#The Silver Story A Starry Night

[mrsfancyferrari]

Wild Imagination

Summary: You were just an interviewer for the Met Gala when you were able to meet the Sir Lewis Hamilton

Song: Brent Faiyaz - ALL MINE

Part 2

Author’s note: Longest story I've ever written! Comment if you want a part 2! Please like, reblog and share this! 🫶

Word count: 20.8k

As the evening sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden hue over the bustling streets of New York City, you found yourself standing outside the iconic Metropolitan Museum of Art, the venue for the illustrious Met Gala.

The air was thick with anticipation, and the excitement was palpable as celebrities and fashion icons prepared to make their grand entrances. As an interviewer for the event, you was tasked with capturing the essence of the night, and your own attire was a reflection of the glamour surrounding you.

You glanced down at your dress, a stunning creation that seemed to shimmer under the city lights. The fabric was a deep midnight blue, reminiscent of a starry sky, adorned with intricate silver embroidery that traced delicate constellations across the bodice.

The gown flowed elegantly to the floor, with a subtle train that added an air of sophistication. As you adjusted the delicate straps, you felt a sense of confidence wash over yourself.

“Wow, you look incredible!” exclaimed your colleague, Sarah, as she approached you with a camera in hand. “That dress is absolutely perfect for tonight!”

“Thank you!” you replied, a smile spreading across your face. “I wanted something that would stand out but still feel elegant. The theme this year is ‘In America: A Lexicon of Fashion,’ so I thought a classic silhouette with a modern twist would be fitting.”

Sarah nodded in agreement, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. “You definitely nailed it. I can’t wait to see the reactions when you interview the stars. They’re going to love your look!”

As we made our way toward the entrance, the sound of flashing cameras and excited chatter filled the air. The atmosphere was electric, and you could feel the adrenaline coursing through your veins.

We approached the red carpet, where a line of glamorous attendees awaited their moment in the spotlight.

“Remember to ask them about their outfits!” Sarah reminded me, adjusting her camera settings. “Fashion is the heart of this event.”

“Absolutely,” you replied, your mind racing with questions. “I want to know what inspired their looks and how they interpret the theme.”

You had just finished getting your makeup touched up, the final brush strokes adding a touch of glamour before you stepped into the whirlwind of the Met Gala again.

Surprisingly, you felt a sense of calm wash over you. The thought of interviewing celebrities didn’t make your heart race; instead, you found comfort in picturing them as ordinary individuals with extraordinary talents.

“Just remember to smile and engage with the celebrities,” your manager, David, instructed, his tone a mix of seriousness and playful urgency. “I’m counting on you to shine tonight. A stellar performance could mean a nice little bonus for me.”

“Sure thing, David,” you replied, glancing at your phone, half-listening as you mentally prepared for the night ahead.

“Good! Now go out there and do whatever it takes to go viral—even if it means flirting a little,” he added with a wink before striding out of the room, leaving you to gather your thoughts.

As you stepped into the bustling atmosphere of the gala, the lights sparkled like stars, and the air buzzed with excitement. You took a deep breath, reminding yourself that these celebrities were just people, albeit with a flair for the dramatic.

You spotted a familiar face in the crowd—Naomi Elaine Campbell.

Summoning your courage, you approached her. “Hi Mrs. Campbell! I’m here with Buzz Feed. Can I grab a quick chat with you?”

The model turned, her smile brightening the room. “Of course! I love your work. What do you want to know?”

You felt a rush of adrenaline as you began the interview, asking about their latest project and what inspired them. The conversation flowed effortlessly, and you found yourself genuinely enjoying the exchange.

“By the way,” you said, leaning in slightly, “I’ve heard you’re quite the dancer. Any chance we’ll see you on the dance floor tonight?”

She laughed, a warm, infectious sound. “Only if you join me! I could use a partner who knows how to keep up.”

You grinned, feeling the energy of the moment. “Challenge accepted! But only if you promise to show me some of your moves.”

As the night continued, you mingled with more stars, each interaction building your confidence. You remembered David’s advice and made sure to smile, engage, and even throw in a playful flirt here and there.

“Hey, you’re really good at this!” a young reporter remarked as you both took a break from the chaos. “You’ve had to be doing for years now, you're such a professional!"

You smiled shyly at the reporter, "Just because I sound professional doesn't mean I'm not nervous to meet someone big like Naomi Campbell,"

"You were?" the reporter looked surprised.

"Of course I was, she's one of my biggest idols yet I kept my cool and spoke calmly, my mom always used to say 'treat celebrities like normal people with extraordinary abilities,"

David's voice crackled in your earpiece, urgent yet calm. "Y/N, you need to come back. More people are arriving."

You smiled at the young reporter, wrapping up your conversation. "Thanks for the chat! I hope to see you around soon." She waved goodbye as you turned to head back to your post.

As you mingled with other celebrities, the conversations felt surface-level, lacking the depth you craved. Perhaps it was because you didn’t know much about them, or maybe the atmosphere was just too frenetic.

Then, out of the crowd, you spotted him—Sir Lewis Hamilton, looking dapper in a suit tailored just for him. Your heart raced; you knew you had to find a way to speak with him.

To your surprise, after a few brief exchanges with others, he locked eyes with you. It was as if the world around you faded, and he began walking in your direction.

Panic bubbled up inside you, but you took a deep breath, willing yourself to stay composed.

"Well, if it isn't Sir Lewis Hamilton," you said, trying to keep your voice steady and a hint flirty. "We were all looking forward to your arrival this evening, and I must say, you look incredibly handsome in that suit."

Lewis flashed a charming grin, his eyes sparkling with warmth. "Thank you, Mrs. Y/N L/N. I'm delighted to finally meet you tonight. You look absolutely ravishing, as always."

You were taken aback. He knew your name?

The thought sent a thrill through you. "I’m flattered, really. I didn’t expect to be recognized by someone as renowned as you."

He chuckled softly, leaning in slightly. "I’ve heard a lot about you. Your work is impressive, and I admire your passion."

Your cheeks flushed at the compliment. "That means a lot coming from you. I’ve followed your career for years. Your dedication to racing and your advocacy off the track is truly inspiring."

Lewis nodded, his expression sincere. "Thank you. It’s important to me to use my platform for good. Speaking of which, I’d love to hear your thoughts on some of the initiatives you’re involved in."

You felt a rush of excitement. This was the deep conversation you had been longing for.

"Well, I’m currently working on a project for sustainability in sports. It’s a challenge, but I believe we can make a significant impact."

He listened intently, his interest evident. "It’s all about how we can reduce our carbon footprint and promote eco-friendly practices within the industry."

Lewis listened intently, his interest evident. "That’s fantastic! Sustainability is such a crucial topic, especially in motorsport. I’ve been trying to advocate for greener technologies in racing yourself. It’s a challenge, but it’s necessary."

You nodded, feeling a connection forming. "Exactly! It’s about finding innovative solutions and inspiring others to join the movement. I believe that if we can get more athletes on board, we can make a real difference."

He smiled, his enthusiasm infectious. "I’d love to collaborate on something. Maybe we could organize an event or a campaign together? It would be amazing to combine our efforts."

Your heart raced at the thought. "That would be incredible! I’d be honored to work with you. We could reach so many people and raise awareness."

As you spoke, the noise of the event faded into the background, and it felt like it was just the two of you in that moment. Lewis leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a more intimate tone.

"You know, I’ve always believed that passion is contagious. When you’re passionate about something, it inspires others to feel the same way."

You couldn’t help but smile, feeling a warmth spread through you. "I completely agree. It’s what drives me every day. And I can see that same passion in you, not just for racing but for making a difference."

He nodded, his gaze unwavering. "It’s what keeps me motivated, especially in a sport that can sometimes feel so disconnected from the real world. We have a responsibility to use our influence wisely."

Just then, David’s voice crackled in your earpiece again, pulling you back to reality. "Y/N, are you there? We need you back at the main stage."

You sighed, knowing you had to leave this captivating conversation. "I’m sorry, but it looks like I have to go. Duty calls."

Lewis's face fell slightly, a flicker of disappointment evident in his eyes. "I get it. But let’s make sure this isn’t our last conversation. I’d love to pick up where we left off."

He reached for your hand, gently brushing his knuckles against yours. "I hope so," you replied, a mix of hope and regret in your voice.

As you turned to leave, the bustling sounds of the event faded into the background, but the warmth of Lewis's touch lingered. You could feel the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air, and it made your heart race.

"Y/N!" David's voice broke through your thoughts again, more insistent this time. "We really need you here!"

You took a deep breath, glancing back at Lewis, who was watching you with an intensity that made your pulse quicken. "I’ll be back," you promised, your voice barely above a whisper.

It was as if the cosmos conspired against you that night, weaving a tapestry of misfortune that seemed almost deliberate.

The moment you finally stepped onto the red carpet, the atmosphere was charged with excitement, but the spotlight had already shifted, leaving you in its wake.

Lewis had already slipped away, retreating to the comfort of his home, far from the chaos of the event.

"I can't believe I was too late to talk to him again," you muttered to yourself, frustration bubbling beneath the surface like a pot about to boil over.

After all, who would wait around for an interviewer when the allure of a quiet evening beckoned?

You took a deep breath, trying to shake off the disappointment that clung to you like a shadow, as you mingled with the remaining stars who lingered for the after-party, their laughter echoing in the air like a bittersweet melody.

The atmosphere was electric, a vibrant tapestry woven from laughter, the clinking of glasses, and the soft hum of conversation.

You found yourself chatting with a dazzling array of celebrities, each one more captivating than the last, their stories and charisma drawing you in like moths to a flame.

As the night wore on, the excitement began to wane, and exhaustion settled in like a heavy fog.

The vibrant conversations around you started to blur, and you exchanged goodbyes with your team, their faces a mix of smiles and understanding.

Yet, your mind still wandered back to thoughts of Lewis, the insights you could have gleaned more from him.

"I really wanted to talk to him more," you sighed, glancing back at the vibrant scene one last time, the lights twinkling like stars in a night sky.

"Maybe next year," one of your colleagues reassured you, clapping you on the shoulder.

With a heavy heart, you stepped out into the cool night air, the thrill of the evening overshadowed by the lingering sense of what could have been. . . .

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Following the Met Gala, your encounter with Lewis Hamilton captured the public's attention, ultimately granting David the boost he had been hoping for—a raise, thanks to the newfound recognition his employee brought to the team.

The buzz surrounding your interaction was undeniable, and it seemed to elevate everyone's profile in the process.

Your thoughts, however, remained fixated on Lewis.

Intrigued by his world, you delved into the realm of Formula 1, immersing yourself in the races whenever your work schedule permitted.

The thrill of the sport captivated you, and you found yourself eagerly anticipating each event, drawn in by the excitement and the sheer talent on display.

The desire to attend a Grand Prix and witness Lewis in action grew stronger, yet your job constraints stood in the way.

The longing to experience the adrenaline of the race and cheer for him from the stands was palpable, but the demands of your career made it a distant dream, leaving you to navigate the balance between work and your newfound passion.

You just hoped that you would be able to see him soon or at next year's Met Gala and speak to him if he hasn't forgotten about you already. . . .

The year had dragged on, each day blending into the next, and here you were, still in the same position at work.

But this time, there was a twist: you had been chosen to attend the Met Gala again.

Your company had gone all out, pouring resources into crafting the perfect dress, all in hopes that you might cross paths with Lewis Hamilton again.

They were determined to make a lasting impression, especially after the unexpected chemistry that had sparked between you two the previous year. Yet, despite the excitement surrounding the event, you couldn’t shake the feeling of caution.

You reminded yourself not to get your hopes too high.

As the night of the gala approached, you found yourself standing in front of the mirror, adjusting the intricate details of your gown. The fabric shimmered under the light, and you couldn’t help but feel a mix of anticipation and anxiety.

“What if I see him?” you whispered to yourself, imagining the possibility of a second chance.

But then, a wave of doubt washed over you. “What if he doesn’t remember me?” you sighed, trying to quell the fluttering in your stomach.

You had replayed the moments from last year in your mind countless times, but the reality of the situation felt daunting.

Finally, the night arrived, and the atmosphere buzzed with excitement. As you navigated through the crowd, your heart raced at the thought of encountering Lewis again.

As you saunter through the bustling atmosphere of the Met Gala, your senses are alive with the vibrancy of creativity, fashion, and the hum of whispered conversations.

With a strategic focus on reconnecting with familiar faces and unearthing new celebrities, you interview designers, actors, and musicians, soaking in the anecdotes that dance on the tips of their tongues.

The glittering spectacle before you, adorned with high fashion and mesmerizing artworks, seamlessly blends creativity with prestige, encapsulating the very essence of the gala.

After immersing yourself in discussion after discussion, you finally take a moment to step back from the whirlwind of interviews. The moonlight spills through the glassy high-rise windows, casting a magical glow throughout the venue, offering you a fleeting glimpse of solace amidst the chaos.

Yet, just as the weight of the evening begins to settle on your shoulders, a voice, smooth and teasing, pierces the ambient noise.

"Well hello, Mrs. L/N. I hope you didn't forget about me," the voice calls out playfully from behind you, sending a shiver of electricity down your spine.

You pivot on your heels, your heart racing, to find Lewis Hamilton leaning against the elegant marble pillar just a few feet away, a devilish smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

His tailored suit catches your eye immediately—a striking ensemble that marries classic style with modern flair. The deep emerald green fabric clings just perfectly to his athletic frame, the subtle sheen giving way to intricate patterns of silver-thread embroidery that weave through the fabric like a secret, shimmering constellation.

His shirt, unbuttoned at the collar, reveals just a hint of a crisp white undershirt, and the tailored trousers elongate his legs, finishing just above a pair of polished black brogues that gleam under the soft lighting.

"Of course not! How could I?" you respond, a sheepish smile tugging at your lips as you fully face him, memories of last year’s awkward encounter rushing back to the forefront of your mind.

It slips from your tongue before you can filter it: "I feel like I should apologize for what happened last year."

The lightness in the air shifts, as the shared past hangs momentarily between you like an unspoken agreement, a reminder of the unfulfilled promise of time spent together amidst the glamour.

Lewis, perceptive as ever, leans slightly closer, the teasing spark in his eyes twinkling mischievously.

"You should," he replies lightly, a playful lilt in his voice that somehow manages to mask the slight edge of disappointment beneath.

"I dutifully waited for you for hours until my manager dragged me out," he teases, the warmth of his laughter wrapping around you like a familiar embrace.

It's almost charming how he knows exactly the right buttons to push to evoke a blend of guilt and flattery within you, and as you meet his gaze, you feel partially exposed yet undeniably captivated by his charm.

The acknowledgment of that missed connection lingers in the air, juxtaposed against the festive backdrop of the gala, only intensifying the electric undercurrent of this reunion.

Desiring to ease the slight weight of remorse that his words brought upon you, you ponder for a moment, your mind racing to find a way to make it up to him.

"Is there a way to repay you?" you ask, a trace of shyness coloring your voice.

The question hangs between you, a delicate bridge inviting the possibility of rekindling what could have been, or perhaps igniting something entirely new.

Lewis glances at you, his smile broadening as if your inquiry brings a glimmer of hope, leaving you momentarily suspended in anticipation of his response.

"Maybe you can come support me in my home race?" he suggests, a hopeful grin lighting up his face, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm as they glint like the glimmer of city lights outside.

Imagining the energy of the crowd and the thrill of the race makes your heart race as well, a promise of shared excitement glowing in the air between you.

The notion dances between you like an apparition, stirring both delight and trepidation as you weigh the spontaneity of joining him at such an exhilarating event.

In that moment, everything outside your immediate exchange blurs away, fading into a mere backdrop to this connection that seems to widen with every heartbeat, every shared glance.

Encouraged by the mutual thread of interest, you take a breath, aiming to find the right words to capture the mix of excitement and nerves that flutter within you.

"I'd love to do that, Lewis," you reply earnestly, letting the natural enthusiasm in your voice spill forth.

"Good, because I really wasn't ready to get rejected in front of national television," Lewis says with a playful chuckle, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

You almost forget that you are sitting surrounded by cameras and a live audience, as the warmth of his personality envelops you. The realization washes over you, pulling you back to the present—a stark reminder of the interview’s stakes.

Despite the gravity of the situation, the lightness that Lewis brings shifts the atmosphere entirely.

His ability to make you feel at ease is admirable, reminiscent of a good friend rather than a celebrity caught in the relentless spotlight of fame.

At that moment, you feel a twinge of guilt for your initial intentions, which were focused solely on extracting professional insights for your audience.

However, it’s hard to resist the magnetic pull of this engaging banter—dare you say, it’s not only entertaining but also enlightening in its own right.

"Oh my gosh, I forgot this was being recorded," you exclaim, shock radiating across your face as you instinctively cover your mouth, stifling a laugh.

You glanced nervously at the cameras, suddenly aware of the audience who is watching you in real time, likely captivated by the unexpected turn the interview has taken.

Lewis's laughter rings out, melodic and infectious, easing the tension that had begun to creep back into the room. You can’t help but join in, the rhythmic cadence of his joy sweeping you back into the moment.

In the midst of the laughter, you suddenly remember your earpiece, which had fallen silent during your break from obligations.

When you pop it back in, the first sound you hear is David's irate voice cutting through your bubble of enjoyment, chiding you for being unprofessional.

You yank it out again, a frown furrowing your brow as frustration surges within.

Who needs a producer barking orders when you're in the middle of something special?

Perhaps today needs to be more about being present in the moment rather than sticking rigidly to a script. The mention of professionalism seems a distant concern, a faint echo overshadowed by the authentic experiences happening right in front of you.

You’re ready to take ownership of your interview and allow it to unfold in a way that feels honest and true, something organic that resonates with both you and the audience watching from their living rooms.

The lights in the lavish venue dimmed slightly, casting a warm glow over the crowd as the murmurs faded into anticipation. The announcement echoed through the hall, calling all the celebrities to the main hall for a special presentation.

As the excitement buzzed around you, you felt a familiar pang of disappointment wash over you at the thought of leaving the company of Lewis.

His cocoa brown eyes met yours, and for a heartbeat, time seemed to stand still. "I guess they really know how to kill a moment, huh?" Lewis said with a cheeky grin, his fingers brushing against yours.

You could feel a warmth creeping up your cheeks, and you downplayed your shyness with a small laugh.

“I was really enjoying just… this," you admitted, gesturing between the two of you. "Don’t you think they could have waited a bit longer?”

Lewis chuckled softly, his demeanor effortlessly charming. "If only they listened to us, right?" He paused, a glint of mischief dancing in his eyes.

Then, with great care, he took your hand and pressed his lips gently against your knuckles, reminiscent of last year’s memorable encounter.

The sweet gesture made your heart flutter, igniting a mix of shyness and excitement that left you breathless.

“Lewis…” you started, your voice barely above a whisper, feeling butterflies taking flight in your stomach.

With a teasing wink, he pulled away slightly and reached into his pocket. “Before they whisk me away, I have something for you.”

He produced a small piece of paper and leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear. “It has my phone number on it. I’ll need to send you the tickets for the race.”

Your heart raced. “Tickets for the race? Wait, you were actually serious?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t want you to miss it. But… I might need a bit of company if you’re up for it,” he said, an inviting smile spreading across his face.

You felt an elated rush, realizing just how much this meant. “Lewis, I would love that. I’ve been wanting to see you at the races.”

“Good. Then it’s a date,” he said playfully, his tone shifting back to the more teasing side of him.

He leaned in again, his voice lowering conspiratorially. “Just don’t tell anybody else, alright? I have a reputation to maintain.”

You laughed, your heart swelling with affection. “Your secret’s safe with me! Just promise you won’t forget to text me.”

“I could never forget someone like you,” he replied, his eyes locking onto yours with sincere intensity.

You felt like you might burst from happiness.

Just then, the staff made their way toward you, nipping at the edges of your time together. Lewis took a step back, and the moment felt almost surreal.

He let go of your hand slowly, but not without lingering for a moment longer.

"Goodnight, Gorgeous." He said for only you to hear and grinned happily after your embarrassed reason.

You smiled saying your farewell before watching him turn back to the group gathering for the announcement.

You stood frozen, clutching the piece of paper, which felt like a small treasure in your hand. His number was your connection to a world you desperately wanted to be part of.

As you turned toward the camera, your face lit up with a mixture of surprise and glee, capturing the whole moment, you heard the voice of the host spilling out instructions for the event ahead.

You took a deep breath before speaking directly into the lens, the joy radiating from you unmistakable.

“So, looks like we’ll have some exciting plans coming up, folks! Stay tuned for my next race adventure with the Lewis Hamilton!”

With that, you ended the recording, your heart still racing from the whirlwind of emotions.

You glanced back, hoping to catch one last glimpse of him before he disappeared into the crowd, grateful for the serendipitous moment that brought you two together, albeit briefly, in the enchanting ambiance of the evening.

As you stepped out of the cool cascade of the shower, droplets glistening on your skin like tiny jewels, the atmosphere of the Met Gala still danced in your mind—a swirl of vibrant colors, laughter, and the intoxicating scent of sophistication.

You could still feel the weight of the glamorous gown clinging to your skin, a silken reminder of the enchanting evening spent amidst the brilliant and the bold.

Your heart fluttered as you sank onto the plush hotel bed, the soft sheets enveloping you in a cocoon of comfort.

This was the moment you had been waiting for, a delightful collision of excitement and anxiety, as your fingers nervously hovered over your phone.

After a deep breath, you checked for notifications and instantly spotted it—the notifications of the interview you had with Lewis Hamilton, his striking presence still echoing in your thoughts, his laughter resonating like a gentle melody.

Suddenly, in the ongoing reverie, a flutter of memory came rushing back, the way a gust of wind lifts scattered autumn leaves in a jubilant dance.

You could still picture the slick piece of paper he had handed you so casually, his fingers lingering a beat longer than necessary. It seemed so innocuous at the time—a simple slip of white with ink scrawled across it.

But the implications of that note buzzed loudly in your heart. He had mentioned his number, and despite the whispering doubts that David, your manager, planted in your mind, a seed of hope took root.

David's voice echoed menacingly: "Lewis Hamilton is doing all this to seem like a gentleman for the camera and to get more recognition, don’t think for a second that he actually likes you."

The warning replayed in an endless loop, threatening to cage your heart in cautious realism.

With shaking hands, you unfolded the paper, allowing the dim light of the room to illuminate the numbers scrawled across the page.

It was real. There it was, a string of digits that could unlock a connection or forever remain dormant within the realm of what-ifs.

Sitting there, caught in a whirlwind of emotions, adrenaline surged through you.

You took a moment to gather your thoughts, your eyes roaming the room—the opulent furnishings, the soft glow from the chandelier casting a romantic hue.

The allure of possibility mingled with your sense of self-preservation, and with a final resolve, you glanced at your reflection in the nearby mirror.

You looked stunning—and vulnerable.

It was time. In that instant, the logic of David's words fell away, leaving only the heart's whisper urging you forward.

You reached for your phone, fingers trembling as they danced across the screen, dialing the number that Lewis had provided.

Each ringing beep felt like a heartbeat, echoing loudly in the silence of the hotel room, rhythmically marking the passage of time laden with potential.

When the line connected, your heart raced, echoing in your ears as you swallowed hard against a wave of emotion.

"Mr. Hamilton?" you ventured tentatively, every syllable laden with weight, aware that the man on the other end could change everything in an instant.

An electric pause settled in the air before the sound of his laughter broke through, smooth and teasing, engulfing you like warm summer rain.

“Y/N, you don’t have to be so formal, there’s no cameras here,” he quipped, the intimacy of his tone sending shivers down your spine.

Those words settled comfortably in your thoughts, breaking down the walls you had so carefully erected. Suddenly, your fears seemed trivial in contrast to the warmth radiating through the phone, infusing your evening with a touch of magic.

The rhythm of your heart settled into a new cadence, emboldened by his playful demeanor. “So, are you still riding high from the Met Gala, or is it just a distant daydream now?” he asked, his voice dancing along with understated charisma.

A giggle slipped past your lips before you could catch it, the sound bubbling with shared memories and possibilities. “I think I might still be in shock,” you replied, the honesty of your words spilling out effortlessly.

“It was as surreal as I imagined, except I didn’t expect to meet someone like you.”

The connection felt raw and real—two souls uncovering potential amid elegant facades.

The conversation shifted effortlessly, weaving through laughter and shared dreams, as the moments stretched on, elongating time with each heartbeat that harmonized between you.

“So, about you coming to Silverstone to support me?” Lewis asked, his voice laced with a blend of curiosity and anticipation, sending a flutter through your heart.

You could almost picture that trademark smile of his, bright and infectious, the kind that made everything come alive around you.

His enthusiasm felt palpable, radiating through the phone, and you couldn’t help but huff a soft laugh, “Lewis, you really weren’t joking about you being there.”

It was almost absurd how serious he could be, yet here he was, weaving dreams of shared moments at the iconic racetrack, where the roar of engines mingled with cheers, and everything about racing seemed to spiral under the spotlight of your connection.

You admired his earnestness, how he effortlessly broke through the invisible barriers you had built around yourself, prodding at your heartstrings like an artist with a canvas.

“Of course not, I really want you to be there for me.” His words tumbled out so simply, yet they carried the weight of a thousand sentiments, causing warmth to blossom in your chest.

The flustered smile creeping onto your face could easily rival the glow of the sun itself, and you found solace in the fact that this was merely a voice call — nobody could see the way your cheeks burned at his declaration.

It was frustrating how quickly he could spin you into a whirlwind of feelings, leaving you breathless.

“I don’t know, Lewis, my work is very demanding and the income isn’t good enough to take a trip…” you replied hesitantly, a shadow of self-doubt creeping in.

You cursed yourself internally, lamenting over the constraints of your mundane job, longing for the freedom to jet off at a moment’s notice and bask in the thrill of England’s racing scene.

“Is that it? If that’s your only problem, then I can definitely sort something out,” Lewis said with unyielding assurance, his charm scrubbing away the veil of uncertainty clouding your thoughts.

His confidence made you pause, the wheels of your imagination racing.

It was surreal to think that Lewis Hamilton, the very face of resilience and determination in the racing world, was willing to go out of his way for you.

“Lewis…” you began, almost overwhelmed by the thought of him putting in so much effort on your behalf, unsure whether to be flattered or simply dazed by the enormity of the offer.

“Y/N, you just have to agree to come with me, and I’ll do the rest,” he reassured, the confidence in his tone wrapping around you like a warm embrace.

