#I kind of want to write more of this is has *implications*
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↳ EVENT 06. M!Kylar (Incest)
Pairing: Big Brother M!Kylar / F!Reader
Genre: Smut 18+
WC: 2,509
Warnings: incest, bath sex, yandere, creampie, cockwarming, stockholm syndrome, riding, breeding
Prompt(s): 07 — incest
Event Masterlist: CLICK HERE!!
A/N: i dunno what inspired me to take a softer approach to this request, but i've been enjoying writing the really loving requests... so i hope that this is still enjoyable !! i also think kylar suits this prompt the most, so it was super fun to explore!!! tysm!
After a long, exhausting, and humiliating day of school (or as Kylar likes to affectionately call it, imprisonment), there is simply nothing better to cap the awful experience off than to indulge in some alone time with his favourite little sister. His only little sister, the light of his life, the sole joy he experiences in this shitty world and his shitty life. To say that he relies on you for all of his comfort and happiness would be an understatement— he saps it. Leeching off of you from the moment he enters home, calling out for your attention before the front door is even closed. And the fact that you're none the wiser only encourages him to use you some more, forever pushing you to your limits to hopefully break you in as his own.
And tonight is no special exception. Away from prying eyes, in the safety of four thin walls, he begs for your affections once again. Dragging you into his room to spend the night together, just like always. And it's comforting to know that even after all the bullshit bullying he has to endure during the day, he can always count on his precious little sister to make it all worthwhile. God, he'd go through near death beatings daily if it meant he got to wrap his arms around you at the end of it all, nice and snug and soft, pretty little sister in his arms for him to coddle and coo at. Because he loves you so much, he's willing to endure whatever it takes to keep you out of harms way; so much so that he willingly puts himself into dangerous situations just to make sure you don't need to leave your shared home for any reason.
The world doesn't deserve your kindness. The town is unworthy of your cuteness, undeserving of your sweetness. Or; perhaps he's just being a selfish big brother, right? Keeping you all to himself, locked away in his tower for self serving reasons.
Like to be the only one to hear your barely audible little whimpers, how soft and pretty you sound right now, especially when his knuckles brush against your wet cheek and you shiver into him. Fuck, feels so good, doesn't it? He knows he does, playfully biting down on his bottom lip— unchecked confidence flowing through him now that he's only with you. It's funny, actually, how no one outside these four walls would assume just how cocky he can get, reserving that side of himself just for you. It's only fair, he thinks. He gets to see sides of you that no one else does, and in return, you receive authority over every aspect of your life, all in an effort to keep you safe. An innocent enough want, though he's well aware of just how degenerate he can get. How far he can twist relative honesty.
It's the least he could do for you, considering all you've got to do is exist and he's happy. Do you even know the things he goes through for you? How much trouble it is to actually keep you healthy and secure? It's like keeping a pet, only more rewarding when you take hold of his hand, little fingers locking with his own before dipping them back under the water together.
So cute! You're so fucking cute it pains him, heart hurting at the way your silky skin rubs against his own, tits pressed snugly to his chest, secured only by the warm water surrounding him. The skin on skin contact just gets to him— it's one of his favourite ways to spend time with you. Naked, bare, ignoring the moral implications of playing with his baby sister in such a disgusting way; he plays with you in far worse ways anyway. But the connection coursing through him, from your fingertips to his own, is unmatched. Causes his cock to tremble inside of you, his eyes instinctively rolling and then squeezing shut at the tight fit inside of your cunt.
It's bath time! he'd ordered you once home, pants already tenting from the way you excitedly started running the water at the mere mention of some valued bath time with big brother.
C'mere, sit on my lap he'd encouraged you once getting in the too hot water, but a little burning isn't gonna stop him from hanging out with his baby sister, now is it?
Wanna sit on it? he'd asked you once feeling you squirming around, wiggling your baby sister butt on his fat cock like routine. It's not the first time he's impaled your angel cunt in the water, and it certainly won't be the last. A regular enough occurrence at this rate that he knows cock is what you're after when he mentions bathing— not that he's any better, looking forward to getting you wet in the bath just so he can shove his dirty big brother cock inside of you again and again— routine.
It's only natural, he thinks. Given that you're disallowed from seeing anyone else, let alone any other suitors, that you'd want to explore things like sex and orgasms with your big brother. Which is luckily all according to his plan, to seclude you enough to make you think that it's your choice to date him. Greedy cock twitching inside your pretty little hole as you idly rub a thumb up and down his held hand, allowing him to slide down the tub just a little to reposition his cock at a better angle inside of you. If he keeps you all to himself like this, leaving you no other choice but to date and fuck and kiss and marry your big brother, then he can die happy.
"What did you do today?" He mundanely asks, but it's more of a grunt than anything else. Winded by the unfairly tight squeeze of your cunt, wrapped sooooo nicely around him, God, he'd kill for that cunt, yknow?
You take a second to answer, clearly preoccupied with not shifting around too much as he feels you tense up on his cock at the sound of his voice. Pretty baby, big brother will always protect you, okay?
"The usual," you yawn, and he has half a mind to pull out of your pretty pussy to instead stuff your open maw full with cock. "Mostly waited for you to get home, Ky."
Oh, how the affectionate nickname you've taken to calling him goes straight through him, fat beads of precum staining your insides all gloopy as a proclamation of love. His pretty little stockholm sister, are you even away of the things you do to him? How the banality of it all, taking a simple bath with you, is the lewdest part. Cock pulsing against your squishy insides while your tits ride against his chest, primal need dictating him to let go of your hand in favour of placing both hands on the small of your back. A little pressure added there to really make you feel the weight of your words, and by extension, the weight of his cock.
Your reaction is immediate, a sharp little squeak that he wants to force out of you again and again— but there is joy to be had in taking things slow, too. Like how when he lifts a hand up to your soaked hair to pet at, he's privy to the view of your wet cat like stare back at him, pretty pout and all. He leans down, giving you a chaste kiss on the lips as a reward for being so cute for him. "Don't you get bored of waiting for me every day? Aren't you doing something else?" He tests you, resting his chin at the top of your head to force you into listening to how hard his heart beats for you; in time with how fast his cock pulses with need.
"I— No... Seeing big brother again is my favourite thing!" You protest, and it's difficult to remain in his calm, cool, and collected big brother composure when you're whining so prettily for him like that, a little moan at the end from the way he rolls his hips against your own in the face of your absolute devotion.
Perfect, he thinks. You're already his, so he can do whatever he wants to you, right?
And while having you cockwarm him is one of his favourite pastimes, he'd be lying if he said he could do it all night. Much to his disappointment, though he tries every single bath time to do just that, your high pitched gasps and sweet little sighs coax him into movement without fail. A gentle back and forth to begin with, moving you up and down his cock with ease more so than moving himself— you can always count on big brother, okay?
And yet, domesticity calls to him. Begs to keep the slow pace, to let you hump him mindlessly once he's kickstarted your movement. You're a good girl, you know to keep moving, yeah? A simple up and down while he twirls your wet hair, gently cupping the back of your head with one hand, the other finding home on your ass to pinch and tug on your cheek. There's not a thought to be had in that dumb little sister brain of yours, is there? And there better not be, given how hard he works to make sure that there isn't. Rock hard cock stroking your insides gently, at your own pace, a satisfied hum escaping him when you huff and puff up and down his length.
"Good answer— ah—" he rewards you with a rushed moan, wrapping his body even tighter around you to get as close as possible to his little sister, wanting more than anything to melt into you, become so connected through the leaking precum dirtying your insides that all you can think about is him— because all he can think about is you, it's only fair! Even if you've proven yourself thus far to surround your world with him, he doesn't think he'll ever be able to get enough of you. Convinced by your devotion to thrust his cock up just a little, enough to knock you off balance and further into his greedy hold. "Waiting for big brothers cock?" He urges you to continue, to fuck his perverted length faster, fuck yourself stupid on big brother, okay baby?
You let out a muffled mhm!, moaned directly against his chest, heat rising to his cheeks from how cute you can be when doing something so immoral. You actually enjoy fucking big brother? Gross, he sneers internally. Only, the fact that you take part and also relish in something as vulgar as this tugs on his heart. Has his mind reeling with affections for you, grabbing a greedy fistful of your ass to aid in your bounces up and down.
Water splashes around him, the pace of your tiny humps quickening the harsher he grabs you. To the point that he has to use both hands on your pretty body, literally picking you up and letting you drop back down on his cock with insatiable need.
"Fuck, I can't— you're too good at this." he half laughs, sinking further into the water so as to allow you enough room to properly straddle him, every bounce you make on his fat cock leaving him more than a little breathless as he struggles to keep up with your thirst. Chest tight with the sight of you indulging yourself to his cock, using him just as much as he uses you on a daily basis. Oh how he loves it, to be at the receiving end of your adoration, your warm cunt sucking him further in with ever fuck, prompting his hips to hump upwards out of sheer desperation to match your sibling fucking energy.
Greedy as he is though, his hands settle possessively on your hips. Aiding in your movements in a selfish manner, forcing you to grind your puffy clit against him every time you slam your ass back down against his lap.
More than anything he strives to make you happy. Everything, literally everything he does is for you. Guided by your smile, aided by your laughter. He loves you so much, didn't you know? It's why he's helping you fuck yourself dumb on his cock, thoughtlessly thrusting in tandem with your humps, moaning out for you just as much as you sob his name. Over and over, his favourite song.
And like the good big brother he is, he knows when you're close. Takes over the job of fucking when you grow too weak to continue, despite the water splishing over his face. He'd drown if it meant you got to cum, honestly.
Rather than state the obvious, he focuses solely on helping you get there. Cooing and tutting and staring at your scrunched up pretty expression. He'll have to give you so many kisses afterwards for allowing him the privilege to see that cute face later on. Helping you grind your hips down on him in a way that his groin rubs your clit just the way you like, preferring to keep you seated there as your nails dig into his chest for slippery stability, taking to fucking his cock as deep as possible from your stationary seated position. He's barely moving, relying on the twitches and throbs of his cock inside for stimulation. But fuck— baby sister cunt feels so good, how your insides squirm around and suck his cock off so well, pretty whines spilling for him in abundance.
He stares at your face, only so that he can watch you fall apart on his big cock. Because the cut off sob you let out, followed by a gasp of his name before your moth falls open in a silent beg is so cute, fuck, he can't stop himself from cumming too. Not when your hole wraps tighter than ever around his intrusion, bullying his way inside your cunt to shoot his load as deep as possible, aiming to breed his baby sister bitch as payment for sticking by him when no one else would. Promising a future you've yet to learn about simply because you're too cute to hold back, painting your insides sticky white to mix with the bath water when he inevitably pushes some out with deep thrusts.
Gushy little cunt, still spasming around his length when he's done filling you up. It's a good thing you're in the bath with him after all, quietly cooing to you in soft privacy to get up, let him clean you while you're here. There's no one here to tell you how wrong it is for him to not only breed your cute hole, but to also clean it up afterwards with his fingers sneakily entering to scissor around a little.
And he hopes to keep you this way. Dumb, obedient, and oblivious. It's when his favourite little sister is at her cutest.
#500 event!#kylar the loner#kylar smut#dol smut#degrees of lewdity smut#dol fanfic#degrees of lewdity fanfic
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Silm AU Concept that Won't Leave me Alone:
Earendil falls ill, not long after his marriage. None of the healers in Sirion– human or elven– can explain why. Maybe it's because Idril and Tuor left for Valinor recently, and no one really thinks they'll make it there alive. Maybe it's the plague that's been sweeping through war-torn Beleriand. Maybe his body is just giving up on him– it's not unheard of for half-elves to die that way.
And it's becoming clear that Earendil is dying. Nothing they do helps. Some of Elwing's advisors try to keep her away from his bedside– half out of fear his illness is contagious and half because she spends all her time there, refusing to eat or rest. They're trying to protect her from the horrible truth. It isn't working.
Elwing knows of two great sources of magic. One is her own– inherited from Melian, running far stronger in her blood than any had expected, far stronger than it had in her father. Strong enough that she's spent most of her life learning to hide it. Flowers bloom under her feet, birds flock to her side. Elwing is powerful, but she's young; untrained. She tries to help Earendil. She fails.
And then there is the Silmaril. The Silmaril's power is not like hers. It does not make things grow, or bring the birds and gentle beasts of the world to their doorstep. But it drives away the orcs, keeps the wolves at bay, cuts through the darkness, burns away evil. It is a much more violent kind of purification.
And Elwing thinks, is it not evil coursing through my husband's veins, choking his lungs, threatening to tear him away from me?
She takes the Silmaril and pries it open with a dagger, pouring it's divine light into the abalone-shell cup that Idril had given her before she sailed away. She gives it to Earendil, comforts him, climbs into bed beside him. They hold each other, whisper their marriage vows again in the darkness. When Elwing drifts into sleep, she doesn't know if he'll still be there when she wakes up.
And then Earendil wakes up with clear, bright eyes. It works. It works very well. It works so well that Elwing has to teach Earendil how to hide the new light in his eyes and the shimmer under his skin.
Elwing keeps the Silmaril hidden away after that. Some whisper that she's become obsessed with it, just as her father had. In truth, she's just trying to hide the fact that the gem has no light left. Somehow, she doubts her advisors would approve of her decision.
But she doesn't care, and neither does Earendil. They are happy, and in love. Not long after Earendil's recovery– a recovery most think was a miracle sent by the Valar– they have children. Two very strange children with sharp teeth and bright eyes who they love very much.
It looks like everything will work out for Elwing's little family, right until the day the first letter from Maedhros Feanorian arrives.
#silmarillion#silm au#silm headcanons#elwing#earendil#elrond#elrond peredhel#elros#maedhros#eldritch peredhel#sirion#crack treated seriously#what if someone drank a Silmaril?#I kind of want to write more of this is has *implications*#let the Peredhel fam be weird together!!#Elwing and Earendil are the couple of all time
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this might sound like a weird thing to say but it's a little bit strange how many people love writing abt dick grayson's trauma but totally ignore blockbuster's literal campaign of terror in favor of focusing completely on catalina and his being sexually assaulted by her. i get that its probably just bc thats a much more relatable (and easier to project on) experience than losing your home, being stalked and terrorized, having your friends and family murdered and grievously injured, not to mention being pushed to your literal breaking point and having to betray your most firmly held values to protect yourself and your loved ones. like, everything having to do with blockbuster AND catalina are inextricably linked and it's a little weird to focus all of your attention on just one of the many many terrible things that happened in nightwing 1996
#someday i will write abt catalina bc so often she is portrayed as like totally 1 dimensional and evil when its soo much more complicated#than that. by the same people who say jason todd did nothing wrong or defend slade wilson. not saying they cant like those characters#but 1. its so hypocritical and 2. it has kind of troubling racial implications which is not surprising considering devin grayson#literally makes romani characters refer to themselves as gypsies but. you have to think abt the context in which these comics#are being written. idk this tangent should be its own post but i dont want to get crucified on the off chance someone sees this#and think im defending a character whose a rapist. im not defending them bc they are not a real person im just asking people#to use some critical thinking skills when discussing dick and catalinas storyline honestly
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spontaneous magic manifestation was NOT mentioned in the parenting handbook 😬
I know this isn’t how magic in dc works, but the fact that Damian’s ancestry includes some pretty powerful magic users is… INTERESTING 🤔? Drabble under the cut!
I wanna preface that I'M NOT SAYIN' that Damian should/does have magic powers, but there’s still so much unexplored potential with Damian's character, and the thought that he has a dormant adeptness in magic is somewhat compelling to me. Most importantly it would FREAK! BRUCE! OUT!!!!! What is this, magic puberty 😭??
By DC laws, anyone has the ability to learn magic, but it is also possible to be an innate ability. The Al Ghuls are no strangers to the occult-- Ra's has had increasingly been portrayed as a magic user, and the recent establishment of his mother being a sorceress/witch?? Even Talia dabbled in a bit of magic, I think. There is a catch that their power is suggested to be due to Lazarus exposure, but for arguments sake let's say the Al Ghul lineage is inherently proficient in magic (and Lazarus exposure simply enhances it).
I can't recall "magic" being a part of Damian's training/upbringing (I'm still slowly catching-up on Damian comics so apologies if I miss any canon examples of magic use). Not sure why Talia wouldn't want her little "heir to an ancient assassin empire baby" to learn magic, but it would at least give reason to Damian not knowing about his magic potential, or lack of interest in it.
Through the power of pseudo storytelling, what if Damian's encounter with Mother Soul could have triggered a manifestation of magic that was once dormant; like a pressure cooker waiting to explode with energy when it hasn't been given a safe outlet.
I've yet to read a satisfying arc where Damian truly gets to contemplate his Al Ghul roots outside of "dad is good guy, mum is bad guy". Damian's initial character growth stems from him running away from, and renouncing his association with the League (i.e. "I'm nothing like you, mother and grandfather!").
The most recent thing I've read was Robin (2021), and whilst Damian is much more cordial with his mother, there's still an emotional distance and sense of distrust/resentment (for good reason, even if the context was some cartoonishly evil writing). But there is a silver-lining that they still appear to be fond of each other, in a melancholy kind of way.
Realizing he's "genetically" primed for magic would be especially confronting to Damian. There's no denying his Al Ghul blood, forcing him to confront a facet of himself he can no longer ignore or reject. A family that he likely has to approach for help/guidance.
Damian is put in a position of acknowledging this power could be used for good, to be stronger, to fight crime, balancing it with the implication that what he possesses could be rooted in dark magic (Lazarus enchantment).
If he decides to embrace it, would that be too much of an endorsement of the Al Ghul's dark occultism? Can he separate the two ideas? What if he can't control it? What if he accidentally hurts someone? What if has the ability to save someone where his other skills fall short?
Ideally, I'd love for this hypothetical story to lead into Damian exploring his Al Ghul heritage more intimately, historically, and spiritually (à la RSoB: Year of Redemption adventures). Another little coming-of-age self discovery journey.
I have my own little personal thoughts on what Damian decides to do with his magic powers, but I'd like to leave that open to interpretation... By the end of it I hope that he will at least find some forgiveness over resentment, and a balance between accepting that side of his family a little easier. It is finally a sense of inner peace :)
Any thoughts? Did I get any characterisation wrong? Let's talk over on my DC blog @arkhamochi! I'm currently trying to read all Damian-centric comics until I catch up with the current run. I'm hungry for discussion and analysis!!!!!!
#batman#batman and robin#damian wayne#bruce wayne#dc comics#P.S. drabble is kinda LONG so DO NOT read more unless you want the inconvenience of scrolling
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just realized something about ambrose and his relationship to his parents that I would LOVE to CHEW ON but he exists in limbo and I don't have the outlets oTL
#although to be fair I don't see this being something that directly comes up in a dnd context anyway#but it could have been something he started to understand and process in the background if he could progress through time 🤔#anyway ambrose's father was an exceptionally warm and loving man and he died when ambrose was pretty young#and mostly I've thought about how his mother's consuming grief over it has affected their relationship#and how growing up in the shadow of that grief shaped him as a person#it is only just now occurring to me how much that has affected his own relationship with his father and his father's memory#he was a brilliant man and a kind man and ambrose ends up studying where he used to teach so people would reminisce about him#but ambrose got so swept up in his mother's despair he almost forgets he lost his father... HIS grief was overwhelmed and subsumed by hers#and like. man. when's he gonna Really Process that he lost both parents overnight and doesn't even feel like he can talk about it#he's been shouldering his mother's burden for so long he doesn't even think about his own#he regrets what the loss did to his mom and to their family more than he actually gets to just... miss his dad#[rattling him around] MY BOY... HAD SO MUCH GOING ON I WANTED TO PLAY HIM SO BAD!!#cause of course all this background had Implications for what he's like and how he would play#and I JUST-- he's INTERESTING he's GOOD SWEET BOI I wanna CHEW ON HIM but circumstances have dictated his campaign is not to BE#and I don't wanna Write A Story I wanna roleplay :') so.... :')#about me#my OCs#ambrose
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Howdy! Could I request a Theodore Nott, secret relationship, “don’t leave me… please”. ❤️
here u go!! i actually really like this idea and kind of wanna recycle it for a longer fic maybe.. 🤔 thank u for the request! 💌
theodore nott x reader + secret relationship + “don’t leave me… please”
➺ part of my 2k milestone writing game
You’re stressfully stirring sugar into your tea in the kitchen of 12 Grimmauld Place when Mattheo and Theodore turn up, bruised and bloody in the hands of Alastor Moody.
The Auror had sent a message in advance through his Patronus, alerting members of the Order that he was heading to headquarters with two death eater defectors. An hour of hoping it’s who you think, and three cups of tea later, you breathe a sigh of relief when you realise Mattheo and Theo are alive.
The way Theo is leaning his weight on Mattheo doesn’t slip past you, and as soon as he finds you among the others, you rush forward.
“Hi,” Theo whispers, the greeting reserved only for you despite the numerous others in the dining room. His eyes are drooping slightly as he sways on his feet. Nonetheless, he gives you a weak smile. “I’m okay. I promise.”
You nod slowly, brows furrowed in concern despite his reassurance. Ignoring Moody’s confused stares, along with the whispering happening behind you, you do a quick scan of Mattheo and find that he’s definitely had worse injuries from spontaneous fist fights during your years at Hogwarts.
“Are you okay?” you mouth at him, just in case. He winks at you in answer.
Moody, seemingly snapping out of his confusion, turns to you and raises a brow. “You know these two, then?” he asks gruffly, a hint of suspicion creeping into his voice.
“We all went to school together,” Dean Thomas pipes up, saving you from having to stumble over your words in an attempt to explain your relationship with Theo.
There’s no doubt in your mind that everyone in the room suspects you and Theo are more than just schoolmates, but you don’t move to address anything. The implications of you being in love with an ex-death eater aside, it’s none of their business. Moody doesn’t quite seem to accept this immediately.
”School,” he mutters, nodding begrudgingly. “And how well do you-”
“Alastor,” McGonagall cuts him off sharply. Peering at him over her spectacles, she purses her lips. “You can get to interrogating them about being Transfiguration partners after they’ve recovered. These boys need a healer. Now.”
