#again thank you for the ask you wonderful person!!!!! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

promptedwordsmith · 2 days ago

Note

I love your headcannons so I gotta put an ask in here. As we all know, MC can act a bit childish and is quick to push touch/affection away.

It makes me think of the quote, "If you touch me without violence, you'll be the first". Would love a writing about it.

Aw thank you! I hope this is what you meant <3

Caleb

The first time Caleb touched you, you flinched.

It was barely anything—a fleeting brush of his fingers against yours as he handed you something, an innocent, meaningless gesture—but your entire body stiffened, your breath hitched, and before you even realized it, you had yanked your hand back.

The warmth of his skin lingered, and you hated it.

Caleb noticed. Of course, he did. His sharp violet eyes flickered with something unreadable, but he didn’t say anything. Not then.

But he never stopped touching you.

Not in a way that was forceful or overwhelming. Never in a way that felt like he was trying to push you past your boundaries. But it was there—the careful way his shoulder would bump into yours when you walked side by side, the way he’d place his hand on your lower back as he guided you through a crowd, the way his fingers would brush against your wrist when he passed you something.

Each time, your reaction was the same. A flinch. A step back. A refusal.

At first, he gave you space. He didn’t push, didn’t question. Caleb wasn’t the type to force someone into anything they weren’t ready for. But he wasn’t blind either. He saw the way your guard never dropped, the way your muscles tensed at even the gentlest touch.

And then, one night, he finally asked.

You were both standing outside, the city lights stretching far into the distance, stars barely visible beyond the haze. It was quiet between you, peaceful, until he broke it with a simple question.

“Why do you hate being touched?”

You froze.

Your fingers curled into fists, your heart hammering against your ribs. You wanted to ignore him, wanted to pretend you hadn’t heard, but Caleb wasn’t the kind of person who let things slide.

When you didn’t answer, he turned to face you fully, his voice steady but softer than usual. “It’s not just me, is it?” His eyes searched yours. “You don’t let anyone touch you.”

You swallowed hard.

And then you said it. The words that had been sitting on your tongue for years, unspoken, buried beneath layers of defense and survival.

“If you touch me without violence, you’ll be the first.”

The weight of those words crushed the space between you.

Caleb didn’t react right away. He didn’t wince, didn’t gasp, didn’t give you that pitying look you dreaded seeing. Instead, he just stood there, his violet gaze locked onto yours, taking in everything you weren’t saying.

You braced yourself for rejection, for discomfort, for him to leave—but he didn’t.

Instead, after a long pause, he let out a slow breath and said, “…Then I guess I’ll have to be first.”

Your stomach twisted. “Caleb—”

“I won’t push you.” His voice was firm but patient. “I won’t touch you until you let me.”

That should’ve been the end of it. It should’ve been the part where you turned away and let him go, where he accepted your boundaries and never tried again.

But the problem was Caleb never stopped caring about you.

And worse? You had let yourself care about him too.

Caleb never tried to force his way into your space, never laid a hand on you without permission. But he stayed.

He stayed through the silence, through the bad days, through the moments when you wanted to push everyone away but couldn’t bring yourself to do it with him.

He made himself a constant.

And that was dangerous.

Because the longer he stayed, the more you caught yourself wanting to reach for him.

The more you caught yourself watching his hands—the same hands that had held weapons, that had taken lives, that had commanded entire fleets—and wondering how they would feel if they touched you gently.

The more you caught yourself leaning in just a little when he stood beside you, like some part of you was trying to unlearn a lifetime of flinching.

You weren’t used to it.

You weren’t used to someone treating you like you were something precious instead of something hardened. You weren’t used to someone looking at you like you were worth waiting for.

And it scared you.

Because if you let yourself have this, if you let him in—what then?

It happened one night when you weren’t thinking.

You had both been caught in a battle, pushed to your limits, and despite everything—despite all the odds—you had both made it out alive.

Caleb was covered in cuts and bruises, exhaustion heavy in his limbs, but the moment he saw you stumble, he reached for you instinctively—just like he always did.

And this time, for the first time, you didn’t pull away.

His hands found your arms, steadying you, grounding you. You felt his warmth, his strength—and you let him hold you.

It was so small. So insignificant in the grand scheme of things. Just his hands on your arms, steady and reassuring. But to you, it felt like something shattered.

Caleb stilled, his grip light, as if he half-expected you to come to your senses and shove him away. His eyes searched yours, cautious, waiting.

But you didn’t move.

For the first time, you let yourself be touched without bracing for pain.

Without expecting violence.

Without fear.

And the look Caleb gave you in that moment—soft, careful, like he knew exactly how much this meant even if you hadn’t said a word—was enough to make something inside you break.

You swallowed hard, pulse racing.

“You’re the first.” The words slipped out before you could stop them, barely a whisper, but Caleb heard them.

He exhaled slowly, his thumb brushing the edge of your sleeve in the gentlest motion imaginable.

“Then I’ll make sure I’m never the last.”

And you believed him.

For the first time in your life, you actually believed someone.

Because Caleb had never broken a promise to you before.

And deep down, you knew he never would.

Rafayel

Rafayel had always been affectionate—too affectionate, if you were being honest. It wasn’t just the teasing smirks or the casual way he draped himself over you like a cat seeking warmth. It was the way his hands would linger, the way his gaze softened when he looked at you, the way he spoke your name like it was something precious.

But you weren’t used to it.

So, when he leaned in too close, when his fingers brushed against yours absentmindedly, when his warmth wrapped around you in unspoken promises of safety, you pushed him away. Not roughly, not cruelly, but firm enough to make the message clear.

He didn’t take offense, at least not outwardly. Rafayel always bounced back with a lopsided grin, a lazy roll of his shoulders, as if to say, Fine, I’ll wait. But there was something in his eyes—something quieter, something more knowing.

And you hated that.

Because deep down, you knew what he saw.

He saw the way you flinched, even when his touch was gentle. He saw the way your shoulders tensed whenever he got too close, the way you shrank away from affection like it was a foreign language you never learned to speak.

Most people didn’t notice. Most people assumed you were just distant, that maybe you simply weren’t the affectionate type.

Rafayel knew better.

And that made him dangerous.

It started one evening, after one of his exhibitions. The gallery had emptied out, the patrons long gone, and yet he lingered, still basking in the afterglow of another successful night. You had stayed behind too, for reasons you weren’t entirely sure of. Maybe because he had asked. Maybe because it was easier than saying no to him.

He had pulled you into the back room where his latest painting was covered with a cloth. With a dramatic flourish, he yanked it away, revealing the canvas beneath.

It was you.

Not a perfect replica, not a stiff, lifeless portrait. It was you in motion, caught mid-laugh, the golden glow of light flickering behind you as if you were something divine.

It took your breath away.

You swallowed hard, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “You painted this?”

“No, it painted itself.” Rafayel smirked, stepping closer. “Of course I painted it.”

You didn’t have words. You didn’t know how to process something so raw, so intimate. It was one thing for someone to look at you, but it was another thing entirely for someone to see you. And Rafayel had always seen you.

That was the problem.

“I—” The words stuck to your throat. You weren’t good at this. At accepting things. At being loved without conditions, without expectations.

And then, just like always, Rafayel reached for you.

His fingers, long and paint-stained, brushed against your wrist—light, hesitant, careful. No force, no demand, just warmth.

And just like always, you flinched.

You stepped back so fast you almost knocked over the easel. “Don’t.” The word escaped before you could stop it, sharp and unsteady.

Rafayel’s hand froze midair before he slowly pulled it back. His expression didn’t falter, but there was something—something—in his eyes. He tilted his head, studying you with that same knowing look that had always unsettled you.

“Why?” His voice was soft. Not teasing. Not mocking. Just curious.

Your throat tightened. You wanted to tell him to drop it. You wanted him to go back to making jokes, to fill the silence with something light, something meaningless.

But he didn’t.

Because Rafayel never let things go.

You swallowed. “Because… if you touch me without violence, you’ll be the first.”

The words hung between you, heavy and raw.

For a moment, there was silence.

Then Rafayel exhaled, slow and careful, as if he were afraid of shattering you. “Oh.”

He didn’t say anything else. He didn’t apologize, didn’t pity you. He just stood there, watching you with those piercing blue-pink eyes of his, like he was unraveling all the pieces of you you’d kept hidden for so long.

It made you want to run.

And maybe he saw that too, because he took a step back. Gave you space.

“Okay,” he said simply.

You blinked. “Okay?”

He nodded. “I won’t touch you. Not unless you want me to.”

The simplicity of it made something inside you ache.

You nodded, not trusting your voice.

For the first time in your life, someone didn’t demand. Someone didn’t take.

Someone just waited.

Days passed, and true to his word, Rafayel never touched you. He still leaned into your space, still gave you that infuriatingly charming grin, but his hands never reached for you again. Not once.

And you hated that you noticed.

You noticed the absence of his touch. You noticed the way his fingers twitched when he was excited, the way his hands curled into fists like he had to remind himself not to reach for you. You noticed how much you wanted him to.

It was terrifying.

It was exhilarating.

And one night, when he was sitting beside you, lazily sketching something while you both watched the waves crash against the shore, you made the first move.

It was small. Barely anything.

Just your pinky brushing against his.

But Rafayel noticed.

His breath hitched, and his gaze flickered to you, cautious, questioning.

You didn’t pull away.

Neither did he.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. The air between you felt electric, buzzing with something unspoken, something fragile.

Then Rafayel, ever patient, ever waiting, turned his hand palm-up beneath yours.

An invitation.

Not a demand.

You hesitated, your heart pounding, before slowly—so slowly—you let your fingers slip into his.

Warmth. Solid, steady warmth.

No violence.

No pain.

Just him.

Rafayel said nothing, didn’t make a big deal of it. He just held your hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like he had been waiting lifetimes for it.

And maybe, just maybe, you had been waiting too.

Sylus

The first time Sylus touched you, you flinched.

It was subtle—just a stiffening of your shoulders, a flicker of tension in your stance. But for someone as dangerously observant as Sylus, it was enough. His fingers had barely brushed your wrist—light, almost teasing—as he leaned in to whisper something low in your ear.

And yet, you recoiled.

He didn’t comment on it then, only let a smirk curl at the corner of his lips as if he hadn’t noticed.

But he had.

Of course, he had.

Sylus never missed anything.

Sylus was nothing if not patient.

He had seen resistance before. He had encountered people who feared him, people who worshipped him, people who wanted something from him. But you?

You were different.

You didn’t fear him—you feared being touched.

And that… was fascinating.

So, he tested it.

Little things, at first. A hand at the small of your back as he guided you through a door. A knuckle brushing over your cheek under the excuse of tucking away a stray strand of hair. A moment where he let his fingers graze yours when he passed you something.

Every time, your body tensed—just slightly—but you didn’t pull away.

Not right away.

You always let it happen for a heartbeat longer than necessary, as if waiting for something.

And that was when he knew.

You weren’t just unused to affection.

You were waiting for it to turn into something else.

Something harsher. Something cruel.

Something violent.

And that realization—that truth about you—made his blood burn with something he couldn’t quite name.

The night it finally broke, Sylus hadn’t meant to push too far.

It had been a long evening, tension thrumming beneath the surface between you both like an electric current. You had been irritatingly stubborn during negotiations, as always, challenging him, testing him, making him bite back a smirk as you stood your ground.

But the moment that lingered with him was after, when the night had settled and you had found yourself alone in his office.

He approached you like he always did—without hesitation.

This time, he touched your face, his thumb grazing over your cheek in a slow, deliberate motion. It wasn’t just teasing.

It wasn’t just a test.

It was real.

And you panicked.

You slapped his hand away, hard. The sound cracked through the air, sharp and startling, but Sylus didn’t react. He barely blinked, only watching as you took a step back, breath uneven, eyes wild.

His fingers flexed once before he let them drop to his side.

For a moment, there was silence.

Then, quietly—

"If you touch me without violence, you’ll be the first."

It wasn’t said with anger. It wasn’t a warning or a threat.

It was just… the truth.

And Sylus, for once in his life, didn’t have a response.

Something Unspoken

After that, he changed tactics.

He didn’t stop touching you entirely—no, never that. But he let you decide.

He let you approach him.

He gave you space but stayed close enough that you could always reach him if you wanted to.

And, for a while, you didn’t.

But then—

One night, after an exhausting mission, you sat beside him, close enough that your shoulder brushed against his. You didn’t move away.

Another time, when exhaustion weighed on you, you let him take your wrist to check your pulse, your fingers trembling slightly—but not from fear.

And then, the night that changed everything—

You let him touch your face again.

This time, when his hand cradled your cheek, you leaned into it.

Not much. Just a fraction. Just enough that he could feel the shift.

Just enough for him to know.

And that was all the permission he needed.

Slowly, deliberately, his thumb traced the curve of your jaw, his voice low when he finally spoke:

"I would never hurt you."

Your breath hitched.

He felt it.

He didn’t ask why it was so hard for you to believe him. He didn’t ask who had left you expecting pain from every touch, from every lingering moment.

He only let his hand remain where it was, grounding, steady—yours, if you wanted it.

And finally, you did.

You didn’t say anything that night. You didn’t have to.

But after that, something changed.

Sylus, perceptive as always, noticed immediately.

The way your body no longer tensed at his presence. The way you lingered just a little closer when you stood beside him. The way your fingers, hesitant at first, brushed against the sleeve of his coat as if testing a boundary you weren’t sure you were allowed to cross.

And the way, eventually, you did.

It happened late one evening, when the city outside was silent, the only sounds in the room the distant hum of a record player spinning on low and the soft shuffle of papers on his desk.

You had been sitting across from him, absentmindedly twirling a pen between your fingers when, out of nowhere—you reached for him.

Your hand, small but steady, settled against his.

No hesitation. No flinching. No fear.

Sylus, always composed, almost stopped breathing.

You didn’t say anything, and neither did he.

But his fingers curled over yours, slow, deliberate—a silent promise.

A promise that, for the first time in your life, someone’s touch wouldn’t bring pain.

And that was enough.

For now.

Xavier

The first time Xavier reached for you, you flinched.

It was instinct, sharp and immediate. His fingers had barely brushed your sleeve before you jerked away, stepping out of reach so fast you nearly tripped over your own feet. His hand hung in the air for a moment before he slowly lowered it, tilting his head as if trying to decipher something unsaid.

You weren’t looking at him, though. You were staring at your own hands, fingers curled into fists at your sides, knuckles tight. Get it together.

"You okay?" His voice was light, easy, like he hadn’t just watched you recoil from his touch as if it burned.

You forced yourself to nod. "Yeah. Just—" You hesitated, then exhaled sharply. "You shouldn’t do that."

Xavier raised an eyebrow. "Do what?"

You lifted your chin, meeting his gaze with something colder than you really felt. "Touch me."

His eyes flickered with something unreadable before his expression shifted back to something more familiar—a smirk, teasing but careful. "Alright," he said, as if it didn’t matter. "No touching."

Except it did matter. Because Xavier wasn’t someone who kept his hands to himself—not in an intrusive way, but in a way that made him feel real. He was the kind of person who nudged you with his elbow when he made a joke, who ruffled your hair just to annoy you, who tugged at your sleeve when he wanted your attention.

But he listened.

For the next few weeks, he was careful. He kept his distance, kept his hands in his pockets, kept a respectable space between the two of you even when it was just the two of you on a mission, walking side by side.

And for some reason, it made your chest ache.

You wanted him close.

You just didn’t know how to let him be.

It wasn’t that you didn’t like him. If anything, that was the problem.

Xavier had wormed his way into your life in a way no one else had before. He was constant—too constant, maybe. There was no hesitation in the way he cared, no moment of doubt in his affection. He liked you, so he showed it. He wanted to be around you, so he was. There was no second-guessing, no caution.

You didn’t know what to do with that.

Because affection had always come with conditions. Because touches had always been accompanied by something sharp—by expectation, by control, by violence.

So the idea of Xavier touching you with nothing but warmth?

It scared you more than any fight ever had.

"You ever gonna tell me why?"

You blinked up from where you sat at the edge of a rooftop, staring out at the cityscape below. Xavier was standing a few feet away, arms crossed, gaze unreadable.

"Why what?"

"Why you don’t like me touching you." His voice wasn’t accusing, wasn’t pushing—it was just curious.

You swallowed. "I just don’t."

Xavier hummed, as if considering that. "You sure about that?"

You tensed. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

He shrugged, stepping forward—not close, but closer. "I’ve seen the way you look at me sometimes."

Your heart skipped. "I don’t—"

"You do," he interrupted, voice softer now. "Like you want me to reach for you, but you don’t know if you should let me."

You exhaled sharply. "It’s not that simple."

"Then explain it to me."

Your fingers curled against the fabric of your sleeves, gripping tightly. You should have expected this—Xavier wasn’t the type to let things go so easily. He was patient, sure, but he wasn’t blind. He noticed things, noticed you.

And now, he was waiting.

You stared at your hands. "If you touch me without violence," you murmured, voice barely above a whisper, "you’ll be the first."

Silence.

For a moment, you thought he might not have heard you. But then, after a long pause, Xavier let out a quiet breath.

"That’s a damn shame," he said. His voice was soft, but not pitying. "Because you deserve better than that."

You didn’t look at him. "Maybe."

"You do," he said, firmer this time. "And I want to prove it to you."

Your breath hitched. "Xavier—"

"I won’t touch you until you want me to," he promised. "But when you do?" His gaze was steady, unwavering. "I’ll make sure you never have to doubt it."

It took time.

Xavier kept his promise. He didn’t touch you—not even accidentally. He was careful, patient in a way that made your chest ache. But he never pulled away emotionally. He was still there, still unwavering, still him.

And slowly, slowly, you started to realize something.

You wanted to close that distance.

You wanted him.

It started small—lingering closer when you walked together, sitting next to him instead of across the room, letting your shoulders brush just slightly before pulling away. And Xavier noticed. He always did.

But he didn’t push.

He let you take your time, let you move at your own pace.

Until one night, after a mission, when you were exhausted and sore and tired of your own fear, you turned to him and—hesitantly, carefully—reached for his hand.

His fingers twitched in surprise, but he didn’t hesitate. He let you take his hand in yours, let you squeeze it lightly before letting go just as quickly.

You expected him to say something—maybe tease you, maybe push for more. But he didn’t. He just smiled, warm and real.

"Was that so bad?" he asked, amusement lacing his tone.

You huffed, rolling your eyes. "Shut up."

Xavier chuckled, but there was something softer in his gaze. "Alright. No teasing. Not today, anyway."

You nudged him lightly with your elbow. "I hate you."

He grinned. "You love me."

You paused.

Then, quietly, you admitted, "Yeah."

Xavier stilled. His smile faltered—just for a second—before it softened into something genuine. Something real.

"Good," he murmured.

And for the first time, when he reached for you, you didn’t pull away.

Zayne

Zayne had always been patient. It was in his nature, woven into the fabric of his being just as much as his steady hands and level-headed presence. As a surgeon, patience was a necessity—an unwavering calm in the face of pressure, a stillness when chaos reigned.

But this was different.

This was you.

You, with your guarded eyes and the walls you built around yourself so high that even he, with all his skill, couldn’t navigate them easily. He had known from the start that you were different—not because you were difficult, not because you weren’t capable of love, but because the world had been cruel to you in ways it hadn’t been to him.

And still, he wanted you.

It started slow. The quiet companionship, the moments where neither of you needed to speak but simply existed together. A shared cup of tea in the morning. The warmth of his coat draped over your shoulders on a cold night. He never pushed, never asked for more than you could give, and yet…

Even he had limits to his patience.

Zayne had always been affectionate. Not in a way that was overwhelming, nor in grand declarations. No, his love was in the small things—in the way his fingers would brush against yours when passing you something, in the way his voice would soften when speaking your name, in the way he would lean in, close enough that you could feel his warmth but never quite touching.

And so, when he reached for you one evening—just a simple touch, the lightest brush of his fingertips against your wrist—he hadn’t expected you to recoil the way you did.

You flinched, your entire body going rigid, as if his touch had burned you.

Zayne froze. His hazel-green eyes flickered with something unreadable before he slowly withdrew his hand, watching you carefully. He wasn’t offended, nor was he hurt, but there was something in his expression that made your stomach twist.

“Don’t,” you whispered, your voice quieter than you intended.

His brows furrowed slightly. “I—”

“If you touch me without violence, you’ll be the first.”

The words tumbled out before you could stop them, raw and sharp. The room felt heavier in their wake, like the air had been sucked from it.

Zayne didn’t speak for a moment. He simply looked at you, studying you in that careful way he always did—like he was dissecting a puzzle, trying to understand without breaking it further.

You hated the silence. Hated the way it stretched between you like an open wound.

Then, finally, he exhaled softly.

“I see.”

And just like that, he shifted back, putting a comfortable distance between you. Not out of rejection, not out of frustration, but because he understood. He always understood.

You expected him to ask. To pry. To demand to know what had led you to this—why you had flinched, why you had spoken those words with such bitterness. But he didn’t.

He simply nodded, accepting it as fact, and changed the subject.

It should have been a relief.

It wasn’t.

Because Zayne, for all his patience and for all his understanding, was not one to simply forget.

Days passed. Then weeks.

Zayne hadn’t touched you since.

Not in the way he used to. No fleeting brushes of his fingertips, no teasing nudges, no quiet, lingering moments where his warmth bled into yours. It was as if he had drawn a line in the sand and refused to cross it.

You told yourself it was for the best.

So why did it feel so much worse?

You had never needed touch. Never craved it, never longed for it. But now, in the absence of it, you felt its loss like a phantom pain. You missed it.

You missed him.

And so, when you found yourself standing outside his apartment one evening, your fingers curled into fists at your sides, you knew you had to do something.

The door opened before you could even knock.

Zayne blinked at you, surprised but not displeased. He stepped aside, wordlessly inviting you in.

You hesitated.

And then, taking a deep breath, you walked past him, into the familiar warmth of his home.

He didn’t ask why you were there.

He simply poured you tea, as he always did, and waited.

You stared at the cup in your hands, fingers tightening around the ceramic.

“I don’t…” You hesitated. “I don’t want you to stop.”

