#and for all his flaws that love is still so effortless

[dearlenore]

POPULAR • S.REID • PT2

SUMMARY: you and spencer finally go on the long-awaited date after the team successfully catches the unsub. Unsure of where to take a girl like you—elegant, charming, and effortlessly captivating—he turns to his coworkers for advice. Unfortunately, they’re just as stumped as he is. Defeated, he decided to take you out for a walk around a nearby town where you’re right at home.

PAIRING: fem!bimbo!reader x spencer

tags: reader is hyper feminine, season10!spencer, reader wears makeup, reader is a little dumb but smart academically, reader is Glinda inspired, use of y/n a few times (sorry!!)

a/n: editor is NOT busy I’m so excited!!

w/c: 1.5k

part 1

SPENCER FLIPPED THROUGH the files mindlessly until a familiar name caught his eye. His curiosity got the better of him as he opened it, scanning the contents. His brows lifted slightly as he read over your academic record—pristine, not a single flaw. Perfect grades, an exhaustive list of extracurriculars, leadership positions, volunteer work—each achievement more impressive than the last.

“Whatcha looking at, kid?” Rossi asked, raising a brow as he peered over Spencer’s shoulder.

“Just some files…” Spencer muttered, resting his chin in his palm.

“Y/N, huh? Trying to get some intel for your date?” Rossi snickered.

“Not exactly, I’m just… impressed.” Spencer shrugged, but the growing crowd around him suggested he wasn’t the only one.

“Holy shit…” Rossi mumbled, pulling the file closer.

“Does she sleep?” Emily asked, tilting her head.

“I’d guess no…” JJ added, shaking her head in disbelief.

“Valedictorian, a dozen honors societies, student government president and theater lead?” Emily read aloud. “That’s not even fair.”

Spencer couldn’t help but smile to himself. Of course, you were extraordinary—he had already known that. But seeing the team’s reactions only solidified it.

Morgan chuckled. “Alright, genius, now you really gotta step it up. Where do you even take a girl like that on a date?”

That was the question, wasn’t it? Spencer had spent days thinking about it, but the more he learned about you, the more complicated it seemed. He needed to find somewhere that fit all sides of you—your elegance, your ambition, your love for the finer things but also your playful, lighthearted nature.

“Maybe a high-end restaurant?” JJ suggested.

“No, too predictable,” Emily said. “She probably gets taken to those all the time.”

“She likes theater, maybe a Broadway show?” Rossi offered.

“I don’t know…” Spencer tapped his fingers against the table, deep in thought. A traditional date wouldn’t do. You needed something special, something unique.

Then, it clicked.

He straightened up, a small smile forming as the perfect idea came to him.

A few days later, Spencer stood outside your sorority house, fidgeting with the bouquet of pure pink peonies in his hands. He had done extensive research—peonies symbolized romance, admiration, and prosperity, all of which seemed fitting. Still, his nerves wouldn’t settle. He adjusted his sweater vest for the tenth time, tapping his foot against the pavement.

Then the door swung open, and whatever thoughts he had vanished completely.

You stood there, looking like a literal dream—perfect hair, perfect makeup, a perfectly coordinated outfit that made it seem like you had just stepped out of a magazine. Your eyes sparkled, your lips curled into an effortless smile.

“Oh my gosh, you brought me flowers? That is so sweet, Spencie!” You beamed, taking the bouquet with an excited little squeal. “They’re pink! Did you know pink is, like, my favorite color? Well, second favorite, but like, it totally depends on the day—sometimes it’s first! Oh, and peonies? Ugh, you’re so thoughtful.”

Spencer flushed at the nickname but managed a small smile. “I, um, I did research.”

“Of course you did, you’re like a super genius right? I’m pretty smart myself,” you giggled, twirling a strand of hair between your fingers. Then, as if suddenly remembering something, you gasped. “Oh! I got you something too!”

Before he could even react, you spun on your heel and disappeared back inside, only to return moments later with a bouquet of books, tied neatly with a very large pink ribbon.

“I bought a bunch of books I don’t think you’ve read,” you explained, bouncing on the balls of your feet as you handed them to him.

Spencer raised a brow, inspecting the titles as you walked toward his car together.

“Like… Twilight.” You smirked.

He stopped in his tracks. “I told you I hadn’t read that yet, I thought you guessed when picking them out.”

“Hey! The rest are, like, actual guesses…” you pouted dramatically, sliding into the passenger seat.

Spencer sighed but couldn’t help smiling as he carefully placed the books in the back before getting into the car.

The drive was filled with your excited chatter about everything from your nail appointment (“Look at this shade! It’s called ‘Strawberry Milk,’ isn’t that just darling?”) to a very serious debate about whether cupcakes or cake pops were the superior dessert. Spencer found himself completely captivated by the way you spoke, even if half of it was tangents that had nothing to do with each other.

When he finally pulled into a quiet field lined with endless rows of tulips, you gasped dramatically.

“A tulip garden?” you squealed, practically vibrating with excitement.

Spencer smiled, relieved that he had chosen well. “You love flowers, and tulips symbolize happiness and love, so I thought—”

“Oh my gosh, I love it!” you interrupted, clapping your hands together. “This is, like, the most romantic thing ever.”

You immediately grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the colorful rows of tulips, practically skipping as you twirled between them. Spencer couldn’t help but watch in amusement as you carefully examined each flower, dramatically debating which ones suited your “vibe” the most.

“Pick some with me!” you demanded, holding out a pair of shears the garden provided.

Spencer hesitated. “I don’t usually—”

“Spencieee,” you pouted, fluttering your lashes. “Come on! It’s a date not a…I don’t have a clever fun but you get the point!”

He sighed, but the corners of his lips twitched upward. “Fine.”

By the time you were satisfied with your selection, the sun was beginning to set, casting a warm golden glow over the field. Then, as if the day couldn’t get any better, you spotted a row of food trucks parked near the entrance.

“Oh. My. Gosh. Street food! We have to get something!”

Spencer barely had time to respond before you grabbed his arm and dragged him toward the trucks. You gasped dramatically at every menu, unable to decide what you wanted until you finally settled on something completely impulsive.

“Thai food truck food is to die for! I could eat it all day for weeks! Here, try this,” you insisted, holding out a bite of your food.

Spencer gave you a skeptical look. “I don’t know, I’m pretty loyal to order” He laughed, taking a bite of his own food

“Spencie,” you pouted again, lower lip jutting out just enough to be dangerous.

He sighed but leaned in, taking a bite. To his surprise, it was actually good.

You clapped excitedly. “See?! You have to trust me more.”

By the time you both settled onto a picnic blanket with your tulips beside you, you were sharing a plate of sweet crepes from a small dessert stand.

“This,” you sighed happily, resting your head on his shoulder, “was literally the best first date ever.” You smiled as you wiped a bit of cream from his lip.

Spencer looked down at you, watching as you absentmindedly kicked your feet, a content smile on your lips.

“Yeah…” he murmured, his own smile growing. “I think so too.”

The jet hummed softly as the team settled in for the flight back home. Spencer sat with his book open, but he wasn’t reading. Not really. He could still hear your laughter, still see the way your eyes lit up at the tulip garden, still feel the warmth of your head resting on his shoulder.

“So… how’d it go, Romeo?” Rossi smirked from across the aisle, swirling his glass of scotch.

Spencer blinked, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Huh?”

Emily leaned in, grinning. “Your date. The one you spent days researching.”

JJ and Derek turned their heads from their conversation, both of them looking far too eager for his liking.

Spencer cleared his throat, flipping the page of his book despite not having read the last one. “It was… nice.”

“Nice?” Penelope gasped, clutching her chest. “You take the most glamorous, sparkliest girl we’ve ever met on a date and all you have to say is nice?”

“I don’t know what else to say,” he admitted, the hint of a smile playing at his lips. “She was… herself. Very, um… enthusiastic.”

“That’s an understatement,” Emily snorted.

“She brought me a bouquet of books,” Spencer added, finally looking up. “That was… unexpected.”

JJ smiled. “That’s actually really cute.”

“Oh! Oh! Where’d you take her?” Penelope asked excitedly, leaning forward towards the computer camera.

Spencer hesitated before answering. “A tulip garden.”

There was a beat of silence before Rossi whistled. “Not bad, kid. Classy.”

“And food trucks,” he added, as if the whole thing needed more context.

“Oh my god,” Penelope practically melted. “Did you feed each other?”

Spencer rolled his eyes, but the small, almost fond smile on his lips did not go unnoticed.

“I think,” Rossi mused, taking a sip of his drink, “this might actually be good for you.”

Spencer didn’t respond, but as he looked back down at his book, he realized he was still smiling. Twilight was a really…really bad book.

[rulerofstars]

they both (have feelings) reached for the gun

oneshot: chase has always known how to push your buttons back in med school, he loved to get under your skin. but now, working together at princeton-plainsboro, things got a bit. . . different. the rivalry cools, and something warmer takes its place. based on the song we both reached for the gun.

pairing: robert chase x reader

tags: slowburn, enemies to lovers trope, fluff (?)

You were used to coming out on top in med school. For as long as you could remember, your academic achievements defined you, and nobody threatened that more than Robert Chase. He was just as competitive, sharp, and ambitious—always one step ahead or right beside you, depending on the day. But unlike you, Chase seemed to coast on some innate charm, always managing to make his successes seem effortless.

It irritated you to no end.

“Another perfect score, huh?” Chase’s playful voice pulled you from your thoughts as he slid his exam sheet onto the desk next to yours. He flashed that casual, smug grin that you had come to know all too well.

You clenched your jaw. “Looks like it,” you said, glancing at his score. Of course, he had aced it too. “Though, I wouldn’t call it ‘perfect’ just yet.”

“You always have to find a flaw, don’t you?” Chase leaned back in his chair, his Australian accent making his words sound more laid-back than they deserved. “Not everything’s a competition.”

“Only with you,” you shot back before collecting your things and leaving the lecture hall.

You didn’t expect to see him again years later. After graduation, you went your separate ways, and frankly, you were glad to leave him in the past. But fate had other plans.

The first day at Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital was already nerve-wracking, and when you saw Robert Chase’s familiar figure walking down the hall, your stomach did a flip. He looked older, sharper even, with his blond hair slightly disheveled in a way that made him look more approachable, yet just as infuriating. His eyes landed on you, a flash of surprise crossing his face before it softened into something more unreadable.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you muttered under your breath.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Chase said, stopping in front of you with a small smirk.

“I could say the same,” you replied, trying to keep your cool. You were not going to let him fluster you. Not now.

For a moment, there was an awkward silence. You shifted, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear as you both waited for the other to say something. Finally, he broke the ice. “So, how’ve you been?”

“Fine. Busy,” you answered vaguely. “Looks like we’ll be working together now.”

“Looks like it,” he echoed. There was a brief pause before his eyes flickered over you. “I’d say it’ll be just like old times, but somehow, I think things might be a little different now.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Different how?”

Chase smiled—a softer, less smug one this time. “I guess we’ll find out.”

Working with Chase was exactly what you expected: maddening. He was still brilliant, still effortlessly charming, and still found ways to get under your skin. But this time, something was. . . different. It wasn’t just rivalry anymore. There was a strange tension between you, the kind that made your heart race when he stood too close or leaned over your shoulder to point something out during rounds.

“You’re overthinking it again,” Chase said, pulling you from your thoughts as the two of you reviewed a patient file one evening. House, has once again, left his paperworks for the both of you to finish. You glanced up, your eyes meeting his in the low light of the office. He was standing closer than usual, and you could feel the heat radiating from him, you could smell his cologne— God, you could feel him.

“I’m not overthinking,” you protested, though the slight waver in your voice betrayed you.

Chase chuckled softly, the sound low and intimate in the quiet room. “You always do. It’s one of the things I… admire about you,” he said, his voice dipping at the end, almost as if he hadn’t meant to reveal that last part.

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in his tone. “Admire?”

He didn’t answer immediately, his gaze dropping to the file in your hand before looking back at you. There was something unspoken between you, something that had been building for quite a while now. And in that moment, it felt like everything hung in the balance.

“Yeah,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “Admire.”

Your breath hitched slightly, and for the first time, you didn’t feel the need to fire back with a sarcastic retort. Instead, the room filled with a quiet tension, one that was as familiar as it was new.

Chase’s eyes lingered on yours a second too long before he cleared his throat and took a step back, the spell broken. “Anyway,” he said, his usual demeanor slipping back into place, “I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t stay up too late.” He flashed you a quick smile before heading toward the door, leaving you standing there, your heart pounding in your chest.

The next day, you found yourself back in the break room, pouring a much-needed cup of coffee. You were still trying to process your feelings about Chase when he walked in, a lopsided grin on his face.

“Look who it is—Miss Perfect,” he teased, leaning against the counter. “You’re up early today.”

“Please, it’s called being responsible,” you shot back, trying to keep your tone light. “Not all of us can coast by on charm and good looks.”

Chase raised an eyebrow. “That’s rich coming from the person who aced the last exam while I was busy trying to save a patient.”

“Are we really going to do this again?” you sighed, setting your coffee down. “Can’t you ever just let it go?”

He leaned in, his expression turning serious. “Not when you keep insisting on making everything a competition. Maybe it’s time we talk about it instead of arguing.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Talk about what? Your inability to accept that I’m better than you?”

“Or your inability to admit that you actually enjoy the challenge,” he shot back, crossing his arms. “You thrive on it, just like I do.”

The tension in the room escalated as you both squared off. “You think I thrive on competition? I’ve worked hard for my grades, Chase. You think it’s just a game to me?”

“No, but you treat it like one,” he retorted, frustration creeping into his voice. “You’re so focused on beating me that you forget we’re supposed to be on the same team now.”

“Don’t act like you’re some sort of saint,” you replied, frustration bubbling over. “You’re the one who always wants to one-up me.”

“Maybe because I want you to see that I’m not just some arrogant jerk. I actually want to work with you,” he argued, his voice rising slightly.

“And what makes you think I want that?” you challenged, crossing your arms defiantly.

“Because deep down, you know it would be good for both of us,” he said, his tone softening. “And because I don’t want to keep pretending I don’t care.”

The silence that followed was heavy, the air thick with unresolved tension. You both stood there, hearts racing, the realization of unspoken feelings hanging between you. Finally, you broke the silence. “You know what? This is ridiculous. We’re colleagues now, not rivals.”

Chase stepped closer, his expression earnest. “I don’t want to be just colleagues. . .”

Your heart skipped a beat. You hesitated, the walls you had built around your feelings beginning to crumble.

You knew exactly what Chase meant.

You knew because you both were holding onto a thin thread for quite a while. And neither one of you has ever had the courage to break free and see how everything will unravel.

A smile slowly formed on your lips, Chase won in this one.

Before you could respond, House strolled in, as nonchalant as ever. “What’s this? A soap opera I didn’t get the memo about?” He glanced between you and Chase, a knowing smirk on his face. “Are you two finally admitting your feelings, or are you just going to keep throwing insults at each other like five-year-olds?”

You rolled your eyes, but a smile crept onto your face. “What do you want, House?”

“Oh, just making sure the hospital doesn’t turn into a high school drama,” he replied, clearly enjoying the moment. “I need my team to be functional.”

Chase crossed his arms, unfazed by House’s jabs. “And yet, you’re here, interrupting an important discussion.”

“Important discussion? More like a public service announcement for the clueless,” House shot back. “But fine, carry on. I’ll just be out here, waiting for the inevitable awkwardness that’s sure to follow.”

You shot Chase a glare, feeling a mix of annoyance and amusement at House’s timing. “Thanks for the support, House,” you said sarcastically.

Chase chuckled, the tension breaking as he leaned back against the counter. “Well, at least he keeps things interesting.”

“Interesting is one way to put it,” you replied, shaking your head. “But this doesn’t change the fact that we still need to talk about our work.”

“Fine,” Chase said, the playful glint in his eyes returning. “Let’s focus on that, but can I at least take you out for coffee afterward? You know, to celebrate our newfound ‘colleague’ status?”

You chuckled then considered it for a moment, the thought of sharing a casual coffee with him igniting a flutter of excitement in your chest. “Okay, but only if you promise not to let it turn into a competition.”

Chase grinned, that familiar spark of mischief lighting up his eyes. “No promises. But I’ll try my best.”

As he leaned closer, a playful banter started anew, the air filled with the kind of electricity that only grew with each exchanged word. In that moment, amid the laughter and jabs, you realized you were finally allowing him in—rivalry and all.

[emmiesoverthemoon]

don't push me away

BIGBANG APRIL WRITING CHALLENGE: DAY 7

Pairing: choi seunghyun / t.o.p x soloist reader

Word Count: 2.5k.

Summary: Seunghyun has a huge crush on you and doesn’t know how to express it due to underlying insecurities, so he ends up hurting your feelings instead

Tags: angst, internal conflict, external conflict, miscommunication, insecurity, hurt comfort, friends to lovers

There was something about the way Seunghyun looked at you. Or at least, you had believed there was.