You couldn’t help but think that this might be a one-in-a-lifetime opportunity, the kind that stories are made of. Of course, you wanted to be there.

The thought of cheering him on, of sharing the adrenaline rush as he raced across the track, filled you with excitement. Yet, skepticism still lingered in your mind like a faint cloud.

You paused to ponder, “Is there a catch?” you asked, a glint of suspicion dancing in your voice despite the eagerness bubbling beneath it.

After all, magical opportunities often came with strings attached, or at least that was what your cautious heart believed.

Lewis laughed, the sound a soothing balm that seemed to wash away your hesitation. “I don’t think there is, unless making a beautiful woman fly over to England for you is a crime,” he replied teasingly, and you put your hand over your mouth, stifling a laugh while also trying to hide the giddy embarrassment swelling within you.

How could one man be both charming and utterly disarming?

His words dripped with sweetness as if he were seasoned in the art of affection, and you found yourself fighting a battle against your own defensiveness, the walls beginning to crumble at the sheer conviction in his voice.

“Okay, I accept your offer, Lewis,” you finally said, feeling a sense of liberation wash over you as the words flowed freely, like a torrent finally breaking through a dam.

You knew that this decision could change everything; it felt like a leap of faith that could lead to a world woven together by racing and shared dreams.

“Great! I’ll start getting your paddock pass ready for you,” he exclaimed, happiness echoing in his voice like a song, and you could almost visualize the way his eyes lit up, brimming with enthusiasm that could spark any dormant ambitions. . . .

The excitement in the air was palpable as you packed your suitcase, the warm glow of anticipation wrapping around you like a comforting blanket.

Lewis had called you just three days prior with the news that he would be flying you out to England on Thursday.

"You deserve a little adventure," he had said, his voice cheerful and encouraging. "Plus, I can’t wait to show you around."

"We'll have plenty of time to explore," you had replied, trying to sound nonchalant about the whole thing, but your heart raced at the thought of spending time with him.

The days rolled by in a blur, but Lewis kept you connected through our daily conversations.

"I just boarded my flight!" he texted one morning. you could almost hear his laughter through the screen as you pictured him boarding with his signature style.

Each update from him painted a vivid image—how he texted you from the paddock to show off his team outfit, a tailored suit that clung perfectly to his frame.

"Looking sharp as ever!" you texted back, your heart fluttering at the thought of our video calls, where we’d share laughs and glimpses of our lives, albeit from a distance.

Lewis had a twinkle in his eye as he held up his phone, the screen lighting up with your curious face. "I have someone who wants to meet you, Y/N," he announced suddenly one day, his voice brimming with excitement.

You were lounging on your bed, propped up on your elbows, intrigued by what he had in store.

"Who is it?" you inquired, your curiosity piqued as you leaned closer to the screen, eager to see what was coming next.

As Lewis adjusted the camera, it shifted downward, revealing the floor of his apartment. Suddenly, you heard the soft patter of tiny paws, and before you knew it, a bulldog strutted into view.

He seemed oblivious to the camera at first, but you couldn’t help but call out to him.

"Roscoe!" you exclaimed, your voice filled with warmth.

The moment he heard his name, the big pup spun around, his tail wagging furiously as he searched for you.

In the background, you could hear Lewis encouraging him, "Look at the phone, buddy!"

When Roscoe finally caught on, he erupted into a joyful bark, his tongue lolling out as he playfully licked the screen.

"Someone's excited to see me! It's you, Roscoe, such a good boy!" you laughed, your heart swelling with affection for the adorable dog.

The connection felt instant, as if you were already friends, and you couldn’t help but smile at the delightful scene unfolding before you.

Lewis watched with amusement, clearly enjoying the bond forming between you and his beloved pet.

"Are you sure you haven't seen Roscoe before, he seems to be acting very familiar with you," Lewis laughed as Roscoe was trying his best to get to you by rubbing his face into the phone.

"Nope, this is the first time I've seen him in person," You said, wishing that you were on the other side of the phone to give Roscoe a cuddle. "People say I'm very lovable, I didn't know it stretched to animals,"

"They weren't lying," Lewis muttered for only himself as he watched his son fall in love with you. . . .

Finally, Thursday arrived, and the world felt bright with possibility as you made your way to the airport.

Your phone buzzed with a message from Lewis. "Text me when you land and I'll pick you up."

You pouted slightly, knowing that you had insisted on making your own way to the hotel.

"You don’t have to, Lewis. I can take a cab. You’ve just had a long flight, and I don’t want to inconvenience you." you typed hurriedly, trying to dissuade him.

"Nonsense! You’re my guest, and I want to make sure you get settled in without any hassle. Just trust me, okay?" he replied, his tone playful yet firm, a reminder of his stubbornness that you had grown to admire.

With that, there was no arguing.

When you finally arrived, the familiar feeling of jittery excitement washed over you as you wove through the arrivals hall, scanning the crowd for his familiar face.

And then you spotted him—he looked effortlessly stylish, a radiant smile illuminating his features as he waved enthusiastically.

"Here she is!" he exclaimed, pulling you into a warm hug. you inhaled the familiar scent of his cologne, momentarily lost in the moment.

"Hi, Lewis! You didn’t have to come all this way," you said, trying to play it cool as you two pulled apart.

He shrugged, a playful grin spreading across his face. "I wouldn’t dream of missing this. Besides, it’s not every day I get to hang out with the most stunning woman I've seen."

"Flattery will get you nowhere," you teased back, but the warmth in your cheeks betrayed your amusement.

As you two walked to his car, our conversation flowed effortlessly, punctuated by light-hearted banter and lingering glances that held unspoken promises.

A part of you wondered if he felt the same tension underneath the surface, the way your heart raced each time our arms brushed against one another or how our laughter seemed to echo longer than the sounds around us.

"So, what do you want to do first in England?" Lewis asked as you two settled into the car. "There’s so much to see, and I’m more than ready to show you."

You considered this, excitement bubbling up within you. "Well, I definitely want to see the London Eye, but honestly, just being here with you is enough for me."

His eyes sparkled in the rearview mirror, and for a brief moment, you saw a flicker of something deeper—something that mirrored your own feelings. yet, it vanished just as quickly, replaced with his usual playful demeanor.

"Alright then! Just you wait, this will be a trip to remember."

Lewis drove you to the hotel where you would be staying for the week, the excitement of the upcoming events buzzing in the air. As you neared the hotel, you couldn't help but gaze out at the picturesque setting, your anticipation building.

The towering structure was surrounded by lush greenery, and the sun cast a warm glow over everything.

As he parked, Lewis turned to you with a gentle smile. “Welcome to your home away from home! Let me help with that,” he said, stepping out and grabbing your luggage before you had a chance to protest.

His demeanor was that of a true gentleman, and you appreciated how he always seemed to think of your comfort first.

You followed him into the lobby, the grandeur of the hotel taking your breath away. The high ceilings were adorned with intricate chandeliers, and the air was filled with an inviting warmth.

After a brief check-in, you made your way to your apartment suite, which felt more luxurious than you had expected. You unlocked the door and stepped inside, inviting Lewis to place your luggage down.

“Oh wow, Lewis! This is incredible,” you exclaimed, marveling at the spacious living area, which boasted a stunning view of the surrounding hills.

“You didn’t have to go this far for the hotel,” you muttered, still taking it all in.

Lewis chuckled, his eyes twinkling. “I wanted to, and it’s really close to Silverstone, so I can pick you up in the morning. I didn’t want you worrying about anything while you’re here.”

He set your suitcase down and turned to you, revealing a little envelope in his hand. “Also, here is your paddock pass,” he said, handing it over with a flourish.

You took the pass and looked at it in awe. “Wow, I can’t believe I’ll be in the paddock! This is going to be an unforgettable experience!” You looked up at him, your excitement practically radiating off you. “Thank you so much, Lewis. This means a lot.”

His smile broadened as he leaned against the doorframe. “Just doing my part. You’re going to have a great week; I promise. I’ll pick you up at ten? That gives you enough time to settle in?”

“Ten sounds perfect!” you replied, feeling a mix of gratitude and exhilaration. “But Lewis, I really can’t thank you enough for this. You’ve gone above and beyond.”

“It’s nothing,” he said, his voice earnest. “Besides, it’s my job to make sure you’re comfortable and ready for the weekend. Now, do you need help with anything else before I let you get settled?”

“Honestly, I think I’m good. I’ll just unpack and get a little rest before tomorrow. It’s been quite a journey,” you admitted, glancing around your new temporary home.

“Alright then, I won’t keep you,” Lewis said, stepping back towards the door. “Just remember, I’m just a text away if you need anything.”

He paused at the threshold, a playful grin on his face. “And I expect you to be ready on time. No wanderings through the hotel lobby!”

You laughed, shaking your head. “No worries, I won’t keep you waiting, I promise!”

With a final wave, he stepped out, leaving you in your luxurious suite, the thrill of the upcoming week washing over you like a tide.

As you looked out the window at the sunset painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, you couldn’t help but smile at how perfect everything seemed—and how grateful you were for Lewis being a part of it.

You stood in your newly unpacked bedroom, admiring the sight of your neatly arranged clothes in the wardrobe. Each piece had its place, a small reminder of home. You plopped down onto the bed, feeling a mix of fatigue and exhilaration.

You turned on the TV, wanting a familiar face to calm your nerves. The moment the screen flickered to life, you spotted him—Lewis, with that radiant smile of his, sitting confidently in the conference room.

My heart fluttered as you watched him engage with the journalist, animated and passionate.

“Why do I still get so nervous watching you?” you whispered to the screen, mirroring his expressions as he cracked a joke that made the whole room burst into laughter.

He seemed so at ease, so happy, and it made you grin. But as the conference continued, you noticed him glance at his watch, a familiar look of urgency flashing across his face.

To my surprise, he offered a quick farewell to the people in the room and hurriedly exited the room. You chuckled softly. “Always in a rush, aren’t you, Lewis?”

What you didn’t realize was that his departure meant he had something important to attend to—you.

The thought sent butterflies fluttering in you stomach as you recalled our last conversation.

“Text me when you land and I'll pick you up,” he had promised. He must have gotten your message and immediately left to pick you up.

The thought of that made butterflies erupt in your stomach.

He was just doing this for his reputation. You repeat to yourself, trying to get the thought of Lewis Hamilton liking you out of your head. . .

As the morning sun poured through the sheer curtains, casting a gentle glow upon your bedroom, you stirred from slumber at the soft chimes of your clock announcing that it was just 8 AM.

Yet, restlessness fluttered within you, an unyielding excitement mingling with the tremors of anticipation.

Today was not just any day; it was a moment poised on the cusp of something magical, something enveloped in the promise of romance.

You swung your legs over the edge of the bed, the cool touch of the wooden floor grounding you, and felt your heart race in sync with the rhythm of your eager thoughts.

Images of Lewis filled your mind—his charming smile, the way his laughter lit up the room, the aura of confidence he exuded in that unmistakable Mercedes uniform.

Selecting the perfect outfit was crucial; it had to embody elegance while echoing your growing infatuation with him.

You settled on a classic jet black dress, its fabric soft and flowing, perfectly mirroring the sleek tone of his Mercedes. The color seemed to beckon, much like the promise of adventure before you, stirring a wave of confidence within you.

You slipped the dress over your head, watching as it cascaded down to hug your curves in all the right places.

Standing before the mirror, you meticulously arranged your hair, letting soft waves frame your face, and applied makeup to accentuate your features—a subtle hint of romance in every brush stroke.

Time seemed to blur as your excitement melded with an anxious yearning for the text that would signal his arrival.

You checked your phone repeatedly, promising yourself it would be just moments away, but instead, an electrifying tap on your door startled you, pulling you out of your reverie.

Your heart raced even faster as you approached the door, curiosity dancing in your veins like fireflies in the twilight.

You hesitated briefly before swinging it open, your breath hitching at the sight of Lewis standing there in his pristine Mercedes uniform.

The black fabric contrasted sharply with his deep complexion, and you could see the hint of disbelief in his eyes as they traveled from your dress to your face, lingering longer than necessary, his lips slightly parted in awe.

For a fleeting moment, the world around you faded into oblivion, and you stood entranced by the magnetic pull between you.

A feeling of nervousness washed over you, choking back the words you longed to say, leading to a self-critical whisper, “Is it too much? Should I change?”

Your voice barely rose above a whisper as embarrassment washed over you, the vulnerability of a romantic moment sending your mind into a flurry of doubt.

To your surprise, Lewis snapped back into focus with a wide grin breaking across his face, illuminating the air between you with an unexpected warmth.

“No! I mean no, you look amazing,” he breathed, his voice flirtatiously laced with sincerity. “I was just stunned by your beauty.” Those simple words cascaded over you like a soothing balm, erasing your uncertainty as a rush of flustered energy surged through you.

With your heart fluttering like a captive bird ready for flight, you felt a smile spread across your face—a beautiful mirror to his.

You finally closed the door behind you, the sound muffled by the magic pulsating in the air, as you wrapped your fingers around the strong curve of Lewis’s arm that he offered to you.

The world beyond felt tantalizingly distant as your connection grew, a potent blend of eagerness and hope swirling between the two of you.

With your heart racing in rhythm to the hurried beats of the moment, Lewis guided you out of the hotel and towards his waiting car, a sleek Mercedes that gleamed under the gentle morning light.

The drive to the paddock was quick, just as Lewis had promised, yet each passing moment in his company felt like a fleeting treasure, leaving you yearning for just a little bit more.

As he maneuvered the car through the bustling streets, your laughter filled the air, mingling with the soft hum of the engine, and you found yourself hanging onto every word he said, equally as enthralled by the subtle charisma of his voice as by the depth of his stories.

The conversation was weaving a beautiful tapestry of shared interests and playful banter, with each anecdote revealing another layer of who he was.

But suddenly, with the gentle thump of the car coming to a stop, it felt painfully abrupt.

The heaviness of the moment rested on your chest; you wished you could linger in that bubble of warmth, just a moment longer, before reality ushered you both into the thrumming chaos of the paddock.

As he helped you out of the car, his touch was delicate yet firm, igniting a spark that coursed through your skin as you stepped onto the asphalt.

You both headed towards the paddock, your heart racing in anticipation—not just of the buzzing environment but also for the chance to stand beside him in this exhilarating world.

You flashed your pass at the entrance, the small piece of plastic suddenly feeling like a ticket to an uncharted adventure, and followed closely behind Lewis.

The way he waved to the adoring fans sent a rush of pride through your veins; you could see their surprised expressions when they realized who was accompanying him, an unexpected twist in the narrative that made your heart flutter with delightful mischief.

Once inside the garage, the atmosphere was electric, a spectacular blend of excitement and adrenaline as the staff bustled around, their dedicated energy palpable.

They were welcoming, treating you with kindness and warmth, probably because you were with Lewis.

Yet, as you absorbed the scene—the myriad of tools, the gleaming car, the stacked tires—there was a stillness inside you; you were no longer just a bystander but a part of this captivating world. You found a spot in front of the many TVs, each screen poised to bring the race to life, the anticipation tangling your nerves as you prepared for the spectacle.

You turned to Lewis, who began explaining the intricacies of the garage operations, and although you were a newcomer to the sport, his passion was infectious, igniting an eagerness deep within you.

"I got something for you, Y/N," he said, his eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief, breaking up the flood of information he had been sharing.

You blinked in surprise, leaning slightly forward, curiosity piqued. “What is it?” you asked eagerly, your heart flutterin.

Lewis shifted playfully, a smile dancing on his lips as he rummaged behind him and emerged with a black cap, resplendent with his signature emblazoned across the front.

In that instant, your face lit up with joy; his gesture felt intimate, something so personal yet shared openly with the world.

You thanked him, slipping the cap onto your head, feeling the weight of it ground you in reality, but also lift you into a new realm of possibility.

“How does it look?” you asked innocently, tilting your head playfully, seeking his validation, as if the cap itself carried the promise of his approval.

“Perfect,” he replied without hesitation, his gaze holding yours—warm, unwavering. You couldn’t help but blush at his compliment.

“Supporting me does suit you,” he added with a teasing smile, the playful banter making your heart race even faster than before.

In that moment, you realized how right he was; wearing this piece of him made you feel connected, almost like an extension of who he was in this dynamic world.

With a light-hearted push, you nudged him, the laughter escaping your lips in a gentle rhythm, creating a moment that people would kill to capture.

But before the magic could linger longer, a staff member called for him, signaling that it was time to prepare for the practice race. As you watched him walk away, every step taking him further into his world, a bittersweet feeling settled in your chest.

Just then, a cameraman approached, the lens of his camera zooming in as he directed his focus towards you.

As you caught sight of the camera, you instinctively smiled and waved, a mixture of shyness and excitement bubbling within you.

You were about to turn your attention back to the screens when, from the corner of your eye, you glimpsed the caption that flashed: your name followed by "Lewis Hamilton's partner."

The weight of that label struck you in that instant, a delightful shock that pierced through the air, echoing in your mind as both a chance happening and a beautiful reality.

You hadn’t anticipated the intimacy of that moment being broadcast to the world, yet it felt incredibly right, as if everything had aligned perfectly in that exhilarating chaos of the race world.

Suddenly, the noise around you faded, and in that moment, you felt an undeniable sense of belonging, as if you were no longer just a spectator but a pivotal part of a greater story unfolding in the dazzling world of Formula 1. . . .

You could feel the weight of disappointment lingering in the air as Lewis emerged from the chaotic hum of the paddock, his face betraying the inner turmoil that he tried so valiantly to mask.

While he adorned an exterior of calm confidence, tucking away the feelings of a seventh-place finish, his eyes spoke volumes—a glimmer of frustration intertwined with determination.

It was a moment that made your heart ache for him, a reminder that even the greatest champions wrestle with the trials of their passion.

As he stepped into the garage, you instinctively opened your arms, drawing him into a suffocating hug that melted away the façade for just a moment.

“You did good,” you whispered gently in his ear, as you could feel the tension gradually release from his shoulders, even though you knew he felt he could have done more. You held him tightly, relishing the warmth radiating from his body, allowing him a fleeting escape from the relentless world of competition.

Lewis lingered in your embrace longer than necessary, allowing his head to find refuge in the crook of your neck, seeking comfort amidst the storm of competitive disappointment.

In that fleeting bubble of intimacy, you felt your heart race, realizing that these simple moments—while overshadowed by the pressure of the race—were what truly mattered.

But as he reluctantly pulled away, a shadow of embarrassment flickered across his features, and he muttered an apology that hung in the air like a dewdrop clinging precariously to a petal.

“Sorry,” he said softly, and you could see that familiar streak of humility running through him, the man who, despite his victories, remained grounded amid the roar of accolades.

“Don’t apologize; you needed that,” you replied, your voice steady but affectionate, reassuring him that moments of vulnerability were not a sign of weakness, but rather a testament to the depth of his passion.

His faint nod reassured you that he was starting to let go, if only for an instant, of the relentless expectations he harbored for himself.

“Now, you change as fast as you can, we need to see the whole of London before Roscoe starts missing you too much,” you declared with a playful nudge, pushing him gently toward his driver’s room.

There was an infusion of excitement in your voice, a spark of adventure that contrasted with the somber ambiance of the paddock. The thought of showing him around the city ignited a new energy within you, one that suggested a fresh start, a break from the taxing intensity of competition.

Lewis responded with a half-smile, momentarily distracted from his earlier humdrum. “I’ll be back in a second, stay here,” he replied with a determined glint in his eyes, and you watched him retreat, feeling a pang of anticipation for the adventures that lay ahead, even if they were just fleeting moments of joy amidst the backdrop of grandiose skyscrapers and historic streets.

As you settled into a nearby chair, you watched the flurry of staff and mechanics bustle around his car, fine-tuning every minute detail as if it were a delicate piece of art being prepared for an unveiling.

The love for machinery and the intricacies of the racing world enveloped the space, yet your mind wandered aimlessly, drawn towards your phone in an attempt to find some levity amid the seriousness of the day.

A flicker of curiosity prompted you to dive into Twitter, where you scrolled through the effusive commentary of fans speculating about your relationship with Lewis.

What struck you was the mix of admiration and bewilderment, as many fervently debated whether you were merely a cousin, a relative, or something even more storied—his wife, perhaps?

A bubble of laughter escaped your lips at the absurdity of it all; “I wish,” you muttered under your breath, momentarily lost in a world of fantasy where the lines between reality and desire blurred enticingly.

But before you had too much time to dwell on your musings, a familiar voice broke through your reverie. “I’m back! Are you good to go?” Lewis announced, and your heart leapt at the sight of him clad in casual attire—a crisp black T-shirt fitted snugly against his chiseled frame, paired with dark denim jeans that accentuated his athletic stature effortlessly.

He looked remarkably different, stripped of the racing gear that had just a moment prior defined him, and instead exuding a relaxed charm that made your pulse quicken.

There was a mischievous sparkle in his eyes, an energy that seemed to dance with untold stories and adventures yet to unfold.

“Yep, let’s go!” you exclaimed, enthusiasm bubbling within you as you slid your phone into your bag, keen to prioritize the moments of spontaneity that awaited beyond the confines of the paddock.

Together, you made your way to the back exit, slipping away from the clamor of racing fans who thronged towards the main entrance.

A shiver of excitement coursed through your veins as you both stepped into his car, the sleek interior a stark contrast to the chaotic noise that defined the day thus far.

The familiar scent of his cologne enveloped you as the door clicked shut behind you, creating an intimacy that felt both safe and exhilarating.

Lewis turned to you, and you could see the remnants of his earlier disappointment beginning to fade, replaced by an electric anticipation that mirrored your own.

“Where do we start?” he asked with a sly grin, tilting his head, eager to soak up every ounce of the city he loved.

“The London Eye, obviously! We can stroll along the river and see the sights,” you suggested, your voice brimming with enthusiasm.

This was your chance to share a piece of yourself with him, to weave together the threads of your lives in a way that felt effortlessly beautiful.

As he pulled out onto the road, you caught the unmistakable glint of excitement in his eyes. Each moment held the promise of connection while the city unveiled its secrets before you.

As you both embarked on your little tour of London, sharing laughter and playful banter, it became clear that this day would be more than just a distraction; it was an invitation for intimacy and understanding, to forge a bond that danced in freedom, not tethered by the constraints of the race or its disappointments.

You could feel yourself beginning to drop the pretense of being just a friend—every exchange and subtle glance became charged with unspoken words and possibilities.

The world outside blurred, and for that brief moment, all that existed was you and Lewis, wandering together down streets lined with splendor while time unceremoniously slipped away.

And as you shared stories amidst the laughter, with each word and each shared memory, you couldn’t shake the feeling that perhaps, just perhaps, what started as a pitiful race day could lead to something woven with romance and dreams, a blossoming connection fueled by shared experiences that danced just beyond the horizon of a typical friendship.

As he told stories of past races and the whimsical incidents that peppered his illustrious career, your heart ached with admiration—not just for the racer he was but the man behind the helmet, someone with dreams as grand as the city itself, melding seamlessly into the rhythm of your own heartbeat.

In that moment, surrounded by the vibrant pulse of London, everything felt right.

As the sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the London sky in hues of orange and pink, Lewis and you made our way to the London Eye. It had been an exhilarating day exploring the city, but deep down, you had been eagerly anticipating this final adventure.

You had never been on a Ferris wheel before—not in the US, where I'd grown up, nor anywhere else for that matter.

The towering structure beckoned to you, its silhouette against the evening sky a symbol of the iconic moments that London had to offer. Yet, beneath the thrill of excitement bubbling within, you felt a familiar flutter of anxiety in the pit of your stomach—my fear of heights.

As you two stepped onto the glass capsule, your heart raced. The floor felt solid yet somehow surreal, and you instinctively reached out for Lewis's hand, clutching it tightly as the ride began its ascent.

The moment you two started elevating above the bustling streets, you felt a rush of panic wash over you. “Oh my gosh, it's so high!” you gasped, glancing down briefly. “Why did I agree to this?”

“Might be a little late for that realization.” Lewis chuckled softly, his warm smile radiating calmness.

He squeezed your hand reassuringly, and his gaze met yours, steady and encouraging. “Just look at the view. It will be worth it, trust me.”

You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to look out at the panorama unfolding before us. The Thames glimmered below, and the city lights began to twinkle, creating a beautiful tapestry.

“Okay, it is pretty amazing,” you admitted, feeling a sense of awe creeping in as you took in the landscape.

“See? Nothing to be scared of.” He flashed a grin before leaning in a little closer, his voice soft against the gentle hum of the ride. “Hey, let’s talk about your project—the one that reduces carbon footprint.”

You brightened at the mention of your project, the excitement momentarily overshadowing your trepidation. “Oh yeah! So, I’ve been researching this method of carbon capture using algae, which is fascinating!” you replied, your nerves diverting as you got lost in the details. “They absorb CO2 much more efficiently than trees...”

“Really? That sounds incredible! Algae might not be the first thing that comes to mind when you think about fighting climate change, but it makes so much sense.” Lewis’s interest was palpable, and you found comfort in sharing your passion, your earlier fears nearly forgotten.

“It does, right? And the best part is it can be grown in almost any environment. I mean, it could revolutionize how we approach carbon emissions!” you felt your enthusiasm grow as you spoke, and for a fleeting moment, you forgot about the height.

“I love that you’re so passionate about this,” Lewis said, nodding appreciatively. “It always makes me think about how we can all play our part, no matter how small. Like taking the tube instead of driving. It seems little but actually makes a huge difference.”

“Exactly! Every action counts. I just hope my project can inspire others to think about their impact on the environment, maybe even help spark a movement.”

Suddenly, the capsule paused at the top, and you felt your breath catch again as you glanced out. “Wow,” you whispered, the whole city laid out like a glimmering mosaic beneath you. “It’s... breathtaking.”

“See? You did it!” Lewis said, breaking into a proud smile. “You made it to the top. And look at how beautiful everything is! This is what you came for.”

You nodded slowly, finally able to appreciate the view without that tightening grip of fear. “You were right, Lewis. I’m so glad we did this.” I turned to him, realizing in that moment how grateful I was for his support. “Thanks for holding my hand through this.”

He laughed lightly, “Always. I think I’ll be holding your hand during the descent too, just in case.”

As you two finally began our gentle descent, you injected a playful note into the air. “If I scream, just remind me that I won’t fall.”

“I got you,” he replied, still holding your hand firmly. “We’ll conquer this fear together.”

As you both descended from the ferris wheel, your fingers remained interlaced, a testament to the bond that had formed between you.

