#Grass Roots Mission

[fogaminghub]

🌟 Conquer the Vandals: The Watchman Mission in Rise of the Ronin 🌟

Dive into the Watchman Mission, where your choices matter! Whether you spare Naosuke Ii or choose a different path, the mission is packed with action and critical character interactions. 🥷💪 Check out our latest blog post for all the details, rewards, and strategies you need to succeed! 

[ch3rrybbie]

hii since you're taking requests could you write something with azriel? maybe something where reader is bonding with Lucien over unrequited mates (except azriel doesn't know they're mates, it has only snapped for her) and she thinks he wouldn't want her but he totally does and is super jealous and then happy ending lol. thanks!

Afterglow

Warnings: angst, reader is depressed?, mentions of canon violence

Note from author: tysm for the request, uni is being uni atm so struggling to write so quick lol but I hope you love itttttt will try get other request and next Randall part out heheh.

———

Lucien had to take you to the great open of the spring court. He was desperate to console you. His worry was etched across his face and yet you felt nothing.

So he sat beside you and waited.

———

You started off into the vastness of the green. Breathe. If you squinted a little the scenery grew blander and reminded you of the mortal lands.You thought back to how this pain had grown.

Your mother had always warned you love made you weak. She saw how deeply you loved Feyre at such a young age, you’d go tripping over branches just to be near her. She saw that if that was how much you loved a friend , to truly love someone would almost certainly destroy you. And human turned fae you felt how much the bond was too heavy to carry.

Your love for Feyre took you north of the border, you were by her side through every fight. Fists clenched and teeth bared. She was your sister and you fought like it. You’d seen every turn of leaf with her and you were so ecstatic to see her reunited with her blood sisters with a baby on the way truly, finally happy.

Yet you were in despair.

———

You, Feyre and Lucien had an instant bond. You rode all over the spring courts, ate, danced and laughed together. Tamlin however, your lip curled at the thought of him.

After being whisked away to the house of wind you remember the exact day you met the cause of all this hurt.

You’d suddenly felt a presence coming, you turned to Rhysand and demanded to know who was here. Both Feyre and Rhysand were stunned as you were still human. Then he approached alongside Cassian and you could barely tear your eyes away. Your heart knew him, your soul , your very being.

And yet he was nothing but sterile towards you only relinquishing a firm nod. Cassian on the other hand swept you up like a mighty warm wave telling you he’d heard lots about you.

———

Months later when your mission to Hybern went disastrously wrong the pain of seeing Azriel broken and dying on the hard stone floor made you want to sweep him up into your arms. All splashing and screaming from Nesta and Elaine had been tuned out you couldn’t help but stare at him breathing cinched. You tried shouting down whatever feeling you had but nothing. Your eyes urged him to get up, look up anything.

“Bring her”, the king lazily waved his hand at you. His men dragged you by your hair, you writhed and screamed.Closer and closer they dragged you level with Azriel and the others. The great hall span and they slammed your head against the stone, chaos ensued with Feyre screaming and Elaine wailing.

In your blurred state you opened your eyes to see shadows and a scarred hand straining your way.

You awoke the freezing water. The cauldron was somehow ice and fire it burned and cooled. It was life and death itself. You prepared yourself to accept the latter.

The mother lent down and kissed your eyes,she bound her blood to yours and gave you a gift.

You didn’t remember much after that.

———

You were in a coma for many moons, Feyre and Rhys sent for healers across the land mostly because your gift from the mother had shown itself. Your longing for home had caused the room they rested you in to be flourishing. It was a sight to behold even Nesta admitted.

Great roots twined around the bedposts, ivy curled around the door, moss and wiry grass shot up from the carpets and flowers bloomed. Elaine took to maintaining your garden, Nesta read to you and Feyre wept over you and stroked your hair. When Lucien had arrived to court he ran straight to your room and shadows seemed to watch over you in everyone’s absence.

Everyone did their part in looking after you, everyone but Azriel.

Throughout your sleep, the flowers rustled, grass weaved its way up to you and roots kept watch. All whispered the events around you, another odd gift of the Mother.

The day you awoke you wasted no time in searching for Azriel, the last you remembered he was dying. You followed the great rope in your soul that had replaced the string that previously tugged you to him.

The study was still and beautiful as you remembered, more so in his presence. His wings grew taught as he sensed your presence. “I’m awake” you couldn’t help but proclaim.

He turned, “I can see that” he coldly threw back.

Your world crumbled, even as fae he couldn’t love you or even feel more than indifference.

He brushed past you, “I shall alert the others”.

You shoulders sank, and yet your heart warmed at the thought of seeing everyone. After an hour of being grabbed, hugged and kissed. You’d all shed as much tears as you could. Feyre and Lucien offered to walk you to your room.

Before you slipped into your room you couldn’t help but ask, “Is he okay?l”. They didn’t even need to ask who, Luciens face softened and Feyres grew taught.

“The past few months have been hard for him Y/N”, Feyre gently lay a hand on your shoulder.

You attempted to be sympathetic before losing control of your temper, “And it wasn’t hard for me?! The least he could’ve done was visit once!” You threw the great oak door to your room open and slammed it in their faces uncaring of how juvenile you were being.

“Y/N” Feyre pleaded, you heard Lucien pull her gently away stating you needed space.

You allowed your anger to flow out of you, translating into great black ropes of thorns growing everywhere and they bowed out of the way of no one but you. That’s not to say everyone didn’t try. One by one they knocked and burst in, only to be defeated by thorns which was entertaining for awhile until you realised yet again everyone came but him.

You send crawling ivy about the house searching for him. It found him in the garden with Elaine, you let it shrivel and die there. You didn’t care who saw anymore.

The thorns grew sharper.

———

Lucien burst in one afternoon he didn’t speak a word, he barelled straight to you. Strands of his fiery hair and drops of blood left in his wake. He grabbed your wrist dragging you out of the fetal position. He winnowed you to the only place he had ever truly seen you happy.

Spring court.

———

“She’s gone!” Feyre cried panicked as she burst into the study. Rhys rushed to her as Cassian and Azriel shared a confused glance.

“Who?” Rhys questioned.

“Y/N, Lucien went up to try coax her out and they’re gone”

Rhys and Cassian froze anticipating Az’s reaction.

Azriel stormed out the room with Cassian not far behind.

“Az where in the cauldrons name are you going we don’t know where she is yet”

“I don’t need to know” he spat back

Cassian gripped his shoulder, “Don’t be stupid” he chastised

“What if it was Ness”

Cassian let him go stunned into silence.

Rhys informed Az mentally you were in the spring court offering to winnow him but he was gone and soaring towards his heart.

———

Lucien carefully started to talk from beside you.

“We were so happy here so I just- , I don’t know I thought I could force that joy back” he looked at your mournful gaze and sighed.

“He’s your mate isn’t he?”

Your head snapped towards him, Lucien could’ve sworn the grass did too.

“Elaine is mine”

The wind stopped and the grass stood still.

You said nothing crawling closer and laying your head on his shoulder, you felt at home.

You felt like a child again.

Tears blurred your vision and you let them slip.

The wind resumed, grass swaying peacefully.

“You know I’ll always love you Lucien no matter what, I mean not like that but you know”

He roared with laughter making you jump and burst out laughing.

You both calmed and watched the vast fields you could’ve sworn you heard the roars of Tamlin in the distance. He stayed away nonetheless.

You rested your head back on Lucien’s shoulder and your tears swelled again.

“What do we do?” you mournfully asked him.

You felt him breathe in sharply before cutting out

“I don’t know” a pause, “but I know you can’t do what you were doing we’re worried about you and rightfully so, I mean you’re been down right lazy. And so cliche, come on thorns-“

You cut him off shoving him over, you never would get used to the new strength you had.

You saw the playful glint in his eye and lept to your feet sprinting away he gave chase and you were back to where you started running around fields being chased by one of the platonic loves of your life. You wished Feyre could happily be here again.

But you finally felt happy again.

Truly.

———

Azriel no longer had to sense your presence he heard your giggles from afar. What he saw made his fists curl. Lucien had grabbed you and started spinning you around. His fury pushed him to land with an earth shattering crack.

He advanced on Lucien as he dropped you in confusion.

“Azriel what are you doing-“

Lucien fell to the ground as Azriel shoved him with thankfully not all of his might.

You surged forward to come between the two. Azriel felt as though the reedy grass was wrapping around his legs.

“What in the cauldron are you doing?!” You yelled, fury sounding across the clearing.

Lucien’s eye squinted as he assessed the situation a slow smile crept onto his face, “I’ll leave you two to it”.

He disappeared.

Azriel still seemed furious, “You can’t just disappear like that Y/N you scared us half to Hybern and back”

Your rage was once again summoned , “Do not delude yourself into thinking you care for me Azriel”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He spat back

You felt your hands start to shake with anger coursing through you, all this time he disregards and runs from you and NOW he wanted to play possessive.

“You do not get to turn up and demand me to stay at your beck and call when half the time you fly out any room I enter! Shouldn’t you be guarding Elaine or finding places to hide from me”.

Shame finally dared cross his face and he turned from you. His shadows grew more agitated. They retracted from being near you, their proximity startling you.

You turned on your heel and marched into the woods, you needed to get away from him. Before your rage turned into a confession.

“Y/N” you heard him mutter.

You fell into a soft march that was further percussioned by his footfall.

Great knarled trees lining the meadow attempted to stop him from entering the dense forest but he pushed through his shadows staying a whisper away from you.

His shadows didn’t bother reporting back to him.

He knew where you were.

Hunched over the pool of starlight he could’ve sworn you’d crawled out of it,the softening sun cast a glow through the dense trees, a fallen star had come and somehow stolen his heart.

He didn’t even want it back.

———

The pool transfixes you, Feyre had shown it to you during your time there and it soon became your private diary. Little whispers you’d let skim across the surface and lift the weight from your shoulders. When you met the inner circle and came to know Velaris you were so sure you were home. That the stars had listened. You were now sure they must’ve forsaken you, ripped out your heart and replaced it with a dying star.

You paid no mind to the crunch of leaves, you’d already felt him follow you there was no need for him the make his presence known.

“Go home” you spat coldly eyes not lifting from the pool of starlight.

“Come home with me” he gently offered.

“My home is closer to here than I ever thought it could be in Velaris” you muttered.

His hurt was palpable.

Good.

As Lucien just did he relented and came and sat next to you in silence.

The dying star inside you was getting darker with the realisation you’d always feel like way about him and you couldn’t have a mortal lifespan this would be generations of hurt.

So you spoke.

“Why Azriel, why are you here who sent you” you muttered dejected.

“No one. I-….” He trailed off lost thought, jaw clenched with the unspoken.

“Tell the truth” you sighed.

“Please just for once in all the time you’ve known me give me something” you begged.

He looked back over to you, wind brushing over you how he longed to.

He steeled himself, guard finally dropping.

“I was so afraid watching you that day”.

Silence as your brow furrowed.

“Your human body was so fragile, tossed around like blown sand.” Eyes tearful and locked on you.

“And I had to lie there dying and watch you almost die and that was a greater anguish than anything they could’ve unleashed on me”. He sighed as he saw you squint at him.

You stood angrily finger pointed at him as Nesta did. He couldn’t help his lip twitching,you really were one of them.

“If this is some ploy to bring me back to Velaris you will find you’re sorely mistaken in its use.” A great seething hiss of air spat at him.

He couldn’t help but laugh, only you could take a confession with suspicion. From almost crying to the woman he loves to laughing in her face, could this day get any worse?

“You jest?! I laid in wait of you for seven moons Azriel and you were nowhere to be seen! Lusting after Elaine I suppose” A dry laugh cut from your mouth.

All humour abandons him

“Is that what you suppose?” He huffed.

He rounded on you and stood towering, gathering the patience he needed to confess.

Patience found he continued.

“I couldn’t bear to see you laid there unmoving” he breathed deeply he looked furious. “I’d only just recovered so I sent my shadows although I suspected they were already watching when I couldn’t”.

Your face softens. Shoulders sagging.

He continues, breaking those walls you so flimsily held against him.

“For that I apologise, I should’ve been there no matter how much it hurt. I was with Elaine because her gardening reminded me of you the most” he smiles “after you so spontaneously decided to decorate it was the closest thing I had to you, the only thing of you I could touch”

Your lips part in want.

“I have wanted you from the moment I smelt you, and when I saw you my fate was sealed” he smirks at your lust struck face, hand going to cup it.

“Why not tell me?”

“I saw how well Elaine and Lucien’s discovery went” he smoothed his fingers against your lips.

You seized his hand, “I felt it when I was human, I felt you when I was human and I always will”.

Tension was strung like the fireflies now floating above you as dusk encroached.

He smiled and crushed his lips to yours in what felt like a thousand years of longing.

You both drew back just staring at each other,relief blatant.

“Let’s go home” his eyes pleaded.

“Sure” you smile

“I’ll cook” you smooth hair behind his ear as his eyes widen.

“Are you sure?” He asks warily.

“I tell you I’ve known you were my mate when I was human and you question me?” You laugh heartily.

“Now move it bat boy” you march off with a smirk.

He has no choice but to follow his heart.

And come up with an apology and thank you for Lucien.

[reasonsforhope]

"In west England, a series of hills cloaked in heather and wildflowers are the target of a national restoration project that is already seeing success.

Similar to the story GNN reported on last week about the rewilding along the south coast and South Downs National Park, Sussex, volunteers are seeding old hay fields with native wildflowers and replanting traditional hedgerows to ensure wildlife can move freely through the region.

The region is called the Shropshire Hills, which by British law is designated an Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty, and is managed and controlled so this beauty can endure. But while the area is indeed beautiful, the valley between the sections of hills known as Long Mynd and Stiperstones has for decades been under heavy hay cultivation, with farmers plowing up meadows and planting fast-growing commodity grasses.

As part of a project by the UK’s National Trust called Stepping Stones, volunteers have been working with landowners and local councils to turn some of these meadows back over to the wildlife, creating corridors of habitat to allow species like the bilberry bumblebee, pine marten, and curlews to move freely from hilltop to valley floor and back to hilltop.

Charlie Bell, project manager for Stepping Stones, told the BBC that the project is one part of an overall mission that aims to restore 97% of meadows that have been lost in the UK over the last 100 years.

“Many old meadows have been plowed up and re-seeded with more productive mixes of grasses,” she told the national broadcaster. “Fertilizers are often added to increase the growth of these dominant productive grasses, at the expense of finer grass species and wildflowers.”

Jinlye Meadows, on the Long Mynd side of the valley, is now thriving with native wildflower species like mountain pansy, and volunteers have recorded the area is thriving with bilberry bumblebees which are rare and in decline.

In particular, the meadows were covered last year in yellow rattle, also known as the “meadowmaker,” a key part of Ms. Bell’s strategy for restoring meadows. This native species attaches itself to the roots of grasses, slowing, but not sabotaging, their growth. This allows not only the flower to grow, but space for all manner of other flowers to grow as the grasses’ growth is [slowed down]."

-Article via Good News Network, July 11, 2024. Video via NT Midlands, June 19, 2023.

[frenchkisstheabyss]

♰ ⱠɆ₲łØ₦ ♰

♰ Pairings: demon!matz x chubby!fem!reader, demon!wooyoung x chubby!fem!reader, a sprinkle of demon!san x chubby!fem!reader, (eventual priest yeosang/jongho/yungi x chubby!fem!reader in the future)

♰ Genre: demon au/horror/smut

♰ Summary: Congratulations, darling! It's your destiny to be impregnated by four demons in an ancient Satanic sex ritual that'll lead to the birth of the Antichrist and bring about the end times. Now hop down into this demons' layer and let's get this thing going. Armageddon awaits.

♰ Word Count: 3.1kish

♰ Warnings: breeding kink, unprotected sex, no pulling out, double vaginal penetration, overstimulation, nipple play, breast play, rough sex, lots of breath play, ritualistic sex, scratching, a lil blood, oral sex (f receiving), sensory play, a lil nibbling, huge huge demon dicks so there's mucho vaginal stretching, the dicks can shapeshift (yes, shapeshift), demons give some dom vibes, reader's for sure subby, a lil possessiveness, demonic powers, religious themes, bondage, a lil choking, telepathy, your body's controlled via powers at some point, pet names (pet, little one, darling, good girl), and that should be it.

♰ A/N: Hold on, hear me out, I can explain. No, I can't. I'm a heathen. I like spooky shit and fucking demons so, ya know, here we are. This is the first part in a series I'm writing and it'll probably only get more unhinged from here honestly so, yeah, hop in babes. It's apocalypse time.

“And he asked him, ‘What is thy name?’And he answered saying, ‘My name is Legion, for we are many’” - Matthew 5:9

♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ Laberinto del Demonio ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰

Tucked away on the tree shrouded grounds of an aging Spanish manor, a labyrinth spirals deep into the earth. Beneath the lush grass and packed dirt, surrounded by the twisted roots of trees that feast upon the decaying corpses of those who attempt to intrude, this labyrinth is home to fearsome creatures who’ve peacefully slumbered here for hundreds of years. But tonight they awaken. For you. 

“Such a beautiful girl. Just let me…” Wooyoung compliments, fussing with a few flyaway strands of your hair. In the year that’s passed since Wooyoung came into your life all he’s done is fuss over you. You’ve never known a more attentive lover. Never met a man so intent on catering to your every whim.

Wooyoung likes to say that it’s the Fates that brought the two of you together but that’s more than a grave exaggeration on his part, it’s an outright lie. If he’d waited on the Fates it’d have been another 200 years before he stumbled upon a female descendant of your bloodline. Finding you by any means necessary, however brutal, was paramount to fulfill his mission and to soothe the heart that ached for what he lost when his love was stripped from him all those centuries ago.

Your resemblance to her is uncanny but everything else about you is incredibly unique. It stimulates him in endless ways, everyday with you marked by some new, exciting experience. He adores you beyond measure and the others, soaking you in through their collective consciousness, have grown incredibly fond of you too. 

“There. Perfect, as always” he smiles, taking a step back to admire your silk adorned figure glowing under the light of the moon.

Atop the labyrinth, you admire the torch lit staircase that spirals beneath you. It emits a certain energy that hangs heavy in the crisp autumn air, drawing you towards it. You know what awaits you tonight. Wooyoung went over it with you a dozen times in the last 24 hours alone. It’s something you long for, something that has your body flush with heat at the mere thought of. Yet you can’t seem to shake the nerves that have your fingers trembling as the handsomely dressed dark haired man takes your hand.

Wooyoung strokes your cheek and you soften at his touch, “Are you nervous, my pet?” 

“Not nervous. It’s just…” you sigh, nibbling at your inner lip, “What if I’m not who you think I am? What if I can’t handle it?” 

Wooyoung lets out a laugh you’ve come to liken to a jackal. Loud, mischievous, and undeniably his. “Can’t handle it? It’s that all you’re worried about?” 

He steps in closer to you, stealing a quick, passionate kiss from your crimson stained lips. “You were made for this. In every lifetime you have been and in every lifetime you’ll always be. Now come, the others are waiting.” You soak in Wooyoung’s words, forever a sponge ready to absorb his praise, and gift him the faint smile he needs to lead you forward.

Less forward, more down. 

Down past walls built of jagged stone, thick vines weaving between the cracks sprouting tiny emerald flowers you’ve never seen before. Down past ancient symbols carved in meticulously measured increments. It seems to be instructions of some sort. For what you aren’t sure but a tugging in the pit of your stomach tells you that you’ll soon find out. 

At last reaching the bottom of the labyrinth you find yourself in a cavernous room dimly illuminated by a hundred or so candles. At the center you spot a large pool of slithering black silk not unlike that which hugs your body. Wooyoung leads you to the center and, as he does, you feel the material begin to writhe against your skin. It snakes its way around your curves, exposing your plush figure to the warmth of the pit as you sense you’ve become one with it.

A chorus of voices begin whispering in your ear, invisible hands grasping at your most intimate areas. Wooyoung captures your lips in another kiss, already groaning at thoughts of what he has planned for you. His hands wander below your waist, fingernails growing sharper as they sink into the softness of your ass. You throw your arms around him, deepening the kiss, but he indulges you only for a brief moment before he begins to back away.

“Soon, my love” he says without speaking a word, “See you on the other side.” 

“Woo, wait!” you call out to him but a strong wind whips through the room, extinguishing the flames of the outer candles and swallowing him into darkness. The force of the wind knocks you off your feet but you land with no impact at all, the pit catching you in its embrace, thin strips of silk winding around your thighs. The air around you floods with laughter layered upon laughter, Woo’s melded somewhere in between. 

“Aah, finally I see her through my own eyes” a voice breathes out, tickling your spine. 

“Such a precious little human. So cute” another much deeper voice hums, the vibration ringing through your chest. 

“And she looks so, so…” a third voice chimes in, light as a feather, “Soft!” 

In the blink of an eye the silk wrapped around your thigh transforms into a hand, pitch black with razor sharp claws dripping a thick scarlet liquid down your leg. You let out a scream of absolute terror and it transforms back into the harmless material. It’s as if it were all in your head and the hand was never there to begin with.

“Seonghwa, you’re scaring her!” Wooyoung shouts and invisible arms envelope you, comforting you as your fear subsides. 

“Oh, no. I’m so sorry. I got a little carried away” Seonghwa apologizes, emerging from the pit in his human form.

He swims through the pit as if it were a pool, only his torso visible as he comes between your legs, his much gentler hands smoothing their way up your thigh. You don’t recognize the face of this beautifully androgynous creature but you’re positive you’ve felt his energy around you before.

“Is this better for you?” he asks, breath hitching at the sight of the slick, sweet arousal dripping from your core. 

“Seonghwa?” you moan his name for the first time as his tongue extends to flick your bud. “Woo’s told me so much about you.”

A shimmer of gold ripples across the dark pools that sit where his eyes should be, lips curling into a grin that’s both alluring and sinister. “Aah and what did he tell you about me? Good things?” he asks, his tongue whipping down to prod your tight hole. Seonghwa delights in the string of moans you release as he teases you, pushing his moist tongue into you little by little. Your walls eager to grant him entrance, stretching to accommodate the increasing thickness and length of his tongue. 

“Good? Y-yes, good” you breathe out, shocked at the depths his tongue manages to reach. There are no limitations, no bottoming out. He slips his way into every part of you. Tickling the back of your stomach, lapping at your walls in every direction at once. You can taste yourself on the back of your tongue, a sudden fullness in your throat suppressing your desperate moans. Your body’s no longer yours. It does only what he wishes it to. Moves only as he commands. 

“You’re being greedy. Share her. Now” something inhuman growls, breaking through the fog in your mind.

It’s not something you were meant to hear, the shedding of those performative voices existing solely for your comfort, but you’re far from afraid. On the contrary, such brutality laced with so much need has you clenching tighter, juices gushing out of you as Seonghwa’s tongue thrusts harshly into your core.

Seonghwa grunts defiantly, lifting you a few inches above the pit without laying a finger on you. Your arms dangle at your sides, fingertips grasping at nothing as your body arches against air. Droplets of your arousal run down your thigh, landing on the silk below and the creatures around you release a collective sigh of satisfaction. They can taste you, the ghost of your flavor lingering on their tongues. 

“You are like the other women in your bloodline…” the inhuman voice whispers, becoming more human the closer it gets, “Delicious.”

