#but i hope someone else will roll with it too

[potatoplace]

I Don't Feel Alive

The Afterthought: Chapter 4 | series masterlist

ACOTAR x Archeron!Reader

part 3 | part 5 | ACOTAR x reader masterlist

Story Summary: Starfall means dress shopping, and dress shopping means spending time with Nesta and Elain... the celebration is its own set of challenges that you struggle with.

Warnings: Body shaming, toxic family, slight disordered eating, suicidal ideation, self-deprecating thoughts (let me know if I missed anything)

Words: ~9.2k

Author's Note: it's heeeere I didn't get quite as far into the story as I wanted, but this was a good cut off point too. I really hope you guys like this one! I don't think I made it quite angsty enough, but there's still some. Plus a lil fluff to start. Enjoy! p.s. let me know who you think Y/N will end up with! Or anything else you have to say 🫶

18+ only pls

🤍🤍❣️🤍🤍

Your dreams were soft and fuzzy, filled with hazy scenes of you laying in bed and cuddling with your sisters, just like you had every night so long ago.

Waking felt similar, your body cocooned by soft blankets and warm arms, your own wrapped around someone's torso. You took a deep breath before opening your eyes, blinking them a few times to adjust to the sunlight filtering in through the curtains.

Mor's face was laying on the pillow in front of you, still relaxed with sleep. She looked even prettier like this, without stress and her busy schedule hanging over her.

You slowly unwrapped your arms from around her, taking care to not wake her. She deserved the extra sleep, with how much time she was going to be spending in the Hewn City through the end of the year.

You rolled onto your back, Mor's arms tightening around you as you did. It felt nice, being held again. In the past two years, you had forgotten how lovely it was to wake up feeling safe, snuggled up with your sisters.

The sound of Mor's soft, even breaths nearly lulled you asleep, before your eyes flew open.

Shoot! You had forgotten Nuala and Cerridwen's Solstice presents...

Mor's arms were gently pried from your body, which was harder to do than you had anticipated, but you managed without waking her.

You pulled on a dressing gown and quietly grabbed the two bags containing their presents. Your bedroom door snicked shut behind you, and you padded down the hallway, down the stairs, and to their bedroom. One knock had the door swinging open, this time greeted by Cerridwen.

"Y/N? Did you need something?" The wraith asked, her eyes widening slightly when she saw the presents in your hand. "Oh, you didn't have to do that, Y/N," she said, letting you into their room.

"But I wanted to, both of you have been so wonderful to me. And I already got them for you, so you have to open them," you insisted, placing each bag in their new owner's hands.

Nuala shook her head but opened her present anyways, a wide smile overtaking her face. "This is wonderful Y/N! Oh and you even got me metal threads, how did you know?!" The wraith embraced you tightly in her arms.

"And you remembered me complaining about my needles, oh mother, Y/N, you are the most thoughtful person!" Cerrdiwen exclaimed, stealing you from her sister's arms. "You will be the first person I make something for," she said after she loosened her hold on you.

"You don't need to do that..."

Cerridwen looked at you sharply. "Yes I do, and I will. Would you prefer a hat or scarf first? Oh, I'll just make you both," she finished, not giving you time to answer.

"Thank you in advance, I suppose," you said, blush dusting your cheeks. "I'm glad both of you liked your gifts."

"Of course we do! You pay so much attention to what you buy for people, it's so sweet," Nuala said kindly.

A heavier blush rose to your cheeks at their sweet words. "I just like to make people happy. Speaking of which, I should get back to Mor-"

"Back to me? But I'm right here!" Mor said brightly from behind you, causing you to jump in shock. "Sorry, Y/N, did I scare you?" Mor's arms wrapped around you from behind. "You left me, so I came down to find you. Want to do breakfast before everyone returns?"

You nodded in agreement, but turned your eyes to the twins. "Do you want to join us?"

"I'd love to," Nuala said, and Cerridwen nodded her head before replying the same.

"Girls' breakfast! Let's go!" Mor exclaimed, pulling you out of the twins' room, down the hall, and into the kitchen.

The twins trailed behind at a less excited pace, and met the two of you in the kitchen as Mor was pulling food out of the cold box. Bacon, sausages, eggs, broccoli, and cheese were taken out, and the four of you began making breakfast- most likely too much food for the four of you, but Mor insisted that once Cassian had returned he would eat any food that was left over.

You provided the tea, rushing upstairs to pick out an orange and ginger tea.

Breakfast with the three of them was lovely, only kind words and soft smiles being exchanged between you. It was much more peaceful than most of the meals you had taken at the dining table, and for that you were grateful.

Your sisters, their mates, and Azriel returned while the four of you were still gathered round the table, talking over the last of the second pot of tea you'd made.

"Good morning, ladies," Rhys said as he slipped into one of the chairs, pulling a glowing Feyre into his lap a moment later. "Did you have a good breakfast?"

You nodded in response, but it was Mor who spoke. "Yes, in a team effort we made far too much food. What about you lot?"

"It was good, but there wasn't enough," Cassian complained as he sat down, plucking a piece of bacon off of a plate. You smiled at his antics, you'd always found it funny how the male never seemed to be truly full.

"There's never enough for you, Cass," Nesta said as she took the seat next to him- directly across from you- and glared hard enough at you that the small smile on your face fell off in an instant.

"That's true, even though he devoured all of the sweets you gave him, Y/N, he was asking for more the moment they were gone," Lucien laughed as he did the same as Rhys, pulling Elain into his lap in the chair next to yours.

Fear clutched at your heart, though you knew it shouldn't. But the thought of Cassian enjoying the sweets you had made so much that he asked for more... You were scared of how Nesta might retaliate this time.

You tried to keep your breathing even as the conversation passed from one ear to the other, no words registering as they spoke.

"Y/N?" Feyre's soft voice broke through, pulling you out of your worried heart and back into the moment. "You're still up to go dress shopping with us tomorrow, right?"

Your eyes flicked up to her, then to her mate behind her who had a stern look on his face. You forced your eyes back to her slightly worried ones, focusing on the gentle blue that you'd known your whole life. "Uhm... Yes, I am," you managed to respond once you had played the question over in your head.

"Good! We were all thinking that noon would be a fine time to leave, that way the three of us can sleep in a bit after the revel tonight. Does that sound good to you?"

You could feel Nesta's burning gaze and Elain's judgemental eyes on you, stoking the fire of your fear.

"That sounds fine to me, Feyre," you replied, fingers working nervously over the painted irises on your teacup, focusing on the tiny ridges that the paint had created, your gaze now trained on them.

Better than seeing the hatred in Nesta's eyes.

"Perfect! Now that that's settled, I think we should all get to perfecting the revel for tonight," Feyre said, causing movement from all around the table.

Except you.

You sat, staring at your teacup until everyone was gone, disappeared off to their rooms or offices, or wherever they needed to be.

That left you to clear the plates, quickly washing the dishes and leaving them to dry in the rack. Your teapot was dried by hand, and filled with tea leaves and hot water once more. Thankfully you were able to retreat to your room without question, letting you escape back into your fantasy world you had created in your mind. Away from Nesta and Elain's combined ire, combined disdain for your very existence.

The lovely jasmine tea Azriel had gifted you helped you forget where you were, nearly convincing yourself you were back in the human lands, sipping tea in the living room with your father as you watched snow fall and bury that tiny little shack, falling asleep to the thought of it in your arm chair.

🤍🤍💔🤍🤍

The next morning, you forced yourself from the arm chair, stretching out your neck as you did.

Somehow, it was less comfortable than sleeping in the bathtub.

Your soreness abated as you slid into steaming water, bubbling with rose scented soap- something that you were absolutely delighted by, loving that no matter what, your body was completely covered by bubbles. You hardly caught sight of your skin at all, though you knew with the day's plans, you would be forced to confront how your body had changed.

You could feel it, every now and then. The way your bones protruded just a bit more than they had a month ago. How your joints got sore from sitting or laying faster than before. How pale you had become compared to this time last year, when you had a slight glow to your skin.

This year, you were pasty. As though you had been locked away from the sun the entire time.

A sigh left your lips as you finished your skincare, the one act of kindness to yourself that you always made time for.

Your body didn't matter. It's not as though you would find someone in Prythian. After all, fae and humans shouldn't mix...

Feyre had said something similar to you, so long ago about your past crush on Cassian.

Thankfully in that time, only one person had caught your eye... And you were certain that Irina would never stoop so low as to date you of all people.

Another long breath, lungs deflating.

No, you were here to be alone. Mor and Feyre had begun trying to engage with you, for that you were grateful. They were keeping you from losing all hope once more, and it was all you could do to keep that flame alive.

Especially knowing that your own issues with your body would be added to by whatever Nesta and Elain deigned to say to you. Feyre may have told them to behave, but that wouldn't stop them from throwing barbs at you, thinly veiled by concern or 'opinion.'

Your cycle had finished the night before, leaving you tired but free of its scent, which you were overly thankful for. Mor's present was very nice, but you did not want to try the underwear out while dress shopping with your sisters.

You forced yourself to get dressed and headed out of your room, noting the time on the clock in the hallway. Half past eleven.

That should be enough time for a pot of tea, maybe taken in the kitchen? Or should you retreat to your room...?

You turned around and headed back to your room for a packet of tea leaves, this one a plain green tea. After grabbing it, you made your way downstairs, ears listening for any sign of life.

Perhaps they were all asleep still, exhausted from the revel the night before.

The kitchen was empty when you entered it, and you quickly set to making your tea. A few minutes later you were sat at the island in the kitchen, a cushioned stool beneath you. The tea was lovely and calming, it's clean, slightly sea scented aroma perfect for clearing your head.

That was until Nesta and Elain sauntered in, already talking about what dress styles and colors they were hoping to find today. Their conversation didn't stop once as they walked straight past you and into the living room, the only evidence of them noticing you was the feeling of their eyes on your back.

Suddenly, your heart wasn't so calm.

Feyre walked in a minute later, rushing over to you once she saw you seated at the island. "How are you?"

"I'm... I'm okay. How are you, Fey? How's the baby?"

"Oh I'm just fine, baby was being a little fussy earlier but they're all settled now. Are you ready to leave?"

You finished the rest of your tea in a few quick gulps, enjoying the feeling of warmth it brought, and stood from your stool. "I just need to wash this, and then I'm ready," you said, already making your way to the kitchen sink. That was done in a flash, and soon Feyre was ushering the three of you out the door, Nesta and Elain immediately locking arms and taking the lead. You and Feyre trailed after them, your own arms locked together after Feyre forced her elbow around yours, smiling at you when you looked at her.

All too soon, you arrived at the dress store in the middle of the Palace of Thread and Jewels, greeted by the owner, Tarin.

"Ah, the High Lady and her sisters! This is a lucky day for me, that's for sure," Tarin exclaimed as she approached Feyre, clasping their hands together. "What can I help the four of you with?"

"We're looking for dresses for Starfall, I know we're cutting it a bit close-"

"Oh, nonsense! For the High Lady, even the day of Starfall is not too close. Please, look around and pick out what interests you, we can have them altered if need be," Tarin said, waving her arms at the racks upon racks of dresses filling the shop. "I can also have them made up in different colors, and with any variations of fabrics you may like. Any way I can please you, my dears, and I am happy to do it."

Nesta and Elain set into the sea of fabric together, keeping close to each other as they picked through the racks. You stayed near Feyre, feeling wildly out of your depth.

Shopping for Solstice was one thing, it was shopping for those you cared for. But this...

This was shopping for yourself, and you struggled more with that. Buying the hairpin that you currently had twisted in your hair was a rare action, and one of the first non-practical purchase you had made for yourself since coming to Velaris.

"How about this one?" Feyre asked you, drawing you from your thoughts as she waved a dark purple dress in front of you, it's long sleeves waving as she did so.

"It's pretty," you said absentmindedly, staring at the way the fabric shimmered in the light.

"Do you want to try it on?"

Your eyes snapped up to Feyre's. "Me?"

Feyre laughed softly. "Yes, you. The cut is similar to dresses you've worn before, and you like purple, right?"

You looked back down at the dress, taking in the modest bodice and neckline, and the long length of the dress. "I like the design, but I think I'd prefer a lighter color, Fey," you said politely, but grabbed the dress anyway. "I'll try it on, though."

"That sounds fine, we could always get it made in a lilac color if you'd like," Feyre suggested, her hands already moving over more dresses. "You can go put that at the dressing rooms, then come back and look for more, okay?"

You nodded and did as she suggested, returning to her side and half-heartedly looking over the dresses hung in front of you.

Many of them were far too revealing for your comfort, with low necklines and slits up the thigh. You did find a few you thought Feyre may like, gowns that reminded you of the shimmering night sky, and showed them to her when you happened across them.

"Oh, I love this one," Feyre gushed when she saw one you had handed her, this one a dark blue silk with a smattering of silver stars embroidered across the chest and stomach, with a sweetheart neckline. The length of the dress would like reach her mid thigh, and hang just slightly on the tiny bump that was forming on Feyre's stomach. "What do you think?" She asked, holding the dress up to her body. "High Lady of Night enough?"

Even held against her body, the dress looked perfect for her. "Definitely. You should try it on, Fey," you suggested.

"Hmm... I think I will, Y/N. Are you ready to try yours on? I think we've both got a decent number," Feyre said, slowly walking with you to the back of the shop, where the dressing rooms were located.

"I am, I think," you replied, though you were unsure of being anywhere within a ten foot radius of Nesta. Especially if she couldn't find a dress she liked...

Thankfully at the moment, Nesta and Elain were both in their own dressing rooms, trying on whichever ones they had picked out.

You and Feyre entered your own curtained room, the dresses that you had picked out hung on the hooks inside.

A quiet sigh, and you set to undressing yourself. There was no mirror in here, likely to force people out to get recommendations from their friends. The purple dress that Feyre had found was the first you tried on, the soft fabric flowing down your body like water.

It clung too much.

That was your first impression of the dress, even with the modest neckline and hem length. The soft fabric seemed to be molded to your body, and even a cursory feel of your hands over your hips had you wishing you had rejected Feyre's offer to go shopping. You did not want to hear what Nesta would say about the slight show of your bones in the dress.

"Y/N, are you almost done? We're waiting for you," Feyre said softly from the other side of the curtain, and you forced yourself out of the dressing room. "Oh, you look lovely! I think the color looks nice on you," Feyre said kindly, even as her eyes lingered over the sharp edges of your shoulders, the noticeable bump of your hip bones.

"Do you eat?" Nesta asked sharply from across the room, her nose wrinkled as she took you in. "You look like you're still living in poverty, Y/N."

Blood rushed to your cheeks at her words. They were true, though. "I eat. I've just been..." you paused, trying to find a word that wouldn't irritate your sister. "Stressed."

Nesta scoffed, but shut her mouth at a stern look from Feyre.

"The color is nice, Y/N," Elain said weakly. You forced a smile in her direction.

"Thank you, Elain. Your dress is lovely, green is a wonderful color on you," you said, taking in the flowing layers of fabric that made up the skirt of the dress, all in varying shades of dark green.

"Thank you," Elain replied, but moved her gaze to Nesta. "Nes, your dress is gorgeous. I think you should stick with that one, no need to look for others. You look perfect," Elain said excitedly, so different from her reaction to you.

You tried not to let it sting, turning instead to Feyre. She was clad in a floor length dress in black, tiny diamonds sewn on in patterns that you thought were constellations. There was a slit up to her mid thigh on both sides, allowing her to move freely. "This one is beautiful Fey, you look stunning!"

"You think? I still want to try on that last one you picked out, but I really like this one," Feyre said. "Oh, and I may have put an extra dress in your dressing room, please just try it on, I think you'll really like it. It's the pink one on the left hand side. Just, try it," Feyre begged you softly before returning to her dressing room, Nesta and Elain already back in their own.

Your mouth set into a line, you entered the curtained room again. As she said, there was a glittering pink gown hung on the left hand side when you walked in. Your mouth fell into a frown at the neckline.

Entirely too scandalous for you.

But still, you forced yourself to shed the purple dress and shimmy into the pink one as Feyre had asked. The long, flowing sleeves were off the shoulder, connected to the bodice by a small amount of fabric. The neckline of the dress was far lower than you were normally comfortable with, showing more cleavage than you ever had. The dress was loose fitting past your chest, the flowing skirts moving beautifully as you examined them. The pale rose pink of the fabric was one of your favorites, and didn't wash out your complexion. A difficult task, with how pale you are at the moment.

You walked out of the dressing room and stood in front of the mirror, assessing the dress. Your shoulders were far too bony, but even so... You felt beautiful in the dress, like a princess. The skirts reached your feet, billowing out around you. The neckline was lower than you wanted... But it looked lovely, and really, wearing one low-necked dress in your lifetime would be fine. A turn in the mirror showed you your prominent scapulae, half hidden by the fabric of the dress. That could be fixed by styling your hair in large ringlets, enough to cover most of your back. But the gown... The gown was lovely.

"Oh, I knew you would look perfect in that one!" Feyre cheered when she exited her dressing room in the dress you had picked for her. "You look amazing! Please tell me this is the one you want?" Feyre asked, standing by you as both of you stared in the mirror.

"You don't think it's too...?" You gestured to the neckline. "Revealing?"

