#Grace talks about fanfics she likes

[ghosts-and-blue-sweaters]

Ghosts are real and your no-longer-dead older brother has identity issues over them by itsrecycledcactus is SUCH a neat fic I am telling you-

Like!!! It’s a modern AU, but it actually incorporates elements like Ghostbur, Wilbur’s revival, Phil’s wings, Ranboo’s oreo-ness, and a lot more—which modern AU’s never do, because… those things don’t fit into modern AU’s very well lol

BUT THIS IS DARN COOL!!! IT WORKS SO WELL!!! AAAAAH MODERN AU GHOSTBUR MY BELOVED!!!

Author also has a very good grasp on Wilbur, specifically Wilbur after revival. It’s just… aaaaah it’s immaculate.

Now I will share some of my favorite bits from the fic :)

In short, it’s a wonderful story and I’d highly suggest reading it!!

Just a heads up though: it’s a bit disjointed, and the author mentioned that it doesn’t really have… a plot? It’s more of a bunch of scenes from the same AU all mashed into one fic, so it flows a bit odd.

That being said, it’s really really good and the AU is incredibly interesting :D

[monsterhunting]

we have someone temporarily filling in at work rn while we’re understaffed and we were talking about books and this girl straight up told me she reads a lot of fanfiction. i was like “oh???? well. okay. i also do.” which is not normally something i admit to irl (except for with close friends. and my mom and my sister) but since she brought it up first i was like well maybe we can bond?????? so i’ve been testing the waters….. then tonight she tells me she reads (and writes!!!!!) wattpad stories about f1 driver. not even, like, f1 gay rpf. its self insert OC x f1 driver fanfic… i was like… oh. that kind of fanfiction

[aerithmybbgmypookiemywife]

So I just read your fix about Creator!reader reading a fanfic ‘bout them and it gave me an idea. Like HEAR ME OUT HEAR ME OUT-…

Creator!reader reading a spicy/smut fanfic about them, but in reality, Creator!reader is asexual?? IT WOULD BE AMAZING

lmaoooo can imagine the creator reading smut with a straight face just out of curiosity, entertainment or amusement only to be someone who is asexual.

Imagine Creator! Reader sitting on a chair, reading what seemed to be a book. The book was titled 'That time I had a one night stand with the Creator.', the plot was... Interesting to say the least.

It was a fanfiction containing the reader meeting the Creator under a cherry tree or whatever cliche bullshit the author thought off that ended with whoever the reader was and you, the Creator, banging.

It was just a normal day... The sun was out... You were out having an outdoor lunch along with the Archons and some of the Acolytes. But... Instead of eating you decided to just read the fanfic smut. You were curious as to what it would contain, what people thought of you in that way.

The Archons and Acolytes were all talking while you had the book placed on your lap where no one could see it... But... Imagine Creator! Reader having a habit of reading some words outloud...

"And... The wetness... Thrust... Tongue deep into my ass..." you mumbled. Everyone paused, as if time froze. A majority of them knew those words... those lines... BECAUSE THEY READ THAT BOOK SECRETLY IN THEIR SPARE TIME!!

Venti froze, before choking on his wine. Zhongli cleared his throat. Raiden Ei just looked around, a little confused. Mauvuika shook her head, finding this situation a little ridiculous but funny. Neuvillette nearly spat out the Natlan water he was tasting.

Kinich was side eyeing everyone while Ajaw laughed in the background, Ajaw was about to comment something but Kinich was quick to shut him up. Lyney on the other hand just cleared his throat while his ears were red. Childe tried his hardest to hold in his laugh, only plastering a trembling smile on his face. Wanderer scoffed, as if he didn't read the book too. Yae Miko's eyes widened as she hid her face with a fan, trying her best to not laugh.

You looked up at everyone, raising an eyebrow. "Something wrong?" you asked. "You-Your Grace... That book..." Zhongli cleared his throat. "Oh? This? It's interesting... But it isn't exactly a good potrayal of me. I'm not that crazy about sex." you said so nonchalantly that everyone got a whiplash.

Safe to say that word spread fast, smuts were now BANNED as the public deemed they weren't an accurate potrayal of the Creator. Authors who try to publish smut about the creator as publicly shamed too, although the public had a secret desire or fantasy of being with the Creator intimately, they still respected the fact that it isn't something the Creator would want.

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

"Appropriate" responses to the Gaiman issue

TLDR: This isn't a Rowling situation, be wary of internalized purity culture.

He's a predator. I'm glad a proper journalist followed up where police have failed (and possibly given victims a better footing for future charges).

But I have a problem with the knee-jerk responses targeting the fandom.

Just to clarify, I'm not talking about insulting The Predator. This is about how you treat people who have/do/will enjoy the stories that unfortunately came into the world through his keyboard.

Fans aren't intrinsically evil/uncaring for continuing to participate in associated fandoms.

This is not another Rowling situation. Why? Let me clarify. The consequences of consumption are very different. Rowling is ACTIVELY using her popularity and income as a creative to target one of the most vulnerable minorities in the world. Buying official merch/books/movie tickets prove to the powers that be that she remains a good investment, so they'll give her even more money. This perpetuates the cycle - new movie/book deals, more income, more hate, rinse and repeat.

The push to avoid Rowling's work in full is driven by the fact that she has FACED NO CONSEQUENCES and is still powered by her creative properties. It's fandom/consumers trying to bring justice.

Gaiman, on the other hand, knew he was doing bad shit on some level because he kept his abuse hidden. His status and reputation let him get close to vulnerable fans and essentially intimidate authorities from going after a celebrity. He is FACING CONSEQUENCES. I would personally like to see criminal charges brought against him, but that's out of the fandom's hands. Things we could've influenced (his Disney deal appears to have gone to shit, he's been booted from the truncated final season of GO, and there's no news on Sandman 3) are already in motion. If his publisher doesn't drop him, I'd say avoiding his future works is beyond valid (I certainly wouldn't buy them). But I'm going to watch the new season of Sandman. And once I've taken time away, I'll probably finish my active fics.

"Judging" people who still enjoy his work stems from good intentions that grew out of the fetid ground of purity culture rhetoric.

Writing fanfic and enjoying shows that are already made do not make people soulless accomplices. The idea that unproblematic stories by saintly creators are the only things you're allowed to enjoy is not only flirting with censorship, but it's also impossible.

If you think people should have nothing to do with Gaiman's works, you better throw out anything Weinstein touched. That includes Jackson's LOTR trilogy, FYI. Also, anything his company officially produced (which still gives him money in some cases) should never, ever grace your screen. That includes some of the better Stephen King adaptations, The Orphanage (which was a breakthrough Spanish-language film in Western markets), The King's Speech, The Imitation Game, Woman in Gold, Paddington, and It Follows.

If you aren't willing to publicly announce your "disappointment" in anyone who continues to enjoy any of those films, then kicking up a fuss over how other people process and interact with problematic content from a fallen celebrity who is in the process of getting his dues is pure hypocrisy.

Personally, I'm maliciously complying with Gaiman's famous quote about how once a story is out there, it doesn't belong to the author anymore. Well said, Predator, these are mine now, and I shall fuck about with them as I see fit.

Attacking or snobbishly looking down your nose at the fandom also erases YEARS of beautiful critique and thoughtful exploration of existing, acknowledged problems in works like The Sandman.

People in these parts already know how to handle complex issues in complex pieces of media. Gaiman isn't our god. His canon is not our bible. He didn't teach us morality, as is apparently the case for a lot of people who grew up reading Rowling's works as a child.

If you have a problem with the censorship comment I made, I'd like to point out at least one writer friend is LEANING INTO the fandom as a way to process their own trauma. Suffice it to say they survived a very similar situation. They see it as empowering to take the stories away from the abuser and use the characters/settings to make something new.

I get the ick. I have it right now. But I'm not burning every copy of his work I own (full disclosure I have... *checks shelves* a copy of Neverwhere and The Sandman series). Doing so is totally valid, and if that helps you process and feel better - go for it!

But this is not the same as Rowling and the only ones you hurt by declaring your "judgement" is a complex group of individuals who are able to enjoy fiction, remain aware of potential social consequences, and found a place that doesn't align with your black/white morality.

With that said, judge away! I better not see any stories from Charles Dickens, anything in anyway associated with the Weinsteins, Nickelodeon shows, Charlie Chaplin references, or Francis Ford Coppola films touch your feed. If you scratch the surface, you'll find more things to judge others for enjoying, and they will inevitably find something to judge you for, too.

[dilfartist]

Comfort

Pairing; Yandere Leon Kennedy x Therapist Reader

Synopsis; After persuasion from a coworker, Leon begrudgingly signs up for therapy which leads to an unhealthy obsession with his therapist.

Word count; 1300

TW; Yandere behavior, Unhealthy thoughts, OOC Leon Kennedy, I don't know a lot about therapists, Yandere themes, dark actions.

Notes; {Sorry for not posting a lot guys. I recently just got out of the mental hospital so. Anyways, enjoy this mediocre fanfic I came up with.}

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!

Profread/Not Profread

Reader's description; Female/Gn

Leon wasn’t one to go to others to solve his problems. Yet, he was in your therapy office looking out the windows at the grey skies as rain drizzled.

He only came to see you. Not the therapy. If anything, being with you was the therapy.

At first, Leon did attend therapy for its purpose. Not really by choice. Apparently, his problems (alcoholism and mental issues) were getting in the way of a couple of jobs, and a coworker suggested him therapy. Well, suggested isn’t really the word- More like bugged. Otherwise, Leon wouldn’t have come.

After Ada, Leon never thought he’d fall for anyone else. Sure, Leon would flirt from time to time with a lady at a bar if he was tipsy enough or with Hunnigan during the aftermath of a successful mission. But it never went any further. Leon had no intentions of anything further. Hell, Leon was bitter about developing a crush on you in the first place.

Leon couldn’t help himself. You were just so sweet and willing to help. Something Leon hadn’t had much of since Raccoon City. Nowadays, Leon is surrounded by the greedy, selfish, ugly parts of society. The parts he despised. Being around you was like a rehab of sorts. A reminder that there was still good in the cruel world that had swallowed him whole.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” you graced Leon with that sweet smile he grew to adore. You sat in your thick leather rolling chair, laptop in your lap as you powered it on. “I haven’t seen you since four months ago.”

“Work got in the way,” Leon says on the couch across you. “Long business trip,” he added.

Leon had given a specious answer when you had questioned his occupation. Instead of a U.S. agent who protected the world from biohazard monsters or a man who had saved the president's daughter, you had known him to be a hardworking office worker who frequently went on business trips.

“Where to?” “Spain.” “That sounds fun.” you smiled.

Leon shrugged his shoulders. “It was okay: Could have been better. I didn’t get to explore the country much.”

“So, how have you been? Anything new?” you put your laptop to the side, giving Leon your full attention. Leon liked that.

Leon shifted in his seat, “I saw an old friend recently during my work trip. I haven’t seen her since…” Leon trailed off. He hadn’t told you about Raccoon City despite the heavy effect it had on him. One of the main reasons he was in your office in the first place. When Leon pushed himself to talk about it, the words always died on his tongue. How could you understand? You’d see him as crazy. The world wasn’t informed about Raccoon City, so Leon wouldn’t attempt to see if you knew of the incident. “Six years ago.”

“How’d it go?”

Leon grew quiet for a moment. Being vulnerable wasn’t his thing. Funny enough. “…Strange. Felt like a dream. Never thought I’d see her again.” Leon could feel your gaze. For once, Leon didn’t like it. And with the lump that formed in his throat, he felt uncomfortable. “I thought she had died. For years, I was sure she had died and It was my fault. Then she just shows up,” he trailed off “…it felt surreal.”

You nod. “This must have been upsetting in some way. Did you get upset?” you pulled your laptop back into your lap.

“Not really. I mean, for a moment I was. When we were saying goodbye.”

“And did you visit the bar at all after?”

Ah, yes. One of the main problems you’ve been guiding to get rid of was his alcoholism. Leon never realized the extent of his intemperance until you pointed it out. Listing going to bars as one of his few hobbies did seem concerning to him nowadays.

Leon shook his head, a surge of pride blooming when he saw your eyes light up. “What did you do instead?” you asked. “I caught up on some TV shows after work and had takeout.” You happily typed something into your computer. “Good job, Leon! I knew you could do it.”

There was warmness growing on his cheeks. Leon could barely contain the small smile incoming. Instead, he rested his lips on his knuckles with his arm resting on the armrest.

He loved that. The way you treated him. Your words were genuine, and you barely knew him. Leon had known his colleagues for years, doing above and beyond on missions for them, only to get a pat on the back in return or a simple ‘Well done, Agent Kennedy.’ as they focused on their notes or computer.

The session went on for another 30 minutes. You talked about Leon’s mental health and how his coping skills were helping him turn away from drinking. Leon didn’t listen to your words, opting to memorize your voice. You’d recap the session anyway, so there was no need to tune in. Perusual.

The once soft blue city scene from the outside altered as the minutes passed into darkness due to the winter month.

“It seems our time is up,” you noted, taking a glimpse at your watch. “It was nice seeing you again, Leon. I hope to see you more often.”

“Right,” Leon said awkwardly in response. However, he felt flattered.

You stood from your chair to approach Leon, who followed your lead by standing up. Then, you escorted him to the door. “Remember, if you feel like visiting a bar or having a drink, use your coping skills: go for a walk, play a video game, or watch TV. Convert those negative feelings into positive ones!”

The trip to the parking garage is quiet, leaving Leon to his thoughts: Thoughts he'd rather not have.

Leon thought of himself as morally correct compared to his coworkers. Instead of joining the agency to fulfill greed or status, Leon joined for a selfless reason: to keep others safe. Leon didn't need money, he didn't need power, nor did he need reassurance of his character, and he felt prideful in that.

Yet, meeting you had changed his perspective of himself. All the negative traits he often critiqued rose to the surface and filled his head.

Would it be wrong to keep you to himself? Leon knew he wouldn't stay in the place he currently inhabited, work would force him to move sometime soon, which meant leaving your side. He couldn't have that. What if he took you from your home? That wouldn't be so bad. He could offer you so much more than the lousy job you had.

Leon couldn't lose you. Nothing gave him pleasure in life. The only thing that lessened his dismay was the booze he'd drown in during the late hours and dawns. Seeing you naturally put a smile on his face, and that wasn't an easy task.

Leon needed you. He deserved happiness after all the bullshit he went through on the regular. It was only fair-

"Watch it asshole!"

Leon stood in the middle of the garage, clutching his keys harshly as he stared into the blaring lights of the truck in front of him. The honking had brought him back into reality. "Are you going to keep staring, or are you going to make yourself useful and move out of the way?" The owner of the car barked, peeking his head from the rolled window. Not answering, Leon simply walked ahead, approaching his car slowly. The man retreats into his truck and speeds off.

Leon was just as bad as the others wasn't he?

It was a harsh reality Leon didn't want to acknowledge. Then again, realizing there was a problem was healthier than ignoring it.

"I need a drink" Leon whispered, staring blankly at his steering wheel. Despite the need to chug down the remedy for his confusing emotions, Leon knew he wouldn't. If his sobriety meant your happiness, then he'd never look at another bottle.

For now, he'd live right for you.

[moonlitstoriess]

I have a request if it's possible. Could you write a fanfic or a oneshot about Azriel and the reader being a ballerina and also a shadow singer

When Shadows Waltz- Azriel x fem!reader (oneshot)

Summary: Y/N, a ballerina and Shadowsinger, has spent her life balancing grace and darkness. But when whispers of doubt and cruel words make her question her place, she hides her insecurities from Azriel, not wanting to burden him. Yet, he sees everything—and he won’t let her fall. With patience, love, and a bit of humor, he helps her realize that her shadows don’t ruin her dance—they make it unforgettable.

See masterlist

Warnings: angst, fluff in the end, protective az🤭, mentions of insecurities, some bullying

A/N: Thank you for the request! I didn’t know if you wanted angst or fluff so I incorporated both, hope you enjoy it🥰

The mirrors in the studio reflected everything. Every movement, every misstep. Every flaw.

Y/N stood at the center of the room, her pointe shoes silent against the polished floor. The dim glow of the chandeliers cast long shadows, and hers twisted unnaturally, curling and flickering like smoke. No matter how hard she tried to suppress them, they never truly left her alone.

She exhaled slowly, rolling her shoulders back. Focus.

With practiced precision, she lifted onto pointe, extending her arms in a graceful arc. The motion should have felt effortless, but something was off. Her balance wavered, the weight of unseen eyes pressing against her skin. Not good enough. Not perfect.

Her foot barely faltered, but the mistake rang loud in her mind.

She could still hear the whispers from earlier that day.

“A Shadowsinger dancing ballet? It looks unnatural.”

“She doesn’t belong in a world of elegance.”

“No wonder they only talk about her being Azriel’s mate—what else is she known for?”

Her fingers curled into the fabric of her practice dress. She hated how easily those words found cracks in her armor, how they settled like poison in the back of her mind.

They didn’t matter. They shouldn’t matter.

But they did.

A quiet knock at the door startled her, and before she could gather herself, the very person she didn’t want to see her like this stepped inside.

Azriel.

His shadows slithered in behind him, merging with hers so seamlessly it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began. His piercing hazel eyes took her in—her stiff posture, the tension in her hands, the exhaustion she hadn’t even realized was etched into her face.

She tried to smile. “Hey.”

Azriel didn’t return it. He simply tilted his head, studying her with that sharp, all-seeing gaze. Then, softly—so softly it made her chest ache—he asked,

“What’s wrong?”

Y/N forced a small smile, hoping it would be enough to make him drop the subject. “Nothing’s wrong.”

Azriel didn’t move. Didn’t blink. His stare remained steady, unreadable—but she knew better.

He always saw through her.

A slow tilt of his head. “Try again.”

She sighed, crossing her arms. “How can you even tell something’s wrong? You just got here.”

His lips quirked slightly, but the look he gave her was pure come on now. “You’ve been my mate for nearly a year, love. You really think I don’t notice?”

The warmth in his voice curled around her like a soft ribbon, and despite herself, her heart gave a little flutter. Cauldron save me.

It was so stupid—the way he could unravel her with just a few words, how easily his presence melted through her walls. Even now, with his scarred hands tucked into his pockets and his wings resting at his back, he radiated quiet strength. Calm. Steady. Hers.

And yet—

She still couldn’t bring herself to tell him.

So she smiled a little wider, making sure it reached her eyes this time. “I’m fine, really.”

Azriel didn’t believe her. She could tell by the way his shadows curled around his boots, restless. But she wasn’t giving him the chance to push further.

Before he could open his mouth again, she smoothly changed the subject. “I have my audition tomorrow.”

That worked. His head straightened slightly, some of the tension in his shoulders easing. “For the seasonal performance?”

She nodded, feeling something close to excitement creep past her unease. “It’s a huge opportunity, Az. If I get the role, I’ll be one of the principal dancers for the entire winter season. The main performance is the biggest of the year—leaders from all over the place will come to watch. I need to represent our court in the best way possible.” She hesitated, then admitted, “Your family will be there.”

Azriel’s expression softened. “And you want to impress them.”

“I need to impress them.”

His brows pulled together slightly, but before he could argue, she rushed on. “Feyre is an artist, Nesta trained with Cassian and is basically a Valkyrie now—everyone in your family has accomplished something incredible. I want to prove I belong.”

Azriel stepped closer, lifting a hand to cup her jaw. His touch was featherlight, reverent. “You already impress them, Y/N.”

Her breath caught as he leaned in, brushing the softest kiss against her lips. “You’re more than enough.”

The words should have settled in her chest like a soothing balm. But instead, the weight of her insecurities pressed heavier.

