him from his shirt and he tosses it up and over the camera.

“You want them to think we’re having sex?” you ask.

“Don’t you? It plays right into your whole ‘save the mission with bonobo sex’ plan.” He zips his jumpsuit back up as he turns around.

“I suppose.” Though the plan was also supposed to be that there would be no more secrets between the crew. “What plan of yours does it play into?”

“The one where Jimin doesn’t realize I’m in love with him.”

Of course, Taehyung is in love with Jimin. That makes so much more sense. They’ve been so close for so long. And Taehyung has always paid very close attention to anything going on with Jimin. “You’ve never tried to tell him?”

Taehyung laughs wryly and shakes his head. “How would that conversation go? Hey man, I know we’ve known each other for years and I’ve already seen you naked and that you just think of me as a friend, but I’m in love with you. I know that’s awkward but now you have to spend the next twelve years with me, knowing that I’m attracted to you when you don’t feel the same way.” Taehyung sighs. “Doesn’t sound like a good plan to me. If he doesn’t feel the same way, I’ve ruined the friendship for nothing and then I don’t even have that.”

“Yeah… I get that.” There’s something touching about realizing that Taehyung has been fighting the same battle as you for the last two years.

“I couldn’t tell anyone before launch because what if they wouldn’t let me go then? You know?”

“Yeah, the director wasn’t big on sending anyone who might ‘complicate’ the mission.” The two of you share a sad knowing smile.

“Yeah… And I thought it would be fine, you know? I like women too. I’d just date women until launch and no one would know. I wasn’t planning on falling in love with my roommate.”

“I don’t think any of us knew what this would be like.”

“I knew it was going to be a problem. I should have pulled out…” he continues.

Your mind flashes back to your own moment of doubt when Hoseok talked you into still coming on the mission.

Taehyung sighs and leans against the ice drill. “But I couldn’t just let him go off into space without me. Even if he’d never feel the same way, at least he’d still be in my life.”

The emotion in Taehyung’s words makes your eyes begin to mist. “You really love him.”

“Yeah,” Taehyung sighs again. “But he’s in love with you.”

“Well, he thinks he is.”

“What does that mean?”

“He only feels that way about me cause he thinks I’m the only option.” Maybe he would feel differently if he knew about Taehyung’s feelings.

Taehyung frowns and shakes his head. “You don’t give him enough credit.”

“Oh come on, you know him. How many women did he date while we were in training?”

“A few…”

“And how many of them was he in love with before he found the next one?”

Taehyung purses his lips. He can’t argue with that. “So why are you with him then, if you don’t think it’s real?”

You shrug, rubbing your arm. “I like him. Lord knows he’s attractive. And he wants me. It’s nice to feel wanted, I guess.”

“You could have that with any man on this ship though...”

You scoff. “They’re all suffering the same delusion. It’s only-available-vagina syndrome. I just want us all to fuck and get it out in the open. Maybe if we could get it out of our system, they would see I’m nothing special. And then we can get back to the mission.”

Taehyung eyes you up and down. “You don’t give yourself enough credit either.”

You shrug. “You wait and see. Jimin will get bored of me. They all will.”

Taehyung pulls his tablet back out of his pocket. “Do you really think that if everyone just like, banged it out, that it would help morale?”

“Well, it certainly couldn’t get any worse.”

“And Jimin thinks I’m in love with you?” He reopens the HR form and stares at it.

You nod.

“What if I signed this? And we let him think that for a little longer? Just until I figure out how to tell him the truth?

“Like we’d pretend the two of us are involved?” Maybe that would help you get the other men on board with your plan.

Taehyung nods. “Would that be okay?”

“Yeah, that would work.”

Taehyung smiles and signs the bottom of the form, then sends it to you. “Thank you,” he says before he leaves you to resume your workout.

______

Other than Taehyung, no one else approaches you over the next few days. If anything, the crew seems to be treating you more professionally than they did before you announced your plan to fuck them all. You have signed forms from Jimin and Taehyung and have been rejected by Namjoon and Hoseok, but you’ve heard nothing either way from the other three. What are they waiting for?

By the time you reach the end of the Monday morning weekly meeting, you’ve had enough waiting.

Namjoon finishes his debrief of the week’s goals and claps his hands. “Anyone have anything else mission related we need to discuss?”

“My period is over,” you announce to your assembled crew.

A muscle pulses in Namjoon’s jaw. “Officer, I wouldn’t consider that mission-related.”

You cross your arms and lean back in your chair. “Just freely sharing information.”

“Already?” Jungkook asks. “I thought you said it would take a week.”

“No, finished this morning. It varies a bit from cycle to cycle.” you answer. Hoseok’s leg begins aggressively bouncing up and down next to you, but you press on. “I need to make a schedule. So I need to know who’s in and who’s out.”

“Ooh, what if you shared out your tracker info so we’re all on the same page.” Taehyung enthuses.

Yoongi scoffs. “Why don’t we just add it to our mission task list then?”

“I’m not clear on why menstruating means we can’t have sex,” Jimin interjects.

“Enough!” Namjoon regains everyone’s attention. “We need clear boundaries between what is personal and what is professional. Right now, you all have jobs to do. Dismissed.”

________

By the time you finish your chores for the day, you have convinced yourself that getting the rest of the team on board is essential to your successful completion of the mission. So you go in search of Yoongi.

You find him in his workshop. Pieces of an air filter are spread out on the workbench and he’s in the middle of cleaning it. You had forgotten that is the actual purpose of the workbench. So much for climbing on top of it and seducing him that way.

He looks up when you enter and you decide to cut to the chase. “I haven’t gotten your HR form yet.”

“Yeah…” He goes back to inspecting the clogged tube in front of him.

“You said you wanted to sign one with me.”

“I did say that, yes.”

“And now you don’t?” You thought if anyone was going to be supportive of the plan, it would be Yoongi.

He sets down the part he had been inspecting. “Have you really thought this through?”

“Yes!” You put your hands on your hips. “I made a whole powerpoint! With sources!!”

“I think it's a bad plan.” He picks up another long tube full of dust and threads a brush through it.

“I thought you’d be onboard with this plan. You said if I was fucking everyone, there’s no need for jealousy.”

“Yeah, well, I was wrong.” He sets the tube down and turns around to look at you directly. “ Is that really what you want?”

Why is he questioning you now? He was the one who put this whole idea in your head. He was the one who knew all your fantasies. “But you said…"

“I know what I said.” He begins pacing back and forth in front of the workbench. “But there’s a difference between a fantasy and a reality. You really want to have sex with a different man every day for 12 years on some kind of rotating daily schedule? Like how we water the crops?”

