#I keep getting side tracked and this is one of the side quests I did instead of finishing other stuff

[immortal-raine]

My favorite Sunshine

[coff33andb00ks]

Rule Breaker - Pt 4

max Verstappen x single mom!reader (with logan sargeant)

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warnings: cursing, minimally proofread, masturbation (m), lando gives wisdom Summary: Max has it all...right? Besides, he's too busy collecting trophies and completing side quests for anything else. Until... You moved across a whole ass ocean to start over, uprooting you and your son's lives to become social media admin for cars that drive in circles. word count: 5682 auth.note: logan girlies frighten me but i love y'all :) spotify: i made a playlist

The alarm started ringing and Max sighed, reaching over to turn it off. It wasn't as though he was asleep. Sitting up on the side of the bed he rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, groaning when Jimmy gave a sleepy mew and jumped off the bed. "Ja, early morning," he sighed, switching on the lamp and getting to his feet. His cat didn't care, already slipping from the bedroom with his tail high. Sassy glared at him from the foot of the bed and he sighed again, grabbing his phone and turning off the lamp.

He grabbed jeans and a white t-shirt to put on before leaving the room, wondering again why he'd agreed to do this. It was stupid. No one cared what a day in his life was like, he was sure of that, no matter how many comments y/n had shown him on Checo's video asking when they'd get one of him. But it was too late to back out now—

His phone screen lit up and he stood in the bathroom, staring at her message.

-Good morning, I'll be there in ten minutes.

Crisp and professional. Just as it was supposed to be. Just as she had been for a week. When he'd messaged her the day before to bring Kevin over for another Disney movie she'd said yes, and had sat as far from him as physically possible while still being in the same room.

-I'll be ready. I'm up. Ok.

Eight minutes later she was at the door, looking maddeningly well-rested and relaxed and he didn't know why but that only annoyed him even more. He took the camera bag from her, noticing she was wearing baggy pants and an oversized sweatshirt instead of the usual jeans and Red Bull team shirt.

"I'll change before we go to the track," she told him.

He hated that the first few moments he was around her now were a little awkward. "What do you want to get first?" he asked, reaching up to smooth his hair and freezing when she moved to stop him. "What?"

"A day in the life, Max. Let your hair be messy. And you said you have coffee first thing right? So we'll do that – I've got the list you made." She took a sip from the to-go cup in her hand and he smelled coffee. "Kevin said to tell you good morning, have a great practice, and he had fun yesterday."

"I did too," he said. It was the truth. They'd watched a movie, and when that was over y/n had still been working on her laptop so he'd given Kevin a tour of his game room, letting him see and hold his trophies and helmets and even giving him a couple laps in his racing sim. She'd joined them, and for a little while it had been comfortable and easygoing, with her teasing him about his fridge of Red Bull within reach and having so many trophies he was running out of room to put them. He'd been about to suggest dinner, the words on the tip of his tongue, when she'd said it was time for them to get going.

She had the camera out, and so he started his day, answering her questions about trying to keep to a routine. The sun was coming up and she joined him on the balcony, asking about daily habits that stuck with him from childhood. He drank his coffee, watching out the corner of his eye as Sassy, his antisocial cat, jumped up into her lap and settled in for a cuddle.

"She's sweet," y/n said, and though there was a gap of at least six feet between them he could hear the cat's purring.

He made a face. "She hates being held."

Y/n looked at him, then down at Sassy. "Is that true?" she asked softly, running one hand over Sassy's fur.

As though intent on making him a liar, Sassy let out a squeaking purr and stretched, headbutting y/n's chin. Max scoffed, finishing his coffee. "She usually hates being held."

"Maybe you just don't know how to hold her properly," she said, turning her attention fully on the cat.

"I hold her just like I hold Jimmy," he said with a roll of his eyes.

"But you're not Jimmy, are you, darling?" she cooed, rubbing Sassy behind the ears and kissing the top of her head.

Max waited, knowing how much Sassy hated that sort of attention. And, traitor that she was, Sassy leaned into the touch, purring almost ecstatically. "You're making me look bad."

Y/n snorted, lavishing Sassy with affection for a few more moments. She set the cat down and stood, and the cat stayed close to her throughout the rest of the morning, calling and winding between her ankles as she got shots and video of Max doing his morning stretching.

"You do this every morning?" she asked, and Max exhaled with a nod while she got on her hands and knees next to him.

"It keeps me focused," he said after leaning on his knees. "Plus this is just a warmup. I'll do training with Rupert before lunch."

"Strength and cardio, right?"

"Will you be doing that with me too?" he asked, resuming his plank.

"Only if I'll get tequila at the end of the day like I did last week."

He chuckled. "I can do a gin and tonic."

"I've never had one of those," she said, trying the plank again.

"You have to lift your hips up a bit more," he pointed out. "And keep your back straight."

She tried again and he pushed himself back, turning to kneel next to her. His hands were on her hips, guiding them up, one hand moving to rest on her back, before he realized what he was doing. Hearing her shaky breath he paused.

"Sorry—"

"No, you're fine, I want to do it. Or at least be able to say I tried."

He nodded, adjusting her form, somehow able to focus on the exercise and not the sudden fantasies that were flashing in his mind. Swallowing hard, he wondered if they'd start invading his daily life and not just his dreams now. "Keep your head down, otherwise you might strain your neck."

"How long do I hold it?"

"It's your first time?" he asked, finally moving his hands from her.

"Doing a plank or having a guy manhandle me?" she huffed.

"Y/n—"

"Sorry, haven't had all my coffee. Yes, it's my first time."

"Then as long as you can."

"How long do you hold them?"

"Two minutes usually."

"Fucking showoff," she muttered, stretching out her arms and relaxing completely.

"I've been doing them for years," he chuckled. "C'mon, time for breakfast."

He was glad she ate with him, glad he'd picked up a few things from the shop the evening before that he'd remembered she liked. It seemed so normal, chatting with her while he cooked, Jimmy by his feet and Sassy by hers. But it made him homesick, nostalgic for something he'd never had.

"I only cook when I'm home," he said. "During preseason I have my meals prepped for me to get me back on track – turn on the kettle?"

She reached over to switch it on. "If you could have anything for breakfast without worrying about training or meal plans, what would it be?"

"This is where I say a cold Red Bull," he joked. When she rolled her eyes and laughed, he grinned. "Waffles. A stack this high." He held his hand several inches above the plate by the cooktop. "With bacon, the kind you can only get in America. And a large glass of milk."

"Butter and maple syrup?" she asked.

"Lots of butter, and the good maple syrup." Looking at the eggs on toast he was plating, he sighed. "I'll have it during our summer break."

"Two weeks off, right? Do you already have plans?"

"Last year I went to South America. I think this year I'll go home, yeah? Spend some time with my mum." Seeing that she was already fixing their tea, he carried the plates to the table and then fed Jimmy and Sassy. "What about you?"

"I'm not sure yet. I'm hoping to get to go home for a few days." She handed him a cup of tea and sat down. "My family usually gets a cottage at the beach for a couple weeks in the summer, and the break starts the second week they're going this year. Kevin misses his Nana, so I've got to get him back for a visit."

"You're close to your mum?" he asked once they'd started eating.

"Pretty close. We had a falling out when I graduated high school. She wanted me to stay near home and go to the local college, but I wanted to go to a school that had a good program. That led to a fight, especially when I was accepted and announced I was going halfway across the country…" She sipped her tea. "Then I graduated and came back home and… It was weird for a little while? But we both apologized and then Kevin came along, and well. She would have forgiven anything, I think, to be able to be in his life."

He nodded, understanding what that was like. Hadn't he done the same with his father? "Can I—" he stopped when her phone buzzed loudly on the table.

Y/n picked it up with a murmured apology, smiling slightly at the screen before answering. "Hey…"

Max's toast turned to cardboard in his mouth when he saw the name on the screen.

"Yeah, I'm at Max's. Day in the life thing. Yeah." She laughed.

He forced the last of his food down his throat and drank his tasteless tea, carrying his dishes to the sink while she talked to Logan.

"No, Ellie's bringing him. Probably around noon?" She paused and he knew she was smiling even though his back was to her. "You're sweet. I'll see you in a little bit? Yep. Okay, I promise. Bye."

"All good?" he asked, forcing himself to sound as casual as possible. Taking her plate when she brought it to the sink, he saw she was still smiling.

"Yeah, it was Logan. He wanted me to bring Kevin to the track. I'll do the dishes since you cooked," she insisted, waving him away.

He stepped aside, opening his mouth to point out the dishwasher but, knowing she would just wash them by hand anyway, he closed it. Leaning against the counter, he folded his arms over his chest. "How was your dinner with him last week?"

She looked at him in surprise. "It was nice."

He nodded. "About—" The timer he'd set on his phone went off and wanted to send his phone through the window. Snatching it up, he silenced it and ran a hand over his face. "I've got to shower, then we can head to the track."

"Sure thing." She tipped her head. "Alright if I change in your room while you shower?"

"Of course." He pushed away from the counter. "No photos of my closet."

She laughed at that, and he felt the awkwardness drift away. "No photos of the closet, promise. But I can get one of the Red Bull pillow on the bed?"

"Absolutely not," he snorted, her laugh following him from the kitchen. He went to the foyer to check his backpack, making sure all his necessities for the day were packed in it. Leaving his phone beside it, he thought about the upcoming practice, mind on the adjustments made in anticipation of the race. He pushed open his bedroom door so he could grab clothes, lurching to a stop at the sight of the nearly nude woman by his bed.

Y/n whirled around, one arm crossing over her bare chest, eyes wide.

"S-sorry," he blurted, quickly looking away even though it was too late for that. "Just need to grab something."

She turned her back to him, and he saw her hand shoot out to snatch her hoodie off the bed, holding it to her. "I thought you were showering."

"I had to get my things ready," he explained, wondering why he felt the need to defend his movements in his own home. "I thought you were washing dishes."

"It was a skillet, two forks, two plates, two mugs, and a spatula. Hardly a big job."

He quickly grabbed clothes, muttering a few more apologies. About to leave, he saw her turning to look over her shoulder and felt his knees weaken. His hip slammed into the corner of the bureau and he winced, cursing, snatching his gaze from her bare skin and leaving the room as quickly as he could, making sure to close the door behind him.

"Fuck me," he groaned, nearly tripping over Sassy, who was of course waiting right outside the door. Stepping around her, he went straight to the bathroom, trying with all his might to focus his mind on practice. The car. The track. Anything but her, because if he let himself think of her he would only think of how badly he'd wanted to—

No. Not allowed. He couldn't kiss her, he damn sure couldn't lay her down in his bed and learn all the secrets of her body. Couldn't find out how her lips tasted, whether she preferred to be held gently or grabbed roughly. Would never learn if she moaned and gasped or whined and squealed. Could never have the taste of her on his tongue or know how wet she could get.

His body craved her like water and he felt nothing but intense desire as he stood under the showerhead, not even trying to deflect his arousal. Giving in, he set the soap down and grasped his cock. He closed his eyes, letting the fantasies run wild. His hand was a sad substitute for what he truly craved. His mind replayed the split second view of her breasts he'd gotten over and over and he was almost ashamed of how quickly he came, gritting his teeth to keep from moaning loudly while his cum splashed on the tile.

Panting, still craving her, he washed himself, trying and failing to push thoughts of her to the back of his mind. Mad at himself for not being in control of his own body, he dried off and dressed, realizing he was taking more concern with his appearance than usual when he smoothed the pomade Charles had given him months ago through his hair. Cursing, he ran a comb through it, scowling at his reflection as he sprayed cologne. "Stupid," he muttered, pulling his shirt on and snatching the bathroom door open.

"No team shirt? I thought you weren't allowed to wear anything else," she teased when he entered the living room.

He looked down at the white tee, unconsciously smoothing it. "I don't live in team clothes," he muttered. He finally looked at her, clenching his jaw to stop his eyes from dipping to her chest.

She'd put on a bra. Pity.

"It looks good. Jeans and a white t-shirt are classic. Very James Dean."

"Who?" Was that some other idiot asshole talking to her? He knew about Logan—

"Actor from the 50's. According to my grandma, all the women wanted him and all the men wanted to be him." She smiled as she zipped up her camera bag. "I watched his movies. If I'd been alive back then I'd have wanted him, too. Ready?"

He nodded, grabbing a jacket. Said goodbye to the cats and watched her get more affection from Sassy in thirty seconds than he had in all the time he'd owned her. Another fantasy formed, and he wondered what it said of him that he was imagining her in his bed. Instead of a sexual slant, the fantasy was her cuddling his cats. Not used to the warmth it filled him with, he let the fantasy play out while they gathered their things, liking the mental image of Kevin and a faceless little girl joining them for morning snuggles.

The elevator ride was interminable, cramped, and he tried to remember what normalcy was while he breathed in perfume and shampoo and pretended she wasn't touching him.

"Are you wearing cologne?"

"A little." The doors open and he breathed clean air with utter relief. Did she like it? Did it bother her? Had he put too much? Should he—

"Smells nice," she murmured as she stepped into the lobby.

Max exhaled harshly, letting his head fall back against the wall, glancing up at the ceiling. "You've got a terrible sense of humor," he muttered to whatever gods might be listening.

"Did you say something?" Y/n asked.

"No," he lied, pushing away from the wall and exiting the elevator. "Just thinking about practice."

She asked him more questions, about the track, if he considered it at least a little his home track since he lived there. Nodded and listened to his answers as they walked to the dock. And it was all almost normal on the boat ride over, her filming clips to post later and getting photos. Then more normal once they stepped onto the trackside dock, surrounded by people now.

Once they reached the paddock she touched his arm to get his attention, not that she really needed to.

"I'll meet you at the garage? I'm gonna run see Kevin for a minute," she said.

"Of course." He reached for her camera bag and backpack. "You can bring him back for a visit—"

"Mama!"

He swung his head around, smiling at the sight of Kevin through the crowd. His expression soured when he saw who was carrying him, but he managed to keep the smile on his face as Logan walked up, greeting him with a nod.

God, he hated this. Hated the way she smiled up at Logan, hated their easy, familiar conversation while he handed Kevin over and told her Ellie had stopped to chat with Oscar. He hated that he hated it and cleared his throat. "See you in a bit, I've got to meet with Christian."

She nodded, and he made sure to speak to Kevin before walking off. Barely two seconds later Lando fell into step next to him.

"Aw, look at 'em. Like a family, yeah?"

Max had nothing but respect and admiration for Lando, but he would have gladly shoved him off the dock if they'd been close enough. "Who?"

"Your social media girl and Logan." Lando grinned, glancing back. "Should've seen her kid like thirty minutes ago. He worships Logan."

"Of course he does, the guy has the mindset of a three-year-old," Max muttered.

Lando exploded with laughter. "The fuck?" He followed Max into the Red Bull motorhome. "Is that jealousy I hear?"

"No."

"Ah c'mon, it's me. Your buddy. Your mate."

"Don't you have things to do?" Max muttered, waving to people milling about as he made his way to his driver's room.

Lando was close on his heels, and the door hadn't fully closed before he started in again. "So you like her?"

He set her bags down and shrugged off his backpack. "Who?"

"Y/n."

"She's my colleague."

"Colleague. You sound like a pretentious dickhead." Lando dropped into a chair and shoved his feet on the corner of the table. "Tell Lando about it, mate. I'm your friend, I won't judge you, just give you advice."

"I don't need your advice," he snorted, kicking Lando's feet down.

"But it's good advice!"

He groaned. "What is it?"

"First you need to tell me the problem." Lando leaned forward, looking far too excited. "You're down bad for her, aren't you?"

Max stared at him, unblinking.

"She gets you all fired up? Got you picturing her doing nasty, freaky things with you? Leaves you bricked and fighting for your life?"

"Jesus," he muttered, looking away.

"Oh, you're desperate," Lando said.

"I am not desperate," he scoffed.

"You're all dressed up. Isn't today when she spends the whole day with you?"

"I'm not dressed up." He wasn't sure what was worse, how he was feeling or hearing Lando describe them in his ridiculous way. "And yes, for the day in the life."

"You did something to your hair, you're wearing your pussy magnet cologne, and you're not wearing Red Bull." Lando ticked off his fingers. "You. Are. Desperate."

"And what if I am?" he asked.

"Mate… Just fuck her and get it over with it."

He laughed. "Life changing advice, mate, I never thought of that."

"See? I'm good—"

"I can't."

Lando's face twisted in confusion. "What do you mean, you can't?" His eyes widened. "Are you – You know you can get medicine for that? No shame in it nowadays. Happens to a lot of guys. Not me, but—"

"What the hell—" Max groaned, throwing a Red Bull at his friend. "I'm not impotent, asshole."

"Oh. Good, because really I'd be worried. You're not that old—" Lando sent the can back. "So why can't you? Because of Logan? They're not official. Just a few dates. He went to see her at her place, but I think they're just friends."

"How do you know all this?" Max asked, checking the time.

"He tells Osc everything and I have a knack for finding out by asking leading questions."

"You mean you're nosy."

Lando waved one hand. "Yes."

"It's not because of him," he finally said after opening a can and taking a swig.

"Then…" Lando threw up his hands and let them fall dramatically. "Why aren't you putting kids in her?"

Max almost choked on his drink. "Mate—"

"She's a fucking milf—"

"Don't say that—" Max held up a hand. "Stop. I can't."

"Again, why?" Lando gasped. "Mate," he whispered. "Did you try and she turned you down?"

"No, she didn't – I – we work together." He rolled his eyes when Lando snorted. "It's in the contracts, mate."

"You're joking."

"Do you want to see a copy?" he finished the drink and crumpled the can.

"No, I mean, you can't be serious? That kind of stuff is only for doing shit in public." Lando shook his head. "It's an easy workaround. Just do it in private."

"What, like I'm ashamed?"

"No, no, c'mon! Stolen looks? Carefully brushing her hand when you're walking together? Sending her a filthy text before an interview? Then as soon as you're back home you bend her over and fuck—"

"Stop."

"It'll be your dirty little secret. You'd have to make sure the kid doesn't notice but as long as you keep it to hotel rooms and when he's asleep that wouldn't be a problem." Lando smiled, expression smug, as though he'd just solved all the world's problems. "As long as you don't say in an interview that you're fucking her, you're good."

"You're insane," Max muttered with a shake of his head. "I can't—"

There was a knock on his door. "Mister Max!"

He was opening it in an instant, grunting when Kevin ran into him. Y/n was behind him, gently chastising him for being so impatient, and Max waved off her concern, catching the boy and lifting him up for a hug. "You having a good day, kleine maat?"

"Yeah! I got my scooter! Can we ride?" Kevin asked hopefully.

"Of course we can." He met y/n's eyes over the boy's head. "Just a little ways down the track?"

She looked ready to say no, but finally nodded. "I've got to get some posts up. Ellie's getting a migraine so she'll probably want to leave soon—"

"Well then we can have fun without her, can't we mate?" he asked Kevin, who giggled. Ruffling his hair, he set him down and looked at her. "Go ahead and do your work, yeah? I'll keep an eye on him."

Her eyes softened and he knew she wanted to insist he didn't have to. That Kevin could go back to the hotel with Ellie. But she smiled. "Thank you."

"Let's go get your scooter, mate," Lando said suddenly.

"Stay with Lando, yeah?" Max told Kevin, looking at his friend. "Don't let go of him."

"He's such a dad," Lando sighed to the boy, taking his hand and leading him from the room. "Does he tell you to eat your vegetables?"

It's not contagious. Just her migraines are bad right now. I think it's the change in environment. She's not used to the English weather.

She's going to a doctor tomorrow?

Yeah but I don't think they'll have a miracle cure.

Just bring him, y/n. The whole team loves him. We can keep an eye on him when you have to work, and he can stay in the motorhome when it's busy.

Christian said the same thing.

Sometimes he's smart.

You're terrible. Okay, I'll bring him.

Good. Tell Ellie I hope she gets some relief. Is she getting rest?

She just went to bed even though it's only 7. She took a pill that doesn't help the pain but helps her sleep.

She'll be okay, y/n. They'll have something to help her.

Thanks, Max. See you in Montreal.

Safe travels, y/n. Give little mate a hug for me?

Every day. :)

Y/n smiled over the messages and then returned to the messages with Christian. After telling him she would have Kevin with her for the Montreal and getting his assurance that it was okay, she locked her phone, sighing. "Well, buddy, looks like you're coming to Canada."

Kevin looked up from the hot wheels he was lining up on the rug. "Really?"

"Yep. But Mama's gonna be working a lot so we'll be at the track all the time." She hoped this wasn't a mistake. There were countless ways he could get hurt. "You'll have to stay where I tell you."

Kevin nodded. "Okay Mama." He rubbed his nose. "Is Mister Logan coming?"

The duality of child, she thought with another sigh. "Yeah, he'll be here soon. Remember to keep it down, though. Ellie's sleeping." She got to her feet and stepped over his cars so she could get the popcorn ready. "Can you get the movie ready?"

"He said Cars is his favorite," her son reminded her.

"He did."

"Mister Max likes it too. But his favorite is Aladdin."

"I thought his favorite was Tiana?"

"His favorite princess." Kevin followed her into the kitchen, pushing his stool to the counter and climbing up. "But he loves Aladdin."

"Why does he love Aladdin?" she asked, taking down the packets of microwave popcorn.

"He says the genie."

"Well, he has a point." She put a packet in the microwave and moved to get a bowl.

"He likes Tiana because she works for what she wants." Kevin spoke slowly, and y/n knew it was because he wanted to make sure he repeated Max verbatim. He even, probably unintentionally, copied Max's slight lisp.

And so it was that when Logan arrived, she and Kevin were in a debate over the work ethic of Disney princesses.

"I'm not saying she held down two jobs, but Cinderella worked," she insisted while she opened the door. "She cooked and cleaned and dealt with everything in the castle – Hey, c'mon in – and you need to remember it was set like two or three hundred years ago, of course she didn't have a job"

"But she only danced," Kevin said as he greeted Logan with a hug. "Tiana turned into a frog, Mama."

"Are we arguing?" Logan asked with a chuckle.

Y/n rolled her eyes. "I'm trying to defend my girl Cindy and he's showing misogyny."

"Am not," Kevin huffed. Tugging on Logan's shirt, he waited for him to lean down before whispering. "What's miss… That mean?"

"I think it means when a man expects a woman to stay home and cook and clean and raise babies," Logan whispered back.

"That's stupid."

"There's my sweet boy again. Go pick up your cars," she told him, laughing when he ran off to do so. Taking Logan's jacket, she draped it over the hook by the door. "Hey."

"Hey," he murmured, smiling.

His kiss wasn't unexpected. He'd kissed her plenty of times since their dinner in Italy. But there was something added in, something she couldn't quite identify but knew she liked. Leaning into him, she hummed softly when his hand lightly cradled her neck, pulling back at the sound of Kevin throwing his cars into the bin.

"Date in Montreal?" Logan asked.

She opened her mouth to say yes, then bit her lip. "I don't know. I have to bring Kevin with me."

"Oh. I thought he was staying here with Ellie?"

"He was, but she's been having really bad migraines since Monaco. She's going to the doctor tomorrow, but I can't just expect her to deal with him and all that."

"We'll still do something fun."

"We will," she promised, leaning to kiss his cheek. "Go on, I'll get the popcorn."

They parted, and she heard him talking to Kevin while she got the popcorn and drinks. When she brought it out he was already on the couch, remote in hand and following Kevin's directions to find the movie, like he hadn't used their TV half a dozen times by now.

"This is his favorite movie that he watches every other day, so he'll be talking along with it," she warned him with a smile once they were settled and he'd hit play. She could already tell that Kevin would be out before the movie was finished, recognizing the way he rubbed his eyes as he snuggled between her and Logan. Picking up her phone so she could check her email, she half paid attention, frowning when a text from Ellie popped up.

Is your boy toy here? I want water.

She rolled her eyes.

He's not my boy toy but yes. I'll bring you some.

"Be right back," she whispered to Logan, pushing herself off the couch and going to the kitchen to fix a cup of water for her friend. Slipping into the bedroom, she closed the door and approached the bed. "Hey," she whispered, setting the cup down.

Ellie groaned, slowly sitting up. "Thanks."

"Pill hasn't kicked in yet?"

"Almost. Logan here?"

Y/n smiled. "Yeah. Watching Cars."

"Romantic." Ellie breathed deeply. "Water?"

Handing it to her, she sat on the edge of the bed. "You're drugged so you'll be honest…"

"Yes, I think you should sleep with him."

She blinked, pressing her hands to her face. "Thanks, El."

"Welcome." Ellie pushed the cup to her. "He's cute and he likes you. And it's been years since you had some good dick. Sleep with him."

She stood and leaned to kiss her friend's head. "Go to sleep, babe."

"Loves you," Ellie mumbled sleepily.

"Love you more." Leaving the cup on the nightstand, she tiptoed from the room.

She didn't want to sleep with Logan, did she? Just because he was cute – which he was, but she preferred the term handsome – and liked her? She did like him. He was good with Kevin, and he was nice. He hadn't been pushy at all since their not-a-date dinner date, but she wasn't blind. She could tell he wanted more than the quick, stolen kisses.

Just as she'd known he would, Kevin was asleep before the movie was halfway through, and she pried him from Logan's shoulder to go tuck him in. When she returned, he'd turned off the movie and put on Netflix, and she reclaimed her spot.

"Is it okay for me to hang around?" he asked, pushing the popcorn bowl onto the coffee table.

"Of course." Smiling, she laughed when he flopped back, one arm draping around her and dragging her close. She barely paid attention to the show he'd turned on, letting herself enjoy the physical closeness. His hand rubbed her arm and she shifted closer, resting her head on his chest.

"Y/n?"

"Hm?" She tipped her head back, surprised – but not really – when he took the opportunity to kiss her. His arm tightened around her, other hand coming up to cup her cheek and she sank into the kiss, whining a little when he pulled back. "Okay?"

"Y-yeah," she breathed, nodding, shifting so she was kneeling, hands gently grabbing the front of his shirt as their lips met again.