She managed a small smile, even as she whispered, “I still want to get the role.”

Azriel exhaled, his thumb brushing over her cheek. “You will.” His voice was quiet, certain. “Trust me, you will.”

And for a fleeting moment, she let herself believe him.

Y/N let herself sink into the warmth of Azriel’s touch for just a moment before pulling away, forcing herself to focus. “I just need everything to go right,” she murmured, mostly to herself.

Azriel tilted his head slightly. “It will.”

She huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “You sound so sure.”

His lips curved, but his eyes held nothing but certainty. “Because I am.”

Cauldron, how was it so easy for him? To have that unwavering belief in her, even when she wasn’t sure she believed in herself?

Azriel reached for her hand, intertwining their fingers, his grip firm yet gentle. “Come,” he said, leading her toward the small bench by the wall. “Sit with me for a bit.”

She sighed but followed, letting him tug her down beside him. He didn’t say anything at first, just ran his thumb in slow circles over her knuckles. The silence was comfortable, but she knew he was waiting—for her to speak, to confess what was really on her mind.

And she wanted to. She really did.

But the words refused to form, stuck somewhere between pride and fear. If she said them out loud, if she told him about the whispers, the doubt clawing at her chest, then it would make it real.

So instead, she leaned her head against his shoulder and whispered, “I just hope I don’t mess it up.”

Azriel’s wings shifted slightly, his shadows curling around them both like a protective cocoon. “You won’t.”

She sighed, not bothering to argue. He’d just contradict her again with that quiet, unshakable confidence.

After a moment, he spoke again, his voice softer this time. “Do you want me to come watch?”

The question made her heart lurch. “You—you’d come to the audition?”

He turned his head, pressing a kiss to the top of her hair. “Of course.”

Something in her chest squeezed painfully, caught between joy and hesitation. “You don’t have to.”

Azriel huffed a quiet laugh. “I want to.” Then, as if sensing her uncertainty, he added, “But only if you want me there.”

She did. She really did. But—

Y/N swallowed. “I think I’ll be too nervous if you watch.”

Azriel didn’t seem offended. If anything, amusement flickered across his face. “You dance in front of hundreds of fae, but I make you nervous?”

She groaned, shoving his arm. “Don’t say it like that.”

He chuckled, pulling her closer. “Fine. I won’t watch. But I’ll be waiting outside.”

Y/N lifted her head, meeting his gaze. “Really?”

Azriel nodded. “Really.” Then, smirking, he added, “Unless you change your mind and want me front and center.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at her lips. “I think I’ll survive without that pressure, thanks.”

Azriel just hummed, clearly unconvinced. But he didn’t push. Instead, he leaned in, brushing his lips over her cheek, his voice a murmur against her skin. “You’re going to be incredible.”

Y/N closed her eyes, soaking in the warmth of him, the quiet reassurance in his touch.

She wanted to believe him.

But deep down, that familiar doubt still lingered, whispering that maybe, just maybe—

She wasn’t enough.

The sun had barely risen, but Y/N had been awake for hours.

The studio floor had long since warmed beneath her relentless movements. Every turn, every extension, every landing had been drilled into perfection—had to be perfect. She refused to stop.

Azriel had been the one to come and go, appearing like clockwork with food in hand, a quiet reminder in his eyes. “Eat,” he’d say. “Sit for a moment.”

She’d obey, just for a second. Just long enough to take a sip of water, a bite of fruit. But her feet would pull her back onto the floor before she even realized it. Again and again.

At first, Azriel had tried. Tried to coax her into resting, tried to make her breathe. He’d leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching as she pushed herself past exhaustion. A few times, he’d even taken her hand, pulled her to him, murmured against her ear, “Enough for now.”

She never listened.

Eventually, he had sighed, shaking his head as he stepped in front of her. She barely had a moment to react before his lips found hers—a slow, lingering kiss, warm and full of something dangerous. Something that made her knees weaken more than all the training ever could.

When he pulled back, his eyes were softer, but his voice was firm. “Food is packed for you to take in.” He brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I have some things to take care of, but I’ll be there when you come out of the audition.”

Y/N blinked up at him, caught between nerves and something unbearably sweet. “Promise?”

Azriel exhaled, pressing another kiss to her forehead. “You think anything could keep me away?”

Her heart stuttered, warmth spreading in her chest.

Then, with one last glance—one that said please, don’t run yourself into the ground—he left.

Silence settled over the room, broken only by her own breath.

Two hours later, she was sitting on the floor, hair damp and body strained as she stared into her reflection.

An hour later, the auditions would begin.

That realization sent a fresh wave of nerves crashing over her. With a deep inhale, she shook it off, forcing herself to move.

She needed to clean up, get dressed. She needed to leave.

She grabbed the food Azriel had packed, tucked it under her arm, and stepped out the door.

It was time.

Velaris was bathed in afternoon light, the streets alive with warmth and chatter. But Y/N barely noticed any of it.

Her steps were steady, precise, each movement measured like a dancer counting beats in her head. But inside? Her heart pounded, a nervous rhythm she couldn’t quite shake.

She had walked these streets a thousand times before, had spent her life weaving through Velaris’ twisting paths, but today, everything felt off.

Maybe it was the way her shadows curled around her ankles, clinging like wisps of smoke. Normally, they stayed quiet, hidden. But today? Today, they coiled and flickered in the late afternoon light, shifting uneasily as if they could sense her nerves.

She forced herself to breathe, to smooth her expression into something neutral. Calm. Steady. No one else could hear the thoughts racing through her head.

But they could see her.

She felt the stares before she even registered them. Passing merchants, nobles, fae of all kinds—glancing, double-taking, murmuring behind their hands. Some were subtle about it, a flick of the eyes before looking away. Others… not so much.

She supposed she must’ve made quite the sight.

A ballerina dressed in soft pastels—pink tights, a flowy white wrap skirt, a delicate shrug over her leotard—strolling through the streets, framed by shadows as dark as night.

It was almost comical.

She had heard the whispers before, of course. Had caught snippets of conversation when people thought she wasn’t listening.

A Shadowsinger, really? In ballet?

Shouldn’t she be in Illyrian camps instead?

Those shadows make her look unnatural.

She doesn’t belong on that stage.

She clenched her jaw and kept walking.

Azriel would have torn them apart if he’d been here to hear it. He’d spent months convincing her that none of it mattered, that she belonged just as much as any other dancer.

She wanted to believe him. But with every lingering stare, with every quiet murmur as she passed, doubt curled around her ribs like a vice.

By the time she reached the towering glass doors of the audition hall, her chest was tight, her palms clammy despite the cool breeze.

She exhaled sharply, shook out her hands.

It’s fine. You’re fine.

She pushed open the doors and stepped inside.

The waiting room was already full.

Dancers lined the benches, stretching, warming up, adjusting their satin slippers. The air buzzed with quiet tension—whispers of last-minute corrections, murmured prayers, soft hums of concentration.

The floor-to-ceiling windows bathed everything in golden light, making the polished wooden floors gleam. At the far end of the room, a set of doors led to the main audition space, where the judges were already seated, watching the first few candidates perform.

Y/N barely had time to take it all in before she felt it—the stares.

It was subtle at first, the way conversation dipped when she walked past, the way dancers exchanged looks, eyes flicking from her delicate pastel ensemble to the dark tendrils of shadow trailing at her feet.

She swallowed, lifting her chin.

Just get to the changing rooms.

She weaved through the crowd, passing the line of dancers already dressed in pristine costumes. A few were adjusting their hair into perfect buns, fixing smudged makeup, stretching out their limbs. Others were simply watching her.

She could feel their judgment.

It’s funny, isn’t it? she thought bitterly.

A girl like her—draped in pinks and creams, with ribbons laced up her ankles—moving with the grace of a trained ballerina, while shadows slithered at her feet like something out of a nightmare.

Like she was some contradiction that shouldn’t exist.

She tried to act indifferent. She forced herself to walk like she wasn’t being scrutinized, like the weight of their judgment wasn’t pressing into her spine. But inside, her stomach twisted.

She barely let out a breath when she finally reached the changing rooms, slipping inside.

Alone at last.

She pressed her hands against the counter, staring at her reflection in the large mirror.

Her face was composed, expression calm. But her hands—her fingers trembled against the polished marble.

Her shadows curled tighter around her, as if sensing her unease.

She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply.

Just a few more minutes.

Then it would be time.

Y/N sat with her hands folded neatly in her lap, her posture straight despite the way her stomach twisted in knots.

Dancers came and went, each vanishing through the grand doors at the end of the waiting room before reappearing minutes later—some with relieved smiles, others fighting back tears.

Her turn was coming. Soon.

She tried to focus on steadying her breathing, on keeping her shadows from shifting too visibly around her. They were curling tight at her ankles, slithering up her arms like they, too, could sense her nerves.

And then—

“Are you lost?”

The voice was sweet. Mocking.

Y/N turned, already knowing what she’d find.

A group of three female dancers, all in the same pristine white audition attire, stood together near the mirrored wall. Their leader—a tall, elegant blonde—tilted her head, expression full of exaggerated pity.

Y/N forced a calm smile. “No.”

A few of the other dancers nearby had already started whispering.

The blonde raised a brow, looking her over slowly—lingering on her darkened shadows. “You? Ballet?” She let out a high, amused laugh. “I think you might have the wrong building, sweetheart.”

The other two girls behind her giggled.

Y/N kept her shoulders relaxed, her face carefully neutral. “I’m here for the same reason as you.”

The blonde blinked, as if that was the funniest thing she’d heard all day. Then she let out another sharp laugh. “Oh, darling. No, no—you can’t be.”

Y/N clenched her jaw.

“Oh, don’t look so serious.” The girl smirked. “It’s just… well.” She gestured to Y/N’s shadows, which had curled tight at her feet like wary animals. “You don’t exactly fit, do you?”

A sick feeling churned in Y/N’s gut.

The girl leaned in slightly, voice a conspiratorial whisper. “Did you hit your head? Or do you just have some kind of delusional sickness?”

More laughter. More murmurs from the surrounding dancers.

Y/N’s throat felt tight. Don’t react. Don’t let them see it.

She tried to respond, tried to form a retort—but her mind was suddenly blank.

Her shadows flickered uneasily. The blonde just smiled wider. “Oh, sweetheart,” she said softly, like she was so concerned. “It’s not your fault, really. You just weren’t made for this world.”

Y/N felt her hands clench in her lap, her thoughts growing darker, heavier.

And then—

“Y/N.”

Her head snapped up.

A staff member stood by the grand doors, scanning the room with a clipboard in hand. “You’re up next.”

Her heart stopped.

For a moment, she was frozen in place.

Then—slowly, unsurely—she stood.

She could feel their eyes on her as she walked toward the doors. Could hear the hushed snickers, the barely concealed whispers.

Just as she passed, another girl murmured under her breath, just loud enough for her to hear—

“Maybe she’ll trip and vanish in those shadows.”

Her stomach clenched.

But she didn’t stop. She couldn’t.

She stepped through the doors.

The audition stage was massive.

Golden chandeliers hung high above, their light casting a soft glow over the polished wooden floors. The room stretched wide, with sweeping archways and tall, pristine windows that overlooked Velaris.

And at the very front—seated behind a long, curved table—sat the panel of judges.

Five in total.

Their expressions were unreadable as they observed her, hands folded, quills poised.

Y/N swallowed hard.

The reality of it all hit her at once.

This was it.

Her entire career—her dream—was hinging on the next few minutes.

She forced herself to stand tall, to ignore the way her nerves coiled deep in her stomach.

“Whenever you’re ready,” one of the judges said, voice clipped and professional.

She nodded.

The music began.

For the first few moments, everything was fine.

Her muscles knew the movements. She had drilled them into her body a thousand times over. Her limbs extended with precision, her turns were smooth, her leaps controlled.

But then—

The whispers came back.

Not real, but in her head—echoing, clawing.

You don’t belong here.

Those ugly shadows—

Maybe she’ll trip and vanish—

You just weren’t made for this world.

Her rhythm faltered.

Her mind spiraled.

No, no—focus, keep going—

But the doubts were crushing her, strangling her.

And then—

Her foot landed wrong.

A sharp twist of her ankle.

A gasp.

And she was falling.

Hard.

The music cut out instantly.

For a moment, there was nothing but silence.

Y/N stayed where she was—knees against the polished floor, hands shaking, breath ragged.

She didn’t dare look up.

Didn’t dare face the judges.

But then—

“That will be all.”

The cold, detached voice sliced through the air like a knife.

Her head snapped up, eyes wide. “No—please—”

One of the judges, an older fae male, raised a hand. “There’s no need,” he said, his voice edged with boredom. “We’ve seen what we need to see.”

Her chest tightened. “I—please, I’ve been training for five years—”

Another judge, a stern-looking female, scoffed. “And?”

Y/N’s throat burned.

The older fae leaned forward slightly. “Just because you are the Spymaster’s mate,” he said coolly, “and the High Lord’s sister-in-law, does not mean you own this place.”

The words hit her like a slap.

“No, I—” She swallowed, scrambling to find the right words, to fix this—“I don’t think that, I just—”

“You are not fit for this stage,” another judge interrupted, eyes cold. “You have neither the discipline nor the grace required to perform at this level.”

Her heart shattered.

“We will not be moving you forward.” The older judge’s voice was final.

She couldn’t breathe.

Couldn’t move.

“Thank you for your time,” the female judge added, already looking away. “You may go.”

She had no choice.

Numbly, she stood.

She turned.

And she walked.

The moment she stepped back into the waiting room, the whispers started again.

A few of the dancers gave her long, smug looks.

She kept her head down.

She ignored the snickers, the cruel, whispered comments.

Her hands trembled as she grabbed her bag.

Then she turned and all but ran to the changing rooms.

The second the door shut behind her, she let out a shaky breath.

Her mind was spinning. Her heart ached.

What have I done?

Her fingers curled into fists.

She had ruined everything.

She had humiliated herself in front of the most prestigious judges in the city. She had proven every cruel whisper, every doubting stare right.

Her own hatred curled deep inside her, sharp and suffocating.

And then, a single thought struck her.

Azriel.

He was waiting outside.

Waiting for her with that quiet, steady patience. Waiting for her to walk out with a hopeful smile. And she—she had nothing to give him but failure.

Y/N took a deep, shuddering breath.

Then another.

She had exactly five seconds to fix her face before she walked out of this building.

One. She straightened her spine.

Two. She swallowed down the lump in her throat.

Three. She pulled her shoulders back, forcing her body to relax despite the tremors running through her veins.

Four. She curled her lips into the most dazzling, effortless smile she could manage.

Five. She stepped outside.

The cool evening air brushed against her skin, a sharp contrast to the suffocating weight pressing down on her chest.

And there he was.

Azriel stood by the entrance, his wings tucked neatly behind him, his scarred hands loose at his sides—but his entire body radiated the quiet, lethal stillness of a male always waiting, always watching.

The moment his eyes landed on her, something in them shifted.

His shadows stirred.

She knew he felt it. Knew he sensed something was wrong.

She forced herself to smile wider. “Hey, you.”

Azriel’s gaze flickered over her, his expression betraying nothing—except his shadows, which curled tight around his shoulders like wary sentries.

Then, his voice, low and steady: “Why did you close your side of the bond?”

Her breath hitched.

Shit.

She hadn’t expected him to catch onto that so fast.

She let out a soft laugh, waving a hand dismissively. “Oh, that? I just didn’t want to worry you with my constant overthinking.”

His eyes narrowed the slightest bit.

She pressed on, slipping seamlessly into her usual teasing tone. “You know how my mind gets—I was obsessing over little things before the audition, and I figured you didn’t need to deal with that.”

Azriel didn’t respond right away.

Instead, he watched her.

Watched her too closely.

For a second, she thought he might call her out on it—might push past the weak excuse and demand to know the truth.

But then, with a quiet exhale, he reached for her bag. “Nonsense,” he murmured, effortlessly taking it from her grasp.

She let him, knowing better than to argue.

Then, before she could react, his arms were around her—one hand pressing against her back, the other coming up to cradle the back of her head as he tucked her into him.

Y/N nearly broke.

The warmth of him, the quiet strength in the way he held her—it nearly shattered her.

But she couldn’t let it.

She wouldn’t let it.

So instead, she melted into him, resting her cheek against his chest and breathing in the familiar scent of night-chilled wind and cedar.

Azriel pressed a kiss to the top of her head, his lips lingering for just a second longer than usual. “Promise me you won’t do that again.”

She blinked. “Do what?”

His grip on her tightened. “Close your side of the bond like that.”

Y/N swallowed hard.

“I was ready to break in just to make sure you were safe,” he murmured, his voice quieter now. “Don’t do that to me again, love.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. He can’t know. He can’t know.

When she finally spoke, her voice was light. Playful. “Az, you’re being dramatic.”

His arms didn’t loosen.

She tipped her head back just enough to meet his gaze, mustering up a soft smile. “I’m fine. See? Perfectly fine.”

Azriel studied her.

For a long moment, he said nothing.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, he exhaled through his nose and finally, finally released her—though his hand lingered on the small of her back as they started walking.

They moved in comfortable silence for a bit, the cool night air wrapping around them.

And then—

“So,” Azriel said, his tone light, casual. “How did it go?”

Y/N froze.

Only for a fraction of a second.

But he noticed.

Of course he noticed.

Her heart hammered against her ribs, but she forced her body to remain loose, her expression to remain bright.

Then she laughed, shaking her head as if amused. “Oh, it went great.”

Azriel glanced at her. “Yeah?”

She nodded eagerly. “Yeah. I can’t wait to see the results. They said the decisions will be out in two weeks, so…” She trailed off, shrugging. “Now it’s just a waiting game.”

Azriel was still watching her.

She felt his eyes on her, felt the way his shadows curled subtly closer.

She knew what he was doing—trying to read her body, her breathing, her heartbeat.

So she made sure they all remained steady.

She had years of training in deception. She could fake confidence, fake nonchalance—hell, she could fake a damn performance if needed.

And right now, she needed Azriel to believe her.

Because if he didn’t—if he so much as suspected—

Az hummed. “So they didn’t give any immediate feedback?”

She shook her head. “Nope. Just the usual ‘thank you for your time, we’ll be in touch.’”

His brows furrowed slightly. “That’s standard?”

“Very,” she assured him.

Another hum. “And you feel good about it?”

She beamed. “I do.”

Azriel didn’t speak for a long moment.

Y/N’s stomach clenched.

Please let this work. Please believe me.

Finally—

“Well,” he said, his voice softer now. “Then I guess we wait.”

She let out a small breath of relief, nodding.

Azriel gave her a sidelong glance. “But just so you know…”

She raised a brow. “Hmm?”

His free hand reached for hers, fingers threading together effortlessly.

“I don’t need to hear the results to already be proud of you.”

Her throat tightened.

Her nails dug into her palm.

She forced herself to smile. “You’re sweet.”

Azriel only squeezed her hand. “You’re mine.”

For a split second, the weight in her chest almost lifted.

But then she remembered—

The failure.

The fall.

The cold, dismissive words of the judges.

You are not fit for this stage.

And just like that, the crushing guilt came surging back.

So Y/N just held onto his hand a little tighter.

And she kept smiling.

Azriel insisted on making dinner, saying she should relax after the audition.

And so here he was, moving around the kitchen like it was his second home, the rhythmic chopping of vegetables mingling with the sizzle of something cooking in the pan. Y/N sat at the table, silently watching him, trying her best to keep her expression neutral. She didn’t want him to see through the mask she was wearing, didn’t want him to know how much she was falling apart on the inside.

