#Warning - No happy ending

[ivyyisbored22]

𝐒𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲—𝘉𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘹 (𝘧𝘦𝘮) 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

A Stray Kids one shot

Synopsis: You tend to remember the smallest things and dates which are of you and Chan, so you decided to surprise him with a homemade dinner on the date of when you both met for the first time. Except for, you didn't expect Chan to forget it, let alone react the way he did.

Warnings: Couple arguments. Use of strong language, a bit of angst & tears, Smut🔞, unprotected (make-up) sex, intimate, oral (f.receiving), pet names, brief mention of a tummy bulge (so size kink if you squint I guess?). Use of Y/N (but only twice).

Minors do not interact!!!

Note: I think I'm going through a phase rn, somehow I am ADDICTED to writing angst and tears— LMFAOOO @mrs-hwangh what have you done to me???

If this isn't your thing, you're more than welcome to skip it. Reblogs, likes, comments and feedbacks are always appreciated.

ɪ'ᴠᴇ ᴘʀᴏᴏꜰ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ɪᴛ ᴀ ᴍɪʟʟɪᴏɴ ᴛɪᴍᴇꜱ ʙᴜᴛ ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴘᴏᴛ ᴀ ᴍɪꜱᴛᴀᴋᴇ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴡʜᴇʀᴇ, ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ʟᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡ.

Word count: 5.6k

𝑬𝑵𝑱𝑶𝒀!

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Your soft hums of your favourite song echoed quietly in the living room, smiling to yourself as you fiddled with a silver bow, wrapping a small box that contained a gift you bought for your boyfriend a few days ago.

Today was the day when you both met for the first time four years ago, in the same college, at the same coffee shop where he accidentally bumped into you and spilled his drink all over your notes and you never would have imagined that moment would lead to this.

To love. To Chan.

Your heart swelled at the memory, a fond chuckle escaping your lips. You had planned a simple evening, nothing too extravagant, just the two of you, sharing memories over a homemade dinner and the gift you picked out so lovingly. You knew how busy he was, but today mattered to you. It was the day everything began.

Once you had everything set, you waited for Chan to return home from work, your leg tapping on the floor and fingers playing with the hem of your dress.

Minutes passed to hours and you hadn't received any calls or texts from him, but you waited patiently. Maybe he was caught up at work. Maybe he forgot to check his phone. Still, you gave him the benefit of the doubt.

The sound of the door unlocking cut through your thoughts, and you quickly stood up, smoothing down your dress. Relief and excitement flickered in your chest as Chan walked in, rubbing the back of his neck, looking utterly exhausted.

His bag slumped onto the floor as he kicked off his shoes, barely glancing up at you. Your heart sank ever so slightly but you tried not to let that disappointment settle in.

“Hey,” you greeted softly, stepping forward. “Long day?”

He nodded, letting out a tired sigh. “Yeah. I’m drained.”

You swallowed, suddenly nervous. “I… I made dinner. And I got you something,” you said, gesturing to the neatly wrapped gift on the coffee table.

Chan barely spared it a glance, his brows furrowing slightly. “What’s the occasion?”

Your heart dropped, but you put on a soft smile. You couldn't get mad at him if he forgot it, even though you wished he didn't. That he didn't forget the date or not acknowledge the effort, the way you had been looking forward to this all day.

"You don’t remember?” Your voice came out quieter, trying to mask in a playful tone.

He sighed again, rubbing his forehead, looking as if he'd been asked questions in an interview. "Um no, why don't you tell me?"

The way his voice sounded made you feel like you got slashed with a blade, but you shoved that dramatic thought aside and walked closer to him, biting your lower lip in order to swallow the hard lump that had formed in your throat.

“It’s the day we met.” Your voice wavered slightly, the weight of unspoken emotions pressing down on you but you continued smiling softly. “Four years ago today.”

Chan exhaled, running a hand through his hair, frustration creeping into his features. “Babe, I’ve been swamped with work. I barely know what time it is.”

You blinked, his words stinging more than you expected. “I get that you’re busy, Chan. I really do. But this was important to me.”

He groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Come on, don’t do this. It’s just a date. It’s not like an anniversary or anything.”

You took a small step back as if he had physically pushed you. You blinked up at him, trying not to let his words form the tears to gush up your eyes.

Your arms wrapped around yourself, hoping that would keep you steady. "I just thought this would mean something to you too."

His brows furrowed deeper, irritation creeping into his voice. "Of course it means something to me. But I don’t have the luxury of remembering every single date when I’m drowning in deadlines."

Your heart clenched, his words cutting deeper than you expected. "So, what, I'm just supposed to understand that I come second to everything else in your life? That it’s okay for you to forget something that mattered so much to me?"

Chan scoffed, shaking his head. "That’s not what I’m saying, and you know it. You’re making a big deal out of nothing. It’s just a date."

"Just a date?" Your voice cracked, a slight tone of anger and heartbreak mixing in your chest. "It’s the day we met, Chan. The day everything started. I planned this for us. I waited for you, and you didn’t even think to text me back? Or check your phone?"

"I was working! I don’t have time to be glued to my phone every second!" His voice was sharper now, making you flinch hard, his frustration spilling over. "I come home exhausted, hoping to relax, and now I have to deal with this?!"

The venom in his voice made you shiver and you hugged yourself tighter. "Chan, please don't shout..."

"No, I mean you always do this. I get it, that you remember small things, but I just want an evening of peace after a long day at work."

Chan had rarely raised his voice, your throat tightened at his words, a dull ache forming in your chest. You took a shaky breath, forcing yourself to stay calm even though his tone made you feel like you were drowning.

“I’m not asking you to drop everything for me, Chan,” you said softly, voice trembling. “I just thought—” You swallowed hard, fingers gripping the fabric of your dress. “I thought maybe today would matter to you too.”

His jaw clenched, and he ran a frustrated hand through his curls, exhaling sharply. “Sure you did,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. “You always do this, Y/N. You put so much weight on things that I—”

He stopped himself, hesitating, but you already knew where he was going with this.

“That you what?” You challenged, your voice barely above a whisper. “That you don’t care?”

Chan looked at you then, eyes dark with exhaustion and irritation. “That I don’t have the mental space to deal with every single date, every little detail, every expectation you set for me without telling me.”

His words cut deeper and deeper, the sting of them making your eyes well up. You blinked rapidly, refusing to let the tears fall.

“I never asked you to be perfect, Chan,” you whispered, voice thick with emotion. “I never expected you to remember every little thing. But this?” 

You gestured weakly toward the dinner table, the untouched meal, the small, neatly wrapped gift that now felt like a stupid afterthought.

“It's the day we met for the first time, so it just meant as much to me as our anniversary.”

Chan’s lips parted slightly, his brows furrowing, but he said nothing. That silence, that hesitation, hurt more than his words.

Your fingers wrinkled your dress, feeling a chill despite the warmth of the apartment. “You know, I wasn’t even mad that you forgot. I just wanted to spend time with you.”

Chan let out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “You think that I don’t want to spend time with you? Do you know how exhausting it is to juggle everything, to be everywhere at once? And now, I come home and instead of just relaxing with you, I’m being guilt-tripped over a date I forgot?”

The sharp sting of his words left you breathless.

Guilt-tripping? That was what he thought this was? Your efforts, your love, your excitement, had all of it been reduced to you being an inconvenience to him?

Your lips parted, your throat constricting as a wave of emotions surged through you. “I’m not trying to make you feel bad, Chan,” you said, your voice wavering. “I just wanted you to remember. I wanted you to want this too.”

His expression flickered, something unreadable flashing across his face, but it was gone in an instant, replaced by a heavy sigh. “I’m tired, okay? I’m so damn tired. I don’t have time to remember every little thing—”

“Every little thing?” you cut him off, your voice suddenly louder, cracking under the weight of your emotions.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling sharply. “I didn’t say it wasn’t important, I just—damn it, I forgot, okay? I’m human! I make mistakes!”

Your chest heaved as you stared at him, eyes stinging, heart breaking. “Forgetting is one thing,” you said, voice thick with unshed tears. “But the way you’re acting right now? Like I’m just another problem you have to deal with?”

You let out a shaky breath, your hands clenched at your sides. “That hurts more than you forgetting.”

Chan’s eyes widened slightly, the anger in his expression flickering for a brief moment. But the damage was done. The silence between you was heavy, suffocating, the walls closing in around you.

You shook your head, backing away from him. “I don’t want to do this right now.”

“Y/N…” he started, but you turned away from him.

“No. I get it. You’re tired. You need space. And I’m obviously asking for too much,” you said, your voice hollow. “So I’ll make it easy for you.”

With that, you turned on your heel, took your keys that were sitting on the coffee table and walked toward the door, grabbing your coat. Chan’s eyes darkened, his hand wrapped around your wrist. “Where are you going?”

You untangled yourself off his grip and slipped in your coat, brushing away the tear that slipped down your cheek with the back of your hand.

“Somewhere that doesn’t make me feel like I’m begging for your attention.”

His face fell, and for the first time that evening, you saw a flicker of realization in his eyes—as if he finally understood just how much he had hurt you.

“No, wait, please,” he said, reaching for you, but you pulled away before he could touch you.

You turned away and closed the door behind you, walking away as fast as you could to your car, driving back to your apartment.

Behind the door Chan grabbed fistfuls of his hair, grunting and growling under his breath as he fell on the plush couch.

His eyes caught the small, neatly wrapped gift that was sitting on the coffee table, he hesitated for a second but then opened it, his heart sank like a stone thrown in the ocean when he saw what was nestling inside.

His favourite bracelet he lost when we went on a business trip a few months ago. It was the exact same design and brand.

His fingers trembled as he picked up the bracelet, the silver catching the dim glow of the living room light. His throat tightened painfully as he turned it over in his hands, his vision blurring slightly.

And you… you had remembered. You had gone out of your way to find it, to replace something that meant so much to him, because that’s just the kind of person you were.

Chan exhaled sharply, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes.

“Fuck,” he whispered, the weight of his words from earlier slamming into him like a truck.

What had he done?

***

The next morning you woke up, exhausted, your vision blurry, nose stuffed and what felt like a dull headache creeping up your forehead. You groaned softly and walked into the bathroom, to find your state in a mess.

Disheveled hair, puffy cheeks with stained mascara, swollen eyes and lips. You had barely stepped inside your apartment before the dam broke, tears spilling freely as you sunk in your bed.

You didn't know at what time you reached home or when you had fallen asleep.

You hated arguing with Chan. 

Sure you had a few disagreements once in a while but they were different. But this kind of argument; where it wasn’t just a misunderstanding, but something way deeper, made you question if you were the only one holding onto the pieces of your relationship while he let them slip through his fingers so easily.

You fixed yourself into the shower, letting the water wash away the fresh set of tears that began to run down your face. After a while you stepped out and changed into a comfortable pair of sweats and grabbed your phone, only to see a dozen calls and texts from Chan.

Your thumb hovered over the screen, heart pounding as you scrolled through the missed calls. Channie <3 (12).

The unread messages blurred together, but you caught glimpses of them as your breath hitched.

Channie <3 [1:12 AM]: Please, baby, pick up. Channie <3 [1:13 AM]: I know you’re mad. I know I fucked up. But please, don’t shut me out. Channie <3 [2:03 AM]: Are you home? Are you safe? Just… let me know you’re okay. That’s all I need right now.

Your fingers trembled as you scrolled further, his messages growing more frantic, more desperate.

Channie <3 [2:45 AM]: I can’t sleep knowing I hurt you like this.

Channie <3 [3:20 AM]: I love you. I love you so much. I don’t deserve you, but please tell me you’re okay.

Your chin wobbled as you closed your eyes and kept your phone face down on the nightstand, not knowing what to respond to him. You weren’t sure if you were ready to face him yet, if you could talk to him and not break all over again.

You walked out of your bedroom, to the kitchen to make yourself some coffee when the front door bell rang. You glanced at the clock hanging on your wall, wondering if you were expecting anyone in the morning, you sighed heavily and walked to the door, only to be greeted by someone that made you feel like you got pulled into the floor.

Outside stood Chan, his face masked with exhaustion and faint hints of dark circles under his eyes and messy hair as if he had been running his hand through it the entire night. He was holding a bag, what looked like it was from your favourite bakery and bouquet of flowers, his gaze locking in with yours, pleading you for a chance and forgiveness.

You attempted to close the door but Chan held it, interrupting you from shutting him out. “Sweetheart…” He started but before he could say anything, you left the door hanging and walked into the living room.

Chan hesitated at the doorway, gripping the bag and flowers tightly as he watched you walk away. He took a shaky breath and stepped inside, closing the door softly behind him.

The quiet of your apartment felt heavier than usual, like an invisible barrier had formed between the two of you. He placed the bag on the kitchen counter, setting the flowers beside it, before slowly following your retreating figure.

You kept your back to him, your arms crossed over your chest as you stood near the window, staring outside as if willing yourself to be anywhere but here.

“Baby…” Chan tried again, his voice softer this time. Apologetic.

You tensed but didn’t turn around.

He took a careful step forward. “Please, just—”

“Don’t,” you said, your voice a whisper, but it carried enough weight to stop him in his tracks.

Chan swallowed hard. He wanted to reach for you, to hold you, to tell you he was sorry in a way that would make up for last night. But the weight of the argument hung so heavily between you both, without sparing a glance at him, you went inside your bedroom.

The soft click of the door shutting behind you echoed louder than it should have, and Chan exhaled shakily, running a hand through his already disheveled hair.

He had messed up. Badly.

His gaze flickered to the neatly wrapped pastries and the bouquet he had brought. He had stopped by your favorite bakery the moment they opened, hoping—praying—that it would mean something, that it would show you he was trying to make up for the way he reacted.

But he knew better. A box of pastries and a bouquet of flowers couldn’t, wouldn't erase the way he had hurt you.

With a tired sigh, he sank onto the couch, resting his elbows on his knees as he stared at the floor. He didn’t know how much time had passed, only that the silence in the apartment was suffocating.

He glanced toward your closed bedroom door, debating if he should give you more time or if he should go to you now.

But his heart won over his hesitation.

Slowly, he pushed himself up and walked toward your door, his footsteps hesitant but determined. He paused just outside, lifting a hand to knock, but stopped himself at the last second.

Instead, he carefully turned the doorknob and stepped inside.

You were sitting on the bed, your back facing him, silent sobs filling the room. As much as you wanted to hate him for the way he behaved, you simply couldn’t. His presence alone was enough to pull you over, but the heaviness of your emotions made it hard to think. 

Chan’s heart ached at the sight and the sound of your sobs. You heard his footsteps, with a choked voice you said, “Chan, go away.”

He couldn’t go away like that. Not until he tells you how sorry he is and how much he regrets last night. 

“Honey…”

Your shoulders shook harder with each breath, Chan made his way towards you and sat next to you, hesitating for a fraction of a second before his arms wrapped around you and pulled you flush to his chest. You couldn’t react, just stayed frozen in his embrace.

“Baby, my love, I’m so sorry…” He exhaled deeply. “I hate myself for the way I was last night. I hate that I made you feel like you weren’t important to me because, God, baby, you are everything to me.”

“I messed up,” he admitted, his voice thick with regret. “I was stressed, and I let it make me forget what really matters. I forgot us. And that’s not okay.”

You swallowed thickly, your body still stiff in his hold, unsure if you should let yourself sink into his warmth or resist the comfort you so desperately craved. His arms tightened around you, his heartbeat pounding in a frantic rhythm under your ear.

“I should have come home and held you,” Chan murmured, his breath warm against your temple. “I should have kissed you and told you how much I love you instead of making you feel like you were asking for too much.”

Your lips parted in a shaky exhale, the weight of his words pressing against your fragile heart.

“You never ask for too much,” he whispered, his voice raw, filled with self-reproach. “You only ever ask for me,” his throat flexed, “and I failed you.”

A fresh wave of tears spilled from your eyes, but this time, you weren’t alone in your grief. Chan pressed a lingering kiss to your temple, as if he was trying to kiss away the pain he had caused.

He gently turned you in his embrace, urging you to face him, his hands cupping your cheeks as he tilted your face up to his. Your vision was blurry, so you closed your eyes, unsure if you could look at him.

His thumbs brushed away the tears clinging to your skin, his touch featherlight, reverent. “Please look at me, sweetheart.”

And then you did. And what you saw made your breath hitch.

Pure, unfiltered love—wrapped in sorrow, wrapped in desperation. His dark eyes were puffy from lack of sleep, rimmed with exhaustion and regret. His lips were slightly chapped, parted as if he had a thousand apologies to spill but didn’t know where to start. He looked just as broken as you felt.

His mouth brushed on your forehead, lips trembling as he whispered, “There is nothing in this world that matters more to me than you, baby.”

Your chin trembled. “Then why did I feel like I was alone in this?”

Chan inhaled sharply, his expression crumbling. “You’re not,” he said instantly, his voice urgent. “I swear, you’re not. I just—” He exhaled heavily, his fingers trembling as they traced over the curve of your jaw. 

“I shouldn’t have taken out my stress from work on you, when you only wanted to spend time with me on a day that I should have remembered too. I’m really sorry baby. I can’t lose you over this.”

Your gaze dropped to his lips, then back to his eyes, searching, wavering. His words poured out so thick with emotion, unfiltered and raw, it made your chest tighten so hard, it hurt.

“Tell me now,” his fingers brushed away the faint tear stains from your face, “Do you want me to go?”

Your breath and words were stuck in your throat. Part of you wanted to let your pain fester a little longer so he could understand just how much last night had hurt. But the way he was looking at you, so full of remorse, it broke through the wall you had tried to keep up.