"So we can be more than friends?" he asked between kisses.

Y/n exhaled shakily, wondering how he could ask that question when his hand was sliding under her shirt. Or was he expecting her to determine their relationship? "I mean… Yeah? We can just…" It was hard to concentrate with his hand creeping closer to her breast. "Figure it out as we go?"

"I like that," he whispered.

His fingers brushed the outer curve of her breast and her mouth went dry, feeling the flames of yearning in a long time. "I like that, too," she whispered, threading her fingers through his hair. She pulled back just when her lips brushed his again, slightly panicked at the thought of having sex on the sofa. "B-but we don't have to go all the way tonight, do we? I don't—"

I don't want to tarnish the couch my son naps and watches TV on.

"No, no, it's okay. I'm good with just kissing you," he promised.

"We can make out," she suggested, because she needed a little more than kissing. Just the training wheels until she remembered what to do and what she liked.

"Hands above the waist?" he asked while slowly guiding her down.

"Good idea." She had the distinct impression that if his hands went below her waist she'd be begging for more. And she wasn't ready for that. Not yet.

Maybe not ever, and as she started to lose herself in his kiss she wondered if he'd be okay with that, too.

Taglist:

@spookystitchery | @halleest | @lyannesworld | @llando4norris | @kravitzwhore | @younxii | @silentreader128 | @samantha-chicago | @mrsbrxkkxr | @cmleitora | @jasons-little-princess | @toldyouitwasamelodrama | @aundercover | @kiwi43-81 | @awritingtree | @voidsfics | @manicpixiemom | @misartymis | (i think i got everyone)

[xoxochb]

it's me again, hehehehe 🙈

semaine de la mode - (jason grace + t.s. invisible string)

⋆·˚ ༘ * one single thread of gold tied me to you

warnings: soulmate au pairing: jason grace x fem! reader a/n: the ending is a tad rushed 😣

jason grace was a fucking disaster. the quest was thrown off track when you had been taken by some stupid monster. you had an attempt to hurt it by instead it took you in its hands, incinerating you almost instantly, the only thing left was gold ashes. where you went was a mystery to everyone on the argo ii except for the son of jupiter. he knew exactly where you were

he didn’t quite know why, however. he just knew. It was weird, when any of his others friends were apart for him, it was unknown where they could be. whenever you weren’t in the very blurry vision of jason grace he knew where exactly you were. even if it was just at night, if you were laying in bed he would know, if you walked past him he knew where you were going and it worried him

why were you so special? he loved you, yes- admittedly more than anyone else on the ship but you weren’t even dating. but of course you were special to him, jason held you so dear in his heart and if something bad were to happen to you he might have to be institutionalized or he’d never survive

did he only feel your parting because he was in love with you? because he sure as hell wasn’t in love with anyone else, you were the only thing occupying his mind. it might’ve been annoying to others but oh gods he loved you and nothing could ever make him hate the thought of you

jason grace couldn’t sleep. since you were taken, not even a minute of rest came to him. he spent his nights and days planning how to rescue you. even when his eyelids shut the vision of you tied up in gods know where was mortifying, enough to keep him going until you were safe in his arms once again

he spoke to his friends about the reoccurring visions of you in despair, they- of course- helped him find you. two weeks after your kidnapping the argo ii arrived at your keeping. it was a dark cave, most definitely monster-infested but he would rather risk his life than let you die. jason assured his occupants that he could handle finding you himself, percy begged to help but jason declined and entered the stygian cave

It was dark. It was very dark. jason had no clue where he was going but nonetheless he kept going, eager to see you again. he reached a two way path- right or left, right or left…

he went right. as stupid as it sounds jason picked right because it was your favorite direction (you had told him this one night when he couldn’t sleep, it was the middle of the night and it amazed you that he remembered it). the ground was wet. he knew this was a good sign because in his visions he had seen water behind you. just as he thought he was getting close something stops him

jason looks up from the ground. a very ugly cyclops stands before him. oh he nearly screams but the content face of the monster is highly disturbing enough to stop any sound coming from his mouth

“wedding guest” says the cyclops

jason contemplates answering because seriously- what kind of statement is that? he pulls out his sword incase what he’s about to say is not cyclops appropriate

“who’s wedding?”

the cyclops proudly puffs out his chest. “y/n and me”

oh no

“where is she?”

“are you a wedding guest?”

“I’m here to object”

“you will not”

jason is thankful for the darkness of the cave. he positions his sword towards the cyclops. “who says?”

“I do”

“yeah?”

the cyclops nods. three… two… one… jason slides his sword into the monsters abdomen. the cyclops does not like this, attempting to rip it out but jason makes sure that it will not, sliding it in further until it reaches the opposite side. the monster makes noises in pain and occasional curses, his hands stay tightly around whatever part of the weapon he could reach

he left the cyclops there and rushed away. yes, maybe he should’ve waited until it was dead but honestly when he was this close to finding you nothing else really mattered. nothing else ever mattered when you were in his presence

jason wasn’t entirely sure how he knew which way to go but before he knew it he reached your temporary jail. something happened when your eyes met. as cliché as it sounds electricity ran through your body. jason ran to you as fast as possible, struggling to untie the ropes tears escaped his eyes

“jason” you muster out. and who knew a simple word could enlighten such a reaction but he stopped everything and looked up at you. the position admitted a little sexual since he was kneeling before you, he stood up quickly with a reddened face

“I’m sorry, I- didn’t, oh gods”

“jason, please. there’s a dagger in my back pocket”

with both of you hysterically crying wasn’t helping the situation. he hurried- yet remained respectful slid the dagger out from your back pocket, using it to first untie your hands, the kneeling once again (with your permission, he wasn’t sure if this was comfortable for you) to untie your ankles. he throws the dagger to the side and you throw yourself into his arms, he crumbled at the sensation, taking in your scent

“I missed you, gods, I thought I’d never leave” you cry into jason’s shoulder

he strokes his fingers through your hair to calm you, although he wasn’t very calm himself. “It’s okay, I’m here”

your grip on his shirt so tight you’re sure your fingers would’ve been turning white. “I don’t want to leave you again”

“I won’t let you”

“do you promise?”

“I swear it”

[auggieblogs]

From mine to yours | Max Verstappen Instagram au

Max Verstappen x fem! reader

* ੈ✩‧₊˚ Max does not hide his blatant favouritism!!!

Author's note: HAPPY DIWALI TO EVERYONE CELEBRATING!!! I hope all of you are doing good. This smau is a service to all my brown girlies, (and @maxiepinkz) consider it a Diwali gift. Also, my non-brown girles, all of you can read it just for the funnies (I like to think I am hilarious). Anyway, I love you all so much. Happy reading, my loves🤍

―୨୧⋆ ˚masterlist

yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris and 124,789 others

yourusername Happy Diwali🪔

tagged maxverstappen1

comments:

username parents if I may

username MAX VERSTAPPEN IN A BLACK KURTA THIS IS NOT A DRILL HSJAHDSG

username me and who

landonorris Diwali is my favourite festival actually

maxverstappen1 We'll send over the leftover sweets Lando, don't worry landonorris good because Oscar was worried oscarpiastri EXCUSE ME WHAT THE ACTUAL- yourusername It's okay Osc, we know it is actually Lando landonorris NUH UH

username Y/N, meri jaan<3 (Y/N my beloved)

username this could be us but you don't even know what is Diwali

username dear god when I get to hell please let me bring Y/N and Max

username Everyone should thank Y/N for getting Max out of his rbr merch bc he looks fucking delicious in that kurta

username Thank you Y/NNN username Thank uuuu, Y/N you're doing god's work username we owe you Y/N😭 yourusername You're welcome my bacchas mwah😘 (You're welcome my babies)

maxverstappen1 I love you kaafi zyada (I love you a lot)

yourusername more than redbull sugar-free? maxverstappen know your limits (yes)

username damn this making me feel a different typa lonley

martingarrix Sick party, sick music and I WON THAT GAME OF CARDS

yourusername Martin puh lease🤚🏼🙄

charles_leclerc I need that party playlist Y/N I'm begging

lewishamilton +1

lilymhe omg me too!!!

yourusername anything for my favourite lady🫶🏼

username Y/N making all the firangis (foreigners) dance on desi music like yessss queen reverse colonisation or something

username ik my goat

maxverstappen1

liked by yourusername, danielricciardo and 450,314 others

maxverstappen1 Happy Diwali, from mine to yours❤️🪔

tagged yourusername

comments:

username this is heartwarming awh!!!

username snshsj I love them

sophiekumpen Beautiful, Y/N💕

*liked by maxverstappen1 and yourusername*

yourusername Thank you so much, Sophie🥰

username I absolutely adore the Diwali vibes✨

username he posted 6 pics and 3/6 of them is Y/N I AM ON THE FLOOR

username down horrendously

username can you blame him though???

username I genuinely understand.

yourusername I love you, Max. Kaafi zyada. Bohot zyada. HADD SE ZYADA. (I love you, Max. A lot. Like A LOT. Beyond limits)

maxverstappen1 And I love you usse bhi zyada (And I love you more)

yourusername sharm aa gyi mujhe hehe🤭 (I’m blushing)

username Max learning Hindi for Y/N can be something so personal

username his side quests are getting out of hands

username bro probably did it to impress the in-laws

yourusername he knows 3 languages, what’s one more?😼

maxverstappen1 I am a romantic like that actually😊

username pretty pretty

username nahh this mf keeps winning on and off track annoying asf🙄👎🏼 ( I love them so much)

username oh to celebrate Diwali with my white boyfriend😭🙏🏼

username jokes aside, I want to know what max looks like up close with that kurta on

yourusername rishta material fr🤤 (marriageable)

danielricciardo It's the way we all were at the celebration and you managed to post just Y/N.

maxverstappen1 I do not hide my favouritism

username my desi girllll

username Y/N is living all my f1 driver x desi reader fantasies and I love it for her

redbullracing Hopefully we're invited to the Diwali party next year😁

landonorris nahhh no way after the ladoo incident

alexalbon Y/N is going to pull out her hair😭

yourusername uhm I'm actually conflicted tbh.

username WHAT IS THE LADOO INCIDENT?

Diwali, also known as Deepavali, is a Hindu festival celebrated with great enthusiasm across India and various other parts of the world. It symbolizes the victory of light over darkness and good over evil. Diwali typically involves lighting oil lamps or diyas, decorating homes, exchanging gifts, and enjoying festive meals with family and friends. The festival holds cultural, religious, and social significance, promoting the spirit of joy, unity, and hope.

A ladoo (also spelt laddu) is a popular and traditional Indian sweet. It is a round-shaped sweet ball made from various ingredients, including flour, sugar, and ghee (clarified butter). Ladoos are often prepared during festivals, celebrations, and religious occasions in India. They are considered a symbol of good luck and are distributed as a gesture of joy.

Needless to say, it's my favourite time of the year😁

[kaeyachi]

I THINK I HAVE A NEW FAVORITE STORY QUEST, AND IT IS CYNO'S STORY QUEST CH 2

Spoilers Below!

Shameless Cynonari shipping up ahead as well folks ✌️

Ok, I'm just gonna bullet point the entire thing coz I don't have much time (i basically speedran the quest a bit as well) so here are my thoughts:

Cyno and Cyrus then Naphis and Tighnari having basically the same hair is a bit funny to me ngl (but it is cute)

Naphis and Cyrus old man yaoi ✌️ I'll get back to this later but I clocked it early on

THIS QUEST IS BASICALLY A DREAM FOR CYNONARI AND KAVETHAM SHIPPERS. THIS WAS UNREAL PLEASE

Cyrus inviting Tighnari for lunch was cute

Cynonari + Collei probably do a lot of camping trips together 🥺

Collei is also more confident lately! You go girl!! WOOHOO

3 tents...1 for us and paimon...a scene where we see tighnari alone in his...and collei in her own tent...then we find out that cyno left for a supply run and tighnari is already awake...should we be connecting some dots here? (Cynonari shippers come get yall juice)

THE KAVETHAM SCENES IN THEIR HOME WERE INSANELY SOFT AND DOMESTIC. Also, Kaveh sitting on the table is *chefs kiss*

Tighnari was so quick to say he'll run after Cyno. I immediately started sobbing coz wow does he have a fast reaction when it concerns Cyno's safety. He probably would have gone after Cyno alone if we weren't there 😭

Kaveh, Alhaitham, Dehya, Candace, and Faruzan repeatedly telling Cyno to ask for help if he needs it makes my heart soft

Tighnari, meanwhile, doesn't even tell Cyno to ask for help. He straight up just rushes to his side, and that's adorable af. I swear it was starting to look like Tighnari has a one-track mind when it comes to Cyno's safety. Some of his braincells fly off! (good thing he has plenty)

SETHOS. MY SON. HE LOOKS SO GOOD. SETHOS SWEETIE IM ADOPTING YOU IN THE NEXT UPDATE (also wow that was not the voice i was expecting for him in EN, but I aint complaining!)

I keep coming back to it, but Tighnari is really quick when it comes to Cyno's safety and really doesn't pause lmao. Bro cut off Cyno's offer to ask Sethos with a hand and just started walking

new area pretty 🥺 I keep taking screenshots and pictures. got me going "omg! a lotus head column!!"

THE LORE WAS SCRUMPTIOUS BY THE WAY

THE ANIMATION FOR THE CYNO VS. SETHOS FIGHT WAS ALSO INCREDIBLE

Sethos downgraded from 5-star to 4-star caught in 4k hd ✌️ from polearm to bow too

look, the cyno lore was expected, BUT THE TIGHNARI LORE AS WELL?

Hermanubis being a Tighnarian and was King Deshret's chosen familiar hundreds of years ago, and now a full vessel of Hermanubis and a descendant of the Valuka Shuna meet and became friends in the Akademiya and are now companions 🥺

"I like that story." Yeah, I bet you do cyno, sethos basically called you and tighnari soulmates/ destined to meet and be together 🙄 also the ears to cyno's head gear actually really does represent tighnari's ears in some way after all lmao. i remember people making jokes about that

um...why is Bamoun buried like a pharoah?

NAPHIS SCOLDING CYRUS SO HARD LMAAOOO. he worries in his own way

Faruzan scolding everyone is so funny to see pls

cyno, tighnari, and collei having codes and gestures to give each other messages 🥺🥺🥺 tighnari and cyno used to say those codes back in the akademiya for each other, and now, in Cyno's own words, it became a family tradition 😭

Kavetham library date 🩷 then them returning to said date after our coffee sesh 🩷🩷🩷

Cyno taking us to his secret base and APPARENTLY ITS A CYNONARI DATING SPOT BACK WHEN THEY WERE STUDENTS. Y'all think they did the "It's beautiful." and "Yeah (looking at the the person instead of the view)" trope? coz the view was fr beautiful

Cyno and Sethos are officially brothers! yipee! (i will fr be pulling for him to complete the family)

THE PICTURES LISA TOOK OF CYRUS AND CYNO WERE SO CUTE 😭😭😭 cyrus and cyno are planning on visiting mond hehe

I need to review the entire quest again coz i bet i forgot some things BUT CYNONARI AND KAVETHAM NATIONS WE ALL WON

[brunchable]

LAZARUS SERUM || Steve Rogers x Enhanced!FReader

FINAL

Part One | Part Two | Part Three Words: 10.4K Themes: Drama, Lovers to Enemies, Enemies to Lovers. Warning: Nothing really? Sneak Peak: “I can’t believe they had this,” he says, his voice tinged with nostalgia as he carefully places the vinyl of ‘You Belong to Me’ by Jo Stafford on the turntable. The record crackles softly as the needle touches down, and soon, the sultry, smooth sound of a saxophone fills the room. A/N: This is probably the most romantic thing I've ever written, to me at least. Up to you if you want to hear the Song played in this story. Anyways Last Part, definitely enjoyed giving some life into this, I will miss this story now that it's over. Brb I'm going to cry.

Tags: @haruvalentine4321@strepsils123@realifelamb@needsleep3000@vicmc624@i-can-do-this-all-dayy@mrs-jjmaybank @nesnejwritings @feelinthefic@niffala@fantasyfootballchampion@thefandomplace @bellajean9-blog

Steve could hardly bring himself to watch as they treated your body with a clinical detachment that made his chest tighten. He knew this was protocol—you were government property now, subject to the rigorous examination and eventual autopsy that all enhanced individuals faced in death. Despite the protocol, the medical team was ordered to delay the autopsy until all Hydra officials are cleared out.

Steve sat by your side, holding your hand. It was cold now, but he couldn’t bring himself to let go. The room was filled with the faint beeping of machines monitoring nothing at all. They were just there, another part of the procedure, keeping track of a body that showed no signs of life.

He barely left the room, and when he did, it was only because someone—Natasha, Tony, or Sam—forced him to. He didn’t eat, didn’t sleep, just sat there, his mind replaying the events that had led them to this point. The sound of Pierce pressing that button echoed in his head, a constant reminder of what had been lost.

Days passed, each one blurring into the next. The doctors kept their vigil, waiting for the required period to pass before they could begin the autopsy. For Steve, those days felt like an eternity. He refused to leave your side, clutching your cold hand as if it was the only thing anchoring him to reality. He whispered to you words that even he wasn’t sure he believed—words of love, of regret, of apologies for not being able to save you.

Natasha checked on Steve regularly, bringing him food that often went untouched. Tony lingered at the door more often than not, wanting to offer comfort but unsure of how to bridge the growing chasm of grief that separated Steve from the rest of the world. Sam tried to talk to him, tried to get him to rest, but Steve was a statue.

On the fourth day, the medical team began to prepare for the inevitable. The necessary observations had been made, and there was no sign of any changes. The protocol was clear—they would move forward with the autopsy. 

Steve felt the weight of the world pressing down on him as he overheard the quiet conversation between two of the doctors at the door, discussing the next steps. It was like the final nail in a coffin that had been closing around him for days.

He had known this was coming, but knowing didn’t make it any easier. The thought of them cutting into you, of them treating your body like just another subject in their endless quest for knowledge, made something inside him twist painfully. But he didn’t stop them. He couldn’t. This was beyond him now, beyond anything he could control.

Finally, the lead doctor approached Steve, her expression one of professional sympathy. “Captain Rogers,” she began, her voice gentle, “we need to start the procedure. We’ll take care of her… with the utmost respect.”

Steve nodded numbly, his throat too tight to form words. He stood up slowly, his legs heavy as if they were made of lead, and leaned down to press a final kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering against her cold skin for a moment longer than necessary.

“I love you,” he whispered.

No answer.

With a heavy heart, Steve turned and walked out of the isolation room, the door closing softly behind him. He didn’t look back. He couldn’t. Every step felt like an insurmountable task, his body weighed down by a grief so profound that it was all he could do to keep moving.

As the door sealed shut, the doctors began their work, the room’s sterile lights flickering as the gravity of the situation settled over them like a shroud. 

Outside, Steve leaned against the wall, the sterile corridor around him a blur. He felt Natasha’s presence beside him, her hand gently resting on his arm, offering silent support. But there were no words that could heal this wound, no comfort that could ease the pain of losing you. . .for real.

Inside the room, the lead doctor took a deep breath and steadied her hand as she reached for the scalpel. The cold metal glinted under the sterile lights as she positioned it above your chest. The other doctors stood ready, watching closely, their expressions grim behind their surgical masks.

With a calm, steady motion, the doctor pressed the scalpel down, expecting the blade to cut through the skin with ease. But instead of the familiar sensation of metal slicing flesh, the blade stopped short, bending as if it had struck something impossibly hard.

“What the—?” the doctor gasped, her eyes widening in shock as she lifted the scalpel. She examined it closely, her heart pounding in her chest. The blade, which should have cut cleanly, was bent at an unnatural angle, as if it had been pressed against solid steel instead of skin.

The room went still, a heavy silence descending as the other doctors leaned in, trying to make sense of what they had just witnessed.

“What happened?” one of the nurses asked.

“I don’t know,” the lead doctor replied, her voice unsteady. She cautiously reached out, placing her hand on your chest, feeling for any sign of movement, of life. The skin beneath her fingers was cold and unmoving. Before she could pull her hand away, you grabbed her wrist, your eyes snapped open, wide and unseeing, and you drew in a sharp, ragged breath.

“AHHHH!” The lead doctor jumped back with a scream, dropping the bent scalpel as she stumbled into a tray of instruments, sending them clattering to the floor. 

The other doctors recoiled in shock, their faces pale with disbelief as they watched your chest rise and fall, your breaths shallow and erratic.

Your eyes were wild and unfocused, your mind struggling to make sense of what was happening. Your body felt like it was on fire, every nerve ending alive with a burning sensation that tore through you. You tried to move, to sit up, but your limbs feel heavy, uncooperative.

Outside, Steve heard the commotion and felt his heart leap into his throat. He pushed the door open, his breath catching in his chest as he saw you—alive, gasping for air.

“Y/N!” Steve shouted, rushing to your side. He reached out, his hand trembling as he tried to steady you, to offer some comfort. But you flinched at his touch, recoiling as if his hand had burned you.

When you looked at him, there was no relief—only confusion and fear. You yanked your hand out of his grasp, your body tensing as you scrambled to push yourself up. Your movements were jerky, uncoordinated, survival instinct kicking in.

“Where… where am I?” you gasped, your voice a mixture of confusion and alarm. “What’s happening? Steve—what did you do?”

Steve’s heart sank. He knew the signs; the serum had done more than just bring you back to life—it had reset your mind, made you relive old traumas. To you, it was as if the breakup had just happened, and the trust you had rebuilt was shattered once again.

“Y/N, it’s okay,” Steve said gently, holding out his hands in a placating gesture. “You’re safe. I’m not going to hurt you.”

But his words only seemed to fuel your confusion. 

“Stay back, asshole!” you shouted, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and fear. Your eyes darted around the room, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings, the machines, the sterile environment. You felt trapped, cornered.

Before Steve could react, you launched yourself at him, your movements quick but disoriented. You swung at him, your fists connecting with surprising force as you fought to defend yourself from what you perceived as a threat. Steve caught your wrists, trying to restrain you without hurting you, but your strength was fueled by the fear coursing through you.

“Y/N, stop!” Steve pleaded, his voice strained as he struggled to hold you back. “I’m not going to hurt you! Please, just listen to me!”

But you were beyond reason. The serum had done its work too well, resetting you to a time when trust had been shattered and your emotions were raw. To you, Steve was the enemy, the one who had broken your heart. You fought with everything you had, your punches wild but powerful, driven by your fresh emotions.

Steve didn’t fight back, only defended himself, his heart jumping with every strike you landed. 

“Y/N, please,” he said, his voice cracking as he managed to pin your arms down, his face inches from yours. “I’m not your enemy. You’re confused… the serum… it did something to you. But I’m here to help. I’m here for you.”

You continued to struggle. Desperate to make you stop, to get through to you, Steve did the only thing he could think of. He leaned in and possessed your lips with his soft ones, pouring all of his emotions into the kiss—his love, his regret, his longing. Steve kissed you like he was drowning and needed the air. 

Your eyes widened in shock, your naked body stiffening as Steve took you by surprise. For a moment, you fought against it, your mind screaming at you to pull away. But the intensity of the kiss, the raw emotion behind it, started to break through the fog of confusion. Your struggles began to weaken, your fists unclenching as you slowly stopped fighting.

For a brief moment, you allowed yourself to feel the kiss, the familiar warmth of his lips on yours, and the emotions it stirred within you. The walls you had built up began to crack, and you leaned into him, letting your guard down.

But just as quickly, the reality of the fractured relationship hit you like a freight train. The trust he had broken, the pain he had caused—it all came rushing back. Your eyes snapped open, and a surge of anger flared within you.

With a burst of strength, you shoved Steve back, your eyes blazing with fury. 

“This is for breaking my heart!” you hissed, driving your knee into his crotch with brutal force.

Steve gasped, doubling over in pain, but before he could react, you struck again, your voice laced with venom. 

“And this is for making promises you can't keep.” you delivered a second, equally vicious kick, sending him to the ground.

Steve collapsed, clutching his midsection, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he tried to recover from the blows. He looked up at you, face red in terrible pain. 

“Y/N… I’m sorry…” 

You stood over him, your chest heaving with exertion and emotion, but your resolve wavered. You had wanted to hurt him, to make him feel the pain he had caused you, but seeing him like this, the man you still loved despite everything, made you falter.

You took a shaky step back, your anger beginning to ebb, replaced by confusion and exhaustion. Your head was spinning, the effects of the serum still clouding your mind, making it hard to think straight.

Steve slowly pushed himself up, wincing with every movement, but he didn’t take his eyes off you. He could see the conflict in your eyes, the struggle between your anger and the love you had once shared. He knew he deserved every bit of your wrath, but it didn’t change the fact that he needed to reach you, to help you through this.

“Y/N…” he started, his voice soft, filled with regret. “I know I hurt you. And I’m so sorry. But I’m not going to give up on you. I’m here now, and I’m not leaving.”

× × × × 

Tony Stark wasn’t exactly sure what to expect when he made his way to the medical wing of the Compound. Ever since your death, the atmosphere had been oppressively heavy, with Steve barely leaving your side. The team was on edge, everyone handling their grief in their own way. But Tony knew something had changed—he had caught wind of the commotion in the medical bay, and his curiosity, mixed with concern, got the better of him.

As he approached the door to the room where you were being kept, Tony could hear the faint sounds of a struggle—a thud, followed by muffled voices. His brows furrowed in concern. Steve had been in there for days, practically refusing to move, and now…what the hell was going on?

He quickened his pace, just in time to hear your voice, filled with unresolved anger, though it was shaky and weak. Tony couldn’t make out the words, but the tone was unmistakable—this was bad.

Tony reached the doorway just as your knee drove into Steve’s crotch with brutal force. The sight made him stop in his tracks, eyes wide as Steve crumpled to the floor, clutching himself in obvious pain.

“HOLY SHIT,” Tony blurted out, his voice a mix of shock and disbelief. He had seen a lot in his time as Iron Man, but this…this was something else. He instinctively stepped back, half-expecting to need to intervene, but also too stunned to fully process what was happening.