It was evident in the way his gaze lingered a fraction too long when you laughed, as though he was committing to memory the precise manner in which joy manifested upon your features. In the way his fingers ghosted against yours when he handed you a water bottle between takes of a collaborative music video—a touch so fleeting it could almost be dismissed as accidental, were it not for the fact that it recurred with such consistency that it could no longer be mere coincidence. In the way his voice altered ever so slightly when he spoke your name, imbued with an alluring intimacy that seemed almost subconscious, like an unguarded secret slipping through the cracks of his restraint.

It was all so subtle. So minuscule. Yet you had learned to perceive the nuances that eluded others. You had trained yourself to decipher the spaces between his silences, to hear the echoes of what was unsaid. And so, you told yourself that perhaps, just perhaps, he felt the same amount of endearment about you as you did about him.

To the world, you and Seunghyun were merely friends—close friends, undoubtedly, but friends nonetheless. You exchanged teasing remarks during interviews, stood within a breath’s distance during collaborative performances between yourself and the group, allowed the atmosphere between you to shimmer with a tension that neither of you acknowledged aloud. And yet, the line remained uncrossed. You never breached it, because Seunghyun never did. He remained fixed in the liminal space where something more could take root but never did, and so you followed his lead. You told yourself that this should be enough. That despite his silence, his actions should suffice.

Actions spoke louder than words, right?

Yet, in the quiet hours of the night, doubt seeped into the crevices of your certainty, relentless and insidious. For all his gestures, for all his proximity, he never truly allowed you beyond the carefully constructed façade. There was always an invisible barrier, an impassable threshold just beyond the precipice of something deeper. A silence where a confession might have dwelled.

What you were unaware of was that he was ensnared in his own self-imposed restraint.

Seunghyun believed that you perceived him only as the polished veneer he presented to the world—the effortless wit, the practiced charm, the understated warmth that drew people in—and that was the “him” you wanted. He was convinced that if you were to see beyond it, if you were to glimpse the depths of him that he had spent years concealing, you would come to the inevitable conclusion: that he was not enough. That the light in your eyes when you looked at him would dim with recognition, that the effortless way you fit into his life would unravel, leaving only distance where there was once closeness.

Thus, he chose inaction. He allowed the moments to slip past, permitted his own heart to bear the weight of unspoken truths, convinced that this was the only path he could take. That preserving the illusion was preferable to the risk of watching it fracture.

He never realised that you would never see what he saw. That the flaws he feared were mere phantoms of his own making. That if only he had dared to reach out, to let himself believe, you would have been there, unwavering, waiting, with upmost loyalty and love.

The moment after your most recent show was one of those intoxicating in-betweens, when adrenaline still hummed beneath your skin and exhaustion had not yet dulled the edges of your excitement. You turned to Seunghyun, breathless, a grin stretching wide across your face.

"You were incredible tonight," you said, your voice tinged with unrestrained admiration. "That part in your second verse? The way you delivered it? Absolutely insane. I don't know how you manage to make it look effortless and cool every single time."

Seunghyun chuckled, a deep, reverberating sound that curled around you like warmth, adding to your post-exertion heat. "Coming from you? That means everything to me," he murmured, reaching out in an absentminded gesture to fix a strand of hair that had fallen into your face. His fingers barely brushed your skin, but the gesture was enough to make your heart stutter in its rhythm and for your eyes to widen.

The exchange lasted only moments, but the weight of it lingered. And when he walked away, the remaining members of BigBang wasted no time closing in on you.

"You know he's never going to make the first move, right?" Jiyong said, arms crossed as he leaned against the wall. His tone was not unkind, but it was firm, laced with something like exasperation.

"He's terrified of losing you," Daesung added, his expression softer. "That's why he hesitates. He thinks if he speaks it aloud, he'll ruin everything."

"And you?" Youngbae’s voice cut through the haze. "Are you going to keep waiting? Or are you finally going to do something about it?"

You swallowed, fingers curling into fists at your sides. "I... I have a feeling he might feel the same way?" you admitted, though uncertainty still gnawed at the edges of your confidence. "But I'm not completely sure. What if it's just so that I'll be on his good side? To keep up the stage chemistry?"

"He absolutely does feel for you, don't overthink that," Daesung said without hesitation. "Trust us. He's a subtle guy, but this is the most obvious he's ever been with anyone."

"Honestly, it's almost exhausting watching you both dance around it, everyone knows something is going on," Jiyong placed his hand on your shoulder, "It's tiring watching you guys practically edge each other. Tell him. Soon."

And with that, you decided to make the first move.

The studio was dimly lit, shadows stretching long against the walls. Seunghyun sat hunched over his notebook, scribbling absently, the furrow between his brows deepening with thought. You hesitated in the doorway, nerves coiling tight in your stomach.

"Hey," you greeted, your voice steadier than you felt.

He glanced up, offering you a tired but genuine smile. "Hey. What are you doing here so late?"

You swallowed against the tightness in your throat. "This isn't easy for me to admit," you began, heart hammering. "I really like you, like, like you, so would you want to go out for dinner sometime? Just us? There's a nice place near here I want to try."

Seunghyun froze, pen stilling against the paper. His expression shifted, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes before he let out a soft, almost disbelieving laugh. "That's funny," he said. "You almost had me there."

You could feel your heart drop to your stomach, "I... I'm serious, Seunghyun. I really do."

The humor drained from his face. He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "We can't do this," he said, the words cutting through you like a blade. "You think you want me, but you don't know me. Not really. You love the idea of me, not what I actually am."

Something in your chest cracked wide open. "I don't understand," you whispered, voice shaking.

"You will," he said, voice low and firm, his gaze averted. "One day, you'll realize that I was never what you thought I was. And when that day comes you'll regret ever speaking to me in the first place, so it'll hurt a lot less if you walk away now. Leave."

Tears blurred your vision, but you refused to let them fall until you were out of his sight. You turned on your heel, leaving before he could take it back, before he could say anything else that might shatter what little composure you had left.

And Seunghyun? The moment the door slammed shut behind you, he cursed under his breath, slamming his fists against the desk. "What the hell is wrong with me?" he muttered, hating himself more than he ever had before.

Time passed, and on stage, you remained flawless. But behind the scenes, everything was unraveling.

The performances continued, a seamless illusion of perfection. Under the glare of the stage lights, your voice never wavered, your smile never faltered. The chemistry you shared with Seunghyun—the unspoken synchrony, the effortless push and pull—was still there, almost muscle memory at this point. To the audience, nothing had changed. To them, you were still the same pair, the same magnetic presence that blurred the line between friendship and something more.

But offstage? Everything was different.

The spaces where laughter once existed between you were now filled with silence. Seunghyun was distant, retreating into himself in a way that felt deliberate, like he was trying to make himself untouchable. His words were clipped, his touches absent. He recoiled before you could have an attempt make contact, not that you wanted to anyway. He was not cruel, not outright, but the coldness was worse than cruelty. It was calculated. A punishment. A severing.

And you were exhausted.

You tried to pretend you were okay, that you were left unfazed, that the dull ache in your chest was not growing heavier with each passing day, that it was not breaking you to stand beside him, knowing what you had lost before you could properly have it. But it showed. In the way your spark seemed to have dimmed, in the way your laughter was a little less bright, in the way you withdrew from the others when they tried to reach you.

And the others noticed.

It was Jiyong who came up with the idea to confront him.

The dressing room was empty aside from the other three members of BigBang and Seunghyun, who sat with his head in his hands, his entire posture weighted with something unspoken. But Jiyong had never been one for silence.

“What the hell did you do?” His voice was sharp, cutting through the thick air. There was no humor in it, no playfulness—just barely restrained frustration.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Seunghyun's voice was sharp, dismissive.

But Jiyong was sharper, "Don't start with me,"

Seunghyun's head remained lowered. “Don’t you start with me.”

Daesung scoffed from the corner, arms crossed tightly over his chest. “No, actually, we will start with you. Because whatever you said to her? It wrecked her.”

Seunghyun clenched his jaw. “She’s fine.”

“She’s not,” Youngbae interjected, his voice quieter but no less firm. “She’s pretending to be, but she’s not. And if you weren’t so determined to keep your head buried in your own self-loathing, you’d see it.”

Silence stretched, thick and suffocating.

“She would often talk to us about how she wanted to be with you so badly,” Jiyong said, softer this time, the anger giving way to something closer to disappointment. “And you just let her go. No, worse—you pushed her away.”

Seunghyun exhaled harshly, dragging a hand over his face. He wanted to tell them they were wrong, that this was for the best. That you deserved better. But the weight in his chest told him otherwise.

Jiyong sighed, standing up. “Whatever you think you’re doing, it’s not working. And if you don’t fix this, you’re going to regret it. Be a man.”

And with that, they left him alone with his thoughts, his inner turmoil clawing at his chest, creating deep cavities of regret and self exasperation beneath his ribcage.

Hours later, Seunghyun found himself outside your door, heart pounding so hard it hurt. He had no plan, no perfect words to undo the damage he had inflicted. But he knew one thing: he could not let you keep thinking you had been wrong to love him.

He knocked, once, twice, and when the door opened, the sight of you knocked the breath from his lungs. You looked exhausted, emotionally drained, but still—still so achingly beautiful it made his heart twist painfully in his chest.

“What are you doing here?” Your voice was wary, guarded.

“I fucked up,” he admitted, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. “I thought I was doing the right thing, but all I did was hurt you. The truth is, I feel the same love for you as you for me, if not more. But I believed that if I opened up fully, you wouldn’t like the real me, so my walls instinctively went up, and they hurt you in the process. And that’s the last thing I ever really wanted. I'm really sorry.”

You swallowed hard, but your words remained inside. He took a step closer, hesitating before reaching out, his fingers barely brushing your wrist—just enough to feel the warmth of your skin, just enough to let you pull away if you wanted to.

You remained still.

“If you’ll have me,” he murmured, voice rough with emotion, “I promise I’ll treat you right this time.”

You hesitated, eyes searching his face for something—sincerity, regret, hope. Whatever you found there must have been enough, because your breath hitched, and in a voice barely above a whisper, you said, “You hurt me so badly, Seunghyun.”

“I know,” he whispered back. “And I’ll spend forever making it up to you, if you let me.”

For a moment, neither of you moved. Then, slowly, you stepped forward, collapsing against his warm chest, where you could feel his heart pacing at a million beats per minute. His arms wrapped around you immediately, holding you with a desperation that felt like he was terrified you might slip through his fingers again. And then, finally, after everything, he tilted his head down, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss that felt like both an apology and a promise. It was soft, his way of nonverbally pouring each and every ounce of love into you.

And this time, the only way he would let you go is if the heavens themselves came down to tear him out of your warm embrace.

The days that followed were soft, warm in a way that neither of you had allowed yourselves to believe in before.

Seunghyun had always been gentle with you, but now, there was no hesitation, no reluctance in the way he touched you. His fingers found yours easily, threading together as though he had been made to hold you. He would tuck you against his side without thought, his head resting against yours as if your closeness was something he had starved for.

One evening, curled up together in the quiet safety of his home, he traced slow patterns over the back of your hand, watching the way your fingers twitched beneath his touch. “I should have done this sooner,” he murmured, voice low and warm.

You tilted your head up to look at him, the soft glow of the lamps casting shadows across his face. “Done what?”

“This,” he breathed, bringing your knuckles to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss there. “Loved you the way you deserved from the start.”

Your heart stuttered, a slow, blooming warmth unfurling in your chest.

“You have all the time in the world to make it up to me,” you whispered, "The rest of our lives."

And when he smiled— a soft, real, unguarded smile—you knew he already was planning to.

thank u for allowing me to participate in the challenge! it was so fun i would love to do more challenges or similar stuff like this in the future ☆

here are the usernames of the other accounts participating in this challenge! show them some love :D @loveesiren @bluesunss, @berfgrimm @eru-vande @sevendaysummer @gdinthehouseee @infinetlyforgotten @petersasteria @currentloser @makeitworse @wcnderlnds @ldydeath

regular taglist (ask to be added): @floofeh-purpi @breakmeoff @aizshallnotbefound @sherrayyyyy @ricecake9999 @leni111 @burlesquerade @scream-queen-25 @spiritualgirly444 @fairyprincesslvr21 @loonybunny1 @uuchii

[halkyona]

FOR ALL YOUR ATTENTION

tsu’tey x gn!reader

includes: na’vi!reader. mate tsu’tey. teasing reader. tsu’tey is literally whipped. probably ooc oh well. suggestive. re-upload.

If there is one thing you know about Tsu’tey, it is that he is attentive. Whether that be in the sense of categorizing and keeping tabs on his people, or the doting he does on those he holds dear in private; he is always watching, waiting, basking in the shadows to make sure he knows every detail. You think it partially to be his position as future Olo’eyktan that makes him that way. But you also know it to be just how he is in nature—even if he’d struggle to openly admit that. 

A fatal flaw on his part, maybe. The way he is so devoted to the lives of those around him; how he is so willing to double stack his duties to take care of the needs of his people. Bearing more stress and burden than he should (or more inside knowledge than he has any right to know) because he is simply so keen on ensuring he is not out of the loop with anyone, ever. 

He’s being attentive even now, at this very moment. If that is what you could call spying on Jake and Neytiri from his perch of raised tree roots, partially shielded by the overgrown flora in front of him. It is sweet and terribly endearing how he cares for her, loves her; his want to protect knows no limits. 

Someone else might stir up a smidgen of jealousy at that, but not you. See, even if he had been betrothed to her, you’re conscious of what resides in his heart; what always has. You know that his feelings never crossed that one fine line, no matter how much he’d try to pretend that they did. How much he was willing to sacrifice for the sake of his clan to have strong leaders—willing leaders. It’s commendable. 

Such an admirable act of a man of his caliber, one must admit. 

And it isn’t that he does not trust Jake—because if asked he would have to be honest and begrudgingly attest that he has grown quite fond of the uniltìranyu—but he is just.. wary. Rightfully so. That is a well suited sentiment for these types of situations. Relationships with tawtute, no matter how docile and complaisant they may seem, should always be handled with a lingering sense of fragility. So you understand his urge to leer, his need to observe when he is alone with one of your people. 

It doesn’t mean you don’t find it the slightest bit amusing, though. How he’ll stress and strain over maintaining glimpses. Hearing him scoff when you tease of his meddling is humorous. You enjoy getting to tug on his leg. 

“You are lurking again,” you state, stepping up beside Tsu’tey’s still form on the root, peering through the clearing of brush right along with him. 

And he must have been far more engrossed in his couple watching than you thought (it’s not like you were trying to sneak up on him after all, your steps were not even close to quiet) because he flinches the tiniest, minute bit at the sound of your voice. His head snaps to you and you turn your own to meet his gaze. 

“I am not lurking,” he rebuts, lips dipping downward in a scowl. You can tell he wants to roll his eyes just by the tone of his voice, but he won’t. He’s aware that that gives you satisfaction. 

Little does he know you get satisfaction from that fact alone. 

“Ah, right. Then what would you choose to call this? Spying?” You tip your head, a seemingly innocent gesture but it is nothing of the sort. Playing Tsu’tey is quite effortless when the dice fall into your practiced hands so routinely. “Snooping?”

“That is—” Absurd? Foolish? Whatever word was going to punctuate the end of his sentence dies before it reaches the tip of his tongue. His mouth screws up for a moment, along with the ridges of his brows, and you can tell something about him that is so painfully easy to pick up on. “I do not snoop.”

“Sure you don’t.” 

Your words tilt with a shrug of your shoulders, the leveling of your head. Swiveling back around to look through the brush once again, you have to bite your cheek to fight the smile threatening your lips as Tsu’tey still stays locked on you. It’s a pleasing feeling, knowing you have riled him up so much in less than a minute.

“I do not snoop. Nor do I spy.” He reiterates, says it with authority now. In the same stern voice he uses to talk to the children of the clan and warn them about venturing too far into the depths of the forest without parental supervision. But you are an excessive amount of familiar with him for it to work on you; for it to sway you in the slightest.

If anything it eggs you on. Maybe a small personality flaw; most definitely a little boorish of you. Nevertheless you enjoy it, you think you always will. Because you are the only one who gets to see Tsu'tey like this. Who gets to poke and preen and tease, without worrying if your head might end up on a pike afterwards. (Not that he could stomach ever doing such a thing without a monsoon of reasons, truly, because even behind his ostensibly permanent glower he is just a big hearted fool deep down). 

“I see,” you hum, and his gaze is still boring holes into the side of your skull, “Then you’re just nosy.”

“I am nothing of the sort.” And there it is, the scoff that always comes when you begin to make sport of his tendencies trailing after his detest. You’ve finally got him—successfully sunk your teeth into his throat and dragged him right into your claw toothed trap. 

“Great,” you denounce, then flick your gaze back to that of the agitated man beside you. “Then it will not matter to you to know that Jake and Neytiri snuck out of your sight five minutes ago.”

“What?” Head whirling, eyes shooting wide, he turns back instantly to his break in the brush to confirm your statement.

Your statement that was in fact laced in nothing but falsity and had the sole purpose of exposing him for just how intrusive he is; which worked like a charm, you must add. Jake and Neytiri are still there, of course. Still talking and collecting herbs like they were before. Still enjoying their innocent—albeit sickeningly flirtatious—time together. 

Tsu’tey whips back around to look at you, this time squaring his shoulders to glare at you properly.

