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parkerslatte · 5 months ago

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Incompatible | Part One

Eris Vanserra x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: none

Summary: Y/N Archeron was a human living in the land of the fae. For her own protection, the Inner Circle keeps her in Velaris, safe and protected. One day, Azriel invites her to a meeting after seeing her close into herself more and more. There she meets the one who flips her whole life upside down.

A/N: This is a request from @talesofadragon , thank you so much for sending it in, it definitely helped with my writers block :) also this will have a second part and possibly a third so keep an eye on for those soon!

A Court of Thorns and Roses Masterlist

•••

Y/N Archeron remembered the day she returned to the house her two younger sisters lived in and found it completely destroyed. It had only been three months since she had last visited as making the journey across the human lands was a tiring one that Y/N did not make very often. Far from the village her sisters lived in, Y/N lived mostly alone with a large stretch of farmlands and woodlands. The closest neighbour to her was nearly a mile down the road. But Y/N liked that, she liked the peace living on the farm brought her.

After she moved when she was freshly eighteen, Y/N sent most of her earnings to her family and lived off of the bare minimum. But she was happy, probably happier than she had been in a while.

Now years on from that, at twenty-eight, Y/N continued to sit at the table in the town house and watched the world go by. She tried to concentrate on her book or anything else but she couldn’t, her mind was elsewhere. It always was this past year. Occasionally someone would walk by but Y/N made no effort to make conversation. All she wanted to do was leave the damned house.

Y/N was only a human living in the land of the fae. When she first arrived, she was happy. She was back with her sisters and she was in a new place to explore. At first, Rhys allowed her to walk the streets of Velaris, browsing the shops and market stalls. Soon that transitioned to her needing an escort wherever she went and very soon after that, it turned into Y/N being locked up in whatever house everyone decided that week. Today was the town house. She knew that her family were only looking out for her and only wanted to protect her. After all, Y/N was not immortal. She was not fae. She could bruise easily, was far weaker than anyone else around her.

Y/N sighed yet again and threw the book in her hands to the floor. She didn’t understand why she was here anymore. Y/N knew that she was of no use to anyone around her, she felt more like an inconvenience if anything. They should have just taken her back to her own damned farm.

“Hey,” Azriel said, approaching the eldest Archeron. “I came to check on you.”

“Of your own free will or because you were forced to?” Y/N snapped back. She instantly felt guilty. Since she was brought to Velaris, Azriel had been nothing but kind to her. They all had but he was the only one who had gone out of his way to talk with her everyday. Her sisters had stopped doing that when they had either begun their own families or had gone travelling.

“My own free will if you really want to know,” Azriel said and sat down in the chair next to hers. He glanced down at the book on the floor. “Did the book really deserve that?”

“It probably deserved a lot more than that,” Y/N said, bringing her legs up onto the chair. She looked back out of the window.

Azriel sighed. “Y/N, look, I know that you don’t want to be here–”

“What gave you that impression?” Y/N interrupted.

Azriel simply ignored her. “But you are safe here.”

“I could have been safe at my farm,” Y/N said. “There was no need to bring me here. Feyre and Nesta are both busy with their families to sit with me anymore. Elain is busy travelling the continent with Lucien. I don’t have any friends here–”

“I am your friend, Y/N,” Azriel interrupted her. “And all we are trying to do is protect you. The whole of Prythian knows that there is another Archeron sister and they all know that you are human. If anyone were to get to you, it would put you as well as your sisters in danger. Because you know that they would do anything to get you back safe.”

Y/N sighed. “I know but this is not a life, Azriel. All I do is sit indoors and waste away. I am not even allowed to go outside anymore. Whenever there is a meeting happening, I am sent away to the furthest possible room. I feel like a prisoner, Azriel. You may not see it, but it is how I feel.”

Azriel sighed and stood up.

“Where are you going?” Y/N said.

“To a meeting,” Azriel answers.

Y/N huffed and turned back to the window. Her eyes burned with unshed tears. “Have fun.”

Y/N expected to hear Azriel’s retreating footsteps but she didn’t. Slowly she turned her head and found him standing there, his hand outstretched.

“What?” Y/N asked.

“Are you coming or not?” Azriel asked.

Hope lit up Y/N’s heart. “You’re serious?”

“Deadly,” Azriel said.

Y/N stood up and threw her arms around the shadowsinger, nearly knocking him off balance. “What will the others say?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Azriel said. “If they say anything, let me deal with it.”

“Thank you!” Y/N exclaimed, pulling back from Azriel.

Azriel chuckled. “Don’t thank me yet. You are going to hate it once you realise how boring these meetings are.”

“I don’t care,” Y/N said as Azriel began to lead her to the meeting hall. “As long as I can actually be involved in something, I’ll find entertainment in anything.”

As soon as Azriel opened the door to the meeting hall, all eyes were on her. Y/N didn’t shrink away, she lifted her chin and looked around proudly. There weren’t many in the room at all, in fact there was only one new face amongst everyone else. Y/N studied him and, upon inspection, decided that he was the most beautiful man she had ever laid eyes on. His copper hair sat neatly on top of his head, a singular strand falling across his forehead. His fashion sense was immaculate and Y/N wanted to study the embroidery on his jacket up close.

As Y/N moved her gaze back to the man’s face, she found him looking at her, a smirk pulling at his lips. Y/N gave him a small smile.

A chair scraped across the floor, drawing Y/N’s attention away.

“Azriel, what is she doing here?” Rhys asked, his voice low and deadly as he spoke to Azriel.

“I thought she could sit in on a meeting,” Azriel shrugged, pulling out a chair for Y/N. One directly across from the handsome man. “You and everyone else made Y/N read books on fae politics, so I thought she could see a political meeting in person.”

Rhys tried to remain calm but Y/N could easily see the anger and tension slipping through the cracks.

Cassian was the next to speak up. “Az is right Rhys. Y/N must learn about all of this at some point. And there’s nothing like the present.”

Rhys’s gaze hardened on Cassian before he turned back to face Y/N. He offered her a small, barely there smile. “Very well.”

The stares of her two sisters burned into Y/N as she looked down at the table. Y/N hadn’t seen Feyre and Nesta in at least three weeks, but Y/N had to admit that by fae standards, three weeks was not a long time. But to Y/N it was, especially when there was barely anything she could do to pass the time.

The chair next to Y/N scraped across the floor and Azriel sat down next to her. Y/N turned her head to look at him.

Thank you, she mouthed.

Azriel gave her a small nod before he turned his attention to Rhys as he began to speak up. Y/N had to admit to herself that she did not find any of what Rhys was saying particularly interesting, but she still felt glad to finally be included in something.

The meeting felt like it had drawled on forever and Y/N had learnt to block everyone out. Though, if Y/N had to admit to herself, whenever the man with copper hair spoke, she found herself tuning into the conversation just to hear his voice. Not only was he the most beautiful man she had ever laid eyes on, his voice was the most beautiful she had ever heard. Y/N wasn’t sure if one could fall in love with the sound of someone’s voice but she already had.

Y/N shuffled in her chair and finally looked up from where she was looking at the small crack in the table. Her back ached from her lack of movement and the uncomfortable seat she had found herself in. The sun outside had begun to go down, casting the room in a faint orange glow. The expression on Y/N’s face saddened as she looked at the sunset. All she wanted to do was go outside and bask in the sun on her own. She wanted her own place to live without the constant feeling of being babysat. All Y/N wanted was her own life back.

Cassian cleared his throat and it interrupted Y/N from her own thoughts. As she zoned back in, she made eye contact with the handsome man again. He was looking directly at her, a gleam in his eyes that seemed like…concern. Y/N didn’t avert her gaze. Something within her made her not want to look away. She was swimming in his eyes and she would happily drown if she had no other choice.

The corner of the man’s mouth twitched and Y/N couldn’t help but mimic that movement, fighting the urge to smile. Nothing had made her smile properly in a while but just simply from looking at this man, she wanted to smile, share that experience with him. Y/N pressed her lips into a thin line and averted her gaze, only for a quick second. As her eyes met the man’s once more, a small smile pulled at his lips.

“Eris,” Rhys interrupted and the man reluctantly looked away from Y/N.

“What?” The man, now known to Y/N as Eris, said sharply. “Sorry, what did you say?”

Rhys’s gaze flicked between Eris and Y/N and his gaze darkened the smallest amount. “I asked you if there was anything else you wished to discuss.”

Eris leaned back in his chair. “Actually there is one thing. I would like to know the name of the beautiful woman I have not been introduced to yet.”

Rhys rolled his eyes. “Her name is–”

Eris held up his hand, cutting Rhys off. “Ah, I did not ask you for her name.” Eris turned his attention to Y/N. “I would like her to introduce herself.”

Y/N briefly glanced at her sisters. Their expressions did not give away much but for some reason Y/N had a feeling that neither of them wanted her to introduce herself. It only made Y/N want to do it more.

Y/N plastered a bright smile on her face as she faced Eris once more. “I’m Y/N Archeron.”

“Y/N,” Eris repeated, her name sounding like poetry on his tongue. “A beautiful name to match such a woman.”

Y/N’s smile only brightened.

“Now all introductions are over, I will see you out, Eris,” Rhys said.

“I can see myself out Rhysand,” Eris replied, standing from his chair. “Although I would not complain if the beautiful Y/N walked me out.”

Y/N felt Eris’s eyes bore into hers and she couldn’t help the heat that rose to her cheeks.

“I–” Y/N began to speak but she was cut off by Rhys.

“She will not escort you out, Eris,” Rhys said.

“I’m sure Y/N can speak for herself, Rhysand,” Eris said, his eyes not leaving Y/N’s.

Reluctantly, Y/N shifted her gaze from Eris to Rhys. The High Lord’s violet eyes hardened and Y/N knew exactly what that look meant. It was a warning. Y/N then looked at her two sisters. Feyre did not seem to mind as she slightly nodded at Y/N. Nesta only looked at Rhys’s annoyed expression in amusement. Y/N looked at Cassian and Azriel. While they didn’t say anything, the protective look in their eyes said enough. Though as her gaze met Azriel’s he shrugged. Do what you want, his look seemed to say. It doesn’t mean that I need to like it.

Y/N turned back to face Eris. “I’ll escort you out.”

Instead of a smirk, Eris plastered a pleasant smile upon his handsome face. Y/N pushed back her chair, it scraped loudly against the floor. She could feel the eyes of everyone on her yet she was only focused on one. As she walked around the table to meet Eris, he offered her his arm. Y/N took it gracefully, feeling the hard muscle beneath his jacket.

As soon as they were outside of the meeting room, Y/N let out a long breath. She looked at Eris to find him already looking at her.

“I can feel how suffocated you are,” Eris said, his eyebrow knitting together in concern. “I know the feeling all too well myself.”

Y/N sighed. “This is honestly the first time I have ever been allowed to do anything on my own in a long time.”

“I cannot imagine how that must feel,” Eris said. “If I were in your shoes, I would simply run for the hills.”

Y/N’s lips twitched. “Don’t you think I’ve thought of doing that?”

“I don’t see why you don’t,” Eris said, as they finally stepped outside. Y/N lingered in the threshold of the doors. Eris’s concern seemed to heighten. “How long has it been since you have been outside?”

“Well only a few days since I moved from the House of Wind to here,” Y/N said. “But actually being outside and feeling the sun on my skin, quite a while.”

Eris scoffed. “Moved around? You are not a piece of furniture.You are a human being.”

“Exactly,” Y/N replied. “A human being. I am not fae. I am not safe if I am to live and walk around in daylight.”

“That is no way to live,” Eris said.

“It is the way I have been living for nearly four years now,” Y/N said.

“Well why don’t you and I change that,” Eris said, trailing his hand down Y/N’s arm to intertwine their fingers together. Y/N smiled as she felt his warm palm against hers. “Step out into the sun with me.”

“But it is sunset,” Y/N commented.

“It is said that that is when the sun looks the most beautiful,” Eris replied, nodding his head in the direction of the large hill obscuring their view of the sunset. “We will get a perfect view just up there.”

“I don’t know,” Y/N said, stepping back from Eris, though she didn’t release his hand. She didn’t want to release his hand. The warmth she felt from it was unlike any other.

“Don’t do that,” Eris said softly.

“Do what?” Y/N asked.

“Shrink into yourself,” Eris said, lightly pulling her so she stood close to him. “Come with me. It is only over the hill after all. I can walk you back here safely after.”

Eris’s expression held no ill intent and deep down Y/N already knew that for reasons she couldn’t explain. Y/N nodded her head slowly. A wide smile spread across Eris’s face and Y/N couldn’t help herself but smile back. His smile was infectious.

Together they stepped out of the townhouse and Eris led her further away from the building. Y/N’s eyes lit up as she felt the warm sun on her skin. They stopped at the top of the hill as Y/N’s eyes widened in wonder. It had been a while since she had seen such a beautiful sight.

“I have to admit that this sight is rather beautiful,” Eris commented. “But the sights in Autumn are even better.”

Y/N turned her attention to Eris. “Perhaps I can see them one day?”

Eris smiled. “I would happily take you now if you wanted.”

The smile fell from Y/N’s face. She glanced back towards the townhouse. “I would love that, but…”

Eris glanced at the house. “They won’t let you.”

“It is their way of making sure I am protected, though I just feel trapped all the damn time,” Y/N said. “I hate feeling useless and that my life has no meaning. I rarely see my sisters because they are busy with their own families or travelling. I am not even allowed to train to pass the time, I am considered too delicate apparently, even for the training dummies. I just want to finally leave this court. I want to go back to my farm.”

“Your farm?” Eris asked.

“Before my sisters were turned into fae, I lived on my own farm hundreds of miles away. I sent most of the money I made to my sisters. I lived on the basics but I was happy,” Y/N explained. “I would kill to go back there.”

“Why don’t you?”

“Well everyone inside of that house for starters but by now I am sure it is run down. I didn’t have anyone to help out on the farm, only the occasional person passing through if they were in need of work,” Y/N explained. “I am sure that it is not the cosy home it used to be by now and if I’m being honest, I do not have the motivation to even think about remodelling it.”

“What if you had help?” Eris suggested.

A small smile creeped onto Y/N’s face. “Eris, are you offering to help me?”

“Perhaps I am,” Eris replied, taking a small step closer. “And if I was, Y/N Archeron, what would your answer be?”

“I would say–”

“Y/N!” Rhys called from the townhouse.

Y/N rolled her eyes and turned to look at Rhys. He stood in the doorway with his arms folded across his chest. Y/N sighed. “I should get back inside now.”

As Y/N went to take a step back but Eris gently gripped her hand. “I take it that it would be impossible to convince you to come with me.”

“It wouldn’t be impossible to convince me,” Y/N said. “But convincing the Inner Circle to allow me out of sight is near impossible.”

Eris briefly looked at Rhys before looking back at Y/N. “Maybe I can convince them.”

Y/N laughed. “I’d like to see you try.”

“I take that as a challenge,” Eris smirked. “Mark my words, Y/N, that by this time three days from now, I will get you out of that house.”

Y/N linked her fingers through Eris’s. “Well I cannot wait until you do.”

Eris lifted her hand and pressed his lips against her knuckles. “I will look forward to seeing you again, Y/N.”

“Y/N,” Rhys said, interrupting Y/N from responding.

“Rhys,” Y/N greeted.

Rhys turned to Eris. “I see that my sister-in-law has escorted you out, maybe it is time for you to take your leave, Eris.”

“I was just leaving,” Eris replied, a gleam in his eye. “I have a very important letter to write tonight.”

Eris slipped his hand away from Y/N’s but Y/N found herself wanting to take his once more. The immediate coolness that wrapped around her hand was far from pleasant and she missed the warmth Eris provided.

“I will see you very soon, Y/N,” Eris said, that gleam still shining brightly in his eyes. He turned on his heel and walked away without turning back. The light shone on his copper hair and Y/N wanted nothing more than to follow him.