Before Tony could react further, other medical staff rushed into the room, alerted by the commotion. They immediately moved toward you, trying to cover your naked body. You were visibly disoriented, your chest heaving with exertion. “Ma’am, please, you need to stay calm,” one of the nurses said gently, trying to approach you with caution. “We’re here to help you.”

But you, still caught in the confusion of your reset mind, saw the medics as another threat. 

“Stay away from me!” you shouted. As one of the nurses reached out to check your vitals, you ripped off the telemetry wires attached to you, the monitors emitting frantic beeps before falling silent.

“Y/N, it’s okay,” another medic tried to soothe, but you were having none of it. 

Your movements were erratic as you swatted their hands away, “I don’t need your help!”

Tony watched, half in awe, half in concern, as you continued to resist the medics’ attempts to care for you. He knew better than to get in the middle of it, but he couldn’t help but step in with a bit of his usual Stark charm.

“Whoa, whoa, guys,” Tony said, raising his hands in a calming gesture as he moved forward. “Let’s give her some space, alright? She just came back from the dead—probably needs a minute.”

The medics hesitated, looking between Tony and you, unsure whether to back off or insist on providing care. 

Tony gave them a wink that said, ‘Trust me on this,’ and after a moment, they reluctantly stepped back, keeping a watchful eye on you from a safer distance.

Now free of the wires and the medics’ touch, you stood shakily, your eyes darting around the room as you tried to make sense of everything. You wrapped your arms around yourself, feeling exposed and vulnerable in the sterile environment. 

Tony passed you a hospital gown, his eyes looking everywhere except your body.

Steve, still recovering from the brutal knee to his groin, slowly pushed himself up from the floor. He was in pain, both physical and emotional, but his concern for you overrode everything else. 

“Y/N,” he said softly, trying to reach you without spooking you further. “Please, just listen to me.”

Tony, sensing the delicate balance of the situation, decided to break the tension with a bit of levity. 

“Okay, let’s take a breath here,” he said, stepping between you slightly, though careful not to put himself in your direct line of fire. 

“Steve, buddy, we really need to work on your situational awareness. You’ve got the super-soldier strength, the reflexes… but somehow, you’re still a magnet for knees to the jewels. Twice in one day? Seriously?”

Steve, still wincing in pain, shot Tony a pained look. “Not the time, Tony.”

Tony, completely undeterred, shrugged. “I’m just saying, next time maybe lead with the shield. Protecting America’s ass is important, but protecting America’s future generations… Now that’s crucial. I can even add some extra padding to your suit. Think about it—‘Ballistic Protection’ could be the next big thing.” 

Steve gave Tony a look that was part exasperation, part grudging amusement. “Thanks, Tony. I’ll… consider it.”

Tony smirked, clearly pleased with himself, but his tone softened as he turned to Y/N. “And you, welcome back, Y/N. Hell of a return. But, uh, maybe take it easy on the guy, huh? He’s not as indestructible as he looks.”

You blinked, your anger dimming slightly as Tony’s words cut through the haze. You looked at him, then back at Steve, the fight slowly draining out of you. 

“I… I don’t know what’s happening.”

Steve, still wincing in pain but determined to help, took a tentative step closer. “You’re safe now, Y/N.”

Your eyes filled with tears. You wanted to believe him, but the fear and confusion made it hard to know what was real.

Seeing you distress, one of the medics stepped forward again, this time more cautiously. “Ma’am, please, let us help you. We just want to make sure you’re okay.”

You looked at the medic, then back at Steve. The fight had left you, replaced by a deep exhaustion. Slowly, you nodded, allowing the medics to approach you more carefully this time.

Tony watched as the medics gently guided you to a chair, their movements slow and deliberate, ensuring you felt safe. He caught Steve’s eye, giving him a small nod of encouragement. “She’s tough, Rogers. She’ll be fine.”

As the medics began to reattach the telemetry wires to you, Tony took a step back, giving them space to work. He turned to leave, but not before giving Steve a pat on the shoulder. 

× × × ×

6 months later.

The late morning air is crisp and cool as you step out of your father’s old home—well now yours. The grand house sits tucked into a forested valley, surrounded by towering pine trees that stretch toward the sky, their branches swaying gently in the cool mountain breeze. It’s a place untouched by the outside world, a small haven carved out in nature’s embrace. The air is filled with the scent of earth and pine, a sharp contrast to the steel and smoke of the life you left behind.

This has become your sanctuary over the past six months—a place where you can try to make sense of the world. A place where the world slows down, where you can finally allow yourself to exhale. Here, in this secluded corner of the world, you’re not defined by the battles you’ve fought or the name you carry. You’re simply… you.

You’ve been brought up to speed on everything you need to know, who you've become, the details of modern life, but no amount of information can change the fact that you feel like a relic of the past. The government knew where you were though, Steve fought in preventing you from going into The Raft and the outcome was putting a tracker in your arm, indefinitely.

You know your name will always be painted red, no matter what you do, and you’ve accepted that. So, you’ve chosen to lay low, to live quietly, far from the chaos that once defined your life.

As you prepare to run your errands—simple tasks that help you maintain a sense of normalcy—you step out onto the porch, pausing as you catch sight of a familiar figure leaning casually against a motorcycle in your driveway. 

Steve Rogers.

Steve stands there in his usual effortless style, somehow managing to make even the simplest outfit look undeniably charming. He’s wearing a navy blue Henley shirt that clings just enough to show off his broad shoulders and strong chest, with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, revealing the toned muscles of his forearms. His worn, dark-wash jeans fit perfectly, comfortably broken in from years of wear, sitting low on his hips. 

A brown leather jacket is slung over the seat of his motorcycle, its aged texture adding a rugged element to his otherwise clean look. His boots—scuffed, but sturdy—are planted firmly on the gravel of your driveway, completing the look of someone who is always ready to hit the road at a moment’s notice. 

His hair, slightly tousled by the breeze, catches the light, and his blue eyes are the kind that seem to cut straight through any walls you’ve tried to build.

You feel a familiar tug in your chest, a mix of emotions you’ve tried to push aside for months. Despite everything, despite how often you’ve pushed him away, Steve never misses a chance to show up. He’s determined, and no amount of rejection seems to deter him. It’s something that both infuriates and touches you deeply.

Steve looks up as you approach, a warm smile spreading across his face. His blue eyes, as clear and sincere as ever, meet yours, and for a moment, the world around you seems to fade into the background.

“Morning, just stopping by to check on you.” he greets, his voice soft, but with that unmistakable tone of affection that always makes your heart skip a beat.

“Stopping by?” you reply, raising an eyebrow with a touch of sarcasm. “You seem too far away from home.”

“Guess I couldn’t stay away,” he admits, his smile not fading. 

“You’ve been stopping by a lot lately, Rogers.” You cross your arms over your chest, trying to maintain your guarded demeanor, though the small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth betrays you. 

“Yeah,” he says, his tone more serious as he takes a step closer. “I guess I have. I can’t help myself.”

“You’re persistent, I’ll give you that.” You sigh, shaking your head.

Steve’s smile softens, his eyes filled with a sincerity that makes your chest tighten. “I just… wanted to see you. Make sure you’re doing okay.”

You look at him, really look at him, and see the sincerity in his eyes—the same sincerity that has always been there, even back in 1940. He’s changed, of course, as you all have, but in some ways, he’s still the same Steve you knew all those years ago. The one who would go to the ends of the earth for the people he loves.

You shake your head, more at yourself than at him, and let out a soft sigh. “Your persistence is maddening, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told.” Steve’s smile widens, that boyish, heartwarming grin that always seems to disarm you. 

You glance down at the checklist for your errands. “I was just about to head out. Got some things to take care of in town.”

Steve nods, not missing a beat. “Mind if I tag along? I promise not to be too much of a nuisance.”

You hesitate for a moment, weighing your options. You could send him away, as you’ve done so many times before, or you could let him in, even if just a little. The latter option is the more dangerous one—dangerous to the walls you’ve built around yourself—but it’s also the one that tugs at your heartstrings the most.

With a resigned sigh, you nod. “Alright, fine. But if you’re coming with me, you’re carrying the heavy stuff.”

Steve grins, that familiar spark in his eyes. “Deal.”

As you walk toward your car, Steve falls into step beside you, his presence a comforting, albeit persistent, reminder that you’re not as alone as you sometimes feel. You reach your car, and you hand him the keys without a word.

“You drive,” you say, giving him a sidelong glance. “I’ve been told I’m too reckless.”

Steve raises an eyebrow, a teasing glint in his eyes. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

You both climb into the car, and as Steve starts the engine, you lean back in your seat, trying to suppress the fluttering in your chest. It’s just a drive into town, just a few errands, but with Steve, everything seems to carry a little more weight, a little more meaning.

× × × ×

The road winds through the mountains, the late morning sun casting a warm, golden light over and trees that line the way.

Steve drives one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the gear shift. You steal a glance at him, taking in the way the sunlight filters through his golden hair, the way his brow furrows slightly in concentration, and how his lips curl up in a faint smile whenever he notices something beautiful in the scenery around you.

You don’t realize you’ve been staring until Steve catches your eye, his smile widening just a bit as he notices the slight blush creeping up your cheeks. You quickly look away, pretending to focus on the road ahead, but your heart betrays you, picking up a beat or two.

“You like what you see?” Steve begins, his voice cutting through the comfortable silence.

“You mean the scenery? Of course I do.”

Steve’s smile widens, the corners of his lips tugging upward in that knowing, playful way that makes your stomach flutter. He doesn’t press the point, but there’s a glint in his eyes that tells you he caught your deflection. At this point, he finds your avoidance adorable, the way you pretend to be unfazed by his presence even though the subtle pink in your cheeks betrays you. It’s a game you’ve both been playing for months now—his persistence, your careful distance—but he never seems to tire of it.

His amusement lingers, as if he’s letting you have this small victory, even though you both know he’s winning the larger war. You can feel the weight of his gaze lingering on you for just a moment longer before he turns back to the road ahead, content to let you believe you’ve dodged the question, at least for now. He smiles to himself. He’s enjoying this quiet dance, the slow pull that keeps bringing you back to him closer each time, even if you don’t quite realize it yet.

There’s something about the way he’s looking at you that makes your chest tighten—you know exactly what it is, but you’re not sure you’re ready to confront it yet. But before you can dwell on it too long, Steve reaches over and gently places his hand on yours, his fingers warm against your skin.

You freeze for a moment, your breath catching in your throat as you feel the heat of his touch seep through you, spreading warmth through your entire body. You glance down at your hands, intertwined so easily, so naturally. 

Steve’s thumb brushes over your knuckles in a slow, soothing motion, and you realize he’s not letting go. He doesn’t say anything—he doesn’t have to. His touch says everything. It’s a silent promise, a reassurance that he’s here, and he’s not going anywhere.

Your heart pounds in your chest, the feeling overwhelming and yet somehow comforting. It’s a feeling you haven’t allowed yourself to experience in a long time—too afraid of the consequences, of the pain that might come with it.

× × × ×

The small grocery store in town is cozy, with wooden shelves lined with fresh produce, locally made jams, and all the essentials you’d expect in a quaint countryside market. The bell above the door jingles as you and Steve step inside, the familiar sound bringing a sense of warmth and nostalgia that makes you feel more at home than you’d care to admit.

You grab a basket and start weaving through the aisles, Steve trailing just a step behind you. The store is quiet, with only a few other customers browsing, giving the place an intimate, almost serene atmosphere.

“So, what’s on the list?” Steve asks, his voice light as he catches up to you.

You glance at him, pretending to mull it over. “Well, just the usual vegetables, dairy. Nothing too fancy.”

Clearly on board, he nods. “Anything in particular you want me to grab?”

“How about you handle the vegetables? Think you can manage that?” You give him a sidelong glance, a mischievous smile tugging at your lips.

“I think I can handle a few vegetables, yeah.”

Steve rolls his eyes playfully but nods, heading toward the produce section.

As he walks away, you can’t help but watch him for a moment, noting the way he moves with that effortless confidence that always manages to draw your attention. You shake your head, pushing the thought aside as you focus on gathering the other stuff on your list.

You pick out a loaf of fresh bread, some deli meats, and cheeses, carefully placing them in the basket. As you do, you can’t help but notice an older couple nearby, both of them smiling at you and Steve with a knowing look. You quickly avert your gaze, feeling your cheeks warm slightly. They probably think you’re a couple, and for a split second, the idea doesn’t seem so far-fetched.

You’re rummaging through a bin of ripe tomatoes when Steve returns, holding up a bunch of bright green spinach and some carrots with a triumphant grin. 

“Got the veggies. Anything else?”

You raise an eyebrow, giving the produce in his hands a critical look. “Spinach and carrots, huh? What about some cucumbers? Maybe a bell pepper or two?”

Steve chuckles, shaking his head. “Alright, alright. I’ll go get the cucumbers. Anything else while I’m at it, Your Majesty?”

You suppress a laugh, trying to maintain a straight face. “That should do… for now.”

Steve gives you a mock salute and heads off to fetch the cucumbers. You can’t help but smile as you watch him go, feeling a warmth settle in your chest. This is nice—this easy banter, the lightheartedness of it all. It’s been a long time since you’ve felt this comfortable, this… happy.

You move on, grabbing a bottle of freshly squeezed orange juice when Steve reappears beside you, holding the cucumbers and adding them to your basket. 

“Anything else, boss?” he asks, his tone teasing.

You roll your eyes but can’t suppress the grin that tugs at your lips. “I think we’re good. Let's pay before you start shopping for the entire store.”

“Hey, I’m just trying to help,” he says, following you to the register. “But if you want to take charge, I’ll gladly step back.”

You glance at him, playfully bumping your shoulder against his. “You’re just saying that because you know I’d out-shop you any day.”

Steve laughs, a warm, genuine sound that makes you feel giddy. “I have no doubt.”

At the register, the cashier, a friendly older woman, gives you both a warm smile as she starts ringing up your items. “You two make a lovely couple,” she says, her tone sweet and sincere.

You open your mouth to correct her, but Steve beats you to it, flashing her a charming smile. “Thank you,” he says smoothly, casting a quick wink in your direction. “We’re working on it.”

The cashier chuckles, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “Well, from where I’m standing, you’re doing a pretty good job.”

Steve laughs softly, his boyish charm on full display. “I’ll take that as a good sign, then. Can never have too many votes of confidence, right?”

The older woman laughs heartily, clearly enjoying Steve’s playful banter. “With a smile like that, young man, I think you’re well on your way.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes, a smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. Steve’s ability to charm his way through just about anything never ceases to amaze you.

You shoot him a look after though, fighting the blush that threatens to creep up your cheeks. “We’re… just friends,” you clarify, though your voice doesn’t sound as convincing as you’d like.

The cashier’s smile widens, and she nods knowingly. “Well, take your time, dear. These things have a way of working themselves out.”

You hand over the money, trying to keep your composure as the cashier finishes bagging your groceries. Steve is still grinning as he picks up the bags, and you can’t help but playfully swat at his arm.

“Careful, Rogers,” you warn, though there’s no real heat in your words. “Don’t get too cocky.”

He leans in slightly, his voice dropping to a playful whisper. “Who, me? Never.”

After finishing up at the grocery store, Steve wanted to look around town since he's never gotten the chance before. The town is small and quaint, with narrow streets lined with charming shops and cafés. There’s a buzz of activity as locals go about their day, giving the place a lively, yet relaxed atmosphere.

You glance over at Steve, who’s holding the grocery bags with one hand, the other casually resting at his side. 

“So,” you say, tilting your head slightly, “You want to be dragged out here, and now you’re not in a rush to leave. . . what’s the plan, Rogers?”

Steve grins,“I thought maybe we could explore a bit. It’s been a while since we’ve just… wandered.”

“Wandered? That doesn’t sound like you.” You raise an eyebrow, amused by the idea.

“Hey,” he says with mock offense, “I’m perfectly capable of wandering. Besides, it’s a nice day. Thought it might be good to stick around for a while. Unless you’ve got something better to do?”

You roll your eyes, but there’s a smile tugging at your lips. “Alright, fine. But you’re buying if we stop for coffee.”

Steve chuckles, nodding as he shifts the grocery bags to one hand. “Deal. Let’s drop these off in the car first.”

After placing the groceries in the trunk, you and Steve start down the street, falling into an easy rhythm as you stroll past the various shops and boutiques. The air is filled with the scent of fresh flowers from a nearby florist, mingling with the aroma of baked goods from a bakery a few doors down.

“This place reminds me of the old neighborhoods back in Brooklyn. Quiet, but with character.” Steve glances around, taking in the sights with a relaxed smile.

You nod, feeling a similar sense of nostalgia. “Yeah, it’s got that small-town charm. Easy to see why people like it here.”

As you walk, you come across a small bookshop with an inviting display in the window. Steve stops, his gaze lingering on the rows of books stacked inside. 

“Mind if we take a look?”

You follow his gaze, surprised by the request. “Didn’t peg you for a bookworm, Rogers.”

“I’ve got a lot of catching up to do. Besides, you never know what you might find.” Steve shrugs, a sheepish grin on his face.

Curiosity piqued, you agreed, and the two of you stepped inside. The shop is cozy, with shelves that reach the ceiling and the comforting scent of old paper and ink. It’s quiet, with just a few other patrons browsing the aisles.

You wander through the store together, occasionally pointing out titles that catch your eye or laughing at the odd, outdated book covers. Steve seems particularly drawn to the history section, naturally, and you can’t help but tease him a little.

“History books?” you ask, leaning against a nearby shelf as he flips through a volume on World War II. “Seems a bit redundant, don’t you think?”

Steve glances up, chuckling. “Maybe. But it’s interesting to see how things have been written down. What they got right, what they didn’t. Helps me understand where we’re at now.”

You nod, understanding the sentiment. “I guess that makes sense. I’ve always thought you were a bit of a history nerd.”

“Guilty as charged,” he admits, slipping the book back onto the shelf. “But I’ve got other interests, too, you know.”

“Oh, really?” you say, raising an eyebrow. “Like what?”

He gives you a playful look, and wiggles his brows, “I’ll have to show you sometime.”

Before you can respond, the shopkeeper approaches, a friendly smile on her face. “Can I help you find anything?”

Steve shakes his head politely. “Just browsing, thank you.”

The shopkeeper nods and leaves you to continue your exploration. As you move further into the store, you come across a small section dedicated to old records and vinyls. Steve’s face lights up at the sight, and you watch with amusement as he starts flipping through the collection.

“You’re really into this whole retro thing, aren’t you?” you comment, crossing your arms as you lean against a nearby shelf.

Steve looks up, a grin on his face. “It’s not retro for me. This was the stuff we grew up with.” He pulls out a record and holds it up for you to see. “Ever heard this one?”

You glance at the album cover, recognizing the classic design. “Once or twice. My parents were into it.”

Steve laughs, shaking his head. “I’ve got to introduce you to some real music, then.”

You roll your eyes, though you’re secretly enjoying the easy banter. “Please. Like you’ve got anything on my playlist.”

“Careful,” Steve warns playfully, tucking the record under his arm. “I might just take that as a challenge.”

You spend the next couple of hours exploring the town, visiting a few more shops, including a small bakery where Steve insists on buying you a pastry to share. 

At one point, you find yourselves at a small park on the edge of town, where children play on swings and an older couple feeds the ducks at a nearby pond. You sit on a bench, the comfortable silence between you filled with the sounds of rustling leaves and distant chatter.

Steve stares at you as you get lost deep in your thoughts. He takes note of the way your eyes seem to shimmer from the soft sunlight, the way you absently run your fingers through your hair, tucking a loose strand behind your ear. The soft breeze ruffles your hair, and Steve watches as you close your eyes, breathing in the peaceful air of the park.

He can’t help but admire how much you’ve changed—stronger, quieter, more reflective—but still undeniably you. The way you sit there, unguarded, seems almost surreal to him, a glimpse into a version of you he hadn’t seen in so long. 

You shift slightly, pulling your knees up onto the bench and resting your chin on them, your eyes still far away, watching the ducks but not really seeing them. 

“You always think this hard?” Steve finally says, his voice low and playful, though there’s an undeniable softness to it.

You glance over at him, a small, almost shy smile pulling at the corner of your lips. “Sometimes. It’s hard not to when things actually slow down.”

He nods, understanding. “Yeah, I get that.”

There’s something unspoken between you, something that lingers in the air, but Steve doesn’t push it. Instead, he leans back on the bench, content to sit in the quiet with you, enjoying the simplicity of just being there. 

× × × ×

The sun has dipped low in the sky by the time you and Steve return home, the bags of groceries now resting on the kitchen counter. The day’s warmth lingers in the air, a gentle reminder of the easy, carefree hours you spent together wandering through town. 

You begin to unpack your ingredients for dinner, while Steve’s eyes catch your father’s old turntable.

“I can’t believe they had this,” he says, his voice tinged with nostalgia as he carefully places the vinyl of ‘You Belong to Me’ by Jo Stafford on the turntable. The record crackles softly as the needle touches down, and soon, the sultry, smooth sound of a saxophone fills the room. Its deep, rich notes float through the air, warm and lingering, wrapping themselves around you like a gentle embrace.

The saxophone’s melody is soft and slow, each note a whispered caress that draws you in closer. It feels like the sound itself is breathing, pulling you into its rhythm, evoking a feeling of quiet intimacy. The low, honeyed tones swell and dip, painting the room with a romantic warmth, setting the perfect mood for what’s to come. As the saxophone fades into the background, Jo Stafford’s voice soon follows, adding to the song’s haunting beauty. 

See the pyramids along the Nile...   Watch the sunrise on a tropic isle...   Just remember, darling, all the while...   You belong to me...

You freeze mid-motion, the knife hovering over a bell pepper as the first notes of the song play. The melody tugs at something deep inside you, pulling you back to another time, another place. A time when the world wasn’t as complicated, and when you and Steve were just two people who found solace in each other’s arms.

The music wraps around you like a warm blanket, and before you can fully process it, you feel Steve’s presence behind you. His hands gently slide around your waist, his fingers brushing against the fabric of your shirt as if seeking permission before pulling you closer. You can feel the steady, comforting beat of his heart against your back, its rhythm syncing with the music.

He leans in, his breath warm against your neck, his voice a low murmur in your ear. “Do you remember?” he asks, the words soft, filled with memories of late nights and whispered promises.

You nod, your throat tightening with emotion. “How could I forget?” you whisper, setting the knife down on the cutting board, your hands trembling slightly as the music washes over you, bringing with it the bittersweet memories of the life you once had together.

See the marketplace in old Algiers...   Send me photographs and souvenirs...   Just remember when a dream appears...   You belong to me...

Steve’s arms tighten around you, and slowly, gently, he begins to sway to the rhythm of the song, guiding you in a dance that’s as familiar as breathing. He rests his chin on your shoulder, his lips brushing against your ear as he hums along to the lyrics. The sound of his voice, so close and so familiar, sends a shiver down your spine, and you find yourself leaning into him, allowing yourself to be enveloped by his warmth, his presence.

“I’ve missed this,” Steve murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ve missed you.”

Your eyes flutter shut as you surrender to the moment, the memories of your past flooding back with every note of the song. The nights you spent dancing in dimly lit rooms, the way he’d hold you close as if he was afraid to let you go, the way you’d fit so perfectly in his arms—it all comes rushing back, as vivid as if it were yesterday.

Without thinking, you turn in his arms, your hands coming up to rest against his chest. His blue eyes meet yours, filled with a tenderness that makes your heart ache in the best possible way. The song continues to play, the lyrics speaking of distant lands and the longing of two lovers separated by time and space, and it’s as if the song was written just for the two of you.

I’ll be so alone without you...   Maybe you’ll be lonesome too... and blue...

Steve’s hands move to your waist, holding you gently but firmly, his hand holding yours firmly above his heart, and he begins to guide you in a slow dance, his movements fluid and unhurried. There’s something so achingly familiar about the way he holds you, the way he looks at you, and you realize that despite everything that’s changed, this—this—feels the same.

You let out a soft, shaky breath as you settle into the dance, your bodies moving together as if no time had passed at all. You’re no longer in the present, no longer in this kitchen, but back in those simpler times, when it was just you and him against the world.

“You’re still a terrible dancer,” you tease, though your voice is filled with affection rather than criticism, a hint of a smile playing on your lips.

Steve chuckles, the sound vibrating through your chest where it’s pressed against his. “At least I had a pretty good partner,” he counters, his eyes twinkling with that familiar mix of amusement and adoration.

You roll your eyes, though your smile widens as you lean into him, resting your head against his chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear is a comforting lullaby, grounding you in the here and now, while the music transports you both back to the past.

Fly the ocean in a silver plane...  See the jungle when it’s wet with rain...   Just remember till you’re home again...   You belong to me...

As the lyrics weave their way into your heart, you feel a lump form in your throat, emotions swirling within you that you’ve tried so hard to bury. But here, in Steve’s arms, it’s impossible to keep them at bay. The song’s gentle melody tugs at your heartstrings, each note a reminder of what you once had, what you lost, and what you might be able to find again.

Steve’s hand gently tilts your chin up, and you find yourself staring into those familiar blue eyes—eyes that have seen too much, but still hold a depth of love and understanding that makes your breath catch. He’s so close, his face inches from yours, and you can see the unspoken love in his gaze, the promises he’s made and the ones he’s ready to make again.

“My love for you has never wavered,” Steve whispers, his voice steady but thick with emotion. “Not for a single heartbeat, not even when I believed you were lost to me forever.”

Your heart clenches at his words, and tears prick at the corners of your eyes. You’ve been so afraid of letting yourself feel again, of letting him back in, but here in this moment, it’s impossible to deny the truth. 

“Steve, I…” you start but you’re afraid, terrified even, of opening up again, of risking the pain that comes with loving someone so deeply. But as his thumb gently brushes against your cheek, wiping away a stray tear.