Zayne tilted his head slightly, watching you with quiet patience. “Stop what?”

You swallowed. “Touching me.”

For the first time in a long while, he seemed genuinely surprised. Not in a dramatic way—Zayne was never dramatic—but in the way his fingers stilled against his cup, in the way his gaze softened ever so slightly.

“I thought that’s what you wanted,” he said, his voice as steady as ever.

“I did.” Your throat felt tight. “I do. But I also… I don’t know.” You exhaled sharply. “I just… don’t want you to stop trying.”

Something in his expression shifted.

He set his cup down carefully before looking at you with an intensity that made your stomach twist. Not with judgment, not with pity—just understanding.

“I never stopped,” he murmured.

Your breath hitched.

“I just adjusted,” he continued. “To what you needed.”

And you realized, with startling clarity, that he had been touching you. Just not in the way you had expected.

It was in the way he always made you tea, the way he listened so intently, the way he never pushed, never pried, but always made sure you knew he was there.

He had been touching you in the only way you would allow.

And now? Now, you wanted more.

Tentatively, hesitantly, you reached out.

Your fingers brushed against the back of his hand, and you felt him still beneath your touch.

It was light. Barely there. But it was enough.

Zayne didn’t move. Didn’t push for more.

He simply let you choose.

And, for the first time in your life, you did.

You let yourself be touched—gently, without violence, without fear.

Zayne, patient as ever, simply held still and let you set the pace.

And maybe, just maybe, for the first time in a long time, you weren’t afraid.

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moonlitstoriess · 3 days ago

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I have a request if it's possible. Could you write a fanfic or a oneshot about Azriel and the reader being a ballerina and also a shadow singer

When Shadows Waltz- Azriel x fem!reader (oneshot)

Summary: Y/N, a ballerina and Shadowsinger, has spent her life balancing grace and darkness. But when whispers of doubt and cruel words make her question her place, she hides her insecurities from Azriel, not wanting to burden him. Yet, he sees everything—and he won’t let her fall. With patience, love, and a bit of humor, he helps her realize that her shadows don’t ruin her dance—they make it unforgettable.

See masterlist

Warnings: angst, fluff in the end, protective az🤭, mentions of insecurities, some bullying

A/N: Thank you for the request! I didn’t know if you wanted angst or fluff so I incorporated both, hope you enjoy it🥰

The mirrors in the studio reflected everything. Every movement, every misstep. Every flaw.

Y/N stood at the center of the room, her pointe shoes silent against the polished floor. The dim glow of the chandeliers cast long shadows, and hers twisted unnaturally, curling and flickering like smoke. No matter how hard she tried to suppress them, they never truly left her alone.

She exhaled slowly, rolling her shoulders back. Focus.

With practiced precision, she lifted onto pointe, extending her arms in a graceful arc. The motion should have felt effortless, but something was off. Her balance wavered, the weight of unseen eyes pressing against her skin. Not good enough. Not perfect.

Her foot barely faltered, but the mistake rang loud in her mind.

She could still hear the whispers from earlier that day.

“A Shadowsinger dancing ballet? It looks unnatural.”

“She doesn’t belong in a world of elegance.”

“No wonder they only talk about her being Azriel’s mate—what else is she known for?”

Her fingers curled into the fabric of her practice dress. She hated how easily those words found cracks in her armor, how they settled like poison in the back of her mind.

They didn’t matter. They shouldn’t matter.

But they did.

A quiet knock at the door startled her, and before she could gather herself, the very person she didn’t want to see her like this stepped inside.

Azriel.

His shadows slithered in behind him, merging with hers so seamlessly it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began. His piercing hazel eyes took her in—her stiff posture, the tension in her hands, the exhaustion she hadn’t even realized was etched into her face.

She tried to smile. “Hey.”

Azriel didn’t return it. He simply tilted his head, studying her with that sharp, all-seeing gaze. Then, softly—so softly it made her chest ache—he asked,

“What’s wrong?”

Y/N forced a small smile, hoping it would be enough to make him drop the subject. “Nothing’s wrong.”

Azriel didn’t move. Didn’t blink. His stare remained steady, unreadable—but she knew better.

He always saw through her.

A slow tilt of his head. “Try again.”

She sighed, crossing her arms. “How can you even tell something’s wrong? You just got here.”

His lips quirked slightly, but the look he gave her was pure come on now. “You’ve been my mate for nearly a year, love. You really think I don’t notice?”

The warmth in his voice curled around her like a soft ribbon, and despite herself, her heart gave a little flutter. Cauldron save me.

It was so stupid—the way he could unravel her with just a few words, how easily his presence melted through her walls. Even now, with his scarred hands tucked into his pockets and his wings resting at his back, he radiated quiet strength. Calm. Steady. Hers.

And yet—

She still couldn’t bring herself to tell him.

So she smiled a little wider, making sure it reached her eyes this time. “I’m fine, really.”

Azriel didn’t believe her. She could tell by the way his shadows curled around his boots, restless. But she wasn’t giving him the chance to push further.

Before he could open his mouth again, she smoothly changed the subject. “I have my audition tomorrow.”

That worked. His head straightened slightly, some of the tension in his shoulders easing. “For the seasonal performance?”

She nodded, feeling something close to excitement creep past her unease. “It’s a huge opportunity, Az. If I get the role, I’ll be one of the principal dancers for the entire winter season. The main performance is the biggest of the year—leaders from all over the place will come to watch. I need to represent our court in the best way possible.” She hesitated, then admitted, “Your family will be there.”

Azriel’s expression softened. “And you want to impress them.”

“I need to impress them.”

His brows pulled together slightly, but before he could argue, she rushed on. “Feyre is an artist, Nesta trained with Cassian and is basically a Valkyrie now—everyone in your family has accomplished something incredible. I want to prove I belong.”

Azriel stepped closer, lifting a hand to cup her jaw. His touch was featherlight, reverent. “You already impress them, Y/N.”

Her breath caught as he leaned in, brushing the softest kiss against her lips. “You’re more than enough.”

The words should have settled in her chest like a soothing balm. But instead, the weight of her insecurities pressed heavier.

She managed a small smile, even as she whispered, “I still want to get the role.”

Azriel exhaled, his thumb brushing over her cheek. “You will.” His voice was quiet, certain. “Trust me, you will.”

And for a fleeting moment, she let herself believe him.

Y/N let herself sink into the warmth of Azriel’s touch for just a moment before pulling away, forcing herself to focus. “I just need everything to go right,” she murmured, mostly to herself.

Azriel tilted his head slightly. “It will.”

She huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “You sound so sure.”

His lips curved, but his eyes held nothing but certainty. “Because I am.”

Cauldron, how was it so easy for him? To have that unwavering belief in her, even when she wasn’t sure she believed in herself?

Azriel reached for her hand, intertwining their fingers, his grip firm yet gentle. “Come,” he said, leading her toward the small bench by the wall. “Sit with me for a bit.”

She sighed but followed, letting him tug her down beside him. He didn’t say anything at first, just ran his thumb in slow circles over her knuckles. The silence was comfortable, but she knew he was waiting—for her to speak, to confess what was really on her mind.

And she wanted to. She really did.

But the words refused to form, stuck somewhere between pride and fear. If she said them out loud, if she told him about the whispers, the doubt clawing at her chest, then it would make it real.

So instead, she leaned her head against his shoulder and whispered, “I just hope I don’t mess it up.”

Azriel’s wings shifted slightly, his shadows curling around them both like a protective cocoon. “You won’t.”

She sighed, not bothering to argue. He’d just contradict her again with that quiet, unshakable confidence.

After a moment, he spoke again, his voice softer this time. “Do you want me to come watch?”

The question made her heart lurch. “You—you’d come to the audition?”

He turned his head, pressing a kiss to the top of her hair. “Of course.”

Something in her chest squeezed painfully, caught between joy and hesitation. “You don’t have to.”

Azriel huffed a quiet laugh. “I want to.” Then, as if sensing her uncertainty, he added, “But only if you want me there.”

She did. She really did. But—

Y/N swallowed. “I think I’ll be too nervous if you watch.”

Azriel didn’t seem offended. If anything, amusement flickered across his face. “You dance in front of hundreds of fae, but I make you nervous?”

She groaned, shoving his arm. “Don’t say it like that.”

He chuckled, pulling her closer. “Fine. I won’t watch. But I’ll be waiting outside.”

Y/N lifted her head, meeting his gaze. “Really?”

Azriel nodded. “Really.” Then, smirking, he added, “Unless you change your mind and want me front and center.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at her lips. “I think I’ll survive without that pressure, thanks.”

Azriel just hummed, clearly unconvinced. But he didn’t push. Instead, he leaned in, brushing his lips over her cheek, his voice a murmur against her skin. “You’re going to be incredible.”

Y/N closed her eyes, soaking in the warmth of him, the quiet reassurance in his touch.

She wanted to believe him.

But deep down, that familiar doubt still lingered, whispering that maybe, just maybe—

She wasn’t enough.

The sun had barely risen, but Y/N had been awake for hours.

The studio floor had long since warmed beneath her relentless movements. Every turn, every extension, every landing had been drilled into perfection—had to be perfect. She refused to stop.

Azriel had been the one to come and go, appearing like clockwork with food in hand, a quiet reminder in his eyes. “Eat,” he’d say. “Sit for a moment.”

She’d obey, just for a second. Just long enough to take a sip of water, a bite of fruit. But her feet would pull her back onto the floor before she even realized it. Again and again.

At first, Azriel had tried. Tried to coax her into resting, tried to make her breathe. He’d leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching as she pushed herself past exhaustion. A few times, he’d even taken her hand, pulled her to him, murmured against her ear, “Enough for now.”

She never listened.

Eventually, he had sighed, shaking his head as he stepped in front of her. She barely had a moment to react before his lips found hers—a slow, lingering kiss, warm and full of something dangerous. Something that made her knees weaken more than all the training ever could.

When he pulled back, his eyes were softer, but his voice was firm. “Food is packed for you to take in.” He brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I have some things to take care of, but I’ll be there when you come out of the audition.”

Y/N blinked up at him, caught between nerves and something unbearably sweet. “Promise?”

Azriel exhaled, pressing another kiss to her forehead. “You think anything could keep me away?”

Her heart stuttered, warmth spreading in her chest.

Then, with one last glance—one that said please, don’t run yourself into the ground—he left.

Silence settled over the room, broken only by her own breath.

Two hours later, she was sitting on the floor, hair damp and body strained as she stared into her reflection.

An hour later, the auditions would begin.

That realization sent a fresh wave of nerves crashing over her. With a deep inhale, she shook it off, forcing herself to move.

She needed to clean up, get dressed. She needed to leave.

She grabbed the food Azriel had packed, tucked it under her arm, and stepped out the door.

It was time.

Velaris was bathed in afternoon light, the streets alive with warmth and chatter. But Y/N barely noticed any of it.

Her steps were steady, precise, each movement measured like a dancer counting beats in her head. But inside? Her heart pounded, a nervous rhythm she couldn’t quite shake.

She had walked these streets a thousand times before, had spent her life weaving through Velaris’ twisting paths, but today, everything felt off.

Maybe it was the way her shadows curled around her ankles, clinging like wisps of smoke. Normally, they stayed quiet, hidden. But today? Today, they coiled and flickered in the late afternoon light, shifting uneasily as if they could sense her nerves.

She forced herself to breathe, to smooth her expression into something neutral. Calm. Steady. No one else could hear the thoughts racing through her head.

But they could see her.

She felt the stares before she even registered them. Passing merchants, nobles, fae of all kinds—glancing, double-taking, murmuring behind their hands. Some were subtle about it, a flick of the eyes before looking away. Others… not so much.

She supposed she must’ve made quite the sight.

A ballerina dressed in soft pastels—pink tights, a flowy white wrap skirt, a delicate shrug over her leotard—strolling through the streets, framed by shadows as dark as night.

It was almost comical.

She had heard the whispers before, of course. Had caught snippets of conversation when people thought she wasn’t listening.

A Shadowsinger, really? In ballet?

Shouldn’t she be in Illyrian camps instead?

Those shadows make her look unnatural.

She doesn’t belong on that stage.

She clenched her jaw and kept walking.

Azriel would have torn them apart if he’d been here to hear it. He’d spent months convincing her that none of it mattered, that she belonged just as much as any other dancer.

She wanted to believe him. But with every lingering stare, with every quiet murmur as she passed, doubt curled around her ribs like a vice.

By the time she reached the towering glass doors of the audition hall, her chest was tight, her palms clammy despite the cool breeze.

She exhaled sharply, shook out her hands.

It’s fine. You’re fine.

She pushed open the doors and stepped inside.

The waiting room was already full.

Dancers lined the benches, stretching, warming up, adjusting their satin slippers. The air buzzed with quiet tension—whispers of last-minute corrections, murmured prayers, soft hums of concentration.

The floor-to-ceiling windows bathed everything in golden light, making the polished wooden floors gleam. At the far end of the room, a set of doors led to the main audition space, where the judges were already seated, watching the first few candidates perform.

Y/N barely had time to take it all in before she felt it—the stares.

It was subtle at first, the way conversation dipped when she walked past, the way dancers exchanged looks, eyes flicking from her delicate pastel ensemble to the dark tendrils of shadow trailing at her feet.

She swallowed, lifting her chin.

Just get to the changing rooms.

She weaved through the crowd, passing the line of dancers already dressed in pristine costumes. A few were adjusting their hair into perfect buns, fixing smudged makeup, stretching out their limbs. Others were simply watching her.

She could feel their judgment.

It’s funny, isn’t it? she thought bitterly.

A girl like her—draped in pinks and creams, with ribbons laced up her ankles—moving with the grace of a trained ballerina, while shadows slithered at her feet like something out of a nightmare.

Like she was some contradiction that shouldn’t exist.

She tried to act indifferent. She forced herself to walk like she wasn’t being scrutinized, like the weight of their judgment wasn’t pressing into her spine. But inside, her stomach twisted.

She barely let out a breath when she finally reached the changing rooms, slipping inside.

Alone at last.

She pressed her hands against the counter, staring at her reflection in the large mirror.

Her face was composed, expression calm. But her hands—her fingers trembled against the polished marble.

Her shadows curled tighter around her, as if sensing her unease.

She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply.

Just a few more minutes.

Then it would be time.

Y/N sat with her hands folded neatly in her lap, her posture straight despite the way her stomach twisted in knots.

Dancers came and went, each vanishing through the grand doors at the end of the waiting room before reappearing minutes later—some with relieved smiles, others fighting back tears.

Her turn was coming. Soon.

She tried to focus on steadying her breathing, on keeping her shadows from shifting too visibly around her. They were curling tight at her ankles, slithering up her arms like they, too, could sense her nerves.

And then—

“Are you lost?”

The voice was sweet. Mocking.

Y/N turned, already knowing what she’d find.

A group of three female dancers, all in the same pristine white audition attire, stood together near the mirrored wall. Their leader—a tall, elegant blonde—tilted her head, expression full of exaggerated pity.

Y/N forced a calm smile. “No.”

A few of the other dancers nearby had already started whispering.

The blonde raised a brow, looking her over slowly—lingering on her darkened shadows. “You? Ballet?” She let out a high, amused laugh. “I think you might have the wrong building, sweetheart.”

The other two girls behind her giggled.

Y/N kept her shoulders relaxed, her face carefully neutral. “I’m here for the same reason as you.”

The blonde blinked, as if that was the funniest thing she’d heard all day. Then she let out another sharp laugh. “Oh, darling. No, no—you can’t be.”

Y/N clenched her jaw.

“Oh, don’t look so serious.” The girl smirked. “It’s just… well.” She gestured to Y/N’s shadows, which had curled tight at her feet like wary animals. “You don’t exactly fit, do you?”

A sick feeling churned in Y/N’s gut.

The girl leaned in slightly, voice a conspiratorial whisper. “Did you hit your head? Or do you just have some kind of delusional sickness?”

More laughter. More murmurs from the surrounding dancers.

Y/N’s throat felt tight. Don’t react. Don’t let them see it.

She tried to respond, tried to form a retort—but her mind was suddenly blank.

Her shadows flickered uneasily. The blonde just smiled wider. “Oh, sweetheart,” she said softly, like she was so concerned. “It’s not your fault, really. You just weren’t made for this world.”

Y/N felt her hands clench in her lap, her thoughts growing darker, heavier.

And then—

“Y/N.��

Her head snapped up.

A staff member stood by the grand doors, scanning the room with a clipboard in hand. “You’re up next.”

Her heart stopped.

For a moment, she was frozen in place.

Then—slowly, unsurely—she stood.

She could feel their eyes on her as she walked toward the doors. Could hear the hushed snickers, the barely concealed whispers.

Just as she passed, another girl murmured under her breath, just loud enough for her to hear—

“Maybe she’ll trip and vanish in those shadows.”

Her stomach clenched.

But she didn’t stop. She couldn’t.

She stepped through the doors.

The audition stage was massive.

Golden chandeliers hung high above, their light casting a soft glow over the polished wooden floors. The room stretched wide, with sweeping archways and tall, pristine windows that overlooked Velaris.

And at the very front—seated behind a long, curved table—sat the panel of judges.

Five in total.

Their expressions were unreadable as they observed her, hands folded, quills poised.

Y/N swallowed hard.

The reality of it all hit her at once.

This was it.

Her entire career—her dream—was hinging on the next few minutes.

She forced herself to stand tall, to ignore the way her nerves coiled deep in her stomach.

“Whenever you’re ready,” one of the judges said, voice clipped and professional.

She nodded.

The music began.

For the first few moments, everything was fine.

Her muscles knew the movements. She had drilled them into her body a thousand times over. Her limbs extended with precision, her turns were smooth, her leaps controlled.

But then—

The whispers came back.

Not real, but in her head—echoing, clawing.

You don’t belong here.

Those ugly shadows—

Maybe she’ll trip and vanish—

You just weren’t made for this world.

Her rhythm faltered.

Her mind spiraled.

No, no—focus, keep going—

But the doubts were crushing her, strangling her.

And then—

Her foot landed wrong.

A sharp twist of her ankle.

A gasp.

And she was falling.

Hard.

The music cut out instantly.

For a moment, there was nothing but silence.

Y/N stayed where she was—knees against the polished floor, hands shaking, breath ragged.

She didn’t dare look up.

Didn’t dare face the judges.

But then—

“That will be all.”

The cold, detached voice sliced through the air like a knife.

Her head snapped up, eyes wide. “No—please—”

One of the judges, an older fae male, raised a hand. “There’s no need,” he said, his voice edged with boredom. “We’ve seen what we need to see.”

Her chest tightened. “I—please, I’ve been training for five years—”

Another judge, a stern-looking female, scoffed. “And?”

Y/N’s throat burned.

The older fae leaned forward slightly. “Just because you are the Spymaster’s mate,” he said coolly, “and the High Lord’s sister-in-law, does not mean you own this place.”

The words hit her like a slap.

“No, I—” She swallowed, scrambling to find the right words, to fix this—“I don’t think that, I just—”

“You are not fit for this stage,” another judge interrupted, eyes cold. “You have neither the discipline nor the grace required to perform at this level.”

Her heart shattered.

“We will not be moving you forward.” The older judge’s voice was final.

She couldn’t breathe.

Couldn’t move.

“Thank you for your time,” the female judge added, already looking away. “You may go.”

She had no choice.

Numbly, she stood.

She turned.

And she walked.

The moment she stepped back into the waiting room, the whispers started again.

A few of the dancers gave her long, smug looks.

She kept her head down.

She ignored the snickers, the cruel, whispered comments.

Her hands trembled as she grabbed her bag.

Then she turned and all but ran to the changing rooms.

The second the door shut behind her, she let out a shaky breath.

Her mind was spinning. Her heart ached.

What have I done?

Her fingers curled into fists.

She had ruined everything.

She had humiliated herself in front of the most prestigious judges in the city. She had proven every cruel whisper, every doubting stare right.

Her own hatred curled deep inside her, sharp and suffocating.

And then, a single thought struck her.

Azriel.

He was waiting outside.

Waiting for her with that quiet, steady patience. Waiting for her to walk out with a hopeful smile. And she—she had nothing to give him but failure.

Y/N took a deep, shuddering breath.

Then another.

She had exactly five seconds to fix her face before she walked out of this building.

One. She straightened her spine.

Two. She swallowed down the lump in her throat.

Three. She pulled her shoulders back, forcing her body to relax despite the tremors running through her veins.

Four. She curled her lips into the most dazzling, effortless smile she could manage.

Five. She stepped outside.

The cool evening air brushed against her skin, a sharp contrast to the suffocating weight pressing down on her chest.

And there he was.

Azriel stood by the entrance, his wings tucked neatly behind him, his scarred hands loose at his sides—but his entire body radiated the quiet, lethal stillness of a male always waiting, always watching.

The moment his eyes landed on her, something in them shifted.

His shadows stirred.

She knew he felt it. Knew he sensed something was wrong.

She forced herself to smile wider. “Hey, you.”

Azriel’s gaze flickered over her, his expression betraying nothing—except his shadows, which curled tight around his shoulders like wary sentries.

Then, his voice, low and steady: “Why did you close your side of the bond?”

Her breath hitched.

Shit.

She hadn’t expected him to catch onto that so fast.

She let out a soft laugh, waving a hand dismissively. “Oh, that? I just didn’t want to worry you with my constant overthinking.”

His eyes narrowed the slightest bit.

She pressed on, slipping seamlessly into her usual teasing tone. “You know how my mind gets—I was obsessing over little things before the audition, and I figured you didn’t need to deal with that.”

Azriel didn’t respond right away.

Instead, he watched her.

Watched her too closely.

For a second, she thought he might call her out on it—might push past the weak excuse and demand to know the truth.

But then, with a quiet exhale, he reached for her bag. “Nonsense,” he murmured, effortlessly taking it from her grasp.

She let him, knowing better than to argue.

Then, before she could react, his arms were around her—one hand pressing against her back, the other coming up to cradle the back of her head as he tucked her into him.

Y/N nearly broke.

The warmth of him, the quiet strength in the way he held her—it nearly shattered her.

