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notjustjavierpena · 6 months ago

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Dream

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A/N: A little Acacius piece to jumpstart my brain again!

Summary: Out on a war campaign, Marcus wakes up in the middle of the night to a dream of you. Oh, how hard it is to be apart.

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: +18, YEARNING, kisses, piv sex, emotional and passionate sex, slight breeding, creampie

Word count: 2.6k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60742789

Dream

The Roman encampment lies quiet underneath the starry sky as Marcus startles awake, his legionnaires long ago having extinguished fires with dirt, downed the last goblets of drink, and found rest in their cots. It is in the middle of the night, the general judges by the silence around him that’s only disturbed by the hoot of an owl somewhere. Along with the warm sun, early mornings also bring the sound of a bustling camp - its soldiers chatting and preparing for the day’s march across the country - but right now, all is still.

Marcus also deduces that it is way into the night because the moon hangs high and silent on the horizon, its pale and beautiful light shining into his tent. With sleep still clinging to him, he realizes that he has been woken up by a warm breeze catching the flaps of the tent, the entrance repeatedly opening and closing with a whipping sound.

His first instinct is to reach for his dagger, sure of the fact that he secured the entrance to his makeshift bedchambers before falling asleep, but the second he wraps his fingers around the hilt, he sees you standing there with the moonlight bathing you from behind in a bluish glow that makes you seem almost ethereal.

You approach his cot, and he lets his hand fall from the dagger and drop onto the chest of his tunic. You are so beautiful, radiant in the same nightgown that he saw you in the night before you parted ways and he went to war. It is a memory that keeps him going even through the hardest of days; the way you had kissed him so deeply, sprawled out beneath him. This was while you had looked at him pleadingly and with tears on your face that he tried to catch with his thumbs before they rolled down into your hair. The way he had made love to you is burned into his mind, keeping him warm when temperatures outside drop along the seaside. He promised you that he would return to you as soon as he could but here he is in your company much sooner than he anticipated, and he knows it cannot be real.

Your gown flows around you with each step you take, draping so perfectly along the curves of your body as if you’re the personification of Venus herself. He knows what the white fabric hides, even if it weren’t for the rounding of your breasts being outlined or the peaks of your nipples poking against the front. You perch yourself on the edge of his cot, leaning over him and smiling tenderly down at him.

“This is a dream,” he says quietly. He reaches out to curl his fingers into your dress, wondering if you’ll evaporate into thin air if he touches you. He doesn’t think he can handle it if you disappear from his grasp.

“If this is a dream, then I wish never to wake," you declare and the sound of the melody that is your voice has Marcus’ heart nearly leaping out of his chest. You stay with him as he tugs you down for a kiss, solid against him and nowhere like the mist surrounding the tents in the morning like he had feared, “Yet some say that we must be thinking of one another at the same time to be meeting like this.”

“I am always thinking of you. I miss you more than I can bear,” he says weakly, a lump having formed in his throat, scratchy from sleep. You rest your forehead against his, the both of you sighing softly in relief at being so close. Then you place a hand on his cheek, and Marcus feels a whole universe of emotions inside of himself, expanding so fast that he can’t breathe, that it threatens to overwhelm him.

“You have me,” you reassure gently, opening your eyes to look at him even as you kiss him softly on the lips. Your scent envelops him, jasmine flowers - his favorite - from the garden where he took his first stroll with you. And there his heart and mind go once more, feeling relief yet longing, happiness yet sadness.

“This war,” he whispers and his gaze is fleeting, “It feels meaningless if I cannot be with you, beloved wife. We are parts of the same soul, you and I. What good am I here if I am merely a puzzle missing its pieces?”

“Shh, look at me, my love,” you soothe and it’s like his body is draped in the warm blankets of your shared bed, hearing the sound of his home bustling with happiness. You brush your fingers across the stubble on his cheek. He leans into the touch, knows that his eyes are wide and pleading as he returns them to you. You scratch his beard again, “You are whole, Marcus Acacius, even here. You carry me with you, just as I carry you.”

“My clever wife, yet again you are right. It is my weary heart that speaks. Of course, you are always with me, always in my thoughts even when it feels like the skies will tumble down upon me and the world will end,” he replies, taking in the way you look to the version of him that dreams. He wonders if the picture before him will etch itself into his mind, so deeply that his thoughts will conjure up fresh images tomorrow during broad daylight.

“Those skies are skies we share, always under the same sun and moon,” you smile, and he sighs, closing his eyes as you trace his face with your fingers. You draw invisible lines across his features, gently over his cheekbones and carefully down the length of his nose, fingertips dancing across his eyelids with featherlight touches, “Do you remember nights spent under the stars? You love that spot close to the river back home.”

“Tell me of home," he asks of you, a bead of desperation rattling around in his chest, "Tell me of the river, the fields, and the stars, of the songs the birds sing at dawn."

“The river flows like it always has, my love. The fields stand golden and the wind makes it seem like they are one with the water surrounding them. Can you see it?” You sound like a lullaby.

Marcus nods, the sight is painted on the back of his eyelids. He knows each hue of blue and golden, each curve of the bending riverbanks, and he can almost feel his heart beating slower at the mental image. He finds peace in the idea that nothing has changed back where you are waiting for him, the familiarity more soothing than any draught or potion. For a moment, he is home with you and all is well.

You peck his lips while brushing his cheek with the back of your hand, “And the birds. Can you hear them? The way the larks greet each morning?”

“I hope the Fates are not so cruel as to keep us apart for much longer. I want to hear them again soon,” he murmurs, opening his eyes to find himself staring into yours. He reaches up to cup the back of your neck, feeling how warm you are despite not actually being here.

“Sleep,” you encourage gently.

“I can’t, not with you so near,” he whispers and draws you nearer to his mouth again. He captures your lips in a longing and deep kiss, a quiet urgency rising in his chest when you sigh the way he loves. As you thread your fingers through his graying hair, he reaches for your waist and guides you to sit on top of him.

Your dress pools around your thighs and him like the mountains and valleys he crosses each day. He pulls back to drink you in, committing you to memory as his eyes dance over the curves he had noticed beneath the fabric as you entered his tent.

"Then touch me," you let out a little breath of desperation, a fire having ignited in your eyes while you stare into his. He feels the flame within himself too.

One of his hands moves slowly up your bare arm, the other tracing the length of your spine on top of your dress until you shiver. He lets both hands grab at the straps of your gown, guiding them off your shoulders until your chest is bare to him. You lean down for another kiss but he grabs your soft shoulder to stop your advances, his thumb resting against your pulse point. He marvels at how real you feel, can feel your heartbeat underneath the tip of his finger as if you are truly here.

"Marcus," you plead him quietly and he doesn’t hesitate. He sits up slowly until your breasts touch his chest and then he finds your mouth again, his fountain of youth. He slips his hands underneath the skirt of your gown and feels that you are already ready to welcome him if he wants. He touches you there for only a moment but you still beautifully furrow your brow with pleasure from how much desire Cupid has sent through your veins. However, he decides that he has no time to prolong this moment with you because only Somnus will know when he’s going to wake up.

“Lift your arms,” he guides after hearing you make a feeble noise when he removes his digits from your slick core.

You do as he says and he lifts the waves of fabric over your head, throwing the discarded gown onto the ground with a smile on his face. In return, your hands find the hem of his tunic, sliding it up and over his head. The tunic joins your gown on the floor, the both of you finally touching each other’s naked bodies with soft chuckles. There’s something euphoric about simply being naked in each other’s arms before making love, something so vulnerable and private that it’s reserved only for each other.

Your palms roam over his broad, strong chest and your fingers thread through the coarse hairs there. His hands mirror yours but instead, they feel the softness of your skin that prickles his with warmth. He skims them over the swell of your breasts, the touch full of worship while he buries his nose in the crook of your neck.

“My beautiful wife,” he murmurs while he showers you in kisses from neck to collarbone to the top of your breast.

“Make feel whole,” you moan and cradle his head, holding him against your chest while his mouth trails across the valley of your breasts. He doesn’t need to be commanded twice, already helping you to sink down on him to the very hilt of his length.

The connection has the both of you gasping and chuckling further in relief, none of you moving as you get used to having him so deep within you. He stares up at you as you’ve elevated yourself slightly to sit down on his cock, blown away by your beauty that’s enough to make him twitch inside of your pulsing heat.

"I love you immeasurably, my wife.”

"And I love you, my husband.”

You move against him for the first time and he groans low in his throat, already feeling the stirrings of pleasure. With his hands on your hips, the two of you slowly begin moving together, your bodies finding a rhythm that is instinctive and familiar. He finds that he doesn’t need to intervene in your sinful ministrations on top of him; he knows the pattern of your hips’ movements like the back of his hand, knows when to leave you to do as you please and when to help you. Right now, you are an expert in driving him to madness.

His hands are everywhere as you take what you need from him. He touches where he can reach - your thighs, your hips, your back - as if he cannot figure out where he wants to hold you the most. Eventually, your hands find his to anchor him, entwining your fingers together to ground him in his longing for you.

However, Marcus is not a man of restraint when it comes to you. He needs you in ways that make him yearn for you even when you are on top of him.

“Faster,” he brushes his lips against your jaw, kisses your chin when he was supposed to find your mouth. You hold his hands and oblige, the rolls of your hips quickening to a pace much faster than how you’ve been imitating the waves of the sea. Your skin is glistening in the moonlight coming through his tent, sparkling like you are a goddess descended from the heavens and into the arms of him, a mere mortal.

You’ve closed your eyes as you near your crescendo, your lips parting in a breathless moan while the world outside is lost to the both of you. He can feel you choking his length, tightening around him like a fist. In his belly, heat is tightening like a rope about to snap in two. He feels it within you too, both of you teetering on the edge of unmatchable pleasure. He wishes it was real and not in the realm of dreams, wishes that this was the moment he created a family with you and made you his entirely. There’s so much to look forward to in his return.

“Let go, my love,” he says in an almost commanding tone, “Let your general feel you.”

And you do. Your peak hits you like a bolt of lightning to the point where he has to keep up your pace, his hips thrusting up to meet yours while you lose yourself in the sensations running through your veins. He drags your entwined hands to his chest, placing your palm on his pounding heart, and mirrors his own hand on your chest too. Your hearts beat in unison and he can’t take it anymore, can feel his control slipping from his grasp.

He comes with a quick intake of air and then a growl, his hips stuttering before he spills inside of you. His body tenses up for a moment before it relaxes thoroughly, chest heaving and head swimming with the intensity of it all. You say his name and he finds himself saying yours, repeating it like were they prayers for the Gods.

Eventually, your body slumps against him and he slips out of your spent heat. Your breaths are synchronized, even as they slowly start to calm down in your bliss. He holds you close to his chest, feeling you stick to him but he doesn’t care. He’ll take anything you have to give when his body and soul miss you so thoroughly.

“Sometimes I wonder if the Gods are punishing me for loving you so deeply,” he murmurs with a trail of kisses along your shoulder. A loud, satisfactory sigh leaves him when you slide your fingers through his sweat-damp hair.

“Your ability to love wholly and completely is yours alone. Do not let the Gods take credit for what belongs to your heart,” you whisper back to him, stealing a kiss when he looks up at you.

“Stay with me,” he begs of you, “Don’t ever go.”

“I will stay as long as the night prevails,” you reply gently, “But come dawn, I have to go.”

It is unbearable but it makes it more precious. He reaches to brush a strand of your hair from your forehead as it has fallen into your face during your intimacy. He smiles as he takes in the sight of you, how beautiful you look with heated cheeks.

“Tell me about home again,” he requests, “Please.”

And so you do.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

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theskywithin · 1 month ago

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Birth Chart Breakdown: Planets in The First House

☉ Sun in the First House You carry the warmth of your own sunrise. Even in your quietest moments, something about you catches light. People feel it instinctively, they expect brightness, leadership, certainty. You know this, so you wear your glow like armor. But even the sun has shadows behind it. There are days you wonder: if I stop shining, will they still see me? If I dim, will I disappear? Let yourself rest, radiant one. You are not here to prove your fire, you are the fire, even when the sky clouds over. Shine for yourself first, and the world will follow naturally.

☽ Moon in the First House Your emotions write stories across your skin before you ever speak them aloud. You are a walking tide, ebbing and flowing with the moon’s quiet pull. People sense you before they know you, they feel you, deeply, even when you try to guard your waves. There is beauty in this openness, but also a quiet fear: am I too transparent? Do I reveal too much too soon? Remember, your sensitivity is not your weakness, it is your language. Let them read you like poetry, not as a map to navigate, but as a moment to feel. You are the ocean, not just the ripple on its surface.

☿ Mercury in the First House You are a thought turned into movement, a mind made visible. Words orbit you, fast and full of spark, as if they cannot wait to escape. Conversation is your oxygen, and curiosity your pulse. But beneath the flow of cleverness lies a quieter story: what happens when there is nothing left to say? Will they stay for the silence, or only for the dance of your mind? Trust the pauses, let your thoughts settle like dust in a sunbeam. Not every answer is spoken aloud, and not every connection needs words. Sometimes, being heard begins with hearing yourself first.

♀ Venus in the First House You wear beauty as effortlessly as breathing. It's not just in your features, but in the way you move, the softness you bring to the air. People are drawn in, as if by a silent invitation. Yet with every gaze that lingers, there’s a whisper inside: do they see me, or just the reflection of their desires? You have learned to navigate attention like a delicate waltz, but remember, your beauty is not a performance. Let yourself be loved not just for how you appear, but for the quiet landscapes of your soul, the ones only true hearts take the time to explore.

♂ Mars in the First House You carry thunder beneath your skin. Your energy arrives like a spark that catches before you realize it’s lit. Action calls to you like a second heartbeat, as if stillness is a betrayal of your nature. You fight for space, for recognition, for the right to exist loudly. But beneath the flame, there is a quieter ache: will they respect my power if I let them see my gentleness? Remember, fire is not only for destruction. It also warms, protects, and lights the way. You are allowed to rest. Your strength will not vanish in the quiet.

♃ Jupiter in the First House You move through life like an open sky, wide and full of promise. Optimism is stitched into your being, a horizon that always feels within reach. You naturally expand spaces, make people feel larger, brighter, more hopeful just by standing beside them. But you carry an unspoken question: must I always be the one to lift the room? What happens if I let my joy flicker? Know this: your light is not a performance, it’s an extension of your spirit. Even the vastest skies have clouds, and they do not diminish the beauty of the dawn. Let yourself feel everything, not just the sunshine.

♄ Saturn in the First House You carry the architecture of time itself, built into your posture. There is a weight to you, an ancient kind of knowing that others sense without words. Responsibility clings to you, sometimes gifted, sometimes forced. People trust your steadiness but forget your softness. You wonder: if I set down my burdens, will I still be valued? Will they love me without my structure? The answer is yes. Let the walls breathe. Let the foundations of your life include your own rest, your own freedom. You are not here to be a monument, you are here to live.

♅ Uranus in the First House You are the thunderclap in a quiet sky, the spark that changes everything. Your energy rearranges the air before you even speak. People sense revolution in your presence, a wildness that defies prediction. But inside, there’s a quiet fear: will I ever belong, if I am always the storm? You crave connection yet fear losing your freedom to it. Remember, you are not meant to fit a mold, you are meant to shatter it, lovingly. The right souls will not cage you. They will run beside you beneath your electric skies.

♆ Neptune in the First House You are the dream between waking and sleep, soft at the edges but deeply felt. People see what they want to see in you, projecting fantasies onto your canvas. You feel both visible and invisible at once, loved for the illusion but longing for something real. There is beauty in being the dream, but also loneliness. Anchor your heart gently to the truth of who you are. You are not here to be a reflection of longing, you are here to be whole, to be known beyond the mist. Let yourself be seen, not as a dream, but as a person worth waking for.

♇ Pluto in the First House You carry gravity in your bones, as if you were born from the ashes of stars. Your presence speaks of storms weathered and rebirths claimed, even if you’ve never told your story aloud. People feel your depth instinctively, and it can make them tremble, not from fear, but from recognition. Yet within you stirs a quiet question: if they see all of me, will they run? Trust this: your depths are not too much for the ones meant to dive with you. You were not born to stay on the surface. Let your truth rise like fire from the earth. The brave will follow.

💫 Want to go deeper into your chart? 📖 My book takes you through every sign, planet, and house.

#astrology #astro community #astro observations #astro notes #birth chart #natal chart #natal astrology #natal aspects #first house #planets #natal placements #astrology tumblr #astrology blog #astrology notes

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flutterclouds · 2 years ago

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@noblejanobii @summermonths

ポケモン | Fleur de Coquelicot

#pokemon #eevee #torchic #shaymin #vulpix #munna #comfey #aesthetic #beneath the radiant sky #within the sunlit wildwood #special interest #dante look at this #cloudicqueue

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mintyys-blog · 1 month ago

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Hellooo! Can I just say that I am in love with your writing? Your work is literally perfection 💕

On that note, could I request Viltrumite!Mark x reader, but reader either being taken back to Viltrum by Mark, or kinda being raised on Viltrum but still rebelling??

So either Viltrumite!Mark goes to earth, falls in love with reader, reader is super strong so he takes them back and they become his “pet” (and maybe they’re so strong/useful that the Viltrumite’s can’t just kill them) But they rebel by having fun, making a radio listening to music, painting, just still trying to enjoy human things. But Mark and the other Viltrumite’s are just confused af

Or reader is taken by a Viltrumite as a child/baby because they’re OP af (Nolan situation, but the Viltrumite adopts their partner’s previous kid). Is kinda raised on Viltrum, still has that human attitude and still rebels in the same way. Is expressive, listens to music, dances, sings, cooks, etc. But now the Viltrumite’s watches as a human turns one of their warriors into a loving parent. Same premise, Mark falls in love with reader, reader still finds ways to enjoy life, confusing Mark, etc.

(Idk what power they would have, maybe something like Yuki Tsukomo’s cursed technique, because she’s OP and I love her. Or maybe reader has like Kryptonian/Starfire abilities?? Idk, you can pick whatever you want. And if this is too weird or confusing then feel free to ignore this. Have a nice day ❤️❤️)

REBEL | viltrumite! mark grayson x reader

INVINCIBLE MASTERLIST

WARNINGS: kidnapping

Mark found you on Earth. Not cowering. Not running. Standing.

You were radiant—glowing with a heat that cracked the asphalt beneath your feet. Your energy flared like a second sun, brilliant and unpredictable. You didn’t need to throw a punch. The force that wrapped around your body like a second skin pulsed with every emotion. A living aura that bent reality around you, the result of a rare cursed technique shaped by willpower alone—like the universe answering your emotions with violent truth.

And when he tried to take you down?

You smiled. He knew then that he wouldn’t kill you. Couldn’t. And so he took you.

⸻

Viltrum was… sterile. Cold. Brutal. A world forged in discipline and blood. And yet, in the middle of it all, you glowed. Literally. Your power made your skin shimmer like starlight, your eyes ever-burning with that same dangerous emotion they couldn’t understand.

Mark brought you to Viltrum thinking he could break you in quietly. He didn’t call you a prisoner, but the word lingered unspoken. The Council debated your existence in private chambers, wondering if you were a threat or an opportunity. You didn’t care. You were too busy making noise.

Your quarters—technically a suite for a high-ranking soldier—became your sanctuary.

You painted the metal walls with glowing sigils, strokes of cursed energy infused in each color, humming songs from Earth as you worked. You carved a primitive speaker system into the walls, rigged it to play music from memory and vibrations stored in Viltrumite data drives. You danced barefoot through the corridors, trailing light, your hair lit with energy like a comet’s tail.

Mark found you spinning in the center of your room one day, music thrumming against the walls. Your mural stretched across the metal—planets with faces, stars bleeding laughter, and a massive figure in a blue and black suit painted into the sky, a gentle expression on his face. Him.

He stared at it for too long.

“What the hell are you doing?” he muttered.

You glanced over your shoulder, then smiled. “Reclaiming this place.”

His jaw clenched. “This isn’t Earth. You can’t just play pretend here. These people—my people—will tear you apart if they think you’re a threat or a joke.”

“I’m not pretending,” you replied, dipping a brush into light and slapping it across the wall like rebellion. “This is me. I’m not a soldier. I’m not a pet. I’m not some nameless asset in your crusade.”

“Then what are you?” he snapped, stepping closer, expression unreadable.

You turned, meeting his eyes, all the chaotic power in you burning beneath your skin. “I’m human. And that’s everything you’ve forgotten.”

⸻

Word spread fast. Viltrumites avoided your wing of the palace, unnerved by the strange energy in the walls. Some accused you of sorcery. Others whispered that your power could twist minds. You laughed. You built wind chimes from scrap metal and taught soldiers how to play poker. You cursed a general’s boots to squeak for three straight days.

The Council confronted Mark. “She’s mocking our world. Undermining control.”

“She’s not a threat,” Mark replied. “She’s just… different.”

“She’s undisciplined. She does not obey. That makes her dangerous.”

Mark didn’t have a response for that.

Because deep down, they were right. You were dangerous.

But not in the way they feared.

⸻

One night, Mark stood outside your door, staring at the soft music echoing through the hall. Something acoustic. A slow beat. A human song with lyrics he didn’t understand. When he stepped inside, he found you sitting cross-legged in the center of the room, surrounded by sketches and paint-stained cloth. You looked up at him like you’d been expecting him.

“You okay, soldier boy?” you teased.

He didn’t answer right away. His eyes scanned the room—your art, your light, your presence. Something in him clenched.

“You’ve changed this place,” he said quietly. “Changed me.”

“Is that so bad?”

“I don’t know yet.”

You stood, approaching him slowly. You tilted your head, and the starlight in your veins pulsed faintly, echoing your emotions. “You were born here, but you don’t belong here either, Mark.”

He didn’t stop you when you reached for him. Didn’t stop you when your fingers brushed his face, trailing warmth where nothing but blood and war had touched him before.

“You brought me here to break me,” you whispered, leaning closer. “But all I’ve done is show you what it means to be alive.”

Mark didn’t kiss you. Not yet. But he didn’t walk away either. He stood there in the low glow of your self-made sanctuary, surrounded by your colors, your music, your warmth. And something inside him—it stirred. Twisted. Something he didn’t want to name.

The next day, you were gone. Not missing. Not dead. Just… relocated.

They stripped your room bare. Took the paint, the music, even the rugs you’d made from recycled cloth. The walls were scrubbed clean, your mural painted over in stark gray. You woke in a sterile chamber deep below the palace, guarded by soldiers who flinched every time your power flickered.

Mark didn’t show up. Not for days.

You didn’t scream. You didn’t break down. You waited. And when they brought your meals, you thanked them. When they tried to interrogate you, you smiled and asked if they’d ever seen stars up close. When they accused you of sorcery, of manipulation, of corrupting their precious heir, you laughed and said they didn’t know what corruption was. Not really.

Mark finally came to see you when the Council threatened to execute you.

“She’s too unpredictable,” they told him. “She’s not a soldier. She’s not one of us. Either she bends to our order… or she breaks.” He stood in your chamber like he didn’t recognize you, arms crossed, jaw clenched. “You could’ve made this easier.”

“I wasn’t trying to make it easy,” you said calmly. “I was trying to make it real.”

“I warned you.”

“You did. But you also knew I wouldn’t stop.”

He exhaled slowly. “They’re going to kill you.” You stood, the light beneath your skin flickering. “Then let them try.”

He moved before he could stop himself, hand grabbing your wrist, grip firm—but not cruel. “Don’t.” You met his eyes. “Then do something.”

That night, you weren’t returned to your old quarters—but you were moved. Not quite free, not quite caged. The room was quiet, untouched, and large enough to pace. Mark posted guards outside, ones that reported to him. He didn’t say what he told the Council, but whatever it was—it worked.

For now. But you were still a fire. One they didn’t know how to contain. You rebuilt your radio. Pieced together wires with nothing but touch and memory. You played songs that echoed down the halls. You painted on stolen scraps of metal and used energy to etch patterns into the floor. You whispered stories to the guards who didn’t speak to you. You hummed lullabies that made them shift uncomfortably.

Mark kept coming back. He never said why. Sometimes he brought questions. Sometimes he just sat in silence, arms resting on his knees as you sang or told him about things that no longer existed on Earth. Things he never cared about until now.

“Why do you care about all this?” he asked once, watching you sketch a bird mid-flight. “It’s meaningless.”

“It’s everything,” you said softly. “It’s freedom. Emotion. Beauty. It’s the reason not to burn everything to the ground.” He didn’t respond.

But the next day, he brought you a paintbrush. One you hadn’t asked for. You took it without a word, fingers brushing his as you did. He didn’t move away.

One of the guards eventually reported that your energy output was growing—steadily, but without aggression. The Council demanded another evaluation. This time, they watched from behind thick glass as you levitated mid-air, body pulsing with raw, radiant energy, yet never attacking. Instead, you painted stars in the air, one by one, until the room shimmered with constellations.

“She could destroy us,” one whispered.

“But she hasn’t,” Mark said.

“And if she does?”

“She won’t,” he answered, voice low. “Not unless we give her a reason.”

You saw him watching you through the glass. His expression unreadable.

You floated down slowly and stared straight back at him. Then, without fear, you drew a simple shape in the air with your fingers. A heart. He couldn’t stop the twitch of his lips— a small smile coming on his face.

#x reader #reader insert #x female reader #viltrumite mark #mark grayson x you #mark grayson x reader #mark grayson #invincible variants #invincible x fem!reader #invincible x y/n #invincible x you #invincible x reader #invincible #viltrum mark x reader #viltrum mark

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solxamber · 4 months ago

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Supervillain's Guide to Romance || Rook Hunt

You, Supervillain, planned for a lifetime of rivalry, but instead, the Hero, Rook Hunt just keeps breaking into your lair with snacks.

Where did it all go wrong?

(Villain! Reader x Hero! Rook)

You have waited for this moment forever.

The world has been terribly dull as of late. Sure, your evil empire is thriving, the peasantry cowers at the mention of your name, and several major institutions have crumbled beneath your perfectly polished boots.

But without conflict, without an opponent, it’s just… paperwork and infrastructure maintenance. And while managing the economy after singlehandedly obliterating capitalism is hilarious, it does not provide the visceral thrill of a good old-fashioned deathmatch.

But now. Now.

The Goddess has finally chosen her Hero.

And you are so ready for this.

Your Ultimate Doomsday Device™ is primed. Your Evil Lair is bathed in appropriately dramatic red lighting. Your constructs—hulking, ominous, heavily armed—are lined up in terrifying symmetry, all enhanced with freshly sharpened weaponry and, crucially, eyeliner. Because aesthetic matters.

And you?

You are a vision of villainy. Cloak billowing, sword gleaming, boots heeled just enough to exude power but still practical enough for dramatic combat maneuvers. You spent three hours in front of a mirror perfecting your “I’ll kill you and laugh about it” smirk. You are prepared to be an absolute menace.

And then he arrives.

Standing atop the nearest cliff, silhouetted by an impossibly well-placed moon, is him.

The Goddess’s Chosen Hero.

Rook Hunt.

He is posing. His bow gleams. He looks like a romanticized painting of a hunter-king about to declare war on a stag. And then—

“Ah-ha!” he cries, pointing dramatically at you. “At last, we meet, O Dark Jewel of the Night’s Malevolence!”

…What.

Rook places a hand on his chest, eyes alight with unhinged enthusiasm. “What poetry! What drama! What an exquisite monologue that must have been as you awaited my arrival! Tell me, mon cher adversaire, how long have you rehearsed this glorious moment?”

…What.

You were expecting many things.