“You’re being quiet,” Azriel said, not looking up from his work.

Y/N smiled tightly. “Just tired.”

He paused, his gaze flickering to her from over his shoulder. She caught the way his brow furrowed slightly, but he didn’t say anything—just went back to what he was doing, humming softly as he worked.

Azriel was always calm, always steady, and she found it both soothing and maddening. He could sense things—things she wasn’t always ready to confront—and she hated how well he knew her. But tonight, she wouldn’t let him see. She couldn’t.

She reached for her glass of water, her hand trembling just slightly. She was sure he’d notice. But he didn’t. He was focused on the dinner, and for a moment, she let herself relax into the normalcy of the moment, the small relief of not having to pretend she was somewhere else, someone else.

When he finally brought dinner to the table, Y/N forced herself to smile and thank him. She even complimented him on the food, but she could feel him watching her, his eyes scanning her every move, trying to figure out what was wrong.

Azriel didn’t ask any questions yet, but Y/N could sense the storm brewing behind his calm façade. He always knew when she wasn’t okay.

They ate in silence for a few moments, the clink of silverware the only sound between them. Her mind was elsewhere, far from the meal in front of her, as the words from her audition echoed through her thoughts.

“You’ve been quiet all evening,” Azriel said again, this time his voice much softer.

Y/N blinked and met his gaze. He was studying her, his brow slightly furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line. He was worried—she could feel it, even if he didn’t say the words out loud.

“I’m just thinking,” she replied, trying to keep the tremor out of her voice.

“About the audition?” he asked, his voice casual but with an undercurrent of concern.

Y/N hesitated. Should she lie? Pretend that everything was fine? Or should she admit it—admit how awful it had gone?

But before she could answer, he reached across the table, his hand covering hers. His thumb brushed along her skin, warm and reassuring.

“You don’t have to pretend with me,” he said quietly.

She sucked in a breath, her heart pounding in her chest. The warmth of his hand almost made her break, almost made her say it all, but she couldn’t. She wouldn’t.

“I’m fine, Azriel,” she said, her voice soft but firm. “Really.”

He didn’t believe her, she could see it in his eyes, but he didn’t push. Not yet.

He nodded slowly, his eyes not leaving hers. “If you say so.”

But there was an edge in his tone—one that made her heart sink a little further.

Dinner passed quietly after that. They talked about trivial things, Azriel asking her about her plans for the next few days, but it all felt distant to her. As if the words were just background noise, and her mind was somewhere else, drowning in everything she was trying to bury.

Finally, when the meal was over, Azriel cleared the table, his movements sharp, precise. Y/N stayed seated, her fingers picking at the edge of her napkin, twisting it nervously.

“You know,” he said, his back still to her as he loaded dishes into the sink, “you don’t have to keep things from me.”

Y/N’s chest tightened. She looked down at her hands, trying to keep her face composed.

“I’m not keeping anything from you,” she said, her voice a little too high.

Azriel paused, his back still turned, but his posture was stiff now. “You’re lying.”

Y/N bit her lip, her heart thudding in her chest. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t break. Not in front of him. Not when he had already given her everything—his trust, his heart. She couldn’t disappoint him.

“Azriel,” she started, her voice trembling just slightly. “Please, just… don’t worry about me. I’m fine. I swear.”

He turned to face her, his expression unreadable, but his eyes… they were full of that quiet, relentless concern that always seemed to follow her.

“You don’t have to be strong all the time, Y/N.” His voice was almost a whisper, like he was afraid to push her too far. “Not with me.”

For a heartbeat, they just stared at each other, the space between them charged with unsaid words.

Finally, Y/N forced a smile—one that she hoped was convincing enough to fool him. “I know,” she said softly. “But right now, I just need a little time, okay?”

Azriel didn’t respond at first. He studied her for a long moment, as if trying to decide whether or not he should press her further. But then, with a soft sigh, he nodded.

“I’m here when you’re ready to talk,” he said quietly.

Y/N smiled again, though this time it felt more like a mask than anything real.

“I know.”

But inside, the walls she’d spent so long building were crumbling, piece by piece, and no matter how hard she tried to hold them up, she knew it wouldn’t be much longer before they all came down.

She just hoped Azriel wouldn’t be the one to see it happen.

Not yet.

Not while she was still pretending.

The next evening, when Azriel came home, he was expecting nothing more than the usual quiet, the calm of his home and his bondmate waiting for him. What he hadn’t expected was to find Y/N sitting on the couch, her posture rigid, her eyes staring blankly at the wall.

His heart immediately sank at the sight. Something was off—he could feel it in his chest, that strange, unsettling tightness that always came when Y/N was hurting. He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him softly, not wanting to startle her.

“Y/N?” His voice was tentative, but there was an underlying current of concern.

She didn’t respond right away, and the silence stretched between them like a fragile thread. He walked closer, his eyes scanning her face. She looked… exhausted, drained, as if the weight of the world was pressing down on her. He crouched beside her, tilting his head to catch her eyes.

“Love, are you okay?” he asked softly.

Y/N blinked and finally turned her gaze to him. There was something in her eyes—something that made him take an instinctive step back.

“I’m fine,” she said, the words too quick, too rehearsed.

Azriel studied her for a moment longer before sitting down next to her, his tone shifting, more serious. “You don’t have to lie to me, Y/N. What’s going on?”

She didn’t meet his eyes again, her gaze dropping to her hands, folded neatly in her lap. The stillness in her was unnatural, and the shadows around them seemed to pulse with tension. Azriel’s brows furrowed as he let out a quiet sigh, his instincts kicking in.

He didn’t press her at first—he’d learned by now to give her space—but the questions came slowly, each one a little heavier than the last. “How was your day?”

“Fine.” Her voice cracked slightly, but she recovered quickly.

“Did you think about the results?”

“Not really, as I said the audition went well” she answered too quickly, her voice tight.

Azriel paused, his eyes narrowing slightly. She was hiding something, and the silence between them was thick with the knowledge that he wouldn’t be satisfied until he got the truth. “Really?”

She nodded, but her breath hitched ever so slightly, the only sign that something was wrong.

Azriel’s gaze softened, but his suspicion grew, and it was in that moment, when the quiet stretched on just a little too long, that the final thread snapped. He couldn’t hold back anymore. He had to know. He had to confront whatever this was.

He leaned in slightly, his voice hardening with a cold edge. “That’s why you tripped and fell during your audition yesterday?”

Y/N froze, her eyes widening, her body stiffening. The breath in her lungs caught. She hadn’t expected him to know that. Hadn’t expected him to have seen through the lies she’d told herself, the façade she’d built to protect herself.

“How do you know that?” Her voice was small, trembling with the weight of the question.

Azriel’s gaze darkened, his anger simmering just below the surface. He didn’t let her answer before he spoke again. “I knew something was up the moment you stepped out of those doors. I couldn’t just sit around pondering what was wrong with you. My shadows did their job well and brought me all I needed to know.”

Y/N’s mouth fell open in disbelief. “From the… the start?”

Azriel’s jaw clenched, his fists tightening in barely contained rage. “Yes. From the moment those bastards bullied you.” His words were venomous, and Y/N could see the raw anger in his eyes. “I know exactly what they said. The venom they spilled at you…” His voice trailed off, trembling with rage.

Y/N stood up abruptly, her hands shaking. “You had no right!” she exclaimed, her voice rising in anger and desperation.

Azriel stood, his body tense with rage, his eyes dark as shadows swirled around him. “No right?” He took a step forward, his voice rising with every word, a dangerous edge creeping in. “NO RIGHT?! Those bastards were bullying you, Y/N, and you didn’t say a thing?! You didn’t tell me what they said, didn’t let me help you—didn’t let me protect you?”

Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, her shoulders shaking. Her voice cracked, the raw emotion spilling out in a flood of hurt and frustration. “I couldn’t, Azriel! I couldn’t—don’t you get it? I couldn’t bring myself to tell you! I’ve been… I’ve been hiding this from you because I didn’t want to burden you. I didn’t want to be weak. I didn’t want to show you how broken I am. How useless I am…”

She stumbled backward, shaking her head in a frantic movement, her chest tight as she gasped for breath. “I’m just… I’m just not good enough! I’m not strong enough! I fail, every time. I failed at the audition, Azriel! I’m never going to be good enough for this world, for you! Don't you see the stares? Hear the whispers? No one thinks I'm worthy enough, no one..."

Her words came in a rush, all the broken pieces of herself spilling out in one chaotic moment. “The shadows—the way they looked at me, the way they whispered behind my back. They were right, Azriel. They were right about me. I’m nothing, I’m just…” She choked on her words, her knees buckling as she collapsed onto the couch again, her face buried in her hands.

Azriel’s heart clenched painfully in his chest as he stepped forward, his anger now replaced with an aching sadness. His voice was gentle but firm as he knelt beside her, reaching out to take her trembling hands in his. “Don’t you ever say that about yourself. You hear me? Don’t you ever say that again.”

Y/N shook her head violently, her tears pouring freely now. “I’ve failed so many times, Azriel. Every time I try, I trip, I fall, I let everyone down. The shadows—they don’t even care about me. They—”

Azriel grabbed her shoulders, forcing her to look at him, his eyes filled with a depth of emotion she hadn’t seen before. His voice was a low, raw growl. “They were wrong. Every damn thing they said was wrong. You are good enough. You are strong enough. And I’ll be damned if I let you talk about yourself like this again.”

Y/N gasped, her heart pounding in her chest. Her lips trembled as she tried to speak, but all that came out was a broken sob.

Azriel’s jaw clenched, his gaze searching hers, desperation in his eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you trust me?”

She pulled away from him, her hands shaking as she wiped at her tears. “Because I couldn’t bear the thought of you seeing me like this. Of you seeing how weak I am. I thought I could handle it, that I could be enough on my own, but I’m not. I’m not…”

Azriel’s gaze softened, and he cupped her face in his hands, his thumb brushing over the tear tracks on her cheeks. His voice was soft but unwavering. “You are enough, Y/N. Don’t ever believe otherwise. You are stronger than anyone I know, and I’m so damn proud of you. Don’t you dare let anyone tell you otherwise.”

Her sobs subsided, but the rawness of her insecurities still lingered between them, like an invisible barrier. Azriel leaned forward, his voice low but firm. “Names.”

Y/N shook her head, her breath coming in ragged gasps. “Please, Azriel. Don’t do this.”

“I already know who they are,” he replied, his voice calm but insistent. “But I need to hear you say it. Confirm it. Please.”

She hesitated, then, with great reluctance, she whispered the names of some of those she knew of who had bullied her previously, each one a dagger to her heart.

Azriel nodded, his face unreadable as he absorbed the information. When she finished, he reached for her, pulling her into his arms once more. She let herself sink into him, her heart breaking, her trust growing just a little bit stronger with each passing moment.

“I won’t let them get away with this,” he whispered fiercely into her hair, his voice promising more than words could say. “But I need you to promise me something.”

“What?” she whispered back, barely able to speak through the tears.

He pulled back, cupping her face, his expression firm. “Swear to me that you won’t hide anything from me again. No more lies, no more keeping things from me. Keep the bond open, always. Promise me, Y/N.”

Her eyes met his, a flicker of hesitation passing through her, but in the end, she nodded. “I promise.”

Azriel’s face softened, but the resolve in his eyes remained. “And don’t you ever doubt yourself again,” he whispered, pressing his forehead against hers. “You’re worth everything, Y/N. Don’t you ever forget that.”

As the two of them stood there, lost in their embrace, something shifted between them. The pain, the secrets, the walls—they weren’t gone, but they were no longer insurmountable. And for the first time in a long time, Y/N allowed herself to believe that maybe, just maybe, she was enough.

The days that followed the confrontation were quieter, more contemplative, but no less intense. Y/N struggled with her shadows, each day finding new cracks in her confidence, but each day, Azriel stood by her, watching in the background, patiently waiting for her to let him in.

It started with the small moments, those subtle acts of care that made her feel seen without being smothered. She had always been strong, had always prided herself on standing on her own, but now, after everything, the thought of dancing again seemed like an insurmountable mountain. The audition failure had knocked her harder than she’d let on. And the cruel words, the judgment she’d faced, were still echoing in her mind. She wasn’t sure if she could go back to the barre, could go back to the thing that had once been her escape.

But Azriel wouldn’t let her hide from it.

“You don’t have to do this all at once,” he’d say quietly, stepping into the room when he sensed she was lost in the shadows of her mind, the world outside muted in her silence. “Take it slow. But don’t quit. Don’t let them win.”

Y/N would look at him with that guarded expression, not wanting to admit how much she wanted to run. Not wanting to show him how weak she felt.

But he was patient. He’d never push too hard, never rush her into something she wasn’t ready for. Instead, he’d talk to her about anything else—about the weather, about his training, about the little things that made her smile—until, gradually, the conversation would shift, and the quiet moments would fill the space between them.

Then one day, when she was too tired to pretend she wasn’t aching, he sat across from her as she wrapped her shoes.

“You still want to do this,” Azriel said quietly, watching her with a gaze that spoke volumes. “Don’t hide from it.”

Y/N didn’t look up. “I don’t know if I can,” she whispered.

Azriel stood, moving closer without a word. He didn’t touch her, didn’t crowd her space, but his presence was soothing, a gentle reminder that she wasn’t alone in this. His shadows, ever loyal to him, surrounded her, their warmth seeping into her own. “You can,” he replied simply, his voice carrying that deep, unwavering certainty that made her chest tighten.

His words weren’t demanding, weren’t pressuring. It was more of an invitation.

Slowly, Y/N laced her shoes, her hands trembling just slightly, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t. Not with him standing there, not with the strength in his eyes watching her like she was the only thing that mattered.

“Let me help you,” Azriel said, his tone low, intimate. “Let me help you heal, one step at a time.”

She didn’t answer immediately, but she didn’t need to. His quiet persistence was enough, and it settled into her bones, wrapping around her like a familiar cloak.

And so, the days passed. Each one a little easier than the last. Azriel’s presence was constant—he didn’t force her, didn’t push her, but his quiet admiration, his praise when she succeeded, built her back up in ways words alone couldn’t. Every small improvement, every hesitant movement, was a victory in his eyes.

Whenever she danced, whenever she felt the weight of doubt try to settle in, she’d sense his presence in the room. He was always there, hidden in the shadows, watching, waiting. His shadows moved with hers, always in sync, always intertwined in a dance of their own, a silent exchange of trust and understanding.

His admiration for her wasn’t in loud declarations or grand gestures. It was in the little things. In the way his shadows would curl around her when she hesitated, steadying her when she almost fell. In the way his eyes softened every time she let herself lose control, the way he made sure she always felt seen, even when she thought no one was watching.

One evening, after another failed attempt at perfecting a pirouette, Y/N huffed in frustration, stepping back from the barre. Her muscles ached, her body exhausted from the constant battle to get back to where she once was.

Azriel didn’t speak right away. Instead, he walked up to her, his gaze unwavering. He was always watching, always noticing.

“You know,” he began, his voice low, teasing just slightly, “your shadows were in perfect sync with mine tonight.” He smirked, his eyes glinting with a playful edge. “It’s almost like they know what you’re capable of, even if you don’t.”

Y/N looked up at him, her breath caught in her chest. She opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out.

“I’ve been watching you,” he continued, his voice softer now, more earnest. “You have something no one else does, Y/N. Your strength—your heart—it’s what makes you beautiful, and it’s what makes you powerful. And every time you step back into that studio, you show me a little more of who you are.”

His words were simple, but they struck her in ways she couldn’t explain. She felt her heart pound in her chest, the raw emotion of his praise and support slowly melting away the remnants of the fear and doubt that had clouded her for so long.

Y/N took a deep breath and nodded, her gaze meeting his, no longer afraid to hold it. “I’ll try again,” she said softly.

Azriel’s smile was small but full of pride. He stepped back, his shadows still lingering around her. “I know you will. And when you do, I’ll be here.”

Every step she took, every movement she made, she could feel his presence at her side, not as a crutch but as the support she didn’t know she needed. And for the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel so alone in the dance.

The healing was slow, but it was real. Each moment, each word, each look from Azriel was a step toward rebuilding the confidence she had lost. She wasn’t just getting back to where she was—she was becoming something more. Something stronger. Something she didn’t think was possible. And with Azriel by her side, she knew that, no matter what came next, she wasn’t going to give up. Not anymore.

Azriel paced through the streets of Velaris, each step heavy with anger. His thoughts churned, his mind unwilling to leave the image of Y/N from earlier that morning. She had smiled, but it hadn't reached her eyes. She was trying to hide it again, pretending like everything was fine when it was anything but.

His shadows swirled around him, agitated by his own tension. They could feel his fury, his frustration, and his desperate need to protect her, even if she didn't fully understand it herself.

She had tried to hide it from him. She thought he didn't know about the insults— the cruel words those judges had spat at her.

She thought he couldn't see it in her eyes, in the way she held herself, the way she moved now as if she was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders.

And it made him seethe with rage.

The anger that had been simmering inside him ever since she had confided in him about what happened during the audition was reaching a boiling point. He had promised her. He had sworn not to act. But how the hell was he supposed to keep that promise when the world-these people-had done this to her?

He clenched his fists, feeling the ache in his bones, the frustration gnawing at him. The female he cared about, the one he loved, the one he wanted to see succeed, was broken in ways that no one could understand. No one except him.

And all he wanted to do was rip apart the world that had done this to her.

He felt the weight of his own limitations pressing down on him. He was a warrior, a spymaster-he was trained to eliminate threats, to take down anyone who stood in his way. But this... this was different. This wasn't some battle he could fight on a battlefield. It was a war waged on the heart, and it made him feel helpless, more than he had ever felt before.

He was so fucking angry. Angry at them for humiliating her. Angry at himself for not noticing sooner. Angry that she thought she could bear this burden alone, hiding it from him.

But that was going to change. He couldn't keep his promise. Not when he knew what they had done. Not when he knew the damage they'd caused. He could feel it in every fiber of his being-this deep, primal need to protect her from everything that wanted to break her down. He was done standing by.

Done pretending that he didn't see the cracks in her.

Done watching her hide from the truth.

He was going to make them pay. Every last one of them.

The judges' gathering was held in the home of one of the higher-ranking members, a large, lavish place that screamed of power and authority. As soon as Azriel winnowed himself in, the room fell silent. His presence was enough to make everyone freeze. He could feel their eyes on him, the shock radiating from their faces. They weren't expecting him, weren't prepared for someone like him to walk in.

They had no idea what they were dealing with.

eyes cutting through the air like a blade. He didn't say a word, his silence hanging heavy in the room, suffocating. He could feel his shadows coiling tighter around him, his anger leaking into the atmosphere like a dangerous storm.

"Spymaster," one of them said, his voice barely a whisper, fear seeping through.

Azriel didn't respond. He took a step forward, the air growing colder with every inch he moved. "You know why I'm here," he said, his voice low, dangerous, a growl rumbling in his chest.

The head judge, a man whose face Azriel recognized all too well from the reports, shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "I don't-"

"You don't?" Azriel interrupted, his voice laced with venom. "You don't remember insulting her? Belittling her? Telling her she wasn't good enough?”

The room went silent, the judges exchanging nervous glances. None of them dared to speak. They all knew exactly who he was talking about. They all knew exactly who he meant.

"Y/N," Azriel spat the name like it was poison, but the force of it sent a shiver down their spines. "You remember her, don't you?"

They swallowed hard, eyes darting around as if trying to find an escape. But there was no escape. Not from him.

"You made her feel like she wasn't worthy.

Like she wasn't good enough to be there," Azriel continued, his voice rising with each word. "You made her doubt herself. And I swear to the gods, if I hear any more of that bullshit from you, you won't live to regret it. If you ever so much as think about doing that to her again, I will make sure you regret it with every breath you take."