But she couldn’t let it.

She wouldn’t let it.

So instead, she melted into him, resting her cheek against his chest and breathing in the familiar scent of night-chilled wind and cedar.

Azriel pressed a kiss to the top of her head, his lips lingering for just a second longer than usual. “Promise me you won’t do that again.”

She blinked. “Do what?”

His grip on her tightened. “Close your side of the bond like that.”

Y/N swallowed hard.

“I was ready to break in just to make sure you were safe,” he murmured, his voice quieter now. “Don’t do that to me again, love.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. He can’t know. He can’t know.

When she finally spoke, her voice was light. Playful. “Az, you’re being dramatic.”

His arms didn’t loosen.

She tipped her head back just enough to meet his gaze, mustering up a soft smile. “I’m fine. See? Perfectly fine.”

Azriel studied her.

For a long moment, he said nothing.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, he exhaled through his nose and finally, finally released her—though his hand lingered on the small of her back as they started walking.

They moved in comfortable silence for a bit, the cool night air wrapping around them.

And then—

“So,” Azriel said, his tone light, casual. “How did it go?”

Y/N froze.

Only for a fraction of a second.

But he noticed.

Of course he noticed.

Her heart hammered against her ribs, but she forced her body to remain loose, her expression to remain bright.

Then she laughed, shaking her head as if amused. “Oh, it went great.”

Azriel glanced at her. “Yeah?”

She nodded eagerly. “Yeah. I can’t wait to see the results. They said the decisions will be out in two weeks, so…” She trailed off, shrugging. “Now it’s just a waiting game.”

Azriel was still watching her.

She felt his eyes on her, felt the way his shadows curled subtly closer.

She knew what he was doing—trying to read her body, her breathing, her heartbeat.

So she made sure they all remained steady.

She had years of training in deception. She could fake confidence, fake nonchalance—hell, she could fake a damn performance if needed.

And right now, she needed Azriel to believe her.

Because if he didn’t—if he so much as suspected—

Az hummed. “So they didn’t give any immediate feedback?”

She shook her head. “Nope. Just the usual ‘thank you for your time, we’ll be in touch.’”

His brows furrowed slightly. “That’s standard?”

“Very,” she assured him.

Another hum. “And you feel good about it?”

She beamed. “I do.”

Azriel didn’t speak for a long moment.

Y/N’s stomach clenched.

Please let this work. Please believe me.

Finally—

“Well,” he said, his voice softer now. “Then I guess we wait.”

She let out a small breath of relief, nodding.

Azriel gave her a sidelong glance. “But just so you know…”

She raised a brow. “Hmm?”

His free hand reached for hers, fingers threading together effortlessly.

“I don’t need to hear the results to already be proud of you.”

Her throat tightened.

Her nails dug into her palm.

She forced herself to smile. “You’re sweet.”

Azriel only squeezed her hand. “You’re mine.”

For a split second, the weight in her chest almost lifted.

But then she remembered—

The failure.

The fall.

The cold, dismissive words of the judges.

You are not fit for this stage.

And just like that, the crushing guilt came surging back.

So Y/N just held onto his hand a little tighter.

And she kept smiling.

Azriel insisted on making dinner, saying she should relax after the audition.

And so here he was, moving around the kitchen like it was his second home, the rhythmic chopping of vegetables mingling with the sizzle of something cooking in the pan. Y/N sat at the table, silently watching him, trying her best to keep her expression neutral. She didn’t want him to see through the mask she was wearing, didn’t want him to know how much she was falling apart on the inside.

“You’re being quiet,” Azriel said, not looking up from his work.

Y/N smiled tightly. “Just tired.”

He paused, his gaze flickering to her from over his shoulder. She caught the way his brow furrowed slightly, but he didn’t say anything—just went back to what he was doing, humming softly as he worked.

Azriel was always calm, always steady, and she found it both soothing and maddening. He could sense things—things she wasn’t always ready to confront—and she hated how well he knew her. But tonight, she wouldn’t let him see. She couldn’t.

She reached for her glass of water, her hand trembling just slightly. She was sure he’d notice. But he didn’t. He was focused on the dinner, and for a moment, she let herself relax into the normalcy of the moment, the small relief of not having to pretend she was somewhere else, someone else.

When he finally brought dinner to the table, Y/N forced herself to smile and thank him. She even complimented him on the food, but she could feel him watching her, his eyes scanning her every move, trying to figure out what was wrong.

Azriel didn’t ask any questions yet, but Y/N could sense the storm brewing behind his calm façade. He always knew when she wasn’t okay.

They ate in silence for a few moments, the clink of silverware the only sound between them. Her mind was elsewhere, far from the meal in front of her, as the words from her audition echoed through her thoughts.

“You’ve been quiet all evening,” Azriel said again, this time his voice much softer.

Y/N blinked and met his gaze. He was studying her, his brow slightly furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line. He was worried—she could feel it, even if he didn’t say the words out loud.

“I’m just thinking,” she replied, trying to keep the tremor out of her voice.

“About the audition?” he asked, his voice casual but with an undercurrent of concern.

Y/N hesitated. Should she lie? Pretend that everything was fine? Or should she admit it—admit how awful it had gone?

But before she could answer, he reached across the table, his hand covering hers. His thumb brushed along her skin, warm and reassuring.

“You don’t have to pretend with me,” he said quietly.

She sucked in a breath, her heart pounding in her chest. The warmth of his hand almost made her break, almost made her say it all, but she couldn’t. She wouldn’t.

“I’m fine, Azriel,” she said, her voice soft but firm. “Really.”

He didn’t believe her, she could see it in his eyes, but he didn’t push. Not yet.

He nodded slowly, his eyes not leaving hers. “If you say so.”

But there was an edge in his tone—one that made her heart sink a little further.

Dinner passed quietly after that. They talked about trivial things, Azriel asking her about her plans for the next few days, but it all felt distant to her. As if the words were just background noise, and her mind was somewhere else, drowning in everything she was trying to bury.

Finally, when the meal was over, Azriel cleared the table, his movements sharp, precise. Y/N stayed seated, her fingers picking at the edge of her napkin, twisting it nervously.

“You know,” he said, his back still to her as he loaded dishes into the sink, “you don’t have to keep things from me.”

Y/N’s chest tightened. She looked down at her hands, trying to keep her face composed.

“I’m not keeping anything from you,” she said, her voice a little too high.

Azriel paused, his back still turned, but his posture was stiff now. “You’re lying.”

Y/N bit her lip, her heart thudding in her chest. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t break. Not in front of him. Not when he had already given her everything—his trust, his heart. She couldn’t disappoint him.

“Azriel,” she started, her voice trembling just slightly. “Please, just… don’t worry about me. I’m fine. I swear.”

He turned to face her, his expression unreadable, but his eyes… they were full of that quiet, relentless concern that always seemed to follow her.

“You don’t have to be strong all the time, Y/N.” His voice was almost a whisper, like he was afraid to push her too far. “Not with me.”

For a heartbeat, they just stared at each other, the space between them charged with unsaid words.

Finally, Y/N forced a smile—one that she hoped was convincing enough to fool him. “I know,” she said softly. “But right now, I just need a little time, okay?”

Azriel didn’t respond at first. He studied her for a long moment, as if trying to decide whether or not he should press her further. But then, with a soft sigh, he nodded.

“I’m here when you’re ready to talk,” he said quietly.

Y/N smiled again, though this time it felt more like a mask than anything real.

“I know.”

But inside, the walls she’d spent so long building were crumbling, piece by piece, and no matter how hard she tried to hold them up, she knew it wouldn’t be much longer before they all came down.

She just hoped Azriel wouldn’t be the one to see it happen.

Not yet.

Not while she was still pretending.

The next evening, when Azriel came home, he was expecting nothing more than the usual quiet, the calm of his home and his bondmate waiting for him. What he hadn’t expected was to find Y/N sitting on the couch, her posture rigid, her eyes staring blankly at the wall.

His heart immediately sank at the sight. Something was off—he could feel it in his chest, that strange, unsettling tightness that always came when Y/N was hurting. He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him softly, not wanting to startle her.

“Y/N?” His voice was tentative, but there was an underlying current of concern.

She didn’t respond right away, and the silence stretched between them like a fragile thread. He walked closer, his eyes scanning her face. She looked… exhausted, drained, as if the weight of the world was pressing down on her. He crouched beside her, tilting his head to catch her eyes.

“Love, are you okay?” he asked softly.

Y/N blinked and finally turned her gaze to him. There was something in her eyes—something that made him take an instinctive step back.

“I’m fine,” she said, the words too quick, too rehearsed.

Azriel studied her for a moment longer before sitting down next to her, his tone shifting, more serious. “You don’t have to lie to me, Y/N. What’s going on?”

She didn’t meet his eyes again, her gaze dropping to her hands, folded neatly in her lap. The stillness in her was unnatural, and the shadows around them seemed to pulse with tension. Azriel’s brows furrowed as he let out a quiet sigh, his instincts kicking in.

He didn’t press her at first—he’d learned by now to give her space—but the questions came slowly, each one a little heavier than the last. “How was your day?”

“Fine.” Her voice cracked slightly, but she recovered quickly.

“Did you think about the results?”

“Not really, as I said the audition went well” she answered too quickly, her voice tight.

Azriel paused, his eyes narrowing slightly. She was hiding something, and the silence between them was thick with the knowledge that he wouldn’t be satisfied until he got the truth. “Really?”

She nodded, but her breath hitched ever so slightly, the only sign that something was wrong.

Azriel’s gaze softened, but his suspicion grew, and it was in that moment, when the quiet stretched on just a little too long, that the final thread snapped. He couldn’t hold back anymore. He had to know. He had to confront whatever this was.

He leaned in slightly, his voice hardening with a cold edge. “That’s why you tripped and fell during your audition yesterday?”

Y/N froze, her eyes widening, her body stiffening. The breath in her lungs caught. She hadn’t expected him to know that. Hadn’t expected him to have seen through the lies she’d told herself, the façade she’d built to protect herself.

“How do you know that?” Her voice was small, trembling with the weight of the question.

Azriel’s gaze darkened, his anger simmering just below the surface. He didn’t let her answer before he spoke again. “I knew something was up the moment you stepped out of those doors. I couldn’t just sit around pondering what was wrong with you. My shadows did their job well and brought me all I needed to know.”

Y/N’s mouth fell open in disbelief. “From the… the start?”

Azriel’s jaw clenched, his fists tightening in barely contained rage. “Yes. From the moment those bastards bullied you.” His words were venomous, and Y/N could see the raw anger in his eyes. “I know exactly what they said. The venom they spilled at you…” His voice trailed off, trembling with rage.

Y/N stood up abruptly, her hands shaking. “You had no right!” she exclaimed, her voice rising in anger and desperation.

Azriel stood, his body tense with rage, his eyes dark as shadows swirled around him. “No right?” He took a step forward, his voice rising with every word, a dangerous edge creeping in. “NO RIGHT?! Those bastards were bullying you, Y/N, and you didn’t say a thing?! You didn’t tell me what they said, didn’t let me help you—didn’t let me protect you?”

Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, her shoulders shaking. Her voice cracked, the raw emotion spilling out in a flood of hurt and frustration. “I couldn’t, Azriel! I couldn’t—don’t you get it? I couldn’t bring myself to tell you! I’ve been… I’ve been hiding this from you because I didn’t want to burden you. I didn’t want to be weak. I didn’t want to show you how broken I am. How useless I am…”

She stumbled backward, shaking her head in a frantic movement, her chest tight as she gasped for breath. “I’m just… I’m just not good enough! I’m not strong enough! I fail, every time. I failed at the audition, Azriel! I’m never going to be good enough for this world, for you! Don't you see the stares? Hear the whispers? No one thinks I'm worthy enough, no one..."

Her words came in a rush, all the broken pieces of herself spilling out in one chaotic moment. “The shadows—the way they looked at me, the way they whispered behind my back. They were right, Azriel. They were right about me. I’m nothing, I’m just…” She choked on her words, her knees buckling as she collapsed onto the couch again, her face buried in her hands.

Azriel’s heart clenched painfully in his chest as he stepped forward, his anger now replaced with an aching sadness. His voice was gentle but firm as he knelt beside her, reaching out to take her trembling hands in his. “Don’t you ever say that about yourself. You hear me? Don’t you ever say that again.”

Y/N shook her head violently, her tears pouring freely now. “I’ve failed so many times, Azriel. Every time I try, I trip, I fall, I let everyone down. The shadows—they don’t even care about me. They—”

Azriel grabbed her shoulders, forcing her to look at him, his eyes filled with a depth of emotion she hadn’t seen before. His voice was a low, raw growl. “They were wrong. Every damn thing they said was wrong. You are good enough. You are strong enough. And I’ll be damned if I let you talk about yourself like this again.”

Y/N gasped, her heart pounding in her chest. Her lips trembled as she tried to speak, but all that came out was a broken sob.

Azriel’s jaw clenched, his gaze searching hers, desperation in his eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you trust me?”

She pulled away from him, her hands shaking as she wiped at her tears. “Because I couldn’t bear the thought of you seeing me like this. Of you seeing how weak I am. I thought I could handle it, that I could be enough on my own, but I’m not. I’m not…”

Azriel’s gaze softened, and he cupped her face in his hands, his thumb brushing over the tear tracks on her cheeks. His voice was soft but unwavering. “You are enough, Y/N. Don’t ever believe otherwise. You are stronger than anyone I know, and I’m so damn proud of you. Don’t you dare let anyone tell you otherwise.”

Her sobs subsided, but the rawness of her insecurities still lingered between them, like an invisible barrier. Azriel leaned forward, his voice low but firm. “Names.”

Y/N shook her head, her breath coming in ragged gasps. “Please, Azriel. Don’t do this.”

“I already know who they are,” he replied, his voice calm but insistent. “But I need to hear you say it. Confirm it. Please.”

She hesitated, then, with great reluctance, she whispered the names of some of those she knew of who had bullied her previously, each one a dagger to her heart.

Azriel nodded, his face unreadable as he absorbed the information. When she finished, he reached for her, pulling her into his arms once more. She let herself sink into him, her heart breaking, her trust growing just a little bit stronger with each passing moment.

“I won’t let them get away with this,” he whispered fiercely into her hair, his voice promising more than words could say. “But I need you to promise me something.”

“What?” she whispered back, barely able to speak through the tears.

He pulled back, cupping her face, his expression firm. “Swear to me that you won’t hide anything from me again. No more lies, no more keeping things from me. Keep the bond open, always. Promise me, Y/N.”

Her eyes met his, a flicker of hesitation passing through her, but in the end, she nodded. “I promise.”

Azriel’s face softened, but the resolve in his eyes remained. “And don’t you ever doubt yourself again,” he whispered, pressing his forehead against hers. “You’re worth everything, Y/N. Don’t you ever forget that.”

As the two of them stood there, lost in their embrace, something shifted between them. The pain, the secrets, the walls—they weren’t gone, but they were no longer insurmountable. And for the first time in a long time, Y/N allowed herself to believe that maybe, just maybe, she was enough.

The days that followed the confrontation were quieter, more contemplative, but no less intense. Y/N struggled with her shadows, each day finding new cracks in her confidence, but each day, Azriel stood by her, watching in the background, patiently waiting for her to let him in.

It started with the small moments, those subtle acts of care that made her feel seen without being smothered. She had always been strong, had always prided herself on standing on her own, but now, after everything, the thought of dancing again seemed like an insurmountable mountain. The audition failure had knocked her harder than she’d let on. And the cruel words, the judgment she’d faced, were still echoing in her mind. She wasn’t sure if she could go back to the barre, could go back to the thing that had once been her escape.

But Azriel wouldn’t let her hide from it.

“You don’t have to do this all at once,” he’d say quietly, stepping into the room when he sensed she was lost in the shadows of her mind, the world outside muted in her silence. “Take it slow. But don’t quit. Don’t let them win.”

Y/N would look at him with that guarded expression, not wanting to admit how much she wanted to run. Not wanting to show him how weak she felt.

But he was patient. He’d never push too hard, never rush her into something she wasn’t ready for. Instead, he’d talk to her about anything else—about the weather, about his training, about the little things that made her smile—until, gradually, the conversation would shift, and the quiet moments would fill the space between them.

Then one day, when she was too tired to pretend she wasn’t aching, he sat across from her as she wrapped her shoes.

“You still want to do this,” Azriel said quietly, watching her with a gaze that spoke volumes. “Don’t hide from it.”

Y/N didn’t look up. “I don’t know if I can,” she whispered.

Azriel stood, moving closer without a word. He didn’t touch her, didn’t crowd her space, but his presence was soothing, a gentle reminder that she wasn’t alone in this. His shadows, ever loyal to him, surrounded her, their warmth seeping into her own. “You can,” he replied simply, his voice carrying that deep, unwavering certainty that made her chest tighten.

His words weren’t demanding, weren’t pressuring. It was more of an invitation.

Slowly, Y/N laced her shoes, her hands trembling just slightly, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t. Not with him standing there, not with the strength in his eyes watching her like she was the only thing that mattered.

“Let me help you,” Azriel said, his tone low, intimate. “Let me help you heal, one step at a time.”

She didn’t answer immediately, but she didn’t need to. His quiet persistence was enough, and it settled into her bones, wrapping around her like a familiar cloak.

And so, the days passed. Each one a little easier than the last. Azriel’s presence was constant—he didn’t force her, didn’t push her, but his quiet admiration, his praise when she succeeded, built her back up in ways words alone couldn’t. Every small improvement, every hesitant movement, was a victory in his eyes.

Whenever she danced, whenever she felt the weight of doubt try to settle in, she’d sense his presence in the room. He was always there, hidden in the shadows, watching, waiting. His shadows moved with hers, always in sync, always intertwined in a dance of their own, a silent exchange of trust and understanding.

His admiration for her wasn’t in loud declarations or grand gestures. It was in the little things. In the way his shadows would curl around her when she hesitated, steadying her when she almost fell. In the way his eyes softened every time she let herself lose control, the way he made sure she always felt seen, even when she thought no one was watching.

One evening, after another failed attempt at perfecting a pirouette, Y/N huffed in frustration, stepping back from the barre. Her muscles ached, her body exhausted from the constant battle to get back to where she once was.

Azriel didn’t speak right away. Instead, he walked up to her, his gaze unwavering. He was always watching, always noticing.

“You know,” he began, his voice low, teasing just slightly, “your shadows were in perfect sync with mine tonight.” He smirked, his eyes glinting with a playful edge. “It’s almost like they know what you’re capable of, even if you don’t.”

Y/N looked up at him, her breath caught in her chest. She opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out.

“I’ve been watching you,” he continued, his voice softer now, more earnest. “You have something no one else does, Y/N. Your strength—your heart—it’s what makes you beautiful, and it’s what makes you powerful. And every time you step back into that studio, you show me a little more of who you are.”

His words were simple, but they struck her in ways she couldn’t explain. She felt her heart pound in her chest, the raw emotion of his praise and support slowly melting away the remnants of the fear and doubt that had clouded her for so long.

Y/N took a deep breath and nodded, her gaze meeting his, no longer afraid to hold it. “I’ll try again,” she said softly.

Azriel’s smile was small but full of pride. He stepped back, his shadows still lingering around her. “I know you will. And when you do, I’ll be here.”

Every step she took, every movement she made, she could feel his presence at her side, not as a crutch but as the support she didn’t know she needed. And for the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel so alone in the dance.

The healing was slow, but it was real. Each moment, each word, each look from Azriel was a step toward rebuilding the confidence she had lost. She wasn’t just getting back to where she was—she was becoming something more. Something stronger. Something she didn’t think was possible. And with Azriel by her side, she knew that, no matter what came next, she wasn’t going to give up. Not anymore.

Azriel paced through the streets of Velaris, each step heavy with anger. His thoughts churned, his mind unwilling to leave the image of Y/N from earlier that morning. She had smiled, but it hadn't reached her eyes. She was trying to hide it again, pretending like everything was fine when it was anything but.

His shadows swirled around him, agitated by his own tension. They could feel his fury, his frustration, and his desperate need to protect her, even if she didn't fully understand it herself.

She had tried to hide it from him. She thought he didn't know about the insults— the cruel words those judges had spat at her.

She thought he couldn't see it in her eyes, in the way she held herself, the way she moved now as if she was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders.

And it made him seethe with rage.

The anger that had been simmering inside him ever since she had confided in him about what happened during the audition was reaching a boiling point. He had promised her. He had sworn not to act. But how the hell was he supposed to keep that promise when the world-these people-had done this to her?

He clenched his fists, feeling the ache in his bones, the frustration gnawing at him. The female he cared about, the one he loved, the one he wanted to see succeed, was broken in ways that no one could understand. No one except him.

And all he wanted to do was rip apart the world that had done this to her.

He felt the weight of his own limitations pressing down on him. He was a warrior, a spymaster-he was trained to eliminate threats, to take down anyone who stood in his way. But this... this was different. This wasn't some battle he could fight on a battlefield. It was a war waged on the heart, and it made him feel helpless, more than he had ever felt before.

He was so fucking angry. Angry at them for humiliating her. Angry at himself for not noticing sooner. Angry that she thought she could bear this burden alone, hiding it from him.

But that was going to change. He couldn't keep his promise. Not when he knew what they had done. Not when he knew the damage they'd caused. He could feel it in every fiber of his being-this deep, primal need to protect her from everything that wanted to break her down. He was done standing by.

Done pretending that he didn't see the cracks in her.

Done watching her hide from the truth.

He was going to make them pay. Every last one of them.

The judges' gathering was held in the home of one of the higher-ranking members, a large, lavish place that screamed of power and authority. As soon as Azriel winnowed himself in, the room fell silent. His presence was enough to make everyone freeze. He could feel their eyes on him, the shock radiating from their faces. They weren't expecting him, weren't prepared for someone like him to walk in.

They had no idea what they were dealing with.

eyes cutting through the air like a blade. He didn't say a word, his silence hanging heavy in the room, suffocating. He could feel his shadows coiling tighter around him, his anger leaking into the atmosphere like a dangerous storm.

"Spymaster," one of them said, his voice barely a whisper, fear seeping through.

