#it calmed down at the beginning of this week

[rafecameronssl4t]

Omg Pt 2 of unfinished lap??? Reader makes him eat his heart out looking super hot and he grovels??? PUHLEASE

Unfinished lap pt.2 || F1 driver!Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

A/n: IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG 😭😭😭

Warnings: angst!!!!

Word count: 1,396

MASTERLIST (F1 driver!Rafe x reader au masterlist)

PART ONE HERE

The Monaco Grand Prix was undoubtedly one of the most highly anticipated races of the year, and it was clear why. The energy was electric from the moment you stepped into the paddock. Journalists swarmed, eager to capture every headline-worthy moment, while paparazzi darted about, snapping photos of drivers and their glamorous entourages.

Team crew members hustled through the maze of garages, their focused expressions a stark contrast to the spectacle of it all. It was a world that thrived on chaos, glitz, and precision—a breathtaking display of Formula 1’s allure. Austin had accompanied you this time, his calm presence a stark contrast to the whirlwind around you.

It had been a week since you last spoke to Rafe, your communication routed exclusively through Austin. The distance had been intentional. After the heated fallout at the Miami Grand Prix, you had felt the need to step away, to find a moment to breathe. So, you flew back home for a few days, seeking solace in the familiar before making your way to France just 24 hours ago.

Of course, your arrival had been made seamless, courtesy of Rafe's private jet. It was his unspoken way of showing care, even in the midst of a strained silence. He had respected your desire for space, understanding the weight of what had transpired between you. Yet, the air still felt charged, the unresolved tension from Miami lingering like an invisible thread pulling at both of you.

Now, standing in the heart of Monaco’s bustling paddock, you couldn’t help but wonder how this weekend would unfold. The aftermath of Miami still clung to you like a stubborn shadow. Your abrupt departure before the race had even ended—and without Rafe by your side—had set social media ablaze. Fans were quick to notice, flooding timelines with speculation.

Did you and Rafe have a falling out? Was this the beginning of cracks in what many saw as a perfect relationship? The whispers of gossip added another layer to the weight you already carried. As you stepped into the paddock, the flashing cameras were almost blinding. Paparazzi immediately swarmed, their voices rising as they called your name. You offered them a small, polite smile, one that didn’t quite reach your eyes but was enough to quell the barrage of questions—for now.

The murmurs and shutter clicks followed you like a persistent hum, a reminder that every move you made here was under scrutiny. Austin, always the reliable mediator, had informed you that Rafe was already at the paddock. His presence was palpable even without seeing him, a tension that hung in the air. But finding him wasn’t your priority at the moment. The thought of facing him so soon felt daunting, not when your emotions were still tangled from the events in Miami.

Instead, you sought comfort in familiar company, meeting up with some friends at Ferrari’s hospitality complex. The atmosphere was lively but far more relaxed than the frenzy outside. You eased into the plush seating, a chilled glass of champagne in hand, while plates of gourmet food were passed around. The warm laughter and light conversation helped loosen the knot in your chest, even if only temporarily.

Yet, even as you tried to immerse yourself in the moment, you couldn’t ignore the faint buzz of your phone in your bag.

Rafe

Austin says you're here, where are you?

Y/n

Hospitality.

Without waiting for Rafe's response, you silenced your phone, flipping it face down on the table with a snap. You didn’t want to be distracted, not when there were conversations to be had with friends who actually cared—or at least, that’s what you told yourself as you leaned back into the easy rhythm of small talk with Sofia and the others. Your smile was polite, but hollow, just like the words coming out of your mouth.

Inside, you were still seething, and nothing about the pre-race buzz seemed to settle the storm inside you. As the race approached, the paddock swelled with even more energy. "Y/n! Over here!" You hear paparazzi call out as you turn your head to see them all flashing their camera as you give them a wave. "They grow more obsessive over you every day, I swear," Sofia chuckles, as you let out a soft snort, knowing this dress was your petty version of a revenge dress.

The air crackled with excitement, but you were numb to it, your thoughts wrapped tightly around everything that had been left unsaid between you and Rafe. Sofia nudged you, a knowing glint in her eyes, breaking your daze. You frowned, her questioning look making you snap out of your thoughts. "What?" you asked.

She nodded subtly, gesturing with her chin, and you followed her gaze. Your heart clenched. Rafe was approaching, his racing suit snug against his toned frame, the helmet in his hand an afterthought. His eyes, however, were locked onto you with an intensity that made you want to look away. He walked through the chaos of the grid like he was moving in slow motion, cutting through the noise, determined.

The sea of people, the flashes of cameras, none of it seemed to matter. It was like he was trying to pull you back in, but you weren’t sure you wanted to be pulled anymore. Sofia gave you a small, almost sympathetic smile before slipping away toward her boyfriend. You stayed rooted to the spot, knowing full well what was coming. Your eyes met his when he finally reached you, and the force of his gaze nearly knocked the air out of your lungs.

There was something there—something unreadable. You hated how it made you feel. You offered him a smile, but you knew it didn’t reach your eyes. It was stiff, polite, barely enough to hide the way you felt. He saw it, of course, because he always did. He could read you better than anyone else. “Good luck,” you said, the words coming out more as a formality than genuine well-wishing. Your voice was even, but it didn’t carry the warmth it usually did when you said it to him.

You stepped closer, placing your hands lightly on his shoulders, doing it out of habit rather than any lingering affection. It was an automatic move, like you’d done it a thousand times before. Rising onto your toes, you kissed his cheek. The kiss was longer than it should have been, the seconds stretching into an eternity as your lips lingered. But it didn’t feel like affection. It felt like something you didn’t want to face.

“Wait.” His voice sliced through the noise, barely audible over the rising hum of the grid as his hand grips your forearm. Your body froze at the sound of it, tension building in your chest. You hated how much it affected you. You hadn’t wanted to see him, hadn’t wanted to be anywhere near him after the things he’d said, yet here he was, pulling you back into his orbit with just two words. You looked over your shoulder, meeting his gaze.

The vulnerability there was almost too much. You turned, your gaze cold. "What?" you snapped, not hiding the edge of frustration in your voice. “Can we talk, please?” he asked, the words soft, almost pleading. His face was a mix of urgency and something you didn’t want to acknowledge. You wanted to scream at him. To tell him you weren’t some emotional ragdoll he could throw aside whenever it suited him. But all that came out was silence.

You glanced around at the sea of people—team members huddled together, journalists with cameras in hand, all capturing this moment. Everything about this was wrong. You could already feel the eyes on you both, the pressure mounting. This was the last place you wanted to have this conversation. "Right now?" you asked, your voice biting. "But—"

Before you could finish, Austin materialized at Rafe’s side, his timing as impeccable as always. You almost resented him for it. “Rafe, the anthem is happening soon,” he said, his voice carrying a firm but unspoken reminder that the world didn’t stop for personal drama. He looked at you briefly, offering a polite smile, but it felt more like an apology for the situation than anything else.

“Go,” you said, your voice colder than you meant it to be. You gently moved his hand from your forearm, the briefest contact of your fingers almost too much. His touch lingered even after he let go, the warmth of it burning into you. His shoulders sagged slightly, a deep exhale leaving his lips. He nodded, but it was a hollow gesture, a promise that didn’t carry weight. “After the race,” he muttered, his voice low, as if he were speaking more to himself than to you.

~

Rafe’s victory, though impressive, only seemed to amplify the tension between you both. As you stood near the podium, clapping along with the others, you felt the anger simmering beneath your skin. The sound of Ferrari’s team celebrating—their cheers, the clapping—was a distant noise, something that barely registered to you. Rafe stood there, triumphant, raising his trophy high as the crowd cheered around him.

But despite his success, you couldn’t bring yourself to feel anything other than the sharp ache that had settled in your chest. Your smile, if you could even call it that, was a thin mask you wore out of habit, an automatic response to the situation. You tried to focus on the celebrations, but every part of you was focused on him. You could feel his eyes on you, the weight of his gaze intense and unyielding.

You stared at the big screen, watching his expression shift as he looked directly down at you, a brief flicker of something—regret, maybe—flashing across his face. You hated it. You hated how that tiny moment made you question everything. You refused to acknowledge it, refused to let yourself feel anything beyond the cold distance you had wrapped around your emotions.

Instead, you kept your focus on the screen, acting like you didn’t care. You could almost hear his voice in your mind, calling out to you, asking for forgiveness, but you shut it out. The ache from his words—those careless, hurtful things he’d said—was still so raw, and you were not ready to let it go. The second the podium ceremony ended, you wasted no time in leaving the crowd behind.

You moved quickly through the cluster of team members, your steps deliberate as you walked away, trying to escape the noise and the energy that had once felt like home.

~

You hesitated outside the door to Rafe’s private room, your hand hovering over the handle. The paddock’s noise was a faint hum in the distance now, replaced by the deafening sound of your own thoughts. You didn’t want to be here—every fibre of your being told you to turn around, to walk away, to protect yourself. But you also couldn’t leave things like this. Not after everything.

With a deep breath, you pushed the door open. The room was dimly lit, quiet, a stark contrast to the chaos outside. Rafe sat on the small couch, his racing suit unzipped and hanging around his waist, his head resting in his hands. The sight of him—so unguarded, so unlike the Rafe everyone else knew—sent a pang through your chest.

His head snapped up when he heard the door close behind you. His blue eyes locked onto yours, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. The tension was thick, suffocating, as he straightened up, his gaze flickering with something you couldn’t quite place. “You didn’t stay,” he said finally, his voice low, almost accusing.

You crossed your arms over your chest, the anger bubbling up again. “What did you expect, Rafe? A standing ovation for the way you spoke to me in Miami?” His jaw tightened, and he stood, his movements stiff and deliberate as he closed some of the space between you. “I wasn’t thinking straight,” he admitted, his voice strained. “I said things I shouldn’t have.”

“You think an apology fixes everything?” you snapped, your voice sharper than you intended. “Do you even understand how much you hurt me? I was trying to help you, Rafe. To be there for you. And you acted like I was just… in your way. Like I didn’t matter.” His shoulders sagged, and he ran a hand through his messy hair, his frustration evident. “You don’t think I know that?” he shot back, his voice rising slightly.

“I know I messed up, okay? I know I was out of line. But I didn’t mean any of it.” “Then why say it?” you countered, your voice cracking despite your best efforts to stay composed. “Why do you always push me away when all I’m trying to do is be there for you?” Rafe let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Because I don’t know how to deal with this!” he admitted, his voice raw.

“I don’t know how to let people in without feeling like they’re gonna see how much of a failure I feel like sometimes. It’s easier to shut you out than to risk you seeing that.” Your heart clenched at his admission, but the sting of his earlier words still lingered. “You don’t get to make that choice for me, Rafe,” you said softly, your tone firm. “You don’t get to decide how much of you I can handle. That’s not fair. Not to me, and not to us.”

He stepped closer, his hands twitching at his sides as if he wanted to reach for you but didn’t quite dare. “You’re right,” he said, his voice quieter now. “It’s not fair. And I’m sorry. I don’t know how to fix this, but I want to. I need to.”You searched his face, looking for any sign of insincerity, but all you saw was regret. And fear. “I don’t need you to be perfect, Rafe,” you said, your voice softening slightly. “I just need you to let me in. To stop shutting me out every time things get hard.”

He nodded, his throat working as he swallowed hard. “I’ll try,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know how yet, but I’ll try. Because losing you… I can’t do that. I won’t.” Your resolve wavered, the walls you’d built around yourself beginning to crack. “I’m holding you to that,” you said quietly, letting him close the remaining distance between you.

Rafe’s hand hovered near yours for a moment before he finally took it, his grip tentative but steady. “You deserve better,” he said, his voice laced with a sincerity that made your chest ache. “And I’m going to do better. I promise.”The anger and hurt didn’t disappear completely, but for the first time that day, you felt a flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, things could change.

[kdyq]

The start of a new beginning

Context : As Ambessa steps into a new role one of fierce protector and tender caretaker. While navigating the delicate early days of potential pregnancy with the help of Hextech IVF.

The lab was quiet except for the soft hum of Hextech crystals glowing faintly along the walls. Piltover’s finest alchemist stood before you a meticulous mixture of science and magic in his hands. Within the small vial he carried was the culmination of countless discussions, hopes, and dreams shared between you and Ambessa a mixture of your genetic material prepared for implantation through the marvel of Hextech fertility.

Ambessa stood beside you her imposing figure like a fortress of strength. Her golden eyes usually so sharp and calculating flickered with an emotion she rarely allowed herself to show… hope. “This is it” you said your voice quiet but steady as you reached for her hand.

She took your smaller hand in hers, her touch surprisingly gentle. “This is the beginning of something greater than either of us.”You smiled up at her warmth spreading through your chest. “You sound more optimistic than I expected.”

Her lips quirked in a rare soft smile. “Let’s call it confidence. We’ve fought for this and Medardas don’t lose battles.”The alchemist cleared his throat reminding you both that this moment was more than just words. “Shall we proceed?”

You nodded and Ambessa gave your hand one final squeeze before releasing it. “I’ll be right here”she promised her deep voice grounding you.

The process was not painful but it was deeply intimate. Lying on the sterile table you felt a strange mix of vulnerability and strength. The alchemist worked with precision the glowing Hextech apparatus buzzing faintly as it did its work.

Ambessa sat by your side her chair pulled close. She had insisted on being present for every second refusing to leave your side even for a moment. Her large hand rested on yours her thumb tracing soothing patterns across your skin. “Does it hurt?” she asked her voice uncharacteristically soft.

“Not really” you replied glancing up at her. “It’s just… strange. Knowing this could change everything.” “It will change everything” she said firmly her golden eyes locking onto yours. “And I’ll be here for every step of it.”

The procedure concluded without complication. The alchemist stepped back his expression one of professional satisfaction. “The implantation is complete. Now we wait for confirmation.” “How long?” Ambessa asked her tone calm but commanding.

“Two weeks” the alchemist replied. “ I’ll provide instructions to ensure the process is as smooth as possible. Minimal stress plenty of rest and careful monitoring.”Ambessa’s jaw tightened slightly but she nodded. “Understood.”You knew from that point own you wouldn’t lift a single finger until that conformation.

From the moment you left the clinic Ambessa transformed into a one woman security detail. She insisted on carrying you into the estate despite your protests.

“I’m perfectly capable of walking!” you said laughing as she scooped you up effortlessly.“Humor me” she replied her voice tinged with rare amusement. “You heard the alchemist minimal stress. I don’t take chances.”

Over the next few days her overprotectiveness became both endearing and slightly irritating . She refused to let you lift a finger but you know this is a love language for her she just doesn’t wanna tell you that. She’ll be reorganizing your usual routines with military precision.

“Ambessa I can pour my own tea” you said one morning as she carefully placed a steaming cup in front of you.“Not while I’m here” she countered her tone leaving no room for argument.

“oh my god your gonna drive me crazy” you teased though the warmth in your voice betrayed how much you appreciated her care.She leaned down her golden eyes locking onto yours. “Good. It means you’ll stay put.”

One evening as the two of you sat in the estate’s sprawling garden you finally managed to coax her into relaxing. The stars above were bright and the soft hum of the estate’s wards created a comforting background noise.

“You’ve been hovering “you said, leaning your head against her shoulder.“And?” she replied her smirk audible in her voice.

You laughed softly. “And I love you for it. But you don’t have to treat me like I’m fragile.”Ambessa shifted slightly, turning to face you. Her large hands cradled yours, the contrast between your smaller fingers and hers a reminder of her strength.

“You’re not fragile,” she said, her voice low and serious. “But this…. this life we’re creating…. it’s the most important thing I’ve ever done. And I won’t take any risks with it or with you.”The intensity in her gaze left you momentarily speechless. You reached up, cupping her cheek and she leaned into your touch.

“I know love” you said softly. “But you don’t have to carry it all on your own. We’re in this together.”Her expression softened and she pressed a kiss to your forehead. “You’ve always been better at balancing strength with softness. Maybe I could learn from you.”

As the two weeks stretched on your interactions grew even more intimate. Ambessa was a constant presence her protective instincts balanced by moments of vulnerability she rarely showed anyone else.

One afternoon she found you curled up in the library flipping through a book of baby names.“Already planning?” she asked her tone light as she sat beside you.“Just… imagining,” you replied, leaning against her. “Do you have any preferences?”

She took the book from your hands, flipping through it thoughtfully. “Something strong. Something that carries weight.”You smiled. “That’s very you.”

She looked down at you, her golden eyes warm. “And something that honors you.”The day of the follow up appointment arrived and Ambessa’s usual composure was replaced by a quiet tension. She held your hand tightly as you both awaited the results.When the alchemist finally returned holding the glowing test tube that signaled success, you felt tears well in your eyes.

“It worked”he said simply his voice filled with warmth. “Congratulations.”You turned to Ambessa your heart full. She stared at the test tube for a long moment before pulling you into her arms.

“You’ve done it” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “We’ve done it.”In that moment, surrounded by her strength and love you knew that this child would be born into a world shaped by both power and tenderness a legacy built on the unshakable bond you shared.

“THE END”

AN/ This took me so long to jus think about how im gonna do this whole story but im just about done with the part 4 ish I just wanted to have all or most of this mini series done so it wont be a long time between each “chapter”. Next one shot is Sevkia 🥸

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

The Gingerbread Matchmaker

Rating: Teen? If even, but I still appreciate MDNI. Pairing: No Outbreak Joel Miller x Female Reader Words Count: 4,500 Summary: You're the owner of the struggling bakery Sweet Nothing, and you're quickly running out of money—and patience. Your town's annual gingerbread house competition is your last ditch effort to save everything you've worked so hard on. Too bad you quickly discover that you're a baker—and not a contractor. Enter, Sarah Miller, offering her dad's building skills. Warnings: fluff, Hallmark Christmas movie vibes, Sarah Miller the matchmaker, I believe in a world where Joel Miller is happy, Christmas vibes, a lot of baking, not beta read

A/N: Happy holidays everybody! This idea planted in my head a few nights ago and I just had to get this out to y'all. Thank you to @saradika for the gingerbread dividers!

Masterlist

You're a whirlwind of aprons and flour-dusted hands as you flit around Sweet Nothing Bakery, your labor of love. The display before you blooms into a colorful bouquet of cupcakes, each one baked then frosted with meticulous care.

Only you, the hopeless dreamer who has always believed that one good chocolate chip cookie can instantly improve a bad day, would decide to pack up your whole life, purchase a long-closed-down bakery sight unseen, and move to a cozy suburb outside of Austin that you’ve never even visited before.

And here you are now, your eyes flickering toward the door every few minutes. You've poured everything into this place – your savings and your dreams. The bell above the door remains silent, though.

"Maybe it's just another off day," you mumble to yourself. Your wrist twists, bringing the face of your watch into view for the third time in ten minutes.

As if on cue, the door creaks open, and your heart leaps. But it's only Mr. Bowe from the music shop next door, his gaze sweeping over the cupcakes before he offers a sympathetic smile. "Just looking at all of the pretty pastries, my dear," he says.

You nod with a practiced grin that doesn't quite reach your eyes.

"Let me know if anything tempts you," you reply, already turning back to rearrange a tray of lemon cupcakes.

"Will do," Mr. Bowe assures you, though you both know he won't. He never does. With a smile and a nod, he's gone, leaving you alone again.

Damnit. This bakery was supposed to be a beginning, not an end. You can't let it crumble in your hands.

