#If anything certain music makes me more awake

[s1ushyz]

I don't get how people can sleep faster with music on, the phoenix by fall out boy played and all I could do was shake ass in bed

[katsu2ji]

fool for you — m. fushiguro

a/n: i love writing megumi as a cheesy lovesick idiot fool because he IS a cheesy lovesick idiot fool. an oblivious one, at that.

megumi didn't even intend to make a joke. he was being completely serious, talking in that deadpan, monotone voice that everyone around him was all too familiar with. he was talking about gojo, of course—he'd done something stupid, yet again.

despite his intentions (or rather, lack thereof), you thought what he said was funny. he was surprised when he heard you laugh; it was a sound that made him turn his head to the source of the noise, his face a mixture of flustered and confused.

"what? what did i do?" he asked, his eyes wide. he looked over your facial features, committing them all to memory without him even consciously thinking about it. christ, you looked—

"no, it's nothing," you answered, smiling at the boy. "it's just the way you said that just now was funny. sorry, i hope you didn't think i was laughing at you."

he was silent for a few seconds before realizing you had spoken; he blinked, coming back to himself.

god, what was going on with him? he was fine two seconds ago, but now he couldn't even look you in the eye. his stomach was doing some odd thing; he felt like he was simultaneously going to throw up and some, strange, other feeling that he wasn't sure how to describe.

"oh—no, i didn't think you were laughing at me. i just..." he paused, looking for his train of thought, "i didn't think what i said was very funny but, um—"

he mentally cursed himself, feeling like an idiot. why the hell couldn't he speak? why couldn't he look at you?

this had been happening a lot recently—the stuttering over his words, being unable to make eye contact with you at certain moments—and with the way it's making him act, he wasn't sure if this an avenue he wanted to keep going down.

he took a breath, feeling his cheeks get hot. he ignored it as he finished his sentence, "i'm glad i was able to make you laugh, i guess?"

jesus, he probably looked like an moron.

later, as he closed his eyes for bed, he couldn't stop thinking about that exchange. never in his life had he felt like he'd made such a complete and utter fool of himself, but he couldn't figure out why it bothered him so much. and that bothered him even more.

he replayed your laugh in his head over and over, the sound turning over in his mind like a lullaby in a music box. he wasn't sure why the thought of you laughing, the look on your face as you did so, struck him as much as it did.

and that wasn't the first time that had happened when it came to you, either, he reminded himself; there had been other moments when you'd done something that stirred up mysterious feelings inside him, like that one time you grabbed his hand to pull him along somewhere, or when you had slumped over on the train and fallen asleep on his shoulder. his mind was spinning now, keeping him from sleep.

what was it about you? everytime you'd done something or said something that he had found particularly...endearing...he felt the same feelings that he felt today: the warming of his cheeks, his stomach feeling like it was doing somersaults, his words tripping over his tongue. what was happening? why was he acting so unlike himself? why was he acting so—

his eyes shot open as he pieced everything together.

"oh god," he whispered to himself in the dark, staring up at the ceiling wide eyed and awake. as it finally settled into him why he'd been acting like so stupid around you lately, so completely out of character, he threw his hand up over his face and took a deep, loud breath.

oh god, he thought, repeating himself. i'm fucked.

katsu2ji © 2025. please don't copy, modify, or do anything of the sort with my work! i work very hard and you simply do not have my permission.

[wcnderlnds]

bae bae | choi su-bong (thanos)

・❥・ summary: after a night out at club pentagon you end up in bed with your friend who has zero shame ・❥・word count: 1.6k ・❥・warnings: 18+. mdni. oral (m receiving), p in v, unprotected sex, thanos is rough. swearing. mentions of drugs, female reader. ・❥・ authors note: ... this is pure filth, im so sorry. also this is pre-squid game <3 i also havent added my taglist in case people dont want to be tagged in smut but if you do let me know!!

The whole night had been a blur. How you’d ended up back in your own bed you had no idea but thankfully you’d made it home safe. The music from Club Pentagon still echoed through your ears like an anthem constantly playing in your head. You opened your eyes, your hands coming up to rub them with the palm of your hands. What time was it? You leaned over, grabbing your phone off the bedside table to see it was 3am. With a groan, you buried your head back into the safety of your pillow making a mental note to yourself to never drink so much again. All you could remember was that it had been a rough day, so bad that your friend Su-bong had decided a night out at his favourite club was the perfect remedy. So much for listening to him. That was on you, really. None of his ideas were ever good. They mostly consisted of drowning feelings in alcohol or taking one of his colourful little pills to forget what was going on.

As your thoughts drifted to him, a quiet groan filled the room causing you to perk up. It was coming from next to you so you just had to assume it was Thanos making noises in his sleep. He did that often – his nightmares coming frequently. If he was next to you that meant he had been the one to bring you home. A big thank you was in order for him in the morning when you could handle being awake. If your pounding head was anything to go by, you were going to have one hell of a hangover. Your eyes closed once again as you tried to drift back off to sleep. Just as you were on the verge of falling asleep, you heard a grunt.

Okay, what was going on here?

You turned around, sitting up slightly as you took in the scene before you. Yeah, there Thanos was. Everything seemed normal until you saw his chest rising and falling rapidly, movement under the blankets catching your eye. Your brows furrowed. This man wasn’t doing what you thought he was doing in your bed, was he? Only one way to find out.

Maybe it was your hungover mind but the thought of what you might find excited you. The way he was biting his lower lip to keep quiet only fueling your intrusive thoughts. Your fingers grasped the blanket, pulling it off. Well, you were right.

There he was, hand wrapped around his cock as he jerked himself off. Your eyes fixated on his hand that began speeding up, his hips bucking off the bed for more friction. Oh, he was really into this. How had he not realised you’d caught him? Part of you wanted to watch him finish, the throbbing between your legs thinking for you more than your brain. You hadn’t even realised how into this you were until you caught yourself slipping. There had been moments in the past where the two of you had almost hooked up but it had never gone past making out. Something always got in the way whether it was his friend Nam-gyu interrupting or his need to take another pill – it never led anywhere.

You cleared your throat deciding it was better to let him know you’d caught him than let him carry on. His eyes flew open, his hand still as he looked at you. He wasn’t embarrassed – you were certain he didn’t even know that emotion. He just looked at you expectantly, pushing himself to sit up slightly, his erection still standing for the world to see. 

“What?” He asked unbothered, annoyed even that you’d stopped him.

“I just caught you jerking yourself off and you don’t care?” You blinked at him. This was Thanos, of course he didn’t care. He had no shame.

“Why the fuck would I? Now, you gonna let me finish or help me out here.” He gestured towards his cock, his hand slowly stroking himself again.

As you watched, you couldn’t help but be transfixed. He knew what he was doing and it was working. The cogs in your brain were working overtime as you fought with helping him or ignoring him and letting take care of himself. He could see it, the smirk on his face making him look even more attractive. ‘Fuck it’, you thought. 

“Fine, you’ll owe me one, though.”

“No problem, Senorita. Now get those pretty lips wrapped around my dick.”

You didn’t have time to react before his hand came up to your head, pushing you down towards his hardened length. Your tongue darted out, teasing the head but he wasn’t having it. He was too horny for teasing. He needed to have his cock stuffed down your throat or he was going to go insane. So, without warning, he pushed your head down onto him. It took you by surprise, almost choking but you steadied yourself, hands gripping his hips as you finally found a rhythm. Your lips moved up and down his length, tongue flattening out against the underside of his cock.

“Mhmm, just like that, pretty girl,” he rasped in that deep voice of his, his fingers tangling in your hair pushing you down onto him. You felt him hit the back of your throat almost gagging on him before he pulled you back up. “You’re doing so good.”

The praise was turning you on more than you’d like to admit. Your lips wrapped around him again, taking him as deep as you could without choking but it wasn’t enough. His hips bucked up into your mouth, his hand firmly tangled in your hair. You decided to give up and let him have his way. He felt your mouth slacken, the feral grin on his face letting you know he was more than willing to fuck your mouth stupid.

His grunts and groans filled the room as he thrust up into your mouth at a rapid pace. You could feel his cock twitching each time he hit the back of your throat. Tears sprang at the corner of your eyes as you gagged on him, drool spilling from the corners of your mouth. “Fuck, I’m so fuckin’ close.”

Just as you were sure he was about to finish, he yanked your head off him, pushing you back down onto the bed. In a frenzy, he pushed the skirt up you were wearing, pulling your panties to the side. He slid his index finger along your pussy, almost groaning at how wet you were when he hadn’t even done anything. You were so damn desperate, he loved every second of it. “Wanna come inside this sweet, little pussy. You gonna let me, baby?”

He dragged his cock along your folds coating himself in your slickness and that was game over for you. Frantically, you nodded your head. That was all he needed. He pushed himself inside you in one deep thrust. The loud moan you let out surprised you, Thanos’s eyes almost rolling to the back of his head at the feeling of finally being inside you after all this time. No interruptions, no need for a high. This was the only high he needed. He’d been missing out. He pushed your legs up and over his shoulders, pulling his cock almost all the way out and thrusting inside once again. His pace was anything but gentle, the tight grip he had on your hips sure to leave bruises. Your hands gripped the bedsheets below you as he pounded into you. There was no way you were going to last long if he kept this up but then again neither was he. You could tell with the way his eyebrows scrunched up that he was holding back. At least he wasn’t selfish in the bedroom.

“Su-bong,” you moaned, back arching as you felt your orgasm fast approaching. The moaning of his name was almost his undoing.

“Yeah? You like that, huh? Like being fucked stupid by your best friend?” He panted, the sound of his hips slapping against yours echoing off the walls of the small room. The bed occasionally banging against the wall with the intensity of his thrusts. Your neighbours were definitely going to have something to say about it in the morning. “Come for me. Wanna feel you squeezin’ the life outta me.”

One particular hard thrust and that was it. A loud, almost pornographic moan fell from your lips as you saw stars. Your fingers pulled at the sheets, legs quivering as your orgasm washed over you. Thanos didn’t let up his pace, his eyes drawn to where your bodies were joined as he fucked into you. The feeling of your walls squeezing around his cock bringing him closer and closer to the edge. “Fuck, fuck. Gonna come. Gonna fill you up real good.”

It took one, two more thrusts when he stilled inside you, his cock twitching as he came harder than he had in his life. He was sure he saw the whole damn universe, throwing his head back as he groaned. His hips shallowly thrust into you, pulling out once he’d finished. Did he clean you up? Nah. He flopped back down next to you, grabbing his vape off the bedside.

“We should’ve done that a long time ago,” he chuckled, taking a puff. He handed it over to you, his lazy eyes meeting yours. “Do I still owe you one?”

You took a hit of the vape, nodding your head as you passed it back to him. “Oh, hell yeah you do. Not getting out of it that easily.”

“Was hoping you’d say that,” he winked at you, throwing an arm over your shoulder and bringing you into his side. It wasn’t cuddling but it was something to show you his appreciation. Better than nothing.

[gothgoblinbabe]

Nothing Worth Saying Aloud

Logan Howlett x fem reader

A/N: This one is short n' sweet! Inspired by the song "Need 2" by Pinegrove which I had first heard because I read this one shot that used that song as inspiration! Theirs is much better I'll be real but I had this festering in my brain for too long every time I'd play that song on repeat

Summary: Misunderstanding and miscommunication makes for a terrible combination that leaves you feeling like you've had your heart ripped from your chest

Warnings: Angsty as all hell, a lil' bit of fluff at the end, that's really it!

Word Count: 2K

𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་ ˖ ʿ𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་ ˖ ʿ𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་ ˖ ʿ𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་ ˖ ʿ𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་ ˖ ʿ𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་

You’d gone through a couple break ups in your life, a handful of failed situation-ships that ended awkwardly - even a long term relationship or two - but all the heartbreak you’d experienced couldn’t compare to the chest-crushing agony you experienced now.

The terrible moment of facing the music; accepting what couldn’t be, even if you wanted it more than anything.

Logan was not into you and he was never going to be.

You had to confront that when you’d gone down the stairs of the mansion one night to get a glass of water, almost certain you were the only person awake. That was until you’d stopped short in the hallway, seeing Logan and Jean standing with their backs to you. You couldn’t hear their conversation and didn’t think anything of it until you watched his arm snake around her shoulders, pulling her into him for a hug.

Your stomach sank. You really should have known.

The way he talks to her, looks at her, is always there to help her; it must have been obvious to anyone but you. You’d been friends for so long that you were almost dumbfounded that you never realized, probably too blinded by your own rose colored glasses.

You turned on your heel immediately, climbing the stairs to hide in your bedroom. Your chest felt heavy and your skin felt like it was on fire. You never ended up sleeping that night, too sick to think of anything else but Jean and Logan.

That was maybe two weeks ago now and you’d avoided Logan every day since as best you could. You’d gone from being nearly inseparable to speaking only when you had to. He’d try his best to get you to talk to him about anything at all but you only gave him one word answers. He even tried to keep you after training one day, gently having a hold on your bicep.

“Hey, what’s going on with you?” He asked bluntly. He tried to look you in the eyes but they were nearly glued to the metal floor of the basement corridor, your hair falling in your face.

“Nothing’s wrong. I’m fine, Logan, really,” you were able to mutter out, somehow keeping your voice from cracking. Before he could interrogate you further, you shrugged yourself out of his soft grip and speed-walked to the elevator, tears flowing the second you turned away from him.

You were not fine. Your eyes were always red and puffy from crying yourself to sleep and everyone could tell something was off. 

Ororo even stopped you in the hallway outside your bedroom one night, begging you to tell her what was wrong and what she could do to help.

“It’s nothing, I - “ you had started to dismiss her, but she was having none of it. 

“Stop with that! Enough! You need to tell me what’s up or I’m gonna have to force it out of you somehow and you know I do not wanna do that. Now tell me.”

You sighed, never picking your gaze up from the floor. 

“Come here, I don’t want anyone to hear me,” you beckoned her into your room.

She sat by your side at the edge of the bed as you confessed what you had seen and how badly it had torn you apart, rubbing your back gently when you choked out a sob.

“Honey,” she cooed, pushing some hair from your face and wiping a tear away, “I think you need to talk to him. This is gonna eat you up inside if you don’t and I think maybe it could’ve been a misunderstanding.”

“I don’t know, ‘ro. I can’t even look at him without feeling like I’m gonna burst into tears,” you sniffled, wiping your eyes with the collar of your t-shirt.

“Think about it. I can’t tell you what to do, but I think you really should. And if it was what it looked like, sweetheart, this is not the end of the world,” she reminded you.

“It sure does feel like it,” you joked, tears still rolling down your cheeks.

“I know,” she sighed, patting your back gently, “talk to him.”

You nodded and she left the room, reminding you to come find her if you needed anything at all.

You thought her words over and ultimately still hid in your room the next day, skipping training to rot in bed in sweatpants and a tank top. The thought of having to confess to Logan that you were really in love with him was far too paralyzing. It almost made you sick If you thought about it too long.

You knew it wasn’t a good idea to keep shuffling sad songs on repeat and yet you did, keeping your CD player at a low volume so you wouldn’t bother anyone and they wouldn’t bother you. Your hair was a mess and you were glad that at the very least, you’d had enough energy to shower that morning after three days of not doing so. You held your knees to your chest while laying on your side, burying your face into your pillow to muffle your wailing sobs. 

Logan was downstairs at the same time, making his way towards the stairs, only to run into Scott.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” Logan spoke, stopping him with a hand on his upper arm.

Even through Scott’s glasses, Logan could tell he was glaring suspiciously.

“About what? Why?”

Logan said your name, looking around to be sure they were alone in the hallway.

Scott’s expression softened and he leaned against the wall, waiting for him to explain.

“Do you know what’s up with her? She won’t talk to me, she hasn’t in two weeks. She won’t even look at me. Has she said anything to you?” Logan spewed out, rubbing the back of his neck as a nervous tic. 

“No, your girlfriend didn’t mention anything,” he teased, shaking his head, “but hey, just talk to her. You’ve been close for a while now, you just have to confront her.”

“She’s not my - okay, whatever. Yeah, I’m gonna go talk to her. Maybe she’s in her room,” Logan sighed.

“She’s always in her room lately. If there’s anyone that can pull her out of it, it would be you.”

He quickly thanked Scott and finally reached the stairs. He had been walking through the hall, finding your bedroom door and stopping when he heard a noise he couldn’t quite make out. He heard you sniffle and his heart dropped.

You were crying.

He tried to give you your space, work through whatever it was that was bothering you, but it broke him to see you the way you were and his prodding didn’t seem to help. Still, he didn’t know how much longer he could let you dodge him in the halls or live with the fact that you wouldn’t even look at him anymore. He had planned to talk to you that day, but you rarely came out of your room now.

So, he laid a hand on your doorknob, turning it slowly. He would’ve knocked - he always did - but every time he had recently, you laid silent and pretended not to be in the room. He always knew you were, recognizing the smell of your perfume behind the door. 

The door cracked open a few inches and he saw you, curled in a ball in your bed with your face in your pillow. Your shoulders moved up and down as you sobbed, gripping the pillow so hard that your knuckles turned white.

There’s no way Logan could leave you like this. He slid into the room and closed the door gently, but you could hear the click of the knob over your music.

Your head shot up and you saw Logan standing with his back to your door, an almost devastated look on his face.

“Oh god, Logan, please, don’t - “ you choked out, turning your face so he couldn’t see you and waving him away. Out of everyone you wanted to see right now, he was at the bottom of the list because this was humiliating. 

He’d seen your bloodshot eyes and pink nose, your cheeks wet with tears. There was no way you could tell him you weren’t crying.

“You have to talk to me. Please, what did I do?”

The last thing you wanted was for him to think it was all his fault. It wasn’t, really. He didn’t do anything to hurt you on purpose; He couldn’t have known it would upset you in the slightest or that you were even in the hallway that night. 

“Nothing, Logan, please, just go away - “ you begged, still facing away with your face buried in your hands.

“I’m not leaving till you tell me what’s going on,” he said firmly, “you won’t even look at me. I don’t know what I did, but I’m sorry. Whatever it is, I’ll make it up to you.”

You still had your face buried in your hands when you felt the bed dip as he came to sit beside you.

“I miss you, you know. You won’t train with me anymore, you won’t come out with me, you won't talk to me. Please, I don’t know what to apologize for if you don’t tell me.”

His voice so close to you made your heart ache. You wanted to just hug him, tell him you missed him too, but you sat paralyzed. He really wasn’t going anywhere until you said something.

You removed your hands from your face, wiping away the tears with the back of your hand. You took a long inhale, closing your eyes and trying not to let your voice crack.

“It’s nothing worth me saying aloud,” you muttered, gnawing on your bottom lip. You felt like you needed to, though - like a lump in your throat that you couldn’t cough up. 

“Please,” Logan’s voice was quiet, his hand arm coming to rest around your waist.

You squeezed your eyes shut and scrunched your face in an attempt not to cry even harder when he touched you. You had wanted him to for so long, but not like this. 

You inhaled sharply, standing up as you did so to pace around your room. You couldn’t sit still with his hand on you.

“I - “, you tried to speak, the words getting lodged in your throat, “ it’s not your fault. I’m not mad at you, it’s not that.”

“Then, what? Tell me. You know I’d do anything to help.”

He would, and that’s what made it all hurt so much worse; how sweet he could be to you. You reminded yourself that he was also probably like that with Jean and you shook your head in an attempt to rid yourself of the thought. 

“It’s so stupid, Logan, really - “

“Pretty girl, it’s not stupid if it’s making you cry.”

Pretty girl. He probably called her that too.

Fuck, you couldn’t get it out of your head no matter how bad you wished you could.

“Ugh,” you groaned, leaning your head back to stare at the ceiling. Maybe it would be easier to spit it out when you weren’t looking at him. You took a deep breath, preparing yourself to get it all out in one go.

“A couple weeks ago, I went downstairs in the middle of the night and I saw you and Jean.”

You couldn’t see his expression, but Logan’s eyebrows were furrowed, completely lost on what exactly it was that you saw.

“And it’s so fucking stupid, I know, but I - “, you choked back a sob, “fuck. Logan, I love you. I’m sorry. I’m in love with you, I don’t know how to handle it, not when I know nothings ever gonna happen.”

When you didn’t hear a response, you dreaded the moment you finally tore your eyes from your ceiling. Logan was still in the same spot at the edge of the bed, a dumbfounded expression on his face.

“Sweet heart - “, he began, but it only hurt you more to hear him call you stuff like that.

“Logan, please, I know, just - I don’t want it to be a big deal and you don’t have to give me the rejection speech, trust me.”

“Are you gonna let me explain?” His tone was mildly frustrated, though he was still clearly worried about you.

You sighed, hands on your hips as you stood almost completely across the room. He got up to meet you where you were. He wanted to put his hands on your shoulders but he could tell you didn’t want to be touched.

“Explain what?” You muttered, gaze glued to the floor when he stood in front of you.

“There’s nothing going on between Jean and I.”

Seeing that your expression never changed, he continued.

“I think I know what you saw. I hugged Jean, that’s what you’re talking about, right?”

You swallowed hard, dreading any details he wanted to spill. You still didn’t believe that there was nothing, convinced he was lying to save your feelings. You nodded anyway, still looking at the floor.

“I gave Jean a hug because her and Scott got into a fight. She said she fucked up and wanted my advice, I hugged her and that was all. Honey, I’m telling you, nothings going on.”

You were nearly turning pink at the realization that he was being truthful. 

“And another thing,” he began again, tentatively pulling your hands from your hips so he could hold them in his, “you think I don’t love you?”

You finally met his gaze then and his heart broke when he saw your watery eyes. He brought a hand up to wipe your tears, leaving it there to cup your face while his other still held your hand. 

“I love you. I’m in love with you, too. I don’t feel that way about Jean at all. I thought it was obvious, but I guess neither of us have the greatest communication skills, huh?” He laughed a little, nervously waiting for you to finally say something.

You were still soaking in his words, first about Jean and then about you. 

“Really?” You squeaked, unable to say anything more.

“Really, baby,” he said sweetly, continuing to wipe away your tears.

You sniffled and leaned into his touch, happy to just be near him again.

“I missed you too, you know. I miss everything about you. I just couldn’t look at you when I thought - I don’t know, when I thought you couldn’t love me like that. Oh god, I’m so stupid, Logan, I’m so sorry - “ you began to apologize and he cut you off, shaking his head.

“None of that, c’mere,” he pulled you into him gently, wrapping his arms around your waist and leaning down to hug you. 

You smiled into his t-shirt. You missed the smell of his cologne, the warmth of him, the way he called you sweet names. You had your arms wrapped around his neck, standing on your toes to do so.

“I love you, Princess. I’m so glad I get to say it,” he mumbled into your hair, neither one of you letting go of the other, “and I’m a dumbass for not saying something sooner and letting you think all that.”

“No, I’m a dumbass because I should’ve said something sooner instead of assuming. I was just terrified, I guess.”

“No more being terrified, right?” He pulled away a little to look in your eyes.

You nodded, a smile on your face for the first time in weeks. You both stood there in the middle of your bedroom, frozen in an embrace with your eyes locked on each other.

“Can I kiss you?” He whispered, his hand rubbing up and down your back reassuringly, “you can say no if it’s too soon -“

You leaned up to press your lips to his, not wanting to waste any more time than you already have. He kind of grunted in surprise, relaxing into your touch when you ran your fingers through his hair at the back of his head. It was better than you could have ever imagined. His lips were so soft and he was so gentle with how he held you that your knees could’ve buckled. He pulled away reluctantly after a few seconds, planting a kiss on your forehead.

“I didn’t wanna ruin anything,” he explained, tucking your hair behind your ear, “you know, just being with you. I would’ve swallowed it all down to be just your friend if it meant I wouldn't lose you.”

You brought both of your hands to cup his face, scratching lightly at his mutton chops, “Really?”

He nodded, kissing your forehead, your cheek and your lips again. It was sickeningly sweet, making you giggle into the kiss.

“What’s so funny?” 

“Nothin’. Just really happy.”

“Me too, pretty girl. Hey, you owe me a couple of movie nights, by the way.”

“Race you to the TV?”

𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་ ˖ ʿ𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་ ˖ ʿ𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་ ˖ ʿ𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་ ˖ ʿ𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་ ˖ ʿ𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་

A/N: ik this ones pretty short but it was rotting in my google docs so here u go <3 pls like and reblog if you enjoyed!

[rue-isabelle]

Author's note: This is a dark fiction

Age is just a number (Part 2)

A week had passed since Yn’s birthday, and it felt like the connection between her and Carlos had only grown stronger. Each day, they texted constantly, messages flowing back and forth from the moment they woke up to the moment they went to bed. The bond between them had deepened faster than either of them had expected.

Yn found herself eagerly checking her phone whenever she got a notification, heart skipping when she saw Carlos’s name on the screen. He had started calling her by little nicknames—mi vida, hermosa, cariño—endearing terms that made her blush every time she read them. It was obvious he was as hooked as she was.

One evening, while she was lounging on her bed with her phone, waiting for the familiar buzz of a message, her phone lit up with a FaceTime call from Carlos.

Her stomach did a little flip. Is this becoming too much? she wondered for a moment. But then, she shrugged it off. She liked him. And he liked her. That was all that mattered.

Answering the call, she smiled when she saw his face.

“Hola, hermosa,” Carlos greeted her, his voice soothing and warm, like a cozy blanket. “How was your day?”

“Hey, Carlos,” Yn replied, grinning. “My day was alright. How was yours?”

“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” he said, his gaze intense and playful.

Yn’s heart skipped a beat. It still felt surreal, talking to him like this. The face-to-face moments, even through the phone, were something she looked forward to. His brown eyes sparkled with sincerity, his smile making her feel like she was the only person in his world.

“Stop it,” she teased, pretending to roll her eyes. “You're making me blush.”

Carlos laughed softly, leaning closer to the camera. “I’m serious. I can’t stop thinking about you, Yn.”

It wasn’t long before their conversations became longer and more intimate. They spoke about everything—hopes, dreams, pasts, and their shared love for certain foods, movies, and music. Carlos would send her little texts throughout the day, telling her when he was thinking of her, when he saw something that reminded him of their conversation. And sometimes, after their nightly FaceTime calls, they’d fall asleep on the phone together, drifting off to the sound of each other’s breathing.

One night, after a long, comfortable chat about how she had spent her day, Carlos called out to her, “You still awake?”

Yn was laying on her bed, her face lit by the soft glow of her phone screen. “Yeah, I’m still here. What’s up?”

“Can I ask you something?” His voice was soft but serious.

“Sure, anything.” She propped herself up, curiosity piquing.

“Would you… mind if we, like, kept doing this? I mean, the late-night calls. FaceTime. Talking all the time.”

Yn’s heart fluttered. “I don’t mind. I like it. I mean, I look forward to it every night. Do you?”

Carlos’s smile grew. “Yeah, I really do.”

She could hear the quiet sincerity in his voice, and it made her smile in return. “Okay, then. I guess we’re both in this together, huh?”

“Definitely,” he said, his expression softening, the light from his phone casting shadows on his face. “I like this, Yn. I like you.”

The words hung in the air between them, and for a moment, neither of them said anything.

It wasn’t long before their relationship moved into new territory. Carlos started calling her by more personal nicknames—mi reina (my queen), corazón (heart). It was clear he was trying to keep things light, but she loved the attention and the way he made her feel special.

++++++++++++++++++++

Meanwhile, back at the paddock, Carlos’s teammates began to notice a shift. His phone was practically attached to his hand. He texted during breaks between meetings, during lunch, and even in the middle of pre-race preparations. Lando, ever the curious one, was the first to bring it up.

“Carlos, who are you texting all the time?” Lando asked one afternoon, leaning against the wall of the garage with a smirk on his face.

Carlos froze, glancing up quickly. “Uh, no one,” he replied, tapping furiously at his phone screen, trying to hide the message he was typing.

Lando raised an eyebrow. “No one, huh? You’re typing away like it’s the most important thing in the world.”

“It’s not that big of a deal,” Carlos said, shrugging, trying to act casual. He tucked his phone into his pocket a little too quickly, as if to avoid Lando’s gaze.

“Right, sure,” Lando said, clearly unconvinced. “But you know, you’ve been staring at that screen so much, we might think you’re in a relationship or something.”

Carlos’s heart skipped. His mind raced, trying to come up with a convincing answer. What do I say? What if they find out about Yn?

Before he could respond, Charles, who had overheard the conversation, chimed in, his curiosity piqued. “A relationship? With who?” Charles’s tone was teasing, but his eyes sparkled with genuine interest.

Carlos shifted uncomfortably, his hands fiddling with a wrench, trying to focus on something—anything—that wasn’t the awkward situation unfolding. “It’s not like that. Just a friend,” he said quickly, though his nervousness was evident.

“A friend you talk to all the time?” Lando raised an eyebrow, not buying it for a second. “Come on, you’ve been texting someone every single day. Even after races.”