Azriel didn't respond. He took a step forward, the air growing colder with every inch he moved. "You know why I'm here," he said, his voice low, dangerous, a growl rumbling in his chest.

The head judge, a man whose face Azriel recognized all too well from the reports, shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "I don't-"

"You don't?" Azriel interrupted, his voice laced with venom. "You don't remember insulting her? Belittling her? Telling her she wasn't good enough?”

The room went silent, the judges exchanging nervous glances. None of them dared to speak. They all knew exactly who he was talking about. They all knew exactly who he meant.

"Y/N," Azriel spat the name like it was poison, but the force of it sent a shiver down their spines. "You remember her, don't you?"

They swallowed hard, eyes darting around as if trying to find an escape. But there was no escape. Not from him.

"You made her feel like she wasn't worthy.

Like she wasn't good enough to be there," Azriel continued, his voice rising with each word. "You made her doubt herself. And I swear to the gods, if I hear any more of that bullshit from you, you won't live to regret it. If you ever so much as think about doing that to her again, I will make sure you regret it with every breath you take."

The judges were visibly shaken now, the threat clear in Azriel’s voice, but still, they tried to deny it. “We— We were just doing our job,” one of them stammered.

Azriel’s cold smile made the hairs on the back of their necks stand on end. “Your job? Your job was to make her feel small? Your job was to crush her spirit? Tell me, what part of that is ‘just doing your job’?”

One of the judges tried to stand up, but Azriel was faster. In a heartbeat, he grabbed him by the throat, lifting him off the ground. “You’re going to listen to me very carefully, and you’re going to do exactly what I say,” Azriel growled, his voice dripping with menace. “You’re going to redo the audition. Only for her. You’re going to send a letter, and you’re going to call her back here. And when she walks through that door, you’re going to praise her performance. You’re going to tell her she has what it takes. You’re going to give her the chance she deserves.”

The man was gasping for breath, his eyes wide with panic as he choked on his words. “Y-yes… yes, we’ll do it,” he croaked, but Azriel wasn’t done yet.

“You better,” Azriel hissed, tightening his grip just enough to send the message. “And if you don’t… I will come for every one of you. I’ll start with your families. Your children. Your wives. I’ll make sure every single person in this room knows exactly what it means to cross me.”

The man whimpered, his hands clawing at Azriel’s wrist in a futile attempt to break free. “We… we’ll do it. Just let me go…”

Azriel’s eyes darkened, his expression chilling. He released the man, letting him crumple to the floor, gasping for air. He turned to the others. “Do you all understand?”

They nodded, fear and desperation written across their faces.

Azriel’s gaze swept over them one last time, making sure they understood just how close they had come to losing everything. “If any of you try to play this off as something else, if you try to twist the truth, I will come back. And next time, I won’t be as merciful.”

He turned, leaving them in the silence of his threat. As he stepped out of the house, his shadows coiled around him, a dark presence that was both comforting and deadly.

He had kept his promise to Y/N. For now. But Azriel knew there was no stopping the fury that had been unleashed. He would protect her. He would always protect her. And anyone who tried to hurt her would regret it—deeply.

Feyre’s studio—her space in Velaris—was warm, filled with the scent of fresh paint and the faintest trace of lavender from the candles she had lit. Sunlight streamed through the wide windows, casting a golden glow over the half-finished paintings scattered across the room. It was peaceful. A quiet retreat from the weight of the world.

Y/N ran her fingers over the rim of a cup of tea, listening as Feyre hummed while mixing colors on her palette. They had been talking about nothing in particular—just idle chatter about a new piece Feyre was working on, how the city had been lately, and Y/N’s attempts to distract herself from the gnawing disappointment still lingering in her chest.

She had been getting better. She had been trying to move on from the humiliation of that audition. Feyre, as always, had been patient and kind, giving her space to talk but never pressing when she didn’t want to.

Y/N was about to respond to something Feyre said when the door swung open, and a familiar, commanding presence filled the room.

Azriel.

Her heart skipped, a warmth blooming in her chest the second their eyes met.

“High Lady,” he greeted Feyre smoothly, giving a respectful nod.

And, Cauldron boil her, Y/N knew she was hopelessly in love with this male the moment his expression shifted. The moment that cold, unreadable mask softened as his gaze found hers.

She went all mushy, as Feyre had put it before, whenever he did that. She hated how accurate it was.

“Az,” she breathed, already moving toward him before she could think twice about it.

He caught her the second she was within reach, his arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her into his chest. Y/N melted into him, pressing her face into his shoulder, inhaling the familiar scent of night-chilled wind and cedar.

Home.

She felt his lips press a kiss to the top of her head before he pulled back slightly, his hazel eyes warm with something unreadable. “I missed you.”

A smile curled on her lips. “Where were you all day?”

Azriel hummed, running a hand down her back as he gave a nonchalant answer. “Handling some things.”

“Secret spymaster things?” she teased, tilting her head up at him.

His lips twitched, but he didn’t confirm or deny it. Instead, he leaned down, brushing his nose against hers before pressing a soft kiss to her lips. “You didn’t need to miss me. I’m always here.”

Y/N sighed, wrapping her arms around his neck, enjoying the quiet moment of just them. “Sap.”

He chuckled, pressing another lingering kiss against her temple. “Only for you.”

Feyre, being the saint that she was, took that as her cue to excuse herself. “I’ll just—give you two a moment,” she muttered, already heading toward the back of the room.

Y/N barely acknowledged her leaving. She was too busy soaking in the rare gentleness of the male before her.

But then—

A hesitant voice called out from the hallway. “Uh…Az?”

Feyre had just returned, but she wasn’t looking at them. She was looking past them, toward the entrance of the studio, her brows raised in confusion. “Did you bring… all those females into my hallway?”

Y/N blinked, pulling away slightly from Azriel’s hold.

Feyre continued, looking increasingly concerned. “I mean, I don’t want to sound judgy, but they’re bound in your shadows. And there are like… fifteen of them.”

Y/N froze.

She turned fully, stepping out of Azriel’s embrace to look at him properly. “What?”

Azriel sighed. Not in regret. Not in guilt. But in the sort of way that said, I knew this was coming.

And then, he turned to her with a small, knowing smile. “Yes.”

Y/N’s stomach dropped.

Azriel took her hands, his thumbs running over her knuckles. “And they will all apologize.” His voice lowered, his lips brushing against her forehead. “They will beg on their knees for your forgiveness.”

Feyre choked. “Forgiveness? What—what the hell is going on?”

Azriel, ever so casually, replied, “Nothing you need to worry about.”

Y/N’s heart hammered in her chest. “Az,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, shaking her head. “No. Please.”

His hands cupped her face, his thumbs tilting her chin up as he leaned in, pressing another soft, deliberate kiss against her lips. It wasn’t hurried. It wasn’t desperate. It was firm. Resolute.

When he pulled back, his hazel eyes burned with unwavering determination. “No,” he murmured against her lips. “You need this.”

Y/N’s breath caught.

Azriel turned to Feyre, his voice returning to its usual icy calm. “Stay here.”

Then, without another word, he led Y/N to the hallway.

And there they were.

Fifteen females, all bound by thick, writhing shadows, their wrists locked together, their ankles bound. Some of them were trembling, silent tears streaking their faces. Others looked frozen in fear, their lips parted, as if they wanted to speak but couldn’t.

Y/N could barely breathe.

Azriel didn’t hesitate. His shadows curled tighter around the females as he spoke, his voice dark, merciless.

“Now,” he said, loudly enough for everyone to hear. “Get in line.”

The shadows obeyed, shifting, forcing them into a single row.

Azriel stepped forward, his wings partially flaring as a cruel smirk played at his lips.

“One by one,” he drawled, “each of you will take turns begging for my mate’s forgiveness.”

Y/N stared at him, shock rippling through her entire body.

And she had no idea what to say.

The air was suffocating.

Y/N stood frozen as the first female, the moment Azriel’s shadows slithered away from her wrists, collapsed to her knees in front of her.

The thud of her body hitting the marble floor echoed through the hallway.

“I—I’m sorry,” the female gasped, tears streaming down her face, her voice breaking with desperation. “Please—please, I take it back. I take it all back.”

Y/N’s breath caught. Her fingers twitched at her sides, her gut instinct screaming at her to take a step back, to shake her head, to tell her that it was fine—

Azriel’s hand came to rest on her forearm, a quiet, grounding touch.

She turned to him, her wide eyes meeting his. His expression was unreadable, his jaw set, his wings tucked behind him like a warrior standing guard. A silent message passed between them.

Do not give in. Do not let them escape the weight of what they did.

And maybe—maybe he was right.

Maybe these people, these females who had mocked her, who had shamed her, who had torn apart something she had poured her entire soul into—maybe they should feel this. Maybe they should know what it was like to have the world force you onto your knees, to feel helpless, to feel humiliated.

So she swallowed hard, ignored the burn in her throat, and slowly, slowly, she gave the smallest nod.

And then the next female fell.

Then the next.

And the next.

One by one, they dropped before her, sobbing, stammering out apologies that all blurred together.

We didn’t mean it. We were just talking. Please, please, I swear, we didn’t think— Forgive me, I was wrong, I was wrong!

Y/N watched, her fingers trembling, as they all crumbled. As they begged.

The last one, the one who had humiliated her the worst, remained standing.

Azriel’s shadows didn’t let her go.

Her lips were pressed into a thin line, her shoulders shaking as she forced herself to meet Y/N’s gaze. Unlike the others, she wasn’t crying.

But she was afraid.

And Azriel?

He smirked.

His voice was low, a whisper of lethal amusement. “Oh? Nothing to say?”

The female’s jaw clenched. She was shaking, her hands curled into fists at her sides. Y/N could see the war raging behind her eyes—her pride battling with the absolute terror of what he would do to her if she didn’t submit.

Azriel stepped forward. His movements were slow, calculated, the air around them darkening as his shadows curled along the floor like ink spreading through water.

“I remember you,” he murmured, tilting his head as if studying prey caught in a snare. “You had so much to say that day. So many things to mock, so many insults to throw.”

His smirk sharpened.

“Say them now.”

The female visibly swallowed. “I—”

She didn’t get to finish.

Azriel was suddenly inches from her, his hand gripping her chin with a deceptively gentle hold. His wings flared slightly, his breath a ghost of a whisper against her skin.

“No?” he purred, mock surprise lacing his tone. “Why not? Where is that sharp tongue of yours now?”

The female’s body trembled, her knees visibly weakening, but she remained standing.

Azriel’s fingers pressed in just a fraction tighter, forcing her to look at him. “Do you know what happens to people who insult what belongs to me?”

Y/N shivered at the quiet, lethal promise in his voice.

The female finally cracked. A soft whimper escaped her lips.

And then—Azriel’s shadows dropped her.

She hit the floor with a painful gasp, and before Y/N could react, she was crawling forward, her hands gripping the fabric of Y/N’s dress as she bowed before her.

“I—I was wrong,” the female choked out. “I was so wrong. Please. Please, forgive me.”

Y/N could only stare.

Azriel stood behind her, looming like a shadowed god. His voice was pure ice as he spoke.

“Beg louder.”

The female’s body trembled violently as she clutched Y/N’s dress, her fingers digging into the fabric like it was the only thing keeping her upright.

“Please,” she choked out, her voice raw. “I—I was wrong, I—”

Azriel’s cold, deadly voice cut through the air like a blade.

"Louder."

The female flinched, her breath hitching. Y/N’s heart pounded as she stared down at the woman who had torn her apart just days ago, who had laughed at her, who had made her feel like she was nothing.

Now, that same woman was crawling at her feet.

Y/N’s hands trembled at her sides. This—this was too much. This wasn’t her. She didn’t need this.

But hadn’t she dreamed of this moment?

Hadn’t she imagined looking into their faces, imagined hearing them admit what they had done? That they had crushedher? Hadn’t she wanted this?

A twisted part of her, buried deep inside, relished it.

Not for the power.

Not for revenge.

But because for once—for once—she wasn’t the one who had to bend.

She wasn’t the one forced to apologize for simply existing.

Azriel moved beside her, his warmth grounding her in the storm of emotions raging inside her. His wings cast a shadow over them both as he crouched, his voice nothing but a whisper laced with deadly amusement.

"I told you to beg louder."

The female sobbed. “Please! I was wrong! I—” Her voice cracked as she practically collapsed lower, pressing her forehead to the floor at Y/N’s feet. “I was cruel. I am the worthless one, not you! I take it back! I take all my words back! I—I didn’t mean it. I swear. I swear, I didn’t mean it—”

Y/N inhaled sharply.

Didn’t mean it?

No. That was a lie.

They meant it.

They had enjoyed it.

They had looked her in the eye and mocked the thing she loved most, had seen her hurt and laughed.

And now?

Now they were just scared.

They weren’t sorry for what they did.

They were sorry that Azriel had made them face it.

The realization hit her like a crashing wave, stealing the breath from her lungs.

She turned to him, her fingers instinctively reaching for his.

He was already watching her.

His hazel eyes softened—not with pity, but with understanding.

And that was when she realized—

This wasn’t just about making them beg. This was about giving her the choice. The power had always been in their hands.

Now, it was in hers.

Her gaze flickered back down to the female, still crying at her feet.

A beat of silence passed.

Then, Y/N took a slow step back, pulling herself from the woman’s grasp.

The female’s sobs quieted.

Y/N straightened her spine, letting the tension bleed from her limbs. Then, with a voice steady and calm—her voice, not Azriel’s, not anyone else’s—she spoke.

"Get up."

The female’s breath hitched.

Y/N arched a brow. "I said, get up."

Slowly, hesitantly, the woman obeyed, wiping at her tear-streaked face as she stood.

Y/N met her gaze, unwavering. “You’re not sorry for what you did.” Her voice was quiet but firm. “You’re sorry for what happened because of it.”

The woman opened her mouth—probably to protest, probably to claim she was sorry—but one look from Azriel had her shutting it immediately.

Y/N exhaled.

“I don’t need your apologies,” she continued. “They don’t change what you did. They don’t change how you made me feel.”

Her nails curled into her palms.

“I don’t forgive you.”

A flicker of something crossed the woman’s face—humiliation, maybe. But Y/N didn’t care.

“You can leave now,” Y/N said simply.

She saw Azriel’s shadows twitch—as if they didn’t want to let them go—but at her command, they loosened.

One by one, the females scrambled out of the hallway, their heads bowed, their faces still streaked with tears.

Y/N didn’t watch them go.

Instead, she turned to Azriel.

He was already looking at her.

And gods—gods, that look.

Like she had just become something entirely new before his eyes. Like she was something fierce, something untouchable.

His hand lifted, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face, his knuckles grazing her cheek. “I’m proud of you,” he murmured.

Y/N swallowed.

She didn’t answer.

She just closed the distance between them and wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his chest.

His arms came around her instantly, holding her close, his chin resting atop her head.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Then, softly—

“Az?”

He hummed in response.

She pulled back just enough to meet his gaze. “Don’t ever do that again.”

A slow smirk curled his lips. “Not even a little?”

She glared.

He chuckled, but his fingers gently tilted her chin up. “Alright,” he murmured. “No more shadows dragging terrified females through the streets.”

A pause.

“Unless they deserve it.”

Y/N groaned, hiding her face in his chest again. Azriel just laughed, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of her head.

The morning sun streamed through the kitchen window, casting golden light over the small breakfast she was preparing. The scent of fresh bread and honey filled the air as Y/N moved around, her mind still heavy from yesterday’s events.

Even after all that happened, even after them begging for her forgiveness, a part of her still felt like it was over. That she had lost her dream.

She let out a quiet sigh as she plated the food, determined not to dwell on it. Az would be awake soon, and she wanted to surprise him with breakfast in bed—

A sudden whoosh of magic broke through the quiet morning.

She gasped, stumbling back as a parchment appeared before her, floating midair before it landed softly on the counter.

Her brows furrowed in confusion. With hesitant fingers, she reached for it, breaking the wax seal and unfolding the letter.

Her breath caught the second she read the words.

Miss Y/N,

After reviewing our previous judgment, we have come to realize that we misjudged your performance. We deeply regret our oversight and would like to offer you another opportunity to showcase your talents. If you are still interested, we invite you to perform again today in the afternoon at the Grand Theatre. We sincerely hope you will accept.

Her heart stopped.

Her hands trembled as she reread it again. And again.

She clutched the letter to her chest.

This—this can’t be real.

She had lost her chance. They had crushed it, torn it from her hands.

And now… they were offering it back?

She was so caught up in the storm of emotions that she didn’t hear the footsteps behind her, didn’t notice the warmth approaching until two strong arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her against a broad, familiar chest.

Azriel buried his face into the crook of her neck, pressing a lazy, sleepy kiss there as he murmured, “What is it?”

She felt the smile on his lips.

The knowing smile.

And something clicked in her mind.

She stiffened slightly, turning in his arms as she held the letter up between them. “Did you have anything to do with this?”

Azriel blinked at her. His expression was a perfect mask of confusion, of innocent curiosity. “What are you talking about?”

His voice was so smooth, so convincing—too convincing.

He tilted his head slightly, his brows furrowing in the perfect Azriel-has-no-clue-what’s-going-on way.

And gods help her—she believed it.

Y/N’s breath came out in a shaky exhale, her body relaxing as she turned back to the letter. “Oh my gods,” she whispered, her lips parting in disbelief. “They really want me to perform again. They really—”

Her voice broke off. A choked laugh escaped her as her hands clutched the parchment tighter.

She had a second chance.

A delighted laugh bubbled up her throat as she turned back to Azriel, practically launching herself into his arms.

Az chuckled as he caught her with ease, spinning her slightly before settling her against him, his wings curling around them both.

“I knew it,” she beamed, her voice breathless. “I knew they’d see their mistake. Oh my gods, Az, I get to try again—I get to prove myself.”

Azriel cupped her face, brushing his thumbs over her cheeks as he gazed at her, devoured her with pride shining in his hazel eyes.

“I told you,” he murmured, pressing his lips to her forehead. “I told you that you deserved this.”

Her heart swelled at his words, at the warmth of his touch, at the way he looked at her—like she was everything.

She pulled back slightly, grinning up at him. “What would I do without you?”

His lips curled. “You’d be just fine,” he said, nudging her nose with his. “But lucky for you, you don’t have to find out.”

She laughed, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him down into a kiss. He met her eagerly, his hands gripping her waist as he deepened it, as he poured every ounce of pride and love into her.

When they finally pulled apart, he whispered, “You’re going to blow them away.”

Her smile was radiant. “You really think so?”

Azriel’s gaze darkened with something fierce, something possessive. “I know so.”

Y/N laughed again, burying her face in his chest as excitement and nerves thrummed in her veins.

She had another chance.

And this time, she wouldn’t waste it.

Y/N had been preparing for hours.

The moment the letter came, she had thrown herself into practice. Every movement, every turn, every step—she perfected them over and over again, determined to be flawless today. Azriel had been with her every second, his unwavering support wrapping around her like a second skin.

He had sat on the floor of their room, watching as she practiced in front of the mirror. His eyes followed every movement, sharp and analyzing, but also filled with something softer, something adoring. Whenever she faltered, his deep voice was there, murmuring reassurances, guiding her back into focus.

And when the nerves crept in, when she doubted herself for even a second, he pulled her into his arms, pressing soft kisses to her forehead, her cheeks, her lips—reminding her exactly why she was meant for this.

Now, standing outside the grand doors of the theatre, she could feel her heart pounding in her chest.

The streets were quieter today, the usual rush of dancers missing from the entrance. It felt eerie, so different from the weeks before when the halls had been filled with hopefuls, all vying for the lead role.

Now, it was just her.

Azriel stood beside her, his hand gripping hers tightly, as if he could sense the battle raging within her.

"You’re ready," he murmured, his voice steady, unwavering.

She turned to him, searching his hazel eyes, seeking the same reassurance he had given her all morning. And she found it—found that unshakable belief in her, the absolute certainty that she could do this.

Her fingers tightened around his. “Stay here?”

He huffed a soft laugh, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “You have to force me to leave your side, love.”

Warmth bloomed in her chest. She exhaled, stepping closer, pressing her forehead against his. His hands found her waist, his touch grounding.

“I’m nervous,” she admitted.

“I know.” He tilted her chin up, pressing a lingering kiss to her lips. “But you are going to be breathtaking.”

She let out a shaky laugh, letting herself melt into him for just a moment longer before she whispered, “I love you.”

Azriel smiled, and it was the kind of smile that turned her bones to honey. “I love you more.”

With one final breath, she slipped from his arms and stepped inside.

The theatre was silent.

It was so empty, so wrong compared to the chaotic energy of before. Her footsteps echoed against the polished wooden floors as she ascended the stairs, pushing open the doors to the main audition room.

The five judges were already seated, waiting for her.

The moment she entered, their expressions changed.

Not cold, not disinterested like before. But polite. Respectful.

It was… weird.

She took a seat, smoothing her hands over her skirts, and studied them carefully.

The older woman who had scoffed at her before now gave her a small, almost nervous smile. Another judge—one of the males—could barely hold her gaze.

Her eyes flickered to the last judge, and she nearly snorted.

A large, deep bruise curled around the side of his neck, just barely peeking out from the collar of his jacket.

What in the world did he do to deserve that?

She shook the thought away. Focus.

“Miss Y/N,” the eldest judge said, clearing his throat. “We want to thank you for coming today. We deeply regret our misjudgment the last time and hope you will give us the honor of seeing you perform again.”

She tilted her head. Weirdly nice.

She didn’t let herself dwell on it, merely nodded and made her way to the center of the room.

The music started.

She closed her eyes, inhaled.

And then—

She moved.

The first few steps were careful, precise. But with each turn, each shift, she let herself go, let herself become the movement, let herself lose everything but the rhythm thrumming in her veins.

The room faded away.

There was no theatre, no judges, no pressure—just her and the music.

Her shadows twined around her, blending into her movements, wrapping around her like an extension of herself. They curled at her fingertips, twirled with her in perfect synchronization.

Her fears melted away.

Every insult, every rejection, every ounce of doubt—gone.

She was light, she was free.

