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verstappensrealwife · 9 months ago

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"Because he likes you!" - Lando Norris x Reader

[lando norris masterlist / f1 masterlist]

ʚɞ in which... lando bullies the reader, "because he likes her,". ʚɞ fluff, angst, smut. ⋆⭒˚.⋆ 2800 words ʚɞ warnings: slow burn, sex, tiny hint of carlos sainz jr x reader, sex. Reader “rewarding” Lando for winning!

-୨♡୧-

From the earliest memories of childhood, Lando Norris was a constant presence—a thorn in your side, a tormentor, a source of frustration. He revelled in teasing, in taunting, in making your life just a little bit harder. Your parents' dismissive explanation, "It's because he likes you," grated against your nerves, a feeble attempt to rationalize the torment. You did not like Lando Norris. Not at all. Not even the littlest bit. Not at all.

But hate was a strong word.

In your teenage years, Lando's torment took on a different form. The physical assaults of hair pulling and tripping you onto your face may have ceased, but the verbal jabs and the mocking laughter persisted, carving deeper wounds into your already fragile heart. It was as if he revelled in your discomfort, delighting in every opportunity to belittle and humiliate you, all under the guise of adolescent affection—a twisted notion that your parents foolishly labelled as "liking you."

Your family received the coveted invitation to his Formula One debut in Australia—an event that filled you with a conflicting mix of emotions. The pits pulsed with an electric energy, a cacophony of roaring engines and frenetic activity, cameras capturing every moment of the spectacle.

AUSTRALIA, 2019 With the guest pass draped around your neck, you navigated the bustling pits, your younger brother trailing behind you, wide-eyed with excitement. His adoration for Lando bordered on obsession, his youthful enthusiasm a stark contrast to the simmering resentment that burned within you.

Blehh!

You finally located the Orange garage, the vibrant hue catching your eye amidst the bustling chaos of the pits. With determination in your step, you made your way over, anticipation building with each stride. But as you reached out to tap the shoulder of the figure clad in orange- he was not the man you thought he was.

"Lando— Oh, hi, not Lando,"

The man before you exuded an undeniable charm, his smile lighting up his features and drawing you in despite yourself. There was an aura of confidence about him, a magnetic presence that commanded attention and left you momentarily breathless.

"Hello," he replied, his voice smooth and warm, a hint of mischief dancing in his eyes. "I could be Lando for you," he flirted, his words tinged with playful intent.

"Would rather you not, he's not my type," you quipped.

But before you could dwell on the awkwardness of the moment, your younger brother, who had been tugging on your hand impatiently, finally spoke up, his excitement palpable. "HI CARLOS!"

Carlos.

"Hi, little man." He looked down- not even noticing the young boy when you approached. "Is he...?"

"Not mine! Brother." You cleared up.

He smiled softly before turning his attention back to entertaining the 5-year-old, leaving you to absorb Lando's sudden presence with a mixture of surprise and nonchalance.

"Didn't think my biggest hater would come," Lando remarked, his hand landing on your shoulder with a familiarity that made you bristle.

"I'm not here for you," you replied with a smile, gesturing towards Carlos who stood nearby, engrossed in conversation with your brother.

"Him? Why?" Lando's skepticism was palpable.

"Well, just look at him—those eyes, that accent, not to mention those muscles," you teased, unable to resist the opportunity to indulge in some light-hearted banter.

"Okay, okay, I'll stop you right there," Lando interjected, rolling his eyes in mock exasperation. "He's not that hot," he insisted, though his tone betrayed a hint of uncertainty.

You chuckled in response. "Oh, believe me, he is," you insisted, your gaze lingering on Carlos as he interacted with your brother. "I would," you added casually, shrugging off Lando's incredulity.

"You would?" Lando's brow furrowed with genuine curiosity. "What would you do?"

Ignoring his question, you watched as your brother returned, proudly displaying Carlos' autograph adorning his shirt. "Bye, Carlos," you called out, offering a warm smile and a nearly imperceptible lip bite, to which Carlos responded in kind. Then, without sparing Lando another glance, you turned and walked away, leaving his unanswered question hanging in the air.

"WHAT WOULD YOU DO?!" his voice echoed after you, but you were already lost in the crowd, your thoughts drifting back to the captivating Spaniard you had just left behind.

After the race, as Lando jogged over to his and your families, the tension from the race began to dissipate, replaced by a mix of relief and begrudging acknowledgment. You couldn't deny his skill on the track, but that didn't mean you had to like him.

When he approached, surrounded by congratulations and well-wishes, you offered a lukewarm response, the bare minimum required to acknowledge his achievement. "Well, I mean I'm glad you didn't die?" you quipped, injecting just enough sarcasm to deflect any further attention.

Lando nodded in your direction, his own smile tempered by your evident lack of enthusiasm. You responded with a tight-lipped smile of your own, a silent reminder that while you might share the same space, any camaraderie between you remained strictly superficial.

SILVERSTONE, 2019

As Lando finished the race at Silverstone, notching an 11th place, you couldn't resist a playful jab at his performance. "Maybe one day you can get points!" you teased, your tone dripping with faux enthusiasm.

Lando's comeback was quick, his words laced with sarcasm, "Maybe one day you can stop being such a virgin." You burst into laughter, thoroughly amused by his attempt at banter, though he seemed puzzled by your reaction. His confusion only deepened when he followed your gaze to Carlos, who was nearby.

"Oh my god! Him?" Lando exclaimed, catching on to your playful insinuation.

Lando's playful challenge caught you off guard, his smirk daring you to match his boldness. "So if I DNF, you'll sleep with me?!" he quipped, his tone teasing but tinged with a hint of curiosity.

You couldn't help but roll your eyes, suppressing a laugh at his audacity. "Pfft! You do that plenty! Win first maybe?" you retorted, firing back with equal parts sass and amusement. The banter between you continued, each remark a playful exchange that danced on the line between rivalry and camaraderie, reminding you both that despite any differences, there was still room for light-hearted teasing and mutual respect.

But you still didn't like him.

MIAMI, 2024

What a mistake! Because here you were, in the Miami heat, watching Lando beat Max by 5 seconds.

Honestly, you had forgotten that deal long ago.

Lando had not. He had thought about it at every close call of winning, every podium, every late night...

You were scared for him, you didn't like him- you just didn't want to see him fail... You don't like him...

When he passed the finish line he was shouting into his radio, thanking alot of people before you heard your own name.

"...and Y/N, I hope you remember Silverstone 2019!"

People looked at you for answers but you had none.

Until he got out the car, sweaty, tired, hot– warm! Because of the heat...You didn't think he was hot.

That was when you had the answer.

Gosh... Long day ahead.

As he practically flew out of the car, his eagerness palpable, he landed amidst a bustling crowd, his body unexpectedly colliding with yours. The force of the impact nearly sent you stumbling, but before you could fully register what had happened, his arms encircled you in a tight embrace. In that moment, amidst the chaos of the surroundings, there was a brief interlude of serenity as you found solace in his warmth.

But the tranquillity was short-lived. His whispered words shattered the fragile bubble of peace, leaving you reeling in disbelief. "Gonna fuck you so good tonight," he murmured, the unexpectedness of his crude remark contrasting sharply with the tender embrace moments before.

A mixture of emotions surged within you, a turbulent storm of confusion, disgust, and an unsettling flicker of attraction. It was a disorienting mixture, leaving you struggling to make sense of the conflicting feelings swirling within.

When he finally released you, his touch lingered, his hands reluctant to part from your waist. His gaze held yours for a fleeting moment, a silent exchange of unspoken words passing between you, before he abruptly moved on to greet the next person in the crowd. Left standing there, you couldn't shake the lingering sense of unease that had settled over you like a heavy fog.

Hours later, as you walked briskly towards the hotel, he trailed behind you, his presence an unsettling reminder of the encounter earlier. Unsure whether to match your pace or maintain a discreet distance, he hovered awkwardly, his uncertainty palpable in the air between you.

"This feels creepy, Lando," you remarked, casting a sidelong glance at him. "Just catch up with me; you look like a stalker."

"It's not creepy!" he protested, his cheeks flushing crimson with embarrassment. "We're heading to the same room... for the same... things."

You raised an eyebrow, amusement flickering in your eyes. "Things," you echoed with a wry chuckle. "You can say sex, Lando."

His blush deepened, a sheepish grin tugging at the corners of his lips. "Sex... with you. Wow."

"I... I thought the crush I had on you since I was, like, born, was pretty obvious," he confessed, his hand gently resting on the small of your back, a tentative gesture of intimacy.

The admission hung heavy in the air, an unspoken confession of long-held desires and hidden emotions. Caught off guard, you stumbled over your words, struggling to process the revelation.

You halted in your tracks, the weight of his words sinking in. "Huh."

"Yeah..." he murmured, his gaze softening as he met your eyes. "Well, Repunzel was right—mothers do know best."

A bittersweet smile tugged at your lips as you resumed walking, his hand still lingering at your back. "It wasn't Repunzel; it was Mother Gothel," you corrected, a playful glint in your eyes. "And yeah—I'm a Repunzel fan, so what?"

His laughter echoed in the night air, a shared moment of levity amidst the weight of the conversation. "Shut up," he teased, gently nudging you as you walked side by side.

"Make me," you shot back, a playful challenge laced with a hint of something deeper—an unspoken invitation to explore the tangled emotions that lingered between you.

His laughter danced in the night air, a melody that seemed to weave around the unspoken tension between you. As his gaze met yours, there was a flicker of something more profound, a silent invitation lingering in the air.

A playful grin tugged at his lips as he leaned in closer, the warmth of his breath sending a shiver down your spine. "Challenge accepted," he murmured, his voice low and husky with anticipation.

In that moment, the world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you suspended in a timeless embrace. His fingers traced a delicate path along your jawline, igniting a trail of sparks that seemed to dance beneath your skin.

With a gentle tug, he drew you closer, his lips brushing against yours in a tender caress. It was a delicate dance of longing and desire, a silent symphony of unspoken emotions finally finding their voice in the touch of his lips against yours.

As the kiss deepened, the world around you melted away, leaving only the sensation of his arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer with each passing moment. In that fleeting instant, there was no room for doubt or hesitation, only the overwhelming rush of love and longing that seemed to bind your souls together as one.

And as you finally pulled away, breathless and exhilarated, there was a silent understanding that lingered between you— upstairs. Now.

The kiss continued unabated, an unrelenting torrent of passion that seemed to consume every ounce of your being. With each step towards his room, his touch ignited a fire within you, sending waves of desire coursing through your veins.

In the confined space of the elevator, his hands roamed freely, exploring every curve and contour of your body with an insatiable hunger. The air crackled with electricity as his touch lingered on the curve of your ass, his fingers tracing patterns of longing and desire against your skin.

The journey to his room was a blur of messy kisses and frantic touches, the urgency of his desire palpable in every brush of his lips against yours. His cock strained against the confines of his jeans, a silent plea for release that echoed the longing pulsing through your veins.

As he fumbled with the keycard, his impatience was palpable, his focus solely on the tantalizing promise of what awaited behind closed doors. The moment the door swung open, you were both consumed by a primal need that eclipsed all rational thought.

With a forceful push, you tumbled onto the bed, the weight of his body pressing against yours as the door slammed shut behind you. In that moment, there was no room for hesitation or restraint, only the raw intensity of two souls drawn together in a frenzied embrace.

–

"Was that Lando?" George asked, with popcorn and a bottle of water in his hands, looking over at Alex who held the same.

"What the fuck-"

–

His movements were urgent, desperate, as he sought to satisfy the burning desire that raged within him. He had barely been able to put the condom on with how shaky his hands were.

With each thrust of his hips, there was a raw intensity that bordered on reckless abandon, the rhythm erratic and frenzied. The sound of skin against skin filled the air, punctuated by the rhythm of your ragged breaths and the soft, breathy moans that escaped his lips.

His forehead was damp with sweat, pressed against yours with an almost possessive fervor. The heat of his breath mingled with yours, creating a heady cocktail of desire that hung thick in the air between you.

Every touch was electric, sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your veins. His hands roamed your body with a fevered urgency, leaving a trail of fire in their wake as he traced every curve and contour with a hunger that bordered on obsession.

In that moment, there was no room for restraint or inhibition, only the primal need to be one with you, to lose himself entirely in the depths of your passion. And as he surrendered to the intoxicating frenzy of desire, he found himself consumed by a blissful oblivion, lost in the heady rush of ecstasy that washed over him like a tidal wave.

You were a mess, a writhing wreck, unable to keep still as he pushed his entire cock into you. In and out, hitting the perfect spot every time. Each thrust earning another lewd moan from you. He was so proud he could make you feel so so good. But he couldn't keep going any longer after you came on his cock, the feeling making him so overwhelmed he couldn't keep it together as he came.

Not able to keep himself up anymore, he fell ontop of you.

"Ouch!" You giggle as he rolled off, beside you. You lay there, breathless and trembling, your body still pulsating with the aftershocks of pleasure as he collapsed beside you. His weight pressed against your side, a comforting presence amidst the disarray of tangled sheets and scattered clothing.

"So, how was that..." he ventured, his voice barely above a whisper, laced with a hint of uncertainty.

You turned to him, a playful smirk dancing on your lips as you met his gaze. "Surprisingly good," you admitted, a playful glint in your eyes.

"Surprising?!" he exclaimed, his brows furrowing in mock offense. "What, do I not seem like I'd be good?"

You couldn't help but laugh at his incredulous expression, reaching out to playfully tousle his hair. "Oh, you were good," you assured him, your voice laced with affection. "More than good, actually."

His lips curved into a satisfied smile, a sense of pride flickering in his eyes. "Well, I aim to please," he quipped, his tone light and playful. "Does this mean you'll go on a real date with me?"

"Maybe win again and we'll see!" You joked, making him playfully smack your leg. "Joking.. I suppose I can," You shrug.

"You won't regret it, I promise," he vowed, his tone earnest and sincere.

He led you to a charming café nestled in the heart of Miami a few days later, the bustling streets alive with the vibrant energy of the city. As you settled into a cozy corner booth, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the tantalizing scent of pastries, creating a welcoming ambiance that enveloped you in its warmth.

"So, you and Carlos..." he began, a playful smirk dancing on his lips as he leaned in closer.

Your brow furrowed in confusion at the sudden topic of conversation. "What about him?" you questioned, the curiosity evident in your voice. "If it's about 2019, we didn't actually do anything," you clarified with a casual shrug. "Did go on a few dates though, but he met another girl he liked," you added, your tone nonchalant and unaffected.

The playful smirk on his lips faltered slightly, replaced by a look of genuine surprise. "You didn't even— You didn't even sleep with him," he whispered, his voice carrying a hint of disbelief that drew the attention of a few nearby patrons.

Your smile remained unwavering as you shook your head. "Nope," you confirmed.

"I guess its because 'I liked you' or whatever..."

Okay so maybe you did like Lando Norris... Just a little- maybe a lot.

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fandomscombine · 8 months ago

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New Kid

Spencer Reid x Reader

BG: It’s your first day at the BAU and meeting the team. The team is surprised with how you’re hitting it off with a certain Doctor but what they don’t know is that a bigger surprise is yet to come.

A/N: My first Criminal Minds/Spencer Reid Fic! It’s been sitting in my drafts for over a year now and finally tied an ending together. (Are we over a 2-year writing slump? We’ll see!)

Honestly it’s pure season 1/season 2 team fluff crack and chaoticness! Wanted to capture the early seasons team dynamics. Hope you all enjoy!

Fun fact, it’s all the Spencer Reid x Reader fics that kept popping in my recommendations that I started reading and falling in love with Reid prior to starting the show!

WC: 1307

>>>GENERAL MASTERLIST<<<

>>>CRIMINAL MINDS MASTERLIST<<<

This is it. Your first day as a Special Agent in the Behavioral Analysis Unit. Growing up reading detective stories and solving mysteries were your favorite pastimes.

You’re grateful for having a family environment that was supportive of your thirst for knowledge and endless curiosity.

The receptionist has informed you that the team is waiting for you upstairs, ready to give your orientation tour.

"Thanks." You replied, half mildly picking at your nails. In just an elevator ride away, you'd be in the midst of the smartest profilers alive. And nothing goes unnoticed – that you know very well.

A vibration in your pocket breaks your thoughts. A smile slips to your face.

"Stop picking at your fingers." The voice on the other line says.

"Hello to you dad." You can't help but roll your eyes. "I wasn't even–" You look down at your left hand. Shit. "How'd you even know?"

"I just do, I watched you grow up for 25 years."

"Yea yea."

"Hey kid, sorry I couldn’t be there—“

“You’ve got a whole auditorium full of nerds dying to hear your lectures, I understand.” The door in front of you opens and you step inside.

“Thanks kid. I’ll make it up to you. How does an extra large, extra saucy lasagne sound?”

“Oooh yes, don’t forget with extra cheese!” The monitors indicate: 3/F, 4/F, 5/F. “By the way, you’ve told them right?” As you step out, you spot a group of agents handled near the department entrance. “Anyway I’ll see you later, gotta go. Bye.” Quickly cutting the line off, not wanting to seem unprofessional, chatting on the phone.

“Special Agent y/m/n?” Said the brunette.

You opted to be referred to by your first and Mother’s maiden name, when you first started out. Wanting to stand on your own merits and making a name for yourself.

“That’s me.”

“Special Agent Greenaway, this is Agent Jareau, and Agent Garcia.” You shake hands with the two agents “Call me JJ”

But you are quickly engulfed into a hug by the third, which you have to admit took you by surprise. “You can call me Penelope.-- Opps sorry, just excited to have another female member in the team!” You give her a warm smile, patting her shoulder, “No worries, Penelope. Just caught me off-guard.”

“Come on, let’s meet the rest of the team.” JJ says, leading you all into the bullpen.

“So this would be your desk right here” points Agent Greenaway. “Which is right across from Agent Morgan–”

“Derek, Derek Morgan m’ beautiful lady.” cuts in the man.

You can’t help but blush from the compliment. “You always flirt with the new kid, huh Derek?” You challenge, playing off his energy.

“Ignore him,”

“Cmon’ Elle. It’s all good fun!”

Elle directs you to a hunched figure behind Derek.

“This is our resident genius, Dr. Spencer Reid.” She points to Reid, who is preoccupied with a lego model to have noticed the group.

“Dr. Reid! I’ve heard so much about you!” Reaching out your hand, to grab his attention. His head instantly shoots up, eager to know the culprit who distracted him from finishing this model of the Delorean and give them a piece of his mind.

“Hey! I was just finishing -.” His voice trails off upon realizing that A. it wasn’t one of his teammates making fun of his legos but instead a face he doesn’t recognize and B. feeling bad on being the reason why your bright smile turned into a frown. “Oh Sorry! Sorry Ms–”

“y/m/n” Your father had shared stories about the team, especially Spencer, his protege. He was the person you were most excited to meet, though with this first interaction - you were discouraged with how it went. Perhaps you shouldn’t have run multiple scenarios on how you’d wow the team with such high standards.

Dropping your arm, eager to quickly change the subject, you turn to Elle. “ So what cases do we –”

“y/m/n? As in y/f/n y/m/n!?” Spencer exclaims, his eyes wide. Big hand gestures dancing through the air as he raved. “ The author of ‘The Correlation Between The Probability of Sudden Adult Anger Outburst and Childhood Familial Upbringing.’ ?

You’d had your thesis quoted back to you by professors and peers, but never with such childlike wonder written all-over Spencer’s face, making you blush. “Yes! But how -”

“I’ve read so much about you! Your work, I mean.” Spencer isn’t normally affected by how he’s perceived by others. Spitting out facts in the speed of light is synonymous to his identity and it’s nothing he’s ashamed of. But it's rare to have someone beautiful and intelligent be into the same niche interests that he has. Spencer only has one shot on not coming on as weird and it’s not going well, so he elaborates. “I got it from Gideon’s pile. I picked it up on a whim but your writing is spectacular! I read through it in 12 mins!”

“Wait, you read through my 250 page dissertation in under 12 mins?” You questioned, looking around the team to check if you’ve misheard.

“Affirmative. It would have been faster, but I was jotting down some notes.”

“Notes, huh?” Crossing your arms, the paper had gone through multiple reviews from your professors before submission. It should be damn near perfect. “Alright, Doctor Reid. I’m interested, how about you show me your notes over coffee?”

“Actually…” Spencer raised his finger, interjecting. “It might take a bit longer than an hour and I would love to dig into your brain. Perhaps we could go over it at dinner?”

“Name the time and place.” You grabbed the nearest post-it and quickly wrote down your phone number. “Now will you excuse me, I believe I’m late for my introductory meeting with Agent Hotchner.”

With that you broke away from the make-shift team circle and headed you to Hotch’s office, leaving the team still frozen in their spot.

Derek was the first to speak. “Did pretty boy just ask out the new girl without stuttering and succeed?”

“Good, so everyone else witnessed that too right?” Added Penelope.

JJ nodded in agreement, too stunned to speak as if it would break the illusion.

“What?” Spencer’s voice cracked. “I simply asked if we could compare notes!”

“No. Technically she initiated it.” Elle clarified.

Shaking his head, Spencer eyes trailed to the now closed Hotch’s door.

“Yea, to which you effortlessly turned from coffee date to a dinner date!” Exclaimed Derek, earning Spencer a pat on the back. “The boy’s got game!”

“It’s not a date! At least I don’t think it is - I bet she doesn’t see me that way. Nobody does.” Spencer sighs, sulking back down to his seat. Reality catching up to him by the second, erasing any hope that a woman like you would have any romantic interest in a nerd like him.

“Trust me kid.” Come a voice, effectively cutting Reid’s thoughts. Gideon nonchalantly walks up to the empty desk marked “Agent y/n y/m/n”, moves the box of your belongings to make space for what seems to be a plastic bag of takeaway. “You're her type.”

“What?” Spencer asks, more confused than ever. The looks across the team’s face reflect his own reaction. “And how would you know that?”

“With all due respect, sir.” Added JJ, careful not to overstep. “You haven’t seen y/n and you got all that from her untouched desk?”

“Yea Gideon, we know you’re good but you can’t be that good!”

Gideon brushed off Derek’s brassiness and smirked. Proceeding to head up to his office, finally addressing the group only halfway up the steps. “I know, cause she's my daughter.”

“WHAT?!” exclaimed the BAU team, who once again found themselves frozen by a member of the Gideon family.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds #early seasons!spencer reid #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x fem!reader #criminal minds x reader #derek morgan #bau team #jason gideon #penelope garcia #elle greenaway #aaron hotchner #jennifer jareau #doctor spencer reid #fandomcombine writes

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almostfoxglove · 5 days ago

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SOUNDS DANGEROUS

📧 a max phillips one shot for @jolapeno's dearuary challenge

RATING: Explicit (18+) | WORD COUNT: 2.6k PAIRING: Max Phillips x f!Reader PROMPT: A long-distance relationship blossoms through emails, but the tension of being apart grows. CW: This is pretty goofy, a tiny bit sort of almost angsty, but mostly just silly. Reader uses a fake name.

SUMMARY: When you reply to a bizarre craigslist ad, a stranger on the other side of the country charms his way into your life.

read on ao3 | main masterlist | get notifs @foxglovenotifs

From: Dawn <[email protected]> Date: Tue, Oct 2, 2014 at 9:39 AM To: <[email protected]> Subject: Re: Craigslist Ad

Hello! Hoping to work out if you’re a weirdo or if the ad you posted here is serious. I could use the money, but would like to pass on being murdered in some random basement or finding out the hard way that this is code for some weird sex thing.

Let me know!

From: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Date: Tue, Oct 2, 2014 at 3:21 PM To: Dawn <[email protected]> Subject: Re: Re: Craigslist Ad

Dawn,

Thanks for reaching out. I can assure you the ad is very serious—unfortunately it is not “some weird sex thing” (sounds a little judgy, if you ask me), and my basement happens to be full up at the moment. And on the other side of the country, if that’s any comfort.

I need the package shipped ASAP. Looking for serious applicants only. Payment will be transferred when tracking information has been shared. Can you confirm you’re interested and available this week? Tomorrow would be best.

Max Phillips Sales Manager - BB Corporate Salesman of the Year Award Recipient 2010, 2011, 2012, and 2013

From: Dawn <[email protected]> Date: Tue, Oct 2, 2014 at 5:10 PM To: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Subject: Re: Craigslist Ad

Hi,

Cool. Tomorrow’s fine with me, I’ve got an appointment in the afternoon but if it’s not too far by bike I can grab the package and mail it in the morning first thing. Can you share the address?

Just a heads up—I will be sending it to my roommate so she can, you know, follow up if I don’t make it home. Your email and ad too. I took screenshots. And I carry mace. For the record.

Dawn

From: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Date: Tue, Oct 2, 2014 at 7:01 PM To: Dawn <[email protected]> Subject: Re: Re: Craigslist Ad [Sent with 1 attachment]

Dawn,

Sorry, got held up in a meeting.

Share whatever information you need to. Smart girl with the mace, though it won’t be necessary. Still, bring it along! Always best to be cautious. However, I am concerned about your “bike.” Surely a car would be much more efficient. The pickup location is a little outside of the hustle and bustle, if you will. It’s very important I receive the package on time.

Perhaps you could scrounge up a more reliable vehicle for the morning?

I’m attaching the address of the pickup location here. Please send confirmation.

Max Phillips Sales Manager - BB Corporate Salesman of the Year Award Recipient 2010, 2011, 2012, and 2013

From: Dawn <[email protected]> Date: Tue, Oct 2, 2014 at 7:16 PM To: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Subject: Re: Craigslist Ad

A meeting? If you’re on the other side of the country, isn’t it like… 10PM where you are??

Also, my bike’s just fine, thanks. I can leave early and make it work. Wait - how do I know you’re actually gonna pay me? I feel like I should get half up front as a symbol of, I don’t know, good faith or whatever.

Yeah, actually. I’m gonna need half now. My paypal uses this email address.

Best to be cautious, right?

From: PayPal <[email protected]> Date: Tue, Oct 2, 2014 at 7:25 PM To: Dawn <[email protected]> Subject: You’ve got money

From: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Date: Tue, Oct 2, 2014 at 7:27 PM To: Dawn <[email protected]> Subject: Re: Re: Craigslist Ad

You haven’t heard? No rest for the wicked, honey.

Send tracking info when you have it, and I’ll send over the rest. Don’t make me regret it! Oh—I should mention, it’s very important you do not open the package. It’ll be wrapped and addressed, so you just need to pedal it over and make the drop, got it? You can ask for Victor when you pick it up, he’ll be expecting you.

Also, have you ever considered working in sales? I’m always hiring.

Max Phillips Sales Manager - BB Corporate Salesman of the Year Award Recipient 2010, 2011, 2012, and 2013

From: Dawn <[email protected]> Date: Wed, Oct 3, 2014 at 10:04 AM To: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Subject: Sent your weird box [Sent with 1 attachment]

Max,

You’re lucky I’m strapped for cash. Maybe I should’ve backed out when you insisted I not open the package (super suspicious, by the way!), but I went ahead and cycled 27 miles to, oh, what’s that? A FUCKING CEMETERY.

No, I didn’t open your stupid box, but it was fucking heavy. If I’ve just mailed you someone’s head, I swear to god I’ll find your ass and take yours as reparations. Also, the guy was a total creep. Victor? Whatever. Not gropey, but like, I think I’ll sleep worse knowing I live in the same city as the fucking crypt keeper. So thanks for that!

Here’s your tracking info. I’d like the rest of the money now.

Dawn

From: PayPal <[email protected]> Date: Wed, Oct 3, 2014 at 3:08 PM To: Dawn <[email protected]> Subject: You’ve got money

From: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Date: Wed, Oct 3, 2014 at 3:10 PM To: Dawn <[email protected]> Subject: Re: Sent your weird box

Believe it or not, Victor looks pretty good for his age.

Thanks for doing business!

Max Phillips Sales Manager - BB Corporate Salesman of the Year Award Recipient 2010, 2011, 2012, and 2013

From: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Date: Wed, Oct 3, 2015 at 6:20 PM To: Dawn <[email protected]> Subject: Request

Dawn, honey!

What are the odds I might be able to talk you into running a little package to the post office for me again?

Same payment stands.

Max Phillips Sales Manager - BB Corporate Salesman of the Year Award Recipient 2010, 2011, 2012, and 2013

From: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Date: Wed, Oct 3, 2016 at 7:22 PM To: Dawn <[email protected]> Subject: Anniversary

Hey, you know what today is?

From: Dawn <[email protected]> Date: Wed, Oct 3, 2016 at 7:53 PM To: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Subject: Re: Anniversary

Hmmm… let me think. Two years since you swindled me into cycling in the pouring rain to meet the scariest man I’ve ever seen in my life? If you’re trying to build suspense, you really shouldn’t put the answer in the subject line. Just saying!