Carlos’s nerves were starting to show. His palms were sweaty, and he kept looking away. “I’m just… keeping in touch with someone.”

“Who?” Charles asked, narrowing his eyes, intrigued. “You know, it’s fine if you’re seeing someone. We’re your friends.”

Carlos’s heart thudded in his chest. They’re going to find out... They’ll ask about her age.

He quickly changed the subject. “I’ve got a race to focus on. Can we talk about this later?”

But Lando wasn’t done. “Fine, fine. But I’ll be expecting details soon. You can’t hide this forever, mate.”

Carlos let out a nervous chuckle, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He was more than aware that Lando and Charles were getting suspicious. And they weren’t going to stop asking questions until they got answers.

The next day, as Carlos was scrolling through his messages from Yn, he felt the weight of their questions pressing down on him. He loved talking to her, but how would his friends react when they found out she was eighteen? Would they think he was crazy for getting involved with someone so much younger? Would they even approve?

“Carlos?” Lando’s voice cut through his thoughts as he approached the Ferrari driver. “You alright? You’ve been on that phone all morning.”

Carlos quickly pocketed his phone. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he said, trying to sound convincing. But Lando’s skeptical look made him uneasy.

“Sure,” Lando said, clearly unconvinced. “But if you’re texting someone, at least tell us who they are. We won’t bite.”

Carlos’s stomach churned. He had to be careful. They weren’t ready to know. Not yet.

“Let’s talk later, okay?” Carlos said, forcing a smile. “I’ll tell you everything when the time’s right. But for now, let’s focus on the race. We’re here to win.”

Lando and Charles exchanged glances, but they didn’t press any further, for now. Carlos knew that sooner or later, they’d find out. But for now, he was content to enjoy his time with Yn, even if it meant keeping their connection a secret.

Part 1

[mustyrosewater]

𝐌𝐈𝐃𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐒𝐊𝐘 - 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖔𝖓𝖊

𝐫𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐭 𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐭 𝐱 𝐚𝐟𝐚𝐛!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 7,214

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: returning to the small wyoming town you were raised after a sharp fall from grace, your music career having turned into mindless pop you were forced to churn out by your manager and now ex, a return to home is just what you need, the perfect place to take a break from the life of a pop star, and also to meet some old faces.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: mentions of drug addiction, drinking, bad highschool memories, cheating, frustrating miscommunication.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: hey pookies, so despite only just finishing one series, i've already started another because im a glutton for self torture. not a huge amount of rhett in this until the end because i wanna get our reader established first, keep an eye out for part two and please message me if you'd like to be added to a taglist.

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐰𝐨

life was nothing but a series of twists and turns, followed by hard fucking drops.

from the moment of your ‘discovery’ by an agent of a recording company just after graduating high school, you’d been pretty damn certain life was going to be absolute roses from here on out. a promised escape from the country town in wyoming to the beaches and glamour of los angeles.

it was exciting, going from a nobody that occasionally sang in a bar or two in your home town to now having an entire team behind you, helping you pump out records and preen you for live performances across america.

maybe you should have known from the beginning it was too good to be true.

with the money that came from your bursting career, do too came the parties, the drinking, the endless supply of anything you wanted at your finger tips, any and all abuse of your health was brushed aside by everybody around you, to the point that as long as they were able to get you awake enough to sit in a makeup chair and put a coffee in your hand, it didn’t matter what you’d done before.

even with all of this, you’d managed to stay afloat with your manager by your side, the man you’d come to think you’d fallen in love with, he’d been there with you the moment you arrived in hollywood, it was only inevitable that you’d have fallen head over heels like an idiot.

he was just the same as the others, allowing you to put your body through hell every night as long as you were able to make him money in the day time, each time pushing you to harder and harder limits. more hours in the studio, songs written faster.

by the time you were four years into your blossomed career, your music had almost completely lost the soul it had started with, power anthems of love and loss reduced into standard pop that came with flashy music videos and tedious choreography.

it was bound to all come crashing down sooner or later in retrospect.

when you’d caught the man you loved in bed with your makeup artist, you’d thought at the very least that he might have at least tried to defend himself, cook up some half baked lie following the basic premise of “it’s not what it looks like.”

instead he’d only smirked at you, making a comment about how nice you looked, an evident jab based on the fact that your makeup was smeared from the night of partying and your glittery clothes were still on.

despite the fact he was your manager, he seemed to have no problem letting you crash completely.

with the tabloids pumping out images of you running out of the hotel looking the way you did, it wasn’t hard to out the pieces together about your issues, scathing headlines painting a picture of a washed up popstar going into a downward spiral.

maybe he hadn’t actually expected you to fire him, expected that you would actually have made sure you weren’t stuck in any sort of binding contracts from the beginning.

because when you’d opened the door of your hollywood home and saw your own father standing there, you couldn’t have held back the cry that left you.

you hadn’t spoken to him for at least a year, when he’d brought up concerns for your partying, the people around you twisted his words, making it seem like a personal attack in a convincing enough way that you’d cut him off entirely, believing in your heart of hearts that he was trying to jeopardise your career.

the day your father had driven almost three days out to LA to find you, when the tabloids had no doubt finally made their way all the way down to wyoming, that was the day you’d hesitantly allowed him to help you get the therapy you needed.

with a few final comments from your lawyer, the official word out was that you’d temporarily retired into rehab, and that you would be spending some time with family while you recovered.

you thanked the stars that you at least had hired a good lawyer, one that actually gave a damn about her job, you’d even dare say about you.

amanda was fresh out of law school when you’d hired her, a risky move, but one that paid off, considering that your ex was now almost penniless, save for the small settlement that had been offered in order for him to keep his mouth shut.

you’d damn well nearly cried all the tears out of your body when you gave her one final hug before getting in your fathers truck and prepared for the long drive back to wyoming.

you really, really didn’t want to go back home, with the embarrassment of public opinion of you, as well as just an overall dislike for the almost deserted town you grew up in, you knew you had to bite the bullet should you be able to recover, as well as try to salvage the damage to your career.

when your mother died, you offered to move your father to los angeles, more than enough money at your disposal to set him on a gorgeous ranch, but he’d refused, always proud; he’d always said he was born in this town, and he’d die in this town.

it was a pity you didn’t share the same sentiment in the slightest.

the long drive had been worsened by the fact that your body was still recovering from the detox you’d been forced to undergo, weak from the horrible sleep you’d been having, and exhausted from all the med’s you had to take afterwards.

you’d managed to almost entirely pass out within about 45 minutes.

even over the span of almost two days and one truck stop, your father had spoken very little.

there was much between the pair of you to be worked out, so much anger shared mutually that needed to be addressed.

when you hadn’t come back to wyoming for your mothers funeral, your father had never sounded more heartbroken over the phone, one of the only times you’d ever heard him genuinely sound like he was gonna start crying any minute.

in your barely sober state, you’d said some words you’d regretted the moment they left your mouth, the guilt eating away at you every day since then, and probably would for the rest of your life.

when you’d finally spotted the welcome sign for the small town you grew up in almost two days later, you couldn’t ignore the growing dread in your stomach, as the buildings came into view, you suddenly felt yourself becoming very conscious of the designer items you were wearing, having become so accustomed to such things that it became the norm in hollywood, but it was most definitely not the norm in wyoming.

the sunglasses pulled over your eyes couldn’t have helped either, considering the golden versace emblem present on the side of them.

intent on at least trying to hide yourself, you pulled your hood over your head and lowered yourself in your seat slightly, keeping your eyes on the road and willing yourself to not be seen by any locals that might remember or recognise you.

this entire town was filled to the brim with people that were proud, loyal; you didn’t have any doubt in your mind that they wouldn’t have the greatest opinion of the girl who ran off to hollywood and came running back home when it chewed her up and spit her back out.

“dad. can we go straight home. please.”

your pleading seemed to have little affect on your father, who only shook his head as the truck came to a stop outside of a diner you’d remembered from your childhood, fond memories of milkshakes and club sandwiches.

“no can do ducky, you remember what the doctor said.”

he held his finger up, reciting the strict instructions he’d been given when he became your official carer for the extent of your recovery.

“food every three hours, lots of greens and lots of protein, last time you ate was at that gas station, and i’d hardly call spicy beef jerky nutritious, you need a meal.”

you’d have been lying if it hurt your heart a little bit how much care he was putting into all of this, the man you’d always known to live off of steak and cornbread had taken the time to research all of nutritional information and requirements going forward.

and you’d treated him like shit and barely spoke to him for an entire year.

in no position to say no, you only pulled your hood further over your face, exiting the pick up truck and crossing your arms in the hope that your clothes wouldn’t be the deadest giveaway in the world, much less the fact that everybody here knew your dad, and by extent, you.

hopefully, a decent meal would at least do you the service of feeling like you actually had a full stomach for the first time in at least a day.

-

you were thankful you’d managed to keep the meal down, yet you were no less embarrassed when the waitress in the diner looked at you like you were crazy when you asked if they had anything avacado in it, a request you didn’t think was that crazy, seemingly reflecting just how long you’d been away from home.

when you’d arrived at your childhood house on the ranch your father owned, the sounds of horses in the distant pasture welcomed you, a familiar yet at the same time almost foreign sound to you.

one familiar sound however, caught your attention almost like a reflex, your head whipping back around to your father as he gave you a knowing smile.

“there’s no way.” you spoke with shock evident in your voice, only receiving a nod from your father and a shrug of his shoulders.

“i couldn’t find the heart to sell her ducky, you should have known that.”

with that being all the confirmation you needed from your father, you turned back in the direction of the neigh’s you could heard, allowing your feet to move on their own as you walked around the back of the house and to the fenced off area where the horses were kept.

and there she stood, her head shaking as she fussed, seemingly knowing your father was finally home based on the sound of his truck.

the gypsy vanner before you stood proud, her caramel and white colours practically shining in the sun. you thought your father would have sold her, you know how much he would have been able to pick up from selling such a beautiful horse, and with you gone, there was no one around to ride her.

aurora had always had an interesting temperament similar to your own, independent and stubborn, it was no surprise you were made for each other when she first arrived on your farm when you were only seventeen.

you were almost scared to approach the fence where she stood, terrified she wasn’t going to remember you.

even if she did, she gave little response other than staring across at you as you stepped closer, reaching out your arm and running your hand across her head with a visible hesitance.

if she hadn’t recognised you, you knew she would have tried to go for your hand by now, she always did refuse to let anybody ride her except you.

had you know that a reunion with your horse of all things was going to make you this emotional, you would have better prepared yourself.

-

the childhood pictures lining the walls of the living room in your home told a story that brought with it memories that were both happy and sad.

from the ones of you on aurora all the way up to your high school graduation, it was a colourful group of pictures that seemed to out forward a beautiful happy family.

until you seemed to disappear from the pictures suddenly, leaving pictures of your mother and father at barbecues with extended family, your own face very clearly absent.

already you could feel yourself dreading the emotional unpacking that was going to happen during your time home.

much less the actual unpacking judged by the suitcases that had been placed in your bedroom, the one that had barely changed since you left.

as much as you knew it would have been better to rip the bandaid off and unpack everything, you were so exhausted from the long drive you could hardly bring yourself to do anything except flop on the double bed with the bright purple sheets.

when a knock sounded on the open door, you raised your head to see your father standing there, a fluffy blue towel on his arm, and your various new med’s placed in a labelled container ordered by the days of the week.

“i thought you’d be pretty desperate for a shower huh? long drive.”

even with the overwhelming tension that seemed to remain permanent between you two, your fathers friendly smile and attempted crack of a joke had already started warming your heart just like it used to.

“thanks dad.”

it was all you could muster in that moment, the emotion seeming to take its hold finally as you rose from the bed to take the towel out of his hand and put the med’s on your side table.

“i’ll get started on dinner, then we’ll probably head in for the night, i got an early start tomorrow.”

even now in his older age, he worked hard as ever, with the limited hands on the farm because he was always adamant about not hiring more help than he needed, there was only so much one man could do after all.

nodding your head, you walked past him and headed in the direction of where you remembered the bathroom to be, saying nothing else and not looking behind you as you entered and shut the door.

at least the shower was a sanctuary where you could finally let the gravity of the situation finally wash over you, suddenly feeling so real that it came crashing down as soon as you stepped under the water and wet your hair.

your hand held over your mouth was seemingly enough to only let out silent cries, finally here in the cramped bathroom with the horrible water pressure, did you allow yourself to feel the emotion of everything that had led to you being here now.

putting your body through hell only to do it all over again fighting with detox and withdrawals, you could still feel how delicate of a state you were in, still finding yourself shaking on occasion or zoning out when you were trying to focus.

your war was hardly near over, that was the only thing you were absolutely certain of.

-

it seemed that your father had been more than happy to let you sleep in, because when you woke up and saw that the time in the clock read almost eleven in the morning, you were shocked you’d managed to get a solid nine hours of sleep.

maybe being back in a bed that was so familiar had done you a world of good already.

your meds were sat on the side table, along with the glass of water you had guessed your father left there for you, ready for you to take your first round of the day, a mix of tablets meant to stabilise both your body and your mind, a delicious cocktail of chemicals to try and make you feel even slightly normal again.

when you’d finally made your way down to the kitchen, a fresh set of lounge wear on, more designer, the fact made you cringe when you’d opened your suit case and realised that you owned nothing except designer, reminding yourself that you’d have to make time to go out to town to find some new clothes that didn’t cost a stupid amount of money.

with a kitchen that was usually left rather unsupplied, you were shocked to open the cupboard and see an array of healthy snacks and a multiple different choices of health foods, obviously your father had done enough research to stock up, even adding a few of your favourites that your certain amanda had been involved in selecting, because you knew for a fact that your father had no idea what matcha was.

only able to feel thankful for the support around you, you prepared yourself a drink for the morning as well as a small bowl of fruit and yoghurt, a nice light breakfast.

the sun practically called to you, the warmth against your skin being exactly what you needed as you placed your sunglasses on once more and sat at the outside table on the porch, beginning to slowly make progress on your breakfast.

when your father finally emerged and made his appearance from the barn across the dirt driveway, he waved at you and began to walk over, pulling off the gloves he was wearing.

finally walking up the small set of steps, he sat across from you and let out a sigh, the trucker hat on his head being enough to shelf him from the sun, as well as the cover over the porch.

“do you want me to make you a coffee?” you offered, partly out of politeness because you knew your dad always stopped drinking coffee after nine, otherwise he’d get jittery.

“i’m fine ducky, thanks though.”

the nickname was something you’d had all your life, seemingly originated from the fact that you’d always be found down at the creek as a child, trying to beat the heat by standing in ankle deep water and catching tadpoles.

nodding your head, you took another sip of your own drink, staring out into the coast field of your fathers property.

“i gotta go into town and try and get some new tools, just to the hardware supply, thought we could do a little window shoppin’?”

his offer was perfectly timed, as you’d managed to scrape down the last bite of your breakfast, nodding your head as you covered your mouth to avoid talking with your mouth full.

“i was gonna ask if we could go to town, that sounds perfect.”

with a satisfied smile, your father stood and told you to be readied up in about ten, giving you enough time to go back and wash your bowl in the kitchen.

-

town was bustling with life as it always did at this time, so many people going about their daily errands just the same as you and your dad.

while he’d taken the time to occupy himself at the hardware store, you’d excused yourself to have a look at the small boutique next door, opening the door which resulted in a soft ring of a bell.

before you’d had the chance to take a proper look at anything, you’d watched a head poke out of the back room, a smiling staff member greeting you before moving to stand behind the counter set up with a till and computer.

offering up a small smile, you kept your sunglasses on as you ran your hand over some of the pairs of jeans on the shelf in front of you, as well as some of the few leather pieces above them.

maybe they’d look nice with one of your sweaters back him in the-

your name being spoken directly behind you made you almost jump out of your skin, turning your head to see that same staff member standing behind you now, speaking your name out as if it was more of a question than anything.

as you finally turned, her mouth open led with a shocked smile as you finally got enough of a look at her face to recognise her as one of the girls you’d gone to highschool with, though you’d hardly call the pair of you friends.

“oh my god, i thought it was you!”

the southern drawl in her voice only seemed to grate across your brain as she reached forward and pulled you into a hug with no hesitation at all, your arms coming up uncomfortably as she let out a little sound of glee as she hugged you.

“i can’t believe it’s really you, big hollywood star back here! what’re you doin’ here?”

her questions were already putting you on edge, her peppy attitude and tight hug that you didn’t consent for enough to already send your anxiety going.

“i’m uh.. i’m visiting some family.”

your response only brought a look of sadness over her face, her hand flying up to your shoulder as she tried to seem comforting, only succeeding in making you more uncomfortable.

“oh i know, im so sorry to hear about your mama, when i found out i was just heart broken for ya’ sweetheart. it was such a shame to hear you couldn’t make it up for the service.”

the mention of that was enough to send you pulling back, almost bumping into the shelf behind you, your hand coming up in a stop motion which silenced her quickly.

“i’m sorry.” was all you could muster before you found yourself turning quickly, your anxiety to the point now where you can feel your head throbbing and your hands starting to shake.

your first attempt at integrating back into your home town was so far going horribly.

as you made your way to the exit and stumbled out the door, you collided with a passer by, only able to call out another apology as you kept your head low, a hand coming up to your face in some small attempt to alleviate the feeling of eyes in you that you weren’t even sure were real or just your mind tricking you.

finding your way back to your dads truck, you opened the door and practically fell onto the passenger seat, sliding down to try and hide yourself with prying eyes as you lifted your sunglasses to sit on your head, tears already beginning to flow.

you knew she hadn’t meant to upset you, that was what felt the worst about, she was just trying to comfort you and yet came on so strongly that it had sent you spiralling in a matter of seconds.

it hadn’t taken your dad long to get back to the truck opening the door and already beginning to chat to you before he saw the state of your reddened and puffy eyes.

“thought you’d have taken longer that that ducky! i wouldn’t have minded wait-“

as his eyes finally caught the sight of you crying, he quickly got into the seat and chucked the tools in the back, shutting the door as he put a hand on your shoulder.

“what happened? are you okay? did someone say something to you?”

his questions all came at once, leaving you only able to shake your head to alleviate his concerns, your hands coming up as you wiped your eyes.

“i’m okay dad, i promise, i just need to go back home.”

understanding but not pressing any further, your father responded by immediately turning the key and roaring the truck to life, pulling out of the parking space and making fast work of heading back to the house without breaking the speed limit.

-

It had been a good first attempt at the very least, even if it was ultimately a failure; you couldn’t blame the woman from the store, it was natural for people out this way to be overly friendly, it just seemed you’d forgotten that during your time away.

Home was a welcome sanctuary at the very least, a beacon of warmth and familiarity seeming to wash over you as you stepped back inside, wasting no time before going back up to your room and shutting the door, maybe you’d be able to just try again tomorrow, maybe it’d go smoother.

As you father spent the rest of the day tinkering away in the barn, you’d managed to keep yourself occupied with a book, reminding yourself to grab a tv next time you managed to get out into town, at the very least, with the your pride and wellbeing at a stand still you could remain thankful that you’d managed to get out of the lawsuit with your wealth and contract primarily intact.

The meds placed next to your bedside table were the first thing to catch your eye, your psychiatrists words echoing in your head like clock work, reminding you of all the little things you needed to remember, which ones you had to take with food and how many each day.

Your nighttime routine used to consist of expensive skincare, silk sheets and an hour and a half spent on going through your itinerary for the next day, all the appointments and interviews and recording sessions you’d be doing for hours at a time.

There was some part of you that almost felt as if you were in limbo, now all you had to do was take your meds and lay in bed reading, you hadn’t had this much free time in at least five years.

-

When your father had asked if you wanted to come out to the rodeo with him, you’d initially been hesitant, the idea of crowds only filling you with anxiety.

As much as you’d wanted argue, it was hard to deny his argument that it was a good opportunity to get out of the house, insisting he’d be by your side the entire time ready to go if it became too much.

His commitment was so strong, some part of you simply didn’t have the heart to say no, hesitantly agreeing with a smile.

A rodeo clown in his youth, your father was beloved by the community, well known on top of that, there was little doubt that you’d be stopped at least three or four times at the very least by people who knew your father, and by extension, also knew you.

-

With the stetson your father had managed to dig out of his wardrobe and a pair of true religion jeans, here you were, weaving through the crowd as the smell of fried food you’d never been allowed to eat by your personal trainer filled your nose, the sound of echoing rock music playing on the speakers.

Even now already, you were pushing yourself to keep your cool, letting yourself be put as ease by placing your fingers in the shallow pockets of your jeans, running them over the fabric to keep yourself grounded, occasionally bumping shoulders softly with your father.

All of this was something you’d been taught to do to manage your anxiety, even since you were only young, keeping yourself grounded by feeling and looking had always helped profoundly, especially now if ever.

Correctly predicted, it’d only taken about thirty seven minutes into arriving at the rodeo for your father to be stopped by a buddy, exchanging quick hugs and small talk, even allowing yourself to shake the mans hand and laugh at his comment about how he “hadn’t seen you since you were yeigh high!” and gesture with his hand to show how small you were.

After about an hour and checking out everything up for offer, saying hello to a few more buddies, your father led you to where you’d both be sitting in the stands, a corn dog covered in mustard sat in his hand, just as he’d always gotten from your memory.

It’d be hard to lie and say there wasn’t nostalgia to be found here, coming her with your mother and father so many times as a kid, whereas towards graduating highschool you’d attended less and less.

Your mind was interrupted by the sudden blaring of music, an announcer’s booming voice coming through the loudspeakers to hype up the crowd, eliciting cheers as a response when he’d asked the crowd if they were ready.

Unable to hide even the slightest of smiles when you watched your father cheer, you clapped your hands together in show fo excitement, even managing to let out a small cheer.

Each rider came out and received cheer’s from the crowd as their names were announced, some names sounding familiar, others not. A few people you could have sworn you remembered from highschool.

As time went on, even you started getting invested, at one point letting out a resounding ‘oooh’ with the rest of the crowd as one of the riders was thrown off his bull only moments before the buzzer signalled his eight seconds were up, laughing to yourself as he threw his hat to the ground, stomping back towards the gate.

Suddenly you were thankful for your father’s insistence, even if it had partly been due to the fact that he didn’t want to leave you at the house by yourself. For what felt like the first time in months, years even, you felt some semblance of peace, allowing yourself to enjoy something you’d stopped enjoying years ago.

One name out of all stood out to you only slightly more than others, only due to the fact that hid father had been a good friend of your own, even occasional business partner when it came to the sale and exchange of livestock, not exactly a friend as opposed to somebody you just saw a lot of when his father brought him round to your family’s ranch to give royal a hand.

You weren’t sure if Rhett had changed much since highschool, considering you hadn’t seen him since you left for Los Angeles, much less due to the fact you could hardly make out his features from where he was currently positioned behind the gate, sat atop of bull that already seemed to be sufficiently pissed off.

Personality wise, your opinion of royals youngest son had soured towards your graduation, the nickname he’d used to call you echoing in your head, the nickname that stuck so hard that almost everybody in your graduating class began to call you the very same thing.

When tweety bird first began to get thrown around, you’d only laughed awkwardly, hoping it would eventually fade, just like every other nick name did in highschool.

But even when one of Rhett’s own friends, the one you’d been crushing on hopelessly for months, had called you the nickname, hoping to be endearing, it only stung deep in your chest in a way that you couldn’t quite explain.

It wasn’t necessarily his spreading of the nickname that had caused you to dislike him so deeply; the nickname you could have brushed off as a teenage boy just being a bit of an asshole to make his friends laugh.

What he’d done that really twisted the knife, was tell the aformentioned friend of his, that you’d already found a date for the dance coming up later that year, only when you’d found out from a mutual friend that he’d told Rhett about his plans to ask you out, only for Rhett to shut it down immediately, for what reason, you still had no clue to this day.

It didn’t matter what the reason was, the damage had already been done; by the time you’d found out, the dance had already been and gone, a boring and melancholy event that had essentially been ruined for you by Rhett Abbot for absolutely no discernable reason.

You’d tried to reason with yourself and think of anything you could have done to Rhett in order for him to have some sort of vendetta for you, but there was nothing you could conjure up in your mind that could possibly be the reason why.

Whatever ill will he had towards you certainly hadn’t been helped when you’d spotted him in the hall with his friends, stormed over and told him to eat shit completely unprompted.

The last interaction you’d had with him before you took the final step and got on a bus to Los Angeles only a few days later.

There was a rational part of you reminding yourself that you were an adult now, that there was no reason to still be upset over something that happened when you were both teenagers, but to have had something that important ruined for you for no actual reason other then him just seemingly going out of his way to be an ass.

Well it was hard to call that water under the bridge.

The eighteen year old heartbroken girl in you had to pretend she wasn’t even the slightest bit satisfied when the cream coloured bull finally whipped him off rather unceremoniously onto the dirt ground, the buzzer ringing out only a second later, signalling that he’d failed.

At the same time, the adult that you were told yourself that it was unfair to celebrate the failures and possible physical injuries of a person you hadn’t spoken to in years.

“You remember Royal’s youngest, right Ducky?”

Your father had pulled you out of your own daydreaming with a hand on your shoulder, his other arm pointing to Rhett out on the small arena as he rose from where he landed, only able to quickly jog back towards the gate as the handler’s came in to herd the kicking bull back to its pen.

Nodding with slightly cringed smile, you watched him until he hopped the iron gate, disappearing from sight just as quickly as he’d been thrown out into the ring.

“We should go say hi after! I’m sure Royal’d love to see you!”

As much as you’d wanted to refuse, as much as you might have still had it out for his son, you couldn’t deny that Royal and his wife had ever been anything but sweet to you, inviting you around for lunches with your father a lot when you’d still lived in Wyoming, even Cecilia going as far as to add you on facebook when she’d seen you on tv for the first time, wishing you luck in your new career.

Even you couldn’t deny how good it would feel to give her a big hug for the first time in years.

It’d been a good amount of fun to watch the rest of the riders, to feel a kin ship with the rest of the crowd in the joy you all expressed when a rider successfully stayed on for the required eight seconds; how much you’d felt your heart soar when your father grabbed your shoulder excitedly, raising his arm and cheering with you.

When it finally finished up and everyone began to peel off of the stands, you gripped your father’s arm, letting him guide you out of the small arena.

As the pair of you made a turn towards the rider’s area, a gate marked with a rather large privacy sign that held remnants of familiarity for when you’d been backstage before a show, swearing for a second you felt yourself preparing to be bombarded by a makeup and wardrobe team just as you always had used to.

A tip of the hat to the guy at the gate had seemingly been all your father needed to be let through with you, his close relationships with most of the riders as well as probably their father’s as well carrying weight.

It had taken a bit of walking past lots of trailers and drifting past the chatter of lots of voices, some pleased with their wins, others audibly upset that they’d failed.

One voice that you instantly recognised as Cecilia made your heart jump a little bit, catching her in your vision just as you rounded the corner, standing with her arm’s crossed talking to somebody who you recognised after a few moments when you got closer to be Perry, the eldest of the siblings.

Your father’s voice called out to Cecilia, her head turning and her face forming into a gleeful smile as she waved the two of you over, your face slightly hidden under the stetson, your head downturned as you got closer.

“What’re you doin’ here?” she called out as she finally met halfway with your father, taking him in for a hug and patting him on the back endearingly, your arms crossing sheepishly as you stood slightly to the side.

“Thought you might wanna see who’s back in town!”

As your father, spoke, he turned and held his arm out to you, outstretched hand practically announcing you as you rose your head, only able to smile softly and wave with a hesitant hand, Cecilia’s face twisting for a moment before her eye’s widened and an opened mouth smile came over her features. “Oh my goodness!” she practically squealed out, her hands coming to her face before she stepped forward, opening her arms to place a hand on your arm softly, not quite pulling you in for a hug just for the moment which you silently were thankful for.

Reaching your own arm forward, you placed a hand on her shoulder, the soft fabric of her flannelete shirt being a great bit of texture for you to run your finger tips against for an extra little bit of grounding.

You could hear your father’s happy and satisfied chuckle, seemingly knowing how much it would mean to Cecilia that you came to say hello, considering how much she’d doted over you in your younger years.

“How the hell have you been, babygirl!”

Her voice was layered with a slight hint of emotion, a hand coming up to crush a strand of hair away from her face as she took a step back and put her hands on her hips.

You could only smile and nod, mustering up as generic of a response as you could.

“Takin’ it easy.”

Understatement of the century.

You wouldn’t have been surprised if she knew what had been happening with you, every tabloid in america had seemingly relished in sending your story across the country, all the details of your legal case and rehab.

Her face seemed to soften, her brows upturning as she nodded.

“Thats the way.” she spoke a bit softer, “You look beautiful, honey.”

Her kind words still hit just the way they always had, warming your heart to the core with her motherly nature.

