#only Sand can defeat him | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

vivalabunbun · 7 months

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When It Rains, Why Does It Pour?

Summary: Sand is quite a nuisance, it creeps into every crevice and no amount of dusting can free oneself from its stubborn hold. Yet, the tide still greets the shore.

Word Count: 8.8k (oh no...)

Tags: Neuvillette x GN!Reader, human!reader, SFW, fluff, childhood friends AU, Slow Burn, Slow Fic, Angst, Hurt with Comfort, themes about reincarnation, TW: Themes about death and loss, themes about aging, immortal x mortal AU, not lore accurate, reader is an attendant, human prejudice, Spoilers Warning: His story quest and archon quests, speculations about his past in Fontaine, why is he so mysterious

Authors Note: This was a challenge trying to write from the POV of a man you don't even know the name of, but I just had to write something for him. A character study of Neuvillette. Enjoy!

How long has it been since he first arrived here? One month? Two? Or perhaps it has already been a year? The young dragon wasn’t too sure.

The days seem to blend together when one only eats, studies, and sleeps all on repeat. A cruel trait of time. The weather outside the glass windows didn’t provide any hints either.

However, he himself is to blame.

A gray haze concealed azure skies as rhythmic drops of rain hit the earth. Blocking out the all-seeing sun and nurturing moon, the murky clouds above even hinder the stars from accompanying him.

A true reflection of his current solitude.

The young dragon arrived in the human world, brought over by the lord of Fontaine. Due to the nature of his arrival to this nation, he was given status and importance in the eyes of the citizens. However, he has yet to receive acceptance.

The grand estate in which he resides was staffed with countless butlers and maids, renowned chefs, and skilled tutors. He was wanting of nothing, yet still impoverished.

He could see it in their mortal eyes, he could sense it in the tangible silence of the halls, he could tell from the distance each mortal put between themselves and him.

Much like the towering stone walls which surrounded his private residence.

Was it to separate themselves from him or himself from them?

A question he entertains as lilac eyes scan over the aforementioned wall. Its gray stones are a welcomed change from the dry parchment with even drier content.

As he observes the drab stones contrast against a dreary sky, a small flash of white cuts through the somber composition.

Catching his lilac eyes as they follow the strange shape, it drifts through the capricious wind before the breeze grew bored and tossed it to the ground.

Studying it a bit further, the young dragon identifies the object as a simple pillowcase. Nothing more than a scrap of fabric.

He reasons that the wind must’ve stolen it from some clothesline. Just when he was about to return to the legal ledgers a rustling came from the bushes lining the bottom of the wall.

A small frame pushes apart the thick vegetation, creating enough space to finally free themselves from the entangled mess of branches.

The towering wall, the one meant to separate him from the mortals, was defeated by a mere child.

A child who’s clumsy brushing the twigs from their garments and shaking a few raindrops from their hair. He watches as the small human trots toward the discarded pillowcase, a pout forming on their lips as they observe the mud that had seeped into the silk.

Judging by the simple attire they don, they must be the child of a maid.

Ah humans, fickle and temperamental creatures created by the usurpers. It took a conscious effort on his part to stop the frown threatening to appear on his lips.

Seems like he still needs to get used to their presence.

It was as if the child sensed the bitterness in his thoughts because soon a pair of wide eyes connected with lilac. Even with the sun hiding behind dreary clouds, there was a light that twinkled in their irises.

It was only for a minute, no, even less than that. But a young dragon and a young human held each other’s gaze.

The child’s shoulders jolt as they turn their head back toward the wall, as if a voice called for them. Casting one last glance toward the young dragon, the child trots back toward the wall, disappearing within the murky viridescent.

And that was the end, like the breeze that littered a scrap of fabric among the grass, the small human came and went.

Such fickle creatures, the young dragon gives it one last thought before returning his attention back to a cluttered desk.

–

Amongst the soft drumming of droplets came a tap against the glass too sharp to be caused by the gentle rain. Causing the young dragon to turn away from the stacks of books laid out before him.

The wet glass obscured a small flicker of an orange glow, thus he walked closer to investigate. With each step, the figure outside the window became undeciphered.

That small human again.

Locking eyes with the human outside the glass, the fickle creature’s lips curl up, the glow of their lamp illuminating the curiosity behind their gaze.

A human child doesn’t have the potential to cause much if any harm to him. Thus, he releases the lock, removing the glass barrier separating two breathes.

“Hello! What is uh… your name?” They chirp out.

His sharp ears picked up the clumsiness in their speech, the subtle unfamiliarity of the words they spoke. Distinct signs that you were still learning the language of Fontaine, much like him.

Although he understood your question, he was too distracted to answer. Lilac eyes wandering off toward the stone wall. Within the entangled mess of twigs, there was a small parting.

A part just wide enough to reveal the secret the bushes desperately tried to hide: A small hole along the bottom of the stone barrier. Just enough for a small creature to slip through.

Discovering the truth behind how a small human was able to defeat such a seemingly impenetrable wall.

The pattering of the rain was interrupted by the rustling of fabric, drawing his attention back to the small human in front of him.

The child rummages through their pockets before pulling out a lump covered by a handkerchief. Peeling back the layer of fabric to reveal some conch madeleines, presenting fragmented sweets before the young dragon.

“It tastes good, I promise.” A small hand extends itself further through the open window.

Observing the crumbly sweets laid out upon a handkerchief, the young dragon halted the rejection that almost escaped his lips. Remembering the concepts he had just been reading before this.

Humans tend to follow a set of unwritten rules, principles they like to call ‘manners’. There weren’t any punishments issued by law if those rules were broken, no imprisonment or fines.

However, narrow-eye stares and whispers behind backs were the punishments issued to transgressors by society.

So, he accepts a piece, trying to ignore the sand-like sensation against his tongue. As he chewed, the grin on the human’s face only got wider.

“Now that you’ve taken one, you have to give me your name, it’s only uh… fair!”

Ah, it looks like he’s been tricked. Falling into the clumsy sugar-coated trap only a child could come up with. Yet, as his lilac gaze caught the twinkle still ever so bright in their eyes, he didn’t have the strength to form a frown.

Just a curious human child, only as dangerous as a firefly buzzing in his ear. There shouldn’t be any harm in disclosing the surname bestowed upon him by this nation.

“Neuvillette.” He finally said his first words to you.

A peculiar pattern is recurring. That rainy night when Neuvillette opened those windows, it looked like he welcomed a phenomenon in as well.

Even in his current state, a small human like you could pose no possible threat to him. Thus, whenever a certain tap was placed against the glass. He saw no reason to turn away the visitor. Allowing you to climb in through his window time and time again.

It would’ve been better if you used the door. However, he’s aware of the complications such a request would bring.

Perhaps it’s because he’s currently in the form of a young child, sharing a similar stature to yours. From his observations, humans do have a tendency to gravitate toward those with similar traits. Or perhaps, you’re just exceptionally brazen.

Neuvillette glances up from his book, thick with endless sentences describing obscure and frivolous laws, landing on your frame lazing around upon a rug.

One hand holds onto a collection of fables, pages illuminated by the gentle rays of a star. While the other periodically reaches out toward a pile of conch madeleine.

A sight he’s come to expect now.

Lavender eyes follow your hand as it brings another one of the crumbly sweets to your mouth again. You brought them over under the pretense of sharing them with him, yet they’re already half gone. The only hand reaching for the sweets being yours.

Just like how it was last time, and the time before that, and the one before that as well.

If you felt this complacent in his presence now, then perhaps he can be more candid with you. As is common practice among humans to present a polite front that gradually wears away each recurring meeting.

“You do not have to bring over any more conch madeleine.”

The moment those words left his lips the motion of your hand halted, looking up to connect your sight with his, confusion pinching together your brows.

“Oh? Why so suddenly?” The collection of fables now resting on the rug.

It’s already been done, the first ripple in the frangible water between you and him. There is nothing that can cease the waves that accompany the first breach. He might as well say the whole truth.

“They are dry, I cannot fathom how you can bring yourself to eat them.” Prescriptive eyes caught a faint flinch as you processed his edict.

“They taste fine to me…” You mutter, picking another one up.

This time you chewed slower. The pinch between your brow only grew as you tasted the sweet again, searching for the perceived flaw.

As you met his gaze once more, he could tell your search brought forth no fruitful conclusions. Thus you asked another question in response.

“Then what do you like?”

Besides the pleasantries commonly exchanged between humans in Fontaine, Neuvillette recognizes he lacks the talent for small talk.

The room usually filled with your grievances about whichever tedious task you were assigned before you slipped away behind a wall and into his private residence. Ambient noise which accompanied each flip of a law book.

It is long overdue for him to pull his weight in a conversation.

“Water, spring water.”

“Huh?”

Neuvillette repeats his sentence but the scrunch of your brows doesn’t ease up, he couldn’t fight the urge to draw in a deep breath. So this is the limitation of the human palate, how regrettable.

“Perhaps you are still too simple to appreciate the qualities of water.”

The pout upon your crumb-covered lips morphs into a tight line, sealing away your voice. The brightly printed cover of a storybook was shut as the last few remaining treats were bundled away in a napkin.

Your tea break ended early today, impassive eyes following your figure as it disappeared among the thick vegetation beside a stone barrier.

It was quiet today, not even a single parting uttered past your sealed lips. Therefore leaving the conversation unfinished.

But that is today, you’ll have another tea break tomorrow, and you’ll come to him with your grievances about chores tomorrow as well.

The young dragon returns his focus to the text in front of him.

–

The soft hymn of raindrops against a glass window reverbed through the solitary study, providing a melody for the periodic flips of paper. But the melody was hollow, incomplete.

Shifting his body to look behind himself at the vacant rug, Neuvillette deduces why. The accompaniment was missing.

That tomorrow he had come to expect never came.

Had he committed a transgression? Overstep a line outside his place? Food is a point of pride for many humans, one oddity he’s yet to grasp.

These temperamental creatures tend to lash out when their pride is wounded, much like how a beast reacts to an unhealed cut.

Neuvillette was curious as to whether this was an inherent trait of humanity or a learned by-product of the fickle principles imposed on themselves.

However, observing the abandoned storybook tucked away, the young dragon is leaning towards the former.

Turning back to face his desk, his eyes could only glaze over the monotonous scribbles. Perhaps the cause of his spiritless attitude was disappointment, disappointment in himself.

It looks like he was careless, deluding himself with the misconception that you and him were alike. Two outsiders who found solace in each other’s presence.

However, this was false. You were an outsider to Fontaine, but he was an outsider to this world where humans walked.

He’s still too naive.

Fickle and temperamental creatures spoiled by the usurpers at the expense of his ancestors.

Why did he even entertain the thought that you and him could ever be alike?

Something stirred from within, like when pebbles were thrown into still water, but what were those pebbles? As Neuvillette ponders this conundrum, the drumming of the rain grows louder.

However, it wasn’t loud enough to swallow up the sharp set of taps which interrupted his somber reflection. Jolting him from his thoughts, snapping his attention to the source of the noise.

There stood a figure distorted by the wet glass as another set of sharp taps sounded through the room.

Before Neuvillette could even process it, his body moved without his command. Unlatching the lock and setting the window free from its frame.

Not sparing another second to the raindrops soaking into their cloak, the figure clambers through the window with practiced proficiency.

Without uttering a single greeting, not even one pleasantry, you situated yourself on his floor. Melting into an undignified lump on the pristine tiles as bewildered eyes watched you.

After catching a few breaths, an explanation finally makes its way to his ears.

“T-they… they patched… up the hole,” you huffed out between short breaths.

Ah, the small cavity in the stone wall that you used to escape from chores. Looks like the security at the estate finally noticed.

Gauging the height of the wall from his place by the window, he’s aware of how it towers over both him and you the same.

This brings up another question as he returns to observe your frame, still trying to catch the breaths that evade you.

“I… ran… through the gates… before the… Gardes noticed…” Exhaustion evident in your eyes as pants break up your sentence.

Ah, looks like his question was answered before he even inquired. To be puzzled or amazed, he wasn’t too sure how to categorize this ripple inside him.

The tomorrow that’s been missing for a little more than two weeks, is now right in front of him.

Panting and leaving a few muddy traces along the marble floor, but here nonetheless.

With one deep motion of your lungs, you pushed your body up, finally getting ahold of your breath. The familiar rustle of your pocket, the audio cue for a certain dry sweet to appear. Neuvillette didn’t mind in the least.

Perhaps, he can bear the sandy sensation just for today. But tomorrow is always filled up with surprises, a glass bottle finding its way out of your pocket instead of sugary treats.

“What is that?” An obvious question, but his voice found its way out of his mouth.

“Water, water from the servant’s well, I bottled it myself.” A small hand holds the bottle out more.

“Thank you,” Neuvillette accepts it into his hands.

He should really acquire some glasses to pour the water out into, it’s improper and bad manners to drink from the bottle.

However, his curiosity was greater. Or maybe, he didn’t realize just how parched he had become from waiting for tomorrow.

Uncapping the clumsily packaged water, he takes a generous sip.

“It’s sweet.” His tongue picking up on a subtle saccharine undertone.

“Really?” Your hand reaches up as that familiar shine illuminates your eyes.

Taking a sip from the bottle passed back into your grasp, your brows furrowing in concentration. Another sip was taken from the bottle as you continued to search for the sweetness in the water you’ve always drank.

A sight that tugged up at the lips of a boy still studying the shape of your quirked brows.

Humans, fickle, perplexing, yet astoundingly curious creatures from the very beginning.

If he is to walk amongst the human world, then it’s best for him to be equally curious. To try and search for the harmony between two different breaths.

A child of a maid far from their homeland. A status too insignificant to warrant the attention of Fontaine's factions, freeing you from their prying eyes and entanglements.

Therefore, it should be alright for him to continue observing you, no?

“Ahh… The rain is so unpredictable here in Fontaine, trying to hang out the wash here is always a gamble.” You sink further into the plush cushions of his settee.

As the sun rose and fell, as the leaves grew green then gold, as the ground froze and thawed.

One thing remained unchanged throughout these cycles even as they repeated: your grievances over chores.

The frequency of these complaints reaching his ears has increased, on the part that you now took over more of your mother’s responsibilities in managing the laundry of this estate.

Besides your habitual complaints of the weather, one detail didn’t escape Neuvillette’s hearing: your proficiency in the Fontainian language has increased significantly.

Words no longer spoken clumsily or with unfamiliarity. Accent nearly indistinguishable from a native speaker.

“The people here are fond of creating strange machinery, why can’t they make something to dry clothes?” You resume.

The quill in his hand stops as he pauses in the middle of a sentence, glancing over his shoulder toward your slouching figure making yourself comfortable in the sofa that’s more familiar with your shape than his.

“Perhaps you should be the one to create it, studying might do you some good as well,” came his curt response.

His candid advice makes you sink further into the cushions with a groan.

“I’d rather travel than study those jumbled-up books about machinery or whatever, in fact, I want to visit my homeland as soon as I can,” you grumble aloud.

Ah, that’s right, you’re approaching the age where you could travel freely.

By law, you won’t be bound to the side of your mother, not needing any permission to come to and fro however you wish. No longer kept at this estate washing and folding sheets.

Indeed, you and him found yourselves in similar situations: on the cusp of freedom from this estate.

While he was deep in thought, you filled the silence left behind by posing a question to him.

“Do you plan on visiting your homeland anytime soon, Neuvi?”

By now, the young dragon had stopped expending the effort to try and correct you in your butchering of his surname. Your reason being ‘it’s too long’.

Alongside you, he has grown in stature as well, elapsing you some time ago much to your dismay. If he wished to travel, not much would pose a problem to the young dragon.

However… where could he return to? A homeland… was there a section of his homeland untouched by the usurpers? If he were to go, would he ever want to return to this world?

Sensing the change in the air, dreary clouds blocking the sun’s rays from your skin, you were perceptive enough to ramble about a different matter.

Namely, how the chef of the estate recently changed the type of flour used in the kitchens, resulting in pastries and sweets that were less airy but more flavorful.

Explaining to him the subtle improvements and deterioration in the quality of some baked goods. Filling the air of the study with bright-eyed ramblings until rays of light peek out from waning clouds.

–

“Monsieur Neuvillette! It’s been a while since you’ve visited!” Soft patters of skipping steps made their way to the tall man.

Tilting his sights down, Neuvillette greets the cheery melusine with a gentle smile which she returned with an equally bright grin.

While on a routine stroll along the riverbanks to stretch his legs after a long day, he found himself at the entrance of Merusea Village.

He wonders if it's his body’s natural response to get away from the Palais Mermonia and Opera Epiclese.

Carrying him toward the direction of a secluded reprieve he discovered far away from the suspicious eyes of weary humans.

Condemnatory eyes were constantly pinned to the back of the young dragon who had recently emerged from a sheltered estate to sit in the grand seat of a Chief Justice.

Days filled with nothing but a cacophony of voices echoing off the opera house walls. Screams from the accused and the eager murmurs of spectators blended into nothing more than a chaotic din in his ears.

Gazing deeper into the small lake, the unsuspecting entrance to a hidden haven that the Melusines called home.

It would only take a moment, just one dip into the pristine water for him to disappear from the clamorous mortal realm.

Abandoning the overly grand seat of his post as easily as it would take for his head to vanish under the tranquil tide.

How great would it be to exist in the presence of creatures who could resonate with his own adriftness?

Maybe, he could finally discover the purpose of his current form and longevity in their company. Yes, that sounds about right.

Just as the water wet the tip of his overly ornate shoe, all motion his body stills at a familiar call.

“NEUVI!” Came a voice from just over the beaten path.

Soon your silhouette follows the echo of your call, steps hurried yet worn.

When the young dragon departed from his temporary estate and into the Palais Mermonia, a certain specter followed him as well.

The same specter who’s currently huffing to catch their breath after such a rush. Trying to gather enough air to form their next sentence.

“There you are! The grand tailor sent me to fetch you because you’re almost an hour late to the fitting of your new robe, they need to make sure the measurements are correct,” you chide.

The exasperation of your words was most definitely caused by the fact you had to physically exert yourself in your search for the wandering Chief Justice. Evident by the pout on your lips and scrunched nose.

His attention was quickly torn away from your recuperating figure by a faint tug of his slacks.

The Melusine had hidden herself behind his legs, creating a barrier between her and the strange mortal who seemingly appeared from the blue.

Her sudden movement caught your attention as well.

Ah, that’s right. The Melusines have yet to be acquainted with humans, and humans with Melusines.

Two different species, two different breaths, and two different sets of eyes that can’t seem to see directly into each other.

If his time within the wall of the estate and Palais Mermonia had proven anything, it would be the natural adversity humans had to differences.

Neuvillete certainly wasn’t prepared for such an event, nor was he sure how to handle it.

In the midst of his inaction, your hand reached into your pocket, fumbling around before pulling out a handkerchief-covered lump.

Despite the soreness in your legs, you lowered your body until you were at eye level with the shorter Melusine.

“Hello there, would you like some conch madeleines?” Unraveling the fabric to reveal the sweets which you seem to have an abundant supply of.

The grip on his slacks tightened as she glanced up at him, lilac eyes catching the hesitance in her irises. Neuvillette gives a subtle nod, giving just enough reassurance for the small creature to release his pant leg.

Reaching a mitten-like hand toward the golden sweets, it only took one bite for the hesitance in her eyes to be replaced by a bright twinkle.

“It’s tasty isn’t it?” Your lips formed a wider grin.

The Melusine responds with an eager nod, too occupied with bringing more of the buttery treat into her mouth.

At the sight of her restless chewing covering her cheeks with faint crumbs, you let out a giggle.

“I’ll give you the rest of the sweets if you tell me your name,” you offered.

After a few moments of the Melusine finishing her previous bite, she falls for the same trap he had many years ago.

“My name is Carole!” She chirps.

“What a wonderful name.” Your gaze softened further as you held out the treats, keeping your promise.

As Carole reaches for more, she glances back up. Wide eyes twinkling as she inquires him with the one thought currently on her mind.

“Monsieur Neuvillette, does the human world have more treats as delicious as these?”

Ah, it looks like the stroll Neuvillette took today to relieve himself of mounting troubles only led him to more.

The skies over the Court of Fontaine have been in a pensive stalemate, all too familiar clouds blocking azure hues. However, rain has yet to patter on the ground, as if the weather was unsure of itself.

A feeling shared by the Chief Justice currently sitting at his desk, reviewing the details of the day’s trials. Albeit, half heartily.

Much like the skies crowded with clouds, in the solitude of his office, his mind rang loud with thoughts. Neuvillette only had himself to blame for the current silence of his office, it’s been this way for around a week going on two now.

Lilac eyes peered over the tops of the papers toward the shut doors, concealing him away. There hasn’t been a knock on those doors for some time now, due to the diligent Melusines who followed his request.

Turning away potential visitors with crafted excuses of ‘The Chief Justice is handling a very important case’ or ‘My apologies, but the Chief Justice is very busy’.

Neuvillette recognizes that he’s currently no different than a child hiding away from the consequences of a broken vase.

How childish, he chides himself as he returns back to his responsibilities. How would the citizens of Fontaine react to their Chief Justice conducting himself in such a manner?

He’s sure if Lady Furina were to catch wind of his behavior, she’d be greatly entertained.

As if the mere mention of the nation’s archon presented a bad omen, the sturdy doors of his office swung open, revealing the face of a familiar visitor who’s been turned away one too many times.

“My my, it’s been quite some time since I’ve seen the inside of this office, I almost forgot what it looks like,” you remark as your eyes hone in on him.

The child’s hiding place under the bed has been exposed.

“Good afternoon, I was not made aware you had any appointments with me.” Neuvillette’s own eyes trail past yours.

From behind the door frames the figures of two Melusines quickly dodged away from his sight. A silent admission of guilt on their part, and Neuvillette didn’t have to look hard to deduce the crime they’ve committed: Accepting bribes.

The evidence was right there in the form of buttery crumbs left on the corner of their mouths. Ah, you and with those conch madeleines of yours.

It’d be best for him to finally handle the situation at hand, one he’s been trying to maneuver out of.

“If I recall correctly, you were granted a vacation, why not take this chance to travel? It certainly is a prime opportunity-”

“Why have you been avoiding me, Monsieur?” you cut through the long-winded pleasantries and excuses.

His lips press together, by now he’s well accustomed to your brazenness. However, the absence of a familiar name only said in your voice made the guilt weigh heavier on his shoulders.

Guilt which originated a few weeks prior.

—

On a secluded riverbank, a routine walk under clear skies was halted. You were knelt down on the ground, uncaring of the sand sticking to the fabric of your clothes, as you held a Melusine between your arms. Two mittened hands clung to you as she soaked your shoulder with tears.

“W-why? Why did he have to go?” Her sobs interrupted by sudden hiccups.

As you rubbed circles into her back, something he saw humans do to soothe their crying young, Neuvillette watched from the side. Much like how he would observe those performances within the Opera Epiclese.

Liath is her name, a diligent Melusine who patrolled the grounds of the Palais Mermonia. By her side, there would be a guard poodle who’d matched her skips with his prances. An inseparable duo, or it’d be more accurate to say, they were once an inseparable duo.

Dogs are a species domesticated by humans, some might argue that they were created by humanity through generations of selection. So it stands to reason that they too would have a limited lifespan.

In fact, they have a lifespan even more restricted than that of the mortals who tamed them.

The Melusines have just begun walking amongst humans, there were still many aspects their sheltered minds have yet to grasp. The fleetingness of mortality is one of them.

Thus, Neuvillette did his best to caution them.

However, just like how laws can’t completely stop crimes, his words can’t completely prevent such tragedies. All he could do was try.

“I’m sorry for your grief, this was the very reason why I cautioned you against getting too attached to him… A dog’s life is brief-”

“Monsieur Neuvillette.”

The sentence died at the tip of his tongue as his eyes met yours. Gaze narrowed and brows furrowed, not even the Chief Justice dared to interject any further.

After you silenced him, your focus returned back to the grieving Melusine.

Slowly standing back up from the ground, her frame cradled in your arms as her sobs continued.

“I know it hurts,” you whispered, one hand patting her back, setting a steady rhythm reminding her to breathe.

“B-but why? W-why is it so sad?” she hiccuped.

You hummed, beginning to bounce her a bit within your hold.

“Wouldn’t it be sadder if you never met him?”

At your question, the Melusine stares at you through teary eyes. Expression lined with confusion.

“To have loved him, and for him to have loved you in return…isn’t that enough?” You cooed, taking steps away from the riverbank.

Still frozen in his place, the dragon could only stare at your back as it grew further and further away, soon disappearing from his view.

He had misspoke.

Neuvillette recalled last Autumn. As the vivid hues of the foliage shriveled up to nothing more than a shadow of their former beauty, you laid your mother to rest. Burying her in a cemetery which overlooked the direction of your homeland.

His unsolicited reprimand must have been throwing salt into a wound that still bled. He had overstepped his authority.

Murky clouds congregated in the once clear sky.

—

Those were the events that transpired, events that have led to the current stalemate happening in his office. Lilac eyes couldn’t seem to find the courage to connect with yours. Another excuse finding its way to his tongue.

“Didn’t you want to visit your homeland?”

“Oh?” Your brow quirks up, as your hands find their way to your hips.

“And then who’d be here to repair the tears in your robe when you inevitably step on them?” Obviously unimpressed by his suggestion.

“Surely there are other talented tailors here that can handle the task,” he rebukes.

“Oh? Will they also untangle your hair from the ornamentation of chairs?” You press on.

“I can manage.”

“Then can the Chief Justice also manage all the uniforms for the Melusines? Can he sew every button and ensure they fit correctly?”

Ah, with your last statement, Neuvillette concedes. A hush fills the room.

The Melusines are still new to walking amongst humans, not many were willing to tailor specialized uniforms for their short stature. Thus, you took up the mantle.

Perhaps out of a sense of responsibility, it was you who stirred their curiosity with those sweets of yours.

It seems responsibilities tethered you to the Court of Fontaine, much like they did to him. After a few breaths, as always, your voice shatters the stalemate.

“I’m not upset, Neuvi.”

With those words, his lilac eyes finally connect with yours. Finally able to see the soft curls at the corners of your lips.

It indeed has been a while since he last saw such a sight.

This time instead of replying with an excuse, he responds with a gentle hum.

“Ugh, why are your curtains so dusty? When was the last time you went outside?” It wasn’t long before your attention returned to the state of his office.

Strolling past his desk, your hands began to fuss with the thick drapes. Pouting at the dust that coated the lush fabrics.

All Neuvillette could do was follow with his gaze, papers long pushed to the side as for the first time in a while, an azure hue was seen peeking through the clouds.

From his observations, it’s instinctive for humans to avoid pain. However, it’d be hypocritical of him to judge mortals for actions he’s been guilty of.

“If I knew I had to work this hard now, I would’ve skipped more chores back at the estate,” you chuckle, pulling back the drapes to allow gold to illuminate his office.

To have loved and have been loved in return.

Was this the human rationale behind taming a dog? Having the reality of the future constantly lurking over each happy moment as the hands of time tick forward.

Why do humans dote on pets? Creatures that only live a fraction of a mortal life?

Are happy memories a fair exchange for bitter grief, or are they the cure?

As Neuvillette counts the strands of peeking silver that mingle within your lush locks, he prays he finds the answer soon.

The clacks of ornate shoes reverberate down once unfamiliar halls, a towering figure lurks past bustling nurses who bow their heads at the sight of the Chief Justice as he passes by.

With a body like his, there is no reason for him to wander among these halls. Or more accurately, there once was no reason.

The taps of his soles slowed as a familiar door came into view, the only detail which differentiated it from the rest of the hall being the brass numbers displayed. Bringing up a glove-clothed knuckle, delicate taps were placed against the wood.

Almost immediately, a muffled ‘come in’ resounded behind the frame. Granting the Iudex permission to turn the polished knob, allowing him entry as the hinges sang their welcome.