The judges were visibly shaken now, the threat clear in Azriel’s voice, but still, they tried to deny it. “We— We were just doing our job,” one of them stammered.

Azriel’s cold smile made the hairs on the back of their necks stand on end. “Your job? Your job was to make her feel small? Your job was to crush her spirit? Tell me, what part of that is ‘just doing your job’?”

One of the judges tried to stand up, but Azriel was faster. In a heartbeat, he grabbed him by the throat, lifting him off the ground. “You’re going to listen to me very carefully, and you’re going to do exactly what I say,” Azriel growled, his voice dripping with menace. “You’re going to redo the audition. Only for her. You’re going to send a letter, and you’re going to call her back here. And when she walks through that door, you’re going to praise her performance. You’re going to tell her she has what it takes. You’re going to give her the chance she deserves.”

The man was gasping for breath, his eyes wide with panic as he choked on his words. “Y-yes… yes, we’ll do it,” he croaked, but Azriel wasn’t done yet.

“You better,” Azriel hissed, tightening his grip just enough to send the message. “And if you don’t… I will come for every one of you. I’ll start with your families. Your children. Your wives. I’ll make sure every single person in this room knows exactly what it means to cross me.”

The man whimpered, his hands clawing at Azriel’s wrist in a futile attempt to break free. “We… we’ll do it. Just let me go…”

Azriel’s eyes darkened, his expression chilling. He released the man, letting him crumple to the floor, gasping for air. He turned to the others. “Do you all understand?”

They nodded, fear and desperation written across their faces.

Azriel’s gaze swept over them one last time, making sure they understood just how close they had come to losing everything. “If any of you try to play this off as something else, if you try to twist the truth, I will come back. And next time, I won’t be as merciful.”

He turned, leaving them in the silence of his threat. As he stepped out of the house, his shadows coiled around him, a dark presence that was both comforting and deadly.

He had kept his promise to Y/N. For now. But Azriel knew there was no stopping the fury that had been unleashed. He would protect her. He would always protect her. And anyone who tried to hurt her would regret it—deeply.

Feyre’s studio—her space in Velaris—was warm, filled with the scent of fresh paint and the faintest trace of lavender from the candles she had lit. Sunlight streamed through the wide windows, casting a golden glow over the half-finished paintings scattered across the room. It was peaceful. A quiet retreat from the weight of the world.

Y/N ran her fingers over the rim of a cup of tea, listening as Feyre hummed while mixing colors on her palette. They had been talking about nothing in particular—just idle chatter about a new piece Feyre was working on, how the city had been lately, and Y/N’s attempts to distract herself from the gnawing disappointment still lingering in her chest.

She had been getting better. She had been trying to move on from the humiliation of that audition. Feyre, as always, had been patient and kind, giving her space to talk but never pressing when she didn’t want to.

Y/N was about to respond to something Feyre said when the door swung open, and a familiar, commanding presence filled the room.

Azriel.

Her heart skipped, a warmth blooming in her chest the second their eyes met.

“High Lady,” he greeted Feyre smoothly, giving a respectful nod.

And, Cauldron boil her, Y/N knew she was hopelessly in love with this male the moment his expression shifted. The moment that cold, unreadable mask softened as his gaze found hers.

She went all mushy, as Feyre had put it before, whenever he did that. She hated how accurate it was.

“Az,” she breathed, already moving toward him before she could think twice about it.

He caught her the second she was within reach, his arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her into his chest. Y/N melted into him, pressing her face into his shoulder, inhaling the familiar scent of night-chilled wind and cedar.

Home.

She felt his lips press a kiss to the top of her head before he pulled back slightly, his hazel eyes warm with something unreadable. “I missed you.”

A smile curled on her lips. “Where were you all day?”

Azriel hummed, running a hand down her back as he gave a nonchalant answer. “Handling some things.”

“Secret spymaster things?” she teased, tilting her head up at him.

His lips twitched, but he didn’t confirm or deny it. Instead, he leaned down, brushing his nose against hers before pressing a soft kiss to her lips. “You didn’t need to miss me. I’m always here.”

Y/N sighed, wrapping her arms around his neck, enjoying the quiet moment of just them. “Sap.”

He chuckled, pressing another lingering kiss against her temple. “Only for you.”

Feyre, being the saint that she was, took that as her cue to excuse herself. “I’ll just—give you two a moment,” she muttered, already heading toward the back of the room.

Y/N barely acknowledged her leaving. She was too busy soaking in the rare gentleness of the male before her.

But then—

A hesitant voice called out from the hallway. “Uh…Az?”

Feyre had just returned, but she wasn’t looking at them. She was looking past them, toward the entrance of the studio, her brows raised in confusion. “Did you bring… all those females into my hallway?”

Y/N blinked, pulling away slightly from Azriel’s hold.

Feyre continued, looking increasingly concerned. “I mean, I don’t want to sound judgy, but they’re bound in your shadows. And there are like… fifteen of them.”

Y/N froze.

She turned fully, stepping out of Azriel’s embrace to look at him properly. “What?”

Azriel sighed. Not in regret. Not in guilt. But in the sort of way that said, I knew this was coming.

And then, he turned to her with a small, knowing smile. “Yes.”

Y/N’s stomach dropped.

Azriel took her hands, his thumbs running over her knuckles. “And they will all apologize.” His voice lowered, his lips brushing against her forehead. “They will beg on their knees for your forgiveness.”

Feyre choked. “Forgiveness? What—what the hell is going on?”

Azriel, ever so casually, replied, “Nothing you need to worry about.”

Y/N’s heart hammered in her chest. “Az,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, shaking her head. “No. Please.”

His hands cupped her face, his thumbs tilting her chin up as he leaned in, pressing another soft, deliberate kiss against her lips. It wasn’t hurried. It wasn’t desperate. It was firm. Resolute.

When he pulled back, his hazel eyes burned with unwavering determination. “No,” he murmured against her lips. “You need this.”

Y/N’s breath caught.

Azriel turned to Feyre, his voice returning to its usual icy calm. “Stay here.”

Then, without another word, he led Y/N to the hallway.

And there they were.

Fifteen females, all bound by thick, writhing shadows, their wrists locked together, their ankles bound. Some of them were trembling, silent tears streaking their faces. Others looked frozen in fear, their lips parted, as if they wanted to speak but couldn’t.

Y/N could barely breathe.

Azriel didn’t hesitate. His shadows curled tighter around the females as he spoke, his voice dark, merciless.

“Now,” he said, loudly enough for everyone to hear. “Get in line.”

The shadows obeyed, shifting, forcing them into a single row.

Azriel stepped forward, his wings partially flaring as a cruel smirk played at his lips.

“One by one,” he drawled, “each of you will take turns begging for my mate’s forgiveness.”

Y/N stared at him, shock rippling through her entire body.

And she had no idea what to say.

The air was suffocating.

Y/N stood frozen as the first female, the moment Azriel’s shadows slithered away from her wrists, collapsed to her knees in front of her.

The thud of her body hitting the marble floor echoed through the hallway.

“I—I’m sorry,” the female gasped, tears streaming down her face, her voice breaking with desperation. “Please—please, I take it back. I take it all back.”

Y/N’s breath caught. Her fingers twitched at her sides, her gut instinct screaming at her to take a step back, to shake her head, to tell her that it was fine—

Azriel’s hand came to rest on her forearm, a quiet, grounding touch.

She turned to him, her wide eyes meeting his. His expression was unreadable, his jaw set, his wings tucked behind him like a warrior standing guard. A silent message passed between them.

Do not give in. Do not let them escape the weight of what they did.

And maybe—maybe he was right.

Maybe these people, these females who had mocked her, who had shamed her, who had torn apart something she had poured her entire soul into—maybe they should feel this. Maybe they should know what it was like to have the world force you onto your knees, to feel helpless, to feel humiliated.

So she swallowed hard, ignored the burn in her throat, and slowly, slowly, she gave the smallest nod.

And then the next female fell.

Then the next.

And the next.

One by one, they dropped before her, sobbing, stammering out apologies that all blurred together.

We didn’t mean it. We were just talking. Please, please, I swear, we didn’t think— Forgive me, I was wrong, I was wrong!

Y/N watched, her fingers trembling, as they all crumbled. As they begged.

The last one, the one who had humiliated her the worst, remained standing.

Azriel’s shadows didn’t let her go.

Her lips were pressed into a thin line, her shoulders shaking as she forced herself to meet Y/N’s gaze. Unlike the others, she wasn’t crying.

But she was afraid.

And Azriel?

He smirked.

His voice was low, a whisper of lethal amusement. “Oh? Nothing to say?”

The female’s jaw clenched. She was shaking, her hands curled into fists at her sides. Y/N could see the war raging behind her eyes—her pride battling with the absolute terror of what he would do to her if she didn’t submit.

Azriel stepped forward. His movements were slow, calculated, the air around them darkening as his shadows curled along the floor like ink spreading through water.

“I remember you,” he murmured, tilting his head as if studying prey caught in a snare. “You had so much to say that day. So many things to mock, so many insults to throw.”

His smirk sharpened.

“Say them now.”

The female visibly swallowed. “I—”

She didn’t get to finish.

Azriel was suddenly inches from her, his hand gripping her chin with a deceptively gentle hold. His wings flared slightly, his breath a ghost of a whisper against her skin.

“No?” he purred, mock surprise lacing his tone. “Why not? Where is that sharp tongue of yours now?”

The female’s body trembled, her knees visibly weakening, but she remained standing.

Azriel’s fingers pressed in just a fraction tighter, forcing her to look at him. “Do you know what happens to people who insult what belongs to me?”

Y/N shivered at the quiet, lethal promise in his voice.

The female finally cracked. A soft whimper escaped her lips.

And then—Azriel’s shadows dropped her.

She hit the floor with a painful gasp, and before Y/N could react, she was crawling forward, her hands gripping the fabric of Y/N’s dress as she bowed before her.

“I—I was wrong,” the female choked out. “I was so wrong. Please. Please, forgive me.”

Y/N could only stare.

Azriel stood behind her, looming like a shadowed god. His voice was pure ice as he spoke.

“Beg louder.”

The female’s body trembled violently as she clutched Y/N’s dress, her fingers digging into the fabric like it was the only thing keeping her upright.

“Please,” she choked out, her voice raw. “I—I was wrong, I—”

Azriel’s cold, deadly voice cut through the air like a blade.

"Louder."

The female flinched, her breath hitching. Y/N’s heart pounded as she stared down at the woman who had torn her apart just days ago, who had laughed at her, who had made her feel like she was nothing.

Now, that same woman was crawling at her feet.

Y/N’s hands trembled at her sides. This—this was too much. This wasn’t her. She didn’t need this.

But hadn’t she dreamed of this moment?

Hadn’t she imagined looking into their faces, imagined hearing them admit what they had done? That they had crushedher? Hadn’t she wanted this?

A twisted part of her, buried deep inside, relished it.

Not for the power.

Not for revenge.

But because for once—for once—she wasn’t the one who had to bend.

She wasn’t the one forced to apologize for simply existing.

Azriel moved beside her, his warmth grounding her in the storm of emotions raging inside her. His wings cast a shadow over them both as he crouched, his voice nothing but a whisper laced with deadly amusement.

"I told you to beg louder."

The female sobbed. “Please! I was wrong! I—” Her voice cracked as she practically collapsed lower, pressing her forehead to the floor at Y/N’s feet. “I was cruel. I am the worthless one, not you! I take it back! I take all my words back! I—I didn’t mean it. I swear. I swear, I didn’t mean it—”

Y/N inhaled sharply.

Didn’t mean it?

No. That was a lie.

They meant it.

They had enjoyed it.

They had looked her in the eye and mocked the thing she loved most, had seen her hurt and laughed.

And now?

Now they were just scared.

They weren’t sorry for what they did.

They were sorry that Azriel had made them face it.

The realization hit her like a crashing wave, stealing the breath from her lungs.

She turned to him, her fingers instinctively reaching for his.

He was already watching her.

His hazel eyes softened—not with pity, but with understanding.

And that was when she realized—

This wasn’t just about making them beg. This was about giving her the choice. The power had always been in their hands.

Now, it was in hers.

Her gaze flickered back down to the female, still crying at her feet.

A beat of silence passed.

Then, Y/N took a slow step back, pulling herself from the woman’s grasp.

The female’s sobs quieted.

Y/N straightened her spine, letting the tension bleed from her limbs. Then, with a voice steady and calm—her voice, not Azriel’s, not anyone else’s—she spoke.

"Get up."

The female’s breath hitched.

Y/N arched a brow. "I said, get up."

Slowly, hesitantly, the woman obeyed, wiping at her tear-streaked face as she stood.

Y/N met her gaze, unwavering. “You’re not sorry for what you did.” Her voice was quiet but firm. “You’re sorry for what happened because of it.”

The woman opened her mouth—probably to protest, probably to claim she was sorry—but one look from Azriel had her shutting it immediately.

Y/N exhaled.

“I don’t need your apologies,” she continued. “They don’t change what you did. They don’t change how you made me feel.”

Her nails curled into her palms.

“I don’t forgive you.”

A flicker of something crossed the woman’s face—humiliation, maybe. But Y/N didn’t care.

“You can leave now,” Y/N said simply.

She saw Azriel’s shadows twitch—as if they didn’t want to let them go—but at her command, they loosened.

One by one, the females scrambled out of the hallway, their heads bowed, their faces still streaked with tears.

Y/N didn’t watch them go.

Instead, she turned to Azriel.

He was already looking at her.

And gods—gods, that look.

Like she had just become something entirely new before his eyes. Like she was something fierce, something untouchable.

His hand lifted, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face, his knuckles grazing her cheek. “I’m proud of you,” he murmured.

Y/N swallowed.

She didn’t answer.

She just closed the distance between them and wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his chest.

His arms came around her instantly, holding her close, his chin resting atop her head.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Then, softly—

“Az?”

He hummed in response.

She pulled back just enough to meet his gaze. “Don’t ever do that again.”

A slow smirk curled his lips. “Not even a little?”

She glared.

He chuckled, but his fingers gently tilted her chin up. “Alright,” he murmured. “No more shadows dragging terrified females through the streets.”

A pause.

“Unless they deserve it.”

Y/N groaned, hiding her face in his chest again. Azriel just laughed, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of her head.

The morning sun streamed through the kitchen window, casting golden light over the small breakfast she was preparing. The scent of fresh bread and honey filled the air as Y/N moved around, her mind still heavy from yesterday’s events.

Even after all that happened, even after them begging for her forgiveness, a part of her still felt like it was over. That she had lost her dream.

She let out a quiet sigh as she plated the food, determined not to dwell on it. Az would be awake soon, and she wanted to surprise him with breakfast in bed—

A sudden whoosh of magic broke through the quiet morning.

She gasped, stumbling back as a parchment appeared before her, floating midair before it landed softly on the counter.

Her brows furrowed in confusion. With hesitant fingers, she reached for it, breaking the wax seal and unfolding the letter.

Her breath caught the second she read the words.

Miss Y/N,

After reviewing our previous judgment, we have come to realize that we misjudged your performance. We deeply regret our oversight and would like to offer you another opportunity to showcase your talents. If you are still interested, we invite you to perform again today in the afternoon at the Grand Theatre. We sincerely hope you will accept.

Her heart stopped.

Her hands trembled as she reread it again. And again.

She clutched the letter to her chest.

This—this can’t be real.

She had lost her chance. They had crushed it, torn it from her hands.

And now… they were offering it back?

She was so caught up in the storm of emotions that she didn’t hear the footsteps behind her, didn’t notice the warmth approaching until two strong arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her against a broad, familiar chest.

Azriel buried his face into the crook of her neck, pressing a lazy, sleepy kiss there as he murmured, “What is it?”

She felt the smile on his lips.

The knowing smile.

And something clicked in her mind.

She stiffened slightly, turning in his arms as she held the letter up between them. “Did you have anything to do with this?”

Azriel blinked at her. His expression was a perfect mask of confusion, of innocent curiosity. “What are you talking about?”

His voice was so smooth, so convincing—too convincing.

He tilted his head slightly, his brows furrowing in the perfect Azriel-has-no-clue-what’s-going-on way.

And gods help her—she believed it.

Y/N’s breath came out in a shaky exhale, her body relaxing as she turned back to the letter. “Oh my gods,” she whispered, her lips parting in disbelief. “They really want me to perform again. They really—”

Her voice broke off. A choked laugh escaped her as her hands clutched the parchment tighter.

She had a second chance.

She had a second chance.

A delighted laugh bubbled up her throat as she turned back to Azriel, practically launching herself into his arms.

Az chuckled as he caught her with ease, spinning her slightly before settling her against him, his wings curling around them both.

“I knew it,” she beamed, her voice breathless. “I knew they’d see their mistake. Oh my gods, Az, I get to try again—I get to prove myself.”

Azriel cupped her face, brushing his thumbs over her cheeks as he gazed at her, devoured her with pride shining in his hazel eyes.

“I told you,” he murmured, pressing his lips to her forehead. “I told you that you deserved this.”

Her heart swelled at his words, at the warmth of his touch, at the way he looked at her—like she was everything.

She pulled back slightly, grinning up at him. “What would I do without you?”

His lips curled. “You’d be just fine,” he said, nudging her nose with his. “But lucky for you, you don’t have to find out.”

She laughed, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him down into a kiss. He met her eagerly, his hands gripping her waist as he deepened it, as he poured every ounce of pride and love into her.

When they finally pulled apart, he whispered, “You’re going to blow them away.”

Her smile was radiant. “You really think so?”

Azriel’s gaze darkened with something fierce, something possessive. “I know so.”

Y/N laughed again, burying her face in his chest as excitement and nerves thrummed in her veins.

She had another chance.

And this time, she wouldn’t waste it.

Y/N had been preparing for hours.

The moment the letter came, she had thrown herself into practice. Every movement, every turn, every step—she perfected them over and over again, determined to be flawless today. Azriel had been with her every second, his unwavering support wrapping around her like a second skin.

He had sat on the floor of their room, watching as she practiced in front of the mirror. His eyes followed every movement, sharp and analyzing, but also filled with something softer, something adoring. Whenever she faltered, his deep voice was there, murmuring reassurances, guiding her back into focus.

And when the nerves crept in, when she doubted herself for even a second, he pulled her into his arms, pressing soft kisses to her forehead, her cheeks, her lips—reminding her exactly why she was meant for this.

Now, standing outside the grand doors of the theatre, she could feel her heart pounding in her chest.

The streets were quieter today, the usual rush of dancers missing from the entrance. It felt eerie, so different from the weeks before when the halls had been filled with hopefuls, all vying for the lead role.

Now, it was just her.

Azriel stood beside her, his hand gripping hers tightly, as if he could sense the battle raging within her.

"You’re ready," he murmured, his voice steady, unwavering.

She turned to him, searching his hazel eyes, seeking the same reassurance he had given her all morning. And she found it—found that unshakable belief in her, the absolute certainty that she could do this.

Her fingers tightened around his. “Stay here?”

He huffed a soft laugh, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “You have to force me to leave your side, love.”

Warmth bloomed in her chest. She exhaled, stepping closer, pressing her forehead against his. His hands found her waist, his touch grounding.

“I’m nervous,” she admitted.

“I know.” He tilted her chin up, pressing a lingering kiss to her lips. “But you are going to be breathtaking.”

She let out a shaky laugh, letting herself melt into him for just a moment longer before she whispered, “I love you.”

Azriel smiled, and it was the kind of smile that turned her bones to honey. “I love you more.”