Two hands reach from outside of your field of vision to caress your plump breasts, firmly pinching your sensitive nipples. Your head falls to the side and you're met with another new face. This one more boyish in his handsomeness but more authoritative in his presence. Wooyoung told you that you’d know his leader when you met him. That you’d feel this immense need to gain his approval, to be as obedient to him as you can be.

“This is Hongjoong” you think and the leader smiles in response.

“Delicious and smart, mmm” he hums, leaning into your neck and breathing your scent deep into his lungs. “Let her speak.” 

The fullness vacates your throat at once, leaving you gasping for air, all those suppressed moans echoing off the labyrinth’s walls. Seonghwa’s tongue flutters softly inside of you now, his pace slowing just enough for you to speak. 

“You know what you’re here for, don’t you little one? Our Wooyoung’s explained it to you well?” Hongjoong asks, kissing you on the neck, his canines nicking at your smooth, fragrant flesh.

You let out a whine, adrenaline coursing through your veins, “Yes…he…everything…told me.”

Hongjoong laughs at your incoherence, finding it quite adorable, “And this is what you want? To let us have our way with you?” He releases one of your breasts, twisting the bud one last time before his hand's gliding down your body to grab handfuls of your belly. “To let us fill you with our seed and let it grow so that we’ll be, all of us, a family?” 

You’re fixated on him, a constellation of tears twinkling on your lashes, “I want it. I want this.” 

“Aah, then we shouldn’t waste any more time” Hongjoong sighs, gesturing to Seonghwa, “Let’s take her together, shall we?” 

Seonghwa’s tongue retreats slowly from your core in an S motion that makes the tip lash sharply at your walls on its way out. The space between you and the pit below begins to close, all current information misleading you to believe the arms you fall into will belong to Hongjoong.

“Relax your body and watch the skies” Seonghwa instructs as you fall against his chest and the vines between the stone walls climb their way up the ceiling. They radiate a vibrant amethyst, the sprouting emerald flowers emitting a sparkling dust that mists through the air. A trail of it drifts down the wall, drawing your attention to the shadows cast upon it by the light of the candles.

That’s when you see it. The silhouette of the creature crawling its way up your body. You’ve yet to feel him but he’s there, advancing up your figure, twisted horns brushing your cheek as it’s face meets yours. Hongjoong takes you carefully by the throat, tilting your head to face him in his human form, “The skies not the shadows, pet. Never our shadows.” It isn’t a threat and it need not be. Your obedience is promised, sealed with a kiss richer than any wine.

Hongjoong’s mouth sips hungrily from yours as he spreads your legs, the swollen head of his cock leaking arousal as it stretches your already soaked core. “Mmphmm” you whine between his lips, your lids squeezing shut the further he pushes into you. He grants pleasure to your walls unlike any the earthly realm could bring. He seems to transform inside of you, shifting into whatever he must to perfectly fill every ridge of your delicate pussy.

Your body wants to clench around him, to feel him as completely as it can but, no matter how hard you try, an invisible barrier prevents it. Anatomy 101 dictates that, with the size of what you’ve taken, there should be not a centimeter of free space. By all means you should be screaming in agony, not pouring out such blissful moans. But, as Woo said, you were made for this and so there’s room still when Seonghwa’s palms come to rest behind your knees, hips rising to lift his pulsing length into your warmth.

Your eyes fall open and Hongjoong breaks from the kiss, freeing you to gurgle and moan as you at last watch the skies. There’s no need for clenching now, no possible way for you to do so. Buried deep within you, they exist both as one and as two. As one when they thrust into you, their demonic growls contrasting the lightness of your moans. As two when they split at the head, charting their own courses to punish your tender nerve endings. 

Seonghwa nuzzles against your neck, licking beads of sweat from your shoulder before it extends down to trace your collarbone. Hongjoong cups one of your breasts, fingertips digging into its plushness as he purses his lips around your nipple, suckling at the bud. Seonghwa’s tongue envelopes your other breast, the tip of his tongue circling your nipple.

Your body’s overcome with an unnatural heat that ravages you like a wildfire. Your mind’s whirling as you think of everything and nothing at once. Your teary eyes remain glued to the skies—always the skies, never their shadows—and your senses begin to shift. No longer are you smelling the honeyed scent of the flowers, you’re tasting it. And what you smell are colors, amethyst and emerald now aromatic as if they were herbs. 

“You are such a beauty to behold” Hongjoong’s voice praises, breaking through the fractured barriers of your mind. 

Seonghwa’s voice coasts in after his. “We haven’t felt this alive in centuries” it says, tickling your consciousness as does the breath at the back of your neck. “Maybe we could keep her like this. Whining and quivering between us. Forever our plaything. Would you like that, darling?” 

Hongjoong dips a hand between your legs, gathering your slick and dragging his drenched fingers across your lips. His laughter rings out in your head, “I think she likes the idea of it. Maybe…”

“Aaah!” you let out a scream that cracks to pieces in your throat. You’re hit with a rush that makes you feel absolutely feral, your nails thrashing at Hongjoong’s back as it overtakes you. 

“Good girl” he coos, unphased by the blood trickling from his wounds, “Come your pretty little brains out for us.” 

Seonghwa allows your legs to drop, strips of silk reaching up to coil around your ankles. His arms come around your waist, keeping you in place to fuck into you harder and faster. Thrusting. Pulsing. Claiming you. Flooding you with their seed until it’s spilling from your core and you’re coming all over their cocks, soaking them in your juices. Never in your life have you felt this perfect. This complete.

It’s impossible to differentiate between the labored breathing shared between the three of you. Even as you drift down from your high your breaths all sound as if they’ve left the same body. You arrived at this place a human but maybe now not as much. A part of you has been given away and, if it means feeling this way forever, you don’t want it back. 

Seonghwa softly brushes your hair away from your cheek, showering it in kisses, “You’ll rest with us now.” 

“Don’t be afraid” Hongjoong says, kissing his way down your tummy, “It can get a bit dark down here.”

“Down where?” you ask weakly before you’re snatched beneath the surface of the pit. Instinctively you begin flailing your limbs in a desperate attempt to keep yourself from drowning but your panic’s soothed by the two sets of arms cuddling up to you.

Surrounded by their warmth, you let the darkness swallow you and drift off to sleep. 

♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ 2. Despertar ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰

“Woo!” you scream, shooting upright, your heart pounding in your ears. You can’t fathom how long you’ve been asleep, the finer details of the previous events lost in the haze of sleep. You look around for Woo, for any of them, but you’re met only with the light, sparkling mist that hung from the ceiling above the pit.

Stretching your aching legs you feel something slink across them. “Wh…what is this?” you gasp, watching the fluorescent vines curiously explore your figure. Flower buds bloom as the vines reach between your legs, curving to ride your thighs up and around your torso. 

“Pretty aren’t they?” Woo asks, appearing behind you without a sound. 

“Woo, you scared me!” you pout, tempted to elbow him in the shin for frightening you so terribly. 

Woo crouches down to loop his arms around you from behind. “I’m sorry. I didn’t expect you to be so easily frightened all things considered” he teases, resting his chin on your shoulder. A graceful wave of his hand and he’s plucked a flower from the vine, twirling it before your eyes. You marvel at its beauty, the emerald glow creating a halo around your irises.

“Where do these come from?” you ask, brimming with wonder.

There’s a rustling in a nearby corner, the silhouette of a broad shouldered man emerging from the darkness. He smiles at you as he steps into the light of the mist, striking you with his features. Woo tucks the flower behind your ear, pointing to the approaching man. “They come from the mountain.” 

The man kneels before you, his dimpled cheeks inches from your face, and the vines tighten around you at his will. “But you can call me San” he says, obviously as smitten with you as you are with him. “Are you ready for us, love?”

You swallow hard and take your last full breath of air before the vine’s snug around your neck. “Yes, mmm, ready” you moan softly, surrendering to the strength of the vines. 

San takes you by the chin, his thumb tracing your jawline, “Hmm, breaking you will be fun. Just try not to look down too much. Might get lightheaded.” 

“Down?” you ask, glancing around at the bed of vines. You put all of your focus into watching them, searching for something you might’ve missed. But they’re as they were before, humming and glowing, doing their master’s bidding.

San guides your head in the opposite direction, revealing the pit of writhing black silk and the room illuminated with candles. 

“Oh, darling, haven’t you figured it out yet? You aren't down there anymore” Wooyoung laughs, tossing a flower into the air and watching it drift down into the pit, “You’re up here.” 

[jezebelblues]

Hi can you do another dad!Harry x reader where Niall meets atlas and he and Harry teach him how to play football and Harry Niall playfully argue about what team atlas will root for. And Niall also wants to teach him how to play the guitar.

𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐄’𝟐𝟐 ࿔‧ ֶָ֢˚˖𐦍˖˚ֶָ֢ ‧࿔

⋆˚✿˖° 𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐛

summary: check the request u silly goose ^

also hello anon, thank u for the request <3 sorry it took so long! hopefully it’s smthn u liked :)

cw: dadrry 🤨, unedited

word count: approx 2.3k

| i’m trying to go in order with the requests ive gotten. a lot have been dadrry which i LOVVE however im gonna take the smallest breather from it because i’ve been wanting to get a few other things out that isn’t dadrry/kid related which i hope yall will still like :^)

masterlist

harry bent over and plucked a dandelion from the ground, its yellow petals nearly glowing in the gentle light. “here,” he murmured, tucking it behind atlas’s ear, nestled into dark curls that mirrored his own.

his boy squinted up at him, dimple deepening as he tilted his head, casting that same unguarded, easy smile. harry’s own grin met it, his eyes crinkling, his nose scrunching up just so. “sunny flower for my sunshine,” he said, voice a low, soft thing.

the world outside was painted in a wash of soft honeyed glow, every blade of grass dipped in a warm, dewy shimmer. somewhere overhead, the clouds stretched in lazy tufts, the kind that would drift by in no hurry, letting the sky peek through in swathes of baby blue.

they were tucked beneath the willow tree at the back of the yard, both of them shirtless, shoeless, and dusted with dirt. atlas sat cross-legged, his chubby fingers digging into the cool soil with the focus only a four-year-old could muster. he was on a mission, hunting for the little grey bugs he loved, the ones that rolled into perfect balls with the gentlest nudge.

“look, bub,” harry whispered, flipping over his hand to reveal one of the bugs crawling along his dirt-streaked palm. atlas’s face lit up, eyes wide and delighted. he gently took the bug, murmuring, “hello, potato,” as if the creature was an old friend. carefully, he coaxed it onto his own hand, watching it sprawl out its tiny legs, finally uncurling. “there y’are,” he said with a satisfied little sigh, his finger brushing gently over its shell before he let it crawl back into the soil.

harry watched him, struck by the quiet tenderness in his son’s movements, his heart swelling with a mixture of pride and awe. atlas’s world was so simple, and yet somehow so vast, filled with magic in places adults so often overlooked.

his son’s head whipped around suddenly, catching sight of a patch of tiny purple flowers hiding near his dad’s knee. he scrambled over, tugging a few loose with careful fingers, his face lighting up like he’d found treasure. harry chuckled, watching his son’s single-minded determination as he came closer, leaning down to face his dad.

“shh,” he whispered, pressing a finger to his lips with the gravest expression he could muster. then, with a careful hand, he began tucking the little flowers into harry’s curls, his small brows furrowed in focus. one by one, purple petals nestled into the messy locks until he was satisfied. “now we match, daddy,” he said, the faintest look of triumph on his face.

harry couldn’t help the way his heart tugged, warmth spreading in his chest. “mama needs one, too,” atlas murmured, glancing around with a serious look.

“does she now?” he stood, brushing dirt from his knees, lifting atlas onto his hip with a grunt. his feet made soft imprints in the grass as they moved toward his wife, who lay stretched out on a towel near the front yard, soaking up the late afternoon sun. her eyes opened as they approached, a gentle smile tugging at her lips.

“what kind of flower, do y’think?” harry mumbled, nudging atlas’s cheek with his nose.

atlas thought for a long moment, glancing between his parents. “m’the prettiest one.”

“now that’s a hard call, mate,” he chuckled. “your mum’s too pretty for just one flower, really. her beauty would outshine it.”

atlas didn’t quite understand, but he knew his dad was talking about how lovely his mama was, so he nodded, satisfied.

just then, the clink of a metal latch echoed from the house. niall appeared, hands on his hips, a football tucked under one arm, grinning as he made his way down the steps toward them. “ready for a bit o’ footie, then?” he called, his voice bright with that familiar lilting accent.

atlas perked up immediately, wriggling in harry’s hold. harry set him down, watching as he bolted across the lawn, little legs pumping as he met niall halfway.

“now, before we get started, little man,” niall began, crouching down to atlas’s level, “we need to sort somethin’ important.”

harry groaned, wandering over with a lazy grin. “oh, here we go. already brainwashing him, are ya?”

niall chuckled, tousling atlas’s hair. “only tryin’ to steer him right, yeah? see, atlas, your dad here likes the red team, manchester united.” he said it in a tone like he was explaining a tragic flaw. “but me? i’m derby county through and through. we’re the true underdogs.” he tapped atlas’s nose for emphasis.

atlas tilted his head, clearly confused. he looked up at his dad, brow furrowed. “the red team, daddy?”

harry laughed, ruffling atlas’s curls. “that’s right, mate. we’re united fans, us. always cheer for the red team.”

niall clutched his chest in mock horror. “ah, but atlas, don’t you want to support a real team, one with heart?”

atlas just blinked between them, completely lost but amused by their playful bickering. he didn’t quite get why it mattered, but he knew his dad loved the red team, so that’s what he’d cheer for, every time.

“alright, enough of that,” niall said with a wink, rolling the football out in front of him. “time for a proper match. let’s see what you’ve got, little man.”

“think y’can win, attie?” harry asked, grinning wide as he kicked the ball softly toward atlas, who stumbled back a step as the ball nudged his bare foot.

atlas giggled, a bubbling, bright sound that made both men laugh. he glanced down at the ball, brows furrowing like he was trying to solve a puzzle, then he looked up with a determined expression. “i can beat you,” he declared, puffing out his chest with all the seriousness a four-year-old could muster.

“oh, he’s got a bit of fire in him!” niall laughed, straightening up and adjusting the dandelion in the boy’s hair. “good lad. that’s what i like to see.”

harry crouched down to meet atlas’s eye level, his smile softening. “alright, bubba. let’s start with the basics, yeah?” he placed a hand gently on atlas’s shoulder, guiding him toward the ball. “all you’ve got to do is kick it nice and easy, right to uncle niall.”

atlas gave a determined nod, his little face scrunched in concentration. he took a step back, wriggled his toes in the grass, then swung his leg forward with a small grunt. the ball wobbled and rolled just a few feet, but it was enough to get a cheer from both men.

“that’s it!” niall called, clapping his hands together as he jogged forward to stop the ball with the inside of his foot. “perfect! now let’s try somethin’ a bit trickier, yeah?” he gave the ball a gentle nudge back toward atlas. “this time, try keepin’ it goin’. we’ll pass it back and forth.”

harry stayed beside him, his hand resting lightly on his son’s shoulder, offering small tips here and there as the ball rolled between them. atlas’s kicks were unsteady, more little taps than proper strikes, but each time he got the ball to move, his face lit up like he’d just scored a winning goal.

after a few minutes, harry stepped back, letting atlas and niall keep the rhythm on their own. he folded his arms, watching them play, the gentle back-and-forth, the easy flow of laughter. niall, ever patient, exaggerated his reactions to every kick, even the weak ones, stumbling back dramatically as if atlas had knocked him off balance. it sent atlas into fits of giggles, his small frame shaking with the force of it.

“look at that!” niall called, holding his arms wide in mock surrender after a particularly strong kick from atlas. “we’ve got ourselves a future champion here! sign ‘im up for derby now, i say!”

“oi, back off,” harry said, joining them again with a wide grin. he scooped atlas up, making the little boy squeal as he swung him around in a wide arc before setting him back down. “he’s stickin’ with united. right, attie?”

atlas just beamed up at them, not understanding but pleased to be the center of attention. “yeah!” he agreed, without really knowing what he was agreeing to. “the red team!”

“traitor,” niall muttered, though his eyes were bright with laughter.

“nah, he’s just smart,” harry teased, tapping the ball with his bare foot and sending it toward niall, who caught it with an easy stop. they moved seamlessly into a light game, the ball pinging between the three of them, atlas racing after every pass with a fierce determination.

niall leaned down, conspiratorially. “tell ya what, atlas,” he said, his tone lowering as if he were revealing a great secret. “if you can get the ball past your dad just once, i’ll let you wear my derby county jersey.”

harry raised a brow, feigning indignation. “oh, no you don’t. we’re not corrupting him with your bad taste in football, mate.”

but the boy’s eyes widened with the challenge, his cheeks pink and his grin growing mischievous. he turned, the tiniest flicker of determination lighting up his eyes as he faced his dad, who crouched down slightly, hands out in front like a goalie.

“you think you can get past me, bub?” harry said, a playful glint in his eyes.

atlas didn’t answer. instead, he lunged forward, feet slipping in the damp grass as he pushed the ball with both tiny feet, charging straight at his dad. harry bit back a laugh, shuffling to the left and blocking the ball gently with his foot. atlas let out a tiny growl of frustration, spinning around and kicking again, his effort all concentration and floppy limbs.

niall ran amuck from the sidelines, letting out hushed yells to mimic that of a roaring crowd. “go on, atlas! you’ve got ‘em! he’s not that quick, trust me!”

harry shot niall a mock glare but couldn’t help the laughter bubbling up as atlas kept trying, little determined sounds huffing from him with every move. finally, with a wide grin, harry let himself stumble just a little too dramatically, the ball slipping past him as atlas charged forward.

“he’s done it!” niall whooped, jumping in the air and throwing his arms wide as if they’d just won the league. “you got him, attie! you scored!”

he froze for a second, blinking in surprise at the empty space in front of him where his dad had been. then he let out a triumphant yell, arms shooting up in the air. “i did it! i did it!”

harry caught him up in his arms, twirling him around until atlas’s laughter rang out, loud and joyful. “you did, mate,” he said, pressing a kiss to the top of his son’s head. “you got me.”

niall jogged over, slinging an arm around harry’s shoulders and holding his other hand out for a high-five, which atlas delivered with a delighted smack. “a promise is a promise,” niall said, grinning wide. “you’ll be gettin’ that derby jersey from me. though, your dad might never forgive me for it.”

“we’ll talk about that later,” harry said, giving niall a playful shove. then he turned back to atlas, setting him down and ruffling his hair again. “but for now, let’s see if you can do it again. think you’ve got another goal in you?”

atlas’s eyes gleamed with excitement as he nodded, puffing out his chest. “i can do it! m’the best player ever!”

“that’s the spirit,” niall said, positioning himself across from them and rolling the ball back to atlas. “ready when you are, champ.”

the afternoon stretched on, niall disappearing inside for a bit before reappearing at the back door, this time not with a ball, but with his battered acoustic guitar slung over one shoulder. the old wood caught the golden light just right, warm honey glinting off the curves. “thought we’d change things up a bit,” he called out, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips. he settled onto the cool grass under the shade of the willow tree, cradling the guitar in his lap.

“oh, you’re quittin’ already?” harry teased, giving the football a gentle tap with his toe toward yn, who was standing barefoot a few steps away, her hair a soft tangle in the breeze. atlas stood between them, his little legs bouncing as he tried to mimic the back-and-forth passes between his parents.

“nah,” niall replied, the strings thrumming under his fingers as he absentmindedly strummed a chord, “just thought atlas could use a break from whoopin’ your arse.”

the little one giggled, spinning around in circles as harry pretended to stumble back dramatically. yn gave the ball a light kick back to her husband, the sunlight catching the bright colors of her sundress, and harry caught it with a playful flourish. the three of them formed a small, easy triangle in the yard, the ball moving lazily between them as niall started picking out a familiar melody.

“come here, little rockstar,” niall said, patting his knee and looking over at atlas with a soft smile. “fancy learnin’ a tune?” atlas hesitated, glancing up at his dad, who gave him an encouraging nod.

“go on, attie,” harry urged, scooping the ball into his hands to pause the game. “uncle niall’s got a song for ya.”

atlas’s eyes widened, curiosity shining bright as he trotted over, plopping himself down in niall’s lap with a trusting little wiggle. the guitar was far too big for him, the wooden body swallowing his small frame as niall adjusted the position, balancing the neck across atlas’s knees.

“alright, kiddo,” niall said, his voice low and patient as he wrapped atlas’s small hands around the neck of the guitar, guiding his tiny fingers to press down on the strings. “these are called chords, yeah? they make the music. we’re gonna try somethin’ special.”

yn and harry settled down in the grass just in front of them, harry’s arm slipping around her waist as they leaned back on their elbows, watching the scene unfold with soft smiles. atlas’s little fingers fumbled against the strings, pressing too hard and too light in the same awkward movements, but niall was endlessly patient, his hands covering the boy’s, guiding him with an easy confidence.

“this one’s called a ‘g chord,’” niall explained, carefully placing atlas’s index finger on the right fret, his own fingers moving over atlas’s to show him the way. “we’re gonna play a bit of my song, yeah?”

atlas nodded solemnly, like he understood, his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth in deep concentration. he strummed the strings with a jerky motion, producing a sound that was more discordant twang than melody. niall chuckled softly, adjusting atlas’s grip with a patient hand. “easy there, mate. it’s all about bein’ gentle, like you were with those potato bugs earlier.”

“like this?” he asked, his face scrunched in determined focus as he tried again, fingers splayed awkwardly over the frets. he plucked at the strings with all the finesse of a four-year-old, the sound shaky and uneven, but undeniably proud.

“that’s it!” niall encouraged, his voice warm and easy. “you’re doin’ perfect, bud. let’s try a bit more, yeah?” he hummed the opening bars of the song under his breath, guiding atlas through each shaky strum, the boy’s small fingers following his lead with a mixture of curiosity and pure, bright determination.

harry’s hand squeezed yn’s gently, his gaze soft as he watched his son try so earnestly. “he’s really into it, isn’t he?” yn murmured, resting her head on harry’s shoulder.

“yeah,” harry replied, his voice low, almost reverent. “reminds me of myself.”

atlas’s fingers slipped off the strings, causing a strange, discordant twang, but niall just laughed and nudged him gently. “no worries, champ. it takes a while to get it right. even i messed up plenty when i was young—ask your dad, he’ll tell ya.”

“he’s tellin’ the truth,” harry interjected with a grin, leaning back on one hand while still holding yn close. “used to be a nightmare. couldn’t get through a song without stoppin’ every few seconds.”

niall pretended to look wounded, pressing a hand dramatically to his heart. “oi, easy, now! this is a teachin’ moment, not a roast!” atlas giggled at the banter, his chubby hands clinging tighter to the guitar.

“let’s try again,”he suggested softly, tapping atlas’s little hand in encouragement. “i’ll help you with the chords, and you just strum when i say, alright?”

the curly haired boy nodded, his eyes wide and focused, and together they moved slowly, atlas’s fingers guided with care over the strings as niall led him through the simplest, gentlest notes of his song. it was more noise than song, a jumbled mix of too-loud and too-soft strums, but there was a rhythm to it, a quiet kind of magic in the way atlas’s brow furrowed with every sound he managed to coax from the instrument.

they played like that for a while, atlas’s small body wrapped in the circle of niall’s arms, the guitar humming under their hands, filling the late afternoon air with its uneven melody. the sun dipped lower, casting long, soft shadows across the grass, the golden light wrapping them all in its warm, fading glow.

when they finally finished, atlas let out a triumphant sigh, dropping his hands from the strings and leaning back into niall’s chest. “i did it,” he said with a breathless sort of wonder.