“Wiya!” He hisses, but it holds no threat. Just his annoyance, the baseline of frustration. (Probably out of embarrassment for being caught, if the sharp flick of his tail is any indication at all). “What is it that you need?”

You consider him, hold his gaze. There are one of two ways you could go about this and you’re trying to decide which route would be the most entertaining. It becomes clear with each tick of his jaw what option you’re going to settle on, so you begin to pick up the puzzle pieces and place them down methodically. 

“Oh, nothing.” Shrugging as you lace your fingers behind your back, you count your breaths. “Was just seeing what you were up to.”

Tsu’tey, expectedly, does not waver still. “I am busy tending to things.”

“You mean spying?”

“No.”

“Hm.”

After your hum you let another pause take place. Another beat of silence between the two of you. There’s a faint rustling to your right and out of the corner of your eye you see Jake and Neytiri actually gathering their things to leave this time. You wonder if it’s because they heard the two of you or perhaps on their own whim. Regardless, you don’t miss the twitch of Tsu’tey’s ears as he picks up on it too. You’re almost certain his brows knit tighter together, if that is even possible. 

“What do you need, yawne?” He repeats himself, presses once more. 

Yet even on edge, his tongue strikes lovingly. How enthralling of him, how compelling. How can he expect you not to want to toy with him? When he is just so yielding? 

You shake your head. “Nothing.”

Another pass. The noises of the forest fill in your lull. 

“Well,” he huffs, straightening himself out. “If there is nothing you need then you should be going. Like I said, I am busy.”

And you’ve been plotting, scheming, for this perfect time to swing the hatchet down. Tsu’tey has set you up beautifully, honestly. It’s almost like he’s in on it himself. He should know better by now, you think.

“Right, you’re busy.” This time, your words drift off with a deep sigh. Shoulders rising up and dropping theatrically like they’re being controlled by a puppeteer's strings, you turn to leave the same way that you came. You mumble under your breath, but not low enough that the man in your presence cannot hear you as you take your first steps away, “Always so busy. Looking out for everyone. Leaving me be..”

Tsu’tey’s sharp intake of breath might be stifled, but you hear it without a single shred of strain. In less than a second wide strides are being made to close the short gap you’ve created between the two of you. And just as soon as they stop, the unreserved grip of a calloused hand is clutching onto the ridge of your hip bone, pivoting you back around to beset the (now slightly less annoyed) warrior before you.

“Leaving you be?” His voice is tainted with something endearing, something unfiltered. Concern flitters across his strong features and it’s riveting; telling. 

You’ve got him. Right in the palm of your hand. 

“Mhm.” Angling your chin with a nod you turn your eyes downward. Relaxing your shoulders into a defeated slump, posturing yourself to be despondent. “It’s fine, really. I know you are an important man. I should not expect your undivided attention.”

“My attention?” He quirks, and his hand is leaving your hip only to take place on your jaw. He tips your head up but you still keep your gaze averted. It is not time to give in yet. “You have all of my attention, always. Oeyä txe’lan, why would you believe that you do not?”

You bite your tongue. Attentive, heeding; earnest is his expression as he deciphers every twitch across your face. You’d think for a man that is so good at reading you he would be able to tell when you are presenting faux emotions. Yet it’s like his worriment outweighs his fluency of you.

Somehow that’s even more touching.

“Ma (Y/n),” he hearkens, veering into your line of sight until you’re forced to meet his gaze, now. The intensity of his focus has your stomach fluttering, your hands behind your back ringing together. Oh, how you love him. “Tell me, am I being neglectful of you? What is it I have failed to do?”

“I—” His thumb is rubbing against the plane of your jaw. The curve of his lips pushes them out in an adoring pout as he inspects every quiver and crease of your features. 

This was supposed to be a fun little game, one you are used to playing and one you are always in control of. So why does it suddenly feel like Tsu’tey has wiped the gameboard clean and tossed out all the cards? How has he flipped this on you, by simply cracking open his chest and laying his bleeding heart atop the deck? How has he become the game master, with a simple cradle of his palm and the dripping of devoted professions off his tongue?

How is this fair at all?

“Oeyä tìyawn.” My love, my heart; he holds you with such firm care like you are the very muscle that pumps life into his body. Like you are the very essence of his soul, all in all. Like you are his lifeblood—and aren’t you, really? “Do you crave for my attention? Have I not awarded you enough?”

“No.” It’s instant, no hesitation in your deliverance and, somehow, this is not about teasing your lover anymore. Your lungs burn, your internal clock ticks like the time frame of minutes has been cut short. “No, it is not enough.”

Contrition trickles down Tsu’tey’s face like watercolor pathos coating concern by the brush of your velvet tongue. His grip on your jaw softens, his free hand slides across the hollow of your throat until his fingertips bracket the braid encasing your kuru. He steps close; impossibly closer than he was until the beads of his neck piece scrape delicately against your sternum, until his breath fights to contrast the already growing warmth of your blood rushed cheeks. 

You swallow, but it is not enough to stomach the tension clawing up your ribcage. His forehead is just a mere breadth from yours, his nose twitching millimeters from your own. With his ears pressed back and his tail flicking lowly, he envelops every sense a Na’vi can use. 

He debilitates you, wholly and unquestionably. 

“Forgive me,” he presses, and his lips seal yours before you can respond. “Forgive me, paskalin,” he longs as he steals your breath once more, presses his thumb against your pulse point. “Ngaytxoa, Ma (Y/n). May you never want for my attention again. I will grant you anything to prove as such. What do you wish of me?”

“I wish…” It is tasking, trying to catch your breath. He is just so close and just so consuming and adhering. “I wish for you.”

“Me?” He ticks his head, drops a hand in order to slide it down to the base of your spine. “You have me, all of me. Do not be foolish and believe otherwise.”

You blink, regain yourself. Yes, you suppose he is right. You suppose you do have him—all of him—that his actions now prove to supplement that statement. So what is it you really want? What is it you crave of a man who has given you everything even if you bait that he does not? What is the desire that you harbor in your heart, that he has not already graced you with forthright, at the any shallow utterance you muster?

“The day,” you wager, “Spend the rest of this day with me.”

Tsu’tey’s lips cinch to the side for a moment—his duties listing off on the blackboard of his mind, you are sure—but a moment is all he tenses before his foundation gives. He nods, cleaves to your wish. 

“Of course. What would you plan? A hunt? A harvest?”

A fang hooks the corner of your lip and you shake your head. So willing to heed to you but it is not quite right, not quite on script. He has mistaken your petition for something far more innocent than you thought he would; but you suppose you cannot fault the conservativeness of a warrior that holds such merit as he. 

“You mistake me,” you correct, snaking your hands up until they reside over the ridges of his protruding collarbones. “I wish to spend the day with you. Alone. As my mate. Doing that of which only mates are permitted.”

At this, Tsu’tey’s ears flicker; his pupils expand against his will and you take that as your sign of agreement before he even murmurs as such. And his compliance does not run verbal—not fully—other than a gruff rumble of his chest as the hand on his spine drifts to drag against the back of your thigh and hoist you up. Instinctive is the way your legs find themselves winding around his cinched waist. The woven ridges of his cummerbund brush against the insides of your thighs, and it is not an unfamiliar feeling.

Funny, how as lips sear against your own, drift and smear along your jaw and down the curve of your throat until they find refuge on your pulsepoint at which his thumb now retreats, you feel far more innocent than tainted. Perhaps love does that to someone; hides guilt or shame and breeds only purity. Perhaps attention can surely prove to be a cure all, in certain sentiments. 

Whatever it is, you embrace it fully and relish in it with all of your being.

And maybe it distracts you, just slightly, because your tongue grows dangerously loose as you give up your will. You really do prove to be your own betrayer, truly.

“Sau,” you sigh as you tip your head to the side to allow virtuous lips room to roam, “I should tempt you with plight more often.”

Kisses halt and hands tighten where they grip onto you. You realize your mistake just as soon as the last word rolls off your tongue, but you cannot swallow down things already spoken. Fingers still sifted into Tsu’tey’s braids, you peer down as he leans back enough to look up at you. 

“How kawng of you,” he aims, but he grants you no tell of expression.

“And even so?” You ponder, hum as you scratch the base of his scalp. “Will you revoke my request from me? Will you be so cruel as to deny me this?”

“Do not be foolish,” he hearkens, and something twinkles in his eyes as he says it—something twitches at the tilt of his lips. “You will have your day with me, just as you wish.”

“How merciful of you.” And you cannot help the simper that plays at your mouth. Even after fumbling, giving up your original position, you have still seemingly gotten your way. How delightful, this has proven to be.

But Tsu’tey’s fingers delve into the meat of your thigh with a little more pressure. His kisses find their way back to the juncture between your throat and jaw with a little more fervent. His tail brushes against your hooked ankles and you are not foreign to this rhythm of flicks.

“Do not deem me merciful yet, yawne,” he apprises with a nip of your skin. “You wish for my attention? I will grant it. But remember—”

A deep chuckle rumbles against your skin and the heat of his laugh has your stomach boiling with fire-licked butterflies. Your heart skitters, your inhales hitch before they slip out of your throat, as his lips find their way to the shell of your feverish ear. You find yourself bated, waiting, on whatever is to come.

“You asked for all of my attention. So now, you must take it.”

And if there is one thing you know about Tsu’tey, it is that he is attentive. And that is what you are banking on as he carries you further into the forest.

[moonlitstoriess]

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.

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.

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.

[isaacarellanesismyhusband]

why not me?

pair: Percy Jackson x reader

summary: Percy is dating Annabeth but y/n(she/her) has been Percy's only best friend, besides Grover, and she's had a crush on him for years now, even before they knew he was a demigod

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❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿

You sit at the edge of the campfire, your knees pulled to your chest as you watch Percy and Annabeth laugh across from you. Grover's somewhere to your left, probably foraging for more marshmallows, but you’re too focused on them to care.

Percy’s smile is bright, his sea-green eyes crinkling at the corners, and every laugh he gives sends a pang through your chest. You’ve known him for years—long before either of you even knew what a demigod was. Before the monsters, the quests, the gods. When he was just Percy, your best friend who lived down the street, the one you could always count on.

Now he has Annabeth, and the "what ifs" and "why not me?" consume you every day.

You were there before all this started. The thought races through your mind as you absently twirl a blade of grass between your fingers. You knew him when he couldn’t even pass math, when his biggest worry was keeping his ADHD in check during class, when you two would spend hours at the park just talking. You were the one who stuck by him when the world didn’t make sense, but now, sitting across from him, you feel like a background character in your own life.

Annabeth is perfect, you think, your gaze flickering to her. Of course she is. Daughter of Athena. Smart, brave, beautiful. You can’t compete with that. You’ve tried to stop comparing yourself to her, but it’s impossible. Every time you see them together, you can’t help but notice how effortless it is for her. The way she fits into Percy’s life like she’s always belonged there. The way she’s everything you’re not.

You glance down at your hands. What did she have that you didn’t? She was brilliant. Fearless. Meanwhile, you’re just... you. Ordinary, human, flawed in all the ways Annabeth is perfect. You don’t have godly parents, you don’t have that kind of courage. No matter how hard you try, you’ll always feel like you’re not enough.

“Hey, Y/N, you good?”

Percy's voice pulls you from your thoughts, and you look up to find his concerned eyes on you. Your heart skips a beat at the way he’s looking at you, but it also aches because he’s not really seeing you. Not in the way you want him to.

You force a smile, the same one you’ve been using for years now. “Yeah, of course. Just tired.”

Annabeth throws you a glance, and for a moment, you wonder if she can tell. You’ve gotten good at pretending—pretending you’re happy for them, pretending it doesn’t hurt every time you see them hold hands, pretending you don’t lie awake at night asking yourself why you weren’t enough.

Percy gives you a soft grin, one that you’ve seen a million times before but never get tired of. "You sure? You’ve been quiet tonight."

Quiet. Right. You’ve been biting your tongue so hard lately it’s a wonder you can still speak around him. You nod, your throat tight. “I’m fine, Percy. Really.”

He shrugs, seemingly satisfied, before turning his attention back to Annabeth. And just like that, the moment is gone. You’re invisible again.

As you watch them talk, your mind drifts to all the times you’ve wondered if things would’ve been different if you’d just spoken up sooner. If you’d told Percy how you felt before he and Annabeth got together, would he have seen you then? Would he have realized that you were always the one who stood by his side, that you loved him long before he was the son of Poseidon, long before any of this?

Or maybe you were just never meant to be more than the best friend. Maybe that’s your role, and you were foolish to think you could ever be anything else.

You hear Annabeth laugh at something Percy says, and it twists in your gut like a knife. She doesn’t even have to try, does she? Everything comes naturally to her—the love, the adventure, the destiny. And here you are, desperately trying to keep your smile intact, trying not to let the cracks show.

Why not me? The question echoes in your head again, louder this time. What does she have that I don’t?

You hate that you’re thinking this way. Annabeth doesn’t deserve your jealousy—she’s never been anything but kind to you. She’s never treated you like you were lesser, but that’s how you feel, anyway. Less than her. Less than what Percy deserves.

You swallow the bitterness building in your chest and stand up abruptly. “I think I’m gonna head to bed,” you say, keeping your voice as steady as you can.

Grover has finally returned with the marshmallows, and he offers you a confused look, his hand halfway to the fire. “But we haven’t even started roasting yet!”

You force a smile. “I’m just really tired. I’ll see you guys in the morning.”

Percy frowns again, but he doesn’t press. “Alright. Night, Y/N.”

“Goodnight.” You turn away quickly, before the tears in your eyes can betray you.

As you walk toward your cabin, the weight of it all crushes down on you. The laughter behind you fades, but the pain doesn’t. You bite your lip, trying to hold back the flood of emotions that’s threatening to spill over.

You wonder how long you’ll be able to keep pretending, how long you can keep wearing this mask. How long before Percy realizes the truth?

But then again, maybe he never will. Maybe you’ll spend the rest of your life standing in the shadows, loving him from a distance, wishing things were different.

[burntheedges]

Pas de Deux Chapter 5

Din Djarin x f!reader | 2.9k | fic masterlist | main masterlist | ao3

chapter summary: It's time for the first mixed program of the spring schedule, and so it's finally time to see Din perform.

a/n: Thank you everyone for your lovely comments on the last chapter. Everything still feels pretty shitty but being part of this community does not! See my notes at the end and on the masterlist about reader in this fic and ballet in general. Thank you @katareyoudrilling for being the best beta, as always!!

chapter tags/warnings: gen, ballet terms (see end notes and the masterlist for definitions and videos), a bit more angst (sorry), but we also have fluff

Chapter 5

In stark contrast to that disaster of a rehearsal, your performance in the January program went well. The first night had its usual jitters, but even so, you felt proud of the performance you and the others put on. And Jee had been excited and full of praise, with only a couple of notes about the choreography, which made you more excited for the next performance.

On Friday, though, you had a small costume malfunction, and so you were busy getting stuck with pins and missed Din’s solo. You heard the music from La Bayadère start and cursed — you knew you wouldn’t be back in time.

On Saturday, you saw it. You saw him.

You were standing in the wings, huddled with Adrian and a small group of dancers when Din’s music began. Everyone backstage quieted as soon as the orchestra began. He was wearing a sort-of doublet and white tights that screamed classical ballet. He started in the wings just in front of you and you watched the line of his neck and back as he walked calmly onto the stage.

You knew Talia had chosen three of Solor’s variations from different versions of the ballet. She had Din moving off stage and back on to continue with the three solos that usually appeared at different moments throughout the long performance. Three demanding solos, all in a row.

The music swelled and Din swept his arm upward and, from his first movement, he stole your breath away. Your eyes followed the sheer height of his jumps, the beautiful lines of his extensions. You couldn’t help but marvel at the perfection of his technique, the absolute ease of his movements. You watched the flex of his muscles and wondered at his strength. He made everything look effortless. He had such control, but none of that showed — his face was calm, expression serene. 

You tightened your hold on Adrian’s hand.

Din dipped into the wings and back out for the second variation, and you felt someone next to you suck in a sharp breath when Din launched himself into the air into a double saut de basque in attitude followed by a revoltade. How did he look so weightless?

Talia had been right — this was the perfect way to showcase the absolute phenomenon that was Din Djarin. His strength, his precision, his control, his power, his grace: all of it was on display. 

In the third variation, you assumed he must have been tired. But he soared through multiple double assemblé turns with such ease, it looked like he was floating. 

When he fell into his final pose, the audience lost their minds.

You looked at Adrian, and he looked at you, eyebrows high. 

“That was insane,” Adrian whispered, and you nodded. “I knew he was good, but oh my god.”

You agreed. And you couldn’t help but start to worry, again, about the pas de deux. How were you supposed to partner someone who danced like that? 

…

You worried over that question so much over the next few days that the words started to feel meaningless in your mind. You found yourself waking up too early, too anxious to sleep. It was only a matter of time before that started to show in your dancing. 

In class you didn’t look at Din. You knew you were letting this grow into something in your mind that it probably wasn’t, but you couldn’t get a handle on it. You’d been through this before — moments where all you could see were your own flaws — but none of the tricks you’d learned over the years to claw your way out of it were working this time.