“You’re mad there’s a schedule?” You try to come closer to him, but he backs away from you, turning back to the air filter.

“Sexual desire doesn’t run on a clock, you know,” he says as he starts to pack up the equipment. “What if you’re not feeling it that day? What if they’re not?”

“I’m just trying to be fair to everyone.”

“But nobody actually gets what they want!” He throws his hands up in exasperation.

“And what do you want, Yoongi?”

He pauses, then deflates, dropping his hands to his sides. “Nevermind, forget about it.” He grabs a wet wipe off the shelf and begins cleaning the dust of his hands, not looking at you.

“No!” He’s the one who has been egging you on this whole time. “You were the one who was all ‘you have to fuck Jimin to save the mission’. You said you didn’t care if I fucked Jimin too. What do you want from me, Min Yoongi?”

“I’m going to go get some dinner.” He mutters, throwing the dirty wipe in the trash and turning to leave.

Oh no. He’s not going to escape you that easily. You need some straight answers. “You started all this, Yoongi! You said every man on this ship wanted to fuck me and none of them do! What was that?” You follow him down the hall toward the kitchen.

He stops and turns around in the middle of the hall. “This isn’t all on me! You made choices too!”

“Because of what I thought you wanted!” you yell back. “What is your deal? First you want me to fuck you, then you dont. Then you want me to fuck everyone and then you don’t. What do you want from me?” Your voice is echoing down the hallway but you are way past caring about it.

Yoongi opens and closes his mouth, then spins back around and heads for the kitchen, with you trailing behind him.

Jungkook is sitting at the kitchen table with a bowl of ramen. He looks up, startled as the two of you barge in.

“And what about you?” You fire the question at your youngest crew member. “Don’t you want to fuck me?”

The poor boy nearly chokes on his noodles. “I, um…” He swallows, wide eyes glancing between you and Yoongi.

You lean against the table next to Jungkook as Yoongi steps around the two of you to head for the pantry, but you see his fist clench as he walks by. You lean closer to Jungkook. “Didn’t you enjoy my video? Don’t you want to see the real thing?”

“Uh...” Jungkook glances at Yoongi again. “Maybe the two of you should talk this out…”

Yoongi’s hands tremble, but he doesn’t turn around, intent on starting the rice cooker. You turn your focus to Jungkook instead. “This isn’t about him. Whatever the flight engineer wants to do is up to him. He knows where I stand. This is about you and I.” You are going to get a man on this ship to fuck you. Today.

“It’s not like I’m not interested…” Jungkook’s knee bounces up and down rapidly as he watches you. “But I told you I was in love with you and you literally had a panic attack.”

Oh right. That was back when you thought you still had a shot of stopping all this. Before half your crew had seen you naked. Before all of them had heard you having sex. Before you’d announced that you wanted all of them to fuck you. But you can still control this, if you can get them onboard with your plan.

Your tablet buzzes in your pocket. You pull it out to give yourself a moment to think. There’s a message from Jin.

Hey, come find me when you get this and we can talk. I’ll be in the kitchen.

You brace yourself for yet another rejection note. But you click on the attachment to instead find your HR form, Kim Seokjin’s signature scrawled right next to yours.

Holy shit. He signed it. Under no false pretenses. What do you do now?

“What is it?” Jungkook asks.

But then Jin appears in the doorway. He startles when he sees you. “Oh! I thought you’d still be on shift.”

You shake your head. “You signed the form.”

“What? He did?” Jungkook asks.

“Oh, um, yeah,” Jin answers, laughing nervously. “That’s what you wanted right?”

“Yes, that’s what I wanted.” You stand up and move closer to your pilot. Jungkook crosses his arms. Yoongi finally turns around to observe the three of you.

Jin. Jin with his broad-shoulders and plump lips. Your friend. Your very handsome friend. He’s going to help you save the mission.

“You’re the first one I’ve gotten, so you can go first.”

“Wait, what?” Jin stammers. “But you and the commander?”

You shake your head. “He didn’t sign.”

“You and Taehyung though? I saw him take off his shirt and then cover the camera.”

“Oh right… sorry… I guess you’re the second one. But Tae’s still on shift.”

“Don’t forget about Jimin.” Yoongi helpfully chimes in.

Jin takes a step backward. “But I thought for sure these two…” He gestures at the other two men in the kitchen.

“Nope,” you move toward him. “Not yet.” You suddenly see a way to get them all on board at once.

“Oh, well, um...” His ears are bright red. “Maybe we can talk more about this after dinner?”

“That’s one option…” You lick your lips and find the top of your zipper with your hand, blushing as the next part of your plan unfolds in your mind. “Or you could fuck me now.”

“What?”

“Holy shit.” Jungkook mutters beside you.

Jin dives around you, moving toward the other side of the kitchen. “There are people eating here!”

“Nothing they haven’t seen before.” You begin unzipping your jumpsuit in what you hope is a seductive manner, rolling your hips as you follow him across the kitchen. You have both Jungkook and Yoongi’s rapt attention.

You take a cue from Taehyung and peel off your tank top, throwing it over the camera behind you, leaving you in a bra and the bottom half of your jumpsuit. “Though if these two are going to stay and watch, they better sign the forms as well.”

“Stay and watch?” Jin swallows, hands clenched at his sides.

You grab the waist of your jumpsuit, teasing it down just slightly as you make direct eye contact with Jungkook and then Yoongi. “What do you think boys? In or out?”

Jungkook lunges for his tablet. A satisfying ping on your own tablet confirms that this plan is working. Yoongi just crosses his arms and leans back against the counter.

You drop the jumpsuit, leaving you in nothing but your bra and underwear. You prop yourself up on the kitchen table next to Jungkook’s now cold bowl of ramen.

“What are you doing?” Jin asks, whole face beginning to turn red.

“Look…” You shimmy out of your bra straps so that your bra is only held in place by your hand. “I’m going to need you to fuck me right here on this table, Kim Seokjin. For the good of the mission.”

“Why does putting your bare ass on the surface where we eat help the mission?!”

“No more secrets. No more jealousy. Everything will be out in the open. Like the bonobos do.”

Your fingers tease at the clasp of your bra. All three men stare at you. You lock eyes with Yoongi, daring him to look away. Implement with full commitment. You drop your bra to the floor.