“My, my, if it isn’t Monsieur Neuvillette, to whom do I owe the pleasure?” A grin spreads across your face, crinkling the corners of your eyes.

Instantly his frame stiffens in the midst of returning the door to its frame. Bringing his free hand up to his face, Neuvillette coughs as to compose himself once more.

“Please, forgo the formalities.”

Though your eyes might not be as sharp as they once were, the delicate dusting of pink along his pointed ears couldn’t escape their sight. Making your eyes crinkle more.

Feeling entertained enough, you cease your teasing and gesture toward the vacant chair beside your bed.

Obediently, his towering figure strides up to the seat, the wood squeaking under his weight as he settles onto it.

By now, the dragon has grown accustomed the structure of greetings, beginning with a layer of pleasantries.

“How have you been fairing?” Lavender eyes scrutinize the sheets and pillows, searching for any unapparent flaws.

“It’s just a mild case of pneumonia,” you muse aloud.

Momentarily resting his eyes behind a slow blink, all he could do was sigh at your brazen nonchalantness. Yet with a ghost of a smile on the same lips that sighed.

It was a mild case of pneumonia, a common ailment during the frosty months. For someone as steadfast as you, such an illness might’ve surrendered to your stubbornness.

It might've surrendered… if your body had remained as it once was.

How unfortunate it all is, that time is so cruel to mortal creatures.

Attentive eyes detailing each crease that settled by your lips, remnants of the many grins and laughs that stretched your face.

The basking light of a selfish star catches in your hair, lush hues that have faded to brilliant ivory. A shade that you often compare to his while jesting, ‘We match now’.

However, Neuvillette begs to differ, the sunlight is much more luminous in your tresses.

Trailing his sights back to your gaze. Deep lines formed by countless dynamic expressions drew attention to the glimmer forever present in your irises. Like paths on a map that led lilac eyes to yours.

“How are you finding your stay?” At times, Neuvillette found himself wondering how the azure tides appeared from your view.

“Mm, quite uneventful, eating, staring out a window, sleeping.”

He hums in response, contemplating if he should inquire you about such subjects. As you ramble, perhaps the dragon could grasp onto an inkling of understanding.

“Well, at least I can say that my stay has been anything but lonely.” Your eyes motioning toward a corner.

The bland, sterile wall overshadowed by a mass comprised of trinkets ranging from local flowers to any object whose surface catches light.

The heap grows day by day as each Melusine continues to bring their earnest gratitude to the human who sew each stitch of their coats. A sight that could stir even the most placid lake.

“They’re such sweethearts.” Each one of your words coated with endearment.

Once more, all the dragon could respond with was a mellow hum. Slow breaths fill the complacent silence between two species, one blessed by time and one shunned by it.

Neuvillette has grown accustomed to the structure of conversations but, alas, he still has no talent for small talk.

In the absence of dialogue, the layer of short pleasantries long dissolving, Neuvillette is left with nothing but his inquiries. It was all he had left, and so it was all he could offer.

“Are there any regrets you hold?”

“Oh oh? Getting sentimental so out of the blue, Neuvi?” A familiar quirk graces your brow.

“It’s nothing of the sort, just a musing that drifted in my mind during a stroll, I wish to know your thoughts on the matter.”

“Mmm… I don’t feel that I have any regrets, living an honest life and having the fortune to never have stepped foot in the Fortress of Meropide.”

“Is that really all? You never did get to travel like you dreamed of back at the estate.”

“Haha, trying to stump me with that, Neuvi?” you chuckle.

Relaxing more into the pillows which propped up your weary frame, you trail your sights toward the window.

“Didn’t I tell you already? I’ll have plenty of time to travel once I become a cloud, I can go everywhere the sky can reach.” Smile softening on your lips.

Neuvillette’s folded hands grasp one another tighter on his lap, his own lips pressing each other into a thin line.

The conversation was teetering closer and closer to the unspoken reality looming like a shadow in the room.

He wasn’t sure when it started, maybe when the first silver strands appeared in your hair or when you discovered his skin won’t wrinkle along with you.

He wasn’t sure when your adamant belief of becoming a cloud once the shadow came to claim you started.

Neuvillette wonders if this daydream was the product of those fables you browsed when you laid upon a plush rug.

Or was it your personally crafted fable to explain the incomprehensible to a creature who couldn’t fully grasp it?

A creature whose skin didn’t wrinkle, whose bones didn’t grow brittle. A creature seemingly untouched by time.

Fairytales do serve this purpose for children, magical fantasies to make uncomfortable realities palatable to naive minds.

“...vi?... Ne…?... Neuvi.”

A hand marred with age takes hold of one glove-clad hand, and a pleasant heat radiates through the leather. Coaxing Neuvillette’s attention back from its escapade.

“My apologies, I was lost in thought for a moment.” He gives your hand a reassuring squeeze.

But the frown weighing down on your lips didn’t disappear, much like how retreating into musings couldn’t wash away any shadows.

Your chest moves with a deep inhale.

“Maybe I do have one regret,” you began.

Readjusting your ailing fingers in his hold so that he could hold them with equal endearment, his ears concentrate on your voice.

“Actually, I have many,” you sigh.

Before he could formulate a response, you continued.

“I wish I could have shoulder the burdens you carry. I wish you would’ve shared them with me. And I wish I could even understand them, then maybe I could have understood you more.” Turning to face him, your disheartened eyes center on his frame.

A child born from a maid, a maid who traveled to Fontaine in hopes of a better future for her child. That was your origin, an outsider with neither fame nor fortune.

Thus, even as you followed him from a secluded estate to the grand Palais Mermonia, you could never follow him in status nor influence.

As unrest grew, as injustices mounted, and as tragedies took away friends.

All you could do was repair tears, sew buttons, and pour him a crisp glass of spring water as you waited for the storm to wash despair away.

That was how you saw it. But Neuvillette rebukes that notion.

The dignity of a newly established Chief Justice, who kept stepping on his overly ornate robes, was carefully maintained by you.

The Melusine’s uniforms, which solidified their presence in the human world, were crafted by you.

The patient hand that always offered silent comfort in the suffocating courts was yours.

Standing by his side, even as your bones grew to ache, to ensure the storm would pass and the sun emerge once more.

“You’ve done more than enough.” He states the truth, grasping your hand just a bit tighter.

“Are you sure?” Those airy chuckles of yours made their appearance again.

“I never even learned your real name,” you interject.

A knife, red hot and fresh from the forge, would have hurt less than the guilt which tore through him at that moment.

The Chief Justice, the symbol of honesty and conviction, is unable to tell the simplest truth.

What shall he do now?

The power of a name is often underestimated, the exchanging of names signifying the forging of a bond. One that would forever tether him to you and you to him.

Oh, what shall he do now?

Before his hesitant lips could take action, they were halted by a squeeze from your ailing grasp. Firm and warm, like a light that guides him up from the bottom of a turbulent ocean.

“You don’t have to tell me now, Neuvi, tell me when I come back from my trip.” Those gentle eyes of yours smile at him.

Reeling his hand in closer to you with your own, until the softness of your lips was felt along covered knuckles.

A common practice in Fontaine, one Neuvillette had witnessed time and time again as he passed the lovers who congregated by the Fountain of Leucine. Actions that dedicated promises to one another.

“I swear, once I’ve traveled enough, once I grow bored of foreign scenery, I’ll fall back down like rain to your side.” You whisper into the kiss.

It was his turn now, and he shall honor this ritual. Tenderly bringing in your hand to him, Neuvillette places his oath.

“Then I swear, when you return, I’ll tell you my name.” He whispers in the kiss.

The sterile rooms echo your airy chuckles as he keeps your hand close to himself for just a bit longer.

“Mmm… Where I should go first? Maybe I’ll just amble about,” you ponder aloud.

Gracing him with a smile which stretched your face and brought that familiar glimmer into your eyes.

“I wish you well on your travels.” Neuvillette presses another kiss into your knuckles.

–

Spring was always the rainy season for Fontaine, with gentle temperate showers to welcome the budding blooms back from their Winter sleep.

However, this year the torrential downpour was anything but gentle.

Planned trips canceled for the season, clothes remaining damp in baskets, and streets empty of their vigor. Even the Melusines couldn’t bring a skip to their steps.

It was as if time itself was slowed by the burdensome downpour.

The cawing of crows as their wings beat against the dreary winds adds to the lonely hymn sung by the raindrops.

At once the cadence of the rain increased, the downpour growing heavier, and the violent pattering grew deafening. As if the sky was now belting out their sorrowful ballad.

The rain could try. The skies can cry all they would like. But time, a cruel and unforgiving mistress, won’t ever stop.

To have loved and been loved, was it truly enough?

In Neuvillete’s eyes, he was the tide and you were the shore. The ebb and flow of water as the tide and shore met, time and time again.

Each crash into the shore stirred up something perplexing and disorderly within the tide, irritating like the sand that mixed into the pristine waves.

So the tide tried to retreat into the lonesome ocean.

Each time, the shore followed through grains of sand which the tide couldn’t ever seem to purge himself of.

Each time, the shore beckoned the tide to return to the sandy beaches of humanity filled with perplexities and disorder.

And each time, the tide surrendered to the call of the shore, lured in by its warmth.

But now, the shore has eroded away.

Where does the tide go now?

Drifting now in the vastness of a lonesome ocean, carrying nothing grains of sand. What shall the tide do now?

Neuvillette still has a lot to learn, for he couldn’t answer this riddle conjured by his own mind.

Unable to stop himself, the lone dragon stares off into the rain.

Eyes honing in the direction of a peaceful hill, one where a mother and child were laid to rest side by side overlooking a homeland they never got to visit.

Maybe that was the first destination of your journey.

During these past short years spent in this land, the young successor of the dragons has gained traitorous knowledge. One that undermines his preconceived purpose.

Neuvillette feels he’s grasped onto the faintest inkling of why humans, as fickle, perplexing, and fleeting as they are, were still the most beloved creatures of the gods.

Perhaps, he even understands now why those usurpers were willing to uproot the earth just for those beloved creatures.

The wet season transitions into the dry season, then the dry season will transition into another wet season. Again and again, on and on as the hands of a clock ticks forward.

Each new tick signifies another step forward in the march of time.

Each step brings change and each step pulls the present away from the past.

The rainy season of Spring was no longer as troublesome as it once was, as there was now a machine on the market that could dry clothes without the help of a bright star.

Melusines skip along down the paved paths of the Court of Fontaine as humans turn to greet them with endearing smiles.

New cafes line bustling streets as Clockwork Mekas make their evening patrols.

A great many changes have come to Fontaine, Neuvillette witnessed them all from his office at the Palais Mermonia.

A great many changes, yet some things are bound to stay the same. For example, the Chief Justice’s fondness for strolls along vacant riverbanks.

The gentle patters of raindrops lull the chaotic sympathy of trials, paperwork, and duties to a standstill. Reaching a hand out in front of him, Neuvillette catches a few drops in the palm of his gloved hand.

Lilac eyes examine the diminutive puddle in his hand before ultimately releasing the water back to the earth.

He supposes he’s been feeling a bit nostalgic as of late, like a child recalling a story which once soothed them to a peaceful slumber. How childish it was for him to believe he could somehow catch a certain raindrop in his hands.

Turning up toward the drab sky, he searches through the endless and identical droplets that fall down and leave trails along his face.

No, not yet. Perhaps they have yet to see all that the sky has to offer.

Neuvillette returns his focus to the path in front of him. The rhythmic clacks of his shoes match with the soft drumming of the rain, and in the midst of this harmony a voice singings out:

“Hydro dragon… uh… Hydro dragon, don’t cry.”

Halting his stride. Judging by the unfamiliarity of their tongue pronouncing the lullaby, Neuvillette deduces they must be a visitor to Fontaine.

Ah that local legend, just how far has it spread? Nevertheless, an unfortunate traveler who’s unfamiliar with Fontaine’s seasons is now caught in this rain.

It would only be polite to offer them some assistance as the Iudex of this nation. Thus, he turns in the direction of the call.

His suspicions were confirmed once his gaze landed on a distressed frame, their face obscured by the jacket they held over their head in a makeshift umbrella.

It only took a few steps for the towering man to make it to their side.

“There is a tree you can take shelter under just ahead,” he advises the lost traveler.

Now aware of his presence in front of them, they lifted the jacket from their line of sight to peer up at him. Revealing the details of their face to lilac eyes for the first time.

That was all it took for the symphony of rain to come to an end.

Soft drumming decrescendos into tranquility. It seems as if there will be an earlier welcome of flowers.

“Oh?” You gaze up at the azure hue now peeking out from receding gray, astonishment reflected in the glimmer of your eyes.

You’ve only heard of a local Fontainian legend from a guide pamphlet offered to tourists as you awaited the Aquabus.

When the rain suddenly began to pour as you ambled about a riverside, in a moment of desperation as you scrambled for shelter under a thin jacket you uttered the phrase.

You weren’t sure if the hydro dragon could understand your botched pronunciation, but it looks like he did.

Turning back to face the kind stranger, you wanted to convey your amazement to him. But the words fade just off the tip of your tongue when you peek back at the towering man.

Your eyebrows scrunch together as dumbstruck eyes widen at the sight of the drenched man.

“Mister?… Are you alright?” You scan over him, turning your attention away to sift through your pockets.

How bewildering it must be for you to witness a well-dressed and noble figure drenched to the bone. However, Neuvillette made no attempt to stop the rivulets rolling down his cheeks, a parting gift from the Spring showers.

He wonders as his gaze never left your frame, were tears perhaps this warm too?

“Here.” Your concern-ridden hand offers up a neatly folded handkerchief to the drenched man.

As your eyes connect with his, a strange sensation tickled the back of your mind. As if it was trying to recall where you’ve seen the familiar lavender hue.

Maybe they matched the shade of a flower field you stumbled upon during your travels, or maybe that lilac luster was revealed to you in a dream.

A strange familiarity you couldn’t name.

“Thank you very much.” He accepts the simple piece of cloth with tenderness rivaling that of conservators handing the renowned paintings of old masters.

The clouds were long gone by now, perhaps they felt that their purpose had long been fulfilled. The golden rays of a lone star shone with all their brilliance, finally free from behind their blanket of drap clouds.

It was only now that Neuvillette found out. The rain he had been yearning for all these years did in fact see all that the sky had to offer.

They had grown bored of drifting over vast plains, missing the picturesque countryside of Fontaine. Or perhaps their curiosity grew too great, wishing to finally hear a truth that was kept from them.

So much so, they quietly fell down from the sky, to return to his side again.

Much like the hands in a clock, the cycle of water and earth follows a similar circular path.

The rain had eroded away stubborn earth with its diligent drumming over the years.

Bit by bit and piece by piece until stone fractures into bits of sand. Over and over until a sandy beach was formed by the side of a patient sea.

Then the tide will reunite with its long-awaited shore, to return the sand and promise it cradled within its waves for so long.

~Fin

©️vivalabunbun DON’T PLAGIARIZE, REPOST, OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS.

#vivalabunbunfics #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette x you #neuvillette #genshin impact x reader #genshin angst #genshin fluff #genshin x y/n #genshin x you #neuvillete x reader #neuvilette x reader #neuvillette fluff #neuvillette angst #genshin impact x you #genshin x reader #neuvillette headcanons #neuvillette x y/n #neuvilette x you

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aethercores · 2 months

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✮ GREEN TINTED ;

alternatively, what are you, jealous? ft. rafayel, xavier, zayne + gn!reader/mc [non-established relationships] 1.2k+

can you really blame him? sure, rafayel’s had all the chances in the world to come to terms with your oft-busy life, but he’d brushed those away with the practiced swipe of an easy hand. you'd promised him your attention, after all, and the sea had bore witness to your vow. he finds the finer details don't really matter, even if all his whining after you've missed a few calls might lead you to think otherwise.

it's your new profile picture, though.

rafayel's usually the first to notice any changes to your icon or any new moments, and just as quick to take on your thoughts for any changes to his own. he'd never given any thought to reciprocation, to you asking him for his opinion on which picture of yours might be cutest to post but— there's some... some guy there. and you've got your hands cupped around his face while he stares at the camera like a fish out of water.

with the light press of his teeth to the insides of his cheek, rafayel tries to brush this off. whatever 'this' is. his fingers swipe over to your chat log of their own accord. he'd been meaning to message you anyway, maybe he can just remind you there's way better pictures in that photo album that he knows you keep?

keen eyes swipe over your last exchange. 'read'. like sand grains on an oil palette, he only barely feels the grit before impulse rushes over like a tidal wave—

playing kitty cards at home isn't quite the same as at meow's café, but xavier's found that there's a different feeling that comes from having you in his home like this. the cozy arrangement of blankets and little cushions across the living room floor. the warm tea on the table between you. the shared space. it's not quite the same, but he prefers it.

it's with a loss at the end of a few rounds that you smile, thoughts drifting from your defeat, stretching your arms above you before slumping back a little. "i might have to get going," you say lightly, checking the time. late afternoon. "i'm meeting up with zayne later."

his brows furrow, a delicate gesture as his eyes stray from your own across the low table, searching for recognition in memory. that you've named anyone clues him into the fact that this is not a new introduction, that you've mentioned them before. it is familiar but, among the friends and family he's heard of in passing or between exchanges, this one's a little different—

"your physician?" he asks, face tilting upwards as you rise to a stand, the blanket drapping softly back onto the floor. "dr. zayne?"

the smile on your face grows a little then, amusement playing in your eyes for reasons unknown, but xavier's always felt warmest with it in sight. even if he is a little confused.

"well. yes," you laugh a little, "but we've known each other since we were kids, so the 'dr. zayne' part is still taking some getting used to."

there's a lot of context missing here, that much he can tell. it seems you become aware of that gap too, your intentions divided between the hunter watch you check once more and the cooling tea in your cup. you smile at xavier once more, a little apologetic, and he wonders if your attentions are similarly divided.

there's not really any time for that, though, but he's left with the thought a little longer after you're gone. brushes his thumb over the lip of your cup. leaves it undisturbed.

the look zayne fixes you with is placid. that is, to the untrained eye. cool eyes draw calmly from your hunter watch, propped face down upon the table, back to your own. it's subtle, but meaningful, and he knows that you know him well enough by now to know better.

"just ignore it," you say, hand waving through the air in easy dismissal, and he pretends not to see the way your grin widens as you peer up from your card hand to the complex array of kitty cups before you both, currently at an impasse.

it'd been an odd choice, he'd noted as you both sat down in the café, to separate the device from your person. after all, zayne had seldom seen you without it ever since you'd become a hunter, an essential piece in both the professional and personal capacity. he'd know.

irony answers the call to action as the watch flashes once again — the fifth occurrence in a three minute interval — and a small vibration lightly rattles one of the closest cups. a double-pointer blue proudly boosting your score by +10.

it startles you, and you send a minutely too-prolonged glare to the offending piece as though it had purposely made to sabotage your entire game.

he smiles, lightly. "would you like to swap cards?"

you're not a good bluff. though you shake your head, another flash rattles the cup before you've had the chance to verbalise your thoughts. zayne takes the cue, and considers his own hand — catalogues his assists and future turn order — before speaking, "someone's trying hard to reach you. are you certain it's not an emergency?"

you laugh a little. "no, i'd know." the bare hint of a scoff follows, and he can tell it isn't aimed at him, but it seems mostly good-natured, a little teasing. "bad timing, but i did say i had plans today."

someone vying for your time.

it's not something he's given much consideration to before, as someone with such a stringent schedule of his own. zayne decidedly ignores the light flare in his chest at the choice you'd made and doesn't linger on a hypothetical cause. pride has an interesting way of unfurling set shoulders with just the lightest of touches.

you do end up winning the game, though he doesn't entirely feel as though he's lost. you both settle outside the café as you readjust your scarf, the breeze picking up a chill.

zayne waits, patient, turned towards you. "i still have the rest of the day off," he says. it must not say much to you, this half-sentence of his, as you blink up at him. his eyes drift upwards.

a precise, but gentle hand, carefully brushes the top of your head, cool fingers lightly touching your temple before coming away with a stray leaf. he smiles, lightly, and his gaze returns to you once more, elucidating, "is there anywhere you'd like to go?"

he feels a different sort of flare in his chest as he watches as your eyes light up, your excitement suffusing through even the layers keeping you warm.

"yeah, there's—" a subtle, but sudden, flash emits. below, from where your watch has been reunited with your wrist once more. you deflate a little, then perk up a little, made indecisive and a little troubled by some sort of unforeseen circumstance. "there's this food market, but i already promised xavier we'd go later tonight... rain check?"

zayne's eyes glance between your own for a moment before he nods, calmly assenting to the offer, and bypasses the unfamiliarity of the name and the implied familiarity of those plans. there's a light press, a pull just on the edge of taut, between his shoulder blades. he lightly shifts them, a little heavier. doesn't verbalise questions that even he leaves unacknowledged.

"of course."

#zayne x reader #xavier x reader #rafayel x reader #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace #zayne got the one-two this time bc the other 2 had to contend w him #c.writing

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whispereons · 11 months

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Oracle!Reader Part 2

Masterlist - Part 1, Part 3

The waves hit the boat gently as you wait for the sound of people to get quieter. Once the cawing of birds is the most prominent sound, you jump out of the boat onto the shore. You walk up Amakane Island and keep your head low as you pass by stalls and people.

You get to mask stall which is thankfully empty at the moment. A jagged fox mask with the lower half missing and gold accents catches your eye. You put it on right as the vendor comes back to the stall.

You smile excitedly at the two men feeling more confident with your identity hidden. The mask showing the bottom half of your face is a necessary sacrifice. Body language is a double-edged sword for lying that you've learned to wield expertly.

"Hello, are you the vendor for these masks? I really like this gold one, I couldn't resist trying it on. How much is it?"

The vendor sees the mask you're wearing and laughs nervously.

"Hello dear customer but I'm afraid it broke when two other customers were fighting over it. You could come back tomorrow, and I could give you a mask with that same color or you could pick a different mask now."

You skirt around the offer and distract him with more questions. It's not like you have any mora to pay with. Your tone is sympathetic and sweet.

"I'm sorry to hear that happened. If you don't mind, I would like to know why they were fighting over it."

"Well as everyone knows, gold is heavily associated with the creator and that happened to be the last mask. The Yashiro guard that usually stands guard is escorting them to the prison."

"Oh, I see. Actually, do you mind answering some of my questions? You see I'm a traveler and I like to listen to stories about the creator. Each region has their own variations about the creator so I'm curious about Inazuma's!"

Your smile is bright, and the man seems to perk up at your words. He begins explaining about acolytes, praying times, the creator's image and even more.

Simply put the playable characters are acolytes and it's a high honor if they have been awakened. Which is a fancy word for saying that you pulled and won them.

No one knows the creators real name meaning you can still live on as Y/N. They believe that after creating the world you were now resting inside a different world. That now that you were awakening acolytes, you would be arriving soon.

It's when he mentions sacrificing that you feel dread pool inside you. This is a cult; you have a fucking cult. Ironic how Ei almost sacrificed you to yourself.

After getting all the information you needed from the man, you walk away. Still wearing the mask without paying for it. The vendor will probably realize in a little while, but you would be long gone by then.

You look back at your boat wondering how you could get rid of it. Ei saw it meaning that she'll be able to recognize it as long as you have it nearby.

You look at Byakko Plain where a teleport waypoint should be. If you could get to it, activate it then your plan of discarding the boat should work.

As you walk across the sand and soft waves from Amakane to Byakko you see 3 treasure hoarders and a nobushi. Right in the middle and right in your way.

Could you outrun them? Probably not. Fight them and win? Maybe the treasure hoarders but that nobushi is dangerous. Your only choice is to retreat and have one of your acolytes defeat them. It felt weird referring them like that but this whole thing is bizarre.

Just as you turn around, you hear them yell. The nobushi pulls out his sword, a treasure hoarder takes out throwing knives, another a crossbow, and the third uses a paddle.

You have no choice but to fight. Gritting your teeth, you skid across the sand to avoid getting hit by the knives and arrows. The nobushi sprints and slashes his sword to hit you at the same time the paddle treasure hoarder rushes after you.

You jump away just in time to see them hit each other instead of you. The sword stabs the paddle guy right in the stomach and the two other treasure hoarders freeze at the sight. The nobushi pulls the sword out unfazed.

The two treasure hoarders watch in horror as paddle guy coughs up blood and falls to the ground.

"What the hell man?! Why would you stab him like that?!" The treasure hoarders start yelling and aiming at the nobushi. The nobushi glares at them and starts walking toward them. The blood on his blade glints in the sunlight and you try not to think about the blood that is splattered on your shirt.

Using the argument between the nobushi and treasure hoarders, you pick up the paddle. The nobushi will probably kill both treasure hoarders and attack you again.

It's better to take out the nobushi and fight the treasure hoarders then run away. As you sneak up behind the nobushi, the treasure hoarders see you and stay silent.

The nobushi prepares to swing and cut down the treasure hoarders. It exposes the back of his neck, and you swing the paddle hard. Your hit lands and the paddle breaks from the force.

The nobushi falls to the ground leaving you exposed as you pant from the strength needed for the blow to be effective. The treasure hoarders stare at you in some shock as they tremble from their life so close to being over.

"So, uh truce?" You offer as you stand up straight. They look at their weapons and look back at you. Their hesitance unnerves you and you drop the broken paddle remains. They get a dangerous glint in their eyes now that you're unarmed.

You smile and pick up the nobushi's sword in a flash. Pointing it at them, you spoke with a drawl.

"Which do you think is faster? Your shitty aiming knives and arrows? Or this sword that's almost as tall as you?"

You touched the teleport waypoint as you watched the treasure hoarders run away. That sword was heavy as hell and only the adrenaline coursing through you in that moment gave you the strength to lift it so easily.

You held a small bag of mora, an old handguard, and 3 treasure hoarder insignia. You opened the bag that you got from the house you woke up in. You put it all in and close the bag. You didn't expect that enemy drops would still exist. The blood on the materials stained your hand and left you a chill.

Watching the teleport become gold you open the screen and open the map. You click on the first teleport waypoint you opened on Kannazuka. The same one where Ei found you.

There were two options, both had the words 'teleport waypoint' but one was gold. You pressed the gold option, and your vision went white.

Pressing your hands to your eyes, you open them slowly. It actually worked. You teleported to Kannazuka island. In a daze you walk to the waverider and summon the boat. You open the screen and teleport back to Byakko Plain.

Your eyes close automatically as you teleport. When you open them again at Byakko Plain, you look to see the boat gone. Pushing down the relief at it working, you try to remember what you needed to do next.

The cold wet feeling of blood on your clothes was creeping you out. Plus your clothes were so unique that Ei could definitly recognize you from it.

You pace the path as you think. The small amount of mora you put in your bag was all you had. But how much could a shirt, pants, and shoes cost? A potato was like 100 mora so the price should be around 4,500 mora. And even that's the least amount it can cost.

You open your bag to check the mora and instead of seeing inside the bag, a screen is there. It's the same screen you see when you open your bag in Genshin.

Well at least you won't have to worry about weight or food expiring. But unlike the bag you have in Genshin, this one is nearly completely empty. So, it's not connected to the bag you have in your account.

You look to the bottom and see 108 mora. You select the insignia and handguard. You try to trash them to see if you can get any mora from that. The game warns you nothing can be recovered, and you cancel the trashing.

Maybe you should just steal? It's your only option at this point. No one would be willing to accept help from a bloody masked stranger, nor will they accept 108 mora as a down payment. You really wanted to avoid stealing more than this mask. Clothes take a long time to make considering how the technology here isn't as advanced.

You trip over something small and pointy almost falling face first into the ground. You catch yourself and look to see that it's.

"Ushi?"

The cow moos at you and before mooing at a group of people running towards you.

