#i was admiring how regal he looked

[sidetongue]

what a dingus 

[cubffections]

so argenxi . . argenxi at it's finest ꒰ᐡ⸝⸝σ̴̶̷̤ . σ̴̶̷̤⸝⸝꒱꜆

[pucksandpower]

Black Widow

Toto Wolff x black widow!Reader

Summary: Lewis Hamilton and George Russell are convinced you’re trying to kill their team principal, and, to be fair, you do have a trail of seven dead extremely wealthy husbands behind you … but it’s not what they think, you promise

The soft beep of medical equipment provides a rhythmic backdrop as you sit beside the ornate mahogany bed, your manicured fingers intertwined with those of your latest husband, Reginald Worthington III.

At 89 years old, Reggie, as you affectionately call him, is by far your oldest conquest yet. His wrinkled face, now gaunt from months of illness, still manages a weak smile as he gazes at you.

“My darling,” Reggie wheezes, his voice barely above a whisper, “I hope you know how much joy you’ve brought to these final months of mine.”

You lean in, your silky hair cascading over your shoulder as you press a gentle kiss to his forehead. “Oh, Reggie. The pleasure has been all mine.”

It’s not entirely a lie. While you don’t love Reggie — or any of your previous husbands, for that matter — you’ve grown fond of the old codger. He’s certainly been the most amusing of your elderly spouses.

Reggie’s eyes twinkle with mischief, a ghost of the rakish playboy he must have been in his youth. “Now, now, my dear. We both know this has been a mutually beneficial arrangement. But I do hope I’ve provided some entertainment along the way.”

You can’t help but chuckle. “You’ve been a delight, darling. Truly.”

As if on cue, Reggie is seized by a coughing fit. You quickly grab a glass of water from the bedside table, helping him take small sips until the spasms subside. When he catches his breath, he fixes you with a serious look.

“Y/N, there’s something I need to tell you. About the will.”

Your heart skips a beat, but you keep your face carefully neutral. “Reggie, please. We don’t need to discuss such morbid topics.”

He waves a dismissive hand. “Nonsense. We both know why you’re here, and it’s not to admire the wallpaper. Now listen, because this is important.”

You lean in closer, curiosity piqued despite yourself.

Reggie’s voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper. “In addition to the usual — the houses, the cars, the offshore accounts — I’m leaving you my stake in the Mercedes Formula 1 team.”

Your eyes widen in genuine surprise. “The racing team? Reggie, I had no idea you were involved with-”

He cuts you off with a wheezy laugh. “Oh, my dear. There’s so much you don’t know about me. Did you think I made my fortune selling denture cream?”

You can’t help but smile. “Well, I did wonder about all those trophies in your study.”

“Remnants of a misspent youth,” Reggie says with a wistful sigh. “But this, this is my crowning achievement. A 33% stake in one of the most successful F1 teams in history.”

Your mind reels at the implications. This is far beyond anything you’d anticipated when you’d set your sights on Reginald Worthington III.

“Reggie, I ... I don’t know what to say.”

He pats your hand affectionately. “You don’t have to say anything, my dear. Just promise me you’ll make the most of it. I’ve always admired your ambition. It reminds me of myself at your age.”

You lean back in your chair, studying the old man before you. In that moment, you feel a surge of genuine affection for him.

“I promise, Reggie. I’ll make you proud.”

He nods, satisfied. “Good. Now, tell me about the others. I want to know how I measure up to my predecessors.”

You laugh, shaking your head in amazement. “Are you sure? It’s quite a list.”

Reggie’s eyes sparkle with interest. “My dear, I’m on my deathbed. Regale me with tales of your conquests.”

With a theatrical sigh, you begin. “Well, if you insist. Let’s see ... first, there was Harold.”

“Ah, the virgin husband,” Reggie interrupts with a knowing nod.

You raise an eyebrow. “And how did you know that?”

He winks. “I have my sources. Go on.”

“Right. Well, Harold was a sweet man. A bit naive, perhaps, but genuinely kind. He left me his tech startup. It wasn’t worth much at the time, but I sold it for a tidy sum a year later.”

Reggie nods approvingly. “Smart move. Who was next?”

“After Harold came George. He was ... intense. A retired army general with a penchant for war stories and expensive scotch. Left me his collection of rare military memorabilia.”

“Fascinating,” Reggie murmurs. “And the others?”

You tick them off on your fingers. “Let’s see ... there was Joaquin, the passionate Spanish chef. He left me his Michelin-starred restaurants. Then came Dmitri, the Russian oligarch. That was ... an experience.”

Reggie chuckles. “I bet it was. What did he leave you?”

“A series of shell companies and a rather gaudy yacht. I sold the yacht, kept the companies.” You pause, lost in thought for a moment. “After Dmitri was William, the British lord. Lovely man, terrible teeth. Left me his crumbling estate and title.”

“So you’re technically a lady now?” Reggie asks, amused.

You nod. “Lady Y/N, at your service. Though I don’t use the title much. It tends to raise questions.”

“Understandable. And the last one before me?”

Your expression softens slightly. “Ah, that was Hiroshi. Japanese tech mogul. Brilliant mind, but so lonely. I think I was the first real companionship he’d had in years.”

Reggie studies you carefully. “You were fond of him.”

You nod, a bit surprised by the lump in your throat. “I was. He ... he understood me, I think. More than the others.”

There’s a moment of silence as Reggie processes this information. Finally, he speaks. “And what did Hiroshi leave you?”

You smile wryly. “His AI research company. It’s been ... interesting, to say the least.”

Reggie nods slowly. “Quite a collection you’ve amassed, my dear. But tell me, what drives you? Surely it’s not just the money.”

You’re taken aback by the question. No one has ever asked you that before. You take a moment to gather your thoughts.

“I suppose ... it’s the challenge of it all. The thrill of reinventing myself with each new husband, of navigating these complex worlds they inhabit. And yes, the wealth is nice, but it’s more about what I can do with it.”

Reggie leans forward, intrigued. “And what is it you want to do?”

You pause, realizing you’ve never really articulated this to anyone before. “I want to make a difference. Real, lasting change. These men, they’ve all built empires in their own ways, but they’ve been limited by their own mortality. I don’t have those limitations yet. I can take what they’ve given me and create something ... more.”

Reggie’s eyes light up with understanding. “Ah, now I see why I was drawn to you. You’re not just a pretty face or a clever mind. You’re a visionary.”

You feel a flush of pride at his words. “I try to be. Each husband has taught me something new, given me tools I never had before. Harold showed me the potential of technology. George taught me strategy. Joaquin, the importance of passion in one’s work. Dmitri, how to navigate the murky waters of international business. William gave me a glimpse into old-world power structures. And Hiroshi ... well, he opened my eyes to the future.”

Reggie nods slowly. “And what have I taught you, I wonder?”

You smile softly. “Patience, Reggie. The long game. And the value of a good sense of humor in the face of adversity.”

He chuckles weakly. “Well, I’m glad I could contribute something to your education. Now, about this F1 team ...”

You lean in, eager to hear more. “Yes?”

“It’s more than just a racing team, you know. It’s a pinnacle of engineering, a testament to human ingenuity and the constant push for improvement. I think you’ll find it fits quite well with your ambitions.”

You nod slowly, mind already racing with possibilities. “I can see that. The technology, the global platform, the prestige ...”

Reggie grins. “Exactly. And who knows? Maybe you’ll find husband number eight in the paddock.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Oh, Reggie. Always thinking ahead, aren’t you?”

He winks. “Someone has to. Now, promise me one thing.”

“Anything,” you say, and you’re surprised to find you mean it.

“When you’re accepting that championship trophy — because I know you will — wear something fabulous. Give those stuffy old men in the paddock something to talk about.”

You can’t help but grin. “Oh, don’t worry. I intend to shake things up a bit.”

Reggie nods approvingly. “That’s my girl. Now, I think I need to rest for a bit. But don’t go far. I want to hear all about your plans for world domination when I wake up.”

As you watch Reggie drift off to sleep, you can’t help but feel a mix of emotions. Sadness at the impending loss of this charming old rogue, excitement at the unexpected opportunity he’s given you, and a renewed sense of purpose.

You glance at your reflection in the ornate mirror across the room. Lady Y/N Y/L/N, soon-to-be racing magnate. It has a nice ring to it.

As you settle back into your chair, you begin to plan your next moves. The motorsport world won’t know what hit it.

***

The sleek boardroom of the Mercedes-AMG Petronas F1 Team headquarters buzzes with hushed conversation. Around the polished mahogany table, team executives and board members huddle in small groups, their voices low and urgent.

Toto catches snippets of conversation as he reviews his notes for the meeting.

“Did you hear? She’s actually coming today,” whispers Bradley, the team’s financial officer.

Sarah, head of marketing, leans in. “I can’t believe Reginald left her his stake. What was he thinking?”

“Probably wasn’t thinking with his head, if you know what I mean,” chuckles Thomas, the technical director.

Toto clears his throat, silencing the gossip. “Let’s keep things professional, shall we? We have important matters to discuss today.”

As if on cue, the boardroom door swings open. The room falls into an immediate, almost eerie silence as you stride in, turning heads with every click of your Manolo Blahnik heels against the polished floor.

Toto finds himself holding his breath, caught off guard by your presence. He’s seen photos, of course, but they didn’t do you justice. Your tailored Armani suit exudes power and confidence, while your eyes scan the room with a shrewd intelligence that sends a shiver down his spine.

You take your seat at the far end of the table, directly opposite Toto. “Good morning, everyone. I hope I’m not late.”

Your voice, smooth as silk with a hint of amusement, breaks the spell. The room erupts into a flurry of awkward greetings and nervous coughs.

Toto clears his throat again, trying to regain control of the situation. “Not at all. We were just about to begin. Welcome, Lady Worthington. We’re honored to have you join us today.”

You smile, a dazzling display that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Please, call me Y/N. We’re all colleagues here, after all.”

Toto nods, fighting to keep his composure. “Of course, Y/N. Shall we begin with the agenda?”

As the meeting progresses, Toto finds himself increasingly distracted. He’s used to being the most commanding presence in any room, but your arrival has shifted the dynamic entirely. Every time you speak, offering insights or asking pointed questions, the rest of the board seems to hold its breath.

“I’ve been reviewing our sustainability initiatives,” you say during a lull in the conversation. “While I applaud our efforts so far, I believe we could be doing more. Formula 1 has an unique platform to drive innovation in green technologies. We should be leading the charge, not just following along.”

Bradley shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “With all due respect, Lady- I mean, Y/N, implementing new sustainability measures could be quite costly. We need to consider the bottom line.”

You lean forward, fixing Bradley with an intense gaze. “And what about the cost of falling behind? Of being seen as out of touch with the concerns of younger fans? Sometimes, you have to spend money to make money.”

Toto finds himself nodding in agreement before he even realizes it. “Y/N raises an excellent point. Perhaps we should form a task force to explore more aggressive sustainability options.”

You flash him a grateful smile, and Toto feels his heart skip a beat. He quickly looks down at his notes, trying to regain his composure.

As the meeting continues, you consistently challenge the status quo, pushing for bolder strategies and innovative approaches. Toto watches in fascination as you deftly navigate the complex dynamics of the board, alternating between charm and steel as the situation demands.

During a discussion about driver development, you interject again. “I’ve been looking into our junior driver program, and I think we’re missing opportunities. We’re too focused on traditional racing backgrounds. What about sim racers? Or scouting karters from developing countries? We could be tapping into a whole new pool of talent.”

Sarah, the marketing head, perks up at this. “That’s ... actually a brilliant idea. It could really broaden our appeal, especially in emerging markets.”

You nod appreciatively. “Exactly. And imagine the stories we could tell. The sim racer who became an F1 champion or the kid from a small village who rose to the top of motorsport. That’s the kind of narrative that builds brand loyalty and inspires the next generation of fans.”

Toto finds himself leaning forward, completely engrossed. “I love this direction. Y/N, would you be willing to work with Sarah to develop a proposal for expanding our driver search?”

“Of course,” you reply with a smile that makes Toto’s pulse quicken. “I’d be delighted.”

As the meeting winds down, Toto realizes that the entire dynamic of the board has shifted. The initial wariness towards you has given way to a mixture of respect and curiosity. Even those who seemed most skeptical at the start are now hanging on your every word.

“Well,” Toto says, glancing at his watch, “I think that concludes our agenda for today. Unless anyone has any other matters to discuss?”

The room is silent for a moment before you speak up. “Actually, if I may, I’d like to address the elephant in the room.”

A tense hush falls over the gathering. Toto holds his breath, unsure of what’s coming next.

You stand, your posture relaxed but commanding. “I’m aware of the rumors and speculation surrounding my ... personal life. I want to assure all of you that my presence here is purely professional. I’m not here to cause drama or upheaval. I’m here because I believe in the potential of this team and this sport. I hope that over time, you’ll come to judge me based on my contributions, not on gossip or hearsay.”

The sincerity in your voice is palpable, and Toto can see the effect it has on the room. Shoulders relax, expressions soften. There’s a collective exhale, as if a weight has been lifted.

“Thank you for your honesty,” Toto says, standing as well. “I think I speak for everyone when I say we look forward to working with you and seeing what fresh perspectives you can bring to the team.”

There’s a murmur of agreement around the table. As the meeting officially adjourns, people begin to gather their things and file out of the room. Toto notices that several board members linger, clearly hoping to have a word with you. He feels an unexpected twinge of jealousy.

Before he can second-guess himself, Toto makes his way around the table to where you’re chatting with Sarah about the junior driver program idea.

“Excuse me,” he says, feeling uncharacteristically nervous. “Y/N, I was wondering if I could have a word?”

You turn to him with a smile that makes his heart race. “Of course. What can I do for you?”

He takes a deep breath, acutely aware of the curious glances from the remaining board members. “I was impressed by your insights today. I think there’s a lot we could discuss further about the future direction of the team. Would you perhaps be interested in continuing this conversation over dinner?”

A hush falls over the remaining occupants of the room. Toto can practically feel the weight of their stares, but he keeps his eyes fixed on you.

You raise an eyebrow, a mix of surprise and amusement playing across your features. “Dinner? My, my, Toto. Aren’t you afraid of me? I do have quite the reputation, you know.”

There’s a challenge in your voice, but also a hint of vulnerability that catches Toto off guard. He realizes that beneath your confident exterior, you’re testing him, gauging his true intentions.

Toto meets your gaze steadily, his voice low but firm. “I don’t put much stock in rumors. I prefer to form my own opinions based on what I see and experience. And what I’ve seen today is a brilliant, passionate individual who could be a tremendous asset to this team. That’s the person I’m interested in getting to know better.”

The room seems to hold its breath, waiting for your response. You study Toto for a long moment, your expression unreadable. Then, slowly, a genuine smile spreads across your face.

“Well, in that case, I’d be delighted to have dinner with you. Shall we say eight o’clock?”

Toto feels a rush of relief and excitement. “Eight o’clock sounds perfect. I know just the place.”

As you gather your things and prepare to leave, Toto can’t help but feel like he’s standing on the precipice of something monumental. He’s built his career on calculated risks, on seeing potential where others see danger. Looking at you, he knows that this might be the biggest gamble of his life.

But as you turn to give him one last smile before exiting the boardroom, Toto is certain of one thing: it’s a risk he’s more than willing to take.

***

The Monaco Grand Prix paddock buzzes with excitement, a hive of activity as teams prepare for the most glamorous race on the Formula 1 calendar. Lewis Hamilton and George Russell huddle in a quiet corner of the Mercedes garage, their voices low and urgent.

“I’m telling you, mate, something’s not right,” George insists, his eyes darting around to ensure they’re not overheard. “Have you seen the way Toto’s been acting lately? It’s like he’s under some kind of spell.”

Lewis nods grimly, his usual pre-race focus replaced by concern. “I know what you mean. Ever since she came into the picture, it’s like he’s a different person. Always distracted, making decisions that don’t quite add up.”

“Exactly!” George exclaims, then quickly lowers his voice again. “And have you noticed how she’s always around now? At every meeting, every strategy session. It’s like she’s trying to learn all our secrets.”

Lewis furrows his brow, deep in thought. “You don’t think ... I mean, surely she wouldn’t actually try to ...”

“Kill him?” George finishes, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know, mate. But look at her track record. Seven husbands, all dead within months of marrying her. And now she’s got her claws into Toto.”

As if summoned by their conversation, you appear at the entrance of the garage, Toto at your side. The team principal’s hand rests comfortably on the small of your back as he leads you through the bustling workspace.

Lewis and George fall silent, watching intently as you make your way towards them. Your designer sundress and oversized sunglasses scream understated elegance, but to the two drivers, you might as well be wearing a black widow’s web.

“Good morning,” Toto calls out cheerfully. “Ready for qualifying?”

Lewis forces a smile, his eyes never leaving you. “Morning, Toto. Yeah, we were just discussing strategy.”

You step forward, flashing a dazzling smile. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything important. I’m still learning all the intricacies of race weekends.”

George clears his throat, trying to keep his voice steady. “Not at all. We were just finishing up.”

Toto beams, looking from you to his drivers with pride. “Isn’t it wonderful having Y/N here? She’s already brought so many fresh ideas to the team. I don’t know how we managed without her.”

You laugh, a sound that sends chills down Lewis and George’s spines. “Oh, darling, you’re exaggerating. I’m sure these boys were doing just fine before I came along.”

As you speak, your hand reaches up to smooth Toto’s collar, a gesture that seems innocent enough but makes both drivers tense.

Lewis clears his throat. “Actually, Toto, could we have a quick word? About the, uh, tire strategy?”

Toto looks surprised but nods. “Of course. Y/N, would you mind giving us a moment?”

“Not at all,” you reply smoothly. “I’ll just go chat with the mechanics. I’m fascinated by all this technology.”

As you saunter away, Lewis and George exchange a meaningful glance. This is their chance.

“Toto,” Lewis begins, choosing his words carefully. “We’re a bit concerned. About you, actually.”

Toto’s brow furrows in confusion. “Concerned? What do you mean?”

George jumps in, his words tumbling out in a rush. “It’s just that ... well, things have been different since you started seeing her. And given her history ...”

“Her history?” Toto repeats, his voice taking on an edge. “What exactly are you implying?”

Lewis takes a deep breath. “Toto, we care about you. And we can’t help but notice that Y/N’s previous partners have all met with ... unfortunate ends.”

For a moment, Toto just stares at them, his expression unreadable. Then, to their surprise, he bursts out laughing.

“Oh, boys,” he chuckles, shaking his head. “I appreciate your concern, truly. But I assure you, it’s misplaced. Y/N has been nothing but a positive influence on both me and the team.”

George persists, his voice urgent. “But Toto, you have to admit, the pattern is alarming. Seven husbands, all dead within months of marriage. And now she’s here, learning all about our team, our strategies ...”

Toto’s amusement fades, replaced by a stern look. “That’s enough. I understand you’re worried, but I won’t have you spreading baseless rumors. Y/N is here because she’s a part-owner of this team and because I invited her. End of discussion.”

As Toto walks away, Lewis and George share a look of dismay.

“He’s in too deep,” Lewis mutters. “We need to do something.”

George nods grimly. “We can’t let her hurt him. Or the team. We need a plan.”

Throughout the day, as qualifying unfolds, Lewis and George find themselves constantly distracted. Every time they catch a glimpse of you in the garage or on the pit wall, their imaginations run wild.

During a brief break between sessions, they overhear a snippet of conversation between you and one of the engineers.

“So, if something were to go wrong with the car during the race,” you’re saying, “what would be the most catastrophic point of failure?”

The engineer launches into a detailed explanation of various mechanical vulnerabilities, unaware of the horrified looks on the drivers’ faces.

“She’s gathering intel,” George whispers to Lewis. “Probably planning some sort of accident for Toto.”

Lewis nods, his jaw set with determination. “We need to warn him again. Make him see reason.”

But their attempts to get Toto alone prove futile. You seem to be constantly by his side, your hand on his arm, whispering in his ear. To an outsider, it might look like the actions of a loving girlfriend, but to Lewis and George, every gesture seems calculated and sinister.