And as she reached the final note, she landed in a perfect, graceful finish—chest heaving, heart pounding.

The silence that followed was deafening.

She opened her eyes, chest rising and falling.

The judges were staring.

Wide-eyed. Mouths slightly open.

Then—

“You… gods above,” one of the females breathed.

The eldest judge straightened in his chair. “That was phenomenal.”

Another nodded. “Extraordinary.”

“The way you move,” a female judge added, “it’s like the dance was made for you.”

She blinked at them, overwhelmed.

They kept talking—throwing praise after praise, compliments she had never expected to hear from them.

She could barely process it.

She had done it.

Azriel was waiting outside.

The moment she stepped through the doors, his shadows curled around her, his sharp eyes scanning her from head to toe.

His jaw tightened. “Did they say anything—”

She didn’t let him finish.

She launched herself at him.

He barely had time to react before she was in his arms, gripping his shoulders tightly as happy tears streamed down her face.

Az caught her with ease, holding her like she was the most precious thing in the world.

“I got it,” she choked out.

He froze. Pulled back slightly. “What?”

A watery laugh bubbled past her lips. “I got it, Az.” She beamed up at him, breathless. “They said—there’s no need to wait. They’ve already reviewed everyone, and none came close to me. They said I was meant for this role, that I will represent Velaris and its art beautifully.”

Azriel’s chest rose sharply. His grip on her tightened.

Then—

“That’s my girl,” he murmured, voice thick with emotion.

And before she could say anything else, he kissed her.

Not soft, not hesitant—fierce, hungry, filled with pride and love and something utterly consuming.

She melted into him, smiling against his lips as his hands cradled her face, as if he couldn’t bear to let go.

When they finally pulled apart, his forehead rested against hers.

“I knew you would do it,” he whispered. “I knew it.”

She exhaled a shaky breath. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For always believing in me.”

Azriel let out a soft chuckle, pressing another kiss to her forehead before whispering, “Forever.”

With fingers intertwined, hearts still racing, they turned toward home—toward the future she had fought for.

#acotar #azriel #acotar x reader #azriel fluff #acotar fluff #azriel x reader #azriel imagine #azzriel acotar #acotar imagine #acotar fanfic

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formylovetodaryldixon · 2 days ago

Text

"You are." Daryl Dixon Imagine.

To Daryl, you are different, you are special, you are everything. But when his jealousy over a "prank" from your friend leads to a misunderstanding you can't resolve, and an incident the next day that nearly costs you your life, it causes Daryl to have a huge revelation about his feelings for you.

@artsynana: heyy dear!! i was wondering if you could ever write something with some soft jealous daryl x reader at the prison era, btw i love the way you write daryl🥰

A/N: Hi love. First, sorry! I didn't know you had left a request :( but thank you so much for doing it. This is a little short and different :( and a little more dramatic, but I really hope you like it♥ And for your words, thank u again! I think I write Daryl a little bit off the character, but I guess it's because I picture him like that hehe

Daryl Dixon is not a possessive person, never, but he is not made of steel either, that’s way he’s unable to stop jealousy from creeping up on him.

The night is ending inside the prison, the heat of the day floating in the air, but the still warm weather seems to hang over Daryl almost in a suffocating way. As he continues to wait for his dinner, he has a panoramic view of you across the dining room, sitting in the long steel chair, elbows on the table, always accompanied by that pretty boy Sean, with his stupid green eyes and that stupid smile, following you ever since Daryl rescued his group from the governor.

And Daryl hates not being able to hate you for the senseless jealousy that you make him feel now, as he thought he did in the past.

Daryl hated you for being a badass, like the afternoon you showed up to save his ass back in Atlanta, like a force of nature, like a fucking storm–sweeping away the little peace he managed to find at the end of the world, shaking his own with your magnetic presence. But he also hated how your strong gaze could rest, turning you into an angel when he could see the tenderness in your soft smile, and your dreamy eyes when things got a little bit better in that grey world.

The secret of his hate was because of your selfishness, your wild and free heart, and that fucking dimple that formed on your left cheek, so yeah, he fell hard for that, he fell hard for you. But no one knew about your relationship, everyone blind to those little displays of affection: the casual brush of your hands, the secret smiles, the way his hand rested on the side of your neck before he kissed you.

“You are like… staring much. Don't you think?" Carol chuckles beside him, making Daryl look away from you as he takes his plate. "Damn, pookie, you are not subtle at all."

She continues with the bland jokes; the same ones she’s been making since Carol caught the way Daryl looked at you.

"Shut up." He hisses, turning his attention back to the food.

But Carol is not ready to give up.

"I once read that when a feeling is silenced, bottled up or imprisoned, the eyes, the lover’s gazes scream everything."

Daryl frowns, confused.

"What the hell are ya talkin’ ‘bout?"

She chuckles, crossing her arms.

"Oh, nothing. I'm just saying that maybe you should start making it clear to everyone that (Y/N) is with you."

He clears his throat, but the heat on his cheeks burns more than the sun on that season.

"Ya knew?"

"No. You just told me." Carol turns around towards the pot to serve herself a plate, Daryl narrowing his eyes at her, even if she isn’t looking at him.

"But, uh... like what?" He asks after a few seconds, hoping that Carol will understand the question without him having to spell it out for her.

She shrugs.

“I don’t know. Maybe approach her not only when you two are alone.”

Carol smiles at Daryl, walking away to leave him with the weight of his thoughts.

Daryl Dixon is a strong man, to survive, to protect, but as a boy who grew tall but is still a boy on the inside, he feels lost with the feelings he keeps inside him, not knowing what to do with them. He had had casual encounters in bars, but was too drunk to even remember, to even care about them. But you are different, you are special, you are everything. That’s why, even with his heart hammering in his chest, Daryl walks over to the last table, eyes fixed on your profile, his sometimes noisy mind disappearing the rest as he sets his plate down on the table before sitting down next to you, ignoring the confused look from Sean, who was silent for a second in shock before resuming his story of a past life on his farm with the rest.

“The lake water is cold during that season…” He keeps talking, oblivious to the way you hold your breath when you feel Daryl's fingers on your lower back.

But out of nowhere, his hand begins to seek out the skin beneath, a light touch over the edge of your black t–shirt until he finds the warmth of your flesh. Your back arches slightly beneath his calloused fingers on your skin, but you try to control your body as your dirty thoughts begin to overflow.

The small group is so wrapped up in the funny anecdote that no one notices the way Daryl leans in close.

"Breathe, peach, ‘fore ya pass out."

His words are the jolt back to reality, and you let out a breath as you squint, your hand darting from your lap to his leg, only to pinch his skin over his pants with your fingers. As a reflex, his leg jumps slightly, but Daryl takes the attack with a smirk that is almost imperceptible to the rest of them, but not to you.

"Isn't that right, (Y/N)?" Sean glances in your direction, catching your gaze and a confused expression that silently prompts him to repeat his question. "You told me you dated a guy who looked like me."

Confused, you clear your throat.

“Yeah. Uh, but we separated long before all this...”

Mary nods, a young woman who came with Sean’s group.

“Wow. He must have been really handsome. But did you love him, (Y/N)?”

Your skin feels cold again when Daryl's hand leaves your body, even if your skin feels boiling hot when the attention falls on you like the midday sun in that stifling season. As if someone had put their hand on your throat until it was blocked from air, your uncomfortable laughter comes out muffled, but you don’t answer before changing topics. But it's sad that after a short while, Daryl stands up to go to his own cell, his thoughts run wild about the jealousy he feels about that guy, thinking that there was someone who made you feel something when, for him, you were his first everything.

When dinner time is over and everyone returns to their cells, you find yourself timidly entering Daryl's cell only because his door was still open, but staying close to it. He’s lying on his back, eyes fixed on the arrow in his hands just to keep himself busy.

“Hey. Uh, can we talk?”

“’bout what?”

His voice is flat, not a single emotion in it.

“About what happened in the dining room with Sean.”

“What ‘bout it?”

You shrug, even if he isn’t looking at you.

“Don’t know exactly, but I think I made you feel uncomfortable.”

Daryl scoffs.

“Ya didn't make me feel anythin’.”

His words form a lump in your throat, completely silencing the truth you were going to tell, just because your own anxious mind tells you that you don't make him feel anything, at all, like never, and that is painful.

“Okay, uh, I don’t want to force you to talk so… I guess I’m gonna go. Oh, we'll leave early tomorrow for the run, by the way.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

You sigh, walking away.

But jealousy is an irrational force, but a force of nature that resembles a hurricane, or any destructive phenomenon inside a timid and fearful mind: that’s why when the early morning arrives and the first ray of sun shines on the horizon, Daryl decides to switch places with Glenn, just so he wouldn't be stuck with his thoughts of you in a car for hours.

However, the day grows tedious for him, even in the small details like the wind blowing dust into his face, or the way the walkers keep piling up against the fence, taking the place of the lifeless body when Daryl stabs his knife into their skulls. But before his ocean–blue eyes can see the car returning at a worrying speed, his ears can hear the horn, like a desperate call that makes his heart wake up frantically.

“Someone is hurt.” Carol tells him, a second before they start running towards the main fence.

Maggie and Rick are closer and they open the gates, the car raising tornadoes of dust until it stopped inside the prison. Michonne steps out of the passenger seat as Daryl and Carol arrive to meet her, Bob and Glenn following as she begins to narrate the horror story.

“… and one of those men was behind me, (Y/N) shot him but another stabbed her in the abdomen.”

The back door of the car is open, but like a roller coaster of emotions, Daryl’s heart is so up that it threatens to stop because of the fear, as if it stopped pumping blood to replace it with an infinite void. But he refuses to listen to the death whispering in his ear that you won’t make it as he carries you, arms under your shoulders and knees.

“Call Hershel!” He says, to whoever is faster as Daryl starts waking fast, because, even though he wants to run to catch the seconds that seem to slip away, your body feels as fragile as porcelain.

And it’s crazy, it’s wild the way Herself has to perform a surgery to control the bleeding on the same table where the night before your and his playful fingers had teased each other, minutes before ruining it all with your silence and his jealousy. But when it's all over and the madness has cleared like a thick fog, he finds himself sitting on the edge of your bed, taking in the way your closed eyelids make you look like you're just asleep and not unconscious.

“She will make up, Daryl.” Carol says softly, standing close to him. “It’s late, you should rest.”

He shakes his head.

“Nah. I’m stayin’ here with her. Don’ want her to be alone when she does.”

Carol nods, knowing perfectly nothing will change his mind.

“Okay, Pookie, I will come to check on you both in the morning.”

She kisses his forehead, but Daryl is too absent to notice as she leaves the room. The entire prison falls into a deep sleep, and Daryl can hear the almost imperceptible sound of your breathing fighting against the almost deafening silence of his world, telling him without words that you are there, and that you are not going anywhere. But after a while, Daryl lies down on his right side, still close to the edge of the bed to give you all the space you needed, but able to leave only that small space between his body and yours.

“Fuck… now I know I love ya, peach.” He whispers, shy and scared you can hear him even like that. “That seems to be the only answer to why I almost lost ma shit when I saw ya there… bleedin’ out. Jesus, ya would probably laugh if ya saw me here now scared to death like a damn child.” Daryl tries to laugh, a nervous little laugh that falls to a heavy sigh. “Please, wake up, okay? I promise I’ll be better.”

But since there is no answer from the other end, his words hang in the air for the rest of the night, even after Daryl falls asleep. However, as the sun begins to peek through one of the prison's tall windows one more time, your eyelids open slightly, the world in front of you blurring for an instant, until your scattered senses become one and focus on the pain pounding your abdomen.

But still, you turn your head slightly to the side when your peripheral vision catches a body beside yours, smiling weakly at the image before you. Daryl's hair covers part of his closed eyes, but his slight frown reflects his concern, even if you don't know that.

You raise your arm until your hand touches the skin of his face, soft flesh under your fingers.

“Daryl?” Your voice brings him back easily, walking him up from that terrifying dream as he sits up, his hand cupping the side of your face just to feel that you're actually awake.

"Ya okay, peach, ya okay."

“Am I? Since when I’m here?”

Daryl sighs, but he decides to mask his fear with humor, just because he feels like he can spill all his feelings for you in a single second.

“Jus' a day, but ya took yer sweet time to wake up, woman.”

“Sorry.”

You chuckle shyly, but his gaze turns soft.

“Nah. Don’t be, I’m jus’ so glad ya came back.” Concern allows him to smile slightly, before telling you that he's going to go find Hershel.

The examination lasts a few minutes, until you two are left alone, again.

“Daryl…” One more time, your voice pulls his eyes towards yours the moment he sits back down. “Sean was messing with you. You know? I was going to tell you about it that night before all this, but you didn’t want to listen and I didn’t want to push you to.”

Embarrassed, Daryl lowers his head a little bit, watching you through his long hair.

“M’ sorry, peach. I was jealous of ‘em and I ended up sayin’ the wrong shit again.”

Them.

“Daryl, that’s exactly what I was going to tell you that night. There was never another guy, Sean made up that story to get a reaction out of you because even he can see how much you want to kick his ass every time you see him coming." You chuckle. "Besides, he’s gay.”

Daryl blinks, confused like never in his life.

“He is?”

You nod.

“Yep, really gay, but don’t worry, Sean has a crush on Glenn because you look too intimidating for his like.” You want to laugh, but you can see his own shame sinking his heart heavily, feeling the pain and guilt for letting you go alone, because Daryl is a protector: that is in his nature.

And when things went wrong, that weight fell on his shoulders.

"Sorry, I think I screwed this thing between us."

And in a second and with an overwhelming strength, you can see his eyes becoming teary with all the feelings he has inside him.

"No. You didn't, Daryl, unless you want this to end."

But he shakes his head.

"No. I don' want it to ever end."

You nod softly.

"Good." When your hand catches his, Daryl clings to it, but you don't force him to talk because you know better than anyone that it was difficult for him to express himself. "Now come, lie down and try to sleep. Okay?”

He nods, laying down next to you, too overwhelmed to speak his mind at that very moment, his hand still holding yours even after he falls asleep when his mind can no longer carry the full weight of his thoughts. But while he does, you can't help but smile slightly, because now, awake, you are convinced that his voice saying I love you was not just part of the dream you were having, sweet words you hope you can tell him soon.

#daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon #daryl dixon twd #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl x y/n #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon x you

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lesmiix · 2 days ago

Note

hello :3 can you do headcanons of hyunju being protective over reader during the games?

Headcanon: How would Hyun-ju protect you in the games?

...

Summary: Hyun ju wants to protect you at all costs, even if that means to sacrifice her own well being

Warnings: None, just fluff, g/n reader, use of y/n

a/n: Thanks for the request!! I was really hoping someone would ask me something like this lmao

Sorry if there's any gramatical or orthography mistake, English's not my first language 😞🫶

Remember requests for Hyun-ju are open!

It doesn't matter if you met outside of games or in games, you would be her biggest concern, as you guys would get along really quickly when Geum-ja introduced you.

She would really protect you from anything, even the smallest thing.

If you can't sleep at night because you're nervous wondering what the next game is gonna be, she'd offer you to sleep with her.

"Come here, y/n" She said while tapping the bed beside her. You obeyed and you lay down next to her.

"Thanks" You muttered as you clung closer to her, your back pressed against her chest.

"Try to sleep beautiful, good night" She said with a soft voice, while she wrapped her arms around your waist and let a small kiss on the top of your head.

I really think that in the red light, green light game, she'd stand in front of you and she'd keep you really close to her at all times, telling you not to separate from her.

"Hey, y/n, get behind me and stay close to me" She whispered as she slowly pulled you towards her, holding your hand to make sure that no other player would push you and would also run holding your hand so that you wouldn't be left behind.

You definitely would be in her team in the six leg game, she wouldn't trust any other group that wanted you.

She'd make sure that no one put any pressure on you when you couldn't flip the daakji or any other game that you chose. If anyone said anything she'd cover their mouth so you could focus on your thing.

"Come on y/n, is not that fucking hard!" Player 044 yelled at you.

She kept shouting at you how useless you were and you kept getting more and more nervous.

Tears started to fall from your eyes. Suddenly, all the shouting stopped. You saw how Hyun-ju was covering 044's mouth, while giving her a death stare.

"It's y/n, you can do it"

Oh the mingle game...

She wouldn't take her eyes off you.

She definitely would hold your hand tight, she would be terrified of someone taking you with them, as it already happened with player 007

"She's overacting, I can take care of myself" You thought, while you let go her hand before the voice said a number.

"Five" The voice of the megaphone announced. Your little group started running from room to room, just to realize almost every one was occupied. You heard a "Over here!" Coming from Hyun ju, entering an empty room.

Everyone started to run towards her but suddenly you felt someone push you. You fell onto the ground. Before you could even react, you felt some strong arms grab you and almost threw you into the room.

"Don't even think about letting go of my hand again, do you hear me?" She said looking directly into your eyes while grabbing your shoulders.

In lights out she'd probably keep you by her side while you guys are hiding under a random bed, keeping you close to her body.

After what happened in Lights Out, she wouldn't let you go with her to go find the frontman

"Stay here with Geum-ja, it won't be long before I return" She said before letting a small kiss on your forehead.

If anyone said anything bad about you, she would stand between you and the person who's bothering you. Intimidating the person by her height and strong appearance.

"do you need something?" She said as she stepped forward, getting closer to the man in front of you. When he finally left, she looked at you.

"Are you okay?" She said softly while letting a soft caress on your cheek.

a/n: Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed it!! 🫶🫶🫶

Requests for Hyun-ju are always open!💗

#cho hyunju x reader #hyun ju x reader #player 120 x reader #cho hyun ju #player 120 #hyunju #squidgame x reader #hyun ju squid game #squid game

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gold-onthe-inside · 3 days ago

Text

pair programming - part ii

navigator

who? spencer reid (s3) x analyst!reader summary: what happens after your roommate and better half is shot on the doorstep of your building by her date. turns out, you're support network seems to have more nodes that you'd thought. content warnings: reference to guns + gunshot injury, surgery, blood word count: 2.1k a/n: realised after writing this that reader has more interactions with everyone on the team than she does with penelope oops

Spencer handed you a cup of tea, sitting down beside you in the hospital waiting room, the rest of the team milling around, waiting for news on Penelope’s surgery. You hadn’t said a word about what happened, the team relying on a police officer and a paramedic’s account while you sat there in catatonic shock, blood staining your white shirt, your hoodie doing more work in hiding it. You could still feel the blood on your hands, stained from pressing down on Penelope’s gunshot wound.

Spencer didn’t know what to do or say, just pressing the warm beverage into your hands, Emily and JJ murmuring in the corner.

“Has anyone told Morgan yet?”

“He isn’t answering the phone.”

“Is she?”

“Still in shock. Hasn’t said a word.”

“And Penelope?”

“All we know is a gunshot wound to the chest, and that they’re operating now.”

Spencer’s eyes are still on you, a shell of yourself, unable to reconcile the person he sees with the person he knows. He knows you deal with threats far greater than the ones they do — they’ve just come back from arresting a cannibal, you prevent military secrets getting out and uncover espionage attempts. But it’s from the safety of a digital interface, the day to day of it so mundane that it makes him want to pull his eyeballs out. Your job doesn’t get you shot. Technically, Penelope’s job shouldn’t have gotten her shot either.

No-one was paying attention to him, or to you, which is why he’s on his knees in front of you, aligning his gaze with yours, and does one of the few things he knows how to do; explaining. He put the tea down on the floor, taking hold of your hands, your eyes distant, your fingers cold. If he couldn’t do anything for Penelope, maybe there was something he could do for you.

“When the brain experiences trauma it has an affect on the sympathetic and parasympathetic nervous system.” He said the words quietly, a distraction technique to bring your focus to something, even if it was nothing. “The physiological response is a fight or flight response. When your brain is unable to process the situation, it freezes in an effort to protect your mind and body. You might feel numb, or cry, or rage. You might just sit there, emotionally unable to move. You might dissociate, and feel like nothing around you is real, or that it‘s actually happening to someone else.” He squeezed your hands, hoping for a response. It felt like you weren’t even there.

“I can’t imagine how scared you must be, and I’m not going to try and tell you that everything will be okay, because it may not-,” and he hated saying the words, they felt like a lie in his mouth, but it was the truth “-but whatever happens next, I am here. I won’t leave, not unless you ask me to.”

“I can’t lose her,” you whispered. Thank god, Spencer thought as he looked at you again, and while he knew there wasn’t anything he could say that would make it all better, he also knew that the fact that you were finally verbal was probably a positive. You hadn’t said a word in hours.

“I know,” he said quietly. The team still milled around, waiting, the hospital buzzing with activity, but he felt like the words were just his and yours, the intimacy of the two of you cocooned away from the world.

"I don't..." You struggled to get the words out. "She's all I have." He watched as the tears welled in your eyes, watched as they fell down your cheeks. He wanted to reach out, to brush them away, and he hesitated, wondering what he possibly could do to comfort you.

Instead he pulled you towards him, wrapping you in his arms, a hug, and hoped that he wasn’t being too forward, and you crushed yourself against his chest, hugging him back. He ran a hand up and down your back as he held you to him, his cheek against the side of your head.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, and he didn’t know if he was apologising for Penelope’s injuries, or the fact that he couldn’t save her, or that he hadn’t been there, or because there was nothing he could do to make it better. He was just sorry.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to background check this guy?” you asked, offering Penelope your eyeliner as she finished curling her hair and she rolled her eyes.

“God, you sound like Derek,” she retorted spitefully and you frowned. It was unlike her to be say his name with such anger, when it was usually said with love, fondness, occasional lust, and just in an overall dreamy fashion. A part of you had always wondered if there was more to their relationship than just platonic friendship.

“Alright,” you replied, letting it go. Penelope was a grown woman, she could make her own decisions… and was also equally capable of running a background check as, if not more, thorough as you would have. You tried not to look at the mess that your shared bathroom had turned into, make-up supplied and jewellery scattered over the counter, leaving her to do her thing. “And I better not get a text saying you’re bringing him upstairs,” you called out as you leave.