“Yes, yes,” Moody replies grumpily, reluctantly letting them go to open the door to the hall. “We’ve got Poppy in the living room. She’ll fix them up, nice and quick.”
You step back to give the two boys space to make their way to the Healer, but Theo catches your hand and grips it tightly. “No. No, Y/N can do it. Just give her some of the medicine, I’m not seeing anyone else.”
You open your mouth to object, wanting Madame Pomfrey to assess him properly, but the pleading in his eyes has you hesitating.
“Don’t leave me…” Theo’s voice becomes lower, quieter and earnest. “Please.”
“Okay,” you exhale, cupping his face with your hand and stroking your thumb over his cheekbone. You look over at Professor McGonagall for confirmation and when she sighs and nods, you respond with a grateful smile before turning back to Theo. “I won’t leave you.”
Mattheo clears his throat, popping the little bubble you and Theo have found yourself in and making you look away, cheeks warm. Walking over to where Moody holds the door open, Mattheo gives you both a knowing look before speaking to the rest of the room. “I guess I‘ll be seeing dear, old Poppy alone then. Nothing she hasn’t fixed before.”
Taking this as your cue to leave, you wrap an arm around Theo’s waist to support him as you make your way out of the room and up the stairs to an empty room. You help him to sit on the bed and disentangle your hand from his, dropping a kiss to the inside of his palm. “I need to go get the stuff from Madame Promfrey, I won’t be a minute-”
“Not yet,” Theo pleads, hooking pinky finger around your own and tugging lightly. “I’m not that injured, just… come here for a second.”
Your resolve crumbles immediately due to not having seen Theo since school ended a month ago, during which he was trying to leave the other side of the war without getting himself killed. You sit next to him on the bed, but he immediately reaches over to manoeuvre you by the waist until your legs are wrapped around him in a straddling position. Theo presses a soft kiss to your lips and the pure love radiating from him makes your heart jump to your throat. When he pulls away, he looks more relaxed and content than he has in months.
“Hi,” he says, a gentle smile playing about his lips while he fingers the hem of your shirt where it sits at your back. Tingles run down your spine where his cold fingers brush against your skin and you end up leaning into his chest even more, causing his smile to deepen. “I missed you, darling.”
“What, Crabbe and Goyle weren’t good company?” you tease, tilting your head. Theo scoffs in disgust, lightly tugging on a lock of your hair and looking at you expectantly. “I missed you too, Theo. So, so much. I’m glad you got out.”
“Me too,” he sighs, dropping his head to rest on your shoulder. You both stay in silence for a few minutes and you bask in the warmth of Theo’s breaths fanning over your collarbone. He nestles his face into your neck and seems perfectly happy just to stay there when he speaks. “It was torture staying away, you know. I’m never leaving your side again.”
You run your fingers through Theo’s hair, lightly scratching at his scalp and biting back a smile when he lets out a sound halfway between a sigh and a groan. “You being glued to me is probably going to make it clear that we’re more than ex-Transfiguration partners, by the way.”
“I bet you anything they all already know,” Theo murmurs distractedly. You frown and sit up straighter to look at him, raising a curious brow in questioning. He looks at you like it’s obvious. “Mattheo is downstairs, unsupervised. If he hasn’t told everyone by now…”
You shake your head, shifting to move off Theo’s lap. A pout forms on his lips, but he reluctantly lets you stand. “I better go do some damage control while I go get the stuff from Pomfrey. Merlin knows what embarrassing things Mattheo is telling them right now.”
“I can think of a few things,” Theo says, his innocent voice contrasting with the devious smirk on his face. “Like the time we were in the Astronomy Tower and you were too loud, so-”
“Right, okay!” you interrupt loudly, screwing your eyes shut in embarrassment as you try your best not to relive that particular memory. Taking a deep breath and ignoring the way Theo is cracking up, you smile sweetly at him. “You haven’t had any injuries to the head, have you?”
“No, love,” he replies, grinning. “Why?”
You grab a pillow and swing it into Theo’s face, knocking him backwards on the bed. Crossing your arms in satisfaction, you falter when he stays laying down and moans in pain.
“What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?” you rush out, panicked as you move the pillow out of the way to climb onto the bed and hover over him. Theo cracks his eyes open slightly, his face scrunched up in discomfort and your stomach drops. “Theo, where does it hurt?”
“Here, come closer,” Theo winces, gesturing you forward, closer and closer and you furrow your brows in confusion. When you’re close enough, he snakes his hand around to the nape of your neck and pulls you into a deep kiss, burying his fingers in your hair. You don’t bother admonishing him, your head getting dizzy from the feel of his lips moving against your own. You only pull away when you hear sudden laughter coming from downstairs. Theo doesn’t look ashamed in the slightest when you do. “All better.”
“Not yet, you’re not,” you say, rolling your eyes and sitting up again. You make sure you put all of your weight on the mattress to do so, just in case you actually do end up hurting him. “I’m actually going downstairs now, okay? The idea of Mattheo talking to McGonagall is driving me crazier by the minute.”
“Come back quickly?” he asks lightly, but there’s a hint of pleading in the way his hand circles your wrist. You give him a reassuring smile and another quick peck on the lips.
“Always.”
#theodore nott x reader#theodore nott#theodore nott x you#Theodore nott scenarios#theodore nott fanfiction#theodore nott x y/n#Theodore nott fluff#theodore nott smut#theo nott#Theodore nott imagines
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Hi mae! I love eveything you write!! Kind of in a similar vein to doctor!remus i wanted to request poly!marauders where they are emt’s and they respond to a call where reader is injured and when they arrive to help reader is just super flustered and shy because there are three very sweet and attractive and charming men she doesn’t know taking care of her
Thanks lovely!
part 1 | part 2
Cw: car accident aftermath, concussion, blood, and definitely some smutty implications but nothing that would fluster your grandmother, also maybe don’t read if medical inaccuracies will piss you off because I can almost guarantee this is riddled with them (I am but a girl)
emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.7k words
Someone else must have called emergency services, because the first thing you hear is sirens. Your car is smoky—that can’t be safe, can it?—and you ache, and the shaking of your hands makes them frustratingly inefficient at undoing the buckle of your seatbelt.
The sirens get louder and then stop. The ruckus you can hear but not see outside of your smashed windshield increases, and there’s a warm wetness on your face, getting in your eyes. You reach up to swipe at it. The door next to you opens.
“Hi.” A curly mop of hair attached to a smiling face pops in your driver’s door. “How we doing?”
You inhale shakily. “All right.”
His grin goes lopsided, brown eyes skimming over your form. “Well, at least you’ve got a good attitude. We’re gonna get you out of here in just a second, but first can you tell me what’s hurting you?”
You blink. Things seem to be moving oddly slowly. Every inch of you trembles. “Is my car going to blow up?”
The paramedic’s eyebrows raise. You hear something on your opposite side but can’t be bothered to look. “We don’t think so. Are you asking because of the powder?”
He must mean the smoky stuff swirling about your car. You try to nod, but it hurts, and the man puts a gloved hand to your neck to stop you.
“No no, don’t move,” he cautions.
“That’s just powder from the airbags,” a voice on your other side says, and the paramedic makes a small sound of protest when you turn your head to find it. There’s another one leaning in the open door on your passenger side. He’s got fluffy brown hair lighter than the first’s and a large scar on one side of his face which stretches as his eyebrows bunch. “Can you tell us what hurts, please?”
“My head,” you answer, bringing a quivering hand to your breastbone. “A—and my chest.”
“No pain in your neck or back?” The first, darker paramedic asks, and when you confirm he nods approvingly. “Well, some of that might come later, but that’s good enough for now. All right, sweetheart, do you think you can stand?”
“Yeah,” you say, sounding uncertain even to your own ears. He grasps your forearm in one hand while wrapping another around your back, helping you out of your seat.
As soon as you’re through the door there’s another set of gloved hands on your opposite arm. You look up to see a third man, slighter than the others, helping the first carry you a short distance to a gurney.
And daylight is something else. Your head and chest hurt worse than before, but it doesn’t help that you very nearly stop breathing when you take in the sight of the three paramedics who have surrounded you.
“Can you tell us what you remember from the accident?” The second one, the one who’d come through your passenger door—you can see in the sunlight that he has more scars than just the one, though he’s no less beautiful for it—asks. There’s a gentleness to the set of his brows as he frowns at you, pressing something to your forehead.
A policeman makes to approach you, and the curly-headed one turns, taking on a sternness that doesn’t suit him as he wards the other man off with a hand and a few quiet words.
“Hey.” The scarred paramedic brings your attention back to him. “Do you know what happened?”
“I…” Fuck, you can’t tell if you’re woozy from whatever’s happening with your head or just the attention from the three of them. They’re moving you, other people and cars passing in your periphery as they wheel the gurney towards an ambulance. “I wrecked my car?”
The third paramedic laughs, the sound sharp and crisp despite the general fuzziness surrounding you. He’s got longish, inky black hair tied in a ponytail at the nape of his neck. “It’s not a trick question, dollface. And the state of your car isn’t really what we’re worried about right now.”
“Sirius,” the scarred one chides. You think distantly that Sirius is an odd name. Unique and pretty-sounding. “Do you remember if you fell asleep, love?”
You want to shrink away from his attentive stare, but his hand on your forehead holds you in place. “I’m not sure,” you say. “Was there—are the people in the other car okay?”
“Pretty sure she was just waking up when I got to her,” the first paramedic says, curls bouncing slightly as he stations himself by your feet and helps lift the gurney into the back of the ambulance. “Yeah, sweetheart, everyone else is alright. Might be a bit sore tomorrow, but signing refusals of treatment as we speak. Do you feel sick?”
Actually, maybe it’s the speed of the conversation that’s making you woozy. “No?”
“Well, that’s reassuring,” he jokes. “That’s okay, just let us know if you do.” He flashes you another dazzling smile.
You think you might return it, but then light hits your eyes and you wince instead.
“You’re okay,” the dark haired one—Sirius, you remember—reassures you. “I’m just going to shine this in your eyes really quickly. Try to keep them open for me?”
You do your best, and he works swiftly as promised, flashing the bright white beam into one eye and then the other before clicking it off with a gentle pat to your knee.
“Definitely concussed,” he says to the other two. Excellent.
“Okay, I’m just going to close this up for now,” the scarred one explains, voice low and soothing as he removes whatever he’s been holding to your head. “It looks like you’ll need stitches, but I need to stop the bleeding until we can get those done, yeah? It might feel like little pinches.”
“Okay,” you say, voice embarrassingly shaky from the tender way he’s holding your head in his hands. “Thank you.”
He smiles. The effect is dizzying, scars pulling taut as the severity melts from his features. “You’re welcome, lovely,” he says softly. “How’d this happen, then? Did you hit your head on the steering wheel?”
You try to remember. “I guess so. I’m…not sure.”
“That’s okay,” Sirius promises you. “James, can you check out that chest pain while I get a pulse?”
The first one, who hasn’t seemed to stop smiling despite what you consider a fairly grim circumstance—though you imagine it might be run-of-the-mill in his line of work—steps to your side. The three of them move around each other so fluidly, like they can anticipate the other’s movements. Practice, you suppose. “All right, darling,” he says, the endearment rolling off his tongue with a self-assuredness you can’t relate to, and your face warms in response, “do you mind if I move your top down a bit so I can have a look?”
You feel suddenly lightheaded. You try to nod, but the scarred one tsks at you, holding your head still with lithe fingers as he works on your cut. Thankfully, James seems to catch your meaning anyway. He’s exceedingly gentle as he wraps his fingers around the neckline of your top, pulling it into a V in the center of your chest. You follow it down with your gaze. The red line that stretches diagonally across the flat of your chest feels somewhat anticlimactic considering the deep ache that emanates from it, but James hisses sympathetically.
“Ow,” Sirius agrees. “Yeah, looks like the seatbelt got you.”
You try very, very hard not to think about how they’re all looking at your naked chest, all speaking to you so kindly, all touching you in their different ways. If you think too hard about any of it, you might actually die.
“Tell me if this hurts, alright?” James looks at you before pressing down lightly with his palm.
You start to gasp from the pain but then that hurts even worse, and your face scrunches in agony.
“Sorry, sorry.” He removes his hand hastily, putting your top back in place. “All done with that, love. It hurts when you breathe in, huh?”
“Yeah,” you affirm croakily.
“Sorry, sweetheart,” he says again, touching your shoulder with an apologetic smile. You’d never been mad, but you go ahead and forgive him anyway for looking at you so sweetly. “I’m going to feel if your ribs are broken, okay? I won’t push down again.”
You don’t have the breath to give an assent and he doesn’t wait for one, slipping a large palm under your shirt—what you wouldn’t give to have that happen under different circumstances—and feeling about your sides tenderly.
The scarred paramedic’s touch lifts from your forehead. “Okay, that’s all set. Let’s get you out of here, hm?”
“You driving, Rem?” Sirius asks, and you notice he’s finished taking your pulse but hasn’t let go of your hand, thumb stroking the inside of your wrist soothingly.
“Mhm,” the scarred one—Rem—replies, putting away some supplies. “Did you confirm she’s in shock?”
“Yup.”
“Start an IV,” Rem instructs, and Sirius scoffs like yeah, I know and waves him off. You almost laugh at the easy familiarity of it.
“Why do you think I’m in shock?” you ask as Rem hops out the back, presumably going to the driver’s side.
Sirius softens. “Your pulse is a riot, pretty girl. Plus, you’re shaking like a leaf and you’ve gone a tiny bit blue” —he taps your lips with his forefinger— “right here.”
You could pass out now. That’d be alright with you.
James straightens, having already run his fingers probingly over both your sides. “Alright, we might have a couple of small fractures, but nothing too dire. Can I see your arm, love?”
You give it to him unthinkingly, but tense when he starts feeling about the soft crook of your elbow with overly kind fingers. You’d think the effect of his touch would have diminished after he’d finished feeling you up underneath your shirt, but evidently not.
“You’re okay.” Sirius mistakes your shyness for nervousness about the IV, wrapping his fingers around your chin and turning you gently to face him. His cupid bow flattens when he gives you a small smile and a shorter piece of his dark hair has slipped free of its confines, brushing his cheekbone. “You’re okay, doll. Jamie’s a pro, yeah? Just keep your eyes on me.”
Well, if he’s gonna insist.
#poly!marauders#emt!marauders#emt!marauders x reader#marauders au#poly!marauders x reader#poly!marauders x fem!reader#poly!marauders x you#poly!marauders x y/n#poly!marauders x self insert#poly!marauders fanfiction#poly!marauders fanfic#poly!marauders fic#poly!marauders fluff#poly!marauders hurt/comfort#poly!marauders angst#poly!marauders imagine#poly!marauders drabble#poly!marauders scenario#poly!marauders one shot#poly!marauders oneshot#james potter#sirius black#remus lupin#james potter x reader#sirius black x reader#remus lupin x reader#the marauders#marauders x reader#marauders#marauders fanfiction
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hello ! i loved ur hcs for ghost x innocent reader sm, what do you think of könig x innocent reader? love ur writing ♡
König w/ an Innocent S/O
Warnings: Implications of Smut, Overprotective König, Rizzed-Out König, No Pronouns used for Reader except ‘You’.
There is nothing König won’t do for you.
Your overall calm, kind demeanour brings him peace he’s never known before.
And because of that – because he adores you beyond measure – he can get very…protective.
He often treats you as more fragile than you actually are.
Horror film playing in the background while you’re talking ? It’s getting switched off.
A picture of someone exposing a shoulder in a swimsuit catalogue? It’s getting thrown into a fire.
A pair of your own underwear left unattended next to the wash bin? König’s stuffing it into the bottom of the basket.
There comes a point where you have to tell him that, yes, while you may be a little naïve, even a bit oblivious, you’re not stupid.
And, as best he can, König treats you as you want to be treated, which is to say not as if you are a nigh-extinct species of flower.
And, given this new ‘power’ as such – this permission to show you the less rounded edges of life – König begins to have some rather self-serving ideas.
Regardless of if you like horror films or not, König will use it against you.
He’ll test your stomach for terror, putting something frightening on whenever you’re having date night to see if you’ll cling to him.
And if you do, irrespective of whether you fear what’s happening on-screen or not, his soul will ascend.
He can die happy when you hold on to him, nuzzling into his side while quietly asking him to “Hold me, Köni. Please.”
Makes him feel all big and important.
Wear his clothes around him, my God–
First time he saw you in his hoodie – after an impromptu visit from the Rain God made your original outfit unusable – he literally did a double-take.
He dropped the plate he was washing, grasped at it as it slipped between his soap-frothed fingers.
He just punched it into the sink, heard something crack, and turned his attention to you. And only you.
“I– You–” König couldn’t even form a full sentence as you stared at him, half-peeking from behind the door.
“You look…” He racked every file, folder and confine of his mind for anything to describe how he felt right now, how you made him feel.
It just came out as a strangled noise. And, smiling, you hurried into his arms.
You didn’t mind that they were soapy and wet. And neither did König.
Though, the only reason he didn’t was because his brain was so positively fried that he quite literally could think of nothing else except you.
The longer you’ve been dating, the more comfortable König becomes with being rougher with you, shall we say.
It all starts when you start doing things you never did before.
Like letting your hands slip lower beneath his waist, resting on his hips; Sitting on his lap when there are no other spaces available – and then eventually when there are seats available; saying his name like that – “Köni,” when you need help.
“I just can’t do it all by myself. I need someone big and strong to do it for me.”
And, regardless of how sincere you sound when you say it, regardless of how you bat your eyelashes and plump your lips when you look up at him, König is far too whipped to say no.
At first, König genuinely doesn’t think you’re doing it intentionally.
And neither do you, until you see the effect it has on him.
Making his cheeks flush and a pillow find its way to his lap when he sits on the sofa, your head placed precariously close to the growing issue between his legs.
Now, König isn’t the type to go throwing accusations around.
But when he catches you wearing his favourite hoodie, balancing on the edge of the kitchen counter to reach something placed on top of the cabinets (and I don’t mean the top shelf; I mean on TOP of the cabinets – like when you’re hiding a Christmas gift), your underwear peeking just below the hem, he can’t take it.
He knows what you’re doing.
And now that you’ve let onto him, with your doe eyes and your exasperated “Köni, I need you–” he’s gone. Snapped.
Just because you’re “innocent” doesn’t mean you’re exempt from König’s wrath.
To put it plainly, König didn’t seem so shy or frightful of damaging that night as he pinned you to the wall and took you for the first time <3
Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)
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#konig mw2#konig x reader#konig x y/n#konig x you#konig x yn#könig x reader#konig smut#könig call of duty#könig cod#könig fanfiction#konig headcanons#konig call of duty#konig cod#mw2#mw2 fanfic#mw2 fluff#cod mw2#cod mw2 fanfic#mw2 smut#mw2 x reader#mw2 x you#mw2 headcanons#cod x reader
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Can I please request Cater, Ace, Deuce and Epel helping you after a rough break up (with someone else, not them)?
‧₊˚✧ Let me love you until you love yourself ‧₊˚✧
↳ Helping you after a rough breakup
feat: Cater ❋ Ace ❋ Deuce ❋ Epel
genre: hurt/comfort
note: no pronouns were used with the reader, reader is implied to be Yuu!reader, depictions of toxic relationships, implications of violence,
Similar prompt: finding out you got brutally rejected
2.7K Followers Writing Event 2023
You see, Cater already had a suspicion that your boyfriend wasn’t the greatest pick. Years of listening to his older sisters talk about red flags to look out has honed his sixth sense about these kind of stuff.
But what was he supposed to tell you? He’s not going to just barge into your relationship and tell you that he feels some off vibes about your man. All he could do was be there for you when you needed an ear to hear you out.
But he started to notice that you were less like yourself as the relationship went on. Your Magicam account wasn’t as active and soon even your close friends weren’t sure when was the last time you hung out with them. Cater could only catch you in class or with your glaring boyfriend clinging to you.
Your relationship finally hit an ugly crescendo when your boyfriend publicly humiliated you and ended things in the open hallway. The reason Cater learned was because you wanted to go out with your friends again, even if he didn’t want to.
Night Raven College has a knack for choosing students with rather vindictive personalities and no matter how subtle it is, Cater is no different. The sociable redhead may not always be the type to step up to lead or start something, but he is more than willing to teach a tactless underclassman a lesson on respect.
It doesn’t matter which dorm your ex is from since the extrovert Cater has friends and contacts of all the Housewardens, vice Housewardens and other notable students with authority. Call it his privilege for his chatty nature and years on this large campus.
With a charming set of words and implications from the smooth-talking Cater, most of them picked up the hint that a certain jerk needed some well-deserved punishment. For disgracing the dorm’s dignity, they all claimed.
With the personified ick dealt with, all of Cater’s attention is on you. The versatile upperclassman can be anything you need in your time of healing. Cafe dates, unhinged frustration venting, screaming karaoke sessions with a chill support group (an exclusive privilege courtesy of the Pop Music Club), or a judgeless crying session as he held you together both metaphorically and literally.
The screaming karaoke and dessert binging was fun and all, but the feeling of Cater’s warm hands as he gently rubbed your back as you hiccuped through your tears was a healing moment that left you raw but appreciative.
Perhaps there was a little bit of guilt, or even something deeper within his heart for you, but as he wrapped his arms around you closer whilst you fell asleep in comfort, Cater thought to himself to protect you from something like this for as long as he can stay with you, for as long as he could do to stay with you.
“Hey now, no tears. Cay-Cay to the rescue!”
Oh he hated your ex from day 1. No, it wasn’t because of his personal feelings for you, it was just literally everything about that jerk. At every chance, Ace would snidely comment and jeer the as*hole. The only reason he would stop was if you personally asked him to get along with him.
“Tch. Fine, I guess”
So Ace is a liar, but at least he’s a good actor. He’s willing to smile and laugh but he never lets the suspicious feeling fade.
That suspicion quickly became rage when Grim told him that jerk of yours broke up with you over text.
Turns out your (ex) boyfriend was dating you in hopes to catch the attention of a crush from his hometown, sending pictures in hopes to stir up some jealousy. Questions became screaming matches in your room and soon you were left a broken mess alone in your bedroom.