With one final breath, she slipped from his arms and stepped inside.

The theatre was silent.

It was so empty, so wrong compared to the chaotic energy of before. Her footsteps echoed against the polished wooden floors as she ascended the stairs, pushing open the doors to the main audition room.

The five judges were already seated, waiting for her.

The moment she entered, their expressions changed.

Not cold, not disinterested like before. But polite. Respectful.

It was… weird.

She took a seat, smoothing her hands over her skirts, and studied them carefully.

The older woman who had scoffed at her before now gave her a small, almost nervous smile. Another judge—one of the males—could barely hold her gaze.

Her eyes flickered to the last judge, and she nearly snorted.

A large, deep bruise curled around the side of his neck, just barely peeking out from the collar of his jacket.

What in the world did he do to deserve that?

She shook the thought away. Focus.

“Miss Y/N,” the eldest judge said, clearing his throat. “We want to thank you for coming today. We deeply regret our misjudgment the last time and hope you will give us the honor of seeing you perform again.”

She tilted her head. Weirdly nice.

She didn’t let herself dwell on it, merely nodded and made her way to the center of the room.

The music started.

She closed her eyes, inhaled.

And then—

She moved.

The first few steps were careful, precise. But with each turn, each shift, she let herself go, let herself become the movement, let herself lose everything but the rhythm thrumming in her veins.

The room faded away.

There was no theatre, no judges, no pressure—just her and the music.

Her shadows twined around her, blending into her movements, wrapping around her like an extension of herself. They curled at her fingertips, twirled with her in perfect synchronization.

Her fears melted away.

Every insult, every rejection, every ounce of doubt—gone.

She was light, she was free.

And as she reached the final note, she landed in a perfect, graceful finish—chest heaving, heart pounding.

The silence that followed was deafening.

She opened her eyes, chest rising and falling.

The judges were staring.

Wide-eyed. Mouths slightly open.

Then—

“You… gods above,” one of the females breathed.

The eldest judge straightened in his chair. “That was phenomenal.”

Another nodded. “Extraordinary.”

“The way you move,” a female judge added, “it’s like the dance was made for you.”

She blinked at them, overwhelmed.

They kept talking—throwing praise after praise, compliments she had never expected to hear from them.

She could barely process it.

She had done it.

She had done it.

Azriel was waiting outside.

The moment she stepped through the doors, his shadows curled around her, his sharp eyes scanning her from head to toe.

His jaw tightened. “Did they say anything—”

She didn’t let him finish.

She launched herself at him.

He barely had time to react before she was in his arms, gripping his shoulders tightly as happy tears streamed down her face.

Az caught her with ease, holding her like she was the most precious thing in the world.

“I got it,” she choked out.

He froze. Pulled back slightly. “What?”

A watery laugh bubbled past her lips. “I got it, Az.” She beamed up at him, breathless. “They said—there’s no need to wait. They’ve already reviewed everyone, and none came close to me. They said I was meant for this role, that I will represent Velaris and its art beautifully.”

Azriel’s chest rose sharply. His grip on her tightened.

Then—

“That’s my girl,” he murmured, voice thick with emotion.

And before she could say anything else, he kissed her.

Not soft, not hesitant—fierce, hungry, filled with pride and love and something utterly consuming.

She melted into him, smiling against his lips as his hands cradled her face, as if he couldn’t bear to let go.

When they finally pulled apart, his forehead rested against hers.

“I knew you would do it,” he whispered. “I knew it.”

She exhaled a shaky breath. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For always believing in me.”

Azriel let out a soft chuckle, pressing another kiss to her forehead before whispering, “Forever.”

With fingers intertwined, hearts still racing, they turned toward home—toward the future she had fought for.

[pascaloverx]

HAUNTED

Summary: You awaken from a two-year coma to find that Detective Lois has been eagerly awaiting your recovery, believing you might have witnessed something crucial to catching a serial killer. What you didn’t expect is to learn that she suspects your doctor of being the murderer—and even more shockingly, it appears that you are married to him. Now, you must uncover your lost memories and find out who Charlie Mayhew truly is to you.

Author's Note: Yes, I'm writing another fanfic featuring Nicholas Alexander Chavez’s character from Grotesquerie. The characters belong to the universe created by Ryan Murphy in the series Grotesquerie (2024). This fanfic will include violence, strong language, and adult content. It will portray the character Charlie Mayhew as a doctor. I hope you enjoy the fanfic, but there's nothing certain about its future. If you like this fanfic, please interact, leave comments. This author will be grateful for any interaction.

ONE THREE

© credits for the owners of the pictures used. they don't belong to me. credit is not mine for the pictures.

TWO

You were finally discharged from the hospital after nearly a week of being poked, prodded, and thoroughly examined. However, your husband seemed displeased with the last conversation you shared. He hadn’t returned to visit you, leaving an unsettling emptiness in your chest. Even in your dreams, the striking face of your husband was absent. The fictional priest, your recurring specter, no longer graced you with his haunting visits. Detective Lois came to see you twice. The first time, you welcomed her, but when she began disparaging your husband, you quickly lost interest in continuing the conversation. The second time, you thought it best to turn her away before Dr. Mayhew discovered she had been there.

Now you are packing your clothes to return home—clothes you do not recall buying or ever wearing before. A house that does not feel like a home, for you have no memory of it. Whether you like it or not, Dr. Mayhew is the only semblance of familiarity you have. Yet, he seems to have lost interest in you. He is probably ready to file for divorce and pursue his happily ever after with the detective with whom he may or may not have had an affair.

"Mrs. Mayhew, are you ready to go home?" a strange man asks as he stands in the doorway. He is wearing a suit, and from the formal way he speaks to you, you assume he is not a relative of yours.

"I'm sorry, but I have no idea who you are. Actually, I'm waiting for my husband." You say, holding your suitcase while sitting on the edge of the hospital bed. The man seems to be preparing to say something that will hurt you. "Mrs. Mayhew, I’m your husband's driver. He can’t pick you up; he had an urgent commitment." He says, adjusting his suit, almost as if he’s embarrassed by the news. He seems to feel pity for you. For some reason, the fact that your husband is avoiding you irritates you.

"In that case, let's go." You say, a bit downcast but holding onto your suitcase tightly, trying not to let your anger show. You know there will be a moment when you'll give your husband a lesson—he's the one who deserves to hear your complaints.

"Follow me, I'll take you to the car and we'll head to your house soon," the driver says, raising his arm for you to hold onto as you make your way to the hospital exit. You try to keep up the appearance of being fine, smiling as you say goodbye to the hospital staff while being accompanied by your husband’s driver, Ed. As he drives you home, he starts talking about his life. He tells you how you had recommended him for the job as a personal driver. You learn that you used to give him art lessons and suggested him to your husband. The information leaves you more confused. You have the impression that you were wealthy, given the fancy clothes you wear and the fact that you have a private driver, but it seems you were also teaching art. This leaves you wondering about the life you used to lead in your own home.

When you arrive at the house, it’s almost everything you imagined. It’s large, not a mansion, but it has two floors, a garden, and a pool. Ed helps you out of the car and guides you on where to place your luggage, leading you toward the entrance of the house.

"On the first floor, you’ll find the kitchen, living room, laundry, and a guest bedroom. There’s also a dining room, but it’s only used for special occasions. On the second floor, there’s the master suite and the boss’s office. If you’d like, I can take you there," Ed says politely, though you sense that you need to spend some time getting familiar with your home and you don't want to bother Ed with your demands.

"There’s no need to trouble yourself, Ed. You’re free to go, and thank you for taking the time to pick me up from the hospital," you say graciously.

"It was my pleasure to assist you. If you need anything, I'll be just outside," Ed says before leaving you alone. For a moment, you find yourself captivated, taking in the details of the first floor of your home. As you admire the kitchen, a sudden noise from the upper floor catches your attention.

You freeze, startled by the unexpected noise. You were certain you were alone in the house, but now it seems you might have company. The thought races through your mind—it could be a burglar or perhaps one of your husband's mistresses waiting for his return, especially since you're convinced he's not home. Uncertain of your next move, you consider calling for Ed, but that might alert whoever is upstairs. Resolute, you grab a knife from the kitchen, gripping it tightly as you ascend the stairs, steeling yourself to confront whoever dares to intrude, the sound of water running hinting at someone taking a bath above.

You step into the master suite, your eyes scanning the space. Scattered across the bed are some of your husband's clothes, as though he had been deciding what to wear. Framed photos of the two of you together adorn the room, alongside other items that affirm this as the bedroom of a married couple. However, investigating the nuances of your marital life is not why you climbed the unnecessarily numerous stairs. Silently, you make your way to the bathroom, drawn by the muffled sounds coming from within the shower, mingling with the steady cascade of water. Your heart pounds as you realize—there's definitely a man in there, taking a shower. You grip the knife tightly in your hands and gather your courage to open the shower curtain.

Your husband stands before you, utterly exposed, his body glistening with water and lightly lathered with soap, one hand still gripping his cock mid-motion. "What the hell, Y/N?" Doctor Mayhew exclaims, his voice laced with shock and alarm.

Frozen for a moment, you struggle to process the scene, your grip tightening around the knife in your hand. Heat rises to your face, and without thinking further, you turn on your heel abruptly, your embarrassment overwhelming. "I— I didn’t know it was you," you stammer, your voice shaky as you try to compose yourself, your back still turned to him.

"Did it ever occur to you to ask?" your husband snaps, his voice sharp with irritation. You're unsure if his anger stems from being caught in such a vulnerable state or from having his private moment interrupted.

"It didn’t cross my mind," you retort, doing your best to maintain your composure despite the vivid image of his naked form lingering in your thoughts. "Especially since I assumed a man too busy to fetch his own wife from the hospital wouldn’t be occupied... pleasuring himself in the shower." Your tone is steady, but there's a slight edge to your words, masking your own embarrassment.

"I thought you'd prefer to return with someone you didn't consider a cold-blooded, adulterous murderer," Doctor Mayhew says, his tone laced with dry humor as he continues his shower. "Had I known you cared about my presence, I would have been there. And as for giving myself pleasure, despite the belief that I've had a torrid affair with another woman, my fidelity to you is so absolute that my only mistress is my hand." He chuckles softly, the sound almost mocking, while you remain rooted in place, still stunned and unable to respond or even move.

"If you'd cared enough to visit me after our last meeting, you would have known that I did want you there to bring me home," you say, your voice tinged with hurt. The air grows heavy for a moment, the tension palpable, until the sound of the running water comes to an abrupt stop.

"I was there every day," Doctor Mayhew replies, his tone soft yet steady. "But only while you were asleep. I didn’t want to trouble you. Your doctors told me you were improving, and I thought my presence might upset you." He steps out of the shower, the sound of his movements drawing closer to you. You can feel his breath against your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. Before you can respond, his arms encircle yours, gently but firmly taking the knife from your grip. He places it on the bathroom counter, the action deliberate yet tender.

You turn, now standing face-to-face with your husband, Doctor Mayhew. A towel is loosely wrapped around his waist, droplets of water still trailing down his skin. "I wanted you there," you murmur, your voice barely audible, the words almost brushing against his lips. His face is dangerously close to yours, his presence overwhelming.

"I'm sorry, mi amor. I should have brought you home," he says, his voice low and full of regret as he steps even closer. Your eyes instinctively fall to his lips before locking onto his gaze. A heat rises within you, an undeniable pull—an ache to claim what is already yours.

And as if driven by instinct, you rise on your toes and press your lips to his in a tentative kiss, barely a whisper of contact, as though testing the waters. The taste of him is intoxicating—something that feels like it should be savored again and again. It’s overwhelming, addictive, his soft lips brushing against yours as your heart seems to stop for a fleeting moment. But caution wins, and you pull back, breath hitching as you study him. His eyes remain closed for a moment longer, his fingers brushing over his lips as though to confirm the reality of what just transpired. Slowly, his eyes open, smoldering with an intensity that takes your breath away.

"You shouldn’t have done that," Doctor Mayhew murmurs, his voice a low growl. Before you can respond, his arms snake around your waist, lifting you effortlessly as he crashes his lips into yours with fervor. The kiss is fire itself—searing and unrelenting, as though he wants to consume you entirely, pulling you closer, desperate for more of you with each passing second.

And it’s as if something ignites within you, a spark that feels as though you’ve always belonged to him. “Charlie…” you murmur between his kisses, your breaths coming in short gasps as you try to steady yourself.

He pulls back slightly, his eyes wide with surprise, though a glimmer of adoration softens his features. “That’s the first time you’ve called me Charlie since you woke up,” he whispers, his voice almost reverent against your lips.

You respond with a tender peck, letting yourself sink into the safety of his arms. “I wish I could remember you. I hope you know that,” you confess, gazing into his eyes. It’s the most honest thing you’ve said since you regained consciousness, and the raw sincerity in your voice hangs between you like a fragile thread of hope.

"I don’t care that you’ve forgotten me. I only want you to allow yourself to get to know me again," Charlie says softly, leaning in to press a kiss to your cheek.

"Do you think having sex would help me remember you?" The question escapes your lips before you can even process it, the desire that’s been simmering since you saw him moments ago suddenly rising to the surface.

Charlie freezes, his lips lingering near your skin as his breath hitches. His gaze locks onto yours, a mix of surprise and amusement flickering in his eyes. "I thought I was the doctor here," Charlie murmurs, a faint smirk curving his lips as his eyes search yours. The teasing tone in his voice doesn’t mask the tension building between you.

He takes a step closer, his hands gently finding your waist, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. "But if that’s your hypothesis..." his voice drops, low and intoxicating, "I’d be more than willing to help you test it." The heat in his gaze is undeniable, yet there’s a tenderness there, as though he’s waiting for your permission to cross the line you just hinted at.

The sound of a phone ringing breaks the moment, echoing from the direction of the bedroom. Charlie seems momentarily hesitant, glancing toward the source of the noise before he gives in and walks over to answer it. His voice lowers, the words indistinct as he speaks in murmurs, clearly trying to keep the conversation private. You stand there, feeling a shift in the atmosphere as his attention moves elsewhere. When he returns, there's a visible change in his demeanor, a hint of disappointment in his eyes. "Unfortunately, we can't test your hypothesis right now," he says, his tone a little colder than before. He plants a soft kiss on your lips before continuing, trying to lighten the mood. "I have a patient in need of urgent assistance."

Charlie leans in to give you a quick kiss on the lips, a fleeting gesture to maintain some connection despite the shift in mood. "But you’re welcome to stay here, take a relaxing bath, and explore the house. The only room that’s locked is my office, but the rest is open. You’ve met Ed, our driver. Mary, the housekeeper, is here as well, though you haven’t met her yet. If you’re hungry, all the takeout numbers are by the phone," he says before turning to finish getting ready.

As he finishes getting dressed, you can sense something unspoken hanging in the air between you, his demeanor colder now. "And, if you want to pick up where we left off later... just let me know," he adds, his words lingering in the space between you, leaving the invitation open yet uncertain. He pauses, studying you for a moment longer than necessary before turning to finish his preparations, the unspoken tension between you both hanging in the air.

"I think I'll take a bath and get acquainted with the house, but I'd like to have dinner with you," you say as you watch him finish getting dressed for work, struggling with the knot of his tie. You step forward, as if you're naturally accustomed to this, and expertly tie the knot for him—firm and neat. He smiles, genuinely appreciative.

"It seems like you still remember how to make a perfect tie knot," he comments, then takes your hands in his and presses a gentle kiss to your fingers. "I'll be here for dinner," he assures you before grabbing his briefcase and lab coat, rushing out the door. You're certainly charmed by your husband, but there's a growing sense of unease, too. Why would he be so secretive about his calls and office if he has nothing to hide?

[court-jobi]

Alexa, Play...

((banner by me! I don't own Horikoshi's work OR the mindblowing art of @gsony24~used w permission))

Pairing: Midoriya x reader

Words: 1.6k

Rating: G~

Warnings: Southern US!GNreader, comfort fic, tooth-rotting fluff here y'all, established relationship, language barrier, dancing-in-the-kitchen level self-insert

Summary:

Izuku comes home to spot your grocery list on the fridge written out in your native language- something he sees just as rarely as hearing you speak it. Just when he thinks he couldn't possibly find you more adorable, you strike a match and chuck it into his heart with a touch as simple as a peck on his cheek, a laugh thrown his way... or -like now- when you chat over the phone in an accent he never gets to hear. He wants to hear more so badly, and asks for it so sweetly.

A/N: a short n'sweet one today, folks, bc I was missing writing for this sweet green bean. I have yet to see MHA: You're Next, but have no one to see it with ughhhhh so off to writing fanfic to soothe the pain~

For my My Hero Academia Masterlist, check it out here!

Read on Ao3

You're on the phone with your mom when Izuku finds your sticky note for shopping on the fridge. His mindful shut of the door was appreciated by your mouthed apology, but let him know that he'd best occupy himself solo for a bit while you catch up. The time difference between your home country and here leaves your windows to chat limited, so he’s happy when your schedules align like this. 

If you'll be on a while longer, he thinks he can take a quick drive and pick up these few things for you. Inspired by the idea, he plucks the list out from the magnet’s hold.

You've got nice handwriting, a blend between printed letters and a tilted, cursive script. Personality shines especially near the end of a word, when you're rushing to move onto the next thought. 

Painter’s tape

bananas

white vinegar (stupid drain line)

It's so simple, but when it's written in your native language by default, it feels like a secret to be reading even something so simple as a list like this– scribbled out in the way as it appears in your head.

For most formal paperwork, your kana characters are decently executed, though it's always going to be harder when you grew up speaking Japanese rather than filling out lines and lines of bellwork in the kanji style. This isn't to say you've not been trying:

Over the course of your courtship, you've bonded with young Eri as an extension of Izuku's life and have inherited some of her early learning textbooks. You happened on them by accident, when you were helping her paint her room a few months ago. It sounded elementary when you expressed the interest to read and write Japanese better, and the sweet girl was so enthusiastic to help! 

She lent you her books, but of course you weren't becoming an expert overnight. However slow you’d pace yourself, Izuku was plenty proud of you for making the effort. He'd allow you as much grace as he could spare– especially since your notes were still so cute to find here and there~

Across the room, pacing along every other tile on the floor like stepping stones, you look up catching Izuku staring. You’ve been deep in conversation for only about an hour, but give him a wrench of your nose in jest, and begin wrapping up the call explaining that he’s home and you’d like to greet him properly. 

Izuku calls out a quick 'hi’ and ‘bye' to your mom when he motions to go on speaker; you're not one to refuse him, as he well knows. 

You seem pleased on more than one front when he asks to talk to your family, so he continues to do it. For one, you’re touched by how spirited he is to even want to interact with your mother, and his dropping of formalities and reverting to English to speak to her means a lot to you. Neither point is lost on sweet Izuku, based on how your smile brightens when he jogs over to you to be more in speaking range. 

When you hang up, you're quick to pop up and kiss him as a welcome home. Izuku hangs onto you a little longer than usual, thumb rubbing into your cheek as he savors you several times in quick succession. 

Just when he thinks he couldn't possibly find you more adorable, you strike a match and chuck it into his heart with a touch as simple as a peck on his cheek or a laugh thrown his way. 

“‘Zuku, what's that look for, babe?” 

In your sentimental bliss, you're still surprised to get such adoring treatment from him almost a year into a relationship. 

“Nothing,” Izuku chimes back, “I just forget that you're this American sometimes~”

“Whaddya mean, ‘you forget’?!” the concept sounds hilarious to you. 

“I do!” Izuku offers to take your phone to plug it in nearby, “I have to remind myself that Japanese isn't your first language, until I see you on FaceTime with your mom. Out of nowhere, I'll just hear you sound so different, like: ‘byyyye~ talk to y'all later’!”