“Stop, stop!” Jin moves toward you as you slide your fingers into the band of your underwear. “Just hang on for one second.” He picks up your jumpsuit from the floor and comes closer, draping it around your shoulders in an attempt to cover you. “Look at me.” He grasps your chin and turns your gaze to meet his. “Are you sure that’s what you want?”

You lick your lips. “Yes.”

He kisses you, hard. It’s aggressive, urgent even. His hands are on your shoulders, then sliding down your back, pulling you toward him. Your eyes close as you momentarily lose yourself in it. Despite you begging him for it, it still surprises you how insistent he is. His hands keep sliding down your back, until they reach your buttocks, running over the thin cotton of your underwear and scooping you into his arms. You wrap your arms around his shoulders for balance, and then he is lifting off the table.

He breaks out of the kiss to pick you up even higher and then proceeds to throw you over his shoulder.

“Jin! What are you doing?” You kick your feet into the air.

“I am a man, not an ape,” he says, picking up your jumpsuit and bra and tossing them over his other shoulder. “And if I’m going to fuck you, it’s going to be in the privacy of my own sleep pod, where the only man enjoying it is me.”

He hauls you ass first out into the hallway, with Jungkook and Yoongi both watching wide-eyed as you are carried away.

“I can walk,” you argue as Jin turns for the sleep pods.

“Nope,” replies Jin, readjusting you on his shoulder before carrying you down the hall.

As you reach the junction to the bridge, your ass runs into something warm and firm.

“What the-” says Namjoon. Your whole body flushes hot as you realize you’ve run butt-first into your commanding officer.

“Shit, sorry commander.” Jin laughs. “Excuse us,” Jin says and continues down the hallway, not setting you down or stopping.

Namjoon has pressed himself up against the wall with his hands in the air, a look of shock on his face. He looks like he is about to say something, but then Jin reaches his sleep pod and sets you down inside and you can’t see the commander anymore.

“Well, that was the best thing that has happened in a long time.” Jin chuckles as he closes the door. “The looks on Namjoon’s and Jungkook’s faces will power me for a year. You okay?” he asks, handing your bra and jumpsuit. “For the record, I’m not expecting anything else to happen here.”

“You don’t want to do anything else?” You hold up your jumpsuit to cover yourself, more disappointed than you would like to admit.

Jin eyes you up and down. “I mean… I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t interested, but that wasn’t my intention in bringing you here.”

“You hauled me half-naked to your bedroom and your intention wasn’t to have sex?”

“I know, I am such a gentleman, aren’t I?” He laughs, then shrugs. “Seemed like maybe you needed an out. Things were getting kind of crazy back there.”

“But you signed the form? Doesn’t that imply a sexual relationship?”

“I guess I’m not really a ‘sex in front of two other men before we’ve even been on a date’ kind of guy.”

“How about a ‘sex in the sleep pods’ kind of guy?”

“Are you even actually interested in me?” Jin asks, getting more serious. “Because none of what happened in the kitchen felt like it was about me. I don’t want to be some pawn in your plot to make Yoongi jealous.”

“It’s not about Yoongi!” You groan. “Why does everyone think this is about Yoongi?”

“Have you seen the two of you interact recently? There are some seriously repressed feelings going on there.”

You bang your head into the door of the sleep pod in frustration, before looking up at him. “You’re a very attractive man. Maybe I have feelings for you?”

He sighs. “Yeah, but you don’t. You can’t swap us out for each other.”

Shit. The way you’ve been treating the men is exactly how you feared they would treat you. While you fear being wanted because you’re the only woman, you’ve made all the men on the ship feel as though you think them interchangeable simply because they’re men.

“It never occurred to me that any of you would have real feelings for me.”

“Well, you are very dumb.”

“Hey…” You hit him gently on the chest. He catches your hand in his.

“Amazing they would trust such a crucial mission to someone who is so very stupid,” he teases, still holding your hand.

“I’m not this stupid about mission related stuff, just all this relationship crap.” You laugh softly.

“So tragic. Someone with so much training ought to have better sense.”

He squeezes your hand and you look into his eyes again. He smiles a soft reassuring smile and for the first time in weeks, you feel like maybe everything will be okay again at some point in the future.

“You’re a good man, Kim Seokjin.”

“Best man on the ship.” He chuckles.

“Kiss me again.”

He arches his eyebrows. “Why?”

“Because I want you to.”

“Are you sure?”

“Look there’s no one else here right? This is only about you. I want you.”

He kisses you again, tenderly this time. His warm arms wrap around and you realize you’re still naked except for your underwear. You curl into his embrace. He smells good, warm and manly, like good cologne. You run your hands over his muscular shoulders that you can feel through his clothes. It’s slow and leisurely, like you’re savoring each other.

“You sure you’re not a ‘sex in the sleep pods’ kind of guy?” You tease as you slide your thigh in between his legs and feel his erection pressing against you.

He groans, resting his head on your shoulder as you grind against him. “I’d like to think of myself as more of a ‘sex in the sleep pods after the third date’ kind of guy.”

You pause and look up at him surprised. “You want to go on a date?”

He nods. “At least three of them, in fact.”

You smile. “That would be nice. I’d like that.”

He kisses you behind your ear. “So are Mondays my day then? Can I take you on a date next Monday?”

You gasp as he rolls his hips against you, the heat of him seeping through his clothes. “That’s a long time to wait, especially if you’re going to make me wait through three of them.”

“I’m sure we can find other ways to entertain ourselves.” He cups your naked breast in his hand, massaging gently.

“Is there anything in particular you want to do today?” You palm his erection through his pants and he gasps.

“Stop that, you temptress…” He grits his teeth. “I’m trying to be a gentleman.”

“Aww, come on, there must be something I can do for you.”

“Well…” He bites his lip. “I will admit that I am awfully curious what was on that video that got five of my crew members suspended.”

“I could show you.” You start to shimmy down your underwear. “But there was no touching in the video.”

He kisses you one last time on the cheek, before pulling away and pressing himself into the opposite wall of the sleep pod. “Okay, show me. I’ll be good.” He puts his hands up by his head in mock innocence.

You finish removing your underwear, spreading your legs apart as best you can. You trail a hand down between your legs, finding yourself wet already. “It was me masturbating.” You tease around your clit without touching it directly.

He groans, hips kicking forward as he stays up against the wall. “Show me.”

“Well, first I took my fingers and sucked on them.” You narrate your actions as you wet your fingers. “Then I touched my nipples.” Your nipples harden before you’ve even touched them, but you continue to tease them for his benefit.