When Ace knocked on your door sometime later, you saw him in a familiar heart-shaped collar which wasn’t a surprising image. Without saying much, all Ace offered as a vague explanation was that he got into a fight with some jerk student.
As Ace was getting comfortable on your sofa, Cater later texted you, giving full details of what happened. Turns out the “jerk student” was your ex who was running his mouth oh how you were crazy and unbearable out in the courtyard, where Ace was passing by.
“Riddle is pretty pissed right now. Ace just went crazy on him and wouldn’t let up until we pulled him away. But still, be kind to him, k? He had good intentions.”
Sitting together on the sofa, the two of you made quite an interesting image. Your eyes were red with wet tracks all over your face from crying while Ace had swollen patches of blue and black on his normally boyishly charming face.
You broke the tension. “You didn’t need to do that, you know.”
Ace brushed your words off. “What are you talking about? I did it for me. That dude always rubbed me the wrong way.”
Ace is a liar, but strangely you didn’t mind it when he did it.
“Just so we’re clear, I didn’t do it for you. Alright? Good, so don’t go thinking too deep into it…”
A model student would support all of his peers, Deuce convinced himself. It was why he kept himself from just straight-up wrecking this punk that you found yourself dating. But Deuce trusts you. Maybe Deuce’s misjudging him since he can’t imagine you falling for someone beneath you, and he assumed that despite how he feels about your partner, this dude wouldn’t be stupid enough to not treat you good.
But unbeknownst to Deuce, arguments were common in your relationship with your insecure partner. From complaining that you don’t spend time with him (um, because you were busy saving your friends from overblot?) to outright blaming you for emasculating him in his own relationship because of your popularity in school for your accomplishments.
The breakup itself was honestly anti-climatic, and everyone could see it from a while away so it came to the surprise of no one.
It was the aftermath of all of the arguments with your ex that truly hurt you. What was once a source of pride to you became reasons of your anxiety as you wondered if your ex held truth in his accusations.
“You think you’re perfect ‘cause you’re doing a little better than me? Get over your high horse, you pretentious b-“
“Are you ok?” Deuce’s voice snapped you out of your spiraling thoughts, bringing you back to the library where you were helping Deuce with a subject he was failing.
You tried smiling but Deuce noticed the tenseness of your features and try asking once more, which led you to ultimately voicing your worries.
“Maybe I was being too boastful, I shouldn’t just talk about me- Wait, Deuce?!”
You managed to catch Deuce by the hem of his sleeve before flinching at the sight of the glaring rage in Deuce’s fiery eyes.
“Where is that no-good coward! That punk’s getting what's coming to him!”
It took some time (and getting kicked out from the library) for Deuce to finally settle his rage. Still, he was muttering some choice words to describe your ex which made you chuckle just a little. You wanted the breakup to be civil and simply pass as an unpleasant memory but you admit that seeing someone get mad for your sake was…nice. Almost heart-warming, really.
Suddenly, Deuce turned to face you. Back straight and his strong fist firmly pressed to his chest, Deuce looked to you with pure honesty as he promised to protect you from your worthless ex with everything he’s got.
It took you quite some time to admit that when Deuce made that promise, you felt your heart skip a beat.
“If anyone gives you grief for that, just ignore 'em. Let me handle them, I’m pretty strong.”
Romance honestly flies over Epel’s head. Afterall, the relationships he’s seen are his town’s couples who've been married for decades with kids all grown up, and the ones he’s seen in films and books. All he knew was, if you like someone and you’re dating them, you should be counting yer lucky stars and make sure you treat them right.
So, imagine the genuine look of surprise on his face when his dormmates whispered rumors that you were caught in an ugly argument with your boyfriend, with accusations that your man was actually cheating with someone supposedly prettier than you.
Now, imagine his unbridled rage when Epel found that it was true. Your ex-boyfriend apparently held high expectations of himself and the partners he deemed to be worthy by his side. While he settled for you, he was looking around for another companion that “best suits his standards” as he said.
It took a strict scolding and promise of harsh reprimanding from Vil to calm the young freshman down as his hometown habits rushed back to him. How he wanted to give that no-good son of a backyard mutt a mighty beating for what he did to you.
Instead, Vil suggested that Epel rather hit him where it would really hurt for unsavory fellows like him, through his pride.
“If he thought he was better off with someone that “best suits his standards” as he put it, try proving to him he ended up with what he deserved. ”
After deciphering what Vil meant, Epel used his noggin to hurt your ex where it really hurts. No longer was he the runt of a small village, but a man with various connections and skills to get a leg over his enemies.
With his persistence, he convinced his Spelldrive captain, Leona to sit with you during lunch, and have the Vil Schoenheit spoil you with high-end gifts in public. With the attention of the most famous students showing you favor, everyone in NRC whispered and commented on who really won in the breakup.
“He cheated while dating someone like that? What a mistake.”
Behind his soft expression, Epel mentally smirked at the plummeting image of the man who prioritized fame over love. "You darn right a mistake it was, he thought.
In the entire time Epel treated you like the most important person on campus…in public at least.
In the privacy of your dormroom, you worked hard in holding in your laughter as Epel swore up a storm like a drunken sailor about the worthless ex of yours. Like Vil, it’ll be up to you to make sure he won’t go off picking a fight with your ex.
Still, there was something undeniably true to Epel’s character to defend your honor, however he does it.
“I ain’t too good at these sneaky schemes, but you gotta admit I got ‘im real good. Don’t cha think?”
#twisted wonderland#twst#disney twisted wonderland#twisted wonderland x reader#twst x reader#twst imagines#twst scenarios#twisted wonderland imagines#cater diamond#twst cater x reader#ace trappola#ace trappola x reader#deuce spade#twst deuce x reader#deuce x reader#epel felmier#epel x reader#2.7k followers event
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saving u from mr capitalist with (kind of) gut wrenching ideas from my insane brain but. can you imagine if you get into a heated argument with argenti or jingyuan and they accidentally break one of your gifts for them, it could be a complete accident like maybe accidentally hitting it off the table but how do you think they'll immediately react to it and what would they try to do to remedy the situation?
argenti and jing yuan after an argument
content warnings: none
note: thank u for the brief respite between mr capitalist asks!!! after this i am jumping back into the fray . with the leaks that came out this week i guess i shouldn't have been surprised but i learn something new every day i guess
thank u for this request . i made myself upset . also this is myfirst time writing jy so if he's a little ooc ummmm don't tell me directly im sensitive (JOKE)!!!! anyways. i hope u enjoy :]
The flash of regret in ARGENTI's eyes is both intense and immediate: a stinging shock, like the thorn of a rose piercing his skin. He says time and time again that he would do nothing to forsake you, and yet… Ah, had he grown so blind in his search for Idrila that he forgot the beauty he holds in his arms each night?
He reaches out for you first, as he always does — his gaze searching almost desperately to meet yours, his hand reaching to brush your cheek. Love, please, look at him, he’ll do anything you wish, as long as you just say the word. Believe him when he says he's already long forgotten what you had been arguing about to begin with — Argenti had lost the second he saw the pang of hurt cross your face.
Good words and deeds are normally his strong suit, but seeing the hurt look on your face made him falter, hesitant. He wants to prove himself deserving of you again, he'll say, taking your hands delicately, like glass — so please, tell him what he must do. Shall he fell a great beast? Bring you a pearl from the deepest seas of Thalassa? Now and always, he’s your loyal knight, forever at your beck and call. No task would be too great, no distance too wide — all Argenti wants is to be worthy to wipe away the tears from your cheeks again.
JING YUAN’s regret flows inwards, towards himself — was this behaviour fitting of a general? Was this behaviour worthy of you? He seems almost resigned, contemplative, though in the heat of the moment it comes off more like indifference.
That doesn’t mean he is indifferent, though — the implication that he doesn’t care about you hurts him more than any conceivable mortal words or blades. No, he just thinks it’s better that you both have some space, so neither of you can say anything you might regret. He has far too many of those already, and he doesn’t want you to be another entry on that list.
He’ll little gifts for you, quite like a cat leaving things at your door — an apology, a peace offering, a sign of his devotion. A box of your favourite food from that place you frequent in the Exalting Sanctum, or a piece of jewellery you had mentioned wanting to buy. Jing Yuan knows he can’t win you over with gifts — neither of you are so shallow — but he hopes that when he comes to your door with more than just an apology on his lips, you’ll come to forgive him.
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— 𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘮
the deets — lo'ak is the black sheep in the family, clinging to honor by a precarious thread. you are the well-loved songstress in the tribe. he should resent you for being everything he's not, but his fickle heart can't bring him to do so.
the who — lo'ak x fem omatikaya!reader
the word count — 10.2k (rip yall)
the tags — (one-sided) rivals-to-lovers, angsty angsty, hurt / comfort, reader gives lo'ak a big ol smooch (perhaps more than one), lo’ak is the biggest dumbass and because of this he’s mean asf, reader has a big ol heart and just really wants lo’ak to like her, aged!up characters for maturity’s sake.
the warnings — language, lo'ak is in luv but doesn't realize it, he's in denial that the feelings could be reciprocated, this is super dramatic so put your seat belts on!
the notes — was feeling extra sad and wanted to write something self-indulgent. this lovely anon requested something, and i used their ask as inspiration to finish this beast. fine line, bags, and love in dark are the three main songs i listened to finish this, so if you wanna be in your feels, have a listen LMAO. despite all the support, i’m still so mf nervous posting this ejsjsjdjs
masterlist
SOMETHING UGLY KINDLES IN THE PIT of Lo'ak's stomach at the mere mention of your name. It's sour on his tongue, bitter in his brain. He doesn't know when he's started to feel like this, started to feel absolutely dreadful anytime he'd hear the timbre of your voice.
It's warm, thick like nectar and it makes him sick.
Ever since you all were little, the elders crooned over what a great girl you were growing into; strong, intelligent, beautiful. It made him boil how much they'd sing your praises, the high esteem everyone held you in as one of the clan's most talented.
Something dull would pick at him being compared to his older brother, but nothing burned more than being compared to you.
Maybe it's because it's always implied whenever your names share the same sentences, that lingering implication that he could be more like you. The clan fans the flames of your mere existence while Lo'ak is snuffed out like a dying fire.
He hates it. He hates you.
He thinks.
It'd be easier to, if you were awful behind the scenes. Arrogant, stuck up, but you're none of those things. You're kind, gentle, mighty when you need to be. It doesn't help that you shine like the brightest star, engulfing everyone in your light, in your warmth.
But Lo'ak resists. He sees right through you, sees right through every saccharine smile you send him. He can see it in your eyes, how you really see him. Despite standing a full head taller than you, he sees the way you look down your nose at him.
It grates his nerves, how disgustingly sweet you are towards him despite all attempts to rebuff you.
Certainly doesn’t soothe his ego when you always seem to be around the bend every time he gets bitched at by the clan, eyes soft and filled with pity. To add insult to injury, you frequently tail him like a shadow after these moments when all he wants is to be alone.
Like now, you linger.
It's after dinner and Kiri and Spider stand before him. They come together like the three points of a triangle and you stand an awkward distance away from them.
Kiri notices you first, her face splitting into a big smile as she waves you over.
Lo'ak breathes a deep sigh before locking eyes with Spider who tries his best to suppress an amused grin.
“Hi,” you chirp and Lo'ak can't help but roll his eyes.
Spider and Kiri greet you eagerly. Lo'ak simply nods his head in acknowledgement before tightening his fist around his dagger.
“We going or what?” he finally says.
You perk up.
“Where are you guys heading off to?” you ask curiously, hands clasped behind your back.
Spider opens his mouth to answer, but Lo'ak cuts him off quickly.
“No where important,” he says, unsure if you'll blab about their whereabouts to the elders, or worse, his parents.
You roll your lips and shift on your feet.
“Can I come?” you ask hesitantly, eyes hopeful.
Kiri's smile grows as she links her arm with yours.
“No,” he says sharply. “Absolutely not.”
Your face falls and something pulls inside his chest when you fail meet his gaze, your frown barely perceptible.
You make a move to pull from Kiri's grasp, but her arm tightens through yours. She levels Lo'ak with a weighty glare and you fidget uncomfortably under his narrowed eyes.
“Don't worry about it,” you say, like someone's hit a reset button. You smile that pretty smile and Lo'ak wants to scream. "It's okay, I think Rutan needs help with clean up."
You slip from Kiri's grasp and the three watch you walk off.
“Do you always have to be such a bitch?” Spider scoffs a disbelieving laugh.
“She's just gonna tag along so she can snitch,” Lo'ak grumbles.
“Oh c'mon,” Kiri argues. “________ just wants friends.”
Lo'ak sneers.
“I don't want to be friends with her,” he says firmly, knuckles white around the handle of his knife.
“Weirdo,” Spider mumbles. “She’s cute. Think she likes you.”
Lo'ak's spine stiffens.
“It's an act” Lo'ak grumbles. “She just wants to look good in front of the elders to keep up whatever nice girl show she's putting on.”
Kiri rolls her eyes hard.
There are moments when Lo'ak thinks he's being harsh, but he can't help himself. It's like he loses all semblance of a filter when it comes to you.
“Hi, Lo'ak,” you greet him sweetly, lowering yourself onto the fallen log he's perched on, fashioning arrows to practice with later on in the evening with Neteyam.
He shifts away from you, putting the distance of two bodies between the two of you as he pauses his task at hand.
“Hi,” he says flatly.
“Can I help?” you ask tentatively, fingers twitching towards one of the untouched sticks in a pile next to his feet.
His kicks them closer to himself, out of your reach before leveling you with a sharp glare.
“No thanks,” he says quickly and you recoil slowly, letting out a shaky laugh before fixing that stupid smile on your pretty face.
“Oh, sorry,” you apologize, straightening in your seat.
A silence so uncomfortably palpable settles over the two of you as you shift so that your knees are turned towards him.
His throat bobs when his gaze travels from your little toes all the way up to your inquisitive gaze, golden and searching. It makes something unruly settle in his gut and he turns his attention back to carving his arrows.
“Do you need something?” he breaks the silence finally. “I'm kinda busy.”
You bite your lip before scooting a little closer to Lo'ak's hunched figure.
“My birthday's coming up,” you start.
“I'm aware,” Lo'ak almost scoffs.
It's all the clan has been able to talk about for the past few days. How they'd be able to prepare for the golden girl's next birth cycle and what they'd be able to do to make you smile the brightest.
“Your birthday is a week before,” you state and his head whips towards you.
“How do you know that?” he asks sharply, accusation heavy in his gruff tone.
You flinch and he falters for a moment before your smile simply widens.
“We grew up together, Lo'ak,” you say and the way his name sounds from your mouth sounds absolutely heavenly. “You're my friend.”
Friend.
He scowls at the term.
“We're not friends,” he bites back.
If the statement bothers you, you don't show it, simply tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before putting on a brave face.
“I want to celebrate with you,” you say shyly.
“Hard pass,” he says too quickly, gathering his sticks and fashioned arrows under his grasp.
He leaves you in the clearing on your own.
You must be fucking with him. You have to be. It'd be the only explanation for why Jake pulls him aside a few nights later and tells him that you've requested to work with him and Neteyam during archery practice.
“No,” he says stiffly, shaking his head.
His dad levels him with a hard glare and Lo'ak sighs deeply.
“She's a nuisance, Dad,” he argues. “Me and Neteyam are making good progress with our training and we'll have to start at square one if she joins.”
“Lo'ak, this isn't an ask,” Jake says sternly.
“But, Dad!”
“Lo'ak.”
Lo'ak huffs, snatching his bow and quiver angrily before storming off.
“You're doing great,” Neteyam says to you once the three of you have convened in the training circle.
The three arrows you've shot have all landed within centimeters of the mark and to say that Neteyam is impressed is an understatement. Lo'ak, on the other hand, fumes not-so-silently as he tears his arrows from his target.
Yet again, you have another person wrapped around your finger and it makes his blood simmer as he assumes his position at the marker and loads his arrow. It splinters through the air and hits the target right on the bullseye. The arrow punctures through the hide and lodges its way into the wood from the sheer force of Lo’ak’s shot.
You start at him moon-eyed, lush lips breaking into a full smile.
“Perfect shot,” you observe. “That was awesome.”
Lo’ak scans your features hesitantly before his gaze flits to his older brother, waiting for any acknowledgment that he’d done a great job, but Neteyam is taking notes on the arrows still stuck in the fabric of your own target.
His heart sinks.
“Fuck this,” Lo’ak grumbles, bundling all of his belongings.
He stalks through the clearing, past his brother, to leave you two.
He doesn’t know what fuels the fire more, the fact that Neteyam didn’t even bat an eye at the feat they’d been practicing for for the past three weeks because he was too immersed in you, or the fact that you bore witness to his first clean shot and gave him that sickeningly sweet smile that made his stomach turn.
“Where are you going?” Neteyam sighs.
“Somewhere you two aren’t,” he grumbles under his breath, ducking through the brush of the lofty forest.
You lick your lips, locking eyes with Neteyam as you give him a bashful grin and slowly break away to follow Lo’ak’s path.
He isn’t far ahead as you push through the vines and low-hanging leaves, the path lined with large plants and the spindly roots of the looming trees. The grass is plush between your toes as you scamper to follow Lo’ak from a distance, watching as his lithe body climbs through the dense flora.
“Why are you following me?” he calls after a few dozen paces, stopping in the middle of the path to whirl on his heel.
His golden eyes are syrupy, warm despite the edge, and you can’t help but flash him your pearly whites in a genuine smile that takes up your dimpled cheeks.
“Why’d you run off?” you ask him. “You were doing so well!”
His chest rises and falls with a scoff.
“You can give it a rest, you know?” Lo’ak says flatly, fist so tight around his bow he feels like he’ll crush the wood.
Your expression morphs, eyebrows furrowing in a way that makes Lo’ak throat bob, something pinching behind his ribcage.
“What?” you ask, frown marring your pretty face.
“I don’t know what you’re playing at, but you can stop acting like you wanna be friends with me,” Lo’ak says matter-of-factly.
“You are my friend,” you protest quietly.
Lo’ak rolls his eyes.
“Dude, whatever,” he mutters, turning his back on you.
“Is it so wrong?” you murmur and he stops in his tracks, refusing to meet your gaze. “To be friends?”
Friends.
That stupid fucking word again.
Lo’ak bites his tongue and stalks off, leaving you on the path.
Neteyam rips him a new one when he sees him at dinner later that night. Lo’ak hangs his head as Neteyam digs in.
“Is it so hard to be nice?” Neteyam asks, hand squeezing his shoulder as they stand a handful of meters away from the main circle.
As his eyes wander, he notices you sitting with his sister, head thrown back in laughter that glitters and wafts with the rising smoke of the fire. He swallows turning his attention back to his older brother.
“Just don’t like her,” he admits. “I want her to leave me alone.”
“You don’t like her or you like her too much?” Neteyam asks, brow bone raised.
Lo’ak’s face scrunches.
“Ew, no,” he blurts. “Why would I—”
“________ just wants to fit in,” he sighs. “She has trouble making friends.”
“Yeah, I wonder why,” Lo’ak mocks. “I don’t know why Kiri and Spider are always up her ass, she’s—”
“Lo’ak,” Neteyam warns.
“Dude, everyone is always ________ this, _________ that! I don’t understand what’s so great about her—”
A throat clears and the brothers both turn their attention to the newcomer. Lo’ak could groan in frustration seeing that you’ve abandoned your seat and now stand nearby with two wooden plates.
“They’re going to start cleaning up soon,” you say hesitantly. “Wanted to bring you some.”
Neteyam takes it graciously from you, nodding his head in thanks while Lo’ak stares down at the plate you’d arranged for him, abundant in vegetables and thick cuts of meat.
“No thanks,” he says flatly.
You try to coax him.
“C’mon Lo’ak, you say gently. “I know you haven’t eaten yet.”
“No thanks,” he repeats stonily, holding his hand up.
You offer up the plate again.
“Lo’ak–“
“I said no thank you,” he grunts, annoyed.
He’d only meant to push it back towards you, but one second it’s in your hands, the next you’re wearing dinner, the plate clattering onto the ground.
“Lo’ak!” Neteyam scolds.
“Shit, I didn’t–”
“It’s fine,” you breathe an airy laugh and Lo’ak freezes when he hears your breath hitch. “It was an accident.”
“Oh, ________…” Neteyam sighs, but you’re picking up the plate and scurrying off, ignoring the nearby snickering.
“Whatever you got going on, you need to cool it,” Jake scolds him in the family tent after dinner that night. “________ is a good girl, she’s trying to find her place. Can’t really do that if you’re gonna be a jerk to her all the time.”
Lo’ak resists the urge to roll his eyes because, yet again, someone is sticking up for you, admonishing him about how he could be nicer, how he could take you under his wing, how he–
“What about me?” Lo’ak argues. “I tell her to leave me alone all the time, but she doesn’t listen. Why do I have to be nice to someone who doesn’t respect–”
“Cut the bullshit,” Jake thunders. “You haven’t even tried being her friend.”
“Why should I?” Lo’ak counters.
“Because maybe you two are more alike than you’d care to learn,” Jake says knowingly. “Now go apologize.”
“Dad!”
“Go, Lo’ak.”
Lo’ak sucks in a deep breath before squeezing his eyes shut and blowing out through his nose.
“Fine, fine, whatever,” he grumbles, ducking from the tent into the humid night air.
He starts into the jungle, fingers brushing over the leaves and petals of the plants and flowers. He takes the moment to regulate his pounding heart in his chest before trying to wrack his brain for any words that he could scrounge into a believable apology.
When he crosses the glowing waters of a skinny brook, something rustles nearby and his hand is on the hilt of his dagger in the blink of an eye.
He turns to face the noise, knife drawn, but then you emerge and his body relaxes a fraction.
“Fuck, ________, you scared me,” he sighs in relief.
You fidget and swallow down the lump in your throat.
“Sorry,” you say sheepishly.
A brief silence dawns the two of you and Lo’ak notes that you’ve cleaned up from the evening meal’s debacle, now wearing a longer loincloth threaded with round pearlescent beads that refract the luminescence of the surrounding forest.