By Thursday, you were so anxious about the entire thing that it must have shown on your face, or in your body. Adrian took one look at you after morning class and pulled you into the smaller, sad break room (with the couch everyone hated) to make you breathe with him until you calmed down.

“Look at me,” he said after you’d taken several deep breaths in unison, squeezing your hand. “You can do this. One practice isn’t enough to make or break anything, you know that. You’ve been there before.”

You nodded, closing your eyes and clutching his hand with both of yours. 

“He’s good, we’ve all seen it. But so are you.” Adrian’s voice was firm and you tried to believe it, too. “And you know Kuiil picked you for a reason. Think about it — Din Djarin has never danced anything remotely like this choreography. On Saturday he was doing what he’s best at, and of course it was freaking amazing. But you’re better at this.”

He was right. You let that truth of it settle somewhere in your chest. You felt at home in more contemporary ballet choreography, and to your knowledge Din had never so much as tried it. Concordia would never even consider it, that much was definitely true.

“You can do both, you know? I bet that was part of it. Casting someone who could show him how to let go of what he knows. He isn’t going to be the only person in that room who’s an expert on something.”

You took a deep breath and opened your eyes. When you met Adrian’s gaze, he smiled. “There you are. You ready?”

You nodded. “I can do this.” You couldn’t let yourself get in your head like that. You knew better.

“Hell yeah, you can. Come on.” He stood and tugged you to your feet, and then grabbed your shoulders. “Go fucking blow him away, ok? I know you can.” He shook you a little, and you laughed.

“Ok! Ok. I can do this.”

…

You tried to let that run through your mind like a mantra as you stepped into the small rehearsal studio. You can do this. 

Kuiil and Din were standing by the sound equipment again. As always, Din was wearing black tights, black sweats cut off at the knees, and a tight, long-sleeve black shirt. You pointedly did not let your eyes linger on the line of his shoulders.

“Come in, my dear. We are going to start with something different today.”

You tried not to wince as Kuiil beckoned you forward, remembering the disaster of the week before.

“Today I will give each of you part of your solo pieces for the start, and I would like you to watch each other as you learn and begin to practice them.” He looked at each of you in turn as you nodded. “I want you to pay attention to each other. How do your bodies move as you learn? How do you come to inhabit the movement? How do you each make it your own?” He gestured between you. “As you know, after these moments, you will encounter each other on stage for the first time. Think about what that would feel like, as you watch each other today.”

You nodded again, frowning a little as you tried to work out what he wanted from you. To watch, to observe? To notice something new? To watch as if you’d never seen before? You supposed you could only watch and try and see what you found. 

“Let us begin.”

He started with you. It was only a few counts of 8, a few moments following the wandering path of the violin in the music. What he gave you was very bare bones — you knew, from working with him in the past, that he sometimes wanted you to find your own way to connect things together. Kuiil always wanted his dancers to put themselves into his choreography.

You realized, after he had shown you everything he wanted to, that you hadn’t even looked or spared a thought for Din as you focused on the steps and the music. You were feeling better, more confident, focusing on choreography that played to your own strengths as a dancer.

“Good. Now, give it a try with the music a couple of times, and then I will show Din how he will begin. Do not be afraid to try different things as you let the movements settle.”

You nodded and took up the first position he’d shown you, arms extended a bit behind you. He started the music and you moved, finding your way through the moments Kuiil wanted in this brief part of the first movement. You let yourself sink into the music and the choreography, trying to feel it more than think about it. You whipped through turns and flicked your leg, almost smiling when your développé was timed perfectly to the music. There were moments that felt more awkward, moments you knew you’d need to work on, but overall you felt the weight in your chest lighten as you danced. You can do this.

Kuiil stopped the music just after you found the final position, and you sucked in a deep breath as you relaxed out of it and turned to look at him. 

“Very well done, my dear. I can see the shape of it forming. One more time, and then we will switch. Try to smooth out that transition into the turn.” You nodded, but your curiosity got the better of you and you darted a glance to Din.

He was watching you intently, which you supposed was only following Kuiil’s directions. But for once his face wasn’t expressionless.

Din was smiling. It was a small thing, barely there, but it took your breath away.

…

Adrian was waiting for you after your rehearsal, and for once you were out the door and down the hall before Din.

“So?” He raised his eyebrows at you as he tucked his arm through yours, leading you down the hall to your rehearsal for the February mixed program. You were both in the same piece, for once, a collaboration between Jee and Vince. “How did it go?”

You told him all about it, about the way Kuiil had split the time between you. “Maybe he realized we need to get used to each other first? But we didn’t really do a lot of that, we didn’t even talk to each other much.”

“But you look like you feel better about it.”

You nodded. “Yeah, I mean, I got to do what I’m good at.”

“Hmm.” Adrian looked thoughtful. “I think that makes sense, though. Letting you learn about each other’s style.”

You shrugged. “Well, maybe. I guess we’ll see next time. But Adrian… he smiled at me.”

“Who, Kuiil?”

“No,” you almost whispered, glancing around the hall. “Din.”

Adrian’s jaw dropped as you led him through the door for your second rehearsal. “What,” he hissed, but there wasn’t time for him to ask you for more details. You put it out of your mind. You had to focus on the dance in front of you, anyway.

You took that motivation forward through your weekend and the next week of rehearsals. You had so many performances coming up — the February mixed program, Midsummer, and then after that, Swan Lake. And another mixed program in April. And Cinderella. You usually didn’t let yourself think that far ahead — you had so many rehearsals, and so much physical therapy, that you tried to focus on the next performance and maybe the one after. The ones that were right in front of you.

But it was a helpful distraction, for once, thinking through the rest of your season. 

You knew Din had joined the Balanchine ballet for the February mixed program, and you knew those rehearsals were heating up. So you barely saw him outside of morning classes, and you’d been trying not to watch him as much. You wondered, a bit, if you should try to talk to him again, but you weren’t sure what you’d say. Hey, let’s get to know each other so we can actually dance together? 

That one smile aside, he was still so closed off you weren’t sure how to bring yourself to try.

…

The Thursday of your third rehearsal with Kuiil arrived, and you moved quickly down the hallway, almost running — your rehearsal for Midsummer had gone long and you didn’t want to be late.

You turned the corner, moving quickly, and let out an “oomph” as you almost slammed into someone. You felt strong hands come up to steady you and once again blinked up to find Din looking down at you. His large hands were warm where they rested on your waist. 

“Shit,” you cursed. “Din, sorry, I was —” you took a deep breath. “Sorry. I was running late. Obviously.” 

His face was, of course, expressionless once more, but you could have sworn you saw the tiniest lift in the corner of his mouth as he looked at you. “It’s ok. I’m late, too.”

You smiled at him, hesitant, hoping to find that bit of ease you’d briefly had together before your rehearsals started. “Balanchine?”

He nodded. “Balanchine.”

You stepped back a bit and ignored the way it felt when his hands slid from your waist and brushed over your hips before falling by his sides. “How’s it going?”

Din fell into step beside you as you started to walk towards the small rehearsal studio where Kuiil would be waiting for you. “Good. They hadn’t rehearsed much when I started, so it was easier to step in and join one of the pairs.”

“Who have they paired you with?” Symphony in C featured four principal couples, and many of them had danced together for years at this point.

He nodded, seeming to understand your question. “Yuna. They hadn’t finalized that pairing yet, so it was easy to step in. And we didn’t do a ton of Balanchine at CBC, but I’ve danced the first before.”

That made sense. Yuna had just made principal this year, and had yet to form a strong connection with any of the others. You couldn’t imagine them breaking up the pairing of Mira and Diego, for example, or giving Din the adagio in the second movement, when he barely knew anyone yet. And that role, the pair featured in the first movement, was tough. It was perfect for him.

“Yuna’s great. She’s so good at partnering, too.” You could almost see Talia’s vision for them, in your mind — she and Din would dance beautifully together.

You’d arrived at your studio, but before you could step inside, Din said, “she said the same thing about you.”

You froze as Din moved past you into the studio. He had talked about you? With someone else? You stepped inside, in a bit of a daze, as you tried not to wonder what they’d talked about.

Later, during rehearsal, you clung to that positive moment in your mind, because it felt like the first rehearsal all over again. Kuill had you both run through the sections he’d shown you the week before and then returned to the moment you met on stage for the first time. But you could tell from the start that it hadn’t gotten better.

Somehow, it had gotten worse.

You’d lost count of how many times you’d tried it so far, but you took a deep breath as the music started. You started your pass across the floor, leaping into an attitude before rolling out of it. You were supposed to stand and find Din in front of you, except he wasn’t where you expected him to be, so it didn’t quite work. And then the moment passed. 

No matter how hard you tried, you and Din couldn’t seem to find each other at all, throughout the rehearsal. You had no idea why you couldn’t seem to connect with him. Were you feeling the music differently? He felt so distant from you, even standing only a few feet away. Your movements felt separate, like you were on two separate stages, rather than sharing one space together. 

You could feel the frustration begin to build from the base of your spine. You didn’t understand how you could have such an easy conversation with him in the hall and then hit this wall inside the studio, where it should have been easier to connect with him. It had never been this difficult for you to get to know another dancer before.

“Alright.” Kuiil stopped the music and you tried not to read into his tone. “That is enough for today. I know you have the mixed program this weekend. Focus on that, clear your minds, and next week we begin again.”

As you started to leave, feeling defeated, Kuiil called you back. You turned and saw Din hurry out the door in the mirror. You caught a glimpse of his expression as he did and realized he was frowning. Your own mouth turned down in response. 

“My dear, I can see that you are frustrated.” You nodded. As he’d said before, your body couldn’t lie. “I want you to think about something before our next practice. How did you learn to connect with other dancers on stage?”

You thought about it for a moment. “Through movement, I suppose. And interpreting the choreography together.”

Kuiil nodded. “How is it different, when you are performing different styles?”

You blinked. You suddenly understood where he was leading you. “In classical pieces, it’s more pre-defined. It’s constrained. The connection, I mean. And how we are able to express it.”

He nodded again. “Think about that, as you rehearse this week. And we will try again.”

…

prev | next

a/n: so 👀 how do you think the next one will go 👀🩰

Solor - this is a very difficult, technical role in a famous classical ballet, La Bayadère! Here’s a really long video of an almost complete performance by Sergei Polunin. The exact number of variations/solos that Solor has can vary by production but there could be as many as three, one per act, and I decided to make Din do all of them. Here’s one, two (and another one, and another, and another), and three with the double assembles. You may have noticed that the second variation can have a lot of different jumps in it – I stole the idea for the double saut de basque and revoltades (and another) from a couple places. I know I saw someone doing the double saut de basque in attitude where most of these men are doing a double saut de basque en dedans (both are in that video) but now I can’t find it.

Symphony in C - a very NYC Ballet piece choreographed by George Balanchine. It’s basically 100% focused on technique and it’s hard!! There are four principal couples featured in four movements. Din joins the first couple. Reader also mentioned the third. This is the sort of performance CBC would have been less likely to do, but it’s so technical and classical they would have added it to their repertoire to broaden it without moving from their classical stance. Here’s a recording of the whole thing from 1973.

Classical ballet - I’ve mentioned this before, but now I’ll say that not everyone would interpret classical ballet the same way. Din’s previous company was on the more strict end of the spectrum. We’ll learn more soon!

I know I've mentioned attitude before, but this time we also see a développé!

tag list coming in a reblog!

[belit0]

The Uchiha with a couple from the Yuki clan.

I don't remember who they were contemporary with (as a clan) when they still existed in numbers and before they were isolated, did they live during the same time as Madara and Izuna?

Madara

Madara had been taught that ice was weak—that fire, in its relentless hunger, would always consume it. But when (Y/N) stands before him, snowflakes swirling around her like ghostly whispers, he understands the flaw in that belief.

Her ice does not melt—it hardens, sharpens, cuts deeper than any flame ever could. She is the winter wind that never bows, the quiet snowfall before an avalanche. And Madara, for all his strength, finds himself captivated.

-I was taught that ice yields to fire,- he murmurs one evening, watching as frost creeps along his fingertips where she touches him. -You are proving me wrong.-

(Y/N) smiles, slow and knowing. -Then perhaps you should stop underestimating me, Madara.-

Izuna

-You have the coldest hands I’ve ever felt.-

Izuna complains about this constantly, especially when (Y/N) casually presses her palm to his bare back just to hear him yelp. It’s a game to her—one that infuriates him to no end. But the truth is, he loves it.

Because when she rests her fingers against his pulse, when her touch lingers along his jaw, he doesn’t mind the cold. If anything, it grounds him. Reminds him that she’s there, real, constant in a way that most things in his life are not.

-One day,- he teases, grabbing her wrist and pressing a kiss to her palm, -I’ll melt all this frost away.-

(Y/N) only smirks, pressing an icy fingertip to his lips. -You can try.-

Obito

Snowfall has always been something distant for Obito—a rarity, a fleeting thing that vanishes beneath the weight of the sun. But (Y/N) is snow that does not fade, winter that lingers, unyielding in her quiet strength.

He watches, entranced, as she forms delicate sculptures from ice, crafting shapes with effortless precision. It is beauty in its purest form, and he cannot look away.

-You’re staring again,- she murmurs, not looking up from her work.

Obito blinks, caught. -I can't really help it...-

Her lips curve, and just as he steps closer, a gust of snow swirls between them—her doing, of course. He groans.

-You're something else,- he mutters.

(Y/N) only laughs. -Yet you would choose me every single time.-

Shisui

-What do you mean you don’t get cold?-

Shisui is baffled, standing in the middle of a snowstorm while (Y/N) remains completely unbothered, arms crossed, unimpressed by his shivering.

-I grew up with this,- she says, raising a brow. -You, on the other hand, look like you’re about to die.-

Shisui grins through chattering teeth. -If I freeze to death, at least I’ll die looking at something beautiful.-

She rolls her eyes, but he sees the way her lips twitch. Good—he’s getting to her.

-Come here,- she sighs at last, stepping closer. With a single motion, she covers him with her coat, wrapping a layer of unexpected but desired warmth.

Shisui sighs in relief, grinning as he leans in. -So, does this mean you care about me?-

(Y/N) flicks a bit of ice at his nose. -It means you’re pathetic.-

And yet, she doesn’t let go.

Itachi

Itachi watches the way frost follows (Y/N)’s footsteps, the way ice bends to her will, silent and beautiful. There is something poetic about it—something that feels like it belongs in the pages of a story.

-You don’t mind the cold?- he asks one night as they stand outside, the world hushed beneath a blanket of white.

(Y/N) shakes her head. -No. Cold doesn’t bother me.-

Itachi is quiet for a moment. Then, -I will stay beside you, no matter how cold it gets.-

She turns to him, searching his gaze, reading the weight of his words. Slowly, she reaches for his hand, pressing it between hers, her cool touch sending a shiver down his spine.

-Then I will make sure you never freeze,- she whispers.

And Itachi, for the first time in a long while, believes it.

[barsformars]

jealousy

//

g - angst, comfort

p - seonghwa x reader

w.c - 929

t.w - reader is insecure and experiences some retroactive jealousy

a.n - it is tough, and ive been there, but insecurity really hurts both parties so! i try to keep that in mind

//

seonghwa notices the way your gaze on him changes through the few weeks you've been together. you used to look at him in awe, adoration and love but by the next week, the adoration have dimmed and by the following week, the awe have turned into envy. and the envy turned into furrowed eyebrows and heavy eyelids. seonghwa was afraid if he looked any further down he would see the corner of your lips twitch in displeasure. do you not love him anymore? has he become ugly in your eyes already?

"love?"

"yeah?" you replied half-heartedly as you stared at your reflection in the mirror, making a mental note of every flaw you had. worse still, you secretly compared yourself to his exes. it consumed every inch of you and haunted you every waking moment, compelling you to go onto their social media pages, zooming into every detail of them. what made their eyes so beautiful that seonghwa fell in love with them? what made their nose so cute that he wanted his kids to have it too? what made their lips so captivating that he wanted to make them smile all the time?

and why then, you? anyone close to seonghwa knows he has a type. it is one thing to be the ghost of someone else, but it is another to be the complete opposite of what he loves.

seonghwa waits for you to turn around but you don't, still too preoccupied with your thoughts to even give him a second of your time.

“love,” he said it louder this time, snapping you out of your self-hating mind, “can i have your attention please?”

you turn to look at your partner who was already under the blanket, skin all glowy from his night time routine, hair perfectly framing his chiseled face. how effortless. you were so consumed by his appearance that you don’t notice how sadness was gnawing at him.

seonghwa tries hard to phrase the words correctly in his head, because he doesn't want you to start detesting his heart too. but the silence in the room becomes too unbearable and the question escapes him before he could think twice.

"why do you look at me with so much disgust nowadays?"

your eyes widened in surprise. you didn’t realise you were being that transparent.

“i’m sorry, i-i love you…it’s just,” you blurted before quickly stopping. how do you explain yourself without sounding immature and nonsensical?

dejection has completely taken over your lover’s face as he tries to comprehend what you are going through. it’s hard to feel loved when you have turned so cold but as he is, there is always a small matchstick in seonghwa’s heart to keep it warm enough for others. he beckons you over to join him in bed, his arms wide open for you.

maybe it’s the guilt or ego that has you frozen in place, eyes glued to the floor as your brain tries to scramble possible ways to say it without sounding confrontational. but as they say, birds of a feather flock together and you speak your mind as seonghwa did.