Feyre shook her head. "No, mother no. I've worn much worse, you have nothing to worry about. It's just a little bit different than usual, is all. And it's perfect on you."

You tried to believe Feyre, and you did like the dress...

But then Nesta walked out. Her eyes narrowed and nose wrinkled as she gave you a once over, obviously displeased with how you looked.

She was so good at that. Tearing you apart with just one look.

"Your shoulders stick out," Nesta remarked as she took her place in front of the mirror, looking herself over. Her dress was made of shiny silver fabric, a corset in the same fabric serving as the bodice with thick straps wrapping over the tops of her shoulders.

You ignored her comment as best you could. "You look amazing in that dress, Nesta. The corset fits you perfectly."

A cold look over her shoulders, followed by a clipped, "Thank you."

Elain came out of her dressing room last, this time clad in a cream colored dress, looking every bit like the bride she was always destined to be.

"Oh, Elain! You look wonderful!" You said brightly as you took a step toward her, stopping when her gaze hit you- cold as ice. "This one looks very nice on you, but the last one looked amazing too," you said, more nervous now.

"Thanks," she answered coolly, setting her eyes on Feyre. "Feyre, that dress is stunning on you, and very fitting for Starfall."

You nodded in agreement, the dress was perfect for her. And just like you thought, it just barely highlighted the tiny baby bump Feyre had. The sight of it made you smile.

You were overjoyed that your sister had found a loving partner in Rhys, and was looking forward to motherhood.

"Thank you, 'Lain, I really like that it shows my bump just a bit, I think Rhys and I are ready to let our court know that we're expecting at Starfall," Feyre said excitedly, a hand stroking her belly.

"That's amazing, Feyre," Nesta said softly, sounding the kindest she had since they had been taken by Hybern.

"You'll be the talk of Starfall," Elain said, holding Feyre's hands in her own. "I'm so excited for you and Rhys!"

"I don't want to make the biggest deal out of it, after all, it's still early, but... Rhys is so excited about finally being a father, I had to talk him down from telling the Hewn City residents about it last night," Feyre sighed. "I am glad that I'm going to have all of my sisters with me, supporting me along the way, though. Thank you all for coming shopping today," Feyre said tearily.

"Of course, Feyre," you said, taking her in your arms. "We're always going to be by your side."

Elain's arms followed next, barely touching you but clutching Feyre close. "Yeah, Fey, we'll always be with you. Right, Nes?"

"Of course. I will always be here for you, Feyre," Nesta said, and reluctantly wrapped her arms around Feyre and Elain, one hand just barely touching you.

When you all pulled away, Feyre was crying softly, tears streaming down her face. You grabbed tissues from a nearby table, dabbing away the tracks of starlight on her face. "It's okay, Feyre. We're all here."

"I-I know," Feyre sniffled. "I just... I love you all so much. I can't imagine life without any of you." She let you wipe her eyes, dabbing away the last of her tears after she collected herself. "Now, let's try on the rest of the dresses, we shouldn't waste too much of Miss Tarin's time."

The four of you continued to try on dresses, with much of the same behavior. You attempted to compliment your sisters, only to be met with cold responses. If they did talk to you, it was to point out how the dress didn't suit you.

You still chose the pink dress that Feyre had chosen for you, Feyre choosing the blue one that you had picked for her. Nesta picked the silver gown. Elain had taken the longest to decide, eventually choosing the green dress she had tried on first.

Feyre had argued over the payment with Tarin, demanding that she pay full price for the rushed orders, eventually winning the argument. Nesta and Elain had left by that point, taking off to some vague location that contained books.

That left you and Feyre, walking slowly across the bridge that would lead you to the Rainbow. She wanted to look at paints, and maybe get something special for the canvases that you had gotten her.

And that's how you found yourself entering Irina's shop once more, your heartbeat kicking up when you realized it. Feyre led you to the wall of paint, her fingers hovering over the tubes as she searched for the colors she wanted.

Soft footsteps approached from the back of the shop, and you were met with Irina, her face just as beautiful as you remembered, her smile just as warm.

You could have sworn your heart skipped a beat.

"Ah, Feyre and Y/N, it's lovely to see both of you," Irina's smooth voice said. "You came in just in time, I was about to close up early."

"Lucky us!" Feyre said, eyes still glued to the paint tubes. "Any special occasion?" She asked Irina teasingly as she pulled a few out of the selection.

"Oh, hush you," Irina scolded, swatting Feyre gently on the arm. "You know that I have a date with Rivin tonight."

*Oh.

Your heart sank.

"Well, I wanted to make sure the plans were still on! You know I was rooting for the two of you to get together," Feyre said. You grabbed the paint tubes she had picked up from her, pushing her slender hand away when she attempted to take them back. Your fingers rolled over the cap, giving you a sensation to focus on besides your crushed... crush. "The way the two of you danced around each other since I first met you was adorable- I'm so glad you're going out now!"

"Well, I'll only be able to go out with her if you choose what you want soon, or she'll think I stood her up!" Irina laughed, her skin shifting colors under the light.

"Oh, fine, fine," Feyre said, pulling out three more tubes of paint, all shimmering metallic shades. You followed her as she followed Irina to the back counter, placing the tubes on it. Soon enough, the paints were rung up and bagged, and clutched tightly in your arms. "Thank you, Irina. I hope your date goes well."

"Oh, I do as well!" Irina said as she walked the two of you out of the store, locking the door behind her. "I hope the two of you have a lovely rest of your day as well."

"You as well, Irina," you said quietly, nodding your head to her before she turned to leave. She flashed you a dazzling smile, her eyes a bright pink today.

So pretty.

"I'll see the two of you around!" She yelled, waving goodbye over her shoulder.

You and Feyre began the walk home, arms linked together one more, your other balancing the bag of paint.

"How do you know Irina?" Feyre asked once you were crossing the Sidra, taking careful penguin steps so neither of you would fall on the slippery bricks.

Color rushed to your cheeks, though they were already pink from the cold. "Oh, I went into her shop to get one of your birthday presents. The canvases and all," you explained.

"Ahh, that makes sense. She's nice, and she has a great selection!" Feyre said excitedly as the two of you passed through the door of the River House. "I cannot wait to start the first three panels! I'm not quite through my third month yet, but I know some of what I want to do for it."

"I'm glad you like it Fey! I can't wait to see what you make for each one." You kicked off your boots after unlacing them, and let Feyre pull your jacket off your arms, you doing the same for her after. "I think I'm going to head up to my room," you said quietly after you hung up your coats and put your boots on the rack.

"Oh, alright. I... I hope you didn't feel too uncomfortable while shopping," Feyre said. You knew what she meant: with Nesta and Elain.

"I was... fine," you lied half-heartedly.

Feyre stared at you, and you would have thought she was reading your mind, but you didn't feel anything similar. "If you say so. You know you can talk to me, right?" You nodded. "Okay... Well, I'll let you get to your room. Did you want me to start water for tea? I was going to make a cup for myself anyway," Feyre offered, a soft smile on her face.

You nodded again. "That would be nice, thank you, Fey."

Feyre's smile broadened. "I'll see you in the kitchen, sissy."

You went to your room to grab another packet of tea from the sampler Azriel had gotten you- so far, you were a fan of every blend he had chosen. You were hoping today's choice of a rose petal tea would be just as lovely.

The trip back to the kitchen was quick, with no sign of your other two sisters. Good. You weren't in the mood to see their sneering faces again so soon.

Tea was made quickly, thanks to Feyre boiling water for you. You gave her a hug before returning upstairs, tray balanced in your arms.

Just before you opened your door, the door to Rhys's study swung open, Azriel emerging from it.

*Oh!

He came down the hallway, and once he was near the stairs you finally got your brain to move past your anxiety of starting a conversation.

"Hi, Azriel, would you uhm... Would you wait here for just a moment?" You asked. "I have that Solstice present I got for you."

"Alright," Azriel replied quietly, moving closer to your doorway. You went inside quickly, fishing the already wrapped box out from under your bed, and a moment later you were back in front of him, offering the gift to him.

"Open it," you said, pushing the box into his hands.

Soon enough, the dagger was in his hands, his fingers running over the inlaid crescent moon made of sapphires, then over the blade itself. "This is wonderful, Y/N, thank you," Azriel said, sincerity in his tone. "I happen to have gotten a gift for you as well." A moment later, shadows materialized, depositing a festive, glittery evergreen tree colored bag in his hand.

"Oh, Azriel, you didn't have to-"

"Open it," Azriel said simply, transferring the handles over to your hand in a quick movement.

You narrowed your eyes playfully at him, but opened the bag. Inside was a beautiful, hooded cloak that would reach at least your mid back, made of a soft, white yarn. Beneath it was a matching scarf, little tassels on the ends, and a pair of mittens. They even had a small button on the top, allowing for the and of the mitten to be lifted and become a sleeveless glove if needed.

"Its made of rabbit fur," Azriel said quietly as you ran your fingers over the fabric. You looked up at with him with wide eyes. "Oh- they just brush or shave the rabbits, don't worry, no fluffy creatures were killed in the making of your gift," Azriel reassured you.

You let out a breath of relief. "Good. Good. It's a beautiful present, Azriel, thank you. Could I- could I give you a hug?" You asked nervously, regretting the question the moment you asked it. "I mean, you don't have to-"

"That would be fine." You blinked up at him. That would be- You allowed yourself to wrap your arms around him, noticing how stiff he was for the first few seconds before relaxing, his own arms coming up around you.

He smelled nice. Like cedar wood and... And night? Whatever it was, it was nice. Calming.

You both retracted your arms at the same time, pulling apart. A soft smile at him and one last thank you, and then you were in your room once more.

You were happy that he liked your present, but the slight wash of warmth it had given you was quickly chased away by the rest of your day.

Nesta and Elain... You were sure that they would never look at you like a sister again.

And Irina... It was such a silly crush that you had, based almost entirely on how pretty she was. You had been taken with her instantly, yes, breath catching in your throat. But that... That meant nothing.

Especially with you still being... Human. Frail. Less than a century from dying.

No fae, no matter how they looked, would ever take you as their wife, that you were sure of. You only had a couple of decades left of looking youthful, and perhaps only a few more past that before illness would inevitably take you.

A heavy sigh left your lips as you sat at your desk, a cup of tea poured out in the next moment.

At least tea could never not choose you...

🤍🤍❣️🤍🤍

The next week and a half passed dreadfully slowly, spent mostly in the solitude of your room.

Feyre came by when she could make time, the two of you sharing a pot of tea and the occasional snacks that she would bring.

Mor was stuck in the Hewn City, all the way until the morning of Starfall, when she would have a slight reprieve. She had already promised to come and spend the morning with you to get ready and catch up.

But until then, or until Feyre could make time... You stuck to your room.

Apparently your giving a joint present to Nesta and Cassian, and Elain and Lucien cause some extra anger in the two of them towards you. Nesta's glare had seemed extra fiery, and Elain had appeared perched on Lucien's lap more often than not when you did happen to wander into the living room.

You tried not to let it get to you, you did... But between the extra tension at home and the sadness in your heart from your silly little crush... It was weighing you down.

The days ticked past, counting down to an event that you weren't particularly excited for...

The morning of Starfall arrived, bringing with it the bright ball of energy that was Mor.

"Y/N!" Mor shouted, startling you awake. "Wake up! Wake up wake up! I'm here, I'm here. Please. Wake up. I've missed you!"

"Oh my gods, Mor, I'm awake," you groaned, rubbing your hands over your eyes. "Do you know a gentle way to wake people up?" You asked as you sat up, pushing your hair away from your face.

"Mm, not really. But, my way is super effective," Mor said cheekily, grinning when you stood up in the tub to glare at her with no fire in your eyes. "Come over here, sweets," she demanded, patting the bed next to her. You went over to her, collapsing onto the bed next to her, and swatted at her with a pillow in revenge for her waking you so abruptly. "So, how have the past two weeks been for you?"

"Oh... You know... Boring..." You said quietly. "How's it been for you? Is everyone behaving?"

Mor narrowed her eyes at you for a brief moment, before accepting your change of subject. "Oh, most everyone has been fine... I've been trying very hard to change the city's voting system plus helping plan their Starfall event, so my hands have been full every waking moment. And Keir has been an absolute pain..." Mor sighed. "He doesn't like that he's losing most of his control by the city moving to a full population vote rather than just the nobles, but it's going to happen whether he likes it or not. But for me, that just means him being more of an ass."

"I'm sorry Mor. I wish that someone else was able to help you..."

"Feyre offered, but, well, with her being pregnant that's not the best idea. And I'm sure Amren would enjoy going solely to terrify the citizens, but that's not exactly... What we're aiming for. And I can do it, and I will, I just wish my stupid father wasn't a factor." Mor sighed dramatically and flopped back on your bed, arms flung out to the sides.

One smacked into your thigh and you laughed, pushing it off of you and back over to Mor's side. "I know something that will cheer you up," you offered.

"Oh?" Mor asked, peeking over at you. "And what would that be?"

"Doing our skincare!" You answered brightly, using the same tactic that she always did with you.

"Oh, I should have guessed!" Mor giggled. "That sounds like a wonderful idea, sweets. Let's get to it!"

"Wait- let me take a quick bath first, and then I'll be all ready for it."

Mor nodded. "That sounds fine, I'll go make some tea and grab some breakfast for us."

The morning moved quickly from there- too quickly, in your opinion, your alone time with Mor slipping away so fast. After you had bathed, the two of you did your skincare, doing an extra mask and moisturizer to give yourselves an extra glow.

Into the second pot of tea Mor started doing your makeup once she had seen your dress. She spent nearly an hour on you alone, taking her time to perfect your eyeshadow and lipstick, getting just the right about of blush coloring your cheeks. You felt beautiful, seeing yourself like that in the mirror.

Mor's own makeup didn't take near as long, but she was even more beautiful than usual, with the extra time she had put in.

The two of you spent a bit more time together before she had to leave and return to the Hewn City for a bit longer, to make sure their celebration started smoothly.

"I'll see you at the House of Wind later, yes?" Mor asked before she left your room, a stern eye on you.

You sighed. "Yes, Mor, I will see you at the House of Wind. I *won't skip out on the celebration, I promise."

Mor nodded in approval. "Good. I'll see you in a few hours, Y/N."

She breezed out of your room, leaving you alone once again.

You sighed, and sat down on your bed. Then collapsed back onto it.

Just a few more hours, and your anxious anticipation could subside.

Starfall would be fine this year. You will stay away from Nesta, Elain, and their mates, and instead stick around Feyre, Mor, and possibly Azriel, if he didn't seem too annoyed by your presence.

🤍🤍💔🤍🤍

Four hours later, you were dressed and ready to leave for the House of Wind. Your hair was half pinned up by the hairpin you had bought yourself, half left down in loose curls that conveniently covered most of the bones in your back.

There was little you could do to cover your shoulders, what with the style of the dress, but you felt pretty nonetheless. The gown had been taken in slightly, just enough to fit more snugly and leave you feeling more comfortable with such an exposed neckline, more secure. And the way the skirts flowed around your feet made you feel more graceful than you were.

Overall, you felt decent about yourself tonight. Your hair had cooperated, not making you late for the start of the event by taking too long to style. And the makeup that Mor had done was perfect, just enough to enhance your natural features.

You had even opted for heels tonight, little sparkly silver boots that Feyre had gotten for you, in case you wanted something more than flats to wear.

When you finally left your room, you made your way downstairs where Feyre, Rhys, and Azriel were waiting in the entryway, seemingly for you.

"Oh, Y/N, you look beautiful!" Feyre exclaimed when she caught sight of you, rushing over to pull you into her arms. "I just love this dress on you!"

"Yes, both of you look lovely, but Feyre...?" Rhys started.

"Oh, shoot! We need to get going, Y/N, but Azriel will take you up to the House when you're ready!" Feyre said brightly, leaving the house a moment later and letting her mate take her in his arms, shooting of into the sky together.

Your heart dropped. Flying? You had only flown a few times, usually to get to the House of Wind as you would be tonight. It still terrified you as badly as it did on the first time, leaving you shaking every time.

"Are you ready to leave?" Azriel asked, pulling you from your thoughts. You nodded, and followed him outside, even as you felt like your heart was in your throat at the prospect of flying.

He gently pulled you into his arms, one hooked beneath your knees and the other supporting your back. Your arms instinctively flew around his neck, ready to hold on for dear life.

Not that you didn't trust Azriel to keep you alive, just... You weren't made for flying, you don't think.

The push off from the ground had you closing your eyes, squeezing them shut tight. You could feel your heart racing, trying to leave your chest as you were overtaken by fear.

"You look beautiful tonight," Azriel said, his deep voice in your ear causing your eyes to snap open.

"You don't have to lie..."

Azriel let out a soft breath. "I'm not lying, you look beautiful tonight. Pink is your color, I believe," He said, his voice right in your ear again. Color rushed to your cheeks at his compliment, and you smiled- small, but there.

A moment later, he had landed solidly on the ground, carefully placing you on your feet.

You'd nearly forgotten you had been flying.

Soon after distancing yourself from him, Rhys rushed over to pull him away for some reason or another. Which left you standing alone in the House of Wind, for the first time since Bounty Day.

Anxiety grew in your gut again, making you feel queasy.

Especially when you saw the feast, laid out over that same massive dining table.