His eyes dart back and forth between your face, your breasts, and your spread legs, as if he can’t decide where he wants to look first. He licks his lips like a man starving. “Keep going.”

“I’m very wet.” You continue your narration as he clenches his fists. You run your fingers through your wet folds, then hold them up to show him. His hips buck again as he groans, still fully dressed and pressed to the wall. “And then I touched my clitoris.” It’s your turn to moan as you finally touch your swollen pleasure center, stroking slowly and keeping your eyes fixed on Jin.

“Goddamn…” He drops to his knees, hands resting at his sides, eyes fixed on your hand as it strokes around your clit.

“Do you wish it was your fingers right now, instead of mine?” you ask.

He nods, tongue darting out of the corner of his mouth. He begins inching toward you on his knees. “Do you think… maybe…?”

“I thought we said no touching,” you tease when he gets to your feet, his head level with your hand, eyes fixed on your wet cunt as you continue to touch yourself.

“I just…” His eyes flick up to meet yours. “I want to smell you.” A pulse of arousal rocks through you at how eager he is. You nod. He moves his nose right over your pubic mound and inhales a long slow savoring breath, tickling your hairs.

“Ah…” He releases a long, loud satisfied moan. His knuckles turn white, but his face is relaxed. “You smell amazing.” He inches even closer, just millimeters separating you from his face and inhales again.

“Oh shit.” You feel the pleasure skyrocketing as your orgasm catches you off guard. You grab him by the back of the head to stabilize yourself and his nose bumps firmly against your clit.

He groans again, loudly right against you as he grinds his nose into you, letting you ride his face as your orgasm washes over you. You thread your fingers through his hair to hold him in place. He wraps his hands around the back of your thighs to press himself into you harder. You cry out as waves of muscle contraction course through you over and over.

“Fuck…” you both say in unison as you collapse back against the door. Your eyes meet and you both start laughing. He places a light kiss right below your belly button before he gets up.

“Well, I see why that was worth getting suspended for,” he says, unzipping his jumpsuit and using the bottom of his shirt to wipe his face.

“And you didn’t even come yet.” You slide your underwear back up, wondering if he would consider a blowjob to be a step too far before your first date.

“Um, actually…” he gestures down at his crotch and the new wet spot you find there makes your pelvic muscles clench.

“You came in your pants? Over me?”

Jin laughs. “God, you have no idea how sexy you are, do you?” He picks up your clothing off the floor, before kissing you softly on the forehead. “I will have a hard time waiting for Monday.”

“Me too.” You mutter and get a sudden sinking feeling. You don’t want this to be over right now. You want to stay here with him, to cuddle and be held by him, but you have made this very clear to everyone involved that these dalliances are not relationships. It’s just sex. And now the sex is over. Until next week.

You slip back into your clothes and give him one last kiss. You tablet pings as you head out into the hallway and you fish it out of your pocket.

Yoongi: Okay, I’m in.

Below his message is his signed HR form. A swell of smug satisfaction makes you smile as you cross the hall and climb into your own pod. You open up a group message for the five men whose signed forms you now have in your possession and type out the following:

Mondays: Jin

Tuesdays: Jungkook

Wednesdays: Taehyung

Thursdays: Jimin

Fridays: Yoongi

“Saturday and Sunday to be determined,” you whisper to yourself as you hit send.

____

Next part

#bts x reader #bts smut #ot7 x reader #void #btssavedmylifeblr

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definitelynotafurinasimp · 2 years

Note

hiii :D big congrats on 300 followers<33 and if it's okay could i request kujou sara + prompt 15? :O good day/night!!

"Yes, I have feelings for you. Moving on..."

characters: Kujou Sara x gn!reader

warnings: none, just fluff

a/n: Okay, I know I said I didn't plan on writing anything today, but I got bored, so here.

I hope I got Sara right, as always: parts of her personality (especially towards the end) come from my personal headcannon, so I don't know if it's even accurate to her character.

Anyway, hope you enjoy!

Kujou Sara

You had always admired the general for her courage and her ability to motivate everyone around her. She was like a shining beacon, there to be looked up to. Whenever you even got so much as a bit of attention from her, the day automatically became a good one, no matter what happened before. Your admiration of course didn’t stay unnoticed and while you were often light-heartedly teased by your colleagues for it, it also made you a hard-working person.

When your hard work eventually bore fruits and you got to meet her in person, you tried your best to not show your nervousness. But even though it somewhat failed and your shame caused you to want to vanish off the face of the earth, the meeting surprisingly wasn’t your last one. And over some time, you managed to build a rather strange friendship with the general. But with how much you admired her, it didn’t take long for you to start to develop different feelings for her.

You were once again summoned by Sara to meet her in her tent, much earlier than usually, causing you to worry about what was so important to talk it out first thing in the morning. When you eventually arrived, greeting her before being signalled to sit down opposite of her, she didn’t waste any time before speaking about the important stuff.

“You’re probably wondering why I summoned you so early”, she started and after you gave her a quick nod in response, trying to hide your nervousness as best as you could, she continued. “It’s about the stories about the two of us that are floating around the camp. I thought it would be best to resolve it quickly so there’s nothing that could distract the soldiers”, she stated, causing you gulp loudly.

“Do you know what I’m talking about, or should I elaborate first?”, you quickly shook your head. You already knew of the rumour about your crush on the general, not that you were sure if you could call it a rumour, since it was more of an open secret at this point. It was always just a matter of time until she found out and now you were bracing yourself for the inevitable rejection, shutting your eyes tight in fear while feeling all your muscles start to tense up.

“Yes, it’s true, I have feelings for you”, you couldn’t believe your ears, instantly opening your eyes so widely, that they could easily fall out, while trying to keep your mouth shut. But before you could process what was just said, Sara continued talking, the smallest of blushes on her face. “Moving on…”, you didn’t even listen to what she talked about next, not that you could have understood anything even if you wanted to, since your brain was too preoccupied trying to figure out if it heard the right thing.

“Are you even listening to me?”, you were brought back to the real world by Sara’s irritated voice and even though you managed to somehow stop your face from becoming completely red, your blush turned itself up to eleven, causing Sara’s to also deepen slightly.

“I-…uh. D-did you just confess to me right now?”, you managed to stutter out your question before seeing Sara’s face to get completely red.

“Yes, is something wrong with that? I may serve the shogun as loyally as I can, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t have any feelings myself”, she answered, getting defensive, causing you to accidentally let out a small chuckle, before being glared at.

“No. I’m just surprised, that’s all. I like you too, so if you’re fine with someone like me, I’ll gladly accept.”