From: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Date: Wed, Oct 3, 2016 at 7:57 PM To: Dawn <[email protected]> Subject: Re: Anniversary

I’ll pass on the snark, princess. Two years!

But let’s not count our ducks too soon. Victor’s only the scariest man you’ve ever seen in your life so far. Still plenty of time for me to claim the title when you set eyes on me.

From: Dawn <[email protected]> Date: Wed, Oct 3, 2016 at 8:21 PM To: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Subject: Re: Anniversary

You know, you talk a big game for a man who won’t send me a photograph of himself. For all I know you could be gorgeous. Or extremely average. Completely forgettable.

Anyway. Guessing you need another shipment. I’ve got a couple days off this week and can go pick it up. Also, do I get a gift for two years of loyalty? Feel like I oughta get a commemorative mug or something.

From: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Date: Wed, Oct 3, 2016 at 8:30 PM To: Dawn <[email protected]> Subject: Re: Anniversary

It’s for your own good, sweetheart. One photo of me and our professional relationship would go up in flames. Would hate to mess up a good thing.

Re: Gift—I will not be making you a commemorative mug. You know how many of those corporate sends out? Garbage, all of them. Got anything better in mind? A little more exciting?

From: Dawn <[email protected]> Date: Wed, Oct 3, 2016 at 8:34 PM To: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Subject: Re: Anniversary

I wanna know what I ship you every year. Please know that if it turns out to be someone’s head or any other body part, my promise to cut yours off as payback still stands.

From: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Date: Wed, Oct 3, 2016 at 8:48 PM To: Dawn <[email protected]> Subject: Re: Anniversary

You wound me, Dawn. Such little faith, but alright. I’ll bite.

When you pick up the package this week, you can open it up. But no fucking with the shipping label, yeah? And no spilling anything. Be gentle.

From: Dawn <[email protected]> Date: Fri, Oct 5, 2016 at 11:02 AM To: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Subject: Re: Anniversary

I’ve been mailing you a box of DIRT once a year this whole time??? Jesus fucking christ, Max. Do I wanna know??

Forget it. I probably don’t. I’m just glad it wasn’t a head.

From: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Date: Fri, Oct 5, 2016 at 3:53 PM To: Dawn <[email protected]> Subject: Re: Anniversary

It’s just a little something from home! Helps me sleep. Harmless, no?

Real shame, this whole across the country thing. Would kill to have seen the look on your face when you popped that sucker open.

From: Dawn <[email protected]> Date: Fri, Oct 5, 2016 at 4:49 PM To: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Subject: Re: Anniversary

Okay, that’s fucking weird, Max. I have, like, so many more questions. What are you doing with it that you need more once a year???

From: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Date: Fri, Oct 5, 2016 at 5:11 PM To: Dawn <[email protected]> Subject: Re: Anniversary

I need more when I move apartments, obviously. Not going to vacuum it up and shake it out of the little bag. Would be filthy—and not the fun kind.

From: Dawn <[email protected]> Date: Fri, Oct 5, 2016 at 5:30 PM To: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Subject: Re: Anniversary

Wait, you move apartments every year? No wonder you use a PO Box.

From: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Date: Fri, Oct 5, 2016 at 7:24 PM To: Dawn <[email protected]> Subject: Re: Anniversary

Company policy. They send me in, I whip a branch into winning shape, then move right along. Gotta let the kids make their own kills eventually!

From: Dawn <[email protected]> Date: Mon, Jun 8, 2017 at 12:15 PM To: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Subject: Call

Hey, I thought about it some more and I guess I’ve decided that if you were going to stalk and murder me you would’ve done it by now (or you’re playing like… the world’s most boring long game), and it might be nice to put a voice to the name. Maybe you have a cool accent?

Anyway, here’s my phone number I guess?

This feels so awkward for no reason.

From: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Date: Wed, Jun 10, 2017 at 11:29 PM To: Dawn <[email protected]> Subject: Re: Call

I’ll call when I wrap up on Friday. Should be between meetings at 6 your time!

From: Dawn <[email protected]> Date: Thu, Jun 11, 2017 at 8:00 AM To: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Subject: Re: Call

You’re totally going to make me regret giving you my phone number, aren’t you?

From: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Date: Thu, Jun 11, 2017 at 6:02 PM To: Dawn <[email protected]> Subject: Re: Call

Sorry, sweetheart. No going back now.

From: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Date: Sun, Nov 9, 2017 at 3:48 AM To: Dawn <[email protected]> Subject: [No Subject]

Dawn,, ,

aRe you asleep? You better be aslepe. But if youre awake, call me. I like your voice,

Think this guy was rpetty drunk. Maybe high. Tha’ts my bad. HOpe my autocorrect is saving this but I mean it if you’re awake I wanna hear your voice, Okay?

Your, s Max

From: Dawn <[email protected]> Date: Sun, Nov 9, 2017 at 9:10 AM To: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Subject: Re: [No Subject]

You know, I don’t think I’ve ever received a drunk email before. It’s much better than a drunk phone call - these screenshots will live forever.

Anyway, I’m guessing you’re asleep right now (you better be) but you’re probably gonna feel like shit whenever you get up. I nonetheless expect a full report on my desk of all your debauchery tomorrow. Your coworkers seem rowdy as hell. I don’t know how you get anything done.

Happy headache!

From: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Date: Sun, Nov 9, 2017 at 6:04 PM To: Dawn <[email protected]> Subject: Re: [No Subject]

Sorry, honey. Tales of my debauchery are far too scandalous to be immortalized in writing. All disclosures must be done in person, off record, so you’re shit out of luck—serves you right for your little screenshots. So mean.

I won’t forget this.

From: Dawn <[email protected]> Date: Sun, Nov 9, 2017 at 6:23 PM To: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Subject: Re: [No Subject]

You can pout all you like, Maxwell. You like the sound of my voice and I’ve got cold hard proof. Can’t take it back now!

Okay, but really, that’s gotta be the best email I’ve ever received (you’re competing against newsletters I don’t remember signing up for and updates from my cousins about their ten thousand offspring, but still, the title stands).

And you’ve got a pretty nice voice too, I guess. I can see how you swindle all those unsuspecting civilians into forking over their life savings!

Got plans tonight, but I could call tomorrow if you wanted. You can keep me company while I, gasp!, fold some laundry. Pretty exciting stuff for a Monday, I know.

From: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Date: Sun, Nov 9, 2017 at 7:10 PM To: Dawn <[email protected]> Subject: Re: [No Subject]

Evening plans? Don’t tell me you’ve got a date, sweetheart. Might break my heart.

From: Dawn <[email protected]> Date: Mon, Nov 10, 2017 at 10:27 AM To: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Subject: Re: [No Subject]

Har, har. I do have a life, you know, that doesn’t include being your dirt-runner once a year. Shipper? Smuggler? I kind of like smuggler. Sounds dangerous.

From: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Date: Mon, Nov 10, 2017 at 5:53 PM To: Dawn <[email protected]> Subject: Re: [No Subject]

I’d like to think you know you’re more than a “dirt smuggler” to me. Aren’t we friends? Three years isn’t nothing, you know. I don’t keep just anyone around.

From: Dawn <[email protected]> Date: Mon, Nov 10, 2017 at 7:42 PM To: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Subject: Re: [No Subject]

Jesus, Max. You make it sound like I should be fucking thanking you for talking to me. That feels pretty shitty.

From: Dawn <[email protected]> Date: Mon, Nov 10, 2017 at 7:47 PM To: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Subject: Ugh ignore my last email, sorry

Sorry. My night was shit but I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. I know you were joking. If you still want to call, I wouldn’t mind hearing your voice. And I really do have laundry to fold. I could use someone barking at me to do it.

From: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Date: Mon, Nov 10, 2017 at 11:08 PM To: Dawn <[email protected]> Subject: Re: Ugh ignore my last email, sorry

I meant what I said, honey. That guy has no idea how bad he’s missing out, and I’d be happy to pay him a little visit on your behalf. You’d be surprised how intimidating I can be, when the need arises. Very scary.

Don’t be shy, hm? Always happy to boss someone around.

Sleep tight.

From: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Date: Sat, May 2, 2018 at 2:22 AM To: Dawn <[email protected]> Subject: Delivery

Thought it was about time I send you a little mail—should be arriving shortly.

From: Dawn <[email protected]> Date: Sat, May 2, 2018 at 7:41 AM To: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Subject: Re: Delivery [Sent with 1 attachment]

Hey… is this for real?

From: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Date: Sat, May 2, 2018 at 7:56 AM To: Dawn <[email protected]> Subject: Re: Delivery

I don’t joke about airfare, honey. Ticket’s real and all yours—we’re long overdue for a little meet-up, don’t you think? Wanna see my smuggler’s pretty face in the flesh.

From: Dawn <[email protected]> Date: Sat, May 2, 2018 at 9:12 AM To: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Subject: Re: Delivery

I’m picturing you in your late 60s, with a beer belly, comb-over, and black teeth. Am I close? Wait - don’t tell me. I want it to be a horrible, hideous surprise.

Thanks, by the way. I don’t really know what to say.

From: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Date: Sat, May 2, 2018 at 9:30 AM To: Dawn <[email protected]> Subject: Re: Delivery

I’ll try not to let you down at the big reveal.

Happy birthday.

From: Dawn <[email protected]> Date: Sat, May 2, 2018 at 10:09 AM To: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Subject: Re: Delivery

By the way… is this a good time to break it to you that my name isn’t actually Dawn?

From: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Date: Sat, May 2, 2018 at 10:10 AM To: Dawn <[email protected]> Subject: Re: Delivery

EXCUSE ME???

From: Dawn <[email protected]> Date: Sat, May 2, 2018 at 10:17 AM To: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Subject: Re: Delivery

You were a stranger on craigslist!! This is a burner email so I don’t get stalked and chopped up into little pieces when I reply to sketchy ads. I didn’t know we’d end up friends. I never knew how to slip that in casually. My bad.

But you can’t be mad at me on my birthday. So don’t be mad.

From: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Date: Sat, May 2, 2018 at 10:18 AM To: Dawn <[email protected]> Subject: Re: Delivery

My world is shattered. You’re killing me, baby.

I want your real email, please. And name.

From: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Date: Sun, Jul 22, 2018 at 5:41 PM To: You Subject: Visit

Hi. Just got word a company-wide conference has been moved up to next week. Mandatory attendance, blah blah blah. Boring. Turns out they can’t have the boss of the highest earning branch playing hooky. Boo :-(

Can we move your flights to next month? Want to give you my undivided attention—promise I’ll make it up to you.

From: You Date: Sun, Jul 22, 2018 at 5:43 PM To: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Subject: Re: Visit

Wait, for real? My flight’s in like… 5 days. I booked the time off work two months ago.

I don’t mind if you’ve got work stuff while I’m there! Sorta figured you’d be working at least part of the time I’m in town - I’m happy to entertain myself. We can just hang out whenever you’re done.

From: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Date: Sun, Jul 22, 2018 at 5:50 PM To: You Subject: Re: Visit

Afraid these conferences tend to run a little… late into the night, and daylight hours aren’t exactly my specialty. Sort of a night owl.

Would hate for you to come all this way and not get to enjoy you. Don’t want any interruptions.

Next month?

From: You Date: Sun, Jul 22, 2018 at 9:21 PM To: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Subject: Re: Visit

Right.

I’ll have to check if I can move things. Can I let you know?

From: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Date: Mon, Aug 15, 2018 at 4:11 AM To: You Subject: Call?

Can I call you this week? Hate that you’re mad at me. I’m sorry about our visit, baby. Just talk to me. What about next month, could you come then? Is your sister still in town? You could still come now, before end of quarter ramps up!

From: You Date: Wed, Aug 17, 2018 at 11:24 AM To: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Subject: Re: Call?

I told you I wasn’t able to get my vacation time back. If you want to see me so badly, maybe you should fly here. It really sucked when you blew me off.

From: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Date: Wed, Aug 17, 2018 at 7:51 PM To: You Subject: Re: Call?

Travel doesn’t agree with me. Too much sunlight. It’s complicated. Plus I wanna show you my place. It’s very swanky, you know. Has a huge tub. You’d love it. And I’ll get you all your favorite snacks, hm? Won’t have to lift a finger—I’ll take care of everything. Just need you to come here, okay? I can explain in person.

I’ll call after this meeting wraps. If you send me to voicemail, I’m just gonna try again. I can be very persistent, you know.

From: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Date: Sat, Aug 19, 2018 at 1:32 AM To: You Subject: Please

This whole ignoring Max song and dance is getting old. Forgive me already! Work was out of my hands, but I miss talking to you. Like getting your little emails, even when you’re teasing me. I miss calling you. We don’t have to talk! I can listen to you fold your laundry and you can hate me the whole time.

Feeling a little pathetic over here, baby. Put me out of my misery.

From: Lily of the Valley Florist <[email protected]> Date: Fri, Aug 20, 2018 at 3:00 PM To: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Subject: Your order has been delivered!

From: Lily of the Valley Florist <[email protected]> Date: Fri, Aug 27, 2018 at 2:15 PM To: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Subject: Your order has been delivered!

From: Rocky Mountain Chocolate <[email protected]> Date: Tue, Sep 18, 2018 at 12:49 PM To: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Subject: Your order has been delivered!

From: Lily of the Valley Florist <[email protected]> Date: Mon, Oct 3 2018 at 12:49 PM To: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Subject: Your custom order has been delivered!

From: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Date: Mon, Oct 3 2018 at 3:59 PM To: You Subject: Today

Hey, you know what today is?

From: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Date: Tue, Oct 6, 2018 at 7:03 PM To: You Subject: Miss my smuggler

I know you’ve put me on ice—would still really like to talk about that, by the way—but it’s coming up on refill season, so to speak…

Need to talk to you. I know you’ve blocked my number and that the flowers are arriving. Do you like them? Are you allergic? I had to guess. Thought you might be a ranunculus girl, but I’m open to notes, you know. I’m very trainable.

Just tell me what to do to make it up to you. Let me take care of you.

From: You Date: Fri, Oct 9, 2018 at 9:47 AM To: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Subject: Re: Miss my smuggler [Sent with 1 attachment]

Sent your box. Here’s the tracking info.

The flowers are beautiful but please stop sending them. I don’t have enough vases and it’s getting a little ridiculous.

From: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Date: Fri, Oct 9, 2018 at 6:03 PM To: You Subject: Re: Miss my smuggler

So what I’m hearing is… you liked the flowers?

From: Lily of the Valley Florist <[email protected]> Date: Mon, Oct 12 2018 at 2:47 PM To: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Subject: Your custom order has been delivered!

From: You Date: Mon, Oct 12, 2018 at 4:30 PM To: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Subject: *waving white flag*

Okay, I’ve unblocked your fucking number. Please stop sending flowers. I surrender. Oh my god.

From: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Date: Mon, Oct 12, 2018 at 4:39 PM To: You Subject: Re: *waving white flag*

It’s the ranunculus, isn’t it?

From: You Date: Mon, Oct 12, 2018 at 5:10 PM To: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Subject: Re: *waving white flag*

What’s the ranunculus?

From: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Date: Mon, Oct 12, 2018 at 5:11 PM To: You Subject: Re: *waving white flag*

Your favorite flower. I guessed it right.

From: You Date: Mon, Oct 12, 2018 at 5:14 PM To: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Subject: Re: *waving white flag*

Shut up.

Please resume groveling on the phone. And no more flowers. I mean it.

From: Max Phillips <[email protected]> Date: Mon, Oct 12, 2018 at 5:19 PM To: You Subject: Fwd: Your flight has been booked!

No more flowers. Cross my heart.

One little tweak—how about I do that groveling in person? Snagged a seat on a red eye.

dividers by @saradika-graphics! thanks again to jo for hosting the dearuary challenge - this was so much fun.

#max phillips fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #max phillips #max phillips x you #max phillips x reader #bloodsucking bastards #almostfoxglove #myfics #jolapenosdearuary #pedro pascal

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juyeoz · 3 months ago

Text

RED AND GOLD — LEE HEESEUNG

SYNOPSIS — decelis was holding their annual masquerade ball and you finally decided to attend. however, who would’ve known that struggling to find your friends would help you find gold?

PAIRING — rival!heeseung x fem!reader

CONTAINS — fluff and slight angst (ending wise), rivals to rivals ??, was supposed to be for halloween…!, kind of rushed as well (fighting writers block rn), and not proofread.

WORDCOUNT — 1379 words

October 31st was Halloween and the day your school hosted their annual masquerade ball at Ju’s Banquet Hall.

To be honest, this year was your first time attending. You never had time for things like this in the past, but since it was your final year of school, you managed to find some (and with the help of your friends pushing).

The music from outside the banquet was loud. There was no chance to miss it either.

“Thank you,” you said with a smile while exiting your mother’s car.

“Have fun! By the way, you look amazing.” She said as your smile grew bigger.

“Let me take a picture!”

“Absolutely not—Stay in the car, where are you going?!” You panicked. Your mother was quite the embarrassment when it came to stuff like this.

“Oh, come on! It’s your first year. Let me mark the memory.” She frowned while holding the release button of her seatbelt.

“I’ll send you some, I promise.” You reassured her as she raised a brow.

“100%?”

“Yes, 100%.”

She smiled at your words and waved goodbye as you took that as an opportunity to leave as well.

Your right hand held onto your belongings, including the dark red mask you were planning to wear while the other pinched at your dress. It was long. You couldn’t risk falling in front of so many people, especially not in your first year of attending.

As you walked up the steps, your phone began to ring. You couldn’t see the contact name but the red and green phone buttons were in your view.

Hopefully it was your friend Eunchae.

“Hello?” You said after swiping right.

“Hey, (Name)! Where are you? Are you here yet?” Eunchae said on the other line.

“Yeah, uh, I’m about to enter the hall.” You replied while squinting at the sign above. You could barely see it.

“Okay, we are at the drinks table. They have fruit punch!” She cheered. She loved fruit punch, it was her favourite drink.

You smiled at her childish tone and told her you were on your way. Once the call ended, you slipped on your mask and walked through the doors of the hall in search of the drinks table Eunchae boasted about.

There were too many people everywhere. You were cramped. It would’ve been better if she told you the colour dress she wore, but she didn’t.

Your brows furrowed as you took out your phone to call Eunchae once more. There was no way you could find her and the drinks table in such a big place.

You unlocked your phone and called her contact, then placed your phone against your ear as it dialed.

And dialed… Then beeped.

There was no answer.

Honestly, if you knew this would happen, you would have stayed home. You could’ve been studying during this hour. Studying hard enough to beat your so-called rival, Lee Heeseung, on the next Functions test.

“Great.” You mumbled followed by a sigh of disappointment. You began walking around, hoping she would appear somewhere and soon. Part of you was ready to call your mom back and ask her to drive you home.

It hadn’t even been 5 minutes yet.

All of a sudden an arm bumped yours, causing you to stumble due to your heels and land in the embrace of another being.

A possible stranger and fellow schoolmate.

“Are you okay?” They asked. Their voice sounded quite alarmed.

“I’m completely sorry, that was my fault.” You replied while regaining your composure.

“Nah, it’s fine. But are you okay? He kind of bumped into you harshly.”

All you could see were his eyes and lips, and yet, you were able to tell how sincere and worried he sounded. It was almost as if he was the one who got hurt.

It was funny.

He stared at you in confusion as you began to laugh. He would be lying if he said it didn’t sound pleasing.

“What’s funny?” He asked, clueless.

“Nothing, nothing. I’m okay, don’t worry.” You replied once you calmed down, a smile still present on your face.

“So, are you here with anyone tonight?” You questioned in an attempt to change the topic.

“Kind of and kind of not?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m here with my friends, but I can’t find them. This place is too big.”

“No way, same! They said they were at the drink table as if I’d know where that was.”

He laughed at your words.

“Do you want to keep each other company then?” He asked and you nodded. He seemed nice and not creepy.

It was probably the best temporary choice you had.

You two began walking side by side through the crowds of people in an attempt to find a quieter and less crowded place.

“What should we do?” You asked as he looked at you in disbelief. Due to the silence, you looked over at him only to be met with his shocked expression.

“What?” You asked again.

“Is this your first year here?” You nodded at his words, explaining how it was your first time as a senior all together.

Out of nowhere, he grabbed your wrist and guided you both out of the crowded hall. You had no clue where he was taking you. Maybe he wasn’t trustworthy after all.

Was this how you were going to die?

All your thoughts clouded your mind, distracting you from the sudden change of scenery.

“Look,” he said and released your wrist in the process.

You were brought back to reality as you looked around, noticing the many fairy lights and flower filled walkway.

“Pretty, right?”

“Very.” You said while walking ahead of him as he smiled.

“I’m guessing you’ve been here often.” You said and brushed your fingertips against the petals of the flowers.

“Not at all, it’s my first year too, but this is where my friends and I met up.” You paused at his words and turned around on your pivot foot.

“And you were shocked at me saying this was my first year? You have no room to talk.”

You narrowed your eyes as he chuckled, muttering playful apologies.

“At least I got to show you this place, right?”

You remained silent. He wasn’t wrong. Without him, you wouldn’t have found out about this place anyways.

“Oh, by the way, I didn’t catch your name—”

“Can’t. Rules are rules.” He said, interrupting your incomplete sentence.

“Ah, right. I forgot.” You mumbled. That was a pretty stupid sentence anyway. What was the point of a masquerade ball if you were going to reveal each other’s identities?

“If anything, I’m sure we would run into each other tomorrow at school?” He questioned, part of him hoping you two would. You seemed sweet and were dressed beautifully.

“Of course, I’ll remember you as…”

You analyzed his outfit; he was dressed in a white and gold tuxedo and wore a black masquerade mask which only left his eyes and lips uncovered.

“As Gold? It’s pretty basic, but that’s the best I’ve got.” You said, quite embarrassed.

“It’s alright, I could remember you as Red as well.” He smiled.

To you, he was something you never met before.

However, for him, he knew who you were. You were his rival and he was Lee Heeseung.

To him this was funny, you two were arguing over your assignments at least 5 hours before tonight.

Now, his heart fluttered at the sound of your voice, the sight of your smile, and your laughter. There had to be something in the air, but he couldn’t bring himself to get away from you. It was his first time seeing you dressed up so formally. It was different from the school uniforms and atmosphere.

See, he knew if you were to find out about him being ‘Gold’ you would be quite disgusted. Or at least that was what he thought. So, to keep the night alive, he kept it a secret.

Even the next day he didn’t mention anything. To you, he would always be the boy you wanted to win against, and unfortunately, he was okay with that.

Although Red and Gold went well together, that didn’t mean you two did as well.

ENHYPEN PERM TAGLIST — @miumura @macapunoz @kxppachu

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selfloverrrrrr · 6 months ago

Text

Night out ?

Warnings : smut , heavy smut, unprotected sex, Noncon, Kidnapping, physical and emotional abuse, biting, size difference, Yandere Gojo, stalking, protective, jealous, obsessive, manipulative....

( All characters are aged up/18+)

Minors Do Not Interact

Read the warnings carefully....if you don't like my stories block me not report

Y/n's POV

We were kids when Gojo adopted us. Us means me, Megumi and Tsumiki. I was tsumiki's elder sister. Me and her were Megumi's step sister. I was their mentor before Gojo Satoru adopted us.

I'm 5 years younger than Gojo. When he adopted us Megumi asked Gojo "what should we call you? Dad?" And Gojo replied "no no...call me Gojo...dad sounds like I'm married". From then we call him Gojo.

11 years passed. I'm a 22 year old girl now. Gojo's 27. I don't know what happened to him in these past 3 or 4 years.... Gojo acts weird. He doesn't let me hang out with any guy. He also told me not to make any guy friends...

I have a boyfriend named Alex. Not many people know about it. Just my friends. And of course Gojo doesn't know....he might kill me if he knows. One night Alex arranged a date. Gojo had a mission that day so he won't be at home. And Tsumiki is in her college hostel and Megumi was going out with his friends that night.

So everything is fine. I just got ready. Wore a mini sleeveless top and a short skirt. I grabbed my hand bag and went out of my room. I was walking down the stairs looking through my phone. Suddenly I heard a voice. "where are you going?"

I looked towards the voice in front of me. I freeze there. What is Gojo doing here?! Isn't he supposed to be on a mission?! "Y-you came so early?" I asked. "Yeah that mission wasn't that tough... I don't know what makes those higher ups think it's tough" he replied. His eyes traveled my whole body.

"oh... I see" I said with a nervous smile. He walked towards me. "You didn't tell me where you are going" He said. "Oh... yeah...me? It's just a girl's night" I said. He looked at me confusedly. "Okay..." He spoke "but your dress is too revealing to out". "It's okay... it's just girls" I said. And my fucking luck....

My phone rang. It was Alex. I didn't answer the call. "Y/n?" Gojo said. "Hmm?" I replied. "Give me your phone" he said. "W-what" I asked. "I said give me your phone" he said and snatched my phone from my hand. "G-gojo wait" I spoke.

He looked at my phone. A smirk played on his lips. He looked at me again. "Girls night huh?" He spoke. I just silently looked at him. I felt like my heart was gonna blast. "Who's Alex?" He asked. I didn't speak. "You won't speak? Fine let me handle this" he said and called Alex.

Alex picked up the call and Gojo started walking towards me. I started walking backwards.

Alex: hello, babe? Are you ready?

Gojo: no she's not coming...

Alex: ........who...who are you?

Gojo: me? I'm her boyfriend.

I didn't notice and fell on the couch. Gojo climbed over me. His one leg was between my legs.

Gojo: yes I am her boyfriend...and we're having some fun....so you can fuck off.

Gojo said and hung up the call and threw my phone. "G-gojo please I'm sorry I won't..." I spoke. "Didn't I tell you not to make any guy friends?" He asked. "I'm sorry" I said. "Sorry won't work" he said. I was supporting myself on my one elbow.

"I'm going out... I won't come tonight-" a voice said and it stopped in the middle of his sentence. We both looked at the door. It was Megumi. He was shocked to see us in that position. Gojo looked at me and whispered " don't tell him anything or else I'll kill Alex.... you know I'm capable of that".

I told Megumi that we accidentally fell on each other. After Megumi leaves the house Gojo grabbed me by my waist and took me to his room. He locked the door then turned towards me. He started walking towards me. I started walking backwards. He pushed me on the bed.

"don't act like a dumb and tell me that you didn't know that I like you" he said in a sarcastic tone. "Now be a good girl and don't protest about anything I'm gonna do to you....or else you know I can kill anyone I want" he whispered and climbed on the bed.

He caged me under him. "Fuck the more I look at the more I get harder" he said kissed my neck. My breath is coming heavy. He brought his hand behind me to unplug my top. "You call it a top? It's a bra... and you thought I'll let you go out wearing this bra and.... with a guy?" He said and chuckled and took off my top.

He threw it on the floor. He looked at me with lust in his eyes and didn't waste any time, crashed his mouth on my breast licking, sucking and teasing the nipple and squeezing the other one with his hand. I moaned in the sensetion. I grabbed his hair and tried to stop him by pulling it but it didn't even effect on him. "G-gojo stopppp... I won't do it again" I screamed but he didn't stop.

"Call me Satoru " he said and took off my skirt and then took off my pantie."I'm gonna took it" he whispered and then looked at my pussy. He rubbed his finger on my clit and whispered with a smirk "want it so bad, huh?". Then he licked my pussy. I couldn't help but moan loudly. He smirked at my reaction and undo his pants.

His dick sprang out. It was too big and too thick. Fear grabbed me by my neck. " G-gojo no no no... P-please no... s-stop.... I promise I won't do it again" I begged but didn't even listen to me and slammed his whole dick inside me in one slide. I screamed. "Fuck fuck fuck" he groaned. He didn't even give me time to adjust his size and started thrusting in and out roughly. "I waited for it so long" he moaned. I was throwing my legs with pain and begging him to stop. And he liked it so much. His thrust became harder and harder.

I clenched around him tightly and he moaned loudly " ughhhhhh....ahhh s-so...ahhhh....so f-fucking tight " he started rubbing my clit with his thumb and I bite his shoulder scratched his back to control myself. With a few more thrust I came. He was still thrusting roughly. I felt his cock pulsing inside me. I tried to push him away with all of my strength." Ughh...no no no no...ahhhhhh...no please no, Satoru....ahhhhhh..... n-not ahhhh.....not inside..." I moaned. He grabbed my throat and chocked me down to the bed. " Finally called me Satoru?" He said with a smirk. I didn't even realise that I called him Satoru. Within a minute he came inside me I could feel his seed inside me. He pulled out.