“that you did, little man,” niall replied, resting his chin lightly on top of atlas’s head, the smile in his voice clear as day. “you played your first song.”

harry clapped softly, his eyes shining with something tender as yn leaned against him, her arm around his waist. “we’ve got ourselves a musician,” he said quietly, his voice caught somewhere between pride and awe.

atlas beamed, his cheeks pink from the effort, his eyes bright with a happiness so pure and unfiltered that it tugged at everyone’s heart. “i wanna play another one,” he declared, turning to look up at niall with wide, eager eyes.

niall laughed, ruffling atlas’s messy curls. “we’ll make a rockstar outta you yet, mate. but maybe we’ll leave the heavy stuff for another day, yeah? for now, you did brilliant.”

they all sat there for a moment longer, the last traces of sunlight casting everything in a honeyed glow, the guitar cradled in atlas’s lap, his small hands still resting on the strings as if he wasn’t quite ready to let go. the world felt quieter somehow, the soft hum of the summer evening settling around them, and for a brief, perfect moment, everything was exactly as it should be.

[illyrian-dreamer]

Our girl – Part 2

Azriel x Cassian x Reader angst

Summary: Deeming you unfit for a mission, the Inner Circle have betrayed your trust and shattered your life’s mission to avenge you sister. And the two males you love most were at the centre of it all.

Word count: 6k

Warnings: Reader unwell/not eating, depression and lots of angst.

Keep reading ⬇️

--------

You slept through any offerings of daylight the next day.

The bustle of the infirmary was a hum to your ears, your exhaustion keeping the world a distance away. Even the healers couldn't stir you when the frequented your room, changing your dressings and checking your pulse.

You woke for a meal of simple broth in the evening, and were glad to have kept it down. You still fought feverish sweats and chills, and the ache in your stomach and chest was persistent. Madja would oversee your care as she had the evening before. She had given one instruction – the more rest, the better.

Night set on the ward again, and you were glad to be enveloped by dim lighting and quieter activity.

Unsure of when sleep had found you, you awoke in an open field. It was bright, the high-pointed sun drenching the landscape in gold, the lake in the distance sparkling and inviting. Familiarity warmed you more than the sun, yet the scene around you remained hazy.

Ears pricking at a ripple of laughter ahead of you, your heart fluttered with excitement. It was instinct to chase that voice, your bare feet pushing from the warmed grass beneath them as you broke into a run. Your skirts kicked beneath you before you hiked them above your knees, both your speed and smile growing.

Ahead was the source of the laughter, a child who also ran, her long locks bouncing with a distinct curl. Meryl. She was no more than 10 years of age, her childish laugh echoing in your ears as your heart pulled at the sight of her.

“Meryl!” you called, continuing the chase, your heels pounding to the ground as you tried to speed up. “Slow down!” You heard your own voice then, also of a child.

The setting around you flooded with detail as a lost memory found you. Your visit to your parent’s good friend in Spring Court, an Uncle of sorts, his charming lake-side cottage where you and your sister would spend hours swimming and playing – and chasing! Of course! Each day you raced to see who would reach the lake first, and Meryl had always been that little bit faster.

Meryl responded with another laugh, so innocent and carefree, as a child should be. You reached a hand out, your heart pounding as you struggled to catch up. You ached for one more chance to speak with her or to hold her, or even to see her face. But she bounded onwards without ever turning her head.

A harsh breeze blew from behind, and the golden glow of the once-memory quickly turned grey and harsh as a storm threatened the sky. The water of the lake was now violent, thrashing with unforgiving waves. You halted your run, yet Meryl bound forward, her laughter drowned by the roar of the wind.

“Meryl!” you called again, your voice now of your adult self, urgent and panicked. As you tried to resume running, you almost toppled over, your hands catching you before you could fall. Something had anchored your bare feet to the ground.

With a yell of frustration, you tried to pry your legs free. Up ahead, your sister’s figure grew smaller, her direction set for the dangerous waters.

“Please! Meryl stop!” Tears began to well in your eyes as you fought to free yourself. You saw them then, the swirls of shadows that kept your legs pinned and unmoving.

“Wha-? Get off me!” You frantically clawed at them, but instead they climbed your arms too, forcing you to the ground.

Hands were on you then, tugging at your clothes and pulling at your limbs. Shadows mixed with siphons blue and red, and swirls of night clouded your vision, between it peeks of Meryl slipping further and further away. You clutched at the roots of the grass, desperate to pull yourself free.

“Stop! I have to save her!” you begged, your voice breaking with despair. But those hands were unrelenting, so strong in their grip as you tried to summon your power. That too rendered useless, cracking to a quick fizzle without so much as a sting.

Before you could call one final plea to your sister, shadows and hands and magic smothered your mouth, drowning your cry in their hold. All you could do was watch in horror as Meryl dived beneath the thrashing waves before your vision was overcome with smoke and night, and finally black.

————

Azriel and Cassian watched as you writhed in your cot, the feverish sweat on your brow glowing in the soft fae light of the infirmary wing.

“What’s wrong with her?” Cassian whispered, his face etched with concern as he stepped closer to you. He gingerly bought a callused hand to your cheek, running one gentle stroke down the length of it.

Azriel’s frown deepened as he heard your sister’s name muttered on your lips, followed by a whimper and ragged breaths. “It’s a fever dream.” he answered, his arms folded as he kept to the edge of your cot.

Cassian looked down at you, noting the tears that stained your cheeks.“We shouldn't have come here,” he said, his jaw tight from guilt. “She’s still unwell, we should let her rest.”

He and Azriel had easily snuck into the ward, winnowing straight past the few healers on night shift, and even slipping past Madja who was buried in paperwork at the desk near the entrance of the infirmary. But now Cassian eyed the door, just as eager to leave.

Azriel was only half listening to his brother as he commanded his shadows. They climbed at the base of your cot, swirling inwards as they found their way to your face and limbs, cooling you as you continued to stir, now a little more gently. Azriel did not show his satisfaction as he watched you sigh, finding some comfort in their touch.

The sound of a curtain being harshly drawn caused the males to jump, revealing an incredibly unimpressed Madja. Azriel cursed himself silently, having used all of his shadows to soothe you without setting guard to the room.

“I don’t want to hear your sorry excuses,” she said coldly to the males, pushing past them and setting a pale next to your bed. She shooed Azriel’s shadows as if they were a mutt on the street, and they quickly scattered back to their master.

“How is she doing?” Cassian asked, eyes pleading.

“I will not disclose that to you,” the healer answered tightly. Wringing the towel within the pale, Madja wiped the sweat from your brow. Your stirring had stopped at least, and you seemed to have found a deeper slumber than before. Madja sighed now, before casting a half look to the boys. “She’s improving, but is still quite weak.”

The males nodded, your sickly skin, limp body and slick hair as evident as the healer’s prognosis.

“Do I need to have words with the High Lord and Lady of their emissaries overstepping my regulations?” Madja asked without looking their way, wringing the cloth yet again before pressing it to your neck and bust. “Not to mention violating patient privacy,” she added.

Cassian hung his head low. “I’m sorry. I don't know what we were thinking.” Azriel refused to look at the healer, his eyes never leaving you.

Madja continued to care for you in silence, allowing Cassian and Azriel to grovel for a few more moments. Picking up the pale, she made to leave your bedside before answering the males. “I have worked with enough Illyrian’s to know of your possessive nature. But I won't be so forgiving if she wakes to find you here. Already your scents have caused more harm than good. She must not know you came, it will only upset her and might unravel her progress.”

“She’s that upset with us?” Azriel asked, his gaze beyond the healer before him, still fixed on you.

“Yes,” she answered plainly. Neither of the males knew what to say. “Now leave, before I regret showing any patience for boyish brutish idiocy.”

Azriel took the risk of another tongue lashing to send a final shadow to caress your cheek, before clasping his brother’s arm and winnowing back to the House of Wind.

————

You were kept at the infirmary for another four nights without any further disturbance from your family. They asked to visit, of course, practically begging through letters and pleas to Madja. But each of their requests were left unanswered, and you too buried your need to have them by your side while you healed.

It gave you time to think of a plan – you could not stay at the infirmary forever. When you had first moved the Velaris, while training as a spy, you lived in a small apartment in the cliffs that faced the Sidra. You hadn't visited there in almost a decade, but your once-home was written to your name, and vacant.

Madja insisted on settling you in, helping you climb the stairs to your room as fatigue still lingered.

Prying the stiff wooden door open, you almost smiled at the sight of your old home. A mattress lay on the floor in the corner of the room just as you had left it – you had never been able to afford a frame on training wages. A small chest of drawers was pushed up against the wall, and the kitchenette was lined with those charming blue tiles just as you remembered.

You were thankful Madja had sent a maid ahead of time, and while the musk of an unused apartment lingered, you were glad to not have to dust in your current state. The small fireplace contained fresh logs of wood which meant there was no urgent trip to the markets either.

“This is it,” you spoke more to yourself as you ran a hand along the kitchenette before making your way over to the chest, prying a stiff drawer open.

Madja was less than impressed. “Child, perhaps you would consider more comfortable accommodation? One where the bed is not on the floor?”

“I’ll be fine here,” you answered, distracted as you searched through your old drawers, finding them empty.

“The High Lord and Lady have offered to accommodate you elsewhere–”

“I don't want their help,” you snapped, shoving the drawer back into the chest with notable anger.

She pressed her lips into a thin line. “You don't need to suffer at the cost of their mistakes, Y/N.”

You sighed then, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I won't accept their fortune any longer. This home is mine, I worked hard for it. I will be perfectly fine here while I figure out a plan.”

Madja nodded, scanning the room once over. “Do not forget to take your medicine,” she lectured before turning to the door, knowing better than to linger. There was no remedy for how quiet the apartment fell when she left, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

Mustering the little energy you had, you set your kettle to boil, waiting patiently for the steam to whistle from the tin, the only sound to fill the apartment beyond the distant hum of the town below.

After a few sips of tea, exhaustion found you again. Setting the mug of tea aside on the cold wooden floor, you crawled into bed, pulling the too-thin covers over your head and leaving your drink unfinished. With your back to the world that beckoned outside, you faced the wall instead, tracing a crack that ran across its length.

How motivated you had felt when you first moved here. At the time, you were grieving Meryl of course, but you had a plan – a one way ticket to ensure a balance in the world, to fight for some sense of justice. Never had you thought it could fail so miserably.

So you traced that crack with a weak finger, remembering your sister, mourning her with a fresh wave of pain.

Grief continued to weigh heavy on your chest the following few days. You had intentions on visiting the market, buying some food and sustaining yourself while you made a new plan. But instead you felt anchored to your mattress, the idea of cooking and bathing and facing the outside world completely overwhelming. Instead, cups of tea brewed only to be left untouched, yours eyes heavy as you watched the steam rising from the mug swirl and dance, and by the time it finally cooled you were already asleep.

And the cycle continued. In the moments you had the strength, you wept. And in the moments you didn’t, you slept.

It was after five days that Madja visited to replenish your medicine. The healer opened the door to your apartment when her knocks went unanswered, casting the first bit of natural light in the room in days. With your back facing outwards, you didn’t stir as she walked over and immediately collecting the assortment of mugs on the floor.

“Have you left this room at all?”

You offered a small shake of your head, unable to lift it from your pillow, your eyes red and stiff with dried tears.

“Have you eaten?”

Your stillness was her answer. Madja sighed. “Well we simply can't have that. I understand a loss for appetite, so I will bring some additional brews to keep you sustained.”

“I don't want them.” It took all your strength to turn over your shoulder and look at the healer, your voice hoarse having gone days without speaking.

She simply shook her head as she looked down at you. You do not have a choice, her expression read.

“Might you try to get some fresh air? Or bathe? I can assist with both if you–“

But you were already turning your shoulder to the wall, immediately exhausted at the thought of leaving your bed. “I’ll do it tomorrow Madja,” you sighed. “I’m too tired in this moment.” You didn't have the energy to wonder if she bought your lie or not.

The healer said nothing as she closed the door quietly behind her.

————

“I’m concerned for her wellbeing.” Madja sat opposite the High Lord and Lady in their study, a large willow desk between them. Rhys sat with his hands laced together tightly, a deep frown etched on his face. Feyre beside him held a sleeping Nyx, doing her best to not stir the babe while she exchanged looks of deep concern.

“She isn't eating. She barely drinks a thing, and has failed to take much of her medicine. If she continues at this rate, she will fall much more ill.”

“What can we do?” Feyre asked gently, stroking Nyx’s hair while he snoozed at her chest.

“I don’t suggests interfering at this stage. I am only here to warn you of my concerns.”

“And what happens if she worsens?” Rhys asked, his violet eyes holding the stare of the healer in front of him.

“I will call for you then. I hate to suggest the use of your daemati abilities, but if it comes down to life or death…” Madja trailed off, her hands clamping even tighter in her lap.

“We understand,” Rhys responded with a single nod, casting a knowing look to his mate. “Thank you for coming here, Madja.”

The healer stood to leave. “Do not thank me. Again, I am clear to not involve myself in what has occurred between you and Y/N. I am here purely as her healer.”

The High Lord and Lady stood too, seeing her to the door.

“Please keep us informed, and if there is anything that we can provide,” Feyre added quickly, almost desperate to convey her care.

Madja responded with a tight nod, turning to leave. And had she left only moments earlier, she would have found two Illyrians by the door, overhearing the entire conversation. But they were already on their way.

————

Lost again in deep sleep, you didn't stir as the Shadowsinger and General entered your apartment, Azriel’s shadow’s having easily pried the lock open.

The sight of your trembling figure curled up on the mattress pulled at both their hearts, your hands fisted at the covers with deep yet disturbed sleep.

Azriel stealthily made his way across to the bathroom, the sound of running water soon filling the room. With no dining table or chair in sight, Cassian set the meal they had bought in the small kitchen before quietly approaching you. He knelt down on two strong knees, brushing the backs of his fingers against your cheek before gently shaking you.

“Y/N, wake up doll, it’s us,” he spoke with a hushed voice.

Stirring slightly, you were slow to wake, blinking through the darkness as you were sure you were still dreaming. But as your eyes cleared, the large figure in front of you revealed itself – wings tucked in, hair pulled back in a signature bun, leather strapped up to his knuckles. Cassian was the definition of strength met with comfort, and it took you a few moments to come to your senses.

Your body froze before you sat up quickly, shoving his hands off of you. “Wh-wh?” you stuttered, your eyes dancing between his.

Cassian raised his palms in surrender. “It’s alright, don't panic. We’re just here to help you with a few things.”

Your found your voice then, deep from within your chest, hoarse and broken from days of crying. “Get out,” you spat.

Azriel appeared from the bathroom, watching from the doorway. You flashed your eyes to his, rage quickly filling your veins. How dare they intrude.

“We just want to make sure you’re all right sweetheart, and then we’ll go,” Cassian reasoned. He stood now, offering you his hand.

Days without eating meant the hurry you stood in caused your head to spin, black dots now dancing in your vision. But you held your ground, your voice even icier than before. “I said get out.”

“C’mon doll, let us help you for five minutes.”

“You’re idea of help undid everything I ever worked for.” You shoved at his chest, and he let you push him a few steps back, your hands trembling as you pulled them back.

“Y/N when was the last time you ate?” Azriel’s voice was gentle too, your vision reeling as you whipped your head to glare in his direction. Shaking your head, you curled your hands to fists. It was none of their business.

“Please, sweetheart,” Cassian reached for you then, which earned another shove from you.

“No Cassian! No! Do you understand you have done? Did you even consider what would happen when you decided I wasn't good enough?”

“It wasn’t like that Y/N. We had to keep you safe.” Azriel stayed by the bathroom door, his arms now crossed as shadows slowly seeped on the wooden floor towards you.

Days of isolation and exhaustion had tears pricking at your eyes already. “You are cowards. And I want nothing to do with either of you.”

“Please Y/N–,” Cassian tried one more time.

“Get out of my life.” You had never uttered words so cold. You shoved the General again, but this time he stayed put. Your gritted your teeth, seething at him. “You broke me!”

Cassian looked down at you, his brow pulling in sorrow.

“You shattered my world.” Another unsuccessful push, and you were crying. “Now I have nothing, I am nothing.”

Both of them watched you as your face crumpled, your anger rising as you punched at Cassian’s chest, too weak to cause any harm. “I hate you!”

Cassian’s eyes welled as he stood still, taking the beating without so much as a flinch. “We’re so sorry,” he whispered.

You shook your head, ignoring his apology as you began pounding against him with weak fists. “I hate you both!”

Tears now rolled down the General’s cheek as he let you continue your assault. “We’re so so sorry Y/N.”

You kept shaking your head as Cassian caught both of your wrists, holding them as he took to one knee in front of you.

“We love you,” Cassian cried, prying your fist open and kissing your palm, kissing up your arm, his thumb stroking your hand in the way he knew soothed you. “Please forgive us.”

You broke at his plea. He was a good male, they both were. But they had turned your heart to stone, turned you to someone so damaged, so unrelenting and unforgiving, someone you never wanted to be. You were a monster of their own making, and there was no undoing it. Sobs racked through your body, and it took everything you had not to crumble to the ground.

Azriel was behind you then, his shadows curling around your exposed skin, soothing you where they could. You did not fight him, not as he took your hands from Cassian, not as he too kissed your tears away while murmuring his own apologies, not even when he lifted you from under your knees, carrying you to the bathroom. You hated him, your mind screaming at you to yell and hiss and spit, to swear him from your home and from your life. But in this moment, where exhaustion and isolation loomed, you had no more fight to give.

Azriel didn’t speak as he undressed you before placing you in the tub. You were still crying as he washed you, scarred hands so attentive to your body, the sound of water sloshing and pouring over your head mixing with your laboured breaths. You kept your knees to your chest, your head turned away, but you let him scrub you clean.

He gently pulled you from the tub into a fresh towel, wrapping you in the soft cotton before lifting you again. Your apartment had come to life with a small fire Cassian had lit, low flames flickering with warmth.

Azriel moved to sit on the bed, keeping you bundled in his lap. Cassian was crouched in front of you, his hands holding a vial of stew, the steaming contents bought to your mouth on a spoon.

“Eat this,” Cassian said gently. You wanted to be stubborn, to fight them more than the pathetic amount you already had. But your stomach cramped with hunger at the scent of the stew, and you were to weak to refuse it. So you let Cassian feed you, your body growing more and more slack the fuller your stomach became. A vial of medicine was quickly tipped against your lips too, and you swallowed its contents with a small whimper.

In your exhausted haze, your hardly noticed Azriel dress you in fresh clothes, even braiding your hair before he lay you down, pulling the covers over your.

Cassian and Azriel were watching you as you fought your sleep, heavy eyes lifting to find them.

“I meant what I said.” Your voice was a mere whisper

They exchanged a look, before Cassian crouched to pull the covers closer to your chin. “We know.”

There was a beat of silence. “I want you to leave me be.”

“Not until you start taking care of yourself,” Azriel spoke, his voice soft yet strict. You didn't have any energy to fight back, to tell him he could blame himself for the spiral you had entered.

“Go,” your rasped before turning your back to them, enticed by the comfort of sleep with a full belly, clean clothes and warm apartment.

“Rest up Y/N.” Cassian’s words were a lullaby you couldn’t fight.

“We love you,” Azriel added, and the last thing you felt was the caress of cool shadows at your neck before you drifted off to a dreamless sleep.

————

Waking to sunlight, you felt notably stronger than you had in days. You knew it was because of the care Azriel and Cassian had provided, which frustrated you to your core.

Azriel’s words rung clear in your mind. They would not leave you be until you started to take care of yourself, so you would leverage the strength you had to come up with a plan.

It only took a few days for your Uncle to reply. Yes, he still had his home by the lake. Yes, you could stay with him as long as you needed. There was work to be done in Spring Court, rehabilitation and building after Hybern had depleted almost every resource from the lands, Tamlin not yet strong enough to recoup his court after the war. You could find sanction there, help others and distract yourself with work. And most importantly, distance yourself from the people you once loved.

With your next steps laid clear, you sent a letter to the River House, asking for one final favour.

————

Rhysand was waiting at the River House terrace alone as promised. Cloaked in signature black, he watched the stars dance in the night sky with a gentle grip on the railing, his back to you as you approached.

This was the same terrace that had hosted many evening drinks, jokes and conversations shared with your family, and even offered the much needed escape away from the buzz of various balls and celebrations. A twinge of pain stabbed at your heart at those memories. Today, it was just a terrace, a mere meeting point before you stepped towards your new life.

It was unsurprising Rhys had heeded your instruction to meet you alone, you knew he would do it. You wondered if he lied about his whereabouts, or if he instead warded your presence from the others. He had likely hidden your scent from Cassian and Azriel, but what about his mate?

Saying goodbye to Feyre and Rhys at the same time had felt far too painful, impossible even. While they were equals, High Lord and Lady as well as mates, they were still very different beings. Feyre was too forgiving, too caring and loving to have reached this point on her own. It needed to be Rhys, you needed to direct this at someone who could take it, someone who deserved it.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, turning now, hands sliding to his pockets. You ignored his question, stopping a few paces away. Tension hung heavy between you.

“Thank you for meeting me,” you said tightly. Rhysand didn't speak, but offered an arm to the seating behind you. You sat down silently, your last act of obedience.

“I can no longer serve the Night Court,” you said plainly.

Rhysand didn’t flinch, wise enough to have known this was coming. “That does not mean you don't have a home here,” he answered calmly, as if that logic was reason enough to stay.

You shook your head stubbornly. “Please accept my resignation.”

Rhysand sighed then, leaning forward on his elbows to level a look at you. “I’m aware, Y/N, and I accept. This formality isn’t necessary.”

You knew that, it wasn't why you were here. Rhysand waited patiently for you to continue.

“I need a favour.”

“Anything,” he responded almost instantly.

“I need you to let me leave.”

Rhysand sat back now, a small frown pulling at his brow. “The choice has always been yours.”

Shaking your head, you looked up at the High Lord. “I don't trust that wherever I go, I won't be followed.”

Rhysand raised his brows.

“After recent events, I know Azriel and Cassian won't allow me that freedom.”

Rhysand let out a quick breath before nodding once, violet eyes finding the nights horizon. “I’ll ask them to adhere to your wishes.”

“As if that is enough,” you bit back, ice laced in your tone. “Pull rank, use your power, lie or cheat or trick, I don't really care. Just make it happen, it’s the least I deserve.”

Rhysand breathed quietly as he studied you. “Consider it done,” he said finally.

Gratefulness was an instinct, but you stubbornly bit down your thanks. Instead, a moment of silence fell between you.

“Where are you going?” Rhys pried.

“Do not ask me that.”

“I care for your safety.”

“I don’t want your care.”

Rhysand audibly sighed then, one hand reaching at the distance between you, finding place on the chase. “Tell me, Y/N. Say it out loud.”

You flashed your eyes to him. He looked back at you, his expression worried, concerned, pitying. Gods you hated that look.

“There is no point,” you said coldly, struggling to hide the grit of your teeth.