The sun begins to set as you tally the day's earnings—or lack thereof. Your palms press against your eyes when you realize the sum total barely covers the cost of ingredients. Your shoulders slump as you count and recount, you lose every time.

With a deep sigh, you flick off the lights one by one and climb the narrow staircase to your apartment.

You’ll try again tomorrow.

The morning sun pours through the bakery's front windows. You're lining up croissants in the display case when Mr. Bowe’s kind voice catches your attention.

"Have you heard about the Gingerbread House Contest?"

Your ears perk up, and you lean closer. "No, I haven't. Tell me more."

"Well, every year, Cedar Park holds the contest right in the town square. It's quite the spectacle," he explains. “It draws quite the crowd."

"Sounds fun," you muse.

"Indeed. Last year, the winner's gingerbread house was featured in the newspaper. Gave their little shop a real boost."

You straighten up.

"Maybe I should give it a shot," you say, more to yourself than Mr. Bowe.

“I’d love to see what you come up with.”

You don your apron, your sleeves rolled up to your elbows. The familiar sound of the mixer whirring calms your nervous heart. The bakery smells of ginger, cinnamon, and allspice. For the first time in weeks, you actually feel a glimmer of hope that maybe—just maybe—you’re going to be okay.

Rolling out the first batch of gingerbread, you press shapes into the dough—walls, roofs, and tiny doors.

You've got this. Or so you tell yourself, leaning against the counter with a mug of tea while you watch the oven bake your hopes and dreams.

Your hands are steady as you lay out your tools—offset spatula, rolling pin, and piping bags. You prepare yourself to transform from a baker into an architect.

Or—so you thought—your gingerbread homes begin to resemble earthquake victims, walls crumble and roofs slide. All you can do is laugh in disbelief. You mastered croissants at the age of twelve, you knew how to make macarons before you knew how to drive. How in the hell are you failing at gingerbread houses of all things?

Determined, you eye the next batch in the oven. This time, you’ll double the icing, maybe whisper sweet nothings to the dough, and cross your fingers for good luck.

You barely notice the jingle of the front door bell over the crash of another wall meeting its demise.

"Wow, looks like a gingerbread massacre in here," a sweet voice cuts through your frustration. You glance up from your baked goods ruins and spy Sarah Miller smiling at you, curiosity lighting up her face as she surveys the scene. You straighten up, self-conscious under the gaze of your guest.

"Ah, well, it's not usually this… chaotic," you offer with a sheepish grin, trying to brush off the mess littering your workspace and apron.

Your eyes meet Joel, Sarah’s handsome dad standing just behind her. Your breath catches in your throat, a common occurrence whenever you see him in your shop, standing tall and broad-shouldered, rugged with bronzed skin. His strong jawline is dusted with stubble, his full lips sit under a well-trimmed mustache, and his eyes—a warm dark brown—crinkle at the corners as he takes in the chaos of your kitchen with a slight grin.

He runs a hand through his short, dark hair. You try not to stare at his arms, muscular and tanned. You’re left speechless again by him, your eyes roaming from his work-worn hands to the easy smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He exudes strength and capability—you feel ridiculous in your current predicament—covered in flour and crumbled gingerbread buildings.

"Looks like you could use a hand," he says, his voice is a low rumble that sends a shiver through your body.

"Or maybe a bulldozer," Sarah adds.

"Maybe so," you respond, feeling the tension ease out of your body at their lighthearted banter. “What brings you in today?"

Sarah bounces on her toes, her curls bobbing. "We’re early for my piano lesson next door and I wanted to ask you about helping with my bake sale—" She glances around at your gingerbread graveyard. "Maybe we came to the wrong place?"

You laugh, running your hand across your forehead and wincing when you realize you've just dusted it with flour. "Oh no, I promise I'm usually much more competent. It's just this gingerbread house contest has me all flustered."

Joel's eyebrows raise. "The gingerbread contest? The one being held this weekend? That's a big deal around here."

"Yep. So I've heard," you sigh. "I thought it would be a great way to get some publicity for the bakery, but…" You point helplessly at the crumbled remains of your attempts.

Sarah's eyes light up. "Dad! You could help!" She turns to you, grinning. "My dad's a contractor. He builds real houses. I bet he could help you make an awesome gingerbread house!”

You blink, surprised by Sarah's suggestion. Joel rubs the back of his neck, looking a bit sheepish. "I don't know about that, baby girl. Building gingerbread houses isn't exactly building a home."

But Sarah doesn’t back down. She turns to you, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Dad's being modest. He's amazing at building things! You should see him build LEGO!”

You look around at your kitchen, littered with the remains of your failed attempts.

“I—guess I could use the help,” you shrug, glancing over at Joel.

He hesitates, his eyes darting between you and Sarah, the internal debate playing out on his face. “I suppose I could take a look,” he sighs, a hint of a smile appearing.

“Yes!” Sarah cheers, clapping her hands together.

Relief and excitement rush through you. “Thank you,” you earnestly say. “I promise I’ll repay. Free cupcakes for life?”

He laughs a deep, warm sound. “Let’s see if I can actually help…”

Joel moves closer to inspect your gingerbread casualties, you catch the smell of his cologne—woodsy, like pine and campfires. You try to focus as he examines the graveyard of broken cookie pieces, his brow furrowing in concentration. God, he’s handsome.

"You need to think about load-bearing walls, proper supports—”

“It’s cookie dough, not concrete,” you retort with a smile.

“What if we change the shape?” Joel suggests. “Maybe something less—grand than a gigantic gingerbread mansion.”

You nod, your mind racing with possibilities of gingerbread construction.

“Ooh! I have an idea!” Sarah pipes up with excitement. “What if we made the clock tower in the town square?”

“It’s smaller, we’d need less actual structure pieces, maybe we could rely more on your decorating than building skills then?” Joel says thoughtfully.

“That’s actually… not a bad idea,” you admit, your eyes lighting up as you consider the possibilities. "I could use royal icing to make the details on the clock face," you muse.

Joel nods. "And I can help with trying to make sure it stays upright."

"Team Gingerbread!" Sarah cheers, pumping her fist in the air.

You laugh, feeling warmth spread through your chest for the first time in a quite awhile.

“So, when do we start?” Sarah asks excitedly. “Now?”

“No, baby girl,” Joel says with a chuckle. “We can’t start right now. You have your piano lesson.”

"But Dad," she whines, "this is way more important than piano!"

"How about we start tomorrow?" you suggest, glancing at Joel. "After the bakery closes? That way, I can prepare some fresh gingerbread and we can really get started."

"Sounds like a plan. What time do you close up shop?"

"Seven," you reply, trying to ignore the flutter in your chest at the thought of spending more time with him.

"Perfect," Joel says. "We'll be here."

Sarah bounces on her toes, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Can we bring anything to help?”

“Patience,” you wink.

Joel chuckles, a sound you could get used to hearing.

“Please, pick something out to take with you,” you say gesturing to the display case.

While Joel and Sarah peruse your variety of baked goods, you take the opportunity to steal glances at him. His strong profile, the gentle way he interacts with his daughter, his broad shoulders. You shake your head, trying to escape your reverie over the handsome contractor as you bag up the treats they’ve chosen.

“A chocolate chip cookie for the little lady, and a cinnamon roll for dad,” you say, handing the bag to Sarah.

"See you tomorrow! We're gonna make the best gingerbread tower ever!" Sarah says, as they turn for the door.

“I sure hope so,” you giggle at her enthusiasm.

Joel lingers for a moment at the door, his eyes meeting yours. “See you tomorrow,” his deep voice rumbles through you as he leaves.

The next day, you're up before dawn, determined to perfect your gingerbread recipe. That, and you couldn’t stop thinking about seeing Joel again.

By mid-afternoon, you've settled on the perfect blend - a dough that's sturdy enough for construction.

As closing time nears, your stomach flutters with nerves over seeing Joel again. You're just finishing up filling the piping bags with royal icing when the bell above the door chimes.

"We're here!" Sarah's voice rings out, her curls bouncing as she practically skips into the bakery. Joel follows behind, with a soft smile as he takes in the scene.

"Wow, it smells amazing in here," he says.

You lead them to the workspace. "I've got everything laid out. Shall we get started?"

Sarah claps her hands excitedly. "Let's do this!"

Joel listens intently as you explain the pieces you’ve baked for the clock tower.

"Okay, I think I see how we can make this work," Joel says, reaching for a piece of gingerbread. "We'll start with a solid base, then build up the walls using these larger pieces as supports."

You find yourself mesmerized by Joel’s hands as he begins; strong, capable, yet incredibly gentle as he handles the gingerbread.

You blink out of your focus, remembering you have a job to do—and Joel’s daughter is right next to him.

"I'll start on the decorations," you say, reaching for a piping bag filled with white royal icing.

"What can I do?" Sarah asks looking around at all of the accoutrements needed to build the tower.

You smile at her enthusiasm. "How about you sort these candies by color? We'll need them for the details later."

And just like that, the bakery feels a little less quiet, a little less empty.

As the clock ticks later, the outline of the clock tower begins to take shape.

You catch yourself staring at Joel's strong hands as he carefully places the final support beam for the clock tower. Your eyes trail up his arms, past his broad shoulders to his handsome face—where you’re startled to find him looking right back at you, his brown eyes wide as he stares into yours.

"Earth to bakers!" Sarah's voice cuts through the moment. "Are we done for tonight?"

You shake your head, clearing your thoughts. "Yes, I think that's enough for today. Tomorrow, we finish decorating," you reply, wiping your hands on your apron.

“It looks like it’s going to hold,” Joel nods, stepping back to admire your mutual handiwork before gathering his and Sarah’s things.

“Let’s hope!” Sarah says, carefully leaning in to assess a wall.

"Same time tomorrow?" Joel asks, his hand on the door.

"Wouldn't miss it," you reply, a bit too eagerly.

With one more day to go, you lean over the bakery counter, watching as Joel meticulously positions a candy cane-striped piece atop the gingerbread clock tower, using extra tenderness as he handles the delicate candy.

“Geez Dad, I haven’t seen you handle something so gently since you built that little green alien from that show you like,” Sarah quips, perched on a stool, legs swinging, her curly hair bouncing with energy. “It’s candy, not a thousand piece LEGO set.”

You stifle a laugh as you watch Joel's serious face crack into a reluctant smile.

"If only your smart mouth could decorate," he retorts, his voice low and warm.

Sarah's eyes light up mischievously, a grin spreading across her face. "Oh! I just remembered," she exclaims, hopping down from her stool. "I promised Mr. Bowe I'd help him set up his Christmas window display today. I can't believe I almost forgot!"

You and Joel exchange skeptical glances. "Since when do you help Mr. Bowe with his window?" Joel asks, raising a suspicious eyebrow.

"Since… now?" Sarah replies, already backing towards the door. "It's important to help others, right Dad? You always say that. I'm sure you two can handle the rest of the decorating without me. I think you two make a great team! If you need me, I'll be next door!"

Before either of you can protest, Sarah darts out the door, the bell jingling in her wake.

All of a sudden, the bakery feels much smaller, much more intimate, the air sits thicker between you and Joel.

You clear your throat, reaching for a piping bag filled with white icing. "Well, I guess we should keep going," you say, your voice sounding unnaturally high.

Joel nods, his fingers skimming yours as he takes the piping bag from your hand. A jolt of electricity passes between you at the contact, and you quickly pull away, knocking over a container of sprinkles in your haste.

"Oh, shoot," you mutter, dropping to your knees to clean up the mess. Joel kneels beside you, helping to gather the scattered sprinkles.

You both reach for the same pile, your fingers brushing against each other. This time though, neither of you pulls away.

You look up, meeting Joel's, brown eyes, his intense stare searching your eyes as if he’s trying to read your thoughts.

Time stands still, the smell of cinnamon, ginger, and your bakery dissipates, now all you smell is Joel’s woodsy cologne. Finally, after watching him from afar for months, separated by the bakery display case, always getting to see the small glimpses of him with his daughter and the sensitive heart he keeps buttoned up beneath his flannel shirt, he’s so close. He takes a deep breath, leaning in, closing the distance between you. Joel’s lips meet yours, gentle and tentative at first, until he cups your cheek, and you melt into him, quietly moaning at the first taste of the cinnamon and coffee on his tongue.

Your hands find their way to his broad shoulders, sinking into his warmth, steadying yourself as he wraps his strong arms around your waist and pulls you closer.

When you finally break apart, you’re both breathless. Joel rests his forehead against yours. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” he whispers.

“Me too,” you admit, feeling heat creep into your cheeks.

“I think my daughter may have had an ulterior motive in leaving us alone,” he chuckles.

You laugh softly. "She's a smart kid."

"Too smart for her own good sometimes," Joel agrees.

"We should probably get back to decorating," you say reluctantly.

Joel nods, standing and offering you his hand and pulling you up.

You stand shoulder to shoulder with Joel at the counter, Joel’s presence now a comforting warmth beside you, as you both reach for a frosted windowpane.

"Here, let me," he says, taking the delicate piece from you. He gently handles the sugar glass with a gentleness you’re now well aware of, and glues it to the clocktower.

“It looks great,” you say, closing the distance between Joel.

Joel’s eyes lock with yours, leaning in, his breath ghosting over your lips. Your chin tilts up, wanting to taste the sweetness of his lips again…

Suddenly, the bell above the door chimes loudly, shattering the moment. The two of you spring apart, both breathing heavily.

"I'm back!" Sarah's cheerful voice rings out. "Mr. Bowe says hi and—" She stops short, her eyes darting between you and her father, a knowing smirk spreading across her face.

Flustered, you take a step back, your elbow accidentally knocking against the edge of the table. The gingerbread clock tower wobbles precariously, and time seems to slow as you watch in horror.

But Joel is already in motion, lunging forward and reaching out to steady the creation. A collective sigh of relief fills the room as the gingerbread clock tower stands unscathed.

"Nice catch," you breathe out.

He offers a humble shrug, but the slight twinkle in his eye tells you he's pleased.

"Oh my god Dad! That was awesome!" Sarah chimes, rushing over to inspect the nearly-catastrophe. “Is it done? It looks amazing!”

“I think it is, except for one more piece,” you say, pulling out two surprise gingerbread cookies.

The first cookie is unmistakably Sarah. Her curly hair is captured by swirls of chocolate icing. Her bright brown eyes are recreated with the help of tiny candy pearl dots. Her wide smile is a perfect arc of white royal icing. You made sure to include her favorite part of green Chuck Taylors and stack of beaded bracelets.

Joel’s cookie is a little simpler, his stubble is recreated with finely crushed Oreos, his short, dark hair made with chocolate icing. He’s even complete with a tiny flannel shirt constructed with red and brown icing.

Two sets of brown eyes widen as they take in the miniature versions of themselves.

“These are incredible,” Joel says softly. “Really.”

“Well, you two are my most frequent customers, and I couldn’t have done all of this without your help,” you admit, smiling at Sarah.

Sarah beams, carefully picking up her cookie-self. "Can we put them on the tower? Like we're looking out the window or something?"

"That's a great idea," you nod, reaching for icing to secure the cookies in place.

As the three of you work together to position the two cookies just right, you feel contentment wash over you.

Just a few days ago, the bakery felt so empty and daunting. But now, as you watch Joel help Sarah put on her jacket before they both take one last look at the completed gingerbread tower, you feel hopeful for the future of the bakery—and the gingerbread competition tomorrow.

You’re tired—you barely slept last night, you yawn as you carefully load the gingerbread tower into your car, praying it survives the short drive to the town square.

The morning air is crisp as you step out of your car, waving at Joel and Sarah as they make their way towards you. Joel has a shy smile, his deep brown eyes lit with something akin to fondness as he approaches you.

“Ready?” he asks with a nod.

“As ready as I can be,” you sigh.

You and Joel carry your collective pride and joy across the town square with the help of Sarah leading the way to the competition area.

"This is it!" she exclaims, waggling her fingers in front of the table like a magician. You swallow nervously when you see the talent of your competitors.

"Wow, look at that castle," Sarah gasps. Joel doesn’t even look over, his focus remaining fixed on your shared creation, his brow furrowed in concentration.

"Ours is better," he states matter-of-factly.

“You’re right,” you agree with a smile.

As the judges make their rounds, you try to calm your nerves as your foot nervously taps against the pavement and you try to catch your breath. Joel seems to sense your anxiety, taking your hand in his and giving it a gentle squeeze. The warmth of his touch steadying you, silencing your self-doubt.

"Hey," he says quietly, giving your hand another reassuring squeeze. "Whatever happens, we did good."

"Thank you," you breathe out.

And then they're before you—the judges—with their scrutinizing eyes and nods of approval. You and Joel still hold hands, both of you not making an attempt to pull away. One of them leans in close, inspecting the intricate icing lattice-work that had taken you hours of painstaking focus.

"Exceptional detail," one judge comments, pointing to the two gingerbread figures of Joel and Sarah at the base of the tower.

"And the structural integrity is impressive," another judge remarks. Now, you squeeze Joel’s hand.

"Thank you," Joel says.

The judges move on. The three of you look at each other, with unspoken hopes of victory. Joel still doesn’t drop your hand.

"And now," the announcer's voice catches the crowd’s attention, "for the winners of this year's Cedar Park Gingerbread House Contest!"

A rush of adrenaline flows through your body as your heart beats against your chest. Sarah grabs your other hand, forming a chain of nervous anticipation.

"Third place goes to The Gingerbread Castle by the Carpenter family!"

You breathe out the breath you’ve been holding. Sarah bounces next to you, Joel stands still and calm next to you.

"Second place is awarded to…" the announcer pauses. "The Gingerbread Ski Lodge by the Padillas!"

Your heart pounds so hard you feel like you’re going to pass out. You try to focus on the soothing feel of Joel’s thumb stroking the back of your hand.

"And now for the grand prize winner of this year's Cedar Park Gingerbread House Contest is… The Gingerbread Clock Tower by Sweet Nothing Bakery!"

Time seems to slow down. The judge's lips move, but you can’t hear them over your heart beating. You only realize what’s happening when Sarah lets out an ear-piercing squeal and Joel's arm wraps around your waist.

Sarah jumps up and down and Joel pulls you close, planting a kiss on your cheek.

You feel like you’re floating as you walk to the stage and accept the grand prize ribbon. The crowd stares at you, cameras taking your victory photos, but all you can do is stare at Joel, a wide smile of support making his eyes disappear behind the crinkles at the sides.

As you step off the stage, you spot Mr. Bowe, who rushes over to you, his eyes twinkling with pride. “I knew you had it in you, my dear,” he says, patting your arm. “This will do wonders for you and your bakery.”

The realization hits you like a wave - you've won. Your bakery is going to be okay. More than okay, even. Tears of relief and joy prick at your eyes.

Joel notices the tears in your eyes as you rejoin him and Sarah at the table. He pulls you in for a hug. “Hey,” he says softly. "You did it. I knew you could."

You bury your face in his chest. "No, we did it," you respond, your voice muffled against the soft flannel of his shirt. "I couldn't have done this without you and Sarah."

When you pull back, you see Sarah beaming at you both, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Does this mean we get free cupcakes for life now?" she asks cheekily.

You laugh, wiping away a stray tear. "Absolutely.”

You weave through the throng of customers, carrying a tray laden with pastries. Gone are the quiet days of just you and your empty bakery. Sweet Nothing Bakery is now the bustling heart of Cedar Park’s downtown business district. Now, instead of quiet contemplation about your’s and your bakery’s future, your business is home to a line stretching out the door and a phone ringing off the hook.

You turn the OPEN sign to CLOSED, now exhausted from being busy all day, no longer overwhelmed from the worries of a failing business.