As the day wears on, their paranoia grows. They start seeing threats everywhere. When you hand Toto a bottle of water, they’re convinced it’s poisoned. When you suggest he take a look at something in the back of the garage, they’re sure you’re luring him away to do him harm.

Finally, as the sun begins to set over the Monaco harbor, they decide they can’t wait any longer. They need to confront you directly.

They find you alone in the hospitality area, reviewing some papers. As they approach, you look up with a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Lewis, George,” you greet them warmly. “Excellent qualifying today. You must be pleased.”

Lewis takes a deep breath, steeling himself. “Cut the act. We know what you’re up to.”

Your expression doesn’t change, but something flickers in your eyes. “I’m not sure I understand. What exactly am I up to?”

George steps forward, his voice low and intense. “We know about your husbands. All seven of them. And we’re not going to let you add Toto to that list.”

For a moment, you just stare at them, your face unreadable. Then, to their surprise, you burst out laughing.

“Oh,” you chuckle, shaking your head. “Is that what this is all about? You think I’m here to kill Toto?”

Lewis and George exchange confused glances, thrown off by your reaction.

You lean in, your voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Let me tell you a little secret. Those men? They were all terminally ill when I married them. It was a business arrangement, pure and simple. They got to spend their last months with a young, beautiful wife, and I got their fortunes. No foul play involved.”

The drivers stare at you, speechless. You continue, your tone becoming more serious.

“As for Toto, well, that’s different. For the first time in my life, I’ve found someone I genuinely care for. Someone who sees me for who I am, not just what I can offer. I’m not here to hurt him or the team. I’m here because I want to be part of something meaningful.”

Lewis and George exchange uncertain glances, their convictions shaken.

“But ... all the questions about the car, the team strategies ...” George begins.

You roll your eyes, a hint of amusement in your voice. “I’m a part-owner of this team now, remember? Of course I’m trying to learn everything I can. How else can I contribute?”

As the truth of your words sinks in, Lewis and George begin to feel a creeping sense of embarrassment. They’ve let their imaginations and preconceptions run wild, seeing threats where there were none.

“I ... we ...” Lewis stammers, struggling to find the right words.

You hold up a hand, stopping him. “It’s alright. I understand. My reputation precedes me, and you were just looking out for Toto. I can respect that.”

George rubs the back of his neck, sheepish. “We may have gotten a bit carried away. I’m sorry.”

You smile, and this time it reaches your eyes. “Apology accepted. Now, what do you say we put this behind us and focus on winning tomorrow’s race?”

As if on cue, Toto appears, looking between the three of you with curiosity. “Everything alright here?”

You stand, moving to his side and slipping your arm through his. “Everything’s perfect, darling. In fact, I think Lewis and George were just about to share some ideas they had for the race strategy. Weren’t you, boys?”

Lewis and George nod, grateful for the out you’ve given them. As they launch into a discussion about tire management and overtaking opportunities, they can’t help but marvel at how wrong they’ve been.

Watching you interact with Toto, they see not a black widow spinning her web, but a woman genuinely in love, bringing out the best in their team principal. They realize that sometimes, people can surprise you. And sometimes, the most unexpected additions to a team can be the most valuable.

***

The soft glow of chandeliers bathes the exclusive Monégasque restaurant in warm light, casting elegant shadows across the faces of Monaco’s elite. Grigori Volkov, a grizzled veteran of the Russian underworld, sips his vodka, his weathered face a mask of careful neutrality as he surveys the room.

His eyes narrow as they land on a familiar figure across the crowded dining area. It can’t be, he thinks, leaning forward for a better look. But there’s no mistaking that face, those eyes that have haunted his dreams and nightmares for years.

You.

Grigori watches as you laugh, your hand resting lightly on the arm of a tall, distinguished-looking man. He recognizes him vaguely. But what catches Grigori off guard is the easy intimacy between you, the matching wedding bands glinting in the low light.

For a moment, Grigori considers slipping out unnoticed. But curiosity gets the better of him. He signals the waiter, ordering another round of drinks to be sent to your table.

As the waiter approaches with the drinks, Grigori sees your posture stiffen slightly, your eyes scanning the room until they lock onto his. He raises his glass in a small salute, a wry smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

You lean in, whispering something to Toto. The man looks surprised but nods, and together you make your way towards Grigori’s table.

“Grigori,” you greet him, your voice a mix of warmth and wariness. “It’s been a long time.”

Grigori stands, bowing slightly. “Indeed it has, my dear. You’re looking well. And who might this be?”

Toto extends his hand, his grip firm. “Toto Wolff. And you are?”

“An old friend of your wife’s,” Grigori replies smoothly, noting the flicker of surprise in Toto’s eyes at the word ’wife’. “Grigori Volkov. I knew Y/N back in her Russian days.”

You gesture to the empty chairs. “May we join you?”

Grigori nods, waving expansively. “Please, be my guests.”

As you settle in, Grigori can’t help but study Toto more closely. He’s younger than expected, vital and alert. Not at all what he’d imagined for your latest conquest.

“So, Toto,” Grigori begins, his accent thick with amusement, “how long have you and our dear Y/N been married?”

Toto smiles, his hand finding yours on the table. “Just over two years now. Best decision I ever made.”

Grigori’s eyebrows shoot up. “Two years? My, my. That’s quite impressive.”

You shoot him a warning look, but Toto just looks confused. “I’m not sure I follow. Why is that impressive?”

Grigori chuckles, taking a long sip of his vodka. “Oh, forgive me. I just meant that Y/N here has always been something of a ... how do you say ... free spirit? Never one to be tied down for long.”

You interject quickly, “People change, Grigori. I’ve found what I was looking for.”

Grigori nods, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Indeed they do. And what of your ... other interests? The ones you inherited from dear Dmitri?”

Toto’s brow furrows. “Dmitri? I’m afraid I don’t know much about Y/N’s ex-husbands.”

“Ex-husbands?” Grigori repeats, feigning surprise. “Oh, but Dmitri was special, wasn’t he? After all, not every day one inherits a slice of the Bratva.”

The color drains from Toto’s face as he turns to you. “The Bratva? As in, the Russian mob?”

You sigh, shooting Grigori a glare that could freeze vodka. “It’s complicated, darling. And very much in the past.”

Grigori leans back, thoroughly enjoying the drama unfolding before him. “Oh, come now, Y/N. Surely your husband deserves to know the truth? About your colorful past, your string of deceased husbands, your unexpected rise to power in certain ... shall we say, unofficial circles?”

Toto looks between you and Grigori, his expression a mix of confusion and growing concern. “Y/N, what is he talking about?”

You take a deep breath, squeezing Toto’s hand. “Toto, there are parts of my past I haven’t told you about. Not because I wanted to keep secrets, but because I wanted to leave that life behind.”

Grigori interjects, his voice dripping with false sympathy. “Oh, but my dear, can one ever truly leave such a life behind? Especially when one has risen to such ... prominent positions?”

Toto’s eyes narrow as he looks at Grigori. “And what exactly is your role in all this?”

Grigori smiles, all teeth and no warmth. “Let’s just say I’m an old associate of Dmitri’s. And by extension, of Y/N’s. Though I must admit, I’m surprised to see you still among the living, Mr. Wolff. Our dear Y/N has quite a reputation, you know.”

You slam your hand on the table, your voice low and dangerous. “Enough, Grigori. That’s not who I am anymore.”

Grigori holds up his hands in mock surrender. “Of course, of course. I meant no offense. I’m merely ... surprised. After all, your previous husbands weren’t quite so fortunate. Or so young and vigorous.”

Toto’s jaw clenches, his eyes darting between you and Grigori. “I think it’s time we left.”

As you stand to leave, Grigori calls out, “Oh, but we’ve only just begun to catch up. There’s so much your husband doesn’t know, Y/N. About the power you wield, the empire you inherited. Don’t you think he deserves to know the truth about the woman he married?”

You turn back, your eyes flashing with a mix of anger and something deeper, more dangerous. “The truth, Grigori, is that I left that life behind. I found something real, something worth living for. And if you or anyone else tries to drag me back into that world, you’ll regret it.”

Grigori leans forward, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Is that a threat, my dear?”

You smile, cold and sharp. “Consider it a friendly warning. From one old friend to another.”

As you and Toto walk away, Grigori can’t help but feel a shiver run down his spine. He’d forgotten, in the years since you’d left Russia, just how formidable you could be.

He watches as you and Toto have an intense, whispered conversation by the exit. To his surprise, instead of storming out, Toto nods, takes your hand, and leads you back to Grigori’s table.

“Mr. Volkov,” Toto says, his voice steady and controlled, “I think it’s time we had an honest conversation. About Y/N’s past, about your ... association, and about how we move forward from here.”

Grigori raises an eyebrow, impressed despite himself. “Well, well. It seems you’ve found yourself a man with a spine, Y/N. Very well, let’s talk.”

As the three of you settle back into your seats, Grigori can’t help but feel a grudging respect for Toto. Most men would have run for the hills by now, but here he is, ready to face the truth head-on.

“So,” Grigori begins, pouring fresh vodka for all of you, “where shall we start? With Dmitri? With the Bratva? Or perhaps with the mysterious deaths of Y/N’s previous husbands?”

Toto takes a sip of vodka, his eyes never leaving Grigori’s. “Let’s start with the truth. All of it.”

You sigh, your hand finding Toto’s under the table. “Alright. Dmitri was my fifth husband. He was a high-ranking member of the Bratva, and when he died, I inherited his position and his connections.”

Grigori nods approvingly. “She’s being modest. Y/N didn’t just inherit Dmitri’s position — she expanded it. Forged new alliances, eliminated rivals. She became a force to be reckoned with in our world.”

Toto looks at you, his expression unreadable. “And the other husbands?”

You meet his gaze steadily. “They were all older men, all terminally ill. It was a business arrangement. They got to spend their last months with a young wife, and I got their fortunes. No foul play, I swear.”

Grigori chuckles. “Oh, come now. There were rumors, whispers of poison, of accidents arranged just so ...”

You whirl on him, your eyes flashing. “Rumors started by people like you. People who couldn’t believe a woman could gain power without resorting to murder.”

Toto squeezes your hand, his voice gentle. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this?”

You turn back to him, your expression softening. “Because I wanted to leave it all behind. When I met you, I saw a chance at a real life, a real relationship. I didn’t want my past to taint that.”

Grigori watches this exchange with growing fascination. He’s never seen you like this — vulnerable, open, genuinely in love. It’s... unsettling.

“And now?” He asks, unable to keep the curiosity from his voice. “What becomes of your empire, Y/N? Your power? Your connections?”

You straighten, your voice firm. “I’ve been systematically dismantling it all. Using the resources to fund legitimate businesses, charitable foundations. I’m out. For good.”

Grigori leans back, genuinely surprised. “You’re serious, aren’t you? You’re really walking away from it all.”

Toto speaks up, his voice steady. “We’re building something new together. Something honest, something we can be proud of.”

Grigori studies them both for a long moment, then throws back the last of his vodka. “Well, I’ll be damned. You’ve actually done it. You’ve found a way out.”

You nod, a small smile playing at your lips. “I have. And I’d appreciate it if you’d spread the word. Y/N Wolff is retired. Permanently.”

Grigori stands, straightening his jacket. “Consider it done, my dear. But know this — there will always be those who remember who you were, what you were capable of. Be careful.”

As he turns to leave, Toto calls out, “Mr. Volkov?”

Grigori pauses, looking back. “Yes?”

Toto’s voice is calm, but there’s steel beneath the surface. “If anyone from Y/N’s past tries to cause trouble for us, they’ll have to deal with me. And I assure you, I can be just as formidable as my wife when necessary.”

Grigori studies Toto for a moment, then breaks into a broad grin. “I believe you, Mr. Wolff. I really do. Take care of her, won’t you? She’s one of a kind.”

As Grigori walks away, he can’t help but shake his head in amazement. You, the Black Widow of the Bratva, settled down and in love. Will wonders never cease?

He glances back one last time to see you and Toto deep in conversation, your hands intertwined on the table. There’s an openness to your expression that he’s never seen before, a vulnerability that speaks volumes.

For the first time in years, Grigori feels a twinge of envy. Not for your power or your wealth, but for the genuine connection you seem to have found. As he steps out into the cool Monaco night, he wonders if perhaps it’s time for him to consider a change of his own.

After all, if the infamous Y/N can find redemption and true love, maybe there’s hope for an old dog like him yet.

[illyrianbitch]

Blessed

Pairing: Lesser Fae Acheron!Reader x Eris Vanserra

Summary: Angered by Nesta's actions, the Cauldron turned you into a fae different than your sisters— a lesser one that resembled more animal than human. Now living in Autumn, Eris shows you a new perspective on yourself.

Warnings: mainly fluff, sprinkles of self-hatred and low confidence, mentions of previous trauma, just reader being shown her worth!

Word Count: 3.2k

a/n: unedited so pls ignore anything tehehe i was just excited to post

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

There was a faint breeze that kissed your skin as you walked a step behind Eris. 

The vibrant hues of fall leaves surrounded you— beautiful trees of red, orange, and yellow. But you were stuck far too into your mind to appreciate the sight. Even after your move to Autumn, and your growing relationship with Eris, you spent your days in your head, wishing to keep distance between you and every other living creature. 

But it wasn’t possible. Even now, you weren’t able to hide behind fabrics— no cloaks or jackets could hide the antlers that had sprouted from your head or the spots and markings that adorned your skin. You were exposed in every way you wished to hide. It was hard to appreciate the world around you when it had cursed you to be such a creature. 

"Where are we going?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper. The sound of it alone was tired and timid, and for a moment you barely recognized it yourself.

Eris didn't answer immediately. Instead, he stopped, causing you to halt in your tracks as he turned to face you. His expression was unreadable for a moment before softening into something you couldn't quite place. His eyes scanned your face. 

"Do you trust me?"

His voice was gentle, a soft cadence that balanced the cool fall breeze perfectly. 

You met his gaze, studying the lines of his face, the way his eyes seemed to soften in your presence. There was a gentle smile playing on his lips, but beneath it, you detected a flicker of uncertainty, as if he was afraid of what your answer might be.

A warmth in your chest spread as you replied. "Yes.”

Eris let out a breath as the smile on his face grew. He extended his hand towards you.

"Then let me show you something,” he said, “I hope it will prove something to you.”

You frowned slightly at his words but took his hand nonetheless, feeling how the warmth of his skin spread throughout your body. You didn’t dare to look down at where your hands met, at where the markings on your skin would stand in such contrast to his immaculate human-like hands. You brushed the thought away as he led further into the depths of the forest.

You stole glances at him as you walked, admiring how different he looked now, surrounded by his court, than those times you'd seen him at the Night Court. He seemed so regal, so effortlessly handsome and elegant— an image so far from the one he’d kept at first, the darkness, mystery, and cruelty that shrouded him before.

He looked back every other moment, making sure to catch your eye and give you a reassuring gesture, a smile or a squeeze on your hands. And those eyes—those mesmerizing eyes—seemed to hold so much. So many emotions, so much intellect, and so much capability for kindness. 

It shocked you, truly, to think about a time when those eyes were only cruel, only calculated. But perhaps it was only you he looked at with such kindness. Or, perhaps it was sorrow he felt for you, for your situation and the way you were Made. You tried not to think about it too often, tried not to make yourself sad by the reality that Eris, the powerful new High Lord of Autumn, was forever mated to you– a cursed, creature of a female, a disgrace compared to you devastatingly beautiful High Fae sisters. 

But here he was, holding your hand and guiding you into the forest of his court— your court. And your heart fluttered in a way you still weren't used to.

It was a few more minutes of walking in comfortable silence until you arrived at a small clearing within the embrace of the trees. The area was adorned with fallen leaves and small boulders, and the sound of a babbling creek nearby filled the air with a soothing melody. A sudden sense of peace washed over you, easing the weight of sadness that had been clinging to your shoulders like second skin. 

Breathing out a sigh of contentment, you turned to face Eris, who had gently dropped your hand. You took in the beauty of the scene before you, the colors of autumn painting a picturesque backdrop that seemed to come alive with every rustle of the leaves. You brought your hands together at your chest, meeting his eyes with a timid smile. 

"I'm still so stunned by the beauty of it all,” you said, turning around to take in your surroundings once more. “Even after seeing it so often.”

Eris simply stared at you, the smile on his lips never fading. Something glowed deep in him. "I understand the feeling.”

You missed the way his eyes softened with awe at you, at the sight of you taking in the world around you—the way your eyes sparkled with wonder. His words weren’t meant for the woods around him, weren’t about the beautiful nature you now looked at. 

"Are you willing to do me a favor?”

You turned to him, narrowing your eyes playfully as you took in the glint of his eyes. "Depends on the favor, Vanserra."

A grin tugged at the corners of his lips. With a nod, he beckoned you closer, his eyes never leaving yours.

"Come closer, Archeron, and then I can ask it of you.” A faint heat rose to your cheeks as you stepped forward, your gaze now falling to the ground to avoid the magnetic pull of his own. A nervous flutter danced in your chest, and you chided yourself for being so silly— blushing over a male like a child with a crush. A male who was tied to you by some mystical, godly thread. It was still so much to wrap your mind around— how strongly you felt towards him in such little time.

Eris slowly extended both of his hands towards you, the palms of his ring-clad hands facing upwards. You hesitated, face furrowing in uncertainty as your gaze flickered between his hands and his face.

"And here I thought you said you trusted me," he teased. His voice remained just as gentle.

A laugh escaped your lips, a sound that bubbled up from deep within you. It echoed through the quiet clearing and Eris’ eyes lit up. A smile tugged at his lips as you finally reached out, placing your palms gently against his.

With a soft exhale, he instructed, "Close your eyes."

You furrowed your brow once more. "What for?" 

"I just want you to take it all in," Eris replied, his tone earnest. "Close your eyes. And then we can try something."

You nodded. “Okay.”

You allowed yourself to surrender to the moment, eyelids fluttering shut as you let out a deep breath. The world around you faded away, leaving only the sound of the babbling creek and the feel of Eris's hands beneath yours. 

You sunk into the peaceful rhythm of your heartbeat, and deep down, it almost felt as if you could feel Eris's heartbeat echoing yours, the pulsing of his heart through the palms that touched your own.

After a while, his voice broke the silence. "Keep your eyes closed. I'm going to let your hands go."

A slight pang of disappointment grew in your chest at the thought of losing the warmth of his touch, but you nodded nonetheless. You pulled your hands back into your chest, holding them together as you listened to the sound of leaves crunching beneath his boots. 

"I'll be right here. Is that alright?"

Eris spoke again, his voice now coming from behind you. 

You jumped at the sudden proximity, and a nervous shiver ran down your spine as you felt his breath against your skin, his warmth enveloping you from behind. Swallowing hard, you willed yourself to calm down, to ignore the fluttering of your heart. He let out a small breathy laugh.

"Sorry," Eris murmured, his voice light with a sense of amusement. “I’ll give a better warning next time.”

You could hear the smile in his voice.

"Are your eyes closed too?" you found yourself asking, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

"Do you want them to be?"

Feeling a blush rise to your cheeks at the realization of how silly your question was, you whispered, "Well, I wouldn't want to be alone."

Another laugh escaped Eris. "You're not alone. I'm here."

You let out a ragged breath. “Right.”

"Just take a deep breath, Y/n," he continued.

You did your best to ignore how your stomach seemed to flip at the sound of your name on his lips and you nodded his response, following his guidance as you took in the fresh air around you. 

"Focus on the sounds around you," Eris continued, "On the earth beneath your feet."

It only took a few moments before you began to feel acutely aware of every sensation coursing through your body. The gentle sway of the trees in the breeze sent shivers down your spine, the earth beneath your feet pulsed with life, grounding you in the present moment, to the presence of Eris behind you. 

Each breath you took filled your lungs with the crisp autumn air, invigorating you from the inside out. A faint echo of leaves crunching filled your ears, your mind wandering to thoughts of the life that must be found within these woods. Every rustle, every chirp, every whisper— magnified, as if the forest itself was alive and speaking to you in its own language.