Cecilia gestured to Perry, checking to see if he remembered you which Perry answered with a nod and polite hello, which you returned with a nod of your head.

Taking your arm in her head, it was as if you’d never been gone, Cecilia immediately going back to her old ways as she showed you around the rider’s area, making comments about how the two of had to go horseback riding together soon.

As the unavoidable finally made it’s way known, you felt Cecilia tap your arm, pointing in the direction of a trailer that must have been theirs, the door open and the light on, a figure stepping out with a fresh shirt and slightly damp hair. “There he is, Rhett! Get yer’ ass over here!”

When Cecilia’s youngest son turned his head to the two of you, he seemed indifferent, tired even, not surprising considering what he’d been through less than an hour ago, yet he still slowly began to walk towards his mother, running his fingers through his damp hair.

“You remember your father’s friend with the ranch down the road right?”

From where you stood, you could see Rhett nod, a polite smile coming to his face as he hadn’t seen your face yet, expecting his mother to introduce him to a stranger.

“Look who’s come back down for a visit!”

When you lifted your head, it seemed to take a few moments for him to recognise you, his brow furrowing slightly as he looked at you, your own face twisting into an awkward smile as you raised your eyebrows.

“How’ve you been Rhett.”

Your tone was formal, nowhere near similar to greeting an old friend, which of course you weren’t, seemingly putting off just enough stand offish energy for Cecilia not to pick up on it.

Clearing his throat as he wiped a hand across his face, evidently trying to catch himself and pretend like it hadn’t taken him a moment or two to recognise you, nodding his head as he placed his hands on his hips.

“Been good.”

It was clear that the both of you felt the awkward energy, not entirely sure where you stood with each other considering the last words you’d spoken to him years ago, clearly he wasn’t sure if you still hated him or not.

Nodding your own head back, part of you wondered if he’d seen the articles about you, seen the reports from TMZ; some anxiety settling in the back of your mind, if he still held a dislike towards, it definitely wasn’t helped by the paparazzi photos he’d seen of you drunkenly getting into limo’s, or the pictures of you leaving court.

“I watched you ride before.” it was all that you could muster out, your brain panicking when you realised it’d taken you a few seconds of silence to respond to him.

Pursing his lips slightly, he managed a small smile, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked over at his mother briefly.

“That bad, huh?” he joked with a chuckle, your brows furrowing slightly as he seemed to take it as snide remark straight away, your head tilting.

“I never said that.” your tone couldn’t be held back, unable to not feel just the slightest bit stand offish as he furrowed his own brows, visibly taken aback slightly by your response.

Just as he opened his mouth to say something in response, his facial expression tellin you it was probably something just as equally snarky as your own, only to be cut off by the sound of your own father’s voice calling you over, Cecilia’s arm twisting out of your own.

It seemed Rhett hadn’t changed much, still holding some sort of idea about you that made it seem like you were a bitch, at least that’s what he’d muttered when you’d walked away from him in the hall that day in school.

“Have a good night Cecilia, drive safe for me okay?” you spoke quickly, wanting to avoid any confrontation that could potentially be rearing its ugly head, turning on foot before she could respond and walking back over to your father who was waving you over.

“Ready to go home, Ducky?”

Your fathers arm curled in yours, a knowing smirk seemingly being exchanged with Cecilia before he turned to walk with you.

“Absolutely.” you responded, a satisfied nod on your head.

Continuing on through the crowd that was growing thinner and thinner as you approached the exit, you finally made it back into your fathers truck, opening your door and buckling yourself in as he got into the driver’s seat.

“I spoke with Royal while you were with Cecilia by the way.” he began, turning the key as the truck roared to life.

“We’ve been invited out to dinner with them tomorrow night.”

[rodentcarnival]

Can't help but sleep | Hanni Pham

summary: being an idol is hard with the early schedules and late nights and you can’t seem to help but fall asleep in the most random places, luckily an otter is always there to make sure you're comfortable. 

warnings: none!

tags: fluff, idol!hanni x 6thmember!reader

WC: 2.3k

you never meant to make it a habit, but at some point, sleep just started happening wherever it could.

on the floor during short breaks? sure.

in the van with your cheek smushed against the window? why not.

in the middle of a phoning live? okay, that was one time. (it was not one time)

but it’s not like you didn’t try. you really, really did. you’d tell yourself “i’ll sleep early tonight,” and then you’d fall into a rabbit hole of watching hanni fan cams. but really you were just supporting your fellow member nothing more. totally not because you had a crippling addiction to anything that involved her. it was always embarrassing whenever you’d fall asleep in public. 

what made it slightly less embarrassing was that, for some reason, a little otter was always there.

the first time you noticed it was at the airport. you had stayed up the night before packing and promptly passed out in the lounge area while waiting to board. your hoodie was covering majority of your head with some glasses and mask covering your face. you fell asleep within minutes of sitting down, your mouth half open under the mask letting out little snores. how elegant.

when you woke up, there was a blanket over your shoulders and a small snack resting on your lap. you blinked at the packaging while rubbing your eyes, then at the familiar handwriting on the sticky note stuck to it.

“wake up soon or i’m eating this for you - 🦦”

you smiled. you didn’t say anything about it at the time, but the snack tasted better than usual.

after that, it started becoming a bit… obvious. not to you at first. you were too busy falling asleep during breaks or in between takes. but the other girls noticed.

"unnie snores," hyein said once. 

"no she doesn’t," dani cut in. "it’s more like… soft breathing. like a sleepy puppy."

"it’s kind of cute," haerin added, patting your head as you stirred awake.

"what i think is cutest is the way hanni stares at her like she's watching her favourite movie," minji whispered behind her hand.

hanni threw a grape at her.

you blinked confused, still trying to process why you had a neck pillow now when you definitely hadn’t brought one.

the edits started not long after.

fans had somehow found clips of you sleeping during backstage vlogs or bts videos. some had soft music layered under them, others were captioned with things like “the nation’s baby” or “protect at all costs.”

but the ones that got the most attention were the ones where a certain otter was nearby.

there was a specific one that got nearly a million views overnight. it was a five second clip of you curled up on a couch, your hoodie drawn over your head, and hanni walking by, slowing down, then joining you on the couch, holding you close. 

y/nnni_forever: "i don't think she knows she's in love" ilovenjz: "nah she knows, she just thinks no one else does"

it was the first performance of “right now” and you didn’t get good sleep the night before, which led to you falling asleep on the chair with your phone replaying the same tiktok. 

dani held up the camera, smiling and chatting towards it happily on the other side of the room. “hi friends~ i’m going with my natural hair today.” 

dani points the camera towards hanni, prompting hanni to speak, “we are performing right now! the choreo uses a desk and sofa, bet you weren't expecting that.” 

dani leaves the camera with hanni as hanni starts showing off her camera roll. “look i organized it, this is an album of me with short hair, these are ones taken on a film camera, and these are when y/n falls asleep hahaha.” 

what fans seemed to notice was the abundant photos hanni took where her face would be super close to yours, making it a clip bunnies put in their edits. 

“you might be wondering where is y/n?” hanni picks up the camera quietly walking to you with a finger lifted to her lips indicating “shhhh”. 

the camera panned to you sprawled on the chair with your phone hanging by a thread of your hand. 

“another one to add to the collection, bunnies dont you think shes cute?” 

later that night, when you checked your own phone, you found airdropped photos from hanni. not the embarrassing ones. just the ones where she’d managed to catch you mid nap, soft lighting casting gentle shadows on your face. some even had her in the corner of the frame, blurry but smiling.

“these are just for you, don’t delete them or else you die - 🦦”

things kept piling up like that. quiet little things. thoughtful little things.

like how she always made sure your favourite snack was stocked in the dressing room.

or how she’d put a water bottle into your hands after a particularly exhausting performance.

or how whenever you leaned on her without realizing, she never moved.

you once asked her why she never woke you up when you slept on her shoulder.

"because you look peaceful," she said. then added with a grin, "and also because you drool and it’s funny."

you smacked her arm. she laughed.

you fell asleep during a solo phoning call once. it was late into the night but you just wanted to update the bunnies on what you’d been up too while trying your best to stay alert, nodding and smiling and occasionally answering the questions.

“yeah… and hanni and i *yawn* went to the… hold on i just need to close my eyes...” you said, you just needed to rest your eyes for a couple moments and you’d be back to 100%. just a few seconds… 

and then you knocked out.

njz#1fan: “HELP SHE FELL ASLEEP”  emominji: “ayo someone get hanni in here her gf’s fell asleep on live.”

when you woke up, hanni had your head in her lap while one hand was combing your hair and the other scrolling on her phone like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“good morning sunshine,” she said, not even looking up.

“did i…?”

“yep. fully knocked out in the middle of a sentence.”

you groaned. “i’m never gonna live this down.”

“don’t worry,” she said, ruffling your hair. “i told the fans you were just overwhelmed by their love.”

you stared at her.

“you’re welcome.”

one night, after a long concert, the dorm was unusually quiet. everyone had gone to bed except you and hanni. you were curled up in the corner of the couch, blinking sleepily at a drama that you had paused for twenty minutes as you were trying to regain your eyesight as it was blurring. 

"why are you fighting it?" she asked softly.

"what?"

"sleep. you're literally swaying.”

you rubbed your eyes. “i don’t wanna miss the ending.”

“you’ve seen this episode four times.”

“but you’re still awake, i don’t want you to be lonely…”

she came over, pulled a blanket from the back of the couch, and draped it over you. then, without hesitation, sat beside you and gently guided your head to her lap.

you blinked up at her. “again?”

“yes. now shut up and sleep.”

you giggled.

“you love this, don’t you?” you teased.

“maybe,” she shrugged, brushing a stray hair from your face.

“you’re not subtle, you know.”

“good,” she said. “then i don’t have to say it out loud.”

you looked up at her with tired eyes.

“…say it anyway.”

hanni’s fingers paused in your hair.

she smiled, soft and small.

“i love you.”

you fell asleep with that echo in your chest.

it started with poking and prodding at your face to keep you awake.

you weren’t sure when it became hanni’s go to tactic for keeping you awake, but at some point, it had evolved into a whole routine.

“you’re doing it again,” she whispered during a photoshoot, eyes glinting with amusement as she nudged your arm.

you blinked slowly, lips parted in the middle of a very poorly timed yawn.

“no i’m not,” you lied, swaying slightly in your seat.

hanni leaned in closer, smirking. “you’re literally moving like a drunk person.”

you made a face. “i’m awake.”

“sure you are,” she said, poking your cheek once. “totally alert.”

poke.

“super energized.”

poke.

“ready to model.”

poke poke.

“stop,” you whined, batting her hand away with the weakest slap known to mankind.

she just laughed, leaned in, and squished your cheeks together with both hands.

“look at this sleepy lil chipmunk,” she said in a voice that was definitely not meant for public consumption but the camera caught it.

you blinked up at her with puffed cheeks, lips squished into a pout. “thif is cruh ool.”

“you love it,” she said, ruffling your hair.

you didn’t respond. mostly because you her hands where just so comfortable you felt like sleeping right there. 

the fans noticed. of course they did.

a week later, there was a fan edit titled “HANNI VS Y/N’S SLEEPINESS” that racked up half a million views in two days.

it opened with the now infamous “chipmunk face” clip, set to titanic music. then it cut to various moments across videos. 

the first clip showed you, mid eyeliner when your eyes started drooping.

one of the stylists had been chatting softly with haerin nearby, and the makeup brush gently paused against your lid when your head tilted a little too far to the side. you didn’t stir, breathing slow and even.

a soft bop to the tip of your nose made your eyes flutter open.

hanni stood beside you grinning.

“you almost snored,” she whispered, then tapped your nose again for good measure. “wake up cutie.”

you blinked at her a little dazed, and then immediately began to pretend you were definitely awake the whole time.

[beep]

you were sitting next to hanni during a phoning live, both of you in matching couples pjs that you both swore was just what besties do, greeting fans and answering comments .

you were mid sentence when a yawn broke out. your mouth stretched wide, blinking slow, voice trailing off completely.

without missing a beat, hanni gasped and threw herself backwards, one hand clutching her chest.

“NOOOO SHE’S GOING UNDER WE’RE LOSING HER,” she shouted dramatically, causing the live chat to explode in chaos.

you tried to glare at her through half lidded eyes, but it was hard when you were also fighting to stay upright.

“this is betrayal,” you mumbled.

“bunnies she might not make it” hanni continued, waving her arms. “press 1 to send caffeine. press 2 to send cuddles.”

“press 3 and i’ll cuddle with hanni :) who am i kidding i’ll do it regardless if you guys type it.” you said, falling backwards into hanni's arms.

[beep] 

rehearsal was dragging. the lights were harsh, your body sore, knees weak, arms heavy, no vomit on your sweater, and the sofa prop was starting to look way too inviting.

you were standing behind it, trying your best not to give up on standing. maybe if you closed your eyes for just a second you could wish away the tired feeling. 

a very loud clap then happened next to your ear.

you practically jumped out of your skin shouting. 

hanni was there, eyes wide in fake innocence, palms still together from the clap.

“WAKE UP SOLDIER, RISE AND GRIND IT’S A NEW DAY,” she barked, grinning as the others burst into laughter behind her.

your soul had already left your body. you just stared into the distance, hands limp by your sides.

“my ghost will haunt you,” you muttered.

“as long as your ghost is as cute as you,” she replied.

the fans loved your dynamic with hanni. 

bunniesforever: “if i had my own otter waking me up each time, id also fall asleep all the time”  hatevegetables: “they’re literally dating idc” tomatofrog34: “if my future gf doesn’t wake me up like hanni i don’t want her”

you watched the video three times with blush dusting your cheeks, smiling at your phone in the middle of the night like a crazy person. 

you sat at your desk in your room, working on some lyrics for the new comeback song before deciding to call it a night. you turned off the lights, played some soothing white noise in the background and laid in bed. 

and you continued laying there, wide awake. for some reason it felt lonely, like there was something missing. 

then it hit you. 

getting up from your bed, you grabbing your pillow, hugging it close to your chest as you made your way out of your room and down the hall. stopping in front of a familiar door, you knocked lightly as shuffling could be heard from the inside before the door cracked open. 

“y/n? is everything okay?” hanni said, her voice laced with sleepiness. 

“i’m sorry for bothering you this late at night, i just was wondering if i could sleepover?” you said with a cheeky smile. even if hanni was annoyed at being waken up so late into the night, she could never pass up an opportunity to cuddle with you. 

she opened the door more and gestured for you to come inside before flopping onto her own bed, snuggling back under the covers. you close the door and get into bed right next to her. 

pulling her closer, you closed your eyes, resting your chin on her head. when you heard her breathing evening out you finally mustered the courage to speak. 

“goodnight hanni, i love you” you whispered, kissing her forehead. 

“i love you too y/n” hanni mumbled half asleep. 

a bright red colour consumed your face, even when you laid next to hanni. that night you couldn't sleep because you spent the whole time admiring her face. 

[estrellami-1]

Steddie Week 2024

July 6th Prompt: Dizzy

Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5 | Day 7

@steddie-week

Steve stands up, and that’s where it all goes wrong.

His intent was to grab more drinks from the fridge, but when he stood, he blinked a few times. “Whoa,” he murmurs.

“Steve?” Robin asks. She sounds like she’s at the end of a long tunnel.

“Steve?” Eddie asks. He sounds closer, but not as close as he should.

“‘M fine,” he says, “jus’ dizzy.”

Then he’s waking up in the hospital. “What,” he asks, then doesn’t complete the thought because Robin and Eddie are both standing over him, one on each side, holding each of his hands, and he’d feel so much love if he could feel anything besides general panic because- “I can’t hear you,” he says, breathing picking up. “I can’t- please, I- I need-”

Eddie shuts up, staring at him with wide eyes, and after a second of hesitation, places Steve’s hand, palm down, on his chest. He takes deep, purposeful breaths, and Steve can feel his hand moving, feel the breaths, feel his heartbeat-

He takes a breath. Another. Another. By that time, Nancy had gotten a doctor.

Later, he’ll learn this is something they’d been watching for, but couldn’t be sure of until he woke up. Later, he’ll learn that Eddie lays awake at night, sometimes, hearing the sound Robin makes.

All he knows right now is how to keep breathing, how to keep holding Robin’s hand, how to believe he’ll be okay, because he has to.

He has to.

He stays with Eddie upon his release, because they’re together most days anyways, and it’s a certain kind of torture on Steve’s heart because Eddie’s started carrying around a notebook and a pen just to write to Steve whatever he was gonna say, and Steve doesn’t think he could love another person more than he did, but here’s the proof, apparently.

They’re sharing a bed, because Wayne had previously called their couch “older than Jesus,” and Steve lasted for all of an hour on it before slipping into Eddie’s room.

The good thing about sharing a room is it helps curb the nightmares for a time.

Eventually, though, they come back with a vengeance.

Steve’s laying in bed, like he does every night, when he rolls over to face Eddie. “Eddie?” He asks. Eddie’s always last to sleep, so Steve’s not hesitant about asking, except Eddie doesn’t answer.

“Eddie?” He asks again, jostling Eddie’s shoulder a bit.

Suddenly he shoots up in the air, and Steve bites back a yell.

Suddenly there’s a voice that sounds like it’s coming from everywhere and nowhere, reverberating off the corners of the room, echoing louder and louder. You took everything from me. Eddie’s arms snap, and Steve yells, scrambles up, music, except what’s his favorite song—that puppet one, metal, come on brain, think—but there’s nothing here but country, bluegrass, stuff Wayne likes, and Steve turns to watch the blood drain from Eddie’s face as another gristly crunch echoes, louder than anything so far. So I’ll take everything from you!

Something reaches out for him, grabs his shoulder, and he yells, twists around, pushes away, hard enough he falls on the ground. He opens his eyes to see Eddie on his bed, Steve sitting just off it, eyes wide and hand reaching to help, stalled halfway. Illuminated by the lamp, too, which wasn’t on half a second ago.

Steve blinks at him, looks at the room. No floating Eddie in the middle of it.

“Dream?” He asks. Eddie nods. He stifles the sob and practically launches himself onto the bed, into Eddie’s arms, lets himself shake apart because he can.

Eventually he feels reverberating in Eddie’s chest that he knows means words, means speaking, so he looks up at Eddie, who’s looking at the door.

He turns to look, too, and sees Wayne. “S-sorry,” he tries, still sniffling.

Wayne shakes his head at him, walks into the room, sits on the edge of the bed. Offers his arms out in a hug.

Steve thought he was done crying. Trust Wayne to prove him wrong, because he’s tearing up all over again as he leans into Wayne.

His new position means he can see Eddie, who points at him, makes a talking motion with his hand, then points at himself and Wayne. Steve frowns. “You… want me to tell you?”

Eddie points at Steve again, insistently, and Steve understands: your choice.

“I can,” he agrees. “We were in bed and I was tryin’a talk to you, but you didn’t answer, and I kept trying to get your attention, but suddenly you- you were up in the air, and your arms and legs broke, and a voice—it was Vecna, I didn’t recognize it in the dream—said I’d taken everything from him so he was gonna take everything from me. And I was trying to find music, but I couldn’t remember the name of your favorite song, and the only stuff in here was Wayne’s stuff, country and bluegrass and stuff like that, and…” he sighs out a broken sob. “I couldn’t save you.”

Eddie reaches for his hand, but suddenly that’s not enough, he needs to be able to feel his heartbeat, have his breathing move Steve’s hand, so he tips over into Eddie again, gets his hand on his chest and his face in the side of his neck.

Eddie says something, but before Steve can move Wayne’s got a comforting hand on his back. He removes it after a minute, and Steve can feel the shift in the bed of him getting up, but before he can mourn the loss, Eddie’s got his arms wrapped around Steve as he carefully lowers them back down. He rubs a hand up and down Steve’s spine, slips the other into Steve’s hair.

Steve falls asleep like that.

He wakes up in almost the same position. He tries to apologize, but Eddie waves him off, hands him some clothes and points to the bathroom before pointing to himself and miming cooking.

Steve’s heart clenches at the thought. “Okay,” he whispers.

Robin comes over later, and they sit on the front steps as he recounts what had happened. “He’s just so sweet,” he sighs. “And I’m an idiot who’s letting my heart get involved.”

Robin wraps an arm around his shoulders and kisses his temple. It doesn’t help as much as he’d hoped it would, but he appreciates the gesture anyways.

Later she leaves, and Eddie pulls out his dedicated Steve Notebook.

I’ve got a friend in Indy who knows sign language. I could give her a call, if you want? He writes, and again Steve’s all but overcome with love for this man.

Instead of anything he wants to do, he just nods. Eddie grins and hops up to use the phone.

He’s back in a couple of minutes, collapses onto the couch with the notebook before furiously scribbling and handing it to Steve.

I spoke to my friend. She says sorry and it sucks, first of all. Steve snorts and nods. She’s willing to talk to you, get you started, maybe even get you some books. Does tomorrow work?

Steve gapes up at Eddie. “Tomorrow?”

Eddie nods and grins, then points at Steve in a gesture Steve knows has come to mean you decide.

“That would be great,” he says. “Seriously, I- thank you, Eddie.”

Eddie waves him off, but Steve can see the happy little blush on his cheeks.

They head out the next day. It’s probably twenty minutes into the drive, and even with Eddie sitting next to him in the driver’s seat, it feels lonely. He never realized how much he’d miss the sound of tires on asphalt. He wasn’t ever truly into music, like Eddie is, but he misses the radio. He misses the wind rushing past, the silence that’s possible to share when both people can hear-

He doesn’t realize he’s crying until Eddie’s pulled over, a hand on his cheek and a concerned expression on his face. “Sorry,” he tries. Eddie shakes his head, presses his palm more firmly to Steve’s cheek. “Fuck,” he mutters. “‘S stupid. Just… felt alone. I dunno. There’s, like, a million little things you hear every day that you don’t think about, like the way your hands tap the steering wheel when you turn, or the way your clothes shift and rub against each other, and it’s all silent now, and there’s not even music, and-” he takes a deep, shaky breath. Lets it out as evenly as he can. “I just… felt really alone all of a sudden.”

Eddie brushes his thumb along Steve’s cheekbone as he thinks. Suddenly, he grins and moves his hand, shoving a tape into the deck and cranking the sound. He demonstratively puts his hand on the door. Steve laughs and does the same, gasping when he feels the vibrations of the song move through him. He can’t tell notes, but it’s something, and then Eddie carefully reaches for his hand, keeps his grip relaxed until Steve smiles at him and tightens his own fingers around Eddie’s. “Thank you,” he whispers.

Eddie smiles, nods, and gets back on the road.

They arrive at his friend’s apartment in no time, and Steve would be jealous at the length of the hug if Eddie didn’t immediately step back to grab Steve’s hand again. Based on his hand motions, he’s introducing Steve.

She asks Eddie something, and he turns bright red, pulling a strand of hair across his face as he glances at Steve before looking back at her and answering.

She invites them in, scribbles on a little chalkboard, and hands it to Steve with a smile. Hi, Steve! My name is Nicole. It’s nice to meet you.

He grins up at her. “It’s nice to meet you, too.”

She takes the chalkboard back, scribbles something else. Eddie tells me you recently lost your hearing. Do you mind me asking about that?

“Not at all,” Steve says, then frowns, somehow just now realizing he doesn’t know the full extent of what happened. “Honestly, all I know is I stood up and got really dizzy, and then I was waking up in the hospital.” He shrugs. “I’ve had a couple of pretty bad concussions, and I guess whatever made me pass out also just… took my hearing.” He shrugs.

Eddie shakes his head, grabs for the chalkboard. Almost. He bites his lip. You passed out, and I wasn’t fast enough. You hit your head on the floor. He looks away, takes a deep breath. I’m sorry.

“That is not your fault, Eds,” Steve tells him firmly. Eddie won’t look him in the eyes, so Steve grabs his chin. “Hey, look at me. Not your fault. I don’t blame you. Okay?”

Eddie shrugs, pointing to himself with a self-deprecating smile, and Steve knows what he’s trying to say. I do.

“Well I don’t,” Steve says. “But if- if you need to hear it. I forgive you, okay?”

Eddie nods, eyes big and wet, and Steve pulls him into a hug.

Eddie suddenly laughs, pulling away to wipe his eyes before saying something to Nicole.

Right. They’re not alone. “Sorry,” he tells her, but she waves him off, handing over the chalkboard again. I think we’ll start on the alphabet today. That way you can at least finger spell what you need, even if it’s slow.

“Sounds good,” he says, and she nods, talking the chalkboard to write the alphabet.

Slowly but surely, she teaches Steve and Eddie the alphabet. They get a little tripped up on some of the letters, most noticeably p and q, until Nicole takes pity on them and makes a p. She uses her other hand to draw a line down both her extended fingers, then tracing her own legs. She taps her thumb, peeking out between the two, and with a mischievous grin, points between Steve and Eddie’s legs.

They share a look and burst out laughing, but they don’t forget those letters again.

By the end of the day, they’ve gotten through the alphabet with enough regularity that Nicole feels they can practice on each other.

Steve pauses before they leave. T-h-a-n-k, then a pause, then y-o-u.

Nicole smiles, presses her fingertips to her lips, then brings her hand down to chest height, palm up. She does the motion again, and Steve copies her, grinning when she nods excitedly.

“Thank you,” he signs and says, grinning even wider when she pulls him into a quick hug before waving at him and Eddie.

They wave back and pile into the van, Steve’s hand in Eddie’s before Steve can practically blink. He smiles, unbearably fond, and squeezes to get his attention before signing, “Thank you.”

Eddie just smiles back, throws the van into reverse, and starts home. 

They practice more while they make dinner, throwing words like spatula and stir and chop around, and Steve didn’t realize learning could be this fun.

He’s watching Eddie stir the broth, hips moving in a little dance to a song only Eddie knows, and his heart is so full, he has to say something before his heart bursts. “I’m gonna say something that’s gonna sound incredibly sappy,” he says. “But just… please just listen until the end? And try not to tease me too much.”

Eddie just smiles, grabs his hand and squeezes, and Steve takes a breath before starting.

“I’m glad it’s you. I’m glad you were there that day, I’m glad you were there when I woke up at the hospital, I’m glad you were there when I realized going home meant being completely alone. I’m glad you made a complete fool of yourself in the hospital lobby, doing charades to let me know I could stay here.” He takes a breath. “I’m glad you have Nicole, because it lets me talk with you easier. I’m glad you never once let me feel like I’m alone, or like I’m going through this alone. I’m glad you’re learning with me. I’m glad you’re making this fun. I didn’t know learning could be fun, but it is with you, and I-” he takes a breath, swallows the three words that want to come out. “I’m glad it’s you,” Steve whispers, “here, at the end of all things.”

He doesn’t realize he’s crying until Eddie’s hands are cradling his cheeks, wiping away tears. Eddie’s just as teary-eyed, though, and he pulls away, looking for the notebook. Please don’t punch me.

Steve looks up, brows furrowed, to watch Eddie spell something. I l-o-v-

That’s as far as he gets before Steve gasps, understanding, or hoping he understands, and pulls Eddie into a kiss.

He pulls back almost immediately to check that’s correct, that that is what Eddie was trying to say, when Eddie pulls him back in, dinner be damned, crowding him in against the counter and doing his best to lick into Steve’s mouth.

Steve lets him, pulling away for a sharp inhale before diving right back in, fingers tight in Eddie’s hair and the back of his shirt, and there’s a sudden vibration that he just knows means Eddie moans, and suddenly he’s dizzy again, but this time he welcomes it, because this time he’s not passing out; this time, he’s dizzy because he’s drunk on love.

[sserpente]

Bite Me (HAPPY HALLOWEEN! 🎃)

A/N: Happy Halloween everyone! I’m dressed as a kitten tonight because…well. ;) This year's Halloween Imagine simply had to go to Sylus.

Words: 2029 Warnings: semi-public smut, biting

“Pleeeeeease?” You drew the word out, putting on your best puppy face. Sylus was a hard one to convince. But if there was one opportunity to spend time with him in public, with your friends, it was Halloween.

Tara and Simone had invited you to a party on the 31st, a costume party you desperately wanted to go to with Sylus. It would be the perfect chance for him to dress up and remain undetected. Besides, the idea of dancing with him, grinding against him on the dance floor surrounded by strobe lights and fog…it was on occasion you both knew would lead to sex sooner or later.

“No, kitten. You go and have fun with your friends. I’m not the type to play dress up and get drunk on cheap party alcohol.”

But Sylus was a tough nut to crack. He really wasn’t the type for parties like that, you knew him well enough by now to know that. Still, you’d hoped he’d make an exception for you. After all, it was Halloween! The best time of the year!

The connection of the video call wavered for a moment.

“Sylus, pleeeease? You don’t have to do anything crazy. How about we just smear some fake blood all over you? Then you can say you’re dressed as a serial killer. That should do it!”