Fly the ocean in a silver plane...   See the jungle when it’s wet with rain...   Just remember till you’re home again...   You belong to me...

Steve leans in, his forehead resting against yours. It’s just you and him, swaying to the music, breathing in sync, hearts beating as one. The song fades into the background, but the melody lingers in your mind, echoing the sentiment that has always been there, even when you tried to ignore it.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Steve says quietly, his voice a promise, a vow. “I lost you once, and I’m not going to let that happen again. We can take it slow, one day at a time. I’m here, and I’m not giving up.”

You search his eyes, looking for any sign of doubt or hesitation, but all you find is love—the same love that’s always been there, even when you tried to push it away. 

You nod slowly, allowing yourself to lean into his touch, to let him hold you a little closer. “One day at a time,” you repeat, your voice steadier now. 

Steve smiles, a soft, relieved smile that makes your heart flutter. “That’s all I’m asking.”

Oh, you belong to me...

The final notes of the song fade into silence, but neither of you moves. You remain in each other’s arms, swaying to a rhythm only the two of you can hear. It’s a moment of pure, unadulterated connection—one that feels like it could last forever.

Steve presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there as if sealing the vow he’s just made. “I love you,” he whispers against your skin, the words soft but full of conviction. 

Your breath hitches at the confession, and you feel the last of your defenses crumble. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him even closer, your heart pounding against his as you finally allow yourself to speak the words you’ve been holding back for so long.

“I love you too,” you whisper, your voice barely audible, but full of truth. 

Steve’s eyes light up at your words, the relief and happiness that wash over his face making your heart swell with emotion. He cups your face in his hands, his touch tender as if you’re something fragile and precious. He looks at you like you’re the only person in the world, his eyes tracing every feature of your face as if committing this moment to memory.

Steve’s smile is soft and full of love, his thumbs brushing away the tears that have gathered at the corners of your eyes. 

You lean into his touch, closing your eyes as you take a deep breath, feeling the weight of your emotions start to lift. The years of distance, the pain of separation, it all seems to melt away in his arms. You don’t know what the future holds, but at this moment, you know that you’re ready to try.

When you open your eyes, Steve is still looking at you with that same unwavering love, and you can’t help but smile—a real, genuine smile that feels like the first in a long time.

He bows his head, giving you every chance to pull away, but you don’t . His fingers tightened on your  waist. You rose onto your toes to kiss him. He met you halfway, unable to contain his groan as he hauled you against him, lips finding yours in a kiss that is soft and slow. It’s like coming home, a feeling of rightness that you didn’t know you were missing until this very moment. 

The kiss deepens, his arms wrapping around you tighter, pulling you against him as if he’s afraid to let you go. You kiss him back with the same fervor, pouring all your emotions into the connection—your love, your longing, your hope for what’s to come.

When you finally pull back, breathless and slightly dizzy, Steve rests his forehead against yours, his eyes closed, a look of pure contentment on his face.

“I’ve waited so long for this,” he says, his voice a mix of awe and gratitude.

“I know,” you whisper, your fingers tangling in the fabric of his shirt as if grounding yourself in the reality of this moment.

Steve opens his eyes, his gaze locking onto yours, and you can see the promise of a future there—a future that’s bright and filled with the kind of love that can withstand anything.

He doesn’t say anything more, just holds you close, swaying gently to the memory of the music that played. The world outside could be crumbling, but in his arms, you feel safe, cherished, and loved.

As you continue to sway together, you let yourself sink into the feeling, knowing that whatever comes next, you’ll face it together.

Because for the first time in a long time, you’re not just Y/N, and he’s not just Steve. You’re you and him, together, just as it was always meant to be. And this time, you’re determined to hold on tight and never let go.

The day fades into night, the record continues to spin on the turntable, the needle caught in the loop of silence, but it doesn’t matter. The only sound you need is the steady beat of his heart against yours, and the whispered words that pass between you, promises of a love that’s been rekindled and is ready to burn brighter than ever.

× × × ×

2 years later

The sky above is a pale blue, streaked with soft wisps of clouds, as the rhythmic sound of waves gently crashing on the shore fills the air. The late afternoon sun hangs low, casting a golden hue over the entire beach, warming the sand beneath your feet and making the water sparkle like diamonds. The beach is quiet, save for the occasional call of seagulls and the laughter that bubbles up between the three of you.

Steve stands a little distance away, his feet sinking into the soft sand, his arms stretched out with an encouraging smile on his face. The wind tousled his hair, and there’s a light in his eyes that speaks of pure joy—something you’ve both learned to treasure over the past few years. 

You’re on the other side of the beach, standing behind your 12-month-old son, who wobbles slightly on his unsteady legs, holding onto your fingers for balance. His tiny toes curl in the warm sand, and you can feel the soft tremble of excitement coursing through him. He’s learning, taking his first independent steps, and the world ahead seems so vast and new.

Steve crouches down, his voice warm and filled with love as he gently calls out, “Come on, Zac. You can do it. Walk to Daddy.”

The baby giggles, his joyful laughter filling the air like music. His wide eyes are bright with curiosity and delight as he looks from you to Steve. With your gentle guidance, he lets go of your fingers, standing shakily on his own for a moment before his legs take their first wobbly steps forward. The tiny footprints he leaves behind in the sand are scattered, small, and sweet—each one next to the larger, steady prints that mark your path.

Steve’s encouraging words fill the space between you, his hands outstretched, waiting with uncontainable pride as your son inches closer, his baby steps unsteady but determined. “That’s it, buddy. You’ve got this!”

Another burst of laughter escapes the little one as he toddles forward, his arms swinging with each step, and the beach feels alive with the shared joy. The warmth of the sun, the gentle breeze, and the soft sand beneath your feet make this moment feel endless, a perfect snapshot of happiness.

When your son stumbles, landing softly on his bottom, he lets out a surprised squeal before bursting into laughter, as if falling is the funniest thing in the world. You can’t help but smile, your heart swelling at the sight of his unbridled happiness.

Steve chuckles, walking over to scoop him up into his arms, his own footprints mingling with yours and the tiny ones left behind by your son. 

“You did great, buddy,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head. “Look at how far you went!”

The baby babbles happily, reaching up to tug at Steve’s hair with a bright, toothy grin, his cheeks flushed pink from the excitement and the warm breeze. You step closer, watching the two of them with a fond smile, your heart overflowing with love.

Steve’s gaze shifts from the tiny, joyful bundle in his arms to you as you walk toward him, the soft sand shifting beneath your feet. His smile grows, gentle and full of love, as he watches you approach, the golden light of the late afternoon sun casting a warm glow around you. There’s a quiet admiration in his eyes, a look that speaks of everything he feels but doesn’t need to say.

As you reach them, Steve cradles your son in one arm, his other hand reaching out to gently brush a strand of hair from your face. His touch is soft, tender, and his eyes linger on yours for a moment before they drop back to the baby, who is still babbling in Steve’s arms.

“You two are my whole world,” Steve says quietly, his voice thick with emotion. He pulls you both closer, and for a moment, everything feels perfectly aligned—the sound of the waves, the warmth of the sun, and the three of you standing together in the sand, surrounded by nothing but love.

× × × ×

BUCKY'S THEREABOUTS : UNTITLED SEQUEL TO LAZARUS SERUM 

(3 months after disappearing)

As he neared the farm, he heard raised voices cutting through the calm. Bucky slowed his steps, his instincts kicking in. Y/N was standing near the barn, facing off with a man—a tall, well-dressed figure, clearly angry. Bucky hung back, observing the heated exchange.

The man’s voice was loud, sharp with frustration. “I’m done with this place, Y/N. I’m not sticking around for another second.”

Y/N’s posture was stiff, her arms crossed defensively, but Bucky could see the hurt behind her steady gaze. “You’re leaving? Just like that?”

The man threw his hands up in exasperation. “I don’t owe you anything. I’ve wasted enough time here, pretending this farm and you meant something to me.”

The words hit hard, Bucky could tell, but Y/N didn’t flinch. She stood her ground, even as the man turned and stormed toward the road, where Bucky stood in silence.

“Move,” the man barked, shoving Bucky’s shoulder in a fit of anger as he passed.

Bucky didn’t move an inch.

The man paused, his face twisting with irritation as he sized Bucky up. He shoved again, this time harder, as if expecting a reaction—something he could work with. Still, Bucky didn’t flinch, his body rigid, his eyes locked onto the man with a cold, steely glare. 

Don’t, Bucky told himself, his fists tightening at his sides. The Winter Soldier instincts flared instantly, sharp and reflexive, urging him to retaliate. To end this man’s feeble attempt at intimidation with one swift move. He could do it. He could make him crumble, and the urge to let that side of himself out—to let the man feel just how much danger he was in—was strong.

But something stopped him.

Bucky’s eyes flicked to Y/N, standing a few feet away, watching. Her expression was unreadable, but she was watching him. Waiting to see what he would do. He could feel her presence like a weight on his chest, grounding him. Reminding him that this wasn’t about him. This wasn’t a fight he needed to win.

Slowly, Bucky released the tension in his fists, his knuckles relaxing as he forced the cold, calculating side of himself to retreat. He blinked, his eyes softening just enough to pull back from that edge. This wasn’t worth it. The man wasn’t worth it.

“What the hell is your problem?” the man spat, taking a step back. His face reddened as he realized Bucky wasn’t intimidated—wasn’t even acknowledging his threats.

Bucky said nothing. He didn’t need to. 

Embarrassed, the man shot a glance back at Y/N. “So that’s it, huh? You already found yourself a new man? Was this the plan all along? You throw me away, and you’ve got this—this guy waiting in the wings?”

Y/N’s eyes widened in shock. “What? No, it’s not—”

“Don’t lie to me!” he shouted, his voice cracking under the strain of his embarrassment. “I should’ve known! You were just waiting for me to leave so you could run to someone else.”

Y/N stepped forward, anger now coloring her words. “You’re the one walking away. Don’t blame me for your insecurities.”

The man sneered, glancing back at Bucky with a bitter laugh. “Good luck with him. Hope he’s everything you wanted.”

Without waiting for a response, the man sped down the road in his car, disappearing around the bend. Bucky watched him go, his expression unreadable, before finally turning his attention to Y/N.

She stood frozen for a moment, her arms still crossed, her face flushed with a mix of anger and humiliation. When she met Bucky’s eyes, she sighed, her tough exterior softening just a little.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she said quietly, though there was no real anger in her voice.

Bucky shrugged, keeping his gaze steady. “Didn’t do anything.”

Y/N gave a small, tired laugh, running a hand through her hair. “Yeah, well… thanks for not doing anything, I guess.”

There was a beat of silence between them before Bucky spoke again, his voice low but certain. “You alright?”

Y/N hesitated, then nodded. “I will be.”

Bucky didn’t push her for more, but something in her eyes told him this wasn’t the first time she’d been left to deal with someone else’s mess. He glanced down the road where her ex had disappeared, then back at her.

× × × ×

Later that evening, the farmhouse was warm with the smell of roasted chicken and vegetables. Bucky sat at the kitchen table, his eyes observing the space while Y/N finished setting out plates. It was a simple, cozy setup, but it had been a long time since Bucky had felt comfortable enough to sit down and share a meal with someone.

Y/N placed the last dish on the table and took her seat across from him. She glanced at him for a moment, studying his calm demeanor before digging into her food.

“Figured you earned this after all your help today,” she said with a small smile. “Didn’t think you’d stick around.”

Bucky shrugged slightly, his voice low as he spoke. “Didn’t see a reason to leave.”

They ate quietly for a few minutes, the clatter of forks on plates the only sound between them. Y/N glanced up at him again, noticing how quiet he was, his face always unreadable, as though there was a world behind his eyes that he kept hidden. 

She took a sip of her drink and finally broke the silence. “You don’t talk much, do you?”

Bucky paused, meeting her eyes for a moment before looking back down at his plate. “Not much to say.”

Y/N chuckled softly, shaking her head. “You’re an odd one, James. Most people who come through here have plenty to say, but not you.”

Bucky looked at her, his expression neutral but with a hint of curiosity. “That a bad thing?”

She shrugged, smiling as she stabbed at a piece of chicken. “Nah. I don’t mind. Just not used to the silence, I guess. But… it’s kind of nice.”

He gave her a small nod, appreciating the fact that she didn’t push for more. The conversation lulled again, comfortable and easy. It was rare for Bucky to find himself in a situation like this—quiet, but not tense. Peaceful, almost.

“So, how’s Seamus treating you?” Y/N asked, breaking the silence once again.

Bucky’s lips tugged into a faint smile. “Seamus is fine. Grumpy, but fine.”

Y/N laughed lightly, the sound filling the kitchen. “That’s his charm. He’s stubborn, but once he likes you, you’re stuck with him.”

Bucky nodded, the ghost of a smile lingering on his face. “Sounds familiar.” referring to himself.

They continued eating, talking about the day’s work and the rhythm of life on the farm. As the last bit of food disappeared from their plates, Bucky stood up and gathered the dishes without saying a word, walking over to the sink. 

Y/N watched him for a moment, her eyebrow raised. “You don’t have to do that, you know.”

Bucky just shrugged. “I don’t mind.”

Y/N stood up, grabbing a towel as she moved to his side. “Alright, but if you’re washing, I’m drying.”

They worked in silence for a few minutes, Bucky washing the dishes with a quiet efficiency while Y/N wiped them dry and placed them back in the cabinets. Every so often, she glanced at him, still curious about the quiet man who seemed to carry so much on his shoulders.

“You know,” she said, breaking the silence, “there’s something calming about all this quiet. Feels... different.”

Bucky didn’t look up, but there was a softness in his voice when he finally responded. “Different’s not always bad.”

Y/N smiled at that, feeling a strange sense of connection in the simplicity of their shared silence. As they finished the last dish, Y/N leaned against the counter, towel slung over her shoulder. “You’re a good guy, James. I don’t care what anyone else says.”

Bucky looked at her then, his eyes shadowed with something deeper, something unspoken. “Thanks,” he said quietly. “I’m. . . trying.”

She nodded, not pushing for more, and turned to head back to the table. “Same time tomorrow?”

Bucky gave her a small nod. “Yeah. Same time.”

As he made his way toward the door, Y/N called after him, her voice softer. “Goodnight, James.”

Bucky paused, turning back to meet her eyes one last time. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

With that, he slipped outside into the cool evening air, the door closing softly behind him.

[hillbillyoracle]

How to Create Downtime Menus

As a lot of my posts are, this one was inspired by a conversation with my partner. She seemed to think some of my ideas were helpful so I thought I'd write them up and share them here.

I use a combination of these ideas to do two things - redirect myself when I get stuck doomscrolling/freezing/obsessing and redirect myself when I'm stuck on the "must be good, must be productive" hamster wheel and can't seem to stop doing chores until I'm fucking exhausted or have pushed/hurt myself. Knowing you need to stop is one thing - knowing what to do instead is another.

Not all of these will work for every person at every time. Pick one or two that seem interesting and give them a whirl.

Habit of the Month

This is a small habit I can do in about 5-10 minutes a day. These are sometimes habits that I want to audition for my lineup or just want to focus on as a way of rebooting a given area of my life. Physical habits have been things like stretching, a walk, putting on moisturizer, drinking water, making tea, etc. Emotional habits have been things like stream of consciousness journaling, bullet journaling, recording myself venting, etc. Spiritual habits have been things like meditating, altar work, reading sutras, tarot readings, etc.

If I'm stuck in a loop and I haven't done that task yet, it serves as an easy win that feels moderately meaningful to accomplish. This is easier to do than longer or less interesting tasks.

Side Quests

These are little challenges I'd like to accomplish that are 100% fun and completely optional. They are specific and can me completed within a given time frame - usually a month. They usually aren't the most meaningful to keep them more fun and so I'm not letting myself down if I don't opt to complete it.

They've been things like:

The Minor Expert Challenge - read three books in one subject

The Kanopy Critic Challenge - use up all of my Kanopy credits that month

The Regal Freegal Challenge - download all the albums/songs I can on Freegal that month

The Monthly Playlist Challenge - create a playlist of the month where each song represents something about each day of that month; like a playlist diary

The Reverse Tarot Draw Challenge - pick/list a tarot card you best think represents each day of a given month or other time period; like a tarot card diary

The 100 Words Challenge - learn 100 words in a foreign language

As you can see, I prefer things that are pretty low energy friendly so I can work on them on days I'm super tired. Just little chronic illness things.

Alphabet Lists

I use these for my cleaning routines actually but I also have been trying them with my downtime. The way it works is you list out the alphabet and choose one self care or hobby task you'd like to do for each. They don't have to start with the same letter, it just serves as an easy way to limit how many you pick and keep track of what you've done. It's satisfying to cross off the whole list.

Tasks I put on these are things like

A - paint my nails

B - crochet a charity hat

C - write 5 letters for Letters Against Isolation

D - send a letter to a friend

E - play a solo rpg

F - play a solo board game

G - complete a puzzle

etc

They're fun tasks I'm not currently doing as often as I'd like but chill enough that it doesn't matter when precisely I do them more often. I try to pick tasks that are roughly 30 minutes to an hour long though some definitely take longer. I like to complete these roughly monthly but I try to complete a whole list before I start it again. Anything I just did not feel like doing and kept skipping gets scratched out and I rewrite a new list with new item to replace those. And I start again.

Whenever I'm like ugh I don't know what to do with myself, I try to pick at least one thing on the list and give it a try for 5 minutes. If I don't like it after that I can just put it away and pick something else.

10x10

10x10 lists are a different take on a similar idea. It's a list of 10 things you'd like to do at least 10 times in a given time period. Mine tend to be on the seasonal or annual timescale but maybe you're intense and prefer a monthly one. If I don't complete them in a given time period, I just continue with it until I'm done. Better to complete it on an altered timeline than not at all.

For me these tend to be slightly bigger tasks that take a little more planning or energy. I'm not totally sure why I use them this way since you could definitely use them for smaller tasks but that's just the space they occupy for me.

So examples of what would be on my list would be things like:

Grab a hot chocolate from the coffee shop (x10)

Complete a PokemonGo event (x10)

Have a spa night and watch a movie (x10)

Do something extra nice for my partner (x10)

Try a new game (x10)

Find a geocache (x10)

etc

Filing up a little 10x10 grid is pretty satisfying. Much more so than anxietying myself into my bed for the equivalent amount of time.

Seasonal Bucket Lists

I really enjoy making these though I really struggle with the current season (Spring) given my allergies. There's this idea my partner has told me about in DBT where you try to recall positive moments to help "build a life worth living". I think seasonal bucket lists are really good at helping with this for me. I look back on the seasons I made these lists way more fondly than the ones I didn't.

They generally center on seasonal activities I don't want to miss out on. So for summer that's stuff like going for a night swim/skinny dip, getting 5-10 good cloud photos, playing a yard game (like cornhole), seeing a street concert, etc. I also try to take pictures of those (if they don't already involve them) so I can reflect on them later and enjoy the residual happiness.

Conclusion

The point of these isn't to overwhelm you with options. It's just to have enough ideas prepped that you can find something no matter your energy level or time you're working with.

Remember - rest and enjoying yourself is necessary for human health. Folks how get good rest and experience flow states more regularly tend to heal better. People who spend time on what they enjoy are often more enjoyable to be around.

It's never a waste of time to make yourself happy.

[physalian]

Juggling Multiple POVS (Writing Like A Movie)

At one point in a WIP, I had one character being held captive, two characters on a quest to bust them out, two characters racing to join the jailbreakers, four with no idea any of this is going on because they think they’re all dead, and then of those four, two split off on a side quest, and the remaining two also split off on various other tasks.

If you’re keeping track, that meant I had a book rotating between 6 different subplots and about 9 POVS at the absolute worst, and then about 4 subplots once characters finally reunited with each other.

It was… a lot.

Now this was never published so I don’t know how well it would have been received but it was a sequel and its predecessors received good feedback so I think I know what I’m doing.

—

When you’re committing to a book with Multiple POV, you’ve generally got two roads you can go down: predetermined narrators or ~cinematic~.

You can select a set number of characters to narrate regardless of how many exist in your ensemble cast, and no matter how many split off on their own subplots, those predetermined narrators will be keeping up with the story. These types of books tend to have shorter chapters and single narrators for chunks of chapters at a time with no cutting in between and fairly long breaks in between a character’s chunks of POV. Or, they have entire sections of book dedicated to them with clear markers between POVS.

The easy example here is Heroes of Olympus that I believe had up to 4 narrators per book despite a main cast of about 8 characters depending on the book. The first two were 3-POV, for each of the 3 questers, and then once the whole party was together the POVS were determined by who split off into which groups. Rather infamously, in my opinion, the last book of the series did not give a POV to the two legacy characters and the former protagonist of the first series, which was… a choice. I think the point was that Riordan gave them their spotlight in book 4 and was passing the torch to the new batch for book 5, but for many of us, who had no idea we’d never get a POV of these two again, it was mighty disappointing.

These books also had no chapter titles and instead had banner-style chapters where you had NICO or PIPER in massive banners over the start of each chapter, which was also a choice as going without chapter titles (or even numbers, they’re in roman numerals) makes it a lot harder to search things up in books 500+ pages long.

Who narrates when is less determined by who the most important character of the chapter is, for the most part. It might be Hazel’s moment, but she’s not a narrator of this book, so it’s in Piper POV (or Nico’s forced coming out moment in Jason POV which I will never forgive Riordan for). It’s just a dice roll of whoever it lands on which can lead to some moments, like the Nico incident, that really should have been in Nico POV, but the structure of the story demanded otherwise.

I don’t really love this style of multiple POV. Personally, I think it’s rather inflexible and doesn’t take full advantage of what MPOV can do. But that’s personal opinion so here’s some strengths:

It doesn’t jump around as much and with a minimal set of narrators, it’s more streamlined. You know what to expect going in with no surprises

It forces the author to get creative within the bounds of the POV they’re stuck in

The extra time with a single narrator can be a solid guide rail through a complicated plot piece

—

Or, you can write a more ~cinematic~ MPOV. I don’t know the proper term for this, if it exists, but this style of MPOV is when you basically free-for-all. Anyone can narrate whenever the scene demands and this either grants you a book with short chapters, but one narrator per short chapter, or multiple narrators within a single chapter, as you’d film a movie or an episode of TV with multiple perspectives per set piece.

This isn’t a random grab-bag of narrators. It demands a lot of restraint. This kind of MPOV is entirely based on who is the most important character of the scene, or who’s POV would be the most interesting to view the scene through.

ENNS is written in cinematic MPOV, with a far smaller rotating cast than the WIP I mentioned at the top of this post. It starts out slow with the protagonist for the first two chapters as the only narrator, then mid-chapter 3, I give a cue that he’s going to be unable to narrate the next bit, and I switch to my deuteragonist. I don’t give banner headings. I don’t give my characters entire chapters because the POV structure demands it. I just start whichever POV with the narrator’s name within the first 1-3 sentences. If that means one character has an entire chapter to themselves, then at this point in the story, their arc is the most important thing to be focusing on.

In the WIP at the top of the post, it was book 3 of a series which gave me some freedom. Namely that most of those 9 POVs were established characters you’d already be familiar with. I wasn’t throwing my audience into the deep end with 9 strangers and demanding they try to keep up with 6 subplots of equally confusing and unknown characters.

Cinematic MPOV should rely less on “who hasn’t narrated in a while let’s give it to them” and more “who would be the most interesting narrator for this moment”. You could have a villain POV, a one-off that might never narrate again, or a tertiary character who isn’t doing the most action in the scene, but has the richest commentary on what’s going on.

It does demand restraint. If anyone can pick up the narrator hat, then you could find yourself splitting off into unnecessary subplots. Not every piece of the story must be told and letting readers imagine what’s going on behind closed doors is sometimes better than detailing it all out. I could give a captive or missing character some POVS, or I could let the audience anxiously stew with the rest of the cast wondering if they’re even still alive.

In some books I’ve read, the deliberate choice to not let readers see into the mind of a character as they make important decisions, left on the outs with their friend or lover or relative, is maddeningly entertaining. They won’t explain themselves to the people who care about them, and they won’t explain themselves to the audience, either.

Or, you can let a side character have the spotlight for a scene or two as we see our favorites through their eyes, possibly in a way they’ve never been depicted before. A’s lover B might describe them as strong and brash. A’s old rival C might describe those same actions completely differently.

—

In terms of who narrates when, like the 9-POV monster I had going, I had key moments of every POV that had to hit the book's physical layout at specific times. Like episodes of TV, I needed certain scenes and moments and reveals to fit within specific chapters, not dangling off on either end.

I had to remember the time scale that all of this was happening on so every scene that was meant to happen simultaneously actually read like it was all going on at once. I had some chapters with the “A” group of narrators, then skipped them for a chapter for the “B” group of narrators for their scenes. Keeping the pacing as frenetic as it needed to be wasn’t easy, but if you can pull it off, I think it can be quite entertaining.

Some things to keep in mind with MPOV:

Don’t retread the same scenes or conversations. I read a fanfic a very long time ago that had I think 10 different takes on one character’s death with the dialogue copy-pasted over and over again and it was exhausting. If you want to have a character reflect on a previous scene, pull the specific lines as they remember them.

Unless messing up the timeline is the point of the story or you make it very clear that a scene happens before the present, don’t let POVs muck up the continuity. If plot happens on a Wednesday and the next scene is more important plot that happens that previous Tuesday, you might confuse your readers on when everything is meant to be happening.

Sometimes not knowing is better. Prequels tend to fail because whatever fans imagined happening is way better than what the writers explicitly show happening. Practice restraint.

Unless your story is paced very slowly, try not to have POVS butt up right against each other every time. In an action set piece, everything happens in sequence with zero black space between them. But a whole book with zero room to breathe can get tiring to read. Books with a single narrator have scene breaks and mini time skips, not every single part of your characters’ day has to be detailed.

If you don’t have banners, make it clear as quickly as possible who the new narrator is. Eventually, if your narration is distinct enough for each character, you can go a paragraph or two and your audience will know who it is anyway just based on how they think.