#genshin x you #genshin x reader #genshin impact #genshin x y/n #genshin impact x reader #kujou sara x you #kujou sara x reader #kujou sara #300 simps for the simp throne!

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ladybugout-au · 3 years

Note

Dear. GOD. After seeing Furious Fu, I would honestly love to see LBO!Marinette just chewing out Su-Han for all his canon-to-fic BULLSHIT. Like, I know you’ve already got a plan to incorporate Feast into LBO, which I’m super excited for, so this asshole showing up with all his nonsense after the new Team Miraculous is set, hell maybe even after they’ve already retrieved the Butterfly and the Peacock, and watching Marinette (and possibly Fu since he has the memories to stand up for himself) tear this dude a new one would really be the cherry on top of an already awesome fic. Sorry to rant in your inbox lol but the new episode just made me so. ANGRY.

In the lounge room of the Liberty, everyone jumped as they heard a noise from up above deck, as if something heavy had fallen or been dropped. Marinette briefly pulled away from Luka’s hold, staring up at the ceiling and wondering aloud, “What was that?”

“I don’t know,” Juleka admitted, exchanging concerned looks with Rose.

“That definitely wasn’t Mom,” Luka noted with a tilt of his head.

Pounding footsteps followed, making it clear that a person had clearly gotten on the houseboat without the gangplank being there.

Nino jolted on alert, turning to Duusu with a hushed whisper. “Hide!”

“All of you,” Kagami began, standing up and looking around vaguely at every kwami. “get out of sight.”

The kwami, breaking out of their trance after the brief scare, scattered in every direction to find their own individual hiding places, some choosing to hide with their respective holder and others preferring to hide behind or inside objects. Ivan went into his usual protective mode, wrapping an arm around Mylene while she clung to him.

Marinette stood up, rushing over to the table and picking up the Miracle Box to stow it away. She looked around, then dashed for the microwave and stored the box inside.

She shut the door just in time for the intruder to descend from the staircase: an old man, dressed in Chinese garb and carrying a strange mystical-looking staff. He had a stern expression, his brows knitted together as he scanned the room like none of them were even there. He raised his staff, his gaze eventually locking on the microwave the Marinette was standing near.

Without a word, he pushed Marinette aside, earning an offended, “Excuse me—hey!” from her as he grabbed the microwave door and tugged it. When that did little more than jostle the microwave itself, he tried blindly tampering with the buttons to no avail.

Marinette slapped his wrist away, standing with all her pride as guardian as she asked, “What do you think you’re doing?!”

He glared at her in response. “Young lady, I demand you open your magical sealing chamber and return what’s rightfully mine!”

She blanked, the words catching her completely off-guard. This guy thought their microwave was a magical sealing chamber?

In response, Marinette gave a brief glance to the others, who were all looking back at her with equally puzzled expressions, any tension from before completely gone.

An unspoken question echoed throughout the room: Is he for real?

Before Marinette could ask any further, Tikki emerged from her hiding spot, flying over and explaining, “Marinette, I know who this is! This is great master Su-Han, the guardian of the Miracle Box!”

Marinette raised a brow skeptically. “But I’m the guardian?”

“He was responsible for the box before the incident that Master Fu caused,” she corrected.

Su-Han looked down at Marinette condescendingly. “So you are the current holder of the box.”

“That’s right,” she confirmed unapologetically. She gave a side-glance to Luka and the others, seeing that they were prepared to stand up and fight for her, but she gave a subtle gesture to let them know that it wasn’t necessary. Resolving to deal with Su-Han herself, she faced him again. “How did you find us?”

He held out his staff, the jewel on it mere centimeters from her face. “Guardian scepters are equipped with compasses that can find their Miracle Box at any given time.”

“In case you lose it?” Marinette blurted out, but didn’t apologize or try to take it back.

“Insolent!” Su-Han gasped. “You are not even a proper guardian. I can tell that this box hasn’t even been properly passed down to you!”

“Because Master Fu gave it to me,” she explained, “and we agreed that he should keep his memories.”

“Fu?” Su-Han echoed. “You mean Wang Fu? Chicken legs?”

Is this guy five? Marinette wondered.

Orikko popped out from their hiding place, waving a paw at Su-Han as if in warning. “I take offense to that!”

Su-Han glared at Orikko at the comment, and Orikko quickly ducked back down. Turning his attention back to Marinette, he continued, “Wang Fu is a student who wasn’t even able to fast for a day, nor do a thousand finger-pushups. He was never a rightful guardian, and he failed to fulfill the hope we’d seen in him.”

“Master Fu may have made mistakes, but he’s done his best to make up for all of them!” she argued. “He protected the box for over one hundred years and it’s because of his choices that our team was able to defeat Hawk Moth!”

“Team?” Su-Han asked, his face scrunching up as if he were piecing something together.

“Yes!”

Marinette gestured to her boyfriend and friends for emphasis. Luka, Ivan, Kagami, and Juleka stood while Rose and Nino pinched and stretched their shirts to show off their respective miraculouses.

“Children?” Su-Han gaped. Glaring at Marinette, as if she had personally given out the miraculouses herself, he declared, “Children are never meant to hold miraculouses, especially from the first and most powerful Miracle Box! Kwami are extremely powerful, cosmic creatures!”

A voice piped up from across the room. “Y-you say that, but—!”

Marinette and Su-Han turned to look at Nooroo, who had peeked out from behind Rose’s shoulder. He breathed up, seeming to gain some confidence, then floated out to the center of the room.

“They saved me and Duusu from the hands of evil! We would still be in Gabriel’s clutches if not for them!”

“What?” Su-Han asked. Just when Marinette thought they might be getting somewhere, he turned back to her and accused, “The peacock and butterfly were lost?!”

“Fu lost them when he was escaping the temple,” Marinette explained, a mixture between unphased and annoyed at the man’s outbursts, “but we got them back and everything’s okay now.”

Luka chimed in from his place near the couch, “Marinette has been an incredible leader, as both Ladybug and the guardian.”

She smiled at him in thanks, but Su-Han was clearly focused on anything but the positives.

“Ladybug? You’re even wearing a miraculous?! Guardians aren’t meant to hold miraculouses!” he said, throwing his arms out for effect.

“What—why?” she asked, genuinely confused.