You turned away from the banquet, navigating instead to Feyre's side. Already she was surrounded by a few citizens, but you were able to make your way in for a hug from your sister. Soon though, more far crowded in, and following the arrival of Rhys you broke away from your sister, no longer feeling welcome next to them.

You wandered off, searching for Mor in the ever growing sea of people, with no luck yet.

Azriel, the other person you knew that could be safe to talk to, was occupied talking to a very pretty redhead, and also next to Nesta and Cassian.

Definitely a no.

After a while, you filled a small plate with food, picking at the smoked meats, cheeses, and some pieces of fruit until you couldn't stand it anymore, taking the plate back into the kitchens.

Back here, it was quieter. A few stragglers were wandering in and out between the balconies nearby, but you paid them no mind as you got a glass of cool water from the sink.

You let yourself take a few deep breaths to calm yourself, to bring yourself out of your anxiety. It helped, but not much.

It was enough to allow you to wander back out into the party, passing more than enough males who eyed you up and down, leaving you nervous. You were almost tempted to grab a glass of wine, but you knew all that was provided was faerie wine, something that you never wanted to try after hearing some of Feyre's tales involving it.

You knew this dress was a mistake. A beautiful one, yes, but it left you feel exposed unlike every before.

Every few minutes, you circled back to where Feyre was, seeing if there was an opportunity for you to ask her to take you back to the River House, or have someone take you back. But every time you passed, there was somehow more people crowded around Feyre and her mate.

Mor was nowhere to be seen two hours into the party, leaving you adrift in the sea of fae that had overtaken the House of Wind. You were overwhelmed and feeling so alone, the noise of the party drowning out any coherent thoughts you could have.

Just make it to the Starfall, and you can go.

That's what you told yourself for an hour as you continued your slow circles of the main rooms, attempting to find Mor or see if Feyre was available. No luck for you, though.

Cheers erupted as the first streaks of glowing green overtook the sky, giving you your cue to leave.

You didn't care that it was cold and snowy out, you just needed away from the noise, the lights, the everything that always surrounded you.

The stairs were hell in your heeled boots, but you dealt with them, forcing yourself to go one step at a time. By some miracle, you didn't fall, merely ending the massive flight of stairs by sitting down at the bottom to catch your breath.

Tears had begun falling down your cheeks at some point, driven by the cold and how lonely you feel, how forgotten you felt yet again.

You finally pushed yourself off of the cold stone, the bottom of your dress now wet with snow.

The forest would give you the peace you wanted, though you wouldn't venture near as far as you had last time. No, tonight you just wanted a bit of peace, a bit of time with only natural light shining upon you, even if it was enhanced by the cosmic phenomenon going on above you.

Your feet carried you to the edge of Velaris, the forest in your sights. A sigh of relief left you as you saw the trees, so reminiscent of the ones you had grown up near.

And then you crashed into a wall.

"What the-?" You rubbed at your nose, attempting to soothe the pain of crashing into- whatever you had crashed into. You held your hands out, shocked to find that they rested perfectly on an invisible force in front of you. Nothing that you tried let your hands pass that point, and a kick at the area led to the same results- a foot that you knew would hurt badly in the morning.

You couldn't *believe it.

They had locked. You. In. They had taken any amount of freedom you could have, no matter how fleeting it would inevitably be.

Ice cold rage and swells of disappointment left you a sobbing mess as you stumbled away from the wall of your cage, following the Sidra with no true destination in mind.

You would not be going back to that house. You couldn't. Not when- when... Not when Feyre had okayed you being locked inside of the city like nothing more than a pet, like you weren't a person with feelings and needs and desires.

You were sick of being alone, sick of feeling alone even in a sea of people. You had no one who was just yours. And that would never change in Velaris, would never change unless you were around humans once more.

"Y/N!" A warm voice said, drawing your eyes from the snow covered ground to the person it came from. "How did the recipe I gave you turn out? Good?" Sevenda asked, her smile turning to a frown when she saw your tear covered, blotchy face. "Is everything okay, dear?"

Another sob left your lips, despite your attempts to quiet it. "I- I- No," you managed to get out.

"Oh, come in here for a minute, Y/N, you're freezing!" Sevenda said, pulling you into the back of her restaurant. She pushed a cup of tea in front of you, which you gladly accepted, your fingers warming instantly from the mug. "Did you want to talk about it?" She asked after a couple of minutes.

You shook your head, but sighed and answered anyways. "I just... I don't belong in that house, I don't belong in Velaris... I can't... I can't keep pretending like I do, acting like I'm happy to be there... I need..." You sighed again. "I need out of there." And then an idea struck you. "I- I know this would be a lot to ask, and that you likely don't need help from a human but... Do you happen to need help here? I could do anything you need, I just..." You trailed off.

"You need out?" Sevenda asked, sympathy on her face and in her voice. "Well, I did lose one of my prep cooks to the Continent recently, he went to study new styles of cooking. If you are serious about this, I will have you show up at nine tomorrow morning. Okay, dear?"

You nodded your head vigorously. "I would be so grateful, Sevenda, truly, thank you so much." You let the older fae pull you into her arms, the gentle hug enough to stop your tears for the moment.

"Are you going to be alright, dear?" She asked once she pulled away, looking you in the eyes. You nodded your head, not trusting your voice at the moment. "Okay. Let me get you a cup of tea to go, and you should go straight home, hmm?"

You let her do just that, accepting the hot jasmine tea in a lidded cup that she made you promise to bring back in the morning. After saying goodbye, you set off in the opposite direction of the River House.

No matter how cold you were, you didn't feel like going back there yet.

Some time later, you found yourself on a cliffside, overlooking the bay of Velaris. Your tea was long gone by now, any warmth it had given you gone with it.

The rocks down below looked so inviting, as though they would welcome you in an instant. You let out a long, heavy breaths, tears beginning to flow again.

You wish you had the strength to jump.

Instead, you sat on the edge of the cliff, booted feet dangling over the side. The snow underneath you was frigid, leaving you colder than before. But still, you sat and watched the waves, and listened to the crash on the rocks below.

"Y/N?" A deep voice asked from behind you, but you paid it no mind. Maybe they would leave you alone. "Y/N?" The voice asked again. After another length of silence from you, the person took another approach, and sat next to you instead, their own long legs dangling over the edge. A warmth behind you, and less wind hitting you after the male readjusted. "Do you want to talk about it?"

You still didn't answer.

Instead, you were surprised by gentle hands winding a scarf around your neck in two loops, then a cloak being fastened over your head and buttoned in the front, and finally a pair of mittens slid over your hand.

Azriel didn't make you talk, didn't make you do anything. He simply let you take the time you needed to recover, to stop your tears.

A while later, the waves started to lull you to sleep, your head tilting to the side until Azriel pulled it to his arm, letting you rest against him. Your eyes fluttered shut, your cheek soaking in the warmth of him, even through the hood of your cloak.

It was only when you nearly pitched forward off the cliff that Azriel insisted on taking you back to the River House, or at least to a café where you could warm up.

"I suppose..." your voice cracked. "That going back to the River House would be... fine... for now," you whispered, glad that he didn't force you to speak any more. A moment later and you were pulled through shadows, similarly to how Nuala and Cerridwen travelled but... different in a way. Almost warmer, you would say.

The two of you appeared in front of your bedroom door, the warm air shocking your skin and making you feel clammy.

"I'll have my shadows bring you a pot of tea, feel free to take a bath or change so you can warm up, Y/N. I hope you have a better night that it has been so far," Azriel said quietly before turning to leave.

"Thank you, Azriel," you croaked just before he turned to go down the stairs. He gave you a small smile and nodded before continuing on his way.

You entered your bedroom, tears falling almost instantly once you were alone again. You forced yourself to strip, hanging up the pink gown to dry and setting your sparkly boots near the door. The bath felt soothing, at least, warming you to the core by the time you got out.

And there, awaiting you on your desk, was a fresh pot of the lavender and chamomile tea that you preferred for sleep.

A few extra tears fell at that small act of kindness, and you helped yourself to a still steaming cup of it, settling into the armchair that you had perpetually pulled near your window, a throw blanket across your body.

Sleep claimed you before you had even finished your second cup of tea.

🤍🤍💔🤍🤍

General Taglist: @lilah-asteria @daughterofthemoons-stuff @meritxellao

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[infevious]

WISH YOU WERE SOBER

sum: confessing to him when you’re drunk

pairing: kinich x gn reader

contains: drunken confession, slight mention of his backstory

a/n: i was listening to “wish you were sober” by Conan Gray and thought of this, this is my first fic so uhhhh enjoy 😀😊⁉️ i have not written a fanfic since middle school and im high asf rn so it might be bad LOL might be ooc

——————————————————��————————

This party's shit

Kinich sat around while everyone else was celebrating, he saw how you drank bottle after bottle. It hurt to see someone he cared about so deeply drink, it reminded him of his father, who he hated. But he couldn’t hate you, even if he tried.

wish we could dip, go anywhere but here

After a while you sat next to him, he didn’t want to come; he came for you. You excitedly asked if he was going to the celebration your tribe was having, he only agreed because he knew you would be there.

Don't take a hit, don't kiss my lips

You were awfully clingy when drunk, an equally drunk mualani had to pry you off her. You did the same to him; grabbing his arm and whining.

“I love you so much thank you for being my friend!” you cried

friend.

That’s all he was to you, just a friend.

And please don't drink more beer

He took the bottle away from you, poring what was left of it onto the floor and placing the empty bottle on the crate he was sitting on. He rolled his eyes as you whined

“You drank enough for tonight”

It hurt to see you drink so heavily, but he would never tell you that.

I'ma crawl outta the window now, ‘Cause I don't like anyone around

He looked around at everyone there, drunk, dancing, and celebrating. He never really talked to any of them and didn’t plan to, after all he only came for you. The few people he did talk to was strictly business. He slowly got up and took his arm away from your grip.

Kinda hope you're followin' me out

But this is definitely not my crowd

“Wait..!”

He turned around to see you stumbling behind him.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m tired” Lies.

“…Me too..um- can- can you walk me home? I’m scared to- to go alone”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t want you waking home alone in this state either..”

Nineteen, but you act twenty-five now

You always thought he was mature for his age, serious too. You couldn’t blame him with the environment he grew up in though..

Trip down the road, walking you home

“Come on, trouble magnet”

He waited for you to catch up and put an arm around your waist holding you up so you wouldn’t fall, you could barely walk and he was annoyed, sad even.

“The stars are so pretty”

“It’s really hot..”

“Woah look at the moon!”

He was getting tired of your endless sentences. He couldn’t understand how you could be such a heavy drinker. Was it a coping skill? He went through a lot and never thought about picking up a bottle. Did you enjoy the feeling? He wouldn’t know, he always swore to never try it. He didn’t want to end up like him.

Pullin' me close, beg me, "Stay over"

“Stay over..it’s too late and- I dont want to be alone right now”

He looked down at your drunken state, eyes half lidded, cheeks red; you looked so beautiful. He was always confused on how you were never like his father when drunk, you were always smiling, laughing, dancing, the complete opposite of him.

But I'm over this roller-coaster

He listened to you talk about whatever popped up into your mind, he turned to look at you after you’ve been quiet for some time. You were just looking at him, his lips.

“This- this is a dream right..?”

He looked at you confused, dream? Where did that come from?

“Sure, yeah this is a dream”

He didn’t really think anything of it, were you going to tell him an embarrassing memory? A secret no one else was supposed to know? Or- no. You would never..you said it yourself he was just a friend.

He looked at you, the moon light making you look almost angelic. He noticed you looking at his lips and then his eyes.

“If this is a dream then i can…”

He felt your lips press against his and it felt like time had stopped.

You pulled away, whispering an ‘I really like you’ before passing out almost immediately. He just sat there, a million thoughts rushing through his head. What the hell just happened? He looked down at you and noticed a small smile.

Real sweet, but I wish you were sober

[pickingupmymercedes]

A Christmas Carol - Lewis Hamilton

A Christmas Special

genre: fluff (there's a bit of angst because it wouldn't be me without it)

wordcount: +3k

a/n: Wasn't planning on doing one, but alas, like the Grinch "I'm toasty inside and I'm leaking". Hope you guys enjoy it.

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

______________________________________________________________

Christmas was supposed to feel magical. It was supposed to smell like cinnamon and pine, sound like kids laughing over the crinkle of wrapping paper, and taste like mulled wine and homemade cookies.

At least, that’s what I kept telling myself as I power-walked from the kitchen to the dining room, a tray of meticulously arranged appetizers wobbling precariously in my hands.

“Where’s the rosemary garnish?” I called out, my voice sharper than I intended.

“On the counter where you left it,” my mom’s voice floated back, tinged with just enough exasperation to make me grit my teeth.

“Right, okay. Thanks!” I tried to sound upbeat, but it came out brittle, like one of the ornaments I’d already broken this week.

The house was perfect. Lewis’s Colorado cabin looked like it had been ripped from the pages of a Christmas catalog.

Snow blanketed the landscape outside, and the living room’s towering evergreen glittered with gold and red ornaments.

Both our families were here—mine and Lewis’s—mingling in various states of holiday cheer.

Everything looked exactly as it should.

So why did it feel like everything was on the verge of collapse?

I was usually the type to wing things. I’d always believed the joy was in the process, not the end result.

But this was different. This was the first Christmas we were hosting as a couple, the first time our families were all under one roof, and the first time I felt the weight of needing everything to be flawless.

“You’re overthinking it,” Lewis had said a week ago, catching me mid-panic as I tried to finalize the seating chart. “It’s Christmas. Nobody’s going to care if the napkins match the table runner.”

I’d rolled my eyes at him then, brushing off his easy confidence. “This is important, Lewis. It’s our first big family Christmas. I need it to be right.”

But now, with the pressure mounting and the hours slipping away, I was starting to wonder if he’d been right all along.

Still, I couldn’t stop.

There was too much to do, too much riding on this. It wasn’t just impressing everyone else; it was proving to myself that I could pull this off. That I could create something perfect.

“Y/n, the caterer just called. They’re going to be an hour late,” came Lewis’s voice from the kitchen, calm as ever.

I barely acknowledged him, my brain too busy spiraling into contingency plans.

Late appetizers meant a delayed dinner schedule, which meant the kids would get restless, which—… Okay, breathe.

“It’s fine,” I said tightly, not looking up from my task. “I’ll… figure it out.”

“Babe, it’ll be fine,” he replied, but I couldn’t bring myself to believe him. How could he be so relaxed about this?

This was the first time I could show everyone that I wasn’t just good at planning vacations—I could host the kind of Christmas that would make everyone look back and say “Remember that year at Lewis and Y/n’s place? That was perfect.”

But perfect came at a price. A steep one.

I was usually laid-back on holidays, but this one… well, I was turning into someone I didn’t entirely recognize.

Someone who had snapped at Lewis when he joked ironing the napkins was a bit much. Someone who brushed off my mom’s attempt to help set up because “I’ve got it, thanks.” Someone who hadn’t stopped to sit down—or breathe—since the day before.

I knew I was being ridiculous.

Rationally, I knew that no one cared if the table settings matched the garland on the fireplace or if the cranberry sauce came from a can instead of being homemade.

But rationality didn’t exactly have a seat at the table in my mind. Instead, it was crowded with doubts, insecurities, and the quiet, nagging fear that if I didn’t get this right, it meant something about me.

I wanted so badly to prove that I could do this—not to Lewis, not even to our families, but to myself. To prove that I could handle blending traditions, making everyone feel at home, and creating a holiday memory worth cherishing.

The irony? In chasing that, I was starting to lose the very thing that made Christmas special.

“Y/n,” Lewis called again, his voice pulling me out of my thoughts. I realized I had been staring at the same strand of lights for a tad too long. “Why don’t you take a break? Have some wine or something.”

“I’m fine,” I said, sharper than intended. He didn’t reply, and the quiet that followed made me feel worse than any argument ever could.

I sighed, sinking to the floor, the lights still tangled in my hands.

I glanced around the room, the half-decorated tree leaning slightly to the right, the dining table still bare, and the unmistakable hum of chatter from the kitchen where both families mingled.

It wasn’t perfect. Not yet. But as I sat there, surrounded by the mess of my own making, a tiny voice in the back of my head whispered that it didn’t have to be.

I had just managed to shove the last box of ornaments under the console table when I heard a familiar voice call out, “Y/n! You didn’t even say hi when we walked in. What the hell?”

I turned, my brother already halfway across the room, his lopsided grin in place and a lumpy gift bag dangling from his hand. He had that look he always got when he was about to annoy me out of spite.

“Hey,” I muttered distractedly, glancing at the clock. Dinner prep was starting to fall behind, and I still hadn’t decided which candles to put on the table.

He stopped in front of me, arms crossed. “That’s it? Not even a ‘Merry Christmas, so glad you’re here, oh wise older sibling who taught me everything I know?’”

“I don’t have time for this, asshole” I said, brushing past him to fix the garland over the fireplace. “You and everyone else are so very welcome here, but I have a million things to do.”

He let out a low whistle. “Wow. Someone’s really leaning into their inner Scrooge this year.”

I didn’t bother responding, too busy adjusting a stocking that was slightly off-center.

“Alright, what’s going on?” he asked, softer this time. “You didn’t even notice when your niece tried to hug you.”