"What do you feel?" 

"I feel... alive," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. "I feel connected to everything around me, as if I'm a part of this forest, this world."

It was a feeling unlike any other you’d ever felt— a sense of belonging that washed over you like a warm embrace. You nearly cried at the feeling, at the realization of how desperate you had been for it, how difficult it had been to watch your sister’s grow into their new lives while you felt so strange, so at odds with it.

"Anything else?" Eris prompted, his voice soft, coaxing.

You paused, taking a moment to listen to yourself, to the feelings that swirled within you, to the sensations throughout your body. “Curiosity," you admitted, your face slightly furrowing at the realization.

Eris placed his hands on your arms, the warmth of his touch seeping through the fabric of your dress. A smile tugged at your lips at the comforting sensation and the crease between your brows quickly faded. 

And then, leaning in closer, Eris whispered, "Open your eyes."

Your heart skipped a beat at the sound of his voice, a sense of excitement – giddiness, almost– coursing through your veins as you slowly opened your eyes.

As your gaze adjusted to the sight before you, your breath hitched in your throat.

There, standing before you, was the most stunning doe you had ever seen. Her coat shimmered in the sunlight that filtered through the trees and her eyes held a softness that seemed to reach into the depths of your soul. Somewhere deep inside of you, something sang. Beside her stood a small fawn, eyes wide and curious as she regarded you with innocence and wonder– curiosity. It was curiosity.

But it wasn't just the two of them. Behind them, hidden amongst the trees, were more deer.

You blinked in disbelief. Turning your head to glance over your shoulder, you found Eris already looking at you.. His eyes gleamed as he peered down at you, and a proud smile played at the corners of his lips.

Eris gently motioned you forward with a soft push on your bicep. You glanced back at him, uncertainty flickering in your gaze, in your wide eyes and parted lips. He nodded forward, silently urging you on once more, and a knot of nerves formed in your stomach.

"Eris..." you began, voice trailing off as you turned your attention back to the doe before you. Your heart pounded in your chest as you hesitated, nervous to make a move. Deer tended to be timid creatures, and the last thing you wanted was to startle them.

Memories from the past flooded your mind. You thought back to the times when you struggled to provide for your starving family, the guilt weighing heavily on your conscience— a stain that still existed, just as dark as the first days when it began to form. You remembered how Feyre understood when you couldn't hunt with her, despite how easily you were able to track deer, how she accepted your help in other ways.

And now, as you stared at the doe before you, you couldn't shake the feeling of unworthiness that gnawed at your insides. How did you deserve this moment of peace, this connection with nature, when you carried the weight of your past actions on your shoulders? A sense of peace like this was earned— deserved. You had done nothing but hide away. 

You glanced back at Eris.

Was this what he felt like? Had he, too, struggled with a sense of peace and belonging that seemed almost too good to be true? With a deep breath, you gathered your courage and took a hesitant step forward, still worried, almost overly cautious, that your movements might startle the animals before you. 

But to your surprise, instead of fleeing, the doe lowered her head in a gesture of acceptance, and the fawn cautiously approached you.

There was a bubbling of emotions in your chest, feelings that swirled within you– mixtures of awe and vulnerability. The small fawn approached you on bending legs, and you kneeled down slightly, watching as its small gaze was fixed on you. You let out a small laugh, your mouth breaking into a smile as the creature regarded you with such comfortability.

From behind, you watched as the mother doe moved forward, and out of caution, you stood up slowly. She inched forward more, her fawn at the side of her legs. An instinctive sensation prickled at you, and with trembling hands, you extended your palm outward, offering it in a gesture of peace— or so you hoped.

The mother doe approached, her nose brushing against your hand as she stared at you with those deep, soulful eyes. 

"She is not threatened," you whispered softly. 

You glanced back at Eris, who began to walk towards you. His movements caused the doe before you to stiffen under your touch, and you quickly found yourself murmuring to her, in a voice intended solely for you and the creature, "He's alright. It’s alright."

A sense of relaxation washed over you as the animal before you seemed to relax once more, her small fawn approaching Eris with excited movements.

"How do I know that?" you asked him. Eris watched as you looked back at the deer before you, as you placed your hand on her snout, feeling the warmth of her breath against your skin. “How do I know that she’s not threatened?”

There was a small pause. “Have you been told much about The Mother?”

You frowned, eyes still trained on the animal before you, hand still gently touching her fur. “Not really.” 

You stilled for a moment before letting out a small sigh. “I think you underestimate how hidden away I was, how little I interacted with my family once I became….this.” 

Eris’ heart sank at the way you regarded yourself, and he let out a deep breath.

"The Mother is said to know the heart of every living thing. Her connection with nature is something renowned. Think of it as a bond.”

You glanced at him over your shoulder. “Like ours?”

There was a tug in your chest at the mention of that bond, of that thread that tied you and Eris together— you and the male that currently regarded you with such awe. Even the way he spoke made your heart flutter, made you want to ask him of all the things he’d learned about. You’d quickly come to know that Eris was quite the intellect. It was showing especially now, as he spoke.

“Somewhat,” he responded, “A different type of bond. But yes, just as strong. Just as sacred.”

You smiled at the words. And then, you listened intently as Eris spoke of how stories his own mother told him growing up, stories of how The Mother had once walked among the forests, her very presence a blessing to all who crossed her path. She cared for the world with a tenderness and love that knew no bounds, nurturing the land and its inhabitants with a gentle hand.

"Those who care for the world that she so carefully tended are said to be blessed by her," Eris continued. His voice was soft and low with a sense of reverence that made your heart beat calmer, slower— one that filled you with a sense of sanctity and respect. "The Mother sees the goodness in their hearts and rewards them with her favor."

A sense of wonder, of awe and admiration washed over you, and you felt tears welling up in your eyes. You weren’t certain where the emotions were coming from, whether it was the peace in your heart, the tenderness of Eris’ voice or the beautiful animals before you— it was all overwhelming, so beautifully soul-igniting. There was a tug in your chest, a feeling of breathlessness mingled with an inexplicable longing, as if you were being drawn into something greater than yourself, something infinitely beautiful and sacred. 

You turned to look at Eris as he walked towards you, closing the distance that remained. At your feet, the small fawn brushed past the fabrics of your dress. 

"The Cauldron was angry when Nesta stole from it. It wanted to punish you for her actions.”

You nodded absentmindedly, nodded at the memory, at the excruciating pain you had felt. Your thoughts ran back to the anger you harbored towards your family, the fear and embarrassment– the envy that your sisters had been made so beautiful where you had been wronged. So deeply, unnaturally, strangely wronged. 

Your lip quivered. Eris’ eyes softened.

"You've led yourself to believe that you are cursed," he said softly, “Do you want to know what I believe?”

You blinked away tears. “What do you believe?”

“The Mother protected you. Saved you.”

Your hand fell gently from the doe’s snout, an overwhelming, crushing sense of relief flooding through your body like a wave, rippling through your arms, exploding in your chest. 

Eris’ hand reached out to grasp yours, and with his eyes still trained on you, he brought your hand to his lips— the same hand freckled with spots, with ones that mirrored the fawn that stood below you. He placed a gentle kiss to your knuckles before raising your hand slightly.

You watched in astonishment as a small butterfly appeared, alighting on your palm with delicate grace. A tear slipped from your eye as your lips parted. 

"You are far from cursed, Y/n," Eris said tenderly, "You are blessed."

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

guys ngl i have an entire universe of ideas for this pairing...just the parallel of eris and a lesser fae reader and what happened to lucien and jesminda??? reader struggling at first and eris feeling the bond so strongly he needs to stay away but reader mistakes it as him being disgusted?? reader x lucien friendship??? reader being representation for lesser fae??? PLEASEEE

like ask @itsswritten i already love this pairing but idk if yall are as interested. lmk and ima make a taglist!!

permanent tag list 🫶🏻: @rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria @georgiadixon

@glam-targaryen @nighttimemoonlover

[felassan]

Letters from Lovers

Transcriptions of the letters from the various gear store items. under cut for length.

Isabela:

“My dear Hawke, Do you know anyone with a flock of parrots? I'm trying to cheat on a bet with Varric and the stakes are exceedingly high. If you help me, I shall take you to that breathtaking beach you so crave. Free of ancient horrors, too. I think. I'd hate to take respite from all my adventures, but there are other ways to make the heart flutter. In fact I'm already imagining a few. Aren't you? Sailing there can be fatal, but Admiral Isabela will keep you safe. Are you interested? I would love to see you again. Yours, Isabela”

Morrigan:

“My love, Now before that grin reaches your ears, perish the thought that this letter was my idea. 'Tis Kieran who would not give me peace until I wrote to ask how you are faring. Regale us, if you please, with another of your tales that I might read to him in bed. He is particularly fond of those wherein you spur mischief whilst you save the day. Thank you for your most delightful gifts. I shall make certain to wear them the next time you come home. Dream of me until then, my Hero of Ferelden, and have a care. Morrigan”

Dorian:

“My dearest Amatus, Home is ever as it was: a glittering whirl of dancing, politics, and murder. I'm used to people staring daggers at me - I quite relish it, actually - but the glares seem to possess a new intensity since my return to Tevinter. Do they disapprove of House Pavus freeing its slaves while I work in the Magisterium to end slavery across Tevinter? Perhaps they simply covet my cheekbones, and who could blame them? Real reform will take time, but we're making inroads. I miss you terribly, Amatus, perhaps almost as much as you miss me. I treasure you and your belief in my work here. Yours always, Dorian P.S. I wouldn't take it amiss if you might send me another barrel of that dreadful Fereldan beer?”

Alistair:

“My love, How are you? Is it true that you recently killed darkspawn with only a mean glare and a pointy stick? Ferelden is ablaze with this rumor! You do give people so much hope. Tales of your heroism never fail to astonish me and almost ease the pain of going to sleep without you by my side. Almost. I can't wait to be with you again. I'd bring you some roses, you could give me a tour of the keep, we'd drink with the new recruits and then cuddle in a tent. Without the new recruits! Tent time is just for the two of us. I want to make that clear. Now excuse me while I practice my death glare and rummage through the dog's stash of sticks. I love you. Yours forever, Alistair.”

The Iron Bull:

“Kadan, You won’t believe what I did today. I got a guy to flip! Twice! So yes, all is well. Except for all the demons. And this whole thing in which I’m far away from the love of my life. Really keeps me up at night. Anyway, you hearing these rumors of a dragon on the loose? Yeah! The boys and I are on its trail. Last I heard, it was flying toward the Frostback Mountains. Can you join us? I hope you’re not uh… all tied up. Don’t worry, I’m fairly certain it’s not a Ben-Hassrath trap. And if it is, you know I’m prepared. Ataash varin kata! I love you, Kadan. See you soon. The Iron Bull.”

Tali:

“By the way, I left something for you up in your cabin. Go have a look.” - Tali’Zorah  --- “Dear Shepard,   As you may remember, I presented this picture frame to you as a gift on the Normandy. It was my way of expressing my admiration for you and our bond as comrades-in-arms. On the back of the metal frame, I've emblazoned a promise that will never fade - 'Shepard, wherever you go, I'm with you.'  I know it's not much, but...this is what I look like under the mask. I'm sorry if it's not what you were expecting. I know Quarian faces can be a bit...different. Every time you look at my picture, I hope you will be reminded of our adventures on the Normandy, from our battles against the Reapers to our intimate conversations in the privacy of our quarters.    I am not one to express my emotions openly, but thank you for being my friend, my confidante, and my inspiration. I look forward to many more adventures together.  Keelah se’lai,   Tali’Zorah”

Bonus:

Shepard's N7 acceptance letter, from Anderson:

“N7 Congratulations on your graduation From Captain David Anderson Shepard, When I graduated from the N7 program I had the honor of meeting Admiral Grissom, the man who inspired me to pursue a career in the service, and I never thought I’d feel prouder in my life. I was mistaken. Don’t get me wrong, it was a big day. An important day. But there’s something about welcoming driven young people like yourself into the ranks that’s also pretty damn satisfying. Your distinguished service record may have gotten you into this program - but it was your courage, integrity, and tenacity that’s enabled you to join an elite few. You represent the best of humanity, and I feel certain you’ll make the galaxy a better place. And I’m not the only one who feels this way. Becoming an N7 means the entire Systems Alliance is telling you one thing - we believe in you. Let me end by saying this. Welcome to the team Shepard. We know you won’t let us down. David Anderson Systems Alliance Interplanetary Combatives Academy N7 N7 Acceptance Letter”

[innerfare]

Blue Balls - Law: Part 1

Summary: Law ends up with a case of blue balls; text below the cut

Pairing: Trafalgar Law x Afab!Reader

Genre: smut

CW: dirty talk

Word Count: 954

———

In a rare moment alone aboard the Polar Tang, Law had you pinned to the metal wall. He hadn’t had the patience to drag you back to his quarters, coming on to you right there in the hallway and caging you with his larger body, a muscular thigh between your legs. Looking down at you, at your pretty face and the swell of your breasts, he couldn’t figure out how he had gone so long without his sweet, sweet girl. 

You’d been gone for three weeks, and in the seven days you had been back, almost every night there had been something keeping you from his cabin- an extra late night at the tavern with the crew, falling asleep with some of the others in a common area- and by extension, something keeping you from his bed. 

The days were no better. 

The crew had missed you as much as he had, and it showed in the way they were clinging to you. Anytime he thought you might get a moment alone, even to exchange a few soft, private, intimate words, a crew member interrupted with a dumb question or an even dumber joke, asked you to once again regale them with a story from your time away, or insisted you sit beside them rather than him. 

He couldn’t take it anymore. 

“Come on, y/n-ah,” he said in that deep voice of his, soft but firm. “We don’t have time to fool around.” He wanted you to unbutton his black shirt. He wanted you to run your cold little hands up and down his tanned abdomen, pulling your bottom lip into your mouth and getting a little shy as you admired his muscles. He wanted you to do what you always did, but you were toying with him, playing with his earrings and tapping his nose. 

“What’s the rush?” You asked, looking up at him with innocent eyes. “I won’t be leaving again anytime soon. Besides, I thought you wanted to fool around.” You had been only a little bit aware of the burning looks your boyfriend had been shooting you from across the room, teasing him a little but ultimately too caught up in the chaos of your return to do much about it. 

Law let out a heavy sigh. Arm braced against the wall, he leaned his forehead against it and screwed his eyes shut, the tension in his body almost too much to bear, the only thing worse than that the embarrassment of it. “I can’t believe I have to explain this to you.” 

“Explain what to me?” 

“It’s been four weeks, y/n-ah. Four weeks.” 

“I know that, Law. I missed you.” 

“I missed you too, y/n. But that’s not the point.” The strain in his voice made him sound almost as pathetic as he felt, the vein in his neck twitching. 

You wanted to reach up and kiss that vein, then bite down on it while your fingers undid the buttons of his black shirt- your favorite on him. But the only thing you enjoyed more than doing that was watching him unbutton the shirt himself, absolutely pissed that you made him beg like some sort of slave. 

He was a man, he would snap at you, not a dog. 

And yet, he came when called. 

“I can tell you missed me, Law.” You shifted, pushing yourself down on the leg he had between your thighs. 

Law made a sound he tried to swallow, but you knew that sound all too well. 

“What’s wrong? Couldn’t get yourself off while I was gone? Surely you’re a little more capable than that, Dr. Law.” 

He peeled his eyes open and lifted his head from his arm, glaring down at you. “Do not call me that.” 

“What?” You pouted. “You love it when I call you doctor.” 

“That’s why you shouldn’t do it.” His eyes almost burned a hole in you. 

You could feel the heat rolling off of him. When he pushed his erection into you, you swore you felt it pulsing. 

“Semen retention is-” 

“Please,” you interrupted, “spare me the lecture on semen retention, Law. I’ve only had to listen to it a thousand times.” 

“Three times,” he argued. “You’ve had to listen to it three times. Each time because you thought it was funny to get me to the edge and then leave me hanging.” 

“It’s called teasing, Dr. Law, and it’s half the fun.” 

“Well, I don’t think it’s fun.” 

“You don’t think anything’s fun.” 

“That’s not true.” He actually pouted a little bit, and it was that expression on his face that had you wracked with guilt. Your poor captain had spent four weeks alone. Twenty-eight full nights without the woman he called his secret medicine- emphasis on secret. 

Just then, the sound of voices drifted around the corner. Two of the crew members were approaching- Penguin and Shachi, from the sounds of it. 

Law went tense, his body as hard and rigid as the walls of the submarine. 

He was supposed to pull away. He was supposed to jump back and straighten his clothes. He was supposed to start a casual conversation with you and hope neither Penguin nor Shachi noticed his raging hard on. But that raging hard on made it impossible. He couldn’t pry himself off of you, not when he was so close, not when he could smell your apple-flavored shampoo and feel your skin, soft like rose petals, and press his throbbing cock into your body. 

“Come on,” you conceded. “Let’s go to your cabin.” 

He melted. “Really?” 

“Yes, really.” You pushed him off, sliding your hand into his. “But be quick about it. You’re not the only one who’s gone four weeks without sex.” 

———

Hope you enjoyed it! You can read Part 2 here! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

[somewhereincairparavel]

Alright. I came across someone saying that Rick "put Jason in a pedestal" and "overhyped" him by emphasizing how good looking he is and that Jason shouldn't have been so attractive looking. (Tbf tho that person made it sound like they seemed more mad bc their least favourite character was considered good looking lol) but I'll yap about the significance here anyways. Beware of a very long yapping session below.

I do understand their frustration though, because jason getting told that he looks good all the time makes it seem very shallow and unfair to the others.

And let me tell you, Jason is SUPPOSED to be gorgeous looking in everyone's eyes. He is supposed to be conventionally handsome, Rick didn't intend for his looks to be "beauty is in the eyes of the beholder " or something like Percy's (like how Piper didn't find him as impressive) Percy's is supposed to be more authentic. Percy's character isnt centred in people idolizing him, everyone can acknowledge that he's handsome looking, but it isn't in a "perfect" type of way, he's a carefree spirit and that reflects on his looks. While Jason is hardwired as this ethereal looking hero in people's eyes that not even ONE can deny that he looks good, bc ppl in Rome had set him as the "standard". Jason said this before in the lost hero, that him being a son of Jupiter, makes him feel like the support he gets is only because his dad is a very regal and intimidating figure.

That's kind of the whole point, he's supposed to look like this perfect man who can do no wrong. His "Golden noble boy" arc is literally the whole concept of his character. Why else do you think rick wrote Aphrodite approving of Jason's looks saying that he needed no improvement (which she rarely does) ?

Because Jason is supposed to be put like a statue to admire and idolize, that's ALSO why rick made sure to add that Jason looks like a Roman sculpture, bc that's like a metaphor for his inner conflicts. The guy was put like an artifact for people to ogle at in camp Jupiter ever since he was a kid of 4. That's part of the tragedy.

Annabeth said it perfectly “Annabeth tried to hide it, but she still didn’t completely trust the guy. He acted too perfect - always following the rules, always doing the honorable thing. He even looked too perfect. In the back of her mind, she had a nagging thought. What if this is a trick and he betrayed us?” Mark of Athena, page 6.

His mother, whom he's supposed to look like, is also a literal world wide tv actress. So you can't expect anything less either.

Also, Jason is supposed to mirror Percy. And let's be real. Rick put Percy in a VERY high pedestal looks wise, aswell, Not just Jason. And that's okay.

Rick made Hazel mistake Percy for a literal god because he was just that good looking (tbf, in a way, when I was younger, I found this to be a little bit of an exaggeration, bro was covered in mud and seaweed and was compared to a god, it was rlly funny to a 10 year old me 😭 yeah but don't mind this though, this was just a younger me jealous that I couldn't be as pretty as Percy was in mud lol) If Percy can be "hyped" up so "unrealistically" in that particular situation then so can Jason. They are both literal half gods, so unrealistic praise is very normal) and rick also made sure to emphasize that almost all the teen characters had a crush on Percy. So apparently that isn't called putting a character in a pedestal but Jason's is? They are BOTH put in pedestals, because they're both heroes.