A clash of ideals. A heated battle. Perhaps a reluctant respect forged in the fires of combat.

You were not expecting your mortal enemy to sound like a theater major experiencing religious ecstasy at the sight of your properly villainous cape swish.

You squint at him. “You’re… excited?”

Rook nods so fervently his hat nearly flies off. “But of course! To stand against one so resplendently wicked! To trade blows—nay, souls—in this eternal dance of justice and villainy! C'est magnifique!”

He’s smiling.

Why is he smiling.

This is a deathmatch, not a wine tasting.

You clear your throat, lifting your chin in the most intimidating way possible. “Do you have any final words before I bring ruin upon you?”

Rook inhales deeply, eyes glimmering like a man utterly in love with the idea of his own demise.

“You are radiant in your menace! A blinding star of destruction! Smite me, O Harbinger of Dread! Let me bask in the beauty of your malice!”

He spreads his arms as if to embrace the impending carnage.

You slowly lower your sword.

“…What the hell is wrong with you?”

You shrug it off, maybe the Goddess likes them unhinged.

You had prepared for this moment your entire life.

The darkness swirled dramatically around you as you stood atop your obsidian throne, gazing down at the battlefield below. Your constructs—your beautiful, eyeliner-wearing minions—were poised, weapons gleaming, capes billowing, eyes smoldering with unholy (and stylish) rage.

The sky rumbled, lightning cracked, your "smite-a-city" device hummed ominously, and a general sense of doom and destruction filled the air.

This was it. The fated clash between good and evil. The battle that would shake the heavens, rend the earth, and—

"Ah, mon cher, your stance is exquisite! But tell me, would you rather have dinner instead of world domination?"

You freeze mid-swing, sword inches from his throat.

Your constructs freeze mid-battle, one still mid-air, about to deliver a flying kick. The thunder hesitates, the lightning awkwardly fizzles out, the wind that had been howling through the battlefield just kind of... stops, like it forgot what it was doing. Even your "smite-a-city" device lets out a confused beep.

Rook Hunt—the Goddess’s Chosen Hero, The People's Champion, The Bringer of Light and Justice, The Reason You Haven’t Been Able to Have a Peaceful Afternoon in Months—gazes at you with sparkling green eyes, utterly unbothered. He is smiling. He is batting his eyelashes. He is somehow more dazzling than the lightning.

You, in contrast, are short-circuiting. "HUH??? WHAT??? NO???"

"Magnifique." He lunges again, sword clashing against yours, his grin only widening. "Then I shall vanquish you with the elegance you deserve!"

The world unfreezes as if someone hit 'play' on reality again. Your constructs return to attacking, the wind resumes howling, thunder remembers how to be intimidating, and you—still reeling—dodge a particularly poetic strike from the overly enthusiastic Hero of the World.

You're not sure what just happened, but you do know one thing:

You absolutely refuse to die without getting some answers first.

And maybe, just maybe, you need to recalibrate your entire life plan.

You had been prepared for a worthy opponent. You had been prepared for grand battles, for expertly crafted schemes, for a rivalry that would echo through the annals of history.

What you had not been prepared for was Rook Hunt.

You take a sip of your tea, relishing a rare moment of villainous peace. The sun is setting, your latest evil scheme (a devastating tax loophole reform) is progressing smoothly, and—most importantly—Rook Hunt is not around.

Or so you thought.

Because the moment you relax, you feel it. That unmistakable tingle of being observed.

Slowly, you lower your cup.

And there he is. Peeking through your window.

His stupid hat. His stupid cape. His stupidly enchanting green eyes shining like a cursed emerald in the dim light.

"Bonsoir, mon cher!" he greets cheerfully, dangling upside down from your roof like a particularly well-dressed bat.

You nearly drop your tea. "WHAT THE FU—"

You're exhausted. Emotionally, physically, spiritually. You decide to dedicate an entire day to self-care. Face masks, fluffy robes, a villainous bath bomb infused with the souls of the unjustly rich—you are determined to ignore the world.

As you stretch luxuriously in your grand lair, you hear a faint thunk.

You pause.

Slowly, you turn your gaze toward the door.

There, pinned straight through the wood by an arrow, is a neatly wrapped face mask.

You take a deep breath. You count to ten. You fail to count to ten because you are seething.

You yank the arrow out and unroll the note attached to it.

"Self-care is crucial, mon ami! Hydrate well and let your skin glow like the celestial heavens! À bientôt~!"

There is a little hand-drawn heart at the bottom.

You have never known rage like this.

At this point, you’re convinced the Goddess chose him purely to fuck with you.

There is no other explanation. None.

Because every time you turn around, he is there.

He is watching.

He is smiling.

He is way too into this.

You are a responsible supervillain. You do your own paperwork.

This is crucial.

Do you have minions? Yes. Constructs? Absolutely. Are they efficient? Of course. Do they understand the fine intricacies of tax-deductible lair maintenance expenses? No.

So here you are, suffering, hunched over your desk, reviewing budgets for your upcoming Doomsday Apparatus™ (pending patent).

Your shoulder aches. The price of evil, you suppose.

Then, hands.

You sigh, assuming it’s one of your constructs trying to be helpful, but the texture is all wrong. Not cold. Not metallic. Not vaguely threatening.

You freeze.

These are human hands.

You whirl around so fast you nearly fall out of your chair.

And there he is.

Rook Hunt. The Menace of Your Existence.

Wearing that same infuriatingly pleased expression he always has when he manages to unnerve you.

“Mon trésor, you are so tense! Do not fret, for I am here to ease your burdens—”

Your hand is already on your emergency drawer.

Because of course you keep a glock in there. You’re a responsible supervillain.

But before you can make him truly holy, he lifts a plate of your favorite cookies.

You squint.

You squint harder.

The cookies look perfect.

You hate him.

But you love those cookies.

“...Fine,” you grumble. “Dining room. Now.”

And that’s how you end up having the most awkward tea party of your life.

Your constructs—tall, looming, deadly—stand against the walls like confused statues.

You glare at Rook. He beams at you.

You eat a cookie. He sips his tea like he’s the most welcome guest in the world and not your mortal enemy.

Finally, you break the silence.

“I’m going to destroy an entire city district next time.”

Rook hums, interested. “Hm. But which one? Have you considered an aerial attack for maximum devastation?”

Your constructs shift uncomfortably.

You blink. “...What.”

“If you truly wish to inspire terror, mon cher, a coordinated offensive utilizing shadow and fire would be most spectacular. Oh, imagine the fear in their eyes! The poetry of destruction!”

Your constructs are now visibly uncomfortable.

You stare at him. “...You realize I am trying to defeat you, right?”

“Oui.” He takes another dainty sip of tea. “But what is a villain without a hero? What is a hero without a villain? We are locked in the most beautiful dance, and it would be a shame if your evil was anything less than... magnifique.”

You hate how good that sounds.

Your constructs, sensing the sheer unhinged energy at this table, collectively decide they are done.

You’ve had it.

Rook Hunt has been breaking into your lair every other day, treating your villainous empire like it’s some kind of all-you-can-antagonize buffet.

So tonight? You strike back.

Your plan is perfectly petty. You sneak into his house, bypass his defenses, and leave a nasty little surprise—a copy of his stupid hat, but without the feather. Symbolic. Brutal. Devastating.

It’s dark inside. Suspiciously dark. You move silently through the halls, your villain senses tingling, when—

A hand grabs your wrist.

You let out the most unvillainous, undignified little squeak known to man.

A candle flares to life.

And there he is.

Rook Hunt. Smiling. Smug. Suspiciously pleased.

And behind him?

A fully set candlelit dinner table.

What.

You yank your wrist free and glare at him. “How did you know I was coming?”

“I didn’t!” He laughs, delighted, as if this entire scenario isn’t absolutely deranged. “I’ve merely been setting this up every night for the past week, hoping one day you would.”

You stare.

Your brain buffers.

Your evil plan—your brilliant, petty, symbolically devastating evil plan—is completely ruined.

But also.

You are weirdly, deeply flattered.

Which is so annoying.

You grumble and stomp over to the table. “Well, I’m not wasting a perfectly good meal.”

Rook positively beams as you sit down, pouring you a glass of something fancy.

You stab at your food aggressively. “You suck, Hunt.”

“Ah, mon amour, flattery will get you everywhere.”

You contemplate murder.

You also contemplate dessert.

Your life is hard.

As a renowned and feared supervillain, you have many responsibilities—world domination, economic destabilization, overthrowing the bourgeoisie—but even the greatest of evildoers need time to unwind.

For you, that means art.

Tonight, you sit in your grand lair, sketchbook in hand, dreamily doodling while fantasizing about the day you will finally, unequivocally, beat Rook Hunt.

Perhaps you’ll trap him in an inescapable dungeon.

Perhaps you’ll trick him into an elaborate psychological game that will break his very spirit.

Perhaps you’ll put a single grain of sand in his boots and let nature take its course.

The possibilities are endless.

You’re so absorbed in your creative villainous process that you fail to notice the cryptid himself materializing behind you like some kind of woodland horror story.

“Ah, mon trésor, what are you drawing?”

You freeze.

Your villain instincts kick in, but it’s too late. Before you can shove your sketchbook under your cloak and play it off like a true mastermind, Rook Hunt has already peeked.

A beat of silence.

You watch as, for the first time in history, Rook Hunt blushes.

You look down at your sketchbook.

Oh.

It’s a doodle of him.

With a heart drawn near it.

Obvious context:

It’s a threat.

Clearly, you meant “I will rip your heart out with my bare hands.”

Obviously, this is not romantic.

Clearly, he should know this.

And yet—

Before you can explain this very normal and absolutely not embarrassing drawing, Rook makes a strangled noise—and then, without warning—

He launches himself out of the window.

Full-speed.

No hesitation.

You stare blankly at the gaping hole in your wall.

The night breeze drifts in.

A loose paper flutters off your desk.

Your jaw clenches.

You pull out your calculator.

“Alright. How much is this repair gonna cost me this time?”

It had been months. Months of what was supposed to be an intense, dramatic rivalry, full of mortal combat, fire, and the kind of operatic duels that would make even the gods weep. Months where the world should have trembled at the very mention of your name as you and the so-called Goddess’s Chosen Hero waged battle across the land.

Instead, what had actually happened was this:

Rook had become a persistent, feathered plague upon your life. Every time you so much as breathed, he was there. If you drank tea, he was peeking through the window like some kind of blonde cryptid.

If you took a relaxing villainous bubble bath, he left a scented candle by your doorstep with a little handwritten note.

If you tried to sleep? Oh, well clearly that was the perfect time for him to send a love arrow straight through your pillow, just narrowly missing your skull.

This was not how hero-villain dynamics were supposed to go.

And apparently, the Goddess had finally taken notice, because today, as you and Rook clashed swords atop your usual scenic cliffside battlefield—lightning flashing, your cape billowing just right—a new hero arrived, looking exactly like the bootleg discount protagonist you’d expect from a last-minute recast.

“Villain!” he bellowed, dramatically pointing his sword at you. “Your reign of terror ends—”

You vaporized him on the spot.

Your constructs, standing dutifully in formation, collectively gasped.

Rook, who had been mid-flourish with his sword, stopped and blinked at the rapidly dissipating ashes of what had, just seconds ago, been an eager new recruit in the grand war of good versus evil. Then, he turned back to you, smiling fondly.

“Ah, mon trésor, how dashing you are when you wield your power with such effortless grace!”

You scowled, pointing your sword at him this time. “Why are you acting like I just did something romantic? I murdered that guy.”

“Oui! And beautifully so!” Rook twirled his own blade, utterly unbothered. “Like a star snuffing out another in the vast cosmos! Poetry in motion! Ah, my heart beats faster just thinking of it.”

Your constructs, meanwhile, were losing their collective minds.

One of them, a hulking, six-armed behemoth of enchanted steel, hesitantly raised a hand. “Uh. So. Boss? Just so we’re clear—”

“Don’t,” you warned.

“No, no, just a quick question,” it continued, with the slow, careful tone of someone addressing a very temperamental god. “You just smote a hero instantly. Like, zero hesitation. Which means you can do that. So, um. What exactly is stopping you from smiting him?” It pointed at Rook.

Rook, the absolute menace that he was, waved cheerfully.

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Considered your options.

Then, in a show of supreme villainous dignity, you turned on your heel and dramatically stomped away.

Your constructs stared after you.

Rook sheathed his sword and sighed wistfully. “Ah, such passion. Such fire. Such restraint! Truly, they are the one chosen for me.”

The constructs turned to him in absolute horror.

“What have you done to our boss?”

You were having a perfectly normal evening.

By "normal," of course, you meant that you were lounging in your grand, candlelit villainous dining hall, sipping a glass of expensive wine (stolen, obviously), while Rook Hunt, your mortal enemy and frequent dinner guest, debated you on the finer points of mid-air combat.

"Mon trésor, think of the artistry!" Rook exclaims, gesturing wildly with his fork. "A battle in freefall—two souls clashing against the endless sky, the wind whipping our capes, the suspense of who will deploy their parachute first!"

You scowl, jabbing a piece of steak. "No. That’s impractical. There’s no stable footing, gravity ruins your attack trajectory, and if one of us dies before hitting the ground, there’s no dramatic final duel."

Rook gasps. "But what of style, mon cher? What of the poetry of two destined foes plummeting through the heavens, locked in the embrace of battle?"

You roll your eyes. "What of the reality that I’m not breaking my legs just so you can fulfill some mid-air fencing fantasy?"

Before Rook can counter with another unnecessary metaphor, there's a knock at the door.

You pause. Rook tilts his head. Your constructs—the ones assigned to not be traumatized by your ridiculous rivalry—shift uneasily.

No one knocks on the door of the Evil Overlord.

You cautiously rise, striding toward the entrance, adjusting your cloak. If this is some dumb assassin, you’re going to vaporize them before they finish their opening monologue.

You throw open the door.

Standing there, shimmering with divine light and looking deeply, deeply exasperated, is the Goddess.

You blink.

Rook, behind you, immediately bows with theatrical reverence. "Ah, my divine patron! What honor do we have to—"

She shoves a hand in his face, shutting him up. "Not a word from you."

Rook makes a delighted noise behind her palm, as if being personally scolded by a deity is the highlight of his week.

Then, the Goddess turns her gaze to you.

"You," she says, voice layered with millennia of barely restrained frustration.

You raise a brow. "Me?"

She points accusingly. "You are not even a villain."

You stiffen. "Excuse me?"

"The people adore you!" she snaps, throwing up her hands. "Your so-called empire? Has better infrastructure and social services than any kingdom in the world! Your so-called evil policies? Fixed the economy! Your supposed tyranny? Universally beloved by the peasantry!”

You gape at her. "I run a dictatorship."

"A benevolent dictatorship!"

Your eye twitches. You glance back at Rook, who is absolutely vibrating with amusement.

The Goddess rounds on him next. "And you!"

Rook straightens, looking delighted to finally have her attention. "Oui?"

"You are the worst hero I have ever chosen."

His smile widens. "Merci!"

"That wasn't a compliment." She pinches the bridge of her nose, like she’s developing divine stress migraines. "You were supposed to defeat them. Not take them to dinner, deliver self-care gifts, and give them advice on better city destruction tactics."

"But, my Goddess, what is heroism if not—"

She holds up a finger. "Finish that sentence, and I swear on the cosmic balance, I will smite you myself."

Rook, wisely, shuts up.

Your arms cross, and you scowl at her. "So what do you want, exactly?"

The Goddess sighs. "Nothing. I am done. I am sick of this. I gave your world a clear narrative, and you two have turned it into—into—" she gestures wildly at the two of you, "whatever this is."

She looks exhausted. You take a slow sip of wine. Rook sips his tea. Your constructs, still lurking awkwardly in the background, look on in silent horror.

Finally, the Goddess rubs her temples and lets out a long, world-weary sigh.

"I give up," she declares. "I abandon this world."

You blink. "What."

Rook gasps. "Mon Dieu!"

She throws her hands up. "No. Not your "Dieu" anymore. Do whatever you want. I don’t care anymore. Conquer the world. Get married. Build a flying opera house of destruction. I do not care."

She turns on her heel, divine light flaring around her, ready to vanish back into the heavens. But before she fully ascends, she pauses, turns back, and levels one last glare at you.

"And fix your damn roof. I know he broke it." She jerks her head at Rook.

Then, with a flash of light, she is gone.

Silence.

Your constructs do not move. You do not move. The air is thick with the weight of divine abandonment.

Then—

"Mon trésor," Rook breathes, eyes sparkling. "Did you hear? We have divine permission to wed!"

You throw your wine glass at his head.

You were going to prove a point.

The Goddess’s words still echoed in your mind:

"The people adore you."

"Your so-called tyranny is beloved."

Absolutely not. You are terrifying. You are a villain. You are the Dread Overlord of Shadows and Eternal Night, not some beloved community figure.

So, naturally, you stormed into the city streets in full dramatic regalia, determined to strike fear into the hearts of the people.

And, of course, they were absolutely terrified.

(There are children braiding flowers into your hair.)

Their knees knocked together in terror.

(The baker personally handed you a warm loaf of bread, saying, "It’s your favorite, dear. Fresh out of the oven.")

They shrank away from you, trembling.

("Can we get a selfie, Overlord of Shadows? You look so cool today!")

They screamed in fear.

(M’overlord, would you consider attending our town’s Harvest Festival? It wouldn’t be the same without you.")

By the time you made it back to your lair, the weight of reality had crushed your entire soul into a fine powder.

Your constructs barely had time to move out of the way before you collapsed onto the cold stone floor, sprawled dramatically, staring blankly at the ceiling.

It was not normal.

Nothing about today was normal.

You were supposed to be evil. The darkness lurking at the edges of civilization. The terrifying ruler who demanded obedience, not… not fan interaction.

You reach up and pull a flower from your hair. A daisy. A cute little daisy.

You stare at it.

Then, slowly, you sit up and reach into your pocket.

You pull out the loaf of bread. It’s still warm. It smells amazing.

You take a slow, deliberate bite.

You chew. You swallow.

You scream into a pillow.

Your constructs watch in silence, wisely choosing to let you process your existential crisis.

Then—

A slow, steady clap echoes through the lair.

You groan, rolling onto your side, as Rook Hunt steps into view, absolutely beaming.

"Mon trésor," he breathes, looking so unbearably pleased. "Did you have a revelation?"

You almost hurl the loaf of bread at his head.

You wake up with a revelation so profound it shakes you to your very core.

You don’t have to fight Rook Hunt anymore.

Not because you won—oh no, if anything, it’s because you never actually fought him to begin with.

This so-called “battle” had always been one-sided. You, pouring your very soul into villainy, scheming, plotting, monologuing—only for Rook to respond with enthusiastic admiration instead of righteous fury.

You had never been fighting a hero. You had been performing for a very intense fan.

And you are so tired.

So you get up, summon your constructs, and announce with all the dignity of a fallen monarch:

"I’m retiring."

They blink.

Your war construct, a towering mass of steel and death, hesitantly raises a hand. "Uh. What?"

"I’m retiring." You rub your temples. "I was never really a villain, apparently. The people adore me. The Goddess abandoned this realm. And my greatest enemy is currently sitting on my chandelier, smiling at me like a particularly pleased house cat."

A collective glance is shared. The constructs all look up.

Indeed, Rook is perched there, grinning like the absolute menace he is.

A few seconds of silence.

Then, your constructs all just nod.

"Yeah, okay. That makes sense."

"Honestly, I think we all saw this coming."

"So what now?"

You sigh and gesture vaguely at the lair. "Do whatever you want. You’re free. Find a new purpose. Go live your lives."

And, to your eternal exhaustion, they do.

Your once-feared War Construct? Now bakes delicate cream puffs.

Your impenetrable Shield Construct? Wears a frilly little apron and dusts the rooms.

Your Lurking Shadow Beast of Eternal Horror? Manages the garden.

You watch all of this unfold with a blank stare, feeling your villainous reputation crumble into nothing. And you?

You don’t even care anymore.

You sit at your grand villainous dining table, Rook across from you, smiling, victorious, insufferable.

He raises a teacup in toast. "To the end of an era, mon trésor."

You sip your tea.

Then, with all the resignation in the world, you simply mutter—

"...Yeah."

Rook just winks.

If you were going to commit one last act of villainy, it had to be grand. Poetic. Fitting for the infuriatingly ridiculous story that had become your life.

And so, you decide.

You were going to steal Rook Hunt’s heart.

… Metaphorically. Probably.

So you don your best dramatic cloak, grab the most intimidating bouquet of flowers you can find, and march to wherever Rook is lurking (which, statistically speaking, is either your lair or right behind you).

But before you can utter a single villainous declaration, you stop.

Because Rook is already kneeling.

Already holding out a ring.

Already smiling like he knew this would happen.

"When’s the wedding, mon trésor?" he asks, eyes gleaming.

You stare at him. Stare at the ring. Stare at the flowers in your own hands like an idiot.

And then—

You laugh.

You laugh so hard you nearly double over, because this is your life now.

The Goddess abandoned your world. Your constructs run a quaint domestic empire. The people adore you. And the so-called Hero?

The Hero beat you to the proposal.

You shake your head, still chuckling, before pulling him up by the front of his shirt and pressing a kiss to his lips.

"Maybe," you murmur, "we can have the wedding on the anniversary of the day we met."

Rook exhales something close to a sigh, grinning against your lips before kissing you again, soft and victorious.

"Magnifique," he whispers.

And, honestly?

Yeah.

Magnifique indeed.

Masterlist

#twst #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #rook hunt x reader #rook x reader #rook hunt #rook #twst rook x reader

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flutterclouds · 1 year ago

Text

@noblejanobii @summermonths

every day is pink day

#pokemon #shaymin #pawmi #aesthetic #beneath the radiant sky #pastel dreams among the stars #cloudicqueue

922 notes · View notes

odileeclipse · 1 month ago

Text

In the Presence of Truth {"Sage of Truth" (SMC) x Reader} PT 17

<<<Previous Next>>>

Shadow Milk Cookie blinked, as if surprised by the boldness of your declaration. But then something softened in his expression, the ever-present sharpness in his eyes giving way to something quieter.

"Ah," he mused, tilting his head slightly. "So it would seem."

You let out a small laugh, barely more than an exhale, but still, he noticed. His lips curled ever so slightly...a ghost of a smile, fleeting yet unmistakable. "If I were immortal," you continued, shifting in your seat, "I wouldn’t have the slightest idea what to do with myself."

He hummed in thought. "An eternity of choices can be as paralyzing as having none at all," he admitted. "Some crumble beneath it. Others rise."

"And you?" You found yourself asking before you could second-guess it. "Have you… crumbled or risen?" His expression remained unreadable, but something flickered in his eyes, something deep, something distant.

"I am still here," he said simply. It wasn’t an answer, not really. But maybe it was the only one that mattered. You bit your lip, fingers curling slightly over the edge of your parchment.

Now or never. "Do you… do you know what a Soul Jam is?" His gaze sharpened in an instant. He did not startle easily, but there was a shift in the air, subtle yet unmistakable.

"That," he said, "is not a question many dare to ask." Your throat felt dry, but you pressed on.

"I know you have one. I’ve known for a while, but I-" You hesitated, suddenly acutely aware of how ridiculous this must sound. "I wasn’t brave enough to ask." Silence stretched between you for a long moment, heavy yet not suffocating. He studied you, and for once, you did not shrink under his gaze.

"Knowledge is a burden as much as it is a gift," he finally said. "You must be certain you wish to bear it."

You swallowed. "I am." He considered you for a moment longer before nodding. Slowly, he lifted a hand, and between his fingertips, something shimmered into existence a small, radiant fragment, casting a glow like captured starlight….it came from that mysterious gem…was that it? What gave immortality?.

"The Light of Knowledge," he murmured. "That is what this is called. What I am called." You stared, unable to tear your eyes away. "It’s beautiful." He let out a quiet breath of amusement. "It is what it is." Your mind whirled with questions, but one surfaced before the others. "Are there… others? Like you?"

His fingers closed over the fragment, and the light faded. "There are four others," he admitted. "Mystic Flour, Silent Salt, Burning Spice, and Eternal Sugar."

Your brow furrowed. "Are they… your friends?"

He hesitated. "...We are bound by what we are," he said at last. "That does not always mean we walk the same path." Something in his voice some quiet weight made your chest ache.

"Do you miss them?" He did not answer immediately. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer than you had ever heard it. "One cannot miss what was never truly theirs to keep."

You weren’t sure what you had expected, but it hadn’t been that. "That sounds lonely," you whispered. He looked at you then, something unreadable in his gaze. "Perhaps," he said.

"But not all things are meant to be shared." And yet, you couldn’t help but think, just for a moment, that maybe, he had shared something with you.

Shadow Milk Cookie regarded you for a moment longer before exhaling softly. Then, with a measured grace, he closed his book and rested his hands over it. “If you wish to avoid the evening crowds,” he said, his tone shifting back to something more composed, more certain, “you should head to dinner soon. Your friends will be waiting.”

You blinked, momentarily pulled from the weight of your conversation. “Oh. Right.” You glanced at the dimming sky beyond the arched windows, realizing just how much time had slipped away.

“I almost forgot.” He tilted his head slightly, a knowing look in his eyes. “That much was evident.” You huffed a quiet laugh, but it lacked any real bite. Your mind was still caught in the echoes of his words, in the light that had glowed between his fingers like something too vast to be comprehended. He had given you a glimpse of something sacred, something most would never even think to ask about. And yet, here he was, returning to the present as if he hadn’t just peeled back a veil between the known and the unknown.

As you gathered your things, you hesitated. "Do you-" You stopped yourself before the question could fully form. His sharp eyes flickered with curiosity. “Do I…?” You shook your head, tightening your grip on your parchment.

“Never mind.” For a moment, you thought he might press you for an answer, but he only hummed in amusement. “So mysterious,” he mused. “And yet, you call me enigmatic.” You rolled your eyes, but there was no malice in it.

If anything, it felt lighter than before less like standing at the edge of something vast and unknowable, more like standing beside someone who understood. As you turned to leave, his voice followed you, quiet yet firm. “You should not keep them waiting.” You nodded, stepping toward the door, but before you could take another step, you paused. “Shadow Milk?”

He arched a brow at the sound of his name, an ever-present air of amusement in his expression. “…Thank you,” you said, the words simple but sincere. For a moment, there was only silence. Then, just as you reached the door, his voice came, softer than before. “Enjoy your dinner.” You stepped out into the dimly lit halls, the warmth of his words lingering in your chest. Your friends would be waiting.

You stepped out of the Scholar’s Wing, the cool evening air doing little to ease the warmth lingering in your face. You had seen it…you had seen it.

A dusting of warmth across his ears, brief but unmistakable. Shadow Milk Cookie composed; enigmatic, unreadable Shadow Milk Cookie had blushed. You pressed a hand against your cheek, trying to steady your breath as you made your way toward the dining hall. The weight of his words still clung to you, curling around your thoughts like ink staining parchment. "If it were you… then I suppose… waiting a century would not be such a terrible thing."

You shook your head, trying to clear it. It was just an answer, spoken in jest...wasn’t it? He had turned it on you, after all, as he always did. But that flicker of warmth… the way his ears betrayed him… You bit the inside of your cheek. If you weren’t careful, you were going to overthink this all night. The hum of the dining hall reached your ears as you approached, the familiar scent of warm food breaking you from your thoughts. As expected, your friends were already gathered at your usual table, their trays half-filled with whatever the academy kitchens had deemed edible today. You barely had time to settle into your seat before Chai Latte Cookie leaned in, sharp-eyed and grinning.