If these are all unknown characters, try to hop around minimally at first until you establish a clear protagonist, otherwise your readers might get lost on who the focus of the story is meant to be and lose which character is doing or thinking what.

*ETA: I forgot: typically with multiple narrators for a single “group”, like two characters stuck on a side quest together, I try to flip-flop their POVS. For example, if I have D and E with a whole chapter to themselves, the POV structure would go D E D E. To my eyes, it looks better, as they have equal share of the action. I try very hard to not let any one narrator have back-to-back POVS unless the narrative demands otherwise. But that’s just me.

—

This is personal opinion on what I think works. If you’re struggling on maintaining pacing or clarity with your ensemble cast, consider the above points. Hope this helps!

[writerthreads]

Stuck in the middle of writing a scene, a chapter or your WIP? Read this!

By Writerthreads on Instagram

Stuck in the middle of a scene? Unsure of where the plot is going? Here are some tricks to hopefully get you back on track!

Find ideas from existing world-building

Did you sprinkle in some interesting world-building that you can extend on? You can re-read your previous chapters to find inspiration from side-characters or events that were briefly mentioned.

For example, in my WIP there's a corporation that recently acquired another one. Maybe the CEO is secretly scheming against the MC, or maybe a side character gets laid off as a result of the merger. Plot ensues.

Subvert expectations

Instead of allowing your characters to fall into cliches or common tropes (which is still completely fine and fun to read if done right!), let them do the unexpected. For example, if there's only one bed, what if the MCs magically double the bed? Of if there's a prophecy about the MC going on a quest to save the world, what if they choose to completely ignore it and decide to continue with their lives until they're forced to go on a quest? (This is what happens to my MC lol.) Subverting expectations makes the plot so much more fun and original, but if the trope is done right, it's equally satisfying. I'll always love the one bed trope for obvious reasons :)

Put them in the worst possible situation

This is a popular tip, but it works! Think of what would be worst possible thing that could happen to your characters, and what they will do to get out of that situation. This allows your readers to see how different characters react, grow, and bounce back in their own ways.

Adding gravity to the plot also allows your readers to fear for the characters, especially if you've allowed the readers to develop an attachment to them.

Ask yourself 'what if?'

Ask yourself 'what if', and put your characters in different scenarios. For example, what if a member of the crew gets injured, or they all get lost? What would be an interesting situation that would hook readers and keep them reading?

Find inspiration from external sources

When I'm stuck, I like to put on songs with certain emotions or plots (Taylor Swift is a tried and tested one that works so well for me, but then again I do have a T Swift addiction). Some people keep dream journals for when they wake up with the most unhinged plot lines that they imagined asleep.

Share with friends

Don't suffer from inspiration drought alone! Talk to your friends, writers, readers, or otherwise, and ask them for advice. Explain what's going on in your WIP and where you're stuck on, and ask them for help. Two heads (or multiple heads) really is better than just one.

Hope these tips help, because they certainly work for me. Happy writing!

[phoenixcatch7]

Tips and tricks to survive Eden even less

Seeing a lot of people struggling with the fourth quest of Revival, aka the 'die and come back for one (1) heart pretty please' quest, and I thought some helpful hints and tricks I've found over the years might be helpful! (Feat: spoilers, obviously)

Step 1: Overcome your fear of death and accept your fate.

I'm serious! People are very cautious in Eden, and often to their detriment! Panic and rush will only make you clumsy and make the whole thing far more stressful than it needs to be! And take longer too!

Step 2: Carry a source of light, or bring a friend! Assembly guide sells a torch, I believe, but in an emergency the rememberance guide sells a teapot on a brazier that does the same... At a Very slow rate. If you bring a friend, you can carry friendship candles that work really well! Unfortunately they're also sort of fragile, so it's best when someone who is being carried holds it.

This will go a long way both to being useful and easing any stress! Just... Make sure not to place it anywhere in the way of krill or rocks.

Step 3: Don't rush after lost wings! If you're already losing light, you're not in a situation to be chasing the metaphorical ball into the busy road! Your first priority is yourself, get to safety and recharge. Lights that land nearby or in safe places sure, but don't jump into the path of rocks just to try and get one back!

I know it's counter instinctive, but you're going to be losing those lights anyway in a few minutes. Even if you have low numbers to begin with, you want to focus on keeping the ones you do have!

Step 4: Jumping vs skipping, also sliding. They're your best friends.

To jump, you press the jump button. Easy. To skip, you want to take your finger off the move circle so it fades, and then flick the screen in the direction you want to go, so your sky kid skips in that direction! The best part is, it has tracking abilities, which is invaluable in helping you land precise jumps (such as that freaking candle bridge in valley). Cool, but why is this important?

Skipping isn't affected by the winds like jumping. Well - it is a little, but it won't send you backwards the way a bad jump will. Not to mention the homing ability will make things easier! It's a bit weaker than a jump, but mix it in to make the journey easier!

Similarly, sliding can be achieved on almost any surface flat enough to walk on. It's not affected as much by the winds either, so try to slide where possible for some speed! Especially if you can move it into a skip, to get a good boost! (This is because you can slide without actively moving your sky kid.)

Step 5: Did you know? Emotes affect not only your hitbox, but also your knock back? If you're unfortunate enough to get caught by a short ledge, try using an emote to duck behind it! When you're in a standing emote (ie, one you have to stop manually and can't move until it's finished. Think the point emote vs the wave emote) you also become a lot harder to knock over! (Warning: this does not work on krill! They are bigger and beefier than you in every way!)

I recommend an emote that's fast to get in and out of, like the first stage faint emote! It's saved my hide many a time.

Also, most people run on Sunday, so if you're looking for a kindly guide, that's your best time!

Now. The route.

At the very start of Eden, there's a thin stone bridge with rushing rocks blowing left to right.

That bridge is optional.

For more experienced players with enough wedges, you can fly right across to the door with a little skill. (There's lots of video tutorials on youtube if you're curious!)

For people with less wedges or skills, hop right on down into the gap. Follow the bridge to where it meets the other side, and there's a slope you can climb back up to skip the rocks entirely!

The second area loads all at the same time. To be precise, in roughly the time it takes to open the door and trigger the cutscene with the krill, you'll usually hear the sound signalling a wave of falling rocks after the second horn note. You can still move in this cutscene! Also that krill can't see you, thank goodness, so don't worry about it.

For taller players (I'm serious lol) there's a big chip in the wall on the far left of the room. It's about in the middle, it's part of a seam, but if you can't find it get your candle out. Walk into the crack. Jump forward a couple times. Escape to oob. Make sure you got the door cutscene, though, because it will get you if you don't!

Climb the clouds as high as you can, following the path. You want to be ridiculously high up to avoid the invisible wall and the winds. You will get softlocked. Not 'I think I'm high enough', not 'I gotta be high enough now', you want 'I'm going to faceplant the sun' high. 'This feels like I shouldn't be here' kind of high. Right by the giant red pillar at the end! Then dive down. Straight down. Straight towards the entrance to the hall of lights. Avoid flying above the krill!! You should land without bother, but run to safety!

^^^ it looks cool, but don't land here! Land in the actual area down there, by the krill!

For shorter players or less experienced ones, run out and as far left as you can to make it to a safe spot to ride out the first wave of rocks! When the camera returns to you, I recommend keeping left and then running right to the tunnel: keeps you in the path of the rocks as little as possible. RUN.

You have a few seconds between the signal noise (which sounds like a match striking, or a carbonated bottle decompressing) and the surge of rocks (which sounds like strong winds and crunching). There's always particles flying, they're just decorative! It's safe to run when the rocks have stopped!

If you're close to safety, don't stop running!! Don't divert to somewhere that looks safer, get there as fast as you can. Because of the angle of the rocks, at the tunnel/pipe entrance, there's actually a little bit of area in front of it they don't hit. You're closer to safety than you think.

The next phase: pipes. Now, this area is either very easy or very hard, depending on if you get seen by a krill. There's two.

These guys work on a timer. They loop. You can hang around in the pipe between phases and watch them to get an eye on what they're doing, but they move pretty slowly lol. This is the phase you want to rush LEAST. If a krill is coming, hide under the girder. It has a zigzag pattern to help spot, and it's on the switchback leading up to the giant pipe. Don't try and rush it, there's very few places to hide quickly here.

However, the winds are very weak here! You can fly and run, if you're careful! Should a krill spot you on that ledge around the pipe, you can simply fly around it to the other side! Be aware, though, that you might fall into the sludge water below, so check you don't fall in! It's an annoying climb back up lol, but krill don't check down there unless they've been disrupted, so you're safe if you fall.

Do not jump over the girder bridge! Just run! I know it's faster but the girder is thin and slippy! If you get spotted there, just keep running, there's a rock you can hide behind on the other side.

Inside the pipe, you can take a break. There's a brazier of light and some crabs in a ditch you can take your anger out on. You'll see krill lights, but they can't get you as you climb out, they just pass very close. You can safely ignore that one!

Emerging, you'll see the giant red crystal. That's the goal. Again, keep left, use emotes and hiding spots. Listen for the signal sound. Do not be fooled by the placement of braziers! Some spots can still be hit with rocks if you're anything but a chibi!

There will be black, calcified bodies starting to appear. Do not worry. You can't interact with them. You can't save them. They will not protect you from rocks.

When you see a miraculously intact stone arch, you're close! Don't hide behind it, though! You want the ledge just under it. The arch won't keep you from rocks or the krill just ahead.

The krill moves in a very tight circle, for a krill. I'd recommend following its path from a distance, because it moved faster than we can, right now. Spots that will protect you from the krill won't save you from the rocks, either! This is a very tough spot to move through, so take your time choosing the right moment!

Also, there's a child of light, just to the left. This is a trap. Reach the safety of the corridor first, then once you've caught your breath drop back down and grab it. Grabbing the child on your way up risks slowing you enough for the krill to spot you.

And you're in the hall of lights! Lighting all the statues won't do anything, unfortunately. But this is also the first time you'll see children of light in any position other than standing looking up... It's a bit eerie. They're still the same thing, though.

At the end of the corridor, READ THE WARNING that pops up. This is your last chance to avoid death, if you're here to help a friend, or there's lights you want to get first, now is your last chance. Returning home after this point will take you to a scary, empty home, where thunder rumbles and the portals have been returned to rubble. The only way out is through eden.

The final phase: the eye of Eden.

There is no flying. Don't even bother. You'll need to conserve your light. Your goal is to light every calcified body you can - you can see them by the blue lines, if you're struggling. They also look unlit from the front, which can be very annoying, but if they're on fire or glowing, you've already got them. Eden can only be run once a week, and that's why. They don't reset until the Sunday/Monday daily reset, I'm pretty sure. You can still die and light ones you missed the first time, but it's usually not worth it. You'll need all your courage and recklessness here to move quickly.

There are no krill here. There is no clever skip. The only problems are the rocks and the sludge water (though that's not nearly as much of an issue lol. It's never more than ankle deep). Also the rocks to hide behind aren't very good. Sometimes you'll get hit despite being in a 'safe' spot. Don't linger.

Now, the rocks. You have more time than you think between waves, but as there's no noise to signal their stop, it can be hard to tell.

What you want to be listening for is the signal, of course, but also the sound of crashing. The signal is early. You have a few seconds. The crashing only starts when the rocks hit the floor.

What you want to be looking for is the bright neon red of rocks breaking on objects. It comes in waves, starting from the eye and washing to the entrance. These are the only rocks that will hit you, and if you see it coming, you can move out of the way! When they fade, start moving again immediately for the maximum safe time!

Watch for the blue or black of lights! They cost one light each, and each one will become roughly 1/3 of an ascended candle later. Get as many as you can!

Light every statue you go by and refill your light. If you're experienced, it might feel inefficient, but YOU WILL get hit at least once later and you don't want to crawl all the way back to the start to re light lmao.

The waves will come faster and harder as you get closer to the eye, and the angle the rocks fall from will also change, so watch out for that! If you get too close to the sides, they'll change direction SPECIFICALLY to spite you, so be aware of that too lol.

The very final stretch starts when the ground flattens into broken tiles. It's a straight line to the eye, and that's where we're going! Rocks fall all the time, there's little to no cover or light.

You just gotta run. You can't jump, don't try, it'll knock you down fast. You gotta take the hits. There's no two ways about it.

Well... There's kind of a way.

You see, the rocks fall in a pattern. Of you look up, you see them spawn in zigzag lines, and then fall at about 40° from horizontal. If you're very lucky, or very skilled, you can use that to predict where the rocks will fall. And avoid them.

Unfortunately, you can't move very fast. Especially once (not if!) you get knocked to a crawl. Sometimes you're just going to watch a rock spawn and then fall directly onto you lol. Don't try and zigzag to avoid, it'll just slow you down and you'll get hit.

Because of the rocks and the sludge water, any lights you lose will disappear the second they touch the ground. They are no longer your concern. Don't bother trying to focus on reaching the eye, just return the lights you do have to as many crystallised bodies as possible.

And then you die.

You gotta wait ages, at this point. For some reason. It can take about five minutes, longer if there's people there with you, but EVENTUALLY a pop up will appear asking if you want to move on without waiting for people. Click yes, or you'll be waiting even longer. Don't worry, your friends will come with you if they've also died.

Hug your own light, your bright reflection. It's always the exact same height as you. Fly up through the torrent.

There's one last shortcut, funnily enough. I'll include a picture.

See that pale window on the left of the giant doors? That I'm flying away from? That's intangible. You can fly straight through it to oob.

Go through. Go up.

Follow the clouds, just keep flapping up, as high as you can, even when you get lost. Aim for the space at the top.

And then you're headed for orbit, and there may be a giant slug whale sharing your personal space. Don't worry! It won't hurt you!

And that's Eden!

[ashleyleygraves]

If I were to make the next Zelda game, what would I change?

Bring back underwater traversal and real Water Temples.

If you were to think about any iconic Zelda item that isn't a weapon, you'd most likely think about the hook/clawshot. I like that we can climb, but I miss the claw/hookshot. Personally, I'd have the Skyward Sword climbing mechanics where you can climb a little bit but not much, but make it so that the hook/clawshot can go on any surface. Even better is a double claw/hookshot so you can swing around like Spider-Man

Linkle. That's right, from the original Hyrule Warriors spin-off game. It would be cool if we got to choose to play as Link or Linkle at the beginning of the game. Make it so that Link can't get into Gerudo Town without a disguise like in Breath of the Wild, but also make it so Linkle can't get into Goron City without a disguise, that way it's even and there's no major advantage.

If Linkle can't be an option, I'd have Link be a different race than Hylian. Tears of the Kingdom already teased us with this concept with the Ancient Hero. Before TotK, the closest we got was Ocarina of Time/Majora's Mask Link who thought he was a Kokiri but found out that he was in fact Hylian and also had ghost masks to shapeshift into other races. (Or you could also add Linkle as this race too. But I think that's a bit much)

20 hearts OR harder enemies. With BotW, Link had 30 hearts. In literally every other Zelda game he had 20. With 30 hearts, it was a decent change in normal mode, but in Master Mode, it made it essential. Enemies did more damage and evolved from their normal mode counterparts. In TotK, Link has 40 hearts and no Master Mode. The enemies do basically the same damage as in BotW's normal mode and sometimes even far less with the decayed-unfused weapons. So I would make the series go back to 20 hearts or have Master Mode as the default difficulty.

A new fast travel system. Look, shrines were a good idea. Especially for a fast travel system, but if we're getting rid of the 10-20 extra hearts how I would do it, we need something else. For this, let's turn to Skyrim for just a second. The fast travel system there is broken because every cave, tower, dungeon, etc. is a fast travel point, but let's look at the towns/cities and important landmarks: they're fast travel points once we discover them. So let's turn those things into fast travel points in this hypothetical Zelda game. Now, what about the less significant parts of the map? Well, a few train stations around the map with a train. I mean, trains are in the Zelda universe. Spirit Tracks literally is about that, so it wouldn't be a big deal. I had this idea back in 2021, and now even fucking Fortnite has a train around a map with a few train stations in random spots.

This one will make a bit more sense if you read my "If I were to make a Zelda game, what would I keep?" post. Heart Pieces/Stamina pieces. You could go the normal route with 4 pieces makes a full thing or go Twilight Princess style with 5 pieces makes a full thing. These would probably be given as quest rewards in quests that are Side Adventures rather than Main Quests or Side Quests. Side quests would give you rupees or a rare item and Main Quests will give you more story progression.

Bring back the "one-and-done" races like the Kokiri, Twili, Minish, Zonai, Lokomo, etc.

[pixelatedraindrops]

RAINCODE COMIC COLLAB~☔️

BEHOLD THE FRUITS OF MY LABOR!!

3 full weeks of work and its finally completed!

So @kazinsblog and I did another raincode art collab together but this one was a HUGE project! This one's a full 18 page comic!

Idk if you all remember the comic idea that Kazin was planning to do that involved Yuma overworking himself until he gets sick and then gets tended to by everyone else. But when I saw it, I decided to ask her if she was willing to possibly collaborate on it, remaking it where she sketched it and I colored it.

Kazin's Beta images: 1 2 3 4

So here's the results of all that work. We've been at this since December 17th so this has been an almost full month collaboration. And of course mine's a bit more altered to my own style as well as adding my own touches and making it a little more whumpy/extreme... X'D I also freehand drew shinigami in my version as well.

Both our versions look pretty different! The only thing that are the same are the poses. So feel free to check out Kazin's traditional version as well!

Since its an 18 page comic, I decided to put it under a keep reading so it won't clutter everyone's timelines. Also, I will be narrating the pages because I love narrating sick filler type stories. So brace yourself for a VERY LOOONG post!! Def need time to read this one! (and no purple tinted filters here this time!)

Also note: If the writing is blue, it means the character is thinking, just like in the game! :)

And I apologize on the inconsistency of Yuma's bangs... I thought it was one way before so half of the comic he looks like he has square bangs... oof XD I fix it around page 10

ANYWAY, hope you enjoy this soft buffet, Raincode Community! 🌡️💕

(Page 1)

Our story begins on an ordinary day in Kanai Ward. Rainy gloomy and depressing as ever. Our little victim... wait... XD I mean protagonist Yuma decides to go out to investigate more about Kanai Ward to try to track down it's supposed ultimate secret. Yakou sets him off wishes him well and tells him to be careful. However, as he's out, he finds out a lot of people in the city need help. Because of his good nature and unable to turn down someone in need, he decides to help whoever he can. (the ultimate side-questing lol) Before he knows it, he's soaking wet and he had helped 10 people in total. Time passed and it was almost evening so he returns to the submarine. Yuma was completely unphased by this. (and he didn't dry himself off for 4 hours due to being occupied with tasks)

(Page 2)

Yuma returns to the Agency's submarine to greet his chief holding his meatbun order. (that also got wet) But Yakou notices that the trainee is sopping wet to the core and shivering. He immediately loudly demands that he sit down so he can tend to him. Yuma does as he's told and sits on the checkered sofa. Yakou rushes to the shower room to grab some small towels to help him dry off. But because Yakou is so panicked, he ends up being very rough in drying Yuma, pulling his hair and causing the small boy pain. After he dries him off, he tells Yuma he isn't allowed to leave anymore for the rest of the day and demands him to rest. Yuma tries to retaliate using puppy eyes, but it doesn't work. Yakou is immune.

(Page 3)

The next day Yuma asks Yakou if he can go out to work after he finishes his morning chores around the place looking very eager. Yakou still looks a little concerned by how tired Yuma looks, so he tells him to not go out alone. He assigns him a partner to go with the rest of the week.

On the first day he's paired with Halara. The two of them are asked to investigate the art gallery of Ginma. (maybe after the nail man case) But over time, Yuma starts developing a lingering cough that persists for quite some time. Halara asks Yuma is he's okay, to which Yuma lies saying that it's due to the dust of the room. But of course being sharp, Halara isn't buying it. But they decide to not persist him further.

On the second day, he's paired with Desuhiko. They're asked to go help out at the Aetheria Academy with another case (not murder related this time) However on the way to the school and in Ginma, Yuma starts slowing down, he's shaking and is a little wobbly. Desuhiko notices this and asks if he wants to go to the cafe for a drink. Yuma nods and as they go to the cafe and order some coffee, Yuma takes off his hat and coat and Desuhiko finally realizes how pale he looks. He's even slower at replying to him as he speaks, as if he's in a daze. Desuhiko decides to take Yuma back to the agency after this.

(Page 4)

On Day three, he's paired with Fubuki. But he doesn't even make it to the case as when he goes to the sun and moon hotel to meet with her, Fubuki notices and points out that Yuma's face looks red. The boy clearly had a fever building. Yuma argues with her but Fubuki persists. The two of them try to go to the case but Yuma nearly collapses. So Fubuki returns him to the agency.

On the fourth day where he's supposed to be paired with Vivia he spends a majority of the day passed out. Vivia decides to watch over him using his forte to not disturb him. During the night while he's asleep, his breathing gets more labored and he's completely restless. Vivia looks at him deeply worried for his dear friend's well being.

The next morning Yuma somehow finds the strength to get himself up. Maybe that one day of rest was enough. But Yakou insists that he stays put today. Angrily yelling at him to be still and take today off as well.

Meanwhile, a certain two seem to notice each other...

(Page 5)

Vivia's spirit notices Shinigami and decides to give her a warning. Make sure Yuma listens to Yakou and doesn't leave. Giving her the iciest glare, Shinigami fearfully agrees.

But this effort would be for naught, despite how he feels, Yuma's relentless determination forces himself up, putting on his rain attire and heads up the steps of the sub to the outside when Yakou isn't looking. Shinigami does what she can to stop him, but he doesn't listen...and Shinigami being a ghost, there was nothing she could do to physically hold him back. All she could do was follow, and prepare for the inevitable.

By some miracle he makes it to the church, up the stairs to speak to the nun. Who tells him to play therapy again for the townsfolk. He nods and heads to his first client. But when he returns to kamasaki to speak to him, he can barely make out what he's saying as he lets out a few more coughs.

Once he leaves the client, before long, Yuma could hear something in his body snap.

(Note: I direct most of the story, but Vivia conversing with Shinigami in spirit mode was actually Kazin's idea! So credit to her for that, So silly and fun! ^^)

(Page 6)

Yuma's body had finally reached it's limit. All the fatigue, chills and body aches had hit him all at once at full force like armed weaponry. His head began throbbing, he was shaking violently and uncontrollably, he felt nauseated by the rain's smell, and his body heat and the lingering dizziness was unbearable. He found a safe corner in the alleyway of Kamasaki to collapse. Telling Shinigami she was right and he should have listened to her, while the burning fever and cold rain wrecked his delicate frame even further. His voice was hardly audible, but Shinigami still heard and practically tells him to go back. But Yuma had no strength left...

Then like clockwork as they finish speaking, he could hear his name called. At first it sounded kind and questionable. But that rapidly changed, the voice now angrily yelling out his full name. As he looked up this voice belonged to...Yakou. He looks down at the boy in pure disappointment and anger.

Turns out a certain someone was tailing him. And alerted Yakou what happened just in time.

(Note: I make the red darker the more extreme the temperature and lighter the less extreme. I got to experiment with all sorts of new ways to color fevers hehe~ >w<)

(Page 7)

Yuma shockingly looks up at Yakou. Oh no, he was so BUSTED! Shinigami even says as much. Yakou practically scoops Yuma in his arms carrying him back to the agency. As he was lifted Yuma's world begun spinning. He could barely hear the chief nagging him in a panicked tone. It was all distorted and it was making his head hurt more. Yakou placed a hand to his cheek and was shocked by how hot it felt. All Yuma could do was apologize and hope his world stops spinning and that Yakou eventually stops yelling... (also I put numbers for the order to read the speech bubbles in)

Upon returning to the agency, Yakou dries Yuma off, asks Desuhiko to give him a warm set of clothes to borrow and put him to his own bed. Grabbing a basin of very cold water, washcloths and a digital thermometer. He placed one of the wet cold cloths under his bangs and upon reading the boy's temperature, it was high. Almost high enough to visit the ER. Yakou was even more mad, but speaks in a non yelling tone. Giving Yuma another stern warning to not leave the bed. To which Yuma weakly agrees to.

But Yakou's back to yelling again, feeling paranoid Yuma would be missing by the time he gets back from getting the supplies. So he drills that message right into the boy's already throbbing head once more. Everyone else in the office awkwardly listen in as the sick trainee gets scolded.

(Note: Just an FYI, Yuma's speech bubbles being wavy is a sign his voice is raspy and the text being a bit hard to read means his voice is hardly audible)

(Page 8)

Yakou leaves Yuma alone and walks into the office in his raincoat telling the other detectives that he'll be leaving soon and to watch over Yuma in his absence and NOT let him leave. He is so full of anger and anxiety that he yells at all of them too.

Everyone agrees and as Yakou leaves, they all discuss among themselves Yuma's state the days they were partners with him. He was in bad shape. And he only got worse as the days went by. They all knew.

(Page 9)

Meanwhile back in Yakou's quarters, Yuma was getting lectured yet again. This time by his death god partner, Shinigami. The poor trainee only wanted peace and quiet to make the pain in his head go away, using what little energy he has remaining speaking in his head he tried telling her to stop.

But the aggravated spirit persisted, saying that as his mentor she had the right to scold him just as much as Yakou. She continued her rant, until an abrupt sound from her master shut her up.

The few coughs that came from Yuma eventually erupted into a full blown coughing fit. The coughs sounding more wet, rough and serious. After coughing 10 to 15 times in a row Yuma was exhausted. Shinigami looked down at him panting with concern and pity in her eyes. She decided to stop the lecture for his sake.

After the fit, Yuma was left raggedly breathing. As Shinigami gave him her permission to rest and take it easy, he didn't answer. He couldn't. That fit completely mangled his throat. He was not able to speak vocally or in thought process anymore due to his head being in too much pain. As was the rest of his body, aching and burning. So he didn't answer her. All he could do was hope sleep would eventually take hold of him to make all this awful heat and pain stop even if for a just moment.

