#I just keep thinking about that maybe he disappeared in autumn | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

undiscovered-horizon · 1 year ago

Text

"Everywhere is good but home is..." - Mihawk x Reader

@thetempleofthemasaigoddess wondered why Mihawk doesn't quite get along with his mother-in-law and who am I to keep such secrets to myself?

SUMMARY: Mihawk is not exactly fond of his in-laws. Nevertheless, he compliantly tags along whenever you pay your parents a visit. If it makes you happy, he's willing to bite his tongue. For a day, at least.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 2.6k

Enjoying my work? You can leave me a tip on Ko-Fi

Imagine, if you will, an angry boar. A large, stout boar with birse as dark as the night sky. As boars do, it will gore with its tusks to let out the frustration and get rid of whatever it was that made the animal seethe. Now, if you take away its tusks, what can it do? Angrily dig for truffles?

Or maybe stand beside you, a scowl on his face and a begrudging “I am fine” every time you ask about the bitter expression?

Mihawk doesn’t like visiting your parents. It’s the sickeningly sweet familial atmosphere that suffocates him. Don’t misunderstand - he’s fond of the thought of having a family with you but the aura of your childhood home is a little too… overwhelming for him. A little too picture-perfect. But being the man he is, Mihawk has never outright talked about his dislike because he’s aware of how much that would hurt you. Still, you know your husband a little too well to disregard his sighs and frowns. This piece of secret knowledge always makes you love him more - he’s willing to suffer for a day or two just to make you happy. If it’s not love, what else could it be?

The farmhouse looks different than it did last year when you visited: the roof tiles have been changed, the outside of the building has been repainted and even some of the fence surrounding the land is new. Clearly, your parents have been busy with their retirement.

Despite the irate expression on his face, Mihawk silently overtakes you and opens the shabby wicket gate to let you enter first. He gives you a questioning look when you suddenly stop.

“It’s going to be fine, Mihawk,” you reassure him.

“So you’ve been saying, darling.”

Comforting warmth spreads inside his chest as you smile at him and kiss his cheek. He turns his head, hoping to catch your lips but you’re already on your way to the older man raking leaves in the distance. Mihawk clenches his jaw and lets out an exasperated sigh. With a loud bang, he closes the gate behind him. He follows you in slow steps, naively putting off the fateful moment of meeting your family.

Walking down the path leading to the farmhouse and the fields behind it, Mihawk looks around the desolate landscape. It’s quaint, he thinks to himself. Tall trees sway on the chilly, autumn wind. Right above their peaks, although far away, are mountains with their tops covered in snow. Uncut grass brushes against his clothes. A flock of cranes flies high in the sky, disappearing and reappearing as they fly through grey clouds. Their key is directed south, towards warmth that will shield them from winter snow. The area is a bit too colourful and bright for his liking but with a nice “please” from you, Mihawk could see himself settling down in a place like this.

Dracule just comes into earshot and has the displeasure of hearing your father yelling:

“Pumpkin!” The older man’s voice is filled with excitement. He lets go of the rake, letting it fall on the ground. Despite his age and clear exhaustion from the work, he wraps his arms around you and hugs you almost to death. “Honey, come out!” he shouts towards the farmhouse. “It’s Pumpkin!”

Mihawk almost can’t stop himself from rolling his eyes. You’re a grown woman, married at that, and they still call you by a nickname they had come up with while you were still in diapers. ‘When I asked where children came from, they told me that they found me between pumpkins in their field,’ you once explained to him.

The door to the building flies open. Soon enough, your mother is running to you. Her greying hair is braided into a plait. She’s wearing an apron with traditional patterns hand-stitched into it. Half of the motif had been done by a skilled hand, stitched with precision and perfection. The other part, however, is a lot more crooked and amateurish, probably done by a child’s hand. Your hand.

Tears glisten in your mother's eyes. Despite her older age, there’s vigour and youth inside those irises - a certain love for life that you’ve taken after her. She quickly wipes her hands on the apron and hugs you.

“Oh, Pumpkin!” A stray tear leaves her eye. “I haven’t seen you in ages! You could have said you’re visiting.”

“You’ve always loved surprises, mum.”

She lets go of you and redirects her attention to Mihawk. Her face lights up as though he’s her own son, beaming with love and pride. To his absolute horror, your mother puts her hands on the sides of his face. He almost pulls away to avoid the unwanted affections.

“Sweetie, you look handsome as ever!” she exclaims. Her expression falls as she looks him up and down. “But you’re a bit thin, aren’t you? And that open shirt, tsk. Winter is coming, sweetheart, you’ll catch pneumonia if you don’t cover up.”

“Delighted to see you again, ma’am,” Mihawk lies through his teeth. To some degree, you’re impressed with how honest he sounds.

"Oh, sweetheart, I told you to just call me mum!” She laughs. “We're family now."

You can see the relief in Mihawk’s eyes as your mother lets go of him. Some part of you wants to burst with laughter as you recall countless moments when you’re the one cradling his face and Dracule is more than overjoyed with the tender touch. It feels like there’s something beyond special about you, that he welcomes such intimate things. Although, truth be told, when it’s your hands on his face, you usually lean in to kiss him and that’s definitely not something he wants to think about while standing in front of your mother.

“He’s a grown man, honey.” Your father nags at his wife. He waves his hand in a dismissing manner. “Leave him be.” Mihawk’s terror returns when a heavy hand reaches for his shoulder. “Come, son, you’ll chop some wood for the night. I’m too old for this. The last time I tried chopping firewood, I got sciatica.”

“Pleased to help,” Dracule drones his words. He gives you a glance like a silent plead ‘Look what I do for you’. Then, he follows your father further into the garden.

You feel your mother put her arm around your shoulder. “Boys are off to have fun and we have a dinner to make.”

Something inside you stirs with excitement - cooking and baking used to be your bonding activities with your mum. Since you’ve married Mihawk, you’re not allowed to do any housework. Everything is taken care of by servants. You find that you’ve grown to miss the rhythm of mundane life, although it would be a lie if you said that you dislike the life you have with Mihawk. It’s just… different.

The sound of pots, pans and knives hitting the cutting boards is like a symphony to your ears. An aria to your childhood. If you closed your eyes, you could almost see the world as it used to be, your eyes right below the level of the countertops, always standing on a stool to help your mother.

But the thoughts of your younger years dissipate as you stare out of the kitchen window. You have the perfect view of your husband chopping firewood with your father raking leaves in the back. Mihawk’s skin glistens in the afternoon, autumn sun. There’s not a bead of sweat on his torso. He appears completely relaxed as he swings the axe with one hand. Some logs are already cracked or particularly dry and those he rips apart with his bare hands. Those same hands that tear pieces of wood into matches have caressed your skin with almost fearful softness; the arms that bring destruction have tirelessly shielded you from the dangers of the world.

Your dad looks over his shoulder at the pile of firewood with a nod of awe. If Mihawk keeps up his tempo, he’ll prepare enough fuel for the next week.

“You remind me of your dad and me when we were younger.” Your mother’s face shakes you awake from your thoughts. Suddenly remembering that you were supposed to be helping her, you look down at the awfully chopped carrots. At least you didn’t cut off your finger. “Always stealing glances as though we weren’t already married.”

A sigh of yearning leaves your lips. What did you do in your past life to deserve a man like him?

“Dad still looks at you in an uncomfortably intense way,” you answer, a smile on your lips.

Your mother’s laughter brightens up the small, crowded kitchen. It’s not hard to correctly guess what your dad saw in her that made him want to spend his life with that woman. “He does the same when you’re not looking,” she says while vaguely pointing at Mihawk.

Her words make you blush. A deep shade of red covers your cheeks, making your whole face hot to the touch. “What do you mean?”

She looks at you with sympathy. “I saw it the day you introduced him to us. And each time you come over, he seems to be a little worse in his affliction, staring at you like you’re the one who hung stars in the sky. It made your grandma remind her of grandad so much, that she cried at your wedding.”

Listening to her, your longing gaze returns to Mihawk who appears oblivious to your undivided interest in him. “Mum, does it ever get boring?” you ask without looking away. “The sense of calm when you’re around him. Like everything could be ruined but it’s fine because he’s there.”

“It’s the only thing in the world that never gets tiring.” A flustered, juvenile smile decorates her face. Even with wrinkles and greying hair, she looks barely older than you at the moment, reliving the flame of love inside her that has never dwindled. “Now, let’s finish with the sentiments and stuff the duck, eh?”

Mihawk is reaching for another log when something makes him momentarily freeze. There, in front of the stump he’s been chopping wood on, sits a dog. It’s clearly a mutt, each feature taken from a different breed. The fur is an amalgamation of markings in different colours: orange, grey, white and black. As the dog notices Mihawk’s interest, it gets up, restlessly stomping in place or rather hopping as the pet is missing one of its hind legs.

“Gulliver,” Dracule recalls the name of the mutt you’ve told him so much about. Your first and only friend growing up in the countryside.

The name is taken as an invite and so the dog places a drool-covered, chewed-out ball next to the piece of firewood. The pet sits again, tail wagging as fast as it can.

For a moment, Mihawk is torn. He wants the dog to leave him be but that would mean he has to put his hand on the slimy toy. Then again, the pet is sure to continue disturbing him now that he has acknowledged its existence.

Cringing at the wet and warm sensation of the ball, Dracule picks it up, only furthering Gulliver’s excitement.

"This means nothing," he drones his words and throws the toy so far it almost disappears from sight. The dog, overjoyed, runs after the ball.

Considering that your dad’s throw has gotten weaker with age, Mihawk might have dug his own grave with the distance he made the ball fly. Gulliver will probably want another run. Or ten.

For a moment, Mihawk goes back to the fantasy of settling down with you in a mountainous wonderland. Maybe you could have a dog too? Not a mutt but a hunting hound? They look very noble.

But he shakes those thoughts away and continues chopping wood.

The dinner went well. Homemade food, family you haven’t seen in a year, the cosy and sentimental atmosphere of your childhood home… And Mihawk didn’t look as miserable as he probably felt. Although you’re enjoying this little family reunion, you seize the opportunity for solitude when it arises:

Your parents go to the kitchen to put away the dirty dishes, plate the dessert and brew some tea. Tugging on Mihawk’s arm, you pull him outside the house.

The old flooring of the porch creaks under your weight. A bright, melodic tune is carried by the wind as it brushes against the chimes hanging under the roof. The sun has recently set and the sky is still in a lovely, indigo shade. Birds croak in the distance, announcing nightfall.

His warm hand rests on your lower back. The touch makes you momentarily take a deep, relaxing breath. Your thoughts become both orderly and fuzzy as though Mihawk’s presence turned all of your wandering, useless ideas into static you can easily ignore. How can a person have so much control over you?

Mihawk is towering over you. He tilts his head downwards to look at you. Something about his looming aura makes you feel not only protected but also well-cared-for, as though you could give yourself up to him completely and you’d still live like a queen in a castle.

“If you keep frowning, your face will stay like that,” you say to him.

Mihawk’s expression relaxes at the mere mention of his visibly bitter mood. Or maybe it softens because he’s looking at you. “I was under the impression that you’re rather fond of my face.”

“And you’d be correct. But I do have to say that seeing you tear wood apart was much better.”

You lean closer to him as you put your arms around his neck. He welcomes the gesture, allowing his hands to travel an inch or two downwards, a little too low for when one is in the vicinity of others. Especially someone’s parents.

“So my wife likes to see me do manual labour,” he states, his warm breath brushing against your cold cheeks. There’s no surprise in his voice and there shouldn’t be. He’s noticed the way you look at him when he wields a sword and Mihawk would be an awful liar if he said he doesn’t enjoy those glances.

“I like seeing you, full stop. Chopping wood is just a nice variation to the scenario. Strong arms and all that.”

The said arms pull you by your hips into a kiss. Although he’s spent only a day in this part of the region, he already smells like fresh mountain air and pine needles. Mihawk groans, feeling the curves of your body against his. He will never get enough of this. Enough of you.

“Tea is served!”

Your mother’s exclamation makes you pull away from Mihawk. He instinctively chases after your lips before letting out an annoyed sigh. A chuckle rumbles in your chest. Dracule rolls his eyes but lets you thread your fingers with his and pull him back inside the farmhouse. There, you interrupt an interesting conversation:

“Darling, when’s the cake tasting again?” your father asks while flipping through the calendar, a pencil in his hand.

“On the 25th, honey,” she answers. The dining room is immediately filled with the aroma of bergamot as your mother pours the tea. “At 6 in the afternoon.”

“Cake tasting?” you repeat in confusion. “What’s going on?”

“Our golden wedding, of course!” the older woman beams with joy. “We’ve yet to send out the invitations, though, so don’t tell anyone. Especially your aunt. Gods know she runs her mouth like it’s a marathon.”

As though you’re thinking the same thing, Mihawk and you glance at each other. The miserable, irate expression in his eyes elicits a burst of bright laughter from you. He just can’t catch a break, can he?

#mihawk fanfiction #mihawk #one piece mihawk #mihawk one piece #dracule mihawk #mihawk x reader #op mihawk #dracule mihawk fanfiction #dracule mihawk fanfic #dracule mihawk x reader #one piece #opla #one piece fanfiction #one piece x reader #one piece x you #one piece fanfic #one piece imagine #one piece live action #one piece netflix

1K notes · View notes

sirenedeslily · 1 month ago

Text

𝐌𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐓𝐎𝐖𝐍 ‎𐦍 𝐦atthew 𝐬turniolo

(⊹ֹ 𝐢𝐧 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒄𝒉 ) ──── ⟢ it’s the 2000s, and in stars hollow, rebellious matt sturniolo, tattooed and brilliant, somehow needs tutoring sessions. yn greenaway, somehow gets pulled into his world of distractions, leaving them both questioning what they really want.

you step off the bus, the cool air of stars hollow brushing your face, carrying the scent of woodsmoke and coffee from luke’s diner. the orange leaves crunch beneath your boots as you make your way down the street, your thoughts wandering. it’s autumn, your favorite time of year. the kind of day that feels like it’s plucked from a movie—a you’ve got mail kind of day. sophie—or soapy, as you call her— is waiting for you by the bus stop, her usual smile in place, earbuds in, head slightly bobbing to a beat you can’t hear.

“hey!” she calls as she pulls out her earbuds, falling into step beside you. she’s wearing a smashing pumpkins t-shirt under a plaid flannel and looks like she just walked out of a 90s grunge concert. classic soapy.

“hey yourself,” you respond, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “what are you listening to?”

“just some early radiohead. you know, getting in my ‘i’m too cool for mainstream music’ vibe,” she teases.

“of course. how very ‘ok computer’ of you.” you grin, tugging at your scarf. “i’m still stuck in the mazzy star phase. i think i’ve had ‘cry, cry’ on repeat for days.”

sophie gives you a mock serious nod. “that’s some deep emotional territory. you planning on staring longingly out a window while it rains?”

“maybe,” you joke, nudging her. “but first, i need to catch up on the weirdness that is stars hollow high. chris apparently got into a fight yesterday?”

“yeah, hockey drama,” she says with a casual wave of her hand. “it’s chris. the guy’s basically made of punches and sports equipment. it’s a wonder he doesn’t just carry around a hockey stick as an accessory.”

“where was matt during all of this?” you ask, curiosity getting the better of you.

sophie shrugs. “nowhere to be seen, as usual. you know matt—here one minute, gone the next. probably off in some corner reading kafka or something, being all mysterious.”

you roll your eyes but can’t help the smile that pulls at your lips. matthew sturniolo has a way of occupying your mind without even being around. the fact that sophie hasn’t seen him at school recently doesn’t surprise you. he’s always been the brooding type, always disappearing into books, into his own world.

“so, any big plans for today?” sophie asks as you both turn the corner near the town square.

“just the usual. i’m heading to the bookstore later with nick, and then i’ll probably drop by luke’s for cherry danish day, my favourite day! what about you?”

“band practice. dave’s got this crazy idea for a new song that’s somewhere between the smashing pumpkins and the strokes, so… we’ll see how that goes.”

you both laugh, the conversation drifting into casual chatter about school, music, and soapy’s band. eventually, you part ways—she heads to meet her band, and you find yourself walking toward the bookstore.

as you round the corner of the alley that leads to the bookstore, you spot matt sitting on a bench, a paperback in hand, legs stretched out lazily in front of him. his arm, the one covered in tattoos, is draped over the back of the bench, his rings catching the late afternoon light.

you hesitate for a moment, watching him. he looks up, catches your gaze, and smirks in that infuriatingly charming way he does.

“fancy seeing you here,” he says, closing his book without bothering to mark the page.

you cross your arms and approach. “not disappearing into thin air for once? i’m shocked.”

“ah, i have to keep some mystery alive,” he replies with a grin. “besides, i’m right where i want to be.”

his words hang in the air between you, heavy with something unspoken. you swallow and sit beside him on the bench, trying to ignore the way your heart picks up speed. his presence has always done that to you—ever since you first met him.

“so, what are you reading?” you ask, gesturing toward the book.

he glances down at the cover and smirks. “on the road.”

you snort. “of course you are. trying to live out some kerouac fantasy?”

matt chuckles, a low sound that sends a shiver down your spine. “it’s not fantasy, greenaway. it’s more like… preparation.”

“for what?”

he looks at you then, his gaze steady, a little too intense. “for whatever’s next.”

you don’t know what to say to that, so you change the subject. “chris got into a fight at school yesterday.”

matt shakes his head. “yeah, heard about that. not surprising. chris has always been a hothead. someone probably looked at him wrong.”

you laugh softly, and for a moment, it feels easy—just sitting here with him, like old times. before the weird tension, before you started noticing the way his voice softened when he said your name, or how he seemed to be everywhere and nowhere at once.

“i should get going,” you say, standing up and brushing off your chilton uniform. “nick’s waiting for me at the bookstore.”

matt stands too, stuffing his book into his jacket pocket. “don’t stay away too long, greenaway.”

there it is again—that weight in his words, something that makes your heart skip. you nod, unsure of what to say, and walk away, feeling his eyes on you until you disappear into the bookstore.

later, when you get home, sophie is already there with her band, setting up in the living room like it’s her personal practice space. dave rygalski is tuning his guitar, and you catch the faint scent of takeout wafting through the house.