“What is that look on your face?” she teased, nudging your arm. “That’s not just an oh, class was interesting today smile. That’s a someone just said something that turned your brain into melted fondue smile.”

You tried...tried to school your expression into something neutral, but the way Chai Latte’s eyes lit up told you that you had already failed. “I don’t have a look,” you muttered, picking up your fork as if your dinner could somehow shield you from her scrutiny. Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie arched a brow. “You kind of do.”

Earl Grey Cookie gave a knowing hum. “Indeed.” You groaned, letting your forehead drop onto the table for a moment. “Can I just eat before getting interrogated?”

Chai Latte Cookie giggled, resting her chin on her hand. “I knew something happened,” she sang, leaning a little closer. “Was it the Sage? It was the Sage, wasn’t it?” You stiffened.

Chai Latte gasped, eyes sparkling. “Oh my stars, it was!” You scowled, jabbing your fork at your food with a little too much force. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to,” she mused, utterly delighted. “You’ve got that look, you never get that look.”

Earl Grey Cookie exchanged a glance with Hazelnut Biscotti, a quiet understanding passing between them. Chai Latte, however, was already in full-on gossip mode, and there was no stopping her now. “What did he say?” she pressed, nudging your tray aside as if it was completely unimportant. “Did he compliment your work? Give you some grand scholarly wisdom? Finally confess his undying admiration for you?”

You choked on your drink. “Chai!” She beamed. You glared, but your heart was still unsteady in your chest. Because even if he hadn’t confessed anything, even if it had only been a fleeting moment… You had seen him blush. And that? That was enough to keep you starstruck for the rest of the night.

Chai Latte Cookie leaned in, eyes sparkling with mischief. “So,” she drawled, stirring her tea with a lazy flick of her wrist. “Are you finally going to tell us what’s had you all tied up in knots lately?” You nearly choked on your drink. “I’m not-” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie raised a brow. “You’re not what?”

“Knotted up,” you muttered, avoiding their gazes. Earl Grey Cookie gave you a pointed look. “You’ve been distracted for days.” He adjusted his glasses.

“And given your history of not being forthcoming, I’d wager we’re about to hear something interesting.”

Chai Latte Cookie beamed. “Oh, I love interesting things.”

You sighed, dragging a hand down your face. “Okay, fine. You win.” Chai Latte practically vibrated with excitement.

“We always win.” You inhaled deeply. “It’s about what I told you before. The story I heard in the Ghost City.”

That got their attention. The playful air around the table shifted ever so slightly just enough for you to feel the weight of their curiosity settle in. “The Storyteller’s Circle,” Earl Grey Cookie murmured, recalling the night with ease.

You nodded. “The one about the lovers who could only meet every hundred years.” Your fingers traced the rim of your cup as you spoke. “I told the Sage of Truth about it.”

Hazelnut Biscotti’s gaze sharpened. “And?” You hesitated, the words heavy on your tongue. But there was no stopping now. So you told them. You told them how Shadow Milk Cookie had listened, the way his golden eyes had flickered with something unreadable as you spoke. How he had gone quiet, not in dismissal, but in deep thought. How, for once, you felt like you had given him something to ponder. And then you told them what he had said. "If it were you… then I suppose… waiting a century would not be such a terrible thing." The silence that followed was immediate. Heavy. Chai Latte Cookie’s lips parted, but no words came out. That was how you knew you had actually stunned her into speechlessness. Hazelnut Biscotti let out a low, impressed whistle.

Earl Grey Cookie merely blinked, but his silence was just as telling. Then, Chai Latte exploded. “Oh, stars above!” She all but launched forward, gripping your arm. “He said that?!” You squirmed under her intense gaze. “It wasn't it’s not...”

Hazelnut Biscotti smirked. “Don’t even try to downplay it. That wasn’t just some offhand remark.”

Earl Grey Cookie hummed. “It was deliberate.”

You swallowed hard. “I know.”

Chai Latte Cookie released you only to clasp her hands over her heart dramatically. “Imagine waiting a hundred years just to see someone again,” she sighed, echoing her own words from that night. Then she snapped upright, eyes locking onto yours.

“That’s romantic!” You felt your face heat. “It’s not-”

“It is,” Hazelnut Biscotti interrupted, grinning. “And you know it.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Okay, but he-he turned it around on me! He asked if I was testing his patience or trying to ‘unravel the heart of the Sage of Truth.’”

Chai Latte gasped. “And what did you say?” Your ears burned. “I told him I wouldn’t keep him waiting.” The silence that followed was deafening. Earl Grey Cookie exhaled slowly.

“I see.” Hazelnut Biscotti raised a brow. “And what did he say to that?” Your heart pounded just thinking about it.

“He just… looked at me.” You swallowed. “And then he said, who indeed?” Chai Latte Cookie slammed her hands on the table.

“I’M GOING TO SCREAM.”

You groaned. “Don’t!”

Hazelnut Biscotti let out an amused chuckle, but his eyes were sharp. “That’s not nothing.” Earl Grey Cookie nodded. “That’s a man who doesn’t waste words.”

You shifted uncomfortably. “I know.” Chai Latte Cookie gripped your hands, her gaze searching yours.

“And you...how do you feel about it?” You froze. Hazelnut Biscotti and Earl Grey Cookie both went silent, watching you carefully. Your heart hammered in your chest. How did you feel? You thought about the way his voice softened when he spoke to you, the way his golden eyes lingered just a fraction longer than necessary. The way his words always challenged you but never dismissed you. How, when he looked at you, it wasn’t just as the Sage of Truth. It was as Shadow Milk Cookie. Your throat tightened.

Chai Latte Cookie squeezed your hands gently. “Hey,” she murmured, quieter this time. “You can say it.” You inhaled sharply. And then, barely above a whisper “…Maybe my heart does beat for him. Not just as the Sage of Truth.” You swallowed, voice trembling as you admitted finally, finally “But as Shadow Milk Cookie.” For a moment, no one spoke.

Then Chai Latte Cookie let out a quiet, breathless laugh. One of understanding. Hazelnut Biscotti smiled, almost knowingly. Earl Grey Cookie adjusted his glasses, a satisfied gleam in his eyes. “Well then,” Chai Latte murmured, her voice filled with something warm, something fond. “I think you might be in trouble.”

You stared into your cup, watching the way the liquid rippled as your fingers trembled against the ceramic. It felt as though the weight of your own words was still settling over you, the truth finally spoken aloud yet leaving you with an entirely new set of uncertainties. Because now that you had admitted it to yourself, to them, there was another question lingering, one that twisted deep in your chest, coiling tighter with each passing second.

Would he...could he ever feel the same? Your breath hitched. The thought alone sent a shiver down your spine. Shadow Milk Cookie was… immortal. The Sage of Truth. A beacon of knowledge and wisdom, untethered by time in the way you were. He was beyond mere admiration, beyond simple affection. And you what were you to him, truly? A passing curiosity? A fleeting source of entertainment? A scholar fumbling at his feet, desperate to understand the vastness of the world he had already grasped long ago? Doubt gnawed at you.

“What if…” Your voice came out hoarse, uncertain. “What if it doesn’t matter how I feel?”

Chai Latte Cookie’s brows knitted together. “What?”

You swallowed. “He’s immortal,” you whispered. “And I’m just-” You gestured vaguely to yourself. “He’ll live through centuries. I’m nothing but a brief moment to him.” Earl Grey Cookie exhaled sharply through his nose, his gaze flickering toward Hazelnut Biscotti, who frowned but said nothing.

Chai Latte Cookie, however, did not let go of your hands. Instead, she squeezed them tighter. “You don’t know that,” she said softly. “Not for sure.”

You let out a hollow laugh. “Don’t I?” Your mind spiraled, recalling every conversation, every moment you had spent with him.

“You said it yourselves he doesn’t waste words. And he’s patient. Incredibly patient. He has all the time in the world to humor a struggling scholar like me. But when that time runs out” Your voice wavered, but you forced yourself to say it. “When I’m gone, he’ll still be here. He’ll keep seeking truth, keep moving forward, just as he always has.” The words tasted bitter. “And one day, I’ll just be… another story.” A soft exhale.

Chai Latte Cookie’s hands tightened around yours. Hazelnut Biscotti’s voice was low, steady. “Are you afraid of being forgotten?”

You hesitated. “Not forgotten,” you murmured. “Just… insignificant.” Chai Latte Cookie’s expression twisted hurt, as if she could feel the ache in your chest as her own.

Hazelnut Biscotti hummed thoughtfully. “Funny,” he mused, resting his chin against his palm. “That’s not the impression I got from him at all.”

You blinked. “What?”

Earl Grey Cookie nodded, adjusting his glasses. “We told you already. He’s deliberate. And if he didn’t care. if he saw you as just another fleeting moment, he would not entertain the idea of waiting a century. For you.”

Chai Latte Cookie tilted her head. “I mean, think about it.” Her voice was softer now, more careful. “He didn’t have to say that. He didn’t have to answer that way at all.”

Hazelnut Biscotti smirked. “And yet, he did.”

Your breath stilled. “But,” you rasped, “he did turn it around on me. He asked if I was trying to unravel him. What if I am just a curiosity to him? A scholar to test, an equation to solve?”

Chai Latte Cookie exhaled. “Then ask him,” she said simply.

You flinched. “What?”

“Ask him,” she repeated, searching your gaze. “If you’re so afraid of being insignificant of being nothing more than a passing thought ask him.” Your pulse pounded in your ears. “Talk to him,”

Earl Grey Cookie agreed. “He is not a man who plays games with his words. If he does not mean something, he will make it clear.” Hazelnut Biscotti grinned.

“And if he does mean it?” You asked meekly.

He leaned back, crossing his arms. “Well. I suppose you’ll have your answer then, won’t you?”

Your stomach twisted. Could you really do that? Could you really stand before the Sage of Truth, before Shadow Milk Cookie and ask him outright what you meant to him? You weren’t sure. But one thing was certain. You had to know. Chai Latte Cookie, ever the observant friend, must have noticed the way your expression had faltered; the way your fingers had tensed around your cup, the way doubt had taken root in your heart despite their reassurances. She sighed, shaking her head, before nudging your arm playfully.

“Oh, don’t look so gloomy,” she chided, though her voice carried none of its usual mischief.

“I knew we shouldn’t have let you stew on all that nonsense from yesterday.”

You blinked. “What?” Chai Latte pursed her lips before exhaling, her teasing demeanor slipping into something softer. “Listen, I was the one who said all those things about immortality and how fleeting our lives are, but that was just to ground you, not discourage you.”

She poked your forehead lightly, as if trying to knock some sense into you. “I didn’t mean to make you think you didn’t have a chance.” You opened your mouth, but no words came out. Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie smirked.

“Told you they’d come around.” Earl Grey Cookie adjusted his glasses. “It was never about whether or not you should feel this way,” he added. “Only about making sure you understood the weight of it.”

Chai Latte Cookie nodded. “And for that, I am sorry,” she admitted, offering you a sheepish smile. “But let me tell you something, okay?” She leaned in, eyes twinkling. “Even an immortal like him one so patient, so distant, so wrapped in his eternal search for truth at some point, he would have to fall, too.”

Your breath caught in your throat. Chai Latte tilted her head, watching you carefully. “You make him think, you challenge him in ways he doesn’t expect. And maybe that’s new for him. Maybe that’s different.”

She grinned. “And different is dangerous. Even for him.”

Hazelnut Biscotti chuckled. “Especially for him.”

Earl Grey simply hummed in agreement. Your heart pounded. The thought of it the idea that Shadow Milk Cookie was not as untouchable as you had thought, that even he might not be immune to the emotions that tangled so messily within you, sent your mind reeling. Could it be true? Could he truly? You swallowed hard. “Then I’ll ask, I don’t know when…but I’ll ask” you murmured, more to yourself than to them. Chai Latte’s eyes softened. “Good,” she whispered. “You deserve to know.”

The night wrapped around you like a silken cocoon, dreams slipping in and out of reach like the ebb and flow of the astral river beyond the Academy’s grand halls. Yet even in sleep, your thoughts tangled with golden eyes and words spun in careful riddles who indeed? By the time morning arrived, light spilled through your window, golden and unrelenting. You blinked blearily at the ceiling, heart still caught somewhere between waking and the memory of yesterday’s conversation. Even an immortal like him would have to fall someday. Your friends had a way of speaking truths you hadn’t dared voice aloud. But today was not for lingering in thought. Today was for routine. The moment you realized the time, panic surged through you.

Tearing yourself from the warmth of your blankets, you rushed through your morning preparations with the urgency of someone narrowly escaping disaster.

The halls of Blueberry Yogurt Academy were already alive with the quiet hum of morning conversation, the faint scent of parchment and ink lingering in the air.

Your stomach, however, had only one thought in mind. By the time you skidded into the dining hall, slightly breathless, your eyes immediately landed on the familiar sight of honey-drizzled waffles and freshly cut pineapple, golden in the morning light. Your favorite. For once, fortune favored you.

Balancing your tray with careful precision, you wove through the throngs of students before settling into your usual seat beside your friends. The conversation at the table was already flowing, words slipping past you in a comfortable rhythm as you eagerly took your first bite, the familiar sweetness grounding you.

And then you heard words you wish you could unhear. “…Professor Almond Cookie’s exam next week,” Earl Grey Cookie was saying, his tone casual, as if the very sentence did not send your mind into immediate ruin. The world froze. Your fork halted midway to your mouth.

Your stomach turned cold. “…What exam?” The words left your lips in a breathless whisper, barely audible over the morning chatter. Chai Latte Cookie, mid-sip of her tea, nearly choked. She set her cup down with exaggerated care, blinking at you.

“Please, please tell me you’re joking.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie raised a brow. “You did study for it, right?” Your mind was a blank slate. A vast, unforgiving void where surely there should have been notes, recollections, some indication that you had not simply walked into impending doom. But there was nothing. Not a single page of memory turned in your favor.

Perhaps it was the anxiety…Earl Grey Cookie regarded you with his usual, piercing stare. “Don’t tell me you” Your head hit the table with a dull thud. “I forgot.” Chai Latte let out a long, suffering sigh. “Oh, honey.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie chuckled, shaking his head. “This is going to be fun.” Fun. Fun was not the word you would have chosen. The waffles had never tasted so bittersweet.

You groaned into the wooden table, muffling a barely restrained why does the universe hate me? against its surface. Chai Latte Cookie patted your back, equal parts sympathy and amusement in her touch. “Hey, at least you remembered now instead of the night before the exam.” That wasn’t exactly comforting. Lifting your head just enough to peek at them, you croaked out, “What’s it even on?”

Earl Grey Cookie adjusted his glasses, ever the diligent scholar. “Professor Almond Cookie mentioned it multiple times,” he said, though there was no true malice in his tone, just that sharp, perceptive edge of his. “It’s covering everything from our last three lectures: the fundamental applications of enchanted sigils, the properties of shifting hexes, and the historical cases of spell miscalculations leading to catastrophic failures.”

Your stomach dropped. You had definitely not studied for that. Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie whistled. “Oof. Yeah, you might want to start reviewing immediately.” Chai Latte Cookie nodded sagely. “Good thing you have your standing appointment with the Sage of Truth.”

You groaned again. “Don’t remind me.”

“Oh, I will,” she said, smirking over her tea. “And so will he when you show up looking like you’ve forgotten what words are.”

Hazelnut Biscotti grinned. “Do you think he already knows you forgot? Maybe he foresaw this exact moment and is just waiting to see how you’ll react.”

You shot him a glare. “Not helping.”

Earl Grey Cookie hummed, tapping his fingers against his book. “Regardless, you should use your time wisely. That exam is extensive, and you’ll need a structured review plan if you want to pass.” Your fingers curled around your cup, mind already racing ahead. Shadow Milk Cookie would definitely help. You already had an established time to meet, after all. But the thought of admitting yet another failure in the presence of him…You exhaled, steadying yourself. There was no avoiding it. If you wanted to stand a chance, you needed his guidance. Even if it meant unraveling yourself before the Sage of Truth once more. Getting to lecture felt like impending doom you took your breakfast with you. The only anecdote to get you through the morning.

Professor Almond Custard Cookie’s lecture had already begun, but you were still lost in the remnants of your breakfast. The honey-drizzled waffles melted on your tongue with just the right balance of sweetness, the crisp edges giving way to the warm, soft center. And the pineapple perfectly ripe, bursting with a tangy sweetness had been a gift from the heavens themselves. You weren’t about to let such a rare treat go to waste. So there you sat, half-tuned into the lecture, half-devoted to savoring every last bite.

“now, let’s review the foundational principles behind sigil layering,” Professor Almond Custard droned, pacing at the front of the hall. The familiar scratch of quills against parchment surrounded you, your classmates diligently taking notes as the professor gestured toward a series of complex sigils drawn across the enchanted blackboard.

“These are fundamental to understanding the structure of shifting hexes, and thus will be a focal point in next week’s exam.” You nearly choked on your last bite of waffle. The exam. You knew about it now, of course but that didn’t mean you were prepared. Swallowing hastily, you cast a panicked glance toward your friends. Chai Latte Cookie, seated beside you, sipped her tea with the air of someone entirely unbothered.

When she caught your expression, she raised a brow, lips curving into an all-too-knowing smirk. Earl Grey Cookie and Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie, sitting just ahead, were already scribbling notes, perfectly composed. Earl Grey, ever perceptive, didn’t even need to look to know you were struggling. “You should be writing this down,” he murmured, just loud enough for you to hear. You fumbled for your quill. Right. Professor Almond Custard continued, his voice steady and practiced. “Now, who can explain why improper sigil placement in hexes leads to instability?”

A few hands went up. You shoved the last piece of pineapple into your mouth, hurriedly swallowing as you tried to force your mind to focus. You had an appointment with Shadow Milk Cookie later. You would fix this. You’d ask him to go over everything sigils, hexes, historical catastrophes. You would prepare. But for now…You needed to at least pretend you knew what was going on.

The moment your eyes landed on the sigils scrawled across the blackboard, everything clicked into place. The elegant curves, the precise intersections, the delicate but deliberate layering it was all familiar to you now. You had spent hours under Shadow Milk Cookie’s careful instruction, tracing these very symbols beneath the warm glow of candlelight, his voice a steady guide through the labyrinth of knowledge. Preparation alone wasn’t enough, of course.

Knowledge required application, understanding beyond rote memorization. But as the professor continued his explanation, you found yourself keeping pace. The connections formed naturally, like puzzle pieces slotting into place. You exhaled, steadying yourself. You knew this. Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie turned slightly, as if checking on you. When he saw the recognition in your gaze, he gave a small nod of approval before refocusing on his notes. Chai Latte Cookie, ever observant, smirked knowingly beside you. She nudged your arm just enough to make you roll your eyes.

"See?" she murmured under her breath. "Told you he makes a difference." You said nothing, but the warmth in your chest spoke volumes. Still, one thing was certain no amount of familiarity with the material would change the fact that you needed to prove your understanding. And that meant making the most of your session with Shadow Milk Cookie later. You had no intention of disappointing him.

You would not-could not disappoint him. Not after yesterday. Not after his words, his unwavering belief in you, his golden eyes watching you not just as a scholar, but as you. The weight of his voice still echoed in your mind, the way he had considered your words so carefully before offering his own. "If it were you… then I suppose… waiting a century would not be such a terrible thing."

A century. A hundred years. An eternity compressed into something so simple, so effortless, as if time itself could bend beneath the weight of a promise unspoken. Your heart tightened, but not in fear. No, this was something else. Something warmer. Something that burned, pushing you forward, making you want to be better not just for yourself, but for the one who had come to guide you.

You kept your focus locked on Professor Almond Custard’s lecture, barely sparing a glance at your half-eaten honey-drizzled waffles and pineapple slices. Normally, the sweetness would have held your attention, but now the symbols before you demanded your full awareness. Sigils layered in meticulous arrays sprawled across the board, shifting in meaning with every line the professor added. Some students furrowed their brows, their quills scratching hastily against parchment as they tried to keep up.

But you? You could see it now. Each stroke, each arrangement it made sense. Not long ago, this level of understanding would have felt out of reach, the logic slipping through your fingers no matter how hard you tried to grasp it. But today, the pieces fit together seamlessly, as if something deep within you had finally unlocked.

Shadow Milk Cookie had been right. The realization filled you with a quiet sort of pride, the kind that settled deep in your bones rather than bursting to the surface. You straightened in your seat, your notes no longer frantic but measured, deliberate. You were going to prove yourself.

Even so, preparation was not enough. If you wanted to truly master this, if you wanted to stand before Professor Almond Custard’s exam next week with certainty, you needed more time. More refinement. More of him. The thought cemented itself before you even finished considering it. You would have to skip lab today. The decision wasn’t made lightly. You valued your grades, and while lab sections were important, they were not weighted nearly as much as the main course. You could afford to drop your lowest lab score, but you couldn’t afford to let your overall comprehension suffer. Not when you had the opportunity to sharpen your understanding under Shadow Milk Cookie’s guidance.

But that meant one thing, apologizing to Chai Latte Cookie. The moment the lecture concluded, you turned toward her, already wincing. "Chai, I"

She held up a hand, already grinning. “You’re skipping lab to go study with the Sage, aren’t you?”

You groaned. “I hate how well you know me.”

She laughed, waving off your concern. “Please, I knew the moment you actually paid attention today instead of zoning out that you were going to pull something like this.”

You sighed. “I am sorry, though. I know we had a system...” Chai Latte Cookie linked her arm through yours with an exaggerated sigh. “Oh, woe is me, abandoned by my beloved lab partner in my time of need.”

Then, she winked. “Don’t worry, I can handle it. I’ll tell Professor Star Anise you got sick.”

Guilt tugged at you. “Are you sure?”

“Positive,” she said without hesitation. “Besides, let’s be real you’re way more stressed about that exam than the lab. And if studying with him makes you feel like you can handle it, then go.”

You exhaled, relief washing over you. “Thank you, Chai. Seriously.” She nudged your side playfully. “Just make sure you don’t get too distracted.”

Heat bloomed across your cheeks. “Chai!” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie, who had been gathering his materials nearby, snorted. “She’s not wrong, though.” You buried your face in your hands. “Not helping.”

Earl Grey Cookie, ever composed, merely adjusted his glasses. “If anything, it’s a practical choice. The Sage of Truth is an invaluable resource.”

He paused, then added, “But Chai does make a fair point. Try to keep your thoughts academic.” You groaned, swiping up your books before your friends could torment you any further.

“I am studying, I’ll have you know.”

Chai Latte Cookie grinned, tilting her head. “Oh, of course you are.” With one last sigh, you turned to leave, the weight of their knowing glances trailing after you.

But even their teasing couldn’t overshadow the anticipation building in your chest. Afternoon would come soon enough. And he would be waiting. The Scholar’s Wing loomed before you, its towering spires and arched windows casting long shadows across the courtyard. You had never rushed here like this before...never felt this level of urgency gnawing at your ribs, making every step feel both too fast and not fast enough.

You were early. Far too early. You knew it. You had actively chosen to be early, skipping your lab section entirely. Chai Latte Cookie had understood, even encouraged it, but that didn’t stop the lingering guilt from creeping up your spine. Still, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were making the right choice. That this mattered more. That he mattered more.

No, not like that. You shook your head, trying to dispel the thought before it could take root. It wasn’t about him. It was about the exam. About needing to prepare. About not wanting to disappoint the one scholar in this academy whose respect you had begun to crave. …And yet, your feet carried you just a little too quickly to his door. Your heart, beat a little too fast for this to be just about studying. You inhaled sharply, pressed your hands against the heavy wooden door, and stepped inside. The scent of parchment, aged ink, and a faint trace of something celestial greeted you like moonlight and old libraries. And there, seated at his desk, was him. Shadow Milk Cookie glanced up, golden eyes flickering with recognition then mild surprise. He wasn’t expecting you. He shouldn’t have been expecting you.

His brows lifted ever so slightly. “You’re early.” There was something pointed in his tone, not unkind, but certainly knowing. His gaze flickered toward the enchanted hourglass on his desk. “You should be in lab right now.”

You swallowed hard, shifting on your feet. You had known this would come up, and yet, under his piercing gaze, it was somehow ten times harder to explain yourself. Still, you squared your shoulders and met his gaze. His brilliant, knowing, endlessly patient gaze.

“I need your help more than the lab.” A beat of silence passed. Then another. Shadow Milk Cookie studied you, his golden eyes sharp yet unreadable, as if weighing the truth of your words. Then, with a quiet sigh, he set down his quill and leaned back ever so slightly in his chair.

“Very well,” he murmured, amusement ghosting the edge of his voice. “You have my undivided attention. Now,” his eyes gleamed with something unreadable, something that made your stomach twist “tell me everything.” You exhaled slowly, trying to steady the anxious energy thrumming beneath your skin. Shadow Milk Cookie’s golden eyes watched you. Calm, steady, waiting. His patience was endless, yet somehow, that only made it harder to find the words.

You clenched your hands at your sides, then finally admitted, “It’s about Professor Almond Custard’s exam.” You hesitated, heart pounding, before adding, “I’ve been coming to your tutoring sessions. I’ve been paying attention. I’ve done the readings, the exercises you’ve seen me do them.” You exhaled sharply. “But I’m still worried I won’t do well.”

His expression didn’t change no pity, no irritation, only quiet understanding. His hands folded over the open pages of his research tome, and when he spoke, his voice was as composed and deliberate as ever. “You doubt yourself.” It wasn’t a question.

You swallowed. “I just” Your fingers curled into fists, frustration creeping into your voice. “I know I’ve improved. I feel like I’ve improved. But what if it’s not enough? What if I think I understand everything, but when the exam comes, my mind just-just shuts down?” Shadow Milk Cookie studied you in silence for a moment, as if carefully unraveling each layer of your doubt.

Then, slowly, he gestured to the chair across from him. “Sit.” You hesitated only a moment before obeying, settling into the chair and setting your bag on your lap. He rested his elbow on his desk, fingers poised lightly against his cheek, watching you with that same unreadable gaze. “Show me,” he said simply. Your brows furrowed. “Show you…?”

“Your notes. Your understanding. Show me what you have learned.” Right. Of course. You fumbled with your bag, pulling out your notebook and flipping to the most recent pages, filled with meticulously copied sigils, dense theories, and rewritten formulas.

The ink was smudged in places where you had rewritten sections too many times, where frustration had nearly won, where self-doubt had whispered that none of it would stick. Shadow Milk Cookie took the notebook with careful hands, his fingers barely grazing the edges of the parchment. His gaze flickered over the pages, absorbing every word, every correction, every hastily scrawled margin note. For a long moment, he said nothing.

Then, finally “This is good.” The words were so unexpected, so decisive, that your breath hitched. You blinked at him, mouth opening slightly, but no sound came out. He turned a page. “Your sigil work is precise. Your understanding of transmutation is solid. Even your margin notes show an active engagement with the material.” He tapped a section where you had underlined a key theorem three times. “This is not the work of someone who has learned nothing.”

Heat crept up your neck. “But what if” He lifted a hand ever so slightly, a silent request for pause. You clamped your mouth shut. His golden eyes met yours. “You say you understand these concepts in tutoring. You apply them correctly here, in your notes. And yet, you fear they will abandon you in the moment of the exam.”

You swallowed, nodding stiffly. His gaze softened. “You have come far. You know that, do you not?”

You hesitated. “I… I do.” “You are not here because you lack understanding.” His voice was gentle, but certain. “You are here because you fear that understanding will not be enough.”

Your throat tightened. “…Yes.” Shadow Milk Cookie set the notebook down and laced his fingers together, his expression unreadable for a moment.