“A serial killer? That’s what you think would suit me?” He didn’t sound offended, instead he gave you a low chuckle. “Go to bed, kitten. I still have work to do and you will complain to me in the morning that I kept you awake.”

“Well, you are keeping me awake! Just say yes and I can go to sleep peacefully!”

“No. Good night, sweetie. Sweet dreams.”

He hung up before you could prepare a comeback. You growled. Damn it. But for what it was worth…at the very least, Sylus had just given you the perfect idea for your Halloween costume this year.

You were a little irritated when you got ready for the party the following evening. Applying your make-up meticulously, you eyed your outfit. A black bodysuit, a black skirt, black tights, high boots you normally wore for hunting, glued-on fake whiskers, and adorable cat ears made you absolutely certain that Sylus would have loved your costume of choice.

As you drew on a little button nose with your eyeliner, you debated whether you should send him a picture. But he didn’t deserve that, really, right? You could respect him not wanting to go to a party with you but you couldn’t help but feel bitter he’d turned you down regardless. He knew you loved Halloween!

You sighed, glancing down when a message from Tara popped up on your phone.

Are you ready, friend? We’re outside!

You nodded at your reflection. You were ready. With or without Sylus. Tara’s friend would drive you tonight so you could drink. And you were just on time too, arriving just before midnight.

The building where the party took place was decorated brilliantly. There were spiderwebs in the corners, garlands and pumpkin string lights lining the walls, and orange and purple strobe lights illuminating the dance floor. Fog wrapped around the ankles of the people dancing.

Pumpkins with spooky faces carved into them laughed at your face, and the selection of snacks and drinks was phenomenal. The bass of the music reverberated in your chest the more you mixed in with the crowd, with Tara holding your hand so she wouldn’t lose you.

You went with a Dracula shot for your first drink—vodka and cranberry juice—before hitting the dance floor. It’s just that someone was missing for this to be truly fun. God damn it.

You didn’t want to be one of those girls who couldn’t enjoy themselves without their boyfriend anymore. You could and you would. Still, it was alright to wish Sylus was here, right?

With a sigh, you nodded when Tara gestured she would get another drink and kept on spinning around on the dance floor—and rolled your eyes when a stranger placed his hands on your waist from behind.

“Go away! I have a boyf—” You flipped around only to be met with a very familiar figure. Your heart skipped a beat. Sylus.

“Sy-Sky! You…you’re here!”

“And you look absolutely ravishing. My kitten is a kitten. How adorable.”

Heat crept up your cheeks. Sylus didn’t exactly look bad either. A small trickle of blood decorated the right corner of his mouth, and his black shirt wasn’t buttoned up all the way. A pair of fake fangs completed the look when he flashed you a mischievous grin.

“You…you’re a vampire!”

“Let’s just say our conversation inspired me. Besides, I wasn’t keen on the idea of smearing fake blood all over myself.”

Oh, but I would have loved to roam my hands all over your bare chest, Sylus. You cleared your throat.

“But…you’re here! I thought you didn’t want to come…”

“I changed my mind. You seemed rather upset when I declined.”

You smiled. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Tara returned with your drinks before you could say anything else. You passed the one she handed you on to Sylus and leaned against him, careful not to smudge your makeup on his shirt and ruin it.

“Oh hello! Sky, right? Lovely to see you again! So you’re a vampire?” Tara began.

“And you. I am indeed. And you’re a…”

“A werewolf-zombie-witch!”

You chuckled. “Tara couldn’t decide which of the three she wanted to do so she combined all three of them.”

“I see. Very creative.”

“I’m sure you two want some alone time. Here, take my drink, I’ll meet you later!” She left with a wink before you could protest—not that you had any. You all but longed to throw yourself into Sylus’s arms. Which you immediately did as soon as she was out of sight.

“Kitten, you’re going to spill our drinks.” But instead of pushing you away, his arms wrapped around you even tighter.

“Let’s get rid of them then.” You downed your little cocktail way too fast for it to be healthy and put the plastic cup on a nearby snack table. Sylus took his time with his drink before doing the same though. You almost started tapping your foot impatiently—and you were certain he was doing this on purpose because the amused expression on his face spoke volumes.

God, he looked so handsome tonight. Your mind drifted back to that conversation you’d had with him, back when he’d taken you to this old castle and you’d slept in front of the fireplace. You’d told him he resembled a vampire…and right now, you wanted him to bite you so badly you could already feel yourself getting wet. Fuck.

“Dance with me!”

“Are you tipsy already?”

“That first shot was strong. And I had two glasses of wine prior to coming here so… probably yes.”

He shook his head, smirking.

“Now dance with me!”

“So demanding, kitten.” Sylus wrapped his arm around your waist and flung you around so your back was pressed against his chest. He moved you both to the rhythm of the music, his face buried in your neck.

“That’s a new perfume,” he muttered.

“Should the fact that you can tell concern me?”

“You tell me, kitten.”

You grinned and kept on dancing, your behind grinding against his crotch in the process. Again, and again and again…for what felt like an eternity, ignoring the rest of the crowd as if you two were the only one who existed.

“I can’t guarantee anything if you keep rubbing yourself against me like that, kitten,” he murmured with a start.

“Maybe that’s the plan,” you whispered back.

Sylus’s gaze darkened. Challenge accepted. He didn’t need to say it out loud. Still, you were unprepared for when he wrapped his hand around your wrist with a start and dragged you out of the main room into the hallway, crimson eyes darting around in an attempt to find...somewhere private, assumingly.

You laughed, the sound echoing through the building. Out here, the music was duller, the bass more bearable. Your eyes were ringing from the noise inside and you registered a little too late what was happening when Sylus tried for a broom closet and pulled you inside without any forewarning.

“That’s not very romantic!”

He huffed a laugh. “Romantic is for when we get home and I can make love to you in my bed. Be glad we’re gonna be here for a while longer or else I would have ripped those clothes off of you already. This…will have to suffice.”

With but one swift motion, he hooked his index fingers under your tights and pants and pulled them down to your knees before you lifting you up and against the wall, forcing your legs apart to accommodate his body.

You bit your lower lip, your pussy pulsing with need.

“S-Sylus,” you choked out, “c-condom?”

“Don’t worry your pretty little head, kitten. I have some with me.”

Your breathing was heavy by the time he nestled with his belt and eventually, freed his erection. You understood now why he’d been so eager to drag you off now. He was hard. He was struggling to roll the condom over his length while refusing to let you down. But as soon as he managed…you did not receive a forewarning before he buried himself inside you to the hilt, growling against your neck.

“F-fuck, Sylus!”

His hand came up to press against your mouth, keeping you from making a sound. “Quiet, kitten. We don’t want anyone to hear us, now do we?”

“T-the music is t-too loud a-anyway…” you said, muffled because of his palm.

Sylus chuckled, his lips ghosting over your neck as he thrust up into you, hitting your sweet spots with every single stroke.

But instead of giving you a hickey like he normally did (and then watching your reflection in the mirror afterward, smug and amused as you tried to cover it up with make-up when you had to get back to work)…he bit down on your neck. Hard.

Whatever fangs he was using, they held onto dear life as if he’d superglued them on. They were pointy, painful…but not painful enough to seriously cause you any distress. If anything… fuck, this was so hot…

You moaned, throwing your head back to give him better access. At this point, you didn’t even care if he drew blood. Would he drink it? If he broke the skin and a few droplets sneaked their way past his lips?

Sylus fucked you like the filthy girl you were being, teasing and riling him up like that, and much to your luck, it had worked. He knew. Of course he knew. This man was always in control, and you would be lying if you claimed you did not love it.

“Sylus…” You repeated his name over and over again against his mouth as if it were a prayer that would bring you salvation. It would. Oh, it would…for with every single thrust, you felt yourself creeping closer and closer to an annihilating abyss of pleasure. If you hadn’t been pressed up against the wall, legs wrapped around his hips, your knees would long have given in.

“I’m…I’m gonna come…” you whispered out of breath.

Sylus released your neck, the wound pulsing with a dull pain as he licked over it with relish and then released your mouth to capture your lips in a passionate kiss. His strokes grew more frantic, more eager. And it drove you straight over the edge.

You came with a grunt, moaning into his mouth. Pleasure rippled through you as you squeezed around his cock repeatedly, triggering his own release.

Sylus’s heavy breathing turned into a carnal groan as he came, his length jerking against your slick walls gripping him tightly. He slumped against you once he came down from his high, cradling you in his arms.

“Sylus…”

“Yes, kitten?”

“Take me home?” There was no way you were going to return to the dance floor. Not after this. Oh god…

He chuckled. “I was hoping you’d ask.”

[nataliasquote]

Can’t You See This Is Breaking Me? | n romanoff

Summary: Natasha isn’t quite ready to give her entire life for the woman she loves

Warnings: injuries, blood, stitches, no happy ending

wc: 5.2k

note: this idea was given to me by @katyaromanoffpetrova (love you 🤍) and she’s fuelling my love hate relationship with angst. Also, this was so hard to condense, so I’m sorry if it’s lacking detail. I tried to cram three years of a relationship into 5k words :)

-⧗-

It was no secret to anyone how little regard Natasha had for her own life. Even since her very first Shield mission, she’d been a force to be reckoned with, partly down to her pure destructive nature. She didn’t care if taking down Hydra agents meant coming away with a bullet wound or two. Or if destroying an enemy testing laboratory meant four broken ribs and a cracked collar bone. As long as the job was done, that was all she cared about.

Nick Fury was getting tired of how many lectures he had given a young, 25 year old Natasha in his office when he’d read her completed mission report. He knew why she had such a blatant disregard for her life but it didn’t make it any easier seeing one of his best agents beaten and bruised each week. The redhead barely flinched when her wounds were inspected, but to be honest she didn’t really react to anything.

She was more of a ghost really, a pale figure soundlessly walking the halls at night. If her injuries didn’t let keep her awake at night, then the nightmares gladly took their turn, drenching her entire body in a cold sweat and leaving her shivering in her tangled sheets. But if the dark circles under her eyes looked worse, her friend and mentor Clint didn’t utter a word.

The structure and routine that manifested week by week kept her grounded and focused. Wake up, train, eat, surveillance, sleep. Missions were a welcome break from the otherwise monotonous rhythm Natasha had found herself in. She much preferred working solo as opposed to in a team, but Shield was all about team work so she had to suck it up.

A lot of the time she found herself alongside Clint Barton who weirdly offered her a feeling of comfort. She liked how he never pried too much into how she was feeling, or her past, but kept a look out for her whenever they were together. Her icy demeanour slowly melted away thanks to his warmth that he never failed to show her.

He showed her how to let people in, how to not keep her heart so tightly guarded in fear of actually feeling something about someone. And as much as she would hate to admit it, he was right. It did feel better knowing people cared about her. But it also terrified her at the same time. Vulnerability wasn’t her strong suit.

Yet somehow she had managed to let her tough exterior be pushed aside just long enough for a certain someone to wiggle her way in and take up permanent residence inside the redhead’s mind.

Y/n Y/l/n wasn���t really anyone compared to Natasha. Sure, she was a shield agent, and a high ranking one at that, but that was nothing compared to an Avenger. She’d spend years in their shadow, always looking up to Natasha Romanoff. I mean, who wouldn’t? She’s pretty badass.

But the young agent thought her relationship with said Avenger would end at idolisation and daydreaming. She never expected to suddenly be living amongst them in the compound. But when an empty training room was suddenly disrupted at three in the morning, it was a sign things were to change forever.

Y/n relished the silence that the training room at night brought. Most of her colleagues preferred to train in a group at 7am, but insomnia often brought her into the gym a lot earlier. She loved it though; a way to clear her head and exhaust her body whilst maintaining peak physical fitness required in case of a last second mission.

Lost in a world of music playing through her headphones, Y/n failed to notice the door slowly open, caught up in her boxing routine on the punch bag. She should have been more aware of her surroundings, like she’d been trained, so that she didn’t nearly jump out of her skin as a voice cut through her music.

“You’re gonna get a sore back if you keep using the wrong form.”

Without having ever met in person, Y/n would recognise that voice anywhere. She whipped around and quickly pulled her headphones off around her neck, cheeks flushing as she took in the woman in front of her.

A black sports bra and navy sweatpants was all that adorned Natasha’s toned body. She stood there with a hand on her hip, the other holding a small towel, a water bottle and her own pair of headphones. Y/n desperately tore her eyes away from the widow’s toned abs, feeling her own insecurities creep upwards. She itched for her sweatshirt that lay discarded on the bench just out of reach. That was the last time she ever trained in a sports bra.

“You keep twisting your back as you punch. You need to move from your hips.” Y/n just looked at her with surprise, not fully processing that they were having a conversation at all. “Do you want me to show you?”

“Yeah, sure.” That snapped her out of her trance. Y/n took a step back and allowed Nat to place her things down before she packed a swift punch to the bag, sending it swinging slightly on its stand. Y/n couldn’t lie, she looked really good, arm muscles tensed as she threw a few more punches. Her form was impeccable, but of course it was.

“When you swing round you have to rotate your hips for momentum. Just turning from your back will cause injury.” Y/n nodded, mirroring her stance on the punching bag beside Natasha. “Unless you’re doing lots of smaller ones, then you need to keep your hips still. That just comes from your shoulders.”

Nat threw a few more punches before Y/n copied, missing the small smile that broke out on the Russian’s lips as she observed. Fast learner, she noted, nodding in approval as Y/n turned back to her.

“Very good.” She bent down to grab her things, back muscles on full show to Y/n who just could not stop staring. You’d think she was used to the sight of toned bodies after working out everyday, but there was something different about Natasha and she couldn’t quite work it out.

“Thank you. I’m Y/n, by the way. I work in-“

“I know who you are,” Natasha said casually, looking the woman up and down. “You work with Hill. She talks about you.”

Y/n’s eyes went wide. “She does?”

Nat smirked. “Yeah, why? Does she not talk about me?”

“No, she does- we do-“ what happened to calm and collected shield agent she once was? Reduced to a stuttering mess of words in front of a pretty redhead. God, Y/n cursed herself for not being able to talk to women.

“I’m joking, don’t worry.” Natasha gave her a soft smile before walking off to the weights section, her headphones shutting out the world so she could focus.

Y/n however, could not focus on anything except that brief interaction. It was probably so small in Natasha’s life, yet it would consume Y/n for at least a week, if not more. Maria was going to have a field day with this.

Except it wasn’t small in Natasha’s life. The flustered agent had left quite a mark and Natasha found herself creeping down to the gym at 3am most mornings, hoping to see the woman she’d grown to love so much. And, more often than not, Y/n was there, punching away at the bag and pausing when Nat came in.

Over a course of many weeks, both had changed their training plans to match each other. It felt nice working out with another, Natasha had to admit, and Y/n was so easy to talk to she set the redhead right at ease. They talked and laughed and Y/n noticed how the usually uptight Russian had come out of her shell a lot more since that very first night.

However, one night didn’t go so smoothly. Y/n was in the training room first, of course. She sat on the bench and adjusted her socks, keeping herself busy until Natasha arrived. The past couple of nights had been just her as the redhead had been on a mission, but Maria informed her that she would return tonight, so Y/n anxiously awaited her return. She was more worried about Natasha than she let on, but they had no relationship outside of those four walls so she bounced her knee, willing her new friend to walk through the doors.

And she did. Except this wasn’t the confident Natasha she usually knew. No, this Natasha was walking stiffly, almost as if she was in pain.

“Nat?” Y/n asked, standing hesitantly at the sight of her. Small cuts and bruises littered her face and what skin was exposed under the neck of her tactical suit. Agents always had to report to medical following their return from a mission, but by the looks of Natasha, she hadn’t done that. “Why- what are you doing here?”

“Can’t miss training with my favourite girl, now can I?” She tried to sound upbeat but it fell flat, her pain evident even in her voice.

Y/n pushed aside the butterflies that erupted in her chest at those words and sprung up to help her, guiding Natasha to the nearest bench and forcing her to sit. She took note of how Natasha’s hand tightly clutched her side and she feared the worst.

She thought for a second, feeling Natasha’s eyes all over her face. “May I…?” She gestured to the zip on Natasha’s suit and the redhead nodded, stiffly manoeuvring her arms out of her sleeves as Y/n tugged it down to her waist. The agent had switched to processional mode and ignored how close Natasha’s bra clad chest was to her face as she inspected her side.

“What happened?” She asked, crouching down with a hand gently resting on the redhead’s knee as she gently felt the skin around the wound.

“Some stupid agent snuck up on me and threw his knife. Shit aim though.” Of course she tried to make a joke, but Y/n wasn’t laughing as she looked into her eyes. The redhead almost wanted to roll her eyes, and she would have done if anyone else looked at her with pity like that, but Y/n was different. Safer.

“Why didn’t you go to medical?”

Nat looked down, averting her eyes. “I didn’t want to. I hate it there.”

Y/n knew not to push. She didn’t know much about Natasha’s past but knew enough to know that it must have been horrific to endure. She sat back on her heels and bit her lip in thought.

“Will you let me sort it? I keep a suture kit and supplies in my bathroom.” She caught Natasha’s eye and gently squeezed her knee, trying to establish enough trust between them to let her accept the help. But Natasha was stubborn, so there was truly no way of knowing which way she’d swing.

“Ok.” That was not the expected answer but Y/n was happy to hear it. She knew not to help Natasha up, the redhead probably would have punched her, so she collected her things and led them both back to her apartment, walking a bit slower than normal to help Natasha keep up.

Her room was nothing special and probably looked identical to Natasha’s as they both had Shield issued rooms. Although Natasha’s would be fancier thanks to Tony Stark and his upgrades.

There were no personal items on any of the surfaces, not even in the bedroom. Natasha looked around with a frown, not liking how bare everything seemed. Not homely, that’s for sure. Even the bedside cabinets were empty, not even a picture frame for decoration.

“Take a seat anywhere, I’ll be right out.” Natasha chose the couch by the small coffee table and sank down onto it. The couch wasn’t anything special and neither was the table, ring marks displaying its age and use on the surface. The overhead light was dim but brightened up as Y/n stepped back into the room, a medical kit tucked under her arm.

She worked in silence, only broken by a hiss of pain from Natasha as the alcohol stung her wound. Y/n muttered an apology under her breath but kept working, fingers brushing gently over the soft skin as she made light work of stitching it closed. They weren’t the neatest but they’d do the job just fine.

“Thank you for this,” Natasha spoke into the silence, her eyes fixed on her fingers that rested on her lap. “You didn’t have to.”

“Maybe not, but I wanted to. I don’t like seeing you hurt.”

Natasha stayed silent for a moment, trying to organise her thoughts. She had people who cared about her, the Avengers, but not quite like Y/n had. She didn’t care who Natasha was, or how well she could take down enemies. She just enjoyed her presence and cared for her as a human being, something she rarely felt like she was.

“Can I make this up to you?” She tentatively asked, the strong Black Widow now a weird mess of nerves. What even was this?

“No, you don’t have to-“

“Come out with me on Saturday, into the city. Can I buy you lunch?”

Y/n stifled her smile and hid her face whilst packing up her equipment. She knew Natasha was asking her out on a date, albeit in a very roundabout way. It warmed her heart though, seeing her so soft. It was a side very few people ever got to see.

“Ok, sure. I’d really like that.”

Natasha smiled. “Now I know where you sleep, I’ll come pick you up.”

Y/n scrunched her nose at the odd phrasing. “You had to make it weird.”