Guilt hit me like a truck, but I pushed it aside. “Nothing, I swear. I just… I want everything to be perfect, for her too, okay?”

“Perfect?” He raised an eyebrow. “You’re the one who once wrapped all Christmas presents in newspaper and duct tape because you forgot to buy wrapping paper.”

“I was sixteen and broke.” I snapped.

“And happy,” he countered, his voice pointed but not, at all, unkind. “We all were. Because no one cared what the presents looked like. Or if the tree was crooked or the turkey was dry. We were just… together. That’s what made it Christmas.”

I turned to face him, arms crossed. “Are you seriously trying to give me some kind of Christmas ghost speech right now? Because I don’t have time for—”

“Maybe you should make time” he interrupted, and for once, there was no teasing in his tone.

I hesitated, the weight of his words sinking in despite my resistance.

“Look, I get it” he continued, his voice softening again. “You want this to be special, and it will be. But not because of the table settings or the garland or whatever else you’re obsessing over. It’ll be special because you’re here, and we’re here, and that’s all that ever mattered to us as kids. It’s all that matters now, too.”

“Thanks for the Hallmark moment. Really. But I have things to do.” I sighted instead of admitting he was right, as I turned back to the fireplace.

He chuckled, shaking his head as he stepped back. “Suit yourself, sis. But don’t come crying to me when the ghost of Christmas present shows up later to say ‘I told you so.’ over dessert”

I was halfway into rolling my eyes when it hit me. The pie.  but couldn’t stop the small smile that tugged at my lips as he walked away. Still, his words lingered, like the faint smell of cinnamon that seemed to follow me everywhere this week.

“Seriously, what’s going on, now you look like you seen a ghost?” my brother asked, peering into the living room.

“Oh, no,” I whispered, the realization hitting me like a freight train. I had forgotten dessert.

My brother smirked. “Guess perfection really is a myth.”

Lewis appeared in the doorway; eyebrows raised in concern. “Everything okay?”

“No,” I admitted, my voice cracking. “I forgot the dessert. I can’t believe I forgot the dessert.”

“Babe, it’s not a big deal,” he said gently, resting a hand on my shoulder. “We’ve got plenty of food.”

“It’s Christmas, Lewis!” I suppressed a yell. “You’re supposed to have something sweet.”

Lewis exchanged a glance with my brother, who shrugged as if to say, ‘Your turn.’

“Hey,” Lewis said, tilting my chin up so I’d look at him. “What’s the one thing you always say when things don’t go according to plan?”

I blinked at him, tears threatening. “I don’t know.”

“You say, ‘We’ll figure it out.’”

“I’ve got it” I replied, careful to keep my tone light.

He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he came closer, a quiet warmth that made me hyper-aware of how tightly I was holding onto the matchbox in my hand.

“Y/n,” he said softly, and that was all it took for my defenses to wobble.

I set the matchbox down with a shaky exhale, staring at the empty plates in front of me. “I just want everything to be perfect” I murmured, more to myself than to him.

He stepped closer, his hands brushing lightly against my arms before resting on my shoulders. “It already is” he said.

I laughed under my breath, a sound that came out more bitter than I intended. “You’re only saying that because you haven’t seen the cranberry sauce yet.”

“Babe” he said, his voice full of that frustrating calmness that made me want to hug him and throw something at him, at the same time. “No one’s here for cranberry sauce.”

I turned to face him, ready to argue, but the look in his eyes stopped me cold.

They weren’t teasing or dismissive or even annoyed, like I probably deserved after snapping at him all day. They were warm, steady, and so full of love it made my chest ache.

“Why are you doing this to yourself?” he asked gently, his thumbs rubbing small circles against my arm. “You’ve been running around for days like you’re hosting the royal family instead of our families. What’s really going on?”

I swallowed hard, my resolve starting to crack. “I just…” My voice wavered, and I hated how small I sounded. “I want them to have a good time. I want them to see that we’re good at this, that we’ve got it all together.”

He tilted his head, studying me with that quiet intensity he always had when he was trying to read between the lines.

“You mean you want to prove that you’re good at this,” he said softly, and the truth of it hit me like a punch to the gut.

I dropped my gaze, staring at the floor like it might hold some kind of answer. “It’s stupid, I know” I whispered.

“It’s not stupid,” he said, his voice firm. “But you don’t have to prove anything to anyone, Y/n. Not to our families, not to me, and definitely not to yourself. You’ve already done more than enough by bringing them all over.”

I shook my head, tears prickling at the edges of my eyes. “It doesn’t feel like enough. I just… I want them to look back at this and remember it as something special.”

He reached out, tipping my chin up so I had no choice but to meet his gaze. “They will,” he said simply. “Not because of the candles or the napkins or whatever else you’ve been stressing over, but because they’re here. Together. And because you made that happen.”

His words settled over, softening the tension in my shoulders and quieting the storm in my mind.

“I don’t know how you always do that,” I said with a shaky laugh, brushing at my eyes.

“Do what?”

“Manage to say the exact thing I need to hear, even when I don’t want to hear it. Especially then”

He smiled, leaning in to press a kiss to my forehead. “It’s a talent,” he said lightly, his tone teasing but his eyes still serious.

I leaned into him, letting the steady beat of his heart anchor me. For the first time all day, I felt like I could breathe again.

“You’re right,” I admitted quietly.

“About everything?”

“Don’t push your luck” I muttered, earning a soft laugh from him.

He pulled back just enough to look at me, his hands still resting on my waist. “Come sit with us for a while,” he said. “The table can wait. Dinner can wait. Right now, I just want you to stop and enjoy this.”

I hesitated, my gaze flicking toward the half-finished table.

“Y/n,” he said, his voice low and insistent. “Please.”

The weight of that single word unraveled the last of my resistance.

“Okay,” I said softly, letting him guide me toward the living room and let myself just be.

Dinner was still salvageable, the table was mostly set, and the stockings—mercifully—were straightened.

It was fine. I was fine. We would be fine.

I hadn’t slept much. Maybe it was the adrenaline of the last few days finally wearing off, or maybe it was the quiet nagging feeling that I hadn’t quite nailed it.

Either way, when Lewis stirred beside me at the crack of dawn, his alarm buzzing softly, I was already awake.

He leaned over to kiss my forehead, murmuring something about taking a quick shower before the kids woke up. I mumbled back something that sounded vaguely coherent, but the moment he stepped into the bathroom, I slipped out of bed.

Still in my pajamas, hair a mess, and not a speck of makeup to hide behind, I padded softly down the stairs. The house was quiet, the kind of stillness that only comes in those fleeting moments before the day begins.

The living room came into view, and I froze for a moment, leaning against the doorway. The tree stood tall, its lights casting a soft, golden glow over the room.

The presents we’d spent hours wrapping were still neatly stacked, though I knew that wouldn’t last long.

I sat down on the edge of the couch, tucking my knees under me as I watched the room come alive in slow motion.

First came one of Lewis’s nieces, her sleepy face lighting up the moment she spotted the tree. She gasped, then bolted back upstairs, her little feet pounding against the steps as she woke her brother.

A chain reaction followed—one by one, the kids tumbled into the room, wide-eyed and buzzing with excitement.

Next came my mom, her robe tied loosely around her as she headed straight for the kitchen.

I could hear her humming a Christmas carol as she rummaged for the hot cocoa mix. Within minutes, the scent of chocolate and marshmallows filled the air, mingling with the pine of the tree.

I didn’t say anything; I just watched.

Watched as the kids tore into their presents, the floor quickly becoming a chaotic sea of wrapping paper.

Watched as my mom handed a steaming mug to each child, all looking up at her with a grateful smile.

Watched as my brother shuffled in, still half-asleep but smiling as he plopped onto a chair with his coffee.

And then, almost as if she sensed I needed it, my mom came over to the couch and sat beside me, handing me a mug of cocoa, the marshmallows bobbing at the surface, and settled in with a soft sigh by my side.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” she said, her voice as warm as the drink in my hands.

“Merry Christmas, Mom” I replied, leaning my head on her shoulder.

We sat there for a while, watching the chaos unfold.

One of the kids trying to explain a new gadget to my dad, while my niece proudly displayed her new doll to Lewis’s mom.

It was loud and messy and completely uncoordinated.

And it was perfect.

“This reminds me of Christmas when we were kids,” I said quietly, my voice almost drowned out by the laughter and chatter.

My mom turned to look at me, her brow lifting slightly.

“You know,” I continued, smiling faintly at the memory. “When we’d open our presents in the morning, and you and Dad would be in the kitchen getting food ready. All the relatives would be there, the cousins running around, someone always spilling something…” I trailed off, shaking my head. “It was chaos, but it felt like Christmas.”

My mom chuckled, her hand brushing against mine as she squeezed it gently. “That’s what makes it special, honey. It’s never about the perfect decorations or the perfect dinner. It’s about… this.”

She gestured to the room, where Lewis’s nephew was now gleefully dragging people to play with him, everyone looking thoroughly confused but nodding enthusiastically anyway.

“The mess?” I teased, raising an eyebrow.

“The mess,” she affirmed, smiling. “The people. The noise. The love in all of it.”

I blinked back the sting of tears, resting my head against her shoulder again. For so long, I’d been chasing perfection, thinking it was the key to creating something memorable.

But sitting there, surrounded by laughter and torn wrapping paper and the occasional shout of “Where are the batteries?”—I realized I already had everything I’d been looking for.

“Mom?”

“Hmm?”

“I hope I get it this messy, this right, every year” I said softly, my voice thick with emotion.

She didn’t reply, just leaned her head against mine, and we sat there in the quiet chaos, letting it all wash over us.

It wasn’t what I had planned. It wasn’t perfect.

It was better. So much better

And as if on cue, my mom glanced up and caught sight of Lewis standing in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame.

His hands tucked into the pockets of his pajama pants, his grin warm and knowing as he watched us. With a soft smile, she nudged me gently.

“Someone’s waiting for you” my mom murmured before excusing herself, her footsteps light as she headed toward the kitchen.

Lewis didn’t waste a second, crossing the room to take her spot beside me on the sofa. He flopped down with exaggerated effort, his arm draping lazily along the back of the couch.

“Well, well,” he teased, tilting his head to look at me. “I don’t think I’ve seen you out of the bedroom without a fully picked-out outfit, perfect hair, and makeup in days?”

I groaned, covering my face with my hands. “I’ve been… intense. Haven’t I?”

“A bit” Lewis replied, grinning as he reached over to tug my hands away. “But only because you care”

I lowered my hands, glancing at him shyly. “I just... I wanted this to be perfect. I needed it to be perfect. Not just for everyone else but—” She hesitated, her voice faltering.

“But?” he prompted, his tone gentle.

I bit my lip, my gaze flicking to the kids tearing through their gifts, then back to him. “But for me. For us. For... the possibility that this might be our future someday.”

The words faltered, vulnerable and unsure.

Lewis didn’t say anything right away. Instead, he reached out, slipping an arm around my waist and pulling me into his chest.

“Y/n,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. “You don’t have to try so hard. You’re already more than perfect.”

I let out a small, disbelieving laugh, but he pulled back just enough to cup my face in his hands, his thumbs brushing lightly over my cheeks as he looked me in the eyes.

“I mean it,” he said firmly. “I’ve been dreaming about a future with you long before these past few days. Ever since I saw you barefoot on that trail, convincing Willow it was the best way to feel the earth beneath her. Since you let Roscoe slobber all over you on the beach the very first time you met him. Since we spent three days on that road trip, eating two-day-old sandwiches and drinking from streams, and you still made it feel like the greatest adventure of our lives.”

My eyes glistened, a shy smile tugging at my lips. “You’re really pulling out all the stops here, aren’t you?”

“Whatever it takes” he replied with a playful grin before his expression softened again. “ You don’t need to prove anything to anyone. Least of all me.”

We stayed like that for a moment, wrapped in each other, watching the kids dive into their presents. The room buzzing with laughter and the occasional triumphant shout of “Look what I got!”

My chest felt lighter than it had in days, my worries dissolving like the marshmallows in my cocoa.

I rested my head against Lewis’s shoulder, my heart settling into a steady rhythm that matched his.

But then, a thought struck and I sat up abruptly.

“Where are you going?” Lewis asked, trying to pull me back by the waist.

I swatted his hand away with a smirk. “You’ll see.”

I sprang to my feet, clapping my hands to gather the kids’ attention. “Alright, who’s ready to make a mess in the kitchen?”

A chorus of enthusiastic “Me!” erupted as they abandoned their toys and raced toward me.

I led them to the kitchen, my laughter echoing through the house as I opened cabinets and pulled out bowls, flour, and cookie cutters.

Within minutes, the kitchen was alive —flour flying, cookie dough being enthusiastically rolled and eaten, and the sound of uncontainable giggles filling the air.

Lewis stayed back, leaning against the back of the sofa, watching the scene unfold with a smile tugging at his lips.

I caught his eye once, winking at him as I smeared a dollop of cookie batter on one of the kids’ noses, eliciting a delighted squeal.

This could be our forever. Far from perfect, but perfectly us.

_____________________________________________________________

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[scary-grace]

(secret) santa, baby - part 8 of a shigaraki x f!reader fic

Shigaraki doesn't want to participate in the office's Secret Santa exchange, but when Toga promises to make it easy on him, he gives in. But making it easy for him makes it a lot harder for you -- you're the one who got his list. Office AU, no quirks. A fic in 12 parts. Divider by @ wcnderlnds

part i part ii part iii part iv part v part vi part vii part viii part ix

part viii (gift-wrapping)

You don’t know what the last-minute staff meeting is for, but the email looked important, so you show up outside the building’s biggest conference room on the hour, as ordered. As soon as you set foot inside, though, you know this was one you could have skipped. There are piles of gift bags and rolls of wrapping paper on every table, as well as packets of tissue paper and spools of ribbon and actual jars of confetti with scoops in them. On the whiteboard at the front of the room, someone’s written REMEDIAL GIFT-WRAPPING.

You didn’t think your gifts were wrapped that badly. Tomura hasn’t complained. Then again, Tomura doesn’t know you’re the one leaving his gifts, so he wouldn’t know who to complain to if he had a problem. In spite of showing up on time, everybody else somehow got here before you, so you hesitate just inside the doorway, looking for an empty seat. Before you can find one, something moves in your peripheral vision, and you glance over to find Twice beckoning to you. He’s sitting with Spinner, Dabi, and Tomura, and they’ve got an empty seat nearby.

A few weeks ago, you’d have found somewhere else, but you’re much more comfortable with Tomura and his friends than you were before. Seeing them outside of work at Toga’s party probably helped. Seeing them the next morning, waking up with bedhead and low-grade hangovers that could only be cured with diner food, moved them firmly from the category of scary coworkers to people you could call friends. And waking up at one end of Toga’s couch to realize that you’d spent the entire night sharing it and a blanket with Tomura moved him from Secret Santa recipient to something else.

You’re not sure what else, exactly. You’ve been keeping a close eye on him since the Secret Santa thing started, just so you could figure out good times to sneak down to the basement and leave things on his desk, but for the past few days you’ve felt different about seeing him out and about. Instead of being relieved, and using your next free second to race downstairs and plant a gift, you’ve gone to talk to him. Or you’ve stayed put wherever you were and hoped he’d come talk to you. He’s different at work than he is out of it, but now that you’ve seen him the other way, you can’t fail to see that the person who slept on the couch with you is there when he’s here, too.

Work doesn’t bring out the best in him, and work-related holiday festivities are even worse. You can hear him complaining as you make your way over. “I don’t need to learn gift-wrapping. The stuff I leave is fine.”

“No. Spinner’s gifts are fine. Yours look like you’re dropping off a sperm sample,” Dabi says. He’s organizing the pile of gift-wrapping supplies and ignoring the way Tomura swears at him. “It’s not going to kill you.”

“With everybody else here, Toga’s probably not just picking on us,” Spinner says. He spots you coming over and waves. “Hey. You got an invite, too?”

“My gift-wrapping must be worse than I thought,” you say. You drop down into the chair between Twice and Tomura. “Hi.”

“Hey.” Tomura glances quickly at you, then goes back to screwing around with a mostly-empty roll of ribbon. “You have a gift in your mailbox. I saw it when I checked mine.”

You didn’t put a gift in his mailbox today – it’s on his desk again, waiting for him whenever he gets back. You dropped it off after you saw him walk back on the way to the conference room. “I’ll look after we’re done with this. Does this happen every year?”

“No. It’s new.” Tomura scowls. “It sucks.”

“Hi everybody!” Toga’s standing on a chair at the front of the room, waving to catch the room’s attention. “Thanks for stopping by. It’s come to my attention that some of you guys don’t know how to wrap a gift to save your lives, and even though it’s the gift that counts, the way it’s presented matters, too! So for the sake of your Secret Santa recipients, we’re going to go over the basics of gift-wrapping –”

“And we’re going to practice on these,” Midoriya announces, holding up a clear plastic bin that’s full to the brim. “The gifts from the toy drive. Which we need to wrap anyway.”

“I told you we weren’t in trouble,” Spinner says to the group at large.

“No, we’re just free labor.” Tomura’s scowling worse than before. “I can’t wait to count my papercuts afterwards.”

“To help with this,” Toga continues loudly, “every table has at least one person who knows what they’re doing. Compress and Yaoyorozu will go over the basics, and then your group’s expert will help you get going.”