Jason and Percy are supposed to be equals, so both of them being in the top two when it comes to looks makes SENSE. Because people are supposed to argue about who is better looking, since they're written as foils.

You cannot expect rick to make Percy look like a god and Jason look like a rat 😭 then there's no point of having them as parallels if one has the upper hand in something. Rick did a good job by conveying that they are BOTH attractive, but in different ways. That's why the Percy/Jason looks debate always have mixed answers.

Jason getting complimented by Aphrodite, the GODDESS of beauty, for his looks and her saying that he didn't have anything to "fix" in his face BC it already looks gorgeous = Percy getting compared to a gorgeous Roman god by hazel. They are both equal comparisons in slightly different tones.

[strangerstilinski]

𝙞𝙩 𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙚𝙨 𝙖 𝙠𝙞𝙨𝙨

𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

word count: 2.5k warnings: none really, fluffy ending, steve is kind of a dick, mention of alcohol, gender neutral reader (pls let me know if i missed anything) based on that scene in tasm where peter spins gwen around to kiss her — with just a dash of enemies to lovers

It should go without saying that Steve Harrington is the bane of your goddamned existence. If the two of you aren't at each other's throats, it typically just means that you're both doing your best to pretend the other doesn't even exist.

And, sure, maybe it drives you a little bit insane that he seems to get along just fine with every person in your friend group except for you. It was like you pushed buttons that Steve wasn't even aware he had.

Nancy finds the whole thing amusing, says that Steve's clearly so in love with you that he doesn't know how to handle it. Eddie swears that Steve looks at you with hearts in his eyes, though any time you've caught his stare those ‘hearts’ tended to look a whole lot more like daggers. Argyle and Robin both insist that love and hate tread a very thin line, and eventually, a little push will have the two of you stumbling head over heels into each other's waiting arms. Johnathan tends to stay out of it, but then, he doesn't really need to say anything, because you've seen that look he gives you when he catches you looking a little too long at the moles dotted along the length of Steve's throat, or that stubborn lock of hair that tumbles over his brow bone, or the way his tongue pokes out and his eyes narrow cutely when he's concentrating-

You hate it. You hate Steve. Even now, you swear you hate him, regardless of the way you shamelessly ogle the curve of his bicep when he reaches across the back of the sofa to drape his arm loosely behind Robin's shoulders. You've accepted it. At this point, allowing yourself to admire his stupidly handsome physique was merely reparations for being forced to put up with him on a near-daily basis. Compensation for the never-ending bad attitude that he seemed to direct solely at you.

“Does anyone hear that?” Steve's voice speaks louder than your own suddenly, effectively cutting you off even though you'd been in the middle of a sentence. His eyes meet yours for just a brief second before his gaze is moving elsewhere, “It’s like, this annoying buzzing sound?” He's sitting up a little straighter following his interruption, brows drawing together like he's listening intently for something.

His sudden line of questioning has thoroughly derailed your train of thought. The longwinded story you'd been regaling to the group about a customer at work is cut short, the words dissolving on your tongue as your try to work out what on earth Steve is referring to. Until his interruption, you hadn't heard anything.

“What are you even talking abou-”

“There!” He cuts you off once more, “There it is again! Did you hear that, Robs?” The fingers he nudges into his best friend's ribs makes her squirm away with a deep laugh.

“Are you seriously implying that I'm the-”

“God, you are hearing that, right?” Steve interrupts with an irritatingly pleased grin on his face, “Like nails on a chalkboard-”

Though Robin's laughter isn't actually directed at you, your face burns hotly anyway. A pity-filled smile graces her lips when she meets your gaze after escaping the wrath of Steve's tickling, and the boy's chuckles of amusement only serve to make you grind your teeth together in irritation.

“Real mature, dickhead.” You snap, snatching up the beer you'd set down on the coffee table when Eddie had actually asked you about your day a few minutes before. “I was in the middle of a story.”

“Yeah, no offense, honey, but I don't think any of us were that invested hearing you talk about the ‘big tip’ that some douchebag with a hand tattoo left you.” Steve grumbled with a roll of his eyes, “If your stories weren't so boring, maybe we wouldn't all be sitting here hoping for a hole in the earth to open up under us just so we don't have to keep listening to-”

“Steve, c'mon man-” Eddie tries, though his voice is drowned out by your own.

“Jesus, do you have to be such an asshole all the time?” You snap in Steve's direction.

“I'm just saying,” Steve shrugged, “Probably the only reason he left such a big tip was because pulled the wrong bill out of his wallet. It sure as hell wasn't 'cause of your shining personality.”

“What, and just 'cause you're a jackass that means no man could ever possibly find me appealing?” You bite back.

“Yeah, well, your pretty face doesn't quite make up for your constant need for attention.”

“My need for attention?” You scoff incredilously, beer slamming back down onto the tabletop in front of you as the rest of your friends seem to fade even further into the background. “You're the one who can't stand when the focus is on me for ten fucking seconds.”

“Well I don't care if some prick hit on you at work-” Steve argues, “So, I guess, if that makes me an asshole-”

“It does, as a matter of fact,” You interrupt easily, “Because I'm constantly listening to you whine about your conquest of the week, and I'm able to do so without acting like a fucking-”

“Careful,” Steve hums, cocky little smirk reemerging on his lips, “You're sounding a little jealous, there, honey.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

“'S my house,” He returns just as quickly, “How 'bout you fuck off.”

The blood in your veins is full of fire. Your face is burning with rage and your eyes prickle traitorously with frustrated tears, because that customer from your story? That was the highlight of your day, because the rest of it had been a fucking disaster.

You'd slipped on freshly mopped floors and dropped an entire table's drink orders. You'd been forced to finish your shift with sticky, soda pop-soaked socks squelching wetly in your shoes with every step. Your boss had given you shit, even though it was one of your coworkers who had failed to put out the wet floor sign in the first place. You'd burned yourself on a hotplate, twice. And then, after all that, you'd had no choice but to take an ice-cold shower before heading over to Steve's house, because the hot water heater in your decrepit apartment building was apparently broken. Again.

“Y'know what? Fine.”

You're already rising to your feet, wiping the palms of your hands down your jeans to dry the lingering condensation from your beer. You blink furiously to push back the tears that had been pooling at your waterline, shaking your head at the ridiculousness of the turn in your evening.

“Wha-” Steve is watching you with something like concern in his eyes now, “Wh-Where're you goin'?”

“I'm leaving,” You announce, gaze steadfastly avoiding where Steve has removed his arm from around Robin's shoulders so he can sit at the edge of the couch, like he's planning to rise to his own feet at any moment. “I, um. I'll talk to you guys later.”

There are protests from everyone, but you don't bear them any mind. You're already turning on your heel and moving toward the entryway with hurried steps. The front door slams shut behind you before you've even gotten your jacket all the way on. You've still got one arm still struggling to find the hole of your sleeve when you hear the door swing back open behind you.

“Hey! Wait up.”

Steve's voice does make you slow where you've begun to move down the driveway, though you don't turn around. Your steps finally come to a stop when he calls out to you again.

“C'mon, honey wait, wait, wait-”

You blow out a frustrated breath as he finally catches up with you, your arms crossing over your chest like that might somehow put up a physical barrier between the two of you.

“I really don't want to do this with you, Harrington. Alright?” An air of defeat laces your words, one hand coming up to rub at the headache that’s begun to pulse between your brows, “Just.. Not tonight.”

You move to step around him and the heel of your boots click against the pavement once, twice. But then something hooks into the belt loop on your jeans and you're tugged back around. You lose your footing at the unexpected shift in momentum, knees wobbling unsteadily for just a moment before you're twirled back around to face him and then your palms are meeting a firm chest.

The adrenaline has your brain whiting out for just a moment, any and all thoughts screeching to a halt. There’s warmth seeping into your palms from beneath Steve’s tshirt. The racing of your own heart in your ears drowns out the distant sound of laughter and the opening trailers of a movie rental coming from inside. Your eyes are level with his chin, wide gaze locked on his lips as they quirk up at one corner with his gentle smirk. You’re still standing pigeon-toed between his own larger feet, a little off balance but held firmly in place by the wide hand splayed across your waist.

“I'm sorry.” Steve says quietly.

It’s only been a second or two since he dragged you back into his space, and to your surprise, his head dips, just a fraction. Steve brushes his nose against your own, a gentle stroke that sends butterflies in your stomach fluttering wildly. The cool mint clinging to his breath fans out over your face smelling of the gum he’s always chewing and smacking obnoxiously, but the scent this close is intoxicating. The hand he brings up to cradle your jaw is intoxicating. The loose flap of leather on his watch that tickles at the side of your throat. The way he’s leaning in-

The passion he kisses you with, from the moment your lips touch, is intoxicating. It's all-encompassing. You can’t think, and you’re not sure you’re even breathing, but his lips are moving in unhurried synchronization with your own. Your knees are weak. You’re gripping the material of his shirt in your fists just for something to hold onto, but Steve’s arm is curled tight around the curve in your spine now to hold you steady.

His tongue brushes against your lips, licking softly at the seam of your mouth like he's asking for permission. The desperate sound that crawls up your throat at just that quick brush of his tongue nestles in the depths of Steve's brain where he files it away for later. He hitches his arm even tighter at your waist, pulling your stomachs flush until your chest heaves against his own.

Your head is a little fuzzy when your lips separate long enough for you to take a breath, and you’re gasping comically in an effort to fill your lungs. Steve’s quiet chuckle meets your ears, his hand sliding back from your jaw to cup the back of your neck.

“You kissed me.” The words fall from your lips in a whisper of disbelief. Your eyes are still closed, lashes fluttering against the tops of your cheeks. You’re terrified if you open them even a crack, the entire scene will suddenly fade away around you like some kind of dream. The airy cadence of your voice is partially due to your surprise, but also thanks to the far-too-easy grace with which you've been spun and manhandled and swept entirely off your feet.

“I did,” Steve agrees just as quietly, “I did do that.”

His forehead meets your own as your eyes flutter open and he simply holds you there for a moment, nose dragging across your cheek before he presses another quick kiss to your lips. His head tilts, thumb stroking soft over the side of your throat before his mouth finds yours again, and again. These kisses are different — casual, tender, sweet and unhurried. Like he’s kissing you just because he can.

“You-” Is all you manage to get out before your words are silenced by his lips slotting between your own, but you carry on with barely a pause as you click apart once again, “Y'r still doing it.”

“Mhm.” He hums easily, the sound rumbling beneath your hands on his chest.

“Why-”

Kiss.

“Are you-”

Kiss.

“Kissing me?”

Steve’s breath mingles hotly with your own in the narrow breadth of space between your parted lips, “D’you want me to stop?”

“No. Hell no.”

And there's that perfect smile of his. Straight teeth make an appearance as his lips quirk up at the corner, a breathy spearmint scented laugh that sounds a little too relieved for the casual coolness that he's clearly trying to give off. His mouth opens like he's going to say something, but no words seem to come. Lips parted, throat bobbing as he swallows around the heavy silence weighing down his tongue.

He looks so pretty like this, you think. The light shining above your heads catches in his brown eyes, caramel sparking with flecks of gold and green that you've never noticed before, but you're sure you'll never be able to forget the sight of it now. You're still sharing breaths, faces so close that you can't avoid watching the way his full lashes blink at you dumbly. As if he isn't the one who spun you around and pulled you close and effortlessly gave you the best kiss of your entire life. As if, maybe, he didn't quite expect to make it this far, and now he's at a loss for how to proceed.

You release his shirt from your fist, the fabric crinkled and stretched with how tight you'd been gripping it, only to slide your hand up the back of his neck. The tip of his nose catches the bottom of your own, lips brushing faintly while your hand finds a new home in his hair. The soft strands tangle between your fingers when you give it a gentle tug and push up on your toes to draw yourself impossibly closer.

“If I'd known kissing you was all it took to shut you up, Harrington, I would've done it ages ago.” Your quip lacks its usual bite, but it breaks the silence between you, and it also seems to break Steve out of whatever spell he'd fallen under.

His tongue pokes out to wet his lips as he searches for an appropriate response, “Maybe we'll just have to keep kissing then.”

You find yourself swaying just a little on your feet at the way his eyes flick slow back and forth between your own, “Maybe we will.”

When his lips descend on your own again, it takes ages before he lets you back up for a decent breath of air, and even then he parts from you with obvious reluctance. You're both breathing heavy, lips a little swollen and shining wetly. Steve's expression has a warmth that you realize you've never actually seen directed at you before. Steve smiles at you, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and suddenly all you can think about is what Eddie has said a hundred times over.

It’s like there are hearts in his eyes.

[the-offside-rule]

Max Verstappen (Red Bull Racing) - The Princess

Requested: yes

Prompt: 6) "I'm not religious, but I do think I've seen an angel

Warnings: none tbh, just more requests whilst I'm watching sprint quali

The sun was setting over the glamorous streets of Monaco, casting a golden glow over the iconic circuit as the Grand Prix came to a thrilling conclusion. Max Verstappen stood atop the podium, his heart pounding with the exhilaration of victory. As the crowd erupted in cheers, he couldn't shake the feeling of winning the prestigious race yet again. He waved down to the team before the glorious tune of the Dutch national anthem began playing.

Y/n, the Princess of Monaco, fiddled with the hem of her dress as she looked down to the huge crowd. Whilst she was royalty, crowds generally did seem to get to her. Her older brother took sick and had to cancel his plan to present the winner their trophy last minute. Hence, Miss Y/n was asked to. As the announcer declared the Princess to the crowd, Y/n stepped forward with grace, her regal presence commanding attention. She held the gleaming trophy in her hands, ready to present it to the triumphant driver. Max's gaze locked onto her, captivated by her beauty and poise. He felt a surge of something unfamiliar stirring within him as their eyes met.

Y/n smiled warmly as she handed Max the trophy, her eyes sparkling with admiration. "Congratulations, Max." She said, her voice soft and melodious. Max smirked, ignoring his heart skipping a beat at the sound of her voice. "Thank you, your Highness." He replied, unable to tear his gaze away from her. Max watched intently as the Princess walked away, applauding the dutchman before Max lifted the trophy and showcasing the newest clunk of metal he would add to his collection.

As the photographers clamored for their attention, Max and Y/n posed for the celebratory photos, their smiles bright and genuine. But as Lando Norris, another driver on the podium, playfully aimed his champagne bottle in their direction, Max instinctively shielded Y/n from the impending spray.

Y/n laughed, her eyes sparkling with amusement as Max turned his back to protect her. "Thank you, Max. I dont think this dress would pair well with chanpagne stains." She said, touched by his chivalry. "When someone like you is wearing the dress, I dont think anyone would care." Max replied, his voice tinged with sincerity. "And plus, I couldn't let you get soaked." Y/n beamed at the subtle compliment from the race winner.

As the champagne-fueled celebrations continued, Max found himself walking by Y/n's side, unable to resist the magnetic pull she had on him. "Oh, here. Let me help you." He offered her his arm, guiding her down the steps of the podium with care as she navigated the stairs in her heels. "Well aren't you just so lovely." Y/n smiled as her arm linked with his, leaning onto him. "You looked stunning up there." Max remarked, his eyes lingering on Y/n's radiant smile. "I'm not religious, but I do believe I've seen an angel today." Y/n blushed at his words, her cheeks flushing with color. "You're bold, arent you?" She asked, a tinge of amusement lacing her voice. "I'm a racing driver, your Highness. You need to be bold." Y/n rolled her eyes. "Of course, but I don't see any other drivers making moves on me, Mr Verstappen."

"Well, I think they see we are having a conversation. It would be rude to interrupt, no?" Max smiled. The pair stood for a moment,him towering over her as she simply looked between his eyes. "I'd like if we continued our conversation." Y/n whispered. "So would I. How about we return to this conversation later?" Usually, Y/n wouldn't like how suggestively the driver was being, but her gut trusted the man. She sighed. "Where do you suggest we have our little rendezvous?" She smiled. "How about dinner?" The dutchman suggested. Y/n arched a brow. "You know, for a Monaco race winner, your idea of a celebration is very boring." Max didn't really know what to say. It wasnt until Y/n leaned towards his ear.

"I'll be meeting you ag some stage tonight." She pulled away and winked. For the first time in a while, Max felt butterflies in his stomach as the Princess walked away with her security surrounding her, while he stood there wondering when he would bump into her next.

[dazed-and-confused23]

Dear Hearts and Gentle People 5

Pure Indulgence

Summary: Cooper doesn't know how he got here, but he's with you, and that's all that matters to him. Now if only the other ghoul that wears a tricorn hat would leave you the fuck alone, he'd be having a much better time. However, for you, he could learn to share.

Pairings: The Ghoul | Cooper Howard x Female Reader / John Hancock x Reader

Warnings: Drinking and drug use. Plans are made some light petting.

Part 2 -> HERE

Masterlist

John Hancock knows a good thing when he sees one, and you were definitely one of the best things that's he's ever lain his black eyes on. You were a wastelander. He could tell that by the way you held yourself, but the mayor could tell that you hadn't let the world shape you in a bad way. No, you took the world in your hands and shaped it to how you wanted it.

However, he could say a lot less about the ghoul that'd come in with you. He stuck to the back of the bar, feet kicked up on a table, and hat pulled down to cover his eyes. He'd not said a word, only dropped into the chair, but John wasn't stupid. The newcomer only had eyes for you, which made his game all the more fun.

"Well, not every day that someone new comes stumbling into my town," Hancock drawls as he steps up beside you, his voice rough and smokey, "Names Hancock."

He admires the way you cock a brow at him, not impressed what so ever, and repeat him, "Your town?"

John nods, his weathered lips pulling into a proud smirk, "Mhm, yeah. I'm the mayor of this little slice of heaven. If you ever need anything, I'm your man."

His cock twitches in interest when you regale him with a heavy lidded look, your lips quirking in an amused smirk that he wants to wipe away with a kiss, or his dick. Preferably both.

"Well, Mr. Mayor, I'll have to keep that in mind," you say, and Hancock picks up your accent this time and gives you a look of surprise.

"Not from around here, Doll?" He asks you and gets a nod in response. John sees movement out of the corner of his eye and notices that the ghoul has finally moved, stalking across the room to sit at the bar beside you. He eyes John, and something about the ghoul has his hackles rising, and his fingers itching for his knife.

"You makin' friends over here without me, Darlin'?" The newcomer asks, and you surprise John be snickering and bumping your shoulder against the cowboy.

"Wouldn't be me if I didn't. Are you getting jealous, Coop?" You tease and turn to send a wink at Hancock. He smirks right back and shifts in his seat, his knees bumping against your own.

Cooper would very much like to strangle the other ghoul that has your attention, please, and thank you. This guy's like him, whole and complete, not rotting with peeling skin and exposed bone. Fucker was probably handsome when he'd been a human. He doesn't like that you're so interested in him, and green jealousy burns bright in his chest.

"Any man would be jealous," Hancock says and boldly reaches out, his hand landing on the smoothskin's thigh, his thumb rubbing distracting circles. He flicks his black eyes up and locks with Cooper’s own, a dangerous smirk crossing his thin lips.

Coop sneers back, eyes full of blazing fury until you clear your throat and glance back at him. He grins at you, though it's mean and full of teeth with dark promises. An idea suddenly strikes him, and he cocks his head to the side then shifts forward, arm winding around your waist and chin hooking over your shoulder.

"One ghoul not enough for you, Sugar?" He purred in your ear and smirked at the way you shivered, eyes going half lidded with interest at his sudden change in behavior. Cooper met John's black eyes and eyed the other man, "You greedy for an extra set of hands?"

Hancock watched the exchange and smoothed his hand up your thigh, fingertips dipping in between your thighs and stroking along your clothed sex. The sound he makes is closer to a growl, and it lingers in his voice, "I think I can have that arranged."

[azriels-shadowsinger]

Hi! I love your writing!! I was wondering if you could write prompt 5 for Azriel x reader?

“It kinda sounds like you're flirting with me." ". . . I’ve been doing that for three years now."