Neither of you seemed willing to sever that connection, as if the thrill of the ride had woven an invisible thread that held you together. The vibrant lights of the fairground flickered around you, but your focus was solely on each other.

"I can't believe I actually did that," you remarked, glancing up at him with a mix of exhilaration and disbelief.

"Right? I thought you were going to scream the whole time," he replied, chuckling softly. His laughter was infectious, and you found yourself smiling wider.

The moment felt suspended in time, a perfect encapsulation of joy and companionship. As you approached Lewis' car, he gently squeezed your hand, and for a brief moment, you hesitated, reluctant to part ways.

"You know, I could get used to this," you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

He looked at you, his expression serious yet playful. "What, holding hands or riding ferris wheels?"

"Both," you admitted, your cheeks flushing slightly. Just then, Lewis opened the car door for you, and reluctantly, you released his hand, feeling a pang of loss as the warmth of his touch faded.

You stepped into the car, your heart racing with the promise of more adventures to come. . . .

The night seemed to conspire against your fatigue, offering no respite as your mind swirled with thoughts of Lewis, each cascading wave filled with warm anticipation.

As dawn broke, casting a soft golden glow through the hotel room window, you reluctantly opened your eyes, momentarily squinting at the light.

You felt more drained than you had the previous day, but excitement surged through you like electricity—today was the day Lewis would welcome you into his world and unite you with Roscoe, the bulldog whose playful spirit had captured your heart.

The thought of seeing him again put a spark in your step, propelling you from the comfort of your bed and urging you to prepare for a day filled with unknown joy and warmth.

You dashed into the bathroom, the cool water of the shower invigorating your senses, washing away the remnants of exhaustion.

After the steamy shower, you rummaged through your suitcase, determined to put together an outfit that would both thrill and impress. you finally settled on a flowing sundress in a soft, pastel blue that danced gently around your knees, perfect for the bright day ahead.

You paired it with a lightweight denim jacket, knowing you might need an extra layer later, and slid on your favorite ankle boots; they felt both casual and chic.

But the pièce de résistance was the signed hat—a structured wide-brimmed beauty that Lewis had gifted you just yesterday.

It sat atop your head, a charming reminder of the budding connection you two shared and added an air of confidence to your look.

As you admired yourself in the mirror, you twirled slightly, causing the dress to billow around you and your heart to flutter with the thought of Lewis.

The knock on the door snapped you back to reality. You opened it with a beaming smile, your excitement palpable.

Standing before you, Lewis appeared effortlessly handsome in his casual attire, a little rumpled from what you imagined must have been a busy morning.

His eyes lit up at the sight of you, and before you could think, you jokingly raised your arms and asked, “How do I look?” The way he regarded you, his gaze lingering and softening, filled you with a warmth that spread through your entire being.

“Breathtaking,” he replied, the sincerity in his voice catching you off guard.

You couldn’t help but shy away from his gaze momentarily. “Thank you, Lewis,” you managed to say, still caught in a delightful web of surprise as you stepped outside, leaving the hotel behind.

We walked towards his car, and as he opened the door for you, the small gesture felt steeped in kindness, a hint at the chivalrous man he was.

“I’m just describing what I’m seeing,” he said with a teasing smile as he helped you into his car.

You felt your heart leap at each word that rolled off his tongue—a simple admission that held a depth of meaning you longed to explore.

The drive to the paddock was punctuated by leisurely conversation, laughter spilling easily between you two, and soon you two were waving at enthusiastic fans along the route, their cheers only enhancing the thrill of the moment.

The sights and sounds of the racetrack felt familiar, yet each visit held a novel excitement, especially with him by your side.

Once you two arrived at the Mercedes garage, everything became a beehive of activity, each team member focused on the monumental task ahead: qualifying.

Lewis had mentioned that his dad was coming to watch him this weekend, and the thought made your heart flutter. You found yourself secretly hoping that you might get a chance to meet him, to see where the source of Lewis's passion and determination came from.

Watching Lewis slip into his racing gear was mesmerizing; he moved with a graceful urgency, each movement deliberate yet fluid, threading the air with palpable confidence.

You couldn’t help but admire how he transformed into this fierce competitor in mere moments, the ease with which he stepped into his role stirring an admiration deep within you.

“So, the qualifying—what do you think is going to happen?” You ventured, curious to discover the intricacies of his racing mentality.

Lewis paused, considering your question as he donned his helmet, the glint in his eyes suggesting a thrill of anticipation. “I just focus on each lap and trust your instincts. That’s all I can do. But having you here makes it feel even more special,” he said, his words wrapping around you like a warm embrace.

His admission settled into your chest, stirring something profoundly sweet, as you realized just how much our connection meant to him as well.

My fingers curled around the hem of your dress as you mulled over his words, excitement racing in tandem with your heartbeat.

Soon enough, the atmosphere was thick with anticipation as the time for qualifying drew near, and you could feel the electrifying energy in the air. Lewis, with his trademark confidence and undeniable charm, was whisked away into his car, the roar of the engine sending shivers down your spine.

You positioned yourself in your assigned seat, glued to the television screens that illuminated the bustling paddock.

Each moment that ticked by only heightened your excitement as you watched Lewis's car take to the track, maneuvering through each turn with grace and precision.

The tension built during Q1, your heart racing in sync with the telemetry data flashing across the screen.

Just as you thought you had reached the peak of your adrenaline, you felt a light tap on your shoulder, pulling you from your reverie.

Turning around, you were pleasantly surprised to see Lewis's dad, Anthony, standing there, a warm smile dancing on his lips.

You quickly removed your headphones, eager to engage with him, as he had always struck you as a genuinely kind person. “Hello, it’s wonderful to see you!” you greeted him, feeling a flutter of excitement.

Without hesitation, Anthony gestured for you to follow him into Lewis's driver room, filled with a hint of nervous energy.

As you two entered, Anthony’s playful demeanor sparked a hint of curiosity within you.

“I’ve been wondering who the beautiful woman your son has been with these days,” he remarked, and your heart skipped a beat at his words, suddenly feeling the heat rise to your cheeks.

Caught off guard, you stuttered a bit, completely flustered by the unexpected compliment. It was in that moment that you understood exactly where Lewis had inherited his flirtation and charm.

“Sorry it took so long to meet; Lewis has told me a lot of you,” you managed to say, your voice slightly trembling as you spoke.

Anthony chuckled, a twinkle in his eye that mirrored his son's playful spirit. “All good things, I hope?” he asked teasingly, his eyes narrowing with playful mischief, making you laugh softly in response.

The sincerity of his interest made the room feel instantly warmer, and you couldn't help but feel a newfound connection between you two.

“Of course! Your son is a true gentleman,” you assured him wholeheartedly, enthusiasm spilling from your lips as you recalled moments shared with Lewis.

Anthony’s eyes sparkled with the joy of a proud father listening to the praise he had longed to hear.

“I’ve heard. I also heard that he likes you,” he said, his expression shifting into one of intrigue, and suddenly, you felt the world around you fade into a haze of disbelief at his bold assertion.

My heart raced even faster at his comment, a whirlwind of emotions twisting within me. “No, I think that’s just a rumor—” you started to defend, yet your voice trailed off as you struggled to find the right words to counter his claim.

The fluttering possibility of Lewis harboring feelings for you sent a wave of warmth rushing to your cheeks, and the vulnerability in your tone revealed your genuine shock.

“Y/N, I think I know when my son likes a woman,” Anthony said with a straightforwardness that left you momentarily stunned.

You met his gaze, searching for signs of jest, but there was only sincerity written across his features.

“It’s complicated,” you finally admitted, your voice softening as you grasped the weight of his words. The prospect of a romance with Lewis was tantalizing yet terrifying at the same time, a dance on a precipice you had not anticipated.

As Anthony leaned against the wall, his expression shifted to one of fatherly approval, you could sense the protective warmth radiating from him.

“You don’t have to worry,” he continued, “Lewis is a good guy, and he deserves someone who appreciates him as much as he does.”

His assurance wrapped around you like a warm embrace, filling you with hope and possibility at a time when you was craving clarity about your burgeoning feelings for his son.

“Thank you, that means a lot to me,” you replied, your voice imbued with sincerity.

There was something reassuring about Anthony’s presence; it made the entire experience feel more sacred, as if love was being woven into the very fabric of the moment.

As you stood there, sharing glances with this kind-hearted man, you felt the weight of unspoken words — a bridge of understanding forming between parents and their children, and how love always finds a way to connect you in the most unexpected of circumstances.

“I just want to make sure he’s happy,” you added earnestly, your emotions surfacing as you reflected on the connection you felt with Lewis, leaving you hopeful for what lay ahead.

Lewis climbed out of his car, the roar of the engine fading as he removed his helmet. As he stepped away from the adrenaline-fueled world of motorsport, a wave of relief washed over him, the weight of the race lifting from his shoulders.

The cheers of the crowd echoed in the air, but at that moment, all he could see was you, standing there with a radiant smile that mirrored the joy in your heart.

Your arms opened wide in celebration, and when you enveloped him in a warm hug, it felt as if the two of you shared a world all your own, where victories were sweeter just because you were there to witness them.

“Congratulations,” you whispered, your voice a gentle caress amid the chaos surrounding you.

“Thanks,” Lewis replied, his eyes gleaming with both relief and happiness. But there was something else dancing in those hazel depths—an urgency, as if something unsaid lingered between you.

His gaze flickered past you, landing on a figure standing in the backdrop, and he asked, “Have you spoken to my father yet?”

The concern in his tone made your heart flutter. You turned slightly to follow his gaze, spotting Anthony engaged in conversation with some frantic staff members, his presence calm among the bustling chaos of the post-race scene.

“Yeah,” you said, your heart racing, not just from the excitement of the race but from the idea of what Anthony had shared with you.

“Y/N,” his father had said with a knowing smile, a glint of mischief in his eyes as he leaned closer, “I think I know when my son likes a woman.”

“Really?” Lewis asked, his voice laced with curiosity, his brow raised in intrigue. You couldn’t help but catch a hint of a smile tugging at his lips; the connection between father and son was palpable, and you could feel the warmth radiating from them.

“What was it about?” he probed, and there was a soft eagerness in his tone that made your heart skip.

You locked eyes with him, taking a breath to steady yourself before responding, knowing that the truth could weave its own spell between you.

“It’s a secret,” you said shyly, your voice barely escaping your lips as you playfully averted your gaze. The moment felt charged, filled with hidden meanings and unspoken promises, and you could feel the tension building in the air, drawing you closer to him.

“Well, it’s a secret I’d like to know,” he laughed lightly, teasing but genuine. “Can you at least give me a hint?”

The way he looked at you, with those warm, inviting eyes, made it hard to focus on anything other than the connection thrumming in your shared space.

You were enchanted by the way he seemed to lean in closer, as if straining to catch the secret that danced just on the tip of your tongue.

You could see the delight that shimmered in his features, a beautiful reminder that this incredible moment was shared between just the two of you.

“Alright,” you said, leaning closer, your voice dipping to a conspiratorial whisper, “I’ll give you a clue: it involves you.”

“Really Y/N?” Lewis said, sounding disappointed as he brushed a hand across his brow.

You nodded slowly, feeling the back of your cheeks heat up from the intimacy shared, the air thick with unspoken words and lingering possibilities.

"Can you be more specific for me?" Lewis asked, his curiosity getting the better of him and you were enjoying teasing the man.

"Nope, that's the point of a secret and don't be begging your father too. His lips are also sealed," You teased, wiping the beads of sweat from his chin with the cloth.

"I think I know how to get secrets out of my father," Lewis replied, taking the cloth out of your hands and wiping his neck. "Be right back,"

You watched him as he walked over to his father, who was looking proud of his son's achievements. Suddenly Anthony looked over to you and winked, knowing the secret was safe with him, you sighed in relief.

"You ready to go?" Lewis asked, a broad grin lighting up his face as he emerged from his room, now dressed in his casual attire. He sported a soft, navy blue hoodie that hung comfortably on his shoulders, paired with relaxed-fit dark jeans that accentuated his long legs.

The sneakers on his feet were a cool shade of gray, slightly scuffed but well-loved. It was a look that effortlessly combined comfort and style, making him seem approachable yet undeniably attractive.

"Yeah," you replied, glancing back at Anthony, who was gathering his things. "Goodbye, Anthony! It was great hanging out." Your words dripped with sincerity as you waved enthusiastically, a smile lingering on your lips.

As you turned back to Lewis, he chuckled softly, shaking his head in mock exasperation. "Looks like you've become best friends with my dad in just a few hours," he teased, throwing an arm casually around your shoulders as you strolled toward his car.

You nudged him playfully. "Don't be jealous, Lewis. He’s just funnier than you are!" you fired back, laughing at your own jab, the warmth of camaraderie wrapping around you like a cozy blanket.

"Don’t forget who brought you here," he reminded you with a smirk, opening the car door for you. His charming demeanor was hard to resist, and you felt a flutter of excitement in your stomach as you slipped into the passenger seat.

As he slid into the driver’s side, your memory kicked in. "Wait a minute," you said, turning to him with a sparkle in your eye. "We’re going to your house first, right? To meet Roscoe?"

A delighted grin spread across his face. "Are you ready to meet him?" he asked, his eyes twinkling with anticipation, as if he could read your mind.

"Yeah, I’ve prepared myself enough," you joked, pretending to brace yourself dramatically, eliciting a laugh from him.

You could practically feel the excitement bubbling within you at the thought of finally meeting Roscoe, the bulldog whose playful antics and silly personality had already captured your heart over countless phone calls.

The short drive to his apartment was filled with lighthearted chatter, laughter, and stolen glances. Soon, they arrived at his apartment complex, and Lewis parked. You both hopped out of the car, and he led the way, guiding you with a playful swagger toward the entrance.

Once inside, Lewis paused for a moment at his door, opening it with a flourish. "Ladies first," he said, bowing slightly in exaggerated manners. You giggled, stepping inside as he followed closely behind, closing the door with a soft click.

The first thing you noticed was the delightful chaos of the space—dog toys strewn about, a comfy couch in the corner, and the rich aroma of something baking wafting through the air.

But your attention was entirely diverted when you caught sight of Roscoe waddling toward you, big, expressive eyes capturing your gaze completely.

"There he is! Roscoe!" Lewis announced, his tone filled with pride. You crouched down, and the bulldog ambled up to you, his tail wagging like a propeller.

"Hey there, buddy!" you said, your heart swelling as you reached out to pet him. Roscoe responded with an enthusiastic nuzzle, planting his big, slobbery face against your palm.

"He definitely likes you," Lewis remarked, a knowing smile on his face.

You chuckled, scratching behind Roscoe's ears. "How could he not? Look at this guy! He’s adorable!"

Lewis watched as the two of you bonded, the moment feeling blissfully perfect. "I think we have a new best friend," he teased, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, enjoying the sight of you and Roscoe sharing a precious moment.

And in that instant, surrounded by laughter, joy, and an unexpected connection, you realized this was the beginning of something special—an afternoon filled with warmth and a bulldog that would soon have a permanent place in your heart.

As the last of the sunlight faded and shadows stretched across the cozy living room, Lewis glanced out the window and turned to you with a smile. “Since it’s already getting dark, I think it’d be best for you to stay for dinner before I drive you home.”

You looked at the glowing kitchen where the rich aroma of roasted vegetables drifted through the air. “Are you sure? I don’t want to impose.”

“Not at all. Besides,” he said, nodding toward Roscoe, who was wagging his tail with boundless enthusiasm. “Roscoe clearly doesn’t want you to leave yet. He’s taken quite a liking to you.”

With a soft laugh, you gave Roscoe a pat on the head as he rolled over, exposing his belly for all the affection you could give. “I suppose I could stay for a little longer. Right, buddy?” You scratched behind his ears, causing him to let out a joyful bark, as if to affirm your decision.

As you played with Roscoe, the rope toy caught his attention. You tossed it lightly across the room, and he bounded after it with a joyous bark, his energy infectious. But it didn’t take long before he returned, rope clenched tightly in his mouth, looking at you with those big, pleading eyes.

“Are you sure you don’t need help?” you asked, giggling as you wrestled the tug-of-war rope with Roscoe, who was determined to win. “He’s quite the little beast!”

“ Nope, you just relax and play with Roscoe,” Lewis called from the kitchen, chuckling as he chopped vegetables. “The food will be ready soon.”

You couldn’t help but admire the sight—the way Lewis moved in the kitchen with confidence, the casual ease in his posture. There was something about this moment that struck you as particularly domestic, almost as if you were a couple enjoying a quiet evening together with your dog. You felt a warmth spread through you, mixed with an unexpected shyness at the thought.

“Hey, Lewis?” You turned slightly to get his attention, cheeks faintly pink.

“Yeah?” He looked over his shoulder, a curious tilt to his head as he wiped his hands on a towel.

“Do you… do you do this often? You know, having someone over for dinner?” The question felt a bit bold, but the warm atmosphere encouraged you.

His smile widened, revealing a gleam of mischief in his eyes. “Only with special guests. Roscoe has very discerning taste when it comes to company. He’s quite the judge of character, you know.”

“Oh really?” You feigned surprise, which made him laugh.

“Absolutely. You passed the test. And I dare say, you’re his favorite human now,” he replied, leaning back against the counter, looking comfortable and at ease.

Roscoe, hearing his name, bounded over and dropped the rope at your feet, tail wagging furiously. “See? He’s demanding your attention!” Lewis teased.

You chuckled, grabbing the rope and giving it a playful tug. “Alright, Roscoe, what’s your strategy here? I need to understand your tactics if I’m going to beat you.” You tossed the rope again, and he darted after it, momentarily distracting you from your thoughts.

“You’re getting pretty good at that,” Lewis commented, watching you with an approving grin. “I think Roscoe might have finally met his match!”

After a few more rounds of tug-of-war, you flopped down onto the floor, breathless and laughing. “I never thought I’d be wrestling with a dog tonight.”

Lewis leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, his expression warm and inviting. “And yet, here we are. I’d say it’s a good night.”

You couldn’t help but nod in agreement. “Yeah, it really is.”

Just then, Roscoe curled up beside you, and you instinctively reached out to give him a gentle scratch behind the ears while glancing up at Lewis.

In that little domestic scene, something beautiful and simple brewed between you two, leaving you shy yet hopeful for more moments like this in the future.

"Foods ready," Lewis announced after setting Roscoe's bowl on the ground, a satisfied smile spreading across his face as he watched the eager dog bound over to his meal.

Roscoe sniffed at his food for a moment, tail wagging vigorously, before diving in with joyful determination. The playful afternoon had taken its toll on the dog, and it was evident he hadn’t just worked up an appetite; he had worked up a hunger.

As Roscoe happily chomped away, you stood up from your spot on the floor and made your way to where Lewis had set the table. The beautiful aromas of the dinner he had prepared wafted through the air, filling your senses with comfort and warmth.

“Wow, this smells amazing! What did you make?” you asked, looking at the colorful spread.

Lewis chuckled, a hint of pride in his voice. “I decided to whip up some pasta primavera with garlic bread. Figured we could use something hearty after our adventures outside.” His eyes twinkled as he gestured to the food, an inviting sight that made your mouth water.

You shook your head in disbelief, “You’re the best, Lewis. I can’t believe you cooked all this while I was chasing after Roscoe!” You glanced down at the dog, who was now taking a moment to indulge in a dramatic stretch before returning to his bowl.

He looked up, his mouth full, and let out an affectionate, if muffled, bark. “Are you jealous, Roscoe?” you teased. He tilted his head, responding with an innocent blink, as if he had no idea what you were talking about.

“Hey, I think he’s trying to tell you he deserves to be spoiled after all that running around,” Lewis chimed in, grinning. “But don’t worry, you’ll get your share of spoiling too right now.”

Placing a generous helping of pasta onto your plate, Lewis added, “And for dessert, I made chocolate mousse. It’s chilling in the fridge, waiting for you.” The mention of dessert made your stomach rumble in excitement, and you couldn’t help but smile.

“Seriously? Chocolate mousse? Okay, now you’re just trying to win my heart,” you said playfully, taking a seat at the table.

You noticed how Roscoe glanced up at you, licking his lips in anticipation. “And what about you, buddy? Don’t think you’re getting any chocolate. It’s all for us humans!”

“Just wait until I tell him ‘off’ when he tries to steal bites from your plate. He’s persistent,” Lewis laughed, shaking his head as he filled his own plate. “But I’ll keep him busy with his favorite toy until we’re done.”

As you both began to eat, the conversation flowed easily between bites. You shared stories about childhood memories, musings on the challenges of adulting, and hopes for the future, all while Roscoe settled under the table, letting out the occasional contented sigh as he savored his meal.

“Everything tastes even better when you share the kitchen with someone you enjoy,” you remarked, your fork raised in appreciation.

Lewis looked up, his expression softening. “I feel the same way. It’s nice to have someone to share these moments with.”

As dinner wound down, Lewis leaned back in his chair and sighed. “Alright, Roscoe, time for a little break. You did a great job eating, but now it’s our turn to indulge in dessert. Are you ready for the chocolate mousse?”

Roscoe’s ears perked up at the word 'chocolate,' but you shook your head with a smile. “Sorry, buddy, no chocolate for you. But I’ll make sure you get an extra treat tomorrow for being such a good boy tonight.”

"You'll come back tomorrow?" Lewis asked surprised.

"Of course I'll need to see my favourite dog before I go back to the States," you said easily, petting Roscoe in the ear.

Lewis' face fell in disappointment at your words, a reaction you might have missed if you weren't paying close attention. His eyes, which had been bright with anticipation just moments before, dimmed as the weight of your statement settled in.

The soft glow of the lamp cast a warm light over the room, illuminating the cozy mess of blankets and toys strewn across the carpet.

Roscoe with a perpetually wagging tail, lay sprawled in the middle, paws twitching as he dreamed. Lewis and you sat cross-legged on the floor, you attention divided between a tattered tennis ball and the dog’s joyful antics.

“Hey, Roscoe, catch!” you shouted, tossing the ball into the air. He sprang up as if launched by a spring, bounding after it with glee, his fur glistening in the light.

You laughed as he returned, the ball clutched triumphantly in his mouth. “Good boy!” you leaned down to scratch behind his ears, feeling the warmth of Lewis’ body close to yours.

“You've really got a way with dogs,” Lewis said, a hint of admiration in his voice as he watched you interact with Roscoe. You glanced up to meet his gaze, and the air between you shifted, thickening with unsaid words and fleeting glances.

There was a moment, a heartbeat, where it felt like the world had narrowed down to just you two — you, him, and the soft panting of Roscoe in between.

“Thanks,” you replied, your cheeks warming slightly. “But it’s really him that has all the charm.” As you spoke, you noticed how close Lewis had moved, his shoulder brushing against you.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you could feel your breath hitching slightly, the tension in the air almost electric. Your eyes locked, and for a moment, it seemed you would bridge the distance that separated the both of you.

But then, like a cold splash of water, David's voice echoed in your mind, warning you about Lewis.

“He doesn’t like you like that; it’s all for his reputation.” The thought made your stomach twist.

You abruptly pulled back, a rush of embarrassment flooding over you. “Um, I think I should…” you started, trying to formulate an excuse that wouldn’t make you sound foolish.

“Wait,” Lewis said, reaching out and gently grabbing your wrist. The warmth of his touch sent another jolt through you, but you couldn’t let it sway your thoughts.

“Where are you going?” There was genuine concern in his eyes, and it momentarily melted your resolve.

“I just… I need to go. It’s getting really late,” you stammered, fumbling to gather your scattered thoughts and the few belongings you had on the floor.

You stood up awkwardly, trying to shake off the weight of the moment you two had nearly shared.

“It’s dark out, though. At least let me take you home. It’s too dangerous to walk alone at night,” he pleaded, his expression earnest. You hesitated, the conflict within you swirling like a storm.

“Okay,” you finally nodded, still feeling the remnants of embarrassment prickling at your skin.

You grabbed your coat, offering Roscoe a quick goodbye. “See you later, buddy.” He tilted his head, as if sensing the shift in the mood.

The drive to your apartment was wrapped in an uncomfortable silence, the kind where every unspoken word hung heavily in the air. Lewis stole glances at you from the corner of his eye, and you pretended to focus on the passing streetlights, your heart still racing from what could have been.

Once you two reached the hotel, you turned to face him, trying to conjure a smile. “Thanks for the ride, Lewis,” you said, but your voice sounded hollow even to your own ears. You could see him searching your face, but you didn’t want to let him in.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked, his brow furrowing in concern. “You seem… distant.”

“I’m fine,” you replied quickly, the words barely leaving your lips before you hurriedly added, “Really.” you opened the car door, desperate to escape the tension that had built up like a pressure cooker.

“Okay… well, goodnight,” he said, a hint of disappointment in his voice.

“Goodnight,” you echoed, stepping out into the cool night air, trying to dispel the emotional turmoil churning within you.

As you made your way to the entrance, you could feel Lewis’ gaze following you until you slipped inside and shut the door.

The moment you were alone, the weight of everything hit you like a tidal wave. You stumbled to your bed and collapsed, the tears flowing freely as you processed the confusing whirlwind of emotions.

The hum of Roscoe’s playful energy, the lingering warmth of Lewis beside you, and the cruel reality of David's words conspired together, leaving you feeling fragile and broken.

When had things become so complicated? You buried your face in your hands, overwhelmed, as you tried to navigate this tangled web of friendship, affection, and fear. . .

“Did I ruin everything, Roscoe?” Lewis asked, his voice trembling slightly as he let out a sigh, collapsing onto the soft carpet of his living room.

The stark contrast of the vibrant colors around him seemed to amplify the weight of his emotions. He glanced at the door, half-expecting to see your radiant smile again, the same smile that had captivated him since the very first moment.

But that smile had been displaced by the heavy cloud of doubt that now loomed over him.

“What if she never looks at me the same way again?” he muttered, his thoughts swirling like autumn leaves caught in a brisk wind.

Roscoe trotted over, sensing the heaviness that enveloped Lewis. With soulful eyes, the bulldog placed his head on Lewis's lap, offering unspoken comfort as he met his gaze with an understanding that needed no words.

“I should have been more patient,” Lewis continued, running his fingers through Roscoe’s fur, his heart aching at the thought of losing you. “But she's just so beautiful, so full of life. It overwhelms me.”

The words flowed from his lips, each syllable a tender confession as he wrestled with his own fault lines.

The memory of you—your laughter ringing like sweet music, the way your eyes sparkled under the sun—danced in his mind, and he found himself yearning for the light you brought into his life.