You snort at his attempt at a southern accent– stiff and stuck on the wrong vowels. Clearly this succeeds in amusing you, because you hop up and down on the balls of your feet like you've discovered a new game:

“Oh my God, ‘Texas Smash Deku’ is the stuff of my fantasies!– oo!! say, ‘I’d like a honey butter chicken biscuit’~”

“WHAT?? N-no!!”

“What YES!! Please??”

Both doubled over in laughter, you're entertained over his thorough embarrassment, but you're both smitten and carefree: holding onto each other despite nearly buckling at the knees.

Izuku tries his best to catch his breathe first, determined to explain himself,

“I can't do it right! It's like- you say things- I don't know how to describe it! It's not just the flat, movie star accent.. It's–"

“What, a-- ‘drawl’? ‘Twang’?”

Izuku snaps at the realization.

“Yes!! That!! The country kind, like that chef you watch!”

You've rolled your eyes, stepping out of his kind hold in favor of checking out what takeout he brought home. 

“-Hey, no, come back!”

“‘Makin’ fun'ah my accent, I outta smack you’.”

You're far from really mad as you tote around the kitchen getting silverware and soy sauce, but Izuku follows you around like a shadow regardless. Eyes full of that puppy love, he does try to block you in from the pantry closet,

���I’m sorry, honey~”

“No you're not.” --but you're grinning out of forgiveness anyway.

Izuku sneaks a hold on you, reeling you in. It’s cozy in your shared kitchen, alight with just the right amount of overhead lighting and enough space for you two to stand and share tasks.

“I do like hearing you talk like that,” he shares contentedly, “It’s nice to listen to that side of you, especially when you have a lot to say.”

“Yeah well,” you turn into his arms, rather than away, “I'm sure you've noticed already, it comes from her side of the family. Guess I can't really ditch the accent whenever I switch back. The more I think about it… I'm gonna be happy if I can keep sounding like her as I get older. Lets me keep something of hers- even if my ‘dashing hero’ of a man over here thinks I'm being cheeky."

“No, I'm not teasing now! I mean it,” Izuku presses into you, “I only meant, you don't hold back or anything when you're chatty with her.”

He wonders if it stems from shyness, your avoidance of using too much English here at home. If you’re jamming out while doing chores -presuming you’re alone- you’ll switch the station once you know you have an audience.

“Not trying to hide it with you! I'm just out of practice here. No one else in our circle really uses English, so it doesn't come up, I guess.”

You make the point with a wistful aire. Occasionally you'll sub English classes as a favor to Izuku’s effervescent coworker at UA, but not often enough to get too much exposure. He's always been impressed with your Japanese diction, and thinks you could very well go into teaching if you ever wanted a career change.

Still, whether its for work or play, it’s a sound that’s intrinsically you, and there’s a magic to it that Izuku finds himself chasing. A secret power of yours, if he could only unlock it.

“--Plus, I don't think a lot of the slang translates over?” you get comfortable in his arms, locking your fingers behind his neck with no intention of leaving as you muse, “You guys have your own here, and that’s hard to figure out anyway.”

“I suppose you’re right.” 

Tenderly, you run your nails through his hair, a thoughtful look up to him, 

“Do you want me to use it more at home? Lay on the sugar for ya?”

A chance to hear you at your core? Watch your handwritten notes come alive?

“If you want-” Izuku softens, “-if you’re comfortable.”

“Can you understand me though?”

“I can hear you. It only gets hard when you get excited, ‘cuz you talk fast.”

You fuss back at him, “Oh, as if you don't.”

Caught under your hypocritical eye, he can only offer an honest chuckle back, “Fair~”

But for all of your feeling put on the spotlight, you seem to hold a soft spot for the way Izuku makes his requests:

“ ‘I guess I can indulge ya, since you asked so nicely.’ ”

–and it’s enough for him to try his hand to give you a linguistic sparring partner right back:

“ ‘Say something else.’ ”

All English flies out the window when he's looking at you like this, as you fall under a fit of nervous laughter, “What am I supposed to say?!” 

“ ‘Sing me a song, my love. Something 'twangy'.”

You giggled, "'Twangy', good Lord…” 

Izuku could write novels on everything from your finest features to even your most pensive insecurities, romanticizing each of them into a beautifully imperfect anthology. He does so in his mind, at least, when you’re barely lucid on the edge of sleep but still trying to engage him in meaningful conversation. He’ll do so in the notes on his phone, when he learns of yet another favorite token of yours, and wants to add it to the list of comfort measures he can refer to when you need it most.

And when you prompt Alexa to play your newly revealed ‘Karaoke hours that will never see the light of day’ playlist -the one that’s chock-full of female power ballads which you begin to sing your own rendition to-  Izuku is certain his mind nor fingers nor heart can catalog how much more he can possibly love you… though he’ll dance in place with you as he listens and soaks it all in.

[amirasainz]

Hello I am a huge fan of this fanfic your doing, but can I please request, the grid watching a spicy scene of her show? Or her in a body suit type like the picture below? I think Carlos reaction would be funny

Of couse! I had so much fun writing this! My request are OPEN and feedback is always welcome.

-XoXo

The unexpected red-flag

The conference room fell into stunned silence as the rain drummed relentlessly against the windows. The TV murmured in the background, its volume turned low, but it was the soft, melodic voice of Amira Sainz that cut through the quiet.

News had spread like wildfire: Baby!Sainz, the beloved sister of Carlos, would grace the third season of the renowned Netflix series “Narcos”. The drivers, usually a rowdy bunch, now sat in hushed anticipation. For Carlos, this was more than just excitement; it was a lifeline. His sister’s return to the family was long overdue, and the chance to witness her artistic brilliance on screen made his heart swell.

Yet, their busy lives as racers left little room for leisure. Days blurred into nights, filled with data analysis and the adrenaline rush of the track. But fate intervened during the red flag at Spa, where the heavens unleashed torrents of rain. The perfect opportunity arose: why not start watching “Narcos” during this unexpected break?

Surprisingly, it was Yuki who suggested it. His eyes sparkled with mischief as he proposed the idea, met with a chorus of enthusiastic “yeah’s” and “omg, yes!” from the other drivers. Carlos and Oscar, absent at the moment, would soon join the impromptu viewing party.

And so, they embarked on their journey into the world of drug cartels, corruption, and intrigue. They skipped scenes where Amira wasn’t present, eager to witness her talent firsthand. But little did they know that the next scene would unravel secrets and twists they never anticipated.

Let's just say Amira Sainz looked good with and without clothes. Throughout her spicy scene, the drivers were so silent. They all looked at her dreamily on the TV when she kissed the guy and started taking of her clothes and-

"¡Eh, estúpidos idiotas! ¿Qué demonios estáis haciendo? ¡¿Por qué demonios estáis viendo a mi hermana desvestirse?!" questioned an angry Carlos. As soon as he saw his little sister on the TV he went into full overprotective big brother mode.

Instantly, Logan shot back, “It’s not what it looks like,” while Fernando chimed in with a soothing “Hermano, you have to calm down.” Meanwhile, Lance attempted diplomacy: “Carlos Boy, we can talk like adults.”

The other drivers rallied, attempting to quell the hot-blooded Spanish driver. But amidst the chaos, Oscar slipped away, drawn by curiosity. He cornered Lando, who was practically bursting with excitement.

“I can’t believe I missed this. How was it?” Oscar leaned in, eager for details.

Lando’s eyes sparkled. “Oscar, you should have heard her speak Spanish. And her hair—oh, her hair falls down her back like—” His words were cut short.

“LANDO NORRIS! STOP TALKING ABOUT MY SISTER, YOU CREEP!” Carlos’s voice thundered across the room, drowning out the rain and the TV.

From the commentator box outside, a muffled sound reached their ears—a high-pitched scream. Lando Norris, usually unflappable on the track, had met his match in Carlos’s protective fury.

[tojifile]

Kibutsuji Muzan: Reincarnation

You're back..

Genre: Romance // Muzan x oiran!reader

⚠️: prostitute!reader, suggestive, kidnapping, not fully consensual

A/N: My first non-bsd fanfic !! I'm super happy about it, I read about an oiran and the differences in social classes at 12AM, it was like reviewing for my history class again. It was a lot of late-night reading so if there's misinformation please inform me immediately !!

INSPO: pinejayy

It was a well-lit and busy night, as it always was in the entertainment district. Little did everybody know the demon king—Kibutsuji Muzan was in their midst, walking along the streets, blending in with the loud crowd.

A procession was about to start, all eyes would be on the oiran—dragging her geta on the ground as she walked. The oiran on this particular night was none other than, you. Your scent was immediately picked up by Muzan. It was the same scent he had grown to love, from the person he had lost to time.

His interest was piqued the moment he picked up your scent. His gaze traveled far, trying to find the source of the scent. His gaze then landed on you, he watched you as you walked with such grace, you were as beautiful as the day he lost you.

Muzan lost you through the inevitable disease called time. You weren't willing to become a demon—instead, you promised him that you would find eachother in each lifetime and it will all end the same, with you in his arms.

You were given the name 'Minori' by the oiran who took you in as a child, starving in the unforgiving world of class and power. As an oiran you were known to be quite finicky. Although an oiran did have the right to choose who they would lay with, you were known for having not slept with anyone ever since you rose to your rank. Many men tried wooing you with their "looks" and "charm" but in the end you deem none of the worthy.

You were intelligent, beautiful, and skilled in various languages and arts. You were also a dear friend of Koinatsu, one of the most revered oiran in the Yoshiwara District. Muzan had heard about Minori before, from mundane gossip to papers of advertisement. He just didn't expect it to actually be you.

After seeing you walk, he spoke to Daki. He had released an order to his demons that you weren't allowed to be killed—instead, you had to be protected. Anyone who had protested against Muzan's order was immediately killed, without another word from their lifeless lips.

You had just gone back from the procession, you were quietly fixing up in your room, filling it with your presence. It was neither sweet nor destructive, it was just you. You were sitting in front of the mirror, fixing your hair until you saw a man appear behind you—you immediately stood up and looked back in fear.

Suddenly the room went dark, you couldn't see a thing. You then felt an eerie presence behind you—it was Muzan. He gently grabbed you from behind, by the waist and pulled you closer to him. "You're back.." he whispered in your ear.

It was strange, the man's touch was cold and his breath wasn't even slightly warm. Your body tensed up, "b- back..?." you nervously asked "Y/N.. I thought I'd never see you again.." he mumbled softly while one hand was secured on your waist, preventing further problems and the other hand lifting your chin to one side, granting him access to your neck.

'Y/N? Who was he talking about? I don't even know anyone named Y/N, maybe this was a new thing with men, maybe roleplay is quite popular nowadays, is this just a drunkard that wandered in my room?!' were the thoughts that ran into your head. You were too afraid to move, you didn't know what wrath would be brought down on you if you disobey.

Chomp he bit your neck, his fangs sunk into your neck, blood trickled down your skin, staining your carefully crafted kimono. You felt a sharp pain in your neck, you felt the blood trickling down your skin as well. He removed his teeth from your skin, letting the blood flow down.

Tears rolled down your cheeks as he stopped biting you, he turned you to him and wiped your tears away with his thumbs, a soft smile could be seen on his face. "Oh Y/N.. you used to love my bites.." he spoke with a sweet tone. You reached up for his hands "Who are you.. please stop.." You muttered, your fear was clear, you were trembling slightly as you held the back of his hands tightly. This made him angry, his grasp on you tightened and the soft smile on his face was replaced by an angry scowl.

He wasn't letting you go this time. You were going to live with him forever, he couldn't abide by your wishes. He needed you by his side, he wasn't going to play by the rules set by time and destiny.

You whimpered softly as he tightened his grip. His hands travelled back to your waist, pulling you in. You haven't fully grasped the events of the night. It was all too much.. how could he bite you like that? Who was Y/N? You looked at him through your tear-filled eyes and held onto his chest. "P- please.." you mumbled.

Muzan wasn't going to listen to reason, he let you have some of his blood to ensure that you'd stay with him forever. You were now a demon at his mercy. Although you didn't suffer the same curse the other demons did. Muzan wanted to hear you say his name, after not hearing it for centuries, he needed to hear it now.

You grasped his arms tightly as you felt yourself transform from a human to a demon. You felt your fangs and your desire for blood growing. You were still clearly competent but your body grew weaker due to the high concentration of his blood. Muzan picked you up, making sure you wouldn't be able to escape. "It doesn't matter if you don't remember me, in time you'll learn to love me again." He spoke with a cold tone. He then disappeared into the night sky with you in his arms.

Spontaneous post: 07/03/23 02:25AM GMT+8 Philippine Standard Time

[lovingniamh]

₊˚ʚ 🩷 ₊˚✧ ﾟ. locked in ― Leah Williamson.

summary: you just cannot seem to tear your gaze away.

warnings: none really.

word count: 1.4k

a/n: been reading way too many Bridgerton fanfics lately, so, if the dialogue seems really formal, blame that. also, hiya

There’s only a limited number of ways one can keep themselves from chasing what they truly desire, and sometimes those ways can disappoint us. Right then, your feelings were brimming at the top of your mind, and no distractions that you tried to think of were holding a red stop sign to hold you back.

You had never realised how captivating one could be. Well, you could. You have seen her in rather many manners—a few in which you found daunting—and the images of her stuck playing on your mind, whirling around on repeat like a record. But this time, it felt intimate. Like she had finally been snapped into reality and noticed you, playing her role for you.

Your heart rate did not seem to get steadier as you tried so hard with the innocence you had left, and the scene in front of you only made your breath hitch for longer and your eyes grow hazier. God, she was gorgeous, and however many times you tried, you just couldn't remove your burning stare away from her. 

The buzz of the club was blurring around you; the obvious natter and thumping of the base were now in the back of your mind. All focus was purely on the blonde, and the blonde only—paralysed from the neck up with a sufficient source of longing and lust.

There was no going back now; you were now shoulders deep into your trance, and once her gaze caught onto yours, you were in fear of never breathing again as your thoughts encased your senses further. 

Nothing was to ease you away, talking with expressions across the private area that you had grown accustomed to over the years. Every time the team made their annual visit, she managed to become more alluring each time you met here—the recent winning glow adding to the tonne of beauty she radiated. Nothing seemed out of place, and you started to believe what you were seeing was just a dream—a drunken dream. 

It was with a blink that she caught on to your frozen state, obvious from the fact that you were not going to stand up and make the first move. With a few sips of liquid courage, you followed her eyes with every step she took, neither of you seeming to let go of the mesmirism you had locked in. 

Once you realised she was becoming increasingly close, your eyes were just about peeking through your eyelids by the time she made it in front of your cowering state, actualising that your thoughts had literally granted your wishes without a word. A slight taunting smile graced her lips as she stood above you before she smoothed the material of her trousers down as she sat beside you—your stare still caught onto her like a mouse stuck to the glue of a teasing trap and now, coincidentally, everything felt sticky.

She leant towards you once she had turned her body, her expression swelling with more amusement at your reaction. You felt the decency to lean further backwards, but she took a pinch of your top to stop you from doing so, continuing to place her face closer to yours. “I think you have won.” 

Still quiet, she edged away from you, analysing your expression as she bit her lip to hide a giggle at the minor furrow of your eyebrows, yourself still talking with your eyes as they glistened over with a sheer of evident confusion. 

“You can speak; you know, I don't bite.” She spoke into the indistinct silence that had appeared around the both of you, tilting her head to the side before you shifted in your seat, the backs of your thighs seemingly tacky against the material. Your mouth just parted before she cut you off again. “Unless you want me to, take it as a reward from me for winning the contest.” 

“What contest?”

“Oh, she speaks!” She gasped comically before lifting the lipstick-stained rim of her glass back to the designer, sipping and swallowing delicately. “You’ve always been quite reserved, haven't you? But never invisible.” 

“I-”

She swallowed the final bit of liquid from her drink before she continued, not until she wiped her lip with the tip of her finger before moving her hand onto the bare of your thigh. “Not in the way you think you are; do you think that I do not notice, y/n?” 

The fixation of your stares was finally torn in half as you took more fancy of the warmth of her palm, the tips of her fingers rounding the edge of the inside of your thighs. The mugginess of the room just grew ten times hotter as you calculated in your head the multiple different consequences that could occur, some of which you had been dreaming of for as long as you could remember. 

She had become fed up with your frigid way of flirting: “I’ve seen you, you and your glances, ganders, and gawks. You’re starting to become insufferable, y/n.” 

A wave of embarrassment washed over you like a tide returning, knowing the feeling all too well from past experiences. “I, um, I’m sorry. I just can't help myself. I promise I’ll stop-” 

“Who said I wanted you to stop?”

Squinting your eyes marginally, you voiced your interpretation: “You, you just said that I was basically a burden.” 

She shook her head softly, reaching up with the hand that was on your thigh to instead brush away the furrow in your eyebrow, her touch then trailing down to your cheek. “No, I said you were insufferable because you won’t act further. I’m tired of waiting, and now I have to make the move myself with the feelings you had first.”

Heart completely in your throat, you made an effort to try to remove it before you spoke, but your words came out with a squeak before it was gone: “You have... you have feelings for me?”

She scoffed, “More than just feelings.” 

Mouth agape, you peered around the room, trying to gather yourself away from the bomb the blonde dropped. A bomb that you had been begging to blow up now for a very long time, so why are you turning away? She gathered you back to her with a light touch of guidance under your chin. “I bloody well hope you still feel the same way.” 

“Kiss me.” You whispered, head lifted by her fingers still as your eyes pleaded for her lips to touch your own. A few blonde curls fell in front of her face as she took the chance, although she hesitated once her lips brushed gracefully against yours. The both of you shivered, goosebumps arising on your skin as you closed your eyes, awaiting more, but nothing came. You peeked one eye open to find her admiring your relaxed features, your impatience bubbling in your stomach. “Leah.” 

“Shh.” She placed one finger over your lips before tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “You really are beautiful; did you know that?”

“Leah.” You caught her hand in your own, seeking home on your cheek. Your eyes found themselves back to square one; both your gazes bore into each other as the people around you became properly unknown and unnoticed. Totally forgotten.

She ripped into the silence before you and uttered, “I want you to kiss me.” 

Bringing your hand back into her grip, she transferred them to her cheek, and your mouth ran dry at how soft her skin was. A burst of desire overflowing your body had your noses beginning to nudge as you chased her lips with eagerness, predator to prey. A role you had never played before. 

You moaned in surprise at your own doing, relief flooding through your veins as you finally reached your true desire after hours, months, and years of pining after the English captain, but this time she told you what to do in a much different way. 

The kiss was feverish, and you had to keep yourself from clawing at her, sticking to one spot as you let your mouth do the work whilst she followed your steps. Everything and everyone around you were now completely withdrawn from your mind. It was Leah and Leah only, and god, how you wish you were, in reality, completely alone. 

When you thought she couldn't get anymore intoxicating, the bite she gave your bottom lip injected you with more lust for her, and you were obsessed with the taste of her. You wanted more, but before you could adjust yourself to press more into her, she pulled away. 

“That was more than what I was expecting.” Her breaths were laboured as she remarked, yourself not listening as you sought for her once more, beginning to get a hand with the whole dominance role, if that's what you would call it. “Easy, tiger. We can continue once we get home.”

© lovingniamh please do not repost, steal or translate my work.

[avocad1s]

What if for a sagau the creator (that got isekai'd) assumes they're the imposter because their blood isn't gold and kids keep running away from them

Just imagine the KoF or people from mond being so confused to why their creator is so on gaurd when they see them and runs away.