Chan was here. And he was trying.

The sincerity of his voice and his presence thawed the ice that built around your heart overnight, you couldn't stay angry at him for another moment longer. Because you knew the love you had for him could overshadow any kind of pain.

Your fingers reached up, hesitant, before threading through his soft curls. He sucked in a breath at the touch, his eyes fluttering shut, his grip on you tightening.

Time was frozen, breaths were stolen and before you could stop yourself, your arms wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him flush against you. “Don't hurt me again…” You chokingly whispered.

“Never sweetheart. I won't ever do that again.” He let out a shaky breath against your neck, his hands running up your back, molding your body to his like he was terrified you’d disappear if he let go.

“Let me make it up to you,” he whispered, his voice so low and vulnerable that it sent a shiver down your spine.

His lips brushed over your cheek first, barely there, as if he was asking for permission. Then he kissed the corner of your mouth, lingering and waiting. “Please.”

And when you didn’t pull away, he finally pressed his lips to yours.

Soft and hesitant.

Not demanding, not rushed, just a quiet plea wrapped in tenderness.

His lips molded against yours like a silent confession, staying there as if he wanted to memorize the way you felt against him.

His hands moved up your sides, thumbs tracing absent patterns over your skin. He wasn’t taking, he was giving, pouring all of his love into every press of his himself, every stroke of his fingertips.

Your body melted into his instinctively, your hands tightening in his hair as you deepened the kiss, letting yourself drown in the warmth of him. 

He made a quiet sound against you, almost like a sigh of relief, as if he had been waiting for this, for you to accept him, to let him back in as he laid you on your back and toyed with the waistband of your pants.

He had barely touched you and you were already on liquid fire. Blood coursed through your veins when he pulled them down, the chilly air making you shiver at the contact of your heated skin. 

“Chan…”  Your voice came out in a breathy whisper, half moan and half command, when his lips danced over the soft skin of your thighs. 

“Hmm?” when he pressed there, you couldn't help but sigh completely. “What is it honey?” He coaxed, the huskiness of his voice that made it hard to think. Did you want him to stop? Or did you want him to go on?

“I…,” He smirked against you as he made his way up, a path that he knew like the back of his hand. He spread your legs apart, the glistening sight before him reawoke a rush of possessiveness in him. 

“I hate fighting with you.” Chan whispered against your flesh, voice raw and aching. 

Your fingers found his hair, tugging him closer as if that alone could answer him. His breath fanned over your core, and his thumbs rubbed soothing circles into your thighs.

“You’re my world,” he admitted, looking up at you, eyes dark but filled with something deeper than lust. “And I want to give you everything. I'm sorry for ruining last night baby.”

The words sent a warmth spiraling through you, melting away the remnants of your argument.

He brushed a kitten kiss right on your swollen clit, and your body responded instantly, arching toward his touch. He took his time, tracing delicate patterns with his tongue, exploring you with a reverence that left you breathless. 

His hands kept you steady, but the way he worshipped you made you feel as if you were floating. You couldn't help but squirm, soft moans spilled from your lips, and when you murmured his name.

This wasn’t about just sex. It was about him making up for every harsh word he said, erasing any distance that had carved its way between you both over the past 12 hours.

His mouth moved over you like he had all the time in the world, savoring every reaction, every soft gasp that spilled from your throat. His hands, rough and calloused, held you with the gentleness of a man afraid to break something precious.

“Cha—nhg,” You whimpers didn't slow him down. It only made him go faster and faster, tongue flicking and licking with an agonizing pressure. 

He groaned against you, the vibration sending another wave of pleasure coursing through your veins. You attempted to pull his head away from your pulsing core but he wouldn't budge. 

“I'm not done.” He looked up from your pussy, chin and lips swollen and glistening with your arousal. 

He dove back in with a renewed, hungry pace, his nose nudging against your clit, the warmth shooting up to every inch of your body. He couldn't get enough of how you tasted, how you moaned and screamed only for him. If he could, he would stay right were he was forever.

The band in your lower belly knotted tighter and tighter, had you writhing and bucking your hips, it was on the edge of snapping

And then you surrendered to him. Your orgasm left you gasping, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes and only his name escaping your lips, Chan held you firmly as he helped you ride it out. 

He didn't let you go for a second as he sucked and licked your pussy splurting with arousal like he was on the verge of starvation, until he left you boneless but content beneath him.

Slowly, he made his way up your body, removing your top and his mouth hovering your hips, across the plane of your stomach, up the valley between your breasts. Each of it was an apology, a whispered promise against your skin.

“Baby,”—smooch—“fuck you're so sweet when you,”—smooch—“come on my face.” He said between kisses and gentle nipping on your sensitive, peaking buds that rebuilt the anticipation.

Soon enough every piece of clothing was discarded until it was only the fiery sparkles of your sweat misted bodies flying between you both. He shifted, positioning himself between your legs.

The tip of his cock nudged your nub softly before entered you slowly, filling you inch by inch, watching your face for every reaction. You gasped, your hands clutching at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. Chan let out a shuddering breath, his forehead pressed to yours.

Your arms wrapped around his neck, holding him close as he started to move. His pace was slow, deliberate, each thrust sending a fresh wave of pleasure crashing over you, but it was more than that. 

It was a silent conversation, an absolution, a way of reminding each other that no fight, no disagreement, could ever take this away from you.

You pulled him in deeper and deeper, his cock twitched hard inside of you, the rhythmic slapping of skin against skin, sweat and groans soaked the air. 

His eyes fell down to where you both joined, what he saw drove him out of his mind. A soft but visible movement in your tummy. 

“Shi— fuck.”

Your eyes fluttered open when he held your hand and brought it over your tummy where you felt the bulge that was moving in and out of you.

“Feel that?” He pounded into you that made you arch your back, digging your nails into his skin. “D’you feel that baby?” 

You nodded, out of breath, mouth falling open until the cries of pleasure consumed you whole, the feel of the bulge just spurring you on more. 

His hands roamed your body, mapping familiar paths, his lips never straying far from yours. He whispered sweet nothings against your skin, words of love and devotion, apologies and reassurances.

“I love you,” he murmured, his voice hoarse but steady.

You smiled softly for the first time after the long hours, tilting your head to kiss him once more. “I love you too.”

And just like that, the fight was forgotten. Not because it didn’t matter, but because what you had together was always stronger.

“You're squeezing me baby,” his orgasm rushed fast and threatened to take over him, climbing up his spine and snapping his restraints. 

“Chan I'm… I'm going to come,” 

And your release finally crashed over you again, it wasn’t just pleasure—it was catharsis. 

A loud cry tore off your throat as you flooded around his cock, shaking and moaning, Chan followed seconds after slamming into you in one last thrust, burying himself deep with a breathless groan, his body caging over yours.

The post sex high lingered but he didn’t move or pull out. He stayed wrapped around you, pressing lazy kisses to your temple, your shoulder, anywhere he could reach. His fingers traced slow patterns on your skin, grounding you both in the quiet aftermath.

“Do you forgive me?” He asked softly, his fingers brushing away a few strands of hair. 

You smiled cheekily, fingers running through his damp sweat hair, “No,” you said lowly that made his eyes widen in disbelief.

His reaction made a laugh bubble up your throat, you pulled him down onto your mouth letting your tongue slip past his lips and had him melt all over again.

“Yes, I forgive you Chan.” You said pulling back, chest heaving and content. 

He chuckled deeply, hugging you tightly, the lingering amusement from your playful teasing was still evident in the crinkle of his nose. 

Then, with a slow, deliberate exhale, he shifted, reluctantly pulling away from your warmth.

You watched him as he retrieved a washcloth from the bathroom, wiped you clean before he reached for his pants, discarded somewhere on the floor, and retrieved something small from the pocket. 

When he turned back to you, he held a tiny velvet box in his hands.

Your heart skipped a beat.

Chan hesitated, his thumb brushing over the soft fabric of the box as if gathering the courage to speak. Then, with a slow inhale, he flicked it open.

Inside, nestled against the velvet lining, were two delicate rings, a simple silver band with a tiny, shimmering stone embedded at its center. It wasn’t flashy, nor extravagant, but it was beautiful in a way that felt so intimate and personal.

Your eyes flickered from the ring to his face, your heart hammering against your ribcage. “Chan…?”

He let out a quiet chuckle, but you could tell he was nervous. His free hand found yours, fingers lacing together as he held you close.

“I’ve been carrying this around for weeks, waiting for the right moment. And I—” He sighed laughing, shaking his head. “I guess last night was the moment but…”

Chan took a steadying breath, his fingers tracing the edge of the velvet box. “I know I can be a pain in the ass sometimes,” he admitted, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “I push too hard, tease too much. And when we fight, I say things I don’t mean.”

You shook your head, reaching out to cup his cheek. He leaned into your touch, closing his eyes for a brief second before continuing.

“It’s not… a proposal,” he clarified quickly, though his lips curled into that familiar teasing smirk. “Not yet, at least. But it’s a promise.” He squeezed your hand, eyes searching yours with a raw kind of vulnerability. 

“A promise that no matter how much we fight, no matter how many times I mess up… I’ll always choose you. I’ll always come back to you. If you’ll have me.”

Your throat felt tight, emotions swelling so intensely in your chest that you could barely breathe. “Oh Channie,”

His smirk faltered, concern flashing across his face. “Is it too much?” he asked hesitantly. “I know we just—”

You shook your head quickly, cutting him off. “No,” a shaky laugh escaped you . “It’s perfect.”

Relief flooded his features, and for the first time, you saw the nervous tension completely drain from his shoulders.

“Then… will you wear it?” he asked softly, lifting the ring from the box.

“Of course, I will.” You nodded, biting your bottom lip and holding out your hand, he slipped the cool metal onto your finger, the fit perfect, like it was meant to be there all along.

You took the other one from the box and slid it onto his finger with the same reverence, looking up at him through damp lashes.

“This is my promise to you,” you echoed, voice soft but sure. “That even when you’re a pain in the ass sometimes, I’ll still choose you. Every time.”

Chan let out a breathless chuckle, his head tilting slightly as he gazed at you like you hung the stars.

“God, I love you,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion.

You didn’t get the chance to respond before his mouth collided with yours again, slow, deep, and filled with a devotion that made your heart flutter in the best way possible.

And as you fell back on the mattress, tangled in each other yet again, the silver bands glinting under the soft glow of the morning light filtering through the window, you knew; there was no one else for you but him.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Enjoyed this one shot? Consider checking my masterlist for more. Requests? Check 𝚁𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚜 (& 𝚁𝚞𝚕𝚎𝚜)

Thank you for reading!

xx,

Ivyy

[youkissedareaderinthedark]

Coraline

Synopsis: Y/n’s childhood and history with her parents has always stayed a secret, and she likes it that way. Until a journalist reveals the truth, and everything seems to come crashing down at once.

young female driver reader x 2023 F1 grid

A/N: a few things for this fic: reader will be 20 years old, had driven for alpha tauri since the beginning of 2022, the 2022 is the same as the 2023 grid, and please look at the trigger warning below.

Trigger Warning: This fic contains abusive parents, talks of eating disorders, neglecting a kid, verbally abusing a kid, signs of depression, and a lot of hurtful comments in general. This fic is not meant to idolize or romanticize having abusive parents or depression. If anyone finds anything particularly disturbing with this fic, do not hesitate to let me know and I will fix it.

tagged: @treehouse-mouse

2023 was supposed to be a good season for Alpha Tauri. The cars looked good, your driver pairing was solid, and the hopes were high for your junior Red Bull team. You could only laugh at the naivety of it now.

Most of the season was exceptional; you and Yuki Tsunoda brought in points almost every weekend, your team was seventh in the constructors championship, and overall, you were having a great time traveling around the world.

This was your second year in Formula 1, and now that you weren’t a rookie anymore, you could have more fun now that you knew what you were doing.

Some people just don’t like others being happy, though.

With less than 10 races left, you walked into the paddock for the Monza Grand Prix Thursday afternoon feeling optimistic. This was the second race after the summer break, and Alpha Tauri was expected to do well in Italy.

Your press officer, Ally, greeted you in your garage, and after saying hello to Yuki, you followed her out of the garage and into the media pen for a press conference.

You walk in to see Lewis, Carlos, Lando, and Fernando and talked quietly with them as the press in front of you get settled. “Everybody ready? All right, first question please” One of the directors asks, as a journalists speaks up.

“Lewis, you’ve witnessed the infamous ‘Monza Curse’ multiple times in your career, do you think the theory is true and will it strike again this year?”

“Um, no” Lewis chuckles. “I don’t believe in the curse, but it would be nice to see someone new finish first today, and if a curse is what it’s going to take, then yeah, why not”

The five of you laugh, not noticing the second journalist beginning to speak. “Y/n, what do you have to say about the recent article published regarding your past with your family?”

You instantly stop laughing, hoping you misheard the man.

“Sorry?”

There’s no way

“The article? That was recently published concerning your past with your parents, what do you have to say about it?” The journalist stared at you curiously while your mind blanked for an answer.

You had no idea what article he was talking about, but if it concerned your past with your ‘family’, you knew it wasn’t anything that should be published.

Suddenly there’s movement in the midst of the media pen, and your press officer emerges from the crowd. “Y/n, come with me” She pauses, seeing one of the directors nearing out of the corner of her eye.

“It’s urgent, I need her” You’d take any excuse to get away from the current situation, so after exchanging a look with Lewis, you follow the woman into the paddock towards your garage.

Once you were both in the safety of your drivers room, you turned on her. “What article is he talking about? What’s going on?” You said, voice heavy with concern.

Ally hesitated, looking uncomfortable, before answering. “This morning, an article published a story talking about you and your parents, and the-um, harsh history you have with them” She hands you her phone, said article already open.

“I think it’s better if you read it yourself” The bold letters blink up at you, clear and sullen.

“F1 DRIVERS UNCOVERED: THE REAL REASON WE DON’T SEE Y/N L/N’S PARENTS”

Your heart falls to your stomach and your hands start to shake as your eyes skim over the words of the most invading and overwhelming article you’ve ever read in your life. Whoever wrote this, wrote it in hopes of exposing every secret of your past, and further tangles the truth of an already over-complicated background.

The real reason your parents are never around you is a reason you hate talking about.

You first realized it when you were around ten years old, the way your parents never looked happy around each other, and always tense around other parents. The way they never said ‘I love you’ or kissed each other goodbye. It confused you, as these were the things you always saw your friend’s parents do, but you were too young to understand at the time, so you mainly ignored it.

It wasn’t until one night when you were eleven that you heard an argument erupting from your kitchen, one about money and divorces and you. The shouting continued for ages, until you heard one statement, loud and clear.

“Think about this, she’s getting good in those karting competitions of hers, and according to other parents she could go really far in this thing and get money from sponsorships and mentors. So let’s just give it a little time, make sure she gets better and gets paid, and the money will go to us and eventually she’ll leave to Formula- whatever and we won’t have to worry about her”

You put your pillow over your head, turned around, and went to sleep sobbing that night.

From then on, there was no ‘I love you’s’ or kisses goodbye even to you, and eventually, no happiness in your house. The ‘other parents’ were right, the older you got, the farther you looked to go in racing. Just before you turned 13, the three of you moved to a city in England so you could pursue karting further, and that’s when it all got worse.

You competed in countless competitions, and every race you won, the more criticism you got from your mom and dad. The second you stepped off the 1st place podium, your parents were waiting to comment on your driving and the techniques you should’ve used to win.

They never let you focus on anything but karting, letting you go nowhere but the track and to school, and made sure you were always looking for ways to get better. They ruthlessly compared you to kids in other series that were performing better than you, and countered every compliment someone gave you with a complaint.

All of this seemed like a dream compared to the treatment you got when you lost. Whether it be second, or tenth, every race you didn’t come first in was a loss, and your parents simply didn’t accept this.

When you lost, they’d make you practice on track for twice as long, no matter the weather, and berated you the second you started to complain. They limited your diet after your losses, claiming you needed to be lighter if you wanted the kart to go faster.

Your mother and father gave you this relentless attention with anything regarding racing, but the moment the topic drifted, you were neglected. There were no family dinners or movie nights, if you wanted something, you were going to have to buy it with your own money, and if you wanted to go somewhere, you needed to walk or find a ride because they refused to drive you anywhere if it wasn’t for a race.

There was no other family to go to even when things go impossibly rougher; you had no other relatives in the UK, and you couldn’t exactly ask your friends if you could live with them.

So you endured these conditions, all the way through the F4 British Championship, F3 and F2. You turned 18 while you were in Formula 2, and the second you did, you took the little money you had, and rented an apartment in South England, where you’ve been living ever since.

Your parents constantly contacted you in whatever ways they could, but you very quickly made sure they didn’t know where you lived and were never given paddock passes again. No one knows any of this anyway; when people ask where your parents are or when they’d get to meet them, you just shrug and say, “they couldn’t make it”

You haven’t seen your parents in person since you were 17, and you’ve done everything in your power to keep it like that.

Though with a few thousand words and 4 hours, one nosy journalist has managed to unravel all your work and growth and release it into the world.

You’re broken out of your stunned silence when Ally puts a hand on your shoulder. “I’ve set up a meeting with Alpha Tauri and Red Bull’s PR managers so we could figure out what we should do next to keep the press off your back, okay? The meeting’s in fifteen meetings, so I’ll leave you for a while”

Ally takes her phone back and exits the room to leave you standing still in the middle of it, astonished and speechless.