The jingle of the bell above the door interrupts your focus on counting the profits of the day, you look up and spot a familiar face.

“Long time no see,” you smile.

“It’s been a busy week for me with the holidays coming up,” he says, looking around at the empty display cases. ”Seems like your week was busier.”

He approaches the counter, it’s only been a week since you last saw him, seeing his dark brown eyes again makes you realize how much you’ve really missed him.

"I've been baking non-stop since we won the contest. I can barely keep up with demand."

Joel's lips quirk up in a half-smile. "I noticed the line when I drove by earlier.”

“I can’t thank you enough for all of your help, I couldn’t have done it without you… or Sarah.”

He smiles before cleaning his throat.

"So," he says, a hint of nervousness sounds in his voice. "I was thinking… maybe we could celebrate our victory properly? Maybe you’d like to grab dinner sometime?”

Your heart skips a beat and you can’t stop the wide grin that spreads across your face.

“I’d love that,” you reply. "But what about Sarah?"

Joel chuckles, running a hand through his hair. "Already taken care of. My brother was quite excited to learn that I finally got the nerve up to ask the cute girl from the bakery out. I think Sarah has been filling him in about everything. I think she might have been plotting this.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “She’s tenacious.”

“Tell me about it,” he nods with a grin. “So, that’s a yes?”

“Absolutely,” you respond, hope filling your heart.

[noorpersona]

Husbandry: Miya Atsumu

Atsumu had absolutely no qualms with his life at the moment. In fear of jinxing it, he could say it was damn near perfect. He had accomplished his professional dream, being on Japan's Olympic Volleyball team, alongside teammates who have known and played with almost half his life. The people he considered to be the highest of the high. To make things better, he had you by his side, the greatest gift he's ever gotten (He'd tell you but you'd laugh at him for being too cheesy). You two had quite the blissful marriage, and with finding out a few weeks ago that you were pregnant with twins, he couldn't be happier with you.

Atsumu had been checking his hair out in the bathroom, prepping it for a luncheon he, and subsequently you, were invited to by the Japan Volleyball Association.

"Fuck!"

Atsumu hears you shriek out of frustration from the other room. He jumps almost immediately, rushing in to see what was causing you alarm. Whipping around the door frame, arms up to defend his wife, his adrenaline dissipates as he finds you in front of your vanity mirror struggling to zip up what was your favourite dress, but has recently become your most hated. Your bump stretched the dress, making it hard for the ends to come around let alone the zipper. Your face is red with effort, and with a lot of emotion swirling in your eyes. "Hey, hey, you okay?" He calls out your name softly, which usually made you calmer, but in this mood, your temper only flared. So of course, you begin to cry. "No, I'm not okay! I wanted to wear this dress and it doesn't fit! Nothing fits me, and I've gotten fat!" You break, spilling your guts as well as your tears, letting the tension break away from you. Immediately, Astumu is at your side, hugging you and allowing you to bury your face in his chest. He rubs your back in a soothing motion, trying to get you to calm down. "Babe, who on earth said you're fat? You're pregnant." He gave you a squeeze, talking gently in your ear, but you shook your head. "But I got so big so fast!" You were whining now, and while Atsumu knew you were genuinely upset, he couldn't help but smile. Still, he gave you a reassuring kiss on your head. "Well yeah, there's two of em' in there." His hands went from your back to your swollen stomach, "They need room to grow." And you groan, being dramatic. "But what if at the party they think I'm fat?" You ramble, clutching Atsumu's steamed shirt. Your husband stutters, trying to think of the right answer. "I'll... Make sure to let everyone know we're pregnant?" "What?! I don't want people to know we're doing it!" Atsumu gives you a look of pure confusion. Atsumu blinked at you, his lips slightly parted in disbelief. "Sweetheart," he said slowly, as if choosing his words carefully, "you do know that's how babies happen, right? I mean, it ain't exactly a secret how we got here."

You groaned, your cheeks heating up. "I know that! But still, I don’t want them thinking about it. It's embarrassing!"

He couldn't help it—he laughed. A real, loud, genuine laugh that shook his shoulders and made his head tilt back. His amusement was contagious, and despite your earlier frustration, you felt your lips twitch into a reluctant smile.

"You’re somethin’ else, you know that?" Atsumu said, grinning as he wiped the corner of his eye. He leaned down and kissed the top of your head again, his hands gently squeezing your waist. "But if you don’t want people thinking about it, fine. I won’t say a word. But listen here—if anyone tries to say somethin' stupid about you tonight, I’ll let 'em know exactly how proud I am of you. No one messes with my wife."

You sniffled, swiping at your cheeks with the back of your hand. "You promise?"

"Cross my heart, darlin’." He tilted your chin up with his thumb, meeting your watery gaze. "And for the record, you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Don’t you dare let that dress or anyone at that party tell you otherwise. Got it?"

"But what if—"

"No 'what ifs.'" Atsumu cut you off gently but firmly, resting his forehead against yours. "You’re not just my wife; you’re also the woman growin’ two babies, and if that ain’t somethin’ amazing, I dunno what is. So wear somethin’ that makes you feel comfy, and we’ll go in there and show everyone how perfect ya are—bump, dress, and all."

You sighed, leaning into him. "You always know what to say, don’t you?"

He smirked. "Nah, sometimes I wing it and hope for the best. But I’m glad this worked."

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, the tension finally easing from your body. Atsumu, satisfied with your soft giggle, gave you another quick kiss before pulling back and gently guiding you to sit down on the bed.

"Stay put. I’ll pick you somethin’ else," he said, already heading to the closet.

"Wait, you’re picking my outfit?" You raised an eyebrow at him, skeptical.

He shot you a playful look over his shoulder. "Trust me, babe. I got this."

You weren’t entirely sure you did trust him, but the way he moved so determinedly between your closet and the mirror made you feel a little lighter. Besides, how could you not feel cared for when your husband was doing everything in his power to make sure you felt confident and loved?

Minutes later, Atsumu returned holding a simple but elegant dress you hadn’t worn in years. It was loose enough to accommodate your bump but still flattering in all the right ways. "Try this," he said, holding it up proudly.

You stood and slipped it on, and to your surprise, it fit perfectly. When you turned to face the mirror, Atsumu’s reflection was beaming behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist.

"See? Told ya I got good taste," he said, resting his chin on your shoulder.

"Yeah, yeah," you mumbled, feeling your cheeks heat up again. "Thanks, 'Tsumu."

"Anytime," he murmured, his voice soft and full of love.

As you both got ready to leave for the luncheon, Atsumu leaned in one last time, his hand resting protectively over your belly. "Y’know," he whispered, "they’re real lucky to have you as their mom."

You smiled, your earlier worries completely forgotten. "And they’re lucky to have you as their dad."

With that, you headed out together, feeling lighter than you had all day.

[the-offside-rule]

Oscar Piastri (McLaren) - Hot Whiskey

Day 23 of Christmas

Prompt: An Irish Christmas

25 Days of Christmas

The pub was packed, brimming with Y/n’s family and the cheerful, twinkling warmth of Christmas. Y/n sat at a table near the fireplace, with her boyfriend Oscar Piastri beside her. His eyes were wide with excitement, taking in the lively atmosphere. It was his first time in Ireland, and this was no regular family gathering—there were cousins, grandparents, siblings, nieces, nephews, and more; practically the whole clan had come out for the family Christmas party a week before Christmas. Oscar couldn’t hide his grin as he shook hands, hugged relatives, and answered enthusiastic questions from all sides. Everyone was thrilled to meet the Aussie fella, as they had quickly dubbed him. Y/n’s dad eventually wove his way over through the crowd, an unmistakable glint in his eye.

The evening started out relaxed, with Oscar enthusiastically shaking hands, listening intently to thick Irish accents he was just beginning to understand. He looked right at home in his cozy sweater, his eyes lighting up as he shared stories, thrilled to be a part of this bustling Irish holiday tradition. "Right, Oscar-" Her dad said, his hand firmly patting Oscar’s shoulder. "If you’re in Ireland, you need to try a Guinness."

Oscar smiled, accepting the dark pint that her dad handed him. Lifting it to his mouth, he took a careful sip, doing his best to mask his surprise at the strong, rich taste. Y/n bit back a laugh at his expression, knowing it wasn’t exactly a light beer by any means. But Oscar was determined; he gave her a small, resolute nod, and he finished the pint, hoping the next drink might be more up his alley.

Then Y/n’s mum handed him a steaming mug of mulled wine. "Warms ya up, love. Give it a go!" she encouraged. Oscar raised it to his lips, the mix of wine, spices, and…was that brandy? It was potent, and the heat of the drink made it hit even harder. He took a few more polite sips, finishing it and glancing at Y/n with hope in his eyes that maybe he could take a break.

Not so fast.

Y/n’s grandmother shuffled over, a gleam in her eye, and handed him a hot whiskey. "Here, love." She said with a wink. "Have a hot whiskey. Warm you right up, that will." Oscar took a sip, and the whiskey hit him hard, burning his throat. He swallowed it, feeling his eyes water slightly. He nodded, forcing a smile as Y/n's granny walked away, before leaning toward Y/n. "Is it… always this strong?" He whispered, a little hoarse.

"Oh, that’s Gran’s hot whiskey." She chuckled. "She likes a triple shot in each glass—at least." Oscar blinked, staring at the mug. "Triple shot?" He shook his head, a little dazed. "She must be made of money to be ordering triple whiskeys." He muttered. "She's a farmer's wife. That should explain all." Oscar hissed as he swallowed down the drink. He didn't know which burnt more; the whiskey itself or the fact that it was hot. Still, every sip was an ordeal, but Oscar was too polite to say no. He finally managed to finish it, but before he could blink, Y/n’s grandmother was at his side again, handing him a new glass with another full pour of whiskey. "Good man!" Her grandmother praised as he emptied the glass and, without missing a beat, handed him a brand new glass.

By the fourth hot whiskey- pr was it the fifth? Anyway, Oscar was looking a little glazed, and by the sixth, his usual calm demeanour was entirely gone. The warmth and joy of the family party mixed with the dizzying strength of Gran’s "special" whiskeys until he leaned over to Y/n, resting his head on her shoulder. "Y/n, I’m… thinkin’ I might need a… quick nap." He mumbled, his voice thick with drowsiness. His accent was a little off, his words slurred. Y/n laughed, gently patting his back. "Come on, let’s get you some chips."

The fresh air outside was a relief for him as they headed to the chipper next door. She ordered him a large portion of chips and a bottle of water, and he looked at her with sheer gratitude. "Thank you." He said, the clarity slowly returning as he munched on the salty, comforting chips. After about a half hour of Oscar munching on the chips and Y/n talking to the cousins who walked by asking if Oscar was alright, he felt a bit better. The headache had stopped anyway.

"Feeling better, love?" She asked, watching his color return. He nodded, managing a small smile. "That was… so much stronger than I expected." Oscar said. "Our gran is like that, lad. Probably best to stick to whatever you drivers drink." Her cousin chuckled. "Ah Dylan, would you leave the man alone. Having 7 triple whiskeys is enough for anyone." Y/n said defensively. "That's why I stick to the Guinness." Oscar shook his head. "I don't like that either." He mumbled. "Maybe the Lucozade is for you then so. Maybe even some Cidona."

"Dylan, get inside." Y/n snapped. As her cousin disappeared, she sat down next to Oscar on the window sill outside the bar. She wrapped an arm around him and rubbed his arm lightly. "Welcome to Ireland, love." Oscar sighed. "What a warm welcome." She laughed. "Would you like to go back in?" Oscar thought for a moment and nodded. "Yeah, come on."

They returned to the pub, where the family welcomed them back with cheers. Gran was waiting with another hot whiskey, her eyes sparkling with pride at her convert. But Oscar held up a hand, smiling politely. "I think I’ll take a little break on the whiskey for now." Y/n wrapped her arm around him, laughing. "He’s not used to it, Gran. He’ll join us again in a bit." Gran gave him a knowing nod, patting his cheek. "Aye, we’ll see about that."

Oscar stumbled to the bar. He was going to just order a Lucozade. Instead, Dylan came back, this time bringing his two friends with him, grinning mischievously. Before he knew it, Oscar was knocking back Jager bombs and trying Malibu with milk shots at their insistence as Y/n had stopped drinking completely, making sure Oscar didn't do anything stupid.

As the night wore on, the entire family decided to head home, Oscar stumbling alongside Y/n’s dad, both of them in equally high spirits. Once home, the two of them were intent on finishing off the festivities. "Do you like Bailey's Oscar?" Her dad asked. "Mate, I fucking live Bailey's!" Oscar exclaimed, slapping the table as the bottle was placed in front of him with two shot glasses. It jnfortunately didn't stop there. They downed a bottle of Baileys, several cans of Guinness, Oscar proudly announcing he finally likes it and a bottle of champagne. "Here, show us how it's done." Oscar wiped the foam of the Guinness from his top lip grinning. He opened the back door and wandered out, shaking the champagme maniacally, drenching Y/n's dad. "Wait, wait." Her dad disappeared before reappearing once again with another bottle "Do it like yer man you're teammates with!" Oscar grinned, smashing the bottle onto the ground, only for the bottle to shatter, the champagme fizzling and pooling into the snow. Just then, the top window opened and out popped both Y/n and her mother. "Is that my good champagme I saved for Christmas dinner?!" Y/n's mother shouted. The silence was deafening. "Get inside, the pair of you!" Y/n added, as the two drunken men sheepishly walked inside, ending the festivities a little earlier for their liking.

The next morning, Oscar was rudely awakened by the smell of an Irish fry-up drifting from the kitchen. Groggy and bleary-eyed, he grabbed the first thing he could find, which happened to be Y/n’s fluffy dressing gown, and wandered downstairs. The sight that greeted him was Y/n’s mother at the stove, her face a mix of amusement and a slight groan as she handed Y/n a five-euro note. "We had a bet going on who’d wake up first, you or Y/n’s dad." She explained with a laugh. Oscar nodded. "I'm sorry about your champagme by the way. I'll buy you a new one." Oscar mumbled. "Ah don't be silly. The wages are in Thursday, we'll get a new bottle then."

Oscar stumbled into Y/n’s arms, practically collapsing in a hug. "My head’s killing me." He murmured, squinting as he adjusted to the morning light. "We only got to bed at half five, and it’s barely eleven." He groaned. "Ah you're a wee pet. My heart bleeds for you." She smiled, tapping on the counter beside the paracetamol and flat 7up. "Drink up." Y/n smiled, patting his back. "This and the fry up will sort you right out."

He sat at the table, where a massive plate of sausages, bacon, beans, soda bread, boxty, potato bread, and black and white pudding awaited him. One bite in, and he groaned, his eyes closing in pleasure. "This… this is the best breakfast I’ve ever had." He declared, savouring every bite. "Well, thank you very much." Her mother smiled, setting a cup of tea down next to him. "I’ve done a good few of these fry-ups for Y/n over the years. She used to drink a lot before she moved away." Y/n’s face flushed with embarrassment. "Mam!" She protested, burying her face in her hands. Oscar laughed, taking another bite. "Well, whatever it is, I think I need one every morning from now on."

[yourivyygrow]

PART 0: SIREN SONG | counting summers

previous | next: 01. deny, deny, deny

your therapist-assigned vacations take a turn for the stranger when you discover an all-too-familiar compass in the local antique shop.

series: counting summers, book one: the pull of the tide, szn one: where the current takes us

pairing: jj maybank x fem!reader

wordcount: 5.7k

warnings: parental neglect, references to depression, semi-explicit description of a suicide attempt

a/n: big project incoming lmaoo

THE HEAT IN your room was high enough to kill, you thought as you mindlessly clicked on the 'Next Episode' button.

North Carolina wasn't especially known for its remarkable hotness but the coast nearing summer? That was something else. The tank top and the jean shorts you sport on stuck to your skin like glue and if you wore any thinner or shorter, you'd probably end up being arrested for public indecency. As a whole, you weren't a big fan of the heat.

You weren't a big fan of anything, really. That's why your parents dragged you here.

"Y/N?" Called your mom's voice through the door after a few knocks. "Are you awake?"

You quickly glanced at the time. 4pm. She probably knew you were, but the number of times you slept through the day to escape it for a few hours were too numerous to count. You didn't resent her for asking. "Yeah," your answer was short, like usual when speaking to her. Waiting for her to talk again, you pressed pause on the beginning of the episode you were going to watch.

There was a short blank, you almost thought she left until she spoke up. "We need you to watch the house while your dad and I go down to the market. Can you do that?"

You sighed. Of course it was a demand. It always was. "Sure. Enjoy."

Your mom didn't say anything else, and your heard her steps going down the stairs leading to the living room of your AirBNB. Soon enough your dad and her will be slamming the front door shut and leaving you alone once more on the trip that was supposed to be for you.

I mean, it didn't surprise you, but you thought they would have hid their disdain a little better.

You never had a really good relationship with your parents. I mean, you were pretty sure you were an accident even though they didn't confirm it to you. This distant, cold, bordering on professional relationship with them took a turn for the worse when you grew up ─ and the thing was that you couldn't exactly pinpoint when. It just happened, along with the slow decline of your mental health.

Your dad was a passive presence in your life. He just wasn't there most of time: a quick hi and bye when you got in and out of school and asking to sign your failed tests which he didn't glance at twice. That's fine, in theory. Your mom was something else, though.

The more you grew up, the more you became sure that she had something against you. A type of intergenerational resentment, you thought, but you gave up analyzing that long ago. That's what your therapist advised you.

Which is why you were going to push all of that aside and resume your episode.

The characteristic sound of Outer Banks' opening music echoed through your headphones, calming your palpitating heart. John B's, well, more like Chase Stokes' voice followed soon enough, doing his classic narration at the beginning of the episode. That's what you liked so much about the show, the naturalness of it. It was sort of like watching someone read a diary.

Outer Banks wasn't your kind of show at all, which is why you didn't jump of it when it first appeared on Netflix in 2020. You were more of a fantasy drama kind of girl. The longest interaction you had with the media was probably when you lingered on the announcement of season 4 two months ago. Maybe it was a sign - because a week later, your therapist strongly advised you (more like ordered if you were asked) to go on vacations. Your mom jumped at the opportunity to "see a little of the coast" without asking much of your opinion or your dad's. So here you were, in North Carolina, in the actual, real life Outer Banks.

The only reason you picked it up was because you thought it would be funny considering your situation. A little taste of what it would be like. You started it a few days before taking your flight - turns out you stayed awake all night finishing season one because holy shit, was it addictive. You immediately understood why it got the success it did. So season two was downloaded and binged on the road as well as in plane, and you were set on finishing it today, as well as starting the third season. It's not like you had anything else to do, your mom clearly had plans of her own when it came to this trip and didn't try to include you in the slightest. You suspected, basically knew, the only reason she was there was for the vacations and only programmed them under the orders of your therapist to give herself some comfort about being a... well, shitty mom. No other way to say it.

It was fine, though. Now you were on the last episode and entirely hooked. A part of you didn't really want to keep on watching it - it meant one season less until you had to wait to season four to come out, until you had to say goodbye to the universe you got attached to for a little while. You had the bad habit to do that, get emotionally devoted to fictional universe and fall into heartbreak when it ended. It was way less scary than real life, you thought, but a thousand time more painful.

The other part of you, though, was dying to see how the season would conclude. That's the part who took over, against your better judgement.

The music stopped, the episode carried on and your focus wasn't wavered by the clinking of the front door keys.