Instead of answering her, Su-Han pulled out a book, shoving it pointedly towards her with the cover facing downwards in his palm. “Let me remind you of a few important rules you’ve violated.” He flipped through a few pages, then pointed at one of them. “Rule fourteen: Kwami must not live outside of the box.” He flipped through a few more. “Rule fifty-two: Guardians must never lose a miraculous. “He flipped to a page near the end. “Rule one hundred and thirty-three: Guardians must never, under any circumstances, wear a miraculous.”

“Master Fu wore a miraculous,” she argued, having never heard of any such rule from him.

“And that proves exactly what I’m talking about!” Su-Han retorted. “Neither you nor Fu are capable guardians because neither of you have respected the rules of the order!”

“...”

When Marinette initially imagined the Order of the Guardians and the people who ran it, this was not what she’d pictured. She had pictured zen and calm, not belligerent and immovable. She was reminded vaguely of her grandfather when she first met him, and that wasn’t a good thing.

She tossed another gaze at everyone, who gave her the same look and nod in response: let him have it.

“Young lady, I’ll repeat myself once,” Su-Han warned. “Return the Miracle Box and the miraculouses to me before--”

Marinette grabbed the book out of his hand, shut it with a satisfying “clap,” then set it back in his hand. “No.“

“What did you say?” he asked, aghast that she would speak to him that way.

“I said no.” Marinette advanced on him, the sheer force of her presence making him take a step back. “Now let me remind you about everything you must’ve missed this whole time.”

She raised a finger at him, raising additional fingers as she went on. “One: You intruded on my boyfriend’s house without any sort of permission. If you’d actually called out to us, we might’ve actually been willing to come out and listen to what you had to say. Two: You wouldn’t have even been able to be here in the first place if not for me using Miraculous Ladybug after our team took down Feast, which you weren’t able to do. Three: We aren’t children, we’re teenagers, and the fact that you can’t tell the difference or bother learning what technology is shows that I shouldn’t trust you with the Miracle Box even if you had a right to it. Four: You didn’t bother to listen and blamed me for losing miraculouses when it was you and your order who didn’t keep an eye on a poor boy who didn’t want to be there. Five, last but not least: I say the kwami are allowed out of the Miracle Box because I am the guardian. You and your order have been gone for over one hundred years and you can’t go making demands after I brought you back. You told me rules I didn’t even know about and didn’t explain why you have those rules in the first place. The kwami are my friends and they have feelings and I’m not going to shut them in a box because you told me to.”

Silence filled the room, no one saying a word and Su-Han’s face contorting between shock and outrage.

Marinette took a step back, standing at the ready and gesturing to herself. “So if you want the Miracle Box, you’re going to have to go through us first.”

She tossed a look at her team, all of them doing a synchronized, confrontational motion to face Su-Han.

“Tikki!”

“Plagg!”

“Wayzz!”

“Pollen!”

“Trixx!”

“Nooroo!”

“Duusu!”

They then shouted in unison, “Transform me!”

Several individual flashes meshed together, overtaking the room and then fading to leave several heroes behind, their weapons equipped for battle.

Su-Han looked amongst them, a flicker in his eyes that hinted that he knew he would be outmatched, but also wasn’t willing to admit it. He retreated a few steps back, hands out to show that he was prepared to defend himself.

It was at that moment that Ladybug heard and noticed movement from behind him, realization striking and a smile overtaking her face. Pulling back from her fighting pose, she placed a hand on her hip and stated confidently, “Captain Anarka will escort you out.”

He looked confused, and he was only able to let out a, “What—?” before a hand clamped down on his shoulder.

Su-Han wasn’t even able to turn around before he was pulled backward, a jewelry-adorned fist decking him in the face and sending him flying into the staircase. His scepter fell to the floor and he could only gape at the woman standing there, cracking her knuckles while he was sprawled out on the stairs with all air having been knocked out of him.

“A trespasser on my ship, eh?” Anarka asked, a grin on her face but her eyes glinting with malice. “I don’t take kindly to ship rats who threaten my crew and think they’re too good to walk the plank.”

Su-Han hurried to get up, only for Anarka to grab him by his shirt and haul him up the stairs, a rapid shuffling noise following as Ladybug went over and shut the door.

A few seconds passed and the atmosphere shifted to peace, everyone mutually releasing their transformations and relaxing. Marinette smiled reassuringly at everyone, letting them know that things were okay, but then jumped as she heard a resounding, “Marinette!”

The kwami all emerged from their hiding places, Marinette having no time to react as they all charged at her, their tiny bodies clinging affectionately to whatever they could grab of her.

“You’re amazing!”

“Thank you so much!”

“You stood up for us!”

“You’re the best guardian ever!”

Marinette gasped, finding it hard to move without disturbing any of them. Trying hard not to laugh, she protested, “Aha—hey! Stop, you’re all tickling me!”

She blushed, looking over at her teammates who were only staring at her with pride, which just made the pink on her cheeks turn red. “This is so embarrassing!”

Once the kwami had their fill of thanking her, they finally obeyed and flew away, each giving her smiles of approval. She covered her face with a hand, waiting for the shyness to die down, then noticed the guardian scepter out of the corner of her eye, still lying on the ground.

She approached, touching the scepter at first to make sure it was safe, then properly picking it up and letting it stand next to her. She tapped the gem on top, eyeing the compass that Su-Han had been talking to her about, then followed its direction back to the microwave. She walked over, opening it up, then took out the Miracle Box and held it in her free hand.

Looking back and forth between the two clearly ancient objects, she couldn’t help chuckling. “They don’t really suit me.”

Her friends giggled in response, Luka in particular shooting her a warm smile and approaching. One of his hands went to the scepter and the other went to rest on the Miracle Box.

“I think you make them work, actually,” he replied.

Marinette beamed at him, thoroughly warmed by the compliment. It didn’t feel like that long ago when her support was lacking and defeating Hawk Moth seemed like a pipe dream.

Now, holding the Miracle Box and scepter in her hands, she didn’t know why she’d ever doubted herself.

“Yeah, maybe you’re right.” Then, looking at the Su-Han-less room, she gave a shrug and walked back with Luka to the couch. “So, where were we?”

#((Technically spoilers for post-Hawk Moth stuff but nothing you guys don't already know.))#((For the record anon I'm still debating on doing ''Feast''))#((because it's a direct episode rewrite which LadyBugOut doesn't have so I'm nervous about it))#((I figured this might be a good start though.))#((I imagine Team Miraculous would have everything resolved by the time S4E6 hits))#((so hence the time jump.))#collab: LadyBugOut AU #canonicity: all #canonicity: canon compliant #writing: all #writing: canon compliant #writing: salt #character: marinette dupain cheng #group: team miraculous #salt: all #salt: other

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acourtofbookishdreams · 3 years

Text

Azriel ~ Irresistable*

Azriel x Reader

* = NSFW. EXPLICIT CONTENT.