“This is just wrong,” you murmured, looking at Penelope’s pale, all but lifeless body, tubes running from her nose and arms, wires strapped to her chest, the suite silent but for the steady beep of the heart monitor. You still hadn’t moved from the foot of the bed, willing yourself not to cry. You were not going to be one of those family members who couldn’t get a grip of themselves. You especially refused to become a blubbering mess in front of her co-workers.

“I know,” Spencer said softly, wanting to take your hand again, but holding himself back. He still never knew where he stood with you. Hell, he didn’t know how to process what was going on for him — the only thing he knew he had to do was stabilise you, never mind himself.

You finally manage to put one step in front of the other, going towards Penelope and Spencer could see your hand shaking as you gingerly took hers, the way you blinked back tears, almost refusing to breathe because you were convinced the only thing that would come out would be a sob. Spencer swallowed, moving to draw the curtains over the windows, closing the doors so it was only the three of you in the room, and kept his back turned as you finally gave in to the squeezing grip your lungs had on your heart, sinking into the chair as you cried, gripping the hand that wouldn’t squeeze back.

You started awake when you felt a large hand on your shoulder, shaking you gently, and it’s Aaron standing over you. “Sorry,” you mustered, wiping away dried tear tracks and he simply pulled up a chair beside you.

“I know it’s been a long night,” he said softly, leaning on his knees, looking at you kindly. “But we need your help.” He watches you nod, taking in a deep breath.

“Anything,” you said, a lot calmer now.

“We need to get some kind of identification on this guy,” Aaron told you, his voice measured and even and a part of you was jealous you couldn’t be as calm as he was, and partly angry that he could be this calm with Penelope this way.

“She said his name was Colby,” you said, remembering the joke you had made when she told you.

“Like the cheese?” you asked, raising an eyebrow skeptically and she scoffed.

“Do not ruin this for me,” she retorted, pointing her laptop charger at you like a wand. “He’s cute and he actually likes me. Do you even remember the last time I’ve been asked out?”

“That doesn’t mean you should go out with anyone who asks,” you replied. “I mean, what kind of person doesn’t turn on auto-save?” It earns you a glare from her and you quieten, turning back to your book.

You shook your head, trying to focus on your screen, set up right beside Penelope, refusing to leave her side even as she slept, and neither did Derek or Spencer, the former practically breathing down your neck. You glanced up at Spencer, a plea in your eyes to get him off your back, and he makes a pitiful attempt of asking Derek if he wants to go get a coffee with him, which he denies and so Spencer shrugged, so you let out a breath, focusing on what you were doing.

“There’s nothing on a James Colby Baylor,” you said, sounding tired, running a hand through your hair, then settling it back on your keyboard.

“If he knew Penelope was FBI, then maybe he used a pseudonym,” Spencer offered, his hands in his pockets, standing across from you. “Try using the same combination of letters, JCB.”

“I’m gonna need more parameters than just three letters,” you retorted, looking up at him.

“Check anyone who rented a white sedan in the last 24 hours,” Derek said, still leaning over you and you desperately wanted to hit the both of them. Repeatedly. Instead, you check car rentals across the city matching the description, matching the restaurant that they had gone to, adding your facial recognition program to look for blonde men with blue eyes. “Plus some kind of job in the justice department. Try law enforcement, former military, stuff like that,” Derek added. “He knew enough to use legal terms, but not enough to know city attorneys don’t try criminal cases. Law school dropout, failed the bar exam—”

“Jason Clark Battle,” you told him, pulling up the picture of him and you swallowed. That was him. The guy you’d seen run away from the front of your building after you heard the gunshot. Your hands curled into fists, oblivious to Derek calling Aaron about it, charging out the door. Spencer didn’t particularly want to leave either of you, but he muttered a quick, ‘Be right back’ before disappearing.

You handed Derek a mug of coffee while Penelope slept in her own bed, the door left open in case she needed either of them. He’s set up on your couch, a blanket and pillows, his gun set on the coffee table, a single light left on so he can read the file. “Can’t sleep either, huh?” he asked you and you shrugged, taking a seat on the corner of the coffee table.

“He shot her on the doorstep, Morgan,” you said quietly. “If I hadn’t been at home…”

Morgan placed his hand on your knee, warm and comforting, and even though you had made fun of him being here, calling him Penelope’s ‘guard dog’, deep down, you were glad he was here. “There’s a lot that went wrong that night,” he said smoothly, his voice low. “Don’t eat at yourself worrying about how it could have been worse.”

You huffed a little. “You mean like you’ve been doing?” you asked, looking at him pointedly and he narrowed his eyes at you.

“You sure you aren’t a profiler?” he asked, noticing the slight hint of a smile on your face as you shrug.

“I guess we’re both wired the same way,” you said, instead of the retort you had lined up in your head. “Protecting the people we care about, blaming ourselves when they get hurt.” You glanced at Penelope’s room, her open door. “She’s all I have, Morgan.” And maybe it’s the late night, the anxiety coursing through your body, the thing that makes it impossible to sleep, that starts in your head and works its way to your chest, but you can’t seem to stop yourself. “She’s everything. My emergency contact, my medical proxy… Hell, if I died tomorrow, everything I own goes to her. She’s my family. If I lose her, I have no-one.”

Derek lets a beat pass, watching you, and you can tell he knows something you don’t, because he said, “You have people. Even if you can’t see them.” You frowned a little as he went back to his file, clearly unwilling to say more, and you’ve never been one to push into personal space. Instead, you go back to your room, left with his cryptic words.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x analyst!reader #analyst!reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #penelope garcia #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #my fics

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crescenthistory · 1 day ago

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Hey Carina congratulations on 2k!! Such a wonderful milestone for a even more wonderful writer I'm happy for you it's more than well deserved

Perhaps I can ask for an Argue? I thought of the prompt 6 from List B the Bookshop AU with Regulus and muggle reader just for the twist inside Reggie's brain baby definetly doesn't know how to act around muggles but is smitten by reader at first sight

thank you so so much my love<33 you're an angel

✶・•・✦・•・✶・✶・•・✦・•・✶

i will ARGUE for prompt 6 "bookshop au" with regulus black

carina's 2k celebration

✶・•・✦・•・✶・✶・•・✦・•・✶

cw: fem!reader, use of y/n, muggle!reader, references to walburga and orion's great parenting (abuse + discrimination), shy!regulus, implied overstimulation, exposure therapy

wc: 1.3k

Sirius insisted that part of deconstructing everything they had been taught growing up was emerging yourself in the muggle world.

While Regulus thought that logic was sound when they were sitting in his living room, talking everything through over a glass of wine, he most decidedly did not think so anymore. He was taking his first stroll down a strictly muggle street in Central London and though he would not admit it, he was beyond stressed and overwhelmed.

He kept overthinking, second-guessing everything he did and whether it would give him away too much, hand constantly itching for his wand. Regulus felt naked, exposed, and was two seconds away from tucking tail and running back home to Sirius to promptly tell him exactly what he thought of this plan.

It was something he had never thought much of before as he would always just spell away any annoying sounds, but the noise level around him was deafening to the point where it genuinely hurt. Becoming increasingly desperate to get away from the sound and hide in a corner where he could apparate without being seen, Regulus began scouting for a place to hide. An alleyway, a quiet shop – anything.

When a wooden sign stood out to him in the sea of neon lights, with something scribbled about books, he knew he had found the spot.

Sidestepping the many strangers in his path, Regulus reached for the narrow door and pushed it open, all but clambering into the space.

The bookshop was a stark contrast to the outside world, to his relief seeming more like something he might find in Diagon Alley than Oxford Street. There were small glowing orbs on grey wire strung up around the ceiling to soften the light, all the furniture was wooden and dark, and several plants decorated the space to liven it up.

At the very back, past all the beautifully decorated shelves, was a desk that he currently saw only a tuft of hair poking up from behind. On instinct, Regulus took a step closer to see what it was when the person rose back up to their full height, holding at least five books in their arms.

“Oh!” you exclaimed as you saw him, nearly losing all the books you were holding. He jumped too, clearly not having expected to see someone, despite being the one fleeing into your shop. “So sorry, darling, I didn’t hear you come in.”

Regulus tried to get his vocal chords working again. “That’s quite alright, my apologies.”

You waved him off with one hand as you rounded your little till to walk up to a semi-full shelf and begin putting the books into it. “No apologies needed around here. What can I do for you, love?”

Your voice was so melodic, almost lilting through your sentence as if you and Regulus were old friends, as if you knew him. He wondered how that was even possible, if you could be a witch in disguise using legilimency on him.

When you turned your head to look at his awestruck expression with an entertained smile, he realised that was certainly not the case — and that he had yet to answer your question.

“Sorry, no, I, uh–” Regulus had to stop himself to gather his thoughts, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose a bit abashedly. “No, sorry, it’s just my first time in this… neighbourhood and I got a bit overwhelmed by all the noise.” He pointed with his thumb over his shoulder to the treacherous, big and confusing world outside.

You pressed your lips together as you smiled, almost as if you were holding back an even bigger one. You nodded in complete understanding. “It’s rowdy at this time of day, even for us seasoned veterans.” You kept talking as you walked around your shop, fetching a ladder to fix something at the top of the shelf he stood by. “You are more than welcome to hide away in here with me, no pressure.”

Part of Regulus was terrified at the thought of being alone in a room with a muggle that he had to keep this huge secret from – it was different than with Ted, because at least he knew about magic by the time Regulus met him. You had no idea and the thought really messed with his head. More importantly though, part of Regulus was terrified at your offer because you were painfully pretty and he was too much of a stumbling mess to be trusted around you right now.

Yet a simple glance over his shoulder told him that there was no way he was heading back out there right away.

With a sigh and his slumping shoulders, he resigned himself to his fate. He closed his eyes in defeat for a few second before turning them back on you, accompanied by a small and probably shy smile. “I would really like that, thank you…”

“Y/N,” you supplied at his pause. “And it’s no problem, it’s usually during rush hours that I have the most time to kill anyway. Those who head out for books are usually the ones wishing to avoid that chaos.” You gave him a knowing wink as you climbed back down the ladder and stowed it away in favour of bringing out a paper box filled with more books.

“You… this is what you do?” Regulus asked as he took in the place, almost in awe. “You get to just spend every day surrounded by books?”

You looked at him with a curious smile, almost as if he asked a very obvious question. “Yes, it’s quite neat, isn’t it? I organise the shelves and various seasonal collections, I dust and keep everything clean and I sell books to passerbys. There’s much worse gigs to land.”

“Sounds like kind of a dream, actually.” He had never seen a bookshop that wasn’t kept running mostly by magic. Watching you unload the books yourself and organise them, floating around the small shop with an inherent elegance was magical in itself. “I assume you’re a reader, then?”

Finally a topic he might be a bit more steady on. Until this, his only interactions with the muggle world had been through its literature. As he scanned the shelves while you worked around him, he saw various titles and names he recognised. He basked in the atmosphere of them, in how this was going quite well despite his previous shaking fear.

You laughed heartily. “Of course, I think that has to be part of the application you send in. I trust you’re the same?”

You gestured vaguely to Regulus, presumably making some comment on how he was dressed. He didn’t quite have the muggle social cues to decipher it, so he just smiled nervously and nodded. “Yes, though I have mostly only read classics. You know, old philosophers and the like. I would like to expand my taste.”

Upon that comment, you stopped in your work to lean against a bookshelf and study him. A small smile was sneaking around your lips. “I never did ask you your name.”

“It’s Regulus. Regulus Black.”

Any hope that you might have been a witch disappeared when the name invoked no response in your face. Yet, Regulus was finding that so far, it really was no huge problem that you were a muggle. There was still some connection to be found, and you most certainly were not any of the words leftover from Walburga rattling in his brain.

“Well, then, Regulus,” you drawled with your gaze happily trained on him. “Care to have your taste expanded today?”

There was no hesitation in his smile. “I would love to.”

You had no idea to what degree that sentiment rang true for him.

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svetamillss · 3 days ago

Note

Hiii I'm really sorry.. I’ve never really requested much on tumblr,so I apologize if I’m doing anything wrong. I wanted to ask if is it possible to write some platonic headcanons for some characters like(Hyun-jo,Semi,no-eul,Saebyeok)with a younger sister reader?like how would they act if they had a younger sister?it doesn't matter if it's in the games or outside.(also if you can't do it its completely okay,and I'm sorry for my bad English<33)

Headcanons: you are their younger sister🤍

Featuring: Cho Hyun Ju x Reader(f), Se Mi x Reader(f), Gang No Eul x Reader(f), Kang Sae Byeok x Reader(f)

Warnings: agnst, there is no love line here, it's not pairings!

A/N: Your order is very wonderful, thank you!! I hope I met your expectations!

🤍🤍🤍

Cho Hyun Ju

You and the girl were very close. You were the only one from her entourage who supported her when she admitted that she wanted to become a girl. You both left the family and started living together.

Unfortunately, you have collected a lot of debts because of Ju's operations and you didn't have enough money to live on at all. That's why you decided to agree to the offer to play games.

But the girl didn't know you were here and when she saw it, she was very angry with you. After all, you could have been in trouble (she just took care of you).

When you told her that you came here for her, she was so ashamed that she even cried and asked for forgiveness for you having such a worthless sister, you immediately began to calm her down and kiss her face (it was your way to calm each other down).

In the first game, you held on to your sister's back, also holding hands with her (so she understood that you were next to her).

You both voted for the cross, but it didn't help, and you continued to play. Hyun Ju didn't let you go for a minute, you slept together, you even went to the toilet together. When the guys wanted to meet you, she immediately started a serious conversation with them, making it clear that she would not allow it.

You both prayed to get out of here together and live happily again.

- It's because of me you're here, I'm a bad older sister that the younger one has to pull me out of the bottom. - Ju said when she stroked your hair before going to bed.

- You are the best and most beloved sister, I love you very much and we will get out of here and go to live in Thailand.

Se Mi

You and your sister have always been together. Consider that she raised you. You are very close, so you decided to go to the games to win more money.

Even though you realized that games are for survival, you continued to play, because you two were scared outside, and games are a chance for a normal existence.

Se Mi always protected you, helped you pass the games, because she was more courageous and strong.

The girl didn't let Thanos and Nam Gyu approach you, who wanted to get to know you better, but your sister made it clear that she was ready to kill for your safety.

After all, after the third game, you wanted to get home, so you voted for the cross, thinking that it would all be over soon.

- Don't worry, honey, tomorrow there will be a second vote and we will return home together. And now you have to hide well under the bed so that they don't find you. - she said when she led you away from everyone, to a safe place.

- And you? I don't want to hide without you! Don't leave!

- There is a place for one person, I found another safe place and will go there, but I will be next to you. Time will fly by and I'll be back soon. And now lie down and don't get out of hiding. - Finally, Se Mi kissed you on the forehead and helped you get under the bed, after which she left.

You prayed all nighttime that your sister would be fine. But, unfortunately, your prayers were in vain. When you finally managed to get out of the hiding, you immediately ran to look for your sister, but instead of your sweet and cheeky Se Mi, you saw only a body lying between the beds. Your sister had a cut throat.

All you could do was close her eyes, your face was wet with tears. Se Mi saved you, but she couldn't.

Gang No Eul

You and your older sister were able to get out of Hell. From The DPRK. But, unfortunately, she lose her husband and daughter.

You spent a lot of effort and money to find a little girl, but it was all in vain. Everyone said she was dead.

But the two of you didn't want to believe it and continued to fight. That's why you wanted to join the games to raise more money for the search. No Eul you didn't say that you decided on such a thing, because you knew that she would be against it, since the girl was strict with you, but so she showed her love and care for you.

You were scared at the games, so after the first game, you clicked on the cross, hoping to return home to your beloved sister with at least a small amount. But you didn't succeed. There were more people who wanted to continue and you had to continue.

You've always thought about No Eul. You cried at night, because you missed her very much and wanted her to hug you. You were afraid that you would die and never return to her again, and she would not even know where you disappeared.

But you didn't even suspect that your sister was very close to you. But on the other side of the game. She was one of the guards who shot the losing players. And when she saw you at the first game, she wanted to drop everything out of horror and run out to you, shout, and then save you from this horror.

But she couldn't. She was powerless. Therefore, she only had to hope that you were fine and alive. And she had a fear of being the one who would have to shoot you for losing the game.

Kang Sae Byeok

You, your older sister and younger brother were able to get out of the DPRK, but, unfortunately, since your brother was a minor, he was taken to an orphanage.

So you and Sae Byeok had to survive and earn money to take the boy from there.

You had enemies, a lot of debts, so the two of you decided to join the games to earn enough money and finally live a real life and family.

There were a lot of victims, but you stayed together. Your sister took great care of you, because you were much weaker than her. She didn't allow anyone to approach you, you were safe with her.

You both thought you'd get out of here soon. Together. But this game was too terrible and easily played on human trust.

When you were told to divide into teams of two people, you united with your sister without hesitation, thinking that you would manage.

But you didn't know that you had to play against each other.

Sae Byeok sat slooped almost the whole game, she blamed herself for everything, and you were thinking at that time, what to do. And you made a decision. You will save Sae Byeok, because she deserves to live more than you.

You decided to make the Marbles game for yourself. You offered to play in the following way: whoever throws the stone further, he will win. The girl agreed and threw quite far. And you didn't even try.

How many screams were there from your sister, you rarely saw her crying, but you understood that she was about to lose a loved one.

When you explained why you did it, she burst into tears even harder, and you just smiled, hugging her for the last time, and then gently pushed her to leave and not see you dying.

- Thank you for played with me! - those were your last words for her. The next moment there was a shot, and then the sound of a body falling to the ground. But Sae Byeok didn't turn around, knowing that you wouldn't want it. She left the room in tears.

But who knew that your victim would be in vain. After all, your sister was killed before the very last round, not keeping her promise to get out of here alive.

🤍🤍🤍

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spectoo · 3 days ago

Text

tuna mayo ! miya osamu

chapter four – props to you, sakusa

wc 4050 (sorry, this chapter is little long!)

MDNI.

if you'd like to join the taglist , please fill out this form !

13:50.

“Alright, everybody! Thank you for coming to the lecture today, and if you have any questions, please feel free to ask me or any of the TA’s.”

With that being said, everybody in your communications lecture got up and began to either walk towards the professor with curiosity roaming throughout, or pack up and leave. You never really had much trouble with classes, as you were an outstanding student, but to be honest, school wasn’t the only thing on your mind.

You couldn’t stop thinking about Miya Osamu.

Well, more specifically, you couldn’t stop thinking about the food he had made for you. Yes, he himself was running through your mind, but the food was more important. It was seriously some of the best you’ve had. It had been six days since you were at Onigiri Miya, and quite frankly, you’ve been itching to go back.

As you walked out of the building you were in, you were debating if you should go get lunch there. You had work in about an hour and a half, yet, there were numerous thoughts roaming throughout your head.

‘Would it be weird if I went without Atsumu? Or just in general? But, I did tell Miya I was gonna be back eventually…’

The frustration got to you, and in response, you let out a small huff while beginning the short walk to your car. You did want to go back to Onigiri Miya to try other rice ball flavors, but you didn’t want to make things awkward. Would Atsumu be okay with the fact that you found his twin brother attractive?

‘Probably not.’

You reached in your pocket to pull out your car keys, as your car was in full view. If you did want to go to Onigiri Miya, who could you possibly go with? More accurately, who would be the best option to go with?

You didn’t want to take any of your personal friends with you, as you didn’t want them to catch on to the fact that you’re interested in someone new. You opened your car door, and quickly situated yourself.

slam!

You began to scroll through your contacts on your phone to decide who you should take with you.

‘Atsumu, no. Hinata… no. Inunaki? Out of the question. Bokuto, hell no. He has a big mouth.’ Finally your eyes landed on the perfect person to text.

You were surprised at the fact that Sakusa had agreed to come with you, let alone the fact that he was okay with being in the same car as you. You knew he wasn’t a big fan of being pretty close to other individuals, but a win is a win.

You were glad that you became acquaintances with him. He wasn’t the type of guy to really get involved in other people's business, and this was a good opportunity to possibly become actual friends with him.

You put your car in drive, and left campus while setting directions to Sakusa’s apartment, with new thoughts about what you should order when you arrive at Onigiri Miya.

𐙚 OSAMU

As mentioned before, it had been six days since you were last at his store. He had been wondering when you were going to come back.

He was currently sitting in his office at Onigiri Miya, and was filling out some order forms. Rush hour had recently ended, and he was glad he was able to take a short ‘break.’ His three scheduled employees were currently cleaning some areas of the kitchen.

A part of him wished he had asked for your number so he was able to know if you were even going to come back, but then again, you both only met once. And plus, Atsumu considered you to be one of his closest friends. The last time Osamu had expressed to Atsumu that he thought one of his female friends was somewhat attractive, a small, verbal fight had broken out.

Please note that this was back in highschool, too.

Yes, years had gone by, and they’ve both grown into (somewhat) mature adults, but Atsumu was still unpredictable.

‘He probably wants her for himself.’ Osamu scoffed. ‘Selfish pig.’

𐙚 YOU

14:16.

“I’m outside.” You spoke as you put your car in park. You had arrived at Sakusa's apartment complex, which was rather luxurious.

“I’ll be down in a second.” A deep voice responded back through the speakers of your car.

“Okay, bye.” You ended the call.

As you laid back in your seat, you decided to observe the scenery around you. His apartment complex was truly gorgeous. There was a lot of greenery, yet it was all neatly planted. You looked to your left, and saw the volleyball player walking towards your car in his usual outfit – some black gym shoes, black joggers, a black hoodie, and a black mask.

‘He wasn’t even lying when he said he’d be down in a second…’ You thought to yourself as you unlocked the car.

As he opened the door, he immediately sat down, and quickly settled himself.

You bowed your head as a greeting. Shortly after bowing, you began to nod your head, as you were very impressed with him. “Props to you, Sakusa. You’re very punctual with your timing.”

He pulled down his mask, and bowed back to you. “Thank you, [L/N].”

You quickly put in the navigation for Onigiri Miya, and began the drive.

“So, how’s your day been?” You ask, trying to start a conversation.

“It was okay. How about you? You had classes today, correct?” He responded neutrally.