Then, he let out a quiet hum. “Then let us put your fear to rest.” You blinked. “What?” His lips quirked upward, just slightly. “You came early, seeking more time to prepare.” He gestured to the notebook. “So we shall prepare.” Something in your chest loosened, just a little.

You nodded, more eager than you expected to be. “Okay.”

He leaned forward slightly, his presence calm, assured unshakable. “We will begin with transmutation theory. Walk me through the process, as you would in the exam.” You inhaled deeply, flipping to the appropriate page in your notes. You can do this. Because this time, you weren’t alone. You took a steadying breath, letting the familiar symbols and words in your notes ground you. Shadow Milk Cookie remained silent, watching with that ever-patient gaze, his hands still folded before him as if he had all the time in the world. It was reassuring and terrifying all at once.

Start simple. Build from there. “Okay,” you began, fingers tracing the inked lines on the parchment. “Transmutation theory. The fundamental principle is the conversion of one form of magic into another an alteration, not creation. That’s the first distinction. You can’t make something from nothing. There has to be an initial essence to manipulate.”

He gave a slow nod. “And the primary laws governing this?” You swallowed, flipping back to an earlier section in your notes where the core tenets of transmutation were outlined. “Right. There are three foundational laws: the Law of Equivalence, the Law of Conservation, and the Law of Stability.”

You tapped the first one. “The Law of Equivalence states that the magical properties of the original substance must match or be proportionate to the intended outcome. If they don’t, the transmutation fails or worse, backfires.”

Shadow Milk Cookie hummed in approval. “And the Law of Conservation?”

You nodded, growing more confident. “Magic doesn’t vanish it shifts. The amount of energy present before the transmutation must equal the amount after. If there’s excess energy, it needs to be redirected somewhere, or else it destabilizes the process.” His golden gaze flickered with something unreadable. “And if too much energy is lost?”

“The transmutation weakens or fails entirely.” You exhaled sharply. “Which ties into the Law of Stability. Any transmutation must be performed within a stable magical field, or external interference, whether intentional or environmental, can disrupt the process.”

Shadow Milk Cookie tilted his head ever so slightly, the hint of a smile playing at his lips. “Good.”

Your breath caught. Good. He didn’t often say that. Normally, he made you prove it. Testing, challenging, guiding you to the right answer only when you’d struggled long enough to earn it. But this time, he accepted your answer without further questioning, without the usual probing remarks meant to push you further. Because of yesterday. Because of that moment his words, your words, the shift in the air between you. You swallowed, pushing forward before your thoughts could spiral.

“Applying these laws, transmutation can be classified into structured and unstructured forms. Structured transmutation follows predetermined matrices, sigils, arrays, written formulas; whereas unstructured relies purely on raw magical control and adaptability.”

Shadow Milk Cookie nodded. “And which is more volatile?” “Unstructured,” you answered without hesitation. “Since it lacks an anchor, it requires immense focus and magical control to maintain stability. Structured transmutation is more rigid but far safer.”

He let the answer settle before prompting, “And which does Professor Almond Custard favor?”

You hesitated. “…Unstructured.” His brows raised ever so slightly. You groaned. “Which is so unfair. Because we’ve only been doing structured transmutation in class. Why even give us matrices to practice if he’s going to expect us to-”

“A test of adaptability,” Shadow Milk Cookie interrupted smoothly, his voice calm in contrast to your growing frustration.

“Knowledge is valuable, but so is application.”

You sighed. “I know. I just wish it wasn’t something that could literally backfire if I mess it up.”

His gaze softened, not in amusement, not in challenge, but in something quieter, something reassuring. “Then let us ensure you do not.” The tension in your shoulders eased just a little.

You nodded. “Right. Okay.” You flipped to the next section in your notes, running a finger along the lines of dense writing. “Then there’s dynamic elemental interplay. When transmutation involves shifting one element into another. The closer two elements are on the magical spectrum, the easier the transition. The further apart, the more energy it takes.”

He gestured for you to continue. “For example,” you said, “changing water to ice is relatively simple because they’re closely related. But changing fire to water is significantly harder because you’re dealing with opposing natures.” Shadow Milk Cookie inclined his head. “And how does one mitigate the instability of such a transmutation?” You hesitated, running through what you knew before carefully answering, “By either introducing a stabilizing agent like an intermediary element or by reinforcing the magical field to reduce external interference.”

The corner of his lips quirked up not quite a smile, but something close. “You are well-prepared.” There it was again. The validation, unprompted, freely given.

Your heart stuttered in your chest. You stared at him, thrown for a moment. “I-I mean, I think so?” His golden eyes held yours, steady and certain. “I do not say things without reason.” Your throat tightened. The weight of his words, the certainty of them, settled over you like warmth against the ever-present chill of doubt.

Slowly, he closed your notebook, his fingers lingering briefly on the worn parchment. “You know these theories. You have studied them well. Your fear is not of failure, but of your own doubt.”

You lowered your gaze, pressing your lips together.

“I just… I don’t want to disappoint-” You cut yourself off, the words catching in your throat. Disappoint who? Your professor? Yourself? Or the one sitting before you now, the one whose praise so rare, so measured had somehow become something you craved? Shadow Milk Cookie’s voice was softer when he spoke again.

“You will not.” You swallowed hard, looking up at him. He held your gaze for a long moment before nodding toward your notes. “Shall we continue?” You inhaled deeply. Then, steadier this time “Yes.” The study session stretched on, the rhythmic back-and-forth between you and Shadow Milk Cookie settling into a steady flow. He posed questions, sometimes leading, sometimes deliberately vague, testing how far you could reach before he guided you toward the right answer. When you faltered, he gave you just enough space to find your footing again.

You weren’t sure when exactly it happened, but the frustration that had knotted your shoulders at the start had long since melted away. The theories, the laws, the formulas they all wove together with a clarity that had eluded you before. Perhaps it was his patience, or maybe just the way he spoke, each word deliberate, measured, filled with an unwavering certainty that left no room for doubt. The parchment beneath your fingers blurred slightly as you fought to keep up with your own notes, scrawling down key insights between spoken explanations.

Your hand was starting to cramp, your thoughts teetering on the edge of exhaustion, when “That is enough for now.” You blinked, the abrupt statement pulling you out of your concentrated haze. Shadow Milk Cookie reached forward, closing your notebook with an air of finality.

“…What?” You frowned, still processing the sudden shift. “It is time for lunch,” he said, rising from his seat with the same unhurried grace he always carried.

“You will need more fuel if you wish to continue studying effectively.” You stared at him. Shadow Milk Cookie, calling for a break? Not you, not after growing too tired to focus or feeling your stomach protest from neglecting to eat. Him.

“…Huh.” You leaned back, arms crossed. “You’re the one stopping for a break? That’s new.” A flicker of amusement passed through his golden gaze.

“You act as though I do not eat.”

“Do you?” you shot back, half-teasing. “Because sometimes I wonder.”

His lips quirked not quite a smile, but close. “Come.” You hesitated only briefly before sighing and rising from your chair, stretching your stiff limbs. “Fine, fine.” You cast a last glance at your notes before following him toward the dining hall. The lingering warmth of his earlier praise still echoed in your mind.

As you walked alongside Shadow Milk Cookie, the air between you was… comfortable. Perhaps it was the lingering ease of having successfully navigated the study session, or maybe it was simply the quiet certainty of his presence. Either way, you found yourself talking about nothing in particular, just filling the space with whatever crossed your mind.

“So, do you think transmutation could work on food?” you mused, half-serious. “Like, if I got tired of my soup and wanted it to be cake instead?”

Shadow Milk Cookie glanced at you, his expression unreadable. “You would require a base element with similar magical properties. Soup and cake are… incompatible.”

You snorted. “That’s the part you take issue with? Not the fact that I’m trying to turn my lunch into dessert?” He hummed, folding his hands behind his back.

“A questionable use of magic, but not impossible.” You grinned, letting the conversation wander further. “Alright, then what about transmuting dreams? If you could alter them, make them into something tangible-”

“An imprecise science,” he mused. “Dreams lack a stable form. To transmute them would require first anchoring them in reality.”

“So, basically, I’d have to bottle a dream first?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

You sighed dramatically. “Guess I’ll have to abandon my dream of dream transmutation, then.” A soft huff of amusement escaped him. “A paradoxical statement.”

The back-and-forth continued as you made your way to the dining hall, your questions becoming more ridiculous, more aimless anything to keep talking, anything to keep his attention just a little longer. Not that he seemed to mind.

He answered each question with the same patience as always, as if indulging your nonsense was just as important as discussing transmutation theory. The early afternoon air clung to your skin, cool and thick with the scent of rain that had yet to fall. The floating lanterns that lined the Academy’s walkways flickered with a gentle, wavering light, their glow catching in the golden thread embroidered along his sleeves.

The two of you walked in step though, in truth, it was you who matched his pace, trailing just half a step behind, resisting the urge to look up at him every time the warm lantern light reflected in his golden eyes.

Shadow Milk Cookie was always composed, always poised in that effortless way that only someone like him could be. And yet, you swore you saw something flicker across his face whenever you spoke something fleeting, something you were never quite fast enough to catch. Your hand twitched by your side, fingers curling, then uncurling, before you gave in and reached out.

Not his hand, no you weren’t that bold. But the sleeve of his robes, the fine fabric slipping between your fingers like water. He didn’t stop walking, but he turned his head slightly, just enough to let you see the quiet curiosity in his expression. Not surprised, not alarmed only watching.

Waiting. Your heart pounded. “Wait,” you said, but you didn’t slow your steps. “Just… I need to ask something.” There was no hesitation.

“Then ask.” You opened your mouth. Nothing came out. You scrambled for something before the moment slipped from your grasp. “Do you think the moon ever wishes it could touch the sun?”

A slow blink. Then, a soft hum. “A rather poetic notion.” You let out a nervous laugh, gaze fixed ahead. “You didn’t answer.”

“I was considering my response.” A pause. “Do you believe it does?”

You swallowed. “Maybe.”

“Hm.” He tilted his head slightly. “And why is that?”

“Because…” You hesitated, tightening your hold on his sleeve. “Because it’s always chasing after it. And yet, no matter how close it gets, it can never reach it.” His expression did not change, but something in his gaze sharpened, as though he could see right through you.

You pressed on before you lost your nerve. “And what about rivers?” you asked, voice just a little too breathless. “Do you think they ever get tired of flowing forward?” His lips parted slightly, as if the question had genuinely caught him off guard. You didn’t give him time to answer.

“What about echoes? Do you think they feel lonely, only ever repeating what they hear?”

A soft exhale. “What are you truly asking?” Your throat went dry. You had walked this path to the dining halls a hundred times before, but now, the distance felt immeasurable. Every step, every moment, stretched longer than it should have. You glanced up at him, at the serene, unreadable expression he always wore. He was so calm, so unaffected, as if nothing in this world could ever shake him.

But you had seen the way his brows furrowed when you asked too many questions, the way he tilted his head when your words gave him pause. You had seen him think had seen the exact moment when something you said left him considering.

Maybe that was why you spoke again, voice barely above a whisper. “And… what about yesterday?” His steps slowed just a fraction. You pressed forward. “You said something to me. Something I don’t understand.”

Shadow Milk Cookie studied you, the lantern light casting long shadows across his face. "Then ask me again.” Your pulse pounded. "You said I was the question you didn't want to answer."

A pause. He did not look away, nor did he interrupt. So you kept going. “But that doesn’t make sense. You always have answers. You don’t waste words, you don’t leave things unresolved. And if you ever refuse to answer something, it’s only because you already know the truth, and you just don’t want to say it out loud.”

His eyes gleamed. A breath. "Perhaps," he murmured.

"Then why?" Your grip on his sleeve tightened. “Why won’t you answer me?” Silence. You hated it. You hated how he could leave things hanging in the air like that how he could make you feel the weight of what he wasn’t saying. His expression remained still, but there was something else now something restrained. As if he were weighing his words with the utmost care, ensuring that whatever left his lips would not be something he would regret.

Finally, he spoke. "Because some truths,” he said, voice quiet, “once spoken, cannot be taken back.” Your breath hitched. Your fingers, still gripping his sleeve, trembled.

"But I-" You swallowed hard. "I deserve to know." A flicker of something, something just beneath the surface, something almost unreadable. Then, so softly it barely reached your ears, "Yes," he admitted. "You do."

The entrance to the dining hall loomed just ahead. The warmth of it, the voices of other students, the scent of fresh bread and tea it all pressed against the edges of this moment, threatening to shatter the fragile silence between you. But still, he did not move. Still, his gaze did not waver.

“…Not yet though,” he murmured at last. The words settled between you like an unfinished sentence, like a book missing its final page. Your grip on his sleeve loosened, but you didn’t step away. The doors to the dining hall stood open before you. The world beyond this quiet moment beckoned. And yet, you could not move. Not yet. Your fingers curled loosely around the fabric of his sleeve, a fragile tether between you and the only answer you sought. You barely realized you had stopped walking until you felt the shift the absence of movement, the pause of your breath. Shadow Milk Cookie did not pull away.

A/N I know it's an odd spot to stop But I didn't feel well enough to finish the scene so ch 18 will be a little longer...I feel horrible and sorry y'all this was supposed to be out on friday but yknow I got cursed by the heavens or whatever

Anyways...

Remember to follow and reblog for more bangers 😎😎😎🔥🔥🔥🔥

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itsswritten · 1 year ago

Text

finally.

Pairing: Azriel x fem reader, Nessian (platonic) x reader, fluff

Word Count: 3.5K

Warnings: Pregnancy reveal, mentions of infertility/struggles falling pregnant, symptoms of pregnancy.

Summary: After years of trying and learning to let go, you are finally gifted your beautiful baby miracle miracles.

Wings Universe - More from this world.

“Gods you really are looking radiant today, Flower!” Elodie beamed, nudging you gently with her shoulder.

The sun was bright among the wild blossoms, sunlight filtering down to touch your skin with a feverish kiss. The season was slowly shifting from Spring to Summer. Plants were growing larger, petals spreading wider, the pollen in the air stronger. There was a buzz among the land of the Night Court, as nature geared itself for this transformation. You had felt the change in temperature, noticed how the rays licked your skin. Leaving yourself and your friends glowing, sunkissed, glimmering from working in the meadows all day.

But radiant? That was not the word you would use.

Elodie’s compliment had your brows furrowing gently, bringing your dirt covered hand to wipe the bead of sweat that threatened to roll down your cheek. You weren’t sure how to take the compliment. It described the opposite of everything you were feeling.

Perhaps bloated, and sluggish was more accurate. Out of sorts? You couldn’t quite figure out why, there had been no changes to your routine. Yet everything about you felt, well, just different.

Even Azriel had noticed some subtle changes. Ever the Spymaster noticed everything, especially about his precious mate. Or so he thought. He had mentioned the other day that your scent was sweeter than usual. The typical tones of vanilla and honey were weaved in with a hint of something else he couldn’t quite decipher. Azriel had taken it upon himself to touch every inch of your skin to uncover what, only to come to no answer.

That had been a long night. A night of caresses and grazes. Not that you were complaining.

Glancing down at your fingers spread within the cool damp soil of the meadows, they flexed under the sponginess of the dirt. You could feel the vitality pulse beneath your fingertips before pulling them out. Glancing upon the skin that hadn’t been touched by dirt yet. Radiant? Perhaps. You always had a glow to you, all fairies did. That unexplainable aura that lit up any room. But maybe just maybe, you had been shining a little brighter.

Maybe.

Casting a fertilising charm within the ground had been today’s task. Along with your usual working group you had headed to the meadows and woodlands on the outskirts of the Night Court. This particular part of your job, the more physical aspect, was one you usually relished in. The ache of your muscles and bones at the end of a hard day of graft, usually, gave you some kind of instant gratification. But fatigue was plaguing you.

You had been sleeping more than usual. Being a Fairy meant you were always rose with that hot shining beacon in the sky, but there had been numerous mornings recently where Azriel had to coax you from your slumber. The sunshine no longer acting as your alarm. Azriel would rouse you with whispered compliments and gentle kisses. Sometimes, his shadows would stir you too, brushing your skin with their cooling touch.

There had even been times when Azriel had let you sleep in. Never a working day of course. Gods be damned, Azriel knew better than that. A day missed at the meadow was the end of the world. Or at least your world. Azriel learnt in the early years of friendship that you took your duty very seriously. So on the days where he knew you had nowhere to be– nowhere other than his arms. He let you sleep.

“Honestly y/n you have this glow about you…” Elodie continued, turning fully to you now her own hands pulling out of the soil. She gently brushed them down her honey coloured dress, her apron picking up the soil as she wiped them. The sun cast a gentle glow across her deep skin, golden eyes glinting with curiosity. A curiosity you wanted to question but before you could, the call for lunch was bellowed across the meadow.

Food wrapped in little gingham cloths were passed round, a parcel finding its way to your lap. You were starving you realised, as your tummy made a small groaning noise. Hastily you unravelled the packed lunch, the sweet recognisable scent filling the air around you, a smile spreading on your plump lips at today’s choice.

Cake and jam. Your favourite.

The little parcel was packed with nuts, berries, and veggies. But your sweet tooth had your fingers itching to pick up the sponge cake. Licking your lips gently, you brought the sweet slice, covered in a slab of strawberry jam to your lips. Taking a bite of your favourite sweet treat.

Only it wasn’t sweet.

Instantly you gagged.

The chewed up cake quickly came rolling out of your mouth as you discreetly caught it in your hand.

“Is the food off?” Elodie hushed quietly, turning to you as she inspected your lunch.

Your group always took turns bringing in food for the day. And you truly couldn’t knock your friends baking. Perhaps a little stereotypical, but fairies were very domestic. Not only great with plants and gardening, but also sewing, crafting, and of course baking. Gus in particular, whose cake you had just spat out was probably the best baker of all the Hollow.

Shaking your head quickly, you secretly hid the chewed up cake underneath your berries. Your tongue swilling the metallic taste the cake had filled your mouth with. You couldn’t bear Gus finding out you’d spat out his food. The poor male would be heartbroken.

“No, no it isn’t. It’s fine I promise. I don’t know what came over me,” you hurried out a whisper. “I’ve been feeling a little off recently. Maybe I’m under the weather.”

Placing her lunch to the side, your friend looked at you with her deep warm eyes, concerned etched into her brows as she gently pressed the back of her hand on your forehead.

Chewing your lip you let your friend examine you. “You don’t have a temperature…” she muttered, more to herself than to you as she began to fuss.

Leaning closer then, her hands clasped around your cheeks. Her grip was slightly firm as your lips were squished into a pout. She didn’t notice though, not as her eyes began to quickly flicker over every line and curve of your face. Her meticulous scrutiny not letting up. A glimmer of something winked across her face, catching her off guard if only for a second before her brows furrowed.

Then she began to sniff you.

“El, what are you doing?” You asked, tone annoyed and bashful, as you swatted her looming face away lightly. She was naturally quite a tactile fairy, but even this was a bit much for her.

Elodie had sat back now, her eyes widening. It was as though you could see in her eyes the pieces falling into place, but for a puzzle you weren't aware of.

“Thank the Mother,” she whispered, her lips stretching to a smile, before she clasped your hand pulling you away from the group.

“El?” You were annoyed now. Your fingers were flexing at your sides, as she had pulled you into a field filled with tulips. The pink and orange hues swayed gently in the breeze, as an uneasiness began to roll over you.

“It all makes sense now. How you were so emotional when you saw those baby hedgehogs the other day–”

Shaking your head, you lifted your hands in confusion. You didn’t understand.

“Your scent, your glow…your wings!”

There was an uncomfortable rising feeling under your skin at the signs your friend began to mention, the symptoms you knew all too well that were rolling off her tongue. You knew them so well because for a period of time you had analysed every part of yourself hoping to see these aspects, only to not ever see a glimmer.

It couldn’t be?

Quickly glancing over your shoulder, you squinted to take a hard look at your wings. Furling the iridescent membranes closer to you, as you examined the very appendages your friend was peering so intently at.

There was nothing really different…except maybe there was. You squinted harder.

The tips.

They’d turned a darker pink.

Your heart was in your throat, an audible gasp leaving your lips as you turned to get a closer look. Spinning in a circle, round and round. Only to find the exact thing Elodie had noticed.

“Wait, Elodie. No, it can’t be?” your lip quivered as realisation began to sink in.

You and Azriel had decided two years ago that you wanted to expand your family. Especially seeing your loved ones with their own growing families. Feyre and Rhys had Nyx and Selene. And of course, Nesta and Cassian recently had their little Athena.

Over the years you had tried everything, taking tonics, eating certain foods, you had even scheduled a very meticulous conceiving plan. But nothing worked. There had been numerous appointments with Madja, and even the healers and midwives of the Hollow. But everything you did was futile. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t fall pregnant.

There was a period of time your mind tore you apart. Speculating and obsessively analysing the possibilities of why you couldn’t conceive. That perhaps it was you and Azriel that weren’t compatible. Biologically. That the Mother had made a mistake with you. That maybe things would have been different if you were Illyrian, not ‘lesser’ fae. That your own body was not strong enough to nurture his offspring. Defective somehow.

That duration of your life had been hard, and even harder to move on from. But with time, and endless love and support from your mate you eventually let go of that dream.

But now, that slither of hope was growing brighter than the summer sun beaming down on you.

Eloide, your longest friend. Had her hands clasped around yours. Her own eyes filled with a watery brim, mirroring your own.

She nodded with a smile.

You were pregnant.

𓇢𓆸

Azriel stood darkly behind his High Lord who was seated casually at the head of the meeting. Azriel was positioned on the left, Cassian on the right. The perfect guards to the Night Court. The large obsidian table stretched across the room. High Lords littered down the long ornate slab, all wearing the colours of their respective court. A few of Rhys’ closest alliances had joined for this gathering, discussing borders and peace treaties.

The meeting had begun in the morning, and by the stacks of documents officials were passing round it didn’t seem to be letting up anytime soon.

Azriel was focused, stood clad in his Illyrian leathers, blue syphons gleaming as the muscles in his jaw flexed. Despite this being an era of peace, with so many High Lord’s and emissaires in the room he was on high alert. His shadows gently grazed along the floor of the room as Azriel stayed attuned to the room's conversation.

One of his shadows seemed restless though, vibrating slightly behind his wing before curling up to his ear. Revealing nothing but nervous energy.

With a subtle jolt, Azriels wings unfurled slightly as he felt a small ripple down the bond. It was skittish and nervous, unease seeping from you down the thread.

Cassian gave Azriel a sideways glance, an unspoken question if everything was okay. But Azriel only stood straighter for his answer, reclaiming his composure as he sent a gentle vibration down the warm glowing bond.

Is everything okay, my love?

You were quite a passionate soul, an empath. Oftentimes, involuntarily, Azriel would feel all types of emotion spill down the bond. It was one of the reasons he loved you, a quality he found endearing. How open to love you were, how you felt the sorrow and joy of others wholeheartedly. But this uneasiness left him unsettled.

Azriel was only met with silence on your end. Spurring him to send another ripple. His shadows started to become more restless, spreading and striking behind his wings subtly, as if displaying the uneasiness of their master or perhaps they were twitching out of eagerness for something else– for someone else.

Azriel was usually quite a composed male, cool and collected was the blueprint of his facade. Yet, when it came to you and your welfare, any patience went quickly out the window.

He was about to send one of his shadowy tendrils to look for you, to check you were okay in the meadows. Also on the verge of sending another question down the bond. Only for the large oak doors to swing open with a force that flushed the room with a gust of wind.

You.

It was you, his beautiful shining mate.

A very beautiful dishevelled mate, however.

You were flushed, cheeks hot and rosy as you stumbled into the large meeting room. Your lovely pink dress was covered in soil, the lacy strap hanging off your shoulder. The flowers you’d braided into your hair that morning were hanging limp only by a few strands. Pink hues of light flickered across the room, as it became obvious to everyone your beautiful wings were unfurled behind you.

There had been no stopping you once you’d got your confirmation, you had flown urgently to River House. Storming through the hallways with a haste one wouldn’t usually associated with such a delicate fairy.

But you needed him. You needed your mate.

You needed Azriel, and no meeting, no court officials or High Lords were going to stop you.

Your eyes instantly found those hazel beacons, eyes locked in on your handsome shadow of a lover. If you weren’t so encaptured by him, you may have noticed the panicked scrape of Rhys’ chair as he stood in concern, or how Cassian left his post towards you. Hand twitching by his sword, ready to strike at any recognition of the danger that must have caused this display by you.

If you’d been listening you might have noticed how the room had fallen quickly into a silence, all heads snapping to you. Momentarily, eyes glazing over the iridescent lights that were now reflecting off your wings.

A very rare sight.

“What a beauty…” someone purred, although you didn’t hear them.

Azriel was beside you in mere seconds, his shadows consuming you protectively moving you slightly into the pocket realm. The tendrils coiled on the corners of your vision so you could only see Azriel, who tenderly had a hand pressed against your jaw, thumb gently grazing the dirt spread on your face. His other arm protectively wrapped around you pulling you close.

Something must have happened Azriel concluded. Fear seeped into his mind as he began to imagine the worst.

Your energy, the vulnerable look in your eyes and tousled appearance had Azriel reeling. Itching to figure out what had caused this. Had a danger broken into the court? Had his shadows missed something? Were you hurt?

“My love, what is it? What’s wrong?” there was an urgency in his tone.

You shook your head, tears rolling down your cheeks. Azriel was confused. You were in a state of disarray, but he could feel nothing of the sort through the bond. Instead there was an overwhelming feeling of joy and love rippling through.

“There is nothing wrong, love…finally everything is right,” you cried through your smile.

These were not Azriel’s choice of words, but later on when Cassian and Rhys relayed the scenario to the rest of the family they said you looked a little mad. Deranged even. Your tangled appearance and abrupt entrance was unlike anything they’d seen from you.

Azriel was quick to move you from here, his shadows engulfing you both as they transported you to a small lounge in the house. He wanted you away from prying eyes, and needed to check you were safe. That you weren’t hurt. His hands were still cupped around your face as he began to inspect you carefully. His eyes analysing your expression, shadows circling around your ankles to check for anything that might explain your distress– no it wasn’t distress, it wasn’t madness, it was joy.

“Breathe my little butterfly, what’s got you so worked up that you barged into a High Lord’s meeting?” Azriel cooed, his expression softening as he recognised the vulnerability in your eyes. Large scarred hands lightly brushed your unrurly hair, his fingers delicately bringing the dress strap back over your shoulder as he tried to soothe you with his touch.

“Everything is finally right Azriel,'' you whispered, repeating the words from earlier. For a moment Azriel couldn’t understand. The disarray, the vulnerability, the uneasiness. How could everything finally be right?

But then he felt it, the rippling down the bond. That unconditional love again, joy, delight…but also relief. Relief that something had finally happened. Something you had both been waiting, praying and dreaming of.

The Shadowsinger tilted his head, his hands dropping from your face, not daring to breathe the words himself as the emotions he felt began to paint a vivid picture.

“I’m pregnant.”

In that moment Azriel crashed down onto his knees, an overwhelming sensation consuming him as he digested the truth you spoke. It was as if at that moment, everything slowly slotted into place. The clues he hadn’t even known were clues sung to him. Your scent, your temperament and emotions, your wings. Everything he had acknowledged subconsciously, had been tucked away in his mind because he couldn’t phantom the possibility– the possibility of being wrong. Getting your hopes up.

His hands softly came to your hips, drawing you closer as he rested his forehead against your stomach.

“We’re having a baby?” Azriel’s voice broke, the words barely audible.