Where’s your table’s expert? You glance around, only to find everyone else looking at you. “We need to work quickly,” Iida announces, even louder than Toga. “It’s imperative that we get these gifts mailed this afternoon. If they’re delayed by the storm, they won’t reach their recipients in time. Do you want to be the reason why needy children go without presents this year?”

“Hey! Iida! That’s kind of harsh,” Midoriya says hastily. Dabi is snickering. “Just do your best, everybody!”

There’s a bin of toys under the table. Compress and Yaoyorozu order everybody to start with something in a box, since they’re easier to work with, but you have a bad feeling you’re the expert, and the things that are weirdly shaped are going to take longer. You take out a plastic dinosaur toy and get to work, listening with half an ear to the instructions. You don’t want to contradict anything they’re saying. It’ll slow things down, and based on the size of the toy bin, you can’t afford that.

You overhear the other supposed experts at the other table, and they seem pretty comfortable giving instructions, but you decide to keep quiet unless somebody asks you something. And somebody does. “Are girls born knowing how to gift-wrap or something?” Spinner asks, staring at the dinosaur toy you’ve successfully mummified in candy-cane wrapping paper. “How did you do that?”

“Practice, I guess?” You don’t really remember somebody teaching you. “It was probably just watching my mom.”

“Maybe you should handle all the weird-shaped shit,” Dabi says. He abandons the box he’s wrapping and starts sorting the toys in the bin. “I want to get out of here sometime this year and that’s not going to happen if you put me in charge of that.”

You nod and pick up the grotesque-looking nutcracker at the top of the pile. To your surprise, everybody else settles down to work quickly – even Tomura, who’s still scowling, and handling the wrapping paper like it might take a bite out of him. The other tables are chattering, but everybody at yours is quiet. Focused. When Midoriya swings by to pick up any wrapped gifts, he has to make two trips to collect all of them from you.

It’s not until you’re starting on the second round of presents that Tomura speaks up. “This isn’t so bad,” he says, and you almost amputate your finger in shock. “I thought it was going to be like that movie.”

“Which –” Dabi interrupts himself, then makes a weird noise. “The one where the guy’s cheating on his wife?”

“And he’s trying to get the clerk to gift-wrap that ugly necklace he bought for his mistress before his wife gets back?” That scene made you cringe. There are lots of scenes in Love Actually that make you cringe, but that one stands out. “Did he actually cheat on his wife or was he just trying to cheat?”

“He’s cheating.” Dabi measures out a huge scoop of glitter and drops it on top of the present he’s wrapping before he tapes the wrapping paper down. “My dad pulls shit exactly like that. Except he was fucking my boyfriend, not his secretary.”

You almost choke on thin air. “He – what?”

“That was ages ago,” Twice says. “They didn’t talk for like – five years. Then Dabi’s sister made them go to family therapy and now Enji makes up for it by giving Dabi money whenever he asks.”

“And when he doesn’t,” Spinner says. Dabi is making a face. “You’re better off, dude.”

“You know how Shigaraki hates Christmas? That’s how Dabi feels about Valentine’s Day,” Twice says. You probably would, too, if your dad had hooked up with your boyfriend. “If you’re still around by then, you can hang out with us. We always celebrate by maxing Enji’s credit card.”

If you’re still around by then. What does that mean? “Sounds fun,” you say, watching as Dabi adds two scoops of glitter to his next present. “Uh, what are you doing?”

“It’s there. We’re supposed to use it,” Dabi says. “The kids will get a kick out of this shit.”

“Yeah, but their parents will hate it.”

Tomura takes a scoop of glitter and pours it in the gift bag he’s been screwing around with. “It’s not about them.”

You remember who the gifts are for all at once. Kids in foster care, whose parents probably suck as a rule. They deserve to have some fun, and you’ve never met a kid who wouldn’t go crazy over a glitter bomb. When you start wrapping your next present, you add some glitter to it, too.

At some point the department heads come looking for all their employees, which is how you find out that Toga didn’t clear the meeting with anybody before she called it. Most of your table takes the opportunity to flee – Dabi first, then Twice, and Spinner after a second’s hesitation. Tomura stops halfway out of his chair when he realizes you’re not getting up. “Aren’t you leaving?”

“My supervisor hasn’t come looking for me yet,” you say. “And there’s still a lot to do.”

You know there’s work waiting for you back at your desk, but it shouldn’t take too long, and Iida’s guilt-trip about the presents definitely got to you. You empty the rest of the toy bin onto the table and grab a box with a model train printed on the front. A chair scrapes next to you as Tomura sits back down, and he lifts the train box out of your hands. “Give me that. I can’t wrap the weird ones.”

You stare at him. You can’t help it. “What are you doing?”

“My supervisor hasn’t come looking for me, either.” Tomura shrugs. “It’ll be faster if I help.”

“You hate this stuff,” you say.

“I’m not going to be the reason needy kids don’t get presents this year.” Tomura’s Iida impersonation is pretty on point, especially when he adds in Iida’s trademark hand gestures. You laugh. “And I haven’t gotten a paper cut yet. Nobody will put up with my bitching next year if I don’t get at least one.”

He says that, and it sounds like him – but somehow you don’t buy it. He’s not making eye contact, and his ears are turning sort of red, and your heart kicks up a weird, fluttery jolt. “If you want to hang out, you can just say that,” you say. “You don’t have to do – I know you hate doing this.”

“This is what you’re doing,” Tomura interrupts you. “That’s the important part.”

That one’s hard for you to parse, so hard that Tomura manages to wrap the train and start on the next gift before you can get even sort of a handle on it. And once you do, you’re not sure you want one. Tomura hates Christmas. Every Christmas thing you’ve seen him do has been done under pressure or threat, and he just got a golden opportunity to escape. Why would he give it up to hang out with you?

There’s one answer. An obvious answer. One you’d believe if it was coming from anybody but him. “I can use the help,” you admit. “Thanks for keeping me company.”

“Yeah.” Tomura reaches for the wrapping paper at the same time as you do, and your hands collide. You thought he’d flinch. You thought you’d flinch. But your hands stay still, poised against one another, for a long moment before Tomura draws away, his fingertips skimming the back of your hand as he goes. “Any time.”

<- part vii part ix ->

[phone4pills]

ALL  EARS gts!matt x stalker reader

𝒎𝒆𝒅𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒊𝒏𝒇𝒐 — you love it when Matt talks to you. specifically like this, you’re in his bed, he’s laying on your stomach and you are getting to know everything about him.

specific type — fluff and Matt being cute and shy and wtv

side effects — stalker behaviour, not too creepy

“— the 70th issue has this beautiful marking on the first page. it was a mistake made by the artist but it’s so… perfect. plus the alternate timeline is so creative —”

Matt had been rambling on about his comic collection for a while. Pointing to his favourites on each shelf and mansplaining every detail he could remember. Nobody had really cared about his comics before, when you asked about them, Matt almost jumped up ima fit of excitement. He’d been going through them for a whole hour before he started to get tired. You suggested laying on his bed for a bit.

You played with his hair mindlessly, Matt barely noticed as his warm breaths fanned over your stomach. That was on the oddd occasion to paused to breathe. “The art in the mid-century reprints aren’t very appreciated but this one panel, oh man you’d love it. The fine details are honestly beyond me and…” Matt trailed off for a second, a nervous laugh rolling out of his throat. “I’m boring you aren’t I?” His eyes flitted up to your face, staring back down at him.

“Honestly? No. It’s interesting, Matt.” You shook your head, feeling pity for the boy. Insecurity hid behind his blue eyes like a dead bird in a beautiful rose bush. But you were not lying. Everything about him fascinated you. Everything. The way he’d draw o it the images in the air, the way he’d clarify your thigh whenever he remembered something else, the shy grin that adorned his face when he realised how long he’d been talking. And he had no idea, but you had formed a mental catalog of every single word in your head. Every gesture was stored in there. His favourite issue numbers, the comic shops he’d spoken about from the most mentioned to the least, the way he’d ordered the books on his shelves.

And Matt? He didn’t think anything of the intimacy of it all. He didn’t read into the steady rhythm of your fingers weaving through his hair. To him, you were just being friendly, like you’d always been to him since the two of you met at the neighbourhood barbecue. To you, it was something else entirely. It was an opportunity to dive into Matt as a person. Yes, you’d seen him around a lot, you knew his family and his friend circle, but you needed to know more about him.

Mental note: Matthew Sturniolo is a comic fiend.

“Y’know, I could lend you a few copies. I-if you want them. It’d be nice to talk to someone about them…. B-but you don’t have to take any! I don’t care. I mean, I care but — you get what m’sayin’ right?”

Your grin widened, stroking down his neck slowly. “Yeah. I’d like that, Matt.” He nodded quickly, blushing a little and sat up quickly, getting really anxious the second you touched him there. He didn’t know why but he had to calm down. “I’m gonna get a snack. Want somethin’?”

THERE YOU HAVE IT, goody two shoes!Matt and stalker!Reader hanging out together. This tells you a little about their dynamic. Hope you liked it. The green divider is by the lovely @bernardsbendystraws

- ©phone4pills

[lacehartz]

big bro! rafe who only ever eats u out thru ur underwear to begin with because it makes him feel less like a sick freak… until he can’t help himself anymore and is pulling them aside <33

i found the perfect p!link to go along with this !!! not exactly what you asked for but i feel like this fits a bit better <33 cw in tags.

he’d so be the type to do it when you’re sleeping too, because in his head that’s the only way he can excuse it </3 the first time he breaks into your room, he’d told himself it was just to take a pair of panties — something to hold him over. but when he saw you laying there, legs spread and blanket half wrapped around you, he knew he was thinking with his dick. he’d gotten down on his knees at the edge of your bed, just staring at something no brother should ever be eye to eye with. he was entranced, bewitched, and it wasn’t long before he was surging forward, pressing his nose against your core. and god did you smell divine. he’d give up all the lines in the world if it meant he got to inhale and sniff at your pussy for the rest of his life. but you’d twisted in his sleep, let out a little sound and it scared him. he didn’t want you waking up, didn’t want to see the look of disgust and fear, so he’d left. crawled out of your room the same way he’d come in, like a coward.

since that moment, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about you. if you smelt that good, then surely .. surely you tasted good too, right? you’d ruined him completely, he couldn’t even fuck anyone else without his head blaring out a loud and annoying “wrongwrongwrong.” rafe realises he’s way too far gone when he’s begging barry for something that’ll keep you quiet, something that’ll lock you away in dreamland while he acts on his sick desires. he’s grateful that barry doesn’t care or raises any questions about what he’s planning to do with the roofie pills.

rafe had slipped one into the glass of water on your nightstand while you were at dinner, waiting quietly in his room until he saw the light go out from under your door. his chest aches painfully as he sneaks in once again, the movements now familiar with how often he’d been doing it. and there you were in all your glory; white cotton panties and a small tank top, mouth open and nipples piercing through your shirt. he barely reminds himself to check whether you’d actually drunk the water before he’s between your legs again, this time with resolve. rafe closes his eyes, hoping that it’d make it better. he could pretend you were someone else, someone who wasn’t his little sister. his pink tongue peeks out of his salivating mouth, hesitating just for a moment, and then he’s flat against your centre.

he moans. he moans loud and unabashedly, eyes rolling to the back of his skull as he flicks and licks and nibbles at your perfect cunt over your panties. you taste like coke and sugar and he knows this won’t be enough. he’d need more. he was a greedy, disgusting man and here he was, brought to his knees in bliss, because of you.

rafe can’t think anymore. it’s like he’s on autopilot, lapping at you like a starved dog. your panties grow translucent quickly, a mix of his saliva and your own unwanted arousal. he loves how pliant you are. loves how he can spread your thighs and slurp as hard as he wants at your clit, knowing you won’t wake up, that you can’t. rafe’s cock strains against the fabric of his briefs, hard and swollen and leaking. he wants nothing more than to rut against you, against your drooly pussy. he wants to be enveloped by your warmth. but the guilt starts crawling up his spine again, shooting sparks and crackling angrily. he feels like throwing up, as if his brain has finally realised what he was doing.

he stumbles up, chin wet with his own drool and he flees. he runs back to his room, dizzy and lost and still so fucking hard. rafe can’t stop himself. he has to do it. he’s reaching into his briefs, choking his dick in his fist, doesn’t even give himself the satisfaction of building it up. three strokes and he’s cumming all over his hand, thick globs of cum sticking to the same fingers he’d just used to spread open your legs.

despite the shame and horror and guilt flowing through him in a rare moment of post-nut clarity, he knows himself. rafe knew he’d be back in your room. he knew he’d be on his knees again and he knew tasting you through your panties wouldn’t work for long. he just hoped the guilt got easier to deal with.

[morningsharksworld]

Imagine Hazard being slightly jealous that Reader, who he's been flirting with for a while. Was ogling someone who was flexing and decided to flex real quick to get their attention back.

(I need to see this man flex look at hiimmm)

Show Off

A/N: Thank you anon for making me go insane in the middle of this and still manage to write him a bit flustered because I couldn’t help myself, I hope you enjoy this one as much as I did :’]

Summary: a battle of peacocks what more is there to say?

The tavern buzzed with its usual noise: off-key singing from the corner, the clinking of mugs, and hearty laughter. You were perched at the bar beside Hazard, who had been in his usual form—leaning lazily on the counter, tossing out his sharp wit and charm as if it were currency.

It was easy to fall into his rhythm, though tonight your attention had slipped. Across the room, someone had started flexing, their biceps bulging as they posed for a small, admiring crowd. It wasn’t often you saw such blatant peacocking, and the display had caught your eye for a moment too long.

Hazard noticed. Of course, he did.

His golden eyes narrowed as he leaned forward, his voice dropping to a thick mutter. “Ach, really now? That’s what’s got yer attention? Some overgrown lump flexin’ like he’s auditionin’ for a bloody statue garden?”

You blinked and turned to him, caught off guard by the irritation in his tone. “What?”

He gave you a look, tilting his head toward the flexing stranger. “Cannae believe it. I’ve been sittin’ here spinnin’ gold fer ye, an’ yer too busy starin’ at that. Ye’d think I was invisible.”

A laugh bubbled out of you before you could stop it. “Wait—are you jealous?”

The word hit him like a thunderbolt. His smug grin faltered, his cheeks flushing a faint but unmistakable red. He straightened up immediately, crossing his arms over his chest. “Jealous? Me? Dinnae be ridiculous sweetheart.”

“Oh, you’re jealous” you teased, leaning closer to him with a sly grin. “You saw me looking at someone else, and now you’re sulking.”

“I am no’sulking!” he shot back, though the red creeping up to the tips of his ears betrayed him. He turned his head away, muttering something about “daft ideas” under his breath.

“Hazard” you said sweetly, drawing his attention back. “If you want my attention, all you have to do is ask.”

He stared at you, his mouth opening as if to fire back a retort—but no words came. Instead, he blinked, his flustered expression only deepening. “I don’t—ye cannae just—” He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his dark hair. “Yer impossible, ye ken that?”

“And yet here you are, proving my point more” you teased, leaning back with a satisfied smirk.

Hazard scowled, though there was no real heat behind it. “Fine, then” he said, his voice tinged with stubborn pride. “If ye think yon flexin’ fool’s impressive, I’ll remind ye why ye should keep yer eyes right where they belong.”

“Oh, this should be good” you replied, unable to suppress your grin.

He stood up, rolling his shoulders with exaggerated nonchalance as he shed his jacket, letting it fall onto the back of the chair. His shirt clung just right, emphasizing the lean strength of his frame as he stretched. When he reached up to run a hand through his hair, his muscles flexed just a little more than necessary.

“Ach, been a while since I’ve had tae bother showin’ off” he drawled, shooting you a sidelong glance. “Still reckon I’ve got more tae offer than yon poser.”

“Hazard” you said, barely holding back laughter. “Are you seriously flexing to prove a point?”

He froze for a fraction of a second, then turned to you with his trademark grin, though the flush on his face hadn’t faded. “What? Dinnae act like ye’re no’ impressed, lass. I’ve seen the way yer eyes wander when I stretch.”

You arched an eyebrow, lips twitching. “So you have been paying attention, huh? Almost like you were… jealous?”

His bravado cracked for just a moment, his golden eyes flicking away as he mumbled, “I wasnae jealous. Just—ye know—remindin’ ye where yer loyalty should lie.”

“Hazard” you said softly, leaning in close enough that your voice dropped to a near whisper. “You’re adorable when you’re flustered.”

That did it. His entire face went red as he took a half-step back, coughing into his fist to mask his embarrassment. “Aye, well… don’t get used tae it” he muttered, glaring at the floor.

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound finally breaking the tension. “Alright, alright” you said, resting a hand on his arm. “I’ll stop teasing… for now.”

“Good” he replied gruffly, though he refused to meet your eyes.

For a moment, the two of you sat in silence, the noise of the tavern filling the space. Then Hazard glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, his grin slowly returning. “Adorable, am I? Sweetheart, ye’ve got no idea what ye’re in for.”

“Oh?” you replied, your own smile widening. “Care to prove it?”

His golden eyes gleamed as he stood straighter, his confidence slipping back into place like a second skin. “Aye” he said, offering you his hand. “Let’s take this outside. Ye’ll nae be lookin’ at anyone else after this.”

