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toomanystoriessolittletime · 2 days ago

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Miller's Christmas Tree Farm

Part three - Underneath the tree

Summary: With the big Christmas Dance coming up you have your hands full. But somehow you and Joel always end up in the same place and make the most of it 😉 Confessions are made and finally you get that happily ever after you always dreamed of.

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem. reader

Rating: M

Wordcount: 4.7k

Warnings: no outbreak AU, major Hallmark movie vibes, fluff, a lot of flirting, kissing, Tommy and Ellie still being sneaky menaces, a steamy scene, no actual smut though, sorry guys, happy end

Co- written with @jennaispunk 💜

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Full Masterlist // Joel Miller Masterlist // Miller’s Christmas Tree Farm Masterlist

You woke up the next day feeling a little under the weather. Not full on sick but just…. Exhausted. With horror you realised it was way past time to bring Ellie to school, getting dizzy as you made your way towards her bedroom.

To your surprise she wasn’t there. You noted that her school bag that was usually in the hallway was gone too. Walking towards the door you noticed a pink post it hanging against it, reaching for it.

Took Ellie to school. Get some sleep and meet me in the barn when you’re up. Joel

A smile sneaked to your face as you took the note and walked back towards your bedroom. You searched through you medicine drawer, grabbing some Tylenol before you got back to bed, snuggling under your blanket, Joel's not still sticking to your hand as you caught yourself dreamily grinning at it.

Groaning you closed your eyes, melting against the mattress.

You really got it bad for the grumpy Miller brother.

Taking another look at the clock you think another hour of sleep would be in your best interest. Even though part of you wanted nothing more than go and see Joel.

You couldn't even remember the last time you felt like that about a man, or if you ever did before. You were falling for him, you were falling for him hard.

And maybe, maybe he was falling for you too.

Joel was in the middle of sanding, when he heard the barn door open. Looking over his shoulder he couldn’t and found himself didn’t want to fight the smile that sneaked to his lips when he saw you walk in.

He had been surprised this morning when Ellie knocked on his door and asked him if he could drive her to school because you were still asleep and Ellie didn’t wanted to wake you up because you had been so busy these last weeks.

So Joel took Ellie to school answering every single question she had on their way. Sarah had been the same way. Always asking the first thing that came to her mind. He found himself thinking about how much Ellie and Sarah would have loved each other if they would have gotten a chance to meet each other.

Once he dropped her off and gotten back to the farm he wanted to invite you over for breakfast but when he knocked on your door there was no answer. So, very quietly, he let himself in, finding the apartment still sound asleep, much like you were as he risked a glance into your bedroom where you were still sleeping. Smiling to himself he grabbed the first piece of paper he could find to write you a note, pining it to your door.

He then spend the rest of the morning in the barn, working on the sleigh he had been building. He had been planing to gift it to Ellie for christmas, but after realising how busy you had been since you agreed to Tommys proposition of moving to the farm and bringing it back on track yo had been working nonstop.

You deserved a day off.

So, if you agreed, he’d take you and Ellie on a long walk around the property today and then make dinner after.

„Whatcha doing?“ You asked and he smiled as he put the sanding paper down to turn around towards you.

„I am making a sleigh for Ellie,“ he said and your eyes widened in surprise.

„Really?“ You breathed out. He nodded, suddenly feeling a little shy.

„I wanted to give it to her as a Christmas present but I changed my mind today. I wanna give it to her today and take you both out on a walk around the farm. There’s a small hill not too far from here. You… You deserve a day off for how hard you have been working here.“

Instead of answering him you hugged him, inhaling his scent deeply, his arms closing around you to pull you even closer.

"I don’t think I ever thanked you for what you've gone and what you’re still doing. Not just for the farm but…“ he stopped talking and you looked up at him with a warm smile.

„You're welcome,“ you whispered as he slowly bend down to kiss you softly.

„Waaaahhh,“ Ellie cried out in delight as she slid down the hill, Joel behind her as you took photo after photo.

You couldn’t remember the last time you had heard her laugh like that. Hell, she even made snow angles with Joel earlier and it was the cutest thing you had ever seen, her cheeks rosy and eyes full of wonder.

When they made it down the hill Ellie got off the sleigh and let herself fall into the snow on the ground, out of breath. You looked down at her in amusement.

„I’ll just take a mini nap right here,“ she sighed, dramatically fluttering her eyes closed, giggling when Edward jumped on top of her, licking her cheek.

Turning your head to look at Joel who got up from the sleigh with a groan you chuckled.

„You should go now mom. Joel is a great…. Sleigh… Driver?“ Ellie said, now looking up at you.

„Is he now?“ You asked and she nodded.

„I need a break. You kids have fun,“ she nodded, before her eyes closed again. With a roll of your eyes you looked up at Joel who was grinning in amusement.

„There’s hot cocoa in my bag. Prepare three cups for us while I take you mom for a ride?“ He said and Ellie sat herself up.

„On it!“ She said with a nod, giggling when Edward dropped a stick in her lap. You already knew she would spend the whole time playing with Edward so you looked at Joel who was already looking at you and nodding his head towards the hill.

You were itching to take his hand but didn’t know if he’d be comfortable. Joel and you had not talked about whatever it was that you were doing. Yeah you had kissed. A lot. And yeah, he wanted to take you out on a date. But were you together?

You decided to ask.

„Joel?“

„Hmm?“ He looked at you, pulling the sleigh behind him as you walked up the hill. You could still hear Ellie laugh behind you and Edward bark at her.

„What are we?“ You asked and he kept looking at you, cheeks rosy from the cold today, lips pursed.

„We are…. Getting to know each other," he said and you frowned.

"That's it?“

„Yeah,“ he smiled, and you realised that you made it to the top of the hill. He took your hand, helping your sit down on the sleigh before he sat down behind you, pulling you against his body, lips against you ear, his beard scratching over your skin as he got even closer.

„I wanna get to know you. I wanna know what makes you feel good, and what kind of noises you make when I…." you felt his lips on your neck the next moment, slowly sucking on your pulse point and you whimpered.

„I wanna get to know all of you. Cause what I already know? Makes me hope you wanna stick around to be mine some day,“ he said, not giving you a chance to react as he pushed forward and the sleigh began to move downhill.

After checking in with the catering vendors the next morning, with Joel making you a sandwich for breakfast, you took Ellie to a little shopping spree after school. You needed something to wear for the christmas dance because all you brought was jeans and sweaters when you moved.

„You need a really pretty dress,“ Ellie said as you went into the third store.

„Can I make you try on one too?“ You teased, already knowing the answer.

„No thank you. You are the Disney princes, I am the funny side kick,“ she winked and you hugged her, ready to finally find something to dress that you both liked.

Meanwhile Tommy Miller, on his mission to meddle in his brothers love life was in your bathroom with his toolbox, making sure that you would need the help of his big brother if you wanted to take a shower later today.

When you finally found the dress you texted the group chat you had made with Tommy and Joel asking if they wanted some Chinese take out and if so what. Tommy answered right away, telling you that he would spend the night at Maria’s while Joel only answered with a yes please.

Waiting for his order you gave up when you made it to the restaurant and just ordered something for him you hoped he would like.

When you made it back to the farm Ellie quickly made her way towards her room, wanting to finish her homework while you texted Joel that you brought the food and that he’d be invited over for dinner after you took a shower.

Yet when you stood in your shower, nothing happened. There was no water coming out of the shower head. After two minutes of trying you gave up, getting into your robe. The water clearly worked as the sink had no issues.

And while you could do some handiwork, everything related to the bathroom was out of your comfort zone.

Thankfully Joel chose the moment to knock on your door so you got your slippers on and walked down the hall to open the door for him.

„Great timing. I need you as my landlord,“ you said with a teasing smile while Joel looked at you, his eyes clearly wandering down your body before he looked back into your eyes. You felt yourself flush under his gaze and he cleared his throat.

„Something happen?" he asked and you nodded.

„Wanted to take a shower but there’s no water in there,“ you shrugged and he hummed.

„Can I take a look?" He asked and you nodded. He smiled as he stepped in, closing the door behind him. You thought he would just walk straight to the bathroom but you were surprised when you felt his hand on your hip as he softly kissed your temple.

„Missed you today,“ he said and your heart fluttered in your chest as you looked up at him with a smile before he made his way towards the bathroom.

While Joel went back to his place to get his tools, you checked in on Ellie who was already finished with her homework and now working on her sketch of Edward that she planned of gifting Joel.

„Shower is not working so Joel is gonna take a look,“ you informed her and she nodded.

„I’ll call you for dinner when he’s finished?“ you asked and she nodded again, fully focused on the paper in front of her. With a small grin you closed the door behind you, walking towards the living room where you had put the takeout container. Searching through the food you took a spring roll, biting into it just when you heard the door open and Joel walk in.

Following him towards the bathroom, you leaned with your shoulder the the doorway, watching him work.

You never had this.

When something in your apartment back in San Francisco broke, your husband called the building manager instead of fixing it himself. He said, it was because he paid for the service after all, but you knew that he just wasn’t able to do it himself.

You heard Joel mutter under his breath before he shook his head.

„It’s really nice to have a man around who knows what he’s doing,“ you said with a smile and he looked over his shoulder, giving you a wink.

„Guess my husband only knew what he was doing when he was chasing after other women,“ you sighed and saw Joel stop.

„I know he's dead, but he was an idiot,“ he said, grabbing a wrench and seconds later water was coming out of the shower head.

„Tommy really needs to step up his meddling game, this is getting ridiculous,“ he said with a groan as he got up from his knees.

„Tommy?“

„Yeah. He fucked with the water supply for the shower. Probably to get me over here tonight,“ he said with a sigh, setting his tools back into the box he brought. He washed his hands before he turned towards you.

„Like I need a goddamn reason to see my girl,“ he grinned, both of his hands coming to rest on your hips and you took a step inside the bathroom, closing the door behind you.

„Your girl, huh? I like the sound of that," you hummed, both of your hands coming to rest on his chest as you looked up at him.

„Good,“ he said before he kissed you.

You were in the middle of finishing the last decorations in the space you had all set up for the christmas dance later that week when you saw Joel.

He had been gone almost all day, picking up stuff for the big party and taking care of last minute errands and apparently, going to a barber. His hair was cut and his facial hair was trimmed too which made him look even more attractive than he already was.

Fuck, he was hot.

He must have caught you staring, raising his eyebrow in question at you while you just blinked out of your haze, feeling your cheeks getting warm.

„Look at you brother! You look like you don’t come out of the woods anymore!“ You heard Tommy tease him and he rolled his eyes.

„Still living in the fucking woods,“ he grumbled and you laughed.

You waited until Tommy was gone to walk past him, your hand coming to rest on his chest as you smiled up at him.

„You look good, Miller,“ you said with a wink, patting his chest before you walked off and towards your apartment.

Ellie was already at the Christmas party with Tommy while you put the finishing touches to your make up. The dress you bought was a dark green velvet dress, floor length with a slit on your side.

You felt incredibly sexy as you lined your lips with the red lipstick you had gotten from the store.

You hoped that people would enjoy this party, maybe even donate some money.

These last weeks had you falling in love with this place. The Farm quickly having become a home to you and Ellie.

Which of course could also have to do with you falling for Joel Miller.

Taking a deep breath, you took one last look at yourself in the mirror before you made your way towards the party, hoping everything would turn out perfect.

You excuse yourself from a group of parents from Ellie’s school and made your way over to the bar for a drink. You had barely said two words to Joel all night, the guests had kept you busy chatting and dancing. It was nice having friends again, people to laugh and joke with, but your mind and your eyes kept wandering back to Joel. Maybe if you went over to talk with him you could get at least one dance out of him.

Joel stood off to the side, observing instead of participating. He was friendly to anyone who stopped to talk, but he wasn’t working the room the way you did. He admired the effortless grace you had when dealing with people. He was getting better at it, but he’d never be as good as you. He knew how lucky he was to have you around, and not just for the farm. You had made him open his heart in a way he never thought he would again.

And you looked so beautiful tonight, the dress hugging your every curve and Joel just wanted to go over and kiss you in front of every single person, so everyone knew you were his.

Would you like that?

He shook his head, taking another sip of his drink, his eyes always on you, trying to decide how he could approach you best.

Moving through a crowd a people, you make your way over to Joel. It seems like every time you try to spend a moment with him, someone is demanding attention from you or Joel. The universe seems to be playing a cruel trick on you, having him so close but so far away.

Mrs. Donovan, the town librarian, stops you with a soft hand on your arm. She congratulates you on your success and wonders if you would be available in the summer to help organise some reading events for the children over their summer break from school. You tell her that you can talk about it more after the new year. The topic turns to her nephew who just moved back to town. You smile politely as she tells you how perfect he’d be for you, but you skilfully deflect her matchmaking, you have your sights set on one man and his name is Joel Miller.

Your attention drifts to the dance floor and you see Tommy and Maria out there among the other dancers. They look so happy with their arms around each other as they sway to the music. Tommy leans in and whispers something in Maria’s ear and she playfully swats his shoulder and laughs. That’s what you want: to share secrets and inside jokes with someone as you hold each other close, and you want that someone to be Joel.

A twinge of jealousy hits you as your eyes settle on Joel. He’s talking to a woman. You immediately recognise her as one of the single mom’s from Ellie’s school, one who’s constantly flirting with the Fiery red hair flips over over the woman’s shoulder as she throws her head back with the fake laugh some women do when they try too hard. Your fist clench at your sides as you watch the exchange. Joel doesn’t appear all that interested in her flirting, but that doesn’t seem to deter the woman at all.

The slow song ends and the couples begin to clear the floor. You’ve missed your chance for that dance with Joel, at least for now. The departing couples obscure your view of Joel and you crane your neck to see what’s happening. The way clears just as the woman puts her hand on Joel’s forearm and your pulse hammers in your ears. You’re going to put a stop to this right now, you don’t care how silly you look.

A little hand grabs yours before you get two steps toward Joel. You look down at Ellie smiling brightly.

“Mom, come dance with me! It’s my favourite song!!”

She tugs you toward the dance floor as you shoot a glance in Joel’s direction. You open your mouth to protest but Ellie’s pleading eyes make you give in. Joel will have to wait.

Joel rests his forearms on the fence and looks out over the farm. The steam of his breath rose like a smokestack toward the night sky before disappearing into the black. He was damn proud of how this place had flourished, and he had you to thank for it. You had breathed life back into this place, and into him too.

“Trying to hide from me, Miller?”

You saw him seek out the door and knew it was the perfect opportunity to steal a few minutes with him without interruption. The warmth of his arm seeps through your coat as you lean against the railing next to him.

He chuckles softly, the corners of his eyes wrinkling in that way that makes your knees weak.

“Nah, just needed a break from all the noise.”

You hum softly. Joel’s tolerance for people was getting better but you knew he had his limits. The full moon in the night sky made the snow on the ground almost sparkle. The muffled sounds of music trickle out from behind the closed barn doors. It’s not quite loud enough to make out the lyrics, but you can hear the beat and its slow dancing music. This is perfect. You nudge Joel with your shoulder and smirk.

“I was hoping I’d get one dance with you before the night is over.”

Joel swallows hard. Holding you close was going to make him think about things he shouldn’t be thinking about right now. Besides, he hasn’t slow danced with anyone in a very long time, he’s not even sure he remembers how.

“Sorry, darlin’, I’m not much of a dancer…” he mumbles. “I’m probably terrible at it.”

Your brow furrows, not believing that for one second. You know he has rhythm, he plays the guitar.

“Prove it.”

His eyes go wide, momentarily stunned at words.

“E-Excuse me?” he stammers.

You eyes gleam with mischief as you smirk at him. Maybe he was a terrible dancer but you were willing to take that chance.

“I said, Prove. It.” You repeated, emphasizing the ‘p’ and the ‘t’. “I wanna see what a terrible dancer you are, Joel Miller.”

He huffed a laugh and narrowed his eyes.

“You asked for it.” he grumbled. “No cryin’ when I step all over your pretty shoes.”

He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you close. The second you started swaying to the beat, the rest of the world disappeared; all that mattered was this moment. His large hands splayed across your back, one thumb gently rubbing up and down against the small of your back. The body heat is just radiating off him and you wonder how he stays so warm all of the time. You melt into his arms and rest your head on his shoulder. You find yourself envisioning nights like this in front of the fireplace, slow dancing to the music in your head after Ellie is fast asleep. You close your eyes to clear those thoughts, you’re getting ahead of yourself now; you need to just relax and enjoy the moment for what it is.

Something cold and wet tickles your cheek and you open your eyes to see tiny flakes falling from the sky. You giggle softly as a snowflake lands on your nose. This couldn’t be more perfect. Joel’s hands start to drift lower as you raise you head to look at him. The snow is beginning to collect in his hair and the sight takes your breath away.

“I never took you for a liar, Joel Miller.” you teased.

“A liar?”

His left brow arches and he looks at you, blinking a few times.

“Mmm hmm. You said you were a terrible dancer and your not.”

A throaty chuckle reaches your ears and he tugs you even closer.

“I didn’t lie, darlin’” he whispered softly. “I said I’d ‘probably’ be terrible at it. It’s been a hell of a long time since I danced with someone, especially someone as beautiful as you.”

Your cheeks flush, and not just from the chill in the air. He had you on that technicality. This man made you feel like a teenage girl again and a nervous laugh trickles from your lips.

“I’m glad I was the one who made you dance again.”

“Me too.”

A calloused thumb brushed a flake from your cheeks and his lips slowly descended on yours. You didn’t expect him to kiss you out in the open like this and you softly gasp. Joel takes advantage of your parted lips and deepens the kiss, his soft tongue slipping gently into your mouth. The kiss wasn’t rushed or passionate; it was slow and honest, like it was meant to happen at this exact moment.

You smile when you pull away. This was like a scene from one of those cheesy Hallmark movies, and you loved every minute of it.

The barn door creaks open and the two of you separate, putting enough distance between you so no one would ask any questions. Tommy’s head peaks around and looks at the both of you for a moment.

“Hey, I think the little kiddo is getting tuckered out.”

You sigh softly. You completely forgot about the time. Ellie had to be exhausted from all the dancing and playing with her friends. A mother’s job is never done. This moment would have to be on hold for the time being.

“I’ll be right in.” you tell Tommy.

You back even further away from Joel and turn to head back into the barn. You shoot him an apologetic glance over your shoulder as you open the barn door and slip inside.

You were about to walk back towards the party when you noticed Joel coming towards you. He took your hand and pulled you with him with a whispered come with me and you did.

He took you back to his house, pushing you against the closed door and kissed you. With a gasp your lips parted for him, your hands flying up into his hair, Joel deepening the kiss.

"I want you," he mumbled, kissing down your jaw.

"I want you so much, please let me make you feel good," he almost begged and you nodded.

„Please, Joel," you whispered and he kissed you again, hands pushing up the skirt of your dress, wrapping one of your legs behind him and oh, you could feel him already hard against your thigh.

You let your head fall against the door as he kissed down your neck, your hands in his hair. You could feel one of his hands slowly running up your thigh and you were sure you stopped breathing the moment the back of his fingers brushed over your panties.

He hummed.

„Need you in my bed. Knees are gonna be fucked if I’ll do what I wanna do right now,“ he mumbled against your skin and you chuckled.

„Take me to bed then,“ you whispered.

Christmas morning was spend in the Miller’s house. Tommy had invited Maria and you and Ellie hadn’t even been asked, more like expected there. Joel had made pancakes while Ellie had unwrapped her presents.

It was a great day where you felt like part of a family.

Something you haven’t had in a long time.

It was also spend using every moment nobody was watching or in another room making out with Joel. You felt like a teenager, trying to hide from the parents and you loved it.

Joel and you had decided to not tell everyone right away. Not because he didn’t want to tell anyone, but more because of what his brother and you daughter would come up with to get the two of you together.

And oh did they try.

Your car broke down on the street leading to the farm, but too far out to walk back. When of course Joel got there to check her car, he found that someone had messed with the battery.

The things Joel did to you on the backseat of his truck while you waited for the battery to charge would leave you daydreaming for days.

It was on the same day that the heat at the apartment went out and Ellie and you had to have a sleepover at the main house with Tommy, of course, spending the night at Maria’s, leaving you and Joel to spend the night alone in his bed once Ellie was asleep.

When you woke up the next morning, when the house was still asleep to Joel going down on you, you found yourself hoping that this could be how the future looked like.

The meddling continued and Joel and you almost looked forward to having some time alone to yourselves every single day, while the people who tried to set you up were none the wiser.

It was on New Years Eve, the countdown shouted down from the people both Joel and you loved most that he held you and kissed you in front of them, wishing you a Happy New Year while the people around you cheered loudly. Most of them surprised, but all of them happy that maybe, just maybe you both found your happily ever after.

#my fic #joel Miller #Joel Miller x fem. reader #pedro pascal #fanfiction #fanfic #fan fiction #tlou #tlou fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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mclacedes · 2 days ago

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A Fading Echo (LH44)

CHAPTER II: Going Home

a/n: this is NOT PROOF READ

warnings: breakup, abu dhabi ‘21, rude!lewis, depression, gaslighting, fighting

★ previous chapter

★ next chapter

“For a moment, he wanted to break down and beg Willem not to leave. Don't go, he wanted to tell him. Stay here with me. I'm scared to be alone.”

- Hanya Yanagihara, "A Little Life"

He remembers your final battle—the fight that ended it all; the decision-maker, the deal-breaker.

Four years. You had been together for four beautiful, though turbulent, years. The kind of love story that felt unshakable, weathering the storms life hurled your way. You had your own career, pursuing the dreams you’d cherished since you were a kid. You were finally at a stage in life where everything felt like it fit perfectly. And with him by your side, it seemed like nothing could go wrong.

By 2020—your third year together—things had grown serious, the kind of serious that made people whisper about rings and forever.

You still remember the phone call in March 2020, just as the world began to crumble under the weight of a pandemic, when asked you the question, his voice calm but carrying a thread of anticipation.

“Quarantine with me. In the UK,” he said, his words slicing through the static.

You froze, caught completely off guard. The emotions hit you all at once—joy, anxiety, disbelief—so quickly that you couldn’t string a coherent thought together.

“Y/n?” His voice softened. “You still there?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here,” you stammered, your mind still reeling. “I’m just… a little unprepared for that question.”

The pandemic was spiraling into chaos. Quarantine was the new normal, with no end in sight. Weeks? Months? Years? No one knew. There was no vaccine, no cure, just endless uncertainty. The thought of being confined in one place for so long felt suffocating.

“It's just… That's not my house, I don't know if I’ll…” he had this unbearable habit of cutting you off in the middle of a sentence.

“I know, but we can make it home,” you could tell he was beaming with pride for coming up with that sentence. “Home is wherever you are.”

It sounded like a promise. Like he was for real.

“Besides, there won’t be any races for a while. Things will be peaceful, quiet… just us. I think we can make it fun at home, huh?”

His words wrapped around you like a warm blanket. Despite the fear and uncertainty, the thought of being with him—just him—was comforting.

You took a deep breath, letting the idea sink in. “Okay, it sounds nice,” and you smiled.

And it was nice. More than nice, really. Those weeks together were filled with laughter and quiet moments, a bubble of peace in a chaotic world.

Eventually, though, he had to leave again. Racing had resumed, and his life called him back to the track. You went to as many races as you could, though he always worried.

“I don’t want you catching that thing,” he’d say, his protective nature shining through.

You’d laugh it off, but you knew he meant it. Those months felt like a rhythm you could get used to—brief separations and joyous reunions. You thought you had found your balance.

But cracks have a way of forming when you least expect them—because people talk. They speculate. They conspire. Perched on the edges of lives they don’t know, they wait for their chance to unravel something beautiful.

Your relationship became a sweet treat for an internet starved for the meanest way to make somebody seem interesting, a spectacle to devour and distort—somebody had to feed those vultures.

By mid-2021, Twitter was buzzing with talk of rings, cradles and bibs. People dissected your (and his) every move, searching for signs of the next big step. But while the world fantasized about your future, Lewis was consumed by a fight of his own—that year's championship; the toughest battle since 2016, since Nico.

You knew his career had always been his first love, the thing that made his heart pump and his eyes shine long before they settled on you. Just as you had your own dreams to chase, he had his. And in 2021, those dreams demanded everything from him—his time, his attention, his softness, and, it seemed, his love for you.

By late 2021, the cracks in your once unshakable foundation had grown too wide to ignore. The championship consumed him, pulling him further away, and you—desperately holding on—began to feel more like an obligation than a partner.

It started with the little things: unanswered texts, “I was catching up on data”, missed calls, conversations cut short with a distracted “Sorry, I’ll call you later”. Later never came thought. Even when you were physically together, his mind was elsewhere, a thousand miles ahead, already focused on the next race, the next strategy meeting, the next battle on track.

You tried to understand. You reminded yourself of his passion, his drive, the fire that had drawn you to him in the first place. But understanding didn’t make the loneliness any easier to bear.

Then it crumbled. December, after Abu Dhabi. It was like everything started to shut down, like multiple organ failure—there’s no surgery to save your relationship. The worst part is that you knew it—you both. The even worse part was that you let it go so easily.

The fallout from that race was cataclysmic, not just for him but for you too. He came home shattered—a man stripped of everything he’d worked for, everything he believed in. You wanted to be there for him, to help him rebuild, but he wouldn’t let you in. He was silent, withdrawn, a ghost of the man who had once made you feel like the center of his universe.

“I’m here if you wanna talk,” you had reassured him once, your voice soft, during a quietly bitter dinner.

“I don’t want to,” he replied sharply, his tone cold and clipped, not even looking up from his plate.

“I know, but what I mean is that—”

“I know what you mean, Y/N,” he interrupted, his voice laced with impatience. “Please, can we just eat?”

The finality in his words stung, sharp and unforgiving. Recessive and heartbroken, you nodded, lowering your gaze to the plate of food you had poured your heart into making—a meal that now tasted like ash in your mouth.

The days dragged on after that, each one heavier than the last. Conversations became sparse, filled only with superficial pleasantries or curt exchanges. The man who used to pull you into his arms and make you laugh until your sides ached now felt like a stranger in your own home.

And then came the day he told you he was leaving.

“I’m going over to my parents,” he said one evening, his voice flat, drained of its usual warmth, as the chill of December crept into the Monaco air.

You blinked, still sitting on the couch surrounded by a scattering of holiday cards you’d been addressing. The weight of his words took a moment to settle.

“Didn’t know they’d spend Christmas with us,” you said, absent-minded, not understanding what he meant yet.

“No,” he clarified, his tone cool and detached. “I’m going home.”

The room seemed to close in around you, the once-welcoming space now feeling alien and far too empty. “Okay… I’ll pack my bags,” you said quickly, standing up abruptly, as if to act like nothing had changed. “How long are we staying there? I hope you’re aware that I’m going home for New Year’s—”

“No, Y/N.” He cut you off, his words sharp enough to slice through the air. “I need to go by myself. Just me and my parents for once.”

Your breath hitched as you processed his words. “Oh. Umm… Okay,” you managed to say, your throat tightening, tears threatening to spill. “It’s just that we… we had planned this. We were supposed to—”

“Yeah, yeah,” he interrupted, waving a dismissive hand. “Plans changed.”

The dismissal stung, sharp and biting, like a slap to the face. And then, the silence.

“What happened, Lewis?” you asked, the crack in your voice betraying the storm brewing inside.

“How is that even a question?” he snapped, his brow furrowed, disbelief coloring his words. He ran a hand through his hair, frustration leaking from his every pore. “It’s right in front of you, Y/N. It’s been right in front of you.”

“No, it hasn’t!” you shot back, the words tumbling out in a mix of anger and desperation. “You’ve been shutting me out for months. I don’t know what’s going on with you anymore because you won’t talk to me! You won’t let me in!”

“Oh, so now this is my fault?” he retorted, his voice rising, defensive. “I’m the bad guy for not wanting to drown you in my shit? For needing space to deal with the fact that my career—my legacy—was torn apart in front of the entire world?” He turned his back on you, heading toward the hallway that led to your shared bedroom.

“That’s not what I’m saying, Lewis!” you shouted, following him, the frustration boiling over. “The thing is, you made me believe we were a team. We’d face things together. And now, when it matters most, you’re shutting me out!”

But he didn’t listen. His steps were heavy, his mind already elsewhere.

“You said you’re going home!” You screamed, and this time, he finally stopped, his body tensing.

He turned around, his face a storm of frustration. “I am going home, Y/N. What’s so hard to understand about that?”

“What happened to ‘home is wherever you are, Y/N’?” you repeated, your voice shaking with raw emotion. “This isn’t your home anymore? After everything we’ve built together, I’m not your home?”

He scoffed, a cruel sound that sliced through the air. “You’re twisting my words.”

“No, I’m not!” you retorted, your heart pounding, desperate to be heard. “I’m just trying to understand why you think running back to the UK and shutting me out is the answer to anything. You barely even look at me anymore, Lewis. Do you even want me here?”

“What is that supposed to mean?” His eyes narrowed, his tone sharp, though still defensive.

“It means you’ve kept me on the edge for so long. You’re here, but not really. And when you’re gone, we don’t talk. You disappear. I’m not even a part of your life anymore!” You could feel the tears in your throat, but you fought them back. “You dismiss everything we talked about—marriage, kids, a future. Like none of it matters to you anymore. Like you don’t want me in your life at all. It feels like you hate me!”