“You love her too, right?” he asked Roscoe, his voice softening with vulnerability.

Roscoe responded with a joyful bark, an affirmation that seemed to echo the depth of Lewis’s feelings, as if to say, "Yes, she is the one."

Just thinking of your expression when you left, the flicker of fear in your eyes, made his chest tighten with regret.

Soft, fluttering memories spiraled in his imagination, each one highlighting the incredible moments shared—the warmth of your hand in his, the laughter echoing through his garage, the way the winter breeze intertwined with your soft, unguarded whispers.

Roscoe tilted his head, as though he understood the tempest within his owner’s heart, and Lewis chuckled bitterly.

“What do you know of love, Roscoe? You have your toys, your treats, and that’s that,” he said, but deep down, he recognized that beneath that simplicity lay a profound truth.

"If only it could be so simple for us,” he whispered, gazing into Roscoe's eyes, hoping for an answer, a spark of clarity that seemed to elude him.

Perhaps he didn't ruin everything. Perhaps this was his moment to reclaim what was rightfully his—the connection that had blossomed so beautifully between the two of you.

With newfound determination igniting within him, Lewis knelt beside Roscoe, taking in the loyal creature for a source of hope. “Let’s not give up,” he said, brushing his fingers through Roscoe’s fur one last time.

“Tomorrow, after the race I'll tell her. I’ll tell her how much she means to me.” The resolve in his voice steadfast, he looked into his companion’s eyes, feeling the unspoken promise echo between them.

Roscoe barked again, tail wagging, as if he could sense the shift around him. “Yeah, we’ll make this right.”

You knew today was going to be so awkward when you woke up and saw the dog treats scattered on the floor. Just yesterday, you'd been wrapped up in a whirlwind of emotions.

You and Lewis had almost kissed, but fear had held you back, leaving an unspoken tension that lingered in the air even now. Instead of leaning in, you had let him drive you home in silence, your heart thumping in your chest as you wrestled with what could have been.

As you stared at the mess on the floor, a part of you longed for a way out. You knew Lewis would be picking you up today for the grand prix, and your mind raced with thoughts of fabricating an elaborate story about being sick.

But deep down, you couldn't deny it—missing him already felt unbearable.

You didn’t want to miss the race, especially with the thrill of seeing him light up the track ahead of you. With a resigned sigh, you got out of bed and began your preparations, washing away the fears that clung to you like the morning fog.

Deciding on an outfit was an emotional balancing act itself. You wanted to feel cute yet comfortable, something that reflected your excitement and also the nervous energy bubbling beneath the surface.

Finally, you settled on a sleek Mercedes shirt that Lewis' father had gifted you just the day before, paired with a flirty mini skirt. As you looked in the mirror, you felt a mix of confidence and anxiety coursing through you.

Once you were ready, you hovered by the door, waiting for that inevitable knock. Your heart raced with anticipation as the seconds dragged on. Finally, there it was—a firm, familiar rap that resonated through your chest. Holding your bag tightly, you opened the door to greet him.

Lewis stood there, looking effortlessly amazing in a fitted black shirt and sleek joggers that accentuated his athletic frame. His braids were tousled just right, framing his face in a way that made you want to reach out and touch it.

The morning sun caught the gleam of his earring, enhancing the sparkle in his eyes. For a moment, you were speechless, lost in him.

You felt heat rise to your cheeks. “Is it too much?” you asked, suddenly self-conscious, glancing down at your outfit.

“Not at all,” he replied, stepping closer and meeting your gaze. “You look beautiful wearing my team's shirt.” It felt like a melody, the way he spoke, and you could hear the sincerity in his tone.

Your heart swelled at his words, gratitude washing over you like a warm blanket.

Neither of you mentioned last night, and that made you feel a strange sense of relief. Perhaps you both needed a little more time to navigate those uncharted waters.

Instead, you shifted the focus and talked about the race, discussing your hopes for the day and your excitement about the atmosphere at the track.

As you both climbed into his car, the tension felt lighter, almost playful. “So, do you think I can beat Max today?” he asked with that familiar cocky charm that always made you smile.

“Of course! With you behind the wheel, I wouldn’t bet against you for a second,” you replied, excitement bubbling in your voice.

“That’s what I like to hear,” he shot back, his eyes sparkling as he began to drive.

As the track came into view, the thrill of the day rushed in, pulling you both from the space of uncertainty. Today was about racing, adrenaline, and celebrating something that felt bigger than both of you.

And deep down, you knew that sooner or later, you would face what happened last night, but for now, in this moment, you were grateful just to be by his side. . . .

The roar of the crowd still echoed in your ears as the adrenaline from the race settled into a sweet, soothing buzz of triumph.

Lewis had just clinched his first win of the year at the British Grand Prix, and the atmosphere in the garage was electric with celebration.

Everyone was ecstatic—team members high-fived, some shed happy tears, and you felt an overwhelming rush of joy as you basked in the shared euphoria.

“Unbelievable, wasn’t it? He nailed that last lap!” one of the mechanics shouted over the celebratory din, clapping you on the back.

As the cheers continued, you turned to see Lewis’s dad beaming with pride as he approached you. “Come here!” he said, pulling you into a warm hug. “You’ve been a huge support for him. Thank you!”

With a genuine smile, you pulled away. “It’s all Lewis! He did it all today.” You followed the throng of people heading toward the paddock, eager to see where Lewis would park his car for a well-deserved celebration, but the crowd was thick, and progress was slow.

“Excuse me, coming through!” Bono, Lewis’s race engineer, called out, effortlessly parting the crowd with his presence. He glanced back at you and extended his hand. “Here, I’ve got you. Let’s get you to your driver.”

You gripped his hand tightly as he guided you through the throng of ecstatic fans and staff. The lush green of the paddock soon came into view, and excitement bubbled within you.

By the time you arrived at Lewis’s car, the atmosphere was jubilant. Lewis was already engulfed in hugs from his team, laughter and shouts blending into a chorus of celebration.

Amidst that lively chaos, Lewis’s eyes scanned the crowd, and when they finally landed on you, it was as if the world fell away.

A wide grin spread across his face, and he bounded over, leaving a trail of joy behind him.

He gave Bono a playful dap on the way past before enveloping you in a tight embrace that felt like a lifeline. Your heart raced, feeling his warmth and excitement radiate through you.

“I can’t believe it! You did it!” you exclaimed, your voice muffled against his shoulder.

“I know! I really can’t!” He chuckled, burying his face in your neck, his arms firmly around your waist as if scared to let go.

The excitement, the sweat, and the fear of losing this moment melded together in a glorious array of emotions you never wanted to end.

“I’m so proud of you, Lewis,” you whispered softly into his ear, your heart swelling with affection.

Finally, he pulled back, a radiant grin lighting up his face that could rival the sun itself. “Thank you! That means the world to me,” he said, locking his gaze with yours.

“Hey, can you meet me in my driver’s room later? I want to talk to you about something.”

Your heart raced anew, understanding the implication in his request. You nodded, unable to suppress the smile tugging at your lips. “Of course.”

Reluctantly, he let you go, his fingers lingering on your arm for a moment longer than necessary. “I need to go hug my dad and talk to everyone, but I can’t wait to see you later!”

Lewis called over his shoulder as he turned to rejoin his father, who was waving him over, still beaming with pride.

You watched him go, your heart fluttering. The thought of what was to come made your anticipation bubble over.

The air in Lewis' driver’s room felt charged with an electric tension, the kind that often accompanies moments that can alter the course of a friendship.

You glanced around the room, taking in the trophies and photos that celebrated his career achievements, but your mind was far from the accolades.

Your heart raced as you rehearsed the words in your head, wondering if they would even come out right. You had decided that today would be the day you finally told him about your feelings, no matter how nervous it made you.

“Hey Y/N,” a voice broke through your thoughts, sending a jolt of surprise through you.

You spun around to see Lewis leaning against the doorframe, a playful smile adorning his face. Despite the lighthearted demeanor, your pulse quickened even further.

“Lewis,” you managed to mutter, your voice barely above a whisper. “I need to tell you something.”

“What is it?” he asked, his brow furrowing slightly as curiosity replaced the playful glint in his eyes.

Taking a deep breath, you gathered your courage. “Well, I’m sorry I falling in love with you, okay? But it happened, and I can’t do anything about it.”

The words rushed out of your mouth in a torrent, fueled by a mix of urgency and rebellion.

You were leaving for the US today, after all; there would be no more consequences after this, at least none that you could face today.

Lewis blinked, his expression shifting from amusement to surprise. “You… What?” he stammered, processing your confession.

“Yeah, I know it sounds ridiculous but it's true,” you continued, feeling a strange mix of relief and anxiety wash over you. “I tried to ignore it, thinking it was just a crush or something, but it’s not. And I didn’t want to leave without being honest with you. So there it is.”

The silence that followed felt heavy, your heart pounding in your chest. You dared to meet his gaze, and for a moment, everything else faded away.

“I’ve always felt some sort of connection between us,” he finally said, his voice low and thoughtful. “But I didn’t know you felt this way.”

“I didn’t either for the longest time, Lewis.” You paced a little in the small room, your nerves still high. “But every moment we spent together, every laugh and the way you looked at me—it just made me realize how I felt.”

Lewis walked toward you with an intent look, his gaze steady as he noticed your anxious pacing. With a gentle grip, he stopped you in your tracks, firmly yet tenderly holding you in place.

The world around you faded momentarily, leaving just the two of you in a bubble filled with unspoken words.

"You're too nervous when you haven't heard my side yet," he said, his tone a mix of concern and amusement.

Your heart raced, and you finally mustered the courage to respond, your voice slightly trembling as you retorted, "Because I already know what your answer is." A flicker of mischief danced in his eyes, and you felt both exasperation and relief wash over you.

"Which is what? Does it include ‘I love you too’ in it?" Lewis teased, his grin widening as he caught the surprise etched on your face. His playful approach seemed like a lighthearted facade, but you could sense the underlying seriousness in his words.

“Lewis, you can’t just joke about that,” you said, attempting to push him away, as if wishing to distance yourself from the emotional weight of the moment. You were caught in a whirlwind of emotions, each more potent than the last.

"I'm being serious," Lewis insisted, his expression shifting as he stepped closer, momentarily silencing the protests echoing in your mind.

“You may be serious, but that doesn’t change the fact that you’ve made it impossible for me to figure out what I feel,” you admitted, your voice cracking ever so slightly and exposing the vulnerable truth you had hidden deep within.

The air felt thick, and your emotions swirled chaotically, battling against the desire for clarity and connection while grappling with fear and uncertainty.

He reached out, his finger softly lifting your chin, forcing your eyes to lock onto his. "Do you know why I called you here?" he asked, his voice low and sincere, almost as if he were sharing a cherished secret.

You shook your head slightly, unsure of what to say, the anticipation hanging fragilely between you. As he began to speak again, each word came out wrapped in a warmth that made your heart flutter.

“I wanted to tell you that I love you, to not leave today and stay more days with me. I was even going to try to bribe you by saying that Roscoe was going to miss you too much.”

With every few words, he inched closer, cupping your face, his thumb gently rubbing your cheek, igniting a fire within you that competed with the cold fear that had gripped you moments ago.

His declaration knocked the breath from your lungs, and the gravity of his confession anchored itself in your heart, rendering you momentarily speechless.

You had imagined this moment countless times, but hearing the words come from him felt alarmingly surreal.

“Don’t try and lie, Lewis,” you muttered, skepticism lacing your tone, disbelief lingering just beneath the surface. “You don’t love me.”

It was a desperate attempt to shield yourself from the potential heartbreak that could arise if what he was saying wasn’t genuine, and yet, deep down, you clung to a fragile hope that he meant every syllable.

"How can I prove it to you?" he asked, his earnestness brushing against the walls you had built around your heart.

A moment of silence enveloped you both, and as your mind raced, a spark of defiance ignited within you. You knew that if he was sincere, he would be willing to do anything to show you just how real his feelings were.

And before you could even think it through, the words tumbled out of your mouth: "Kiss me like you mean it."

You could hardly believe you had uttered those words, yet the challenge stirred a wild anticipation within you.

“As you wish,” Lewis murmured, a soft smile gracing his lips as he leaned in closer.

His lips brush against yours, hesitant at first, like the gentle caress of a spring breeze coaxing flowers to bloom. Your heart races as you lean into him, the warmth of his body igniting a spark within you, while his hands rest on your hips, firm yet gentle, pulling you closer as if he is attempting to steal your very breath.

The kiss deepens, each exploration of his mouth becoming a silent promise, a secret dance under the stars that are beginning to twinkle above.

You can feel the world around you fade away, leaving just the two of you, lost in the cocoon of your shared intimacy, a sanctuary born from the connection that feels electric and alive.

As the kiss evolves from slow and sweet to something fervent and consuming, there’s a delicious tension in the air, palpable and intoxicating.

The way Lewis responds to you, his hands gripping your hips with a barely contained urgency, sends shivers of delight cascading down your spine.

You wrap your arms around his neck, feeling the strength of him against you, grounding you as everything else blurs into insignificance.

Your heart thrums loudly in your chest, your thoughts scatter like leaves in the wind, and all that matters are his lips and the way they meld with yours, igniting a fire that burns brighter with every shared breath.

He pulls you closer, as if the distance between your souls is far too great, and you can’t help but giggle in the moment, playfully teasing him as you pull back slightly, searching his eyes for unspoken words and the desires that linger just below the surface.

Gazing into his deep eyes, you catch your breath, the avarice of the kiss leaving you dizzy with exhilaration. You notice the way Lewis' hands twitch at your sides, the unmistakable want radiating from him, begging for permission to explore further.

It’s endearing how respectful he is, yet you can sense the beast of longing within him, restrained but unable to disguise itself completely.

"Are you holding back?" you tease, tilting your head playfully as you meet his gaze, heart racing not from fear, but from the thrilling affection that dances between you.

His lips curve into a smile, warm and inviting, a secret shared between just the two of you, and he responds, his voice low and irresistibly charming,

“Maybe I am, but only because I don’t want to overwhelm you… yet.” The air between you hums with the unspoken promise of more, leaving both of you teetering on the edge of something exhilarating yet tender.

You can't help but press further, letting the playful context of the moment draw out his desires even more. "But you still need to prove it to me that you love me," you throw out, a challenge hanging between you like tantalizing mist, thick with expectation.

You watch as his brow furrows in mock seriousness, barely able to contain your laughter. “That kiss wasn't enough?” he asks, feigning confusion, yet you see the intensity in his eyes, a glimmer of amusement mixed with something deeper that pulls you in.

His hand started to move, fingers cascading over your mini skirt, tracing the delicate fabric as if mapping uncharted territory. The sensation sent shivers running down your spine, igniting a spark of desire that left your breath hitching.

"You have no idea how beautiful you look right now," he breathed, his voice a soft whisper that felt like velvet against your ear.

The intimacy of the moment enveloped you as you met his eyes, your heart racing in rhythm with his own. You could see the desire reflected in his gaze, and suddenly, the space between you closed like the cresting tide, pulling you both into the depths of a kiss that was tender, full of promise, and laden with the heat of anticipation.

Yet just as you began to lose yourself completely in the intoxicating haze of passion, a sudden knock on the door shattered the intimate cocoon you had woven together.

You jumped slightly, a startled gasp escaping your lips, but Lewis tightened his hold around you, grounding you in the present even amidst the intrusion.

“Lewis, everyone is looking for you to celebrate,” came George's voice from the other side, carrying an air of urgency that seemed to tug at the edges of your romantic bubble.

The weight of reality crashed in—a reminder of the outside world that waited just beyond the door—but you could feel Lewis’s breath against your cheek, warm and soothing, as he whispered softly, “Let them wait a moment longer. I’m not done with you yet.”

[thehistoriangirl]

If You Hadn't Left (Me) [Chapter 2]

I live!!!

Viktor x Fem! Reader-----2.1K----SFW

// M A S T E R L I S T

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Synopsis:Viktor was never supposed to see you again, just like you had promised that evening when you both ended up heartbroken and bitter toward destiny and all its twisted ways. So twisted as to put you back into his life not only as a temporal working partner to cover Jayce’s absences, but also as the maid of honor in the wedding where he’ll be the best man. Hypothetically, it doesn’t have to be that difficult to find a way around the river of memories flowing between you both. Though, of course, hypotheses are flawed. Just like that part of him that still craves another ending to this story. 

Chapter Summary: People say things look better under a new light. But once you step inside Viktor's lab, Viktor discovers that the view isn't just striking, but also very troublesome.

Tags: Second Chance | Angst | Exes to Lovers | Denial of Feelings | Viktor's pinning | Reader is pissed | | Eventual Smut | Eventual Happy Ending |

Taglist: @ihopeinevergetsoberr @syren201 @slycazzz @jourlinemaktan @seraceres @m1dnight-artisan

Viktor was no stranger to sleepless nights.

Most of them could be excused by incessant workload lined up on his desk in the form of blueprints and pages filled with scribbles of ink where equations hadn’t resolved in a positive way.

It wasn’t about rushing thoughts of the future looming over his shoulder either; the time when his conscience whispered that he couldn’t be good enough. That he’d never be, as progress is a fleeting, moody thing.

What an unbreakable riddle were you. Your words haunted him; your kiss… soared his heart. Guiltily so; flown at the past he promised couldn’t revisit. And not only because digging out the tender flesh already buried would mean expose the wound again, risking of bleeding out.

I want to be the Interior Design’ Teacher at the Architecture Faculty.

He laid in his bed, covers barely thrown open, his mind filled with the million possibilities about the future, once hopeful and bright with all the new inventions he could create with Hextech, to the one where he had to walk carefully across campus to not take a glimpse of you passing by.

Get over it, get over it.

He wished it’d be so easy. Guilt gnawed at him, now already broken free from the depths of the drawer where he kept your photo. The ring he never gave you, that he’d been fool enough not to return. A treacherous mind he had, repeating old routines as his personal condemn.

Sighing, he incorporated at the edge of the bed. Pitch darkness looked back from every corner of the quiet room. His fingers grabbed the handle of his crutch, the familiar leather creaked under his unrelenting grasp once he hauled himself up.

He should have left right away, as he did when the strain in his muscles didn’t allow him any rest. But something stopped him.

His reflection in the mirror showed what he most tried to hide. Deep eyebags, messy hair, wrinkly clothes.

Viktor didn’t wish to give you reasons as to think he was so unkept because of you. Because he wasn’t—it was only a bad night sleep. Not the first and either the last.

Groaning, he took the dubious decision to bathe in the middle of the night. Seeking the refuge of the cold water to calm the cascade of thoughts sieging him. It was like any other day back at the Academy, when he was Heimerdinger’s assistant. Time had gone backwards.

Replaced rolled up dress-shirt’s sleeves with proper cufflinks. His creamy vest now gray with ash and oil stains replaced by a clean one, just as his pants. Untamed hair controlled with luck.

The way back to the lab was calmer at night, with only the cold hitting his face during his journey up the hill. Empty boulevards whose metallic details shone silver against a crescent moon in a clear, starry sky.

He wondered, for a moment where his mind forgot to close the floodgate, if the sky looked the same in the place you had being for the last decade. That—if the tawdriness of those novelists wasn’t tricking him—the moon had watched you built who you were now.

He couldn’t stop the stab of jealousy that coursed through his bones.

The walk cut short after that, dipping his face to the ground until the had to look up toward the guards appointed at the entrance of the research building. A simple nod. At least he didn’t have to break in again, though he thanked those days where lies had flown out his tongue so easily.

Viktor presaged he would need the practice.

*~*~*~*~*~*

At first, he heard the echo of your heels against the desolate hallway.

The familiar whirring mechanism of the door that both Jayce and him had forgotten to oil up.

Then, he must fill the uncomfortable feeling that the lab was shrunk up.

“You’re late.” As an answer, you put a cup of steaming coffee at his left, right where there weren’t any papers that could be stained. “…thank you.”

Finally, he saw you.

A loose, airy blouse and a fancy skirt that hugged your legs up your knees. Perfect for a space this enclosed where the heat of the machine motors warmed it up by noon.

“You can’t wear that,” he stated, meeting your frown with his own. “Where’s your safety equipment?”

“Where’s yours?” you said back, crossing your arms in signal of victory when Viktor got out of excuses.

“I have deep understanding of safety measures in a space such as this, whereas you do not.”

“What? Do you think I’m going to lay on the desk while you tinker with a machine?” You huffed. “Have more faith in me, Viktor.”

You shouldn’t say his name so nonchalantly, especially when Viktor could never mask his reactions to your keen eyes.

“I’m going to attempt to fix this faulty prototype, so you’ll have to wear at least a lab coat if you want to enter the lab.”

“Really now?”

Grunting, Viktor stood up toward the closet at the far left of the room, grabbing two of his coats—because you wouldn’t let him alone if he didn’t abide by his own rules. “Take this one,” he said, throwing you one with his free hand, plopping in the stool back again.

“Don’t you have a smaller one?” He saw you, with the grey clothes almost serving as a robe. One of the sleeves was burned, with a hole the size of the Hexclaw’s laser.

“It’s the only one we have here,” Viktor lied. Well, only a half-truth. Jayce’s clothes wouldn’t fit you, and Sky kept them locked inside her workstation in the annex room.

“Something more I need to wear? Or can you signal me Jayce’s drawing table?” You said instead, leaving your bag at one corner of the hexagonal forge in the middle of the room. Right next to Viktor’s bag where he had shoved the jacket he wore to come here at the dead of night.

“It’s the only one next to the chalkboard.” They shared worktable for all the times Jayce was pondering about designs while Viktor looked at the sketches to make modifications. He had all night to clean it, stacking the papers in Jayce’s desk that wouldn’t be used in a while so you didn’t have another reason to criticize him. “You can use the chalkboard if you want.”

“It’s alright. I’m only drafting planes with the sizes they provided.” You voice sounded absent, muffled once you crouched to lift your map case, getting out your usual tools of mediation, escalimeter, and set squares. The gigantic T ruler, slid smoothly over the worn-out wood. Every movement seemed so easy to emulate, the way your fingers flew across the surface to set the plan in front of you, getting out all kind of pencils that for Viktor looked all the same.

“Do you need something?” Your voice tore him away whatever place his mind was wandering.

“What?”

“You’re staring.”

He blinked, using his left leg to turn the stool around. “Of course I wasn’t,” he snapped, followed by the sound of your unamused hum.

After all, you promised to maintain peace, and so you did during the excruciatingly long morning.

Viktor had his back sore from being hunched down toward a pile of scribbles that made no sense; unconclusive theories and half-done equations. Yet he didn’t dare to look away the paper in front of him, no matter how much his eyes blurred and his muscles ached. He could hear the friction of the pencil against paper, the eraser’s circular motions and the soft blow coming from your lips.

Years ago, all you had was the familiar table at the third story of the library. Next a window so you both tracked the time by the change of light. He still remembered the hues over your hair, like a kaleidoscope. By the time darkness had arrived, he was tugging at your hand over the table to wake you up.

Since when reminiscences sieged him? It was so usual for Piltover to always look toward the future that attempt to look back would endanger one into tripping and being left behind. This felt wrong, stuck in a past that no longer mattered.

You were only classmates, after all.

“This is the design.” Over his numb hands, the paper of your plan was sturdy and rough to stop the abrasion of the eraser from making a hole in it. He was thankful for the hiding spot once he felt his right hand twitch by instinct, just awoken by the familiar, now fancier, milk and lavender scent of your hair.

His eyes swept over the drawing; thin, delicate lines showed a slick tower mirroring that of the Hexgates, curved and unbalanced in an amorph geometrical pattern. Behind it was the complement, so at the distance it would look like one.

He observed you. Dangerously close. You had changed, blooming even prettier with age. Contemplative eyes used to take every detail in, new marks of wrinkles of your smiles and beams. Yet the same lips and cheeks he loved to caress.

You arched your eyebrows. “So?”

You’re precious. “I don’t favor any of these design in particular.” He shrugged, trying to get off the weight of your attention. “They’re not my taste.”

“Then you have terrible taste.”

Oh, truly? You wanted to pick a fight? He had some time to spare, then.

“Alright. Do you want an honest opinion?” Viktor sighed, as if he were exhausted by this conversation and not having his heart working overtime. “They’re ugly.”

You smiled at him; an ironic grin but a smile after all. “Thank you. I won first place in the contest with this one.”

Viktor extended a hand toward you, fingers pointing in an accusing manner. “Now you see? You can’t handle constructive criticism—”

“What constructive criticism?“  you hissed, but he ignored it. Taking a deep breath, you plastered a kind smile on your face that almost made him chuckle. “Why are they ugly?”

Viktor hummed. “Severe. Pretentious.”

“You don’t really recognize who the clients are, do you?”

“I know who are the clients, which is why I’m saying it.” He reclined in his seat. “This aren’t how your designs usually are.” It wasn’t a question, as shameful as it may feel, with his cheeks burning and eyes averting, he remembered the vision you once shared.

You retreated one step, a futile attempt at building a fort.

“You don’t know my designs,” you said, your tone cutting like a knife’s. “Not anymore.” You were already walking toward your bag, and Viktor cursed in a hushed breath. This wasn’t what peace supposed to be.

You loved curves and simpler facades, towers with gigantic windows so the residents inside could feel they touched the sky, small houses to hide a precious treasure in the form of a cozy living room to cuddle in a cold winter.

“Wait—” he called your name, and it sounded so wrong. Tasted bitterly when once had been the sweetest.

“What?!” you snapped. “Just give it to Jayce so he can show it to the Council. Roll it if you don’t want to see it.”

Viktor stood up. “You’re trying to pick a fight.” And he understood. You left without the chance to free all that built up inside of you the moment you got apart, and time had only harvested that sadness into pure wraith.

You huffed. “I don’t even know why I bother to ask your opinion.” You signaled the whole lab. “Do you want to know why you never won any Inventor’s Contest in your time as student? Because your designs were ugly.”

Viktor frowned. “Now who’s bringing the past? My prototypes worked perfectly—more of what I can say to the many winners whose inventions never saw the light of day outside the award.”

“Functionality and aesthetics must be interwoven, Viktor.” You felt as if teaching a stubborn child. “This is what I’m referring to when I say you have bad taste.”

“I would love to differ,” he said, his mind clouded by irritation, nervousness, and the ever-present reminders of another life. “How would you accuse me of having horrid taste when I dated you once?”

The silence hung heavy and charged between the two. You looked as if he had hit you with his cane, and he didn’t feel any better.