“You know me,” she replied with a wink.

~~~

That date was a catalyst for many more to follow, and many midnight training sessions too. It took six more months of flirting and secret meet ups before Natasha pulled her heart out and wore it on her sleeve, asking Y/n to be her girlfriend.

The agent wasn’t stupid, of course she said yes. And at first their relationship was purely in the honeymoon stages; sneaking kisses in the hallway, comforting touches underneath the table, more midnight training and also moving in together. Natasha’s apartment was bigger than Y/n could ever have imagined and she adored the bed, starfishing face down on the mattress the first time she saw it.

But that was two years ago. Sure, they were still very much in love but something had shifted between them, creating a rift that Y/n had started to notice more and more. She knew what was causing it too.

Natasha was going on missions every other week, for days at a time. And she’d fallen back into her old habits, putting the job and the result over the safety of herself. More times than not did she come battered and bruised, open wounds bleeding as she walked into the bedroom. Y/n begged her to stop, to stay home more, to reduce the amount she went on even just to one a month, but her desperate attempts were met with a slammed door and a wall in Natasha’s mind. But she still persisted, trying again the next time Natasha came home. But it was useless.

Y/n always waited up for her though, the nerves of what state Natasha would be in when she returned making sleep pretty much impossible. Whatever she imagined, somehow it was always worse. She used to quiz Natasha as she led her into the bathroom and patched her up, placing kisses on each bruise that she found.

But now they barely said a word, Y/n almost running on autopilot as she cleaned cuts on Natasha’s back for what felt like the millionth time. It was draining her, anyone could see that, and being on edge all the time had made Maria notice.

“Take a week off to clear your head,” her supervisor had ordered, not taking any protests into consideration. “I don’t want to see you in this office before next Thursday, Y/l/n.”

A week off would have been great for anyone else but her. Natasha was away, again, which left Y/n with no ways to fully distract herself like she usually did to cope. She spent the first day in bed, holding onto Natasha’s pillow as her tears soaked the pillowcase. She hated how out of control she felt when Natasha was gone. It was her job, yet Y/n often wished Nat would retire, or at least pull back from constantly being in the field. But that’s what her girlfriend loved, so she had no choice but to respect it.

But on the third day of very little sleep and increasing stress levels, Y/n hit breaking point. She stared at her ghostly reflection as she splashed her face with some water, trying desperately to snap herself out of the lie she was feeling. But under the glaring lights all she could focus on were the heavy bags under her eyes and her discoloured skin, pink blotches littering her cheeks and forehead. She’d been picking at her skin to cope, but it did nothing but make her look worse.

She remained a zombie all day, curling back under the covers at 7pm to shut out the world. There was no telling when Natasha would return but part of her didn’t want it to be yet. She didn’t want to see the state she was in, the mess that she’d have to clean up. She loved Natasha, she really did, but with no contact allowed on her missions and no updates from the team, Y/n was starting to question if their relationship was even working.

She flicked off the light and turned to face the wall, images flashing in front of her as she worried herself stupid about her girlfriend. What if she wasn’t coming home? What if she’d been kidnapped? What if-

The apartment door opened.

Y/n held her breath, pulling the covers tightly under her chin as she waited. She knew the sound of Natasha’s footsteps based on her different moods, but the assassin stepped so lightly it was hard to tell. She felt footsteps getting closer and closer and she squeezed her eyes shut, not wanting to face the horrors to come. She wanted one more blissful moment, but her heart was racing in her chest and her throat was getting tight.

The bedroom door opened.

Light from the living room flooded in through the small gap as Natasha stepped through, brows furrowed at the darkness. It wasn’t that late, but maybe she’d missed something. Wasn’t like she was around much.

“Y/n?” She whispered, not wanting to turn the light on. But she didn’t need to worry about that when suddenly the room was bathed in light. Her girlfriend was sat up in bed, eyes blotchy as she stared at her with a hand on the light switch. “What happened?”

“What hurts?” Y/n asked, sliding off her side of the bed and padding over to the bathroom. “Stitches? Probably bruising too.” She was talking to herself more than Natasha, hands working to gather her supplies. But she was stopped when a pair of rough hands gathered hers inside them, tugging her away from the sink. “What are you doing?”

“I’m ok,” Natasha said, removing one of her hands to gently cup Y/n’s chin, tilting her eyes to meet her own. “Just a couple of bruised ribs, but that’s nothing.”

“At least let me look at them.” Natasha knew she wasn’t going to take no for an answer so she unzipped her suit and pulled it to her waist, revealing the nasty colourful sight. It was swollen and tender and Y/n cursed under her breath. She grabbed the tiger balm and gently applied it, trying to steady her shaking fingers as they touched Natasha’s skin.

“How have you been? How’s work?”

“Its fine, thanks.” Y/n wasn’t going to admit that Maria made her take a week off. She avoided Natasha’s gaze as she worked, even though there wasn’t much she could do for bruised ribs. “I’ll get you an ice pack when you’re dressed.” That was Natasha’s dismissal cue and she took it, but not without lingering in the doorway to watch Y/n for a moment.

By the time Natasha was dressed in an oversized t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, Y/n had wrapped the ice pack in a towel and handed it to her. There was an uneasy tension between them and Natasha could see something was on Y/n’s mind, just waiting to be said.

“Y/n-“

“This is your last one, right?” She couldn’t help herself but blurt out. Somehow she found the confidence with her back to Nat, sitting on her side of the bed. “Please tell me it’s your last one.”

“Of what?”

“Your missions, Natasha.” She bent one knee and tucked it beside her as she turned her body to face Natasha who was still standing in the middle of the room, ice pack pressed to her ribs. “How many times are you going to keep doing this? Coming home in a state! I never know if one day you’re just not going to come home at all.”

Natasha bit her bottom lip. She knew this was going to happen, it always did. And shutting Y/n down didn’t exactly get easier with practice. “Don’t do this again Y/n, please. You know what my answer is.”

“No, Natasha. I’m not gonna accept that anymore. I’m not asking you to quit all together. I just mean reduce the number you go on, take up desk work or surveillance, just something, anything, to get you out of the firing line.” Y/n ran her hands over her face, trying to keep herself together. But the more she spoke, the stronger her emotions got. “I can’t live like this anymore!”

Natasha had placed her ice pack on the bed, not feeling the need to hold it up right now. She couldn’t move, even though she wanted to run to Y/n. “I know you don’t like it-“

“I hate it.”

“Ok fine, you hate it,” she held her hands up in defense. “But that doesn’t mean I suddenly have to stop.”

Y/n stood up from her position, not wanting an ache in her back from turning so much. She and Natasha were now at eye level although the redhead’s stoic face was a lot more composed than her own.

“You’re not listening to anything I say. I never said you had to stop. Ever. Because that would be hypocritical coming from me.” Natasha pulled a ‘sounds about right’ face which Y/n just ignored. “I’m just asking you to reduce the amount you go on. Once a month, maybe? You can still be in the action, still do everything you love, but that way you’re safer and you’re here more. I hardly see you.”

Natasha shook her head. “Our line of work isn’t safe Y/n, even you know that surely.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She was getting defensive, having reached her limit of Natasha trying to shut her down.

Natasha was too stubborn to give up, even when she knew she fucked up. She just couldn’t let it go. “You rarely leave this place! Always stuck in the same office, the same four walls going insane every day! I don’t know how you do it! I’d rather quit than do that.”

“I do that because I can still contribute to the missions without the risk of getting blown to hell,” Y/n spat, taking full offense to Natasha talking down about her job. Sure, she didn’t go into the field as much as the other agents but she preferred to be in the chair, handling everything from above. “And you know damn well those missions you love don’t work without someone like me.”

“And that’s great, for someone like you. But I can’t do that, you have to understand me. I can’t be behind the fight, I have to be in it.”

“No one else goes on as many as you do, Natasha. Don’t you think that just once, someone else can take a mission-“

“I don’t care Y/n!” Natasha may be a passionate person but she never raised her voice. So her elevated tone made Y/n’s jaw clench, her innate response whenever someone shouted at her. “You don’t get to dictate my life! That wasn’t our agreement-“

“Agreement? What, so this is, are we some kind of, I don’t know, contract that you’re obliged to?”

Natasha scoffed, her eyes rolling back at the pure ridiculousness of her statement. This whole argument was pointless really but she entertained it, too stubborn to give in or let Y/n win. “Oh come on, you know I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I’m just sick of lying here in fear every week wondering if you’re actually going to come home or not! I can’t keep doing this Nat.” Y/n was having a hard time keeping Natasha in her vision as tears blurred in her eyes. But she wouldn’t let them spill. Crying meant Natasha won and she was done with backing down.

“We can’t keep having this conversation, Y/n,” Natasha grunted, running her fingers through her hair and tugging out the messy braid. “You know I can’t stop. This is my life, it’s what I was made to do. I can’t live without this job!”

“And I can’t live without you!” Her voice cracked and a tear slipped down but she fought the urge to wipe it, praying Natasha didn’t see. But she did see. Of course she did. The Russian noticed everything.

Natasha went silent. That was the last thing she wanted to hear. In this line of work, relying so heavily on someone wasn’t a good idea. She knew that, it had been drilled into her since she was a child. But Y/n didn’t, and that’s where she slipped up.

“Don’t say that.” Heavy emotions and Natasha Romanoff didn’t really mix well. “You have to, one way or another. You can’t just rely on me Y/n.”

“Nat, I am in love with you but lately it feels like all you care about is your job. When is it going to feel like you actually want to be here? With me?”

“I do Y/n, I do-“

Y/n dropped her head. “I know there’s a but coming.”

Natasha looked at the defeated form of her girlfriend and winced. She never thought she’d ever be in the position where she had to choose between family and her job. But she knew what her choice would be, what it always had been. Long before she even had a family.

“This job means everything to me. I didn’t choose this life, like you did, I was forced into it. It’s part of who I am, and I can’t just stop doing that to be with you.” The second those words fell from her lips Natasha knew that was the wrong thing to say.

Y/n adjusted the collar of her shirt and started to pace. If she was sitting down her leg would have been bouncing all over the place.

“What, that’s it? You’re just gonna call this whole thing off because you can’t take a break from your job?”

“What ‘whole thing’?”

“Us, Natasha! Us!” Y/n stopped in her tracks, gesturing between them both. They were on opposite sides of the room, a clear divide in space and opinion. “Unless there isn’t an ‘us’ anymore. Maybe I’m just the girl who keeps your bed warm and stitches you up in the middle of the night, no questions asked. Occasionally gives you head if you are really in the mood-“

“Stop it Y/n.”

“Stop what? It’s the truth, isn’t it? That’s all I am to you.”

“‘No, you’re so much more.” Natasha’s fingers were fidgeting with each other and they’d stumbled across a small cut on her palm that they were now playing with, the pain trying to keep her grounded. “But you have to understand that I can’t just take a step back. I love this job more than anything because I actually get to do something good with my skills that have been used for the opposite my whole life. I just need you to understand that, please!”

“You’re not gonna stop, are you?” Natasha just stared at her, chewing on her bottom lip. “No matter what, you will keep coming back here in a mess and I will keep fixing you up and we will keep having this conversation. Is there an end to this?”

“I won’t come here then.” Natasha stated simply, eyes darting momentarily to the bathroom door. “I’ll go to medical, where I should be.”

“You hate it there.”

“You hate me here.”

Y/n sighed, her breath shaky. This was the longest they’d ever fought for, and fighting Natasha was mentally exhausting. She had an answer to everything.

“I don’t hate you here, I just wish you’d fucking listen to me for one goddamn second!” Natasha nodded, almost challenging her to speak.

“I am.”

“I didn’t want to say this, but you haven’t exactly given me much of a choice. It’s me or the job, Nat. You choose. And you know what? If you choose me, you still keep half your job! But if you choose the job, you don’t get to keep half of me.” The last part sounded stupid but Natasha knew what she meant. She only had half of Y/n right now. The half that slept in her bed and fixed her wounds. If she chose her, she’d get the other half she fell in love with back.

But she couldn’t, could she? Natasha looked down, not wanting to watch Y/n’s face respond. “I’m sorry…”

“Get out.” It was barely a whisper but Natasha heard it. “Get. Out.” Y/n didn’t want Natasha to see her cry but when their eyes met again, Y/n’s were flooded with tears. She didn’t care, how could she when the green ones staring back at her were so cold. Natasha didn’t say a word, only grabbing her sweatshirt and slipping out of the room. The faint jangle of her keys sounded as the door slammed shut and only then did Y/n allow her walls to come crumbling down.

She collapsed onto the bed, only this time hugging her own pillow close as she choked out her sobs. They echoed around the room and her gag reflex kicked in from how hard she was crying. But all she could see was Natasha’s emotionless face staring back at her, not a hint of remorse visible in her eyes.

Reaching to flick off the light, Y/n caught sight of something that made her cry harder. Her bedside table hadn’t been empty for two and a half years. A single picture frame now sat there. And it was in that moment that Y/n wished it had just stayed empty.

[dyns33]

For a smile

Dream of the Endless x female reader, sweet fools as ever

Following the formalization of their relationship, Morpheus had been very clear with Y/N on two points.

He wasn't dancing, and he wasn't laughing.

Regarding the first point, he never gave a real explanation, simply refusing to move as Y/N spun around him to the music, frozen like a statue and calmly repeating that he didn't dance, ever.

Concerning his laughter, she had managed to make him laugh several times, and it quickly became apparent that he was simply ashamed, because this laughter was quite peculiar, to use simple and neutral terms, since the dreams master was easily hurt. It was likely that he was also simply ashamed of the way he danced.

Y/N had made the decision not to force him to do things he didn't like or that made him uncomfortable. It seemed normal in a relationship after all, even if Morpheus had some difficulty with the concept at first.

Fortunately they had talked about it, and he had come to accept his mortal lover's requests, even if he didn't understand them all.

“Why do you want me to knock on your door to enter your home ?”

"Because maybe I'm busy or with someone."

"… Do you have things to hide from me, agápi mou ?"

"No, but it's just being polite. I know I enter your kingdom every night without really asking you, but you sense that I'm coming. For my part, I almost have a heart attack every time you appear behind me without making a sound."

"I can send Matthew to let you know I'm coming so you won't be surprised."

"Dream. The door."

“Very well, agápi mou.”

"… I'm really not hiding anything from you, you know ?"

“I know, I was just saying that to tease you.”

It was sometimes difficult to know what Morpheus was thinking.

Not always, because the Dreaming reflected his mood without him being able to do anything about it, and he had difficulty with certain feelings, like sadness or anger.

But joy. Dream of the Endless had difficulty expressing joy.

It wasn't just the laughter that was the problem. He rarely smiled. So rarely that Y/N almost jumped the first time she saw this wonder appear on his face, and he had no excuse to hide this sweetness from her. His skin hadn't cracked, his features hadn't distorted, he was even more handsome than usual.

Y/N dreamed of seeing him smile more often, if not always. But his lips remained frozen in a flat, imperturbable line most of the time.

The few times the smile appeared, it was sudden, so vivid that you only had to click your eyes at the wrong time to miss it, and each time it was as if Y/N was seeing it for the first time.

A pure marvel.

In order not to scare Morpheus, who tended to act like a wild cat, Y/N tried not to stare too much or show interest. As discreetly as possible, she nevertheless did everything to make him offer her this spectacle.

Most of the time it worked, but Dream also smiled without her needing to do anything, simply because she said or did something he found charming.

“Are you still trying to hear my laugh ?”

"Not at all ! I swore I wouldn't do it again. Why ?"

“You’ve been terribly distracted and affectionate lately, agápi mou.”

"I'm just happy to be with you." She said, resting her head on his shoulder, her arms around him. "You're very distracting, and huggable."

"It is rather you who deserves such adjectives. I have a lot of difficulty concentrating on my task. Your presence in my domain monopolizes all my attention, and I only think of you when you are awake, waiting for your returning or fighting the urge to visit you in the Waking."

"Flatterer."

Her response made him smile again and Y/N felt butterflies in her stomach.

When Morpheus talked about needing to see her, Y/N could understand the feeling. She felt the same way about him, but also about his smile.

She asked the inhabitants of the Dreaming for advice. Lucienne thought poems might help. Abel had time to respond that talking about old stories would give him pleasure, before Cain planted an axe in his head, saying that she could confide secrets to the nightmares master. Mervyn made some rather indecent comments about strawberries and a bed. Matthew simply begged her to keep the Dreaming from raining again.

“It’s adorable that you try to make him smile, but you know him, I know him, if he misunderstands something, it will be a disaster.”

“Why would he take it badly that I wanted to make him smile ?”

"He might think you're mocking him. He's very sensitive, this guy."

"I don't know what he went through before we were together, but I would never make fun of him. I just want him to be happy."

"I know, kid. But does he know that ?"

She should have listened, and remembered once again that Dream was a big, timid cat, unaccustomed to receiving signs of affection. He didn't hate that she surrounded him with love, but he seemed lost that it was so common.

Such an outburst of passion could only be linked to madness, and he knew that Y/N was not in his younger sister's domain. Maybe she wanted to get something in return.

After some time, Y/N then got the exact opposite of what she was looking for. Each of her romantic or generous actions received an almost frightened look from Morpheus, his entire face resembling that of a marble statue, devoid of a smile.

She might have been afraid if she hadn't known he would never hurt her. Following the many mistakes he had made in the past with his lovers, Dream had ended up learning certain things, like keeping calm, and trying to communicate.

The key word being 'trying'.

"Ilie mou, you offer me so much affection, what can I give you in return ? Is your sleep disturbed ? Are you lacking inspiration ? Do you have a particular need ?"

"No. Everything is fine." Y/N replied, not understanding that his questions were full of confusion and fear.

"… I see. Is it honey then ? A little sweetness before having to announce something bitter ?"

"If it's a poem, it's quite strange. I don't have any honey, Morpheus. Would you like some tea ?"

He ended up believing that she wanted to leave him, but without knowing how to tell him, too kind or worried that he would react violently like with the others before her.

The thought crossed his mind that the process was far too cruel for Y/N. It seemed absurd to shower him with love in order to protect his feelings, only to tell him right after that she didn't love him anymore.

But it happened that some beings were thinking with their hearts, not listening to reason, and it was always possible that his beloved had not seen that far.

"I knew it… It's raining."

"Why do you say that like I'm responsible ? He might be saddened by something else, Matthew."

"He would have talked to you about it. Or he would have talked to me about it. He would have talked to someone about it. He loves to complain when it concerns his family or his work. Everyone needs to know that he is the poor wretch who has done nothing wrong and is trying to save the world. But for private matters ? He hides in a corner."

"… But he has no reason to be sad. It's true that he seems worried lately, but everything is fine between us."

It was a conversation as surreal as it was depressing, having to explain to the dreams lord that all the attention he had received for several weeks had no hidden meaning, no tragic end, but only the desire to make him happy and to see him smile, without expecting anything else in return.

That, he could understand. Morpheus loved seeing Y/N smile. It was just the fact that someone might care about him that was new to him. Absurd. Not deserved.

"Besides, agápi mou, I am happy in every moment spent with you. I tell you as soon as you ask me. Why so much fuss about my mouth ?"

“Don’t say that sentence again in that voice, I might faint.”

"So it's a question of aesthetics ? Don't you like my 'sulky goth teenager look' ?"

“I never said such a thing.”

“No, Matthew said so.”

"Hmm. I won't deny that you look beautiful when you smile and that's a plus. But I love you, even when you pout."

“I’m not pouting.”

"Of course not."

“I love you too, Ilie mou.” he said, kissing her.

Y/N’s response was to stare at him with wide eyes. Dream stared back, raising an eyebrow. She raised both, as a challenge, continuing to look at him, before she couldn't suppress her smile.

He rolled his eyes, but couldn't stop his lips from curling. The message was clear, even though they knew they were happy together, it was still nice to see their loved ones' faces lit up like that.

As with many things, it wasn't usual for the Endless, but smiling came naturally in Y/N's presence, so it shouldn't be too difficult to please her. Maybe one day they will even dance.

[kjupchurch-xx]

Conflicting Feelings Part Two

Author's Note: Wow! I was expecting negative feedback from Conflicting Feelings and I'm absolutely blown away at how it's been received on WattPad, especially Tumblr. I'm thankful to each and everyone of you that takes the time out to read my stories. They're literally my own personal fantasies in my mind, so I wasn't expecting others to enjoy them as much as I obviously do. But thank you for all of the love! 

The night had flown by as we laid on the sofa holding one another in silence. I felt his breathing steady, looking up slightly to see him sleeping. I sighed. I didn't know what to say or what to feel. There was no doubt in my mind that I loved him. The problem is the guilt I feel knowing that my friendship with him is what caused his marriage to collapse. I'm well aware that I can't control someone else's emotions or actions, and I know that throughout the course of our friendship, I did nothing wrong but the thoughts still consume me. 

Had he never met me, would his marriage be ending? Would he have found solace in another person?  I'd always envisioned that if this were to ever become a reality, it would be done very differently. This is not what I wanted, but did I want him? Absolutely. Truth be told, I'd never wanted anything more. 

I tilted my head, looking at him as I softly caressed his beard sighing to myself as I anxiously chewed at my bottom lip. I pulled my phone from my pocket, clicking on social media to see the news of their split had hit the internet. I shook my head, putting my phone beside me. I knew their marriage wasn't the most loving. Every premiere we'd go to for his movies, even his musicals, Deb never seemed interested. She could always be found in the crowd dozed off, being shaken awake just in the nick of time to give him a round of applause at the end. He knew this. I was always the one cheering, watching his every move even if I was bored out of my mind. I was the one who would spend hours going over lines with him when I had zero involvement in the film or play he was doing. When she would try to talk him out of certain scripts, I'd encourage them, not to spite her but because I knew he would make it a hit. 

My supportive nature was what he craved the most. He craved someone that believed in him, pushed him to do better and to further his career, and for years, ever since she tried talking him out of the X-Men script calling it a flop, he never received it from her. When his father passed and all she could manage to do was say she was sorry was when he started to realize the younger woman that had his back and supported him in every aspect of his life, even when she herself wasn't interested. The effect it had on him drove him mad and he couldn't continue denying his feelings. 

 I wrapped my arms tightly around him, closing my eyes as  took his scent in, "If you only knew how much I love you..." I said, barely above a whisper. "There's nothing I wouldn't do for you. Including flying halfway across the world. I just wish things could be different..." I finished with a deep shaky breath.

His grip tightened on me, "That's the thing. Things are different." He said softly as I lifted my head to look up at him. "How long have you been awake?" I asked, furrowing my brows slightly. 

He chuckled, "Long enough to hear what you said.", I nodded with a chuckle, "Touche." 

He cleared his throat, "Let me take you to lunch tomorrow." 

I lifted myself off of him, quickly shaking my head no, "Absolutely not. Are you crazy?" I yelled. 

He rolled his eyes, "Why do you act as if being with me is such a bad thing?" He asked getting defensive, his words dripping with hurt. 

I looked at him, lowering my voice, "Hugh, that's not what I'm saying." 

He looked at, throwing his hands up in defeat, "It's not?! What are you saying then?!" he shouted at me. 

I rolled my eyes becoming annoyed at his shouting, "I'm saying news of your separation made headlines today. I don't think the smartest thing in the world would be for my face to be blasted all over the internet as a mistress just because I had lunch with you."

He calmed down, sighing, running his fingers through his hair, "Why do you all of a sudden give a shit about people's opinions?" 

I sighed, "Look, I know you don't get it. People not liking me is fine. But people humiliating me and possibly canceling me before I can fully kick start my career because they assume I'm some dirty mistress is different." I said honestly.  He looked at me and I knew judging by his expression that he understood my hesitance. "I'm just saying we need to lay low and look as platonic as possible right now. Let's let some time pass before we start advertising this to the world." 

He nodded, giving his shoulders a shrug, relaxing a little. "If you want to get take out, we can do that. I would love to have lunch with you, I'm just not ready to be ripped in half by the press yet." I said softly, caressing the side of his check. "That's all it is. I would never say that being with you is a bad thing. I love you with all of my heart. We just need to give it more than one day after a separation has been announced. At least a few months." 

He nodded once more, pulling me onto his lap. "I know you're right. It's just difficult when I've already been waiting two years for this." He said annoyingly, resting his head in the crook of my neck. 

I laughed softly, pressing a kiss on the top of his hair, resting my chin atop of his head. "I know, I know. Just trust me, you do not want the press printing that you've got a girlfriend the same day your soon to be ex-wife announces your separation." 

I felt him smile against my neck, "Okay, maybe you're right." He mumbled, against my neck causing me to laugh, squirming. "What? What's so funny?" He asked, caressing my neck with his face. 

He knew what I was laughing at. 

"Your beard. It tickles." I said through laughter. "Does it?" He asked cheekily, continuing to rub his face into my neck causing me to try and get off of his lap, but he kept his grip on my waist, preventing me from moving. "Where do you think you're goin', love?" He asked with an amusing tone. 

"Away from you. Stop messing with me." I said continuing to laugh while struggling to get out of his grip. 

He smirked, "Stop messing with you? How should I mess with you then? Like this?" He asked, pulling us down to the sofa as he pressed his forehead against mine, looking deeply into my eyes, with a smile plastered on his face. 

His eyes went from my eyes down to my lips, then back up to my eyes. "I love you." He said sweetly, "I love you." I assured him, as I felt his hands cup both sides of my cheeks and his lips land on mine. 

[cipheress-to-k-pop]

the knight and the minstrel

Pairing: Sir Gwaine x Reader

Word Count: 10.1k

Summary: A prodigal musician with nothing but a lute and a sharp tongue — and somehow stumbled into the arms of Camelot’s most infuriatingly charming knight.

A/N: This was better in my head honestly but the pool for this fandom is incredibly shallow so I imagine not many will complain DX

The great hall of Camelot was no stranger to music. Minstrels, bards, flutists with trembling hands — they came and went with the passing of seasons, offering their talents to the court in exchange for coin or favor. Their melodies wove through the stones of the castle like threads of fleeting magic, vanishing with the next changing wind.

But this… this was different.

“They say she plays the harp like it’s an extension of her soul,” Murmured Lady Vivienne, her voice barely above a whisper, as if even speaking it aloud might shatter the delicate reverence surrounding the claim. Her gloved hands were folded primly, eyes alight with something between curiosity and awe, “And the lute. And the viol. Even the pipe organ, if you can believe it.”

Arthur, lounging slightly on his throne with one leg hooked lazily over the step below, raised a brow, “She? The same musician whose name has been passed around more than Merlin’s secret wine stash?”

“The very one, sire,” Sir Leon confirmed with a nod. His arms were crossed over his chest, expression serious, but not untouched by intrigue, “They call her a prodigy. More skilled than any noble-born court musician in Albion.”

“Impossible,” Scoffed Lord Wintour from his place near the hearth, where the fire danced merrily against ancient stone, “No commoner could master the lyre of Eiran or the court flute without years of noble tutoring. Those instruments aren’t exactly passed around in the village square.”

“And yet,” Came Merlin’s dry voice from beside the throne, “Everyone’s heard of her. Even Gaius has, and he barely listens to anything that doesn’t involve poultices or potions. He said she played for a wounded knight in the western isles. Calmed his fever. Soothed his pain. He swore her music made the dreams go quiet.”

Arthur turned his head slightly, eyes finding Guinevere beside him. Her posture was graceful, regal as ever, hands folded neatly in her lap. But her expression was soft, faraway — already imagining the music, perhaps.

“What do you think?” He asked her quietly.

“I think,” Guinevere said, lips curling into a thoughtful smile, “I’m curious.”

Arthur straightened, “Then we should invite her.”

The finality in his tone carried the weight of decision. The chamber fell still for a moment, letting it settle.

Sir Leon was already moving, nodding sharply, “I’ll have the messenger ready by morning.”

“Make it a royal invitation,” Guinevere added, her voice gentle but certain, “Let her know her talents are not just welcomed — but honored.”

A few murmurs stirred among the nobles, quiet threads of speculation and excitement, but in the corner of the great hall — where knights and servants mingled more freely under the shadow of high arches — Gwaine leaned against a carved pillar lazily. His smirk was unmistakable.

“A girl who can play every instrument under the sun?” He said, cocking his head toward Percival, who stood just beside him, “Sounds like a tale spun by a drunk minstrel and a wild night in the tavern. I'd know. I once thought a jug of mead whispered me a limerick.”

Percival let out a low laugh, clapping Gwaine on the shoulder, “You’d believe anything if it came from a jug of mead.”

“Exactly,” Gwaine grinned, “Which is why I know how unreliable it is.”

He tipped his cup toward the throne, “But I’ll say this — if she can do half of what they say, she’ll be the first court musician who ever made me stay awake past the first verse.”

“Oh, so you do listen.” Percival teased.

Gwaine only winked, raising his cup again in salute — whether to the king, the court, or the mysterious girl they spoke of, even he wasn’t sure.

But for the first time in weeks, the wind around Camelot stirred with something more than politics or patrols.

Something new was coming. And she carried music in her wake.

***

The market was alive in that way only Camelot could be — a mosaic of sound and scent and motion. Traders barked over one another, their voices layering over the clatter of hooves on stone and the soft thrum of distant music. The sharp tang of roasting meat drifted through the air, mingling with sweet spice and the warm aroma of fresh bread.

You moved through it quietly, your hood drawn — more out of habit than necessity — the edge of your cloak catching on the uneven cobbles. The world bustled around you, but your eyes were steady, curious, absorbing everything.

It wasn’t your first royal summons. You’d played in grander cities, for kings who dressed in gold and called their praises poetry. But Camelot…

Camelot didn’t boast. It didn’t glitter. It breathed.

You paused at a modest stall of woven shawls, fingers ghosting over the deep orange fabric. As though the sunset had bled into the lap of the craftsmen and then had been woven into a beautiful scarf.

“That one would look lovely on you.” Said a voice to your right — low, smooth, and far too confident.

You turned, slowly, head tilting as you met the gaze of a man leaning against the wooden frame of the stall. His hair was tousled like he'd only half won a fight with the wind, and his smile curled like it knew something you didn’t.

“Bit bold of you.” You said, arching a brow.

“Bold?” He placed a hand to his chest in mock offense, feigning scandal with all the subtlety of a stage actor, “I was paying you a compliment. It’s a terrible flaw of mine — I see beauty and can’t help but speak.”

You fought the twitch of a smile. Even as you turned back to the shawls, your amusement lingered at the corners of your mouth.