“Babies.” You whispered back.

𓇢𓆸

Cassian had been pacing back and forth outside the lounge for well over an hour now. He’d desperately called down the bond to Nesta, who had arrived in a hurry with their little Athena in her arms. His reaction may have been slightly over dramatic. But Cassian assured her that if Nesta had seen the state you’d run into the meeting room earlier, she would be behaving the same way.

Nesta didn’t really believe him, her mate had a way of being quite theatrical in situations.

There had been no danger, Azriel had spoken into Rhys mind and it had been passed onto Cassian. So Cassian spent the time speculating on what could have brought such an uncharacteristically reaction from you. He’d seen you when things didn’t go the plan in the meadows and assumed something at work must have gone array.

Nesta sat lazily in a chair outside the lounge, book in hand. Every now and then, glancing up at her mate who was wearing a mark in the stone floor from his pacing. Cassian held his little baby while he patrolled outside the room, whispering theories on what possibly could have happened to Auntie y/n.

“I don’t know Thena…maybe the ladybirds lost their spots again?” He mused, recalling a previous drama you had shared with him once, that had sent you a little haywire last year.

“All spots are accounted for,” your voice sang. Cassian hadn’t even noticed you and Azriel had stepped out of the room.

“Sorry brother I didn’t know you were waiting for us” Azriel smiled softly, giving his brother’s shoulder a gentle squeeze.

Cassian’s expression softened, as Nesta came to his side. Her arm looping around his free side while she kissed her little babe on the head. “Is everything okay though?” Cassian asked, concern still lingering.

“More than okay,” you beamed, tears quickly filling your eyes again.

Cassian and Nesta glanced between you both. Their expressions desperately trying to figure out what was happening. The penny dropped for Nesta first. Her own lips pulled into a genuine smile.

“Thank the Mother” she grinned, stepping forward to embrace you tightly.

The tears were spilling then, as you hugged your friend back. Little sobs racking through your body. You thought you’d cried it all out in Azriel’s arms, that there were no more tears left to give. But now, in the embrace of your friends– your family. Reality sunk in much deeper.

It only took Cassian a few moments and a glance at Azriel’s overjoyed but emotional expression to understand what was happening.

“Truly brother?” He beamed. Azriel nodded, a small tear running down his face as Cassian bear-hugged his friend, making sure Athena wasn’t squished between the giant Illyrians.

It didn’t take long for Cassian to start shouting it from the rooftops, bellowing down the halls of River house that two baby Shadowsingers were on their way. And of course, naturally, the day turned into a celebration, a gathering with your loved ones to toast your beautiful miracle babies.

Later that night, after Rhys and Cassian had drowned themselves in whiskey with a competition of who would be the favourite uncle.

Azriel joined you in bed, you were propped up by plush pillows against the large headboard, night dress adorned as you gazed down at your tummy. Your hands resting lightly on your stomach.

“Finally” you whispered, as Azriel laid beside you, his own hand covering both of yours as he nuzzled into your neck. Inhaling your scent.

He breathed deeply against your throat, relief and joy rippling through every inch of his skin, “Finally.”

a/n: Here is is!!! So sorry this took so long, I've been so busy with lots of interviews and prepping, which has eaten into a lot of my energy recently. But I hope this was worth the wait! I think the next scene that was voted for was the truth or dare/drinking games which would be set pre bond snapping/in the friendship era! So I'll try write that next unless there's something else first you'd like? Anyway I love writing about these two, their my little fluff couple <3 - Lottie x

Forever tags: @sleepylunarwolf @daily-dose-of-sass @amberlynn98 @marscardigan @illyrianbitch @lilah-asteria

#acotar #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel fanfic #acotar azriel #acotar fanfiction #angst #acotar series #wings universe #azriel shadowsinger #fairy x azriel #azriel spymaster #azriel series #azriel x fairy

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flutterclouds · 2 months ago

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This was such a great chapter, Tesh! I really loved Nia and Toby’s conversation at the start of the chapter. It’s been a long time coming ever since Ghatha, and I think the payoff is fantastic. Nia is understandably anxious about how often Tobias puts himself in danger for the sake of his quest for revenge, while Tobias himself is stubborn in wanting to tackle every lead on Team Zenith. While he said he’d be more careful, I have a feeling this isn’t the end of his reckless behavior. And going off of Nia’s nonverbal assertion that this particular discussion isn’t over, I can only wonder what will prompt the next part of the conversation.

Moving on, I also liked Nia and Toby’s discussion regarding Giratina. It’s obvious Giratina wants Nia alive, but I have to wonder for what purposes. I certainly don’t entirely trust Will’s description of Giratina, but I have a feeling something more is going on.

I also loved Nia’s conversation with Samir about coming to the Lexym Guild. I think Samir would work well as an addition to Team Scarlet, but I get the feeling they’re not ready to join another team at the moment. I have a feeling Team Scarlet and Samir’s paths will cross again, though.

Moving on to Rosalind and Vesper, I have to wonder what exactly Rosalind gets out of assisting Team Scarlet in exchange for them performing missions for her. She certainly isn’t doing it to be charitable, so I have to wonder what exactly it is she wants. If previous scenes with her are anything to go by, I have the feeling she gets some sort of amusement by having teams go on dangerous missions in exchange for information. That may not be the whole reason she does what she does, but I think it’s at least a small part of why she operates her shady information deals. On the subject of Vesper, I thought it was a very interesting twist that he had passed the year before. Toby had spent so many years consumed by grief and anger over the loss of his family, while Vesper himself found a mate and had children. I couldn’t help but notice the parallels between Vesper and Toby’s families, both being families of four that had lost at least one family member. In Tobias’ case, he lost every member of his immediate family, while Vesper’s immediate family lost him. I think this is a very interesting development for Toby because in this case, he can’t take revenge, no matter how hard he wishes for it. Vesper is no longer a mere shadow from his past he is chasing, but a Pokemon who lived and had a family. That is something tangible, something grounded in the present Toby has to wrestle with.

I think this chapter works so well because it shows the complexities of the characters’ relationships. Nia’s comment about missing someone no matter how long you’ve known them really got to me. Having dealt with some personal losses of my own in the last six months, that line hit especially hard. It’s a strange feeling, having a work slowly feel more relevant after a few years of making my way through the chapters. I’m doing okay, although I wasn’t expecting to have some of my grief mirrored in one of my favorite fics today. I think you write grief and all the emotions surrounding it very well, especially all the reminders of a person that’s passed on that can darken one’s mood. I’ve followed Nia and Tobias’ adventures for several years now, so in a way it’s comforting to see characters I’ve come to love deal with similar feelings. This was quite a heavy chapter, but one I’m glad to have read nonetheless. I’m looking forward to what Team Scarlet uncovers at Edme’s.

Pokemon Mystery Dungeon: Seekers of Soul

[Chapter 46]

<< First | < Previous | Next >

Tobias and Nia say their goodbyes to Fort Asra. Following Rosalind's info, they discover some unexpected answers in the desert.

Tobias wakes somewhere soft. Once he blinks his eyes open against late afternoon light, he realizes he’s back at Granite and Takeo’s place, in the room he and Nia have been boarding in. Dust motes float through sunlight against a wooden ceiling.

The quiet creak of the door and soft footsteps—familiar footsteps—make Tobias raise his head.

Nia startles at the movement, then hurries over with a smile. “Hey! How’re you feeling?”

Tobias tries sitting up, then groans when that makes his body ache and his head twinge with pain. His thigh is wrapped up tight in gauze, and it itches against his scales.

Nia motions for him to lie down. “Take it easy. You got pretty roughed up.”

No kidding. Tobias rubs at his eyes. “What happened?”

“Well…what do you remember?”

Tobias grudgingly allows himself to sink back into the pile of cushions. “I remember…Calder, jumping in to fight Eddy. And Grant and Takeo. They found us?”

Nia nods, smile twisting with wry humor, “Apparently Takeo didn’t trust us to stay out of trouble. He tagged us with his silk and tracked us across the desert once he realized we snuck out. Granite grabbed Calder along the way.”

Tobias isn’t sure if he should feel angry about that or not. The townsmon did save them from a second fight with the dewott that Tobias isn’t sure they would’ve won.

“What about Eddy and the Steelix?”

“Safely in custody!” Nia chirps, looking proud. “Calder and Lara kept them subdued until some psychics from the guild could come out to grab them.”

Tobias nods as he stares up at the ceiling, something in his memory nudging at him. Something important. He vaguely remembers Nia and Samir leading him out of the cave and up the ladder. The three of them hobbling past the downed steelix (and Tobias has questions about how that happened). Then Eddy attacking them back on the surface.

But before all that, he remembers a terrifying wave of earth bearing down on him, slamming into him and burying him alive. Blackness. Then, a slow return to awareness, soft fur holding him close. Nia’s voice, shaky but relieved. A tight, borderline-painful hug.

Tobias pauses. “Did you…dig me out from that rock slide? How did you find me in all that?”

Nia winces. She looks guilty. “I, um…we couldn’t find you at first, and I was scared you were suffocating. So I found your aura.”

Tobias’ head snaps up as something in his chest stutters. “You looked at my aura?”

He must sound sharper than he means to, because Nia frowns with her ears pinned back in the way she does when she feels defensive. “I thought you might be dying!”

The sudden fear that had bubbled up in Tobias’ chest melts abruptly into shame.

“Right,” he mutters. It still sounds loud in the quiet. “I…I know you did what you had to do.” He grimaces as he peers up at her, almost not wanting to ask. “So…what’d you see?”

Nia blinks. “Oh. Um. Not much, really. I was trying not to dig too deep and I was a bit, uh…distracted. Your soul is red?”

“Red? What does that mean?”

Nia quirks a smile and shrugs. “I’d have to actually focus and look again to tell you. All I know is that you’re a deep red. Almost maroon! I could tell it was you right away. It just…felt like you.”

For some reason, Tobias feels his face heat up at that. He looks away, claws kneading into the cushion in his lap. He supposes he’s glad Nia didn’t find any terrible truths from a fleeting glimpse of his soul, even if he still feels strangely exposed that she looked at all.

There’s a moment of silence where Nia busies herself with fluffing the cushions around Tobias. He can tell she has something to say. She keeps taking a deep breath and opening her mouth, hesitating before closing it again.

“Look,” Nia finally says. “I know you just woke up, but I’m afraid I’ll lose my nerve and we need to talk about this. About…how you get, when info about Team Zenith is involved.”

Oh. Tobias’ stomach sinks as he sits up again, ignoring the exhaustion in his body. “What about it?”

Nia gives him a tired look. “You know what I mean, Tobias.”

“I’m not going to stop looking for them.”

“I’m not asking you to!” Nia groans. She takes a deep breath, rubbing at her face.

"Then what are you asking?”

“I’m not saying we need to stop looking for them,” Nia starts. “I know that you won’t stop, no matter what. But we need to start being more careful about how we tackle these missions.”

Tobias knows that by “we,” she means he has to start being more careful. He’s the one who basically forced her and Samir down into the mines because he was desperate to finish the mission as soon as possible.

He vaguely remembers her hugging him and crying into his scarf, and feels a stab of guilt. Still, he can’t seem to apologize. The words lodge in his throat like a rock. Because he knows he would do it again.

Tobias stares down at his hands and mutters, “You didn’t have to come with me.”

Nia makes an offended noise. “I wasn’t going to let you march off alone to get killed!”

“It would be my fault if I died, not yours.”

Nia throws her hands up. “It doesn’t matter whose fault it would be, it would matter that you died!”

“Would it?” Tobias scoffs.

Nia stops mid-rant, looking stunned. Then, her expression slowly melts into something almost…hurt.

“Yes,” Nia whispers. “It would.”

To Tobias’ surprise, he believes her. Nia gets attached to Pokemon stupidly quick. It makes sense that she’s managed to get attached to him, despite his prickly attitude. They do spend pretty much every day together. Still, Nia could just join Andyn’s team or something if got himself killed. She’d be fine, after a bit.

There’s a heavy moment of silence. Tobias can feel Nia’s eyes on him, so he stubbornly looks out the window, where he sees the side of another building and a glimpse of bright afternoon sunlight.

Finally, Nia sighs. “We just…we can’t keep going like this, Tobias. The seviper in Ghatha, the steelix down in the mines. Rosalind is giving us dangerous missions.”

“I know that,” Tobias says. “What are you recommending we do about it?”

Nia’s mouth flattens into a frown. “I…don’t know. But Samir and I both thought it was too dangerous, and we turned out to be right. We almost died down there because of that.”

Tobias winces, feeling guilt drop heavy onto his shoulders. He wasn’t the only one he put in danger by charging into the mines. Nia and Samir easily could’ve been killed by that steelix. That possibility does scare him. It’s just…so hard for him to think of that, when he feels that desperate itch to follow a lead.

“Can you just…listen, when we try to get you to slow down?” Nia asks. “Be a little more careful?”

Tobias mulls that over. Her request is reasonable enough. She's not asking him to avoid dangerous situations entirely, after all, just to approach them with a bit more caution.

“Fine,” he says, eventually. “I’ll try to listen if you tell me to slow down.”

Nia doesn’t seem relieved by that. Instead, she tilts her head with a little furrow to her brow. Like she’s trying to get through to him, even though he’s already agreed.

“What?” He asks. “I said I'd be more careful.”

“No, I know. I’m glad. It’s just…it feels like you’re agreeing to get me off your back, not because you think it’s the best course of action.”

“What's the difference? Look, I’ll slow down a bit when you get freaked out, okay? And I’ll make sure I don’t drag you or anyone else down with me.”

Nia’s frown grows deeper. “What about you?”

“What about me?"

Nia opens her mouth to reply, then closes it again. “You…want to get revenge, right? On Team Zenith. For taking your family away.”

“Yeah. And?”

Nia bites her lip, but holds his gaze. She looks nervous, but determined. He hates that expression on her because it usually means she’s about to do something stupid.

Finally, she says, “You can’t take revenge for your family if you’re dead. If…If you rush us into a situation and get killed for it, that revenge will never happen, right?”

Tobias blinks back at her, surprised by the riolu’s unusual bluntness. He…hadn’t really thought of it like that before, as obvious as the line of thought is. He’d always sort of figured he’d throw himself at any information and hope for the best. If he died, he died. But…it would all be for nothing then. And if that's the case, it would be worth approaching leads more cautiously not just because Nia asked him to, but because his end goal has a better chance of coming to fruition, right?

Nia continues before he can respond. “Plus, think about what it’d do to Maggie if you were killed. Or the shinx kids. And if I didn’t somehow go down with you I’d be—“

Nia cuts herself off, blinking bright ruby eyes. Her lip quivers. “W-Well. I already thought that yesterday and you saw me then. I’d be devastated if something happened to you.”

Devastated. Somehow, that seems like such an…intense word to apply to him. Tobias doesn’t know if he’s quite worth feeling “devastated” over.

“You’d get over it,” Tobias scoffs.

That makes Nia upset. He sees the blue of her aura flash through her eyes. “You’re not over your family.”

Tobias flinches back as if she’d slapped him. “Of course I’m not! But that’s different!“

“How?”

“Because they were my family!” Tobias hisses.

“Maggie’s your family too! What would she do if she lost you?”

That trips Tobias up. Maggie is his family, and he is hers. But—

“It’s not the same!”

“Why?!”

“Because I should’ve been strong enough to protect my family! And I need to be strong enough now to make Team Zenith pay for what they did. If I go and get myself killed by being an idiot, there’s no one to blame but me. Certainly not Maggie or the kids.“

“None of us would see it that way,” Nia says, voice soft. "You don’t seem to value your own life much, but other people do.”

Something sharp tangles and knots in Tobias’ chest. “Well they shouldn't! I didn't ask them to!"

“I don’t think you get to decide how much other people care about you.”

And Tobias has nothing to say to that. She’s right.

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” Tobias huffs, looking away. “I’m sorry, all right? For putting you and Samir in danger. I won’t do it again.”

At least that’s one truth that’s easy to tell. He’ll just face it himself next time, if it comes to that. He has to stop dragging Nia down with him.

A heavy silence falls over the room. Tobias wonders if Takeo or Granite heard them arguing. He doesn’t hear either ‘mon moving around the small building, and Granite is very easy to notice with his heavy steps.

Finally, Nia sighs. It’s a defeated sound, but Tobias has a feeling she isn’t done, even if they don’t revisit this today.

Tobias accepts the uneasy truce, closing his eyes and resting his head back against the cushions. Both because he’s growing tired again and because he needs something to do in the awkward silence. Nia reaches over and picks up the book she’d come through the door holding.

For a while, the riolu reads while he rests his eyes and avoids conversation. He tries to track how far she gets by the flutter of pages turning, but loses track after twenty. He idly wonders what she’s reading about. He doesn’t think she brought a book along when they left the guild. Did she borrow one from Granite and Takeo’s shop?

Tobias’ mind wanders then to the itchy bandage circling the cut on his thigh. And then to the fight down in the mines. Eddy wasn’t too difficult to take down, once it was three-on-one. But the steelix…the giant’s face flashes through his mind, jaws strong enough to kill with a single bite.

Tobias cracks open an eye, cataloguing his partner’s lack of injury. The last thing he remembers before waking up from that rock slide, Samir had been knocked out and Nia had been left alone with the steelix. While he's grateful for it, Tobias can't figure out how she escaped so unscathed.

“So you took down the steelix, right?” Tobias asks, unable to completely stop the disbelief in his voice. “How..?”

Nia looks up from her book, taking a moment to enter the present and register his words. “Oh! You remember those blast seeds we got from that last client?”

Tobias frowns. “Oh. Yeah. I'd almost forgotten about them.”

Nia huffs a little laugh. “I did forget about them. The only reason I remembered at all was because of Giratina.”

There’s a pregnant pause. Tobias stares at Nia, trying to process what she just said.

“Giratina?”

Nia blinks back at him. Then, she bops a paw to her forehead. “Oh! Right! I knew I was forgetting something important! He kind of, uh…showed up down in the mines? In the reflections?”

Tobias sits up, alarm swooping through his gut. “What?!”

“But he helped us!” Nia hurries to say.

“Wh—Nia, he’s—“

“I know, I know! I didn’t trust him at first either.” Nia holds out her paws in a calming gesture. Tobias glares back at her but holds his tongue. This better be good.

“But..?”

“But he helped me hide myself when the steelix passed by. I probably would’ve been crushed otherwise. And he lead me to Samir, and then both of us to you.”

Okay, there’s…a lot to unpack there. Giratina supposedly helped them? For some reason? And Nia likely would have died down in the mines if not for the legendary, which is. Great. Tobias’ subconscious will love that nightmare fuel.

Nia must see the skepticism on his face, because she breathes a laugh. “I know. It sounds crazy. But Samir can vouch for me. I guess Giratina could be pulling some kind of long con, but I don’t think any of us would’ve made it out of there without him.”

Tobias wrestles quietly with that information. He’s heard whispers here and there about Giratina all his life, and literally not a single one was flattering. Add that to the fact that Giratina has been stalking his partner and tried to forcibly yank her into the distortion world, and he’s having a hard time believing that the banished legendary might actually have decent motivations.

On the other hand, Will told them not to trust Giratina, and Tobias hates that guy. So.

“So…what? We just trust him now?” Tobias asks.

To his relief, Nia shakes her head. “I’d still like to talk to Edme first before deciding on anything. Giratina helped us, but that doesn’t necessarily mean his end goals are good.”

Tobias sits back against the cushions. “Agreed. But knowing you, I figured you'd already decided to befriend him.”

Nia sticks her tongue out at him but doesn't respond. Tobias takes that as a win.

"So you wanna catch me up on everything that happened in the mines?"

The riolu almost seems surprised by the request, before she shifts position to get more comfortable and begins to talk. Her words start out hesitant, and she peeks at him like she isn’t sure he wants to hear all the gritty details, but she picks up speed and strength as she goes on. She tells him about Giratina appearing and helping her hide, the legendary leading her and Samir to Tobias, and how she defeated the steelix with the help of the blast seeds. Tobias locks his jaw every time she trails off, clearly trying to figure out how to soften the fact that she—or he or Samir—brushed close to death yet again. He feels terrible for leaving that all on her.

But he also can’t help feeling impressed, too.

“Quick thinking,” he comments, when she reaches the end of her retelling. “And...I am sorry for leaving you to fight him alone. You shouldn’t have had to do that.”

Nia gives him a tired smile. “I’m upset that you dragged us down there in the first place, not that you got knocked out. You couldn’t help that.”

Their discussion is interrupted by a sharp knock at the door. Tobias looks up in time to see a familiar skiddo face peer through the cracked opening.

“Samir!” Nia says, sounding happy but unsurprised. “C’mon in. Tobias is up!”

The skiddo shoulders their way into the room, giving Tobias a once-over as if to gauge how injured he is. Tobias raises a brow in return. When Samir is satisfied that the charmander isn’t going to keel over, they sit down and fix him with a heavy glare.

Tobias frowns back, not appreciating the immediate ire. “What?”

Samir adopts an incredulous expression. They look to Nia, then back to Tobias, then back again.

Nia barks a laugh. “Are you asking if I scolded him yet for dragging us down there?”

Samir nods.

Tobias rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, she already chewed me out about it.”

Samir closes their eyes and lifts their nose into the air as if to say, Good. Tobias gives in to the childish urge to blow a puff of smoke in the grass type’s face. Samir rears back with a wrinkled nose, kicking a small cushion at Tobias in retaliation.

“Okay, settle down!” Nia laughs, yanking the pillow from Tobias’ grip. “Now that Tobias is feeling better, I wanted to talk to you too, Samir.”

Tobias and Samir pause their feud to eye the riolu, wary. Nia’s innocent tone would normally mean something bad for Tobias, but her gaze is currently focused on Samir.

“Don’t look at me like that! I just wanted to say you fought really well down in the mines.”

Ah. Tobias sees immediately where she’s going with this. He smirks.

Samir clearly follows as well. They give Nia an unamused look.

Nia throws her hands up. “No, seriously! You were the perfect teammate!”

Samir's gaze moves to the door as if they’re legitimately thinking about getting up and leaving. Nia shoots Tobias a pleading look.

Tobias huffs. “She’s right, you know. She’s not just being nice.”

At that, Samir pauses. They fix Tobias with a solemn, searching look. Oh. They’re…actually taking Tobias seriously. He wasn’t expecting that.

Tobias clears his throat and straightens up. “You held your own down there.”

“And when we were fighting Eddy you worked perfectly with us!” Nia adds. “Totally in sync.”

Samir blinks at the two of them, wide-eyed. There’s some kind of emotion building behind their stoic expression. Tobias thinks he sees the skiddo’s mouth tremble.

Tobias snorts, trying to defuse the tension. “Your old partner’s an idiot if they thought you being mute meant you couldn’t work as a team. And your guildmaster’s an even bigger idiot if they wrote you off too.”

Nia nods emphatically.

At that, Samir ducks their head. Their shoulders shake.

“Yeah, you’d be an awesome addition to any team!” Nia adds. But this time, she looks to Tobias while Samir is distracted by wiping at their face. Her eyes are wide and hopeful as she looks between Samir and Tobias.

Oh. Tobias leans back, something like panic shooting through him. Is she really asking if she can invite the skiddo to join their team? That’s a huge decision! Not something she can just spring on him! Nia winces at his expression and makes a soothing gesture.

Tobias doesn’t say anything, warily letting her take the lead.

When Samir finally pulls themself together a bit, Nia gently says, “You know, if you ever feel like moving to the Lexym Guild, I’m sure August would love to have you. He’d get you paired up with a team in no time!”

Nia glances at Tobias, and he relaxes, giving her a tired nod. That’s…fine. No promises of a place on their team, but an offer of help and a better place for the skiddo to live. They can talk later about Nia apparently wanting to expand their team. The thought puts a pit in Tobias’ stomach, some part of him whispering that she just wants to replace her grumpy mess of a partner who keeps dragging her into death traps.

But then Nia lights up at his approving nod, tail wagging behind her, and somehow that helps ward away the bad thoughts.

“You don’t have to decide right now of course,” Nia says. “But…just keep it in mind, okay?”

Samir sniffs one last time and nods, avoiding both of their eyes. Tobias relates to the skiddo’s embarrassment when it comes to emotions, and hurriedly fishes for another topic of conversation to get the ball rolling.

Nia answers his questions about the aftermath of the mines. She tells him that he’s only been out for a day, and that Granite and Takeo didn't seem too mad about them disobeying orders and sneaking out. Apparently they just seemed relieved to see the three of them safe.

Tobias sees what she means when Granite and Takeo bring the three of them a small supper in the evening, commenting that it’s good to see Tobias up and awake. Takeo grumbles about reckless kids and their hero complexes, but there’s no real heat to the words. Nia and Samir both give Tobias pointed looks that he returns with a glare. He doesn’t have a “hero complex”—if anyone does, it’s Nia. He just has a mission to accomplish.

The rest of the night passes peacefully, with Samir leaving shortly after the meal.

By the next morning, Tobias is feeling more or less back to normal. Nia watches fretfully as he removes the bandages from his leg and checks the long, scabbed-over gash on his thigh. It’s probably going to scar, but it seems like it's healed enough to travel.

“We could rest for another day,” Nia suggests.

“We’ve got places to be,” Tobias objects, stretching his leg. “Did you get that information from Granite yet for solving the town’s earthquake problem?”

Nia shakes her head. “No. I figured since it’s from Rosalind you’d want to read it first. I can go ask Granite for it?"

At Tobias’ assent, the riolu leaves the room. Tobias takes a deep breath and rises to his feet to stretch out his sore, stiff limbs.

Rosalind promised them info on Team Zenith, on the outlaws, if they finished this mission for her. Tobias hopes it’s something substantial and doesn’t just lead them on a wild yungoos chase. They fought too hard for this not to be worth it.

After a minute or so, Tobias feels Granite’s heavy footsteps moving closer, down the hall. Nia comes pattering into the room just ahead of the donphan, moving to Tobias’ side and glancing not-so-subtly at his leg.

“Heard you were itchin’ to get movin’,” Granite greets them. The donphan has a satchel across his broad back—maybe preparing to go out for the day?

“I-I think so,” Nia says, bowing to Granite. “Thank you for everything! We really appreciate you letting us board here for the past few days.”

Granite waves her off with his trunk. “Straighten up, pup. If anything, we should be doin’ more to thank y’all. You stopped the quakes and even gave us some fresh mining work! Asra's in your debt. If you ever need help or somewhere to stay, you two know where to find us.”

Nia looks sentimental at that declaration. Tobias would bet money that she’s debating whether or not to give the older ‘mon a hug.

Before she can figure it out, Tobias clears his throat. “I’m glad we could help. Rosalind promised us some information in exchange for this mission?”

Granite’s easygoing expression fades. “Right. Listen, I know I said it before and you kids can handle yourselves, but be careful with Rosa, all right? That hatterene’s sketchier than a smeargle.”

Tobias gives an impatient nod.

“Here,” Granite sighs, digging a rolled-up piece of parchment paper out of his satchel with his trunk. “Came in from Rosa the other day, so I guess she was confident you’d get the job done. Sure hope it was worth nearly gettin’ yourselves killed.”

Tobias snatches the paper, quickly ripping it open. Nia quietly thanks Granite before crowding closer to Tobias to read over his shoulder.

Team Scarlet,

I trust that your determination will lead you to the answers our client seeks. In return, I’ve found a delightful piece of information about Team Zenith.

I have word that one of the outlaws, Asra the crobat, settled down just a few short miles from your current location.

Tobias’ breath catches. The crobat is near…here? But what does she mean by “settled down?” Is he hiding out or something? What about his other teammates? Why would he separate from them?