“soapy, you’ve officially turned my living room into a recording studio,” you say, dropping your bag by the door.

“you’re welcome!” she calls over her shoulder. “we’re just waiting for your mom to get back with food.”

as if on cue, elle walks through the door, juggling several bags of takeout. “dinner is served!” she announces, smiling in that casual, effortless way she has.

you help her set the food on the kitchen counter, chatting about your day as sophie and the band argue over the tempo of a song. it’s loud, chaotic, and yet it feels completely normal.

not long after, your dad, spencer, walks in, his usual stack of books tucked under one arm, glasses perched on his nose. “what’s all the noise?”

“band practice,” you say, smiling as he surveys the scene. “it’s always band practice.”

spencer nods thoughtfully, like the existence of a band in his living room is something he’s fully prepared for. “well, carry on.”

dinner at the reid-greenaway household is filled with laughter and teasing, as it always is. elle asks about school, spencer throws in the occasional trivia fact, and the noise of the band practicing in the background creates a comfortable soundtrack to the evening.

eventually, the night winds down, and you find yourself lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to shake the memory of matt on that bench. his words echo in your head, mingling with the soft hum of ‘fade into you’ that plays in the background.

it’s saturday morning, and you’re walking down the familiar streets of stars hollow with “there she goes” playing on your old walkman. the sun’s just breaking through the clouds, bathing everything in a golden autumn glow. the crunch of leaves under your feet sets the rhythm as you make your way to luke’s, where a coffee run is a sacred ritual.

the bell jingles as you push open the door, and the warm, coffee-scented air greets you like an old friend. luke’s is bustling with early risers, and you make a beeline for the counter where luke is busy pouring coffee.

“mornin’, yn,” luke says in his usual gruff yet familiar tone, already reaching for three to-go coffee cups. he doesn’t need to ask what you’re ordering—three coffees to go is basically your weekend tradition.

“morning, luke,” you reply, slipping off your headphones. “you know the drill. extra caffeine. life-saving, consciousness-reviving levels of caffeine. honestly, i should just hook it up to an iv at this point.”

“you kids are gonna od on this stuff one day,” he mutters, but there’s a small smile tugging at his lips.

lorelai, seated at the counter, overhears and gives you a mischievous grin. “ah, the youth of stars hollow. running on pure caffeine and dreams. it’s like watching the next generation of me.”

you smirk. “i prefer to think of it as highly efficient multitasking.”

luke hands you the first cup of coffee. “you mean procrastinating on real work?”

you give him a mock-serious nod. “luke, when have i ever deceived you about the importance of procrastination?”

lorelai leans over, clearly entertained. “see? she gets it. chilton pressure plus caffeine equals survival.”

“don’t encourage her,” luke grumbles, handing you the next two coffees.

“too late!” you and lorelai say in unison, laughing.

with the tray of coffees in hand, you wave a quick goodbye. “thanks, luke! see you tomorrow for round two.”

as you step back outside, the cool air hits your face, and you continue your walk, heading toward the bakery. the sign above the door reads sweet street, the sturniolo family’s cozy little spot. as you approach, you hear the familiar sounds of sophie in deep debate with jimmy.

“i’m telling you, ‘siamese dream’ is the smashing pumpkins’ best album. it’s got the perfect balance of angst and melody!” sophie insists, her eyes wide with passion as she gestures animatedly.

jimmy, leaning against the counter, raises an eyebrow. “i don’t know, ‘mellon collie’ has its merits. it’s more experimental, shows growth.”

you push open the door and walk in, shaking your head with a grin. “if i had a nickel for every time i walked in on you two arguing about music…”

sophie turns, her eyes immediately locking onto the coffee tray in your hands. “you got my coffee, right? precisely how i like it?”

you hand her the cup with a deadpan expression. “in our years of friendship, when have i ever deceived you?”

sophie smirks, taking a sip. “true. you’re as dependable as jimmy’s music takes.”

“thank you for that… i think,” jimmy mutters, rolling his eyes but smiling all the same. he grabs a bag from behind the counter and hands it to sophie. “here, muffins for the road. you two are going to need fuel for your record store adventures.”

“jimmy, you are a saint among men,” sophie says dramatically, clutching the bag to her chest.

just then, marylou emerges from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. her eyes light up when she sees you. “yn! i’m so glad you’re here. got a second?”

you exchange a glance with sophie, who raises an eyebrow. “uh-oh, that sounds ominous,” she says.

“i need a favour,” marylou says, leaning against the counter with a sigh.

you set down the coffee tray, immediately wary. “what kind of favour?”

marylou glances at soapy, who’s now munching on a muffin, before turning back to you. “it’s about matt.”

your stomach drops a little. “oh boy.”

“he’s been skipping school,” marylou says, her voice lowering. “a lot of school. stars hollow high is threatening to kick him out if he keeps it up.”

you blink, trying to wrap your head around it. “but he’s… matt. he knows more about hemingway and faulkner than half the population.”

“i know,” marylou says, exasperated. “but he’s not showing it in school. his grades are tanking, and… i thought, maybe, if you tutored him, you could get through to him. he listens to you.”

you glance at sophie, who’s smirking over her muffin, clearly enjoying the absurdity of the situation. “why me?” you ask, incredulous. “i’m not exactly on matt’s top ten list of people to hang out with.”

marylou gives you that mom look—the one that’s equal parts pleading and expectant. “he only seems to care about what you have to say. plus, you’re brilliant. you’re like your dad.”

you squirm a little under the weight of the compliment. “i don’t know, marylou. i mean, tutoring matt? what if he doesn’t even show up?”

“please,” marylou says, her eyes wide with hope. “you’re the only one i can trust with this. i’m running out of options.”

before you can say anything, you hear footsteps from upstairs, and nick comes down, his camera slung over his shoulder. he spots the coffee tray and grins. “ah, lifesaver! thanks, yn,” he says, grabbing his cup.

“ready to hit the record store?” sophie asks, stuffing the last bit of muffin into her mouth.

nick nods. “yeah, if we leave now, we can catch that new shipment kirk was talking about.”

you’re just about to grab your stuff when marylou gives you one last look. “yn, please. just think about it sweetheart, okay?”

you bite your lip, feeling a little torn. “i’ll think about it, i promise.”

with that, the three of you head out of the bakery, the cool autumn air swirling around you once again. as you walk, the conversation shifts to records and music, but your mind is still on matt, skipping school, and the weight of marylou’s request hanging over you like the last leaf clinging to a tree.

as you, nick, and sophie make your way through stars hollow, the crisp autumn air fills your lungs. leaves scatter across the street in shades of amber and crimson, a constant reminder that fall has fully settled in. the three of you are bundled up, coffees from luke’s in hand, weaving through the familiar streets toward your destination—the record store.

“tutoring matt,” soapy says, breaking the comfortable silence with a dramatic scoff. “i mean, it’s like trying to give life advice to a james dean character—lots of sulking, a cigarette somewhere, and an existential crisis about algebra. or better yet it’s like asking me to explain quantum physics to kirk. it makes no sense.”

nick lags behind, fiddling with his camera, capturing shots of the early fall leaves against the old buildings. “honestly, matt might actually listen to you. i’ve tried the whole ‘big brother’ speech, but he’s slippery.”

“too busy with his ‘rebel without a cause’ routine,” you quip. “i get it, geometry’s the enemy.”

nick chuckles as he snaps another picture. “it’s not just that. it’s like he’s checked out. he doesn’t care anymore. chris has his hockey, i have my photography, but matt… matt just floats.”

“floating,” sophie repeats, swirling her hand in a swooping motion. “that’s the sturniolo brand.”

you smirk but feel the weight of it. “and i’m supposed to ground him?”

“exactly, baby!” sophie says, throwing her arm around your shoulders.

nick snickers, adjusting the strap of his ever-present camera. “i mean, it makes a little sense. you’re the one who got him through that faulkner essay freshman year. and let’s not forget, matt knows more about ‘the sun also rises’ than our actual english teacher. he just doesn’t care about school.”

you shake your head, still trying to wrap your mind around Marylou’s request. “yeah, but tutoring matters is different. the guy reads moby dick for fun but won’t show up for class.”

sophie rolls her eyes. “maybe he’s like, secretly a genius. he’s too cool for high school, but deep down, he’s panicking that he won’t get into a college for misunderstood literary bad boys.”

you laugh. “that doesn’t sound like him. he’s more like ‘i don’t care about anything because everything is boring.’ why does it have to be me? he probably doesn’t even care about my existence.”

nick raises an eyebrow, giving you a knowing look. “are we talking about the same matthew here? because he definitely cares about your existence.. about you. he literally asked you about your thoughts on nietzsche last week, and we all know that’s basically his way of flirting.”

you blink at him, flustered. “that’s not flirting. that’s matt being… well matt.”

sophie grins, walking backward in front of you, her boots crunching against the fallen leaves. “oh, please. the guy’s got that ‘i’m too brooding for feelings, but maybe i’ll make an exception for you’ thing going on. i bet tutoring him will be just like dangerous minds but with more existential angst.”

you roll your eyes, taking a sip of your coffee. “you both are reading way too much into this.”

but before you can dwell on the idea of matt being interested in anything—or anyone—you approach the familiar, worn-down exterior of the stars hollow record store. the place smells like old vinyl and nostalgia, and as you push the door open, you hear the familiar chime of the bell above.

kirk is manning the counter, diligently arranging records in alphabetical order with the concentration of someone assembling a nuclear bomb. “ah, the trio returns! i assume you’re here for your usual eclectic mix of ‘stuff kirk doesn’t understand but pretends to be into.’” he greets, barely looking up from his work.

you smile as you make your way over to the bins. “you know us so well, kirk.”

sophie immediately makes a beeline for the indie section, eyes gleaming with determination. “i need some early pixies or maybe sleater-kinney. jenna—uh, someone i know—said it’s life-changing.”

nick raises an eyebrow at her slip. “you can say her name, you know. we all know you’re obsessed with jenna ortega.”

sophie, blushing but undeterred, begins flipping through the records. “i’m not obsessed. i’m… highly focused.”

you and nick exchange a glance before bursting into laughter. “highly focused, huh? you’ve been strategizing your next run-in with her for days,” you tease.

“she works at the theater!” sophie defends herself. “i’m just doing recon. casual recon. my plan is flawless—show up during the Friday night rush, bump into her, spill my drink—oops!—and then heroically offer to replace it. classic rom-com setup.”

nick shakes his head, grinning. “yeah, because nothing says ‘i’m interested’ like spilling soda all over someone.”

“you’re one to talk,” sophie shoots back. “mr. ‘i shared ice cream with dave at the founder’s day picnic and still haven’t made a move.’ what are your plans pretty boy?” nick’s face flushes immediately, and he ducks behind his camera, pretending to take a picture of the counter. “no moves. no plans. nothing.”

soapy cackles. “liar! you totally like him. what was it he said to you during the stars hollow harvest festival? something about ‘nice camera work’?”

nick groans. “he said he liked my composition, okay? it’s not a big deal.”

“right,” you tease, pulling out a talking heads record. “and then he asked you for your favorite lens, which is basically code for ‘i think you’re cute.’”

nick rolls his eyes. “that was… nothing. plus it’s complicated i mean lane literally dumped him not too long ago and not to mention the fact that it’s the early 2000s. i don’t even know if he’s into guys. i mean, what am i supposed to do? just ask him out at the town square while taylor’s running the pie-eating contest?”

you sigh rummaging through the sundays records. “just don’t overthink it, okay? dave’s cool. you’re cool. stars hollow’s already the weirdest place on earth, so who cares?”

nick lets out a long sigh, running a hand through his hair. “it’s not that simple. what if i make a move and it ruins everything? we have a good thing going right now. i don’t want to screw that up.”

sophie claps a hand on his shoulder. “just go in there with a plan. spill a drink, offer to replace it—works every time.”

kirk, who’s been listening intently while alphabetizing records, chimes in, “i once spilled milk on lulu’s book at the library. now we’re dating. so, yeah, maybe it works.”

the three of you exchange bemused glances before bursting into laughter. “thanks for the tip, kirk,” you manage between giggles.

“maybe. i don’t know. i guess i’m just not as bold as soapy over here with her grand schemes.” nick exclaims going back to their previous conversation.

sophie waves him off, pretending to be absorbed in her record search. “don’t worry. when jenna and i are dating and being all adorable together, you’ll be inspired by my brilliance. we’ll double-triple date! me and jenna, you and dave, yn and matt. picture it.”

nick rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling now. “right. because triple dating with jenna ortega and my triplet brother sounds so realistic.”

“dream big, nick. dream big,” sophie replies, holding up a copy of surfer rosa triumphantly before heading to the counter.

kirk glances at the record soapy’s holding with raised eyebrows. “sleater-kinney isn’t for everyone, you know.”

“oh, trust me, it’s for me,” sophie responds, placing it on the counter with a grin.

as she finishes paying, you and nick continue to browse, flipping through records more for the vibe than anything else. but as you shuffle through the vinyls, you can’t help but think back to your conversation about matt. nick and soapy’s teasing aside, you know that tutoring matt could be… complicated. but there’s something about the idea that draws you in.

nick, picking up a fleetwood mac album, glances over at you. “so, are you going to do it? tutor matt, i mean.”

you sigh, half distracted by the thought. “i don’t know. it feels like a lot. he’s barely in school as it is, and i’ve got chilton, my dad’s constant pressure, and now this. i’m not even sure he wants help.”

nick shrugs, putting the record back on the shelf. “maybe he just needs someone to push him. and let’s be real, you’re probably the only person in town who can.”

“yeah, because ‘pushing’ matt sounds like a great idea,” you mutter. “it’ll probably end with him dropping out entirely and moving to paris to write nihilistic poetry.”

sophie returns from the counter, bag in hand, still riding the high of her record purchase. “look, yn, you’re the only person who even remotely gets matt. and if he’s not showing up to class or trying in school, maybe that’s because no one’s ever made it interesting for him. you’re different. you could get him to care.”

you let out a laugh, though it’s tinged with uncertainty. “or he’ll make my life miserable.”

nick smiles gently, a rare seriousness in his expression. “or maybe he’ll surprise you.”

you glance at your friends, feeling the weight of their encouragement, but still unsure. the idea of spending more time with matt is… intimidating, in more ways than one.

“i’ll think about it,” you say, but deep down, you already know your answer.

heading back from the record store, you spot dave rygalski crossing the street. nick freezes for a split second before quickly pretending to adjust his camera, but it’s too late—you and soapy already noticed.

“there’s your chance,” sophie whispers with a sly grin.

nick groans. “goodbye, ladies,” he mutters, clearly flustered.

you and sophie exchange a laugh as nick hurries off, and after a few more jokes, you all say your goodbyes and head your separate ways. by the time you’re alone, you’ve made up your mind: tutoring matt might not be so bad. worst-case, he throws a few sarcastic comments, and you both call it a day.

that evening, after a quiet dinner with your parents—spencer lost in some case files and elle chatting about her day at the bau—you head up to your room, prepared for a low-key night. but, as you’re about to settle into bed with your latest book, your phone buzzes.

it’s a text from matt.

still up for tutoring me?

you stare at the message, momentarily stunned. somehow, the fact that he’s actually asking you makes it all feel a little more real. a little more personal.

yeah, when? you type back, fingers moving faster than your brain can catch up.

tomorrow night?

you chew on your bottom lip, considering. tomorrow’s Sunday—usually a good day for catching up on homework, so why not?

okay. my place?

a pause. then, sure. see you at 7.

you toss your phone onto your bed, your heart doing that weird thing again—the fluttering thing it does when matt’s name pops up on your screen.

the next day passes in a blur of homework and chores, but by the time 7 p.m. rolls around, you’re sitting at your desk, textbooks and notes laid out, waiting for matt to show up. you tell yourself it’s just tutoring, nothing more. just helping out a friend who, for some reason, can’t keep up with school. simple.

but when the knock comes at the door, and you open it to find matt standing there, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, you feel anything but simple.

“hey,” he says, his voice low, his eyes flicking briefly to your stack of books before landing back on you.

“hey,” you manage, stepping aside to let him in. he brushes past you, and you catch the faint scent of his cologne—something subtle, but distinctly matt.

“you sure about this?” he asks, quirking an eyebrow as he glances around your room. “i’m kind of a lost cause.”

“don’t be dramatic,” you say, rolling your eyes as you sit down at your desk. “you’re not a lost cause. just… distracted.”

“distracted,” he echoes, a hint of amusement in his voice as he drops his bag by the desk and sits on your bed, looking far too comfortable for someone who’s supposedly in need of academic help.

you shoot him a look. “yeah, distracted. now, come on, i’m serious. we need to figure out why you’re failing.”

he shrugs, leaning back against your headboard, one arm draped casually across his lap, the other—the tattooed one—resting on the bed beside him, fingers playing with one of the many rings he wears. “what can i say? school doesn’t exactly hold my interest.”

you sigh, exasperated but not surprised. “okay, but if you don’t pass, it’s going to cause all kinds of problems down the line. you’ve got to at least pretend to care.”

he gives you a half-smirk. “maybe i need someone to make me care.”

the comment is so typical of him, and yet, the way he says it makes your heart skip a beat. you stare at him for a moment, unsure whether he’s being serious or just trying to get under your skin. it’s always hard to tell with matt.

“well, i’m not here to play therapist,” you finally say, flipping open his english textbook. “so, how about we start with the great gatsby?”

matt groans but swings his legs off the bed and drags himself to the desk, pulling up a chair beside you. “fine. but only because i like gatsby.”

you raise an eyebrow. “oh yeah? what do you like about it?”

he leans forward, resting his elbows on the desk, and looks at you with that intense gaze of his. “i like that gatsby’s not really a hero. he’s flawed, but he’s still this larger-than-life figure. everyone’s drawn to him, even though he’s broken inside.”

there’s a beat of silence after he speaks, and you feel the weight of his words, like he’s not really talking about gatsby at all. you look at him, but he’s already flipping through the pages of the textbook, like he didn’t just say something that makes your chest ache a little.

you clear your throat and focus on the book. “okay. well, let’s talk about the symbolism in chapter four—”

but matt interrupts you. “do we have to? i mean, do you really think fitzgerald was sitting there, thinking, ‘i’m gonna put a green light in here to mess with students 70 years from now’?”

you laugh despite yourself. “yes, actually. i think fitzgerald lived for that kind of thing.”

he smirks, leaning back in his chair. “‘course you would.”

you nudge his arm playfully, trying to ignore the way his casual smirk makes your heart race. “focus, sturniolo. we’re here to get you passing, not to debate the merits of literary analysis.”