I was so weak that I couldn't even move. He cleaned me up then cleaned himself. After that he threw himself beside me on the bed and hugged me tightly from behind. He fell asleep. A message notification came on my phone from Megumi.....

Megumi:

Y/n are you and Gojo in a relationship?

Don't tell me that you two accidentally fell on each other like that.... I'm not a dumb

If you are in a relationship you can tell me

I won't judge you

It's totally fine for me.

And I think he loves you so much...

Give me your requests guys....

I love when you give me your requests 💕

218 notes · View notes

justagalwhowrites · 2 months ago

Text

The Savage and the Sanctuary - Ch. 5: Fracture

You and Joel try to find a balance in your relationship in Los Angeles. A continuation of The Savage and the Sanctuary, a no outbreak TLOU story, from the prologue through chapter 4 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

CW: Very mild violence. Masturbation. Description of porn. No use of Y/N. Whole fic will be explicit so minors DNI, 18+ only.

Length: 14.3k (IDFK what my problem is)

“Hey, Big Miller!” Tanya yelled toward her living room, wine glass clutched precariously in her grasp.

“Shhh!” You clamped your hand over Tanya’s mouth as she practically cackled. “Will you cool it?”

She shoved you away playfully.

“We need a camera man,” she said. “And I don’t think he’s busy.”

“Can’t we ask one of your security guards?” You asked, brows raised. “Because I don’t think they’re busy, either.”

“Yes but my security guards aren’t eye candy,” she replied, almost smug. “And they’re in the guard shack. So the obvious choice is… Oh, hello Big Miller.”

Tanya winked at you and you turned to find a surly Joel standing in her massive kitchen, his arms crossed and a fed up look on his face.

“Can I help you.”

“Yes, actually,” she practically flounced over to him. “We are making a TikTok…”

“No,” Joel said.

“Oh, come on,” she waved him off. “You’re no fun!”

“Ain’t paid to be fun,” Joel said. “Now if you two aren’t running off somewhere crazy, think I’ll get back to…”

“We just need a camera man,” Tanya said, putting a hand in the middle of his back and guiding him further into her kitchen. “All you have to do is press record, hold the phone and press stop.”

Joel looked to you like he was asking for an out and, given the new, strangely kind balance to your relationship, you wished you could give him one.

But… you did need a camera man.

“Ellie wanted us to make a video,” you said and Joel sighed and held out his hand for Tanya’s phone, just like you knew he would as soon as you mentioned your niece.

Tanya squealed and clapped for a moment before walking him through what she wanted him to do.

“Alright,” he sighed as Tanya took her place next to you. “Let’s get this over with.”

Joel was a surprisingly good sport about the whole thing, stopping and starting the recording again and again as you and Tanya swapped places and did ridiculous looking dances and you couldn’t help but laugh when you were supposed to be standing still as your friend did her part.

“Thank you, Big Miller,” Tanya said, taking the phone back when the two of you couldn’t think of any other stupid dances to do. “We appreciate your contribution to our art.”

“Something tells me that isn’t going to win either of y’all one of those fancy trophies,” he said before looking to you. “Should leave soon. You’ve got early shit tomorrow.”

“So bossy,” Tanya winked at him. Joel rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, he’s like that,” you smiled at him a little. “But we have to let him control what he can otherwise he gets grumpy.”

“Well I guess we do have to let the men be men occasionally,” she smiled at him again before looking to you. “Do I get to see you again this trip or no?”

“Probably not,” you said, scrunching your nose at that. “I’ve got more chemistry reads tomorrow morning, Kimmel in the afternoon, meetings in the evening, premiere the next day, flying home the day after that.”

“Ugh, home in Texas,” she made a face. “LA is way better.”

“I’m sorry, which of us has been on tour for the better part of a year?” You teased. “Not like you’re here for me to hang out with anyway.”

“Hey, we’re not talking about me, we’re talking about you,” she elbowed you lightly and you laughed before you both sighed. “I’m going to miss you.”

“I’ll miss you, too,” you smiled a little. “You can always come visit in Texas, you know.”

“Might take you up on that,” she smiled back.

Tanya loaded you down with two dozen cookies before you left and you couldn’t help but smile a little as Joel drove the two of you back to your house.

“Thank you,” you said, looking over at him in the glow of the street lights. “For the TikTok thing, I mean.”

“Not the end of the world,” Joel shrugged. “Don’t understand it for shit but…”

You smiled a little and opened the cookie tin, holding it out to Joel, who glanced at it as he drove.

“C’mon,” you shook the tin at him, making the cookies inside rattle. “You know you want one.”

“Can’t believe you just go over to some pop star’s house to bake cookies,” he muttered, reaching over and grabbing one, taking a bite and chewing for a moment. “And they’re fuckin’ good, too, that’s even worse…”

You just smirked, closing the tin with a satisfying snap, looking out the window as Joel drove you home.

It had been a strange few days since the lunch with Henry. You’d been busy - which you had expected, cramming weeks worth of meetings and outings into just a few days - and Joel had been a surprisingly comfortable companion for the whole of it.

He sat there, watching stoically from the corner as you read lines with the actors vying to be the romantic lead in Savage Starlight. He didn’t complain about the swarms of paparazzi and fans when you went to do interviews. He even kept whatever complaints he had to himself when you went for a fitting for your dress for the premiere and your stylist, Frank, dragged him in to get feedback from a man on the fit of your bodice.

“What was your name again, I’m sorry,” Frank asked as he stood there with his hands on your sides.

He sighed.

“Joel.”

“Joel,” Frank said. “Right. Well, Joel, since I’m pretty sure you’re straight given -“ he gestured toward Joel as a whole “- that, what do you think? Should we have it sit here…”

“Frank,” you said, half pleading, half knowing it was a lost cause. “Please leave him out of this…”

“Honey, if you won’t listen to me, listen to him,” he said, adjusting the bodice and turning his attention back to Joel. “Do you want to fuck her more with it here?”

He adjusted it again, making it so your breasts were higher, more ample. You sighed.

“Or here?” He said, looking at Joel. “Be honest.”

Joel’s eyes darted to you, wide and almost afraid.

“I… uh…”

“He doesn’t want to fuck me at all, Frank,” you said, rolling your eyes, your hands on your hips.

He rolled his back.

“Please, everyone wants to fuck you.”

“You don’t.”

“Yeah, that’s because I want to fuck him,” he jerked his head toward Joel.

“Oh, well, I’ll be sure to tell Bill that,” you teased, barely holding back a smirk. “Tell him you’re out here…”

“Don’t you dare.”

“…checking out bodyguards…”

“Please don’t.”

“…causing problems…”

“Do you really think that paranoid old man could cope if he knew I was hanging out with that walking wet dream?” Frank asked, brows raised. “Please. For both our sakes, save me the fight and keep it to yourself and you,” he rounded on Joel. “Tell her the truth, that you want to fuck her more when the girls are higher.”

“Can you promise me I won’t have a nip slip on the red carpet if you shove my boobs up to the sky?” You said before Joel had a chance to stumble his way through another response. “Because Quinn might kill me if I do.”

“Do you really think I’d let that happen?” He asked, brows raised. “If it makes you feel better, we’ll put some pasties on the girls, that way if your tits find some way to defy the laws of physics - which, if anyone’s could, it’s yours - you’re not really flashing the whole world.”

“Very considerate,” you said wryly, ignoring the roll of his eyes. “Then sure, put my tits under my chin if that will bring you joy.”

“You’re my favorite client for a reason,” he said, going about pinning the dress into place and you bit back a smile as Joel stood there, his hands in his pockets as he stared determinedly off to the side his eyes darting back your way every half minute or so.

Joel had even been a pleasant presence at home. You’d FaceTimed Ellie the night before while you sat at your kitchen island with a glass of wine, just nodding along and listening to her talk about her day, trying not to dwell too much on the little mannerisms she had that reminded you of Anna. Joel came in - you weren’t sure why, his hand running absently over the granite counter before rapping his knuckles on it and Ellie spotted him then, perking up even more when she did.

“Hey, Big Miller!” She called in a sing-songy voice.

Joel came up behind you, tall and broad at your back, leaning down to get in the frame of the camera of your iPad.

“Hey Trouble,” he said, teasing Ellie with her own code name. “Been keeping your nose clean for your grandmother? Behaving for Seth?”

“No,” she smirked. “But remember that one debate I had coming up?”

“I do.”

“Well, I did it,” she said proudly, sitting up a little straighter. “And I won.”

“You did?” He asked, pride in his voice. Ellie nodded eagerly. “Knew you could, that smart mouth of yours.”

“I kicked his ass,” she said happily.

“Was it that one kid?” Joel asked. “The asshole?”

“Yup,” Ellie beamed. “And I made him look like a fucking idiot.”

“Ellie!” You scolded.

“Sorry, Sissy,” she rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to Joel. “Freaking idiot.”

Joel snorted.

“Good for you, kiddo,” he said. “Knew you could do it.”

Once you finished up the call with Ellie, you went and found Joel. He’d taken to spending time by the pool since the night he’d found you there. Sometimes he had a book, sometimes he just watched the water, his hands folded between his knees looking like he was lost in thought. He was there then, too, watching the water this time with a bottle of beer at his feet.

“Hey,” you said, knowing better than to approach him silently.

He looked back over his shoulder to you.

“Hey,” he said before looking back at the water.

You came and sat next to him, watching the light ripple in silence for a moment.

“Think Ellie misses you,” you said, glancing to him as you did. He just grunted. “It sounds like she talks with you…”

“We got time when I take her to school,” Joel said, almost defensively.

“I know,” you said quickly, gently. “I just… I appreciate it. You being nice to her, I mean.”

“Oh,” he said.

“She needs that,” you continued. “Her dad was never in her life, it was always just her mom, Elise and me and now… She needs as many people as she can to care about her. She’s been through a lot. I’m glad she has someone else she can talk to like that.”

“She’s a good kid,” Joel said, staring at the water. “Don’t mind.”

You nodded silently.

“Puns are awful though,” he said after a moment, smiling ever so slightly.

You laughed.

“God, they really are,” you said. “She has a book of them.”

He looked at you then.

“Who the hell’s idea was that?” He asked.

You laughed again.

“She picked it up at school a few years ago, one of those book fair things. I think she memorized it.”

“Jesus,” Joel laughed and then sighed. “Guess we’ll never be free of ‘em.”

“No,” you smiled a little. “Guess we won’t.”

It had become a strange balance. Not quite friends, not quite… whatever you’d been before. Some odd middle ground where you cared what he thought and found a disorienting comfort in his presence without the kindness of any affection.

Your phone lit up, a link from Tanya. You followed it and watched the video on TikTok, posted for not even five minutes and already thousands of likes. You smiled at it, the look on your own face as you tried not to laugh at your friend’s ridiculous dance moves and your own clumsy, erratic movements when it was your turn funnier than you’d realized.

“That the video?” Joel asked as you sat at a red light.

“Yeah,” you said, holding the phone out to him just as it looped. He watched for a moment, an almost serious expression on his face before it seemed like he was biting back a smile, shaking his head a little. You laughed. “You liked it!”

“I don’t really get it,” he said, giving you a look before the light turned green and he started driving again. “But… yeah, alright, it was kinda funny. Didn’t think you celebrities really did that kind of shit, though.”

“Why not?” You asked, going to repost the video on your own feed and texting Quinn to tell her that you had so she wasn’t caught off guard by it.

“Dunno,” he shrugged. “Just… seems like it’s beneath you.”

You frowned a little.

“You do realize we’re just people, right?” You said. “We just happen to do jobs that make us famous.”

“I know,” Joel said. “Still. Feels weird.”

You laughed a little at that. Yeah, fame was weird.

“Ellie seen the video yet?” He asked, glancing your way quickly.

“She’d better be in bed,” you said. “It’s almost 2 a.m. in Texas. But I’ll send it to her in the morning.”

“She do one, too?” Joel asked.

“She did,” you said, smiling a little and going to Ellie’s TikTok - which you’d insisted be locked down to hell and back so paparazzi couldn’t take advantage of it - and pulling up the video. Joel parked in your driveway and you handed him your phone, pressing play for him and watched as he smiled a little as Ellie and her friend Dina did different crazy dances in a classroom at school to the same song you had.

“Looks like she’s makin’ friends,” Joel said, giving you back your phone. He didn’t wait for a response, getting out of the car. You sat and waited patiently for him to come to your side of the car - a safety protocol that felt excessive but you went with it - before getting out yourself. “That’s good. Can be hard for kids that age now, especially at a new school.”

“Yeah,” you said, frowning slightly at him and biting your tongue. How would he know about kids that age? You weren’t sure of his exact age but you were pretty sure he was a few years older than you and it’s not like he had kids.

“Driver’ll be here early,” he said once you were both safely inside and you set the cookies down in the kitchen. “Any itinerary changes I should know about?”

“Nope,” you said. “Just going to be a busy day for me with a lot of sitting around for you. Might want to bring your book.”

“Be sure to keep myself entertained,” he said wryly, opening the tin and getting out another cookie.

You smiled.

“Goodnight, Big Miller.”

“Night, Siren.”

You brought a bag with you the next day.

You’d done enough shit like this in your time - days where you had to run from place to place at almost breakneck speed, places where you knew you’d be photographed to hell and back and others where you had some semblance of privacy and you knew you’d be desperate for some comfort - that you knew how to plan for it.

Joel sat up front with the driver, leaving you in the back seat alone and you sent the TikTok to Ellie, telling her you hoped she had a good day at school and that you were excited to see her in a few days. You took a few minutes to review the lines you were working with that day, making sure you were comfortable with the ones you’d be reading with the kids. You always remembered your first line readings with grown ups once you were actually old enough to fully understand what was going on, how some made you feel at ease and some made your stomach churn and skin crawl. You always wanted to be the comfortable person for these kids. You hadn’t worked with many children in adulthood but it always felt strange when you did, some twinge in you that made it seem like you were watching your younger self but not able to stop what was coming.

“Doomed by the narrative,” you muttered to yourself, skimming the lines of the girl who would play your childhood self.

“Hm?” Joel said back over his shoulder.

“Nothing,” you said, locking the iPad as the car pulled up to the studio gate. “Just running lines.”

There were four kids you were reading with but one that you’d been told was the favorite and she was reading last.

All the kids were talented, you’d give them that. Of course, they had to be to make it this far. They were all 10 to 12 years old, all excited to be there, all somewhat accustomed to this life already. But you posed for pictures with them anyway - the photos going on their agents’ phones so they couldn’t post them before they were allowed to - and performed your lines in all the different ways the casting director asked.

Eventually, the last girl came in, a sense of nervous, almost frantic energy pouring off of her, something that seemed so far away but so familiar from your childhood.

“Can I see her resume?” You asked the casting director quietly as the production assistant went over things with the girl.

“Sure,” she said, rifling through a small pile before handing it over. You reviewed it quickly and found what you expected - some commercial work, a three episode arc on a sitcom, no film. She was just 12 years old and new to this. You slid the resume back and went over to the girl who, you had to admit, looked a lot like you.

She was staring at you, her eyes a little wide and you tried not to laugh. Instead, you smiled and held out your hand, introducing yourself.

“Yeah,” she said, a little awed. “I know.”

“Thought you might,” you smiled a little wider. “What’s your name?”

“Catherine,” she said. “Catherine Ford.”

“It’s nice to meet you Catherine,” you said. “Want to run some lines with me, see how we do?”

She nodded quickly and you showed her where to stand in front of the camera that was capturing your line reads for the director to watch later.

“Let’s go from from the top,” the casting director said, giving you a nod. “Get us started.”

You just nodded and found the character quickly, falling into her headspace, making your eyes meet the girl who was yourself.

“Who are you?” You asked, a panicky edge to your voice.

“Don’t you know?” She asked in response, cocking her head slightly to match your own. “I’m you.”

“No,” you shook your head. “No, that’s not possible, you’re not real, you…”

“I am,” she said, all calm and wise. “I’m you and I know that you… I… crud…”

Her face scrunched and she looked down to the paper in her hands.

“Keep going,” the casting director said to you. “Lead her in.”

You nodded, taking a moment to reset and looking at Catherine.

“That’s not possible,” you said again. “You’re not real, you…”

“Don’t you know?” She said and then her face fell. “Crap, I’m sorry!”

“It’s OK,” you smiled gently. “Want to go again?”

“Is that OK?” She asked. You just nodded and she sighed. “OK, cool. I’ll get it this time!”

“From ‘that’s not possible,’ please,” the casting director said and you obeyed, but Catherine missed her cue to cut in that time, freezing in the moment and then looking like she was about to cry.

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “I promise, I know my lines, I was up so late practicing, I won’t mess up like this if you actually cast me, I…”

The casting director got up but you held out a hand, keeping her where she was.

“Catherine?” You cut her off before she had a full blown panic attack. “It’s OK. Did you warm up before you came in today?”

“No,” she sniffled a little. “No, I should have, and…”

“Hey, I’m not criticizing you,” you smiled gently. “Even if you had, it’s probably been long enough since you left your house that it wouldn’t make a difference now anyway. Why don’t we take a minute, warm up, then try again. Sound good?”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “Yeah, that would be great.”

“OK,” you said. “Any warm ups you really like?”

“Um,” she thought for a second. “To sit in solemn silence? Do you know that one?”

You smiled a little wider.

“Good pick,” you said. “One of my favorites. Want to start or do you want me to?”

“Can you?” She asked. “I never have to…”

“Of course,” you said, taking a deep breath. “Ready? To sit in solemn silence on a dull, dark dock…”

You did a few warm ups with her, helping her loosen up and get relaxed before you got set to go again, tension coming back into her small shoulders as she got set for the next try.

“Hey,” you said gently. Her eyes met yours. “It’s OK. Just you and me, two actors doing our thing, OK?”

She smiled a little at that.

“OK.”

She seemed to take that to heart, hitting every word that time, the two of you falling into that rare space where you felt truly connected, that you were inhabiting these characters, building tension, pulling these feelings from each other and laying them bare. It was a space that was hard to find, you couldn’t do it with every actor, and this 12-year-old girl had managed it.

The room was silent for a moment when the scene wrapped but then the casting director clapped, you and Catherine both turning to look at her, Catherine beaming.

“Beautiful,” she said. “That was great, really really great.”

The two of you did a few other scenes, Catherine finding her groove more and more each time and you couldn’t help but marvel at her talent. She had raw skill that many of your contemporaries would kill for, skill that she’d only hone over time. She was going to be an incredible actor if this industry didn’t destroy her first.

“Who brought you here today?” You asked Catherine when the read was over, the casting director already talking conspiratorially with her assistant.

“My mom,” she said. “She’s in the waiting room.”

“Can I meet her?” You asked.

“Yeah!” She said eagerly. “She’d love that!”

You flagged Joel down from his spot in the corner and followed her there, her mom jumping up when she saw her come through the door.

“Hey kiddo!” She said excitedly, hugging her daughter. “How’d it go?”

She noticed you then, her eyes going a little wide at the sight of you.

“Hi,” you smiled. “I’m…”

“I know,” she cut you off, her eyes still wide but going somehow wider. “Oh my God, that was probably so rude, I’m sorry!”

You laughed.

“It’s fine,” you said. “Honestly, if it didn’t make me feel like such a self-centered jerk, my life would probably be a lot easier if I just assumed everyone knew who I was. You’re Catherine’s mom?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Margie.”

“Hi Margie,” you said. “It’s good to meet you. Catherine is really incredible, you know.”

“I know,” Margie said, tugging her daughter against her side and giving her a squeeze. “Trust me, we wouldn’t even be trying this if she wasn’t. She just begged and begged for years and eventually it was so obvious she was so good that we should at least give it a shot.”

Catherine beamed at that and you smiled, the familiar pinch of tears at the back of your throat that you swallowed as you did. Her mother seemed nothing like your own.

“I took a look at her resume, looks like you’re pretty new?” You asked and Margie nodded. “Well, getting started is hard, there’s a lot to navigate. Can I see your phone?”

She all but dove into her pocket and unlocked it before handing it over.

You entered your number, saving it with your first name and last initial.

“Don’t share that around,” you said, giving Margie her phone back. “But if you need anything - anything at all - give me a call or a text. Alright?”

“We gotta go,” Joel said quietly behind you. “Cutting it close.”

You just nodded before turning to Catherine.

“It was really great working with you today,” you smiled.

“You too,” she said, smiling hugely.

“Looking forward to doing it again soon,” you said, giving her a hug and a wave before going back to the audition room. Your bag was in the corner and you grabbed it before going to the casting director.

“I want Catherine,” you said, already going through your bag for your makeup kit.

“She was very strong,” she replied. “But she had the shaky start and…”

“No,” you said, cutting her off. “She’s it. No one else came close. Not trying to tell you how to do your job but it’s Catherine. She’s just green but she’s young, she’ll get used to it quick. Trust me.”

She considered you for a moment.

“Alright,” she sighed eventually. “She was the top pick going into today but if we need to recast because she can’t hack it…”

“We won’t,” you said. “I’ll make sure she’s got what she needs.”

“Alright,” she said. “I’ll confirm with the director but we’ll get her.”

You got changed into something far less comfortable than the leggings and sweatshirt you’d been wearing but looked way better for TV - Frank putting together a pair of velvet wide-legged trousers and matching jacket with a mesh turtleneck - and did your makeup and hair as quickly as you could before rushing to the car, Joel on high alert any time you were outside.

“You were good with her,” he said once you were safely underway.

“Hm?”

“The girl,” Joel said, his voice gruff. “You were good with her. She was nervous, I could tell.”

“Oh,” you said, watching the back of his head in front of you, as if that would tell you anything about what he was thinking. “Yeah. I just remember what it was like to audition like that. It’s lot of pressure.”

“Can’t imagine doin’ that to a kid,” he said harshly. “Should get to just be a kid.”

“There’s a reason I don’t want Ellie growing up here,” you said, looking out the window at the city going by. “Don’t want her getting any ideas.”

The car pulled up to the theater, a hoard of people outside the doors waiting for you.

“Ready?” Joel asked over his shoulder, his dark eyes meeting yours, something about the depth of his gaze making it impossible to look away.

“Ready,” you said.

He got out first and he tried to rush you through the crowd but you saw a little girl who had to be about seven or eight - wearing a t-shirt with the duck you’d voiced years ago, when Ellie was about her age - watching you with hopeful eyes.

“Hi there,” you smiled, getting down on her level. “What’s your name?”

“Parker,” she said, smiling hugely, one of her front teeth missing.

“Hi Parker,” you smiled back. “It’s so nice to meet you! I really like your shirt.”

“It’s my favorite movie!” She said excitedly.

“You have excellent taste,” you said with a wink. You nodded to the piece of paper clutched to her chest. “What do you have there?”

Her face lit up for a moment and she thrust the paper at you.

“It’s my drawing!” She said. “I did it myself!”

You took it and looked down at it, a childish, colored pencil version of the duck you’d played there on the page.

“Parker, this is so good!” You said, smiling at her. “You’re such a good artist! Is that what you’re in school for right now? Art? What college do you go to?”

“I don’t go to college!” She laughed.

“You don’t!” You gasped in mock surprise. “What! How old are you? 20? 21?”

“I’m seven!” She beamed.

“Oh, my goodness,” you said, looking back at the paper. “You were such a good artist and so grown up I figured you were much older.”

You gave her the paper back

“Can you sign it for me?” She asked, holding it out with a pen.

“Well, the artist is usually the one to sign their work,” you said. “But… I’ll sign it if you do, too.”

She beamed at that and you let her use your back to sign her name on her drawing before passing it off to you. You signed it, too, and gave it back before taking a selfie with her mom’s phone.

“Alright,” Joel said when you stood up again, his face drawn tight, his hand on the middle of your back. “Let’s get you inside, fuckin’ sitting ducks out here.”

“Oh, we’re fine,” you waved him off, going back to the crowd and taking selfies and signing autographs as you worked your way into the theater.

“You like trying to give me a damn heart attack?” He asked once you were inside.

“Everyone needs a hobby,” you said wryly as Quinn rushed over to you with a production assistant at her back. “Should try getting one yourself, you know.”

“Jesus,” he muttered, rolling his eyes but following you to the greenroom all the same.

Quinn reviewed the final topics for the interview and you said hi to Jimmy before getting ready to go on stage and put on a show.

Doing interviews like this one still felt odd to you. Not because they were unusual - you’d gotten used to the talk show circuit by this point in your career - but because of their very nature. The illusion of some intimate conversation between friends on display for the few hundred strangers in the same room and then broadcast for all the world to see.

You’d crafted a version of yourself for times like this, one that was built to appeal to an audience and seem genuine and real, some artificial sheen to wrap yourself up in that you slipped into like any other character. This one, though, grated on you. The strange dishonesty of it, the character you were playing yourself instead of the creation of someone else.

The interview went along like any other for a while, the two of you bantering back and forth and you sharing funny stories from set that sounded off the cuff but were actually carefully rehearsed to make sure you and your costars’ stories aligned.

“Speaking of Chris,” Jimmy said as your time was running down and the audience was quieting after another bout of laughter. “I do have to talk about one thing with him.”

“Just one?” You teased and he laughed.

“Well, plenty,” he said. “But did you know that you and Chris are going viral?”

“No,” you laughed. “But I’m sure my publicist does and she’s thrilled. What are we going viral for?”

“There was a moment in an interview this week,” Jimmy said. “I think we have it…”

The screen behind you changed and the moment from the junket days earlier played, you and Chris sitting side by side as he started on his rant, one that you’d thought would never see the light of day.

“First of all, my costar here is the most beautiful woman on the planet and the single most talented actor I’ve ever had the pleasure of working with so you will treat her with the respect she’s due…”

You sat there, cheeks getting hot, pressing your fingers into your thigh, nervous energy making your stomach turn as you watched Chris lay into the reporter. You’d hoped that this clip had been squashed by his publicist, that the reporter honing in on one of your lowest points wouldn’t be put out for all the world to consume. Apparently not.

“That’s all it takes to go viral now, eh?” You joked as the video ended. Jimmy chuckled lightly but no one in the audience laughed.

“You’ve got to admit, that was a pretty great moment,” he said. “But I was wondering what you thought of it.”

“I think Chris has a way with words that I can’t quite match,” you smiled a small but tight smile. “And I think if I say anything different, he might go off on me next.”

That did get some laughs and you laughed with the audience, hoping that you looked playful and fun, not tense and ready to crawl out of your skin.

“Well we don’t want that,” Jimmy laughed. “Thanks so much for coming on and everyone, go see As We Know It, out Friday!”

You waved your goodbyes and looked stage right, oddly comforted by Joel’s commanding presence there, his face firm as he watched you. You walked right for him as you left the stage, one of his arms going around you as you came alongside him, something grounding in his touch as he ushered you away.

“You’re OK,” he said quietly, guiding you toward the door you came in.

You frowned and looked at him, Joel glancing your way as you did.

“You’re stressed,” he said. “I can tell. I’ve got you.”

You did a more abbreviated run of the crush of fans this time, stopping for a few selfies and signing a few pictures, but not lingering, instead moving as quickly as you could for the car without looking like you were rushing.

Joel didn’t get in the front seat this time, instead climbing in back with you. You frowned as he did but he just ordered the driver to start toward the restaurant where you were meeting with producers.

“You alright?” Joel asked after the car was out of sight from the crowd outside the theater, his eyes oddly soft and open. “That was shitty, them springin’ that on you.”

“It happens,” you said, looking back at him as intently as he seemed to be looking at you. “I should be used to it. I am usually, but…”

“Shouldn’t need to be,” he said. “They should act better.”

You watched him for a moment, trying to puzzle him out but couldn’t see past his stern face with the strangely open eyes. You didn’t understand him. You weren’t sure you ever would.

“I’ll be fine,” you said when you’d been quiet a little too long. “But thank you.”

He frowned.

“For what.”

“Caring,” you shrugged. “Not many people do. But I’m afraid I need you to look out that window for a minute.”

His frown deepened.

“I need to change,” you said. “Shouldn’t be photographed in the same thing this many times so look out that way, please.”

His jaw quirked but he obeyed, shaking his head a little as he did.

“Shouldn’t be photographed at all,” he muttered, arms crossed tightly over his chest as you got a pair of black leather pants out of your bag and set them on the seat between you and Joel.

“Probably right,” you said, shrugging out of the jacket and adjusting yourself so you could slide your pants down and off, leaving you just in the mesh top. “But comes with the territory.”

You dropped the clothes you’d shed beside you, the velvet of the fabric brushing Joel’s arm and he glanced toward you - just a reaction, you told yourself - before he jerked his head back to look out the window again.