I definetly feel like it has to be one of the archons that somehow convince the creator that they won't do any harm to them

Note: Anon I got carried away with this and I am so sorry 💀 Reader is the Creator even though they don’t believe it. (at first)

All of the nations have their own protocols in place for your unexpected arrival in Teyvat.

No matter who finds you, they will be aware of what to do, even children.

All of the nations follow these three basic rules when it comes to you:

One: Approaching you and making sure that you are okay. They will also welcome you back to Teyvat.

Two: If you allow it, they will guide you back to the city of the nation you’re in. If you don’t, they’ll return themselves and inform whoever is in charge of your arrival.

Three: Notifying the other nations of your arrival.

This last rule may not be followed, it’s hard for them to control their selfish desires, they want to keep you to themselves for a little while!

However these rules are only followed by a majority of people, there a a few outliers. For example, the other nations do not want your first destination to be Snezhnaya. There’s no telling just how long they would keep it a secret, and their mind could only wander to the darkest scenarios if Their Grace was stuck in the grasp of the Fatui for too long.

When the Adepti made their contracts with Rex Lapis, within the contract was what they should do if you arrive. Even to this day, the Adepti will honor it even though Morax was no longer ruling.

The Divine Priestess of Watatsumi Island also has her own idea on how to handle your arrival. Unlike everyone else, she used her incredible strategizing skills to prepare for any possibility that could happen once you arrive.

If the Abyss find you first… well all I can say is you don’t have to worry about them hurting you.

-

So back to your request.

The Knights of Favonius are confused why you kept running away, anytime they got close to you. Did you see them as threatening? They were trying their best to make you feel welcome in their nation but your terrified face anytime they came into view broke their hearts.

Albedo and Lisa would try and form a strategy to get close enough to you to talk to you. Venti would use his connection to the winds to find out where you are going.

Unbeknownst to them, you had accidentally cut yourself during your abrupt arrival and noticed… well nothing! Your blood was just as normal as it was before. That would’ve been fine if people didn’t try to walk up to you calling you their Creator and crying tears of joy because you returned.

You had read too many fanfics about the scenario and not having golden blood would only lead to bad things for you.

So you began running.

Once you had saw Klee, the most adorable in the Knights of Favonius, you knew that asking her for any information would be for the best. You couldn’t imagine a sweet girl like her causing you any harm.

But once she made eye contact with you she ran away. This only solidified in your mind that going to the city would be too dangerous for you. Especially if they find out about your blood.

(However Klee was just running away because Jean had told her to get an adult if she happens to run into you.)

The game of cat and mouse goes on for a while, but you were exhausted and couldn’t run away any longer. It wasn’t even just people of Mondstadt trying to find you anymore, there were other skilled fighters you recognized from other nations also trying to find you as well.

It made your blood run cold to think what they would do once they actually catch you.

“Your Grace! There you are!”

You let out a yelp quickly turning around to face the person who was talking to you, even though you recognized their voice.

Venti was breathing heavily as he gives you a small smile, behind him was Ei and Nahida.

This wasn’t good, you were surrounded by three Archons. You didn’t even want to think where Zhongli could be.

“Please don’t run away your Grace,” Ei says softly her face full of emotion. “We only want to help you.”

You try and take a step but your back hits the cold rock of the cliff above you, you truly were trapped.

Venti and Ei drop their weapons on the floor kneeling, Nahida does the same but she has no weapon to drop.

“We apologize if we have done anything to offend you Your Eminence,” Nahida begins her gaze on the ground, “you have been running away from us for weeks now, please allow us to tend to your needs.”

You try to ignore the pain in your body and how your mucky clothes stuck to your skin, you couldn’t let your guard down. They were just waiting for the perfect time to strike.

“Why are you calling me that, I’m not who you think I am.”

The three Archons exchange glances then look at you. “Umm forgive me for asking,but what do you mean you’re not who we think you are?” Venti asks.

You show the cut that was on your hand, it was lazily wrapped in a cloth that was also covered in dirt. A constant stinging could be felt in your palm, you knew that if you didn’t treat it soon, the wound would definitely get infected.

Once they see your wound, they immediately jump up and try to run to your side but the look on your face tells them they should stay right where they’re at.

“Your hurt!” Ei stammers, “please let us take you to a healer!”

You quickly shake your head, “I’m not the Creator! My blood…” you unravel the cloth revealing the dried up blood in your palm, “it’s red.”

It falls silent for a moment.

“Is there something wrong with that Your Grace?” Nahida says softly, “is it supposed to be something else?”

You hesitate, “isn’t it supposed to be gold?”

The Archons never expected you to ask something like this. Was this the reason you were running away? Did you believe you were some kind of imposter?

“Your Grace,” Venti says, bringing a hand up to his chest, “I’m not sure what you’re talking about, but we would recognize your aura anywhere. We are your most devoted. Will you please let us help you?”

His words were convincing, and their faces left no room for speculation. Not to mention, the God of Wisdom was here trying to convince you as well, maybe you should listen to them.

You take a small step forward, “you promise not to hurt me?”

The three shake their heads quickly, “we would never lay a hand on you Your Grace…”

Ei was the first at your side offering to carry you to Mondstadt, Venti pouted at her words saying that he could carry you too.

“It should be me carrying them Barbatos, I’m the tallest one. I can carry Their Grace with ease.” She reasons.

The Anemo Archon didn’t want to seem childish in front of you but he still wanted to argue his reasoning. “I’m the oldest Archon here, it should be me.”

Nahida sighs holding her small hand out to you, “I’m not sure why they are fighting when you are capable of walking… I‘ll lead you to Mondstadt.”

You take her hand letting her lead you through the grassy fields. Ei and Venti, quickly pick up their weapons to join the two of you.

-

© avocad1s 2023

[aerithmybbgmypookiemywife]

I would not be able to be seen as a god cause the moment any pretty lady talks or flirts with me. I deadass would say something stupid like- “Can I have one pleaseburger cheese?”

(The bloodline ends with me 😭)

no rizz fr😭😭

that gives me an idea like a rizzless god in sagau who gets really flustered when someone attractive talks to them. sorry if shes a bit ooc here lmaooo

imagine visiting fontaine the same time Arlecchino is there, Creator! Reader would do their best to avoid Arlecchino because they'd just be a blubberring mess as soon as she breathes near them or something.

Creator! Reader who gets invited to a meeting with Neuvillette only to find Arlecchino there too. You're all nervous and you could feel a bead of sweat run down your forehead because... It's FATHER were talking about here!! Before you were isekai'd into this world, you loved Arlecchino to a point you have her C6 and her weapon!

Neuvillette soon excused himself as there seemed to be an emergency in court, now it was just you and Arlecchino in the room. Her stare was frightening, you couldn't even look her in the eye...

"I heard a lot about you, your Grace, through my children... They told me they were your guide when you first visited Fontaine." She spoke up, "Uhh... Yeah... They were really nice and welcoming." you replied. Silence again... You didn't really know what to fucking say because what the hell would you even say to her??

'Oh hey uhh Arlecchino, I love you, I read your fanfics and lore and stuff uhh... I have your poster on my wall so uhh... Please don't be weirded out...'

Oh no way in hell were you saying that...

You cleared your throat to try to make small talk, "Umm... nice weather were hav-" you were cut off by a sudden thunder... looks like whatever Neuvillette was handling he seemed to be pretty upset by it. You just decided to shut your mouth. "Hmm... Well looks like it's time for me to leave." she spoke out as she sat up from her seat.

You glanced up at her, "If you're interested, I would like to have dinner with you tomorrow, Your Grace." she added. "Oh... As a business meeting? I don't think I have anything to discuss with you in terms of business." you replied. "No, as a date." she replied.

"Oh... as a date... okay." wait... a... a...?!?!?! You're eyes widened, you could see her lips curl a little as she soon left.

Wow you truly are rizzless... to a point they'd have to just do the first moves themselves...

[cerisemerald]

One and only — Thomas Shelby x Fem!Reader

SUMMARY: She has been loving Thomas for a while now, and it is heaving on her the fact she thinks he still is in love with Grace — she needs a confession, a affirmation that she is not just filling in a gap. It comes in a unexpected night, followed by an unusual morning, but everything with Thomas was like that.

MUSIC: One and only by Adele

A/N: this is the second fic I am reposting from my old account (I accidentally deleted it) and it was from one of my celebrations (200 followers I think) that consisted of fanfics inspired by Adele’s songs from the album 21, this one was requested by a dear friend and it is very dear to me!! It happens between s1-s2, Thomas meets (Y/N) after grace leaves. Feedback is always welcomed!

WARNINGS: English is not my first language.

WORD COUNT: 5,477

[MASTERLIST] [MOODBOARD]

(divider credit is for @cafekitsune)

“Thomas,” she calls, staring at his back, but he doesn't answer, he continues to look at the field in front of them instead. “Thomas?”

“Hm?” He still doesn't look at her.

(Y/N) decides to finally walk to him, she does not stop in front of him though, sensing something was wrong and not wanting to disturb or annoy him somehow. She stops right behind Thomas, a step of distance between them, from this close she can see the tension in his shoulders better, and as much as she wishes to touch him and try to tranquillise him, she waits. He doesn't do anything, however, not even looks at her, and she sighs.

She looks at the field, too, trying to understand what is possibly happening in his head. But she has a strong guess, one she does not like at all. (Y/N) hates when Thomas lives more in his past than in his present life, for her, it was his biggest flaw; the way he was constantly living for memories and not for life itself. And she feels that now he is probably thinking about what happened two years ago, Grace.

(Y/N) does not care he is thinking of her, that she can understand, after all he did fall in love with her, it would not be easy, especially for Thomas who protected himself with so many walls, to forget the woman. She doesn't expect him to just stop thinking about Grace overnight, but it did hurt, sometimes, how it felt, as if she was living in the shadows of someone bigger than her. It had been Grace's mistake, but she was the one paying for it, paying for the mistakes of a woman she hadn't even met.

She also knew, of course, that it would take Thomas time to trust again, to open himself like he had before. She knew everything that revolved around a broken heart, she did, but knowing did not make anything easier to deal with. It was still hard to face Tommy and see how, even in his most present moments, a piece of him was lost. Sometimes, she would ask herself why she even stayed, when it seemed like Thomas would never love her the same way. But she did, returned to him every single time, hope, maybe, tying her to him.

“Tom, why’d you bring me here?”

Thomas had showed up in her house last night, surprising (Y/N) in the middle of the week. It was not how their encounters usually went, Thomas would see her mostly on weekends. Sometimes he would spend the night, sleep with her to leave only on Sunday morning, sometimes stay up until four pm, these nights they would dance in her kitchen while drinking whiskey. It was all simple, but what mattered was that they talked, that they would sit down to talk and would sooth each other. Everything between them was simple, even love, when it came to their realisations that they were in love. There hadn't been a confession, not from her nor from him, they had just looked at each other differently, held each other for longer, kissed with more passion than ever, and that was enough to understand.

But yesterday was very different. She could not understand what was happening, neither read it on his face. As soon as she opened the door, he was tense, eyes haunted — not like tiredness from work or exhaustion because of all his problems, but as if he had just heard terrible news and saw his world crumbling. When she greeted him with a kiss, he had not held her waist or face, and had returned the kiss distantly. Still, she breathed and let him in, hoping that she might help somehow. He didn't talk much, short answers only, but it was like he needed the attention, needed her to listen to him, so she did. After sometime, she had run out of ideas to console him and offered for them to share a meal together, and for the first time since they had known each other, he ate something. Almost unnerving, but she was so relieved that she chose to see that as a good sign. After that, Thomas just sat in silence while she cleaned the plates.

When (Y/N) finished, she turned around to see he was sitting still at the table, eyes closed, breathing like he was trying to control himself. She couldn’t tell if he was trying to hold back tears or a scream, whatever it was, it was consuming him, drowning him in anguish. (Y/N) moved slowly, getting closer to him and delicately grabbing his hand. Then she whispered his name like a secret, like she was afraid of being caught saying that, because, in truth, she wasn’t sure if she wanted Tommy to hear it or not.

But Thomas did, and he squeezed her hand like his life depended on it, returning the touch with such a force it took her aback. It was not like he never touched her, or that he didn’t show any sign of affection such as holding her hand, but that touch was different. It was acid, burning (Y/N)'s skin in seconds and leaving a million scars behind. Thomas touched her like she was the only one capable of saving him.

It was scary. It was exhilarating. It was a breath of heaven’s pure oxygen. It was suffocating as the smoke on a fire. And it was only a touch of hand.

But it said so many things, it said that he wanted her there, that he actually needed her there. And she was happy with being wanted, but being needed was something she could not even describe, it was overwhelming. It took (Y/N)’s breath away. It made her forget everything else she needed to do, because Thomas was there, all of him, in her kitchen, holding her hand and asking her to be there for him.

With care, she walked until she was behind him, her arms adjusting perfectly in his neck, allowing his head to find a rest in her belly, it was not often Thomas would let her be the one embracing him. Usually, he would be more vulnerable after they would have an entire night together, and he would lay down between her legs and relax on her chest while she caressed him. (Y/N) started to caress his hair, gently as she could, and she noticed that with time, Thomas was melting to her touch, a small smile grew on her lips, but she kept quiet. It was the first time she felt like she could have every single piece of him with her. He sighed as she took some strands of his face, inclining his head even more.

Thomas opened his eyes suddenly, and because of his moving, they were now staring right at each other. Her heart sank with what she could see, his eyes were dark and tired, hurt. Still, she didn't say anything, knowing it had to be him the one to initiate any type of conversation about what was happening, she only kept caressing his hair. After some seconds, he reached for her left hand and kissed it, making her smile again, he stroked the back of her hand with his thumb, and she understood that it was his way of saying thank you. And, in a way, showing that he liked being near her like that. Although he seemed more calm, it didn't look like he would talk, and it was obvious how tired he was, so instead of asking anything, (Y/N) offered for them to sleep. He nodded, and they were quick to go to bed, a simple, but genuine kiss as a good night.

In the morning, he had all of a sudden woken her up with kisses on her neck — like last night hadn’t been so different, saying he wanted to take her somewhere. And yet, even though it was his idea to bring her, he hadn’t spoken since they got in here.

“I haven't come here in a long time.” He finally says something, making (Y/N) stare at him again. “My father…” Thomas takes a time to complete his sentence, “my father used to bring us here, sometimes, I hunted with him one day.”

“Hunted what?”

“A deer,” Thomas smirks, finally directing his look at her.

“You still didn’t answer me.” Thomas smirks only grows bigger at her words. “Why did you bring me here, Thomas?”

He keeps staring at her, she can’t tell everything he is thinking, but that he wants to say something and the words are hard to say, she is sure.

“I don’t know.” He confesses, and (Y/N) could have believed it if it wasn't for the hint of doubt in his tone, as if he didn't want to tell all the truth, but at the same time, didn't know all of it too.

She breathes deeply, she is trying really hard to understand him, she has been for quite some time, but he never truly gives her the chance. “It's that so?”

Thomas and her stare at each other for long seconds, it's not a battle this time, it's not her trying to reach him and him running away, (Y/N) feels as if she is already inside, but can't see what it is, and how could she? When he showed nothing before. She is not sure how to navigate this, what to search, what to ask, not this time, and that scares and frustrates her in equal amounts.

Thomas has these eyes that always make her feel naked, confused and alive. He sometimes looks at her like she is precious, like he cannot go a second without touching her, and she believes it, because his eyes are true, raw even. And then, he could look at her the way he is doing now, like she has just stabbed him, as if she has his heart in her hands to do whatever she wanted, and she decided to make him suffer. It wasn’t true, and it wasn’t fair, she didn’t have him like that, so why would he stare at her with all that devotion and agony?

She chuckles, lowly and dryly, and starts to walk, leaving him behind. (Y/N) doesn't know exactly what she is feeling at the moment, but everything is a little too much. She doesn't want to have to guess, it would be nice, for once, if he could finally say it out loud.

Stopping a few steps away from him, she finally takes a better look at everything in front of her, how beautiful that field is, how breathtaking the view of the sky is with no pollution from the city. The sun hadn’t completely risen yet, some shades of purple, pink, and orange decorated the sky. It looks just like a painting, she thinks, and it hurts a bit to realise that it would be a pretty day to feel good, for her and Tommy to be doing something enjoyable.

What bothers most is that it feels like there is just one last wall between them, and she had thought she would finally have him — but it's not simple, it never is. Thomas has to be the one to take that last step, he has to be the one to, at last, face what he is feeling. If she is the one to do it, to once again try to put pieces together to understand him, it will never change, he will only come home broken and expects mending. She wants more than that, she wants genuine words being said, wants to feel more than… a fragment.

She was afraid sometimes, what if the problem was not his past love, but her? Understanding that old feelings were hard to get rid of was easy, but to which point was Thomas protecting himself from any new feelings? Did it ever become a protection against her? (Y/N) would ask herself, what was he so afraid of? Afraid of having feelings for someone again? Or was he just afraid of… her? It scared her that maybe it wasn’t love and it’s disappointments that kept them apart, maybe it was her. And that she couldn’t fix.

She kicks some rocks by her feet and holds back another frustrated sigh, feeling like maybe she wasn't being fair, that her previous insecurities and frustrations might be influencing her. (Y/N) was trying so hard, to be seen, to be heard, to be loved. Because she loved him, honestly and easily, but had she not done this before? Tried to communicate, to understand? With others that now seem pale in comparison with Thomas, but still, love was a complicated thing. For her, it had always been, since the very beginning, since she had known what love was. It was not just Thomas, no, it would be unfair to say it was only him, perhaps she also needed time to deal with what was inside her. Yet she can't help to think it is different with him, there were others before, but he is the one that matters, he is the one she wants close at all times, the one she still stays close to even with all the hurt and words unsaid, waiting, wishing.

It was Tommy, after all, making her heart feel full and empty at the same time, occupying her thoughts, making her feel like things could get better someday.

If she just had the chance to properly talk to him… to cross all the bridges and understand, maybe then a conclusion would be made, one not based on assumptions she could not fully trust.

Nevertheless, here they are, turbulent thoughts clouding each one's mind. The surroundings are beautiful, the wind making leaves float in the air, both of them with their mouths clasped shut and minds running wild.

She can't see it, Thomas thinks, this time she doesn't seem to see the truth in his eyes. He notices the way she is shrinking inside herself, body almost crumbling, and he walks to her, he is tense when he hugs her from behind, arms keeping her in a tight embrace. Thomas knows she is fighting back tears by the way she lets herself go and relaxes her head against his chest as soon as he pulls her in. He can feel the way her body is fighting, half of her not willing to rest completely.

He never truly knows what to say, he did when he was with Grace, or almost always did, a clarity coming to him when he was about to do something stupid. With (Y/N) it is different, he knows how he feels, and she says the right thing, and he lets her read him, and they go on. Sometimes he has to say it, because she is tired, because she needs him to, or simply because he feels the urge to. But now it feels like they have reached a point that if Thomas keeps being silent, things will end.

Still, for a while they just stay in silence. Thomas keeps his touch steady, not entirely conscious that he is drawing patterns on her waist until she lets out a sigh that he recognises quickly by now, contentment, he can feel her relaxing a bit more. His hands wander a bit further, tracing her belly and up her chest, and as he remembers the night they met, his touch becomes heavier. For what felt like an eternity, he had wished to touch her. It was quick, she'd always say, how they met and how they ended up in a private room. She was not aware that for him, it had felt like a long waiting.