What have you just done?

“You’re impossible,” you just said with a tired sigh. Turning your back toward him and almost running out the door.

[talesofesther]

I told the moon about you

Wednesday Addams x OC/Reader

Summary: Wednesday finds herself enchanted by the black wolf who always watches her play the cello in the dead of night.

A/N: This was written for a request sent by @roleplayfandom and I combined it with an idea of mine that I've had for a while, hope you don't mind and can still enjoy it. Arguably one of the most important stories I've written, because this oc has been my baby for so long, and I'm so happy to finally have the opportunity to include her in one of my stories; just hope I was able to do her justice with this. <3

Word count: 6,4k (sorry)

Masterlist

There was a drizzle in the air, the wind carried it around easily; tiny droplets of rain landed on the strings of Wednesday's cello that shook with each note she played.

Past the thin rain and clouds, the brightness of the full moon was nothing but a faded blur, casting a silver glow over the Addams girl and serving as the only witness to her spectacle.

The strong melody traveled with the wind same as the rain did, reaching the deepest parts of Nevermore and undoubtedly waking up a few students from their slumber. It only served as incentive — Wednesday could feel the burn on her fingertips as her song reached its momentum. The pain was welcomed, embraced.

When she released the strings, a soft sigh was let out as well. She blinked up at the moon above her, silently thanking it for its loyalty in keeping her most vulnerable moments a secret.

With uncanny delicacy, Wednesday lowered her cello, closing the case with a soft click.

The rain looked like it was starting to pick up, bigger droplets started to kiss Wednesday's cheeks, making their way down to her chin. The sky was darkening, with the moon fighting for a chance at a last goodbye to the one responsible for her favorite lullabies.

Wednesday walked up to the railings, her hands leaning against the wet concrete there. Save for the howling wind, it was strangely quiet.

But there was something different with today. Wednesday could feel it. She could feel the weight of a mysterious presence nearby.

As expected, her instincts never failed. It was dark, pitch black, the shape of trees blending together with one another in the distance.

But in the middle of the darkness, a pair of caramel eyes were spotted. They belonged to what appeared to be a black wolf; big in its size, ears pointy and tail long, fur a little spiked as it glinted from the raindrops that fell on it, almost resembling a starry night sky. It was just sitting there, on the grass of the gardens outside. Its golden eyes fixed intently all the way up to the balcony where Wednesday was standing.

The Addams girl expressed no reaction other than angling her chin up with furrowed brows, a dare; and the wolf understood, because it slowly stood up, its ears resting back against its head before it trotted out of sight and into the woods.

Wednesday remained under the rain until she could feel the wetness of it seeping into her clothes. Her hands held onto the railings tightly.

Turns out the moon wasn't the only witness tonight.

—

Those same golden eyes followed Wednesday in her dreams, and she woke up frustrated for not knowing who they belonged to.

Was it just a wild animal passing by or a student braving the woods past curfew?

The thought of the wolf being a student seemed… unlikely, because it looked much different from Enid when compared to her 'wolfed out' form. The black wolf was simply that, a wolf — albeit a tad bigger. Yet Wednesday didn't discard the possibility of it being someone. Someone who was watching her.

She tried pushing the thought out of her mind during the day for the sake of her grades.

"Miss Addams?"

Wednesday snapped her head up, only to see her anatomy teacher and the whole entirety of the class with their heads turned her way, eyes expectant as they waited for something to happen.

A scowl came to Wednesday's face at the unwanted attention. She rested both hands on her table, briefly realizing that the board had three extra paragraphs of lessons written on it that weren't in her notebook yet.

"I made you a question," the teacher continued, one of her hands coming to rest on her waist, "for how long can a gorgon stone a person?"

Wednesday gulped, her lips hovering open as she searched her mind for the useless information yet came empty-handed.

The teacher was annoying, one of the least liked by the Addams girl. She was old and wore long and colorful skirts, with obnoxiously large glasses resting atop her nose.

"It depends on the gorgon," a familiar voice suddenly said, "but usually from two to four hours."

Wednesday glanced beside her to where the owner of said voice sat, and was met with a smirk being directed at her. She huffed in annoyance, visibly rolling her eyes.

You had transferred to Nevermore a little over two months ago — adorning a pair of dark sunglasses you never took off and dressed in all black, save for the light pink pendant of your necklace — instantly getting into Wednesday's nerves the moment you stepped foot into the school and called her 'sweetheart'.

"Very well." The teacher looked between you and Wednesday, not entirely pleased that Wednesday wasn't the one who answered but deciding to let it pass, and turned around to write on the board again.

Wednesday didn't know what your deal was, no one did. No one knew who your family was, what were your abilities, or the reason you enrolled in Nevermore; not even Enid knew, and she was the gossip queen. Despite the ever-present sunglasses, one thing Wednesday knew for a fact was that you weren't a vampire, just by the way you scrunched your nose at the mere sight of blood; but that's about everything she knows so far.

Too smug for your own good, you leaned back on your chair. Wednesday could feel your gaze roaming up and down her body, before you said, quietly; "you're welcome-"

There was sunlight coming through the dusty windows. Wednesday could see her reflection in your glasses. "Shut up."

"Sweetheart," you finished with a grin.

The pencil that was thrown in your direction missed you only by an inch.

—

When Wednesday walked out onto the balcony of her dorm the next night, the wolf was already there.

She got a little taken aback by it, halting in her steps and gripping tighter onto the case of her cello. Wednesday immediately discarded the possibility of it being a coincidence or just a wild animal passing by. The wolf was there for her.

Those caramel eyes held a staring contest with Wednesday, and they eventually won. Satisfied, the wolf then lay down on the grass… and waited.

Long beats passed by until Wednesday finally sat down on her chair and adjusted her cello to be played. Her movements slow and calculated, all too aware of the heavy stare on her.

The moon was bright in the night sky, and Wednesday briefly glanced up at it, partly searching for some kind of reassurance but only finding that it wasn't a night of full moon.

When her gaze found the wolf again, she saw it looking up at the moon as well. The sharp silhouette of its muzzle being highlighted by the silver glow, fur flowing like silk with the wind.

Wolves sing for the moon, maybe that's why this one took a liking to the Addams girl.

There was hesitance on the way Wednesday's fingers hovered over the strings. Save for the occasional twitch of its tail, the wolf was unmoving on the grass, patiently watching.

Wednesday could tell the wolf to leave again, part of her knew it would obey. She didn't. She only closed her eyes, and started playing.

—

The next day, Wednesday made a trip to the school's library. She dug up every single book about werewolves and lycanthropy that she could find — some of them old, pages fragile to the touch and covered in a thick layer of dust.

The place was mostly deserted as per usual, and Wednesday saw no harm in staying. A table waited for her in the middle of the tall bookshelves, the only one hidden from sunlight.

She would be lying if she said she wasn't at least a little thrilled at the prospect of a new mystery. Things have been dull at school without an evil pilgrim trying to destroy it.

Though she was able to read in peaceful silence for all of ten minutes.

"What's with the sudden interest in furs?"

A heavy sigh left Wednesday's lips when she heard your voice. She sat straighter on her chair and chose to ignore you, pointedly turning the page of her book and focusing on it.

You hopped up on the table, sitting there cross-legged so you could face Wednesday, "you know your roommate is one, right? I bet she'd be happy to answer your questions."

See, there's a reason why Wednesday is bothered by your presence. Every time you're near, every time she can hear nothing but your voice or feel nothing but the warmth radiating from your body; Wednesday's little black heart gains a burst of color that should never exist, it picks up a faster rhythm and makes her skin crawl uncomfortably. It's a feeling that's been there once before, fleetingly, much smaller than it is now. But she's no stranger to what comes with it.

"I don't remember asking for your advice," Wednesday said, still refusing to look at you, her bangs hiding her eyes from you.

"Ouch," you mumbled, leaning back on your hands, "was just trying to help."

No one else but you could make Wednesday feel the slightest bit of remorse for snapping. And it's not like she paid attention to the last three lines she just read in the book anyway. Begrudgingly, Wednesday glanced up at you, and the moment her eyes found you, she knew it'd be a whole challenge in itself to look away again; the dim golden light of the table lamp framed your profile and the way your hair fell over your shoulder — for a second, it reminded Wednesday of her wolf.

Her wolf. The thought jolted her back to reality and she cleared her throat, heat rising to her cheeks as if you'd be able to read her thoughts.

"When are you gonna stop chasing after me like a lost puppy?" Wednesday didn't sound half as confident as she should for those words.

You raised an eyebrow at that, almost as if you wanted to be challenged. You leaned forward, bracing your elbows on your knees, so you could cast over every twitch on Wednesday's expression, your personal space shy of mingling with hers. "When you ask me to," you whispered.

The air felt electric, there was something enticing about the way you refused to back down sometimes. Wednesday felt the hair at the back of her neck rising with a shiver. If looks could kill, you'd be six feet under already — or at least fighting for air between her and this damn table. Wednesday couldn't decide which outcome she liked best.

Wood scratched against the floor as she suddenly pulled back the chair beside hers; "sit down properly, stay quiet," without looking at you, she shoved one of the books in your direction, "we're looking for a werewolf who can transform without a full moon."

—

Nothing. There was nothing in any of the books.

Wednesday walked back to her dorm without having learned a single thing. None of the books in the school had anything remotely close to the creature she saw the past two nights. Frustration was eating at her insides because she was running out of leads to follow, a dead end steadily approaching.

She went up the stairs of Ophelia Hall in a haste, pushing the door to her room out of the way and causing a loud thump that got Enid jumping on her bed, almost throwing her cell phone to Wednesday's side of the room.

"Jesus Wednesday, what did the door do to you?" Enid grumbled, sitting up on her bed.

Wednesday didn't respond, she threw her black backpack by the feet of her bed and came to stand in front of Enid. "What do you know of werewolves that can transform without a full moon?"

Slowly, a frown came to Enid's features. She turned off her phone when Wednesday kept glaring at it. "Nothing? Werewolves don't usually change without a full moon," Enid explained, confusion evident in her tone.

"And what if they did?"

"Then they're most likely not a werewolf."

Wednesday clenched her jaw in annoyance, she tugged at the tie around her neck, taking it off and messing up her hair in the process.

"Uh- my mother used to tell me about people who could shift into wolves at will, when I was younger," Enid kept going, wondering if that's what Wednesday was after.

The tie fell to her feet and Wednesday came to sit beside Enid; "tell me."

"Well, I don't know much about it, just that they're technically not werewolves. At least not like me," Enid shrugged, her colorful nails tapping her knee as she searched her brain for the stories she heard as a kid. "Oh, people used to call them hellhounds… pretty creepy if you ask me," she grimaced momentarily, "because they could change form whenever they pleased, and their… looks didn't help either, it made others scared of them. Most of the hellhounds succumbed to the fame and lived up to the name back in the 1850s I think, from what I know."

Wednesday narrowed her eyes, "lived up to the name?"

"Killers," Enid gulped, "or hunters, as they'd call it. My mother always told me they were no good, so I guess the bad rep still follows," she shrugged, "maybe that's why no one has seen one for the past twenty years or so."

—

Wednesday didn't sleep that night. She kept staring at her ceiling and going over everything that Enid had told her. And the only other thought on her mind was you. It was inevitable, too fitting for it to be a coincidence.

Every time she's seen that wolf she felt the exact same tug on her heart that you so inconveniently brought. It couldn't be a coincidence.

For a week straight, Wednesday waited for the wolf to appear every night so she could start playing her cello. And every night without fail, the wolf was there; same place, same time. It would lay down, watch her, and then leave.

—

On the tenth night, Wednesday wasn't on the balcony of her dorm. She decided to break the pattern.

There was no moon in the sky tonight, it almost looked like a storm was brewing. The air was frigid outside, the grass already coated with a thin layer of ice. Wednesday enjoyed the cold, but even she was reprimanding herself for having only one coat on.

Glancing down at her phone, Wednesday saw that it was already five minutes past the usual time the wolf showed up. She wondered if it saw the empty balcony and left. Or maybe it wasn't going to show up at all tonight. She felt strangely disappointed at the thought.

A twig snapped behind Wednesday, causing her to hastily turn around with a gasp lingering on her tongue. The trees stood tall in front of her, creating a blanket of pure darkness between them, nothing could be seen. Nothing, except a pair of golden eyes. For a moment, they looked like they were floating on nothing, intently watching the girl in front of them as if she was prey.

For several beats, Wednesday waited. And then, one paw stepped out of the woods and into the grass, causing a chill to run down her back — not from fear, at least not only fear.

The name hellhound has never seemed more fitting. One paw in front of the other, white air huffing from its nose with each breath, fiery eyes, and fur as black as the night. It was almost as if darkness became alive.

Admittedly, it was bewitching.

The wolf, even on all fours, was almost as tall as Wednesday; and still, it kept its distance. If she didn't know any better, Wednesday would say it was afraid of her.

The night was suddenly calm, with not a single soul around to witness. Wednesday had come all the way down here tonight to put an end to things, discover who this wolf was and the reason behind all this… stalking?

Yet any words had died on her tongue and she found herself taking a step closer. The moment felt strangely delicate. When the wolf didn't move, she took two more steps.

Wednesday was reaching out before realizing it. The wolf's ears twitched, caramel eyes following her every move until her hand was barely grazing the dark fur. It was silky, engulfing her hand in a blanket of darkness as it sunk into the wolf's cheek.

Wednesday didn't dare breathe, trapped in a moment that felt unreal. But her attention was soon caught by a glint of color, dangling from the wolf's neck.

The wolf backed away as soon as Wednesday tried to take a closer look, bright eyes looking at her one last time before it bolted away into the woods.

—

The next night, her wolf didn't show up. And Wednesday sat on the balcony of her dorm in silence, waiting for something she knew wouldn't happen. She didn't play. Loneliness clawed at her heart.

A loneliness that shouldn't be there, but it was.

Wednesday found herself slipping away when the moon was highest in the sky, her bare feet feeling the cold of the wooden floor as she walked the empty hallways of Ophelia Hall. Maybe a walk out in the cold would take her mind of off foolish matters.

She walked until she eventually reached the main doors that led outside, stopping short of crossing the threshold. There was a figure sitting on the grass just ahead, cross-legged and looking up at the moon.

Wednesday would recognize you anywhere. She wondered why, for a fleeting second. "What are you doing?"

You tensed when you heard her voice. You had heard her coming, you heard the soft pattern of her steps down the stairs. You just weren't expecting her to talk. You didn't turn around to face her when you spoke; "admiring the moon."

Subconsciously, Wednesday's gaze shifted to the natural satellite in the sky, before settling back on you. She could barely make out the silhouette of your nose and cheeks, but she could tell you were smiling. Foolish. She thought to herself.

Why would you look at the moon as if it held your heart's affection?

Why would look at the moon like that, when Wednesday was standing right there?

The Addams girl let out an indignant scoff at her own inner thought, reprimanding herself for even coming up with it. She couldn't possibly be feeling jealous of a floating rock.

"What are you doing up?" You eventually asked, your voice gentle into the night.

If you turned around, you'd see Wednesday chewing at the inside of her cheek as she tried to chase away the mess of feelings swimming in her stomach. You'd see her take half a step toward you before deciding against it, and instead rushing back inside without giving you an answer.

But you didn't need one. Part of you already knew why she was there. It was the same for you, and it was bittersweet that you ended up meeting in the middle anyway, even if for a moment. Part of you wanted to run after her and just tell her.

—

You weren't sure why you did it.

On the first night, it was mere curiosity. You could remember the coldness of the grass beneath your paws, announcing the inevitable arrival of winter. You could remember the howling wind, causing your ears to twitch as the fur there felt sensitive to the force of it. You could remember the first drops of rain hitting your nose as you walked and how that's when you heard the first note of her song.

You followed it easily, soon finding yourself in the gardens that her balcony overlooked. And even seeing her all the way from down there, she was nothing short of entrancing. It was like you could feel her emotions through the music.

You never meant for Wednesday to see you though, even if all she'd see was a black wolf. But it happened, and yet you kept coming back, night after night; you couldn't help yourself. You started missing her. Because listening to her play felt like an escape from your unfortunate reality. It put you at ease.

But you should've known Wednesday would not settle for so little, you should've known from the moment you found her in the library, already digging up every last bit of information on anything regarding werewolves. You should've stopped then.

You didn't. Instead, you allowed her even closer, close enough to touch. On that night, part of you knew she'd already figured it all out.

—

It was a gray day outside. Fitting, you thought to yourself; as it was also your most dreaded day of the year. There was no more dodging it, you could fake sickness or an injury only so many times until it gets too obvious.

From your dorm's window, you could already see the familiar car pulling up in the parking lot. There was a bitter taste on your tongue, a suffocating feeling weighing down on your chest for what was to come. It felt like drowning.

It's tradition. That was what your father always told you. It's keeping the memory of our ancestors alive. As if they were anything worth remembering.

You couldn't care less. Part of you wanted to yell at him to stop living in the past, but you'd probably lose your tongue for that. Literally. He had called you yesterday to let you know he'd be coming, as if you weren't stressing over it for a whole week already.

There was a chilly air outside, you could feel it even before walking out the doors that led to the quad; and it was right as you were making your way out, that she bumped into you. A quiet grunt left her lips at the impact, and she only didn't fall to the ground because your hands steadied her; your hold warm on her waist, keeping her body the closer she's ever been to you.

Now, you never intended to fall for the resident Addams of the school. It just happened. Maybe it was your incredible bad luck; or those dark eyes that sometimes put the midnight sky to shame with their beauty. The teasing came with the package of your growing feelings for her, it was your natural defense mechanism whenever your heartbeat skyrocketed at the mere smell of her perfume. Though you could swear that, sometimes, you managed to get her cheeks a tad rosier than normal. It got you wondering if it was wishful thinking to consider the small possibility of her returning your affections.

"You good?" You asked, subconsciously squeezing her waist.

Wednesday stumbled back when she realized that if she leaned forward just a tad more it would result in her nose brushing yours. She blinked multiple times to focus back on you, yet the first thing her eyes found was the light pink pendant of your necklace, the very same she saw on the wolf the other night.

For someone who's always so hard to read, she let the facade slip pretty easily this time. Wednesday's features did something complicated, as if she wasn't sure what she should be feeling.

"You're my wolf," the words rolled off her tongue against her volition, her wide eyes darting from your necklace to the dark sunglasses resting on top of your nose.

An awkward chuckle escaped you. You felt a lot more timid than you thought you would, "what?"

Wednesday clenched her jaw, she felt anger but wasn't sure towards what; "you're the wolf I see every night, aren't you?"

Your lips hovered yet no words came out, you took a step away from her. If it where any other time, you'd be happy to bounce arguments off of her until inevitably confirming her idea; but her timing wasn't ideal, "W-Wednesday, now is not a good time-"

"Why did you hide it-"

"What part of 'hurry up' did you not understand?" A gruff voice interrupted both you and Wednesday. You only gulped and looked down at your feet, while Wednesday turned her head to see a tall man walking towards you. He wore a dark red suit and had the same golden eyes Wednesday saw on her wolf every night, though his held a much darker undertone to them. The man's gloved hand closed around your arm with a tight grip. "We don't have all day."

"I'm sorry, father," you mumbled as he dragged you away and you tried to keep up with his steps. You turned around to give Wednesday a last tight-lipped smile, "see you later, Wednesday."

—

The sun was nowhere to be seen when your father dropped you back at school again.

You had brushed your teeth three times already, but it still felt like the taste lingered, making you nauseous.

Part of you was grateful to have come back late, Nevermore's hallways were mostly empty at this hour already so you didn't have to explain your looks. It's not like you couldn't have freshened up at your family's cabin, you just didn't want to stay a minute longer than necessary.

So you hurried into the first bathroom you found, not really considering the fact it was a communal one and anyone could walk in on you.

—

Wednesday wouldn't call herself obsessive, more like committed. She had pending matters with you, and she was going to get to the bottom of them.

So of course she kept an eye out for when you'd return to school. She saw the car drop you off by the gates, following after you as soon as you walked inside.

When Wednesday pushed open the bathroom door, you were standing in front of the mirror, damp paper towels in your hand as you tried to clean a rather nasty cut on your cheek. Your sunglasses rested atop the sink, giving Wednesday a clear view of your eyes; they were a shade of caramel she was all too familiar with, the same ones that have been keeping her company at night.

You tensed up when you noticed her, your hand freezing midair as you were about to throw the paper into the trash can.

There was a silence that stretched uncomfortably as none of you seemed to know what to do next. You were shifting on your stance, breathing unsteadily and Wednesday feared you might run away, again.

She took a single step in your direction and asked the one thing she came for; "why have you been stalking me?"

As if breaking from a trance, you looked down and away from her; allowing your hair to fall from behind your ear and hide your profile. "I wasn't stalking you."

"What would you call standing outside my window at late hours of the night only to watch me play the cello?" Wednesday raised her eyebrow pointedly.

You chuckled humourlessly, "now you make me seem like a creep." You felt small under her piercing gaze, embarrassment twirling inside your stomach. Sure, when she said it like that, it sounded weird. But you were just enjoying good music, right?

You slowly turned around to face her, your hands gripping tightly onto the sink's edge behind you. "You never told me to leave," you said quietly.

Any words Wednesday might have thought of died on her tongue. She felt uncharacteristically shy knowing that it was you who'd been witnessing her late-night lullabies. Yet she was also glad that it was you, and not someone else.

You shrugged weakly, focusing your gaze on your feet, "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable, I just- I heard you one night and-" you glanced up at her with a bittersweet smile, fragility still lingering on your heart and making your vision blur over. Even under the cheap artificial light of the bathroom, she was the most beautiful person you'd ever seen; alabaster skin contrasting with soft dark hair, sharp eyes, and burgundy lips — she had your heart on a leash.

"And I was blown away," you continued quietly as your feelings escaped you, "it was like I could feel what you were feeling through the music, and it was so freeing… I had to come back to it."

There was a distant ache in Wednesday's lungs, because she refused to breathe. Her heart was thundering against her ribcage as she took in each of your words. No one has ever made her feel as if she was a piece of art, worthy of a display at the most renowned museum, like you just did.

"I'm sorry if it seemed like I was stalking you," you breathed.

"Why keep it a secret?" She asked then.

Her sudden gentleness startled you. You've never heard her voice so soft. "I feared you might hate me." It went beyond just late-night encounters with a wolf Wednesday didn't know was you; you feared she'd hate what you could turn into; you feared she might see you as the thing you least want to be if she ever found out what you try to hide behind sunglasses and a snarky attitude.

It's because of the way your voice breaks at the end, that Wednesday finally looks at you. And she sees the tiny splatters of blood on your cheek, a cut running from your lip to near your ear, scrapes and bruises in your hands — you're nothing short of a mess.

And you weren't hers. Wednesday knew you weren't hers to worry about, to care for, to protect. Yet she had the annoying urge to do it all anyway.

She wordlessly closed the distance between you, the sound of her boots loud against the bathroom tiles. Taking a few paper towels, Wednesday dampened their edge under the running water of the sink. She hesitated before coming closer, it felt like crossing a line, walking down a road with no way back. Her eyes never left you as she came to stand in front of you.

Your grip on the sink's edge was bruising, knuckles white. You were so quiet, so on edge, so shaky; your eyes had a darkness around them, your lips quivering. It felt all wrong. Wednesday hated seeing you like this, without your usual light.

She raised her hand slowly, stopping short of reaching your cheek, "may I?"

You nodded, feeling a warmth rushing to your heart at the delicacy you didn't know she was capable of. A barrier had fallen between you. When you leaned against her touch, Wednesday started gently cleaning the few places still stained with blood on your skin.

"Did he do this to you?" Wednesday couldn't hold the question back anymore. A different kind of anger bubbled in her chest — one that was mixed with an unusual sense of protectiveness. "Your father?"

"Not him," you choked out, unable to look her in the eyes — not wanting to, "not directly."

Wednesday frowned at that, her eyes tried to chase after yours but you avoided her.

"He makes me do it." A tear rolled down your cheek, you bit into your lip to contain a sob, "he always makes me do it."

Wednesday would never dare call herself an empathetic person, but her chest clenched in pain to see you hurt. One of your tears fell on her thumb that rested on your cheek, and she wanted to take all the pain to herself.

"But I hate it, Wednesday," you told her fiercely, desperate for her to believe you, a new batch of tears coming to your eyes when you finally looked up at her, "I hate the killing."

The moon was high in the sky when Wednesday walked out of the bathroom, with you close by her side. The darkness of the night easily hid the way her hand was holding onto yours.

And as you walked through the gardens together, Wednesday could feel the shift in the air. You had told her about the 'stupid tradition', how your family gets together once a year for the hunt, and how you felt dirty, disgusted at the feeling of sinking your canines into the white fur of the rabbit. Yet they still make you do it.

The door to her dorm came before yours. You stopped in front of it with her, nothing but the dim yellow light hanging from the ceiling to make you company. The moment felt more intimate than it should be. Wednesday didn't look like the girl who threw pencils at you in class — there was a faint blush to her cheeks and her pupils were blown wide — she looked like someone you could love.

"Why don't you ever take it off?" Wednesday asked, shooting a brief glance at the necklace hanging from your neck.

You take the light pink pendant between your fingers, tracing the nooks and crannies in it, "it was my mom's," you said softly, "she was the only person who ever told me I didn't need to be what others said I was. That I didn't have to carry the sins of my forbearers."

Wednesday nodded softly, glancing up at you before she turned around. Her hand left yours and she instantly missed the warmth there, it made her think of how lonely the nights started to feel when her wolf wasn't there.

Her fingers hesitated on the doorknob, she looked at you from over her shoulder, "if you wish to see me play, stop lurking around," she pushed the words out quickly, "Enid is out until nine most nights."

And with that, Wednesday closed the door in your face, not giving you an opportunity to ask about the abrupt invitation.

On what was usually the worst day of the year for you, Wednesday managed to make you go to sleep with a smile.

—

There was suddenly an unspoken thing in the air.

Wednesday went about her day as per usual, following her routine precisely. But there was something making her feel as if spiders were crawling around inside her stomach; it happened each time she walked into a room hoping to find you there, each time she'd feel you looking her way and doing a poor job of pretending otherwise, each time she found herself checking the time on the clock to see how long was left for the sun to set, and especially, each time Enid pointed out her looking at you.

When night came, Wednesday had her cello already set up outside, and she sat on her bed with her eyes fixed on the door. She felt a little silly, waiting on you like this even if you hadn't given her the slightest hint you'd be coming at all.