“Oh don’t act like half the planet hasn’t seen me half naked,” you rolled your eyes as you got into the leather pants, a task that was easier said than done in the back seat of an SUV. “I promise, I won’t bite.”

“Right,” he muttered.

You got the pants into place and pulled out another jacket, draping it over your shoulders and putting the other clothes away.

“You’re safe, Big Miller,” your teased, tossing the bag in the trunk.

“Try to make a habit of not seeing my clients naked,” Joel muttered, settling back into his seat.

“Sounds boring,” you said.

He gave you a look and you laughed.

“Don’t worry,” you said, clapping him on the shoulder. “I don’t think you’re at risk of anyone thinking you’re interested in fucking me. You’re safe.”

He just grunted and you smiled a little, looking out the window. There was something comfortable when he was like this. You weren’t sure what to do with a Joel who didn’t seem to loathe you, at least a little bit. Even though you wanted him to like you. You weren’t entirely sure why, but you did.

The paparazzi were waiting for you outside the restaurant, too, but you’d been expecting that. Quinn had told them you’d be here and you made sure your pants were actually zipped before getting out and putting on the show you always did, smiling and waving, taking selfies with fans who’d heard you were going to be there, too.

You kept the show on through dinner, talking with the producers of a period piece you were interested in doing, Joel sitting next to you the entire time, his jaw quirking when Leo joined the table, too.

But Henry didn’t make a surprise appearance and, after a while, you found yourself relaxing into things, a few too many glasses of wine deep and giggling when you left the restaurant.

“You got what you need for the premiere?” Quinn asked as you made your way to the door.

“Frank has a vision,” you said dramatically and Quinn snorted. “Don’t worry, my tits are basically hanging out, the press will love it.”

“Well I’ll see you there,” she said, kissing you on each cheek. “Need Frank to have a vision for me one of these days.”

“Call him,” you said eagerly. “I’m sure he’d work his magic! Oh, we could go somewhere matching, that would be fun!”

“OK, you’re drunk,” Quinn laughed and looked to Joel. “She’s drunk. Make sure she gets out of here safely and doesn’t talk to any of the paps outside?”

“I’m not drunk!” You protested and Quinn laughed, taking the lapels of your jacket in your hands.

“You’re drunk,” she said. “And that’s OK, you’ve been doing a lot lately, you deserve to have a little fun. Just don’t make more work for me in the morning when you do. See you tomorrow at the premiere.”

“The premiere!” You said and she laughed, giving you and Joel a final wave. You turned to Joel. “We know what I’m wearing for the premiere, what are you wearing for the premiere?”

“No one cares what I wear for shit,” Joel said, nudging you toward the door. “C’mon, driver’s pulling up.”

“Why wouldn’t they care?” You pouted, looking over your shoulder toward him. “You’re a good looking man, you know.”

“Alright, let’s go,” he said, shaking his head.

“What?” You said. “You are! I’m not trying to hit on you but that’s just an objective fact. Even Frank said so.”

The flashes caught you off guard. You’d forgotten, for a moment, that it seemed like half the planet cared that you’d had dinner here. You smiled and waved and Joel kept you walking straight toward the car, keeping you from stopping and talking to the people screaming your name.

“That felt rude,” you said once you were in the car and things were quiet again.

“Too bad,” Joel said, in back beside you again. “Don’t need to be talkin’ to those assholes, anyway.”

“There were some fans in there, too, I think,” you said, settling down into your seat. “But back to what I was saying.”

“No,” Joel said simply. “Seatbelt.”

“What?” You frowned. “What do you mean ‘no’?”

“I mean, put your seatbelt on,” he said.

Your frown deepened and you looked around yourself for a moment before Joel made an irritated sound and reached over you, grabbing the seatbelt and pulling it into place.

“OK,” you said, adjusting it and sitting up a little straighter. “Seatbelt’s on. Why can’t we keep talking about it? I’m just saying, you should take the compliment…”

“Not interested,” Joel said.

“Oh will you calm down?” You rolled your eyes. “I promise I’m not trying to get you into bed, you’re safe from my scary Siren claws, I just mean if you dress well tomorrow at the premiere people would notice because you’re a good looking person, that’s all.”

“It don’t matter because I’m not gonna be seen with you,” Joel said, his voice stern. “I’ll be on the other side of where press and shit are but the carpet will be you, some assistant and that Chris guy. Don’t matter what I’m wearing or how good I do or don’t look, alright? Jesus…”

“Oh,” you said, a little let down. “You really let them talk you into that? I’m shocked.”

“The premiere’s got it’s own security and it’s actually damn good,” Joel said. “Not good enough for me to just stay home but you’ll be alright. Don’t need me in any more goddamn photos with you than there already are.”

You watched him for a moment.

“You still don’t like me, do you?” You asked.

He frowned, looking at you.

“Why’s it matter.”

“I didn’t say it did,” you shrugged. “You just don’t like me.”

“Don’t need to like you,” he said. “Just need to keep you alive. Besides, the whole damn planet likes you, ain’t that enough?”

You scoffed.

“No they don’t.”

“Yeah?” Joel asked. “What d’you call that shit, the hundreds of people waiting for fucking hours just to catch a glimpse of you if it’s not like.”

“They don’t like me,” you said. “They don’t know me. They’re obsessed with a commodity. I’m not a person to them, I’m just a weird combination of every part I’ve ever played, every passing idea they’ve decided to assign to me, some idealized creation that doesn’t exist but they’re convinced is real. You know me, at least a little, and you don’t like me.”

“You’re drunk.”

“I’m right,” you said, your stomach twisting at that. You shouldn’t care what Joel thought of you but you did. There were so few people on this planet who knew you - actually knew you - and he was one of them. And he didn’t see something in you worth liking.

The car pulled up to your driveway and Joel got out first, going around and opening your door.

“C’mon,” he said, offering you his hand. “Like you or not, you got an early day.”

You took his hand - large and warm and secure - and slipped down to the ground, tottering on your heels enough that it made you laugh, Joel steadying you as you went.

“I trust you to actually get yourself to bed?” Joel asked as he led you inside.

You scoffed.

“Where else am I gonna go?”

“Sure you’d find some way to get into trouble,” he replied wryly.

“I’ll go to bed,” you rolled your eyes. “See you in the morning Big Miller.”

***

Joel watched you head down the hall, weaving a little as you walked before disappearing into your room, trying not to think about the way the fucking leather pants hugged your ass or the way your hips moved when you walked.

“Jesus,” he muttered to himself, stalking off to the kitchen to get a water.

You just don’t like me.

Lord, how he wished that were true.

He liked you alright. Far more than he should. Enough that the entire planet’s fucking obsession with you was starting to make sense.

He tried not to think about that.

Liking you was not a good idea. It was a completely horrible idea, actually. He wanted to go back to how he felt before he’d come here. It seemed like so long ago now, before he knew about your mom and Elise and Anna, before what you’d told him - and clearly hadn’t - about that fucking producer, before he saw you laughing with a friend or making kids smile just because you could. He wanted to go back to before you were a person - a real person, one with fears and wants and hurts - instead of some rich asshole he could pretend was a different species from himself.

It wasn’t a good idea to care about you. He had to protect you, he couldn’t be distracted by things like your fucking feelings. Caring about you was dangerous.

He opened the fridge and went to grab a bottle of water but, instead, took one of the beers that was sitting there. Not that drinking right now was a good idea, either, but fuck it.

Joel brought the beer to the pool and sat on the edge of it, the glow of your bedroom light almost tempting. The curtain covered the window but he could make out the silhouette of you through the glass and gauzy fabric. You must not have a shirt on, the outline of your breasts clear in the hazy, warm light. He watched for a moment as the outline of you pulled on some baggy piece of fabric, covering yourself, and he forced himself to look back at the water.

He wasn’t going to think about that. He wasn’t.

He wasn’t going to admit that he thought about it the day before, too.

He wasn’t going to admit that he thought he might break his fucking jaw from clenching it as he watched you with the actors during the audition shit the day before.

You with these men all made for the screen, designed to be your fucking equal in a way he never could be even if he tried - which he wouldn’t because it didn’t matter. They read lines with you and he watched as you looked at them with adoration, touched them with some kind of longing, pressed your body to theirs, arching around them to fit yourself to them like you belonged there. Because you did belong there. If not with these men in particular then with a man like them. Not a man like him.

Not that it mattered. It didn’t fucking matter.

No, he wasn’t going to think about those things. He wasn’t going to think about the way your tits looked in that fucking dress that Frank had asked his opinion on. He wasn’t going to think about glancing over at you in the car today when he knew he fucking shouldn’t have and seeing you there, half naked in your fucking see through shirt, your thighs looking so warm and welcoming and fucking soft.

He wasn’t.

He’d thought about it the night before. He wasn’t proud of that but he had, the image of you getting fitted for the damn dress at the forefront of his mind. It was like his head was a scratched record, skipping over that point in time again and again and again.

He tried to think about anything else as he stood in the shower that night but fucking couldn’t, his cock half hard as he tried to shove the memory of you away.

When he went to bed, he caved to his baser instincts. He decided to jerk off. Just to get it out of his system because he couldn’t be still stuck on this the next morning and he didn’t think he could sleep with his balls swollen and aching as they were.

He tried looking at porn but he couldn’t figure out what the fuck he wanted to watch. He was absently scrolling through a site, nothing standing out until something caught his eye. Your name, on a video.

He stared at it for a second, your name followed by EVERY SEX SCENE - COMPILATION.

His mouth went dry. His cock was painfully hard.

Could he watch that? It’s not like it was really wrong - it wasn’t something that had been shared without your permission and it wasn’t actual porn. It was just something he could see if he went on Netflix right now and sought it out.

But you hadn’t made it so fucking assholes like him could jerk off to it. And it wasn’t like you were a stranger now, he knew you. Could he do that?

His dick throbbed at the thought.

Could he stop himself?

Joel clicked on the video, his stomach twisting as he pressed play. There was an ad and he read the comments while it played.

She’s so fucking hot.

Bet she moans like a whore in real life.

Fuck I want to choke her out.

She was hotter before, she hit the wall when she hit 30.

The sound of you moaning in his headphones grabbed his attention, dulling the violent anger that swelling in him when he read what other people said about you. Joel took a shaky breath and made the video full screen. He was already this far down the rabbit hole, he may as well fully commit.

The first chunk of excerpts were from the movie you won the Oscar for and he could only stomach a few seconds of it. You looked disturbingly young to him, just a teenager with a softer version of your face getting on her knees, starting to take off her shirt making him jump ahead. He jumped again when it just felt too strange, watching you start to get undressed or turn around when you were obviously shirtless - seeing your skin this way feeling too keenly wrong.

It was the last scene in the video that he found himself watching in earnest. It was something more recent, you looked almost the same as you did now, none of the childish softness to your face that had been there in the first scenes. It was a romantic scene, one that was carefully shot so the viewer saw nothing illicit. The curve of your bare waist, the edge of the swell of your breast, a hint of your ass.

But Joel liked it this way, this moment not tinged with the wrongness the others were. You moaned as your on screen lover pushed inside you - or mimicked it, Joel corrected himself - your fingers spreading wide over the man’s back.

Joel took his cock in his hand, swallowing hard, his heart beating fast. He worked himself slowly as he watched as the man on screen explored your body, close up shots that revealed nothing interspersed with your face as you gasped in pleasure.

He let himself get lost in that, in the sounds you made, stroking himself harder, faster. He wanted to make you make those sounds. He wanted to press his lips to the delicate skin of your throat and kiss and lick and suck as he sank inside of you. He wanted his hands to run over the softness of you, to press his firm chest to your plush one and feel your heart beat through your skin. He wanted to feel you swallow him whole, his body slotting into yours as he made you come.

You moaned and gasped on the video and he let himself pretend that it was for him and he came, imagining it was you and not his own fucking hand he was buried inside as rope after rope of his come spilled over his skin.

His cheeks got hot as he closed the video and cleaned himself up, a pile of tissues on his nightstand the only sign of his indiscretion.

He tried to clear his mind as he settled in to sleep, reminding himself of what he already knew: You were not meant for something like him. It didn’t matter what he wanted, you were for someone better than him. You needed someone beautiful like you, someone with money and power and purpose. You deserved someone like you. And he needed to get past that, at least enough that he could do his fucking job and keep you safe. That was all he was good for now. He knew that.

He tried to remind himself of that again as he sat by the edge of the pool, his mind lingering on you, on your striking beauty and disquieting kindness and keen talent.

He took a sip of beer.

It didn’t matter, he told himself. None of it mattered.

That was the truth of it. Even if you were his equal - even if he was rich and famous or you were just some waitress or school teacher or something besides the most famous woman on earth - it wouldn’t matter. It’s not like he could do anything about it, anyway.

About a year after he lost Sarah, he’d tried dating. It hadn’t been his idea but Tommy had set him up with a friend of a friend and it hadn’t gone well. Not because she wasn’t a good woman - she was. She was kind, smart, beautiful.

But it didn’t seem to matter what Joel did, he couldn’t seem to bring himself to really care for her. He liked her well enough. Enjoyed her company and enjoyed her body but any real affection seemed far away. He’d broken it off before things would need to get too serious, just the thought of getting any further involved making his chest get tight and his head swim. He wasn’t meant for things like that anymore.

He’d left humanity behind when his daughter had. Anything like love and care was closed to him now, he knew that.

So why did he keep thinking about you?

He downed the rest of the beer and sighed before getting up, looking toward your window. He watched the outline of you pull back the blankets and climb into your bed before stretching and turning out the lamp.

He just shook his head and went inside, putting the bottle in the recycling bin before heading to his own room, trying not to think of you lying on the other side of the wall.

It didn’t make a difference. You were still in his dreams that night.

You were standing opposite him like you had the men you’d read lines with but, instead of the comfortable clothes you’d worn to the audition, you were in the mesh top you’d had on that day. Just that and your panties, like you’d been in the back seat of the car.

“Ready?” You asked, your eyes meeting his and he actually let himself look into them now, and how soft and deep they were. You didn’t wait for his response. “I’ll read you in.”

Your body changed, the physicality of you shifting as you became someone else inside your skin.

“What are you so afraid of?” You asked, almost forcefully.

Joel knew his line. He’d heard it enough the day before.

“You!” He said. “I’m afraid of you, of this power you have… I can’t protect you, I can’t…”

“I don’t need you to protect me,” you cut him off, stepping closer. “I need you to trust me.”

You were close enough that you were touching him.

He knew this part, too, but he didn’t stick to his lines.

“But I need to protect you,” he said. “It’s all I know how to do, I… I can’t…”

You reached up and ran your fingers through his hair, your eyes meeting his, your body arching against his own and he could feel every line of you through his clothes. You moved to kiss him and he went to meet you but you stopped just short, your breath warm on his skin.

“Why didn’t you protect me, Joel?” You whispered, your lips brushed his as you spoke.

He frowned, pulling back ever so slightly.

This wasn’t in the script.

“You should have saved me,” you said, stepping back from him.

Suddenly, he was somewhere new with you. The middle of the road, a burning car to one side of you. You stepped back from him again, cradling your arm to your chest, blood spreading quickly over your skin from a wound at your stomach.

“No,” he reached for you, but you stepped back. Your ankle was at an odd angle, making you limp. “No, this isn’t…”

“You should have been there,” you said, tears welling in your eyes. “You should have saved me. Why didn’t you save me, Joel?”

“I…” he began but you collapsed then and he jumped to catch you, pulling your body tight to his chest, panting for breath. “No, no, no, you’re OK, it’s alright, you’re gonna be OK, you hear me?”

“No,” you reached up and ran your fingers through his hair. “I won’t. Because you didn’t save me.”

He woke with a start, ready to jump between you and any unseen threat. His chest was tight so he could barely breathe, his whole body covered in a sheen of sweat.

It took him a moment to remember where he was, in a bed that was his but wasn’t, in a foreign land that wasn’t really so different from his own. It was still dark outside and he clutched at his chest, trying to calm himself down.

You were safe. You were safe and he was close enough to you that he could protect you if something happened.

He repeated it in his head like a mantra and it helped but only so much. There was this little, nagging thought that, while he thought you were safe and well, he couldn’t be sure. Not until he saw you.

It was early, still dark outside, but he checked his phone. It wasn’t the middle of the night, at least.

He got up on the off chance that you might be awake, glancing toward your bedroom door and seeing it closed. But it looked like there was a light on in the main part of the house so he followed it, finding you leaning against the counter in the kitchen in a bathrobe, a towel around your head. You were scrolling through something on your tablet, drinking from a mug of coffee. There were only a few lights on, the room still mostly dark, something quiet and almost illicit about his presence there. But the tension in his body eased all the same. You were whole, he could relax.

“Did I wake you?” You frowned, glancing up at him from the glow of the tablet screen.

“No,” he said, almost defensive. “Why.”

“Because,” you shrugged, looking back at the tablet. “You usually wear a shirt when I don’t catch you by surprise.”

He glanced down at himself and almost groaned. He hadn’t even thought about putting something on.

“Just woke up,” he said, going to get a cup of coffee for himself. “Didn’t think you’d be awake yet.”

“Well, I needed to get a workout and a shower in before the glam team shows up,” you said, taking a drink from a green smoothie that he hadn’t noticed before. “Don’t worry, I didn’t go anywhere. I just swam some laps and Quinn’s assistant brought me this.”

You held up the cup and waggled it in his direction. He rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, because heaven forbid I’m concerned about you gettin’ grabbed by some stalker,” he muttered, getting himself a coffee and leaning against the counter across from you and tried to resist the urge to look down the neck of your robe, something that would be so easy to do with you bent over the counter the way you were.

Then you stood up straight, setting the tablet down, making his life a little easier.

“I’m sorry for yesterday,” you said, your coffee cup tight in your hand.

Joel frowned.

“What d’you mean.”

“I mean,” you took a deep breath. “That I behaved unprofessionally. I shouldn’t have gotten drunk, I shouldn't have said the things I did. You’re right, it’s not your job to like me and it doesn’t matter if you do or not. I hope I didn’t make you too uncomfortable but, if I did, I apologize. You’re good at your job and I appreciate the work you do. It won’t happen again.”

“Oh,” Joel said, taken aback. “Um… It’s… It’s fine.”

“Good,” you said, downing the last of your coffee. “Glam squad will be here in a little while. You may want to hide while you can. I might promise professionalism but I can’t speak for my stylist.”

Joel snorted at that.

“Good advice.”

You smiled tightly, taking the smoothie back toward your bedroom.

“Hey, Siren,” he said, almost wincing as he said it but he couldn’t seem to bring himself to use your real name, the words seeming almost too intimate. But you stopped all the same, facing him with your eyebrows raised. “I meant that. It’s fine. You didn’t do anything wrong, don’t go beating yourself up about it.”

“Thanks, Big Miller,” you smiled a little, softer this time. “I appreciate that.”

Joel ate something and got dressed before people started showing up for you. He met each of them at the door, making sure he knew who was in the house and what they were there to do. Makeup artists and hairstylists and, of course, Frank and his assistant. There was even a team of people escorting a fucking necklace and earrings in some oversized red box that made Joel grind his teeth. It was a little surprising, just how many people it took to get you ready to go to a fucking event.

He couldn’t imagine what they could all be fucking doing, especially not for hours upon hours. It’s not like there was anything on you to improve, he wasn’t sure why the hell it’d take an entire day to get you ready for anything.

But when you eventually emerged from your room, he understood.

Frank was carrying the back of your dress while you held up the front and you were nodding along to something the woman beside you was saying and Joel couldn’t help but stare at you.

It was like you were a sculpture or a painting, more a work of art than any mortal thing. The gown looked like it had been made for you, finding and highlighting every soft curve of your body. There was a diamond necklace with a massive center stone resting in the hollow of your throat, making him think about how delicate your skin would be there. Your makeup perfectly framed your eyes and the arch of your cheekbones and the plush of your lips. Your hair and nails and eyelashes were all longer and more elegant than they’d been just hours before and you were so beautiful it was hard to look at you. It was painful, wrong in some way. You were something beyond him entirely, ethereal and other. He wasn’t meant to look upon the likes of you.

“You ready?” You asked, turning your attention to him.

“Yeah,” he said, voice rougher than he’d meant it to be. “You really gonna watch an entire movie in that thing?”

“Not the most uncomfortable gown I’ve worn, trust me,” you cocked a smile at him. “But we should go, there’s always traffic for premieres.”

Joel just grunted noncommittally. He needed to get his shit together. He couldn’t afford to let you distract him just because you were beautiful. Not after his dream this morning, not when he knew what was at risk.

He stared determinedly out the window all the way to the theater.

“You’ll have to let me know what you think of it,” you said as the two of you sat in traffic, getting closer and closer to the red carpet.

“Of what,” Joel said, looking your way for the first time in a while, forcing himself to not let his eyes linger on the swell of your breasts, the curve of your throat.

“Of the film,” you said. “You might be the only person here who will be honest to me about it. I’m curious to know your thoughts.”

“Not a movie critic,” he muttered.

“I know,” you said. “That’s why I’m curious.”

The two of you finally made it to the red carpet and the door opened, your costar there waiting for you with his hand out.

“My God, love,” he said, looking you up and down. “Do you ever look anything but perfect?”

“I do what I can,” you smiled, giving him your hand and letting him help you out of the limo.

Joel got out, too, going around the back of the crowd instead of following you up the carpet, the distance from you making his heart beat faster and his muscles clench.

“Fuckin’ risky,” he muttered to himself, following your path from the other side of the cluster of fans who were pressed against velvet ropes. There was a large screen set up, a camera tracking you and Reese’s progress down the carpet and Joel kept his head on a swivel, watching you and the crowd and the space at the edges for any threats, trying not to grind his teeth at the way your costar’s hands rested at your waist, hip, back.

He’d very nearly relaxed when you and Reese had worked your way down most of the fans. You’d almost made it to the press, the more contained part of the carpet where you’d be more secure. Maybe, he thought, he was just being paranoid. Maybe there wasn’t anything to worry about here.

You started talking to a young man at the end of he cluster of fans, one not much older than the college idiots that seemed to dominate Austin half the fucking year, but there was something about him that set Joel on edge.

You took a selfie with him and signed something for him but he kept clutching at your arm, not letting you move. Reese’s usually carefree expression shifted, eyebrows drawing together, lips pursing. He put his hand at your waist and gave the man a wave, saying something and smiling a smile that didn’t reach his eyes before pulling you away. You smiled warmly at the man, probably saying something nicer than he deserved, and let Reese lead you on but the man wasn’t letting you go. Your eyes went up, immediately finding Joel’s, a spark of fear in your gaze he could see even from this far away.

Both of the man’s hands closed around your wrist and he yanked you back toward him, pulling you out of Reese’s hold and making you stumble and Joel was moving before he fully realized what he was doing.

It was instinctual, shoving his way through the press of fans with no care for who he knocked down on the way. Even with the tightly packed crowd, he was to you in seconds, the man’s hands locked tight around your wrist, bending it at an unnatural angle, Reese trying to pry the man’s hands away from you. Your eyes were wide, the hand that wasn’t in the mans’ grip on his elbow almost soothingly, as though your gentleness was all he needed.

“No, you don’t understand!” The man was pleading. “I love you, I need you, I’ll do everything for you, everything, no one else will ever love you the way I do, I…”

Before he could finish talking, Joel punched him across the face. The blow was hard and sharp and sent the man reeling, almost taking you with him before Reese caught you around your stomach and pulled you back from the velvet ropes.

Event security appeared then, swooping in on the man as he sat on the ground, looking dazed.

“About fuckin’ time,” Joel snapped to them before hurdling the rope and going to you. Reese had angled you away from the camera that had been following the pair of you down the carpet, cradling your wrist in his hands, saying something to you that Joel couldn’t quite hear.

“You OK?” Joel asked, a little breathless. Your head snapped up, your wide eyes meeting his, something almost frantic in your gaze. Your chest was heaving, your breaths coming in fearful little pants and he closed the distance between the two of you quickly, taking the uncanny beauty of your face in his hand. You closed your eyes, pressing your cheek into his palm and his fingers held you tighter than they should but he couldn’t seem to pull back. Your skin was soft, smooth, warm, perfect. You took a deep breath. “You’re safe, it’s OK.”

“Joel,” you said softly, your voice trembling and wet, none of your typical bravado to be found.

“I know,” he said. “But they got him. Not gonna let him hurt you, you’re safe.”

You nodded into him.

“Do we need to leave?” Reese looked to Joel, his brows drawn tight together.

“No,” you said quickly before Joel had a chance to respond. He frowned, going to argue with you but you cut him off. “No, we’re almost to the press, we need to just keep going, it’s fine, I’m fine. We keep going.”

Joel searched your eyes, your face still in his hand and, as afraid as you looked, you were just as determined, too.

“Fine,” Joel clenched his jaw.

“Thank you,” you said quietly.

“I’ve got you,” Reese said gently to you before turning back to Joel. “I’ll take care of her.”

Joel nodded once, firmly, before finally - painfully - taking his hand back from you. You closed your eyes and took a deep, centering breath. You raised your chin defiantly and steeled your spine and opened your eyes again. You smiled a little as you did and, for the first time, Joel recognized a shift in you. It was like the auditions, when you embodied someone else. You weren’t yourself anymore, you were just another character now, someone with your face and voice but detached from you.

“Let’s go,” you said, leading Reese down the carpet toward the press.

Joel watched until you were at the backdrop, smiling and posing with your costar, making sure event security was close by before slipping back into the crowd.

The man who’d grabbed you had been wrestled away from the crowd, tucked off to the side and now in custody of police. Joel went and found them, introducing himself to the cops and telling them about the stalking threat he’d been hired to protect against.

The man was still yelling, fully sobbing as he said again and again how much he loved you, how all he wanted was to take care of you. Joel wished the police would turn their backs for a moment, just a moment, just long enough for him to get another hit in on him. He wanted to hurt him, scare him, make him realize that you were protected and that he couldn’t get to you.

Joel had never dealt with a stalker before, but he wouldn’t be surprised if this was the guy. The level of obsession, the passion, the willingness to hurt you to get what he wanted made it seem likely.

That was good, he thought. If this was the guy, you were out of immediate danger. You’d be safe - or as safe as someone as famous as you could be. There was a certain sense of peace in him at that.

But there was this keen longing in him, too.

If this was your stalker, his contract would be up. He would go back to Texas with you, pack up the things at your house and say goodbye to this strange semblance of a life he’d found himself in with you and your niece. He’d be without the both of you, alone in the tomb of his house, waiting for the next time he could jump in front of a bullet for someone else so he could feel alive.

He tried to ignore the tightness in his chest at that thought, the sickening feeling in his stomach.

This had been a mistake, this whole fucking job had been a mistake. The second he knew who you were he should have told Tommy no, he couldn’t. You were too close to Sarah, the job too long lasting. It was too big a risk for him, too much of a chance for him to get attached to someone he had no business getting attached to.

“Joel.”

He looked around to find Quinn at his back, her face drawn.

“She alright?” He asked, his arms crossed over his chest.

“She made it through the press but she might have a broken wrist,” she said, her voice low. “She’s ducking out the back once the film starts, we need to get her to a doctor. She has fight training starting soon and an injury is going to be who knows how much in production delays…”

Joel bristled.

“And if she’s got a broken fuckin’ bone it needs to be treated.”

“Obviously,” Quinn rolled her eyes. “I thought that went without saying.”

“She’s not just a fucking profit center,” he narrowed his eyes at your manager. “She’s a person.”

Quinn looked at him for a moment, considering him.

“I know that, Joel,” she said gently. “I just wasn’t aware you did.”

Quinn, at least, had the foresight to get your usual SUV to pick you up instead of the limo you’d arrived in. Security let Joel in the back door and you were waiting for him there, looking so out of place among the boxes and storage in your gown and jewels. You were stiff and oddly small, shoulders hunched as you leaned back against a cinderblock wall, cradling your injured wrist to your chest. Someone tried to talk to him but Joel ignored them, instead going straight for you.

“Changed your mind?” He asked, hands in his pockets so he didn’t touch you again.

You looked at him through your lashes, something sharply vulnerable in your eyes for a moment before you straightened and smirked a little.

“Figured going to an afterparty with a wrist the size of a grapefruit was a bad look,” you said, showing your arm to him. Your wrist was swollen and discolored and he resisted the urge to take it gently in his hands. “Don’t want the press to be about this, we want it to be about the movie.”

“Alright, c’mon then,” he said. “Get you checked out.”

He put his arm around you, tucking you against his side as you held your wrist against yourself. He stayed close to you on the drive, your body warm and relaxed against him.

“Do you think that was him?” You asked quietly, voice small.

“I don’t know,” Joel said. His hand was on your arm. Your skin was soft. “I talked to the police, told them about the stalker, they’re gonna investigate…”

“He scared me,” you said softly. “I know there were threats but… It didn’t seem real. I didn’t think anything would happen.”