The meeting goes as well as you expected it to go. You shared as much as the truth as you saw fit, and came up with a statement to post with the rest of the PR managers. You were confirmed to go back to the media pen to finish interviews an hour later, and while no one asked you about the article, you could tell it was the unanswered question they all wanted to raise.

You are able to avoid most of the press of the remaining of the Italian weekend, and stuck to answering race-related questions only, your safest and only option, Ally told you later. You finished the Grand Prix P10, and flew home still sullen.

You spent the two weeks in between Monza and Japan in your apartment, regretfully thinking about all those years you had to spend under your parent’s treatment, and trying to forget them with simulator work.

You arrive in Suzuka, quiet and unsmiling, and try to ignore the shouting of the press that greets you on your way into the paddock. Ally guides you away as two new voices greet you.

“Hey Y/n, how are you?” Lewis asks, pulling you into a side hug and stepping into place beside you.

“Are you okay? You seem off” Charles says concerned, meeting you in a handshake.

“I’m fine, my flight just got in late last night so I’m tired, that’s all” You half smiled in response, hoping it was believable enough.

“Sure?” Lewis presses father. “Yeah, I’m okay” You nod.

“Okay, well, we’re still going into the city after media today?” Lewis asks. “Of course, I’ll meet you guys at my hotel after” You assure as you near the Alpha Tauri garage.

“See you then, and try to sleep a bit, yes?” Charles says before the two men walk off together.

Your friendship with the two drivers started because of the Spanish and British Grand Prix’s, the two races that gave you your two highest race finishes, and ended with two of your closest friends. Spain was a great race for both you and Lewis, yourself in P4, him in P2, and after non-stop talking in the paddock, you flew back to the UK together, effectively starting the friendship existing today.

You’d been friendly with Charles previously, but after his P9 finish in Silverstone and your P5 finish, he realized in a conversation before an interview that you were undeniably good at cheering people up, and you guys have been close since.

You’ve talked with them since Monza, of course, but not about the article. They want to talk to you about it, you can tell, but Charles and Lewis aren’t the type of people to just come right out and ask if you’re feeling okay about your history with your abusive parents being exposed to the world.

They also don’t want to pressure you into talking about something you clearly don’t want to talk about, so if all they can do is help distract you from the media, they’re going to.

Your night out with the Mercedes and Ferrari drivers does distract you; Lewis leads you and Charles to different shops and restaurants all over Suzuka, talking and laughing the entire time. You take a few photos along the way, and you go back to your hotel still smiling.

You kept your good mood until qualifying on Saturday, and are brought back into the reality of racing when you only manage P11. It’s technically not bad of a result for your car, but P9 or P8 would’ve been better right now, because all you can think about is what your parents would’ve said if you finished P11.

They’re paying you millions of dollars to race for them and the best you can do is eleventh?

You think you deserve to be here?

They are hundreds of other drivers that would do so much better than you

You are nothing compared to the other drivers

You’re lucky if you keep you seat next season, I know I wouldn’t let a P11 driver on my team

You go quiet at the thought, and get through post-race media stoic. You leave with your trainer as soon as you can, avoiding Lewis and Charles’s eyes on your way out. You have a week before you have to leave for Qatar, and spend a countless amount of hours on your simulator, hoping this time it’ll make a difference.

You flew into Lusail not knowing what to expect other than hot weather, and unfortunately you were right. You felt the heat as soon as you got in your car for FP1 on Friday and was already dreading the rest of the weekend.

You qualify P11 for both the race and the sprint, and end up in P12 for the two. You felt terrible after Sunday’s race, both physically and mentally, and you’re already berating yourself for your performance by the time you get weighed.

Charles and Lewis are in your post-race press conference group, and you can see them exchange a look after every cold and detached answer you give. You only stop to talk to your friends for a few minutes afterwards before you excuse yourself to go cool down, and leave minutes later with the defense of needing rest.

You fly back to the UK with Lewis, and you’re glad the two of you are asleep for most of the trip so Lewis won’t ask you to talk about why you’ve been so quiet.

The 10 days you have until you fly out to Austin are spent mostly on your phone, looking at all the comments people have been making about you since the article came out, saying how you probably deserved the treatment that you got, and how Alpha Tauri needs a more “stable” driver if they want to advance in the championship.

You don’t do much except exercise and train on the sim in those days, finding neither the desire or energy to do anything else.

Even though everyone is happy to be in Texas that week, you can’t find the energy to truly smile once that weekend. Charles and Lewis are practically stuck to your side, and even though you can tell they’re dying to ask you to talk about it, they only ask a few times if you wanted to tell them something, and when you denied, and simply offered companionship through silence.

It’s another sprint race, and you only pull off P12 and 13 for qualifying and the shootout, and drop a place by the end of both races.

You feel more frustrated with yourself than ever; you don’t understand why you can’t work with the car like you once used to, and you can’t even figure out how to again. You were doing so well until that fucking article came out, and all the sudden you don’t know how to drive.

The worst part about it is that every race, more and more people are realizing how you’ve been under-performing, and how people are starting to question your ability to drive for the junior Red Bull team.

You aren’t stupid, you know how things work at Red Bull, so you know that if you don’t pick your pace up soon, you could end up without a seat for the 2024 season.

This thought alone starts to destroy you, and soon you can’t even deny how burnt out you are. You pick up on the forced habit of not eating much, and making yourself to do nothing but train and look for ways to be better.

You spend the days before Mexico with data analysts and strategists, looking for any and every way to go faster. You dedicate too much time looking at successful F2 drivers, hearing Liam Lawson’s name come up too much for comfort, thinking about how Dennis Hauger had been looking fast in F2.

It’s a terribly unhealthy time killer, one that makes you look sick and go quiet. Charles and Lewis aren’t the only ones exchanging concerned looks now; multiple other drivers on the grid, friends with you or not, notice the change in your behavior and quickly grow worried when they hear Yuki’s description of you.

The drivers aren’t stupid either, they all know about the article that was published in September, and most of them would be lying if they said they hadn’t looked at it in curiosity. They’d also be lying if they saw their eyes didn’t widen in concern or eyebrows didn’t furrow with worry when they read how terrible your parents treated you.

The grid saw how the comments got nastier and nastier under your lessening social media posts every day, and even asked your PR officer multiple times to make sure she was managing your accounts and making sure you didn’t see what people had to say about your background or yourself.

They saw how you got quieter every race, how you stopped hanging out with Yuki and Charles and Lewis, no matter how many times they offered. They saw the rumors of you and your 2024 seat, how apparently Helmut Marko was paying close attention to you and the clauses in your contract.

They asked a lot, if you wanted to talk or if they could help in any way. It was always the same response; a weary smile, a small shake of the head, the words,“No, I’m fine, just tired” and an excuse that you were needed in your garage or media pen.

So they try to help in more discreet ways; when Yuki is asked about your position on Alpha Tauri or your future with Red Bull, he calmly assures that you are working hard with the team, and is doing everything possible to understand the car.

Charles, Lewis, and a few other drivers make a routine of coming to your driver’s room, most of the time just to sit with you as you look at data, or talk with you when you’re feeling up to it.

Mexico goes somehow worse than Texas, and you finish with your lowest result in F1 yet, P15. You try to be as approachable as possible in post-race media, but your sullen face gives you away.

You leave with Ally and your trainer to catch your flight to Brazil mere hours after you passed the checkered flag, and spend most of your time in Sau Paulo alone in your hotel room, replaying every hurtful comment either your mother and father or fans have said about you, and debating whether or not it was true.

You walk into the Brazilian paddock Thursday morning more grateful than you thought possible that this was the third-to-last race of your season.

And according to over twenty media sources, your third-to last race of F1.

After a public statement made by Marko talking about how Red Bull was “considering your future with their junior team” every journalist in the F1 community has decided that it means this was your last season in F1.

And honestly, you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. Whether you raced in 2024 or not, you just wanted to go home and avoid the press for three months.

It was another sprint weekend, and another terrible qualifying and shootout. You placed 15th in both sessions and kept your place in the sprint, and spent a quiet Saturday evening in your hotel.

You could feel almost every journalists eye’s turn to you as soon as you walked into the paddock on Sunday. You arrived early that afternoon to get some extra data-stuff done, only now realizing that it gave the growing group of reporters behind you more time to ask you questions.

“Y/n! Can you tell us about your future in F1?”

“Will you have a seat next year?

“Y/n, what does Helmut Marko think about your decrease in performance?”

“Does your past with your parents have anything to do with your recent race results?”

You try to keep your face emotionless as you make your way into the Alpha Tauri garage and to your drivers room. You prepare for the race with your personal trainer and look over the arranged strategies for Sau Paulo while you wait for the go-ahead to get in your car.

Due to all the crashed-out cars, you ended the race in P12 in front of Oscar Piastri and Daniel Ricciardo. Statistically speaking, it was one of your better 2023 races, but everyone knows if it wasn’t for all the DNF’s, you’d finish in the bottom five.

You know that everyone knows this because just before you walked into the media pen after your race debrief, you saw Christian Horner and Marko speaking to your team principle, and after Yuki’s P9 finish today, it didn’t take you even a second to understand who they were talking about with disappointed faces and multiple shakes of the head.

Sure, this could mean nothing. This could just be a conversation between the three people that control the top team and it’s junior team. But you also like to think you’re a bit smarter than that.

You walked deeper into the crowded area before the three could see you, and walked to the first open journalist you saw, in hopes of leaving early.

“Y/n, hi! Not too bad of a race for you today, I guess?” The man asked, pointing his microphone towards you

“Yeah, not too bad. The car felt pretty okay and there was a bit of pace, but not enough to overtake or anything, clearly” You reply.

“Can we expect more race pace from you in Las and Vegas and Abu Dhabi?”

“I mean, it’s a bit too early to tell, but we’ll hope and see what comes out out of the practices” The man nods before looking down at his notebook.

“And your seat for Alpha Tauri next year, we know you’re apart of the confirmed driver lineup for 2024 but Helmut Marko states that there are attainable clauses in your contract, what do you think about that?”

You’re caught off guard by the question, but right when you’re about to respond, the man continues.

“Surely, Alpha Tauri isn’t really considering keeping you for next season, are they?”

You’re standing in front of the man speechless now, your brain barely comprehending what’s being spoken.

“Because I know the last thing a team wants is an incapable driver that is too emotionally effected by her “traumatic” childhood to race,” the volume of his voice starts to increase, and other drivers are starting to focus on your one-sided conversation.

“I mean, c’mon, no one even believes that even happened to you, and if it did, your parents were probably right for doing it-”

Your hands are shaking, eyes are wide with shock, body suddenly freezing, and you don’t even think you’re breathing. All you can do is listen as this man goes on and on about how you’re a shitty driver and deserved how your parents treated you.

You’re only broken out of your trance when an arm clad in red wraps around your shoulders and pulls you through the paddock. You’re not even aware of the yelling from a certain Mercedes drivers gets quieter and quieter as you’re brought into your driver’s room.

You’re being sat on a couch, and suddenly Charles Leclerc’s face is right in front of you, hands on your shoulders and eyes filled with concerned. “Y/n? Y/n, look at me, please, Y/n-” Your eyes dart to him and in an instant, everything from the past five minutes comes rushing through your head, and you can’t stop the tears that start to fall down your face.

“Oh, Y/n” The Ferrari driver moves to comfort you, but stops as you begin to cover your face and move away.

“No, Y/n, it’s okay, please, let me help you, Y/n” Charles wraps his arms around you in a hug as your body begins to shake with uncontrollable sobs.

“I can’t- I can’t do this anymore, Charles” You say in between breaths.

“I have to quit or something, I can’t keep doing this Charles, I can’t” You let your head fall on his shoulder, as the man tries to calm you down.

Charles’ heart is breaking as he comforts his friend; he remembers loving his first few years in Formula 1, how everything was so new and exciting to him, he could never not want to race, not then and not now. But to hear one of his closest friends breakdown because of how much she hates being there, makes the man’s heart shatter.

The door abruptly opens, and for a moment, all you can hear is the low angry cursing of Lewis Hamilton, until he sees you and Charles, and his face immediately softens.

“Love, I’m so sorry. That guy is a complete jerk, don’t listen to him” The British man says as he takes a seat beside you and wraps an arm around your shoulders.

“I don’t know what to do anymore, I feel so stuck in this place where everyone is always talking about what happened and I don’t know how much longer I can go through it” You say, your voice breaking off with another sob.

Charles hushes you once more, exchanging a worried look with Lewis as you pull away from him again. “I’m sorry, I know I should be doing better and everything but I just can’t-” You say, voice shaky through the tears.

“Don’t for one second be sorry that you’re not competitive right now. Y/n, thousands of people are talking about the one thing that hurt you the most, and I understand why you feel this way, just please, love, for your own good, let us help you. I promise it will make you feel better” Lewis assures, grabbing your hand.

So for the first time, you do. For over an hour, you tell Charles and Lewis everything that happened when you were younger, and how the article has made you feel since then. They listen quietly, nodding once in a while to let you know they understand, and gave you a hug when you stopped talking.

“Do you feel better now?” Lewis asks.

“Yeah, not entirely, but better”

“Good, that’s all I wanted to hear,”

“Are you ready to go home now? There’s a plane waiting for us, if you want”

“Definitely. I need to go home” You say as Charles helps pack up all your things and Lewis makes sure there’s a car waiting for you two outside. As you’re all walking through the nearly-empty paddock, Charles turns to you.

“I have to go back to my garage, but please Y/n, if you ever need to talk, call me? I want to help you, I don’t want to see you like this again” The Monegasque brings you into a hug.

“I know, Charles, I will” You promise.

“Okay, I’ll see you before Vegas, yes? Feel better!” He calls as he moves backwards and further into the paddock.

“You promise?”

Lewis asks you hours later in the front of the airport in England, just about to get into separate cars.

“Yes, Lewis, I’ll call when I need” You say to the older man in a hug.

“Alright, text me when you’ve made it home and make sure you get some rest. Don’t be too hard on yourself either, you don’t give yourself enough credit for everything you do” You smile at him.

“Okay, I’ll see you before Vegas?”

“See you before Vegas!” He shouts from his already-closed car door.

When you do see the two next, they make sure you’ve made an appointment with a therapist and are setting up a meeting with your PR manager to put together a statement in regards to your well-being the past two months.

Charles and Lewis make sure the media inside the paddock is severely monitored and checked before being allowed near the drivers, and help you fall back into healthier habits.

These changes don’t happen overnight, and they don’t take affect overnight, but you do use the winter off season to make sure these changes are helpful and working.

The three month break is utilized to mentally and physically prepare yorself in time for your 2024 seat at Alpha Tauri that was re-confirmed after your P8 finishes in Las Vegas and Abu Dhabi.

The media still knows everything, and you haven’t completely forgotten your childhood, you never will, but dealing with it still gets easier.

[nemesis-is-my-middle-name]

fuck you he's a cat now

[lady-of-tearshed]

Blinded

Azriel x Reader

Summary:

Word count: angst, feeling worthless, yelling, cursing, betrayal, jealousy, big sad people, pregnancy (Elucien), injuries, violence. Yup.

A/N: Honestly? Be prepared. 🤣💕

Again, thank you @sarawritestories for always giving me to kick in the butt I need when I'm stuck! 💕 Thanks @milswrites for the moral support too ily 🥰

Azriel was staring at your lips. Those full sultry lips painted with that same shade of pink Elain loves to wear.

Only, you weren’t Elain.

He tried to convince himself that he could get over it, get over Elain. He could love, praise, and touch another female without thinking about her.

Could he?

“Az?” You whisper, each one of your rapid breaths formed a cloud that filled the small gap between yours and Azriel’s face. His grip on your hips loosened as he snapped back into reality. He gulped down his shame. Shit. Your eyes, so soft, and loving, and pure filled with concern, Azriel’s stomach dropped. “Are you alright?” She stroked his face, his lips. His lips were still swollen from the kiss…

From the kiss that he fantasized about sharing with another woman.

He tried to shake the thought of Elain away, tried to ignore his shadows whispering wrong, wrong, wrong in his ears. He could do it, he knew it. You were kind, very pretty, caring… “Yeah,” He whispered, before attacking your lips once again. The kiss was feral, rough. His lips were crashing hard against yours, teeth clashing, as he tried so desperately to forget about Elain’s softness.

Your heart was beating in sync with the loud, yet distant busy chatting of the crowd at Rita’s, situated not far from the gloomy alley you and Azriel had stumbled out to. The frenzy was too intense for you to wait before touching him, tasting him, smelling him. Your lips parted when the exposed skin, compliments to the deep cut of your dress that barely covered your body, collided with the cool surface. The earthy and vigorous taste of the wine you had imbibed earlier that night filled his own mouth as his tongue caressed yours.

Elain would’ve drank something sweet, or fruity.

He slowly pulled away from you, his thumb grazing the exposed skin on the small of your back. It sent shivers up your spine, and your nipples hardened. He stared at you, observed how red your cheeks were, how his lips had smushed your lipstick, how the smell of you changed from your arousal. But the love and adoration that shone into those eyes, your eyes, felt like a stab in his cruel heart.

He couldn’t do this.

“Let me fly you back home,” His voice was raspy. He tried to give you a genuine smile, and pressed a chaste kiss on your forehead, his fingers combing through your now very disheveled hair. “Will you be staying?” He wanted to drown in the cauldron and succumb from his sorrows at the sound of your pleading, hopeful tone.

“Another night, when we’ll both be sober.” He lied. They had talked and danced more than they had to drink, he was far from drunk, and you too. But you just shrugged, offering him a kind and comprehensive smile. “Okay,” Was all that you’ve answered, before he picked you up into his arms and led you through the clear night sky.