Your grasp tightens around a leather bound journal and for a moment, he wonders what you could be writing about.
When you follow his gaze, you shyly tuck the journal behind your back and give him an uneasy smile.
“I wanted to–”
“I came to–”
Your words clash and you breathe a little laugh through your nose as you gaze at him with brilliant eyes. You start closing the distance and Lo’ak’s hands grow clammy.
“You first,” you offer.
Whatever threads of an apology he’d crafted in the moments prior have evaporated now that you stand before him, absolutely glowing.
“Lo’ak?” Your head tilts and his cheeks warm.
“Sorry,” he says hoarsely. “For what happened at dinner.”
You shake your head quickly.
“You don’t have to apologize,” you assure him, reaching out to touch him.
He recoils, clearing his throat as he retreats to put an ample amount of distance between the two of you.
You eye the berth and something shutters across your face as you rock back on your heels and flash him another uneasy smile.
You haven’t even tried being her friend, his dad’s words echo like a call in the night. Maybe you two are more alike that you care to learn.
Were you? You and Lo’ak were as different as they come, you molded by the love and adoration of the clan, him built up by the lessons and lectures he received from his parents and Neteyam.
“Where are you going?” you ask, blowing by the previous conversation.
He shrugs.
“Dunno,” he admits. “I was looking for you.”
The way you freeze is almost covert, your lips rolling as you try to hide the smile threatening to split your face.
“Oh,” you hum. “Wanna go for a walk?”
No, he wants to say. He absolutely does not want to spend anymore time with you than he has to. Likes to believe that he wouldn’t even bat an eye if he were to never see you again, but you’re looking at him expectantly and his dad’s words are like a mantra in his head, so he agrees begrudgingly.
It’s awkward at first, silent except for the natural soundtrack of the vicarious jungle. But like you do so well, you break the silence and Lo’ak has to resist rolling his eyes for the third time that night.
“What are your favorite colors?” you ask suddenly.
“I dunno, green?” he offers.
“Are you sure?” you laugh quietly.
Lo’ak thinks a moment before nodding his head.
“Yeah, green,” he finalizes. “And blue.”
He barely notices that you’d fallen behind, and when he turns to look over his shoulder, he sees that you’re scratching something into your little journal.
“And your favorite fruit?” you press, nose still between the pages.
Lo’ak breathes out a laugh and your head shoots up.
“What? You gonna send this list to the lab?” Lo’ak asks.
You give him a shy smile, shifting on your feet.
“No,” you say softly, then whisper to yourself, “just compiling a list to win your heart.”
Lo’ak barely hears you, ears twitching as his eyes narrow in confusion.
“What?” he asks.
You snap your notebook shut, shaking your head quickly as you pad through the grass to catch up to him.
“Nothing.”
Something ripples in the fabric after that night, you and Neteyam both notice when Lo’ak enters the training clearing the next afternoon and greets you with a nod instead of flat out ignoring your presence like he had the last training session.
And you think that the moment is fleeting, a one off, but as the days progress, you realize that maybe Lo’ak is finally softening around you.
He stays for entire lessons, the most minute of smiles twitching at his lips whenever you compliment his shots. He waits near the edge for you as you pack up your things, and while the walk back to the village is a quiet one, you bask in his company, triumphant when he doesn’t run off.
And while your evening walks are few and far between, you savor the moments he affords you, wedging yourself between him the crumbling walls of his facade.
Tonight is one of those moments, sitting on adjacent branches overlooking the lively forest, when Lo’ak lets you peek farther into his life than he’d originally intended.
“He never understands,” he sighs, popping a few berries from his satchel past his lips.
Tonight’s topic is his father and you listen intently, eyes fixed on the way he reclines on the branch and looks up at the stars.
“I try hard, you know? To make everyone proud, but all they see is my failure,” he says, obviously annoyed. “No matter what I do, it’s not good enough.”
“You do great things, Lo’ak,” you say quietly, the first words you’ve said all night.
And like your voice is a reminder, Lo’ak’s spine goes rigid, throat bobbing as he realizes that he may have said too much to you. He’s getting too comfortable and you’re all the willing to absorb every insecurity and every worry he has.
But something about quiet moments like these makes him loose-lipped, eyes fluttering to where you’ve got your notebook balanced in the seam of your thighs, scrawling something on the pages as you eat your own berries.
The words are leaving him before he can stop them.
“Easy for you to say,” he murmurs. “You’re perfect.”
The laugh that escapes you startles him and a few of the berries he was about to devour slips from his fingers and plunk down the leaves.
“I’m not perfect,” you assure him.
“Only someone who’s perfect would say that,” Lo’ak grumbles, peering over the edge of the branches to spot his fallen fruit. “The whole village loves you, everyone’s always so ready to bat for you.”
You look down at the pages of your journal with a sad smile.
“It’s a lot of pressure,” you admit quietly. “Everyone’s watching your every move, waiting for you to mess up.”
Lo’ak shifts uncomfortably.
You continue.
“And most of the villagers our age don’t like me,” you say, thumbing one of the pages. “They say I kiss ass, that I’m always trying to keep a leg up.”
Lo’ak winces, knowing that he’s the source of at least one of those sentiments.
“The elders think you’re honorable,” Lo’ak argues gently. “You’re talented, you have something to offer the people.”
“Honor means nothing if you’re bound by it,” you say finally, closing the cover to your journal. “If anything, I want to be more like you.”
“Like me?” Lo’ak asks incredulously, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
You nod, smiling at him.
“Yeah,” you whisper. “I think you’re brave, fearless. And even if you care what people think, you do what you want.”
Lo’ak is quiet, taken aback by your confession.
Before he can respond, you’re gathering your things, bidding him a warm farewell as you begin climbing down the tree to disappear into the night.
After that night, you think that maybe you’re just imagining things, that you’re reading too much into the fact that Lo’ak has begun to finally act like you exist, but then Kiri says something and the hope sends your heart soaring.
“Seems like he finally got his head out of his ass,” she says a few mornings later as you two stand near a shallow stream, eyes peeled for any fish you two could bring back to the village.
“Think so?” you ask nervously, arrow trapping the flailing fish to the pebbles of the stream’s bed.
Kiri shrugs.
“He actually pays you mind now,” Kiri observes. “That’s a step up for sure. I think you just need to spend more time with him.”
You smile, splashing through shallow waters to capture the fish and add it to the growing pile in the basket between you and the middle Sully.
“Yeah?” you wonder
So you test the theory, basket filled with various peeled fruits and a little container of nectar you squeezed from the petals of a flower.
It doesn’t take long to hunt him down. When you enter the training circle, he’s packing up his things, quiver strapped to his back and bow in his fist.
Before you make yourself known, he’s turning on his heel to face you, eyes wild as he swallows down the lump in his throat.
He’d be the last to admit that the last night you two spent together was branded in his brain, that his mouth had dried up so much so he felt his tongue could crack.
There were so many implications in your words and it horrified him, scared him so much that he knew he couldn’t let you that close again.
But now you stand before him, pretty as can be, hopeful even, and he’s at a war with himself, absolutely caught between resenting you for being everything he’s not and giving into the draw.
“Hi,” you greet, basket heavy in your hands.
You look more radiant than usual, skirt brushing the forest floor, the woven vine of your top banded to expose your midriff.
“Hey,” he replies hesitantly.
“Where you going?” you ask curiously.
His throat bobs as he gestures behind him.
“Hunting,” is all he says.
“Do you want to go for a walk?” you ask eagerly.
He doesn’t. He shouldn’t. Because things are shifting and he’s not sure if he’ll be able to stomach the change. If he’ll be able to admit to himself that you’re wearing him thin, that you make him feel things he’s never felt before and that it makes him feel like he has no control.
Because when it boils down to it, you make him lose control, make him lose his filter, and make him feel every emotion twice as hard.
“No,” he says.
And in that moment, you feel like you’re back at square one, watching as his eyes turn stony and his jaw sets firmly.
“You shouldn’t go hunting on your own,” you say softly. “Will someone be with you?”
“It’s fine,” he argues. “I’m fine.”
“I can go with you!” you offer. “I thought maybe we could sit by the stream and talk, but we can go hunting instead. We can–”
“No,” he says again, pinning you with eyes so lethal, it makes you wonder if you really had imagined the moments you shared with him, if you had imagined Kiri telling you that she saw it too.
You try again anyways.
“It’ll be good practice and–”
“I said no, ________,” he barks. “You’re dead weight and I want to be alone.”
Your lips seal and you bite the inside of your cheek.
Lo’ak could nearly scream in frustration when he notices the way your shoulders sag and it makes something in his heart cinch.
“Okay,” you agree, nodding quickly. “Be safe and–”
The words die on your tongue when you notice the look of annoyance on Lo’ak’s face.
Lo’ak is in deep shit, you come to find out hours later.
You sit outside of the training circle, knowing that Lo’ak will return down the path after his hunting trip. What you don’t expect, however, is Jake and Neytiri emerging with the entire line of Sully kids and Spider.
Jake grips the back of Lo’ak’s neck tightly as they march past wandering eyes, straight to the family tent. You don’t miss his wounds though, varying in depth, some bleeding, some sore.
You’re hot on their heels, standing right outside of the entrance as Jake tears into the middle Sully.
“Time and time again, I have to get on your ass for doing the complete opposite of what I ask you to do!” Jake’s voice is thunderous inside the tent. “Do you not realize that you not only risked your life but your sisters’ too?”
There’s a beat of silence before Jake continues, obviously pacing from the way his volume fluctuates.
“And what were you thinking bringing Tuk? She’s nine, Lo’ak!” he shouts, the anger and the hurt evident in his tone.
“I’m sorry,” Lo’ak mumbles.
“Yeah, I bet you are!” Jake scolds. “I don’t ask for much. All I want is for you stay in line. Just stay out of trouble and work hard on your training. I paired you with ________ and Neteyam in hopes that maybe you’ll tighten up and be more like them, but you’re always disappointing me.”
You frown.
Whatever Lo’ak had done probably didn’t warrant such deep admonishment and something tugs especially hard at your heartstrings knowing that all he wants to do is make his dad proud.
“You’re surrounded by good influences, but you always have to go against the grain, Lo’ak,” Jake says, the edge in his tone softening. “I’m getting tired of the bullshit, son. You need to clean up your act. Hear me?”
“Yes sir,” Lo’ak says quietly, voice almost a whisper behind the hide of the tent.
“Now go get yourself cleaned up,” Jake huffs.
Your spine is straightening when you hear foot steps closing in, holding your breath as the flap to the tent billows open and Lo’ak is emerging.
His eyes flit to yours and his expression sours further.
“Lo’ak,” you murmur, reaching out to him.
He’s shrugging you away, wincing when a wound on his shoulder stretches especially taut.
“You’re hurt,” you say quietly. “I’ll–”
“Leave me alone,” he says, eerily level.
“But you’re–”
“I said leave me alone, ________,” he warns, pushing past you in what should be the pursuit of his grandmother’s quarters.
Instead he’s making a beeline for the jungle.
You’d seen the look in his eye before he stonewalled you, seen the hurt and heaviness that most people didn’t seem to notice because he was always so adventurous and carefree.
You follow after him.
“Lo’ak, you know he’s only worried for you,” you try to reason gently, fingers reaching for his own as you duck under massive leaves and fluttering insects.
He whirls to face you, swatting your hand away.
“Don’t fucking touch me,” he bites. “You don’t know anything.”
You swallow, holding your hand to your chest as you watch him lay down every brick to wall himself off.
He hates it. He hates how you look at him, how you seem to pity the life he has to live. It makes him sick, thinking that you two have it the same. He’d rather be hated for being great than hated for being a let down. It’s insulting, how you think you know how it feels.
“Let’s go back. I’ll wrap your wounds and–”
“Of course, clan’s golden girl is gonna patch me up and make it all better, huh?” he seethes facetiously. “Just fuck off!”
You flinch, blinking at the boy you holds so much rage in front of you.
“I know you’re hurting, but you don’t have to be mean,” you whisper, taking in a shuddering breath to will yourself not to cry.
“Mean? Mean?” Lo’ak bristles. “I’ve tried telling you to lay off nicely, tried telling you to just leave me alone, but you don’t listen. You just pry and overstep and you make every little thing about you! Oh, it’s so much pressure, villagers our age hate me, of course they would! You already have everything and just have to go rub salt in the wound!”
You shrink, eyes welling as your lip trembles.
“Lo’ak, stop,” you whimper.
“We’re not friends, ________.We never were and we never will because I don’t like you,” he spits. “Now please, for the love of god, will you just leave me alone!”
The forest is silent save for Lo’ak’s ragged breathing, fists clenched as he glares down at you.
“I-” Your breath hitches and you choke out an apology. “I’m sorry.”
Lo’ak’s heart softens a fraction as you take a step back, turning quickly on your heel.
“Fuck, I’m sorry,” you rasp, tripping over your own feet as you stumble into a run, putting as much space as you can between you and the middle child who stands in the middle of the forest, unable to wrangle every harsh word he’d said to force back down his throat.
You dropped your journal.
Lo’ak is sure you’re looking for it, know that you’ve always got your nose stuck in it. You had dropped it running off and now he has its leather bound in his hands.
It’s been a couple of nights since the faithful evening he’d blown his top and he’d only seen whispers of you. It was so unlike you to disappear, to not be entertaining the masses as they fell to your feet.
He’d cooled off significantly, and when he replayed the conversation in his head, he winced, body folding in on itself as he realizes how harsh he’d been.
“Are you actually thinking thoughts?” Spider claps him on the shoulder, startling him so badly he drops the journal.
It lands spine down, the pages fluttering open.
He chances a peek before Spider is rounding his lithe figure to pick up the notebook. All he makes out is a rough sketch.
“You write?” Spider asks, intrigued.
“No, it’s ________’s,” Lo’ak answers.
“Oh, your little girlfriend’s?”
Lo’ak gives the human a cross look, snatching the book from his grasp as he stands up.
“Trouble in paradise?” Spider pries, scurrying to keep up with Lo’ak’s long strides.
A beat of silence before Lo’ak finally answers.
“Made her cry,” he mumbles, embarrassed.
Spider winces behind him.
“You serious?”
Lo’ak sighs.
“Yes, dude, fuck,” he breathes, hand coming to the back of his neck. “I don’t know what came over me. Dad was ripping me a new one and Neteyam already chewed me out before they got there and she was being annoying, so I just…”
“Bro,” Spider scoffs in disbelief, scratching the back of his head. “You’re a real dickhead sometimes.”
Lo’ak’s eyes wander as he shifts uncomfortably, feeling incredibly small as his friend glares up at him.
“I mean, I told her I wanted to be left alone!” Lo’ak tries to defend weakly. “I- I didn’t mean to.”
“She likes you a lot, dude,” Spider reiterates. “She just wants you to like her back.”
Despite the glaring signs, Lo’ak has trouble believing that your feelings for him far surpass charity work. They couldn’t, it was impossible. Because at the end of the day, you’re you and he’s…him.
He opens his mouth to say something, but Spider beats him to it.
“Did you at least apologize?”
Lo’ak squirms.
“Dude!”
“Look, I know, I know,” he tries to assuage the situation.
“________ is literally the sweetest girl in the entire clan you just–“
“I get it, bro, I get it!” Lo’ak huffs.
“Get your head out of your ass,” Spider says. “She might not stick around long enough for you to realize.”
“Realize what?” Lo’ak snaps.
“Are you really gonna play stupid right now?”
He blinks at the human.
“You like ________,” Spider says matter-of-factly. “You always have, ever since we were kids.”
“Oh, piss off,” Lo’ak grumbles.
“Dude, you’re literally my best friend, but I sometimes I wanna shove my foot so far up your–”
“I do not like ________,” Lo’ak says sharply.
“Everyone sees it but you, dipshit,” Spider scoffs. “You like her, but you’re scared. She’s perfect and she intimidates you. Think she’s gonna see you for what you really are and turn her back on you like everyone else does when you fuck up, but she’s not like that, Lo’ak. She’s been there whether you like it or not. But she might not always.”
Lo’ak swallows down the knot in his throat, fingers tightening around the notebook.
“Everything clicking?” Spider asks knowingly.
Lo’ak throws him a final narrowed glare before stalking off.
It’s Lo’ak’s birthday and just like every orbit, he spends it alone in the forest.
At first, he’d been burdened with the weight of hurting your feelings, but now his conversation with Spider weighs heavy on him as he climbs dirt walkways and flowered paths.
It doesn’t help that your notebook weighs heavy in his satchel, a silent reminder that he still has a piece of you while you cling to his peace of mind.
I think you’re brave, fearless. They’re the words you uttered to him that fateful night you turned the reality of you two on its axis.
As he splices all the moments you two shared like a reel, he realizes that it’s endless. That you’re always there, you’d always been there, like a layer of impenetrable atmosphere surrounding him.
He really should apologize, he knows this much, but you’ve disappeared like a wisp of smoke. Training sessions have returned to a sibling affair and he’s too prideful to ask about you.
It’s almost eclipse when he begins making his way back for the evening meal, knowing that a scolding will await if he arrives even a minute late.
After what had happened with you, he was lying low, trying to diminish his blip from the radar.
As he closes in on the village’s main circle, he notes that it’s quiet. A little too quiet. It puts him on edge, makes him draw his bow and feel around for an arrow in his quiver.
A few more paces and he’s broken into the clearing, a few stragglers milling about. Another half a dozen steps and it’s like the forest melts into a celebration, whorls of blue pouring into the circle as villagers begin trilling.
Lo’ak is hoisted into the air as the dying fire in the center of the camp begins to slowly roar.
“Happy birthday, baby bro!” Neteyam caws loudly as they begin jostling him into the air, chanting and dancing as the dense crowd of clanspeople celebrate him.
It’s like time slows as he peers from side to side eagerly, seeing the way Spider, Kiri and Tuk dance happily among his people. Jake and Neytiri stand near the fire, smiles wide when they see the look of awe on their middle son’s face.
When he’s finally set on his feet, he wobbles, childlike as he turns, taking in the glowing streamers that crisscross between the tents. Flowers of green and blue thread through the vines, gleaming like lamplight as the forest buzzes around them.
“Wha– What is all this?” Lo’ak croaks in disbelief, eyes flitting wildly as he notices Norm and Max standing next to a table they’d hauled from the pod to the circle, piled high with meats and vegetables wrapped in leaves.
A platter of yovo fruits, his favorite, are at the center, surrounded by a painted sign with his name and the handprints of dozens of villagers on it.
“You survived another orbit!” Neteyam laughs heartily, head-locking the younger boy before roughly digging his knuckles into the top of his head.
A laugh bubbles from Lo’ak’s lips, swatting his brother away as villagers and clan members he’d grown up with approach him one by one to greet him.
As the night progresses, he doesn’t even realize he’s searching until your mother approaches and his spine goes rigid, cheeks warming under her piercing gaze.
“From my ________,” she says, setting a pouch into his palms. “She toiled over these for many eclipses. Please take care.”
Lo’ak’s nod is delayed as his satchel shifts on his shoulders, a dull reminder that your journal still remains with him, begging to be read.
“Where– Where is she?” he asks suddenly, feeling your absence all the more now that your gift sits in the palm of his hand.
“My daughter does not feel well,” your mother says simply. “She wished to be excused from the festivities.”
His chest feels hollow, stomach tight as his cheeks burn. You’d mentioned this to him, all those days ago in the training circle, about wanting to celebrate with him.
His eyes flit to the flowers looped through the vines, the mountain of yovo fruits, the gift in his hands. He doesn’t want to be presumptuous. Doesn’t want to fuel the tiniest ember of hope in chest, but he can’t help it.
He can’t help but read into it, into the implications of this celebration you’d planned all for him, into every word you uttered to him in the quiet of the forest’s chirping.
It’s all it takes for him to lock himself in his own head. The feast melts into the background, dull, as his eyes cut the crowd for you.
You have to be here, gotta be hanging around the outskirts silently. The idea taunts him, makes his gut twist hard as images of you dancing in the circle, singing to him, celebrating him, loving him—
Lo’ak freezes, blinking incredulously at the thought that’d just crossed his brain. It makes him queasy, makes the regret and the guilt gnaw at every nerve ending as your crying face flashes like an unwanted slideshow in his brain.
It’s all he can think about as the festivities die, as villagers begin turning in the for the night and he helps his family clean up the aftermath of another orbit finally finished.
Spider helps Tuk and Neteyam near the fire, and as Lo’ak moves through the motions like he’s caught in a tide, Kiri watches, knowing all too well what consumes her brother’s mind.
It isn’t until Lo’ak is shrouded by the stillness of the early morning, his family tucked in their tent, bodies and limbs splayed as they sleep together, that he sits in a swinging hammock, your journal and the pouch in his lap.
It feels wrong, the way he thumbs the cover, working up the courage to turn it open. But Ewya, fate, would have never left it in his wake if it wasn’t meant to be read.
As his finger ghosts the etchings of the front cover, worn and loved by you, something tickles his leg as he admires the leather. He blinks in disbelief when he sees a singular woodsprite resting against his thigh.
Before he loses his nerve, he’s opening the pages with bated breath.
Recipes, nature notes, short thoughts fill the sheets and Lo’ak feels like he’s reading into your brain, seeing all the little things no one bothers to know.
he is like the sun,
shines so bright,
but burns the closer you get.
Lo’ak’s pointer finger glosses over the ink, over your curly handwriting.
he is so incredible, but he doesn’t even know it. i want to shout it to every creature in the forest, every tree and every flower. oh, how i wish to be as fearless as him.
His chest heaves as the words blur.
Fearless.
Fearless.
Fearless.
In this moment, he feels everything but. He feels like a coward.
He continues to flip, throat lodged as he sees drawings, both rough sketches and full renderings. He hadn’t even known that you liked to draw, yet here he was, observing his home through your artistic eye.
Flowers, leaves, trees, creatures, insects, fruits mar the stained papers, etched like it’d been caught in real time.
likes green and blue.
likes yovo fruits.
The entry from the day you’d first walked with him through the forest.
When he turns the page, his breath hitches.
In full color, you’d captured his bullseye from your first training session. His back taut from the release, expression shaded stoic. He looked mighty, like the strongest warrior, and it was all through your eyes.