Summary: Whilst training with Azriel, you make one too many ‘innocent’ mistakes and his resolve wavers with each one until he can’t take it anymore.

Warning: NSFW, forbidden romance, teasing, shitty writing with no sense, out of character azriel, piece of crap - posting anyway aha

Word Count: 2539

"You need to tighten your core" Azriel instructs, voice soft and unjudgemental but aggravating nonetheless.

"I am tightening" I grit from between my teeth, working with all my waning strength on moving along the balance beam.

Azriel and I had been training only for a couple of weeks now after I'd finally decided I wanted to learn how to defend myself or at least be able to hold my own until I could get to safety. However, my insipid mortal reflexes and strength was making it insanely difficult to learn anything.

Considering my being the remaining mortal sister of the Archerons after thankfully being on a short trip to see a friend at the time my other sisters had been kidnapped and turned, it seemed like an even better idea. Especially to my overprotective older sisters. Sometimes, being the only human around definitely sucked and others, like when my sisters got roped into Fae bullshit...it definitely didn't.

It did really suck I wouldn't find a mate, though. That sounded incredibly...convenient.

"You may think you're engaging your core but you're not" Azriel says, moving slightly closer, his shadows surrounding him in the soft dawn light.

"You know what, if this is so easy then-ah!" I squeal as I fall off the beam, stumbling slightly and gripping the beams surface to keep from slipping as my feet land hard on the floor, ground shock reverberating up my legs, "Ugh, this sucks!"

Azriel chuckles softly, "You'll get it."

"It doesn't feel like it" I grumble

Azriel comes up behind me, placing one large hand across my stomach, pushing against it softly, "You need to act as if you're sucking in your stomach, belly button to spine."

I do exactly that, my stomach concaving in, forcing his hand to slip from my stomach and back to his side and Azriel laughs - a big, joyful chuckle, the loudest I'd ever heard from him.

"Was that a laugh?" I smirk, quirking one eyebrow

"I do laugh, you know."

"Not often...and not around me."

"Focus. We're not here to discuss my social habits. Now, I meant internally. It may sound strange but visualise it in your mind and then pull your stomach in and hold it. You'll feel it."

My smirk slips and I nod, focusing. I do as he instructs and though he is right, it does feel strange, I definitely feel it in my stomach, an odd and uncomfortable tightening sensation as if my stomach was benching a weight.

"Ow" I pout, releasing my stomach, "I don't like that"

"You'll get used to it" Azriel smiles, "Now, come on, back up on the beam and try again"

"Will you catch me if I fall?" I tease, my smirk returning. Though he may be over 200 years older than me, strictly off limits because of his being a completely different and dangerous race from me and completely emotionally unavailable, it didn't mean I couldn't flirt.

"Of course" Azriel responds, tone all business. I roll my eyes slightly as I hop back up onto the beam, one foot in front of the other.

Squeezing my eyes slightly against the pressure, I perform my weird suck-in thing to engage my core, taking a tentative step forward...and finding it suddenly way easier. Gaining confidence, I take another step forward, and then another, each one coming faster and faster until...

"I did it!" I giggle, reaching the opposite end of the beam and jumping off, "I actually did it."

"Well done" Azriel commends, his ice-hewn face slightly broken by a small smile, "Next beam"

"Already?" I gulp, looking over my shoulder. The next beam was higher up then the first, the top of it reaching my chest. I turn back to him, gesturing to the lower one, "Can't I just do this one again?"

Azriel says nothing and I sigh, moving over to the other beam and grabbing a couple step blocks to get up to the beam. Heaving myself up and onto the beam, I wobble softly and a small, startled squeak escapes my lips before I regain my balance.

"You really will catch me, right?" I ask nervously. Again, no response omits from his lips, just a short nod of which I couldn't tell was either actually in answer to my question or instruction to get a move on.

"Okay" I breathe, closing my eyes and stilling my body completely, performing the process of engaging my core slowly, each muscle at a time until I felt so tightly wound even a sharp shove couldn't knock me from my feet.

I take a step forward...then another...and then I slip.

My foot hits the side of the beam wrong and in an effort to stay up, I attempt to pull it back on rather than letting it go and placing it behind my other foot, bending at the knees as I was taught to do and had done many times on the lower beam. I scream and squeeze my eyes shut tightly as I tip backward, flailing my arms out as my back heads for the ground.

As if in slow motion, I turn my body as I fall, instinctively positioning to catch my fall with my hands - a rookie mistake. A pair of strong hands encircles my waist as I turn and without thinking I grab onto him, securing my body to his in every way possible to stop my fall. I grunt as one of my feet lands hard on the floor, ground shock again erupting through...one of my feet?

I open my eyes and find myself in the strangest position...Azriel's face was before me, his arm hooked underneath the crook of my right knee, holding the one leg up whilst the other was placed upon the floor as normal, my hips pressed against his.

"You really did fall in the most difficult way possible" Azriel says, voice deep and gravelly...as if straining.

It's then I notice Azriel's stance is crooked, his weight tipped to one side slightly as if weighed down...I gasp and almost send myself flying again as I realise what exactly I'd done in my attempt to escape a painful landing.

My knee was grazing his right wing, my left arm tightly wrapped around his neck with my elbow brushing the inside of his left wing and my right hand was placed entirely on the soft membrane of the inside of his right wing, my fingers splayed across the shimmering surface and pressing lightly onto it, the way one would place their hand on a surface to maintain balance.

Points of contact everywhere with Azriel's wings...Azriel's sensitive wings.

"Oh my...I'm so sorry" I gasp, pulling my leg out of his grasp and removing my arm from his neck, my hand from his wing, until I was standing before him. Closer than I'd ever been before, his eyes boring into mine.

"You couldn't have just fallen backward?" Azriel says, his voice still rough and strained, "I would've caught you."

"I know, I-" I stammer, "I didn't think, I just acted on instinct. I don't know what I was thinking. Are your wings okay?"

"They're fine" Azriel frowns softly, "Why wouldn't they be?"

"Feyre's told me before to be careful of your wings, to make sure I keep away from them because they're really sensitive...are they not?" I redirect as his confused frown deepens.

"They are but not in the way you seem to think" Azriel explains, "It doesn't cause me pain, which by the look on your face, I assume is what you think."