     When people said they needed to reconnect with nature after something truly fucked happened, you thought they were joking. You never really experienced that apart from when you finished a really good book and had to spend one hour looking at a wall to compose yourself - it wasn't the same thing, was it?

The season two finale of Outer Banks had made you go into complete lethargy. And by lethargy I mean wide eyes, mouth agape, looking at the ceiling-lethargy. The black credit scene stared back at you like some kind of taunt, contrasted by the tempting white 'Next Episode' button. But you needed some time to gather your thoughts after... all of this.

You didn't hear your parents leaving. You were way too entraced in this one hour of pure adrenaline (by proxy, true, but it was still adrenaline) that you missed yelling at your mom to leave you the front door keys ─ you didn't expect her to remember by herself, and even you reminded her once you had to do it twice just in case. She had a good memory, except when it came to you. So, technically, you were stuck at the AirBNB until your parents came back.

But expecting you wouldn't find a way to go out was severely underestimating someone who seeked escapism in her own house.

You needed to breathe fresh air. Fiction affected your reality more than you liked to admit, sometimes taking more space than not, and the emotional rollercoaster you just went through was in desperate want of an outlet. It's with your heart thumping in your chest and your mind still hazy that you opened the kitchen's window downstairs and, as graceful as a whale out of the water, sneaked out of the house.

Usually, you were pretty good at sliding off soundly. The numbers of time you spent your sleepless evenings on the hidden corner of your house's rooftop were too uncountable by their recurrence. The numbers of time you actually went away to walk around the neighborhood for hours on end without your parents noticing were even bigger. You blamed your lack of grace as you fell from the window to the grass on the overwhelming heat.

After wiping any mud, dirt and green stains off you, you took a road you now knew too well. You didn't really explore your side of the Outer Banks, mainly because it didn't interest you much, you much preferred staying in the walls of your assigned room. But during one of the mandated visits your mom dragged you to so you could report at least something to your therapist, a small, broken down shop caught your eye almost immediately.

Your AirBNB was situated in a little coastal town, not far away from beaches and cliffs, big enough to have some well known shops, tourists attractions and bars, but not quite enough to be considered a city yet. Headphone on, blasting music, it took you a little below ten minutes to walk to the main street, still bustling with local life: street vendors were slowly packing up for the day while the food stands still held up, the strong aroma of spicy seafood seeking your nostrils, almost nauseating by its intensity. People with shopping bags pushed past you like they didn't see you, children were laughing and running around the surf shop at the end of the street - but that's not where you were headed.

You took a left turn into a much smaller, incommodious street that you'd definitely be way more scared to take at night. The sun was still bright in the sky due to the season, though, so you walked through it with your mind still reeling from the finale of your show.

The Pogues were stranded on an island, Poguetopia as they way too enthuastically called it. And Big John Routledge was alive, apparently? What was with dads and dying just to come back in this show. If your dad had to go in mysterious circumstances, you'd prefer he'd stay gone. Sometimes you thought your mom shared your opinion.

You finally arrived to the place you were looking for: Arianne's Lost and Found Antique Shop. A lirtle smile stretched your lips. It didn't look like much: the wooden insigna was mostly ate down my mices and the construction of the small shack made you wonder how it survived the tropical storms washing over the coast. Vines were growing on its facade, the smell of sea salt strongly emanated from the planks. The shop had this strange charisma to it, drawing you off the main street the first time. And the second. By the third time, Arianne knew you by name and because of that, you felt the obligation to come back every few days, if not every. Also because it was the only spot you didn't feel out of place.

The bell of the windowed front door rang aggressively when you pushed it open. The smell of sand and old books hit your nose instantly, a small comfort as you shivered slightly - the shop's interior was downright cold despite not having any air conditioning, and the never ending antique bookshelves lining the walls didn't do anything to bring warmth to the room.

A raspy, high-pitched voice rose up from behind a worryingly tall pile of clothes. "Y/N? Is that you, baby?"

"Who else?"

The tall figure of Arianne, the legend in the flesh, withdrew from behind the piled-up clothes. She was a lanky, dark-skinned woman with waist-lenght black and pepper curls. Her eyes, tired by age, sparked with kindness and mischief and while her cane was holding most of her weight, she still moved with a swift assurance that made you look twice when she passed by. When her eyes set upon you, a vivid smile lit up her face.

"What are you implying about my shop?" She asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"Oh nothing, nothing..." You swiped your finger on a nearby shelf, covering it in dust, before looking back at Arianne expectantly.

The old woman raised her cane as if to hit you. "Why, you little-"

You sidestepped her as a chuckle escaped you. Soon enough, she let out a huffy laugh herself. Not a lot of tourists knew about the Lost and Found due to its... dubious placement. Athe locals seemed to avoid it like the plague. Business was bad, to say the least, and she knew it. You don't know how Arianne kept afloat and sometimes you told yourself you didn't want to know ─ at least, she knew the jokes were all in good fun.

"Some sketchy men came by yesterday night with some shit they left back there, if you're interested," she offhandedly said.

And obviously, your attention was caught by her words like a fish on a hook. "Really?"

"Would I lie about more junk cluttering this place?"

She nudged your foot with her cane in the direction of the new arrival. Without awaiting more words from the woman, you walked toward the back, dodging the multiple boxes filled to the brim with rusty silver plates and yellow partition papers. Ever since you discovered the Lost and Found there had been no new donations, you assumed because it was because its unpopularity. Turns out you were wrong.

When you reached the wooden walls alcove at the end of the shop, you were faced with a myriad of disarranged items spread out on a wavering table, varying in sizes and apperances but all sharing one similarity: the undeniable charm of being lost at sea. Arianne was quick behind you. "The guys who dropped this off were searching from some treasure, or something like that."

Your eyes were still fixed on the table in front of you when you answered. "Doesn't look like they found it."

"You tell me. Some of those things actually look kinda interesting, though. Didn't have time to look at 'em properly," said Arianne. "Made me think about you and your little show with all that treasure hunting."

You huffed. With your aversion of talking about yourself or any kind of small talk, obviously the topic you'd bring when you reluctantly had an interaction with someone would be your current fictional obsession. Or just plain silence. But this time it was the first case, right now it being Outer Banks. Most of the time people didn't stick by long enough for you to get talkative and speak up about it, or they would leave halfway through. But Arianne didn't, she let you rant about it for a week straight and seemed to enjoy when you briefed her about the last episodes you watched. It might have to do with how she didn't know how to make Netflix work - but you preferred lying to yourself and pretend she was actually interested.

"Thanks Arianne," you muttered.

With a wave of the hand, she shunned your gratitude aside. "Bah! No need to thank me for that garbage."

You didn't add anything else. With the tip of your fingers, you traced what looked like a small, rusty anchor, engraved with a delicate wheat symbol. After a comfortable silence, Arianne spoke up again.

"Anyways, I have some paperwork to get back to in the office. You'll tell me about the next episodes you watched when you'll be done looking through all that."

She turned around as you nodded without thinking, way too entranced by the objects already. Before leaving, she added, "Oh, and if you could sort stuff out. Would appreciate it."

She withdrew in a little corridor leading to her office. You didn't mind at all. A business, even failing, was still a business.

Plus, you had much to keep you occupied.

A gun to your temple wouldn't get you to admit it to anyone else but yourself but back when you were still holding on to school and your passions, you were a bit of a history nerd. Not the big parts of history, but the small, obscure parts nobody cared much about: the pirates, the lost treasures, the lost myths, legends and sea goddesses. That's one of the main part of Outer Banks that hooked you. It reminded you of you, a few years back. Before everything

You started looking through the mess of silver, plated gold and rust. They were beautiful, their sheen a little tainted by time and salt water, yes, but still beautiful. In your eyes at least.

Rummaging through them was an arduous task as some of them seemed to be tangled together (and good luck detangling metal) but somehow you enjoyed it. Organizing them by color, type, time they might have been lost... you liked it, the order. You didn't consider it as a job when Arianne asked you to arrange her messiest piles of clutter, which is why you refused the money she offered you the first time. You just appreciated being in contact of history, as insignificant as it was, and the satisfaction of putting everything where it should be.

An hour must have passed, maybe a little more: the sun was visibly declining in the sky through the window, painting the dark room in soft shades of yellow and orange. You were almost done sorting through everything: to your surprise ─ note the sarcasm ─ not a lot of interesting things came out of it. Old cutlery, navigation tools too damaged to be considered worthwhile... a big pile of nothings. But it kept you entertained for a bit.

That's when the sun fell low enough to hit something on the far end of the table, catching the corner of your eye. A small glimpse, so very little you could've missed it by blinking. Curiosity took over your being - you were pretty sure you didn't notice anything of the sort before.

Reaching out your hand, you took a hold of it.

A compass.

It was average-sized and not as rusty as the other objects, so it must have not been in contact with the sea water for as long. An intricate design was engraved on the gold of the cover, with different flowers, accompanied by a line of text around it you couldn't quite make out. It looked strangely familiar, to the point your stomach flipped a little at the first observation.

You clicked on the button at the top to open it. The inside was quite... normal: the usual arrows, lines and whatnots. Except that, while you weren't a navigator, you were grown up enough to know that one of the arrows wasn't pointing north at all. Which was too bad because it was the entire point of a compass. Must be broken.

It hits you when you close it, like a speeding truck, your reflection staring back at you through the engravings. You knew exactly where the sense of familiarity came from.

The compass you had in your hand was too alike, down to every points, to the one John B inherited from his dad in Outer Banks. The one that kickstarted the whole show.

Your jaw dropped open. Outer Banks wasn't filmed in the actual Outer Banks, that you knew, because they mainly shot in South Carolina. But you assumed some scenes must have taken place in North Caroline because you were pretty sure that what you had in your hands was an official prop - I mean, that's the only thing it could be, right? How would a random compass dropped in the sea could look so much like John B's? Maybe they lost it while filming a boat or sea scene and it got washed up by the tide, who knows.

You almost fell while hurrying to Arianne's office. Luckily, she seemed to be getting out at the same time. She stared you down as you stood in front of her, not uttering anything. You didn't even know what you were going to say. You just wanted to show her. "Are you okay? Do I have something in my tee- Sweet Jesus, did you break something?!" She immediately started walking to the alcove you just left.

You put yourself in her way. "No, no, I didn't break anything. I just- I found something."

"Something valuable?" She asked, an eager smile finding its way to her lips.

"Uh... depends on what you call valuable?"

"I mean monetary value. Cash. Something that can help me pay rent, baby."

You didn't answer. Instead, you showed her your hand.

The smile on Arianne's lips faltered almost immediately. If you were being honest, you'd think it's because it was only some piece of junk among other things for her ─ except that for you it wasn't. At all.

She carefully took it in her palm. "A... compass. Where did you find it?" The woman toyed with it as if it was made of glass.

"In the stuff you showed me." Arianne sighed. You didn't pay it any mind, choosing to continue. "Listen, it looks like an exact copy of the one in the TV show I'm always telling you about, y'know? I think it might be like, a lost prop or something and-"

You stopped abruptly when you saw Arianne's eyes. You were pretty perceptive of other's emotions and right now, it looked like everything in her world broke inside her eyes the moment you said your sentence. You stood there, awkwardly, as she was detailing you. Then the compass. You. The compass. "Uh... did I say something wrong?"

She snapped back to her normal self, as if on cue. "No, no baby absolutely not. I'm just... happy to see you this joyful. It doesn't happen a lot except for when you tell me about that show of yours."

This made the situation even more awkward for you. God, you hated when people said that: pitying you so openly. 'We know you're miserable but hey! At least sometimes you seem happy, it means you're on the way to be fixed!'. Like there was something to fix. Well, apparently there was, and it could be resolved in a two weeks trip.

You chose to push your thoughts aside with a shake of the head. Opening your mouth, you were getting ready to ask her about holding on to it, fueling your Netflix-induced obsession in the process. Arianne anticipated it.

"You can keep it." She hastily spoke, putting the compass back in your hand like it burnt her.

This time, you were the one looking at the compass then back at her. "Really?" You were stunned that Arianne, out of all people, would give away something from her shop that easily.

"Yeah. As a thanks for keeping an old lady company," her palm wrapped over yours, folding your fingers around the object. "For helping with the shop and organizing my stuff."

Her voice was tight with emotions for a reason unknown to you. You didn't think it was that big of a deal but apparently she did, so you kept quiet whispering a muted 'Thank you'.

Taking back her hand, Arianne stood up a little straighter. "Anyways, you've been back there a while now. Better get home before it gets too dark. You never know what happens in the street these days, and your mother might barge in and accuse me of kidnapping."

You fought the urge to tell her that she didn't care enough to do it. A good point she made, though, was that walking all alone as a tourist and as a woman in the middle of night somewhere you barely knew directions never lead to anything good. So, as she slapped the back of your legs with her cane, you hurried your steps toward the front doors, exchanging thanks and casualties, never forgetting to tell her you'll be back tomorrow.

Before you left though, she called for you. "Y/N? Just... be careful with an old thing like that. Most often they tend to pull you places, whether you're ready for it or not."

What? You frowned, confused, but her ominous words were heard by one ear and left by the other the second you stepped outside.

     You genuinely thought you knew the way from Arianne's Lost And Found Antique Shop to your house by heart.

Turns out you were miserable and arrogant. You were definitely lost. What a combo.

Maybe it was the setting darkness that confused you, the last fingers on sunlight warming up your bare arms as the cold night breeze slowly took over. The roads seemed to all look the same, the nightlife was surely taking on the bars and the dimly lit streets. You were starting to panic. Mainly because even though your parents wouldn't care much about you being gone, they would care about you coming back that late, through the kitchen window. You'd be in for a long, long monologue about irresponsability. Again.

Yeah, you didn't seem to be getting anywhere. Great. Amazing, even.

The compass you tied to the belt loop of your shorts prickled the skin underneath and the ghost of a grin appeared on your face. You had an actual prop from Outer Banks. How cool was that?

You carefully detached it, detailing it once again. The strange warmth from the metal seemed to spread from your palm to your fingertips, calling you to open it. Which you did like you were compelled to. Plus, it could eventually help you find some directions. Your AirBNB was probaly on the south-west or something like─

The arrow was definitely pointing south now.

You assumed it was broken earlier, it was stupid to think it would be magically fixed as soon as you stepped out of the store. You took a turn in another mystery street, trying to find any directions that could lead somewhere even a tiny bit familiar to you, eyes still fixated on the intricate drawings of the compass.

That was when the arrows shifted, gently, like they were pushed by the wind, to point the exact direction you strayed away from.

Your heart skipped beat. Acting on instinct and panic, you shook the compass - you didn't know why you did, actually, but it didn't change the fact the arrows wouldn't budge from the direction they shifted to. You walked a few, agonizingly slow, steps back, not to startle anyone that might... magically make the arrows move? Now you were overreacting.

Still, you stood on the exact spot where you pulled out the compass a few minutes ago and under your incredulous eyes, the arrows shifted again. When your head rose up from the tool to the environment around you they pointed to a little dirt road in front of you you hadn't seen before.

No other words could describe the situation other than creepy.

Your heart was hammering against your ribcage, dangerously threatening to burst out of it. The dark blue tint of the sky and the general silence of your surroundings didn't help your anxiety - or was it some sort of thrill? You didn't know. Nevertheless, the arrows pointed, taunting you by sitting motionless in their glass capsule.

You tentatively moved forward. You could've sworn for a second the little needles looked like they were trembling in agreement.

A part of you wanted to believe this weird compass that strangely looked like the one in your favorite TV show had a conscience of its own and was leading you to something. The other, more rational part of yourself was screaming about how delusional you sounded and that you should get home right now before getting jumped, mauled, assaulted or all three at the same time.

Except that what it called 'home' was a tiny house with a cracked yellow wallpaper and leaky sinks in which no one spoke to each other unless obligated to. Something your mom rented last minute without considering if you even wanted to go, still pretexting it was all for you. A blacked-out room and a screen that burnt your thighs due to overuse but the red scar it left felt more like love than the glances your parents threw your way. Four walls filled with a graveyard silence, you wished to scream into it sometimes but the voice just couldn't come out.

Seeking escapism from your own household, your own life, was what you did best. So you walked down that dirt road, an iron grip around the compass.

     You followed its lead desperately, panting like a dog. Each of your steps quickened until you were running ─ you didn't even know where you were anymore, your phone probably ran out of battery by now, your headphones were hanging on for dear life around your neck and your hair was carried by the speed in which you moved. You passed by small, rural houses, hurried through a somber forest and almost slipped into mud, nearly colliding with a night owl and blindly obeying the compass' lead.

Until you were faced with the shore.

Your feet, aching from the run, stopped when the soft texture of the amber sand bent under them. It took a while for your mind to catch up with your body, but when it finally did, the last breaths you had in your lungs got knocked out of them: the sky was now of a deep ink, filled with clear, bright stars ─ which means you were far away enough from the main city to see them properly. The only source of light was the full moon, reflecting on the never ending sea unraveling in front of you. The beach seemed to extend for a while as well, and the slow hum of the waves was all you could hear apart from your ragged breathing. It was calm. Peaceful.

You peeked at the compass in your hand, hoping something would finally happen. This place looked like finality. Something happened alright: It stopped pointing and the arrows were spinning in erratic circles.

You swiftly closed the compass, tying it to your belt loop once again. No reactions would come out of your body even if you seeked one, you were too worn out. Walking from the treeline to the seaside like an automat, you let yourself fall on your back upon the sand, the water brushing your shoes when the tide rose up.

The stars looked down on your near breathless body. Tormenting you with their enormitude, their meaning, their greatness.

With nothing else around you but the shore, it struck you just how empty you were.

You don't know when it all fell down, if there ever was a reason - many people told you, at first, that you didn't need a reason to feel the way you did. That was when you tried to talk about it. But this thing inside of you, this black hole, relentless, just took more amplor as time went by. Sucking in everything inside of it. It lasted, and because of that you were now messy, lazy, disorganized. You couldn't take showers for weeks, you hadn't brushed your teeth in months, you wore the same clothes and didn't feel anything strongly enough to cry about it. You didn't have a reason, it made you selfish.

You didn't know if you were. You didn't know anything except the fact you didn't. Plato would be proud.

You gradually fell out of everything: you had hobbies, you had passions, you had people you could somewhat call friends, you had plans for the future until you simply didn't.

At first you tried to blame your parents. You tried to be angry at them, to yell and accuse: it came out in a whisper. You tried to gain their affection, their love, their care but how could you crave something you never experienced? You attempted to make them the perpetrators of the barrenness of your being but the trust was as simple as that: you were the only one guilty for letting the black hole grow until you became one with it.

You tried to kill yourself to see if it would do something interesting to your body.

You were just so numb, and nothing was holding you back, was it? Your grades were dwindling at a dizzying speed, crushing the chances to get into the college you used to dream about when you still went to school, your parents hadn't talked to you in three days, you missed your therapist appointments for a month. If you died, maybe something would finally jolt you back to life. The pills went down your throat so easily. You sat in your full bathtub, letting the splashes of water serenade you to Morpheus' arms.

After that everything was kind of a blur. You don't remember much of the hospital, the drive back home. Everything just fell back into place. You were still a painfully empty shell, only with one more story to tell.

Your therapist prescribed you those improvised vacations for this specific reason: to change your mind about being alive. The thing was you didn't want to die, but you weren't that attached to life either - you just were. Apparently it wasn't enough. It never was.