And just like that, Hazard was back in control—at least, as much as you were willing to let him be.

[rebelliousstories]

Online Shopping

25 Days of Ficmas

Relationship: James “Bucky” Barnes x Reader

Fandom: Marvel

Request: No

Warnings: Fluff, Mentions of Alcohol, Brief Strong Language

Word Count: 1,779

Main Masterlist: Here

Marvel Masterlist: Here

Summary: Trapped in his own home, there’s very little that he can do to express himself, or show that expression to anyone else. But Sergeant Barnes ain’t no quitter; he just has to navigate a new world.

Consider Donating: Here

Going out to a physical store during the holidays was a but too much for Bucky right now. Sure, he could go into high stakes, life-threatening missions with no problem. Dealing with crazy crowds of angry shoppers trying to get their last minute gifts? Absolutely not.

However, he had yet to find the perfect gift for a certain someone. This one woman that went to the same bar that he frequented that he actually had a lot in common with. Read the same type of books, enjoyed similar music; even had the same affinity for obscure, random, useless facts.

So here Bucky was, days before Christmas, struggling to find the gift he wanted to give her without leaving the house. He was supposed to meet her at the bar Christmas Eve to spend some time together, and he was hoping to give her a present then. However, there was no way he was going to leave his apartment to go shopping.

That is, until James remembered something Sam had mentioned recently. There was shopping online. It was a brilliant idea, with just one small problem; he had no idea how it worked. Begrudgingly, Bucky tried to talk himself into contacting his partner. He knew that Sam would never let him live this down.

Forcing himself to pick up the phone, Barnes reluctantly dialed up the number. Part of him hoped that he wouldn’t pick up as they line just kept ringing and ringing and ri-

“Bucky, what’s up man?” Sam answered with a cheerful tone.

“Hey, Sam. I, um…” Bucky sighed, rolling his eyes as he talked himself into actually speak. “I need your help with something.”

“Sure, man. Whatcha need? Hold on, one sec.” There was some shuffling on the other end of the line before Sam came back on. The sound of children laughing, and people chattering came through. “Alright. What’s up?”

“Could you help me shop online?” Bucky asked, shifting from foot to foot.

“Come again?”

“I-I need to buy something and I don’t wanna go into stores right now.” He tried explaining as he paced around his apartment.

“Bucky, are you sure there isn’t someone else who could help you out? I’m on the opposite end of the country right now, man. What about that chick you’ve been talking about? The one from the bar.” Sam stared out into the vast open waters from the dock of his family home.

“Well, um… that’s who I’m getting the thing for. I kinda don’t want her knowing.” Scratching the back of his head, Bucky felt uncomfortable as he had been forced to say it aloud.

“Ooo, you sly dog, man!” Sam cheered. “Whatcha wanna get her?”

Now, there was a blush creeping up his neck from the man’s words. “A set of books.”

“Okay, now we’re working with something. You probably don’t have amazon set up yet so, can you find this set online? Like the Barnes and Nobles or Books-A-Million websites?” Wilson instructed, fully getting on board with this idea.

“Uh, yeah. Hold on.” Behind the phone, Sam could hear Bucky moving through his apartment to sit at his computer. Clacking keys, and mumbling were the only indicators that any progress was being made.

“Okay, okay. I found it on Books-A-Million. Add to cart, right?”

“Yep. See you got it man. Now, when you hit check out, you have the option of choosing whether or not to ship it or pick it up in store.” Sam continued to explain, trying to get his friend through this.

“Which do I pick?” Bucky was so confused staring at the computer.

“Whichever will get the item there faster and on time.”

“Will it say that somewhere?”

“Can you read the damn page?” Sam sighed, now, rolling his eyes.

Bucky snorted through his nose in contempt. “Alright, it says it can be at my apartment by tomorrow. What do I do now?”

“Click checkout and put in your card info.”

Some more clicking and typing occurred before James came back to the phone. “I think it’s done. Listen, um thanks Sam. I really appreciate it.”

“Yeah, yeah, man,” Sam started, “I just expect to be invited to the wedding.”

“Ha ha. Bye, Sam.” The phone call was disconnected without another chance for a reply. Leaning back in the desk chair, Bucky was fiddling with his hands as he thought about what he was going to do with wrapping.

He was not the best at presents, even back in his younger days. His sister or mom would always wrap presents for him, while he could, at best, put something in a pretty bag. Bucky was not even sure if he had wrapping paper around his apartment.

Which meant he needed to go get something to make it pretty before giving it to her. Which meant having to go out into the crowds of shoppers. A memory of seeing some wrapping paper at the bodega on the corner popped into his head. Maybe James could skip the lines and crowds that made him feel anxious.

Two nights later, Bucky was standing outside of the bar that they were supposed to meet at. In his hands, a gift bag heavy with the weight of books rested. The cold December air nipped at his cheeks, and made his breath appear in front of him, but he could not just walk in just yet. He was still trying to work up the nerve to go in and meet her. This night could be the end of their friendship in one way or another if he did not play it right.

Exhaling sharply, he pushed open the door. Scanning the room, Bucky smiled as he saw her happily sitting with a few drinks in front of her at a booth. Walking up, he opened his arms just in time for her to launch herself into them.

“Bucky! I missed you. Come on, I got the first round.” She kept a beaming grin as she hugged, and led the man over to his booth.

“Hey, missed you too. Thank you.” Sliding in, he set the gift bag on the seat as he sat down. Barnes clinked his bottle against hers and took a sip.

“So what have you been up to?” And thus began their conversation that would branch off into an evening together.

He loved hearing her talk. Even if she read the dictionary, Bucky could just listen to her forever. There was something calming about it. His mind was often flooded with too many voices, too many memories; it was just too active. This was the kind of voice that he could relax to. It gave him a sense of calm he could not replicate anywhere else.

“Oh,” her voice broke him from his trance. “Before I forget, here you go.”

A gift bag was set on the table, and pushed across to him. Bucky, with wide eyes, gently grasped the handles of the bag, and pulled it closer to him.

“What is it?” He whispered, eyes tracing over the decorative paper coming from the top.

“A bomb.” Her voice was deadpan, as was her expression. Leveling her with a similar look, Bucky chuckled when he saw her beaming now.

“Open it, silly.” At her encouragement, James delicately tore into the bag. Below the tissue paper, there was a box-like object wrapped in beautiful wrapping paper. He plucked it from the bag, and turned it over in his hands, trying to figure out what it was. Tearing a stripe through the paper, the second he saw what was inside, he became giddy.

“No. You didn’t.” Resting in his hands now, was an original 1937 copy of the Hobbit. The bindings were fresh, as if someone had recently redone the book. A distinct old book smell wafted into his nose when he opened the book. Flabbergasted, Bucky shifted his gaze between the book and the woman across from him.

“You mentioned you’d like to read it again and someone at my book club was looking to sell it. He gave me a steal because we’re friends. Said his grandfather originally owned it, and brought it with him when he moved to here from Germany.” She casually explained, shrugging and taking a swig of her drink.

“I… thank you. Truly,” Bucky reached his hands across to hold hers that was on the table, “I just- I don’t know what to say besides thank you.”

“It’s not a problem, Bucky.”

“This, um-” he cleared his throat, “makes my gift a little coincidental.”

Bucky reached next to him to place the bag on the table. He sat there, with bated breath and rapt attention as she began to dive into the bag. As opposed to her gift, his was just placed inside without wrapping paper. But James at least put some pretty tissue paper on top. And yet, even without the wrapping paper on the present, she was giddily pulling the books from the bag.

“You got the entire Neon Gods set for me? Oh, Bucky…” she sighed dreamily as she held and looked over each cover and backing.

“Yeah, well. You mentioned you’d wanted to read it.” Bucky smirked, catching a glint in her eyes. He did not want to get his hopes up, but he loved that little glint.

“You’re such a sweetie. Thank you.” Getting out of her seat, she went across to his section of the booth and wrapped him in a hug. Bucky pressed his nose into her hair, enjoying the comforting feeling of her embrace.

She sat back after a moment, and looked over her books again. “I still can’t believe you got me the entire set. All I got you was a single book.”

“Hey,” he shook her lightly, “don’t do that. I love this single book. However…”

At this she perked up. “However?”

“Maybe, you’d be able to get me one more Christmas present that’s been on my wishlist,” came Bucky’s ask, albeit very hesitantly.

“What is it?”

“Would you wanna go on a date with me?”

A second of utter silence passed between them. So long that Bucky was genuinely about to retract his statement, chalking it up to a joke. A very lame joke.

“I’d love to.” She muttered, dropping her eyes down to the shirt covering his chest. James breathed a sigh of relief.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Nervous chuckles passed between the two of them as they took in the situation at hand.

“Okay, then.” Bucky threw his arm over her shoulder and pulled her in closer. He pressed a kiss to her hair as he basked in the triumph of the moment. Totally worth it in his book.

[alaydabug2]

Secret Santa 2024

Run by @song-tam

This is my secret Santa project for my lovely cognate @wow-youre-so-pretty !

I have absolutely zero idea how I got you for it, but I had so much fun writing this!

Ngl motivation was so low it was playing limbo with the devil at first but then it finally started rolling

*cough* over 3500 word count *cough* 👀

Ummmm.... I was struggling really hard tk at least get 1000 believe it or not but... yeah

I HOPE YOU ENJOY IT!!!

(FYI this will probably be the last time you ever ask me to write you angst 😅)

⚠️CONTAINS UNRAVELED SPOILERS AND SUICIDIAL IDEATION⚠️

(Keefe pov)

The eerie stillness of the emotions in the hallway spooked him. He was hoping that by the time he went back to Foxfire, the silence of emotions would go away, and he could go back to normal. However, things seemed to be taking a turn for the worse.

Hopefully, his empathy teacher would be able to help him get to the bottom of what was happening. The lack of progress he'd made on his own made him apprehensive. If he couldn't turn his empathy back on, he didn't want to know where that would spiral to.

Then, with the other developments while he was with the Forbidden Cities, he felt like he was currently falling apart. His hands were cold, and the more walls he built around the pools of energy in his mind, the more than achy feeling set in into the palms of his hands.

He sat in the chair across from Lady Velle, his mentor. She studied him for a moment before starting the lesson for the day.

Keefe kept fumbling to pretend his empathy wasn't majorly screwed up at the moment. A cold sweat trickled down his back when Lady Velle finally held up a hand to cut him off. It had been the fifth one in a row he got wrong. Only one he had gotten correct, and that was truly just because of a lucky guess.

"What's going on with you, Keefe?" She asked. "You're usually spectacular at this."

He debated how much to say. After a couple of breaths, he said, "Say, hypothetically, an empath shut off their ability, and couldn't turn it back on. What could that empath do to get it back on?"

Lady Velle crossed her arms. He shifted his gaze away from hers.

"Hypothetically, that would be impossible," she informed him. "Abilities can't be shut off once their triggered."

"Ok. But hypothetically, what if someone did?"

She stepped closer, brushing her thumb across the back of his hand and furrowing her brows. Keefe tensed up, afraid his mental blocking might not be enough to keep from something awful happening when she touched his hand.

"Your emotions are difficult to decipher," Lady Velle murmured. "But there's a lot of uncertainty. And fear. How did you do this to yourself?"

Keefe wrapped his arms around himself, unsure of how much he should tell her.

"The human emotions, they were too much for my empathy. So, I tried to visualize a switch connected to all the emotions and shut it off. Part of the string connected to them were tangled, so I unraveled it. I haven't been able to feel emotions, even with contact, since."

Lady Velle leaned on the wall and sighed. "That... is a first I've heard of, to be honest. Quite a talent, I'll admit. But have you tried flipping the switch back on?"

He scoffed. Of course he tried flipping it back on! He gave his mentor a quick nod.

"Have you tried retangling the threads?"

He had... not. He shook his head.

"Try it," she urged.

Keefe closed his eyes. He went back to the giant switch in the back of his consciousness. The strings attached were straight and in uniform, side by side.

He tried to mix them together. Tried to intertwine them. Didn't work. Had he really shut off his empathy for good?

He opened his eyes back up. "Nothing."

"There was something else when I read your emotions," Lady Velle said. "Dread. Almost like you're afraid of your empathy. Like you subconsciously don't want it. Why is that? Because that could be all the difference to turning it back on."

Keefe shrugged. He wasn't willing to let slip that much. Besides, it wasn't just his empathy he dreaded with all the other crap he'd been putting up with. Some of which weren't his right to tell.

Lady Velle looked out the window. She started to speak, but the chimes of session ending cut her off.

"Never mind," she muttered. "We'll continue this Thursday. Go to lunch."

Keefe grabbed his satchel and hurried out the door. Saved by the bell. Big time. He'd ditch Thursday. He didn't want his mentor prying further into the rabbit hole that was his life.

He went through the line and sat down at the table beside Sophie. It felt like all eyes on him. He was suddenly glad not to feel their questions buzzing through the air. It, however, didn't take away the weight of their glares.

Sophie could see the way he shifted in his seat. He kept his eyes downcast from the others. After everything that happened, he didn't feel a part of his friends anymore. He felt like an outcast. Maybe he should have just stayed in the Forbidden Cities with Alvar.

Keefe could have been eating pancakes right now. Instead, he was back at the place of horrid memories. Especially when he accidentally caught Dex's eye.

He wanted to make a joke to lighten things up. But now that he couldn't read anyone anymore, he was afraid of making jt worse. And when he opened his mouth to risk it, his tongue was dry. He couldn't make himself to it.

He could feel himself cracking. Too many pairs of eyes were staring straight through his soul. He felt himself shaking. His breath quickened.

Keefe truly thought he was ready to go back to Foxfire. He hoped getting back in his sessions would help him make sense of everything happening with his abilities.

He hoped being back with his friends would boost his morall and give him more motivation. No. The opposite effect was occurring. All of them staring at him like he was an alien creature made him realize how much him running away affected him. His friendships. His perception of life. The awful things he couldn't let slip. Not Alvar. Not Eleanor. Not his new healing ability.

He had never felt so outcasted. Not even his first few months at Foxfire, before the Great Gulon Incident that earned him his street cred. At least then he had Fitz. Not that he'd ever admit it out loud, for a while, they were the weird kids in the level.

This felt like a deeper kind of isolation.

One where he didn't know if there was a way out. One if he even thought living on to see another day was worth it. With the mixture of hopeless doom spiraling him into a darker head space and his mother's plans for him. He was genuinely considering the unthinkable.

The only thing stopping him was not having the stomach to do it himself. Sure, he was better with violence than most other elves. But taking his life with his own hand was too much. As much as everything hurt. As much as he couldn't stand to stay on this hopeless planet anymore. The thought made his nauseous and dizzy.

Keefe shook out of his dark train of thought when Jensj across the table told him, "Long time no see." A grin. "Glad to have you back!"

Keefe plastered wobbly, unconvincing smile onto his face. "Glad to be back," he lied.

Since when had Jensi been back sitting with them? Every time he thought he knew how much time had passed since being at school last, he was proven wrong once more. How much did he miss?

Keefe followed along the conversation best he could, more things he didn't understand being brought up, reminding him of how far left behind he was. He tried to stay out of the conversation.

That was until Jensi asked him, "Hey, Keefe, could you please pass me a napkin?"

Keefe glanced beside him to where the little black napkin dispenser was. "Uh, yeah, sure."

He stretched his arm across the table. But as he passed the napkin, their fingers brushed. Keefe froze.

No. No, no, no, no. No!

Keefe had built thick mental walls to keep this from happening. Why else did his hands feel so freezing cold it ached?

But it was unmistakable. The empty hollow feeling of someone who would never manifest. Of someone who was talentless.

He never wanted to feel that ever again in his life. But now, he had. And he felt sick.

He didn't even know whether Jensi had manifested or not yet. Now, here he was, with the knowledge that He. Never. Would.

Another burden on his shoulders. Another secret to carry. Another straw on the camel's back.

It was too much.

Dex gave him a look, sensing the wild look in his eyes. The quick nod Keefe gave in response said it all. Dex's face dropped.

Keefe was shaking. He excused himself to the bathroom and ran off into the hallway. He slid back against the locker and placed his head between his knees. Breaths came quick and short

Not again. Not again!

Another life he had ruined. Was he supposed to tell Jensi? How was he supposed to do that?

Jensi was close to the manifesting cut-off age. Could Keefe pretend to not know until he inevitably finds out. Did he already know?

Probably not. If so, he likely would have been kicked out of Foxfire already.

If it's going to happen anyway, would it be cruel to keep it from him? It's not like with Rex, who had years of hope left. Jensi was very well close to the age where, if you haven't manifested, they weed you out of the system.

Should Keefe rip off the bandage for him?

Keefe clutched his hair. Tears finally escaped. This was a nightmare. He couldn't deal with this. He didn't want to be the one deciding someone's fate.

He wanted- needed -it to end.

Maybe Ro left some lethal microbes back at the Shores of Solace. That mixed with a sedative would make it bearable.

Steps echoed through the empty hall. Keefe didn't have the willpower to pull himself together. He already decided he wouldn't be here much longer.

"Keefe?"

Keefe whipped his head up to meet Dex's eyes.

"It's not your fault." Dex sat beside him. "It's still going to end the same way if you hadn't found out."