“you wish i look like your exes, don’t you?”

seonghwa’s jaw is left agape at your question.

“i know, i know you love me because i’m smart and kind and funny all that yada yada yada,” you quickly followed up with an elaboration with the adjectives he usually described you with, “but my appearance is subpar, right?” you concluded on your own.

seonghwa don’t know who planted these seeds in your head because never once has any of those thoughts crossed his mind. sure, you did look pretty different from his past partners, but that was purely coincidence.

“love, just because my exes look kind of the same does not mean i only appreciate those physical traits,” seonghwa explained.

“of course you would say that,” you retorted, “and besides, you think im way below your league, right?”

seonghwa shook his head immediately, “if i truly thought that, why would i be with you?” at this point, he was already slowly making his way towards you, his indoor slippers shuffling against the wooden floor.

“i don’t know, and i’m perpl-“ as he stood in front of you, seonghwa reached out to cup your face in his slender hands, hushing you. his heart shatters when you shun him, intentionally or not, but he catches you nevertheless. gently lifting your head up to look at you, his shattered heart crumbles even more when a teardrop rolls down your cheek.

“love,” seonghwa calls out to you firmly this time. “why do you have such thoughts? how can i make you feel more loved?” even at moments like this, when you are accusing him on hurtful things, he could let slide and shift the focus on you. and you realise how stupid your thoughts have been.

the tears start gushing down and they don’t stop. “i’m sorry, i love you seonghwa…” he pulls you into his chest and pats your head lovingly. he heaved a sigh as he tries to patch up his own heart too. it really does hurt him to see you like this.

“my love, we all know that there are plenty of very attractive people out there in the world,” seonghwa said when you cooled down a little.

“however, there is a reason why you chose to be with me, and i chose to be with you. it’s not wrong to want to look better, and i appreciate it, but don’t ever doubt my feelings towards and for you.”

[section-chief-prentiss]

pretty isn't pretty

Summary: Your BAU coworkers throw you a surprise birthday party, but it triggers eating problems from your past. 

Pairing: Emily Prentiss/Reader

Word Count: 1889

TWs: disordered eating, body shaming, panic attacks 

Ao3

Your surprise 30th birthday party was scheduled the day before your birthday.

You’d never particularly enjoyed celebrating your birthday, for no other reason than you were less than comfortable being the center of attention. Having all eyes on you brought pressure and self-consciousness rather than joy. But when your girlfriend Emily asked for permission to plan something special for your 30th, you couldn’t exactly say no.

Ultimately, Emily made the mistake of asking Penelope for help with planning, and that’s when she came clean with you about the surprise party.

You were grateful for the heads-up—you’d never had a surprise party before and weren’t sure how you would’ve reacted under that pressure. But when you stood in front of the mirror, appraising your appearance, you debated making up an excuse to get out of going.

You’d decided on a short black dress that hugged your frame and simple black heels. The dress made you feel confident when you purchased it, but you hadn’t worn it out yet. Now, it felt like it was suffocating you and highlighting your every flaw. Your eyes ran over every imperfection, each appearing more glaring than the last.

“Ready, love?” Emily asked, stepping out of the bathroom and into the bedroom you shared.

Your heart stopped at the sight of your girlfriend. Her raven hair was curled, and she was wearing a tight red dress that took your breath away. You couldn’t help yourself—you found yourself envying her seemingly effortless confidence.

Even more so, when you saw the hopeful smile on her face, you knew you couldn’t back out.

“I’m not sure,” you said, squirming. “That this outfit is right. Do we have time if I change?”

Emily frowned. “We can be as late as you want; nothing starts without you. But are you sure? You look beautiful.”

You turned to the mirror again, as though her words were enough to make you change what you saw. Your heart sank when you realized they weren’t, but you also didn’t want to have to explain to your friends why you were late.

Forcing a smile, you turned back to Emily. “You’re right; let’s go.”

*** The ruse behind the surprise party was that you were dropping something off at Rossi’s that he’d left at the office, and you were supposed to be on your way to dinner with Emily. But even though you were prepared for what was waiting for you on the other side of the door, you couldn’t help yourself from clinging to Emily’s side.

You braced yourself as you approached the front door, hand in hand with Emily, and rang the bell.

“Come on in!” Rossi called from the other side of the door.

“Ready?” Emily whispered.

Not trusting your voice, you nodded.

Emily opened the door to reveal complete darkness. When she hit the light switch, the entire BAU jumped out and yelled, “Surprise!”

Despite knowing this was coming, you still jumped.

“Happy birthday, love,” Emily planted a kiss on your cheek.

“It’s not even my birthday yet,” you said, hoping you sounded surprised enough to fool a room full of profilers.

“That’s part of the surprise,” Penelope sang. “When Peaches told me we were planning a party for your birthday, I knew we had to go all out.”

You turned to Emily, who whispered, “Sorry.”

Well, that explained the extravagance, at least. You were grateful your girlfriend knew you well enough to warn you ahead of time.

Rossi’s house was almost unrecognizable. A fact that, based on the scowl Rossi couldn’t keep off his face for long, he wasn’t thrilled with. You threw an apologetic smile his way, and he winked in reply.

Streamers and balloons hung from the light fixtures and along the ceiling. You followed them into the kitchen, where a full bar and spread was waiting.

“Guys, this is too much,” you flushed.

Spencer stepped forward. “You know, by the time you’re 30—”

“Drink, Y/N?” Morgan interrupted.

You chuckled. “Please. Wine would be great.”

Hotch, JJ, and Rossi wished you a happy birthday on their way to the food. Emily, knowing what you needed, wasn’t far away.

Morgan handed you a Moscato and Emily a cabernet, which you took gratefully, before he made his way to the food as well.

“Can I get you a plate?” Emily asked, resting a hand on your lower back.

“Maybe in a bit,” you said, your appetite dissipating. You’d been unable to eat anything all day due to the nerves, which had caught up with you on the drive over. But now that you were here, the sight of food was enough to make you nauseous. “But you go ahead.”

Despite your insistence, Emily stayed by your side. Gradually, the group made their way out to the backyard, where string lights cascaded like rain.

“Penelope,” you breathed. “This is beautiful.”

Your friend blushed. “Oh, it’s nothing.”

“No, it wasn’t,” you argued.

“No, it wasn’t,” she agreed immediately with a giggle. “But it was worth it to see that look on your face.”

“Speaking of…” Emily said, sliding over to your side and nodding toward something behind you.

You turned to find Morgan and Hotch delicately balancing a three-tiered cake, lavishly decorated in pastel frosting and delicately placed flowers, with what you assumed were thirty candles lit at the top. All around you, your friends burst into a slightly off-tune rendition of “Happy birthday,” but all you could focus on was the pile of sugar beelining in your direction.

Hotch and Morgan set the cake down on the table nearest you, and you felt the blood drain from your face as you fought to keep a smile on it.

“Happy birthday to you…” The group sang, holding out the last note.

Your heart hammered in your chest, and you closed your eyes to fight the tears that were brimming in them, as you pretended to ponder your wish. When you felt composed enough, you opened them just enough to get a peek of where you were aiming and blew out the candles in one fell swoop.

Your friends erupted in cheers, and Hotch started plucking the candles out and placing them on a plate. Morgan picked up the knife and began cutting out slices for everyone, and you couldn’t take your eyes off the large slices he prepared.

Despite your best efforts, past comments from your mom rattled around your brain.

Are you going to eat all that?

You need to watch your figure.

No one will love you if you keep eating like that.

As if knowing your doubts and wanting to combat them, Emily reached out to hand you a piece of cake. “First piece for the birthday girl,” she sang, leaning over to kiss you on the cheek.

You glanced from the dessert to your girlfriend’s eyes, which were filled with love. But your heart hammered in your chest—what if it was just for show? What if your mom had been right all those years ago?

“Are you okay, love?” Emily lowered her voice so only you could hear.

No one will love you if you keep eating like that.

“I’m just not hungry,” you said, cursing your voice for shaking. “I had a late lunch today.”

Across the room, Spencer frowned. “Weren’t you guys supposed to be on your way to dinner?”

You clammed up. “Um, yes, but—”

“C’mon, Y/L/N, you can’t pass up at least one bite of your birthday cake,” Morgan teased.

Though you knew it came from a place of love, it felt like mounting pressure weighing on your shoulders. And with each passing moment, another one of your friends looked in your direction, and you couldn’t take the attention.

“I’ll be right back,” you whispered, pushing past Emily and back into the house.

Tears blurred your vision, and your chest felt like it was caving in. You weren’t sure how you were still breathing.

The first door you reached, which you were sure was a guest bathroom, you threw yourself inside it, only to discover a pile of coats waiting on the other side. You wiped your tears away to discover you’d thrown yourself in a closet, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

You collapsed to your knees, letting your emotions take over. What was wrong with you? Why couldn’t you enjoy the birthday party your friends threw for you without ruining it?

Why couldn’t you just eat the damn cake?

You cursed your mother, whom you’d stopped talking to the moment you turned 18 and moved out, for still holding such power over you and your inner thoughts. You knew what she said was wrong, but in moments like these, her voice was louder than your own rationale.

When the closet door cracked open, you clamped a hand over your sobbing mouth to muffle the sound. The last thing you needed was for anyone here to see you like this.

But it was Emily’s face that peered down at you. She slipped through the door and closed it behind her, taking the space next to you on the floor.

“What’s wrong, love?”

She offered you her arms and you collapsed in them, letting her embrace you.

“It’s my mom,” you hiccupped through your tears.

“Did she say something?” The instantly fierce, protective tone in your girlfriend’s voice filled your chest with warmth. Emily was no stranger to the issues with your mother, and faced similar issues with her own mom. It was one of the things that bonded you together at the beginning of your relationship.

“No, not recently. It’s just… things she’s said before all came rushing back. And the idea of eating that cake, with everyone staring at me, was just too much,” you whispered.

Emily cursed under her breath. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I should’ve thought about that before letting Pen plan this whole thing. Do you want to leave? I can sneak us out of here; you don’t need to see anyone else tonight if you don’t want to.”

You smiled into her shirt, your tears slowing. It was a tempting offer, but you knew what you needed to do.

“No. I can’t let her have that power over me. I just didn’t expect it all to bubble up like this.”

Emily rubbed circles on your back, and you focused on the sensation, letting your breathing return to a normal rhythm.

“Take as long as you need. We’re not in a hurry.”

You wanted to ensure you wouldn’t fall apart in front of your friends again, so you gave yourself a minute to collect yourself. Just as you were about ready, Emily whispered in your ear.

“Who would’ve thought? The two of us, back in the closet together.”

You coughed out a laugh, surprising yourself with it. Emily joined in and the two of you fell against each other, letting the giggles ride out. When you were ready, you kissed your girlfriend gently, and she helped you to your feet. She always knew what to say to make you laugh.

“I love you,” you said.

“I love you, too,” Emily replied, taking your hand. “You ready?”

“Yes. But if Spencer tries to make another comment about being 30, I might kill him.”

Emily squeezed your hand, kissing the back of it. “Don’t worry, I’ll help.”

[axkirak]

Special : Phantom Thread│(Qimir x Reader)

Remark : This one-shot is a special chapter from The Curse of Cassandra series. I recommend reading the main series first before reading this one.

Read in Ao3 : here

Pairings:  Qimir x f!reader(SEA Reader)  [The Acolyte]

Content Rating : Mature 18+  Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warning (AT YOUR OWN RISK)

tags/themes : Alternate Universe - Dune & Star wars, Partners in Crime, Strangers to Lovers

A/N : My mind’s still stuck on The Curse of Cassandra—I can’t move on, so I decided to write a special chapter LOL.

This one-shot is inspired by Movie Phantom Thread (2017) and the German folktale Tristan and Iseult, perfectly capturing Qimir and Reader’s toxic relationship—literally toxic, with actual toxin involved 😂

I originally planned a sweeter scene with Qimir caring for the reader during her pregnancy, but it felt too OOC for the dark tone of the series, so I made it a “love so intense it almost kills you” vibe (don’t worry, no one dies—just some playful activity, as couples do. 😏).Think of it as sweet revenge for what happened on Eiram.

Also, I realized my fic doesn’t delve into Qimir’s perspective much, so this chapter is all about his POV.

[Special I ] Phantom Thread

The beginnings of love are often effortless and swift, burning with passion. 

Yet sustaining a lasting, stable relationship is far more challenging—especially when both partners know each other's true nature so well, seeing both the qualities that attract and those that repel.

Sometimes, Qimir finds himself wondering where exactly he and you truly stand.

A tense silence fills the dining room as his gaze rests on you, seated across the wooden table. You offer a soft smile that feels strangely out of place, almost unsettling, considering how rarely you've looked him in the eye before. Most of the time, your demeanor is distant, as though lost in visions only you can see, speaking to him only when truly necessary, like when delivering a warning or sharing insights from what you've foreseen.

Even after Alia, their daughter, was born, the dynamic between you and Qimir remains unchanged. It hasn’t worsened, but it hasn’t grown any closer either.

Qimir understands that he can’t alter what is. He can’t make you open your heart or engage with him sincerely. Yet, coercion isn’t the answer—he’s already exerted enough control. Throughout your time together, he’s been the one in charge, while you simply complied and offered guidance. That was the arrangement set back on Eiram, and it continues even now.

But as time goes on, Qimir increasingly realizes that he’s never truly had control over you. You might appear to submit, but never willingly. Sometimes, you even show a quiet defiance in subtle ways, which he interprets as a form of retribution, rebellion—or perhaps even a kind of love, interwoven with resentment, a strange ritual in the flawed relationship between you both.

Strangely, he finds himself willing to accept it—for those rare moments you offer—a fleeting smile, a soft “I love you,” a kiss, an embrace. Even if it’s only temporary, even if it’s no more than a phantom.

Tonight, the dining table is filled with a variety of dishes you’ve prepared—herb soup, chicken sautéed with an unfamiliar ingredient, and other dishes unfamiliar to him. You explain they’re Fremen dishes, infused with spice.

Qimir does not favor spices, a fact you are well aware of.

He’s certain you’ve done it on purpose, with some intention in mind.

As if sensing his thoughts, you slide a single dish toward him—the only one without spice.

It’s Bocha.

You look at him expectantly, your once impassive gaze now bright with life, seemingly filled with affection—if it’s not just his imagination.

"I made this just for you," you say softly. “I thought you might need a break—a week of rest would do you good.”

It isn’t a suggestion, nor is it a command, but something he has no choice but to follow.

As he stares at the golden, crisp Bocha on his plate, an unpleasant memory resurfaces. You have made Bocha for him before, and his decision to eat it was his greatest mistake in years. Qimir did not expect that you had laced it with a sedative, in an attempt to escape him. He’d trusted you, and trusted himself too much, and the result was a painful betrayal.

But could he blame you for deceiving him when he himself had deceived you just as much?

“Do you trust me, my love?” you ask, as though you know exactly what’s on his mind.

Qimir meets your gaze, wanting to say 'no', but the words get stuck in his throat.

You know his weaknesses, his deepest desires, and you wield them against him. You call him “my love” in that soft, beguiling tone, gazing at him with warm, affectionate eyes. How could he possibly refuse?

He picks up the Bocha, his fingers pausing mid-motion. He doesn’t take a bite, his eyes fixed on your face. “Will you still be here when I wake up?” he asks, trying to mask the worry in his voice.

You shake your head in mild amusement before reaching out to take his hand. Your thumb begins tracing gentle circles in his palm—a gesture of comfort, perhaps even reassurance. "There's no sedative, Qimir," you assure him firmly. "And I could never leave you. You know that."

You’re telling the truth—about the fact that you cannot leave him and the absence of sedative in the boche.

Because he can smell and see it clearly: the boche is stuffed with Yellow Stainer[1]—a poisonous mushroom known to disrupt the digestive system, causing stomach pain, headaches, and nausea. It’s a torment that won’t kill him but is severe enough to leave him temporarily weak and vulnerable.

You prepared this just for him.

Qimir smiles, quiet admiration flickering in his heart.

Finally He’s met his true match—someone willing to bring him to his knees, not with weapons but with something far more powerful: love.

As Qimir takes a bite of the Bocha, savoring its intense flavor tinged with the sharp, inky bitterness of poisonous mushrooms, his thoughts drift to an ancient tale—Tristan and Iseult[2]. He once read it in the Jedi Temple’s library. For a fleeting moment, he envisions you as Iseult, standing before him with a chilling smile, offering Tristan—him—a goblet laced with poison as a reminder of their covenant of death.

Qimir closes his eyes and swallows the Bocha, unflinching, like Tristan drinking the poisoned goblet. Only later did Tristan discover it was not poison, but a love potion.

You watch Qimir intently, not blinking until he finishes every bite. Then, rising smoothly, you kneel beside him. Your lips brush softly against his rough cheek as you whisper words only he could ever understand:

"I want you flat on your back. Helpless, tender, open with only me to help. And then I want you strong again. You're not going to die. You might wish you're going to die, but you're not going to. You need to settle down a little"

Qimir chuckles softly, cupping your face with both hands. His voice is hoarse with fatigue as he pleads, “Kiss me, my girl, before I’m sick.”