He dropped you off, bowed his head, and said “Thank you, for tonight,” before flying away without another word. He didn’t even kiss you goodnight.

—

The sky was clear, and the weather started to warm up in Velaris. You had gone shopping for lighter dresses today, and couldn’t wait to come back home and swirl in them for your Illyrian to see, since he had been too busy to spend the morning with you. There were always piles of paperworks lingering on his desk, you couldn’t blame him.

You turned on yourself in the mirror, admiring the last dress you had to try on. It was the prettiest, the deep blue fabric instantly drew you in. It was the exact same blue of Azriel’s siphons. “So, what do you think!” You beamed, spinning around to look into those pretty shades of hazel dancing in his eyes. Your toes were curling in your shoes, excited to get his reaction on your newest, and now favorite, piece of clothing.

“Mhm,” He hums absent-mindedly. Your face dropped, and your eyes turned a tad more glossy than normal. You lifted your chin up, and instead of exploding with rage, or bursting in tears, you cleared your throat as a last attempt to get his attention.

Desperate, pathetic.

Azriel lifted up his head at last, his eyes quickly scanned you, and he gave you a tiny smirk of approval, accompanied by a small nod of his head. “You look good, baby,” He adds, only for good measure.

Good. Not stunning, not flawless, not delightful, not ravishing… Just good. You noticed how Azriel’s eyes drifted back to whatever paperwork he was doing the second you turned back around to face yourself in the mirror, you noticed how his gaze did not linger on any of your features for one second. The shadowsinger had always been a man of few words, showing his love mostly through actions. But lately… lately he was also a man of few actions.

You gulped down your tears, maybe he was just busier than usual, you thought, and yet… You pinched your arm, mentally scolding yourself for being so selfish. Azriel worked hard, he always bought you anything you’d wish and ask for, even more. He had to work a lot to get you all that. You concluded that you simply needed to be more grateful and understanding.

Maybe he needed space. Maybe you were too clingy. You inhaled, trying to get all of the possibilities of why Azriel was acting this way around you out of your mind, and you exhaled. Inhaled, exhaled. You repeated the action a few times, and once you were sure that your voice was steady enough to talk to him, you did. “I'm going out to see Elain today,” You said, your eyes fixed on his reflection in the mirror, secretly analyzing how his body reacted to the second Archeron sister's name.

Azriel barely reacted, only the slight twitch of his fingers around his pen proved your point. Something about Elain was upsetting him, but what? “Have fun,” He dismissed you with a wave of his hand. Azriel tried so damn hard to not think of how Elain’s scent would linger on your clothes for hours, maybe even days when you'll come back from your stupid little play date with her. Tried to ignore the insufferable truth that Elain, even when she belonged to another male, even when himself belonged to another female, to you, still haunted his memories every day, noon, and night.

“I will.” It took every ounce of your self-control to not snap at him. It was getting so hard to ignore that pull, that painful throb in your chest that kept screaming at you more, more, more! But deep down, you knew that Azriel would probably never be able to give you more.

To give you his heart, completely.

—

“How is Azriel?”

Elain's melodic voice snapped you out of your thoughts. Your fingers still plucked at some invasive weeds competing with Elain's stunning flowers for the nutrients, sunlight, and water. But you didn't dare lift your eyes to meet hers, knowing she'd see the lies dancing in your eyes. “Good. Busy, but good,” Which was true, in some ways.

He kept telling you he was fine, and it was true that he was busier than usual, but deep down, you knew he wasn't doing “good”. Elain nodded, the chestnut curls that escaped her bun bouncing on her forehead as she did so. She knew better than to press the topic with you.

“You're… pale,” Her stunning doe eyes burned with concern, and you felt so bad for lying to your friend, even if it was only partially a lie. “I'm fine.”

Suddenly, the air shifted, and a cool breeze ran at the back of your neck, leaving a veil of goosebump on your delicate skin. The sound of Elain's gardening tools clashing to the ground made you jolt. You rapidly lifted your gaze, and gasped when you took I'm the sight of her once brown eyes now turned completely white, the wind flowing through her hair. It was as if she commanded the air itself.

“Leave him,”

Her voice didn't sound like her own, it sounded like nails on a blackboard, scrapping your soul. You hissed, covering your ears, your eyes wide with fear. But you could still hear her voice, and her face was so close. Your body was frozen in place, as if you were hypnotized by those cold white orbs, and your mind screamed at you to back off, to call for help. To call for Lucien, Elain’s mate.

“The shadow male is bound to be blinded.”

The shaddow male could only be Azriel. Was he okay? What was happening? You hated riddles. “Blinded by what?!” You pressed, begging for answers and yet begging for the kind Archeron to come back to her usual self.

“The seer… The shadow male is bound to be blinded by the seer.”

“Elain!” You hadn't heard the grass sweeping against Lucien's fancy leather boots. Nor his hurried footsteps, and breathing, as he not so delicately moved Elain away from you. You landed on your butt, but you didn't take Lucien's actions personally. After all, he was only reacting instinctively as a newly mated male. You swiped a hand on your face, your brain reeling from the information.

Rage, jealousy, despair.

“Y/N…” You faintly heard Elain's voice, her real voice, call out for you. You didn't even realize the tears that rolled down your cheeks until you felt her soiled hands brush against your damp skin. “I need to go,” You didn't wait to be granted your leave before you hastened back inside the River House.

You almost tripped on the marbled floors, your shoe soles were now slippery because of the dew that had coated your heels. You shoved them out of your feets, the coldness of the floors not bothering you for one bit as you kept running, and running through the halls.

Rhysand’s office doors slammed open, making the Shadowsinger, and the High Lord startle slightly. You felt your heart being ripped open when you saw his eyes, on you, filled with worry.

It has been years since he last looked at you, truly looked at you.

“What is this about?” Azriel rose from his chair, his steps towards you careful, his shadows swirling around you frantically. “Elain,” He froze in place, and his pupils shook. “Is she alright?” Her. It had always been her. Her safety, her well being, simply her. It would always be her before you.

The shadow man is bound to be blinded by the seer, not you.

“She is,” You gulped, swiping away your own tears, the tears he yet hadn't noticed. He reached his hand to touch you, but you smacked his hand away, and he frowned. “I am not, Azriel. I am not alright. This is not alright,” You gesture between him and you. “I'm done.”

The bond snapped into place only for him to tug on the crumbling thread, watching as you reject the one thing Azriel longed for most in this life. A mate.

He fell to his knees, his hand curled at his chest as he looked up desperately at you. “What have you done…” His voice shook, his face red with anger, shame even. “What have you done!” He screamed, desperately trying to hold onto the hem of your dress, trying to keep you here, with him. He was angry, furious, at himself, at you, at Elain, at the cauldron that kept torturing his fate over and over again.

Rhys ran to Azriel's side, holding him back. You stumbled back, ripping the hem of your dress out of Azriel grip. He sobbed, and screamed as his soul was being ripped in half. Yours was too, but the damage had mostly been done throughout those years of being ignored, unloved and denied. Your soul and heart have been broken for a while now. You winnowed away, far away, and never came back.

Good riddance.

Taglist: @berryzxx @thelov3lybookworm @sidthedollface2 @favsrachz

[thunderstomm]

The more I think about the finale of A New Wish, the more I can’t help but think it’s going to play out as a tragedy. That Dev & Hazel will be cemented as rivals, or their friendship will be a bittersweet “what could have been”.

Dev is a tragic character. He is a product of his environment, and he acts accordingly. And those actions will almost definitely have consequences. I can’t help but wonder “what if he loses Peri”?

Would really hammer in the fact that fairies and wishing cannot help every kid.

Magic hasn’t exactly been good for Dev, it’s been making him worse with every new piece of information he finds out. Dev makes a lot of empty wishes, chasing a fleeting feeling of happiness, because the only thing he really wants- his Dad’s love -is something he can’t wish for.

I think the finale is going to be Dev’s moment of “flying too close to the sun”, and we’ll see him fall. He’s offered a supporting figure, and it’s still not enough, because it’s not the one he wants.

And as a result, he loses everything. His fairy, and his friend. And even after all that, he’s still not got his father’s love.

(Regarding Hazel’s rule free wish- I feel like it’ll be used to save Fairy World in some regard.)

This is all theorising, and I could be proven wrong ! I would LOVE a happier ending for Dev, because I do think he deserves friends, and a support system. Perhaps they could explore that in a second season, if we end up getting this tragic route.

[malivernys]

Straight (2023) | dir. Marcelo Tobar

[thisisxli]

𝐓𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝. - 𝐒𝐮𝐤𝐮𝐧𝐚 𝐑.

Rs: Prince Sukuna x Cinderella Reader

Warnings: none other than your bitch step-mother and step-sisters. And Mahito! Slight curse words

Tags: Cinderella AU

Summary: After your father died, your step-family has forced you into becoming their scullery maid. What if there was something or someone that was a one time in a life chance that could change your way of living? Of course, Prince Sukuna.

Wc: 10.2k

A/N: mostly proofread, ignore any mistakes I've made! A lot of monologue and scenes from the 1950s Cinderella movie and a few from the 2015 one.

Gojo clears his throat, opening the book as mice and a few more animals crowd around him. "Once upon a time.." Gojo looks up, thinking to himself for a moment before nodding, averting his blue eyes back into the book, "a life passes and a life begins anew, when poor little (Y/N) worked as a scullery maid..."

"Prince Sukuna," the Duchess speaks. Sukuna smirks as he fences with his partner in front of him before quickly dodging their fence, his own fence easily making way to his partner's body. "Prince Sukuna," the Duchess speaks once again except more firmly, a few butlers coming up to stand next to them. "Prince Sukuna-" "nice job out there," Sukuna's smirk widens when he takes off his eepe mask, high-fiving his fencing partner.

"Prince Sukuna!!-" "What, Uraume!??!" Sukuna turns to his Duchess with visible annoyance shown on his face, his posture starting to droop. "Can't you see I'm busy here? If my father needs something, he can do it himself," Sukuna spits, pulling his mask down and getting into a stance to fence. Uraume's face quickly drops to a face of aggravation as she rolls her eyes before turning stoic, "what your father requests of you is to be wedded with a wife in hand." Sukuna stiffens as his fencing partner gets the opening, hitting him in the chest with the tip of the sword. "H-hey! I did it! I did it guys! 1 to 29! Hey....!" Heads turn to Sukuna's fencing partner when his voice starts to trail off, meeting the glowing eyes of Sukuna through the mask. Sukuna sighs before taking off his whole entire head piece, throwing his fencing sword to the ground. "He wants me to marry," he turns to Uruame, deadpanning. Uruame nods and starts to bow, "he suggests you come up with who you wish to wed." Sukuna groans as a hand drags down his face, his face tattoos scrunching along with his grimacing wrinkles. He thinks for a moment. A wife? Maybe it is about time. "So..." He starts, peaking people's interest. He knows when they slowly turn to a stop in fencing. "Would that get me some pussy?"

His fencing partner starts to snicker along with other fencers, a few chuckling in the back. Uruame sucks in her lips behind her teeth, biting down. She bows down again before walking away, waving to the butlers to stay there with him. "I don't get paid enough for this.." She mutters as she adjusts her monocle.

Sukuna sits in his bed with a black silk robe wrapped around his body, his pecs slightly exposed. His arms loosely hung around two girls who were laying at his sides that were wearing slightly revealing clothes. Sukuna turns his head when he hears a knock at the door, sighing, "come in." Uruame glides into the enormous room along with Sukuna's father following close behind her. Sukuna nearly chokes on his own spit, retracting his arms from the girls beside him and putting his hands in his own lap. Sukuna slightly frowns when his father looks around in the room, "father." The king looks back at his son for a moment before continuing to speculate the room, "Sukuna." Sukuna clicks his tongue, roughly tapping the two females at his sides. They quickly move off the bed and out the room.

"What's this nonsense about me getting married? I'm only 24, damn it-" Sukuna's eyes widen when he gets cut off by a slam on the table. He meets his father's death stare, not too short to make a death stare of his own. His father falters for a second before letting out a boisterous laugh, opening his arms. "My, my, you have grown, son!" Sukuna chuckles and gets off the bed to meet his father, hugging him and patting each other's backs roughly. Uruame just watches silently, blinking at the two. "You are soon to be wed! You're a man, for gods sake. You will take my place as king," he walks up to the large balcony along side Sukuna, looking at him, "and maybe even create your own heir." His father raises his brows in suggestion as Sukuna snorts, crossing his arms over his chest. "Sure, maybe," he smirks, looking over to his father, "I'd just have to find the right one." Sukuna ponders for a moment, looking off to the city that dimly illuminated both their faces. "But how?"

They both think for a moment with their chin pinched by their fingers as Uruame speaks up, tired of the two, "we could throw a ball." They both look back at Uruame and then back at each other before letting out the same rich laugh. Uruame nearly backs out before having her back pat roughly by the king. "That's a tremendous idea! We'll have the servants set up everything in the ball room and have Uruame send out the invitations to every woman in the city!" Sukuna grins as he pats his old man's back, his Duchess mentally sliding a hand down her face. "Soon.. You'll take over everything."

As said and done, servants set up the ballroom that was themed in a deep red with gold encasing the walls and pillars in designs, beautiful diamond chandeliers hang from the ceilings and tall candles light up the room along with the paintings of bloody naked women. Large drapes hang loosely around the King's chair, half-naked women clinging to his legs and sides.

Uruame appears in front of the short stair case, bowing on one knee. "Has the invitation spread throughout the city?" The King slightly smirks, pushing his fingertips together and leans forward. "Yes, my Sire. Every maiden has received an invitation," she pauses, looking up as she smirks, "everything is going according to plan, Sire." The King chuckles in amusement as he waves over a servant, whispering in her ear before sending her off to fetch Sukuna. "Well then," he stands up, arms open, his Royal mantle falling back from his shoulders. "It starts tomorrow night," he grins as the women below him slightly cower in fear, some clinging onto his pants.

You wipe the sweat off your forehead with your arm before clipping wet clothes and dress onto the hanging rope, small dirt and rubble covering parts of your work dress. When all the clothes were hanged, you set a empty basket near the wall and walk over to your Airdelle Terrier, Shoko. The brown thin-furred dog whines in delight when you scratch behind her ears, giggling when she thumps her leg on the ground. She pants as you feed her a treat, walking off with three little mic trailing behind you. Your other dog slept soundly next to Shoko, your Afghan Hound named Nanami. Your horse, Geto, neighs when he sees you. You giggle and wave.

You quickly come to a stop to look down at the three mice following you that bump into the back of your heel. Yuji, following Nobara, and Megumi. "Aw, I didn't know you guys were following me," you sweetly say before scooping them up and dropping them in the pocket of your apron. You enter through a back door of the château, a bell violently ringing against the wall. "(N/N)!! mop the floor downstairs!" The three mice covers their ears in annoyance, Yuji, the one in the red shirt poking out the pocket with a fist curled in the air. He gets shoved back in when Megumi, the one in a dark blue shirt, pushes his head down. You sigh before getting a bucket near the fireplace and fill it up with soap and water, grabbing a towel along the way. You head over to the main room, watching as one of your step-sisters, Yorozu, step up the stairs with dirty heels. She smirks as she slides her feet out of them at the top of the staircase and picks them up, huffing in pettiness before carefully carry her heels within arms reach from her dress, walking away to the shared room with her sister. You sigh when you hear the door shut, quickly dipping the towel in the bucket and start to scrub the floor. The mice jump out your apron's pocket and slides across the slippery floor with small bubbles following closely behind them.

Mahito, the cat, peers from behind the staircase, eyes slitting into lines when he sees the three mice scattering across the floor, struggling to get up.

"Itadori! Get up!" Megumi shouts, his round ears twitching. Yuji fails to do so, slipping before making Nobara slip on her own two little feet, falling back as her bottom half hangs over her face. Her tail wiggles in aggravation as she takes a quick hit on Yuji's head, a 'bonk' sound being heard from the mouse's head. A red bump appears over his pink and black ombre fur. "Ow! I'm trying, Fushiguro! Woah, woah, woah! Hey- look out!" Yuji's small clawed finger points to the now scurrying cat headed their way, all mice's feet skedaddling on the floor. The cat's face meets the wall, his fur standing up from all over at the impact. Yuji snickers before moving on all fours, the blue cat charging at the mouse. Yuji and Mahito slip across the floor, Mahito's claws missing barely an inch on Yuji. Mahito had a thick coat that had a natural baby blue color along with a creamy white color spotting over his paws, nose, and stomach. Dark colors etch on his fur on the back, resembling lines of stitches. Nobara, the mouse that was in a small pink work dress like you, stood on top of a table. Mahito creeps under it, trying to catch the movement of anything. She squeaks when she uses all her might to push a heavy book off the table. Mahito looks up just as it lands in his face, yowling as his paws clutches his face. All three mice scurry through a hole in the wall, closing their small door as you make way towards the cat with a confused expression.

"Mahito, what are you doing down here? You're getting your dirty paws all over the place," you sigh as you pick up the book and set it back on the table, a small frown on your features as you watch the cat walk up the stairs, an unknowing scowl on its' face. You make your way back to your bucket of soap and water, picking up the towel and wiping what stain or streak was on the floor.