“Do you say that to every girl in the market?”

“Only the ones who look like they belong in a painting,” He said, stepping closer. His voice dropped a little, teasing, “Or perhaps a dream.”

You cast him a sideways glance, “A dream you say? And what would you know about dreams?”

“Oh, plenty,” He said, “Mine usually start with a beautiful woman giving me her name.”

Your lips curved, “And do they ever end with her giving it?”

“No,” He said, with a grin that was somehow both roguish and resigned, “But I remain ever hopeful.”

You gave him a look — part skeptical, part amused — and began to move away from the stall. He followed easily, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Let me guess,” You said without looking back, “you’re a knight.”

“Guilty,” He replied, his tone making it sound like a badge of mischief rather than honor, “Sir Gwaine, at your service.”

“Sir Gwaine,” You echoed, testing the name like a note on your tongue, “Bit of a reputation, don’t you?”

“Only the flattering parts, I hope.” He dipped into a shallow, theatrical bow, nearly knocking over a basket of apples behind him, “And you? Are you just visiting Camelot, or do the gods truly favor me enough to have moved you here permanently?”

You laughed then — light, sudden, like bells in the morning — and the sound made something in him still.

“Visiting,” You said, glancing ahead, where the castle loomed distant beyond the market’s chaos, “Though I can’t say how long I’ll stay.”

“Then I’ll consider it my personal mission to make your visit… memorable.”

“Oh?” You stopped, turning to face him directly. There was a spark in your eyes now — not just amusement, but challenge, “And what exactly do you offer that would make it so?”

Gwaine opened his mouth — surely ready with something scandalous or smug — but then paused.

Because suddenly, there was something in the air between you that hadn’t been there before. The way you held his gaze. The way the crowd seemed to part around you without you noticing.

He blinked, once. Shook it off with a smile that had softened at the edges.

“Well,” He said, more gently now, “you could let me show you around. Properly. Camelot has its charms. But most people miss them, unless someone points them out.”

You studied him for a moment — the easy stance, the ridiculous confidence, the flicker of sincerity hiding beneath the grin. Then you reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Maybe I’ll let you try,” You said, “If I’m still here tomorrow.”

And just like that, you stepped back into the current of the crowd, your hood rising once more. The swell of people swallowed you whole.

Gwaine stood there for a long moment, lips parted, brow slightly furrowed.

He still didn’t know your name.

But he was already planning to find out.

***

The great doors of Camelot’s castle loomed before you — ancient and tall, carved with dragons, crowns, and echoes of a kingdom’s legacy. As they opened before you, the hum of the court reached your ears: the soft murmur of conversation, the rustle of silk, the faint clang of a sword shifting in its sheath.

You stepped inside with quiet confidence, the hem of your cloak brushing the polished stone. Light from the high windows filtered through colored glass, casting jeweled patterns along the floor.

Guinevere saw you first. Her gaze caught yours as if plucking a thread from a moving tapestry, and she stepped forward, her smile warm beneath her crown. “Welcome,” she said, her voice a gentle lilt — kind, but with the grace of command.

Arthur turned next, eyes sharp and curious, the measure of a king in the way he regarded you — not as an entertainer, but as something new.

“Your name has traveled far,” He said, “It’s a pleasure to finally meet the woman behind the legend.”

You inclined your head with practiced poise. “Your Majesties,” You said, voice smooth, “It’s an honor to be received in your court.”

“We’ve heard much of your talents,” Arthur continued, his tone courteous but expectant, “Would you honor us with a performance?”

You offered a faint smile — gracious, polite. But your answer, when it came, was carefully chosen.

“I’ve found,” You said, “that music, like most things with power, is at its most true when properly valued. Inspiration is free, yes. But performance... tends to require arrangement.”

The words weren’t sharp. There was no edge to your voice. But the meaning rang clear as any bell.

Guinevere blinked once — not in offense, but in appreciation — and a faint smile curved her lips.

Arthur leaned back slightly on the throne, a brow raised in what might have been amusement or admiration. Perhaps both.

“Well then,” He said, sitting forward again, “Allow me to extend the arrangement.”

He exchanged a glance with Guinevere, who nodded with that calm royal grace.

“We would like you to play at tonight’s banquet,” Arthur said, “And you will, of course, be compensated — generously — for your time and talent.”

You inclined your head once more, a delicate, fluid motion, “In that case, I would be glad to lend my hands to the music of your hall.”

Soft murmurs rippled through the court — nobles shifting, impressed, intrigued. The prodigy was no servant to flattery or command. She had presence. She had power.

And from the shadowed edge of the hall, Gwaine stared openly now — not with offense, nor even shock. No, what he felt was something far more dangerous.

Interest.

Not the fleeting kind he wore like a cloak in taverns or side streets, but something deeper, stirred by the poise in your voice and the unshakable stillness in your spine.

He let out a low breath, almost a laugh, to himself.

Well. Now he really wanted to know your name.

And tonight, at the banquet — with the court in its finest and the wine flowing freely — he intended to find out.

***

The court began to stir again after your exchange with the king and queen—murmurs spreading like ink in water, a ripple of intrigue following in your wake as you stepped back from the throne.

You felt eyes on you. Not the polite kind, or the curious kind—but the kind that tracked like a storm on the horizon.

And sure enough, before you’d taken more than a few steps toward the grand corridor, a voice fell in beside you.

“Well,” Said Gwaine, walking easily at your side, his grin ever-present but tempered now by something keener beneath it, “You certainly know how to make an entrance.”

You glanced at him from the corner of your eye, the hint of a smile curling your lips, “Is that a compliment or an accusation?”

“Both,” He said brightly, “You appear, steal every gaze in the room, speak like a goddess in disguise, and vanish without even offering your name. Honestly, I’m a little offended.”

“Because I haven’t told you my name?” You asked, amused.

“Because you didn’t even glance my way,” He said with mock heartbreak, placing a hand over his heart, “I thought we shared something real in that market. I thought what we had was special.”

You laughed—a soft sound, tugging the corners of his mouth into a grin.

“I thought you only dreamed of women who have yet to give you their names,” You said, stepping closer, “Shouldn’t I still be a mystery to keep your fantasies alive?”

He tilted his head, a slow smile blooming across his lips, “Oh, I don’t know. There’s something thrilling about having a name to whisper in the dark.”

“Bold.” You said again, echoing your words from before, though this time your tone was warmer.

“And consistent,” He said, “I pride myself on both.”

A flicker of silence passed between you—not awkward, but full. Charged.

You were close enough now to see the faint scar near his jaw, the way his eyes danced even when his smile didn’t quite reach them. Charming, yes—but not careless. Not with his actual thoughts. Not with a stranger like you. Not yet.

“You’ll say anything to have a woman fawning after you, won’t you? You rake.” You teased.

He chuckled but didn’t deny it, “You wound me, my lady.”

“I imagine you’ve been called worse.” You said.

Your gazes locked, and for a beat, neither looked away.

“While I would love to be entertained by you for longer, I must go prepare for my performance tonight.”

“Then I’ll have to sit near the front. You know, for the acoustics.”

You hummed, eyes forward, “Of course. It’s not at all to admire the view.”

Gwaine’s eyes dropped briefly to your lips before a roguish grin spread across his face, “I can’t deny that the view is certainly admirable.”

You didn’t respond—not with words. Just that look again, the one from earlier. That quiet, composed curve of your mouth that wasn’t quite a smile but was far too much to be nothing.

Then you turned, stepping down the left corridor without another word.

Gwaine watched you go, a hand rising to rest on the hilt of his sword, though he didn’t know why.

He let out a soft, self-deprecating breath.

“I’m in trouble.” He muttered to himself.

***

The banquet hall of Camelot glittered beneath candlelight and crystal.

Laughter and conversation echoed off the high stone arches, accompanied by the occasional clink of silver against porcelain. The scent of roasted pheasant and honeyed wine lingered thick in the air. Nobles in silks and velvets lined the long tables, and knights sat straighter than usual in their polished mail. Even the stone walls seemed less severe tonight, softened by ivy garlands and flickering sconces that cast firelight across ancient tapestries.

At the head of the room, beneath a hanging banner bearing the Pendragon crest, Arthur and Guinevere sat crowned in gold and flame.

Laughter had echoed earlier — bright and loose — but now, as the last dish was cleared and goblets refilled, the mood shifted. Anticipation settled over the room like perfume.

The murmurs stilled as you stepped into the space just below the dais.

No announcement. No flourish.

Just you — and the violin resting in your hands like something sacred.

It was unlike anything the court had seen: carved from dark wood with a faint, reddish sheen, as if it had been soaked in centuries of sunsets. Silver filigree twisted along its neck in unfamiliar patterns, too delicate to be merely decorative. When you raised the bow… the room exhaled.

The first note rang out — clear and crystalline, like ice melting beneath sunlight. It wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. The sound curled through the air like a spell, catching in the rafters, wrapping itself around torchlight.

Knights stilled. Nobles leaned forward unconsciously, barely breathing.

The melody wound through the hall like a river — rich and fluid, ancient and alive. It spoke of heat and dust, of wind-borne secrets, and lands beyond any map pinned in a council chamber. It didn’t just fill the room.

It woke it.

Then you began to sing.

The language was foreign — old, lilting — its syllables slipping like silk into the stillness. A tongue from across seas, from wind-swept cliffs and half-forgotten gods. No one in the hall understood the words.

But they felt them.

Your voice was rich and resonant, steeped in memory and longing. It spun stories they didn’t know they knew — stories they couldn't quite understand but clung to anyway, breath held, eyes wide. They hung onto every verse. Every rise and fall. Transfixed.

Arthur leaned forward, brows furrowed in concentration. Guinevere’s eyes shone, one hand rising unconsciously to rest over her heart. And across the court — warriors, mothers, kingsguard, diplomats — all stood rooted like statues, as though to move would break the spell.

And then — your gaze shifted.

To him.

Gwaine.

He sat among the knights, wine forgotten in his hand — a first. His laughter had been the loudest earlier, his presence the most familiar. But now he was still. No grin. No clever aside. Just a quiet furrow between his brows, and a gaze locked to yours like it had never belonged anywhere else.

You met his stare head-on, and in your eyes, he saw it: mirth. That glimmering, teasing light that danced there — the same expression you'd worn in the marketplace when you chose not to give him your name. And now, you were singing in a language he didn’t know, directing words he couldn’t decipher right at him.

When your voice dipped — softening into the second verse — it became something intimate. Not just beautiful, but personal. The court blurred at the edges. The air thickened.

The way your lips moved. The way your fingers coaxed sound from the strings. The way you looked at him — like he was the secret tucked between the verses.

Gwaine’s jaw tightened, just slightly.

He knew he was being toyed with. Your voice strung invisible thread around him, tugging with every word. He should have looked away. Should’ve broken the spell.

But he didn’t. Couldn’t.

He was caught — and you knew it.

The song swelled, rising like breath before a confession. You shifted the bow in a final flourish, letting the last note tremble in the air — golden, aching, final.

And then — silence.

Not emptiness. Not pause. Reverence.

You lowered your bow with the elegance of someone untouched by effort. Not a single breath rushed. Not a single lock of hair out of place.

And then — slowly — the room remembered itself.

Guinevere rose first, clapping with stunned grace. Arthur followed, offering a few soft words of praise that you barely heard.

Then the court erupted — applause rising in waves, nobles rising to their feet for a better view.

You flushed prettily, but remained composed. You bowed to the king and queen, then again to the court — your movements measured and graceful.

And when you lifted your head, you found him.

Gwaine. Still seated. Still watching.

The look in his eyes was part wonder, part disbelief — and part something far more dangerous.

You smiled. Not sweet. Not shy. Coy. Elegant. Calculated. A tease. An invitation. And a warning.

Then you turned, violin in hand, and walked off the dais with the ease of someone who knew exactly what power looked like — and how quietly it could be held.

Behind the velvet curtain near the musicians’ gallery, you vanished into shadow.

And still… Gwaine watched.

His goblet sat untouched. His fingers drummed restlessly against the wood of his chair.

After a long moment, he stood.

And followed.

***

The corridor was hushed, lit only by the soft spill of moonlight through towering stained-glass windows. The sounds of the banquet — clinking goblets, laughter, the echo of applause — had faded behind you, muffled now by stone and distance.

You walked slowly, the weight of your violin case familiar in your hand, the click of your boots quiet against the worn floor. After the performance, it felt like you were still coming back to yourself — like the song hadn’t fully left your body.

You breathed in deep. Let it go.

And then—

“That was some confession of love you sang tonight.”

The voice behind you was unmistakable — low, smooth, threaded with amusement and something softer beneath it. You stopped, head turning slightly.

There he was — Sir Gwaine, hair slightly mussed, that ever-present half-smile curling at the corner of his mouth. He leaned casually against the wall, like this conversation was a happy accident. Like he hadn’t been following your shadow since the last note faded. The smirk was crooked, as always, but his eyes — his eyes were fixed on you in that sharp, startling way that made it impossible to look away.

“Excuse me?” You asked, arching a brow, trying not to show that your heart had just skipped.

He walked toward you at an easy pace, all casual confidence and velvet voice.

“I mean, I’ve been flirted with before,” he continued, “but never in another tongue.”

You stared at him, half-incredulous, “Somehow, I find that hard to believe.”

He grinned, “And in front of an entire royal court, no less. You really do set the bar high.”

“While I’d hate to miss an opportunity to make that big head of yours even bigger, Sir Gwaine… I wasn’t singing to you.”

“Oh, come on,” He said, tilting his head, eyes glinting, “I’ve never heard anything more heartfelt in my life — especially when you looked straight at me.”

“I looked at everyone.”

“Yes,” he said, “But only one of us knew what you were saying.”

You blinked.

He smiled — slow and knowing — and then, without hesitation, he spoke the line from your song. The one no one else should’ve understood. The one tucked between verses like a secret folded in silk.

The air left your lungs.

You turned to face him fully now, startled, “You… understood that?”

He nodded, the smile still playing faintly at the corner of his lips, “More or less. My accent’s probably terrible, but I think the meaning holds.”

“You know the language?”

He gave a small shrug, “Bits and pieces. I traveled through the southern coast once — small fishing village past the white cliffs. Spent a few weeks with a caravan merchant and his family. Their daughter taught me how to curse in four dialects. I picked up the rest by listening. Songs. Prayers. Old lullabies sung at dusk.”

You were quiet — studying him.

The open collar of his tunic, the relaxed posture, the rakish smirk… it all made sense until now. Everything you’d assumed about him — this unraveling version didn’t match. This wasn’t a man who stumbled through life on charm and bravado alone. This was someone who had seen things. Heard them. Chosen to remember.

“You’ve been outside Camelot?” You asked, more softly than before.

He stopped just a few steps in front of you, looking down with an expression you couldn’t quite name — one that made you want to look closer.

“I’ve been a lot of places,” he said. “Didn’t always wear the armor or the title. For a while, I was just… no one. So I wandered.”

His voice wasn’t heavy. But there was something behind it — a glimpse of solitude, of silence carried across roads most people never walked.

The shadows between you stretched long and silver-blue, soft at the edges. You could hear the faint hum of the feast behind you, but it felt distant now — like a memory you hadn’t made yet.

You parted your lips, but no words came.

He wasn’t teasing you anymore. He wasn’t performing. He was just Gwaine — still with that glint in his eye, yes, but tempered now with depth you hadn’t expected to find.

“You consistently seem to surprise me.” You said at last, voice soft.

Gwaine’s smile flickered — not cocky this time. Just warm.

“I’m full of surprises.” He said, then paused like he might say more… but didn’t.

You studied him a beat longer, your fingers relaxing around the handle of your violin case.

He noticed. Didn’t push. Just watched you in that moonlight like he wasn’t sure whether to make a joke… or tell you something real.

For now, he settled on, “Walk with me?”

And for the first time all night — maybe all week — you nodded without weighing the answer.

“Yes,” You said, soft and sure, “Alright.”

And together, you walked into the quiet.

Your shoulders close, your footsteps in rhythm, your words still wrapped in everything unsaid. The music behind you had faded entirely, distant now as a dream.

Ahead of you was only stone, and shadow, and moonlight.

And something new — something unnamed — beginning to bloom in the space between your footsteps.

***

The sun was still rising behind Camelot’s towers when the knights began to gather at their usual long table in the great hall — the one tucked close to the hearth, warmed by the crackling fire and the scent of baked bread and roasting meat.

Mugs of spiced cider steamed in their hands, plates filled with honeyed figs, sharp cheeses, and slices of smoked ham.

Leon was the first to arrive, already dressed for patrol, polished and sharp as ever. Percival followed, shaking his head of any remaining droplets from the bathhouse like a dog. Lancelot looked suspiciously well-rested. Elyan, unbothered, was already on his third fig and second roll.

They were halfway through trading quiet banter when the great doors creaked open.

And in he strolled.

Gwaine.

Still dressed in the same clothes from the night before — though he’d ditched his cloak somewhere along the way — shirt slightly wrinkled, hair delightfully mussed, and a grin tugging at his lips that could only be described as smug.

Leon looked up over his mug, “Morning, Gwaine.”

“Look who decided to join the land of the living,” Percival teased, raising a brow as he set down his spoon.

“Late to breakfast, aren’t you?” Leon added with a grin.

Without a word, Gwaine slid into his usual seat, not bothering to deny the delay, “I have my reasons.”

“Oh?” Lancelot leaned forward, brows raised, mischief flickering in his eyes, “Do enlighten us.”

The conversation caught the attention of the monarchs. Arthur turned toward the knights with an almost boyish grin, while Guinevere’s eyes twinkled with growing amusement. Merlin, passing by with a tray of eggs, snorted quietly at the scene.

Gwaine hesitated a beat too long — then rolled his eyes and began piling cheese on his bread. “You lot are insufferable,” He muttered, though there was a smile beneath the words.

“Oh, come now,” Leon said, feigning innocence with all the grace of a fox in the henhouse, “You disappear halfway through the feast, don’t return to your chambers, and yet show up this morning looking like...” He gestured vaguely at Gwaine’s disheveled, tired state, “That.”

“We’re just curious.” Elyan chimed in with a cheeky grin.

“Concerned, really.” Percival added, his voice mock-serious.

“Spill it.” Merlin said, settling at the table with a sly grin.

“Nothing happened.” Gwaine replied, a little too quickly.

“Ohhh...” Elyan said, arching his eyebrows knowingly.

“So something definitely happened.” Leon pressed.

“No!” Gwaine put down his bread, exasperated but grinning despite himself, “We didn’t—gods, must you all behave like gossiping washerwomen?”

“Not until you tell us where you were.” Merlin said, taking a bite of bread.

“And with whom.” added Lancelot, his grin positively wolfish.

Arthur cleared his throat, his grin betraying any attempt at decorum. “If it concerns the lady currently under my royal invitation,” He said with mock seriousness, “I’d like to be informed as well.”

Even Guinevere leaned in slightly now, chin resting on one hand, looking far too entertained.

Gwaine sighed dramatically, “You lot have filthy imaginations.”

Merlin’s grin widened, “So deny it, then.”

“I am denying it.” Gwaine leaned back in his chair, eyes rolling toward the vaulted ceiling as if seeking patience from the very stones, “Nothing happened.”

Elyan raised both eyebrows, unconvinced, “Nothing?”

After a beat, Gwaine answered, voice low but steady, “We walked.”

“Walked?” Percival repeated, voice dripping with skepticism.

“Just walked,” Gwaine said, “We talked. About traveling. About music. About places we’ve seen.”

Silence fell over the table as the knights exchanged amused glances.

Then—

“Awwww.” Lancelot cooed, entirely too delighted by the confession, “A moonlit confession.”

“Taking a quaint little stroll with your love, were you?” Elyan teased, a wide grin splitting his face, “How Romantic.

Arthur chimed in, "What’s next? Poetry under starlight?”

“Perhaps a duet,” Leon said, “He’ll be picking flowers like a forlorn page by week’s end.”

“You can all kindly jump off the highest tower,” Gwaine muttered, but the corners of his mouth were curving helplessly.

Arthur tilted his head, “So let me get this straight — the infamous Sir Gwaine disappears with a beautiful musician who just sang a foreign love song in front of the entire court… and all you did was talk?”

“Yes,” Gwaine said firmly, “I was a perfect gentleman.”

That, of course, only made everything worse.

Leon sputtered into his drink, “A perfect gentleman, he says.”

“A new era,” Elyan said, wiping tears of laughter from the corners of his eyes, “Mark it down. Gwaine, model of chivalry.”

Gwaine only shook his head and smiled — softer now, a little quieter, “She’s not what I expected.”

That settled the table.

Leon blinked, the teasing fading into something gentler, “That so?”

For a moment, no one knew quite what to say.

Until Elyan muttered, “Poor fool.”

And the laughter resumed — just a little more fond this time.

***

The sun hung warm and golden over the bustling town square, where cobblestones shimmered beneath soft light and laughter rolled in gentle waves. Children darted between market stalls, merchants called out their wares, and villagers leaned casually against fountains and barrels, all drawn to the sweet strains of music weaving through the air.

At the heart of it all sat you—perched gracefully on a low stone bench, a lute cradled in your hands. Your fingers glided effortlessly across the strings, coaxing out a melody that was light and playful, a tune meant more for joy than grandeur. The notes fluttered like birdsong, making old women smile softly, dogs tilt their heads in curious delight, and strangers pause mid-step, caught by the enchantment.

Gwaine spotted the gathering crowd from across the square, curiosity tugging at him like a tide pulling toward shore. He threaded his way through a cluster of giggling children until he stood where the music blossomed brightest—right before you. Your hair caught the sunlight in a cascade of warmth, your eyes half-closed, caught somewhere between deep focus and fondness.

He folded his arms, leaning casually against a nearby post, his smirk growing as he watched the way you commanded the square’s attention.

When you finally lowered the lute, letting the last note drift gently on the breeze, the crowd erupted into applause. Coins clinked into a small woven basket at your feet, though many offered nothing but their smiles and gratitude.

“That was lovely.” Gwaine said, his voice carrying that familiar mixture of charm and teasing challenge as he stepped forward.

You didn’t look up immediately, but the corner of your mouth twitched into a smile.

“And free,” he added, hands clasped behind his back as he leaned in just enough to catch your attention, “Which is curious… considering you only perform for payment.”

You raised a brow, eyes locking with his, “Do I look like a liar to you?”

“Never,” he said with a slow grin, stepping closer, “But I seem to recall a certain royal audience where someone insisted she only performed when properly compensated.”

You gave a small, playful shrug, “Believe me, I will be quite rewarded for that performance.”

Before Gwaine could reply, you bent down and took the hand of a small girl standing shyly nearby. The child’s eyes sparkled with innocent excitement, cheeks flushed from the warm day.

Then, turning back to Gwaine with a sweet smile, you said, “This is Lady Tilda. She promised me a thousand gold coins if she ever becomes a princess. How could I refuse the future princess’s humble request?”

Gwaine’s grin widened, eyes crinkling with amusement as he stepped closer to the little girl, “Well, when you put it like that…”

“She’s good for it,” You said with mock solemnity, “We have a verbal contract.”

Tilda nodded eagerly, clutching your skirt as if it were a treasure.

Gwaine knelt down to meet the girl’s bright eyes, “Did you enjoy the song, Lady Tilda?”

She nodded enthusiastically. “She played it just for me.” The girl beamed, pride shining in her voice.

“She did, did she?” Gwaine glanced up at you, his smile softening, “Lucky you.”

Your gaze lifted to meet his, warmth pooling in your eyes. The noise of the square faded into a gentle hum as something unspoken passed between you. You found yourself eager to talk to him again, to lose yourself in hours of quiet conversation and shared stories, like you had the night before.

For a few moments, neither of you spoke. The silence was not heavy—it was comforting, filled with the quiet breath of being near someone who saw beyond the surface and chose to stay.

“Sleep well?” He asked, his voice softening, a vulnerability slipping through his usual easy confidence.

You glanced at him, the corners of your lips tilting upward. “Eventually,” You said simply, “You?”

He gave a faint smile, the flicker of night’s fatigue still present, “Eventually.”

The silence settled once more, but now it was warmer, threaded with something golden and new. There was no pretense anymore—not about who he was, not about who you were. Last night had stripped away a layer from both of you—not completely, but enough to glimpse something real beneath.

Suddenly, Tilda piped up, her voice full of childlike wonder as she stared between the two of you. “You’re to be married, aren’t you?”

You stilled, caught somewhere between a laugh and a gasp, your cheeks warming as you turned to glance at Gwaine — who, to your dismay, looked utterly delighted.

“Well,” He said with a mock bow toward the child, “if the future princess so declares it, who am I — a humble knight of Camelot — to defy such royal command?”

Your brows lifted, lips curving into a smirk as you shot him a pointed look, "Not even in your wildest dreams, I'm afraid."

Tilda, entirely pleased with herself, beamed between the two of you, “Mama says when people smile at each other like that, it means they’re in love.”

Gwaine choked on a laugh, quickly pressing a fist to his mouth in a failed attempt to muffle it. You turned slightly, shoulders stiffening as heat crept up your neck.

“Your mother says too much.” You muttered, fighting the smile that tugged at your lips.

“She says it all the time,” Tilda went on, entirely undeterred, “Especially when she’s looking at the baker.”

That made both you and Gwaine pause.

You glanced at her, then at each other — the same thought clearly occurring to both of you.

“And the baker is…” Gwaine began delicately, “…your father?”

Tilda shook her head with cheerful obliviousness, “No. My father rears sheep.”

You both blinked, sharing a wide-eyed glance of barely concealed alarm and amusement.

“Well then.” You said at last, clearing your throat.

“Indeed,” Gwaine agreed, his voice pitched a little higher than usual, “A… fondness for bread, perhaps?”

“She says he’s got strong arms.” Tilda added proudly.

Gwaine covered his mouth again, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter. You shot him a look that was equal parts horrified and entertained.

“Tilda,” You said gently, “perhaps we keep some of Mama’s wisdom just between us, hm?”

The girl nodded solemnly, as if she’d just been entrusted with a royal secret.

Gwaine leaned toward you slightly, still grinning, “I rather like her. She’s brutally honest.”

You gave him a look, amused and exasperated in equal measure, “You would.”

***

You’d been invited to the palace for what was meant to be a simple meeting — a short discussion with Queen Guinevere about the upcoming tea gathering she planned to host for visiting dignitaries. She’d asked for music, light and sophisticated, and had offered you a formal commission to compose and perform.

You accepted — how could you not? But the queen, warm and disarmingly thoughtful, had asked you to stay just a little longer to finalize the arrangements. And so, you waited in the drawing room, the air scented faintly with beeswax and roses, a soft breeze drifting in through the tall windows.

From your chair near the hearth, you could hear the hum of conversation across the room. Guinevere stood at a long table with two male advisors, one of whom spoke with a particular air of authority — all of them bent over plans for the luncheon.

“The Rosenthal china, I think,” Said the older of the men, tapping a parchment, “The gold-rimmed set from the Andalusian trade. It shows strength. Wealth.”

You glanced up at that.

“Forgive the interruption,” You said gently, rising partway from your seat, “May I offer a small suggestion, Your Majesty?”

Guinevere looked up with interest, “Please.”

You stepped forward with quiet confidence, folding your hands, “The Rosenthal set is exquisite, truly — but might I suggest something simpler? Perhaps the sage porcelain or the white-and-cobalt set from Albion?”

The advisor raised a brow, “And why would we serve foreign dignitaries on second-tier tableware?”

You met his tone with nothing but poise, “Because one of the guests — the Lady of Lys — will be attending on the anniversary of her father’s passing. He was their king. The gold embellishments, particularly the eagle motif on the Rosenthal, may unintentionally echo symbols once used in opposition to her house. A more understated set would not only reflect sensitivity but offer elegance without ostentation.”

There was a brief pause.

Even Guinevere blinked, as if surprised — pleasantly so, “I hadn’t considered that.”

But the older man standing beside Guinevere — a lord in richly embroidered blue, his face too long and mouth too thin — gave a small, dismissive chuckle.

“Commoners and their kitchen gossip,” He said, “Your Majesty, perhaps we ought to rely on those trained in such matters of etiquette. This young woman is here to play songs, not instruct the royal table.”

You slowly lifted your gaze to him, still smiling — though now it carried a sharper edge.

“Oh, you’re absolutely right, my lord,” You said, voice light with perfect grace, “I should not have assumed the responsibilities of the lady of the house were being managed by a lady.”

There was a pause — just long enough to let the insult settle.

You inclined your head slightly, a picture of decorum, “My sincerest apologies. I forget myself. It was presumptuous of me to assume such things. Clearly, you are more than capable of handling the arrangements typically overseen by a hostess.” You smiled wider now, barely containing the glint in your eyes, “My la— I mean… my lord.”

A cough disguised as a laugh sounded from somewhere behind you. One of the knights — Elyan, perhaps. Gwaine, leaning in the archway, had the audacity to look impressed. Merlin was biting his cheek to keep from grinning. Even Guinevere’s lips twitched with something dangerously close to smug satisfaction.

The advisor’s expression soured, but he said nothing — merely adjusted his cuffs and cleared his throat, retreating a step with wounded dignity.

Guinevere gave you a subtle nod of approval. “I do hope you’ll stay for the tea itself,” She said, voice smooth, “I rather think we’ll need your eye for refinement.”

You smiled again. This time, just a bit sharper.

“I’d be honored, Your Majesty.”

"I'm not the only one full of surprises." Commented Gwaine underneath his breath.

***

The sun had barely shifted across the courtyard when the next visitor arrived — not heralded by trumpets or fanfare, but by the heavy tread of boots, the jingle of polished reins, and the unmistakable colors of high nobility.

“His Grace, the Duke of Elenfort.” The herald announced.

The atmosphere shifted like the air before a storm.

Conversations halted. Heads turned. Even Arthur, mid-discussion with Leon and a visiting councilor, straightened in his seat. Guinevere’s smile faltered for the briefest moment before slipping back into practiced grace.

You froze.

That name hadn’t touched your ears in years — and hearing it now, in Camelot’s great hall, was like a tolling bell you hadn’t realized you’d been dreading.

The man who stepped through the great doors had a presence like thunder. Tall, silver-haired, cloaked in hunting green and sable, Duke Alaric carried himself like someone used to command. His signet ring gleamed as he gave a bow — just deep enough not to be called disrespectful.

Arthur rose from the throne beside Guinevere, posture formal, “Lord Alaric. Your arrival was… unannounced.”

Alaric offered a short bow, shallow to the point of insult, “Forgive the breach of etiquette, Your Majesty. But I believe I am owed a word.”

A rustle moved through the court. Murmurs stirred like dry leaves.

Arthur gave a cautious nod, “You are welcome in Camelot, Your Grace. What business brings you here?”

The Duke turned — and his eyes landed on you like iron.

“There you are,” He said, “Enough of this charade.”

Gwaine moved before you could even react, stepping instinctively between you and the duke, his posture loose but ready, “Care to explain yourself, my lord?”

“I am the Duke of Elenfort,” Alaric declared, turning back to Arthur, “And this girl is my daughter.”

The silence that followed was total.

Even Merlin, passing with a tray of scrolls, paused mid-step. Leon looked stunned. Elyan raised both eyebrows in disbelief.

Arthur blinked, “Your… daughter?”

“My only child. The Lady of Elenfort,” Alaric said tightly, “She fled our estate three years ago — abandoned her name, her duties, her betrothal — all for some fool’s fantasy of becoming a performer. And now I find her here, parading herself in court.”

You stood a little straighter.

Gwen frowned, “She is here by invitation of the queen. Her conduct has been nothing but honorable.”