“right, right,” he says, but his tone is teasing, and he seems more interested in distracting you than actually working.

for the next hour, you try to guide him through his homework, but matt being matt, he keeps finding ways to sidetrack the conversation. one minute, you’re talking about nick carraway’s unreliable narration, and the next, he’s asking if you’ve ever been to new york, spinning some story about how he’s planning to move there one day, maybe open a bookshop, maybe just live in some crummy apartment and write.

“you could come with me, you know,” he says at one point, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye.

you laugh, shaking your head. “matt, you don’t even know if you’re going to graduate.”

he grins. “details. minor details.”

by the time you finally get him to finish one of his assignments, it’s already late, and you’re more frustrated than you care to admit. matt’s leaning back in his chair, watching you with that same infuriating smirk, and you can tell he knows exactly how he’s been pushing your buttons.

“you’re impossible, you know that?” you say, crossing your arms as you stand up, glaring at him in mock-annoyance.

he stands up too, but instead of backing down, he steps closer, closing the gap between you. “i thought you liked a challenge.”

your breath catches in your throat, the teasing banter suddenly shifting into something heavier, something more charged. he’s so close now that you can see the faint flecks of silver in his blue eyes, the curve of his lips as they quirk up in that signature smirk.

“i do,” you whisper, before you can stop yourself.

the space between you seems to shrink, and for a second, you think he’s going to kiss you. and then—he does.

it’s soft at first, almost tentative, but then his hand finds the small of your back, pulling you closer, and the kiss deepens. your heart races, your mind spinning as you kiss him back, losing yourself in the moment. his lips are warm and sure, and everything about it feels so right, even though you know it shouldn’t.

when you finally pull back, you’re both breathing hard, and matt’s looking at you with something like surprise in his eyes, like he wasn’t expecting this either.

“i—” you start, but you don’t know what to say.

“don’t,” he murmurs, his voice low. “don’t ruin it.”

you nod, still caught up in the haze of the kiss, and for a moment, you’re not sure if you’re standing on solid ground anymore.

matt pulls away then, running a hand through his hair, looking almost sheepish. “i should go.”

“yeah,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “okay.”

but as he turns to leave, you can’t shake the feeling that something just shifted between you—something big, and irreversible.

and somehow, you know things between you and matt sturniolo will never be the same again.

𝒢𝜚 💭 ࣪ ✸ 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ∿ gilmore girls au how we feelin?!?! i really tried to make the dialogue and energy as similar to the show as possible so please don’t ask me about half of the references cause i just went on google fr 😭😭 5.1k wc and i know not much really happened but idc i live for the trio :3 pls talk to me in da inbox

❝ 𝟐𝟐𝟐 ❞ 𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻, @carvedtits @et6rnalsun @wovenribbons @flouvela @eternaldecisions @elizabebabe

❝ 𝟑𝟑𝟑 ❞ 𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻, @l34n @sturniolossss @lovingregulusblack @cl1tlover3000 @mattslolita @mattssgf @le4hsblog @brvtall @mattscoquette @chratts-left-ball @jetaimevous @angelesqve @starlace111 @fawnchives @starkeyszn @etherealval @slut4chriss

#sirenedeslily ✶ ˖ ࣪#gilmoregirls!au ☕️⁺˖ ⸝⸝#matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo headcanon #matt sturniolo fluff #matt sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo blurb #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo x reader #sturniolo triplets x you #sturniolo triplets x reader

234 notes · View notes

jayden-killer · 9 months ago

Text

Greediest man in the Stone World.

summary: you've just being awaken by your old friend and classmate, Senku, in a whole new human era. But, who's this young guy claiming you as his? a/n: waahh, i sincerly apologise if i disappeared...again. i literally forgot my tumblr writing page, and life took a.. strange turn of events(?) kinda. i hope this first ryusui one shot will make me forgive!!!

☆

Dark. And then... a golden beam of light passed through my eyes, blinding me. My muscles began to melt. I felt them sore, as if I had slept in an uncomfortable position all night. Or maybe, for three thousand and fifty years. This was what was brought back to me when I woke up from that sleep I thought was eternal. The first thing my eyes noticed when they hatched was a blinding sun. There was so much green. So much vegetation was not seen even in the well-preserved jungles. Then, a group of boys with familiar and unfamiliar faces. My eyes met his.

"Senku..?"

I uttered that name in a subtle tone of voice, and the boy did nothing but address to me that mischievous grin of his own.

"Yoh, Y/N...we need your help".

[ Time skip...(*ゝω・)ﾉ ]

"So... you need my dexterity in putting these little pieces together so you can build, um... Repeat it, thank you".

"An oxygen tank" Senku rest, without even thinking of getting that smirk off his face.

His attitude hadn’t disappeared after 3,500 years. Not even when he claimed in front of a professor that their speeches were meaningless.

Here we go again...

Between a sigh and the other I immediately set to work, while in the distance I heard Senku arguing with what seemed to be his colleague.

Just in the middle of my work I felt someone touching my shoulder gently. A delicate touch, like that of a… "Child?" The girl in question wore a watermelon helmet on her head, with lenses inserted in the two holes that created a space for the eyes. She made a sound of wonder, her hands to her mouth.

"So, you are new here!" With a confused look I lowered myself to her level, able to have a face-to-face conversation with the little creature. " I suppose so..? And you are...?" That little girl who didn’t immediately show her intentions and courage was pretty to say the least. "Suika wanted to welcome you to the Science Team!" she said clearly, now showing me her hand to shake her. I took her, and with a kind smile, I accepted her request. "How kind of you! Since I am now a new addition to your team, can I have the honor to meet my future colleagues and companions?"

Little Suika nodded happily, running in the opposite direction where I was working. Heck. Maybe it was me who was no longer a child like her, but Suika seemed really fast in the race, not giving me a chance to keep up. I didn’t know where he was taking me; we passed through several huts, erected on wooden structures, running as if someone was after us.

The only one chasing her was me. Looking back to see if we’d actually drifted apart, my foot tripped on a double-sized rock. The collision with the stone made me lose my balance; I was ready to crash on the dirty ground and have some bruises all over my face for a few days. Only that never happened. In the instant that I was about to feel my face against the damp soil, two arms wrapped my waists not too strong, but with determination, preventing me from slipping a second time. I didn’t even realize I closed my eyes. "It’s not even the first day you’re back here on Earth, and you were destined to get hurt. Pff, not very convenient for our team, huh?"

A moment later my eyes sprang to meet his, and those eyes reminded me of an autumn now close to winter. " Well, lady killer, now you might as well put me down. I’m not meant to be your princess." I said authoritatively. His powerful arms let go of my body, and with a little thump my butt bounced off the ground.

What an idiot!

Not only was he now laughing at me with a fat laugh, as if I had just said the funniest joke on Earth, but he didn’t even deign to preseed himself! The blond slightly lowered his head, as I was still on the ground, and with an energetic voice he replied: "Not yet", later going in the opposite direction, with firm step. Oh, what kind of weird I had in front…

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

"Become mine! With all my Drago you would become the luckiest woman in the world!"

Somebody kill me...

It had been two months since I had made my unexpected (better to say, unlucky) acquaintance with blondie, who had the name of Ryusui Nanami. With his egocentrism and sheer avarice, he had proved to be one of the most promising members of the Kingdom of Science so far, with great skills for navigation. Apparently he came from one of the wealthiest families in Japan, and he certainly had not lost the habit of being indulged in everything, even after 3,500 years. And since our first meeting, he hasn’t stopped trying once. On every occasion he would give me his flirtations comments (sometimes shabby), he would become handsy, or he would try to buy me with his stupid Drago.

I was not one of those women who was so easily deceived, especially if a situation was about money. He thought I would give in so easily. I was so determined to prove to him the opposite, during these months, that this would give him up. With a gesture of the hand, I pushed him away. " I’m sorry, Ryusui. As I’ve explained many times before, I’m not interested." I took a dramatic break. ".. to you."

He whined loudly like a little baby, fogetting his money behind to get close to me. "You’re making a mistake!" "I have made many mistakes in my life," I answered sharply. "Then add another to your long list." I nailed him down with my sharp look, sketching a tight smile. Nothing to do. That man would never wave the white flag in the sky. However, it was becoming a nuisance, and having it close to me like a fin was starting to run out. For the worse. I had only one idea that could have saved me in that instant, from a near future in which he was no longer clinging to me like an octopus: make him believe he had a chance with me. A bold idea; nevertheless, it had to be tried. Either it will make it or break it. "Maybe, in the future, you might have a chance…" I implied in a vague tone, already heading somewhere, any, to get him off my back. I could swear to see his eyes shining remarkably with hope, and a new fire, fueled by determination.

He snapped his fingers, his iconic gesture that everyone, by now, had learned to recognize, and if he did, it was because he decided to do something. There were no roads back. "HA-HA!" His laughter seemed to flow throughout the Ishigami village. Even Senku and Chrome turned to us, with confused scowls, to see what was so funny at the time. But Ryusui found nothing amusing in this situation, except a challenge to complete.

"So be it! I’ll show you how much I’m willing to change your mind. Anything to get the chance to become yours!"

Though I did not turn to look at him, once again, his muscular arms clasped my waists, turning my body to meet his. Face to face. "You, damned Nanami, what do you want now?!" That gesture had taken me by surprise, because he was not used to come so near me, but with his cheeky smile, he kissed me on both the cheeks. A quick gesture that made me blush remarkably in my face, almost to feel it burn under the palms of my hands. "What the f...?!" "You don’t know it, but you’re already mine!"

#dr. stone #senku #dr stone x reader #ryusui nanami #ryusui nanami x reader #senku ishigami #senku ishigami x reader #senku x reader #ryusui x reader #anime imagines #anime and manga #anime x reader #gen asagiri #imagine #one shot #sfw

800 notes · View notes

mika-no-sekai-blog · 1 month ago

Text

Part XII

Word count: 2200+

Warnings: fighting, swearing, burns, SA, blood

Autumn themed divider by tsunami-of-tears

Part XI | Part XIII

Your heart stopped at the sound of voice that followed you day and night, especially at nights, and then raced up. Another kind of tears filled your eyes and your teeth started chattering with fear. You didn't want to admit that sometimes you heard the echo of his laughter in the hallways, nor that his face terrorised you in the dreams. Because if you admitted it to yourself, you wouldn't even be able to leave the bedroom. You forbade yourself to think about it, but the horrors you experienced didn't disappear so easily, they just moved into your subconscious, lurking around in your most vulnerable moments. You wished this was one of them. You didn't want to see it but you had to. You slowly looked up to place where the voice came from. This time it really wasn't just your imagination, it was real.

The red head, Volkan, stood there with a mocking, cruel smile on lips, blocking your only escape route and for a short moment you were back in a room carved in stone. You were completely paralysed. He looked just like back then, the resemblance to his brothers undeniable now that you could see him clearly in the daylight. New was only a scar stretching from the temple to the corner of his mouth on the left side of his face.

And he wasn't alone. Behind him, near the door, arrogantly stood the other male, Lord Nail with a long sword attached to his back. He was waiting for you to give him your full attention. As soon as he had it, with one-sided grin he ran his hand over the lock and part of the door frame. The metal sizzled and melted. There was no escape from here, only a long, unsurvivable fall down.

"You even can't imagine how glad I am to meet you again," Volkan draw your attention back to him. "Last time we were interrupted in the best, unfortunately, but that won't happen again. I'm not done with you yet." His eyes slid down to your chest and then to the hem of your skirt and he licked his lower lip. You felt bile raising in your throat, instantly dirty solely from the way he gazed at you. He moved, slowly heading to you, that disgusting smile widening.

You internally screamed at your body to move, pleaded with any forgotten god who was willing to listen to send you help. A sob of relief escaped you as you legs and arms finally moved and you crawled backward, away from him.

He bursted out laughing. "Stupid woman. You can't escape me. Look around! The only way leads head first down. I doubt you could survive that, but we will test it soon, anyway." He wasn't in hurry, playing with you like cat with frightened mouse. He was enjoying this kind of situation, the power he had over you, the terror he evoked in you.

"Hewn City really brings up dumb women good for only one thing," Nail chuckled slyly, stepping closer, his dark eyes gleamed with lust. You felt sick. "Pity that this one have to die. I like quiet ones. It's much more fun to make them scream. Maybe we could get more of such like her when you become High Lord. What do you think?

"That's actually pretty good idea, but this one is mine," Volkan snarled. "You watch the door! That circus trick of yours can stop her but not my brothers. I don't wish to be disturbed this time."

Nail huffed discontent, but did as he was told. He was so ready to enjoy even watching though. You could feel it in his gazed that roamed over your body.

Meanwhile you managed to get up to your shaky feet, keeping the distance.

"You have quite a stamina," he started circling you like a wolf, closing on you. "I like that. It's pity I can't keep you. I'd love to examine it in detail. The look on Eris's face would be priceless."

"St-stay away," you stuttered. Your heart was about to explode. You had never been so scared in your entire life. You were so stupid. If only you hadn't come up here. If only you stayed with Eris, this wouldn't happen.

And Eris.. Your dear husband. You would give anything to see him one more time. To have a chance to apologize for your behaviour. To hold his big, warm hand. To see his beautiful boyish smile. To hear his deep voice.

No! You didn't want to end up like this. You couldn't give up yet, you had to fight. You rushed to the battlements, readying to shout at the top of your lungs for help. Hopefully someone would hear you. However, your mouth filled with smoke and you were choking on it, unable to breathe.

"Tsk, tsk. Forget that! I won't let you shriek for help." Volkan used the moment and lunged for you, his strong arms wrapping around your waist and throat from behind. He easily dragged you to battlements on the other side where nobody could see you, and pushed your upper body down on the cold stone. You were trashing and kicking, trying to break away from him. It was useless. He was too strong.

"Let's proceed," he hissed to your ear as he pushed your legs apart with his. His breath caressed your face and for a moment everything went dark.

"Don't worry. It'll look like a suicide. Can you imagine what will people say about him? Less than a year after the wedding and he already drove his wife to commit suicide. It'll be fun."

You felt sick to your stomach. You couldn't do that to Eris. You didn't want him to suffer any more. You pushed with all your strength against the stone.

"But before I kill you," his body was holding you down with ease while his hand started to pull your skirts up. "I want to hear you crying out my name, bitch."

Still choking on smoke, you couldn't scream, you couldn't do anything. Hot tears slid down your cheeks. You squeezed your eyes closed and thought of only person who ever cared for you. Your Eris. You screamed his name in your mind as cold breeze touched your thighs.

In the same second the door melted into a puddle on the ground and your husband stepped from the shadows of staircase. You immediately felt his presence even though you didn't see him and sobbed in relief.

Nair cursed, but before he could do anything, a ball of fire hit him and lifted him off of his feet high into the air and above the battlement. With an ear-splitting roar, he fell from the tower.

Eris didn't even blink, his gaze trained on Volkan's hand on your thigh, just few inches from your butt. Liquid fire swirled in his amber eyes and he burst in flames.

"Hands off of my wife!" He snarled lowly, the sound so dangerous and raw coming from the depths of his chest that you shivered with fear and got goosebumps all over your body.

The smoke disappeared and you finally could breathe. You never thought that there would be a time when you would be so excited that you could take a lungful of air. There was only one thing that made you even happier than lungs full of fresh air.

He came.

Despite the fact that only a few minutes ago he was so upset with you, Eris came looking for you.

However Volkan wasn't ready to give up so easily. He grabbed you, pulling you up on your legs once again. Your back bumped into his broad chest while you had to balance on your tiptoes and something sharp and cold pressed against your throat. You gasped and froze, eyes widening in horror. It was a dagger, the first drops of warm blood already rolling down your skin.

Eris gritted his teeth and flames disappeared in a puff of smoke, his eyes jumping between you, the dagger and the redhead.

"That's it, brother," Volkan growled. "Don't try anything or I'll cut open that pretty neck of hers. And you know I'll do it."

"Let her go. She has nothing to do with this. It's only between you and me."

"Look at you! How low you have sunk. You not only brought this dirt to our Court, you are in love with her."

"Shut up!"

"How pathetic," Volkan laughed, changing the angle of dagger, so now it pointed under your chin. You tilted head back, trying to get as far from the sharp tip as possible. "Is she so good in bed or she used some dirty tricks to get here? Your coupling with this whore from Night Court has weakened you. I'm sure he got into your head with her help and uses you like a puppet."

"Do you even listen yourself?" Eris spattered. You'd never seen him so angry. His skin seemed to thin and you could see flames swirling under it. He was seemingly cool, calm, collected, calculating, nothing could break his focus. And his eyes.. Those amber orbs alone could kill. "No one can control me!"

"No? Really? To your knees," Volkan ordered.

When Eris didn't move, he pressed down on the dagger and more of the warm wetness ran down your neck and chest. You whimpered quietly. Eris's eyes shot to you. Your gazes locked and for a second you caught a glimpse of pain deep inside them. For some reason this was hurting him more than you.

Muscle ticked in his jaw and he reluctantly knelt down. Volkan started to laugh so badly that his head fell back. And that was a mistake.

That was your only chance. You didn't have time to think it over. You elbowed him in the left side as hard as you could. He didn't expect it. His grip on you loosened as he pulled arm that was holding you in place, to his sore ribs and you twisted to the side, dancing away from his reach.

Eris was immediately on his feet and his fist connected with Volkan's jaw with such strength that his head flew back.

His brother staggered but swung the dagger, managing to cut front of Eris's shirt and scratch his chest.

Eris caught his arm with dagger, the other hand landed on his throat. The air filled with a smell of burnt meat. Columns of smoke began to rise from under his hands and Volkan opened mouth in a silent scream, flames shot from his insides and his eyes. It was a horrible sight. Thankfully it took just a second and before your eyes he turned into ashes carried away by the wind.