Lo’ak doesn’t even realize he’s crying until the bullseye in the illustration bleeds from a fallen tear. Another one drips from his chin, then another.
The next page is the night you two had poured your hearts out to each other. Again, in full color, he’s watching the stars. You don’t leave out the glow of the freckles that smatter his face and body, don’t miss the smile that plays at his lips as he quietly points out that his dad had come from a star.
He flips again and different iterations and designs for what seems like jewelry litters the pages, shaded with different colors of blue and green, marked with varying notes, x’s marking through ideas you didn’t like.
Lo’ak remembers the pouch, sitting untouched in his lap, and his shaky fingers undo the ties. He shakes the contents on the flat of the notebook and the most intricate beadwork fits into the crease.
His eyes widen as he picks up the necklace in a trembling hand, the eclipsing sun catching the etching in the flat stones.
Four five-fingered hands and four four-fingered ones, each separated by jewels scavenged and cleaned from the bed of the glowing river.
A small scroll flutters from the pouch and Lo’ak chokes back as sob as he unrolls the hide.
Happy Birthday, Lo’ak. I am always grateful to know someone like you. May your next orbit be filled with endless blessings from Ewya and may you see yourself how I see you.
You see him, he realizes. You’re his supporter, a silent force that consumes every insecurity and swallows every doubt. You believe in him more than he believes in himself.
He stands from the hammock and runs.
You’re sitting in the same tree the two of you had rested in the night you’d confided in Lo’ak, watching as the sun eclipses and begins to light up the sparkling forest.
Something rustles and you sit up, hand on the hilt of your dagger as you search the area for movement.
As your eyes lock on the source, you almost wish it had been a beast coming to devour you whole. But as Lo’ak climbs the branches of the tree quickly, you feel the dread begin to solidify in your veins.
You take your satchel, hanging from a nearby branch and sling it over your shoulder, pulling your shawl over your head to prepare for your escape.
“________, wait,” he chokes breathlessly. “Please.”
You feel like crying all over again, feel so unbelievably stupid thinking that Lo’ak would ever see you the way that you see him.
You pause a beat as he settles on the branch across from yours, chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath.
Something glints in the sun and your eyes widen when you see that Lo’ak has fastened the necklace you made him around his neck, right above the the leather chain that holds his beloved claw charm.
“You’re wearing it,” you whisper, lips twitching into a frown as you try your best to keep your tears at bay.
“I’m sorry, ________,” Lo’ak apologizes hoarsely. “Fuck, you don’t understand how sorry I am.”
The tears well on their own.
We’re not friends. We never were and we never will.
The words haunt you like a broken record and you shake your head, moving from your perch to move down the branches.
“Wait, wait,” Lo’ak pleads. “Please don’t go, I–”
“I hate you,” you whisper. “I hate you, Lo’ak.”
He freezes, watching as you balance on a branch below.
“I tried so hard to be your friend,” you whimper, angrily wiping away your tears. “You’re amazing. You’re strong, and you’re fearless, and you are everything I want to be, but you’re heartless.”
Lo’ak lets out a shuddering breath, a chill running down his spine as you look up at him like he’d smashed every star in the sky.
“I wanted to be with you, you know?” you let out a watery laugh. “I hoped that maybe if I stuck it out, you’d see how much I cared, how badly I wanted to be with you, even if it was from a distance.”
“I do, _________, I do!” he argues.
He hadn’t always, but he sees it now. He sees you.
You shake your head again.
“You don’t,” you sigh, voice trembling. “It’s my fault anyways. You were right. You told me to leave you alone and I was being too much.”
“Stop–”
“Let this be the last time,” you assure him. “Let’s just– Let’s pretend we never met.”
“No, _________. Wait!”
You’re climbing down the tree and disappearing into the brush and, like a fleck of ash, you’re disintegrating into nothingness.
Most people think he’s being moody, that he’s just been scolded by his father or older brother, but Neytiri knows better.
She sees the way her son has changed over the course of the past few weeks. She knows there is a great burden that he carries, but much like her beloved and her eldest, he suffers in silence.
“Maitan,” she says quietly, brushing a braid from his face as he folds the leaves around a chunk of steaming meat.
Lo’ak pauses almost imperceptibly, but continues his task.
It isn’t like him to stay home and work with Neytiri. If anything, he’d be the first one out of the tent, Tuk, Spider, and Kiri tailing after him as they galavant through the endless forest.
“Something weighs heavy in your heart,” she tries again, hand coming over his.
Lo’ak stops and leans back, unable to meet his mother’s searching gaze.
“I hurt someone,” he says quietly.
Neytiri stiffens.
“What?”
“I hurt someone I care about,” Lo’ak admits. You’d called him fearless, strong. He needed to live by your word. “I hurt her and I don’t know how to fix it.”
“Oh, Lo’ak,” she murmurs, squeezing his hand gently.
Her face has softened as she takes in his stony expression.
“My son, some things cannot be fixed,” she says honestly. “But all things require great effort. Sometimes those efforts will fall through, but that is the natural order of life.”
Lo’ak swallows.
“Whoever this special person is, if you have hurt her, she deserves the full effort of your heart, no?”
You do, he knows you do. You deserve every last effort. But a niggling streak of insecurity tells him that you don’t deserve someone like him. You don’t deserve someone who takes your affections for granted. You deserve someone who will love you with every breath, who will love you fearlessly.
“I really messed things up, Mom,” Lo’ak says quietly. “I don’t…”
Neytiri’s hand comes to Lo’ak chest.
“The night I first met your father, Ewya gave me sign,” she says. “He has a pure, strong heart. You do too.”
Lo’ak swallows.
“Be brave, Maitan,” she says. “Sometimes that is enough.”
Lo’ak’s fingers hurt from picking berries.
His cuticles bleed, pricked by the thorns of the fruit’s bush. Kiri hums beside him, weaving a little bag out of ropes of thin vines.
“You’re not gonna help me?” he whines.
“Why should I help you with your mess?”
You look beautiful under the glow of the evening meal’s crackling fire. It’s the first time you’ve emerged since before Lo’ak’s birthday feast and you’re being flocked by elders and villagers, wishing you well and asking about your supposed ailment.
He sits across the fire, fists tight as he searches for a lull in the crowd.
Spider snickers next to him, devouring the contents of his plate like he’s starved, watching Lo’ak’s useless pining like a show.
Be brave.
He’s standing to his feet before he can back out, crossing the circle to approach you. The villagers watch like they know something he doesn’t and the nerves are eating away at him as he steps into your space.
You look up from your conversation with a girl your age, the smile slipping from your lips.
“Can we talk?” Lo’ak asks, eyes wandering to watch the way everyone watches him.
You remain jaded.
“Now’s not a good time,” you say quietly and a few onlookers snicker in the background.
“________,” Lo’ak tries again.
You stare up at him, the shadow of the fire dancing over your features as you seemingly look right through him. It’s humiliating, the way you remain seated and watch him fidget, but he figures he deserves the cold shoulder after months, years of casting you to the side.
“Let’s go?” you ask the girl, nodding your head over your shoulder.
The girl chances a glance between you and Lo’ak, noticing the telltale sign of your work etched into the stones of the choker he hadn’t taken off since his birthday.
She gives him a sympathetic smile as she follows after you.
He’s going to have to try a lot harder than he has, he realizes as your birthday looms right around the corner. The next eclipse, in fact.
He’s losing hope, losing courage, but he can’t give up on you two just yet.
He makes sure the berries he picked the days prior are packed tightly in his bag, the lid to the nectar fastened, and his present wrapped nicely.
It’s his last hope, his last shot to make things right.
Spider, Tuk, and Neytiri surround him, Neteyam and Jake off on a hunt.
They’d all been privy to the fact, aiding him in his endeavors as he organized his final grapple with your heart.
“Kiri said she’ll bring her right before eclipse,” Spider says, peeking from the flap of the tent. “That’s in, like, minutes.”
Lo’ak is nervous. Doesn’t know what he’ll do if he loses you for good, but he knows he has to give it his best effort. It’s the least you deserve.
Be brave. Sometimes that is enough.
Lo’ak glances at his mom and she gives him a warm smile, ruffling his braids.
“You are the son of Toruk Makto,” she assures him, pinching his cheek. “There is nothing you cannot do.”
The words are carved into his brain as he rushes through the forest, the the stream that the curls and bends through the forest. It glows beautifully at night and that is his final push.
“Wait, give me like three seconds, I left something.” Kiri’s voice is muffled behind the trees.
“Huh?” Lo’ak sees the way your head tilts through an opening in the foliage.
“I’ll only be a second!”
“Wait, Kiri!”
Kiri is running straight for him, comes barreling through the bushes, and continues down the path.
“Good luck, egghead!”
Lo’ak takes in a final breath to quell the tremor in his hands before ducking through the bushes to reveal himself.
You’re sitting on the embankment, on a woven mat that Kiri had laid out for you two, decorative vines edging the seams.
“Oh, you were–”
You peer over your shoulder and your expression falls.
“Lo’ak…”
“Happy birthday, ________,” he breathes.
You don’t look amused, slinging your bag over you shoulder as you rise to your feet.
“Kiri and I are hanging out,” you tell him.
He scratches the back of his head.
“I…I had Kiri bring you here because I knew that you wouldn’t come with me if I asked,” he admits. “And of course, I don’t blame you, but I– I just really need to talk to you.”
You bite the inside of your cheek, unable to look him in his eyes as he draws nearer.
“Just give me some time, please,” he pleads.
You finally meet his gaze, searching his eyes as he looks down at you earnestly.
You give him the tiniest nod, reluctantly shedding your satchel to reassume your seat on the mat.
The waters rush gently, like a song as Lo’ak lowers himself next to you.
His palms are clammy as he fidgets in his seat, the scent of herbs and flowers wafting from your dewy skin. He can’t bring himself to look at you, afraid that every sentiment he’d crafted in the hours of the night will escape him, so he watches the bubbling of the stream.
“Well?” you whisper, like you don’t want to shatter the fragile sheath of peace that layers you.
“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “I know I’ve said it already, but I really am, ________.”
“I know,” you murmur and his gaze flits to yours. “Even if you don’t act like it, you have a good heart, Lo’ak. You feel everything, even the things you don’t want to.”
He swallows.
“I didn’t mean it,” he says carefully. “I was mad and I took it out on you. That wasn’t fair.”
You sit silently, knees hugged to your chest. Your cheek rests against your knee, watching Lo’ak with seeing eyes. It makes him trip over his words.
“My whole life, I’ve always been compared to Neteyam,” he says. “The entire village would whisper about me and how I was nothing like the mighty warrior.”
When he glances at you, he notices your fingers twitch, like you want to reach out to him.
He squashes his fears and turns to face you, five-fingered hand coming up to thread with your four. You watch the union, uncertainty obvious in the way you tense, but Lo’ak squeezes.
“And then when we started growing up, you were just another person I had to live up to,” Lo’ak whispers. “You’re perfect, ________. You’re kind, and you’re smart, talented. You’re everything I’m not and it made me hate you.”
You shrink, but Lo’ak pulls you towards him, hand coming up to brush your cheek.
“But you’re all of that and more,” he continues, the words gushing like a river. “You’re always there, you support me and you defend me and see things I don’t.”
You become shy under his gaze because for the first time, he’s seeing you. He’s seeing you for every single thing you’ve been to him and it makes your stomach knot.
“I have something to tell you,” he says. “Please don’t be mad at me.”
Your gaze is soft, palm still in his as he turns and reaches into the bag he discarded next to him. Your eyes widen when he produces your notebook, edges curled the slightest as he hands it to you.
“My journal,” you say, taking it from him quickly. “I’ve been looking for this. Why- Why do you have it?”
He looks guilty, lips rolling as he avoids your gaze.
“Did you…”
“I wasn’t going to,” he admits. “But there were woodsprites and I knew it was a s–”
“Lo’ak this is private,” you murmur incredulously. “Why would you read this?”
“How long, ________?” he asks quietly, grip on your hand tightening.
“Lo’ak, don’t–”
“How long?” he presses desperately.
Your eyes are watering, like that wicked night all over again and Lo’ak begs Eywa for the final push.
“Since we were ten,” you whisper brokenly. “It was my first performance and it was so stupid, but I was throwing up because I was nervous and you talked me through it.”
Lo’ak is stunned, the memory like the faintest of outlines.
“We didn’t even know each other that well,” you hiccup. “But you patted me on the back and you gave me this–”
You pull your fingers from his grasp and flip the journal to the last page, revealing a hidden pocket. Your nimble fingers pull a tattered string, the remnants of a vine, threaded with wilted flower petals, preserved from being pressed inside your notebook.
“You said that they made you make it during lessons,” you say, breath hitching. “That it’d be my good luck.”
He’d forgotten all about the memory completely, too caught up in driving whatever wedge he could between you two, building up walls to seal you out.
“And you kept it this whole time?” he asks, face scrunched in disbelief.
“I’d hold on to anything you give me,” you admit in defeat. “Heartbreak included.”
He lets out a shaky breath.
“________, I’m so sorry,” he repeats, hand coming up to your neck. “You have to know that. I’m really fucking stupid, but if you give us a shot, I won’t mess it up.”
Your hand comes up to his wrist, crumpling as you bow your head.
“Don’t do this to me,” you beg, moving to break away from him.
“Please.”
His hold tightens, other hand twining with yours.
“If I…if I give myself to you, I’m giving you everything,” you say hesitantly. “If you break this, you break me. I don’t think I can come back from this.”
Lo’ak presses his forehead to yours, breath warm against your lips as he searches your gaze for any semblance of hope.
“This is me being fearless, ________,” he whispers.
You melt, pressing your lips to his tentatively. He’s frozen for the shortest of moments before relenting, pushing up onto his knees to deepen the kiss.
He’s cradling your face and your hands are wandering and Lo’ak can’t help but think he could get used to loving you.
To being loved by you.
BONUS
“I was gonna give it to you on your birthday,” Lo’ak says sheepishly a few nights later under the stars. “But, you know…”
Your usual place among the branches of the looming trees have a lot of memories both bitter and sweet, but you suppose you could make new ones.
“You don’t have to give me anything,” you say sweetly, tail swishing to wrap around his ankle. “You’re all I need.”
Lo’ak doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to your saccharine words if the pounding in his chest is anything to go by.
His hands are shaky as he pushes the hide towards you, a bow made of vine tied neatly around the gift.
“Wanted to,” he says simply, moving the hair from you face to see your reaction better. “Open it.”
You’re gentle with the present, like you are with most things, but eager to see what he’d gotten you.
A tiny gasp falls from your lips when you finally see it, wide eyes meeting his as you free the jars of paints he’d mashed up, the brushes he fashioned, and the brand new journal he bound himself.
“Lo’ak, wow…”
“So you can paint me more,” he says, then adds timidly. “Or maybe us. Maybe you could paint us.”
an — holy shit guys, this was such a big project for me because i really wanted to dive into so many different things in this fic. to everyone who was waiting patiently, thank you sososo much. as usual, i took a lot of creative liberties with this one, but i hope you guys enjoyed nonetheless! although requests are paused for me to catch up, like always, if you wanna chat with me about literally anything, my askbox is open. lots of love hehehe :) xx
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neng © 2023
taglist: @nao-cchi , @jkiminpark , @philiasoul @amart-e , @s-u-t , @netesbby , @tayswiftlovebot , @dumb-fawkin-bitch , @ewackmn
#lo'ak x reader#lo'ak sully#avatar the way of water#avatar way of water#avatar#atwow#avatar the movie#lo'ak imagine#lo'ak avatar#lo'ak angst#lo'ak fanfiction
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hi!! i’ve had this concept in my head for a while and i love your writing style so i thought you would be perfect to ask. so reader is new to the compound, like helping out in the lab but not necessarily on the team, and because of that when she tries forming relationships with people on the team she’s kind of pushed to the side. bucky sees this and feels for her since he was kind of treated the same when he was new, so he starts becoming friends with her and building a relationship with her. then he starts involving her in things the team does like dinners or movie nights. and when they’re around each other the team can obviously see that they like each other as more than friends. you can develop it more from there but that’s kind of the base line for my idea!!
Pairing: Bucky x f!reader
Summary: Being new to the compound isn’t easy, luckily you have a supersoldier on your side
Warnings: Slight angst, fluff, reader wears glasses (no other description of reader though), Bucky thinks reader is cute, Tony is kind of a huge dick, vague implications of smut but no smut (blink and you’ll miss it), I suck at endings, they are in love, no use of Y/N
Word Count: 2.780k
“Hey, uh, Glasses, I need you to run these samples for me.” You look up and see Tony walking into the lab, straight to your table. You look around, not sure if he was talking to you, but you’re alone in the lab, given that it was almost midnight, but you had to finish the reports from the samples that Steve dropped off in the morning.
You were swamped in work, not even taking a lunch break, desperate to finish everything so that you could go back to your room in the compound and take a shower. It felt like you’ve been stuck in the lab for days on end. The Avengers having back to back missions and you being the only lab tech without a family to go home to, you were stuck working insane hours.
“Mr. Stark, can these wait until the morning? I'm still working on the reports from Captain Rogers.” Tony heaves a great sigh, clearly exasperated by your reluctance to do his work, knowing damn well he can run these samples a lot quicker with the help of F.R.I.D.A.Y. but he just doesn’t want to. Might as well make the overworked lab tech do it.
“The old man can wait until tomorrow for his report, just get mine done. If he has a problem, he can take it up with me. Goodnight, Penny.” And just like that, he walks off. You know for sure that he didn’t hear you correct him when he got your name wrong. Honestly, where did he even get Penny from? You’re so stressed you feel like you could cry, which pisses you off more. It made you feel weak when you would cry when you were frustrated but you couldn’t help it.
It's been like this since you got the job at the compound. At first you thought that this would be an amazing opportunity, getting to work side by side with the Avengers. In reality, you stay cooped up in the lab most of the day, getting overworked, and only see the Avengers when they stop by to give you more work.
Of course, you understand that being a superhero is hard work, but a little courtesy goes a long way. It would be a nice change of pace if someone acknowledged your efforts. You push Steve’s reports to the side and start working on Tony’s samples, knowing that this is going to take all night, but you don’t really have a choice. It needs to be done and you’re the only one in the lab.
The sound of the door opening jolts you awake, a piece of paper stuck to your face with drool. “Hey, do you have those reports for me?” You groan and look at Steve. The clock on the wall reads 6:03 AM, ever the early riser, Steve is. You must have fallen asleep sometime last night trying to finish the work Tony gave you, which is just as incomplete as Steve’s reports.
“Sorry, Captain Rogers, Mr. Stark gave me an urgent request that needed priority.” You keep your head down, ashamed to look at him.
“I gave you those samples in the morning. How are the reports not done?” He has his hands on his hips with the disappointed father's look on his face, making you feel even worse. You really are trying your best, but you’re burnt out and can't do everything at once.
“I’m sorry, I’ll have them done by early afternoon. I can drop them off if you’d like?” God, you feel so stupid! Steve just waves you off with a “I’ll come back after lunch for them” and leaves you to your own thoughts.
You get Steve’s reports done before lunch and continue to work on finishing Tony’s when the lab doors open again. Without looking up you slide Steve’s reports to him. “They’re done Captain Rogers.”
“It’s not Steve.” You push your glasses up on your nose and see Bucky standing before your table, quite awkwardly as well, shuffling on his feet with his right hand in his pocket, left hanging down limply at his side.
“Sergeant Barnes, how can I help you?” You’ve always had a crush on Bucky, but he was the only Avenger who hasn’t come into your lab - ever. Matter of fact, he avoids the lab like the plague, which is understandable given that he was experimented on for years.
“It’s my arm, I can’t move it.” After a few seconds of silence he adds on, “The metal one. Usually, I can recalibrate it myself but I think it has something to do with the plates.” He looks so vulnerable; Bucky’s not used to asking for help, rather always helping someone else.
“I can take a look at it if you want.” You assume that’s why he came down to the lab, not just to chit chat with you. He nods and you lead him to a lab chair. “Can you take your shirt off for me?” Bucky’s eyebrows hit his hairline and his jaw drops. “I need to see your arm, Sergeant.” Now both of you are blushing.
It takes him a little while but he gets his shirt off and stares at the floor, embarrassed of the scars surrounding his arm. “Can I touch your arm, Sergeant?” Bucky eyes widen; he’s not used to someone asking permission to touch his arm. If he doesn’t wear his gloves in public, people will stare and point, some even trying to touch his hand to get a better look at the silver arm. Bucky hates it: the arm, the stares, the scars, everything.
He mumbles a confirmation and watches you work on his arm. He thinks you’re cute, with glasses that make your eyes look slightly magnified and how you stick your tongue out when you concentrate. You’ve always hated your glasses, thinking that they make you look bug eyed, but Bucky thinks that it’s the cutest thing he’s ever seen. There are bags under your eyes, which makes Bucky frown. Stark is overworking you.
After a few minutes you look up and see Bucky staring at you and you both quickly look away. “One of the plates near your shoulder came loose and disrupted the signal to the rest of the arm. That’s why you couldn’t move it. It’s fixed now and you should be good to go, Sergeant.”
Before Bucky could say anything, Tony enters. “Penn, those reports done yet or are you too busy with Terminator over there?” You ignore Bucky’s confused who’s Penn? and give Tony the finished half of his reports, hoping against hope that he won’t tear you a new one in front of Bucky.
“Uh, Glasses, where is the other half?”
“I didn’t get to them all last night and then Captain Rogers needed his reports this morning. I’m sorry, Mr. Stark.” Not only did you not finish Tony’s reports on time, but you were also late with Steve’s, on top of getting minimal sleep and not eating. The humiliation is seeping through your pores. You’re letting your idols down in real time, seeing their disappointment right in front of you.
“I told you to prioritize my samples, not Rogers.” Bucky is still in his chair, watching, ready to jump to your defense. He doesn’t like the way Tony is talking to you. Little do you know, but Bucky sometimes comes down to the lab to watch you work, never entering, God no. He’d look like a creep. But the sweet lab tech caught his attention the moment you arrived.
