#I’ve always had something get in the way of this but now it seems like I might be able to do it

[genderless-naper]

collections

trafalgar law x crewmate!reader

theme: a bit of fluff. no mention of relationship, feelings, kissing, etc.

being talked over during conversations made you no longer willing to converse with the crew. law decides to step in to make you feel less alone

sfw, wc: 2.6k, lowercase intended!

the crew was livelier than usual. with all tasks for the day completed, conversations filled the air as everyone shared quality time together. many recounted recent ordeals, and the sounds of laughter, complaints, and heated debates echoed throughout the submarine.

you tried to join in on the active conversation. you were eager to share the new hobby you had picked up, and you couldn’t keep yourself from wanting to tell your loved ones.

although your desire to share was strong; everytime you tried to speak up your words hung in the air without response, and your crew mate continued their commotion. it seemed as though your words vanished into the noise. the lack of response made you feel a bit of an outcast within the group. although this topic was meant to be a way to connect your friends with your personal life you figured there will always be another chance to speak of it. so for now, you let everyone to continue their conversations as you listened.

ikkaku is the first to notice your hushed state. it wasnt something she was concerned about, and instead just wanted you to talk like everyone else.

“do you have anything you want to share about your day y/n?”

feeling enthusiastic you took this as your chance to talk about your beloved newfound hobby. it seemed a bit silly saying it out loud, but made you happy. it should be worth the mention.

“i’ve starting doing something new whenever we visit new islands with towns. i’ll start to-“

you were quickly interrupted with shachi’s sudden outburst, “penguin is such a liar!!”

penguin gasps dramatically. their commotion drew the small amount of attention your conversation was getting. penguin and shachi start to wrestle over a disagreement. all the members laugh while some even made bets on who would win. that is all the members but you.

you stared blankly. you knew your friends weren’t purposefully trying to talk over you. still you couldn’t push the feeling of being ignored away much longer. you stood up and slipped away unnoticed while the group was busy with their activities.

you walked to the girls cabin to find a space to yourself where you wont be feeling ignored. at that moment actually being alone felt much better than feeling lonely in a room full of people.

you laid down and stared at the ceiling for a few minutes until you heard an unexpected knocking. a muffled ‘can i come in?’ was heard from the other side of the door.

before you could respond the door had opened and your captain entered the room. his tall figure and poker face made its way over to you. you sat up confused as to what your captain could need from you.

law invited himself to sit down in the empty space next to you, “tell me about.”

you raised your brow. was there a specific report you were forgot to tell him? you searched through your mind for all the possibilities he could be referring to.

law cleared his throat to pull you out your own mind and regain your attention, “tell me about that thing you do with new islands”

you were astonished that your captain was actually paying attention to you. you figured that at the end of the day he is an observer.

he spoke again, “you looked like you wanted to talk about it, but everyone kept speaking over you.”

embarrassment crept upon you, “it’s fine really. i didn’t mind. it was a stupid topic anyways, so it would’ve bored them out.”

“it won’t bore me. i know you want to speak about it, so hurry up” the dark-haired man’s way of reassuring you made it feel like he was rushing you instead. you couldn’t refuse him, as he sat in front of you, waiting to be told as if you were keeping some infamous secret from him. you knew any attempt to refuse would be dismissed immediately by law. but deep down, you find his gesture meaningful. it was his way of saying ‘i see you’.

“you know you don’t have to do all this just because you feel bad captain.”

he knew his earlier phrasing wasn’t sitting quite well, so he added onto it, “it’s not that i feel bad, i just want to know about my crew, so tell me because i’ll listen to you.”

you could no longer protest against him. you make your way to grab a small box then returning to your seat, “you have to promise not to laugh.”

curiosity sparked within law, “whats in this box that could be so laugh-worthy? or are you just being dramatic?”

you rolled your eyes, “i’m not being dramatic. im just saying you can’t laugh jeez..”

law takes the box from you. if he left the unboxing to you, it would take hours for you to gather the courage to remove the top. with one swift motion, law unveiled what the box kept safe— what exactly it was that you wanted to share so badly with the crew.

the inside of the box contained an assortment of pens. all different shapes and colors. law was truly left speechless, “pens..?”

you grabbed the box back from him, “you said you wouldn’t laugh!”

law cleared his throat again, and fixed his expression to its stoic state, “i’m not laughing. i just wasnt expecting that. do you collect these pens across the islands?”

you nod as you look away. you couldn’t help yourself feeling a bit mortified. telling friends is one thing, but telling your captain makes you feel less strong-willed in his mind. you couldn’t help but wonder how embarrassed he must be, thinking about his crew mate being strange enough to collect a specific writing utensil.

suddenly his voice draws you out of your conscious, “which one is your favorite?”

“my favorite? it would have to be this blue one.” you pull out a glass pen that’s been dyed a shade of dark blue. it was heavy in weight, but wrote the smoothest lines when dipped in ink.

from here you start talking about the differences between the pens, their pros and cons, which island you got them from, demonstrating their writing on paper, and much more until you were certain you had bore law out. instead the tattooed man seemed just as interested as you were. he was learning about an item he never gave much thought to.

“you’re not weirded out by this..?”

law shook his head, “why would i be weirded out? you’re just like me.”

“how am i just like you?”

law smirked and lifted his hand to create his blue room bubble around you both, “i’ll show you. room, shambles.”

suddenly you find yourself in laws room. the crew’s laughter still echoed throughout the submarine. law pulls put a box , and pulls its lid off to reveal it’s contents to you.

“coins..?” you tilted your head, looking at the box

“i collect coins from different islands. don’t look at it like that when you do the same thing.”

you take the box, “just because i do the same thing doesn’t mean it’s not gonna be weird.”

law chuckled, “collecting pens is more weird than coins.”

you fired back a warning stare, “at least pens are useful. i can write with all of them.”

“so what? i can spend all of these.”

“captain, you can only spend it if you go back to these islands.”

the two of you went back and fourth, debating which item to collect was the best. as the night went on you both shares stories of certain items in your collections. you proceed to match the closest-looking pens to the closest-looking coin.

being able to to share such personal interests with each other made you both realize you are a lot more alike than you though.

at the end of the night law asks for your hand.

“what’d do you need it for?” you hold your hand out to him. law proceeds to place a gorgeous gold coin designed by fine detailing.

law spoke up, “i want you to keep it. take good care of it and keep it with your pens” a slight smile tugged at his lips.

you giggled, “is it meant to bring me prosperity?”

“hopefully. you’ll need it to buy more pens”

you roll his eyes at his remark. you look through your collection again and pull out a black pen decorated with small hearts. you have it to the tattooed man, “keep it. it suits you captain.”

law observed the pen with a smile. he continued to use that pen whenever he wrote important notes. he kept it with him at all times to remind himself that he isn’t so alone, and there are other nerds who collect things just like him.

on the other hand you were reminded of him every time you opened your wallet to pay. the gold coin shimmering was almost as bright as both of your faces sharing your hobbies with one another.

masterlist

[lanaroff]

To Love, To Stay

pearing: Wanda Maximoff x Reader

summary: Reader and Wanda Maximoff are basking in the joy of a blossoming relationship when an unexpected pregnancy changes everything.

The first months with Wanda were a dream. Everything felt easy, natural. Dates at quaint little cafes, lazy mornings wrapped in blankets on the couch, and laughter—so much laughter. Wanda had a way of making even the simplest moments feel magical. It was as if being with her brought color to a life you hadn’t realized was so gray before.

You were still in the honeymoon phase of your relationship, enjoying every moment without thinking too far ahead. Conversations about the future felt distant, unimportant. All that mattered was the now, and the now was perfect.

But then things changed.

Wanda started acting distant. At first, it was subtle. She seemed preoccupied, her mind wandering during conversations. She canceled a couple of dates with vague excuses, and when you did see her, she wasn’t as present as she used to be. It wasn’t like her to pull away—Wanda was always so open, so warm.

You tried not to overthink it, but the nagging feeling that something was wrong only grew. It wasn’t until one evening, when you’d gone to her room at the Avengers Compound unannounced, that everything came crashing down.

The bathroom door was slightly ajar, and a small white stick sat on the counter. At first, it didn’t register what it was. But then you saw the two pink lines.

Your stomach dropped. You felt like the floor had been ripped out from under you. A thousand thoughts raced through your mind, but one stood out above the rest: She cheated on me.

“Wanda!” you called, your voice sharp and trembling. She appeared in the doorway, her face pale when she saw what you were holding.

“It’s not what you think,” she said quickly, her hands raised as if to calm you.

You scoffed, your chest tightening with anger and hurt. “Not what I think? Then explain this to me, Wanda, because it sure looks like you’ve been hiding something pretty big.”

“It’s yours,” she said, her voice steady despite the tears welling in her eyes. “The baby is yours.”

The words hit you like a freight train. “What?” you whispered, stumbling back a step. “No… no, we haven’t even talked about this. We never…” Your breathing quickened as panic set in. “I can’t do this. I can’t be a parent. I don’t know how.”

“Y/N please,” Wanda pleaded, her voice rising. She stepped closer, her eyes filled with desperation. “We can handle this. Together. Please, just listen—”

“Listen to what?” you snapped, your voice cracking. “That you decided to keep this from me? That you didn’t even think to talk to me about something this big? How could you, Wanda?”

“I didn’t know how to tell you!” she shouted back, tears streaming down her face now. “I was scared, okay? I… I didn’t know how you’d react. I’ve seen how you get when we even talk about the future, and I… I panicked.”

You laughed bitterly, shaking your head. “So you just decided to keep it to yourself? To make this decision for both of us?”

“I didn’t make any decisions,” she shot back. “I’m still trying to figure it out, just like you. But you… you’re running away before we can even talk about it.”

“Because I’m not ready for this!” you yelled, your voice echoing through the room. “I don’t know how to be a parent, Wanda. I don’t even know if I want to be a parent.”

Her face crumpled at your words, and for a moment, the room was silent except for the sound of her quiet sobs. You felt a pang of guilt, but the fear and anger coursing through you were too overwhelming.

“I need time,” you said finally, your voice breaking. Without another word, you turned and left, the sound of the door closing behind you echoing in your ears.

You found yourself at a bar, drowning your panic in shot after shot of whiskey. The fear clawed at your chest, and no amount of alcohol could quiet the voices in your head. Memories of your parents flashed through your mind—the yelling, the tears, the chaos.

Your father’s voice was always loud, sharp, biting. He had a temper that seemed to ignite over the smallest things, leaving you walking on eggshells every moment you were around him. Your mother, though softer, wasn’t much better. Her silence often felt as cutting as his words. She would retreat, disappearing into herself, leaving you to navigate the storm alone. You could still remember the fights—so loud, so consuming. Nights spent curled up in your room, covering your ears as the walls shook with their screaming matches.

When they finally left, it didn’t feel like relief. Your father slammed the door with a suitcase in hand, his angry footsteps echoing in your memory. Your mother stayed for a while, but her emptiness was suffocating. Then she too was gone, leaving nothing but the ghost of what a family should have been. They had both vanished from your life in different ways, but their absence carried the same message: You’re not worth staying for.

And now, here you were, standing on the precipice of creating a family of your own. The idea of it filled you with dread. What if you turned out just like them? What if you failed the way they did? What if you hurt the people you loved because that was all you’d ever known? The fear was paralyzing.

Yet, despite that fear, there was another feeling that cut through the haze of alcohol and self-loathing. Love. Love for Wanda. Love for the way she looked at you like you mattered, like you were worth something. Love for the way she could make you laugh even on your worst days. Love for the possibility of something good, something real. But was love enough to outweigh the fear?

Hours later, you stumbled into the Avengers Compound, your legs barely carrying you. The common area was dimly lit, and there she was, sitting on the couch, her eyes red from crying. Wanda shot up the moment she saw you, rushing to your side.

“Where have you been?” she asked, her voice laced with worry. She steadied you as you nearly collapsed, her arms strong and grounding despite your drunken state.

“Wanda,” you slurred, tears streaming down your face. “I’m so scared. I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to be a parent. What if I ruin everything? What if I ruin them? I… I don’t want to hurt you, or… or our baby.”

Her face softened, and she guided you to sit down, keeping her hands on your shoulders as if to anchor you.

“You think I’m not scared too?” she said, her voice breaking as she held you close. “Do you think I have all the answers? I don’t. But I know one thing—I love you, and I want to do this with you. Please don’t shut me out. Don’t run from me.”

“I’m not running,” you said, your voice cracking as you sobbed into her shoulder. “I… I just don’t know how to be anything other than scared. My parents were a mess, Wanda. They destroyed each other, and they destroyed me. What if I… what if I’m just like them?”

“You’re not them,” Wanda said firmly, her hands cupping your face. Her thumbs brushed away your tears, her touch gentle but steady. “You’re kind, and loving, and you’ve already shown me how much you care. That’s what matters. You don’t have to be perfect. We just have to love them, and each other. We can do this.”

You looked into her eyes, seeing nothing but warmth and determination. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I’m so sorry for how I reacted. I… I love you so much, Wanda. I don’t think I ever thought I’d be this happy, and it scares me. But the thought of losing you scares me even more.”

Wanda’s lips quivered as she smiled through her own tears. “I love you too,” she said, her voice soft and full of emotion. “And you’re not going to lose me. We’ll figure this out. Together.”

“I don’t deserve you,” you said, your voice breaking again. “But I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to. I promise.”

She leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips, her hands still cradling your face. “You already do,” she whispered against your lips. “And you’ll be an amazing parent. I know you will.”

The two of you sat there, holding each other as the weight of the night slowly lifted. It wouldn’t be easy—you knew that. But as long as you had Wanda by your side, you felt like maybe, just maybe, you could face whatever came next. Together.

[rose24207]

Heyyy, i’ve got an idea for a Lando x reader fic!

Basically Lando and the reader have been friends their whole life since their parents are good friends and they go on vacations together all that shit. And the reader has had a crush on Lando for some time now and what she doesn’t know is that Lando likes her too and one night they’re celebrating midsummers (or whatever) and he tells her he likes her and they kiss and talk all night and cuddle and stuff like that, but the next day Lando is ignoring the reader and pretends like nothing happened and goes on to ignore her for like a good year or two until one night they talk and he says he’s sorry for all that and they have their happy ending. Super angsty and sad but fluff at the end!

Don’t feel obligated to write this if you don’t want to, it’s just something i came up with and could never write myself (i can’t write to save my life) but i really like your fics and thought you could!

I‘ve missed this

Summary: Lando confesses his love on midsummer night but pushes you away for years before finally apologizing and winning you back.

Genre: angst, fluff

Lando x f!reader

TW: None!

A/N: DW girl I got your back!! again sorry that you had to wait! School is kicking my ass and I’m about to crash out because of my driver license (that shit is expensive af) English is not my first language. I hope you enjoy it though! Requests are open and welcome!

Masterlist pt. 2

The golden glow of the midsummer sun bathed the lawn in a warm, ethereal light. Strings of fairy lights crisscrossed overhead, and laughter filled the air as family and friends celebrated another year of togetherness.

You sat at the edge of the garden, the sound of the waves from the nearby lake mingling with the music. Your eyes scanned the crowd until they landed on him—Lando Norris.

He stood by the fire pit, laughing with a group of friends, the amber glow highlighting his cheekbones and the soft curls that framed his face. You’d known him your entire life, thanks to your parents’ friendship. Vacations, holidays, birthdays—he’d always been there, your constant companion.

And somewhere along the way, you’d fallen for him.

It wasn’t just his boyish charm or his crooked smile that made your heart race. It was the way he made you laugh when you wanted to cry, the way he always seemed to know what you needed without you having to say it.

But he didn’t know how you felt. And you weren’t sure he ever would.

“Why are you sitting here alone?”

His voice startled you, and you turned to see him standing there, hands shoved in his pockets. He tilted his head, a playful grin tugging at his lips.

“Just… thinking,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Thinking, huh?” He dropped down onto the grass beside you, his knee brushing yours. “Care to share?”

You hesitated, glancing down at your hands. “It’s nothing important.”

He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Come on, you can tell me anything.”

You looked up at him, your heart skipping a beat at the way his eyes sparkled in the fading light.

“Alright,” you said, forcing a smile. “I was just thinking about how much has changed since we were kids.”

His expression softened, and he nodded. “Yeah. Feels like yesterday we were building sandcastles and arguing over who got the last popsicle.”

You laughed, the memory warming your chest. “You always took it, by the way.”

“Only because you let me,” he teased, nudging you gently.

Silence settled between you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. The sounds of the celebration faded into the background as you both stared at the lake, its surface shimmering like molten gold.

“I’ve missed this,” he said suddenly, his voice quiet.

“Missed what?”

“Us.” He turned to you, his eyes searching yours. “It feels like we’ve both been so busy with life lately. I hate that we don’t get to spend as much time together anymore.”

Your chest tightened, his words hitting a tender spot in your heart. “Me too.”

He reached out, his hand brushing yours. The simple touch sent a jolt of electricity through you, and you had to fight to keep your composure.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your breath hitched, your heart pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it. “What is it?”

He hesitated, his gaze dropping to your intertwined hands. “I’ve been trying to find the right moment to say this, but… I like you, Y/N. More than a friend should.”

The world seemed to stand still, his words hanging in the air.

“You… what?” you managed to say, your voice shaking.

He smiled nervously, his fingers tightening around yours. “I like you. I have for a while now. I just—”

You didn’t let him finish. Before you could overthink it, you leaned forward and pressed your lips to his.

For a moment, he froze, and you thought you’d made a terrible mistake. But then his hands cupped your face, pulling you closer as he kissed you back with a fervor that made your head spin.

When you finally pulled away, both of you breathless, he rested his forehead against yours.

“Wow,” he murmured, a soft laugh escaping him.

You smiled, your cheeks burning. “Wow.”

That night, the two of you talked for hours, sharing secrets and dreams you’d never spoken aloud. When the celebration wound down, you ended up curled in his arms under the stars, your heart feeling fuller than it had in years.

The next morning, you woke up with a smile, memories of the night replaying in your mind. You couldn’t wait to see Lando, to talk about what this meant for you both.

But when you went to find him, he was distant.

At breakfast, he barely met your gaze. Throughout the day, he kept conversations short, avoiding any moment that might leave you alone together.

By the end of the week, he was gone, leaving you with a hollow ache in your chest.

The weeks turned into months, and the months stretched into years. Lando’s career in Formula 1 took off, and you watched from afar as he became a household name.

He texted occasionally, but it was never personal. Just polite pleasantries, as if you were mere acquaintances. The memory of that midsummer night haunted you, the unanswered questions gnawing at your heart.

Why had he pulled away?

It wasn’t until two years later, during another midsummer celebration, that you saw him again.

He was standing by the same fire pit, his posture tense as he stared into the flames. Your heart ached at the sight of him, the familiar longing resurfacing like a wave crashing over you.

Before you could stop yourself, you approached him.

“Lando.”

He turned, his eyes widening slightly at the sight of you. “Y/N.”

The sound of your name on his lips sent a shiver down your spine.

“Can we talk?” you asked, your voice steadier than you felt.

He hesitated but then nodded, leading you away from the crowd to a quieter spot by the lake.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The tension between you was palpable, years of unspoken words hanging heavy in the air.

“I’m sorry,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your throat tightened, and you looked away. “Why, Lando? Why did you pull away? After everything that happened… I thought—”

“I was scared,” he admitted, cutting you off. “That night… it meant everything to me. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized how much I had to lose if I screwed things up between us. You’re my best friend, Y/N. I couldn’t risk losing you.”

Tears welled in your eyes, his words both a balm and a dagger to your heart. “So you thought ignoring me for two years was the better option?”

“I thought it would be easier for both of us if I put distance between us,” he said, his voice thick with regret. “But I was wrong. God, I was so wrong.”

You wiped at your eyes, the weight of his apology sinking in. “Lando… do you have any idea how much that hurt me? How much I missed you?”

He stepped closer, his hands trembling as he reached for yours. “I missed you too. Every single day. And I hated myself for what I did. But I was stupid and scared, and I didn’t know how to fix it.”

Your heart ached at the vulnerability in his voice. Despite everything, you still loved him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his forehead resting against yours. “I’m so, so sorry.”

You closed your eyes, your tears mingling with his. “You really hurt me, Lando.”