Your smile grows, warm and faintly mischievous. Leaning closer, you kiss him passionately, deeply, just as he asked. Qimir pulls you closer, holding you tightly even as his body begins to weaken and sway. He knows it won’t be long before he collapses to the floor, writhing in agony, suffering that could last for days.

But for now, he wants to savor this brief sliver of happiness for as long as he can.

When the kiss finally ends, he rests his forehead against yours, savoring the quiet warmth that freezes time. He decides to speak the words he’s held in his heart for so long. “I love you.”

In this close proximity, your eyes reveal the depth of your feelings for him—feelings you’ve harbored for years. A blend of love and hate intertwined within you, reflected in a gaze he has never fully understood.

“I love you too,” you reply, your voice steady and calm, making it impossible to discern what truly lies behind it.

Qimir isn’t sure whether the bond between them is driven more by love or hate.

But he doesn’t mind, as long as you remain by his side and keep telling him you love him—whether it’s true or just a lie. It doesn’t matter.

Even if it means he must wretch and soon vomit from the Bocha, he accepts it willingly.

Footnotes:

[1] Yellow Stainer is a type of poisonous mushroom. It has a strong odor, similar to ink or iodine, and its effects are severe on the digestive system, causing nausea and vomiting when consumed.

[2] Tristan and Iseult is a famous medieval romance based on Celtic mythology. Tristan, a knight, is tasked with escorting Princess Iseult to marry his uncle, the king. The princess holds a personal grudge against Tristan, believing he killed her fiancé, so she gives him a poisoned drink. Unbeknownst to her, the poison is actually a love potion her mother had given her to use on the king. As a result, Tristan and Princess Iseult fall in love because of it, but their love ends tragically.

[lovestruckkkk]

A Puppet, An Ally, A Lover — The Emperor x Tav

Tags: basically just a draft but i decided to share, not proof read much, pretty fluffy and vanilla (sometimes garlic), tried to make the emperor as non ooc as possible, he/him pronouns for the Emperor, gender neutral tav, empy sends you a letter <3

Tav is either partially illithid or not illithid at all.

wordcount: 1297

also available on ao3!

"What was the true nature of your relationship with the Emperor?

Was he as manipulative as he could possibly be?

Or did he have at least some genuine feelings towards you?

Well. Time to reflect a little."

enjoy, loves 💓

The Emperor treasured your alliance, and your relationship, well. The two of you worked wonders in multiple ways - your human form, although still sometimes seen flawed by the Emperor, has been a great help when he, as a mind flayer, couldn't possibly accomplish the things that you can. That especially included working with people - his previous alliance with Stelmane led him to believe that being so open with his actions was dangerous. And when some people needed proper persuasion you came into the picture. Ever eloquent, ever successful. It felt as if, given enough time, the two of you could conquer the city. His city.

But while that was important, it wasn't the main thing.

You two enjoyed each other.

You weren't too quiet about your affection towards him, not like you could be anyway - he's a mind flayer, after all, - but it was much harder to sense his. He was ever-alert, wary of jumping to conclusions, but not blind to his own genuine caring for you. But yes of course, admitting it took a lot of time from his side. You were ready for that - it, well, comes with the package.

It took time, but the Emperor finally made peace with the fact that you didn't want a full-blown ceremorphosis. After all, there was no guarantee that you would remain your present self.

Yet it's hard to deny one's nature. You weren't exactly the prey, and he wasn't exactly the predator, but it was somewhere in the air. A distant thought, a tiny hint of something alarming in the back of your mind.

And maybe you were smitten, but you weren't stupid, you weren't naive. The Emperor could sense your light anxiety on the matter, he even brought it up in conversation, but you both knew no matter how honeyed his words are - the nature of your relationship is just... Is what it is.

Until you just trusted. For when you cannot know - you trust, right?

So you did. It took effort. It took strength. Forgiving him his past half-truths, discounting his manipulative nature. Believing that something within him actually feels something.

And yes, it's hard to deny one's nature. But possible.

At least to an extent. While The Emperor valued your presence, he couldn't stop being a creature that longs for finding new ways to hold the reigns. That's why you staying in your humanoid form took less time for him to make peace with. He knows an opportunity when he sees one.

But he was thankful for your trust. And he always showed you how he was feeling - except for those times when it was already obvious. He thanked you, he commented on your worries, he comforted you, he tried being more honest about what troubles him, too. Not as a part of manipulation, but as a part of securing an alliance.

But of course it all was deeper than just a stupid alliance.

You were lovers. You did your best to understand each other - it was easier for him to do, and harder for you. But you tried. You wanted to understand so bad. And what is it to love - if not to want to understand?

He saw it. All of it. And he was thankful. He repayed you for your efforts and always helped in indulging your curiosity. And he couldn't fight his rising affection towards you for long, - your genuine care swayed him easily, but gently - like autumn leaves carressed by gentle blow of the wind.

It was odd, to see how easy and effortless things became once you actually trusted each other. Odd because - how can two creatures that are so different turn out to be so alike? But all the pieces were falling into place. It felt natural, albeit actually being extravagantly unnatural.

You embraced it, both of you. And it didn't take long for your relationship to bloom into something invaluable. Something treasured. It was discreet, it wasn't loud, your care for each other felt like a sacred secret, yet when there were people around they always sensed it. Your affection had its own gravity field.

Well, of course it was different when someone wanted something from you. Or especially when someone went out of their way to hurt you.

As respectful and as aware of your talents as he were, the Emperor grew very impatient by the minute when someone wanted to harm you. It was happening more often as your relationship became deeper. He would unlikely ever admit it out loud, but he was possessive. You knew it. And... It felt nice.

And you were protective of him, too. You never let anyone, except those he trusted, find out his true identity. And never let anyone disrespect him for who he is. It was always that same feeling of building up rage that your Emperor had later always calmed down. He would say:

They don't understand. It's fine. Let them.

After all, no matter what they say about him, it could never undo all the precious moments you get to have together. Your conversations have always been interesting, you enjoyed how complex and deep his knowledge of things was. He enjoyed how open-minded and unorthodox your opinions and approaches were. You complimented each other perfectly. It's exactly why he is assured that the two of you are indestructible together.

The mental connection that you shared was also something absolutely remarkable. It feels like nothing would ever be able to sever it. You just knew each other. Inside and out.

And there's physical connection too, of course. It felt like an extension of how your minds connected - you touched each other in desperation, trying to find new ways to connect even more, to become one.

Few of your former companions understood your relationship with the Emperor. But, in his own words, you let them misunderstand. It was fine. They didn't have to get it.

At the reunion party that was so thoughtfully arranged by Withers, you were alone. But it did take about a tenday to get to the place, so your Emperor sent you a letter to greet you when you arrive. For you to read at the party. He knew you would miss him. And he was right of course. He missed you too.

"My beloved,

I hope this letter finds you well, and you've successfully reacquainted yourself with your former friends. Send them my regards. I am writing this letter about a few days since your departure - I hope the pigeons delivered it in one piece, knowing how troublesome they can be.

I do not particularly enjoy written form of communication, but given the distance between us, I will allow it. I must admit your absence is something I cannot shake off lightly - so I decided to write you this letter to remind you that I am patiently awaiting your return.

Things over here are in order. I am continuing my search for allies who could potentially help us restore The Knights of the Shield. I hope I will have better news and actual results to share upon your return.

Enjoy your time celebrating. You deserve it. And please remember I will always be waiting for you.

Unwaveringly yours,

The Emperor"

Oh, how you wished that he was here. He deserved it just as much. After everything he did for the lot of you, even if it was mainly because your interests simply aligned, he deserved to be here. But your companions could disagree.

Yet no matter how much you wished for him to be here, he's somewhere else. Right now you get to enjoy your time with your friends - and you're not going to miss out on the opportunity.

But you already count the days until the two of you reunite once again.

[sseomtada]

being [ruben dias]

the rekindling of your relationship continues, leaving a confession of your own pending.

warnings: 18+ | wc: 5576 | 5/8

Was there a name for a honeymoon phase the second time around?

There wasn’t a technical phrase, you checked. Interestingly, among your research, you came across an article that perfectly articulated what you were experiencing with Ruben. It was the stage of your relationship where you now saw their imperfections and flaws, where you didn’t see your partner on the pedestal you initially place them on in the beginning.

He was no longer the one person who could do no wrong in your eyes or the one who held all the answers to your problems. You weren’t the co-dependent and starry eyed girl who only viewed others through a lens of what you wanted them to be either.

You were okay with that and so was he.

After making quite the…mess in your office, there wasn’t much face to face interaction between you two. Ruben was quickly whisked away by his team to another country for a Champions League match. Even though that initially felt like an inconvenience, you shifted the perspective to something more constructive.

It gave you time to sit with your thoughts and emotions. You still had no regrets about getting back together with him, but you had to truly assess the decision from every angle within. The way it transpired seemed relatively rushed at first. In retrospect, you realized it was anything but hasty.

Your previously relationship with Ruben never came to an organic end. There was no fizzling out or love lost, only an obstacle that he didn’t give himself or you a chance to push through. Had things been different and he brought his fears to you then, would you have ever broken up?

All roads you took in that vein lead you to believe that you wouldn’t have. Of course, there was no way to know for sure what the future held for that version of events. Anything could’ve happened over the course of those seven years that might’ve eventually drove a wedge between you. However, as things were, there was no end in sight.

Maybe that was why it still was effortless with him, potentially even more so now than it was then. You’d both experienced a lot of growth as one naturally does when life progresses. The people you were currently and the past you shared left no room for pretense. He came as he was, raw and unfiltered in his accountability. You didn’t feel obligated to give him anything in return - you wanted to. And that carried the most weight.

“What happened to the sofa?”

Cindy’s question brought you back to a startling reality. You tried to reign in your nervous expression, smoothing fallen hairs at the back of your neck.

“I made a big mess with some takeout.” Even you had a hard time buying that. “It was irredeemable. A new one should be here in a few hours.”

Aki came in from the kitchen, munching on the lo mein. “Shame. I really liked that big, comfy thing.”

That nibbling guilt returned to your stomach. Compounded onto the fact that you still had yet to tell her about the first conversation was now the big revelation that you’d gotten back together with Ruben. Your apprehension only grew worse with the addition of the later.

It didn’t stem from a lack of trust or a fear of judgment. She was somebody that you could confess a murder to and it would only be met with a response like, do you need help hiding the body?

You just knew that it wouldn’t be highly celebrated news. The way things ended, her being caught in the crossfire and the absolute wreck you were would be the things playing at the forefront of her mind when you told her. It was no fault of hers, literally anyone else in the same position wouldn’t be able to not think back to that time.

Perhaps stronger than any of that was the worry that your confession would hurt her. The last thing you wanted was for her to feel like you didn’t consider the pain she carried silently in regards to Ruben. It was a complicated situation that you were still trying to navigate internally.

Luckily, for the time being, you had the distraction of work. Erling’s project was on its finishing touches. You’d finalized the website and had it ready to launch, Aki aced securing a major partnership and Cindy was working with his assistant to put together a small launch party.

Did they buy the excuse about the “takeout”.

You bit down on a smile as your fingers typed quickly.

I think so. The leftovers in the fridge sold it more than I did.

“What’s got you all giggly?” Aki materialized at your door.

You jumped slightly, startled by not even hearing her approach. The messages app flicked shut and you placed your phone down before feigning business at your monitors.

“My mom sent me another one of those videos of her cat.” You replied with ease that shocked yourself.

It wasn’t entirely a lie. She did often send you videos of Jason being a weirdo. Your pseudo sibling had to be the most uncoordinated and ungraceful feline in existence. The latest snippet shared actually did come in this morning with him leaping up and completely missing a tree branch.

“That little guy is spectacularly peculiar.” Her lips pursed. Another white lie seemed to have passed.

“Tell me about it.” You chuckled. “What’s up?”

She slung dramatically across your guest chair. “Just wanted to know if you were burning the midnight oil again.”

Though certainly not her intention, her words made the ache between your thighs prominent to your senses. You squeezed them together and shut down the flashbacks running through your head as you shifted in your seat.

“I should actually try to rest since we have the party in two nights.” You exhaled lengthily.

It was well into the wee hours when you got home this morning, for obvious reasons. And for those same causes, or singular driver, you were too hopped up on adrenaline to fall straight asleep. It didn’t help that you were giggling on the phone with him like you were twelve either.

“Ugh, you’re right.” Aki groaned, shooting back on to her feet to exit. “About the party and the rest, by the way. Not even my emergency kit can rescue you from those eye bags. Luggage at this point.”

Before you could hurl a playful insult back or a pen from your desk, she made quick her escape. You shook your head and decided to actually start getting a move on your tasks for the day. Being snug under your blanket at a decent hour actually sounded like a fantastic idea.

After a nice, long soak in your bathtub, you threw on a onesie and a sheet mask to really activate the relaxation vibe.

The next order of business was finding something good to eat. As much as you wanted to start munching on those delicious chocolate covered ice ream bars in your freezer, you refrained until you could actually get a meal in your stomach.

Rifling through your fridge and pantry was kind of depressing. You’d been so busy recently that there wasn’t time to do a good grocery haul. Most of the food you ate had been acquired on the go and you wanted to cook for a change, but that didn’t look as if it was going to happen tonight.

You wouldn’t complain about ordering in though. Opening the takeout app was just as exhilaration as going on your favorite retail sites. There were so many options and all of your favorites were right at your fingertips.

Your mouth couldn’t help but water as you scrolled through to decide what your poison was going to be tonight. Just as you were looking through the offerings at an Italian place nearby, your phone screen was taken over by a call.

“What are you up to?” The smile in Ruben’s voice was audible.

“I was mid pasta hunt before you interrupted.” You tutted.

“That’s funny, I’m making some right now.” In the background, you heard a pan meeting a stovetop.

So, he was already back home then. You didn’t watch the match earlier, but you did check in on the result. It wasn’t a shock that his team had won given that they were so dominant in the sport - a fact you came to know rather belatedly.

“I can make enough for two, if you want.” Ruben continued.

“Extra cheese. I’ll be there soon.” You grinned before hanging up.

The sheet mask stayed on until the very last minute after you threw on some sweats. It felt like you were holding your breath as you left your loft. Aki wasn’t some overbearing friend that kept tabs on your comings and goings, yet you found yourself easing the door shut to minimize any alert of your exit.

It wasn’t a lie when you told her you wanted to turn in early tonight, you reminded yourself. That was actually the plan and you were halfway there. But when the pasta gods intervened, well, who were you to shun them?

Your car left the garage with Ruben’s address set on the navigation. He messaged it to you, making you laugh silently. Seeing it brought you back to what you guessed was the first tug on the string that unravelled everything. You’d known where he lived since his name popped up on Nike’s mailing list.

A short and smooth twenty minutes - more like fifteen since you kinda hit the gas - found you pulling into his parking garage. One thing he did provide that you needed to know was the code for entry. You took the guest spot beside his jeep and made your way inside.

“So, this is what making a shit ton of money will get you.” Your brows raised as he let you in.

“Mhm,” Ruben kissed you quickly. Then slower the second time. “Wait until you see the view.”

You jokingly gasped and followed the scent of aromatics to his kitchen. While your cooking skills were described as survivable at best, he always had a talent for putting together a really tasty dish. A moan sounded from you as you leaned over the steaming pan.

“I set the wine out on the balcony. Go get comfy, I’ll bring your plate.” He nudged your hips with his.

“Yes, sir.” You bit your lip and made your way over.

When you first stepped into his place, you thought the air was running but the exterior door was cracked. A wide grin broke of once you stepped outside to see the small setup with the admittedly impressive backdrop of the city. He’d turned on the lowlights and lit a few candles. A bottle of red was waiting for you as promised, along with a blanket folded over one of the seats.

You wrapped the thick, knitted fabric around your frame before pouring yourself a decent amount of wine. As you sipped, you took a deep breath and enjoyed the atmosphere. It must be one of his favorite ways to relax away from what seemed to be a hectic life these days.

“Are you comfortable?” Ruben appeared with your food, as promised.

You nodded, extending a hand to help him out. He joined in on your state of coziness and you poured him a glass too.

“Cheers.” He held his out.

“To what?” Your voice lowered.

“Being yours and getting to call you mine again.” Ruben placed a hand over your own.

You shook your head, calling him corny. but it was impossible to hide the way his words flustered you. It was nice to know that the years apart didn’t rob him of his ability to be so romantic. Also pleasant to note was that his cooking had gotten even better.

Your eyes widened as you took a bite of the chicken. It was juicy and perfectly seasoned. As if you couldn’t believe what you’d tasted, you went in immediately for a second bite with the pasta this time. Your palate was being blessed, objectively.

“I asked one of the team’s chefs for their recipe.” Ruben chuckled at your surprise.

“It’s so good.” You shimmed on your third chew.