“I know, but I fell behind and Captain Rogers said-”
“I don’t care what Rogers said. I told you-”
“Back off Stark, if you want them done, do it yourself.” Bucky was pissed; you are too sweet for your own good, letting people boss you around and bending over backwards for them. Not when Bucky is around.
Before Tony can continue to argue with Bucky, F.R.I.D.A.Y. calls him away for a meeting, leaving you and Bucky in the lab alone. “Sergeant Barnes, you didn’t have to do that. Those reports should have been done anyway; it was my fault.” How pathetic is it to have someone you hardly know see your faults.
“He shouldn’t be talking to you like that, doll. You’re only one person and you're doing your best.” He’s a lot closer to you now and you can smell his cologne, making your head feel all fuzzy. “Thank you for helping me with my arm, too.”
“Thank you for letting me, Sergeant, I know that was difficult for you.” You’re looking up at him through your thick frames, eyes larger than they actually are, bags under your eyes, but Bucky thinks you’ve never been prettier. Or maybe it’s because he’s never seen you up close, but you are the most gorgeous woman he’s ever seen, 40’s or not.
“Call me Bucky.”
After that, Bucky was in the lab almost everyday. For a while he would claim to have some strange ailment until you told him that he didn’t have to feign injury to visit, which made him blush. He would spend his lunch in the lab, making sure that you were eating, too. Bucky is a very observant man, and on his trips to the lab, before he first talked to you, he would see how overworked you were and how you barely ate.
He made it his mission to keep you well fed and get you out of the lab at a decent hour, giving a death glare to agents trying to drop off samples after a certain hour.
Outside of the lab, Bucky was your only friend at the compound; although, he’s never hand fed Steve in bed while watching old movies. Bucky felt comfortable around you, even more so than with Steve. Bucky and you had a special bond - he would confide in you when you would both be awake at the unholy hours of night and you would do the same. He trusted you not to tell anyone else and, to him, it was easier to talk to you than Steve.
Steve had a tendency to look at Bucky as if he was a sick puppy, and Bucky hated that, he hated the pity. He didn’t want to be treated like precious glass, and you allowed him to be vulnerable without making him feel like he was falling apart.
Some nights you both would fall asleep in bed together and wake up entangled, those nights were Bucky’s favorites. You were so soft and even though you were so much smaller than him, you made him feel safe and protected. His sweet doll in his bed, keeping the nightmares away.
He loved the way you would squint and search for your glasses on the stand next to the bed, whining when you accidentally knocked them to the floor, or stabbed yourself in the eye trying to put them on.
The entire dynamic of your friendship changed one night. Bucky doesn’t know who moved first, but the two of you kissed, and Bucky can’t remember kisses ever being so good. The two of you only kissed that night, nothing further, but it was the best night that either of you had in a long while. From that day on, he was your old man and you were his old lady.
You both decided to keep your relationship a secret for the time being. You didn’t want the other lab techs to think you were getting special treatment and Bucky didn’t want to deal with the teasing from Sam or the questions from Steve. But Bucky loathed when he would be forced by Steve to join movie nights, alone, without you. Steve wanted what was best for his friend so he would force Bucky to get out more; little did Steve know that Bucky had the best girl waiting for him to come over.
He could tell that you were let down whenever he had to participate in “team bonding.” You wanted to be valued by the team, yet you understood why they never invited you; you weren’t an Avenger, just a lowly lab tech. Nonetheless, it broke Bucky’s heart to see you so despondent, which is why he asked you to join the next movie night, team be damned.
“Come on, doll, it will be fun. I promise.” Bucky holds you close to his chest, laying down next to you under the covers. You roll over, naked chest to naked chest, body still shaking, and bury your face in his neck, breathing him in.
“I’m not even a part of the team, Jamie. What will all your teammates think, huh? The great Bucky Barnes and the weird lab tech: A perfect match. No, they won’t.” Bucky gently grabs both sides of your face, both metal and flesh warm from previous activities, and makes you look him in the eye.
He’s a little blurry since you aren’t wearing your glasses. The lenses would smush against your face everytime he would kiss you with anything more than a chaste kiss, and Bucky Barnes is a passionate kisser in bed. At your slight squint, he pulled you closer to his face so you could see him clearly; blue eyes holding nothing but the utmost love and devotion.
“I don’t give a damn what the team thinks, you hear me? You are my doll and I want to show you off. My sweet little lab tech who’s too kind for her own good. Let them all know how perfect you are.” Your resolve is crumbling like it does every time he looks at you. It is an overwhelming feeling, being the light of someone’s life, being showered with so much love you feel like you can’t breathe, but each breath fills up your lungs with joy and hope.
Bucky nuzzles his nose against yours and you both know you’ll say yes. You’d follow him to the ends of the earth, just as he would for you. “Okay, Jamie, I will, for you.”
Movie night is a week later and you’re on Bucky’s lap where he sits on the recliner. It’s his unofficial seat whenever Steve forces him to these things, stuck in the corner of the room away from everyone else with no seat next to him. At first, no one notices you on Bucky’s lap, curled up into him with tangled limbs not able to tell where Bucky begins and you end.
Steve is the first to notice, doing a double take at the extra bulk in Bucky’s seat, and just as Bucky is observant, so is Steve. Steve had a suspicion that there was something more to Bucky’s disappearances during lunch and the extra food he would take after dinner. Steve just smiles to himself and faces the movie once more, every so often glancing back at the two lovebirds in their own world.
Bucky has no clue what movie they are watching, his sole focus is on you. You had a long day in the lab, yet you held true to your word to join movie night with him, but being curled up in Bucky’s arms was your favorite place to be and before long you were sound asleep, holding onto his metal arm, using it as a pillow. As gently as he could, Bucky took off your glasses and put them atop his head, falling asleep himself before the movie was halfway over.
Sam was the second to notice, and let the rest of the team know as well. “OH. MY. GOD. Tony, where is my phone? I can’t believe this.” The rest of the team look at each other in confusion, following Sam’s line of sight, they see you wrapped up in Bucky’s arms, the both of you sound asleep.
“Is that…Glasses?” Comes from Tony.
“She’s so cute!” Slips from Wanda.
“Who’s Glasses?” is followed by a slap from Nat with a hissed “Thor, shut up, they’re sleeping!”
“Tony, my phone! I need evidence.”
“Terminator’s getting laid?”
“We’re watching Indiana Jones, Stark.”
“Thor, inside voice, we’ve talked about this.”
The teasing from the team is endless the next day, but Bucky doesn’t have it in him to care, he has his sweetheart by his side and they know better than to provoke Bucky. Coincidentally, Tony offers to take some of his samples back to test them himself; Bucky insists that he must have had a change of heart, you don’t believe it for one second, but Bucky will never admit to anything. After all, he has to take care of his sweet girl.
#bucky barnes#bucky barnes x you#bucky x reader#bucky imagine#bucky x female reader#bucky x y/n#bucky x you#sebastian stan x reader#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes fluff#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky barnes fic
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thin line
synopsis: four times itoshi rin said he hated you, and the one time he finally said the truth.
pairing: itoshi rin x gn!reader | words: 5k (insane) | warnings: enemies to (implied) lovers, cursing (rin being rin), rin is a total tsundere and emotionally constipated, banter, teasing, one (1) sexual implication towards the end, i use the word hate a lot, kinda proofread
notes: oh my GOD. you have no idea how hard it was for me to write (and finish!) this. writer's block has been kicking my ass really hard and honestly i don't even know if i like this but i swear to god if this flops i'll kms. (jk. maybe. or not.)
masterlist sae's 4+1
i.
itoshi rin was a hater.
he didn’t consider himself one, naturally. rin thought he was a pretty chill guy, but apparently, everyone who had some sort of interaction with the younger itoshi felt the same kind of vibe coming from him. at least, it was what his stupid teammates said after claiming rin was always hating on something — whether it was the line in the coffee shop being too long, every pass given to him by isagi or the librarian with “a stupid fish-face”.
on his defense, no one liked long lines, isagi had two left feet when it came to passing and the librarian was a fucking weirdo. even if he was a hater, he had a plausible reason for everything he hated.
“itoshi.”
that included you, of course.
rin was pretty convinced it was impossible not to hate you. every time he entered your shared biology class, a mere look at you was enough for his irk to grow even more. everything about you was just obnoxious.
you were loud. and, although unpleasant, that wouldn’t be much of a problem if you just weren’t unable to shut the fuck up and stop rambling excitedly at every friend you met. and you had many. you were some kind of weird social butterfly with infinite energy for social interactions — in a way, you reminded him of bachira.
but bachira was not always jumping at every chance to refute him with a know-it-all smirk. bachira wasn’t perpetually ready to throw witty remarks at his rudeness. and bachira definitely didn’t have a pretty gleam on his eyes every time he headbutted with rin.
in short, you were everything itoshi rin hated. and the worst part was that you knew. you knew how much your very existence annoyed him, and it seemed like you took as your life mission to make the next two years of his life a living hell.
“itoshi.” your voice reached his ears again. well, maybe if he just ignored you, you would… “itoshi!”
“what the fuck do you want?” he snapped, diverting his attention from the match playing on his phone to look at you. “i told you not to call me that.”
another thing he hated — to be called by his last name. it reminded him way too much of sae, and that was something rin didn’t want to do. but it wasn’t like he was going to tell you that, so he’d rather let you think he just didn’t want you to address him at all. which wasn’t a lie, either.
you gave him a puzzled look, tilting your head like an innocent puppy. a fake naivety, of course. “we’re not close enough for me to call you by your first name, though.”
“thank fuck.”
your eyes rolled at that. “language, itoshi.” he glared at you again, and you fixed your posture, putting your hands on the back pockets of your jeans. the malicious smile you gave sent chills down his spine.
“well, i just came to deliver you the news since you missed last period. there’s a project worth 75% of our grade to be delivered in two months, and guess what? we’re together!”
oh, hell no.
“you tell terrible jokes.”
“i’m serious, though. if you don’t believe me, just ask your friends,” you said, so absentmindedly that rin felt his blood pressure rising. he opened his mouth to retort, but you beat him to it. “and before you try, the teacher already said no one can work alone and that the pairs cannot be exchanged.”
his left eye twitched, and he was pretty sure all his muscles were tight and ready to combust. life just couldn’t give him a break, could it? it was like he was being punished — forced to work with you, of all people. what a fucking nightmare.
how the hell was he supposed to endure two months of constant interactions with your annoying sassiness and the pretty curve of your lips when you smirked? it might just drive him crazy.
“so, when can we start, partner?”
rin rolled his eyes so hard they almost got stuck on the back of his skull.
“i hate you.”
ii.
the soccer field was probably the only place rin felt at peace. the smell of grass and sweat was as familiar as his home, much like the round shape of the ball on his feet and the path to the goal. despite his rowdy teammates and their dumb antics, there wasn’t much that was able to distract him and break this peacefulness.
“itoshi!”
there was still something, though. or someone, for that matter.
the shock of seeing you in his “happy place” was so big rin nearly tripped on the ball, successfully letting bachira steal it from him. the snickers from reo and isagi made his skin boil with anger, but his harsh glare was directed at you — the fucking source of all his problems.
and no, he was not being dramatic.
“what are you doing here.”
it wasn’t really a question, more like a veiled threat; but you seemed oblivious to it, or simply didn’t care about his reaction. something in him even thought you liked getting on his nerves. he was sure of it when you smirked.
“the project, dummy. we need to start today if we want to get it done in time. it’s pretty long, hence why we have two months.”
“i can’t today,” was all he said.
“why?”
“because,” rin spat with venom on his tongue, “i have an important game next week.”
you stared at him in silence. rin would have thought about how the sun shining on your back framed you with a perfect halo and gave you a nearly angelic look if he wasn’t so busy controlling the heat on his face from your scrutiny. he hated when you did that. he hated you.
“we have to start today, itoshi. i’ll wait until you finish practicing so we can go to the library.”
he hated your stubbornness. he hated your voice, too — how it sounded like a siren’s melody, ready to trap him and bring him to the bottom of the ocean.
“fine. suit yourself.”
the young itoshi turned around and went back to the field, ignoring aryu’s pestering and shidou asking about who you were and if he could have your number. rin pondered if a yellow card was worth shutting up the insect, but eventually decided against it; he didn’t want ego to bench him, especially when they were so close to the tournament next week.
the rest of the game went pretty smoothly, although rin and his teammates could tell he had half of his focus on the sidelines, where you sat prettily at the stands with your laptop. a perpetual scowl was on his face throughout the rest of the match. you were so damn distracting it was annoying.
once the match was over, some of the boys went home, while others continued practicing, rin being one of them. he was expecting you to grow tired and give up, especially considering it was getting darker and colder, but you didn’t waver. your face was still present on the stands, haunting him even if he closed his eyes. you even had the audacity to smile when your gazes crossed.
he hated your smile. he did.
hours passed until every one of his teammates had gone home, and rin was the only one left in the field. deciding it was finally enough (and not admitting he was starting to worry for you), he stopped his moves, finishing up with a few stretches so that his muscles weren’t too sore. he stored the footballs on the cart and put away the cones, something that was already routine at that point since he was usually the last one to leave.
finally, rin walked towards you.
“i’m done,” he said as he approached you on the sideline of the field. his gym bag was right at your side, and he ignored the electricity that sparked his skin when it grazed yours.
your eyes averted from your laptop to look at him. “oh, hi! thought you’d take a little longer,” you retorted. “anyways, i’m done too.”
he stopped his movement. “what?”
“yeah, i finished the first topic. only fourteen more to go.” the giggle that flew out of your mouth reverberated through his body. rin watched as you stood up and stretched, looking away when your shirt rode up and a sliver of your stomach could be seen. you then proceeded to put your laptop away, and his brows furrowed.
“i don’t get it. i thought you said… you said it was too much stuff to do by yourself.” you nodded, not even looking at him. rin kind of wished you did. “and yet you did everything?”
“well, yes.”
his scowl only worsened. “what the fuck? why?”
you slung your bag through your shoulder, looking at him with those damn doe-eyes that always sparkled so much. it was annoying. why did they remind him of the stars? and why did rin wanted to watch the night sky on your face?
“you said you have an important game next week, so i figured it wouldn’t kill to do the first topic by myself,” you answered. “don’t get used to it, though! you’re gonna have to help on the next ones, partner.”
the young itoshi ignored the stupid nickname, his brain still trying to catch up to everything. something just wasn’t clicking…
“so why the hell did you wait for me to finish practice?”
you didn’t even falter.
“thought you could use the company.” you shrugged. and although your voice was nonchalant, you were smiling. and not your typical mischievous smirk — it was a sweet, sweet smile, dripped in honey and all things good in the world.
rin’s heart leaped on his chest. he could feel his cheeks becoming flushed, but he blamed it on the cold.
coming to think of it, it was really cold. and you sat there for hours… if he looked closely, he could see your frame shivering from the lack of proper clothing.
a little tsk came out of his mouth, and rin impulsively took off his jacket, throwing it on your face — ignoring the “hey!” you sent his way.
“what’s that for, itoshi?!”
“so that you don’t freeze to death, dumbass.”
rin had to admit your gaping expression was kind of cute. not that he would commit to memory or something… that would be lukewarm, and he was anything but lukewarm. especially when it came to you.
“don’t get any ideas, though,” he said before you could retort, turning around to follow the path to his dorm room, “i still hate you.”
iii.
things were calmer after the game passed. rin often found himself at the university library with you after his practice, leaving around nine or ten, and walking you to your dorm building simply because he didn’t want to be bothered in case something happened to you. not like he was worried for your safety or anything.
you still got on his nerves, but the project was going surprisingly well. rin learned you were very dedicated and meticulous, meaning you put in a lot of effort to focus and make everything as perfect as it could be. he wished he could say his focus was also as sharp as ever, but the scent of your coconut shampoo always lingered on the study booths and made his mind fuzzy.
it was tuesday night and you were both on your laptops doing research and writing on your paper, falling into the same little routine you established the past weeks. the library was nearly empty as usual — though you always sat at the furthest cabin because rin didn’t like to see, hear or speak to people — and the only sound in the ambience was the pitter patter of the rain.
everything seemed to be going fine, but things changed when the rain got heavier and became a strong thunderstorm that made the lights go out.
“fuck,” rin cursed under his breath, looking around to hear other people mumbling complaints and the librarian saying she would turn on the power generator, asking for calm and patience. he squeezed the bridge of his nose, annoyed, and turned to you. “hey, do you think—”
then he stopped.
the only source of light was the screen of your laptops and the occasional lightning striking on the dark sky, but rin could see you on the other side of the table as clear as day. and he felt his heart squeeze impossibly hard with the sight.
you were shaking like a leaf, hands squeezed tight and nails prickling your skin, and your eyes were widened and so, so scared. he had never seen you wear such an expression, always familiar with your confidant, cheery self, and he decided he didn’t like one bit.
“hey,” he whispered, trying to grasp your attention. however, your eyes were focused outside. “hey, look at me.”
slowly, your orbs met his, and rin felt his breath hitch. there were tears on your lash line threatening to fall, and panic began to rise on his throat; but he forced himself to stay calm for your sake.
“what’s wrong?”
your lips trembled, but nothing came out. he hated your voice, but found himself missing it. so he tried again.
“are you… afraid of the dark?”
his question was answered when the sound of another thunder reverberated again, making you visibly flinch. his gaze softened when a small hiccup left your lips.
“oh. it’s the thunder.”
you nodded, still unable to talk. rin could see you were forcing yourself to keep your sobs contained, as if the mere thought of crying in front of him was as dangerous as standing at gunpoint. like his words — venomous, harsh, cold words — could hurt you just as much as a bullet.
his stomach churned with that thought. he hated it.
so, as carefully as he could so as not to startle you, rin stood up from his seat and walked around the table until he reached the chair at your side, sitting on it. he felt you body tense with the proximity, more so when he slightly turned to stare at you, and felt the need to say something.
“it’s okay,” he murmured, so impossibly soft you could hardly believe it was itoshi rin saying those words to you.
it was even more unbelievable when he enveloped your body in a hug, bringing your head to his chest as if to shelter you from the thunder.
rin really hoped you couldn't hear the unrestrained beating of his heart. everything about that moment made him nearly combust; from the ever present smell of your shampoo when he rested his nose in your hair, the evident relaxation of your frame when he hugged you or the small arms that held his waist as if he was the only lifeline in the ocean.
you let your sobs and sniffles run free, burying yourself deeper in his embrace, and all rin could do was pat your hair and whisper soft reassurances on your ear.
it’s okay. you are safe. i won’t let it hurt you.
he didn’t know how long you both stayed in that position, but as he enjoyed the warmth of your body next to his, your sobs eventually died out along with the roaring sound of thunder. the rain became thinner and the lights finally came back, although neither of you made a move to separate.
the silence lingered for a moment before you broke it, “thank you.”
the male only hummed, trying to hide his disappointment when you slowly backed away. though his hand didn’t leave you, going from your hair to rest on your hip in some type of reassurance squeeze.
“i-i’m sorry, it’s just…”
“you don’t have to explain,” he interrupted. then, hesitantly added, “only if you want to.”
“it’s not something big or anything… this fear has just kind of been there. i think something happened to me when i was a kid and it was thundering, so every time it happens i just… freeze.” you shook your head. “it’s stupid.”
he frowned. “it’s not stupid if it makes you this terrified. it’s okay, we all have fears.”
you were yet to look him in the eye, seemingly embarrassed about your triggered phobia. “i cried on your shirt.”
“yeah.”
“it has tears stains.”
“yeah.”
you sighed. “i’m sorry.”
he squeezed your hip again. “don’t apologize.”
you finally raised your head to look at him, and rin could very much consider himself a lost man at that moment. your eyes were glistening from the remnant of tears, but that pretty gleam was still there, barging its way through any sadness and any fear to present itself with the shy smile you sent him.
even if it was still dark, he would be able to see it, because you shined. brightly, scorchingly and so, so mesmerizing, like some sort of classic painting worth millions of dollars. if rin had the choice, he wouldn’t want to look away.
“i think it’s enough for today,” you said, “do you mind if we continue tomorrow?”
“i don’t mind,” rin answered, although he secretly wished to bask in your warmth for a little longer. “i’ll take you to your dorm building. i brought an umbrella.”
because he knew you were a klutz and would most likely forget. not that he paid attention to you or something.
you smiled again, and rin had to use all of his might to let go of you and go back to his chair to pick up his stuff. silently, you both put away your things and left the study booth towards the exit, where the younger itoshi opened his umbrella and started to walk towards your destination. he felt his skin burning when you tangled your arm with his so that you were squeezed together under the shelter for the rain.
around ten minutes later, you finally arrived at your dorm building. and then, as the little minx you were, you stood on your toes to press a kiss to his cheek before running inside along with your goodbyes.
“thank you, rin!”
he stood there like a statue for what felt like an eternity, feeling his face impossibly hot. rin touched his cheek in mild disbelief, feeling butterflies erupting on his stomach without permission.
it was only then he realized you called him by his actual name, and a smile inevitably took over his features.
fuck.
itoshi rin hated you. but that day, he discovered that he hated seeing you cry even more.
iv.
he didn’t really know what the fuck he was doing there. rin was not the kind of guy who went to parties, much less fraternity ones; but somehow he ended up in one on a saturday night after a lot of convincing from his teammates. he claimed he only accepted so that isagi would shut up and stop pestering him, but the said boy insisted to say he only agreed after learning you would be there.
which was absurd, of course. a completely crazy, delusional and absurd thought. why would he want your obnoxious self to go and ruin the party? rin hated you.
right?
the music was loud and the people were even louder. there were dozens of bodies on the makeshift dance floor swaying to the beat, along with some people playing beer pong and small groups scattered around talking as best as they could. rin was part of the last type, although he was tuning out everything that bachira blabbed on his ear like a madman. his focus was solely on the entrance.
and then, you came in.
it was like a stupid romance movie — the way everything seemed to be in slow motion. from the way you walked, to the slight movement of your hair, to the blink of your curved eyelashes. and god, how much he hated that.
he hated the way your mere presence prickled his skin. how your voice soothed his lousy thoughts, how your smile lit up the room. he hated this urge inside of him to look for you every time he knew you'd be in the same vicinity, like you were some source of life that he couldn’t live without.