“Argh, here you go again,” he snarled, his fists clenching. “Shit, you always do this,” he snapped, his voice rising. “Always making it about you,” his index pointed straight at you.

“Because it is about us!” you cried, your voice breaking. “It’s about me too, isn’t it? I’m not some option you can just turn off when you don’t feel like dealing with me!”

“Well, I’m the one dealing with shit right now,” he shot back, his eyes flashing with anger. “And instead of supporting me, you’re interrogating me, saying I don’t care about you. You think that talking about babies and rings is going to fix anything? You don’t get it, Y/N! You’re so focused on your timeline, on what you think I should be giving you, that you can’t see that I’m falling apart!”

You stood frozen, the sting of his words slicing through you like ice. “That’s not fair, Lewis. I’ve been supporting you—”

“Have you?” he interrupted coldly, his voice full of bitterness. “Because all I hear is how you feel. I’m the one who’s lost everything, but somehow, I’m the one to blame. You’ve made this all about you.”

“You keep saying you’ve lost everything, but no,” you said, your voice steady despite the tears now spilling. “You haven’t lost everything. Your legacy is still there. You’re a legend. It’s always going to be remembered. But you’re so lost in your own darkness that you can’t see what’s still in front of you. You’ve lost a championship, so what?”

Lewis’s face twisted with rage, his eyes seething as he glared at you. “So what?” he echoed bitterly. “You think it’s just about a damn race? It’s not just the championship, Y/N. It’s everything. They took it from me. They stole it from me, right in front of everyone’s eyes. And all you can do is lecture me like I’m being unreasonable? You’re standing here talking about legacy and what I’ve achieved, but none of that matters if it’s all been ripped away. What’s left of me when they’ve taken everything?” he said, forcing himself to maintain his composure.

“Yeah, and what's left of us, Lewis?”

The words hit him harder than you expected, and for a moment, he was silent, his jaw tightening. His chest heaved, and his eyes locked onto yours, a mix of pain and frustration swirling in them.

“What do you mean, what's left of us?” he asked, his voice shaking slightly, as though he was trying to understand.

“We,” you repeated, your voice quieter now, barely above a whisper. “What’s left of us when you shut me out like this? When you push me away every time I try to help you, every time I try to understand? What happens when you keep giving them, the media, more than you give to this relationship?”

“I don’t think I have the mindspace to dwell on that anymore, Y/N,” He stood there, seemingly distant, his eyes avoiding yours now. The air between you both felt colder, thicker, like an impenetrable wall had risen between the two of you.

“See? That's what I’m talking about! You’ll just run away, packing it up and not talking to me. You can’t just not think about it, Lewis,” you said, frustration creeping into your voice. “You can’t just shut everything out because it’s easier than facing it. This relationship—us—it’s not a convenience, it’s not something you can just leave behind when it doesn’t fit your narrative anymore.”

His jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing as if he were searching for a retort but couldn’t find the words. Finally, he said, “I can’t give you what you need right now, Y/N. I can’t be the person you want me to be.”

“I don’t need you to be perfect, Lewis,” you said, stepping closer to him. “I just need you to let me in. I need you to trust me enough to share the weight.”

He shook his head, looking away as if he couldn’t bear to meet your eyes. “It’s not that simple.”

“Yes, it is!” you insisted, the tears you’d been holding back spilling over now. “You’re choosing to leave me out. You’re actively choosing to push me away. That’s not about the championship or your career—that’s about us. And it’s killing me, Lewis.”

For a moment, he just stood there, his eyes locked on yours, his face a blank mask. And then, in a voice so quiet, so small, it shattered your heart, he said, “Maybe we were never as strong as we thought we were.”

The words slammed into you like a punch to the gut, leaving you gasping for air. “You don’t mean that,” you pleaded, your voice trembling, cracking under the weight of the truth you didn’t want to face.

Time seemed to slow as he reached for his house keys, his car keys, and the packed handbag—each movement like a dagger slowly twisting deeper into your chest.

“Lewis, no,” you begged, your voice raw, desperation flooding your veins. “No, please, don’t do this. Please stay…”

But he didn’t look back. He didn’t even flinch at your broken cries.

“I’ll see you around,” he muttered, his words empty, hollow. His tone was void of everything that once mattered. Without another word, he walked out, the door slamming shut behind him with a deafening finality.

The silence that followed was suffocating, the sound of the door’s closure ringing in your ears like a death knell. You were left standing there, frozen, in a sea of devastation. Alone. Lost. And questioning everything that had once been so sure.

Nothing was ever the same after that.

For him, that wasn’t just the loss of a championship—it was the loss of himself. Of everything he thought he could hold onto.

You watched helplessly as he sought solace in everything else—the noise, the distractions, the empty comforts—anything but you. Everyone else seemed to understand the depths of his pain, the weight of his loss, except for you. And that fact stung worse than anything he’d said.

That night, you let yourself slip into a crying spiral, tears falling uncontrollably, each one a reflection of the pain that had consumed you. You didn't know how long it lasted, but it felt like hours, your chest tight and raw. Eventually, exhaustion dragged you into a restless sleep, the emptiness settling around you.

A few weeks later, after trying to collect yourself and make sense of the pain, you sent one text.

you: i’ve taken my thing out of your house in Monaco. i’m breaking up with you.

You stared at the message for a long moment, your thumb hovering over the send button, as though giving yourself a moment to breathe before the finality of it.

With a shaky exhale, you pressed send. The words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of everything that had built up, everything that had been left unsaid. The knot in your chest didn’t loosen. It didn’t change anything. But it was done. And as you stared at the screen, the absence of a reply was just another confirmation that it was over.

#formula 1 #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #lewis #hamilton #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton x y/n #lewis hamilton x you #lewis hamilton angst #lewis hamilton smut #lewis hamilton #f1 #lh44 x reader #team lh44 #lh44 #lh44 imagine

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elikajinnie · 11 hours ago

Text

Cold Touch, Sharp Mirror - P.S

P: Dead By Daylight Killer!Sunghoon X Survivor!Reader (recommended age 17+)

Warnings: Death, Murder, Suggestive Content, Blood/Injury, Obsession, Chasing, Fixation, Temperature Play?

Synopsis: You’ve always liked snow, but you never liked the idea of being chased through it—too loud, too slippery. Luckily, the Entity’s maps were more muddy than snowy. That is, until a new killer arrived, bringing with him a snowy map. And it seems like he’s fixated on finding the perfect beauty to complement him and you're exactly what he’s looking for.

a/n: im so happy my pookies @aceheexx and @concerned-terrapin got dbd :3 also i went a bit overboard with the ending???

heeseung version | jay version

now playing: like a dream by thomas larosa | frzzn by ozzie | chills -dark version by mickey valen

Now, normally, you loved snow. Back before you were taken by the entity, you’d always be thrilled when it snowed—watching the snowflakes drift from the sky, each one unique and delicate, settling on the ground and transforming it into a soft, white wonderland. It felt comforting, like nature’s own little gift. But time doesn’t follow the same rules in the entity’s realm. Seasons don’t change, and winter becomes a distant memory, a concept rather than a feeling. You haven’t felt real snow in what feels like forever.

So, when you first saw it again you felt a flicker of joy. You landed on the ground, expecting that chill on your skin, the cold air filling your lungs. But instead, you were met with something... wrong. The snow didn’t fall naturally, but seemed to be pasted onto the world, cold only in appearance. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t alive. The snowflakes didn’t twirl through the air, and the ground beneath your feet felt too solid, too still. No crisp bite in the air, no damp chill seeping through your clothes. Just a hollow echo of the winter you once loved. The excitement quickly faded, replaced by a bitter disappointment. It wasn't real. It never was.

You didn’t expect much when you were called for a trial. They were all the same at this point—different maps, same routine. But as soon as you arrived, something felt… off. The air was sharp and biting, your breath fogged in front of you, and a chill ran down your spine as you took in your surroundings. You were standing outside a massive manor, its roof blanketed with thick snow and sharp icicles hanging from the edges like teeth. Snow drifted lazily from the sky, it was quiet and the crunch of snow under your boots felt too loud. You hugged yourself against the cold, shivering as it nipped at your skin.

This was new.

Your eyes scanned the manor, its grandness both stunning and foreboding. You didn’t recognize it from any previous trials, and that only made your chest tighten. This map was new. And if it was new, there was only one explanation.

A new killer.

You took a hesitant step forward, your nerves on edge as you climbed the steps to the manor’s entrance. The door creaked open with little effort and your heart sank as you took in the strange décor. The walls were lined with mirrors—some shattered, their jagged shards glinting menacingly, others cracked just enough to distort your reflection. A few were pristine, their surfaces smooth and unbroken, but something about them felt wrong. The reflections didn’t look quite right.

Your breath came out in quick puffs, the cold seeming to seep through the walls themselves. You forced yourself to keep moving, knowing you had to find a generator. The sooner you started, the sooner this trial could be over.

Your search led you to a massive ballroom, and your breath caught in your throat. It was unlike anything you’d seen before. The floor was a sheet of ice, polished to a mirror-like shine, and the room seemed to stretch endlessly. A massive chandelier hung from the ceiling, but instead of glass, it was crafted entirely from icicles, their razor-sharp points glistening as they swayed ever so slightly. The windows—or where the windows should have been—were replaced with cracked mirrors.

You stepped carefully onto the icy floor, your boots slipping slightly as you made your way further in. The cold seemed to deepen here, clawing at your skin and making you shudder uncontrollably. You glanced around, half-expecting to see a generator, but there was none in sight.

You huffed in frustration as you slid across the icy floor, your footing unstable. The sharp cold gnawed at your fingers and toes, even through your clothes. Just as you steadied yourself, a scream tore through the air, slicing through the quiet like a blade. It was distant but blood-curdling, the cry of a survivor encountering the killer.

Your heart thudded in your chest as you moved forward, walking through a pair of wide, icy double doors that led to a balcony. The scene that greeted you stopped you in your tracks.

Below you stretched a massive, frozen garden. Rows of tall hedges loomed like the skeletal remains of a long-dead maze, their branches brittle and crusted with frost. The labyrinth twisted and turned, the pathways obscured by fog that clung to the ground like ghostly tendrils. Scattered throughout the garden were ice statues—figures frozen mid-motion—but the distance made it hard to tell if they were just art.

Movement in the maze caught your eye. You squinted and leaned over the balcony’s edge. It was Nancy. She was running through the labyrinth, her hands flailing as she waved desperately in your direction. Panic was written all over her face, her wide eyes darting between you and something behind you.

It took a moment for you to process what she was trying to convey. That’s when it hit you—a cold breeze that wrapped around your body like icy fingers. Your breath caught as you shivered violently, your teeth chattering. Slowly, as if against your own will, you turned around.

And there he was.

A tall man loomed behind you, unnervingly still, his presence so cold. He was clad in a tailored suit, though it was torn and frayed in places. An icy sheen coated the fabric, frost clinging to him as if he were part of winter. His hair was white, and the tips seemed frozen, as though frost had begun to consume him from the edges.

But it was his face that sent chills down your spine.

The left side of his face was hauntingly beautiful—sharp, elegant features carved from pale skin, veins of icy blue tracing faintly on his neck. His lips, pale and slightly blue, parted slightly as a frosty mist escaped with every breath, and his eye, an unnatural, glowing blue, fixed on you with an intensity that rooted you in place.

The right side of his face, however, was hidden beneath a mask of cracked mirrors, the shards reflecting distorted images of yourself. The fragments shifted slightly, catching the dim light as if they were alive, twisting your reflection into a grotesque parody.

In his right hand, he held a massive shard of glass, its edges jagged and sharp, covered in frost that glittered like deadly diamonds. Ice crawled along the surface, spiraling down to the hilt where his gloved hand gripped it tightly. His other hand, bare and pale as death itself, hung loosely at his side, frost coating his fingertips.

He tilted his head slowly, the motion unnatural. You couldn’t tell if the sound you heard was the creak of his neck or the faint crackle of ice forming in the air around him.

Your breath hitched as you took a shaky step back, the icy floor beneath you making it nearly impossible to find stable footing. The cold wasn’t just external anymore; it was inside you, crawling through your veins almost like a parasite.

The killer took a step forward, the shard of glass dragging across the ground, leaving a thin trail of frost in its wake. The sound it made was sharp and grating, like nails on a chalkboard.

The only thought screaming in your mind was run.

And you didn’t hesitate. Your survival instincts kicked in, and you pushed off the icy floor, sliding awkwardly toward the edge of the balcony. Without a second thought, you vaulted over, your heart leaping into your throat as you braced for the impact below. The landing was rough but the adrenaline forcing you to ignore the ache.

As you straightened up, you glanced back over your shoulder, just for a split second, and froze.

He was leaning over the balcony, his hand resting on the icy railing, his head tilted again. He wasn’t rushing after you. He wasn’t angry or even fazed. Instead, he watched you with a cold calmness, like a predator confident in its prey’s inevitable capture.

That made it worse.

You didn’t wait to see what he’d do next. Turning on your heel, you took off running into the labyrinth, the snow crunching loudly beneath your boots. Every step a reminder of how exposed you were.

You didn’t know where you were going—just away. Away from him. Away from the cold and the glass shard that promised pain and death. Your breath came in quick, visible puffs as you ran, your lungs burning from the freezing air.

The labyrinth was a maze in every sense of the word, the fog making it impossible to see more than a few feet ahead. You turned left, then right, your boots sliding on patches of ice hidden beneath the snow. Your mind raced as you tried to recall the layout you’d glimpsed from the balcony, but it was no use. Every path looked the same—dead and endless.

Another scream rang out, sharper and closer this time. Your heart sank. You couldn’t tell who it was, so you forced yourself to keep going, your legs burning with the effort of running on the uneven, frozen ground.

Your legs burned, your lungs screamed for air, and the cold gnawed relentlessly at your skin. You finally skidded to a halt, leaning against the icy hedge for support. The snow beneath you crunched as you shifted, each breath coming out as shaky puffs of mist. You sniffled, shivering as you tried to gather your thoughts.

That’s when you saw it.

To your right, standing innocently against the frozen hedge, was a tall mirror. It was pristine, untouched by the cracks, the frame was silver, almost shimmering, and frost curled delicately along its edges like it had been painted there. The glass itself was so smooth it reflected everything perfectly, capturing your wide-eyed, disheveled image with startling clarity.

You tilted your head, your breath hitching as you stared. It had been so long since you’d seen your reflection—so long since you’d stopped to even think about what you looked like. The sight was strange, foreign even. You didn’t recognize the exhausted, frost-bitten figure staring back at you, but something about the mirror pulled you in.

Your feet moved before your mind could stop them, carrying you closer. You stood before the mirror, your breath fogging the glass slightly as you studied yourself. Hesitantly, your hand lifted, trembling as your fingertips hovered just above the icy surface. You shouldn’t touch it. You knew you shouldn’t. But something about it was calling to you, drawing you in like the lure of a siren.

The instant your fingers brushed the glass, it happened.

A sudden force yanked you forward, your breath stolen as your vision blurred. You didn’t even have time to cry out as the cold wrapped around you, dragging you into the mirror. The world flipped and spun, shards of glass and light flashing all around you. Your reflection fractured into countless pieces, each one distorting your image—your face twisted, stretched, broken in ways that made your stomach lurch.

When you finally came to, the spinning stopped. You opened your eyes, but the sight that greeted you was nothing like the labyrinth you’d been running through.

You were inside the mirror.

The world around you was endless and disorienting. Shards of glass floated in the air, twisting and turning, each one reflecting a fractured image of you. Some pieces were small, no larger than a coin, while others were enormous, towering over you like walls. Each shard seemed to hum faintly, a sound that vibrated through your skull and made your head throb. You reached out to steady yourself, but there was nothing solid to hold on to—just the endless, shifting glass.

You felt dizzy, your legs weak as you struggled to comprehend where you were. The reflections moved strangely, showing parts of yourself that weren’t in the same position as the rest of you. It was like watching a puzzle where the pieces didn’t quite fit.

Then, a voice.

It cut through the humming like a blade, low and smooth, with an icy edge that sent a chill straight to your core.

“Oh, you poor thing,” the voice purred, dripping with mockery. “So eager to touch what you shouldn’t. Did you really think the mirror was just for show?”

You whipped your head around, searching for the source, but there was no one there—just more glass reflecting your panicked face.

The voice chuckled, soft and cold. “Do you like it in here? It’s my little masterpiece. Every broken shard tells a story, you see. And now, you’ve become part of it.”

You spun in place, your breaths coming faster. “Where are you?!”

The laughter grew louder, echoing all around you, each shard vibrating with the sound, but he did not answer you.

Instead the glass around you began to shift, the shards rearranging themselves into new patterns. They moved closer, boxing you in, the reflections multiplying until it felt like you were being watched by a thousand versions of yourself—and something else.

In one of the largest shards, his reflection appeared. The killer.

He stood just on the other side of the glass, staring at you with a calm expression. Slowly, he raised his gloved hand and pressed it to the glass, the icy surface fogging slightly under his touch.

Your breath hitched as you stumbled back, you moved until your back hit something solid—the mirror you’d touched before.

Before you could process what was happening, the glass behind you pulled you in again. The world spun, shards flying past your vision as you felt that same sickening tug. A freezing chill washed over you, and then suddenly—

You were out.

Your feet hit solid ground, and you collapsed forward onto your hands and knees, gasping for air. The disorientation left you dizzy, your head pounding as you tried to steady yourself. The cold still clung to you, biting at your skin like a lingering phantom of the mirror world.

You forced yourself to your feet, legs shaky and unsteady, your breath coming out in frantic clouds. As you looked around, you froze.

This wasn’t where you’d been before.

Instead, you were in a dark, underground section of the estate. The air here was thicker, heavier. The walls around you were frozen, their icy surfaces glinting faintly.

Above you, sharp icicles hung dangerously from the ceiling. They were long and jagged, some as thick as your arm, and looked as though they could fall at the slightest provocation.

You took a cautious step forward, the crunch of snow under your boot echoing unnaturally loud. Your eyes darted upward, watching the icicles sway ever so slightly. You swallowed hard, your pulse quickening. One wrong move, one too-loud sound, and those deadly spikes could come crashing down.

“Stay calm,” you thought to yourself.

You continued forward, your steps careful and measured. The way revealed more of the icy corridor ahead, branching off into several paths.

Then you heard it.

A faint, distant crack.

Footsteps.

Your blood ran cold. He was here.

You turned, your eyes darting around for any sign of an escape, but you were offered nothing more but dead ends.

Then his voice cut through the air, smooth and taunting.

“You can’t run forever.”

You turned sharply, picking a path at random and running, your boots sliding on the slick ground.

Behind you, the footsteps quickened, you didn’t dare look back, the sense of him closing in enough to keep you moving forward.

You rounded a corner and skidded to a halt.

A dead end.

And the only way out was the way you’d come. You spun around, your back pressed against the frozen wall, your breath ragged as you watched the corridor you’d just come from.

The footsteps stopped.

For a moment, there was only silence. Then, slowly, he stepped into view, his towering frame filling the narrow passage as he took a step forward.

You pressed harder against the wall, your fingers numb from the cold, your mind racing for a way out. But there was none.

He stopped just a few feet from you, his breath visible in the icy air.

He tilted his head ever so slightly, his gloved fingers brushing along the edge of the mirror shard in his hand and slowly, his gaze began to travel downward, starting at your face, moving over the trembling rise and fall of your chest, your arms clinging tightly to yourself, and finally down to your legs and boots, still trembling slightly from your desperate run.

A low hum escaped his lips, soft and almost contemplative, a sound that sent chills crawling up your spine, as if he were truly appreciating what he saw.

“You’re exquisite,” he murmured, his voice smooth. He took another step forward, closing the already-small distance between you. You pressed harder against the frozen wall, your entire body stiffening as he leaned closer.

You couldn’t move. You couldn’t breathe.

His pale hand rose slowly, as if to savor the moment. You flinched as his fingers brushed against your cheek, and the touch was so cold it burned. You froze entirely, a sharp gasp escaping your lips as your teeth began to chatter uncontrollably. The air left your lungs in short, visible puffs as your body tried in vain to fight the cold spreading from where his hand lingered.

“You’re shaking,” he said softly, his tone almost... tender. He tilted his head again, his lips curving into a faint, chilling smile. “No need to be afraid, my dear. I wouldn’t dare ruin something so... beautiful.”

You stared up at him, wide-eyed and trembling, your body refusing to obey your frantic thoughts screaming at you to move, to run, to do something. But the cold was paralyzing.

His hand trailed along your cheek, the frozen burn spreading as he brushed his thumb over your jawline, tracing the edge of your face with unsettling care. “Your face... so delicate. So perfect.”

His cold breath brushed against your face, his voice no louder than a whisper. “Your eyes...” His thumb stopped, resting just beneath one of them, his frosted breath clouding in the air between you. “So full of life. So bright, even now. You’re unlike any I’ve seen before.”

You couldn’t respond. The cold had stolen your voice, your teeth chattering too hard for you to form words. He didn’t seem to mind. If anything, he appeared amused by your silence.

“You’re trembling so much,” he murmured, his hand shifting to brush a strand of hair from your face, the motion almost... gentle. “Is it the cold? Or... me?”

He leaned in even closer, his lips almost brushing your ear as he whispered, “Perhaps both.”

You wanted to scream, to shove him away, to do anything, but all you could do was stand there, trapped in his icy grip. You felt like you were being frozen alive.

His hand moved to your neck, his fingers grazing your skin as he chuckled, his breath like a biting winter wind. “I could keep you here forever,” he mused, his tone almost dreamy, as if the idea truly pleased him. “Frozen, perfect, untouchable. Just... mine.”

His words sent a wave of panic crashing over you, momentarily snapping you out of the icy haze clouding your mind. Your body twitched, an instinctive attempt to break free, but his grip tightened slightly—not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you just how powerless you were in this moment.

“You’re frightened,” he said, his tone shifting to one of mock sympathy. “Good. Fear suits you.”

And just as the tears began to sting your eyes from the cold and helplessness, his fingers left your skin, and he pulled back slightly. He studied you for a moment longer, as if committing every detail of your face to memory.

Then, in a soft, almost wistful tone, he murmured, “Run.”

Your heart skipped a beat, your mind barely processing the command before his smirk widened and he stepped back, his hand once again gripping the icy shard at his side.

“Go,” he said, his voice sharper now, like the crack of frozen glass. “Let’s see how far you can get.”

The moment your body allowed it, you bolted, stumbling past him and into the freezing corridors, his cold laughter echoing behind you like the toll of a bell.

Your legs carried you forward, slipping and stumbling over the icy ground. The sound of his laughter followed you, echoing through the frozen halls. It was as though it bounced off the very walls, coming at you from all directions, mocking your panic and desperation.

The floor beneath you shifted unexpectedly, the ice slick and uneven. Your foot slipped, and you went sprawling to the ground with a sharp gasp. The impact jarred your body, pain shooting up your arm as you braced your fall. For a moment, the world spun, the sound of your ragged breathing filling your ears.

“Don’t tell me you’re giving up already,” his voice called out, closer than it should have been.

Your head snapped up, and you realized the light above you had shifted. You turned your gaze slowly upward, and there he was, standing just above you.

“You’re quite resilient,” he mused, his icy voice calm, almost teasing. “But you’re slowing down. The cold is catching up to you.”

Panic surged through you, overriding the pain in your arm as you scrambled to your feet. You bolted again, ignoring the way your legs screamed in protest.

Then you spotted it.

A faint glow ahead—warm and flickering, like firelight. Fire.. fire meant heat, warmth and safety.

The glow grew brighter as you neared it, and you realized it was coming from an arched doorway. Beyond it, you could see the orange flicker of flames. You practically threw yourself through the opening, your body collapsing in front of the roaring fireplace in the center of the room.

The warmth hit you like a wave, washing over your frozen skin and sending sharp, painful tingles through your fingers and toes as the feeling began to return. You gasped for air, curling into yourself as the heat began to thaw the icy grip that had taken hold of your body.

But the relief was short-lived.

You turned your head slightly, and your stomach dropped. The room wasn’t empty.

Surrounding you were tall mirrors, each one angled slightly toward the fireplace. They reflected the room in perfect, chilling detail. And in every single one, he was there, standing behind you.

Your breath caught in your throat as you whipped around, but the room was empty.

The mirrors, however, told a different story. He stood just behind your reflection, his piercing blue eye meeting yours through the glass.

“Did you think the fire would save you?” his voice echoed around the room, no longer calm but mocking.

The flames in the fireplace flickered violently, the warmth suddenly waning as frost began to creep across the floor toward you. The temperature plummeted, the ice spreading like veins across the room and snuffing out the fire entirely.

You stumbled backward, heart racing as you turned to face one of the mirrors. He was no longer just standing there—he was moving. Slowly, deliberately, his reflection stepped forward, closing the distance between himself and yours.

Before you could react, a hand shot out of the glass, his icy fingers gripping your wrist with inhuman strength. You screamed as the cold burned your skin, his grip dragging you closer to the mirror.

“Don’t fight it,” he said softly, his voice echoing in your ears as the shards within the mirrors began to hum again. “You belong with me now.”

You struggled against him, your free hand clawing at the icy surface of the mirror as it began to pull you in. The frost crawled up your arm, spreading rapidly as the world around you began to distort, shards of glass spinning wildly in your peripheral vision.

With one final yank, he pulled you through the mirror.

The last thing you saw before everything went black was your own reflection, frozen in terror, staring back at you as the shards swallowed you whole.

You jolted awake with a gasp, your body trembling violently. The cold was overwhelming, gripping you like an unrelenting vice, and as you looked around, your heart sank. You were back in the mirror realm.

The shards around you showed you in unnatural ways. Every angle of yourself felt alien, wrong, like the mirror was trying to break you down piece by piece.

“No,” you whispered, voice weak and trembling, your breath fogging up the air in front of you. Your legs were shaky, but you forced yourself to stand.

There was no time to waste. You spotted another mirror—a whole one this time—standing pristine just a few feet away. Summoning every ounce of courage, you stepped toward the mirror. This time, you didn’t pause to study your reflection. You didn’t let yourself think. You pressed your palm flat against the cold, smooth surface.

The pull came instantly, like an icy wind yanking you forward. Your body jerked as you were sucked into the mirror’s depths once more. The same nauseating sensation returned and you clenched your teeth to keep from screaming.

Then, just as suddenly as it began, it stopped.

You stumbled forward, your feet catching against a thick rug as you fell to your knees. You blinked, the room slowly coming into focus.

It was another part of the manor, entirely different from where you’d been before. The walls were still coated in frost, but it was quieter. You looked up to see a grand fireplace crackling with warm, golden flames. A luxurious couch sat nearby, its velvet cushions looking inviting, though a thin layer of frost clung to the edges.

You didn’t hesitate. The fire called to you like salvation itself.

You dragged yourself to your feet, stumbling toward the fireplace. The warmth hit you in waves, and you let out a shuddering breath as you collapsed onto the rug in front of it, stretching your trembling hands toward the flames.

The heat seeped into your frozen skin, painful at first as the biting cold fought to stay. You held your hands closer, rubbing them together desperately as you tried to thaw yourself.

For a moment, you allowed yourself to relax. Your body still shook from the adrenaline and cold, but the warmth was soothing, grounding you.

You took a glance around the room, taking in your surroundings. It was richly decorated, though the frost and time had dulled its once-luxurious beauty. A massive portrait hung above the fireplace, but the frost obscured the faces in the painting, making it impossible to make out who—or what—it depicted.

The couch loomed nearby, its plush cushions tempting, but you didn’t dare sit. You couldn’t afford to let your guard down for long, not when he could appear at any moment. The thought sent a shiver down your spine, despite the fire’s warmth.

You stared back into the flames, your mind racing. The mirrors... they were clearly part of his power, his trap, but they also seemed to be a way to move through the manor.

But even as you thought that, the sound of footsteps echoed faintly down the hall.

Your heart leapt into your throat, the warmth of the fire suddenly feeling far too distant. You froze, every instinct screaming at you to move, to hide, but your body refused to obey.

You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. You could feel the chill creeping back into the room, the warmth of the fire retreating as if it couldn’t stand him.

“Found you,” his voice purred, low and laced with amusement.

Your body tensed as you slowly turned your head toward him, your breath hitching in your throat. He was closer than you expected—far closer. You hadn’t even heard him cross the room, but there he was, towering over you.

You gasped, your back pressing harder against the rug as though you could somehow melt into the floor to escape him.

He reached out, trailing dangerously close to your face, but he stopped just short of touching you. His icy breath curled in the air as he tilted his head, his gaze sweeping over you from head to toe.

“I should end this,” he murmured, his voice low and smooth, but there was an edge to it—an emotion you couldn’t quite place. “You’re the last one left. There’s no one else. No one coming to save you.”

Your stomach dropped at his words. The others were gone. Nancy, the others—they’d all fallen to him. You were alone.

He crouched suddenly, leaning over you with a grace that felt almost unnatural. His free hand came to rest on the floor beside you, pinning you in place with his sheer presence. You tried to scoot back, but the icy chill radiating from him seemed to freeze you in place.

“But…” he continued, his voice softer now, contemplative, “I can’t bear to ruin something so… perfect.”