“I know,” he said, his voice breaking. “But I swear, I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you if you’ll let me.”

For a moment, you hesitated. But then you thought of the boy who’d been your rock for so many years, the boy who’d held your hand when you were scared and made you laugh when you wanted to cry.

“I missed you,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

He pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly as if afraid you might disappear. “I missed you too.”

That night, as you sat by the lake with his arms around you, the pain of the past began to fade.

For the first time in years, you felt whole again.

Thank you for reading!

Taglist: @ipushhimback, @ladyoflynx, @lewishamiltonismybf, @cmleitora, @hmma3 , @same1995, @amatswimming, @llando4norris

[wondergirlsthings]

Accidental Discoveries: Going Through Jude Bellingham’s Phone

Jude Bellingham x Reader

It wasn’t intentional, really. You were just sitting on the couch, scrolling through your phone, when you felt an annoying flicker of your phone freezing once again. Frustration settled in as you tried to fix it, but it just wasn’t working. You sighed and glanced up, seeing Jude on the other side of the room. He was lounging on the couch, the TV on in the background, his eyes glued to his phone.

His phone was carelessly lying on the coffee table beside him, unlocked. You glanced at it briefly, your eyes catching a few notifications. For a split second, you thought about how easily you could just check the time on his phone instead of bothering with yours. You didn’t mean to, but curiosity tugged at you.

You always trusted Jude completely, and you never had any reason to doubt him. Yet, in that moment, a tiny thought crept in. What if? You barely even knew who the people were who texted him sometimes, other than his teammates or family. That was normal, right? So why was it making you feel uneasy?

It only took a second before your fingers moved on their own, picking up his phone. You glanced at him quickly—he was too busy to notice. You told yourself you were just going to check the time, but as your thumb unlocked the screen, your eyes caught a few texts that were different.

There were messages from someone named “Maya”. The name didn’t sound familiar to you, and the way the conversation flowed caught your attention. You told yourself it was nothing, just a random contact, but the more you looked, the more you felt uneasy. Some of the texts were playful, a bit flirtatious. She called him “babe” in one of them. That tiny word made your heart beat faster, and suddenly, everything seemed to freeze.

Before you could go any further, your phone buzzed beside you, and you jolted. The distraction snapped you out of it, but the sinking feeling in your stomach remained. You placed the phone back onto the table quickly, hoping he hadn’t noticed. But you could already feel the guilt piling up inside you.

Suddenly, Jude spoke up from behind you. His voice was casual but laced with curiosity. “What are you doing?”

You froze, your heart leaping into your throat. There was no denying it now. He had caught you. You quickly placed the phone back on the table and tried to act nonchalant.

“Nothing, just... checking the time,” you said, your voice betraying your nerves.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “You sure about that?” Jude set his own phone aside and shifted toward you, a bit of concern creeping into his eyes. You could feel the tension in the air as you avoided his gaze.

“Actually, I wasn’t just checking the time,” you admitted, feeling your cheeks flush. “I, um... I saw something on your phone, and I wasn’t sure what it meant.”

Jude’s eyes softened, sensing the change in your mood. “What did you see?” he asked, his voice quiet, not angry, but more concerned.

You swallowed hard, unsure if you should even bring it up. The words felt like they were stuck in your throat. “It was just a text from someone named Maya. She... called you ‘babe,’ and I didn’t know who she was, and...”

You trailed off, suddenly feeling vulnerable. You hadn’t meant to invade his privacy, and now you regretted it. Jude sat silently for a moment, processing what you’d said. His expression shifted, and he gently took your hand, turning it over in his.

“Look,” he began, his voice soft and steady. “I can see why you’d feel uncomfortable. I get that. But I want you to know that I’ve never wanted to keep anything from you. Maya’s just an old friend from when I used to play back in England. We’re not... anything more than that.”

You blinked, still not quite sure how to react. “But she called you ‘babe.’ Isn’t that... a bit much for a friend?”

Jude chuckled lightly, squeezing your hand. “I get it. It’s a bit playful, but honestly, there’s nothing between us. I promise you. I only have eyes for you.”

You sighed, feeling both relief and embarrassment flood over you. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gone through your phone. I know it was wrong, and I trust you, I do. It’s just... I guess sometimes I overthink things.”

Jude smiled warmly at you, his thumb brushing over your hand. “You don’t need to apologize. I get that you were worried, and I should have reassured you sooner. But there’s nothing for you to worry about.”

He leaned closer, his lips brushing against your forehead in a tender kiss. “You know I’m always here for you to talk about anything. If something bothers you, we’ll sort it out together, okay?”

You looked up at him, meeting his gaze, and your heart softened at the sincerity in his eyes. You realized how lucky you were to have someone who understood your insecurities and was willing to talk things through.

“I promise I’ll never go through your phone again,” you said, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

Jude laughed lightly, shaking his head. “And I promise to always make sure you know exactly where I stand. No more mysteries.”

You chuckled, relieved and feeling much lighter now. “Deal.”

He pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you. “Good. Now, how about we focus on what really matters? Us.”

The rest of the evening was spent snuggled together on the couch, watching TV, and talking about everything and nothing. The tension had melted away, replaced by the comfort of knowing that communication, trust, and love were always at the core of your relationship.

[orchidseason]

Too Clingy...?

ִ ࣪𖤐 loser!ellie w x fem!reader

After weeks of tension with your roommate, you turn to your girlfriend Ellie for comfort. But when a teasing comment makes you question your place in her life, you distance yourself, afraid of being "clingy."

warnings ִ ࣪𖤐 word count 1.5k, college!AU, established relationship, anxiety (r), overthinking, hurt/comfort, misunderstanding, emotional breakdown, mild language, kissing

It had been a rough few weeks. The tension with your roommate had reached a breaking point, and you were finding it hard to breathe, let alone function. Every day felt like a struggle. You’d been feeling emotionally drained, constantly walking on eggshells, and trying to avoid conflict in your own space. Your dorm room had become a place of silence, and it felt like you were suffocating.

One night, after another argument with your roommate that left you feeling small and unimportant, you packed a bag and went straight to Ellie’s. You didn’t even need to text her beforehand—Ellie always knew when you needed her. Her dorm had become your safe space, the place where you could let go of all the tension and just breathe.

Ellie opened the door, her face softening when she saw you. She immediately pulled you into a tight hug. “Hey! Woah...what’s wrong?” she asked, her voice gentle.

You sniffled and buried your face in her shoulder. “My roommates a fucking bitch. She argues with me about the stupidest things and leaves passive aggressive sticky notes everywhere and then she just keeps-I just cant do it. Im so done."

Ellie tightened her grip on you, her hands running through your hair soothingly. “Shh, babe. You’re always welcome here, you know that. You don’t need to explain it all to me."

In the weeks that followed, you found yourself at Ellie’s more often than not. Being with her was an escape. You’d spend your evenings wrapped in the warmth of her arms, playing games, watching movies, or simply lying together in a comfortable silence. For the first time in a long time, you truly felt like you could let go of all the stress that had built up.

You and Ellie were lying on her bed, curled up together. You had your head resting on her shoulder while she played Minecraft on her phone, tapping away at the screen as you both enjoyed the quiet of the room. It was one of those perfect moments where everything felt in place. You didn’t need to talk. You didn’t need to do anything except be there with her.

Ellie talked suddenly, breaking the silence. She glanced at you with a teasing grin. “You’re really here every night now, huh? I might start calling you my official roommate. Getting a little clingy, mm?"

The comment hung in the air, and your stomach sank. The word "clingy" hit you like a ton of bricks. She said it with that usual mischievous smile, but something about the way she said it made your chest tighten.

Clingy.

The word echoed in your mind as you lay there, still and frozen. Had you been too much? Was she annoyed with you? You’d been spending so much time at her place lately, leaning on her for comfort when you didn’t know where else to go. Maybe she was tired of it. Maybe she was tired of you.

Ellie went on, completely unaware of how her words had affected you. “I’m just messing with you,” she said, laughing lightly, pressing a kiss to your cheek, "you know my favorite you is clingy you."

Still, you couldn’t shake the doubt. It festered in the pit of your stomach. Clingy. You wanted to push it out of your mind, but it was all you could think about. Maybe she really was tired of you. Maybe her joke had truth lining in it and she was wanting some space from you.

You stayed quiet, too lost in your head to respond. When the moment passed, you quietly gathered your things, not looking at Ellie. “I should head out... I’ve got a lot of work to do,” you said, your voice soft and distant.

Ellie didn’t seem to notice your change in energy. She was already absorbed in her phone again, focused on the game, not on you. She didn’t look up when you left, but if she had-she would not have let you leave.

As you walked out, your heart felt heavy. Had you been too much? Too clingy? Ellie had always been understanding, but that comment, though playful, made you spiral.

You didn’t go back to your dorm. Instead, you found yourself at the library, hiding away from the world. You tried to focus on your schoolwork, but the thoughts wouldn’t stop swirling in your mind. Was she really tired of you? Had you made things awkward? You didn’t want to burden her anymore, but the more you thought about it, the more you questioned whether she really wanted you around.

Days passed, and you kept your distance. You couldn’t bring yourself to reach out to Ellie. Maybe she was right; maybe you had become clingy, and now you were giving her space to breathe.

You didn't respond to her texts and calls and you're sure that's what set her off to finally just track you down on your shared location one afternoon.

While you were hunched over a stack of textbooks in the library, you heard a familiar voice.

“Hey,” Ellie said softly, making you jump. You didn’t even need to look up to know it was her. “Haven’t seen you around in a while. Everything okay?”

"That's good news, isn't it?"

She looks confused, a little hurt, "what...?"

Your throat tightened, and before you could stop it, all the thoughts you’d been bottling up poured out. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” you said, voice cracking. “It’s just... It's me. I’ve been overthinking everything since you called me clingy. I know it was a joke, but Ellie it's true. I spend so much time at your dorm, in your space. I didn't want to overwhelm you anymore so I just-"

Ellie knelt in front of you, her gaze softening. “No, hey stop that,” she said gently, taking your hands in hers. “I didn’t mean it like that. I was just messing with you. I love having you in my dorm, I prefer it. You’re not clingy. You never could be. I’m sorry I made you feel like you were.”

You bit your lip, feeling the weight lift off your shoulders, but the hurt was still there, lingering. “I didn’t want to make things weird, and here I am making it weird."

Ellie smiled, brushing a hand over your cheek. “You could never make things weird, babe. I promise."

You blinked back tears, suddenly overwhelmed by how much you needed to hear those words. Ellie leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “I’m always here for you, okay? Don’t shut me out.”

You smiled, finally feeling like you could breathe again. You nodded, feeling safe in her arms as she held you close.

“I love you,” you whispered.

“I love you too,” Ellie replied, leaning in after to press a kiss to your lips.

taglist // @kaykeryyy

[oncasette]

𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗜'𝗟𝗟 𝗕𝗨𝗥𝗡

rafayel qi x fem!reader, boyfriend!xavier shen x fem!reader

summary: 1.0k

“You can have a couple weeks off,” he coughs out. His brows pinch together, a hand coming out to swipe through a dab of still wet paint. He wants to tear through the canvas. He wants to set it alight with his evol, coat it in a thick layer of everburning flame.

or the one where you finally have enough pto to take a holiday with your boyfriend, but that means also taking a holiday away from rafayel.

content: jealousy, unrequited love

masterlist | beat you to it masterlist

If Rafayel had it his way, you’d never leave his side. You’re already gone enough as it is with your regular hunter duties, why couldn’t you just spend the rest of your time here, with him, in his studio? He knows it’s a drastic measure, but it’s one he can’t help but fantasize about at times. Keeping you close to him, his heart. Still, he’d yet to formally declare his feelings for you, so he guesses he’ll have to settle with being your employer. For now. Even if he was already planning your wedding. 

“Rafayel?” he hears you say as you enter his studio, prompting him to nearly topple off the ladder he was perched on, but he manages to steady himself enough to stay atop it. He doesn’t know how you manage to startle him so thoroughly sometimes. His senses are already keenly aware of you, the fact that you’re able to sneak up on him at times is beyond him. 

“Hey, uh… you usually text when you’re stopping by. Not that I mind, of course,” he says awkwardly. He sets his brush down and climbs off the ladder to stand in front of you. 

“Oh, sorry. I was just already on my way home from work and… you know,” you say and Rafayel flounders for a recovery. To think that he made you feel unwelcome in his home? He could die.

“No! It’s not a problem, really. You know the door’s always open for you,” he says, resting a hand on your shoulder for a second in what he hopes reads as reassurance. 

“I actually did come over for something,” you say, moving to plop yourself down on his couch. He was glad you were so comfortable in his space, a space he’s so keen to share with you, and smiles softly as you kick off your shoes and tuck your feet up under you. Now, if he could just get you to wear something of his, the scene would be perfect. Maybe that button-down you’d complimented once…

“Raf?” you call.

“Yes, sorry,” he clears his throat and moves to sit beside you. “Anything you need.”

Rafayel lets a myriad of different scenarios run through his mind. Were you finally declaring your love for him? Were you telling him off, telling him you couldn’t be his bodyguard anymore? Were you moving out of Linkon–not that that one would matter, he’d follow you anywhere. Was your building being destroyed and you needed a new place to stay?

Did you remember him?

“My PTO request finally through and I’m taking a couple of weeks off work,” you tell him. His ears perk up. Were you inviting him on a vacation? “And I was hoping, as a token of my exemplary work as your bodyguard, that you would give me some time off too?”

His eyelids flutter a bit, confused. Time off? From him? You seem to notice his hesitance. 

“So…”

“Where are you going?” he asks softly. 

“My boyfriend, Xavier, is surprising me with a trip, actually,” you say and his fingertips ache at the way you seem to warm at the thought, your face ducking down to hide the way you fluster. “He won’t tell me where.”

“Your boyfriend?” he asks. It just barely crests his lips. It sits on the center of his tongue. He traps it there, tight. But, I love you… 

My beautiful, wondrous bride. I have loved you since the dawn of time, since the first drop of water formed the ocean. I have loved you for as long as I’ve known myself.

You don’t notice. Or, if you do, you don’t care to comment on it, on the longing in his eyes.

“Yeah, I haven’t told you about him? He’s my partner at work, too. I feel like I would have mentioned him before,” you say as if it doesn’t drive the knife that much deeper. 

He swallows, his throat dry. “And you wanted some time off from being my bodyguard?”

“Yeah, I mean, if that’s alright? You didn’t mention any events or anything coming up that you would need me for. I figured it would be a good time…” you trail off. 

Never. Never would it be a good time for you to leave him.

You start up again. “I mean if there’s something you really need a bodyguard for, I can see if Tara could step in in my place. She’s wonderful, really, I think you’d get along great.”

Rafayel waves you off. He stands quickly, his back facing you as he turns to the painting he’d been working on when you arrived. It all seems inconsequential now. The colors, the strokes, the artistry of it all. 

“You can have a couple weeks off,” he coughs out. His brows pinch together, a hand coming out to swipe through a dab of still wet paint. He wants to tear through the canvas. He wants to set it alight with his evol, coat it in a thick layer of everburning flame. 

“Really? Oh, Rafayel, you’re the best,” you cheer. He doesn’t turn, can’t bear to see the joy carved through your cheeks. He feels your presence behind him and his muscles tense. He hopes you don’t touch him, and he realizes it’s the first time he’s come up not willing to bear your touch. The brand of your skin against his. 

“You should go, then. I have a deadline,” he says coldly. 

“Oh.” And your looming touch retracts. “Right, I, uh… I’ll text you when I’m back in Linkon.”

Something in him braces as you walk out the door. The loss of your presence in the room feels like a rib has been yanked from his sternum. It’s so cold, so lonely, so quiet. The absense of your touch and your voice sits heavy over his head. Rafayel stares blankly out the window, watching as the waves crash against the shore, wondering what the point of it all was. After everything he’d lost, after all the times you’d forgotten and moved on without him, he still couldn’t get you in this life. His bride, held in the arms of another man. 

[soleilpinto]

Cruising in Papaya: Private but not Secret ˚‧｡⋆🍁

“Life’s Better on Saturn ” ˙✧˖° ༘ ⋆｡˚ (Saturn, SZA)

Synopsis: Y/N Laurant, a glamorous socialite, meets Lando Norris during a race weekend, sparks fly between the two, but as their feelings deepen, they struggle to balance their secret relationship with their public lives, all while navigating the pressure of the fast-paced F1 scene.

Genre: (Some) Angst, Fluff, Romance

AU: Social Media and Written!au

Pairing: Lando x Afab!Socialite!Reader

Warnings: None

Note: Did not expect to become so busy lately, this is the final part before the actual finale so everyone buckle up 😭 Thank you all for the support once again and as always don’t forget to like + reblog as a form of support!

Cruising in Papaya Masterlist. (Prev./Next.)

@pitlanespy the way y/n and lando are handling their relationship is so refreshing. they’re not flaunting, but they’re not hiding anymore either. we love a balanced couple

@chicanechatter y/n and lando have mastered the art of keeping it private but not secret. leave them alone and let them enjoy their love!

@turn1drama ok but y/n keeping things private yet giving us hints every now and then is such a power move. the girl knows her pr

@papayaruIes well duh, she’s a socialite. she’s practically an expert

@f1gossipupdates I can’t believe Y/N and Lando are finally being open-ish. Like, she really said ‘we’re together, but y’all don’t need all the details.’ I respect it!

The short off-season break had been a rare pocket for you and Lando to relax without the rush of race weekends or the scrutiny of flashing cameras. It was a crisp afternoon in Monaco, the sun reflecting off the gentle waves as the two of you sat on the terrace of Lando’s apartment overlooking the harbor.

With steaming cups of coffee in hand and a blanket draped over your shoulders, the moment felt calm, natural—far removed from the chaotic world outside.

“Feels nice, doesn’t it?” Lando broke the silence, his voice soft. “Being able to just exist without worrying about anyone watching.”

You glanced at him, a small smile tugging at your lips. “It does. I was almost starting to forget what that felt like.”

The two of you had tiptoed the fine line between privacy and secrecy, but the responses to your soft launch had been surprisingly supportive.

Fans who had once speculated endlessly about your relationship now seemed to respect the boundaries you were trying to set. It was refreshing, almost liberating.

Lando set his mug down and turned to face you fully, his expression growing more serious. “I’ve been thinking about something,” he began, hesitating just enough to make you raise an eyebrow.

“That sounds ominous,” you teased, trying to lighten the mood.

He chuckled but didn’t look away, his blue eyes searching yours.

“I don’t want us to hide anymore,” he admitted.

“I mean, I know we’ve already agreed to keep the details of our relationship private—and I want to stick to that. But I hate the thought of going to the next Grand Prix without you. It feels wrong now like I’m leaving a part of me behind.”

Your heart softened at his words, but you couldn’t help the cautious tone in your response. “Lando, you know how intense it can get. Even with the positive reactions, there will always be backlash. Are you sure you’re ready for that?”

He reached out, taking your hand in his.

“I’ve never been more sure about anything. I’ve been through enough to know that people will always have something to say, but it doesn’t matter to me. What matters is us—and I want you there with me, not just in the background but by my side. I think we can handle it together.”

You studied his face, finding nothing but sincerity in his expression. It was hard not to be moved by his resolve. You had spent so much time questioning if the two of you could make it work, but Lando’s unwavering confidence in your relationship made you want to believe it too.

“And you think it’ll make things easier if I’m there with you?” you asked, your voice teasing but soft.

He grinned, leaning closer. “I know it will. Plus, you being there might actually make all those post-race media sessions bearable.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Alright, Norris. You win. I’ll come with you to the next Grand Prix—but you’d better promise to share some of the attention.”

His face lit up with a mixture of relief and happiness, and he leaned in to kiss your forehead. “Deal.”

As the two of you sat back, the afternoon sun casting a golden glow around you, it was clear that this decision marked the start of a new chapter. No more hiding in shadows or ducking behind corners. You would face the world together, one race at a time.

The soft hum of Monte Carlo filled the space between your words as you sipped your coffee, the warmth of the mug grounding you.

Pietra leaned back into the plush armchair across you, her curiosity palpable as the sunlight bathed your living room in a golden hue.