“are you okay, rin-chan?” bachira’s voice took him out of his thoughts. he blinked a few times.
“yeah, i’m fine.”
now, rin wasn’t a drinker; the red cup on his hand was merely for show. but he gulped some beer at that moment, as if trying to wake up from a hazy dream or get out of a trance. it made sense — he did think you were a siren of some sort.
there was no other reason for the spell you put on him.
the party went on, and he spent a few hours avoiding you like the plague and pretending he wasn’t stealing glances at every chance he got. truth is, he was always paying attention when you were swaying your hips on the dance floor like there was no tomorrow, glaring at every guy who thought about getting close while holding back his own desire to do the same.
it was only when you left to the backyard that his teammates finally decided to say something.
“you should talk to them” reo advised, eyebrows dancing in a weird, wiggly way. rin grimaced.
“what? why?”
the boys rolled their eyes and groaned, tired of the younger itoshi’s behavior.
“rin, man. you are clearly interested in them. and i’m pretty sure they’re interested in you, too,” isagi said slowly, as if rin was a child. “otherwise, they wouldn’t make the effort to pester you.”
rin could feel his face flushing. “i’m not—”
“don’t even try to deny it. it’s kind of obvious, really,” chigiri butted in, an exasperated countenance on his face. “just go, rin.”
he let out a tsk, chugging the rest of his drink and throwing the cup on the trash. “i’m going out just because i don’t want to keep listening to you idiots.”
“yeah, right,” nagi snickered, and the others followed, watching rin turn his back and move towards the backyard, where he would inevitably find you.
the chilly air hit his skin the moment he stepped out, and rin kind of thanked the relief it gave to his hot cheeks. quickly looking around, it was easy to spot your lonely frame leaning on the wall, staring at the stars as if they weren’t in your eyes. he walked to you like his feet had their own will, and once he got close enough, leaned the side of his body on the wall, facing you.
“you’re cold.”
not even a hello, how are you to start. great conversationalist, itoshi rin.
you turned your head to look at him, smiling when recognition took over your features. “hey, itoshi! didn’t think i’d meet you here!”
the giggle that went past your lips was the only reason he didn’t scowl when you didn’t call him rin.
“parties are not really my thing, but my friends convinced me to come.” you nodded, understanding. he blinked a couple of times, and said again, “you’re cold.”
you slightly flushed. “it’s just a bit chilly, but it’s not a big deal…”
but rin was already shrugging off his jacket, moving to be right in front of you as if to shield you from the wind. he handed the piece of clothing to you. “here.”
“oh… thank you,” you answered, bashful, taking the jacket and putting it on.
last time he lent you one, he didn’t stay to see how you looked like. but at that moment, rin was sure there was nothing prettier than the sight of you in his clothes. he swallowed a nervous lump from his throat.
“so… why are you out here by yourself?”
“needed some air. i danced a lot and it was kind of stuffy in there.” you shrugged. then, fiddling with your fingers, you look straight into his eyes. “and maybe… maybe i was hoping someone would follow.”
someone. you had your eyes on someone.
rin didn’t know what was worse: the stinging pain on his heart or the bitter taste left on his tongue. what he did know was that both felt like poison, one that would spread through his veins and consume him whole. and that he shouldn’t feel like this. because he hated you, after all.
he must have made a terrible grimace, because you threw your hands in the air in exasperation.
“for fucks sake.”
and then your lips were on his.
it was just a fleeting moment — something way too quick and definitely not enough to sate the dormant hunger inside of him. in the blink of an eye, you were already back in your place, staring at him with doe-eyes and a hundred doubts written in them.
rin freezed for a whole full minute with his mouth agape, until finally lunging forward to kiss you again. his right arm wrapped possessively around your waist to glue your bodies together, while his left hand found a place in your jaw, cradling your face as if you were some precious jewel. his lips were hungry on yours, and you gasped with the intensity, giving him the opportunity to shove his tongue inside your mouth.
kissing you was exhilarating, like scoring the perfect goal or winning a championship. adrenaline ran high on his veins and his head was a little airy. and rin swore he never felt so alive.
when you finally parted, you were both panting, chest heaving with every breath. rin rested his forehead against yours, directing both of his hands to your middle as if to look for grounding.
“you still hate me, itoshi?” you asked in a whisper, mouth inches away from his but still not close enough. that dangerous gleam was still settled in your eyes, and he could swear you were the perfect definition of sinful every time you batted your eyelashes at him.
“call me rin.”
“okay,” you giggled lightly. “you still hate me, rin?”
he could feel his blood pulsing on his ears. “yeah,” he answered, way too breathless for an athlete of his caliber.
and then, holding your waist tighter, “kiss me again.”
v.
“we should get coffee.”
rin’s words cut the silence as you were exiting the library yet again. you looked up to see his face staring straight ahead, expression unreadable as always, but the light redness on the tip of his ears told you all you needed to know.
you decided to be a tease, as always. “hm… i don’t know, should we? you sure you want to spend even more time with someone you hate?”
he scowled like usual, but this time, there was a small pout on his lips. you thought he looked the cutest when he was like that, all shy and trying to maintain his stoic act.
he grumbled something under his breath.
“what was that?”
“i said,” he sneered, “i don’t hate you, stupid.”
you arched your brow. “you don’t?”
“do you think i would have kissed you if i did?” the smirk you give him is both charming and infuriating. rin would have said he hated it, but he was done pretending.
“i don’t know, itoshi. you are kind of emotionally constipated.”
“shut up,” rin quipped. then, he snaked your waist with his right arm as you walked side by side, pulling you closer. “and didn’t i tell you to call me rin?”
there was just mischief in your eyes when you answered, “yeah, but i like to get on your nerves.”
the male scoffed, still in disbelief with your antics.
“you’re a damn brat. i think you just want me to teach you my name tonight.”
rin could practically feel the heat on your face, and he smirked when he saw how red you were. god, you were so cute.
“at least take me to dinner first before we hate-fuck,” you still managed to joke, despite the slight shakiness in your voice. he rolled his eyes, and pulled you to a stop by the arm.
you both stood in the middle of campus, feeling the gentle caress of the breeze and listening to the birds chirping. it was a peaceful day, with the sun high up in the baby blue sky. rin thought there was no better time than at that moment.
his hand traced your arm until it reached your own, and he squeezed your fingers in reassurance.
“i don’t hate you,” he said again. “i just hate the way i don’t hate you. not even close. not even a little bit. not even at all.”
he watched your eyes light up and smile brighter than the sun, and he almost laughed at the disbelief in your voice.
“did you just quote ‘ten things i hate about you’?”
it was his time to flush. a small shrug was all rin answered with — he didn’t want you to know he specifically chose this sentence because that was your favorite movie. not like it mattered when you were gleaming at him and making his heart leap on his chest.
“well, then,” you squeezed his hand back, “let’s get coffee, rin.”
© 2023 itoshiexx. do not plagarise, translate, or repost any of my work on here or other sites.
#bllk imagines#bllk x reader#blue lock x reader#blue lock#blue lock fanfiction#blue lock drabbles#blue lock fluff#blue lock x y/n#blue lock x you#itoshi rin#itoshi rin x reader#itoshi rin x you#itoshi rin x y/n#rin itoshi#rin itoshi x y/n#rin itoshi x you#rin itoshi x reader#itoshi rin fluff#bllk#bllk x you#bllk x y/n#bllk x gender neutral reader#bllk rin#blue lock rin#rin x reader
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Hey I have an idea for "Get Off My Screen" what if Y/N starts talking to Vox less and less and he is so confused so he goes through her phone to try and figure it out and sees her Instagram announcing a new bf and Vox is soooo jealous but she basically ignores his protests and so life goes on as normal for them both until one day he gets nosy and checks her texts on her phone with her bf and finds nudes from her and then he gets annoyed and lectures her about it which leads to her getting angry and ignoring him but then a few weeks later he checks Y/N and the bf's chats again and sees him threatening her
On a completely unrelated note I luv this series and also definitely need a Vox of my own in my phone cause I can't write or spell for shit lol
You Could Do Better(With Me)
Protective!Vox x CollegeStudent!Reader
WARNINGS: Mentions of Alcohol, Nudes, Blackmail, Manipulation
A/N: Okay this was actually pretty angsty, more on Vox's side because he's just dealing with a lot of emotional whiplash- most of which he doesn't really deal with well but he powers through it to be there for you. At this point in time he's kind of certain he likes you, but not that he loves you. Kind of like the: "Oh I'm really fond of this person, I want to make sure they're safe and happy." Without realizing the romantic implications nor how deep the level of attachment really is. So far, Reader's only kind of had a puppy-love crush on Vox but has blatantly disregarded it because well- Vox is fucking dead so what the hell are you supposed to do?? That and Vox constantly gets on Reader's nerves with his shenanigans so even if she gets the Cupid valentines filter when he cranks up the charisma- his stupid hijinks quickly do away with it and make him seem idiotic(cutely) again. The story also has a lot of emotional stuff so if you'd rather stick to the comedy feel free to skip this interlude and the one directly after it.
A/N: Either way, that's currently the pace these two are at- and this is a songfic! If you want to listen to the tune while reading- here it is! "Need You Now" by Lady Antebellum. The story itself is slightly different from the prompt since I made it centered around how Vox perceived things were going. As always, I hope y'all have fun and enjoy! Happy Reading!
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Vox wanted to pretend everything was okay.
Walking through the halls of the Vee tower, he really wanted to play it off like nothing was bothering him.
And still, he found himself checking his phone for any updates or messages from you.
Day by day you were starting to slowly disappear from his routine.
He didn't notice it at first, how you were pulling away-
It was just the little things initially.
One word replies, emoji spam-
Vox figured you just weren't in the mood to listen or talk.
Did he do something that hurt you?
Up until the point that you both didn't really have any meaningful conversations anymore.
Which, as much as he tried to start anything proper-
It would always fall flat.
Were you still even trying?
He woke up one morning and followed his routine, shooting you a greeting before he started the day.
It just so happened that once he was finally able to check his phone to shoot you a wish goodnight-
You hadn't even replied to his morning message.
He was busy throughout the day, so he wasn't given the opportunity to worry about you.
But now, worry he did.
Vox quickly made his way towards his monitor room despite how late it was.
He went through your files, your pictures-
Wait.
Wait a goddamn minute.
Who the fuck was that?
He glitched slightly when he saw how that guy grinned in the picture.
It reminded him of his own, just so fucking fake.
Not to mention the air the person had around them.
They just exuded a great sense of showmanship and arrogance.
One Vox was all too familiar with.
That wasn't even the first picture you had with that person recently.
And the more the overlord looked, the more worked up he got.
He wasn't sure if it was anger, envy, irritation, or just a mix of everything under the sun.
Holding your waist, hugging you close, in some pictures your faces were so close together that you were almost kissing.
He was glitching in his chair from the emotional overload.
Who did this guy think he was to be able to treat you like that?!
Vox definitely punched a few screens from fury and jealousy.
Come the next day when he confronted you about it-
More like became a clear pain in the ass that you really couldn't ignore-
Making your computer practically unusable even-
Was when you revealed to him that you didn't mean to hide something like this.
You just simply forgot to say anything.
Vox didn't know if that was worse than if you tried to deceive him.
"Geez, so you have a boyfriend now?"
"Oh come on, you act like I'm not allowed to date. I'm a responsible adult Vox, not a kid."
The tech overlord only stared at the screen.
Was that really all you saw him as?
A digital guardian?
Just... someone who treated you like a kid?
He scoffed, he could count more times where he was the childish one.
That was stupid.
Besides that, he had more pressing matters to deal with.
What was this... horrible sinking feeling that was running through his systems?
It was like a weight that made him struggle breathing.
"Vox?"
"I'm still here. Can't believe you would forget to tell me something as important as this."
His claws dug into his armrests, he should've been happy you found yourself a partner.
If that partner just didn't remind him so much of himself.
"I'm sorry okay? I was really busy the last few days."
"The last few days? How long have you even been talking to this guy dollface?"
"Months? Probably? I've known him for a while now, he was the school crush when I was back in high school."
Vox wanted to convince you that this guy was bad news.
A walking red flag if you will.
He... should know.
Vox was at least aware of himself that much.
Still, he swallowed it all back and just replied to you again.
"I don't mind the fact you're off the market, hell- congratulations even! Just don't get into any sketchy shit. You know, anything that could be used against you as blackmail."
"Yeah yeah, I know what I'm doing Vox. Seriously, don't worry about it!"
You simply brushed off his worry, typical.
That just made the suffocating feeling even worse.
He didn't even know where it came from, or why.
"Oh yeah! I've got a boyfriend now!"
Those words replayed in his head like a bullet to the skull.
The day hadn't even started.
And Vox already wished it was over.
This just continued for a while, your presence in his schedule became negligible and Vox was falling back into his old vices.
He became snappy, irritable, just downright intolerable to be around.
The employees were feeling it, the Vees were collateral-
Not even Valentino could placate Vox's current horrid state.
It's been a week.
Vox stopped bothering to message you in the morning.
But he didn't stop checking if you would message him even once or twice.
It was pathetic.
And another.
Vox broke more than a dozen phones from just throwing them around.
He drank himself to sleep every night.
Valentino and Velvette were getting tired of having to dump his wasted ass on his bed every time.
And another.
Vox holed himself up in his monitor room whenever he wasn't needed.
No one could get him to come out.
Not even for food or water.
If he needed anything he would get it himself.
It was a long day of broadcasts and meetings, another monotonous cycle in his fast-paced life.
Vox intended to just drink until he passed out again, but he somehow found himself drunkenly stumbling through the halls of the Vee Tower into his monitor room.
He honestly didn't even know what he was doing this time.
The overlord fought to keep his own head up as he collapsed in his chair.
He glanced over to the side your computer's screen was connected to and let out a shaky sigh.
God, he fucking missed you.
Against his better judgement, Vox connected himself to your devices again.
He went straight to your playlist and just pressed start.
Picture perfect memories, scattered all around the floor~
Vox spun around in his chair, letting the music ebb and flow into his brain.
He took another swig from the bottle of alcohol in his other hand, squinting at the screens.
Everything was just kind of fuzzy.
Reaching for the phone cause, I can't fight it anymore...
It took him by surprise when one of the screens showed your living room.
Had you connected him to your TV again?
"Vox...? Are you there?"
And I wonder if I've ever crossed your mind?
He was too out of it to properly say anything, Vox couldn't recall if the words that stumbled out of him were even coherent.
"Dude... you look like shit."
Listening to your voice gave him a slight moment of sobriety.
"Likewise dollface."
For me it happens all the time...
"Are you wasted??"
"Erm, not really. Just buzzed."
He was able to take a good look at you then, your eyes were red and puffy like you'd just been crying.
It's a quarter after one, I'm all alone and I need you now...
"What the hell happened to you?"
"Uh... well... you know that guy I was dating?"
Vox took a swig of alcohol before he replied, there was no way he was making it through his conversation unless he was drunk out of his circuits.
"My personality copycat? Yeah, what about?"
Said I wouldn't call, but I've lost all control-
"Your personality- what??"
"Dollface, do you seriously think I wouldn't notice how much of a walking red flag that asshole was?"
You paused as he took another swig of his drink, Vox didn't miss that look of guilt and pity in your eyes.
"But you just called him your copy."
"And? I know I'm a piece of shit. Takes one to know one."
And I need you now...
"Whatever, I don't think you'd stoop as low as he did."
"That's for me to judge, what did the bastard do?"
He saw the slight tremble in your posture, your voice cracked as if you were holding back sobs.
And I don't know how I can do without-
"I- I knew I should've listened to you. I sent him compromising pictures and he... he-"
"You sent him nudes and he used them to blackmail you didn't he?"
You flopped back down on the couch and his unfocused eyes met your watery ones.
So that's why you'd been crying.
I just need you now...
"It doesn't feel good to have your trust broken by someone you gave your heart to I'd reckon."
You scoffed at him, wiping away your tears as they continued to fall.
Vox so badly wanted to make it stop, but he didn't trust himself to be lucid enough to say the right words.
"Well wouldn't you know? I'd bet the women over there would throw themselves at your feet."
Another shot of whisky, can't stop looking at the door...
Vox couldn't tell if it was his imagination or not that made it seem like he heard jealousy in your voice.
There wasn't any reason for you to feel envious anyway.
He took another swig of alcohol before meeting your gaze once again.
Wishing you'd come sweeping, in the way you did before~
"So what if there are? I'm too busy to pursue a dedicated relationship. I mean- have you seen the amount of shit I have to deal with every day?"
You looked dejected by his answer, or at least that's what Vox thought.
Yeah, he was absolutely wasted.
And I wonder if I ever cross your mind?
"So what did you do? Did you break up with the guy?"
"Can't. If I do, he'll release all my pictures online."
Vox hummed, pulling up a window on your computer for you to interact with.
He was a paranoid man as is, but this just proved it didn't hurt to have precautions in place.
For me it happens all the time...
"What is that?"
"Something I made for all your files months ago."
"What does it do?"
Vox took another swig from his bottle.
It's a quarter after one, I'm a little drunk and I need you now...
"A safeguard, all files you send from your devices can be irreversibly corrupted remotely. An encryption thing, I tried to tell you about it but you didn't respond."
He wasn't surprised that you pressed the prompt to start the file corruption process on those pictures you'd sent.
Hell, everything you sent the rat bastard that broke your heart.
Honestly, the fucker didn't even deserve you.
Neither did Vox if he had to be honest with himself.
Said I wouldn't call, but I lost all control-
The overlord stayed silent as he drank once more from his bottle of booze.
It was nearly empty at this point, not that he cared.
He could only assume you were watching the progress bar load which was why you didn't say anything.
And I need you now...
Vox just watched as you eventually got up and used your phone to call someone.
A smug smile worked onto his face when he realized who you were talking to.
After all, you'd only curse like a sailor when you were genuinely mad.
And I don't know how I can do without-
"You're kind of hot when you get angry you know?"
"Pfft, is that why you like to piss me off then?"
"Maybe, though I usually do just to get a reaction out of you anyways."
I just need you now...
Vox saw you roll your eyes, a smile finally gracing your face and he couldn't help but return it.
"I just became single again and you're already hitting on me huh?"
"Whaaaaat? I would never."
Vox humored you well into the morning hours.
The both of you talking once again like old times.
Like nothing even happened.
Eventually it got to the point you had fallen asleep on the couch right in front of the TV during one of Vox's stories.
The overlord let a soft genuine smile appear on his face at the sight.
At least you were okay again.
He swirled the remaining alcohol in the bottle and threw his head back as he downed the rest of it.
Finally feeling the exhaustion catch up to him, both emotionally and physically-
Vox's screen dimmed as he succumbed to slumber right alongside you in his chair.
A/N: HOOOOLY SHIT THIS CHAPTER IS LONG- this was an absolute UNIT of a segment but it gets better in the next one I promise, besides- I don't want to doom Vox and Reader by the narrative, that would just be a sucky ending. We'll still have more emotionally vulnerable stuff in the next interlude so if that's not your cup of tea feel free to skip it too.
#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel vox#hazbin vox#vox#vox x reader#hazbin hotel vox x reader#hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin vox x reader#vox x you#Get Off My Screen Series
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My Boss Followed Me Home for Christmas — pjs
‣ pairing: CEO!park jay x reader
‣ genre: fluff, coworkers-to-something more?, traces of hurt/comfort
‣ wc: 4.0k
‣ summary: Your ability to empathize was a blessing and curse. When you see your boss sitting alone in his office on Christmas Day, you can’t help but invite him to your family party. And when he actually says yes, you’re kind of stuck regretting the offer simply because you’re not sure how this is going to turn out.
‣ warnings: none I don’t think?, implications that Jay doesn’t have the best family (they’re just realllly busy, nothing too bad), reader has a big family, implied that reader is smaller/shorter than Jay
‣ an: 3rd in the True Love Gave to Me Series! I honestly enjoyed writing this so much (hence why it’s way longer than I wanted it to be),, the filipino rly jumped out in this with the big family and the games I’m sorry (>///<) it’s honestly just what I’m more familiar with so it was easier for me to write! Anyways,, ENJOY THIS AND THANKS FOR READING!!
Series Masterlist
It was weird seeing the office so empty.
You weren’t constantly dodging bodies on the way to your desk, you’re not overstimulated by the sounds of the printers and the ringing phones, and the place did not seem as suffocating as you usually make it out to be.
But it was only empty because it was Christmas. There was absolutely no one here and you were only here to pick up your work agenda, which made complete sense why the office was so much more appealing.
You wished it was usually like this.
Your phone rings the second you reach your desk. When you go to check who was calling you, you find your mother’s contact photo blown up on your screen and you answer it almost right away.
“Hey mom.”
“Honey, where are you? Are you on the way?” You can hear voices in the background at the other end of the line and you’re guessing your family just arrived at the party.
“I am,” you say, “I just dropped by the office to pick something up. I’m guessing I’ll be there in around fifteen to twenty minutes?” You lean against your desk. You realize your agenda is not sitting on your desk so you figured it was somewhere inside it.
“Okay, hon,” your mom acknowledges your reply, “Take care on the way here, the roads are slippery.” She says something to someone next to her, and before you can even reply she hangs up.
You tuck your phone into your jacket pocket and pull your desk cabinet open, immediately finding your agenda on top of everything. You mutter a 'there it is' before you push the cabinet back shut, turning to leave.
It’s before you leave that you notice the light on at the end of the long hallway to the left of your desk. It was a hallway rather hidden from the main office, so you hadn’t taken notice of it at first, but now that you did take notice, curiosity had gotten the best of you.
Because who in the world was here on Christmas?
You’d take a good guess and say it was a caretaker, but you didn’t think any of the caretakers were even paid well enough to be here on a major holiday. So if it wasn’t a caretaker, who was it?
You quietly make your way down the hallway, passing empty offices along the way. Then once you’ve just about reached the seemingly occupied room, you halt and use your neck to peek around the corner.
A gasp almost audibly leaves your lips when your eyes catch sight of your boss sitting alone at his desk. His brows are furrowed as he stares up at his screen, eyes looking rather intently at whatever he was working on. You can tell that he didn’t expect anyone to catch him at the office, dressed in a simple designer hoodie.