Bat Boys x Reader

wc: 1.7K

a/n: i had a lot of people request this prompt for each of the bat boys, so i decided to do a blurb for each one! Hope yall enjoy!

prompt list

Rhysand

Rhysand watched you descend the stairs, sapphire dress flowing around your feet as you stepped. You looked regal in your outfit, causing Rhys to lose any thoughts in his brain aside from those about you. He would never get tired of looking at you.

This was the third Starfall ball since he had returned from Under the Mountain, escaping Amarantha. The first Starfall after his return was rather emotional for everyone, especially for Rhys who was trying not to remember how he had spent the past 49 years on Starfall. The second year, everyone partied a bit too hard in an attempt to keep those same emotions at bay and to celebrate the end of the war. But this year, with the war over and the dust finally settled, Rhys had a plan.

He reached out a hand towards you to escort you to the balcony, admiring the way your hand looked in his.

“You clean up well, High Lord.” You say in a lighthearted tone. He gives you his signature smirk and chuckles slightly at your playful formality.

“I could say the same of you, darling. You look beautiful.” Your cheeks heat. Rhys has complimented you many times in the past, but it never fails to make you blush. You know it’s all a part of his demeanor to compliment you, as well as Mor and Amren, but sometimes you wish it meant more.

The two of you make your way to the crowd of people, eager to enjoy the evening. You can’t help but notice that something seems off with Rhys tonight, but you try to ignore it, assuming it is just anxiety from the bad memories associated with Starfall.

———

After an hour of drinks and dancing, it's finally time for the stars to begin falling. You make your way to your friends, ready to watch from your usual spot, but Rhys pulls you away.

“I want you to watch from a different view with me tonight. Trust me, it's the best view in Velaris.” He whisks you away to his private balcony. As soon as your feet touch the ground, you’re in awe of the view, trying to watch each star as it falls.

“Beautiful.” You mutter in amazement.

“Yes, you are.” Rhys purrs, leaning against the railing next to you. His words make you blush again.

“I meant the stars, Rhys.” You giggle shyly.

“I know. And I meant you. You look absolutely stunning this evening darling.” He leans closer to brush a piece of hair from your face.

“Thank you, Rhys.” You turn to look back at the stars, hoping to hide how red your face has become, but he gently grabs your chin and pulls your attention back towards him.

“I’m serious. Of all the stars here tonight, you shine the brightest.” Gods, he’s being rather heavy-handed with the compliments tonight. Must be the champagne, you rationalize.

“Careful Rhys, it kinda sounds like you’re flirting with me.” You laugh, trying to ignore the way your heart is racing and trying even harder not to read too far into things. Rhys hesitates.

“… I’ve been doing that for 3 years now.” He says nervously. You look into his violet eyes, full of vulnerability. You could count on one hand the number of times you have seen Rhys act nervous.

“You have?” You ask quietly, a small smile on your face as you step closer to him. A bit of tension eases from him at the gesture.

“I was too nervous to say anything these past few years. First, the war, and then things were just so chaotic. I wanted to wait until everything was peaceful, until there was actually a future we could look forward to.” You bite your lip anxiously awaiting his next words, causing Rhys to smirk at your shyness. There’s the confident High Lord you know so well. “I want that future with you, y/n.”

“I want that too.” You lean in and kiss him. And with the stars falling all around you, it felt like the entire world was celebrating your love.

———

Cassian

“I give up” You huff, flopping onto the ground after what felt like a million squats. Gwyn giggles at your dramatic defeat, the sound gaining Cassian’s attention.

“I don’t remember saying training was over, y/l/n.” He barks. You groan at his command. Cassian was always extra hard on you, pushing you more than the others. Between that and his flirtatious teasing that always seems to make you flustered, the general may be the most annoying male you know.

“I can’t feel my legs, Cassian.” You whine. He raises a brow at you and smirks.

“Training is over everyone!” He calls, maintaining eye contact with you. “Except for you, y/n.” You give him a vulgar gesture, causing him to laugh.

The rest of the group files out, and Gwyn throws you a wink as she leaves, earning an eye roll from you.

“Sparring. Let’s go.” Cassian orders. There’s no use in arguing any longer, so you make your way to the training ring with a dramatic groan. As soon as you get into position, Cassian begins the attacks.

———

Sweat dripped down your face and back as Cassian proceeded to beat you yet again.

“Again.” He growls. You try to stand, but you can’t seem to make it all the way up, resting your hands on your knees as you try to catch your breath.

“Cass- Cassian. I can't.” You speak between panting breaths. “Please can we be done?” You beg breathlessly.

“Fine, you can go. Good work today.” He says with a playful smirk. You look at him confused.

“That almost sounded like a genuine compliment.” You were baffled.

“It was. Well, your form could use some work and your stamina has a long way to go, but overall you are really improving. And you sure as hell look good doing it.” He throws you a cheeky grin.

“Are you flirting with me?” You ask sarcastically, assuming he is trying to get under your skin with his comments once again.

“Sweetheart, I’ve been flirting with you for 3 years. It’s about damn time you noticed.” You freeze.

“Excuse me?” What the hell, you thought.

“Half the reason I always have you stay late is as an excuse to spend more time with you.”

“It is?” Cassian shrugs, as if he just said the most normal thing ever. “Well, maybe I have one more round of sparring left in me.” You say, matching his energy. You weren’t sure if this was another ploy to fluster you, but you weren’t going to let him win this time. Cassian grins.

“Or we could give your muscles a break and get dinner tonight?” Okay, definitely not a joke.

“I’ll go, but only if you agree to cut me some slack at training tomorrow.”

“Deal.” He winks. However, as soon as you get to dinner that evening, Cassian confesses that he has no intention of going easy on you at training.

“You almost beat me twice during our sparring. There’s no way in hell I’m letting up until you do.” Honestly, you’re not surprised.

———

Azriel

After a long hard week, a night out at Rita’s was just what you and your friends needed. The bar was completely packed and you were five shots deep, about to take a sixth with Feyre. The night flew by so quickly as you laughed and danced with your friends, not realizing that you gaining the attention of several males in the crowd. Azriel, however, did notice, and sent the most threatening glare at them, causing the males to cower away. Around 3 AM, the rest of your group was drunk and tired and ready to go home. Azriel offered to escort you home, given your inebriated state. You were too dizzy to fly with him, so he decided it was best to walk until you felt okay to fly.

“I don’t want to go home, Azzie! I’m having fun!” You whine, stumbling over your feet. “We should stay! You should dance with me!” He just laughs and keeps you steady while you walk, listening to you, ramble on with drunken nonsense.

“You’re so pretty Azriel.” You slur, poking him in the cheek, causing them to turn pink. “Why don’t you have a girlfriend? You know every female in Velaris would jump at the opportunity to date you” Before he can answer the very awkward and complicated question, you ramble on. “Is it true that wing size coordinates with other body parts? Rhys told me it isn’t true, but I think he’s lying. You have such big wings, Azzie.” You state, in an attempt to sound flirtatious, but as you stumble over your own feet, it just comes out a mess

“Are you trying to flirt with me, y/n?” He asks playfully.

“I’ve been flirting with you for over three years now. You never noticed.” You state so casually that he thinks he must have misheard you. He stops walking.

“Um, y/n?” You turn back, having noticed he isn’t walking beside you anymore.

“Yeah, Az?”

“Have you really been flirting with me for three years?” He asks shyly.

“Of course I have. You know, for being a spymaster, you would think you would’ve caught on by now. A girl can only try so hard to get asked out.” You giggle innocently. Azriel is truly confused. How had he never noticed?

“So tomorrow, when you’re sober, if I were to ask you out, would you say yes?” He cringes at his own insecurity, but he can’t help it.

“Ask me and find out.” You throw him a wink.

———

The next morning you had no memory of that conversation. Azriel couldn’t help but laugh at your complete shock when he asked you out at breakfast, deciding not to retell last night’s events until after your first date.

Thank you to everyone who requested this prompt! There are several other prompts that have multiple characters requested. If I am able to think of multiple plots for a prompt I will try to write it for multiple characters, like I did with this, but I can’t guarantee that I will be able to do that for all of them.

Anyway, thank you for reading, i love you all <3

Prompt List

[delfiore]

—DO YOU THINK I HAVE FORGOTTEN ABOUT YOU?

pairing: leah williamson x reader

synopsis: in the end, what is meant to be will always be. or; leah struggles after the break up.

word count: 4.5k

a/n: this is a continuation of LIKE REAL PEOPLE DO. i just have to make things angsty i’m sry, if i don’t i start gnawing at the bars of my enclosure but worry not, this will turn fluffy in the end :)

EIGHT. Paris.

It took about 45 mins for Leah to decide that she longer wanted to be in this damned opera house.

The red carpet was exhausting enough, but she powered through it, familiar faces like Amelia DiMoldenberg’s making it barely enough to get through.

The dinner had gone into an intermission, and she had a moment to relax from the cameras, being sat at a table not far from the stage. Ever since she first attended the GQ Men of the Year Dinner a few years ago, it had created a lot of buzz around her every year, fans speculating whether she would come again, donning outfits so foreign on her body. Back then, she still had a support system that she looked forward to coming home to. Now, maybe the only positive to this night was that, whatever happened, she would eventually get to go home and sleep by the end of it.

She had to tilt her head all the way up to get a full glimpse of the ceiling. The Royal Opera House wasn’t the oldest building erected in London by far, but it was one of most interesting to look at, if she wasn’t so in love with her club and the look of the Emirates that was. It was grandiose, regal and typical of Baroque architecture, the concave ceiling arching over her, stretching all the way back to the five balconies—generously lit and horse-shoe-shaped seating areas—stacked on top of each other. It looked a little bit like the Théâtre du Châtelet in Paris that she got to see when she attended the Ballon d’Or for the first time a couple of years ago. A lot of things can change in two years, and Leah wasn’t sure whether it was for the better or not.

Her agent caught her in the middle of her admiring when he gave her shoulder a light tap, telling her that she was expected at the after-party too. Great, another two hours she’d have to endure as people praise her name for achievements unworthy of praise, just because she was Leah Williamson, captain of the Lionesses. But whatever else he said after that, Leah didn’t register, because her eyes had found a familiar frame standing a few tables away.

You looked dashing in your black nighttime attire, which sparkled every time the limelight happened to sweep past you. A gentle smile adorned your face as you conversed your heart away with a couple of actors whose names were lost on her. When you put your hand on one of them and laughed, your eyed darted over to her for a split second.

Only when those actors had left, did she even think of approaching you, but her feet were planted on the ground.

One, two, three, she counted in her head. One, two, three; come on, Leah . . .

“Hi, you!” There was a residual cheerfulness from your previous conversation in your voice. “It’s been a while.”

“Yeah,” she tried to chuckle away her nerves, wiping the sweat in her hands on her pant legs. “You been okay?”

“Yeah,” you said it so softly that she almost missed it, if she wasn’t watching your lips. “Are you? Beth says you don’t come around her place anymore.”

“You still talk to Beth?”

“Yeah, she’s my friend, Lee. I . . . hope you don’t mind.”

“No! No, that’s . . . it’s great.” Leah said quickly.

You had smiled at her gratefully, and grasped her hand. “It’s good seeing you again.”

“You too.” She had said, robotically, before deciding against it. “Hey, don’t be a stranger, alright?”

You smiled again. This time, you brought her into your chest and wrapped your arms around her neck. “You first,” you said with a glint in your eyes, then you disappeared into the crowd.

And for a few brief moments, Leah Williamson didn’t think about how exhausted she was, only about how much she has missed being held by you. After all, it had been almost two years since she and you broke up, and maybe Leah was never able to move on like she had promised you.

How could she?

NINE. Be My Mistake.

She hated the feeling afterwards. She hated herself for having initiated it, for chasing after the girl like a hungry wolf in that nightclub. Now, Leah couldn’t bear the feeling of her lanky arms and sweaty skin touching her, like the intimacy was warranted, like she had somehow earned it.

Leah knew it was begrudging of her to shove the girl’s arm away so heartlessly and move upright to the edge of the bed, but she didn’t care. She couldn’t bring herself to be intimate with someone else, not yet. Not when every time she felt her skin she imagined yours, soft and scented with your familiar smell; every time she closed her eyes she saw your face like a ghost, refusing to leave her psyche; every time she opened her mouth to let out a noise of pleasure, it took everything in her to hold herself back from uttering Y/N, Y/N, Y/N.

The girl was confused but she was still, no doubt trying to decipher the sudden shift in Leah’s demeanor. She hated her stillness, the way her eyes watched her frame like she was a wounded animal in its enclosure.

“Please leave,” Leah said quietly, begging.

Silence.

“I don’t know what you’re going through, but if . . . you need someone—”

“Thank you, Delaney.” She gritted her teeth. “Please get out.”

Tonight, it was Delaney with the fiery red hair and dimples peppered over her cheekbones. A few nights ago, it was Lisa-Mae with the sultry brown eyes and unforgettable plump lips. Then there might have been an Erin and Hailey and Polly and maybe even a Daniela from when she visited Keira in Barcelona. She hated that she somehow remembered all of their names and kept count. Body upon body, yet she could not forget the one body she was using them all to forget about.

She couldn’t turn to alcohol, couldn’t smoke or do hard drugs because they would affect her performance on the pitch, but God knows she was thinking about it constantly. Anything to take this pain away for a moment, lest she turns into the starving wolf and goes out to hunt at night again. If only the press caught on to what she was doing.

Righteous Lioness turned starving wolf the moment the loneliness becomes a little too much to bare.

But she knew you wouldn’t have judged her. No, you would wrap her in your arms and let her scream, cry, do whatever she wanted to rid herself of the torment. She remembered all the nights you spent on the bathroom floor with her as she battled through her endometriosis, and how you would hold her like the world was about to collapse outside the window.

Leah was on the bathroom floor again, but she was alone this time, and the floor tiles felt colder and harsher than she had remembered.

TEN. Tonight (I Wish I Was Your Boy).

The feeling she got when the three whistles finally blew came to Leah quite rarely. It was one of elation and immense joy that the result of the game was finalized, because she had known half an hour ago that Arsenal would bring home the crucial three points from the match.

She brought her fists in the air as she made her rounds, patting her teammates on the back and shaking hands with opponents. She found Kyra and hoisted her in the air with a tight hug, as her younger teammate managed to score and assist today.

“Thank you, Leah.” Kyra giggled, as she was put down. “Is Y/N here?”

Leah’s smile remained, but she scrunched her eyebrows. “How did you hear about that?”

“How could I not? Y/N Y/L/N, coming to watch us play. I won’t be surprised if social media was buzzing about that rather than the actual match.”

If Kyra knew, that meant the entire team knew. She would endure the endless teasing if it meant getting to see you again, though.

Leah had found where you were sitting right from the start, in the VIP box where her friends and family sat, the usual spot you occupied when you were still together. Back then, she would watch you jog down the stairs with a blinding grin on your face, hop over the barricade and pull her into a bone-crushing hug. It could be a sold-out Emirates Stadium, but the only thing she wanted to watch was you. She still wanted to.

“Hi! Great game today.” You didn’t hug her, but did something far worse. You swung your arm and gave her bicep a quick pat, like a friend would.

“Thanks,” she said. “Should have scored that header though.”

“Hey, don’t put yourself down like that. You were great.” Somehow, your words made her feel worse about herself, and she just wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out again. They felt patronizing.

Not far away, Beth’s joyful laughter cut through her sulking. Turning to look at the woman, she saw Beth wrapping her arms tightly around Viv’s neck and the Dutch spinning her around gleefully. Viv had managed to score a hat-trick today—her first since returning from her ACL injury—and even if she didn’t celebrate such an important feat, she would be dragged into one because her girlfriend definitely wouldn’t leave it alone.

It reminded her of when she would come home and celebrate her wins with you. She didn’t need any fancy parties or lavish gifts, just being in your company was more than enough. You would always end up buying her gifts though. “Just because”, you would say, the I love you going unspoken, but she knew it was there. She could always feel it hanging in the silence, in the spaces in your home, even when you were half a world away filming. She could always feel it, like a hearth, a palpable warmth flickering in her chest.

It made her envious watching Beth and Viv that they had what she once did.

“Y/N! You made it!” Beth’s voice tore Leah from her thoughts.

Despite her sentimental predicament, a chuckle made its way onto her lips as she watched you embrace Beth like two schoolgirls finally united again after the summer holidays.

“How long are you staying in London?” Beth asked.

“I don’t know, really,” you replied. “I’m doing a thing with Stella McCartney, so it might take a while.”

Leah couldn’t help but perk up at that. She could feel Viv glancing at her from the corner of her eyes.

“No way! Look at ya. Moving on to the fashion world already!” Beth exclaimed and gave your shoulder a light shove.

Only when you and Beth had walked away happily chatting did Vivianne elbow her gently.

“They seem happy,” the Dutch said.

“Yeah,” Leah pursed her lips. “That’s good.”

“And you? Are you happy?”

Leah knew that the both of them knew she wasn’t, but that wasn’t the right answer. She would not admit to something that she has been working for two years to get over, because it would mean that her woes were all for nothing.

“I am,” she nodded. “I’m glad they’re happy.”

If anything, Leah still loved you enough to admit that.

ELEVEN. Me.

Leah didn’t sleep much these days. She never really did—adrenaline being her biggest enemy—but she would find herself crying in frustration at four in the morning, unable to fall asleep.

It would be during those torturous hours that she would reminisce on the conversation in which she pulled the plug on your relationship.

It was a slippery slope of miscommunication, both of you were to blame, but she was the one who decided to run away instead of trying to work it out. She still kept the ring in a drawer somewhere, but the memory of your rejection made it to painful to look at.

In hindsight, she could have said it a bit differently, but she was close to exploding the previous days that all of it came flooding out of her.

She replayed the conversation often, like a broken record in her head, swapping out things that she could have said or you could have said that would have lead to a different outcome, maybe one in which she wasn’t so miserable two years on.

It was 1:43am, and she was wide awake yet again. You’d always had an irregular sleep pattern, and she wondered whether you were awake too.

She knew it was a mistake, and that she would regret it in the morning, but she texted you anyway.

hey are u awake?

Slamming her phone on the other side of the bed, Leah curled in on herself, burying her face in the pillows trying not to cry. If she hadn’t looked up in time, she would almost miss the incoming call on her screen. It was you.

“Hey,” she picked up after sniffling her tears away.

“Hey, you,” your voice was soft and lulling. “What an odd time for a footballer to be awake. Shouldn’t you be getting your beauty sleep?”

This made her chuckle. “If I did get all of my beauty sleep, you lot would have no chance.”

“Watch out, everyone. Leah Williamson’s ego is inflating, try not get crushed by it.”

As Leah’s laughter died down, she felt an awkwardness settled over the line. A silence once so comfortable now felt forced, straining under the pull between what once was and the ruins of it. The heavy weight of unspoken words curled on the tip of her tongue, the broken record of her mistake playing ever louder in her head.

“I didn’t expect to hear from you,” you finally broke the silence, your voice teetering between caution and curiosity.

“Yeah, well, insomnia makes one do questionable things.”

Leah wondered if she had accidentally revealed too much, and whether it was appropriate to do so. You two weren’t intimate anymore, you were barely friends nowadays, the finest thread of your acquaintance lied solely on your hangouts with Beth. How strange it was, you were half of her soul. Now you were almost like passersby on the street.

“Is everything okay?” You asked, a sense of concern in your tone.

“Um,” she hummed, trying to pull herself together. “Not really. I-I haven’t been doing too well.”

“Leah,” you said. “I-I know we’re not as close as we were before, but I wasn’t lying when I said I still want us to be friendly at least. I’m here for you. You know that, right?”

“I know.” She said, her voice wavering. She wouldn’t be able to hide her feelings from you, never you. “I know. I’m sorry I didn’t reach out sooner.”

“It’s okay, Lee. It hurt me a lot, not gonna lie, but I understand where you were coming from.”

Leah couldn’t hold it in anymore, and squeezed her eyes shut, her tears wetting the pillow she lay on. “I can’t be your friend, Y/N. I can’t just pretend like the last five years didn’t happen.”