“So,” Pietra began again, her voice playful yet genuinely inquisitive. “Are we finally getting the tea on you and Lando?”

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head as you set your mug down on the table. “You’re so nosy.”

“Nosy?” she retorted, raising an eyebrow. “Please, I’ve been invested ever since that media meltdown since your birthday. There’s a difference. Now spill.”

Her lighthearted tone brought a smile to your face, but the memories of the past month made your chest tighten slightly.

Pietra had been one of your closest confidantes ever since you met Lando's close circle, one of the few who truly understood the chaos of public scrutiny and the complexities of trying to maintain a personal life within it.

If anyone could handle the details of what you’d been through, it was her.

Taking a deep breath, you began. “We’re good now,” you said, the words feeling like a balm as they left your lips. “Really good, actually. But it wasn’t always like that.”

Pietra’s expression shifted, her teasing giving way to concern. She leaned forward slightly, resting her chin on her hand. “What happened?”

You hesitated, your fingers lightly tracing the rim of your coffee mug as you gathered your thoughts.

“When everything blew up, it felt like the world was against us. The media was relentless, fans were speculating every little thing, and it felt like we couldn’t catch a break. It all came to a head, and we ended up having this huge fight.”

Her brows knitted together. “Over the media?”

“It was more than that,” you admitted. “It was the pressure, the constant hiding, the fear that we’d never be able to have something real outside of all the noise. Lando was frustrated, and I don’t blame him. But he said some things…” You trailed off, the memory still stinging.

Pietra reached over, placing a comforting hand on yours. ���Things that hurt?”

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Yeah. And I was so overwhelmed, I left. Went back to Saint Tropez. For a while, I thought that was it for us. I couldn’t see how we’d come back from it.”

She squeezed your hand gently, her voice soft. “But you did.”

A small smile tugged at your lips.

“We did. During the break, Lando found out I was in Monaco. He called me—said he wanted to talk, that he couldn’t leave things the way they were. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to see him, but when I did…” You paused, exhaling deeply. “It felt like the right thing to do.”

Pietra’s eyes softened, her smile encouraging you to continue.

“We had a long talk. About everything—what we want, what we’re afraid of, what we’re willing to do to make this work. It wasn’t easy, but we both realized that letting go wasn’t an option. We care about each other too much to let all the outside noise ruin what we have.”

Pietra leaned back, her smile widening. “That’s huge, Y/N. It sounds like you both really fought for this.”

You nodded, the relief of the memory settling over you. “We did. And now, we’re taking it one step at a time. He asked me to come to the next Grand Prix with him. He doesn’t want us to hide anymore, and honestly, I don’t either. But we’ve agreed to keep things private—no oversharing, no giving the media more than they need. Just us, on our terms.”

Pietra’s grin turned mischievous. “Oh, I can’t wait to see the paddock’s reaction when you show up with him again. The fans are going to lose it.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I’m sure they will. But for the first time, it doesn’t feel overwhelming. It feels… manageable.”

“That’s because you’re doing it the right way,” Pietra said confidently. “You’re setting boundaries, and you’re doing this together. It’s going to be okay.”

“Thanks, Pietra,” you said, your smile grateful. “It feels good to finally have some clarity, to know that we’re in this together.”

“Absolutely,” she said, a sparkle in her eye. “But don’t think you’re off the hook. You owe me every detail about how it goes when you’re back at the Grand Prix.”

You laughed, feeling a lightness you hadn’t in weeks. “Oh, trust me, I’ll have plenty to share.”

As the conversation shifted to lighter topics, you couldn’t help but feel a renewed sense of hope. For the first time in a while, the future with Lando felt bright, and you were ready to take on whatever came next—together.

liked by mclaren, lando and others

laurant.yn off-season kick off

francisca.cgomes 😍

mclaren starting the break right 🧡

lando ❤️

@f1landolove SHE POSTED HIM. SHE REALLY POSTED HIM. Y/N AND LANDO ARE OFFICIALLY OFFICIAL. I’M SCREAMING. 😭❤️ 

@paddockqueen_ Not me refreshing my feed 100 times today just to confirm it wasn’t a fever dream. Y/N posted Lando on her MAIN. THE MAIN!!! 🔥👀

@pitstopsocialite_ Y/N really said, “Soft launch era is OVER.” That pic of Lando is giving boyfriend energy. We love to see it. 🥰

@f1overdrive Okay, but I’m lowkey jealous… Y/N Laurant is the definition of having it all. Fashion icon + F1 driver boyfriend? Goals

@neutralnora Honestly, happy for them. Y/N seems like she keeps Lando grounded, and he deserves that. 🥹

@shadypaddock I give it six months. Relationships in the spotlight rarely last. 🙄

The energy in Singapore was electric, the vibrant city buzzing with excitement as race weekend loomed closer. You stood beside Lando, your suitcase rolling quietly behind you as you both exited the airport.

The humid air wrapped around you, mingling with the chatter of fans and photographers who had already spotted you.

Flashes of cameras ignited like small bursts of lightning, and the occasional murmur of your name reached your ears. You instinctively glanced at Lando, who gave you a reassuring smile, his hand brushing against yours.

“We’re really doing this,” you said softly, your voice a mix of nerves and determination.

“Yeah, we are,” Lando replied, his eyes meeting yours with steady resolve. “No more hiding. No more letting them control the narrative. It’s just us, and we’re not apologizing for it.”

The ride to the hotel was quiet, the occasional buzz of your phone from notifications breaking the silence. You knew the media frenzy was already kicking off—pictures and videos of the two of you had likely hit social media within minutes of your arrival. But for the first time, you didn’t feel the weight of it.

As you stepped into the hotel lobby together, the atmosphere shifted. Fans waiting in the lounge glanced your way, some pulling out their phones, their whispers barely audible over the soft music playing in the background.

“People are watching,” you said under your breath, your fingers brushing against his arm.

Lando chuckled lightly. “Let them watch. We’re not doing anything wrong.”

His nonchalant attitude eased the tension in your shoulders, and you found yourself smiling despite the circumstances. The two of you checked in without a hitch, the staff professional and discreet, even as you caught sight of a few camera flashes from outside the glass doors.

Once you reached the privacy of your suite, the tension you hadn’t realized you were holding finally began to dissipate. You sank onto the plush couch, letting out a long exhale.

“That wasn’t so bad,” you said, glancing at Lando as he placed your bags by the wall.

He sat beside you, leaning back with a grin. “See? I told you. We can handle this.”

You turned to face him, your expression softening. “It’s just… surreal. To finally be here with you, not worrying about every little thing. I mean, I know the rumors and gossip won’t stop, but it feels different now.”

“It does,” Lando agreed, taking your hand in his. “Because we’re not letting it control us anymore. We’re doing this our way, on our terms.”

You nodded, the warmth of his hand grounding you. “It’s going to take some getting used to, though. I’m sure the paddock will have a lot to say.”

“Let them,” Lando said with a shrug, his tone calm but firm. “I don’t care what they think, as long as you’re with me.”

His words sent a wave of reassurance through you, and you squeezed his hand gently. “You’re really good at this whole boyfriend thing, you know that?”

He grinned, leaning in to press a quick kiss to your temple. “I try.”

The two of you spent the evening talking, discussing how you’d navigate the paddock together, and agreeing to address any questions with a united front. By the time you went to bed, you felt a sense of peace you hadn’t in months.

The Singapore paddock buzzed with excitement, the air thick with humidity and anticipation for the race weekend ahead. As you and Lando walked through the gates together, it was impossible not to notice the ripple of energy your presence caused.

Fans lining the barriers gasped, some clutching their phones tightly as they captured the moment.

“There they are!” someone whispered loudly, their voice barely audible over the collective murmurs. “It’s Y/N and Lando!”

Flashes from cameras and phones lit up around you as you kept a steady pace beside Lando. He was calm, his expression relaxed but confident, while you mirrored his composure, your hand grazing his arm lightly as if to reassure yourself.

Fans erupted into chatter, their voices mixing with the distant hum of engines.

“Oh my God, they’re actually together.” “Do you think this means they’re official-official?” “They’re not hiding anymore, but they’re still so lowkey. I love it.”

As you passed a group of fans holding up McLaren flags, Lando glanced their way with a small wave and a quick smile. You couldn’t help but grin when you heard someone squeal, “He looks so happy!”

Inside the paddock, the atmosphere was no less intense. Team members and media professionals stole glances at the two of you, some openly curious, others trying to act nonchalant.

You caught sight of a camera crew lingering near the McLaren hospitality, their lenses subtly but unmistakably trained on you and Lando.

“Ready for the circus?” Lando muttered under his breath, leaning slightly toward you.

You smirked, keeping your gaze forward. “I think I can handle it. You’re the one who’s got to focus on racing.”

He chuckled softly, his fingers brushing yours in a fleeting touch. “I’ve got that part covered. It’s the rest of this that’s new for me.”

Before either of you could say more, you spotted Lily Zneimer and Hattie Piastri approaching from the McLaren hospitality, their faces lighting up when they saw you.

“You’re here!” Lily exclaimed, her voice full of excitement as she pulled you into a quick hug. “I was wondering when you’d show up!”

Hattie grinned, giving Lando a knowing look before turning to you. “And here I thought you’d keep us guessing forever.”

You laughed, your nerves easing slightly. “I figured it was time. Can’t keep hiding forever, right?”

“Exactly,” Lily agreed, linking her arm with yours. “And you’ve got us. The paddock isn’t so bad once you’ve got the right people.”

Lando excused himself briefly to check in with his team, leaving you with Lily and Hattie. You felt the stares around you but found yourself surprisingly unbothered, their presence grounding you.

When Lando returned, he didn’t hesitate to rejoin you, his arm brushing against yours in a way that felt both casual and intimate. He didn’t seem fazed by the whispers or the cameras subtly tracking your every move.

Instead, he leaned down slightly and murmured, “Told you we’ve got this.”

You glanced up at him, the corner of your mouth lifting into a small smile. “We do.”

As the two of you walked deeper into the paddock, side by side, it was clear to everyone watching: while you weren’t laying out the details of your relationship, you weren’t hiding it anymore, either. And from the way fans’ excited chatter filled the air, it seemed they couldn’t be happier to finally see you together.

© soleilpinto 25’ -. no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any manner without the permission from the publisher.

Taglist: @bakingpiastries @linnygirl09

[gnstay]

Muse

Summary: The Salesman and his perfect wife. Her charm. Driven by obsession and love, they use Y/N’s beauty as a tool to navigate their dark mission, bound by loyalty and ambition.

Warnings: Psychological manipulation, dark themes, emotional distress, violence (implied), fluff (?) etc!

Characters: The Sales Man x F! Reader *Y/n*

Now Playing… Angel - Massive Attack

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The subway platform hummed faintly with the sound of trains coming and going, the air heavy with the metallic tang of the underground. The Salesman, dressed in his black suit, sat on a bench, casually shuffling a stack of ddakji cards in his hand. His posture was relaxed, but his sharp eyes darted across the sea of commuters, searching for that look of desperation.

Beside him stood Y/N, his wife. She wasn’t just beautiful; she was magnetic, a force of nature wrapped in elegance. Her siren-shaped eyes scanned the crowd with an almost predatory look, yet there was warmth in her expression—a warmth designed to sooth. She wore a tailored black double-breasted blazer dress with pleated detailing at the skirt. It is paired with thigh-high black stockings and black platform heels, creating a sleek and commanding look. A leather expensive bag hanging from her shoulder. The glow from the subway lights reflected off her flawless skin, and every small gesture—adjusting her coat, brushing a strand of hair from her face—seemed effortlessly captivating.

The Salesman’s hand paused mid-shuffle as he stole a glance at her. He did this often, watching her like she was the most precious thing in the world. She wasn’t just his wife; she was his obsession, his reason for everything.

He leaned closer, his voice low and tender. “You’ve outdone yourself tonight, love. You look… beautiful.”

She smirked, not looking at him but instead scanning the platform. “Flattery doesn’t get us any closer to finding the right one, hun.”

It’s not flattery if it’s true, he murmured, his tone adoring. “You could stop every train on this line with just a smile. How lucky am I to have you all to myself?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but a faint blush crept up her cheeks. “Focus,” she said, though her voice softened.

“That one,” she said suddenly, nodding toward a man in a rumpled suit. His shoulders were slumped, his tie ripped, and his shoes were scuffed. He sat on a bench a few feet away, his head in his hands as though he carried the weight of the world on his back.

The Salesman followed her gaze and smiled. “You always know, don’t you? It’s like a sixth sense.”

“I’ve had a good teacher,” she replied, glancing at him.

“No, Y/N,” he said, his tone suddenly serious. “You’re the teacher. I’m just your devoted student.”

She gave him a sidelong look, her lips curling into a sly smile. “Is that so?”

“I don’t know how I ever lived before you,” he admitted, his voice almost a whisper. “And I don’t ever want to find out.”

Y/N paused for a moment, her sharp focus flickering as she looked at him. There was something both endearing and unsettling about his intensity, the way his entire world seemed to revolve around her. But she thrived on it.

“Then let’s not waste time,” she said, her voice smooth and confident.

Y/N approached the man first, her movements slow and deliberate. She lowered herself onto the bench beside him, angling her body just enough to draw his attention. “You look like you’ve had a rough day,” she said gently, her voice soothed his nerves.

The man looked up, startled, his tired eyes meeting hers. “Uh… yeah,” he muttered, his voice hoarse. “You could say that.”

Y/N tilted her head, her dark hair falling gracefully over one shoulder. “Sometimes it feels like the world is working against you, doesn’t it?”

The man hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. Feels like that all the time.”

Her hand dipped into her bag, pulling out a neatly wrapped sandwich. “Here. You look like you could use this.”

The man stared at the offering, his hunger betraying his hesitation. He accepted it slowly. “Thanks.”

As he unwrapped the sandwich, the Salesman approached, his ddakji cards in hand and a warm smile on his face. He didn’t sit right away, instead standing in front of the man, towering just slightly but without menace. “My wife has a habit of helping people,” he said with a chuckle. “I hope she’s not bothering you.”

The man shook his head, chewing a bite of the sandwich. “No. She’s… kind.”

“She’s perfect,” the Salesman said without hesitation, his eyes lingering on Y/N. “I’m just lucky she keeps me around.”

Y/N shot him a look, a mixture of affection and amusement, but said nothing.

The Salesman sat down on the man’s other side, flipping a ddakji card between his fingers. “You know, sometimes life feels like a game, doesn’t it? Full of chances, risks, and rewards.” He held the card up. “Care to play one? A simple game, nothing too serious.”

The man frowned, his suspicion returning. “What kind of game?”

Y/N leaned forward, her voice soft and enticing. “A chance to change everything. One decision. That’s all it takes.”

The man hesitated, his hands fidgeting with the sandwich wrapper. Y/N’s gaze stayed on him, her expression warm yet commanding, as though willing him to comply.

“I don’t have anything to bet,” the man said finally.

“Your time,” the Salesman replied smoothly. “That’s all I need. And if you win, you’ll get something far more valuable in return.”

The man’s curiosity won out, as it always did. “Alright. Let’s do it.”

The Salesman grinned, setting the game in motion. The sharp slap of the ddakji cards echoed across the platform. The man was clumsy at first, but as the Salesman encouraged him, his confidence grew. Y/N watched quietly, her eyes flicking between the cards and the man’s face, reading him like an open book.

When the man finally won, the Salesman handed him the invitation, its gold lettering gleaming under the fluorescent lights.

“Congratulations,” the Salesman said, his voice warm. “You’ve earned a chance to change your life.”

The man stared at the invitation, his hands trembling. “What… what is this?”

“An opportunity,” Y/N said, her voice as smooth as silk. “Follow the instructions, and everything will make sense.”

As they walked away, Y/N reached for her husband’s arm, holding onto him with affection. “You’re incredible,” he said softly.

“You’ve told me that a hundred times today,” Y/N replied, though her smile betrayed her amusement.

“Because it’s true,” he insisted, stopping to pull her close. “Everything I do, every move I make, it’s all for you. You’re my beginning and my end, Y/N. My only reason.”

Y/N’s smile faltered slightly, the weight of his devotion pressing against her. But she nodded, her voice firm. “And I’ll always stand by you. No matter what.”

They were bound together by love, ambition, and an obsession that no one—not even themselves—could escape. She was his muse.

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TikTok: @gnstay

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[revelboo]

Sunny and sides?? When you can🙏 love those mechs

Sure!

Can’t Finish What you Started Pt 12

Sunstreaker x Reader, Sideswipe x Reader

• You’ve created a monster. Realize that now, but hindsight is always twenty-twenty. Knees on his shoulder, you stretch against Sunstreaker, polishing his plating to a glossy shine. While he purrs, engine rumbling nonstop at the attention. And you struggle not to grin at the sound, because it’s too cute and you’re sure he’s won’t appreciate you telling him that. He hadn’t even asked this time, just returned from patrol still wet from the wash racks, plucked you from where you’d been sitting and nudged a polishing cloth at you. Optics shuttering, his arm bends so he can run the back of a servo against your spine while you work. And you’re aware of Sideswipe lazing on his berth, watching you both and likely waiting his turn.

• Venting softly as you rub at his plating, he can’t deny how relaxing it is to feel those little hands sliding against him. “This is like a massage to you, isn’t it?” You ask and he looks at you. Not entirely sure what that is, but knowing that he likes this. Likes being able to relax and trust himself to someone else. “I always liked hot stone massages.” Wouldn’t that damage you? He’s seen how your soft skin discolors just from their handling. Bruising so easily. Optics half shuttered, he watches you work, able to get places that are hard for him to reach.

• “Sideswipe’s paint has been glossier than normal,” Sunstreaker murmurs and you resist the urge to twist the rag and snap it at him. Hear Sideswipe chuckle from behind you. You’d had to start polishing him, too after he’d seen you doing it for Sunny. It’s not like you’re about to play favorites with the twins. They’re both equally a pain in your butt. Even if you do kind of like them. Most of the time. “Not better than mine, of course.” And there’s that ego.

• “Of course,” you agree, lips twisting in a little grin. Teasing him. Servo sliding up between your shoulders and rubbing in a circle like the way you’re moving the polishing cloth, he’s surprised when you stop and lean back, pushing against his servo. “Please don’t stop. I’ve got a knot right there.” A what? Watching your eyes close when he applies a tiny bit more pressure, you let out a shuddering breath. Then make a noise that sounds almost like pain. “Right there.”

• Sitting up abruptly as your lips part, Sideswipe stares as Sunny keeps rubbing between your shoulders. Then you’ve got your bottom lip between your teeth, pushing back into Sunny’s touch and you make another of those soft, almost pain sounds that go straight through him. Something about those noises almost illicit. You’d called it a massage, but this seems uncomfortably intimate. And when he looks at his twin, Sunny looks every bit as mystified and unsettled by those sounds as he is. Watching as you stretch until something in your back pops and they both grimace, Sunny rolling slightly to dump you unceremoniously off of him onto the berth with a yelp. “Primus, don’t do that,” Sunny snarls, shuddering as you just stare at him.

Previous

[nigtmarcz]

⎯⎯ Love Me Not

hamzah x reader

based off the song love me not by ravyn lenae

summary: hamzah has been neglecting his girlfriend y/n due to his busy work schedule. y/n feels invisible and frustrated by his lack of attention.

warnings: sad???

wc: 1.9k

a/n: hello! this is my first time writing, so I’m sorry if it sucks lol. i was listening to this song and thought it would make a great plot for a story! hope you enjoy it! :3

-

The glow of the computer screen cast soft shadows across Hamzah’s face as he sat hunched over his desk. The air in his room was quiet except for the faint sound of his fingers tapping rhythmically on the keyboard. The newest Slushy Noobz video was almost done—just a few finishing touches before it would be uploaded for their fans who eagerly awaited their next upload.

But tonight, Hamzah wasn’t entirely focused.

His thoughts kept wandering to y/n, his girlfriend. She’d been on his mind constantly lately—more so than usual.

He hadn’t seen her much over the past few weeks. They were both content creators, each with their own projects, and while it was something they’d always been able to juggle in the past, recently it had begun to feel like the space between them was growing. She was in the living room, editing her own content, while he was buried in the latest Slushy Noobz video.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be with her, but he found himself getting swept up in the grind, constantly chasing the next big upload, the next milestone for his and Martin’s podcast, Out of Character. There was always something to do, something to edit, something to record.