The main doors open causing you to turn your head, meeting the eyes of your step-mother. She had a black short bob with a stitch lined across her forehead, a sun hat covered in dark red roses wrapped in a ribbon that was a color of an eggplant. She rolled her eyes at you before opening her mouth to speak, "Yorozu! MeiMei!" Her voice was sickeningly sweet, a hand was cupped next to her mouth, her other holding a envelope and a fan. Both tall women hurry down the stairs, their thick dresses bouncing with each step down the stairs, their hind parts thickened and round in the dress. "Yes, mother," they both say in unison, one's large silver haired braid hanging over their face and the other with a tie up, black spiky hair sprawling out on all sides, a few hair strands resting at the sides of her face. They both bow politely, all three women ignoring your presence.

"Guess who's throwing a ball tomorrow night, girls?" Both step-sisters look at their mother in shock before turning to each other, squealing as they hold each other's hands, jumping in excitement, their dresses bouncing with them. "He's looking for a wife," she explains, a glint in her eye. Both girls squeal even louder, Yorozu balling her dress into her hands. "He'll marry me!" Yorozu claims boldly before having her sister push her shoulder, her braid swaying with every turn of her head, "no, he'll marry me! What are you on, sister?" The girls inch closer to each other's faces as their bickering echoes throughout the room, quickly shutting up when their mother's staff hits the ground. Your step-mother clears her throat, firmly pursing her lips as she explains again, "you both will dress your best. We'll all live in the castle if one of you are able to be wedded." Both of the girls giggle just before you speak up, "step-mother Kenjaku.. May I be able to attend the ball?" The room goes silent as they all turn to your figure, piercing eyes staring daggers into your soul just as they all burst into laughter in unison, your form shrinking and faltering by their boisterous laugh. "Now let's see.." Your step-mother taps her purple-colored fingernails around the ball on her staff, eyes wandering around the ceiling of the room. "If you are able to scrub every corner and edge, clean each of our rooms, and manage to get a dress.." She pauses, jaw pushed to the side for a second, "you're able to attend the ball with us," she seethes with sarcasm, emphasizing with the word 'us.'

You urgently nod your head, bowing at waist-level. "Now then, girls get ready for dinner. (Y/N), prepare the dinner," your step-mother waves her hand at the three of you, all obediently listening to her orders.

"Chop, chop, boys!" Nobara squeaks out to Yuji and Megumi who were cutting and sewing through pink fabric, three other birds working on the bows. One female that had raven colored feathers, the other having silver feathers, and the third having two shades overlapping each other, black and white. A mice, Choso, helps his brother Yuji and have him stand on his shoulders. The raven feathered bird chirps happily when another bird joins in, being quite small compared to her. "Yuta! I'm so glad you could make it," the female bird chirps, watching the smaller bird land on the desk. "I wouldn't miss it for the world, Maki," Yuta chirped back, flapping his wings in greeting.

"Gosh, I can't believe I'm stuck with you two," Megumi murmurs, dragging a clawed hand down and over his snout. Yuji blows a raspberry at him before jumping off the desk, sewing the fabric shut. Nobara finishes it with a bite to the string, the rest of it falling loosely to the floor as Yuji scurried his little feet to the desk. Yuta and Maki work their way to raise the dress up high as Panda places a bow in the center of the neckline when Megumi places a turquoise pearl bead necklace around it, small cheers and squeaks erupting from every mouse at the finishing touch. Inumaki flies to your door, hearing your footsteps come up the stairs.

"Mealworms!" Inumaki chirps to the others. Panda sighs before flapping his wings in alarm for the mouses as he translates, "she's coming!"

It was almost sun-down and you were trembling out of your wits end, your body tired and overworked. You open the door to your room, your face twisting into a face of surprise at the sight. "W-woah!" "Surprise!" Mice jumped up from behind large objects, birds flying into your room as you analyze your new dress. It was a simple but beautiful dress to you, you could only stare at it in awe as you touch it and let it fall from up ur fingers. You start to squeal in delight, carefully taking the dress in your arms, hugging it tightly as you danced around the room. "Thank you! Thank you to you all, thank you so much!"

"I have to show step-mother this," you exclaimed as you went behind the paper folding screen, birds flying over to help remove your clothes. The dress easily slides over your figure, hugging yourself as you hurriedly did your hair just the way you wanted it with a pink bow at the back.

Your step-mother and step-sisters descend the stairs as they both pat their faces in dry powder, the back of their dresses bouncing each time they took a step. "Now when you're presented to his highness, be sure-" Just as they were about to leave, you quickly step down the stairs, a hand up in the air, "wait!" They all look back, gasping audibly when they see you in a dress. As you leave the staircase, you immediately twirl before politely bowing. "Isn't it lovely? Do you like it? Do you think it will do?" Yorozu and Mei step back, absolutely astounded. Yorozu had her hair down with a dark pink dress, Mei's hair was half-down and half-up, wearing a vibrant yellow dress. "N/N!!" "Mother she can't-" "oh no!" "You can't let her-" "GIRLS, please," your step-mother holds a hand up at both of them, holding a stern look. She quickly puts on a smile on her face, looking back and forth between her daughters. "After all, we did make a bargain," she looks up to you, "didn't we, (Y/N)?" You only grin in response before having it slowly fade as she steps up closer to you. "And I never go back on my word. Hmm, how very clever. These beads.. They give it just the right touch, don't you think so, MeiMei?"

Mei turns away as she huffs, "no I don't, I think she's-" Mei's eyes are quick to open, turning back to your beautiful form. She ghastly gasps, her face twisting in anger, "oh! Why you little thief!" She stomps her feet under her dress. "They're my beads! Give them here," she demands before ripping them off of your neck before quickly hearing Yorozu pop in, "oh and look! That's my sash! She's wearing my sash!" You stand there in distraught, panicking as your gaze switches to both the girls as they start to rip apart your dress. You plead as they rip off the ribbons and fabric, feeling their breath against your cheek when they get into your face to yell. "Girls! Girls... That's quite enough," your step-mother scoffs before opening the door, "hurry along now, both of you."

They both walk out the door, holding their dresses between their thumb and index fingers with their hind parts bouncing behind them. You look down at the ripped pieces of your dress on the marble floor, looking up at your step-mother looking down at you with a smirk. "Goodnight," she says one last time, closing the door behind her, leaving you alone in the château. You raise your hands to your eyes as you cry out, running out of the house and to a bench where your mother once sat at.

Hot tears go spilling from your eyes, hands clutching onto the seat and your dress. You weep as you speak out, "no, it isn't true." You sob, hiccuping as mice and other animals you know come to gather to watch you. "It's just no use, no use at all," you whimper to yourself, squeezing your eyes shut, "I can't believe. No, not anymore. There's nothing else to believe in.. nothing."

"Nothing, my dear?" A voice speaks out as you continue to weep. "Now you don't really believe that-" "oh, but I do-" "nonsense sweetheart! If you lost all your faith, I couldn't be here," the voice speaks, soft tender hands holding onto your arms. A hand slides to your chin, your head lifting to see the face of the voice. You gasp when you see a pale man with white hair, blue eyes glowing in the dark. "And here I am," he exclaims, smirking when you nearly fall back before holding your arms gently, lifting you up to stand. "Oh come now, dry those tears," he wipes your tears away with his thumbs, "I don't know what to do when girls cry in front of me. You can't go to the ball looking like that anyway."

"Oh! But- but I'm not-" "of course you are, but we do have to hurry," he chuckles, sliding his fingers through his hair. "Even miracles take time," he rolls up his sleeves, closing his eyes. "Miracles?" He nods, humming in response, "just watch," he smirks just as he attempts to pull out a wand confidently, nothing coming out and appearing on his hand. He blinks at his hand, blushing in embarrassment. "Oops, mistake there. Shit- what did I do with my wand? I was sure..." He bends over to look under the bench and inside his cloak as you peer over him in amusement, "a wand? You must be.." "Your fairy godfather? Why yes, of course. Always been here. And before you ask, I swear I'm not that old- oh! Never mind, I just remembered- I put it away," he smugly says, turning to you with raised brows, his fingers pinched as he lines it down in the air, a wand appearing through the pinch of his fingers. You're taken aback when you see this, your feet shuffling on the floor as you step back.

"Fushiguro! Did'ya see that?!" Yuji exclaims in bewilderment, shaking the shoulders of his best friend. "Yeah.. Yeah, I did," he grumbles, whiskers twitching in annoyance. "How'd he do it?!" Other mice exclaim as Choso pries Yuji off his friend. "Now let's look here.. First thing we need is.. Well, to.. a pumpkin! Yeah-" your godfather points his wand to a fresh grown-out pumpkin in the garden, sparkling magic carrying the pumpkin over. You watch in amazement, hearing him mutter words. "What are you saying? What's your name?" Your godfather looks back at you before chuckling, rubbing a hand at the back of his head. "I'm chanting some magic words but it's a little embarrassing for a man like me to say. Name's Gojo Satoru for you!" You nod feverishly, watching as the pumpkin floats its' way over. Vines grow and starts to curl in itself, the pumpkin growing larger with each chant that comes out of Gojo's mouth. The pumpkin changes its' color.. turning white... it's a carriage? It's a carriage! "Isn't it wonderful?" Gojo turns to you in his flirtatious voice, leaning his weight on one hip as he raises a brow at you.

You giggle, ghosting your hands over the wheel of the large carriage, "it's beautiful," you breathe. "Yes, yes it is. With a elegant coach like that of course- we'll have to.... get mice!" He points down to four mice on the floor, Yuji, Choso, Megumi, and Nobara. Your horse, Geto, stomps his hoove on the ground in offense. "We'll have a coach when we're through. Now let's see here- bibbidi bibbidi boo," he whispers, waving the wand at the four mice that turn into large beautiful stallions. "Ah, now see- that's great. You can't go without a horse!"

You tilt your head at him in confusion, "another one?" You ponder, watching him shake his head and chuckle. "It'll be a change- he'll handle the reins instead," he pets your horse before even more sparkling magic carry Geto, turning Geto into a tall grown man that was... quite attractive. He gets sat in the driver's seat, reins in his hold. He blinks before looking down at himself, then at you. You shrug before blushing, watching him start to smile at you. "He'll be a coachman. And another thing.. The finishing touch! You!" You await for the magic to connect with your skin but nothing tingling comes. You open your eyes to see your dog, Shoko, being carried through the air. She was then transformed into a beautiful girl with a brown bob.

"She'll be the footman," he puffs out his chest pridefully, closing his eyes at his work. "Now, go ahead- hop in because we don't have much time," he bats an eye at you, "I know, I know, don't thank me-" you deadpan at him, pouting. "I wasn't.. Well, I mean- I am thankful! But.. My dress.. Don't you think it's..?"

"Hm?" He turns around to fully take a look at you, gasping in horror when he takes a look at your dress. You deadpan at him again. Did he seriously not notice? "Oh good heavens, no. You sweetie, are not going to the ball looking like that, " he mutters, eyeing your dress up and down. He quickly walks over to you, bending down to measure you with his wand. Your face becomes hot when the attractive man gets close to you, wand pressing against your side. He hums before backing up to create a certain amount of distance, chanting again as the same magic before circles around you, your dress quickly puffing into a poofy light-blue dress. It sparkled under the moon light, puffed out sleeves hugging your shoulders as gloves the same color as your dress were worn by your hands.

You twirl around, hands clutching the sides of your dress as your feet drags you across the floor. "Have you ever seen such a beautiful dress? I even have glass slippers!" You sighed happily, seeing Shoko's head nod quickly as she eyed your dress with a sparkle in her eye. You twirl your way to Geto, a toothy grin on your face as his cheeks turned pink. "M-miss (Y/N)! You're beautiful," he breathes, eyes kept on you as you bow at him and twirl your way towards your godfather who was smiling fondly at you.

"It's like a dream, godfather Gojo-" "please," he raises a hand up before taking your gloved hand in his own, "call me Satoru, sweetheart." You giggle as you twirl away, wrapped in the moment. His smile slightly drops as he taps the tip of his wand against his chin, cocking a brow at you in concern. "Jus' letting you know, like all dreams, this won't last forever. You'll only have until midnight.. And then.."

"Yes, yes, midnight- thank you," you grin, swaying your dress as you stare at your reflection in the water. "Hey now- just wait a minute. You must understand, sweetheart, that at the stroke of midnight, all of this," he draws a circle with his wand, gesturing to every object and being he used magic on, "will go back to the way it was before, d'ya hear me?"

You nod before quickly running to him, taking his hands and holding it to your chest, Gojo's cheeks slightly pink at the unexpected action. "I understand.. but it's anything I could ever hope for," you breathe, leaning in to give him a peck on the cheek, your glass heels giving you leverage. "Ah.. Yeah.. Well ah! Goodness shit- it's getting late, you ought to go," he ushers you off, gently shoving you in the carriage, "the ball can't wait." You quickly adjust to the seat as the door closes, the carriage already being sent off in the dirt road. "Remember, sweetheart! Stroke of midnight!" You stick your head out the door window, smiling when you see his figure slowly fade in a sparkle of magic.

"Mademoiselles Mei Kenjaku and Yorozu Kenjaku, daughters of Lady Kenjaku."

Sukuna's eye peak interest when he sees Yorozu, a small smirk on his lips. He does nothing of the matter though, and just bows as they bow at him, eyes lingering on his figure. Sukuna's father sighs from the stands, rolling his eyes and shaking his head in disapproval. "Y'know sire, I did try to warn you about the prince. He's not interested in any of this and you are a hopeless romantic," Uruame speaks through his sighs and groans, a gloved hand rubbing his forehead.

"There's no doubt when he just bows and right when he suddenly stops and looks up,"

Sukuna raises his head, his whole body stiffening when he sees you, his heart stuttering. "And there, she stands. The girl of his dreams. Who she is or whence she came from, he does not know nor does he care," Uruame speaks away as Sukuna's father notices Sukuna's sudden change in behaviour. Sukuna rushes past Yorozu and Mei, making his way towards your wandering and curious figure. "His heart tells him that here," Sukuna grabs ahold of your hand, only for you to be quick to draw back, "here is the maid that is predestined to be his bride." Sukuna is quick to bow down before you just as you do after him. Uruame lightly chuckles, rubbing her monocle against her suit as the King blinks at the scene of his son and your beautiful form below. "A pretty plot for fairy tails, sire. But in real life, oh no. It was fore doomed to failure-" she quickly gets cut off when the King locks her head with his arm, his gloved knuckles rubbing against her scalp. "Failure, huh? Then take a look at this, you damn pompous hag!" He quickly shoves her down, along with her monocle to watch the two youngsters interact.

Sukuna kisses your hand gently before looking up at you with his red gleaming eyes, ones that were so opposite from Gojo's. It kind of scared you. His eyes almost held possessiveness and so many dark things behind, eyes more piercing and slit than Gojo's who seemed much more kinder and seemed to have good-will. As scary as it was, his eyes also told you he had a sense of security and protection. It almost made you weak in the knees.

"Your highness, it would be an honor. May I take your hand?" His deep voice rumbles in the air, cold air puffing out your mouth as you stare at him in slight surprise. A smile slowly spreads onto your face as you take your hand in his, guiding you into the ball room. Sukuna was nearly gonna shit his pants. He thought you were so fucking beautiful, he didn't know what to say. "You look amazing tonight," he gestures towards your dress, gently squeezing your hand. You blush and cover over your mouth with a hand as you both walk over to the ballroom, starting to gain the eyes of other maidens.

"Who is she? Do you know her?" The King exclaims, peering down with Uruame's monocle. "No, Sire. I've never seen her before," Uruame shakes her head and peers down with him, invested in the sight of Sukuna in the hand of a woman. "Well that's one thing in her favor- shit, they're coming over here," the King quickly turns to gesture to the musicians, hands waving at them, "the waltz! Do the goddamn waltz!"

"Dim the lights!" The King nearly falls over the edge, Uruame's face turning red and round as a tomato as she struggles to keep him up.

"Huh?" Sukuna looks around before looking back at you, his heart nearly melting at the sight of the eye contact. "I guess this is where we should dance," you joke lightly, his hand wrapping around your waist as the other continues to squeeze your hand gently but firmly. He chuckles at your comment, gazing down at you. "You're funny," he remarks, swaying you back and forth as you pick up your dress.

You grin up at him as the music carries you both, lost in each other's gaze. Maidens stare at you both in jealousy and hate, others' heart crumbling at the sight. Some are even happy.

"If anything goes wrong," the King cuts off before sliding his thumb across his neck just as he disappears behind the curtains, leaving Uruame dumbfounded and in charge.

"Mother," Mei whispers in an aggravated voice, clinging to her mother's side. "Mother, who is that," Yorozu growls, twisting her foot into the ground. Your step-mother stares at you and Sukuna from afar, brows raised as her eyes held a jealous glint in them.

"Do we know her?" "Well the prince certainly seems to- but I know I've never seen her-" your step-mother cuts them off with a wave, "nor I, but she's certainly is- wait.. There is something familiar about her," your step-mother's eyes follow you and Sukuna, her own feet moving to inspect your familiar figure. You and Sukuna dance your way out the ballroom elegantly just as your step-mother tries to take a good look, curtains being closed in her face. "Oh my," she embarrassingly looks around, a hand placed on her chest before turning to the sound of another voice, "ahem." There stood Uruame, cocking a brow at her before rubbing her monocle against her suit.

You hum a tune as you both dance, staring into each other's eyes as the night carries you both away. For Sukuna, it felt like it had been a very long time since his heart started to beat. And when he looked into your eyes, it was like seeing the stars. It was in that moment that Sukuna decided that you were to be the one made into his wife.