You smiled. You remember mentioning your school schedule to Sakusa, yet he didn’t seem to be fully interested as you were telling him. “Correct. My day was great, but I got assigned a project for one of my elective classes. It’s okay though, it was expected."

He let out a small ‘hm' before going on his phone and scrolling. You quickly glanced at him, and focused back on the road, while gently tapping your finger on the steering wheel. ‘So much for communication.’

14:25.

There was about five minutes left of the drive, and you and Sakusa haven’t really spoken a word since your failed conversation, yet, you considered the both of you to be sitting in comfortable silence. ‘Popular’ by The Weeknd was currently playing, and the volume was at the perfect amount. You were internally jamming out, but was interrupted.

“[L/N].”

You look over at the curly haired man sitting beside you, and turn the volume down a bit.

“What’s up?” You ask, turning your head back, and keeping your eyes on the road in front of you.

“Have you been to Onigiri Miya before? Or is this your first time?”

You were a bit taken back by this, even though it was pretty unserious. “Uh, yeah. I tried it for the first time about a week ago.”

A small silence… “I went with Atsumu and Hinata.” You continued, in a less confident manner.

“Ah.” Sakusa looked out his window, and you thought that was the end of the conversation. Yet, he spoke once more, turning back to you. “So, you met Osamu? What did you think of him?”

Your heart dropped. Logically speaking, you shouldn’t even be concerned in this first place, but why was he asking question, after question? You decided to stay quiet for as long as you possibly could, while thinking of a proper answer. A couple seconds have gone by at this point, and Sakusa was still staring at you, expecting an answer.

You quickly turn your head towards him, with a still face, and turn back. “Um, you know… Miya seems like a nice guy.” Your eyes quickly move to the ETA on your carplay. ‘2 minutes…’ With that being said, you pressed the gas pedal with a little more pressure to speed up. You didn’t know where this conversation was going, which made you a bit tense.

Sakusa seemed to notice this, and nodded his head, deciding to stop talking.

‘What was that even about? Like? ... Oh, I have to turn here.’

You make a right turn, and enter the plaza where Onigiri Miya is located. It’s all starting to seem familiar to you. You decide to park in the same spot you were in last time, and after you turn off your car, both you and Sakusa get out simultaneously. He quickly pulled his mask up, and the both of you walked to the door.

You opened the door for him, and went in behind him. Immediately after entering, you’re both greeted by one of the female employees at the store.

“Hello, welcome in!” she spoke as she bowed to the both of you.

You both nodded back. You and Sakusa walked closer to the counter, and the first thing you noticed was that Osamu wasn’t in your sight at all. You were immediately disappointed, yet didn’t think much of it. As you look up at the menu, you hear Sakusa speak.

“Could you tell Miya to come to the front?”

The disappointment you felt earlier was gone at once.

“No problem.”

You briefly look at the worker, and see her walking to the back, most presumably to his office.

‘Round two, Miya.’ You smirked.

𐙚 OSAMU

knock knock!

“Boss, Sakusa is here with someone else, and he asked for you!”

Osamu immediately looked up from his paperwork, and put his pen down. ‘No shot.’ He thought as he got up, and straightened out his clothes.

He opened the door that leads out of his office, and to the kitchen. He could feel some anxious feelings being brought up within himself, but paid no mind. “Thank you, Ito. Could you go help prepare some fillings?”

“Yes.” She slightly bowed, and walked away.

Osamu began walking towards the front. He saw Sakusa first, staring back at him. And… It was you. A little bit distant from Sakusa, and looking at the menu.

“Hey, Sakusa.” Osamu turned to look at you, to already see you staring back at him. “Hello, [L/N]. I was wonderin’ when you were gonna show up again.” He said as he put his hand on his hips, while internally cursing himself out. He was trying to act nonchalant, but his true feelings got the best of him.

You responded with a chuckle. “Hey, Miya. I would’ve showed up sooner, but school got the best of me.”

As you and Osamu began a new conversation about what you would potentially be ordering this time, nothing between the both of you went unnoticed by Sakusa. Yes, he was quiet sometimes, but he was still observant. He noticed how you had that little smile plastered upon your face while talking with Osamu. He also noticed how Osamu’s cheeks began to flush a very light pink color, which Sakusa has never seen him do before.

“Helloooo, earth to Sakusa? Are you there?” He immediately snaps out of his daze to see you waving your hand at a safe distance in front of his face. “Hello.”

“Ya want the usual, ‘Omi?” Osamu began tapping some buttons on his register, before Sakusa could respond. Yet, nothing was wrong with this as the curly haired man began to nod his head.

“Uh, also, put [L/N]’s order on the same bill as mine.” He quickly spoke, putting his hands in his pocket.

You raised an eyebrow, and turned to Sakusa. “Oh? Why?”

“You picked me up, and drove me here.”

You stayed silent for a second, truly wondering if he was being serious. Yet, you internally grinned. This was your opportunity to drop the ‘friend’ bomb on him.

“Um… we’re friends. I don’t mind having to drive you to places.” Nailed it.

He sighed, and pulled his mask down. “I suppose. I’ll still pay, though.”

You shrugged, and internally came up with the solution to just pay for him the next time you both get food together. “Okay… um… I think I’ll do two bonito flake rice balls, and three tenmusu.”

“What? No vigorous amount today?” Osamu responded back, tapping more buttons on his screen.

“I actually can’t. My stomach began to hurt after I got back to my apartment last time.”

“What did ya expect? Ya had fifteen onigiri.” He grinned as he put both of his hands on the counter in front of him.

“Excuse me, [L/N]? You had fifteen?” Sakusa looked absolutely disgusted.

You didn’t even know what to say. You pursed your lips together and looked away. After a couple of seconds of silence between the three of you, you spoke up, and pointed to a table in the corner. “I’m going to sit there.” And with that being said you, walked away.

“Alright, ‘Omi. Yer total is ¥2,500. Ya doin card?”

Sakusa nodded his head, and handed Osamu his card. “By the way, could you, uh, make my onigiri to go?”

Osamu briefly looked up at the man in front of him, and looked back down to the card reader. “Yer not eatin’ with [L/N]?”

“I am, it’s just in case.”

Osamu let out a small “hm,” and handed Sakusa his card back. “Should be out in a couple minutes.”

With that, Sakusa walked to the table you were at, and took a seat across from you. You put your phone down, and the both of you begin to have a small conversation about relations to MSBY.

14:38.

“Order up.”

You and Sakusa both look at Osamu, holding a ceramic plate with one hand, and a plastic bag with the other. Sakusa gets up and bows to him, then grabs both from him without any issue.

“Whose bag is that?” You ask while pointing at it.

“Oh…” Sakusa puts your plate on the table, yet doesn’t sit back down. “It’s mine. My um– Meian texted me and asked me to come early to practice. So I got my food to go.”

You stare at him with a bewildered look on your face. “Meian texted you?” You tried confirming. You don’t remember him going on his phone since you both walked into the store, and you know that Meian would not be the one to text him, it would be Coach Foster.

“Yeah… so I’ll be leaving.”

You slowly nod your head. He didn’t sound too confident with his answers, and at this point, you knew he was making this up. “Okay, no problem. But how are you gonna get there? I drove you, ya’ know.”

Sakusa averted his eyes from you, and to the window behind, and almost immediately, a red Lexus EX, with tinted windows, halted directly in front of the store. As you heard the tires screeching, you turned around to get a quick look, and before you knew it, Sakusa bolted out of Onigiri Miya, and almost instantly, got into the car.

You watched with so much confusion as the car sped away, wondering where everything within this situation went wrong. Soon enough, you could hear footsteps getting closer to you, yet you continued to look out the window.

“Did Sakusa just leave ya by yerself?” A deep voice spoke. You didn’t even have to look at the person to know who it was.

“Yeah, it was really weird. I’ve never seen him leave abruptly like that.” You can feel Osamu’s eyes on you, and as you turn around to look at him, you’re met with a view of his sculpted chest, yet, at a safe distance. The shirt he was wearing wasn’t even covering the outline of his upper body.

You internally thanked God for this view, although eventually realized that you were quite literally just staring at his chest. You quickly shift your eyes to his face, only to be met with a smirk, which causes the tips of your ears to turn red. ‘Fuck.’ Is the only word appropriate enough to react with, because how else would you respond to this situation?

“Would ya like me to make yer onigiri to go? I doubt you’d wanna stay here by yerself.” Osamu asked, crossing his arms and keeping that smug look on his face.

You thought to yourself for a moment, and realized that this was your chance to learn more about him. And probably throw in a little flirting.

You put your right elbow on the table, and put your cheek in the palm of your hand, still keeping eye contact with Osamu. “Y’know, I would say yes, but I did come here for a reason.”

“Oh? Care ta’ elaborate?”

You mentally shrieked like a teenage girl. You loved where this was going. “What fun would there be if I did, Miya?”

𐙚 OSAMU

‘Is this actually happening?’

You coming to Osamu’s store was already the highlight of his day, but this conversation the two of you are having? He can’t handle it. Just imagine how he feels – he’s been wanting to see you for almost a week, and his wish has been fulfilled. Even with more added to it!

Then, almost instantly, he had the best idea. ‘Should I do… it?’ He wondered. He didn’t want to come off as weird, but he thought of a way to continue this conversation, and see more of your face while working.

He let out a brief huff, and grabbed your plate with the five uneaten rice balls on it.

“My food.” You whined, just loud enough for him to hear. He thought that was cute.

He then sets your dish at the counter that overlooks the kitchen, which could give whoever sits there a clear view of him and his employees, making the food.

He looks back at you, and motions for you to come and sit there. “I’ll keep ya company while ya eat.”

‘Was that slick enough?’ He asked himself, feeling unsure, but when he sees you pick up your necessities, and start walking to him, he can’t help but feel like he’s won the lottery.

𐙚 YOU

As you get closer, you watch the handsome man as he pulls out a specific chair for you, and you gladly take a seat. Then after, he pushes you in, and goes behind the counter, preparing to make more rice balls for his display case.

“Do you treat all your customers like this?” You asked, finally picking up one of your onigiri, and taking a bite out of it.

Osamu is directly in front of you, and as you’re chewing, your eyesight falls to his hands, looking through the glass, and watching the way he is sculpting the rice.

‘So he’s good with his hands, huh?’

“Eh, just the pretty ones.”

You immediately look back up at him, to see him already staring at you. You swallowed, and spoke. “Acting confident, are we?”

He chuckled, and began to wrap the onigiri he had just completed. “I’m just tellin’ it how I see it.”

You rolled your eyes while smiling, and took another bite of your food. “Thank you.”

Osamu briefly walked away to put the onigiri on display, which gave you some time to observe him, but from behind. You realized he had an upside down triangle body shape, which you found incredibly attractive. Your eyes then moved to his butt, and you cursed yourself in your head. ‘Why can’t mine be as big as his?’

“Oi, [L/N]. Ya checkin’ me out?” His voice startled you, causing you to instantly look anywhere else but him.

“I dunno what you’re talking about.” You denied. He could see right through you. He knew you were staring at him, and truth to be told, he didn’t mind at all.

You move your eyes back to his face, and sigh, before taking another bite out of your onigiri.

“Whatever ya say.” He began to work on the next onigiri, and once more, you looked at the way his hands stuffed the rice with filling.

15:08.

Time had gone by since you were seated at the counter, and you were nearing the end of your little trip to Onigiri Miya. You had already finished all five of your onigiri towards the beginning of your conversation with him, but stayed to talk. You ended up learning more about him, and he learned about you.

He told you that he was from the Hyogo prefecture, and he grew up with no other siblings besides Atsumu. He had also mentioned that he went to Inarizaki, and played volleyball as a kid, up until highschool. He was a wing spiker, and he was damn good at what he did. When it came down to you, you told him where you grew up, and how many siblings you have in contrast to him. You brought up the fact that you had played a couple of different sports when you were a kid, but didn’t have the passion to really continue as you grew older.

As the both of you were laughing at a joke you had made, you looked down at your phone, and saw the time. You had to leave for work now if you didn’t want to be late and risk getting lectured by one of your supervisors.

You sighed as you stood up, and handed Osamu your plate.

“Ya gotta go?” He asked, taking it from you, and putting it in the sink.

“Yeah, unfortunately I have work at 15:30.”

He wanted to tell you something along the lines of ‘Who cares about your job? Just skip work and stay here with me!,’ but obviously, he couldn’t. Instead, he said with a thin lined smile, “Well, ya gotta do whatcha’ gotta do.”

You nodded as you stood up, and grabbed your necessities, shoving them in your pockets. You look at Osamu, and bow. “Thanks for keeping me company, Miya. You didn’t have to.”

He began to wave one of his hands in a dismissive way. “Ya don’t have to bow, [L/N]. In all honesty, I wanted to continue talking to ya. Yer a lighthearted person, and ya can’t find much of that nowadays.”

Your eyes literally twinkled at that compliment. “I appreciate that. For all that It’s worth, thanks for not being unamusing.” And with one final bow, you began to make your way to the door.

Your heart began to pound, due to the fact that you were proud of yourself. Proud of yourself for not acting awkward, and for having a good time with a ten out of ten. Before you could reach the door handle, said ten out of ten called out to you.

“Wait, [L/N].” You turned around to already see him walking to you, phone in his hand. You waited until he got close enough to you, and when he did, you both stood there, staring at each other. It seemed like he wanted to say something, but was hesitating.

Therefore, you took initiative. “Are you okay?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. Then, almost instantly, he held out his phone, with the contact app already opened.

“Can I have yer number?”

You swore you almost fainted.

“U-uh, yeah! Sure.” You quickly muttered out, trying to hide the blush that was present on your face.

You also grabbed your phone and opened the contact app, ultimately, switching phones with each other.

𐙚 Bonus

14:39.

After Ongiri Miya was out of distance, Sakusa groaned, and looked at the individual who was driving the red Lexus. “Why do you drive like a maniac?”

“Nevermind that! Do you think she’s going to end up staying?”

Sakusa turned his head to look out the passenger window, and stayed silent for a couple of seconds, thinking about a proper answer. “In truth, I believe she’s going to stay. They seemed to take a liking to one another.”

A satisfied hum was used as a response by the driver, and after a few moments of tranquility between the two, Sakusa spoke once more.

“I don’t understand why you’re getting involved in a non-existent romantic relationship that isn’t yours, Hinata.”

The ginger rolled his eyes, and focused back on the road. “It might be non-existent now, Sakusa, but I get the vibe that they’re eventually going to end up together.” His mood lightened up, and he began to grin.

“Why not help kickstart her future relationship?"

authors notes !

𐙚 sorry that this chapter was long ! i kinda just word vomitted , and stuck with it .

𐙚 reblogs are always appreciated !

𐙚 i hope you enjoyed this chapter , my beloved reader-chan ! <3

taglist: @reuka1 @enepsigosthelast @arwawawa2 @miruac

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denimecho · 7 hours ago

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I've been having issues falling asleep for the past few days. Whenever I try, I end up lying awake for hours thinking about things I'd prefer not to. Recently, though, there's been something new that I don't know how to manage alone, yet I also don't much feel like talking to anyone in specific about it.

I know it isn't my style to make a post like this, but I figure if there's a chance it offers some relief, it's worth a try.

It's been... possibly 4 years now, I think, since I cut my parents out of my life. I have never regretted this decision. There's been many times that it's been hard, because the feelings involved are conflicting even when you're sure you're making the right decision. Logic and emotion don't always go hand in hand, after all, so while I've always known my decision to do this was entirely fair, I have, of course, felt guilt and despair, loneliness, nowhere to turn to when times are hard.

It's odd when I think about it. I've always known that there were no parents to turn to, even when we were still in contact, because those were not the kinds of people they were. Superficially, yes, my mom is capable of being warm. That's perhaps the most terrifying thing about her, that she can be so warm and so kind, yet also so ridiculously cruel that it's hard to fathom it's coming from the same person. Neither of them inspired the trust that would make one feel like there are "always people who love you that you can turn to", but even so, once it was official that we wouldn't talk again and their numbers were blocked, it felt a different kind of true for the first time.

I've often missed my mom, or "wanted my mom", but known it wasn't her, the person, that I missed, but rather the concept of a mom. I think what I really missed those times were, in the end, some kind of security; an unconditional love that one can trust to always be there. I believe I have people I can trust in this manner, but it's not always easy to stay believing, when I know as well that they were raised to think family is the bond you can truly trust. I have to believe something else is true, because otherwise there is no one to truly trust.

I've long since given up wondering how my parents justify it to themselves that they do not love me. I'm sure they believe they do, somehow. Fact still is that they've attempted to reconnect with their favourite child time and time again, yet never me. They don't even ask about me when they try to sway my brother to speak to them again, and when he tells me so, I say that I know. "I know, I'm not surprised, yeah classic them". I've known since I was a kid that I "wasn't what they hoped for" - what my mom hoped for, at least. My dad didn't hope for kids in the first place - and it no longer hurts that they feel nothing for me. I don't know what it feels like, but it doesn't hurt, I'd say. In fact, part of me is thankful that they find me disappointing because it means I couldn't fix their misery by reestablishing contact with them anyway. They're practically letting me go guilt free.

But... lately I can't sleep, because even though I logically always knew this was the case when I made my choice, it's only now that I truly understand that the next time I can expect to speak to one of my parents again is when one of them dies. I've considered myself pretty much orphaned since we cut contact, but I do know they are alive somewhere. Yet we will never see each other again. We will never resolve anything. We cannot, because even if they said everything I'd always wanted to hear, I will never trust them with myself, with the power they have over me. Now I think of their faces, their smiles when they were occasionally warm, their voices, and that they will die. And I will know nothing of what they were like in the end. I will never hear them speak again, and the day I finally do, it will be for that reason.

I'm not sure what to feel about this. I just can't sleep.

#;text #tw: bad parental relationship

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lesbianherald · 17 hours ago

Note

oh your jayce analysis was !!!!!! ty for sharing! could I ask for your thoughts on his character and the class conflict in s2.1 when he decides to make hextech weapons again? like after the bridge scene and meljayvik talking about weapons, at the very end of s1, jayce gives viktor, a zaunite, his chair, the symbol of his position and authority as a councilor of piltover, and had asked him to announce the brokered peace. ands I loved that development !! but jayce chooses to weaponize hextech after the attack at the memorial (tho maybe cait convinced him) and he still doesn't seem to get it imo? like he's still very naive and ignorant (and slightly biased), he canttt understand the consequences of putting hextech-powered weapons in the hands of pilt enforcers (even if it's only caits group). and then and then vik sees his weapon prints and the rift between them is back even stronger than ever and I think that's why he leaves jayce?

(typingr this out on my work break with 2 min left sorry if this doesn't make sense. anyway don't think I've seen anyone really go into depth on him choosing hex weaponry again, so idk if my fellow jayviks just don't want to address it or if I'm misinterpreting altogether)

No no i love this.

I actually, controversially, think Jayce making weapons works really well in act 1. He just gets attacked with a fucking chainsaw. He witnesses so much horror and carnage. He's still very much baby at this point. Like he's still relatively sheltered. I think this rattled him a lot. It's clear he does not want to. But I think he's traumatized and I think the incident makes him regress. And I think little regressions like this are actually really important in character development? Unfortunately becacause its season 2 that doesn't actually go anywhere or mean anything.

What I do not like is how little that's acknowledged in his fight with Viktor. You're telling me Viktor briefly glancing at some blueprints is enough? Please ! But I'm not one of those people that feels Jayce's regression there was completely unearned. I've seen a lot about how he should have gotten way more covered in blood during the chainsaw attack and the scene should have been more gruesome overall. I agree and I think that would really help pinpoint and explain his trauma. I wonder what happened there. It seems very unlike fortiche to spare us the gory details.

What I personally despise is the way that hextech weaponry is used in the finale with this sort of obscene amount of nonchalance that makes it seem like it was never an issue in the first place and essentially narratively tells the audience that hextech weaponry was the answer all along. That I hate and I don't see talked about enough.

Also thank you !!!!

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g0d1sg0n3 · 2 days ago

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I think Rook working for Auron is very important actually...

Little CW for sexual themes

I know there is no discourse about this, but it is something that has being on my mind as of late.

It came to me when I was relistening to the shattered prologue for the 54th time when Auron said "whether you got this job or not, I would have wondered what happened to you". This is not entirely a lie, I do believe Auron would have acted upon his carnal fantasies; look for them again as, I suppose, he would already have their contact information, and maybe have nothing more than a one-night stand. Let me explain, why I believe Rook working under Auron is the thing that allowed their relationship to flourish.

It all dries down to the second episode of the prologue, where, as we all know, Rook presented Auron with a note, the note. It allowed Auron to know another side of Rook, a side that they maybe wouldn't have presented in the interviews. This kind of gray way of thinking, it allowed him to see that Rook was unmoved by truth, too. I would go as far as to say that this was his first time seeing someone who was like him in this way, and it was the reason that made Auron's interest in Rook go further than a sexual fantasy. This is an interaction that would not have happened if Rook didn't work for him.

In a way, this job, these feelings, has forced Auron to leave his "fuck boy" persona, and be vulnerable. Something he hasn't being since he was a teenager. Because if he wanted to have something with this new person in his life, he would be forced to open up about his second job, after all, the numbers "not adding up" was what brought them to him. (I'd like to add that one of the things that made Auron interest in Rook was their inquisitive nature; and, referencing Auron vampire series, I would say that he was willing to open up about it, because he willingly dated them, knowing that they are not dumb enough to not ask or wonder)

And of course you can disagree with this. Maybe you believe in soulmates. Maybe you believe that even if Rook hadn't gotten the job, they would have found something special in each other. But I choose to believe in fate, that it was Rook's fate to get this job, find that note, and it was Auron's fate to eventually find someone he would crack in front of, even if life had to force him to be vulnerable.

In this way, I think that Rook working for Auron is the very thing that made their relationship even possible.

Anyway, thank you for listening to my Auron rant.