His words caught you off guard, and your eyes widened as he his hand brushed your jaw, his cold fingers gripping gently but firmly. You sucked in a sharp breath, expecting the freezing touch to sting, to burn like the cold always had before.

But it didn’t.

Instead, his touch was… comforting. The cold seeped into your skin, chasing away the ache from the fire’s heat. It was strangely soothing, like the cool side of a pillow on a restless night, or the air of an early winter morning.

Your body reacted involuntarily, your tense muscles relaxing slightly despite the fear coursing through you.

It all left you disoriented.

“You see,” he murmured, his fingers tightening slightly against your jaw, tilting your face up so your eyes met his. “There’s something about you, survivor. Something… different.”

His gaze roamed your features with an unsettling intensity, his icy breath brushing against your face. You tried to look away, but his grip kept you firmly in place.

“You’ve caught my attention,” he continued, his voice dipping lower, almost intimate. “And that doesn’t happen often.”

You didn’t even respond—couldn’t even respond.

“Tell me,” he whispered, his voice soft but commanding, “are you afraid of me?”

Your heart thundered in your chest, but the answer wasn’t as simple as it should’ve been. Fear clung to you, yes—but so did something else. Something you couldn’t quite name.

When you didn’t answer, his lips curled into a faint, chilling smile. “No matter,” he murmured. “I’ll find out soon enough.”

His hand trailed down to your throat. The cold seeped deeper now, sending a shiver down your spine. His grip was firm but not constricting.

“You’re lucky,” he said softly, pulling back slightly to meet your gaze again. “I’ve decided to spare you. For now.”

“But don’t think for a moment that you’re free,” he added, his voice colder now, sharper.

Before you could even react, his cold, strong hands gripped your waist. A startled gasp escaped your lips as he hoisted you effortlessly into the air, slinging you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing.

“W-What?” you stammered, your breath hitching as you felt the solid, cold muscle beneath his tattered suit.

He didn’t talk, nor did he falter as he began walking, his movements steady. You squirmed slightly, your hands pressed against his broad shoulder in an attempt to push yourself free, but his grip on you was firm, unyielding.

It was then that you noticed something strange—the ground beneath his feet was transforming. With every step he took, the floor froze over, leaving a trail of ice in his wake.

Behind him, the mirror shard he dragged in his hand left another trail, the jagged glass carving faint grooves into the icy floor. It gleamed faintly, catching the dim light of the room, but it was the strange magic in it that drew your attention. The frost along the edges seemed alive, swirling and shimmering in ways that didn’t seem natural.

And the mirrors along the walls reflected your current state back at you. It was almost unrecognizable.

Your hair was dusted with frost, strands glittering like they were laced with snowflakes. Your lashes and brows were coated in icy crystals, and your lips… they looked pale, almost blue, like the color had been drained by the biting cold. Even your skin had taken on a frosty tint, its natural warmth replaced by something delicate and ethereal.

You blinked at the reflection, your breath catching. For a moment, you almost didn’t look like yourself. You looked… otherworldly, like you belonged here, in this frozen hellscape he commanded. The thought sent a shiver down your spine, and not just from the cold.

“I see you’ve noticed,” his voice rumbled, deep and laced with amusement. You jolted slightly at the sound of it, and your gaze darted to the back of his head.

“What—what’s happening to me?” you demanded, though your voice came out shaky, far weaker than you intended.

“It suits you,” he said simply, his tone calm, almost admiring. “The frost, the cold. It brings out something… exquisite.”

His words sent a strange mix of emotions coursing through you. You weren’t sure whether to feel flattered or horrified.

“Let me go,” you hissed, though there was little force behind your words.

“No,” he replied, almost lazily, as though the very idea amused him. “Not yet.”

His footsteps echoed as he carried you deeper into the manor. You couldn’t tell where he was taking you, but the icy walls became thicker the further you went.

The air felt colder than ever when he suddenly stopped, and without warning, he threw you down, the impact rattling through your body as you hit the frozen ground. A hiss escaped your lips at the cold biting into your palms, but the sting didn’t linger for long—because that’s when you saw it.

The hatch.

It was right in front of you, its familiar wooden frame stark against the glistening frost around it. Your heart leapt in disbelief. He was letting you go.

You looked up at him, confusion and suspicion warring within you. Was this some sort of trap? But when your eyes met his, he was already staring at you, his calm, piercing gaze sending shivers down your spine.

He crouched down, his movement eerily graceful, and brought his hand to your cheek once more. The coldness of his touch was no longer unbearable—almost like your skin had adjusted to the frost.

“You survived, little one,” he whispered, his voice soft and low, laced with something unidentifiable.

His breath curled in a frosty mist around your face as he leaned closer, his lips just a whisper away from your ear.

“I’ll see you real soon.”

Before you could say anything—before you could even think of a response—he rose to his full height, turned, and walked away.

You didn’t wait to see if he would change his mind. Scrambling forward, you gripped the edge of the hatch and pulled yourself in.

The cold vanished immediately as you fell, the icy chill replaced by a strange weightlessness. For a moment, you floated in nothingness, then, with a thud, you landed on the soft, familiar dirt of the survivor’s camp.

Warmth washed over you instantly, and you sucked in a deep breath, relief flooding through you. You looked around, the familiar sights of the campfire, scattered supplies, and makeshift shelters grounding you. It was over. The trial was over.

But as you sat there, staring into the fire’s comforting glow, the memory of his voice lingered in your mind. His words. His touch. His frost.

He had let you go.

Your next few trials were nothing short of a nightmare—though, what else was new? First, it was The Trapper, he had almost caught you at the exit gate, but a perfectly timed flashlight save from one of the other survivors gave you just enough time to slip away.

Then, there was Ghostface. His knife had grazed your back once, almost claiming you as you worked on a generator, but somehow, you managed to outmaneuver him, staying just steps ahead of his blade. The trial ended with you sprinting through the exit gate, heart pounding and lungs burning.

But just when you thought you could catch your breath, the Entity had other plans.

The next time the fog swallowed you up and spat you into a new trial, the familiar chill hit you like a slap to the face.

Your boots crunched against the snow as you took in your surroundings, your breath already visible in the icy air. Dead, frostbitten hedges towered around you, stretching into a labyrinth.

Your stomach dropped.

His map. Again.

You took a cautious step forward, trying to steady your breathing as the icy wind bit into your skin.

It didn’t take long before the sound of a generator humming faintly reached your ears. You turned a corner in the maze, spotting one sitting in the center of a small clearing. A teammate—Claudette—was already crouched by it, working diligently.

Relief washed over you as you made your way to her. If you could stick together, you’d have a better chance of survival. But as you reached her side and knelt to help, you couldn’t shake the sensation of being watched.

Your hands trembled slightly as you worked, the cold making it hard to grip the wired properly. Then, without warning, Claudette stiffened beside you, her eyes widening in panic.

“Run,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the howling wind.

You didn’t need to ask why. The frost on the ground spreading, creeping toward you like a living thing, said as much.

You turned your head just enough to catch a glimpse of him.

The Frost Warden. At least that is what you and the other has started calling him.

You bolted at the sight of him, the snow crunching loudly beneath your feet as you tore through the maze. The icy wind whipped at your face, stinging your skin, but you didn’t dare look back.

The sound of Claudette’s scream echoed faintly behind you, and guilt clawed at your chest, but you couldn’t stop now.

You turned another corner, your lungs burning from the cold air, and skidded to a stop, nearly stumbling when you saw it—a generator, partially hidden by the frost-covered hedges. Relief mixed with panic surged through you. You had no idea where the others were, but you couldn’t let this chance go to waste.

You ran to it, skidding slightly on the icy ground, and immediately knelt by its side. Your fingers, stiff and numb from the cold, fumbled as you began working. The gears groaned faintly, resisting your touch, but you forced yourself to focus, biting your lip to keep your hands steady.

The sound of the Frost Warden’s footsteps had faded behind you, but you knew better than to assume he’d given up the chase. He didn’t need to run to catch you. This map was his domain, and you were just another mouse trapped in his frozen maze.

The generator sputtered as you fixed another wire, the hum growing louder with each successful connection. Your breath clouded the air in front of you as you worked, the sound of the engine beginning to mask the distant howling wind.

But then, a faint shimmer in the corner of your vision made you freeze.

You glanced up, heart sinking, and spotted a mirror embedded into the wall of the hedges just a few feet away. Its surface rippled faintly, like water disturbed by a pebble, and your reflection stared back at you—pale, frostbitten, and wide-eyed with fear.

For a second, nothing happened. The mirror was still, almost taunting you. But then, the rippling grew stronger, and your blood turned to ice.

You didn’t wait to see what would come through. You turned back to the generator, frantically working to finish it, but your trembling hands slowed you down. The gears groaned again, protesting against your haste.

Behind you, the mirror shimmered one last time, and then the unmistakable sound of footsteps crunching through the snow filled the air.

Slow, deliberate, and far too close.

“Fixing something, are we?” The Frost Warden’s icy voice was low and calm, sending a shiver down your spine that had nothing to do with the cold.

You whipped your head around, your heart leaping into your throat. He stood just a few feet away, his tall figure looming over you.

For a moment, neither of you moved. His piercing blue eye studied you, sharp and calculating.

“I have to admit,” he said, taking a slow step closer, “I enjoy watching you struggle. It’s... captivating.”

You scrambled to your feet, hands trembling as you backed away from the generator. He tilted his head slightly, his calm expression never faltering, and took another step forward. The frost beneath his feet spread outward with each step, creeping across the ground and curling around the base of the generator.

You wanted to run, to put as much distance between you and him as possible, but your legs felt like lead. The cold seemed to seep into your bones, rooting you in place as his icy gaze bore into you.

“Go on,” he said softly, gesturing with the shard. “Run. Fight. Survive. That’s what you do best, isn’t it?”

His words felt like a taunt, and something inside you snapped. You turned on your heel and bolted, the sound of his low, icy chuckle following you as you disappeared into the labyrinth once more.

Your boots slipped slightly on the frost-slick ground as you sprinted deeper into the labyrinth. Every turn you made felt like the wrong one, the frozen hedges looming high around you, cutting off your sense of direction.

You refused to look back. You couldn’t.

Panic clawed at your chest as you skidded around another corner, narrowly avoiding an ice-coated statue that seemed to glare down at you like a silent sentinel. Your breath was visible in the air, coming in ragged, uneven gasps.

A faint light caught your eye—another generator. This one stood in the center of an open clearing, its dull hum barely audible over the wind. You didn’t hesitate. Sliding to a stop, you crouched beside it, your trembling hands fumbling as you grabbed your tools.

Your fingers were numb, making it even harder to work, but you forced yourself to focus. The wires were stiff and brittle, like they might snap under too much pressure, but you managed to connect them, one by one.

The generator sputtered to life, its engine coughing loudly as it struggled against the cold. You winced at the noise, glancing over your shoulder, half-expecting to see him standing there, watching. But there was no one. So you took that chance.

Standing up up you sprinted back through the labyrinth, turning sharply around a frozen hedge, when a faint hum caught your ears. Another generator. Your heart leapt with a sliver of hope, and as you rounded the corner, you saw him—Bill.

He was hunched over the last few wires of the generator, his rough hands expertly finishing the job. Sparks flew, and the machine roared to life just as you skidded to a stop nearby.

"Bill!" you gasped, barely able to get the word out as you stumbled toward him, your breath clouding in the icy air.

He looked up sharply, his cigarette dangling from his lips, and his eyes widened when he saw you. "Kid, what the hell are you doin'?" he barked, but before you could answer, the faint crunch of footsteps made both of you freeze.

You didn’t need to say a word. Bill’s face hardened instantly, his sharp instincts kicking in. “Go. Now,” he growled, stepping between you and the sound of approaching frost.

“Bill—”

“Don’t argue with me! Get your ass outta here!” he snapped, pulling his flashlight from his belt.

After a moment of hesitation you turned and bolted, your feet slipping slightly on the frozen ground as you took off deeper into the maze. Behind you, you heard Bill shout, “Come on, you bastard! You want someone? Come get me!”

You risked a glance back just in time to see the Frost Warden emerge from the mist, his tall figure cutting an imposing silhouette. His icy blue eye locked onto Bill.

“Come on dammit!!” Bill yelled, his voice fierce.

You didn’t look back after that. You ran, your legs burning as you pushed forward, weaving through the labyrinth. The sound of their confrontation grew fainter with each step, replaced by the distant hum of generators and the faint howl of the wind.

It wasn’t until you burst through a gap in the hedges and saw the glowing lights of the exit gate in the distance that you realized you were finally in the clear. Your chest heaved, your lungs burning from the effort, but you forced yourself to keep going.

As you reached the gate, you found one of your teammates already there, working frantically to pull the lever. They glanced at you, relief washing over their face as the gate screeched open with a metallic groan.

With one last glance at the icy maze, you stepped through the gate, the warmth of safety washing over you.

You hated the smug, talkative killers. The ones who couldn’t just do their job silently but instead had to taunt, flirt, or throw out some sarcastic quip every chance they got. It wasn’t enough for them to hook you or slash at you—they had to make it personal, priding themselves on the mental games they played.

Killers like that were rare, but when you encountered them, you dreaded every moment of the trial. They made it unbearable, turning what was already a desperate fight for survival into a drawn-out performance where they were the star of the show.

The worst part? They always had that air of superiority, acting as if they were untouchable. They thrived on your frustration, your fear, and sometimes even your silence.

“Aw, don’t run now. We were just getting to know each other!”

You could hear their voice ringing in your ears even now, a mocking lilt that made your skin crawl. Some of them flirted, their words dripping with twisted charm as they chased you through the trial, their weapons raised.

“You look so cute when you’re terrified.”

Others just talked endlessly, like they needed you to know how clever or sadistic they were. They’d narrate every move, every mistake you made, as if you weren’t already painfully aware of how close you were to getting caught.

“Really? That’s the best you can do? You should’ve vaulted back there—might’ve lasted a bit longer.”

And then there were the ones who wouldn’t shut up when they hooked you, leaning down like they had all the time in the world, their breath hot against your skin.

“Don’t take it personally, sweetheart. It’s just business… though you do make it so much fun.”

You hated them. All of them.

It wasn’t just the humiliation—it was how they got under your skin, how their words stayed with you even after the trial was over. You could still feel the phantom weight of their hands brushing against your skin as they carried you, hear the mocking laughter as they walked away from the hook, leaving you there to struggle.

And yet, even if he wasn’t as insufferable as the others, he still had that pridefulness about him—this confidence that made him believe he was better than you, better than all of you. He didn’t need to taunt or jeer with endless, childish words like some of the others, but when he spoke, his voice carried weight. His words lingered, cutting deep, mocking you with a sly edge, and worse, when he flirted… it wasn’t just for show.

There was no humor in his tone, no casual arrogance like the smug Ghostface or the loud-mouthed Trickster. When he spoke to you, it felt like there was intent behind every word. Like he meant it.

That’s why, when you dropped into the Hawkins Lab, you let out a quiet breath of relief, assuming the Demogorgon was the killer this time. The mechanical hum of the underground facility echoed faintly, and you thought maybe you’d gotten lucky for once.

But then you felt it—the subtle, growing thump of your heartbeat.

You froze.

The air changed. A chill crept over your skin, one that was unmistakable.

The frost.

Your breath hitched as your eyes darted around the dimly lit corridors, and when you saw the faint mist curling along the ground, your stomach dropped.

It was him.

He was the killer this round.

Your pulse quickened, the memory of your last encounter with him flooding your mind. You didn’t know if you were ready to face him again. But ready or not, he was here. Somewhere.

And he was already hunting.

You crept through the winding halls of the lab, the flickering fluorescent lights casting eerie shadows on the steel walls. The chill in the air followed you, prickling at your skin as if a warning.

Finally, in a quieter part of the lab, tucked into a dead-end room, you found a generator. Relief washed over you as you crouched beside it, letting your fingers hover over the familiar knobs and wires. You could do this.

Your hands worked quickly, tightening bolts and rewiring panels, the sound of the generator humming softly beneath your touch. But then, from somewhere deep in the lab, a scream pierced the silence.

It was sharp, panicked, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

One of the others had found him—or, more accurately, he had found them.

Your instinct screamed at you to stop what you were doing, to run and hide before he got too close. But you couldn’t afford to waste time. You couldn’t leave the generator unfinished, and there was no guarantee you’d find another quiet spot like this again.

So you stayed.

Your fingers trembled as you twisted the last wire into place, forcing yourself to focus on the task. Every tick of the generator felt like an eternity, each movement of your hand making your heart pound harder.

And then you felt it—the subtle change in the air.

The frost crept in, curling along the edges of the room like icy tendrils reaching for you.

Your breath fogged as the chill kissed your skin, and your stomach sank just as the generator roared to life, cutting through the silence of the lab.

And then you saw it.

To your left, just beyond the doorway, the faint red glow.

Your heart sank.

The telltale light killers carried with them—always a warning, always a death sentence if you weren’t fast enough. And just past the glow, you saw him.

He stood there, completely still for a moment, then his head tilted slightly, almost curiously, before he took a single step forward. The frost beneath his feet deepened, spreading faster across the floor, as if it were alive and hungry to reach you.

"Impressive," he murmured, his voice smooth and cold, yet carrying a dangerous edge. "You finished the generator all alone? Clever little thing, aren’t you?"

Your legs finally obeyed you, and you stumbled backward, your shoulder hitting the wall as you tried to put distance between yourself and him. But there was nowhere to go—no other exits, no windows to climb through.

He stepped fully into the room now, the red glow of his presence bathing the small space as he closed the distance with unnerving calmness.

"Did you miss me?" he asked, his lips curling into the faintest smirk as his free hand reached out, his frosted fingers brushing lightly against the wall beside your head.

"I’ve been looking forward to this," he whispered. "Don’t disappoint me now."

Well.. he said it.

With your back against the wall and his towering figure leaning in too close, you knew there was only one way out of this.

Before he could react, you drove your knee up with all your strength, slamming it into his stomach.

He staggered back, a sharp groan tearing from his throat as his hand instinctively moved to his abdomen.

"Really?" he hissed, his voice low and laced with irritation.

But you didn’t stick around to hear what else he had to say. The moment you saw him falter, you bolted.

You sprinted past him, your boots skidding slightly on the frosted floor as you rounded the doorway and darted back into the dimly lit hallways of Hawkins Lab.

You could hear him behind you now—not running, but walking. Slow, deliberate, as if he wasn’t worried about catching up.

And that made it worse.

You risked a glance over your shoulder and immediately regretted it.

He was there, just a few meters behind you. “Running again, are we?” he called out. “You should know by now—you can’t outrun the cold.”

You turned sharply around another corner, your breath hitching in your chest, but suddenly—bam!—another survivor came barreling around the corner.

“Watch it!” they hissed, just as panicked as you. It was Meg, her red hair sticking to her sweaty forehead, her eyes wide with fear. But before either of you could exchange another word, an icy gust cut through the hallway, and Meg’s eyes widened further.

“Run!” she shouted, but it was too late.

With a flick of his wrist, the shard slashed across Meg’s side, cutting through her jacket and drawing a scream from her lips.

You stumbled back, gasping as you watched in horror.

“Pathetic,” his cold, deep voice echoed, reverberating through the hallway. He stood over Meg, who writhed in pain at his feet, clutching her wound. “So flawed… so imperfect.” His tone was cutting, condescending, as if she were beneath him.

“You’re not worth my time,” he added, tilting his head as he stared down at her, his frostbitten fingers twitching.

Meg groaned and tried to crawl away, but he pressed the tip of his shard into the ground beside her, the ice creeping out in sharp, jagged patterns. He didn’t strike again, though—he didn’t need to. His words alone cut deeper than the shard itself.

“You’ve already been broken,” he sneered, stepping away from her as if she were nothing more than a discarded object.

From his side, he produced a small shard of mirror, its surface gleaming. He turned it in his hands with a strange gentleness, his icy fingers trailing along the edges of the shard as if it were a delicate treasure.

Meg whimpered, flinching as he tilted the shard toward her face. The distorted reflection that appeared in its surface made your breath hitch. It wasn’t just her face—it was a fractured version of her, revealing her deepest insecurities, her doubts, and fears. Her lips trembled as she stared at the cruel image, her reflection seeming to cry out silently as if begging for release.

"You see," he murmured, his voice quiet yet cutting, "this is what you truly are. Flawed. Fragile. Broken beyond repair."

Meg tried to look away, but he held the shard steady, forcing her to confront the image.

And then, with cold, unflinching precision, he drove the shard into her chest.

Her body arched with a strangled cry, her breath coming out in shallow gasps as the mirror shard pierced her heart.

Meg's movements stilled, her eyes glassy as the frost crept across her skin. He remained kneeling over her, watching as her life slipped away, the satisfaction in his expression subtle but unmistakable.

Standing slowly, he looked down at her lifeless body, his frosted hands carefully wiping the shard clean. He inspected it briefly, as if ensuring it was free of imperfection before tucking it away.

Then, he turned to you.

His icy blue eyes locked onto yours, and for a moment, you forgot how to breathe.

“You however,” he said softly, his voice like frost creeping over glass, “are nothing like that.”

Your heart thundered in your chest as he began to move toward you, his steps slow and deliberate.

“So perfect,” he continued, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. “But even perfection can be elevated.”

He stopped just a few feet away, his presence overwhelming as he tilted his head. “How much more beautiful you’d be…” His voice dipped, a cold whisper that sent shivers down your spine. “…as part of the ice.”

Before you could move, before you could even think, he was on you. His cold hand pressed against your shoulder, driving you back until your spine hit the wall with a muted thud. The opposing sensations—his cold and the warmth your body clung to—warred within you, leaving you frozen in more ways than one.

His gloved hand remained firm on your shoulder, holding you in place, while his other hand brushed against your cheek. The frost that followed his touch bloomed across your skin like a winter’s kiss, cold yet strangely… soothing.

“You feel it, don’t you?” he murmured, his voice low and hypnotic, each word curling around you like an arctic breeze. “The warmth of life… fighting so desperately against the cold I bring.”

He leaned in closer, his breath brushing against your skin like a whisper of frost. “It’s beautiful… the way your body responds. How it resists, yet…” He tilted his head, “you don’t pull away.”

Your teeth chattered as you tried to speak, but no words came.

“You’re so… fragile,” he continued, his voice soft yet laced with a dangerous edge. “So alive. And yet…” His hand moved from your cheek to trail along your jawline, his touch featherlight but freezing. “…it would take so little to turn you into something eternal. A perfect sculpture of ice.”

Your chest heaved as you struggled to keep your composure, the weight of his words sinking in. He leaned in closer, his face mere inches from yours now, his cold breath mingling with your warm exhalations.

“But not yet,” he whispered, his lips curling into that same pleased smirk. “Not when you’re this… captivating.”

His hand lingered for a moment longer before he suddenly stepped back, releasing you. The frost clinging to your skin and the wall behind you melted away almost instantly, leaving you trembling.

He turned away without another word, his presence still heavy in the air. For a moment, you thought he was leaving you, but then he glanced over his shoulder, his icy gaze piercing through you.

“Run,” he said softly, the word laced with chilling intent. “Let’s see how long that warmth of yours can last.”

Your breath hitched as the word settled in the air like a command, and without hesitation, your body obeyed. You pushed off the wall and bolted.

A sharp whoosh cut through the air, and you instinctively ducked, feeling the chilling breeze of his mirror shard slicing the air just behind you. It didn’t hit you—no, it never did—but it was close enough to send shivers crawling up your spine. He wasn’t trying to injure you. He wanted you to feel the cold, to know how close he was, to remind you that you were his to chase.

You rounded a corner, vaulting over a low counter in a desperate attempt to create some distance, but when you landed on the other side, his red light loomed just behind you. A low, cold laugh followed, echoing in the empty halls.

You made a sharp turn, vaulting over another obstacle, and finally, finally, you saw someone. A flash of movement—another survivor! Relief flooded through you as they ran toward you, their eyes wide with panic.

It was Jake.

He looked at you, then past you, his expression hardening as he realized who was chasing you. Without a word, he stepped forward, drawing the killer’s attention as you scrambled to the side, ducking into another hallway.

You hesitated for just a moment, watching as the killer’s calm gaze shifted to Jake. He didn’t speak this time, but there was something in his posture as if he were almost… displeased at the interruption.

Jake shouted, waving his arms to draw the killer further away. “Come one!” he yelled.

With one last glance, you turned and sprinted in the opposite direction, the sound of their footsteps fading behind you.

Eventually you found a dark, quiet corner where you could catch your breath.

You slumped against the wall, your body trembling from adrenaline and the lingering chill of his presence. Jake had bought you time, but you knew it wouldn’t last forever.

You stumbled into another corridor, your heart still racing as you scanned the area. The faint hum of a generator reached your ears, and you followed it like a lifeline. Turning a corner, your eyes landed on a half-finished generator sitting in the middle of a secluded room. Relief washed over you.

Quickly, you moved to it, crouching down and setting to work. Your hands shook, partially from the cold and partially from the lingering adrenaline, but you forced yourself to focus.

You flinched at the sudden distant sound of a scream. Someone had gone down—it was hard to tell who in the chaos of the trial—but you couldn’t think about that now.

Finally, the generator sparked to life, the room lighting up with the mechanical glow and you allowed yourself a small, shaky exhale of victory.

But then, the warmth in the air shifted.

The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end as the icy feeling grew stronger. You froze in place, barely breathing, your eyes darting around the room.

The ground near your feet began to frost over, thin trails of ice spreading across the floor.

Panic surged through you, and your eyes scanned the room desperately. There—a locker, tucked into the corner. Without hesitation, you sprinted for it, careful to avoid making too much noise. You slipped inside and shut the door as quietly as you could, pressing your back against the wooden wall.

You bit your lip to stop yourself from making a sound, every muscle in your body tensing as the steps grew louder, closer. The frost crept higher on the walls, spiderwebbing like cracks in a mirror.

You crouched lower in the locker, your eyes fixed on the small gaps in the slats. Through them, you could see his figure moving closer, the frost trailing in his wake. It spread across the walls, over the floor, and finally, onto the locker itself.

You could feel the chill seeping through, making the air inside colder and colder. Your breath hitched in your throat as you tried desperately to stay silent, but the icy metal at your back made it nearly impossible to stay still.

Through the small gaps, you watched as he stopped right in front of the locker. He stood there for a moment, his back partially turned, scanning the room.

You thought he might leave, but then he turned back, facing the locker directly, standing perfectly still, only inches away from where you were hiding. For a moment, he seemed to just stand there, listening, the silence pressing down like a weight.

The frost continued to spread, climbing up the locker door and along its edges. The cold bit into your skin, making you shiver involuntarily. And that was your mistake.

The faintest sound of your breath slipping past your lips was enough.

His head tilted slightly, his sharp blue eye narrowing as he leaned forward. From the small gap, you could see his mouth curl into a smirk.

“I know you’re in there,” he said, his voice a soft, chilling whisper that made the frost seem warmer in comparison.

You stiffened, pressing your back harder against the frozen wood as he tapped a single finger on the locker door. “Are we playing hide-and-seek now?” he continued, his tone laced with amusement. “I thought you’d know by now—” he paused, leaning closer, so close that you swore his frosty breath was fogging the slats, “—I always win.”

For a horrifying moment, you thought he was going to rip the door open, his hand hovering close. But instead, he straightened up, taking a step back.

You let out a shaky breath, thinking for a second that he might leave. But then he raised his mirror shard and dragged it lightly against the edge of the locker door, the screech of ice making you wince.

“You know,” he began, his voice smooth and quiet, almost too calm, “there’s something about you… something that exhilarates me.” He let out a low chuckle, dragging the shard along the door one last time before stopping. “I’ve encountered many survivors, and they all blur together after a while. But you…” He paused, leaning closer so his breath frosted the slats of the locker. “You’re not like that.”

You could barely breathe, your entire body frozen—not from the cold, but from his words. The way he spoke wasn’t like the other killers you’d faced. There was no mockery, no irritation at your defiance.

“You’re so... special,” he murmured, the shard now resting against the locker as if he were caressing it. “Every time I see you, it’s like I’m looking at something perfect.” He chuckled again, low and chilling. “It makes me want to keep you forever. Preserve that beauty. Make it mine.”

Your heart stopped as his words sunk in, your breath caught in your throat. Before you could think to do anything—before you could even try to scramble or scream—the door to the locker swung open.

“Caught you,” he said softly, as if this was nothing more than a game.

You gasped as his arms reached in, effortlessly grabbing you. The frost where his hands touched your skin seeped into you immediately.

“Struggling won’t help,” he said, almost teasingly, as you tried to push against him. “Not that I want you to. I quite like the way you tremble.”

Before you could protest, he hoisted you up with a strength that made your attempts at resistance seem laughable. Your world tilted as he threw you over his shoulder, his grip firm but not painful. Before he started walking through the lab, while you squirmed in his hold, but it was no use.

Before you could fully comprehend what was happening, he shifted you off his shoulder and set you down with surprising care onto a cold, metal control table in the center of the lab. The frost beneath his boots crept up the legs of the table, spreading like spiderwebs across the surface and surrounding you in a halo of icy mist.

You tried to sit up, but he leaned forward, his hand pressing against your shoulder to keep you in place. “You’re quite predictable, you know,” he said, his voice low and smooth, with a tinge of amusement. “Always fighting. Always running. But here you are under me again.”