"BEEFCAKE!"

Itto runs and picks Ushi up in a twirl nearly smacking you in the process. Kuki and his boys catch up as they breathe heavily. The only thing you can think as you watch Itto baby Ushi is.

'Dear god the game did not do him justice.'

Itto is huge, as tall as the nobushi you fought, and his muscles are nowhere near as flat as his game model.

"Boss, be more careful! You nearly hit them when you threw Ushi!"

Kuki scolds Itto as she points at you. Itto stops and looks at you in surprise seeming to finally notice your existence. Putting Ushi down Itto ruffles your hair and laughs.

"You mean this kid? C'mon if Ushi didn't nearly hit them, something else would."

"Sorry about him, he'll call anyone shorter than him 'kid'."

"It's fine, the bull, uh Ushi, you called him? Didn't hit me."

"Either way sorry about that compadre, but it's a good thing it didn't hit you. As an acolyte if he did hit you, you would probably be six feet under."

As gruesome as Itto's words sound, his actions are the opposite. He has an arm slung around your shoulders and a bright smile. Kuki who is usually more composed seems to be smiling judging by the crinkle at the edge of her eyes.

"Wow, you're an acolyte? Makes sense, a lot of vision users are. My name is Y/N, what are yours?"

Itto perks up at that and releases you. He stands in front of his gang facing you. The sun makes his red horns glint as he spreads his arms animatedly.

"I'm Arataki 'The One and Oni' Itto! I have many names but for time's sake I'll skip them this time to introduce you to the Arataki Gang."

He points to each of his members as he introduces them. "This is Shinobu Kuki, my deputy. She has a permit for everything - literally everything and is also an acolyte. Ushi is the auxiliary member; I call him Beefcake. Akira, Genta, and Mamoru are my boys and have been some of the longest standing members of the gang."

"You mean the only other gang members."

Shinobu corrects him. Spinning around to face her Itto shushes her a comically number of times. Not very quietly he whispers to her.

"Hey, hey don't ruin it for me. A new person is the best to get to join the gang."

Those words make you perk up as you watch Itto continue whisper-yelling at Shinobu. Honestly you wouldn't mind living as a member of the Arataki gang. It's not a criminal gang like the one you were in, in your old world. In fact, it would be even more fun than a normal job.

But there's no way you were staying in Inazuma with Ei hunting you down. You need to steer the conversation away from this into something more productive.

"Sorry if this is rude to say but are your horns real? This is my first time in Inazuma, so I've never seen anything like it before."

Itto abandons Shinobu's side to stand in front of you and comb his hair back with a proud grin.

"Indeed, they are real. Guess you didn't realize my clever wording in my title as the 'One and Oni' Itto. I'm a red oni and the best one there is!"

"That's why you have those red markings right? Plus, your clothing and accessories have all those horns too. So cool!"

Your voice heightens in a way that is similar to a fan. His reaction is just what you wanted. With a smile he juts out his thumb at himself as Shinobu shakes her head.

"Glad to see you recognize my awesomeness! Go ahead and praise me some more!"

"Don't encourage him anymore or else we'll be here for hours."

"Relax Shinobu, an amazing oni like me wouldn't let them stay out here for so long. C'mon Y/N we'll lead you to the city!"

Rubbing the back of your neck, you look down as you sheepishly admit.

"I don't think I can go in with clothes like these. Some treasure hoarders and a nobushi attacked me on my way to the city. So now my clothes are all cut up and dirty."

"What?! That's horrible, I swear if I see them, I'll-"

"Calm down boss, let's get them a change of clothes and then you can go after them."

Shinobu also seems a bit pissed at your story, interesting.

"We should have a spare uniform with the other materials, right? We can get the clothes along with the materials."

"But what if they got hurt? We can't have them walking like this! Akira, Genta, Mamoru! I'm gonna need you three to get the supplies and the old uniform. Shinobu and I will keep our new friend Y/N company in case anyone else tries attacking them."

You inwardly sigh in relief at not having to walk. Your heels still hurt from the electricity.

The boys hesitate as they give you a glance. Unlike Shinobu and Itto who seem to have an instant liking to you, the boys are unsure. Shinobu tries to explain to them.

"I know boss gets scammed nearly every time something like this happens, but I have a good feeling about Y/N. It's like I've meet them before, almost like an old friend."

The boys nod and leave feeling more assured with Shinobu on your side. Itto pats her back with a grin.

"You explained it almost as well as I would have."

"But maybe you should have gone with them. It'll be difficult to carry all those materials by themselves."

"Ah, have more faith Shinobu. They'll be fine. The shrine will look great."

This talk of materials and a shrine give you an inkling of what they're doing but you question them to be sure.

"By shrine, do you mean you're making a shrine for the creator?"

"That's right! It's almost the anniversary of the creator awakening the traveler, so we wanted to do something special. But it'll take some time for the boys to get back with the stuff. Why don't we have some fun in the meantime?"

That smile on Itto's face turns competitive as he stares down at you. It's infectious and before you know it, you have the same grin.

"What game are you suggesting? It would be fun to try an Inazuma game. You'll probably need the extra help of it being familiar too."

"Oh hoho! Shorty's got jokes! I'll take you on in any game. But since you want something Inazuma style then beetle fighting is the obviously best choice!"

Shinobu sighs affectionately as she watches Itto explain how beetle fighting works to you. She can't help but feel drawn to you and Itto feels the same way.

You find a huge purple reddish beetle and carefully carry it to the stage Itto set up.

"That's a good one Y/n, seems like the beetle likes you."

Shinobu comments as you bring it into view. The beetle moves in your hands as docile as a lamb and you pet the hard shell.

"That's great to know. Hope you won't be too mad when I beat Itto's ass."

"As if, just be prepared for him to challenge you to a 100 more matches."

"He wouldn't actually do that right?"

Shinobu adjusts her mask as she stays silent.

"Right???"

She only laughs as Itto bounds up to you both holding a good-sized purple beetle.

"I can tell this little guy has a beetle fighting spirit like no other! Be prepared to lose Y/N!"

With both beetles on the stage, the fight begins. Or that's what you would think if Itto's beetle wasn't immediately defeated.

You give your beetle a nice pat for a job well done as Itto picks up his beetle shocked.

"Alright, I lost that time, but this next round will be different. He just got stage fright is all."

Another round goes and you win again. Itto challenges you again and surprise, surprise you win again. This loop goes on and on until the boys arrive with the clothes and materials.

You cheer tiredly as Itto finally stops challenging you to help his gang with building the shrine. You pick up your tired beetle and hold him close to you as you watch them begin building.

Itto's beetle pinches your leg lightly to get your attention. You smile at the purple beetle and hold him too. Now out of battle the two beetles are friendly with each other.

"Never again Shinobu, that was at least 35 rounds."

"37 actually but hey, who's counting?"

You chuckle at her words and watch as she takes the uniform from the boys. She walks back and hands you the clothes.

"There's a small stall right on the outskirts of Inazuma City. You can change there."

You look at where she's pointing and thank her before going to it. You enter it and take off the mask. After changing clothes, you look at yourself in the mirror.

The outfit itself was Inazuma style with near unnoticeable patches. You never imagined you would be wearing clothes like this in Teyvat. Putting on the mask and looking back into the mirror, you feel more like a part of this world.

Was it because without it you would be hunted? Were you just able to disassociate better with it on? Or were you truly so isolated from the person you wished to be, that living with a mask and an altered identity was more comfortable?

You shake off those thoughts and leave the stall. You get back to where the Arataki gang is building the shrine. Your shrine. And sit beside Shinobu who is supervising to make sure they don't accidentally kill themselves.

You casually chat with Shinobu slowly bringing the conversation to the topic you want. You finally get to say the sentence that will serve as information bait.

"Actually, I'm trying to find a boat to Liyue. I want to keep exploring."

As much as you would love to stay in Inazuma a while longer to look around, Ei isn't the only one you were worried about. Yae, Heizou, and Ayato were all threats in their own right.

They're all good at sniffing out lies and mysteries. And you happen to be the biggest one, especially with this mask.

But Shinobu never got to reply to your comment as Sara approaches you all. Her stare is intimidating as she glares at Itto. Her voice has that same crisp professionalism that you remember her for.

"What is it that you all are doing here? The residents are complaining that your noise is distracting from their daily activities."

Itto gives an annoyed huff and stands up to face her.

"Me and the gang are building a shrine, thank you very much. I never do anything to attract more trouble, seriously what do you take me for? Like obviously I am the trouble, duh."

The way Sara examines the half-built shrine is similar to a stranger looking at a little kid's art piece.

"At least you're doing something productive for once. Despite that, you still need a permit to build one."

Shinobu sighs and stands up. Sara examines the permit from Shinobu before handing it back to her. Just as Sara was about to leave, she finally notices you.

"And who is this? You didn't drag them into your shenanigans, did you?"

The accusatory tone in her voice directed towards Itto made you smile but Itto's sputtered defense was what made you laugh. Sara watches you before approaching you.

"What is your name? I don't think I recognize you as a local or as a frequent traveler. I'm Kujou Sara, general of the Tenryou Commission."

"It's nice to meet you Sara, I'm Y/N. This is my first-time visiting Inazuma."

You smile innocently at her knowing how strict she was at her job. She went silent before saying.

"Your hair, your jaw shape even your smile is so similar to the creator."

Your heart drops when you hear that. Shinobu and Itto look at you too, they can see the resemblance. But your smile stays on your face with ease.

"I've heard that before but thank you for the compliment. Being similar in those features is a blessing."

Your tone is wistful like a shy admirer. Sara's suspicions seem to ease but she becomes curious instead.

"Where are you originally from? How often are you compared to the creator? Were you born with those similar features or did your face naturally change into it?"

With each question Sara gets closer and closer. Her tone has a rare curiosity and just a hint of reverence. It was a good decision to be wary of the cult and all the acolytes. It seems like most of them would react the same way Ei did if they saw your face.

"Your presence. If I'm not wrong, it feels exactly like how the creator would control us."

Her tone becomes cold and as you had no time to answer any of her questions, the suspicion has tripled.

You jump back as lightning flashes right where she was as she retreats a step. She stares at you waiting for your answer. Shinobu and Itto seem to fade in the background as you stare at Sara.

They all want answers. Answers that you don't have. The truth will only be seen as a lie and what lie could you possibly tell them that-

Oh.

That could work. Yes, it can definitely work.

You sigh and turn your head to the side while lowering it a little.

"I was hoping to keep quiet about this longer until I was sure of it but if you insist then I should tell you all the truth. Especially Itto and Shinobu since they've helped me out a lot."

You spin a story on how you woke up with little to no memories at a little shrine near Ritou. You rest your cheek on your hand as you recall how you heard the most beautiful voice state that you were now the creator's oracle. How you were told that you were not going to be controlled but be a way for everyone to communicate almost directly with the creator.

As you finish, they all stare at you with in slight suspicion but no hostility. You smile to yourself as you realize that they are willing to believe. That they could be convinced of your lie.

You play with your hands as you solemnly tell them that you understand that they may not believe you. That the creator even warned you of this being the most likely possibility.

Your smile is gentle, and your voice is a little hopeful as you explain that by communicating with the creator you could prove your status as an oracle.

"Prove it. Show us that you are truly the chosen oracle of the creator."

Sara says firmly.

"I want to believe you Y/N and I hate agreeing with Kujou chicken but I'm serious about the creator. I'll need to see this proof too or else I'll having to actually knock you with Beefcake as revenge for lying by using the creator. I speak for Shinobu and the gang."

You can see Shinobu roll her eyes at Itto's theatrics, but she doesn't interrupt. You smile and nod your head.

"Of course! Using the creator like that is blasphemous. I just need a small shrine to pray in private. If anybody sees or interrupts me, it could make the process go wrong."

Sara accepts that and leads you to a small temple in the middle of Byakko Plain. Which most definitely did not exist when you were still just a player.

You walk inside and stare at the murals that decorate the walls. It's you, undoubtedly so. Some are beautiful, while others are hauntingly sad. You can't help but let your eyes linger on the mural of you embracing a crying Thunderbird that was slowly becoming a Thunder Manifestation.

Probably Kapatcir, the Thunderbird that bonded with Ruu on Tsurumi Island. You never bothered to really memorize this kind of stuff but perhaps being the creator has made you automatically recall everything.

Sara leads you deeper into the temple until you stop at a alter. The altar itself is beautiful. A cobblestone base with Sakura, Amur Maple, and even some Otogi wood used to make the structure of it.

It reaches almost as high as the ceil and the trees wind around a statue of yourself. The statue depicts you with a peaceful expression and clasp hands.

You try to ignore the blood stains that cover the base of your statue. You go into a kneeling position and clasp your hands. Sara leaves the temple and it's only when the light from the door is gone that you relax.

The candles around your altar keep the temple bright and you open the screen.

You already know from experience that simply telling them private information will just lead you to be more suspicious. Instead, you switch out their weapons. From fully leveled weapons to dull blades, you close the screen.

You leave the temple and head back to where the gang and Sara is waiting. You hear the sounds of Itto trying (and failing) to challenge Sara to a rematch as you get into view.

Shinobu sees you first.

"Y/N! Did you finish praying?"

You nod with a gentle smile.

"I did and they answered my prayer. As we know, the creator can really only affect the acolytes so please take out your weapons."

"Gladly, I mean their grace gave me a wonderful fully upgraded Whiteblind that makes me even more powerful than I already am!"

Itto summons his weapon and holds it over his shoulder in a pose. Yet in his hands is a level 1, one star, Waster Greatsword. Shinobu sighs and breaks it to him.

"Boss look at your weapon."

"What? Why would I? It's fine, the creator gave me it before they even- Oh my archon, this isn't my claymore!"

As Shinobu and Itto squabble, Sara looks at the Hunter's bow that she now has. It's so unlike the Sacrificial bow that she normally wields. She feels weak with it, like the creator deemed her unworthy of their gifts.

Looking back up at you, she speaks with a small sadness that doesn't go unnoticed by you.

"It seems you are telling the truth. I apologize for doubting you. There has never been anything on an oracle appearing, so I was suspicious. Could you please pray and ask-"

"Y/N! You have to speak with the creator again! There's no way I can wield this hunk of junk. Not when I know that my great Whiteblind that was given to me by the creator is somewhere out there."

Itto shamelessly cuts Sara off. You laugh and reassure them.

"Don't worry, I'll pray and ask them to change it back. It was only temporary after all."

You leave quickly to the temple and change the weapons back. Shinobu didn't bother taking out her sword, but you still gave her, her correct one back.

You get back in time to hear Sara announce her departure to see Ei.

"I must report this to the Almighty Shogun. The existence of an oracle could mean a great deal of things. Including the chance that the Almighty Shogun can inquire the creator through you as to why she has not been awakened yet."

You didn't pull for her before and you certainly won't after how she chased you. Ei could even take you awakening her as a sign of approval of hunting you.

And there's no way you can let Sara tell Ei about your existence yet either. You would be seen as suspicious due to being found on the same day the 'imposter' was found. You needed a firm reputation as the oracle before you could ever meet Ei again.

"And I have to stop you from doing that. You see there's a reason the creator wants to keep my oracle status quiet. The creator wishes to not only see the world but all the acolytes naturally. Lumine is a famous traveler, people naturally act differently around her. But I'm not well known so everyone's true or normal attitudes are revealed to me. They want to see them as their truest self and warning the Electro Archon beforehand will go against the creators wishes."

Yes, it contradicts how you want people to be aware of you being an oracle, but it's works better than you would expect. Sara is too devoted to go against the creators wishes so she'll stay quiet. Shinobu is trustworthy and will keep quiet to please the creator.

But Itto and the gang? They'll either boast or let it slip easily. Anything that is told to stay quiet or secret almost always gets spread even faster. And since no one would dare speak to Ei casually nor will she actively look for information, Ei will still be oblivious. Only Yae could possibly let Ei know and you plan to be gone by then.

Sara keeps her head down as she speaks.

"Our truest self? Truly, the creator thinks far ahead than anyone else. Can I ask you a favor? How does the creator view me? I treated you with suspicion when you were only doing the creators will. Is that my truest self?"

You reach out your hands and grasp both of hers. She seems so sad and resigned that you can't stop yourself from using your title to speak plainly.

"Sara, the creator has seen you and your truest self is not what you believe. They see just how devoted you are to the Electro Archon and to them. The way you take your job seriously to protect the people of Inazuma, how you do your upmost to preserve their will. They wish that you would grow more when it comes to your emotional state, but they love seeing you take pride in your work. There is nothing to fear."

The way you tilt your head makes it obvious that you're staring directly into her eyes. Your skin, your hold on her hands, that piercing but warm gaze. Your features so similar to the creator. It's like she's looking at the creator in the flesh.

"Your grace..."

Sara whispers before jumping back as you're pulled away from her.

"Hey! Stop hogging Y/N! Weren't you going back to your boring workplace? If you're gonna stay any longer than you should just agree to my rematch."

Itto is holding you by the back of your shirt lifting you above the ground as he glares at Sara. You wanted to laugh at his clear jealousy.

Sara grits her teeth in annoyance.

"I was just conversing with Y/N, but I will be on my way now."

With that Sara leaves with Itto putting you back down as he stomps his foot like a kid.

"That stupid chicken, why did you hold her hand? You could have just held mine, I'm way stronger!"

"Didn't she beat you in a fight?"

"Well yeah, I admit that, but she always refuses a rematch! She's too chicken to accept it because she knows she'll lose!"

"Boss the shrine is done!" "Let's go get the offerings now." "Maybe some candles, candy, and lavender melon."

You struggle not to fall as Itto drapes his whole arm on you. He turns to his boys with a grin as Shinobu helps you escape his grip.

"Good work boys, we'll get the best stuff."

You walk with the Arataki gang as they gather stuff to offer. Sometimes they ask you which one is better to offer since you can communicate with the creator. It's not like anyone will believe that you, a scrappy lying human is their beloved creator.

You smile and shamelessly pick anything you like. You were the creator after all, this totally wasn't self-serving in the slightest.

Taking it back they light the candles and offer the gifts. There's a rare moment of silence as you all pray to the shrine. Well at least they were, you were too busy trying not to fall asleep from such a busy day.

It's only when you are eating roasted lavender melon with them all that Shinobu speaks on topic you needed.

"I almost forgot, Y/N, you planned to leave Inazuma right?"

"What!? You're leaving already? Why?"

Itto's whiny dramatic voice made you smile.

"I'm not leaving yet; I don't have any transportation. I'm following the creators will. As the oracle it's my duty to spread the creator's thoughts and feelings. It's my honor to be one of the bridges between the creator and Teyvat. While Lumine is used to let acolyte be awakened, I am used to communicate."

Itto groans before sighing.

"Fine fine, I understand. You know what? I'm such a great oni that I'll even bring you to meet a guy that can help you. Pretty kind of me, right?"

Perfect, a possible transportation to escape Ei.

"That does sound great! I would love to meet them."

You can basically see Itto's ego grow with every word you say. Before Shinobu can say or do anything Itto lifts you up onto his shoulder. His hand holds you steady as he laughs at your panic.

"Then what are we waiting for? Feel free to admire my greatness as we go to see my guy."

Shinobu waves sympathetically as Itto hauls you towards Inazuma City. He asks you loads of questions about the creator and how they view him.

"Do they think I'm great? Am I their favorite? Of course, I'm their favorite, I am Arataki 'Numero Uno' Itto after all. Just look at me."

"They think it's funny how you always find a way to accidentally consume bean products."

"Oh god no, don't even mention beans. I can't believe they saw me in such a weak moment."

"They also wanted to whack every human who threw beans at you with a beehive to see how they like being allergic."

"You're not lying about that right? Cause that's the best news I've ever heard in my whole life!"

It's fun, the whole walk with Itto was fun. It's even better than you imagined being in Genshin would be like. You wanted to continue living like this. But the looming threat of Ei hanging over your shoulder seemed to stain your mood.

Your hand brushed against your mask. It's a reminder that you probably can't ever live your life here without it. It's still a cult that may attack you at any time.

With that grim reminder, dread pools in your gut as Itto leads you closer to Thoma.

Oh god, oh fuck if it's Thoma then it's Ayaka and if it's both its Ayato. And Ayato could definitely figure you out. Maybe you'll be fine, not everyone that meets Thoma will eventually meet Ayato.

"Thoma! My bro, my guy, my dude. This is Y/N, and they need your help getting a boat to Liyue. They're a super sick oracle for the creator and got a big mission to follow the creators will."

Shit. That one little word is repeated in your mind as Itto keeps talking. You were right about how saying 'it's a secret' makes things spread faster but you didn't want it to happen while you were still here! Thoma has a smile frozen on his face as he listens.

"I'm sorry they're the creator's oracle? I really mean no offense, but this is quite hard to believe."

Thoma smiles sheepishly while Itto pushes you in front of him to face Thoma. There's no point in trying to remind Itto to keep your identity on the down low. Holding out your hand you speak cheerfully to Thoma.

"Yeah, you aren't the first acolyte to not believe me. It's understandable since I'm the first."

Thoma shakes your hand, it's a little hot but not burning. It seems visions really do affect their bodies.

"How did you know I'm an acolyte? I'm just a simple housekeeper for the Kamisato Clan."

"Like Itto said, I'm an oracle. The creator grants me knowledge needed to meet and communicate with everyone."

"Well, I'm sorry Y/N but there's no way I can help you with your identity as an oracle so, sorry to say, suspicious."

It makes sense, Thoma while being a nice guy is loyal to Ayato and Ayaka first and foremost. It's one of his key defining traits and that also means he's loyal to the creator too. Itto tries to convince him by retelling how you switched the weapons, but Thoma doesn't believe it.

"Okay if I tell you information that only very few people know that can prove that I'm truly an oracle, will you help me find a boat?"

"Alright but I have very high expectations. I refuse to help someone that might be using the creators title to trick people."

"To the public knowledge, Lord Kamisato was awakened and then you were awakened. But that isn't the truth. That was a switcheroo Lord Kamisato made to avoid enemies using the truth against the Kamisato Clan. You were awakened long before Lord Kamisato but had to stay quiet about it per his instructions."

Thoma looked at you with slight suspicion. Only Ayato, Ayaka, and Thoma knew about this, yet you a stranger did. But he just couldn't shake off the nostalgic feeling you gave him.

"That's honestly really shady but I can't deny that you're impressive. The only people that know about this would never say anything unless they really trust you."

He smiled kindly like you always seen him do in the game.

"I'll honor our agreement and help you find a boat."

Itto cheered at Thoma's agreement and waved goodbye as you and Thoma left. The gang caught up and started walking to God knows where as you and Thoma walked through Byakko Plains.

"An oracle huh? That does explain why the feeling of being awakened seems to surround you."

The grass swayed as the moon rose higher in the sky.

"All you acolytes tell me that. I can't feel it myself, but it sounds amazing."

"It is, like being embraced by the creator themself. Do you truly not remember much about yourself or your life before becoming an oracle?"

The butterflies dance with the fireflies as the sound of hilichurls dancing can be heard faintly.

"Other than my name, my bag and the clothes on my back, I truly had nothing. My only knowledge of Teyvat is the one the creator shows me through dreams, visions, and stories."

"This must feel like a whole new world to you then. But you're adapting quite well. Would it be presumptuous to ask what the creator thinks of me?"

The path splits to two at Konda Village and Thoma leads you to the right. Nerves prick at you as remember that Ritou is on the left. Where is he taking you?

"A malewife."

"A what?"

"It must be some slang from their world. But it isn't an insult from what I've gathered. In fact, I think it's a compliment."

Thoma blushes a little as he stares straight ahead. You turn your head to hide your smile at his cute reaction. Chinju forest surrounds you as you pass under a red gate and walk along the stone path. You really hoped he wasn't taking you where you think it is.

"But if you want a deeper answer, the creator sees you as a loyal person. As kind and helpful you are to others, it's your fierce loyalty that keeps their eye on you. It burns as bright as your flames."

His eyes shine at your words as he looks up at the sky wistfully. The moon seems to reflect in his eyes.

"Do you mind if I tell you something a little personal? I just feel comfortable with you so easily."

"Go ahead."

"When I still lived in Monstadt with my mom, my dad would send me letters from Inazuma. My parents had their differences, but they never failed to speak so highly of the creator. His letters always ended with a reminder to look for the creator in my hard times."

His words made your shoulders heavy. With guilt or responsibility? You don't know yet. You could only take some solace in the glowing blue flowers of the forest.

"When I left Mondstadt to find my dad, I took a little boat and sailed with a bottle of wine. It's a miracle I didn't die. It was the creator's grace."

You remember reading that part of his character story. It was a shame he never found his father nor the bottle of wine.

"When I was on the boat as the storm raged and it was falling apart at the seams. All I could do was pray, pray that I would somehow survive. When I woke up, I was on Inazuma. My lord and lady were the ones who found me and took me in. That's why I gave them my loyalty just like I gave my loyalty to the creator."

You're standing at the front of the Kamisato Estate when Thoma stops and smiles at you. His eyes were almost closed with how hard he was smiling.

You could tell he was happy, you wished you could feel the same. Because at that moment all you could feel was relief. Relief that you wouldn't have to feel responsible for all their misplaced faith.

You were not a God; you did not save them. But if they knew the truth that you were their beloved creator, you don't know if you could actually tell them that.

"Thoma..."

You trail off, not wanting to lie in such a personal moment. You clutch the strap of your bag. Thoma looks at you with gentle eyes patiently waiting for whatever you have to say.

"The words I'm gonna say right now are mine, not the creators. Even if you didn't sail to Inazuma and almost drown. Even if you didn't meet Lord and Lady Kamisato. I still fully believe that you would be just as great and loyal to whoever you chose. A friend, a lover, even if it was an animal. Anyone would be lucky to have someone like you care for them. You, yourself even without that vision is just as incredible."

You start off softly but feel a rise in your pace as your words come together. You look up at him and smile brightly. All your teeth show, and you feel that happiness he displayed earlier.

Thoma sucks in a sharp breath as his heart rate speeds up. His face burns for reasons he can't seem to comprehend. Why did your words have such a strong effect? How do you look so ethereal with the moonlight shining on you?

A guard calls out to you both from the top of the stairs.

"Thoma?! Is that you?"

You peak past Thoma to see a guard walk closer. Before you could see Thomas's face, he turns his head around clears his throat.

"Hey Hirotatsu! This is Y/N a special guest I brought to meet our lord and lady. Depending on how the meeting goes, they might become more than just a special guest."

His words remind you of your situation. He brought you to Ayato and Ayaka. You'll have to lie and use all sorts of tricks to survive with your life and identity intact. You hope desperately that Ayato doesn't ask you to take off the mask.

Thoma turns to you with a apologetic smile.

"I know this isn't Ritou like you were probably expecting but I promise you. If you can prove your oracle status to my lord and lady, they'll provide you with the safest and fastest way to Liyue."

His smile turns almost sad as he says his next words.

"I'm sure you understand why it's important for me to make sure that you travel in a safe boat."

You know what he's saying. You know that this is technically emotional manipulation. But damn it, he's looking at you with warm eyes and a nervous smile that makes you want to pinch his cheeks. You were weak in this area.

"It's fine, I'm no fake. I'll prove it to them just as I proved it to you and everyone else so far."

You speak with casual confidence and face the stairs that lead to hell. Ayaka wasn't the issue, she's sheltered to a degree that you could spin a tale and have a good chance of escaping. But Ayato? That man believes few things and trusts even fewer.

A pleasantly hot fingerless gloved hand takes yours heating you up. Thoma leads you gently up the stairs. You follow him like a moth to a flame knowing that you're close to being burnt to a crisp.