Rhys offered his arm to Y/N. “Let’s get back inside.”

“Before someone sees?” Y/N replied sharply. She walked ahead of Rhys the short distance to the town house. Though she felt a fluttering in her stomach and waited in anticipation to see if Eris’s words would come true.

#acotar #acotar x reader #a court of thorns and roses #eris vanserra #eris vanserra x reader #eris x reader #eris acotar

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rennybu · 1 month ago

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AAAAUHG.. so many things come to mind so i will start with... i like to imagine he and Fenris are the same height :') (5'11"). This got a bit long but i'm always happy to talk about this guy!!!!!!!!! @trebuchet151

he's got a big garnet signet ring with the Amell family crest carved in it, and that's about the only recognizable thing that denotes his lineage... he has always liked stamping wax seals on letters with it!!! he's a ring guy generally, he likes mixing and matching stones and metal.

his hands are very scarred and rough from reckless casting, and especially casting fire magic without a staff (in a pinch).

He has a heart tattooed on his ring finger for Fenris :') their wedding was very. Andraste as the witness, on the road, impulsive. Vows for themselves, nothing legally binding. Fenris has a plain gold band on a red cord somewhere on his person at all times.

his testosterone is taken via oral tincture, some kind of oil solution he takes drops of daily. like a mild and highly personalized potion recipe! it's the only reason he sometimes needs a home base or shop to set up in, to prepare a big batch. He stores it in little glass vials he collects from trinket shops. Malcolm found the recipe for him after he came out in his tweens.

Bethany is kind of sainted in his mind, when he's exasperated or stunned he might utter an "oh Bethany" (in the tone of "are you seeing this shit") rather than an "oh Maker"

He struggles a lot with empathy, in that he frequently can logically recognize when he should feel for another person's situation, and yet finds himself unmoved. He will deliberately go out of his way to care for others, sometimes more than is needed, to try to make up for what he perceives as a personal flaw. This is how he ended up like a wrung out mouldy rag, emotionally, by the end of DA2.

His spell class is fucking terrifying, he has a lot of mana and not much hp, but is really reckless about his reserves. He combines force magic with fire magic, trapping foes and incinerating them, and sometimes leaving himself winded in the wake of too much magical exertion at once.

he's pretty spry and strong but doesn't have a great constitution. He tires out quickly in fights, hence trying to end them explosively and quickly.

Was briefly stalked by a sloth demon, perhaps around Act 2, and passed a very "get off my doorstep" homebrew harrowing as a result. Burnt it out of his shadow and got some spring back in his step, around roughly the same time he recognized his feelings for Fenris, settled into his role as Hawke within Kirkwall, etc. He Killed Dysphoria, Forever!!!

His love for Merrill makes him very "blood magic is okay", he loves her worldview and wisdom about its use, but his upbringing prevents him from extending that grace to himself. He was forced to use blood magic in his duel against the Arishok in order to survive it!!! Angst. Hates himself quite badly for this. Until Merrill is like "why are you special" and he's like ooohh. I get it

We all kno Hawke goes thru hell but I love reflecting on Orson's arc from early family life to Now/post-DA:I, he found closure among his friends and family and was able to fully remove himself from a public leadership role and is doing much better for it. He's a bit of an anarchist i guess, jack of all trades with a pretty rigid set of personal morals that sometimes forces him to act outside the law. He's very grey market, hard to contact, arrive in the nick of time.

He and Fenris do not ever shut up around each other. Two dudes who talk about fuck all, very intelligently. If you see Fenris in the wild, Orson is probably around, too. They love hunting Venatori and only sometimes get in the way of other spy/subterfuge activities.

he smells like BRITTLE sun-baked wood, with a hint of oily herbal medicine.

#aart #orson hawke #fenhawke #da2 #dragon age 2 #THANK U ASH.. rotating orson in my mind from age 12 to 45. loml

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plasticfreckles · 8 days ago

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🪶 rookanis date plans nobody thought through enjoy🪶

"Ugh." Rook wrings out her hair. The groan comes from so deep inside her Lucanis thinks she might keep it under her toenails. "I'm never getting the stench out."

"Harding did offer you a hairtie, you remember." Not that Lucanis wore one, but he hasn't washed his hair in so long the grease alone might well be a helmet.

"I've put years into getting my hair to retain this curl pattern. Silk bedsheets and beetroot treatment only."

"Beetroot make your hair purple, as well?"

She shrugs, after flipping her wet curls through the air like that siren in the children's tale. The droplets that fly around her may as well be actors of the commedia, so well they play their part.

"It does, but I don't mind. Think it looks cute. Also if I stand in the sun right, it's pink. I got magic hair without being stuffed in a circle!"

She kneels down to pet a stray cat, but the smell of death and blight on their clothes makes it hiss and retreat into the shadows.

Rook huffs.

"You know what I'm doing the next time we're in Treviso?"

How should I know? You never let me talk to her. - She isn't talking to you. - Because you never let me!

"Coffee?" He knows it's not coffee. She's one of those cursed with coffee making her tired. Coffee, she reserves for ending a night, sitting on Treviso's rooftops with Crow Feed and a candlestub (or with bread and a book on a wobbly staircase in an old god's bachelor pad, as the case may be).

But if he doesn't guess now, Spite will start putting words in his mouth. And he rarely has nice things to say. I have no words you'll like.

"Before that. Can't show up like this."

Why not? He thinks. Sure, her pants are a little too tight for her luscious thighs, but all Crows wear tight pants. Even if that were reason the turn her away, she's too short for normal people to notice. Not under her cloak, anyway.

You're not normal people, Lucanis. It occurs to normal people they won't let her sit down because she stinks, not because she's got great legs. Normal people don't stare at their boss's ass like it was Andraste at the Stake. Spite manifests so close to him he can feel his serpent's tongue in his ear canal. He rubs his ear into his pauldron.

"She's not our boss," Lucanis hisses, and were Rook not an elf Crow, she might not even have heard.

As it is, when Lucanis returns his focus to figuring out where Neve had wandered off to, she frowns at him.

"What's he say?"

"It's not important." Lucanis shakes his head. You're not important, Spite says.

"You sure?" If their condition were Spite's prison, he would shake the bars in frustration so hard the walls would come down.

"The picking irritates him. Please, don't."

She leans back against the cart behind her, arms crossed.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to rile him up." She moves over a little when he walks over to join her against that cart. It's a good vantage point on the winding street into the market.

"Why don't you tell me your plans for Treviso before Neve returns with another contact?"

Rook leans her head back into her neck and bares all her teeth when she laughs.

"Want to join?"

"For coffee, certainly."

"Bathhouse, too?"

His clearly off-guard expression makes her laugh so hard she moves to hold her belly and bangs both elbows on the cart.

Quinces and pomegranates fall off the cart and tumble down the road.

🪶

this is experimental and idk if i like it yet. i think I've flirted twice with the man and am lowkey terrified of having messed up my chance at romance with him by playing blind but oh well

WE TAKE OUR Ls ON THE INTERNET WHOOP [Also its 1:30 in the night and the youth club beneath us has been playing the same 2 notes on their bass for like 5 hours now :)]

[~rina]

#rookanis #rook x lucanis #lucanis dellamorte #dragon age lucanis #lucanis x rook #dragonage #dragon age the veilguard #spite dragon age #rinawrites #rinascreamsaboutbioware #antivan crow rook #de riva #veilguard spoilers

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scrompsautobotsrchives · 2 months ago

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The grand race

Alright, first Mirage fic !! *Cracks knuckles* Lets do this. Word count:1K

Mirage lived for adventure even back on cybertron. He would always get up to antics which would have pissed off the prime leader back then. Now on earth, it was his personal playground, He would always toy around with the police in chases, Doing the best stunts he could do. But he always wanted to do more.

One day as he was cruising around the city, He parked nearby just to watch the city go by. He then saw two friends walk up to each other and have a quick chat before one said. "You still down for the race tonight ??"

"Yep, I also heard that they jackpoted the prize to a $1000" The other said enthusiastically.

"Woah..." That was all he needed when he started to zoom back to the makeshift HQ, You were busy helping Optimus and Bumblebee setting everything up when you heard the familiar revving.

"Hey y/n !!" He transformed and kneeled to your height, eager to tell you the news. "Guess what I heard today ?? Your gonna love it"

'What's up ??' You stopped what you were doing and gave him your full attention.

"I heard these guys in the city talking about a race that's happening tonight"

"Oh yeah, They do those almost every year now"

"Really ?? We should go !!"

But before you could give your answer, a familiar prime's voice boomed. "Absolutely not Mirage, We need to remain undercover and away from prying eyes, Drawing attention to yourself will only cause more damage then good" He said, bee whirred in laughter and soon the radio flicked to an audio of the Nelson Muntz... "HA HA !!"

"You must promise me to stay away from that race" Optimus said firmly.

"Yeah yeah sure, I'll stay very well away so far away... Dude don't leave me with these tightasses bro, We'd make a great team" Mirage whispered to you pleadingly.

"Mirage you heard what Optimus said, I'm not doing a race just so you can get kick out of it" You frowned to him.

"But what about for friendship ??" He said, making you raise an eyebrow in dissapointment.

"Ah or or or what about for cash ??"

You looked up at him. "How much are we talking ??"

"$1000, I can get that to you easy"

Now what you could do with $1000, ooooooh you could buy that new games console that just went on a market. You looked at Optimus who was helping Bee before back at Mirage.

"Ok, I'm in" You nodded.

So later in the night, the two of you went out. Heading to the start of the course where all the racer's would line up. You got out as you heard rap music playing on full blast, People catching up and taking selfies. You saw a dude with a clipboard standing nearby, Taking down the names of another person who arrived before you.

"Guess that's our ticket in" You closed the door and went up to him. "Hey, I wanna enter the race"

"Awesome, What car are we racing with ??"

"The Porsche behind me" You nodded to Mirage.

He nodded and took down your name as well. "Alright, your in kid"

"Thanks" You headed back to Mirage and got inside. "Ok remember, we need to make this look natural so nobody notices something's off ok ??" You reminded him of the rules.

"Don't worry, your boy's got this" Even in car form, you could tell Mirage had a huge smirk on his face.

You lined up, Eyeing the competition. some had modified cars ranging from old to new. They took this seriously.

"This'll be easy" Mirage chimed in, revving his engine as he got into place. "Relax"

You nodded as you gripped the steering wheel, Watching someone walk to the middle with the chequered flag, signalling the race was about to start. The contestants around you started to rev up their cars as the flag was raised, and then with the swish downwards, Tires skidded on the road and soon everyone was off.

"Come on Mirage !!" You cheered as you made pretend movements on the drivers seat.

"'scuse me 'scuse me'" He chuckled softly as he passed some contestants with breeze.

But some were proving to be a little bit of a challenge, like we said, some were modified specifically for this race. Mirage grumbled as he attempted to pass some of them. "Move over !!"

The driver in one car could only chuckle and pressed the nitro, picking up speed.

"Damn it !!" You pushed the pedal to the medal, and Mirage began to speed up, pushing a little more and sped past the guy, blowing dust in his face.

"WOOHOO !!!"

The first lap was done, Just gotta keep up the momentum. "Let's kick some aft !!" Mirage cheered.

You cleaned up the second lap, But on the third, one of the contestants began to kick it up a notch. Mirage was cruising along when he felt that he wasn't ahead anymore. "Huh ??"

You watched as one of the contestants sped past you, This car looked like it went through hell and back on the performance.

"Shit !! Come on we got this !!" You reminded.

Mirage was determined, as determined as ever to win this. He tried to speed up as best as he could, Tires burning every drift. The other driver wasn't giving up as well, Both of you pushing the pedal to the medal as the finish line was nearing. The crowd cheered as the two of you crossed, Mirage made a total stop. "Did we win ??"

"I'm not sure ??" You got out of the car, asking the racer. "Yo what's going on ??"

"Beats me" He shrugged.

Because it was such a close call, Some people had to review the footage on their phones just to see who touched the finish line first, You waited for almost 5 minutes before one nodded and shouted. "It was the Porsche !!" Making everyone cheer.

"YEAH !!" You were so goddamn happy, Mirage was so goddamn happy, Oh screw it you were both so goddamn happy.

Others watched as you showed off from mirage and as promised, you were awarded the $1000. You drove off soon after.

"Holy shit that was incredible !! Did you see the guys face !!??"

"Oh, he was so mad !!" Mirage was so happy. "We gotta do that again sometime.

"Maybe... Just maybe" You smirked. You made your debut, a race or two never hurt anyone.

Taglist: @callofdudes

#transformers rotb #transformers rise of the beasts #transformers x reader #transformers imagine #transformers #mirage imagine #mirage x reader #mirage

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heich0e · 1 year ago

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leave the light on - miya osamu/f!reader (haikyuu!) part 10 in the bff!osamu series tags: childhood friends to lovers, tw instant coffee mention, miscommunication, confessions, ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!

Onigiri Miya closes early on Sunday nights.

It’s not for lack of business—the shop would certainly take in enough revenue to justify staying open regular hours an extra day per week, especially on a weekend. But in the early days of Onigiri Miya, when it was just a one-man show, Osamu needed at least one night that he could count on having off. The workweek business—office workers and students going through their routine hustle and bustle—kept him going, enough so that Sunday nights weren’t a make or break for him, and he was able to start shuttering in the early afternoon once per week.

He remembers those early days. Sweet talking vendors to bring down the cost of produce and haggling with the grubby, bleary eyed men at fish market stalls at the crack of dawn for a deal on the catch of the day. Promising suppliers that he’d be able to get them their money in a couple of weeks if they’d just give him some more time. Standing on the road, because Onigiri Miya was just a street stall back then, trying to coax people in and try his food. To convince them to take a chance on him. He remembers burns on his hands and cuts on his fingers and an ache in his bones that ran so marrow-deep he forgot what it felt like to not be so sore. Sunday nights were the only night he had to relax. The only night he had to sit down, to take off his hat, and to have a beer—or, even more frequently, pass out on his couch in his uniform at 8pm and sleep right through to his alarm the next morning.

Closing early on Sundays had been your idea, way back when— suggested to him gently while he rested with his head in your lap in your tiny student apartment after another 16 hour workday. He still remembers the worry in your eyes as you brushed his hair back from his tired face.

Nowadays things aren’t so hectic. Osamu’s got a good team of people around him to help Onigiri Miya run smoothly—a team who he trusts and values. It doesn’t all fall onto his shoulders in the same way that it used to: he doesn’t have to be there for every open and every close, his bills are paid, he’s not fighting to lure people in off the street just in the hope that he can scrape by for another week.

Now when he closes early on Sunday, it’s more for the sake of his staff than anything else. Occasionally Osamu will take the night off, too; he’ll go home and catch up on housework, run an errand or two, or even grab dinner—usually with you, though evidently not so much lately. But most Sundays he stays behind after his last employee heads out for the night; locking up behind them, switching off the sign in the window to tell the world the shop is closed, and then holing himself up in his office to do some admin. He’ll grab a plate of whatever’s leftover from the day’s service and a cold can of beer from the fridge, put on a rerun of Atsumu’s game from the night before, and get to work shuffling through the paperwork that he’s left to pile up over the past seven days.

Osamu hates paperwork.

It’s not that it’s particularly challenging work—the really hard stuff is left to his bookkeeper after all. It’s just tedious, a mindless task in many ways, and he always finds his thoughts drifting as he sorts through invoices and inventory registers: catching himself being inattentive halfway through a spreadsheet, and having to force himself to go back to the beginning just to make sure he hasn’t missed anything in his carelessness.