But now, the silence between them seemed louder than ever. They hadn’t fought—at least, not in the usual way—but something unspoken lingered. Something that neither of them had fully addressed. And it was starting to feel like a weight pressing against his chest.

He glanced at his phone. y/n had sent him a message hours ago, but he hadn’t replied. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to, but everything had felt off.

Her text simply read: We need to talk soon.

The simple words made his heart sink. He knew exactly what she meant. She was frustrated. And he had been too distracted to notice.

With a deep breath, he closed his laptop, pushing the editing software aside. It felt like a relief to step away, but his heart ached with the nagging thought of the distance between them. He stood up, walking into the living room where y/n sat, bathed in the soft glow of her screen.

She looked up when he entered, and for a moment, neither of them said anything.

Hamzah opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, y/n stood up, her arms crossed. She looked tired, not just physically, but emotionally. He had seen that look before—the quiet frustration that came from being overlooked, from being too far down the list of priorities.

“I’m sorry, y/n,” he said, his voice quiet. “I know I’ve been distant. I’ve been caught up in work, and I didn’t realize how much it was affecting us.”

y/n gave a small, sad smile, but there was no warmth behind it. “I get it, Hamzah. You’re busy. But we haven’t really talked in weeks. I’ve been here, just waiting for you to notice, but it feels like I’m invisible.” Her voice broke on the last word, but she quickly swallowed the emotion, not wanting to show him too much.

“y/n…” Hamzah stepped forward, but she backed away slightly, a flicker of something in her eyes that he couldn’t quite understand.

“You don’t even see it, do you?” she asked softly, almost as if talking to herself. “I’m right here, all the time, and yet it feels like you’re living in another world—one where I don’t exist. Where it’s just you and the next video and the next podcast.”

He could feel the sting of her words, and he hated the way they made him feel like he was failing her.

“I don’t want you to feel that way,” Hamzah said, his voice barely a whisper now. “I don’t mean to make you feel invisible. I just… I don’t know how to slow down sometimes. There’s so much going on, and I get lost in it. But I never meant for you to feel left out.”

y/n shook her head slowly. “It’s not that you’re busy, Hamzah. I get it, I really do. It’s just that I don’t know where I fit in anymore. I’m here, and I care, but I’m starting to wonder if we’re even in the same place anymore.”

His chest tightened as the weight of her words sank in. He wasn’t sure what to say, how to fix it. He hadn’t been paying attention to what mattered most.

“I don’t need you to change everything, Hamzah,” she continued, her voice soft but firm. “I just want to matter to you. I want to be something real, not just an afterthought that comes second to everything else.”

“I do care about you,” Hamzah replied quickly, his heart racing. “I do, y/n. It’s just… it’s hard to balance it all. I don’t want to lose you.”

For a long moment, y/n stayed quiet, her gaze on the floor, her fingers lightly tapping on the edge of her laptop.

Finally, she looked up at him, her eyes heavy with a mix of pain and longing. “You say you don’t want to lose me, but you’ve been losing me slowly for weeks. I don’t know if you see it, but I miss you, Hamzah. I miss you, but I don’t need you. I miss the way we were before this whole thing took over. I miss you, come here.”

The words hit him harder than any criticism he’d received. The truth of it all hung in the air, like a silence that neither of them knew how to break.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice cracking just a little. “I miss you, too. But I don’t know how to fix this... I don’t want to keep failing us.”

y/n closed her eyes for a moment, taking a slow breath. When she opened them again, there was something softer in her gaze, something that felt like a mixture of hope and resignation. “Maybe we just need to find our way back. I don’t know, Hamzah. But I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep waiting for you to realize I’m here.”

Her words lingered in the air like a shadow between them, a painful truth neither of them could ignore. Without another word, y/n was gone. The door clicked shut behind her, and the silence that followed was suffocating. The house felt colder now, emptier, as if her absence had seeped into the walls, leaving Hamzah alone with the weight of everything unsaid.

-

Hours later, as the quiet of the night settled in, Hamzah sat in front of his desk again. His video was still unfinished, but for the first time, the video felt less important than the empty space beside him. y/n was gone now, her absence heavier than any argument they could have had. The silence in the house was suffocating, and the stillness in the air made his thoughts spin.

He stared at his screen, but the words from their earlier conversation kept replaying in his mind: I miss you, but I don’t need you, Hamzah. I miss you, come here. Those words hadn’t just been a declaration of longing—they had been a quiet assertion of independence, a signal that y/n was done waiting for him to notice.

Hamzah rubbed his temples, feeling the weight of what she’d said. She didn’t need him anymore, no matter how much she still missed him. The space between them wasn’t just physical anymore; it was emotional, deep, and unspoken. He realized she had given him a choice—one he hadn’t fully understood until now.

He reached for his phone, hesitated for a moment, then typed a message to her: “I don’t know what I’m doing, but I don’t want to lose you. Can we talk tomorrow?”

He hit send and waited. The seconds dragged on, stretching into what felt like hours, but no response came.

A moment later, the familiar vibration of a reply lit up his phone. He quickly unlocked it, hoping for some kind of resolution. But when he saw her message, a heavy weight sank into his chest.

“Okay.”

The words were short, almost distant. There was no warmth, no eagerness to reconnect. Just a quiet acceptance. 

-

They sat on opposite ends of the couch, the space between them more suffocating than any physical distance. y/n’s voice was calm, but there was a sharpness to her words that cut through the silence.

“I miss you, Hamzah,” she started, her gaze never leaving the floor. “I miss how we used to be, but I can’t keep pretending that things will go back to the way they were. I’m tired of waiting for you to notice me, for you to put me first. I need to move on, for my own sake.”

Hamzah opened his mouth, but the words stuck in his throat. He wanted to apologize, to say he could change, but deep down, he knew it wouldn’t be enough. He knew that something had already shifted between them, something that couldn’t be undone with words.

y/n continued, her voice steady despite the ache in it. “I’ve tried, Hamzah. I’ve tried to make this work, but it’s like I’m invisible to you. I’m right here, and you’re always so caught up in your work. I miss you, but I don’t need you anymore.”

Her words hit him like a punch to the gut. The weight of them sank deep, and he realized that she wasn’t just saying goodbye—she was choosing herself. Choosing independence over the emotional attachment that had once connected them.

“I think... I think it’s time we both move forward,” y/n said, her voice quieter now, but firm. “I can’t keep waiting for something that might never come. You’re not the only one with dreams and goals, Hamzah. I’ve got my own life to live, and I can’t keep holding on to something that isn’t there anymore.”

A silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken words and feelings neither of them could fully articulate. Hamzah wanted to reach out, to say anything that might change her mind, but he could see it in her eyes: she had made her decision.

She was already gone.

Later that night, after y/n had left for good, Hamzah sat alone in the empty house. The space felt colder than it had before, as if her absence had stolen the warmth from the walls. He sat in front of his desk, staring at the finished video, but all he could feel was the heavy silence that had taken her place.

The message he had sent her earlier echoed in his mind—I don’t want to lose you. But as he replayed their conversation over and over, he realized that he had already lost her. He had lost her to the space he had failed to notice, to the time he had neglected, and to the love he had taken for granted.

The realization stung more than he expected. He missed her too, more than words could say. But as much as he longed for things to be different, he couldn’t deny the truth: she was better off without him, seeking her own path, her own independence.

Hamzah leaned back in his chair, eyes closed, feeling the weight of everything she had said. He missed her. But more than that, he understood why she had to go. The ache in his chest reminded him that sometimes, love wasn’t enough to hold two people together.

And for y/n, it had been time to let go.

[midnightdahlias]

Lone Wolf

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summery - Bobby calls you when two hunters seem to need a rescue word count - 2.8k cws - gn!reader, kinda fluff (ig), typical supernatural hunt violence, mentions of weapons, mild language, mentions of injury, lmk if i missed anything a/n - the amount of times i've rewritten this fic-, i do hope you like it though, and as always rebloggs and comments are appreciated. happy reading !

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Driving was the calm between the chaos.

For hunters like you, it was the only time life didn’t feel like one giant nightmare. No claws, no teeth, no windows to get thrown through. Just the hum of the engine, the occasional song on the radio, and miles of open road.

Being a solo hunter? Even better. No one to babysit, no one to lose. It was just you and your thoughts. Peaceful.

...Well. Mostly.

Because, let’s face it, solitude had its downsides. You weren’t a robot. Sometimes, you wanted someone to talk to who wasn’t a bartender or Bobby Singer on the other end of the line. But people were a luxury you couldn’t afford—not when you knew what this life would do to them. You’d already learned that lesson the hard way, thank you very much.

But somedays you’d find yourself working with others, and today was one of those days.

“Hey, Bobby, got a case for me?” you asked, cradling the phone against your shoulder while you tightened the strap on your duffel bag.

“Not a case so much as a rescue mission,” Bobby said, and you could practically hear the grimace in his voice.

“Rescue?”

“Couple of knuckleheads went dark in Chicago. I sent ’em a case, and now I can’t get ahold of ’em. Might be nothin’, but…”

“Better safe than sorry,” you finished for him.

“Exactly.” He sighed, and you could hear the faint clink of a whiskey glass on his end.

“Why me? Don’t tell me I’m your only option.”

“You’re the best shot I’ve got, and you know it,” Bobby said gruffly. “Now, are you gonna help or stand there flappin’ your gums?”

You chuckled. “Yeah, I’m on it. Send me the details.”

The drive to Chicago was quiet, a welcome break from the chaos that usually followed you around. It gave you time to think: about Bobby’s call, about the hunters who’d gone dark, and about how you were the one he trusted to find them. You didn’t mind the weight of that responsibility. If they were still alive, you’d get them out. If not… you’d make sure the job was done. Either way, it was your mess to clean up.

Your first stop was the police station, where the missing hunters were last seen.

Flashing your fake FBI badge, you approached the front desk. “Couple of angets were here investigating some strange deaths. I’m their superior. Mind telling me what they found?”

The officer barely looked up. “You’ll want Detective Hayes. Down the hall.”

Hayes didn’t waste time. “They were looking into some deaths. Real messy ones. Claw marks, missing hearts, looks like a wild animal got to them. Weirdest damn thing.”

Missing hearts. Yep. Definitely your kinda thing.

He handed you the case file. You didn’t miss the way he watched you, like he was waiting for you to explain it all away. Instead, you nodded, thanked him, and left. The morgue confirmed what you already knew—this wasn’t some rogue animal. This was werewolves.

The victims were last seen at a seedy little bar on the edge of town. Sounded like your next stop.

The bar smelled like beer and poor life choices. You grabbed a seat at the far end, where you could see the whole room without sticking out too much. Years of hunting had taught you to trust your instincts, and right now, they were screaming something’s off.

Hours passed without incident. You were just about to call it a night when a hooded figure walked in, immediately drawing your attention. He moved with purpose, scanning the crowd before slipping a small envelope to a woman sitting alone, and walked out without a word.

Because that’s definitely not suspicious at all.

The woman opened the envelope, scanned its contents, then locked eyes with you.

You froze and your pulse quickening. Was it obvious you were watching her? Maybe. Did she seem like the type to care? Also maybe.

Just when you thought she might try and approach you or something, she stood and left without a word.

Again definitely not suspicious…

You waited a beat, and against every bit of common sense you had, you followed her out into the night.

You knew fully well that this could be a trap, but you also knew that this might be the only chance you’d get. You tailed her car at a cautious distance until she turned into an alleyway. Parking just past it, you got out and crept closer on foot.

The alley was dark and silent, save for the faint hum of a streetlamp. You kept your distance as she climbed out of her car, a sleek white sedan.

That’s when you saw it. A black ‘67 Chevrolet Impala parked behind her car.

Your heart stopped. No. Fucking. Way.

Everyone in the hunting community knew that car. It belonged to the Winchester brothers and if it was here, so were they.

Heart pounding, you crept closer to what looked to be an old theater near the alley. The door was left slightly ajar. Definitely a trap, but again what choices did you have other than to follow.

Knife in hand, you slipped inside.

The old theater was in disrepair. Dust covered the seats, and the air smelled of mildew. Yet the stage area seemed oddly intact, as though it were still in use. Before you could explore further, a low growl stopped you in your tracks.

Out of the shadows stepped a werewolf, its eyes glowing an unnatural yellow. You barely had time to react as it lunged at you.

“Of course,” you muttered, diving to the side. Your silver knife caught its flank, but the thing was fast. Claws swiped, catching your arm, but you kept moving, twisting the blade into its chest until it dropped.

Before you could catch your breath, a second growl echoed through the room.

“Oh, come on,” you groaned.

The woman from the bar stepped into the dim light, her face twisted, fangs bared.

“I knew you’d be trouble. You just had to poke your nose where it didn’t belong” she snarled, lunging at you.

You fought with everything you had. Her speed and strength outmatched the first werewolf by a mile. Claw marks tore through your jacket, and pain flared in your ribs, but you pressed on, besides you’d been through worse. Finally, a lucky strike drove your blade into her heart with every ounce of frustration you’d built up in the last 24 hours.. She crumpled to the floor, lifeless.

Panting, you staggered to your feet, surveying the room as you did so and spotted a faint light coming from backstage. You followed it and found the Winchesters tied up and unconscious but thankfully alive. Working quickly, you untied Sam, and began your attempts at waking the younger of the two brothers up.

“Come on Sam, wake up!” you whispered-yelled, shaking him furiously. His eyes fluttered open, and he blinked at you in confusion.

“Who—”

“Hunter. Bobby sent me. We can swap stories later.”

Before you could untie Dean, another werewolf burst through the door.

“Son of a—” you curesed under your breath, turning back to Sam “You handle your brother. I’ll handle him.”

The fight was grueling. This werewolf was stronger and faster than the others. It pressed you relentlessly, forcing you to dodge and counter with every ounce of skill you had. At one point, it pinned you, its jaws snapping inches from your face. Desperately, you reached for your knife, plunging it into its side. The creature howled in pain but didn’t relent.

You tried to reach for your blade again, but the creature had beat you to it and thrown it far out of your reach.

Just when you thought you were screwed, a gunshot rang out. The werewolf collapsed right on top of you.

‘’Ugh, seriously’’ you muttered, annoyed, even though someone had just saved your life.

You pushed away the werewolf, revealing Dean Winchester, awake and armed, smirking like he’d just saved the day.

“I had him,” you panted, brushing dust from your jacket.

Dean grinned, holstering his gun. “I think you mean, thank you.”

You rolled your eyes at him but couldn’t suppress a smile. “I didn’t need saving, but appreciate it anyway.”

You sat up, your body aching more now that the adrenaline was wearing off. Your hands were shaking, but you steadied them, trying not to show how badly you hurt.

You glanced over at Sam, who had just come into the room, taking in the full scene in front of him, his gaze flicking from you to the wolves you had ganked before even getting to the boys. "Did you—?"

You nodded, your muscles protesting as you stood. The reality of your injuries hit you all at once—scrapes, bruises, and a deep ache in your ribs. It wasn’t anything you couldn’t handle, but the exhaustion was creeping in. You’d deal with it later, when you had the space to breathe.

"Yeah, well, Bobby sent me to save your asses," you joked, trying to lighten the mood. "Would’ve been pretty embarrassing if I’d gotten myself ganked in the process.”

Sam didn’t laugh. His gaze was fixed on you, scanning your face, the bloodied scratches on your arm. He was looking at you with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat.

"You’re hurt," Sam murmured, his voice softer than you expected.

“I’m fine,” you replied quickly, brushing him off with a wave. “Just a few scratches. Nothing I can’t handle.”

But Sam didn’t look convinced. His jaw clenched, and he took a step toward you. “You sure about that?”

You laughed, a little too sharply. "Mhm. Besides, you should be worried about yourself. Have you looked in a mirror lately?”

You were used to being the tough one, the one who didn’t show weakness. But there was something about the way Sam was looking at you, his eyes filled with concern, that made it harder to pretend you were unaffected. It was sweet, but you weren't ready to let him in on just how much it affected you.

He didn’t answer, just kept looking at you like he was seeing you for the first time. Your heart fluttered, but you shook it off. “Seriously. I’m fine,” you said gently. “We should get out of here. Let Bobby know you two are alright.”

He didn’t answer, just kept looking at you like he was seeing you for the first time. Your heart fluttered, but you shook it off. “Seriously. I’m fine,” you said gently. “We should get out of here. Let Bobby know you two are alright.”

“Wait! I didn’t get your name,” he called out.

You smirked, turning to face him. “That’s because I didn’t give it.”

Sam frowned, but there was a playful glint in his eyes. “Guess I’ll just have to track you down next time.”

“Good luck with that,” you teased, climbing into your car.

As you drove away, the open road stretched ahead of you, peaceful as ever. But this time, you couldn’t shake the thought of a certain tall, hazel-eyed hunter. Maybe working alone wasn’t as perfect as you’d always believed. And as much as you hated to admit it, the idea of a little chaos... didn’t seem so bad.

The hum of the engine mixed with the music on the radio filled the car as you drove into the night, your mind still running a few steps behind, tangled in thoughts of Sam, of Dean, and what came next.

You couldn't help but wonder—was this the last time you'd cross paths with the Winchesters? Somehow, you doubted it.

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masterlist

[haikyuubby]

𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 ; h. shinso

“and i just want to know if you’re in love yet, girl.”

❀ , ✭ - fluff, some suggestiveness, female reader

𝐒𝐘𝐍: 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙨𝙤 𝙨𝙣𝙚𝙖𝙠 𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙙𝙤𝙧𝙢 𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙚 𝙖𝙩 𝙣𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙤𝙜𝙚𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧…

it was 11 at night, and i couldn’t sleep.

due to my immense fear of failure, ways that i could better myself and my combat skills distracted my mind, making it insanely hard to go to sleep.

training got canceled, due to weather.

it was raining heavily, we were on a flood watch so classes also ended early today.

this meant that i’d have to do something relevant to training, or else my brain wouldn’t shut off.

what better way to do that than to sneak out and train? at almost midnight…

i get dressed, putting on some workout clothes, accepting the fact that i’m gonna get drenched by the rain no matter what i wear.

as i carefully tiptoe out of my dorm room, i notice a tall figure standing in the common room.

if i was a little bit more delirious and tired, i would’ve thought that it was the hat man.

after i step closer to the figure, i soon realize that it’s just shinso.

“shinso? what are you doing up at this time?”

“it’s early for me, i was just…”

“…just what?”

“just thinkin’. where are you heading to?”

a part of me wanted to ask him to come join me, but i didn’t wanna seem…weird?

would it be odd of me to ask him to come train with me at such an odd time of night? would he appreciate it?

“looks like you’re about to go workout? orrrr are you training?” he interrupts my train of thought.

“yeah, i am gonna go train a bit. how’d you know?” i say in a joking tone.

“well, i figured that you’d find some way to get work put in today, you never take a break.” shinso says with a lighthearted laugh.

shinso and i were extremely close, we have been friends for about a year now, and i’ve had the biggest crush on him ever since we first met.

i heard about his quirk from other people, and that’s what piqued my interest in him.

after watching shinso’s performance against izuku midoriya at the sports festival, i’ve had an interest in him ever since.

sometimes, it irritated me that he knew me so well.

“yeah, i guess you’re right. if you want, you can come with.” i offer.

“yeah sure, let me go get changed real quick.”

shinso comes back after 2 minutes, wearing a hoodie and sweatpants.

we make our way outside, and to a nearby place we could train at.

we made sure to stay on high alert due to our surroundings— you never know when another villain attack might happen or when a teacher decides to stroll outside during this time of night…

shinso and i went to a forest, figuring that a forest would be a great place to hide from teachers if we got caught outside.

our plan was to just do basic hand-to-hand combat, not wanting to draw any attention to either of us by using our quirks.

the goal here was for one of us to immobilize the other; whoever does that wins.

i lunge at shinso, trying to grab his arm to bring him down to the ground.

to my luck, he catches my hand, causing me to lose my balance and jump back away from him.

“i know you’ve been working pretty hard, y/n, so come at me with all you got.” shinso says.