Something to add is that if Y/N changes things that happened or says something that doesn't align with what happened. It was completely intentional. I just don't want to write "You lied, you paraphrased etc at almost every dialogue. I'm riding on my creative high and taking full advantage of it. Plus, I'm finally almost done getting used to writing again. I loved all your comments, reblogs and hearts! And my taglist is open to whoever wants to be in. Just leave a comment and I'll add you.

Taglist: @vvyeislazzy, @nikqi, @the-dumber-scaramouche, @etherisy, @yourlocalstranger123, @ra404, @iruiji, @goldenglow149, @haru-tofuu, @lsleepysimpl, @bebobeboben, @yuyuzi-ling, @amidst-the-tempest, @resident-cryptid, @mxd1zzy, @mochicurls21, @nervouseaglelover, @thedevioussmirk, @yumuramma If you are in italics that means I couldn't tag you! Usually you'll need to check your settings to fix that.

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sashi-ya · 7 months

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𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝟐𝟑 DAY 2: GOD FORM Nika! Luffy x F! Reader

Requested by: @jessysapphireblue ➡ Kinktober! Prompt 2 wirh our luffy🥰🥰 Luffy with a female magician reader. Perhaps in a nice secluded Environment and we know curious luffy is and how He would love to test it out with her as she is an absolute sweetheart and laughing with him but she is always so kind and gentle with him even during everything. Pls? I love your writing 🥰💙🩵 tw: mdni. Luffy turns to Nika with his G5. oral. food play. luffy takes you to the clouds, literally. vag. size kink. pretty sweet and romantic. 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Moonshine, kissing your skins with soft silver light. Every time you look up in the sky, and the moon is on full display, you remember Wano kuni.

“Luffy… it’s been a long time since I’ve seen your Nika form” you mumble, with a curious hidden intention floating around in your mind. Not only Luffy is handsome in his normal form, but, the white curls and red eyes have been in the back of your mind since you caught a glimpse of it in between tears of joy for his reborn.

“Nhh? You wanna fight, (Name)?” he jokes, laughing like he only knows how to. That laughter that alters the rhythm of your heart; that makes it beat to the sound of happy drums.

You stand up immediately, looking at him, ignoring he was joking about fighting.

“I don’t wanna fight, I wanna… uh… you know…” you stutter, is not that you aren’t close to Luffy enough to ask him to have intimacy, but this sounded differently. However, Luffy can tell -only with you- when you want it.

“Shi. Shi. Shi… you want me to do it while in Nika form? I kinda thought of it once in the bathroom” he asks, taking the straw hat off his face, allowing his adorable cheeks to be bathed by the biggest star shining above the skies.

Your cheeks burn. He thought of it once?

Your eyes land on his sunshine ones, and nod with no further words. Yet, your expression seems enough to give Luffy the yes he needed.

As soon as it is humanly possible to think, Luffy snatches you by the waist and jumps into the beach coast. It was a calm night. The Sunny had docked in a calm island, with no villains to defeat and only to grab some food to continue the trip after Wano. Everybody had already eaten; Sanji and Zoro were doing the dishes and most of the Strawhats were sleeping inside their home, the Thousand Sunny Go.

“I need a place with a lot of moonlight” he chimes, while jumping off the railing to the slightly cold sand underneath.

“Is that a need for your powers?” you ask, curious.

Luffy doesn’t really know if it’s true or not, but he enjoys seeing your face while his body mixes with yours.

“Mmm… I don’t know…” he lies, and you can clearly tell.

Soon, you get to a secluded area right next to the beach. The waves crashing against some rocks will be the perfect companion to the drums of liberation you are sure you will hear.

“So, how should I do this… nghh…” Luffy thinks, pressing his index in the middle of his forehead. Maybe he needs to transmute or connect his energy to another being to turn into Nika?

You wait, sitting on the rock where he deposited you. Looking like a magical mermaid, Luffy suddenly understands that turning into Nika was easier while looking at the person that makes his heart go fast.

And in indeed, and all of a sudden, with his eyes fixed on yours, his heart starts to go even faster. Beating harder against his chest, turning the things that surrounded him into soft gum.

His pristine white locks flow with the sea breeze, and you could swear the moon shines brighter than before since he transformed. The waves act differently, as if they were waiting for Luffy to command them. And you can’t help but gawk at his majestically look… he does look like a God. His litmus halo, the bleached clothes, his smile, the crimson eyes…

“L-Luffy…” you mumble, in awe. It’s the first time you have him right in front of you, and so close, in such form.

He smiles, or rather, smirks. It makes your stomach drop, and your thighs to tightly close.

Luffy pounces on you, laughing. Your back doesn’t hurt when it hits the rocks behind. It’s all soft, and caring, and you feel happy but also there is a presence that feels like is crushing your lungs, making you dizzy… it is the intensity of Luffy’s Gear 5 power and will.

“You know I can imagine anything and make it happen, (Name)?” he asks, with his pointy nose pressed against yours.

You sigh, loudly. There is enough tension built inside your chest. “I… yes…?”

“If I want to, your clothes can turn into delicious chocolate… shishishi” he laughs, touching your chest. His hands play with the fabrics that cover your body and suddenly he can rip them with no effort. Luffy takes a piece into his mouth, he is even amazed at his own power… in deed, what he wanted, turned to be real; your clothes are made of chocolate now.

He begins devouring your shirt first, and then your pants and when he is ready the panties that began to soak with your needy fluids are now melting in your skin.

Luffy gloats before attacking. He does not eat desperately just yet. First, he bites one string of your panties, and then the other. The tip of his front teeth graze your hipbones, making your quiver every time he does. Your hand reaches his hair and lovingly plays with his soft, alabaster curls.

Everything feels like happiness; pleasure and lust mix with pumping hearts of full devotion and love.

His tongue finally reaches for your core, and while he rejoices in the flavour of chocolate he also does with the salty caramel taste of your core.

Luffy’s fingers search for your hand, and when both collide they interlock; the more he pleases you orally, the more you squeeze.

And he takes you to heaven, because if there is something he is the king already of, that’s oral. Your back arches, and orgasm approaches. One of many more of those he likes to drink from.

But this God does not only take you to the stars just with pleasure, but quite literally…

Easing off the buzzing sound of your heart pumping in your ears, with still aftershocks of pleasure from your climax, you feel his arms around your waist and the wind in your face.

“Luffy! What are you doing?” you ask, surrounding with your arms his neck.

“Let’s try going up to the skies!” he laughs, jumping with you in arms. What once used to be sand, looks more like an elastic bed that he uses to fly up.

You open your eyes, as wide as possible -maybe even popping out?- making him laugh louder. While you can’t help but panic to see your feet that far from the ground… but after all, this is exactly what dating Luffy feels like.

White fluffy material, that feels humid and soft, surrounds both of you. And soon you understand these are clouds.

“Here!” he chimes, pouncing into the most dense of them. Nami has taught you that clouds are nothing but water in a different form, there is no way it can hold you two.

Oh, but it does. As long as Luffy can imagine it, it can.

He helps you lay your back on it, and while your naked body feels like being engulfed by the velvety sensation of such magical bedding, Luffy gets ready to place a sweet kiss on your lips.

“You told me once that being with me feels like you are in cloud nine… but since you didn’t come with us to Skypiea, I thought this could be similar to it…” he whispers, with lips pressed on yours and the sexiest smile you ever seen on his lips.

His right hand next to your face. The left one, softly caressing your cheek. Your toes pulling down his white pants, with your eyes fixed on the darkening of his sight. There is something taking over Luffy, it is perhaps lust. Or maybe something else, you can’t describe so simply.

Hardness you already recognize, playfully grazing your entrance, getting ready to slide deep inside of you.

“Can I try something else?” he asks, before entering completely into you.

“Whatever you do, I want it” you purr, with a soft smile and your index softly caressing his cheekbone scar.

His lips slowly part as he lets himself get surrounded by your clenching inner walls. A growl, manly and not often heard, escapes his lips. A moan coming from yours, mixes with his pants.

You suddenly feel like your insides going bigger, something growing deep inside you. It goes gently, hitting every corner and spot of pleasure in your body.

“Lu- Luffy… what is it?” you ask, confused but still almost unable to think straight because of how good it feels.

“You like it? It is.. ngh… me… bigger me…” he grunts, letting himself crush you with the weight of his body. The pressure around his growing member feels heavenly and he can’t even play cool no more.

His lips land on your neck, while his hips move in and out. Faster every time. Harder, deeper… bigger…

Sloppy lids frame your eyes that fix into the immensity of a sky full of stars. They shine closer to you than ever; they aren’t above, but around you this time.

Your arms hug him tightly, your heels carve on the small of Luffy’s back, your nails scratch his shoulder blades… and your hearts synchronize to the beating drums of liberation, up and above the skies 💖 ~

taglist: @stephisokay @henrioo @shuzuiikoii @bullbonez @fengxinwifutobecalled @i-started-reading-fanfics-at12 @crimsonlikeshellsing @weebare808 @thestarwasborn @bookandyarndragon @cyberdazetragedy @uzxotic @trouble-sistar 💖

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e-m-ma-lmfao · 6 months

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Hiiii! I was wondering if you could write an Astarion x reader where Astarion cant go under sunlight yet he misses it so much. And maybe he comes across the reader who’s soaking in the sun and he admires them and then later he tells them that he misses the warmness of the sunlight and the reader cups his cheeks with their hands, letting Astarion feel the warmness that was left by the sun on the readers skin. Idk if this makes any sense but it’s a cute concept in my head 😭🫶🏻💕 thank you!!

You Are the Sun to Me

pairing : astarion x (female) reader

summary : astarion watches as you do the thing he longs to do the most, bask in the suns warmth. you allow him to feel it through your skin.

When you arrived in Baldur's Gate you figured your life would be different. And when you killed Cazador with Astarion by your side, you were sure that nothing would ever negatively affect the two of you again. So when the time came to defeat the elder brain, you were happy and excited.

But when you found out that Astarion’s tadpole was no longer protecting him from the sun, your heart broke. Aching for the young man, the two of you fled from the city. He liked life on the road more anyways and you were willing to sacrifice the city for the wellbeing of your only love.

Besides, camping around had its perks. Astarion was usually in charge of picking a spot for the night, and thankfully his taste was unmatched in everything he did. He always managed to find the most beautiful scenery.

“I could never allow my lover to sleep on some shabby deer path, or in a smelly bog. What kind of man would I be? I know you’d enjoy a spot with a beach so much more,” He would say the most convincing words, kissing your hands, when you tried to convince him the spot you had first found was going to be fine. He would have no such thing, wouldn’t even humor your idea.

And of course, he was right, as he always was. When he finally picked a spot, a large open space for your tent and fire, and the defining feature, a river cut off from the world by a line of trees. It was like the world had put it there for the two of you alone, and he knew exactly where to find it.

Throughout the day, when Astarion would spend his time reading inside of the tent to hide from the light, you would sneak off to the nearby river bank.

With your clothes thrown haphazardly along the shore, you would lay in the sand and bask in the heat of the sun's light. It was your time to yourself, to relax, a time when you could let your guard down.

But Astarion had always been one to take advantage of an unsuspecting eye. So while you lay, with your eyes closed, relaxed in the sun's light. He would watch from the tree line, pupils wide with adoration.

A part of him was filled with envy of your ability to lay so freely in the sunlight. Another part was saddened to think that he would never be able to feel its warmth against his skin any longer. As bad as it was to have his mind violated by the tadpole, he missed the sun more than he had the first time. With the tadpole he had gotten another taste, but he never would again.

Within all of his anguish, Astarion still found himself able to look at your figure taking in the sunlight, and still find your beauty of far more importance. It was hard to be envious of such a beautiful creature.

“Astarion?”

Startled by your voice, he snaps out of his trance, and finds your eyes.

“Sorry my love. I didn’t mean to sneak up on you. Just wanted to appreciate the scenery.” He settles his arm against the tree beside him to hold him up as he converses with you from afar.

Slowly, you stand up to walk over to him with wobbly legs, tingly from not walking.

“I can come back to camp if you want. I just need a moment.”

“No no. Enjoy the sun.” Your heart aches once more as you see a sudden sadness glaze over his eyes, his lips purse as he holds back the emotions he truly feels.

“Are you okay?” You approach his body now, standing under the darkness of the trees, hands reaching up to hold his face in the warmth of your hands. His face lifts, cheek pushing against your hand as he tries to get closer to the heat.

“You're so warm, my dear.” His cold fingers land atop your hand, a heavy contrast against the heat you had collected from the sun, “I miss this feeling.”

He feels his eyes begin to collect water but he swallows back any sadness, choosing to indulge in your warmth. You pull him into your body, his hands reaching around to feel at your back. Even though you had been laying on your back it was still warm, far warmer then his hands which sent a shiver up your spine.

“I’m sorry.” You place your face into his neck, gently kissing his collarbone and neck.

“For what, darling?”

“You’ll never get to walk in the sun again.” Your own eyes start to brim with tears, empathetic for his inability to feel the sun. He pulls away just enough to look down at you, slender fingers playing with the flesh on your waist.

Slowly he lifts his hands to wipe away stray tears sliding down your cheeks with the pads of his thumbs, “As far as I’m concerned I never need to walk in the sun again while I have you on my side, my dear. You are the sun to me. You give me all the warmth I need, and your smile, gosh, I don’t think the sun could match how it brightens my day.”

His words send heat to your cheeks, which he takes advantage of by placing his hands on either side of your face, pulling you in to kiss your lips gently.

“We could come back out when the moon is over us. Moonbathe, no sun needed.” He chuckles at your attempt to reconcile the fact that he can’t join you as you sunbathe.

“I would love nothing more.”

#astarion #astarion x reader #baldurs gate astarion #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bdg3 #x reader #oneshot #drabble #female reader

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 14 days

Text

1968 [Chapter 4: Zeus, God Of Thunder]

A/N: Can you believe we're already 1/3 done with this series?? I sure can't! I hope you enjoy Chapter 4. I'm so excited to show you where we're headed. The times are indeed a-changin'... 😉

Series Summary: Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemond’s chronically delinquent brother Aegon.

Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.

Word Count: 7.3k

Tagging: @arcielee @huramuna @glasscandlegrenades @gemmagirlss1 @humanpurposes @mariahossain @marvelescvpe @darkenchantress @aemondssapphirebussy @haslysl @bearwithegg @beautifulsweetschaos @travelingmypassion @althea-tavalas @chucklefak @serving-targaryen-realness @chaoticallywriting @moonfllowerr @rafeism @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @herfantasyworldd @mangosmootji @sunnysideaeggs @minttea07 @babyblue711

💜 All of my writing can be found HERE! 💜

You unzip the floral suitcase that Alicent gave the nurses to pack for you. Inside are the hundreds of greeting cards sent by people from the Atlantic to the Rockies; downstairs, Eudoxia is distributing a dozen bouquets of flowers throughout the house with appropriate grimness, and more arrive each hour. You lift cards out of the suitcase by the handful and lay them down on your bed. Every movement feels slow, every thought muddled, bare feet in cold wet sand that swallows you to your ankles. The windows are open, the sheer curtains billowing. The wind whips in off the ocean, smelling of brine and sun glare, life and death.

Aemond emerges from the bathroom in a gale of steam. He finishes adjusting his eyepatch and then dresses himself: white shorts, blue polo. Aemond wears a lot of blue. It is Greek, is it American, it is the Democratic Party, it is the color of the sky that was once believed to hold Olympus, it is everything he’s ever been or wanted to be. He’s humming The House Of The Rising Sun. It’s the first time you’ve truly been alone since the night before he caught his flight to Tacoma.

Beneath the greeting cards you find the books, cosmetics, and three new sundresses, none of which you ended up wearing home. Alicent bought you a plain black shift dress, matching gloves and flats, and opaque sunglasses to hide your face from the journalists who waited outside the hospital. And there is one last item to unpack. At the bottom of the suitcase is a clear plastic bag containing fabric, white dotted with bruises of common blue violets. At first you are confounded, and then you turn it over to see the dark, saturated stain of crimson. It’s the sundress you were wearing the day you were rushed to Mount Sinai to have Ari. The nurses hadn’t known if you wanted to keep it, burn it, bury it.

“Why didn’t you come back?”

Aemond’s brow furrows, like he’s surprised by the question. He goes to his writing desk and turns the chair around so it’s facing you. He sits, crosses one leg over the other, leans back and hides his hands in his pockets. His tone is gentle, but his gaze is hard. “By the time I heard that you’d had the baby, it was already over. You were out of surgery, he was in an incubator, and that was the immutable reality. I figured there was nothing I could do at that point to improve the outcome. And that’s true. Me flying back early wouldn’t have changed anything.”

“But you should have been there,” you insist, eyes wet, voice quivering. “You should have known him like I did.”

“Winning Washington was important.”

“Washington is a basket of votes, Ari was our child, he was real.”

“No one told me he was dying—”

“Because you didn’t pick up the fucking phone.”

Aemond is incredulous, like he couldn’t have heard you correctly. “It’s not like I was playing golf or drinking myself under some bar, I was campaigning 20 hours a day and it worked.”

“Nothing on earth could have kept me away from you when you got shot in Palm Beach.”

“So maybe it wasn’t just about Washington,” Aemond says, and his words aren’t gentle anymore. They are razored, dauntless, daring you to battle him. “It’s about the whole picture, it’s about the momentum. If I had underperformed in Washington, the dominoes would fall in Kentucky, and Utah, and Virginia, and then at the national convention in August, and then against Nixon in November. I don’t have the luxury of disappearing from the public eye to sit adoringly by your bedside when we both know there isn’t a single goddamn thing I can do to help.”

“It would have made you look like a better man.”

“But not a better president.”

And like a fracture being snapped back into place, you remember what Aegon said on that bloodstained night in Florida: You’re a vessel. You’re a cow. And one day he’ll be done with you. You stare down at the ruined dress entombed in plastic, still clutched in your hands. You don’t dare to let Aemond see your eyes. You’re afraid you won’t be able to disguise the betrayal glistening there. You ask, a whisper, a whimper: “Why aren’t you sad?” I thought you loved him. I thought you were always so worried about him.

“Of course I’m sad,” Aemond says, more kindly now, patiently, like he’s speaking to someone who can’t be expected to comprehend. “But it’s different for the mother.”

You can’t reply. If you do, something lethal will pour out, smoke and poison and arrows, something that shoots to kill. Ari was quietly interred at the Targaryen family mausoleum in Saint George Greek Orthodox Cemetery in Asbury Park. It had felt so wrong to leave his tiny casket there in a silent stone prison full of strangers.

Aemond is behind you now, trying to knead the tension out of your shoulders. And for the first time in two years, you wish he’d stop touching you. Your belly hurts, your head hurts, your heart hurts, you are a garden blooming with bruises and scars. “I know you aren’t in your right mind. Everything will be better soon. I promise.”

Tears gather on your eyelashes. “I miss him.”

“We’ll have others. Here, let me take that…” Aemond grabs the bag holding your ruined dress and it’s out of your reach before you can think to resist. “You should get ready for dinner.”

“Okay,” you reply numbly, now gazing down at your empty palms. Aemond leaves with his grisly parcel, and you never see it again. But once he’s gone you don’t shed your black mourning dress, blood-soaked pad, bandages, and shake loose your hair and step into the shower. Instead, you walk around the bed to pick up the mint green rotary phone on your nightstand. You speak to a series of operators before you reach the Harbour Rocks Hotel in Sydney. While you listen to the ringing through the intercontinental wire, you sit down on the bed. You’ve never felt low like this. You’ve never felt so unmoored from everything you had believed about your life.

A gruff, familiar voice answers. He’s just waking up, slurping on his morning coffee, dabbing his moustache with a napkin. “Hello?”

“Daddy, I don’t think I’m where I’m supposed to be.”

“What?” he asks, and immediately he is no longer groggy but desperately concerned. Your parents are away on a month-long tour of Australia and often incommunicado. By the time they received news of Ari’s death and called Mount Sinai in hysterics to speak with you, you had told them not to rush home. You were about to be released, and they would not make it in time for the funeral regardless. Aemond insisted on a swift, private ceremony, a detour on the drive back to Asteria, like it was something he couldn’t wait to put in his rearview mirror. “What are you talking about, sweetheart?”

“Aemond, he…” He’s not the man I thought he was. I don’t know him, I don’t trust him. “He’s not acting right, he’s not…he didn’t…Daddy, it’s like he doesn’t care. And I don’t want to be here anymore. Can I fly down to Tarpon Springs when you and Mama get back? Can I stay with you for a while? And then…and then…” You don’t even know what words you’re looking for. They don’t exist in your universe.

“Listen, honey,” your father says with great tenderness. “Are you listening?”

“Yeah.” You’re trying to stifle your sobs so no one downstairs hears you.

“You’ve just been through something terrible. So terrible I can’t even imagine it. And of course you’re feeling out of sorts. But Aemond is your husband, he’s your protector and your ally, your best friend, your partner in life. He’s not the one responsible for what happened. You can’t misdirect your heartache at him.”

“But he’s…Daddy, there’s…there’s something wrong with him.”

“Oftentimes, it’s easier for women to talk about their emotions, both good and bad. But for men—especially men like Aemond who are so self-disciplined by nature—it can be like pulling teeth to express themselves. They don’t like to be vulnerable. They actually think they’re failing in their commitments to their wife if they let her see how much they’re struggling. Aemond is hurting just like you are. He might not show it in the way you expect, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t care. Of course he cares.”

How do you know, Daddy? Have you cut him open and studied his brain, his ropy nerves, the dark chambers of his heart? “I thought he saw me like you see Mama, I thought he included me in everything because he loved and respected me, but that’s not it. He just needs someone to help him get elected, that’s all Ari and I were to him, and I can’t…I just can’t…the thought of him touching me now…”

“Sweetheart, Aemond is a good man,” your father says. “He does love you. He does respect you. And he’s doing such incredible things for this country. I have friends in Florida who’ve been voting Republican since Hoover, but they’re crossing over for Aemond. They think he’s the one to clean up this mess. Vietnam, poverty, civil rights, the riots, the shootings, the hippies, the drugs, the Russians, the Chinese, someone has to pick up the pieces and create something that makes sense. Do you think Nixon or Humphrey would end the war by this time next year? Do you think either of them would compel the South to enforce voting rights or desegregation?”

“No,” you say, closing your eyes. But that doesn’t mean I can forget what I’ve learned about Aemond.

“Here, your mom wants to say something.” Your father vanishes; your mother’s voice comes piping across the copper submarine cables that span the length of the Pacific Ocean. You wonder—randomly, distractedly—if any of the wires connecting you to Sydney run through Arizona, the place Aegon told you he didn’t want to leave.

“Hello? Are you there?”

“I’m here, Mama.”

“Oh, honey,” she sighs, distraught, hearing the exhaustion and misery in your voice. “You’ve got the baby blues, and no baby to hold good and close to help them run their course. I’m so sorry. It’s just awful, so awful.”

You speak before you know what you’re going to say. “I don’t want to be married to Aemond anymore.”

“You’re confused, sweetheart. Your hormones are all over the place, you’re in pain, you’ve just had major surgery, and after this year with all the stress from the campaign and that horrific shooting in Palm Beach—”

“He’s not like Daddy.” Tears are flooding down your cheeks; your voice is hoarse. “I thought he was, but he’s not.”

“You cannot make a mistake like this,” your mother says, and she’s turned from silk to steel. “If you do something drastic now, you’ll wake up in a month or six months or a year and realize you’ve ruined not just your life, but the chance this country had at a better future. Don’t you realize what’s at stake here? Every marriage goes through tough times. Every husband needs to learn how to care for his wife, and every wife how to best support her husband. That’s natural, and you’ve only been married two years. Of course you and Aemond are still learning how to navigate life together. It only seems so much worse because of what’s happened to the baby.”

Is she right? Am I wrong? “I don’t know,” you say weakly.

“If you leave now, what happens?” your mother demands. “You abandon the campaign and Aemond’s support plummets. You are a divorcee, a sinner, a failure. You don’t get your son back. But you do lose everything you’ve helped build. Marriage isn’t an experiment, ‘oh let’s give it a try and if we hit any bumps we’ll call the whole thing off.’ No. It’s a covenant. Marriage is for life.”

Yes it is, in just about every faith, and certainly for the Greek Orthodox Church. You are suddenly consumed by mistrust for your own body, this flesh that failed your son and now is deceiving you with doubt so heavy—like cold iron or lead or platinum—it masquerades as truth. How could you imagine a life after Aemond? What waits for you in Tarpon Springs besides the promise of an eventual remarriage that is banal, powerless, bleak, exactly what you’ve always plotted so willfully to avoid?

“Do you understand me, honey?” your mother asks, and she’s soft and kind again. “I don’t mean to be strict with you. My heart breaks for you, and I love you. I’m not trying to upset you. I’m trying to protect you from yourself.”

“Yes.” There are people getting massacred in Vietnam right now; there are people who can’t afford roofs over their heads. Who am I to complain? Your tears have stopped; your breathing is now slow and measured. “Yes, Mama. I understand.”

After you’ve hung up, you stay where you are for a long time, your hands folded limply in your lap and gazing at the paintings hung on the pale blue walls: small replicas of The Birth of Venus, Romulus and Remus, Prometheus Bound, Perseus Rescuing Andromeda, Echo and Narcissus, Jupiter and Io. Then you get up to sift through the greeting cards you’ve piled on the bed, not really seeing them. Only one captures your attention. Only one jolts you out of the fog like a flash of lightning through dark churning clouds.