But she hoped you would.

It was two minutes past the usual time she'd go out to play her songs, that Wednesday heard three knocks on her door. She opened it to reveal you on the other side, looking as nervous as she felt.

"Hi," you greeted with an awkward smile.

"Hello," she bit back a smile of her own.

You followed after her when Wednesday quietly made her way outside. You felt a little out of place, up here instead of down there on the grass. But when Wednesday played the first note on her cello, it was as if the whole rest of the world went quiet, and it was just you and her.

You figured you'd never be able to settle on watching her from a distance anymore. Not when you'd just had a taste of listening to her music so loud and clear, of watching her up close, following each small movement of her fingers on the strings and the twitches on her expression as she immersed herself in the melody. She captivated you in a way no other soul ever did.

Wednesday had her eyes closed the whole time, she knew she'd stumble on the notes if she blinked them open and saw the way you were looking at her — she could feel it though, the weight of your gaze; it was enough.

Only when the last note stretched out, that she did look back at you. And sure enough, the song ended with abruptness as she lost her focus.

Because Wednesday realized that you were looking at her the same way you looked at the moon. Maybe you always have been, for all of those nights you laid outside in the cold only to watch her play. She wondered for a moment if that is what love looked like.

And maybe that's the reason why, before even getting up, she decided she'd take that gamble.

"You are so amazing," you breathed out, your lips hovering as you gestured around in search of words good enough to describe your feelings.

Wednesday put her cello aside, getting up from her chair to take the few steps that separated you.

"I mean, every time that I hear you play I'm just-" you choked on your words, your eyes finding hers when you realized that with each beat of your frantic heart, she was coming closer, closer.

"I'm just in love," you told her in nothing but a whisper.

Wednesday had taken a hold of your jacket, and she halted only for a second when the word love left your lips. She didn't say it, but the way she was looking at you with the softest of eyes held a lot of love too.

The kiss she pulled you into might have been long overdue, given both of your eagerness. You were quick to grasp her waist and pull her body as close to yours as humanly possible.

Wednesday cupped your cheeks, holding you in place as her nose bumped yours and she gave a gentle nip on your lower lip.

She kept her lips on yours until her lungs screamed for air, pulling away slowly, feeling each one of your deep breaths grazing her lips. Wednesday felt your nails gently pressing against her spine, she felt you trace a path from her jaw to right below her ear where you chose to place a lingering kiss.

And she knew, right then and there, that she'd never be able to look up at the moon again and not think of her wolf.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

A/N: This is a storyline I'm definitely willing to expand, so if you have any requests regarding Wednesday and her wolf, feel free to send them in.

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keep me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment if you want. <3

Wednesday’s taglist: @milkiane @heelaechan @imagine-reblog @sakurarukas @bluetreecloud20 @the-night-owl-blr @imlike-so-gaydude @jjsmaybank20 @dreifhraniquo29 @emeraldevan @simp4nat @boobabietch @impossibleliv1031 @deadpool-in-a-snood @rainbow-love4ever @pompompuri @halleest @wandaromanova @marveloussimp @rainbow-hedgehog @left-and-right-up-and-down @get-the-fuck-outta-here @awolfcsworld @elduster @alexkolax @georgi-salva @imdumbhi @youralphawolf72 @reginassweetheart @justyourwritter69 @yangsroboarmm @8e-h-e8 @irish-piece-of-trash @femalehomosexual666 @wol-fica @wednesdays-woes @vorsdany @v1ci0us @the-nightshades-library @tundra1029 @aahdiieb @greyscxle-is-taken

[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Silver - Platinum Jacket Vignette

"Happy 100th Anniversary"

[Land of Dawning – National Museum of Art]

Silver: The National Art Museum of the Land of Dawning is much larger than I had expected…

Silver: I would like to properly peruse every single work of art here. It would be nice if I do not drowse off…

???: This is a painting of a prince and princess dancing hand-in-hand in the castle hall… What a beautiful sight. I can certainly see why it would be a well-known painting.

Silver: I know this painting well. This same scene was depicted in a book I used to read all the time when I was a child.

Azul: Oh, hello, Silver-san. Are you partial to this particular tale?

Silver: That's correct. Among the piles of picture books my father would bring home to me from his travels, there was one that held this story.

Silver: I had grown to admire the prince, who would fend off his foes with his sword, that I had read it countless times.

Silver: There was a time I thought that perhaps I could develop a training regimen off of this scene, so I attempted to dance as he did.

Azul: Hmhm, so you looked to emulate the prince from the story.

Silver: Yeah, at the time, I believed that in order to grow even stronger, I would also need to learn how to dance.

Silver: I would prepare a dressed log as my partner and spin around in circles…

Silver: I would practice tirelessly while some forest critters would look on.

Azul: You used a log as your partner…? Well, I suppose that would train up your muscles.

Silver: True, it may have resulted in some actual muscle training. And well, it did provide me with an opportunity to improve my dancing.

Azul: Eh!? Dancing with the log did?

Silver: Ah, no. My father saw I was trying to dance, and asked a certain person to teach me properly…

Silver: That person said, "A fine opportunity for you both to learn to dance." My father and I ended up both receiving instruction.

Silver: It was only for one day, but it was a fantastic lesson.

Azul: I wouldn't think that only a single day of practice would allow you to increase your dancing ability…

Silver: Do you think so? I always believed that I had improved much thanks to that single day.

Silver: I ended up having a wonderful time while dancing, and during the middle of it all, all of us couldn't help but laugh and enjoy ourselves.

Silver: Before I had realized it, we were standing beneath a starry night sky. We were having such a good time that none of us had noticed how much time had flown by.

Azul: Hm. Well, they do say that enjoying something is the quickest way to improve yours skillset, so perhaps that is why.

Silver: Yeah. Toward the end, my father started to dance some moves I had never seen before, so we tried practicing that as well.

Silver: But it was a rather difficult dance, with footwork and headbanging too quick for the eyes to follow. We did our best to follow but to no avail.

Azul: Footwork and… headbanging? I feel as though that has drifted further and further away from the prince's dance you were initially studying.

Silver: Not at all. I am sure that training also contributed to improving my dance ability.

Silver: I truly did feel thankful that I had received the lessons that I did, when I attended the party on campus.

Silver: If there is ever another opportunity in the future, I would like to be able to dance with everyone.

[Land of Dawning – National Museum of Art]

Silver: This is a painting of the Sea Witch. I heard that she would help merpeople in need… However...

Azul: It is also said that she would grow to enormous size in order to reprimand any merfolk who broke their contracts.

Azul: That she would strictly admonish dishonest people in order to better them just shows yet another aspect of her overwhelming compassion.

Silver: The strictness is to help them improve… Ah, I understand now.

Silver: Azul… I would like to ask you one thing, but are you any good at alchemy?

Azul: Alchemy? Yes, I would say it is one of my best subjects. What about it?

Silver: To tell you the truth… I do not do well in alchemy.

Silver: I have a hard time staying awake, not only in the lecture portions of the class, but also during practical applications…

Silver: I've over-heated ingredients, burnt cauldrons, and caused numerous other concoction failures.

Silver: If this were to continue, it could result in a terrible accident one day.

Silver: That is why I try to take more care in this class than I do in others… But I only continue to fail.

Azul: …I see? Well, that sounds like quite a predicament! If you'd like, I would happily listen to your woes!

Silver: So you'll hear me out? This is about what happened in alchemy class last week.

Silver: That day, I was able to weigh out the ingredients, adjust the heat properly, and even concocted the potion to the textbook specifications.

Silver: The final result was exactly what was asked of me.

Silver: I was even proud of myself for receiving a "Good Boy" from Crewel-sensei… Or so I thought.

Azul: Hmm…? But that's not the whole story, I presume?

Silver: Right. When I opened my eyes, there was no potion in my hands.

Silver: Instead, Crewel-sensei was standing before me with a furious look. "I see the little mongrel has finally awoken." He said.

Azul: Ah. I think I see where this is going.

Silver: I had fallen asleep again. My successful potion was all a dream.

Silver: In actuality, it seems I had almost fallen head-first into the cauldron as soon as we were to begin concocting the potion.

Silver: Crewel-sensei had decided that it would be dangerous to allow me to continue and carried me back to my seat…

Silver: And I was sound asleep until class ended.

Azul: It seems your drowsiness is a much more formidable foe than I had understood it to be…

Azul: I will gladly see if I can find any way for me to help!

Silver: It's enough for me that you were hear to listen. This is all due to my own shortcomings.

Silver: I'll have to take better care in the future so I may repay Crewel-sensei for his sincere admonishment.

[Land of Dawning – National Museum of Art]

Azul: Oh, my. There's a painting of the Lord of the Underworld on display here.

Silver: If I recall correctly, he would often use a board game map to plan and explain his strategies to his forces.

Silver: I wonder if board games are truly a useful way to share information?

Azul: Perhaps he, like myself, would use those board games to inspire new ideas.

Silver: Inspire new ideas…?

Azul: Board games can quickly change situations from turn to turn, which in turn allows one to cultivate their adaptability.

Azul: Not only is that a useful skill for everyday troubles, but also for business management.

Silver: I see… So it is a type of training in its own right. I can understand why the Lord of the Underworld used it as well, now.

Azul: If it piques your interest, why not come and visit the Board Game Club sometime? You would always be welcome.

Silver: Is that so…? True, there are often times that I've had to make snap decisions while performing my guard duties. It may be wise to stop by for a visit.

Silver: I don't really have much experience with it, but are a majority of games played with two people like chess?

Azul: There are such games, yes, but… There are also many that allow for a larger group to enjoy themselves.

Azul: There are 3D puzzle games, in which you try to fit the pieces into a frame, or real estate trading games, in which you try to increase your assets...

Azul: I suppose an easy game that anyone could pick up would be one where you would roll a die and do whatever task given on the space you land on.

Silver: What sort of tasks would those be?

Azul: It could require them to imitate the person beside them, or drink horrible-tasting juice… My clubmates do seem to enjoy that sort of thing.

Silver: I see, so those sorts of board games exist.

Silver: That could be a viable method…

Azul: A method? For what?

Silver: I just thought that if we were to change the theme of those games, it could also be used for training purposes.

Silver: For example, if we were to have the player's tasks be "20 finger push-ups" or "100 squats."

Azul: …Are you serious?

Silver: Yeah. I often hear people say that they find it difficult to train individually.

Silver: However, if many people were to work together, I am sure they could enjoy their workout.

Silver: Whenever it rains, we in the Equestrian Club are limited in what activities we can perform.

Silver: On those days, we often resort to training individually.

Silver: So I thought that if we all played a board game together, we could enjoy that exercise together.

Azul: You've come up with such a harsh training regimen while keeping such a virtuous mindset… I find you're as cunning as they come, Silver-san.

Silver: Oh, right, when I finish the prototype, would you like to join…

Azul: Ah, pardon me. Look at the time…. I should be on my way!

Silver: I appreciate you staying to talk with me. Now, I think I'll head to the next exhibit… Ah!

Silver: This is a painting of the Thorn Which after she transformed into a dragon… I've always wanted to see this artwork.

Silver: …This wasn't part of a dream, this really happened.

Silver: What overwhelming power… I must be diligent in my training so as to not falter before a foe that could be as mighty as her.

Requested by @dida-books.

[natsukishinomiyaswife]

Hello everyone! ♡

With the holidays coming up, I thought it would be fun to create an advent calendar, featuring different pairings and prompts (written by me, Sheep!) ♡

Each day leading up to Christmas I will write and post a fic, featuring a specific character/pairing and prompt (with each prompt being winter/holiday themed). The fic may be x Reader or OC x Canon (depending on what's easier for me) but the main focus will be OC x Canon (either belonging to myself or my friends/mutuals ♡)

But, in order to make the calendar, I need some pairings... 👀👀👀

So, my dear mutuals and friends, please give me your OC x Canons! ♡ I will include a list of all the prompts for the calendar as well, so please let me know which prompt you would like for them ♡ If a prompt is taken, I will let you know (and if I'm unfamiliar/feel I cannot write for your OC x Canon, I will write a x Reader story instead, with the Reader having no pronouns ♡)

This calendar will also feature fics for my own OC x Canon, Treydia, who will be given any leftover prompts (but you may also request them for a prompt too, if you wish ♡)

Once all the prompts are taken, I will use a random number generator to decide where they will fall on the advent calendar (meaning, which day leading up to Christmas that prompt/pairing will be written and posted) and mark them off here (with Christmas day being Treydia ♡)

So! Respond to this post if you'd like to be apart of the advent calendar, and include your OC x Canon and the prompt you'd like! (Please note that this calendar is for friends/mutuals only!)

List of prompts + tag list under the cut ♡

Prompts:

♡ Sledding - Shuu x Azul (@oya-oya-okay)

♡ Ice Skating - Dranav x Jamil (@justm3di0cr3)

♡ Snow Angels - Rebecca x Jamil (@0honeybones0)

♡ Hot Cocoa - Silas x Trey (@theolivetree123)

♡ Snowball Fight - Oz x Jamil (@viperbunnies)

♡ Building a Snowman - Jack x Kiyuu (@skriblee-ksk)

♡ Christmas/Holiday Baking - Lysander x Rook (@offorestsongs)

♡ Stargazing - Copper x Kalim (@cyanide-latte)

♡ Scavenger Hunt - Yuyu x Floyd (@anonymousplant)

♡ Cozy Movie Night - Daisy x Ruggie (@midnightmah07)

♡ Christmas/Holiday Shopping - Ryoko x Jack (@kathxrat-01)

♡ Secret Santa (and they were coworkers 👀) - Jade x Reader (@oyatochie)

♡ Winter Hike - Jade x Pépito (@rizdoodls)

♡ Mistletoe - Jamil x Mayu (@anbaisai)

♡ Mall Santa and Elf (and they were coworkers 👀)

♡ Seeing Christmas/Holiday Lights - Malleus x Reader (@selfinserttothestars)

♡ Decorating for the Holidays - Hopper x Che'nya (@amatsuchan-eiliniel)

♡ Making a Gingerbread House - Jamil x Astrid (@cheerleaderman)

♡ Cuddling by the Fire - Fayrouz x Jamil (@fell-e)

♡ Holiday Photoshoot - Liz x Jamil (@twstgo)

♡ Snow Tubing

♡ Knitting a Scarf (homemade gift) - Silver x Reader (@beneathsakurashade)

♡ Ugly Sweaters (and they were matching 👀) - Jamil x Yuusha (@crystallizsch)

♡ Christmas/Holiday Market - Ellis x Malleus (@starry-night-rose)

♡ Working on the Holidays/Christmas (and they were coworkers 👀) - Agatha x Ruggie (@nicoliharu)

Tagging as many moots I can remember lol ♡:

@midnightmah07, @crystallizsch, @anbaisai, @fell-e, @viperbunnies

@0honeybones0, @skriblee-ksk, @cheerleaderman, @offorestsongs, @oya-oya-okay

@nicoliharu, @meltedbluecaterpillar, @justm3di0cr3, @jewelulu, @theolivetree123

@oyatochie, @twstgo, @cyanide-latte, @kimetsu-chan, @selfinserttothestars

Thank you! ♡

[bullet-prooflove]

Birthday Bingo Celebration: Paris: Terry Silver x Reader

Tagging: @volumesofforgottenlore@kmc1989@somethingdarkside17@noonee333

You spend your thirtieth birthday alone in Paris, touring all the places you haven’t had an opportunity to visit during your time with the residential program. You trawl through the vintage shops in Le Marais, selecting some of the less expensive pieces. You wander through the Jardin du Luxembourg and finally you visit the Louvre.

It's there that you meet him, the man that changes your life forever. You’re sitting on a bench admiring the painting ‘Orphan Girl at the Cemetery’ by Eugene Delacroix when he sits down alongside of you.

He’s tall, well dressed with soft, silver hair that falls across his handsome features. He places his palms in the space behind him as he leans back, his head tilted as he surveys the image.

“Do you think she’s questioning God’s will?” He asks you and you pause your sketching for a moment to consider his words.

“Most people assume she’s raising her eyes towards heaven.” You tell him as you place the mechanical pencil down upon your sketchpad and set it aside. “I don’t think it’s as cerebral as that. I think we’re looking at a girl who has just made the realisation that she’s completely alone in the world. The colour scheme Delacroix has chosen and the way the background blurs is meant to instil an aura of solitude.”

Your cheeks colour then as you tilt your head towards him because you always do this, talk too much about art. You think you must sound pretentious.

“Sorry.” You say as you gesture at the paint. “It’s just the work, it excites me.”

He smiles then and it feels like your whole world just lights up.

“Don’t apologise.” He tells you, shaking his head. “I enjoy spending time with someone so passionate, please tell me more.”

So you do. The two of you tour the entire museum together discussing the art on display before you take him to Musée d'Orsay to view the impressionists. It’s there that he discovers it’s your birthday.

“Let me take you to dinner to celebrate.” He requests as you stand in front of Van Gogh’s ‘Starry Night’ and you agree because you’re having a wonderful time in his company.

You spend the rest of the evening, sipping champagne in La Bouche while Terry tells you stories of his trips abroad, about how he spends the majority of his time travelling absorbing different cultures.

You can only dream of the places he’s visited. Once you’re residency is up you’ll be returning to LA, to the dumpster fire that was your world before you left.

“It sounds like such a wonderful life.” You tell him earnestly and he smiles as he reaches across the table, his hand clasping yours.

“Tell me.” He says quietly, his thumb chasing over the hollow of your wrist. “How does a woman as extraordinary as you end up alone in Paris on her birthday?”

“I’m a bit of a cliché I’m afraid.” You sigh as your fingers entwine with his. “The very definition of running from your problems.”

“Ok.” He says as he brings your hand up to his lips and kisses the tips of your fingers. “Why don’t you tell me all about them over dessert?”

Love Terry S? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[collinrobinsonsglasses]

I see you're taking requests for reader/Izzy

I really like this headcanon that Izzy loves to watch the stars when he's alone and I've never really seen anyone write about it? He could teach the reader about the stars/constellations or something.

That and like... I love the idea of him being gentle with the reader with touches or kisses or smth just-- he touches the reader as if they might break :') idk if you can come up with something with this mess of an ask but yeah thank youuuuu <3

This is a shorter one <3

Masterlist

Izzy Hands x Reader (GN)

Izzy’s absence during Stede’s story time was no surprise, but you made a mental note to tease him about it later. Instead, you found yourself nestled between Lucius and Wee John, listening intently to Stede’s tale of a young French girl yearning to go to the prince’s ball. Your head rested against Lucius’s shoulder as he boasted about how he would effortlessly catch the prince’s eye if he were part of the story. Frenchie chimed in, expressing his disdain for hoity-toity balls for rich people. 

Despite the interruptions, the crew members remained engrossed in Stede’s storytelling, a nightly ritual cherished by all except Izzy. Only when you dragged him over did he reluctantly join, grumbling until you settled snugly between his legs, your back against his chest. Then, he seemed content, holding you close, even if it meant enduring Stede’s tales for an hour. 

After the stories concluded and the crew dispersed to their sleeping quarters, you searched for Izzy, only to find him missing from his bedroom. Heading back to the deck, you were greeted by the serene night, the moon and stars casting their glow on the calm waters surrounding the ship. Eventually, you found Izzy near the stern, sitting on the poop deck, gazing at the starry sky. His silver hair shimmered in the moonlight, and you couldn’t help but admire how peaceful he looked. As his eyes met yours, you realized he had sensed your gaze. You tilted your head to the side playfully, knowing he would catch on to your silent admission of missing his presence tonight. 

A cocky grin spread across his face as he studied you, a familiar gesture he often did when it was just the two of you. “Did you miss me?” he purred softly, the tone in his voice sending a familiar chill up your spine. 

“Fuck off,” You rolled your eyes in mock annoyance. Yet, a small smile, curling up at the corners of your lips, betrayed your true feelings. 

“Oh, I see, you’re pissed at me?” he teased before gazing back up towards the night sky. You made a show of going to turn before his voice stopped you. “Get the fuck over here. Stop being a twat.” 

You pretended to pout at his command, but quickly complied, sliding between his two legs where he sat, nestling your back against his chest. It was exactly where you wanted to be, safe in Izzy’s arms. He enveloped you with his arms, drawing you closer, and lightly brushed his lips against your neck. Your body trembled at his touch, feeling your heart racing in your chest. 

“I’ll make it up to you,” he whispered in your ear, planting soft kisses along your neck. Although you were never truly upset with him, you melted at his touch, wondering whether you could ever be angry towards Izzy if this was his solution. 

Leaning his head back against the ship, he once again gazed at the stars, and you rested your head on his chest, feeling the gentle rise and fall of each breath. 

“What were you up to tonight, Iz?” you whispered, brushing your fingers lightly against the back of his hand. He responded to your touch by flipping his hand palm up, allowing you to easily intertwine your fingers with his. 

“Story time is when those twats finally shut the fuck up, so I take advantage of that time to just look at the stars,” he replied softly, speaking in a manner he often reserved only for you. 

Warmth radiated through your chest upon learning something new about Izzy. It had taken a long time for him to start being vulnerable with you, and you felt privileged every time he shared something new about himself. 

“Teach me,” you requested.

With a gentle touch, Izzy guided your hand towards the vast expanse of the night sky. “Here, look,” he murmured softly, his voice filled with a quiet reverence. His finger traced a familiar pattern among the stars, forming the outline of a bear. “That is Ursa Major. The Great Bear,” he explained, his whisper tickling your ear. 

You settled your head back on Izzy’s chest once he had pointed out the constellation, gazing at the stars he had indicated, as a wave of peace rushed over you. You felt Izzy’s fingers begin to trace up and down your arms as you both continued to gaze towards the sky. After a while, his fingers wrapped around your side, and he ran his thumb up and down your ribs. You couldn’t help but let out a long sigh at his touch, eliciting a low chuckle from Izzy that reverberated through the air. You felt your eyelids begin to grow heavy as time continued to pass in Izzy’s arms. 

“The Great Bear looks like a ladle,” you mumbled before sleep began to claim you. Izzy chuckled softly before planting a warm kiss on your head. “I’m going to call it Roach’s ladle.” 

Next thing you knew, Izzy’s arms had wrapped around your legs, lifting you up to carry you. You nuzzled your head into his chest, gazing up at him, before whispering, “I want you to tell me about all of the stars, Izzy.” 

“I promise,” Izzy whispered back, a warm, gentle smile gracing his face. 

You thought the stars in the sky were beautiful, but nothing in the universe could compare to Israel Hand’s smile. You would do anything in your power to see it as often as you could.

[writing-heiress]

Chinese New Year: Year of the Dragon

Twisted From: Mulan

Event Cards - “Chinese New Year’s Attire”: SSR: Malleus, Sebek, Grim, Ortho, Nile, Zhenwei, Florence, Nyla, Morgana, Estella, Freya, Minako, Mallory | SR: Vil, Trey, Rook, Azul, Jack, Cater, Tsukii, Livia, Kaida, Darling, Ophelia, Cadel, Mia | R: Leona, Silver, Ace, Lilia, Ruggie, Kalim, Yuka, Drew, Isabelle, Isamu, Sonomi, Suzette, Shirohime

New Character Introductions: Cheng Huifen (twisted from Fa Mulan) & Hu Longmei (twisted from Mushu)

Summary: Chinese New Year has begun and this year is the Year of the Dragon, which means that every dragon has been personally and cordially invited to the Land of the Red Dragon.

Tags: @adrianasunderworld @mangacupcake @fair-night-starry-tears @lordofthewinter @abyssthing198

@ice-cweam-sod4 @queen-of-twisted @tragedytells-tales @the-trinket-witch @the-weirdos-mind

@starry-night-rose @liviavanrouge @yumeko2sevilla @yukii0nna @twsted-princess

Our story starts one crisp February day over at Sage’s Island. Classes had finally ended when every draconic fae or otherwise received a beautifully decorated red envelope, inviting them to attend the New Year’s celebration in the Land of the Red Dragon.

Malleus of course was especially delighted in receiving an invitation. His mood improved when Lilia explained that depending on zodiac year, various people relating to that zodiac are personally invited. Since this year is the Year of the Dragon, anyone with a draconic heritage is personally invited. Plus, the invite says that loved ones and close friends are invited as unofficial honored guests.

Meanwhile over at Ramshackle, there was a tad bit more chaos than normal. Because of how many of the students are draconic, there were several invinations that were sent to the diverse dorm. Luckily, Freya was able to call a dorm meeting before walls were destroyed. She had created a simple enough system: the draconic students would be choosing who they would be taking with them as their plus ones. Anyone that is caught trying to persuade their opinions gets duct taped to the ceiling for the rest of the week.

The day of the invitees and plus ones were supposed to arrived has finally arrived. Malleus, Nile, Zhenwei, and the other met up alongside their plus ones. After some explanations on who invited who and banter (mainly from Mallory and Malleus), everyone took off to the Land of the Red Dragon, where they were all personally welcome before entering.

At the entrance, NRC ran into Nyla and some of the other girls from White Ash and Charm Garden. Nyla explained that she was invited as well being part of the Drake family. Huifen and Longmei, two students from House Meihua in Charm Garden Academia. Longmei, a descendant of the legendary Red Dragon that helped save the nation, and Huifen, a direct descendant of the Warrior Maiden who helped the Red Dragon, are personally invited to the New Years Festival and were personally tasked to act as a tour guide for the honored guests and their plus ones and take them to the hotel.

But before the tour could start, everyone needed to change into traditional Land of the Dragon outfits for the festival. After getting dressed and admiring each other's outfits, they all were lead to their hotel that they all shared with enough rooms for everyone.

For a majority of the festival, everyone spent time shopping for souvenirs and snacks, learning about the country's history and culture, watching dragon and lion dances, trying the nation's food, and so much more. One tradition they all did was help sweep the Emperor's palace because they were from out of the nation. Enter Several Twistunes Here.

On the last day on the festival, Malleus and the other dragons were tasked to set off the first fireworks of the festival (Mallory got a firecracker instead because he's still a child). Enter Twistune Here. Before anyone of them left, the students were all given red envelopes that were filled with money. Huifen explained that this was a tradition that the older generation give a monetary gift for the younger generation.

[insidekatmind]

under the stars~ Pope heyward

Wearning: +18,smut, english is not my first language.

You’re standing on a lonely dock, staring at the ocean stretching out in front of you. The full moon casts silver trails across the waves, the water glistening as it laps against the shore. The quiet of the night, with only the sound of the waves and the breeze tousling your hair, creates a magical and intimate atmosphere, and for a moment, you almost forget you’re not alone. Then, you hear footsteps behind you.