Over your delicious meal, you asked him a series of questions that you were curious about. The first of them being whether or not this was a date. Of course. You apologized for being underdressed. Don’t be silly, we’re matching. That was true, those grey sweats of his…

Your mind refocused onto the impromptu Q&A. One thing you were definitely intrigued about was that first night you ran into each other. What was he doing in that area? That time of night and the lowkey look he wore honestly screamed leaving a booty call. If that was what it was, you couldn’t be mad.

“Some friends from back home were staying at a hotel nearby.” He answered. “I thought I was going crazy when I saw you running and called out but-”

“Headphones.” You rolled your eyes.

“Yes. And then it became a whole thing when you dropped your keys. Nice swing, by the way.” Ruben tipped his glass to you.

The compliment was returned, “Nice reaction time.”

“Tell that to my back.” He grumbled.

You wrapped up your meal and headed back inside to tidy things up. Ruben knew better than to object because if there was one thing you hated, it was leaving a kitchen a mess before heading to bed. The least you would settle for was rinsing everything and placing them in the dishwasher, which you did as his eyes followed.

“So,” You walked over to where he sat on a bar stool. “Are you gonna give me the grand tour?”

His lips curled as he hummed. “This place looks best in the morning.”

Your body found itself between his legs after he pulled you close. Ruben grinned mischievously before tilting forward to taste you. It was instant, the way you opened up for him. His teeth flashing in between your tongues meeting showed just how much he liked that.

“Are you implying something?” You spoke into his mouth.

“Maybe,” He breathed. “Should I just come out and say it?”

You nodded slowly, hands sliding up the the soft fabric covering his muscled thighs.

“Stay with me.”

“Okay-“

Your acceptance was barely completed before it was replaced with a yelp. Ruben stood up and lifted you into his arms. In the time it took you to get to his bedroom, you could’ve scanned around a bit to see a preview of what was to come in the morning. You were too focused on him though.

The prominent vein running along the side of his neck was begging to be kissed. So you pressed your mouth to it - lips parted and hungry. You felt him shudder under the licks and sucks you gave it and all too soon, you were detached to be placed on top of his sprawling bed.

Ruben crawled over you, lifting the back of your knee with his own to hitch your leg over his hips. You giggled into his hungry kisses and then moaned. A sneaky hand of his had made its way under your hoodie, thumb brushing over your hardened nipple as he massaged your breast.

You bit down on his bottom lip, bucking into him - already on the hunt for some kind of relief for your thrumming core. He used his lower half to pin you still. It only made your urge grow into agony, feeling the one thing you wanted most concealed by too many layers. When you tried a stealthy maneuver of your own, he was quick to catch it.

“Always so impatient.” Ruben tutted as he caught your wrist.

“Always such a tease.” You gave it right back.

He chuckled in a way that said I’m gonna make you eat your words. By God, you hoped he did sooner rather than later. You pressed your palms to the bed and pushed up. The silent request was thankfully met with him at least removing your top layer.

You caressed his head and let your back meet the sheets once more as he kissed down your body. Ruben stopped at the waistband of your sweats, giving it a pull between his teeth. A vexed moan sounded in your throat. He shushed you, curling his fingers into either side of your pants before dragging them down.

“Someone came prepared.” His comment came in response to your lack of underwear.

Your look of annoyance didn’t last long. It was swiftly replaced with one of bliss when you felt his mouth close around your pussy, tongue slicing you open for him to get a taste. He exhaled deeply through his nose and tugged you flush to his face.

“Yes, fuck-“ Your breath caught.

Ruben arched his tongue around your clit in a full circle before settling under to push it upwards. You writhed beneath him. The voice in your mind was chastising you as loudly as your body was crying out. It was never a good idea to challenge him.

He was easily the most competitive person you’d ever met, proving it yet again as he held your swollen bud up with a glint in his eye. Chipping away at your resolve. Waiting for your concession. You knew when to choose your battles.

“Please...” The shakiness in your voice really sealed the deal.

His tongue finally licked up your clit and then all over it on the way down. Your thighs locked him in while he gave it his undivided attention, thorough as ever to avoid missing a single spot. Each nerve in the bundle got its kiss, flick and suck.

There were no other sounds in the room besides your labored breaths and cries, his grunts and wet mouth growing drencher with your never ending slick. Your fingers threaded through his hair, pressing him deeper still.

It was right there. The torturously slow buildup preceding the crescendo. You just needed a bit more. Your hips rolled in circles, side to side and then up and down. When he slurped at your hole before twisting his tongue inside, they stilled. He knew he hit the target then and so he kept going.

You mouth stammered over your words as your body did the same in his hold. They were both saying the same thing nonetheless. Ruben spurred you on, a hand coming down on the side of your ass while his tongue kept lapping at your clit.

A guttural noise clawed its way out of you as you tensed and released into his lingering mouth all over again. Once you were reduced to nothing but limp muscles and jolts of aftershocks, he resurfaced.

“So good, baby.” Ruben leaned over to press his glistening lips to yours.

There was no trace left of him in the kiss. The insides of his cheeks, tops and bottoms of his gums and tongue all tasted of you. It sparked life back into your bones, a physical manifestation of what your glasses met over earlier.

Yours.

Mine.

In an unsuspecting move, you flipped him over until you were straddling his hips. Your fingers dug into his shoulders as you dragged your drenched core slid over his hardened length. It was him that was left squirming beneath you this time, something you’d delight in if you hadn’t already been pushed over the ledge.

Ruben was in the same headspace. His eyes mirrored your own, nearly black with yearning. The layers of his clothing joined yours in a heap at his bedside. No underwear either. Your brows raised alongside your hips, someone was prepared.

A chorus of sighs and moans filled the air as you sank down onto his cock. Your head dropped back, hands pressing into his chest. The way his heartbeat ran wild under your fingertips made your lips tug.

To test your readiness, you arched your back. More glide than burn. You started building your rhythm, thighs tensing to help you move up and down. The more confident you became in taking him, the more your body loosened.

Your ass rolled like a wave, tempo rising each time your flesh came flush to his. Oh, God, you thought you heard him say. Actually, you were sure he’d said it. The way he looked up at you, hands moving to cup your breasts confirmed it.

Along with his noises and your own came the meeting of the back of your hips on the tops of his thighs. It was the only sound that ever made you understand the term music to my ears. You slammed harder, deeper, more pointed to draw even more of those notes out of his beautifully agape mouth.

His cock was a thing of wonder, the way it filled you up. So snug between your walls that you could feel the prominent vein running along its back as you worked him base to tip and back again. So intoxicating, your mind was stuck like glue on the feeling of how much of you he was coated in.

You folded forward, unsynchronized breaths mingling with his as you gave him a kiss that matched the same energy. A spell of confusion caused your compass to malfunction and made you lose your way. How was it even possible for him to feel this good?

Ruben was right there to guide you back as he so often had been before. His knees bent and his hands settled under your hips while his own raised into you. The vein in his neck swelled thick with rushing blood just like the one fucking into your pussy did with his seed.

Mine.

Yours.

The earth cracked and shattered and you quaked. His arms circled your waist tight, holding you as he weathered both of your storms. Everything around you crumbled and faded out of existence. For the next euphoric moments that followed, only you and him remained.

After a prolonged period of feeling the prick of his facial hair under your fingertips and his own running up and down your spine, he guided you to his shower. The water pressure offered a nice massage, but paled in effort to the relief his hands brought as they glided over your skin.

Ruben held the covers open for you to slip under, a call that would never go unanswered. You molded to him in a way that made you shudder. Your head rested in the crook of his arm that curled around your shoulders, a leg nestled snugly between his - not too spacious and not too compressed, just right.

You blinked slowly, lashes brushing his nearby skin. “Ruben?”

“Hm?” His chest rumbled.

“Promise me that even if this doesn’t last, things won’t end like they did before.”

He stopped breathing for a second and so did you. Back then, you probably would’ve said something like promise you won’t ever leave. You never thought to because you didn’t believe he ever would’ve.

Now, you realized the flaw in that sort of ask. If he said he wouldn’t and then he did, you couldn’t accuse him of lying. No one thought in the moments where they were deeply enamored with one another that they’d part, just as no one who got married for love would only do so to divorce.

Ruben inhaled again and tilted your face upwards, “I promise.”

Your eyes searched his for any trace of disingenuousness. When they were met with a steady, unblinking, challenging gaze, you were finally filled with ease. You kissed him gently and resumed your previous position.

“Besides,” He snuggled deeper into you. “If anything, you’re gonna have to get rid of me. I’ll be here tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that, and-”

You pressed a finger to his lips. “I get it. Go to sleep.”

For the first time in ages, you must’ve clocked in more than five hours of uninterrupted rest.

When your eyes peeled open, they were met with a fully lit sky instead of darkness or the murky beginnings of a sunrise. Your back bowed and then froze in position. Instead of being met with warmth, all you felt were cool sheets.

Just when you thought you might’ve lost Ruben to training or something, you heard rattling coming from the kitchen. There was also the faint scent of espresso drifting from under the door. You slid on his discarded sweatshirt from the pile that moved to his armchair and ventured out.

“There’s my beautiful chainsaw.” Ruben smiled as you appeared.

You smacked his bare back to earn a hiss, “I do not snore.”

“Only when you’re exhausted, love.” He handed you a steaming cup. “Did you sleep well?”

Your hand extended, beckoning to him. Ruben bent to meet it and melted under your fingertips that drew him near. You kissed him appreciatively, not wanting a moment to go by where you didn’t show him how grateful you were that he looked after you with care.

“I did.” You took a sip of your coffee and moaned. “Now where’s my tour?”

He shook his head with a grin and whisked you away to the entrance. In true social media giant with millions of followers style, he walked you through his apartment bit by bit. There was the coat closet, riveting and the guest rooms, very spacious. Then his bedroom which you’d already gotten very familiar with, he added.

All that was really left was the main open living space. What you were really interested in was his shelf and the mantle with all of his pictures, medals and awards. He explained the occasion and meaning behind each of them. Premier Leagues, domestic cups, bests of the season. You ran your thumb over the one you knew held the most meaning.

“Champions League…” Though you were infinitely proud of his achievement, your heart was heavy.

Ruben had spoken so much about it from the time when you were kids. He always knew that he was going to become a footballer, and a great one at that. This title was one he longed for vocally on many days.

“When I lift the trophy again,” He hugged you from behind and kissed your cheek. “You’ll be there with me.”

You nodded, wanting that dream to become a reality more than anything else. Well, besides being with him when he won the World Cup. At least that would be a first you got to experience together.

He took you back to the kitchen where he’d already started on breakfast. The toast was ready and after frying some eggs and adding slices of avocado, you both dug in. Such a simple meal that never missed the spot.

“So, Erling’s party is tomorrow night.” Ruben shot you a look.

Of course, the whole team was on the invite list you’d spied over Cindy’s shoulder. You knew what he was getting at and you also knew that it had to be today when you sat Aki down to have that conversation.

“I’ll tell her when I get back.” You promised.

“You don’t have to be nervous. She loves you, no matter what.” He reassured. “Me on the other hand…”

That was going to be the interesting part for sure. You wished you had some words to dispel his fears, but you both knew that they didn’t really exist. Her dislike for him was palatable, nearly a match for your mother’s - which was another bridge you certainly weren’t remotely ready to cross.

“One step at a time.” Was the best you could come up with.

It seemed to be good enough for Ruben, who approved with a half smile.

Wrapping up breakfast and trying to leave to actually get your day started was the hardest thing you’d done in recent memory. All you wanted to do was stay in this perfect little bubble with him - his arms caging you in, lips peppering your face, his deep voice begging five more minutes.

On days like this in the past, you would’ve easily played hooky and called in sick. Alas, that was when you were working for someone you honestly hated. Now that you had your own company, there was no room for letting your work fall behind since it all rode on you.

Ruben gave you one final searing kiss that took up the last of his allotted five minutes before you got into your car. The way you were beaming on the drive back to your place was kind of mortifying once you’d snapped out of your butterfly induced haze.

Almost immediately, it was replaced with sweaty palms and a racing heart. And not in the infatuation sense. You gave yourself a pep talk in the elevator as you headed up, remembering Ruben’s words. He was right and so were you, there was nothing to be afraid of.

Still, you found yourself tiptoeing once the lift got to your floor. You’d adopted his stalling tactic of promising that in just a bit more time, you would head over to hers. Maybe you should tidy up the place beforehand and -

“Ahem.”

You wanted to scream, but instead became that the woman was too stunned to speak meme. Aki was sitting cross legged on your sofa. She’d clearly been there for some time based off the empty plate and drained glass on the coffee table. It was now or never.

“I’ve got to tell you something.” You made your way over to join her.

“Spill! You’ve been acting weird for a while now.” She griped. “Are you having doubts about the business? Is the shitty weather making you moody? Wait…are you seeing somebody?!”

“Yes!” The answer to her rambling barrage came out louder than intended.

Aki stared at you wide eyed and then began going on another spiel, this time of excitement. You reeled her in, literally, by taking both her hands in yours. A silent version of the affirmations you gave yourself earlier ran through your head as you took a breath.

“I am seeing someone, again. Ruben.” You finally admitted. “I know that sounds fucking insane, but let me explain.”

Seeing Aki take on a serious expression was something you’d only experienced a handful of times. Not many things made her completely shed the upbeat, fun-loving layers she wore, but it wasn’t surprising that your revelation was now one of them.

She listened as you started from the day you went to City’s training grounds and the car ride that followed. It wasn’t the most cheerful conversation to rehash, both your emotions and his in that moment still tugging viscerally on your heart. Your gaze dropped for a second, returning to hers when you felt her hands give yours a reassuring squeeze.

The rest tumbled out painlessly. You told her about him coming to the office when you worked late, how you and him realized that trying things again was worth a shot. And then, of course, your absence from your loft from this morning was cleared up.

All that was left out were the parts about the sex, especially the office couch incident. She probably would appreciate not having that visual, though you were sure her powers of deduction would do the work for you.

“Wow, that’s definitely not what I was expecting.” Aki chewed on her bottom lip.

You digested her response with a nod, your head bowing. It was more than a lot to take in, so you weren’t surprised that she wasn’t throwing a parade in congratulations for you reunion with Ruben.

She untangled her hands from yours only to pull you in for a hug. “I know it wasn’t an easy decision and I wish you didn’t feel like you had to make it alone.”

“I’m sorry for not telling you sooner.” You failed to hide your sniffle.

“Don’t be, I understand.” Aki pulled back, wiping your cheeks. “I only care about two things: are you sure about this and are you happy?”

Something like the grin you wore on your drive returned, “Yeah.”

She groaned and hugged you again, pulling you down to rest on top of her. Aki wrapped her legs around you, shaking your body side to side like she used to when you would try out the moves you’d seen on WrestleMania. You reached up to give her a peck on the cheek and she screamed, pushing you off.

“I bet you still have his spit in your mouth! Ew!” She scrambled from the sofa.

You ran after her, making kissy faces. “I thought you wanted me to be getting pounded religiously!”

That was enough to chase her right out of the front door.

[ambrossart]

I want to ask a question that's kind of has nothing to do with the plot of paper men like just out of curiosity . I was wondering who do the members of bowers gang feel jealous of ? I mean ofc each one of them has insecurities and feel jealously and I am curious to know who they might be jealous of

Hmm… this is a really interesting question. I’m assuming you mean jealousy as in “envy” and not the romantic form of jealousy. I certainly hope so because I find the former way more interesting than the latter.

Anyway, I can't think of a good lead-in for this, so let's just get right to it!

Henry

Henry is, without a doubt, the most jealous/envious person in the entire gang, and I wouldn’t be surprised if, at least subconsciously, that’s why he targets the kids he does. It’s definitely not as random as it seems.

He can experience jealousy toward anyone: kids who excel at school; kids who excel at sports; kids who can afford new clothes every year, new shoes, new backpacks, school supplies, etc.; kids who are well-liked and popular; kids who get to be carefree kids. Henry’s very easily triggered.

But above all, Henry’s jealous of people who have what he covets most: a happy, loving family.

In the most recent chapter (yes, I know you said this has nothing to do with Paper Men, but too bad, I make everything about Paper Men 😂), he expressed a lot of jealousy toward Victor Criss. And it’s not just because Evelyn used to have a crush on him (even though that does bother him).

It’s because, in Henry’s eyes, Vic has everything. He’s naturally smart to the point where he doesn’t even have to try. He has two parents who, flawed as they may be, love him unconditionally. Yet Vic is constantly complaining about his life. That’s really annoying for Henry, who, let’s be real, would trade places with Vic in a heartbeat.

“You think your mom’s annoying and overbearing? Well, fuck you, my mom abandoned me.”

“You hate your braces? I can’t even afford braces.”

“You’re tired of your mom nagging you to eat dinner with her? I ate beans out of a tin can last night.”

I could go on and on, but… yeah, Vic pisses Henry off, which is why their relationship is as strained as it is. They’re still friends, of course, but they’re not as close as Henry and Belch are. Not by a long shot.

Victor

Vic is the second most jealous, but he hides it well.

We know Vic struggles a lot with anxiety, self-hatred, and sensory issues, so he’s very jealous of people who are unburdened by those kinds of things.

People who are naturally friendly and outgoing, people like Evelyn Tozier, people like his childhood friend Jimmy Duncan, evoke a lot of envy for him.