(Note: That's the penalty Yuma... x'D Sorry I gotta make him suffer lol. Also this is the only page that’s actually read left to right. I messed that up, sorry!!)

(Page 10)

After some time passed it was time for the Master Detectives to all take part in taking care of Yuma. The whole agency had a day off to do this. So upon his return, Yakou instructs everyone to look after Yuma in 2 hour shifts through the day. Even if it was just to watch him sleep. He couldn't be left alone.

Halara was first. Their task was to help Yuma take the medicine that was bought. There were three types of medicine for him to take. Antibiotics (white pills) for the general illness symptoms, painkillers (red and white pills) for the headache/fever, and finally...cough syrup. (aka his least favorite... XD) Halara made sure to be very gentle with Yuma propping him upward as his whole body was burning and he was very shaky. He even had trouble drinking the water, so Halara had to get a mug instead so they could help him drink it by holding the handle, and using the other hand to support his back. Despite the struggle, Halara worked diligently to complete their task as a caretaker in full. (as for who paid them to do this...idk I'll leave that to your imagination XD)

(The cough syrup idea was inspired by this fic :3)

Desuhiko had the second shift and the whole time he was waiting for his turn, he was writing a song for Yuma. Having the delusion that his angelic voice would lul the sick boy to sleep, he played his guitar and began singing. Yuma's headache did improve enough to speak in his head now, but that wouldn't last, as the loud noises from the guitar made his head pound even further with every strum. Shinigami begs for the noise to cease fire on her poor eardrums, but Yuma doesn't have it in him to stop Desuhiko. The gesture was kind so he decided to try to listen to the whole song, despite the noise. He does eventually tell him to stop though (using hand gestures) when another song comes afterward. So then the two spend their time conversing for a bit, (though desuhiko does more of the talking as yuma just nods or makes small noises/hand gestures due to his throat still hurting too much to talk) Desuhiko even telling him he could keep the sweater and shorts he had lent to him. To which Yuma softly smiles at him as a thank you before he eventually falls asleep again.

Fubuki has the third shift, and her task was to feed Yuma the warm vegetable soup that was bought earlier and that Halara had just finished making, along with Fubuki's help. She volunteers to feed him as she remembers a time she was ill as a child in the clockford mansion and one of her servants tended to her, feeding her soup just the same. Unfortunately, because this was a memory of her early childhood, she repeats similar phrases as the servant did when she was feeding Yuma, who was clearly not a small child. Yuma's fever had dropped enough to where he could find a bit of strength to try and sit up on his own now, and his once mangled throat’s condition had improved for him to speak a little bit. As he listened to Fubuki's rambling he tries to play along with her despite the whole thing being a bit embarrassing for someone his age. At least the soup was nice and warm. It felt good going down his very sore throat.

(Funny Fact: The order that Yuma is both partnered and tended to by each detective, is the same order as the chapters in game he's partnered with them LOL)

(Page 11)

It was evening, and now it was Vivia's turn to take the fourth and final shift. At first he was just going to sit and watch Yuma while he read his book quietly, but Yakou suggested that he read one of his books out loud to Yuma to help him relax better like a bedtime story. Vivia was unsure at first, as he's never read to anyone before. But he decided to give it a try. He asks Yuma what his preference in literature is before he starts, and Yuma tells him he enjoys detective novels the most. So he pulls out the novel that was in his reading list and begins to read it out loud to him. Turns out he was quite a natural at narrating, and his slow voice was very soothing. Yuma felt so relaxed that he felt like he would fall asleep any minute, but he tries to stay awake to listen to the story a bit more. Shinigami however, conks out immediately. (fyi: yes this is the novel Vivia talks about in his final gumshoe gab. I tried to make up stuff based on it.. X'D)

Once the clock strikes 9pm and night falls, the Master Detectives all wish Yuma well and leave to return to the hotel to retire for the night. It was just Yakou and Yuma now. Yakou, who had just come back from another errand, walks over to Yuma who was now fast asleep. He looked a little better so Yakou removed the towel from his forehead and places his hand onto it. It still felt warm but no longer as hot as it did hours ago. Meaning he was out of the danger zone, much to Yakou's relief. He places the towel back in the water basin wringing it out and re-applying it to his forehead. Then he lets out a yawn. He was pretty tired. He decides that instead of sleeping in the office on one of the sofas, he'd stay by Yuma's side. His removes his jacket, goes and turns off the overhead lights, sits down and places his head down on his desk. Then after telling the sleeping trainee goodnight he turns off the small light by his desk.

OKAY FUN FACT: The comic WAS going to end here going on to the final page... Buuut~ We were STARVING for some good ol' Yakou Fathero :3 So... Enjoy these bonus 6 pages of Yakou having a shift of his own to look after Yuma in the middle of the night. And its the longest shift.

This ones for you Yakou Fathero fans! Eat your fill!

(I know we sure did :3)

Also I apologize if the lighting here is inaccurate ;w; I tried my best I'm no pro LOL

(Page 12)

A little past midnight, Yuma was stirring in his sleep. Making all sorts of groaning sounds as if he was in pain. He was likely having a nightmare. This is confirmed by his eyes suddenly opening and him violently flinging himself up screaming, and the cold cloth flying off his forehead.

This sound wakes Yakou up immediately as he puts his glasses back on asking Yuma if he's okay. He flicks the light by his desk on to check on him. Yuma's found shaking with tears in his eyes stating quietly that it was just a dream. Yakou sympathizes with Yuma as fever dreams were usually not fun, but a fever NIGHTMARE was always bad. The chief offers the shaking trainee some water to try to help him settle down.

(FYI: Shinigami is going to be absent from this part of the story because I think her banter and antics would ruin the fluff, so she'll just be lurking above in the shelf like a cat the whole time.)

(Page 13)

Yuma accepts the water practically snatching it from Yakou's hands and quickly gulping it down. Yakou tells him to pace himself not wanting him to choke. Once he exhales from the water drink, Yuma sheepishly apologizes for waking Yakou up with his scream, feeling like a burden. Yakou reassures him it's okay and decides to ask him the question of why he pushed himself this far while he was still awake. Hard enough to make himself sick. Why did he do it?

Yuma was surprised by this but decides to try to tell him. He hands the water glass back and began talking. Under his raspy voice and somewhat heavy breathing, he says that he wanted to be useful as he felt like a burden to everyone since he lost his memory. He also says that he likes helping others and that it feels familiar to him. Determined to try to unlock a core memory of his past he kept doing this, even to the point of pushing his limits.

Then he suddenly stopped speaking...

(Page 14)

...aaand cue the coughing fit. Yuma's throat got scratchy and irritated after his long explanation, causing him to cough about 5/8 times in a row. Not as bad as his previous fit but it was more than enough to startle and worry Yakou.

Yakou quickly hands Yuma the water glass he had just taken from him hoping it would soothe his throat. He tells him that helping others is a good thing but he shouldn't push himself to the point that his health gets affected. Yuma quietly nods and as he sips the water still shaking, Yakou feels bad and decides to apologize to him for being harsh before. Stating that he only lost his temper because he was scared and worried for him. He also places his hand to Yuma's cheek in both comfort and to check his temperature. It felt slightly warmer than a few hours ago.

Yuma quietly apologizes to Yakou for worrying him, still holding the water glass. Yakou forgives him. Then he takes the glass from him and then the towel that fell off Yuma's forehead. He grabs a fresh one and soaks it in the basin wringing it out and places it back on the trainee’s forehead unintentionally a bit roughly. Yuma groans and shivers a little from the cold of it.

Yakou then lies Yuma back down, tucking him back in trying to make him comfortable. But his actions were a bit too comforting. He was not meaning to in any way and he wasn't sure what came over him, but he was treating Yuma like a little kid. Yuma notices and feels a little embarrassed by it, but decides to only say it in his head.

Yakou decides to do one more thing before he lets him go back to sleep.

(Note: Hey far as anyone's concerned Yuma, you are practically his BABY when you are having a sick day, so deal with it hehehe :3c)

(Page 15)

Temperature taking page time :D (my favorite, teehee! I know some cultures and in anime they take the temperature under the arm, but there's just something so endearing and adorable about a sickie with a thermometer in their mouth <3 OKAY MY RAMBLING ASIDE...)

Yakou is now a bit concerned that Yuma's fever spiked again after that little harsh coughing fit so he decides to take his temperature one more time before letting Yuma go to sleep again. Yuma obliges and goes along with it opening his mouth as the device is inserted.

After 15 seconds the device beeps and Yakou takes it out. Yuma shyly pulls the duvet up to his face and hides as he meekly asks if its any better feeling a little nervous. Yakou responds that it is better than it was the first time, where it was a dangerous degree.

However, he still wasn't out of the woods yet. The fever was still there and although it went down, it was still in the red. Yakou states that he's still feverish to which Yuma just apologizes. Poor thing just wants this to be over, he really doesn't want to trouble anyone anymore.

(sorry yuma I can't let you off that easily hehe 😈)

(also yes I put an instruction manual for how the thermometer works, I am so obsessed that I even give the thermometer lore LMAO. Sorry if I'm inaccurate in any of those readings. I used google... ^^;)

(Page 16)

Yakou places the thermometer back on the desk and tells Yuma to go to sleep. Saying the fever will likely break by morning. To which Yuma states that he's in Yakou's bed and that he should return to the checkered sofa so his boss could sleep, attempting to try getting up. But Yakou puts a hand on his shoulder stopping him and denies this and says his desk is fine and that Yuma needed the bed more than him.

He also says that if Yuma had another bad dream that he would be there for him. Yuma smiles at Yakou quietly thanking him as he's tucked back into the duvet. Yakou pats it gently telling the trainee to close his eyes.

It isn't long before Yuma is back to being fast asleep. (and shinigami too)

Yakou monologues to himself for a bit groaning at how much trouble this small detective has been for him since he showed up. But then he switches his tune and places a hand to Yuma's head petting it softly. He says he's happy he's working hard for the sake of his memories but right now he needs to work on getting better. Saying it would help everyone in the agency if he wanted to help people.

He wishes him well continuing to pet his head for a bit longer to soothe him before going back to sleep himself turning the light off again.

(Page 17)

2 hours later, Yuma was stirring and whining in his sleep once again. Yakou groggily wakes up wiping his tired eyes upon hearing the soft noises the small trainee was uttering. And he was crying again. Can only be one thing: Another nightmare.

Instead of turning the light on to wake him up, Yakou moves his chair close to him sitting at his side. Not saying a single word. (cept in his head lol) He reaches his hand for Yuma's as it twitches and he takes hold of it gently.

Yakou eventually leans on the bed as he does so and falls asleep sitting up again. Yuma's groaning and and heavy breathing begin to settle down a little as he felt Yakou's presence close by.

Then he smiles as he closes his hand in his sleep holding Yakou's hand back, leaning a bit close to it. He felt safe again... <3

(Note: This poor thing has way too much trauma... ;w; I headcanon that he's prone to night terrors on occasion, but when he gets a fever, its even WORSE. Fevers do be messing with your head... x3)

(Page 18 Final)

The next morning when Yakou wakes up, he checks on Yuma. He still felt slightly warm but he looked much better. Seemed the worst was over and it would likely last just one more day.

When he's fully awake and at his desk, Desuhiko shows up asking Yakou if Yuma's okay and offered to wake him up. Yakou denies it saying Yuma needed one more day of rest, the fever may have been only slight now, but in the rain it would rise again easily.

Desuhiko agrees and declares that he's going to work hard today. Likely to make up for Yuma's absence. Yakou teases him and the two have a bit of a banter.

Yuma meanwhile is asleep peacefully. Still having a slight red tint to his cheeks, but he's able to sleep a lot easier now. His fever was slowly but surely breaking. (now in the yellow) Shinigami sleeps beside him, making sure she protects him from any nightmares in yakou's absence. (after all only SHE can give her master nightmares)

He wakes up fully recovered the following morning thanking everyone for taking such good care of him, and he makes sure to not push himself anymore. And continues searching for the city's ultimate secret while pacing himself to help others from now on.

THE END ❤️

(I practically made this into a sickfic in its own right... XD)

Thanks for reading!! Hope you enjoyed!! This is just a little artist credit page I made for Kazin and I c: Also art semi-face reveal?? xD Kinda?? Idk lol (we just two gals that like our sick comfort haha x3)

Anyway thank you again Kazin for doing this with me!! It was hard work but it was a blast and the final result came out amazing. Its surely a project I will cherish forever~ 💜🩷✨🌡️

A wholesome story to start 2024 on a good note.

[m1d-45]

opportunity arisen

-> warnings: minor spoilers for the first sumeru archon quest(like very minor, mostly names and titles of things), set during the imposter au, you’re technically on the run

-> lowercase intended!

part 2 >>

if tighnari hears that the akademiya is looking for somebody with an uncanny resemblance to his god, he’s immediately asking the rangers bring them immediately to him and not to alert any other authority.

who knows what the akademiya is up to? knowing them and all the messes they’re involved with, it’s clear there has to be something going on behind the scenes. he’s not about to let an innocent get caught in the crossfire. he already has a plan for if a ranger brings you in: where you’ll stay, how he’ll act if a sage comes by, what he’ll do if the akademiya tries to search the village.

but if he finds you?

he’s checking the lampposts on the road to gandharva ville when he hears you off the side of the main road. he hears you, in what sounds like distress, rushing to draw his weapon- but no, now that he’s closer.. that’s definitely laughter.

tighnari lessens the tension on his bowstring, but still keeps the arrow nocked as he approaches. ferns part to allow him through, and he startles at the sight of you. sun streams down through the leaves, illuminating a group of fungi around you. his fingers falter on the string in shock, “hello?”

you turn, fear immediately coloring your face. you try to stand- only to stumble, tripping over your own feet, and he ditches his weapon to step forward around the fungi and catch you with a gloved hand on your shoulder.

“what’s wrong? did you pack enough water? did you eat an amanita mushroom?” his head is already running the familiar track of common cures for poisonous mushrooms, planning the shortest and safest route through the forest back to gandharva ville. “here, come with me, i’ll-“

you jerk away and he nearly falls trying to keep you upright, finally noticing the fear in your eyes. dirt streaks your skin and the mask you wear is ragged and torn, alongside the rest of your clothes. you’re a mess, ragged around the edges, and he feels like the forest air dropped a few degrees.

“d- i don’t- please, i don’t mean any harm i swear!”

two options flash through his mind.

one: you’re lying. you’re a threat running from the law, hoping to persuade him into giving you his resources. evidence is a bit scant, but it’s a possibility he has to consider.

or two: you’ve been wrongfully accused of something, a victim of the—admittedly quite biased—justice system in sumeru city. evidence consists entirely of your behavior: he’s not sure anybody could emulate the panic in your eyes quite that well.

either way, you’re hurt.

either way, he needs to do something.

“hey, you’re okay. i’m not gonna hurt you, and i’m not accusing you of anything.” his eyes flick over your form, checking for anything that could keep you from walking; you’re leaning heavily on your left foot, it seems, the right almost hovering above the ground with how little weight is on it. “but you’re hurt, and you’re not going to get far from whatever you’re running from-“ you flinch “-with a hurt leg, alright?”

you don’t want to agree, that much is obvious. your eyes shift away from him, you lean away subtly even as he’s fairly certain he’s the only thing keeping you standing. the fungi crowd you, almost forming a shield between you and him, and he wonders how long you’ve been out here that you manage to befriend actual fungi.

“all… alright. …thank you.”

the careful and hesitant speech reminded him of collei, somewhat, when she’d first arrived. the conparison makes his heart hurt.

he slings your right arm over his shoulder and keeps it there with one of his, the other moving around your waist to hold you against him. warmth floods into his skin where you make contact… are you perhaps running a fever? it had been raining more frequently recently, and considering the state of your clothes..

as you walk, he does his best to keep an eye out for any tall roots or protruding rocks on your path, but it’s like they don’t exist. whenever he sees one that looks worrisome and considers steering you away, it seems to shrink as he gets closer. any bugs or insects fluttering around also seemed to vanish as soon as you get close, mosquitos surprisingly nowhere to be found.

he wonders if it’s a result of his vision, but quickly dismissed it. he always sees bugs around, even with his best repellents.. do you have a vision, he wonders? he didn’t see one on your person, but given the value of such an object, it makes sense you would keep it hidden when on the run.

he wonders what you’re running from.

he hopes you’ll tell him.

when you arrive at gandharva ville he feels you tense, your arm tightening slightly around his neck, and he makes a note of it. thankfully, collei wasn’t on her bed—her eleazar had been growing awful these past few weeks, putting her under his care more frequently than he would have preferred—so the medicinal room was empty.

he guides you to sit on the bed, mentally tallying up everything he has to do as he collects medicinal supplies from around the room.

he doubts you’ve had a good meal for a while, and the rivers in sumeru arent as clean as they look all the time. mushroom spores or some from a fungi can quickly contaminate a water source, so food and water are an immediate need.

also, find out what you had eaten prior, if anything. mushrooms were serious business, and if your symptoms were caused by one of those instead of malnutrition, that would need to be addressed swiftly.

he pulls over a chair with his free hand and dumps the supplies on the nightstand, reaching for your injured foot and pulling it into his lap. “so, what are you running from?”

you tense, then start to scramble for a response. your eyes search your lap like it holds the answer, lining up what he assumes is, at best, a half-truth in your mind. he can easily assume you don’t want to talk about it, and carefully sets about treating your ankle while he waits.

“the sages,” you finally say. “they… think i did something i didn’t.”

he can see the need to clarify, to rush and reassure him that you didn’t, and he feels it as an ache in his chest. he’s watching the way you curl in on yourself at the question, gripping the sheets tightly and looking away. clearly, this is a sore subject, and he understands as he digests your response.

the sages?

the akademiya did this to you?

his ears flick in irritation, though he’s careful not to squeeze your ankle too tight. it’s definitely sprained, and he doesn’t want to make it worse. every little detail on you stands out more, from the dirty bandages around your arm to the ripped clothes, torn in such a way that was too precise for any thorn.

he hasn’t said anything. he thinks your shoulders have risen even higher.

“i’m not going to turn you in, if that’s what youre worried about.” your grip on the blankets loosens. “for monitoring the akasha all the time, they can be quite.. dense.”

a flicker of a smile crosses your face, but it fades fast. he watches emotion after emotion cross, slowly twisting your features further into sadness. he waits for a few moments for you to say whatever is on your mind, giving you time to collect your thoughts, but nothing comes.

he finally decides to break the silence, folding his hands over the finished bandage. “what is it?”

your eyes meet his. “you.. you’re helping me.”

your voice is rough around the edges, dry and hoarse, and he makes a mental note to give you some medicine for what has to be a sore throat. despite being in a rainforest, there aren’t that many clean sources of water.

“i am.”

“you’ll get in trouble with the sages.”

he barks a laugh, surprised. “oh, don’t worry about that. i’m far too important to the akademiya for them to discipline me with any level of permanence, and nobody here is going to rat you out either. besides, who’s to say they’ll even look here for you?”

there’s an implication to his words that you don’t quite catch, and he sets your leg back on the floor.

“don’t worry about it, alright? at least for now.”

when he asks you to take off your scrap of a shirt, you barely hesitate.

after treating the numerous wounds across your person—he does his best to keep a neutral expression, but you can see the disdain on his face as clear as day—he gives you clothes from another forest ranger. they’re a little small, something he apologizes for, but you don’t mind. you’re in a bed, with clean clothes, even if you yourself aren’t. a week- a month ago, even, this would just be a fever dream. he lets you rest, bringing cold water—a blessing with the humidity of the forest—and a soup. though you don’t particularly like it, the inescapable bitterness of medicine ruining whatever he put in, it’s warm and so much better than zaytun peaches that you drink all of it.

when he stands, you half-expect him to start questioning you on the specifics, but all he does is take the empty bowl and spoon from you to set it elsewhere before sitting right back down at your bedside.

“thanks.”

“not a problem at-.. all…” he frowns, and you wonder for a moment if you did something wrong. “i don’t think i’ve ever properly introduced myself.”

it’s such a non-issue a laugh bubbles out of you, sounding more like a cough. “n-no need, i already know you.”

“oh?” too late, you catch your words. whoops. “well, then consider it a formality.” his hand extends, and he smiles when your shake it. “i’m tighnari, forest watcher of the avidya forest. what’s your name?”

you hesitate before answering. he has a feeling it’s a fake name, but repeats it anyway.

“it’s my pleasure to make your acquaintance. i hope that i can be of help to you during your stay here, and i promise that i will do everything i can to ensure your safety.”

you smile.

[theetherealbloom]

AS GOOD A REASON - CH. 4 | OBERYN MARTELL

Chapter Four: I Will Be Your Executioner

Summary: You, who has made it her life's work to get retribution on those who mistreated and harassed you when you were a child. The scars on your body are a physical reminder of the suffering you endured at the hands of abusers, and they also provide the fuel for your years-long quest for retribution.

Paring: Oberyn Martell x Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, MINORS GO AWAY, GoT is full of serious and harmful topics, mentions of SA, Rape (not the reader), Murder, Violence, Gore, War, Poison, Scars, Burns, Scratching, Su!c!de, AU, Age–Gap Romance, Angst, FLUFF, Eventual SMUT, Swearing, PTSD, Depression, Anxiety, Crying, Suggestive content, Flirting, Blood, War, Religion References, Nudity, Domestic Abuse, Incest, Prostitution, Weapons, Fire, Horror, Character Deaths, Rewrite Alternate Universe, Sex, Alcohol, Revenge, Panic Attacks, Anxiety Attack,

Word Count: 9k

A/N: OMFGGGGGG I’m actually writing non-stop. Wtf. Guys this part is heavily inspired by many quotes from the Glory. It’s so goooooddd! Go watch it. ALSO LMAO sorry for the chonky chapter. Hope you enjoy!

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: No Choir by Florence + The Machine

Previous Chapter → Next Chapter | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

THE WEDDING RECEPTION  

KING'S LANDING GARDEN, RED KEEP — AFTERNOON

The once-vibrant garden has turned into a scene from a nightmare. Joffrey’s lifeless body lies in his mother’s lap, the blood trickling from his nose and mingling with the vomit caking his lips. Cersei’s scream cuts through the chaos like a blade, her finger trembling as it points directly at Tyrion. 

"You did this! You did this!" she shrieks, her voice cracking with grief and rage.

Tyrion barely has time to react before three guards seize him from behind, their grip firm, dragging him back. The entire court is thrown into disarray, nobles scrambling, unsure where to look or what to say. The shock hangs in the air, heavy and suffocating.

Your eyes flick to Sansa as she watches, wide-eyed and frozen in place. Ser Dontos Hollard, the fool, sidles up to her, his face pale with urgency.

“We have to leave,” he whispers frantically, his hand tugging at her sleeve.

Sansa looks to you, her expression a mix of confusion and terror, searching for an answer. You meet her gaze and give the smallest, subtlest nod, speaking in the quietest voice that only she can hear.

"Run."

You keep your posture relaxed, every movement calculated, as though the chaos around you is nothing but a passing storm. Let it swirl, let them scream, none of it touches you.

Cersei’s piercing voice shatters the air again. “Take him! Take him!”

The guards drag Tyrion away through the crowd, his face a mask of resignation. You shift, sliding further to the edge of the gathering, your eyes tracking Sansa as she and Ser Dontos disappear, swallowed by the throng of horrified nobles. As Cersei’s head whips around, searching for a new target for her grief, her shrill voice rises again.

"Where is his wife? Where's Sansa?!"

Tywin's voice booms over the garden, commanding attention with the force of authority, “Find her. Bar the gates of the city. Seize every ship in the harbor.”

The tension mounts as Cersei, distraught and frenzied, clings to Tywin. “Where is she?!”

“No one leaves the capital!" Tywin's voice echoes like a decree from the gods themselves. "No one!”

The wheels are turning, but you remain steady, unmoved, watching everything unfold like a distant observer.

KING'S LANDING, RED KEEP — DUSK

The bells toll ominously across the city, signaling not just the king's death but the beginning of a lockdown. What had begun as a celebration of young love and power had spiraled into a suffocating horror—a wedding turned funeral. The streets were locked down, the gates barred, and whispers spread like wildfire among the servants. Every corner of the Red Keep hummed with dread.

You sat in the dim light of your chambers, fingers tracing over the pages of your journal. On the list of names you had scrawled, Joffrey’s stood out, now crossed out in thick ink. The weight of his demise did not lift your heart, but there was a cold satisfaction in seeing that line through his name. 

A knock on your door broke the silence. You didn’t even look up, your voice calm, measured. “Enter.”

Serena stepped in, her movements quiet and careful as she shut the door behind her, turning the lock with a soft click before coming to sit beside you. Her eyes fell to your journal, to the page you’d been reading, and her gaze lingered on the crossed-out name.

Her voice was soft when she asked, “Did you…”

You didn’t hesitate. “It wasn’t me who slipped the poison.” Your tone was blunt, matter-of-fact. Serena was smart—she could piece together the rest on her own. She nodded slowly, absorbing the truth behind your words.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said softly. “I’d still like to thank you. For doing this.”

Her gratitude was real, but it didn’t touch you. Nothing did anymore. You turned to her, your expression as unreadable as stone.

"I didn’t do it for thanks," you said, your voice as cold as the air before a storm. “I did it because people like him—people like them—will only understand one thing from now on.” You paused, holding Serena’s gaze, unblinking. “They will suffer, just as we have.”

Serena nodded, her lips tightening into a thin line. She knew. She understood.

And so, your revenge continued. Joffrey’s name may have been crossed out, but there were others. And as you sat there, cold and detached, you knew this was only the beginning of a longer reckoning. The suffering had only just begun.

THE NEXT DAY 

STREETS OF SILK, CHATAYA’S BROTHEL — DAY

The city pulsed with a nervous energy, the fallout of Joffrey’s death rippling through every alleyway, every corner of King’s Landing. It was rare for you to have a day free from the palace, but amidst the chaos, no one had cared when a few servants slipped away. The Red Keep had become a den of paranoia, each person trying to avoid the eye of suspicion. A perfect time to disappear—even if just for a while.