There was a brief silence once more before you spoke. “I know. Might be selfish of me to wish things were different.”

“Then I’m selfish too,” she said, almost a whisper.

There was a pause, in which Leah bit the inside of her cheeks so hard they might start bleeding.

“Are you coming to Beth’s thing on Friday?” You asked.

“I think I’m expected to be there. Why?”

“Good, I’ll be there too. We’ll talk then.”

“Okay,” Leah said dumbly.

“Now, go to sleep.”

She giggled. “You first.”

TWELVE. Sincerity Is Scary.

Leah’s teammates have teased her many times throughout the evening, stating her unnecessary brooding was actually unnecessary this time and that she should liven up. She really couldn’t. Just thinking about seeing you again tonight made her want to have a heart attack and end her misery right there.

But the moment she heard your voice as you stepped into Beth and Viv’s house, a bottle of wine in hand and a bright smile on your lips, Leah felt her anxiety dissipate into oblivion, scolding herself for ever feeling nervous.

After all, it was you.

She waited patiently with a soft smile, her arms folded behind her back as she waited for all the girls to swoon over you. She had all night to keep you company, she was in no rush.

“Hey,” you found her after all the canoodling. Extending an arm, you awaited a hug which she gladly accepted.

“Hi,” she offered to take your jacket and hung it on the rack by the door. “You got here alright?”

“Man, the traffic at rush hour,” you sighed exasperatedly. “That’s the one thing I’ll never get used to. Almost makes me miss you being my personal chauffeur.”

She laughed. “That’s the only thing I was good for, was it?”

You narrowed your eyes at her teasingly. “Not just that.”

Leah wasn’t sure what you meant entirely with We’ll talk then, but seeing as she was the one who stupidly broke up with you, the balls were entirely in your court. She was just happy you were still willing to talk to her after she called you at 2am to blabber her insomniac nonsense.

She wasn’t courageous enough to sit directly next to you at the dinner table, but rather took the seat next to Katie who sat in front of you. Courage wasn’t something Leah felt much lately, and it took seeing you again for her to admit that. Perhaps she was never brave, but you always made her feel like it anyway.

Everyone loved you, the movie star that graced her team’s humble dinner. She couldn’t help but watch in awe as you managed to charm the pants off of everyone at the table with your witty remarks and crazy anecdotes. You had a presence that made everyone want to be your friend; it made her uncharacteristically shy at trying to get you to notice her, that she resorted to watching you from afar. And the few times you would make eye-contact with her, she could only look away, bashful that she had been caught staring, as her courage dwindling with each gaze.

Later in the night, when everyone was scattered around the house chatting, she found you sitting alone on the patio. Upon closer look, she could make out a smaller, fluffy unit in the form of Myle, Beth and Viv’s little pup, prancing around in front of you, waiting for you to throw the tennis ball in your hand.

The constant sound of the girls’ conversations died down the moment she stepped out in the backyard, now lit with rows of incandescent lights overhead. Myle barked once with excitement as she spotted Leah approaching.

“I think she wants you to throw it,” you handed her the ball.

She grinned and took it. “No one beats Auntie Leah.”

Little Myle was quick to launch herself across the yard on a mission to retrieve her precious artifact.

“I wanted a dog really bad, the first year we started dating.” You said, pulling your knees to your chest as a gust of wind pulled at your hair. “I wanted a little corgi or an Italian greyhound. I spent hours looking for one to adopt and researched food, bills, insurance and stuff.”

“Why didn’t you get one?” Leah asked.

“We haven’t even moved in together at that point. Plus, I was still bouncing around, you knew that.”

She did. You were shooting a movie in Canada the few first months you and her started talking. Then, you were hopping around Spain, Portugal and various parts of the UK for another project. It wasn’t ideal, but still much closer than Canada. You would fly out every other weekend to watch her play, and she would do the same and visit you on-set, moving most things aside for a couple days with you.

“I would have loved a dog, I don’t know about you.”

“I’m sure you would have. You’d probably love it more than me,” you laughed.

“No,” Leah shook her head softly. “Never.”

Summer was approaching. She could feel it in the mildness despite the breeze. For a while, the soft murmur of the wind caressing the trees was all she could hear, and Myle’s occasional huff as she impatiently waited for the ball to be tossed again.

You both sat there watching her, fantasizing of a different life, a dream that never materialized, another fragment of memories again tainted by what-ifs. Leah bit her lip, trying to calm her spiraling thoughts. She felt her courage slipping away again.

“I’m sorry I called you the other day,” she pursed her lips. “That wasn’t very appropriate. I should have asked to talk to you properly.”

“Don’t worry. Wasn’t the worst thing you could’ve done.” She heard you chuckle next to her. “I’ve had some time to think about us. Admittedly, I didn’t want to think about it at all the first few months, but my therapist told me I had to face it one way or another.”

Leah held her breath. This was the part where you tell her that you’d moved on and that she should stop pestering you. One of her knees started bouncing up and down as she waited for you to talk.

“I had to face the fact that you’re the love of my life, and that night I met you and we danced to Hozier together—on the first night we met no less—was the second best night of my life. The best was when you told me you loved me. And the worst night of my life was when you broke up with me.”

“I’m sorry,” Leah whispered, feeling her throat tighten at your confession.

“No,” you said, moving closer. “I don’t regret it. I wasn’t ready when you proposed, and that was my truth. But Leah, I’d be lying if I said that I’d be okay with letting you go again.”

“I should’ve talked to you about marriage before I asked you to marry me. It wasn’t fair on you.” Leah offered you a tearful smile.

“I want to try again. I would do it again for you.” You reached out and wiped away the tears that had silently rolled down her cheeks as she listened to you.

“I thought I’d lost my chance,” she said. “I thought you’d moved on.”

“Oh, baby,” your thumb brushed over her cheek softly. “How could you think I’d ever be able to forget about you?”

She let out a soft cry of relief. Her heart was pounding in her chest, and there was only one thing she thought of doing.

So she leaned in, never minding her wet cheeks. The last thing she saw was you closing your eyes too.

“Oh—sorry!”

The two of you jumped apart at the voice behind you. Leah turned around with a visible scowl on her face, seeing Beth grimace sheepishly as she called for Myle.

“It’s her dinner time. Come, little one, you hungry?” Beth attempted to explain herself, as Myle sprinted inside. “Alright then. As you were.”

The moment the door closed, you burst into laughter, making her break out of her frown and smile with you. “I can’t believe that just happened,” you said, laughing into her shoulder.

“I’m going to kill her,” she shook her head and placed a chaste kiss on your cheek.

She didn’t mind it too much, because she got to take you home later and make up for the last two years until the early hours of the morning. You and her would laugh about it years later.

THIRTEEN. About You.

Your lover never backed down from a challenge.

That was her way, and that was what made her one of the best in her sport, her unrelenting spirit.

Yet, her legs felt like they would turn to jelly the moment she laid her eyes on you at the end of the aisle, umber dirt covered in white rose petals. She felt like drowning in her emotions which had all risen to the surface, and the waves would only plunge her further into itself until she was completely immobilized by it. But she knew once she was able to pull herself together and walk to you on the other end of that path, heaven would be waiting for her.

The officiate went on and on about love, life, and promises of forever, but she had made that promise to you long before this day. She kissed you fervently the moment she was able to.

It only seemed fitting that the first chapter of your story began with a dance, and the most important one to also end with a dance. She offered you a hand, and you gladly took it, a childish giggle bubbling in your throat. The song you danced to the first night you met rang out in the venue, a soft and folksy tune the backdrop of your falling in love.

“It’s not so bad, is it?” She said with a teasing grin.

You gazed into her eyes like they held the world. You had no idea that her heart beat for you, how her soul yearned for yours, how her life will not forever be intertwined with yours.

You closed your eyes and hummed, swaying with her slowly, just like you’d practiced at home a couple of weeks ago, only that instead of the four walls of your shared home baring witness to this dance, it was all your friends and families.

Memories of the first night you met, and the one in which she promised you her heart bubbled as she saw the serene look in your face. You both have come so far.

You placed your head on her chest for all to see, the way you do when you are tired after long hours of work in front of the camera, when all you wanted was the magic and warmth of her company.

Leah smiled; she couldn’t stop smiling. She smiled and smiled until her cheeks ached, even beyond then, until forever.

“No,” you mumbled. “Not bad at all.”

a/n: happy holidays to everyone :)

[pucksandpower]

What the Eyes Can’t See

Charles Leclerc x blind!Reader

Summary: you may not be able to see in the traditional sense, but Charles won’t let that stop you from seeing him

The crackle of the fireplace fills the cozy living room as you snuggle deeper into the plush couch cushions. Your head rests on Charles’ chest, rising and falling with each steady breath. His arm wraps around you, fingers tracing lazy circles on your shoulder.

“This is nice,” you murmur, nuzzling against the soft cotton of his shirt. “Just you and me.”

Charles presses a kiss to the top of your head. “It really is. No racing, no interviews, no cameras. Just us.”

You smile at the rumble of his voice vibrating through you. “You know, there are times I’m actually grateful I can’t see.”

“Oh?” His thumb strokes your arm. “How so?”

“Because it means I experience things purely through the other senses. Like right now.” You inhale deeply, savoring the smoky wood blending with Charles’ warm, earthy scent. “I can really focus on the sound of your heartbeat, the feeling of you breathing, that wonderful smell ...”

Charles gives a contented hum. “I’ve never thought about it that way before.”

You shift to gaze up at him, fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “Of course, there are other times when not being able to see is … difficult.”

“Like what?”

You consider this for a moment. “Hmm, well, I’ll never get to admire the Monaco skyline or see you celebrating on the podium after a win.”

A hint of sadness tinges your tone as you continue. “And as much as I love listening to you talk about racing, I can’t fully picture the circuits or the cars or … or you in your race suit.”

Charles’ chest rises and falls with a soft sigh. You can sense his gaze studying you intently.

“Is there anything you wish you could see? If you could have your sight for just a day?”

You don’t even have to think about your answer. “You.”

You feel him tense in surprise. “Me?”

“Yes.” Your hands roam over the strong lines and curves of his face, trying to commit every plane and angle to memory through touch alone. “More than anything, I wish I could see what you look like with my own eyes.”

You trace the sweeping arches of his brows, the aristocratic slope of his nose, the firm line of his lips. Lips you’ve kissed so many times yet never seen.

“I want to see the exact shades of your hair and eyes,” you murmur. “Whether your skin has any adorable little freckles. What expressions flit across your face when you smile or laugh or ...”

You trail off as emotion clogs your throat. Charles pulls you closer, cradling you against his chest.

“Hey,” he says softly, tilting your face up toward his. “Maybe this will help.”

His warm fingers alight on your hands, gently guiding them until your fingertips brush the graceful curve of his cheekbone. You freeze, caught off guard by the tender intimacy.

“Charles?” You breathe. “What are you doing?”

“Letting you see me, in a way,” he responds. “Go ahead, map out my face with your hands. Don’t hold back.”

You swallow hard, heat creeping into your cheeks. Taking a steadying breath, you begin tracing the striking angles and planes of his features with feather-light touches.

First the high forehead, smooth and unblemished beneath your questing fingertips. Then the regal swoop of his nose, the delicate arches of his brows. You brush across each, imprinting the shapes and textures into your mind’s eye.

When your fingers graze the plump curves of Charles’ lips, he presses a soft kiss to each fingertip in turn. You shiver at the whisper of his breath fanning across your skin.

“Keep going,” he murmurs, voice low and husky. “Don’t stop.”

You let your hands roam freely over the stubbled planes of his jaw, the hollows of his cheeks, the strong column of his neck. Every slope and angle, every tiny perfect imperfection imprinted into your consciousness.

As your fingers trace along the high planes of Charles’ cheeks, you can’t help but notice two tiny indentations forming in the skin. Little divots that crease and deepen as an affectionate smile blooms across his lips.

Dimples. Charles has dimples.

The discovery hits you like a bolt of lightning, a rush of tenderness and endearment flooding your chest. You find yourself helplessly, hopelessly captivated by those adorable little dents punctuating his smile.

“You have dimples,” you murmur in awe, fingertips stroking over the precious divots again and again.

A low chuckle rumbles through Charles’ chest. “That seems to delight you.”

“Of course it does!” You exclaim, feeling your own lips stretch into a beaming grin. “Dimples are the cutest thing. Especially on you.”

You lean in to nuzzle your nose against his cheek, dropping feather-light kisses into each crease. Charles gives a contented hum, strong arms winding around your waist to pull you flush against him.

“I had no idea you’d be so smitten over a couple little dents in my face,” he teases, smile evident in his voice.

You shake your head vehemently, still peppering those blessed dimples with adoring kisses. “Not just dents. They’re absolutely adorable.”

A burst of affection blooms in your chest as you realize this is the first time you’ve been able to fully appreciate this charming little detail of Charles’ features. All the times you’ve laughed and joked together, exchanged warm smiles and loving embraces — you never knew the true adorability of his dimples until this very moment.

Pulling back, you cup Charles’ face in your palms and simply drink in the shape and feel of that beautiful, dimpled smile pressing against your skin. In that instant, you fall just a little bit more in love with this incredible man.

“I’m so grateful I got to discover this about you,” you murmur, stroking the pads of your thumbs over the grooves in his cheeks. “Your dimples are my new favorite thing.”

Charles gives a soft laugh, the rumbling vibrations resonating through you both. “Well then, I’ll just have to keep smiling so you can appreciate them.”

As you continue to trace the sharp edge of his cheekbone, you can’t resist leaning in to nuzzle against the warm, fragrant skin. Charles sucks in a sharp breath, fingers tightening around your wrist.

When you finally pull back, you feel as if you’ve beheld and memorized every nuance of his face. Every dip and curve, every tantalizing detail.

“Thank you,” you whisper, drinking in the comforting scents and sounds surrounding you both. The crackle of the fire, the rhythm of Charles’ breathing, his warm, intoxicating essence. “Thank you for letting me see you like that.”

Charles doesn’t respond at first. You feel his piercing gaze raking over you, studying you with an intensity that raises goosebumps along your arms.

“You know,” he says at last, voice rough. “There’s also something I want to see.”

Before you can ask what he means, gentle fingers are slipping beneath the frames of your sunglasses. You tense instinctively, pulse skyrocketing.

Nobody ever sees your eyes.

You start to pull away, shaking your head. But Charles simply holds you steady, thumbs stroking your temples in a soothing caress.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs. “Let me in. Let me really see you this time.”

There’s no demand or expectation in his tone. Only tenderness and an affection so profound it steals your breath. Your throat works as you swallow hard.

Do you trust him enough?

You think of his face — the face you’ve just meticulously mapped and memorized. And in the cadence of his breathing, the rhythm of his heartbeat against yours, you find your answer.

Slowly, you give a tiny nod.

The sunglasses slip away, and for the first time you’re baring the full weight of your sightless gaze to another soul. You can’t see Charles’ reaction, but you feel his sharp inhalation, the minute tremor that courses through his body.

Panic grips you for a moment, wondering if you’ve made a terrible mistake by exposing such a vulnerable part of yourself. Maybe he’s revolted or pitying or-

“Beautiful.”

The hushed utterance shatters your wildly spiraling thoughts. You clutch at Charles, needing an anchor.

“What?”

“Your eyes,” he clarifies, reverence ringing in every word. “They’re the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.”

Gentle fingers cup your face, thumbs tracing the delicate skin beneath your sightless gaze. You yearn to ask him a thousand questions — what color they are, if any scars are visible, how he can possibly think them beautiful.

But then his lips are on yours, silencing your whirling doubts with a scorching, openmouthed kiss. You melt into the heated embrace, pouring all the unspoken words and insecurities into the slick slide of your mouths.

When you finally part, both of you are breathing raggedly. Charles rests his forehead against yours, fingers still mapping the curves of your face with infinite tenderness.

“Thank you,” he whispers again, voice tight. “For sharing this with me. For letting me all the way in.”

His thumb brushes the fragile skin beneath your eye, and you understand that he’s thanking you for more than just revealing your eyes. He’s grateful for the soul-deep intimacy you’ve permitted by exposing your most vulnerable and closely guarded self.

You swallow hard past the lump of emotion clogging your throat. No words can adequately express the depths of what you’re feeling. So instead, you simply lean in and capture Charles’ lips in another kiss, hoping he can taste the love and gratitude and trust shining through every caress.

When you finally pull apart, you cuddle back against Charles’ chest with a contented sigh, feeling more seen and cherished and adored than you ever have in your life.

As Charles trails tender kisses along your brow, his deep, soothing voice rumbles against you.

“No matter what, I’ll always be here to show you all the beauty and wonder you can’t see ...”

The words wrap around you like a warm, comforting blanket, chasing away any lingering insecurities. In this moment, cuddled in the arms of the man you love more than life itself, you’ve never felt more grateful for the unique way your senses experience the world.

Because really, what use are eyes when you can simply close them and see with your heart instead?

[nahoney22]

🌺 Foxglove Commander Fox 🌺

Garden Wishes

X female senator reader

word count: 1.3k

🌸 💐 Flower Fic Event 💐 🌸

Just a cute little event with Clones and some Flowers me and some of my moots decided to do on discord for @arctrooper69 birthday today! 🎉 🌸 🌺 Check the tag #cloneflowerficevent to see more! 💐

warnings: None, fluff, reader wearing a skirt, catching feelings.

Others involved with this event are (will add links to there fics once posted💜):

🌸 @arctrooper69 - Tup, Rex, Gregor

🌸@photogirl894 - Hunter, Wrecker, Fives

🌸 @totallyunidentified - 99, Cody

🌸 @dragonrider9905 - Hardcase

🌸 @l-lend - Wolffe

🌸 @jedi-hawkins - Kix

🌸 @moonstrider9904 - Howzer

“It’s a lovely day, wouldn’t you agree, Commander?” You muse, enjoying the sun's warm caress on your skin. Your question is directed to Clone Commander Fox, who trails a few steps behind you as you stroll through the Senate Gardens.

As a Senator, moments of peace and solitude are rare and precious and for you, it’s best spent admiring the diverse plant life. Though Commander Fox, your assigned protector, doesn’t seem to share your enthusiasm.

“It is, ma’am,” he replies curtly, his lack of enthusiasm evident. You decide not to press him and continue your walk with a playful roll of your eyes.

Pausing by a bush adorned with tiny white flowers, you crouch carefully to avoid snagging your regal, albeit cumbersome, skirt. “These are some of my favorites,” you say as Fox halts behind you. “Leucanthemum Vulgare.”

“I’m not familiar with it, ma’am,” he responds, surprising you. Fox rarely speaks unless spoken to, but perhaps after weeks of close quarters, he feels inclined to converse back.

“Just daisies,” you chuckle, standing again. You notice Fox instinctively reaching out to assist you, only to quickly tuck his hands behind his back when you were fine.

Continuing your walk, your feet eventually tire, and you opt to sit on a nearby bench while Fox stands awkwardly beside you. “You can sit with me, Commander,” you suggest, patting the space next to you.

“I appreciate the offer, but I must remain vigilant to protect you,” he replies, giving you a nod and you can’t help but wonder what expression lies behind his helmet.

“I doubt anyone will attack me here,” you say, though Fox’s squared shoulders suggest otherwise. “...or do you know something I don’t?”

He clears his throat and gazes down at you, his eyes meeting yours through the visor. “All Senators are at risk, ma’am. However… your advocacy for Clone rights has made you a target in certain political circles.”

You shrug. “If they want to shoot me for it, so be it.”

“Ma’am, please don’t say that,” Fox winces, looking away and shaking his head. He seems to want to speak freely, but refrains.

“Thank you for protecting me,” you say gently, shifting your gaze to the vibrant flowers that soothe your nerves. “I can’t think of another Clone I’d rather have by my side to appreciate these gardens.”

Fox tenses beside you. “Y-you’re welcome,” he stammers, a rare but endearing lapse in his typical stoicism.