You used to help him with this kind of work, or at least keep him company while he got through it—sitting on the lumpy couch crammed into one corner of his little office and pretending like you weren’t asleep each time Osamu caught you with your eyes closed. More often than not, he’d throw his jacket over you to keep you warm while you napped and then rush through the last of his work so that he could wake you up and get you home. But just having you there on those late nights was enough for him; your presence was the thing that helped.

Coffee is his only saving grace, these days.

Samu shuffles out to the front of the shop on one such Sunday evening, taking off his baseball cap and ruffling the hair underneath tiredly. He’d finally gotten a trim, and he’s glad that things feel a bit more normal again as he rakes his fingers through it—his mother had been right when she remarked that it was getting too long the week before. He tosses his hat down on the front counter of Onigiri Miya, rounding the end to grab a sachet of instant coffee from behind the bar where he keeps his emergency stash.

The overhead lights in the shop are off, but there’s enough brightness filtering out from the still-lit kitchen that he doesn’t need to struggle to see as he prepares himself some hot water to add to the mug in front of him. He tips the granulated contents of his instant coffee sachet into the bottom after ripping it open with his teeth, tapping the empty plastic packaging against the edge of the cup to make sure it all comes out. The kettle behind him hums quietly as it heats to boiling, and Osamu sighs, leaning back against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest.

He stares out at the restaurant—his restaurant, as hard as he still finds it to believe some days—his gaze sweeping over the tables with their corresponding chairs resting atop them. One of the staff had mopped the floors at the end of the night, which left them still slightly wet and glistening. There’s light filtering in through the front windows from the streetlights and the other shops that line the Osaka street outside, and their glow catches in the water that hasn’t yet dried from the tile.

Osamu’s eyes suddenly snap up to the glass that lines the front of the restaurant.

There’s a silhouetted figure—so familiar he could trace it even with his eyes closed, from memory alone—standing on the other side of the door.

Osamu blinks, thinking that the paperwork must have finally gotten the best of him, or maybe that the beer he’d had earlier is inexplicably hitting him too hard. But no matter how many times he squeezes his eyes shut, the familiar shape stays where it is on the other side of the glass each time he opens them again.

His heartbeat thumps, loud and wet, in his ears.

Like the shot of a gun, the man stumbles gracelessly into action: loping around the end of the bar and slipping slightly on the wet tile as he heads towards the door. He fiddles with the lock as he struggles to unlatch it, accidentally trying to force it the wrong way in his haste before eventually getting it right. When he finally throws open the door, a gust of cool night air flooding into the restaurant along with it, he takes in a deep, gasping breath.

“Hey.”

His voice is shaky when he greets you—mostly air and very little shape to the word.

You stare at him from a few paces away, your arms crossed firmly over your chest and a frown tugging down the corners of your mouth. Osamu thinks you look pretty when you’re mad. He always has. But it’s worse now because he knows all too well that he shouldn’t—because he knows you’re mad at him.

You seem to have something to say, he can tell as much from the almost spiteful glint in your eyes, but you stay tightlipped as you simply stare at him.

“D’ya… wanna come in?” Osamu asks, still holding the door open. He nods his head back into the shop. “Still got some stuff prepped, I could make ya—“

“You’re a jerk.”

Osamu blinks, taken aback.

“Yeah,” he agrees plainly after a moment, thinking it’s only fair of you to say given then circumstances.

His concurrence only seems to upset you more.

“Like, you’re a real asshole, y’know that?” You’re nearly spitting you’re so angry, your features twisted up in contempt. Your arms uncross and drop down to your sides, and Osamu watches as your hands ball into fists. He’s the one who taught you how to throw a punch, years and years ago now, and he’s wondering if he’s about to experience a practical demonstration of his teaching abilities firsthand.

“I don’t necessarily disagree.” He nods, agreeing with you once more, though this time his response is slower, more hesitant—not because he doesn’t mean it, but because he’s not sure that it’s what you want to hear.

“Ugh!” Your following exclamation is loud, and palpably frustrated, all but confirming his suspicions. “You…!”

Your tone is climbing with every passing second, and Osamu looks furtively up and down the road around the two of you. It’s late in the evening but there are still a few people out, and he sees heads turning in your direction at the commotion.

“Hey,” he says, his own voice dropping in volume but still pleading all the same. “My name’s on the door and we’re gettin’ some weird looks. I wanna hear everythin’ you have to say, but could you please just say it to me inside?”

You look at him blankly, your lips puckering into a petulant, unhappy pout. You seem like you want to say no, to keep causing a scene, and for a second Osamu really thinks you’re about to round in on him again. Instead you trudge forward, stomping past him over the threshold of Onigiri Miya.

Osamu hesitates for a moment after you pass, half in shock and half in relief, and then he lets the door swing closed and locks it behind him for good measure—he’s not sure he wants any unsuspecting people coming in search of onigiri and stumbling upon a brawl.

It’s dim in the restaurant when he turns to face you, but he can still see your fury burning in the dark.

Neither of you say anything.

“You can keep goin’ if you want,” Osamu is eventually the first to speak, and he means what he says. This is the least of the punishment he deserves, after all. And hearing you yell at him is markedly better than the silence.

“Martyrdom doesn’t suit you at all,” you mutter sullenly.

Osamu sighs, scrubbing his hand over his face. “I just wantcha to say whatcha came here to say.”

You begin to pace as you work through your thoughts, slowly walking back and forth in front of the counter, picking at your cuticles. You’d put a fair amount of distance between the two of you, and he’s sure it was intentional. Osamu keeps himself confined to the entryway near the door, while you walk a path back and forth along the length of the service counter. His eyes follow every step you take, like a captivated child watching fish at the aquarium.

“I had a terrible dream last night,—” you finally force the words out, your feet stilling against the shiny tile as your pacing comes to a sudden halt.

Osamu decides to just do the right thing and shut the hell up for once, giving you the floor.

“—I was going to buy 30 kilos of rice from Kita-san’s farm—”

That’s a lot of rice, Osamu wants to note, but his lips part to let the words through and then he decides better of it.

“—and I was there, at the farm, and then Kita-san started telling me that you got married and had a baby. A baby, Samu! Kita-san standing there telling me all these terrible things with that big bag of rice in my hands, and I couldn’t even get mad at him because he’s Kita! So I just had to listen to him go on and on and on about the venue and the flowers and the baby name that you picked out. And the more he’d tell me the worse it was, and the bag of rice just kept getting heavier.” Your teeth bite down so hard into your lip as you suck in a breath that Osamu's amazed he doesn’t see blood. “I was hearing all of these things—terrible things—and all I could think was that I should have been there to see all of that for myself. I shouldn’t have been hearing about it from someone else. And I realized that you were living a whole life apart from me, a life that I didn’t know about or get to be a part of, and it just kept getting worse and worse and I woke up and I felt like I was going to scream.”

You’re out of breath by the time you finish your rambling thought, your chest heaving and your eyes wild and your mouth faintly wet. You look to him, and Osamu doesn’t see that same indignation in your eyes anymore, only hurt. He watches as the expression hardens again, whets itself like a blade—sharpened not in anger, but rather in resolve. In resignation.

“That day. I looked for you first.”

Osamu feels lost now. Are you still talking about that dream?

You understand without him saying it, and explain yourself further. “In high school. The day that I kissed Suna.”

Osamu’s stomach drops, all of the blood rushing to his head so quickly that the shop begins to spin a little around him. He can hear his pulse in his ears. He can feel it in his throat. He can’t help the twist of jealousy in the pit of his stomach, writhing and ugly though it may be, at the mere mention of his friend’s name. He doesn’t have the right to feel the way he feels, but it happens all the same.

“I looked for you,” you keep going, like you’ve broken a seal and have to let it all out. Osamu doesn’t dare try to stop you. He couldn’t even if he wanted to. He watches on like it’s a conversation that’s happening not with him but rather to him. “You were eating lunch with Tsumu in your classroom. I realized he would have had a fit if he knew that I was asking you and not him. I thought about asking him but…”

Osamu can’t feel his fingers from how tightly his hands are balled into fists at his side. His lungs burn in his chest—the breath he’s holding having long since lost the oxygen his body needs, though he can’t seem to draw in another.

“If it wasn’t you, I didn’t care who it was. So I asked Suna.”

The young man processes your words slowly. Incompletely. Like only every third word seems to register.

“Ya wanted me to be yer first kiss?” It’s not the question he ought to ask you but it’s the one his brain chooses to spit out.

Your reply is frustrated, but with an unmistakably melancholic rasp running through it. “Yeah. I did.”

Somewhere distantly, Osamu recognizes a sharp, stinging pain. An ache as part of him realizes that it could have been him. All along. All this time. Him. But the pain is muted, because part of him—most of him—still doesn’t quite understand.

“I think that was the first time I realized it.”

Osamu watches your face, maps the achingly familiar lines and dips and curves of your features as he tries to read meaning in the space between your words. But he still finds nothing.

“I liked you, Samu. More than I should have. Differently than I liked Tsumu, or Suna, or any other guy.” You laugh, but it’s a hollow, watery sound. “I realized it and it was awful.”

You’re waiting for him to say something, but Osamu is at a loss for words. No, that’s not quite it either. It’s not that he has nothing to say, but that he has everything he wants to say to you. To ask you. But he doesn’t know where to start, or how to sort through them, or even how to will his lips, teeth, and tongue to shape any of them.

“You… Y’know ya don’t have to say this,” his voice is tight, like a rope drawn to secure a knot not unlike the one in his throat, when he finally manages to speak. “Ya don’t have to pretend or convince yourself that you… felt the same as me. I care about ya too much to ever ask that.”

You laugh—a single, sharp, distinctly mirthless ha!—as you throw your hands up in exasperation. “There you go again not letting me have any say, Samu!” You punctuate your exclamation with a frustrated little sound. “Stop deciding things all on your own and just listen to me.”

That shuts him up again.

“I thought I was over it,”—you begin to pace once more, your steps slow and measured—“I really did. I told myself it would never happen and moved on because I never ever wanted to fuck things up between us. Between any of us.

“You told me that you’ve loved me your whole life, but you don’t know if or when something changed. I do. I had a singular moment that I could point to where I realized that if I did or said the wrong thing after that, I could fuck up something that meant more to me than anything else in the world. Even if you felt the same way I did, there’s no guarantee that something like that would work out. But if we tried and it didn’t work, we wouldn’t be able to just go back to how things were. So I told myself that no matter what I wouldn’t. No matter how hard it was or how awful it felt. I could get over it if it meant I never had to lose you. And it was fine. For years it was fine. We were fine. Everything was fine. And then I lost you anyway.”

You suddenly stop pacing and crouch down, your arms winding themselves around your knees as if to comfort yourself.

“That night, when you…” You swallow, and risk a glance up at him. “I don’t think I’m over it.”

Osamu feels like he might die. Maybe he did already. Maybe this is his life passing before his eyes, because it’s always been you anyway.

“But it’s scary, Samu,” your voice is so small, so vulnerable, when you speak to him again. You’re trembling as you hold yourself. “Aren’t you scared?”

Osamu is suddenly reminded of that fall day in the woods, so many years ago now. Reminded of two kids who didn’t know what they were doing. Who didn’t know anything. But who knew each other.

Slowly, Osamu crouches too—his joints cracking in protestation as he drops his body down to your level. Your eyes never leave his.

“Yeah,” he says, after a moment. Soft but sure. “‘Course I am.”

You let out a soggy, incredulous laugh, but it somehow doesn’t feel out of place. He watches as you reach up and scrub at your eyes.

“I love you,” Osamu says, because it’s true. Because there’s no other words he can possibly think to say in this situation. Because it’s the only thing that he has in his mind.

You look over at him, sniffling a little, wiping at your running nose with the back of your hand in a way that Osamu absolutely should not find as endearing as he does. “How can you just say it like that? Like it’s so easy?”

Osamu wants to laugh too, like you did earlier, but he worries that the sound might come off as almost hysterical thanks to the misplaced hope he can feel simmering in the pit of his stomach. “Sayin’ it’s the hard part, that’s why it took me so long. But I’ve spent forever lovin’ ya. S’always been the easiest bit.”

You choke back a sob, your head hanging defeatedly as your body slackens. You’re a ghost of the angry little thing that was outside of his door only a few minutes earlier, but more yourself now than Osamu has seen you in weeks.

“What about you?” he poses the question so quietly he might worry you didn’t hear him if not for how silent the dark shop is around you both.

“What do you mean?” You know what he means. He knows you know what he means. You’re stalling, trying to buy yourself time that’s run out now.

“Do you love me?” he asks, praying to anyone who’s listening that he’s been a good enough man up until this point to deserve the answer that he wants to hear more than anything else in the world.

“Of course I do,” you say evasively, refusing to meet his gaze. But it’s not the same. It’s not enough.

“But are you in love with me?” Osamu finally dares to ask.

There’s a stretch of the most painful, profound silence that either of you have ever experienced. It goes on for an eternity, though the clock hands in the corner say differently.

You still refuse to look at him, your gaze fixed instead to a point on the wall on the other side of the restaurant. Osamu watches how the light from the windows catches in the tears that cling to your bottom lashes.

“Yeah, I am,” you say, barely a whisper. You speak the confession like it’s the most terrifying thing imaginable. Like it's wretched.

And it is maybe, but Osamu’s never felt happier to hear anything in all his life—he feels a rush of something so visceral and elated flowing through him, he thinks he might pass out.

“Can I touch ya?” he asks hesitantly, his voice thick and unlike its normal tone. He hardly recognizes it as his own.

You peek over at him for the first time, and Osamu revels in the feeling of having your eyes on him. Delights in watching you watch him and knowing that behind the gaze is the same feeling as the one he holds inside of himself. You consider it for a moment, and he doesn’t dare rush you, but eventually—mercifully—you nod.

Osamu inches forward slowly and wraps you in his arms. Your body relaxes into his hold instantly, and he pulls you into his lap on the tiled floor. He holds you so tightly that he’s scared he might break you, but he still can’t find it in himself to be more delicate. You cling to him anyway.

It’s the first time he’s touched you in months, but every inch of you is still known to him. Still familiar in every way that matters. You smell the same. You feel the same. You’re soft and warm just like always. Osamu buries his face into the crook of your neck, and your fingers eventually lift to play with the hair at his nape. He holds you, and holds you, and holds you more—sating a thirst that’s been building for longer than the time the two of you have been apart.

And you let him.

You hold him too, in the same way.

“If I kiss ya, you gonna cry again?” Osamu asks you quietly after a while, his lips brushing against your throat as he murmurs the words.

You snort, your fingers twisting into the material of his t-shirt at his shoulders. Osamu peels himself away from you and looks up, and finds that your faces are so close. Too close, in any other circumstance.

His palm lifts, cupping your cheek in his hand, running his thumb against the smooth skin underneath.

“Shut up, Samu,” you say, a little smile twisting up the corner of your mouth.

And Osamu happily obliges by pressing his lips to yours.

#osamu miya x reader #osamu x reader #miya osamu x reader #osamu miya #miya osamu #hq drabble #hq writing #writing #bff!osamu

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futuretonext · 1 year ago

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The North America Off the Road (OTR) Tire Market is projected to grow at a CAGR of around 6.42% during the forecast period, i.e., 2022-27. The growth of the market is driven primarily by the increasing government focus on infrastructural developments, i.e., displaying a swift escalation in the number of housing facilities & industries, along with the construction of roads, railways, & airports, among others. It, in turn, is augmenting the need for heavy commercial vehicles and fueling the sales of OTR tires. Besides, various ongoing & upcoming construction projects, i.e., leading to the deployment of cranes, bulldozers, etc., is another aspect infusing the demand for OTR tires and driving the market.

#North America Off the Road (OTR) Tire Market

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bonniebird · 6 months ago

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Alicent Hightower x Fem!Reader

Requested by Anon

Masterpost

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Request: Anonymous asked: "Lord (Character) has directed me to take her in for charity." Alicent x Fem reader hotd

Alicent paced the receiving area as she waited. She was used to close friends of Queen Aemma’s snubbing her. But most people were appropriately polite. This Lord, however, was testing her patients.