As the relief that the nightmare was finally over, spread in your chest, you noticed something else. You again couldn't breathe. Your mouth filled with blood, the front of your dress was already soaked in it. He didn't cut you that much or he did?

Your knees buckled and you began to fall to the ground. Eris's arms wrapped around you, slowing down your fall. He carefully pulled you into his lap, his face contorted in pain and rage, his amber eyes filled with silver tears. He pressed a trembling palm to the long cut across your neck, trying to stop the bleeding. It must have happened when you elbowed Volkan, but because of the adrenaline you didn't feel it right away.

"No," he sobbed. "No! You have to stay with me. Do you hear me? Stay with me!"

You were making wet squeaking noises as you fought for air. Your eyes found his face in a fading light. You needed to apologize to him. You had to, before it would be late. You couldn't leave like this. You focused on that with your whole being while numbing cold was slowly spreading through your body, the darkness lurking at the edges of your vision. You couldn't feel your legs nor arms anymore. The time was running through your fingers like water, unstoppable.

Eris's hot tears were falling on your face and rolling down your cheeks like your own.

"You can't leave me. Not yet. Not before I-.."his voice broke and he shook his head. "My Y/N.. my sweet mate.. Please, not yet.. Stay with me.."

"E..ri..s.." you wheezed. It was so exhausting to push even so short word through your stiff lips. You desperately needed more air and more time.

The sounds of heavy footsteps filled the air and Killian with a few soldiers and healer at his heels appeared. They were slightly out of breath after running up so many steps.

"Five dead guards and several injured were found. I came as soon as-" Killian halted as he saw you in Eris's lap, the blood seeping between his fingers on your neck.

Eris was shaking wildly with sobs, pressing you to his chest, your eyes never leaving his face despite hardly seeing it. It's been a while since you stopped feeling his touch that was keeping you warm. "It doesn't heal.. Why? This can't be.. My mate is-"

You never learnt what he was about to say because darkness swallowed you suddenly, without warning. The picture of his harrowed expression and damp face was burned into your mind, following you to the nothingness. All your senses shut down at once and you felt as light as feather, floating in a void of space and time.

You didn't make it.

You didn't apologize.

#acotar #sarah j maas #acotar fanfiction #eris vanserra #eris fanfic #eris fic #eris acotar #eris x reader #eris vandaddy #pro eris vanserra #eris vanserra x reader #eris angst #high lord of autumn #autumn court