You both settle into a peaceful silence, though you wondered how Fox is faring. Often, you ponder whether he enjoys these quiet moments with you or would rather be back in his office. You recall the amusing sight of his brothers stuffing countless empty caf cups into a corner when you first visited him, and the strain in his voice and stiff body language betrayed his embarrassment over the discovery of his caf addiction.

You just hoped it wasn’t because he was exhausted.

“So,” you begin, snapping out of your worried thoughts, “you’ve walked with me in these gardens plenty of times now, Commander. Is there any particular plant, flower, or tree you like?”

Fox turns his head towards you, tilting it slightly, which you find unexpectedly adorable and you scold yourself mentally for thinking so.

“I’m afraid my answer will bore you.”

You give a wry smile. “I’m sorry, you probably have more important things to be doing, I’m sure.”

“Taking care of you is the most important thing to me,” he says almost sternly. The way he says it sounds almost desperate, not just dutiful. Realising this, he adds, “as it is my current job.”

Clearing your throat, you turn your gaze away, hoping he doesn’t notice the tips of your ears burning with a blush. “I see.”

He nods simply, but after a moment, he sighs slightly. “There is, uh, one flower that catches my eye every time we come here actually.”

You look back at him, surprised. “Really? Which one?”

“It’s over there in the corner to the right.” He nods in the direction, and you stand, asking him to show you.

He hesitates for a moment, unsure if you’re serious. But judging by your smile—something he has grown rather fond of—he nods and leads the way.

You stop in front of a flower bed filled with a mix of pink, purple, white, and red flowers—tall and breathtaking, and quite familiar to you.

“I believe these are Digitalis purpurea,” you say, leaning forward to inhale their delicate fragrance with a soft smile. “I can see why you like them, come to think of it.”

He nods slightly, pleased to have a name for the flower, even if he wasn't going to try to pronounce it. “Why’s that?”

“Well,” you say with a smirk as you turn to him, “it’s also more commonly known as ‘Foxglove.’”

“Oh, really?” he asks, genuinely curious, and you nod in confirmation.

“Quite the coincidence, don't you think?” you add, your eyes sparkling with amusement.

Fox seems taken aback, the irony not lost on him. “Yes, quite the coincidence indeed.” His voice is softer, and there's a hint of a smile in his tone that you wholeheartedly wish you could see.

Fox admires the flowers once more before his eyes drift to the ground where a small bunch had been either knocked or blown off. He bends down and picks them up, then without thinking, holds them out to you. “Would you like these?”

Your mouth gapes open slightly, looking at the outstretched flowers and then at him. “Oh,” you say pleasantly, reaching out and taking hold of the slightly battered and broken stems, “thank you, Commander.”

But you notice that he doesn’t let go at first, instead focusing on the way your fingers brush against his. You feel your heart skip a beat as you both look at each other, neither of you willing to let go. This had to stop. This was completely inappropriate. But yet…

“Senator, Commander Fox.” A voice interrupts you both, and you almost gasp as you quickly let go of the flowers and turn to see who has interrupted this—if you could even call it—moment.

“Thorn,” Fox acknowledges, his attempt to sound composed betrayed by the heavy rise and fall of his chest.

“You are both needed inside. I did try to comm you, but I, uh, must’ve not gotten the signal.” Thorn's tone carries a hint of amusement, and you feel a rush of nervousness and fluster. Did Fox feel the same awkwardness you did?

You glance at Fox, who gives a curt nod to Thorn. “Understood. We’ll head there immediately.”

As you walk back towards the Senate building, you can't help but replay the moment in your mind. The gentle brush of his fingers against yours, the intensity of his gaze behind his visor—it was so unlike the stoic Commander you had come to know.

“Thank you, Commander,” you say softly once the two of you were alone again, glancing at the flowers in your hand. “For the flowers.”

Fox nods, his voice steady but tone also softer than usual. “You’re welcome.”

Later that day, you receive word that you are needed on a different planet for urgent Senate business. As you prepare to leave, you find yourself thinking about Fox and the moment you shared in the garden. An idea forms in your mind, and you act on it impulsively.

Before you depart, you make your way to Fox’s office. It's empty, as he's likely out on duty. You place the flowers on his desk, arranging them neatly. Beside the flowers, you leave a small note:

‘Hopefully you will protect these like you protected me until I come back, Fox.’

And signed with your name. Not just Senator.

With one last glance around the room, amused to see his caf cups still there, you quietly slip out.

When Fox returned to his office that evening, confused with the days events and how he was feeling about you, he never realised he would experience missing someone. Yet as he reads the note you left and looks at the flowers, he does something strange. He pushes his steaming caf to the side and instead, lets the memory of you and the scent of the Foxgloves relax him.

He would not tell the others, but he could not wait for another stroll in the gardens with you.

Masterlist is pinned 😊

Tags: @littlefeatherr @kaitou2417 @eyecandyeoz @jesseeka

@theroguesully @ladykatakuri @padawancat97 @staycalmandhugaclone

@ko-neko-san @echos-girlfriend @fiveshelmet @dangraccoon @plushymiku-blog

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@whore4rex x @imperialclaw801 @temple-elder @mysticalgalaxysalad @yunggoblin @the-bad-batch-baroness

[thewulf]

Undying Love || King Thranduil

Summary: Request - Are you taking King Thranduil requests? If you are taking... do you write with a human reader? The reader may be a Dúnedain. Or even Aragorn's aunt or older sister. She is someone who can overcome Thranduil's solid walls and sharp borders. Considering human age (although the Dúnedain lived longer) this results in sadness, as we all know. But these two can find comfort in each other, amidst their complicated relationship.

A/N: Not sure how much I like this one. It's really sweet and of course ends well. Let me know your thoughts :)

Pairing: King Thranduil x Reader

Word Count: 2.9k +

TW: LOTR Warnings

As you walk through the dense, towering trees of Mirkwood the ancient sentinels of the forest whisper secrets of the old world with every rustle of their leaves. Accompanied by Legolas and Gimli you stride purposefully down the leaf-strewn path, your eyes alight with curiosity. The fabled woods which were spoken of in many a tale and song unfold around you with a serene majesty.

Beside you Legolas moves with an effortless grace that seems almost like a dance. His elven heritage clear in every step. Gimli who was ever the stout and steadfast companion keeps up a steady stream of complaints about the seemingly endless trek through the trees.

As the elegant spires of the elven king's palace glint through the dense canopy of Mirkwood Legolas turns towards you with a distinctly worried expression. "My father can be... quite the traditionalist," he warns in a low voice. His clear blue eyes searching yours for understanding. "His views on the dealings of elves with humans and dwarves can still be quite rigid."

You simply shrug with a slight smile playing on your lips. "I've dealt with stubborn royalty before," you reply confidently recalling countless negotiations and meetings with leaders across middle earth. "I can handle your father Legolas."

Legolas hesitates. His gaze lingering on you a moment longer. His concern not entirely abated. "It's not just his traditional views," he adds before lowering his voice as other elves pass by with graceful nods. "He has rarely opened his heart or mind after my mother's passing. He guards himself, sometimes too fiercely. Be cautious still. He is not easily swayed or impressed."

Acknowledging his words with a nod you feel a spark of challenge light up within you. "Thank you, Legolas. I appreciate your concern, but these challenges are not unfamiliar to me. I’ll tread carefully but I won’t back down. You know me well enough by now." Your response seems to reassure him slightly though he still watches you with a mix of admiration and apprehension as you approach the grand threshold of the palace.

As the three of you step into the grand hall the air shifts, filled with the soft melodies of elven music and the fragrance of exotic flowers. The elven king himself stands tall and imposing at the far end of the room his sharp eyes locking onto yours as you approach.

"My Lord Thranduil," you greet him while bowing your head slightly in respect yet holding his gaze firmly. You knew exactly how to deal with his type.

Thranduil's initial surprise at your directness quickly gives way to intrigue. He steps forward. His regal bearing unmistakable. "I am told you are the King of Gondor’s elder sister," he states looking from Legolas back to you. His voice deep and resonant. "It is rare for a Dúnedain to tread these halls."

"The rarity makes it all the more worthwhile," you quip back not missing a beat. Legolas who was standing a few steps behind raises his eyebrows in surprise at the ease with which you banter with his father.

Thranduil lets out a soft, almost imperceptible chuckle. A sound few have heard. "Indeed," he replies. His eyes reflecting a spark of amusement. "Let us hope your journey proves beneficial for us all."

You meet his gaze with a steady, confident look. "From what I’ve heard Mirkwood could use a fresh perspective. Perhaps I can offer one."

He does not look offended only amused. "An interesting assertion," Thranduil remarks. His tone still cool but tinged with curiosity. "Many have come claiming the same, yet few have left their mark. What makes you different Dúnedain?" You knew what he was doing. Throwing your mortality in your face but it didn’t change your stance.

"My heritage might be human, Thranduil. But my experiences are as varied as the leaves of your forest," you respond smoothly. "And like the leaves I believe in change and adaptation."

Thranduil studies you for a moment. His expression unreadable. Then, almost imperceptibly, the corner of his mouth quirks up. "You speak boldly for one so young by elven standards. It is refreshing... and rare."

Gimli who had been quietly observing the exchange, leans over and nudges Legolas in the side with his elbow. He whispers just loud enough for Legolas to hear, "Seems like your father might have met his match, eh, lad? Better keep an eye on these two." His chuckle breaks your concentration with the king. Legolas shoots Gimli a slight glare, but there's a hint of amusement in his eyes. He couldn't deny the intriguing dynamic unfolding before him. His friend's words carried a hint of truth that piqued his curiosity even more even if they were whispered in jest.

The king's demeanor remains composed yet there’s a glint of respect in his eyes that wasn’t there before. "Very well, Lady of the Dúnedain. Let us see what changes you bring to Mirkwood. For better or for worse… it shall be interesting." Thranduil watches you closely. His initial skepticism slowly morphing into a newfound curiosity about your presence. Your ability to hold your ground in this ancient and enigmatic court hints at the intriguing days to come.

In the following days your interactions with King Thranduil shift from formalities to more substantial exchanges. You find yourselves often walking together through the lush, verdant gardens of the palace. The air filled with the earthy scent of moss and the distant sound of a waterfall. Thranduil who was typically reserved with his emotions began to open up under the canopy of ancient trees that have seen the passing of many ages.

One afternoon Thranduil shares with you the tale of his wife. The love he lost to the shadows of the past. His voice which was usually so commanding and steady, carries a subtle tremor as he speaks of the battles fought and the peace that never came. "Time has a way of healing, yet also of deepening the scars," he says quietly while looking out over a mist-covered lake.

You listen intently. Your heart softening towards the elven king who has borne much grief. "Even the mightiest of trees were once just seeds, my lord," you respond gently, touching his arm. "They grow, they endure, and sometimes, they too must learn to thrive anew after a storm."

Thranduil's gaze meets yours. The usual frost in his eyes thawing slightly. He nods slowly. A silent acknowledgment of the truth in your words. In these shared moments a mutual understanding blossoms between you. Both of you were shaped by loss yet you were still standing. Still reaching towards the light.

On a quiet evening a few days later you and Thranduil find yourselves beside the silver-threaded streams that lace through the forest. The conversation turns to the philosophical, exploring the ephemeral nature of beauty and life itself. "All things of grace and beauty such that one holds them to one's heart have a common provenance in pain. Their birth in grief and ashes," Thranduil muses. His gaze distant, reflecting the shimmering water.

"I know the pain of loss, too," you share softly while meeting his eyes. "But I also know that every moment of joy we find after loss is a treasure." Your words seem to strike a chord in Thranduil. His usual reserve melting away slightly as he considers your perspective.

In the following days the air between you grows warmer. It was filled with a quiet understanding. Legolas watches this growing bond with a mix of hope and worry. He approaches his father one crisp morning with caution in his voice. "Father, do you not fear the heartache that may come? She is mortal you know this. Her years will not touch yours."

Thranduil's response comes after a thoughtful pause, his eyes reflecting a depth of emotion rarely seen by others. "Indeed, Legolas. I am aware of the shadows that time casts. But should we forsake the warmth of the sun for fear of the night’s chill? The joy she brings… the companionship we share, I find it to be a balm for many old wounds."

This acknowledgment marks a turning point. Thranduil begins to openly cherish the moments you share whether in laughter over a shared meal or in quiet solidarity during council meetings. He learns to embrace the present, the here and now with you by his side. He was learning to find joy in the everyday moments that life offers. Your presence brings a light to Mirkwood that had not been seen for many years. And brought to Thranduil’s heart a renewed sense of hope and happiness however transient it might be.

It was on one of these seemingly standard days that you and Thranduil find yourselves walking along a secluded path beside the murmuring streams. The serene sounds of the forest envelop you both. A gentle symphony that seems to slow the passage of time.

As the gentle evening breeze stirs the leaves, Thranduil stops before turning to face you with a look of resolve mixed with a hint of vulnerability. "The time is nearing when Legolas and Gimli will continue their journeys, exploring lands beyond our borders," he begins. His voice low and tinged with a somber note.

You nod with a sense of impending change hanging in the air between you.

Thranduil takes a deep breath, his gaze searching yours. "I find myself at a crossroads of selfishness and reason," he confesses. "Every part of me knows I should encourage you to see the world with them. To experience all that life has to offer. Yet..." He pauses while looking at you, his eyes reflecting the soft starlight. "Yet, I find myself wishing you would stay. Here. With me."

The honesty in his words touches you deeply, and you reach out, taking his hand. "Thranduil, I..."

He gently squeezes your hand. His other hand coming up to lightly touch your cheek. "I know it is much to ask, and perhaps it is more for my own heart's ease than for your good. But you have brought light into the shadows of these woods and into the shadow of my heart. If you would stay, I would have us spend every moment that fate allows us together."

You feel the weight and warmth of his words wrap around you like a cloak. "I have wandered through middle earth to its extent and seen many wonders, Thranduil," you reply softly. Your decision clear in your heart even before he asked. "But here with you, I have found a wonder that surpasses them all. I will stay. Not out of duty. Not out of necessity. But because I want to, my lord."

A smile that was as rare as it was radiant breaks across Thranduil’s usually composed face. "Then let us not count the days but make the days count," he says while drawing you closer. "For however long we have."

The decision to stay in Mirkwood was sealed by the simplicity of your shared love. It casts a new light over your days together. Despite the challenges that remain your acceptance of each other, and the transient nature of happiness only serves to deepen the love that blossoms between you. It enriched every moment you share amid the timeless woods.

As the seasons change in Mirkwood so too does the nature of your relationship with Thranduil. The initial sparks of curiosity and mutual understanding kindle into a deeper, more profound connection. You find yourselves often lost in conversation, or simply enjoying the peaceful silence that only true companionship can afford. Despite the knowledge of inevitable parting due to your mortality you both decide to embrace the present. Instead letting your affection for each other grow into love.

The palace gardens that were once a place of solitude for Thranduil become a frequent meeting spot for the two of you. Surrounded by ancient trees and the gentle sounds of the forest you share stories, laughter, and plans for the future of Mirkwood. The joy and peace you find in each other's company seem to breathe new life into the still-recovering woodland realm and even the elves begin to notice a change in their king. A lightness to his step and a warmth in his eyes that had been absent for ages.

However, your blossoming love does not come without its challenges. Thranduil's fears of loss are never fully quieted, echoing in his moments of solitude. The differences between your races occasionally give rise to tensions. Moreover, political pressures mount as not all in the elven court or beyond are pleased with a human holding such influence over their king. Rumors and skepticism swirl through the corridors of the palace adding a strain to the harmony you both cherish.

Despite these hurdles the two of you find strength in your unity. Thranduil had grown inspired by your vitality and strength. He learns to appreciate the present like never before. Savoring each day he gets to spend with you. One evening under a canopy of stars, Thranduil speaks words that both acknowledge the reality of your situation and celebrate the beauty of your bond. "Life is fleeting for some, enduring for others, but it is the living of it, the moments we share, that truly defines its value," he reflects. His voice steady and sure.

You nod as your hand found his, an unspoken agreement passing between you. The both of you decide to make the most of the time you have, regardless of its length. This acceptance brings a new depth to your relationship, allowing you both to live fully in the moments you create together whether they be marked by laughter or contemplation.

The acceptance of the transient nature of your happiness does not diminish it; rather, it enriches the love you share. Making each moment more precious. Thranduil finds a new perspective on life, one that values the joys of the present over the fears of the future. The love that blooms between you, against all odds, becomes proof to the power of embracing the now, whatever may come later.

But even time has a way of catching you. As it weaves its inevitable tapestry the lines of age begin to grace your features, each one a mark of the vibrant life you've shared with Thranduil in Mirkwood. Thranduil who was ever timeless in his elven beauty watches the subtle changes with a mix of admiration and a deep-seated fear of impending loss. The thought of a future without you by his side casts a shadow over his heart. One that grows with each passing day.

Driven by a love that has transcended the bounds of time and race Thranduil seeks a way to keep the two of you together. In a move born of desperation and deep love, he reaches out to Galadriel, one of the few with the power and wisdom to alter your fate. His plea is heartfelt: to allow both of you passage to the Undying Lands where time could no longer claim its toll on your mortal soul.

Galadriel who had observed the sorrows and joys of middle earth for ages was moved by the depth of Thranduil's love. She consents. "Let there be no more heartbreak," she declares, granting Thranduil the rare opportunity to vacate his kingship and travel to a land of peace with you.

The days that follow are bittersweet as you and Thranduil prepare for this final voyage. Legolas understood the significance of this decision. He steps forward to assume the role of king. His pride and readiness to lead assure both you and Thranduil that Mirkwood remains in capable hands.

Your farewells are heartfelt and tearful. Legolas embraces you both. His eyes shining with unshed tears but also with pride and joy for the new life you will start. "Go with peace, my father, and my friend," he whispers. "May the shores of Valinor bring you the tranquility you deserve."

Your brother Aragorn and his queen, Arwen, come to bid you goodbye, their faces a mixture of sorrow and happiness. "Sister, your happiness has always been my own," Aragorn says, clasping your hands. "May the stars shine brightly on your path."

As you stand beside Thranduil waiting to board the ship that would carry you to the Undying Lands you feel a profound sense of peace. The sea's openness echoes the vastness of the journey you've undertaken together. From the courts of Mirkwood to this final, eternal embarkation.

As the ship sails away, you stand beside Thranduil, his hand in yours. You watch middle earth fade into the distance, a land rich with memories and echoes of ancient songs. Turning to face the horizon where new beginnings and timeless shores await, you find solace in the shared silence that speaks volumes between you and Thranduil.

Looking up at the eternal stars glittering in the sky Thranduil speaks softly, a deep reverence in his voice. "Beyond the furthest shores, under the watch of the undying stars, we find our path anew."

You nod. The profound weight of his words mingling with the sea breeze. "Let the stars guide us as we journey forth into this ageless night." Together you sail into the undying light of Valinor, where the bounds of time no longer tether your spirits. In this new realm your love finds its place among the eternal sustained by the timeless peace of the undying lands.

(Taglist Sign Up): @loving-and-dreaming @kmc1989 @memeorydotcom @matisse556 @buckylov3r @taygrls @ah-blossom @hardballoonlove @rosiahills22 @djs8891 @guacam011y @illisea @il0vebeingdelulu @hiireadstuff @kenn-spencerswifey @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @dnfhascorruptedme 

[joelalorian]

Petals of Affection - Part I

A floral mystery in three parts featuring Jackson!Joel x f!reader

Summary: A secret admirer gifts you a different flower and a riddle ten times before you put the clues together and discover that he's been right in front of your face the whole time.

Written for @morallyinept's Flora & Fauna challenge. Please check out all the wonderful works created in Jett's honor!

I know enough about flowers to fill a thimble. Really, all I know is how to kill them, accidentally or otherwise. Everything to do with the flowers in this story is courtesy of Google, so please suspend disbelief at how some of these could exist in Wyoming, yada yada. I just picked ones that fit the narrative.