The Duke barely glanced at Guinevere, “With all respect, Your Majesty — she is meant to be married. She has lands. Titles. A legacy to uphold. The life of a wandering musician is one of disgrace. One step above beggary. It is not fit for a woman of her breeding.”

Each word struck like a slap.

Alaric turned on you, “You ran from a life people would kill for. And now you make a mockery of our house, dancing on tavern floors and performing for peasants.”

Your voice was cool and even, “I was invited. I��ve done nothing to disgrace your house but live a life I chose.”

“And yet here you are,” He sneered, “Living among knights. Playing for coins. Singing like a tavern wench.”

“Watch your tongue,” Guinevere said sharply, stepping down from the dais.

Arthur raised a hand, “Enough.”

But the murmurs of the court were already rising — knights exchanging glances, advisors whispering behind their hands.

“I will not stand by while she tarnishes our name,” Alaric snapped, “You will come with me—”

“I will not.” You said, voice like steel.

The Duke’s jaw clenched, “Then I will petition the king—”

“You already are,” Arthur said, gaze tightening, “And I am trying to prevent this from becoming something worse.”

“I won’t have her become some common whore with a pretty instrument—”

Gwaine moved so quickly Leon barely caught his shoulder. “Do not speak of her that way,” He growled, “Duke or not, I’ll make sure you don’t walk out of this hall upright.”

Your gaze flickered to him — but Gwaine didn’t look at you. His eyes stayed fixed on your father, sharp and furious, as he took another step forward, positioning himself directly between you and Alaric.

“Stand down,” Arthur ordered, voice cracking like thunder, “That is enough.”

A silence thicker than steel followed.

Guinevere now stood beside Arthur, “She deserves to stay. If that is her wish.”

Arthur’s eyes scanned the room — from the queen, to the knights, to you… then finally to the duke.

“She is a noblewoman by birth,” The king said slowly, “And the daughter of a sitting Duke. This puts us in delicate territory.”

“And if she refuses to return?” Gwaine asked, gaze hard on the king.

Alaric cut in again, voice rigid, “I expect this court to respect the laws of nobility.”

“And I expect,” Arthur said, teeth clenched, “this court not to descend into shouting matches.”

“I will take her back by force if I must.” the Duke snarled, stepping forward—

“You will do no such thing—” Guinevere began.

Tension snapped tight as a drawn bowstring.

“I won’t go back!” You said, loud and unshaken — the words slicing through the court like a blade.

Voices clashed.

Gwaine took another step forward.

Alaric raised his voice over everyone’s.

And you stood — fists clenched, heart pounding, Gwaine’s shoulder nearly brushing yours as he prepared to fight a whole court if it came to it.

And then—

“Enough.” Arthur said again — the word quiet but final.

Still, the Duke turned toward you.

“You will come with me.” He said — voice low. Icy. Absolute.

The air was thick with tension. Duke Alaric’s voice still rang in your ears — the threats, the venom, the absolute refusal to see you as anything but a wayward daughter who needed to be dragged home and locked away again. A pawn to be placed neatly back on his board.

You could feel the weight of the court pressing in — the uncertain glances, the restrained whispers, the queen’s steady presence at Arthur’s side, the knights standing tense in a line of silent solidarity.

But when your eyes found Gwaine, standing just off-center, you saw it — the smallest smile. Just for you. Subtle, a flicker at the corner of his mouth. It wasn’t his usual grin, all teeth and swagger — it was quiet. Meant only for you. And it said: I’m on your side.

And gods help you, you trusted him.

You straightened, chin lifting with calm resolve, “I’m afraid I can’t return home with you, Father.”

The words fell into the silence like stones into still water.

Alaric’s head snapped toward you, his mouth already curling in disbelief, “Excuse me?”

“Because I’m a married woman,” You said, voice clear and unwavering, “I belong here. With my husband.”

The silence shattered.

Gasps. Murmurs. One of the kitchen girls near the back dropped a platter. Leon swore softly into his mug. Merlin choked on air. Gwen’s hand froze midair as though she’d been paused mid-spell. Arthur… Arthur looked like someone had hit him square in the face with a pie.

And Gwaine — Gwaine blinked.

His head jerked toward you so fast it was a miracle he didn’t knock something loose. His eyes flew wide, blinking hard — just once — before you gave him a sharp, pleading look. Just go with it.

And bless him, because he did.

He straightened, rolled his shoulders back, and stepped toward you with the kind of swagger only he could pull off without looking like a fool. “That’s right,” He said, voice full of infuriating ease, “We’re married. Happily.”

Another ripple of disbelief passed through the room like thunder.

Arthur looked between the two of you, visibly trying not to smirk. Leon blinked slowly, eyebrows halfway to his hairline. Merlin covered his mouth with his sleeve. Guinevere was still frozen, a teacup raised halfway to her lips.

“Married?” Duke Alaric spat, “To him?”

Gwaine gave him a dazzling smile, “Pleasure to meet you, Father-in-Law.”

You cleared your throat primly, “It was a quiet affair. We didn’t want to attract attention, given my... complicated family situation.”

Alaric turned to Arthur, furious, “I demand the marriage be annulled. This was clearly done in haste.”

You tilted your head, “Oh, we can’t annul it.”

“And why not?”

“Because,” You said, voice syrup-sweet, “the union was witnessed by a member of the royal family. It’s legally binding.”

You turned to Gwen, who was watching you like you’d just tossed her a dagger and a crown at the same time. Your life was in her hands. Your eyes begged: Please.

And Guinevere, glorious woman that she was, didn’t even flinch.

She straightened, regally, and nodded once, “Indeed. I witnessed their vows. It was… a deeply moving affair.” She tilted her head just slightly, “So much love in the room.”

Arthur looked like he was trying not to laugh. Merlin bit the inside of his cheek. Leon was actively shaking with silent mirth. Elyan had to turn away.

Alaric looked between you all, flabbergasted, “Fine. Then you will divorce.”

“Also impossible.” You said at once.

“Impossible?” he echoed, voice rising.

You held his gaze and delivered the final blow with a smile that could cut glass. And with the poise of a queen, the calm of a saint, and the nerves of someone absolutely lying through their teeth, you said,

“We consummated the marriage.”

Silence.

Guinevere inhaled sharply. Arthur made a strangled sound. Leon nearly dropped his goblet. Merlin outright choked.

Gwaine blinked, “I’m sorry, the marriage has been—?”

You gave him a look. That very specific look that said: Gwaine. This is the part where you help me or I kill you with my bare hands.

He stared for a heartbeat. Two.

Then, with that same ridiculous flourish he used when gambling or charging into battle, he stepped beside you, wrapped an arm around your waist, and flashed a grin so rakish it could have brought the ceiling down.

“Oh. Yes. Right,” He said, “Absolutely. Consummated. Thoroughly. Best day of my life.”

Leon choked on a laugh. Elyan whispered “He’s going to die” to Lancelot, who only nodded solemnly. Your father looked a hair’s breadth away from a heart attack.

Arthur cleared his throat, “Well. That would make the union valid under every law I know.”

“And irreversible.” Guinevere added smoothly.

Duke Alaric’s face flushed a furious crimson. His jaw locked tight, a vein pulsing at his temple as he cast his gaze between you, Gwaine, and the royal court — many of whom were now struggling to conceal their amusement behind goblets, gloved hands, or tightly clenched jaws.

“You have humiliated yourself,” He hissed, voice low and shaking with rage, “And disgraced me in the process.”

You tilted your head, lips curving into a smile as sweet as it was sharp, “Well,” You said lightly, “the list of advantages to this marriage appears to grow by the moment.”

Alaric’s hand twitched at his side, as though tempted to strike the words from your mouth — but not even he was foolish enough to try. Not here. Not with Arthur watching him like a hawk, and Gwaine standing half a breath away, one hand already perilously close to the hilt of his sword.

Alaric’s gaze flitted to Arthur, to Guinevere, to the silent wall of knights lining the edge of the court — and found no allies among them.

“So be it,” He snapped, “You’ve made your bed.”

He turned on his heel, his cloak swirling behind him like a banner of war, “When this charade collapses around you, do not come crawling home. You are no daughter of mine.”

And with that, he stormed from the hall, boots striking like thunder against stone. The great doors boomed shut behind him with a resounding crack.

A heavy silence followed.

Then—

“A word,” said Arthur, voice calm but cutting, “Sir Gwaine. Wife.”

Still standing shoulder to shoulder, Gwaine’s hand a steady warmth at your back, you exchanged the faintest of glances — and followed the king and queen from the hall. You were led into a side chamber, quiet and sunlit, the scent of lavender and parchment rich in the air. But you noticed none of it.

Because the moment the door clicked shut behind you—

You turned and launched yourself into Gwaine’s arms.

He caught you at once, stumbling a half-step backward as your arms wound tightly around his neck, laughter bursting from your chest.

“Gwaine,” You gasped, breathless with adrenaline and disbelief, “you were brilliant. I could kiss you.”

“You owe me a drink.” He said under his breath — though one arm settled instinctively at your waist, fingers brushing against your ribs like he didn’t quite want to let go.

“I owe you far more than that,” you said, voice softer now as you met his gaze, “Truly. I can never repay what you’ve done today.”

His smile gentled, and for a heartbeat it felt like you two were the only people in the world.

“You owe me nothing,” he murmured. “I would do it again. A thousand times.”

A pointed cough broke the moment — theatrical and not at all subtle.

You turned, cheeks flushed but glowing, to see Arthur standing with arms folded, his expression somewhere between disbelief and deadpan irritation. Guinevere, beside him, looked perilously close to laughter.

“That,” Arthur said, his tone dry, “was quite the performance.”

Guinevere grinned, “One I thoroughly enjoyed.”

Arthur’s gaze returned to you, “Lady (Y/N)… are you certain of this path? You’ve turned your back on land, power, a title that many would kill to claim. Is this truly a decision you won’t come to regret?”

You didn’t even blink.

“Never, Your Majesty,” You said with bright conviction, “I would sooner die than return to my father’s estate.”

Arthur blinked, “You’re… smiling. Rather excessively.”

“I can’t help it,” You laughed, “I can’t stop. Is this what joy feels like? My heart won’t sit still.”

Gwaine chuckled low beside you, the sound warm and unguarded, “Feels rather the same from this side, too.”

You turned to him with a grin that could have lit the room, “Truly, my cheeks ache. I feel as though I might take flight.”

Arthur looked between the two of you, then turned slowly to Guinevere. “I believe,” He said, “this may be the first time I’ve seen anyone cheerful about waking up married to Gwaine.”

“Jealousy,” Gwaine said, without missing a beat, “is unbecoming, sire.”

Guinevere laughed — light, delighted, and wholly unrestrained.

And you just stood there, beside the man who had helped you reclaim your freedom, your name, your joy — smiling so hard your face hurt, heart light as a feather and full as a kingdom.

***

The days that followed passed in a blur of whispers and watchful glances. Your “marriage” had become the scandal of Camelot — retold in courtyards, corridors, and kitchens with growing flair. By the time it reached the stablehands, you were either a runaway princess, a bardic enchantress, or a spy sent to seduce the king’s best knight.

But beneath the laughter, beyond the amused jests, lay the quiet truth: the marriage had been a ruse. A clever, desperate ploy. And now that the storm had passed and your father had ridden off in outrage, it was time to untangle the knot.

You had never meant to stay.

Camelot was golden, yes — full of music and kindness, sunlit towers and friendly halls. But it was not the road. Not the ache of strings beneath your fingers, nor the wind in your cloak as the world unfolded beneath your boots. You were born for songs and silence and sky. And Gwaine… he’d known that from the start.

You stood at the castle gates with your pack slung over your shoulder and your lute at your back. The sun was cresting the towers, casting long shadows over dew-damp fields. A breeze stirred your sleeves and lifted your hair. And for the first time in days, you felt like yourself again — unanchored, wild, free.

Gwaine was already waiting. Leaning lazily against a post like he’d been there since dawn, arms crossed, hair tousled by the morning wind. His expression was unreadable — but his eyes softened the moment they found yours.

“So,” He said, straightening with a small smile, “you’re really going, then?”

“I am,” You said, voice quiet but certain, “I have to make use of this newfound freedom you lied so spectacularly to give me.”

He huffed a soft laugh, “A noble lie, surely.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was weighty — like words left unsaid were pressing gently at the seams.

You looked at him, “Thank you, Gwaine. For everything. I’ll never forget what you did for me.”

He tilted his head, his grin a little softer than usual, “Wasn’t all bad. Always wondered what it’d be like to have a beautiful wife without the effort of commitment.”

That made you laugh, light and real — and it brought a twinkle back to his eyes.

But his voice dipped, gentler now, “You’re sure about leaving?”

You nodded slowly, “I’ve been still too long. This… this is all I’ve ever wanted. And the road’s always called to me louder than any ballroom or banner ever could.”

“I never meant to stay,” You added, your tone lowering to something more fragile, “Not forever. As lovely as Camelot is, I don’t belong behind stone walls.”

He nodded once, “I know. I never expected you to.”

You looked at him — really looked. His armor was gone, sleeves rolled to the forearms, hair wild from wind and sleep. And in his face was everything you’d come to know in the brief, beautiful madness of the past few days: mischief and loyalty, steel and softness. Knight. Fool. Friend. Something more.

You shifted your pack higher, readying to leave — but before you could turn, Gwaine stepped forward and reached into his tunic.

He held something out to you: a pendant. Silver, worn at the edges, stamped with the sigil of his house — a lion’s head wreathed in curling vines.

“For protection,” He said, trying to sound casual, “If you get into trouble. Or, you know, if some drunk tries to impress you with his third-rate lute playing.”

You blinked at it, “You’re giving me your crest?”

“Temporarily,” He said quickly, “Don’t get any sentimental ideas.”

“Heaven forbid,” You replied, though your fingers curled around it gently — reverently. The chain slipped over your head, the pendant settling over your heart like a second shield. Or a vow unspoken.

Gwaine watched you in silence. Then, with a crooked smile, he stepped closer and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Go,” He whispered, “Before I say something foolish.”

You placed your hand gently over his chest, where his heartbeat beat steady and unguarded beneath your palm. His hand rose instinctively to cover yours, holding it there.

“In my experience,” You murmured, voice warm and sure, “foolish words often lead to the most beautiful things.”

He smiled at that — truly smiled. But neither of you spoke again.

You lingered for a breath, then let your hand slip away.

And you turned.

Boots light, lute slung across your back, the wind tugging at your cloak like it couldn’t bear to see you go. The gates of Camelot opened before you, and the road beyond stretched wide, wild, and waiting.

Behind you, Gwaine stood on the steps, arms crossed over his chest, watching.

He stayed until long after you vanished from view.

And even then, he didn’t turn away.

***

Forever Taglist:

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Possession (Rook x Emmrich)

❤️ Dragon Age | Emmrook | Solavellan | one-shot | Mature ❤️

word count: 7,460 Summary: In the Lighthouse, Rook and Emmrich hunt through some of Solas's old records from his time with the Inquisition. What they find brings them closer together, as they embark on a romantic scavenger hunt through memories of the past.

Read here, or at AO3 💫

Possession

JOLENE MERCAR, also known as Rook, was stalemated outside the door of a certain generous and compassionate necromancer. It was late at night. Though time seemed to pass strangely here in the Fade, whenever she was inside the Lighthouse, she could always sort of tell what part of the day it was. Like an enchantment, or an illusion. She knocked on the door.

Emmrich answered. He was very tall, and when he saw her in all of her tiny elven glory, he smiled. He was genuinely surprised to see her, but seemingly very pleased. "Rook," he said. "What a nice surprise."

"Hello, Emmrich," she said, feeling a little stupid. She had her hands behind her back, rocking back on her heels as she spoke. "I was just...popping by. I discovered something, here in the Lighthouse, a hidden room. It belonged to Solas. It's filled with a bunch of notebooks. Diaries and things. Records, lots of them dated back to when he was in the Inquisition. I was going to go through them on my own, see if we could learn anything, but I suddenly felt the urge for company. I thought you might find it all interesting, as an expert on the Fade. You know, like he is."

Emmrich considered. Rook had long, dark hair, which she sometimes wore in a loose braid over her shoulder, but that night, it just fell to the small of her back, like a curtain. Her eyes were light as candles, and he liked her. Something about her forward nature truly intrigued him, and though he did not entirely understand what she might see in him, she came by often, looking for wisdom. She was young, and he could tell that she felt...out of place in all this. In any case, she had never come to him so late at night before. This was new. The promise of what lie ahead, it was very tempting, despite his prevailing sense of discipline and stoicism. He said to her, "I believe I would find that interesting. Thank you, Rook, for thinking of me. Please, come in. Just let me grab some things, and let's be on our way."

As she stood there, demurely, taking stock of Emmrich's vast and detailed inventory, the books and the skulls and the bizarre crystals, she felt excited, happy for the first time since all this began. It was a pretty picture, this place, so strange and haunted, and yet the whimsy, it was like wrapping herself in a warm scarf. Rook was not a mage, and she had not grown up with such displays of magical possibility. Magic was utilitarian where she was from, or else it was devious. But Emmrich, in all of his sparkling oddity, could make even the littlest, most mundane things feel new and awake. Rook often tried to remind herself that, no matter how bad things get, it's the little things in life that truly set you free.

In the music room, Emmrich was delighted by the presence of a piano in the Lighthouse. He honed through a couple of chords, but it sounded like the gloomier depths of the Necropolis. "It's woefully out of tune," he said. "I can come back in the morning, perhaps, make it sing once more."

"You play the piano?" said Rook, feeling wistful. She had picked the lid up off a wooden box, which she had stacked earlier near the high window. Light seemed to flood in, even though it was after ten.

"My skills are a bit lapsed," said Emmrich. "But I trained for many years in my youth. Music is a language all its own. I've found that certain spirits communicate more readily through the wonders of melody."

"Perhaps that's why Solas plays?"

He smiled. "Perhaps."

Rook sat down on a dusty old hope chest. It seemed made of both wood and gold at the same time, and this weirdness with textiles was something that Solas seemed drawn to. Metals that looked like wood, woods that looked like metal. She watched the little particles floating around in the bars of light from the window as she gathered a stack of leather bound notebooks. There were many books and records and things that looked sort of official, like things you might need at some sort of tribunal, but these ones were filled, front to back with what seemed like poetry, math, journal entries, all in Solas's handwriting. It was elegant but rushed. "Some of these notebooks are just filled with what look like complicated arithmetic."

"May I?" said Emmrich. He pulled up the bench from the piano, sat beside Rook at the window. Rook handed him a notebook. He studied the markings, which were strange, but some oddly familiar. "As the maker of the Veil, it would make sense for Solas to be adept at theoretical and applied physics. Some of these formulas are familiar to me and my studies. Others are...well. They are like nothing I've ever seen before."

"He doodles a lot. See?" She showed him the pages of another notebook. This one was more of a sketchbook, she gathered. There were a great many drawings. Mostly faces and animals, sketched out in pencil, loose with an absentminded touch. "This one is cute. Look. A nug."

"That is very amusing."

"If we don't find anything good here, we can always go back to the office," she said. "It's through the door, but it's sort of gloomy. I just brought some of the boxes out here so that we could sit in the light."

"Yes, the light," said Emmrich, studying the windows. "I wonder if the enchantment lives inside, outside, or in the glass itself?"

"In any case, it's pretty," said Rook.

"I agree."

She showed him another sketch, this one more detailed than the others. "Look at this one. Do you recognize this place?" 

It was a castle, or a fortress, misty, and planted deep in a glorious mountain scape. Emmrich studied it closely. He did recognize it, but he was having a difficult time placing it in his memory. "It says right here, Terasylan'Telas. Do you speak elven, Rook?"

"Nope," she said. "My knowledge ends at Andaran Atishan. Mostly."

"Hmm. You know, now that I think of it, I believe this might be Skyhold," he said. 

"Skyhold?"

"The legendary fortress of the Inquisition. It's located somewhere in the Frostback Mountain range, which forms the natural border between the southern Kingdoms of Ferelden and Orlais."

"Ferelden and Orlais," said Rook. "Geez. That's far. Have you ever been?"

"Never," he said. "Until I met you, I never once left Nevarra. Now, here I am, living in an ancient elven sanctuary in the Fade. Such intrigue you bring to my life, Rook."

She blushed a little, or perhaps it was just a trick of the light. "He seems attached to this place," said Rook, turning the pages of the notebook, slowly. There were several more sketches of the castle, from multiple angles, the insides and outsides. "He seems to know it well." 

"Who is this?" said Emmrich. He pointed to a figure, sketched out in the doorway to what appeared to be some sort of rotunda. The form was female, somewhat tall, created with great care, but it was unfinished.

"Who knows," said Rook. "A mystery woman? After this, it's just tons and tons of butterfly sketches. All kinds of them. Guess he's a fan of bugs."

"Let's delegate a little," he said. "Hand me one of those notebooks, if you please."

She obliged. He straightened up and opened the notebook in his lap. "You continue with the sketchbook, and I will investigate this here."

"What is that one?"

"It looks to be some sort of diary," said Emmrich. "Entries, with dates from twelve years back. I'll let you know if I find anything of interest."

"Same here."

They sat for a while, reading. At some point, Rook got antsy and scooched off the hope chest to sit on the floor. She flipped through the pages of the sketchbook, taken with the minute and lovely details of Solas's drawings. After the butterflies, the pages began to fill with the shapes of people, actual people with detailed, unique faces and expressions, which led Rook to believe that they were real. His friends, perhaps? There was a study of a young man with an enormous hat, a tall elven woman with short hair eating a cookie, a human shield maiden reading a book beneath a tree, and a great, Qunari warrior playing chess. At some point, she came across somebody familiar, but the hair had changed. She recognized him from Minrathous. It was Dorian Pavus, holding a skull near a candle. This awakened something strange inside her, like an eclipse. Late in the book, there was a sketch of Varric, situated from the side. He was holding a flagon, sitting in a tavern somewhere, and he looked pensive. Rook almost said something to Emmrich about it, but she kept it inside. She wasn't sure why. It just felt like opening a can of big, fat worms, which she wasn't ready to open yet.

But then. "Very interesting," said Emmrich. "Very interesting indeed."

"Did you find something?"

"I'm not entirely sure," said Emmrich. "There's a fair bit of elven in here, which I do not understand. But not all of it. This, here, it is written mostly in the common language. It appears to be a prose poem? A ballad of some sort."

"What's it about?"

"Well, as it is a ballad, which means it is about love."

"A love poem? By the Dread Wolf?"

"Come here, Rook. Have a look at this."

She got up from the hardwood floor and went and sat down next to Emmrich on the piano bench. He was big beside her, and she was temporarily taken by his scent. Like rosemary, subtle. His clothing was simple tonight, she thought, unadorned. Just a cream collared shirt, seemed made of cotton, very soft, well-tailored, and expensive. He opened the notebook between them, so that she could follow along. "Listen," he said. He pointed to the page in question and read aloud, solemnly and with great care. As he spoke, with such a soft gravitas, the world around her seemed to change:

Light gathers on the sea, where we sit on the pier. It approaches and folds beside you like an envelope. I do not know how it folds, but it seems to anyway.  It disregards me entirely. On this day in Val Royeaux, as we watch the seamen mooring their ships,  you whisper, "What is that, vhenan?" You speak of a white bird, which has landed on a barrel. "Some sort of egret," I say. I can tell that you already knew that. You just like to ask questions, and you think it's funny. The word "egret," you say, sounds funny in my mouth.  The light finds you here. It finds your eyes here. It disregards me entirely, The light. I could not have made it any more beautiful myself.  It has a mind of its own as it touches you. And you find me, ara avise'ain.

The room was silent, but for the tense ticking of a clock somewhere.

"What a wonderful, if not monumental relic," said Emmrich, his heart stayed. "I am taken aback by this. I should like to read it again and again. What do you think, Rook?"

Rook shook herself out of a deep but ethereal trance then. It felt like something was wrong with her. She realized right then that she had leaned in a little close, the whole time he'd been reading. Her cheek, it brushed against the soft fabric at his shoulder. He did not seem bothered. He seemed very comfortable there beside her.

"I think..." she said, trailing off. "I think...it's just...so erotic."

This seemed to intrigue him greatly. "Erotic?" he said. "Quite the interpretation, Rook. You speak of his use of light, perhaps?"

"Yeah," she said. "How it's always folding and...touching the water, touching her. The mention, too, of the word egret, and how it sounds in his mouth. It just calls to mind their...intimacy. Something was going on here."

"Very good," said Emmrich. "I do agree. It seems that perhaps the Dread Wolf may have taken a secret lover during his time with Inquisition."

"Perhaps the woman that he drew? The one in the doorway of the rotunda?"

"Perhaps."

"Ara avise'ain," she said. "Are there any other uses of this word?"

"Hmm," said Emmrich. He flipped forward a few pages. There was a great deal of elven here. It was sort of like fishing for diamonds through a deft and elegant swamp. But he caught on something, quickly, then studied. He gave her the notebook. "Here. Read this, Rook."

She stared at the poem. She tried to concentrate, but then, she felt him nudge her gently in the shoulder with his own.

She sort of jumped. "What's wrong?" 

"Read it aloud, if you please," he said, softly. "I'd like to hear it in your voice. It is so much more meaningful that way."

"Oh," she said. "Sure. Here goes." She cleared her throat.

I knocked, wondering if you had forgotten. You had not. You were braiding your hair. You said, "I was worried." Vhenan, who worries. Sometimes I feel like a star, which has already died. You say to me, "Sleep here." You invite me inside.  Where it is safe. A nest. Maybe here? You bring me in with both hands. I take off your dress. Why can't I go home, avise'ain? Where the candles flicker to death, withholding, and there are only teeth. 

"Shit," said Rook.

"I echo the sentiment," said Emmrich.

"This is really...wow. I wasn't expecting this," she said. "Only teeth? Fuck."

"I am concerned about the metaphor," said Emmrich. "It does not bode well for the Dread Wolf."

"I wish I knew what that word meant," she said. " Avise'ain. I know what vhenan means. It's like, an elven term of endearment. It means my heart. Or something."

"I wonder if, perhaps, Bellara, or Davrin could help us with the elven."

"That's a good idea," she said. "But Bellara's asleep. She was up late last night, tweaking the eluvian. Told me she wanted to turn in early."

"Then Davrin it is," said Emmrich. They set off.

When they found Davrin, he was lying flat on his back, on the hardwood floor, staring up at the ceiling while Assan, confused, licked his palm.

"Davrin?" 

"Hello, Rook."

"What the hell are you doing on the floor?"

He turned his head to see them. They stood just inside the entryway. There were stacks of old books on the table, the wooden carvings lined up. Davrin kept a very nice space. He was neat and discerning, but he was not a minimalist.

"Emmrich?" he said. It was like a light turning on. "Wait. Is everything okay?"

"Everything is just fine," reassured Emmrich. "But, we are wondering the same of you. Are you often taken with lying on the floor, Davrin?"

"Not at all," said Davrin. He got to his feet, slowly, like he was drunk. He wasn't drunk. He was just...exhausted? "Assan won't sleep. I thought, maybe if I lie here on the floor, he'd doze off next to me. But. No dice."

"Aw, poor Assan," said Rook, patting the sweet creature on his feathered head.

"Poor Assan?" said Davrin. "How about poor me?"

"Poor you," said Rook. 

He smiled. Assan squawked. "What are you guys doing here? Isn't it kind of late?"

"A little," said Rook.

"We require your assistance with the elven language. How are you with translation, Davrin?"

"Pretty good," he said. "What's going on?"

"We found some of Solas's old records, in a secret room, next to the library," Emmrich continued. "They are from his time with the Inquisition. It's quite interesting. A good deal of it is written in elven, however, and neither Rook nor I speak the language."

"Solas is an ancient elf," said Davrin. "I never really learned that dialect. I know a little, but it's rare."

"Can you try?" said Rook.

Davrin sighed. He scratched at the back of his head and then plopped down into the armchair by the fire. "Have a seat," he said. "Let me see."

Emmrich handed Davrin the open notebook, the one with the poetry, and then he and Rook sat down on the floor, like children. Assan watched the whole interaction, rapt and wide awake as Davrin took to studying the elven.

"These poems here are written in the common tongue," said Emmrich. "But there is an elven word used multiple times. Avise'ain. It perplexes us."

"Can you tell us what it means?" said Rook.

"Holy shit," said Davrin, reading the poem about the pier, and the egret. He read it multiple times. Then he looked at Rook, his face screwed up like he'd seen a ghost. "Do you know who he wrote this for?"

"No, we don't," said Rook.

He made a low whistle. "This shit is deep."

"What does it mean?" said Rook, urging him back to the task at hand. " Avise'ain?"

"Right," said Davrin. "Well, this word isn't something I've seen before. But it's not ancient elven. It's contemporary. See this? The suffix, -ain , is a diminutive. It means little, or petite. Avise is a form of the word ise, which means fire. Avise means flame. Avise'ain means—"

"Little flame," said Rook. "Like, a pet name maybe?"

"That's exactly what it is," said Davrin. "And see this here? Here, he uses the possessive, ara, which means my. My little flame. Whoever this was, they were definitely...well, I think you know."

"I believe the correct term is intimate, Davrin. No need to be coy."

Davrin almost started laughing. "Touche. Does seem a little strange though, speculating about the sex life of an ancient elven god."

"Solas didn't present himself as a god to the Inquisition," said Rook. "He didn't even tell them he was an ancient elf. According to Varric, he just presented as an apostate. He said he was a fade mage, same as you, Emmrich."

"That inspires my curiosity, to be sure," he said.

Davrin flipped through the book some more, studying the handwriting. "All this other stuff is ancient," said Davrin. "Except for this one word, avise'ain, which is in common elven. Why?"

"Perhaps the woman to whom he assigned his pet name is not an ancient elf," said Emmrich. "If she doesn't speak the dialect, it would make little sense for him to use it."

"So she's a regular elf? Or...a new elf? Like me and Davrin?" said Rook.

"Yes, and it's also likely that she speaks the common dialect."

"So, she's Dalish," said Davrin. 

"Are you sure you can't read any of this other stuff?" said Rook. "These poems and entries. You can't read the ancient elven? Even a little?"

Davrin squinted at the pages in deep concentration, which seemed to lure Assan closer to his side. He sidled up to Davrin's chair and placed his head in his lap. Davrin stroked the beast's neck absentmindedly, a darling display. "Hmm," he said.

"Hmm?" said Rook.

"I can't translate this word for word," he said. "That's for sure. I just don't know the vocabulary. But elven, it's more than just a language. It's like a feeling. If you're an elf, that is. Especially this old stuff. Shit, it's a little like music. Rook, even though you don't know how to speak it, I bet if you read this, and you focused really hard, like really hard, you would understand what I'm talking about."

"What exactly are you talking about?"

"You can sense the story," he said. "Solas, in his words, is telling a story. I can see it in my mind's eye, like...ancestral memory."

"I don't know how I feel about sharing ancestral memories with Solas," said Rook.

"Well, I think we do. Whether we like it or not." He handed her the book. "Here. Just take a look."

She looked at Davrin, a little apprehensive. She had never been very elfy. Sort of like self-preservation in Tevinter. In fact, in her quotidian life, before all this, it was typical for her to simply forget what she was half the time. When it struck her, and she remembered, it was always in these horrible moments of existential unease. On the street corners. On the docks. She had considered leaving Minrathous thousands of times before her twenty-fifth birthday, for thousands of reasons. But she never had anywhere to go. Until now, of course.

Suddenly she felt Emmrich's hand, big and soft on her shoulder. He squeezed once, then lowered his mouth, close to her ear. He said, "You can do it, Rook. I believe in you. Just give it a whirl."

She felt very hot all of a sudden, in her cheeks, and it zinged straight back to her eartips. But still, it was comforting. He was such a comforting presence, calming all her stupid bullshit with one single, casual touch. She said, "Okay. I'll try."