Dr. Sullivan, your therapist, told you this was why you grew so dependant to fiction. They did all the things you were scared to do: they fell in love in a mess of tears and hearbreak, they screamed until their throats gave out, they hated so brightly and cried so ugly. They lived and you didn't. You felt safe in the hollow. Untouched, unharmed. And you searched an exit sign.

She was wrong about that. About most things, really, you stopped listening to her a while ago. You didn't feel safe in the desolation, you were safe. You didn't hunt for an out, you've gotten used to it, why would you put yourself through the hardship of changing something so stable? The vacantness grew comfortable. It was just you, now. The endless black hole.

A cold tear fell down your cheek onto the sand. It was something that often happened: your body translated emotions your heart and guts didn't communicate to you. Unless it activated your fight-or-flight response, you automatically tried to push it down.

You would wipe it away but the run pumped you all out of strength: every muscles in your body implored for you to leave them alone, your mind was too exhausted to form coherent thoughts, let alone words, and your eyelids grew heavy and solid as rocks. You'd worry about the consequences of your action tomorrow morning. Even if, deep down, you knew no one concerned themselves enough with you for you to actually have an effect on the world.

The sound of the waves, growing more and more intense, coaxed you to sleep like a familiar lullaby. The feeling of the salt water brushing against your fingertips took the role of a blanket, if not a shield, against the rest of the world.

And just like that, you were gone.

[lavendermin]

disasterology | boothill

boothill x reader, mad scientist reader

wc | 1.7k

genre | light banter, ambiguous relationship

warnings | nsfw, artificial cyborg guts, suggestive, body horror, love bug (literally via data transfer), mentions of giving boothill a womb, boothill bluescreens

note | my piece as part of the autumn festival collab hosted by @owlespresso ^^ I’ll probably make a part two to this to squeeze in more banter and get some actual freaky stuff in

“You’re back at my lab… A little soon, no?” The question is thrown at Boothill without a spared glance as you are engrossed in several tasks at once. The Galaxy Ranger makes his way over to your mess of screens and tools by your main work desk, his strides reminiscent of someone a little too comfortable in your bubble.

“Annual checkup. Don’t tell me you forgot already, doc?” Boothill teases with feigned hurt, sharp teeth flashing with his playful grin.

“Not a doctor,” you correct him flatly.

A holo-screen appears before his face, stopping him from nearing your concentrated form. A flurry of data scrolls by and a pop-up appears with a few dates.

With a few final taps you swivel toward him and the screen. “According to your record in my data bank, you’re not due for your checkup for another nine weeks,” you state matter-of-factly. With a few taps and a swipe, the screen is gone and you meet Boothill’s gaze for the first time. “So, what’s the actual reason you’re here? Surely not just a friendly visit to the resident witch or whatever they’re calling me these days on this planet.”

“Recent scrap didn’t end too well. Leg’s been acting up.”

Your eyes scan him briefly, humming in thought as you enter new data and access his file.

“I definitely noticed a few new scratches to your outer shell armor,” you note, speaking more to yourself as you log the new data. “I’ll run some tests and analyze further.”

You roll back in your chair near him, gathering a few tools here and there and holding an emesis basin in front of him. Boothill squints at you in confusion, a frown pulling down his lips in a glimmer of dangerous, sharp teeth.

“Here. Spit them out—all the ammo you have. Now.”

His eyes sharpen, but he relents with a grunt. The metal of the bullets hitting the basin is all that fills the silence as you return to some screens and rummage through rows of drawers and drawers that line the walls.

It’s a chaotically organized yet unorganized lab, to say the least.

“There’s an empty box near you. Go ahead and remove all of your outerwear and any other weapons so we can get started,” you instruct as you prepare a table nearby.

Boothill begins to protest. “Doc, it’s just my leg. I don’t need–”

When he turns back to your desk you’re gone from sight. It unnerves him and you appear behind him seemingly from thin air.

“Hey–!”

You plug several chords into a few outlets on his hip. The feeling of the data processing through multiple base drives makes his entire body feel like numbing static courses through it.

Your face is close. Too close.

“Let's get a base-read on what’s going on here for now. I’ll leave the room so you can get undressed if you’re modest like that.” Your eyes flit down and you smirk. “Not like I haven’t seen your full model before.”

His face flushes a bright crimson and he sputters, shoving you away. You laugh out loud, unsettling and loose as you go back to your screens. It’s become more apparent with each visit that you aren’t entirely sound of mind.

“I still wonder why your face flushes red when your synthetic blood is blue. Perhaps I’ll find out today,” you grin, looking up and being met with a metallic click and the barrel of a gun between your eyes.

There’s a fierceness in Boothill’s glare, red cheeks betraying his threat. Though his hand is steady, your monitors signal increased levels of core maintenance and adrenaline. He doesn’t know how to handle your teasing— never will.

“I don’t have time to be yer forkin’ lab rat,” he sneers.

Your expression remains calm, unbothered as a lazy smile makes way to your lips. It’s an irksome sureness that makes the ranger’s eye twitch and teeth grit. Perhaps that’s simply your insanity creeping into him as well.

It draws him in like a moth to a flame. And he convinces himself that he hates it.

“You wouldn’t hurt me.”

“And what makes you think I wouldn’t put a bullet in yer head for crossing me?”

“Plenty of reasons. But really I only need one.”

“Yeah? And what’s that, sweets?” He scoffs, patience running thin.

You gently tap a knuckle over his heart core, the area making a soft metal clank as you do so. Boothill falls silent for a moment as you say nothing more. The mental gears turn a little harder than usual and suddenly his face is hot. Too hot.

“Wh– What– Who ever said I liked ya like that?! A ranger doesn’t get wrapped up in those feelings, ya hear?!”

And you fucking smirk.

“I’m not sure what you’re insinuating. All I meant was that you wouldn’t get rid of your one and only mechanic on this side of the galaxy, would you? Who else would be stupid enough to take all your last minute tuning appointments and repair jobs after reckless battles? You need me, ranger.” You pause and shift your gaze directly at him. “No reason to get so defensive. Unless… you have feelings for me?”

“Negative feelings,” he seethes.

But you’ve seen right through him. It’s an act of pity that you just chuckle and resume your work on diagnosing some of the sensors around his midriff. Still enough to keep the cowboy grumbling and red in the face.

“Feelings nonetheless,” you chuckle under your breath as you swivel back to the flurry of incoming data. “I’ll head to the back to grab a few things I’ll need and see if a few spare parts are lying around that are similar to some of your fractured hip joints. Do not touch anything.”

Once you’re out of sight, Boothill grumbles and removes his hat and jacket. The bright industrial lights only serve to irk him more— never was one to like hospital settings.

It’s a bit more of a predicament when the wires attached to his hip get in the way of removing his bottoms. He clicks his tongue and listens as your fumbling in the distance remains constant.

Whatever. Damn cables are in the way. What is he to do? He yanks them off and removes the last of his articles, shoving them in the box off to the side you left for him.

“Fork me,” he grumbles. There’s an unruly mess of cables on the floor, most of which look the same and range in color. Naturally, none are labeled.

Just his luck.

One of your monitors beeps and a few pop ups come up as the data flow abruptly ends. In a panic, Boothill grabs a red and a black cable and plugs them in. He clicks a few of the pop ups to make them go away and resume whatever they asked. He didn’t have time to read whatever jargon it said, not that he would have understood it anyway.

He’s seated and on the examination table by the time you walk back in with a few boxes stacked in your arms.

A warm hum settles in his core with his data processor kicking in. It’s pleasant, albeit an odd sensation.

You set down the boxes and glance at the screens, humming with thought. The pause is a beat too long and Boothill can only hope you don’t prod. You tap a few things on the screen and approach him with a smile.

“Alright. Pain receptors are off and your maintenance mode is on. Let’s get started.”

—

Only about forty minutes have passed but it’s becoming increasingly clear to Boothill that something is clearly wrong. He’s used to certain processes being shut off while you work on him— that part is normal.

Right now, he can’t seem to take his eyes off you. And you won’t spare him a glance as you work, much too engrossed in his guts— literally. He huffs and you don’t bother looking at him. It pisses him off.

“If you’re feeling discomfort use your words, ranger,” you mutter without missing a beat. “If your pain processors kicked in due to something that went wrong I need to know before you blow up on me.”

Your tug at a particular wire makes him gasp, his grip on the edge of the table warping the metal.

“Fork– Watch it!” His breath shakes with a gasp, face flushed.

“You didn’t exactly come with a manual.”

“Please don’t say that while yer hands are in my guts.”

You snicker, ignoring his glare as you continue to work methodically.

“I could always give you new insides if I mess these up,” you tease smoothly, fingers deeper still in his abdominal cavity. “Would you like it if I gave you a womb?”

Boothill huffs with a shiver as you tug at that same wire again, his back arching slightly off the cold, metal table. His mouth hangs open, unable to say a word. It’s overwhelming, an intense sensation that he feels in every artificial nerve end.

You call his name once more— so sweet and full of concern. The auditory hallucinations have begun from the wrong dataset he hooked himself up to earlier. Your voice in actuality is much more nonchalant than he processes.

“Booth? Ranger? Are you still with me?” You tap his cheek, his eyes darting shakily around the room. Red hearts for irises replace his usual programmed eye setup when he blinks to glance at you. You sigh. “I told you not to touch anything didn’t I?”

“Yer… my soulmate.”

“No,” you deadpan, flicking your wrist to bring up a holo-screen before you. Seems the neuro-processors couldn’t sort the wide range of the artificial emotion dataset and developed a love bug. “Boothill, if you can still understand me beyond the love bug, I’ll be turning on your standby function for a few minutes to finish.”

You’re not sure if he heard you at all, watching as whatever he heard in his bugged brain makes him red in the face and shiver.

Then, he blue-screens and all is quiet after his metal body clangs against the table.

You heave a sigh, a smile still on your lips. “Only your soulmate would put up with a ranger this obtuse.”

[pandora-writes-one-piece]

The Meet-Cute - Zoro's Story - 3

Source for pic

Trouble 3

Word Count: 4959

Tags For The Whole Story: Fem!Reader; Protective!Zoro; Soft!Zoro; Sexual Tension; Teasing; Flirting; Mature Audiences (I'll always tag the NSFW chapters); Modern Day AU; Reader is being stalked; Fear; Paranoia; Angst; Rom-Com Vibes; Mild Gore-like Descriptions; Blood; Dead Animals Mentioned; Reader in a terror-like state; Fluff; Romance; Banter; Manipulation; Miscommunication; Frustration; Reader is very clumsy;

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Summary: After moving away from the hustle and bustle of Grand Line City to help your father around the property following a horse-riding accident - and in the hopes of healing your broken heart after your asshole ex-fiancé cheated - you settle into the country calmness of the Calm Belt. You and Zoro are slowly returning to your easy friendship filled with banter and flirting and you actually begin to glimpse a future with the green-haired cop. But then you start to receive weird gifts. They quickly escalate to manipulative texts. And now you're stuck in a spiral of terror and there's no way to get help because the Stalker, whoever he is, is threatening something other than just your life.

Notes: I should have chapter 4 already finished... but it's not completed yet... I haven't written almost anything this week! I know with the hollidays it will be hectic around here, but I have a few days where the office is going to be closed, so maybe I can write a bit more! Fingers crossed! Until then, please enjoy the calmness before the storm!

Masterlist

“Morning, Bug.” Shanks fills a mug of coffee for you and sets it down on the table near your plate of bacon and eggs, beside a bouquet of wildflowers. 

“Morning, Dad. Thanks for the coffee, but aren't the flowers a bit too much? It's not my birthday…” You mumble between yawns. 

“They're not from me…” Shanks smirks and nods at a note that's tucked in with the silk ribbon. 

Brow rising, your fingers brush the petals of a deep crimson poppy before they catch the note between them. ‘Wild and beautiful, just like you.’

What? Who? 

Despite the lovely gesture, you can't shake the slightest feeling of unease, it tugs at your stomach, leaving you queasy and suspicious. 

“Who's it from?” Shanks tries to hide his curiosity but falls short when he reaches over your shoulder to glimpse the note. 

“I have no idea.”

“Come on! Not even the slightest hint?” You shake your head while your mind conjures up images of a slightly not-safe-for-work dream you had with a certain green-haired cop, and you blush unintentionally. 

Obviously. Shanks picks it up. 

“You and Zoro seemed pretty cosy when I arrived yesterday…”

“It's not from him… I think.” You deflect the implications, not wanting to read too much into it yourself. “He’s not the type for grand gestures.”

Shanks hums in agreement while placing his coffee cup in the sink. “I see what you mean.” But then he places his hand on your shoulder, forcing you to look at his unbearable smirk. “Though do not underestimate a man in love.”

“Dad!” You feel your ears getting hot as you get up suddenly, looking for a vase to set the flowers on. 

“I’m just saying.” He shrugs. 

“He’s not… we… we’re just friends! I just got back.” You fuss with the flowers until they’re all spread beautifully on the vase and then set them at the centre of the table.

Shanks pouts and stares at you through the flowers, across from you. “Friends.” He air quotes with two fingers. “I’ve been there, Bug.”

“Agh! You’re impossible, Dad.”

But he might also be right. Because if last night was any indication, you and Zoro might be crossing the ‘just friends’ barrier soon. 

And, honestly, there’s nothing wrong with that. 

-*-

Shanks tells you to put a hold on your job hunt because he’ll be gone for about three weeks to a month for a horse show on an island in the South Blue and he’ll need you to take care of the animals and manage the farm chores. 

So you spend the next week getting reacquainted with most of your father’s tasks in addition to the ones you had taken over ever since coming back. 

The gifts keep coming. 

Every morning there are chocolates, or flowers, or stuffed animals, little trinkets… The notes are rather simple, always evoking your beauty, but short and nondescript. You are no closer to knowing who they’re from now than you were on the first day you got them.

Shanks keeps hinting that it might be Zoro, but you doubt that very much. Besides the fact that he’s not one for romantic gestures, he would’ve said something about the gifts after six straight days.

And it’s not like you haven’t been chatting… not in person, since you’ve been busy at the farm and he’s been pulling double shifts to have the Saturday off again, but you text every day.

Short texts, to the point, much like Zoro is, but he always asks how you are and if you need anything. 

And knowing he’s trying to take care of you leaves a very warm feeling in your chest. Especially because your clumsiness almost brought you to the clinic twice just this week. You have to thank whichever deity is watching over you because, even though you hurt yourself, it’s never serious enough to send you to the hospital. 

“When are you leaving?” You ask Shanks while packing beverages, muffins and a cake you’ve baked for today’s chosen group activity. 

“Let’s see, today’s Saturday, Beckman says his helper will arrive Monday morning to keep in charge of his farm, so sometime Monday afternoon, Bug. Why? Missing your Daddy already?”

You are.

“No! I just want to make sure you carry all of your medicine and that you have Dr. Law’s emergency contact with you, in case you need it–”

“I’m not going to drag Law all the way to the South Blue just because–”

“I called him and he said you should call anytime, so you’re going to call if you need him!”

“Fine!”

“Fine!” Shanks has got to be the most stubborn man you’ve ever met. 

“Where are you going?” He hisses when you swat his hand away as he tries to steal a salty bacon muffin you’re storing in a container. Then you relent and let him have it.

“Just one, Dad! We’re going on a picnic in the park.” You say with a grin. “Nami organised it, of course. We’re going to spend the day hanging out, playing games, and socializing.” 

Shanks nods, never breaking your gaze, while trying to surreptitiously steal another muffin. This time you slap his hand with the lid of the container, and he yelps. His pout is quickly replaced by a smirk. “Is Officer Zoro going?”

You’re sure your nonchalant look can’t disguise the crimson blush tainting your cheeks, but you try to pay it no mind.  “Yes. And Luffy, and Usopp, Chopper, Sanji–”

“I was going to tell you to be careful, but I’m sure Officer Zoro is going to keep you safe from all harm.” Shanks taunts and you seethe, hands flying to your hips. 

“What are you, Dad, ten?” He guffaws as he successfully manages to distract you and steals another muffin before sprinting away from you and the kitchen.

“Be safe, Bug! Have fun!”

Seriously. How is this man a father?

-*-

Nami swings by your house with Vivi to pick you up for the picnic. You notice Robin’s absence in the car, and both girls giggle.

“Sabo’s picking Robin up. They’ll meet us there.” Vivi answers, and your mouth hangs open.

“Are they a thing?”

“Not yet, but it shouldn’t be long.” Nami laughs as she fixes her hair in the rearview mirror while waiting for the light to turn green. “Much like you and Zoro, I think.”

You choke on your own saliva, and it takes you a good minute to regain proper breathing functions, all while Nami and Vivi erupt into cackles and giggles. 

“We’re just friends!” You say after you’ve caught your breath.

“Sure, honey. We all believe that.” Vivi turns on the front seat to pat your knee in a condescending manner while you blush. 

“There’s so much heat coming off you two whenever you’re close that I don’t know how you still haven’t spontaneously combusted.” Nami quips, and you purse your lips. She’s not wrong there. “I mean, you’ve always sort of clicked, but now… daaaaamn!”

You sigh and bite your lip, trying to contain a giggle from erupting. “Who else is going to meet us there?” You ask, changing the subject and Nami shakes her head, knowing all too well what you’re doing, but not pressing on the matter. 

-*-

It’s a beautiful day for a picnic, and the park is the perfect setting for the beginning of a wonderful midday. There are rows and rows of trees, shade galore, small cobblestone pathways for long walks, and even a small creek providing a soft lull alongside the soft giggles of children. 

You and the girls are setting up rows of blankets on the grass, by the shade of the tall trees, when the group begins to arrive. You lift your head, hand sheltering your eyes from the sun, and scan the crowd. Luffy, Barto, Usopp, Kaya, and Chopper are approaching the treeline. They probably rode together.

A slight breeze dishevels your hair as your eyes linger behind, but there’s no green mane of hair in sight yet. An absent sigh leaves your lips before you spy Nami’s knowing smirk aimed your way.

She doesn’t say anything, but you blush anyway. Her unspoken words linger around you like a thick fog. You are eager to see Zoro. She knows it, you know it, hell, anyone who saw you two interact lately knows it. 

But you vow to retain some semblance of dignity and pretend to fuss over the blankets and small folding chairs. You’re so absorbed in your task that you don’t even see him approach.

“Hey there, Troublemaker, making trouble?”

The smile that graces your lips is instant and unstoppable. You turn slightly and bite your lower lip when your eyes meet his. Why does every shirt he wears seem so tight against his muscles?

“Hardly! I’m just setting up chairs!” But as you deliver the words, the chair you were opening snaps shut, almost catching your fingers, and you yelp. 

“You’re a menace.” His tone is both amused and resigned, almost as if he knew something of the kind would happen, was expecting it, even. 

“It attacked me!” You defend yourself weakly, a giggle bubbling up in your chest because he is right. You are a menace.

Zoro ends up helping you set the chairs, and you don’t even try to stop him. Both because you’re very likely to end up either hurting yourself or breaking a chair, and because he keeps brushing his shoulders and hands with yours, and the touch is welcomed. 

Robin and Sabo arrive with flushed cheeks - you can almost see Nami registering that fact for later probing - and soon after, Franky and Brook, two older men you still haven’t met but Luffy quickly introduces you to, saying they’re also part of the gang. 

You see Sanji already setting up food on the blankets, and he greets you warmly. “Hi, Sanji. You rode with Mosshead?”

“Oi?” Zoro snaps, and you ignore him.

“I did, Madame, and it was the most unpleasant ride of my life. Please remind me not to do it again.”