You two are both met with stairs and that's when you decide to disconnect from each other, your gloved hand and waist savoring the warmth his hands once left you. "So, are you a princess?" Sukuna looks at you as you sputter, nearly choking on your words, a hand waving at your face as you blush. "Ah- no.. I'm merely.. just a girl that lives in a chateau resided in the city," you smile, tucking a few hair strands behind your ear. "Are you.. Are you a prince?"

Sukuna stiffens in surprise, scratching his head, "well.. I'm the prince that's asking for wife," he slightly smirks when he sees your shocked face. "You- you're the prince?! The prince?!" Sukuna laughs, bowing politely at you. "I'm not exactly the prince, I'm just a prince. But I mean, hey," he looks down at you, eyeing you up and down, "I'm the best prince of all there is." You stifle a chuckle, snorting as you turn away to dab away your tears, "he's so corny," you whisper to yourself. But that didn't go unheard by Sukuna that makes a face. "I'd ought to have your head chopped for that, beautiful," Sukuna looks down at you with a mischievous glint in his eye, smirking when your smile slightly falters. You scoff as you turn your head away, waving your hand at him and completely ignoring what he said. "If you must," you shrug, making your way to a fountain.

You were definitely the one. He chuckles before walking beside you, gazing down at the reflection of both of you. You were an amazing sight to behold, like a newly-bloomed flower covered in a frost of snow. He sees you turn to him, getting the chance to look up at you.

You both inch closer, lips lightly brushing at the tips and ghosting over each other. His hand slides over to your waist, gently rubbing up and down your sides that made you shudder. Your eyes quickly open. Just before he got any closer, you step away far enough that your lips was out of reach. "What time is it?" You bite your lip just as Sukuna makes a confused face, turning to look behind him. "It's currently 11:59. Why?" You quickly detach your body away from him, clutching your dress in your fingers, "goodbye! I'm sorry but I have to go!" You step away from him, his hand reaching out for you. "Hey wait!!" A clock starts to ring in your ears now, hurriedly making your way through the garden and back into the ballroom, Sukuna following not too far behind. When you walk past the curtains, you catch the eyes of other maidens just as Sukuna comes through who was quickly swarmed with women. "Wait- I haven't even got your name!" Uruame gets up quickly to chase after you, shoving past the swarm of women heading Sukuna's way.

"Mademoiselle!- pretty lady!-" she nearly trips over her own feet, her eyes watching your leaving figure unexpectingly run down the stairs with such speed. As you run down the stairs, one of your glass slippers fall off, growling in frustration when you have no time to make a grab for it. Uruame makes a grab for it as you dash into an extravagant carriage, "close the gates! Follow that carriage and close the goddamn gates!" Uruame shakes her head in anger, pointing towards your leaving carriage.

You all make it into a forest nearby your house before everything returned to its' original form, your 'horses' turning back into mice, your coachman turning back into your horse, your footman turning back into your dog, and your carriage turning back into a pumpkin that was now squished under your bum.

You look back to see men with large horses charging at you. You gasp before quickly moving out the way, gesturing to the rest of the animals before they got crushed like the pumpkin below that glittered with left over magic. "Oh.. I'm sorry. It seems I had forgotten about the time," you murmur, looking to your horse and dog apologetically. "But... It was so wonderful. And he was so handsome- and when we danced..- I'm sure that no man could have ever.. man," you laugh, wiping a tear. "(N/N)! (N/N)!" You look down, seeing Yuji's small clawed finger pointing at your feet. "A slipper!" "Yeah, your slipper!" Yuji and Nobara shout over each other, pointing their little fingers as they push at each other. You let out a shaky 'oh' and slip your feet out of the glass shoe, holding the delicate thing in your hands before you look up to the stars, eyes glimmering. "Oh, thank you. Thank you so much, for everything."

The King's snoring abruptly stops when he hears knocking at the door, grumbling as he gets up, rubbing the side of his face, "come in," he says urgently. Uruame breaks a sweat as she enters, quick to bow at his feet on one knee. "Uruame! So he's proposed already! Sit down, sit down," he easily lifts her up to her feet, pushing her down on a chair as she slightly frowns, clutching her monocle carefully. "But I haven't told you-" "now, now, we have much more important things to discuss. Arrangement for the wedding, special occasions, national holiday, all that sort of things."

"But Sire-" "here, have a cigar," the King grins, shoving a large cigar in Uruame's mouth that was already lit in the end. "But-" the King laughs, shoving more cigars in her suit. "Better practice to be handin' these out, eh?" He cackles, throwing his head back as Uruame stutters over her words, sweat covering almost her entire back. The king pulls out a sword, Uruame's eyes shutting tightly as she braces for pain but nothing comes. "And for you my friend, a knighthood!"

Uruame peeks an eye open, clutching the hem of her suit. "I hereby dub you Lady... Err- uh.. By the way, what title would you like?" Uruame swallows her saliva thickly, ignoring his question, "sire, she got away." "Well if that would be your title-.. she WHAT?!" The King shakes in anger, his face quite literally turning into a deep shade of red. "Why you- you little imbecile!" Uruame backs up on her feet as the King steps towards her, raising his sword, "b-but sire- remember! Y-you're sick! Your blood pressure!"

"Treason!" He swings down his sword, cutting Uruame's cigar in half. She blinks, gasping just as she crawls backwards, getting up to hide behind the chair she was on. "N-no sire!-" "sabotage! You were in league with the prince all along!" "No sire- I did try to stop her! But- but she vanished into thin air!" "A likely story!" He swings his sword at her, quickly scrambling under and through a table just before he cuts it in half. She quickly jumps onto his bed, jumping as high as he can as he swings at her. They both look like children. "He loves her Sire! The only thing left of her is this slipper! He won't rest until he finds her!" The King's eyes slightly widen at her words but continues to swing, "what did you say?"

"The prince, Sire! Swears he'll marry none but the girl who fits this slipper!" She lands on her back on his bed, the King landing along with her, his large feet planted at her sides. "He said that, did he?" He grins, snatching the glass slipper before smooching it like it was his mother's cheek. "Jackpot!" "But Sire- this slipper may fit any number of girls. Especially in Shibuya!"

"That's his problem- he gave his words, we'll hold him to it," the King hops off the bed, throwing the sword to the side and the slipper on the bed as he walks off. "Nuh uh, I'll have nothing to do with it," Uruame crosses her arms, her usual stoic expression back on her face. He picks up the sword again to lift up the glass slipper, gliding past Uruame's face. "You will try this on every maiden in the kingdom. And if the shoe fits," the King lowers the sword to her throat, "bring her in." "Y-yes.. your majesty," Uruame gulps.

"The prince?" You mutter as your mouth goes dry, accidentally dropping the tray of breakfast on the floor. "Oh you!- you clumsy little fool! Clean up that mess. And help my daughters dress up," your step-mother ushers, pulling the blanket off her daughters that was still in sleeping wear. "If he's in love with that girl, why should we even bother?" Mei pulls the blanket over her and Yorozu again, butts sticking up as their mother roughly snatches the blanket, both of them looking at her in surprise. "Listen to me! There's still a chance that one of you could get in," their mother explains urgently, nodding her head towards where you assumed the palace was. "What?" They say in unison. "One of us?" They turn to each other, blinking.

"Why mother, what do you mean?-" "just this.. No one, not even the prince, knows who that girl is," she explains thoroughly. "We know, we know! (N/N)! (N/-" Yuji quickly gets cut off by Megumi's punch, a frown displayed on his furry face. "The glass slipper is their only clue. Now, the Duchess has been ordered to try it on every girl in the kingdom. And if one can be found if the slipper fits, by the kings command: that girl shall be the Prince's bride."

"His.. bride," you breathe out under a whisper, processing the information. Your step-sisters were quick to process the information though, demanding for you to quickly get them ready and prepped, rushing out of the bed and such. They grab clothes across the room that was laid all over the place, placing it in your arms as you stare off into space, a loving grin on your features as you reminisce your last night interactions with the prince.

"What's the matter with you?!" "Wake up stupid!" "We gotta get dressed!" You blink at them before you look down at your own clothes, your work clothes worn out and covered in dirt and stains. "Dressed.. Yes, I've got to get dressed. It wouldn't do for the Duchess to see me like this.." You set down the pile of dresses and clothes down in Yorozu's arms.

"Mother did you see what she did to me?!" "Mother, are you just gonna let her do this?!" Your step-mother raises a hand at them, "silence." She glares at your back, squinting close to your figure as you sway your way down the hall, humming the same tune as you were the night before. As you go to your room, you quickly undid your hair and start to brush it, singing the tune more louder. Chose lifts up Yuji on his shoulders as Megumi and Nobara stand next to each other, all four shouting at you. "Hm? What?" Your eyes widen just as you look up in the mirror, gasping when you see your step-mother's reflection. "Oh no!" You turn to run to the door, pulling the handle and shaking it. "You can't- I- shit! You can't do this! Oh, let me out!" You cry out, tears starting to form quickly. "You must let me out! You can't keep me in here! Oh.. Oh please," you sob, sliding down your door as you weakly punch it.

Yuji and Megumi hide inside a tea cup, whispering to each other as they plan on how they get the key from your step-mother's pocket. They climb over it and crawl their way over, Yuji slightly pulling on Megumi's tail when he falls into the pocket. Megumi musters up his tiny strength and lifts up the key, Yuji reaching for it as it pokes out. Your step-mother looks up at the stairs just before she starts to reach in her pocket. Yuji jumps, shaking his head profusely as he pushes the key back down in the pocket, a hand going inside to grip the key and going outside the pocket to pat against it. Megumi rubs his head, silently growling under his breath. "Damn old lady," he mutters.

"You must be quite fatigue, your grace. May we all drink some tea?" Your step-mother suggests as Uruame sits herself down on a chair, clearly exhausted. Kenjaku nearly pours a drop of tea that Yuji was in, who was sucking in his stomach when it came too close. "No thank you, ma'am. But we must proceed with the search," Uruame slowly blinks, her monocle falling off her face. She nods politely before gesturing to her daughter, Yorozu. "Yorozu, dear," she says tenderly, grinning when the servant holds the glass slipper right under Yorozu's foot. The servant slips it in, clapping in delight when he sees it fit. Or as he thought. He lifts up her foot, revealing her long slender foot that the glass slipper barely fit in. It seems her dress was covering most of her foot.

The servant's toupee nearly jumps out, clearly shook. "Oh! It- it may be a trugle snug, y'know!? Dancin' all night and all.. I can't understand why of course! It- it always fit perfect before!" The servant tries his best to shove her foot in the glass slipper, Yorozu chuckling awkwardly.

Yuji reaches over for the key, Megumi trying to push it towards his reach as he tries his own attempt to climb out the pocket. Yuji lets out a squeak of pain, both of them dropping to the ground, sliding off your step-mother's dress. "Now c'mon, Yuji! Up the stairs! Now!" They lift up the key, only making it by a few steps. "Boy, do we have a long way to go," Yuji complains, frowning when he looks up. "Oh come on! We gotta help her, now quick! They're already moving to Mei!"

You sob and cling to the door, hearing soft patter draw in closer to the sound of your ears, peering your teary eyes through the key hole. You gasp and cry in relief, "you got the key! My goodness! Thank you, thank you so much!" Megumi slides under your door but before Yuji ever can, Mahito comes in and traps him with a bowl. "Oh! Mahito! Let him go!" Mahito tilts his head to the sound of your voice at the other side of the door, letting out hisses of laughter, his tongue rolling over his fangs. Megumi quickly rushes back out the door, grabbing Mahito's tail, biting it as hard as he can. Mahito jumps, hair spiking up as he grabs his tail. He quickly puts the bowl over Yuji again.

More mice start to charge at him with forks before getting flicked away by Mahito's paws, a grin plastered on his furry face. A candle comes towards him which he easily blows out. Birds come in to throw unused dishes at his head which he quickly jumps up to swipe at them to a stop. "Shit.. Shit!" You panick, banging your head against the door before looking through the keyhole, "Nanami.. Get Nanami!"

The birds quickly rush over to the barn, tugging at the ears of your other dog that hazily woke up by the sound of chirping birds and the barks of Shoko beside him, Geto joining in on the bundle of sounds.

Uruame quickly catches the glass slipper with a finger, sighing in relief. "Oh, your grace, I'm dreadfully sorry. It shouldn't happen again-" "precisely, Madam," Uruame frowns at the grown woman. Nanami growls at the cat that was now cowering in fear, yowling as Nanami chases him out the window. Other mices lift up the bowl that Yuji was under, balled tightly into himself while clutching the key. "Itadori, c'mon!" Yuji shakes his head before Megumi knocks him in the head, dragging him under the door along with the key.

"You are the only ladies in the household I hope I presume?" Uruame cocks a brow tiredly, rubbing her monocle against her suit. "There's no one in the house, your grace." Uruame blinks before bowing her head lightly at the three ladies, "quite so. Good day then, good day-" she nearly walks out before getting cut off by your alarming voice, turning around just as quick as you run down the stairs, your step-family looking at you appalled. "Please wait! May I try it on?" "Pay no attention to her," your step-mother persuades, your step-sisters chiming in, "it's only (N/N)!" "Scullery!" "From the kitchen!" "Ridiculous!" "Impossible!" "She's out of her mind!" Uruame's expression lightens when she examines your feet through her monocle, a twitching smile making way to her lips. "Yes, yes- just an imaginative child!-" "Madam, my orders were 'every maiden.'"

Uruame shoves past her, gently gesturing you to come closer. "Come, my child," she takes your hand in hers as she sits you down, waving to the servant carrying the glass slipper on top of a silk purple pillow. The servant nods happily as he rushes over. Your step-mother grits her teeth, stepping her foot out as he trips over, pretending not to have seen the scene, smirking when it shatters on the ground. "N-no.. Oh no, no, no... This is.. terrible. The king.. What will he say?" Uruame mumbles in despair, getting on her knees to pick up the broken pieces. "You see if I could help-" you get cut off by Uruame's despair, "no, no. Nothing can help."

You chuckle, dipping into your apron pocket, "but you see," you smirk, looking down at her. "I have the other slipper," you pull it out and your step-mother's face goes pale, her jaw dropping nearly to the floor. Mice cheer as they watch the scene, your slipper fitting just so perfectly on your foot. Uruame nearly kisses the shoe as she stares up at you in delight, glad that she finally does not have to search all over the city anymore. And of course, that she found you, Sukuna's soon-to-be wife. Your step-sisters' go into a fit, pouting and crossing their arms to hug themselves for comfort while they stomp on the marble floor.

"Should I go get my things?" You quirk up at Uruame who rubs her monocle against her suit jacket. She blinks at you in surprise before chuckling, "there's no need. But if you please to do so, do it by all means, your Highness," she lightly bows down your way, other men in suit following her action. Your cheeks turn pink before you quickly head upstairs, checking if you wanted to bring anything. You stop rummaging through your drawer when you come across a photo of your father and your mother with little you in between them. You smile bitterly at the picture, bringing it up close to your chest. And of course, you were gonna bring the animals.

"And then- and then what else happens?" Yuji's clawed fingers tug onto Gojo's sleeves, earning a smack on the head from Megumi. "Well, of course, the wedding happens," Gojo smirks, looking back into the large book in front of him.

"Does mommy and daddy have a happy ending?" Gojo looks over to the twins with pink hair, one of them having your colored eyes and the other with red. He chuckles, patting both of their heads, "just listen, okay?"

Maidens scurry across all over the room, various of old women complimenting your features and a few others criticizing you. They made sure your dress fit perfectly and when you came out of the changing room, your beauty had all girls young and old gasping, enchanted by your beauty. "My god, you're so beautiful. Not even I looked like this when I was your age," one comments, "somebody switch our bodies!" Another goes. "You're so beautiful, your Highness," a young one pipes in. You accept the compliments and chuckle with them before the door of the room bursts open, revealing none other than Uruame who held a grumpy face. "Alright, alright, wedding's about to start. Are you guys all set?" A following of quiet 'yes's and a few nods come from all over the room, Uruame sighing when she's had her confirmation until her eyes went over to your figure. Her eyes go wide at the sight of you. "Y-your Highness..." Uruame blushes, bowing. You were wearing a big puffy dress that was as white as snow, your dress being as nearly as similar as the one you went to the ball with. Except parts of the dress had more glimmer and lace designs, especially in your corset. Flower lace designs adorn your ribs and sides, fine linen covering the part for your breasts. Of course, your dress had puffy sleeves made out of fine linen also. You were also the only one wearing white. Everyone else in the wedding was wearing either a dark red or black(which was thankfully allowed). Sukuna made sure you and him were the only one standing out. "You're ethereal," Uruame finishes, bowing once more. You blush at her compliment, draping over the veil over your face.

The King enters the room before bowing deeply, a cute and friendly smile setting onto his face, "you look lovely, miss (Y/N). Gosh- I bet my grandchildren will be beautiful-" he grunts when he feels Uruame jab him from the side, chuckling before extending his arm to you. "Let's see where this beautiful day takes us," he grins wider when you loop your arms around his, hearing sounds of music playing. Was this what it was like? To get married? You were quickly handed a slightly large bouquet of flowers, mixed in with Lilies, red and white roses, some sweet asylum flowers adorning the sides.

The place was dark-colored and yet it seemed so bright with the colors of the sun leaking through the windows and past the drapes. Everyone stood up, many gasped and was in awe at the sight of you. You realized your dress was extended a little longer from the back but you didn't mind. You liked the attention. You could hear the pounding of your heart in your ears as you stepped closer to the alter, Sukuna's figure coming more into view behind the veil. You both come to a stop before he hugs you, clutching your bouquet tightly as you turn to the alter. You couldn't really see Sukuna's face over the lace of the veil but you could see his hair. His pink hair was slightly slicked back, some of it sticking up, giving that 'bad boy' or 'she calls me daddy' vibe.