“I know,” Joel said, his thumb tracing a slow, steady path over your skin. “I’ve got you. Keep you safe.”

He said it as much for himself as he did for you. He tried not to think about why he needed to.

The driver took the two of you to a small doctor’s office that, at this hour, was quiet. A nurse met you both at the back and you were quickly ushered into an exam room and given an x-ray, you in your gown on the cold paper of the exam table a sight that made Joel’s heart clench.

“You did indeed break it,” the doctor said, pointing out a thin line on the x-ray. “It’s a minor fracture, shouldn’t need a full cast and just a splint for three to five weeks.”

“How soon before I can train?” You frowned. “Can I train in a splint?”

“That really what you should be worried about?” Joel asked, his arms crossed over his chest.

You looked over to him, your eyebrows knitting together.

“There’s a whole movie depending on me, Joel,” you said. “People have contracts, they have bills they need to pay. I can’t just take weeks off.”

“Can’t make a movie if you don’t heal,” he muttered.

“You need to take at least three weeks before you do anything extreme with that wrist,” the doctor said. “If you don’t, you’ll need a cast and you’ll be out of commission even longer.”

“Alright Doc,” you smiled. “You win, I’ll take it easy.”

“Good,” he said. “I’d hate to see you try to hold an Oscar in a cast.”

It was a relief to get you back home again, in a contained space that Joel had gotten to know in the last week. Frank and a hairstylist met you there, the three of you disappearing into your room for a while and Joel considered sitting in his own, not sure he could handle seeing you again but then, he wasn’t sure he could handle not seeing you, either. So he sat on the couch, existing in a state of limbo, not sure what to do next.

“Sounds like you saved the day,” Frank said when he eventually emerged, a garment bag over his arm.

“Dunno about that,” Joel said. “Still let her get her fuckin’ wrist broke.”

“Seems like it could have been a lot worse if you hadn’t stepped in,” he said. “Broken wrist will heal.”

Joel just grunted.

“Anyway,” he continued. “Thank you. She’s one of the good ones.”

He left before Joel got a chance to respond. The hairstylist left not long after, a bag of hair in her hands, and, when you didn’t come out right after, he almost thought you’d gone to bed. He was considering doing the same when you slowly, almost cautiously, came down the hall, peering into the living room as though your presence in your own home was somehow illicit.

“Oh,” you said, in an oversized t-shirt and sweatpants and wrist splint. The makeup was gone, the long nails and lashes and hair, too. But you were still beautiful, maybe even more so now. It was the most human Joel had ever seen you. “Sorry, I thought you’d be in your room…”

“Don’t need to apologize,” he shrugged. “Your house. You OK?”

“Fine,” you shrugged. “A little sore but… I’ll be fine, it’s just a minor fracture.”

Joel nodded slowly and you stood there awkwardly for a moment.

“I’m going to make tea,” you said. “Eat something solid for the first time today now that I’m out of that dress. Call Ellie, check in. Want to join?”

He wanted to say yes. He wanted to say yes, follow you to the kitchen and be next to you, have tea, talk to Ellie. He wanted to keep existing in the same sphere as you, be folded into your life the way he had become the last few months.

But he couldn’t. He knew that. You and Ellie and your lives weren’t for him.

“Should go to bed,” he said instead. “Been a long week.”

You smiled - a little sadly, he thought - but nodded and went to the kitchen and he listened to you just exist for a moment before he left you there alone.

It didn’t seem to make a difference. He dreamed of you again.

It was different this time. You were far away from him, in the t-shirt and sweats you’d changed into, larger than life but out of reach. All he could do was watch as someone hurt you and you looked for him to help you. He ran and ran but he couldn’t reach you, couldn’t do a goddamn thing except watch you hurt because he couldn’t do the one thing he’d been built to do.

He stared at the ceiling when he woke up, his heart pounding and body tense.

He had to stop this. Whatever road he was going down, whatever he was doing, he had to stop. He couldn’t live his life this way, where he was always afraid and waiting for things to go wrong. He’d learned that lesson once, the hard way. He couldn’t do it again. He just couldn’t.

“Ready to get back to the Lone Star State?” You asked, already in the kitchen when Joel got up.

“Guess so,” he said. You watched him, like you were waiting for him to elaborate, but he didn’t.

“Well,” you said when he was quiet for too long. “I know Ellie is looking forward to you coming back, she told me something about that video game you guys…”

“Look,” Joel cut you off. “Ellie’s a great kid…”

“Agreed.”

“But, if that guy was your stalker, I got no reason to be at your house all the time,” he said.

“Oh,” you said, your shoulders slumping a little. “Right. I hadn’t really… That makes sense. Yeah.”

Joel poured himself a cup of coffee.

“Should go get packed,” he said.

He didn’t wait for a response, just going back to his room to gather his things and avoid you and it was a relief when the car was there, ready to take the two of you to the airport.

“We do have to make one stop on the way,” you said, holding the red box that had shown up yesterday.

Joel frowned.

“Don’t you got people for that?”

“Well, the original plans got a little fucked with the whole ‘crazy man at the premiere’ thing,” you said. “But keep your shirt on, Big Miller, it’ll only take five minutes.”

“Whatever you say,” he said, rolling his eyes, wishing he was back in Texas already.

He sat in back next to you, anyway.

The stop at the jeweler was quick - you trading the large and ostentatious red box for a much smaller one - and it wasn’t long before the two of you were ushered onto the plane, the last people aboard as you tucked yourself into the window seat in the front row, a baseball cap tugged low over your face and a sweatshirt covering the brace on your arm.

Joel was tense the entire flight. He hated when people realized you were aboard and started demanding autographs and selfies, when you got up to use the bathroom, when the plane hit turbulence and he knew there wouldn't be a damn thing he could do to save either of you if the plane went down and that level of powerlessness disturbed him at his core.

He’d been stupid with you. Careless, reckless, dumb. He knew better now, he knew where giving a fuck led and it was nowhere good. He thought that wasn’t a risk with you, that your spoiled fucking attitude and obscene wealth and the ease of your life would make it so he could never care for you but he was wrong. He gave a shit. For the first time in five years, he cared.

And he needed to get far away from that before it killed you both.

He went wordlessly to his room at your house in Austin when you got there, Seth beating you both to the house to take over so Joel could have a few days off. He grabbed a few things he knew he’d want and resolved to ask Seth to pack the rest for him when the police confirmed that it had, indeed, been your stalker last night. For now, he just needed to get out of here and get away from you.

“Hey, Joel!” You followed after him as he stalked toward his truck, his duffle over his shoulder.

He gritted his teeth and turned to face you.

“What.”

You all but flinched back from him, blinking in surprise at his curt tone. He knew he was being short with you but it needed to happen. It had to.

“Oh,” you said, the smaller red box from the jeweler in your hands. “I just…” You thrust it toward him, looking at him with wide and oddly honest eyes. “I got you something. I ordered it before the thing yesterday, just to say thank you for everything in LA, but it can be kind of a going away gift now, too, since… well, anyway.”

He took it, the fact that you seemed out of sorts disorienting, and opened it. Inside was a watch. It was simple, rectangular with a silver case and black leather strap, but obviously luxurious.

“It’s engraved,” you smiled, fidgeting with your sweatshirt sleeves. “Which is probably dumb but I couldn’t resist, I’m a sucker for shit like engraving, don’t ask me why…”

“You think this is what I want?” He asked, holding up the box, voice cold.You just blinked at him for a moment. “That I want some fancy fucking jewelry? That I’m like your rich fucking friends you can just buy off or something?”

“What?” You looked at him, hurt. “No, no, I… I just… Yours is broken and I wanted to say thank you for…”

“For me doin’ my job,” he cut you off. “That’s what this was, a job. We’re not friends, you don’t need to thank me for shit. You paid me, I protected you, end of story. I don’t want your fancy fucking watch, I don’t want…”

“Then sell it!” You snapped, angry now. “Consider it a tip, run it over with your car because you hate me so fucking much, tell the tabloids about how the movie star bought you a present, I don’t care! I know you’re thrilled to be rid of me, anyway. Nice knowing you, Miller. Have a nice life.”

You didn’t give him a chance to respond. Instead, you stalked back into your house, leaving him there with nothing left but a hollow ache in his chest and the watch that he wished he could find a home for on his arm.

Next Chapter

A/N: Look. If you're here because you've read my other stuff, are we at all surprised that we ended up here? Is anyone surprised that I'm back in my natural habitat - torturing Joel Miller - yet again?

I wish I knew why I was like this, I really do, but alas, here we are. Thanks for reading it and for putting up with my total lack of a posting schedule. I really appreciate you being here and caring about these characters enough to read the monster chapters I put out about them.

Love you!

Taglist: @christinamadsen@eff4freddie@brittmb115@copperhalfcent@r3dheadedwitch @pedropascalsbbg @lovelyjess69 @yopossum @moel-jiller @picketniffler @lilyevanstan1325 @reluctanthalfwayoptimism @wintersquirrel @missladym1981 @mellymbee @canthinkof1user @inept-the-magnificent @secretlyangelic @pedrobae @scarletsloveletter

#fanfic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x oc #tsats #the savage and the sanctuary

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cupcakeshakesnake · 4 months ago

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HELLO UM-

Your little Harbour PotC AU gives me absolute life, just for the record. Even tho i am very very late, thank you for making it :D

There is a headcanon I got that wouldn't leave my brain after looking at your art, originating from that one conversation between Beckett and Jack where there were some implications about canon being everyone’s previous lives. Whether this is actually a part of your au or not, it got me thinking eheheh

Theoretically, (perhaps in an au of an au, if this headcanon contradicts your lore,) what if your au and canon were the same 'verse, just several hundred years later? And what if not everybody were on their second life?

We obviously have a sprinkling of supernatural stuff, so what if the secretly-a-goddess Calypso and immortally-cursed Davy Jones were the OGs that they were in the films? Like, Davy Jones maybe came back somehow (as per movie 5's end-credit scene lol) and took back the role of the Dutchman's Captian after Will went back to Shipwreck Cove. All is good.

He learned his lesson now and actually does his job of ferrying souls. As times changed, so did his ship, in some magical way. She's no longer a sailing ship, and he'll always miss that, but he doesn't mind all that much. His crew usually only stay for that 100 yr contract, so he's seen plenty of sailors come and go. Eventually, he even hires living mortals. Less people die at sea, so by the 20th century, Jones takes a mortal job as a fisherman (or whatever his job is in your au) as well.

Whether or not he knows about the whole reincarnation thing doesn't really matter; the day he employs a familiar man by the name of Bill Turner, he chalks it up to coincidence. Even if Bill has a son named William, well- it's been 200 years, perhaps it's just a really really big coincidence. Either way, it doesn't matter to him.

It's not until he's docked in a small, out-of-the-way harbour, and three troublemaking kids sneak onto the Dutchman that he finally realises. Bill's boy, on his own, is just a matter of coincidence. Those three, together? It's unmistakable. And as bothersome those three pirates were, so long ago, I'd like to think that he looks back on that age, on those people, with some kind of fondness.

(Until he discovers they can be the most INFURIATING little gremlins he's ever met in all his centuries. But he'll find that out later.)

Anyway I drew it :D Have my humble, scribbly offerings.

(I feel bad about running away with this, even as just a headcanon-of-an-au, please don't take this as a 'you should do this' lmao, it's just me adoring all of your content it makes my brain go brrr you are amazing thankyou!!!)

This is so lovely 😭😭😭

The idea of Calypso and Jones being the same ones from canon but just... having had a lot of time to chill down and have a second chance is so??? Imagine what Jones must be thinking looking at those kids... this is so bittersweet (but mostly sweet)

I'm sorry it took so long to respond, I wanted to write a proper reply expressing just how much I love this but couldn't get around to it. Hope you don't mind me posting this publicly; I need everyone else to see this as well.

#snake got an ask #harbor town au #potc #krayters

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cressidagrey · 2 months ago

Text

You are the best thing that's ever been mine - Part 6

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Ariel Cane (Original Character)

Summary: Sao Paulo 2024. The Dutchman delivered a defining drive…but maybe there is a relationship that could also use some defining.

Warnings: Jos Verstappen, angst, crying, mention of pregnancy, mention of sex and sexual acts, physical confrontation

Author Notes: Hi, hey, hello! Apparently I write F1 Fanfiction now?! Also this is the first time I am trying a social media au so my Canva Skills were put to the test. (Disclaimer: I kinda put legibility over authencity, so twitter doesn't look like twitter and messages looks like...something) Also huge thanks to @onebigfangirlworld and @leodette for holding my hand with this 😘)

Ariel couldn’t remember a time when she had been that content.

The bed was warm and comfortable and the duvet was fluffy and Max was holding her… Max's arms were wrapped securely around her, his body pressed against hers in a warm and comfortable tangle of limbs.

He nuzzled his face into her hair, inhaling her scent, his breath warm against her neck. He was still sleeping, but even in his sleep he was holding her.

Ariel could spend hours like that.

Sadly her bladder had other plans.

Reluctantly, Ariel carefully extracted herself from Max, trying not to wake him. She slid out of bed slowly, trying not to wake him.

The hardwood floor was cold under her bare feet as she padded quietly into the bathroom, her mind still slightly clouded with a bit of grogginess. By the time she was finished in the bathroom, she was wide awake.

IT was still early enough in the morning that there was no need for her to wake up Max, so she took her phone and quietly left the bedroom in favour of the living room and hopefully something to drink.That...and a call to her sister.

She curled up on the sofa, her phone in hand, dialing her sisters number.

Emma picked up, immediately. "You totally left me hanging there!" Emma greeted her complaining. "I am so happy for you, Ari!"

Ariel couldn't help but giggle softly at her sister's teasing tone. "I know, I'm sorry," Ariel replied, a hint of sheepishness in her voice. "But I promise I'll tell you all the details later, I just..." She trailed off, her thoughts still swirling in her head.

"Is later now?!" Emma demanded. "You can't just tell me that you put the guy that has been madly in love with you for 5 years out of his misery and expect me to be normal about it!"

Ariel laughed softly, shaking her head at her sister's dramatic tone.

"Okay, okay, calm down," she said, trying to placate Emma's enthusiasm.

Ariel couldn't help but smile at her sister's excitement, knowing that Emma had always hoped for this to happen between her and Max."I just needed some time to process everything," Ariel explained, leaning back aganst the sofa.

"It's all still very..." Ariel searched for the right word, trying to describe the whirlwind of emotions she was feeling. "It's just a lot to process, you know? We finally took that step, and it's...I don't even know how to describe it," she continued, her voice quieter now.

It was a lot.

"It's exhilarating, and terrifying, and everything in between. I just...I can't believe it's really happening, you know? That after all this time, it's finally real," she said weakly. "I didn't think...I didn't think it would ever happen to me. And I don't think that I deserve..."

"Stop," Emma cut her off. "You do deserve this, Ariel. You deserve all the good things the world has to offer."Ariel closed her eyes for a moment, letting Emma's words sink in.

"I just... I'm afraid," she confessed quietly. "What if it all falls apart? What if it's too good to be true?"

Emma sighed. "There are never guarantees," her sister told her seriously. "We know that better than most. We lost Mom...and then 5 years later we lost Dad. And it sucked, Ariel. That we only had such a short time with our parents. But...this is Max we're talking about. He adores you, he's literally obsessed with you. I don't think you need to worry about him up and leaving anytime soon.

Emma was right, of course. Max was loyal and steadfast. He had proven that countless times over the past five years.

She let out a small sigh, feeling some of the tension in her shoulders ease.

"You're right," she admitted. "I'm just...I'm scared, I guess. Scared of getting hurt, scared of being too happy."

"It's okay to be scared, Ari," Emma said, her voice gentle and reassuring. "But you can't let it hold you back. You and Max...you're good for each other. You've danced around it for a long time, but you both knew it. And now..." Emma paused significantly. "You finally took the leap. It's time to enjoy it."

Ariel knew Emma was right.

She took a deep breath. "You're right," she repeated. "I need to stop worrying and just...enjoy this. Enjoy him.”

"Yeah, shouldn't you still be in bed celebrating his amazing, groundbreaking win?" Ariel teased her.

Ariel let out a soft laugh, feeling heat rising in her cheeks.

"You're terrible," she teased back, a smirk playing at the corners of her lips.

But inside, her stomach fluttered just thinking about Max.

"He's still sleeping," she admitted, her voice a whisper. "Last night...last night was a lot."She shifted a little, feeling her heart skip at the memories of Max's touch, the way his body had felt pressed against her, the taste of his kisses.

Emma harrumphed. "I still want to kill his father," her sister said drily. "How are you? Really, Ariel."

"Nausea is gone. I got a bruise on my cheek but that's it," Ariel reported honestly. "I'm doing okay," she assured her sister. "Yesterday was just... intense."

Probably the understatement of the century.

Ariel reached up, gently tracing the small bruise on her cheekbone. It ached a bit, swollen and hot to the touch.

"But Max..." Ariel paused, a soft smile playing on her lips. "Max...was there. He makes everything better.”

Emma harrumphed. "Let him take care of you," her sister told her pointedly. "I need to get ready for work right about now, but we'll talk more soon."

"We'll be in Milton Keynes next week," Ariel promised her. There were three weeks between Brazil and Las Vegas. They would fly back to Monaco later that day and would be to Milton Keynes at least once during the next 3 weeks.

"BRING HIM TO DINNER!" her sister said as farewell, making her laugh.

Ariel knew that this wasn’t a simple inner invitation, but more an invitation to be the one cooking said dinner.

"Love you," she told Emma softly in response.

"Love you too, Sis!" Emma sing-songed, as she hung up on her.

Talking to her sister had done her good. It always did. She felt a bit lighter, more grounded.

And still, her thoughts were swirling.

Of course, they were.

They were right in the middle of a complete and utter mess.

Between the media and betting pools about their romantic relationship…and the fact that the two of them han’t even had a proper talk with just the two of them…it was a lot.

But underneath it all, she felt safe. Safe knowing that Max would be by her side.

And then her stomach growled and Ariel decided that room service was definitely in her future.

"Breakfast it is," she said to herself.

What she hadn't expected was for the hotel room to end up looking like a flower shop after breakfast had arrived. Hotel Staff had not only brought breakfast...but also not one, not two, but four bouquets of flowers. With her name on them.

Ariel couldn't help but stare at them with no small amount of trepidation.

Ariel could deal with the bouquet of pink carnation, which were from Christian in the name of Red Bull...she also could deal with a wildly colourful bouquet from Franco Colapinto of all people...another bouquet of Amaryllis from some of the mechanics from Max's garage, which was adorable...but she couldn't deal with a massive bouquet of blood red roses.

They were beautiful. Of course, they were.

And they also made her want to throw up. Again.

Red roses would always remind her of one thing. And one thing only.

Her mother's funeral.

Ariel let out a shaky breath. Memories flooded her mind, each image more vivid than the last.

It was deeply engrained into her brain. Even 15 years later. She still remembered all of it. The sharp, sweet fragrance of the roses, the deep crimson of the petals, the stark white of the casket...

She remembered. The mournful sobs of the guests. The tears streaming down Ariel's own face...the tears streaming down Emma's face...Percy, who had disappeared off to university as soon as he could afterwards...Their father who had never been the same...

Their father had died 5 years later. Also Cancer. Granted, a different kind...not the breast cancer that had killed her mother...but...but Ariel still thought that it hadn't been the cancer that had killed him. It had been his broken heart.

He hadn’t put up a fight anymore. Not after her death. He had never been quite the same after.

Ariel closed her eyes, trying to push the memories back into the dark corners of her mind. She had gotten quite good at that. But sometimes they would catch her unaware, like now.

Slowly, she took the card from the bouquet.

Max knew. Max knew about her hatred for red roses. She had told him once how every time she even smelled them, she wanted to throw up. Why would he...Why would he...

Her fingers trembled slightly as she unfolded the card, her heart beating rapidly in her chest.

Why woul he do that?

Why would Max send her red roses? He knew what they meant to her. He knew how much she despised them.

He knew her better than that.

Or at least she had though that he did.

She couldn’t help the hurt that welled up inside her.

Ariel took a deep, shaky breath before opening the card. The card wasn't handwritten but printed.

And there was a poem in there.

A poem.

In all the years that she had known Max, poetry was not his forte. Actually there wasn’t many things that probably interested him less than poetry.

The fact that the card wasn't handwritten only added to her frustration. She'd much rather have Max's messy cursive, full of his familiar little quirks, than this impersonal thing.

She began reading the poem, the words printed in stark black letters, stark against the white cardstock. She tried to find something, anything in the words that screamed 'Max'. But found nothing.

"Ariel?" His voice was suddenly behind her. "Why does our hotel room look like a flower shop?" She whirled around, meeting his gaze with a mixture of irritation and confusion.

"Did you buy these for me?" Ariel asked him, demanded from Max.

Max stared at her, blonde hair messy, blue eyes still clouded with sleep.

“What?” he asked her, but then he saw the red roses and his face cleared immediately coming awake.

"No. Ariel, I would never." The clarity in his voice was a balm to the very heart of her. She wanted to believe him. She wanted to believe that he wouldn't do this to her.

But the roses were there. Right in front of them. They were undeniable proof.

"You wouldn't write me terrible poetry either, right?" she asked with a shaky voice.

"Schatje, you know me. I am not a guy for poetry," Max assured her, already reaching out for her and as he enveloped her in his arms.

He was warm and he was safe, and he smelled like Max.

"Then who would do this?" Ariel choked out.

"I don't know," Max admitted softly, as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. "But I promise you, I didn't do this. I know how much you hate them." His voice was earnest as he said that.

Ariel looked at him, searching his face for any sign of deceit. But there was nothing but honesty. The way his eyes held her gaze, the gentle firmness in his voice. It all convinced her.

She leaned into his embrace, her shoulders slumping.

"Then who did?" she asked, her voice soft, almost resigned. Max held her closer, his arms around her. His expression was a mix of anger and concern.

He looked over at the flowers again, his jaw clenching slightly.

"I don't know," he admitted, his voice low. "But I will find out."

He gently moved his hands to frame her face, tilting her chin up so she was looking at him. "But right now, I'd rather focus on you. Are you okay?" he asked her.

Ariel let herself lean into his touch. She took a moment to collect her thoughts.

"I...yes," she finally mumbled. "I'm okay. Just..." She trailed off, looking at the roses once more. The sight of them still made her skin crawl.

She swallowed, her eyes burning with tears. "I hate them," Ariel said softly, her voice almost a whisper.

"I know," Max murmured, one broad hand gently rubbing over her back. He pulled her even closer, if that was even possible.

"We'll get rid of them," Max promised, his voice a soft rumble against her ear. "We'll get rid of them, and we'll find out who sent them."

“They were her favourite you know,” she said weakly. “My mom’s,” Ariel clarified. “Dad said they matched her hair…so he bought them for her on their first date.”

Max ran a hand gently through her hair, caressing the soft strands. "Your mother must have had beautiful hair," he said softly, a small smile playing on his lips. "Just like you."

They had all inherited her mother’s bright ginger hair…all three of them. Percy, Ariel and Emma.

Max pause for a moment, his eyes still on the roses, a frown forming on his brow."Schatje," he said softly, "We'll figure this out. We'll find out who sent these. And we'll make sure it never happens again."

“But who would pretend to be you to send me two dozen red roses? And a horrible poem,“ Ariel asked. This didn’t…

“Oh I have some ideas," Max said darkly. He reached out to take the card from her, snorting as he read the poem.

Ariel watched as Max read the card, her heart in her throat.

His reaction was not what she expected. He wasn't enraged or disgusted like she had been. He snorted in derision at the cheesy words on the card.

"This is definitely not me," he said, a hint of wry humour lighting up his eyes."Roses are red, violets are blue, I hate poetry, but I am into you?" he read aloud. “I mean it’s true, but I would hope I would come up with something better to say than that…”

Ariel couldn't help it. Despite everything, she let out a soft snort of laughter.

The poetry was so bad, so cringe-worthy, that it was almost funny.

"Seriously?" she said, her lips curling up in a reluctant smile. "Who could come up with something so...so..."

"Terrible?" Max supplied, his own lips twitching in amusement."I think I know the person that would be idiotic enough to do something like that. The same person that decided that having a whole betting pool on us was also absolutely alright," Max said drily. "Also there is a spelling mistakes in violets, so how high do you think are the chances that this was Lando?"

Ariel's eyes widened as the realisation set in.

Of course. It was so obvious.

"He's never going to get Christmas cookies ever again," she seethed.

Lando. It had to be Lando.

He had been involved in the whole 'betting pool' fiasco. And now he had the gall to send her roses, and attempt a very bad, very cringey poem.

He was getting more than just a 'stern talking to', she thought. He was getting an earful.

"No more cookies for Lando," she hissed, her anger beginning to build.

Max chuckled as he watched her, a hint of amusement in his eyes.

"You think this is alright?" she snapped at him, staring at him.

"No," Max said drily. "To be honest, I am pretty pissed off about the fact that all of them thought that betting on our private life was a fun past time."

He was right. The betting pool had been utterly disrespectful and intrusive.

"They had no right," she said quietly. "It's our lives, not some spectator sport." She looked at the flowers again, her annoyance returning momentarily. But then she shook her head and sighed.

"I can't believe Lando would do something like this," she muttered. "I mean, the guy is a menace on track, but off track he's usually just a big teddy bear."

"He definitely knows better," Max pointed out, a slight grimace on his face. "This crosses a line."

"Yeah," Ariel agreed, the anger slowly ebbing away again.

She glanced at Max, her expression a mix of frustration and resignation.

"I know it's just Lando being his usual chaotic self, but..." she paused, struggling to find the words. "But it still hurts. These flowers, this poem. I don't like to be...manipulated like that," she said weakly.

"I get it," Max said softly, pulling her into a comforting embrace. He held her close, his hand rubbing gentle circles on her back. "I promise, I'll have a word with Lando," he said, a note of steel in his voice.

He would. She knew he would.

She trusted Max to handle Lando.

A part of her, though, wanted to give Lando a piece of her mind. But right now, in the safety of Max's arms, she felt exhausted.

She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. Her voice was quieter as she spoke.

"Don't go too hard on him," she murmured, a hint of reluctance in her voice.

"Don't worry," he reassured her. "I won't go too hard on him. But he needs to understand that this is not okay. We are not some side show for his entertainment. Or for anybody’s else’s for that matter."

He let out a sigh and pulled her closer against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat calming her. "We're together because we want to be. Not because people think they can place bets on our relationship like it's a race."

"I know," she said quietly, her eyes slowly drifting shut as exhaustion started to take over.

She snuggled closer against him, her head coming to rest against his chest. The steady thump of his heart was soothing, the rhythm like a lullaby designed to soothe her frayed nerves."We should actually eat the breakfast I ordered," she muttered.

Max chuckled as Ariel's stomach made an impatient noise.

"Yeah," he said, a hint of amusement on his face. "I forgot we were supposed to eat breakfast and instead we're discussing the latest antics of Lando Norris."

He gave her a light squeeze before reluctantly letting her go."Why don't you sit down. I'll get our food?"

142 notes · View notes

fr0stf4ll · 1 month ago

Text

A court of Shadows and Moonlight - Part 6

paring; Azriel x reader

summary; In the wake of looming war and changing traditions, a gifted healer returns to the Night Court after centuries of wandering the continents. Tasked with stepping into Madja’s legendary role, she must guide reluctant healers, soothe wounded warriors, and face the entrenched prejudice of Illyrian leaders. But as she mends torn wings and broken spirits, an unexpected bond awakens between her and the Night Court’s enigmatic Spymaster. With rivalries simmering and a dangerous threat looming on the horizon, she must reconcile duty and desire, learning that true healing can extend beyond flesh and bone—if she dares to embrace the light hidden among the shadows.

word count ; 9k (long ass chapter lol)

Trigger warning; //

notes; Hello my loves <3 HAPPY NEW YEAR woohooo!!! Sorry for not posting these last few days, but they’ve been looong with all the celebrations. Plus, I had to travel back to my place, and it took forever. So today, you’ll not only get part 6, but also part 7 ;) (it should be up in the next few minutes). This chapter was actually pretty hard for me to write because I had doubts about where to take the story or if I should give more or fewer clues about Y/N’s background. Either way, don’t hesitate to comment because even if I don’t reply to all of you, I definitely read them, and I loveeee getting those notifications. Well, see you in a few minutes for part 7 lol <3

Link; Part 5 or Part 7

----

Late afternoon shadows stretched across Velaris as you and Cassian stepped off the bridge leading into the quieter district near the clinic. Both of you were weary—three days in Illyria had taxed your energy, even if the journey home was less fraught than the work you’d done in the camps. Your cloak felt heavier than usual, boots scuffing softly on the cobblestones as you approached the modest building that housed the clinic’s entrance and your apartment above it.