You take the card Aegon gave you back when you were still a mother and set it upright on your nightstand, consider it for a while, wander into the bathroom to scrub the despair from your skin and change into something less somber for dinner.

~~~~~~~~~~

You’re playing Battleship with Cosmo by the edge of the swimming pool while all the other children splash around, howling with laughter and diving for toys they throw to the bottom and then fetch with their teeth like golden retrievers, G.I. Joes and Barbies and Trolls and even a waterlogged Mr. Potato Head. The nannies are observing intently, poised to leap in if anyone should appear to be at risk of drowning. If Ari had lived, I wouldn’t have wanted nannies to raise him, you think. I would have wanted him to have a normal childhood. I would have wanted to know him.

“Your turn,” Cosmo says with a grin. He’s the one who looks the most like Aegon, or how you imagine Aegon must have looked before the pills and the booze and the long caged decades. His hair is so light a blonde it’s nearly white, his eyes huge and glimmering and mischievous. Battleship is a bit advanced for a five-year-old. Cosmo keeps guessing the same coordinates over and over, so you periodically lie and tell him he’s sunk one of your ships. When you launch a successful attack against his, he seems to think it’s fair game to relocate the vessel to a more advantageous location.

“D7.”

He picks up his aircraft carrier and repositions it. From the record player drifts California Dreamin’. “Nope! Nothing sank!”

“Wow. I’m so bad at this.”

Cosmo is snickering. “Yeah, you are. Really bad.”

“If I got drafted, the Army would be better off leaving me at home. I’d just be a nuisance.”

“What’s drafted?”

“Never mind. Your turn to guess.”

“J12!”

The grid only goes up to 10. Nonetheless, you slap your own forehead dramatically. “Oh no, not again! You sunk my battleship!”

“Yay!” Cosmo cheers, then turns to the Jacuzzi. It’s brand new, just installed last month. “Mom, did you see? I’m winning!”

You glance over at Mimi. She has passed out, her latest Gimlet drained and her head resting atop her crossed arms, propped on the rim of the Jacuzzi. “Uh, Cosmo, run inside and ask Doxie to make you a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, okay?”

“Okay.” He scampers off, toddling on reckless little legs.

With no shortage of difficulty, you manage to stand. Each day your abdominal muscles feel less like they’ve been shredded and then mended with threads of fire, but the pain is still bad, very bad, and there are spots of skin on your belly that are numb when you skim your fingertips across them. You will have a long vertical scar like Aemond’s, an irreparable reminder of the blood you’ve paid to the cause. And for all your anguish, this particular fact doesn’t torment you. It is proof that Ari existed, however briefly, however futilely.

You amble over to the Jacuzzi, your roomy lavender dress flowing in the wind, and shove one of Mimi’s shoulders. “Mimi, wake up. Get out of the water.”

She mumbles incoherently in response. You reach for her before remembering you can’t lift anything. You look around. Alicent and Helaena are on lounge chairs at the other end of the pool; Alicent is trying very hard to look interested while Helaena shows her about 100 different butterfly species pictured in a kaleidoscopically colorful book. Criston is off giving Ludwika a tour of the property, flanked by a flock of Alopekis hoping for treats. Ludwika is Otto’s wife of six months but only newly arrived, 30 years old, perpetually unimpressed, modelesque, golden blonde, if Barbie was from Poland. Aemond, Otto, and Viserys—his sparse threads of silver hair hanging like cobwebs around his gaunt face, grimacing and clutching the armrests of his wheelchair—are conspiring on the lawn between the main house and the pool. They haven’t noticed your predicament. Fosco is sauntering by wearing some of the tiniest swim shorts you’ve ever seen. He is the son of an Italian count, gangly and chatty and from what you’ve seen almost certainly addicted to gambling.

“Will you help me move Mimi, please?” you ask him. “I’m afraid she’s going to drown.”

“Of course, of course, no problem. Let me handle it. Do not hurt yourself.” He has her half-dragged out of the Jacuzzi before Mimi startles awake.

“What’s going on?” she slurs. “Put me down, I can walk.”

“I doubt it,” you say.

“You are alright?” Fosco asks Mimi as he steadies her on the cement, wet with pool water. She clutches at his forearms helplessly.

“I’m fine. Absolutely fine.”

“Mimi, go inside,” you say. “Eat a sandwich. Tell Cosmo you’re proud of him for winning Battleship.”

“Battleship? Well, that’s just ridiculous. He’s five. Five-year-olds can’t play Battleship.”

“And yet you will congratulate him regardless.”

She can feel your impatience, your judgement, sharp like wasp stings. Mimi retreats like a kicked dog to the main house, somehow summoning the will to remain mostly upright.

You look to Fosco. “Do you know where Aegon is?” You want to see him, but you also don’t; each time you’re in the same room now is a disorienting storm of familiarity, curiosity, painful reminders, annoyance, awkwardness, longingness to again feel as close to him—to anyone—as you did during those fleeting moments at Mount Sinai Hospital in Manhattan.

Fosco chuckles. “Where is he ever? Napping, sailing, drinking, on the phone with one of his lady friends. I could not say. I have not seen him recently.”

“Okay. Thanks anyway.” The music stops—the record needs to be flipped over—and now you can just barely hear what Aemond, Otto, and Viserys are discussing.

“And you criticized me for going too young,” Aemond says to Otto. “What’s your age difference with Ludwika? 40 years?”

“She’s good publicity. She defected from the Eastern Bloc in search of the American Dream.”

“Being married to you?” Aemond quips. “I think she found the American Nightmare.”

“Speaking of wives,” Otto continues. “I assume since yours had one surgery, that’s how all the future children will need to be born, is that right?”

Aemond nods, frowning. “Yeah. And the doctors said she shouldn’t have more than three. It weakens the uterus, I guess, all that slicing and suturing. Do it too many times and ruptures get more likely, and those can be fatal.”

“Very unfortunate,” Viserys rasps. “Children are our greatest legacy. I wanted at least ten, but your mother…well…after Daeron, it just never happened again.” And you know that this is just one of the ways in which Aemond had planned to win his father’s admiration: by contributing more new Targaryens to the dynasty than anyone else. Now that’s impossible.

Otto sighs wistfully. “To have a brand new baby to parade around in the fall…that would have been wonderful.” For the first time in two years, you can sense that you have disappointed him. Fosco is watching you, uneasy, ashamed, sorry without knowing what to do about it.

“Absolutely,” Aemond says, as if this is not the first time the thought has crossed his mind. “But it’s done now. There’s no sense in dwelling on what might have been. We must look forward. It’s feasible that…well…if we try again and get good news by October, we can announce in time for Election Day…”

You can’t listen anymore. Your belly aching, your bare feet hurrying through warm emerald grass, you traverse the lawn and disappear into Helaena’s garden, painstakingly tended and continuously expanded since she was a little girl. There are marigolds and daffodils, tulips and roses, azaleas, asters, butterfly bushes, chrysanthemums, lilies and lupines, sunflowers, violets, life blooming in a hundred different shades. There are tiny statues too, tucked away in random places, stone angels and untamed creatures, alligators and turtles and rabbits and cats, the only sort the Alopekis will tolerate. At the very center of the garden is a tall circle of hedges with only one opening, an arched doorway cut into the thick lush green. You’ve been here before, though only with Aemond. On a property shared with so many family members—and the occasional intrusive journalist—it’s a good place to escape prying eyes. You pass through the threshold with a hand resting absentmindedly on your belly, as if you’re still pregnant. You keep doing this. Each time you remember you’re at the end of something rather than the beginning, it carves you open all over again.

Around the inside perimeter of the circle are twelve sculptures positioned like numbers on a clock: eleven Olympians and Hades, confined to the Underworld. In the middle of the clearing is the largest stature of all, a wrathful Zeus hurling lightning bolts and surrounded by a gurgling fountain of glass-clear water. Under the shadow of Zeus, Aegon is sprawled on the ground and smoking a joint. “So you’re hiding from them too, huh?” He gives you a sly, welcome-to-the-club smirk, then offers you his joint. “Want a hit?”

You shake your head, not taking another step towards him. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

He is confused. “Done what?”

“Any of it.” I told him about my life before. I made the mistake of thinking I could go back.

Aegon still doesn’t seem to understand. “You’re scared I’m gonna snitch?”

You shrug, evasive. It’s not just the fact that he knows. It’s the sensation that you’ve unlatched something—an attic room, a jewelry box, a birdcage—and now you can’t get it locked again, and the door rattles with every footstep and storm wind, and you are no longer Aphrodite or Io but Pandora, a hunger growing in your stitched womb like a child.

“What? What’s wrong with you?” And that’s always how he says it, not what’s the matter or are you alright or what did I do or how can I fix it?

“I’m kind of…embarrassed, I guess.”

“Embarrassed,” Aegon echoes. “Because of me?”

“I feel like I said and did a lot of things that were out of character because I was emotionally compromised.”

“They were out of character for who you’ve been trying to convince everyone you are since you married Aemond, sure. But they weren’t out of character for you.”

He’s treading too close now, arrows piercing their mark, a tremor near the epicenter. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Au contraire, I have acquired many interesting revelations recently.”

“Where’d you learn French? From Mimi?”

His smile dies. “Boarding school.”

You don’t know how to reply. You don’t know how to be around Aegon without either hating him or letting him see parts of yourself that you’re trying to drown like Icarus in the waves. You glance yearningly towards the doorway cut into the hedges.

All at once, Aegon is furious. “You don’t want to talk to me? You want to go back to how it was before, you want to pretend Mount Sinai never happened? Fine. You got it. Wish fucking granted. Whatever you have to do.”

He turns away from you. You flee from him. But that night when Asteria is hushed and still—Aemond, Criston, and Otto are attending a fundraising dinner in Philadelphia, and you are temporarily excused from accompanying them as you recover—you creep down into the basement of the main house to apologize. Mimi sleeps in a bedroom on the second floor, but here Aegon can keep odd hours and drink and smoke to his heart’s content, and even entertain clandestine guests, girls who are beautiful and giggling and never invited twice.

Aegon isn’t here. He might be passed out somewhere, or at a party, or maybe even upstairs with Mimi, and something about this idea twists through your mending guts like a blade. In his absence, you take a quick look around his room, something you’ve never done before. You hadn’t had any interest; it wouldn’t even have occurred to you. There’s a large green futon, a matching shag carpet, a television, a bookshelf full of notebooks and paperbacks—Kurt Vonnegut, Harper Lee, Sylvia Plath, Truman Capote, Ken Kesey—and vinyl albums, a record player, and his two acoustic guitars. The first is unpainted maple wood covered with stickers. I’d rather be nowhere reads one; Burn pot not people proclaims another. The second guitar is the souvenir he bought in Manhattan, an aquamarine blue six-string.

There's something strange on his end table. Along with a dozen empty cups is a full ashtray, and there’s a folded piece of paper tucked underneath. You slide the paper out and open it. It’s the receipt you used to solve the long division problem in your hospital room.

Why would he keep this? you think, mystified. There are footsteps above your head, and you quickly return the receipt to where you found it and leave before your trespass can be discovered.

When you emerge from the basement, Fosco is waiting in the hallway and carrying a Tupperware container filled with something that resembles kourabiethes, Greek shortbread cookies. “I thought I saw you sneak down there. What were you looking for?”

You scramble for an explanation. “One of the dogs is missing. Alicent wanted me to check the basement.”

“Ah, yes, I see.” He passes you the Tupperware container. “These are for you. I hope they are not too bad. I baked them myself.”

“Are they…” You shake it. “Biscotti?”

“They are ossi dei morti,” Fosco says. “Bones of the dead. We make them to remember loved ones we have lost. They are hard, so you should dip them in coffee or tea before you try to eat them.”

You open the lid. Inside are long thin cookies coated with powdered sugar. You inhale almond flour, cloves, cinnamon. And you are so touched you cannot find your words.

“You know, there still places in Italy where mothers wear black for years to mourn their children.” This is not trivia; it is an acknowledgement. Your son is gone. There is no shame in the grief that is left behind. In another house, it would be expected, it would be required.

“Thank you, Fosco.”

He smiles warmly. “We are in this together, no? We are pieces of the same machine.”

Then he plods off towards the living room, sliding a rolled-up horse racing program out of the back pocket of his tight plaid pants.

~~~~~~~~~~

You’re in Louisville, Kentucky, where thunder quakes the eaves. An hour ago, Aegon was popping Valium and leisurely plucking at his pool water blue Gibson guitar, slumped against the wall, nipping at a flask filled with straight Bacardi. But he’s not anymore. Now he’s gathered around the small color television with you, Criston, Otto, Fosco, Helaena, and Ludwika. The news is just breaking. There was a civil rights protest at the University of Kentucky in Lexington one hour to the east. Someone threw a rock, or someone claims someone threw a rock, or someone threw something that was mistaken for a rock, and in any event the situation escalated from there and local police who were monitoring the demonstration opened fire on a crowd, killing five students and injuring another dozen.

Outside, word is spreading through the crowd of over 2,000 people that have gathered for Aemond’s planned speech at the historic Iroquois Amphitheater, a New Deal project finished in 1938. Rain is pouring, and the venue has no roof. Aemond is already 20 minutes late. The voices are becoming louder, more demanding, more wrathful. They’re shouting that Aemond is too afraid to face them now, that he’s trying to figure out what his statement will be, that he’s cowardly and calculating; and if President Lyndon Baines Johnson was here tonight instead of cursing his bad stars up in Washington D.C., he would certainly have something to say about the capriciousness of voters who love you, hate you, carry you higher, drag you down, all without ever knowing you.

In truth, Aemond is not stalling on purpose. He’s in the bathroom trying to get his prosthetic eye in. It’s been giving him hell all afternoon. He wears his eyepatch at home, but he’s never made a public appearance without his glass eye clean and perfect in his voided socket.

“He’s going to have to say something about it,” you tell the others as you watch the news coverage.

“Say what?” Otto snaps. “If he doesn’t treat those dead kids like martyrs he’s going to get booed off the stage. If he condemns the police he’s going to lose the suburbs. They’ll run to Humphrey now and Nixon in November.”

The weather report called for storms—which is why Alicent, Mimi, and the children are already back at the Seelbach Hotel for the night after a long day of shaking hands and smiling gamely—but no one expected it to get this bad. The room you’re huddled in is just off-stage, so you can see it all: the wind ripping signs and flags from people’s hands, drenched clothes, sopping hair, snarling faces, rain turning puddles to rivers. The stomping of boots is now as loud as the thunder. Rocks and bottles are being pitched at the stage.

“Is America always like this?” Ludwika asks, scandalized.

“No, not at all,” Otto says. “Goddamn animals…”

Aegon replies, not taking his eyes from the television: “You’d be mad too if cops were shooting your friends and the only graduation present you had to look forward to was getting disemboweled by guerillas in Vietnam.”

“I’ve had it with you and your Marxist bullshit! You want to liberate the dispossessed masses? Why don’t you start by donating your monthly drugs and rum budget to the—”

“We should cancel,” Fosco says. “Just call the whole thing off. Tell them Aemond is sick or something.”

“That’s the headline you want? ‘Senator Targaryen hides from grieving supporters who braved a thunderstorm to see him’?! Just give the White House to Nixon now!”

“I don’t think we can cancel,” Criston says softly. “I think if we tried to leave, they’d swarm the car.”

“It’s a riot,” Otto moans, rubbing his face with his hands. “This is what happens when you court voters like this, college kids and hippies, professional malcontents…”

“Aren’t there police outside?” Ludwika says anxiously.

“Yeah, a handful,” Criston tells her. “And if they try to do anything this will erupt and we can add to the body count in Lexington…”

You leave them and follow a hallway to the men’s bathroom; on the periphery of your vision, you can tell that Aegon is watching you go. You push the door open and find a row of stalls and three sinks, one of which Aemond is standing in front of as he stares into his reflection and attempts to shove the prosthetic eye into his empty, gore-red left socket. His suit is navy blue, his hair neatly slicked back, his shoes so polished they’re reflective like a mirror.

“Fuck,” he hisses, flinching. His right cheek is wet with tears of frustration and agony. It’s July 26th, and tomorrow are the final three state conventions in the Democratic primary. Humphrey is almost certain to take Utah; Virginia will go to Governor Mills Godwin, who is only running in his home state to control the delegates and will hand them over to whoever he feels is most worthy in August. But Aemond is the favorite to win here in Kentucky. Or at least, he was an hour ago.

“What can I do? What do you need?”

“You can’t do anything. It’s…it’s this goddamn nerve pain, it feels like I’m being fucking stabbed, I can’t get the muscles to relax enough…”

Like an apology, you say: “Aemond, the crowd is getting out of control.”

“So you came in here to rush me?”

“No, I’m here to help.”

“You’re not helping. You’re doing the exact opposite.”

“I think you should give this speech with your eyepatch on. It looks good, and you’ll be as comfortable as possible, and the crowd won’t have to wait any longer than they have already.”

“No.”

“Aemond, please—”

“No! FDR didn’t make speeches in his wheelchair and I’m not making mine without my eye in.”

“Do you want me to get you Aegon’s pills? Rum, weed?”

“You don’t think I’ve already taken something?” He tries to force his eye in again and strikes his fist against the sink when he can’t.

Then you ask gingerly: “Do you know what you’re going to say about the shooting?”

“Get out!” Aemond shouts. “You’re making it worse, just get the fuck out! Go!”

You bolt from the bathroom, hands trembling, throat burning. You don’t want to return to the television where the others are standing; you’re worried they’ll be able to tell how upset you are. You go to the edge of the stage, arms crossed protectively over your chest, and peek out into the crowd. Above their chants and jeers and howled threats, lightning splits the sky.

I don’ t think we’re going to be able to find our way out of this one. I think this is the end of the road.

“Hey,” Aegon says, tapping your shoulder. “Back up.”

“I’m fine here.”

“No you’re not.” He grabs your arm and tugs you farther backstage. Seconds later, an Absolut Vodka bottle explodes into crystalline shrapnel where you were standing. You yelp and Aegon gives you a little eyebrow raise. I told you, he means.

“Someone has to go out there,” Otto says, still lurking by the television. Fosco is comforting Helaena, who is quietly weeping; Ludwika is watching the news coverage in horror, surely reconsidering all her life choices. A sixth University of Kentucky student has been declared dead. “We can’t wait.”

“No we can’t,” Criston agrees. Then they both turn to you expectantly.

Your blood goes icy. Tonight was meant to be your first official appearance since the baby. Your hair is up, your dress a navy blue to match Aemond’s suit, gold chains around your wrist and throat, a gold chain of a belt. You thought you were ready. But it wasn’t supposed to be like this.

“Don’t you look at her,” Aegon says, sharp like a scalpel, like a bullet, like something that punctures arteries and lungs. “They’re throwing glass. You figure something else out, don’t even look at her.”

Otto relents, perhaps halfheartedly. “No, you’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Criston starts heading for the bathroom to get Aemond. Otto is watching the television again, his face vacuous as his ambitions are carried away by a flood of rain, wind, rage, blood. Aegon snatches his guitar from where he left it by the wall. He tosses the strap over his head, gives the strings a few experimental strums and retunes them, starts walking towards the stage.

“Aegon, what are you doing?” you ask, panicked.

“Someone has to distract the crowd.”

“No, stop, you can’t—”

“Hey,” Aegon says. And when you glance past him at the uproarious, storm-drenched frenzy, he turns your face back to his to make sure you’re listening. His hand is insistent but gentle, his voice steady. “Don’t go out there. Okay?”

“Okay,” you agree, startled.

He gives you one last small, parting smile, a flash of his teeth, a daring glint in his murky blue eyes. Then he’s out in the torrential rain, soaked to the skin in seconds. His frayed green Army jacket clings to him; his hair is ravaged by the wind. As he takes his place behind the microphone, a stone that someone has hurled skates by him and nicks the apple of his left cheek. You can see a trickle of blood snaking down his sunburned skin before the rain washes it away; you feel a desperate gnawing dread that someone will hurt him, not just here but anywhere, not just now but ever. The crowd is still seething, shouting, stomping their feet to join the inescapable growl of the thunder. Aegon’s pick flies over the guitar strings as he begins playing, raindrops cast from his fingers like spells. At first, you can barely hear him.

“Come gather ‘round, people, wherever you roam

And admit that the waters around you have grown

And accept it that soon you’ll be drenched to the bone

If your time to you is worth saving

And you better start swimmin’ or you’ll sink like a stone

For the times, they are a-changin’”

The audience is settling down now. Some of them are singing along. You can feel that Otto, Ludwika, Fosco, and Helaena are gathering around you, but you don’t grasp anything they’re saying. You can’t tear your eyes from Aegon. It’s like you’re seeing him for the first time, this radiant sunbeam of a man, a light in dark places, a constellation that whispers myths through the ink-spill indigo of the night sky. How could you ever have hated him? How could you ever have thought he was worthless?

“Come writers and critics who prophesize with your pen

And keep your eyes wide, the chance won’t come again

And don’t speak too soon, for the wheel’s still in spin

And there’s no tellin’ who that it’s naming

For the loser now will be later to win

For the times, they are a-changin’”

Aemond and Criston appear beside you at the edge of the stage; Aemond’s prosthetic eye has at last been successfully placed with no lingering evidence of a struggle. You expect him to apologize for what he said in the bathroom, but he doesn’t. Instead he says when he sees Aegon: “What the hell is he doing?”

“Saving your career,” you reply simply.

“Come senators, congressmen, please heed the call

Don’t stand in the doorway, don’t block up the hall

For he that gets hurt will be he who has stalled

The battle outside raging

Will soon shake your windows and rattle your walls

For the times, they are a-changin’”

Now Aegon peers pointedly off-stage to where Otto Hightower is gawking. Aegon beams, throws his head back to get his dripping hair out of his eyes, comes back to the mic.

“Come mothers and fathers throughout the land

And don’t criticize what you can’t understand

Your sons and your daughters are beyond your command

Your old road is rapidly aging

Please get out of the new one if you can’t lend your hand

For the times, they are a-changin’”

Everyone you can see in the crowd is singing and swaying. It’s not just a Bob Dylan song from 1964 but an anthem, a prayer, a rallying cry, a dire warning for the powers at be.

“The line, it is drawn, the curse, it is cast

The slow one now will later be fast

As the present now will later be past

The order is rapidly fading

And the first one now will later be last

For the times, they are a-changin’”

The audience is applauding and whistling. Aegon steals a glimpse of where you are standing backstage, checks that Aemond is still there with you and that he’s ready.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Aegon broadcasts with a wicked grin. “I am now proud to present the next president of the United States of America, Senator Aemond Targaryen!”

And Aemond is crossing the stage, no trace of pain or self-consciousness or prey-animal fear, no mere mortal but someone chosen by the gods, and the rain is slowing to a drizzle, and the clouds are opening to let through rare pinprick aisles of daylight, and the riotous spectators are now his disciples, exorcised of any rage they’ve ever felt for the scarred senator from New Jersey. He and his family are not the enemy; they are the solution. They are revolutionaries who have bled for the cause. They bring with them the change that is required. Aegon steps back and the rest of you join him in a semi-circle like a crescent moon behind Aemond. When you walk out onto the stage, the cheers swell to screams.

Aegon takes off his guitar and then leans into you. “He’s lucky you aren’t 35,” Aegon whispers, soft lips that curl into a smile as they brush your ear. And he’s teasing you but he’s not mocking, he’s not mean. He’s so close you share the same atmosphere, the same gravity. “Maybe when he finishes up his second term you can start building your resume for your first.”

“I want your endorsement.”

“From the disgraced former mayor of Trenton? What an honor. You’ll have to fight for it.”

You ball up a fist and playfully bump your knuckles against his chin. He pretends to bite at you. And you laugh for the first time since a doctor and priest entered your hospital room 13 days ago. Aegon slings an arm around your shoulders, pulls you against him, soaks you in his rain.

“Today in Lexington, we lost six brave and brilliant souls,” Aemond says, his voice booming through the amphitheater. A hush ripples through the crowd as they listen, enraptured. “Their sacrifice was for the most noble of causes, but they should never have been forced to pay the ultimate price. They deserved long, full lives in a better America than the one we now call home. This tragedy is a symptom of the sickness that has infected this nation, a fatal failure to empathize with our fellow countrymen, a deafness to pleas for justice, a blindness to mercy. But the remedy is within all of us, for it is our own humanity. When we purge the diseases of war, prejudice, and ravenous greed, we will reclaim our best selves—our true selves—and our nation will at last be cured.”

The amphitheater is illuminated with not only strobing lightning but the flashbulbs of cameras. The journalists have arrived just in time.

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen ii #aegon ii #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #aegon x y/n #aegon x you #aegon ii x you #aegon ii x y/n #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon ii fanfic #aegon ii fic

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bby-deerling · 1 month

Text

happy accident (law x reader)

law runs into a familiar face :)

wc: 1.5k masterlist || commissions

cw: fluff, slight angst (in past), reader has an abusive parent, can be read as either platonic or the start of something more :)

tagging: @willowbelle @eelnoise @sanjisprincesswifey @ragethebunny @kaizokuniichan @mirillua @cloudzoro @risenwrites @atanukileaf

Swirling in apprehension, Law isn’t quite sure how to approach you. Years spent apart had changed you less than he had expected them to; your jaw was sharper, your posture more askew, and the deep purple rings underneath your eyes were even more pronounced than his—and yet, Law thinks, he finds you softer. The hair that frames your face curls inward and is no longer jagged and choppy, the black in your wardrobe had evidently been replaced with creams and tans and small floral prints, and the edge that had been imbued in each of your carefully selected words no longer emanated from your being.

When he had met you all those years ago in a rural North Blue doctor’s office, you were determined, stubborn to a fault as you begged your father to treat him—or at the very least do something to ease the pain or slow the progression of his disease. The plea was met with nothing but vitriol, with him screaming at you for disappointing him by being mentally weak and letting emotions cloud your thinking. Corazón wasn’t spared either and caught an earful too, both for walking in when he wasn’t accepting new patients, and for expecting him to be able to remove the lead from Law’s body at all—let alone in a small, outdated facility. Despite the insults flung at you, you stood tall and simply bit the side of your tongue and trembled, unwilling to allow the tears welling up in your eyes to fall. The yelling continued long after Corazón had stormed out of the office with Law—enough to be heard from a decent distance away, the vibrations from your father’s screaming reverberating in the snow; it gnawed at the pair to the point where Corazón turned on his heels and scooped you up despite Law’s insistence that it was too dangerous to bring you along.

You were by no means a permanent traveler, only spending roughly a week and a half with them hitching a ride to the next island; your aunt had a house in the country there, and Corazón was more than willing to use his rank as a Marine Commander if need be to spin some yarn to justify why you had to live with her now, by ‘order’ of the World Government. However, the short time spent with you was a bright spot during his illness. Quiet, but sharp, you had gotten along well with him, and though you were a bit jaded, you were hopeful, swelling with pure optimism that just as you were headed for a more stable and happy life, that he would get better—that he would live—you were like Corazón in that way.

But now, in stark contrast, Law watches you flip through another row of antique books, looking wholly defeated. Tension hangs heavy between your neck and shoulder blades as you search in vain for a novel to throw yourself into in a futile attempt to ward off the pain accumulating in your chest.

“Hey.” Law murmurs as he approaches; his fingers skim along the spines of books nearby yours, but he isn’t truly looking—instead, he’s fixated on quelling the rapid beats of his heart as he waits to see if you recognize him.

Your head snaps toward the sound of his voice, lips parting slightly as starry eyes come to life; the sands of time had changed Law immensely, but his strong, steely gaze coupled with that silly snow-leopard print bucket hat that he still wears are a dead giveaway.

“Law! It’s really you!” you exclaim, trembling with excitement as you soak in his presence, melding the image of the man in front of you with the hazy, murky memory of the boy you had befriended so long ago. You weren’t surprised that he had survived—earlier this week the World Government had issued a small bounty on him; assuming he was already sailing out of the North Blue and towards the Grand Line, you had resigned yourself to the idea of never seeing him again, though it seemed fate had other plans for you.

“I heard you were living around here, so I figured I’d pay you a visit.” Law says with a sly smile, slightly shocked by how smoothly the words come out. It was a bit of a fib—he was secretly hoping he might run into you when traveling through this set of islands, but the real reason he was here was to stock up on food; still in the process of figuring out how to properly manage resources on the Polar Tang, Law had unfortunately found out that if left unchecked, Bepo was capable of going through a week’s worth of provisions in less than an hour.

“I really appreciate it—” you sputter out. Often the one pouring effort into others, being on someone's mind was foreign to you. “I—I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately.” you admit with a nervous laugh, face flushing pink as you struggle to spit your words out.

Amused, the edge of Law’s lip quirks upward. “So, I take it you’ve seen the poster.” he says, leaning in slightly and lowering his voice in case there were any prying ears nearby.

“Yep—though I figured you’d be long gone by now.” you reply sheepishly. Law notes you’re markedly more relaxed than before, letting your shoulders hang loose as you mirror his actions and lean a smidge closer to him.

“Tch. Not without you.” he says with a crooked grin; as the words come out, he momentarily worries about a potential rejection of his offer that’s admittedly phrased more like an order, but the way your face lights up stabilizes his confidence.

“Are you sure?” you ask with a hopeful grin, giving him one last out before fully emotionally attaching yourself to the opportunity.

“I wouldn’t have said it if I wasn’t sure.” he teases; his voice is deeper, but he still speaks to you with the same direct, blunt nature that you found so endearing years ago.

“Just making sure.” you say with a soft giggle, a bit embarrassed from his sly reassurance. With the matter of whether or not you were coming with him now settled, he gives you a run down of the Polar Tang and their current situation, rambling for quite a while before realizing that he’d barely asked you any questions about what you’ve been up to as of late.

“I’ve been studying chemistry—I actually just finished an accelerated program.” you tell him; now it was your turn to ramble on about your thesis project, and everything you’d studied beforehand, happy to have a captivated audience as he hangs onto your every word.

“Good. It’ll be useful to have someone able to synthesize basic analgesics and extract compounds on board.” he says in response when you bring up your experience with chemical synthesis, though his words make you start to sputter once more.

“I don’t know too much about medicinal chemistry yet, I don’t know how helpful I’ll be—” you reply, worried about overstating your abilities, but Law interjects before you can put yourself down too much.