His lips curved into that same faint, knowing smirk that made your chest tighten. He shifted slightly closer, his free hand resting on the edge of the table, boxing you in.

“You’re the last one left again,” he murmured, almost like he was savoring the words. “Everyone else has fallen. And yet… here you are. Stubborn as ever.”

Your stomach twisted at his words. The others were gone. You were the last survivor again, and there was still one generator left to finish.

“Fuck,” you muttered under your breath, your pulse thundering in your ears as you glanced around the room, searching desperately for some kind of opening, anything to get away. But his body blocked most of your view, and the frost on the walls behind him seemed to spread as if sealing off any potential escape.

“Such a mouth,” he teased, his voice almost a whisper now, his frosty breath grazing your lips. “But I like your fire. It makes it so much more satisfying to snuff it out.”

His hand moved slowly to rest on your chest, the chill of his touch sinking deep into your skin. A shiver ran down your spine as you watched in wide-eyed disbelief. Frost spread outward from where his palm met your chest, intricate patterns blooming like frozen flowers across your skin. It didn’t feel painful—it was cold, yes, but strangely gentle, almost mesmerizing. You couldn’t help but stare at the crystalline designs etching themselves over you.

“You see?” he murmured, his voice low and velvety, laced with a quiet satisfaction. “Perfection.”

Your gaze snapped up to meet his as he stepped back slightly. His free hand rose, tugging at the edge of his cracked mirror mask. With a deliberate, almost theatrical motion, he removed it, letting the light fully illuminate his face for the first time.

He was… beautiful. His features were sharp and striking, carved with the same precision as the frost he wielded. A few thin scars adorned his face, faint but noticeable. His eyes glowed faintly, studying you intently, as though you were some kind of masterpiece he’d just completed.

“You complement me so perfectly now,” he said softly, as his eyes lingered on the frost spreading over your skin. His gaze was equal parts admiration and possessiveness, as if you were a creation he had shaped with his own hands.

You wanted to speak, to tell him to stop, to push him away, but the words caught in your throat. There was something about the way he looked at you that made it impossible to move.

“You’re so beautiful” he continued, his cold fingers tracing a line along the frost-covered patterns on your arms. “Now… now you’re mine. A canvas perfected by my touch.”

Your breathing hitched as his hand paused, his icy fingertips resting just over your racing pulse. His face was so close now that you could feel the frost in his breath, mingling with the warmth of yours.

“You’ve always stood out,” he said, his tone softening, almost tender. “Among all the others, you are the only one worth keeping.” As his hand rested on your chest, he leaned closer, his lips curling into a faint smile. “I wonder,” he mused softly, his voice almost a whisper now, “how much more beautiful you’ll be… once the ice fully claims you.”

Before you could react, he leaned in, his cold lips pressing against yours. The icy chill of his kiss sent a jolt through your body, and you gasped sharply, the frost on your skin seeming to tighten as if it were alive, responding to his touch. His lips, though cold, were strangely soft it left you reeling, unsure whether to pull away or melt into it.

His hands moved swiftly, capturing yours as your instincts kicked in to push him away. He intertwined his fingers with yours, locking them together. His grip wasn’t forceful, but it was firm, as though he was making sure you wouldn’t escape. The frost from his hands seeped into yours, spreading the intricate, shimmering patterns further up your arms.

When he pulled back, his lips hovered just inches from yours, and you could see his breath crystallizing in the cold air between you. “You even sound so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice low and intimate, as though sharing a secret meant only for you. His thumbs brushed lightly over the backs of your hands, sending another shiver coursing through your body. “I could get used to hearing the sounds i could get out of you.”

You tried to tug your hands free, but his fingers tightened slightly, holding you there. “Why fight it?” he whispered, tilting his head, his tone almost coaxing. “You belong here. With me. Look at yourself—you’re already becoming part of the ice.”

Your gaze flickered downward for a moment, catching the glittering frost climbing your arms, wrapping around your wrists like delicate, frozen chains. It was as if the cold itself was claiming you, binding you to him.

“Don’t you see?” he continued, his voice filled with a chilling certainty. “No one else could ever understand your beauty the way I do. No one else could ever deserve you.”

His hands tightened just slightly around yours, pulling you closer as his lips brushed against your ear. “Let me show you how much you mean to me,” he whispered, his breath icy against your skin, sending another shiver down your spine.

His hands suddenlt slid to the hem of your sweater, the cold of his fingers making your breath hitch as he slowly pulled the fabric upward. The icy chill wrapped around you like a second skin, but you couldn’t bring yourself to move.

As the fabric bunched up, exposing more of your skin, you felt his lips brush against your stomach—a fleeting, ghostly kiss that left a trail of frost in its wake. His kisses were cold but delicate, as if he were crafting something beautiful out of your very existence. The frost spread wherever his lips touched, etching intricate, crystalline patterns onto your skin like a frozen work of art.

You shivered, your teeth threatening to chatter as the frost claimed more of you, but the chill didn’t burn.

“You don’t even realize how perfect you are, do you?” he murmured against your skin, his lips grazing along the curve of your collarbone. His voice was softer now, almost tender. “Each mark I leave… it suits you. Makes you mine.”

His hands trailed along your sides, the frost blooming under his touch like winter flowers. You gasped softly as his lips pressed against your chest, leaving behind more intricate frost.

“I could cover every inch of you,” he continued, his voice deepening as he leaned back to admire his handiwork. His eyes sparkled with an unearthly glow as they traced the frosty designs now covering your skin. “You were made for this. For me.”

You opened your mouth to protest, to say something, but the words caught in your throat as he leaned in again, his lips brushing yours so faintly it was maddening. “Don’t fight it,” he whispered, his voice as chilling as his touch. “You’re already mine.”

The frost tightened its hold on you, the cold sinking deeper into your skin as if binding you to him, you couldn’t tell whether it was fear or something else entirely keeping you from pulling away.

a/n: my mom is sick so i was filling up a hot water bag but i squeezed too tight so i spilled the water on my chest :p pray my piercing dont get irritated...

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indrateamo · 2 days ago

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Warnings! Sexual content, so please no minors 🔞 Written in first person POV, my first writing post~

Summary: The young dark Lord and the reader are married (post Hogwarts) The reader desperately wants a child with Tom, and bravely begs him to give them one, one night- Being a merciful Lord, Tom gives in to the reader’s wishes~ ofc

𝒯𝒾𝓉𝓁𝑒: 𝒟𝒶𝓇𝓀 𝒟𝑒𝓈𝒾𝓇𝑒𝓈

“My Lord,” you began, your voice soft yet unwavering. “I want a child.”

His sharp dark eyes flicked toward you, a fleeting moment of surprise breaking through his usual stoicism. You felt a thrill of fear and determination surge within yourself. “Please,” you pressed, stepping closer, “I want to carry our legacy.”

Tom's lips twisted into a sardonic smile, one that hinted at both amusement and irritation. “You desire a child in a world woven with darkness?” His tone was laced with challenge and mockery, yet he did not dismiss you outright.

You squared your shoulders. “I want to bring our future into this world, my lord. Our love can conquer even the darkest of fates.”

He laughed softly, a sound devoid of warmth. “Love? You speak of love as if it’s a shield.” Yet, beneath his exterior and cold sneer- an unfamiliar warmth flickered, pulling him closer to your pleas.

For a moment, you saw the man behind the mask of the Dark Lord. The boy you had known at Hogwarts, who had been charming and fierce, flickering like a candle in the wind. If only he could embrace that part of himself entirely.

“If you do not wish for it, I will not press you,” you said, your tone steady, but hopeful. “Still, I am not afraid of the shadows that will surround our child. I will protect them.”

Tom exhaled sharply, internal conflict written across his face. The room felt charged as you stepped even closer, your hand reaching out to brush against the smooth, cold surface of his cheek—a simple act that held danger and desire alike.

“Tom”

“Y/N,” he warned, his tone a mix of threat and something softer even still. “Do not call me that unless you want to feel my wrath.”

“But I want you to decide,” you whispered, capturing his gaze once more. “Please.”

A long silence enveloped them, the kind that held a million unspoken words. Tom’s resolve slowly crumbled; the darkness within him gave way to something he could not name.

With a sudden motion, he grasped your waist, pulling you close. “Perhaps… perhaps then- I will indulge your whim.” His voice was dark, a blend of promise and foreboding.

Your lips met, a clash of passion and power, igniting a fire that had long burned like an ember within your souls. The desperation and longing reached a crescendo as Tom swept you off your feet, taking you to your shared bed, a sanctuary amidst the chaos of both of your lives.

Sweat-slicked skin met in a symphony of moans and gasps, the very act of creation infused with ancient magic and whispered dark secrets. The world outside faded, confined to echoes as they transformed pain into pleasure, darkness into light.

As the night deepened, you moved as one—each thrust a promise, every kiss a silent vow. In those moments, you felt the warmth of tomorrows yet to come, the life you would nurture together—fiery, fierce, and unhindered by fate.

In the aftermath, against the backdrop of a quiet world steeped in shadows, you nestled against Tom’s chest, his heartbeat a dark lullaby. You whispered your dreams into the night, unaware of the storm brewing within the heart of the Dark Lord—an echo of love, twisted and beautiful, illuminating your shared darkness.

And as you drifted into slumber, the specter of hope clung to you, entwining your fates, binding them by a shared legacy—the legacy of dark love and whispered dreams yet to unfold.

ˋ°•*⁀➷Writers note:

Tom riddle is too irresistible isn’t he? Nearly had a fangirl fit throughout my writing of this of him~.

//-╮(￣▽￣")╭/// Thxs for viewing my first post~ sorry for my novice writing skills, I will do my best to improve it.

Merry Christmas btw!!!!

#tom riddle #tom riddle x reader #voldemort #lord voldemort #tom riddle smut #tom marvolo riddle #tom riddle x reader smut #harry potter #slytherin #slytherin boys #smut #harry potter x reader #harry potter x tom riddle #harry potter x you #x reader #lovers

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pedroscurls · 3 days ago

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christmas confessions (pt. 5 - day 5)

summary: it's christmas day and you and logan navigate your new relationship and get acquainted with one another. pairing: origins!logan howlett x fem!reader content warnings: smut (18+ mdni), seated cowgirl, fingering, unprotected p in v, these two lovebirds get their happy ending, no use of y/n. word count: 2.4k a/n: merry christmas everyone and happy holidays to those who celebrate (and even to those who don’t - hope you have an amazing day today) 🎄 hope you all enjoyed this little story - i really had so much fun writing it and giving origins logan a happy ending 🥹 pt. 4 | series masterlist.

DAY 5 — You wake up to the feel of Logan’s lips lightly peppering kisses along your shoulder, his strong arms wrapped around you from behind. Yesterday felt like such a dream. This was what you always wanted. He was always what you wanted. Knowing that he felt the same way felt like a weight was lifted off your shoulders. The entire night, you both spent it getting acquainted with each other. His soft kisses, his low growls, the feeling of him pushing into you… It was everything you dreamed of and more.

You slightly stir in his arms and he just pulls you closer, lips now moving to your ear. “Morning, baby,” he whispers.

You smile to yourself and slowly turn on your side to face him, hand coming up to his cheek. Your thumb brushes against his facial hair as you stare deeply into his eyes. “It’s Christmas,” you answer excitedly.

Logan chuckles and nods. “It’s Christmas. Merry Christmas, baby.”

“Merry Christmas, Logan.”

“Think we can spend every Christmas snowed in from now on?” he teases.

You let out a quiet giggle. “Hmm, well you’ll have to meet my family eventually.”

“Of course, but can I have you to myself for a little while longer before we get there?”

“Oh, you’ve got a year,” you grin.

Logan laughs quietly and pecks your lips lightly. “Haven’t slept that good in a while,” Logan admits.

“Maybe you just tired yourself out,” you tease, letting out a quiet yawn.

“Hmm,” he hums, leaning in to brush his nose with yours. “If anyone was tired after what we did last night, it’s you.”

You feel the heat in your cheeks rise as you move your hand from his cheek to move around to the nape of his neck. “Well, you just kept going… even after I felt like I couldn’t anymore.”

He smirks proudly. “Oh, baby,” he whispers, lips brushing against your own. “I just couldn’t get enough of you and the sounds you make, the look on your face when you come…” he growls lowly. “Mmm…”

Gently, you bring your free hand to push against his hard chest as you bite your lower lip. “Logan…”

“Yeah, baby?” he smiles, leaning down to brush his lips against your jawline.

“I’m just a bit sore…”

“Okay,” he whispers.

“But maybe you can help me feel better?”

Logan grins as one of his strong hands moves to hook your leg around his hip. He brings you flush against his growing erection, feeling the thin fabric of your panties and his boxers separating. “Once we start, I may not be able to stop,” he says quietly, feeling your hips roll against him.

“Then don’t,” you answer, leaning in and pressing your lips firmly against his.

—

It’s noon by the time you and Logan get out of bed, but not after hopping into the shower together. You couldn’t get enough of him, just like how he couldn’t get enough of you. You never thought that you’d be here with him, like this. To get to see him come undone, to feel his lips on your most intimate parts of your body, to hear the way he groans and growls when he gets closer and closer to come.

To finally get to hear him tell you that he loves you.

“I love you,” he whispers as he comes up from behind you. Logan’s arms wrap around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder as you stand near the stove to begin cooking lunch.

You stop stirring the sauce and gently turn around in his arms, hands snaking up his chest. “I love you too, Logan.”

“So, I got you something.”

“You did?” You ask, your eyes lighting up. “What did you get me?”

“It’s a surprise. Figured we could exchange gifts tonight.”

“I’d really like that,” you answer. “Can we have hot chocolate too?”

He chuckles. “Anything my girl wants, she’s gonna get.”

“You spoil me,” you smile, leaning up on your toes to peck his lips.

“That’s because you deserve the world, baby.”

“Logan…”

“You do,” he says honestly. “And I’ll do my damn best to give it to you.”

You bite your lower lip and card your fingers through his hair, hearing him let out a quiet purr as his eyes flutter in contentment. “You deserve the world too, Logan.”

“I don’t know about that, baby,” he chuckles. “Been alive for so long… have done a lot of things that I regret… lost people that I love and care about. I think maybe I’m just doomed from the start. I’m just trying not to screw this up.”

“You won’t,” you reassure him. “And you’re not doomed.”

“Nothing ever works out for me,” he whispers hesitantly. “And if I’m being honest, it’s only a matter of time before I screw this up too.”

“I’m not going to say it’ll be easy,” you begin. “But I can promise you that I’ll be here for everything; the good, the bad… I want it all as long as it’s with you. I would choose you over and over again, Logan.”

“Why?” He asks, brows furrowed. Logan never thought he was worthy of ever being loved, despite the lingering desire that looms over him. He always felt alone, felt like he just couldn’t belong anywhere, until he met you.

You had felt like home the moment he met you.

“Because you’re worth it… and I believe in you, in us.”

Logan lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding as he suddenly leans in to peck your lips. Wherever you go, Logan knows that he’d follow.

“I don’t know what I ever did to deserve you,” he finally says.

“You’re a good man, Logan,” you say quietly, moving a hand to rest on his cheek. “And I’m a very lucky woman.”

He scoffs playfully. “If anyone’s lucky, sweetheart, it’s me.”

—

Later that night, you’re seated on the floor of the living room with a mug of hot chocolate dressed in one of Logan’s flannels and socks (and nothing else). He’s seated on the couch, staring down at you with a small smile on his lips. You’re so excited to open the gift he’s gotten you just as much as you’re excited to give him the gift you had gotten for him.

He feels a sudden sense of happiness and contentment wash over him. Logan has loved before, but never like this. With you, he feels hopeful. With you, he feels like he can finally live a life that he’s seen so many people live.

A life with someone you love.

To build a home with.

To build a future with.

To settle down, to have kids… to be your husband and eventually a father to your children.

With you, the possibilities are endless.

“Okay, you open yours first.” You grin, handing him a neatly wrapped gift.

Logan takes it from you gently and leans down to kiss your cheek. “Thank you, baby.”

“It’s nothing big,” you tell him. “But I figured that you could put it up somewhere in here.”

He tears open the wrapper and tilts his head. Once he unwraps the gift completely, a large grin lines his lips as he looks down at the small picture frame. Logan runs his thumb across the photograph, glancing over at you then moving his gaze back down to the picture frame in his hands.

“I love it.”

“Do you really?” You ask with a hopeful tone in your voice. “It’s one of my favorite pictures of us. I have it framed at my place and figured you could have one here too.”

He nods, staring down at the picture in the frame. Logan can’t take his eyes off of you; the way your smile meets your eyes, the happiness written all over your features. It was a photograph of the both of you, his arm draped over your shoulder as your face buried into the crook of his neck. It’s obvious that you’re in the middle of laughing and Logan’s surprised at the look on his face too.

His own smile looks relaxed, peaceful and he’s staring down at you with a loving gaze. He loved you then… just as much as he loves you now.

“I love it,” he repeats. Logan stands from the couch and places the picture frame above his fireplace. He grins to himself as he gazes at the frame down to the fire he had going and along to the Christmas tree. For once, his cabin finally feels like home.

“Okay, your turn,” he nods, pointing towards the gift in your hand.

You grin excitedly and begin to rip through the wrapper. Logan lets out a chuckle at the sight of you, so focused and eager to unwrap the gift and find out what’s hidden.

“D’ya like it?” He finally asks, seeing the gift he had gotten you now in full display in front of you.

You nod slowly, tears stoning your eyes as you pull it close to your chest. “I love it, Logan.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s… Perfect.”

“Not a lot of Wolverine plush toys out there,” he points out, moving back to the couch. “And I– I figured you’d like it… that maybe when I’m away or when we’re not together, you have this.”

You nod and then gently set it aside to climb onto the couch with him. You straddle his waist and wrap your arms around him tightly, burying your face into the crook of his neck. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he smiles to himself, arms wrapping tightly around your frame. “Did I do good?” Logan asks honestly.

Slowly, you pull back to look down at him with a small smile and eyes glistening with tears that threaten to spill over. “You did amazing.”

He smiles proudly. “Amazing enough that I get…” he wiggles his brows suggestively.

“Oh, definitely.” You answer, leaning in to press your lips firmly against his own. It’s a slow and intimate kiss, like you’re finally kissing him for the first time. His strong hands move to lift the end of his flannels so that he can rest them on your hips.

Logan plays with the waistband of your panties, gently tugging on them as he moves his lips with your own. Truthfully, he could spend the rest of his days like this with you. When he feels your hips roll against his own, you both let out a quiet groan. He uses this opportunity to deepen the kiss, sliding his tongue past your lips as he moves one hand between your legs instead. Slowly, he pushes your panties off to the side and sinks one digit into your tight heat. You’re already so wet, causing Logan to pull away from the kiss to look at you instead.

Your hands move to his shoulders, gripping it tightly as you feel his finger move in and out of your depths slowly. “Lo– Logan!”

“Already so wet for me,” he points out with a grin. Logan pulls his finger out of you only to slide it back in with another digit. He can feel your walls stretching due to the width of his fingers as he slides both into the knuckle, curling his fingers within your depths.

You let out a loud moan, back arching. “Baby, please,” you beg, walls trembling. “Need you…”

He nods and tugs down his shorts with his boxers, revealing his erected length as it leaks at the tip. He replaces his fingers with his tip, slowly sliding you down onto him. Logan growls at the feeling of your warm and wet her sliding down inch by inch down his throbbing length. He can feel your fingertips dig into his shoulders and it only urges him further.

“Will never get enough of this, of you,” Logan groans, feeling you sit firmly on his lap as his cock remains sheathed inside of you all the way. His eyes flutter when he feels you lift yourself and slide back down. He reaches up and undoes the few buttons on the flannel you’re wearing to reveal your bare front to him.

“You feel so good,” you moan, back arching to expose more of your chest for him. Slowly, you begin to rock forward and backwards in his lap, the hair at his base causing just the right amount of friction against your bundle of nerves.

“Yeah, baby?” He groans, hands moving to your hips to guide your movements. “Tell me how it feels, sweetheart. Fuck,” he grunts.

“S– So deep, so full of you,” you whimper, picking up the pace in your movements. You can feel your peak bearing closer and closer with each roll of your hips and Logan lifts his hips just enough for his tip to nudge at your cervix. You let out a loud moan as a result, hips slowing down as your walls begin to tighten even further around him.

“Fuck, baby– that’s it, take what you need,” Logan groans, watching you in absolute awe.

You collapse against him, face burying into his neck as your body shakes against his own. You slow your movements to a halt as you ride out your climax, but it’s not enough of a break because Logan’s arms wrap around you tightly to keep you flush against him. He grounds his feet into the hardwood floor of his cabin and begins to thrust up into you. Skin slapping against skin echoes throughout his cabin, mixes in with your moans and his low groans.

“Logan!” You exclaim, arms wrapping around his shoulders as he continues his quick and rapid thrusts.

Logan turns his head and gently places a soft kiss on your temple as he pulls out to his tip only to slam back into you; he repeats this movement once, twice, three times before he begins to feel the tightness in his lower abdomen.

He’s close, so fucking close…

“I love you, Logan,” you whisper through your moans. It’s enough for Logan to pull out of you abruptly, reaching down to stroke himself as thick, white ropes of his come lands on your lower abdomen. He lets out a loud groan, body shuddering at his intense release.

“Fuck,” he mumbles. “I love you, baby.”

You smile to yourself and lean in to gently peck his lips. “Merry Christmas, Logan.”

Logan chuckles. “Merry Christmas to you too, sweetheart.”

—-

taglist: @kellyxo1 @misscrissfemmefatale @mooneyloveydovey @oatmilkriver @steviebbboi

#hugh jackman #hugh jackman character #logan howlett #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett fanfic #origins!logan #origins logan howlett #wolverine #the wolverine #origins logan howlett fanfic #origins logan howlett fanfiction #origins!logan x reader #origins!logan x female reader #origins!logan x f!reader #story: christmas confessions

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yourprettylildoe · 2 days ago

Text

𝒟ℯ𝓋ℴ𝓉𝒾ℴ𝓃

Yandere!bodyguard

♡ Money or not, he's always near.

Note: slight violence, implications of a bad relationship.

Once upon a time, you too were a little girl staring at the TV screen all starry eyed. It was a dream of yours to be like one of those lovely women living the life.

Now, you felt what it was like. Basking in the warmthness of luxury and popularity, it was all you ever wanted.

But fame had an ugly side to it.

Forget the hate — the feeling of eyes wathing your every move, picking apart your every expression to the last bit was exhausting. It was a price to pay, a fellow co-star once advised as your career shot up drastically.

Thankfully, the problem didn't really persist. Matteo was by your side. Even if he was getting paid to do so.

The bodyguard had the muscles for the job and his experience was nothing short of amazing. He worked with countless celebrities bigger than you ever would be. Though, that is the bit that confused you. Why would he settle for you? A big name in the fim industry did offer him a job that paid twice than what you did.

He was doing this for the money...

...right?

♡

"Matteo," you sung softly from behind the curtain. Currently, you were at a store and trying on some outfits.

"Yes, ma'am?" Matteo replied, carrying designer bags on both arms.

Strutting out, you twirled around in the dress. It was a pretty blue colour that fitted you perfectly, almost made specifically for you. He swallowed, throat going dry.

You gushed, "Oh, isn't this perfect? I just have to get it. What do you think?"

His mind went a little fuzzy at that, his heart beating thump thump against his chest. Almost as if he forgot how to speak.

No one could rival a sight like yours, and he's seen lots of sights ever since he decided to protect famous figures worldwide from his youth. However, you carried a charisma, an air about you that was so...enticing.

Was it an exaggeration? No.

Well, was it an understatement? 100%.

Before Matteo could even process the overwhelming feelings all at once, your concerned face came into view. "Are you okay?"

Almost frantically, he nodded. "Yes, yes, I'm fine."

The baby blue dress bounced up and down as you beamed, amusement creeping nto your tone.

"Do you not think my dress looks nice?"

How could you even think that? Just seeing you like this made him so giddy like a schoolgirl, because you were trying on dresses for him. It was a privilege.

"N-no, ma'am, it's so..." Matteo breathed out, "...beautiful."

"Then I'll get the dress! It's not everyday you call something beautiful, 'teo!" You clapped your hands, disappearing back into the dressing room and not giving him time to even react at yiur careful consideration of his opinion.

A smile grew upon his lips as heat rushed to his cheeks and the area downwards.

For the first time in all his years of looming over his clients like a shadow, he never felt wanted, the relationships consisting of professional contracts.

He wouldn't get a single cent and still thank you for letting him protect you.

You got him in too deep. Suffer the consequences of your actions.

Surely, keeping him around meant something?

♡

The car halted in front of the gala.

Perched on the backseat, you wore the pretty blue dress along with your hair and makeup styled to match.

Matteo stared longingly at you through the rear-view mirror. Your pouty lips were coated in gloss, a forbidden place he'd never touch but only look

He cleared his throat. "Ready to go in, ma'am?"

With a nod, you both walked into the event. A bombshell and the striking wolf behind her.

Familiar faces painted on forced smiles as they mingled, paparazzi's cameras flickering constantly.

You were the only authentic one.

"Oh, y/n, I just adore your outfit." A woman who walked up to you complimented.

As you thanked her, Matteo watched like a hawk. He couldn't afford any risks especially when someone tried to slip someting in your drink right in front of him last time.

Amidst the crowd, you both failed to notice some of the paparazzi's attention zeroing in on your bodyguard's intense eyes thay never left you.

Click.

It would make a good story.

All it took was one, stupid glance away, then you vanished out of thin air.

Everything went downhill from there.

Like a rabid dog, Matteo tore through the sea of people, his eyes looking around for your gorgeous, unmistakable features.

Where are you?

You can't go. A dog can't be left alone without his owner.

Please be okay.

♡

You were not okay.

"C'mon, honey, I know you want this too!" That disgusting voice pleaded, paired with a sleazy grin.

Your imbecile of an ex boyfriend couldn't seem to take a hint.

Over a year ago, you had to leave the toxic relationship. Along with being a professional cheater, he also seemed to have a masters in manipulation and narcissism. Now, you were stuck with him in a secluded area. Great.

Frantically, you looked around for Mattheo. Surely, he'd be here any minute. Did he not notice your absence?

"Get off of me! I told you I don't want to see you ever again!" You exclaimed, your voice cracking at the end and amoing you sound so weak.

All it took was a moment of vunerability for him to go absolutely condescending on you, "I missed you too, babe. Stop playing and let's go back to the way we were." You smelt alchohol on his breath, dread filling your stomach. He got the scariest when drunk.

No matter how much you pulled your wrist out of his grasp, he didn't budge. Were the endless articles about your breakup that went on for months not enough to drive him away?

"Leave me alone!"

"Babe, don't play hard to get."

"No, I'm not, go away."

"You are. Let's go ho-"

"No!"

Without thinking, your hand connected with his cheek, leaving a pink mark in its wake.

Slowly, he reached up to touch it in shock, his dumb gaze flickering from you to his hand on his face. Then, those eyes went absolutely feral.

Almost instantly, he pushed you to the floor, making you hit your side with a wince.

In a terrifying voice, he snarled: "Disgusting woman. I don't know what I even saw in a girl like you who thinks she's all that. Ungrateful."

This is what happened every time. It was like a cycle that no matter how much you tried to break, it managed to suck you back into the same scenario with new blooming bruises to match the old ones.

"I should teach you a lesson. Put you back in your place, what do ya think?

Tears filled your eyes as you peered up at him, "p-please no-"

"Shut up!" He barked, "how annoying can you be? I should get it over with, maybe you'll thank me for it someday."

You raised a hand to cover yourself from the-

A certain force collided into his body.

The two figures tumbled to the ground. Wide, almost insane eyes peered into your ex's.

Matteo. He never looked this terrifying, almost possessed.

Over and over again, the guy received punches like hammers to the point where he almost looked unrecognisable. In that moment, all he saw was red.

"You think you can touch her and can get away with it? You don't even deserve to breathe the same air as her, damn it!" Your guard dog snarled, his teeth bared.

The only things that stopped him from killing the pig were the people who held him back, otherwise Mattheo would be in prison. However, it was still a struggle to hold back the muscular hulk.

Matteo glared while he struggled, "If she wasn't here, you'd be six feet under by now."

His fists shook as the voices inside him demanded more.

Kill him.

He touched your girl.

Snapping out of it, he looked over to where you were curled up against the floor, pitiful sobs escaping your lips. Poor thing.

A silhouette crouched down to your level, despite it still towering over you.

The familiar hands, now coated in blood, cupped your face. "Don't cry. See? I took care of him. The punk doesn't deserve your tears."

Your face was tilted up, your teary eyes framed by the smudged eye makeup.

He brought your shivering form to his chest, nose buried in your hair. Your arms wrapped around him, sobbing into his chest, the safe haven you found solace in.

"You should know by now I'd do anything to protect you."

That was a promise he kept and intended to still keep. Even if he wanted to break it, he couldn't.

After all, loyalty was burned and embedded into his soul, like the devoted man he'll always be.