“I thought I’d find you here,” Pope says, with that sweet, sincere smile only he can pull off. He joins you and sits down by your side, leaving you momentarily speechless. He’s always been your friend—the one who listens without judging—and you didn’t expect to find him here, not at a time like this.

“You really can’t stay away from this place, can you?” you say, trying to lighten the sudden tension that’s settled between you two. He glances at you quickly, as though he’s searching for something hidden in your words.

“There are a lot of places I’d rather be,” he replies, and his gaze lingers on you a little too long. That silence, the soft light playing across his face and illuminating his eyes, seems to say something neither of you has ever dared to put into words.

You blush, looking down at your hands resting on the rough wooden planks of the dock. “We’ve always been friends, you and I,” you murmur, as if trying to remind both of you of your place in this story, though you’re not sure you really believe it yourself.

“It hasn’t always been enough for me,” he says quietly, his voice so soft that you almost don’t hear him. Then he moves a little closer, and you can feel the warmth of his skin next to yours.

“What are you trying to tell me, Pope?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

He hesitates, but in his eyes, you see a new determination, something you’ve never seen there before. “I’m saying that… every time I see you, every time you talk to me, there’s only one thing I can think about. I can’t help it. I’ve tried, really, but…”

The words hang in the air, and your heart races in your chest. Part of you wants to stop him, to remind him of everything complicated that’s happened among the Pogues, between your life and his. But there’s another part of you that can’t resist wanting to know what it would feel like.

“Pope…” you whisper, as he leans in a little closer.

Then, without any more hesitation, he looks straight into your eyes, and his face moves slowly toward yours. “I can’t keep holding back how I feel,” he murmurs just before his lips brush against yours.

The kiss is gentle, almost hesitant, as if he’s afraid of breaking something fragile between you. But then you feel his hands holding your face, and you realize this is something you’ve both been waiting for far longer than either of you ever wanted to admit.

And in that moment, under the starry sky and the sound of the waves, every thought fades, leaving only the two of you and that perfect moment you’ve both kept hidden inside.

The kiss intensifies, like an explosion held too long, and the whole world around you seems to dissolve. His lips are soft and slow, but there is a growing passion, something deep that leaves you breathless. Feel his hands gliding down your back and holding you with a delicacy but with a determination you had never felt before.

Then, without warning, Pope picks you up with surprising ease. His arms are strong and secure, and you can’t help but let go. In a moment, your legs are tied around his waist, trying to get closer still, as if you were afraid that the moment might vanish.

Your hands get lost in his hair, pulling it gently, as if to hold him there with you. He lets out a slight sigh, and the sound makes you shiver. His mouth moves with a new confidence, a passion that makes you tremble. Each kiss seems deeper, as if he was trying to imprint that moment in every fiber of his being.

Your body is wrapped in its warmth, and even the cold of night seems far away, as if only he could keep you safe. You are lost in that kiss, feeling its breath mixing with yours, the beats of your hearts that accelerate in unison.

Pope pauses for a moment, leaning his forehead against yours as he breathes deeply, almost incredulous of having you there so close. In a low, broken voice she whispers to you: "I don’t know how I have been able to resist you so far."

You smile, your face still glowing, and gently caress his face. "Then stop trying," you whisper to him, not letting go of his gaze.

And so, in that silent night, under the stars and the infinite sky, he lets you go completely to that moment, holding on to him as if it was the only thing that really matters.

You were kissing with a more ardent passion while you tried to raise his shirt and he immediately pulled it out throwing it on the ground and did the same thing with yours. In a moment you undressed and the same thing did with his clothes.

He sat down and pulled you on him while both of you groaned for touching your intimacy

You wanted more and you started rubbing at him while both groan in your mouths.

"You’re so beautiful" he said as you aligned to its length.

Pope sighed as he slowly pushed it all the way in, knowing full well that his cock was too long for one shot.

Pope could only come to you as he saw you grab his dick while you clung to his back and sighed.

"More" you said as you were getting hungry for his dick, he’s satisfied.

When you took all his cock in your pussy you kept it more on his shoulders while you moaned and started to move and bounce making both moans.

"So great... so beautiful" you said whining as Pope sighed for pleasure while increasing his impulses more and more.

Pope gently stroked your side and then dropped his hand on your ass and squeezed it as he took a nipple in your mouth. You began to groan as you moved your hips more and praised his name.

"Pope more" you said moaning and he satisfied you, banging his cock more violently into your pussy making you come.

Pope pulled his mouth off your tit to give it a squeeze and then kiss you while he hammered into you at a steady pace and came inside you.

"Best night of my life" you said and he chuckled nodding and then gently kissed your forehead.

[twistedintern]

Navigating Twst JP & JP-EN Term Listing (Updated)

Dorm & Character JP Name Abbreviation and Emoji Index

Heartslabyul > 🃏 ビュル Riddle Rosehearts > 🌹 リド Ace Trappola > ❤️ エー Deuce Spade > ♠️ デュ Cater Diamond > ♦️ ケイ Trey Clover > ♣️ トレ

Savanaclaw > 🏜️ サバナ Leona Kingscholar > 🦁 レオ Jack Howl > 🐺 ジャク Ruggie Bucchi > 🐆 / 🍩 ラギ

Octavinelle > 🐚 オクタ Azul Ashengrotto > 🐙 アズ Jade Leech > 🐬 ジェイ Floyd Leech > 🦈 フロ Tweels > イド

Scarabia > 🕌 / 🧞‍♂️ スカラ Kalim Al-Asim > 🦂 / ☀️ / 🦦 カリ Jamil Viper > 🐍 ジャミ

Pomefiore > 🍏 / 👸‍ ポメ Vil Schoenheit > 👑 ヴィ(ル) Epel Felmier > 🍎 エペ Rook Hunt > 🏹 ルク

Ignihyde > ⚙️ / 🔥 イグニ Idia Shroud > 💀 イデ Ortho Shroud > 🤖 オル

Diasomnia > 🐉 ディア Malleus Draconia > 🐲 マレ Silver > ⚔️ シル Sebek Zigvolt > ⚡ セベ Lilia Vanrouge > 🦇 リリ

Ramshackle > 👻 オンボロ Prefect > 🌸 / 🦐 / 🍊 (♀️/🚺 or ♂️/🚹 will sometimes follow) 監 / ユウ Enma Yuuken > 🦞 コミ監 (currently used to refer to Yuuta) Grim > 🐱 / 🐈‍⬛ グリ

NRC Staff > 🎓 / 🐦 NRC(の)職員 Dire Crowley > 🎭 クロ Divus Crewel > ⚗️ / 🐶 クル Mozus Trein > 📚 / 📖 モゼ Ashton Vargas > 💪‍‍ バル Sam > ☠️ / 🎩 サム Lucius > 🐾 ルチウス

Others Rollo Flamme > 🔔 ロロ Fellow Honest > 🦊 フェロ Gidel > 🔨 ギデル Skully J. Graves > 🎃 / 🪦 / 🕸️ スカリー Baul Zigvolt > 🐊 バウル Che’nya > 😺 / 🍭 チェーニャ Cheka Kingscholar > 🧶 チェカ Neige LuBlanche > ❄️ ネイジュ Ambrose the 63rd > 🧙‍ ア ン Najma Viper > 💫 ナジュ(マ) Marja > マルヤ Dila Spade > ディラ / デュママ Kifaji > キファジ Maleanor Draconia > (マレ)ノア Dawn Knight > 夜明騎 Eric Venue > エリック / ヴィパパ Farena Kingscholar > ファレ Ace’s older brother > 兄ッポラ

Glossary

The following list is in no way all-inclusive. I will do my utmost to update this section as the EN server progresses in story and translations become known.

(If I’ve overlooked anything, don’t hesitate to message me about it!)

Night Raven College

Mage Training Academy - “Wizarding Boarding School” (lit., no one uses this term, though)

Headmage - Headmaster

Housewarden - Dorm Head, Dorm Leader

Vice Housewarden - Vice Dorm Head, Vice Dorm Leader

History of Magic - Magic History

Flight - Flying

Freshman/Sophomore/Junior(/Senior) - First-/Second-/Third-(/Fourth-)Year

Potionology - Potions

Flora Element - Tree Element

Cosmic Element - Null Element

Objects and Activities

Thaumarks - Madol (Magic Dollars) There is no equivalent for “Sorcents” in the original canon, as Madol more closely converts to Japanese yen, whereas Thaumarks seem to reflect United States dollar values. The “cent” of Japanese currency (sen) has been obsolete for decades.

Blastcycles - Magicwheel

Spelldrive - Magift (Magic Shift)

Locations, Countries, and Regions

Queendom of Roses - Rose Kingdom

Shaftlands - Land of Pyroxene (Pyroxene)

Harveston - Village of Harvest

Sunset Savanna - Afterglow Savannah

Island of Woe - Island of Lamentation

Briar Valley - Valley of Thorns

Fleur City - City of Flowers

Event Names

Culinary Crucible - Master Chef

Beanfest - Happy Beans Day

Joint Exams - Unified Exams

The Phantom Bride - Ghost Marriage

Wish Upon A Star - Dance and Wishes

Camp Vargas - Vargas Camp

(A Twisted Halloween) Terror is Trending - (Scary Monsters) Screaming Halloween Show

(A Twisted Halloween) Spectral Soiree - (Scary Monsters) Endless Halloween Night

A Firelit Sky Over the Sands - Scalding Sands's Al'ab Nariya

Harveston's Sledathon - Harveston's Kelkkarotu

Twisted Tsumderland - Welcome to Tsumsted Wonderland

Fairy Gala Remix - Fairy Gala If

Glorious Masquerade: Let the Bell of Solace Ring - Glorious Masquerade ~Crimson Flowers and the Bell of Salvation~

Sunset Savanna's Cloudcalling - Afterglow Savanna's Tamashina Mina

Stitch's Tropical Turbulence - Lost in the Book with Stitch ~Midsummer Ocean and the Spaceship~

Playful Land's Miraculous Marionettes - Stage in Playful Land ~Dancing Puppets and the Fantastical Theme Park~

Limited Card Names

All club outfits - Club Wear

Apprentice Chef - Chef-in-Training

Suitor Suit - Groom-for-a-Day

Starry Robes - Star-sending Robes

Halloween - Scary Dress

Silk Adorned - Jasmine (Yasmina) Silk

Applepom - Apple Boa

Tsumsitter - Tsumsted

New Year's Attire - New Year's Yukata

Masquerade - Masquerade Dress

Rabbit Costume - Rabbit Wear

Tropical Wear - Suisui Wear

Liongarb - Kingly Beasts' Garb

Playful Attire - Playful Dress

Birthday Boy - Birthday Suit-Up

Birthday Jacket - Union Birthday

Birthday Bloom - Bloom (Broom) Birthday

(Lilia only) General - General of the Right

(Rollo only) Council Robes - Council President Uniform

JP Monikers ~ Floyd

(Floyd uses specific suffixes depending on his perceived relationship with individuals–i.e., diminutive/pejorative/etc.)

MC = Shrimp (koebi) Grim = Seal (azarashi) Riddle = Goldfish (kingyo) Ace = Crab (kani) Deuce = Mackerel (saba) Cater = Sea Bass (hanadai) Trey = Sea Turtle (umigame) Leona = Sea Lion (todo) Jack = Sea Urchin (uni) Ruggie = Remora (kobanzame) [changed in EN] Kalim = Otter (rakko) Jamil = Sea Snake (umihebi) Vil = Beta Fish (beta) Epel = Guppy (guppi) Rook = Seagull (umineko) Idia = Firefly Squid (hotaruika) Ortho = Sea Angel (kurione) Malleus = Sea Slug (umiushi) Silver = Jellyfish (kurage) Sebek = Crocodile (wani)* Lilia = Flapjack Octopus (mentako) [changed in EN] Crowley = Manta Ray (manta) Crewel = Striped Beakfish (ishidai) Trein = Red Squid (akaika) Vargas = Lobster (robusutaa) Sam = Seahorse (umiuma) Fellow = Foxfish (kitsunebera) Gidel = Cat Shark (nekozame) *Leona also refers to him as a “crocodile”

JP Monikers ~ Rook

Rook uses a combination of Japanese, French, and English variously; I have attempted to render the names in the simplest manner possible. (Those with names I cannot find in-game at the time of posting are marked accordingly and will hopefully be updated in the future.)

MC = Trickster Grim = Monsieur Hirsute (Mister Shaggy) Riddle = Roi de Roses (King of Roses) Ace = Monsieur Heart (Mister Heart) Deuce = Monsieur Spade (Mister Spade) Cater = Monsieur Magicam (Mister Magicam) Trey = Chevalier de Roses (Rose Knight) Leona = Roi de Leon (King of Lions) Jack = Monsieur Tough Guy (Mister Tough Guy) Ruggie = Monsieur Tanpopo (Mister Dandelion) Azul = Roi d’Effort (King of Effort) Jade = Monsieur Mastermind^ (Mister Mastermind) Floyd = Monsieur Yukaihan (Mister Joyous Offender) Kalim = Roi d’Or (King of Gold) Jamil = Monsieur Multi (Mister Multi) Vil = Roi de Poison (King of Poison) Epel = Monsieur Himeringo (Mister Lady Apple) Idia = Roi de Ta Chambre (King of [Your] Room) Ortho = Monsieur Doll (Mister Doll), “Miracle Boy”^ Malleus = Roi de Dragon (King of Dragons) Silver = Monsieur Sleepyhead^ (Mister Sleepyhead) Sebek = Monsieur Crocodile^ (Mister Crocodile) Lilia = Monsieur Curiosity^ (Mister Curiosity) Sam = Monsieur Mysterious (Mister Mysterious) Rollo = Monsieur du Mouchoir (Mister Handkerchief)

Monikers ~ Other/General

・MC > Malleus ~ Hornton - Tsunotarou ・Malleus > Humans ~ Child of Man (hito no ko) ・Leona > Azul ~ Tako-yarou (Octopus [derogatory]) ・Leona > Malleus ~ Tokage-yarou (Lizard [derogatory]) ・Leona > Idia ~ Kaiware daikon ・Leona > Skully ~ Anaguma-yarou (Badger [derogatory]) ・Leona > Humans ~ “Herbivore” ・Vil > Sebek ~ “Cucumber” ・Vil > a great many students his junior ~ “Potato” ・Sebek > Malleus ~ Young Master (waka-sama) ・Cheka > Leona ~ Unca’ Leona - (Leona-)ojitan ・Neige > Vil ~ Vi-kun ・Crewel > Students ~ “Puppies” (koinu-domo) ・Rollo > Trein ~ “Professor Mozus” (Mozus-sensei) ・Sam > Customers/Students > Little Imp ~ lit. “Little Demon” (ko-oni) >>> Sam sometimes will add a descriptor to distinguish between “demons”–examples being Kalim’s kin no oni and Rook’s okappa oni

Unique Magic (Signature Spells)

Below is a comprehensive list of romanized furigana (that is, the intended/spoken) readings of Unique Magic names as they appear in the original Japanese version of the game.

Riddle Rosehearts - Off With Your Head Deuce Spade - Bet the Limit Cater Diamond - Split Card Trey Clover - Doodle Suit Leona Kingscholar - King’s Roar Jack Howl - Unleash the Beast Ruggie Bucchi - Laugh With Me Azul Ashengrotto - It’s A Deal Jade Leech - Shock The Heart Floyd Leech - Bind The Heart Kalim Al-Asim - Oasis Maker Jamil Viper - Snake Whisper Vil Schoenheit - Fairest One Of All Epel Felmier - Sleep Kiss Rook Hunt - I See You Idia Shroud - Gate To The Underworld Malleus Draconia - Fae of Maleficence Silver - Meet In A Dream Sebek Zigvolt - Living Bolt Lilia Vanrouge - Far Cry Cradle Rollo Flamme - Dark Fire Fellow Honest - Life is Fun Skully J. Graves - Scary Night

Other Notes

+ Che’nya’s full name is rendered differently between the EN and JP versions. + Leona's family's royal chamberlain, Kifaji, had his name changed to "Neji" in the localization. The reason for this is unclear. (Kifaji means "food" in Swahili, which makes sense if you consider Scar and Zazu's relationship.) + Fellow Honest's name was changed to "Ernesto Foulworth" in the localization to better reflect Honest John's real name. + Gidel's name was changed to "Gino".

[ssruis]

do you have any other pjsk fic recommendations!!! looking through the ao3 tags is always a bit of a minefield 😔

🙂‍↕️

Primarily wxs (self explanatory) & rks (because there is an over 6:1 ratio of rks:emnn works. Sad. We have to kill them) (and im not strong enough to haunt the gen tag)

Gen:

Funhouse Mirror - Calculatrice

Ikanaide - Gummysaur

Nostalgic - Gummysaur

Find out who you are, then do it on purpose - weepingstars

With me all along - jeiseny

Confessions of a followspot operator - hypercatt

Emunene:

Stirred Up - SleepieAsh

“Date” by Trial and Error - SleepieAsh

eternal sunshine - helloitsaiza

All I want (is you) - sorasekai

(My) happy ending - sorasekai

It’s not a crime if I don’t get caught! - Ditzyd123

Rks:

The World Offers Itself - thrillingwhiteday

Rearranged Marriage - majorinconvenience

Kiss Chasing Tragedy (in three acts) - majorinconvenience

My Regret - majorinconvenience

Apple Reincarnation - Revelry_in_Severity

Rooftop Constellation - Revelry_in_Severity

Seashell Melodies - Revelry_in_Severity

Lasting Embraces - Revelry_in_Severity

An Audience View - Revelry_in_Severity

Supporting Roles - Revelry_in_Severity

Dream Tied - Revelry_in_Severity

You and a Skull’s Flower - Revelry_in_Severity

Overwritten - Revelry_in_Severity

The Flower Masquerade - Revelry_in_Severity

Safety First - pyrotechpuffs

Paint - pyrotechpuffs

Over the Night - pyrotechpuffs

Another Side - pyrotechpuffs

Downside Up - pyrotechpuffs

Warm - pyrotechpuffs

Soul to Wreck - SleepieAsh

Starry Eyed - SleepieAsh

Shades of Self - SleepieAsh

Supercut - helloitsaiza

Confess, Confess - helloitsaiza

Non-Fiction - helloitsaiza

Silver - helloitsaiza

Roles - helloitsaiza

starving artists - helloitsaiza

Yours - helloitsaiza, Calculatrice

Tried and True - Calculatrice

Rui’s Doki-Doki Seishun School Life - Calculatrice

A Study in Performance - Calculatrice

To sear the sky - Calculatrice

Backstage after the curtain call - Calculatrice

Gold - Calculatrice

Endless - Calculatrice

A star at your fingertips - Calculatrice

Falling into place - Calculatrice, andthebelltolls

Because it’s you - sleepy_macchi

Act I of our story - Asteromeda

It’s too late to question our love, so we just won’t ask! - ruikasaers

The Show Must Go On! - literallyjustsomeguy

X Marks the Spot - Seatrix

In Which I Stepped into Your Light - Seatrix

Voted most likely to run away with you - eightyeightstars

Sharing is caring - underwaternature

Where we end is somewhere far (something hard to understand) - kuiperbelts

Between 1 and 0 - kuiperbelts

Tête-à-tête - kuiperbelts

Evening blue - kuiperbelts

Eight years, eight seconds - kuiperbelts

The study of stars - cosmiccomma

Starry sky orchestra - Gummysaur

Noblesse oblige - Gummysaur

Closeness - LyriaBlackFrost

if you’re here - utayoru

Coat-tails - utayoru

And still I will live here - utayoru

As long as that someone is you - utayoru

Yours - utayoru

Between parallel lines - utayoru

And I’ll be holding onto you - utayoru

Chic-a-cherry cola - utayoru

Together to the end - mikharlow

Slip of the tongue - mikharlow

To miss your smile - mikharlow

Caramelized - mikharlow

Sick day - mikharlow

Those precious 15 minutes - Ditzyd123

I’d settle in your arms if I could - Ditzyd123

Lily of the mad mage - 10884PEDIA

To catch a star - nocturneatmidnight

Then again - hypercatt

On hopeful romanticism - starlights_88

More than language - dalgonas

Rui’s support team, assemble! - aleshvieye

(Hopefully) yours truly - KiSA120

Step by step - Rainbow_Volcano

The Romance is underway! - Rainbow_Volcano

Carnival Shenanigans - beanstalks

Sweet discomfort - badgaymergal

[jennamoran]

On the Cultural Distinctiveness of Rocks

(original script I was reading from follows; this time, it's just a story, and not the other stuff.)

So I’m watching Deep Space Nine with my friend and I have to stop like ten seconds in to tell this story.

I don’t know if you’ve seen it. It’s pretty deep, you know, and a lot of people don’t like deep fiction. But it all starts, it all begins, in the credit sequence there, with this rock.

This rock, surrounded by a nebulous aura of importance, flying through the void.

I’m kind of assuming there’s gonna be nine of them. I don’t know for sure. Nine rocks, out there in space, and they’ve got this whole multi-season show about them. Q probably shows up at some point to make fun of rocks. The Borg attack. They add the cultural distinctiveness of the rocks onto their own. That’s why there are nine Borg, later, and how we get seven of nine of them on Voyager.

I think.

It’s still the credit sequence so I don’t know for sure.

But I wanted to tell you what I think will be the story of the rock.

I think that it’s a rock that got cursed, really early on. The youngest rock of nine rock brothers and sisters. Siblings, I guess. A lot of rocks are nonbinary even if they don’t bother putting it on their forms.

It was told, you will love fiercely, but you will ruin what you love.

It lived its life in fear of that dreadful prophecy. But as bad as it was, it still had to live.

For a rock in space, that meant ... to fly through space. To journey ever onwards through the so-called “final frontier.”

That rock flew by some planet once.

There was a prince who lived there, handsome and noble, and he saw that rock, and he fell in love. He chased that rock across the world, climbed the highest mountain in the world, to get a little closer to that rock.

And it just flew by.

It loved him too, I think. But it was afraid. It was afraid to love, when the love of that rock was dread and ruin.

The prince shouted up, after that rock:

“If you’re being compelled ...”

If you’re being compelled, he tried to say. If you leave, not by your will, but by some other’s ...

Then tell me, and I will chase you to the farthest stars.

But the rock did not reply; did not name some wizard or monster that compelled it. It whispered, perhaps, of things like gravity and momentum.

It remembered, not quite aloud, how it was its nature to whip around a star, to grow close and then grow far. To fall ever inwards towards the day, like any Icarus; to fall outwards, like the sunset, after, to the endless night.

We’re all just prisoners of gravity and momentum, in the end.

The prince in his heart he heard these words. He raged against them.

But gravity and momentum are pretty hard to kill.

He got momentum, I think. Left it bleeding on the battlefield.

Gravity was harder.

Down, down, he went, into the depths of his forsaken world; found at its molten core the citadel in which King Gravity was said to dwell; and there the gravity of his business slew him, and piled him up with the other princes, stacked like cordwood, that the divine right that lives in princes could be burned as fuel to keep the principle of gravity alive.

Physicists don’t like to talk about this. But they’ll admit it, if you know.

At least they don’t have a much better explanation of why gravity endures when it’s burning energy every moment of every day across the vastness of the stars.

And the rock flew on.

There were dolphins, I think. Space dolphins. They swam beside the rock a while, shimmering and silver in the night. They sang to it, and it echoed back their song.

It loved them, too, but it did not speak to them of love.

It shed its rocky skin, and swam beside them in a dolphin’s form, surrounded in a shimmering of starry light.

But one by one they died.

And they had children, but their children died.

And their children, and their children, on to the uttermost generations of their line.

And in the end there was just one dolphin left, that swam beside the rock. That tried to mate with the rock, but failed, on account of, it was a rock.

And then it died, and the rock flew on alone.

It curled itself around its grief. It balled up like an armadillo balls. It was a thing of grief and sorrow but even good kids when they told its story later would crack up about the armadillo balls.

Thus with every tragedy, I think, involving balls.

It curled itself up, wrapped around its endless sorrow, and the rock flew on.

One day, I think, the rock saw a distant star, and it knew, this was the one.

It saw the star and it was rapt with love, caught in the brilliance and the beauty and the gravitational well around that star. And it saw, like the jaws of a wolf that closed around it, the doom it had been given drawing near.

It would strike that star. If it was lucky, it would burn up inside it. It would die, and the star would scream in grief.

If it was not lucky, then the star would not survive, and the rock—

That had always survived; that had always been the last thing to survive, long after princes and dolphins and other things had died—

Would fly on, outwards, into space.

That’s the story of Deep Space Nine, I think.

That’s the fundamental tragedy of it, how we can’t stop that kind of thing. How rocks just sometimes fly into the stars and all things end.

This is, I think, a world driven by catastrophes. A world of death and endings. A world where the most fundamental forces are so very cruel.

In this, I think, the writers of Deep Space Nine must have agreed.

They would have wept to see the rock approach that star, knowing what was to come.

It is a dark and empty world, you see, and even the television of the ... what, 90s, was it? Had no choice but to face, to accept, that fundamental truth. There is no going forward. There is no prospect of redemption. There is no love save love that leads to ruin, and even gravity shall be our foe.

The rock flew on; drew ever closer to the star; and the people of the planets of that star were struck by fear, struck with it like pain in their abdomen, their heart, their throat, their mind. They stood in the grip of that pain, and it contorted them.

If I believed in eucatastrophe, still. If I believed in miracles, and magic, then I would say it circled round that star.

I would say that gravity, that had always been so impersonal and never kind, seized up the rock as it drew in closer. Caught it, in its hand, as the rock brushed past the star, and whirled it round, and cast it out again into the endless void. That ballistics, which has always been so cruel, was this once kind.

But we all know what really happens with rocks and stars.

We all know that falling towards a star is just an ending; that it’s laughable to imagine that King Gravity would ever throw two things apart.

Even the physicists will admit this, if you ask them. Probably. I think. I haven’t asked.

That’s the utter emptiness of space, you know. That’s the message of Deep Space Nine. The rock will strike the star, and all things end.

IMPORTANT UPDATE: I watched a little more and I was wrong.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

lady and the tramp spaghetti kiss but with deuce’s mom and lilia 🫣

I'm yoinking this idea for the unofficial blog event 🤡

(Quick clarification: Mrs. Spade being an ex-delinquent is a headcanon! I just thought it’d be an interesting concept, so I incorporated it into her character.)