A Hightower cousin of her father’s had come into some trouble with a lord… Gerrad Maller, she thought his name had been. However, she wasn’t certain and wished she hadn’t left the letter with the information she needed in her rooms. The relative had written to her saying that taking in a young lady would settle all the issues their house faced with the Lord without a battle. Which seemed a rather good deal to Alicent so she had readily accepted. How much trouble could a girl be?

The queen had risen with the dawn and been at the front gate ready to receive the girl in the carriage that the Hightowers had provided to ensure she would arrive safely. Noon came and went, no girl, no carriage. Even Ser Cole had returned and told her the roads were clear for several long stretches and no one travelling to the city had seen a carriage broken down for miles.

“Mother?” Aemond said quietly as he made his way towards her. She was pacing back and forth along the front steps of the keeps courtyard but stopped when Aemond approached. “What is it?” He pressed.

“Rudeness. I use my time. My valuable time…” She complained, though mostly to herself, trailing off not wanting to weigh on Aemond’s mind. When Aemond did little more than take up vigil and wait at her side with her she sighed out her frustration and explained. "Lord Hightower has directed me to take her in for charity."

“The Lord… the one who is Grandsire’s cousin?” Aemond asked, referring to Otto and she nodded curtly. “Have you sent Cole out to check…”

“I have checked the roads twice. Traders have been arriving all day for the market, none have seen a broken-down carriage. She was supposed to be here this morning.” Alicent ranted. Aemond was thoughtful and looked up at the sky for a moment with his arms folded behind his back.

“I suppose… I should be reluctant to leave home. If I were younger. Perhaps I would even snub a queen for a moment longer with my family” Aemond said eventually in a thoughtful way, careful to not accuse his mother of assuming the worst, as she tended to do. Alicent glanced at him and she sighed.

“I imagine you are right.” She surrendered and nodded thoughtfully. The gates before them finally opened and she strode forward upon seeing a carriage with the Hightower sigil on the doors and horses gear.

“Lady (Y/N), your grace.” A guard dressed in red and black said as he hurried to meet her halfway. When the carriage door opened the girl stepped out and Alicent had to force her face to be as flat and expressionless as she could.

The girl’s hair was matted, clumped up around her shoulders. Her face was hollowed and tired, drawn as if she had seen many horrors and would never heal from such a sight. Alicent swallowed the scolding that had leapt to her tongue and reached for the girl's hand. Being closer Alicent wondered how in the world the girl was finding the strength to stand for she was so thin her clothes hung off her and up close she could see welts and lumps clearly from a beating.

“(Y/N)... I… I hope your travel was… well.” Alicent stuttered out when all other words failed her. At least, the only other words she could find would have resulted in Aemond and Vhagar on the air sent after your attackers like a hound after a fox.

“Yes your grace, thank you, your grace.” You said with a voice so sweet it made tears prickle in her eyes as you gave her the most sincere smile she had received since she was wed to Viserys.

“Come, we shall get you bathed and fed.” Alicent said quickly. Aemond was staring at you in a way that made you shy closer to Alicent. Receiving a sharp look from his mother, Aemond shook himself from his shocked stupor and hurried along behind you both. Alicent led you to the set of rooms that were to be yours and left you with her handmaidens promising that she would return.

Otto was not surprised when Alicent burst into her rooms. “Did we do that? Our house?” She spat out and gestured to the door. Otto sighed and held up a roll of paper which she snatched from his hand.

“It seems our charity may not be enough to smooth this over. Regardless of vows made.” Otto frowned and looked rather troubled. Alicent unrolled the scroll and read, sitting on a chair to the side of her father's desk.

“That brute has other girls? Well, I shall take them. I am the queen and he cannot… Father, the grace of the gods keep that girl alive.” Alicent’s voice was serious and hard as she closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. “What must have happened to her…”

“Alicent… She is unaware but the last of her sisters died this morning… that is why there was such a delay in the departure from Oldtown. I have not long received the information.” Otto watched his daughter carefully. Fury built in Alicent and if it were not extinguished she would allow it to build as if it were the last embers in a tundra.

“How many girls?” She asked.

“Thirteen. Eleven legitimate of which (Y/N) is the youngest and only survivor. The two illegitimate children… I believe one lives. I have agreed that House Hightower should take the Maller’s land if possible. After more investigation into what started the issue, we found that the small folk are suffering severely, those who work in his house make wild accusations and if the man flees… I dread what harm he may do. I will meet with the king this evening.”

“I will join you. This is�� murder. Brutality! It will not stand.” Alicent snapped out and her hand flew up to her mouth. “I… shall take her as my ward if it will protect her.”

“It may. From more than the father. My understanding is house Maller holds lands that aid with trade during the winter months. I would have to find more but, despite being a small relatively insignificant house, the route they upkeep is valuable.” Otto warned. Alicent nodded and handed him back the letter. She felt an odd sickness as she thought over everything she had learned.

Alicent tags:

@decadentrebelkitten @samhainrain @moonmaidwn1996 @gillybear17 @ravennoore14 @the-caravello-post @killing-gremlin @aegonandaemondtargaryenslut18 @lchufflepuffcorn @geekyandgay98 @savagemickey03 @kaitieskidmore1 @tronnily

#alicent hightower #alicent hightower x reader #bonniebird #house of the dragon

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fxtalitygod · 1 year ago

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VII. ~Survival~

Summary: You were determined to survive longer than anyone, even if you were set to marry him.

Genre: Historical AU, angst, mature, suggestive, arranged-marriage

Warnings: Dark themes, theme/depictions of horror, swearing/language, suggestive, mentioned pedophilia, child molestation, attempted child sexual assault, mentions of adult murder, implications of impregnating, implied Stockholm Syndrome, images/depictions of dead bodies, slight misogynistic themes (if you squint).

Word Count: 2.8k

A/N: Soooooo... this is the shortest chapter I've ever written, but it wasn't my intention. To be honest, I kept becoming unhappy with the results and kept going back to fix it, but it never felt right. At the end of the day, I decided to touch into an uncovered territory of (Y/n) that I had debated on for a while and enjoyed the results. I promise the next chapter will be longer and will cover more bases! Enjoy Chapter 7 of Survival!!

P.S. I know I said I'd get this chapter out in May, but it's currently June 1st, 12:26pm (for me), so take it or leave it!!! (╥﹏╥)

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"Y/n, wait up!"

You turned to see your little sister running over to catch up to your quick pace, grabbing her hand as she extended it to you. The two of you were pushing through the crowd in the market, holding on to each other as if it were for dear life. You would rather be damned than lose any of your younger siblings upon your watch.

"We need to hurry! We have to be home before Mother starts dinner," you noted breathlessly, "She cannot even start if we do not get these ingredients to her on time," referring to the basket you were holding close to your form.

Your sister gave an obedient response as she focused on your swift gait. You could only smile at the young girl's compliance— had it been any of your other more youthful siblings, they may have given you replies of retaliation out of their immaturity, but she was a sweet child who clearly looked up to and admired you. Turning your attention back towards the road of the market square, you saw that you were close to the exit that would lead you on the path home, sighing in relief as you slightly sped up your stride; however, before the two of you could exit you felt a hand wrap around your arm, pulling you and your sister into a secluded area.

"Now, what do we have here?" A gruff voice sounded, "Two pretty little buds have stumbled upon my path."

The voice was clearly a male's, and he was undoubtedly intoxicated as his speech was slurred, plus his stride was far from straight as he walked closer towards you. He circled the two of you like a vulture over a carcass, his eyes narrow and intimidating as he looked at your youthful figures, disgustingly licking his lips. The predator eventually moved into the light, revealing his aged appearance. The man was clearly an older one, his rough, oily skin and few missing teeth being a telling sign of his seniority; if he was any younger than you had assumed, he did not age gracefully.

“I-I’m sorry, sir,” you started, unintentionally stuttering as you spoke, “b-but we have to be home before sunset,” you finished explaining, your voice slightly cracking as you spoke due to the fear swelling in your chest. Despite your own terror, you tried to keep your stance straight to give your sister peace of mind, pulling the little girl behind you to act as her human shield.

“No worries,” the stranger chuckled, before reaching around you and grabbing your sister by her forearm before pushing you onto the ground, holding your chest down with his foot, “I’ll make you both into proper women before then,” the man closed his statement, making his advance on your younger sibling first.

You struggled as you tried to push the man’s foot off your torso, but your attempts were futile. The sick individual only grew tired of your punching, moving, and scratching as he decided to kick you to the nearby wall. Your gaze followed his figure as you weakly got up, only to be pushed into the wall once more, feeling cuts and scratches being made upon your flesh. The male took hold of something at the corner of your eye, still keeping your sister in a tight grip as she struggled. In moments, your hands and legs were tied, and a solid heavy stone was placed upon your lap to keep you from getting up anytime soon.

“Y/N!” Your sister screamed with tears in her eyes as the predator began to touch and kiss her pure skin with his contaminated flesh.

Your mind paced watching the scene, bile rising to your throat as you grew repulsed. Before long, the disgusting creature decided to yank at her clothes— that was the moment you snapped.

“Wait, take me instead! I’ll let you do whatever you want to me!” You yelled in haste. The decision was made with little thought, but as long as your sister was safe, you could live with the disgust.

The man paused to think for a moment before a repulsive grin overtook his expression, quickly going to restrain your sibling before removing your bonds. The moment you were free was the moment you were infested by his greedy touches. If the contact of his fingers and lips didn’t make you want to gag, the feeling of his bulge between your thighs made you want to vomit.

You thought that by sacrificing yourself for your sister's safety, you would be able to tolerate his blatant violation, but you could only feel your resolve weaken as his lingering touches began making your skin burn, but not in a good way. Despite your discomfort, you continued to indulge in his horrific actions, deciding to let out your emotions with tears and balled fists. Things weren't any easier as you heard the choked sobs of your younger sibling as she watched the setting, feeling your dignity and pride being washed away. Everything was going as the man wanted– he was getting his fixture of pleasure while two young girls suffered. If his hard-on wasn't a signal of his enjoyment, his chuckles and wretched words were an unmistakable banner.

"You're such a pretty little thing, so obedient for me. Y'know, I think that deserves a reward," the aged man cackled, moving his hands to remove his garments, changing course to strip you as well.

"(Y/N)!!!" your sister screeched, loud enough for her voice to echo in the alley.

Before you could say any words of comfort for the little girl, the man turned around, obviously not pleased with her outburst. The man's nostrils flared as he raised a hand and hit the young girl. The audible smack did not settle with you, and you could feel a temper you had never felt before build up inside you. You do not remember what happened next, but everything went pitch black for a second, and when you opened your eyes...

All you saw was the body of the pedophile lying on the floor, unmoving and breathless.

You stared at the lifeless figure, not knowing what to say as the scarlet liquid began to pool in a puddle beneath his form. Lifting your crown, you looked around to maybe see who the culprit of killing the man was; however, the alley was empty– just you and your sister. Speaking of the sibling in question, you swiftly moved to retrieve the girl only to see that her restraints were already broken and that she was unconscious, yet breathing.

Questions began to fill your mind, but you pushed them aside, focusing on the current circumstances. You wasted no more time as you went to lift the little girl onto your back, picking up the basket of ingredients before making your trek home. Although one problem was resolved, there was still another pressing matter...what would you tell your parents? Unfortunately, you did not have much time to think up an answer to that as you were now at your front door, sliding the object to reveal the worried expressions of your parents.

The couple rambled, asking what had happened, questioning why the two of you were late and battered. The more they interrogated, the louder the ringing in your ears started to develop, effectively drowning out their uneasy voices. You didn't know what to say or what to do. Would it be a good idea to tell them the truth? What if they wouldn't believe you? Would you be punished? How would they even react?

"We were playing in the fields and had an accident, but we're alright now. (S/n) fell asleep on our way back, she really exerted herself."

The lie was sour in your mouth, but you thought it was the better route when you pictured the corpse lying on the dirt floor. How would you explain such a gruesome sight? The answer is you would not because there wasn't an explanation to give– you didn't even know what had happened.

The night went on as usual, your parents buying your story and continuing regular activity. When your sister had risen, she didn't remember a thing, only saying the last thing she recalled was shopping at the market. Your parents didn't think much of it as they gave her a simple reply before having her eat with the family. When you were presented with your plate, you could hardly stomach the sight of the food; however, you knew it would be rude to waste a precious meal, so you ate and shoved whatever bile threatening to scale your esophagus down.

After the meal, you were tasked with helping your mother clean the dishes. It was quiet between you both as you scrubbed the dishware and bowls, not yet feeling comfortable to voice words. Although you opted to stay muted, your mother did not make indications she would do the same.

"Thank you for taking care of your sister," the woman started, giving you a warm smile, "she really looks up to you, and I could not be prouder of that."

Her words broke you then and there as your eyes glossed over, feeling tears cascade down your face. Your mom stopped what she was doing and took hold of your face to have you look at her, "Whatever is the matter, dear?"

"But I didn't take care of her. She got hurt today because of my incompetence. How can I call myself a good sister after that?" You choked out between quiet sobs.

"Accidents happen, my dear," the parent soothed as she pulled you in, petting your hair to calm you, "The best thing you can do is learn from them."

You could only nod into your mother's bosom, not trusting your own voice at the time being. Maybe she was right– you just had to ensure the incident wouldn't repeat itself. You repeated that statement mentally as she held you, so why did you still feel guilty.

"After all, you took care of it, my dear," your mother sounded, "You killed that vile man."

Your eyes shot open, your breathing heavy, and your pulse uneven as you woke from your nightmare. It wasn't the first time that night terror had occurred, but you had to admit it had been a while since it had. Ever since birthing your children, the nightmares had been more consistent.

At first, they were an occasional occurrence, but as the months passed, once or twice a month turned into three to four times a week. Some lasted longer than others, and others were more frightening than some. Either way, your once dreamless nights began to fill with discomforting and restless evenings. Despite the abnormality of some of the dreams, you only deduced it as a result of stress. You kept yourself levelheaded on the outside, but within, you were drowning in your overwhelming thoughts.

Ever since your everlasting pact with Sukuna, things around the temple began to change significantly, at least for you. Perhaps someone with an ordinary eye would not notice these small changes, but you were focused on the finer details. Minimal adjustments such as staffing, specifically the addition of two new guards. It was not a large sum of security, definitely not an army, but for even one guard to join Sukuna's ranks was unusual. Your husband had not much need for any more manpower as he had plenty of that as it already was; however, the stranger part is that they seemed to be patrolling the areas where the mothers resided. This did not go unnoticed by anyone as rumors were already spreading, but everyone seemed to hold an opposite reaction from your own.

"Well, they definitely do not hurt my eyes.~"

"I heard from one of the kitchen maids that they're Sukuna's spies. Apparently, one of the moms here is being distasteful."

"Our dear husband protecting his prizes, how sweet.~"

"This was bound to happen since last year's inspections– truly disappointing how many failed progeny there were."

Meaningless jokes, endearing words, bustling rumors, but no mentions of concerns. You found this new detail far from good because the guards were not focused on the mothers nor the children but rather on the surroundings of the room they inhabited. Their eyes were cautious and were jumping from place to place, their forms tense, almost as if they were waiting for something to happen. Despite these prominent cues, everyone seemed to overlook it– you had heard a few women state that `Sukuna did not want them looking upon his prizes.`

"Y/n-sama, I've been requested to escort you to the gardens," a voice sounded; however, it was not your attendant but rather Uraume who had called out to you.