115 notes · View notes

earlgreytea68 · 1 year ago

Text

LOOK AWAY IF YOU DON'T WANT SO MUCH FOR (TOUR) DUST SPOILERS, OKAY?

~~~

Set list:

(1) That Pink Seashell spoken word thing actually opens the show

(2) Love from the Other Side: I assumed they'd play this first, and they did, and they looked very happy with the reception that it got

(3) The Phoenix

(4) Sugar, We're Goin Down: I overheard two guys when I was leaving saying, "I only came to this show for that Sugar song, and it was the third song they played," whatever to those two guys lol

(5) Uma Thurman

(6) A Litttle Less Sixteen Candles, A Little More Touch Me

(7) Chicago Is So Two Years Ago: I know they always play this song when they play Chicago but the way the show is set up, there's this spoken intro that references a light being left on in Chicago, and then they launch into this song, and so I feel like maybe it's permanently in the set list for this tour, we'll see.

(8) Grand Theft Autumn: Patrick told the story again of how he wrote the lyrics while jogging with Pete. Here is exactly what he said, because I recorded it, hahaha: "I wrote this song out here, jogging, trying to figure out the words. This was back when I wrote a lot of the words. And Pete was jogging with me and he was like, 'Eh, maybe change this, maybe change this.' Before we knew it he was writing all the lyrics." And then Pete said, "Imagine us jogging" lolololol

(9) Calm Before the Storm

(10) This Ain't a Scene, It's an Arms Race: They added a little Peterick-y moment in here? I don't remember them playing at each other during this song in previous performances? It was cute, it was during the instrumental part before Patrick leads the singalong, maybe I've just always missed it? They played it each other and kind of did some kind of kick thing with their legs??

(11) Disloyal Order of Water Buffaloes: Honestly, always a delight to hear this song, this is one of my favorites <3

(12) Heaven, Iowa: THIS SONG LIVE, I SWEAR

(13) "The Take Over, the Breaks Over": OH MY GOD I LOVE THIS SONG AND I TOTALLY DIDN'T EXPECT THEM TO PLAY IT, I WAS SO HAPPY

(14) Headfirst Slide into Cooperstown on a Bad Bet: <3 Guess they got over being scared of playing this one lol

(15) Fake Out: I CANNOT TELL YOU HOW EXCITED I WAS THAT THEY PLAYED THIS ONE OMGGGGGGG. Also, there was some plan I wasn't aware of to, like, hold up cell phones with pink paper over the lights so the crowd lit up pink???? I have no idea who engineered that but it was CHARMING and at the end of the song Pete said, "Thanks for that, guys, that was beautiful," and the stage was on darkness so it seemed absolutely spontaneous on his part and I think they really did like the effect, so, Idk, future shows, keep doing it????

(16) Patrick did some kind of piano interlude where he played "Don't Stop Believin'"????? It was random but he was super charming, I think the rest of the band used it as a break, it was just SO GREAT. Part of his intro was: "Pete was putting together this show and he said to me, 'Hey, you should play piano.' And I was like, 'I kinda only play songs I wrote. I don't really play piano. I don't know how to play piano.' And he's like, 'Eh, you'll figure it out.'" And then Patrick sat down and played gorgeous piano ugh THANKS, PETE.

(17) Last of the Real Ones: I am glad Mania got some love.

(18) Save Rock and Roll

(19) PETE RECITED BABY ANNIHILATION WHAT. I SWEAR TO GOD. I SO DID NOT EXPECT THIS AND I STILL CAN'T BELIEVE THAT IT HAPPENED. If you're going to the show, pay attention, because I looked away and apparently there's, like, a magic trick at the end of the monologue where he disappears behind a piece of black silk?????

(20) Crazy Train cover: I...don't know what to say about this randomness hahaha but it happened??

(21) Dance Dance

(22) Hold Me Like a Grudge: I think Patrick adores singing this song, I really do.

(23) G.I.N.A.S.F.S.: I KNOW. I CAN'T BELIEVE IT, EITHER.

(24) My Songs Know What You Did in the Dark (Light Em Up)

(25) Thnks fr th Mmrs

(26) Centuries

(27) Saturday <3

The show ends with a little piano version of So Much (for) Stardust played over the sound system, so pay attention for that.

The set is super Alice in Wonderland-y and I adored it, it's playful and fantastical and has all these whimsical touches and interludes and I just thought it was delightful and at one point there were bubbles, and I heard some people complaining after the concert that the fantasy thing didn't suit their style of music and really, I was surrounded by downers after the concert, I thought they were perfect hahaha. Like, ABSOLUTELY PERFECT. They looked so, so, so tangibly happy, all of them. Patrick sounded fantastic and he looked like he was having a blast, he smiled the whole time.

I have a lot of videos but they seem like they're all pretty terrible, but I'll see how I feel in the morning lol

#fall out boy #fob #bandom

800 notes · View notes

boneblushed · 1 year ago

Text

Untouchable

masterlist | part 4 | part 5

synopsis So maybe Rafe Cameron isn’t as bad as you thought he was.

wc 4.3k

As the football team files into the locker room after practice, Rafe Cameron jogs ahead, the space filling with sweat and grit. The vague scent of testosterone permeates.

“Dude,” Dalton carps, shoved aside as Rafe pushes past him. “You good?”

“I’m late,” Rafe pants, fishing his towel out of his gym bag before throwing it into his locker. “She told me she’d murder me if I was late to another meeting.”

He’s in too much of a rush to notice the reception this receives, a flurry of knowing looks punctuated by a keen sense of hubris. Kelce and Dalton may be the only two willing to bet on his odds with you, but it’s clear that the rest of the team—the prefects, the graduating class—have picked up on the lingering eye contact and ricocheting glances, the drawn out meetings and nescient closeness.

Not that it matters. September now, with the crisp Autumn chill beginning to unfurl, you maintain the same, safe distance from Rafe Cameron as jilted you had once delineated. Sure, you’re friendlier now, a little softer around the edges, but it’s clear that you’re fighting hard to keep things professional, hold him an arm’s length away and not closer.

He wishes it wouldn’t bother him as much as it does. There’s been a few instances where he’s attempted more than a ride in his pick-up; an invite to whatever lame party his team’s throwing that weekend, an offer to stop by the Burger Shack on the way home. As friends—colleagues. To minimal avail, of course, you’re always giving him the same answer when he asks: “Nice try, Cameron.” Not a yes, not a no, just this odd, taunting response that’s sweetened by your peach scented lipgloss.

His most recent attempt had been just the other week, when a meeting about winter formal had run longer than you’d initially planned. It’d been brought to his attention by a pang of hunger in his abdomen, and he’d pulled up Uber Eats without any sort of ulterior motive.

“What’s your McDonalds order?” He’d asked, looking up at you briefly.

The sun was hanging low on the horizon that evening; he remembers this because of the way it bedaubed the bottom half of your face, accentuated the smooth column of your throat.

Your frown looked prettier in yellow light — that’s another thing he remembers. You’d raised your eyebrows a little, not bothering to look up at him. Another pang. “Why?”

“You’re not hungry, Y/L/N?” He’d asked, raising his in tandem.

“Starving.” You’d glanced up then, frowning harder, prettier. “Maybe you should concentrate on getting this done so we can both go home for dinner.”

“Okay, not McDonalds,” Rafe had acceded, flicking back to the UberEats home screen and leaning in. “Chinese? Thai food? Something fancier? Vending machine crap?”

“Cameron.”

“Y/L/N,” he’d mocked, knocking his shoulder against yours cajolingly. “C’mon, we both need a bit of food. We’ve been at this for fucking hours.”

“So if I say yes,” you’d asked then, angling away and sending him a pointed look, “you’ll let me pay for my own meal?”

Rafe hadn’t missed a beat, scoffing, “Of course not.”

You’d sighed, “Exactly.” And then, “Nice try, Cameron.”

Like clockwork. He’s thinking about it now, mostly about the way his name moulds your gloss-shiny lips, when Kelce’s voice breaks his reverie.

“Pussy whipped,” he coughs, earning a few stifled laughs from the rest of the football team.

Rafe’s about to rise to the bait when his conscience forces a falter, reminding him of the last time you were brought up in this locker-room. He’s constantly, incessantly taunted by the stupid, sophomore version of him; more so now that he knows his fondness of you was misinterpreted back then. So he’s adamant that there won’t be any more crude shows of affection—when he tells you he’s grown, he’s wants to be able to mean it.

So, instead of responding, Rafe flips Kelce off over his shoulder, grabbing his lathering gel and disappearing into the shower area.

“Oh shit,” Kelce wolf-whistles, more a jibe than a taunt. “You really are pussy whipped, huh?”

“Do me a favour, Smith.” Rafe sounds calmer than Kelce had expected him to, his rough voice scary steady. “And keep her name out of your mouth.”

—

You’re scrunching your nose when he nears, head lowered and notes in disarray.

It’s that stupid, heady cologne he wears—musk and patchouli something, you think—that you’re developing a knack for recognising almost anywhere. And chlorine, always chlorine and other pool chemicals, except for Fridays which are devoted to football practice petrichor.

“I would ask if you own a watch,” you say, refusing to look up, “but I know you do, because the Rolex logo blinds me every fucking time it’s in the sun.”

Rafe takes a seat beside you, snaking his arm around your backrest and swivelling it around to him in one swift motion.

You gasp in surprise, though it melts into a scoff as the indignation sets in. “Cameron,” you angle back, eyes widening slightly. “I was in the middle of something.”

“So here’s the thing,” he begins, ignoring you. His thighs are pressed into either side of his seat, the groove of his knees nudging your thighs ever so slightly. “I was… alright, a minute late, yeah? And I thought — well, she isn’t going to care if it’s a minute or ten, she’s going to murder no matter how late I am.”

You raise your eyebrows, crossing your arms over his chest. “True.”

“So,” he leans down, fishing a cylinder of Pringles and a packet of Skittles out of his bag, “I thought I’d take some time to pick out my ideal last meal.”

You glance down at the assortment dubiously, narrowing your eyes. “Vending machine crap?”

“Vending machine crap,” Rafe affirms, throwing them onto the table beside him. The plastic crinkles ominously.

“Bold of you to assume that I’d allow a last meal, Cameron,” you say then, faux-serious.

He leans forward in his seat, his blue eyes glinting with mirth. “Christ, Y/L/N, you’re going to deny me fundamental human rights now?”

“Wouldn’t you rather a quick, painless death than us delaying the inevitable with some food?” You respond, leaning forward in tandem.

“A quick, painless death, huh?” He asks, his voice lower now, roughened by the closeness. “How’re you going to do it then, head girl?”

The amusement on your features gives way to diffidence. It feels as though there’s a hidden meaning to the words he’s saying, something more crackling alive in the inch of space between your faces. “Poison,” you say, softer too.

A pause. Rafe’s gaze falls to your lips, and his chest stills, his broad shoulders tensing. “Don’t know if you’ll need it,” he murmurs, his Adam’s apple bobbing arduously. “Not right now.”

You furrow your brow, momentarily bemused. “Hm?”

Rafe Cameron thinks about kissing you often. He thinks about it in this absentminded, matter-of-fact way, like it’s meant to be on his mind all the time, like the pull in his chest is an inevitable part of being your almost friend—colleague.

He thinks about it extra hard now, slanted by your proximity and the soft, bergamot notes of your perfume.

Contrary to your vow, it’s eliciting a slow, painful death not to lean in and press his mouth against yours. He swallows again, his gaze lingering on your lips, and the tension in the room sears through you like a meteorite.

You pull back hastily, clearing your throat and turning back toward the table. “Anyway,” you cough, pulling your laptop forward and touching the mousepad. “We should really get going on this agenda.”

Rafe takes a little longer to regain his composure, his warm breath folding over your shoulder as he sighs. He turns too, leaning forward to look at the screen, and suddenly his proximity feels like too much to bare.

You move your chair to the side a little, the legs scraping over polished wood tauntingly. Rafe’s chest pulls in protest. “Right,” he says after a beat, trying not to frown. “Winter formal.”

The pair of you work in silence for a while. Time ticks by slowly, the maddening inches between you shrinking, and it’s only at the sight of a purple horizon that you acquiesce and stop working.

When you close your laptop and turn to address Rafe, you find that he’s already looking at you.

The revelation makes your pulse jolt. You break eye contact and clear your throat, busying yourself with your tote bag.

“Your focus is unparalleled by the way,” he says after a beat, his voice somewhere between amused and exasperated. “Remind me never to leave you alone when you’re studying.”

You try not to look too pleased by this revelation. “I always study alone, Cameron.”

“For your safety, Y/L/N,” he replies, faux-sombre, “I really think you shouldn’t.”

You look over at him, raising your eyebrows. “Is this your weird way of asking me on a study date?”

“Oh no,” he responds matter-of-factly, pushing back onto the hind legs of his chair. “One, I don’t study.” He leans forward then, ducks his head to eye-level, the blue of his irises bright and ever present. “Two, studying together is not a date.”

In your head, this translates to: you’re overestimating his interest. You say, suddenly chagrined, “I was kidding. Obviously.”

“So was I,” Rafe returns, cracking a roguish grin. “Obviously.”

You scoff, throwing your tote bag over your shoulder and standing up. “Nice try, Cameron.”

“It’s true, though,” he replies, oddly sincere as he straightens. “Any other girl and I’d never fucking dream of bringing them to a library to hang out.”

“Make out,” you correct with a cough, earning another grin.

“Exactly,” he nods, raising his eyebrows significantly. “I mean, shit, I’ve got a reputation to uphold Y/L/N.”

You breathe out an exasperated laugh, shaking your head. “What? As the Academy’s biggest fuckboy?”

“Fuckboy?” Rafe echoes, faux-affronted. “It’s not my fault I’m such a goddamn delight, now, is it?”

“Except,” you reply, trying not to smile, “that delight is probably the last word I’d use to describe you.”

Your shoulders knock together as you walk forward. It becomes harder not to smile, his closeness like warm syrup.

“And the first?” He asks.

“Well,” you splay your palm out and begin listing adjectives off, “cocky, arrogant, absolutely insufferable, sweet when you want to be which is actually rarely ever —”

“Sweet?” Rafe interrupts, something fond swelling in his chest. “I’ll take sweet.”

“You’re forgetting the rarely ever part,” you remind him, raising your eyebrows.

“Still,” he insists, grinning stubbornly, “ever.”

You shake your head exasperatedly, almost amused, and push through a set of double doors that take you to the foyer. The carpark isn’t far away, and the promise of a ride home—time and closeness like something rare—lingers in the air.

It’s as you’re grappling with its presence that you frown, suddenly aware of the silence. The pair of you have stopped walking and you aren’t certain why that is. “This conversation was going somewhere, wasn’t it?”

Rafe furrows his brow thoughtfully, though his features are quick to acquiesce. “Right. The fact that I don’t consider studying a date.”

You cringe again. “Oh.”

“But,” he continues, tapping the side of his nose conspiratorially. “Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

A tell-tale warmth spreads over your cheeks. “Nice try, Cameron,” you mutter, though your voice sounds weaker than you want it to.

“Don’t worry, Y/L/N,” he murmurs back, bowing his head to eye level. “When I’m asking you out for real, I’ll make sure that you know it.”

—

Lightning: his musk and patchouli scent—and chlorine today, no petrichor to fill the air.

Thunder: his voice. Deeper when he’s calling out for you than when you’re alone with him.

One always comes before the other, like this cyclical reminder of how much of him is now familiar.

“Y/L/N!” He calls out urgently, prompting you to halt.

“Cameron?” You turn to face him as he nears, evidently bewildered. “No meeting today, remember? Cromwell’s away.”

“No, I know,” he answers, a little breathless. “How’re you getting home?”

You furrow your brow bemusedly. “Walking?”

“I always drive you home after meetings,” he says then, quick to fall into your step. “Let me drive you home.”

“Did you hear anything I just said?” You ask, sounding a little exasperated. “We don’t have one of those today, genius.”

Rafe grins handsomely, knocking his shoulder against yours. “I’m a creature of habit, Y/L/N. Can’t you use your head girl goodwill and humour me just this once?”

You shake your head bemusedly, deciding to accede. “I don’t get why this is such a big deal for you.”

Rafe shrugs matter-of-factly, beads of water falling from his damp hair to his broad shoulders. It pulls your gaze from his muscles to the bare expanse of his forearms, his shirt sleeves rolled up so his Rolex glints in the yellow sun. “It’d be weird,” he says finally, “driving home in silence on a Wednesday instead of listening to your god-awful playlist.”

“Hey!” You chide, pushing him sideways playfully. “My playlist is fucking fire.”

Rafe makes a face. “Listening to that much Taylor Swift can’t be healthy.”

“Don’t do that,” you return, fixing him with a knowing look. “I hear you humming along to Delicate whenever it plays.”

“Good tune,” he defends, accurate lyrics, “that’s it.”

“Aw,” you tease, smiling this sweet, amused smile up at him—sunshine incarnate. “Don’t worry Mr Fuckboy, I won’t tell anyone that you’re actually a secret swiftie.”

Normally he’d return the jibe, but that fond look on your face is making it hard for him to breath. He wishes he had a camera, pathetic as that is. He wishes he had you, was afforded the luxury of endless time with your pretty face.

“Kildare Academy’s head girl everybody,” he says after a beat, unlocking his car with a tandem grin. “The paragon of confidentiality.”

Delicate plays once on the ride to your house. And when it does, his proclivity for the song now made public, Rafe Cameron isn’t afraid sing along loudly.

He’s proudly unabashed when the chorus blares through, singing, “Is it cool that I said all that?”

“Is it chill that that you’re in my head?” You join in between laughter, angling toward him to face him fully.

His long fingers drum against the steering wheel with the beat, making the muscles of his forearm pulse. He leans forward to turn the music up louder, and when he hand drops again, it falls onto the vibrating gear shift.

Dangerously close to your exposed thigh, a slate of sunlight painting it a warm shade of orange. “Cause I know that it’s delicate.” Rafe becomes acutely aware of the lyrics to this song, all of a sudden. “Isn’t it…”

“Isn’t it, isn’t it, isn’t it,” you continue to sing, that sweet, amused smile making a return on your face. Almost pleased. The awareness grows maddening.

You continue to hum along whilst Rafe tries to catch his breath. He’s almost grateful for the fact that he’s nearing your house until he realises that this means no more pretty girl in his pick-up truck.

“Think you can keep yourself from studying too hard this weekend?” Rafe asks, pulling into your driveway carefully.

You turn to face him, raising your eyebrows playfully. “Think you can force yourself to do a bit of study this weekend?”

Rafe throws his arm around your headrest and leans in a little, this fond, roguish grin on his face that makes your chest hurt. “Why? You asking me on a study date, Y/L/N?”

“No,” you answer, fixing him with a pointed look. “I just think your brain deserves a little bit of a workout.”

Rafe presses his tongue against his cheek, his gaze falling over your figure slow. “Trust me when I say,” he replies, his voice lower now, rougher. “That the real estate you occupy in there is a workout in itself.”

Your eyes widen in surprise, that pain in your chest dissolving into something softer. “All the nagging,” you deflect, “huh?”

Your front door opens, and Rafe catches the movement in his peripheral vision. His eyes linger on you anyway.

“Not quite,” he murmurs finally, just as you turn and unbuckle your seatbelt.

You look up at your porch and find your mother squinting down at you. She has a dish-towel clad hand pressed against her full hip, and her warm gaze scans over the pair of you knowingly.

When her expression changes, the delighted smile on her face creating crow’s feet, you recognise what’s coming before she’s even opened her mouth.

A few weeks ago, before his presence infused all this sweetness into your bones, you probably would’ve turned to him at this stage and pleaded he refuse.

Now, however…

“Rafe!” You mother calls out, gesturing for you to roll down the window. “Have you had dinner yet, sweetheart?”

“Not yet, Mrs. Y/L/N,” he answers, leaning forward to send her that handsome smile of his.

It’s a compromising position, his cheek close enough to press against yours, and you’re awash with the heat of his torso as it occupies the personal space in front of you. You swallow.

"Well then," she responds, "you'll have to stay and have it with us."

The arm he's wrapped around your headrest relaxes, his fingers brushing over your shoulder intermittently. “I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“Nonsense,” your mother dismisses, waving the dish-towel around. “If you help me make the last few bits, you’ll be doing the opposite of imposing.”

Rafe hesitates momentarily, his eyes flicking to your face for approval. It’s only then that he’s able to recognise the closeness; his pupils flex a little, just enough to make you swallow once more.

You’re okay with this? He seems to ask.

You shrug. It appears all the confirmation he needs to shift the gear into park and release the ignition, his close proximity wavering.

And he walks the short walk to your porch behind you, his pleased expression hidden, unaware of the look of exasperation you’re sending to your mother.

She raises her eyebrows reproachfully. It’s only polite, they seem to say, as if we’re doing him a favour. As if Rafe Cameron doesn’t live in the most expensive house on the island, no doubt equipped with a private chef—a miscellany of fancy dinner items.

Maybe you’re embarrassed by the mediocrity of your own home, on the cusp of the Eight with enough roots to belong to the Cut. And you know it’s silly, thinking this way; terrifying too, because since when did you care what Rafe Cameron thought of you?

The fact that you’re grappling with these emotions must show on your face, because Rafe pulls close once the three of you are in the kitchen, ducking his head to your ear.

Goosebumps bloom where his warm breath fans over your skin. “Are you sure you’re good with this?”

You know he doesn’t mean anything by it, but you sort of hate that he knows this is affecting you at all. You breath out a scoff, breaking away from him deftly. “It’s not a big deal,” you lie, sending him a stern look. “Drop it, yeah?”

“Yes ma’am,” he replies, raising his arms in surrender. Then, he shifts his attention to your mother, who’s grabbing a bunch of fresh vegetables from the fridge.

“Think you can handle chopping duty, Rafe?” She asks, handing them over to him with a smile.

“Yes ma’am,” he repeats, and then he raises his eyebrows at you, his blue eyes filled with mirth. “So this is where you get it from, huh?”

“Ma’am,” you mother echoes, nodding approvingly. “I like it.”

After she’s enlisted your help in making the salad dressing, she can’t help but hover over the pair of you, throwing jibes as she pleases.

“So Rafe,” she says, ignoring your stern look, “Y/N tells me you’re captain of the football team, on top of being head boy. Your parents must be pretty proud of you, huh?”

Rafe’s features falter. There’s a split second where the hand that’s chopping away at the lettuce freezes in place; it’s a subtle pause, but you’re in tune enough to recognise it despite your mother’s ignorance.

“Maybe,” he answers finally, quick to plaster a smile back onto his face. “Though they do tend to have pretty high expectations.”

“And I’m sure you’re meeting all of them,” your mother dismissed airily, her bright eyes warm. “Do you know where you want to end up next year?”

“UNC,” he replies automatically. “Wanna stay reasonably close to my family, you know?”

You frown at this, sending him a questioning glance. From the little Rafe has disclosed about his father, it’s clear that he’s a bit of a tyrant—why would he wants to stick around here for him?

He turns his head in tandem, somehow reading your thoughts. “Wheezie,” he adds, looking back to your mother. “I know my dad’ll take care of Sarah just fine, but me and Wheez tend to get a little bit forgotten.”

“And Wheezie and Sarah are your younger sisters?” Your mother asks.

“Uh-huh,” he affirms, returning his gaze to the chopping board. “But anyway, I’ll probably apply to some of the other colleges on the East Coast, too, just in case I don’t manage to snag one of UNC’s football scholarships.”