♡

𝒴ℴ𝓊𝓇𝓈 𝓉𝓇𝓊𝓁𝓎

@yourprettylildoe

#yandere #original story #writing #writes on tumblr #writblr #writers on tumblr #yandere x you #yandere x reader #Yandere blog #Bodyguard #soft yandere #yanderecore #Love

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dollyfiles · 1 day ago

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obsessive & perverted exbf!rafe sneaking into your house to remind you he’s the only one allowed to touch you

cw : dark!rafe x fem!reader, noncon, forced penetration, unprotected sex, rough, creampie

Rafe was crouching down by the flower pot, just like he used to when you two were together, feeling for the little metal key you always hid there before finally finding it. Every step up the stairs brought him closer to you, and the voice in his head grew louder. It wasn't just obsession; it was need. A sick, twisted need to own you, to claim you again, to prove to himself that you hadn't slipped through his fingers completely.

When he reached your bedroom and saw you lying there, so peaceful, so oblivious, a wave of shame washed over him. He knew this was wrong. He knew he shouldn't be here, shouldn't even be thinking about touching you. But the voices were taking over him.

Rafe stepped closer, his hand trembling as he reached out to touch your cheek, just like this random guy did earlier today which is why Rafe was even here in the first place. You were doing this on purpose. You had to be. Why else would you be so friendly, so flirty, right in front of him? Did you really think you could move on? Did you think he would let you?

As he climbed onto the bed, his weight barely shifting the mattress, his thoughts turned darker. He hated you for making him feel like this, hated you for pushing him to the edge. But more than anything, he hated the idea of you forgetting him. Of you giving that smile, that laugh, that body to someone else. "You're mine," he whispered, his voice rough as his hand slid down your side. "You don't get to pretend like you're not."

His hand wandered down your body, rough and possessive as he claimed what he believed was still his. Gripping your pink lace panties he pulled them down to your ankles, revealing your perfect little cunt to him. The sight almost making him cum in his pants. It had been way to long since he got to touch you like this.

You woke up with a gasp as you felt cold digits slipping through your folds, eyes wide with confusion and fear. At first, you thought you were still dreaming—it had to be a dream. Rafe wasn't here. He wasn't allowed to be here.

But his obsession had consumed him completely. He pinned your wrists above your head, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, "Don't look at me like that, angel. You knew this would happen. You knew I wouldn't let you go.”

Your breath hitched as his grip on you suddenly roughened, flipping you on your tummy and pressing your face into the pillows, while every gasp, every tear, every tremble of your resistance only fueled him further. This was how he claimed you, how he reminded you who you belonged to.

You’d broken things off weeks ago, desperate to escape the toxic spiral of your love. Rafe wasn't just possessive—he was dangerous. He consumed you, broke you, shaped you into something you barely recognized.

"Rafe, please," you whispered, voice shaking as you heard the buckle of his belt. "Don't do this." But he didn't listen. He never listened. "Shh," he said, his voice soft but firm, like he was scolding a child. "This is where you belong. You know it is."

Your stomach twisted at his words, holding onto the sheets of your bed as you felt the tip of his cock push past your entrance. You wanted to fight back, to scream, to push him away—but deep down, you knew it was useless. He was stronger than you, both physically and mentally. He always had been.

As his hands gripped your hips, forcing you to submit, tears welled in your eyes, but Rafe didn't see them. Or maybe he did, and he just didn't care. To him, this was love. Twisted and consuming, but love nonetheless. He made you his doll, his perfect little angel, molding you into whatever he needed you to be. And even now, after everything, you let him. It was pathetic.

He let out a deep growl once he was fully inside you, your cunt gripping him tightly even though you wanted to vomit, your body tensing up. “Shit angel, this fucking pussy missed my cock, huh?”

You cried, shaking your head uncontrollably as if it was just a bad dream, “stop, plea—“ you yelped as he pulled your back up against his chest, Rafe’s palm finding your mouth immediately and shutting you up, not wanting to wake up your parents, who were sleeping peacefully down the hallway.

He kept on pounding into you at a rough pace, hitting so deep that you knew your walls would be permanently outstretched, your abused cunt throbbing around him, despite the disgust you felt for your ex. "You think you can just forget about me?" he whispered, his voice low and breathy, one of his hands gripping your hips so hard that he knew there’d be bruises, wanting to leave his marks on you. "Flirt with some guy like I don't exist?"

His face was so close to yours, loving the sight of your tired and tear stained face, looking so small and helpless beneath him while little whimpers and cries left your lips. It was sick. He was sick.

There was nothing you could really do except take it. He was trapping your body with his hands, tightly holding you in place. he kept pushing and pushing until he the tip of his cock hit your cervix, your cunt squeezing him tightly as your fear slowly turned into something like pleasure.

You tried to you remind yourself that this wasn't love. It wasn't passion. It was control, manipulation, obsession. But a small, dark part of you—the part you tried to bury, to forget, whispered that maybe this was exactly what you deserved. You knew Rafe was anything else than okay, and yet you let yourself fall for him, and look where that got you.

“Fuck you like that shit, don’t you? Your eager pussy is holding onto me so hard, baby. Such a cockslut.”

It seemed like there was no end in sight. Except you felt something build up in your abdomen, your walls clenching around his cock as you shakily released all over him, creaming his cock. Rafe couldn’t hide his smirk, the way your body was reacting to his touch had him weak, hips bucking into you more irregularly as he was chasing release himself.

"Fuck", Rafe muttered against your shoulder, his voice a low, guttural growl. "You're perfect. Gonna fill you to the brim.” Panic shot through you, squirming in his grip but he held you in place. His thrusts became slightly faster, each one more forceful, driving himself closer to the edge. Your body tensed, your moans muffled against the palm of his hand as you felt his cock twitch, Rafe moaning out as hot ropes of his cum spilled inside your plush walls.

Your cunt was aching as he pulled out, some of his seeds dripping out and onto your velvet sheets. To Rafe it was a sight sent from heaven itself, seeing you all fucked out on your bed, knowing he was the one that got you like this.

All you could do was lay still, your body trembling as Rafe's weight completely shifted off of you. You didn't move, didn't speak as he buckled his pants, eyes focused on you while his heart was still racing. "That’s what happens when you forget," he said, his voice cold but satisfied. "You're mine, angel. Don't make me remind you again."

You let out a quiet sob, tears soaking the silk of your pyjamas as you curled into yourself. Even though Rafe hated to see you like this he felt a weird sense of satisfaction. You were his. You’d always be his. And if you’d ever try to forget, he’d be there to remind you again. Because the thruth was; you could never really escape him.

tags .ᐟ @rafesbangs @pintrestgrl @vampteeths @ickyrafe @bambiangels @kissyrafe

#dollys playroom 🐇#blurbs ₊˚⊹♡#exbf!rafe #rafe cameron #rafe cameron smut #dark!rafe cameron

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kiwriteswords · 13 hours ago

Note

cliche tropes: always missing the other person saying ‘i love you’ like not realising the other persons asleep, they can’t hear you over the noisy police precinct, think they’re talking to someone else

But you know you're not dreaming [Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader]

Masterlist || Ao3||Word Count: >1k|| AN: LOVE a good ole cliche trope! Thanks for sending this in!!

Tags/Warnings: no use of y/n, drabble, saying 'i love you' for the first time, tropes, established relationship, mentions of a draining case, insomnia? if you squint, confessions of love, fluff!! fluffy fluff, Hotch's POV

Summary: In the middle of the night, when you think Hotch is asleep, you feel brave enough to share those three little words you feel so deeply about him.

In the quiet of the night, the only sound Aaron Hotchner could hear was the steady rhythm of his own heart—a sound he had grown all too familiar with in the solitude that often accompanied his late hours. But tonight was different. Tonight, the soft, steady breaths of the woman lying beside him in bed filled the room with a gentle cadence that spoke of peace and a contentment long thought lost to him.

You had been together for only a few months, yet the bond between you seemed to stretch beyond the confines of time. You fit into his life seamlessly, a soothing presence not just for him but for Jack as well. The way you smiled at his son, the laughter you brought into their home—it healed parts of him he’d resigned to be forever broken.

Hotch had been lying on his back, eyes closed, feigning sleep. The day had been long, a case draining more from him than he cared to admit. You thought he was asleep, lost to dreams and the darkness of the night. It was in this quiet moment, believing herself unobserved, that you decided to practice the words you hadn’t yet dared to say aloud.

“I love you, Aaron,” you whispered, the words a tentative exploration, testing how they felt in the privacy of what you believed was your unshared silence. “I love you so much it scares me.”

Hotch’s breath hitched silently in his throat. He remained perfectly still, scarcely believing what he was hearing. The vulnerability in your voice, the confession of your love—these were gifts he never expected to receive again.

You continued, unaware of his wakefulness, the soft cadence of your voice threading through the darkness. “I don’t know if I’m ready to tell you yet, but God, I love you. I hope you feel the same.”

Every word you uttered struck a chord within him, resonating deep in his soul. It wasn’t just the declaration but the fear, the hope, and the raw honesty that accompanied it. Hotch had known loss, had known the bitter sting of a love ended too soon, and had doubted whether he could ever open his heart again. But here, beside him, lay the reason he had dared to try once more.

Slowly, Hotch turned towards you, opening his eyes to the dimly lit room where moonlight cast gentle shadows across your face. Seeing you so close, the lines of worry softened by sleep, he knew he had found something extraordinary—not just for himself but for his son as well.

“Aaron?” you murmured, startled, as you felt him move. Your eyes, wide and filled with surprise, met his. The vulnerability you’d felt speaking into the darkness was now laid bare under his gaze.

“I heard you,” Hotch said softly, his voice a low rumble of emotion. “And I’m glad I did.”

Your heart might have stopped—if only for a beat. The enormity of the moment held you both captive.

“I love you too,” he confessed, each word deliberate and true. “I’ve wanted to say it for a while now, but I wasn’t sure how.”

Tears, unbidden but not unwelcome, welled in your eyes as relief and joy mingled in your expression. Hotch reached out, his hand gently cupping your cheek, thumb brushing away the moisture that escaped your lashes.

“I was scared,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “Scared of saying it first, scared of what it means...”

“Me too,” Hotch acknowledged, his own barriers crumbling in the face of your shared confession. “But we’re in this together, aren’t we?”

“Yes,” you breathed out, a smile breaking through the emotional overflow. “Together.”

In that moment, the world outside their quiet sanctuary seemed inconsequential. There was only the truth of what they shared, a love both profound and profoundly simple in its necessity. As Hotch leaned in, his lips met yours in a kiss that sealed promises neither needed words to express. It was a kiss of understanding, of acceptance, and of a love that, once whispered in the dark, would now light their way forward.

Tag List:

@zaddyhotch

@estragos

@todorokishoe24

@looking1016

@khxna

@rousethemouse

@averyhotchner

@reidfile

@bernelflo

@lover-of-books-and-tea

@frickin-bats

@sleepysongbirdsings

@justyourusualash

@person-005

@iyskgd

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #hotch x reader #kiwriteswords #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfictionc #criminal minds imagine #criminalminds #aaronhotchner #Aaron Hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner angst #aaron hotchner reader insert #criminal minds fluff

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maevesque · 2 days ago

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A/N: I've no excuse, this definitely was inspired while I was finishing up "Love and Pestilence", like the idea already festered in my brain and the book was like "Here you go, the final push you needed." Because I love seeing MC going through it realizing just how much pain she's caused.

It was late at night, around 3:45am to be exact when she woke up in cold sweat, her heartbeat racing as she rested her hand over her chest. She turned as if she would see Sylus, but she wasn't in the N109 Zone. She was in, what should be, the comfort of her home. Yet, it all felt foreign to her. She had been so accustomed to the warmth and comfort in Sylus's home, that she didn't know much of any other physical home besides his.

She sighed quietly, ushering herself out of her bed as her bare feet tracked along the wooden floorboards of her apartment. She reached up on her tiptoes and grabbed a glass from the cabinet and moved over to her kettle. She always preferred tea over coffee, not that she disliked coffee or anything. She just chose tea every time.

Her hands rested on the handle of the kettle, the steam rising and tickling her hands with soft heat as the fire began burning more, the water gradually beginning to boil. She thought back to the dream she had, a frown immediately tugging at the corner of her lips, and her eyebrows furrowed as she recalled the scenes in her head

She remembered how she doomed Sylus's soul, cursing it to never be parted from hers. How his dragon bones held gently in her hand soon fluttered into petals as it drifted off the sky. Her unshed tears finally sliding down her face. She knew Sylus was out and about, the night owl that he is, and had she not have work in a few hours, she'd have stayed up as well.

The apartment was much too empty to her liking. Then, it was as if a claw of time reached out and grabbed her, pulling her back into the present, her body lightly jumping at the sound of the whistling kettle. Her breathing was heavy, her eyes closing as she shut off the stove and poured the boiling hot water into her mug, a droplet of the hot water jumping out of the mug and onto her hand only made her jerk slightly before she placed the tea kettle back onto the stove.

She grabbed the mug, treading through her kitchen and into her living room where she settled on her sofa, her eyes gazing out through the balcony as she looked at the starless sky. She wondered where Sylus was, what he may be doing, and almost had the thought of texting him, but decided against it. Her thoughts were racing, realizing donning upon her like a weighted blanket that was more suffocating than comforting.

"I cursed him." She said to herself, her eyebrows furrowing, "I doomed his soul to be mine and mine alone, to never be separated from me," she mused to herself, her fingers gripped around the mug, despite how hot it was and practically began burning her palms.

It was then she had thought to herself that she had made Sylus a prison to her heart and soul, even though her memories of their once lifetime had been thrown into the abyss, only recently resurfacing by their newfound strength in resonating with one another.

"This isn't fair... Not to him," she spoke softly, yet reluctantly.

Is the love he claims for me to be purer than another other love I have experience truly one of his own, or created by the chains that keep his soul to mine?

She pulled away from her thoughts when she felt her phone vibrating in her robe pocket. She set down her mug on the coffee table and unlocked her phone. It was a text from Sylus. She wouldn't put it past him if he had a feeling she was awake at this hour, despite having work in about three to four hours from now. She lost track of time, not realizing it was around 4:31am. She read the text, unsure if she should answer.

But her heart told her to do so, even if her mind screamed at her not to, to give Sylus this semblance of freedom away from her selfish, rotten soul.

She typed up a message, then deleted it. Repeating the steps until she heard pecking at the window. She lifted her head and saw Mephisto, tilting his head in curiosity then continued to gently rap his beak against the window. It pulled her out of her daze as she stood up, opening the window to let the crow in. Him immediately settling on her shoulder and even nuzzling against her neck.

She smiled, her eyes tender as she gently brushed her finger along his head. She knew then that Sylus would be coming soon, the information from Mephisto and her lack of text responses enough to have him completing his tasks quickly, just so he could visit her.

There was no point in hiding the storm that raged in her mind, crashing against the walls of her own prison, one she had created within herself. Mephisto cawed as if sensing she was delving into the depths of her mind once more and she laughed softly, rubbing the side of her forefinger under Mephisto's beak. While she didn't feel she deserved it, she's thankful that Mephisto helped her in that moment.

Sylus didn't bother to knock this time, immediately appearing behind her as he shoved his hands into his black slacks and leaned over to rest his chin on her shoulder, replacing Mephisto in a blink of an eye as he disappeared in a cloud of crow feathers that dissipated into the air.

"You didn't text back. What's on your mind, kitten?"

She closed her eyes, willing herself not to melt into the warmth that Sylus always provided her with.

"I just... Didn't want to bother you. That's all."

Sylus chuckled, his voice low and soothing, "I'm never bothered by you."

She wanted to believe him so badly, but her dream and the memories that surfaced to chew at her very soul made her question everything she thought she knew and Sylus knew she was spiraling, he just needed to know and understand why without forcing it out of her.

She frowned and turned to look at him, greeted with the tenderness in his ruby eyes, his sharp features soft against the rays of the moon that shined through the window. She loved him so much, from lifetimes after lifetimes. He was the one her soul will always yearn for.

Selfishly so.

She reached up with a gentle hand that rested on his cheek, the pad of her thumb gently brushing slowing the skin as she stepped forward, leaning up on her tiptoes and pressing a chaste kiss onto his lips.

He didn't like that.

His arms wrapped around her waist, keeping her in place and secured in his arms.

"Talks to me, sweetie." A soft plead in his voice as he squeezed her hips, trying to bring her back to the present.

She closed her eyes for a moment, no matter the turmoil she was facing against herself, she could never hold out on Sylus for long.

She breathed, "I had a dream," she said quietly, "about us." She then lifted her gaze to meet with his, guilt washed over her mind like gunk left from a bandaid ripped off too quickly, just by the gentle look he gave to her.

She felt so unworthy of it.

He remained silent, a little nod of his head as if to tell her to continue, and so she did.

"Sylus, you remember, don't you? I cursed your soul. Doomed to bound to me for all eternity, or until time no longer exists..." she stated, her eyes brimming with tears, "this... This isn't fair to you," she said quietly, attempting to pull away but Sylus kept her there in his arms.

His hold tightened as if afraid she would slip out of his hold.

"And what about it? I told you before, kitten. Curse me. Doom my soul to be yours, never sever the thread you have created against fate for me. You may have cursed my soul to never be gone from yours, yes... But," she held her face gently in his hands and for a second, she thought she saw her dragon as if they were back in his cave once more.

"The love I have for you isn't riddled by our written fate, nor is it forced by your curse on my soul. I choose you, my sorceress. My queen."

He leaned in, kissing her forehead.

"No fate or curse can guide my heart to where it needs to be, to where I belong." He spoke in soft reassurances, surrounding her in that warmth that washed away her worries, those thoughts that made her believe she was absolutely wretched, "I belong to you and I belong with you."

Then, a shared kiss, soft and gentle. Their tongues danced for a moment or two, she lost track of time from being held so tenderly in her lover's arms, his hands caressing every part of her body before pulling her closer, a string of saliva connecting their lips as they parted for needed air.

"Set me free, forget me all over again... Have you ever thought that I doomed you and your soul as well? For I will never stop coming back to you."

#sylus #love and deepspace sylus #lnds sylus #l&ds sylus #sylus x mc #love and deepspace #lnds #l&ds #♡‧₊˚ drabbles | into another world

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hawkinsbnbg · 2 days ago

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all i want for christmas is you

steddie bingo prompts: cuddle, sing, guitar | @steddiebingo

It was finally Christmas and Eddie was gonna meet Wayne's mysterious partner, who had been a famous topic in their conversations lately.

Not that Wayne had mentioned seeing someone, yet. But he knew his uncle well, or he'd like to think so, and Wayne wasn't the type to just talk about some random people during their weekly phone calls.

And since he'd been hearing about Stevie this and Stevie that for months, he'd braced himself for the family dinner™ when he visited Wayne this year.

That was why he didn't expect to see Steve Harrington when opening the door.

It'd been what? Ten years and the other man still looked as beautiful as ever. Even without his signature polo and khakis, Steve still managed to look unfairly cute in his winter outfit, big doe eyes and rosy cheeks, sweet and fluffy like a cute muffin.

Eddie wanted to eat him.

Before he could say anything, however, Wayne appeared from behind and pushed him out of the doorway.

"Come in, son. You're gonna freeze your ass off if you stay out there any longer."

Steve ducked his head to hide that endearing shy smile of his and stepped inside the house as prompted, sighing in appreciation when the warmth embraced him.

Standing awkwardly next to Wayne, Eddie held the cookies Tupperware Steve had brought over, watching him take off his maroon knit scarf, mittens, and earmuffs then change his shoes and hang his jacket.

As Wayne pulled him into a fatherly hug that Eddie had been given hours ago, a lightbulb moment finally happened to Eddie.

"Holy shit, you're the Stevie! What're you doing here?" Eddie didn't mean to sound so blunt, wincing internally at the hurt flashing in those hazel eyes.

Thankfully, before he could ruin everything with his loud mouth, Wayne interrupted gently.

"I invited him here to have dinner with us. You got a problem with that, son?"

"Nope," Eddie wisely shook his head, then gave Steve a (hopefully) charming smile. "Don't mind me, sweetheart. I was just worried that I haven't bought a gift for you since I didn't– You know what? I’m gonna go set up the table. You two continue catching up, okay?”

His retreating tactic only worked for about two minutes before Steve joined him in the kitchen. Without Wayne as their buffer, he didn't know what to say and neither did Steve by the look of it. But the silence was stifling and his self-control had been shot to zero anyway.

“So, you're friends with Wayne, huh?”

“You could say that,” Steve glanced at him briefly before looking away again. “He talks about you a lot, you know. Said he’s really proud of you. For living your dream and making a life out of it.”

Unable to help it, Eddie swayed closer, breathing in the familiar floral and fruity notes from Steve's cologne and body wash, smiling when he caught the sweet scent of baked cookies.

“For the record, he also talks about you a lot, Stevie.”

He felt a little drunk when Steve's ears and cheeks colored in a lovely shade of pink that matched his sweater vest, and realized how much he’d missed this. The easy flirting. The natural way they moved around each other. Maybe he was getting ahead of himself, or maybe it was the domestic air of the occasion, but he could see them like this one day—happy, in love, together.

Eddie shook his head. All those years, and here he was, still just as hopeless.

Dinner was a delightful affair. Wayne made it his duty to regale them both with their embarrassing tales, more of Eddie's than Steve's. Turned out, Wayne had helped him get acquainted with the neighborhood when he first came to live here. Once they found out about their mutual love for sports and gardening, they’d become fast friends and the rest was history.

(“Wait. You walked here?? In this weather???”

“There are only a few flurries and I don't even live that far away from here. I’ll be fine.”

“Uh-huh, says the man who has pneumonia and still took a stroll when it's brass monkeys outside.”

“Like you're one to talk. Remember when you sprained his wrist and ankle because you refused to use the front door like normal people?”

“Listen–”

“Boys.”

“Sorry, Uncle Wayne.”)

At some point, Steve revealed that he was teaching at Hawkins Middle, and proceeded to gush about a bunch of kids Eddie had no idea about but still grew fond of anyway if only because they were the reason for the smiles on Steve's face.

After doing the dishes, they joined Wayne in the living room, drinking hot cocoas by the fireplace and bickering over their tastes in movies and music. Eddie got to show off his guitar skills, playing every request from Steve and Wayne.

They all sang along to Queens and ABBA, laughing when he missed some chords. Eventually, Wayne called it a night and retired upstairs, leaving him and Steve on the couch, cuddling and sharing body heat beneath the soft quilt.

Amidst their mindless bantering, he raised a hand to cradle Steve’s face, and asked softly. “May I?”

Like a dream, Steve leaned into his touch with a soft smile.

“Yes, please.”

Oh, sweet Santa. This man was gonna be the death of him.

Once they eventually parted, Eddie suggested that they should kiss under a mistletoe next time, and Steve quickly pointed out they’d just done it considering their quilt was patterned with mistletoes—something they’d failed to notice until they were done kissing. Somehow, that made them break into a fit of giggles, having to cover each other’s mouths to muffle their noises like a couple of giddy children.

“What do you want for Christmas?” Steve asked after a while.

“You,” Eddie pecked his lips tenderly. “It's always been you, baby.”

“You have me,” Steve smiled into the kiss.

And Eddie knew he was gonna do anything to make them work this time.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddiebingoroundone #steddie holiday drabbles #sionewrites #merry christmas #tis the season 🎄

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novaursa · 2 days ago

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The Second Daughter

- Summary: You were born as a second daughter under the watchful eye of a full moon. And just like the moon you were beautiful—and cursed to exist only in the dark.

- Paring: targ!reader/Jason Lannister

- Note: This is a sneak peek into a story that will take over after Between Pride and Fire.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround

Excerpts from Fire and Blood: The Life of Y/N Targaryen

The Birth of Y/N Targaryen (99 AC)

Grand Maester Mellos writes:

"It was on the night of a full moon, under skies alight with silver, that Lady Aemma Arryn gave birth to her second child at the manse in King's Landing. The labor was long and fraught, though Lady Aemma endured with the stoic grace for which she was known. When the hour of the bat arrived, the child came forth—a girl, pale-haired and lilac-eyed, with all the hallmarks of her Valyrian lineage. The babe, whom her parents would name Y/N, was the picture of perfection save for one cruel twist of fate: she did not see."

Mushroom, the fool, provides his account:

"When the baby first let out her wail, King Viserys (though not yet a king, mind you) burst into the birthing chamber. He had expected a boy, as men often do, but the sight of his daughter softened him at once. I saw him hold her, weeping openly, calling her ‘my little star.’ But the joy turned to sorrow before the sun rose. The maesters whispered their findings to the King and Queen—little Y/N was blind. Her lilac eyes, though beautiful as a spring morn, would never see the world around her. The joy in that room turned as cold as a long winter’s night."

Lady Aemma, overcome with grief, clutched the babe to her chest, her tears mingling with her husband's. Yet despite this sorrow, Y/N was loved fiercely by her parents. "She will never see the world," Viserys said, "but she will feel its love."

The Accession of King Viserys I (103 AC)

Grand Maester Mellos records:

"Upon the passing of the Old King Jaehaerys I in 103 AC, Viserys ascended to the Iron Throne. Y/N, though but four years old, was present at her father’s coronation, sitting quietly beside her elder sister, Rhaenyra, who delighted in the pageantry. Y/N, by contrast, showed little interest in the pomp of court life, even at so young an age. Though blind, she was said to have a preternatural sense of calm, often described as ‘otherworldly.’”

Mushroom recalls:

"Even as a babe, Y/N seemed to find no pleasure in the games of court. She clung to her mother’s skirts or her sister’s hand, never crying, never laughing as the other children did. Her blindness marked her apart, but so too did her gentleness. ‘Aemma’s grace reborn,’ the lords would whisper. Little did they know how much Viserys would favor her, sparing her from the demands placed upon her elder sister. Rhaenyra learned to charm and command, while Y/N was left to dream in her quiet world of dark."

The Bonding with Silverwing (108 AC)

Grand Maester Mellos writes:

"It was during the royal family’s visit to Dragonstone in 108 AC that Y/N Targaryen, then but nine years of age, performed a feat that astonished even the most seasoned Dragonkeepers. Drawn to the abandoned dragon Silverwing, once ridden by Queen Alysanne, Y/N approached her in Dragonmont. Those who witnessed it spoke of how the child sang to the dragon in High Valyrian, her voice carrying a melody so hauntingly beautiful that it seemed the dragon wept. Silverwing, known for her gentle nature, bent her great head to the blind girl, allowing her to touch her snout. From that moment forth, Y/N was counted as a dragonrider, though she could not see the skies she now commanded."

Mushroom, ever dramatic, adds:

"When Y/N sang, even the stones seemed to shiver. I swear on my twisted back, I saw Silverwing shed a tear as she lowered herself to the girl. ‘She knows her rider,’ said the Dragonkeepers, and I believed it. How could I not? Y/N could not see, but she felt the dragon’s heart, and that was enough."

Her Life at Court

Grand Maester Mellos writes:

"As Y/N grew, her beauty became a topic of much admiration. Her pale hair, always intricately braided by her own hand, and her serene demeanor earned her the adoration of lords and ladies alike. Yet, she remained a rare sight at court, preferring the solitude of the gardens or the companionship of her sister, Rhaenyra. King Viserys, protective of his second daughter, seldom required her presence at formal functions. When she did appear, her soft-spoken nature and gentle grace captivated all who met her."

Ser Lorent Marbrand, her sworn shield since childhood, was ever at her side, guiding her through the halls of the Red Keep and beyond. “She has no need of sight,” Ser Lorent once said. “She sees with her heart, and that is sharper than any blade.”

Mushroom, however, whispers of her loneliness:

"Though the court praised her beauty and grace, Y/N was no fool. She knew she was overlooked in favor of her elder sister. Rhaenyra, the Realm’s Delight, drew suitors like moths to a flame, while Y/N’s blindness and quiet demeanor made her an afterthought to many. Yet, those who truly knew her—her sister, her father, and even her dragon—held her in the highest regard."

The Princess and the Black Mare

Grand Maester Mellos writes:

"When Princess Y/N turned ten, her father, King Viserys, gifted her a black mare of remarkable intelligence. The horse, trained by the finest horsemasters in the realm, was taught to respond to subtle cues, guiding her blind rider with unmatched care. Though Y/N was hesitant at first, under the watchful eye of Ser Lorent Marbrand, her sworn shield, she quickly took to riding. The sight of the younger princess atop the sleek black mare became a source of wonder in King’s Landing. Lords and ladies alike would lean from their windows to catch a glimpse of her as she rode through the city with her knight."

Mushroom recounts:

"I remember the day the younger princess first rode through the streets of King's Landing. Her hair, pale as the moon, trailed behind her like a banner, and her lilac eyes stared forward as if she could see clearer than the rest of us. The people marveled, saying she was a dragon in human form, radiant even in her blindness. Courtiers, who should have been attending to their duties, would abandon their posts just to watch her ride. One minor lord—whose name I will not sully this account with—rushed out of the Great Sept mid-chant to witness her. He tripped, fell into a distillery of summerberry wine, and drowned. It took three days to find his body, and when they did, Septa Rhaedis claimed he looked like ‘a pickled egg.’ The court spoke of little else for weeks.”

The Art of Touch

Grand Maester Mellos records:

"In addition to her accomplishments as a rider, Y/N Targaryen also became skilled in embroidery, a talent few believed possible for one without sight. Guided by her Septa, Rhaedis, she learned to identify patterns by touch, stitching elaborate designs into fabrics with a precision that amazed even the most experienced needleworkers at court."