You had been seeing the individual more often than usual– what started off as passing glances and minimal greetings had turned into confrontational meetings and regular appearances; this happened to be one of those instances. It did not take you long to rise from your relaxed state, moving to take hold of your children before turning to Sukuna's right hand. Uraume did not say anything, only giving you a bow and a gesture to follow them to the gardens, where your attendant would most likely be waiting. Usually, the girl would be the one who greeted you on these mornings, but because of your recurring night terrors, you opted to have her take the time to focus on other tasks, telling her that you could wake yourself; however, when you first brought this conversation up, she hesitated on the idea. After some convincing, your attendant finally caved and gave you the mornings to yourself, but that did not last long.

It took around a week or two for Sukuna to figure out that you were spending most of your mornings alone, which your partner did not appreciate. Despite his detesting of the news, he did not lash out at anybody for it– the man seemed more apprehensive than infuriated. It took only a few days for Sukuna to appoint his direct helper to retrieve you. From then on, you were seen with Uraume for most of the morning before they left to perform their other duties.

You followed the individual down the corridor, glancing at the walls and what inhabited them. There wasn't much decorating the temple as Sukuna was not a sentimental man– he hardly kept his offerings unless they were of necessity. The walls were blank and lifeless, and viewing them could drive you insane if you focused on them.

"Y/n-sama, do you love Sukun-sama?"

Your breath hitched as you moved your gaze to look at the back of Uraume's head. There question left you speechless; however, it was not because you did not have an answer but rather their sudden interest that took you aback. The person did not vocalize their thoughts much, but you could always tell when they were thinking to themselves.

"Yes, he is my husband. Why would I not love him?" you quickly stated.

"You do not have to lie to me (Y/n)-sama."

You could not help but worry at Uraume's comment. Did they know your intentions? Were they going to remove your twins from your care? Had they already discussed this with Sukuna? How long did you have left?

"And where is your evidence of that, Uraume?" you managed to keep your voice leveled despite the anxiety creeping up on you, but you needed to keep your composure if you wanted to win this little tussle, being if you had to fight at all.

A chuckle resonated through the hall.

"You're right... I have no proof, only my own conspiracies. I admire your ability to hold that over me– your defensive side is a site to see. If I'm being honest, when you first came to the temple, I did not think much of you as I thought you were just another woman to bear Sukuna's kin; you proved me wrong (Y/n)-sama. I do not understand how you managed, but you have Sukuna-sama wrapped around your finger like I have never seen before," Uruame voiced, a lightness to their tone before continuing, "Perhaps it is for the best, after all, you are both seem satisfied with your current standing."

For the rest of the trip, you sustained the following stillness, only giving the individual a hum in response to their last comment. When the garden came into view, you internally sighed in relief, glad to rid yourself of this mind-wracking conversation. Too bad things couldn't stay that way.

"Y/n-sama, your village has started to retaliate against Sukuna's command. Truth be told, it has been going on for the past year; however, things have started to escalate— for the sake of your family unit, keep yourself on guard," The righthand warned, turning to leave you to your daily activities.

Just peachy, another occurrence to write down in your list of troubles.

You would not get proper rest in a while.

Taglist:

@littlemochi @mistalli @youngbeansprout @bbylime @bangtan-forever1479 @idktbhloley @izayas-rings @o3o-aya @pyschopotatomeme @persephonehemingway @otomaniac @meforpr3sident @alurafairy @nezuscribe @my-simp-land @zukuphilia @niya729 @spiritofstatic @bbittersw33t @kashasenpai @decaysan @honeybaegle @ygslvr @outrofenty

#jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #jjk fanfic #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #ryomen sukuna #sukuna fanfic #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna #tw stockholm syndrome #tw death mention #tw dead body #tw suggestive #tw pedophila mention #tw child molestation

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cabeswaterdrowned · 6 months ago

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Jordeclan and Adansey double date scenario but the context is that Rodansey are all together, Pynch have been together long term and Gansey just joined recently so Declan hasn’t been told yet. Declan and Jordan have recruited Adam’s help with a fairy market job because they need a psychic who is down for crimes, and then it turns out Gansey has some connections that will come in handy so he’s tagging along and Declan notices them acting how they usual do read: being freaks, and gets so mad because he thinks Adam is either cheating with Gansey or about to cheat with Gansey. In ordinary circumstances obviously he’d just kill the other guy but it’s Gansey and Declan just got to a relatively better place with Ronan he can’t have that set back over this, so instead he makes it his mission to keep Adam and Gansey from being able to do anything remotely couple-y / cockblock them until either the vibes disperse or they confess / give proof he can go to Ronan with or something. So maybe the business thing involves them traveling together or maybe Declan slashed their tires or something who knows but it turns out they have to spend more time together / go on a lil mini road trip where Declan is getting progressively madder because they’re so Shameless while still not doing anything he thinks Ronan would believe him about, and they end up at this inn that they have to have dinner at then stay the night at and Jordan wants to have like a proper date just the two of them but Declan Insists they all go out together and sits in between Adam and Gansey, when this started Jordan found it funny that Declan was putting his crime skills to use dealing with Ronan’s relationship drama but now she’s getting more and more pissed at him. The last straw is when there are only two beds available at the inn and Declan tries to insist that he and Gansey share a bed while Jordan and Adam share the other, which everyone is aghast about and Jordan settled this by saying she’ll have her own one bed Thank You and storming off, leaving Declan to room with Adansey. Declan realizes he’s gone too far but decides he’ll make amends in the morning the important thing right now is to put this to rest so he can go back to focusing on his Own relationship with his beautiful girlfriend (unsure if they’re married or not yet I don’t even know if this is au or post series). So he then takes Adam’s phone in the middle of the night since he knows Ronan is more likely to pick it up than his, because he spent a while in the bathroom for an IBS episode and when he returned he finally caught them doing something maybe they were already asleep but holding hands and Gansey was sappily saying Adam’s name or some shit, but when he calls Ronan for him to hear this Ronan is like 🫤🫤 okay I knew they do that… why are You sleeping with My boyfriends. And this is when Declan is like wait… boyfriends???

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dailyadventureprompts · 11 months ago

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Adventure: Cracking the Snowglobe

As the dark closes in and the cold weighs heavy on us on all, it’s important to remember that there is light and warmth to be had, if only we seek it out, and share it with others. Stories round the fire, good food shared with those we love, songs of hope sung in defiance of the bleak, all these things give the soul the tender it needs to burn on through the winter until the days begin to grow long again.

Setup: Decades after retiring from a busy life of adventuring, the local wizard Hypatia has fallen into a depressed bout of isolation, raising a barrier of magical force around her manor in the hopes of keeping out distractions while she works on yet another project she hasn’t the energy to complete. Her old friend Moroz the outrider is having none of it, tired of being brushed off every when he visits and concerned about Hypatia’s wellbeing, he’s journeyed around gathering presents from all their old friends and allies as a reminder of the good times they spent together, and a symbol that people still care about her. His grand display of affection has been somewhat delayed when a gang of hobgoblins ambushed him on the road, stealing the majority of the gifts and leaving him for dead.

When the party stumble across the scene of the ambush and follow the scatteres of red snow (and Toboggan, the distressed reindeer), they find Moroz crawling his way out of a ditch, alive, pissed off, and in need of some holiday helpers.

Background: It has been some score of years since the wizard Hypatia walked the roads of the realm with her friends, using her magic and more often her wits to mend what’d gone astray. She settled, as she had always wanted, into the life of a country wizard, persuing her own studies in a manor just far enough from town that neither she or the locals would bother one another unless the cause was worthwhile. While every shy accademic is due their alone time, decades and distance have not been good for Hypatia. More and more she has sunk into the lony existance she has made for herself, losing the strength to keep up correspondance with old allies, to visit the market for supplies, to even leave the little island she calls home. She says she is working, but her work suffers too, the grand tretisies and formulations she hoped to write stagnate along with her mind, and frustration at being unable to focus on one thing she was good at has inspired her to cut herself off further, raising a globe of magic around her home and denying all visitors.

Moroz knows what it means to be alone. The dwarven outrider has spent most of his life carrying messages between settlements and outposts for weeks at a time. He also knows how dangerous that loneliness can be, and that a life without other people in it is a life without hope, and the winter is not kind to those without hope. The last time he saw Hypatia, when she came to turn him away from her door and raise her barrier, Moroz saw a look in her eyes that reminded him of travellers he’d found stranded in the snow, the look of slowly forgetting your reasons to live. He knows he must remind her, or he won’t see her again come the thaw.

Adventure Hooks:

The party could encounter Moroz on any wintry road (A mournfully bellowing Reindeer is one hell of a hook), but If you wanted to run this adventure as a oneshot, consider having the heroes be part of a search party specifically sent out to look for him after a snowstorm delays the local mail delivery.

The hobs have taken their loot and fallen back to a deserted fortress half buried in snow. While most of what they’ve stolen are keepsakes destined to be sold off or tossed into the fire if the party doesn’t intervene, a few of the more interesting presents have some wizz-bang magical powers. Hopefully Hypatia doesn’t mind some of her gifts being used as powerups to help the heroes survive the dungeon.

After they’ve recovered the majority of the gifts, Moroz and the party still have to break into the wizard’s warded fortress. The globe of force is highly impressive, but careful perception could reveal a few careful weaknesses. There’s a boathouse left abandoned on the isle that happens to contain a forgotten tunnel leading into the manor proper (which just so happens to have a local river monster hibernating inside of it). An eagle eyed scout might likewise notice that the dusting of snow on top of the globe isn’t uniform, and that there’s a thin spot riiiight above the manor’s chimney in order to let out the smoke.

Once inside the party have other hurdles to face: the phantom servants that manage the grounds are also programmed to repel intruders… but they don’t seem to notice the sinister, shadowy entities that now lurk in the Manor’s unlit halls. They’ll find Hypatia in a sorry state, having spent several days staring into the yawning mouth of a dark portal she doesn’t quite remember calling up. After spending so long cut off, so long failing to achieve anything with the work that gave her purpose, despair overtook the wizard’s heart and the shadowfell called to her… she was not that long from answering it when the party intervened. They chose to care, and they ended up saving her life, and the life of her friend besides.

After their tearful reunion Moroz decides to stay to help take care of his old friend, but extends an invitation to the party: The winter holidays are coming up and it is better to spend it with friends, perhaps they could help him decorate the manor, cook a couple meals, maybe head into town for supplies and get caught up in a snowball fight. When the Festivities are done, Hypatia will extend the invitation even further: being alone is evidently bad for her, and she has so much space in her home it’d be a shame not to give the party a place to stay every time they stop in. The party will have a new home base and a new reason to go out adventuring: what with Moroz retiring for the time being and needing someone capable to take over his role as outrider.

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#low level #winter #wintertide #ranger #wizard #goblins #Press Start #player home #winter dungeon #forest dungeon #ally wizard #ally ranger #encounter forest

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foundtherightwords · 4 months ago

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Love, If You're Near

Pairing: Michael (Hoard) x OFC

Summary: With a troubled past and a hopeless future, Gwen is just trying to survive on the streets of London. When she meets a man named Michael with a rather strange request, she shrugs and goes along with it, never dreaming that she will find a soul just as broken as hers, or that sometimes broken pieces can fit together perfectly, to bring healing and hope when one least expects it.

Warnings: discussions of prostitution and domestic abuse

Word count: 6.8k

A/N: I've had this idea for Michael even before "Hoard" was released, and after watching the film, I was happy that it was still viable. I don't condone Michael's actions, but I can see where his desire for love and affection comes from, and I hope that after what happened with Maria, Michael could start his own journey of redemption and healing. It is what I based my idea on. I also took some inspiration from "Frankie and Johnny" (the 1991 movie with Michelle Pfeiffer and Al Pacino, not the song).

"Hoard" takes place in 1994, and this is about 4 years after that.

Also, big thanks to @wheels-of-despair for sending me a transcript of the movie. It's helped me tremendously in deciphering the East London dialogue!

Gwen dropped down on a bench outside Dalston Junction Station, slipped her right shoe off her aching foot, and gingerly touched the raw red spot on the back of her heel, through her fishnet. "Cheap piece of shit," she grumbled. Except the shoes weren't exactly cheap. Twenty quid down the drain and they hurt like fuck, even after she'd tried every trick in the book to break them in. But her last pair had broken beyond repair, so it was either this or go barefoot, and she didn't want to step on broken needles and used condoms and whatever garbage that littered the backstreets of Hackney. Plus it was freezing. She'd met a stag do the previous night, and they had kept her out until the morning, eventually straining her all the way over in Chiswick. It was almost noon by the time she crawled back to her flat. It was too cold to sleep in, so she'd whiled away the day in coffee shops and pubs, waiting until it was time to go back out on the street. At this rate, she would take a five-quid blowjob in a car if it meant getting somewhere warm.

Across the street, the Hackney Carnival Mural shouted at her with its peeling musicians and protestors waving their "Unite for Peace" banners. Gwen turned away, annoyed. Idiots. What good is peace, when one is cold and tired and doesn't even have a decent pair of shoes?

It was almost Christmas, and a slow night. The nights had been slow for a while now, not like when she first started. Ten years on the streets, she thought she'd known how it worked. Then three years in the clink, and when she got out, it was like Brave New World out here. Foreign girls flooded the market. The pimps and the punters liked them because they were younger and easier to control, but the local girls knew that naïveté was just an act. These newcomers were tougher and meaner, and they wouldn't hesitate to pull a knife on those that dared to encroach on their territory. That was if they were still on the streets in the first place. It was all indoors now, and they didn't even have to rely on the old tart-card-in-phone-box method of advertisement. The Internet had that covered.

Gwen readjusted her long blonde wig and sighed. Sometimes she felt much older than her thirty-one years.

She put her shoe back on with a grimace. Perhaps she could try her luck up the road, near the Shacklewell Arms. Her friend Medusa worked that corner, and sometimes she would let Gwen stay with her so they could team up against the new girls.

Medusa's real name was Melissa, but all girls needed some exotic street names. For Halloween one year, back when they were both younger and sillier and full of hope, Gwen had even helped her attach plastic snake's heads to her dreads, both giggling like mad.

Gwen took the backstreets to avoid the twinkling lights, the sound of Christmas music, and the scents of evergreen and cinnamon that spilled out from every door and shop window. They depressed her. Her feet would not thank her for the detour, but her heart would.

By the time she reached the Arms, she was sure her blister had burst and was bleeding. Some indie band had just finished their gig, and the front of the pub was crawling with people. Gwen peered into the crowd, trying to make out Medusa's statuesque form. As she spied Medusa's dreads swinging to and fro, Gwen opened her mouth to call her friend. Her eyes fell on the man next to Medusa, and the call died in her throat. It was Medusa's boyfriend and pimp, Nico.

Despite Medusa's insistence that Nico was "not that bad", Gwen knew better than to face him. At best, he would cajole her into coming to work for him, and at worst he would threaten and force her. Gwen knew what it was like to tie yourself to a man. Usually, she could chase Nico off with a few choice words, but in her current state, cold, exhausted, and irritated, she had no strength to deal with him. She beat a quick retreat.

And collided with someone.

It was a man coming out of one of the cheaper and seedier establishments that lined the back alleys behind Shacklewell Lane. "Excuse me," he mumbled.

"'s alright," Gwen said. And, because he was a man and she was working, she added, out of professional habit, "You looking for company?"

"No, thank you," the man said, a little too quickly, and started to walk away. A few steps, then he seemed to have second thoughts and turned back. "How much?" he asked.

Gwen gave him the once-over. He was probably in his mid-thirties, medium built, dressed in old jeans, an older jumper, and sturdy boots. A working man, then, not a tourist or an out-of-towner looking for some cheap thrills. Not her ideal client, but beggars cannot be choosers.

She told him her hourly rate. "Forty quid and I'll do whatever you want, darling." It wasn't high, all things considered, but it wasn't cheap either. She had her dignity.

The man shook his head. "That's—that's out of my—sorry." He turned away again.