“I’m sure your grades’ll get you through,” you say then, unable to help yourself. There’s a pause as two pairs of eyes descend on you, Rafe’s a little surprised, your mother’s on the smug side.

“Careful, Y/L/N,” Rafe teases, nudging your shoulder with his. “That was almost a compliment.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you reply, rolling your eyes playfully. “The dumb frat boy act may work your friends, but I know you pull more A-grades than all of them combined.”

Rafe raises his eyebrows, a jibe. “More keeping tabs, huh?”

You shrug, mock-nonchalant, tapping the side of your nose conspiratorially. It transforms Rafe’s expression into something roguish, full of mischief, and he ducks his head slightly, feigning a challenge. “You’re right though,” he says, lowering his voice. “I’m coming for your title, Miss Future Valedictorian.”

“So that’s why you didn’t want me studying this weekend!” You exclaim, faux-affronted.

“It’s also why we can’t go on study dates together,” he affirms, nodding soberly.

You furrow your brow. “You’ve lost me, Cameron.”

He raises his eyebrows significantly. “Too distracting, Y/L/N, keep up.”

It throws you, the ease with which he admits to this, your mother his witness. You try to dismiss it with a scoff, though the sound that comes out of your mouth is far weaker. “Anyway,” you glance down at the concoction in front of you, cheeks too-warm, “dressing’s ready.”

—

Rafe stays far longer than you expect him to.

He tackles your mother’s interrogatory remarks like a champion, deflecting as necessary. And he’s polite about it all, effortlessly charming, asking just the right number of personal questions—making your heart swell with his thoughtfulness.

And it’s terrifying, really, when dusk falls and he’s still here. Burnt ochre transforms into deep, purple hues, and it’s only then that your mother acquiesces and lets him go.

“Thank you again for dinner Mrs. Y/L/N,” he says, halted at your door with a handsome grin on his face.

“You’re welcome here anytime, Rafe!” She answers delightedly, sending him a playful wink. “Especially when you joke about the fact that I look thirty.”

“Sisters!” He insists, looking between the pair of you solemnly. “Seriously, Mrs. Y/L/N. Love your work.”

Her smile extends from her lips to the sides of her crinkly eyes, crow’s feet shining through. “Give your family my best.”

He nods kindly, and she turns, disappearing around the corner and leaving you to close the door.

Just you and him on your porch, now. The stygian sky descends on the scene like velvet, and the silence reclines, allowing your gaze to fall over him in paces.

His too, agonising over everything from the curl of your lashes to the osculate between your lips. The smooth column of your throat, illuminated by the dim glow of your porch lamp.

“Thank you,” he murmurs finally, breaking the silence. (He knows, if he hadn’t, the urge to kiss you would’ve grown unbearable.) “For tonight. I haven’t sat down for a meal like that in a while.”

You’re quietly surprised by the revelation, and in the beat that follows, his figure blurs around the edges. He’s proximal, though not proximal enough. And his once-damp hair is now fluffy with static, his taut muscles ever-present, his torso like a body heat furnace.

One step forward, and he’d be able to press you against your front door and kiss you. You swallow thickly.

“Don’t thank me,” you say quietly, willing yourself to look up at him. “It was fun.”

Another pause. He’s staring down at you with this intensity that makes your cheeks burn, and you find yourself grappling for purchase on something—anything, overwhelmed by his closeness.

“If only you were always like this,” you add, trying to tease though sounding a little weaker than you want to.

Rafe’s forearms are bare, rougher in the chill. He crosses them over his chest, leaning into the column of your porch, closer. “Like what?”

His warm breath unspools. He’s softer like this, at your doorway after dinner, his thick brows raised and skin awash in yellow light.

“I don’t know,” you shrug, looking away without meaning to. “Sweet.”

“Sweet?” He echoes, his voice lower, rougher. “I’m always sweet, Y/L/N.”

“That’s not true,” you whisper. You’re aware that he’s inched infinitesimally closer.

“To you,” he rasps, “I am.”

He pushes off the column of your porch then, ducking his head until it’s at eye-level with yours. When his rough palm finds the contour of your jaw, you let out a shaky breath, your heart a mess.

“Rafe,” you warn.

“Y/N…” he echoes, his finger sweeping over your warm cheek.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe x reader #rafe x you

404 notes · View notes

awakenedevildays · 2 months ago

Text

「one year anniversary gone wrong 」 Stiles Stilinski x F!reader

Requested by @krissyiscomingforyou 🩷

━━━•❃°•°❀°•°❃•━━━

You knew it was a bad idea when Stiles proposed it: as romantic as a date far enough to look down at the city lights is, with his jeep you knew there was going to be some problems... like, for example, it breaking down without any warning just as you were about to end your date.

"Stiles, I'm going to kill you" you say and if looks could kill he would certainly be dead. Your reaction is excused tho, you're in the middle of nowhere, without appropriate clothes for the cold autumn night that is coming and without a car that could take you back home.

He doesn't look at you, one because he's focused on looking at the jeep's motor in fake, deep concentration, and two because he doesn't feel like seeing your death stare directed at him. "Now you're being dramatic" he says while walking back to the passengers seat to take the toolbox and the torch. "Could you help me with this?" he asks giving you the light and you sigh while nodding your head.

As Stiles begins to move what seems very important parts of the car around you look warily at him, "not that i don't trust you, but do you know what you're doing?" you ask and he briefly looks at you sheepishly.

"yeah well, not really... but maybe by tentatives something will change...? i think?" he says and you can't help the smile that grows on your lips, after all, the night was perfect: Stiles prepared a wonderful but simple night under the stars with take out food from your favourite restaurant, candle lights and fluffy blankets to keep you warm... you don't feel like putting a bad mood between you two for a small accident that is not even his fault. You move the light to illuminate better the place he is working on.

"One would think that after all the times this car broke down you would become a pro at repairing it" you tease and he chuckles.

"Roscoe has a new problem everyday, it's hard to keep up, you know?" you chuckle at that and you both stay silent for half an hour expect for suggesting new things to try out.

"I'm gonna try to call your dad, maybe he can come pick us up" you propose while taking out your phone only to find out that there is no signal. You don't worry about your parents, you already told them you would be spending the night at Stiles' house and you're glad at least them won't have an heart attack tonight. "No signal... fuck, what should we do? the city is too far to go back walking" you say worried, being trapped near a forest in Beacon Hills in the middle of the night is not on your wish list.

He sighs annoyed and closes the dashboard of the car with more force than necessary. "No it wouldn't be safe" he says in contemplation while looking around, his lips pursued and brows furrowed. "I'm sorry, this is not how the night was supposed to end" he says disappointed and you hurry to walk to stand before him. The thumb of your free hand smoothes the furrowed slit between his brows to make it disappear.

"Don't worry about it Sti, it's not your fault" you kiss his lips briefly before caressing his cold cheek softly. "We could sleep in the back seats for tonight and tomorrow morning we'll try to start the car again" you propose and his hands wraps around your waist even if his eyes don't meet yours, clearly still disappointed by how the night ended.

"We don't have many other choices, do we?" he looks at the car like it just betrayed him in the worst way possible.

"Glaring at it will not make it work, baby" you say laughing while wrapping your arms around his neck.

"Maybe not, but it doesn't hurt to try" Stiles answers immediately and his hands slips in the back pockets of your denim skirt as he turns his head to look at you. "I'm really, really sorry baby, this wasn't suppo-" you interrupt him with a kiss.

"Stop apologizing." your assertive tone shuts him up "this night has been far too perfect to be mad at you... or at your Jeep" he smiles at that and connects your lips together in a sweet kiss.

"Happy one year anniversary" he mumbles and you smile, you're so in love with him.

"Happy anniversary, Sti'" your smile makes him grin. "How about we try get some sleep?"

Stiles hesitates for a few seconds before nodding his agreement. "Yeah...yeah okay, you're right, let's just hope the backseat is big enough for two people" he says, trying to keep his voice cheerful which only makes it sound bitter.

"it was big enough when we had fun last night" you tease and Stiles genuinely chuckles while opening the backdoor and motions you to get in first.

"maybe we should stop having sex in my jeep, it might have broken down because we went too hard in it" he says as he climbs in after you so that your back is pressed to his chest and his legs are on either side of you, his back against the door.

"yeah sure, thats the only plausible reason" you scoff as Stiles covers your body with the fluffy blanket he brought.

"you have a better theory?" he asks wrapping his arms around you, his warmth slowly creeping up on your cold body and you move backwards to try and get more contact between him and your body.

"I might have a few here, listen: dead battery, faulty spark plugs or coil, flooded engine-"

"Ok stop, you're turning me on right now" he whispers against the back of your neck and you chuckle at that, pushing your body further against his.

"ew, that's weird!" you answer.

"How is that weird? You're listing out car parts that tone of voice! how do you expect me to react?" he asks, holding you tighter against his chest.

"what tone of voice?" you ask confused.

"you know the little know-it-all super sexy tone you use? When you're acting all sassy and sarcastic to correct me on something..." he says with a smile and you can feel his lips brush against your ear as he talks making you shiver.

"so... womansplaining? does that even exist?" you ask and your hand goes to his cheek to keep him there.

"mhmh yeah" he says nuzzling his face on your hand, you can feel his lips on your palm and you move your fingers against the curve of his face gently "I call it sassyplaining but whatever works" he murmurs into your skin, his lips moving to your wrist.

You giggle "i don't know if I should feel flattered or offended."

"why would you feel offended?" he asks pressing a kiss to your pulse point "it's a compliment, it means that you're a smart, know-it-all, sexy and confident woman, what's not to like?" his nose travels up your neck and then he plants a kiss right behind your ear.

"uhm, the fact that you just called me 'little know-it all'? maybe? It's not exactly a compliment."

"little as in cute," he clarifies against the skin of your neck while he moves to kiss and nibble at a sensitive spot that makes your breath hitch, "the know-it-all as in super hot" he says while his hand slips between your naked thighs to warm his hand up.

"You're cold." you squirm uncomfortably against your boyfriend but he doesn't budge."

"I know! And you're like my personal heater baby, move closer, please" he says wrapping his arms around your torso in a tight embrace before pulling you flush up against his chest.

You huff but comply as you sit still between your boyfriend's legs and rest your head on his shoulder.

"we should sleep" you mumble while wrapping your arms around the arm that is circling your shoulders and chest to curl up on him.

"yeah yeah, I know" he mumbled as he plants a kiss to the top of your head before resting his cheek on it, his free arm tucks the blanket tighter around your body, making sure there is no cold spot between the two of you. "Good night baby" he says softly against your hair and you let out a hum of agreement.

"good night Sti" you reply before slowly drifting off to the comfort of his body against yours.

The next morning you're woken up by a loud voice. You're still on the passengers seat of your boyfriend's Jeep, the blanket is draped over you and Stiles jacket is under your head as a make shift pillow. Still half-asleep you stretch and sit up while rubbing your eyes, your neck is stiff and your entire body is sore and aching from the uncomfortable positions you slept in.

You look out of the car, much to your relief you're not on the cliff anymore and you recognize Stiles house right away. Your eyes move to the porch and you see Stiles with- oh, his dad... his dad with a really angry expression on his face and an accusatory pointed finger pressed to his son's chest.

You hurry to get down from the car to help your poor boyfriend.

"Dad I swear the car bro-" Stiles tries to explain but before he can say anything the Sheriff interrupts him with a scoff.

"Your car 'broke down' in the middle of nowhere while you were on a date with your girlfriend? just like yesterday? very convenient, do you think I'm that stupid?

"okay, last time was a lie but I'm telling the truth now!" Stiles explains.

"okay Stiles that's it, I'm taking the Jeep keys away."

Stiles gasps in disbelief "you can't do that! I need the car!"

"I can and I will, if your Jeep decides to magically break down every time you and your girlfriend are alone" the Sheriff says with an angry tone.

"sir I promise it's the truth!" you intervene as you reach them.

The Sheriff looks at you, still tired and wrapped in the blanket you slept with. He looks displeased at both of you for a few seconds before letting out a heavy sigh and pinching the bridge of nose between his fingers. "Please tell me you're telling the truth and the Jeep really broke down in the middle of nowhere last night" he says clearly tired of his son's antics.

"it's true, we didn't want to walk in the dark in the middle of the forest and decided to sleep in the car, I promise" you answer and the Sheriff sighs again at your words while looking at his son with a disapproving look.

"I swear to God if I find out that you two lied to me and you just wanted to-" but before he can finish the sentence Stiles interrupts him with a horrified look on his face.

"Dad! Can you please stop here?" Stiles begs with burning red ears.

He look at you again suspiciously before closing his eyes, he doesn't have any proof you're lying, after all. "...Alright, I believe you" he finally says and Stiles scoffs.

"Seriously?! You believe her over me?!" he asks and you suppress the smile that is growing on your face.

"Yes, because she doesn't lie to me almost every week" his dad replies and his son whispers a small 'unbelievable'

"No you're unbelievable" the Sheriff responds "You're still grounded: no Jeep, outside school's uses and no girlfriend."

"WHAT?!" both you and Stiles exclaims at the same time, the only difference is that his voice comes as whiny and desperate while yours is just shocked surprise.

"keep going and it will be two weeks."

"Dad c'mon-" Stiles protests but you quickly interrupt him.

"Stiles shut up, now." you glare at him.

"but he-"

"Stiles! Shut. Up." He looks at you with betrayed eyes but closes his mouth nonetheless, arms crosses to his chest like a child.

"I swear it won't happen again, Sir, we're both really sorry... right Stiles?" you nudge his shoulder with yours.

"yes, it won't happen again and yes, we're sorry" he repeats back while not looking at neither you or his father, still sulking with his arms crossed to his chest.

"Good, at least one of you is being mature" he says while nodding his head and then he finally turns to go at the front door. "Now, take her back home and come here immediately, if you're not here again in 30 minutes it will be not one, not two but three weeks" he orders his son before walking into the house and closing the door behind himself.

Stiles glares at the door for a second before he turns to look at you and sighs "three weeks, can you believe this?" he says shaking his head like he just got betrayed in the worst way possible.

"if we hurry it will be only one, come on!" you drag him by his hand towards his car.

He groans, clearly still annoyed by the situation and you can see that he's dying to protest but he only opens the door of the car. "Yeah let's just get it over with" he mumbles in irritation while you hop on.

At the end, Stiles got three weeks of detention because, of course, the 'see you on Monday at school' kiss turned into a whole make-out session in the back seats that lasted more than 20 minutes.

━━━•❃°•°❀°•°❃•━━━

Hope you enjoyed, recommendations, suggestions and requests are always welcome and open! <3

Do not copy or repost.

#madsstiles💌#stiles stilinski x reader #stiles stilinski x you #stiles x reader #stiles stilinski drabble #stiles stilinksi one-shot #teen wolf stiles #stiles stilinksi #teen wolf x reader #teen wolf x y/n #teen wolf #stiles stilinski fanfiction

100 notes · View notes

azsazz · 1 year ago

Text

Cinders and Smoke

Azriel x Eris x Reader

Summary: Azriel finds that he and Eris are more alike than he thought.

Warnings: Graphic depictions of scars/past injuries.

Word Count: 2,061

Notes: A lil Azris angst for 4k?

_________________________________________

“You need to stop goading him into fights,” you sigh, exasperated by your mate. You sit across from Azriel at the dining room table, staring longingly at the door Eris has just disappeared through. You flinch in your seat when you hear the harsher than normal click of your bedroom door slamming shut.

Azriel places his fork onto the table with a clack that earns him another disapproving look. Stretching out his fingers, aching from how hard he’d been clutching the utensil in his hands he scoffs, glaring down at the metal. It doesn’t match any of the others and one of the prongs is more bent than the others and Azriel hates it. He knows Eris gave it to him on purpose, the asshole. The heir to the Autumn Court’s lifestyle is annoyingly endearing. Azriel hopes it doesn’t change when he becomes High Lord.

He’s still fuming from the constant back and forth bickering with the arrogant son of Autumn. It’s bad enough that you live with Eris in the Autumn Court full time, and how Azriel’s the one who has to sneak in and out of this quaint, cozy home, but he bristles at your scolding before a burning rush of guilt twists in his stomach.

“He needs to learn how to share,” Azriel growls, thinking back to the conversation you’d all been having over your meal. “I don’t get to see you as often as I’d like and when I’m here it feels like I’m a guest, not at home with my mate.”

Your gaze softens at his admission. Reaching out for his hands you watch as your mate huffs, reluctantly threading his fingers through yours like the knots connecting your souls.

“Only a little longer, mate,” you murmur, rubbing his knuckles with your thumbs. It’s a hope that Eris will overthrow Beron, but neither of you believe it will happen soon. It’s something, though, knowing that there are plans in motion so that one day there won’t be a perimeter keeping you from seeing either of your mates.

You’re all playing the long game. And what a long, long game it is.

“I don’t know how much longer I can take,” Azriel whispers, voice thick with emotion. He thought that finding his mate would be everything, and it is, but having to share you with Eris was not something he’d ever planned. And with you being the known mate of the heir to Autumn, you had always been by his side, flaunted in meetings and adored by the people of the court. Azriel has never stood a chance, always secret visits and fleeting looks that no one but the three of you understood what they mean. He yearns to be able to stay the night, the week, forever with you.

“Maybe we can talk to Eris,” you suggest, “Maybe he’ll let me visit–”

Azriel chuckles dryly, rolling his eyes. “My love, I think we both know that you won’t be going anywhere near the Night Court without him.”

“Just let me talk to him,” you plead. You know that he’s sore about these things. Even for the shadowsinger to admit this is hard enough, but letting Eris know about how he truly feels? No, he won’t have it unless it’s through a well articulated plan, where he can control the conversation and keep his emotions in check. “It will be quick, I promise.”

He grumbles because he can’t say no to you. You beam, pecking him on the cheek as you pass, headed towards the bedroom Eris has locked himself in.

Your other mate waits. A few minutes turn into many and he’s at the end of his tether. He looks at the clock on the wall. He needs to be headed back to the Night Court soon and he’d hardly had any time to see you. He’s simmering with anger until finally, he’s had enough.

Azriel takes the stairs two at a time because no, he did not come all this way to fight and not spend time with his mate. Eris can be a prissy prince elsewhere. His boots are silent as he makes for the doorway, shoving it open with an insult already loaded on his tongue–

He freezes. Everything in his mind, his body, goes still. It’s not the sight of Eris on top of you in the bed that does it. Having two mates, Azriel’s prepared himself for the possibility of having to share you like this, thought about it many times, the lordling’s hands all over your body. It’s Eris that has him screeching to a stop.

The Autumn Prince is shirtless, settled between your legs. But it’s his back that catches Azriel off guard. It’s a massacre of bright pink scars.

Eris’ startled eyes find yours. You can feel the pounding of his heart in your own chest and the terrified look on his face has you wrapping your arms around him protectively. It had taken a lot to even show you the fucked up marks on his back, and even though your love for him is unyielding, he’s still insecure about his scars.

You’re okay, you send through your mental connection with him. It’s a coo of reassurance that you know he doesn’t believe but accepts anyways. His fingers clench the linen sheets so tightly you think they’ll rip, and you filter as much calming warmth and love as you can down the bond to him.

It’s difficult to watch as it plays out. Azriel, a looming figure in the doorway. You observe how his calculated eyes scan Eris’ body, the thick, mottled marks trailing across the expanse of his back from his broad shoulders to his taut waist. Your very intelligent mate figures it out quickly, sending you a questioning look, brows drawn together and golden eyes wide. Should I leave or should I stay?

Your stare answers his question.

Eris burrows his head into the crook of your neck at the sound of Azriel’s first step towards the large bed. The shadowsinger is making it known that he’s moving closer, thick-soled boots ringing like the bell tower as he nears, letting the Autumn heir prepare himself. His breathing is uneven against your throat and his hands are shaking as they find yours to latch onto for comfort.

When Azriel rounds the side of the bed closest to where you and your mate lie, he speaks.

“Eris–”

The male hiding in your neck laughs wetly, interrupting the pitied response he figures is coming from Azriel’s mouth. “You didn’t think fire could burn, did you?”

Azriel swallows harshly, eyes flicking up to find yours again. You send encouraging feelings through the bond to him, to the both of them. It’s no longer time to fight.

“When I thought about having a mate, I never bargained for two, let alone you, godsdamnit,” Azriel ignores Eris’ harsh words. His voice is soft, touch even more so as he tentatively reaches out to caress the melted skin of Eris’ back. It’s ragged, red and pink and his stomach churns at the sight of a perfect handprint. It’s the oldest, by the looks of it, wrapping around his shoulder, marring the freckled skin there. Eris flinches at the brush of Azriel’s fingers upon his tainted skin, and the shadow singer looks like he might pull away, but he presses on and Eris lets him. He lets the Night Court native trace the deformed planes of his back, and you watch Azriel’s eyes clear, realizing just what you’ve been telling him all along.

“But here we are,” Azriel continues. Eris’ body is stock still beneath his touch and the shadowsinger can feel the tension in his bones but he doesn’t stop, can’t force himself to when he’s just like him. All these years, and no one had ever known the punishments the lordling has had to endure by the fiery hands of his own father. “Arguing like a bunch of children.”

“You started it,” Eris mutters. There’s a strain in his voice and you bite back a smile, squeezing his hand reassuringly.

“I did,” Azriel concedes quietly. He’ll take the blame for this one, because Eris is letting him see something that he never thought he’d have to share with anyone other than you. Fury twists his gut like Helfire because it reminds him so much of his own life. The family that had neglected him, both father and brothers alike, just as Eris has gone through. Maybe that is why the Mother had made you both of their mates, to take care of the males made of smoke and flame and care for them and love them like they deserve. “And I’m finding myself wanting your attention just as much as my mates’.”