“Don’t worry. You’ve got all the time in the world to learn.” he says reassuringly, leaving no room in his tone for opposition; it clicks for you in that moment that it didn’t matter what you planned to do to make yourself useful on the Polar Tang—he simply wants your company.

As you talk, he catches your head peering past his shoulder every so often, gaze fixed well above his head as you scan the room; Law knows exactly who you’re looking for, but his tongue twists into a knot, unable to string the words together to tell you what happened to Corazón—at least not right now. Instead, he gestures behind him at the three young men—one significantly furrier than the other two—intently watching you with dopey grins on their faces.

“This is Shachi, Penguin, and—” he begins, only to be cut off by his navigator introducing himself with enthusiasm.

“And I’m Bepo!” he shouts happily, though he quickly hangs his head and apologizes upon catching a glare from Law for interrupting him. Finding his silly behavior endearing, you can’t help but let out a tiny giggle that you stifle behind your hand.

As you mingle with them, laughing at all of Shachi’s painfully corny jokes and making some of your own in return, Law can’t help but smile as he hangs back and observes. Watching the sway of your skirt as you ask Bepo a dozen curious questions about cartography, he notices the flowers adorning the fabric are bleeding hearts; touched by the sentiment, his hand unconsciously traces over his tattoos through his sweatshirt. Though you still were blissfully unaware of Corazón's fate, Law is glad he isn’t the only one who has carried his memory with them all this time. The loss often weighs on his heart like a heavy blanket of snow, but finding you again—someone who knew him, even for a short while, eases his burden ever so slightly.

#one piece x reader #law x reader #trafalgar law x reader #law x you #trafalgar law x you #trafalgar law x y/n #law x y/n #trafalgar law #x reader #one piece fanfic #one piece fanfiction #trafalgar law fanfiction #trafalgar law fluff

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stardust-kenobi · 22 days

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Nerves

Crosshair x F!Reader

Warnings: SMUT, angst, fluff, friends to lovers, soft and slightly ooc Crosshair (not much though, I think he really is a softy)

Word count: 2.7k

Summary: You'd been helping Crosshair work on his aim after his traumatic experience being held captive by the Empire. After not much progress, you get into a heated discussion when he tries to give up, which turns even more heated after he admits his feelings for you.

Read on AO3

“Try it again” You paced behind his stoic stance, doing your best to encourage him without showing any sign of your very present empathy. The slow-setting Pabu sun would still provide you both with another hour of visibility. The amber glow warmed your skin, which was a welcomed change of environment from being cramped on the ship for days on end.

“Why?” Crosshair growled, fueled by the burning rage built up by his defeat. The tremble in his fingertips broke your heart, but you could see that he’d made progress from the exercises. It was slow, sure, but there were definitely improvements. T

“Because I said so. You won’t make any progress if you don’t keep trying” You emphasized, doing your best not to express your impatience with his pessimism.

“It’s useless, Y/N” He lowered his blaster from his shaking hand and let it fall from his grasp before lowering himself to sit on the rock beneath him. You sighed, but this time your breath didn’t hold any frustration, only disappointment in his self-defeat. You couldn’t even begin to imagine what he’d been through, and you still didn’t know the extent of the torture he’d endured. Months had passed since he and Omega escaped. Omega had worked with him a few times, mostly with meditation, but you were better skilled with blasters and aim.

Crosshair held his head low, focusing his vision on the sand beneath his sore feet. You joined him without another word, sitting next to him on the rocks that scattered the shore. There were no words to comfort him in this moment, so you opted out of a conversation this time. The breeze from the ocean enveloped your frame, almost as if pushing you closer to Crosshair.

The seconds passed. Then minutes. All the while you soaked in each other’s company, for good or for bad. He was growing annoyed with you lately, despite being one of his closest friends, all because you were insistent upon helping to heal his trauma from his captivity with the Empire.

As the moments passed, Crosshair never tried to leave his spot next to you. He didn’t push you away this time. This, you decided, was an achievement.

The half-hidden sun drifted slowly below the horizon, replaced then by a casting a blue-toned light from the rising moon. It was peaceful, sitting together, communicating without saying a word.

“I’ll probably head back soon. We’ll try again tomorrow” You spoke gently when breaking the silence.

“I’m done” Crosshair spoke softly, his tone was firm and assured.

“Cross-” You sighed.

“I said I’m done” He reiterated, interrupting your plea.

“You’re just going to give up?” You scoffed.

“Seems so” He shrugged.

You crossed your arms to your chest and stood in front of him now, staring at him in disappointment.

“You can stand there all night if you’d like. I’m not changing my mind” He muttered, finally looking up to meet your gaze.

You pondered your next breath, but ultimately fell short on your words. With a subtle nod in his direction, you began walking away from your peaceful corner on the beach.

“I’m sorry for what they did to you, Crosshair. But you can’t punish yourself forever” You spoke calmly as the distance between you grew.

“What did you say?” He sneered, turning his body toward you, still sitting on the rock.

You froze in your tracks. You’d struck a nerve. Good.

“You heard me”

He slowly stood up and turned to you, “You think it’s my fault that I’m not improving?”

“You are improving, Crosshair. But, you’re giving up too easily”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about”

“I care about you, Crosshair. Believe it or not, I do. I know you’re not used to that but…you’re going to have to get used to it because I’m not going anywhere. And I’m not giving up on you”

His eyes grew subtly sorrowful as he stared into you, absorbing your words slowly. His head drifted from your gaze over to the open water that was now glistening in the moonlight.

“It's..my nerves” He said shamefully.

“Okay…” You tried to understand what he meant. Maybe you’d been pushing him too hard “Would it help if we took a break for a few d-”

“You. You make me…nervous” He admitted with a loud sigh trailing the end of his words like he had to force himself to say it.

As you pondered what he’d just said, your heart fluttered with unexpected excitement.

“What? How do I make you nervous?” You breathed out with what was almost a chuckle.

“Forget it” he scoffed, picking up his blaster and turning back toward the island, passing you in the process. You grab his arm to stop him. He doesn’t resist even though your gentle touch should not have stopped him in his tracks, but it did tonight.

“No. Tell me what you mean.” You demanded.

Crosshair contemplated it for a second before yanking his arm from your grasp, “You really want to know? Fine”.

He looked toward the island as if to check and make sure you were alone.

“I can’t…I can’t think around you. I can’t focus” He lowered his head,”I’ve tried to ignore how I feel around you, but it’s been just as useless as you training me”

For the first time in a long time, you were speechless. Crosshair was not a man of many words, nor was he one to express his feelings.

“Crosshair-” You tried to answer but he was uninterested in your counter argument. What he didn’t know was that there was no counter argument to be had.

“Don’t. Just don’t” He groaned.

“I love you” You hurriedly responded spitting it out like it was stuck on your tongue. You laid it all out plainly and simply. You loved him. You had for months.

Crosshair’s expression held a look of pure disbelief that quickly transformed to warmth and content.

Your longing gaze pierced through his tough exterior. Something ignited within you as a tension pulled you into him, leaving hardly any room between the two of you

“I…” You whispered softly, but lost yourself in his eyes.

Without another breath, Crosshair curled his finger beneath your chin, pulling your lips up to meet his.

Nothing this electrifying had ever grazed your skin before. His lips pressed passionately against yours as if he’d waited years to do this. You leaned into him, resting your hands on his shoulders as your mouths became intertwined so rhythmically.

Every fantasy you’d ever had of a moment like this that had always been shoved to the back of your mind came flooding back. Never did you think he’d feel the same way, but everything about his lips on yours just felt right. His finger beneath your chin trembled, and you were unsure how much it was from the overwhelming nerves of kissing you or the already present shake in his hands. You wrapped your hand around his, intertwining your fingers to calm him. The kiss was deep and raw, devouring each other as the motions intensified. A warmth spread through your body while your heart nearly lept from your chest.

Slowly and hesitantly, you pulled away from the kiss to look up into his uncertain gaze.

“You have no idea how long I have wanted to do that” He whispered, and a smile crept upon his face. Something rare and welcome that you never saw too often with him.

“Me too” You smiled back, holding his hands in yours.

You wasted no more time before pulling him for another kiss. It was heavy and breathless. Your hands wandered from his to the firm muscles on his chest. Crosshair let his hands wander, too, until they hovered gently above your breasts.

“Touch me” You breathed in between the motions of your lips.

Your permission was all he needed. His hands explored your body like he was lost in the dark. Like he was starving for you. The boulders on this corner area of the beach kept you hidden in your own oasis, with very little concern of being discovered. Your fingertips found the hem of his black shirt, and tugged at it gently.

“Here?” He pondered.

“Why not?” You smirked. He nodded and helped you remove his shirt, revealing his battle scars and perfectly carved muscle. You admired it, trailing your hands down his abdomen.

Conveniently, you had a blanket in your satchel that you brought with you. Crosshair rushed over to lay it out. He then took your hand in his and guided you to it.

“Lay down,” He instructed. As you did so, he hovered above you, his lips exploring your exposed neck and chest just above the neckline of your dress. You whimpered softly, unable to contain yourself even with the slightest of his touch.

His nervous touch was endearing as he traced up your thigh, searching for your most sensitive area. You shuffled your hips a bit, encouraging him to keep going

“Are you sure?” He asked, his brows furrowed. It was a look of longing, concern, and desperation all in one. Crosshair needed you, but wouldn’t dare touch you like this without assurance.

“Yes,” You breathed.

He pulled your panties down, and you lifted your hips to help him remove them completely.

He returned his fingers to your aching heat and discovered your arousal for him, which earned a small whimper from his lips. Crosshair knew exactly what he wanted to do to you. He’d surely thought about it enough in his head while he sat alone in his quarters, pumping himself to the fantasy of having you in his grasp like this. But, he was letting his nerves get the better of him now, and felt weary about how he’d perform for you.

“Cross, please” You begged with a tone of reassurance. His hand rested on your thigh, just beneath where you craved his touch.

You felt his hand tremble subtly against your skin.

“Hey,” You started, pulling his attention to you, “it's just me and you”

He nodded and kissed you hard, letting himself dive into you again, and found his fingers sliding through the wetness between your legs. He rubbed your clit in delicate circles and you bucked your hips up into his touch. He found a perfect rhythm and responded to your body’s signals as he felt them.

“Maker…You’re so wet for me” He muttered in total awe of the effect he’d had on you. Looking down to your exposed cunt as the bottom of your dress now rested against your abdomen. Suddenly his middle finger found its way to your entrance and slid inside, pumping slowly and pushing you to the edge while his thumb kept working at your clit.

Crosshair was propped on his side next to you, and instinctively ground his hips against your body, overcome with his desire to feel friction. He added another finger inside and fucked you as you rolled your hips into his hand. Each thrust of his curled digits grazed your most sensitive spot against your walls. A tingling sensation bundled and tightened in your lower belly, pushing you closer to your climax.

“Don’t stop” You begged, and he listened.

“Come for me, darling” He instructed, which sent chills down your body. Hearing him say something so arousing was unfamiliar but absolutely intoxicating.

With his lips at your neck and his fingers working eagerly inside of you, your release was so close now. Your senses were deliciously overwhelmed.

“Crosshair” You cried his name before rolling your eyes into the back of your head, seeing stars, overwhelmed with the pleasure that flowed through your body as your orgasm overcame you. Your hips rolled up into his body still hovered above you and your back arched in response to the sensational feeling radiating through you. Your fingers dug into his arm but he never slowed his pace. Crosshair was absolutely infatuated with watching you fall apart for him. You came down from your euphoric high slowly, catching your breath in the process.

“Are you alright?” He whispered. This was a side of him you never expected. You knew he could be caring and kind when he wanted to be, but seeing that translated to handling your body was a pleasant surprise. Your cunt hopelessly clenched around the emptiness as he removed his fingers.

“Never better. Now, please fuck me” You demanded, chuckling softly.

“Only because you asked so nicely,” He wasted not another moment before helping you lean up to remove your dress completely. Your breasts fell from the restraint of the fabric and caught his eye immediately. He took them into his hands massaging them gently before bringing his lips to your mounds and kissing them.

He pulled his pants down just enough to release his length that begged to be touched. You stared in awe of his size. You opened your legs slightly, allowing room for him to adjust himself in between your legs.

As he lined himself up with your entrance, he looked into your eyes and devoured you with a loving gaze. He kissed you softly before slowly sinking his cock into your wetness.

Crosshair choked on his next breath, your warmth encasing him perfectly as you took his length with ease. Once he bottomed out within you, he whimpered softly and buried his face into your neck. He was slow at first, allowing you to adjust to his size, which you probably needed as he was bigger than you expected.

“Fuck, Y/N” He cursed, overwhelmed by it all. To be able to take you like this, having you begging for his cock, you writhing beneath him…it was all wonderfully too much, and he loved it.

“Maker, it feels so good, Cross” You encouraged him. His cock stretched you open with each thrust as he picked up the pace. He fit inside you like you were made for each other, and you felt a closeness and intimacy you’d never experienced before. It was indescribable.

You held his face in your hands as he thrust into you faster and harder, holding his gaze while you both let profanities and cries of pleasure fly from your lips. If there was anyone nearby, they would have heard you, but it was a remote area, and you could feel safe. Each curl of his hips snapping into you sent your mind and body into a frenzy of pleasure.

“You take me so well, sweetheart” He praised, turning his attention to looking down where he disappeared inside of you. Crosshair was no virgin, but he’d never experienced such intimacy and passion for someone like he did for you in this moment. He wanted this for so long, same as you. The months of lingering glances at one another, your heart racing each time your skin grazed his on the ship, the way you’d cared for him since he’d escaped Tantiss. It was all leading up to this moment of pure desire for one another, and you wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

“I won’t last much longer” He

You nodded to assure him it was okay. It was then that you felt another orgasm quickly creeping up on you. He could feel you tightening and knew you were close.

“Come on my cock, that’s it” He spoke softly, his words sending you over the edge.

It burst open, washing over your entire body, more captivating and intense than the first release. You dug your nails into the rigid muscles of his back, pulling him into you as he kept his pace. You cried out, feeling overtaken by the pleasure that electrified your entire body. His thrust began to falter and his body shook beneath your fingertips.

Crosshair’s moans were low and rough as he reached his climax, spilling his release deep inside you, his brows furrowed and face twisted in pleasure.

You both took time to catch your breath, soaking in the highs you were riding and taking in this feeling of closeness with one another. He was careful to remove himself from you, knowing you were both sensitive.

He lay beside you, wrapping his arms around your body and pulling you into him.

“I love you too” He said suddenly, confusing you for a moment, before realizing that he was finally responding to your declaration of love to him earlier.

You smiled up at him and laid your head onto his chest. As you listened to a combination of the gentle waves and the beating of his heart, you felt warm and loved for the first time in a long time.

#Crosshair #crosshair x reader #crosshair smut #fluff #angst #the bad batch #tbb #crosshair x f!reader #crosshair x you #reader insert #tbb fanfiction #bad batch #pabu #my work #stardust-kenobi

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skeletonsloverockcandy · 7 months

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The thing that kills me about the Oct 11th entry with Mina insisting that should she turn into a vampire, she wants the others to kill her, is not just that Jonathan does not promise to do that, but that the way we hear Seward describe the scene—Quincy promising first, Jonathan brokenly asking if he has to and hesitating, the way we know about Jonathan’s private holy vow to Mina in his journal—is that I wonder if Jonathan is drawing his line in the sand.

He’s already made up his mind about what he will do if Mina turns, and now with Mina making the suitor squad promise to kill her, I wonder if now his fear and intention has subtly shifted.

You can almost hear it in that scene as Seward is describing Jonathan’s body language, but as soon as Quincy steps up to make his vow, I can almost sense the shift radiating off Jonathan.

He now has to contend with not only Dracula, but if it comes down to it, also against everyone else there, because he cannot allow Mina to come to harm, by any hand, especially not his own.

I think he was re-evaluating his priorities and loyalties. Yes, he is friends with all these people and loves them and wants them to work together to defeat Dracula and save Mina, but now he has resolved to the fact that there is a possibility of a last stand of “us” (him and Mina) vs. “them” (suitor squad), even if it’s not what Mina wants, he would do anything to keep her safe.

And if you follow the subtext that Jonathan was bit too, he knows he’s on limited time as well at this point, if he even remembers being bit, but regardless would let Mina turn him if he didn’t remember. He knows killing her would not save him like she thinks it would, besides the fact that doing so would destroy him. He would rather be rest assured in the damnation of his own soul than have it utterly destroyed in the act of ending Mina’s life. I don’t think he could go on, and I think he would find it useless regardless, because he would rather die than kill Mina.

And he would rather harm everyone else than let anymore harm come to Mina, even if that means he has to cut down those nearest to him if it means saving her.

When he promised to himself to let himself become undead with her, he’s not only damning himself and Mina, but the whole of London and beyond. And if he’s willing to let the world burn for Mina, I’m willing to bet he’d let his friends burn too.

He now has an ulterior motive and while everyone else will be keeping a close eye on Mina, he will be keeping a close eye on everyone else, because he can no longer trust them not to follow through on their promise to her.

He doesn’t promise.

He won’t kill her.

And you’ll have to go through him if you want to try.

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crusty-chronicles · 7 months

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Airheaded S/O Headcannons #13: Gaara (Naruto)

Legitimately hates you when you first meet

Which to be fair, he kinda hated everyone during the Chuunin Exams

But something about you amplified that hatred

Maybe it was the fact you always had a dopey smile on your face

Maybe it was how you won your match against the sound ninja by stumbling around (literally tripping or looking around last second so their attack barley missed you)

Or maybe, just maybe it was because you were so nice to him.

Didn't you have a clue what he was?

What he was capable of?

All the horrible things he was planning on doing to one of your peers? (That Uchiha kid really did get on his nerves.)

It was truly disgusting, that smile of yours filled with so much warmth.

Then you'd volunteered to be his opponent when Sasuke was late. Your own opponent he'd killed the night before.

"Why don't we fight each other since the people we're supposed to fight are missing? It's better than sitting here and doing nothing."

And it was the audacity of you to address him so formally that made him agree.

He was going to enjoy defeating you. Finally shut you up once and for all.

But when the fight started, something about your demeanor changed.

It was more focused, your chakra somehow stronger.

There was no longer a fool in front of him.

And when the match started, he once again found himself on the offense.

Sand barely able to protect him against your speed. It was like he was fighting Rock Lee all over again

And that made him mad.

So mad that he became more aggressive with his attacks.

You now the one being pushed back.

It would have been evenly matched. Key word: would've.

But like the fool you were, you mis-stepped and took a direct hit from his sand.

The granules wrapping around you and preparing to crush you into nothing.

But before he could put you down for good, you extended your arm out.

"I surrender." And that bright smile was back.

"That was a good match. It truly was an honor to fight you, Gaara."

He stopped his attack immediately out of sheer confusion.

You were the enemy.

He was supposed to help destroy your village

Yet here you were treating him like he was more than that.

Like he wasn't just a monster.

You called fighting him an 'honor'. Something you enjoyed rather than being a nuisance like he thought.

What was wrong with you

Gaara thought a lot about that day.

How he almost destroyed the Leaf

How Naruto had completely changed his perspective on life.

But more often than not, he thought about you.

And when he finally got to see you again during Rock Lee's battle with Kimimaro, the first thing he did was apologize.

"It's a pleasure to be meeting you again. I'd like to apologize for my behavior during the Chuunin Exams, especially towards you."

The way your face lit up had his own reddening.

"Thank you! And it's nice to see you're doing better."

He realizes he's actually grown fond of your dopey smile.

Because of Gaara's soft spot for you, you're constantly doing runs for the Hokage to the Sand Village

It's mostly to keep relations peaceful between the villages, Gaara being the new Kazekage and all.

But you don't have a clue. You just think you get a free trip to see your friend 🥺🥺🥺

It's during your time there that Gaara really notices your lack of brain.

No, you can't put a smiley face as a signature on important documents.

Please stop jumping from tall heights so his sand will catch you. He can only control it so much.

You cannot be lost at a time like this. You were just behind him five minutes ago????

He practically follows you around like a lost puppy so you don't get hurt.

That means being your personal escort between villages.

Even though he knows you're more than capable of protecting yourself.

He just can't risk something happening to you.

You're too precious. (Being one of his first friends alongside Naruto.)

After confiding in Kankuro once, it's then he's told all warmth he feels from being near you is love.

Something he never thought he'd ever experience.

Something he was told he never deserved.

And he figures you must like him too with how adamant you are to stay by his side, right?

Maybe not

He doesn't exactly know how these things work.

Courting you is a process he is extremely unfamiliar with.

Tries to ask for help from his siblings

Kankuro suggests buying you gifts and 'flirting'

Tamari suggests he just outright tell you his feelings.

Both prove to be a trial-and-error process.

You're thankful for the little things he gives you, but your face doesn't redden as his does with you.

He tells you he likes your eyes only for it to turn back to him when you tell him he has a kind heart.

How is he to top that?

Tries Tamari's method and just feels more defeated.

"I enjoy the time you spend here with me."

"I like being here with you two 😃"

"I should rephrase. I like you."

"Me too. I'm so glad we're friends!"

He decides to go about it his own way and maybe, just maybe you'll return his feelings.

"Do you remember how I was back then?" He asked as the both of you sat atop a building. The sun just beginning to set.

"Yup. You were a little mean at the Chuunin Exams. I thought you were gonna kill me for a second."

And that makes him panic for a second because if you thought that back then, there was no way you'd return his feelings. But he pushed on. No use going back now.

"There's a reason for that. When I was a child, I was told I was undeserving of love. That I was brought into this world hated. My only purpose was to live for myself, everybody else wanted me to die."

He was stunned when you placed your hand on his.

"You are deserving of love and happiness. I love you, you know?"

He was not expecting this turn of events. He planned of finishing his rant with 'Now I have plenty to live for. You are one of those reasons.'

Not for you to outright say you loved him

It was so unexpected that he didn't realize he started crying until you fussed over him.

"I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to make you cry!!! Please don't be sad!!!"

And he has to reassure you they're tears of happiness. That right now he was the most content he's ever been.

Because of your smooth brain, you ask him how he can be happy when he's crying.

He ends up pulling you into a kiss and that's where the dots connect for you.

Gaara has the biggest soft spot for you. It only makes sense that everything he calls you is with all the love he has.

Love, sweetheart, honey, dear, precious, my heart.

Not ashamed to call you all those things in public like some of the other candidates in this series.

Surprisingly, Gaara doesn't get jealous. He's very secure in his ability to make you happy and about your feelings for him. He doesn't doubt that for a second.

However, if you're gone too long on a mission, he might get a little insecure. The feeling is quickly gone as soon as you get back.

He is completely enamored with you and your heart. Your empty head is a quirk he's also learned to enjoy.

MASTERLIST

An: The final chapter to our main Airhead Stronk S/O series. That doesn't mean the series is officially over!!!! I'll be doing bonus chapters via requests or characters I think deserve love. They're probably gonna take a while tho so I can focus on finishing my Moon and Sun series. THANK YOU ALL FOR YOUR SUPPORT

#gaara x reader #gaara x y/n #naruto x reader #naruto x y/n #sabaku no gaara #naruto shippuden #x reader #x y/n #airhead s/o #stronk s/o

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adrift-in-thyme · 26 days

Text

@uncleskyrule happy belated birthday!!! Thank you so much for your patience while I wrote this! I hope it's worth the wait!

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

Four knows what sleep deprivation looks like.

He’s seen it spelled out on his grandfather’s face when long days turn his usual joviality to melancholy exhaustion and draws the shadows of half moons beneath his eyes.

He’s seen it painted across Dot’s beautiful features after an arduous night when the memories resurface, memories of a leering crimson eye, of claims to possession hanging heavy over her, of cages and darkness and smothering magic.

He’s seen it shadowed across his own face too, when the battles within and without grow to be too much, darkening his features, drawing them thin, sucking the youthful fat from his cheeks, the light from his eyes.

And he’s seen it…on the faces of his brothers.

On Time’s when the moon is full. On Twilight’s when a quiet twilight falls and skeletal trees whisper in tongues known only to some. On Wild’s when the amnesia recedes, Warriors’ when phantom lips press across his cheek, Wind’s after he awakens screaming his sister’s name. On Hyrule’s when he gives too much, Legend’s when the adventures he never speaks of tell their tale in his petrified cries at night…

And now on, Sky’s.

Some may find it strange for a man who can drift off practically anywhere to suffer from fatigue. Add to that uncanny ability, Sky’s penchant for seeming one of the most mature of their little group, the most…put together.

But Four is well acquainted with the deceptions someone can tell through demeanor alone. He himself has been dubbed mature, put together, responsible. And while, yes, those labels are true (Four would certainly be cross if people decided to start dubbing him childish or, Hylia forbid, a disaster as they call some more unruly children in his Hyrule), the lie rests in the assumptions they bring about.

Beliefs of invincibility and impervious spirit. Beliefs that there is no need to be gentle or kind, no need to offer respite or lighten the load.

It is the same fate their leader suffers so often, the same Warriors and Twilight sometimes crumble beneath. Suffering silently, yet always strong. So strong.

And Sky…

Sky hides it better than anyone.

Four is uncertain whether or not he is the only one who notices his distress. Perhaps, he is.

It doesn’t matter though. In fact, if he is the only one who has taken note of it then it is all the more important that he do something before Sky’s inevitable collapse.

But life never makes things simple. And in the end, he’s too late.

It has happened too many times now — a portal that separates the heroes into mismatched groups. Four thinks that perhaps, after his near defeat at the combined hands of the champion and the rancher the Shadow is attempting to be more careful.

More conniving. More vicious.

Attack first and you won’t be defeated. Such is the attitude of wild animals and beasts. More than likely, the Shadow shares it too.

This would explain why in addition to splitting the heroes up, this portal also dumps them right onto a battlefield.

Or at least, it does for Sky, Legend, and himself. Four can’t be sure what the others are facing. But he can only pray it isn’t a sand-drenched dungeon packed with redeads and stalfos.

The unearthly screeches of the emaciated corpses fill his ears as he fights, teeth gritted, heart pounding. It’s all the three heroes can do to stay out of reach of their paralyzing cries.

Back up to escape one beast and you nearly collide with the mad swing of a stalfos’ claymore.

Four winces as the very tip of a blade slices across his left arm and leaves an angry gash in its wake.

That’s going to need a bit of potion to remedy.

Beside him, Legend growls what sounds like a curse as he plunges his hand into his pouch and retrieves a fire rod. He brings it in a sweeping horizontal arc. In a blaze of blistering heat, a group of the monsters fall.

“Well done,” Four says with a breathless smirk. He plunges his sword into the gaping chest cavity of one of the stalfos still struggling for survival on the darkened floorboards. With a raspy exhale, it dissolves into ash. “I think you just turned the battle in our favor.”

“I’d better have,” Legend huffs. “The sooner we get rid of these things, the sooner we can get out of here.” He screws up his face in a grimace. More monsters crumple beneath his skilled hands. “It smells like death.”

It does, indeed, Four thinks as, finally, the last of the monsters fall. The stench of it hangs heavy, permeating the thick darkness that surrounds them, wafting from the thin threads of light carrying from faltering torches.

But now that the battle is over they can focus on escape. Hopefully, to a place where it proves easier to breathe.

He sheathes his sword, glances around. The gash on his arm throbs and the various bruises and smaller cuts he earned join in its stomach-churning beat. Still, it could have gone far worse.

“We all okay?” Legend asks, bangs falling into his face as he replaces his fire rod.

“Yes,” Four says. “How about you…Sky?”

His voice pitches an octave higher as he catches sight of the Skyloftian, turning the question almost into an exclamation.

The knight lies crumpled where he had stood mere moments before. The Master Sword lies fallen beside him, his cape flows over him like a blanket of snow. His breath comes in shuddering gasps that grate upon Four’s ears as he races to his side.