Gwen slumped against a brick wall with a sigh. Maybe she should call it a night. The prospect of her cold flat with its empty fridge was not very welcoming though. Maybe she could find Medusa again. She was desperate enough to even risk Nico.

As she struggled to her feet, she staggered backward and collided, for the second time that night, with someone. This time it was a little girl who was coming out of a doorway with her mother. The girl was holding to the hem of her mother's coat with one hand and in the other was a teddy, which she dropped to the ground.

"Sorry," Gwen said. She quickly picked up the teddy, dusted it off, and handed it to the girl with a smile. "Here you go, love."

The girl stared back at Gwen with enormous eyes but said nothing and made no move to take her teddy. The mother snatched the toy back. "Why don't you watch where you're going, you slag!" she snarled. "And stay away from my kid."

"You watch where you're going!" Gwen spat. "What are you doing, dragging a kid out on the street this late anyway? She should be in bed!"

The mother's nostrils flared. "Don't tell me how to raise my own kid! What does a slut like you know about being a mother?" With that, she snatched the kid up in her arms and stormed off. Swallowing her anger, Gwen walked away in the opposite direction.

A moment later, a wail from the little girl caused Gwen to turn back, just in time to see the woman yank the teddy out of her hand and toss it into the nearest bin.

An inexplicable fury prompted Gwen to chase after them despite her blister, not even knowing what she would do if she caught them, but the woman turned down a side street and disappeared. Only the teddy stared up at Gwen from the bin with a rather mournful look, or so she imagined.

She picked it up and straightened up the bowtie around its neck. "I know more about being a mother than that bitch," she said to the teddy, and, without knowing why, she put it in her bag.

Feeling eyes on her, she looked up to see the man who had rejected her still standing at the mouth of the alley, watching her with a strange expression. Something in his dark eyes made blood rush to her cheeks, and she growled, "What the fuck are you looking at?"

He approached her slowly. "Forty an hour, you say?"

She stood up a little straighter. "Yeah."

"And you'll do whatever I want?"

"Within reasons," she said warily.

"Where can we go?"

"You have a car?" He shook his head. "Well, then that depends on what you have in mind," she said. "Even an alleyway would do, though I have to tell you, I'm not keen on getting any more blisters tonight." He colored slightly, and Gwen found herself wondering if this was his first time. She glanced at his hand. No ring. But then again, this type always takes care to leave their ring at home, don't they?

"My flat's not far from here," he said. "Do you mind—?"

Gwen hesitated. She made it a point never to go with a customer to a place she was unfamiliar with. Too risky. But she was cold and tired and just wanted to get this done.

She scrutinized the man, more carefully this time. He had dark hair pushed away from his forehead in soft curls, and a face that, had she been feeling better, she would have found quite handsome. What really struck her, though, were his eyes. They were dark and large, fringed by ridiculously long lashes, which made him look almost boyish. Gwen, who had to rely on false lashes and mascara to get such a doe-eyed look, stared at those lashes enviously. Noticing her scrutiny, he glanced at her briefly and looked away again. That shy, beseeching look finally cinched it for her.

"Alright," she said. "But cash up front."

"Fair enough." He opened his wallet and handed her some crumpled fivers and a tenner. Gwen counted them carefully before stuffing them into her bag. She also checked that her pepper spray was still in her bag—no matter how unassuming the man looked, or how sad his eyes were, she had to be careful. Technically, it was illegal to carry pepper spray, but Gwen never let a small thing like legality stop her.

Her fingers brushed across a little card, and Gwen paused momentarily. She'd been given that card by a group of women who roamed the area in twos and threes, who might be mistaken for working girls at first glance. She supposed that was their disguise. They were a non-profit helping to get women off the streets, they said. Give us a call anytime, they said. Gwen had scoffed at their optimism, yet for some reason, she still held on to their card.

"What's your name?" the man asked.

"What do you want it to be?" she said, again out of habit, too tired to actually be coquettish. The man raised his eyebrows at her, and Gwen relented. "You can call me Queenie." Medusa wasn't the only girl with a ridiculous street name.

She didn't ask his name. She didn't care.

They went down Shacklewell Lane, away from the bright lights and loud noises of the Arms, crossed the A10, and through some side street lined with terraced houses. Then the houses gave way to chippies, greasy spoons, Laundromats, and off-licenses. Gwen was whimpering by the time they reached a block of council flats, its brown brick façade the color of dry blood under the dim streetlamps.

"You all right?" the man asked, glancing at her.

"How far up?" Gwen managed, looking up at the looming building, trying to calculate how quickly she could run out of there, if necessary.

"Fifth floor."

She let out an involuntary groan. The man looked at her for a moment. And then, before she realized what he was doing, he scooped her up in his arms in one smooth movement and carried her up the stairs, bridal style.

"Do you mind?!" she protested. The man said nothing, only kept walking.

Gwen tried to wriggle out, but she was too tired and his arms were too strong, and after a moment, she gave up and leaned her head against his shoulder. He smelled, not unpleasantly, of soap and sweat and rollies, and she found herself pressing her nose into the crook of his neck, breathing in his human scent, to purge from her memories the stench of piss and stale beer and rubbish that had assaulted her all through the night.

For all his strength, the man was panting a little by the time they arrived at his door. He set Gwen down on her feet and fumbled with the lock. The moment they were through the door, she collapsed on the nearest available surface, which happened to be an old, rather threadbare sofa, and pulled her shoes off.

"Take it from me," she said. "Never wear heels."

He seemed amused. "OK, I won't." He went about flipping on the lights. "Do you want some Epsom salt for that?"

"Nah, I've had worse."

The man disappeared behind a door down the hall—the bathroom, she supposed—and emerged a second later with a plaster. He then knelt in front of her, rolled down her right stocking and lifted her foot into his lap, not in a sensual or seductive way, but rather matter-of-factly, and stuck the plaster on her heel, like a parent cleaning up a child's skinned knee. This done, he pulled out the sofa and made a bed on it, still in that same matter-of-fact manner.

Something rolled out from under the sofa—a piece of Lego. Gwen's eyebrow went up. Following her eyes, the man saw the Lego as well and turned red. He quickly kicked it back under the sofa and went on making the bed as if nothing had happened. Well, if he wasn't going to say anything, then she certainly wouldn't either.

"Right," she said, rolling down her other stocking. "Let's get started, shall we?"

He turned toward her, looking alarmed. "No, no, no," he said and put his hand over Gwen's, stopping her. "Clothes on, please."

Gwen tilted her head. It wasn't the first time she'd been asked to keep her clothes on, though it was rare enough that it still came as a surprise. She wasn't keen on having her dress all wrinkled and stained. It would be a nightmare to get it clean. But she pulled her fishnets back up anyway

The man sat down next to her on the sofa bed, sheepishly avoiding her eyes. "I'm Michael, by the way," he said.

"Nice to meet you, Michael," Gwen said, because that's what one is supposed to say when someone introduces themselves.

"Would you like something to drink? Cup of tea?"

If he'd offered her some wine or whiskey or even beer, she might have accepted, but tea was probably the least erotic drink Gwen could think of. "No, thanks," she said. She didn't trust him not to slip her a Mickey—hey, Mickey and Michael, that's rich, she thought, chuckling to herself. When Michael didn't say anything, she reminded him, "You only paid me for an hour."

"Could you—" he began, looking down at a spot on the scuffed floor. "Would you mind—could you just hold me?"

Is that it? Gwen had to stop herself from grinning. This really was his first time then, poor lamb. She scooted closer and wrapped her arms around him. "Like this?" she whispered into his ear. Michael nodded and eased them both down on the bed until they were spooning, with her behind him, so she couldn't see his eyes. "What else do you want me to do?" she asked.

"Just this."

Gwen frowned. "What?"

"Just hold me like this, please."

She sat up to look at him properly. He was lying on his side with his eyes open, staring not at her but at something or somewhere else, miles away.

"You're not going to make me put a giant diaper on you and breastfeed you, are you?" Medusa had once met a punter with that request. It had been part of the reason why she'd decided to work for Nico, so she could avoid another awkward situation like that, though, in Gwen's mind, it was rather like out of the frying pan and into the fire.

Michael turned to her. "What?"

"You don't want to tie me up, and you don't want me to tie you up?"

"No."

"You don't even want to have sex?"

He blushed again. "No."

"So let me get this straight," she said. "You're paying me forty quid to—spoon you?"

"Yeah." He sat up as well. "Look, if you're not comfortable with it, I understand. I'll pay you for your time, and then you can go."

She considered. As far as requests went, it was an odd one, but certainly not the strangest she'd had. And it sounded innocent enough—perhaps the most innocent of all. Still, she would not be lulled into a sense of safety. She pulled her bag a little closer to make sure she could reach inside and get the pepper spray if necessary. Her shoes would be a write-off—she could run faster barefoot anyway.

"Just—hold you?" she asked again, wanting to make sure. "For an hour?"

He looked up at her with those dark eyes, imploring, infinitely sad, like those of a lost child or a dying animal, and Gwen felt her heart stumble. "Yes, please," he said.

"I'm not charging you the full rate just for a bit of cuddle!"

"It's OK, really. I don't mind."

"I do," she insisted. "It's about being professional. What do you do for a living?"

He seemed taken aback by her question, but he answered anyway. "I'm a cleaner. At St. Mary's Hospital." He was quiet for a moment, then added, "Used to be a bin man. But I couldn't take the stink anymore."

Something in the way he said it made Gwen think that there were other reasons besides the stink for him to give up being a bin man, but it was none of her business. "You wouldn't take the full wage for cleaning half the hospital, would you?" she asked.

Something like a smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. "I guess not."

"OK, so let's say twenty an hour, and we have a deal."

A moment's hesitation, and he extended a hand. They shook on it. His hand was warm, his grip strong and steady, and Gwen wondered why such a man could be so alone, and so lonely.

She made to give him back the twenty quid, but he pushed her hand away. "Keep it. I may ask you to stay longer."

"All right," she said, tucking the bills into her bra. "No funny business, mind."

"No."

She lay back down and put one arm around him again, leaving the other free so he couldn't easily pin her under him. "Is this OK?" she asked.

"It's fine," he said. "You don't have to do anything. Just—be natural."

Natural. Gwen wasn't even sure if she remembered how to be natural in bed anymore. She knew how to be enthusiastic, how to be dominant or submissive, how to be seductive, even how to be afraid. But natural? She no longer knew what that meant.

The minutes ticked by.

While they lay there, Gwen let her eyes wander around, trying to find some clues that might point to danger. She saw a sparsely furnished flat, similar to her own. There were only the sofa bed, a coffee table, and a TV taking up the front room, a kitchenette to the side, and two closed doors, one leading to the bathroom, the other she had no idea. She saw more evidence of a kid—childish drawings on the fridge door, a small toothbrush, a bowl of half-eaten cereal on the coffee table. If he had a kid, she certainly hoped the kid wasn't locked in that spare room.

Her wandering eyes returned to Michael. He had taken his jumper off and was now in a vest. There was a tattoo on his bicep. "Who's Billy?" she asked.

"Mate of mine, from school," he said in a small voice. "He OD'ed."

"Shit," she said. And then, "I'm sorry."

"It's all right." His hand found hers, clasped it to his chest.

"What are you doing?" she asked, pulling away.

"Sorry," he said quickly. "Your hand's cold. I was just trying to warm it up."

"I would've worn a coat, but unfortunately it doesn't go with this outfit," she joked. Her only warm coat would've covered up what she was trying to sell. She left her hand in his, feeling the heavy thump of his heart under her palm. He nestled into her with a sigh, but she remained stiff, keeping some distance between her chest and his back, so she could bolt at the first sign of danger.

But it never came. Instead, his breath evened out, and soon he was asleep.

Gwen must have dozed off as well, for she remembered jolting awake. Michael was still sleeping, holding her hand to his chest as if afraid she would fly off if he let go.

This could be her chance. After making sure Michael was sound asleep, Gwen carefully slid her hand out of his grasp, got out of bed, and tiptoed down the hall. She opened two closed doors. One was a bathroom, just as she suspected. The other was a bedroom, a kid's bedroom, painted in bright, buttery yellow, with a frilly little bed and cheerful toys and books piled on the shelves, a complete contrast to the sad, gray flat outside.

Gwen's feet took her into the room almost of their own volition. She gazed about, a strange melancholy washing over her. No, there wasn't anything strange about this sadness. She knew exactly where it was coming from; she just didn't want to think about it.

There was a framed photo on the bedside table, and she picked it up—it was of Michael, smiling a big, happy smile, carrying on his shoulder a little girl of about two or three years old, who had his same brown curls and his chocolate button eyes.

"What are you doing?" said his voice behind her.

She jumped and dropped the picture, which landed safely on the bed.

"Sorry," she said, fumbling to pick up the frame. "I was looking for the—uh, bathroom. I didn't mean to snoop."

"It's OK." He didn't look angry, only a little awkward, like she had stumbled on an embarrassing secret. It emboldened her.

"This your kid's room?" she asked.

"Yeah." He took the picture frame from her and set it back on the table. "She lives with her mum. I only have her on weekends and when her mum has to work nights, but I try to keep the room nice and clean for her," he explained.

Gwen let out a small breath and reminded herself to stop watching so much The Bill. From the way he had been so secretive about it, she was expecting something tragic. She was glad it wasn't.

"That her?" She nodded at the picture.

A ghost of a proud smile hovered over Michael's lips. "Her name's Amelia."

"Pretty name. Suits her."

"Don't let that face fool you, she's a little terror."

"How old is she?"

"Turning four soon."

"Oh, that's a great age," Gwen said without thinking. "That's when you can start to have a real conversation with them, and it's so fun."

"It is." Michael looked at her sharply. "Have you got a kid?"

For a moment, Gwen considered telling him the truth. It felt so nice, so normal, to talk in that cheery little room, as if sunshine had been stored in its bright yellow paint and the warmth of it was seeping into her, chasing away the cold of those long, lonely nights out on the street. She wanted to hold on to that feeling a little longer.

But she was here to work, not to have a heart-to-heart like she was on some bloody chat show.

"No," she lied.

"Because you sound like you know kids," he said.

Anger pricked at Gwen's insides. Who did this punter think he was?

"It's none of your business," she snapped. Michael continued to stare at her, and the intensity of his eyes forced her to look away. The flat was closing in on her, suffocating her, like her old prison cell. She couldn't breathe. She had to get out of here, get away from this strange man whose eyes seemed to penetrate her very soul.

She grabbed her bag. "I have to go."

Michael glanced at the clock on the wall, surprised. "But I paid you for two hours."

"Here." She tossed the money on the bed, picked up her shoes, and all but ran. He caught her at the door.

"What did I do?" he asked.

"Nothing. I just have to go."

"Don't do this," he said, clutching at her arm like a child afraid of being separated from its mother. "Don't leave. Please." The pleading note in his voice now sounded more like a command. That voice, the hard grip of his hand, and the dark glint in his eyes awoke something savage within Gwen, a cold fury she hadn't felt in years.

"Let me go," she said quietly, "or I'll kill you."

He dropped her arm in an instant. "I'm sorry," he muttered, his eyes glistening with what looked like tears. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you—I just don't know how to—"

As suddenly as it appeared, Gwen's anger vanished. She couldn't afford to lose her temper like that.

"It's fine," she said. "Just let me—"

Before she could finish, there was a knock on the door. "Michael?" said a voice on the other side. "You in?" A woman's voice.

Michael turned to Gwen, his eyes enormous on his pale face. "Hide," he mouthed to her.

A part of Gwen wanted to be defiant and face whoever was at the door—a wife? A girlfriend?—so she could watch Michael squirm, but another part of her took pity on his panic. Rolling her eyes, she made her way into the bedroom and shut the door behind her.

"Leah," she heard Michael say, as he opened the front door. "What's wrong? Is Amelia all right?"