“i will.”

internally, i was screaming at this.

i love the way that shinso motivates me, his words are always so powerful and thoughtful.

after about 40 minutes of landing hits on one another, we come to a stopping point.

or so i thought.

shinso darts towards me, using one of his legs to sweep my foot from underneath me.

i take a fall right on my ass, my head hitting the grass immediately.

thankfully, the part of the forest that we were in didn’t get hit by the rain surprisingly, and it wasn’t raining right now.

as i’m taking in what just happened, i see shinso get on top of me.

i realize that he’s about to win, he could just pin me to the ground now and this’ll all be over.

i see his wrists coming down to grab mine, and i fight to get him off of me.

shinso’s body weight was no match for me, teenage boys are just too heavy.

his force brings my wrists down to the ground, immobilizing me.

as i realize the position that we’re in, my face warms up.

“i thought you were gonna come at me with all you got, y/n? what happened?”

at this point, i’m feeling extremely flustered, both from embarrassment and our position at the moment.

shinso’s grips on my wrist tighten— not enough to hurt me but enough to where i can’t move at the moment.

“fine…you win…” i say, turning my head away from him.

shinso’s eyes follow my head movements, forcing me to gaze into his eyes.

this felt…oddly intimate?

sure, we’ve had some romantic moments together, but nothing like this.

neither of us have came forward about our crush on one another just yet, but tonight might be the night.

“y/n, i like you, like really like you. you’re more than a friend to me, even if i haven’t said those things to you before, that’s how i feel.” shinso admits.

the close proximity is driving me insane, the way that he looked whilst being on top of me was amazing.

“i…feel the same way, shinso.” i respond, pushing my body up closer to his.

i can now feel his breath directly on my face, his lips are so close to mine that even the slightest movement would cause us to kiss right now.

“you drive me insane, y/n. it’s taking everything in me to not kiss you right—“

“do it.”

shinso looks surprised as i cut him off.

was he really expecting me to tell him to not kiss me?

he leans down ever so slightly, and brings his lips towards mine.

i have been dreaming about this for a while now, and it was everything i imagined it to be.

his tongue licks my lips, wanting to dive deeper into my mouth.

i wrap my legs around his lower body, wanting to feel every bit of him.

shinso smiles against my mouth at this moment, removing his hands from my wrist to feel up on my body.

shinso had one hand on my face, and one in the curve of my waist.

he starts to shove his tongue deeper into my mouth, i can tell that he’s getting really into this.

my hand makes it’s way into his hair, pushing his head down closer to mine, making his tongue move even farther down my mouth.

i moan at the feeling, it’s overwhelming but in the best way possible.

shinso then starts to move his hips against me slightly, letting me feel every part of his body at this given moment.

needing air, i pull away from our kiss.

before i say anything, shinso starts.

“i’m sorry, maybe i got a bit carried away there…you just have a crazy effect on me.” he says, getting off of me and helping me up from the ground.

“no, it’s okay. trust me i would’ve did more, but you have more self control than me…” i admit, saying that last part quietly.

“it’s okay!” he laughs, “we should get back soon, it’s already been an hour.”

i nod in agreement, starting to walk back towards the dorms.

“so does this mean that we’re dating now? orrr…” i say, anxiously expecting an answer.

“yes, i’m sorry. i should’ve asked before we kissed…will you be my girlfriend?” shinso asks while grabbing my hand.

i squeeze my hand in his, happily agreeing to be his girlfriend.

as we get closer to the dorms, i can only pray that no teachers are out during this time.

[moonlitstoriess]

Binding Lies- Eris Vanserra x fem! reader (mini-series) Part 4

Summary: When Y/N, Azriel's secret half-sister who lives far away, and Eris Vanserra form a strategic contractual marriage to further their own agendas, what begins as a carefully crafted arrangement soon becomes more complicated. As they pretend to be a perfect couple, the lines between duty and desire blur, and neither is prepared for the consequences.

See masterlist

Previous part

Warnings: a brief intense scene, nothing explicit or smutty.

Y/N stood at the edge of the ship, watching the rolling waves below, the salty air sweeping across her face as the sails creaked in the breeze. The afternoon glow of the sun sent a sense of calm over her, a perfect scene to mark the beginning of this journey. Yet despite the beauty around her, her thoughts were already far away—reeling from everything she’d left behind.

She had never imagined that she’d be leaving Montesere, much less as a princess of all things. A fake one, yes, but still, the title clung to her now. And soon, she’d be stepping into the Autumn Court—Eris' court—and the sheer thought of it made her stomach twist. The uncertainty of everything, the fear of stepping into an entirely new world, gnawed at her insides.

It was then that Samira found her.

"You’re going to freeze out here," Samira called softly, her voice a gentle contrast to the bracing wind. She stepped closer to Y/N, holding out a blanket she had snatched from one of the deck chairs. "Come inside. You’ll catch a chill."

Y/N turned to face her, trying to force a smile but failing miserably. The worry was written all over her face, and Samira, always observant, didn't miss it.

"You know, I’m starting to think you like the cold," Samira teased, draping the blanket over Y/N’s shoulders.

"Maybe," Y/N said with a weak laugh, looking back out at the horizon. "Or maybe I’m just trying to ignore the fact that I’m about to be someone I’m not."

Samira’s expression softened, her teasing tone gone. She placed a hand gently on Y/N’s arm. "You’ll be fine. You have everything you need, including me. And Eris, of course."

Y/N nodded, appreciating the sentiment, though she wasn’t entirely convinced. But there was no turning back now, was there?

“Come on,” Samira said, pulling her gently away from the railing. “Let’s get you settled.”

A few minutes later, they were below deck, the steady rocking of the ship more noticeable here as they walked down the narrow corridors. Samira led her to a small, cozy room tucked in the corner, its walls lined with shelves of books and scattered trinkets. There was something surprisingly homely about it.

Samira gestured to the small armchair by the window. "This is my room," she said, sitting down across from Y/N.

Y/N sat, crossing her arms. "Wow, seems like you have settled in quite well. I didn’t know you were such a bookworm."

Samira grinned. "You’d be surprised. I had to learn a lot growing up. I mean, not just Montesere’s ways, but the ways of the outer world, too.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. "The outer world?"

"Yes. The courts, the politics, the history, the fashion." Samira leaned forward, her eyes gleaming. "And you, my dear, are going to need to learn all of it, starting with the Autumn Court."

Y/N froze. "Wait, what? The Autumn Court?" She shot Samira a look of disbelief. "Are you telling me you know everything about the Autumn Court?"

"Well, not everything." Samira smirked. "But I know enough."

Y/N was still recovering from the shock. "How the hell do you know so much about Autumn?"

Samira raised an eyebrow, her expression playful. "Oh, darling, I’m not just some girl from Montesere. I spent my childhood growing up alongside Princess Leone in the royal court. I’ve had lessons on everything—from history to politics to the little things like fashion and mannerisms. And since you’re about to step into their world, I thought it was time you got a little... introduction."

Y/N’s eyes widened in horror. "You want to teach me about the Autumn Court?" she said, her voice a mix of amusement and dread. "Isn't that Eris' job? Though, I don't know why I am asking that, he will most definitely laugh in my face if I asked him to teach me something."

"Yes, Eris could probably explain it better," Samira said, shrugging. "But he’s busy, and besides, I know enough to help you get started. Plus," she grinned, "I don’t think he’d be half as entertaining as me."

Y/N sighed. "I’m starting to regret this already."

The next few hours were a blur of history lessons, fashion critiques, and endless discussions about politics that Y/N couldn’t quite keep up with. Samira went into detail about how the Autumn Court presented themselves—how they were proud, meticulous, and formal in every way. How every word, every glance, every gesture carried weight. Y/N tried to take it all in, but her brain was on overload.

“And remember,” Samira said, tapping a finger against her chin as she rifled through a stack of books, “Autumn doesn’t just dress to impress—they dress to intimidate. Think dark, rich colors—burgundy, deep green, dark gold—and always, always, carry yourself with confidence. No slouching, no hesitation."

Y/N had no idea how she was going to pull this off, but she nodded along, too tired to argue. Samira seemed relentless, though. She had them standing up, practicing the perfect posture—shoulders back, chin up, eyes forward—until Y/N was sure her back would break.

"Alright, now your hands," Samira said, lifting Y/N’s arm as if she were a doll. "They should always be held with purpose—either clasped in front of you, at your sides, or in your lap. None of this flailing nonsense."

"Flailing nonsense?" Y/N repeated, unable to suppress a giggle.

Samira shot her a playful look. "Yes, flailing nonsense. You can’t have any of that. You’re a princess, not a dancing windmill."

Y/N laughed. "I’m sure the Autumn Court will love me."

Samira didn’t stop there. They spent hours going over every little detail—how to speak to the other courtiers, how to greet them, how to respond to their questions, even how to walk properly in a gown. By the end, Y/N felt like she was going to drop from exhaustion, but Samira’s energy seemed endless.

"Alright," Samira said with a satisfied grin, leaning back in her chair. "Enough about Autumn Court for now. We’ve covered all the basics. Time to move on to the rest of Prythian."

Y/N’s face fell. "Wait, what?"

"Oh yes," Samira said with a mischievous gleam in her eye. "If you’re going to fool anyone into believing you’re a true princess, you’ve got to know the history, the politics, and the fashion of every court. Not just Autumn."

Y/N’s eyes widened. "Are you kidding me?"

"Not at all," Samira said, clearly enjoying herself. "You have to be prepared, Y/N. This is no joke. You’ll need to know the ins and outs of every court—from the Night Court to the Spring Court to the Winter Court. The more you know, the better."

"I’m done for today," Y/N said, standing up abruptly. "I’m going to go for a walk or something."

Samira chuckled. "Oh, you’re not escaping me that easily, princess."

Y/N grinned mischievously and dashed for the door.

"You’re not getting away that easily!" Samira shouted after her, but Y/N was already halfway down the hall, laughing as she ran.

Samira’s laughter echoed in the distance as Y/N sprinted up the stairs, not caring who saw her in her mad dash. She needed to clear her head—if she had to hear one more lesson on Autumn Court, she might lose it.

"Catch me tomorrow, Samira!" Y/N called over her shoulder, already feeling the weight of the world lifted for just a moment.

"Don’t think I won’t!" Samira’s voice floated behind her, full of mirth.

Y/N smiled, her heart lighter than it had been all day. At least she had someone to help her through this ridiculous journey.

She had barely made it halfway up the stairs before a firm grip on her arm yanked her back into the shadows. Her breath hitched, and before she could react, her body was pressed against the cool stone of the corridor wall. The scent of salt and musk filled her nose, and she tensed, ready to strike whoever had dared to sneak up on her.

But then she heard that voice—the voice she would recognize anywhere.

"Shh, quiet," Eris murmured, his face inches from hers. His hand still held her arm, steadying her, but his presence felt like a thousand pounds pressing against her chest. "Others are watching."

Y/N blinked, eyes narrowing as she processed his words. "What the hell are you doing, Eris?" she hissed, attempting to free herself from his grip, though it was futile. His hold was firm but not painful.

"Act like a loving wife and follow me," he ordered in that cool, commanding tone that sent a shiver up her spine. There was something almost casual about it. Like he expected her to obey without question.

Her breath hitched in frustration. "I’m not your wife, you know. Not for real. You can’t order me around like—"

"Shh," he repeated, his voice quieter now, a strange intensity behind it as his gaze flicked to the doorway of a nearby room. He motioned for her to follow him, and despite her irritation, she found herself falling in line, if only for the sake of avoiding suspicion.

They walked in silence down the dimly lit hallway, their footsteps echoing softly as they passed by several crew members, none of whom paid them any mind. Still, the weight of the situation hung between them—her feigned compliance and his silent command. She caught a glimpse of the curious glances of a few passing sailors, but she kept her expression neutral.

Once they reached the door to their shared quarters, Eris pushed it open, guiding her inside with a flick of his hand. As soon as the door clicked shut behind them, Y/N stepped away from him, immediately rolling her eyes.

She sighed dramatically, crossing her arms over her chest. "Well, looks like I really have to sleep with you for quite a while now, huh?"

Eris leaned against the door with a quiet chuckle. "Yep. Sorry, princess. We both have to endure each other until our time is up." His eyes met hers for a brief moment, a strange amusement flickering there before he smirked, clearly enjoying her discomfort.

Y/N couldn’t help but snort. "I’m so looking forward to this," she muttered under her breath. "Really."

Eris straightened up, his playful expression falling away, replaced with something closer to genuine curiosity. "Where were you for so long, anyway?"

Y/N blinked, caught off guard by the suddenness of his question. She opened her mouth to respond but faltered as his expectant gaze pinned her in place. There was something oddly… insistent about the way he asked, as if he truly cared to know. It was such a stark contrast to the way he usually acted toward her.

"What? Why do you care?" she shot back, her defenses immediately going up. She was a little taken aback by his interest.

"Don't get all defensive on me," Eris said dryly, rolling his eyes. "I just asked."

Y/N stared at him for a moment, trying to figure out what he was getting at. Then, she sighed and reluctantly said, "I was with Samira. We were—"

"Learning about my court, I know," Eris interrupted, his tone dry. "I guessed as much."

Y/N raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. "Oh, so you’re spying on me now?"

Eris smirked, though his gaze was oddly calculating. "Not spying. Just paying attention." He paused before his smirk softened into something almost unreadable. "Did you even eat?"

Y/N blinked at the sudden change in his demeanor. "What?"

"I had food sent to Samira’s room for you two," Eris said, his eyes momentarily flicking away, almost as if he were avoiding her gaze.

Y/N snorted. "Why would you care?"

"I don't," he said quickly, too quickly. "I just thought you might have gotten distracted in all your learning. I figured you could use some food." He threw her a sideways glance, his expression unreadable. "Did you eat?"

"Yes, we ate," Y/N replied, giving him an incredulous look. "We were busy learning about your court, if you must know."

"Mm, I figured as much," Eris said with a small nod, rubbing his thumb against his chin in a thoughtful gesture. "And what did you learn?"

Y/N folded her arms tightly across her chest. "Well, Samira was making me memorize all kinds of nonsense about your court. You know, the usual—how to act, how to speak, the history, the fashion, the whole damn thing."

Eris leaned back slightly, letting out a low whistle. "Sounds exhausting."

"Yeah, you could say that." Y/N gave a small, sarcastic laugh. "I’m supposed to be your loving wife, remember? Apparently, it’s not enough that I’m faking it. I have to learn it too. History and everything."

Eris chuckled, shaking his head. "Well, if you want to fit in, you have to know what you’re doing. It’s not like they’re going to just take you in as you are."

"Not my fault your court is full of stuck-up snobs," Y/N muttered, rolling her eyes.

Eris' grin turned playful again. "That’s the spirit," he said, pushing off from the door and walking toward the window. He stood there for a moment, looking out over the sea before turning back to her. "I can teach you a few more things before we get there, if you’d like."

Y/N raised an eyebrow. "Like what? How to pretend to be a princess even better?"

"Precisely," he said with a teasing glint in his eye. "It’ll make the whole thing easier, I promise. You’d be surprised what knowing the right words, the right mannerisms, and the right… presence can do."

Y/N sighed, her shoulders slumping. "Great. More lessons."

Eris smirked, taking a step closer to her. "Trust me, princess. You’re going to need them."

Y/N wasn’t sure why, but something about the way he said that made her uneasy. She met his gaze for a moment, her heartbeat quickening in her chest, though she wasn’t sure why. She quickly pushed the feeling away.

"Alright, enough of that," she said, trying to shake off the tension. "I’m tired. I think I’ve learned enough for one day."

Eris raised an eyebrow. "Really? You’re not going to practice your posture one more time?"

She shot him a playful glare. "Not unless you want me to kill you in your sleep."

Eris chuckled, but the smile faded from his lips as he turned to the door. "Very well. I’ve got a meeting on deck with the officials. It’s late, and I should get going." He gave her a pointed look. "You should get changed."

Y/N opened her mouth to say something, but before she could, their eyes met again, and for just a fleeting moment, everything else seemed to fade away. The tension between them, the shared space—everything felt… different.

Eris was the first to break the silence, clearing his throat. "I’ll be back shortly."

She nodded, still staring at him for just a beat longer than necessary. And then, without another word, he walked out, leaving her alone in the room.

Y/N stood there for a moment, trying to shake off the feeling in her chest. She let out a long breath and then, finally, moved to get ready for bed. She needed to rest, because tomorrow, she was going to face a new day—and who knew what Eris would throw at her next.

The rain had started softly, the kind that whispered rather than roared, and Y/N had been watching it from her cabin window, the rhythm of the droplets steadying her restless heart. She pressed her forehead to the cool glass, gazing out at the endless sea. It was still a marvel to her, the sheer vastness of it—how it stretched so far it seemed to blend into the sky at the edges. She’d never seen anything like it in Montesere.

Her thoughts wandered, a mixture of excitement and trepidation for the unknown that lay ahead. But her musings were cut short by a sudden, sharp clang from somewhere above, startling her so hard she nearly toppled backward.

The sound echoed through the corridor, followed by a low, ominous rumble that sent her pulse racing. Her gaze snapped to the window, where a flicker of orange light caught her eye. She froze. For a moment, she thought she was imagining it. But then the scent of smoke seeped into the room, faint but unmistakable.

Fire.

Panic shot through her like lightning. She flung open her cabin door, her feet bare against the cold wood as she bolted down the narrow hallway. The sound of her heartbeat roared in her ears, mingling with the distant crackle of flames and the thundering rain above.

The moment she pushed open the hatch, the storm greeted her with full force. The rain was no longer soft or whispering; it was a torrential downpour, soaking her to the bone within seconds. The wind howled, tearing at her hair and whipping the thin fabric of her nightgown against her skin.

She stumbled onto the deck, blinking through the sheets of rain. Her vision blurred as she searched for the source of the fire, the flickering light she’d seen from her cabin window. And there it was—a lantern, dangling precariously from the ship’s railing, its flame stubbornly clinging to life despite the storm.

Her heart lurched as the wind picked up, causing the lantern to sway violently. She watched, frozen, as it snapped free from its chain and plummeted to the deck. The glass shattered, scattering embers onto a coiled rope that had been left nearby.

The flames caught instantly, crawling up the fibers of the rope like serpents. Smoke billowed into the air, black and acrid, and Y/N’s instincts kicked in.

She darted forward, her feet sliding on the slick wood as she reached for the nearest bucket. It was half-full of rainwater, heavy as she hoisted it into her arms. The flames were growing, licking hungrily at the surrounding ropes. Her breaths came in short gasps as she hurled the water onto the fire, the hiss of steam rising in response.

The fire sputtered but didn’t die entirely. She grabbed another bucket, her arms shaking as she poured more water over the flames. This time, the fire went out, leaving behind a smoldering mess of charred rope and embers.

She collapsed to her knees, her chest heaving as she coughed against the smoke. The rain was relentless, washing away the soot and ash as it soaked her hair and skin.

“Gods,” she muttered, dragging a trembling hand down her face. “That could’ve been worse.”

The adrenaline began to fade, leaving her cold and exhausted. The rain continued to pour, and she realized she was shivering, the chill sinking deep into her bones. She needed to get back inside, back to the warmth of her cabin.

But her disorientation and the chaos of the storm made her clumsy. She stumbled as she turned, her wet feet slipping against the slick deck. When she finally found the door that led below, she didn’t realize until it was too late that she had taken a wrong turn.

She pushed open the door, expecting to find the familiar corridor that led to her cabin. Instead, she was met with warmth, light, and a room full of startled gazes.

It took her a moment to process where she was. The air was heavy with the scent of parchment, ink, and candle smoke. A long table dominated the room, its polished surface strewn with maps and papers. Around it sat a group of men, their expressions ranging from surprise to amusement to...lust.

At the head of the table sat Eris.

The golden glow of the lanterns cast shadows across his sharp features, highlighting the faint sneer that tugged at his lips. His auburn hair was slightly ruffled, and his piercing amber eyes were fixed on her.

Y/N froze, her breath catching in her throat.

The room fell silent, the quiet hum of conversation replaced by the soft patter of rain against the windows. She became painfully aware of her appearance—her black nightgown plastered to her body, leaving little to the imagination. Her wet hair clung to her face and neck, droplets of water running down her skin.

Eris’s gaze didn’t waver. His eyes roamed over her, slow and deliberate, taking in every detail. She felt exposed, as though he could see straight through her, past her soaked clothes and into the very core of her being.