“Sky!”

He shakes him, slightly, and hazy blue orbs flutter open. Sky groans.

“What happened?” Legend drops down beside him, panic in his voice and a half-empty potion bottle in his hand. “Did a monster get him?”

Four shakes his head. “I don’t think so.” A quick inspection provides no sign of blood or other injury. But Sky’s face is ashen and he shudders as though in the throes of fever. “Sky, are you hurt?”

“N-not hurt.” Sky curls his fingers into a fist, as though attempting to gather strength. “J-just…just…” He swallows, tries to drag himself up, and nearly collapses again. It’s only Four and Legend’s quick movement that keeps him upright. “‘M fine.”

“Like hell you are!” Legend’s eyes are blazing with emotion now. “Sky, what happened?”

Sky shudders again. He glances down at the trembling hands he has folded into one, white-knuckled fist. There is a certain helplessness in the look.

“I dunno,” he croaks. “Was fighting and the room start-started swirling.” He curls in on himself further, and Four wonders if the next shaky exhale brings tears with it. His voice is very small. “I just-just fell.”

“And you didn’t have the strength to get back up,” Four says, solemnly. An idea is already forming in his head, a confirmation of what he has witnessed these past few hellish weeks.

I should’ve acted sooner.

But there had been fights both in and out of the group, and injuries and secrets unveiled. There had been discussions long overdue, restorations to be made in the face of pain and sorrow. And he, he had been in the midst of it all.

Between explaining the Four Sword and its powers and making up with Wild, he just hadn’t found the time…

“You haven’t been sleeping, Sky…have you?”

Now, Sky raises his head, glazed eyes focusing unsteadily on Four. Slowly, he shakes his head.

Legend blows out a sigh. He sits down beside Four and brings a dusty hand over his sweaty brow.

“Sleep deprivation? Yeah, that’ll do it. How long haven’t you been sleeping?”

Sky swallows. A beat passes, then another. The oppressive feel of death begins to crowd in on Four again. He struggles to breathe beneath it.

Then, “Since Twilight,” Sky whispers, and Four’s heart plummets to the depths of his stomach.

Legend’s hand falls to his lap with more viciousness than defeat. His face screws up in an expression that toes the line between sorrowful and intensely irritated. “I knew something was up! I knew it! I should’ve — ”

“Couldn’t have done anything,” Sky croaks, leaning further into Four’s touch. A small smile quirks his lips. “Was me that should-should’ve d-done something in the…in the first place.”

Legend’s eyes narrow. “What do you mean?”

Sky looks back down at his hands.

Another theory is beginning to form in Four’s mind now, joining with the previous one, enlarging it, and embellishing it until things start to make sense. A theory born out of something Sky has said before, a snippet he had overheard and tossed aside in favor of giving his full attention to fighting the Yiga that had taken Wild captive.

“I’m sorry, champion,” the Skyloftian had said as he had helped Warriors tend to the boy’s wounds. “I was late…again. I’m sorry.”

“You blame yourself.” Four measures the words carefully, speaking each one with intricate precision. Lest he step in the wrong place and cause them all to plummet. “You blame yourself for what happened to Twilight.”

Sky lifts his bloodshot eyes. A tear wells in one of them then spills over to slither gracefully down his cheek.

“Why would you blame yourself?” Legend asks, even as comprehension burns in his violet irises. “It’s not your fault the rancher got hit. You weren’t even near him when it happened!”

“I was near enough.” Sky’s voice is quieter than ever now, more like a whisper than anything else. “I know the skyward strike. I could’ve hit that…that thing if I’d been…b-been faster.” His breath hitches. But to Four it sounds defeated more than panicked. “I was late and he paid for it. I’m a-always…”

He curls in on himself, weighed down by exhaustion, shuddering with pain and sorrow. Legend looks at Four and Four looks at Legend. Then, slowly, together they reach out and draw Sky into their arms.

It’s strange. Four hadn’t taken Legend for someone willing to show physical affection freely. But he embraces the Skyloftian as though it is no price to pay. As though he has done so before.

Long nights. A shuddering sob. Soft feet dressed in boots with wings adorning their sides. Whispers in the dark that exhaustion muddles before Four can make them out. Amethyst eyes staring from over a hazy cloud of silken white. Sliding shut as a larger form huddles deeper into an embrace.

Sky shivers again and Legend holds him tighter.

“It’s not your fault,” Four murmurs, pouring every ounce of confidence he possesses into those words and praying that it is enough. “It’s not your fault, Sky. You did everything you could do for him. There’s nothing else you could have done.”

Sky doesn’t reply.

They hold him, whispering assurances, as his tears wet their tunics and his fatigued body quakes beneath the burden he forces it to carry. They hold him until, at last, in the murky darkness, surrounded by carcasses of monsters and piles of resting sand, he drifts off.

In the arms of his brothers.

#trin writes #linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu sky #lu legend #lu four #hurt/comfort #emotional hurt/comfort #angst

164 notes · View notes

photmath · 10 months

Text

Another Round? | Trent Alexander-Arnold

Pairing: Trent Alexander-Arnold x Female Reader

Summary: One conversation about your sexual desires leads you bent sideways with the last person you expected.

Word Count: 6.6k

Warnings: SUGGESTIVE CONTENT (18+), minors DNI, partying, mention of fwb content

Note: Kind of a bit rushed and ahhh, I may end up doing some edits later.

You weren’t supposed to be in this position: head resting on his bare chest while his arm skimmed your waist. It all happened too fast. You knew the saying, “one thing leads to another,” but you never expected to find yourself a victim to those words. You thought it was a fluke, that if you ever found yourself in that position you would resist it.

But here you were nonetheless. Having slept with the man no one—least of all, you—expected.

“I’m so glad you could make it!” Brie screamed, drawing you in for a hug. She was hosting a last-minute party as the summer holiday was slowly coming to a break. Her and your close friends were invited to come to her beach house for the weekend, although you weren’t entirely sure how long you were planning on staying.

It was the first time most of you were together after university had let out. Although many of you were close enough for shared vacations and had been on some together already, it was hard to get the entire friend group together, dates often overlapping with other events.

You gave Brie a smile while scoping out the set up. Brie’s family owned a private area of the beach, the sand and water only a few steps off of her backyard deck. She had already laid logs in a circle around the soon-to-be bonfire.

Hearing raucous, you turn towards the noise and see a car pulling in. Brie chuckles, “That must be Jude and Trent.”

You didn’t share many classes with either of them, but they were in the friend group, always loud and present. Jude was the newest addition, a teammate of Trent’s that he would drag to parties. Jude was much younger than the rest of you all, you often joked about his age while he would just roll his eyes.

Trent on the other hand, was much more private. He could be rowdy with the group sometimes but also very reserved to himself. The two of you were never super close like he was with others. Only friends with two entirely different lifestyles who made small talk. Trent lived for parties and football while you would be locked up in the studio working on a new canvas. The only parties you went to were the ones Brie and the others hosted.

“Hey!” Jude yells, gaining your attention. You expected to see Trent coming out of the driver’s side but it’s Jude.

You beam, “Long time no see, strangers.”

Trent wears dark, circled shades so you can’t make out if he’s looking at you when he looks in your direction. A small smile tugs to his lips as the gold necklace around his neck shines above his black button-up. Jude, on the other hand, wore bright red swimming trunks and a black tank that hugged him tight.

“Nice to see you again,” he pulls you close to him briefly, then turns around and tosses Trent the car keys.

Breaking the ice, you force out a chuckle in Trent’s direction as he gives you a one-armed hug, “You let him drive?”

“He needed the practice,” Trent shrugs, his arm sliding off of your shoulders once you remove yours from his waist. “He may not have a license, but I don’t have a car right now.”

You furrow your brows, suddenly confused, “Where’s yours?”

“I sold it.”

“But you promised you would let me drive it!” you exclaim. It was true, he had a Lamborghini that he was ‘borrowing’ from his uncle, but then later admitted it was his car. He had let a couple of his friends drive it and once it was supposed to be your turn, he said it was getting too late and that he should head home.

Trent only smiles, “You can drive the next car.”

“Is it a Lambo?”

“No,” he says, walking towards the house.

You let out a small sound of defeat, not at all that entirely upset, but you would’ve loved to be behind the wheel of that car. Following Trent silently, you get a whiff of his cologne. The smell intoxicates your senses and somehow also relieves the tension in your shoulders. Once you two make it further into the kitchen of the house, Jude comes by and slings his arm over you, handing you an alcoholic can.

“Oh I’m not drinking tonight,” you refuse, laughing as he takes a gulp. You raise a brow, “Aren’t you too young?”

He rolls his eyes, “You know I’m not.” He tucks the other can into his armpit, taking another gulp, “I’m planning on getting fucked up.”

“So you’re staying the night?”

He nods, “Mm-hmm, just tonight. I can’t stay tomorrow night—family stuff.”

“You’re taking Trent back then?”

He shrugs, “Don’t know. He wants to stay all three days, but I told him I can’t take him home so we’ll see.”

“Okay, try not to get wasted before the party starts,” you smirk, pulling away from him. Jude gives you a boyish grin as you walk away to help out Brie. Trent leans against the kitchen island, peeking through the tins of food. He catches you walking past, sending you a soft smile. His shades now abandoned, hanging against the buttons of his shirt.

---

As more and more people arrived—university and childhood friends alike—the looser you became. You were still sipping on a soda as you swayed to the music, you all moving closer to the beach. Not everyone was expected to stay the night, and the ones that were, seemed to be the most buzzed. Jude had to be hauled out of the beach multiple times and be kept under the supervision of you all.

You had lost track of Trent, in all honesty, not even looking for him but once you noticed he was missing, you were curious. He had never crossed your mind before, but now that he wasn’t in your line of sight, suddenly you were—what? Making sure he hadn’t left? Hadn’t taken off without telling you his goodbyes?

Usually, if he were to leave the room, you weren’t immediately thinking of him like you were now.

The beach was only lit from the bonfire and the lights that showcased through the windows of the house. The deck and pool were also illuminated as you walked towards the house. You wanted a new soda anyway.

As you mingled with a couple of friends on your way there, you spotted Trent on the edge of the deck near the ice chests. Of course. You make your way towards him, tossing the empty can into a bin and then giving him a timid smile once he turns your way.

“Have you seen Jude?” he asks, bending down to open the cooler for you. You pick another drink and then stand up, cracking it open.

“Last I saw him, he was puking by the fire.”

Trent shakes his head with disapproval, “That kid.”

“What? Are you on babysitting duty?”

He chuckles, “No. I have his keys anyway.”

You watch as he swings his soda in his hand, staring around at the crowd. He seemed a mixture of uninterested and very nonchalant as he looked all around you. You give him a meek smile although he doesn’t catch it, “Are you going to go by the bonfire?”

“No.”

You nod slowly, pointing towards it, “Well I’m going to go.”

“Have fun,” he voices aloof.

Asshole.

That was the kind of Trent you were more used to. Few words towards you. Either lively or withering, never in between. Feeling embarrassed for evening caring, you pull out your phone and text someone you swore to let go of months ago, but you needed an outlet for a few minutes.

A couple of hours pass as you find yourself in the pool with Brie and Jude, his eyes are brimmed red while he sings loudly in your ear. He keeps swaying side to side, making water slap against your cheek.

“Jude,” you scold.

“Sorry, love,” he slurs, giggling and then turning towards Brie to serenade her.

You laugh, scrolling through Brie’s phone to queue the next song. Your own phone is in your other hand, dangerously filled with water droplets. It buzzes and you squint to make out the blurry text:

Sorry, not making it tonight.

You groan, Jude suddenly turning towards you but you are quick to lock your phone. You hand Brie back her phone, “Think I’m going to go take a walk.”

“Okay, stay close to the house.”

“Will do,” you smile, wading through the water to get to the other end. You dry yourself with a towel and then slide your cover up back on before rolling your eyes as you reread the text message. Making your way to the boardwalk, you don’t notice Trent leaning against the wooden frame until he’s a step in front of you.

“What’s up?”

“Nothing,�� you grumble. You walk past him, slipping your phone into your pocket. The bottom of his shoes scrape against the wood as he follows you.

“Who texted?”

“No one.”

Trent chuckles, “You seem upset.”

“I’m not,” you grit your teeth. The boardwalk led up to the small lot reserved for cars, your own car being one of them. You hadn’t necessarily meant to walk towards them, but you were suddenly thankful that you had left your car keys in the pocket of your cover up.

“Are you leaving?”

“No.”

“But your car is—”

“I’m not leaving, Trent.” Trent’s skin glows dimly from the fire off in the distance although the both of you are too far to be seen from the house and beach. You lean against your car door and fold your arms, “I needed some space.”

The muscles of his arms grow as he folds them, shifting his weight to one leg. A smirk crawls onto his face as he swipes his bottom lip with his thumb, “Ah, I know what you were up to.”

You roll your eyes, still somewhat annoyed that he was still here pestering you—especially after you had left him alone when he was practically begging for silence earlier. “What was I up to then?”

“You were on your way to see someone.”

“No I wasn’t.”

“Yes you were,” he repeats. “You’re disappointed because they said no.”

You want to roll your eyes but don’t want to give him the satisfaction of being right because that’s exactly what you did. They were supposed to be at the party anyway, but didn’t feel like making the hour-long drive towards the beach at the last minute. As if the drive was so long anyway.

“I’m right, aren’t I?”

“Since you seem to know the answer to your question, why ask then?” you ask in vexation. Trent was loving it, pleased to have pressed your buttons and guess correctly, though it was never a competition in his eyes.

The smirk he wears slowly fades as a moment of silence passes. He makes a noise with his lips before he speaks, “I don’t know…was wondering what they had that wasn’t already here.”

You shake your head, “I’m not having this conversation with you.”

“What conversation?”

“You’re doing a lot right now,” you wave him off, grabbing a hold of the keys in your pocket and unlocking the car.

“Oh come on,” he deflates. “I’m kidding around, I’m sorry.” Opening the door, you hop in while he steps forward, “Wait—I really didn’t mean it, Y/N.”

You chew on your bottom lip as he keeps the door pried open, his hand wrapped on top of it. He’s staring down at you, waiting for your response.

“Get in the damn car then.”

“Are you serious?” he hesitates.

“If you ask me another question, Trent, I seriously think I’m going to lose it,” you warn. He only lets out a snort, shutting your door and walking around to the other end. His black shirt flaps open as he walks across the front, him sporting the same blank tank as Jude underneath.

He hops into the passenger seat, flashing you a nervous look as you turn on your car, “Don’t kill me now.”

“You willingly drove with Jude,” you retorted, letting out a smile to lose some of the tension you were having. You didn’t want the entire drive to be uncomfortable for the both of you. You start the car and then pull out, Trent looking around eagerly. “Do you want ice cream?”

He makes a face, “Not really…”

“Well that sucks,” you look at him and he turns towards you. His eyes are quick as they scan the features of your face, subtle but noticeable. “I was only asking nicely because I want ice cream.”

Trent lets out a strained laugh, “Uh—I guess I can do ice cream if you’re paying.”

“Woah, I never said that.”

“But you asked!”

“To take your order, not to pay.”

“It’ll only be a few.”

“Fine,” you concede, waving him off. He chuckles, settling in his seat as you come to the street. You don’t need directions to make it to the beachside stores that were ten minutes away from the house, having always picked up ice cream from the parlor late at night.

Parking the car, you turn it off and hop out, Trent immediately by your side as he looks around the stores. “They never sleep, hmm?”

You shake your head, “Not with the abundance of drunk tourists.”

“I’ve always driven past here but never stopped.”

“We can walk around if you’d like, I don’t mind.”

“Sure,” he smiles, pulling the door handle of the parlor and letting you walk in first. You beam at the worker, immediately ordering a two-scoop ice cream cone while Trent orders pralines and cream in a cone. He ends up paying for the cones, making a deal with you because you put up with him teasing you.

As the two of you walk down the boardwalk, you point at items you find interesting or what he finds ludicrous. He stops at a bench that looks on towards the moon and dark horizon of the water and sits down, “So just to calm down my curiosity, are you ever going to tell me what made you upset? I know it’s not my business but I am curious.”

You sit down next to him, muttering, “You were right.”

Trent’s eyebrows shoot up as he stares at you, his jaw gaping wide, “No way.”

“Yes,” you nod, finally biting onto the waffle cone.

“You were going to leave the party to hook up with someone?”

You nod again, cheeks burning slightly while you were acknowledging your escapades with Trent of all people. Neither of you had ever exchanged these kinds of intimate details despite knowing that the both of you were having sex with other people around the university. For Trent especially, it wasn’t uncommon for your friends to tease him about a fresh, new hickey on him at times.

“I can’t believe it,” he murmurs. “That I was right about that.”

“Don’t act surprised as if you wouldn’t do it yourself.”

“I would probably do it with someone at the party, not drive to them,” he exasperates. “I would never drive.”

“I know, that’s why the girl always has to drive and it’s annoying,” you lean up against the bench, folding one of your legs on top of the other. “Then you guys think we’re the desperate ones, but the truth is you all are lazy.”

He shakes his head, “No no, not entirely true. I’ve driven to them before, but I mean there were a bunch of people at the party, Y/N! Why couldn’t you have just had sex with someone there?”

You shrug, you hadn’t thought of it. You had a small fear of getting caught, but then you also wondered where exactly you would have sex with someone at. It didn’t help that you knew almost everyone at that party in some kind of way, so it wasn’t the first idea you thought of.

“How far was the drive?” he grills.

“Still with the questions, Trent,” you tease. “A little under an hour.”

“Oh my!” he exclaims. “You were going to drive all the way over there for what?”

“It’s just easier when you already know the person,” you defend. “Have you never had casual sex?”

“I have,” he turns your way, “I’m just shocked, I can’t lie.”

You have heard this story before. No one ever expected you to be having sex with men regularly, making it seem like you had so many partners when you didn’t.

You try to bite your tongue but fail, “And then that’s another thing. Everyone sees me as some innocent girl who has no idea what she’s doing when I do. It’s like they’re intrigued with corrupting me and trying to ‘break me,’ and then when they figure out that I do know what I’m doing, they get all butt hurt.”

Trent’s eyes grow wide, the cone almost slipping out of his grip as he listens to you.

“Men have the worst egos, getting so upset that they don’t last long, so I can never have my way, and always have to let them be in control,” you rant. “They’re so fragile! I mean it’s not a bad thing you can’t last for a couple of minutes if the other person knows what they’re doing—it’s the reaction you guys have afterward.”

Trent puts his hand up in the air to slow you down, “Wait, is this about the guy you were going to meet up with?”

You groan, “Him and others.”

“Then why were you going to go back if you know what to expect?” Although there’s a decent amount of space between the two of you, Trent still outstretches his arm on top of the bench as he angles his body towards yours. “Because you know him?”

“That, and I mean sometimes he lets me have his way.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

You give him an all-knowing look and he shrugs. You sputter out an awkward laugh, “I can’t believe I’m telling you this.”

Trent was all for it, enjoying the gossip from an outsider point of you. He chuckles, “I won’t tell anyone. Come on, now tell me what absolutely kills girls having sex with us.”

“You better not, Trent, this is only now slightly embarrassing.”

He raises his arms up, “You have my word.”

It was unwise to trust him so quickly but you did it anyway. You sigh, “He would never let me get on top, it’d always be him doing the work, and then the second I wanted to take control he wasn’t having it.”

Trent frowns, “He never wanted you to get on top?”

“A couple of times, but then he would be pulling me off.”

“Let me guess, he lasted only two seconds?”

You facepalm, groaning, “Yes!”

Trent lets out a loud laugh, “Oh god.”

“It’s happened to me before, almost as if they like the idea of me doing the work until it actually happens,” you complain. “Then other little pet peeves of course—when they come first and just leave you hanging there, but that’s a common one that girls complain about.”

Trent nods, his face scrunched up, “I’ve heard that before—not about me though.”

You roll your eyes, “Whatever, I’m sure she has faked it before.”

Trent blows out a whisk of air, shaking his head adamantly, “No, no, let’s finish talking about you before we start with me.”

You laugh. Trent had long gone finished his cone while listening to you, but you never really had the chance to eat yours while ranting. Trent notices the subtle frown beginning to form on your face, “I can buy you another after this, or when I tell you my stories.”

“No, it’s okay.”

“Are you sure?”

“Hmm,” you debate, reconsidering as a kind smile forms on his face. Well, since he asked so nicely. “Let me think about it.”

“You want me to toss it for you?”

“Sure, thank you, Trent.” You hand him the melted mess of the cone wrapped inside the napkin. He had always been thoughtful, attentive to his friends and certain facial expressions that he was a master at reading. Especially when you all were out in public, he protected the group and made sure everyone made it home safely.

He comes back to the bench, sitting a little closer than before and turns towards you. “Go on,” he smirks.

“Sometimes when men talk too much mid-act,” you go on.

Trent snorts, “Not a fan?”

You shrug, “Sometimes. I just wish men could read the room better, that there’s a time and place for it and sometimes we aren’t feeling it. But nooo, they keep on doing their thing, disregarding the other entirely.”

Trent can’t help but to watch your face contort as you talk, enamored by the way you weren’t embarrassed to share this with him. “Maybe you have had bad partners. You haven’t found the right person. Do you want a relationship at all with them?”

“Not him,” you cringe, earning a laugh from Trent.

“Are you looking for a relationship?”

You shrug, “If it happens, it happens.”

“So, just sex?”

“Not with every guy I see.”

He scoffs, “Obviously, I’m not judging here.”

“I only want to try out different things, is that too hard to ask for?” you sigh. You wished you had some kind of shame sounding like a horny teenager but you were fed up. It had been months since you had more-than-decent sex, one in which you didn’t feel obliged to follow their lead. You didn’t mind when they took control, but you didn’t want the same thing over and over again. Now, you were comfortable admitting what you did and didn’t want.

Trent snickers, “I mean personally, I don’t mind when they take the lead. Yeah, I like doing my own thing but—” he shrugs “—it’s not the end of the world. Do I come faster when she’s on top? Sometimes, yes, but that just means another round and some more foreplay.”

You almost hated the way the little light in your brain suddenly piqued with interest when he first mentioned that he didn’t mind giving up the lead. You couldn’t see Trent that way. He wasn’t someone who you ever considered sleeping with, especially when the two of you had never bonded like the others. He wasn’t someone you hung out regularly with, and so the two of you suddenly being closer would raise some suspicions. And goodness, why were you thinking this deeply about him?

It was never going to happen.

You nod, trying to remember Trent’s words, “Foreplay. Always important.”

“And aftercare.”

You stifle a laugh, “That too.”

Trent takes a moment before his next response, letting the sound of the waves lapping over each other fill the silence. Trent lets out an airy sigh, “Do you still want your ice cream? I reckon it’s getting quite late.”

“No, thank you for the offer though,” you smile. He stands up, holding his hand out for you to take. You grab a hold of it, impressed with the warmth and then let it go as the two of you make it back to the car. It was a much lighter walk, perhaps because of the two of you sharing a few more-than-personal details between each other.

He bumps into your shoulder, whispering, “Wait, so does this mean you rarely gave this man head?”

You laugh, “I mean, unless we weren’t planning on having sex afterward, then yes. Once he came, he was done for the day.”

Trent gawks, holding in his laughter, “Oh man. And you still wanted to drive to him!”

“Shut up,” you push him away. “He was my only option.”

Trent sputters out a laugh, “I mean, I wouldn’t say only option.”

And you knew the look he gave you, it was almost universal. The suggestive eyes accompanied with a small smirk. The two of you didn’t exchange another word as you got to the car, but the feeling was mutual and thick. The profound silence didn’t help either. You avoided his gaze like a hawk the entire drive, hoping that the party would still be at its peak when you arrived.

But it only took one look as you turned off the car at the lot, the party still in full effect. It was a quick glance in his direction, but Trent was already looking at you through a hooded gaze. If you held no composure, you would have jumped on him in a second.

“Fuck,” you mutter.

“What?” he asks lowly, voice full of sultry. He takes off his seatbelt and does nothing else.

“I knew this was going to happen.”

Trent looks around in the car, his hand raising, “Nothing is happening.”

“I knew that as soon as I started talking about sex you would see it as an invitation. I’m not having sex with you.”

He shakes his head, “I never said that. I didn’t think of that either.”

“Then fix your face.”

“It’s fixed.”

You raise a brow while staring at him. The both of you were having a standoff, seeing who would fold first. You could lie and say you didn’t want this, but Trent’s cologne, his exposed chest, his hands—they were all drawing you in. They’d been drawing you in since the night started, only now were you finally realizing it.

Trent’s lips curl up, “I wasn’t trying to have sex with you. Get your head out of the gutter.”

“Oh shut up,” you retort.

“You talked about guys having bad egos,” he smiles, his teeth flashing in your direction. He was teasing now, enjoying the way you had suddenly gone quiet.

“I stand by it.”

His low laugh echoes throughout the car, and the sound of you unclicking your seatbelt is even louder. Trent’s gaze follows the seatbelt sliding back into its spot. He wasn’t going to make the first move, you knew that.

Groaning, you hide your smile with your hand, “Agh, you’re such an ass.”

His sneer only widens as he looks down at his own thighs. Your car was tall enough for you to hop on top of him hypothetically, but did you really want to have sex with him in the parking lot? Somehow, the idea of the two of you getting caught only intrigued you more.

“There’s more space in the back,” you suggest. “If—you know—something were to…”

Trent leans in slowly, his fingertips grazing across your jaw, stopping at your chin, “Ah, I thought you wanted to be in control, are you getting shy, love?”

Your face was the warmest it had been the entire night, not even when you were standing directly in front of the bonfire were you this hot. His delicate fingers press against your cheek and chin, teasing you the entire time.

You gulp, your breath hitching as his hand falls towards your neck, “Trent—”

“Tell me what you want.”

“Get in the backseat.” His fingers trail upward again as you feel his exhale land on your face.

“And?”

“I don’t know if I can go on top.”

He smirks, eyes snapping right back to yours, “Why is that?”

“I—”

“You got shy?”

“A little,” you roll your eyes. Trent only chuckles, caressing your cheek with his hand. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he assures. “Do you want to do this or not?”

Glancing down at his lips, you nod, “Yes.”

“I’m all yours then.”

Trent waited until you initiated the kiss. He didn’t want to smash his lips onto yours until you at least made the slightest of movements. And that’s what it was: teeth clashed, mouths hungrily attacked the other, while your hands searched for any ounce of skin they could find. Trent’s touch was still a bit hesitant, but once he felt how much you pushed against him, no longer did he restrain himself.

He palmed your breast, eliciting a gasp as the other hand of his removed your cover up.

“Backseats?” he groaned, feeling the growing tightness of his shorts. He only wanted to pull you on top of him, and finally let you have your way with him like you craved.

“Mm-hmm,” you moan. You detached from him and immediately the both of you jumped out of the front seats and went into the back. Because of all the talking you had done previously, the windows were foggy. And as the night continued, it would get more humid and hot.

Trent met you in the middle, gripping onto your jaw to deeply kiss you. The car was too dark to make out his neck and below, so you had to trace against the ridges of his abs through his shirt in order to find his bulge. He groaned as you made contact, buckling his hips into your palms.

That was all you needed for you to change your mind. You peeled out of his grip while his head fell against the headrest as you squeezed him through his trunks.

His hands were lost in your hair as you tugged his shorts down, he expressed a loud moan once you drew him into your mouth. Even as you continued, he wasn’t quieting down, letting you do whatever you wanted. A small light from the fire landed on his cheek, and it made watching him more serene as he contorted with each suck and brush of your tongue.

“Fuck, I won’t last this round, but I will the next one,” he pants.

You chuckle, feeling his hands go stiff beside you and his hips jolt. His stomach deflates as he spills right into your mouth, watching you try to catch every speckle of him.