He’s already expressed a little bit of jealousy toward Evelyn, especially when they were kids.

Evelyn would invite herself over on the holidays and chat up Vic’s family like she’s known them for years. Vic could never do that. He still can’t do that, but she makes it look effortless. That’s incredibly frustrating for him.

Unlike Henry, Vic internalizes all of these ugly feelings instead of taking them out on everyone else. This, in turn, only feeds his self-loathing.

Vic seems to hate a lot of people, but he hates himself the most.

Martin Davers is a close second.

Belch

Belch is one of the least jealous among the gang.

All in all, he’s pretty satisfied with his life. Sure, it could be better, but it could also be a lot worse.

It could be like Henry’s, for example.

That being said, I do think he envies, just a little, those who have fathers in their lives.

Belch’s dad died when he was very young, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s a little triggered by that. It doesn’t make him angry or anything, but it does make him sad sometimes.

I could also see him being envious of wealth and the opportunities that provides.

For instance, Belch would love to participate in extracurricular activities. He’d love to play sports. But that involves a lot of money and time, neither of which he has in abundance.

I think Belch would secretly love to be one of the jocks, and to enjoy all the perks that come along with that, but he would rather spend his free time earning money than tossing a ball around.

It’s a sacrifice, but one he’s willing to make.

He’s the best. 🥰

Patrick

Patrick is the least jealous because Patrick doesn’t give a shit about anybody other than himself.

Seriously, if Patrick sees himself as the only fully conscious being, why would he feel jealous of anyone? As far as he’s concerned, nobody else is on his level. He’s the sole supreme being in this universe.

(Sure, Patrick, sure.)

Now, you could argue that Patrick has expressed some jealousy toward Jake Newham, but I wouldn’t really call that jealousy.

Jealousy’s such an emotional thing, and this isn’t emotional for Patrick, not at all. He simply sees Jake as a potential obstacle, one he’s ready to eliminate if necessary.

If Patrick thought Evelyn truly liked Jake, if he thought Jake was the one Evelyn was saving her first kiss for, Jake would be six feet under right now. He’d be deader than dead.

The whole kiss thing genuinely irritates Patrick.

Why wouldn’t it? He’s used to girls throwing themselves at him and practically begging him to take their virginity.

But Evelyn’s being especially difficult, and this confounds Patrick to no end. It just doesn’t make any sense. He can tell Evelyn’s starting to like him. He can tell she wants to kiss him. But she’s still hesitating, and it’s all because of this mysterious other person, a name she refuses to give up.

It’s all very annoying for Patrick.

So if Patrick was capable of jealousy, it would all be directed toward this other person.

He hasn’t quite figured out who it is yet, but he definitely has his suspicions.

Sorry if this is shit. I haven’t done one of these in a while, so I’m a little rusty. Plus I honestly suck at these anyway.

[1sab4lla]

hi diva😋 in the kindest way possible i need more of art x weird reader. im obsessed now.

maybe we can see how the two met? reader showing art some of her favourite media? i have a lot of ideas im sorry 😔

-weird girl anon 🌷

hello diva!!

weird reader is the cutest thing i've ever made. i would literally love to write more of her.

you met art on accident. which was appropriate, really. most of your favorite things happened that way.

it was the second week of freshman year at stanford, and the weather was unseasonably hot. you had wandered into the athletic building by mistake (in search of the rumored vending machine with the “fancy” sodas) and gotten very, very lost.

there were signs, but they were cryptic and aggressive in their minimalism—just arrows and abbreviations, as if everyone should already know where “CT-3” was.

and there he was.

golden, focused, and entirely in his element, art stood at the far end of the tennis court, swinging his racket like it was part of his arm. you’d never seen someone move like that—smooth, effortless, like music.

you were staring, probably too obviously, your bag sliding off your shoulder and your cardigan caught in the door hinge. when he noticed you, he didn’t wave or ask who you were or what you were doing there.

he just offered a faint, curious smile and asked, “you okay?”

“do you know where the vending machine is?” you asked, rather urgently, like your life depended on fizzy grapefruit soda.

he blinked. “uh… not really.” then he pointed toward a hallway. “but I think if you keep going that way and take a left at the pool, it’ll either be a vending machine or a janitor’s closet.”

you nodded.

"good enough."

you came back two days later. on purpose this time. with no excuse. you sat in the same place outside the court, halfway behind a trash can, pretending to sketch the light posts in your notebook (you were actually doodling bats wearing skirts). art noticed you again. this time, he walked over.

“you’re back.”

“i like watching you play,” you said, too bluntly. “it’s very kinetic.”

he stared at you for a moment. then he laughed—this surprised, huffing sound like he wasn’t used to doing it so suddenly.

“that’s… probably the best thing anyone’s ever said about my serve.”

and that was that.

you became friends slowly, naturally. you started showing up to matches, always in your slightly-wrong outfits—lace gloves in october, earmuffs in spring.

he got used to your commentary during practice, your long, rambling tangents about cinema and the architectural flaws of campus buildings.

you’d bring him snacks in odd containers—once, a bento box filled only with popcorn and candied ginger, which he ate without complaint.

you were you: all chaotic charm and half-scribbled thoughts, the kind of person who narrated their life like it was a story only they could hear.

and art, quiet and steady, just kept showing up. he remembered things. small things. your favorite pen color, the fact that you hated pulp in orange juice.

he never questioned it.

he never questioned you.

you shared playlists, and argued over movies—he liked blockbusters with clean endings, and you liked anything that ended with rain and ambiguity. you invited him to your dorm to watch The Red Balloon.

he left confused, and you called it progress.

the first time he walked you home, it was raining. you didn’t ask him to, he just saw that you’d forgotten your umbrella again (you always did), and he fell into step beside you.

you offered him your scarf, and he actually wore it, even though it smelled like old lavender and honey. he didn’t seem to mind.

you never had a big moment, until the confession. just a string of small ones that stacked, slowly and imperceptibly, like film stills.

shared fries. silent walks. long, strange conversations at two in the morning about whether ghosts could fall in love.

and before either of you really noticed, it wasn’t strange to be sitting side-by-side on his twin bed, watching a film he hadn’t seen. it wasn’t strange to fall asleep mid-sentence and wake up with your head on his shoulder.

it wasn’t strange when he started ordering extra dumplings because he knew you’d forget to eat dinner.

it wasn’t strange. it was you and art.

me after writing this.

art is SO in love. their friendship is so special to me. weird reader you'll always be famous

[naushtheaspiringauthor]

~Invisible String~

Bob Reynolds x Narissa Andersen (oc!)

Chapter-3

Chapter-2 / Chapter-1 Warnings- None Summary- After getting trapped inside the vault with four strange people; A dime store Captain America, An ex Red Room spy, a woman who can walk through walls, and Bob, Nessa's supposedly last mission transforms into something completely unexpected. A/N- I had a lot of fun writing this chapter and I hope u have fun reading it:))) Lemme know if you'd like to be added to the taglist! And any form of feedback is appreciated. Word count- 1,872

“Who are you?” Ghost tilted her head in confusion as she asked the mysterious man.

“I’m-I’m Bob” he stammered, briefly wiping a hand over his face. “I told you”.

“Uh yeah-” he shrugged. “Uh Bob” he said, once again.

Nessa glanced at the man, lips parted in confusion.

“Jesus Christ stop saying Bob” said John.

“Who sent you Bob?” asked Yelena.

“Nobody,” Bob shuddered. “Why would I be sent?”.

He then widened his eyes in realisation, “Where you all-” he briefly pointed his hand towards them. “You were all sent?”.

“I'm not sure what's going on here, but you're all exhausting and my job is done.”

Ghost spoke up, putting her gun down as she turned to leave.

Yelena quickly turned to her, “Ah but you see my job” she pointed the gun at her. “Is to keep an eye on you so no, you’re not gonna go anywhere anymore”.

“So you’re keeping an eye on her huh?” Walker spoke up. “That’s a halfway decent cover for someone stealing assets from OXE’.

Nessa raised an eyebrow, “Bullshit dude” she spoke.

They all turned to her.

“You’re the one stealing from OXE” She pointed a hand at Walker.

“No I’m not,” he shrugged.

“No wait” Yelena pointed a finger at Ghost. “She’s the one who’s stealing”. 

Nessa glanced at all of them, confusion spreading over her features, “What the hell’s going on?” she asked.

Yelena’s gaze softened, she closed her eyes briefly. “Okay” she began as she put her gun up, raising a hand.

“It’s clear we’ve all worked for Valentina in some sort of shadow ops capacity” said Yelena. 

“So what?” asked Walker.

“So all of this” Yelena waved towards the room, “Is OXE’s secrets”.

“But so are we”.

“Oh” Nessa said out loud, realization hitting her like a punch across the jaw.

“Which makes us the liabilities in all this” Ghost nodded in agreement.

“Speak for yourself,” said Walker.

“We’re the evidence, and this is the shredder” said Yelena. 

“She wants us gone”.

That damned woman, Nessa thought to herself. 

Despite all her stealth and efforts, Valentina had somehow found out about Nessa’s little quest.

But instead of going straight to her, she thought of the best possible way to get her out of the line.

An effortless, clean way to get rid of her.

“Your theory is flawed,” said Walker, still in disbelief.

Nessa rolled her eyes.

“Oh please,” said Yelena.

“Fine,” said Walker. “Let’s look at the facts” he began pacing.

"The infamous ghost” he turned to the woman. “A SHIELD reject on the run across fifteen nations”.

“Dead girl over there” he pointed at the masked woman. “She destroyed half of Budapest”.

“Don't talk about her that way” Yelena muttered.

“And you,” Walker then turned to Yelena. “A former Red room assassin”.

“God only knows the blood on your hands”.

“But” he halted. “Why are you here?” he turned to Nessa. “Former SHIELD agent, Avenger,” he briefly tilted his head.

“how’d you get caught up in all this?” he asked, tilting his head in confusion.

“None of your business, third copy Captain America” Nessa said, placing her hands on her hips.

“Jeez” he said, wincing briefly.

Ghost and Yelena began grinning.

“Well I-” he began. “I want you to know I was actually the official Captain America so” he waved a hand.

“Yeah for like two seconds” said Yelena.

“Before you publicly murdered an innocent man in the streets” Nessa pointed out.

“Define innocent” he argued.

 “Hey look” he raised his hand. “I’m a decorated war veteran, okay?”.

“I have a loving wife and son..” he continued bragging.

Nessa tuned out his voice and looked around. Her gaze fell upon the mysterious man.

Bob, she corrected herself.

He looked at her the same time as she did, his gaze meeting hers.

The world faded away.

She felt it then, briefly, the tug of a string.

Pulling at the edges of her tired, worn out heart.

Her gaze softened, a small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, almost subconsciously.

His expression matched hers.

“You guys are just cheap mercenaries, alright?” Walker’s voice came back into focus.

“So clearly I wasn’t supposed to bring you in” he said, beaming with pride.

“Wow man” Nessa said, shaking her head. “If only you had any useful skills as much as you have confidence”.

Yelena and Ava grinned.

“Yeah wow, we needed that” Yelena said as she continued to grin.

“It was getting pretty tense in here” Bob’s voice came from a corner, slow and hesitant. 

Nessa looked at him 

He was smiling 

She let out a chuckle.

But his smile faded just as Walker began to glare at him with sheer annoyance.

“I’m not leaving here without completing my mission,” Walker said.

“Valentina gave me a clean slate guarantee and I’m not gonna blow it”.

Nessa raised an eyebrow with an expression that read, oh really?

“But this weirdo wasn’t part of the job” he glanced at Bob who stood in a corner, fiddling with his sleeve. “So I need to know,” he cocked his head.

“How’d you get in?”.

Nessa shifted her focus towards Bob, curious to know the same.

But the doe-eyed man only shook his head, curls falling near his eyes as he responded, “I don’t know”.

"Terrific answer,” said Walker.

He then turned to Yelena and Ghost, “Alright, tie yourselves up”.

Yelena shook her head, irritated by his arrogance.

“Wow," said Ghost. “no”.

“And goodbye” she switched her mask back on and began walking towards one of the doors.

The rest of them stood in silence, watching her walk away.

Suddenly, a loud high-pitched screech exploded in Nessa’s ears.

She pressed her palms to her ears, gritting her teeth as the sound flooded in her head.

Ghost appeared in front of them again, her gun dropped from her hand as she pressed her hands to her ears.

The sound stopped shortly after.

They all removed their hands from their ears and looked around at each other.

Ghost took deep shaky breaths as she took her mask off.

‘Woa-oh” Bob’s voice came from a far corner.

Nessa turned to him.

“You guys hear that?” he asked.

Nessa nodded

His gaze shifted towards her. 

His expression was gentle, as the corners of his mouth slowly turned up.

He furrowed his brows as his gaze landed on the side of her face, “Are you- you alright?” he asked.

Nessa realised what he was talking about. A bruise had begun to form near her jaw where she’d been hit, she could feel the pain blooming inside now.

“Oh, yeah” she nodded. “I’ll be okay, don't worry” she offered him a smile, small but reassuring.

Slowly, hesitantly, he stepped out from the corner, closer to her.

“I’m-” she pursed her lips briefly. "I'm Nessa” she tilted her head briefly.

He nodded, a small smile forming on his lips. “Yeah I know you”.

“I mean I don’t really know you-” he interjected. “It’s just-”he lifted a shoulder. “I’ve heard about you���.

“And I've seen you on the news once” he nodded.

Nessa parted her lips, nodding in understanding.

“You’re-” he began. “You’re really cool” he grinned slightly. 

Nessa’s eyes widened. She opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again. “Oh” she said.

“I don’t really” she lifted a shoulder. “Do that stuff anymore, you know…” she pursed her lips. “The hero thing”.

“Still-” Bob nodded. “Like, you’re still cool though” he smiled as he tilted his head, lifting a shoulder.

Nessa felt her heartbeat grow loud,ever so slightly. “Oh” she said.

"I-um” she waved her hand uselessly. ‘Thank you,” she offered him a smile.

He nodded, grinning slightly.

“Hey job or not, could you have some respect please?’ Yelena's voice cut through the conversation.

Both Nessa and Bob turned to see Walker and Ghost plucking off the dead masked woman’s weapons like a pair of vultures.

“Oh Jesus,” said Walker as he strutted towards the woman, picking up a gun.

Yelena raised a hand in question.

“What? She’d want me to have it” he said.

“I need it”

Nessa rolled her eyes, pressed her lips in annoyance.

Suddenly, the room turned red and a series of alarms began blaring.

Nessa put her hand in front of Bob.

“The hell’s that?” Walker asked.

“Doesn’t sound like a shredder,” said Ghost.

“More like an incinerator” Nessa added, as she realised it.

“Two minutes” Yelena turned to a timer counting down.

“Then Valentina’s plate is cleaned”.

“You don’t know that for sure,” Walker interjected. “It could be anything”.

“It could be for when they come to pick me up”.

Nessa pressed her palm to her forehead, “Dude how big of an idiot can you be?” she groaned.

“You feel that?” Ava turned to him. “The temperature rising dramatically as if heat is involved?”.

Walker then shifted uncomfortably before finally accepting, “Well it is an incinerator".

“Oh boy, that is not a way to go,” Bob said from behind Nessa.

She looked at him.

“Oh yeah?” Walker spoke, yet again. 

“How would you like to die, Bob?”

“Shut up asshole” Nessa snapped at him.

“Alright Ghost Lady” Yelena began.

“Ava” the woman corrected her. 

“Sure whatever, I don't care”.

“We need to help you phase through these walls so you can open the door”.

“She already tried,” Walker added.

“I know she did, but we haven’t tried shutting down the sound barrier” Yelena reasoned.

“They built it just for her,” Nessa began. “So there must be an independent power source” she realised.

“Come on let’s go” Yelena nodded to her.

Nessa paced around, searching for the power source.

“What exactly are we looking for?” Bob asked from somewhere behind Nessa.

“We’re looking for, not stupid questions, Bob,” Walker responded.

Nessa’s brows knit together.

“I think I found it!” Yelena’s voice rang out.

Nessa and Ava ran towards her.

Ava used a piece of metal to pry the barrier to the power source open.

“Alright I can override this” said Yelena.

But before she could move towards it, Nessa jerked her left hand towards the glowing box in the wall, sending a blast it's way.

“Well that works” Yelena waved a hand.

“Go go go” Nesa turned to Ava who then rushed towards one of the doors.

Nessa ignored the pounding in her chest as she saw the woman phase out and the time running out.

She glanced at the timer

20 seconds

“You think she’s gonna come back?” Bob asked her.

But she could only offer him a shrug and a sombre gaze.

Nessa stared ahead

She exhaled deeply as she closed her eyes.

The sound of the timer, the bright red lights, the people around, it all faded away.

The world faded away

She was standing in front of her now. Her golden curls blowing in the wind.

“I can finally make it up to you” the voice deep inside Nessa’s heart spoke as she gazed at the girl in front of her.

But the girl only looked at Nessa, her jaw set, “Not yet” she said.

Suddenly, a loud alarm blared out.

“Come on!” a voice rang out to her right, Bob’s voice.

He gripped her hand and rushed towards the door.

Taglist- @sunflower-0180 @unavoidabledirewolf