PS: This is how I see YV writing Auron's story:

#yuurivoice #yuurivoice auron #auron yuurivoice #fact check me

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shigarakisstalker · 21 hours ago

Note

hii ! i’m the one who asked for dabi x fem!reader with family issues and YOU ATE 🥹💓 comfort fics are my fave!!

i was now thinking of maybe hcs of dabi & shoto todoroki (separately) of how they would be like if they had a crush on fem!reader? considering their lack of affection at home and how maybe dabi would see it as weakness while shoto would probably not understand his feelings, so i wondered how they would process and act on it ?? if that makes sense 😭

but thank you again for writing my ask! it really made my day :)

hello my love! i’m so glad it made your day that means so much to me 😭💞 and i’m so glad you enjoyed it :) i love your asks so much so here you go!

when the todorokis have a crush on a !fem reader…

dabi refused to acknowledge it at all. a cold hearted villain like him falling for someone? unheard of. he couldn’t do it. but god your smile. he loved everything about you, whether he wanted to acknowledge it or not. despite being a villain you were so kind and gentle to him. it was unbearable for him. he even found himself resenting you for a little bit because of the new found feelings. it’s only when you finally confront him about his harsh attitude towards you that he finds himself spilling his guts. you can’t help but be astonished. never had you expected it from someone like him. but nonetheless you welcomed him with open arms.

but don’t be fooled, a relationship with him is complicated as fuck. he lacks any sense of communication skills and is so back and forth. he can’t choose between being harsh and shutting you out or being affectionate in his own ways. he’s more of a “i’ll do things for you to prove my love but i wont show affection” type of guy, contrary to popular believe. it takes forever for you to be able to touch him without him flinching or being repulsed.

shoto is more open about it all. he absolutely loves your attention and finds it comforting. being that he lacked it so much in his child hood, he is soooo clingy and demanding. it takes awhile for this side to introduce itself to you, but it’s so worth it in the end. he’s not really a pda type of person so it’s all i’m private. but he does do little things in public when he’s feeling extra needy or jealous. little things like resting his chin on your shoulder, holding pinkies with you, and subtly wrapping an arm around your waist.

but like i said, it takes awhile for this side of him to warm up to you. at first he doesn’t like the attention, thinking it’s too much and uncomfortable. but once he gets used to it he’s demanding for it constantly. he needs you to make up for it after all these years loll.

#bnha #mha #bnha x reader #mha x reader #shoto todoroki x reader #todoroki shoto #shoto todoroki #mha shoto #dabi mha #dabi x reader #dabi #touya todoroki x reader #touya todoroki #todoroki touya #mha touya

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e-dubbc11 · 1 day ago

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Old Memories…And New Ones

Photos are not mine. They are courtesy of Pinterest/Google.

Pairing: Dad! Dean Winchester x F! Hunter Reader

Warnings: Couple of swear words, fluffy bunnies and unicorns, little bit of angst, and PG-13 smexy time.

Word Count: 4.1K-ish(Wasn’t expecting it to be this long)

Summary: Dean shares some old photos with you, prompting you to look for the photos you have of you and your mother. And Dean has a surprise for you at the end.

A/N: Part of the Carrying On series. If you need a refresher or haven’t read it, I’ll leave it linked HERE. I didn’t expect this one to be this long, it took on a life of its own so I hope you like it.

As always, thank you for reading! I appreciate it so much and comments, reblogs are welcome and encouraged. Don’t be shy to tell me your favorite part. 💕💕 💕

Delicately holding the photograph, you studied it carefully for a brief moment.

A beautiful young woman with blond hair peeking around her adorable young son, both of them had closed lip smiles stretched across their faces, and their kind eyes had smiled for the camera as well.

Like your mother, Dean’s mother had passed away when he and Sam were very young but in very different ways. However, losing a parent is difficult no matter what. You were even younger than Dean was when your mother passed.

Vaguely, you remember her being sick and then in a blink of an eye, she was gone. You didn’t have any real memories of her. All you had were a few old photos from when you were a baby and as a young toddler.

If you didn’t have those, you wouldn’t have even known what she looked like although every chance he had, your father would always tell you how much you reminded him of her and in more ways than just her looks.

From the stories your father told you about her, she just seemed like such a wonderful person and more than anything you wished you could recall just one fond memory of her but at least you had your dad’s stories and the photos.

Charlie was already in bed so it was just you and Dean relaxing by the fireplace with a couple of beers.

“She was beautiful, Dean.” You voiced, softly with a slight smile. “And look at how cute you were!”

“WERE?! I’ve changed that much, huh sweetheart?” He joked. “I’d love to see some pictures of you, y/n. Do you have any?”

You chuckled a little, leaned over, kissed him on the cheek and replied, “I don’t have a lot of photos but I do have some. I’d love to show them to you. And what I meant was, now you’re just incredibly handsome.”

Dean set his beer down on the coffee table after taking a sip, closed the gap between your bodies and purred in your ear, “I dunno how but you always manage to turn me on with just a smile and a little compliment but you do.”

He removed the bottle from your hand and set it down next to the other one. His tongue swiped along his lower lip as he gazed at you with his beautiful green eyes. They were the color of fresh blades of grass after a summer rain, healthy and bright with the molten orange flame from the fire reflecting in his pupils.

You knew that look well. Dean gently swept a stray hair away from your face, stroked the soft skin of your cheek with his thumb before deftly pressing his lips against yours. Butterflies fluttered in your stomach as he deepened his kiss, his full lips slanted over yours while his tongue silently pleaded to tangle with yours.

A hint of light citrus and wheat were still fresh on his lips from the beer as you moaned against his mouth and his hands traveled from your face, down your body before finally resting on your waist.

“Whoa, wait a minute there, stud. I know what you’re doing.” You said in an accusatory but playful tone.

Dean’s strong hands roamed over your hips and on the outside of your thigh as a sly smile stretched across his lips.

“What am I doin’, baby?” He asked with raised eyebrows before passionately kissing you again.

“You’re normally always the one to point out that we could get caught in the act by your son when we fool around out here. And now, you’re initiating it…which is VERY hard to resist.” You said, pointing your finger at him.

The two of you hadn’t been caught by Charlie yet but as he was very curious, it was only a matter of time before you got yourselves into a position you wouldn’t be able to talk your way out of.

Dean continued to stare at you while biting down on his lower lip, his agile fingers dipped below the waistband of your jeans and simultaneously brushed along the sensitive skin of your stomach and the pants. Goosebumps peppered across your skin as a sharp tingle traveled down your spine and you felt him undo the top button of your jeans.

“Oh I’m hard to resist, huh? I can show you somethin’ else that’s hard.” He said with a goofy grin.

Dean had the ability to turn any sexy moment like this one into a ridiculous one which always made you laugh and you loved him for that. Being with someone that could make you laugh was important because you had gone through most of your life without a lot to smile about.

A loud cackle escaped your lips and you quickly covered your mouth, hoping Charlie wouldn’t hear you.

“Let’s go to bed, handsome.” You said, raking your fingers through his soft brown hair.

After spending your life on the road with your father, hunting, and never having a place to call home, it was the best feeling in the world to finally have a home and spend your time with someone who had your heart.

You both stood up, Dean grabbed the beer bottles, and before he started for the kitchen, he replied, “I’ll be right there, sweetheart. Gonna shut off the lights and make sure the fire will be alright ‘til morning.”

As you walked in front of him, with his free hand, Dean playfully slapped you on the ass and said in a slightly deeper and gravelly tone this time, “And no sleeping!”

Glancing down at your gray Henley, you grasped it at the hem and in one fluid motion, pulled it up and over your head. Dean’s jaw dropped as he hungrily stared at you in just your red lace bra.

You tossed the shirt, he caught it with his free hand, and you quipped with a wink, “Then hurry up, baby.”

Before you closed his bedroom door behind you, there was a sound of the glass bottles clinking and crashing into the sink, followed by Dean trying to find the light switches before muttering, “Son of a bitch.”

**********

Dean woke you the next morning by softly kissing your bare shoulder and spooning up behind you to warm your body. The bristles of his beard tickled your neck as he left a trail of kisses from your shoulder to your pulse point.

“Mmmm…that feels nice, baby. I’ll make some coffee, ok?” You said.

“No, no, where ya goin’? I can do somethin’ else that feels even nicer.” He purred into your ear.

“Well, if you wanna enjoy your coffee in peace before Charlie and Bear get up, I suggest we get up now. Come on, stud.” You said with a smirk.

Letting Charlie sleep in on the weekends was standard. He did so much during the week, between school and a couple of activities, the poor kid was exhausted so he and Bear were still asleep while you and Dean enjoyed a cup of coffee at the kitchen table.

“Thank you, Dean.” You said in barely more than a whisper.

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he took a sip of his coffee and replied, “You’re welcome, sweetheart.” Then, with a confused look on his face and after the coffee hit the pit of his stomach, he turned to you and asked, “F-for what, exactly?”

“For showing me all of those pictures last night. The ones of you and your parents when you were little…those are nice to have.” You said.

Dean brushed your knuckles with his fingers, smiled, and replied, “You still have to show me yours.”

“I’ll find them later today while you’re out with Charlie. Don’t forget, that birthday party starts at 2.” You stated.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. You could tell he forgot and was angry with himself for forgetting.

“Crap…” Muttered Dean. “I forgot about that.”

Like magic, you pulled a gift bag from underneath the table and said, “Lucky for you, I didn’t forget. Charlie said the kid is a little bit of a nerd and he likes baseball, so I got him a puzzle of Yankee Stadium.”

“You really are the best. I love you so much, thank you.” He said, as he leaned across the table to kiss you. “Sure you don’t wanna come too? It’ll keep the horny single moms away from me.”

“You have fun at the arcade with Charlie and I’ll see you guys when you get back. I have some chores to do at home and I know I have those photos, I just don’t exactly know WHERE they are.” You said with a chuckle, brushing his beard with your thumb.

Dean let out an exaggerated sigh, “Okaaaaaaay. Well, it will give me time to make sure my hunter fighting skills are up to par.”

You giggled and replied, “I love you too, handsome. Just drop Bear back home before you head out, ok?”

He nodded, kissed the top of your head and began to rub his hands together rapidly. “You got it, baby. Think it’s time for Charlie to rise and shine.”

You just shook your head, smiled, and watched him walk down the hall to wake Charlie up.

**********

The nervous tingle in your hands and fingers persisted as you searched high and low for the photographs of you and your mother. There was an uneasy and panicked feeling in your stomach as you frantically opened desk drawers and tore apart your bedroom looking for the only pictures you will ever have of her.

After Dean and Charlie dropped Bear off, it reminded you to look for them.

Life had been so busy since buying your home that you couldn’t remember the last time you had actually looked at those pictures and you were starting to wonder if they got lost in the move or if you put them in a “safe place” that was so safe, even you couldn’t find them.

You were starting to freak out, your jaw was so tight and rigid that your head was starting to hurt, and all other sounds had been blocked out by your drum-like heartbeat pounding loudly in your ears.

“Where could they be?!” You asked yourself in an anxious tone.

Because you were so preoccupied, you didn’t hear the knock on the door or when Dean called out to you in his deep gravelly voice.

“Sweetheart?! Y/N?! We’re back!” He said.

Charlie sounded excited to see Bear. “Hi Bear!”

You developed tunnel vision trying to find them and your cheeks flamed with anger but you didn’t want Charlie to see you upset so you composed yourself long enough to call out to them from the bedroom.

“Hey guys! How was the party?!” You asked.

Dean’s heavy footsteps could be heard coming from the living room. You could hear him step over the books and papers that were all over the floor.

“Hey baby, whaaaaat are ya doin’?” He asked, looking down at the mess you turned your bedroom into.

The tears that had formed were stinging the back of your eyes as you tried your hardest for them not to streak down your cheeks. You were in pain from kneeling on the hardwood floors practically all day, you felt mentally and physically exhausted, and you still couldn’t find the pictures of your mother.

Immediately, Dean called out to Charlie when he saw the look on your face.

“Charlie?!! I need to help y/n find something very important so take Bear back to our house and come back in like an hour with that box we picked up, ok?” Shouted Dean.

“Ok Dad! Come on, Bear.” Said Charlie.

As soon as you heard the door close behind them, Dean dropped to his knees, you burst into tears, and he tightly wrapped his arms around you to try and comfort you.

“Hey, hey, hey it’s ok. We’ll find them, baby. We’ll find them.” Dean said, calmly.

With your face buried in his chest, your tears fell into his shirt as you worriedly replied, “They’re all I have of her, Dean. I feel like I’ve looked everywhere!”

“Look at me, y/n.” He said as you looked up at him through your tear soaked lashes. “You haven’t looked everywhere. If you did, then you would have found them, ok? Let’s keep looking, come on.”

Dean helped you look inside of books, folders, drawers, cabinets, and basically anything that could be opened, he went over it with a fine-tooth comb and made sure he checked under and inside of everything.

As you continued to tear apart everything in your desk drawers, Dean walked over to your nightstand and looked inside. He pulled everything out, only to come up empty so he turned his attention to your bed.

As he lifted the mattress away from the box spring, he saw what looked like a journal and pulled it out. While thumbing through the pages, he came across a stack of photos tucked into pocket at the end.

The first picture he saw was of a baby girl dressed in pink from head to toe and her beautiful mother, with features similar to yours, fondly looking at her as she slept in her crib. He knew he had found them.

“Sweetheart…” Whispered Dean, holding the journal and waiting for you to look up at him.

Your eyes darted from his, down to his hands gently holding the journal and the photos were now sticking out from the top of the book for easy access.

It all came rushing back. You had kept your journal close during your long drive from Oklahoma to Colorado and after the movers unloaded your bed, you wanted to keep it in a safe place and close to you. But inside the nightstand wasn’t close enough so you placed it in between the mattress and the box spring for easy access for when you wanted to write in it.

When you first moved in, you wrote in your journal quite often, mostly about Dean and Charlie, but as you and Dean became closer, you didn’t write in it as much and very apparently forgot about it. But you remembered tucking the pictures in the back to “keep them safe.”

“Dean…you found them.” You said, taking the journal from him and removing the photos from the pages. “I don’t know what I would have—thank you for finding these.”

You snaked your arms around his neck, and without warning or hesitation, you aggressively pressed your lips to his which surprised him but only for a brief second before he returned your kiss and pulled your body in close so it was flush with his.

“You’re welcome, baby.” Said Dean with a warm smile.

He kissed you again.

Dean’s lips tasted like sugar and cherries and as you pulled away, you asked him through narrowed eyes, “Did you have cherry pie at that birthday party?”

Stumbling slightly over his words, he replied, “W-well, as a m-matter of fact, I did. The boys had cake and one of the mom’s m-made a cherry pie.”

After you touched your tongue to your top lip, you asked, “Lemme guess, she made it just for you.”

Dean blurted out, “NO!!” But his tone quickly changed and he retorted, “B-but s-she did offer me the first p-piece.”

“Of course she did.” You said with a wide smile.

Dean tried to flash you a quick cute smile which you found amusing.

“But baby, I—“ He started to say.

You interrupted him.

“Dean, it’s ok baby. I’m just messin’ with you.”

Looking down at the pile of pictures, you sat down on the bed and began thumbing through them to find your favorite one.

“This one’s my favorite.” You whispered, handing the picture to Dean.

It was of you and your mom with a birthday cake in front of you and the number “2” on top. Her long hair was pulled back into a slick ponytail and she had a purple turtleneck on. You couldn’t explain why it was your favorite, just that you really loved it.

“Look at you…so happy. And lucky me, I get to see that beautiful smile every day.” He said, brushing hair away from your face and giving you a kiss.

“Thank you, baby. Wait a minute…are you trying to distract me from the horny single mom that made you a pie?!” You asked.

“Depends…is it working?” Asked Dean.

“No.” You firmly replied.

He shrugged. “Worth a shot, I guess. Well, how ‘bout I only eat YOUR cherry pie?” He said with a sly smile and raised eyebrows.

“I’ve never made a cherry pie, Dean.” You said, desperately trying to keep a straight face.

“I think you missed my point, sweetheart. See, what I meant was—“ He started to say before you cut him off.

Laughing, you replied, “I know what you meant, baby. But before you can taste my cherry pie, I have to clean up the mess I made of my house plus Charlie is still awake.”

Dean playfully rolled his eyes.

“Okaaaaaaay. Later then.” He said, giving you a gentle kiss on your forehead.

**********

As you and Dean were cleaning and putting things back where they were supposed to be, you could feel him staring and stealing glances at you.

“I love you.” Said Dean, with a warm smile.

You smiled back and replied, “I love you too, Dean.”

“You should get a frame for a couple of those, especially your favorite.” He said, pointing at the photos on the bed.

“Maybe I will. That’s a good idea, baby.” You affirmed.

“Yeah, I’ll get one too for my picture and m-maybe we can put them n-next to one another…in the s-same house?” He asked nervously.

You froze. Heat rushed to your cheeks and your stomach dropped. Was Dean, in his own way, asking you to live with him?

“Dean? What are you saying?” You asked with a hitch in your voice.

“Move in with us, sweetheart.” He said, confidently. “Please?”

Your heart said yes a thousand times over, but your mouth was having trouble getting the words out. You were nervous. What if it didn’t work out? Someone else would be living in your house and you wouldn’t have it to go back to. Plus, you only just bought it a little over a year ago.

“But…what about my house? What if we don’t work out? What if—“ You started to say.

“Sam can rent the house. I’ve been buggin’ him ever since he left the last time to move out here so he can be closer to us. Charlie’s always so bummed out when he has to leave so it will be perfect if he lives next door.” Declared Dean.

Shocked, you finally blurted out, “Dean, are you really sure? Because I can forget you said any of this and we can go back to just—“

“You don’t think I’m serious?” He asked.

As you moved closer to him, you shook your head and replied, “No, it’s not that I don’t think you’re serious, baby. I just…I just wanna make sure that it’s what you really want because I love you and Charlie more than anything. And I will move in tomorrow as long as I know that both of you want me to.”

Suddenly, you heard the side door open and you heard Charlie’s voice coming from the kitchen and you could hear Bear’s nails clicking on the tile floor.

“Did you ask her yet, Dad?!!” Shouted Charlie.

Dean answered, “We’re in the bedroom, buddy.”

“You’re not naked, are you?” Charlie asked as you started to laugh.

“Coast is clear, Charlie. You can come back here.” You replied.

Charlie appeared in the doorway and Bear charged into the bedroom to say hello.

“Did she say yes, Dad? Or were you waiting for me to bring this over?” Asked Charlie, holding out a black velvet box.

You didn’t think you could be any more stunned than you already were.

“Please tell me there’s just a house key in there!” You exclaimed.

Charlie started to laugh.

“Don’t be silly, y/n. There’s a ring in there!” Charlie said with excitement.

You almost couldn’t believe what you were hearing.

“CHARLIE!” Dean barked.

Slightly disappointed, Dean took the box from Charlie’s hand then got down on one knee.

“You deserve to have a proper proposal, sweetheart.” He said, opening the box and revealing a solitaire oval shaped diamond.

“Say yes!!” Yelled Charlie.

“Be patient, son. Y/n, I honestly never expected to do this again. I thought I had my one shot and that was it but when you moved in next door, everything changed. I was smiling and laughing again, I found someone who loved my son as their own, and I found someone who could understand all the pain and all the shit that I’ve been through because she’s been through it too. And I’d love for the name on the mailbox to match everyone in the house. I love you so much and was wondering if you would marry me…marry us.” Asked Dean with a hitch in his voice.

You looked over at Charlie whose smile was so big you could see all of his teeth and Bear next to him with his ears at attention. It brought tears to your eyes. When you moved here, you were just hoping to live a semi-normal life and that’s exactly what you got and more.

“Charlie? Are you sure this is ok with you?” You asked, shyly.

Charlie continued to smile and he replied, “Please say yes, y/n. Then you’ll be my bonus mom.”

“Oh Charlie…” You choked out.

Dean smiled and said, “I didn’t even tell him to say that. What do ya say, sweetheart?”

You’ve never been more excited to say the word “yes” in your entire life.

“I say yes!” You answered with excitement.

Dean slid the ring onto your finger and it fit perfectly. Charlie ran over to you, wrapped his arms around you, and squeezed as tight as he could. Even Bear was excited.

“How did you know what size ring to get, baby?” You asked.

He stood up, tilted your chin up so you were looking into his hypnotizing green eyes, and planted a soft kiss onto your lips.

“EW, DAD!” Said Charlie, shielding his eyes.

“While you were sleeping one night, I got up and traced the inside of one of the rings I see you wear all the time on that finger.” He said with confidence and so proud of himself.

Impressed, you replied, “Not bad, stud. Not bad.”

“Dad! Can we go home and call Uncle Sam? He can move here now that y/n is gonna live with us, right?!” Asked Charlie.

Dean turned to you and asked, “How ‘bout it, sweetheart? You ready to go…home?”

Charlie said, “Yeah, maybe you and Dad can move more furniture around like you did last night.”

You felt your whole face turn red and warmth rushed across your cheeks as soon as Charlie finished that sentence. Covering your eyes in embarrassment, you began to laugh nervously.

Completely mortified, you asked Charlie, “What makes you think we were moving furniture around, buddy?”

Dean nervously scratched his beard waiting for Charlie’s answer.

“Well, I heard the bed hit the wall a bunch of times and you must have liked where Dad put it, because I heard you say ‘YES! Right there.’ I thought maybe you just started the move early and I went back to sleep.” He said, so innocently.

“Oh she liked where I put it alright.” Dean said with a devilish smirk.

You playfully slapped him on the shoulder, “DEAN!”

“What does Dad mean, y/n?” Charlie asked.

“Nothing buddy, your dad is just trying to be funny.” You replied.

Slightly offended, Dean said, “What do ya mean TRYING to be funny? I’m damn funny.”

Charlie looked down at the bed and noticed the picture of you and your mother. He smiled, looked up at you, and said, “Your mom was pretty, y/n. You look just like her. I’ll make room for this picture on the mantle, ok?”

Charlie Winchester had your heart just as much as Dean did. And although it was a little different being with someone who had a child already, they made it easy to love them both and you couldn’t wait to start the next chapter as a wife, as a “bonus mom” and as a…Winchester.

You hugged him tightly and replied with a warm smile, “Thank you, Charlie.”

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