Tobias’ hold crinkles the paper under his hands. He reads on.

Word is that he may have taken on a new alias, going by the name Vesper.

I will warn you that this information is from two years ago, so there is a chance that the crobat has moved on to a different location. However, I thought you would still appreciate the opportunity to explore while you’re in the area.

Tobias reads on, taking in the directions to the supposed location, a few miles outside of town and just off the main road. Apparently the crobat uses a stack of stones as a marker for the turn. He and Nia must’ve passed the spot on their way into Asra without even noticing it.

Nia finishes reading before Tobias does, wordlessly pulling back. When Tobias catches up, he looks up to meet her eyes. She has an unreadable, serious expression on her face.

“Are we ready for this?” Nia murmurs.

“We have to be,” Tobias rasps in return. He glances down at the directions one more time before rolling the parchment back up. “If he is there, you can stay back. I don’t want to drag you into a fight if you don’t feel ready for it, and it’s my business anyways.”

Nia makes a quiet sound of protest, reaching out to touch his hand until he looks at her again. “I’m not leaving. We’re a team, remember? But just…try not to go running in before we can scope it out, all right? Remember what I said before. Let’s go in with a plan.”

Tobias isn’t sure how he can possibly manage that when he knows he’s about to come face-to-face with one of the outlaws who ruined his life. He’s already shaking, adrenaline buzzing beneath his skin. But Nia has a point. He can’t go running in and get himself killed before taking down the other two. Or worse, drag Nia down with him.

Stiffly, Tobias nods. Nia looks relieved, and gives his hand a squeeze before saying that she’ll get their satchel ready so they can head out. Tobias is grateful that she’s so willing to leave right away. He doesn’t think he could’ve handled having to hang around here knowing that the crobat is so close.

“Oi, little Char.”

Tobias looks back to Granite. The donphan gestures for Tobias to follow him, then shoulders aside the door and walks out into the hall, towards the front of the building where the shop is. Tobias glances at Nia before hesitantly trailing the ground-type’s thudding footsteps.

When Tobias enters the shop, he finds Granite shuffling out from between the shelves. The donphan is gently holding the little stringed guitar that Tobias had seen the first day they got to Asra.

Tobias can’t help the way his eyes linger on it, heart aching for a distant memory of music. To his surprise, Granite takes a step forward and holds the guitar out to him.

“It’s yours,” Granite says, more of a demand than a request. “A little something extra to say thanks, for all the trouble you went to to help us out. We appreciate it.”

Tobias stares at the guitar, stunned. Slowly, his hands drift out to take it. The wood is smooth and cool in his hands.

“Take good care of it now, y’hear?”

Tobias blinks, swallowing hard against a lump in his throat. Eventually, he manages to say, “Nia and Samir did most of the work.”

“I already gave the riolu a book she’s been eyeing. Just take it and don’t get yourself killed before you actually learn to play.”

Tobias, too choked up to speak, just nods his thanks, cradling the instrument close. Granite huffs in response and trundles back to the counter before Tobias can embarrass himself further.

For a moment, it’s all Tobias thinks about. He runs a thumb over one of the strings—it needs tightened and probably tuned, but the instrument is in fairly good shape. The wood is solid but flexible, a beautiful copper color and smooth to the touch, expertly carved.

He can try playing—can try making music like his family used to do, humming and singing in their cave. He can show those half-remembered melodies off to Nia, and Maggie! Maggie has a nice singing voice like his mom did and—

Like she did. Before everything. Before Team Zenith.

The rising euphoria in his chest plummets back to Earth.

Tobias doesn’t have time for this right now. He finally has a solid lead on one of the outlaws. He needs to focus on that, on what he’ll do when he meets with the crobat face-to-face.

Nia appears from the hall, worried expression lightening when she sees him holding the guitar.

Tobias ignores her probing look, taking the satchel from her to carry it himself. He carefully tucks the guitar away inside, making sure it’s cushioned by softer items. He feels hesitant to put it away, but he can always try it out later, once this is dealt with. This is more important.

“So we’re heading out right away?” Nia asks.

“Yeah.”

Nia nods, glancing at Granite. “Let me say goodbye to a few people. I’ll keep it quick.”

Tobias sighs, but gestures impatiently for her to get on with it.

He trails behind her as she says her thanks and goodbyes to Granite and Takeo. Granite gives them both hearty slaps on the back and tells them not to die. Takeo sends them off with a quiet blessing from his ancestors. Nia, of course, almost cries, giving them both a watery smile and a wave as they step off the porch.

“We only knew them for a few days,” Tobias points out, both exasperated and amused.

“So?” Nia sniffs. “It doesn’t matter how long you know someone. I’ll still miss them.”

Nia makes a point to stop by Deidra’s ruined saloon next, where the construction has been halted in Eddy’s absence. Luckily, Deidra (and Cody, staying close to her side like a comforting mountain) don’t seem angry with Nia and Tobias for arresting one of their own. They both thank the two of them for stopping the dewott before anyone else could get hurt. Deidra even refills Nia’s canteen and hands Tobias a few hydration berries for the journey ahead, giving them a wink.

Nia leads them to the edge of town next, where Calder and Samir are standing outside of Lara’s house.

“Word is you two are heading out,” Calder says, tipping his head in a capless greeting. “You sure you’re feeling well enough to get back on the road?”

Samir looks at them with an unreadable expression.

“We’ve rested enough,” Tobias says, hiking the satchel higher on his shoulder. “We have somewhere we need to be.”

At his side, Nia offers a helpless shrug and an apologetic smile of agreement.

“Hm.” Calder looks at them for a moment with lidded eyes. Then, he nods. “Well, you two take care of yourself. I’ll be sure to pass along word to the guild about your help.”

“Oh,” Nia says, exchanging a surprised look with Tobias. They’d thought they weren’t going to get any recognition for this one, since it wasn’t an official mission. “Thank you!”

“Least I can do,” Calder scoffs, for a moment looking a bit self-deprecating. Then he shakes his head. “You two take care of yourselves, all right? No more jumping into dangerous situations without backup.”

Nia gives Tobias a pointed jab with her elbow. Tobias hisses under his breath and elbows her back.

Calder almost looks amused. Then, he tips his head to them again. “Let me know if y’all ever need any help. Asra’s authority has your back.”

And with that, the inteleon strides off, leaving them alone with Samir. This silence feels a bit heavier, a bit more loaded with indecision and emotion.

Eventually, Nia says, “I meant what I said yesterday, you know. The Lexym Guild would be happy to have you as a Seeker.”

Samir’s stiff posture and hard expression soften, just a bit, under Nia’s reminder. They sigh, then write in the dirt.

THANKS

WILL THINK ABOUT IT

NEED TO HELP TOWN RECOVER

Nia looks disappointed, but smiles all the same. “That’s sweet of you to hang around and get everyone back on their feet.”

“Just don’t let your old partner or your guild push you around,” Tobias gruffs.

Samir gives them a small, subdued smile and a nod. Nia sniffles. Tobias isn’t at all surprised to look over and see her blinking back tears, mouth wobbly.

“Arceus,” he huffs, rolling his eyes.

“What? It was great having Samir with us!” Nia defends, voice wavering. She turns back to the skiddo. “Really. We’ll miss you. Take care, okay? Hopefully we see you sooner rather than later.”

Samir seems caught off-guard by the riolu’s emotions. They fluster, shuffling their hooves for a moment before nodding and writing, YOU TOO.

Nia does start crying at that, just a little bit. Samir, panicked, steps closer as if to try and help, and Nia takes the opportunity to give them a parting hug.

Tobias stuffs down a sharp jab of annoyance and rolls his eyes. “Nia.”

Nia frees Samir, who looks embarrassed by the affection as they take a step back, straightening their posture. Tobias spots a zebstrika-pulled cart ahead, being loaded up with goods and likely about to head out.

He nudges Nia. “We need to get going if we want to try hitching a ride.”

“Oh! Right. Thanks again, Samir. Stay safe.”

Tobias hurries over to the pair of zebstrika hooked up to the cart, asking if he and Nia could hitch a ride a few miles outside of town. The electric types request a few poké in return, which Tobias grudgingly hands over.

Soon enough, the two of them are bouncing along atop a small cart of goods. They slowly trundle up the narrow path circling the canyon wall, watching Fort Asra shrink below them, a deep blue sky overhead and a canyon of warm, bright tans below.

It’s past noon by time they catch sight of the landmark listed on the map: a large stack of stones at the side of the road, taller than Tobias and Nia combined. Tobias calls for the cart to stop so they can disembark, waving off the zebstrika with a word of thanks.

As the cart wheels away, leaving a faint cloud of dust in its wake, Nia leans in to peer at the directions over Tobias’ shoulder. “You’re sure this is the right place?”

“Rosalind’s info says this is the landmark.” He squints at the dirt ahead, trying to summon up some of Samir’s tracking abilities. “Am I losing it, or is there a trail here?”

Nia tilts her head, as if that’ll help her see better. “…Maybe?” She takes a deep breath, nose twitching.

Tobias suddenly recalls Fen’s words from long ago, when Nia first showed up. “Hey, why don’t you ever use your nose to try tracking?”

Nia looks over her shoulder, as if he’s talking to someone else. She looks back to him, bewildered. “Me?”

He rolls his eyes. “Yes, you! You see any other riolu out here?”

Nia frowns and looks down at her nose, cross-eyed. “I…I guess I’ve never tried? I usually try to ignore my nose when we go places, since smells are so strong in this body. It all just jumbles together and gets really overwhelming.”

Tobias supposes that makes sense. He keeps Rosalind’s instructions out but starts a tentative path forward across the rocky desert landscape, trying to follow the faint remains of a path he thinks he sees. “So humans don’t use their noses to track?”

Nia laughs, which gives him his answer. “Nope! We can use scent dogs to track things, but our sense of smell isn’t good enough for that. Do you really think I could learn to do that?”

“Yeah? You’re a riolu. You just gotta…learn to separate the smells or something.”

“Ah, of course. Why didn’t I think of that?”

Tobias gives her a dry look, before turning back to the map. He only looks at it in short glimpses, sparing the rest of his attention for their surroundings. He doesn’t want to be caught off-guard by anyone, even if everything is so bright and open out here that it’d be hard to sneak up on them.

“Maybe we can find a tracker when we get back to the guild,” Tobias says after a few minutes, hearing Nia taking deep breaths as if trying to absorb the desert scents.

“That would be cool,” Nia murmurs, distracted as she takes another lungful of air. “It’s actually easier out here, since there aren’t a lot of different things to smell.”

Tobias hums and they continue on, scrabbling over rocky terrain and scraggly plants, occasionally ducking under low rock formations. Tobias enjoys the sun against his skin, more than comfortable encased in heat, but Nia has to dig out her water flask within minutes and needs to take periodic breathers in patches of cooler shade. Tobias tries to be patient and not rush her, knowing riolu aren’t built for this climate like he is.

Eventually, Tobias spots another stack of stones shimmering in the desert heat, and he steers them in that direction even as he increases his wary glances around the environment. He does feel better about seeking out the crobat in the height of the day, when he would naturally be asleep, but he doesn’t want them to be caught off-guard. The crobat’s hideout is only supposed to be a mile or so off the main road, after all.

It's late afternoon when Tobias finally spots something out of place in the distance: a small Pokemon-made structure, high off the ground and built into the side of a rocky spire. He points it out to Nia, putting Rosalind’s directions away, and the two of them tread closer on quiet feet.

When they’ve gotten close enough, they crouch behind some nearby rocks and peer up at the strange structure. Tobias isn’t sure exactly what he was expecting, but it wasn’t…this.

The building almost looks quaint. Like a little house. It’s a small wooden structure built into the side of a spire of rock, 15 yards or so off the ground. A rickety, narrow staircase zigzags up the rock face to lead to the front door. Most baffling, there are flowers growing in a basket on the windowsill, and colorful, almost scribble-like markings on the side of the rocky spire that Tobias can’t decipher from here.

“It kind of looks like a house,” Nia murmurs, sounding as confused as he feels.

“Don’t let your guard down."

This has to be a trap or something. He pulls out the letter from Rosalind again, scanning it to be sure they got the directions right. Not like they’ve seen any other buildings since leaving Asra—they’re truly in the desolate emptiness of the desert now. Only someone hiding away from the world or wanting to go completely off the grid would choose to live out here.

Could Asra—or Vesper, or whatever he’s going by—really be here? Tobias has to admit this place doesn’t look like somewhere a murderous outlaw would be hiding, but maybe that’s the point.

“Maybe we should stake it out for a bit,” Nia suggests, eyeing Tobias worriedly as if expecting him to run up to the door with his claws out and flames burning.

Tobias grunts his agreement, sitting down and peering around the edge of the rock to keep his eyes locked on the building’s front door.

This just…doesn’t feel right. Tobias always imagined when he came face-to-face with any of the outlaws from Team Zenith, it’d be an immediate fight to the finish, out in the wilds. Not…this. Not waiting for the crobat to show up and…what? Water his flowers?

Some part of Tobias wants to laugh. Another part of him feels sick to his stomach. He can’t pinpoint exactly why, but his heart is slowly speeding up. Rosalind did say that the information was from a few years back. Could the crobat have moved on?

He continues to stare down the door. Waiting. Distantly, he hears Nia ask him something once or twice, but he can’t seem to pull his focus back to her. It feels like he has to keep all of his attention on that door, no matter what. Like it’s a matter of life and death.

Slowly, the minutes tick by in tense silence. The sun sinks lower, edging towards sunset.

Tobias is only broken out of the spell when he hears a noise of some kind from inside the structure. A high shriek. He stands, tensed and ready to run for the door. What was that? Does someone need help? Is the crobat hurting someone in there right now?

Before he can move from their hiding spot, Nia grabs his arm. He jumps, startled by the sudden touch.

“Wait,” She whispers. “I hear—”

The door slams open, and high-pitched laughter spills out. Two small shapes burst outside and unfurl their wings, giggling and circling each other in the air with quick, frenetic wingbeats. Too small to be the crobat, and neither one is the right color. Plus their voices are too young.

“Kids?” Nia murmurs, sounding just as confused as Tobias feels.

“Be back at midnight for supper!” A voice calls from inside the house. A moment later, the distinct angular ears and pink heart nose of a swoobat leans out the door.

The two kids flap their wings to hover in place, finally still enough to see. They’re little more than tiny blue puffballs with matching heart noses and toothy grins. Something about them feels slightly strange, though, and it puts Tobias on edge.

“Okay, Mom!”

“And don’t play too close to any unstable rocks. You know the rules.”

The kids—woobats—groan but agree before zipping away.

The swoobat sighs and mutters something to herself before propping open the door and heading back inside.

Tobias stares at where the psychic-type disappeared, his stomach sinking. There’s…a family living here, which means the crobat has to have moved on. Surely he’s not sticking around the area, not with witnesses living so close by. They seem comfortable here, too. Familiar. Like they've lived here for a while.

“He’s not here,” Tobias says, toneless. They missed another lead. He rubs at his face, trying to decode and push away whatever wave of emotion is lapping at his heels. Whatever it is, it doesn’t feel good. “Great.”

Nia glances back at the house. “Maybe this family has an idea of where he could’ve gone?”

“You think the wanted murderer made nice with the neighbors before going on the run?”

Nia twists her mouth in a way that means she isn’t exactly hopeful about the possibility herself. Still, she stands and says, “I’m going to go ask. No harm in checking, right?”

She says it as if she’s going to go alone, but Tobias immediately straightens up to follow her. He’s not going to sit down here and have her do the investigating for him.

Nia relents, leading the way to the base of the old wooden stairs built into the side of the rockface. The wood creaks and dips under their weight, but doesn’t give. As they climb, the bright markings on the side of the spire become much clearer with proximity. Tobias can see now that they’re wobbly, messy children’s drawings. Like the ones he and Vivi used to make on the inside of their cave growing up. He swallows hard and moves his eyes back to the steps.

As they reach the top landing, the faint sound of humming that Tobias had barely registered cuts off. A moment later, the swoobat pokes her head out of the doorway, ears perking and eyes growing wide at the sight of Nia and Tobias.

“Oh! Hello there. Are you two lost?”

Tobias opens his mouth to answer, then thinks better of it when he already feels off-kilter.

Nia steps in. “Hello! No, we were actually looking for someone, but it doesn’t look like he’s here. We were wondering if you maybe knew him before you moved in?”

The swoobat relaxes at the question, stepping out onto the makeshift porch. She’s holding a small dish towel between her wings. “I’ve lived here since this house was built, actually.”

Tobias looks up at the swoobat’s face, startled. “What?”

“Oh!” Nia seems equally unprepared for that statement. “W-Well, um. Do you happen to know of anybody living nearby named Asra? O-Or Vesper.”

“A crobat,” Tobias adds, voice tight.

The swoobat drops the dish towel, fluffy collar puffing with surprise. Then, her ears lower as her expression weighs down with something deeply sad. “Vesper? Yes, he…he was my mate.”

Tobias’ breath catches. He stares at the swoobat as his mind fumbles and blanks. Thoughts drain away from him like water.

Mate?

“Was?” Nia echoes gently, after a moment of stunned silence.

The swoobat takes a shuddering, bracing breath, picking up the dish towel with her flexible pink tail. “Yes. Vess passed a little over a year ago, after an accident. I’m…I’m sorry you had to find out this way. I didn’t know many of his friends to notify them.”

Through a numbing static, Tobias hears Nia stutter, “O-Oh! No, we weren’t—I mean…”

“He’s dead?” Tobias rasps.

The swoobat squeezes her eyes shut tight, as if pained by the very reminder. “Yes. Would you like to see his resting place? I’m sure he’d appreciate you stopping by.”

Nia glances at Tobias like he's a live bomb, clearly worried that he’s about to fall apart. Strangely, Tobias feels blank instead. Hollow. His mouth responds for him. “Yes.”

The swoobat gives him a sympathetic look. She asks him and Nia to meet her back at the bottom of the stairs before gliding off the edge of the wooden platform and spiraling down.

Nia turns to him immediately. “Tobias—"

“Let’s go,” He says. “I want to see it.”

Nia looks like she wants to argue. But then she nods, moving towards the stairs and waiting for him to match her steps. As if he might fall off if she moves even a step ahead of him.

Tobias doesn’t register much in the next few minutes. He vaguely feels himself moving down the steps. Realizes at some point that he and Nia are following the swoobat a short distance away across dirt and desert sand to a small cave. The psychic-type’s soft, compassionate voice grates on his ears. Nia is a warm weight glued to his side. He matches her steps, unable to do much else.

And then he’s there, standing in a tiny cave surrounded by cool air. Bright sunset light spills in from behind, painting everything warm against heavy shadows. The swoobat has left, probably for their privacy. Nia has taken a step away to give him space, but he can feel the weight of her gaze.

In front of Tobias sits a small monument, carefully carved and lovingly cared for. Desert flowers and dried berries sit at its foot, carefully arranged.

Vesper

Beloved Mate and Father

Now One with Lunala’s Stars

Among the offerings, Tobias sees a simple painting, likely made by the two children they’d glimpsed earlier. There’s a large purple blob surely meant to represent the crobat, smiling with wide white fangs. Two smaller, bluer blobs sit happily under his wings.

And somehow that is what brings Tobias’ emotions roaring back.

He thinks of the two woobat he saw earlier, about how they felt slightly off to him. He realizes now what it was. They were just a bit speedier than Tobias would expect of such young Pokemon. As fast as the blur of violet wings from his memory. Their fluffy fur just a shade closer to violet than blue.

The crobat who helped destroy his family, who ruined his life, had kids. Had a mate, and a home. He had happiness, after ripping all of that away from Tobias. And he didn’t even have the decency to live long enough to look Tobias in the eye when he came to ask why.

Rage pours through Tobias, hotter than any flame he’s ever wielded.

One instant he’s at Nia’s side. The next, he’s lunging forward with a feral cry. The children’s painting is torn to shreds beneath his claws. The flowers and berries are set ablaze in a flash of fire, bright and hot. He lunges for the stone next, aiming to crack it against the wall until it snaps and crumbles.

Strong arms hook around his middle, yanking him back.

Tobias’ responding snarl almost drowns out Nia’s call of his name, but she only tightens her grip. He writhes and tries to get traction on the dirt, but she drags him back, towards the opening of the cave. Once they’re a few feet away, she swings him around and lets go, standing as a barrier between him and his target. She’s panting, wide-eyed.

“Move!” Tobias snaps.

“T-Tobias, I know you’re upset but—”

“Move!” Tobias snarls, embers spitting from his mouth.

“Tobias, you need to take a second and—”

“Don’t tell me what I need!” He hisses. He tries to push through Nia’s stance, only for her to catch him and lock her hands with his, leaving them eye to eye and straining for ground.

“Tobias, she’s going to come back and see—"

“So what?! She needs to know! She should know that her mate killed a family in cold blood!”

“That won’t help anything!” Nia says through gritted teeth. “What will that accomplish?! Make her feel guilty for loving someone so horrible? Make her kids feel like there’s something tainted in their blood? It won’t help anyone! He’s dead!”

“Maybe they deserve to live with it!” Tobias shouts. He feels panicked as his rage falters into something heavier. Traitorous tears prick hot at the back of his eyes. “Someone should have to!”

Nia falters, eyes going wide. Tobias could break through easily now, if he tried. Instead, he tightens his grip on her hands, trying to stoke his rage back to its full power.

“What right do you have to stop me?! You don’t get it!”

“Tobias,” Nia murmurs, looking uncertain. “I…”

Tobias stares at her, panting, as tears bubble up in his eyes. He’s shaking as the rage mixes with grief in his chest, boiling under his skin both ice cold and magma hot.

“You don’t get it,” he repeats, voice breaking.

Nia stares at him, brow furrowed. Slowly, her hold loosens. She slips free of him, stepping back and out of Tobias’ way. She looks at the memorial, then him, then away.

“You’re right. I-I…I don’t understand. But if this will help, then…I won’t stop you.”

Tobias…doesn’t know what to do with that. His fury has already started to die down after the riolu’s interruption. The magma has hardened to something heavy and horrible, weighing him down. He doesn’t want to sit with that. He wants the fire back.

Tobias staggers forward, back to the memorial. His feet brush through fine ash, still smoldering. He stares at the gravesite through his tears, the delicate carvings of a crobat and lunala blurring. He raises a hand, claws at the ready, but can’t seem to bring it down. That just makes him feel worse.

Tobias swallows thickly, a sob shuddering from his chest. He came here with the intent of taking the crobat down, taking him into custody or even killing him if it came to it. He'd thought for eight years about the questions he would get answers to, the vindication he would feel tearing down one of the monsters who destroyed his life.

Instead, he’s at the grave of a Pokemon who had a mate and kids, who had a family that loved him. It feels…twisted. Wrong. Like he’s in a bad dream.

Tobias’ legs give out beneath him, and he leans forward to rest his head on the stone, cries ripping from his throat. The ugly thing in his chest doesn’t seem to die down, only raging on and on and on.

He can feel it, when Nia hesitantly joins him. She kneels at his side.

He looks up at her, gut churning with nausea. “Why did he get to be happy? He didn’t—he didn’t deserve to…”

Nia’s expression crumbles, and for a moment Tobias thinks she might start crying too. “I don't know,” she says, soft. She hesitantly slides a paw up to rub circles into his back. “I’m sorry, Tobias.”

Tobias doesn’t realize he’s leaning into her until she's already wrapping him up in a hug. He hugs her back tight enough to hurt, but the pressure and the warmth and the soft texture of her fur helps, somehow. It feels grounding. Gives him something to latch onto aside from the turbulent waves of his emotions.

He doesn’t know how long he cries, soaking Nia’s fur and shuddering through waves of nausea. She murmurs quiet, meaningless comforts to him. Rocks with him and uses her thumbs to trace soothing circles against his back.

By time Tobias is somewhat calm again, he feels like the wrung-out dish rag the swoobat had been holding earlier. Flimsy and worn, with a few holes and gritty stains left behind.

The light coming in from the cave’s opening is now gray and weak, dusk on the cusp of night.

Tobias sniffs, staring sightlessly at the ruined bits of the memorial beneath them, now nothing more than scattered ash blending in with the dirt floor.

“I want them to hurt, too,” Tobias says, voice tight. “I know I shouldn’t.”

Nia squeezes him tighter.

“I know they didn’t do anything wrong. They didn’t know, but…”

Before Tobias can fully form that thought, he sniffs and leans away from Nia, wiping at his eyes. It feels cold without her so close.

They both look at the gravestone in front of them, so carefully carved and lovingly cared for. But it’s alone, out here in the wilderness. He can’t touch anyone else, buried six feet under and miles from civilization.

It still feels too good for him. Some part of Tobias still wants to kick the headstone over and scorch it black. He wants to dig up the crobat’s bones and scatter them in the desert sand. But that part of him feels ugly and too much like the monster buried in front of him, so he tries to let it make itself known before passing through his mind.

A quiet sound at the mouth of the cave catches Nia’s attention, and Tobias follows her gaze.

The swoobat has returned, framed by dusk light. Her round eyes are focused on the absence of gifts at the foot of the grave, at the ashes left in their wake. Tobias expects her to be upset, to yell and chase them out. Instead, her gaze moves to Tobias, brow furrowing into something like realization.

There’s a heavy moment of silence.

Finally, the swoobat breaks it, stepping forward. “Vess always held a lot of…regret. For something that happened in his past. He wouldn’t tell me about it, but he mentioned that it’s why he parted ways from his team all those years ago and settled down near Asra. It’s where he was born.”

Before Tobias can respond to that, the swoobat’s gaze flicks away, nervous.

“He was very upset once. When we bumped into a charmander at the market to the south. Wouldn’t talk for a week. D-Did…did something..?”

Tobias feels the weight of expectation settle onto him, but he’s so tired that it barely registers what he’s hearing. How is he supposed to react to this revelation? How is he supposed to feel knowing that the crobat apparently felt some measure of guilt for what he was a part of? That he was upset about it?

Ha. Lot of good guilt does. Doesn’t bring back his family.

The embers of rage spark back to life. Not blazing, but hot enough to put Tobias’ limbs into motion. Tobias staggers to his feet, then towards the swoobat. The psychic-type stands strong and stares back at him, expression resolute even as her body trembles.

She’s scared. Terrified that Tobias is going to tell her something she never wanted to hear. That he’s going to ruin the memory of her beloved mate and the father to her kids. Tobias wants to. He wants to watch her face fall with shock and horror. Wants to spread the terrible grief caused by the crobat’s actions like a toxin.

But Tobias thinks of Nia’s words. Thinks of those kids. Thinks of how much guilt he carries for not being strong enough to protect his sister. Thinks how terrible he would feel for someone he loved and admired to be responsible for such loss.

“Your mate,” Tobias finally spits. “Wasn’t a good Pokemon. At least he wasn’t a terrible father.”

The words feel like acid in his throat. He doesn’t know if leaving her in the dark is a mercy or a punishment. He shoves past the swoobat, stomping away into the desert. Away from their happy little home and the gravestone of a murderer.

He walks, and walk, and walks. Lets the rhythm of the motion replace his thoughts. Eyes ahead, unseeing of the desert around him.

Tobias doesn’t come back to himself until he stumbles over a stone in the ground. He catches himself on his hands and knees, scuffing them. The pain seems to jog something in his brain, because he suddenly settles back into the shell of his body.

The dirt is cooling quickly beneath him with the falling night. Nia is at his side, watching silently. Overhead, stars glitter like layers of crystal. Tobias thinks he can hear the distant laughter of the woobat children.