Her skin prickled under the intensity of his stare. Her fingers tightened around the doorframe, her knees threatening to give out.

“I…” Her voice came out as a whisper, barely audible over the storm outside. “I’m so sorry.”

Still, he didn’t speak. His jaw tightened, and something dark flickered in his eyes—anger, perhaps, or something else she couldn’t name. The weight of his gaze was suffocating, and she wanted nothing more than to disappear.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated, her voice trembling as she backed out of the room. She didn’t wait for a response, didn’t dare to look at anyone else. Turning on her heel, she fled down the hallway, her bare feet slipping against the wooden floor.

By the time she reached her cabin, her face was burning with shame. She slammed the door shut, pressing her back against it as she tried to catch her breath.

“What is wrong with you?” she muttered to herself, dragging her hands down her face. “Could you be any more of an idiot?”

Her mind replayed the scene in excruciating detail—the startled faces of the officials, the way their eyes lingered on her, and Eris’s unrelenting stare. She groaned, sinking onto the edge of her bed and burying her face in her hands.

The storm outside continued to rage, but inside her cabin, the only storm that mattered was the one raging in her chest.

The storm outside howled, but the meeting within the lavishly furnished room of the Autumn Court’s ship was far from peaceful. Eris sat at the head of the table, the weight of the discussions hanging heavily in the air. The council members around him—each a self-important, puffed-up figure in their own right—argued endlessly about the next steps of the alliance with Montesere. It was as if each male present thought their own opinion carried the weight of the gods themselves.

Lord Ryver, the most outspoken of them all, leaned forward, a smug smile plastered across his face as he spoke. “The alliance is set, Prince Eris. We’ve secured the resources of Montesere, but now we must focus on their integration. Their military is strong, yes, but their royal customs? That’s where we need our focus. If we want to solidify this partnership, we need to ensure they understand the respect owed to us.”

Eris maintained his composure, though his patience was starting to fray. He had heard enough of this. His entire life had been spent managing these petty conversations, these pointless power struggles among men who thought they understood how the world worked but were blind to its true complexities.

“Yes, Lord Ryver,” Eris said coolly, “and I’m certain they’ll be very receptive to such lessons.”

A few chuckles escaped the mouths of the other men, a sound that made his teeth grit. He suppressed the urge to remind them that the real question wasn’t whether they would be receptive but whether they would be able to offer the value they claimed.

Lord Thorne, a bit more pragmatic but equally full of himself, shifted his weight in his chair. “We must discuss the future implications of the alliance. Montesere’s king has been known to play a careful game, and his ambitions may be far greater than our own. We cannot allow him to overstep.”

Another round of murmurs filled the room, most agreeing, but Lord Harkin, a close ally to Ryver, scoffed. “We’ve already secured our end. If anything, it’s his turn to prove himself. He owes us, and the best way to ensure loyalty is to give him no room to maneuver. I say we remind him of that. His wealth and military will be ours, but he needs to understand the price.”

A heated discussion broke out, and Eris fought the urge to stand and leave. If these rotten bastards didn’t realize they were discussing matters of state as if it were a children’s game, he would have no choice but to make them understand the real stakes. But he needed to let them bicker for a bit longer. The balance of power was delicate, and this alliance wasn’t the only thing he had to navigate.

Just as Lord Ryver raised his voice again, speaking of their “unwavering superiority,” a shift in the air caught Eris’s attention. His gaze darted to the door, but no one else seemed to notice the subtle change in the atmosphere. And then, the door swung open, and everything stopped.

Y/N walked into the room.

For a moment, it was as if the world had halted. Eris’s breath caught in his throat, his entire body tensing. The sight of her, drenched from the rain, her black nightgown clinging to her curves in a way that left nothing to the imagination, was enough to freeze the blood of any man in the room.

Her wet hair, glistening, framed her face and spilled down her back. She looked like a goddess, but in the most dangerous way. Eris’s chest constricted at the sight of her, and for a moment, all he could do was stare. His thoughts became muddled, his usual control slipping dangerously as he looked at her.

He quickly tried to regain composure, but his body betrayed him. His pants tightened as the sight of her, so beautiful, so untouchable, filled his senses. Her curves, her body, glistening with rain, held him captive. He forced his eyes to stay on hers, locking in a fierce stare, trying to regain some semblance of control.

But then, something worse happened. He noticed the looks of the other males in the room—the other seven.

Lord Ryver, Lord Harkin, and even Lord Thorne were staring at her, their eyes sliding over her body with dark, lecherous thoughts swirling in their minds. Eris could see it in their eyes, could almost hear the vile ideas they were thinking. It made his blood boil.

The anger coursed through him, hot and fierce, and he couldn’t contain it. How dare they look at her like that? She was his. His.

His jaw clenched, and he quickly scanned the room to see who else was watching. Lord Ryver, Harkin, and Thorne were the worst offenders—eyes glued to her wet form as if they couldn’t look away. The others, some more reserved, still let their gaze linger.

Eris’s mind was filled with rage. What was she doing here? Why was she wet? What could possibly have brought her into this room in such a state?

And then, as if on cue, she spoke.

A meek “Sorry” escaped her lips, her voice barely audible, and she turned to leave, her wet form still shimmering in the candlelight. The door clicked softly behind her, and for a long, pregnant moment, the room remained in absolute silence.

Eris remained frozen in place, staring at the space where she had been, his mind in a whirlwind. Every part of him wanted to chase after her, to demand an explanation. But he couldn’t lose control—not here, not with these males watching.

He waited, counting the seconds, until the silence became unbearable. Then, he spoke, his voice cutting through the air with the cold, hard edge of a blade.

“The next time any of you—” Eris’s voice was a sharp whisper that cut through the stunned silence, his gaze sweeping across the room, making each male shrink under his icy stare. “The next time any of you look at my wife like that, or stare at her for longer than three seconds, my face will be the last thing you see.”

His words were a deadly promise. His voice was venomous, each word dripping with a threat that made the room grow colder.

Lord Ryver shifted uncomfortably, his arrogance faltering as he tried to compose himself. Lord Thorne looked as if he might protest, but a single glance from Eris silenced him.

“You will respect her,” Eris continued, his voice dropping dangerously low. “If any of you so much as think of disrespecting her, I will make sure you regret it.”

His gaze landed on Lord Ryver once more, and a dangerous glint sparked in Eris’s eyes. “Understood?”

The males nodded, some looking paler than others, and all the bravado drained from them like water. They were afraid now.

Eris stood, his chair scraping against the floor as he leaned forward. “Good,” he said, his tone colder than the winter winds outside. “Now, back to business.”

And with that, he turned his attention back to the meeting, his mind still swirling with possessiveness and fury. He had to keep it together, maintain the façade. But his anger was still simmering, and he would deal with her later. The game wasn’t over, not by a long shot.

As the meeting resumed, the males remained uncomfortably silent, all too aware of the danger in Eris’s words. Eris sat back, his icy exterior returning, but inside, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something—someone—had irrevocably changed.

A knock on the door jolted her from her chaotic thoughts, her heart racing as though she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t. Y/N opened the door to find Samira standing there, her expression a mixture of worry and curiosity.

Samira’s gaze flickered over Y/N’s soaked figure, her hair dripping water onto the floor and her damp gown clinging to her skin. “I came as soon as I saw you,” Samira said, her voice soft yet urgent. “You were running back here, soaking wet, and I—”

“They all saw me,” Y/N interrupted, her voice barely above a whisper. She couldn’t bring herself to meet Samira’s eyes. Her cheeks burned, and a knot tightened in her chest as the words left her mouth.

“What?” Samira asked, her brow furrowing.

Y/N sighed and rubbed her face with trembling hands, her frustration bubbling over. “They saw me! All of them! The lords, the courtiers… Gods, Samira, their eyes were on me, all of them! What did they think? How much of an embarrassment I must be! How much I’ve probably disappointed Montesere!”

Samira opened her mouth to respond, but Y/N wasn’t finished.

“They’ll think I’m unworthy,” Y/N continued, pacing the room as she ranted. “A failure! A mess! I already feel like I don’t belong, like I’m constantly falling short, and this—this just proves it! They’ll think I’m weak, incapable of holding my place at his side, and I—”

“Y/N.”

Samira’s gentle voice cut through her spiral, accompanied by the light pressure of her hand on Y/N’s shoulder. Y/N stopped pacing, her breaths coming fast and shallow as she finally turned to look at her friend.

Samira offered a small, reassuring smile, her dark eyes soft with understanding. “Breathe,” she said calmly. “Just breathe. It’s alright.”

Y/N shook her head, still frantic. “But it’s not! You didn’t see how they looked at me—”

“It’s their fault for looking,” Samira interrupted firmly. Her voice carried an edge of steel that Y/N hadn’t expected. “Not yours. You did nothing wrong.”

Y/N blinked at her, her chest still heaving with panic.

“You’re not a disappointment,” Samira continued, her hand gently squeezing Y/N’s shoulder. “You’re still learning, and that’s okay. You have a long way to go, but you’re stronger than you think. And anyone who judges you for something so insignificant isn’t worth your energy.”

Y/N swallowed hard, her throat tight. She wanted to believe Samira’s words, but the weight of her embarrassment pressed down on her like a boulder.

“Come on,” Samira said, taking Y/N’s hand and leading her toward the adjoining washroom. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Inside, Samira began filling the tub with warm water, the soothing sound of running water filling the small space. She moved with calm efficiency, gathering towels and fragrant oils as she spoke softly to Y/N.

“Everything will be fine,” Samira said as she worked. “You’ve been through worse than this, haven’t you? A little water and a few stares won’t break you.”

Y/N leaned against the counter, watching Samira set up the bath. Her hands fidgeted with the damp fabric of her gown as she muttered, “But what if—”

“No ‘buts,’” Samira interrupted gently, glancing over her shoulder with a knowing smile. “Trust me. You’re overthinking it. Now, get in here.” She gestured toward the steaming bath with a playful nudge.

Y/N hesitated for a moment before finally shedding her wet gown and stepping into the tub. The warm water enveloped her, soothing her tense muscles and washing away the lingering chill.

Samira stayed by her side, chatting about lighter topics—gossip from Montesere, amusing memories from her past, and plans for the future. Her presence was a balm to Y/N’s frayed nerves, and Y/N found herself relaxing more with each passing moment.

By the time Y/N stepped out of the bath, dried off, and changed into a fresh nightgown, the tension in her chest had eased significantly. She settled onto the bed as Samira sat beside her, a jar of cream in her hands.

“Here,” Samira said, dipping her fingers into the cream and applying it to Y/N’s face with careful precision. “This will help with the redness.”

Y/N closed her eyes, letting out a small sigh as Samira’s fingers moved gently across her skin. The soft, warm ambiance of the room was a stark contrast to the chaos that had consumed her earlier.

The peace didn’t last long.

The door opened, and the warm, comforting atmosphere of the room was replaced by a cold, oppressive tension.

Eris stepped inside, his expression a mask of controlled fury. His golden eyes locked onto Y/N, and her breath caught in her throat.

Samira stiffened beside her, her hands freezing mid-motion. Slowly, she withdrew them, her gaze darting between Y/N and Eris.

“Out,” Eris said, his voice sharp and commanding.

Samira hesitated for only a moment before bowing her head. “Of course, prince.” She rose gracefully, offering Y/N a small, reassuring smile as she moved toward the door.

Once Samira had left and the door clicked shut behind her, Y/N was left alone with Eris. The air between them was thick with unspoken tension, and she couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes.

Her heart raced as she sat frozen on the bed, bracing herself for whatever was to come.

The room was so still it felt suffocating, the tension thicker than the storm clouds that had drenched her. Eris stood a few feet away, unmoving, yet his presence seemed to fill the entire space. His amber eyes glowed faintly in the dim light, unblinking as they bore into her. She could feel the heat of his fury, even though he hadn’t said a word yet.

“Look at me,” he finally commanded, his voice quiet but sharp as a blade.

Her head snapped up instantly, obeying the authority in his tone before she could even think. Her pulse raced as she met his gaze, the sheer intensity in his expression pinning her in place.

“What,” he began slowly, each word deliberate, “the hell were you doing outside in the rain?”

Y/N blinked at him, her mouth opening and closing as her thoughts scrambled. “I—I was—” she stammered, her voice cracking. Suddenly, her body moved on its own, standing up and placing the bed between them as though the piece of furniture could shield her from the storm brewing in him. “There was almost… fire. The lantern fell outside. No one was out there, no one saw it, but I did. I had to!”

His expression didn’t change, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. She felt her cheeks heat as she kept babbling, the words pouring out in a frantic rush.

“It could’ve turned into something worse, Eris! The rain was coming down so hard, and I—I thought it was better to handle it myself instead of bothering anyone else, and—”

“That’s not your job,” he cut in, his tone clipped, cold, and cutting through her rambling like a blade.

“What?” she asked, startled by the interruption.

“It’s not your job to be doing those things,” he repeated, his voice firmer this time. “There should’ve been workers outside to handle that.”

She gaped at him, disbelief mingling with her growing frustration. “Are you kidding me? It was pouring rain! Why would someone be outside?!” Her voice rose as she gestured wildly. “The lantern fell right in front of our window, I saw it, so I handled it! Why wouldn’t I—”

“You could’ve been hurt.”

The words were delivered in a tone slightly louder than before, sharp enough to silence her. Y/N froze, the air between them charged with something that made her stomach flip. His anger wasn’t just annoyance or frustration; it was something deeper.

Eris slowly began to move, his steps measured and deliberate as he circled the bed. His gaze never left hers, pinning her in place like a hawk closing in on its prey.

“What kind of a husband would I be,” he said, his voice low and smooth, “if I allowed you to keep hurting yourself?”

Her breath caught in her throat. His words were so unexpected, so layered with meaning, that she couldn’t immediately respond. Her eyes stayed locked on his, wide with shock as he stopped just a step away from her.

“You’re not my real husband,” she blurted out, her voice quieter than she intended but no less resolute.

Eris tilted his head slightly, his expression darkening. “And?”

Y/N scoffed, crossing her arms defensively. “You don’t need to pretend here,” she said, her voice trembling slightly despite her attempt at defiance.

His jaw ticked, and she knew she’d hit a nerve. For a moment, she thought he might lash out, but instead, his voice came out calm, eerily calm.

“All of them saw you,” he said, his tone softer now but no less intense.

Y/N felt the blood drain from her face as his words sank in. She shook her head, her thoughts racing. “I—I didn’t mean to… I swear, I didn’t know where I was going, I wasn’t thinking, I just—”

Eris’s gaze softened suddenly, his features relaxing in a way that caught her completely off guard. Before she could process it, he reached out and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, his fingers brushing against her skin.

“I know,” he murmured. “No need to apologize.”

Her lips parted, but no words came out. She stared at him, caught between disbelief and something she couldn’t quite name.

Y/N sighed, the weight of her embarrassment crashing down on her again. “They probably think so lowly of me now,” she muttered, more to herself than to him. “They probably think I’m some kind of… whore.”

The word barely left her lips before Eris’s expression darkened once more, the possessiveness in his eyes blazing back to life.

“They won’t be thinking any of that,” he said firmly, his voice laced with steel. “I made sure of it.”

Her eyes widened, her shock evident as she searched his face for any sign of insincerity. “What… what do you mean?” she whispered.

“No one will ever look down on you,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Not while I’m here.”

He took another step closer, erasing the distance between them until they were almost touching. His golden eyes burned into hers, and Y/N found herself unable to look away.

“Just next time,” he said softly, his voice almost a whisper, “come get me.”

She nodded slowly, her heart hammering in her chest. The intensity of his presence was overwhelming, consuming, and she felt like she was teetering on the edge of something she didn’t fully understand.

Then, just as suddenly as it had come, the moment broke. Eris stepped back, the warmth of his body leaving her as he turned toward the washroom.

“I’m in dire need of a relaxing bath,” he said, his tone returning to its usual cool detachment. Without another glance, he disappeared into the washroom, the door clicking shut behind him.

Y/N stood there in stunned silence, the room suddenly feeling too empty and too loud all at once. Her pulse thundered in her ears as she tried to process what had just happened, her mind replaying his words over and over.

Come get him? What did that even mean?

Her legs finally gave out, and she sank onto the edge of the bed, her hands trembling slightly as she stared at the closed washroom door. For the first time in what felt like forever, she didn’t know what to think—or how to feel.

The room was enveloped in darkness, the faint scent of candle wax lingering in the air. Y/N lay on the bed, her back turned towards the other side, her body stiff with the weight of thoughts pressing down on her. She wasn’t asleep—far from it. Her mind was a tumultuous storm of guilt, confusion, and dread. Her fingers nervously twisted the edge of the blanket as she replayed the events of the day over and over. The meeting. The stares. Eris’ voice, his touch. The fire in his eyes when he’d spoken to her, the way his gaze had seared through her.

Her chest tightened. She didn’t know if it was from embarrassment or something else entirely. What had he thought of her? What had those other males thought of her? Shame mingled with her self-recrimination. A Monteserian "princess", soaked to the bone, stumbling into a room full of Autumn courtiers like a fool. What a sight she must have been.

She squeezed her eyes shut, willing sleep to come, but it eluded her. The ship creaked softly with the rhythm of the waves, the distant hum of the sea the only sound filling the silence—until his voice pierced through the darkness.

"I know you're awake."

Her body jolted, startled by how effortlessly he seemed to read her. She didn’t turn to face him, but her breathing hitched. For a long moment, the room was silent again, save for the creaks of the ship and the muffled lapping of water against the hull.

Finally, she sighed. “I can’t sleep,” she admitted quietly.

Another pause, and then, "What’s on your mind?"

She hesitated, not expecting such a question from him. It was easier to avoid the truth, so she deflected, “Tell me about the courts.”

She waited, expecting him to scoff or brush her off, perhaps even mock her for being naive. Instead, to her surprise, he answered.

Eris began speaking in his calm, measured tone, his voice cutting through the stillness like a warm blade. “The Summer Court. Hotheaded fools, most of them. They think the sun and their endless coastline make them untouchable. Tarquin’s a decent enough High Lord—idealistic and stubborn. He always has a way of seeing the good in people, even when there’s none to be found.”

Y/N turned slightly, her gaze now fixed on the window, the faint sliver of moonlight creeping through. She listened as Eris continued, painting a picture of the courts in his sharp, unfiltered way.

“The Spring Court? Tamlin’s a shadow of what he once was. After everything, his court barely functions. I’d be shocked if they made it through another decade without collapsing entirely. He spends most of his time drinking himself into oblivion.”

“Day Court,” he continued, his tone a touch more neutral, “is ruled by Helion, a High Lord who’s almost as arrogant as I am, though at least he’s clever. Knowledge is power there. You’d like their libraries, I think.”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard by the casual compliment buried in his words.

“Winter is quiet,” he added, his voice softening slightly. “Kallias keeps to himself. They’re not involved in much unless it’s forced on them.”

“And the Night Court?” she asked hesitantly, her pulse quickening.

Eris hesitated, and she felt the weight of his silence as if he were carefully choosing his words. “The Night Court… Rhysand and his Inner Circle think they’re saviors of the realm. They’ve built themselves quite the empire, but alliances with them are… complicated. I don’t care for friendships or grand ideals, so we keep things civil. Barely.”

Her heart thudded loudly in her chest as she anticipated his next words.

He spoke of multiple fae in the Night court, different people who served Rhysand. He spoke of his closest court too, of some "weird witch" named Amren, of Mor--though Y/N could feel the clear frustration and discomfort he had when speaking of her--of Feyre, Nesta and Elain, of Cassian and lastly....Azriel.

“Azriel,” he said at last, his tone dipping slightly. “He’s one of Rhysand’s spymasters. A shadow-singer. We don’t exactly… get along.”

The air seemed to grow heavier, Y/N biting her lip as she tried to maintain her composure.

“Why not?” she asked carefully, her voice barely above a whisper.

Eris exhaled, and she could feel the shift in his demeanor even though she wasn’t looking at him. “Maybe another day,” he said curtly, signaling the end of that topic.

She nodded, not wanting to push him further. But before she could stop herself, the words tumbled out. “Tell me more about Azriel.”