Cassian’s shoulders slumped a little, wings drooping as he glanced at you. “We made it,” he said, voice carrying a note of relief. “Another successful adventure survived.” His smile was a bit lopsided, but genuine.

You managed a small chuckle, rolling your stiff shoulders. “A success, I hope,” you answered quietly. “At least some of them seemed open to new methods.”

He nodded, raking a hand through his hair. “They’ll never admit it, but they’ll use what you taught them. You left an impression, Y/N.”

The simple honesty in his tone warmed you. The clinic door beckoned, safety and rest just inside. You paused at the threshold, turning to face him. “Thank you for coming with me,” you said softly. “I know you had other duties, but I’m grateful you lent your presence—and, frankly, your muscle—to ensure no one gave me too hard a time.”

Cassian shrugged, easy humor returning for a moment. “Any excuse to keep the Illyrians in line.” He sobered a fraction, studying you with quiet sincerity. “I’m glad I could help.”

A silence fell, not uncomfortable but weighted with the fatigue of the journey. At length, Cassian cleared his throat, as if remembering something. “Oh, right,” he said, seeming almost amused by whatever he’d forgotten. “Before I go—Rhys asked me to pass along an invitation. He’d like you to join him, Feyre, and a few others for dinner tomorrow night at their townhouse in Velaris. It’s a sort of… well, I guess a welcome dinner now that you’re truly back in the Night Court.”

Your eyes widened in surprise and a spark of gratitude lit behind them. “Dinner?” you repeated, a bit taken aback. “That’s… an honor. I—” You hesitated, a hundred questions floating to your mind. You weren’t sure what one normally did when invited to the High Lord’s home for a meal. “Should I bring anything?” you asked, half-wondering if a gift or some rare herbs might be customary.

Cassian’s grin turned playful. “Bring yourself,” he said simply. “That’s all they’ll want. Trust me, Rhys and Feyre don’t stand on ceremony with friends. Consider it an evening to relax, maybe talk about what’s next.” His gaze flicked over the clinic’s door, then back to you, voice softening. “You deserve a good meal and a bit of comfort after the work you’ve done.”

Touched by his words, you nodded. “All right,” you agreed. “I’ll be there.”

“Perfect.” He exhaled, one corner of his mouth lifting. “Now, I’d better let you rest. I think we’ve both earned a good night’s sleep.”

A small laugh escaped you. “Absolutely,” you said, resting a hand on the door’s latch. “Sleep well, Cassian.”

He gave you a salute that was half-mocking, half-genuine, wings fluttering as he turned away and headed down the street. You watched him go for a moment, then slipped inside the clinic, fatigue tugging at your limbs. Tomorrow, you would face the High Lord’s table, and perhaps some quieter conversations that might shape the next phase of your return.

For now, rest called, and you followed it gratefully up the stairs to your apartment, thoughts drifting between memories of Illyria’s harsh mountains and the warm promise of dinner among unlikely allies.

Back inside the familiar confines of the clinic, you paused just inside the door, drawing in the scents of linen and dried herbs that always lingered in the halls. Your joints ached a bit from the journey, but routine called, and you answered it. Before heading upstairs to your apartment, you moved through the quiet corridors to the records room. A low lamp flickered there, its glow soft against the shelves.

You ran your fingertips along the ledgers, pulling out the records from the past three days. Your eyes skimmed the entries, scanning notes that Elira and the other healers had left. No major emergencies, you read with relief—only a few minor wounds, a mild fever, the usual aches and pains. The neat handwriting confirmed that Elira had continued training the younger healers as planned. She’d even left a brief note: All went well. The younger ones are picking up the new bandaging technique quickly.

A small smile touched your lips. Good. Progress, even in your absence.

Satisfied that the clinic had fared well without you, you tucked the ledger back into place and turned toward the stairs. The promise of rest beckoned, and you ascended quietly, passing familiar sconces that flickered in the gentle air currents. Upstairs, your apartment welcomed you with its calm silence. You shrugged off your cloak, letting it fall over a chair, and considered the state of your legs and back. A warm bath—yes, that would be perfect.

You crossed to the small bathroom, lighting a few candles along the way. The soft glow gilded the tiled walls and the simple, claw-footed tub. Setting the faucet, you allowed steaming water to pour in, scenting it with a bit of lavender oil you kept for moments like these. As the tub filled and steam rose, you breathed deeply, letting the tension roll off your shoulders.

So much had happened—Illyria, the uncertain dynamics in the Night Court’s inner circle, and tomorrow, a dinner invitation from the High Lord himself. But for now, here, in this private sanctuary, you could let all that fade. Stripping out of your travel-stained clothes, you sank into the bath, the warm water cradling your tired muscles. The quiet of the evening settled over you, and the lavender-soaked steam eased the lingering edges of worry.

Tomorrow would bring its own challenges and discoveries. Tonight, you granted yourself peace.

—————

When evening arrived, you found yourself walking through Velaris’s softly lit streets, a bundle of carefully chosen flowers nestled in the crook of your arm. You’d spent much of the day working at the clinic as usual, but your mind had drifted often to the upcoming dinner. Now, wearing a simple but neat outfit—something presentable without being ostentatious—you followed the directions Cassian had given you, making your way toward the High Lord and High Lady’s townhouse.

Your heart fluttered with a mix of anticipation and nerves. It wasn’t as if you were heading into battle, but meeting them on such personal terms, in their private home, was a new threshold. You hadn’t seen Azriel since returning from Illyria, and though he might be present, you tried not to focus on that too much. This evening wasn’t about your confused feelings or the golden thread that tugged quietly at your awareness. It was about respect, camaraderie, and, hopefully, laughter over good food.

Rounding a corner, you came upon the district where the townhouse stood. The soft glow of streetlamps illuminated quiet lanes, and music drifted faintly from some distant party. Ahead, you spotted the house described to you—a graceful building of warm-colored stone and gently sloping roofs. It was large enough to accommodate their inner circle and guests, yet it didn’t loom or flaunt opulence. Instead, it exuded a gentle, welcoming aura.

Plants climbed trellises along the exterior, flowering vines weaving patterns around balconies and window frames. You caught the scent of night-blooming jasmine mingling with roses and citrus blossoms, an elegant tapestry of nature’s perfume draped over the home. It felt alive, this house—a place nurtured by caring hands. A place of growth and warmth.

Approaching the door, you paused to straighten your posture and smooth your clothes. The flowers you carried were modest and cheerful—nothing exotic or rare, just a vibrant mix of blooms from a local florist. You’d considered bringing wine, but after a moment’s reflection, you realized that whatever bottle you could afford would be outshone by the contents of their likely well-stocked cellar. Flowers, though, offered color, scent, and sincerity. That, you hoped, would be appreciated.

Exhaling slowly, you stepped forward, footfalls muffled by the ivy-softened walkway. The door’s brass knocker gleamed in the lamplight. You raised your free hand and knocked gently, heart fluttering once more. Perhaps it was silly to be nervous. You’d healed impossible wounds, steered conversations with stubborn Lords, and confronted your own uncertainties. You could handle a dinner invitation.

As you waited for someone to answer, you let your gaze drift along the eaves and sills. Lanterns dangled from hooks, their glass panels casting soft patterns of light and shadow across the entryway. Everything felt harmonious and attentive to detail—a reflection, perhaps, of the people who lived inside.

In a moment, you would be ushered in, welcomed as a friend or colleague rather than a mere visitor. The thought steadied you. The flowers shifted in your arms, and their gentle fragrance rose to meet you, a reminder that some gestures spoke volumes without words.

You were here, and you would face whatever the evening brought with an open heart.

The door swung open to reveal Feyre, her hair tumbling in soft waves over her shoulders, a gentle smile illuminating her features. She wore something elegant but not showy, a simple gown that played up her natural grace. When she saw you, her eyes lit even brighter, and she reached out, enfolding you in a warm, unexpected hug. It eased a little of the tension that had coiled in your chest.

“You’re here,” she said, voice calm and welcoming. “We’re so glad you could come.”

You offered her the bouquet, a mix of vivid blooms you’d chosen with care. Her eyes widened slightly, delighted. “They’re beautiful—thank you. I know a perfect spot for these.” She stepped back, holding the flowers with a careful tenderness, as if the gift mattered more than you’d dared hope.

She ushered you inside, and you slipped off your coat. Though it hadn’t snowed that day, a crisp chill still lingered in Velaris’s winter air, and the townhouse’s warmth wrapped around you like a soft cloak. Feyre guided you through a well-lit hallway into the living room, where conversation and laughter wove a gentle tapestry over the hush of the evening.

Rhysand rose from an armchair near the hearth to greet you, his violet eyes reflecting the lamplight. “Welcome,” he said, voice smooth and sincere. “Please, make yourself at home. You’ve already met Cassian and Azriel, but allow me to introduce the rest.”

Your gaze swept over the room. Cassian stood near the mantel, a glass of wine in hand, and as you glanced at him, he offered a lazy grin. Azriel was positioned a bit to the side, one arm resting along the back of a sofa. His bandages were gone, leaving faint lines of healing scars hidden beneath well-tailored clothing. He inclined his head softly when your eyes met, acknowledging your presence without fuss.

Seated near Azriel was a stunning blonde female—radiant and poised. Her beauty caught your attention immediately. Feyre noticed your look and added with a smile, “This is Mor—Morrigan. She’s family.”

Mor raised her glass in greeting, her hazel eyes warm with easy camaraderie. “Nice to finally meet you,” she said, voice touched with a hint of laughter, as if you’d arrived just in time for something pleasant.

Another figure caught your eye next: a smaller female, perched on the arm of a chair. Her silver eyes were sharp, ancient somehow, set into a refined face and framed by dark hair. This, you guessed, must be Amren. Your heart gave a small jolt of surprise—she was the one you’d heard described as powerful and formidable, yet she merely gave you a faint nod, assessing and cool, but not impolite.

Near Cassian stood another woman, her posture elegant, her features bearing a clear familial resemblance to Feyre. This must be Nesta—Feyre’s sister, the one who you’d heard was mated to Cassian. Her gaze was direct, but not hostile; perhaps curious, as if measuring who you were and why you’d been invited into their circle. You offered her a respectful smile, and she inclined her head in a subtle, regal manner.

The atmosphere was cordial, tinted with curiosity and acceptance. The fire crackled softly behind you, the scent of rich food and spices drifting in from another room. Feyre gestured to a free chair and you sat, the others resuming their conversations, weaving you naturally into their midst.

From the corner of your eye, you noticed Azriel shift slightly, watching the interplay of introductions. Morrigan turned to say something to him, drawing his attention away and giving you a moment to breathe, to take in that you were truly here, part of this intimate gathering.

“Dinner will be ready soon,” Feyre said, settling beside Rhysand, who’d gently clasped her hand. “Until then, relax. We’ve all been looking forward to getting to know you better.”

With those words and the warmth in the room, you felt some of your lingering tension melt away. You were among allies, in a house so beautifully tended, with plants climbing the windows and laughter in the air. It was easy, in that moment, to let yourself belong just a little more to this court you were slowly making home.

As you settled into a free chair near the hearth, the soft hum of conversation enveloped you. The group arranged themselves in a loose circle of armchairs and sofas, each face illuminated by the gentle firelight and the glow of simple lanterns placed around the room. Feyre had taken a seat beside Rhysand, her hand resting comfortably on his arm, while Cassian lounged near Nesta and Azriel, who remained quietly attentive. Mor perched gracefully on a low ottoman, crossing her long legs with casual elegance, and Amren claimed a small armchair as if it were a throne, her silver eyes keen but not hostile.

Feyre, ever the thoughtful hostess, spoke first. “You’ve just returned from Illyria, haven’t you?” Her voice was warm, genuine curiosity shining through. “Cassian told us a bit about your work there. How did it go?”

You drew a steady breath, aware of more eyes turning your way. “It was… challenging,” you admitted with a half-smile. “The healers were skilled but set in their ways. I managed to introduce a few new techniques. Some were skeptical, but I think a few caught on.”

Cassian gave a snort from his spot by the mantel. “Some of them were more than skeptical. Let’s say they were resistant until they saw the results.” His grin flashed, clearly proud of how you’d handled the situation.

Mor tilted her head, golden curls slipping over one shoulder. “Resistance is standard there,” she said, amused. “I’m impressed you made progress so quickly. Usually, it takes a century or two to change an Illyrian’s mind about anything.”

A ripple of light laughter flowed through the room. Even Nesta’s lips curved slightly, though her gaze remained measured. “They can be stubborn,” Nesta agreed quietly. “But if you got them to listen, you’ve accomplished a minor miracle.”

Azriel’s gaze flicked to you then, calm and thoughtful. “Any particular technique you introduced that might stand out for them?” he asked softly, voice barely above the crackle of the fire. There was interest, maybe respect, underlying the question.

You smoothed a hand over your knee, considering. “I combined some Dawn Court infusion methods with local herbs to create salves that heal burns and cuts faster. Also taught them how to more efficiently close a wound using layered bandaging, so it breathes and doesn’t trap infection.” Your shoulders relaxed as you spoke, talking shop easing the tension in your chest. “It’s subtle changes that matter over time.”

Rhysand inclined his head. “Subtle changes often pave the way for greater shifts. Even if they don’t appreciate it now, they’ll notice the difference when their warriors recover more swiftly.”

Amren’s silver eyes narrowed with interest. “You sound like someone who doesn’t fear digging into traditions,” she commented. “I suppose traveling the continents taught you that?”

A small smile tugged at your lips. “Exactly,” you said. “Every place I visited had a different approach to healing. By the time I returned, I carried a blend of knowledge. Challenging ingrained habits is never easy, but I believe if we show results, people adapt.”

As the conversation in the living room flowed around you, your attention drifted to Azriel, who’d been listening quietly while the others exchanged stories. Under the soft glow of the lamps, he seemed more at ease than the last time you’d seen him—no bandages, no pained tension in his posture. But you knew better than to assume all was perfect.

Leaning forward slightly, you caught his eye. “Azriel,” you began, your voice low enough that the others, caught up in their chatter, wouldn’t be distracted. “How are your injuries feeling now?”

He blinked, as if brought out of private thoughts. The edge of his mouth curved in a faint but genuine smile. “Much better,” he replied softly, voice smooth and controlled. “Your treatments worked wonders.”

A small surge of satisfaction warmed you. “I’m glad. I worried about scarring, especially on the wings, but it seems my methods held.”

Azriel inclined his head, shadows shifting imperceptibly at his shoulders. “They did. I owe you more gratitude than I can put into words.”

You waved a hand dismissively, though not unkindly. “No need for grand thanks. It’s what I do.” After a brief moment, you continued, “If you find yourself running low on ointment or salve—anything for lingering aches—you’re welcome to stop by the clinic. I’ll make sure you have what you need.”

His eyes flickered slightly, a hint of something unreadable passing there. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, voice still gentle. “Though I think it’s my turn to follow the rules this time. I won’t risk mixing anything that’s not from your hands.”

A quiet huff of amusement escaped you. “Good,” you said, pleased to note even the faintest humor there. “I’d prefer no more surprise remedies.”

He almost smiled fully at that, and you found yourself relieved—relieved that he’d healed, relieved that you could speak amicably, and relieved that, even amidst lingering complexities, you could offer him help without awkwardness.

Rhysand leaned forward slightly, his attention shifting fully to you. “Your skill with Illyrian wings is… notable,” he said, voice calm and curious. “It’s not often we see someone outside these mountains who can treat wing injuries with such precision. Where did you learn that?”

You swallowed, noticing how everyone’s gaze had angled your way. Azriel’s dark eyes were steady, Cassian’s brows lifted with mild interest, and Mor sipped her wine, listening quietly. “I owe much to Madja,” you said with a small shrug, trying to sound offhanded. “In my youth, under her tutelage, I spent time observing healings of various kinds. When I traveled to the Dawn Court, I worked extensively with peregryns. Between the two experiences, I pieced together techniques that transfer well.”

Rhysand nodded thoughtfully, and you sensed approval rather than suspicion. Feyre offered a gentle smile, as if pleased to understand more about your background. Azriel only gave the faintest tilt of his head, acknowledging your explanation.

Before anyone could delve deeper, the door opened softly, and you all turned. Elain stepped into the room, cradling a small bundle in her arms. The atmosphere shifted; the hush that followed her appearance was softer, lighter. She carried a baby—a tiny figure swaddled in soft linens. At the sight of you, Elain’s eyes went wide, a brief flicker of something like panic crossing her face. She managed a stiff, silent nod in your direction, acknowledging your presence.

She crossed the floor and carefully handed the baby to Feyre before moving to sit next to Azriel. The subtle tension that flared in the air didn’t go unnoticed by you. Seeing her choose a seat near Azriel struck a chord, stirring a quiet ache in your chest. The memory of misunderstandings and the complexities of their relationship hovered in your mind.

Feyre, noticing the moment, turned toward you with a warm, bright smile and the infant cradled securely in her arms. “This is Nyx,” she said softly, pride and love coloring every syllable. She stepped closer, letting you see the baby’s tiny, delicate features, the soft tufts of dark hair. “Our son.”

Your heart softened at the sight, and you drew a careful breath. “He’s beautiful,” you murmured, the tension easing slightly at the simple purity of this introduction. “Congratulations.”

Feyre’s eyes sparkled. “Thank you,” she said, rocking Nyx gently. After a moment, she glanced toward Elain and then back to you. “I should also introduce you to my sister, Elain. But I believe you’ve already met?”

Your eyes darted to Elain, who offered another small, tense smile. “Yes,” you confirmed quietly. “We’ve met.” The memory of the morning with Azriel’s injury still flickered in the back of your mind. Elain’s panic that day, her attempt to help gone wrong.

The baby cooed softly, wriggling a tiny arm free from the swaddle, and Feyre adjusted him tenderly. The simple, gentle act redirected your focus to something simpler and kinder. In that moment, held in Feyre’s arms, Nyx represented a softness and hope that contrasted sharply against the intricate bonds and tensions that wove this inner circle together.

You lifted your gaze, meeting Elain’s eyes briefly. She looked away, cheeks coloring faintly, before focusing on Azriel and the room’s gentle chatter. A hush of understanding passed—whatever had happened before still lingered, unspoken and unresolved, but for tonight, perhaps it could remain beneath the surface, overshadowed by the presence of family and the simple joy of a new life in their midst.

You blinked, noting the tiny, budding wings peeking out from Nyx’s swaddle. It took a moment for the sight to register—Feyre and Rhysand’s child had wings. The world narrowed briefly to that small detail, a realization that sent a pulse of concern through your chest. Memories stirred of the quiet horrors you’d learned about: how some winged births could end tragically if the mother’s body wasn’t prepared.

“Oh,” you said softly, voice hushed. “He has wings.” The words escaped before you could smooth your tone. You turned your gaze to Feyre, eyes wide with a hint of shock. “Are—are you all right?” you asked, concern lacing your voice. You knew how risky such births could be, how many mothers—non-winged mothers—lost their lives or their children. The knowledge spilled out in your startled tone, too raw and honest.

As soon as the question left your lips, you caught yourself. This was personal, deeply so, and it might not be your place to ask. A flush warmed your cheeks, and you cleared your throat softly. “I’m sorry,” you murmured quickly, lowering your eyes. “That was intrusive. I didn’t mean—”

Feyre’s smile was gentle, understanding. She shifted Nyx slightly, rocking him in a way that spoke of deep maternal comfort. “It’s all right,” she said quietly, voice kind and steady. “I know it can be dangerous. It was. But I’m fine now—truly.”

She exhaled softly, sharing a glance with Rhysand who offered a reassuring nod. “We had a lot of support, the best healers, and… let’s just say there were extraordinary circumstances that helped.” Feyre’s tone carried quiet resilience, as if acknowledging a trial endured and overcome.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Relief and admiration washed over you. “I’m glad,” you said simply, heartfelt. The image of the tiny, safe baby cradled in Feyre’s arms, half winged and wholly loved, took the sting out of your earlier alarm.

Nyx stirred, letting out a small, contented noise, as if confirming that all was indeed well. And so, in that moment, you allowed yourself to trust in their strength and the healing they had found—together, in this extraordinary court.

The dining table was set with care and elegance, an array of dishes spread like a tapestry of flavors and colors. Feyre had returned after settling Nyx down for the night, and now she sat beside Rhysand, her eyes brighter, freer, as though a weight had lifted from her shoulders. You were seated between Amren and Mor, with Azriel directly across from you. The air hummed with conversation, the gentle clink of silverware, and the faint glow of faelight sconces casting a warm gleam over crystal and china.

The food was beyond anything you’d tasted in recent memory—roasted vegetables drizzled with spiced oils, tender meats seasoned to perfection, a fresh salad of night-blooming flowers and herbs that tasted of moonlit gardens. Between bites, you couldn’t help small hums of appreciation. Mor grinned at your delighted expression, whispering that Feyre and Rhys knew how to choose their cooks wisely. Amren, on your left, merely arched an eyebrow, as if such quality was the norm in this household.

Across the table, Rhysand and Feyre spoke quietly with Azriel about the latest developments with Koshiev’s faction. They didn’t hide the topic, but neither did they elaborate on grim details unnecessarily. Still, the tension was palpable.

Cassian, seated beside Nesta, seemed to pick up on the unease radiating from her. He leaned closer, murmuring something low that drew a reluctant smirk from her lips—a rare crack in her otherwise steely demeanor.

The conversation shifted, soft murmurs filling the dining room as everyone seemed to settle into their own thoughts. But your gaze lingered, drawn to the quiet interactions between Azriel and Elain.

They weren’t doing anything outright inappropriate, of course. Yet the way Azriel leaned slightly toward her, his shadows curling faintly around her seat as though they couldn’t help themselves—it was subtle, but unmistakable. And Elain, for all her delicate, quiet nature, didn’t seem to shy away from him. If anything, the small glances she cast in his direction, the way her hand lingered near his on the table, spoke volumes.

Something was going on between those two. That much you were sure of.

But didn’t she have a mate?

The thought gnawed at you. From what you’d learned during your short time with this group, the bond between mates was supposed to be unbreakable, undeniable. A rare gift—or curse, depending on how one saw it. Yet here was Elain, sitting close to Azriel, her mate nowhere to be found.

You couldn’t help but recall the low, tense conversation you’d overheard between Rhysand and Azriel days ago. Their voices had been hushed, but you’d caught enough to piece together fragments. It had been about Elain, about Azriel’s feelings for her—and about how complicated the whole situation was.

Even tonight, the tension was palpable. Rhysand and Feyre avoided looking too long in Azriel and Elain’s direction, as if their mere proximity might ignite something. Cassian’s joviality had dimmed slightly, and even Mor seemed unusually reserved.

You shifted in your seat, the unease settling in your chest like a stone. Whatever was unfolding here felt like a precarious balancing act, one wrong move away from shattering entirely.

It wasn’t jealousy, you told yourself firmly—because at the end of the day, you barely knew him. Whatever flicker of connection you’d felt when you first crossed paths with Azriel had been just that: a flicker.

Still, you couldn’t entirely ignore the truth you’d kept to yourself. That he was your mate.

You hadn’t planned to speak of it, not now, perhaps not ever. What would be the point? He didn’t seem to know, and you weren’t about to disrupt the fragile balance of this group—or his life—by bringing it up.

But watching him now, seeing the way his gaze softened for Elain, the way his shadows seemed drawn to her as if they couldn’t help themselves... it unsettled you.

You reached for your glass of wine, your fingers tightening slightly around the stem. It wasn’t your place to interfere, nor did you want to. And yet, the sight stirred something uncomfortable in you—an ache you couldn’t quite place, an unease that whispered of things better left buried.

For now, you resolved, you would tread carefully. Whatever this was, it wasn’t your story to tell.

As the conversation ebbed and flowed, you caught snippets of Mor and Feyre discussing the upcoming Solstice celebrations. Their voices carried a mix of excitement and warmth, and even those not directly involved in the planning seemed to lean in slightly, drawn by the festive air.

“Everything’s nearly set,” Mor said with a grin, her golden eyes glimmering. “But I still think we need more lights. You can never have too many.”

Feyre laughed softly, shaking her head. “We’re already bordering on blinding half the Sidra with what we’ve got planned.”

“Exactly,” Mor countered. “Bordering. Not quite there yet.”

The exchange drew a small chuckle from the others, and soon the table was animated with chatter about the Solstice—decorations, food, gifts, the music for the evening. You found yourself listening quietly, a faint smile on your lips as their excitement filled the room.

Then Cassian turned to you, curiosity lighting his hazel eyes. “What about you, Y/N? What are you planning for the Solstice?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the question. “Working,” you said simply, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world.

Cassian stared at you, his expression shifting from surprised to faintly unimpressed. “You’re working?” he repeated, as though the concept was completely foreign to him.

You shrugged, taking a sip of your wine. “I gave the night and the day after to the other healers,” you explained matter-of-factly. “They have families to spend it with.”

His blunt stare didn’t waver. “And you don’t?”

The question hung in the air for a beat too long. You didn’t flinch, though. Instead, you gave him a small, wry smile. “Not in the traditional sense,” you replied. “I’ve spent most of my life on the road. Holidays are just... nights like any other to me.”

Mor frowned slightly, her lips parting as though she wanted to say something, but Feyre beat her to it. “You could spend it with us,” she offered warmly, her eyes soft and kind. “If you’re free after your shift, of course.”

You hesitated, glancing around the table at the faces watching you. “That’s kind of you,” you said after a moment, your voice quieter now. “I’ll see how the night goes, but I wouldn’t count on me. Those nights tend to be pretty busy.”

Cassian still didn’t look entirely pleased, but he let the topic drop, turning to Azriel to mutter something under his breath. Across from you, Feyre and Mor resumed their discussion about the preparations, but you noticed the glances they shot your way from time to time.

The Solstice was supposed to be a time of joy, of togetherness. And yet, for you, it had always been a reminder of the distances you’d kept—between yourself and others, between your past and your present. Maybe this year would be different. But you weren’t ready to hope for that just yet.

Nesta, her tone gentle yet curious, asked, “Don’t you have family here in Velaris? Since it’s where you’re from?”

Cassian’s head turned sharply to her, a flicker of something unreadable passing over his face. He looked like he was about to respond, but you stopped him with a soft smile, silently telling him it was okay.

“It’s fine,” you replied, your voice steady but quieter now, the words laced with a faint melancholy. “My parents passed away when I was still a child. And... it wasn’t exactly a union their families approved of. My father was a High Fae, and my mother was Illyrian.”

The table fell silent, the weight of your admission settling over the group.

Feyre’s expression softened, her brows knitting together as if piecing together what your childhood must have been like. Even Amren’s usually sharp gaze seemed to flicker with a faint glimmer of understanding.

Rhysand leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on the table, his voice low and thoughtful. “A High Fae and an Illyrian,” he mused, his violet eyes locking onto yours with a knowing look. “That couldn’t have been easy for them—or for you.”

You nodded, taking a moment to gather your thoughts. “It wasn’t. My mother’s family saw her as a traitor for leaving the war-camps. And my father’s family... well, let’s just say they weren’t thrilled about him choosing someone they considered beneath him. They tried to make it work, but the rejection on both sides was... hard.”

Rhysand’s lips curved into a faint, understanding smile tinged with something more—perhaps a trace of his own memories. “My parents were mates,” he said softly. “But even that bond didn’t shield my mother from what she endured because she was Illyrian. My father’s court viewed her as an outsider, no matter that she was his equal in every way.”

You glanced at him, surprised by his willingness to share the parallel. A small, genuine smile tugged at your lips. “Then I suppose you understand better than most.”

He inclined his head. “More than you might think. My mother bore the burdens of being Illyrian with grace, but I saw the way it chipped away at her. The way others refused to see her worth simply because of where she came from.”

The room was quiet for a beat longer, the group absorbing the weight of your shared experiences.

“Did they stay in Velaris?” Nesta asked gently, her voice curious but kind.

“They tried,” you said, your voice softening even more. “Velaris was my mother’s dream. She wanted a place where their love could thrive without the judgment of others. But it wasn’t that simple. My father’s family refused to acknowledge me, and my mother’s kin wanted nothing to do with either of us. They both passed when I was young, so... it’s just been me for a long time.”

Cassian shifted, his hand tightening briefly around his glass. He didn’t say anything, but the tension in his body told you all you needed to know—he hated the thought of you enduring that kind of isolation.

“I’m sorry,” Feyre said quietly, her voice warm with empathy.