"We are gathered here today to celebrate union of these two loving beings, Sukuna Ryōmen and (Y/N) (L/N)," you nearly gasp when you recognize the voice, turning to see the same blue eyes wink at you. You smile, turning your gaze back to Sukuna. "We stand here to honor and celebrate the love shared by these two people, as they come together to start their new life in a solemn vow, surrounded by their closest family and friends," you almost cringe at that part. Because you don't have much friends or family here besides the animals. "They are enjoyed that many of you are able to join us today. As we stand here today to mark this occasion, we remember that what matters most is not the ceremony itself, but the love and companionship you will continue to share throughout your married life together. It was by chance, that Sukuna had stumbled across this woman that he now claims his own," you hear Gojo fondly say. You hear Sukuna gruff, agreeing with him. A couple of people from the side laughs, including you. "To honor the strength of love and the role it plays in our lives, Sukuna and (Y/N) have called upon two of their nearest and dearest to share readings that have moved them,

Your wedding vows are a sacred declaration of your love for each other, the foundation of your relationship as a married couple, and the life you want to build together.

Please face each other as you declare vows to one another. Sukuna, you may start." You hear Sukuna suck in a breath, watching him fumble with his gloved fingers through the veil. For Sukuna, it was like his heart was in his throat. For the first time, in front of his own people, he felt so scared. "(Y/N) (L/N)," he says in a firm voice. "When I first met you, you were the most beautiful and enticing person I have ever seen. The dance we had the night we met felt.. special, really. But at the same time, it was like you were out of reach, something I couldn't grab or have, even as a prince," he calmly says without a stutter, looking up at you. "Within every fiber of my being, am I glad to have met such a great woman. One look at you and I'm lost and I feel... vulnerable," the word 'vulnerable' coming out of his mouth had a few people from the crowd gasping quietly. More like almost a few hundred people. "I, Sukuna Ryōmen, take you, (Y/N) (L/N) to be my wedded wife. I promise to stand by your side through good and bad times, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health. I vow to stay true to you and love you unconditionally for the rest of my days." Out pops a silk pillow with two rings on it, both golden and one decorated with beautiful glimmering diamonds. Four mice are underneath it.

You let out a shaky sigh, looking up to the ceiling so tears wouldn't fall and ruin your makeup. A few people chuckle including your maidens. "(Y/N)," Gojo turns to you, his brow slightly raised. You inhale and exhale through your nose and look up at Sukuna, secretly glad your veil was covering your face. "Sukuna Ryōmen. When I first met you, I wouldn't lie and say you didn't have me scared shitless," you spat, smile wavering as Sukuna snickers, a few people gasping at the use of language while Sukuna's father chuckles at it. "But I realized you were just more than scary. You're funny and kind when you want to be. You took me away from what only I can call a nightmare, and for that, I thank you for everything. Maybe someday in our marriage, I'll get to break past your rough cold exterior," a few awes are heard throughout the crowd.

"I, (Y/N) (L/N), take you, Sukuna Ryōmen to be my wedded husband. I promise to stand by your side through good and bad times, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health. I vow to stay true to you and love you unconditionally for the rest of my days," you let out a sigh from speaking all those words. Who knew vows could be so overwhelming? "Oh yeah- I forgot, before we start, does anyone have any objections?" Silence. Gojo chuckles before beckoning you both to take the rings.

"Do you, Sukuna, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?" "I do," the softest words ever to come out of Sukuna's mouth. You were sure your cheeks were as red as beetroots right now. "Do you, (Y/N), take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?" You nod, squeezing the trunk of the flower bouquet, "I do." You both slide the rings onto each other's fingers, smiling at it adoringly when it fits perfectly. "You may now kiss the bride," Gojo triumphaly announces, watching in anticipation when Sukuna lifts up your veil. You nearly took his breath away. Before you could even blush and turn away embarrassed, he smashes his lips against yours. It became gentle quickly after that, his lips moving amongst your own. His lips were soft, demanding but soft. It felt nice. It was passionate. From that day on, you were now married to each other.

You walk down the hallway just before coming to a stop, eyes widening as you turn to peek through a door. Your eyes soften when you see your godfather with an open book, animals and your children surrounding him. You smile but it quickly fades away when you feel a hand on your shoulder, your soul almost floating away. "Woah, there. Sorry, darling," Sukuna kisses your cheek, moving his hand on your waist as his thumb caresses your side. You sigh, shaking your head before reciprocating the kiss onto his cheek, not too long until you lay a hand on your own. "I'm happy, Sukuna," you look up at him. He smiles down at you, moving to kiss you. "Eww!" You both quickly turn to see everyone staring at you through the crack of the door. Sukuna growls, moving away from you and marches into the room as you snort at the sight.

As he scolds everyone and tells them to go to bed, you smile. You could never ask for anything more than this.

A/N: was rlly fun to write, I completely made Sukuna into a softie in this one so he's not completely himself. But it's Cinderella only she can change him! 🥰

This is kind of a make up after the eternity fic.. But I still hope you enjoyed! Thank you for reading <3

If you liked this one, go check out my other works and see if you enjoy them as well! Follow and give me a note if you enjoy<3

M. LIST

If you wanna know more about me, click on my page and read my pinned post.

Tags: @sircatchungus

[ericshoney]

Perfect ~ Sturniolo triplets

Warnings: angst, eating disorders, crying, mental health, mentions of a broken home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You had been friends with the triplets since high school and you loved every second you spent with them. As you didn't have the best home life, you found comfort and protection in the Sturniolo home and once the guys moved to LA, you were close behind. You moved in with the trio, saying you'd help with their filming and any meetings.

However, after spending years in LA and now having your own social media fame, you couldn't help but feel bland and simple. You also couldn't ignore the comments on your posts about your weight. You had always struggled with your weight, it going up and down constantly.

But now, it was getting to your head. Your mind was telling you that you wasn't good enough and you were fat and ugly and that the guys only kept you around as you help edit or keep them on track of important meetings. Your mind telling you they didn't really like you.

It then resulted in you skipping out snacks, only eating three meals a day. Which then went downhill. You then cut out breakfast, before skipping lunch and slowly dinner as well. Your mind tells you that eating would just get you fat and nobody would like you.

Your weight then dropped drastically and the guys noticed. They noticed how sunken your eyes looked, how thin you were getting, how your clothes hung off your body and they were worried. They were scared to lose you.

Nick, Matt and Chris sat on the sofa as you were showering, the trio talking about your sudden weight loss. Concern written all over their faces.

"She's not eating." Matt mentioned.

"We need to talk to her." Chris said.

"Yes, but we need to be careful not to hurt her more than she already is." Nick said, agreeing but also thinking logically.

Matt and Chris nodded and when you walked out, the guys told you to sit as they wanted to talk. You nodded, taking a seat between Matt and Nick on the sofa.

"What's going on?" You asked.

"We've noticed your sudden weight loss." Chris blurted out, earning a slap from Nick.

"It's great isn't it. I'm now fitting the perfect LA image." You said, a fake smile printed on your face, which the guys knew was fake.

"Sweetheart, we're basically your brothers. Talk to us, you aren't eating which isn't healthy and we don't want to lose you." Nick softly said, taking your hand in his.

"Just not hungry." You mumbled.

"That's what your mind is telling you. But we know it's not true." Matt said.

"None of you really like me.....I'm only good for helping you work." You mumbled, tears ready to spill over.

"No, that's not true, kid. You are one of our best friends and as Nick said, basically our sister. We love you and care about you. If we didn't, we wouldn't be having this talk." Chris said, sitting in front of you on the floor.

You looked into his blue eyes, the tears now falling freely down your face. You looked at Nick and to Matt as well, all their faces showed worry. You mind now screaming at you for making them upset.

"I'm sorry." You cried.

"Don't be sorry. We're sorry for not seeing the signs first of all." Matt said, rubbing your back.

"We want to help you. Will you let us?" Nick asked softly.

You nodded laying your head on his shoulder. Chris laid his head on your knees as Matt continued to rub your back. In that moment you felt loved and supported and knew over time you would get better, with your friends help.

[teehee-vibes]

Agonized over the fact that when Chip reunites with Arlin, no matter how it happens, whether Arlin is dead or alive, corrupted or stable, preserved as he was or aged by time and magic… whether it’s a moment of joy and relief at a long-awaited reunion or a heart-shattering episode of grief because Chip is too late, Chip can’t even cry about it.

[baggidude]

Spoiler for Venom: The last dance ahead -

So since venom is most likely gonna be in a future spidey film ( Since I think it's implied he's still alive with the cockaroach post credits scene) I'm thinking that once he connects with Peter he'll still do the usual venom things but this time around he will be asking where Eddie is and by the end of the film ( or films ) spidey will help him reunite with Eddie.

[gosuckseamonkeys]

Arid Melancholy

Summary: Rafayel is captured and endures brutal torture at the hands of an agent of EVER Group intent on exploiting his people’s secrets.

Zayne, Xavier, Sylus and Rafayel must confront their deepest fear, losing you, and fight against an enemy whose ambition threatens their survival.

AN: Apologies in advance for the angst, I've been looking for similar heart wrenching fics on here for a while now before I decided to write my own. Then an evil little idea formed and pulled me reluctantly out of writing retirement.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4....

Chapter 1 - Approx. 2pm

Jealousy

"I think that's enough for today. We've been at it for hours," Xavier said, wiping the sweat from his brow and stepping back, sheathing his practice sword. "I don’t know about you, but I’m exhausted."

“You’re always exhausted,” you groaned, letting your sword fall to your side. “I think I’m getting better, though!”

“You certainly are. I’m looking forward to our next mission together.” A faint blush spread across his cheeks as he ran his fingers through his damp silver hair, brushing it out of his eyes. “I think you deserve a reward for your excellent swordsmanship. How about dinner on the way home? Our usual hot pot place—my treat.”

“I don’t think anyone loves hot pot as much as you do, Xavier,” you teased, packing up your belongings for the walk home. “I’d love to, but I have a date tonight with Rafayel.”

“A what now?” Xavier froze mid-step, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise.

“His exhibit is tonight. I’m sure you’ve heard about it—Thomas has been working overtime promoting the event. It’s all over the news.”

“Who is Thomas?” Xavier picked up his pace to walk alongside you, his expression tight with frustration.

You smiled and turned to face him, gently raising your hand to cup his cheek. “No one you need to worry about.”

Caught off guard, his tense demeanor softened as he leaned into your touch.

“I doubt that… but as long as the whole city is also invited to your ‘date,’ I think I can stomach it,” Xavier muttered.

“You’re adorable when you’re jealous, you know that?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he scoffed, grasping your hand and continuing toward your apartment building.

Your phone buzzed, and you reluctantly let go of his hand to retrieve it from your pocket. Seeing the picture on the screen, you grinned, and Xavier’s frown deepened.

“Hey, Rafayel! How are the preparations going?”

“There she is…” Rafayel’s voice carried a note of relief. “I was starting to worry when you didn’t respond to my texts. You didn’t forget about me, did you?”

“With you reminding me every hour on the hour? Not possible,” you chuckled. “I’m almost home. I just need to shower and change.”

“I have something for you,” Rafayel said, his smile evident in his tone. “Hurry up—I’m terrible at surprises, and you need to open it ASAP.”

“See you soon, guppy.”

“Guppy?” Xavier echoed, arching a brow. “Will I see you tomorrow, at least?”

You turned to Xavier, catching his dejected expression. “Tomorrow should be—oh, shit.”

Your sudden exclamation startled him. “What? What is it?”

“I forgot to reschedule my appointment with Dr. Zayne.” You hastily texted your physician, bracing yourself for the inevitable lecture about last-minute cancellations. “He’s going to kill me!”

“I’ll take that as a ‘no’ for tomorrow, then…” Xavier sighed.

The Gift

Rafayel paced outside your apartment, gently swinging a bag containing your gift. He’d been imagining you in it for weeks. The gown was tailored to match the colors of his suit for the event, and he was eager to see you wearing it.

The elevator chimed, and Rafayel’s heart leapt. His excitement dimmed slightly when you stepped off—with Xavier in tow. Wonderful.

You dashed down the hall and threw yourself into Rafayel’s arms. He dropped the bag without hesitation, scooping you up and holding you close. He breathed in your scent, missing you terribly, despite only being apart for a few days.

“I thought we were meeting at the venue!” you exclaimed before trailing off, noticing Xavier looming behind you.

“Xavier,” Rafayel greeted with a forced smile.

Rafayel's greeting was ignored as Xavier bent down to kiss your cheek. “I’ll see you later this week, okay? Let me know when you get home tonight.” His tone carried a warning as he cast Rafayel a sharp glance before striding back to the elevator.

“Who spit in his seabed?” Rafayel asked, raising an eyebrow.

You shrugged, looping your arm through his and opening your front door. “Xavier can be… overprotective.”

“Possessive,” Rafayel countered.

“Something like that.”

“He should learn to share.”

“Says the man who wants to see me every waking hour.” You quipped.

Rafayel smirked, picking up the bag and following you inside. “I’ll take the sleeping hours too, if you’re offering.”

Walking inside, you set your things down on the coffee table and headed toward the bathroom. Rafayel caught your hand as you passed and pulled you close.

“Oh no, you don’t,” he murmured, tilting your chin to make you meet his gaze, his ever-changing eyes mesmerizing. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” you whispered, your noses almost touching.

Rafayel couldn’t resist as he guided you backward until your back met the wall. Threading his fingers through your hair, he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his lips trailing soft kisses down your throat.

“Wait, Rafayel! I’m gross—I was just working out!” you squealed, squirming in his grasp.

“You’re never gross to me, cutie,” he rasped, his lips brushing against your ear before capturing yours in a slow, sensual kiss. He tugged gently at your lower lip, teasing with his teeth. “Do you need help getting out of your clothes before your shower? I don’t mind getting wet if you want company,” he whispered suggestively.

“We don’t have time for all that—we’ll be late!” You laughed, slipping out of his arms and darting toward the bathroom.

Rafayel let out a dramatic sigh, his voice loud enough to carry through the door. “I could make time,” he teased before muttering to himself, “or just skip the event entirely after I see you wearing the gift I’ve brought...”

After a few minutes, he knocked lightly on the bathroom door. “Cutie, I’m hanging your present on the doorknob. Get dressed and come out when you’re ready.”

“Rafayel, what did you do?” you called out suspiciously.

“You’ll see,” he replied with a playful lilt, sauntering back to the couch and sprawling across it as he waited impatiently.

About fifteen minutes later, he heard the soft click of heels against the floor. He sat up eagerly, his anticipation building. When you stepped into view, his breath caught in his throat.

“How do I look?” you asked, spinning slowly to show off the dress.

“You’re… stunning,” Rafayel whispered, his gaze locked on you in awe.

The gown was a masterpiece, its top half a deep midnight blue that seamlessly transitioned into a rich royal purple near the hem. The silk shimmered with hues reminiscent of the ocean’s depths, and a high slit on the right side revealed just enough of your thigh to make his pulse quicken.

The strapless design left your shoulders bare, a perfect canvas for the delicate necklace he’d chosen. Holding the back of the dress together, you turned to him shyly. “Do you think you could zip me up?”

Rafayel rose slowly, savoring the sight of you. He moved behind you, his fingers brushing yours as he zipped the gown closed with deliberate care.

From his pocket, he pulled out a long silver necklace adorned with a small oyster-shaped pendant cradling a pink pearl.

“You’re enchanting,” he murmured, draping the necklace around your neck and fastening the clasp.

“Rafayel, this is too much,” you said, your voice tinged with awe as he reached for the matching pearl bracelet and earrings.

“It’s nowhere near enough,” he replied softly, his reverent gaze fixed on you. As he fastened the bracelet around your wrist, his tone turned teasing. “These are just little accents to highlight the real treasure by my side tonight.”

“These must have cost a fortune,” you protested, your cheeks warming.

“Don’t even think about it. They’re yours, freely given, with no expectations. All I care about is seeing you happy. Do you like them?”

“Of course I do!”

“Good,” he said with a wicked smile. “Because I can’t wait to unwrap you later.”

His lips claimed yours in a searing kiss that left you breathless. “The sooner we get to the exhibit, the sooner we can leave—and I can have you all to myself,” he murmured against your lips.

“I’ve been dying to see your exhibit! Thomas refused to tell me anything. What did you say to him?” you asked.

Rafayel shrugged, holding the door open for you. As you stepped out of the apartment, he bit his lip and glanced up at the ceiling before quietly closing the door behind him.

“Maybe Thomas is onto something. That dress is going to torture me all night long,” he murmured. His eyes drifted to your exposed thigh, and he rested a hand gently on your soft skin. “We really need to do this more often.”

“You know you don’t have to bring your gun everywhere, right? We hired private security for the evening, so you’re officially off duty tonight, Miss Bodyguard,” he added with a teasing smirk.

You tugged your dress down slightly to ensure the holster strap on your thigh remained hidden. “Wouldn’t you rather have it and not need it than need it and not have it? I feel naked without it.”

“So tempted to make a comment,” Rafayel grinned, “but I’m trying to be a gentleman here.”

The Security Team

Thomas opened the back door of the gallery, greeting four imposing men dressed in all-black suits. One by one, they entered the facility at his invitation.

“Gentlemen, thank you for being here today. Normally, Mr. Rafayel has a smaller security detail, but for an event like this, I insisted on something more formal.” Thomas let out a relieved sigh.