Eris was silent, and she immediately regretted asking. But then, his voice cut through the darkness again, tinged with a slight edge of curiosity. “Why are you so interested in him?”

“I…” she scrambled for a response. “I’ve just heard of him before, that’s all.”

He didn’t press further, and she exhaled in relief as he began to speak again, though his tone was sharper now, as if discussing Azriel put him on edge. “He’s a dangerous male. A shadow-singer is not someone to underestimate, no matter how composed they seem. He’s loyal to Rhysand, as are the rest of that blasted court. But loyalty doesn’t make him any less insufferable.”

Y/N’s chest ached with every word, her emotions threatening to spill over. Eris had no idea. He had no idea that Azriel—the male he so clearly despised—was her half-brother.

“Will we… will we ever meet these people?” she finally asked, her voice trembling slightly.

Eris sighed. “Of course. They’re High Lords, Y/N. There will be gatherings, events, and plenty of occasions where you’ll have to meet them.”

Her throat tightened. “I’m scared,” she whispered. “I’m not used to it… to any of this.”

Eris didn’t respond right away, and for a moment, she thought he might brush her off. But then his voice came, steady and firm. “You’ll be fine.”

It wasn’t said softly, nor was it cruel. It was simply a statement, one that carried a strange sort of reassurance.

“Go to sleep,” he said after a moment, the finality in his voice clear.

She turned her head slightly, catching the faint silhouette of him lying on the bed, his back turned to her. The ship creaked again, the sound of the waves filling the room once more. Y/N stared out the window, her thoughts swirling as the moonlight cast its faint glow.

Eventually, the exhaustion of the day overtook her, and she drifted off into a restless sleep, the weight of everything she had learned—and everything she still didn’t know—pressing down on her chest.

The sun was shining mercilessly today, as if it had no recollection of the thunderstorm that had raged through the night. The ship was steady underfoot, the waves lapping gently against the hull, their rhythm a far cry from last night’s chaos. Eris stood in his private office below deck, gazing out through a small circular window at the sparkling sea. The sunlight streamed in, making the wood-paneled walls appear golden, and yet his thoughts were far from serene.

The late-night conversation with Y/N refused to leave his mind. Her voice, low and hesitant, lingered like a melody. She had asked about the courts, about him. He hadn’t anticipated her curiosity about Azriel, nor the way it would unsettle him. She had hung on every word, her questions so deliberate, so measured, as though she were walking a fine line. Why? Why the sudden interest in a spymaster of the Night Court, someone she had likely never even met?

Eris scowled and turned away from the window, pacing the length of his cabin. Y/N was a puzzle he hadn’t yet figured out, and every moment he spent with her only added more pieces to the board. She had been quiet, introspective, but there was a storm brewing beneath that calm surface—he could feel it. And yet, despite his irritation at her elusiveness, he found himself drawn to her in ways he couldn’t quite explain.

A sharp knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts. One of the ship’s servants stepped in, bowing slightly before addressing him. “The breakfast you wished for is ready, my prince. Princess Y/N has been informed and is already waiting for your arrival.”

Eris nodded curtly, dismissing the servant with a wave of his hand. He lingered for a moment, running a hand through his hair before straightening his tunic. He told himself the breakfast was a necessity, part of the elaborate charade they were playing. A loving couple, deeply bonded, unshaken by the whispers of court politics or the tension that surrounded them.

That’s all it was, he told himself firmly. But a nagging voice in the back of his mind suggested otherwise.

He ascended the stairs to the deck, the bright sunlight momentarily blinding him. As his eyes adjusted, he scanned the ship, his gaze drifting toward the nose where the table had been set. And there she was.

For a moment, he froze.

Y/N stood by the railing, the sunlight dancing on her skin. She wore a simple yet elegant dress, its fabric flowing lightly in the sea breeze. The color—a soft, muted blue—brought out the brightness of her eyes, and the cut was both practical and feminine, perfectly suited for a day on the ship. Her hair had been swept up into an intricate style, with loose strands framing her face, giving her a radiant, almost ethereal appearance.

She turned as she heard him approach, and when her gaze met his, she smiled. The kind of smile that could disarm anyone.

Before he could gather his thoughts, she crossed the deck and took his hand, her touch warm and soft. “Come on,” she said, her voice light, almost playful. She led him to the table, her fingers curling around his in a way that felt… deliberate. He quickly realized why. The servants were still arranging the last of the breakfast, their eyes flickering toward the two of them.

She’s putting on a show, he realized, schooling his expression into a neutral mask.

When they reached the table, Y/N released his hand, and the servants stepped back, bowing slightly before disappearing below deck.

“I’m glad you made us sit far away,” Y/N said as she settled into her seat. “I don’t like too many eyes on me.”

Eris raised a brow, leaning back in his chair. “Well, I needed to make sure we were having a proper couple’s breakfast,” he said, his tone laced with mild sarcasm, “not putting on a performance for the entire crew.”

Her lips quirked into a small smile, and she shook her head, taking a sip of water.

They ate in relative quiet for a while, the hum of the ship and the cries of distant seabirds filling the space between them. Eventually, Eris broke the silence. “Your hairstyle is… different today.”

Y/N looked up, startled, and her fingers brushed against the intricate twists and braids. “You like it?” she asked, her voice tinged with curiosity. “Samira put a lot of effort into it this morning.”

Eris found himself smiling faintly, though he quickly masked it. “She did a fine job,” he said smoothly.

Y/N’s smile widened, and they fell into easy conversation, a surprising shift from the tension of the night before. She was more animated today, more relaxed, and it was… disarming.

Then, out of nowhere, she mentioned a name.

Tideholt.

Eris froze mid-bite, his fork hovering in the air. “What did you say?”

“When Samira was helping me get ready,” Y/N repeated, her voice soft, “she mentioned a harbor city we’ll be passing today. I’d like to go there.”

Eris’ brows furrowed. “Why?”

Y/N sighed, setting her utensils down. “I haven’t seen the world beyond Montesere, Eris. Please. Just one stop. We’ll look around, that’s all.”

He frowned, considering her request. “That place is not exactly…” He trailed off, unsure how to explain the harbor’s reputation without alarming her. “It’s not the kind of place you wander around unguarded.”

“I’ll have you with me, won’t I?” she countered, her tone hopeful.

Eris stared at her, torn between irritation and something he couldn’t quite name. Finally, he sighed, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Fine. I’ll inform Captain Lorrick to dock there for a few hours. We could use some extra supplies anyway.”

Y/N’s face lit up, her smile so bright it momentarily stunned him. For a fleeting moment, she looked… unreal. Like something out of a dream.

He quickly recollected himself, clearing his throat as he looked away. “Now eat your food,” he said gruffly.

She grinned, but to his relief, didn’t press further. They ate the rest of their meal in a comfortable silence, the kind that didn’t need words. But Eris’ mind was far from quiet.

Y/N was a mystery. And the more time he spent with her, the more he wanted to unravel it.

The excitement had been building within Y/N all morning as the ship neared Tideholt, the harbor city that Samira had mentioned earlier. She stood at the edge of the ship, her hands gripping the railing as she gazed out at the sprawling city on the horizon. The waters seemed to part around them as the ship drew closer, and she couldn’t help the flutter of anticipation that bubbled in her chest.

The sun was high in the sky, casting a warm, golden hue across the sea and the city itself. Tideholt was nestled against the coastline, its buildings rising in layers up the cliffs, with narrow streets winding through them. The air was fresh with the salty scent of the sea and the promise of new experiences. The ships that dotted the harbor looked like giant, sturdy beasts, each one with its own tale to tell. The city’s shores were lined with docks, bustling with activity, as merchants, sailors, and traders shouted and bargained. She could feel the energy of the place already, and it sent a thrill through her veins.

Beside her, Samira stood, her eyes wide in wonder. “Gods,” she murmured, “how unusual it is to be so far from home.”

Y/N nodded, her voice quiet as she responded. “Yes. It feels… different. Like there’s more to see than just what’s in Montesere.”

Samira grinned, her eyes glinting with excitement. “I’ve heard rumors about places like this—about the lives lived outside our walls. I can’t wait to see what it’s really like.”

Y/N felt a lightness she hadn’t realized she’d been missing. A sense of possibility, a break from the heaviness of her past and the role she had been cast into. For just a moment, it felt like she could breathe again. A life beyond her duty and the expectations that followed her.

Their chatter was cut short as one of the sailors called out from the ship, his voice booming over the clamor of the busy harbor. “Docking in five minutes! Get ready!”

The announcement broke the spell of excitement, and Samira turned to Y/N, her grin widening. “Come on,” she said eagerly, “let’s see what this harbor city is like, shall we?”

Y/N laughed, a warm feeling spreading through her chest. “Yes. Let’s.”

The ship creaked and groaned as it made its way closer to the dock, the sailors expertly maneuvering it into place. The air was filled with the scent of brine, and Y/N could hear the distant calls of gulls above them, their wings sweeping in arcs over the water. As the ship slowed to a stop, she couldn’t contain the rush of emotion that surged within her. They had finally arrived.

Once the ship was docked, Y/N stepped forward, her eyes scanning the bustling port city before her. Her heart raced with anticipation. There was so much to take in—the clatter of wooden carts being loaded with goods, the colorful flags fluttering in the breeze, and the multitude of people going about their business in all manner of dress. She caught glimpses of people from all walks of life: sailors with weather-beaten faces, merchants shouting their wares, women in brightly colored dresses, and children darting through the crowd. The city had an energy, a pulse, that she had never experienced before.

She took a deep breath, letting the salty air fill her lungs, the cool breeze tugging at her hair. This place was nothing like Montesere, and it made her feel small and infinite at the same time.

Eris stepped beside her, his presence grounding her. He said nothing, but his eyes scanned the scene in front of them, his sharp gaze missing nothing.

When the gangplank was lowered, Y/N walked forward, her body filled with an unfamiliar sense of purpose. She wasn’t sure what she expected from this city, but it was more than she’d imagined. The smell of fresh fish, the sounds of the sea, the clinking of coins—it all felt so alive.

She could hear Samira’s light footsteps behind them, but she kept her eyes forward, her focus solely on the way the city stretched before her. There was a quiet thrill building in her chest, something that had been dormant for too long. A desire to explore, to see things for herself, beyond the rigid confines of her life back home.

As she stepped off the ship, she felt a tug at her hand. She turned to see Eris, his grip firm around her wrist. His hand tightened as he pulled her slightly closer, and Y/N found herself staring up at him in confusion.

“Eris?” she whispered, her voice laced with uncertainty.

He leaned in slightly, his expression stern. “Trust me when I say this place is too dangerous,” he said, his voice low. “Don’t argue with me about it here.” His tone held an authority that made her spine stiffen.

Y/N felt a flicker of surprise, followed by a flash of uncertainty. The city, with all its vibrancy, was suddenly not what she had thought it would be. Dangerous? The thought left her unsettled, but she didn’t argue. She simply nodded.

Eris didn’t look back at her, his eyes scanning the surroundings as he spoke to the rest of the court. “Do as I tell you,” he ordered. “Stay out of trouble. If you’re given orders, follow them. We need supplies, but don’t stray far.”

A few guards and courtiers dispersed at his command, but Samira stayed close, walking a few paces behind them with another guard. Y/N wasn’t sure if that made her feel better or worse, but it was clear that Eris was making sure no one got too close to her, not even Samira.

Eris’s hand remained around her wrist, and she found herself walking beside him, the sound of their footsteps echoing off the cobbled streets as they moved deeper into the city. Her heart pounded, not with excitement, but with the awareness of how tightly he was controlling the situation.

The streets of Tideholt were narrow, winding between buildings that were both charming and worn by time. There were people everywhere—fishermen hauling nets, children running with baskets, vendors selling goods from carts. The sea was always nearby, its waves crashing against the dock, reminding Y/N of the vastness of the world she had yet to discover.

But as she looked at Eris beside her, his eyes sharp and focused, she understood that this place, for all its beauty, was not a safe haven. It was a place of danger, a place where anything could happen—and she wasn’t sure she was ready for whatever Eris was trying to shield her from.

As they walked, Eris kept his grip on her wrist, his fingers warm and firm around her skin. He was a shield, a protector in his own way. She had never been given this much attention, never had someone so clearly watch over her every move. It felt suffocating and comforting all at once.

Finally, after a few moments of silence, Eris spoke again, his voice barely above a whisper. “Stay close,” he said. “Don’t wander off.”

Y/N nodded, her throat tight as she followed him deeper into the unknown.

The sounds of the city filled his ears—the bustling chatter of vendors, the calls of the street performers, and the rhythmic clatter of feet on cobblestones—but none of it could drown out the sound of her laughter, high and free. Her steps were light as she skipped from stall to stall, her fingers brushing the goods on display, her face alight with the thrill of the moment. It was as though the entire city was a playground, and she was the most carefree child in it.

She had started out quietly, but as they ventured further into Tideholt, she transformed. Eris watched, a faint smirk pulling at his lips, as Y/N darted from one vendor to another, her eyes gleaming with excitement. It was contagious, her energy making the mundane appear magical. She had no care for the grandeur of the world she was used to—this was real, this was spontaneous, and it was nothing like Montesere.

“I need this,” she said suddenly, holding up a set of beautifully beaded earrings from a street vendor. They shimmered in the sunlight, vibrant and full of life, the colors dancing as if they had a mind of their own. She turned to Samira, who was walking beside them, her expression equal parts amused and fond. “What do you think?”

Samira raised an eyebrow. “They’re… bold.”

Y/N laughed, spinning on her heel. “I think I’ll take them,” she said, and without waiting for another word, she handed over the coin and accepted the jewelry from the vendor, her fingers eagerly fastening the earrings in place.

Eris, walking a few paces behind, couldn’t help but watch her, his sharp eyes observing her every move. There was something about the way she moved—free and untethered—that stirred a strange feeling in him. The carefree joy on her face, the way she interacted with the people around her, the way she laughed—it was all so unfamiliar.

It wasn’t the female he had come to know—the one who carried the weight of a kingdom on her shoulders. It was a different side of her, one that hadn’t been given room to breathe in the shadow of responsibility. And for a moment, he found himself almost… envious.

But he quickly pushed that aside. He wasn’t here for distractions. They had a mission, a purpose. Still, the sound of her laugh—the brightness of it—tugged at something inside him. It unsettled him, the way it made him forget the sharp edges of his own reality.

“You’re going to bankrupt me at this rate,” he said, his voice dry but playful as Y/N ran ahead once more, her laughter ringing through the air. She had spotted a cart selling brightly colored silk scarves, and without hesitation, she was already making her way to it.

She grinned over her shoulder at him, her face a picture of mischief. “Not if you’re the one who keeps paying for them, my dear husband,” she teased, and then turned her attention back to the scarves.

Eris’ smirk deepened, his thoughts momentarily clouded by the way she referred to him. There was something about the way she said it, as if the pretense had become second nature to her, that made his chest tighten. It was all just a game to her, wasn’t it? Just another act in a long string of performances. But the realization stung a little more than he expected.

He pushed the feeling away, focusing instead on the bright colors and chaos around them.

After buying yet another trinket—a tiny carved wooden horse that Y/N insisted was “too cute to pass up”—she stopped to catch her breath. Samira was shaking her head, half-smiling, as she gave the small bags to the guard.

“Can’t you go five minutes without finding something to buy?” Samira teased.

Y/N grinned. “I’m enjoying myself. Don’t ruin it.”

And with that, she darted off again, this time pulling Eris along with her, much to his surprise. He could hardly keep up as she raced toward a juggler performing for a small crowd. She was utterly caught up in the spectacle, eyes wide with wonder as the juggler tossed knives into the air, spinning them in graceful arcs.

Eris couldn’t help but chuckle, his amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You’re incorrigible.”

But then, as if the universe itself had decided to break the spell, everything shifted in an instant.

A scream rang out.

It cut through the laughter of the crowd, jolting everyone into a stunned silence. The juggler froze midair, the knives clattering to the ground. Y/N’s hand flew to her chest, her breath catching in shock as she looked around, trying to identify the source of the scream.

The air grew heavy, the vibrant atmosphere of the market turning to a tense stillness. Eris immediately moved closer, his body instinctively shielding Y/N as his eyes scanned the crowd. Something was wrong.

Another scream—this time more guttural, more panicked.

Then, chaos erupted.

A group of masked figures appeared from the shadows of the surrounding alleyways, their faces obscured by dark cloths. They moved with a terrifying precision, slicing through the crowd, their eyes scanning every face, every person in their path. Eris’ hand went to the hilt of his blade, his movements swift and deliberate as he pulled Y/N behind him. The guard beside Samira did the same.

“Stay close,” he growled, his voice low and urgent.

Y/N’s pulse raced as she clutched his arm, her eyes wide. “What’s happening?” she whispered, fear beginning to creep into her voice.

Before Eris could answer, the masked figures began to charge toward them. The air was filled with the sound of feet pounding against the cobblestones, and then one of them—a tall man with a scar running across his cheek—lunged toward Eris, blade drawn.

Eris was quicker.

In one smooth motion, he drew his own blade and blocked the strike, his face hardening with cold determination. But as he fought off the attacker, another figure appeared behind him, aiming a dagger at Y/N. She barely had time to react before she felt a cold hand grab her wrist, yanking her away.

“No!” Eris shouted, turning just in time to see her being pulled into the chaos.

Adrenaline surged through him as he rushed forward, but the crowd was too thick, the figures too numerous. He caught a glimpse of Samira and the guard somewhere, fighting off another group of attackers. He fought his way toward Y/N, his mind racing with every possible worst-case scenario. This wasn’t just a random attack—this was a carefully orchestrated ambush.

Y/N’s voice reached him, frantic. “Eris!”

But before he could reach her, another figure appeared, cutting off his path.

And then, with a sharp crack of sound, the world around them seemed to twist.

An explosion.

The ground shook beneath their feet, sending them both sprawling to the ground. Smoke and debris filled the air, blocking his vision. He coughed, his eyes stinging from the sudden cloud of dust.

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Taglist: @batboyslutt @k-godling @littowl @jaybbygrl @kissesfromnovalie @talesofadragon @tele86 @annamariereads16 @circe143 @yukimaniac @babypeapoddd @darkbloodsly @hauntedstudentobservationus

[winchestersisterimaginessss]

Request: can I get a fight between Dean and sister?

A/N: Hope this is what you were looking for! Requests are always open:))

The silence in the bunker was thick, suffocating. The low hum of the lights seemed to echo in the space as you stood at the kitchen counter, hands trembling slightly as you fought the urge to scream. You’d been stuck in here for days, confined within these walls, and every second of it felt like an eternity.

Dean was hovering again. He’d been doing it since Crowley resurfaced. Every time you moved, he was right there, watching you, making sure you didn’t wander off. He hadn’t let you go anywhere alone. And it was driving you insane.

You weren’t a child anymore. You knew what was at stake. You were old enough to understand the dangers, old enough to make your own decisions. But no matter how many times you told him that, Dean just wouldn’t listen.

Tonight was no different. You had had enough.

You turned, eyes locked on Dean as he stood by the door, arms crossed, his jaw set in that familiar, protective way. “I’m going for a walk,” you said, your voice tight with frustration.

Dean didn’t flinch. His eyes narrowed, and he took a step closer. “No, you’re not.”

You felt your heart rate quicken, the anger flaring up. "What? Why? Dean, I’ve been stuck in here for days. I’m just going for a walk. It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine,” he snapped, his voice rising with tension. “Not with Crowley out there, kid. Not with the him sniffing around.”

“I’m not a kid anymore!” you shouted, the words burning in your throat. “You don’t get to keep treating me like one, Dean!”

Dean’s face hardened, his voice cutting through the space like a blade. “You’re 17. You’re still a kid. That means you’re my responsibility. You don’t get to make decisions like you know what’s out there. You don’t get to walk off into that mess alone. I’m not letting you.”

Your chest tightened, the frustration boiling over. “I’m not a kid, Dean! And you’re not Dad!” The words left your mouth before you could stop them, raw and full of all the resentment you’d been holding back.

Dean froze, his expression going cold for a split second. But then his eyes flashed with something darker, something more desperate. He stepped toward you, his hands balled into fists at his sides.