You giggle when Zoro’s brows knit together, his hands clenched into fists. “Tch, shitty cook, next time you ride with me, it will be in my patrol car and I’ll be dragging you straight to prison.”

Sanji starts to fume, his pursed lips crumpling the cigarette dangling from his lips, and you grimace. “Hey, hey, boys, it was just a joke!”

Nami sighs as they butt heads and continue arguing. “Never mind that.” She tells you. “Any chance they get to get up close and personal, they take it. They have a weird bromance thing going on.” She raises her hands defensively in the air. “I swear, for a moment there I thought they were going to be a thing, but Sanji loves women too much and Zoro is a man with a goal-oriented mind. Even if it’s someone he set his sights on a lifetime ago.”

Your brow raises at her as she smirks that all-knowing smirk. But she leaves it at that and stands in the middle of the boys, dragging Sanji by the scruff of his dress shirt, telling him the girls are hungry, which promptly sets him back to the task of setting up the food. 

“Shitty cook…” You hear Zoro mumble as he sets his hands in his pockets and kicks a blade of grass. It’s cute how flustered he gets. Then his eye sets on you and he frowns with a low grumble. “Oi, I didn’t forget you called me Mosshead.”

You set a hand on your heart, feigning repentance. “Oh, do forgive me, Mr. Mosshead. I forgot your title.”

“Trouble…” He lowers his tone in mock warning, and you smile, taking a step back, hands in a defensive stance. 

“Lord Moss, Knight–” Your antics are cut short by a piercing yelp when Zoro jumps and tries to catch you, but somehow, you swerve away from his grasp and start to run, an unbridled laugh filling your lungs. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I was just joking!”

“Repentance doesn’t dissolve the crime! Come here, Trouble!” He sprints, though you suspect he’s hardly even trying, and you cackle, running faster, the voices of the group fading into the distance. 

“You’ll have to catch me first!” Maybe you should’ve measured your words, because as soon as he hears the challenging tone in your voice, he sprints faster, and you barely have time to breathe before his arm wraps around your waist and he swirls you in the air, making you scream and laugh before he pulls your back against his chest.

Heart pounding against your ribs, cheeks flushed from running and breath catching in your throat, you feel your legs shaking when Zoro’s warm breath tickles your neck. “Gotcha.” He whispers, and you notice he’s not even out of breath while you look like you ran a marathon. 

The world dissolves into just this moment. The chirping of the birds and the rustling of the trees are nothing but background noise to the deafening pounding in your chest and the buzzing in your ears. 

Turning your head slightly to the side, you catch Zoro’s eye fixed on you, a wild smirk on his lips. “What now, officer? Are you going to arrest me?”

Damn. That was supposed to come out playfully, not sultrily. Right?

“Depends.” Did his voice get huskier? “Are you going to resist arrest, Trouble?”

You feel your throat bobbing up and down at all the wild fantasies running through your mind. The way he uses that nickname manages to send shivers down your spine and heat straight into your core. 

“Obviously.” You sound breathless, and it's a good thing you can blame that sorry state on the run, or you wouldn't know how to explain it. 

“Figures.” He chuckles low, and you feel it rumbling in his chest. Then, with a swift movement, he turns you, bends his knees, and hoists you up, slinging you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. 

“Wha–”

“Let's go.” Your flush deepens as you feel his strong hand against the back of your thighs, holding you in place. “The humiliation will teach you not to call me Mosshead.”

“Come on, Zo, I said I was sorry!” You whine, and he stiffens, his pace slowing for a beat, and you feel his shoulders shake slightly. Then he resumes his pace. 

“I like that.”

You stop pounding your fists against his back and raise your brow. “What? Me apologizing?”

He grunts and keeps walking, the blanket and your laughing friends nearly in sight. “That nickname. Way better than Mosshead.”

Oh! Zo! Another small blush creeps into your cheeks, but before you can reply, Nami whistles. “What you got there, Zoro?”

You hear your friends laughing and bury your face in your hands, feeling mortified. “Someone’s been naughty.” Zoro replies with a smirk and an edge of amusement in his tone. 

“Seriously?” You grumble, pushing against his back to try and wiggle out of his embrace, though it’s all for naught because he has an iron grip on your legs. 

“Well, either set her down so we can all eat or take her to naughty jail and punish her. Away from our sight, please.” 

“Nami!” You yell, exasperated, but Zoro merely chuckles, swerving right as if changing directions. 

“Naughty jail it is, then.”

“No, no!” You whimper. “I’m sorry!” Chopper stares at both of you, not sure if you’re being serious, so you try to take advantage of him and stretch your hand. “Help me, Chopper!”

He reaches his hand out before Nami swats it away. “Let them be, Chopper. They need some alone time.”

You seethe at Nami, a pout on your lips. “Traitor.”

Zoro lets out a low chuckle before settling you down at the edge of the blanket. “Learned your lesson, Troublemaker?”

You steady yourself, hands against his chest, and a permanent blush tattooed on your cheeks. “Damn you. I’m never calling you Mosshead again. You won.”

“I see you’re a fast learner.” His smirk is impossibly smug. “Zo’s fine, though.” Then he turns his back on you, opens the small cooler, and takes out a beer, cracking it open with one hand and chugging at it without another look back at you. 

And, damn it, if that doesn’t mess with your heart.

-*-

“Who wants another drink?” You ask and count the raised hands before getting up, heading towards the cooler to satiate your friends’ thirst. Zoro moves his hand before you reach it, and smooths the blanket before you can trip on its raised edge.

You smile at him, but he’s not even looking at you. His eye is shut, one arm behind his neck as he leans against the tree, though you know very well he’s attentive to everything. You pass the drinks around, then return to get your own.

“Watch your head.” Zoro mumbles, and you raise your brow but don’t heed his advice and, therefore, hit a low branch of the tree, releasing a string of curses while rubbing your forehead. “When are you going to start listening to me, Trouble?”

“When you stop sounding like a smug jerk.” You mouth, annoyed at his attentiveness and at how he seems to perceive danger before you even realise it’s there. He chuckles and you retrieve your drink, returning to your seat.

After a while of relaxing in the shade, Luffy drags everyone to a frisbee game. The boys are all down to play, but the girls just sit by a bench near the open space the boys chose to throw the frisbee and tackle each other. 

You sit on the back of the bench, a case of water bottles by your feet because you know the boys will be thirsty soon. Vivi sits on the grass in front of Nami’s legs, and Robin and Kaya are on the bench. 

After a small chit-chat about meaningless stuff, you decide to bring up something that’s been bothering you. “So I’ve been getting a lot of gifts lately…”

Four heads whip your way, and you sigh, already expecting that reaction and the bombardment of questions that follow. So you raise your hands, and they stop to let you continue. Though you decide to focus on the game in front of you instead of the way they’re all staring at you.

You especially focus on a very athletic green-haired man who constantly gazes up to where you are before focusing back on the game. 

“It’s flowers, chocolates, stuffed animals… It started last weekend, after the party at Luffy’s. They have notes, but nothing personal. No name, no nothing… I don’t know who they’re from, and I don’t even know if I should be flattered or freaked out by them.”

“How do they make you feel?” Robin asks, and you shrug, not quite knowing how to answer that question.

“The first ones made me feel good. I thought they were from– I thought I might know who they were from. But since he didn’t say anything about it, I doubt they're from him. So now they just feel weird…”

“Honey, we all know you’re talking about Zoro.” Nami says in a very condescending manner, and all the girls agree.

You sigh and bury your face in your hands. You’re so obvious it hurts. 

“Fine, yes. I thought they might’ve come from him, at first. But he’s not one for romantic gestures.”

“I wouldn’t say that, exactly.” Nami quipped back, a smirk tugging her lips as her eyes fell back on the game. Sure enough, Zoro’s eyes are back on the bench - on you, to be more specific. “I think it’s quite romantic the way he’s always checking to see if you’re safe. Keeping you away from trouble and making sure you don’t hurt yourself.”

A small blush creeps its way into your cheeks. It is quite romantic. “That’s just Zoro being Zoro. He’s a cop. He protects and serves.” You roll your eyes.

“Oh, I’m sure he would like to serve you.” Nami giggles and all the girls try to stifle their own laughs. “But you’re wrong about that. Sure, he’s always attentive to any kind of threats, but it’s different with you.”

“What do you mean?” You can’t stop the way your heart pounds maddeningly against your sternum. 

“She means that Zoro doesn’t usually go out of his way to keep people from tripping on stuff or from bumping their head. And with you, he’s always extra careful.” Robin finishes with a small smile. 

“Like the way he’s playing now, but keeps looking at you to see if you’re still in one piece. It’s like he’s expecting you to spontaneously combust or something.” Kaya adds with a giggle. 

“It’s very endearing.” Vivi finishes, and your blush deepens, so you bury your head back into your hands, stifling a loud groan. 

“But you’re still right.” Nami continues as if you’re not breaking down in front of them. “I don’t think he’s the one leaving the gifts…” She laughs suddenly. “But there’s one way to tell for sure.”

You raise your head from your hand cocoon to tell her to keep her mouth shut, but Zoro is already halfway to the bench and you squeak. “Nami…”

“Hey, Zoro!” She starts with a wave of her hand. You see Zoro raise his eyebrow at her, his long strides bringing him closer to the bench. 

Shit.

He’s sweaty all over. Fat droplets of perspiration drop from his temples to his perfect jawline and neck, and you gulp, feeling hot and bothered. So, it comes as no surprise that when he reaches his hand to grab a bottle between your legs, you lose your balance and fall back on the bench.

Yelping, you expect to hit the floor with a dry thud, air escaping your lungs and sharp pain blinding you. Instead, you feel a strong hand wrap around your forearm and tug hard, then your face being squished against a muscular, sweaty chest.

Zoro saved you from an ugly fall. Again.

“Seriously, Trouble? Why?” His voice is gravelly and rough, but with an edge of exasperation lacing it. “I’m starting to feel like I have to be with you 24/7 or you’re going to end up in the hospital.”

Your breath is still leaving your lips in ragged gasps because of the slight scare of facing an inevitable fall, and your face is still pressed against Zoro’s chest. You feel the girls’ gaze on both of you and Zoro seems completely unfazed by it, while saying you’re embarrassed would be the understatement of the year.

So you disentangle yourself from the predicament that is Zoro’s muscles and laugh it off, a hand scratching the back of your neck. “Ah, thank you. I got… distracted.”

“By what?” He asks while taking a sip of water.

“Well, Zoro,” Nami begins, and he shifts his focus to her, “we were discussing who could be her secret admirer, and then you showed up. Curious.”

“Secret admirer?” Zoro’s gaze falls back on you, his brow scrunched.

“Ah, no. It’s nothing like that. It’s just–”

“She’s been getting gifts. Flowers, chocolates, love declarations…” Why is Nami exaggerating? Is she trying to fish for information or make Zoro jealous? “You wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with it, would you?”

He drinks the water in three long gulps before answering, his scowl now permanently etched on his lips. “Do I look like the kind of guy who would do that?”

You look down and bite your lower lip. You knew it wasn’t him, but maybe, secretly, there was still a little part of you that hoped he could be showering you with that kind of attention. 

“Well, I just thought–” Nami begins, but she’s swiftly interrupted by Zoro, whose eyes can’t seem to leave your figure.

“When I want someone, I make it clear I’m interested. You’ll know.” He finishes drinking the water just as your eyes meet his, and the fire burning there scalds and melts. Was he telling you he’s interested? Was he saying he’s about to make a move?

With a smirk, he turns his back, grunts a gruff ‘try not to fall again, Trouble’, and gets back to the game, leaving you more confused than ever. 

“Did he–” Nami starts.

“Nobody says anything. We’re going to act like nothing happened.” You mumble before getting up and chugging down an entire bottle of water yourself to try and calm your nerves.

It doesn’t work.

-*-

The frisbee game makes everyone tired - and hungry - so, after all the bellies are filled again, the crew is relaxing in the blanket, enjoying the warmth of the late afternoon and the lulling sounds of the park. 

Chopper, Usopp, Luffy, and Barto are enjoying a card game. Franky seems interested, but he’s only overseeing and throwing advice that only seems to make Usopp lose the game. Robin has a book in her hands and Sabo’s head on her lap, his eyes closed with a blissful smile on his lips. 

You have serious doubts that she's paying attention to the book, especially since she seems to be stuck on the same page for over ten minutes, but you don’t say anything. Kaya is braiding Vivi’s hair and Nami is snapping photos of the crew, taking little candid shots with her cellphone. Brook is gracing everyone with a nice, mellow song on his violin - he's a wonderful musician - and Zoro seems to be sleeping peacefully, leaning against the tree.

Everything seems peaceful, quiet, and idyllic. 

But you can’t seem to shake the feeling of unease in the pit of your stomach. It’s like someone is watching you, but you can’t quite pinpoint who or where. It’s a prickling on your neck, something you’re already growing so used to that you start to think you should have this checked out by a doctor. 

With a heavy sigh, you stand up, stretching your arms to justify that action. “I’ll be back soon.” You say softly to Nami, who’s closer to you and she nods. Then, you look around before taking a step. The park is one big open space - with the exception of some trees here and there - except for the dense treeline behind you. 

So that’s where you’re headed. 

-*-

Zoro senses you getting up and opens his eye slowly, following you with his gaze and scowling when you don’t see the tree root sticking out and stumble a little before steadying your pace. 

You’re such a damn klutz.

And damn it, if he doesn’t want to be there to catch you and protect you from everything. 

His heart constricts slightly at the thought, and he sighs softly. He thought absence had made him forget how he felt about you. He even had some ‘relationships’ while you were away. Wait… can he really call something that never went past three months a real relationship? He never truly bonded with those women. Never truly cared.

No one ever made him feel the way you did.

The way you do.

But time and distance did nothing but make him pine harder for you. When Nami told him casually that you were returning, he almost didn’t believe her. You didn’t even come back for any of the holidays or to say ‘hi’, let alone come back for good after experiencing life in the big city. 

But you returned.

And then he thought he wouldn’t quite forgive you for having literally abandoned them. No text, no email, no letter, nothing. He would be salty, at least. Grumpy and upset, at most.

But he forgave you instantly. 

One look at your dishevelled form, chasing a goddamned tire with dirt all over your clothes and face, and he was a lovestruck teenager again. 

Fucking heart, what a useless organ. 

All those thoughts forgotten, he simply reached out. And you reached back, almost like no time had passed between you, and you could basically continue your story where you left off. 

And he was willing to try.

Though he didn’t want to rush too fast - damn Nami should just stop intruding and let you two figure things out yourselves. He’d get there. He almost kissed you already, so the feeling is mutual. 

He’s got time.

Sitting up, he watches as you peek behind trees, a cautious demeanour to your posture making him raise his brow. What the hell are you doing?

“Just go to her, dumbass.”

“Shut up, Witch. Mind your own business.”

Nami sticks her tongue out at him and snaps a picture of his grouchy face before turning her phone towards you and snapping another candid shot. 

“You look like a lost puppy in love. It’s cute, you know? The way you keep looking out for her.” Zoro feels his ears heat up and leans back again, trying to close his eye and return to a state of relaxation, but he can’t very well do that when you’re doing God-knows-what near the trees, looking creepily at everywhere and everything. “Just make sure you make your move soon… or maybe that secret admirer will one-up you and poof!” She makes an exploding gesture with her hand, and Zoro scowls at her. 

“You’re insufferable.” He quips before getting up and dusting his jeans.

“Word of the day? How smart of you, Zoro.” She giggles when Zoro passes by her and messes up her hair with his hand, earning an indignant gasp from the orange-haired girl. “I just went to the salon, you brute!”

Zoro smirks at her reaction and starts pacing towards you, Nami’s antics behind him. Well… all except one…

‘Make sure you make your move soon…’

Perhaps he should. He doesn’t want to lose you before even having the chance to have you.

Tag list: @rosidaze @beachaddict48 @armiliadawn @jintaka-hane @sprinkklz @baby5555 @hopelesslover06 @mars-mizuko @sleepykittycx @nerium-lil @eustasscapitankid @ren-ni @jqperi @lycoriskalmia @daydreamer-in-training @iloveyoushanks

[oceanicwriting]

a deal.

summary: for weeks, rumors of a new drug have been circulating in the halls of hogwarts. your friends, curious about the stories of those who have tried it, send you, a hufflepuff prefect, to buy it. your surprise is great when mattheo riddle himself is the mysterious seller... although the boy's luck was greater.

pairing(s): dealer!mattheo riddle x fem!hufflepuff!reader

a/n: english is not my native language! i didn't check this work twice, and it was inspired by a clip of "babygirl" movie hehe

pure tension, mention and use of drugs

ㅤㅤㅤ—why should i do it? —you say complainingly, putting on your cape—. what if i make a mistake and they makes me disappear with a spell?

ㅤㅤㅤ—don't be exaggerated! —one of your friends exclaims, smiling to calm your nervous gaze. it wasn't working—. you have much more character than any of us...

ㅤㅤㅤ—besides, you're the best at defense against the dark arts.

ㅤㅤㅤ—just go.

ㅤㅤㅤyour gaze travels between them one last time, and you nod while you adjust the black hood on your head. if you had had the courage to refuse, everything would have been much easier for your nervous system, but you didn't.

ㅤㅤㅤthe girls had been obsessed for weeks with trying a drug that was going around among the students of hogwarts. according to your classmates, who dared to try it, the effect was like going up to heaven and returning to mortals, christening the pill as "the road to merlin". you are not sure how they managed to convince your friends, but it was much easier to convince you.

ㅤㅤㅤthe hiding place of the mysterious seller was on the fifth floor of the castle. according to your friends, you had to find a perfect mouse house and press the highest stone. when you get there, without having met any teacher, you look at ground level for what would let you in.

ㅤㅤㅤwhen you find it, everything happens just as they told it, opening the wall to a hallway with lit torches. when you are fully inside, the wall returns to its natural state, leaving you trapped in that place. walking down the length of the corridor, you come to an old wooden door that swings a little, making the hinges creak, muffling the sound of your unsure steps.

ㅤㅤㅤbefore entering, you take the handle of your wand, resting in your back pocket, and sigh all the air trapped in your lungs. Then, gently pushing the wood, you feel a strong, musty aroma take over your nostrils and spider webs break in your head. it seemed to be an old classroom because of the tables built into the wall, while right in the center sits a boy with wavy hair. he hadn't even flinched at the sound of your presence, and it makes your skin crawl.

ㅤㅤㅤ—hello. —only then you see how your companion's back tenses. you try not to let the simple reaction interfere with the courage you've built up to get there—. i'm here to buy something.

ㅤㅤㅤa thread of smoke rises from his head, and the chair makes a loud squeak as it's dragged against the floor. he was getting up with exasperating slowness.

ㅤㅤㅤ—of all the people in this place? —he says, his voice rumbling like an endless echo—. you?

ㅤㅤㅤand he turns, giving the mysterious face the shape of mattheo riddle. on his lips there's a disinterested and arrogant smile that flips your tight stomach. your heart had stopped for a second because without knowing him at all, you knew the reputation a riddle had.

ㅤㅤㅤ—interesting —he says, leaving the cigarette in his fingers in the ashtray on the table. he begins to advance in your direction with a predatory slowness—. who told you my secret?

ㅤㅤㅤ more than a request, it is an order that leaves no room for refutation. attracted by the sound of his voice and the way his small eyes study you, you feel that you must answer truthfully or he will catch you.

ㅤㅤㅤ—answer me.