You offered her a small smile, the sting of the memory softened by time. “It’s all right. I’ve built my life on my own terms since then. And Velaris... it’s still home.”

Rhysand nodded, his gaze steady. “Velaris is the City of Starlight. But it’s also a sanctuary for those who need it. And no matter what, you’ll always have a place here.”

The sincerity in his words caught you off guard, and for a moment, all you could do was nod, your chest tightening with a mix of gratitude and something you couldn’t quite name.

The laughter faded into a comfortable hum, and Rhysand glanced at you again, his tone turning slightly more serious. “Speaking of important matters, are the preparations for your trip to the Dawn Court coming along?”

You nodded, resting your hands on the edge of the table. “It’s going well,” you said. “I’m not rushing, though. The meeting isn’t for a few weeks, so there’s time to finalize everything.”

Azriel, who had been quietly observing, narrowed his eyes slightly. “What meeting?”

You met his gaze evenly. “The head healers of all the courts are gathering to discuss the rising tensions in the world. It’s not something we do often—every ten or twenty years, if that. But given everything that’s been happening lately, it was decided that now’s the time to meet.”

Feyre leaned forward, her brows knitting together in curiosity. “Even though you’ve only recently taken over from Madja, isn’t that going to be... challenging for you?”

Her question was genuine, not unkind, and you offered her a soft smile. “Not as much as you might think,” you replied. “I already know all of them. Either they trained me, or I’ve trained them at some point.”

Cassian let out a low whistle, leaning back in his chair with a grin. “Well, look at you. The prodigy of Prythian’s healers.”

You rolled your eyes at his teasing, though the corners of your mouth twitched in amusement. “Hardly. It’s more about connections and trust. It’s easier to work with people when you’ve already built a rapport.”

“True enough,” Rhysand said, his voice thoughtful. “But there’s still a lot of weight in those meetings. Decisions made there could affect countless lives.”

You nodded, meeting his gaze. “I’m aware. That’s why it’s important we all come together now. We have to be prepared for what might come next, no matter where it starts.”

Cassian broke the tension with a grin. “Still betting it’ll be less of a disaster than a High Lords’ meeting?”

Laughter rippled around the table again, and you shrugged with a playful smirk. “I’d say so. We’re less inclined to argue over who’s the most powerful and more focused on practical solutions.”

“Speak for yourself,” Amren muttered dryly. “I’d argue just for fun.”

The table erupted into laughter, the light-heartedness returning as the conversation shifted to lighter topics once more.

Dinner naturally came to an end, and the group shifted to the living room. The atmosphere turned even more relaxed as the evening stretched on. Cups of tea were passed around for some, while others nursed glasses of wine or stronger spirits. The crackle of the fire in the hearth added a cozy backdrop to the low hum of conversation and occasional laughter.

You found yourself sinking into a plush armchair, your fingers wrapped around a warm mug of tea. The soft glow of the firelight played across the room, highlighting the easy camaraderie between everyone. This wasn’t just a group of warriors and leaders—they were a family. Even in their teasing, you could sense the unshakable bonds that connected them, forged by shared history and unwavering loyalty.

For a brief moment, you allowed yourself to relax, taking in the sight of them. Feyre and Rhysand were curled up together on a loveseat, Cassian sprawled across a large sofa with Mor perched at the other end, her laughter ringing out as he recounted some likely exaggerated tale. Nesta sat nearby, a book in hand, though her attention occasionally drifted to the conversation.

But as your gaze wandered, you noticed something—or rather, someone—missing. Neither Elain nor Azriel was present. The realization sent a small, unwanted pang through your chest, one you quickly buried. Whatever their reasons for leaving, it wasn’t your concern. It couldn’t be.

When your tea was finished, you placed the empty cup delicately on the table before rising to your feet. “Thank you for the lovely evening,” you said, your voice soft but sincere. “But I should head back. There’s still some work I need to wrap up before the night’s over.”

Cassian glanced up from his drink, his grin playful as always. “You’re leaving already? And here I thought Azriel was the workaholic around here, but you might actually be worse.”

His words, though light-hearted, made something twist in your stomach. You tried to brush it off, but then he glanced around the room and added, “Speaking of which... where is Az? Slacking off for once?”

“Leave it, Cassian,” Rhysand interjected smoothly. His voice was calm, but the sharpness in his violet gaze betrayed a flicker of curiosity—or perhaps understanding—as his eyes darted to you. He didn’t press the issue, but the weight of his brief look lingered all the same.

Feyre stood and approached you, her steps fluid and graceful. She wrapped you in a warm hug, her arms firm but gentle. “Thank you for coming,” she said softly. “It was nice having you here. We’ll have to do this again soon.”

You returned the embrace, her kindness settling some of the unease lingering in your chest. “I’d like that,” you replied sincerely, a small smile tugging at your lips.

Cassian’s voice broke through the moment as Feyre stepped back. “You know, if you’re working this late, you might actually give Az a run for his money,” he teased. Then, with a mock thoughtful look, he added, “Though I guess he’s not here to defend his title. Convenient.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Maybe he’s finally taking a well-deserved break,” you said, keeping your tone light as you glanced toward the door.

Rhysand’s gaze followed yours, but he said nothing. The slight quirk of his lips suggested he’d noticed something, but whatever it was, he chose to keep it to himself—for now.

With a final round of goodnights, you stepped out into the cool night air. They were a family, and while you didn’t quite feel like part of it yet, the warmth they’d shown you was undeniable.

As you walked through the quiet streets of Velaris, the crisp night air nipping at your skin, your gaze lifted instinctively to the sky. The stars above were breathtaking—countless pinpricks of light scattered across an endless expanse of velvet black. They seemed so serene, so untouched by the weight of the world below. For a moment, you let yourself be lost in their beauty, your steps slowing as if the universe itself was urging you to pause.

You didn’t notice the tears until a cold droplet slid down your cheek, and then another. Startled, you reached up to brush your fingers against your face, finding your skin wet. Confusion prickled at the edges of your thoughts as you stared at the small drops clinging to your fingertips. You weren’t sad. At least, you didn’t think you were. The evening had been lovely—warm and full of laughter. Yet here you were, crying under the stars.

A hollow ache settled in your chest as you continued walking, the faint echo of your footsteps the only sound in the stillness. You barely knew Azriel. That thought circled your mind like an unrelenting shadow. For all the moments you’d spent stealing glances at him, observing the way he carried himself with quiet strength and grace, there was still so much you didn’t know. So much you might never know.

And then there was the bond. The invisible thread you could feel humming at the edge of your awareness, a constant reminder of something greater, something unasked for. You’d kept it to yourself, not because of secrecy, but because the mere thought of saying it aloud made your stomach twist with apprehension. It wasn’t fair—not to him, not to you.

Forcing a bond on him, on anyone, was the last thing you wanted. Azriel deserved the freedom to choose, the freedom to love without the weight of a bond dictating his path. But even as you told yourself that, a cruel voice in your mind whispered that the bond wasn’t something he would celebrate—not with you as his mate.

What did you have to offer him? Compared to Elain’s gentle beauty and kindness, you felt like a storm—chaotic and unyielding. You’d spent centuries honing your skills, fighting battles, making sacrifices. Vulnerability wasn’t something you knew how to share.

A sharp breath escaped you, your hands curling into fists as your pace quickened. The tears came faster now, silent but persistent, blurring the cobblestones underfoot. It wasn’t sadness, you told yourself again. It was confusion, frustration, maybe even fear.

You weren’t sure when the walls you’d built around yourself had started to crack, but tonight, surrounded by the warmth of the Inner Circle, you’d felt something shift. It wasn’t just about Azriel. It was about family, connection, belonging—things you’d never let yourself hope for, let alone believe you could have.

But as much as you’d enjoyed the night, as much as you’d appreciated their kindness, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being an outsider looking in. They cared for each other deeply, their bonds unbreakable. And you? You were just passing through, a healer with a tangled past and an uncertain future.

The stars blurred as fresh tears welled up, and you stopped in your tracks, tilting your head back to let the cool night air soothe your burning cheeks. You didn’t know what you were crying for—what you were mourning. Maybe it was for the family you’d lost long ago, or the life you might have had if things had been different. Maybe it was for the bond you hadn’t asked for but couldn’t ignore.

Or maybe, it was for the fragile hope buried deep within you—the hope that one day, you might find a place where you truly belonged.

——

Azriel’s POV

Azriel exhaled a quiet breath as he stepped into the crisp night air, the faint sounds of the dinner fading behind him. The garden of the townhouse was peaceful, blanketed in a soft glow from the moon above. Elain walked beside him, her delicate frame tucked into a thick coat, her hands gripping the fabric tightly against the chill.

The silence stretched between them, comfortable at first. But as they wandered further down the winding paths, Elain drew closer, her arm brushing his. He glanced at her briefly, noticing the faint pink on her cheeks—not from the cold, but something else.

It was when they reached the edge of the garden, where the view of Velaris spread wide and glittering below, that she finally spoke.

"Azriel," she said softly, her voice hesitant.

He turned to face her, noting the awkward expression on her face, the way her hands twisted nervously in front of her. “What is it?” he asked, his tone calm, though a flicker of concern stirred in his chest.

Elain hesitated, her gaze darting away before meeting his again. “Are you sure...we can trust Y/N?”

Azriel blinked, her question catching him off guard. Of all the things he’d anticipated her saying, this hadn’t been one of them. “Why wouldn’t we?” he asked, frowning slightly.

Elain’s lips pressed into a thin line. “It’s just...the way she talks, the way she carries herself. There’s something...off about her.”

Azriel tilted his head, studying her closely. He hadn’t missed Y/N’s sharp tongue during the meeting at the House of Wind, but her words had been purposeful, her actions deliberate. If Elain was referring to that, it didn’t make sense for her to hold it against Y/N.

“She was doing her job,” Azriel said carefully, keeping his tone neutral. “If this is about what happened at the House of Wind—”

“It’s not just that,” Elain interrupted, her voice rising slightly before softening again. She looked at him with wide, almost pleading eyes. “You don’t realize the way she spoke to me. The way she...looked at me. It was—” She broke off, shaking her head.

Azriel’s frown deepened. He couldn’t recall Y/N being anything but professional, but Elain’s tone suggested she felt otherwise. Still, he wasn’t one to jump to conclusions without evidence.

“Elain,” he said gently, “what exactly are you saying? Is there something specific that’s made you doubt her?”

She hesitated again, her gaze dropping to the ground. Then, after a moment, she said, “I just...feel like she’s hiding something. A lot of things. And it’s not just her past—it’s her power, Azriel. It’s unsettling. What if she’s here for something else? What if she’s working for Koschei?To attack us from the inside?”

Her voice grew more frantic as she spoke, her words tumbling over one another in a rush of worry.

Azriel’s jaw tightened, though he kept his expression calm. He reached out, placing a steadying hand on her shoulder. “Elain,” he said firmly, his voice a quiet anchor. “You’re overthinking this.”

Her eyes flicked up to meet his, uncertainty flickering there.

“She’s not here to harm anyone,” Azriel continued. “If she were, we would’ve seen signs by now. And even if there were any truth to your fears, I’m keeping a close eye on her.”

Elain’s lips parted slightly, but she didn’t interrupt as he added, “Nothing bad will happen while I’m around. I won’t allow it.”

For a moment, Elain simply looked at him, her expression softening at his words. She nodded slowly, though the tension in her shoulders didn’t completely ease.

“I trust you, Azriel,” she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Azriel gave her a faint nod, his gaze steady. But as they turned to head back toward the townhouse, a shadow of doubt lingered in his mind—not about Y/N, but about the seeds of mistrust Elain had tried to plant.

Elain bid Azriel a soft goodnight, her steps retreating up the stairs until they faded entirely. Azriel lingered in the quiet of the garden for a moment longer, the chill of the night seeping into his skin as he let his mind turn over her words. Doubt, no matter how unwarranted, was a dangerous thing to sow.

Pushing the thoughts aside, he made his way back to the living room. Feyre, Mor, and Nesta were nowhere to be seen, their laughter and conversations long gone. Only Rhysand and Cassian remained, seated comfortably with drinks in hand.

“There he is,” Cassian said with a smirk, raising his glass. “Thought you’d vanished into the shadows for good this time.”

Azriel ignored the jab, heading straight for the sideboard. He poured himself a generous glass of whiskey, the amber liquid catching the firelight, and crossed the room to join them. He lowered himself into one of the armchairs, cradling the glass in his hand before taking a long sip.

“You missed the part where we solved all the world’s problems,” Cassian quipped, but there was a lightness to his tone.

Azriel shot him a look but didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he turned to Rhysand, his expression thoughtful. “Did you know about Y/N being half Illyrian and half High Fae?”

Rhysand raised a brow, leaning back in his seat. “Madja mentioned it to me when I first spoke with her about Y/N, but beyond that, no. Y/N hasn’t shared much about her personal life—at least not with me.”

Azriel frowned slightly, swirling the whiskey in his glass. “She’s been...secretive.”

“That’s not surprising,” Rhysand said, his voice calm. “She’s lived a long life, Azriel. People who’ve endured as much as she likely has aren’t quick to share their scars.”

Cassian shrugged, setting his empty glass on the table with a faint clink. “It’s not uncommon, though, is it? Half Illyrians without wings? The camps might not like to talk about it, but it happens more often than they’d admit.”

Azriel’s shadows curled faintly around his shoulders, his gaze distant. “It’s not just that. She’s...different. There’s a weight to her that’s hard to ignore.”

Rhysand regarded him carefully, his violet eyes sharp. “What are you trying to say, Az?”

Azriel hesitated, the words forming slowly. “She doesn’t seem like someone who’s just here to replace Madja or take up the work of healing. There’s more to her, something she’s not saying.”

Rhysand nodded thoughtfully. “She’s a healer, yes, but she’s also a warrior. And from what I’ve gathered, she’s someone who’s fiercely loyal to those she chooses to protect. That doesn’t mean she owes us every detail of her life.”

Cassian leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “It’s not like we’ve shared all our dirty laundry with her either. Hell, Az, you’ve been watching her like a hawk since she got here, and she hasn’t so much as flinched. If she were hiding something dangerous, don’t you think she’d have slipped up by now?”

Azriel didn’t respond immediately, his shadows whispering quietly in his ears. He took another sip of whiskey, letting the burn settle in his throat.

“I’m not saying she’s a threat,” he said finally. “But there’s something...unsettling about not knowing where she stands. Especially now, with everything happening in Prythian.”

Rhysand sighed, his expression softening. “You’re not wrong to be cautious, Az. But until she gives us a reason to doubt her, we owe her the benefit of the doubt. She’s earned that much through her work alone.”

“Relax, brother,” Cassian said with a chuckle. “Not everyone is out to stab us in the back. Besides, if she wanted to, she’s had plenty of chances.”

The conversation lulled, the crackling of the fire filling the silence. Azriel leaned back in his chair, the whiskey warming him from the inside out. Despite Cassian’s teasing and Rhysand’s reassurances, the unease in his chest didn’t fully fade.

He’d keep watching. Just in case.

Rhysand shifted in his seat, his sharp gaze settling on Azriel. His expression was calm, but there was a note of seriousness in his voice as he spoke. “Maybe it’s time for you to look elsewhere, brother. To seek someone who could truly bring you peace.”

Azriel sighed heavily, the sound filled with equal parts exhaustion and frustration. He swirled the amber liquid in his glass, staring into it as if the whiskey held answers he couldn’t find.

Cassian, never one to miss an opportunity, smirked. “You know, Az, Rhys might actually have a point for once. The world won’t end if you let yourself—”

Azriel’s sharp glare cut him off, but it was Rhysand who pressed on, his tone gentle but firm. “Listen, brother, I’m not here to tell you how to live your life or whom to care for. But Lucien is coming back to Velaris for the Solstice, and I don’t want you to—”

Azriel’s head snapped up, and his voice was cold and clipped as he interrupted. “You didn’t have to invite him.”

Rhysand’s brows rose slightly, but his voice remained steady. “He is her mate, Azriel. Whether we like it or not, that bond exists. Ignoring it won’t make it disappear.”

Azriel’s jaw tightened, his shadows curling more protectively around him. “I’m well aware of that, Rhys. But you didn’t need to bring him here. Solstice is for family.”

Cassian leaned forward slightly, holding up a hand as if to diffuse the tension. “Alright, let’s all take a deep breath. It’s been a long day, and we don’t need to—”

“I don’t need your advice,” Azriel snapped, cutting him off as well. His voice was calm but laced with a quiet, simmering anger. He stood, setting his glass down with more force than necessary. “I’m grown enough to make my own decisions, and I don’t need either of you meddling in my personal life.”

Rhysand’s violet eyes followed Azriel carefully, a flicker of something unspoken passing between them. But he didn’t press further, simply nodding once.

Cassian leaned back in his chair, muttering under his breath, “Well, that went well.”

Azriel didn’t respond, his shadows coiling around him as he turned and left the room. He felt their eyes on him as he walked away, but he didn’t look back.

As he stepped into the cool night air, the weight of their words still lingered. His chest felt tight, his thoughts a tangled mess of anger, guilt, and something he couldn’t quite name. He didn’t know what he wanted anymore. Or maybe he did, and that was the problem.

----

don't hesitate to comment if you want to be added to the tag list ;)))

tag list : @angel-graces-world-of-chaos @bravo-delta-eccho @messageforthesmallestman @celestialgilb @tiredsleepyhead @annamariereads16 @arcanefeelingz @fuckingsimp4azriel @adventure-awaits13 @diaouranask @rcarbo1 @6v6babycheese @goodvibesonlyxd @sa54va87to90re12 @firefly-forest @babypeapoddd @hailqueenconquer @daughterofthemoons-stuff @lilah-asteria @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @judig92 @pinklemonade34 @sourapplex @wickedshadowsinger @shinyghosteclipse @rose-girls-world @leptitlu @acourtofsmutandstarlight @feyrescanvas @dreamloud4610 @plants-w0rld @onebadassunicorn @anxious-cactus

#azriel fic #azriel x you #azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #acotar fanart #acotar #rhysand #azriel acotar #cassian #a court of thorns and roses #acotar x y/n #acotar x reader #acotar x you #acotar fanfiction #azriel shadowsinger #elain #feyre

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yourfavepookiebear · 11 months ago

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Hello ! I hope you have a great day. Can I please request Leona, Lilia, and Rook with a cheerful s/o ? For example s/o is nice,friendly,funny and mostly positive ? It's okay if you don't feel like doing this though, it's up to you :)

Of course pooks ! And sorry for the late ass reply, I was hella busy these past few weeks (I'm always busy but still) anyways, this one was kinda fun to write, and I had "lay all your love on me" playing in my headphones too, cuz music helps me concentrate. It took me a long while to write this tho because my imagination is shit when it comes to coming up with stuff.

Cw : none ? Just cotton candy-material fluff. A bit ooc, and short asf. Rushed too

♡☆ Leona Kingscholar ☆♡

Has a love-hate relationship with your personality

It's complicated ; he finds it cute, but at the same time, why the hell are you being kind to anyone that isn't him ???

Naturally when someone has a good personality it means lots of people will want to be close to them, which is good for you but bad for Leona.

In conclusion, he : 1. Finds it a bit endearing. 2. Is annoyed bc you're a bug magnet (by bug he means people)

Also he's absolutely flabbergasted at how you manage to be so positive and cheerful.

You frfr need to teach him cuz he urgently needs it. (His pessimistic ass is jealous asf)

But he'll learn to appreciate it, eventually..

(Eventually means maybe in 30 years when he turns 50. Eventually also means probably never. Eventually means only god knows)

♡♤ Lilia ♤♡

Absolutely loves It.

He finally has someone to be funny, cheerful, and silly with.

Yall are fucking partners in crime at this point, (except Lilia does all the work and you just sit back and watch)

Now now, don't get your hopes up, just because you're partners in crime doesn't mean you're safe from his pranks

And worst of all, he'll definitely have you try his food. (You better run into the forest and never come back)

Appreciates your cheerfulness, and your sense of humor

♡♡ Rook ♡♡

"Oh mon dieu, QUELLE BEAUTÉ !!!"

Will make poems and songs about your cheerfulness and will most likely adress you as Kalim's counterpart (although you're a bit tamer than Kalim)

Will fr show up under your window/balcony at 5 in the morning and start singing about your "beauté sublime" (guitar in hand n all)

Will probably gift you a rabbit or sum. Don't ask why.

I hc he refers to you as "jumeau du soleil" or "beauté du jour" !!!!!!!

#yourfavepookiebear #rook hunt #twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #twst fics #rook hunt x reader #leona kingscholar #leona kingscholar x reader #lilia vanrouge #lilia vanrouge x reader #disney twst #x reader fics #twst hcs #gn reader #can be read as platonic or romantic #can be read as anything #the pookiest writes

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hxltic · 1 year ago

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Hello! I have a request!

Could you do something where Kenma isn't really giving the female reader any attention because he's busy streaming so the reader sneaks under his desk where the viewer's can't see her and she pleasures him until he eventually cums down her throat?

:) I un-ironically love writing bjs

The shared house was silent anytime after 5 o’clock. Kuroo had just left— his afternoon business management classes calling him in, and Bokuto’s practice overcrowded his schedule to the point where he went twice a day with some gym sessions in between. That leaves you alone with Kenma in your 4 bedroom home off campus that was supposedly his father’s apology gift.

The bills are mainly kept satisfied with Kenma’s profit as his streaming allows you all to live as you do. Of course, there was a sense of independency by your own jobs regardless. There has probably been twice where everyone was in the living room at once, but it’s like there’s a tacit agreement each of you have your own goals.

You can’t be mad at the man for being busy when his job supports his friends and himself.

Kenma has been your friend, now boyfriend, for the longest out of all of them, next in line being Kuroo. Kenma took computer engineering and coding related classes, despite having already perfected building PC’s just out of pure experience. The work is hard. You’ve seen it.

You’ve witnessed him stress first hand about a single error in a strenuous, long line of codes—and you ask him why he doesn’t stop doing it if it bothers him to the extent it does. His determination has grown for activities he enjoys over the years; 12 year old him would have quit.

Kenma’s way to deal with stress is isolation. The entire day he’s been crammed in his room, and with being the only other person in the house majority of the time, you bring it upon yourself to feed him. He gets focused and forgets to eat.

The reminder has you clicking your Ipad off from whatever distraction show you had playing. It was so boring most of the days, Netflix couldn’t even fulfill you. You toss the covers off yourself, then bounce downstairs into the kitchen.

It was so quiet that your feet patting against the floor filled the air. To cure the ennui you felt, you’d take the time to have fun with this culinary experience.

By the time there was fluffy white flour messily coating the kitchen and dishes stacked like game cards in the sink, your dish was plated for two. Maybe you’d keep him some company?

Careful not to fall up the stairs, you prod at his door in attempt to knock with one hand. Somehow you turn the knob successfully.

The fan cuts through the air, every click of Kenma’s pen accompanied with a glance to the paper beside him. He won’t even look up at the waitress bearing goods.

“Hi Ken,” you grab his attention but his slim eyes only dart up at the smell of cuisine. “Have you eaten?”

You know the answer. His hair is pulled back into a ponytail, so when he shakes his head the usual strands that follow aren’t there. You place the plate on his desk, next to the two cans of some energy drink and a diet Dr. Pepper.

“Thank you,” he speaks softly. There was a hint of edge to the sound, like he hadn’t used his voice all day.

“Mhmm.”

You turn on your heels to his bed, then sit criss cross as it squeaks and dips. “Do you mind if I just stay in here? It gets lonely in the house.”

To be honest, you forget he’s there sometimes.

“I’m kinda busy,” he replies. He loves you, and your presence, but he just knows he won’t be able to focus. “I’ll be done soon.”

The pout you flaunt deepens, “You’ve been stuck in here for almost a week now! Come out; I miss you Ken.”

He refrains himself from turning to look at you because he knows when he weighs his options, you’ll always come out on top. The chances of you getting picked multiply with your pout.

“Soon, I just need to finish this.”

“Please?”

He doesn’t even have a valid response for that, so he forces the spoon into his mouth. You’re actually a great cook, but since you all eat so much takeout, nobody’s at the dinner table at the same time to enjoy it.

You huff and negotiate to just sit in silence, as long as you’re in his presence. As long as you know he’s there.

This only lasts about fifteen minutes before you’re whining for him again. You completely understand the heavy load of schoolwork, and that it has to get done, but he genuinely has been at it for so long it cannot be healthy.

“I’m done,” he announces coincidentally, his soft fingers coming up to brush a tendril of hair back as he gathers his things on the desk into a neat pile.

Your head perks up like a puppy at attention. He arises from his chair after closing the laptop, pulling his rubber band from the hair connected at his nape as he steps towards you laying on his bed. You giggle in expectancy when he smiles gingerly at you, reaches his arms forward around your feet to plant his hands on the duvet, then crawls up your body. The hair tie wraps around his wrist to join all the other colorful bracelets and bands.

He makes you swoon by just giving you attention.

His hands grew into proportion as he aged, so now they were relatively large. Large enough to connect at your hips as he kisses his way up.

Stomach, chest, then an abundance on your chin and around your face, just for his thumb and index finger to hold your cheeks in position for his softer, slower kiss right on your lips.

You wrap your arms around him like he’d just disintegrate any second. You can feel his body slump, leaving you with most of his weight to carry and his head withdrawing from the kiss to between your breasts. With one hand massaging the round muscle, Kenma was in his element.

Black with barely-there blonde crowds your vision. His soft skin felt warm as you two lay intertwined in the still house, and if you were to fall asleep it would greatly help that Kenma never keeps the big light on. He moans in satisfactory below you.

You lift your hand to rest over his face, the bigger part of your thumb gliding gently over his cheek.

“I love you,” he mutters.

“I love you too Ken.”

After a while of Kenma following your heartbeat and breathing, you would’ve guessed he was asleep. He clarifies he isn’t when he groans lowly.

“I have to get up.”

The words rest tensely in the air, and maybe if you pretend you didn’t hear him, he’ll lay there and forget about it.

He attempts to raise himself from you, politely grabbing your hand and locking your fingers when he comes to a hover above. His pink lips come to the corner of yours as you blink open your eyes.

Truthfully, he wants nothing more than to be with you, here, resting—but he hasn’t streamed in a solid week because of school. You were completely his priority though, so he would make sure to give you equal attention as his stream.

He finds the little willpower to come off you and the bed. He was genuinely hoping you’d stay there and sleep peacefully, that way he’ll come back to join you and it will feel like he never left.

He flips a blanket over your body before he strolls to his setup usually beaming with bright lights. He takes a seat, making sure to turn the brightness down of everything, refraining from playing music, and ultimately deciding not to turn on any light not connected to his PC anyway.

As much as you hate that he’s not cuddled up next to you right now, you love the fact that he’s a steamer overall because he looks so damn hot doing it. Especially the way his muscles on his forearm flex as he quickly types or plays. His hair that’s usually up is down, because he isn’t wearing his mic.

Or like the way every now and then he’ll pop a piece of gum in his mouth and manspread in his gaming chair to shoot a quick message or check his feed. Or like the way he’s so attent, making call-outs, or whenever he gets angry his brows furrow the slightest bit and his face displays whatever he’s actually thinking. You find it hilarious when his eyes roll.

At some point, he hears you come up behind him into view, and his head relaxes into your two hands sliding up his neck to his jaw. You crouch into the screen and the chat immediately multiples. It’s too quick to read them all. Knowing his viewers, Kenma takes the responsibility of closing it with the click of a button, so fast that it seems he never even did it.

“Cracked, 130,” he calls.

You stood there for a moment to watch him play. He and his team beat the level, game, you don’t know, but he releases his focus from the screen and mindlessly cracks his knuckles.

A donation comes in that’s read aloud. Kenma tenses, but you’re excited to hear it.

“jump1nnit donates $70. ‘girl to girl, is it big?’”

Kenma’s head drops back in your hands, eyes closing in annoyance.

“Jesus Christ,” he mumbles. Where were his mods?

All you were thinking about was how much Kenma was actually earning. 70 dollars in a single donation? How many of these does he get a day? How much more do people pay that’s over 70 when you aren’t here?

You shake these questions away. You knew he was famous. This was not new information; his fans see you sometimes in the background, and they adore you. It’s why your instagram has so many followers and people saying outrageous things in your comments. Ken begs you not to check them.

You find it amusing honestly. God knows what he’s being sent despite his DM’s or what they’re saying in his chats. You know there’s girls all over the world after him, but he doesn’t entertain them, so you don’t either. You trust him completely.

Brought back to reality, you look down at Kenma.

He starts, “Are you-“

To rile up the scene, you nod at the monitor with a mischievous smirk on your face. You bend and kiss his forehead.