“I can take it,” he said softly.

Rage coursed through you at an uncontrollable speed. “You think I'm sparing you?” You let out a cold laugh, moments away from that savage, lethal switch, your power now stinging at your fingertips.

“I think you’re far from having faced the truth.”

A snarled escaped you, and you could feel your power surge, igniting your irises with a brilliant yellow. Had you not been so blind with anger, you might have realised this was exactly what Rhysand intended.

“It’s the truth you seek then?” you began. “How about the fact that you have plagued my heart with more hate than I ever believed possible. Shall I tell you of the shame that haunts me day and night that I let myself trust you for all these years? Or that I was naive enough to think I could find another family after Meryl’s death? But it would seem the only family I have is dead, and it has in fact always been that way. You broke me Rhys, you all broke me. I was a fool to have loved you so dearly, and ignorant to believe you ever loved me in the same way.”

Hot, angry tears streamed down your face, washing away the current that glowed in your eyes. Pressing a hand against your heart, you tried to smother the ache that throbbed at your confession. “You preach of a better court, one of choice and freedom and honour. But you snatched that away the moment it was mine for the taking.”

Rhys had kept his eyes on you, his face breaking with a little more sorrow at each sentence you spoke. “You’re right,” he said. “You’re absolutely right.” He waited a moment before placing a gentle hand on your knee. “Mother above cannot convey how sorry I am Y/N.”

You shook your head, tears welling and blurring your vision. It wasn't enough, you knew that, and Rhys knew it too.

His voice was even more gentle as he leaned forward. “I love you Y/N. Well all love you.”

Your voice was small now. “Not in the way I loved you. Not in the way family should love one another.”

“I disagree,” he countered. “You have to understand, as your High Lord, I would never send you to your death knowingly.”

“I wouldn't have died in vain,” you quietly, breaking his gaze with a flicker of shame. “All I ever wanted was a chance to make things right.”

You shocked yourself with the weight of your words, the extent of your willingness to avenge Meryl was something you hadn't even admitted to yourself. You would have died with content knowing you had at least tried to kill Alvar. But Rhys had seen that in you, well before you understood it for yourself. And together your family decided instead to keep you safe.

“I was hoping your motivation no longer overthrew your will to live,” Rhys admitted. With a deep sigh he cupped your chin in a parent-like way. “Look at me.” Whether you liked it or not, your eyes found his.

“Imagine I had taken the time to let you kill Alvar and instead he escaped, and innocent Velarians were hurt because of it – would you forgive me for putting your needs above their safety?”

Your eyes welled. “How could you ask me that Rhys?”

“I’m not trying to upset you. I’m just trying to show you the weight of the decision I had to make.” He offered you a broken smile, reaching to swipe away a tear that rolled down your cheek. To your own surprise, you let him.

“That is not the only issue here.” Your voice was thick, your throat strained as you contained the sob that jerked within. “You’ve asked me to see it from your perspective, now please consider mine. You collectively decided that the mission would be kept a secret. You banded together to act dishonestly, knowing it would ruin me. How can I ever trust you again? How am I supposed to see you as my family?”

Rhys closed his eyes as his brows gave a painful tug, a deep breath pushing out through his nose. A large hand rested gently on your knee, his thumb swiping in a sympathetic way.

“I’ll admit Y/N – I knew that this would hurt you, but I never thought we’d lose you entirely.”

You sniffed. “Then you underestimated me.”

Rhys’s violet eyes found yours, sincerity and admiration shining in the stars that beheld them. “I did. I absolutely did.” He took another deep breath before speaking. “I’m a fool to have underestimated your loyalty, your dedication and your bravery. Over 500 years in existence, and I should have known that was never mine to control.”

You stared back at him, and while the ache in your heart was far from cured, a small sense of calm washed over you. It was relief you desperately needed – to finally be understood. “Thank you for saying that,” you croaked.

Rhys watched you with a pained smile. “I only want good things for you Y/N, wherever you choose to be. You will always have a home here if you want it, if you can ever forgive us for what we did.”

And in those words, a new well opened in your heart, one that you had not seen coming.

Hearing Rhys acknowledge your decision to leave the Night Court was devastating, so much so that your hand instinctively pressed agains your heart again. There would be no more fighting or pleading, no more fists thrown or cries of rage and confessions of love. He would let you go, because you had asked it. It was the least you deserved, yet it hurt in an entirely new way.

Ahead of you, the path of solitude lay clear. You had fought for it without any idea how painful it would be to take that first step. You couldn't help the sob that escaped you as you dropped your head to your hands.

“I never wanted to leave,” you admitted through ragged breaths.

Rhys bought a gentle hand to your back. “Then stay.”

“I can’t! I can’t stay here. I am so angry with you, all of you! And I don't think I’ll ever be strong enough to forgive this, not fully.” Your cries were uncontrollable as you tried to quiet them with your hands.

Rhys was stroking your hair as he said ever so softly. “I know.”

You sniffed, blinking up at your High Lord. “There’s nothing left for me here.” There was a cold bite to your words, even as you let him comfort you.

“I know,” he repeated with that same softness and understanding.

You watched him for a moment longer. Here he was, everything you needed in a High Lord – a leader and a friend, saying all the right things in all the right ways. But he was flawed, like anyone, and that flaw had been your downfall.

“I will be leaving Velaris tonight. Please, don't ask for my whereabouts. I need… I need a clean break.”

Rhys brow twitched before he nodded tightly. “You have my word.”

Gathering yourself, you stood to smooth your skirts before looking up at your High Lord for the final time. “I will miss Nyx dearly.”

Pain sliced across Rhysand’s face in a way you had never seen, tears immediately pricking at his violet eyes. He swallowed, containing himself still. “I wish it could have been any other way Y/N, truly.”

“As do I.”

And that was all that could be said. You turned from him, pacing towards the exit while casting your eyes to the magnificent array of stars, searing the Velarian night sky to memory as you admired its beauty for the final time.

“You must know!” Rhys spoke out, a hint of urgency in his tone. “It was fear Y/N. It was fear of losing you, not ever a lack of love.”

Glancing over your shoulder, you nodded once, a broken smile on your lips. “I know,” you spoke, biting back the quiver in your lip. “I know that now.”

And you let those words be your last at the Court of Night.

--------

Part 3>>>>

AN: Thank you so much for your patience with this, I hope you guys like it! ❤️

YES there will be a Part 3. Update: Part 3 is out. I’m super keen to explore how things go for the Reader in Spring Court, and maybe even weave in a little bit of redemption for a certain blondey?? Besides, there are still some things that have gone unsaid between the Reader and the boys... and she needs to figure out these powers! Watch this space 👀

Comment to my tag list (either general or for Our girl) 😊

[vrystalius]

May I ask Sanemi's reaction when he is on a first date with the girl he is in love with?

Sanemi on the first date is…

… surprisingly sweet.

(Hashira reader)

— Out of all the hashira, Sanemi was ignoring you. He didn’t talk to you, even if you two were send on missions. He didn’t look at you or even acknowledge your presence. What’s up with him? Even Giyu was talking to you more than Sanemi.

— What you didn’t know is that Sanemi somewhat gets paralysed when around you. He goes from rude and gruff to quiet in mere milliseconds, trying not to be appear mean to you in any way. You’re so skilled, so intelligent and fuck, so beautiful, he just wants to make things right and just have a chance.

— Sanemi wants you to like him desperately, so he’d rather stay quiet than to risk making you not like him. Much to the surprise of all the other hashira. It’s kind of obvious how much this guy was crushing on you. Even Muichiro noticed, AND remembered.

— Gyomei was the one who encouraged Sanemi to ask you out on a date. He even gave him suggestions on what he could do and where to take you. (He is shipping you two, and he’s rooting for Sanemi. That man deserves good in his life, he thinks)

— And one day, with lots of pushing from Gyomei, Sanemi asks azayou out. He didn’t want to make a scene of it, so he waited until you two were assigned onto a mission alone.

— After successfully killing the demon, Sanemi asked you out on a small date to the village nearby. He wanted to grab something to eat and watch the sunrise together with you.

— But as he was asking you out, Sanemi was beet-red, stuttering and even shaking. You thought he was having some kind of medical emergency at first. But after he finished asking you, he stood still snd stared at you, waiting for your answer. He looked a little intimidating to be honest.

— But you accepted!

— Sanemi paid for everything, of course. He insisted. Whatever you liked, he bought for you. You two ended up buying multiple batches of mochi, ohagi, sweet teas and bowls of udon noodles with a side of dumplings, and whatever else you liked. He made sure you were not hungry anymore before moving on.

— But something that you noticed is how Sanemi starts talking more to you. He got louder, more gruff and blunt. You always thought of Sanemi as one of the more quieter hashira, but seemingly you were wrong. He talked shit about the terrible slayers he was assigned to, and about Giyu who thinks he’s soo much better than the other hashira. But also, Sanemi talked a little about how he actually had a little brother in the corps. You didn’t know that!

— You appreciated how Sanemi was opening up to you. Sanemi spoke his mind without thinking, yes, but that made him honest kind of vulnerable. Sometimes, he’d blurt out things like..

“Ya know, that mochi matches your cheeks. All squishy and pink.”

— It made him extremely flustered every time he blurted something out like that. Fuck, he’s so stupid!

— After around two hours of just eating and talking, Sanemi dared to do a move on you. He reached out for your hand and shakily grabbed your pinkie with his, holding pinkies!! His heart was racing so fast, he felt like he’s about to pass out.

— Sanemi held your hand like this the whole way he walked you through a small park. After finding a nice spot on some grass, he took his white haori off and put in on the ground so you can sit down on it.

— He tried to be smooth and scooted a little closer to you. His leaned onto his arm, wich was resting behind your back. Sanemi was taking you fully in.

— Your hair looked so pretty, even after all that fighting and staying up all night. Your hands looked so perfect and soft to him. How are your hands still so soft even after becoming a hashira? He’d love to feel them in his palm. They are probably so nice to hold. If they’re cold, Sanemi could warm them up for you.

“Hey.. uh.. can I hold your hand again? ‘Felt nice earlier.”

💠

Thank you so much for requesting! I hope you liked it.

Make sure to EAT, SLEEP and DRINK enough.

Take care of yourselves <3

My masterlist for the hashira.

My masterlist for the demons.

[madl-y]

✧. ┊— you're the one that I like (I can't deny)

3 times Orter Mádl denied his affection for someone, and the one time he was too tired to defend himself.

sypnosis – the other divine visionaries are sick of seeing orter lovesick (despite being amused themselves) so they try to push him to confess. (they, mainly being kaldo and ryoh. lance was there unwillingly)

> no tw! fluff! hopefully not ooc..? beware of grammar and spelling mistakes (sorry..)

> set in post innocent zero! so mild manga spoilers :"DD

> its also been a while since i've started writing fics again! this was kind of an impulse decision ahahaha...!

> i also didn't expect this to be long! sorry :"D

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

1 - 3 : EASTON ACADEMY

Orter Mádl never thought he'd see you again.

This is the third time in a row that he, alongside with another person, finished the assigned mission in each class that gives silver coins. Orter glances at the side, where another student slowly walks to the front as the teacher sang praises about them. Of course never forgetting the 'lectures' on how everyone should take inspiration from the two of them. (Frankly, it was getting quite sickening to hear.)

He kept his gaze at the front, while his awareness and attention is still directed at you. You, who always managed to keep up with him in tasks and classes. You, who despite having a weak personal magic, had always excelled at other spells. It was to the point where higher level year spells and advance magic was so easy for you.

You, who Orter thought that the first piece of the silver coin you got was a fluke.

Evidently enough, it wasn't.

Finally, after a lot of unnecessary speeches and praises, Orter and you are able to go back with the rest of the class. It seems most students were willing to run away the moment the teacher announced class was over.

Orter pushed his glasses and sighed. He finally felt the weight of his pocket from the gold coins he acquired recently.

Just from looking at you, Orter knew you felt the weight too.

Its nothing new. Clearly, Easton has a lot of students that were born talented. Easton in itself is a privilege. The best and the talented are here. Orter knew he'll have to face a lot of strong magic users just to carve his path towards becoming a Divine Visionary.

He must become one. Someone needs to maintain order. He needs to punish all those who dare and try go against society. He needs to fulfill his wish—

"Orter, aren't you going?" He blinked. Surprisingly, (or not really) Orter found himself still rooted on the grass. His previous place just a few steps behind him.

Ah, right. Someone called out to him.

That someone gazed up to him. Orter got used to people having to slightly tilt their head up from how tall he is. Though, he never noticed that your height reached his shoulders.

"Orter?" You called out again.

Orter shook his head, trying to keep his mind from wandering elsewhere.

Somehow, this always happens. Its always whenever the two of your interact with each other. Orter gets distracted and gods knows why!

"Sorry, I was just thinking."

It somewhat became a routine from how it always happens when Orter and you interact.

Its always you who's initiating. A simple greeting in the hallway. A simple show of respect to Orter's achievements. A simple saying of "congratulations" whenever Orter finishes first in class quizzes.

And it always follows up with an act of concern to when Orter spaces out.

Because somehow, he always ends up thinking of you. How did you keep up? What did you do? What magic spells were you able to wield so easily, yet you're own personal magic was so weak? Why were you talking to him? Did you want to become a Divine Visionary? Should he expect you as a future enemy? Why do your eyes always look like they're shining under the bright warm sun? Why—

"If you excuse me, I need to go." Orter bowed before walking away. He hasten his pace at the mere sound of your voice that stopped midway to ask something of him.

Why is it that its always you he exerts his effort to think about?

Its irrational. Its... nonsense.

Yet somehow, he couldn't help but think how prettier you are up close.

And its ridiculous to think about.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

2 - 3 : BUREAU OF MAGIC

When Orter thought that you might be working alongside with him, he didn't mean with you as just an assistant.

"You really saved me time, thanks!"

"These notes are so well organized... I should learn from you."

"I'm starting to see why the Divine Visionaries respect you alot."

"Heh..? Not bad from an assistant."

"Be nice, Renatus."

"Shut up, you stuck up hag." Sophina Biblia glared at the foul word.

"You–!"

"Would you like some honey sashimi with me?"

"With all due respect, Kaldo." You blankly stared at the Flame Cane and his abomination of a... food choice. "You're tastes in food and honey combinations are the worst thing ever." Kaldo felt an arrow struck through him. The palm of your hand raised up in front of him indicated that you were rejecting his food taste (like everyone else) and flopped to the floor in pain.

The other two visionaries sighed.

"Orter, here is your schedule for today and tomorrow. One of the chiefs in the Police force would like to schedule a meeting with you. Nerey's still clarifying who's attending though." You handed a folder to Orter while ignoring the bickering behind the two of you.

Orter nodded. "I'll take note of that. Although," He took a quick glance at the cup of coffee on your other hand. "I thought you don't drink coffee anymore?"

"Oh, this is for you."

Orter blinked, before pushing up his glasses. "I don't recall ordering one."

"What? Don't tell me you suddenly dislike coffee?" You leaned in with a teasing grin. Any outsider would think that the Sand Cane looks unamused, but working with Orter for a long time means you've known every expression of his, no matter how stoic.

"I didn't say I dislike coffee." Orter sighed.

"Yeah? Then, here you go." You lightly shoved the cup of coffee towards Orter. It looks so casual, as if its something you've done for a long time.

And it is something you've done for a long time.

Orter accepts the coffee. Gingerly taking care of the cup in his hands. His fingers subtly touch against yours.

Its always the same, and yet Orter still feels that small budding affection in him. (Not that he would show it, of course.)

A coworker calls your name. You immediately follow him down the hallway while giving a quick smile to Orter. He nods briefly as he watches your back retreating further.

Actually, Orter already drank a cup of coffee a while ago. He usually doesn't order a second one. He dislikes the feeling him palpitating in the middle of work. It only happened twice, but he refuses to feel it again.

Still, every cup you give him unknowingly, he takes it.

He licks his lips as the warm liquid travels down his throat. Its sweet.

Its sweeter than he's used to. He prefers it with less sugar, and absolutely refuses to let Kaldo brew his cup of coffee.

He takes one more sip.

Orter doesn't mind as he walks back to his office with the cup of coffee and folder in hand.

The next day, you find a freshly brewed cup of tea on your desk.

You tilt your head questioningly. This is a first that's happened ever.

You look around to see if there were someone nearby. Most of them were walking past and chatting with one another.

It tasted good at least. (After confirming that it wasn't poisoned. You wouldn't know what to feel if there was someone who wants you dead.)

Weeks pass by, and there's been at least two times that it has happened. It happens at random times so you weren't sure what the pattern was.

But clearly, the Divine Visionaries know something. Every time you ask, however, they just smile or sigh while giving you a cryptic answer.

Orter just shrugs and walks away.

"Hey-! I wasn't done talking to you!"

"Well, I am." Is what he always replies.

Soon after, Ryoh slings his arms around Orter and gives him a grin. "So... you like her?"

Orter pauses in his steps, before blankly staring at the smug Light Cane. "Her?"

Kaldo emerged from the sides. "Oh? Never thought you were the type to play dumb." His smile grows at the bristled look Orter directed at him.

"I'm not playing dumb."

"Sure."

"Its just that, she's the one you only prepare tea just right before she arrives at work. You don't do that to anyone else." Orter stares at Ryoh, who just smiles knowingly. Nothing escapes the Light Cane afterall.

"My, my, who thought that I have a rival in finding ways to charm a girl? Me, the greatest creation–" Orter shrugs off the narcissist before he can start his self narration.

Kaldo walks beside Orter, "So, you truly like her?"

Orter sighed, pushing his glasses in habit. "I don't."

Kaldo hummed in thought, "I'm not convinced." The Flame Cane frowned. "You two seem to get along well. No plans of confessing?" He tries to push further for answers, which makes Orter irritated.

"If you're not convinced, that's not my problem." Gold eyes glared sharply. "Again, I don't like her. I'm just giving back favors. I don't know about you, but I don't think gossiping is how a visionary should spend their day."

With that, Orter walks away ignoring the stares from the two.

It's natural to repay favors. You don't need to know Orter was the one brewing the tea on your desk after every coffee you give him.

Kaldo and Ryoh stared before smiling at each other.

"He likes her." Ryoh grinned.

Kaldo nodded in agreement.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

3 - 3 : EASTON ACADEMY

The bell rang indicating that class is finally over. Which also means that you have successfully made it through the whole day while teaching.... enthusiastic students. (The amount of headaches you've received from teaching students the most basic spells. Offense spells, especially.)

You greeted one last goodbye to the class before heading out towards the faculty.

While your main job is a secretary position in the Bureau, you were also recruited to teach at Easton for once a week. Mostly classes that are supplementary for those with borderline failing grades.

"Ah, who is more suitable than the student who excels in different spells regardless of difficulty? Am I right?" Walhberg's voice resonated in your mind.

It's been a year since you've started teaching. Right after the whole Innocent Zero world abomination happened. Can't say that you're surprised that Finn is one of your students, but he's currently doing better than you expected.

"I have to thank you for being patient with me, Sensei!" You recall Finn beaming with joy as he finally got one of the hardest offense spells to master. Safe to stay you were delighted that you had an impact to students.

Right after this class, you usually head straight towards the Bureau to take over the night shift-

A tap in your shoulder made you halt in the middle of the hallway, "Done with class?"

You come face to face with... huh.

"I didn't know you had a meeting here in Easton?" You should know, because you were in charge of handling the Visionaries' schedules. So you should know that Orter has no business here in Easton.

He shrugs, "I don't."

"Well, yeah, you don't. I should know that— I'm your goddamn secretary— but I'm assuming its an emergency?" You tilt your head in confusion. Gold eyes meet yours, his stare seemingly calculating and... hesitant?

"No." Orter replies.

Silence assumes between the two of you. You raised a questioning brow at Orter who just stares blankly at you.

"Then..? Care to elaborate oh divine one?" You add a hint of sarcasm which Orter slightly bristled at. He sends a sharper glance at you while you smile innocently.

Its not as if the two of you haven't acted that way before. Working together somehow brought the two of you closer and your relationship is somewhat casual.

Other words, you can be as annoying as you want and Orter won't shove sand down your throat.

"I don't know, you're the secretary." He raised a challenging brow back. You scoff in lighthearted annoyance while Orter seemed unfazed. That is, if it weren't for the ghost of a smile you managed to capture.

If you can be annoying as you want without consequence, then Orter will do the same.

"Okay but really, why are you here?" You question seriously while inviting Orter to walk beside you towards the faculty. He follows while keeping his gaze ahead.

"Hmm... You're headed towards the Bureau after this?"

"Oh? How did you know?" You ask with slight surprise. Nobody ever bothered to know your schedule, except for the ones that are quite obvious.

Orter sighed and sent you a dry look. "We've worked together for a long time."

A laugh escapes your throat, "Yeah, well, I've only started teaching a year ago. Until now, some forget I have to teach weekly then head towards the Bureau. I swear, its laughable at the same time such a headache. They keep on scheduling things when they shouldn't be." You sighed roughly, wondering if you should start scolding your coworkers more.

"They're idiots." Another laugh escapes your throat at Orter's words. "I'm guessing they're the same ones that accidentally added in my schedule that I'm supposed to be here at Easton." You see the way Orter's usual calm expression turns slightly irritated. Not evident that anyone from outside could see, but enough for someone like you who've known Orter since studying at Easton.

"Oh I see, that's how it is." You stifle another laugh, not wanting to irritate Orter further, but can't help the urge to tease him.

"You say its a headache when they do this, yet you're laughing? How annoying." Orter let out a huff while you grin.

"Maybe its laughable when I see others suffer." You teasingly smirk.

Orter rolled his eyes, yet he can't help but feel a minute affection at the casual interaction between you.

"You haven't answered my question, Orter."

Ah right. He hasn't.

Orter paused in his steps. Causing you two pause beside him too before facing him with a questioning smile.

Again, its the same. As if they're back studying at Easton where Orter always sees that smile of yours. Its always the same, so how come he always felt the same emotions where his stomach and chest swirl at the sight of it. At the sight of you.

He cleared his throat, "I did. I told you they sent me on accident. Messing up my schedule."

"That's true, but you could've gone back immediately." You turn your gaze towards the group of students on the field where they were practicing spells or playing around.

"You caused quite a commotion you know? It was hard to settle down my last class because apparently, a Divine Visionary is on Easton grounds." You cross your arms while a playful pout forms on your lips. "They were more focused on the fact that the Sand Cane was here. That was an hour ago, so care to explain?" You sigh in exhaustion. However, your pout was replaced by a smile the moment you see Orter's subtle shift in his eyes while he looked dejected at being caught. Again, only you could see those minute expressions behind his stoic attitude.

Orter pursed his lips, he didn't expect that his presence would be that of a commotion. To think he was confident in concealing his presence right before your class.

Huh, nothing really escapes you.

"That's.." Orter glanced away while pushing his glasses up. "Its not like it wouldn't hurt to—"

"Sensei."

"—visit you.."

Orter went silent before sending a glance to the person who had the guts to interrupt to people talking-!

His mouth opens in slight surprise at the look of one of the students he was mentoring.

Additionally, Lance looked equally as surprise to see Orter right behind you. He blinked, wondering if he interrupted something. He was pretty sure he heard another voice overlapping with his once he called for you.

"Sensei, Orter-san." Lance bows politely then turns back to you.