As more clothes were discarded throughout the night, he made sure to kiss you in every spot he could, taking his time until he got you to hold him in a whimpering mess. Going back and forth between gentle and rough, increasing his thrusts whenever he knew you were close. He let you ride him for the last round, you bubbling with eagerness once you finally had his thighs underneath yours. Trent’s lips were attached to the skin of your collarbone throughout, his palms kneaded and squeezed the flesh of your butt.

He kept his word and lasted for those two rounds, just now finally pulling out to come in between you two. The car was sticky, the windows dripping with condensation as he pulled you closer to him. Your panting chest rested against his bruised shoulders—love marks and crescent-shaped indents from your nails that nearly drew blood littered his body. Your chest was nearly the same mosaic as his.

Trent planted gentle kisses on your chest and neck, his hands soothing along your thighs and waist. He rested his head against the headrest breathing heavily, you sitting on top of him with a lousy smirk.

That had topped all of your previous sex sessions, Trent was so in tune with what caused a reaction out of you versus what didn’t. He didn’t waste time in trying to find one, only moving on to a different area to kiss, tease, or suck.

“That was really good,” Trent praises.

“Are you surprised?”

“I’m impressed.”

You laugh, kissing his cheek, “I guess you can say I’ve had some practice.”

“Why not practice on me from now on?” he asks.

You narrow your eyes, a smirk forming as your hands rest on the nape of his sweaty neck. Neither of you had dared to move, still needing to somehow clean the mess that ran down the both of you. “What do you mean?”

“We have sex together.”

“Exclusively?”

“Yes.”

Your cheeks flushed, “Are you being serious?”

“Yes. If you’d like.”

You gape, Trent sending a teasing smile as he stared back at your shock. You weren’t opposed, not when your legs were still numb and feeling the aftershocks of what had transpired. “Friends with benefits?”

He nods, holding out his pinky finger, “Friends with benefits.”

“Don’t fall in love with me,” you tease.

“Going to be hard when you have me in a mess like that,” he chuckles, puckering out his lips for a kiss. You give him a peck and then rub your hands against his shoulders. You moving your thighs make the both of you groan at the throbbing feeling.

“Round four?” you joke, but once you look up at him, his eyes already gleam with a darkened haze.

Jokes were on you.

---

Returning to the beach house wasn’t as difficult as you thought it would be, although you did lose your cover up in the process. It was sacrificed to wipe off the mess of you two since you didn’t have a spare towel in the car. Trent’s shirt was black, so you definitely didn’t want that to be stained.

Your legs felt like jello as you made your way to the upstairs, every muscle was sore. Trent was some meters behind, lagging behind and trying to blend in. Your room was the farthest out of everyone’s, per Brie’s request since you were her best friend.

Sneaking Trent inside to the room seemed to be the challenging part. Glancing down from the upstairs balcony, you could see Jude immediately attach to him, asking him where he had gone. Trent shrugs and makes up a lie of grabbing his bag from the car, handing Jude his bag as well.

Once Trent makes it to the bedroom, the two of you share a shower. There isn’t another round of sex, just the two of you giggling with some afterthought shock. His grip never fell from you as the two of you slept that night.

The most unlikely pair.

So when you are the one offering to take Trent back home, everyone looks your way.

“He’s out of your way though.”

“Are you sure?”

You shrug, “It’s fine, I don’t mind it. I know you guys want to get home and all, so yeah it’s okay.”

Perhaps you were trying to convince them a little too much, but they backed down soon after. Trent sent you an appreciative smile from the other end of the kitchen.

Brie wraps her arm around you, “Thank you for doing that.”

What commenced afterward still surprises you. Trent and you continued sneaking around throughout the summer. It was easy hiding it from your friends when they weren’t around, but it was difficult once your university classes started. Study sessions in the library were full of stolen glances, making excuses to leave early only for Trent to follow you afterward.

Anytime the two of you found yourselves sitting next to one another, his hands would be teasing your thigh. You did the same to stir a reaction from him, but he was better at being stoic. Stolen blowjobs, fingering, kissing, and quick sex sessions were common in between hang outs, but it was not only that.

Being with him switched from strictly sex and friendship to something much more than the two of you had yet to acknowledge. There were dates, days he had taken care of you because you felt sick, days you called him over because you wanted cuddles.

He often showed up to your apartment to ask about your day, wanting to spend time with you between his classes and training. You even showed more interest in going to football games that Brie had questioned you about because you seldomly did prior.

It was hard trying to keep the deal to not fall in love with him when he had made many advances. He was still very attentive to you and your concerns.

So when you finally told him about your feelings, you were nervous, expecting him to tease you about losing first but he was taken aback.

“I was getting worried,” he admitted, “I knew I had already fallen and I was waiting for you to let me down easy.” You were wearing his hoodie, a hoodie that you often slept in on the days he didn’t spend the night at your apartment. He was holding you in his lap, eyes full of admiration, “I think I fell in love with you the day at the boardwalk. I know we were only talking about sex, but something about hearing you talk to me without a care of judgment, it made me see you differently. Made me want to hold you and never let you go. You trusted me.”

You wiped the few tears that had fallen and he kissed your tear-stained cheeks when you told him you loved him. That night, making love to him felt so much more meaningful, more exposing than ever before. He had seen all the sides of you the past six months and never dared to run.

Despite officially now being in a relationship, the two of you still kept it lowkey without intending to do so. The two of you had been so used to sneaking glances and small smiles from far, and subtle head nods to signal the want of leaving, that it was difficult transitioning out of.

Still, one day it was going to come to the limelight, you just hadn’t expected it to be on your birthday.

“Oh my god!” Brie screeches. “You’re fucking Trent, aren’t you?”

You choke on the water you had previously chugged, coughing abruptly. Four of your other friends, plus Jude and Trent, stare at you and Brie in the kitchen. They’re only some strides away, lounging on the living room couches. Brie was not at all quiet.

“There’s no way,” one of them comments.

Your cheeks are burning as you resist the urge to look over at Trent to gauge his reaction. They all seemed to be stunned in silence. You wipe your mouth, “What?”

Brie clamps her hand over her mouth and pulls you from your wrist into your own bedroom. Once she shuts the door, she apologizes, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to expose the two of you in front of everyone. I couldn’t hold in my shock.”

“It’s okay,” you reason. It was going to come out anyway. “We weren’t trying to hide it.”

She raises her brows, “Not trying to? We never heard a peep, especially me.”

“We weren’t trying to hide it anymore,” you say sheepishly. “How did you find out?”

“I saw a text from you on his phone the other day when we were studying,” she explains. “I didn’t think much of it and didn’t mean to look, but then…I kind of started to notice the way the two of you would look at each other. It was clear something happened and erm, the both of you came to the table with a hickey when it wasn’t there before you both left one day.”

You snort, “I’m really bad at covering those, aren’t I?”

Brie lets out a nervous laugh, “But Trent? How can that be?”

You shrug, “Your summer party, it works wonders.”

“Aww,” she gushes. “He’s a great guy too. I’m glad the two of you finally got closer together. I knew that the two of you would have clicked!”

Brie musters out a laugh as the two of you hug and leave the room to meet the others. Jude and Trent’s figures fall through the door, having had their ears pressed up to the door to listen. You roll your eyes, sending Trent a smirk before standing to the balls of your feet and pulling him in for a kiss.

As the others gawk, you wave them off. Trent’s arms are firm around your waist, not daring to let go. He loved every second of this.

------

#trent alexander arnold x reader #trent alexander arnold #trent alexander x you #trent alexander imagines #trent alexander arnold x you #trent alexander arnold imagine #trent alexander arnold fanfic

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lila-lou · 2 months

Text

✨ His only exception - Pt. 8/? ✨

Summary: 12 months ago, Butcher went above and beyond to have you join his team. You had a simple office job at Supe Affairs. The same thing every day, working from 9 to 5 and watching Butcher and his team defeat one renegade after another. One evening, however, something changed.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Warnings: 18+ only! - bit of smut, Soldier Boy being a dick, drunk Reader, Language, jealousy

Word Count: 4344

A/N: This is part 8 of “His only exeption”.

English isn’t my first language, so please be lenient. 💙✨

The next few weeks passed without any significant incidents. While you kept arresting a few renegade supes, there was still no sign of Homelander. Sure he still appeared in public regularly, but it seemed like he was always one step ahead of you. Before you arrived he was already gone. As if he had vanished into thin air.

When Vought announced two weeks ago that Homelander would be busy reorganizing the Seven for the next few weeks, Butcher and his team waited a few days to see if there's actually no news around him. When nothing happened, Butcher had decided to give you all a well-deserved, albeit short, break.

Butcher stayed at home with MM. The two of them just wanted to have a few days of peace and, like old times, brighten up their evenings with a lot of alcohol before MM's daughter came to visit.

Frenchie surprised Kimiko with a trip to Paris and they haven't been heard from since they left. The two probably never got out of the hotel bed.

Annie traveled with Hughie to the mountains of Austria, where they rented a small wooden cabin. They wanted to hike, ski, get pampered at the spa, and just pretend to be a normal couple for a few days.

For your part, you had actually planned to visit your family, but since they were in the middle of moving, you decided against it at short notice. However, you didn't want to stay in the apartment either. You didn't want to crash Butcher and MM's men's group, nor did you want to constantly watch football games and trip over beer cans.

You didn't know what had come over you, but after everyone else had left and you had no idea what to do with your newfound free time, you argued with Ben for over 30 minutes, begging him to take you to Brazil. It had seemed like an eternity since you had sand beneath your feet, and after what you had done to Homelander, traveling to a foreign land alone wouldn't have been all that wise.

"Fine! But you'll leave me the fuck alone", Ben hissed before slamming the door to his room in your face.

Unfortunately, it became clear early, that going on vacation with Ben wasn't a good idea.

You've barely spoken to each other since the kiss. Your communication was limited to the essentials and, above all, to what was important for your job. Ben would never have admitted it, but you actually hurt him in some way with your actions. And although he couldn't explain it to himself, he felt even worse than after the Countess's betrayal.

You had been trying to apologize to him for days, but he just wouldn't listen to you. Even his favorite whiskey and a ridiculously expensive cigar couldn't calm him down.

At some point you just gave up.

The only problem, whatever the cause, was that you had now developed a crush on Ben. A damn major one.

It was harder now, to be ignored by him for weeks and watch him crawl deeper into his shell and become an even bigger asshole. But the worst part was, it was your fault.

“Fucking hurry up! I have to pee”, Ben banged on the bathroom door way too hard. It was your second Day in Brazil and way too early for that loud noise.

The two of you had a small beach house in a holiday resort right by the sea. It was beautiful and relatively quiet, but unfortunately only had one bathroom and one bedroom, so you slept on the couch and Ben chased you out of the bathroom for the second time in a row.

“Give me 5 please”, you whined, getting out of the shower.

But Ben had absolutely no nerv to negotiate with you. With a strong tug he pushed the door open. You had just enough time to wrap your towel around yourself before he came running towards you, finger raised. Despite the fact that the vacation was supposed to be relaxing for both of you, Ben's temper hadn't nearly disappeared by the second day.

“If I say I have to pee, then I have to fucking pee. Fucking now, not in five minutes!”, he hissed, his finger in front of your face as he looked down at you. His gaze briefly flickered to your breasts, but found your gaze again as you pulled your towel tighter, your cheeks red. “I know you’re fucking old, but I didn’t thought you had problems with your bladder yet”, you answered him cheekily.

“Fucking old, huh?”, he raised an eyebrow and lowered his finger. “Maybe I should teach you some manners, fucking brat”, he cups your jaw in one hand and gently but firmly pushes your face upwards.

“Such a dirty mouth on such a pretty face”, he muttered almost absently as he examined your face.

A few weeks ago your thoughts would have been completely different, but now you wanted nothing more than for him to just kiss you again.

For almost two weeks, the anger you felt towards yourself and the whole situation with Ben was so present that whenever the two of you ever exchanged a word, your responses were always bitchy and sassy. Five days ago you even managed to get him to blow up because of you, like literally.

“Get your dirty hand off me”, you hissed as you collected yourself.

“Sure Sweetheart”, he innocently raised both hands in the air, winked at you and turned to the toilet. Shameless as always, he pulled down his sweatpants and boxers a little and peed right in front of you.

You couldn't take your eyes off him for a while as you looked at his best piece. Reluctantly, your mouth went dry as you saw his size.

Of course Ben felt your gaze, but said nothing, instead enjoying your attention to the fullest, as well as your speechlessness. Ben knew he had a lot to offer and your reaction was pretty much identical to the one he usually got from women. The difference was that right now, his dick wasn't even hard.

It wasn't until he flushed the toilet that you were snapped out of your, more than dirty, thoughts. “Can I please get ready now? I’m hungry and want to eat breakfast”, you grumbled, tightening your grip on your towel.

Ben just rolled his eyes and washed his hands, leaving you alone in the bathroom.

The rest of the morning passed without further fights and ended in a relaxing afternoon by the pool.

With his legs crossed and his phone in his hand, Ben looked sideways at you as you lay on the lounger next to him, unzipping your bikini, to get your upper body tanned without streaks. You lay on your stomach, which is why everything important was covered anyway. Still, Ben obviously had a problem with it.

However, as you turned on your side, your bikini top hanging over the armrest of your lounger, Ben raised his glasses and looked incredulously at your back, which you turned to him.

“You fucking serious?”, he hissed at you.

“What?”, you turned onto your back so he had a perfect view of your bare chest as you looked up at him with innocent eyes. In fact, you had absolutely no ulterior motives at that moment, you just wanted to tan pretty much everything you could.

You could hear him take a sharp breath to calm himself before he spoke. “The pool is full of fucking wanker and you take off your fucking clothes? You're fucking flaunting yourself like a fucking little slut". As soon as he finished his sentence, he had already thrown his towel over your upper body.

You raised an eyebrow when you saw the more than annoyed expression on his face.

“And why do you have a damn problem with that?”. While you waited to see how Ben would react, you folded your arms over the towel.

Ben opened his mouth to tell you why you shouldn't be half-naked here by the pool, but it wasn't just the blood loss in his head caused by the tantalizing sight of your perfect breasts that thwarted his plans; simply the lack of a proper reason.

Why did it actually bother him? After all, you weren't his girlfriend. He also didn't give a shit about his image right now, so he didn't have to worry about being seen like that with you. So why did your actions trigger him so much?

"Just…just get fucking dressed", he grumbled, jaw clenched, pushing his sunglasses back into place as he tried to ignore his almost painful erection in his trunks.

With an annoyed groan, you decided to follow his instructions, as you had absolutely no nerve for another unnecessary and nerve-wracking argument with him. “Yeah, whatever”, you grumbled to yourself before turning back to your cocktail.

The next time Ben looked at you from his phone, he noticed that you had fallen asleep. He rolled his eyes, stood up, pulled an parasol over your lounger and looked around. Slowly but surely he was getting bored and no one wanted Soldier Boy to be bored.

It didn't take long before he had the prospect of a nice pastime. Less than five feet away from him sat two absolutely hot, young blondes whose eyes were staring at him lustfully. Ben knew that they would be absolutely easy. Confident and full of himself, he walked towards the two girls, while you fell further and further behind in his thoughts.

About two hours later, you slowly woke up from your restful nap. You had to blink a few times before you could look away from the now setting sun. “Ughhh”, you grumbled and stretched. Your eyes wandered to the parasol, which was no longer of any use, but still made you smile briefly. Ben must have set it up for you.

You ran your hand through your hair and looked around. The pool and bar were starting to get emptier and if you looked at your phone you knew why. Most people probably just ate dinner.

You stayed on the lounger for a while, wondering where Ben had gone and whether he would show up again soon. As he still wasn't back after about 20 minutes, you figured he was definitely drinking somewhere and decided to take a shower before starting dinner. After packing your things, you walked towards your little beach house, weak in the knees and feeling like you were walking on clouds. It was by far one of the most relaxing afternoons ever and you almost felt full of energy.

When you entered the house and heard some intense noises, you didn't want to go any further. You should have just left the house again.

Nevertheless, your feet carried you to the bedroom door.

The scene in front of you unfolded with an intensity that bordered on primal. Ben's movements were relentless as he pounded into a blonde, young girl, his hips driving forward with a fervor fueled by raw desire. The sound of flesh meeting flesh echoed in the air, punctuated by the moans of pleasure that spilled from the lips of all three. Meanwhile, the woman beneath Ben's skilled touch was lost in ecstasy, her body arching with each thrust, her red nails digging into the sheets as waves of pleasure washed over her. But even as she surrendered to the pleasure coursing through her veins, her lips found purchase elsewhere, trailing kisses along the curves of the other girl’s body, laying with spread legs in front of her. The other woman, lost in the throes of passion, arched her back as the sensation of warm lips and skilled tongue danced across her skin. Pleasure rippled through her body, building with each flick of the tongue, each gentle nip of teeth. Her hands tangled in the sheets as she surrendered to the intoxicating sensation, her moans mingling with those of her companions in a symphony of lust.

As you stood in the doorway, frozen in shock, a whirlwind of emotions tore through you with dizzying force. The sight of Ben entwined with two women ignited a fierce storm of jealousy, its flames licking at the edges of your composure. Your heart hammered painfully against your ribs, each beat echoing the ache of longing and desire you had buried deep within.

As your eyes met Ben's, a surge of heat flooded your cheeks, betraying the tumult of emotions raging within you. His smirk, equal parts charming and mischievous, sent a shiver down your spine, but it was his bold invitation that jolted you back to reality. "You wanna join?". His words hung in the air, as he watched you with an intensity that made your heart race even faster.

With a forced smile that barely masked the ache in your chest, your voice barely a whisper as you replied, "I think I'll pass".

Without waiting for his response, you turned on your heel, fleeing the room.

As you emerged into the sunlight, the salty breeze washed over you, offering a fleeting moment of respite from the storm raging within, you made your way back to the bar, the taste of bitterness lingered on your tongue, a reminder of the jealousy that gnawed at your insides. Each step felt heavier than the last, weighed down by the burden of your own conflicting emotions.

As you reached the bar, you sank onto a stool. With a weary sigh, you signaled the bartender, your voice barely above a whisper as you ordered a drink, anything to numb the ache in your heart. After the bartender set the drink before you, you wrapped your fingers around the glass, the cool condensation soothing against your trembling hands. With each sip, you felt the tension slowly ebb away, replaced by a numbness.

After a few too many drinks, you were feeling pleasantly buzzed, the world around you a blur of laughter and neon lights. With a carefree grin plastered on your face, you stumbled out of the bar, the cool night air a welcome relief against your flushed cheeks.

While you made your way back to the beach house, your steps were anything but steady, weaving a drunken dance along the sandy path. The stars above winked down at you, their twinkling lights adding to the whimsy of the night.

As you stumbled into the beach house, a wave of dizziness washing over you, you were greeted by the sight of Ben lounging on the couch, a mischievous glint in his eyes. He took a casual drag of the joint between his fingers, the smoke curling lazily around him. With a smirk playing on his lips, Ben reached for the small mirror on the coffee table, deftly arranging a few lines of coke with practiced precision.

As he leaned back against the cushions, his gaze fixed on you, a playful grin tugging at the corners of his lips. "Hey there, sunshine", he drawled, his voice thick with amusement. "You look like you've had one too many. You smell like it, too".

You couldn't help but chuckle at his observation, the alcohol dulling the edge of embarrassment that threatened to creep in. "Guilty as charged", you replied with a playful wink, sinking into the nearest chair with a contented sigh.

As the night wore on and the alcohol continued to flow, the atmosphere between you and Ben grew increasingly charged.

With a mischievous glint in your eye, fueled by liquid courage, you couldn’t resist the urge to tease Ben about what you had seen earlier. “So, Soldier Boy”, you began, your words slurring slightly as you leaned in closer, “those two… girls in the bedroom earlier… quite the party, huh?”.

Ben’s demeanor shifted instantly, his playful expression darkening slightly. “Mind your own fucking business, sweetheart”, he growled.

But fueled by alcohol and a stubborn streak a mile wide, you pressed on, emboldened by the rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins. “Come on, Ben” you persisted, your words tumbling out in a drunken torrent. “I thought you were all about having a good time. Or is it only fun when it’s on your terms?”

With a grin, you leaned in closer, the scent of alcohol lingering on your breath as you teased him further. "Oh, come on, Ben", you taunted, your words dripping with sarcasm. "Don't be such a prude. I'm sure you've got some juicy details to share".

Ben's jaw clenched visibly, his fists tightening at his sides as he struggled to rein in his temper. But despite the anger burning bright in his eyes, there was a hint of curiosity lurking beneath the surface, a desire to play along with your dangerous game.

"Fine", he bit out, his voice tight with barely-contained frustration. "You want to know how it went down? I'll tell you". His words were sharp.

But instead of backing down, you leaned in closer, your gaze locked with his as you egged him on, your own jealousy bubbling just beneath the surface. "Go on, then", you challenged, your voice dripping with false bravado. "I'm all ears". And as Ben launched into the sordid details of his escapades with the two women, you couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy gnawing at your insides. But fueled by a potent mix of desire and defiance, you pushed aside your own insecurities, determined to play the game until the bitter end.

"Hmm, sounds like you had a blast", you remarked casually, your tone deceptively light as you leaned back in your chair, feigning indifference. "I guess those girls were lucky to have you for the night".

Ben's gaze flickered with surprise at your response. But before he could respond, you rose from your seat with a playful sway, the alcohol lending a buoyancy to your movements.

As you made your way to the bathroom, you couldn't resist one final jab, your words echoing through the room with a hint of mischief. "Oh, and Ben", you called out over your shoulder, your voice teasing and light-hearted, "next time, try not to settle for such cheap thrills. You could do so much better than those two bimbos". With that, you entered the bathroom to undress.

As you fumbled with the zipper of your dress, struggling to free yourself from its confines, you were startled by the sound of Ben's voice behind you. Leaning against the doorframe with a predatory glint in his eyes, he watched you with a mixture of amusement and desire.

"Having a bit of trouble there, sweetheart?", he teased, his voice thick with innuendo as he sauntered closer, his gaze never leaving your form. "Need a hand?".

Despite the alcohol coursing through your veins, a shiver of awareness shot through you at his proximity, your skin prickling with anticipation. With a playful roll of your eyes, you shot back, "I can handle it, thanks".

But Ben wasn't deterred by your feigned indifference, his smirk widening as he closed the distance between you. "You know", he murmured, his breath hot against your ear, "I'd much rather be fucking that tight little pussy of yours right now. But since you won't let me, I guess I'll have to settle for something else, even if it's cheap".

His words sent a thrill of desire coursing through you, your cheeks flushing with heat at the raw intensity of his confession. Despite your better judgment, you couldn't deny the pull of attraction that simmered between you, a potent mixture of longing and forbidden desire.

With a playful swat to his chest, you shot him a coy grin over your shoulder. "Dream on, Soldier Boy", you teased. "You'll have to try a lot harder than that to win me over".

As Ben closed the gap between you, his fingers brushed against the zipper of your dress, a bold gesture that sent a jolt of electricity coursing through your veins. With a swift motion, he pulled the zipper down, the fabric of your dress falling to the ground, revealing your perfectly young body clad only in lace panties, your breasts bare beneath the sheer fabric.

A smirk played on Ben's lips as he took in the sight before him, his gaze roaming hungrily over your exposed skin. "Well, well, well", he murmured, his voice low and husky with desire. "Look what we have here. Seems like you were hiding quite the little treat under that dress of yours."

His words were laced with a hint of arrogance, a reminder of the power he wielded over you in this moment of vulnerability.

With a playful roll of your eyes, you shot him a grin, your own desire mirrored in the depths of your gaze. "Like what you see, Ben?", you teased, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "Or is it too much for your fragile ego to handle?".

Ben's smirk widened at your challenge, his fingers tracing a path along the curve of your hip with tantalizing slowness. "Oh, I can handle it just fine, sweetheart", he replied, his voice thick with promise. "In fact, I think it's about time you found out just how much I can handle".

And with that, he pulled you into his arms, his lips crashing against yours in a heated kiss that left you breathless and wanting more. You found yourself too drunk and too overwhelmed to push him away. His kiss was demanding, lacking the tenderness you had hoped for, but the alcohol had already clouded your judgment.

Feeling his strength, Ben effortlessly lifted you, his supe abilities making you feel like a feather in his arms as he pressed you against the sink. The cold porcelain sent a shiver down your spine, but it was nothing compared to the heat of Ben's touch. You moaned softly as his lips moved against yours with a sense of entitlement, his hands exploring your body with possessiveness. Despite your hazy state, a part of you couldn't help but feel uncomfortable with the way he was handling you, but you were too lost in the moment to protest.

"Finally getting a taste of what you've been missing, huh?", Ben murmured between kisses. "You should have given in sooner, sweetheart".

His words stung, a reminder of the power dynamic at play between you.

As Ben's lips trailed down your neck, leaving a trail of hot kisses and lingering marks, you squirmed in his grasp, a mixture of pleasure and discomfort coursing through you. His actions were rough and possessive.

"Ben", you slurred, your voice barely a whisper as you struggled to form coherent thoughts. "What are you doing?".

But Ben paid no heed to your question, his lips finding their way to your collarbone as he continued to trail kisses along your skin. With a grunt, he lifted you effortlessly, his strength making you feel like a ragdoll in his arms. As he carried you towards the bedroom, you could feel his arousal pressing against you, a reminder of the desires that drove him. Despite your intoxicated state, a sense of unease gnawed at the pit of your stomach, a voice in the back of your mind warning you of the dangers ahead.

"Relax, sweetheart", Ben murmured, his voice low and husky with desire. "I'm just showing you a good time".

His words sent a chill down your spine. But as Ben's lips crashed against yours once more, you couldn't help but lose yourself in the heat of the moment, the alcohol dulling your senses and clouding your judgment.

As Ben threw you onto the bed with a force that bordered on roughness, you let out a startled gasp, the impact sending shockwaves of sensation coursing through your body..

His eyes blazing with hunger as he rid himself of his shirt, revealing the sculpted contours of his chest. He hovered over you, his gaze intense and hungry, as he trailed kisses down your chest, his lips leaving a fiery trail in their wake. Your breath hitched in your throat as pleasure surged through you, a quiet moan escaping your lips at his touch.

"Mmm, that's it", Ben murmured. "Let me hear you".

With a satisfied smirk, Ben continued his exploration, his hands roaming freely over your body. His lips trailing lower, igniting sparks of pleasure with every kiss.

Just as Ben's lips reached the hem of your panties, you abruptly grabbed his wrist, pulling him up to meet your gaze with a frustrated growl.#

"What?", Ben asked, his tone tinged with annoyance as he met your gaze.

"Be gentle", you slurred. "Please, Ben", you begged, your voice trembling with vulnerability. "Just this once".

Ben's suspicion grew as he registered your unusual request. "What's the big deal?", he demanded, his voice tinged with frustration. "You've never been shy about what you want before".

You hesitated, feeling exposed and vulnerable beneath his scrutinizing gaze. "I've never… done this before", you admitted, your cheeks burning with embarrassment.

Ben's eyes widened in realization, a smirk playing on his lips as he pieced together the puzzle. "Ah, I see", he remarked, his tone laced with amusement. "Virgin territory, huh? Well, aren't I lucky".

With your inhibitions dulled by alcohol, you found yourself unable to protest, resigned to whatever fate awaited you.

As Ben began to pull down your panties, a smirk played on his lips as he watched your slick folds glisten in the dim light of the room. "Looks like you're more than ready for me, princess", he murmured.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰 I loved this Chapter ._.

Part 9

Taglist: @deangirl96, @thatgirljayy, @suckitands33, @deans-spinster-witch @mimaria420 @kaz11283 @uncle-eggy

#jensen ackles #soldier boy #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x y/n #the boys #smut

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