His fingers pause as the admission slips from his lips. The room is silent, even the fire that was raging in the hearth when Azriel had walked in has gone quiet, stifled, and not even his shadows move from their hiding spots in the darkness of the room.

“What are you saying?” Eris asks weakly. He refuses to look over his shoulder and meet the gaze of the shadowsinger, eyes the color of the Autumn rye he loves. He’s holding your hand so tightly that it hurts, and you stroke his copper hair soothingly, always his greatest support system.

Azriel’s temper flares. He wants Eris to look at him. To see the absolute honesty in his eyes as he speaks this truth. He catches your gaze instead. The reassurance and adoration pooling them in waves is all he needs to shove that feeling aside and say what desperately needs to be spoken.

“I’m fucking weak for you, Eris Vanserra.”

The admission is enough to rip the copper haired male's head from his hiding place, twisting around to stare at the winged male confessing. “What?”

“You know I can feel your emotions through the bond too, don’t you? I can feel how much you love her, when you’re happy and sad and terrified. You were fucking terrified when I walked through that door, and I can feel it now, right here in my chest,” Azriel points to his heart, face serious. Eris doesn’t know what to do with himself. He’s trapped, hovering above you, hanging onto every word that pours from the shadowsingers mouth.

Azriel continues. “But we’re the same. Have always been, and neither of us realized it. We feel the same, about our mate, about our courts, and not a day goes by where I don’t think about my mate, but also the one she’s mated to. I get that flood of emotions when you walk in a room too, the same ones you get when you see me. Nervousness, that fluttering in your stomach, the way you watch us when we’re together, that yearning for more. I see you, Eris, but can you see me through all that smoke?”

“I–” Eris chokes, unsure of what to say. Here, in front of him, a Night Court male he’s always been enemies with, bares himself, tears his chest wide open for him to view. It makes him swoon a little, and your comforting fingers have stilled, trying not to distract him as he ponders his feelings for the shadowsinger. “I see you too, Azriel.”

You can’t help but watch as Azriel launches himself at Eris, wings pulled tightly into his back so as not to hit you as he tackles the copper haired male to the bed. Eris lets out a gasp that’s smothered by Azriel’s lips on his, a harsh and hot kiss that makes his stomach burn. It takes Eris a moment to catch up, Azriel’s tongue dipping into his mouth to taste. His strong hands are gentle as they slide down his back, exploring, loving. It makes him want to cry.

Their chests heave when they part. Azriel shifts just enough so his body brushes against Eris’ with every breath. Just enough to let the Autumn Court male know that while he has to return to the Night Court for now, he is always with him. There are no cinders without smoke. The tug in Eris’ chest and the gleam in Azriel’s eyes confirm it.

You startle the two of them, beaming down at your mates from the top of the bed.

“So, no more fighting right?”

#azris x reader #azriel x eris x reader #acotar #azsazz #acowar #acomaf #azriel x reader #eris x reader

401 notes · View notes

lalune9x · 24 days ago

Text

SCTIR Translation - Chapter 472: Letter (3)

The central table was also decorated with flowers. A five-tiered tray was piled with various desserts. The elegant tea set was adorned with flowering vines that spilled over and cascaded down to the floor. Beyond all that stood Sung Hyunje.

Chapter translation under the cut.

---

Chapter 472: Letter (3)

'This is close to what I expected.'

It seemed to be a banquet hall or something of the sort. The overall lighting was dim, with only the center brightly illuminated. Round tables and chairs had been pushed to the edges, leaving just one table in the middle.

The air was perfumed with the scent of flowers and grass. Not only were the tables decorated with fresh flowers, but every corner of the room was adorned with them. I wondered how much all those flowers must have cost.

'Looking at this, it seems he really does like flowers.'

Director Song once mentioned that over the years, he'd received enough flowers from Sung Hyunje to fill several trucks. He also had an indoor garden at his house. Though on the other hand, Yoohyun and Hyuna-ssi had apparently never received any flowers from him. Soyoung had said she'd gotten one or two occasionally, though she'd grimaced while commenting that they felt more like a warning, the way the mafia sends messages.

Beyond all that stood Sung Hyunje. I'd often wondered before why he went to such lengths for this kind of thing. Though in fairness, he probably just gave orders while his subordinates did all the hard work.

'They must be well-paid.'

Probably something like 100,000 won an hour. Honestly, I was also kind of tempted. Imagine earning a month's salary for a single day's work. And even though those tasks could be done by a regular person, given that an S-rank hunter was involved, they probably got hazard pay too.

As I crossed the plush carpet, I couldn’t resist asking. "How much did you pay for all this labor?"

"…Hmm. I’m not sure."

"But you must have had a budget."

"It's pocket money. I don't set a budget for light hobbies. Surely Han Yoojin-gun is the same."

"No, not really. I even recorded things like the cup of tteokbokki I bought on the street in my expense journal. I set limits for how much I can spend on snacks each month."

I had been the same even after becoming an adult. Even when I bought a cup of coffee on a cold day, I'd think about how much money I had left to spend that month. Now, though, my assets were so vast that keeping track had become difficult, but I never spent money carelessly on personal hobbies. I always checked roughly how much something might cost and how much I'd already spent.

"Well, Sung Hyunje-ssi, I suppose if you went bankrupt, you'd bounce back quickly."

Even if all the Awakened and dungeons disappeared tomorrow. Maybe he could go into show business. These days, high-rank hunters were considered the new nobility, but before that, celebrities had held that status. He was Korean by nationality, but I bet if you dropped him in Hollywood, he'd fit right in, as if he'd been a child actor there who'd been successful since a young age.

It was late autumn, almost winter, but the table that I stood resolutely in front of smelled like spring.

"I was too agitated yesterday," I said, meeting his golden eyes squarely. "Because I like you, Sung Hyunje-ssi. That's why I got so angry, disappointed, and frustrated."

If I hadn't been fond of him, I would've just thought, 'Oh well, this is a hassle,' and left it at that. If I had never stepped inside the marked boundary, I wouldn't have felt suddenly pushed out. If a close friend said out of the blue, 'I'm moving away today,' of course, I'd be confused. I'd be hurt they didn't tell me sooner, and I'd worry about why. But if it were just a stranger from the neighborhood moving, I'd just think, 'Ah, those people are moving,' and end it there.

"I also like you very much, Han Yoojin-gun," Sung Hyunje said as he lifted the teapot.

"If you're sincere, then you could show me the letter. And you could also tell me exactly what you're planning."

He poured the tea into a cup.

"You said you received a proposal, but you didn't tell me any of the details."

Given that the people involved were those who had dragged me to China, I was naturally sensitive about it, but maybe the proposal was something trivial. It could just be a dinner invitation. Maybe Park Hayul's noonim even had a thing for Sung Hyunje. He did seem to be popular with older women. If you thought about it, even the Crescent Moon was older than him.

"This letter, you mean?"

Sung Hyunje put down the teapot and took out the letter. I immediately held out my hand, but of course, he didn't give it to me.

"There are restrictions, naturally," he said.

"A contract, huh? Well, there's no way someone would deliver such an important letter without any precautions. It's probably something like 'don't show or share the contents with others,' right? Come here."

It was just a contract. Surely it couldn't be SSS-rank or higher. I opened my arms as if to hug him, but he just placed the letter down on the table.

"If the contract is broken, Chloe will leave too."

Ah… Of course. Even if they locked down the airports, an S-rank hunter could easily cross borders. She could swim to China or Japan if she had to.

"Then will you help us catch Hunter Chloe?"

"What should I do?" Sung Hyunje said, the corners of his lips curling in a mischievous way. "The contract terms aren't that straightforward. Naturally, there are exception clauses."

He tapped the table lightly with his index finger, right next to the letter.

"I don't have the loyalty to be willing to risk my life," he continued. "If I can't protect the letter with my own abilities, and it gets taken from me, it won't count as breaking the contract."

"Hey, Sung Hyunje. If you don't want to die, hand over that letter."

Obviously, he didn't give it to me. That so-called exception clause was basically meaningless. How was I supposed to take the letter from him? Maybe I should butter him up and take him to meet the Elder.

"If you have time, would you like to go on a date with me? I know a nice dungeon nearby," I said. I'll treat you well.

"As much as it's a shame to turn down a rare date invitation from you, we haven't even visited the aquarium yet, so I'll have to decline."

"I think we could make do at your house for that."

Sung Hyunje put on a disappointed face, as if he was going to cry. He really could make it big in Hollywood. Just look at that detestable expression.

"Ah fine, let's go to the aquarium," I said. "How about we take everyone along?"

"If even one S-rank hunter accompanies us, taking the letter out of my inventory could result in a breach of contract."

"…That's annoying. So you can only bring out the letter when you don't feel threatened?"

"That's right. Right now, I can even place it on the table with no problem because Sung-Han Gyeol didn't come along."

"It's Han Gyeol. Maybe it'd just be easier to check the letter after we've caught Hunter Chloe."

How could I possibly take the letter from him by myself? Even if he took a few steps back after putting it down, I wouldn't even be able to touch the table before he restrained me.

"She might not come in person to get the reply," he commented.

"Then could you just... Ah, that would be a waste."

If Sung Hyunje stayed on our side, it would be better to keep the contract intact, regardless of whether Chloe came in person or not. We could dig up more information that way. So, the best course of action would be to check the letter's contents without breaking the contract.

'...But there's really no way, is there?'

F-rank stats, no attack skills, and even though I had various gear, my opponent was a disgustingly strong natural born S-rank with combat foresight. There was no way I could take anything from Sung Hyunje with my abilities. That was why he was so relaxed, knowing the contract would remain intact.

I had to take the letter in a situation where Sung Hyunje was absolutely certain he wouldn't lose it. It was like being told to go through a closed door without opening it, breaking it down, or using teleportation.

His golden eyes curved in a relaxed smile.

"Shall I add a condition that if you successfully take the letter, I'll obediently cooperate?" he offered.

Was he making fun of me now—wait a minute.

"You're annoyingly confident," I said.

I frowned deeply and tensed my legs. I glanced to the side, pretending not to look at the letter, and—

Crash!

I lunged towards the table. The letter that had seemed to be within reach vanished in an instant, and the table tilted sharply. The flowers and dessert tray came crashing down to the floor alongside me. I ended up sprawled on the carpet, covered with the tablecloth and flower vines. My thigh, which had hit the table hard from my forceful lunge, was throbbing.

"That wasn't a very commendable attempt," he chided.

I raised my head from the pile of flowers. Golden chains that had appeared out of nowhere were holding up the teapot and teacups. Not a single drop of tea had spilled. Forks and knives jingled as they dangled in midair.

"Well, I thought I'd at least give it a try," I muttered, sitting up among the heap of flowers.

Sung Hyunje lightly flicked the fallen table up with the tip of his foot. As if pulled by invisible strings, it righted itself neatly. The teapot and teacups settled smoothly back on top.

"As you can see, there's no way I can take the letter from you by force," I said. "So how about a wager? Judging by the conditions, it seems it might work."

"If there's even the slightest chance I could lose, then it's impossible."

"We'll make it something where you have no chance of losing. If I win, you hand over the letter, completely intact, with the contents readable. If I lose, I'll do one thing you want, Sung Hyunje-ssi, whatever it is. But it has to be something related only to me—nothing like handing over the Rearing Facility, or asking Myungwoo to make you a weapon, or forcing Han Gyeol to change his family name."

If Sung Hyunje lost a bet that he was absolutely certain he wouldn't lose, it would be like losing the letter by a force of nature. That level of loophole should work, and was probably why he was taking out the letter and putting it down in front of me.

"That's quite tempting."

"You can ask me to side with you, if you want. Or you could even take me with you when you leave Korea."

At my words, Sung Hyunje's eyes narrowed momentarily. Did he interpret it as me asking to be taken along if he was going to join Park Hayul's side or wherever else?

"The condition will be one I want, not one Han Yoojin-gun wants."

"In any case—what do you say?"

"And the wager is?"

"Hmm, let's play tag. It won't be for long—let's say just ten minutes. I absolutely won't go through the door, or break the walls, ceiling, or floor."

"You have teleportation items, don't you?"

"With the points I have left, I can't afford any. And teleportation can't pass through barriers. Besides, it's only ten minutes—do you really think you couldn't catch me if I jumped outside? If I receive help from anyone else, I'll automatically lose. That includes monsters."

Sung Hyunje tilted his head slightly. He knew that, on my own, I couldn't possibly escape him for ten minutes.

"Since I'm at such a disadvantage, how about you give me three tries instead of one? What do you think?" I suggested.

"I could still win even if it were just five minutes, however…" He looked at me carefully. Of course, he'd be suspicious. "You said you spent almost all your points in the Nightmare Dungeon, didn't you?"

"Before that, I blew through them buying Yoohyun a sword. I can't afford anything like an SSS-rank item, even if they're one-time use."

"You had been serious about trying to kill Director Song Taewon, too," he said thoughtfully. He seemed to be recalling the items I had used back then. The most useful one I had left was probably the Mini Mini Cookie.

"And the dungeon rewards this time wouldn't be for yourself either," he said.

"You're unnecessarily well-informed."

Sung Hyunje took out a pocket watch from his inventory and placed it on the table. A contract appeared beside it.

"If I happen to win, you can't break the contract or withhold the letter," I added.

"I don't have the loyalty to suffer a penalty. If it's taken away because my abilities fell short, I'll accept it gracefully."

Just in case, if I won, I would deactivate my Curse Resistance immediately. We each signed the contract. Right after that—

Clink!

"Ugh, wait a moment!"

In an instant, chains wrapped around my body. I was lifted lightly into the air, flower petals falling in a flurry.

"That's try one."

"Shouldn't you give me time to equip my gear?!"

"I'll give you three minutes. And of course, I won't deduct it from your time."

How generous. Just before the chains released me, I used an item. The King of the Mist Sea's 71st Drawer. My surroundings immediately shifted. I could see the bright blue sky, and beneath my feet—

"What—!"

Splash!

The sound of displaced water echoed loudly. Damn it, was it because she was a jellyfish? Why was there water here?! I had Grace activated, of course, but that didn't prevent me from swallowing a mouthful of water. At least it wasn't salty.

"Damn it—ugh—stupid Jellyfish!"

— Tweet! Tweet!

Wasn't it called a 'drawer'! Even Grace seemed startled and popped out. I floundered in the water, trying to swim, but even staying afloat was a challenge. Quickly, I pulled out a wire and threw it toward a tree that I'd caught sight of. The wire wrapped around the tree, and I used it pull myself and crawl onto land.

"Cough—that was close…"

I could just leave this place immediately, but then I'd lose. So, soaking wet, I collapsed onto the grass looking like a drowned rat. Both my shoes were gone... they had been expensive.

"No, but this… Can't I specify where I land?"

Appearing above water might not matter for the Jellyfish, but it did for me. With Grace, I'd honestly prefer a fire pit. Then again, I guess being in a fire pit could still be dangerous if I ran out of oxygen. But seriously, what kind of drawer was this…

"This drawer…"

— Tweet!

As I stood up, a building that looked like a villa came into view. It was a three-story mansion painted in bright colors that reminded me of a resort in the Mediterranean or some kind of vacation spot. It was on a small island surrounded by water, but the lake wasn't very large. The horizon curved like a dome enclosing the area in all directions. It felt like being trapped inside a snow globe.

"...Is this supposed to be small compared to Myungwoo's smithy?"

They had said it was just a simple storage room? And that it wasn't spacious?

"Grace, you'd better head back inside. It might be dangerous."

I couldn't be sure what might pop up. To kill 10 minutes, it would be better to stay put and not wander around unnecessarily.

I felt pleased at the thought of how surprised Sung Hyunje must be right now. He definitely didn't expect me to have an item like this. In terms of grade, it would probably be about L-rank. Especially since I'd gotten it from someone who had been a former enemy and who had no reason to be friendly towards me. Unless he was a fortune-teller, there was no way he could have known.

I decided to leisurely wait out the 10 minutes before going back out.

"If I can keep using this, it could really be used as a vacation home."

The weather was nice, and the water looked clean. I wondered what the inside of the mansion was like. It seemed that it would be quite difficult to replenish the drawer's mana stores, though.

As I slowly walked toward the entrance, casually glancing around, something caught my attention.

'...Huh?'

Something moved. What was that?

#tsctir #sctir #the s classes that i raised #s classes that i raised #my s class hunters #jinjae #hjyj #the imagery in this scene is so pretty... why is shj so good at romantic date setups ahhh

27 notes · View notes

azrielslightintheshadows · 1 year ago

Text

Shadows and tears

So this is a series about Azriel and reader. English is not my first language so please excuse any mistakes. I hope you like it!

Summary: Reader is a tortured soul who barely escaped the brutality of the Illyrian camps finding shelter in the Day Court. Her identity was well hidden until she caught the attention of the Night Court’s Shadowsinger. Will the mating bond be enough for their love to settle in?

Warnings: angst, mentions of abuse and trauma.

Masterlist

Prologue , Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , Chapter 5 , Chapter 6 , Chapter 7, Chapter 8 , Chapter 9, Chapter 10

I think you will need the tissue box now...

Epilogue

Choices.

“Mor how was she?” Azriel spoke. He was clearly drunk and a mess.

“Happy” Mor replied trying not to flinch by her friend’s pained voice.

He didn’t leave his room for almost a month until Rhysand and Cassian moved him to the river house to keep an eye on him.

He was staring the garden from his window, staring at his family, all together enjoying the sun. Mor and Emerie were laying on the grass playing with Nyx. Rhysand with Feyre on his lap. Cassian laying with his head on Nesta’s thighs. Amren and Varian lost deep into conversation. Elain and Lucien caressing the flowers and laughing. Gwyn had followed y/n in the Autumn Court after Beron died.

Tears filled his eyes as he saw the happiness of his family. He wasn’t jealous of them in a bad way, he just wished he could be amongst them with y/n on his lap. One act out of anger after the way she treated him that morning destroyed his happiness. Maybe he was undeserving of love. Maybe that’s why he couldn’t find it for so long.

The one thing he longed for. His obsession. His salvation. The only chance he had to feel loved. To feel affection. Destroyed by his own hand.

Elain left him the next day of y/n’s departure, just a letter on his nightstand explaining that now that she saw his pain, she felt guilty for pushing Lucien away.

Gwyn disappeared into the library only coming out to inform everyone that she will search for y/n.

Helion banned him from his court and stood as a guard at the wedding in case the shadowsinger tried to ruin it.

His and Mor’s friendship was barely a friendship anymore.

And Nesta… she couldn’t even look at him since he pushed two of her friends away.

The rest of his family stood by his side, but his shadows informed him about the disapproving looks they gave him when he wasn’t looking.

The day they received word about the birth of the Autumn Court’s heir, he had enough. With one last look at Velaris he gathered his stuff and left. He wouldn’t wreck his family’s happiness anymore.

Y/n was standing next to the window of her room, her baby boy cuddled in her arms. Eris walked in hugging them both from behind and resting his head on her shoulder peeking down to the sleeping baby. Y/n stared at the winged boy in her arms, so perfect. He looked like his father but had inherited her wings making both Eris and her happy but anxious too since they knew that he would be considered a half breed for the rest of his life. “Everything is going to be okay, I will never let anyone hurt you two” Eris whispered noticing his wife’s worried gaze.

They heard the flapping of wings and both tensed looking outside. Y/n saw him first and with a soft smile on her face she walked to the balcony, Eris following close behind.

“I don’t want to cause trouble, I just needed to speak with you” Azriel said and stared at his feet.

Eris looked at his wife and when she nodded, he walked back inside giving them space. Azriel moved his gaze to the sleeping baby.

“He is beautiful” he whispered as tears filled his eyes.

“Do you want to hold him?” Y/n asked him with a genuine smile on her face.

Azriel stared at his palms, could he hold something so precious in his scarred hands? He shook his head hiding his palms behind his back.

“I just wanted to tell you that I’m sorry for everything, you didn’t deserve it”

“I know… but thank you because without you I wouldn’t leave the day court and I wouldn’t find Eris” y/n responded. Azriel’s shadows reached for her and he noticed that her own shadows weren’t there. “You shadows aren’t here” Azriel noted.

“I’m happy I don’t need them anymore” she smiled.

“Goodbye y/n take care” he offered her a sad smile and before she could respond he was gone.

He was gone with the realization that in order for his shadows to disappear he needed to be happy. And then he knew that they would be his company until his last breath and then…then he would be happy.

Please don't hate me. Stay tuned for more. Currently I'm working on two more series and I'm planning to post one shots everyday so please send your requests to give me ideas. @cleverzonkwombatsludge

126 notes · View notes

abbysimsfun · 2 months ago

Text

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 44 (A Nephew and a Wedding!)

Making the most of a rainy autumn, Heather travelled to Henford to meet River and Cassandra's son, Michael, before he was even a week old.

She marvelled at her tiny nephew while he slept. "It's incredible, Riv! That's your kid!"

"He's pretty amazing, isn't he? I can't believe he's finally here."

Heather had arrived with first-time grandmother, Bella Goth, who always looked incredible. Even now that her jet black hair had faded to grey, she dressed like she could stop traffic everywhere she went.

"He has my brother's chin," she said, glancing wistfully upon her grandson as he woke from his nap. Baby Michael had been named for Bella's brother, who died in a motorcycle crash at the age of 32.

Bella was delighted to meet her grandson, but memories of her older brother still made her sad. He’d been gone for over twenty years, but he was her big brother - the only person she regretted leaving behind in Sunset Valley when she and Mortimer got married.

Cass cradled her new son. "I know how much you miss him. I wanted to honour his memory, and when he was born, we thought he looked like a Michael. Are you upset?"