He sees in the corner of his eye how Orter pushed his glasses up (a tiny bit harsher) and looked away. Lance didn't have time to think about it as you call for his name.

"Yes, Lance?" You smile at the younger Divine Visionary.

"Ah, Finn wanted me to tell you that he can't go to the faculty after class to bring you his assignment. His other teacher told him to stay after class." Lance handed you a sheet of paper.

"He asked me to deliver it to you instead."

"Oh, thank you Lance! Its nice to see you taking care of Finn. Please tell him he did a great job and not to worry." You smile brightly as you felt another wave of pride for Finn. Sure he was called as the "weakest" in your supplementary class, but he's improving. A lot. Especially under your guidance.

One glance at Finn's paper, and you already knew he's going to have another high score soon enough.

"Also, Professor Claude told me to look for you. Apparently there's an emergency meeting with the faculty."

At the mention of Claude, you couldn't help but grimace. Lance didn't seem fazed at your expression, yet he also can't help sending a pitying glance at you.

Orter just raised his brow.

"And he couldn't tell me himself...?" You mumbled questioningly.

"He said he was busy." Lance replied dryly.

"Sure, he always says that." You muttered once again, not bothering to hide your disdain at your fellow professor.

You perked at the sound of someone clearing his throat. You turn to Orter apologetically. "Sorry, Orter. I forgot you were there."

While Orter didn't seem fazed on the outside, Lance could see the slight twitch on his forehead.

"I think Lance may have accidentally cut you off." You smiled sheepishly.

Lance thought so too.

"What was it you were going to say?"

Orter remained quiet for a moment before sighing. "Its nothing. I was about to head back to the Bureau."

While you nodded understandingly, Orter took the chance to sharply glare at Lance in displeasure. Maybe he should teach this kid a thing or two on how to not interrupt two adults when they're having a conversation.

Lance stared back unfazed.

"Well then, I have to go! Can you do me a favor and tell anyone who asks for me that I have an emergency meeting at the faculty?"

The Sand Cane let out a sigh, displeasure thinly veiled in his expression. Orter, however, nodded while his stoic look returns. "Sure."

"Thank you!" You bowed and smiled gratefully before quickly walking away. "See you around as well, Lance!"

The blue haired nodded as he and Orter stood still while watching your retreating back.

Once its just the two of them, it seems tension has risen again between them. Despite the fact Orter is training Lance, and frequently sees him around from the fact Lance is the newest Visionary.

Still, Orter can't help but stare at Lance who, of course is one of the known people to be stubborn as hell, stares back as well.

Orter is starting to think he should say something to rid of this awkward silence.

"Are you—"

"Did I—"

Both visionaries closed their mouths.

A sense of Déjà vu passes through them.

Orter tries once more.

"Did—"

"Is—"

....If he wasn't annoyed, he'd be very astonished right now.

Lance quickly spoke before Orter could, "Did I interrupt something?"

Orter just sighed heavily, "Sort of." His shoulders dropping as he recalls that very scenario just a moment ago.

"Sorry, I actually didn't see you there." Lance said politely as he could. Rubbing the back of his neck in slight awkwardness.

"Its fine. It wasn't important."

"It looked like it was though." The younger visionary rolled his shoulders as he looks away in thought. Orter raises his brow at the comment while Lance looked as if he remembered something.

"Ah, so she's the one Kaldo-san and Ryoh-san were saying that you liked?" With the way Lance said it with such a straight face, Orter had to process the words that was casually spoken.

"...What?" Orter's face crumbled in irritation.

Lance continued to look to the side in thought, oblivious to the way Orter was seething. "So that's why your schedule changed all of a sudden. I thought there's someone who was going to attack Easton so I was on guard the whole time."

Lance glanced back to Orter. "But Kaldo-san and Ryoh-san told me not to worry about it. It was quite a headache since a lot of our classmates heard news of you in the school grounds. Although, I never thought you were the type to agree to change your schedule for someone you like—" Lance felt a magical aura out of nowhere and began to get his guard up. Ever since Innocent Zero, its like an instinct at this point.

However, he paused as he noticed Orter who looked the same as usual. Straight-faced and stoic, yet Lance could see how tense he was.

"...I see." Orter said lowly.

He began to stare ahead in thought, before bringing out his wand and turn around without glancing at Lance. "Thank you for providing information. However, I would like to clarify everything was false."

One look at Orter, and you'd think he was just as calm and composed. Lance's glance at the hand gripping his wand tightly made him think otherwise.

The other knew to not say anything further, lest he drowns with sand flowing down his throat and out his ass.

"Everything?" But of course, Lance had a stubborn streak. Maybe Mash and Dot were rubbing off him too much.

Orter replied without looking back, "Everything."

"Even the part where they said you like her?" Lance pushed. Call it curiosity, or maybe the fact that someone like Orter indeed has feelings for someone, which makes it so intriguing for Lance to find out more and risk getting buried in sand.

Orter let out a deep exhale, which got Lance tense for a moment, before the Sand Cane started walking again.

"...Yes."

The Adler student watched as his mentor rounded around a corner. He was soon left alone in the hallways.

Lance couldn't help but feel like he caused a murder that's going to happen in the Bureau of Magic.

What's more intriguing, however, was that Lance immediately knew the real answer from the quick moment of silence before Orter replied.

Lance harumphed and went back to his dorms. "...The fact he had to lie even though it was already obvious."

That day, Ryoh and Kaldo struggled to give a lot of excuses to avoid Orter before they were caught.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

FINAL : LIBRARY IN THE BUREAU OF MAGIC

Orter was getting sick of this.

Its been weeks since that awful interaction with Lance and you, yet Orter keeps finding himself victim of Ryoh and Kaldo's infuriating schemes.

What's worse, is that the other visionaries go on about their day. As if there's nothing going on.

Here, Orter is glaring at Ryoh who keeps on convincing him that Orter should get over it and just confess.

Orter would be drowning Ryoh in tons of sands if it weren't for Kaldo backing him up. "I'm getting sick of this." Orter snapped.

"Well, sucks to be you. We're getting sick of it too!" Ryoh grinned while Kaldo laughs as if Orter wasn't getting bombarded with ideas on how to flirt with someone you've like for a long time!

"It was amusing at first, seeing how you'd suddenly act so soft and caring towards her. Yet it began to look painful at how both of you were acting so oblivious." Kaldo sighed as if it was his personal problem, and the fact that Orter can't even hurt them in retaliation, because damn them and they're actually useful for protecting the citizens.

"I don't-!"

"Quit the act! You like her, she likes you back. Now confess!" Ryoh cuts him off while pushing Orter forward to god knows where.

He's actually going to kill these bastards, visionaries or not.

Of course Orter is true to his words, so he brings out his wand and glares at the two. Ryoh just smiled (even though there's a bead of sweat dripping down his forehead at the sight of Orter's wand so close to him) and Kaldo doesn't seem fazed and watches from the side.

"Oi Kaldo! A little help?"

The Flame Cane hummed playfully, "Why, you're the strongest aren't you?"

"But we're in this together!"

"If you two don't stop this, I swear.." Orter gritted his teeth. He has a meeting for goodness sake. He's busy. He's also getting tired of this bullshit of a—

"Oh? What are you three...?" You had to double take the sight in front of you. Ryoh, who's grin faltered at your voice, still has his arms wrapped around Orter's shoulder while leaning his whole body to push Orter forward. Kaldo, who's playful smile drop and is replaced with a look of surprise as he stands from the sides.

Orter on the other hand, blinks and remains still while his expression remains his usual.

That is, if it weren't for the fact that his wand was gripped tightly in his hand and pointed at Ryoh with tiny bits of sand circling around it.

You raise your brow questioningly. "I think sparring between Visionaries is better suited outside and not in the library, no?"

The three blink once before glancing up at the sign above, which shows that indeed, they're in the library.

Just like what Kaldo and Ryoh planned.

Before Orter could protest, he was roughly shoved inside the library. He managed to stop himself from colliding with you.

Curse Ryoh Grantz and his narcissistic attitude because in the end he's still a strong visionary, and Orter prays that all mirrors nearby shall break once he merely appear in front of it.

Kaldo isn't forgotten in Orter's prayers, as he wishes all stocks of honey shall obliterate.

"Well!" Ryoh claps his hands gleefully, unfazed at the menacing glare Orter is sending his way. "Orter's schedule is cleared for the day-"

"It's not-"

"It is?"

"-And he has something he wants to tell you!"

"I don't."

"You do?" You tilt your head at Orter, who inhales deeply. He can feel his patience thinning.

"I don't-"

"He does." Kaldo interjects, and Orter was one step away into murdering the two before the library doors shut.

"Also! Miss secretary, your schedule is also cleared for the day! So spend more time together in the library. I heard you like to read from Kaldo." You can hear the joy in Ryoh's voice despite it being muffled. Which makes you even more confused as you alternatively stare at Orter and back at the doors.

"There are new selections in the library! Especially that one series about the legends of magical creatures." It was Kaldo's voice this time.

"Really?" Orter looked at you in slight disbelief. From how efficient and quick you are to adapt, you sure are easily distracted at what's really happening.

So of course, Orter will use it as an opportunity to—

"Ah, but first listen to what Orter will say." You don't have to see Kaldo to know that he's smiling.

...Orter hopes Kaldo will enjoy having sand in his honey as soon as he dealt with what he's gotten himself too (unwillingly).

It was silent for a moment. This time its a truly awkward one as you and Orter stood still side by side while staring at the entrance of the library.

You blink before giving Orter an embarrassed smile, "So.. I'm guessing you were dragged here against your will?"

Orter sighed tiredly, "Yes."

"I see, but I am curious as to why they had to force you to come here. Apparently, you want to say something?" You questioned, curiosity and slight worry evident in your voice.

Did something happen? Were they hiding something? Or was it just something silly that the visionaries (Ryoh and Kaldo you're guessing) planned and somehow, Orter was on the receiving end.

You watched with slight worry as Orter continued to send daggers towards the entrance of the library. Taking a small step beside him as you examine his expression. Not knowing if he was deliberately choosing to ignore you or not.

"Orter?"

Orter's head jerk up slightly at your voice. Indeed he wasn't choosing to ignore you, but was lost in thought on how to punish his fellow visionaries (mainly the two who shall not be named).

He turned his head towards you, sensing the worry in your tone. An apology for the current situation at hand and reassurance are at the tip of his tongue, ready to reply and.. oh.

For someone with great intuition and reflexes, Orter who prides himself in having great situational awareness— its something he thinks visionaries should have— he wasn't aware you two were this close to each other.

Orter finds himself stunned. A thought he's oh so familiar with immediately floats in his brain every time he coincidentally gets a chance to be close with you.

Again, and again, and again, and again.

Its always the same.

His mind always thinks that you're prettier up close. Not that you weren't pretty if you were far away.

Orter watches your eyes slightly widen at the close proximity you two are in, despite the library being so big. Its as if a spell was cast between you two. Designated to stare at the windows of each other's soul, not wanting to look away.

You think Orter's eyes are pretty. Like sand sparkling with hints of powdered gold that's blending well.

Orter thinks your eyes are glowing. Not physically, but with emotions he himself cannot express. He always finds himself melting at your eyes.

Maybe that's what's getting him soft when he interacts with you. Maybe Ryoh is just mistaken and that anyone you interact with also unwillingly goes soft at the sight you.

Orter blinks once, as he regains his composure. He sighs before looking to the side at the moment before looking back at you.

"Uhm, well, you really don't have to say anything if... you're not ready." You let out a chuckle. "Even though I don't know anything about what you uhh, want to talk about.." A light flush blooming at the tip of your ears and across your cheeks. A rare sight even for the Orter Madl himself.

Orter looks at you closely one last time, as he felt that exact swirling emotion in his chest as he takes in your abashed expression.

He scoffs to himself, earning a confused look from you. Before sighing tiredly. He resigned to his fate that Ryoh and Kaldo put him in.

And maybe, Orter has finally come to terms that he's indeed a liar.

"...Do you have anything else that you need to accomplish in the library?" Orter walks ahead of you swiftly taking the books in your hands as he looked at them interestingly.

Your mouth gapes in both confusion and surprise. Orter turned back to you and raised a brow while holding the books. "Well? I'd rather do something productive even if two... nosy idiots decided to clear my schedule."

Orter had the satisfaction to hear your laugh. "Careful, I might get too used to hearing your composure break. Who knew the all powerful Sand Cane had a foul mouth."

The visionary tilts his head, "Hm? I wasn't the one who turned to a blushing mess at a mere eye contact." He quickly turned away but you managed to catch a small smirk on his lips.

The unexpected teasing made you scoff, this time another light blush spread your cheeks in embarrassment. "I—! That was...!"

Orter feigned ignorance as he levitated a few books to organize them to their correct spot. Still, a light smug expression grew as he watched you from his peripheral vision try to defend yourself.

He took a quick step to the side to avoid the incoming jab to his arm. You glared at him unamused before waving your wand and levitating more books, grinning in triumph as one of them managed to hit him in the head lightly.

Orter stumbled slightly as he grunted at the thud of a book against the back of his head. He glared unamusingly, "That's no way to treat a Visionary."

You shrug, "Yeah well, maybe you should be quicker on your feet."

"I am though."

"Didn't seem like it."

Its been a while since you've engaged in friendly banter with Orter. It reminded you when you two would take quick jabs at each other back in Easton.

Orter stared at you, thinking deeply whether or not if he should go along with what his mind thought of.

"Well? Did that book hit you too hard or what?"

You started to shift in place at Orter's gaze. Not knowing if you should be worried or not if you actually hurt him.

Always one to act without thinking, you lift your hand up towards his head. Hesitating slightly at the way Orter's expression slightly shifted in surprise, before resolving yourself lightly touch his brown locks while feeling around the back of his head where the book hit him.

"Did.. did that actually hurt?"

Orter who finally processed everything, let out an amused hum. He grasps your wrist gently before lowering it back to your side. His eyes, once again, examining your worried gaze.

He really can't believe it.

You thought you managed to hurt him?

Orter let out a light huff.

How cute.

"For someone who's duty is to organize schedules and meet with different kinds of people," Orter finds himself facing his body to you. He grabbed a book on a nearby shelf and raised it in the air, gently hitting your head with the spine of the book. "You still have that quick temper and sharp tongue of yours from way back." He says, and he can't help but let out a more softer tone as he meets your eyes.

Orter sighs (for what it seemed the hundredth time) and places the book back in its proper place. Satisfied at the offended reaction he managed to get from you.

"You-! I was worried and-!"

He watched as you go on and on rambling about how you were genuinely worried. About how he was an annoyance from back then until now.

He sighed, how troublesome.

Orter pushed his glasses up as he faced you. "Really, how irritating." He sighs, "Out of everyone, I had to fall for you."

You paused. Your pointer finger that was in the air that was near jabbing his chest faltered.

Once again, Orter had the satisfaction to see you caught off guard.

"What?" Your heartbeat felt like it was pounding out of your ribcage. If you could hear it, what are the chances Orter couldn't.

Both of you stared at each other, heartbeats beating as one. While silence filled the room, the minds of the two were filled with different thoughts and the sounds of their heartbeats.

Finally, Orter spoke.

"I said," he leaned in closer, bending slightly forwards so his face meets yours directly upfront.

You could see the hint of amusement and affection in his eyes.

"Do you have anything else that you need to accomplish in the library?" Orter questioned.

He smiled in satisfaction at the frozen state you are in before heading off to walk with books in hand.

If Orter had to endure weeks of stress because he was forced to confess, well, you can't blame him for wanting you to experience the same.

He did confess after all. So sue him if Orter wanted a bit of fun messing with you.

He dodges another book thrown at him, a ghost of a smile hidden from the back of his head. Yet, if only you weren't so distracted that you could see the red tints on his ears.

Don't worry though, Orter will do this seriously. He doesn't intend to mess with you for that long.

Not until Ryoh and Kaldo get what they deserve.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

well... I didn't expect this to be THIS long.. why is this so long oml im so sorry aksdlajfklashglshdf hope you enjoyed though :"D this is not proofread

[sonarspace]

forever more, satoru gojo

content: angst? death.. happy ending (kinda). (not proofread) wc: ~ 600 a/n: i miss my gojo so here’s this, not sure if it makes any sense tho…

𓇼 ⋆. 𓆝⋆. 𓇼 ˚｡𓆉 ⋆𓇼 ⋆. 𓆝⋆. 𓇼 ˚｡𓆉 ⋆𓇼 ⋆. 𓆝⋆. 𓇼 ˚｡𓆉 ⋆𓇼 ⋆. 𓆝⋆. 𓇼 ˚｡𓆉 ⋆𓇼 ⋆. the rain like a soldier on a mission bids its final farewell of the season as the sun shines through the clearing clouds with the promise of spring. roots stretch further under the ground as the petals unfurl. the birds sing a familiar song as you make your way out of the shop with a bouquet of pink carnations and white chrysanthemums. the sky’s a plethora of a different blues, a cruel reminder of what you once had. the grass is impossibly greener as you make yourself comfortable in front a headstone.

Gojo Satoru (1989 - 2018) a son, a teacher, & a friend.

but above all else he was a lover. the purest love you’ve ever experienced. you brush off the growing vines around his grave – the earth threatening to take him further away from you.

you pull out a small box that holds two pieces of his favorite dessert – kikufuku. you lit a candle atop one of them. with a deep breath you make a wish and blow it out. the only wish you had. the only wish you uttered over and over again. every night. a wish to reunite with your lover and feel his warmth once more. you sit there for as long as you can. you speak about everything and nothing, recounting your memories.

he’d been begging you to give him a chance for months but you denied cause he was satoru gojo. satoru gojo who had a reputation. satoru gojo who got anything he wanted but you. satoru gojo who made it his mission to stand outside of your building every morning and ask if you would go on a date with. and he was the happiest man when you finally had pity on him and gave him a chance. it was one of the best days of your lives.

you’d once mentioned to a friend how you’d never been to an arcade. you’re not sure how satoru found it, but alas he did. a child like sparkle in your eye when you he told you that the arcade was empty for the two of you to enjoy. your pout tugged at his heart when he beat you at street fighter. and then he looked at the way your eyes went wide and a sweet laugh escaped your lips and you pumped your fist in victory when you finally beat him. and he made a silent promise to himself that he’d let you win every game, every argument. hell he even let you win the ‘who stays alive the longest’ game.

you missed him. you missed him terribly. you missed the way he would break out in laughter at your jokes. you missed the way he would hum when a song was stuck in his head. you missed the way he would run his hands through your hair. you missed the way he would you hold your hand. you missed the way his lips felt against your skin. the way he would use your body as a canvas to imprint his love. you missed the way he would wrap his arms around you in the night and pull you closer.

nightfall takes over the sky and you know it’s time for you to leave. with a heavy heart you cross the street. a loud honk and all you can see is white.

just as you wished you’re reunited with your lover. somewhere in the land of souls, satoru’s soul finds you. his dim soul shines brightly as he reunites with you. your souls intertwined forever more.

𓇼 ⋆. 𓆝⋆. 𓇼 ˚｡𓆉 ⋆𓇼 ⋆. 𓆝⋆. 𓇼 ˚｡𓆉 ⋆𓇼 ⋆. 𓆝⋆. 𓇼 ˚｡𓆉 ⋆𓇼 ⋆. 𓆝⋆. 𓇼 ˚｡𓆉 ⋆𓇼 ⋆.

© SONARSPACE 2023 | DO NOT COPY, TRANSLATE, OR REPOST MY WORK ON OTHER PLATFORMS!

[libraryofgage]

PJO Steddie Two

One

So, this part was kinda supposed to be attached to part one, but I got tired and the part was getting too long so here we are lmao

Anyway, we get a few parents revealed here, but most are still a mystery

As always, if you see any typos, no you didn't ;P

---

Eddie is on the other side of the park and wondering if he has enough time to see that fake Parthenon when he hears the unmistakable sound of a harpy's shriek. Those things have nearly eaten him enough times at camp for their bird screams to be seared into his memory. And if he's hearing the overgrown chicken, that means it's found those demigod kids before he could.

Fuck.

He whirls around just in time to see the harpy shoot above the trees, wings flared and feathers bristling, before dive-bombing whichever unlucky kid it's decided to eat first.

"Motherfucking shit bitch," Eddie mutters, taking off across the grass to where the harpy dived.

On the bright side, he managed to find the kids pretty quick; he'd only been in Athens for a few hours. On the fucked up side, he might only be able to sneak one or two kids away from the monster. Which, like, he'd love to save more of them, but he's not exactly the best fighter. He's the best runner and hider. This is why he's sent on these missions: the camp has learned that stealth and hiding usually bring more kids into safety than straight-up attacking monsters.

Eddie skirts around a tree, just barely missing the branch that threatens to whack his head off. He can hear music (something light and jumpy, soft and clear) and kids shouting in what he assumes to be fear. Just based on the sound, he's not going to be able to sneak those kids away. They're probably right in front of the harpy.

He'll have to be a distraction so they can run. "I'm gonna fucking die today," Eddie says, resigned and annoyed all at once. He reaches up and tears off the guitar pic and chain around his neck, the small triangle bursting outwards into a shield with straps that wrap around his arm.

It's ready to withstand some harpy claws by the time Eddie gracefully trips over a tree root and reflexively tucks and rolls over his shoulder. He pops up from the ground, eyes trained to the harpy, and freezes as three very important things become incredibly obvious.

One: the kids are not, in fact, shouting in fear. They're shouting with excitement, cheering at the fight happening before them. Eddie watches as a boy wearing a baseball cap punches the air and shouts, "Get 'em, Steve! Fuck the bird up!" His words are quickly followed by two girls jokingly shouting, "Language!" in return before laughing.

Two: the song playing is coming from a Bluetooth speaker on the blankets. It's a pop song. At least, it sounds like one. It's definitely old, though, and he only knows the name (Dancing in the Moonlight, by Toploader) because one of the muses' kids sang it once at a campfire night when Eddie first arrived at the camp.

Three: the most gorgeous boy Eddie has ever seen is currently beating the ever-loving shit out of the harpy with a nail bat. His mouth is pulled back into a vicious grin, his hair is somehow unaffected by the violent swings, and Eddie can somehow tell he's dragging this fight out with the harpy to blow off some steam.

"Oh! Steve!" one of the kids shouts, a girl with a beanie covering her hair. Her hat seems to be shifting just slightly, but Eddie thinks it might be a trick of the light. "Hit her to the music, like one of those movie fight scenes."

Then Eddie hears the boy, Steve, laugh. The sound is bright and clear and pierces right through Eddie's chest. "Sure thing, kiddo," Steve says, sliding back a step and twirling the bat in his hand. He tilts his head, listening to the song and catching the drums and keyboard, and then jumps right back onto the harpy.

And he does it. He starts swinging and landing hits on the harpy in time with the drums. Steve roundhouse kicks the harpy in the chest right as a guitar solo starts, his foot making contact with the first strum. Feathers are bursting in the air around Steve, brushing by him and creating brief, tiny dappled shadows over his face. The way he fights is like a dance, especially when he has music to follow and an audience to entertain.

Here's the thing: Eddie has never been one to keep his imagination in check. Why would he? Some of his best songs have been inspired by daydreams. So, when he sees the most gorgeous boy in the world beating a harpy's ass with a violent yet graceful dance, Eddie really can't be blamed for daydreaming.