ㅤㅤㅤ—the weasley twins have told my friends. —you whisper, tightening your hand on the wand.

ㅤㅤㅤmattheo stays completely silent, looking you up and down with amusement. he had observed you many times before in the halls when you were alone or accompanied, in the library when you were trying to memorize something for potions or in the courtyards when you were playing with your cat. he saw you every time at dinner, hoping that you would notice it... but you never did.

ㅤㅤㅤhe loved the way your hair moved when you walked and the exquisite way your uniform fit your figure. it wasn't a surprise to dream about you every night, because he was sure that just by tasting you, he could become as addicted as all those who went in search of drugs.

ㅤㅤㅤ—do you want to buy something for yourself, princess?

ㅤㅤㅤyou don't answer, because you weren't interested in getting high on who knows what, but your friends wouldn't let it go either.

ㅤㅤㅤ—or are you doing what you always do? are you following orders? —you frown at his questions, trying to understand what he means. you're motionless because you somehow know he hasn't finished speaking—. tell me, do you want to try this or not?

ㅤㅤthe small white pill is placed in front of your eyes. mattheo can notice the doubt in your scared expression, putting it back in his closed fist.

ㅤㅤㅤ—i don't know what you're talking about. i-i just came to b...

ㅤㅤㅤ—what I mean is that... i think you like to be told what to do, or am I wrong?

ㅤㅤㅤhis hand tightens on your arm, the one that was tightly holding the wand in your pocket, and with a sideways smile, he forces you to let go of the object. your shaking hand doesn't go unnoticed by him.

ㅤㅤㅤ—y-you don't know what you're saying, riddle.

ㅤㅤㅤ maybe you should have thought it through better because your words manage to light a flame inside the boy. although you had no way of knowing it. mattheo caresses the fabric of your cape before pulling it hard and beginning to push you into the room gently. you wanted to say something, run, hit him, or react, but there was something much stronger than your own will burning you from within.

ㅤㅤㅤ—so if i order you to kiss me, you won't do it? —your whole body stiffens with the sound of his voice behind you, pushing you closer and closer to the table—. i want you to take a seat there.

ㅤㅤㅤyou can't ignore the way your whole body reacts to the boy's deep voice, less when you turn around to try to regain your dignity. his carefree smile, demanding gaze, and wide body only intensify the wave of unknown sensations.

ㅤㅤㅤ—i said take a seat.

ㅤㅤㅤyou do. the hardness of the old wood presses against your butt, releasing a soft creak. mattheo looks at you, fascinated and excited by the obedience you've shown. although his thoughts are elsewhere, he tries to keep his head on what he's really wanted from you all this time.

ㅤㅤㅤhe searches for something under the table, then places a small, clear plastic bag right in front of you with three small pills. all three are different colors and don't look as dangerous as you'd imagined. when you direct your hand to your pocket, he quickly stops you.

ㅤㅤㅤ—can you help me... —his hand approaches your cheek, brushing away a strand of hair that had gotten into your face—. let me repeat it, you're going to help me. i should ask you if you want, but i'm not interested in knowing what you think. i need someone like you, princess.

ㅤㅤㅤhis gaze runs over your entire body quickly, and he smiles, satisfied with the way your breathing quickens at the scrutiny. mattheo, in his head, has two options: you remain terrified of his presence or you react to his voice. he liked to think it was the latter.

ㅤㅤㅤ—no one would suspect someone as correct as you, right? no one will notice that you are working for me. —his hand travels from your cheek to your hand, slowly traveling the entire length of your body—. besides, aren't you the best in your group in defense against the dark arts?

ㅤㅤㅤ—do you want me to help you sell... drugs?

ㅤㅤㅤyou don't know what face you must have made, but mattheo can't hold back the laughter that escapes his lips.

ㅤㅤㅤ—yes. —his hand takes your chin delicately, but his gaze couldn't be more demanding and serious—. and i want you to be clear that it's not a request, princess. you're going to be so loyal and... useful to me.

ㅤㅤㅤ you try to refuse, say something to let him know your disagreement or move out of his sight, but it's not allowed. mattheo was being so serious that it scares you a little when he stops playing and orders you to leave. you don't know why, how or when you would have to meet him again, but somehow you hope it won't be soon.

[kumabeom]

merry and happy - soobin !

summary : yn’s first merry and happy christmas finally occurs !

warnings : not proof read, wc: 1.1k

you weren’t sure if it was the fact that it was so early and the sun was already setting or possibly the fact the entire day had been so gloomy, but something in the atmosphere was just completely ticking you off. you tried to brush it off, but it didn’t work, going to sleep and waking up feel the same for the next day. those days turned into a week. a week straight of feeling weirdly miserable.

each and every year, when you turned your calendar to december, you found yourself with an unknown feeling of emptiness in your chest. and each year, for every single day in december, you tried ignoring that feeling, you tried acting calm. but nothing could possibly calm you down, one the verge of snapping each second. christmas carols unknowingly bringing tears to your eyes.

you remembered why you hated this time around, the month of december was when you broke up with your previous boyfriend. or he broke up with you. he left you all alone on christmas, promising to give you his new years kiss, making so many false promises. he knew he was going to break up with you so why make so many promises.

you sat there in your apartment, wrapping paper on the floor and a box full of goodies set apart. it was the 23rd and you were just ready to get the holiday season done with, you were wrapping soobin’s last gift, you had around 3 gifts ready for him and you decided, very last minute, to give him one more gift. you weren’t sure why the idea of soobin made you automatically want to gift him so many presents, and as much as you hated the holiday season, you couldn’t help but warm up to the idea of shopping for your boyfriend.

speaking of your boyfriend, you heard the door of your apartment open, automatically looking over your shoulder and rushing to wrap the rest of the gift before he could make his way over. carefully yet quickly finishing the gift, placing a little sticker on the box ‘to : soobie <3 from : the love of your life.’ you couldn’t help but let out a little giggle as you even placed a heart next to your name. soobin eventually stood right behind where you were sitting looking at the weirdly perfectly wrapped present.

“another one? didn’t you place one under the tree for me the other day..?” soobin couldn’t help but let his curiousity begin to run rampant, had the two of you made a deal to give each other more gifts than planned. he watched as you nodded your head, placing the present down underneath the christmas tree that the two of you decorated a few days ago.

“i did.. but i found a few things that i thought you would like, so i couldn’t help but buy it..” soobin walked up next to you, admiring the lit up christmas tree in all its glory.

“it that so, baby.. but you know.. just spending christmas with you would be so ideal.. we can stay inside, apparently we’re supposed to get a white christmas.. so i was kinda planning that we bake cookies on christmas eve, eat dinner together, and maybe— if you want— we can spend the night together, and then on christmas day we could spend time together and watch a christmas movie.. lounge around a bit… only if you want to..” soobin shyly commented, he knew about your peculiar negative feelings towards the christmas season and he truly wanted to play it safe. he couldn’t bear to lose you, he really loved you and he was happy to see where your relationship was headed.

“ooh! on christmas eve, maybe we can make a list of all the christmas movies we want to watch and then we’ll spend all night watching the trailers and seeing which one is the best !” you highlighted, feeling soobin’s arm wrap around your waist. he felt your entire attitude towards christmas completely changed. why was it that you weren’t complaining at the idea of watching a movie together, especially knowing that there would be a few christmas carols in them.

when christmas eve arrived, soobin was outside of your door by evening, the sun already down, the moon partaking as its part of the whole ordeal was occurring. soobin was dressed in a red sweater, black pants keeping his sweater a bit tucked in. you ran to open the door, soobin noticing that the two of you were matching. the only difference was that

you wore the opposite color, and a black skirt. he saw cute little ribbons in your hair, a small yet meaningful chuckle leaving his mouth as he admired your beauty. going down to leave a small kiss on your lips, “how’s my baby doing?”

“good ! i was just preparing a few things. i put all the baking supplies out- oh ! and after you left yesterday, i went to the store and i got these cute cookie decorating kits !” soobin could’ve sworn, in the past few years when he was nothing more than just a friend, he had never seen you so happy for christmas. he loved it, he loved seeing you enjoy such a jolly season.

“really baby? why don’t you go ahead and show me?” you couldn’t help but blush at soobin’s use of pet names. there was just something in your heart that fueled the love you already had for soobin. you let him into your apartment, and immediately led him into the living room, grabbing an open box. you pulled out the contents of the box and showed soobin the cookies that were precut, sprinkles that came in a separate container, and icing along with piping bags. soobin felt a tug at the corner of his mouth, his arm sneaking around your waist. “what’s got you so eager this christmas, baby?”

“i dunno.. usually i just don’t really like it.. but i don’t know.. this year, you’re here… it doesn’t feel as lonely as it usually does.. i dunno.. even the lights look so pretty, and when i hear the carols.. they don’t make me want to cry.” you commented, small joyful tears reaching your cheek, fully pulling soobin into a hug. shit. he didn’t expect your heartwarming response, it was all so overwhelming, but in a really happy way.

“thank you so much, baby.. my christmas is merry because you’re by my side.” soobin pressed one last kiss to your lips. before placing an apron on you and himself, wiping your tears and kissing them away. he was ready to have such a beautiful christmas with you, starting off by decorating cookies.

©️kumabeom

permanent taglist : @run2seob @soobadooba @mrsyawnzzn @matcha-binz @tinyelfperson @strwbrrykthv @bloomngspring

[thinkingthougths]

-Ghost x female reader

1595 words

Warnings- none in this chapter.

The haunting of a Ghost

Chapter 2

“Aren’t you supposed to be in bed, soldier.”

The sudden sound coming from behind you made you drop the empty glass in the sink as you let out a foul curse in surprise.

Beneath the kitchens archway stood sergeant Kyle Garrick with his arms crossed and an amused smirk on his dirty face.

“Fucking hell Gaz, you almost gave me a damn heart attack.” You hissed at him, holding a hand over your heart that’s about to jump out of your rib cage.

The nasty words you wanted to throw at him for sneaking up on you and giving you a fright simmered out when you took notice of the smudges of dirt decorating his face and camouflage uniform.

“It’s already been a week?” Your eyes took in his wearisome face as you mumbled out the question that mostly was to yourself.

You remember the night before he and a few others shipped out for a week long mission somewhere you weren’t ranked high enough to know. It was the night. The one where Ghost chose to begin haunting your every waking moment after he burned his hooded eyes into your soul.

Gaz shoved himself off of the wall he had put his weight on and sauntered over to one of the round dining tables near you. With a weary sigh, he plopped down onto a chair and scratched his week old scruff.

“A long ass week. Successful and no major injuries on the team, though.” There’s a croaky undertone in his voice, hinting that he hasn’t slept well enough for probably the entire week.

During the time you’ve spent on this base, you’ve only ever had one mission together with the sergeant, about a year ago or so. Vividly recollecting the cool demeanor he adapted the second your feet touched ground out from the helicopter. Gone was the lax and easygoing Gaz, instead an exceptional soldier revealed himself. It was an amazing thing to witness, only ever heard tales and buzz before of the adept super soldier he transformed into.

Outside of the war zone, you and Gaz became solid friends. Even though he ranked higher than you, he never treated you as inferior. Which was otherwise quite common with these macho soldiers.

Chewing on the inside of your cheeks, you wavered on whether you should bite the bullet and confess the thoughts that’s been with you since his small departing party. If his teammate and close friend had some sort of feelings towards you. May it be infatuation or downright disgust. The mere knowing would vehemently calm your nerves and perhaps make it a bit easier to be around Ghost again.

The clock ticks on the wall. It’s the witching hour, a time when supernatural beings are believed to be the strongest. You already have a ghost haunting you, all hours of the day.

Hastily fetching the glass and filling it up to the brim with water, you chug down half of it to moisten your throat that has now become not only dry from the earlier sweating but now also from trepidation from spilling what’s been nagging you for seven days.

Your voice fails you as a strangled squeal leaves your lips instead of actual words. Gaz, lost in his own post mission musings, takes no notice and instead determinedly slams a hand on the table, making it rattle from the unintentional force.

“I need a shower before I bloody croak from exhaustion.” He declares, forcing his battered muscles to rise from the wobbly chair. “And you, need to get back to your bed, young lady.” Nodding his chin towards you, waving a weak goodbye as he leaves the kitchen.

And that was it. He went back to his barrack and left you standing with your jaw slack.

You did pity him, recognizing the toll an intense mission takes on one’s mind and body. But you also resent him, just a tad, for not noticing the awkward behavior you clearly and unwillingly were presenting. You really wanted to get some goddamn answers and when the opportunity showed itself, you messed up and choked on water.

It seems you can’t catch a break this week, you discontentedly thought to yourself as you marched back to the barracks where your sweat drenched poor excuse of a bed awaits you.

-

At noon, much to your chagrin, training was scheduled, hand to hand combat taught by some skilled superior. There’s been talks of a new instructor that will train you, no name had been given so it’s going to be a complete surprise.

Stood outside the gyms door, murky light made its way through the frosted glass and blurred out everything for you except for dancing shadows of people moving around in there.

It was an unusually cold day for mid autumn. Frosty tendrils of winds grazed your reddened cheeks as you contemplated today.

You reached for the metal doorhandle and was met with tiny sparks of pain as the sharp cold metal seeped into your skin. Retracting your hand instantly, checking your palm as if you had been burned with ice.

A crow flew over you, cawing its screech and looking like the textbook sign of a bad omen.

It certainly felt like it, being warned by something otherworldly to heed the signs and not enter the gym. Instead run away as far as you can and save yourself from whatever horrible destiny may lay inside these trepidatious doors.

If only participation wasn’t needed.

Voices coming from behind the corner of the building pushed you into finally opening the heavy door with anxiety cursing through your warm blood vessels.

While inside, beelining it to the women’s locker room, you sweep your eyes along the people on the workout machines and training mats. Scanning each person inside to find out if he’s here.

The insane physique the behemoth of a man has doesn’t just magically appear. No, Ghost spend many hours in here, priming his mighty body and growing those thick muscles. His calamitous body and towering height is part of the reason he scares you, if he wishes he can easily crush your skull, pop it like a melon between his bulging biceps.

Nausea finds its way up your throat. To daydream about the countless way the lieutenant can end your life isn’t the smartest thing to do. Not when you’re about to experience sparring and similar holds Ghost can use to blow out your light.

An idea lights itself inside your brain. What if you shift the attention to another version of him. The second, and most unlikely, guess on why he acts differently with you.

That he fancies you. The outcome would at least leave you alive in the end, right? Actually, there’s a big chance you might not survive him in that scenario either.

You imagine what kind of immoral and depraved stuff Ghost must be into. There’s simply no way he prefer to be vanilla under the covers after the things he’s experienced in his somber life. A traumatic up-growing (heard once by a gossiping group passing by you) and a career as a cold blooded mercenary. No sane man survives such a chronicle of ungodly tribulations and comes out normal.

So, in a crestfallen conclusion, you’re dead meat either way.

Chatter from the girls in the locker room concludes you’re not the only one overstrung about today’s practice. One of them had apparently overhead a higher ranking and very experienced soldier is to be today’s instructor and that he’s going to absolutely break everyone’s spirit. Just great, it’s exactly what you needed, having your soul crushed by man screaming how shitty you are.

Persistence to surviving the military life you signed yourself off to a couple years back, when life was meaningless and you needed a firm hand to guide you, makes you a bit gutsy though. And that’s very much needed right now.

Proceeding to change into a black fitted T-shirt and matching gym leggings, you determinately march your way past the machines and land next to the other people here for the training. All standing in a neat row adjacent to the square training mat, patiently awaiting your instructor.

You’re pending between taking the opportunity of having all your frustrations let out by pretend fighting with the others or to tell a small white lie that you pulled a muscle during your last workout and are going to have to sit this one out.

The unusually high anxiety that’s been eating you up is putting you on edge, you can feel a phantom pair of dark eyes burning in the back of your head, it has you chewing on your nails and fidgety scanning the vast area. No one’s paying you any attention, no one’s even looking at you. It’s all in your head, you keep saying to yourself trying to make the queasiness disappear.

Some unnoticeable breathing exercises and you think your heart rate has gone down again. The thrum of the heartbeats is no longer clogging up your hearing.

You release a haggard sigh and unclench your tense fingers.

Just as you finally find some peace, you hear the door to the gym open up and all the former lively voices fades and machines slows down into a strained silence.

You don’t have to turn around and see who it was that just entered the building.

The raised hair on your arms and the rank smell of fear from the others reveals the persons identity. Not many can silence an entire room by just entering.

Ghost.

[redtsundere-writes]

Part 28: Starting Over

King!SukunaRyomen x Servant!FemReader

Summary: You used to be just another servant among the army of humans operating under the command of the terrible king, Sukuna Ryomen. An ordinary human who only knows how to wash, clean and cook. Until one day, he notices something in you that you hadn't seen before.

Tags: MDNI. +18. Murder. Blood. Cannibalism. Sukuna Ryomen Is The Warning Itself. Nudity. Sexual Display. Vaginal. Fingering. Sometimes fluff, sometimes angst. NOT Beta read.

Word Count:  7822 words.

I M P O R T A N T

A/N: So after some consideration, I need a break from this fic because I wanna work on other fics I have kinda abandoned because of this one. Plus, I want to write an original novel! I'll be updating about it here, thanks for your support and understanding, happy holidays! :3

Beginning. | ← Previous | Next →

You were stuck in the same dilemma you had a month ago. You paced around your room, anxiety running high, rehearsing how to apologize to the king for kissing another man and causing a scene in enemy territory. You had crossed the line this time, and it would be hard to fix it. He must be furious, even more so when he found out you didn't return to camp after the incident. You didn't regret what you did, but you would have to admit that you deliberately hurt the king sooner or later, and now you had to face the consequences. You bit your nails in a failed attempt to calm your nerves as you waited for his inevitable return.

Suddenly, you stopped as you heard the clatter of the drawbridge's chains moving. You darted to the window, looked outside, and confirmed what you feared: the king was back in the castle. But he wasn't alone. Along with him were Kenjaku and Mahito, followed by a long caravan of curses. Sukuna stepped out of his carriage with his trademark dark grace, looking up directly at your window as if he knew you were there. His sharp eyes pierced your being, and a chill ran down your spine. Heart pounding uncertainly, you slammed the window shut and hid behind the wall as if that would help.

You still didn’t have an apology that would convince you. You weren’t even sure Sukuna would allow you to apologize. Staying in your room, waiting for him to request your presence, was the safest option, though you had no idea how long that would take.

To your surprise, it only took twenty minutes of your patience when someone knocked on your door. To your relief, it was Mrs. Inoue. You hugged her without a second thought, muttering hasty apologies for leaving her alone with the king for over a week.

“I missed you too, child.” She hugged you back.

“I'm glad she's okay,” you said before letting go of her.

She gave you a kind, tender grandmotherly smile, but then her expression changed drastically to one of anger. “Oh no…” you thought scared.

“What the hell is wrong with you, silly girl?! You cried every day for the king to propose to you, and you go and blew it! You're going to kill me with your shenanigans before I see you in white! You better give me 7 grandchildren to make up for it!” She scolded you severely while spanking you.

“Sukuna told him?!” You asked, surprised, while you writhed from the pain in your buttocks.

“Of course the king told me after I went to plead for you,” Mrs. Inoue snorted. “You better apologize tonight, or I myself will tell the king to kill you for being a dumbass.” With that warning, she handed you a letter that was in her pocket.

You took the white envelope with a frown. It had a wax seal with a golden rose painted on it. It was an official letter from King Sukuna. You didn't hesitate to open it with trembling hands. Your eyes nearly popped out of their sockets when you saw what it was.