“Tobias?” Nia asks, soft voice loud in the night air.

“Should I have told her?”

Nia falters. Then, almost too quiet to hear, she murmurs, “I don’t know.”

Tobias takes a deep breath, letting it out in a puff of steam that wisps and curls. He stands. “Let’s go.”

“A-Are you sure?”

Tobias nods, rubbing at his sore, tired eyes. “Let’s just…go find Edme. We still need to learn more about Giratina."

Nia stares at him with worried eyes. She must be able to tell that he’s just looking for something else to focus on. That he just wants to leave, and not think about any of this for a while. That he wants to get some distance between himself and the sweet little family his personal monster left behind.

Tobias expects her to bring it up, to say that they need to talk about it. Instead, Nia slowly nods, reaching out to slip their satchel off Tobias’ shoulder and over her own. She hesitates, then reaches out a paw to take his hand, gently tugging him into motion. Tobias doesn’t fight her, grateful as she leads his unmoored body back towards the road.

183 notes · View notes

bed-chemist · 7 months ago

Note

ommmmg can u write something with nicolas being a new dad x reader wife 🙏🙏🙏 maybe them visiting his family during a short trip and him being sooooooo daddyyyy 😭😭 after seeing him in those GH pic with this baby …. 🥵😮‍💨 i just need a dad imagines with him since there isn’t any

❝Juno❞

─⋆♡ summary: You’re married to Nicholas Chavez and you bring your newborn baby to meet his grandparents.

─⋆♡ warnings: pregnancy, postpartum depression, fluff, allusions to sex but no smut, Daddy!Nicholas Chavez, Y/N used a few times, 1st person POV. as always i’m always learning so correct me if i missed something!!

─⋆♡ an: based on this ask & shoutout to that person because this was super sweet to write. there’s no public info on his parents and i felt weird looking for it so here’s some Chavez grandparents content. since this may be your introduction to me, i do write in first person, just inserting Y/N. 2nd and 3rd person are absolutely insufferable to me and make me wanna die. with that being said, i’m glad there’s no shortage of those fics on this website. my masterlist is the pinned post on my profile and i hope you all enjoy this imagine! ★ ˙ᵕ˙ liv

The journey to Nicholas’ grandparents’ house is filled with quiet anticipation. We haven’t visited in a while, not since Colette was born. I can’t help but feel a mix of excitement and nervousness at the thought of introducing Colette to her great-grandparents, Nick SR and Betty. Nicholas always speaks of them with such affection, often recounting tales from his childhood spent at their cozy home. They were instrumental in raising him, and their influence is deeply ingrained in who he’s become. Now, I’m eager to see how they’ll respond to our little family, especially to me as a new mother.

The sun is high in the sky as we pull into the gravel driveway, which crunches under the tires. The house is a charming, white colonial-style home with flower boxes beneath the windows, bursting with vibrant blooms. It looks like something out of a postcard—quaint and welcoming. Nicholas squeezes my hand as he turns off the car.

“You ready for this?” he asks, his brown eyes twinkling with excitement.

I smile, though my heart races. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” I respond unwilling to let his hand go for the last time.

I eventually gain enough strength to go a second without touching him. We both step out of the car, and I unbuckle Colette from her car seat, carefully lifting her into my arms. She’s dressed in a soft, pastel onesie with tiny flowers embroidered on the front. Her big espresso colored eyes, so much like Nicholas’, blink up at me as she squirms a little in my hold. I kiss her soft forehead, breathing in that sweet baby scent that always seems to calm my nerves.

Before we even reach the front door, it flies open, and Betty appears on the porch. Her face lights up in a radiant smile as she hurries down the steps toward us. She’s a small woman, but she moves with surprising speed and agility, her silver hair tied back in a loose bun.

“There she is! Oh, it’s about time!” Betty exclaims, ignoring Nicholas entirely as she comes straight for me and Colette. Her arms are wide open, and she pulls me into a hug, careful not to crush the baby between us. “You, my darling, look even more beautiful than the last time I saw you. And this precious girl…” Her voice trails off as she gazes at Colette with shining eyes. “Oh, she’s just perfect.”

I laugh softly, returning her hug. “I’ve missed you, Mrs. Betty and thank you.”

Betty steps back, her hands still on my arms, her attention fully on Colette. “No, thank you! You brought another little angel into our family,” she says, her voice thick with emotion. “You’ve made me the happiest great-grandmother.”

Nicholas, standing off to the side, grins as he watches the scene unfold. “Hey, Grandma,” he chimes in, clearly amused. “Good to see you too.”

Betty waves a hand in his direction without even glancing his way. “Yes, yes, Nicholas. We’ll get to you in a minute.” Her eyes shimmer as she reaches out to gently stroke Colette’s chubby cheek. “She’s absolutely precious,” she coos. “She looks just like Nicholas did when he was a baby.”

Just then, Nicholas’ grandfather steps out onto the porch, his tall frame casting a shadow as he approaches us. His blue eyes light up when he sees me holding Colette. “Well, if it isn’t our favorite girl,” he says with a warm grin, pulling me into a quick hug before peering down at Colette. “And look at this—another beauty in the family. You’ve done well,” he adds, giving Nicholas a nod of approval before clapping him on the shoulder.

“Well she is 50% of me so…” Nicholas’s twinge of jealousy for his favorite girls peeks out.

“Oh, hush, Nicholas,” Betty replies, waving a hand at him dismissively before turning to me again. “Come on, dear, let’s get you inside. You must be exhausted after the drive. And you must let me hold this precious girl as soon as you’re settled.”

Inside the house, the smell of freshly baked bread wafts through the air, mingling with the scent of herbs and flowers. The living room is cozy and welcoming, filled with family photos and knick-knacks that speak of years of love and memories. There are pictures of Nick as a little boy, his brother, and even one of us on our wedding day.

Betty leads us to the couch, offering to take Colette for a little while so I can rest. “She’s such a calm baby,” Betty remarks as she cradles Colette in her arms. “I remember Nicholas being a little firecracker at this age—always kicking and fussing. But you, my dear, are an angel, aren’t you?” she coos, her voice full of love as Colette blinks up at her.

Nick Sr. settles into an armchair nearby, watching with a contented smile. “Betty’s right,” he says, his voice warm. “Nick was a handful. Always running around and getting into trouble. I don’t know how we managed to keep up with him.”

Nicholas chuckles, settling beside me on the couch and wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “Yeah, I’ve heard those stories a few times.”

“I bet you have,” Betty says, her eyes twinkling. “But look at you now—such a wonderful father and husband. We’re so proud of you.”

My heart swells at their words, and I feel a wave of gratitude wash over me. It’s clear how much they love Nicholas and how deeply they cherish their family. Their affection extends to me as well, making me feel welcomed in a way that eases the nervousness I had felt earlier.

Betty carefully passes Colette back to me, and I can’t help but notice how her eyes linger on us—on the way I hold my daughter, the way Colette nuzzles into me. After a moment, she glances at Nick Sr., sharing a look that seems to speak volumes.

“Oh, I almost forgot!” Betty says suddenly, rising from her seat with a bright smile. “We have something to show you.”

She disappears into another room, returning moments later with a large, leather-bound photo album. She hands it to Nicholas with a wide grin. “These are pictures of you when you were about Colette’s age. I thought it’d be fun to compare.”

Nicholas takes the album and begins flipping through the pages, his eyes lighting up as he sees the photos. “Oh wow,” he says, pointing to a picture of himself as a baby, bundled in a blanket. “Look at that, she really does look like me.”

I lean over to see the photo, and sure enough, the resemblance is striking. Colette has inherited her father’s dark hair and expressive eyes, and there’s something about the way she smiles that’s undeniably Nicholas Chavez.

Betty beams. “She’s got that same spark in her eyes that you had. And those cheeks! I could pinch them all day.”

I can’t help but smile as Nicholas flips through more photos—Nicholas as a toddler, covered in mud from head to toe; Nicholas on his first day of school, looking serious and determined; Nicholas holding a toy sword, pretending to be a knight. It’s clear that his grandparents were there for all of it, capturing every moment with care.

“Look at this one,” Nicholas says, laughing as he holds up a picture of himself as a toddler, sitting in a high chair with spaghetti sauce smeared all over his face.

Betty chuckles. “You loved spaghetti. Still do, if I remember correctly.”

As we continue to flip through the album, Betty excuses herself and motions for me to follow her into the kitchen. I hesitate for a moment, unsure of what she wants to talk about, but her kind smile reassures me.

Once we’re alone, she turns to me, her expression soft and full of understanding. “I just wanted to tell you that you’re doing a wonderful job, Y/N,” she says, her voice gentle. “Being a new mom is hard, and it can feel overwhelming sometimes. But from what I’ve seen, you’re handling it beautifully.”

I feel a lump form in my throat at her words, the unexpected kindness bringing a surge of emotion. “Thank you,” I say quietly. “It’s been… challenging at times. I have moments where I wonder if I’m doing it right.”

Betty reaches out and takes my hand, squeezing it gently. “Those moments of doubt are normal. Every mother feels them. But you have such a natural way with Colette. She feels safe and loved with you—that’s the most important thing.”

I nod, blinking back tears. “It’s just… sometimes I feel like I should be able to do more. I get so tired, and Nick’s been amazing, but…” I trail off, stopping myself from revealing my biggest insecurities.

Betty’s eyes soften even more. “It’s okay to ask for help, dear. You don’t have to do it all on your own. If you ever need anything—advice, a break, someone to talk to—you can always come to me. I’m here for you, and so is Nicholas. We’re all family now,” she offers.

Her words wrap around me like a comforting embrace, and for the first time in a while, I feel a sense of relief. “Thank you,” I whisper, grateful beyond words.

Betty smiles and gives my hand another gentle squeeze. “You’re doing wonderfully. Just remember to take care of yourself too, okay?”

I nod, my heart swelling with appreciation for this woman who has welcomed me into her family with open arms. As we walk back into the living room, I feel lighter, the weight of my doubts lifting just a little.

Nicholas looks up as we enter, his eyes softening as they meet mine. “Everything okay?” he asks, his brow furrowing slightly in concern.

I smile, feeling a warmth spread through me. “Yeah,” I say softly. “Everything’s perfect.”

As the afternoon fades into evening, Betty leans forward with a warm smile, her hands clasped in her lap. “It’s been so wonderful having you all here today,” she says, her eyes soft as she looks between Nicholas, me, and Colette. “Why don’t you stay the night? It’s been far too long since we’ve had a full house, and we’d love the chance to spend more time with you.”

Nicholas turns to me, his voice gentle as he asks, “What do you think? We don’t have anywhere to rush off to, and it would give me a break from driving back tonight.”

I hesitate for a moment, weighing the offer. I think about Colette’s bedtime routine, the packed bags in the car, and my own exhaustion. But as I glance around at the warmth of the house, Nick’s grandparents’ eager faces, and the calmness that seems to settle over everything, I feel myself relax. It’s been a long time since we’ve had a change of scenery, and the idea of spending more time here—surrounded by family—sounds like exactly what I need.

“That sounds wonderful,” I say, smiling at Betty. “Thank you. We’d love to stay.”

Betty’s face lights up, and Nick Sr. nods with a wide grin. “Perfect,” he says. “We’ve got the guest room ready, and I can set up the bassinet in the guest room next to it. It’ll be like old times, having a little one in the house again.”

Betty stands, already making her way toward the kitchen. “I’ll put some tea on for later. You two make yourselves at home.”

Nicholas squeezes my hand, a smile spreading across his face. “See? It’s going to be a nice, quiet night—just us, Colette, and the best grandparents ever.”

The evening unfolds comfortably from there. Betty and Nick Sr. share stories about Nick’s childhood over cups of tea, their voices light with laughter and nostalgia. As the night deepens, we finally make our way to the guest room. It’s cozy and inviting, with a soft bedspread, and warm lighting.

Colette falls asleep easily after nursing, making for an easy bedtime routine. Nicholas and I kiss her on the forehead goodnight once we’ve got her situated in the bassinet. We separate briefly to prep for bed and when I’m finished, I crack open the door to the en-suite bathroom.

Nicholas looks up from a script, setting it to the side of the bedside table. My feet patter over to him and he pulls back the duvet for me to climb in. “I’m so tired,” I note as I slide between the sheets.

He wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me closer to his body. “I know, baby. Maybe my grandparents will watch her in the morning so we can sleep in,” he theorizes lowly, but I can still feel the bass of his voice rumbling from his chest into my back.

I sigh, letting my eyes flutter closed. It’s been an emotional day, and I’m ready for sleep. “It’s okay if they can’t. I love you,” I whisper.

“I love you too, Y/N,” he breathes out with his lips kissing my ear one last time.

My body lets me drift into sleep, hearing nothing but Nicholas’ breathing and the faint sound of crickets outside. But that peace is eventually interrupted by the familiar sound of Colette’s soft cry filling the quiet room.

I blink awake, momentarily disoriented, unsure of where I am. The dimly lit room feels unfamiliar, and for a brief, groggy moment, I can’t remember how we ended up here. But then the memories come rushing back—the visit to Nick’s grandparents, Betty’s kind words, the warmth of the evening.

With a heavy sigh, I sit up in bed, my body aching with fatigue. I haven’t gotten nearly enough sleep, and Colette’s cries, though soft, feel like they’re pulling me out of the little bit of rest I’ve managed. The sheets feel cold, and for the first time tonight, I realize Nick’s arms aren’t wrapped around me as they usually are.

The bed dips beneath me, and I hear the soft thud of feet padding across the floor. “Shit,” Nicholas mutters under his breath as he comes into view. I lift my head, watching him groggily fumble with the baby monitor to turn down the volume.

His chocolate tinted eyes meet mine in the dimly lit room, his face softened with a sleepy smile. “I got it, baby. Go back to sleep,” he murmurs, his voice thick and gravelly.

I don’t resist as my head falls back onto the pillow. Nicholas tucks the duvet around my shoulders, his touch warm and reassuring, and leans down to kiss my forehead before slipping out of the room.

As my eyes flutter shut once again, I can’t help but feel immense gratitude for him—for understanding, for seeing me. Nicholas has always been an amazing partner, but since Colette was born, something has deepened. Maybe it's the way he’s embraced fatherhood, those tender daddy traits emerging in him day by day.

I don’t know how long I drift in and out of sleep before the bed dips once more. This time, I turn over to face Nicholas, only to find him kneeling on top of the duvet, cradling Colette in his arms. He gently rocks her, and his brown eyes, full of apology, meet mine. “I'm sorry, babe,” he says softly. “She’s hungry, and I checked the fridge and my Grandma must’ve given her the rest. We’re out of pumped milk,” he gives his valid reason for disturbing me.

With a tired sigh, I push myself up, scooting back against the headboard. “It’s okay,” I reply, motioning for Nicholas to hand Colette to me. “It’s not your fault I don’t pump fast enough for her.”

Nicholas shifts closer, still kneeling, his eyes warm with reassurance. “It’s not your fault either, baby girl,” he says tenderly. “You’re doing everything right. She’s just got my appetite, that’s all.”

Nick’s words bring a smile to my face as I take our little girl in my arms, feeling the love and support that radiates from him. Colette’s small body relaxes the moment she’s nestled in my arms, and I adjust my position to help her latch on. Instinctively, her tiny mouth finds its way, and I feel that familiar pull as she begins to nurse. The room is quiet now, save for the soft sounds of her feeding and the gentle rustle of the duvet as Nicholas shifts beside me, sitting back in his spot where he just laid.

The weight of exhaustion still presses heavily on my body, but there's something calming about this moment—something intimate and grounding. Colette’s little hand rests against my skin, her tiny fingers curling and uncurling as she nurses. Despite the tiredness, I feel a sense of peace wash over me.

Nicholas watches us, his expression soft and filled with admiration. He reaches out, brushing a strand of hair away from my face, his touch tender. "You’re amazing, you know that?" he whispers, his voice barely more than a breath in the dark.

I smile faintly, my heart swelling at his words, but before I can respond, he continues, his eyes never leaving mine. "I don’t tell you enough how much I love you... both of you." His gaze flickers to Colette, his eyes warm and full of adoration. "Watching you with her... seeing how strong you are, how much you give every day. You’ve made me the luckiest man in the world, Y/N."

His words sink into me, wrapping around my heart like a warm blanket. The weight of my earlier guilt begins to lift, replaced by the quiet assurance that I’m not alone in this. We’re a team, navigating the highs and lows together.

"I love you too," I murmur, my voice thick with emotion as I glance down at Colette, her soft breaths steady against me. "And I’m so grateful for you. I couldn’t do this without you."

Nicholas leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to my forehead, lingering for a moment as if sealing the promise of his words. "You’re the best mom, you know that? And she’s lucky to have you," he murmurs, his lips brushing against my skin.

I close my eyes, soaking in the warmth of his presence and feeling the steady rhythm of Colette’s nursing. In this moment, the exhaustion, the doubts, and the guilt of my postpartum depression fade into the background, leaving only the love we share—the love that brought Colette into our lives.

Nicholas settles back into bed beside me, his hand resting gently on my leg, a silent reminder that we’re in this together. And as Colette’s soft suckling continues, I let myself fully relax.

Once Colette finishes nursing, her tiny body grows limp in my arms, signaling she’s drifted back to sleep. I carefully adjust her, cradling her small frame against my chest. Nicholas is still sitting beside me, his hand never leaving my leg, his eyes filled with the kind of tenderness that makes my heart swell.

“Do you want me to take her?” Nicholas asks softly, his voice barely louder than a whisper.

I nod, and with practiced gentleness, he scoops her up and places her between us on the bed. Colette barely stirs, her little hands curling up by her face as she nestles into the space between us. The sight of her lying there, so peaceful and content, brings a soft smile to my lips. My body involuntarily slides down and I stoke her cheek with the back of my finger.

Nick lays down with his head propped up in one arm, the other sliding around me. But as I gaze at Colette sleeping peacefully between us, a small wave of anxiety creeps in. What if we roll over onto her during the night? My breath hitches slightly, and I turn my head toward him.

Nicholas immediately senses my concern and shifts closer, his hand coming to rest gently on my cheek. "Hey, don't worry," he says softly, his voice reassuring. "I’ve got her. We’ve got her. I won’t let anything happen." His thumb brushes against my skin as he speaks, his gaze steady and full of calm. "I’ve read up on this, remember? She’s safe with us. We’re light sleepers, and we’re both hyper-aware she’s here. I’ll make sure we’re careful."

I nod, though the worry still lingers. Nicholas leans in closer, his breath warm against my ear. "You won’t roll over on her. I won’t either. Trust me, baby. And if you’re still worried, I can take her back to the bassinet,” he assures me.

I glance down at Colette, her tiny chest rising and falling, completely at ease between us. There’s something comforting about her being so close, something I don’t want to give up. "No," I say softly, shaking my head. "I want her here with us. I just... I get nervous sometimes,” I admit to him, the concerns laced with my postpartum depression symptoms.

"I know," he murmurs. "But you’re not alone in this. We’re doing it together, okay? She’s safe. We’ll keep her safe,” he promises.

His warmth and the calm assurance in his voice help to ease the anxiety a little, and I let out a slow breath. I snuggle closer to him, nestling my head in the crook of his neck. "Thank you," I whisper.

Nicholas kisses the top of my head, his hand stroking Colette’s tiny arm before returning it to my waist. “I used to dream about this,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “You, me, and a baby… just lying here like this, all together.” His eyes shine in the dim light, filled with a quiet wonder. “I’d imagine what it would feel like, how perfect it would be. But this... this is even better than I imagined.”

His words sink deep into my chest, filling me with warmth. I glance down at Colette, her chest rising and falling steadily between us, and I feel a wave of contentment wash over me. “I’m glad too. It’s everything I didn’t know I needed,” I whisper back.

Nick’s thumb rubs gentle circles over the exposed skin on my side, and for a while, we lie there in comfortable silence, both of us watching Colette sleep. I feel the weight of his arm around me, the warmth of his body, and I can’t help but think about our future—about the life we’re building together.

After a while, I glance up at Nick, my voice soft but curious. “Do you ever think about… having another one? Another baby, I mean.”

His reaction is immediate. His brown eyes light up, the glint of excitement undeniable. He grins, that boyish, playful smile I fell in love with, and there’s no hesitation in his voice. “Oh, absolutely. I thought one of you was cute, but two though? Didn’t think I could handle it. But now that I’ve experienced it, I want three of you as soon as possible,” he rambles.

I laugh softly, both amused and surprised by his enthusiasm. “Three of us, huh?” I ask to clarify he’s not drunk on love.

“Yeah, babe,” he says, his hand moving to stroke Colette’s tiny hand before trailing over my arm. “We could start trying as soon as possible. I mean, why wait? We make great babies together,” he jokes and I stifle a laugh to not wake up our sleeping child.

His grin turns mischievous as he leans in closer, his voice dropping a little lower. “We could even try out some freaky positions this time… you know, spice things up.”

I roll my eyes playfully, shaking my head at him, though my heart flutters at his words. “That’s all you, God bless your dad’s genetics,” I tease, eyeing him with a smirk.

Nicholas chuckles, clearly enjoying my response, but there’s a seriousness in his eyes too—a real desire to keep building this life together. “I’m serious though,” he murmurs, his hand moving to rest on my waist. “I want more of this. More of us. I want a whole bunch of mini versions of you running around, driving me crazy in the best way.”

His words hit me in a way I wasn’t expecting, and I feel a flush of warmth spread through me. I lean closer, letting my fingers trace over his arm. “You’re really ready for another one, huh?”

Nick’s gaze locks with mine, intense but full of love. “Yeah, Y/N. I don’t just want another one. I want a whole football team of kids with you. As soon as you’re ready,” he says firmly.

I bite my lip, considering his words, feeling the quiet excitement bubbling up inside me. “I might just let you lock me down tonight,” I tease, my voice soft but playful.

His eyes darken slightly, that same spark of mischief flickering in them. “Oh, baby, don’t tempt me,” he murmurs, leaning in to press a lingering kiss against my lips.

I pull back slightly, laughing against his mouth. “Let’s not rush it,” I whisper, even though my hormones are raging at the thought. “But... I do love the idea of growing our little family,” I add to soften the blow of sex denial.

Nicholas grins again, his arm pulling me closer as Colette sleeps peacefully between us. “Then let’s make it happen,” he says softly. “One more baby… and then another after that, we can talk again. I just know I want it all with you. Every first word and every first day of school, my love.”

I smile, resting my head on his shoulder, letting the warmth of his words and the future he envisions wash over me. “One step at a time,” I murmur, though the idea is already taking root in my mind, the thought of more little ones filling our home with love.

As we lay there, cuddling around Colette, the future feels wide open—and incredibly full of promise. The room is quiet, the soft hum of the night surrounding us, and as we lay there, I feel the steady rise and fall of Nick’s chest beneath my palms.

“Goodnight, baby,” he whispers, his lips brushing against my ear. I smile softly, my body already succumbing to sleep as I whisper back,

“Goodnight, Nicholas. I love you,” I murmur, never getting tired of reminding him.

“I love you too,” he replies, his voice full of warmth and certainty. “Both of my girls.”

With that, the last thing I feel is the warmth of his body, the steady rhythm of Colette’s breathing between us, and the overwhelming sense of love that wraps around the three of us, pulling us into the soft cocoon of sleep.

The next time I stir awake, it’s to the feeling of the sun shining on my face. Nicholas’ familiar presence is next to me, his body relaxed as he leans back against the headboard. I can feel the steady rhythm of his breathing, the slight rustle of pages as he quietly reads. For a moment, I let myself enjoy the comfort of having him close.

But something is wrong.

I don’t feel Colette.

The tiny body that was nestled between us is gone, and in an instant, a wave of cold panic floods my chest. My breath catches, and my heart starts to pound, my worst fear bubbling to the surface. Oh God, did I roll over her? Did we…?

My eyes snap open, and I sit up abruptly, frantically scanning the bed. My hands reach out, patting the mattress in blind desperation as my breath quickens. Where is she? My mind spirals into worst-case scenarios, and my pulse races faster with each second I can’t find her.

Nicholas looks up from his script, his brow furrowing as he notices my panic. “Y/N, baby, what’s wrong?” His voice is calm, but I can hear the concern lacing his words.

“Colette,” I breathe, my voice barely a whisper as the fear clutches at me. “She’s not here, Nick. I—where is she?”

Nicholas immediately places his script aside and sits up, reaching for me. His hands find my shoulders, grounding me. “Babe, she’s fine,” he says gently, his voice steady, though I can see the alarm in his eyes as he realizes why I’m panicking. “Grandma has her. She came in earlier to take her so you could rest. She’s with her now, probably showing her off to her knitting group. Everything’s okay.”

I stare at Nicholas, the rush of adrenaline still coursing through me, but the words slowly sink in. Colette isn’t in danger. She’s not here because Betty took her.

I let out a shaky breath, pressing a hand to my chest as the fear begins to ebb away. “I thought… I woke up and she wasn’t there. I thought we—” My voice falters, not even wanting to finish the thought.

Nicholas pulls me into his arms, holding me close. “I know. I’m sorry. I should’ve woken you to tell you, but you looked so peaceful, and I didn’t want to disturb you,” he apologizes profusely.

I nod against Nick’s chest, the tension finally loosening from my body as I cling to him. “I just… that’s what I’ve been afraid of, rolling over her in our sleep,” I admit.

“I know,” Nicholas murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. “But I would never let that happen. I swear that to you,” he adds.

I take a deep breath, letting the warmth of his embrace steady me. My pulse slows down, and the overwhelming panic that had gripped me starts to dissipate, leaving me feeling drained. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have freaked out.”

“You don’t have to apologize, Y/N,” Nicholas says, his hand gently stroking my back. “You’re a mom. It’s normal to worry, but I’ve got you. I’ve got both of you.”

I pull back slightly, meeting his eyes that are full of understanding. “Thank you,” I whisper, my voice still shaky but filled with gratitude.

Nicholas smiles softly, brushing a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “Get some more rest, okay? Grandma’s got Colette covered.”

I nod, feeling the last remnants of panic finally fade. I glance at his script beside him and give a tired smile. “You’re memorizing lines this early?” I pry.

He chuckles. “Just passing the time until you woke up. But you come first,” he vows.

I sink back into the pillows, the warmth of Nicholas beside me a comforting presence now that the fear has passed. As I close my eyes, the world feels right again. Colette is safe, Nicholas is here, and I let myself relax fully for the first time since waking up. The panic has faded into the background, leaving only the steady hum of reassurance from my husband beside me.

#nicholas chavez x y/n #nicholas chavez one shot #nicholas chavez #nicholas chavez x reader #nicholas alexander chavez #Nicholas Chavez fluff #nicholas chavez imagine #daddy!nicholas chavez #dad!nicholas chavez #husband!nicholas chavez #nicholas alexander chavez imagine #nicholas alexander chavez one shot

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riddlesrizzler · 12 days ago

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Tackled at the Tailgate

summary: Who knew tailgates could be romantic? characters: frat bro! mattheo. sweetheart! reader. frat boy! slytherin boys warnings: mentions of alcohol word count: 1.7k

By the time the morning light spilled across the lawn of Sigma Nu, the world had already shifted.

Sunlight broke through the clouds in soft golden beams, casting a honeyed glow over the dew-slick grass, which shimmered like it had been kissed by stardust overnight. The entire street pulsed with an undercurrent of excitement-a barely-contained buzz in the air, like the seconds before a storm breaks, only this storm smelled like beer, cheap cologne, fresh-cut grass, and something distinctly electric.