When asked how she knew what she was embroidering, the princess is said to have replied:

"I see it in my dreams. The threads whisper to me as the stars whisper to the skies."

Mushroom, of course, adds his own embellishment:

"The court marveled at her works, and some claimed she was blessed by the Seven or perhaps cursed by the Old Gods. Whatever the truth, her hands created beauty beyond compare. One such tapestry, depicting dragons in flight, hung in the Great Hall of the Red Keep for many years until it was destroyed during the Black Council."

Her Bond with Prince Daemon

Grand Maester Mellos writes:

"Among those closest to the princess, none held a more unique bond with her than Prince Daemon Targaryen, her uncle. Daemon, often described as brash and hot-tempered, was uncharacteristically gentle in her presence. He called her ‘little star,’ a name that echoed her father’s first words upon her birth. It was said that he would sit with her for hours, recounting tales of his travels and victories in the Stepstones, always mindful to paint vivid pictures with his words so that she might see the world through his voice."

Mushroom offers a more colorful account:

"Daemon adored the girl, perhaps more than he did his own ambitions. He’d sit beside her, polishing Dark Sister while she listened to his tales. ‘Do you dream of dragons, little star?’ he’d ask her. ‘I dream of them always,’ she’d reply. I daresay the Rogue Prince would have brought her the moon if she asked for it. He once told me that the gods gave her blindness so she might better see the truths the rest of us are too blind to notice."

Despite their closeness, some whispered that Daemon’s affection for Y/N was an act of defiance against Viserys, a way to provoke the King. Yet others believed it was genuine—a rare display of softness from a man known for his sharp edges.

The Death of Queen Aemma and the Naming of Rhaenyra (105 AC)

Grand Maester Mellos writes:

"The year 105 AC marked a time of profound sorrow and upheaval for House Targaryen. Queen Aemma Arryn, beloved by all, passed away in childbirth, her body unable to endure the strain of delivering the long-awaited male heir. The child, a boy named Baelon, survived but a day, his life as brief as a candle in the wind. The Red Keep was plunged into mourning, for the King had not only lost his queen but his hope for a son to secure the succession."

Mushroom, ever the dramatist, recounts:

"I was there when the Queen’s screams echoed through the halls of Maegor’s Holdfast, haunting us all. The maesters whispered of the impossible choice the King had made—save the babe or save the mother. In the end, neither survived. When King Viserys emerged from the chamber, his face was as pale as bone, and in his arms, he carried the lifeless child. The court fell silent as he whispered, ‘Aemma is gone.’ Yet, in his grief, his gaze fell upon his daughters, Rhaenyra and Y/N, as if to remind himself of what remained."

Y/N, only six years old, was said to have clung to her elder sister during the days of mourning. Blind though she was, she is said to have been acutely aware of the grief that permeated the Red Keep. “I heard her tears,” she later told her Septa, “and they sounded like rain upon stone.”

It was in the wake of Aemma’s death that Viserys made the momentous decision to name Rhaenyra his heir. Grand Maester Mellos writes:

"The King, bereft of sons, gathered his council and declared his eldest daughter, Rhaenyra, the Princess of Dragonstone and his chosen successor. The proclamation was met with mixed reactions, though none dared speak against it openly. Y/N, still a child, sat beside her sister during the ceremony, her small hand clutching Rhaenyra’s, as if to lend her strength. The court whispered of the younger princess’s quiet courage, though few noticed the tears that slipped from her unseeing eyes as the crown was placed upon Rhaenyra’s head."

The Marriage to Alicent Hightower (106 AC)

Grand Maester Mellos writes:

"In the year following Queen Aemma’s death, King Viserys shocked the realm by announcing his intention to marry Alicent Hightower, daughter of Ser Otto Hightower, the Hand of the King. The match, though politically advantageous, was seen by many as a betrayal of Aemma’s memory. None felt this more keenly than the King’s daughters, Rhaenyra and Y/N, who had grown close to Alicent during her time at court."

Mushroom provides his usual flair:

"The whispers began long before the announcement. I saw Lady Alicent visiting the King’s chambers more often than a lady ought. Some said she was there to comfort him, others to ensnare him. When the match was declared, Rhaenyra stormed from the Small Council chamber, her fury unmistakable. Y/N, by contrast, said nothing. She simply withdrew to her chambers, though I later heard her weeping through the walls. ‘She feels too deeply,’ Ser Lorent said. ‘Her heart sees what her eyes cannot.’”

Despite her youth, Y/N was said to have been torn between her affection for Alicent and her loyalty to her late mother and sister. Alicent, aware of the tension her marriage caused, reportedly sought to win over the younger princess. Mushroom recounts:

"Alicent would visit Y/N often, bringing her gifts of perfumes and silks, hoping to mend the rift. ‘I am still your friend,’ she would say. But Y/N, though polite, grew distant. She would not speak against Alicent, but neither did she embrace her. When asked by her Septa why she avoided the Queen, she simply replied, ‘I dream of Mother, and in my dreams, she is crying.’”

The Court’s Reaction

Grand Maester Mellos records:

"The court, ever a cauldron of intrigue, buzzed with speculation over the King’s remarriage. While some saw Alicent as a stabilizing influence, others whispered of her ambition. Rhaenyra’s displeasure was evident, and though Y/N’s feelings remained a mystery to many, her absence from court functions spoke volumes. It was said that the younger princess spent more time in the gardens or with her dragon, Silverwing, seeking solace in the quiet places of the Red Keep."

Mushroom, in his usual irreverence, concludes:

"If the King’s marriage to Alicent Hightower was a political move, it was a clumsy one. It drove a wedge between father and daughters, a rift that would only grow wider in the years to come. As for Y/N, the court often wondered what went on behind her lilac eyes, for she remained silent, even as the storm clouds gathered. ‘A storm is coming,’ she once told her Septa. ‘And when it breaks, none will escape the rain.’”

Thus began a new chapter for the Targaryen family, one marked by tension and the seeds of division that would later engulf the realm.

The Birth of Prince Aegon (107 AC)

Grand Maester Mellos writes:

"In the year 107 AC, Queen Alicent Hightower gave birth to her first child, a son named Aegon. The boy’s safe delivery was met with great celebration throughout the realm. King Viserys, whose grief over the loss of his firstborn son had lingered like a shadow, was said to have wept with joy at the sight of his living heir. The court rejoiced, though not all shared the King’s unbridled happiness."

Mushroom adds, with his usual candor:

"The King threw a grand feast for the birth of his son, lavishing praise upon Alicent as if she had brought forth a dragon herself. Rhaenyra sat stiffly at the high table, her face pale as milk, while Y/N, ever the quiet one, simply lowered her head. When the King raised a goblet and declared Aegon his 'future pride,' the Realm's Delight left the hall in silence. Y/N, as always, followed her sister like a shadow. The court murmured, but none dared speak their thoughts aloud."

The younger princess, blind though she was, seemed to sense the shifting tides. Septa Rhaedis later claimed that Y/N confided in her, saying, “The boy’s cries are like thunder. I hear storms in his wake.”

The Suitors of Rhaenyra

Grand Maester Mellos writes:

"Following the birth of Prince Aegon, the King turned his attention to securing alliances through marriage. Rhaenyra, now in her tenth year of life, had grown into a striking young woman, admired by all for her beauty and fiery spirit. Suitors from every corner of the realm descended upon King’s Landing, eager to win the hand of the Princess of Dragonstone."

The accounts of the court speak of endless gatherings in the throne room, where lords presented gifts and pledges of loyalty. Mushroom, who was privy to these events, recounts:

"The lords came with jewels, horses, and promises of wealth, each one more desperate than the last. The Princess, seated beside her father, bore it all with a grace that belied her young age. Y/N, though often absent from such displays, was occasionally seen by her sister’s side, her unseeing lilac eyes lending an ethereal air to the proceedings. Some whispered that her presence was a silent rebuke to the King, a reminder of the family’s losses and the fragility of alliances forged by marriage."

The Shadow of the Younger Princess

Grand Maester Mellos writes:

"Amidst the fanfare surrounding Rhaenyra’s suitors and the birth of Prince Aegon, Y/N remained largely in the background, a deliberate choice by her father. The King, ever protective of his younger daughter, sought to shield her from the court’s scrutiny. Unlike her sister, Y/N was spared the endless parade of lords and their gifts. Instead, she spent her days in the gardens, on the back of her black mare, or in the company of her dragon, Silverwing."

Septa Rhaedis later wrote:

"The younger princess was not overlooked out of neglect, but out of love. The King feared that her blindness, though it inspired awe in some, would make her a target for others. He believed that by keeping her out of the court’s spotlight, he was protecting her. Yet, Y/N, for all her quiet demeanor, was no fool. She knew her father’s intentions, and though she did not voice her objections, her distance from court life created a rift between her and her family that would never fully heal."

Mushroom, ever irreverent, offers his perspective:

"While Rhaenyra was paraded before the realm like a dragon ready to take flight, Y/N was kept hidden, a jewel locked away in a vault. But jewels cannot stay hidden forever. I heard whispers even then—lords asking about the 'blind beauty' and whether the King had plans for her. Viserys, blind in his own way, dismissed such inquiries with a wave of his hand. 'She is too young,' he would say. But the court knew better. He feared what they might see in her, and what ambitions she might awaken."

The Bonds of Sisterhood

Despite the growing tension in the court, Rhaenyra and Y/N’s bond remained strong. Mushroom writes:

"The two sisters were as different as fire and moonlight, yet they shared a closeness that no storm could break. Rhaenyra often brought her suitors’ gifts to Y/N, describing them in vivid detail so her sister might share in the spectacle. Y/N, for her part, offered quiet counsel to Rhaenyra, soothing her elder sister’s frustrations with her gentle words."

Grand Maester Mellos records:

"Though the court focused its attention on Rhaenyra, it was said that she confided more in her younger sister than in anyone else. Y/N, with her serene demeanor, provided a calming presence in the storm of Rhaenyra’s life. The Realm’s Delight, for all her strength, leaned on her blind sister as one might lean on a crutch. Together, they weathered the growing tensions of the Red Keep, their bond a rare light in a darkening world."

Thus, the stage was set for the years to come, as the lines between duty, family, and ambition grew ever more tangled. While Rhaenyra shone brightly before the court, Y/N remained in the shadows, a quiet flame that many would underestimate to their peril.

The Festivities of Prince Aegon’s Eighth Nameday (115 AC)

Grand Maester Mellos writes:

"In the year 115 AC, the Red Keep hosted a grand celebration in honor of Prince Aegon’s eighth nameday. Lords and ladies from across the realm gathered to pay homage to the young prince and revel in the accompanying festivities. Among the notable attendees was Lord Jason Lannister, the proud and ambitious Lord of Casterly Rock, whose presence stirred no small amount of intrigue. It was widely known that Jason had set his sights on the hand of Princess Rhaenyra, and his bold attempts to court her became a point of great amusement—and anxiety—during the celebrations."

Mushroom, in his irreverent style, recounts:

"Lord Jason, as proud as the lions on his banners, approached the Princess of Dragonstone with the subtlety of a hammer striking an anvil. He presented her with a golden spear—a finely crafted thing, no doubt—and boasted of the hunts they might share at Casterly Rock. Rhaenyra, unimpressed, replied that she had no need for a spear, as her dragon could handle any beast that might trouble her. The court erupted in laughter, leaving Lord Jason red-faced and sputtering."

Having been rebuffed by Rhaenyra, Jason sought out King Viserys, hoping to gain the monarch’s favor. Grand Maester Mellos writes:

"Lord Jason approached the King with a proposal as blunt as it was ambitious: a marriage alliance between House Targaryen and House Lannister. King Viserys, still devoted to his plan to wed Rhaenyra to Laenor Velaryon, dismissed the offer with a firm but polite refusal. Jason left the King’s presence visibly frustrated, his composure shaken by the double rejection."

The Collision That Almost Was

It was as Lord Jason retreated from the King’s chambers, nursing his wounded pride, that he first encountered Y/N Targaryen. Grand Maester Mellos records:

"At the request of her father, Princess Y/N, seldom seen at court in recent years, made an unexpected appearance at the festivities. Her arrival, though quiet, caused a ripple of curiosity among the assembled lords and ladies. Clad in silver and black, with her pale hair braided intricately about her head, the blind princess moved through the throng with a serenity that belied the chaos of the celebrations. Ser Lorent Marbrand, her sworn shield, guided her with care."

Mushroom describes the moment with his usual flair:

"Imagine it! Lord Jason, storming through the halls like a lion with a thorn in his paw, nearly barreled into the younger princess. If not for Ser Lorent’s quick hand, the two would have collided. As it was, Jason stopped short, staring at the blind princess as if she were a ghost. I swear by the Seven, his jaw dropped so low I thought he might swallow his own pride."

It was the first time Jason Lannister laid eyes upon Y/N, and the effect was immediate. Tyland Lannister, Jason’s younger twin and a sharp observer of human folly, later recounted the scene with amusement:

"Jason, ever the picture of confidence, found himself utterly out of his element. The blind princess, serene and unflinching, greeted him with a quiet grace that seemed to rob him of speech. For a man so accustomed to admiration, it was a humbling moment. I, for one, enjoyed every second of it."

Jason, regaining his composure, offered a hasty apology, which Y/N accepted with her usual gentleness. Grand Maester Mellos writes:

"The encounter was brief, but those who witnessed it spoke of how the Lord of Casterly Rock seemed momentarily unmoored, as if the blind princess had seen through him in a way that others could not. Whether by fate or chance, it was a meeting that would linger in Jason’s mind for years to come."

Reflections and Whispers

The court, ever quick to seize upon any moment of intrigue, buzzed with speculation about Jason’s reaction to Y/N. Mushroom, always eager to stir the pot, writes:

"Some said the Lord of Casterly Rock left the festivities with more than his pride bruised. Others whispered that he had found a new prize to pursue, though how one courts a woman who cannot see their fine clothes or lavish gifts, I cannot say. Still, I’d wager Jason would find a way—lions are nothing if not persistent."

Tyland, reflecting on the event years later, remarked:

"That day marked the first time I saw my brother truly at a loss for words. Princess Y/N Targaryen, with her quiet grace and unseeing eyes, had a way of disarming even the most self-assured of men. Jason was no exception. It was as if the gods themselves had decided to humble him, and they chose her to do it."

Though the moment passed quickly, it became a tale retold in the halls of Casterly Rock and King’s Landing alike, a small but significant thread in the tapestry of Y/N’s life and the ever-turning wheel of power in the realm.

#house of the dragon #hotd #fire and blood #hotd x reader #hotd x you #hotd x y/n #game of thrones #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #house targaryen #house lannister #hotd jason #jason lannister #jason x reader #jason x you #jason x y/n

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daniiiboo · 2 days ago

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day 12 - a christmas proposal - qh43

summary - On christmas day, quinn takes you to a beautiful, snow-covered park. He tell you that this is the place he first knew he was in love with you. As you stand there, he pulls out a small box and ask the most important question of your life: will you spend forever with him?

trigger warnings - cuteness

dani's thoughts - im so sad this has to come to an end, but im glad it ended w/ this fic <3

word count - 518

find the rest of my 12 days of chrismas here !

The air was crisp and fresh, the kind of cold that made your breath visible in the air as you stepped into the quiet, snow-covered park. The world around you was a winter wonderland, with glistening icicles hanging from tree branches and snow blanketing the ground in a peaceful silence. Everything felt still, except for the gentle crunch of your boots in the snow and the sound of Quinn's footsteps beside you.

It was Christmas Day, and Quinn had insisted on taking you somewhere special. You couldn’t deny the magic of the moment. The park was beautiful, the soft glow of the Christmas lights strung between the trees adding a warm touch to the otherwise chilly surroundings.

He stopped by a frozen pond, where the snow had gathered into perfect little mounds. The world seemed to fall away, leaving just the two of you standing there in the silence, the only sounds the distant chirping of winter birds and the occasional rustle of the wind through the trees.

“Do you know why I brought you here?” Quinn asked, his voice soft but filled with something you couldn’t quite place.

You turned to him, your heart skipping a beat at the look in his eyes. “I’m guessing it’s not just for a walk in the snow,” you teased, though your voice betrayed the curiosity building inside you.

Quinn smiled, but there was something deeper in his gaze, something more serious. “This is the place,” he said, his voice quiet but filled with meaning. “The first time I knew I was in love with you.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

You had always known that Quinn had a special way of making ordinary moments feel extraordinary, but hearing him say those words,especially in a place so perfect, so serene, took your breath away.

“Really?” you whispered, your heart swelling with emotion. “Here?”

He nodded, taking a small step closer. His hand brushed against yours, sending a jolt of warmth through you.

“Yeah. We came here last winter, and I remember looking at you, the snow falling softly around us, and realizing that I wanted to spend every moment of my life with you.”

You felt your pulse quicken at his words, and your gaze softened as you held his eyes.

“I had no idea,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I didn’t say it then,” Quinn said, his voice filled with a quiet intensity. “But I knew. And now…”

He reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a small, velvet box. Your heart skipped, and your breath caught in your chest.

“Quinn, what are you—”

Before you could finish, he opened the box, revealing a sparkling engagement ring that caught the light of the setting sun. You couldn’t speak for a moment, your eyes locked on the ring and then back to him.

His hand was steady as he held the box out to you, his voice filled with sincerity. “Will you spend forever with me? Will you marry me?”

Your heart raced as you stood there, the snow swirling gently around you, the world falling away until there was only Quinn, only the two of you in that moment. You couldn’t help but smile, tears threatening to well up in your eyes.

“Yes,” you whispered, the word coming out like a breath of relief, joy, and love all at once. “Yes, Quinn, I will.”

His face broke into a grin, and without missing a beat, he slid the ring onto your finger. In that moment, everything felt right, everything you had ever wanted, everything you had ever dreamed of, was standing right in front of you.

Quinn pulled you close, his arms wrapping around you as he kissed you gently, the snow falling around you both like the world was celebrating with you. As you kissed him back, you realized that this was only the beginning of forever, and there was no one else you’d rather spend it with.

#dani writes ᡣ𐭩 #dani's 12 days of christmas !#quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes x you #vancouver canucks x reader #canucks x reader

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lilimalia · 3 days ago

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PENPALS // alhaitham

SYNOPSIS... where a far overworked employee takes to participating in The Steambirds newest news program, 'Penpal System'. Only to fall horribly in love with your penpal buddy... who’s also someone you know?

CHARACTERS... alhaitham (al-haitham?), kaveh, sumeru npc's, nahida/kusanali, aether (traveller), 4ggrevate + more!

DISCLAIMERS... , female reader, 3.2 archon quest spoilers, small enemies to lovers, cursing, aether traveller, very nerdy + silly reader who is soo emotionally stunted, not proofread

BARISTA'S INTEL... posting this like a year after I pulled alhaitham during his first banner o7... Anyways this fanfic went through so many revisions I hope yall enjoy (alhaitham loml <3)

CAFE TUNE... love story // Indila

LETTER X: Promotion

Working with a boss who is self-sufficient and only prioritizes finishing his nine to five job may actually just kill you.

Even if he’s really, really, really, cute.

Ever since the "great all-mighty" Alhaitham and the hero nicknamed 'The Traveler' saved your "wonderful" Sumeru. A day with the notorious 'Acting Grand Scribe' of Sumeru's Akademiya typically goes like this;

You wake up from a half satisfying sleep, realizing you've once again spent your night face smushed across the hard cold wooden desks of The House of Daena's library. Students who had a life less toxicating then your own; stared, whispering a far bit louder then what they thought would be out of range. Your eyes droop in defeat, having given up frantically -well, to the onlookers, maniacally- explaining that your boss was an egotistical know-it-all that forced you to stay late nights. At some point, all reason to argue became needless months after serving as Alhaitham's secretary.

Staggering half-mindedly down the pavilion, Sumerian robes fluttering loosely around your body as you swipe them sleeves closer to your chest, you tilt your nose up to the aroma of fresh baking from the stalls below. A savory smell of spices licks at your senses as you wander closer to the trail of delectable food waiting for you. It barely takes more than a minute for you to come waddling into Lambad's Tavern

Your daily saving grace, as you peak through the windows, eyes shocking open.

Peering over the windows, you glance nervously side to side as you scour the filled tables for signs of silver flickering hair adorned with a snobby headset of golden. A relieving sigh flies past your lips when you find that no such person exists. At least... In the Tavern.

Although, a tall brunette man peers above the counters, wooden dishes in hand as he notices you. Chuckling knowingly as he serves his customers, watching you stalk his windows. Like a creep-

Goodness, sometimes you almost felt bad for Lambad...

Motioning for you to come in, relief overtakes as you stomp in satisfied, waving politely and flashing a sweet cheery smile at the regulars as you march towards Lambad's bulky figure, his muscles flexing as he waves happily.

"[Name]! It's been only half a day since your last visit! I trust you're still buried head to toe in paperwork? Come, have a seat!"

Graciously, he leans over the table, pulling out a barstool for you as he hunkers back, grabbing a bottle of something underneath.

"Archons grace, you're such a sweetheart Lambad... You're way too kind. You have no idea. Gods, sometimes, I don't even know if I'm dreaming or wide awake and still working this hellish job!! Pleaseee Lambad... You've have got to save me!" Rambling on and on, you thump on the stool, groaning instantly as you slump over the counter, stretching your hands over your face.

Pulling down your cheeks with your hands, a quiet dramatic sob leaves your drained face as you stare all sopping like at the man.

Pouring out a baby yellow drink out of the bottle, Lambad pushes forward a chilled glass, adorned with small chunks of Zaytun peaches. Your mopey eyes trail to the faint sweet smell, launching out to pull the drink in as you place your chin on it.

Ahh... Sweet refreshing cold.

"Oh wow... Sure sounds like you've been through a lot [Name]! Here, try this new peach lassi I came up with recently! It'll be sure to cheer up your stomach at the very least! We can't have Sumeru's best worker going around on an empty stomach now can we!"

Sipping at the drink, the smooth texture of the yogurt mixed drink softens down your throat. An icy touch following with as the sour sweetness beckons you.

Whenever hungry, overworked, and far to underpaid to give enough of a damn, you could always count on Lambad Tavern.

Lambad himself was so used to listening to your daily problems he'd had learn overtime how to soothe your bitter heart. A nice new treat and the bonus of a bar seat left you no room for complaint. Often, he'd make sure to leave a small key underneath a nearby bush, hidden safely in a stowed away box.

Months back, when your boss had first been appointed at his position, and those darn Akademiya scholars had deemed you the perfect candidate to be his dog, Lambad had requested the Kshahrewar Darshan students to craft a small box for the extra key. A distinctive little wooden keep, shaped like a leaf with several knobs pointing out like twigs. Upon his request, the darshan had taken extra care to make the box as interesting and interchangeable as possible.

It made for a good pass time as you spent dewy, chilled mornings, left locked outside your apartment (archons forbid you remember the akasha terminals password for it) as you spent your early hours spent on a bench. Leaning over your crossed legs, you'd nit-pick on the box for hours, fiddling with the pin tumblr locks as you held the box close. Listening for small clicks left behind as the springs allowed for one lock to unlock another.

Zoning back in, you come to notice the lack of sweet yogurt lassi left in your chilled glass. Droplets now trickling down the sides of your glass as they collect, condensation pooling over your stunned fingertips wrapped around from the time you spent spaced out.

"Are you back yet' scholar? You blanked out longer than usual this time around. Hey, you spent so long thinking about whatever caused you to mope this time around, that you forgot to even tell me!" Laughing hardily, Lambad swipes the glass from underneath your freezing hand. Glancing back questioningly.

Strange. You don't usually space out when you're around company.

"Sorry Lambad, I don't know what that was... I just- Well, it felt like I just got wisped away... Weird." Pulling back your hands, you palm over the residual water in your hand, wiping it away on the ends of your Sumerian robes, clothes taking on a darker tone from the soak.

"No problem, lady! It's alright, happens to the best of us. Hey, that does remind me of a story I've been hearing though! Lately, other adventurers and Akademiyian scholars have been boasting around..."

Leaning in over the counter, Lambad whispers, eyes narrowing they dart around nervously,

"I hear that Adventurer's Guild Katheryne has got her hands full with this new program. It's from Fontaine's Steambird! Called the 'Penpal Program'... Sounds fun doesn't it?"

"I- What does that have to do with anything just now! Lambad... Are you crazy?"

"No, no! Let me finish. What I'm saying is, folks have been so upset in their work they've been writing about it across seas to anonymous friends. I hear it wisps you away into your own little escape!" Chuckling, Lambad pulls back, reaching into yet another cabinet as he searches the crevices for something.

"So, you're just nuts... Great, my only genuine friend... Lost to weird media," letting out a sigh, you plop back down on the counter in defeat.

Maybe you really weren't salvageable... First the weird spiraling, and now this strange program.

"Aha! Found it! Here, just give it a try [Name]... I'm sure it won't hurt you! You could really use a friend that wasn't a tavern owner you know..." heaving out a pile of papers, throwing them down; a puff of dust erupts. Lambad reaches for the top paper as he passes you it, huffing as he reorganizes the rest somewhere deep in his storage.

"You know, I worry about you lady... Seems like all you've been doing the past couple of months is working your end off for Scribe Alhaitham!-"

"Sh, sh, sh! Stop! Don't! Do not say his name. Oh, so help me Archons-"

At some point during the long arduous navigation to becoming Alhaitham's secretary, a strange phenomenon found itself into your life.

Sadly, every time you or your friends had mentioned the annoyance of a man, it seemed he'd find his way into your conversation one way or another... Almost predictably.

In any case, it made for a horrible superstition that the mere mention of his name could even summon him. Making it almost impossible to carry your normal tangents about the woes you faced. The oh-so-treacherous life of a secretary under a selfish boss.

At your defense, you had learned soon enough to warn your friends of the weird illusion. Finding out that if you could just convince them to omit the use of 'his' nine letter name it would solve his convenient interruptions into your life. Archons, the lengths you would (and have) taken to ignore this mans absolute atrocious presence...

Unfortunately, that never was a foolproof plan.

"Sorry! Sorry! I apologize... Forgot about that weird notion of yours to for a second..." Chuckling nervously, Lambad looks around, leaning in close to whisper,

"He couldn't possibly be around at this hour though... Could he?"

Inching in closer yourself, you murmur;

"I promise you, he's everywhere. It's so creepy... you have no idea!... One time-"

"[Name]? Is that you? Does your shift not start at 9 o'clock on the dot at the Akademiya secretary?"

"Fucking shi-"

Jumping up from your seat, your hand slams violently onto the wooden table (ouch) as you hop haphazardly out of your stool.

Glaring at Lambad, you watch as he sheepishly backs away, happily taking to ignoring your stink eye as he hums over your menacing hate. Forcing you to turnback your attention to the (unfortunately) approaching silver haired man as he strides in full glory.

Alhaitham, the notorious boss.

The man who caused you great distress day and night as he looms over your scholarly papers that he pushed onto you. Taking to taunting you and criticizing your work as he knowingly clocks out at five pm on the dot.

God, even his stride and speech was tantalizing.

It took every flexed stiffened muscle in your body not to revolt and gag on reflex as your eye twitched.

"Oh!... Alhaitham sir!... How- cough- good to see you so early. Yes, I know when my shift starts sir. I was merely grabbing a treat before I went to slave away- I mean, work on the demands the Akademiya higher ups sent in last night." Are you being dramatic, maybe, perhaps even yes, gags ensue.

Perking up a questioning brow, his muscles flex as he pulls down the golden headphones that laid flat over his head. Silky smooth voice clear as he ignores your obvious frustration,

"Right. Well, be sure to come by my- our; office sometime during your shift. I've received peculiar news you may just want to listen to. If you're so willing..."

Everything about him speaks superiority over you, it's almost more irritating that he still insists on calling the office he'd obtain over his promotion "ours".

A small noticing you had gained as you listened to how silky his baritone voice was, projecting across any room in a great demand. A reeling pull that you couldn't let loose from your mind.

It never was clear why he insisted on claiming the office was both his and yours. After all, the large thing of a room was piled head to toe in work addressed to him, letters asking for him and his advice, gifts and bribes designated to partition his favor; not yours.

Shaking off the thought, you nod, knuckles tightened beneath your long robe sleeves as your jaw clenches.

"Right. I'll be sure to come by as soon as I finish my business here, sir."

With that, a small nod flicks his head as he turns, walking pridefully away without a single glance back, closing the door in triumph as you groan.

It haunts you, the way his voice rings through your head and whispers behind your back;

honeyed low, demanding.

...

When you arrive at the infamous office, exactly 10 minutes before your actual clock-in, it barely surprises you to find Alhaitham already refined and sipping on a mug of coffee.

His dreary eyes running over the latest edition of The Steambird as he ignores your entry.

Huffing, your own eyes roll over, used to his lack of acknowledgement as you take to waiting on the soft (oh so warm and comfy) couch in his office.

Puffing the pillow up, you plop exasperated on the inviting seat, making sure to irritate him with your loudness as you reach to grab a novel from the neighboring coffee table.

It takes a couple awkward minutes as you both sit in dissonance silence, both flipping through each others respective readings. A habitual dance that was often played until either you or him in his pride chose to cough artlessly.