A party that he meant to go for business only, not even much interested in said business, at least not enough to try to do it in person, he had sent John to do it, but he got sick. Never before had Thomas been so happy with his brother being ill. Had he never gone to that party, he would not have met her. And it was a truth, even though he did not say it much, but a truth nonetheless, that since they met, she was constantly taking him out of his stupor. Since he had laid his eyes on her, he felt it, hands pulling him up, making him finally blink and wake up.

It was simple between them, it had been since the beginning, he had wanted her and there was no room for questioning if he would follow her, she had corresponded in the same intensity. Slowly their lives came in between, the days apart, the reality of each one, but even then, she only told Thomas she would be waiting, and there was no room for questioning if he would come back.

On the weeks with fewer visits from him, nothing changed, on the weeks he could see her more frequently, everything did.

Although his ghosts still haunted him, it was not the same as before, he could breathe now, push them away easier. But he had never been good with words when it came to this. To confess, he used words to get what he wanted, to conquer, long gone was the time words served as a way to connect and open himself. Grace had started to change that, easily as if she was a childhood love, she had picked up his heart on her hands. Thomas had not expected it, and when it hit him, he realised how truly in love he had been. For once his intuition had left him, after such a long time creating walls upon walls, they crumbled only to have to be raised again. He had also not expected it to change, to meet someone else, and yet, he did.

“What are you thinking?” She asks, head still resting against him.

“You.”

“You are thinking about me?” He can hear the small smile on her lips.

“Yes.”

“What about me?”

“The night we met.”

“Oh.” She chuckles, as if something suddenly made sense to her. “You were so pretty that night.”

Thomas holds back a smile, like he usually does when she says something like this. “I’d say you were more.”

(Y/N) laughs and turns to look at him, distancing herself enough so they could stare, he is relieved to see there are no tears in her eyes. “I was, but it didn’t last long after I met you.”

Her arms find a place on his shoulders as she hugs him, hiding her face on the crock of his neck. She radiates warmth, and Thomas welcomes it eagerly.

“It wasn’t all my fault.” Thomas says, dead serious, because sometimes she seems to forget they burn together, and she laughs again.

He feels when her body changes after a few moments, her breathing getting erratic, he prepares himself.

“Tom?” It's nothing more than a whisper.

“Yes.”

“I’ve been thinking, and…” something in him is begging for him to interrupt her, he knows what is coming, he can feel it. “I think we should, you know, stop seeing each other.”

He stays quiet, his arms never leave her body.

“Why?”

She takes a long time to answer, and Thomas starts to look for words he can say, things he can do to fix whatever needs to be fixed. He knows what it is, but as her silence stretches so much, he wonders if there is something more, if there is more he did and was unaware of it, that isn't hard to imagine. He feels, somehow, the moment she shivers, her arms seem to lose strength, her embrace weakening.

(Y/N) takes a deep breath before speaking,“because… because I feel like I’m Grace’s shadow. I feel like you met me when you were desperately needing someone to replace the emptiness that she left at your heart. It’s not that I’m the same as her, no…” she hides her face even more in his body, “it’s just you wanted someone to make you forget all the pain. And it happened that I was there to be your distraction. And at the beginning, I didn't care. But now, I do.”

She stops, Thomas knows she is fighting back tears, knows that she hates having to say all of this. Then she whispers, “I care because I’m in love with you, and being someone’s shadow for the man I love isn’t my biggest wish.”

What a treacherous path Thomas had walked them into. He could not deny it what he felt in the past was real, what he and Grace had shared was still haunting him, as his deceptions and frustrations always did. He never admitted, but for him, things like that never left his mind, he just pushed them away, kept them hidden. And still, things did not need to be like this, he did not have to act like that. He did… he liked (Y/N), not just that, he loved her even. A small and fragile thing at first, threatening to hurt him, not because it hurt, but because it made him finally move on. But now, a year later, it was not that small any more, he knew what he felt, knew that he searched for her when they were apart. And Thomas had no necessity in comparing what he felt before with what he felt now, he knew it would take time for something like that to happen again — to be true, he had not even thought it would happen again, but it did, it is happening.

Thomas blinks, watching as flowers and leaves were stirred by the wind, a hollow sound surrounding them. There is so much more he probably doesn't know, more things she thinks and has kept to herself.

“You’re not Grace’s shadow.” He says in a whisper, his voice betraying him. It sounds weak, and he wanted to convey how strong his affection is. Nonetheless, he hears her sighing in relief, distancing herself from him a bit, but still not looking at his eyes.

“You love her Tom,” (Y/N) states, “you’re still deeply in love with her and all you lived by her side. If I’m not her shadow, then I’m a mere ghost of what she was.” She raises her eyes to his face, he is already staring, always staring at her.

She looks at him with so much resignation that Thomas is almost convinced he cannot change her mind.

“I’m not angry or mad or upset about this. I’m just sad.” She says it then, voice low, Thomas knows it is because she is holding tears back. “And it doesn’t matter how much I love you, I don’t want to be sad, to feel miserable every time I don’t act like someone I don't even know. I just don’t want that life for me, even if that means losing you.”

He looks away, not being able to stare at her eyes at the moment, not when he doesn't have the right words to say. It was not his intention for it to reach this point, for her to think he wants a copy of Grace. He knows he has to say it, explain himself, but it is like being paralysed. It's the kiss on his cheek that makes him finally blink, it is the way her lips are so delicate against his skin, a goodbye. She leaves his arms, turning around to go back to the car, but he holds her wrist immediately, (Y/N) stops, looking at him with knitted eyebrows.

Thomas takes in all of her at that moment, the determination clear in her eyes, eyes he has grown so accustomed to, that do not search him unless he opens himself, eyes that love him, tender him. Eyes that he cannot forget even when she is not with him. He looks at her lips, lips that have said the words he needed to hear, the ones he did not want to hear, lips that have kissed him with so much passion that he was able to forget the world for some hours. She has, slowly, found a place inside of him, roots with her name overtaking his chest. Her hair flutters around her face, she seems tired, (Y/N) offers no more resistance on her face, only resignation, but she does not pull away either. He engraves every single detail of her in his mind.

The words are not helping him, he cannot think of anything good enough to say, it is like she wiped his mind, leaving nothing but thousands of pictures of her behind. Of every moment she has used her words not to pry him open, but to convince him to do so, every moment she has held him in place instead of insisting on dragging him somewhere else.

It was at the moment, the sun shining brightly, orange light taking over the sky, making her skin seem warm to the touch, that he finally realised. It had always been simple between them, he did not need to complicate it right now, there was no need for elaborate words, only the truth. She wanted something straight-forward, (Y/N) was just asking for it to be real.

“I don’t want her,” Thomas says, words finally appearing. “I don’t want her like I want you. Not any more.”

And it was true, he had loved Grace, had felt something he thought himself incapable of after the war, and yet, it passed. She had betrayed him, and he still felt it then, sometimes still feels it now, but it passed.

She gives a step forward, “but you still love her, right?”

He allows himself to remember Grace's face, her tender touch, it was involuntary, the care that comes with it. But there is also the pang of heartbreak, the understanding and the sense of finality, there is nothing he can do to go back in time, and now, he does not want it any more. He has (Y/N), she mended what was broken. He takes a step towards her as well, hand tightening even more around her wrist, he wants her now more than he ever did.

“Yes.” he admits, because it is also true that (Y/N) can wring secrets from him. “But she’s past.”

“Is she, Tom?” She gives in a deep breath, “if that’s so, you’re a man living your days in the past. You’re always with her, even when you try to be here with me.”

“No.” he denies, low and firm, “It’s not me living in the past, (Y/N).”

“What is it then?”

He wants to say it at that moment, to confess she haunts him, that his past always does — who he was before war, who he became during it. It is a part of him now. But that is not his nature any more, to confess this easily, it takes time, and he has said more today than he ever did before. Instead, he looks at her, knowing that when nothing comes out of his mouth, that it's what denounces him, his eyes.

She reads him again. Thomas knows, he always knows when she understands. Maybe it is the look on her face, he has never been able to identify what it was, but something changed when she could get him.

“I know it ain't easy,” (Y/N) says, getting closer to him, she puts a hand on his face, “it seems to haunt you, Thomas.”

She is close now, enough that he can feel the warmth of her body again. Thomas lets himself relax against her, his hand still on her wrist, he can feel her pulse now, slightly accelerated.

“I feel left out sometimes,” she whispers, “as if she is right behind me, and I am echoing her words, or at least the words you wanted her to say.”

Thomas nods, “you are not like her.”

(Y/N) seems surprised at that, “what was she like?”

But that is too much. “You are different,” he establishes, firm enough for her to understand he does not want to talk about Grace like that. It's easier to just forget, sharing this feels strange, describing how he loved her — because it would not be just an impartial view of how she was. “And your words too, you do not echo her in my mind.”

You fixed it. Erased what hurt was left on the surface.

(Y/N) squint her eyes at him, he lets her stare into his eyes, lets her understand.

“If we…” she cleans her throat, “if you try, could this work?”

He bites his tongue to say that is already working, because yes, for him, it is, but she is opening herself to him and saying she is hurting.

“What do you want?” He asks, instead.

“You.” (Y/N) shrugs, “I know we can't be each other one and only. But it would be good if you opened yourself more, I cannot always read your mind.”

He must've frowned at that, because she immediately completes, “I know it's different for you, how you open up. I sometimes wish for words, it's true, but it is not what you can give me and I know that.” And although she understood it wrong — he was just surprised when she said she could not always read him —, he was happy to hear that.

Thomas puts a hand on her waist, pulling her and closing the distance that was left, he can feel her now, that smell that calms him every time they sleep together, he tightens his grip. There is not a world where he would refuse this, it is surprising, sometimes even slightly scary and annoying, how she managed to awaken him when he fought so much to numb himself. But he always comes back to her, always knocks on her door, because it is stupidity to refuse her, push her away, only a mad man would do that. He consumes her instead, goes to her house, drinks from her lips with such thirst it is as if he is famished, and it is never enough. Whatever she wants, he thinks, whatever she wants to stay.

She is looking at him with an indecipherable expression, but he cares not at the moment, he will have plenty of time to reflect on everything she said today, to understand her even more. Now, he searches for her lips, brushing his own against her, wanting to feel her before making the real move. He is not one for teasing, every time he does this, it is because the waiting feel as good as the actual kiss, the way he can feel her skin shivering, the way she whimpers slightly — because they are the same when it comes to this, she also has an insatiable hunger. They finally kiss, then, desperate to feel each other, it always feels like they are one at this moment, and nothing else matters.

She is the one to break the kiss, only to look at him and whisper, “I love you.”

Before Thomas can think of answering, her lips are crashing against his again, demanding, taking, and he answers it. He almost chuckles when one of her hands find her way to get under his shirt, but his own body leans into it in such a fast manner he knows he would be laughing at himself too.

Since the first time she touched him like this, he knew he had cursed himself. He knew he would be damned, growing hunger for that, fonder for her. She had scared him, and yet, proved herself to be exactly what he needed.

He broke the kiss this time, not being able to contain the smirk when he saw her drunk eyes, even though he was for sure laughing at himself too.

“I love you.”

She melts against him, smiles brightly. He does not know why he waited so long to say it, but he is usually like this, takes too long to say something important.

“You’re not her.” He finds himself saying, surprising the both of them, “you’re not her shadow.”

She nods, Thomas sees her blooming right in front of him. He feels something settling in his chest, his mind getting quieter, a miracle for its own, but even more special when he feels it because of her.

Please. He thinks as he gives a peck on her lips. Don’t ever say you’re a mere ghost, when I love you this much.

The wind was still stirring the flowers and leaves of the field, and the field was still the same, same as the sun shining in the sky. But somehow, everything seemed more right.

[diamondcitydarlin]

diving back into msscribe lore made me remember this; imo one of the funniest things about the My Immortal fanfic is the context to which it was born in the HP fandom at the time. In the early 2000's, HP fandom was a veritable arms race of who could write 'the best' most 'sophisticated' HP fanfic and the BNFs (Cassandra Clare, for example) were elevated to their pedestals because they were seen as the most talented fic writers. There were pissing contests, passive-aggressive comments about so-and-so being 'a mediocre fic writer' just shared between supposed 'friends', like one's popularity currency absolutely depended on whether or not the fandom deemed one's writing 'good enough'. Everyone was trying to be the goddamn idk Jane Austen of HP fandom pretty much. Even by 2006 (and msscribe's fall from grace, if you even care lol) this was still more or less the case- so the fact that this absolute unrepentantly bad HP fanfic came out during that time, the fact that Tara just kept posting chapters and doubling-down on people's criticisms and abject horror, the fact that this fanfic gave NO FUCKS about spelling, grammar, keeping characters intact, or even the original context of HP at all makes My Immortal's existence so much funnier than it already is on its lonesome. My Immortal was a slap in the fucking face to the entire established system and it reveled in being so.

Tellingly, I think, most people online today aren't going to know those 'popular', supremely 'well-written' fics off the top of their head, but even some IRL people I've talked with know and love My Immortal. Hell, Tom Felton has read it for his IG! Amy Lee either read or reacted to it a few of years back! It has it's own wikipedia, countless illustrations, works inspired by it and a cult following even today! I can't say the same for any of those fanfics that came before!

Whether My Immortal was a skilled troll or an unapologetic teenage girl that was going to write whatever the hell she wanted to, goddamn it, doesn't really matter because the effect was the same. Maybe remember that the next time you're agonizing over whether or not your writing is 'good enough'. Sometimes, it doesn't even need to be.

[oneshotnewbie]

Can you write me a fanfic where Emily Prentiss asks why Reader never talks about her family and Reader tells her. Emily is just sitting there, keeping you in her arms and not saying anything because she doesn't know what to say?

Authors note: I changed your request a little to fit my story. I hope that's okay. Other than that, not really well written because I was in a rush. Sorry!

ᕚ---ᕘ

The tension lifted from the air in the Behavioral Analysis Unit and a feeling of relief flowed through the entire team as they had once again successfully solved a case that had threatened the life of an innocent child.

Dr. Spencer Reid was already back at his desk full of documents, his eyes focused on the pages in front of him. His fingers glided over the keyboard of his laptop as he checked the final details of the report. Next to him sat Penelope Garcia, also typing on her keyboard with flying fingers, reconciling the final technical details of the case in order to complete her report as well.

At the other end of the room sat Special Agent Derek Morgan, his demeanor calm and collected as a soft clink of metal on metal rang out as he disassembled his weapon and cleaned it. Beside him stood Emily Prentiss, watching Derek with her arms folded and a thoughtful expression on her face.

As the team tried to calm down and recover from the adrenaline, Jennifer Jareau returned to the room, followed by a couple with immediate quick steps. A bright smile graced her face as she approached the team. "They're here," the blonde said quietly, her voice filled with joy and relief.

All eyes immediately turned to the couple standing next to JJ. They were the parents of the missing child who the team had successfully found and rescued as part of their case. The worry and fear of the past few days had left deep marks on their faces, but now that they knew their child was safe, you could practically feel the pain and worry falling from their shoulders.

The child, a little boy, slept peacefully in David Rossi's arms and when he got up and gently placed the boy in their arms, his father immediately patted his small head protectively. "Here he is, safe and sound." he spoke, his voice filled with warmth and compassion as he watched the parents hug their child tightly as if they never wanted to let him go, tears of joy streaming down their cheeks. The terrible hours of waiting seemed to slip away.

The parents couldn't hold back their tears as they hugged their child tightly and their hearts seemed to burst with happiness. A feeling of gratitude filled the room as the couple lovingly embraced each other, holding on to their found happiness.

But as the happy family embraced and the team watched the happy reunion, Emily wondered where you were. After all, you were the one who fought with the kidnapper and had to suffer some injuries yourself to free the child from his clutches. Only when she turned her gaze up to the bridge, where you were standing at the railing, leaning on it with your arms to observe the situation from a distance, did she see your dull eyes, full of emotion, looking at the heartbreaking scene with a thoughtful expression.

In the years you had already spent with the BAU, you had witnessed countless moments like this - happy reunions of families threatened by evil. But this time you were already very withdrawn and distant at the beginning of this case.

She didn't know that your thoughts drifted to your own parents - parents who had never felt the joy and happiness of being able to hold their children in their arms. There was a hint of deep sadness in your eyes. Although you were genuinely happy for the child's well-being, you couldn't help but think about your own parents.

They were trapped in the bonds and destructive power of violence. For them there were no happy reunions, only endless days of suffering and despair.

As you watched the happy family, you felt an unquenchable emptiness inside you. You missed the carefree and love of an intact family, but you knew that breaking away from your parents to protect yourself was the right decision. Even though you longed for a hug, for the words of love and comfort you never received, your life was characterized by loneliness and past pain, by the constant search for recognition and affection that was denied you in your childhood and youth.

Emily couldn't look away from your gaze, couldn't ignore the bitter smile that crossed your lips and the tears forming in your eyes as you forced yourself to push away your thoughts and focus on the present.

With a soft sigh, she walked away from the scene and made her way to you. Thoughts swirled in her head as she thought about how to start the conversation. She finally reached you and stopped next to you. "How is your pain?" She asked softly, her eyes trained on you as you received it with a surprising look.

You hesitated for a moment, clearing your throat and quickly wiping the tears from your eyes as you repositioned yourself before answering. "It's bearable. Thanks for asking."

But Emily Prentiss wasn't going to be brushed off so easily. She could see that something was bothering you and she desperately wants to help you if she could. "If you want to talk, I'm here for you. You know that." You looked down, reflecting a mix of gratitude and surprise in your teary eyes. "It's nothing," you murmured quietly, but Emily could sense that there was more than you wanted to reveal.

"May I ask you something?" She asked and a moment of silence fell between you as she turned her body towards you, moving closer to you. You nodded, switching your gaze between the event below and her eyes. "Why don't you ever talk about your family?"

Your eyes widened at the question and a soft sigh escaped your lips, thoughts of your own past and the decisions you had made pushing their way back to the forefront once more. She had caught you in the act, used her skills to see through you. "Family stops becoming family the second they shatter your heart and leave you to pick up the pieces without an apology." You finally confessed and she nodded in understanding.

"Family can be complicated. But you don't have to struggle with it alone. You can trust me, I'm here for you." She spoke and you took a deep breath before starting to tell your story. "I am grieving people who are still alive, Em," you began, starting with your childhood, talking about the challenges you had with your parents and how you ultimately cut off contact with them because it became too stressful. It was an act of self-preservation, but it also left a deep void in your life. "Family betrayed me so badly, I had no choice but to cut contact. They had forced me to step on eggshells, wounding my skin simply to keep the peace."

As you spoke, she listened intently, her eyes full of compassion and understanding. She could feel the pain and uncertainty that lay behind your words, and Emily felt honored that she had earned your trust far beyond the one you already gave her.

When you finished, she placed a gentle hand on your bandaged forearm and smiled warmly. "Thank you for telling me that. You're stronger than you think, and you're not alone. We're a family here, and we'll always stand up for you."

You felt a wave of relief wash over you as you listened to her words. You felt understood and accepted, and that meant much more to you than you could have ever expressed.

"Rossi once told me that he sees you as the daughter he never had. Spencer talks about you like you're his sister and Morgan protects you like a big brother," Emily began with a hint of tenderness in her voice. "JJ is like a mother, always checking on you if you're eating enough and cares for you when you get hurt. And you don't have to ask me, I would run through fire for you because I love you. No matter what happens, we're here for you."

A warm smile spread across your face as you fell into her open arms and hugged her. "Thank you for being there for me."

And in that moment, you felt like a weight had been lifted from your shoulders and you knew that you had found a family - not only in the team, but also in the warm and sensitive soul of Emily. Maybe your past would stay with you for a long time, but if you continued to be with your family, it was worth any fight to finally put the past to rest.