Curiouser and Curiouser...

When Lilia mentions to his son that he's planning on cooking for the "lady friend" he's seeing, Silver steps in to stop his dad from poisoning the poor woman. "You should try a restaurant, get to know one another better before volunteering to share your... talent with her," Silver advises as lightly as he can. Thankfully for him (and for his dad's date), Lilia relents.

He decides to take his date to Tony's, a laid-back family friendly pizza and pasta joint in town. Lilia brings along his own candle—blessed with Malleus’s almost apocalyptic green fire (imagine that, a horned fairy godmother in pitch black robes)—to decorate their table, as well as a crystal vase with a single red rose (provided from the Heartslabyul Gardens by Cater, wanting to support his fellow Light Music Club member. “Knock’m dead with your charm, Lils!”)

Kalim had wanted to contribute something to Lilia’s date night, but unfortunately a huge parade of animals, while impressive, wouldn’t squeeze into Tony’s. Instead, Kalim went shopping with Lilia to help him get all dripped out for the occasion! “I’ll pay for whatever you want, so have at it!” (It was Jamil who had to limit Lilia’s spending and stopped him from buying medieval battle armor. “Why would you wear this to a date?! Are you trying to kill them? Just wear something practical and casual!”)

Lilia thought he’d be the first at the venue, but he's actually been beaten to the punch. She's easy to spot because of her hair--a bob, striped blonde and dark blue--and her spade earring. Lips painted, eyes done up. Her leather jacket is open to reveal a cute white rabbit logo (most likely a freebie T-shirt from work), paired with jeans (ripped at the knees) and ankle boots.

"You're early, Dylla," he remarks, slipping into the seat across from her and placing the candle and vase on the table. She smiles and says, "I'd never be late for a very important date."

Lilia asks if Dylla was waiting for long. According to her, she was at the restaurant over 15 minutes ago but "not to worry" because she was just talking to her son over the phone to pass the time. Dylla mentions that her son can be such a worrywart sometimes. "He was reminding me to stay safe and to let you know that he'll be on your ass if you make me sad," Dylla says with a laugh. "Oh my, I'd better not let your smile waver then," Lilia replies easily.

While they're looking over the menus, Lilia mentions his own "prodigious" cooking. (According to him, his son Silver just can't get enough of it!! Once, Silver took one bite and immediately passed out from how "good" it was.) "It's a required skill for single parents," Dylla agrees. "I can cook myself, but mainly simple dishes. My Deuce enjoys eggs, so I usually make things with those. It helps that they're cheap and keep for a long time too." (She says that she'd love to try his food, and in return she'll make something for him too! They make a promise to get to it someday.)

They settle on ordering the same item: Starry Night Spaghetti, a plate of spaghetti with meatballs. (There’s a story that two dogs once had the same dish under the stars, and became closer than ever as a result!) “A shame we aren’t eating outside—then we’d be bonded just like the canine couple,” Lilia says.

During the wait for their food, they exchange crazy stories about their lives. Lilia shocks Dylla with tales of his travels and of his past as a war veteran (although he's a little vague about the details), and Dylla tells him all about her days as an ex-delinquent and biker chick. "Kufufu, looks can be quite deceiving," Lilia chuckles. "No one would dare suspect such sweet-faced people like us to be so troublesome~"

Of course, they also share stories about their sons! Who can forget when Deuce used to wear all those rabbit-themed clothes as a kid? How about the time Silver fought a family of bears and came out of the battle with three new friends?

Lilia scootches his seat closer so he can show off some pictures of him and Silver on his phone! Dylla's shoulder presses against Lilia’s as she leans in to look, squishing the two into their own personal bubble, seemingly putting them in a world far away from the noisy pizzeria.

They decide to take pics together to commemorate the date! Dylla learns a lot of things from Lilia (like flipping the camera lenses to take better selfies, how to use the timing feature, and what filters do). They take a normal picture, then one with silly faces (Lilia’s suggestion) and a third with silly poses (also Lilia’s suggestion).

He busts out his bagpipes at some point to romance her with a romantic (?) serenade. Lilia does a little jig with it—something he threw together on the spot with knowledge of different styles of dancing from various cultures. The other customers mistake him for a paid performer and start clapping along and cheering—and Dylla joins in, clapping and cheering the loudest of them all.

Lilia starts to ask if they’d like an encore, if and so, which instrument? Mandolin or accordion? He can play them all! A member of the wait staff comes over to gently ask that Lilia put away his instruments, so then Lilia tries to sing without any musical accompaniment: “When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie, thaaat’s amoreeeeee 🎵”

He gets shut down a second time because, “Sir, your screeching is making the children at the next table over cry.” (Dylla gets a real kick out of Lilia’s enthusiasm though! “I can’t remember the last time a man was passionate enough to sing his heart out, consequences be damned!”)

When the food finally arrives, they realize that the chef must have made a mistake—there’s one plate of spaghetti, as though both of their orders were combined onto a single massive serving. But hey, Lilia’s willing to roll with it and just eat off the same plate. “What do you know, it’s family style!” he jokes. “In the Land of Crimson Long, it’s common for restaurants to serve food this way. You just pick out the portion you want to serve yourself.”

So that’s just what they do—stabbing their forks into the spaghetti at opposite ends and eating from that. Lilia’s appetite is healthy (he’s getting sauce on his mouth and is sucking up the noodles with such speed that a stray one slaps him in the face), but Dylla's got something on her mind.

She keeps winding her spaghetti around and around on her fork, lost in thought and doubts. Dylla wonders about a great deal of things. When is the right time to introduce this man to Deuce? How would he take it, especially when he’s gone without a father for his whole life? Was she even deserving of another husband, and someone as wonderful as Lilia?

Dylla absentmindedly brings the noodles to her mouth. There’s a slight tug at the other end (a stubborn clump, maybe?) but she pays it no mind, far too fixated on her thoughts. She doesn’t realize what’s happening until she feels something on her lips—and finds Lilia’s wide-eyed stare trained on her.

They hurriedly pull back from one another, and from the spaghetti-stained kiss. Dylla's slightly panicked and profusely apologetic, but Lilia reassures her that it’s fine, neither of them were anticipating it—and if anything, the guilt is split 50-50! “Guess we’ll both have to be sentenced for our grave crime!”

“… Oh, one moment. You have something here.” Lilia runs a thumb along the margins of Dylla's lower lip. It’s just some stray spaghetti sauce and lipstick smudges, but the gesture, however small, feels very tender and intimate, even moreso than the kiss. His hand lingers for maybe a second longer than it should have, but he, at last, retreats with a playful grin. “There you are, good as new.”

They fistfight to be the first one to the bill (their reasoning being, “it must be hard for you as a fellow single parent, let ME foot the full thing!”). Being fae, Lilia has the advantage with superior strength and speed, but Dylla gives him a good run for his money. They fight ends with Lilia headlocking his date and seizing the check in his mouth, puncturing the paper with his fangs.

Before any wallets can be opened, their (deeply exasperated) waiter asks them to “please just leave”, not even caring if they pay or not. (He doesn’t get paid enough to deal with shenanigans like this 💦)

They exit Tony’s and enter the night. There’s a full moon out to illuminate their way as they walk to Dylla's waiting magical wheel. As she produces her keys, Lilia tucks the red rose that had been with them at heir dining table behind her left ear. “May the Night guide you,” he says cryptically. Dylla isn’t sure what it means, but it makes the heat rise to her cheeks anyway. He sure knows how to sweet talk, his way into someone’s heart.

She asks Lilia where his ride is and he nonchalantly says that he “flew in”, which just leaves her slack jawed (until he cracks yet another classic Dad Joke with, “and boy, are my arms tired!”). “Well, if you’re up for it, I’d love to give you a lift home,” Dylla offers. “There’s plenty of room for another person.”

“If you could take me to Silver’s dorm, that would be great—but how scandalous! We disturb the public peace, don’t pay for our meal, then make a quick getaway on a motor vehicle?” Lilia climbs aboard, looping his arms around his date. “I think we’re shaping up to be quite the criminal couple.”

Dylla revs up her magical wheel, which lets out a monstrous groan. They peel off and merge into the road, racing the stars and sky that housed them, their peals of laughter filling the night. It was definitely one to remember.

[huramuna]

banshee's lament - meet shera stark.

Shera Stark, younger sister to Lord Cregan Stark, was born in 111 AC in Winterfell. She was considered wild as a child for the few years she resided in her ancestral home, before she was sent to King’s Landing as a ward to Queen Alicent Hightower. Her grace, on most accounts, managed to tame the beastly nature of the young girl into that of a comely, pious demeanor. Shera is said to have been good friends with Helaena Targaryen and Aemond Targaryen. It wasn’t uncommon for the girl to sing in the keep’s sept at the behest of the Queen, who cited her as having ‘a lovely singing voice, unto which we can hear the Gods’. 

Upon Prince Aemond’s miraculous claim of Vhagar at Driftmark, a fight broke out between the younger broods that were present that eve in the tunnels. It is unknown to what started the fight, as multiple sources have different stories– Aemond lashing out at his younger nephews, the dragon twins Baela and Rhaena Targaryen hurling insults, or Shera pushing Lucerys to the ground in an attempt to get past them. What is known, however, is the consequences of the fight– Prince Aemond declared that Lucerys Velaryon took his eye. Shera, too, lost sight in her eye and had her throat slashed. Her vocal cords and nerves were mangled permanently, hindering her to never be able to speak above a whisper.  Hearing word of his younger sister’s injuries and near death, Cregan Stark immediately sent for Shera’s return to Winterfell. Her state of living was tenuous for the better part of a year, and she never revealed publicly the name of whom disfigured her. Not much is known of her life in Winterfell after, as she was kept almost as a secret.  Travelers who ventured outside of Winterfell remark hearing an eerie howling at night, dubbing Shera Stark the ‘Banshee of Winterfell’. Ten years have passed since the Driftmark incident and Shera has returned to King’s Landing, the source of her ire and pain– and mayhaps fond memories.  A lone wolf can dance with dragons, as well. And mayhaps will change the promenade.

A first glance at Shera, one would notice the following: - Wears an exorbitant amount of hand jewelry, adorned with jewels. She favors opals, moonstones and pearls. She usually has a few rings on each hand, frequently twisting them. - Always ornamented with a silken, laced veil of some sort. Through it, one can see the outline of her face, but the features underneath it are blurred and hard to discern. Her veil is usually matching with her jewelry. - She prefers muted tones, grays, blacks and whites. Shera is usually dressed in a few layers and takes pride in her wardrobe, most of them being tailored by her. Most are with high collars.

Being around Shera more than a few times, more details come to light: - To match her hand jewelry, she always has on moon shaped silver earrings, which are quite large and make a soft jingle when she walks. It wouldn’t be noticeable unless one looks up close to her, as they hide under her veil.  - Fur. Shera is always adorned in fur of some sort and it is a noticeable trend in her wardrobe. She finds comfort and safety in snuggling up in a fur stole and will be seen habitually running her fingers through it, almost absentmindedly. - She always has on a black laced, embroidered choker. It is tied to the back of her neck with a simple ribbon. It looks handmade, stitched with images of flowers upon a breeze. She doesn’t wish to talk about it. If speaking above a whisper, she will stop herself with a tenuous hand to her choker, as if a reminder.

If Shera truly trusts someone, they will see the deepest parts of her: - Her blind eye and scar that tangles around and over it. It is a milky blue with no pupil. If one stared into it, it may be akin to looking into the void– or into the starry night, cosmos and faraway specks of planets. It is easy to get lost in. - A scar that runs under the length of her choker. Even after being healed for so long, it's still so prominent, etched into her skin like a brand. It falls over her injured vocal cords, frayed and damaged like old twine.  - Once her full visage is apparent, unburdened, unveiled– her skin is a milky pallor, cheeks rosined and her facial expressions unbidden, as she is usually able to hide her expressions under her veil, so without it, she is quite animated.

The most noticeable quality about Shera Stark, however, is her constant companion and shadow, Moongeist. He is a large adult direwolf who’s standing height at the shoulder lies against Shera’s hip / lower waist.  He acts as her eyes and helps her navigate, as her eye injury runs more than just sight deep. She is prone to vertigo, fainting spells and Moongeist is as much a crutch as he is a friend. If someone wished to hurt Shera, they wouldn’t get far, lest they become wolf food.

[the-fallen-stones]

I am bad at hiding. If you are my friend, you might recognize me. For that, I apologize.

You may call me anything you like. I enjoy and encourage nicknames. But if you need a name, Mica works.

If you would like me to write something for you, you can request it, and I will if I can. It may not be immediately. But I will try.

A warning, my descriptions can sometimes be graphic, or a little violent. It is usually metaphorical, though, don't worry.

I like both storm and calm. Chaos and comfort. I enjoy things that invoke thought, or creativity. I love hugs, snuggles, animals (especially dragons and cats), tea, fiction, and poetry.

Please do not bring up politics here. It's not that I don't care. But I've anguished myself enough over them and honestly, I need a break.

Never assume hostility! It was probably an accident. My tone comes across weird sometimes.

Tags:

#storm's eye - things that strike me, and I'd like to come back to.

#mica speaks - anything original, by me.

#mica reblogs - empty reblogs.

#mica elaborates - reblogs that are not empty.

#mica rambles - I have rambled.

#mica rhymes - my poetry.

#mika doodles - my art.

#mika's music - my favorite songs.

#mica recites - my favorite poems or stories.

#mika inquires - I ask questions.

#mika responds - I answer questions.

Credit for the image goes to @poetryforall.

My wonderful mutuals:

@kimu-dem - Keeper of comfort.

@thatrando13 - The wanderer.

@carrotsinnovember - A gentle friend.

@hersurvival - Blanket fort against thunder and snowstorms.

@caustic-splines - Writer of old love letters.

@abiethewizardduck

@randomshowerpoems - The wise wordsmith.

@poemsofanentomologist

@galaxys-universe

@literaryvein - The bright storm outside.

@same-skies

These titles can always change, as I know you better. If you'd like me to use a different one I certainly can.

Some of my favorite songs are;

One Day You Will Fly Too, by Aimee Carty,

Come Along, Does the Swallow Dream of Flying?, Egg and Soldiers, Pelicans We, Half Past Three, Run, and Linger Longer, by Cosmo Sheldrake,

Glow in the Dark by Vian Izak,

Rush of Life, My Neighbor's Car Alarm, Desire, and Rain, by Tony Ann. (Classical.)

Experience, Fly, and Eros, by Ludovico Einaudi. (Classical.)

Ilomilo by Billie Eilish,

Two, Sun, Eight, and Light by Sleeping at Last,

Big Black Car and San Luis by Gregory Alan Isakov,

Passing Through by Kaden MacKay,

The Mountain Song, Be Nobody, and Better is the End, by TopHouse,

Changing Days, Irish Eyes, I Can Never Give my Heart, and Rocket, by Rose Betts,

The Sound of Silence, by Simon and Garfunkel,

Walking in the Air, Time, Orinoco Flow, and Carol of the Bells, by Libera,

And many more.

Some of my favorite poems are;

Tug'o'War of Heartstrings, The Night Sky, Together, With a Window Between, A Heavy Wait/Weight, A Veil Not Yet There, Sharks in a Zoo, A Faustian Deal, Denial, The Voice of a Loved One, Explosions, Tribute to the Ocean, The Vast Expanse of the Ocean, Nurturing, Stalagmites in my Brain, and How Can I Put Those Boxes Away? by The Shower Poet,

Fire and Ice, and Walking by Woods on a Snowy Evening, by Robert Frost,

The Sunshine Kid, Paper People, and 59, by Harry Baker,

The Spider, by Robert P. Tristam Coffin,

Run With You, by Atlas,

A Litany, by Gregory Orr,

Landscape with a Blur of Conquerors, and Details of the Woods, by Richard Silken.

And many more.

Some of my favorite books are;

The Chronicles of Narnia, by C. S. Lewis,

Breadcrumbs, by Anne Ursu,

Ella Minnow Pea, by Mark Dunn,

Holes, Wayside School, Small Steps, and There's a Boy in the Girl's Bathroom, by Lois Sachar.

Hoot, Scat, Flush, and Chomp, by Carl Hiaasen.

Where the Mountain Meets the Moon, Starry River of the Sky, and When the Sea Turned to Silver, by Grace Lin.

And oh, so very many more.

Poems I have written;

Teach Me, Silent Serenade, Space Can Die, Weak Resolve, Boundaries Drawn, The Candle, Vacuum, One Pace, Adventure With Me, Stagnant, Workaholic, Sirens Can Cry, Dreamt of Loss, The Chalkboard, Shush, and many more to come.

Once was a girl, who would talk to herself. Stories, tales, thoughts in passing, of the past, future, of the sky and leaves, wind and breeze, of storm and calm. She longed to speak in a cadence. One to soothe. To heal. Doesn't everyone want that, to heal? To be somebody to someone, to have a voice like an anchor, eyes like a vice, that soften, that go warm like a bird's shelter?

Storm seeks calm. Calm seeks storm. They find a balance. But never, never do they stay still. She couldn't stay still. Her mind was a hurricane. And sometimes a breeze, sometimes a song to put you at ease, and sometimes, tight, coiled like a spring.

The calm wasn't who she was. Nor was she as much of the storm as she thought she was. Dear, she was a fire. She'd dim, and grow brighter. Her voice would get high when excited, she'd smile. Her embers couldn't rest. She'd smoulder. Then big stewing pots would bubble over. She'd speak in paragraphs, eyes like beacons, stumbling over words and not always making sense...

But it was beautiful. She loved, she loved deeply. She wanted to be loved, too. And she was. But when the smoke gets high, water and frost meeting that bright smile all too many times, it blurs out the hands, hearts, the words reaching, seeking...

She was silenced. Of course, the embers still burned. But the very things she stifled were the things she was beloved for. And she couldn't hear them.

But slowly, wet wood dries, my dear. You can't always cry. Time passes by. Wounds heal, scars fade, even when clouds pass over the stars. She was stronger than that.

She learned again to love. And though she had times she couldn't muster the songs, the words, the strength to hold on so tight, she began to heal.

Please, my dear, have patience. She is still healing.

Burnout is a dangerous thing. If you are stuck it never eases, never ceases. And things that brought you peace are no less, then, but grievous. It feels like Sisyphus himself is in charge of pulling you out of that rut. My dear, he can't.

The world moves so fast... I can't help but be dizzy. The facts and the future, like stones, whizzing, past my head, I bustle, I catch them, I'm busy...

The earth turns fast but not as fast as my head. Live, die. Fireflies. On my deathbed. I crave a rest, but I get anger instead. For injustice, for fury, the memories I shed...

Give my hands to the stars, fire for every digit. They fall from the sky when in darkness I fidget. Tear through the clouds, but then cry when I can't fix it. My brain is a void and...

I just.

Can't.

Bridge it.

[writing-on-the-wahl]

Partner in Crime

For @thepenultimateword's Song-Story Writing Challenge Extravaganza

Song prompt submitted by @starry-night-author - I hope this does what you'd imagined justice!

(song info at the end, read the snippet first :)

Empty shadows and dim streetlights. 

A locked door and a pair of headlights. 

Henchman slid down further in the passenger seat of the dark sedan parked strategically across the street from her quarry as the pale lights pulled around the corner and the silence of the empty street was shattered. 

--already late, got to hurry. He might have already left and if I blow this job--

Crooked tires and a slamming door. 

--do I have all the supplies? Yes, you checked twice you numskull, the code, the code, don’t drop anything--

The figure fumbled over their bags until a single finger snaked out towards the shining metal buttons that stood out against the weathered side of the of the old brick mansion that took up half the block. 

--there we go, 64729, yes now the handle, no!--

A thick folder smacked against the ground, and the  crouched awkwardly with their laden arms to reclaim it, turning enough that the streetlight gleamed off the smooth cheeks of the fresh-faced hero. 

When the door finally slammed shut behind them, Henchman dropped her focus, and the chaotic thoughts faded into the quiet buzzing of a trapped fly. 

Four weeks of nightly surveillance, and she finally had the last code they needed. 

Her pen scratched across the inside of her wrist. 64729. 

As the minutes turned to hours, she let her eyes close and her mind wander. He wouldn’t want to wait, not with the XX approaching, Everything else was already in place. Tomorrow, the wait would be over. 

The sky was two shades lighter when the door finally opened again. 

The figure reimerged, hands empty, and darted to their car, head ducked and eyes scanning the shadows. 

The red tail lights were still visible when Henchman blinked, and he was beside her, the driver's door already clicking shut. 

His thoughts hummed, flying by like a bullet train, smooth and blurred like they always were. “You got it?” It was more a statement than a question, and Henchman pressed her lips together to keep from beaming at the unspoken praise. 

“I got it,” she confirmed, twisting her arm to show him the numbers on her wrist. 

This thoughts zoomed, as fast as he was, until the train slowed into a single track of a toy train running circles under a tree as he caught her hand and slowly kissed the inside of her wrist. 

Genius, brilliant talent, indispensable. 

Henchman was glad for the shadows that kept the heat in her cheeks hidden. 

When his mind raced, it was like a override channel, white noise she could focus on to tune out the chaos of the crowds around her. 

But she loved even more the rich texture of his mind when he slowed down and his thoughts turned to appreciation. His praises never failed to make her melt. 

“You’re incredible, H.” 

She barely stopped herself from responding with “No you are.” It would have been too corny, and unnecessary. Villain was a genius, and he knew it. 

His thoughts picked up again, flying by but at a pace she could follow. A silver keypad, a brick hallway, a gleaming brass safe. His forehead brushed her as his thoughts slowed to a stop as the safe swung open and revealed their treasure. 

She looked into his dark scheming eyes, so close to hers. 

“Tomorrow?” 

Villain smiled the wicked smile she loved so much, and, in her mind, he leaned forward an inch until their lips finally met. 

He sat back into his seat, already running through the plan again. 

“Tomorrow.” 

-------

Hurry, hurry we’re going to be late!

Two cappuccinos, one americano, one diet americano, three blacks, two chai-- no three? Was it two? Mia, Thomas, Mindy? Did she have one?? Who am I missing-- 

Four blocks down and take a left--

I should have picked the black shoes, I can already feel the blisters forming. 

Can I just quit and sell books online? I don’t want to people today… 

Get out of the way you moron it looks like rain twelve dozen is not enough cute dog there she is I want oh sorry they’re calling again now please sweaters work open mine stopmyturnclosebootslatepeopleparkwalkinggo--

“Henchman.”

Large hands dropped on her shoulders, and the flood of voices disappeared as the purring hum of thoughts wrapped around her. 

Villain slid one hand down her shaking arms to grasp her hand. 

“Henchman.” 

At the second time, she looked up at him. 

“You can do this. Twenty minutes and we will be back at base.” 

Base. Headquarters. Safety. Home. 

The sanctuary Villain had made for her where no other minds could drown out her own. 

Henchman turned back to the street crowded with light and people. So different from its quiet shadows of the night. 

“Henchman.” 

She pulled her eyes back to Villain. “Six minutes of focus, and then it will be over.” His hand on her shoulder tightened. “Six minutes, just like we practiced.” 

She forced a swallow and a nod. 

His mind ran through the plan once more, and she did her best to follow as the voices pressed against her. 

When Villain was satisfied she wasn’t going to fall apart, he released her and stepped back. 

“We’ll just walk down the street like a happy couple and slip inside.” 

The nod came easier this time. It was an image she often pictured. 

The hand that was still wrapped around hers shifted until their fingers were intertwined, and her heart stuttered as he pulled her out of the alley and into the stream of pedestrians. 

The warmth of it occupied her mind until Villain pulled her to an abrupt halt and before she’d registered they’d stopped, the door was open and they were slipping into the narrow brick hallway. 

Henchman lost track of the turns as Villain pulled her through the labyrinth of hallways. 

Using the humming of his thoughts as a buffer as she used her powers to avoid guards and patrons as he dragged her through the repurposed mansion. 

Three minutes and fourth two seconds since they left the safety of the alley, they came to a stop in front of a wide mahogany door. 

Villain picked the lock in the blink of an eye. His hand on the handle, he turned back to her. 

Henchman shook her head. 

No minds were present behind that door. 

The safe was covered by the painting behind the desk. A cheap imitation of a Monet that was worth less than the gaudy frame that held it. 

Henchman dropped into the leather desk chair with a sigh of relief as Villain went to work at the safe.

The whirring of the safe handle was the only sound as Henchman shuffled through the desk drawers, pocketing a golden hilted letter opener and a ruby crusted pennant ring. 

Leaning back in the chair, she enjoyed the pillowing cushion of silence that eased the pounding headache that was building behind her eyes. 

Through the window she heard a dog barking and the distant echo of a siren. 

Henchman sat up with a jolt as the final tumbler dropped into place and the door to the safe creaked open. 

“Wait!” 

A cloud of mist exploded from the safe; her warning too little, too late. 

Henchman doubled over as the tear gas burned her eyes. The door they’d closed behind them slammed open, and the flood of mind-voices returned like a tidal wave. 

A room that blocked out the thoughts of others. Oh how foolish she’d been. Villain had created for her just such a space. 

The voices crested with the throbbing in her head that had returned tenfold.  

The loudest of the voices was filled with derision. 

“Did you really think we were such fools?” 

A hand on her shoulder. 

She ignored the judgment in the hero’s question and looked up at her partner in crime. His eyes were creased with regret. 

Villain. 

It was as if he was the one reading her mind this time. 

His thoughts were a jumbled mess. A ten lane freeway rather than a bullet train. 

Analyzing all the possibilities. 

But Henchman already knew the answer. 

He’d come back for her. 

She lifted her hand to his on her shoulder. 

“Run.”

The song for this prompt was Partner in Crime by Madilyn Mai

Taglist:

@im-a-wonderling @shieldmaiden-of-gondor @watercolorfreckles @distance-does-not-matter @onestopheroxvillain @lolafaiy @chaoticgoodandi @1becky1 @tobeornottobeateacher @himynameisorla @superherosweet @brekker-by-brekkerr @crazytwentythrees @great-day-today @sunflower1000@selectivegeekwithstandards @chibicelloking @trantolette @sapphiques @jinpanman @genesissane @wish1bone1 @amongtheonedaisy @distractedlydistracted @kitsunesakii @glitterythief @jinx1365 @cherrychewingbrat @in-patient-princess @thepenultimateword @sorrow-and-bliss @technikerin23 @deflated-bouncingball @talesofurbania1 @rivalriotrenegade @valiantlytransparentwhispers