She picked up the book. The words made little sense. As Davrin had said, even for elven, it was out of whack, bizarrely tuned, as if invented on the spot. But then, after a moment, she felt a kind of warm, snowy sensation in the back of her brain. It was like fuzz, and then it spread, and it came into focus. Like a crystal. It spun there, at the center of her brain. She looked up at Emmrich, and she said, "I felt something."

"Wonderful," said Emmrich. "What did you feel?"

"This is a story," she said, tapping her finger to the words. "It's about rooftops, am I right?" She looked to Davrin.

"Yes," he said. "Rooftops, mountains. Her hair, like, it's everywhere, right? Did you get that?"

"I did. Maybe that means it's windy?" 

"Good call. Also, there's a tear in the sky. He compares it to an eye, watching them. Like they're never alone. But he wants her. Bad. He wants to be free, to be with her."

"Emmrich," said Rook, serious now.

"Yes? I must say. This is quite entertaining, you two."

"You've read the Inquisition folklore. Are you sure you never saw any references to a romance?"

"I have only read the canonical texts," he said, "which, beyond names and basic formalities, in no way addresses any interpersonal aspect of the people involved. So, no."

"You should go talk to Harding," said Davrin. "She was in the Inquisition. She might know."

"Oh my gosh," said Rook. "You're right."

"You're also in luck," said Emmrich, voice low, his hands clasped in front of him, very debonair. He nodded toward Assan, who had fallen asleep, his head heavy in Davrin's lap, very still, eyes closed, breathing even. "It seems our discussion of ancient elven poetry lulled your young griffon here right to sleep."

Davrin surveyed the situation, dropped his head back and blinked up at the ceiling. "Guess I should get comfortable."

"We'll see you in the morning," said Rook, very eager. Emmrich had got to his feet first, extended a hand to her. She took it, stood tall, and dusted herself off. "Thank you for your help, Davrin. That was...interesting."

"Any time," he said.

As they crossed the great courtyard in the middle of the night, they both looked up to the deep, dark Fade sky at the same exact time. There was a shooting star, or, that's what it looked like. It was big and molten, like a long column of light which then simply disappeared from existence. This dazzled Rook, but it also unnerved her. She had never really been outside before when the Lighthouse went dark. She'd had no idea that there were stars here.

"This place shall never cease to amaze me," said Emmrich, in wonderment. "Stars and night. The chattering sounds of inexplicable nature. We are floating on a cloud, it seems, and yet, there are butterflies and opossums. I can sense them in the underbrush. Solas made this place comfortable many years ago. He wanted his people to feel at home here."

"When we first arrived," said Rook, "the place was falling apart. I think Solas was living here, before the ritual, but it feels like there are parts of the castle he never went to, like he lived in two, maybe three of the rooms tops. Everywhere else, he just left it sealed away. Like a tomb."

"The bachelor pad of a god is sad indeed," said Emmrich. "Particularly if he is on the wrong side of love. Let us continue our scavenger hunt, Rook. I am enjoying this evening immensely. Thank you for asking me to accompany you on your search tonight."

"You're welcome," she said, smiling like an idiot. He held out his arm to her then, an unexpected gesture, but she took it anyway. Even though she was not afraid of the dark, she was hesitant, walking through the Fade like this. She was not used to such big, cold, and cosmic magic. 

Emmrich sensed this, as he so often did. "Do not fear this place, dear Rook," he said. "Allow it to become familiar, and it will embrace you, as a home."

They started toward Harding's. They could see the light from her lantern, a long, golden bar at the bottom of the door. "Is that what you do?" said Rook.

"Yes, it is," he said. "Like a scent on the breeze. I will not forget it for all my years."

When they got to Harding's door, it was like she had seen them coming. She stayed up late.

"Rook?" she said. "Is that you?"

"It is," she said. "It's me, and Emmrich. Are you decent?"

"Sure am," said Lace. She opened the door, seeming delighted. She was wearing red pajamas with her hair in a braid and holding a cup of tea. "What brings you two around so late at night?"

Emmrich smiled, his face going a little crinkly. "We won't take up much of your time, Lace. We just have a few questions for you, concerning your time in the Inquisition. May we come in?"

"Definitely," she said, holding the door wide open and standing back to give them room. As she shut the door behind them, Rook noticed the remnants of some sort of art project. There were what appeared to be curtains, draped over a table, and several spools of colorful thread. Harding seemed to be practicing her embroidery.

"I love the curtains," said Rook.

"Oh, thank you. I'm just trying to make this place feel a little more like home. You know?" 

Emmrich glanced at Rook, very knowing.

"So," said Lace. "You guys wanna talk about the Inquisition? What did you wanna know?"

"We have been scouring some of Solas's old records," said Emmrich. "Rook found a secret room inside, near the library. It's full of old notebooks and things. Much of it dated back to Solas's time with the Inquisition."

"Interesting," said Harding. "Find anything good?"

"Yes," said Rook, a little anxious. "We found love poems."

"Love poems?" said Harding, sort of giggling. "Really? Wow. I mean, I knew Solas was an artist, but a writer, too? Wow."

"Wow, indeed," said Emmrich. "We came here tonight to ask whether you know anything about a woman that Solas might have been seeing at the time. Someone in the Inquisition, perhaps? She was likely a Dalish elf."

There was a long pause then, in which Lace stared at them both as if she thought they might be on drugs. "You're kidding me, right?"

"No, we aren't," said Rook. "The stuff he wrote. It was really...passionate. Do you know anything about it?"

"Uh, yeah. I do," said Lace.

"Really?" said Emmrich. "Who was it? The woman, we mean?"

"Inquisitor Lavellan."

It was like a boulder, falling off a cliff.

"The Inquisitor?" said Rook. 

"Oh, my dear," said Emmrich. "This is a surprise."

Lace shrugged, like it was just any other factoid. "I'm surprised you guys don't know. I guess I just assumed that everybody did. It was all over the tabloids, at least down south. People can't get enough of that shit. Sene's love life has been under scrutiny for years. It really pisses her off, but I mean, what can you do? Idle minds, am I right?"

Rook opened the notebook, which she'd had tucked under her arm. She showed Lace the poems. She said, "He loved her. A lot. We're pretty sure that everything in here, at least in this notebook, is all about her. It's full of poems and stories. What happened between them?"

"Solas and Sene were crazy in love," said Lace, sipping her tea, reminiscing. "Like I said, it was no secret. They were great together. Inseparable. They used to have picnics on the battlements at Skyhold, talk for hours on the rooftops at Haven. He would braid her hair before they went out into the field. It was just...romantic. I used to talk to them all the time, when we would deploy to different regions, trying to bring people and their factions into the Inquisition. She would sit and watch him paint his frescoes, and he made her these butterflies out of his magic, like little presents. Hundreds of them, green and glowy, all the time. Everywhere. They would just fly around the rotunda, and the garden, like part of the decor. It was so dreamy and romantic."

"Green, glowy butterflies?" said Rook. "There's a bunch of them here, flitting about in the bushes. I've seen tons of them, flying around the Crossroads, too."

"Yup," said Lace. "Those are them. I'm not surprised that she's left her mark here. The way Solas looked at her, it was so...intense. I thought he was gonna ask her to marry him. It was really serious. And, like I said, everybody knew. They were just...Sene and Solas. Solas and Sene. The tabloids used to refer to Sene as the Tall Red Elf and Solas as the Tall Elven Warrior at her Side. Anyway, be careful, Rook. This is...kind of a long story, and Sene is a close friend of mine. She practically lived at my house for like a year once, down in the Hinterlands. I'll tell you stuff, but like, keep it clean. I'm not getting into the weeds here, okay?"

Rook fell silent. She did not really know much about Inquisitor Lavellan, or the Inquisition at all. It was not a common topic of discussion in Tevinter. And yet, even still, she was a bit of a celebrity, mainly with the Chantry, as the Herald of Andraste. They talked about her all the time in the holy newsletters and things like that. Debates over whether her claims to prophesy were legitimate, or whether she even believed them herself, seeing as she was an elf. Rook knew that she was Dalish, but she hadn't really put it together, until now.

"We promise to be civilized in our questioning," said Emmrich, taking over. "We will of course respect your loyalties to Inquisitor Lavellan. But please forgive me, as I must ask. You make it sound like he was over the moon for her, and yet, you said he left? Why?"

"At the time," she said, "Sene didn't know. None of us did. Nobody knew that he was the Dread Wolf. We just thought he was some really powerful apostate. After we killed Corypheus, he just...left. She was devastated, but at some point, she moved on. Or, she tried to. She was in another pretty serious relationship when Solas finally showed himself again two years later, during the Exalted Council in Halamshiral. He explained everything, that he was the Dread Wolf, that he wanted to bring down the Veil, that he still loved her, but that he had to go, and he would not take her with him. That was important. Anyway, based on what Sene told me, I think he originally intended to just use the Inquisition, like a pawn, to help him further his plans. But it didn't go so hot. He accidentally fell in love. He made friends, too. Kind of a huge, fantastic failure...I guess."

"So it was after the Exalted Council," said Rook. "That's when they last saw each other?

"In person, yeah," said Lace.

"What do you mean in person?" said Emmrich.

"Solas is a dreamer," said Lace, taken with the thought. "Rook knows. He can walk in peoples' dreams. As far as I know, he's visited her, quite a lot, over the past ten years. Where they stood at any given time, it was sort of on and off, but it was consistent, to some degree."

"Does he still love her?" said Emmrich, seeming desperately curious. Too tall, he was nearly hunched in half, trying to lean into their conversation. 

"Probably," said Lace, her voice soft all of a sudden. She became wistful. She looked away, toward the window. "They were special. They meant everything to one another. It was the kind of love that you aspire to, you know? And I mean, she still loves him. That, I know for sure. Sene went through a couple different men, trying to move on. But despite both of them being great guys, neither of them stuck, not like he did."

"Which men?"

Lace sighed, setting down her mug on the table next to the curtains. "This is where I call it a night. I'm not getting into all that. You're gonna have to read about it in the tabloids like everyone else."

Emmrich seemed to be thinking about this in a practical manner. "We can probably find them in the Magisterial Library of Minrathous. I'm sure they keep records of every tabloid and newspaper in Thedas, going back at least 100 years."

"Or, you know," said Lace. "I guess you could just ask Inquisitor Lavellan, herself. I'm sure you'll meet her. Soon."

"I will?" said Rook.

Lace shrugged again. She was doing that a lot. Like it was all just old hat to her. "Sene is close to Morrigan," she said. "And she also has Lady Nightingale, the best Spymaster in all of Thedas. I guarantee that she knows all about this by now, everything that's happened. And she'll also know, too, that you're the one leading the charge here, Rook. She'll know that Solas is trapped in the Fade, and that you're the only one who can talk to him. So, of course, she's gonna wanna meet you. Probably soon. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if, when you go to meet Morrigan at the Cobbled Swan in a couple days, she'll be there, too. Then again, who knows? She's got her hands full. Given everything my ma said in her last letter, the south is...under siege. There's a bad fight there, and lots of Blight. All hands on deck." Harding looked down into her tea, pensive, and then she looked at the floor. "I'm okay," she said, to no one. 

"Is your mother safe?" said Emmrich, placing his hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him, like she was terribly relieved that he asked.

"I think so," she said. "She went to Skyhold, with a lot of other people. I'm pretty sure that's where Sene is. Or, she goes back and forth a lot, with her Commander. Cullen. It's become like, a sanctuary. Like what this place used to be."

"Harding," said Rook. "I'm sorry. I didn't...I should have asked you about this earlier."

"It's okay, Rook," she said, smiling once more. "I get it. We have our hands full up here, too."

Emmrich straightened up then, and something about his massive height seemed to change the atmosphere. He seemed to know it, too. He clasped his hands behind his back and said, "Well, we should take our leave. Thank you, Lace. This has been most educational."

"Now that you know," she said to Rook, "what will you do? Are you gonna mention it, next time you see Solas?"

Rook thought about it. She could not picture it. Whenever she thought about him, about Solas, her mind twisted into a riddle, and she could no longer tell what was real. She had only ever seen him from far away, up on a huge pedestal, or in the Fade, where everything was grim, and he was removed from her grasp, as cold and hard as steel. He was a total stranger, and yet, she relied on him. In this moment, she felt hugely young, raw, spilled open, her guts all over the floor. She did not want to hurt the Dread Wolf. He was like a music box, rusted shut, and there was just something so strange about it. So pretty, this idea that he held inside of him this intense history. Love, sex, all the things that made him a man and not a god. "I don't know," she said to Harding. "I need to think on it."

"Well, goodnight," said Lace. "See you in the morning. Lucanis is making breakfast so, don't miss it."

Outside, Rook and Emmrich stood at the center of the midnight courtyard and stared up at the enormous idol of Fen'Harel. Oddly now, standing here in front of this enormous statue, her thoughts turned away from Solas and instead settled with the man by her side. It was so strange, she thought. From the very first day she met him, he disarmed her. He took her guard completely down, and he told her to light brassieres and they fought demons, and they were talking to spirits. She said hello to a little wisp, and it had made her heart beat strangely. He told her he had never been out of Nevarra, and he seemed starved for adventure, and yet, it had been him who'd swept her off her feet, took her on a grand field trip through the Necropolis, this well of magic, everywhere, all the time, living and breathing with a mind of its own. He had opened her eyes that day.

He was older, but she didn't much care. He did not treat her like a child. Sometimes, he did treat her like a student. But he did that to everyone, and in any case, it was never condescending. It's just who he was. The professor. He was not steel, nor was he even terribly guarded. He did not give in to her easily though, that was for sure. He moved slowly, deliberately, all those times she would go to talk to him, ask him questions about what he thought about all of this, about the Veil. He kept his distance until it really mattered, as if every choice he made would determine who they were, together, and in this, she knew that she could trust him. 

"What do you think of all this, Rook?" he said then, smiling at her. "Have your opinions of Solas changed in any way?"

"A little," she said. "I need to sleep on it. I just...I realize that I don't know him at all. He barely even seems like a person sometimes, let alone a man who could...well, you know."

Emmrich held out his hand then, and from his palm, he snapped a little wisp, white and pure. It buzzed around her nose and landed in her hair like a bug, and she laughed. "Do you like it?" he said, very debonair.

"Yes," she said.

"You know, Inquisitor Lavellan is not a mage either," he said, growing pensive, his brow furrowed. "She was at the Conclave, sent as a representative for her clan, which, as I recall, is fairly important in the Free Marches. They own a great deal of land there. Even still, she was one lowly elf among an entire Chantry. She was certainly judged, and certainly alone. There are records, which state that, after the explosion at the temple, which resulted in the death of Divine Justinia, the Seekers of Truth wanted to arrest her for apostasy, for treason, for murder. You name it. She was ostracized far before she was ever beloved. And she was young when the Inquisition began, only twenty, if I recall from the literature, and the Chantry experts distrusted her immensely, even after she was named Inquisitor. Many were especially critical of her as the prophetic Herald of Andraste . But others believed, and among them, I imagine, Solas. He followed her. He loved her. Just like with this place, he desired to warm her heart, to make her feel comfortable, at home in an icy, mean, judgmental landscape. Perhaps because he understood what that meant? To be so ostracized, so fantastically alone. Part of that was the butterflies, I imagine, and that is why they linger still. That little wisp I just conjured up, you said you like it. Does it bring you warmth, Rook? Joy?"

Rook held it in her hand now, like a little poof of cool, calm energy. It seemed to vibrate with admiration, glowing up at her, like it was alive. "It does," she said. She set it free then, and it disappeared. "Thank you, Emmrich."

"Whatever the Dread Wolf is or isn't," he went on, "I think it is clear by now that he is, ultimately, just a man. He has desires, needs, and she fulfilled them, as he fulfilled hers. These were needs that had either not been fulfilled before, or not in some time. She thawed his heart, and he kept her safe, and they found a home in one another. Even if it was short-lived, it is more than most will possess in their lifetimes."

Rook felt impulsive then. She could hear the words that he was saying, and she knew that he was right, but she was lost in the feeling and the sound. She wanted to express herself. She wasn't shiny or particularly eloquent like he was. Definitely not a poet. She didn't have beautiful things to say or magical creatures she could conjure into the air. But she did have action. She had always been good at just...doing things. No fear. She slid her hand into his then. He looked down right away, at their fingers mingled together, like he was startled, and then he looked at her, laid bare. 

She said, "Is it okay? I don't know what to say. I just...I want to show you how I feel."

He was very soft then, his eyes dark and filled with a hidden sadness, which tempted her. What was it? Where did it live? What did it see? He picked up her hand, and he closed his eyes and brought her knuckles to his lips. It disarmed her and made her weak, and she sort of shivered. Their eyes met. He said, quietly, "Language can be superfluous in times like these, dear Rook. But, please, know that I feel it, too."

So, she kissed him, in front of the Dread Wolf statue at midnight, in the Fade. She had to stand on her tallest tiptoes to do it. At first, just like with the handhold, he was taken aback, but he quickly molded to her, his other hand on her jaw, as he touched her ear with tenderness. It was not devouring. It was pure. Tallest mage, so full of compassion. He seemed to unlock for her that night, a click and release.

Rook did not have much to hide. She didn't understand people who did. But she could try. That night, Emmrich walked her back to her room, and they shared one more kiss before parting until morning. She sat down on the couch in the blue, aqueous light of her quarters, vibrating and giddy, and watched the fish do their little immortal dancing. She thought about Inquisitor Lavellan, twenty years old, a Dalish elf in the Chantry, and how lonely that must have felt for her. How scary, how out of place she was and the deep, impending desire to return to the home that she knew, somehow, she would never really see again. Not as it once was, as a child. But then, there was a man who came along and made it feel okay to just be alive, no matter how you did it, or how new you were to the world. A man who seemed to know everything, who could stand so tall, and yet, who nursed inside of him a heart so true that it could not be contained. And so they were consumed by possession, discovery, desire. 

*This story, though it stands alone, is also a part of my Solavellan fic Riptide.

[evangelineshifts]

FUCK IT !

You know I started thinking about the analogy that people use for manifestation and shifting comparing it to when you order something online.

And for me that analogy made sense but I could never truly relate to it cause when they said “you don’t wonder when your package is coming, you just know it is and you don’t question that etc etc”

And while yes that is true to a certain extent, I actually DO wonder when my packages are coming sometimes. I DO check how far they are from my location. I do anxiously wait for them to come.

I realize that that’s okay. Cause no matter how many times I check the order status. No matter how many times I check how long it’s been since I ordered it, my package STILL CAME.

I think the way we’re told to restrict ourselves from thinking about how much time our manifestations are taking or when we’re gonna shift actually makes it worse.

When you tell someone not to worry about something, to let it go and not thinking about it, to feign indifference the harder they’re going to try to. Which in turn just makes them think about it more.

It’s counterproductive at best.

When I order something I do think about how long it’ll take. I do check the status but once I do I just kind of go on once I’m done. I don’t really feel any particular way about how long it’s taking cause I know it’s mine and it’ll get here.

I trust that the delivery service will get it here in due time cause that’s THEIR job not mine and leave it at that 🤷🏽‍♀️

Another thing I noticed is that in ordering things- at least for me - I don’t worry about HOW it’s gonna get here. It could be delivered on my doorstep, in the mailbox, dropped from a fucking helicopter, ANYTHING, and I have never once cared.

And it might just be me being slow and realizing this is what they meant in those posts later than everyone else but it’s just like- clicked !

I’m always SO worried about the process of shifting.

What method should I do? Should I even do a method?

What if I get bored? I dont want to do it if I’m bored.

What will I think about? Should I look over my script? Maybe Pinterest boards for visuals?

What if I forgot something? I should check my script.

What if I fall asleep?

What if? What if? What if?

WHO FUCKING CARES?!? That is not why you’re doing this. Who cares about that process when the end goal is the destination.

I’ve been avoiding shifting for the longest because I just kept stressing out over the shifting aspect of it. I would maladaptive daydream about my dr and be happy in that but the thought of attempt a shift made me groan.

The thought of affirming and persisting in my manifestations seemed strenuous.

But thats not the point. With practices as fluid as this focusing on what to do is literally the last thing you need to be worried about and I just now realized that.

You’ve probably heard this all before but like fr, do whatever the hell you want. If you want to shift wide awake, eyes open and dancing with music blasting in your ears- do it. Who’s gonna tell you that you can’t? Who has the credibility to say it’s impossible.

No one.

If you want to manifest by literally saying one affirmation and deciding it’s done and then going on doing whatever the fuck you want until the 3D catches up, then do it.

Tell yourself it works for you and then do it.

✧ dividers by @benkeibear !

[sleepyqweeb189]

WARNING THIS CHAPTER WILL CONTAIN THE FOLLOWING

MENTAL HEATH ISSUES

Alexa rows the boat to the Beast yeast. Alexa wore a heavy and expansive Lifejacket. Her fear wasn't enough about the water, then Hollyberry- no, Dragonberry certainly made it worse. Alexa had left the Celestial Cheese's town 2 weeks ago. One week on land, and another week on water, traveling to Beast Yeast. Alexa didn't know how she would reach it, but she will. Alexa took a nap after it had gotten dark. Alexa placed the bag under her head and gently lay down slowly to not rock the boat. Alexa looks up into the night sky. She can see the moon. The moon shines brightly at Alexa.

"I will make it home soon, mom. I promise...." Alexa rolls onto her stomach and falls asleep.

The boat slowly bumps into shore. The water slowly pushes the boat gently against shore with every small wave. Alexa groans awake as she sits up, looking around, realizing it's the entrance to Beast Yeast. Alexa climbs out of the boat, getting her feet soaked in cold water, making her shiver from the cold water. Alexa pulls the boat onto the shore so it doesn't go away. Alexa pulled her things out and pulled her bag around her once again. She pulled out a map and lay it across. There were small notes written on the map. The map was big, but Alexa only opened half of it. In the corner, there was a small land that was barely made in shape. Alexa would think to go around and use the river bank, but it wouldn't do any good. Alexa still can't swim, she is too scared, and givin' all that Dragonberry did to her... She wouldn't want to give herself a heart attack.

"Can I even have a heart attack at my age? Is that possible? Maybe. I wish dad was here. He would've told me..." Alexa questions to herself.

Alexa brush off anything off the map before she put it away. Alexa pulled out her staff and walked inside Beast Yeast forest. The forest itself was large from how the game visuals make it. The grass is soft. The trees were all thick and hard to see through the forest. It didn't help as Alexa was still recovering a bit from those bandits from the deserts. There was a feeling of being watched. This wasn't the first time but this time it felt more intense. Before this, Alexa, like any other person, listens to her music or audio and parade around her room or living room when she is alone, pretending that someone is there watching her, but this time...

There is no music...

There is no pretending to be an edit anymore...

This is reality...

And Alexa can't act anymore...

Alexa continues to walk through the forest of Beast Yeast. There were many little spores poking their heads around the thick trees. Walking deeper into the Beast Yeast, the flowers were huge and yet so beautiful. Alexa could never think that Beast Yeast was so beautiful in person. Alexa continued walking until she heard a voice. She knew she could get herself in trouble, but if White Lily was dead, she could be safe? She has no reason to fight, right? Plus, she could steal the Soul jam if it was there, and it could help and aid in traveling. But doesn't the Jams choose the next host? Alexa doesn't remember that detail about the Soul Jams.

Alexa continued to walk until she heard a certain voice. Alexa gasped and rushed over to the voice. Alexa quickly hides behind a bush but keeps a distance to not get close to the spiders. Alexa peaks over the bush and sees who it is. Silverbell! Oh, my cookie! It's Silverbell! She noticed he looks a bit... darker? His clothes are a dark gray color. Yet, he looks so sad. His voice seems... conflicted about something. Alexa leans a little too forward and falls face first.

"Ah- crap!" Alexa cried out.

"AH! Who goes there?!" Silverbell pulled out his bow an arrow.

Alexa looks up. She sees Silverbell point his bow at her. Alexa nervously sits up quickly.

"My- my name is! My name is White Lily - no! It's Alexa Suzuki! I am here for White lily! I need to see her!" Alexa blurted out. Stuttering along the way.

SilverBell didn't lower his weapon. Alexa freaks out a bit more. She doesn't want to die! Alexa has already been through near death many times, and it still doesn't get any better feeling it. Alexa dodged when SilverBell shot out an arrow.

"WAIT! I HAVE AN INVITE! I KNOW WHITE LILY! DARK CACAO SAID I COULD COME! PLEASE! DONT KILL ME!" Alexa shouted as she held her hands up.

Silverbell froze. He didn't lower his bow. He looks back, his group of the other Silver Knights. They looked at each other, a silent conversation. After a bit, they nodded before giving the nod at Silverbell. Silverbell looked back at Alexa before he lower his bow. Alexa slowly gets up, keeping her hands up in the air. Alexa was scared to say anything, trembling sightly, trying to no cry at the moment and was breathing a bit fast and short breaths. Silverbell nod his head to the side, singling Alexa to follow. The other guard followed behind Alexa, to make sure she doesn't try anything. The walk was a bit long, but Alexa didn't mind, she could see if she could steal the Soul Jam. But, she wouldn't know if she would even escape alive if she even would attempt to steal the Soul Jam. Alexa walked to a open space. Silverbell held his hand up, making Alexa stop in her tracks. Then, Silverbell made his bell chimed, for a few seconds of silence, the gate slowly appeared out of nowhere. Alexa heard soft hearing. Alexa looks up, she felt like there was a moon shining down upon everything, making everything look beautiful. Alexa was guided in. She looked around and see other fairies, but they had a bit of a more darker in attire. Following a grayer tone. Everyone was still singing soft tones. Alexa tried to understand but couldn't. From what Alexa could believe, they might still morning over White Lily. Alexa remembers from the game that they celebrated for months, maybe they might morning for months. Alexa follows Silverbell and told to wait. Alexa listened, but when Alexa looks around, she noticed the Silver tree. The once tall silver tree, was spilt in half, down the middle. Alexa walks close as she can and touched the bark of the tree. Alexa walked back after a bit. After a few minutes of waiting, Silverbell came out but with a different....

"I thought you were dead" Alexa mumbled but immidmity covered her mouth.

"What?" Midnight Lily looked sternly at Alexa.

"I- I am sorry- I meant- Its so nice to meet you white...? Lily...?" Alexa questioned.

"I did not get a letter stating your arrival. May I ask who has 'sent' you?"

"I- um Dark Chaco sent me ma'am! I didn't gave me I-" Alexa was cut off.

"Wait! You said you knew her majesty and yet you can't say her name?!" Silverbell shouted.

"I- I will um... shit-" Alexa tried to run off but gets caught quite quickly.

"AH-" Alexa cried out in pain when one of the guard grabbed her by the hair an forced her to look up.

"I want to ask, why did you lie? Who had sent you?" Midnight Lily asked sternly.

"I-I-" Alexa was trying not to cry but couldn't hold back the tears.

"I-I just- I want to go home! I-I wanted to home an-and I just thought I can just breeze by y-your kingdom! that's all!" Alexa was blabbing and repeating herself at this point.

Midnight Lily looks at Alexa, thinking to herself. She looks back at the library, before looking at Alexa. After a few minutes of thinking, Midnight Lily came to a discission.

"I will allow you to stay-"

"REALLY?! Thank you Lily! Thank you very much-"

"BUT" Interrupting Alexa.

"I will state that if you to cause harm to me, or my lands, I wouldn't hesitate to throw you out, or in the dungeons." Midnight Lily spoke sternly, leaving no argument.

"Yes, yes I will not cause any destruction or fighting upon your land" Alexa was released.

Alexa was taken to a guest room. Alexa was able to settle down for a bit before given a list of rules from Silverbell. Alexa was able to be alone after a few minutes. Alexa slowly started to fall asleep after a bit of walking from the waters to the land.

"Don't blame them for who they become, It was but fate. Unfortunately, I blame myself for dying, " Elder Fearie spoke softly.

Alexa woke up suddenly from her dreams. She couldn't understand. Why did he appear? Not before... but now?

Alexa rubs her eyes and pulls the covers away. Alexa jumps out of bed and heads to the library. Alexa needed to leave this cookie world. She still had a home. She has a life. She still has school to finish. If she doesn't get back, who knows how will she ever get home. Alexa walks into the library and turns to one of the fairies.

"Hi um... is there any books or scrolls about... um... different Diamentions?" Alexa asked nervouly.

"Scrolls you seek are... are not well known. But, the most you can find is on... Aisle 13... on 4th row.... third self from the top, second to the right..." The Librarian Faerie spoke softly.

Alexa didn't understand too well. Her head has not been well at understanding things anymore. Alexa smiles at a bad memories when her mom was yelling about her forgetting things. Alexa shakes her head and heads to what she remembers. For a while, Alexa walked and walked for what seems aimless. But at some point, Alexa was able to find what she was looking for and started to read. The langrage was a bit hard since it was kind of in music sheets and music notes. But Alexa has some form of knowing music before she dropped out of it in her second year of high school. Decoding was a bit hard, but at some point, Alexa was able to get some things out of it. After a while of decoding and reading over and over, she was only able to read about a failed experiment.

The failed experiment that was during the early days. This was when the Beast were good cookies. Shadow milk had an attempt to make a portal to a different dimension but the page was ripped out.

Alexa felt a bit dizzy as she noticed that her hopes of returning home seems so far. She have to go to the witches. But, remembering the lore of White Lily- No Midnight Lily, doesn't have high hopes for the witches. Why... Why is she the only one like this? Why... Why does she have to go through this? Alexa dropped the scroll and fell to her knees. It took awhile for Alexa to get up and back on her feet. she wiped her face from the tears an took a breathe. Alexa looked around some more but this time, the witches. If she were to get in some more of contact with them, she might be able to leave. Alexa went home for the day. For the next 2 days, Alexa would bring herself food from the cafeteria and started to take notes from the supplies given from what Hershey Cookie gave her. Using the back of one of the recipe cards for the herbs, she wrote down what she can about the witches and where to find them. The cookie run map never canon on where the witches were. But Midnight Lily does know. Using the scrolls from when Lily went to the witches' banquet. Writing down anything she can until the last day. On the final day, Alexa got what has. Alexa would just need to find the witches. Alexa packed her things and went to meet up with Midnight Lily.

"Hello Midnight Lily, you be seeing me out?" Alexa asked.

"Yes, Yes I will. I will make sure you will leave safely but I will ask if you do happen to return, I don't want you to bring anyone else." Midnight Lily warned.

"I understand. I will go. um... never mind. Thank you for the food." Alexa bowed a little before leaving the gates.

As Alexa was walking away, she as walking near a waterfall, but she was at a good distance. Then, Alexa heard running and her name being called out too.

"What-?" Alexa didn't had the chance to speak before she felt herself being pushed.

Alexa couldn't scream. Everything happened so fast. Alexa couldn't tell if she was crying or if it was the waterfall. Alexa can only remember how this all started. Over her stupid phone and the fact she didn't go to bed. Would she still be here if she played cookie run? would she still be here if she went to bed early? Would even this happen at all if she ever got Cookie Run? Was this a punishment?

SPLASH!

BAAU Creator: @cuppajj