Peeking through a crack of the bedroom door, Gwen saw a woman standing in the doorway. She had auburn hair pulled into a tight bun and a scowling, disapproving expression that seemed terminal. A little girl was asleep in her arms.

These must be his ex and their daughter then. Gwen retreated into the shadow of the room, feeling strangely embarrassed, like she had intruded on an intimate scene. In some way, she had.

"She's fine," Leah said, and Michael let out a breath of relief. "It's my mum," Leah continued, looking harried. "She's had a fall. I have to go to Cardiff to see her. Don't know when I'll be back, so I can't take Amelia with me—" She looked around the flat, her eyes narrowing as they landed on the bills scattered on the sofa bed. Michael looked away, his cheeks flushed. "Is this a bad time?" Leah asked.

"No, not at all," Michael said quickly. "I'll take her. Call me when you get to Cardiff and let me know how your mum is."

With a curt nod, Leah handed their daughter over. She brushed a curl away from the sleeping child's forehead and went downstairs, but not before throwing another suspicious look over her shoulder.

Gwen waited for another moment or two until the coast was clear, and emerged from the bedroom. Michael, with his arms full of a sleeping toddler, gave her an apologetic look.

"Well, I'll be off then," Gwen said, trying not to show how the sight of the little girl was affecting her.

Michael hesitated. "Listen," he said. He tried to take her hand, but his arms were too full to reach. "You don't have to run off like that. I'm sorry about earlier. Stay for a bit. It's cold out."

"I'll be fine," Gwen said lightly. "And you're busy. I should go." At the door, she paused. "Good luck, Michael."

At that moment, Amelia lifted her head from her father's shoulder. "Daddy?" she said, her voice thick with sleep.

"Hey there, sleepyhead," Michael said, and the tenderness in his voice made Gwen want to cry. She knew she should be going now, but some invisible force was rooting her to the spot, making her watch Michael with his daughter as if hypnotized. "Mum has to go to Grandma's," he was saying, "so you're staying with me for a bit. Is that all right?"

The little girl rubbed her eyes with a chubby fist. "Where's Snappy?" she said.

Michael looked around. He patted the pockets of Amelia's coat and came up empty. "You don't have him with you?" The girl shook her head. "You must have forgotten him at home then."

"I want him."

"We'll get him when Mum comes back—"

"I want him now!" Amelia demanded. She no longer sounded sleepy.

Michael gave Gwen an exasperated look over his daughter's head. Despite the twist of pain in her heart, Gwen couldn't help but grin back in rueful sympathy.

"What's Snappy?" she whispered to Michael.

"Her crocodile." Turning to Amelia, he said, "Don't worry, Snappy will be fine—"

But Amelia was not having it. "No!" she shouted. "I want Snappy! I'm not going without Snappy! Give me Snappy!"

"Let's just go to bed first, and then I'll find Snappy for you, yeah?"

"No! I don't want to stay here without Snappy!" The little girl started kicking and wriggling to get out of Michael's arms, and there was a shrill note in her voice that Gwen knew well would be followed by a tantrum. Wincing, Michael set Amelia down on the floor. The little girl pushed at her father, shouting, "I want Snappy!"

"Hey, hey, stop," Michael gently admonished her. "I don't have a key to Mum's place, so we can't get in. You have a lot of toys here—"

"I don't wanna stay here! I wanna go home! I want Mum!"

At that, something seemed to break within Michael. Without saying a word, he dropped Amelia on the sofa bed and went over to the kitchenette, where he plopped down at the table with his head in his hands. All the while, Amelia kept crying for Snappy.

Gwen looked between the despondent father and the wailing toddler. None of this had to do with her. She did not need to get involved. She should leave now.

She didn't leave.

She sat down in front of Amelia, who continued to sniff and snuffle. The violence of her tantrum seemed to have passed into a sulk.

"Hi," Gwen said. "You're Amelia, right?"

The little girl wiped a sleeve across her runny nose. "Who're you?" she asked.

Gwen glanced at Michael. He was still sitting with his head in his hands. Odd, that. Why was he acting like a tantrum was the end of the world? "My name's Gwen," she said. Michael raised her head at this, but made no comment. "I'm—I'm a friend of your dad's. Amelia's a very pretty name. Have you ever heard of Princess Amelia?"

At the mention of a princess, the girl's large brown eyes, so like her father's, widened in interest. "Who's she?"

"She was the youngest daughter of King George III. She was very nice and kind. Her father loved her very much, and so did her mother and her brothers and sisters." Gwen paused. Perhaps she shouldn't mention that it was Princess Amelia's death that drove her poor father to madness. "And there's also Amelia Earhart," she said. "She was the first woman to fly across the Atlantic." Again, Gwen paused when she remembered that Ms. Earhart disappeared while trying to fly around the globe. She looked at Michael to see if he'd noticed her bungled attempt to cheer his daughter up. He was still at the table, watching her with an inscrutable expression, just as he had when they first met in the alley. She cleared her throat and returned her attention to Amelia. "Now, can you be kind like Princess Amelia and brave like Amelia Earhart?"

Hesitantly, the little girl nodded. Gwen smiled. "Good. Tell me about Snappy then."

Amelia's little mouth screwed up, and she blinked rapidly, threatening tears again. "He's—m-my croc-crocodile," she hiccupped. "He's gold and has black teeth and he's very scary and he protects me."

"Ah, so that's why he has to stay home then," said Gwen, as if she'd just made a great discovery. "He has to keep it safe for when you and your mum come back."

"Really?"

"Yes. He knows you'll be perfectly safe here with your dad. And"—here Gwen pulled out the teddy from her bag and handed it to Amelia—"in case you're feeling lonely, here's Teddy. He may not be as scary as Snappy, but he can keep you company until you see Snappy again, all right?"

Amelia took the teddy, turned it this way and that, and held it experimentally. Finally, satisfied that the teddy was safe, she hugged it to her chest and smiled at Gwen through her tears.

"Now there's a great big smile," Gwen said, smiling back and giving the girl's nose a little bop.

"My dad always says my smile's as big as Christmas," said Amelia.

"And he's right."

As if on cue, Michael appeared next to them. He nodded at Gwen gratefully and took Amelia into her room.

Gwen was still sitting on the sofa bed when he came out a few minutes later and sat down next to her. "You're really good with her," he said.

"So are you."

"No, I'm not. You heard what she said. She didn't even want to stay with me."

"Michael, she's four," Gwen said. "She's knackered. A four-year-old would say they hate you one minute, then turn around and kiss you the next. That's what they do."

"How do you know?"

Gwen rubbed a hand across her eyes. Amelia wasn't the only one who was tired. Gwen felt like she could lie down and sleep for a thousand years. "I lied earlier," she said. "I do have a kid. Her name's Emma. She's six—no, seven now."

Michael tilted his head, looking at her more closely. "Where is she?"

"She lives with a foster family in Croydon. I haven't seen her in three years." The foster mum sent photos, and Gwen tried to call when she could, but it wasn't the same. "Sometimes I'm afraid she's forgotten me."

"Why can't you see her?"

Gwen didn't answer. It was a wound she wasn't ready to open yet.

Michael went back to the kitchen and fiddled about with the kettle. He came back a moment later with two steaming cups, and handed Gwen one. It reminded her of the tea she used to make for herself as a kid, too sweet and milky for her liking now, but she said nothing. They sat sipping their tea in companionable silence.

"Do you believe some people just can't be loved?" Michael asked.

"What?"

"Some people always seem to end up alone. It's like they can't be loved."

Gwen took a moment to answer. The punters all liked to talk. They would complain to her about their jobs, their wives, their girlfriends, their mothers. She could hear Medusa now, telling her, "We're like trick cyclists, darling"—Medusa was not Cockney, but she'd heard that slang for "psychiatrist" on The Bill or EastEnders and liked to slip it into her talk because she thought it made her sound cool—"except we're cheaper and they get some sex on top of that." So when a customer talked, Gwen would just nod absently and say "Is that so?" while thinking of something else.

Now, having been brought closer by the talk of their kids, she asked Michael, "Why do you think that?"

"Everybody in my life is gone," he said, his voice bleak. "My parents—well, they weren't fit to be parents, really. I lost count of how many foster homes I lived in. None of them wanted me. My brother took me in, but then he moved to Australia with his wife and kids. Maybe it's my fault." His head drooped. "I met someone once. I loved her. Or I thought I did. But I fucked it up. I didn't see what she was going through, and I made it worse."

"Was it Amelia's mum?"

"No." He sighed. "But I fucked it up with her as well. She's too good for me. They're all too good for me."

"Is that why you hired me?" Gwen asked before she could stop herself. Michael turned to her, and the look in his eyes went through her heart like a pin. It was the same look he'd given her when they first met, so lost and vulnerable, the look of a lifetime of hurt and loneliness. Now she understood why she had been so taken by it. It was a look she knew well, for she had seen it plenty of times when she looked into the mirror.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean—"

She shrugged. "It's alright. I'm used to that."

He put a tentative hand over hers and closed his fingers around it. "Thank you, Gwen," he said. "Thank you for being here. Thank you for helping me with Amelia."

"Hey, my pleasure." She grinned. "She's a good kid."

"I was frightened to death when she was born, you know," Michael said. "I didn't know what to do. I still don't. What if I fuck it up like I fuck up everything else in my life?"

Gwen squeezed his hand. Finally she understood his despair earlier, just as she had understood his loneliness; understood it because she saw it in herself.

"Want to know why I went to prison?" she asked. "Why I haven't seen my daughter?"

He looked at her, not with morbid curiosity as most people did when they learned she'd been to prison, but with interest and sympathy. She pulled off her blonde wig, and, turning her head, spread her mousy brown hair over her ear to show him the ragged scar just above it, which the hair couldn't quite cover.

"Her father, my piece-of-shit boyfriend—he gave me that," she said. "And worse. Then one time, he pushed me too hard. I pushed back. He hit his head on the kitchen counter." Her voice trembled. It was the first time she spoke of this in three years. She steadied herself, and continued, "I could've called an ambulance, but I didn't. I just stood there and watched him die. Got me three years for that. Involuntary manslaughter." She lifted her eyes to Michael's face. "Think you can fuck up your kid's life worse than I did?" she asked. She tried to laugh and began to cry.

Michael reached out and drew her to him until she was in his arms with her head on his shoulder, just like how he'd held Amelia. He said nothing, but in his embrace, she could feel her fears quiet down, if not fade away entirely. She thought of Emma, and herself, of Amelia, and Michael, of the frightened child inside all of them, waiting only for someone to reach out and hold them and tell them that it's going to be all right.

She buried her nose in Michael's neck, taking in his scent of soap and sweat and smoke, and let out a breath she had been holding for three years, or perhaps even longer. "This is nice," she said. "I can see why you'd pay for this."

Michael's shoulders and chest rumbled pleasantly with laughter, and Gwen smiled as well.

"Can I see you again?" he asked.

Her smile faltered. Somehow, his question made her sad. It brought her crashing back to reality, a reality in which she would have to go back out on the street soon, back to the cold and the loneliness and the emptiness.

But professional habit won out in the end, and she didn't even sigh as she gave him the answer she'd always used with all her customers, "You know where to find me."

"No, not as Queenie," he said. "I want to see you again as Gwen. And without the wig. Can I?"

She lifted her head to look at him. He didn't let go, only slid his hand up her shoulder and her neck to cradle her cheek. As the warmth of his gaze and the tenderness of his caress enveloped her, Gwen made a decision.

Tomorrow, she would go and buy Emma a Christmas present. And bring it to her in person.

Tomorrow, she would ring that number on the card of the non-profit group.

But today, tonight, she would stop running away.

"Yes," she told Michael. "Yes, you can."

THE END

Yes, "Snappy" is the crocodile that Maria gave to Leah.

And of course, it wouldn't be my fic without a Snow Patrol song to accompany it (the title comes from the first line of lyric):

youtube

#joseph quinn #joseph quinn fic #hoard #hoard film #michael hoard #michael hoard fic #michael x ofc #Youtube

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kallystah · 3 months ago

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~~of fruit and wine~~ mihawk x reader

4780 words

Everyone who was in that category knew that waking up early in the morning was a different feeling than at any other time of the day. There was this extra feeling that you didn't get when you went out late at night with your friends. And I'm not talking about coming home from a bar or a nightclub at six in the morning, but waking up at that time to enjoy the peaceful calm and witness the first ray of sunshine of the day.

Unfortunately, for a certain woman, waking up at not six but five in the morning every Thursday made her very tired. It wasn't because of a neighbor coming home from a party completely drunk and making noise in all the corridors of the building, nor because of a baby begging for milk immediately, and even less because of work that had to be done at that time so as not to block the road in day. Hell no.

The young woman was simply a merchant. So she was forced to wake up at five in the morning every Thursday to get ready and set up her stand. And God, it was no easy feat. Not to mention the negotiations that took place every year to get the best spot, it was necessary to prepare all the food in very large quantities and set it up by putting the product she wanted to sell the most to her advantage. For today's date, which was the last week of May, cherries were the number one item on the stand, and what better than her favorite fruit?

The thirty-year-old took her time and turned off her damn alarm clock, one day she would throw it out the window, she was sure of it. But it was not time to complain, the alarm clock showed five thirty, and not five o'clock.

-Shit. The woman swore as she had barely woken up.

Fortunately, she had been woken up by her second ring, which forced her to move quickly, the first at five o'clock allowing her more calm and less stress. Her real problem in the Thursday market was that her shop was located at the other end of the big city, she was the only merchant in her small village so she earned a good living, but to reach the city she had to walk for a good hour and two hours when she carried her things. Fortunately, she was always accompanied by the young Lex, a twenty-something who had strength to spare.

Barely out of the shower and dressed when a drumming could be heard on her front door.

-Old woman, move your ass, it's six o'clock, we should already be gone! Said the said Lex.

-I'm barely thirty-eight, you brute! She answered him, taking her bag to open the door and walk in front of him.

-The important part was "move your ass" now let's go!

The Thursday morning race. It was called that by the young assistant. To reassure you, it wasn't like that every Thursday, there were just a few times a year when the woman forgot to come out of her dreams at five o'clock. And today was one of those days. But Lex wasn't just pissed off because she was late today, but rather because last week because of her delay she hadn't had her entire stand. Two weeks in a row had had the gift of pissing him off.

————

Luckily for them, they arrived at the market square at eight o'clock sharp, five minutes later their place would be given to another person from a more distant stand or the stand to her left would eat up part of his place.

She stuck her tongue out at the young woman from the said stand, this young pest, sorry, woman and Y/n had a less than friendly relationship. She had arrived barely a month ago and had joined the market vendors two weeks ago. They had never gotten along and the fact that the thirty-one-year-old was so unpleasant and stole half of her space, as the old fool, i mean, her father, had taught her, every time she arrived just five minutes late didn't help.

Once her stand was finally set up, it was eight forty-five, she had been fifteen minutes late compared to the first customers but it didn't matter, even despite her lack of punctuality the regular customers had bought her punnet of cherries or her melon while the stand was half done.

It was at ten o'clock sharp that a certain customer appeared, but it wasn't just any customer. He was even the main reason why she had hurried despite her delay that very morning.

Indeed, every two weeks, a very tall, handsome man would arrive at ten o'clock sharp on Thursdays for the market. His pale complexion, his moustache and his eyes had made the merchant's heart skip a beat. And his eyes, how magnificent they were, every time she saw him coming from afar she was absorbed by their colour and the circles present. Absolutely sublime.

But once again, now that she thought about it, if she was able to see his sharp pupil so well, it was because he could also see her beautiful eyes very well. How should she explain herself this time? She was not at all checking him out so openly by neglecting a customer asking her for a kilo of peaches, of course not, she was just reminding her thoughts that there were women, or men, in this world who had been able to enjoy this dream body for a whole night, or more. This dream body, she would almost drool. But a sweet voice that came to her like a melody interrupted her saliva, note the irony.