This time, after finding his fill of the latest news, Alhaitham's cough rings through the silence. Your momentary peace, broken, as soon as it was obtained...

"Are you done with that novel? Come, we have important matters to work on and I'd rather not waste the rest of today lingering around."

Cold and harsh, you reply in return,

"Just hand over whatever it is you're pushing on me this time, archons, it isn't as if you'll actually work on anything that doesn't benefit your personal goals Alhaitham." A tsk leaves your lips, stomping up and over to his table angrily as you peer over his newspaper.

His irises pool in irritation as the greens of his eyes close, eyelashes following. Narrowing his eyes as he surveys you back, maintaining an unknown feeling between your connection of gaze.

As of late, many mornings were spent with moments such as this, awkward responses, short curt flickering stares of temperate interactions. Alhaitham remarking about some part of your "lack of efficiency" to which you'd reply with a snide off hand remark.

Looking into his eyes, it was almost tempting to leave their chokehold on you, a want to trail your eyes down his sharp jawline, the hallows of his neck, the curves of his muscles and collarbone down to where the black of his shirts fabric tightened, defining their shape.

It felt almost reachable.

Kissable.

An urge to kiss away that silly, vexing, knowing glare of his. The uncouth way he continues to stare, waiting for you to respond first. As if he wasn't the one constantly pushing you to your limit, killing your spirit with his very presence.

What would it take to wipe that cocky morality of his?

A kiss to his jaw? Or maybe right where his soft, supple looking skin meets with the fabric of his tight shirt? Or perhaps even the back of his neck, where you once noticed was covered with equally luscious hair, and wires that connected with his headpiece.

Woah.

Where did that come from? That's not right...

This is Alhaitham, scribe of the Akademiya, your employer.

The man you detested to see each and every day. So where did these sudden fantasizing thoughts come from?

"Tch, here, lately, the Akademiya has been writing to me about the work you have done for them. It seems the work you produce meets with their subpar expectations. Congrats. This is your notice of promotion and details of increased wage. Please, feel free to celebrate this... Achievement elsewhere. After, you have finished your shift."

A letter stamped with the markings of a green wax leaf pulls from the desk, held in the palm of his hand as he continues to stare.

All this time, Alhaitham continues to look into your eyes. Prying at your very heart.

"... Oh, t-thank you sir. I'll be sure to review this..."

Still thinking about that strange string of thoughts you had, relectantly, you grab at the letter. Pausing just short of his extended hand,

"Are you... Toying with me?"

"Huh? Are you so disbelieving that I could have supported this recommendation from the scholars? Do I seem like such a dimwitted employer to you?"

"No! No... You're right, never mind. Thank you Alhaitham... Sir."

His hand is cold as you grab at the letter, electricity shocks through your fingertips as they connected with his.

A tint of warmth tingles through your body, rushing out of his office without a second thought.

Nerves run hyperactive throughout your body as your stand, knees wobbling as your back presses against the large wooden doors.

Letter crumpled into your clammy hands, a strange fuzzy feeling bubbles.

His hands... Seemed inviting. But oh, the way he stared. His eyes, they felt so tender and fond as they glowed, looking at you longingly, or so you could name.

Could visions very well do that to a wielders eyes? Make them glow with an unnerving amount of affection?

Your palms continue to grow sweaty as you try to soothe your pacing heart, pulsing still zapping through every bone in your body. A strange uneasiness clouding your head.

It takes you several minutes stood outside his door, trying to comprehend what the strange fuzziness was, before you opened the letter.

At least, maybe the letter could bring some sense into your clouded judgement.

Indeed, inside of the letter contained faked sugary words as they lined the new contractual rules. A bunch of normal office regulations listing out alongside a congratulations as you finally skip to the bottom, seeing a place to sign. Besides lay the words "Administrative Assistant" bolded and in cursive. The combining of a very, very, long set of numbers attached to the title, issuing your new wage.

Oh, sweet archons, you’re going to be rich.

Letter I: Introductions

Lately, a strange new habit has intruded on his normal life.

He often finds himself thinking a little too long about a certain someone within his life. It frustrates him to no end, considering how much it plagues him and drives him away from pure concentration to get through his workload. Alhaitham ponders the possibility of divine interference, confused as he sips on his mug of coffee.

After watching you leave in a rush just the hour before, it oddly piques him how quick you were to run out after your promotion. Though he knows you hate his guts for some reason or another, a strange tingle tugged at his chest as he had watched you leave. Strangely, he could almost say the feeling was sadness.

His eyebrows furrowed in confusion, the sad little feeling bubbling up in his pumping heart as he listened to the sound of your footsteps leaving without a second thought. How annoying.

You should at least have the decency to show your gratitude in front of him, instead of running away like he was the plague. Barely bothering to even smile at him when he had handed you the letter.

But... Your hands did feel nice against his own, a sharp zap of something eliciting through the mere touch you two had shared. He wishes that he could have been brave enough to grab at your hand, that weird tingly feeling of possessiveness as the thought of holding your hand twirled in his mind.

But only for a brief moment.

And there it is again- Moments like this were bizzare to him, for the past hour he had spent at his desk all he could think about was how your fingertips had grazed his own. An unusual sensation of what could only be described as joy as his mind danced around the idea of your hand in his.

A secondary thought of how confused you had seem peeks through, his eyes closing briefly as he tries to picture your face again. Rolling around the image of your confusion, hearing the saccharine tone of your voice thanking him as you had rushed out.

Was he really such a dreadful boss that a promotion seemed unlikely?

In any case, his eyes remain closed for a little longer, wrinkles adorned across his forehead as he tries to reimagine what he could have done wrong.

It's not as if he was some vile, inconsiderate man.

True, he had used the term 'dimwitted' and perhaps he had been known to be a little sharp tongued in the past. But it was all within sound reasoning. Right? …

Snapping out of his trance, his hand reaches for the tanned papers laid beside his mug. Bolden letters, inked in black, flowery design stretched out as it reads "Penpal Program ! hosted by The Steambird". Reviewing the contents of the column before placing his fingers around a random pen, itching to sign his name on the line. Perhaps taking the time to connect with people outside of simply you would anchor him back into reality. Anything that wasn't the constant cycle of you that replayed in his head.

It was unfortunate to say, but the amount of time he had lost in his work just thinking about what it would be like to spend his days with you really did affect his intellect more than he would like to admit. More unfortunate yet, even his 'friends' had taken notice. The bothersome room mate he housed, Kaveh, had found it amusing to make a game out of guessing what had gotten him so dazed as of late.

If it wasn't for the fact that sometimes, and only sometimes, Kaveh could offer decent advice, perhaps he wouldn't have considered the idea of figuring out one distraction with another... temporary one.

Afterall, why try and understand this vexing emotion when it would mean, he would have to confront you head on. Which sounds incredibly more irksome.

His room mate had been quick to point out this was not sound logic-

Kaveh did suggest, that perhaps Alhaitham could anonymously bring up this issue with a pen pal. A clean slate with no attachment to neither him or you, and could provide reasoning as to why he felt so... Unlike him. It would do him good to have someone to consult with, since, to his annoyance, Kaveh had stated he wasn't one to speak on his truths to anyone else, finding it annoying to deal with people in real life.

In his moment of brief intelligence, Alhaitham remembers him bringing up the mention that journalling and writing letters was a scientifically proven method of narrowing down how one feels. A key part that could help Alhaitham get to the bottom of his trance.

Though it peeved him that the blonde had been right, it was a good idea to journal his thoughts. It was simply a bonus that he would be receiving live feedback. Not that he would need it. Certainly, after taking some time to think it through these symptoms, it would obviously turn out to be he was right, and these feelings of butterflies were absolutely nothing at all.

Yet, fleeting memories of your face flash in his mind. Uncontrollable as he signs his name on the small contract slip below the newspaper. Thinking to himself how enchanting it would be to understand you. To peer into your vast thoughts, wondering if you too, ever contemplated him. Ever noticed him.

After spending nearly an hour ranting on to Lambad about your new promotion and massive paycheck, you find yourself in the establishment again, dwelling over a new dilemma.

Sitting on a stool in the Lambad Tavern once more, the lights flicker softly. Looking outside, the sky envelopes in a dark night. A chill breezing past your ankles as you scribble. The tiny noise of scratches and cups clinkering in the background as you squint your eyes.

Lambad peers over your shoulder, plates and cups alike stacked high on plates as his muscles flex to balance them. Raising a brow he looks curiously at the segment asking for your origins.

'Hello Participant! The SteamBird welcomes you to our new program. As of the new Inazuma border opening, our catalog figured it was time to branch out and bring together the people of Tevyat!

For suspenseful purposes, participants will not be allowed to reveal their true name. Keeping it a secret will be more exciting for both sides, don’t you think?

Below please list: age, gender, place of birth, and address for delivery.’

In your messy handwriting, out laid the letters spelling out the name of the nation of freedom.

"Mondstadt? I didn't realize you weren't native to Sumeru [Name]! Gosh... I have so many memories from sailing to Mondstadt. Tell me, did you move to Sumeru for your academics?"

It had been so long since you had been back to Mondstadt, having lived in Sumeru throughout your teen years, that the habit of writing it for documents was the bare minimum of what was Mondstadt-like.

"Oh! Yes, I did move here for the Akademiya. Actually, I left the nation so long ago I barely even remember what it was like..."

"Really? Well that's mighty interesting! Hey, you should write that on your first letter! I'm sure your pen pal would love to hear about that little journey!"

"Huh, wait. You're right, that is a good idea... Thanks."

Tilting your head, you laze over the blank piece of paper. The newsletter for the sign up stuffed to the side of the bar table as you glare at the letter.

Sigh, and so the writers block.

Existential dread looms over your head as you glare harder at the letter. Maybe, if you stare long enough at the paper it'll write itself.

It takes you eons to adjust, shifting in your seat as you tune out the sound of clinking dishes in the background. Your pen tapping just over the paper in essence as you try to scour for something to start with. In final, you decide on the simple message of hello and a few follow up questions,

'Hello friend! This is your exchange penpal, [alias]!

Nice to meet you. How are you doing? I hope for your sake you're doing well!

As an ice breaker, here's the basics on me, your pen pal. I am originally from Mondstadt, I'm a scholar, and I work tirelessly because my stupid boss thinks he can shove all his "lesser" work on me! Honestly, I moved from Mondstadt a long while ago to pursue a degree under the Haravatat Darshan... But it's been an upward battle ever since I was recommended (well actually, volen-told) to become the second hand for my department. Sorry, you're going to hear a lot about this boss... Unfortunately, he is a pestering constant in my life. Honestly, this would all be fixed if he was just a bit more understanding... Or maybe even used his annoying voice to communicate! It would be great if you had advice on how to get rid of him. Preferably in a corporate fashion, but I don't expect that at all! But enough about my silly world, who are you?

What do you do pen pal? Where are you from? What is your favorite subject to gloss over? Do you also suffer from daily troubles? Do you have any interest in studies or are you more of a physical person? That's totally cool too!

I'm not sure what else to write, but here's a fun fact? Maybe this can be our little thing!

Did you know, the first ever gear was created out of wood? At some point, a nation decided to use it for windmills and waterwheels. Though Tevyatian history doesn't really define where it originated, I've always considered the true contender as my home town! Mondstadt is so full of breezy winds and windmills it would be hard to think otherwise. '

Yours truly, [alias] :)

Adding on between the lines, your fingers release from the pen, stretching out instinctively before folding the letter, all marked with messy, clearly annoyed handwriting, before bringing the lip of the matching envelope to your tongue.

Carefully sliding the letter into casing, you grin with a thumbs up towards Lambad, who watches you in proud fondness. Returning the thumbs up, you skid the chair back, packing your stuff away quickly as you shove both the letter and the promotion letter into your pockets. Without a second glance back, you skip gleefully towards Katheryne's Adventurer's Guild.

Mid way, in all your excitement from finishing the days work, a part of your shoe catches in an uneven part of the road. In a moment, your whole body tilts, sending you crashing down in surprise.

...

You never touched the ground.

But, when you open your closed eyes, wincing for impact, your faced completely upright.

Not a single bruise nor scratch. Completely standing still as if you hadn't almost made a show out of your clumsy self.

"Oh! Are you alright? I hope you aren't hurt!" a small, child-like giggle.

Where is it coming from? Are you hallucinating?...

Maybe the excitement has gone to your head. Whipping your head around, you see no one. Not a single soul. Only the flickering yellow lamps as they illuminate the path in front of you, highlighting the stupid little dent in the road that had almost tripped you.

But still, not a single person, only a faint giggle that echoes in your ear in a whisper.

Strange...

Rubbing your eyes, you shake your head again. Looking around one more time in awe, trying to adjust your eyes in hopes of seeing whoever- whatever- was speaking to you. It takes seconds as you stand still, scanning your surroundings for any little detail.

Nothing but a small green leaf floats around.

Before long, you're scratching at your eyes again, pulling at your ears just to check if you were dreaming. You weren't, but still, an uneasy nerve sends a shiver down your spine. Urging you quickly to run towards the Adventerer's Guild to submit your letter.

It takes less than a minute to throw your short letter on the pile stacked on the counter. Scurrying off before that creepy child voice comes back and really proves you're crazy.

Stranger yet, the faint image of Alhaitham floats in your head, his blank expression bringing a sort of comforting solace in your head as you mad dash towards your apartment.

LETTER II + III: Personality (or lack thereof?)

When Alhaitham arrives home, the click of the door alerts a certain irritable blonde of his entry. A small tch leaves his lips as Kaveh furiously runs up to him, not a moment to spare between.

"Where have you been?! You took way too long, I almost died of anticipation!"

"Hmph. I was conducting business as usual, you would understand if you knew what it was like to maintain a constant job-"

"Why you! How dare you! You and I both know that I maintain everything in this house day and night!! Oh never mind that- Look, I got the letter for you from that Steambird catalog! Isn't this great?!" His face flushed red from exasperation, Kaveh practically pounces on Alhaitham, flailing the cream envelop, marked with a cute little wax stamp of flowers. Jumping up and down in excitement Kaveh pushes Alhaitham out of the door way. Too impatient to hear his response, instead taking to pushing him down onto the living room coach, shoving the letter into his hands.

"Are you perhaps concussed? It is merely a letter of simple exchange, why exactly are you so impressed Kaveh? Or is it that even bare socialite activities are foreign to you." Sneering playfully, Alhaitham's eyes glint with superiority as he looks at Kaveh, whose leg was practically bouncing in anticipation.

"Just- Why just open it! I want to know all about the unfortunate man-or women, who had to be partnered with you!"

It takes several minutes to settle his room mate down, much to his annoyance. Before ripping the envelope open to read your letter, admittedly, there was a twinge of hopefulness in his heart when the sight of blackened handwriting appeared out of the opening.

...

"Oh, sweet Celestia, they're relatable! And friendly too! Thank goodness for that!" Kaveh sighs in relief, taking the letter out of Alhaitham's hand to read over again at your letter. In his face a smile of childlike wonder as he considered the contents. Somewhere in his mind, he was grateful that the person wasn't some random old man... But rather someone who seemed to relate to his own situation and seemed quite young.

"Wasn't the point of coercing me into this... Silly letter exchange because you wanted me to get to know people and give perspective to my issues? This seems more like your own exchange rather than mine Kaveh." Sighing, Alhaitham yanks back the letter in force, glossing over its contents.

"Huhh?! You are so-... Okay yes- Fine! It was, but that doesn't mean I can't enjoy the experience with you. But... Come to think of it, you do need to write a response letter to them. Afterall, they seem friendly enough, and archons forbid you mess up this befriending too because of your pestering cockiness!"

"That is not true- I simply am-"

"Up up up! Shh. I do not trust the likes of you Alhaitham. So, as the most forgiving and kindhearted friend I am, I will help you give them in advice in return! Afterall, an annoying boss is probably not something you can relate to, can you." Snickering to himself, Kaveh quickly whips out a pen and paper, slamming it on the table in triumph.

"It seems like their problems are issues caused by their own neglect of setting boundaries. In fact, I truly believe I could come up with better advice then whatever you may have to offer. It would be so much easier if they would just try to avoid contact with their boss unless necessary."

"I cannot even believe you said that out loud. Never mind, you really do need help."

...

Within two exhausting work nights, an answer comes in the mail. Surprisingly fast for an international event. In anticipation, you rip open the nearly folded envelope, the postal stamp covered, hidden from any snooping. Unfortunately.

‘Hello [alias]. It is a pleasure to meet you.

For the purposes of our little exchange, you may refer to me as “σοφός(Sophós)”. I am not one for small talk, so I’d like to get through these formalities quickly.

As for my current occupation, I am currently an acting... (the hand writing darkens here, almost as if the writer paused to consider before continuing) manager for my workplace. It is rather easy if I may express. Many of the workers that interact with are simple in mind and can for the most part, handle themselves. Leading on, in response to where I am from, I choose to keep that confidential.

After all, did this program not specifically request us to hide or names as to add on to the suspense of interacting with an anonymous person?

It seems you failed to read clearly through the intentions of this program. It is alright however, that is an overlooking on your part which I will look over.

Moving on from this, I particularly enjoy reading long complex books which others cannot understand. I do not hold any preference towards what these novels may contain. However, often I find myself reading on the mechanisms of products more often than others. Privy to your Darshan if I must identify. Reading this, I think you can infer I am someone who enjoys academic knowledge rather than physical prowess. This would be an astute assumption as I am more often than not, researching and accompanied with a piece of literature at all times.

Of all your questions, I did save this for last, as I unfortunately find myself depending on a bit of outside advice. This is much to my own dismay, as I am always a person of rationale.

In the past months, I’ve found a strange phenomenon happening in the region where my heart lies. Whenever I meet with this coworker of mine, just seeing them sends this… Incomprehensible wave of pulses, they are uneven and not the usual beats per minute that my cardiovascular system would sustain.

It is also strange that alongside this symptom, I fail to focus on my perfect nine to five routine. Often, I find myself unwillingly dozing off, abnormal memories haunt me while doing so. Worse yet, these symptoms have also affected my [insert smart word for good brain] as I cannot focus and feel often lightheaded without a sensible pattern of reason why.

Now, it could be that these are physical issues that must be addressed by a professional, but I have reason to believe otherwise. Say [fake name] what is your insight on this dilemma? I would appreciate any thoughts you may have to give.

In appreciation for your counselling as for the spirit of this literary exchange, here is a fact about orthography. Of the undefined origins, researchers have suggested the reason that different nations of Teyvat write from left or right or vice versa could be cause of the material our ancestors once used to write. Example wise, how ink would drip down scrolls, so they needed time to dry. Afterall, our population has always been privy to dextrality. If Inazuman's wrote from right to left, the ink they used would have smudged under their clothes. Thus, leading to the change of writing furthest away to adhere to this problem.

It is a pleasure to work with you,

Signed, σοφός'

Wow, as much as life had taught you not to judge by first impressions, it was quite hard not to.

The letter you had received in turn felt very abnormally. Cocky. In a way, maybe it bothered you a bit more than it should have, but the way 'Sophós' wrote out their letter reminded you of a someone. So incredibly like someone and yet you couldn't put your finger on it.

The way they wrote though, was nonetheless entertaining, it was almost as if they were a shut in. And though judgement was not one of your mottos, it was honestly kind of cute how they seemed stiffened to write to someone. Honestly, it was surprising how it didn't provoke you. Thinking about it, a sudden realization comes to your head-

Aww- how sweet. It seems like your pen pal is inexperienced in the world of sociability. they were struggling with romantic feelings. Boy, was it hilariously dense for someone who seemed very smart.

Of course, it had taken you a moment too to realize what their symptoms were. But, for obvious signs of puppy love it felt so amusing to read about the tea. Heh, even the description of it all was so first love coded. To a tea. All covered under the guise of intelligence and yet your pen pal was reallyyy dense.

It doesn't take long before your quick to cozy up on your bed, a book on your lap as a surface to write on, as you click your pen. Looking down as you scrunch your face in concentration, giggling a little inside. (Maybe the interaction was healing a bit of the teenage girl you had burnt out years ago)

'Dear Sophós,

Wow! It sounds like you've got quite the life. Does it ever get boring? I sure wish I could be there in your position... A nice relaxing managerial job would make me feel so much better. Imagine the benefits! Unless of course, your coworkers are horrible and don't cooperate. But yours do so that's awesome!

Anyways, about your- as you said "cardiovascular" problems and memory issues. Fear not! I think you're just suffering under the common ailment of your "first ever crush"! Which is superr (you had made sure to bolden your words with several exclamation marks) cool! It's of course, nothing to be embarrassed about and it's totally normal!

I won't pry, considering this is all you asked for, but this isn't something you need to go to the doctors about! So don't worry. But crushes like yours have drastic differences in symptoms. I'm guessing yours has just begun to develop? Be careful! This illness can take down even some of the strongest! (a joking winking face follows suit)

If you want advice, I'd say just go with the flow! Do whatever you've been doing up to now, but hey, if this person you're crushing on seems to have flushed cheeks, or maybe suspicious behavior towards you to, that could be a sign of shared liking?

That's honestly all I can say... Not really someone who grew up involved in this! Still, a lot of good advice can be found in Inazuman novels! If you really want to move forward with this, read up on some of the weekly top choices for their romance novels!

Best of luck, just remember, consent is always key! Don't pressure whoever it is, give them space, but show your interest in small gestures! Maybe... like doing stuff for them? It's always nice to receive gestures from people :) whether it be gifts or freed up work!

Your awesome wingman, [alias]'

P.S Fontaine's leisurely otters will hold hands when they sleep so they don't drift off from each other! They also sleep on beds of native marine plants like we do on mattresses.

...

'Greetings [alias],

This is a very peculiar variable to reconsider into my life. Indeed, I fail to distinguish if this... Crush is a benefit for me or a burden. Can it be both? What do you think? On one hand, they motivate me to arrive at this hole of a job, but on the other, they seem to distract me from my duties as a manager of sorts. Perhaps, I could utilize these emotions to do otherwise?... I will have to research into this. It peeves me that a person such as I am struggling with these inexplicable feelings. However, now that I have solved the root of my symptoms, I feel as though I can properly move forward and decide from here.

I appreciate your help [alias]. In return, as for your qualms. Perhaps it would be best to consider that your boss is always going to be a constant. I think it is best to try and not dwell on what you can't fix and instead work on what you can do. For example, refusing to do work outside of the office, perhaps even coming in early to work with other workers to finish the days load.

This is all the advice I could offer, I find it quite difficult to relate to this situation, so I hope this suffices. I know you will be okay, simply try to remain above the average work and get caught up on what you are doing and beyond.

As for a fact, several of the fruits from native nations have been a biproduct of human trading. The revered sweet tangy peaches of Sumeru are actually native to the Liyue region, having been brought over a long time ago.

Much appreciated, σοφός'

Upon receiving the letter, a chuckle escaped your lips. Smiling at the sheer idiocy of the letter, almost dumbfounded at how obviously entrapped your pen pal was with their crush.

Perhaps this program was more interesting than any sort of office life drama.

...

Smiling to yourself at their feigned confidence, it wasn't surprising to you found yourself re-reading the letter you had recieved on the way to the office. (To think a new friend to bother was all it took for you to feel better about yourself)

Maybe staying up late to continuing to write letters back and forth between your pen pal was a stretch, but it did excite you. And the darkening of your eye bags was barely noticeable as your mood brightened by every interaction.

Although it was strange at how quick the mailing was to you still, you had come to terms with the fact that it benefitted you in talking with your new friend.

And of course, you had taken your friends advice very seriously. Out of respect for their help.

Still giddy at the thought of your letters, the clicking of your shoes against the marble rang a warning bell to your coworkers, all at their usual buzz as they stared. Of all mornings, today their whispers seemed even more noticeable to you. All of them murmuring under hushed turned heads about the smile you held walking. A curious comment caught from one conversation to the next, wondering why you were suddenly so cheerful as if your boss wasn't the debby downer Al Haitham.

This time, it didn't bother you at all. Instead, you found yourself even waving at your friendlier coworkers, greeting them happily as if this were a normal morning. Not even the thought of Al Haitham could bring you down from your new friend. The perfect pick me up following your new gigantic paycheck.

Dumbfounded, the gathering Sumerian scholars begin to fade out, returning your warm greetings as they scampered. Better not to ruin your cheery mood they feared. For the past weeks, they had found you abnormally happy, even to meet Alhaitham.

A melody humming from your lips, your fingers fiddle over the corner of the envelope, sealing the precious letter. Finding a giddy joy in a new friend you could console in and gossip with as you march up into Alhaitham's office.

Bursting in, your voice thunders out,

"Hellooo Sumeru! How are you sir? What needs to be done today Alhaitham? Hey,

"Stop. Wait [Name]." Alhaitham stands abruptly from his seat, raising a hand to pause you as you shut up immediately. Eyes widening as you took a deep breath of air.

Almost hesitantly, his hand drops to your shoulder, patting it, weirdly.

(Honestly it felt very nice to have that closure, but he doesn't need to know that)

His hand takes to guiding you to the coach, the one you often found yourself waiting on as he took his time finishing his morning newspaper.

Speaking of which, where was the newspaper? He wasn't laid back in his chair like usually reading it when you walked in, was he?

Plopping you down on the couch oh it's soft AND comfy-

"You... Seem out of it lately. For the past week, I have observed changes in your work behavior."

His voice (but mostly the soft... comfy... cozy couch) really did soothe you away from any argument.

"What is unusual for me is that you have been ahead of even me in our work. Every day I return to this office, I find that another scholar rushes in to give me more paperwork as typically instructed by the higher ups, only to atypically come back within the next day to see all my extra work gone"

Silence rings.

"Rightt...? Well, sorry if it bothered you Hai- Sir. I've been coming in early every morning to finish it. That way I don't have to stay late and you don't have anything to complain- ahem- I mean worry about," a lazy smile spreads across your lips as you drowsily glance up at Alhaitham. (That lack of sleep was hitting now)

His body looms over the back of the coach, broad shoulder bulging a little much as he crosses his arms. Glaring at you with an interested brow.

"Really? Is that so?"

(Something about a man with his muscles and his voice saying that to you did things they shouldn't do)

Every vein across his arms flexed a bit as he shuffled to ask, muscles flexing at every move, defined under the morning light peering from the window behind him. His silver hair reflecting god-like down on you as you continued to lean your head back, pulling into him until he leg was just barely making contact with the back of your head. The bare touch sending a heat towards your head that was utterly suffocating.

Laying like that, you could see the way his Adams apple moved delicately as he breathed, the way his eyes mirrored shades of greens to greys when the shadows moved.

A lazy, serene tension laid thick as thieves between the two of you.

Not uncomfortable you'd like to add, but sweet. As he stared it felt almost as if you could see his eyes shifting. From that stern scolding look, to, as seconds passed; soft, relaxing, worried, a dotting love somewhere in that sea of feigned control.

"Tch. Perhaps it would be wise to consider that work is not a mandatory activity outside of your assigned hours [Name]. Afterall, you just received that promotion bonus, what use is there in overworking yourself more than necessary?"

His voice turns slow, calculating, the same as his eyes when he looks at you, his whole body seemingly turns light as he stares. The way he looks at you now, you could have sworn you had him like honey in your hands.

Carefully, not waiting for your response, he moves to tuck back a piece of your hair that had strayed from the rest.

His fingers again, felt light, but home on your skin as they sent fluttering heat towards everywhere they touched.

Lingering to cup your forehead, and then your cheek, his eyes still watching in absolute infatuation, they fit perfectly against your face. Molding there like they were meant to be.

Gentle, inviting gestures of physical touch.

"As an official assignment as your acting sage, I am asking you to rest here until I return from an errand. Do you understand?"

"Mmm..." It was quite hard to protest when you could barely even find the will to keep your eyes open to look back at him.

Your head drops from it's stretched position, your body snuggling closer into the couch. Your eyes are starting to drift to a close, fluttering shut as his hand combes through your hair. Delicately pulling through where it could and letting go to return to your head. The whole motion setting you up for deep, deep, uncontrollable drowsiness.

By now, the morning sun had risen above Alhaitham's head, it's tender warmth cuddling to you as a blanket of sorts. The whole set up felt almost- no, was perfect for a reenergizing nap.

One that was well deserved you thought..

Blinking in intervals as you felt the warmth of his hands leave briefly. Quietly, a pressure draws over your lap, maybe a blanket? Who could tell.

His hands return to comb through your hair, still sending their tingling heat throughout your body as you murmured.

"Mmm, sleep well... [Name]"

...

Walking back to his desk, Alhaitham finds a sense of calmness eroding away at his pacing heart.

Just watching you stare up at him, doe like eyes following his hands like butterflies to milkweed. The very sight almost brought him to his knees. For a man made of a steel core, he's never once felt the way he did when you stared at him, looking back at him as if he was the only one in the world.

By gods, you made him feel so alive.

The way his heart raced was unlike anything else he's ever felt. The blood rushing to his head and without thinking, he was already reaching out, caressing your cheek gently with one hand, gripping the back of the chair with his other.

Sinfully, he wasn't sure if he could have handled holding the whole of you in both of his hands in that moment. Everything about you made him quake in his shoes, his body always felt so light. The scene replays in his head.

The every aching moment he spent, gripping at the back of the chair, careful not to disturb you, thinking how horrible of a man he had. Where was all his self control now?