Keefe sat on that for a second. "I have to tell him," he whispered.

"No, you don't," Dex assured him. "Sometimes oblivion is better."

"He's already to where they can take him out of Foxfire. If that's going to happen, I don't want him to think, 'What if?', you know."

Dex didn't speak for a moment. "I suppose you have a point. But are you sure you want him to know about your ability?"

"Not really. But... he deserves this more than I deserve privacy."

"I'm pretty confident that, if you ask him to, he won't say anything to anyone about your ability."

"You think?"

Dex pondered for a second longer. "I believe so. Question is, when do you want to do this?"

Keefe thought of his little microbe plan. "As soon as possible."

"So today or tomorrow?"

"That would work."

"If you want, I can be there when you tell him," Dex offered.

Keefe shook his head. "This is something that I need to do alone. I won't say anything about your brother in case you're worried about it."

"If you're sure he truly won't say anything, you can tell him about Rex if it helps soften the blow."

Keefe nodded. He dried his eyes before leaning his head back against the locker.

"Do you plan on heading back to lunch?" Dex asked.

"No. You can head back, though. I'll be fine here."

"Nah." Dex pulled his knees into his chest and wrapped his arms around his legs. "I think I'll stay."

Keefe closed his eyes, wishing he was a telepath so he could give Dex a silent thank you. Instead he settled for trying to gather his thoughts in the quiet of the hallway, grateful to not feel totally alone.

The next day, Keefe waited in the same hall during lunch. He had asked Jensi during orientation to meet him there to talk.

The sound of someone heading down the tiled floor had his heart skip a beat. The curly headed boy appeared from around the corner.

"Sooo," Jensi drawled out the word. "What did you want to talk about?"

Keefe's mind drew a blank. He was regretting deciding to this plan.

"I wanted to talk about... ability detecting! How's it going?"

"Ability detecting?" Jensi asked. "That's what you wanted to talk to me in private about? If that's it we can talk about that at the lunch table." He turned to go back from where he came. "Cause I'm hungry."

"Wait!" Keefe squeezed his eyes shut. "It's not just about ability detecting. Has anyone told you about me manifesting a new ability yet?"

Jensi turned back around. "Kind of. They've mentioned it. But it was always vague, so I don't know what it is."

"Yeah... about that." Keefe's heart pounded against his ribs as a warning. "I can tell what people will manifest. And trigger it."

Jensi's eyes widened. "You can?" He got an overly giddy grin on his face. "Are you going to do that for me?"

Keefe needed to choose his next few words very carefully.

"I already did. Yesterday when I passed you the napkin."

Jensi tilted his head. "You did? When will it kick in? Is that why you left lunch? Does it take a toll on you or something?"

Keefe closed his eyes and swallowed. "You could say that. And... it's usually overnight when it kicks in."

Jensi furrowed his brows and studied his hands. "I don't feel any different. What was it?"

Keefe leaned against one of the lockers for support. He could already feel his knees shaking.

"Yeah. Before I tell you this text bit, can you promise me to keep this a secret? My ability can be mentioned at the lunch table. But this... you can't tell anyone. I got permission to tell you this as long as you can keep quiet. Can you do that?"

Jensi nodded.

"Ok," Keefe continued. "Yesterday, when I touched your hand, it felt... hallow. Empty. I've felt this twice before that. When I touched Rex's hand.... and Kesler's."

"But... Kesler never manifested."

"I know."

"But Rex..."

"I know."

Realization set heavy into Jensi's usually happy demeanor. He bit his lip hard.

"So your telling me... I'm talentless?"

"I'm so sorry. I wish I knew how to control this ability, and I thought I did, but-"

"It's ok," Jensi cut Keefe of from his downward spiral. His chin wobble. "I... had a feeling this was coming. Usually if you haven't manifested by level four, your not going to. I've just been waiting for them to finally give up on me and pull my classes."

Keefe nodded solemnly.

"I'm gonna head to lunch," Jensi told him. Keefe could feel the broken truth in his eyes even with his empathy screwed. "Are you coming?"

Keefe chewed his lip. "I'll be there in bit. You go ahead, I'll meet you there."

Jensi nodded and took a breath before heading back down to the lunch room.

Keefe went into the bathroom. He splashed his face with water. When he looked back at his reflection in the mirror, he could hardly recognize himself.

He was sixteen. But the heavy bags under his slightly crazed eyes mixed with his unusual palor made him look like an ancient. When he ran a hand through his hair to try and refresh its usual fluffynes, he half expected sharp points on his ears to poke through the blonde.

This wasn't a life he wanted to live.

He'd go straight to the Shores of Solace after school to look through the remainder of Ro's microbe stash, he'd decided. He already knew there was slumberry tea in the kitchen. He'd go out to the patio on the swing out by the ocean, somewhere quiet and peaceful, and do it there.

The end of the day rolled around. Keefe tried his best to separate from his friends to get to the leap master alone. Just when he thought he was in the clear, Sophie seemed to have materialized behind him.

"Keefe, where you going?" She asked him.

"I'm just going to get something from my dad's," he responded a little too quickly.

Foster's face fell. "You're not... leaving again, are you?"

She thought he was running away again. But... it was better for her to think that. She'd never let him out of her sight if she knew what he was planning to do. She cared for him. Way more than he knew he deserved. This was just another way he was letting her down.

Was he selfish for this?

Maybe.

But he wanted nothing to with his mom's plan. And he wanted nothing to do with these abilities. All of the secrets he was keeping from his friends would die with him.

This would be the one smart move he'd make in this game of life and death.

Making sure none of the information he had would live on and had the chance of slipping free. Making sure no more people's lives were ruined.

"I'll be back." Keefe leaned down and kissed her forehead, taking a moment to drink in her warmth as she wrapped her arms around him. "Promise."

A lie.

Like all of the other things he told her after coming back home. What was new.

But he found peace in knowing it would be last one he'd ever tell her.

One more thing bubbled in the back of his mind. One thing, if he didn't know what he was about to do, he would probably come to regret.

"I love you, Sophie." He closed his eyes, too afraid to see the look on her face.

"Keefe," her almost angelic voice rang out. Her hand ruffled through his hair, eventually coaxing his eyes open.

Her's were filled with tears.

"Please don't go again," she begged. "We're supposed to be team, remember?"

Her hand moved from his hair to cupping the side of his face. He couldn't help but lean into her touch, resting his hand atop hers.

"I have to go." Tears quickly welled in his eyes. When he blinked, they slid down his cheeks. "I'm sorry."

Sophie brushed them away with her thumb. She closed her eyes for a couple moments. Her eyebrows scrunched together.

When she opened them back up, they were almost pleading. "Come to Havenfeild. Just for the night. To make a plan. To help you pack." She paused for a breath, a fresh batch of tears brewing in her gorgeous gold flecked eyes. "Please?"

Keefe swallowed. "Ok."

He'd go through the motions. And then he could get back with his original plan.

Foster hooked her arm through his, pulling him into the beam of light to Havenfeild. As soon as they glittered into the pastures, Sophie turned and tackled him with a bone crushing hug.

"Keefe Sencen, I swear," she warned, "If you kill yourself I am going to murder you."

Keefe's jaw went slack. "How did you-"

"I read your mind," she admitted. She pulled back to look him straight in the eyes, keeping a firm, almost painful, grip on both his biceps to keep him from twisting from her grip. "I'm sorry, I truly am, but I had a feeling I needed to. And I'm glad I did."

She threw her arms around his neck, pulling him down. "People care about you, Keefe. I love you," she whispered.

Keefe felt his throat become thick. He had to clear it several times before answering, "But that isn't why I'm doing this." He tried to pull away. "This is because of my abilities."

Sophie yanked him right on back down to her. She cradled his head down on her shoulder. Resigning to his predicimen, he buried his face into her neck. He inhaled the soft scent of her panakes perfume, giving him flashbacks to the clearing in The Grove. It only succeeded in making his heart heavy.

"We'll figure something out. I promise," she whispered.

"And how many people will I hurt in the meantime? I can't do this anymore, Foster," his voice cracked. The pitiful sound made way for the gut wrenching sobs that wracked his body. "I! Can't! Do! This! Ok?"

Sophie held him tighter to her. She carefully lowered them down to the soft grass. She kissed his shoulder.

His own cries of mental anguish drowned out any of the other noises of the world. Slowly the sobs slowed into hiccups and whimpered. However, not by his own accord.

Soon a warmth filled it's place. Like the crackling of a fire on a cold winter night. Brightening up the chilling darkness. Comforting his aching soul.

Was Sophie... inflicting on him? Positive emotions, that is.

She untangled herself from him to look him in his icy blue eyes. "Hey. Can you talk to me now?"

He wiped at his eyes, nodding.

"Swear to me, Keefe. Swear to me that you won't even consider doing that again before talking to me. Before we can actually come up with a plan to help you."

He looked away, ashamed with his awnser. "I can't-"

"No, Keefe!" She snapped, startling him with her tone. "Swear. Swear on Silveny's life!"

Keefe squeezed his eyes shut and pursed his lips. He tried very his best to mean it when he awnsered, "I swear."

He'd try. He'd try his absolute hardest. For her. She deserved that much.

She must've been able to tell he meant it. That or she was reading his mind again. Either way, she pulled his face closer and kissed him. He melted at her touch.

This. This feeling was worth living for. If nothing else, this.

This amazing girl in front of him cared for him like no other person did. He'd do everything in his power to fight off the dark thoughts deep in his head.

For Sophie.

She finally broke away. She studied him for a minute.

"Come on," she told him. "Let's go inside and get comfortable. There should still be some mallowmelt left if I recall."

Keefe pulled himself to his feet and started to follow her in. Just as they entered the threshold, she turned back and smiled at him.

"It will be ok," she whispered.

And funny enough, he believed it.

[maluuustrawberry]

Hey did you finish Undesirable Encounter Part 2 Ty 🥰🥰

Undesirable encounter

Part.2 (Claude Frollo X Reader)

A/N: Hi dear, sorry for the delay, I said I would do it hehehe. I wanted to thank you readers for your support and I didn't expect the first part to get so many views (I'm surprised, almost 500 notes) and a lot of people asked me for the sequel so I do. I did it with my best friend @thefanofnotredame, I hope you like it❤️. {If you haven't seen part one, it's here}

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It was morning, around 8 or 9 o'clock. You were already awake, but in your room. It was hard to stop thinking about the judge's fateful and unwelcome appearance in your store. As you sat in front of the window in a wooden chair, you sipped a hot drink in front of the only light in your room, which was white and dramatic, melancholy.

What made you think even more about the whole situation was the fact that tonight you were supposed to go to the palace of justice and deliver the damn cloak and pair of gloves to Frollo in person. The whole thing was uncomfortable, almost dark. Just thinking about that man's touch on your hands again... Argh! How horrible. But at the same time, there was something very... peculiar about the look in his eyes from before. That look that touched you - almost literally - with all that malice; it was almost a trap for something that, suddenly, in front of your bedroom window, began to attract you very much, almost like hypnosis.

Realizing that you were already too absorbed in your own thoughts and near delusions, you quickly shook your head and left the window, heading for your closet so you could change your clothes.

At the same time as this was happening, on the other side of town, the judge was in his palace of justice and completely isolated in his office. No guards entered or left where he was. He walked from side to side, looking like he was going to go mad at any moment. He wasn't even wearing his judge's clothes, just a baggy white shirt with brown pants, which stuck to his legs, and black shoes.

The judge seemed troubled by something he couldn't solve. A legal case? Criminals and murderers going wild in the streets of La Cité? No, it was something else. It was a person who kept him awake.

After meeting that seamstress for the first time, he couldn't stop seeing her in his dreams, his morning thoughts or even his everyday actions. He felt that she was following him in everything he did.

How? How could a woman of such a low class, compared to his own, bewitch the man of God? He looked out of the window at the grayish-white light and wondered: How could he, the judge who had humiliated her, look her in the eye again? Was he the one who was being embarrassing or was he the one getting embarrassed by the way the young woman looked? Everything - all those questions drove him crazy. He wanted to isolate himself from all these thoughts, because he knew that God could easily hear them at any time.

Frollo really had to do something about all those feelings. He couldn't get rid of them, either by shouting at the guards or by making a cruel judgment on some criminal. "God, what has this woman done to me?" the man asked himself, distressed and sitting down in the chair in front of his desk in his elegant office.

Suddenly, someone knocked on his door.

“Come in.” The judge answered, giving the person permission to enter his office, putting his arms on the table and placing a hand on his forehead, almost rolling his eyes with hatred.

One of his guards poked his head into the office, spying on the judge for a few seconds and then entering the office completely, closing the door behind him. The guard looked nervous, worried, but maybe it was just the way this place and the judge made him feel:

“Speak up. What happened?” Frollo asked, looking at the guard.

“Sir, we've already dealt with the problem.”

“What problem?” He asked, distracted and staring at the table with old paperwork and a pot of ink with an exaggeratedly large black quill.

“The problem, sir. With that bandit from a few days ago. He confessed that he stole a lot more than we thought, can you believe it? Jewelry, shoes.”

“Yes, and?” He lifted a sheet of paper from the pile, looking at some words. With that answer, the guard was startled.

“...what do you mean, sir?” The guard asked, almost in shock. “We've been trying to get a word out of this thug for days! He's so strong.”

“Are you finished?”

When the judge cut off the guard's speech in such a rude way, he raised his head at him with a very annoyed expression, as if he hadn't wanted to hear a word the young man had said:

“I don't care about this guy anymore. He's given us enough trouble. Throw him with those rabble of prisoners, tramps and criminals! Let's have a trial with him another day.” Rolling his eyes at the papers again, he pulled out one of the sheets and read it. He showed no real interest on it, not a single one, and the guard realized this quickly, frowning downwards.

“Sir, is something wrong?”

“Hm?” He moved his head to look at the guard, totally inattentive and with his mind on something else.

“You seem... I don't know... discouraged? We were too focused on the bandit issue.”

“I just lost interest, I have more important things to worry about.” The judge replied dryly and sighed. “I'll be receiving a seamstress tonight at the palace of justice, stay tuned and let me know if she arrives.”

“Oh, yes, the seamstress... as far as she's concerned, we didn't hear from her this morning. So, just to be on the safe side, we'll check on her later, since the delivery won't be until the evening. What do you think, sir?”

In the blink of an eye, the judge raised his head to look at the guard, almost as fast as a drop. He widened his eyes and almost let his mouth open wider than it should have, just for finally being able to talk about that subject that had only been stuck in his head and that was finally hanging over their conversation. "Oh, what a relief!", thought the older man to himself:

“I think it's very good, lieutenant.” He said, already with a slightly shrewd and debauched expression, arranging his arms on the table and placing an elbow against the surface near the papers, putting a hand under his chin, holding his head. “Well, you remember that she was suspected of helping and harboring those gypsies, don't you?”

“Yes, sir…”

“When you go there, keep an eye out if you happen to see any gypsies in that store. Make sure she's actually doing something good, because I don't want her to cheat me, or even try to.”

“But why would a mere seamstress have bad intentions towards you?”

Suddenly, Frollo cast a very threatening glance at the guard, slowly getting up from his chair and resting his hands on the table:

“You're not thinking of denying my order, are you?”

“B-But, sir, I…”

“Are you?”

The guard, his eyes wide with fear, began to stutter and placed part of his hand against his forehead, making a sign of obedience to an order:

“I'm not, sir!” He spoke, almost fearing for his life and looking up so as not to have his soul ripped out by his eyes.

“Good…” The judge sat down as if it were nothing and looked at the rest of the paperwork. “Go and see the girl and bring me news. I want it to be quick and brief, unless you want to join the bandit in being tortured too.”

“Y-Yes, sir…”

“Oh! You want that?...” The evil man cut the guard off abruptly, mocking his nervousness with an evil smile, while still looking at the papers and the table.

“I-I don't want to, sir, I mean...I...I'm going”

The poor man, practically submissive in his position, left the judge's office in almost the blink of an eye, afraid of being sentenced right there.

Even though the judge delighted in such agony coming from a 'little man' like the one in front of him a few seconds ago, he slowly wiped the smile off his face, because the image of the lady sewing appeared in his mind again. "What a curse, what torture! She must be a witch, that's for sure. That woman can't get out of my head, she's like a needle stuck in my skull!"

And so it went with the man, slowly becoming anguished inside every time he thought of the beautiful seamstress. In the blink of an eye, it was afternoon.

The seamstress kept moving around and always ended up bumping into one place or another, injuring herself on her frames and arms. All this was happening because she was so anxious, even if it was only to make a pair of gloves and a cape. After many restless minutes, you finally sat down to sew:

“Damn judge, damn man... he could ask for these things anywhere else, but no! He wants to torture me, to punish me with his hypocritical, petty, mean 'justice'!” The seamstress complained nervously as she touched up the fingertips of the glove.

Suddenly, you began to feel watched, so you decided to look up and were startled: a guard, not at all discreetly, was watching you through the window pane. It was the usual clumsy man, of course, but the fact that he was - of course - directly sent by Frollo made your blood bubble even more. Since you couldn't take your anger out on the man, you looked down after a few seconds and gritted your teeth with your mouth closed, but with your lips visibly curved, showing that you weren't happy at all.