-Dad look at the man over there. He's been looking in my direction for a while now. At the end of the year I'll be married and pregnant count on me.

Seriously? Y/n had realized the stupidity and the naivety of her neighbor. Plus, the end of the year being in seven months, it would be a bit tight to seduce the man. And then, he absolutely did not come for her.

A second thing shocked her in his sentence. As if… No. Impossible. In East Blue, or even in all the seas, everyone knew the name and reputation of this man. Afterwards, it was possible that the woman overestimated the intelligence of her neighbor.

Finally. The man arrived in the row where she was, passing in front of her neighbor who displayed a dejected look, she noted in her head to make fun of her once the swordsman left, and she adjusted a sweet smile for her favorite customer.

-Mihawk. What a pleasure to see you again, you did not come two weeks ago.

-Good morning Y/n. I was unfortunately busy that day because of the government and the person I sent must have go to another market. Do you have what I'm going to take?

-Here. She said while taking out a huge basket previously hidden from customers.

It contained about twenty vegetables and at least fifteen kilos of fruit. A rather heavy package for the woman whose quality of each food and component of the trays she took care of.

-But tell me Mihawk, you've been asking a lot more than usual lately.

-I have a- He pauses as if he didn't know how to define the relationship. I've had a guest for a few weeks. And she is quite loudy when she has'nt her favorite food.

'She'. Well, however this woman was, she must have been very lucky to have the unique and spectacular Mihawk by her side. Someone had to take care of this swordsman, even if she had less chance of making him her lover. Y/n wasn't stupid, just because he had a woman at home didn't mean she was his wife. Maybe she was even a child. But a part of her couldn't help but be saddened to think of her handsome client with a woman in his arms, him who had always ordered for his one and only person.

-Well, I hope she eats all my vegetables. If I spend time in my fields, it's not so that their food ends up in the trash. She said in her strong voice.

She was horrified to see all the leftovers from people in restaurants, or the quantities that some merchants threw in the trash if the products were not perfect. A tomato that is not round is still edible, such was one of her mottos. For this reason, her and Lex had decided to send all the leftovers of their products, which they knew they would not eat before the expiration date, to associations or orphanages.

Then after a brief but friendly goodbye, the swordsman left without forgetting to tell her the quantities he wanted for two weeks from now, although these quantities had only changed once during all his visits.

————

-So, the forty-year-old? You still haven't seen your beautiful stallion today either? What a shame! I'm surprised that this handsome customer doesn't come to see you anymore! Said the annoying voice of the competitor.

-I heard forty? Ah, you were talking about the number of refusals you received this month. It's clearer in my head now but bring it up again next time darling. The beautiful merchant replied with a smile.

But well, she wasn't wrong. Today was one more day to add to her list. One more day where while the bells rang noon and the merchants put away their goods, she no longer saw the handsome swordsman. And to say the exact number, that made eight. Not eight days, but eight Thursdays where the swordsman should have come to get his basket, and knowing that he only came every other Thursday, that made four months.

From one day to the next he had stopped coming, leaving a full basket waiting to be picked up for the first month. By the third Thursday, the woman had stopped preparing his basket for him. And by the eighth, she was starting to lose hope, he wouldn't come back.

A part of her wondered if it was because he had grown tired of her fruits and vegetables, the other thought that he had noticed her feelings and therefore preferred to avoid her. The young woman wrinkled her nose at these thoughts, not even knowing which one saddened her the most. With a sad sigh, she packed up her stand. But a voice emerged from far away in front of her.

-Y/nnnn…! The voice said with all her breath.

She knew this voice only too well, since it was that of a friend of hers who had made a habit of visiting her every Thursday morning. Finally, their relationship was pretty much like Mihawk. The young woman arrived every Thursday morning between ten and twelve o'clock and she asked for the equivalent of food for four people. So apart from the varying time, the fact that she came every week, and the astronomical quantity of food, she filled the gap that Mihawk had created when he left.

-Perona. You seem a little late today. She smiled at her friend.

-The other cactus head's fault. She said out of breath.

-You often tell me about cactus head but I still don't know who he is.

-Ah!

It seems that an idea has germinated in the mind of her pink-haired friend.

-Would you like to come to my place? Just a few days!

-I have the market to hold.

-Oh come on, you see that at the moment there is no one. The war that took place made everyone want to travel, and if you're afraid for your home and your fields there are plenty of marines to watch over the cities because of the rise of pirates.

-As you said, I have fields. Which will die if I don't take care of them.

-Don't worry, my little Y/n. I'll manage your fields if you're only going away for a week. Interrupted her neighbor on the right.

-Old man, I can't leave you in charge of my work, but I appreciate your gesture.

-I have no problem with that, my little one. My wife and I will take turns going to your village. And we are the second closest merchants to your home, so all your customers will come to us. He finished, laughing.

-Come on, please Y/n. Said her friend with sparkling eyes.

-Very well. But only for one week.

-Yes! She jumped for joy. Here, the change for today's basket. I'll pick you up tomorrow at noon, I flew here this morning. You'll see my roommates are nice, they're tiring and never think about what I'm going through but nice. Anyway they're always out. See you tomorrow!

A bit contradictory all that, thought the woman. But hey, that's how her vacation had been forced. She hadn't had one for three years, always staying in her small village. The last time she had left, it had been to negotiate seeds on an island further away.

————

The two women had met at dawn so as not to be disturbed whether on land or at sea. From the location of the small island where Y/n lived to Kuraigana they had about four hours. The woman thought that it wasn't such a long trip to go on vacation, but that from now on she would understand the delays of her friend who made all this trip for her every Thursday.

-Perona are you really traveling eight hours to buy my basket?

-Horo-Horo-Horo. The ghost woman laughed. By flying I only take two hours, and don't worry I'm happy to come see you. Besides I have fun with the Navy ships or pirates that I come across, they can be so scared. Horo-Horo-Horo.

Well, if it didn't bother her friend then it was fine. Now that she thought about it, during the many small discussions she had with Mihawk, he had never told her where he lived. She had never tried to spy on him through the newspapers, although she followed the pirates' routes. There were rarely any cases concerning the corsairs, once they became one they generally didn't go on adventures anymore, so she currently had no idea where her handsome swordsman was.

Hours passed and from the small ship we could see a misty island with strange large shapes surrounded by ruins and forests.

-Perona reassure me, you still live an hour away, huh? The woman said with a little voice.

-No no. Look, we can see the island in the distance. Besides, I didn't warn you but we never see the sun, on the other hand it's always nice and we've developed part of the lake!

Her friend seemed on the contrary very happy to live on such a gloomy island. Maybe the inhabitants would at least be nice.

-I called the other Marimo, the monkeys don't usually attack me because they're afraid of the master of the castle, but since it's your first time here it's better to have an extra force. Not that I doubt your fighting skills. She mocked.

-Already, I help my donkey carry the cart every Thursday, I am a master of the art of staying under the sun for my crops all day, and I handle the axe very well, so I can defend myself. But who is this master of the castle? And how many of you are on this island? And what is this monkey story? She said, becoming more panicked.

-One question at a time Y/n. Here, we are three humans, well if we consider the other two monsters as humans, and four with you. There have been no more inhabitants for a long time but there are still the Humandraks, they are not bad but they are strong and seek to prove it. So cactus head is going to join us so that they are afraid. Oh also! Don't worry once in the castle we are safe, they never come near.

The two girls continued to talk, the youngest telling the story of this island to occupy the last twenty minutes that the small ship had left to reach the river, river that connected the sea to the lake surrounding the castle, and thus moor at the mini port.

-Huh ? He didn't come back. Said the pink woman under the questioning gaze of her friend.

When the boat was securely tied to the port, step by step, a shadow came out of its hiding place, ready to pounce on the two women.

-Monkey, get out of there. Said a voice.

The beast that seemed to be an improved monkey scowled and returned to its bush.

-Perona is that a Humandrak?

-Yes. He must have sensed someone weaker than him. Said the man.

-Nice to meet you, you must be Marimo? I've heard a lot about you. Says Y/n before being cut off by his friend's laughter, she couldn't catch her breath.

-I'm Zoro, he said after hitting the ghost, Roronoa Zoro.

-Oh! Like the second of the Straw Hats? My name is Y/n.

After a brief discussion about the merchant's arrival on the wasteland, they arrived in front of the castle's doors. Then, the apprentice swordsman returned to his training, saying not to disturb him until nightfall.

————

The two friends were lying on the huge bed filled with the rose's plush, when a huge scream was heard.

-What was that Perona?!

-Just Zoro who must have lost to the king again.

-You are the master of the castle?

-No, he should be back tonight. He left early yesterday morning.

-… Perona, by any chance I'm asking anyway, but you did warn this master that I was coming, huh? Said the woman, unsure of herself.

-No, but he's used to surprise visits now.

-Perona…

The huge and heavy door of the castle opened, no matter where in the castle you were, you would always hear the dull, metallic sound of the gears opening. Then a voice rang out, asking Perona to come down.

-Let's take the opportunity to introduce yourself!

So the two girls went down to the large living room on the ground floor, one enthusiastic about the meeting but afraid of what he was going to reproach her for, the other having the impression of having heard this voice before.

-Mihawk! Did you catch a big pirate this time? I'd like to go buy myself some new clothes.

-… Mihawk?

-Y/n?

-Do you know each other? The pink woman screamed.

-Yes, he was a regular customer. She said, emphasizing the "was" slightly more. It seems that seeing him again like that after he left without explanation and living with another woman disgusted her a little.

-What is she doing in my castle?

-I thought she could spend a few days with us here for a change of scenery.

-And without asking the main owner's permission? Am I going to discover a new intruder on my island every month? Mihawk said, seeming angry. Perona get out of here I have to talk to our guest.

The tone Mihawk had used meant that there was no room for argument. So the ghost girl left for her apartments, if she stayed behind the door Mihawk would feel it.

-You can explain to me the reason why you are here. He continued more calmly as if he did not believe the words of the rose.

-Like Perona said, I needed a vacation. But I did not know that she lived with you and I thought that she had warned the "master of the castle" of my visit.

-No she did'nt, i was'nt even here.

The atmosphere had softened since Perona, and the swordsman's anger with it, had left. For the sake of the merchant who could not bear this part of the man.

-You can stay here. I don't know for how long she promised you, but it doesn't matter how many days as long as you don't come and disturb me when I'm with Zoro. I have to train the new era.

Y/n knew little about pirate, she certainly read the dedicated newspaper every morning of publication, but she didn't know much about it. However, if Mihawk himself admitted that this young man had potential in the new era, and that in addition he was training him, then she was also sure that he would do great things.

————

Just as Mihawk had told her, the merchant on vacation stayed on the island of sadness. At first glance, the island seemed to be the opposite of a paradise island where to spend your holidays, but Perona had been able to show her the good sides of the place.

First of all, the lake. They had developed a part of the lake near the castle to make it a mini beach. Fortunately for the girls, all the bodies that had previously littered the castle had been pushed back by Mihawk when he arrived, so the foul odor they smelled around the island was not present in their developed beach. The girls lounged like this every afternoon under the correct temperatures of the place.

Then, the top of the hill. You could observe the view, but also beautiful bodies. Not to mention those that appeared on the ground but rather the two charming ones of the master and his apprentice. The two women would sit there in the morning to watch the two swordsmen train together, baring the top of their clothes. Better than the view of the island.

Then the last place was the castle. Whether in the kitchens to prepare sweets, in the infirmary for yet another injury of Zoro, or in their room aka the only really warm place filled with stuffed animals and cushions on the island.

But as a reminder, Y/n has feelings for Mihawk. So how did their relationship evolve during these six days spent together? Well the feelings increased, so much so that the guest even thinks that her feelings are mutual.

First of all, about the lake. Of course I said that the two girls lounged there in the afternoons, but did I add that Mihawk joined them to read his newspaper and taste his wine while his apprentice did his series times a thousand? During these moments, she and the swordsman talked together while the ghost grumbled that he was stealing her friend.

As for the place on the hill, the two swordsmen knew they were being watched, Zoro's observation haki had already been manifesting for a while, not to mention Mihawk. But where was the connection Y/n was thinking about in this case? It was simply in the fact that Perona had already complained several times that Mihawk never trained shirtless. However, since Y/n had been watching them from the hill, she had never seen the man wear a shirt during his training.

And finally, the castle. No Mihawk wasn't hurt so she never had to help him in the infirmary, yes he cooked but only his breakfast which he had at dawn when everyone was asleep so they never cooked anything together, and more important than anything else, he never entered the girls' room.

So when did they see each other in the castle? There was the evening meal where they all ate together to discuss the day, make fun of Zoro, talk about the world… But the most important thing was that every evening, or rather morning, between midnight and the first hour of the day, the master swordsman would sit on his balcony and think while looking at the view, something she saw from her friend's balcony.

Y/n would never know what he was thinking while looking at the horizon like that. She then saw his beautiful eyes of all degrees of orange-yellow sadden without understanding why. He was just there, looking at the red moon with that darkened look. But one night, at the end of her third day, he called her.

-Normally, it's not great to observe people like this for so long. He told her without looking at her.

-Sorry Mihawk, I'm leaving.

But as she was returning to her room, he called her back.

-No, you can stay. Your presence doesn't bother me.

————

Back to the present, the merchant only had one day left on this island. Then, she would join her beans and cherries and start her boring routine again. In fact, she loved her job very much and it allowed her to live, but she simply couldn't take it anymore. The moments of joy and good company she had here must have widened the gap against the solitude of her house which only welcomed Lex on Thursday mornings. Of course she got along well with most of her customers, but none of them could compete with the love she had found in Mihawk.

The bell of the old church spared by the war rang, so it indicated midnight. The woman got out of her bed where she could not find sleep, while Perona slept like a log, and went to sit on her balcony. It would be the last time she would see the swordsman lost in his thoughts. But unlike other times, he spoke to her.

-So you're leaving at the end of the day?

-Yes, that's it. I had a great time here.

-You can come back if you want.

He said this sentence while looking at the horizon, but Y/n was even happier to hear it.

-I'll come back with pleasure.

For the first time in all the moments spent together, the silence was awkward. Y/n had this feeling of unease mixed with her sadness to leave, but she didn't dare and especially didn't know what to say. Fortunately for her, Mihawk seemed determined to talk to her.

-Would you like to… He seemed to be searching for his words. ' to, to stay here longer?' He said, turning his head towards her.

-Um, yes, I'd like to come back. She replied, disconcerted to see the swordsman so uneasy and hesitant, then he had already said the same sentence to her just before.

-No but, to stay here. For a long enough time that would allow you to have time to make a vegetable garden and see it go through all the seasons.

Was that the way of invitation that Mihawk used to ask her to live with him on this island ? For 'several seasons' ?

-Mihawk why did you always come to my stand at a market that is four hours sailing from your home.

He paused, then looked back at the horizon.

-I enjoy your company.

It seems that she wouldn't get the words she was waiting for today.

-And, I had the impression that you also enjoyed mine a lot. He continued with a mocking smile.

Was Hawkeye really making fun of her?

-Well if my dear Mihawk is willing to find me a room all to myself, or one that is not shared with the snorer, and he shows me the place where I can plant all my seeds, it would be possible that I agree to stay here a little longer.

-I think it will not be complicated to do, there is a perfect place to build ten of your fields and clean sheets already laid behind this window. He said while giving a head butt towards the door of his room.

After that, he jumped onto the balcony of the merchant, put one arm under her knees and the other behind her back, then before returning to his balcony he murmured.

-But only if my dear resident accepts the company of this room over a drink.

#onepiece #one piece x yn #one piece x reader #dracule mihawk #mihawk x yn #mihawk x reader #anime

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