All he wanted was to hold you. Grab you by the cheeks, but oh, so carefully, so preciously, because he couldn't ever think of hurting you. Gods no.

In the back of his mind, Alhaitham could only think, in a sliver of his mind, were the archons testing him? Begging in his core, the very urge to kiss you. Shower you in affection, hold you so dearly in his arms as he would feel you melt into him.

You were just so... Much.

The most he ever wanted.

Looking down at his desk, he grabs at the torn open letter, on top, a pinned checklist. Vaguely, the makings of your handwriting lay on top of the smooth paper.

Except, stapled to it, a checklist, small but noticeable in a light green color, written out in his writing.

How to win her over:

-Be consensual, but always remember consent

-Do stuff for her (Possibly lighten her workload?... She has been doing much as of late.)

-Read more romance novels. (A lot of this male love interests seem to give things with meaning, flower language and such. Perhaps a bouquet? Would she even like that?)

Staring at his checklist, he promptly scratched out the third item of the list. A flushing pink spreading throughout his body, palms unusually sweaty as he could feel his body heating up.

Gods, he was smitten. And it was all your fault.

Stuffing the checklist and letter into his pockets, he found himself stomping out, embarrassed at his flushed face. He'd be sure to not meet Kaveh on the way out, the architect would simply make a whole parade of it.

Stumbling out of his office, he miraculously found it in him to resume his stoic face, carefully closing the door as to not wake you.

He looks back one more time as the image of you floats in his head. This time, it comes with a smile.

...

The House of Daena remains to be the sole place Alhaitham finds enjoyable.

Having just walked out, a stack of book carries between his arms, light in his grasps. Before he could rush back to the office however, he finds a blonde (thankfully not Kaveh), a fairy, and Nahida, walking towards him.

"Alhaitham! Hello! How is the Acting Grand Sage doing? Wowee! It's been a while since we've seen you! What'cha up too?"

The voice of the floating little Paimon rapidly approuches, following behind the traveler waves, quiet as ever.

Tailing behind, Lesser Lord Kusanali follows, bumbling with a sweet smile as always.

"Hello Paimon, Traveller, Lesser Lord Kusanali I am more than well thank you. I was on my way back to the office actually. Coincidently, I am not off of work yet as it is still within my work hours. I was simply checking out books for... a coworker." Shifting to his side, he hides the title of his novels pressed to his leg. Carefully trying to keep hidden the titles and clear images of light colors, pictures of illustrated fictional characters holding each other. The titles even more evidence that they were in fact romance novels.

"That sounds wonderful! But please, we're long time friends now! You don't have to call me Lesser Lord. It feels... Well, ehe, unusual for what we've gone through"

"Paimon agrees, you don't have to worry about formalities like that Alhaitham!" Paimon laughs.

"We're all friends here aren't we? Your too stiff sometimes hehe... But! Anyways, those books look interesting. What are they about?" Peeps Nahida, her cheery tone matching exactly the way she looked, Alhaitham thought. Cheery, bright, and decorated with various Sumerian leaves.

His breath hitches, "Hmm. They aren't anything of interest. In fact, they're quite confidential for their intended purposes. Actually, I really must get these back to my coworker."

"Aww... Really? Darn! Well, since you're on your way back to the office, why don't the three of us all come down there with you? It'll be fun to catch up on your life Alhaitham! Maybe we can even say hi to Kaveh on the way!"

A breath of exhaust leaves his lips.

"We won't bother you too much! It would be so very interesting to see what you do Alhaitham" Nahida's voice pops in, traveller nodding along as the two press on. All three of them pushing into him, eyes glowing in curiosity. (Would it be a divine offense to reject a gods request?... Tempting.)

"Prettyy please? Oh grand acting sage sir?"

It seems his work evening would be lasting longer than he assumed. It also didn't seem like the three of them would give in anytime soon. Rather than later, he'd appreciate getting back to you before you woke up and started working again before he could say no.

Out of all his options, unfortunately, it seemed he would have to bring the lot with him.

"Huff, fine. But you have no need to call me grand acting sage. And do be mindful and quiet when you enter. I have a guest in my office who I urgently must tend too."

Before Paimon could open her mouth, Alhaitham made sure to turn quick on his heels and start speed walking towards his office. But even that was not enough to stop Paimon from asking questions of the guest, who it was, and if they were important to him or not.

The poor traveler had to keep holding Paimon back, threatening to eat her as dinner if she didn't hush up.

...

When you woke up, your body well rested, an eerie feeling followed suit.

"Holy shit."

Almost immediately after gaining full conscious, all of what had happened replayed in your mind. Painfully tracing over every single detail.

The way his hands had caressed your face.

Oh, great archons be damned.

Your fingers ran through your hair, pulling at it as you squealed into the nearest pillow. Absolute regret pulsing through your head as you remember how soft he had held you just hours before. Almost choking you in a burning heat that blew up in your face. Over and over you re-imagine it. Tenderly touching your own fingers to the places, he had caressed, longing for strange closeness again.

Footsteps gradually approach the grand doors.

"Shh... Please be wary of your voices. My secretary is asleep in my office as of currently."

The familiar deep voice of Alhaitham's rings out behind the door, muffled but still audible to your ears. The heat burns as fast as your heart's beat.

"Are we bothering them? We can always leave Alhaitham..."

A voice, deeper in tone, yet not one you remember, speaks up. Right as the door creaks open and Alhaitham peers in cautiously. Eyes narrowing in on you.

His stare stills you cold.

"Ah... It appears that she's already woken up. Never mind then, it'll be fine Traveler, come on in you all."

By the sound of his voice, and the slight twitch of his lips, you couldn't tell if he was bothered by the company or if he was enjoying himself.

It was a bit of place, watching as a young blonde man, hair beautifully braided back and adorned with simple clothes walked in, a nervous tap to his steps. Following suit... A very bouncy fairy? And a young girl? Adorably, she pokes her head first by the crack of the door, before seeing you and smiling brightly, feeling confident enough to skip in.

What strange company for Alhaitham. Admittedly, you never once thought to dwell in Alhaitham's personal relationships. You were always so busy finding him hateful and prude to notice if he had any actual connections with people aside from you and the workplace. It was quite the sight to see his assumed friends to be two younger children and a foreigner by the looks of it.

Alhaitham motions for the guests to take a seat on the opposing sides of you. Finding his way over to sit beside the man he called 'Traveler'.

A bit of your heart drops.

The whole couch was empty except for you, the couch he was sitting on with the Traveler was even more cramped then if he had sat with you.

(It's nothing, right? Immature noticing's is all)

"Well, Traveler, Paimon, Lesser Lord- ahem, Nahida, I suppose I should introduce you to my second hand, this is [Name]. An employee personally appointed by the Haravatat Darshan. They have... cough, well, been a great help to me."

"Oooh! Hello [Name]! Wow... Paimon's never heard Alhaitham compliment anyone before! You must be some sort of superhero! Paimon is pleased to meet you!" It takes only a blink for the squeaky fairy to get up in your face, zooming circles around your head as she studies your face curiously, a finger at her lip as she looks.

"I um- Thank you! I try my best really... It's a pleasure to meet you too Paimon. As for you Traveler! Are you the same Traveler everyone else has been gossiping about? Wow... It must be really tiring to travel around the nation like you do!"

"Oh, you don't need to flatter. Thank you, I try. I'm sure you must do a great amount to for Alhaitham. He is well... A very studious worker" Traveler nods, smiling as he turns to Alhaitham. The two sharing a secretive look.

Moments pass on, light conversation flowing between the five of you. The traveler and his friend bombarding you about all that you do. Wondering about your interests in mechanics, curious of your life's story.

Occasionally, the sweet young girl Nahida would butt in, asking about your thoughts the more obscure matters of the latest mechanical developments. 'What do you think of transversal waves Ms. [Name]? Have you ever thought about applying them too...' It surprised you how knowledgeable she was about mechanical waves and even beyond. Deep, thoughtful theories passing between you and her, a common connection you found, was that she often wondered about the makings of mechanical wears. It was nice, pleasant to feel welcomed after the momentary bitterness you felt. (It still lingered, but you found yourself dismissing it as childish.)

Alhaitham and Traveler seemed well content talking amoungst themselves of... Adventures. Something you never once knew about Alhaitham. Never would you have thought he was a man of travelling. Though it was common for Akademiya students to be well-rounded in every field, it left you a bit hollow that this fact had been hidden from you.

As the hour passed, it only grew. The silly backhanded thoughts in your mind. 'Who are they talking about?'.

'I've never knew his break from work was because of the Traveler...'

'Why is it so easy for them to talk to eachother?'

It was hard for you to wrap your head around their conversation. Passing phrases like foreign language to you. How was it they seemed smarter then you? Why did it seem they had known each other forever? What was it about their allure that made them so easy to feel frustrated for?

By the closing second, as much as you tried to listen to Nahida's remarks you could barely stop the way your eyes unwillingly travelled back to the way the two sat with each other. The pressed down cushions beneath them caving in, pushing their bodies towards eachother.

They seemed to know everything about him. More than you had ever gotten to ask him about. They knew about what he did in his free time... The things he hated. The books he reads. Especially the studies he liked talking about.

Why does your stomach feel funny? Your heart just minutes ago was beating far past its average rate, but watching the way Traveler and Alhaitham sat close had dropped it to a cold, fearful low.

An awkward silence passes between the room, your eyes to busy fixating on the way Alhaitham didn't bother to scoot away from the unnerving touch of bare fingertips.

Suddenly it feels a little too real all over again.

You knew this feeling. The dead pit way your stomach felt empty. The way your head felt numb, the way your heart stung. A dark, selfish, want bubbling in the place you held Alhaitham dear.

Being from a school of top-academics, it was expected from all the students to feel the inevitable complex about each other. The one they labelled the "inferiority complex". A hidden part of the system everyone ignored. A deep, pushed down hatred the scholars would often feel.

As successful as your life had been academically, never once had you learned how to deal with it.

The drowning thoughts that took over, telling you that everything you ever strived for wasn't enough.

There are smarter people.

A breath sucks through your teeth.

There are people with more awards.

You breath it back out.

There are people who have gotten visions, divined and noticed by gods.

Your mind fuzzes.

There are people, who are simply just better.

The air feels cold.

In truth, it was never explained to you how to defeat this dragon. This terrifying beast that told you things you knew somewhere in there was wrong.

Your worth shouldn't be compared to different situations.

You knew better.

Your worth isn't determined by the quality of your work.

You wanted to believe.

But every striving student feels the pain of being casted aside. Outshined by another child's brilliance. Their more outstanding grades, their more outstanding test scores, their more outstanding glow.

The Akademiya was no place for the weak minded. Not when there was so much to accomplish and so much more to prove. When put in a palace of the talent, you felt talentless. But it was never like it wasn't your only struggle. Other problems came along, and they fought with you, and they tugged at your heartstring and your mind, but in the end, your value in comparison, your life, and your inferiority were the one thing that stayed constant.

Maybe that was why, when he had shown up in your life for the first time, you found your aged wine, mulled with the crushed fruits bared from your nights of overwork, from what ifs, poured on top of his silky grey hair. Until it eventually soaked him, and all you could do was take of your shoes. Stepping over those same fruits, working over and over, day and night, crushing the new wine, all to pour back on his head.

And yet he still outshined your efforts.

Sitting on top of his throne of amaryllis. Glowing in color, brightening his everlasting superiority.

And yet your dry, mulled fruits, remained sad in color.

Comparison.

A part of you remembers when he had first walked into your life. A blooming young student you were, always outdoing the rest. Your every waking hour was spent on wishing for the wonderful, for true greatness. Ingenius discoveries and more.

But the moment he had taken your seat upon the throne, the fruits below had dimmed in color.

Yes, Alhaitham had always been as glorious as he was now. Everlasting genius he was. He sparked a flame in you to improve, to be better, to never fall behind.

But never once had he taken a notice to you. Never once had you found him talking to you. Instead, the months would pass by, and you would never once catch up again.

Every, single, class and award, he took rightfully his.

Stone cold face peering down at the shining medallions, a scoff upon his perfectly smooth and youthful face, before walking off stage, leaving you to take the ranks of fourth or fifth.

No matter what you did, he never did realize you were a competitor.

Never once did he even congratulate you, even at graduation, when the two of you stood side by side in class photo.

Maybe that's why when you had finally secured the job working for the Grand Sage, you were overjoyed. Even if it wasn't what you had imagined, you had finally made it a step closer to his pedestal.

But when you had introduced yourself, a sunny naive smile dotted on your face, he gave you the same disgusted face he had always given you.

His voice only came in demands from there on.

He didn't remember you. Not at all.

No, he chose to forget you.

...

It had taken you months for him to even remotely warm up to you, and longer days yet for him to talk about himself with you. At some point, the effort became nauseating.

You couldn't stand to even mutter his name.

So perhaps the Traveler was a better person than you were. A smarter person than you. Maybe they were in league with Alhaitham from the very beginning. Maybe to him, he thought the Traveller as someone of his level. A worthy ruler to sit beside his pedestal.

The feeling boils deeper, that sickening feeling of jealousy produced by those fruits of your younger years you had so desperately tried to hide.

(A tear threatens to trickle.)

"Ah... [Name]? Are you alright? You seem out of it right now. Do you feel tired again?" The Traveler notices the shift in your eyes. Your face having dropped a while ago, staring into nothingness.

"Ms. [Name]?..." The green in Nahida's eyes swirl a bit, a nervous worry across her face now, noticing you aren't responding.

"Oh. Sorry. It seems I'm not feeling too well right now Traveller, Nahida. I'm sorry, but it seems like I must leave for the night. It is after my workhours anyhow..." your voice sounds meek in comparison to the Travelers.

"Oh no... That's no good. Would you like one of us to walk you home? Maybe Alhaitham?" Nahida suggests. Oh, bless her sweet heart.

"That... Would not be very professional Nahida. If it is alright, there are matters I must discuss with the Traveler in private."

Again, you notice how there's a glint of catching eyes between the two men.

"Oh, but Paimon doesn't think [Name] should go home this late at night by herself! We spent so long talking it's near night already."

Your gut sinks a little more, embarrassment flooding through your system, "It's fine guys. I can go by myself! My home is just a walks away."

"It's okay! I can go with you [Name]! There is something I'd like to talk to you about too!" Nahida peeps up. Looking at her smile, something about her careful gaze felt almost motherly.

Quite comforting even.

"... Thank you Nahida. Sure, why not." There is no will in you to argue.

After short good byes, you leave, breath hitched as you fight the urge to look back at his silver eyes.

Your sure they must have looked beautiful, as they always had.

...

That night, after plopping down on the couch and thanking Nahida profusely, she thanks you, stating something odd,

"I hope you sleep well [Name]. You seemed troubled earlier. May the Archons watch over you."

Barely enough energy to spare, you find yoursef on the hard wooden floors. Chilling to the touch, but most welcomed compared to the humid weather.

That night, strange memories form dreams, merciless as they plague you.

Flashes of memories of you and Alhaitham, back from the Akademiya days switch from one to the next. Almost in parallel, you'd remember one scene, before a flash of change, to the perspective of someone else.

It was like you were watching yourself from your perspective to an outsiders.

And every time, without a fail, the change would take away Alhaitham. Instead, the outsider would murmur in frustration, low in tone, things you could barely make out. But a longing, desperate feeling, unlike the one you had felt away, would find its way back to the outsider, every time they would look at you.

It was weird.

When you woke, you could barely remember what the strange person narrating was saying. Still, the sun shines, commencing another day of work.

LETTER IV: Ghosting

By the time you arrive at the office, it is still night. The sun barely peeking past the horizon.

Your in no mood to work however. Instead, you take out the crumpled letter paper, rummaging for a pen, and sit down, writing out your thoughts.

'Dear Sophós,

I'd hate to cut welcomes short, I hope as always you are doing well, but I urgently need help.

Do you remember the boss I had talked to you about?

Well, it's been long since he's rude and terrible behavior. It's actually miraculous. Out of nowhere he has been acting all nice and well mannered! Even though it was off putting at first since well... He's never done that ever. It was very sweet and nice. (you pen out a cute drawing of rainbows and sunshine to emphasize). But... Another issue has started.

I feel weird around him.

Not just him specifically, but, when he was meeting a friend, this long standing issue I've had came back.

I started feeling all these horribly sickening emotions. Jealousy is what it was. Just from watching how close the two were. They acted as if they had known each other for years Sophós... Something about it really hurt me to watch. And they talked to each other so easily too! Do you know how frustrating that is? I had wished for that type of bare closeness with him for so long, but for this friend of his, it seemed so easy. So Sophós I really beg, how do I fix this? I know for sure it was caused from something, but I can't pinpoint what from... I know that I have felt it before, back in my Akademiya days, when often the other students would outshine me in my craft, so I know for a fact it isn't romantic possessiveness, but still, the feeling isn't the exact same and I don't understand why it's happening.

Can you help me pen pal?

It's bothering me that such trivial baby feelings are getting to me. I feel lost. Am I jealous because of their friendship? Or is it that maybe I think that friend of my boss's is far superior to me?

With immediacy, [alias]'

...

For days, you couldn't find it in you to confront Alhaitham. You knew for sure he wouldn't have known what he did wrong, but the thought of how he had been so trusting of the Traveler compared to felt to frustrating to confront.

You knew it was childish. But for days you ignored him.

Your own boss, who you had finally learned to enjoy company with, was now back to be strangers with you.

Worse, every day you would find yourself desperately checking the mail, wondering where Sophós response was.

Your only friend outside of your chaotic worklife, out of nowhere, had suddenly disappeared the moment you needed them the most.

Now you were only more frustrated. Spending days trying to ignore your boss and also waiting for your friends response had taken to much of your valuable time.

An aching anxiety stayed conjuring in your body. Surely your penpal hadn't already gotten tired of you right? You couldn't trust yourself to make reasonable decisions without them. You had never taken the time to understand your emotions throughout your schooling, and so maybe you were too dependent on Sophós to advise you.

Still you waited. Spending every waking hour of the job, waiting desperately for help from your friend while nervously dancing around the building, hiding from Alhaitham's calls of your name.

...

Alhaitham hasn't seen your face in days.

He's started to worry a long time ago. And the guilt eats him alive. That night, he had rejected to walk you home as he needed to ask Traveler, despite his ego, what to do about his feelings.

When Nahida had come back to see the Traveler and Paimon as well, he had further buried his high head to ask for help from the archon.

It took him everything to cover his flushed face, bright red as the annoying high-pitched fairy had floated close to his face, asking all sorts of questions about his interest in you. Clearly surprised as if he couldn't hold sentimental connections.

Tch, the nerve of them.

The following weeks though, it seemed you had taken it the wrong way. Moments, he would find you across the hall, having chocolates or flowers he had plucked stuffed in his pocket, wanting to sneak them to you, only for you to run away.

What annoyed him more was, by the second week, it was 100% clear and noticeable to the whole office he was being ghosted by his assistant.

It took him days on end to search for even the slightest sliver of your hair, only for you to find some convenient place to hide. For the life of him, he couldn't understand why you were upset with him.

It had even become noticeable to Kaveh.

By the Friday of the second week Kaveh had appeared at the office, under the guise of some Architectual project to yell at him again.

"You've forgotten your headphones twice now Alhaitham! What is the matter with you lately? By Archons Alhaitham we have mail piling up at home and I'm pretty sure your pen pal is waiting on a response right now!"

"Keep it down won't you. Listen, I have better issues to attend to of late. There are far more important priorities than the pen pal thing." He scoffs in annoyance, looking back down at his checklist and then to the stack of paperwork he had been putting aside.

Trying to find you in the massive building turned out to backfire, spending most of his time occupied by you had put him behind on work he could care less about. What worried him was that you had called in sick that morning. Something that had never happened even once in his term of office.

"Is that... Late papers?!... You-" Kaveh points dramatically, "have missing papers? Now there really is something wrong. Spill it. Now. I have to know what's been throwing off the almighty Alhaitham."

"I can practically hear the sneer dripping off your sentence Kaveh. Don't get too excited. It's just... Well. [Name] has been gone for the past days." His eyes flutter to anywhere else but the obviously dramatic jaw drop Kaveh had on.

"[Name]? Your assistant? Uh oh. What did you do this time? I knew it... You annoyed them to death with your attitude!"

"No- Before you continue, it was not because of me. At least, I don't believe so." His words trail off in doubt, feeling wrong even to him.

"Before you continue yelling in my ear, it happened to be I may have... Made her angry. But I don't know by doing what."

"Well then you've got to figure it out!... I'm tired of having to walk from here and back for the stuff you forgot. It's getting on my nerves! Tell me about the day before she started ignoring you, maybe that'll help your dense head."

...

Upon recounting everything to Kaveh, Alhaitham's guilt had only worsened.

It was not a feeling he was enjoying.

"She obviously was taking the hint you liked her! And then you up and left her to walk herself back?! What is wrong with you?!"

"I- I was talking to the Traveler about her. I would have never thought she could have been jealous from that..."

"Well, she clearly was! If anything, she probably thought, he was competition! You have to go fix this. Now."

"Kaveh, have you not retained any of the information I've given you. I have been trying, but she ignores my attempts to consolidate."

"Well... That sounds like a you problem! You need to figure it out. Maybe even arrange a date and finally confess like a man Alhaitham!"

The bickering between the two of them lasts for an hour before Kaveh stomps angrily out. A semi-conclusion reached as he yells for Alhaitham to get his act together.

"She likes you Alhaitham! So, get your crap together and tell her you feel the same!"

By the time the blonde's angry footsteps stop ringing across the floor Alhaitham feels the stress overflooding all over again.

For a man who prides himself in remaining calm always, even he couldn't cool himself down from the sheer embarrassment at his lack of romantic realization.

You liked him.

And the thought made him an absolute mess. His long fingers crunch around the nearest paper, the other hand folding over the bottom of his face, desperate to cover his bright rosy cheek. Uncharacteristically, he feels nervous.

Memories of your face that day floods into his head again. Dizzying him only further.

How unfortunately timed.

It takes him minutes to calm down, trying to shake your pretty face out of his mind. When it does finally happen, and he feels like he can breath again, his stoic face returns, letting go of the sad papers he had crumpled.

The checklist, still stapled to the letter you wrote, and a managerial essay you had written after surveying a project, all crushed together.

Looking closer, Alhaitham notices the little pictograms between each other line. Both on the professional paper and on the personal letter.

His brow raises, pulling the two items closer, he looks carefully at the writing. Looking at the way their addressed to him. The specific way that both show off similarities. The hand drawn emojis, the tilt in your letters, and the way your mannerisms showed in both of the papers.

Suddenly, he finds himself rushing out of his office, running towards your address. The street number coincidently returning to his memory from the very first day you had applied to be his second hand.

LETTER: INTERCEPTED

Gloom had taken over your body. The longer you spent moping over yourself, the more you felt pathetic and childish for even believing your friend and most (newly) trusted advisor would remain forever. Entertaining the wild possibility, you liked Alhaitham and that had caused all your pent-up jealousy wasn't even worth thinking about now.

Tissues now stuffed your trash, several scrapped up papers detailing letters to Sophós laid crumpled up and piled on the dining table. The pen long lost somewhere in the ground as you slumped over the couch.

Wasn't love supposed to be beautiful? The fabled spell uplifted you and made you feel powerful?

So why was it yours felt so different? For the past weeks you've felt a dry spell in motivation. A drought you've never experienced before, all to be replaced by loneliness. Your own pride eating you up inside as the thought of having apologize for your 'unprofessional behavior' felt like it would simply add on to your despair. Before you can continue sobbing to yourself, thinking about how far you had gone in life just to reach this point-

The doorbell rings.

You stay quiet. Praying that whoever it was would go away.

"[Name]... I can tell you are in there. Your usual shoes are still out here. I- Well, I wanted to talk about what has been going on."

The soothing sound of his voice brought you almost back to frustrated tears. As much as you missed him, a piece of you feels confused.

Still, you walk towards the door, the way you look like a sopping wet cat be damned.

When you open it, carefully, hesitantly, his eyes lock with yours. Just as they always have.

Naturally. Adoringly.

"Would it be wrong to ask if I may come in?"

Your voice seems to lose itself somewhere in the midst of it. Watching the way the sun shines behind his towering body, just as always, showcasing his presence over you.

You shake your head, opening the door wider to let him in. Parts of your head still screaming at you to keep your pride.

For the first time in a long while, you shut down the little girl who learned to be a prideful scholar.

...

An hour goes by, and then a second.

Alhaitham's sittin on the other side of the couch, still the one you are on, but far enough away to give you space to curl up in your blanket. Soft as it pretends to be your shield.

With a deep breath. You speak first.

"I'm sorry."

From there, it all spills. And gods, as flawed as he was, Alhaitham could tell you needed to let it out.

He sat there so patiently, maintaining that fierce eye contact that sent your legs limb as you explained every little detail. Afraid of any miscommunication killing what the two of you had left.

Minute after minute you explain how you had always had a complex over how you compared yourself. Talking out about how you had met him, how he had changed your perspective. How at first you hated him and now... Well. It sort of spilled somewhere in the mix. In some part of the whole messy confession, you had started crying, uncontrollable heart wretched sobs as you apologized profusely over and over. Scared for what he might do, fire you maybe? You wouldn't blame him. If anything, you deserved it for your behavior.

Still he waits. His eyes watch you carefully, watching the tears trickle down your face. The way your cheeks and nose turn red with scratches as you swipe away at the hot tears, stinging at your face.

In the midst of it all, Alhaitham finds himself reaching for the box of tissues placed on your table, handing you several as he sits back down waiting patiently for you to finish your sobbing.

It takes another hour to explain.

He doesn't interrupt at all in that hour. No comforting words, no consoling gestures. Instead he continues to sit, continuing to watch tentatively, which only brings you to tears again as you feel horribly guilty for keeping him waiting.

When there are no more tears to cry, you find that you're met with pure silence.

Then it becomes his turn to explain.

Fear returns when he lifts out the papers, showing them to you as he explains. Scooting in closer to your fetal body as he finds himself wanting to hold you.

In him, a rage boils over, to him, it's disgust. Not a hatred for you, but to him. He feels like he has failed you. For someone who claimed to love you, he certainly had not expressed clearly that he did. And so he continues to explain, taking time to watch how you react. Which, at this point, was barely anything.

Your eyes are swollen from crying and apologizing. He takes care to notice the way your throat seems to have swollen, the way you nod slowly to ensure he knows you're listening.

"I am sorry [Name]. I... Should have consolidated with you instead of being a coward. I was foolish in taking to a pen pal program instead of talking to the real person I cherished- No. The person I love."

Again, he finds himself dropping all the papers. Turning to you. Lifting up your swollen cheeks with both his hands.

"I am sorry."

Your eyes threaten to tear up again, a twitch of your nose as you sniffle. You look at him, facing him as he was, and suddenly, it feels safe again.

The burden of your guilt lifts a little, and though you don't have the voice to say, you launch forward, hugging him tightly.

He feels warm this way. His hands drifting down to around your waist. Their almost... Oddly placed. As if he isn't sure where to hold you.

So, you wrap your arms around his upper back, squeezing him gently as you sniffle into his shirt. The faint smell of books wafting from his clothes. In you, a chuckle escapes, finding the strange scent comforting. He copies the way you hold him. Taking to brush through your hair again. Detangling the long worn locks as he combs through, gently, lovingly.

He takes to laying his back against the couch's arm. Guiding you with as you lay on his chest. Staring up at the barren ceiling.

His hands continue to comb through your hair, stopping every now and then to pat it all back down from friction. His chest rising and slowly back down as you lie.

Slowly, you find yourself breathing alongside him, an occasional hiccup as the two of you lay quietly. Thinking about who knows what, but grateful the same.

He still smells like books, but you notice, a hint of woodland. Then, you notice how his fingers were long and nimble, combing through long sections of your hair with breeze. But the way he felt, lying underneath you, not a word to say more, felt domestic.

It made you feel alive again. It made you feel worth it.

He loved you.

He had said.

And you loved him.

Ever so tenderly, he turns your head up to him, your eyes finding each other's as they always did, so naturally, so full of love and a softness you had now come to realize had always been there. He lifts your face, turning it slightly as his eyes wander over all it's beauty. Archons, to him, you were beautiful.

To him, you were everything he needed.

He doesn't think before it happens.

Kissing you. Lips touching, just and warm and loving as his gaze on you. Sweet, brief.

He holds on, just a bit longer. Biting at your longer lip, nibbling. Pushing in, you return the favor. The taste of iron between the two of you. His arms snaking up behind your shoulders, pulling you down desperately as your legs turn into him, find their way around his hips. Desperately, you let loose for air.

"I love you." He says.

With a new found confidence, your heart beats faster. A grin on your lips as you mouth the same back.

Your lips find their way to his neck.

A groan leaves his mouth.

His legs buckle, hands pulling down your neck.

MEMORY OF AN ARCHON: Finale (will be posted soon)

BARISTA'S INQUIREMENT... hey guys!! merry christmas/happy holidays. I know I've been promising this one for a while and I had originally planned for more Christmassy content but... Life happens. I found myself revising and rushing at the end to post but I do hope everyone enjoys <3, there are a bunch of little secret messages/meanings I hid in here for interpretation! (my inbox is always open for speculation, questions,and discussion about fics!! )

word count. ~ 15k

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