The bright sun is replaced by a full moon, the park has become the shore by the lake at camp, and the audience of kids has disappeared completely. It's just him and Steve at the lake, smiling at each other and dancing, trading off lead between them. Eddie spins Steve and Steve dips Eddie. Somewhere, Dancing in the Moonlight is playing softly, nearly drowned out by their quiet laughter and whispered jokes and the waves of the lake brushing against the shore.

Oh. Oh.

That stupid prophecy. It was talking about this. The oracle predicted this moment and, apparently, considered it important enough to actually tell Eddie about it months ago. And he's spent this entire time trying to fight that obscure prophecy, trying to turn it into something bitter and filled with rage when it's just...just Steve. And Eddie doesn't know Steve yet, sure, but not even the gods could stop him from giving it a shot.

"YES!"

Eddie blinks, dragged harshly from his daydream by the kids shouting with joy as Steve brings the bat down on the harpy's head. The monster bursts into that familiar puff of smoke and mist and dust, and the kids cheer even louder.

Steve grins and stands up straight, rolling his shoulders and cockily resting the bat on his shoulder. He starts to turn toward the kids only to stop when he's facing Eddie, their eyes meeting and catching right as the song finishes playing.

----

The rush of joy and adrenaline at beating the harpy is still surging through Steve when he sees the guy his age standing a few feet away, staring at them with wide eyes. For a brief moment, Steve thinks he's a human who just happens to be able to see monsters, too. They've run into a person like that before. Then he notices the shield on the guy's arm and realizes he must be like them to some degree.

Steve blinks, his shoulders tensing slightly as he studies the other boy. Hair that definitely needs a more specialized shampoo, big brown eyes, and a whole grunge kinda vibe that Steve finds inexplicably attractive. He could spend another hour staring at the guy, but then one of the kids leaps onto his back, laughing right in his ear and nearly making him go deaf.

"That was so awesome!" Dustin shouts, wrapping his legs around Steve's waist as the other kids rush to surround him.

El grabs his free hand, smiling up at him. "Thank you for dance fighting," she says, her words almost drowned out by the other kids shouting their favorite parts and Max insisting she could have helped with the fight.

Steve grins a little wider, feeling his adrenaline drain as the relief of keeping his kids safe takes its place. "She shouldn't have interrupted our day off," he says, stubbornly keeping his eyes on the kids instead of the guy still staring at them. "C'mon, we need to keep moving."

"Where are you going?"

The guy's voice is a little rough, and Steve thinks he'd be able to pick it out from any crowd after hearing it just once. He looks over at the guy, frowning slightly. "I don't think it's your business," he says, trying to ignore the part of him that feels bad.

Thankfully, the guy doesn't seem to care. He just shrugs and takes a few steps closer. "Oh, I don't know, big boy. I think your gaggle of demigods is definitely my business," he says.

"Is that a threat?" Steve asks, really hoping it isn't. It would be a shame to punch the guy's face.

The boy blinks, pausing like he's reconsidering how his words sounded. "Shit, yeah, that did sound bad," he says, frowning and tugging on a lock of hair. He pulls it in front of his mouth, a few more seconds passing before he says, "I'm gonna start again."

The guy clears his throat and the retracts his shield. It shrinks down into a guitar pic on a chain that he latches around his neck. "Okay," he says, "Eddie Munson, son of Hermes, future rockstar, and your guide to Camp Half-Blood."

"Future rockstar?" Max asks, her voice low and sardonic.

"Hermes has kids?" Mike asks.

"I've never heard of Camp Half-Blood," Steve says, pushing forward and herding the kids to stand behind him. He stores Eddie's name for later, forcing himself to focus on the whole Potential Threat to His Kids thing.

Eddie nods like this is something he's expected. "That's fine. Lucky for you, pretty boy, I'm here to explain it all."

"Pretty boy," Steve mumbles, doing his absolute best to not think about his face heating up.

From behind him, he hears Lucas groan, "Aww, man, they're gonna be gross."

Thankfully, Eddie doesn't pay them any mind. "Camp Half-Blood is a safe haven for demigods like us. It's got a barrier around it that keeps monsters out, and we make sure everyone is trained to fight monsters and survive as adults," he explains, grinning at Steve.

"Wait, how many more of us are there?" Will asks, poking his head around Steve to look at Eddie with wide eyes.

"Oh, hundreds. The gods aren't exactly known for keeping it in their pants."

"So, we'll be safe at this camp?" Steve asks slowly.

"Safe as can be, big boy."

"Is it demigods only?" Steve asks.

Eddie nods once, flashing a grin. "Of course. We've got one Olympian who helps run the camp as, like, a punishment thing. He doesn't do much, actually. But we've also got some nymphs and Chiron. Uh, there are a few monsters in the forest, but they aren't too dangerous. They're mostly for training. The main thing is that big dangerous monsters can't get to us, and the Mist keeps humans from stumbling on the camp, too."

Honestly? It sounds way too good to be true. Steve has spent years running across this country and back, collecting the kids along the way and struggling to keep them alive. How is he only now learning about some camp that's built just for kids like them?

"The Mist?" Dustin asks, pushing around Steve. He'd be halfway to Eddie if Steve didn't grab his shirt and drag him back. "What's the Mist?"

"It's, like, this camouflage thing that keeps humans from noticing monsters and our powers," Eddie explains, vaguely sweeping his hand in the direction of a few other park-goers. "It's why nobody started screaming when you beat that harpy."

"Oh, that's what it's called," Dustin says, his grin saying he's about to grill Eddie for all his knowledge if Steve doesn't stop him.

Eddie nods and looks over the kids before settling his gaze on Steve again. "You and the kids will be safe there," he says.

"I wouldn't mind settling down," Will says, tugging on Steve's sleeve and looking up at him hopefully.

The other kids nod in agreement, and El squeezes Steve's hand. "It sounds like it'll be safe for me, too," she whispers.

Gods, is it tempting. No more running around, a place they can actually settle down and call home. He could get a full night of sleep for once instead of waking up every other hour to check their surroundings. He wouldn't need to worry about food or clothes or what to do if the kids get sick.

Steve frowns slightly, thinking for a moment before looking back at Eddie. "What happens when we get there?" he asks.

"You'll be given the grand tour by yours truly," Eddie says, playfully bowing to Steve and the kids. "Then, you'll get sorted into cabins and start training."

"How will we be sorted?" Lucas asks. He sounds genuinely curious, so Steve swallows back his retort that they certainly won't be separated if he has anything to say about it.

"By your godly parent. So, pretty boy here will probably go into the Aphrodite cabin," Eddie says, winking playfully at Steve.

"Aphrodite isn't his mother," El says, pushing closer to Steve as the other kids agree.

Eddie blinks. "Uh, who is?"

Steve hesitates, studying Eddie for a few seconds before looking at the kids. This isn't something he should reveal without a general consensus from them. What he gets is a few shrugs, an exasperated sigh from Lucas, and some nods. "My dad is Zeus," Steve says, looking back at Eddie.

"Dude," Eddie breathes, his eyes wide as though his entire world has been shaken, "How the fuck are you alive?"

And Steve can't help it. He laughs, shrugging off the nerves he'd felt earlier because he just can't bring himself to mistrust Eddie. "It's a bit of a long story," he says, "but I could tell it to you on the way to Camp Half-Blood."

The way Eddie lights up is enough to slightly calm the ever-present anxiety that hums through Steve's veins. Maybe this won't be a disaster.

Tag List (there is definitely still room, so just let me know if you'd like to be added!)

@mugloversonly, @mentallyundone, @hairdryerducks-blog, @carriethesaint, @lunabyrd, @weekend-dreamer7, @farfaras, @littlelady03, @my-tears-are-becoming-a-sea20, @mogami13, @a-little-unsteddie

[fogaminghub]

https://www.fogaminghub.com/post/unlocking-the-cursed-katana-the-fujiokaya-diary-mission-explained

🌟✨ Embark on an Epic Journey in Rise of the Ronin! ✨🌟 Discover how to unlock the Fujiokaya Diary: Muramasa mission. Battle the "Red-Eyed" Fugitives and make a crucial choice about the cursed katana, Muramasa. Are you ready to forge your path in Kyoto, 1865?

🚀 Read more in our latest blog post!

[zorosdimples]

HYPERFIXATION

pairing ༄ yandere!naruto x f!reader

warnings ༄ minors: please do not interact! i will block you. non-consensual voyeurism, masturbation, stalking, religious imagery, a bit of blood, and generally toxic behavior. reader wears a dress and some lacy underwear and has a vagina, but is only referred to as “you.” this gets icky, so please heed these warnings before reading.

word count ༄ 1311

notes ༄ this work is for the lovely @tired-biscuit! manda didn’t ask for this, but she is the reason why dark naru has infected my brain, so she must accept this creepy lil fic as a token of my gratitude <3 it was fun to write the sunshine boy as…well…a freak. please keep in mind that our narrator is unreliable and filters reality through naruto’s skewed worldview. anyway, please enjoy!

his eyes are an unfathomable ocean of blue, wide and limitless as the horizon. his gaze holds a palpable warmth, as if dipped in golden sunlight, glowing with inhuman kindness and charisma.

only a god, or perhaps a fellow monster, could see past the carefully constructed façade of his eyes. the veil of sincerity is mere gossamer, but appears too natural to be false. it’s intended to attract and allure—the ruse of a predator so beautiful his prey doesn’t perceive danger until after poison is thrumming through their bloodstream.

you are just a human. perhaps your mediocrity is what initially drew those moonless eyes. why else would they turn to you? it’s a secret he will never divulge to another soul; not until you are wholly his, anyway.

he will forever remember the first time he stumbled upon you at the market on a sun-drenched saturday. he was out of eggs and on a quick mission to grab a dozen so he could cook and eat breakfast. there weren’t many people out since it was early, dewdrops clinging to shaded blades of grass and shivering leaves, so he easily traversed the market without much of the idle chit chat that comes with being a public figure.

but there you were: sorting through oranges as vibrant as his jacket. the breeze rustled your hair into what looked like a luminous halo in the morning light. his quick pace came to a lurching halt when he saw you, lithe body slightly swaying as his feet rooted in place.

he was fixated on your handling and inspection of the citrus, fingertips delicately dancing along the skin of each fruit. you plucked up one orange at a time, rolling it in your hands to test the firmness, holding it close to your thoughtful face to check for spots, then placing it in your produce bag. you were too immersed in your methodical fruit selection to notice that the hokage was only a few feet from you, slack-jawed in wonder.

from a single glance he could tell you were a civilian. your movements were too fluid, too carefree; you had none of the mechanical sharpness that marked a shinobi. and if you were a shinobi he would have recognized you instantly. he has met every ninja in the village at least a handful of times.

no, you were a rare breed in konoha: one of the ungifted few.

his mind grew dizzy with questions: was anyone in your family a shinobi? were your parents disappointed that you couldn’t use ninjutsu? were you bullied growing up by more talented and popular peers? he certainly understood the pain of an isolated upbringing.

he thought of your plainness, your innocence, your naïveté to the horrors of his world—to the horrors his bloodstained palms have wrought and rent. in a village of expert spies and killers, you were a lone lamb ripe for the picking. it was painfully apparent that you needed protection. who better than the hokage to be your protector?

his dick twitched at the thought.

he followed you home for the first time that day, his empty stomach a forgotten memory. his deep eyes consumed you: the sway of your hips as you strolled down the sidewalk, the hem of your sundress swishing around your plush thighs, the swing of the produce bag draped over your shoulder. he hungrily watched you bend over to marvel at blooms along your route, peek into colorful shop windows, and kneel down to pet a friendly calico cat.

bitter jealousy seized his gut when you waved at a neighbor, offering a bright “hello!” and flashing the man a disarming smile. his jaw ticked and nostrils flared. the caged beast within him growled in disgust at the man’s audacity to leer at you as you bounded up the steps of your apartment building.

he had to shield you from those who would take advantage of your vulnerability.

༄

moonbeams peak through the gaps in your cheap blinds at this hour, illuminating your slumbering form, limbs curled up beneath a mass of soft bedsheets and cozy blankets. the whir of the fan reverberates through your cold bedroom and masks any noise that the stranger in your apartment might make.

naruto has watched you for days, for weeks, for months. in truth, time has been a blur of your tender laugh and saccharine gaze and supple flesh. since he fell for you, his love has been a hazy dream he can’t seem to wake from. all he can think of is you.

this is the first time he has been brazen enough to visit your apartment while you’re home. his heart was aching for an unobstructed view of you; tracking your figure through windows and computer screens doesn’t do your beauty justice, he determines as he looks down at your angelic face. the rush he feels being so close to you is pure ecstasy. he devours the sight of your sleeping silhouette. he knows that you’re nude under the sheets—he knows everything about you, after all.

he knows that you’re on your period, and that your cycle makes you especially needy. he knows that you masturbated this evening right after your hot shower. he knows that you wore a slinky pair of blue panties while you were getting in the mood. he knows that you didn’t touch yourself until your arousal soaked through the gusset and dripped down into the swell of your ass, proceeding to tease your clothed clit until it throbbed. he knows that you peeled off the soiled lace, lazily tossing the garment on the floor before you spread your puffy lips and fucked yourself with three fingers, rubbing tight circles on your clit until you cried out as you climaxed.

he wishes he could trace the curves of your soft skin, your heavenly body untainted by war and violence unlike his own. to see your eyes flutter open as he worships you with gentle kisses and prayerful praises. to adore your most sacred parts as your sole disciple. to bring you divine pleasure with his cursed lips, tongue, hands, and cock.

he picks your underwear up from where you carelessly dropped it. his calloused forefinger and thumb rub the delicate lace—the same color as his lustful irises—with reverence. he unfurls the fabric, the pearly moonlight highlighting an intimate gift: streaks of your essence and dribbled blood staining the gusset. he buries his nose in the garment, inhaling your musky scent with a shudder. he’s addicted.

he’s painfully hard as his tongue darts out to graze the remnants of your desire and ichor, tentative licks yielding to ravenous laps as he decides there is no sweeter taste. he has to stifle a whimper as he fishes his aching cock out of his wet trousers and smears a mess of precum down his shaft. he pumps his length to the sight of your dreamy face and the overwhelming smell and taste of your arousal, panties flat against his tongue. he should be worried about the schlick schlick schlick of his jerking cock rousing you from slumber, but all he can focus on is quelling the animal urge to blow his load all over your face, to officially mark you as his.

it doesn’t take him long to cum. he rips your underwear out of his mouth and shoots creamy white ropes all over the fabric with a rumbling groan, his fluids mixing with your own. naruto shoves the sodden garment into his pocket and takes a final look at you before disappearing into the velvet night.

the next day you search high and low for your missing pair of underwear; it seems to have vanished into thin air. your confusion only mounts when you find it a few days later, freshly laundered and neatly folded in the top drawer of your dresser.

[alwayshinny]

Harry and Lily Luna 🐞 - "I don't want you to save the world. I just want you to be my daddy."

It was tough leaving for his Auror missions after Ginny had finished Hogwarts, but it became even harder after his kids were born, especially his little Lily Luna.

She sensed Harry was leaving before he even told her. She became his little shadow and followed him everywhere. Lily demanded extra cuddles, waited outside the bathroom, declined to eat her meals unless she was sitting in his lap and he was feeding her, and refused to leave his side until he had to leave.

He didn't realize she was listening in on his and Ginny's conversation the other day about a dangerous mission he had been working on for months. She noticed the way her mom's hands would fidget and how she asked him to be careful in a small voice.

Lily's cousins all said Uncle Harry was saving the world, which she hated because saving the world required him to leave for missions. Everything seemed bigger and scarier when her father wasn't present.

When she noticed the patronus signaling that it was time for him to leave, she huffed and strolled over to her favorite tree, slumping down with a pout. She took a fistful of grass, yanked it out of its roots, and threw it on the ground while crossing her arms over her chest. She heard her father's footsteps as he scooped her up into his arms and tickled her, and instead of laughing, her lips trembled as tears streamed down her face. Harry immediately pulled her into a hug and wiped her tears with his thumb. "Hey, what's wrong, my little Lilybug?" She played with his collar for a few seconds before looking him in the eyes and saying "I don't want you to save the world. I just want you to be my daddy."

[lvoryingrid]

Something More

Sanemi Shinazugawa x fem!Reader

Synopsis: Y/n, ordered to aid the Wind Hashira Sanemi Shinazugawa, faces his harsh dismissal and emotional distance. Their clash culminates in a painful confrontation, pushing Y/n into danger as Sanemi confronts his own guilt.

The dense forest loomed ominously as Y/n made her way through the tangled undergrowth. Ancient trees, their bark scarred and twisted, seemed to close in around her, their gnarled branches reaching out like skeletal fingers yearning for a touch of the unknown. The canopy above was so thick that only sparse shafts of pale, waning light managed to pierce through, casting eerie patterns on the forest floor. The sunlight that did seep through was filtered into a ghostly green hue, giving the landscape an otherworldly, almost sickly appearance.

The undergrowth was a tangled mess of brambles and vines that seemed to reach out and snare at her clothes and limbs, as if the forest were unwilling to let her pass without a struggle. The whispering breeze through the treetops carried with it an eerie, almost mournful wail, blending with the distant rustle of unseen creatures moving through the underbrush.

Y/n’s senses were on high alert. Every snap of a twig, every rustling leaf, felt magnified, as though the forest was amplifying every sound to heighten her anxiety. The trees, with their twisted roots and dense foliage, formed a labyrinthine maze that seemed to shift and change with every glance, leaving her with an unsettling sense of disorientation.

Despite her purpose, the dense forest pressed in on her, its dark and oppressive presence making each step forward a struggle against the creeping unease that gnawed at her resolve. The mission given to her was clear, to locate the Wind Hashira, Sanemi Shinazugawa, and assist him in his hunt for a powerful demon.

After what felt like an eternity of twisting and turning through the labyrinth of trees, Y/n emerged into a small, secluded clearing. The transition from the oppressive shadows of the forest to the openness of the clearing was striking, like stepping through a veil into another world. The sky above, painted with the hues of the setting sun, cast a warm, golden glow that filtered through the trees, bathing the clearing in a soft, ethereal light.

In this fragile moment of twilight, she saw him. The sight was as sudden as it was unexpected—a figure standing alone in the clearing, framed by the waning light. Sanemi Shinazugawa, the fierce and formidable Hashira known for his unyielding presence, now seemed like a ghostly apparition amid the tall grass that swayed gently in the evening breeze.

The tall grass around him seemed to bow and bend in homage to the tranquility of the moment, the gentle sway of the blades creating a ripple effect that contrasted starkly with his rigid form. As Y/n approached, the last rays of sunlight bathed him in a warm, almost nostalgic glow, highlighting the stark contrast between his battle-hardened exterior and the rare, exposed fragility that now defined him. The forest fell silent, the sounds of the evening fading into the background, leaving only the profound stillness of the clearing and the enigmatic figure it held.

Y/n’s heart raced as she drew closer, her gaze lingering on his powerful form. The broad shoulders of his uniform were outlined against the backdrop of the forest, and the intricate design of his haori added an element of ceremonial grace to his formidable appearance. She could see the faint gleam of his sword at his side, a testament to his readiness and skill.

As she approached, her steps slowed, and she took a deep breath to steady herself. "Sanemi" Her (e/c) eyes lowered respectfully, unable to hold his gaze for long. The weight of his rank and the unspoken expectation of respect seemed to envelop her.

With a practiced grace, she bowed her head deeply, her posture reflecting a blend of reverence and anxiety. Her fingers brushed against her thighs as she maintained the bow, her breath steadying in the brief silence that followed. The bow was not just a gesture of respect but a symbol of the deference she felt for his status and the unspoken bond of their shared responsibilities.

Sanemi spun around, the abrupt motion causing his silver hair to whip through the air like a silver streak. His dark eyes, sharp and intense, widened momentarily in surprise before narrowing into slits of irritation. The girl standing before him was an unexpected sight, her presence clashing with his grim determination. He could see the way her (e/c) eyes darted nervously.

Sanemi’s brow furrowed deeply, the familiar lines of irritation etching themselves across his face. He clenched his jaw, his muscles tensing as he took in her presence. “Why are you here?” he demanded, his voice a harsh growl that seemed to echo the grating annoyance in his eyes. “I didn’t ask for any help.” The words were sharp, each syllable a testament to his frustration and the unspoken acknowledgment of her intrusion into his solitary battle. His gaze flicked over her, assessing her as both an interruption and an unwelcome distraction from his focused resolve.

The dim light of the setting sun filtered through the thick canopy overhead, casting an ethereal, golden glow around him, making him look almost like a figure from a myth. His handsome face, covered by that big scar, was set in a grim expression, the familiar features of the young boy she used to know, now hardened and distant.

Y/n's heart ached at the sight. Memories of their shared laughter and carefree days flitted through her mind like ghosts, a stark contrast to the man who now stood before her, surrounded by an aura of steely determination and solitude. The walls he had built were formidable, both literal and metaphorical, as if he were encased in a fortress of his own making.

"I was ordered to assist you," she said, her voice a soft but unwavering murmur against the backdrop of the forest's stillness. Each word felt like a bridge she was trying to build, one stone at a time, across the chasm that had grown between them. The determination in her voice was laced with an undercurrent of vulnerability, a plea for him to see beyond the walls he had so meticulously fortified.

Sanemi's eyes narrowed, the intensity of his gaze slicing through the dim light forest. His frown deepened, etching stark lines across his forehead and casting shadows that seemed to darken the very air around him. Every muscle in his face was taut, a silent testament to the cold, unyielding resolve that had settled over him since their reconciliation.

The temperature felt suddenly colder, the warmth that had once lingered in moments of tentative peace now replaced by an almost palpable chill. His voice, when it came, was low and edged with a frost that could cut through steel. "Fine. Just stay out of my way." Each word was deliberate, spoken with a precision that only heightened the distance between them.

The space between them felt vast and inhospitable, like the icy expanse of a winter landscape. Sanemi's posture was rigid, his body a coiled spring of suppressed tension. The lingering remnants of their past camaraderie seemed to evaporate in the face of his unrelenting demeanor. It was as if the very air was charged with his unspoken frustrations, a stark contrast to the moments of fragile understanding they had shared before.

The days that followed were fraught with tension. Each morning, the air seemed heavier, laden with the unspoken conflict that crackled between Y/n and Sanemi. The sun would rise over the horizon, casting long shadows over the winding path that led them toward the village where the dangerous demon had been spotted. The thick forest had given way to a rugged landscape, where the trees thinned, replaced by jagged rocks and creeping vines that seemed to mirror the tension between them.

Y/n walked a few paces behind Sanemi, her eyes lingering on his broad back. The silence between them was oppressive, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves or the distant call of a bird. She tried to bridge the gap that had grown between them, reaching back to the memories of their shared childhood, hoping to find a way through the hardened exterior he had built around himself.

"Do you remember," she began tentatively, her voice soft in the quiet morning air, "how we used to play in the neighborhood? We’d run around until the sun set, and you’d always win those silly races we had." She offered a small, wistful smile, hoping to coax a reaction from him, to remind him of the bond they once shared.

Sanemi’s stride didn’t falter, but she noticed the slight stiffening of his shoulders, the only sign that he had heard her. For a brief moment, she thought she saw a flicker of something in his eyes, a flash of the boy he used to be—the one who would smile, laugh, and look at her with a warmth that had long since disappeared.