“Can I sit right here?” You ask quickly, already pulling up his desk stool because he has no reason to say no. He takes your momentary absence to mute the computer.

“Yeah. yeah, Definitely.”

The blonde’s tone is a little off, but you chalk it up to what just happened. He was just surprised you’d actually respond. He ignores them so he doesn’t get demonetized.

So you sit next to him on your phone playing games, or watching him, or laying on his shoulder. It made it a little difficult for him to play with the last one, but he doesn’t mind. He places a kiss to your forehead, matching earlier actions, and the way you two looked at each other after will definitely reel in some fan edits.

You return to gaming on your phone until you drop it. It tumbles down and under the PC, into the jungle of wires below.

At least with everything included in the setup, that’s what you expect to see, but they’re all neatly accounted for. The seat moves back against the carpet to accommodate for your body, the space you’ve created to retrieve the device. The problem is, you and Kenma occupy this space. You won’t fit.

Kenma heard your phone drop, so he had an idea why you’re down there. He even chuckled a little. Once you pick up the phone, you use his thigh as leverage to turn yourself around, causing him to flinch, and immediately an idea pops into your head.

You could stay down here.

You press the heart of your palm into him once more, the same reaction procreating ideas like a lightbulb.

His voice from above makes another callout.

The lightness of your fingertips glide across his thigh and up to his waist, slipping past the barrier of the thin shirt he’s wearing. Kenma is not ticklish, but his abdomen turns concave to your touch.

By now he has concluded what is happening, or going to happen, and just the thought has him hardening in front of you. Of course it’s something he’s thought about. He hasn’t asked because it feels unnatural—like you would only do it because he suggested it.

His poker face remains stone cold, but the rest gives him away. With every touch you only got closer. You trail your whole hand up the shirt, running this one along the dips of his pale skin, while the other goes back and forth along his thigh. Inwards, then back out. Your phone was long forgotten.

You run the length of your fingers over his center sneakily before meeting both hands in the middle and fiddling with his waistband. He shivers, but continues to play.

He hadn’t been purposely edging himself, and he definitely knows that you would help him whenever he asked, but with all the schoolwork piled on top of him, it never crossed his mind. It was now though, and sensitivity was at its highest.

“No, why would you do that; that’s stupid,” Kenma replies to what you assume is a donation. The technological voice isn’t there anymore for you to hear.

The tips of your nails dive past every ounce of clothing settled at his hips.

He shifts in his seat, whether to allow you to pull the band down just enough or to calm his nerves, you don’t know, but the opportunity was right in front of your face. Literally.

You don’t even do anything but hold his length before you start the up and down motions. It’s enough to turn him on more, having him grow in your hand. You can’t imagine the faces he’s making while his viewers’ minds were already polluted.

“Keep going, push,” he exclaims. Voice still soft, but with some sense of urgency.

He was not speaking to you, but you listen anyway, and do as he says. Maybe you could play a game: see how long it takes before he realizes you’re taking orders.

With this, you stroke him a little faster, then run your fleshy thumb over his tip. It began dripping, a single bud threatening to fall. After swiping it away, you disperse what little you could, then wrap your plush lips around his head.

He wasn’t expecting it right after your slow pace.

“Ugh, fuck- third party.”

The groan he emitted was covered quickly by a call, as if that’s what “frustrated” him.

You pop off as quickly as you came, spread your saliva, and now slide your enclosed hand down his cock steadily. Silky smooth, it took no energy to glide along him. Your unoccupied hand squeezes his thigh through the cotton.

“Down, he’s under and one shot.”

You jerk him off as his breathing barely picks up, occasionally coming down to wet him some more, but you see a significant difference when your hand consistently twists just the tip. You’d swirl your tongue around the reddening, most sensitive part of him before dropping even farther to take his balls in your mouth.

You tug and pull harmlessly.

“Hmm...”

Despite what was going on, the streamer was clever with how he hid it.

He asks, “Hey, what do y’all want to hear?”

The viewers were astonished they were being asked; Kenma has previously told them he likes his music and would play whatever he felt like hearing. He did a stream for song recommendations and half of it was him hating on their music and the other half was his viewers attempting to find songs he would like.

Regardless, he unmuted the sound on his computer and turned on the playlist, only slightly louder than usual.

You took this opportunity to actually wrap your lips around his cock, not having to worry about the sounds. You start on the slower side but it didn’t take long to get comfortable. Whatever you couldn’t fit, you jerked off.

His abdomen showcased whatever his face wouldn’t, stuttering every now and then with his hips correcting their position. You brought the wet hand to his balls once more, and attempted to fit all of him down your throat. There was a deep sigh above you.

You closed your eyes and went again, trying to go deeper. You didn’t gag, but your throat made sounds that was enough implication of what was going on. That’s okay though. Some random band one of his mods recommended was playing.

Once more, you tried to go deeper, actually sputtering this time, but once you got past the uncomfortableness of it all, you could go the same depth over and over. You did, breathing through your nose. He could hear your throat, but chat couldn’t. If they could, they would be saying something.

“Oh shit, oh shit, he’s on me,” he huffs, “I’m gonna twist around to cover.”

You remove yourself, partially to breathe, and take two hands to twist on top of each other in opposite directions. His belly button caves in with some more muscles, pure evidence of his pleasure.

This was the second he knew what you were doing. What game you were playing.

If you wanted to play, he could too.

“Where is she?” he reads chat calmly. “I think she’s downstairs eating.”

Was it calm enough—you’re not sure, because he was fidgeting excessively in the leaning chair.

The double entendre has you giggling silently. With a deep breath, you’re back down on him again. It’s not long until you sputter.

“Do you want me to tell her to come back up?” You hear him spit out quickly.

You do as he says, but not without the price of your fingers doubling speed at his head.

“Yeah, I’ll tell her. Hold on.”

With quickness, he mutes and turns his camera off.

He was sweating and physically overwhelmed. Pushing back on his heels, his chair rolls from under the table with you following, finally in his sight. He could already imagine how you looked.

Red lips. Glowing face. Glossy eyes, smiling and happy. You were ethereal. Your hands are working him, but now with his cock down your throat too? Oh my god.

He held a soft touch at your cheek and caressed your face with his thumb. Picking up speed, you smile.

The other hand of his would do the same, brushing a loose stand of hair behind your ear. Faster.

“Just like that,” he breathes.

“Mhmm?” you deepthroat him.

His head drops back involuntarily. His mouth does the same. The heavy breaths that he was holding from the stream let loose.

One last look at your flushed features and-

He groans heavily, adam’s apple bobbing and cock tightening. Skin usually pale but red with desire, he stills.

You close your eyes. It was so fulfilling with your throat stretched and his hands on either side of your plush face.

Warmth seeps past your tongue and down the cavern. It causes you to choke but Kenma definitely doesn’t mind. His sounds flow into your ears, plus some faint praise as he soon begins to release from his high.

You couldn’t taste anything as you slowly raise yourself from him, leaving his cock glistening with saliva and pink, but the taste just barely started to form once it caught your tongue on the way down. You swallow anyway—it wasn’t bad.

You use the back of your hand to wipe your eyes and breathe freely. You lay your cheek on the driest part of his pants, even though you’ll have to get up. You just aren’t ready to see the red wilts on your knees.

“You are amazing,” Kenma catches his breath. He looks back down with his eyes glossed over and tired, but he still runs his finger over your wet lip. You softly kiss it.

. .

“Are you getting back on?” You climb into his fluffy bed, throwing the covers back.

Kenma shakes his head and follows after you in a fresh new set. He grabs the covers and returns them over you both, pushing his hair back and holding you close.

©️ hxltic

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nanaxwii · 5 months ago

Text

8 letters.... - Lee Jeno

Pairing: Jeno x reader

Synopsis: Why do all good stories come to an end? Why don't we try to make it work? It just takes 8 letters to fix it all, or does it...? Well in this case.......read more

Genre: Fluff, slight angst

Word count: 1.3k

Why do I pull you close and then ask you for space.....!?

3 years ago Jeno met this one girl, Y/n, the kindest soul he has ever met. They started off as colleagues but soon it escalated into an ever-so-beautiful relationship. She knows him the best, she's seen him in his worst times, seen him hurt but never judged him for anything. It was the scariest feeling for Jeno. His past never bothered her. It was scary, scary to the point that he'd distance himself from her. But it wasn't a problem for Y/n. She knows him better than anyone, even better than Jeno himself does.

Jeno's been trying to meet up with you to talk about how he feels about you and your relationship for quite some time now. But every time he thinks of talking to you, it scares him, maybe you'll leave him like the last one did. Finally, he mustered up enough courage to ask you to meet.

Jeno: Hey

Y/n: Hello!! what's up

Jeno: Can we meet?

Y/n: Suree :) lmk where

Jeno: dw about that I'll pick you up at around 7

Y/n: okie I'll be ready :D

Jeno's nervousness increased as the time approached 7. He left his apartment and drove up to Y/n's place to pick her up. She was already waiting at her door for him to arrive. Jeno was mesmerized when he saw her. She looks pretty, she always does, he thought.

Upon seeing Jeno, Y/n walked down the pavement and got into the car and greeted him.

"Heyy"

''Hi", Jeno responded with a faint smile. "You look pretty'', he said.

The small comment made your heart flutter. You muttered a small thank you. He started the engine of the car and drove it to your destination. The ride was silent, which in a way was comforting to you and probably to Jeno too.

'La Mercerie', the sign read. After about 15 minutes you reached the restaurant, the restaurant where you had your first date with him. Jeno had booked a table for yourselves. From your seat, you had a great view of the city, the city that never sleeps.

You placed your order and were waiting for it to arrive. In the meantime, both Jeno and you caught up on each other's days, about how your boss was giving both of you a hard time. While you were chatting, the food arrived.

You had noticed how Jeno was being awkward and avoiding eye contact with you. He seemed nervous, nervous as if he had something on his mind that was bothering him. It concerned you because you've never seen him like this. It was the complete opposite of his usual self.

"Jeno?", "Hmm?", "Are you okay?" It took a few seconds for him to reply, "Yes, why'd you ask?" You decided not to press on it. "Oh no, it's nothing," you replied. But what you didn't know was that he was indeed not okay.

After your meal, Jeno paid for it and you left the restaurant. On your way out Jeno asked, ''Hey, do you want to go to the park near the lake? There's a fireworks display by the lake". Jeno knew you loved watching fireworks, "Sure", you answered.

It was a 5-minute walk to the park. The lake was clearly visible from there. There were a few food stalls by the lake. Jeno ran up to one of those to get you an ice cream; cookies & cream, your favourite flavour. Both of you sat on a bench to enjoy the ice cream and the beautiful, calm night.

"The show is about to start, let's go," he said, taking your hand in his and walking towards the lake. The air was cold by the lake. The lake felt serene, adorned with the reflection of the beautiful skyline. It was very peaceful.

The fireworks display started soon after. They rocketed up into the sky, the burning light turning the dark night bright, or maybe even turning some clouded hearts clear.

"Isn't it pretty!", you whisper, "Very", Jeno answers while looking at you. He was mesmerized by how the sparkling fireworks shone in your already shiny eyes. It made you look even prettier, prettier than you already were.

"Y/n, I need to get something off my chest". The soft, cold breeze made the hair on the back of your neck stand up. You turned your attention to him. Those pretty eyes, staring into yours, it seemed like they had a lot to say.

"You know how we've been together for almost 3 years now. I want to thank you for sticking by my side in all my good and bad days. Thank you for not judging me for my past. Thank you for always helping me overcome my fears."

For some reason, his words made you feel jittery inside.

"My past relationship ended on a bad note, which made me unable to trust and depend on someone easily."

He was slightly shaking, maybe it was the wind or maybe the nervousness. You took his large hands in your petite ones and squeezed them in an attempt to calm him.

"Y/n, I'm really sorry for always pulling you close when I'm in need and then pushing you away. I'm sorry for not treating you like you should've been. I don't feel like I deserve you. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry"

You pulled Jeno into a hug. You reassured him, saying, "You treat me so well Jeno, you too were there for me when I needed comfort, when I needed someone to hold on to, when I needed you. I understand that you need space sometimes, everyone does. You shouldn't think of yourself that way. It's normal for you to require time to trust someone after how your last relationship ended. I'm fine to be by your side when you need me and I'm fine with giving you space that you need.'' Jeno felt tears wet his flushed cheeks.

The fireworks show ended a long time ago, you didn't even notice, nor did Jeno. He wiped his tears off and took your hands in his. He pulled you closer, looked into your now moist eyes and said, " You know, when your hands are in mine, it's like I'm whole again. Maybe it's a sign for me to speak what's on my mind."

You looked into his eyes which seemed to have calmed down a little. "I've said those words before, but it always felt like a lie. It felt like I was lying to myself and also to you. You deserve to hear those words a thousand times. I don't know why but it was always so hard for me to say those words. It's just 8 letters but why is it so hard to say. I ask that to myself every night and fall asleep without finding an answer. But maybe today I found the answer.''

He stared into your curious eyes. "Y/n, maybe through this journey of me pulling and pushing you away, I might have found the answer to my question." You felt tears threatening to spill.

"I love you", he said, "And this time for real. I've realised how important you are to me. Thank you for always being with me, by my side." You pulled him into a hug, nuzzling into his neck and mumbling an I love you back.

Suddenly it started raining. Like always, it didn't bother you, and this time it didn't bother Jeno too. Both lost in your own world, in the warmth of each other's arms.

Maybe speaking your heart out, maybe saying those 8 letters sincerely does fix things, maybe it does make people stronger, maybe it does make the bonds last longer. Maybe the 8 letters do pull people closer.

-The end

note: thank you for reading. Idk how this turned out. I tried to write a fic for the first time. Lmk if there's a typo or such ;) and thank you @winwintea for helping me through \^o^/

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illyrian-dreamer · 2 years ago

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Congratulations on 500 darling!!!!!!!! Can I please request 30 with azriel? Thank youuuuuuu 🤍🤍🤍🤍

Confessions at Starfall

Azriel x Reader one shot

Summary: It's the night of Starfall, and you're hopelessly in love with the Shadowsinger. When Azriel keeps flirting with Elain, you're pushed to your final limits.

HELLO AND WELCOME TO DAY 1 OF 5 FOR 500!

Thank you @cityofidek for requesting 30 - Unrequited love/pushing loved one away.

Warnings: None.

Words: 3,048

--------

It was the night of Starfall, and you were utterly miserable.

Sitting at the dining table with your family, the rest of the inner circle exchanged jokes and light-hearted conversations as plates of steaming roasts, vegetables and pies were passed around. While it was usually your favourite holiday – the night ahead promising dancing and celebration, you were feeling far from festive.

It had everything to do with the male you loved, who sat across from you now, dotting over Elain Archeron. His eyes rarely left her, and you would know, because yours rarely left him. You noted the way he sat, his body tilted slightly in her direction, his wings folded back to make provide her more space to move. To the untrained eye, it wouldn't look like much – but for Azriel this spoke volumes.

That was the kind of detail you had learned to read over the past year. It had been twelve excruciating months since you had realised your own feelings for the Shadowsinger. Gone was the comfortable friendship you two shared – instead it was quickly replaced with blushing, timidness and uncontrollable awkwardness, all thanks to you. And while you once held out hope that Azriel might notice, or even return your feelings, overtime your friendship had drifted – pushing him further into the arms of the middle Archeron sister.

Elain made you seethe with jealousy. It wasn’t her fault, she was nice really, all be it a bit simple. But she had a way about her, like a doe-eyed fawn their first steps. It made you uncontrollably angry the way people would line up to help her, especially the males. Not to mention her undeniable beauty. You knew she and Azriel made a very handsome couple.

So you sat here tonight, marking every bit of attention the Spymaster gave Elain, longing for him to look at you the way he did her. Jealousy didn't even begin to cover it.

“Y/N?”

You blinked, not realising Azriel was speaking to you even though you had stared off straight in his direction. You coughed, straightening in you seat. “Sorry, pardon?” Your heart beat at the thought he might have started a conversation with you.

“Can you pass the potatoes?”

Your heart dropped, and you tried to hide the disappointment on your face. Of course he wasn't interested in talking to you, he hadn't in weeks. Without replying, you passed over the dish, reaching straight for the white potatoes instead of the orange kind. Azriel didn't like how sweet they were, and you knew that. It was the kind of detail you remembered about someone when you’re hopelessly in love.

“Ooh, can I please have the sweet potatoes?” Elain chirped. “They’re my favourite.” Of course the sweetest female in all of Prythian liked yams the most. You had to suppress the urge to roll your eyes. You passed the dish over silently, and watched Azriel load up his plate with those too. It took everything you had to stop the scowl that twitched at your eyes.

You pushed your fork and knife to the centre of your plate, suddenly having lost your appetite.

————

The luminescent glow of the stars shooting above had been going for over an hour, and the party was in full swing. You breathed in, letting the magnificent sight lighten your heart the way they did the night sky.

Gathered on a large marble terrace of Rhys and Feyre’s river home, almost a hundred guests had come in fine gowns and suits to celebrate the event.

Wearing a dress of midnight blue that sparkled with night, you laughed lightheartedly as Cassian and Nesta joked with you, champagne in hand. The musicians at the base of the terrace reclaimed their seats, raising their instruments and beginning a new set of elegant melody.

“I hope you don’t mind Y/N, but I must show off my mates dancing,” he winked at you before offering his hand to Nesta. She smiled, placing a delicate hand atop of his, nodding to you before being lead to the dance floor.

Couples now twirled and stepped in unison, the sight almost as magical as the sky above. You felt a large presence slide beside you, and your heart fluttered as shadows caught the corner of your eye.

“Are you enjoying your night?” Azriel had finally come to spend some time with you.

“Of course,” you lied, smiling softly as you gulped the rest of your champaign, earning a slight raise of Azriel’s brow. “And yourself?”

Azriel nodded. “It’s as beautiful as always.”

“Yes, it is.” You couldn't help but stare straight into his hazel eyes, your heart lurching as your words hung with double meaning. Ask me to dance, you begged in your head. We dance every year on Starfall, c’mon, just ask me. If Azriel was paying any attention, he would have read your pleading gaze. But he wasn’t, of course, because his eyes fell beyond you, at the pretty Archeron who wore a gown of delicate blush.

You looked down, suddenly overwhelmed with insecurity as you smoothed the ripples in your dress. Of course he didn't like you – you looked like a witch of death compared to the femininity that blossomed from Elain.

“You look quite beautiful tonight.”

Your heart leaped. Your anger from earlier quickly vanished as you breathed in to thank Azriel, already blushing. But as you looked up, your heart immediately sank as you realised Azriel wasn't complimenting you at all, but rather Elain, who had made her way over.

It felt much like being punched in the gut.

Your mouth was dry as you silently watched Azriel offer her an arm, her petite hand slipping through as he guided her to the dance floor.

That felt much like being kicked in the gut while you were down.

You couldn't help the steady flow of tears that now stained your cheeks, or the broken crumple that formed on your face. Unable to withstand any more blows, you fled the party.

————

Slumped against the frame of a large window, your body shook with cries so hard they fell silent. You didn't care if it was the most special night of the year, you had never felt more abandoned, underserving and unloved.

You were crying too hard to hear the footsteps that trudged up to the lookout room you were hiding in, and you didn't hear the faint knock at the door. It wasn't until Cassian placed a gentle hand on your shoulder that you noticed his presence, his face soft with concern as he crouched next to you.

You blinked back at him, your vision completely blurred by your tears. You were broken and there was no hiding it.

“I love him, Cas,” you sobbed, your voice break halfway through as a cry shook through your body again.

“Oh, Y/N,” Cassian said softly, his voice full of understanding as he immediately embraced you. You flung yourself to him, wrapping your arms around his solid waist as he rocked and stroked your hair. You weren't surprised that Cassian knew, anyone could have noticed months of hopeless pining and one-sided puppy love.

You continued to cry, your voice muffle by the embrace. “What’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing Y/N! There’s not a thing wrong with you.”

“Then why doesn't he love me?”

“Because he’s a damn fool.”

You sniffed against his chest, trying to regain yourself. “But he loves her.”

Cassian sighed, the strokes on your hair pausing for just a moment. “I’m not sure that’s true.”

“Of course he does. She’s perfect.” Jealousy was not a good colour on you, but you were unsuccessful at hiding the bite in your words.

Cassian drew back, levelling his eyes to yours. “I know it hurts right now doll, but I promise, any male that doesn't see you for the beautiful, intelligent and fiery bombshell you are, is an outright imbecile. Even if it is my own brother.”

You chuckled at that, shaking your head as you gently wiped the makeup your were sure had stained under your eyes. “Thank you Cass,” you whispered, reaching for his hands tightly. He stood now, leaning down to plant a kiss on your forehead.

“Will you come back to the party with me?”

You forced a fake smile, but shook your head. “I happiest up here. Thank you though Cass, I mean it.”

Cassian nodded, throwing a tight smile of sympathy before ducking out of the room.

You paced to the other side of the viewing room to the window facing the terrace below where celebrations continued. Dresses of all colours fanned against the marble of the terrace, the music flowing up to the height of the room. And the stars, Gods they were beautiful.

You saw Cassian rejoin Nesta, his arms snaking around her waist as they admired the view. Next to them were your High Lord and Lady, and beside them, a dress of pale blush. Your heart stung with envy at the site of Elain, and you narrowed your eyes as you scanned the crowd for Azriel.

“Y/N?”

You jumped, whirling on the spot to find Azriel sheepishly standing in the doorway.

You cleared your throat, quickly wiping under your eyes again. He had hurt you, broken you without even knowing it. You straightened your spine – the least you could do was have your pride.

“Are you ok? Cassian said you left the party.”

You nodded tightly, not trusting yourself to speak.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” The words flew out of your mouth too quickly.

Azriel frowned, stepping through the door towards you. You stiffened, drawing one step back. “Go back to the party Azriel,” you said tightly.

“Have you been crying?”

You scowled. How dare he note that detail when he was the one who caused it. “Don’t pretend to care,” you spat. Gone was the ache in your heart from moments ago. Seeing Azriel here now, it was quickly replaced with fiery hurt.

“What?” Azriels brow was now contort with confusion as he reached for you. You stepped back again, your arms folding over your chest.

“Why are you angry with me?”

“How can you ask that?”

“Is it because we’ve been distant lately?” So he did have some clue after all. You didn't answer, instead breaking from the intensity of his stare, your eyes focusing outside as glowing spirits that shot past the other side of the window.

“Listen, I know I haven't been around much, or maybe it’s that we haven't spent time together lately. But things have been difficult between us for a while now Y/N. I can't help but feel you’re pushing me away.”

A scoff escaped you before you could stop it. “I’m pushing you away?!”

“Yes!” He exclaimed, his hands outstretched. “For months now. You don't open up to me like you used to, every time I look at you, you look away, and you never suggest spending anytime together.”

You blinked at him, biting your lip as you tried to process what he had said. You hadn’t realised that in an attempt to burry your feelings for Azriel, you had actually pushed him away.

“Tell me, what have I done?” Azriel’s voice was pleading as he stepped closer.

“You haven't done anything,” your voice was barely a whisper, and you were unable to meet his eyes. You had stepped away so he could explore his feelings for Elain, that was your truth. But when was the last time he made an effort for you? “But you can't pretend like you’ve been trying either, Azriel.”

He sighed then, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re right, I’m sorry ok? I’ll make more of an effort from here on.”

You nodded, tears welling in your eyes again as you blinked quickly, casting your gaze sideways yet again. You couldn't tell him – it would ruin everything.

For once, Azriel caught on to how upset you were. “You’re still angry with me?”

“Gods, Az! I wish I was angry!”

The male blinked at you before frustration overtook. “Well perhaps you could stop talking in riddles, and actually tell me what’s wrong!” he gritted.

You let out a quick breath, shaking your hands as you blinked upwards, trying your best to stop the tears that welled. “I can’t,” you whispered. It would kill you to say it, and it would kill everything you two had.

Azriel’s gaze softened when he saw how tortured you were. Uncrossing his arms, he walked over, cupping the side of your face. “You can tell me anything, Y/N. Just tell me, what’s going on?”

His hazel eyes scanned your face, begging you to open up. But there was so much at stake here, and even if you confessed, you knew his heart lay with Elain.

You shook your head, moving out of his hold. “If you can’t see it for yourself Azriel, I don't know what to tell you.”

Azriel frowned. “You’re speaking in riddles again.”

You threw your hands up in defeat. “Perhaps I am,” you sighed, suddenly drained of any energy you had left. “Listen, I’m exhausted. Please Az, just enjoy the rest of your night, ok?”

“I’ll walk you to your room.”

“No,” you said too quickly. Guilt struck you at the twinge of hurt on Azriel’s face. “No, thank you. I’ll be fine.” Your voice was tight, and you quickly turned your heel, leaving Azriel still and silent as he watched you leave.

These feelings – these stupid, foolish, unrequited feelings. They hurt you and everyone involved, and you hated yourself for it. It was obvious Azriel didn’t return your affection, so why did you have to drag him down and cause a scene? You needed to do better, needed to push your love for him down, burry it in the depths of your heart so it would no longer get in his way.

————

You were in your room for barely an hour before there was a forceful knock on your door. You jumped, pulling down the length of your silk night slip as you spoke out loud. “Who is it?”

You door flew open then, Azriel’s large frame filling the entrance as he stepped inside, his expression wild, with another emotion you couldn't quite place. His wings were outstretched, and you could tell he had winnowed here hurriedly as his chest heaved with quick breaths.

Shocked, your eyes darted over him in panic. “Azriel, what –?”

Azriel stalked towards you, closing the distance as he towered over you.

“You love me?”

You gawked, your eyes moving back and forth as you tried to connect the dots. “Who–?”

“You love me?”

Cassian. You gritted your teeth and your fists clenched. How could he share something so private?

“No! I mean, yes, I mean, I have feelings for–”

“You, love, me…” he repeated, slower this time. It was no longer a question.

Your body burned in shame – you needed air. Pushing the double doors to your private balcony open, you grasped the railing as you tried to breath deep. Azriel was right on your tail.

“Az, I’m sorry. I’ll get over you. I promise. These feelings, they’re— they’re only temporary, I swear. I—I’ll get over you–”

Azriel bought a single scarred finger to your lips, hushing you instantly. You swallowed, panic in your eyes as they darted between his hazel ones, trying to read his reaction. As per usual, Azriel’s face was unreadable, the only movement was the gold that swirled within them.

“How long have you loved me?” he asked, his voice cold as ice. You felt as if you were tied to a chair, under his interrogation.

“Twelve months,” you whispered against his finger, your cheeks stinging in shame.

Azriel raised his brows. “So for a whole year, you have loved me, without so much as a thought to share that information?”

Your frowned in confusion. “I had no plans on telling you, Azriel. I didn't want to get in your way. You and Elain–”

“What of Elain and I?”

You levelled a look at him now. “C’mon Az, its clear you have affections for her.”

“You have no idea how I feel.” There was a bite to his words, something you weren't used to from the Shadowsinger. “I am a friend to Elain, because her transition as fae has been difficult. I enjoy her company, that’s true. But I am there to support her as my High Lady’s sister, and a member of our family. If I am someone she can trust, someone she can open up to, I will be there to support her.”

You sighed. “I understand that Az, but–”

The finger returned to your lips, cutting you off. “That does not mean –” Azriel drawled, his voice low, almost dangerous. “– that I have affections for her.” He was dancing with your emotions, using them against you to teach you a lesson.

You blinked back at him, your heart fluttering with realisation before denial quickly took over. “You love her,” you whispered, more to yourself, refusing to believe the dynamics you had built in your head were an embellishment of your own idiocy.

“I do not.”

“You do.”

“I do not.” Azriel’s voice was a growl now.

He moved in closer, and your heart began to thunder. The finger against your lip fell to cup your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. Azriel’s eyes swirled with dominance, his expression almost predatory as shadows danced between you. He leaned in close, his fresh scent filling your nose as his lips were now mere inches from your own.

“I have affections for someone else,” he said huskily. “One might even say I love her, for many years now.”

It took all that you had not to gawk. Instead, you kept your eyes on his. “Don’t mock,” you replied, your voice a half gasp as you tried to control your breathing.

Azriel’s mouth pulled into a smirk. “I’m not mocking.”

You flicked your gaze to his lips, then back up to his eyes, your expression bewildered and completely uncool.

“Azriel–” was all you got out before he closed his lips over yours, his arms snaking around your waist as he dipped you back, kissing you as the stars continued to fall around you.

--------

AN: I just want to say another HUGE thank you to anyone who's been following along with my fics, you mean the world to me <3 I hope you liked this story, I would love to hear any feedback you have. Please take care, and comment if you'd like to join any of my tag lists ✨:)

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