Banners flapped in the breeze, fraying slightly at the edges, their bold letters spray-painted in colors that had long since faded from too many seasons of tailgate glory. Empty cans rattled down sidewalks like windblown tumbleweeds, pushed by the same breeze that carried the bass thrum of music into the sky. The Sigma Nu snake, regal and coiled, stared down from every flagpole and cooler with a smug kind of pride-an unspoken dare to any other frat who thought they could compete.

Mattheo Riddle stood at the edge of it all-silent, composed, watchful. His broad shoulders tensed beneath a charcoal gray hoodie already dusted with grass stains and pollen, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, exposing strong forearms inked with memories and mischief. He sipped slowly from a red Solo cup, watching pledges scurry with folding tables and speaker cords like ants desperate to impress their queen.

He didn’t speak often during tailgate setup, but when he did, his voice cut through the chaos like a blade.

“If that table wobbles,” he called, not even looking up from his drink, “and she spills anything-you're walking home from this tailgate.”

They knew exactly who she was.

And then-like a scene written by fate-she arrived.

Her glitter-dusted Jeep pulled up in a swirl of sunlight and dust, the engine humming like the opening chord of a favorite song. She stepped out like the universe had slowed down to watch. Cooler in one hand, sunglasses perched on the tip of her nose, a cropped Alpha Delta Pi jersey tied at the waist, and white sneakers so clean they glowed. A dainty gold necklace glinted at her collarbone, catching the light with every step she took.

The Sweetheart of Sigma Nu.

The crowd shifted as if pulled by her gravity. A few girls waved, a few boys tripped over themselves trying to offer help, and one pledge abandoned an entire stack of plates just to grab her cooler. She moved through it all like she was born for this moment-composed, radiant, the kind of beautiful that didn’t feel real unless you were lucky enough to see it in motion.

Mattheo’s smirk betrayed him before his words could. He didn’t move to greet her. He didn’t need to. She was already walking toward him.

“Morning, Sweetheart,” a voice called.

“Morning, boys,” she replied, her laugh dancing through the air like wind chimes.

She passed Mattheo with a sideways glance and the ghost of a smirk-one he knew was meant only for him. And when she winked, like a secret shared across a battlefield of red cups and dented coolers, something settled in his chest. Something heavy. Something familiar.

By noon, the party was in full bloom. The Sigma Nu lawn had become a tapestry of noise and motion and color. Cornhole bags flew lazily through the air, music spilled from truck beds and balconies, and someone had tied gold streamers to the backs of barstools just because it looked festive. The air smelled like sunscreen, hot dogs, and something that would become nostalgic in later years.

The porch was a patchwork of peeling paint and sun-faded frat pillows, but she made it look like a throne.

Tucked into the corner of a battered couch, legs folded beneath her like a cat in the sun, she had Mattheo’s Sigma Nu hoodie wrapped loosely around her shoulders-its sleeves pushed up to reveal delicate wrists stacked with beaded bracelets and a faint smear of glitter along her forearm. Her cheeks were flushed with heat and laughter, eyes half-lidded behind oversized sunglasses as she sipped lazily from a half-empty Solo cup.

The chaos of the tailgate buzzed around her-music pulsing from the lawn, someone yelling about a lost frisbee, Blaise singing off-key into a broomstick-but she sat above it all, untouched and glowing. Like she belonged to a slower, sweeter world tucked just out of reach.

Mattheo returned from the grill, balancing a paper plate in one hand, condensation dripping from a cold can of Sprite in the other.

“Figured you’d forget to eat,” he said, holding out the plate.

On it: a cheeseburger-perfectly seared, still steaming, bun slightly smushed at the edges-and a handful of chips with no napkin in sight.

She blinked up at him, lips parted in surprise. “Wait… did you just voluntarily bring me food?”

“I know,” he said, deadpan. “Call the Pope.”

She laughed as she scooted over, patting the seat beside her with the heel of her palm. “Did you make it?”

“Watched it cook. That’s close enough.”

He dropped down beside her, his thigh brushing hers. The couch groaned under his weight, the springs protesting like they knew exactly what kind of tension they were holding.

She peeled back the foil all the way, the smell hitting her immediately-grilled onions, melty cheese, that warm toasted-bread comfort. Her stomach growled audibly.

Mattheo smirked. “Told you.”

“Fine,” she said, breaking the burger in half and handing him a piece. “You can stay.”

“Lucky me.”

They ate in companionable silence for a moment, the kind that only came with familiarity-the kind built on midnight study sessions, long walks back from parties, and whispered confessions on rooftops no one else knew how to find.

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, laughing when Mattheo offered the corner of his sleeve.

“Gross,” she said, but used it anyway.

“I’m a man of many talents,” he murmured.

“Apparently. Grill master. Sleeve provider. Sweetheart handler.”

His expression softened, gaze dipping to her lips before he quickly looked away. “I don’t handle you. That would be impossible.”

She smiled down at the burger like it was suddenly the most interesting thing on earth. “You’d be surprised.”

A gust of wind tugged at the streamers tied to the porch rail. She shivered, more from the weight of the moment than the breeze, and instinctively curled closer to him. The hoodie smelled like him-cologne and soap and bonfire smoke, earthy and warm and unmistakably him.

He leaned back, arm stretched lazily across the back of the couch, fingers barely grazing her shoulder.

“You always show up like that,” he said suddenly.

“Like what?”

“Like a goddamn movie scene. That Jeep rolling up. That laugh. The sunglasses. The glitter.” He turned his head slightly, eyes finding hers. “You wreck the whole party in three seconds flat.”

She didn’t answer right away. She couldn’t.

Instead, she looked down at her half-eaten burger, heart thudding against her ribs like it wanted out.

“I never know what to say when you talk like that,” she whispered.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he replied, just as soft. “You’re already the best part of my day.”

The game played on somewhere in the background, Theo screaming at the radio, Blaise doing a keg stand for no reason other than the crowd had started to chant his name. Enzo ran laps around the lawn with a Sigma Nu flag billowing behind him like he was leading a charge into war.

But on the porch, time folded in.

And for a moment, it was just them. Sharing a burger on a broken couch, wrapped in sun and shadows and something that felt dangerously close to forever.

But Mattheo stayed seated, eyes on her.

Until the football came flying.

It landed with a soft thud beside her sneakers, rolling to a stop like it knew it had found the most important person on the lawn.

“Oh no,” she said, holding her drink like it was fine china. “Absolutely not.”

“You’re playing,” Theo shouted. “House rule!”

“I bruise like a peach,” she argued, already laughing.

“Two-hand touch!” Blaise yelled back. “We’re not monsters!”

“Let me guess,” she said, standing. “If I’m playing, Mattheo is too?”

Mattheo arched a brow and drained the rest of his drink. “Obviously.”

The teams formed quickly, lines drawn in the grass with crushed cup borders and sun-faded frat shirts.

Mattheo stood behind her as quarterback, fingers brushing her waist to guide her forward.

“Run left,” he whispered near her ear, his breath warm against her skin. “I’ll find you.”

She shivered. Not from cold.

The game was glorious chaos-wild laughter, tangled limbs, and the kind of fake competitiveness that comes from people who know each other too well. She juked left, then right, her laughter ringing out every time someone missed a tag. Her cheeks flushed with sunlight and adrenaline, her eyes bright and wild.

Then she ran straight into Mattheo’s arms.

He caught her easily, one hand around her waist, the other bracing her fall. They tumbled into the grass like a moment suspended in amber-time slowing as they landed in a mess of limbs and breathlessness.

She was beneath him, wide-eyed, laughing. Grass tangled in her hair. The sun turning her into a painting.

“Did I win?” she breathed.

He smirked, leaning over her, weight balanced on his elbows. “You always do.”

She stared up at him, and for one long moment, the party faded-voices distant, the world blurry around the edges.

He brushed a blade of grass from her cheek.

“Do you ever think,” he murmured, “we’re just… meant to end up in moments like this?”

Her breath caught. “You mean sweaty, grass-stained, and slightly concussed?”

He laughed, soft and full. “Something like that.”

The cheers called them back-Theo yelling about penalties, someone screaming about a pizza delivery.

Mattheo stood and offered her his hand.

She took it.

Their fingers threaded together, instinctive now.

As he pulled her to her feet, their laughter trailing behind them like confetti in the wind, neither of them noticed the way the sun dipped lower, casting everything in a golden haze.

It had started as just another tailgate.

But the way he looked at her-like she was a secret only he knew, like she was already his and just didn’t realize it yet-told a different story.

One that wasn’t finished.

One that was only just beginning.

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flutterclouds · 1 year ago

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@summermonths @noblejanobii

[2009] Pokémon Mystery Dungeon: Explorers of Sky official desktop wallpapers (1920x1200px)

Noticed that the page for these on the official Pokémon site was recently taken down, and figured I'd reupload them here for archival purposes!

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mintyys-blog · 15 days ago

Note

Hola Mintyy!!

Recently binged your invincible works and I loved them. I'm very new to both ur blog and the fandom so I hope it isn't too much to request a emperor/viltrumite mark falling for an Anodite Reader. I really loved the kind of "free spirit" vibe they give but also insanely powerful. Hope u keep having wonderful days ahead (⁠*⁠˘⁠︶⁠˘⁠*⁠)⁠.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡

ANODITE | emperor mark x anodite! reader x viltrumite mark

INVINCIBLE MASTERLIST 2 | WARNINGS: ooc

EMPEROR MARK

“You dance like the stars don’t burn, like they exist for you alone.”

The first time Emperor Mark saw you, you were floating above the ruins of a fallen rebel outpost—barefoot, glowing with lavender mana, your limbs trailing with cosmic light as if the universe itself hummed through your skin.

His army stood behind him, tense and wary. His lieutenants whispered words like “energy being,” “high-level threat,” “possible extinction-level entity.” But Mark didn’t raise a hand. He watched. Watched as you sang a wordless melody into the stars, completely unaffected by the battlefield below. The corpses. The ash. Him.

“Are you ignoring me,” he said at last, stepping forward, hair blowing softly in the wind. You opened your eyes lazily, hovering upside down in the air. “No, no. I just don’t take orders from little boys playing war.”

His soldiers bristled. Mark only tilted his head. Most feared him, while you… laughed?

“I’ve slaughtered civilizations for less,” he said, eyes glowing red.

“I’ve danced on planets after,” you replied, twirling upright in a slow, lazy spiral. “But we’re not enemies, not really. You’re just bored, Emperor. I can smell it on you.”

Mark felt something twist in his chest. This… wasn’t fear. It was fascination. You weren’t a soldier. You weren’t even a rival. You were something far more dangerous.

Untouchable. Free.

And that’s why, when you kissed his cheek moments later—just a flicker of light and wind—he stood paralyzed. When you vanished into the sky like stardust, he stared after you for hours, silent and shaken.

He would chase you across galaxies. Not for conquest. Not for victory. But because for the first time in decades, he wanted something that didn’t belong to him.

VILTRUMITE MARK

“I don’t belong to anyone. Especially not your empire.”

He caught you by the ankle mid-flight—your wild trail of energy slicing through the clouds like a comet. The impact shattered the cliffside beneath, sending shockwaves through the earth.

You hovered upside down in his grip, grinning.

“Rude,” you teased. “I was composing a storm.”

“You’re interfering with imperial surveillance,” Viltrumite Mark said coldly, tightening his hold. “Who are you?”

You tilted your head. “That’s a very boring question for someone so interesting. Don’t tell me you’re all brawn.”

Mark’s eye twitched. His grip loosened just enough for you to slither free, turning to mist before reforming behind him—arms draped over his shoulders like you’d known him for years.

“Viltrumite,” you whispered, brushing his cheek with energy that tickled and burned. “You reek of duty and violence. But underneath… loneliness. Sweet, aching solitude.”

He turned, fists raised—but didn’t strike.

Your light dimmed a little, softening. “You were never meant to follow orders, were you? You were born to disobey. Like me.”

His heart thundered. You were everything he wasn’t allowed to be—reckless, untethered, radiant.

And gods, he wanted to taste that freedom.

When you kissed him, his lips didn’t move at first. He was too stunned. Your magic sank into his chest, warm and terrifying. And then—

He kissed you back.

#x reader #reader insert #x female reader #mark grayson x reader #viltrumite mark x reader #empire! mark x reader #emperor mark #emperor mark x reader #viltrum mark x reader #viltrumite mark #viltrumite #invincible variants x reader #invincible x fem!reader #invincible x reader #Anodite! reader

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greedyhoneyz · 11 months ago

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Judgement Day

.ೃ࿔* pairing: armando aretas x reader .ೃ࿔* synopsis: the aretas name carried weight in miami. it was a name which symbolised power and carried a notion of fear. to mess with an aretas, was a call to an early death. .ೃ࿔* wc: 3k words. .ೃ࿔* cw: angst. assault. violence. blood. harrassment. threats. .ೃ࿔* authors note: another fanfic for a piece of media i have yet to watch. this is long but i hope it doesn't come off juvenile.

The hot Miami heat bared the warmth of a deep-emotion smile at dawn but as night fell, it raged into an inferno, chaotic and wild. It charred and blistered the abode floor, once chilled by seasonal rains and engulfed the city with a tragic blaze.

Even in the heatwave, Miami bustled with life, men and women toiled across the dancefloor, their bodies weary and scorched beneath yards of thin fabric. They jived and boogied to the setlist with as much passion as their drunken states could emote and drank to their hearts' content. At the end of the night, they busted through the doors into the artificial glow of street lamps, staggering, failing to hail an Uber or move on to the next attraction. In the charcoal night, Miami Beach weaved together crowds of partygoers and workers alike, as the early morning sunshine threatened to peek through the sky.

(name) hissed and hollered her way out of the nightclub as her heels clicked onto the pavement.

She had worn them for the sake of fashion. The open-toed stilettos were to die for; they matched perfectly with her mini dress and petite shoulder bag. But now as she waddled, her feet were paying the price. The four-inch stilettos were not meant for walking, the leather straps dug into her skin and the arch pinned tiny knives into her feet. Each step she took sent a shockwave of pain through her feet.

Adjusting her stride, (name) attempted to distribute her weight more evenly into the shoe. It made little difference but she would make it work– the night was young and she had a couple more hours in her.

Straightening her shoulders, (name) fixed her bag and quickened her pace, walking in conjunction with her friend.

“Where are we going?” She had spoken out between anxious breaths, inwardly wincing at the pressure dented into her toes.

“Um…..” Kayla stared into her phone. “Nightingale, Candace said she’ll meet us there.”

“How far is it?”

“Just a couple blocks down. We’ve been there before, remember?”

“I do,” (name) huffed. “It's just– my feet are killing me. I don’t know how much longer I can take this Kayla. I’m tired.”

Kayla stopped, causing (name) to falter in haste as she slowly turned. She faced her friend, boring her eyes into hers, her lips forming into a hard line. She gripped her friend’s arm, holstering her close and darted her pointer finger to her.

“You,” She began slowly, her voice was low at first but grew louder and more boisterous as she glared into (name). “Are not going anyway, do you understand? Today is our night, our night to go out, get drunk and do something stupid, okay? No shoe and no bitch is ruining our night, comprende?”

“Sí. Sí. I understand.” (name) replied shortly, hiding a smile between her teeth.

“Good.” Kayla nodded, tucking her arm around (name’s).

The pair beelined across the strip, accustoming themselves amongst the crowds of partygoers pulling and pushing their way across South Beach. They found Candace waiting by the entrance, looking radiant in a yellow, mini-dress, her wind-tousled hair fell over her shoulders.

“Hey!” She exclaimed, giving them each a hug. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

The bouncer let them in without hesitation, ushering the trio past the long, ascending line trickling across the street, and they made their way towards the bar. The music blared and pulsated from wall to wall and the stage lights flared and spun above them.

“So….where’s this boyfriend of yours at?” Candace asked inquisitively, sipping on her margarita. She wriggled her eyebrows playfully and passed a simple glance at (name’s) phone as she placed it on the bar, a picture of her boyfriend printed on her lock screen.

“Somewhere,” (name) shrugged. “He wasn’t home when I left for Kayla’s place.”

“So you snuck out?” Kayla jeered, propping her chin atop her hand. “You never told me that.”

(name) shook her head. “Nah, it's nothing like that–”

“Wait— this means you can stay out!” Candace bellowed happily.

“Of course I can–”

“No more talking, let’s dance!”

Candace shot up from her seat, slamming her drink on the bar counter, and reigned her hands around Kayla and (name). She wrung them out from their seats with the strength of a colossal giant and tugged the two towards the dancefloor, declaring the two move to the rhythm of the song.

It took a while – a couple of short seconds before Kayla and (name) joined Candace in dance. The three danced in conjunction with each other, keeping close to their circle with a light bounce from side to side and trigger fingers.

As the night wore on, the air grew thicker and (name) and her friends were tipsier. The club music had grown louder and more intense as the DJ turned to play Sexyy Red and the crowd had begun to surge forward in retort to the sharp change in tempo and pitch. The crowd was like a tide, rolling in and out, its rhythm intermittent to the beat.

No more did the throbbing of her feet cloud (name’s) mind; the blend of a rhubarb fizz and vitality was a deterrent. With her closest friends surrounding her, (name) felt at ease, her smile so wide and bright, that she feared it would become permanent.

She rocked her hips, her hands travelling across her thighs and slowly craned forward. She held onto her legs, shaking her thighs as motion rippled across her calves and ascended towards her ass. (name) shook her bottom with a smize, moving her cheeks with such fluid, curvaceous motions it left nothing to disguise that the skirt of her dress began to hike. Undaunted, she continued to move, placing a careful hand between her cheeks as the other tugged her dress down.

So young and so free, (name) craned herself upwards and placed her hands against her chest. She bopped from side to side, twirling her hips gingerly and scored her hands across her breasts and middle. She looked heavenward at the ceiling, the club roof clouded by bright, neon lights and flashes, she squeezed her eyes shut in retort. She dropped her head and opened her eyes, bouncing on the balls of her feet before letting out a raring shrill.

The night flew by in a blur of music, laughter and good company. And by 2 am, the club slowed and the crowd began to disperse. Exhausted but exhilarated, they left the club and amidst themselves between the sea of bodies flooding out from the club.

Letting out a refreshed sigh, (name) turned to her friends. Her hair was dampened, her hot-rod curls once full of life and shine, had dropped, now frizzy and weightless. The fabric of her dress had clung to her sticky skin and her bag was hung at the edge of her shoulder.

“I’m so lit right now,” she moaned, closing her eyes. She wobbled on her two feet, swaying from side to side, pressing her weight onto one shoe and when she threatened to stumble to the side, hauling her weight onto the other.

“Me too,” Kayla replied, stumbling over Candace. She clung onto the woman, grasping onto her dress and pressed herself against the wall.

“I….I think–” Candace couldn't help but giggle to herself, dropping her head.

(name) smacked her lips, her eyes slowly peeling open and peered at the two women. She swallowed deeply, curling her lips in practice before she spoke. “You girls….wanna head off to Oasis?”

“Yeah.”

Both Kayla and Candace hummed in agreement and staggered to height. They adjusted themselves, sheepishly picking at each other, one fixing the other’s hair and the other fixing her dress as (name) collected her belongings into her bag.

“Aye!” A voice began. It was deep and hoarse, breathy as his mouth approached a few more words. “Aye miss!”

Though inebriated, (name) couldn’t mask her quickening discomfort as his heavy footsteps rattled behind her.

She tensed, hiking her shoulders and carefully turned. She wore a tight smile on her face, a mask of politeness.

“Yes?”

The man was tall, handsome, and smelt good. And yet, he failed to strike (name). As she stood before him, swaying from left to right, he grinned, bewitched by her charming features and supple figure.

He smiled at her, his eyes never leaving hers. “I just wanted to tell you that you looked good.”

(name) shook her head and waved her hand, feigning appreciation. “Thank you.”

“You know, I was watching you, inside, dancin’ and shit,” He laughed, tossing his head back. “You can shake that ass pretty good.”

“Thank you–”

“And I– lemme get your number.” His words were quick and sharp; his intent was clear.

“Oh,” she tittered, throwing a glance at her friends. “Well…I’m sorry but I’ve got a boyfriend–”

“You’ve got a boyfriend….” He repeated sullenly. He laughed heartily as if (name) had said the funniest thing ever and shook his head.

“Listen,” He began, swiping his tongue across his bottom lip. “I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I promise you I ain’t no weirdo. No bear here.”

Kayla was prompt in grabbing (name’s) hand, making no effort to hide her disgust. She moved from behind her, Candace following in tow, and attempted to pull the girl along. “C’mon (name) let's go.”

Like a colossal giant, both the man and his voice grew towers tall. He gripped (name’s) arm and jerked her back. “Aye, I wasn’t done talkin’!”

(name) yelped, stumbling over her feet and sharply jeered her head at the man. “What the fuck are you doing?!”

“Just give me your number.” He demanded, digging his nails into her skin.

(name) profusely shook her head, quickly sobering up and attempted to pull away. “Let go!”

No more did the nice guy act continue, the man once cheerful and hopeful, sneered at (name), puffing out her chest and flaring his nostrils. He was quick to insult her, hurling a hail of curses aimed at her figure as he fiercely yanked her backwards, swinging her frame towards him.

“Fucking bitch!” He cursed at the top of his lungs, splatters of spit flailing out from his mouth. “You bitches are always too full of yourselves! Wanna act all uppity when a man wants to talk to you!”

“Then fucking let me go! The fuck!” By then, amidst the chaos, a crowd had gathered. Like a mob of meerkats, they gawked, gasped and videoed in disbelief at the rage pelting from the colossal of a man. They watched, uttering words of discomfort and dismay as (name) attempted to rear herself away from the man, thrusting herself against Kayla as she pulled her forward.

“I didn't even want to holler at your ugly ass anyways!” He roared, his voice loud and menacing.

“Oh my fucking god! Let me go! I don’t want to fucking talk to your stupid ass!” (name) shrieked back. Her eyebrows furrowed together and her lips pulled into an irritated scowl.

“Nah you fucking listen to me, bitch!” His voice erupted out from the vessels of his throat like a disgorging volcano, propelling a warcry in the wake of a lava-filled avalanche, in the form of a fist.

In a few short seconds, the colossal revolved free his arm, balling his into a fist and drew it back. He reigned his fists forward, fuelled with fury and humiliation, and swung at (name), striking her in the jaw.

She staggered to her floor with a loud yelp, the contents of her purse pooling across the floor. Both Kayla and Candace circled (name) in protest, pulling into their embrace as the colossal hovered above, jeering.

Candace gasped, her eyes were wide, her mouth agape as she held (name’s) face between her palms. “(name)!” She cried, fretting her fingers across her face. “Are you okay?”

Sore but unharmed, (name) could manage a nod, nursing a hand to her swelling jaw. “I’m…I’m okay.”

Candace shot her head up and leered up at the colossal begrudgingly, shrieking. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

Rapidly, she climbed onto her feet, jumping between the colossal and her friend’s dazed figure, and glowering, waving her pointer finger and screeching like a banshee. “Do you like putting your hands on fucking defenceless women?! Huh! Do you think that��s okay?!”

“Aye, shut the fuck up! That bitch got what she fucking deserved—”

The neigh of engines and the screeching of hot tyres hailed across the strip, and the sound had bequeathed a play of silence across the beach.

The once vivacious party strip, nestled with drunk partygoers and deafening music, had quickly shimmered into silence. And all that sounded was the row of heavy footsteps mounting from the street onto the sidewalk. The footsteps marched into the crowd, dispersing the tide and began to section off each corner one by one as the clatter of a single pair of boots trotted forward.

Armando stared at (name), his face firm, and carefully crouched to his knees. It was a while before he spoke, his voice deep and guttural, his eyes boring into hers. “Are you okay?” Slowly, he brought his hands to her face and brushed his thumb against her jaw, the surface of her wound spreading purple with yellow blotches, and when she cowered back his expression darkened.

(name) could only utter a wary whisper, her eyes darting between him and the colossal behind him. “…yes.”

Inhaling deeply, Armando rose to height, hauling his girlfriend up to her feet. He held her hand in his, offering a forgiving glance and turned.

He clambered away from (name), his shoulders taunt and chin heavenward. Armando was angry– enraged. He did a good job of hiding it, but (name) knew the signs.

He wired his neck, rearing it from side to side and heaved slowly, his chest rising and falling. Every muscle on his face tightened, his eyes narrowed, and his chin jutted outward.

He approached the colossal, his arms pinned behind his back and gave him a once-over, sizing him up.

He blinked, parting his lips slowly, and then blinked again. “Do we have a problem?”

The colossal shook his head and feigned a hearty laugh, his pupils flared and mouth twisted. “Nah man, we’re cool–”

“Let me ask you again,” Armando snarled slowly, gritting his teeth together. “Do we have a problem?”

“Listen, man, I can assure you there’s no problem here–”

Armando sucked at the air like it had suddenly become thick and shut his eyes. He’d become deaf to his galling words, his rapid chatter professing a tale of ignorance and regard, a rapid back-tracking to his previously tough stance. And by then, his anger was irreversible.

He lunged at him; pummelling, hitting. Each hit landed with a sickening thud, the blow between skin and fist astounding. The man had swung back, wailing his fists in the air, but succumbed to the force of Armando’s blows. His movements were swift and silent, spectral. The pivot of his feet from place to place was incorporeal. He was impenetrable evading each wild blow before he swung again.

Armando flitted around the man, his movements a blur of speed and precision and winded his knee upwards. It prodded into his middle, driving into his chest, and sent him stumbling backwards, off-balance. His tumble left an opening, a gap between his face and Armando’s revolving leg.

He took the opening, rearing his leg upwards and swung it forward, striking. A rapid combination of punches and kicks followed, each came and landed with more precision and power till the colossal succumbed to near-coming death. He crumbled to the ground, in a grotesque mess of blood. His eyes were swollen over and bloody spit drooled from his slack jaws. He was now as revolting as he should be, finally, the outside reflected the spoiled man within.

Armando stood victorious over the bloody mess that was his adversary and sneered at him with such venom and disdain. He crouched down, his knuckles wounded with welts and stained with blood, not of his own, and grabbed his shirt, his grip like a vice.

He pulled him towards him, his face taut with rage and displeasure, and glowered over him. Under his grip, the man hung like cattle, his limbs astray as blood sputtered from out his mouth.

Armando rubbed his lips, swivelling on the balls of his feet, and gnashed his teeth together, chiding grimly. “You see..” he shook his head, his nostrils flared. “If it wasn’t for her…”

He turned to (name), lugging the man along and pointed. He leaned into his ear, his voice began small as a whisper and bubbled into a rue of senile and ghastly distaste. “…I’d kill you….”

“Consider this a warning–” Armando released his grip, the man flailing back onto the ground, and stood back on his feet. “You fuck with her, you fuck with me.”

He scowled, whipping his hands and leered at the crowd before him. In a stop-start fashion, one by one, the crowd fizzled out in groups of threes, fours, and fives. Song and chatter fizzled back across the strip in small bites and vivid hues flashed across the beach.

Armando turned to (name), his face closed up and extended his arm. He reached for her, placing her hand in his palm and grasped it tenderly. He held her hand to her face and wrapped her wound beneath her hand. He looked at her as her gaze trembled, her shoulders shivering and tugged her towards him. He held her in his arms, his tight embrace swelled around her middle and carefully coaxed (name) away.

Despite the return of vibrance and euphoria flooding across the party strip, an unsettling mist hung over. A monochrome of silver glanced over the black night. There was an uncharacteristically grim line etched across the faces of those among the dispersing crowd, a sense of sadness, remorse, dismay and dread.

Armando Aretas was not to be toyed with— and neither was she.

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