“Yeah, well,” he ground out, his voice rough, almost shaking with the intensity of his emotions. “Dad’s not here, is he? Huh? He’s not here to look after you. He’s not here to keep you safe. I am. And until I know you’re safe, you’re not going anywhere alone. Not with that son of a bitch out there.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut. Your throat tightened, the breath getting caught behind the weight of what he’d said. For a moment, neither of you moved. The anger lingered in the air, thick and suffocating, but beneath it, there was something else—something softer, more fragile.

Dean’s jaw clenched, and he took another step toward you, his voice quieter now but no less intense. “You think I want to be doing this? You think I like treating you like you’re some little girl I have to watch over? Hell no. I know you’re tough, I know you’re strong, I know you can handle yourself. But you’re my responsibility, kid. You’re all I’ve got left. And I’ll be damned if I let anything happen to you, not while I’m breathing.”

You stared at him, your mind spinning, heart hammering in your chest. You wanted to argue, to scream that you didn’t need him to control you. But you couldn’t. Because deep down, you knew he was right.

Dean wasn’t just trying to control you. He was terrified. Terrified of losing you. Terrified of Crowley getting his hands on you.

“I get it,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “I get why you’re doing it, Dean. But, I can’t keep living like this, always under your thumb, like I’m some helpless little thing. I need to breathe. I need to be me.”

Dean’s eyes softened for a fraction of a second, and you could see the conflict swirling inside of him. He was struggling too—trying to balance that protective instinct with the realization that you weren’t a child anymore. That you needed space.

But the fear in his eyes was still there, burning. “I’m not trying to control you, kid,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’m trying to keep you alive. I don’t know how to keep you safe when I don’t know where the hell Crowley is or what he’s planning. I’m not losing you.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with all the weight of the years you’d spent together. You could feel the love, the desperation, the sheer panic that came with the thought of losing someone you cared about. But at the same time, you wanted to be your own person. You wanted to make your own choices, not be treated like a child, even if it came from a place of love.

“I’m not gonna let you walk out there and get yourself caught up in something you don’t understand,” Dean continued, his voice lower now, pleading. “I can’t.”

The raw vulnerability in his voice hit you harder than anything else. You knew he was scared. You knew he was just trying to protect you. He was trying to keep you alive. Trying to keep you from walking into something that could tear you apart—something that could tear him apart, too.

Dean’s voice was low, almost apologetic now, as he stepped back and placed his hands on his hips. “You know I’m not doing this to control you, right? I’m doing this because I don’t want to lose you. You’re all I’ve got left, kid.”

The words hit you harder than anything else. Your anger faded into something softer, something more raw. You felt your own breath catch in your chest as you took a step closer to him.

“I know,” you said quietly. “I know, Dean. I get it. I do.”

Dean gave you a long, searching look before he nodded, his jaw tight. “We’ll get through this, okay? Together. You’re not walking out there alone with Crowley still lurking around. Not until it’s safe.”

You looked him in the eyes, and for the first time in a long time, you let the fear in his gaze sink in. You understood why he was doing it and you were okay with the compromise.

“Fine,” you said quietly, looking down at the floor. “But only until it’s safe.”

Dean finally let out a sigh of relief and, for a brief moment, he reached out to give your shoulder a firm but gentle squeeze. “Thanks for understanding, kid. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”

You didn’t say anything back, you just nodded and leaned into his chest. You let the moment pass, feeling the weight of it hang between you, and realizing that he wasn’t hovering out of control. He was doing it because he loved you. Because you were his responsibility, and as much as you wanted to fight it, that meant everything.

[apoloadonisandnarcissus]

“I’ll be good, I’ll be good…”: Victorian Medicine and Society in “Nosferatu” (2024)

This film has several points of view to present the story; because it’s a non-linear and intricate narrative, filled with unreliable narrators. The story is mostly dominated by the “Victorian point of view” (with the humans characters), because Robert Eggers’ concept with his films is to transport the audience to the time his films take place; it’s way of thinking, behaving and believing.

Victorian society is represented by the Hardings (the perfect Victorian family) and Thomas Hutter, and Victorian medicine by Dr. Wilhelm Sievers, who calls himself a “modern doctor”, in the sense that he embraces the latest medicine trends of the early 19th century (obviously).

When Ellen is having what the Victorian doctors classify as “epilepsies” caused by her “troubled nerves” or “hysteria”, she’s communicating with Orlok, as confirmed by Von Franz: “The pupil is expanded. It does not contract naturally to the light. […] A second sight. She’s no longer here. […] She communes now with another realm.”

Her “hysterical fits” mirror the Trance-like states of Pagan priestesses (Trance mediumship), and that’s why she gets compared to one, by Von Franz later. Ellen trances aren’t only physical; they are, mostly, spiritual, and Orlok talks to her, too.

However, during her scene with Thomas, she breaks off her trance when he, not knowing what to do, says he’ll fetch Dr. Sievers to help. A doctor that will contain her with drugs and/or binding her to the bed. And she doesn’t want that, so she promises she’ll be good, as she ends her communication with Orlok.

And this is the first time we see something like this happening, because, until this point, it seemed like Ellen didn’t had any control over her trances. But this scene proves that she does, she can snap out of it, at will. But why doesn’t she, more often? Probably because of what Lily-Rose Depp says in this interview. And how Robert Eggers says Ellen doesn’t hide her sexuality. This scene also proves something else: it wasn’t Thomas that “blocked” Orlok; it was Ellen herself.

Lina Muir, the costume designer, talked about the importance of Ellen’s corset to the plot in a interview with “The Art of Costume”:

One example of costume design serving the plot, as you mentioned, is Ellen’s corset. I came across a particular style called a fan-laced corset during my research, which I’ve also referred to as a “self-tying corset”—though it doesn’t actually tie itself! This type of corset can be tightened from the front, allowing the wearer to adjust it independently. For Robert, this design was ideal. When Ellen is in the throes of her supernatural connection with Orlok, the men around her—Sievers and Harding—try to impose control by tightening her corset. Because of the fan-laced design, we can see her anguish and convulsions, as well as the men’s oppressive actions, without needing to obscure her face or body by laying her prone. This moment is a perfect example of how research and storytelling can come together harmoniously in costume to enhance a scene.

And, indeed, we see Ellen corset consume her, to the point she tries to break free from it during this scene with Thomas:

This is Ellen desperately trying to break free from Victorian society expectations and medicalization of her. She wants freedom, she wants to be herself in a society which will never accept her, and will always restrain her (metaphorically and literally) not only with drugs and tying her to the bed, but with gender roles of marriage and children (a major theme in Female Gothic literature). And she wants Thomas to understand this, but he can’t (like Robert Eggers tells us in several interviews). He’s unable to handle the situation, and his reaction is to do what Victorian society tells him; call the doctors.

We also see Ellen grabbing her corset, while Dr. Sievers is tightening it to restrain her, trying to stop him from doing so.

Those unfamiliar with Victorian medicine, it’s a wild ride. Victorian doctors were obsessed with demonizing sexuality (especially female) to the point endless pathologies (diseases) were theorized about it, and it was during this time period the notion of “paraphilias” was created. Female sexuality was seen as a plague and a monstrosity in need of containment, because the ideal Victorian woman was a model of virtue, purity, virginity and modesty; who didn’t take pleasure in sexual activities.

Married heterosexual sex was the only socially acceptable sexual expression in the Victorian era, and everything else (masturbation, homosexuality, prostitution, etc.) was considered deviant, and labeled as “sinful” and “evil”. Sex was a marital duty, and often seen as a painful task women had to go through to have children, because being a submissive wife and a mother was women’s role in Victorian society. Women served their husbands, including sexually. Regular sex was considered important to men’s health, and husbands could beat and rape their wives without fear of legal repercussions, because the husband owned the wife, according to the law. In the early Victorian era (in which “Nosferatu” takes place), women’s sexuality was controlled by their husbands. Marriage was considered of the pillars of patriarchal society and social order, and a social contract, above all.

The fear of sexual transmission diseases was also at a all time high during the Victorian era. Which is also connected with vampirism lore; a “disease of the blood”. STD’s were seen as a sign of civilizational failure, and sexuality itself by extension. A decent Christian knew how to control their impulses, and sexual impulses were seen as animalistic, uncivilized and demonic. Von Franz tells demons seek out and haunt those who are dominated by “low animal functions”, meaning, sexualized. And this encapsulates Victorian views of sexuality.

Which is also connected to the 19th century racist theories. Where indigenous civilizations, with their Pagan-shamanic ancestral religions and traditions, were seen as “uncivilized”, “animalistic” and “demonic”, and hence the “Western Christian white man” was superior. It also during this period the notion of “The White Man's Burden” is born, connected to Colonialism, because it’s the Christian white men destiny to civilize non-white peoples, by erasing their culture and heritage, and violently impose Christianity upon them (even among fellow Europeans, who weren’t considered “white”).

It’s no coincidence the character who’s deemed the “villain” in this story is a Eastern European Pagan sorcerer and a Pagan creature (strigoi). Orlok, the Pagan sorcerer from the “uncivilized” East of Europe comes to the West to bring blood plague and death, threatening the lives of the good and moral Christian white men. As a Pagan, he’s also demonized as a “devil worshiper” by the Christian characters (even though his sigil and coat of arms has no satanic symbols). The Victorian characters see him as a demon terrorizing a woman, and Ellen as a poor victim of his sexual perversion, of his sickness. Ellen is in “grave danger” Von Franz tells the audience.

The Victorian characters victimize and patronize Ellen; she’s blameless because she’s “sick”, she has a “disease” she’s not able to control. Anna says she’s innocent, a “sweet Romantic” and Von Franz calls her a “child” repeatedly. Then, they come to the conclusion Ellen is “cursed” and needs to be saved and protected from this sickness, from this “plague carrier” who is trying to corrupt her by inflicting sexual pleasure (sickness and shame) upon her, threatening to turn her into a demon. It’s even reassuring to these characters that this “creature” happens to be a Eastern European, strengthening the idea of Ellen’s innocence and victimhood at his hands.

Why? Because Victorian women were expected to be innocent, ignorant and naïve about the world. And if a woman wasn’t innocent, she should pretend to be, which is what we see with Ellen, as she accuses Orlok of corrupting her innocence (making her “unclean”) and of being “her shame”, even though she’s the one who grants and denies him access to places (strigoi folklore). The average Victorian woman wasn’t allowed to be educated nor possess knowledge outside of the domestic. A woman’s entire life revolved around men: obeying their fathers, preparing for marriage, seeking an husband and as a wife, living for her husband.

An important historical note: we are talking about middle and upper class women here. Working class and poor women had to work, the same as men, and children. And poverty was also seen as a moral failure by Victorian society.

Friedrich Harding, however, is not so convinced of Ellen’s innocence and naivety, and he resents her because of what she represents; not only “otherness”, or “sickness”, but mostly female sexuality. He’s allowed to be sexual and display sexuality because he’s a man; Ellen cannot because she’s a woman. Friedrich is not convinced because he recognizes his own nature in Ellen (“rutting goat”; “always hungry”): “her dashing young husband is leaving her bedside cold” as he jokes with Thomas before his departure. And he tells Ellen himself: “I am most sensitive to your ardent nature”.

And he doesn’t want her anywhere near his wife, nor their children, and reluctantly accepts this friendship between them, probably out of respect for his dear friend, Thomas. In the Harding household, we also see the strict gender separation; the women and children in one room, and the men in another, drinking and smoking. It’s the domestic sphere vs. public/social life.

Friedrich Harding sees Ellen as a bad influence on his wife and children, and as a social embarrassment to Thomas, as he chastises Ellen for her behavior: “Find the dignity to display the respect for your caretaker” and “And for your husband’s sake, I pray you might learn how to conduct yourself with more deference.” He also instructed Anna to keep Ellen away from their children, and wasn’t pleased with his wife disobedience, however he’s too passionate about her to be angry about it (“I cannot resist you, my love”). Because virtue and decency were the Victorian ideals, and a woman’s reputation was said to be her greatest treasure. And since husbands owned their wives, the wife’s behavior would reflect on the husband.

Harding also considers Ellen a burden on their household, which Anna herself agrees, but she loves her, and, as such, endures her because Ellen is a decent married woman, and, as such, blameless of her disease.

These choice of words aren’t random from Eggers’ part, because this is Victorian female role model in a nutshell. Victorian Christian women endured everything out of “love”, considered the opposite of “passion”, which the sacrament of marriage was meant to repress and contain, alongside erotism and “animalistic impulses” (sexual desire), especially when women are concerned. In the Victorian era, “love” was considered tempered devotion confined to the household. Because “lust isn’t love” is a staple of the Victorian definition of “love”, and so, love was meant to be chaste, modest and restrained. And initiated by the men (who could be as lustful as they wished to be, as we see with Friedrich Harding character).

The Hardings are also the couple Ellen and Thomas wish to emulate, because that’s what Victorian society expects of them. Thomas admires and aspires to become like Friedrich; a successful man, with a good and wealthy house, and a devoted and comfortably settled wife, who elevates his social respectability.

And so, Thomas dismisses Ellen’s concerns as “fancies” and “things of the past”, sweeping them under the rug to make them go away, and pretending they don’t exist: “Ellen, we have put these difficulties behind us” and “Never speak these things aloud. Never. It is a trifle. A foolish dream, just as your past fancies.” He fears her “past melancholies” might return, symbolizing his failure as a husband and a man, before Victorian society.

For Victorian men, marriage was the institution where they could fully accomplish their male privilege: to form a household, exercise authority over dependents (wife and children) and provide safety and comfort where the trademark of a successful man (gender role). This was also connected to their social and professional success, making them respectful in the eyes of other men. A man who couldn’t govern his wife was also seen as unfit, socially, professionally and morally.

And this is Thomas ambition: he wishes to climb the social ladder, being “no longer a pauper” who has to ask his wealthy friend, Friedrich, for money, drowning himself in debt. As he tells Ellen, he aspires to buy them “a fine house” of their own (implying the one they live in, will probably rented), with “a maidservant”. Ellen says she’s doesn’t need any of that, all she needs is his love: and, indeed, she married “down”, because Ellen comes from a wealthy family, and we see the contrast between her family house in the prologue (a manor), and the small apartment she shares with Thomas (with old and damaged wallpaper).

And now, we have the context of Ellen scene with Thomas: this entire scene is her putting his Victorian male identity into question. She accuses him of not writing, which means she’s accusing him of not loving her, because letters were a part of Victorian love ideals. Then, Ellen weaponizing Thomas’ ambition against him: “You never listen. Well where is it? Your money? Your promotion? Your house? Where is that which is so precious to you? Have you paid back kind Harding your debt? Have you repaid him with this plague that infects his wife? For what? For what? For these... things?!” What she’s truly accusing him, here, is of being a failure, as a husband, and as a man in Victorian society.

During this scene, we see the extent of Orlok’s connection with Ellen, too, as she reveals some things he says to her, and even weaponizes them against Thomas: “He told me about you.” And calls him “weak”, “fearful” and reveals she knows about Orlok attack on him, and further questions his masculinity (she compares him to a “swooning lily of a woman”).

And Ellen breaks off her communication with Orlok when confronted with the threat of more drugs and imprisonment; and she promises she’ll be good, which echoes with what Friedrich Harding told her, earlier: “Find the dignity to display the respect for your caretaker”. She’ll try to be a good Victorian wife for him, as she has tried to be until recently. But then gives him the final insult of saying: “You could never please me as he could.”

And Thomas has sex with Ellen, symbolically establishing his ownership over her. She’s his wife, she belongs to him, not to Orlok. And now she weaponizes this against Orlok, as she tells Thomas to let him see their love, because this is the kind of love Ellen wants, and craves. And then asks Thomas to kiss her heart, but he refuses. Then, she kisses Thomas heart, where Orlok fed on him, and Thomas has a vision of Ellen, as Orlok (like he did in the castle just before Orlok attacked Thomas), and begs her to stop it.

Thomas promises Ellen is safe with him, because he’s a good Victorian husband who can protect and govern his wife. She can trust him to protect and rescue her from this Eastern European demon, because he’ll step up to his role, destroy and save his wife from danger, like he’s suppose to. His entire male identity depends on it.

This is also the “second night”, where the perfect Victorian patriarch Friedrich Harding is powerless to protect his wife and children from Orlok. Just as Ellen vows and fails to embody the “Victorian wife role model”, we see Orlok killing this archetype in the narrative: Anna, and also the children, which are deeply connected with women’s identity in the Victorian era. Ellen gave him access into the Harding household, and, now, he’ll destroy the archetype Ellen doesn’t want to be. He also feeds on Friedrich; the perfect Victorian patriarch Ellen doesn’t want to be married to, but Thomas aspires to be.

When Victory society archetypes come together to destroy Orlok, Von Franz studies Ellen’s reaction to their plan. Because he’s the character who put “two and two together” concerning who summoned and unleashed Orlok (Ellen) and he just discovered Orlok plan by reading the Şolomonari codex of secrets he found in Herr Knock’s office: Orlok seeks to break his own curse and set his spirit free, and he wants to take Ellen’s spirit with him. Von Franz doesn’t tell Ellen about these instructions, only to be true to her own nature. He also tells her she’s not meant for Victorian times, where she’ll always be ostracized and demonized: she could have been a great priestess in Pagan times. But the modern world has no place for beings like her, or Orlok. But, still, she’s their salvation.

[akookminsupporter]

There’s a photo—or, well, I guess it's a screenshot from this clip—that happens to be one of my absolute favourite pictures of Jimin and Jungkook. This clip itself is one of my favourites of the two of them for two reasons.

The first reason, and probably the most obvious one if you’re someone who pays attention to details, is how perfectly their outfits are coordinated. It’s like they’re matching but not in a way that’s too deliberate or forced. They’re both wearing the same colours, but the way those colours are used or styled is slightly different in each of their outfits. Jimin and Jungkook do this quite often—whether it’s a coincidence or intentional, who knows?

If you think about it, they’ve always had this knack for wearing the same colour palette. Over the last few years, they’ve even started leaning towards a similar overall style of clothing. The main difference is that Jungkook’s outfits tend to be noticeably more oversized, while Jimin’s clothes are oversized as well, just not to the same extreme. But in general, their styles are so alike that it’s hard not to notice. They both gravitate towards neutral tones—white, black, greys, and the occasional earthy tones. Jimin, however, is a bit more adventurous when it comes to colours. He’ll sometimes add a pop of something unexpected, but even then, he stays within a very sophisticated, monochromatic or neutral vibe.

This makes it pretty common to see them with outfits that feel unintentionally coordinated. Sure, other members also dress similarly from time to time—for example, Yoongi often wears neutral tones, too but you wouldn't immediately say he coordinated his outfit with Jimin or Jungkook or both.

Now, the second reason I love this clip has more to do with the phrase written on the back of Jungkook’s bomber jacket. If you take it from the perspective of what we believe their relationship might be, that phrase feels incredibly meaningful. It almost seems to capture how they have to navigate the world they’re in. For people like them—living under constant scrutiny, with so much pressure on their shoulders—it must be incredibly isolating at times. And yet, the phrase on his jacket seems to reflect the idea that, no matter how hard or lonely it gets, they’ve got each other.

Maybe I’m reading too much into it, but I’ve always thought that phrase encapsulates so much about who they are and how they seem to handle things together. From the way I see them, there’s this unspoken connection between them—a sense that they just get each other on a level that’s hard to explain.

This connection goes beyond clothes or coordinated outfits. Jimin and Jungkook seem to share so many things in terms of their personalities, tastes, and even their thought processes. Out of all the members, I feel like this is something almost unique to them. It’s not just fans who notice it, either. The other members have commented on it, sometimes confusing one for the other or saying that either one of them could’ve done or said something because they’re so similar. Even their laughter sounds alike, especially when they’re together. It’s one of those little things that feels so endearing and makes you wonder just how much time they’ve spent together to develop such similarities.

Can you imagine what they’ll be like once they’ve finished their military service? I can’t wait for all the behind-the-scenes content that’s bound to come out when the group starts promoting together again.

At the end of the day, their dynamic feels so special. Whether it’s through their coordinated outfits, shared laughter, or the way they just seem to click, there’s something about them that’s completely unique. It’s one of the reasons why moments like this clip—and even something as simple as a photo from it—stick with me. It’s not just about how they look together but about everything they represent.