Bella pushed forth a smile. "No, my goodness. My brother would have been thrilled to know his name lives on." Cass carefully studied her mother's face. "I know Michael's death triggered the depression that led to my disappearance, but I'm a stronger person now. I want to see my grandson grow up, and I have plenty to keep my mind busy. Diego keeps talking about taking a trip, and your brother's wedding is next month."

"Maybe Alexander and Lydia will give you more grandkids soon," Heather suggested sweetly as she cuddled Michael in her arms.

"You know she doesn't even want a wedding?" Bella smiled. "I told Lydia there was no chance my son would elope at Brindleton Town Hall, but she doesn't want seating, because she doesn't want an audience. She doesn't want a wedding dress, and doesn't want Alexander in a tux. The guests will be more dressed up than they are!"

"If it's what she wants, won't it still be beautiful?" Cass saw the world in such a romantic way.

"She wants an altar made of palm leaves! In our mansion! The aesthetic has me gasping! But she says the only part of the wedding she's actually looking forward to is her honeymoon in Sulani. All she cares about is marrying Alexander, not showing off for a bunch of guests she doesn't know."

"I think that's sweet," said Cassandra.

"A part of me was mortified! But a bigger part of me wishes I'd had the guts to stand up to Mortimer's parents when I was thrown into the deep end of the society scene as his photogenic new bride all those years ago. I really like her."

Heather and her siblings were all invited to the big day – a simple and phoned in ceremony (by the Watcher!) at the Goth family mansion in Brindleton Bay.

(I just wanted to make sure they didn't break up or something so I rushed it, quick and dirty. They're a side-side household at the moment even though I've tentatively plotted some of their future in my notes, but sometimes I just want to play and not do all this set up. And I'll shamelessly try to excuse it with storytelling every time.)

Surprisingly, no one complained about sitting on the floor for the ceremony. And even though it was raining, Heather chatted with Holly outside in their boho-style dresses.

"That colour looks great on you," Holly said, eyeing the purple dress Heather had chosen from the shop with almost no thought.

"Thanks, but I don't know where I might have a chance to wear something like this again." (The game picked it at random but I like how the colour nods to Gen 3)

"Maybe you should wear it with Conrad somewhere."

"We're not really a dressy couple," she said. "All my clothes get covered in whatever Ash gets his hands in then wipes on my shirt. If he wasn't at his dad's this weekend, I'm sure the dress would already have at least three stains."

Holly laughed, shaking her head. "You're so unflirty, sis. I don't know how you have the hottest man on the planet practically begging to move in with you."

"I'm taking him home to Henford soon. I really want him to meet everyone, but I'm so worried it won't go well."

"Why wouldn't it go well? Didn't you say he wanted to come with you today but couldn't get away from work?"

"I'm just waiting for the other shoe to drop, that's all."

"What, like he's secretly working for the Landgraabs in some elaborate scheme to steal your code for your next mobile app?" She laughed at the thought, but Heather would be lying if she said the possibility had never crossed her mind, even once, in the months since she'd known him.

"I think it's more that if it doesn't go well, it would hurt too much."

"Then don't overthink it. You know no matter what, you'll always have us."

As hard as it was to take Holly's advice, Heather spent the next few weeks focused on her clinic to keep her mind off her relationship fears. ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 1 Summary | Gen 1 Start

NOTE: Lydia Kim-Lewis (now Goth!) is the youngest of three daughters of Eric and Alice. She's also Hazel Nesbitt's best friend since childhood, which is why the family-focused wedding had so many Nesbitts, too. For those who like updates on townies and premades, eldest Olivia married Imran Watson and they have three kids, and Spencer of course married Everett (and they have Greyson and Jett). Spencer and Lydia were both born in-game.

29 notes · View notes

affectionate-team · 1 year ago

Text

Picture-perfect fairytale romance 2/3

Synopsis: Fairytales help tell children of all sides of human life without exposing them to real dangers. But what will happen if a child keeps their favorite story far too close to heart, projecting fantasies onto reality?

Part two, finally! I've been struggling with deciding how to approach the whole thing, but, thanks to how much time autumn holidays are giving me, I managed to finish this! Now, only one part left... I wonder if what I'm planning for it will be predictable, or maybe the hints weren't obvious enough to pick up on? (ﾉ*･ω･)ﾉ

TW for delusional Neige, some mild swearing, a little ooc. MC is gn.

He always thought the circumstances would be slightly... different.

As he watched them disappear in the woods, Neige unconsciously reached out a hand towards his beret. Words written in golden embroidery burned against skin: "Someday my princess will come".

But they are nothing like the fairytale princesses. Helplessness and dependence are not words suit for them. It may be far too soon to make assumptions, but the way that person held themselves, the light their whole body radiated should be a sure sign... "No, I'm thinking about this too much - too soon. That's what I'm always being told... I swear, I'm not desperate, just- how am I supposed to know when I'll meet my destined person? If I act nonchalant all the time, I might accidently drive them away and never even know of that." These thoughts brought a childish pout to his face, creases forming between perfectly sculptured brows - an unusual expression for the normally cheerful boy.

Still, some things don't add up to his expectations.

"Ah, but how could your heart have any place for doubt? Were it myself, I would never let my dear beloved go."

You don't even remember how much time passed after the strange encounter in the woods. Days trickled by leisurely, with no crazy adventures and, thankfully, no overblots. The only inconvenience so far was Ace getting into another quarrel with his housewarden and being collared for a week. You found out about it when the boy in question turned up on the doorstep of Ramshackle late in the evening - right when you and Grim were about to head to bed. Clad in old pajamas (found in one of the old wardrobes during sunday cleaning and thoroughly washed), you opened the door, interrupting Ace's violent knocking. Behind his back stood Deuce - nothing surprising; the two had been inseparable since the chandelier incident, it would've been weirder to see them apart - who made a show of scolding his companion for showing up there at an ungodly hour and dragging him along, but was just as excited about possibly staying over. You didn't even hear out the story behind their appearance, as the bright-red collar on Trappola's neck told enough, leaving the door open for them and walking up the stairs to retrieve three sets of blankets and pillows. Grim, having taken the hint, was already sprinting to the pantry to pick out his favorite snacks (and bring some for you, too). Ace and Deuce had made such sleepovers a habit for your group, so, without any further questions, they headed to Guest Room to move the furniture and make space.

"Can't believe you have the audacity to bother prefect every time you get in trouble..."

If the jab bothered Ace, he didn't let it show, "Shut up, Deucey. You pretend to be all righteous, but when they offer us to stay over, I never see you turning them down."

"That-! That's because I was taught it's rude to not accept invitations, especially from friends! And there should be at least someone watching over you to make sure you don't get into more trouble."

Coming from the kitchen with three empty glasses (and a small cup) in hands, you take the opportunity to interject, "You're just as bad, to be honest. If anyone's being responsible among us, that's got to be me."

The redhead scoffs with crossed arms, "Uh-huh, responsible my ass... You're only right about one thing - Deucey being a walking hazard."

You exchange more sarcastic remarks, with sleepy Grim lying stretched out across your lap, until the topic eventually switches to more menial things: clubs, teachers, fresh gossip. One particular talk makes you recall the encounter you had a few days earlier.

"And then Vil started raging when a commercial came up on some guy's phone. It was that new music video with his kidfaced arch-nemesis; He was trying to keep it cool, but I swear he almost chucked a water bottle at Rook when that creep approached him."

"Really? I did see him annoyed a few times, but for Vil, of all people, to attempt a murder in broad daylight. Who could've bothered him that much?"

"Eh, it's Neige for you, nothing new. These two have had a rivalry going on for a long time. Did you not know? Their fans have the wildest and most ridiculous discourses ever, it's kinda fun to watch."

You tear your eyes away from the ongoing game of cards, looking up at Ace with furrowed brows.

"Neige, you say...? Can you show me a photo?"

His face noticeably scrunched up, "Ew, why would you even want to look at him? He's just another one of those pretentious freaks from RoYaL SwOrDs", clear disdain and disgust in his voice switched to smugness as he leaned closer to you, almost draping himself over your shoulder, "Aren't I more handsome, hm? And, unlike that stuck-up princey, I can give you all~ the attention in the world, without any fans hogging it."

Deuce, annoyed with his friend's touchiness, grabs Ace by the collars and nearly throws him off of you, "I wonder why you don't have any fans, then. Even prefect is more popular than you are, dumbass!"

Upon noticing your unamused (and somewhat pissed off) frown, he hurries to retaliate, "That's not what I meant! You're really cool, so it's obvious you'd have some fans, but you're also new here, and you spend more time with us and not others, and I didn't-"

"I get it, you can calm down..."

"...sorry again."

A bunch of idiots, that's what they are. Still, it's hard to be mad with them, your two first and best friends here, for long. Someone shoves a phone right into your face (thankfully, without breaking your nose) just as you start going deeper into your thoughts.

It's Ace phone with Magicam open on it. Before you is a profile of a model and actor, as seen from the description. You scroll a little and open the last posted picture. True to your suspicions, it turns out to be exactly the Neige that you met after classes some time ago. Eyes lighting up in recognition, you murmur a quiet "Huh, I know him". That brings out a reaction from the other two.

They kept on pestering you, until you gave in and told them the whole story. Neither one seemed convinced. And you didn't need them to be, as long as they'd stop pestering you, they were free to believe whatever their sturdy selfish hearts desired.

"Thank you for accompanying me, prefect. I hope our joined efforts will be fruitful."

Jade smiles in his usual polite manner, fixing straps on his backpack. He leads you along the forest trail, keeping his eyes on the ground on the lookout for mushrooms, hidden by wide leaves and long blades of grass. As the only member of Mountains lovers club, Jade was eager to have somebody - especially the infamous magicless prefect of Ramshackle - come along, even if he knew you only agreed because of some favor you needed from him. Both equipped with light camping gear, you venture up a hill in search of mushrooms. On the way to the top Jade tells you why he took you there in the first place: apparently, on one of the Botanical lessons he learned of a rare species of mushrooms, last seen around that hill; to his delight, the said species weren't hard to care for - a perfect addition to Jade's terrarium - and the way from NRC wasn't long or tiresome, which allowed him to bring you along without worrying about you collapsing halfway from exhausting, not quite used to walking big distances.

Whatever fears you might've had for the trip instantly evaporate when you notice how passionate your senior is about his hobby. It's not the fear-inducing hitman everybody sees and describes him as, but only an ordinary highschooler ranting about his interests to the first willing listener. What a heartfelt scene.

"...and it's told to possess strong poison, able to paralyze a mammal as big as an elephant from just a bite. Why, isn't that curious? I'd love to have one of them in my disposition."

...up until the moment his (seemingly inherited) thirst for murder lets itself be known.

The higher the trail goes, the more changes add to scenery. Colorful wild plants and berries, butterflies and beetles of various kinds. And most importantly - air, fresh and free, a fine change compared to stuffed school air you've grown used to.

"According to the data I collected, it should be growing around this area. I propose splitting up for more efficiency. Can I trust you not to get lost, mauled by beasts or poisoned?", looking you over, he thinks for a second, soon reconsidering, "No, it would be best for you to just stay put and wait for me there. Do try not to wander off too far, and call for me if needed - after all, for this short while your safety is my responsibility."

"Then why did you even drag me along?"

"For company. Hiking is most enjoyable with a companion. Take this as a chance to catch a break from all the bustle your poor body has had to endure. Do not worry, I won't be away for more than five minutes."

He frames his words (so unlike the thinly veiled threats and mocking remarks he'd usually make in school) with a nod, leisurely going his own way, often bending down to check under trees and most suspicious patches of grass for mushrooms, before he disappears from sight.

You decide to take a seat on a dry stump, surrounded by vibrant-green moss. Birds' trill fills in the growing silence. Leaves rustle somewhere over your head - something you would've hardly heard a minute or two ago. As if trying to accommodate a picky guest, the nature around you beams in full flourish, bringing a sure sense of comfort. Despite having intruded its domain, you don't feel alien - with no visible threats nearby, you follow Jade's advice and give yourself permission to relax... only to be disturbed by someone's voice reaching from down the hill.

"Hey! Anybody here? Please, help me!"

...No need to think twice to recognize the voice. What a coincidence. There's no way he just appeared there, far away from both his and your schools, all by himself, and didn't even you and Jade's path.

"By the way, five minutes should've already passed by now. Where the hell is he?"

This whole situation is starting to look like one big ridiculous play. It wouldn't be so surprising if Vil suddenly popped out from under a rock, shouting 'Cut!' and reprimanding you for lacking proper emotions. You drag a hand across your face, constructing a simple plan in head: rescue Neige, tell him off, find Jade and pass out on the couch in Ramshackle. With a set of tasks in mind you venture down the trail - good thing it was obvious enough not to get lost among the greenery - and follow the boy's calls, not without tripping a couple of times on the way.

"Heey- ah, hello! Thank the Sevens you were near!", here he is, hanging upside down from a tree branch, legs tangled up in a... hunting net? "For a moment I was afraid I'll have to hang there all day and night. Could you please get me down?"

"What were you doing there in the first place?", moreover in such a casual attire, as if he just walked out of his room...

"Ah, that... is a long story. May I tell you after my feet get to touch ground?", he answered with a sheepish smile.

You sigh, but relent, reaching into one of your pockets for a switchblade, then grasp the rope (it wasn't hanging too high) and cut it. "Should've told him to brace for the fall", you thought, watching him land face-first into dirt. While Neige was preoccupied with brushing off his cardigan, you pocket your knife, preparing to go search for your mushroom-obsessed companion (how ironic for the one who was worried about you getting lost to disappear himself), but not without the black-haired boy scrambling after you.

"Thank you! Once again, I don't know what I would do if it weren't for you." "Mhm." "I'm not sure how, but I suddenly found myself here after following a butterfly, and-" "Yeah, great. You can go back home now." "But how can I leave and not even offer a token of my appreciation for your help? How about-"

Jade better come back as soon as humanly possible, because, Seven be witness, you might just tie this boy to the biggest tree in the forest and leave him to be eaten by wolves. At least Schoenheit will have a reason for a genuine smile this one time.

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #yuurei's fics #gender neutral reader #neige leblanche #neige x reader #twst neige #yandere #x reader

113 notes · View notes

writing-whump · 3 months ago

Text

Where's Sel

Seline stood in front of the hospital entrance, pulling her meager sweater closer to her body. The days were hot, but early mornings were getting colder as autumn approached.

Plus she didn't exactly prepare to stay the night at the hospital because her boyfriend had a sudden heart attack.

She needed to keep her head cool and get some things for them. Isaiah could use his clothes or at least familiar things that would bring him comfort. And she and Matt needed a phone charger and something to eat that wasn't just cheap automat coffee and biscuits.

Matthew drove them to the hospital in Isaiah's car, but the thought of having to drive herself through the tricky Vienna streets with each crossroad unique and complicated with over five different lines for four different vehicles made her want to cry.

She was just about to order a Bolt to their place when her phone died on her.

Her eyes were prickling and her throat closed up. Even from that. So much to her resistance.

Worst thing was that Isaiah could wake up any hour now and she might not make it back.

She swallowed back her discomfort at having to ask someone for help, approaching a young woman smoking at the entrance if she could make a quick call.

Dylan took it on fifth ring, groggy from sleep. "Huh? What do you want at this ungodly hour?"

Seline bit her tongue at his annoyed tone. "Hey. Sorry to wake you up...do you think you could do something for me?" Maybe that was not a good way to start.

"Like what? You know, you should really give me your apartment keys. We don't have any flour and when you just disappear on a trip out of nowhere-"

"We are not on a trip," she said sharply, her voice breaking at the end. She took a deep breath, sniffling.

Something about that noise made him more alert, she could hear shuffling as he straightened on the bed. "Wait. What's going on? Where are you?"

"At the hospital." She had to look up at the murky sky, fighting the new onslaught of tears.

"Sorry—what?!" He was definitly walking now, bare feet slapping against the floor. "Why would you- what did you- are you-...?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine. It's a pack thing."

"So Matthew? Or Isaiah?"

"Could you not mention the names over the phone? Be discreet," she admonished. "Anyway, I need a charger and...I know you don't have the keys, but you are good at unlocking...with your shadow, right? Could you break in and take some things for Z, my charger and-"

"Good at unlocking," he growled, but she knew he was. When he came home late he tried to sneak in through the door with his shadow, which was a fine skill to be trained. Not that it ever worked on their mother, who never went to sleep before he was home. "Yes, of course. I can be there in a few." His voice softened. "Do you want anything else? Something to eat maybe?"

"No, it's fine. Could you also take a jacket for me, the jeans one I have in the entry hall..."

"Sure thing. I'll be right there." He hesitated. "So something with I.W.?"

She rolled her eyes at his failure with codes. "Bye, Dylan."

...

"You look horrible," Dylan said when he met up with her by the gates to the hospital. "And you owe me for the taxi."

Seline rolled her eyes, but she was still glad to see him. "Yeah, yeah. I get my phone charged, I'll pay you back."

Dylan offered her a backpack filled with stuff than changed his mind and swung it back around his shoulder. "Alright, you need a break. What if we took Isaiah's car, I know it's missing—that's why I thought there was a trip—and I'll drive you home? You could have a shower, some sleep and then you and Matt could switch."

"It's fine, D." She shook her head, reluctance and regret on her face immediately. Dylan hadn't lived with her for over two years, but he could still read his sister's mind, thanks.

"What about breakfast? There is a McDonald's around the corner. Some proper food and good coffee will get you back on your feet."

Not that Mcdonald was all that healthy, but it was greasy and heavy and he wanted that daunt look from his sister's face. Her skin was almost translucent in the morning light, like she was disappearing where she stood.

When she didn't say no immediately, he grabbed her around the shoulders, leading her down the sidewalk. "Come on. Breathe in some fresh air, eat, and you can go back to saving the world, kay?"

"I don't know..." but she wasn't protesting, even if she turned back to stare longingly at the hospital.

Dylan brought her inside quickly enough, ordering her her favorite wrap and a big coke and coffee for good measure. Seline added another wrap and fries to take with her for Matt, before allowing him to sit her down and wait for her order.

She was uncharacteristically quiete. Dylan didn't know her like this, lips pressed together, downcast eyes, unnerved and tired at the same time.

"It really is no big deal. I can drive you home in 15 minutes. If I get you back in 2 hours after a nap, nothing will happen. Matt would understand."

Matthew had a shadow for fuck's sake, he could take some difficulty. If he didn't, Dylan was glad to explain. Surely he wasn't wrong to be biased in Seline's favour in this.

Seline said nothing, eating obediently when he reminded her.

"Sel? You want me to call mom and dad?"

That had her finally looking up at him, frowning in confusion.

"I'm sure they would love to be here if it helped." Dylan didn't currently feel like he was managing much. Their mom would know what to do.

"Nah, it's fine." She took another tiny bite of the wrap, eyes going back to study the table like it had something written there. "I messaged her about this, but there is not much they can do."

"They have contacts with doctors-"

"In Slovakia and Germany, not in Austria. And this hospital is very good, used to wolves and everything. Austria medical quality. It's better he is here."

Dylan nibbled at his bottom lip in concern. Sitting across from her suddenly felt too far away. He got up, pushing the take out bag for Matt and the tray away to sit down next to her.

Back at home when he was younger, they used to be very touchy feely with each other. 6 years old between them meant he was basically her toy. She carried him around, snuggled with him, taught him, did whatever she wanted.

Until he hit puberty, his shadow got all itchy with unbearable energy and he found it emberassing to still hug is big sister. Witch or not, it felt too personal. And he liked to tease her about how much she still liked it, used to it all their life.

"You are always gonna be my little brother," she told him when he officially towered two heads over her.

They had their fair share of arguments and mouse-frog wars closely before she left. To be fair, he got into screaming matches with his parents at that time too, feeling stiffled and restrained by their protectivness and rules.

The gym helped. And boxing. And finding other pups to spar with and social life with his peers and playing around with girls and boys and whoever he met.

Once he got out of that heated hyped up phase, his sister was safely away. Offended by millions little things he apparently did wrong, neglected, overreacted for or scared her with, while getting used to his new strength. Maybe even showing it off too much.

Dylan was stronger than their parents. He was the only one in the family with a shadow. If he didn't want to do something no one could make him.

Except cutting him off money, yeah. Otherwise he was totally independent.

He had realized it a bit too late, all the things he did wrong. Some he was still finding out. But this, he could still do.

Shuffling closer, he bumped her shoulder gently. When she didn't react, but also didn't pull away, he slid closer. "Come here."

Wrapping his arm around her shoulders was the most natural thing of his life. Weirdest one of the recent years, his tough persona, his silly pack jealousies.

But it felt right to his shadow.

Seline stiffened in his hold, which had fear stinging his chest...except he noticed that her chin was shaking and she was crying, right there at the greasy McDonald table.

He tightened his hold and she buried her face in his shoulder. Not making much noise.

Dylan wasn't sure if this was normal with the shock or if this was something more. The idea someone could have hurt her, made her like this had him flexing his jaw with anger.

But if holding her while she cried was what she needed right now, then that was what he was gonna do.

#angst #whump #hurt/comfort #emotional angst #crying #Seline #my writing #werewolf wip

20 notes · View notes