"It's not painful?" I breathe a sigh of relief, "Oh thank the forgotten gods...but if it's not a painful sensitivity, why do you seem so tense? Well, tenser."

"While it's not painful, it is still sensitive. The sensation is hard to explain but it just provokes a different...reaction."

"What do you mean?"

"It's too hard to explain. How about I show you the approximation of what it feels like to a non-winged being and then you tell me the reaction you have."

I nod, a little nervous about the slight gleam in Azriel's eyes, a knowing one...

Leaning forward, Azriel breathes softly into the shell of my ear, lips trailing sensually along the outer edge as his large hand ghosts down my spine in soft, light movements, his fingers barely touching the skin but sending shivers all the way through my body. My eyes go heavy lidded and instinctively, I grip his bicep to hold myself steady, neck tipping back slightly to expose more of my neck as his breath gusts over the sensitive skin, his hand coming to rest on the small of my back to keep me from falling on my ass. A small noise escapes from my throat.

In a lighting fast move, Azriel pulls me to rights and releases me completely, stepping a good few paces back. Breathing heavily, my eyes open and meet his and I imagine our expressions to be almost exact. Flushed cheeks, glazed eyes, chests rising and falling so agonisingly slowly as we attempt to keep our breathing even and failing completely.

"Woah" I breathe, "I definitely get it now."

"You can't do that, Y/N, damn it!" Azriel growls and I straighten further, lust filled haze vanishing.

"Do what?" I gape

"Make me-" Azriel says and then stops himself, "Never mind. Today's session is over"

He turns on his heel to leave but I run after him, meaning to grab his shoulder...and accidentally gracing the back of his wing again.

Damn it, dumbass.

Azriel releases a frustrated growl and whirls on me, pushing me back into a nearby wall, his hands on my waist, eyes staring into mine.

"That"

I was still confused. This was the only time I'd ever touched his wings...

Seeing my confused expression, Azriel presses closer, his body pressed to mine, something hard pressing into my-

Oh.

"I...I wasn't aware I" I stumble over my words, "I wasn't aware it was something I'd done more than once."

"That's a lie and you know it" Azriel huffs, "Stop feigning innocence."

"I'm not feigning anything!" I protest. I truly hadn't meant to turn him on. Now or any other time. Feyre and Nesta and Elain had all made it clear I shouldn't get into it with Azriel...Gods, even Rhys had told me to keep away!, "Why does it even matter? We're both adults, we can just move on from-"

"You don't get it, do you?" Azriel growls, "That I've wanted you every moment from when I first saw you, that Feyre and Rhys gave me this lecture about duty and responsibility and the different race bullshit and ordered me to stay away from you. The only reason I was allowed to train you is because I swore it'd be training and nothing more!"

"I'm...I don't know what to say to you except that I didn't know anything about any of that."

"I swear you're my own personal hell on Earth." Azriel sighs, shaking his head, eyes hard and cold as flint.

"Wow, thanks" I scoff sarcastically, offended, "I wasn't doing anything intentionally."

"That may be even worse" Azriel concedes, "Knowing that anything you did wasn't intentional means if you truly tried to make a move...I would fall at your feet and beg you for just a second of your time. For one moment between-I shouldn't be entertaining this idea."

No, please go on.

"It doesn't help that I can smell you every time you enter a room. It's like you specifically-"

"Wow, so now I smell?" I huff, "Perfect."

"Not that kind of smell. I can smell it on you now."

It?

Well, sure, I was sweaty but I'd just been working out. Although I'd cooled a bit now, with all the slow and steady lust-filled contact we'd had-

Oh...again.

I remember Nesta telling me once to be careful with any time I spent...with myself because the males could smell...

Could smell arousal.

"Oh" I say aloud this time, "That."

"I could swear you would touch yourself before each training session just to drive me insane with what I can't have-damn it, stop it!"

"Well I can't really help my body's reactions when you talk like that" I defend, that warm and tight feeling in my stomach building, eyelids fighting not to fall.

"Try" Azriel suggests weakly.

"If the past few weeks of my unintentional seducing you wasn't proof enough, I clearly can't do that."

"What has been with you recently? You're aroused all the time."

"I don't know" I blush, "I just...have been. Besides, it's not like I have someone I can go to here to...relieve myself of the frustration so I'm all I've got."

Azriel's jaw clenches, eyes ablaze with a hungry fire.

"Why can't we...I mean, why am I so forbidden to you?"

"Feyre and Rhys say...well, I don't know. It doesn't matter about their reasons, their my High Lord and Lady. If they order me to do something, I obey."

"Is that something you can't fight?" I ask, eyes trailing up and down his body, "Like a magical side effect stops you?"

"No, it's an honour thing-" Azriel stops short, recognising my intention, "Okay, I know you're doing this on purpose now"

"So what?" I whisper, "It's not like I'll tell them anything...and there's no one out here to witness for at least a few hours."

"Hours?" Azriel chuckles, "What makes you think you can handle that?"

Cocky now, huh?

"I'm almost certain I probably can't...but I'm more than willing to try."

Azriel's erection grows larger, pressing insistently upon my upper thigh, "Y/N...I can't"

"Yes you can" I say, "Something tells me you're just as good at getting in your own way as Feyre and Rhys are. I'm more than capable of making my own decisions and I would be lying if I said this isn't one of the fantasies I've used to help me out when I'm alone."

The sound of Azriel's teeth grinding against each other makes me smile. I don't know where this sudden confidence came from - perhaps from knowing how badly he also wants this. Maybe it was fate's way of making something that was always supposed to happen, happen. By removing my nervousness and forcing Azriel to think his way out of his own mental purgatories.

Azriel, still fighting his own mental battle, pants softly and I lean forward, trailing a long line up his neck and along his jawline with my tongue. My hand drifts up, reaching for the tender inside of his wing-

"Don't. Do. That" Azriel grits out, hand gripping my wrist and pushing it back against the wall, up above my head, the other arm quickly following, "Don't start something you can't finish."

"Who said I wasn't planning to finish?" I smirk

"Gods, you'll be the death of me" Azriel sighs, leaning closer to me. I could already tell the battle was lost, he was just clinging to the last scraps of will he had left.

"What was that you said earlier? That you would 'fall at my feet and beg for just one moment between...' What were you going to say?" I tease

"Shut the fuck up" Azriel growls, his lips pressing to mine.

Masterlist

#azriel imagine #azriel acotar #azriel blurb #azriel x reader #azriel imagines #azriel blurbs #azriel one shot #azriel one shots #azriel x reader smut #azriel smut

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