You hate how one of the first thoughts that enter your mind is how attractive the man looks just sitting there and typing. But you were human, after all.
“Sir?”
Jay jumps at your voice, swearing under his breath, “Y-Y/N? What are you doing here?” His cheeks heat up in embarrassment, he makes brief eye contact with you before he avoids it altogether.
“I was just,” you hold up your agenda, “Picking this up… what are you doing here, sir? Don’t you have any plans for Christmas?” Sure your reply seemed a bit inconsiderate because in the back of your mind you knew not everyone celebrated Christmas or the holidays… but your boss had a mini Christmas tree sitting at the corner of his desk, so you figured he did celebrate the season in some way.
Jay’s still slightly taken aback, frozen in his seat as he studies the random lines on his computer, “I… don’t.” You watch the way his lips flicker into a frown for a quick second before he plasters a fake smile, “But it’s okay! I have a lot of work to do anyway for Wednesday! Better to catch up befo—”
“Sir, I know I don’t really have a right to say this, but you should take the day off and relax,” you frown.
Jay is unsure how to reply. He sits in his seat for a few brief moments and his mouth bobs open and closed like a fish. Cause, frankly, how can he reply to that when he wants to do anything but go home to an empty house? Why did it have to be you who had to catch him?
If it were anyone else, they would have left him alone.
If it were anyone else, it would have been easier to send them off with some dismissive reply he can muster up in his head.
“I don’t really want to go home,” Jay says quietly. It’s so quiet that you almost don’t catch it. But you do. And because you do, you catch the way his lips remain downturned. He just thinks you can’t see it behind the miniature Christmas tree.
You feel a tickling feeling in your chest and without thinking, you ask, “Do you want to come to my family’s Christmas party tonight?” It’s funny because you don’t regret your question (well, just a bit, but that’s beside the point). In fact, a small part of you was actually glad that your mouth had decided to choke the question out before you could hold yourself back.
Jay gulps. He wasn’t against it, but wouldn’t it be odd for him to come?
“I don’t want to be a bother.”
You take a step forward so that you can now clearly see him. His eyes were running over the keys of his keyboard over and over, trying to keep himself from looking at you. “You won’t be a bother. My family’s pretty big so there’s a lot of space.”
“It’s really okay, Y/N, I’m fine spending time here.”
“Sir, I promise you, it’s fine,” you press, “My other family members bring guests all the time and we don’t care.” You take another step forward and now it was harder for Jay to avoid your gaze.
He’s forced to look up at you and that was his mistake. Jay feels his chest explode with warmth because he now just realized that you were dressed more casually than he was used to. You were wearing a pair of baggy jeans and underneath your long coat, he could see Rudolph printed on your ugly Christmas sweater. He admits to himself that you looked adorable, but to remain professional he keeps that thought at the back of his head.
“If… if you insist,” Jay replies slowly, unsure whether or not he should turn his computer off
Your eyes light up, “Well, I’m going there right now. You can follow me to my house.”
“Right now?” Jay’s hesitant to move, hand frozen on his mouse, “As in right this second?”
The answer was yes. Right that second.
The next thing Jay knew, he was following you up the stairs of your front porch and he was not even sure how to act. He was a CEO for God’s sake. Why was he nervous about joining you for a Christmas party when he’s always up at the front of a business room speaking? It wasn’t like he was meeting your family as your boyfriend or anything (and it for sure wasn’t because he wanted to make a good impression on your family…).
“Where are my damn keys…” You’re standing at your front door, wrist-deep and rummaging through your small bag. Jay awkwardly stands behind you, teetering back and forth on the balls of his feet like a little kid.
Before you can even find your keys, the door swings open to reveal a short older woman with a kind smile. Her eyes light up at the sight of you and when she exclaims “Honey! Finally!” Jay immediately figures that the woman is your mom.
“Come in, come in,” she quickly says, “It’s cold out there. Oh! And you must be…?” Your mom leans over to look at Jay who’s unsure whether he should actually move.
You speak up for him, “Um, mom, this is my bos—”
“I’m Jay,” he interrupts, “I’m–uh–Y/N’s coworker and friend.”
“His family is–uh–busy for Christmas so I invited him,” you quickly add, “I hope that’s okay with you, mom.”
You look back at him with a questioning look but he quickly dismisses it, “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”
“It’s no problem, the more the merrier! And oh, just call me Auntie! There’s really no need for those kinds of formalities,” your mom laughs. Then she looks over at you with a smirk ghosting her lips but she stops herself, “Everyone’s just waiting to eat.”
You let your mom walk ahead and you stay back, “Sir, what—”
“Y/N, we’re not at work,” Jay points out. And hearing you call him sir was sort of irritating him right now, “It’s… Just call me Jay… besides you invited me into your home right?” Then he repeats what your mom said just moments ago, “No need for those kinds of formalities.”
You can’t help but laugh, side-eyeing him, “Fine, if you say so, Jay.”
You lead Jay into the house, and he’s greeted by your family members sprawled out all over the living room and kitchen. When you said your family was big, you weren’t kidding. He had no idea how he was supposed to approach this situation.
When Jay turns the corner, trailing you closely, he’s met with a room full of people, all dressed in ugly Christmas sweaters like you were. A few of your older relatives were sitting at the dining table chatting about something seemingly interesting. At one corner of the nearby living room, right by the Christmas tree, were kids shaking presents, trying to take good guesses as to what they were receiving this year. And huddled on the couches was a group of young adults around your age—he’d guess they were your cousins—and they were having their own conversation, too.
And though Jay should be feeling out of place because not only does he not know anyone but you, he wasn’t wearing an ugly Christmas sweater like everyone else was, he simply doesn’t.
The atmosphere felt welcoming—that was his first impression. And he couldn't have been happier when you started introducing him to everyone, making him genuinely feel welcome.
Your aunts and uncles gazed at him with large eyes, curious about who this boy was despite you clearly introducing him as your friend. And when you brought him to meet your cousins last, you were surprised that Jay easily clicked with your guy cousins. It was like you were seeing a whole different side of your boss, one that proved that he was your age and not the uptight CEO you face at work.
“The dress code for this year was ugly Christmas sweaters,” you say once you both settled with your cousins, “But I’m guessing you already noticed.” Jay sits cross-legged in the empty spot next to you.
Jay nods, “Your family all seem so nice.”
“I’m glad you think that,” you grin, “I take pride in that, if I’m being honest.” Then you realize that the topic of family might be a bit too sensitive for Jay and you try to change it, “Anyways, after dinner, we play games. You better join.”
“I’ll try?” Jay questions. You can tell he’s growing more comfortable with the situation, but he’s still trying to keep himself composed.
“Trying is better than nothing,” you shrug, “But I promise you you’ll have a lot of fun.”
There’s a brief silence between the two of you and Jay has this sudden urge to thank you. Because, well, it made sense in this situation. He could wait ‘till the end, but he was itching to just shower you in thank yous.
“Y/N?”
“Hm?”
“This took me a while to find deep in your dad’s things but I finally found it!” Your mom comes out of nowhere, arms slipping between the two of you to reveal an ugly sweater, “I know your dad had another from years ago!”
“I’m confused,” you say.
“For Jay!” Your mom holds the sweater out for Jay to take, a bright smile stretched across her face. She jokes, “Don’t want you sticking out like a sore thumb in pictures. Why are you wearing black on Christmas, hm?”
You almost facepalm, seeing your mom treat Jay like he was your boyfriend. Sure, it was great she was trying to make Jay feel even more included, but the gesture seemed so… odd to be doing it with just a friend of yours. You’re hoping that Jay isn’t getting the wrong idea because, frankly, it would be embarrassing if he did.
“Oh… t-thank you auntie…” Jay gulps and you see his eyes flicker toward you. He wonders if you think it was weird for him to take it. But he didn’t want to say no to your mom, not when she went out of her way to find the sweater, “I’ll put it on right now.”
“You better,” your mom jokes one more time before leaving you both and back to your other relatives.
You watch as Jay goes to take his hoodie off, revealing a white t-shirt. At first glance, you don’t process what’s printed on his shirt, but when he fumbles with the sweater, you realize that it’s an old Christmas shirt from when he was a kid. The text reads Christmas 2010 and the picture is a picture of him and his parents. You figured that the shirt was probably his dad's.
You smile sadly, eyeing the shirt as he throws on the sweater. You don’t notice, but the corners of Jay’s lips lift upward into a small, subtle smile. He looks up at you, “How does it look?”
“It looks good,” you say, “A little bit big, but it’s fine.” You can see the way the sleeves bunch up at Jay’s wrists. He looked rather adorable in the sweater (and again, you don’t say anything).
The games began soon after it was established that everyone was finished digesting their food.
One of your older cousins, who had planned the games, started the games with the kids first. You secretly knew it was just a tactic to get them tired for later, hoping that they’d settle while the adults and older kids played their own games.
Then when that was done and over with, she moved on to the first game that you and Jay could participate in—the island game. The premise of the game was to step onto a sheet of gift wrapping paper and, along with a partner, fold and manipulate it so that they both could stand on it without touching the floor.
“We need six groups of two!”
Two by two, you watch your cousins as they group together, stepping up to get the secret prize sitting in a gift bag.
“You two should join!” your mom urges, “What fun is it just watching? Jay, you must be clever right? Go try!”
Afraid to say no to your mom, Jay turns to you, “I’ll do it if you do it… you said it’d be fun, right?”
You hesitate for a quick moment. Yes, the games were fun, but you were talking about the relays or the simple, single-player games. You weren’t sure if you wanted to play with Jay, simply because it involved having to get all up close and personal with your partner.
You look around and notice that a handful of your family members are waiting for you and Jay to join, and that pressure is something you can’t take. You nod and plaster a smile on your face, “Right! Let’s go!”
Nervously you walk to an empty sheet sitting flat on the ground and Jay follows you, standing at your side as your cousin runs over the rules. You wait for Jay to realize the mistake he’s made by suggesting to play, but instead of a look of worry, he’s smiling. He looked rather excited, a hint of determination ghosting his face.
Before you both know it, the game begins. The first round was the easiest—you both had simply stood within the two-feet by two-feet sheet of paper. But as each round passes, the area that you and Jay can stand on gets smaller and smaller. And as the area shrinks, so does the space between you two.
You’re so close to him that you can smell his perfume and you can feel his breath against your forehead. Your heart betrays you because you can feel it pounding against your chest. You only hope that Jay doesn’t hear or feel it.
You look down at the folded sheet of paper. It was less than half of its original size and something is telling you that the next round was going to be difficult.
Your cousin cues for the next round to begin and you and Jay get off the paper to fold it. He mumbles, “I don’t think we can both stand on this. Or both our feet at least.”
“We can each balance on one foot,” you suggested. You test out the size and place your foot on it. There was barely enough room for two feet.
When Jay notices this he shakes his head, “I don’t think that would work… we’d just fall over. I think I’ll have to carry you.” His suggestion makes you look up and you find him staring back, “You can get on my back?”
“Can you balance on one foot with me on your back?” you question. It’s suddenly getting hot in the room. Was it your sweater? You hope so. You don’t want to dwindle on the thought any longer.
He nods, “I think I can.”
“O-Okay,” you say quietly. You glance at the other teams and see that your cousins are on the brink of tears trying not to laugh because if they laughed, they’d lose balance with the ridiculous poses they’re somehow pulling.
Jay kneels down, one knee touching the ground before he gestures for you to get on. And you do, though you get on carefully because you’re still not processing the situation. Once you hop on his back, Jay gently guides your legs around his torso and he pulls your upper body closer to his back with a tug on your sleeve. When you are secured on his back, he easily stands up.
Now you’re afraid that he can feel the way your heart’s beating against his back. There was absolutely no way he couldn’t.
“It’s easier for me if you’re like this,” he says to you. You nod even though you’re right behind him, “Stay as still as you can.”
Jay steps onto the folded piece of paper, waiting for your cousin to tell the teams that it is time to hold positions. Once she had given the signal, Jay raised his left leg in the slightest, balancing on just his right foot.
Almost immediately, your cousins fail to keep themselves from touching the ground and, somehow, you and Jay are the only ones left standing. You don't process it until it is announced.
“Congratulations to Y/N and Jay for being the first adult winners of the night!” Your cousin cheers. You notice that she has tears in her eyes from laughing as she approaches you both with the prize. A bunch of the older adults are clapping in amusement, heads shaking from the entertainment.
You quickly jump off of Jay’s back, and out of habit, you grab his hand, shaking it out of joy. You repeat a ‘we won’ a couple of times and Jay couldn’t help but beam at the string of events, watching as you receive the present for the both of you.
Jay has never in his life played party games at a family party. Sure his family was too busy to even have parties like this, but even if they did have the time to plan out a party, his family was too small for these games to even be considered fun.
And if he were being honest, this party was the most fun he’s had in so long.
“What is it?” Jay leans in close to you, trying to catch sight of whatever’s in the bag. You both have settled on the couch while the next game begins.
You pull the prize out to reveal two big bags of your favourite expensive holiday chocolate and your eyes gleam at the sight. You drop one bag and then hand the other to Jay, “Here you go. That was fun!”
Jay nods, a smile settling upon his lips. “It really was.” The adrenaline from the game is beginning to vanish and he’s coming down from his high. “Let’s play the next one?”
When it was getting late, Jay decided that it was time to leave. It wasn’t like he was leaving to escape from the party, because truly, he had spent so much time on games and picture-taking that his energy was beginning to diminish. He’d love to stay, but he knows that tomorrow, he’ll have to be back at the office doing work.
He wonders how this night will change the way you guys are in office. Surely, he’ll keep his professionalism at work, but he can’t just pass by you tomorrow and act like you didn’t willingly invite him into your home to spend Christmas with your family.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, sir!” You say at the doorway, “I hope you had fun.” Jay is silent for a few long moments and you can’t help but call out to him, “Sir?”
“S-sorry, I just started getting you used to calling me by name that it threw me off,” he replies sheepishly.
“Oh… um, I’ll call you whatever you’d like.”
“When we’re out of the office, just call me Jay okay?” Jay shuffled forward and he’s closer to you now, “It’s more fitting, don’t you think?”
You nod and you huff out a large puff of air that shows up in front of you, “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow then, Jay.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Y/N,” Jay echoes. There's a lingering feeling in the cool air that engulfs the both of you. You couldn't quite put a name to it, but it was a nice feeling. It was warm. Then, before you know it, Jay finds himself giving you a hug. And not one of those half-assed side hugs, but one that you could easily tell he needed.
You hesitate at first, but then you slowly return the gesture.
After what felt like a while, he stepped back, “S-sorry I... I'm just really thankful for tonight. Tell your family thank you, too.” There’s so much more that Jay wants to say, but for now, this will simply suffice.
“It’s nothing,” you say, still slightly stunned, “I expect to see you next year, then.”
One corner of Jay’s lips jerks up and he laughs, “I’ll be looking forward to it.”
When Jay leaves, you turn back to rejoin your family, who’s looking at you expectedly.
“What?”
“Did you guys kiss?” One of your cousins joke.
You brows furrow and you burst out laughing, “Ha! No way!” What the hell was this guy even talking about? You and Jay kissing? He was your boss for god’s sake. Isn’t that like… forbidden or something?
You try to change the topic because the thought was mind-boggling and you didn’t want them to catch the way your cheeks and your ears were heating up at the thought. “He says thank you,” You say and move to sit next to them, “And I told him he should come next Christmas.”
Your mom betrays you, “As your boyfriend?” Of course she would say that.
Another laugh leaves your lips and you shake your head, “I don’t think that’ll ever happen.”
(Or so you think.)
taglist: @tytrackfebreze @hoonieji @niinjo @dinonuguaegi
an: ughhhhhh I really love this pair (ಡ᎔ಡ) it would be soso cute to see more of them but I can'tttt I need to write the other ones,, pls leave comments cause I love hearing your thoughts!,, n e ways I hope you enjoyed this! Renjun is up next, so please look forward to his!
#Enhypen#enhypen imagines#jay enhypen#enhypen jay#park jongseong#enhypen scenarios#enhypen fluff#jay imagines#park jongseong imagines#park jongseong scenarios#Kpop#kpop imagines#my writings#enhypen x reader#Jay x reader#Park jay x reader#Park jongseong x reader#Jay park x reader
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In which Astarion's plan gets derailed
Warnings: Themes of sexual abuse both for Tav and Astarion, this fic deals with dark backstory and heavy trauma. Please do not read if you aren't able but it isn't a dark romance!
A/N: I wanted to write about Astarion x a Tav who has also been sexually abused for personal reasons. I tried to handle it with care but I am just a novice writer.
Astarion hadn’t expected you to turn him down for sex, and he really hadn’t expected the way fear flashed in your eyes at the mention of it. He felt the familiar feeling of self disgust but in a new way. Your pulse quickened and your pupils dilated but not because you wanted him, and he felt genuinely bad he’d misread your relationship. You’d seemed attracted to him. You were embarrassed and bashful about it in a way that endeared him to you, if only slightly.
He had thought your red face and wandering eyes had meant you desired him but apparently not.
“I, I, I -“, you stammered clearly fighting some instinct that he recognized immediately.
You didn’t know how to say no. He knew the feeling well and it put a lump in his chest to know you seemed to as well.
He put a hand on your arm and you flinched but didn’t move away. “My dear, forget I ever said anything. I seem to have misread our interactions. Fear not, I’ll nurse my bruised ego and be back to my usual charming and egotistical self by tomorrow. Let’s just pretend this never happened.”
Now sadness clouded your eyes, at first he prickled that it was pity but no, it was just sadness. What had he said wrong now?
You frowned and took your time to reply, Astarion let you as he hung onto any word or attention you would give him in this moment. You'd always intrigued him in an insatiable way.
“Astarion, I do feel that way about you. I just,” you took a deep breath to center yourself before spitting out, “I’ve never been with someone because I wanted to before. And I don’t think I’m the kind of person you’d want to bed.”
Your voice went quiet and small at the last sentence. Astarion released his hand on you, a gesture you misread as disgust in you as what you said sank in. Things, facts about you and gestures he’d observed clicking into place at this new piece of information.
You’d mentioned coming from a seedy part of Baldur’s Gate. A red lights district.
You bit your lip and looked down, shame coloring your cheeks as you knew he was remembering where you were from, “I was able to get out, but I came from a brothel. I grew up working there.”
The implication in your words set waves of anger roiling through Astarion.
“You grew up working there? Since what age?” Astarion hadn’t been able to keep the anger out of his voice and it raised an octave.
You took a step back, clearly reading his emotions at being directed towards you again.
He was quick to check himself, steeling his features and taking a deep breath to calm down, "My dear, why would you think I of all people would ever judge you for that?"
He'd told you pieces of Cazador forcing him to use his body, you'd seemed to instantly understand his vague implications more than he'd wanted you to and now he truly knew why. You were a kindred spirit in that regard. The thought made him want to pull you into his arms, a feeling he'd never really felt before.
Confusion at his words twisted your pretty features, “Why wouldn't you? I was born there, my whole life has been sleeping with any and every client they threw at me."
You weren't looking at him anymore, your face cast down as you added meekly, "But I never liked doing it."
Your words threw him, this wasn't how the night was supposed to go. He hadn't wanted to open up to you about his own past before he'd been able to bed you, or at all, but his plan had been thrown. You'd put yourself out on a ledge opening up to him in this way and he didn't want you to be out there alone.
He found himself being vulnerable without truly thinking about it, making you feel better was all that was on his mind as he said, "I spent centuries using my body to lure back any pretty thing my master desired. But I did what I had to, just as I know you did as well. Trust me, if there is anyone who could never judge you for coming from a brothel, it's me."
Astarion watched as the full picture came into your mind on just what he'd spent 200 years under Cazador doing.
Now you reached out to touch his arm. It was the first time he'd told anyone this but it felt right that it was you. Your touch didn't make him flinch like he thought it would. He didn't seethe under the sorrow in your gaze because it wasn't pity. You knew how he felt and he only saw sorrow that he had also experienced it in your eyes.
"I still don't think you'd want to lie with me if you knew everything I'd done over the decades I was there. I, I also don't know how to navigate wanting someone this way, the way I want you," You kept your gaze steady but your voice wobbled at your confession.
Astarion thought he'd feel triumphant at you confessing your desire for him, and a little disgusted as always, but he only felt warmth at the knowledge of your feelings towards him. Your gaze wasn't just lustful, it was earnest and dare he say, loving. But it wasn't directed towards him, it was directed towards the mask and performance he'd put on for you. He found himself curiously wishing your confession was for the real him but he didn't even know who that was anymore. Not someone worth that look in your eyes, that was for sure.
Astarion was usually calculated in his seduction, and he should have been more so with this new knowledge of you, but he found himself speaking without thinking, "May I kiss you? We don't have to go any further, but you deserve to be kissed by someone who truly cares for you."
Your mouth ticked up at that and teasing entered your voice, "And is that someone perchance you?"
He scoffed and rolled his eyes, but it held no real malice and just served to make you giggle. An accomplishment he relished in.
Astarion put one hand on your face, cupping your delicate cheek. He ran his thumb over the high of you cheek bone, tracing the blush that had formed from his actions. It was a practiced move but he found himself not going through the motions. He was just following his heart's desire, a strange thing for one such as him.
He leaned in slowly to give you ample time to stop him. You still hadn't verbally said he could kiss you but he saw in your gaze that you wanted it but the words would be hard. He understood not trusting your own desire. He couldn't trust his right now as it called for him to run his hands up and down your delicious body as he plunged his tongue into your mouth to explore. Instead, he kept the kissed closed mouth. It was a gentle press as well but you closed your eyes and sighed into it.
He only pulled away because he couldn't take it. You were so sweet, he could just eat you right up. But that would take much more work. In the back of his mind a voice told him it would clearly be easier to seduce one of your other companions and way less time. He found himself willing to put in the effort for you. All for the sake of his plan of course.
#astarion x reader#astarion x tav#me: ill write more for astarion if people want#me: *gets 50 notes on my previous work about me* well I guess its what the people want!
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