As you walked through the streets, your steps silent, deliberate, you overheard a conversation between two guards. Their voices were low, yet their words unmistakable. Tywin plans to confront Oberyn. The Hand of the King knew of Oberyn's frequent visits to Chataya’s brothel—it was no secret that the Dornish prince indulged himself openly. Tywin’s suspicions were spreading like wildfire, and you needed to be there to hear what he might uncover.

Pulling your cloak tight around you, you kept to the shadows, slipping between the narrow alleys that twisted like veins through the streets of silk. The map of the city was etched into your mind as clearly as the secrets you kept—memorized over years of service, of watching and waiting. 

You reached the brothel just as the sun began to dip lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the cobblestones. Slipping through the back door, you moved with the practiced silence of someone who knew how to remain unseen. A shadow among shadows. The moans and laughter of the brothel’s patrons created a cover of noise, perfect for hiding in plain sight.

The scent of incense and sweat filled the air, thick and cloying, but you barely noticed. Your eyes were fixed ahead, scanning for any sign of Tywin or his men. You crept further into the brothel, slipping behind a large stone pillar that stood near one of the darker corners of the room. Hidden in the gloom, you were just another part of the architecture, unseen, unnoticed.

The dagger strapped to your thigh pressed reassuringly against your skin, a small comfort in the uncertainty of the moment. You had long since learned that in King’s Landing, secrets and steel were your best companions. One cut as deep as the other, and both had their uses. If anyone saw you, anyone grew suspicious—you would be ready.

You crouched lower behind the pillar, listening as Oberyn’s voice carried faintly from one of the rooms. His tone was as smooth and dangerous as ever, a man who never feared consequences, not even from Tywin Lannister. You stayed still, your heart steady but your mind sharp, waiting for the moment when Tywin would confront him. 

You could feel it—the unraveling was only just beginning. The tension in the city would soon give way to something far darker, and you were determined to be ahead of it, to see everything before it was hidden away in shadows again.

As footsteps echoed down the hall, heavier, more deliberate, you pressed further into the shadows. Tywin. You could not afford to be seen, but you could not afford to miss this either. Information was your weapon. And today, you would sharpen it.

Just in time, you watched as three naked whores and Ellaria Sand stepped out of one of the rooms. Her dark, wavy hair cascaded down her bare shoulders as she laughed softly, her gaze briefly scanning the room before she and the others disappeared down the hall. The guards trailed after them, though one remained standing by the entrance. Close, but not too close.

The door to Oberyn’s room was slightly ajar.

You slipped inside with practiced precision, the heavy scent of incense clinging to the air. The room was bathed in the warm, golden light of the midday sun, filtering through the heavy curtains. Oberyn Martell was seated on the bed, shirtless and glistening with sweat, his bronzed skin catching the light as he stretched with the grace of a panther. The gods must have shown you some favor—he was still clothed from the waist down. 

His gaze shifted lazily toward you, a faint smirk tugging at his lips as if your presence amused him. He knew you were there long before you entered.

“Would you like to sit?” he asked, his voice low, teasing. He gestured casually toward a chair in the corner, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

Tywin Lannister stood at the other end of the room, his expression as hard as stone, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of irritation. “No, thank you,” Tywin replied curtly, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade.

Oberyn’s movements were slow, deliberate, as he rose from the bed, his lean body practically dripping with confidence. He stepped toward a small cart by the window, where a tray of wine and goblets waited. “Some wine?” he offered again, pouring himself a generous amount, the dark liquid swirling in the cup.

Tywin, still standing near the door, remained unmoved. “No, thank you,” he repeated.

Oberyn, with a patterned towel draped over his shoulder, took a slow sip of the wine, his eyes never leaving Tywin’s. “I'm sorry about your grandson,” he said smoothly, though the sincerity in his tone was questionable.

Tywin’s lips twitched, barely containing his disdain. “Are you?” he asked, the question laced with accusation.

Oberyn shrugged, moving across the room like a predator sizing up his prey. “I don't believe a child is responsible for the sins of his father. Or his grandfather. An awful way to die.” His voice was casual, but his eyes—those dark, piercing eyes—were watching Tywin’s every move.

The tension in the room was recognizable, thick enough to choke on. You remained hidden in the shadows, every word falling like stones in a still pond, sending ripples of suspicion through the air.

“Which way is that?” Tywin asked, his voice sharp.

Oberyn tilted his head, a sly smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Are you interrogating me, Lord Tywin?” he purred, settling onto a plush bed of pillows, lounging with the practiced grace of a man who feared nothing.

“Some believe the king choked,” Tywin mused, watching Oberyn closely.

“Some believe the sky is blue because we live inside the eye of a blue-eyed giant,” Oberyn replied, his tone mocking. He took another sip of wine before adding, “The king was poisoned.”

Tywin’s eyes narrowed, the faintest hint of suspicion creeping into his expression. “I hear you studied poisons at the Citadel.”

Oberyn’s smile widened, like a cat who had caught the scent of a mouse. “I did. This is why I know.”

Tywin’s voice dropped, edged with danger. “Your hatred for my family is rather well known. You arrive at the capital, an expert in poisoning, and days later my grandson dies of poisoning.”

Oberyn didn’t miss a beat. “Rather suspicious,” he agreed with a chuckle. “Why haven’t you thrown me in a dungeon?”

Tywin's gaze hardened. “You spoke with Tyrion in this very brothel on the day that you arrived. What did you discuss?”

“You think we conspired together?” Oberyn raised an eyebrow, amused.

“What did you discuss?”

Oberyn’s playful demeanor faltered, as he moved to stand, approaching Tywin, his voice dropping into something darker, colder. “The death of my sister.”

Tywin did not flinch, though his eyes gave away nothing. “For which you blame me.”

Oberyn leaned forward slightly, his voice like steel wrapped in silk. “She was raped and murdered by the Mountain. The Mountain follows your orders. Of course I blame you.”

The silence that followed was thick with unspoken threats. You remained perfectly still, your heart a steady drumbeat in your chest as you watched the two men circle each other, both poised for an attack that would never come.

Tywin, calm as ever, gave the faintest shrug. “Here I stand unarmed, unguarded. Should I be concerned?”

Oberyn smiled, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “You are unarmed and unguarded because you know me better than that. I am a man of reason. If I cut your throat today, I will be drawn and quartered tomorrow.”

“Men at war commit all kinds of crimes without their superiors' knowledge,” Tywin said, almost conversationally.

“So you deny involvement in Elia's murder?”

Tywin’s voice remained steady. “Categorically.”

Oberyn’s gaze sharpened, his smile fading into something colder. “I would like to speak with the Mountain.”

“I’m sure he would enjoy speaking with you,” Tywin said evenly.

Oberyn’s lips curled into a grim smile. “He might not enjoy it as much as he thinks he would.”

Tywin’s eyes flickered with a dangerous glint. “I could arrange for this meeting.”

Oberyn’s brow arched, intrigued. “But you want something in return.”

Tywin’s voice was calm, measured. “There will be a trial for my son. As custom dictates, three judges will render a verdict. I will preside. Mace Tyrell will serve as the second judge. I would like you to be the third.”

Oberyn’s amusement returned, but his tone remained cautious. “Why?”

“Not long ago, the Tyrells sided with Renly Baratheon. Declared themselves enemies of the throne. Now they are our strongest allies.”

Oberyn shrugged, taking another sip of his wine. “Well, you made the Tyrell girl a queen. Asking me to judge at your son's trial isn't quite as tempting.”

Tywin stepped forward, his voice dropping low. “I will also invite you to sit on the small council to serve as one of the new king's principal advisors.”

Oberyn studied Tywin, his eyes narrowing slightly. “I never realized you had such respect for Dorne, Lord Tywin.”

“We are not the Seven Kingdoms until Dorne returns to the fold,” Tywin replied, his voice cold, calculated. “The king is dead. The Greyjoys are in open rebellion. A wildling army marches on the Wall. And in the East, a Targaryen girl has three dragons. Before long, she will turn her eyes to Westeros. Only the Dornish managed to resist Aegon Targaryen and his dragons.”

Oberyn’s smile returned, slow and sharp. “You're saying you need us? That must be hard for you to admit.”

Tywin’s expression didn’t change. “We need each other. You help me serve justice to the king's assassins, and I will help you serve justice to Elia's.”

The room seemed to hold its breath as Oberyn fell silent, his gaze turning inward, distant, as if he were calculating a hundred possibilities all at once. The tension lingered, thick and unspoken, between him and the absent Tywin. The delicate balance of power that had just played out was clear—two predators circling one another, masking threats with diplomacy.

You pressed yourself deeper into the shadows, watching Oberyn with a sharp, practiced gaze. His expression remained contemplative, still lost in the aftermath of his exchange with Tywin. Outside the room, the echo of Tywin’s footsteps faded into the distance, and the door clicked shut with finality, leaving behind an uneasy stillness that hung thick in the air.

But you had lingered too long. In a silent breath, you pulled back into the shadows, slipping toward the door like a shadow yourself. You moved swiftly, soundless, as you had been trained—disappearing without a trace. The world outside was teeming with noise and life, but none of it noticed your departure. You melted into the alleyways, your cloak drawn close, your steps swift and measured as you darted through the maze of streets that threaded King’s Landing. 

The market was alive with its usual chaos, the scent of spices mingling with the salt of the sea, merchants shouting over one another, selling everything from silks to stale bread. You wove through the crowds, your face hidden beneath the hood of your cloak, eyes scanning your surroundings. You had always known how to vanish in plain sight.

But then, the sound hit you.

A sharp sizzle, the searing of meat against hot metal. Your steps faltered as the scent of charred pork filled the air, thick and overwhelming, clinging to your skin like smoke. For a moment, the world around you seemed to blur—the market, the people, the shouts—it all dimmed. Your breath caught in your throat, your chest tightening as the memories surged, unbidden, unstoppable.

Flames licking at your skin, the scent of burning flesh, the sound of your own screams echoing in the back of your mind. The fire that had marked you, that had seared itself into your memory, now clawed its way to the surface.

Your hands trembled as you stumbled into a corner of the street, your back pressed hard against the cool stone of a wall. The sounds of the market seemed distant now, drowned out by the roar of the fire in your mind. The panic clawed at your chest, squeezing tighter and tighter until it felt like you couldn’t breathe. 

You gasped, desperate for air, the weight of your cloak suddenly too heavy, the noise of the market too loud. The edges of your vision blurred, and the ground beneath you felt like it was spinning. The world seemed to close in on you, suffocating, the past and present melding into one.

Burning.

You clenched your fists, nails digging into your palms in an attempt to ground yourself, to remind yourself that you were no longer there. But the searing sound, the scent—it was too much. The memories flooded you, pulling you under. You pressed your back harder into the wall, trying to fight your way out of the suffocating panic, trying to escape the fire that only existed in your mind.

But it felt so real.

Your breaths came in short, shallow gasps, and your vision swam. You had to get out. Away from the market, away from the noise, away from the memory that gripped you like a vice. You pushed yourself off the wall, your legs shaky but determined, and forced yourself back into the crowd, pulling your cloak tighter around you.

With every step, you fought to steady your breathing, to clear the haze from your mind. The streets blurred around you as you moved, each footfall feeling heavier than the last, but you pressed on. Away from the market. Away from the sound.

Away from the fire.

KING'S LANDING, RED KEEP — AFTERNOON

By the time you returned to the castle, fatigue weighed heavily on your limbs. The maze of tunnels under the Red Keep stretched out before you like a winding serpent, familiar yet suffocating. Each step felt heavier than the last, your breath shallow, as the cool stone walls seemed to press closer. 

As you rounded a corner, your thoughts interrupted by hurried footsteps, you almost collided with someone—Podrick Payne. His wide-eyed expression immediately softened when he realized it was you.

“Oh, my apologies,” Podrick stammered, stepping back in his usual bashful manner. 

You shook your head, waving off the apology. "No, it was my fault. I wasn’t looking where I was going."

He hesitated, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "Oh well…"

There was something about his awkwardness, a sincerity in the way he held himself. Podrick was kind, genuine—a rarity in King's Landing. You had a peculiar way of prying information from him without much effort. It wasn’t something you set out to do, but it was almost as though the right questions spilled from your lips, and he couldn’t help but answer.

You tilted your head slightly, eyes narrowing as you noticed the tension in his shoulders. "Are you heading somewhere urgent?"

Podrick blinked in surprise, glancing at the wineskin he carried. “Yes, I’m on my way to see Lord Tyrion in the cells.”

Your gaze dropped to the wineskin, lips curving into a faint smirk. "You’re bringing him wine?"

He nodded, looking somewhat guilty, as though he’d been caught red-handed. 

"The guards will take it from you, you know that, right?"

Podrick’s expression flickered with brief defeat, but he nodded again. The innocence in his eyes spoke volumes, but you weren’t fooled. Deep down, you knew he was smuggling more than just wine. You sighed, rubbing your temples as the exhaustion from the day wore at your patience.

"They've chosen the judges for his trial," you added, your voice soft but deliberate.

Podrick glanced around as if someone might overhear, then leaned in slightly. “I heard. Lord Tywin, Mace Tyrell, and Prince Oberyn of Dorne."

"Word travels fast," you murmured, more to yourself than to him. Your eyes drifted over his face, reading the tension etched into his features. His frown deepened, and you couldn’t help but ask, “What’s wrong? You’re frowning.”

Podrick’s sigh was almost inaudible, but in the quiet of the dimly lit tunnel, it seemed to echo. He lowered his voice as if confessing a secret. "There’s something else. A man—someone I didn’t know—came to me. He asked if I’d testify against Lord Tyrion. Said I’d be named Ser Podrick Payne if I told the judges Tyrion bought a poison called the Strangler.”

Your stomach twisted at the mention of the poison, but your expression remained impassive. You frowned, though, as the weight of his words sank in. Podrick, in his innocence, stood at the crossroads of something much darker than he fully understood.

"You…" You took a slow, deep breath, steadying your tone. "Lord Tyrion has been kind to you."

He met your gaze, his eyes filled with uncertainty. "He has."

There was a heavy silence between you, the kind that lingered just long enough to feel uncomfortable. The weight of your secrets hung in the air, unspoken, but Podrick wasn’t foolish. He knew you were holding back, but he never pressed. 

"Do you know what happened?" he asked softly, as though afraid of the answer. His voice was tentative, laced with the hope that you might offer him clarity. "Who did it?"

You blinked, your gaze distant, the apathy you had so carefully cultivated slipping back into place. His question lingered, but you gave him no answer—just a soft pat on his shoulder, a rare gesture of kindness in a world that had none to spare.

"You better be careful, Podrick," you said, your voice low, carrying a quiet weight. "You’re one of the rare ones out there who are truly good. Take care of yourself."

His lips parted as if to say something more, but you had already turned away, disappearing into the shadows of the castle, leaving him standing there beneath the flickering torchlight.

KING’S LANDING, QUAY OF THE PORT BY THE SEA OF THE RED KEEP — AFTERNOON

The salty breeze whipped across the sea, crashing waves against jagged rocks below as you crouched beneath the cliffsides. Hidden from sight, you watched with keen eyes as Jaime Lannister and Bronn sparred near the water's edge, the sound of clashing steel ringing in the air.

Jaime’s face was flushed, his breath labored, but his movements were sharper than before. He spun his sword with renewed vigor, pressing the attack against Bronn. But the sellsword was as sharp as ever, his parries quick, his footwork steady. They deadlocked, Jaime’s golden hand clashing with Bronn’s grip. With a wicked grin, Bronn swatted Jaime across the face, sending him sprawling onto the ground with an unceremonious thud.

Jaime let out a grunt, pushing himself up from the dirt. “What the hell was that?” he spat, wiping the dust from his tunic.

Bronn tossed Jaime’s golden hand back to him with a smirk. “That was me knocking your ass to the dirt with your own hand."

Jaime caught it, shaking his head. “You’re a rare talent. When you’re fighting cripples, anyway.”

“You learned to fight like a good little boy," Bronn quipped, his grin widening. "I’ll bet that thrust through the Mad King’s back was pretty as a picture. You want to fight pretty, or you want to win?”

Jaime’s jaw clenched. “You talk to my brother this way?”

“All the time. He got used to it.”

They sat together on a low stone wall, the tension easing between them. Jaime took a swig from a wineskin before handing it to Bronn.

“Do you think he did it?” Jaime asked, his voice low, hesitant.

Bronn shook his head. “No. Oh, he hated the little twat, sure. But who didn’t? Poison’s not his style. Or murder, for that matter. You want to know for sure, why don’t you ask him?”

Jaime remained silent, his gaze distant.

“You haven’t been to see him yet, have you?” Bronn probed, his tone carrying an edge of judgment.

Jaime stood abruptly, tossing the wineskin back to Bronn. “We’re done for today.”

As Jaime walked away, Bronn called out, “Your brother ever tell you how I came into his service?”

Jaime paused, his back still turned. “You stood for him in his trial by combat at the Eyrie.”

“Aye,” Bronn replied, his voice steady. “But only when Lady Arryn demanded the trial take place that day. You were his first choice. He named you for his champion because he knew you’d ride day and night to fight for him. You gonna fight for him now?”

Jaime’s silence lingered, the weight of Bronn’s words hanging in the air as he disappeared into the distance. 

Once Jaime was gone, Bronn stood alone, shaking his head. That’s when you emerged from your hiding spot, the faint sound of your boots scraping against the stone catching his attention. He turned, spotting you walking towards him, your loose long-sleeve tunic billowing slightly in the wind, trousers and boots practical for the sparring you had in mind. The sword sheathed at your side glinted in the afternoon light, a far cry from the ladylike appearance most would expect.

You let out a low whistle, drawing a chuckle from Bronn as you approached. “You really handed it to him, huh?” you remarked, eyes twinkling with amusement.

“Who knew today would be the day you make a joke?” Bronn quipped, his smirk never far from his lips.

You huffed, crossing your arms. “Might as well get a laugh in once in a while.”

Bronn gave you a quick once-over, his eyes sharp as always. “You here to practice?”

In response, you tossed a small pouch of gold coins at him, which he caught with a practiced ease. “It’s been a while. Was wondering if you were simply busy or if you’d run off.”

You shrugged, the weight of the past few days pressing on your shoulders. “Well, it hasn’t been quiet at the Red Keep.”

“Aye,” Bronn said with a knowing look, his expression softening for just a moment. Then, with his usual swagger, he added, “Well, let’s see if that sword of yours still works.”

The two of you squared off, the tension of the moment melting into the familiar rhythm of training. Bronn was a formidable opponent—quick, sharp, and never one to play by the rules. He tested you immediately, launching a fast strike aimed at your side. You parried it easily, the weight of your sword light in your hands.

"You've gotten faster," Bronn noted, his tone almost begrudging as he stepped back to assess you, his sharp eyes taking in every movement, every subtle shift of your stance. 

You shrugged, gripping your sword a little tighter, the weight of his words sinking in deeper than he realized. Faster—it wasn’t just speed you needed. Strength. Precision. Ruthlessness. All of it would be necessary if you were going to do what needed to be done. Your thoughts flickered briefly to him, to the Mountain, and the moment you had been turning over in your mind, rehearsing endlessly in the quiet of your own head.

One well-placed strike—that’s all it would take. You’d studied his movements, watched how he fought. Brutal. Unforgiving. He crushed his opponents like insects beneath his feet, but there was always a weakness. There had to be. You just had to find it, and when you did, the Mountain would fall.

But you didn’t say that out loud.

Instead, you offered Bronn a casual shrug, masking the storm of thoughts beneath your calm expression. “Learned a few tricks while I was busy,” you replied with a half-smile, keeping your voice light.

Bronn smirked, though his eyes still lingered on you as if trying to peel back the layers of your thoughts. "Busy, huh? Hope those tricks keep you alive long enough to show me more."

He didn’t press, and you were grateful for it. There was no need to tell him, not yet. The time would come soon enough, and when it did, you'd be ready.

A FEW DAYS LATER

KING'S LANDING, THE THRONE ROOM — DAY

You stand off to the side, shrouded in the shadows of the grand pillars, your eyes flickering over the scene before you like a predator studying its prey. The High Septon stands at the heart of it all, his voice booming as he leads the coronation of Tommen Baratheon. The crowd has gathered, a sea of nobles dressed in their finest silks, feigning respect and devotion. Your gaze drifts, settling momentarily on Ser Jaime Lannister, who patrols near the back, his golden hand gleaming in the soft light.

"May the Warrior grant him courage and protect him in these perilous times," the High Septon intoned, his voice heavy with ceremony. "May the Smith grant him strength that he might bear this heavy burden. And may the Crone, she that knows the fate of all men, show him the path he must walk and guide him through the dark places that lie ahead."

Tommen’s face, still soft with boyish innocence, betrays the weight of the moment. You can see it in his eyes—the bewilderment, the fear hidden behind a facade of calm. He’s a puppet, and the strings are woven through the hands of those more powerful. But he’s not the one you’re watching.

The High Septon finishes, his hands raised toward the heavens. "In the light of the Seven, I now proclaim Tommen of the House Baratheon, First of His Name. King of the Andals and the First Men and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. Long may he reign!"

"Long may he reign!" the crowd echoes in unison, their voices a rehearsed chorus.

Your eyes narrow as Tommen bows, exchanging a fleeting glance with Margaery Tyrell. The hint of a smile plays on her lips, barely noticeable unless you knew what to look for. It’s the look of a woman who knows exactly what she wants—and how to get it. Cersei sees it too, her expression tightening, though she maintains her grace.

You smirk to yourself. The plot never stops, not for a moment.

The grand hall is quieter now, though the air still buzzes with soft chatter. Tommen sits awkwardly on the Iron Throne, his small frame swallowed by its looming presence. Tywin Lannister stands beside him, commanding the room with nothing but his cold, stern silence. The line of courtiers shuffles forward, each taking their turn to bow and offer hollow pleasantries.

"Your Grace," Grand Maester Pycelle rasps, his aged voice grating against your ears.  

"Your Grace," Varys follows, his tone smooth, unreadable.

Tommen exchanges nods and small smiles, barely keeping up the appearance of a ruler. Margaery lingers nearby, her gaze soft but calculating. It’s Cersei’s eyes that catch yours, though, burning with possessiveness and suspicion as they land on Margaery.

Your fingers twitch at your side, the weight of your dagger pressing against your thigh through the fabric of your cloak. There’s no need for it now, but the comfort of steel is a constant reminder of why you’re here—watching, waiting, collecting secrets like coins.

The crowd parts as Cersei approaches Margaery, offering smiles to the onlookers as she moves through the room with the grace of a lioness on the hunt. You observe it all, taking in the flickers of power, the undercurrents that ripple beneath the surface of every interaction.

You sigh, stepping away from the scene and slipping back into the shadows. There’s nothing more to see here. The coronation is just another piece in the larger puzzle, and the trial—the real battle—is yet to come. Your secrets can wait, for now.

KING'S LANDING, THE GARDEN — DAY

The day was warm, the sun casting a golden glow over the lush greenery of the royal gardens. The scent of blooming flowers mingled with the salty air from the sea, but none of that registered as you went about your tasks. Servant duties, tedious and endless, consumed most of your time. Today, it was carrying supplies from the kitchen to the gardens—bundles of herbs, fresh fruits, a few linens. You balanced them carefully in your arms, eyes scanning for a spot to drop them off before you moved to the next errand.

As you passed through the garden's winding paths, the soft murmur of voices caught your attention. You stilled, instinctively pressing yourself into the shade of a tall shrub, out of sight. The voices were familiar—Cersei Lannister and Oberyn Martell. The temptation to eavesdrop, to gather just a bit more information for yourself, was too great to resist.

You shifted slightly, your heart thudding in your chest, trying not to rustle the bushes as you angled your body closer. From where you stood, you had a clear view of Oberyn sitting on a stone bench, writing on a scroll. He paused as Cersei approached, her guards flanking her.

"Your Grace," Oberyn greeted her, his voice low and polite as he stood.

Cersei’s cold smile barely reached her eyes. "Prince Oberyn. Writing letters?"

"A poem, actually," Oberyn replied, his tone light, yet unreadable.

Cersei’s eyebrow raised slightly, more curious than amused. "May I show you the gardens?"

Oberyn glanced down at the scroll he had been working on before standing fully to his feet. "I couldn’t very well refuse a royal escort."

"No, you couldn’t," Cersei said, a slight edge in her voice. You could almost see the power shift between them as they started walking side by side through the winding paths of the garden, their steps measured, calculated.

You trailed discreetly behind them, clutching your bundle tightly, ears straining to catch every word.

"I didn’t realize you were a poet," Cersei remarked, her voice laced with feigned curiosity.

Oberyn chuckled. "Not a very good one."

"For your paramour?"

"For one of my daughters," Oberyn corrected, his voice softening at the mention of his children.

Cersei’s eyes flicked toward him. "You have several, don’t you?"

"Eight," he said, a touch of pride in his voice.

"Eight? Eight daughters?" Cersei repeated, incredulous.

Oberyn nodded. "The fifth is difficult. I named her after my sister, Elia."

At the mention of Elia’s name, your heart clenched. You had always known the depth of his loss, but hearing it aloud, even in passing, reminded you of the storm that brewed constantly beneath Oberyn’s surface.

"Beautiful name," Cersei mused.

"Yes," Oberyn agreed, though his tone darkened. "But I can’t say it without turning sad. And after I turn sad, I grow angry."

"Perhaps that’s why she’s difficult," Cersei remarked, her tone dripping with cynical wisdom. "The gods love their stupid jokes, don’t they?"

Oberyn's gaze narrowed slightly, intrigued. "Which joke is that?"

Cersei’s smile was sharp, almost mocking. "You’re a prince of Dorne. A legendary fighter. A brilliant man feared throughout Westeros. But you could not save your sister. I’m a Lannister. Queen for nineteen years. Daughter of the most powerful man alive. But I could not save my son. What good is power if you cannot protect the ones you love?"