It also made you a little tense and one of the reasons was that a gypsy woman was hiding with her daughter in the basement of your store, if they came out of there now, that would be it, but on the one hand you were a little relieved that they came before the guard arrived and stared at you at the door. It seems that Frollo knew what you were up to.

The poor woman was fighting against time. As she passed the thread and needle through the fabrics, she didn't realize that it was - almost literally - going by faster than the day. Even with blood, sweat and hatred, she finished her work and let out a great sigh, taking the air into her lungs as if it was the first time she had done this all day.

When you raised your head, to your surprise, it was still late. The sun was still setting and the sky was slowly losing its reddish hue. Ah, that was enough to blow your mind.

“... I can't believe it.” You said, almost without blinking and with a look of disbelief at the situation, looking sideways and putting a hand to your forehead. “My God... how? It can't be!”

Good. Now you had to wait until the evening. Of course, it would be just as bad if you ended things at short notice, but... waiting anxiously for that meeting with the man to happen was torture. Since when are you punished for beating the clock?

“DAMN!” You shouted, groaning in anguish and getting away from your desk to go somewhere else. “If he doesn't ask for me to be picked up with his carriage, he's going to hear some good shit! Sending some little guy to put pressure on me?! Well, how inconsiderate…”

And you kept talking as you paced back and forth as soon as you stood up, but you realized that time wasn't going to go any faster if you kept muttering your discontent. You had to calm down or you'd go mad. The seamstress decided to make herself a cup of tea in an attempt to calm her nerves and read a book so that time would pass more quickly.

*****

Night fell. The streets were dark; along with the curfew that had begun to apply earlier in the day in the city. As expected, no carriages passed your store. Well, what a surprise, huh?

Before the curfew started, the Romani woman and her daughter said they were going out, you insisted that they stay and come back to the Court of Miracles only in the morning, but they didn't want to bother you, so, to be safer, you recommended that they go out the back.

The seamstress was sorting out the judge's gloves and cape. After that, being a vain woman, you meticulously checked in your mirror that you looked good, that your dress fit you well and that your hairstyle was impeccable. Why this excessive concern? You didn't know, you had no idea.

Draping a shawl over your shoulders, you left your store and began the lonely walk to the palace of justice with the package. The cold evening breeze touched your face, the beginning of winter in Paris. Walking through the streets, you could see the stores and markets closing and residents heading for their homes, respecting the curfew while guards stood on every street corner, ready to arrest anyone who was bold enough to break the judge's rule.

Little did the seamstress know that, from afar, Claude Frollo was staring at her from one of the tower windows of his comfortable office, while you had to walk to where the man was. Poor woman, isn't she? Covering herself with a shawl so desperately not to be seen... wait. A shawl? Oh. Oh, my goodness.

When the man realized that you were wearing something to cover your bust and shoulders, he widened his eyes and walked backwards in surprise, but then began to make a serious, fearful expression. His mind started having those thoughts again, those unconscious and absurd thoughts.

With each passing second of waiting, the judge felt as if his self-control was going to fail him at any moment and almost threw himself into the chair behind his desk as he sat down, trapped in his sinful reverie. His body suddenly began to heat up, irritation gradually took hold of him and he regained his composure.

Finally, the girl reached the gates of the Palace of Justice. The guards who were there soon saw her:

“Is this in your hands the order of Judge Claude Frollo?” One of the tall men asked.

“Yes, he said to meet him now.”

“Very good.” He replied.

The men opened the doors of the place and you entered, almost quickly, making the men close the door faster than usual too, with his hands still on the thick iron rods. At that moment, they looked at each other and made a strange expression, with their faces a little closer:

“Is that pretty girl the seamstress?” The guard on the left asked, almost whispering.

“Yes, she's really pretty. But I didn't know that women could run their own business without their husband's supervision.” replied the one on the right, causing the one on the left to make a slightly annoyed expression.

“Yeah... I don't even know if they can, not like that. The crazy judge must have made her do something for him on purpose, just to embarrass her.”

While the men gossiped about the strange situation, you walked around the place with a somewhat cowed look on your face. The place seemed too gloomy to be focused on justice, almost like a gloomy marquis' castle, full of guards and torches in every corner. You looked up and the ceiling was higher than that of any house or mansion, and the colors were too dark to distinguish at that time. The seamstress began to walk faster and arrived at the judge's office. Anger gradually overcame you at the knowledge that you would have to see this man's face again and you regained your posture, taking a deep breath and knocking on the door, then hearing that authoritative, harsh voice you knew all too well saying "Come in"

If it wasn't already clear enough that night fell faster than a stone before, it would be even more so now, precisely because of the moonbeams invading the man's office, his face being the first thing you could see. When you entered the office and closed the large wooden door behind you, you could see the place around you better and even noticed a small fireplace burning in the corner of the room:

“Good evening, sir.” You said seriously, trying not to be nervous, but it was a little obvious, and you couldn't let go of the delivery in your sweat-damp hands.

Frollo simply looked at you without changing his cold expression. After watching you arrive through the window, he quickly changed and put on only his big judge's cloak over his ordinary ones.

“Finally.”

He slowly got up from his chair and put one hand on the table, leaning on it and stepping out from behind it, putting his arms behind him. You put the bag with the delivery on his desk, without looking at his face:

“Since I didn't take your measurements, I ended up using a previous client's size just for a base, but I can correct it if it doesn't fit.”

“Well, but, seamstress…” The judge quickly countered, in a false and mocking tone just to bother you. “How am I supposed to know, or rather feel, that this is the right size? My fingers aren't like any other man's…”

“By putting them on.” You answered in a tone as if you were stating the obvious, your gaze going to him now as you held the long cape.

With that answer, he made an offended expression for a second, but quickly rolled his eyes and closed them, taking a deep breath. As if nothing was wrong, he walked towards her and stood in front of her, looking haughty.

“Be brief. Let's see the package I ordered.”

The woman had to hold back the urge to roll her eyes in disgust at his haughty air of superiority. You showed him the cape, he could see a little of it from the fireplace:

“I made it from the pattern that would look best on you, in my opinion.” The cape seemed to be made of two fabrics, burgundy on the inside and black on the outside.

The man looked closely at the cape, even took it in his hands and brushed his fingers against your for a brief second, coughing in a discreet and slightly embarrassed way, a little electricity and adrenaline coursing through his body at the slightest touch, which, deep down, he craved. He disguised it:

“Not bad. Silk?”

“Yes, sir…” You nodded. “Can you turn around, please?” He was a little suspicious of your request and you held back a sigh. You couldn't believe that you had to explain everything to him. “To see if the size is correct.”

“That's fine.” He said irreverently.

As he turned, Frollo felt the girl's delicate hands brushing against his skin again, but this time on his neck - which made him clench his jaw as he closed his eyes. He didn't know if it was a common agony at being touched by commoners or if it was something beyond his own self-centeredness. And yet, the seamstress had no idea what her touch was doing to him, after all, she was only being professional:

“Is the length good, or would you prefer it shorter?” You asked, breaking the silence.

“It's perfect.” He answered quickly, as if he was going to have a fit.

You then removed your hands from around his neck and shoulders, folding the cloak and placing it on the table. Frollo could still feel the small flaming trail of the girl's hand on his body, which made him miss it a little and yearn for more. When he turned around, the seamstress was taking the black gloves out of the bag and he immediately held out his left hand to you, who found this strange since he could put them on by himself.

"Look at that." you thought a little annoyed as you put the glove on his hand. "He's so inconvenient... how can he be? He wants me to act like his maid, doesn't he? Do you think I'm honored to serve you? Idiot judge..."

“So, sir?” You asked, turning your gaze to his and pretending to look calm “Are you satisfied?”

“With what?” He asked, slightly startled and almost wide-eyed.

“...with the gloves and the cape, sir.” You answered, confused by his reaction and holding your hands together, your arms against your hips in a formal way. You even blinked a little, trying to understand the situation.

“Oh, yes. They're suitable…”

He answered in such a strange way that it only made the seamstress think that he wasn't in the best condition to be seen at that moment, as if he was bothered by your presence or even that he didn't really like your delivery at all. You didn't care, but deep down you were worried about something, you felt bad and it wasn't just because of the energy of the palace of justice or the man in front of you:

“I think it's over here. The value was eight pieces of silver.”

“Before you go, seamstress, I want to clarify a few things...”

Frollo spoke as he moved away from you, going to the door and turning the key in the lock. You watched this action and a shiver ran down your spine, your body frozen with fear and anxiety. By instinct, you took a step backwards and your hips ended up resting on the edge of the table, trapping you:

“Do you think you can outsmart me?” He put his hands together as soon as he closed the door, approaching you but standing at a ‘respectable’ distance.

“What are you talking about?”

“You know very well what I'm talking about, seamstress.” He spoke with hatred in his eyes.

“This Romani business again?” You asked, defensively and looking him up and down in disbelief. He couldn't have found out... “I told you I didn't help anyone and you searched my store.”

The older man didn't hold back his laughter when he saw you insisting on the lie. He had you trapped now, like a fly caught in a spider's web with no way out. He continued:

“You're a brazen viper…”

“Your Honor, despite your position, I will not accept being called that. If you want to have a normal conversation with me, at least be respectful.”

This took him by surprise. He hated that boldness, especially coming from a commoner like you - who had defied him before. His blood boiled with both hatred and lust as he recalled the moment before the first time he had been in your store, remembering how defiant you had been, but also your hands touching at that moment. Out of anger, Frollo stepped closer, taking heavy steps and cornered you, resting his hands on the table on either side of you. Your breath caught in your throat and you opened your eyes wide in fear and surprise:

“You're the one who owes me respect here, and don't change the subject. I sent one of my men to your store and received news that didn't leave me stunned: Two gypsies coming out of the back of your store... what do you have to say about that?”

It shocked you. You've been found out. Fucking guard...

Your heartbeat was racing from the truth being discovered and the proximity of the man, which caused you fear, nervousness and anxiety, leaving your legs weak. Claude laughed a little when he saw her silence and her expression and continued:

“It's a shame to see you lying and risking your life to save that gypsy scum who doesn't deserve such kindness…”

“Get away!” You murmured a little frightened and he didn't move, overwhelmed by hatred and the little lust present.

“Viper sorceress... What do you have to say about it? What's your defense?”

You put your hands on his chest, preventing him from coming any closer. He practically spat those words out of the hatred he felt for being tricked. With your movement, the shawl on your shoulders came down a little, the judge's heart pounded and he swallowed dry at the sight in front of him. As frightened as you were, you noticed that look on yout shoulders and that expression of disgust, but at the same time so lascivious... Then you realized something in his previous words that made you confused:

“Sorceress? Why are you accusing me of witchcraft? What evidence do you have against that?” You asked in a defiant and angry tone.

“There's no point in denying your crimes!”

“I'm not denying it, I'm not denying that I lied! And yes, I tried to save those Romanis, but I won't accept false accusations of witchcraft... What proof do you have against me? Tell me!”

The man froze. He just stared at you as if you were something that frightened him, or even something that he just wanted to touch. He looked as if he was going to pounce on the seamstress at any moment, as if she were prey. That animalistic feeling grew inside him even more under the moonlight and the light of the fireplace, the two of them staring at each other as if any false move would end in disaster.

Suddenly, the judge looked down in a reflective manner, his gaze almost trembling, while the sound of the wood burning became deafening and the flame that burned it seemed to be less warm than the sensation they both felt in their bodies, heating them up with adrenaline. He muttered something, but you couldn't hear it, which annoyed you a little and you asked seriously:

“What did you say? Speak loud and clear, what have you got against me?!”

“You've bewitched me!” He vociferated with hatred in his voice, and continued. “You've made me, a man of God, desire you as you've never desired anyone. The love of a convict!”

You were both silent for a few seconds, weighed down by the weight of your emotions, you stunned and he foolish:

“I don't know what kind of witchcraft you've done, seamstress, but you're driving me crazy. I've been thinking about you from the moment I laid eyes on you... and your shoulders... and your hands...” He turned a little to the side, looking at his hands gleaming in the firelight. “... So lacking in discipline and obedience, so blatantly... How could that attract me? It felt like a thousand demons were attacking me, with visions of a woman flashing through my mind and my eyes, and this woman… was you.”

He looked at the reddish fire in the fireplace with a little difficulty, intense. A reflection of his repressed emotions being exposed, in the midst of a chaos that could no longer be controlled. You were in shock. A shock so tremendous that you were speechless at such accusations, your heart racing like the judge in front of you, you felt hatred, but also pity... why?

You came out of your thoughts when you felt his hand in contact with yours that was resting on the table, squeezing it as if you were some kind of possession of his and his thumb caressing the back of your hand:

“But I can forgive you for this crime and pretend that nothing happened…”

He whispered close to your ear, his warm breath in contact with your neck making you shiver. Because he was so close, Frollo could smell the perfume on your neck. You asked, challenging him:

“And who are you to think that your forgiveness is so important to me? God, by any chance?”

With that answer, anger took over the judge's body and he gripped your chin tightly, forcing you to look at him, who had fire in his eyes. His fingers squeezed your cheeks:

“I swear to God, I'm going to break your arrogance, woman.”

Unexpectedly, you were surprised by a kiss on the lips before you could say anything else. Your eyes widened at the unexpected action and you tried to pull away, but he wouldn't budge; on the contrary, he pushed you harder against the table. You hated yourself for the next move…

In a second, you closed your eyes and returned the judge's kiss. Even though it was a rough, hateful kiss, it intensified, bringing out a confusing mixture of sensations. Frollo's hand, which was on your chin, slid down your face until it reached your neck, squeezing lightly, but not enough to suffocate you, so that a moan came from you. He took advantage of this moment to enter your mouth with his tongue, exploring it. An uncontrollable and overwhelming desire dominated them both, and they didn't care about anything else at that moment.

You broke off the kiss to catch your breath. You were confused by what had just happened and Frollo stared at every part of your face; your eyes, your slightly rosy cheeks and your beautiful expression... Frollo's hand didn't leave your neck, as if he wanted to show some kind of dominance there.

The two of you get closer and closer again, as if you were hypnotized and surrendering to lust to start another kiss. A sudden noise comes from the office door, which causes the judge to quickly let go of the woman and move away, pretending nothing has happened and his stern demeanor returning, but still with suspicion and desire present:

“Come in.” he allowed, before clearing his throat. And you quickly recovered before the door opened, straightening the skirt of your dress and draping your shawl over your shoulder.

The door opened to reveal the guard, who, upon entering, hesitated slightly as he realized that he didn't seem welcome at the moment. Even so, he insisted on saying something:

“Hello, sir… and miss.” Said the man, confused. “Am I in the way?”

“Be brief…” Frollo sighed and ran a hand through his gray hair.

The soldier looked at them both briefly with trepidation and decided to look away, trying to avoid the tension in the air.

“Well, er…” Before continuing, he coughed “I just wanted to ask your permission to start training this afternoon because we've been waiting and…”

He started babbling on about it, as well as being brief as he ordered, which irritated the judge, an irritation visible in his eyes. Frollo just nodded as if he didn't care and also seemed anxious for the guard to finish once and for all and leave. You just wanted to get rid of this embarrassing situation, you were afraid that the guard would suspect what was going on between the two of you and you wanted to get back to your store before you caused any more trouble:

“Well, since we've finished our conversation, I think I should go. Goodbye, gentlemen.” You said, bowing slightly as a gesture of respect and farewell.

Frollo was surprised by what you said and then raised his face with a different expression, as if he actually wanted you to stay, but you quickly fled the men's sight and left the judge's office, passing through the corridors that led to the exit of the palace.

As you walked down the street to your house, you were still thinking about what had just happened. You soon arrived at the store and quickly locked the door, as if you were being chased by someone, then leaned your back against the wall and brought your hand up to your lips. You'd just kissed the cruelest judge in Paris, you'd just kissed the man you hated and you'd fallen for your own hypocrisy.

Both went against their own laws. Both went against their own character. Both felt that everything was about to turn upside down. On the one hand, a judge on the verge of a moral collapse, on the other, a seamstress trapped in mortal doubt. The ending is almost as clear as glass: Grandiose changes and a drama that could end in either blood or something unacceptable to French society.

End...

[solaestial]

I'm glad you're evil too - Pinocchio-P

[starswallowingsea]

thinking of that post that's like being a picky eater as a kid just means i get to experience the joy of trying so many foods as an adult. i have some new foods planned for this week after i move including stir fried sweet and sour veggies + rice and omurice (really simple fried rice... may add veggies to it later if i like it but one step at a time). will let you guys know how it goes

[seventh-district]

tfw u finally go to make urself a dinner plate and some nasty ass man walks into the kitchen, picks up the entire serving bowl of creamed corn and puts his filthy mouth on the bowl like it’s a giant cup and tilts it straight in. multiple times. 🙃

[thekingofspin]

yk when you "I deserve it" a little too much as a way of cheering yourself up then you check your bank acc and go "I infact did not deserve this and now I feel alot worse"???

but now I have a pretty lip gloss I'm never gonna use coming tomorrow so that's a plus

and sleeping pills which are practical so technically doesn't count

and 2 new study notebooks even though I'm not finished my ones from last year but I convinced myself if I have new pretty shiny notebooks I'll be more likely to want to study (it has yet to work but we'll see)

[starsteemer]

Thinking I don't want to post art anymore