Word count: 4,284

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, humor, cursing, gratuitous use of poor floral descriptions, scheming, clueless reader, fluff, eventual smut, alcohol, food, coffee, terms of endearment. POV flops around like a fish outta water. Reader has no physical description aside from having hair that gets frizzy with humidity and often dirt-covered hands, because greenhouses, ya know? No use of y/n, none whatsoever.

Dividers courtesy of the wonderful @saradika-graphics. Gif chosen because of the wonderful floral wallpaper ;)

Hope you enjoy!

Part II | Part III | Masterlist

An oasis in a world rife with death and devastation, you clung to the life the reinforced walls of Jackson offered. After years of struggling to survive each new day, you felt like you could finally take a deep breath. Everyone was no nice and welcoming, some more than others, and you slipped right into the fabric of the small community.

Within a month of your arrival, Maria assigned you to the greenhouses, having picked up on your knowledge and love of plants – particularly flowers. You must have bored her to death one too many times regaling the language of flowers over a bottle or two of aged wine while seated together on her couch. The two of you became fast friends, the kind that felt like you’ve known each other forever. It was exactly what you needed, longed for even, after long bouts of solitude.

Being close to Maria meant you visited their house often. And equally often, you would find Joel Miller there, deep in conversation with his brother about one matter or another. His eyes always flashed when you entered the house, and he’d stop mid-sentence to greet you with an effortless, “Howdy darlin’” as you followed Maria to the kitchen.

Soon enough, the soft greetings turned into more substantial conversation as the four of you dined together or gathered at Maria and Tommy’s for game night, playing whatever new board game the men found while on patrol. Laughter and friendly arguments filled the air on those nights, making it easier than ever to forget about the carnage and desolation beyond the walls.

Tonight, the four of you played Scrabble – it took Tommy finding three sets of the game to get all the letter tiles required to actually play – and your belly hurt from how hard you laughed whenever Maria challenged Joel on a word. He was better at the game than you would have thought – his reserved nature and southern twang not giving away how well-read he was.

“Denied! Fartlek is not a word, Joel. There’s no way!” Maria insisted, not willing to give into Joel’s apparent triple word score on the word that would have him take the lead in total score.

“Is to a word,” Joel returned stubbornly, refusing to remove the letters from the board. “Look it up if ya don’t believe me. It’s in the fuckin’ Oxford dictionary.”

“Oh, it is, is it? Is it in the Cambridge one, too? What does it mean then?” Maria wasn’t backing down, ripping a battered dictionary right out of Tommy’s hands to see for herself.

“Hey! I was looking it up,” Tommy yelped, shooting a wink at you as you both watched the drama unfold.

Ignoring his brother, Joel rattled off something about the word being related to running. At least, that’s what you thought he said, you were too busy fighting back tears from laughing too hard. Sure enough, he was right.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Maria grumbled, flopping back into the couch cushions. “It’s a training technique for running. Screw you, Miller.”

Unsurprisingly, the game ended shortly thereafter with Joel the victor by a healthy margin. After helping to clean up, you offered appreciation and hugs to Maria and Tommy for a delightful evening. “Next time, let’s play something less…”

“Cerebral?” Maria supplied with a frown.

“Annoying?” Tommy interjected with a grin.

Joel stayed quiet, a half-smile gracing his lips as he waited for you to finish your sentence.

“Just something that doesn’t require a dictionary or cause so much arguing,” you laughed. Waving between Joel and Maria, you added, “You two can never agree on anything! See you all tomorrow.”

“I’ll walk you home, darlin’,” Joel said, rushing to put his jacket and boots on and catch up with you. When you opened your mouth to let him know you’d be fine on your own, he added, “Gotta check in on Ellie anyway.”

Maria and Tommy shared a look as Joel opened the door to usher you through. You caught them and frowned, feeling like you weren’t in on a joke or something.

The two of you walked in comfortable silence, the last remnants of winter’s snowy wrath crunching beneath your boots the only sound. You looked up at the night sky as you walked, gasping at the flash of colors in the otherwise darkened sky. Joel stopped, following your gaze upwards as you both stood mouths agape.

“That’s the northern lights, right? I’ve never seen it before.”

“Mmhmm. Aurora borealis. Pretty amazin’.”

“Beautiful,” you sighed, breath a cloud billowing in the crisp air, eyes soaking in every bit of the cosmic phenomenon.

You didn’t realize it staring up at the sky as you were, but Joel’s umber eyes were fixed on you when he replied, “Sure is.”

You stayed like, shoulders gently bumping as you both enjoyed nature’s show, until the temperature dropped further and you shivered. An awed smile remained plastered on your face the rest of the walk to your house, one Joel would never forget.

The dichotomy of the humid, warm air within the greenhouses and the chilled breeze outside confused your body, but you loved it. Sure, the humidity did nothing good for your hair, leaving it a frizzy mass around your head sometimes, but the dewy feeling on your skin always reminded you of childhood summers spent at the beach.

Tending to the various fruit and vegetable plants all morning, in what you deemed Greenhouse 1, you saved your favorite duties – the ones associated with flowers – for the afternoon. While you enjoyed caring for all the plants, you loved tending to the flowers, humming as you pruned and replanted clippings, expanding your every growing collection. If the patrol teams kept bringing you seeds and specimen back, you’d need yet another greenhouse. The council would just love that.

The creak of the door to Greenhouse Two drew your attention shortly after you switched gears and you stood, brushing the dirt from your jeans before glancing up. Your face shifted into a soft smile at the sight of Joel standing hesitantly just inside the door.

“Hey Joel, what did you bring me today?” You knew he had patrol duty and likely found some interesting plant during his travels. “Better not be western baneberry again. You know how poisonous those berries are!”

Stepping forward, Joel chuckled as you teased him. “I know now! It was one time and you’ll never let me live it down, will ya?” Thrusting his hand toward you, he dropped a small pile of seeds onto your dirt-covered palm. “Not sure what these are, but we found down by the ol’ mill. Might be something cool.”

“Might be,” you hummed, poking the seeds a little. Hopefully the cold didn’t get to them. You grabbed the nearest pot, quickly filled it with soil and sprinkled the seeds in as you tilled the top few inches. “We’ll find out soon enough what kind of treasure these are.”

Leaning back against a messy tabletop, hands on hips, Joel watched you tend to the new addition before finding the perfect place for the pot, nestled on a table amongst other seedlings. “Do you –”

Joel’s mouth snapped shut as the greenhouse door banged open next to him, a boisterous voice carrying into the warm space before its body did.

“Tangerine! Check out what I found today,” Alex, another member of the patrol team, called as he strolled right past Joel without acknowledgement. Younger and not as broad as Joel, the man held a growing affection for you, which irked the older man.

“Alex,” you sighed playfully. He was cute in a youthful, untrained puppy kind of way and had an annoying habit of calling you nicknames that made no sense. “I told you to stop calling me that. We don’t even have tangerines here.”

Snickering under his breath, Joel observed the younger man falling all over himself to impress you. Why you indulged the idiot, he would never understand.

Alex waved you off. “You love it, and you know it. Lookit here,” he said, thrusting his hand toward you. Slight though he was, Alex had large hands, and in his right one were three clusters of small, bell-shaped blooms with a purple hue.

“Prairie bluebell! Where did you find these?” Your face lit up as you took the blooms in a gentle grasp, admiring them for a moment before setting to work on replanting.

Alex prattled on boastfully about finding them just off a rocky path down near the river while Joel focused on watching you work. When Alex finally paused for breath, you chimed in with some flower lore.

“Did you know that bluebells are often called fairy flowers? It is said that the bluebells are rung to summon fairies to a meeting. But, since fairies aren’t always good, the flowers could be enchanted leaving anyone who wanders into a ring of bluebells lost in fairy woods.”

Joel snorted at the idea of Alex becoming lost in fairy woods, never to be found again. If only they could be so lucky, he thought. He knew there was more you could share about the symbolism of the delicate flowers, but it would be lost on someone like Alex.

Rolling his eyes, Joel was about to take his leave when Alex blurted, “Would you join me for dinner tonight? I heard they just got in some fresh venison.”

Absorbed in your work, you hardly heard him, and Alex repeated himself, a hint of annoyance in his tone. Joel froze, holding his breath in anticipation of your answer. Please say no, he thought. You could do so much better than this moron.

Brow furrowed, you stared at Alex, considering your response. “Like a date?”

The younger man nodded eagerly, a broad smile spreading across his lips. You glanced at Joel, not certain what you were hoping to see, and found him staring back, stone faced, arms crossed in front of his chest tightly. Giving you nothing to work with, your shoulders slumped, resigned. “Sure, I guess.”

Not the most enthusiastic answer, but you couldn’t remember the last time you went on a date and Alex was the only one asking.

You didn’t even realize Joel moved until the door closed heavily behind his retreating form.

The breeze carried a sense of change as you strolled home from your shift in the greenhouse. The weather was finally warming, ever so slightly, as Mother Nature loosened her grip on winter, letting spring slowly creep in.

Mixed emotions tumbled through your mind as your feet carried you through the streets of Jackson by muscle memory alone. Alex asking you to dinner caught you off guard – you had a feeling he was interested, but he never made any sort of bold move. The fact he finally did while Joel was standing right there threw you off balance.

Did you even like this guy?

Sure, Alex was attractive, with blonde hair, blue eyes, and tanned skin. But his personality made him seem more like a golden retriever, goofy and too eager to impress, than someone you could fall for. It made you wonder if there was any substance lurking under the surface.

In the absence of any other offers, did it even matter?

No, you guessed it really didn’t.

These thoughts carried you right to your front steps and you stopped, taken by the presence of something unusual waiting in front of your door.

A solitary stalk with a gorgeous jasmine bloom, a slip of paper wrapped around the stem held in place by nondescript string.

Picking it up, you held the flower to your nose, breathing in the rich, sensual aroma. The scent brightened your mood, and you slipped the scrap of paper from beneath the string. You whispered the words printed in a block scrawl you didn’t recognize.

Joyful moments shared; the answer lies in the air.

What did it mean?

Glancing around, you searched the street and neighboring homes for a sign of who might have left the flower and note for you. The only people in sight were your elderly neighbors, married couples, and the kids from a few houses down. None of them would have left you such a gift.

Who in the world left this for you?

Would Alex do something romantic like this? You doubted it, but what else did you have to go on?

Once inside, you trimmed the stem and put the flower in a container on the counter, placing the scrap of paper in front of it.

You gazed at the flower, mulling over the riddle before you. The note indicated that you’ve shared moments with whomever left the flower. Jasmine itself symbolized love and romance. You made friends with a lot of people since you came to town – too many shared experiences and moments to choose from.

Twenty minutes and too much thinking in circles, you were no closer to understanding the clues and teetering on the verge of being late for your date. You needed more data before hazarding any reasonable guesses.

“Why do you torture yourself like this?” Tommy questioned. Sitting at the bar watching his brother pining over you was not his idea of a fun Friday night. “You should just bite the bullet and ask her out already.”

Joel shook his head. He had no explanation for why he hadn’t made a move yet. For months now, he knew he liked you as more than friends, pined over you in silence, yet he never took the next step. Joel Miller was not a coward, but his fear of losing one of the few friends he had left in the world had him frozen in place, afraid to make any moves. He couldn’t take that chance. Finally putting words to the feelings roiling inside him, he told his brother as much.

“I get it, brother. I do,” Tommy replied, thumping Joel on the back in commiseration. “But can you really say you’re ok watchin’ her go on dates with asshats like Alex? ‘Cause that’s gonna keep happenin’ unless you do something about it. And I don’t mean killin’ the dude.”

Joel shook his head. Hunched over the bar, shooting surreptitious glances your way, he had to admit Tommy was right. He could think of few things worse than watching you go on a date with someone other than him, especially with dipshits like that guy.

“I ain’t killin’ anyone, but I do have a plan. Already put it in motion, in fact.” Picking at a scratch in the bar, Joel shifted his gaze from you to Tommy. “I might need your help with some of it. Maria’s too.”

“Oh yeah? Tell me all about this grand plan then.”

Unsurprisingly, the date was a dud.

Alex had the personality of a goldfish rather than a golden retriever, and the two of you had nothing in common. He also interrupted you mid-sentence no less than three times – once could be considered a mistake, but three times was an unforgiveable offense as far as you were concerned. You stopped making an effort about halfway through dinner and wished for a hole to open up beneath your seat and swallow you whole.

Worst of all, he acted like an entitled dickhead when you refused dessert, thanked him for the date, and let him know there wouldn’t be a second one. He’s lucky you didn’t knee him in the nuts before walking away from the table.

How unfortunate that dating sucked nearly as much now as it did before the fucking apocalypse. It was unfair, really. At what point did being a woman stop sucking?

Lamenting your lack of success in the relationship department, you trudged home. You wondered what Joel was up to – you caught a glimpse of him at the bar with Tommy earlier and he didn’t look happy, but you didn’t see him when you left. Part of you longed to visit him, maybe have a drink and sit on his porch gazing at the stars together like you’ve done before. But it was already late, and you didn’t want to bother him. Hell, he could have a woman over already, which would be mortifying if you interrupted. The thought sank unpleasantly in your mind until you got to your house and pushed it away.

A little gift waited for you on the porch, just like earlier. An orchid this time. Symbol of love, thoughtfulness, and charm. Your index finger traced the delicate petals with the gentlest touch as a smile slowly crept its way across your lips.

Another note was attached, and you plucked it from beneath the same kind of string, eyes devouring the words.

Overwhelmed by your grace, the answer hides in this place.

The flower wasn’t completely cold, so it had to have been left recently. Brow furrowed; you glanced around but there was no one in sight. You wracked your brain trying to figure out the identity of your secret admirer, but you were at a loss. Prior to dinner, you briefly thought Alex was the culprit, but now it was obvious he didn’t have a romantic bone in his lanky body.

You heart knew who it longed for it to be, but you refused to consider it. He didn’t want you that way, of that you were certain.

Giving the orchid the same treatment as the jasmine earlier, you tucked the stem into the same container and placed it on the coffee table so you could admire the blossoms while you fell asleep on the couch. After all, why bother with a big bed without someone to share it with?

Saturdays were your day off, but the sun shining through the curtains you forgot to close the night before ruined your plans of sleeping in. Grumbling at the unnecessary brightness, you stumbled into the kitchen desperate for coffee. The coffee tin felt light in your hand when you reached for it and, sure enough, you saw nothing but a tiny amount of powdery remains of coffee beans at the bottom.

God dammit. Barely eight o’clock in the morning and this day already had two strikes against it. It wasn’t looking good so far.

Not caring that you still wore the clothes from your date the night before, you quickly brushed your teeth and finger-combed your hair into submission before leaving the house. Pausing at the door for a moment, you debated whose house to go to. Joel always had coffee – it was his drug of choice – but Maria and Tommy were closer.

Not awake enough for decision-making, you let your feet carry you in whichever direction they wanted… which was exactly three feet onto the porch before they stopped. Another flower with a note sat waiting for you.

Your mood brightened considerably at the sight of the double-flowered, funnel-shaped Eustoma, petals a pale purple. The rose-like flowers weren’t native to Wyoming, but you got lucky months ago when someone found a seed packet. You were shocked the seeds were still viable. Did someone pluck it from the greenhouse? You gave away a few cuttings not that long ago, but unless they were replanted, there’s no way they’d last this long. It had to be from the greenhouse. Where the hell else would they get one?

The addiction-like need for coffee temporarily forgotten, you rubbed the Eustoma gently against your nose, confirming the lack of scent when you breathed in and wondered what the little note would say this time.

Endless thoughts of you, the answer is in the view.

Stepping back into the house, you added the flower with the others, mulling over the symbolism of the Eustoma. Whoever left it must be trying to tell you that they appreciate and admire you. But when you add it with the others, what did it all mean?

As good as you were with flowers, you were awful at solving mysteries. A detective you were not. Besides, it was still too early for this kind of puzzle.

The desire for coffee returned and you left the flower quandary behind as you made your way to Joel’s.

Joel didn’t expect to see you today, his day looking up when he opened the door to find you on his doorstep. His heart immediately sank when he noticed you wearing the same clothes from the night before, hair mussed.

“Your date must have gone well,” he said, eyes roving over your clothing, knowing his tone was less friendly than you were used to from him. “What are you doin’ here this early?”

You were clearly thrown off kilter by his remark, frowning as he stepped back to let you in.

“Wha—” you started to question him but shook your head. “I just came to see if you had any spare coffee. I ran out without realizing it.”

“Didn’t have any to offer Alex this morning? That’s a damn shame.” Joel felt the heat of your confused gaze on his back as you followed him into the kitchen.

“What are you talking about?” You sighed, staring at him with furrowed brows.

Avoiding your searching gaze, Joel poured a cup of coffee, adding the perfect amount of sugar you liked, and glowered at the cup as he handed it over. “You’re wearing the same clothes as last night. I assume you did the walk of shame this morning only to find you didn’t have any coffee.”

“It’s too early for your judgmental shit, Joel. You can be a real ass sometimes, you know that?” You turned to leave, mind trying to wrap itself around why this day was turning out so oddly. Mercury was in retrograde again, it had to be. You and Joel never spoke to each other like this. As you reached the door, not caring that you basically stole his coffee cup, you called over your shoulder, “And the date wasn’t even like that, for the record.”

“You’re welcome for the coffee,” Joel muttered as you let yourself out of his house.

“You didn’t have to be such a dick, you know.” Ellie appeared around the corner; arms crossed over her chest.

“I know. I couldn’t help it. The thought of her with that jackass just…” he sighed. “I got a little carried away, but it’s fine. The plan is still in play. Did you take care of what I asked you to?”

“You come up with some strange plans, old man. Yeah, I got it done.”

Fed up with the day and everyone in town before noon, you hid away in your house for the rest of the day. The interaction with Joel weighed on you the entire afternoon and well into the night. What was up with him? Were you being too sensitive, taking his comments personally?

If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was jealous you went on a date with Alex.

Unsurprisingly, you slept poorly and woke up groggy and unfocused Sunday morning. It was going to be a long day in the greenhouse if you didn’t find some coffee to power you up. Getting ready earlier than normal, you planned to stop at Maria and Tommy’s to see if they had coffee – there was no way you were going back to Joel’s after yesterday.

Opening the door to another brisk, early spring morning, the glint of sunlight on the porch drew your eyes to yet another flower waiting for you. Four in a row now, how long would this carry on for?

One of your favorites, you picked up the stalk with six lavender blossoms, violet in hue, and breathed in the fresh, light scent, savoring the sweet undertones. Fingers caressed the downy leaves, making you feel calmer, mellower, which was exactly what you needed.

You kept sniffing the floral scent as you read the accompanying note, finding it fitting.

 Lost in your scent, the answer is present.

“Tell me you have a secret admirer!”

Startled, you gasped, gaze shooting to Maria as she approached your house, two mugs of coffee in hand. You face shifted into a smile at the sight.

“I’m… um, I guess. I’m not sure?” You shrugged accepting the mug Maria held out toward you. “Thanks for this, I ran out.”

“I heard,” she replied. “Joel’s on the hunt for more, don’t worry.”

“Of course he is,” you rolled your eyes.

“Soooo…” Maria gestured to the flowers and note in your hand, seeking an explanation. “I feel like there’s a story here.”

“There is, I just don’t know what it is yet,” you admitted. Inhaling the calming scent of the lavender once again, you added, “This is the fourth one I’ve received. Each one has its own riddle. Let me show you.”

Leading the way into your house – you still had an hour before your shift started – you showed Maria the flowers and each note that accompanied them. In small print, you added what each flower symbolized to the corresponding note and numbered them in the order you received them, hoping every little detail would help you sort out the puzzle.

Maria looked over everything, smiling softly at each note. “Whoever this mystery man is, he’s quite romantic.”

“Right?”

“What do today’s flowers mean?”

“In the context of the rest of the flowers so far, love and devotion,” you replied, heat warming your cheeks.

Maria whistled softly. “Someone is down bad for you, girl. Any ideas who it could be?”

Shrugging defeatedly, you admitted, “Not a clue. The one person I’d want it to be would never do something like this.”

Maria hid a smile behind her mug as she sipped her coffee. “How can you be sure?”

tbc