Her words struck like venom, her bitterness palpable. You watched Oberyn’s face shift, his jaw tightening as the memories of his sister undoubtedly flashed behind his eyes.

"We can avenge them," he said after a pause, his voice resolute, cutting through the air like a blade.

Cersei met his gaze, her lips curling slightly. "Yes, we can avenge them."

Oberyn tilted his head, watching her intently. "You really believe Tyrion murdered your son?"

Without hesitation, Cersei replied, "I know he did."

Oberyn’s expression remained calm, though you could sense his skepticism. "We will have a trial, and we will learn the truth."

"We’ll have a trial, anyway," Cersei muttered, her voice tight with impatience. "I haven’t seen my daughter in over a year."

Oberyn’s face softened slightly. "The last time I saw her, she was swimming with two of my girls in the Water Gardens. Laughing in the sun."

Cersei’s eyes briefly glistened with unshed tears. "I want to believe that. I want to believe she’s happy."

Oberyn’s tone was gentle now, sincere. "You have my word. We don’t hurt little girls in Dorne."

Cersei’s voice was a mere whisper, filled with more sadness than she would ever admit aloud. "Everywhere in the world, they hurt little girls. Would you bring her a gift for me? I wasn’t there for her name day. I don’t know when I’ll see her again."

Oberyn’s gaze softened as he nodded. "Anything at all."

Cersei pointed toward the bay, her eyes lingering on a ship. "The best shipwrights in King’s Landing have been working on it for months. Myrcella loves the open water."

Oberyn’s lips curled into a small, understanding smile. "I will have it sailed down to Sunspear for her."

Cersei turned to face him fully, her expression momentarily vulnerable. "Please tell her... her mother misses her very much."

She left then, her guards following behind as her regal figure disappeared from the garden. Oberyn stood still, watching her go with an unreadable expression.

In the silence that followed, Oberyn’s voice cut through the air, calm and composed. "You can show yourself now."

Your breath hitched, but you stepped out from behind the pillar, clutching the supplies you had been carrying, your heartbeat still racing from all you had overheard.

Oberyn's dark eyes, gleaming with that unspoken intensity, never left yours. The weight of his gaze made the space between you feel smaller, heavier, as though every unspoken word lingered in the air. He took a slow step toward you, his expression caught somewhere between amusement and curiosity.

"I still don’t know your name," he said, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips, though his tone remained casual, as if this was just another conversation, nothing more than passing the time.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you swallowed, straightening slightly. "It’s..." You hesitated for a second, then finally offered, your name.

Oberyn hummed in acknowledgment, his smirk widening just a little, as though your name now held a secret weight between the two of you. He moved closer, studying your face carefully. He repeated your name, tasting the name on his tongue like it was something to be savored.

A silence hung between you for a moment, but Oberyn had a way of piercing through it with his words. His eyes narrowed slightly, his head tilting just enough to catch your gaze again. "Tell me," he began, his voice soft but laced with a quiet danger, "did you poison the king?"

Your chest tightened at the question, though you knew it was coming. You didn't flinch, your heart steady despite the accusation hanging in the air. Meeting his gaze, you shook your head firmly, your voice calm but resolute. "No. I didn’t."

Oberyn’s intense gaze lingered on you, as if he was peeling away the layers of who you were, searching for the truth hidden beneath your calm exterior. His dark eyes burned with quiet judgment, tempered by curiosity. The corner of his mouth tugged upward, barely perceptible, when he let out a soft hum, the tension in his posture easing. "Good," he murmured, the single word carrying weight, as though it was meant to confirm something greater. Yet, behind his eyes, the storm never ceased, always swirling, always waiting.

You inhaled deeply, the air between you thick with unspoken things. For a long moment, you said nothing, your mind racing through the years, the faces, and the memories long buried under the weight of time and pain. The ocean waves crashed in the distance, steady and unyielding, much like the man before you. The ships bobbed on the horizon, their sails catching the wind as if they were fleeing toward freedom, away from all that was this city—this place of blood and betrayal.

You turned your gaze toward the sea, your voice low as you spoke, almost as if the memory itself had pulled the words from your lips. "You were right, your grace. I knew her… your sister, Princess Elia." 

Oberyn’s expression flickered, a subtle shift from curiosity to something more personal, more vulnerable, as he stepped closer to you. His presence was quiet but commanding, the warmth of him beside you drawing your attention. You didn’t look at him; instead, you watched the ships, the waves crashing against the cliffs in the distance. 

"It was a long time ago," you continued, your voice soft, filled with a kind of sorrow that time couldn’t quite erase. "I wasn’t a good person then… I don’t know if I am now." Your words hung in the air, fragile but true.

The wind whipped through your hair as the memory surged forth, pulling you back to that day—the day you first met her. You had been standing on the cliffs near Sunspear, staring down at the waters below. The waves had seemed so inviting, so final. You’d been ready to let go, ready to fall and end the pain that had gripped you for far too long. 

But then, you heard a cry. 

Princess Elia had been in the water, struggling against the currents, her graceful arms failing to keep her afloat. It was instinct, something primal within you that made you dive into the water, though you had been moments away from letting it take you. You swam with a strength you didn’t know you possessed, reaching her, pulling her to the shore. You’d saved her, though you had been prepared to die.

When you reached the sand, both of you gasping for breath, Elia had looked at you, her deep brown eyes searching yours, knowing, seeing far too much. "You were going to jump, weren’t you?" she had asked, her voice soft but piercing. 

You had only nodded, the pressure of your decision still clinging to you like the seaweed wrapped around your legs. 

Elia had smiled then, a gentle, sorrowful thing. "Thank you for saving me… even when you couldn’t save yourself." Her words had haunted you ever since.

The memory faded, and you were back in the present, the ocean still stretching before you, endless and indifferent. Oberyn stood beside you, silent for a long moment, absorbing your words. His expression remained unreadable, but his eyes flickered with understanding, with a shared pain.

"You were the one," he said quietly, almost as if speaking to himself. "The servant girl… the one who survived." His voice was careful, probing, seeking confirmation of a story long buried under the rubble of war and tragedy.

Your face remained void of emotion as you turned to meet his gaze, your eyes hollowed by the weight of the years and the scars you carried. "I haven't forgotten even a day," you replied, your voice eerily calm, devoid of the turmoil you felt. "Some hatred resembles longing. It's impossible to get rid of." 

Oberyn's gaze lingered on you, his expression softening, though the tempest within him still raged. His eyes, dark and intense, mirrored the turmoil that churned beneath your own surface. “I’ve also hit rock bottom before,” he said, his voice carrying a rare gentleness. “So, I understand the weight of your anger.”

His words hung in the salt-tinged air, a bridge between the two of you—both bound by memories of a woman long gone, and a shared desire for something that felt like justice but tasted more like vengeance. The sea continued its relentless assault on the cliffs, indifferent to your pain, your histories, and the scars neither of you could erase. The world moved on, as uncaring as ever, while you stood still in the face of it.

Oberyn turned slightly toward you, his expression more searching now. "Is that why you came to King's Landing?" His question was quiet, but the weight of it settled between you like a stone dropped into a deep well.

Without turning to face him, you let out a bitter laugh, the sound lost in the crash of waves. "Isn’t that why you’re here too?"

The words hit him with a force that made him pause, a flash of something unreadable passing across his face. Oberyn was silent for a moment, studying you as if trying to gauge the depth of your resolve. He shifted, his usual confidence tempered by something more cautious now. "You know what revenge does to people," he said softly, his tone laced with concern. "I’ve seen it. I’ve lived it. It devours you, bit by bit, until there’s nothing left but the anger. It’s… not something someone like you should carry."

You scoffed, the words cutting through you, sharper than any blade. "Someone like me?" you echoed, turning to face him fully for the first time since the conversation began. Your eyes locked onto his, challenging, as if daring him to explain what he meant.

Oberyn’s brow furrowed, a rare crease in the otherwise unshakeable mask he wore. "You carry enough," he said, voice low but firm. "You shouldn’t be the one to deal with this. It will change you."

His worry was unexpected, disarming even, and for a moment, you saw the weight of his own guilt reflected in his gaze—the burdens he carried, the losses he had never fully avenged. But there was also a flicker of something protective, something he wasn’t ready to admit to.

You turned back toward the sea, your heart heavy with a mix of rage and sorrow. The waves below crashed louder now, their rhythm matching the pounding in your chest. "I’ve already been changed," you whispered, your voice barely audible above the roar of the ocean. "There’s nothing left to take." 

Oberyn stepped closer, his presence warm beside you, though the space between you felt vast. “There’s always something left,” he murmured, his voice softer now, the edge of worry still lacing his words. “You just don’t see it yet.”

The silence between you stretched long, as the sea kept its pace, unbothered by the weight of two broken souls standing on the cliffs above it. Neither of you spoke again for some time, each lost in your own thoughts, but bound by an understanding neither of you had expected.

Both here for vengeance. Both already paying its price.

KING'S LANDING, RED KEEP — EVENING

The evening air clung heavily to the Red Keep, filled with the scent of the sea and the distant hum of King’s Landing. After leaving Oberyn by the cliffs, the weight of exhaustion settled into your bones, dragging you through the motions of the day. Each task completed, each conversation had, felt like a necessary distraction—an anchor to keep you from drowning in your thoughts. Yet, none of it could quiet the storm within.

Once your duties were done, you retreated to your small chambers, the flickering light of a lone candle casting shadows against the stone walls. You sat at the edge of your bed, a leather journal resting on your lap. The worn pages were a map of your thoughts, your plans, your vengeance. You traced a finger over the spine, staring down at the leather-bound book that held all the pieces of your story. It was here, in the quiet of the night, that you could feel the weight of everything you’d worked for, everything you had planned.

Your revenge.

You glanced at the drawer where your dagger rested, a constant companion in this journey, but tonight you would leave it behind. Tonight was not for the blade, but for something else entirely. Whispered words from the servants confirmed that Ellaria was out in the brothels, and that knowledge settled something within you. 

You changed swiftly into a nightgown, the soft fabric brushing against your skin, and draped a dark cloak over your shoulders. It shrouded your form as you slipped through the halls of the Red Keep, every step measured, your path taking you toward the guest quarters. Toward Oberyn.

MAIDENVAULT, GUEST CHAMBERS

KING’S LANDING, RED KEEP - EVENING

The corridors were dimly lit, and you moved like a shadow, slipping unnoticed through the Keep. The cold stone beneath your feet did little to deter you as you made your way to the door of Oberyn’s chambers. 

You hesitated for only a moment, then pushed the door open, slipping inside before the guards could take notice. The room was dim, lit only by the pale silver of the moonlight filtering in through the window. Oberyn stood near the bed, surprised by your sudden presence, his dark eyes meeting yours as you stepped into the moonlight, the cloak falling away from your shoulders. 

He closed the door behind him, his gaze flickering over you, curiosity and something else stirring in his eyes. "I didn’t expect company tonight," he said, his voice low, a touch playful as he stepped closer. "Is this what I think it is?"

You didn’t respond immediately. Instead, your fingers moved to the ties of your nightgown, pulling them loose until the fabric slipped down from your shoulders, falling in a whispering heap at your feet. Oberyn’s smirk faltered as the moonlight revealed the truth—scarred, burned, and marred flesh stretching across your body like a grotesque map of past pain.

"It felt like a white night, and sometimes it felt like a polar night, too."

His amusement vanished, replaced by horror, by understanding. "Gods…" he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper as he took in the damage that covered every inch of you.

“Ugly, right?” Your voice was toneless, cold. “My scars.”

Oberyn’s eyes darkened, but not with revulsion—only fury, a quiet, simmering rage that burned behind his otherwise calm exterior. He didn’t need to ask who had done this to you. The answer was written in the jagged lines that crisscrossed your skin. He knew. He had always known the darkness that resided in this city, but seeing it on you, it seemed to strike deeper.

“They’re not ugly,” he said softly, stepping closer, his eyes never leaving yours. “They’re injuries.” His voice was a mixture of defiance and sympathy, the edges rough with something dangerous.

You shook your head, meeting his gaze with a stark intensity. "I’m not looking for a prince," you said, your voice steady and without emotion. “What I need is not a prince, but a headsman who will join me in the sword dance.”

Oberyn’s jaw tightened, the weight of your words sinking into the space between you. For a moment, you could see the conflict in his eyes—the warrior who knew the toll of vengeance, and the lover who wished to shield you from it. But as he looked at the scars on your body, the decision seemed to solidify within him.

"Once your revenge is over, your world will also be in ruins," he said, his voice still holding the trace of concern, but it was quickly fading.

"I’m already in complete ruins with no dignity left," you replied, your voice like iron. "So, go back. I’d like to stay faithful to my rage and vice"

Oberyn exhaled slowly, the storm within him finally breaking. His fingers flexed at his side, as if already reaching for the hilt of his sword. “I’ll do it,” he said, stepping even closer until his presence was all-encompassing. “I’ll be your headsman. I’ll join the sword dance.”

Your heart pounded in your chest as his words sunk in, the finality of them sending a thrill through you. “I’ll do whatever you say,” he continued, his voice like a vow. “As if it’s a royal command. Anything at all.”

He reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against your arm, his touch surprisingly gentle despite the violence in his words. “I’ll show you a wild sword dance,” he promised, his eyes locked on yours, filled with a deadly sort of resolve. 

In that moment, you both knew there was no turning back. The sword dance would begin, and neither of you would emerge the same.

TAGLIST:

@christinamadsen @greenwitchfromthewoods

[writella]

I know others have probably said this before, but I just love the idea that Daryl would be the type to give you little things— small treasures— or do things for you— share a sweet moment, or of course, be his heroic self and help you (or really you help each other) out of harms way. I think it’s because one of his love languages obviously has to be acts of service. He may not be a big talker, but the way he fights for his loved ones is nothing sort of fearless, and as I heard Norman Reedus say in an interview, when it comes to Daryl as a person, “it’s about what you do, and what you say, and what you follow up with…” Similarly, I think this is how he would show his sincerity and care for a partner and since he may not be quick with the verbal initiation…

⋆｡˚ this care would first be shown in the things he gives you or does with you like… ⋆｡˚

- The way you’d probably have variety of little knickknacks all around your room or ones that you’d keep in your pocket from things Daryl has found for you outside.

- Perhaps he would find cool looking or pretty rocks on the ground from a supply run or from hunting in the forest.

- He’d pick the interesting ones, the ones that glittered or shimmered in the sun, or if he was lucky enough to find it, maybe there’d be a colorful mineral.

- You’d have them specifically placed all around different corners in your room, the collection getting too big to keep in one place.

- Maybe he’d also start a charm collection for you.

- One time in the woods, the two of you tracked a deer, or really Daryl did. You stood behind, taking it as a hunting lesson for yourself.

- When he caught the deer, you both went closer to the body and in the corner of your eye you saw something that shined in the grass.

- Crouching down to pick it up you discovered a tiny charm of the sun. “Look!” You held it to the sky so the sun could shine on it further.

- “We just caught a deer, and you’re lookin at that?”

- “We just caught a deer for the first time in months and this was right by them… it’s good luck, literally a lucky charm.”

- You clipped it onto your necklace so you didn’t loose it.

- There was something about how the charm, and the actual sun, and your eyes shined perfectly together with it, so after that, he wanted to find one with a moon and another with stars to match.

- Then, he’d just start collecting whatever charm or even keychains that had a clasp or jump ring to add to your collection.

- You didn’t even think it was something you’d be interested in starting until he found those other two. It felt special because he gave it to you and it made you become obsessed so much so that you even joined him in the pursuit of finding charms or cool little keychains yourself.

- It became a fun little side quest for the both of you, a-not-actual-competition-competition to find the most interesting and unique ones when you happened to be on runs together.

- You’d both keep an eye out on the ground or whenever you searched vacant neighborhood houses: looking in the kids room for charms or on the key hooks by the front door for keychains that could possibly work.

- If either of you found one you didn’t have, you’d add it to your collection. Or if you found those bigger keychain character figurine ones, you’d both give those to Judith so she could play with it. Unbeknownst to her, you were helping her set up a collection as well.

- You would use them to hopefully make a charm bracelet in the future if you found the right chain for it or if you could find pieces to make one yourself; or you would just switch them off with your necklace chain depending on the day; or have them on your backpack or jeans or belt if you could.

- Now here’s a moment: after a lot of begging and wear down he would finally teach you how to ride his bike.

- You two were a team, and he knew he would probably need you to know how to ride eventually. Maybe it would come in handy when the group is attacked or they are the one doing the attacking. Who knows where he’ll be or where you’ll be in those moments? Or who the bike is closer to in that instance. This way, you have a possible escape plan with that extra skill.

- You’d probably even get a little too comfortable after you got better at riding and try to hop on first, taking the main spot.

- He doesn’t always let you, pushing you to the back so he can get in front, but sometimes… sometimes, he likes letting you take the wheel, because he knows you like it from time to time, and because he likes to see you smile; likes to see you proud of your capability.

- I think he’d also try to find a special knife for you. Something unique like Carol’s or that has a nice sleeve like Beth’s did. Something uniquely your own. Just like he has his bow.

- And with that, if you didn’t have one yet, I also think he might help you find the best weapon for you. Another thing that you could have as your own that you could become very skilled at fighting with.

- One time, he’d even gift you with the action of allowing you to talk a picture of him: Rick’s polaroid would have been in your backpack one day as you take a break from your travels outside of Alexandria. You and Daryl are sitting under a tree near an open grass plain. You would see how the wind made strands of his hair fly, making him look even more effortless in his uniquely strange natural beauty way. You’d take the camera out slowly, knowing he’d protest, and of course he did.

- “Please,” you would plead softly, “we don’t get to do things like this all the time. All we use the camera for is to document the houses, and the community work, or when Rick used it for the Savior war… it would be nice to have a nice picture for once.”

- He would look down impassively for a moment. You couldn’t tell it from his face— sometimes the quiet usually meant no— but he was actually deciding on doing it for you.

- Finally he says, “If I gotta take one, then it’s going to be of both of us.” He looks up at you through his hair, hiding the fact that he wanted to see how excited you were going to get. “Don’t need no one thinking I wanted a picture of just myself.”

- It makes you laugh. This is even better actually. A picture of you and him to have; a piece of you and him that will last forever.

- He would also gift you with one of his rare touches.

- Maybe it would start with allowing you to hold onto him while you’re on the back of his bike just a little closer. Or him pushing his neck back into you just the slightest bit more when you rest your head on his shoulder as he rides.

- Then maybe, the hugs would start increasing. Him not only giving you one after you’ve just escaped death yet again, but after he comes home one day from a run, maybe it happens just because now.

- And finally, this would all lead up to a kiss. Perhaps first on the side of your head, in your hair, as he comes home from a long journey one day, until the time finally comes where you both express all the things that have kept in your head about each other for so long, revealing your love.

- It would all commence to the kiss that you always wished would be placed right on your lips. It might just be the best gift of all. But not just because it’s a kiss, but because you finally get to love him in the way you’ve always desired. As your man, as your partner, as your Daryl.

So… this may or may not be a teaser for the next fic? >:) Stay tuned. ♡

[burnthoneydrops]

Moonlit Confessions

Synopsis: What was once thought to be a fizzled out attempt at marriage might have a second chance

Warnings: implied fem!reader (use of miss and dance cards for regency style traditions)

Word Count: 1523

a/n: here's the part two of this request !! i didn't think it would take this long but i got a random burst of inspiration last night and finished it up today so here it is! i'm learning i really don't know how to do short slow burn but oh well haha. i hope you lot enjoy!!

This night seemed to be repeating itself. Couples twirl themselves like planets orbiting the sun as the small band plays from their spot in the corner. You stand off to the side, huffing as you glance at your empty dance card, your eyes in a narrow glare as you try to find the reason for its current state. Anthony Bridgerton seemed bound and determined to keep the slots on your dance card name free and had yet to name a reason why. Having resigned yourself to moving past your offer of marriage with no meaningful result, you thought throwing yourself into that which your mother had always wanted would help speed up the healing process. Somewhere along this new stage of your martial quest, Anthony had decided that he did not like any of your new prospects at all and made it his mission to see that each and every one of them failed. 

“Miss Y/N, would by chance-” a gentleman had approached you but was stopped in his tracks, glancing quickly at something behind you before it looked like the fear of god had been instilled in him and backing away slowly. 

You quickly turn around, only to come face to face with Anthony, and the dots begin to connect. This was the third gentleman this evening, and who knows how many that brought the grand total for the week up to? Your mother probably did, you wouldn’t doubt that she was counting off to the side. Your blood begins to boil. In the past few weeks since you had proposed a marriage of convenience to the eldest Bridgerton, your season had been absolute hell and he seemed to only be more interested in your life when you tried not to involve him. 

“What is the matter with you?” You scold, moving closer to him to try and keep the conversation between the two of you. 

“The lemonade tastes a little funny tonight-”

“That is not what I meant and you know it”.

“Lord Garrison is not to be interacted with. He is not worthy of anyone’s time, much less yours”. 

You are slightly moved by his words, though your anger blinds you to much else other than the issue at hand. “Is that for the same reason as Lord Andreas then? Or perhaps Lord Henderson? Or maybe even Lord Clark? But heaven forbid I ever know that reason as you seem so hellbent on never enlightening me!” You seethe, gritting your teeth in an effort to keep your volume down. 

“I am simply keeping your best interests in mind,” Lord Bridgerton answers simply, as if it were obvious. 

“I never asked you to do that! I am not Daphne or Eloise! I am not one of your charges and therefore none of your concern and quite frankly,” you sigh, trying to steady your breathing before you get too riled up, “I thought you made your opinions quite clear at the Beauxton’s ball, so I intended to move on but you are making that quite impossible”. 

“We are still friends, Miss Y/N. Believe it or not, that makes me worry about you,” he replies, though there is something in his eyes, almost like he isn’t saying everything. 

“I never intended for you to worry about me! I am simply trying to lighten the burden that I am to my parents by finding a husband and cushioning our lives with a bit more funding, but when you constantly scare off all of the Lords possibly coming my way, you are ensuring my failure”. 

“You would that quickly give up your interests for the sake of the marriage mart?” 

You glare at him as if he has gone insane, which it frankly sounds like he has. 

“Lest you have forgotten, Lord Bridgerton, not every match is created out of love. Some are created out of necessity, which appears to be my only option”. 

“But what if it isn’t? What if there is someone out there who might secure you that love match and allow you to keep your books?” This seems entirely out of character for the man in front of you. 

“Oh the romantic expert now are we? Last I remember, you were rejecting a poor girl because she tripped over your left foot!” 

Anthony scans the room fervently, as if looking for someone before finding nothing. Instead, he mutters “christ” under his breath and grabs your hand, pulling you toward the open door to the balcony. 

“Lord Bridgerton, where are we-” you huff “where are we going?” He does not respond, choosing instead to drag you through the crowd of people, no doubt collecting pairs of eyes as you two pass. Once the two of you are outside, away from the curious ears of the ton, he faces you, his chest rising and falling at a rapid pace. 

“What has gotten into you Anthony?” You look between his eyes, hoping to catch whatever was the reasoning behind this out of character moment. The night air nips at your collar bones and you shiver slightly from the combination of the sudden cold and being locked under Anthony’s gaze. His silence scares you, and he keeps opening his mouth before shutting it a second later. It is quite unusual to catch the Viscount without words and this is surely the worst you’ve seen.  

“I have not been able to look at any man near you for weeks. Do you know how infuriating it is to see someone else chase after the person who has your heart?”

“Where is this coming from?” 

“You asked me what had gotten into me? You have. You have lodged yourself into my brain and into my heart and I cannot get you out of there to save my life. When you offered marriage I assumed it was a joke and realised too late that I was wrong”. 

“Anthony I-”

“You have consumed me, and I know that I made it clear that I would not marry for love, but watching you sacrifice yourself in such a way has been gnawing at me. Please, tell me you won’t do it”. He looks intently at you, begging both verbally and visually. 

“What are you saying?” 

“Tell me you won’t find another man for whom you would have to give up everything just to please your parents. You know damn well I have enough wealth and resources to remedy any worry and would never make you give up anything. If you do not wish to marry me-” “Marry you?” You try to interrupt, to no avail. 

“Then spare me the rejection and you can head back inside, but I know there is a part of you that feels the same. Allow me to make up for the time I’ve lost being an idiot and please,” he bends down onto one knee, “marry me”. 

“Are you quite finished?” 

He looks at you as if you’d grown a second head. It is clearly not the answer he was expecting, though you doubt any man would be expecting anything other than a “yes” to a question like that. You grab his hands, clasping them between your own and holding them between the two of you as he stands up. 

“If we are going to really do this, then I believe we shall do it properly. To prove you are serious about this, my favourite flowers are lilies and I shall be expecting you with a bouquet of them at my front door tomorrow”. 

“I should have known you were not going to make this easy,” Anthony smiles, though the anxiety of your possible rejection is still running through him. 

“You denied the easy way out, so you seem to have left me no choice,” you counter. 

“But is it a yes?” He raises a brow. 

“Eventually, but who are we to deny ourselves a longer honeymoon period? If you truly want to be wed, then we are to do absolutely everything”. Simply because you enjoyed your studies does not mean that you had never wished for romance. You had known that the majority of what the ton had to offer was men who would strip you of your most favourite hobbies for more motherly and homely activities, but now that you had an offer to keep the former on the table, you were going to relish it. 

“Tomorrow it is then,” his smile grows, squeezing your hands. 

“My mother will be so pleased,” you tease. 

“As will mine, though do not go thinking that I got down on one knee for the sake of our mamas”. 

“You mean to tell me you weren’t proposing to get to my mother? She will be positively offended,” you joke with a smile. 

“You are making me regret my decision,” Anthony teases back. 

“You would never,” you chuckle, pulling the two of you so his back is blocking the view of any passersby to try and keep the whispers at bay for a little longer. This moment is yours, and you intend to keep it that way before it inevitably reaches the ears of the curious partygoers.