But just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone. His expression hardened, and when he finally spoke, his voice was gruff, edged with irritation. "That was a long time ago," he said curtly, his tone dismissive. "We're not kids anymore."

Y/n’s heart sank, but she refused to give up. "I know we’ve both changed, but that doesn’t mean everything has to be different. We were close, Sanemi. We can be that way again. We can—"

Sanemi abruptly stopped in his tracks, spinning around to face her. His dark eyes bore into hers, the intensity of his gaze causing her to falter. "This isn’t a game, Y/n," he snapped, his voice sharp as a blade. "You need to stop living in the past. We’re not those kids running around without a care in the world. We’re demon slayers, and this is life or death."

The words hit Y/n like a punch to the gut. She swallowed hard, trying to keep her emotions in check. "I know that, Sanemi," she replied, her voice steady but laced with a hint of hurt. "But that doesn’t mean we have to be strangers. We’re stronger together—"

"Stronger?" Sanemi interrupted, a harsh laugh escaping his lips. "You think being close makes us stronger? It makes you weak. It makes you hesitate, and hesitation in this line of work gets you killed."

Y/n flinched at the coldness in his voice, but she stood her ground. "And what about you, Sanemi? What about how it affects you? Do you think pushing everyone away makes you stronger? It’s not weakness to care about someone."

Sanemi’s eyes flashed with a mixture of anger and something else—something deeper, more conflicted. He took a step closer to her, his presence looming, the air around them thick with tension. "You don’t get it, do you?" he hissed, his voice low and dangerous. "The more you care, the more you lose. If you stay close to me, you’ll just end up dead like the others. You’re a liability, Y/n. You should’ve never joined the Demon Slayers."

The words cut deep, sharper than any blade. Y/n’s breath hitched, and she felt the sting of tears welling up in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.

Sanemi saw the glistening tears welling up in Y/n's eyes, catching the faint light that filtered through the dense canopy above them. For a split second, something akin to regret flashed across his hardened features, but he quickly smothered it beneath a mask of cold indifference. He refused to let emotion sway him; he had a mission, and attachments only served as distractions—a lesson he had learned through pain and loss.

Ignoring the tremble in Y/n's lower lip and the hurt evident in her gaze, Sanemi took a deliberate step forward, closing the distance between them. His presence was imposing, shadows casting sharp angles across his face, accentuating the fierce determination etched into every line.

"Look at you," he scoffed, his voice dripping with contempt as his eyes raked over her form. "You can’t even handle a simple conversation without getting all emotional. How do you expect to face a demon when you’re this weak?"

Y/n's breath caught in her throat, the sting of his words cutting deeper than any physical wound. She squared her shoulders, trying to maintain her composure, but the quiver in her voice betrayed her turmoil. "I'm not weak, Sanemi. I've trained hard, just like you. I can handle myself."

He let out a derisive laugh, the sound echoing eerily through the silent forest. "Is that what you think? That a few training sessions make you capable? You’re delusional." His eyes bore into hers, unrelenting and cold. "You’re just a naive girl. This isn’t some childhood game where you can pretend to be brave. Out here, one mistake means death."

The tears that had threatened to spill now streamed freely down Y/n's cheeks, leaving glistening trails against her flushed skin. She clenched her fists at her sides, nails digging into her palms as she struggled to hold onto her resolve. "Why are you doing this?" she asked, her voice cracking under the weight of her emotions. "Why are you trying so hard to push me away?"

Sanemi's expression hardened further, his jaw tightening as he closed the remaining distance between them. He leaned in, his face mere inches from hers, his breath warm against her skin despite the chill in his words. "Because you don't belong here," he snarled, each word deliberate and biting. "You're a liability—a burden I didn't ask for and don't need. The battlefield is no place for someone as soft as you."

The accusation hung heavy in the air, the silence that followed thick with unspoken pain and frustration. Y/n's eyes widened, shock and hurt mingling in their depths. She had expected resistance, even anger, but the cruelty in his words was beyond anything she had anticipated.

Sanemi continued, his voice lowering to a harsh whisper that seemed to seep into the very shadows around them. "Do you think your presence helps me? All you do is distract me, make me worry about keeping your sorry ass alive instead of focusing on the mission. You're nothing but dead weight."

A sharp inhale escaped Y/n's lips as his words struck their intended target, each syllable designed to wound and drive her away. The memories of their shared past, the laughter, and the camaraderie, all seemed to crumble under the assault of his relentless contempt.

She searched his eyes desperately for any hint of the boy she once knew, for any sign that this was just a facade, a shield to protect something more vulnerable beneath. But all she found was a hardened gaze and a coldness that seemed impenetrable.

"Maybe if you spent less time clinging to the past and more time understanding your own limitations, you wouldn't be so pathetic," Sanemi pressed on, his tone merciless. "Go back home, Y/n. Find a safe, quiet life where you won't get yourself killed. Leave the real fighting to those who can handle it."

Something inside Y/n snapped at that moment. The accumulation of hurt, frustration, and unacknowledged pain boiled over, transforming into a surge of defiant anger that coursed through her veins like fire. Her eyes blazed with a newfound intensity as she looked up at him, no longer the picture of vulnerability but of simmering wrath.

Without warning, her hand swung upward in a swift, decisive motion, connecting sharply with Sanemi's cheek. The sound of the slap echoed through the forest, startling birds from their perches and sending them fluttering into the darkening sky.

Sanemi's head snapped to the side from the force of the blow, a reddening imprint already forming on his cheek. For a moment, shock rendered him motionless, his eyes wide with surprise as he slowly turned back to face her. The fiery determination in Y/n's gaze was unmistakable, her chest heaving with the intensity of her emotions.

"How dare you," Y/n hissed, her voice trembling with an emotion so raw it seemed to cut through the thick air around them. "How dare you belittle everything I've worked for. You think pushing me away will protect me? All you're doing is hurting the both of us."

Sanemi's gaze faltered, the sharpness in his eyes dulling as her words struck a chord he hadn’t anticipated. The tears streaming down her cheeks glistened in the fading light, each drop falling with the weight of her broken heart. She had always been strong, had always fought to be seen as more than the fragile girl from their childhood. And now, here she was, standing before him, baring her soul despite the anguish he had caused.

"I looked up to you," she continued, her voice cracking with the intensity of her sorrow. "I trusted you. But maybe I was wrong. Maybe the Sanemi I knew is truly gone."

The finality of her words hit him like a blow to the chest, harder than any physical strike could ever manage. He had driven a wedge between them, and in his attempt to protect her by building walls, he had destroyed the very thing he was trying to preserve.

Before he could react, Y/n turned on her heel and ran, her footsteps quick and frantic as she fled the scene. The green woods swallowed her figure quickly, leaving only the echoes of her departure and the fading scent of her presence behind.

Sanemi’s hand reached out as if to stop her, but it was too late. His voice caught in his throat, a hoarse whisper of her name barely escaping his lips as she disappeared into the forest. His heart pounded painfully in his chest, the overwhelming weight of regret sinking into him as he stood alone in the clearing.

The memories of their childhood flashed through his mind like fragments of a dream—the laughter they shared, the carefree days that seemed so distant now. But those memories were overshadowed by the faces of those he had lost, the people he had cared for who had been torn away by the cruel reality of their world. He had hardened himself, encased his heart in a shell of steel, believing that it was the only way to survive. To keep others safe.

His heart pounded furiously, a visceral reminder of the weight of his own words. He had pushed her away, driven by the belief that distance would keep her safe, but all he had done was wound her deeply. The vision of her tear-streaked face flashed before his eyes, the fire in her gaze as she stood her ground against him. The anger he had seen in her was not just anger—it was pain, the pain he had caused by shattering the bond they once shared.

"Fuck," he muttered, his voice low and filled with self-loathing. He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the silver strands as if the physical pain could distract him from the turmoil churning inside him. His eyes darted to the darkening sky, the last traces of sunlight slipping away, leaving the forest bathed in the eerie half-light of dusk.

A cold realization washed over him, chilling him to the bone. The sun was nearly gone, and night was rapidly descending upon the forest. This was when the demons emerged from the shadows, hunting for prey under the cover of darkness. The thought of Y/n alone in the woods, vulnerable and exposed, sent a surge of fear through him.

"Damn it, Y/n!" he swore to himself, this time with urgency as he spun on his heel and took off in the direction she had fled. His feet pounded against the forest floor, each step a frantic attempt to close the distance between them. The underbrush tore at his clothes and skin, but he paid it no mind—his only focus was on finding her before it was too late.

The forest was a labyrinth of shadows and shifting shapes, the familiar terrain now a treacherous maze as night closed in around him. Every rustle of leaves, every snap of a twig, set his nerves on edge, his senses heightened as he strained to catch any sign of her. He knew the dangers lurking in the dark—the demons that would be drawn to the scent of fear, to the vulnerability of a lone human.

His breath came in short, sharp bursts as he pushed himself to move faster, his heart racing not just from exertion but from the mounting fear gnawing at his insides. The regret he felt was like a lead weight in his chest, slowing him down, but he couldn’t afford to stop—couldn’t afford to let his guilt paralyze him.

“Y/n!” he called out, his voice echoing through the trees. The sound was swallowed by the dense foliage, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. “Y/n, answer me!”

The minutes stretched into what felt like hours as he searched, the light fading rapidly until only the faint glow of the rising moon provided any illumination. The shadows grew longer, darker, more menacing, and Sanemi’s fear escalated with each passing second.

His pulse quickened as he stumbled upon the entrance to the village, the worn wooden gates standing as a stark contrast to the twisted, dense forest that surrounded it. The air was cooler here, carrying with it the faint, earthy scent of wood smoke from the hearths of the small, isolated settlement. He paused for a moment, trying to steady his breath and push down the gnawing anxiety that threatened to overtake him.

Maybe Y/n had already made it to the village. Perhaps she had sought refuge with the elder, resting after their intense confrontation. The thought brought him a momentary sense of relief, but it was fleeting. His gut twisted with lingering unease as he walked through the gates, his sharp eyes scanning the darkened streets for any sign of her.

The village was quiet, unnervingly so. The usual sounds of evening—chatter from the houses, the occasional bark of a dog—were absent, replaced by an oppressive silence that only deepened his sense of dread. The few villagers he saw were quick to retreat indoors, their expressions drawn with fear as they peered cautiously from behind shuttered windows. Sanemi’s presence was met with a mixture of relief and trepidation, the villagers recognizing the garb of a Hashira but still uneasy in the face of the growing threat that loomed over their homes.

He made his way to the elder’s residence, a modest house at the center of the village, its entrance marked by a lantern whose weak, flickering light barely held back the encroaching darkness. Sanemi’s footsteps were heavy against the cobblestone path, each step a battle against the rising tide of panic that threatened to consume him.

Pushing open the door, he stepped inside, his eyes immediately landing on the village elder. The old man, with his hunched back and a face lined with the passage of many seasons, looked up from where he sat by a low, flickering fire. His eyes, though dim with age, held a wisdom that spoke of countless years spent enduring the hardships of this secluded life.

“Ah, you must be the Wind Hashira,” the elder greeted, his voice a rasp that cracked with the weight of years. He gestured for Sanemi to sit, his gnarled hands trembling slightly as he poured tea into a small, chipped cup. “We’ve been expecting you.”

Sanemi nodded curtly, accepting his offer. “I need to know everything you can tell me about the demon,” he said, his voice still tense but now edged with a steely calm“We need to locate and eliminate it as quickly as possible.”

The elder’s weathered face grew somber as he nodded slowly. “Yes, the demon has been plaguing our village for weeks now. It strikes at night, taking the lives of our people before slipping back into the shadows of the forest. We believe it lairs deep in the woods, in a place where the trees grow so thick that no sunlight can penetrate. The villagers call it the ‘Heart of the Forest.’”

Sanemi’s jaw clenched. The description fit the sort of territory where a demon would thrive, where it could easily evade hunters and strike at will. But there was something else gnawing at him, something the elder had said that didn’t sit right.

“We’ll do whatever it takes to eliminate this threat,” Sanemi replied, his voice hard with resolve. “The sooner we find the demon’s lair, the better.”

The elder nodded again, his eyes narrowing in thought as he took a slow, deliberate sip of his tea. “I appreciate your resolve, young man, but who is this ‘we’ you speak of? I didn’t see anyone else arrive at the village gates with you.”

Sanemi’s heart skipped a beat, the elder’s words hitting him like a sledgehammer to the chest. He had been so focused on the mission, so desperate to believe that Y/n had already made it to safety, that he had pushed aside the gnawing doubt gnawing at him since he entered the village.

“She didn’t come through the gates?” Sanemi asked, his voice low and tinged with a dread he couldn’t suppress.

The elder shook his head slowly, his brow furrowing in concern. “No, you were alone when you arrived. If there was someone else with you, she must still be out there… in the forest.”

Sanemi’s blood ran cold, the weight of the elder’s words crashing down on him like a tidal wave. Y/n was still out there. Alone. In the dark, demon-infested woods.

“Damn it!” Sanemi swore, the curse slipping past his lips before he could stop it. The elder flinched at the harshness of his tone, but Sanemi didn’t care. The only thing that mattered now was finding Y/n before it was too late.

Without another word, Sanemi turned on his heel and bolted out of the elder’s house, his mind racing as he sprinted through the village streets. Panic clawed at his insides, the fear he had kept at bay now surging to the forefront as he retraced his steps to the village gates.

He should have never let her leave his sight. He should have gone after her the moment she ran. But he had been too consumed by his own demons, too blinded by the belief that distancing himself from her would keep her safe. And now, she was out there, in the dark, with the very real possibility that the demon had already found her.

The forest loomed before him, a wall of blackness that seemed to pulse with malevolent intent. Sanemi barely slowed as he reached the tree line, plunging back into the woods with a speed fueled by desperation. The trees closed in around him, their gnarled branches reaching out like claws, but he pushed on, ignoring the sharp sting of leaves and twigs that whipped against his skin.

“Y/n!” he called out, his voice hoarse with a mixture of fear and fury. “Y/n, where are you?”

The forest swallowed his voice, the dense canopy overhead muting the sound to little more than a whisper. Every rustle of leaves, every snap of a twig, sent his heart racing as he strained to hear any sign of her, any indication that she was still alive and fighting.

But the forest was vast, a labyrinth of shadows and twisted paths that seemed to go on forever. He had no idea which direction she had run, no way of knowing how far she had gone or if she had been intercepted by the demon along the way.

The darkness pressed in on him, the trees a blur as he pushed himself harder, faster. The thought of her alone, scared, and vulnerable drove him forward with a reckless abandon that bordered on madness. He couldn’t lose her. Not like this.

“Y/n!” he called again, his voice cracking with desperation. “Please, answer me!”

His breath came in ragged gasps, his lungs burning with the effort, but he couldn’t stop. He wouldn’t stop. Not until he found her.

Just as he was about to call out for her again, he heard it—a sharp, metallic clash, followed by a grunt of pain. The sound sent a jolt of adrenaline through his veins, and he sprinted toward the source, his feet barely touching the ground.

When he broke through the last line of trees into a small clearing, the sight that greeted him stole his breath away.

Y/n was there, locked in fierce combat with the demon that had been terrorizing the village. The creature was massive, with grotesque, elongated limbs and a maw full of razor-sharp teeth. Its eyes glowed with a malevolent hunger as it lashed out at Y/n, who stood her ground, her sword gleaming in the faint moonlight that filtered through the canopy above.

She was bleeding, a deep gash on her arm and another across her cheek, but her (e/c) eyes were blazing with determination. There was no fear in her stance, only the fierce resolve of a girl who had everything to prove. She swung her sword with precision and power, each strike aimed to kill, each movement calculated and controlled.

Sanemi’s heart clenched as he watched her, a mix of pride and fear warring within him. She was strong—stronger than he’d given her credit for—but the demon was relentless, and he could see that she was exhausted.

The demon lunged at Y/n with a feral snarl, its claws slashing through the air. She sidestepped just in time, her sword slicing through the creature’s arm, sending black blood spraying across the clearing. The demon roared in pain, its rage palpable as it swung its other arm at her, aiming to knock her off her feet.

But Y/n was faster. She ducked under the blow and drove her sword upward, burying the blade deep into the demon’s torso. The creature howled, its body convulsing as it tried to shake her off, but she held on, her grip on the hilt unyielding.

“Come on, you bastard,” Y/n gritted out, her voice a mix of pain and fury. “Is that all you’ve got?”

Sanemi’s chest swelled with a fierce pride at her bravery, but he could also see the danger she was in. The demon was wounded, but far from defeated, and it was getting desperate. Its movements became more erratic, more dangerous, as it thrashed in an attempt to dislodge her.

Without wasting another second, Sanemi drew his own sword and rushed forward. The demon didn’t see him coming, too focused on Y/n to notice the Wind Hashira closing in. With a swift, decisive motion, Sanemi slashed through the demon’s neck, severing its head in one clean stroke.

The demon’s body froze, then crumpled to the ground with a heavy thud, its severed head rolling away into the shadows. For a moment, the clearing was silent, the only sound the ragged breaths of Y/n and Sanemi as they stood over the fallen creature.

Y/n staggered back, her strength finally giving out as she dropped to one knee, her sword slipping from her grasp. Sanemi was at her side in an instant, kneeling beside her and catching her before she could fall any further.

“Y/n,” he breathed, his voice rough with emotion as he gently cradled her against him. Her face was pale, her body trembling from exertion and blood loss, but her eyes still burned with the fire of defiance.

“I’m not… weak,” she panted, her voice barely a whisper, but her words were firm, laced with the last remnants of her strength.

Sanemi’s heart twisted painfully at her words. He brushed a strand of (h/c) hair away from her face, his fingers trembling slightly as he took in the sight of her—injured, exhausted, but still fighting. “I know,” he whispered, his voice choked with regret and admiration. “I know you’re not.”

Y/n’s eyelids fluttered, the adrenaline that had kept her going finally ebbing away, leaving her drained. She leaned into Sanemi’s chest, her breathing shallow but steady. “I wanted… to prove you wrong,” she murmured, a faint, weary smile tugging at her lips. “I wanted to show you… that I’m not just some… helpless girl.”

Sanemi's heart ached as he cradled Y/n in his arms, feeling the weight of everything he had put her through. The dim light of the moon filtered through the trees, casting a soft glow over her pale, exhausted face. Her breaths were shallow but steady, her body finally succumbing to the weariness that had been gnawing at her throughout the battle.

As he held her close, Sanemi couldn't help but feel a swell of admiration mixed with deep regret. She had fought with everything she had, proving herself in a way that left no doubt about her strength and determination. But it was also a strength she should have never needed to prove, a battle she shouldn’t have had to face alone. His chest tightened with guilt, knowing that it was his harsh words and stubborn pride that had driven her to this point.

With each step back toward the village, the rhythmic sound of his foosteps crunching over leaves and twigs seemed to echo the thoughts racing through his mind. He glanced down at her face, peaceful in sleep despite the dirt and blood that marred her features. The fire she had shown in battle still lingered in his memory, a testament to her courage and resilience.

A small sigh escaped Y/n's lips as she shifted slightly in his arms, her head resting against his chest. The movement caused Sanemi to slow his pace, his gaze softening as he looked down at her. The fierce determination she had shown in the fight was now replaced by a vulnerability that tugged at his heart.

He tightened his grip on her, holding her just a bit closer as if to shield her from any lingering danger. The warmth of her body against his was a stark contrast to the coldness he had surrounded himself with for so long. For the first time in a long while, Sanemi allowed himself to feel something other than anger, other than fear—he allowed himself to feel the depth of his care for her, the weight of the bond they once shared and could still reclaim.

As they neared the edge of the forest, where the village lights flickered like beacons in the distance, Sanemi paused. His gaze lingered on Y/n’s face, her eyelids fluttering slightly as she slept, and before he could second-guess himself, he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. The touch was light, barely more than a brush of his lips against her skin, but it was filled with all the unspoken apologies and promises he carried in his heart.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered against her brow, his voice barely audible above the rustling leaves. “I’ll never push you away again. I promise.”

Y/n stirred slightly at the touch, a soft hum escaping her as she nestled closer to him, her body relaxing completely in his arms. Sanemi’s breath hitched, a mixture of relief and tenderness flooding through him as he held her closer, carrying her with a renewed sense of purpose.

The village loomed ahead, the warm glow of lanterns and the promise of safety beckoning them forward. But as Sanemi walked, he knew that the real journey was just beginning—the journey to repair what had been broken between them, to build something stronger and more enduring.

With Y/n resting safely in his arms, Sanemi made his way through the village gates, determined to start that journey the moment she awoke. Together, they would face whatever challenges lay ahead, no longer as distant strangers, but as partners, equals, and perhaps, one day, something more.

Masterlist

[agentstarkid]

AN ETERNAL LOVE BULLSHIT ✦ DR3

Based on this ask

✦ PAIRING: daniel ricciardo x famous!latina!reader

✦ CHECKERED FLAG: 3.7K words (I tried to keep it short, oops)

✦ TRACK LIMITS: angst, self-doubt, crying, feelings of not being enough, heartbreak.

✦ MAY'S RADIO: I've had this on my drafts, ruminating on it for days, soooo I hope you guys like it. Vitto, Iza and Chloe are the real MVPs of this chapter! Queens uplifting another Queen 💅🏽💖 This was fun to write! Thank you so much nonnie for this idea! ilysm <3 p.s. can y'all spot the song references? 👀

This is set during Saudade. | Everything between "—" and italized are flashbacks.

< previous chapter | series masterlist | general masterlist | next chapter >

The end of April in California had days of clear skies, endless blue, and a gentle breeze carrying the sweet scent of blooming flowers. The sun shone warmly, casting a golden glow over everything it touched, yet the cheerful weather felt almost mocking to her current state.

Her guitar lay across her lap, repurposed as a makeshift table for the notebook where she hastily scribbled words, each one an attempt to capture the storm of emotions swirling within her. The grass beneath her was cool and grounding, but it did little to tether her to the present. Every line she wrote was a desperate attempt to process the pain, to make sense of the abrupt void he had left behind. 

Life moved on around her with an indifferent rhythm, but her mind was still stuck replaying the scenes in a Bahraini hotel room on a fateful Friday morning in March. She was stuck, a relic in a world that had already moved on, trapped in the shadow of what once was. The ache in her heart was a constant companion, a reminder that she was still right where he left her, struggling to find a way back to herself.

Her pen moved frantically across the pages, as if the act of writing could somehow release the torment inside her. But each word, each lyric, only seemed to root her more firmly in the past. The guitar beneath her fingers, once a source of joy and creativity, now felt like a conduit for her sorrow. She was lost in her own words, hoping that somewhere in the tangled mess of emotions, she might find a way to heal.

But amidst the ache, she found solace in the unwavering support of her friends. 

Since landing in Los Angeles, her friends had been her rock. When days of isolation had left her feeling like a shell of herself, Vitto and Andrew had intervened, offering her refuge in their home outside the city. Their house, tucked away from the relentless glare of cameras and the whirlwind of drama, had become a sanctuary. The quiet of their surroundings was a balm for her frayed nerves.

Baby Iza, their little bundle of joy, at almost 1 year old, was a constant source of comfort. The child's tiny hands and infectious giggles seemed to have an almost magical ability to lift her spirits. It was as if Izabele could sense her sadness and made it her mission to shower her with love and affection. 