“Of course. You’re Thomas, correct? We spoke on the phone,” said Marcus, stepping forward and gesturing over his shoulder, "meet my team."

He introduced the guards and gestured to a man with similar features and build. “This is my brother, Bennett.”

"Family business?" Thomas remarked with curiosity. Bennett nodded in acknowledgment.

“We came out last week to map the facility layout,” Marcus continued. “We’re familiar with the building, but you should walk us through the event details.”

“Wow, you’re thorough,” Thomas replied, visibly impressed. “You came highly recommended by the agency, and I’m beginning to see why.” He motioned for the group to follow as he began walking them through the venue.

Marcus strolled calmly at the front, his sharp eyes taking in the exhibits. “We handle many protection details for high-profile clients and look forward to safeguarding Mr. Rafayel tonight.”

“We appreciate it,” Thomas said. “This is Rafayel’s largest gallery show yet. It includes his work spanning decades and various mediums, all centered around Lemuria—a recurring theme in his art since, well, forever.”

Marcus’s expression darkened slightly as he studied the pieces. “Some research suggests he might be Lemurian himself. Any truth to that?”

“Hardly,” Thomas scoffed, brushing off the question. “He’s just a little more sensitive and eccentric than most. The public likes to paint him as otherworldly, which, of course, I encourage. Free marketing,” he added smoothly, the line rolling off his tongue like a practiced mantra.

Yet deep down, Thomas couldn’t ignore the signs. How could he have worked alongside Rafayel for so many years and not know he was… different? Though Rafayel had never explicitly claimed to be anything other than human, there were too many signs to dismiss.

“My brother will double-check the more restricted areas—the catering hall, lavatories, and employee break room,” Marcus said, snapping Thomas out of his thoughts. “You can never be too careful.”

Marcus glanced over his shoulder and nodded at Bennett, who silently split off from the group and retraced their steps. “My men and I will remain with you to cover all ancillary details. What’s the final count for attendees?”

While Marcus kept Thomas occupied, Bennett slipped outside to the van, pulling a set of keys from his pocket. Climbing into the driver’s seat, he glanced back as he fastened his seatbelt.

The real security team lay unconscious in the van’s rear compartment.

Bennett smirked wickedly, turning the ignition. As he backed out of the parking lot, he glanced at the figures sprawled out behind him.

“Sorry, boys, but this was the path of least resistance. Don’t worry, you’ll be found in a few weeks. At least your families will get a chance to say a proper goodbye.”

Humming along to the radio, Bennett tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. “I’m not a complete monster. Unlike my brother.”

Target Acquired

Rafayel led you into the gallery, trying to shield himself as photographers swarmed outside the venue. Thomas greeted you both in the lobby, looking frazzled.

“You’re late!"

“I’m actually right on time, thanks to this one,” Rafayel said, draping his arm around your shoulders and pulling you close.

“You’re going to put me in an early grave, I swear! I needed you here an hour ago,” Thomas huffed, shoving a stack of documents into Rafayel’s unoccupied hand.

Rafayel rolled his eyes, “accidentally” dropping the pages into a nearby trash bin. He grabbed your hand and followed Thomas deeper into the building.

“You weren’t kidding about giving me the night off,” you remarked.

“I prefer your exclusive protection, of course,” Rafayel replied, flashing a grin. “But this way, I get your undivided attention. Your only job tonight is to enjoy yourself, Miss Bodyguard.”

“Hurry up!” Thomas scolded as he led you into an overcrowded back office. Inside, four broad-shouldered men dressed in sleek black attire stood waiting.

“Mr. Rafayel,” Marcus greeted, stepping forward. His pale green eyes locked onto Rafayel like a predator spotting its prey. “Good to finally meet you. My team will be managing security for the event tonight. I’m Marcus. Let us know if you need anything.”

“I feel safer already,” Rafayel said, pulling you closer. “Just make sure her safety is a priority too. I can’t live without her.”

You blushed, gently elbowing him in the ribs. “Nice to meet you,” you said, trying to sound professional. “But really, you don��t have to worry about me. I work for the Hunter’s Association, so please focus on his well-being. I can handle myself.”

“Of course you can, cutie,” Rafayel teased.

“I mean it,” you insisted.

“No, she doesn’t. She’s a terrible bodyguard,” he retorted with a smirk.

“Rafayel,” you growled, “if you don’t quit, they’re going to need to protect you from me.”

“So feisty. Love that about you,” Rafayel quipped. “Let’s go grab a drink before the mob outside rushes in. I can’t wait to meet all of Thomas’s little wallet-weasels.”

“They’re donors and patrons, Rafayel,” Thomas groaned. “Be on your best behavior, or I swear…”

Rafayel ignored him, pulling you out of the office before Thomas could finish his lecture.

The Halls of Lemuria - Approx. 5pm

Rafayel spent about thirty minutes mingling with guests, shaking hands, and pandering to the crowd before he slipped an arm around your waist, gently steering you toward the double doors of the exhibit hall.

“Rafayel, wait! You’ve barely scratched the surface of your list. You’ve only spoken to about ten people so far!”

“My social battery is officially empty, and I need a break,” he grumbled. “Besides, you haven’t even seen the actual art yet.”

The transition from the gallery lobby to the exhibits was marked by enormous floor-to-ceiling curtains in rich oceanic hues—deep teals, bright blues, and majestic purples. Rafayel chose a spot in the draped fabric, parting it to invite you under his arm.

The first sight inside took your breath away. Vaulted ceilings were illuminated in soft, swirling colors of cerulean, lavender, and pale blue, mimicking the mesmerizing depths of the sea. Small bubbles descended gracefully from hidden mechanisms in the ceiling, adding to the immersive experience. It felt as though you’d been transported to Rafayel’s long-lost kingdom—a world erased from the planet centuries ago.

The walls showcased paintings in various mediums: sprawling white palaces, lush underwater gardens, coral clusters glowing in vibrant hues, and graceful sea creatures. Yet, the sculptures stole the show. Many appeared suspended, floating on transparent wires above the crowd, as if swimming through the air.

At the room’s center, elevated on a pedestal, stood the exhibit’s centerpiece—a striking sculpture of you. The figure depicted you as Lemurian royalty, complete with an elegant tail and delicate fins. Serene and regal, the sculpture held the emissary of the sea in its hands. Its detail was stunning, from the curve of the tail to the expression of wisdom and grace.

You covered your mouth in shock, overwhelmed by emotion as you took in the artistry. Your eyes finally landed on the inscription at the base of the pedestal, engraved in shimmering gold:

“Property of Mo Art, not available for auction.”

Rafayel’s arms slipped around your waist as he rested his chin on your shoulder, nuzzling close. “I’ve been working on her for years,” he whispered, a proud smile in his voice. “And I’ll be damned if I let her go home with anyone else.”

Your cheeks flushed as you leaned into him, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “I don’t even know what to say…”

“Then don’t,” he murmured. “Just stay here with me for a moment. The next room is… intense. I want to savor this with you.”

He inhaled deeply, committing the moment to memory. “I can’t take you to Lemuria, but I tried to bring a piece of it here for you.”

Behind the next set of thick blue-grey curtains lay a strikingly different scene. This time, you stepped through first, Rafayel following close behind.

The atmosphere shifted immediately. Fishing nets and the bones of sea creatures draped the ceiling, lowering the room’s height and creating a claustrophobic effect. The walls were adorned with paintings—violent, chaotic depictions of Lemuria’s decimation. Abstract oceans were streaked with blood-red carmine and rust.

Life-size ruins littered the space, forcing patrons to step over and navigate around the destruction to view each piece. The lighting deepened, with crimson and shadow replacing the softer lavender tones of the previous room.

At the room’s center was a towering mound of strung pearls, meticulously fastened together into a monument that reached your waist. You clutched Rafayel’s hand tightly. Each pearl represented the tears of Lemuria’s citizens, shed over centuries of devastation. The weight of their sorrow pressed heavily on your chest.

“These were created during one of the darkest times in my life,” Rafayel said softly, his voice heavy with emotion. He squeezed your hand and pulled you closer, his warmth a reassuring presence. “I haven’t felt the need to revisit those memories since you’ve been with me. I hope it stays that way.”

Without lingering too long, Rafayel guided you toward the final set of curtains—billowing white linens that barely contained a bright, inviting light. “C’mon,” he said with a small smile. “Just one more room.”

As you stepped through, the sensation underfoot changed. Sand. It stretched out in soft mounds, leading to an expansive mural on the far wall—a stunning sunrise painted in vibrant hues of orange, pink, and gold. The air felt warmer here, reminiscent of a coastal morning.

The shoreline stretched down the hall, dotted with smaller sculptures of seashells, crabs, and seagulls. Some of the birds hung suspended from the ceiling, frozen mid-flight.

The sand transitioned into a shallow pool of crystal-clear water, complete with gentle waves lapping at the edge. Beneath the surface, an enormous sculpture depicted the ruins of Lemuria in breathtaking detail.

At the water’s edge stood lifelike sculptures of mourners, their faces cast in grief. One figure, draped in black, stood waist-deep in the water, dissolving into the sea as if returning to the kingdom’s ruins below.

Rafayel’s gaze turned somber as he watched the figure. He held your hand tighter, his eyes reflecting the light of the simulated sunrise.

“What do you say we move on to the dining room?” Rafayel suggested softly, attempting a smile. “I could use a drink—or three.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, kissing him sweetly before nodding. Together, you left the exhibit, hand in hand, as wealthy patrons and critics marveled at Rafayel’s masterful portrayal of beauty, sorrow, and resilience.

Closing Time - Approx. 7pm

After hours of entertaining, you and Rafayel stood by as Thomas ushered the last patrons out of the dining room. With a sigh of relief, Thomas closed the door behind them, a triumphant smile lighting his face.

“Well done, Rafayel,” Thomas said, raising a champagne flute. “Nearly every piece is sold! Mrs. Hildebrant alone claimed a third from the first room.”

Rafayel raised his glass with a playful groan. “Couldn’t have done it without you, Thomas. But I’m starving. Can we puh-lease go now?”

You giggle at his dramatics mirroring his eagerness, both of you ready for the dinner he'd promised. The only people left in the building were the three of you and the hired security detail.

“Yes, yes, you miserable fish. You’re free to go.” Thomas says with a smile, waving his hand dismissively. “I’ll be at your studio tomorrow to sort out—”

Before anyone could move, Marcus struck Thomas, knocking him unconscious. Chaos erupted as the security team turned on you and Rafayel.

Bennett snatched you from Rafayel’s side, twisting your arm painfully, pressing a gun to your back. “Rafayel!” you shouted as he summoned his daggers. In a deadly display of skill, he swiftly eliminated one attacker but was forced into battle with Marcus and another guard.

Desperate, you fought back, elbowing Bennett and retrieving your hidden pistol. Firing, you hit one guard and barely grazed Bennett before he retaliated with a brutal blow, sending you sprawling.

Rafayel watched Bennett’s boot descend out of the corner of his eye and raised his hand, Evol roaring to life, setting Bennett ablaze in a fiery rage. The boot barely connected with your ribs before Bennett howled in agony, engulfed in flames.

Managing to recover and scramble to your feet, you raise your pistol to put Bennett out of his misery, but Marcus beat you to pulling the trigger.

Rafayel’s unearthly scream tore through the gallery as he raced to you. His eyes are wide in terror and cries of anguish unlike anything you’ve ever heard before tear from his lungs.

In that moment the pain hit and you collapsed to the floor. Vision tunneling, you clutch at the hole in your chest unable to staunch the flow of blood. Some small part of you finds it funny that after all these years your end wouldn’t be at the claws of a Wanderer.

Falling to his knees, Rafayel cradled you, tears forming into shimmering pearls as they hit the floor. “Stay with me,” he begged, pressing against the wound. “Please, don’t leave me.”

The muffled sounds of struggle soften and you fight to remain conscious, but it’s a futile battle. Rafayel called your name over and over until the darkness claimed you.

Capture

Rafayel would remember the sound of that shot for the rest of his long life. He tried to get between you and the bullet, take it for himself, but he wasn’t fast enough.

“NO!” He cried out, scrambling desperately to your side. As you fall to the floor Rafayel feels his heart fracture. No, please, no no no no.

It took him a moment to realize that the screams echoing through the halls weren’t yours but his.

Falling to his knees, he cradled you, tears forming into shimmering pearls as they hit the floor. You were barely conscious.

“Hey, Cutie. Can you hear me?” His voice was just above a whisper. The eyes he loved so much moved over him in faint recognition.

“There she is,” he wept as he pressed against the wound. “Don’t you dare go anywhere. Please? Stay,” Rafayel begged. “Stay with me.”

Your faint smile was his only solace before your body went limp. The bond between you stalled, and Rafayel’s heart shattered.

Marcus, forgotten in the chaos, reloaded his weapon with tranquilizer rounds and fired. Twice.

Both shots struck Rafayel, but he curled around you protectively with a whimper, defying the drugs coursing through his veins. It paled in comparison to the pain of your flickering bond.

You were leaving again, abandoning him to a world without you in it.

“Will you really die without her?” Marcus drawled, walking toward the couple intertwined on the floor. “That would be terribly inconvenient for me.”

Rafayel felt something grip his collar and yank, but he refused to let go. “Please…please…don’t. I n-need…” He moaned in pain. “Someone, please h-help….”

“Go to sleep, fish,” Marcus sighed in irritation and injected Rafayel with another round. “It will all be over soon.”

Rafayel fought against the tide of sleep dragging him out to sea. He didn’t want to go, but he was fighting a losing battle. His last words were your name as unconsciousness claimed him.

𓇼 ˚𓆝 ⋆｡𓆟 ⋆｡𓆞˚ 𓇼 ˚𓆝 ⋆｡𓆟 ⋆｡𓆞˚ 𓇼 ˚𓆝 ⋆｡𓆟 ⋆｡𓆞˚ 𓇼 ˚𓆝 ⋆｡𓆟 ⋆｡𓆞˚ 𓇼 ˚𓆝 ⋆｡𓆟 ⋆ ｡𓆞˚

Cross posted on AO3 under "holywaterbucketchallenge" for those of you who prefer that platform. Looking forward to your feedback!

[orengejoshi]

do u write fanfics? i need to GOON 💔

damn brother, you just gonna come at me like that? alright I see you

that's a great question tho! I have indeed thought about writing a fic... for years tbh...

but there's a merit of problems

well first of all I'm not native in english. that is probably noticeable more often than not. I sometimes even use a translator, I always secretly got google/dict.cc open in a second tab. didn't formally learn english, I just snagged it by proxy listening to American Youtubers and reading manga online. that's why I prefer to ramble a bit in public or to my damn self in private areas than live-texting 1 on 1/in groups; bc I can take more time totally judgement-free. you're gonna see me "typing..." for 30 minutes and wonder wtf is taking this mf so long?!

apart from that there's dyslexia. I can't spell one word correctly without swipe-to-type autocorrect. I think all arguments I've gotten into stem from me mistyping, using completely wrong words, messing up the sentence structure etc

my brain is a single dense cloud of fog that'll occasionally split open to drizzle down a bunch of jumbled thoughts that I could turn into barely cohesive words if I'm brave enough and exude copious amounts of energy.

so my linguistic skills are not up to par. my intelligence lies more in... intrapersonal and existential departments.

unsurprisingly I've thus become a visual artist to express myself.

the catch is... that I understand paperhat, I do.

but I can't seem to draw toxic dynamics. my head is just empty about how to depict it. it's like it doesn't come naturally to me. not without going overboard and making a whole comic that I would likely abandon before even reaching the half mark. I've been given these angelic skills along with the curse that I shall only draw joyous, bright scenes.

however if I could write it... now we're talking.

as a matter of fact, I'm pretty sure that most of my ideas are way too dark and sober. people don't know me like that so I'm petrified about the presumably shocked response when and if I did drop smth like that.

I'm not ready for that... I have really severe OCD (that the internet is making way worse with their anxious tendencies to interpret smth sinister into any and all fiction that is not happiness and rainbows. which seems new to me, idk where this mindset to read so deep into shit is suddenly coming from. I was here 2017-19, left for like 3 years and all of a sudden everybody's fallen off their rockers)

writing domestic stuff is too boring for me... there's gotta be gut-wrenching horrors and drama and tragedy and conflict!

none of this would be PG (which is what I assume you're asking for anyway) I'd just write smut with sprinkles of character studies and a pinch of comedy mayhaps, but I used to do that about 10 years ago and it was so bad. the way I describe these scenes comes off very plump and cringe

I... might. dip my toes into it later this year.

I'll drop a few ideas in the tags... maybe 2 ideas. very roughly. without spoilers, just in case.

[elderwisp]

◁ || ▷ now playing

Taryn: My father used to tell me that the earth would heal our wounds. That the ground would swallow our woes and our tears would nourish the soil beneath us. Pain was no stranger to the garden. A stubbed toe. A scraped knee. A fall. Physical discomfort is a natural part of the living. But to be afflicted by another is quite the wound. You can’t heal something you can’t touch. Atlas is a different kind of hurt. Like picking a rose from a bush… Easy to admire as long as you don’t touch the thorns underneath.

[souenkun]

"I wish you could see it, too" got a whole new meaning when it's revealed that takashi has all these precious people he could actually enjoy pretty, interesting sceneries with (even if he didn't get to see them together for some instances), while reiko likely had no one to do that after what had happened with souko 💔

[mooneln0ne]

Part 5...! Luffy!

[independent-fics]

The Leverage OT3 in Every Episode

Leverage (2008-2012)

01x09 The Stork Job