With the sun casting gentle rays through the window, the child would toddle into the room with her tiny feet pattering softly on the floor. Her face, a picture of innocent determination, was often lit up by a bright smile. She would clutch a small toy in her chubby hands—a plush animal or a colorful block—and make a beeline for her godmother, as if to say, “Here, play with me. Everything will be okay.”

Sitting down beside her, Iza would arrange her toys with meticulous care, her eyes occasionally glancing up to gauge her mood. They would sit together in quiet companionship, the simple act of play bringing a semblance of peace.

As the night fell and the room grew dim, she would make her way to her aunt's side once more, but this time with a special gesture. She would carry one of her favorite teddy bears, its soft fur worn from countless hugs—she recognized it as the one that Daniel had gifted Iza when she was born. 

Her sleepy eyes would barely stay open, and the pacifier bobbing gently in her mouth gave her a serene, dreamlike appearance. She would approach her aunt with the bear in tow, offering it with the sincerity only a child can muster. The gesture, simple yet profound, was Iza’s way of offering comfort and reassurance. The irony wasn’t lost on her, as the comfort offered by the bear was tied to the person who had broken her heart.

Despite the tangled emotions that the bear represented, she’d accept the gesture with a quiet grace. Each night, she would clutch the teddy bear tightly in her arms as she lay in bed, she would close her eyes and allow the bear’s presence to soothe her. It was a small, ironic comfort, a connection to a past she was still grappling with. She never spoke of it to anyone, keeping this bittersweet detail to herself. 

Vitto and Andrew's kindness, along with Baby Iza’s innocent charm, and Fio and Danna’s constant facetime calls—and impromptu visits—, were her anchors, grounding her in a time of turbulence.

Rumors had started circulating about Daniel moving on with Heidi, emerging just two weeks after their breakup. As she heard whispers and saw the headlines, she felt a deep internal conflict. One part of her mind tried to dismiss the rumors, knowing all too well how the business thrived on gossip and sensationalism. She had been in this world long enough to recognize how quickly false narratives could spread and how little they sometimes reflected the truth.

Yet, another part of her, the part that had been wounded by every argument they’d ever had about their future, couldn’t silence the inner voice that screamed she was a fool. It was the same voice that had questioned every promise, every declaration of eternal love Daniel had made. How could someone profess to love her, to call her the love of their life—a million times—, to talk about rings and cradles, and then, almost as soon as it was over, move on to someone new?

But a single text changed her entire world.

The moment she received confirmation from Chloe that the rumors were true, a wave of crushing disappointment and pain washed over her. It felt as if the ground beneath her had given way, leaving her in a freefall of disbelief and heartache. The confirmation struck her like a physical blow, knocking the breath from her lungs and leaving her feeling hollow inside.

The betrayal was sharper than she could have ever imagined. Daniel, the person she had known better than herself, had indeed moved on after only two weeks. The image she had clung to, the person she had given the benefit of the doubt, shattered into a thousand irreparable pieces. How could someone who had claimed to love her so deeply and had spoken of a future together move on so swiftly? The realization was a bitter, choking pill to swallow.

Her heart ached with a profound sense of loss, not just of the relationship but of the person she thought Daniel was. The trust she had placed in him, the dreams they had shared, all felt like a cruel joke. She felt duped, as if she had been sold a "get-love-quick" scheme by someone who never intended to follow through on his promises. The sense of being deceived cut deeply, leaving a wound that seemed impossible to heal.

She sat there, gripping her pen tightly, her mind swirling with the betrayal she felt so deeply. Without a moment’s pause, her pen began to race across the pages of her notebook, pouring out the raw, unfiltered emotions she could no longer contain. The lyrics flowed from her as if they were the only way to make sense of the chaos within:

And ain't it funny

How you ran to her the second that we called it quits? 

And ain't it funny how you said you were friends? 

Now it sure as hell don't look like it 

You betrayed me 

And I know that you'll never feel sorry 

For the way I hurt, yeah 

You'd talk to her 

When we were together 

Loved you at your worst 

But that didn't matter 

It took you two weeks 

To go off and date her 

Guess you didn't cheat 

But you're still a traitor

With each line, she felt the searing pain of his betrayal more acutely. How could he have moved on so quickly? The words “two weeks” echoed in her mind like a relentless drumbeat, reminding her of how little time it had taken for him to replace her. The sense of being betrayed, of having her trust shattered, was almost unbearable. She had loved him at his worst, given him everything, and yet it had taken him mere days to discard their love and move on to someone new.

The realization that she was right, that he had been talking to her while they were still together added salt to the wound. It made every moment they had shared feel tainted, every promise he had made feel like a lie. The anger and hurt intertwined, fueling the lyrics that poured out of her. He might not have cheated in the traditional sense, but the emotional betrayal was just as devastating, if not more so. To her, he was a traitor, someone who had violated the sacred trust of their relationship.

The pen in her hand paused for the first time in days, the words unable to flow as freely as before. The grief was too raw, too overwhelming to articulate. She felt an intense, suffocating sadness, mixed with anger and a sense of foolishness for believing in him. Her eyes burned with unshed tears, and her chest tightened with the weight of unspoken emotions.

Her phone storage has been filled with voice notes for the past weeks, but the number has elevated exponentially since the news had hit. Her chat with her producer has been overflowing with “What do you think of this?”, demos shared between them back and forth. 

For moments, she was consumed by raw anger, her pen becoming a weapon as she furiously wrote songs that painted him as the villain he had become in her eyes. She felt the fierce determination to make him know—and if his treacherous heart allowed, to feel—her pain.

Each line dripped with venom and sorrow, a raw portrayal of the anguish he had inflicted upon her. The thought of him reading her words and realizing the depth of her suffering provided a fleeting sense of power and justice.

But after the anger came a deep, suffocating depression. The reality of his betrayal settled over her like a heavy, oppressive fog. Each day felt like a battle to simply get out of bed, and her once vibrant spirit seemed to wither under the weight of her grief. She found herself crying at the smallest things, her emotions a raw, open wound that refused to heal.

—

One night Vitto found her in bed, her cheeks tear-stained and her eyes red and swollen, looking every bit as miserable as she felt inside. Without a word, Vitto quickly gathered her in her arms, holding her tightly as the heart-shattering sobs began anew. The weight of her friend’s pain pressed heavily on Vitto’s heart, but she held her close, whispering kind and reassuring words, trying to contain the pieces of her shattered glass heart.

In a voice barely above a whisper, filled with desperation and heartbreak, she asked the questions that had been gnawing at her soul. “Why can't it be me for once, Vitto? Why can't someone choose me?” Her voice cracked with the weight of the pain she felt. “Is it so hard to love me? What's so wrong with me that no one has the will to stay?”

Vitto's heart ached at the sight of her friend so broken, so lost in her despair. She tightened her hold, pulling her closer as if she could shield her from the cruel thoughts that plagued her mind. “There's nothing wrong with you,” Vitto whispered back, her voice gentle but firm. “You are so easy to love, fofinha, and anyone who doesn't see that is a fool.” She prayed that her friend would see the truth in her words. “You deserve someone who sees you for the amazing person you are and who will never let you go.”

Vitto rocked her gently, smoothing her hair and murmuring softly. “You’re strong,” she whispered. “Stronger than you know. You’ll get through this, one step at a time. You have us, and we’re not going anywhere.”

That night, after the tears had subsided, she found herself sitting on the windowsill, staring out into the vast, indifferent sky. The weight of her grief pressed down on her chest as she gazed at the stars, feeling more alone than ever. 

In the quiet darkness, she whispered her desperate plea to any entity that might be listening. She wasn’t asking for fame or fortune, but for something much simpler and infinitely more precious: love. A love that wasn’t for the artist she became on stage or the persona she put on for the cameras, but for her—the real her, with all her flaws, insecurities, and hidden depths.

She was on her knees, metaphorically, begging for someone to change her fate, to alter the prophecy that seemed to doom her to be always left behind. Why couldn’t someone love her as fiercely as she loved them—or even harder?. 

The question lingered in the air, a painful echo of her deepest fears. She longed for someone who would choose her, who wouldn’t toss her aside once the initial novelty wore off and someone else, shiny and new, came along.

The night air was cool against her skin, a stark contrast to the burning ache inside her. She closed her eyes, letting the silent tears fall, each one a small release of the pain she carried. 

She wasn’t asking for much, just someone who would love her, not for what she represented, but for who she truly was. Someone who would see her, really see her, and still choose to stay. The silence of the night offered no answers, but she hoped—prayed—that somewhere, someone would hear her and bring her the love she so desperately craved. The stars offered no answers, but in the quiet of the night, she found a sliver of solace in the act of voicing her deepest wish.

—

The phone rang late in the evening, its sound piercing the quiet of the room. She hesitated for a moment, glancing at the screen. Chloe's name flashed across it, and a part of her almost didn’t want to pick up. But Chloe had been there for her in ways she hadn’t expected, turning from an acquaintance into one of her closest friends. With a deep breath, she answered.

“Hey,” she said softly, trying to mask the exhaustion in her voice.

“Hey, you,” Chloe replied, her tone gentle, almost cautious. “I just wanted to check in on you. How are you holding up?”

There was a brief silence, the kind that stretches out when you’re trying to find the right words to explain a pain that feels impossible to describe. “I’m… surviving, I guess. It’s been hard,” she admitted, her voice wavering.

Chloe sighed on the other end, a mix of empathy and frustration evident in her breath. “I’m so sorry. I can’t even begin to imagine what you’re going through. And I hate that I had to be the one to confirm it. You deserve so much better.” 

Her heart ached at the sincerity in Chloe’s words. “I don’t even know what hurts more—the fact that he moved on so quickly, or that I still can’t hate him for it. I feel like such an idiot, holding on to the person I thought he was.”

“You’re not an idiot,” Chloe reassured her. “You loved him, and you believed in him. There’s nothing wrong with that. But you have to remember that this isn’t about you, it’s about him and his inability to recognize what he had.”

A sad smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “Thank you. It’s just… I keep asking myself how someone can move on so quickly. I thought what we had was real. We talked about a future, Chloe. The farm, rings, babies, all of it. And then, two weeks after we break up, he’s with someone else? It just… it doesn’t make sense.” she said, her voice cracking. “How could he say all those things to me, make all those promises, and then just... move on? Like I never mattered.”

Chloe hesitated, knowing that what she had to say might sting, but also feeling that honesty was necessary. “I know, and I wish I had the right words to make it better. I don’t understand it either. But people… they’re complicated, and sometimes they don’t even realize the damage they’re causing until it’s too late. Sometimes-” she let out a sigh, “Sometimes people make decisions that don’t make any sense, that hurt the ones they’re supposed to care about the most. But that’s on him, not you. You’re allowed to grieve, to be angry, to feel everything you’re feeling.”

“Do you think he ever really loved me?” The question slipped out before she could stop it, her voice barely above a whisper. It was a question that had haunted her since the confirmation of Daniel’s new relationship, and now it hung in the air between them, heavy and loaded with vulnerability.

Chloe paused, her heart aching for her friend. “I think… I think he loved you in the way he knew how, but maybe that wasn’t the way you deserved to be loved. And that’s not your fault. It’s his loss, really. You gave him everything, and he’s the one who couldn’t appreciate it.”

Tears welled up in her eyes, but she fought them back. “It just hurts so much, you know? I keep thinking that if I had done something differently, if I had been better, maybe things would have turned out differently.”

“Don’t do that to yourself,” Chloe said firmly. “You did nothing wrong. You were yourself, and that should have been enough. He’s the one who couldn’t see what he had in front of him. But I see you, and so do the people who really care about you. You’re not alone in this.”

The girl swallowed the lump in her throat, grateful for Chloe’s words, for her friendship. “Thank you, Chloe. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You don’t have to thank me. I’m here for you, no matter what,” Chloe replied warmly. 

As the conversation between the girl and Chloe lingered, an uncomfortable question bubbled up within her. She hesitated, biting her lip before finally asking, “Chloe, how is Heidi? Is she… nice? She looks like she is.”

Chloe paused on the other end, considering her words carefully. “She is nice,” she admitted softly. “She’s kind and sweet, and she seems like a good person.”

The girl swallowed hard, a mix of emotions swirling in her chest. “I figured as much,” she said, her voice tinged with a quiet resignation. “At the beginning, I wanted to tear her apart, you know? I wanted to pick out every flaw she had, convince myself she wasn’t good enough. But I couldn’t do that… because she just looks so nice and kind. It’s almost like it made everything worse, knowing that I couldn’t even hate her.”

Chloe sighed, understanding the conflict in her friend’s heart. “It’s natural to feel that way, to want to protect yourself by finding reasons to dislike her. But you’re also showing so much strength by acknowledging that she’s not the enemy. It’s okay to feel conflicted.”

The girl nodded, though her throat tightened. “I just wish it didn’t hurt so much, Chloe. I wish I could be happy for him, for them. But it’s hard when it feels like I’ve been discarded, replaced by someone who seems perfect in every way.”

“Listen,” Chloe said, her voice firm yet gentle, “you’re human, and it’s okay to feel hurt and conflicted. But don’t let those feelings define you. You’re more than what he made you feel, and you deserve someone who will see all of you—the good, the bad, and everything in between”

“I know,” she whispered, though the knowledge didn’t make the pain any easier to bear. “It’s just hard to accept sometimes.”

“It is,” Chloe agreed. “But you’ll get there. One step at a time. And remember, just because she’s nice doesn’t mean your feelings aren’t valid. You’re allowed to grieve what you’ve lost, even if it’s complicated.”

—

Slowly, the depression began to give way to a semblance of acceptance—or something that resembled it. It wasn’t forgiveness, nor was it forgetting, but a grudging acknowledgment that clinging to the pain and anger would only prolong her agony.

She continued to write, but the tone of her lyrics shifted. They were still tinged with sadness and loss, but there was also a hint of desperation and sometimes hope.

We broke up a month ago

Your friends are mine, you know, I know

You've moved on, found someone new

One more girl who brings out the better in you.

[...]

And do you tell her she's the most beautiful girl you've ever seen?

An eternal love bullshit you know you'll never mean

Remember when I believed you meant it when you said it first to me?

And now I'm pickin' her apart

Like cuttin' her down will make you miss my wretched heart

But she's beautiful, she looks kind

She probably gives you butterflies.

[...]

I hope you're happy

I wish you all the best, really

Say you love her, baby, just not like you loved me

And think of me fondly when your hands are on her

I hope you're happy, but don't be happier.

Acceptance came in small, painful increments. It was in the quiet moments when Baby Iza’s tiny hand rested on her cheek, or when Vitto and Andrew’s unwavering support reminded her that she was not alone. It was in the act of writing itself, where she could pour out her heart and begin to untangle the threads of grief and loss.

As she sat on the grass, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows around her, she realized that while Daniel’s betrayal had broken her, it had not destroyed her. She would rebuild herself, piece by piece, word by word, until she was whole again. Despite everything, she was still standing.

Through the anger, the depression, and the acceptance, she learned that she had the strength to endure. The scars from this heartbreak would always be there, but they would also be a testament to her resilience and her capacity to heal. And in those moments of writing, she knew she would emerge from this experience stronger, wiser, and ready to embrace whatever the future held.

[vixen-tech]

if you want to -- maybe AUTO with a botanist reader? i just think it'd be so interesting how it would play out !! u dont have to, so only do it if u want to!!

🩹 anon

To be Loved, To Maybe be Changed (Auto x Botanist!Reader)

Oh that certainly is a concept!! It's a great one for Auto to, this put an entire storyline in my head that I think justifies breaking out the oneshot format rather than headcanons. Which works out great because I think out of all the Ai's I've written for, he would need the most 'set up' from how not-sentient he's protrayed in Wall-E. Anyways grab a snack floks this is a long one

It had been many generations since the Axium returned home to earth. Humans, robots, and the all important plant finding themselves back on soil, populating the deserted planet once more.

Things have changed since then. The human body began readapting to earth's gravity, the majority of buildings around the landing site have been fixed up and inhabited, and most importantly: the city is covered in plants. Grasses sprout between broken walkways, invy weaves its way up repurposed skyscrapers, gardens spill out of every available alleyway, a gaint tree stands where that first plant took root all those centuries ago. Each year it seems the sky gets a little more blue.

The ever diversifying flora had captivated you ever since you first had the words to describe it. As soon as you had a say so, you began studying it. Dispite the flourishing growth, any sort of plant husbandry was still something of a lost art. You lived off of the ancient manuals and beginners guides that eventually made their way out of the Axium's archives.

Yet even those could only do so much for you when most of the crops that had evolved from that first seedling had taken forms a far cry from their original pre space-age forefathers. It became your life's mission to learn how to best take care of these new cultivars and of course, spread the knowledge (and hopefully passion) for botany that you had gained throughout your life.

That was what fueled your visits to the Axium. Still parked at the foot of that monumental tree, it had been transformed into something of a community center. With most of its facilities still running and new services offered everyday. You often came to drop off your experimental findings, teach classes, and check to see if other botanists had done the same. Why you began exploring the depths of the halls that one fateful day, you still don't know.

The spaceship was massive, clearly a crowning jewel of its time. To this day many rooms remained unused and largely blocked off. The bustle and warmth of public spaces giving way to dust and insect nests as you roam through areas no longer needed. Bathrooms too far from the people to warrant upkeep, storage rooms that were once filled with replacement parts for the robots that now walked side by side with humans. And at the end of your journey, the captain's quarters.

The door was practically sealed shut with age, and the room behind it was hardly any better. The air attacked you with a cloud of dust once you finally managed to shove open the door, and no matter how much you rubbed your eyes there still appeared to be an almost foggy looking quality to the room.

That's when you found Auto.

He was still dangling from the ceiling above a control panel you doubt still worked. You had seen and befriended many robots before, they were just as common as humans in the city nowadays with remarkably little tension between them. Recognizing that the innert steering wheel in front of you was once one, your heart ached. You were no mechanic, but surely you had to at least try to get him up and running again. What can you say, you were always a bit of a bleeding heart.

After carefully detaching him from the ceiling you carried what was essentially an inanimate hunk of metal all the way back home with you. People stared, sure, but they kept any questions or judgments to themselves as you made your way home.

Your residence was rustic, to say the least. A fairly rundown shack renovated into a makeshift greenhouse. Produce and flowering plants alike overflowed from their neat rows of pots on benches. Some were for you, more were to sell, all were part of research in one way or another.

You loved walking through your own little botanical garden to get to your living quarters. The moment you pass through the front doors you're always hit with a wave of earthy freshness. The smell of petrichor and pollen greeted you (and your new... friend?) just as it always did. Never once failing to make you feel at home.

Your living quarters themselves were similarly homey. Not drastically bigger than a hotel room, it's a modest living area with a kitchen tucked in the corner and two doors along the wall. One leading to a compact bathroom, the other your bedroom. Some may call it cramped, but to you it's cozy. You spent most of your time in the greenhouse anyway.

That might have been the only day you mourned your lack of space. As if he were a friend you had to drag home after a night of drinking, you placed Auto on the couch. Promising to yourself that you'd do your best to fix him up. You'd probably have to give him some wheels to, since you ripped him from the ship. Well, your life could always use some more excitement.

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

Your knowledge of machinery had definitely improved over the past few weeks. On all accounts you were extraordinarily lucky that he was in such good shape. Age had rendered most of his circuits unusable, but isolation kept them from becoming unrecognizable. Night after night you would come home with a new part and with surgical delicacy, swap it out for its damaged counterpart.

You had heard stories from the time of the Axium. You knew of the 'evil autopilot program that tried to trap humanity in space'. You knew that you were probably trying to fix said evil autopilot program. It may have been the weeks of one sided bonding, but you didn't buy it. Surely at worst he was just following orders. And who knows, maybe with some free will he might be able to turn over a new leaf.

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

"What happened?" His voice was striking, deep and inhumanly regular in a way that was still seen a trademark of artificial speech. He was upright on the wheeled body you attached him to, the red eye (camera?) at the center of his face seemed to scan you up and down before doing the same to the room around him.

The cocktail of pride and anxiety had yet to leave your chest. You attempted to explain, "Well I fixed you-"

"Before that." He interrupted. Slowly wheeling himself to the living room window, still unsure of the new addition you had made to his body. "Where are we?" He added.

You should have been prepared for that one. "We're on earth, in my house." You watched with apprehension as he stared out the window. The steering wheel that made his outer body clicked back and forth as if he were swaying in thought.

"Earth is habitable." His voice lacked strong inflection, you were unsure if he was asking you a question or stating the fact to himself.

"It has been for a long time." You said as gently as you possibly could. "You were... on that ship for centuries, a lot has changed since then."

If he was listening to you, he made no effort to show it. Instead continuing to look outside as if he were zoning out in thought. "There are plants", he observed.

The view out that window wasn't remarkable by any means. Just some grass and a few odd trees before the city's skyscrapers blocked your line of sight. But the mere mention of plants was always enough to get you excited. "Oh if you're interested in plants you should see this." Gesturing for him to follow you as you opened the door to your greenhouse.

He paused for a moment before trailing behind you.

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

Auto made for a strange guest. With no astro-cruise to run he spent a considerable amount of time staring at you while you worked. It was only as you were measuring the pH of your plants' soil that you began narrating your work to him. It started as a way for you to simply diffuse the tension and explain why you were so invested in the vegetation.

He made for a good wall to rant to. You didn't have many close friends and certainly none as into botany as you, most other botanists spent as much time with their garden as you do. But thankfully, no matter how much you asked if you were being annoying, he would repeat that "The information is important, please continue." All while focused on whatever orchid you made the subject of your newest lecture. You did make it clear that he was free to leave at any time.

He never did.

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

Your first trip to the Axium since Auto's reactivation was an awkward one, at least on your part. When you announced that you needed to go to drop off your latest batch of research he requested to could come with, one of the first things he asked of you since waking up.

Perhaps you shouldn't have been surprised, Auto had barely took a step outside your home. Relying instead on you and whatever books or documentaries you had to fill him in on what the world had become. Who were you to deny him some fresh air?

Although you had grown much more comfortable around him you were still anxious to hear what he thought of everything. And as always his judgment came in the form of definite reports. It was all "Humanity is stable." Or "Plant life is flourishing." If he had any semblance of opinion, he didn't tell you about it.

He didn't behave much differently on the Axium, continuing to trail you like a lost duckling and thoroughly scan the surroundings. It wasn't until you met up with a fellow herbalist that he spoke a word.

They asked you about a specific project you were working on, a new crossbreed of a medicinal herb of particular interest to them. However, as it wasn't the purpose of your trip you didn't have any of its records on you. You were about to apologize and tell them so until Auto informed them, "The crossbreed has shown accelerated growth but a greater sensitivity to sunlight." The herbalist thanked both of you and walked off.

Even though you shouldn't have been shocked to learn that he was actually storing the information you spat at him, it was still nice to know that he cared to some degree.

"Thank you, Auto."

"You're welcome."

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

The days have gone on much the same since then. You had never sought out an adventurous life. Often you go out the greenhouse in the morning and find Auto observing the various moths and flies that had evolved as pollinators alongside the new flora. "Morning Auto!" You would cheerfully greet.

You never fully understood why he stayed, but it didn't matter to you at this point. He was here and he made no effort to go. You had more than enough room in your life for him anyway.

"Good morning."

And so another day starts.