His Majesty, King Sukuna Ryomen, extends to you a most gracious invitation to attend the illustrious White Flower Ball.

For the first time in a millennium, you have been bestowed the rare honor of joining this exclusive and momentous occasion, held this evening within the grand halls of the castle. Enclosed with this letter is a gown crafted especially for you, befitting the grandeur of the event.

It is my fervent hope that you will accept this invitation and join me for an evening of unparalleled splendor—one that I assure you will remain etched in your memory forever.

With the deepest of regards,Sukuna Ryomen

“What the fuck?” Mrs. Inoue pulled your cheek for cursing.

It was just what you needed to reassure yourself that you weren’t dreaming. You weren’t one to curse just like that, but your mouth dropped it before you could say anything else. Your bottom lip was on the floor and your heart was racing in circles from excitement. You read the letter over and over to make sure your reading comprehension was still working.

“And you haven’t seen the best part yet,” Mrs. Inoue said excitedly before picking up a box that was hidden behind the door to the next room.

You took the huge box to place it on your bed. You undid the red bow with ease and opened it. There was a white silk dress next to a diamond tiara with matching earrings. Mrs. Inoue held you so you wouldn’t faint from the shock. It was so beautiful that you couldn’t utter a word. “Does this mean the king isn’t upset with me?” you thought.

“You better apologize to that good man, girl.” Mrs. Inoue waved an accusatory finger.

“Did he just call the king a ‘good man’?” you asked, confused.

“My grandson is a tyrant to everyone but you,” Mrs. Inoue said before leaving your room to let the king know that she had already fulfilled her part of the plan.

“Your grandson?” That only left you more confused.

Sukuna examined the new windows with great attention. The pattern was the same as the originals, but instead of the glass being red, they were transparent like any other. Uraume was updating him on the situation, kneeling before him and with his head down. He had both pairs of arms crossed as he imagined how the events had occurred on this strange night.

“I detailed it in the report I sent you the same night of the attack. I don't know why it didn't reach you, my king,” Uraume stuttered nervously, about to burst into tears for having failed in their main task: protecting the castle.

“Surely the messenger you sent was killed by those crows if they are as powerful as you say,” Sukuna theorized. “Do you know the reasoning behind the attack?”

“50 cursed weapons were stolen from the weapons room, my king,” Uraume answered.

“I see.” Sukuna whispered to himself as he looked at the panorama through the glass.

There was a crow flying in the sky in the distance. Crows were a common bird in the area, so the person behind the attack had surely been spying on them for some time. With that information, it would be difficult to find the perpetrators. He already had some hypotheses in mind, but he would have to wait to solve them. Sukuna pricked up his ears as he heard a sob behind him. Uraume was crying softly as he clenched his white kimono, his hands red from the effort to contain himself. He lowered his head to his hands in a sign of mercy.

“I'm sorry I failed you, my king,” Uraume apologized.

“There was nothing you could do.” Sukuna concluded.

“If I hadn't fainted, I swear…” Uraume tried to defend themselves, full of frustration.

“Enough.” The king's word echoed through the hall. “I'm at peace that you only fainted and didn't die like everyone else.”

A warm shock hit Uraume's chest. As soon as they looked up, the king was already kneeling in front of them, with a hand on their albino head to stop them from lamenting what happened.

“I know what you are capable of, and what you can do it.” Sukuna reassured them. “So raise your head, we have work to do.”

“If you didn't get my report, why did you bring all those curses?” Uraume asked as they wiped the tears with their loose sleeve.

“This ball isn't going to organize itself.”

“Dance?” Uraume asked confused.

The night seemed to fall with a desperate slowness, too much to contain your excitement. Each minute felt eternal as you turned on your axis, watching how the wide skirt of your dress fluttered gracefully. You adjusted the top of the outfit for the tenth time, unable to control your nerves. The corset, tight to the chest, enhanced your figure without sacrificing elegance.

Your favorite detail was the sleeves: they fell softly, light, like newly opened petals, adding an ethereal touch to your appearance. The sparkling tiara and delicate diamond necklace caught the light like dewdrops at dawn, completing the illusion of a radiant flower in its full splendor. You felt like a daisy awakening with the first rays of the sun, fresh and dazzling. Sukuna had outdone himself with his choice this time.

There was a knock at the door. “Miss. The ball is about to begin.”

You didn’t recognize the voice, but curiosity drove you to run to the door. As you opened it, an exquisite fragrance enveloped you, stopping you in your tracks. Instead of an unfamiliar face, the first thing you saw were two long rows of white roses and daisies adorning the hallway. The flowers covered everything. They overflowed from the decorative vases, sprouted from the helmets of the armor, and seemed to fill every corner with their fragile splendor. You had never seen so many flowers together, but surprisingly, they were not what completely captured your attention.

At the end of the hallway, the king was waiting for you. His imposing figure was wrapped in an impeccable red kimono; his hair, perfectly coiffed, further enhanced his elegance. In his arms, he carried a huge bouquet of red roses, so large that it seemed made by him and only him. Your heart raced at the sight, and a fleeting thought crossed your mind: “Am I dreaming?”

He approached you, determined and confident steps, while you remained motionless, trapped in the tangle of emotions that invaded you. You felt like a fool, unable to do anything other than observe him from a distance, trying to process what was happening. The thousands of flowers, the dress, the dance… and him, wearing his most elegant kimono.

“Flies are going to get in.” Sukuna placed a hand under your chin to shut your mouth.

“I don’t understand, my king,” you whispered, confused.

“What don’t you understand?” His hand traveled down your jaw to hold your head under your ear.

“The dance? The dress? All of this? Why? I don’t deserve any of this after what I said back in the Zen’in realm.” You tried to lower your head in sorrow, but he held your head up high so you could look him in the eyes.

“I realized it was my fault that this happened in the first place. I should have protected you on enemy land, but because of my selfish wishes, it drew even more attention to you.” His thumb caressed your cheek tenderly as he looked you straight in the eyes so you knew he was serious. “I’m going to show you now and for the rest of your life that you made the right choice by standing next to me.”

Your pulse was racing so fast that you didn’t know if it was from excitement or a heart attack. Who the hell was this before fore you, and what had he done with the cursed tyrant? This was more than dreamlike, it was crazy. You thought he would be upset and ignore you more than before you got engaged, but you were glad he didn't. Sukuna placed the large bouquet of roses in your arms, they were so heavy that you almost fell on your back.

"Thank you," you said with your face hidden among the flowers before entering your room to leave the large bouquet on your bed. Any vase would break under the weight.

"Will you do me the great honor of taking you to the ball tonight?" Sukuna offered his hand along with a bow of respect.

"It would be ah honor," you took his hand with a big smile on your face.

Sukuna took your hand and pulled it towards him so that your arm was wrapped around his lower arm. They walked through the flower-filled hallway. As they reached the end, you looked back to take one last look before heading to the Great Hall. Sukuna noticed this with curiosity and stopped.

“The flowers will be there when you come back,” he reminded you with a smile, he was glad that you liked it.

“I know, it’s just that it’s a beautiful gesture. I could spend all day admiring them,” you said without taking your eyes off them.

Sukuna gently let go of your arm. You followed him with a confused look as he knelt down in front of the flowers. The king picked out the prettiest daisies with his eyes and pulled them from the bouquets. He placed the flowers in your hair carefully, fitting them between the tiara to make sure they stayed there all night. Sukuna took a moment to scan your body with his penetrating gaze. You never failed to impress him with how good you looked in the pieces he picked out for you. The soft fabric of the dress contrasted with your skin tone, shining like a star in the sky.

“I prefer to admire you all day and all night, because not a million flowers compare to you.” Sukuna took your hand to kiss your knuckles.

“Who are you and what did you do to King Sukuna?” You asked, surprised by his touch.

“I’m all yours.” Sukuna leaned down to kiss your cheek. Your face lit up like a flame. “What’s going on?!” you thought in shock.

“It’s my pleasure to introduce King Sukuna Ryomen and his fiancée, Y/N!” The curse announced their arrival to the Great Hall at the top of their lungs.

The guests, servants, and curses welcomed them with enthusiastic applause, filling the air with vibrant energy. Your face lit up as you took in the scene. Everyone looked elegant, wrapped in fine white clothing, and let themselves be carried away by the joyful music that resonated in the hall. It was almost unreal to witness a celebration where curses and humans lived together in harmony, sharing laughter and moments as if the differences between both worlds had completely disappeared.

Kenjaku masterfully conducted an orchestra made up of curses, whose sounds intertwined in a mesmerizing melody. Meanwhile, Mahito chatted animatedly with an Uraume clearly annoyed by having worked all day. The hall was a spectacle in itself, decorated with an infinity of white flowers that adorned every corner and radiated an ethereal atmosphere. Above the dance floor, the imposing crystal chandeliers cast golden sparkles, elegantly illuminating the couples who moved to the beat of the music.

A new song began to play, and with it came the charming chaos of the servants rushing to find a partner. Mrs. Inoue pulled Mr. Wasuke towards the dance floor, despite his protests of not wanting to abandon his glass of wine. You observed the scene with a wide smile, infected by the collective joy.

From his place, Sukuna gave you a fleeting glance. Noticing how fascinated you were by the spectacle, a light smile curved his lips. Your excitement pleased him. The evening, more than an event for everyone, had been designed especially for you after all.

“May I have this dance?” Sukuna introduced himself with a bow.

“Of course, my king.” You introduced yourself as well.

Sukuna pulled you towards him with a smile on his face. Two of his hands held you tightly by the waist and one of his strong hands slowly intertwined with yours, taking his time to caress every millimeter of your skin. He took the lead immediately. You joined the others on the dance floor. You thought the king would forget his steps or have trouble with the rhythm, but he danced like he was already used to it.

“Your dancing is marvelous,” you complimented before spinning around.

“I had some help,” he looked away. “A lot of help,” he corrected.

You followed his gaze and found Mrs. Inoue, who, with a mischievous smile, gave him a thumbs up. Apparently, she had taken matters into her own hands when she noticed that the king had no idea how to behave around a lady. With her newfound enthusiasm, she had offered him a crash course in etiquette: from how to dance and flirt to the proper way to act chivalrously to impress you on this big night. And boy had she succeeded.

You gave your friend a knowing smile before turning your eyes back to the king, but he was already watching you, his gaze filled with such intense adoration that it made heat rise to your cheeks. Unable to help it, your smile widened, lighting up your face.

The song was coming to an end, and with it the crucial moment was approaching. You felt Sukuna’s hands slide firmly down your back, while the other descended to hold your knee. Your body began to lean towards the ground in an elegant movement, but you couldn’t stop the memories of the last time from flooding over you. The fall was still fresh in your memory, and nerves took over you.

Instinctively, you brought a hand to your shoulder, holding on tightly, prepared in case it happened again. However, something in the security of his grip and the intensity of his gaze gave you a spark of confidence. Maybe this time it would be different.

“I’m not going to let you go.” I whispered to you, reading the worry in your eyes. “I won’t make that mistake again.”

You knew he meant the dance step, but you wished it was more than that. You wanted it to be a lifelong promise. That he would be with you against all odds, through poverty and illness, until death took you from his side. The applause brought you back to reality. Sukuna put your feet back on the ground. You clapped as you glanced at him, wondering what he was thinking. Luckily for you, the same as you.

Mahito quickly approached you as the next song started. “Miss, may I have this piece?” You were about to answer, but the king stepped in.

“Get lost.” Sukuna growled before sending him flying away from the dance floor with a push. A few curses mocked the commander at the sudden occurrence.

“I didn't have to be so harsh, my king.” You sometimes forgot how strong he could be without even trying.

“From now on, I won't let anyone get close to you.”

“Isn't that a bit excessive?” You asked timidly.

“Not when it comes to you,” he said before pulling you towards him again to continue dancing the night away.

The night was still young and this was already the best of your life. You had never felt so happy as that night. You danced the night away to the music, chatted with some curious maids about your trip to the Zen'in kingdom, and drank a few glasses of wine. You were having a great time, but you still needed to apologize to the king, as you had promised Lady Inoue.

“My king, may I have a moment?” You asked, referring to the fact that you could talk in private.

“A lifetime if you want,” he answered confidently. “If he keeps talking like that, I’ll collapse,” you thought, feeling your knees turn to jelly.

You left the great hall and walked towards the bridges that connected the towers, seeking the relief of the cool night air. From there, you could see how the streetlights of the city glowed with a warm light, while the hills of the commune remained plunged in gloom. There was something deeply melancholic in that contrast: such a beautiful place, forced to hide in darkness when it could shine brighter than the city of curses itself.

The castle had its charm, and you couldn’t deny that you had learned to appreciate it. However, that sight reminded you of how much you missed home. Not just the physical place, but what it represented to you: a refuge, an identity, a sense of belonging that now felt distant and almost unattainable.

You hugged yourself, seeking comfort in your own arms as your eyes wandered beyond the streetlights, trying to find something in the distance that would calm the longing that was beating in your chest.

“Are you cold?” Sukuna asked.

He didn’t wait for your answer, to take off his haori to place it over your shoulders, leaving you completely exposed from the waist up. The warmth returned to you as you saw his perfectly carved body. The piece was too big for you, but it protected you from the cold wind that blew through the peak. You thanked him with a smile. Even though you loved the king, you were doing the right thing by acting in the shadows to protect your home from the chaos he was about to unleash.

“I wanted to apologize to you.” You started the conservation, but Sukuna waved his hand at you to stop.

“We can talk about it later. I want you to remember this night as one of the best in your life.”

“Still, it doesn’t seem fair to me. At least let me apologize for the letter, I…”

“Mrs. Inoue already confessed everything.”

“But she didn’t tell you the reason why I did it.” Sukuna raised an eyebrow in curiosity. “I hid from you that I wrote the letter to get revenge for what happened in the greenhouse. It was childish. I’m sorry.” You apologized with your head down.

“Then I’m to blame,” Sukuna declared.

Planning a ball was easy. Getting all the flowers from the open field, too. Manipulating an entire nation, a simple move. Even defeating King Jogo was no big deal. But facing this conversation… that was another story. 

His throat closed, stifling the words before they could form. His nails dug into the palms of his hands, a desperate attempt to hold on to where he was standing, to not give in to the impulse to flee. His entire body begged him to stop, that there was still time to turn back, to take refuge again in the facade he had built and perfected for over a thousand years.

Everything was easy, except this. Except looking into your eyes, those eyes that, with a single glance, managed to melt the cold armor he had spent so long forging.

“I hurt you on purpose because…” He blurted out in a small voice. “Just do it, damn it!” he scolded himself. “I’m terrified.”

“You? Terrified?” You blinked a couple of times, confused.

“Every time I’m with you, I feel weak, vulnerable, soft…” He confessed. “But I’ve never felt so alive in my life.”

You gasped as your king knelt in front of you. He took your hand gently, caressing your knuckles with his thumb. His face outlined by the lights of the lanterns combined with the blush of the moon. His rubies didn’t convey that roughness you were used to, but a hope you’d never seen before.

“Every time you touch me, my skin turns to glass. Every time you smile, I melt under your warmth. Every time you look at me… you make me feel human again.”

“Human?!” You opened your eyes wide upon hearing that. How could the king of curses, a giant with four arms and two pairs of eyes, be human? Mahito and Kenjaku seemed more human than him. You wanted to laugh at how absurd it sounded, but his serious face stopped you.

“You are my greatest weakness, but that only makes me strive to be stronger to protect you, my beloved daisy.” Sukuna planted a kiss on your knuckles. “I may be a king, but allow me to serve you for the rest of my life.” His lips ran over each of your fingers until they reached the back.

“I am definitely going to faint” you thought, barely supporting your weight on your heels. Your heart was burning with love for the man at your feet. A year ago you were the one on your knees cleaning his ears, bathing him or letting him step on you for his entertainment. You still couldn't believe how much things had changed.

“It may be late to start, but it's never too late to try again.” Sukuna said before taking a small box out of his pocket.

“I could promise to bring you the moon, the stars and the entire galaxy, but promising those things is too simple. I want to promise you something that no one else can get for you. On this beautiful night, I want to promise you that I will love you like I have not been loved in a thousand years of my life.” Sukuna opened the box to reveal the engagement ring he gave you in the Jogo kingdom. “I am not interested in being the king of curses when I can be your faithful husband.”

“My king…” You sobbed at the beautiful words.

“Will you marry me?”

“Yes, a thousand times yes!” You exclaimed before jumping into his arms.

He pulled you against his body, letting a big sigh escape his lips. He held your head against his shoulder as you cried from the euphoria that ran through your body. He smiled to himself as he heard you repeat “yes” in excitement. He placed the shiny ring on your finger.

“I love you, my king,” you said as he wiped away your tears.

“Please call me Sukuna,” he begged.

“I love you, Sukuna,” you repeated.

Hearing his name leave your lips ignited something inside him, a desire he wasn’t willing to ignore. Like a good king, he didn’t waste a second to claim what he wanted. With determination, he took your face in his hands and sealed your lips with a kiss full of passion. His movements were a perfect mix of tenderness and dominance: while his mouth delicately explored yours, his hands, firm on your hips, pulled you tightly towards his body. The need he had repressed for more than a week overflowed in that instant. Every gesture of his spoke of longing and desperation.

The lack of air forced them to separate, but they both smiled, their faces warm and small clouds of steam escaping from their ragged breaths. Sukuna lifted you into his arms with an ease that made you feel light as a feather, and rested his forehead against yours. Instinctively, you wrapped your arms around his neck, ready to seek out his lips again.

However, a thunderous round of applause interrupted them. They turned to the large windows of the great hall, and there they were, all the servants and curses, crowded together and watching the spectacle in fascination. Some cheered, others laughed, and in the middle of them, Lady Inoue sobbed uncontrollably, tears of happiness running down her cheeks.

“It’s about time,” Kenjaku complained to Uraume.

“First a ball, now a wedding. Give me a break,” Uraume shook their head.

The night was still young in the Zen’in kingdom. In the dim candlelight, the commander sat at the desk in his room. Naoya was a man of many talents, but there was one in particular that few knew about. With precise movements, he drew fine lines on the paper, outlining the figure of a naked woman, gracefully reclining on an elegant armchair.

His hands detailed each feature: the hair waving softly, the eyes that seemed to look beyond the paper, and that smile… That smile that, since the last time he saw her, had disturbed his nights with its dazzling memory. Without realizing it, Naoya had captured in the drawing every inch of her body, covered only by a sheet that left your silhouette, sensual and delicate, uncovered.

While he contemplated his work, his imagination transported him to that scene he had created. He saw himself approaching you, slowly, as if afraid of interrupting your peaceful rest on a velvet armchair next to a window that bathed the environment in the warm light of summer. With unusual tenderness, he brushed a lock of hair from your face, admiring the perfection of your shapes: the bare breasts, the hypnotic curve of your waist.

Desire began to burn inside him, palpable beneath the silk of his robe. It was then that your eyes slowly opened, still heavy from sleep, and you found him there, so close that you could feel his breathing. Before you could fully react, Naoya caught your lips in a passionate kiss, intense and full of repressed longing.

Your hands, trembling, but firm, slid over his bare chest, exploring every detail under the fine fabric. In a determined gesture, you opened his robe, revealing his arousal, and in that instant, both of you let yourselves be carried away by the inevitable attraction that consumed you.

“Commander…” You moaned on his lips before reaching his cock.

“Commander!” Another voice woke him from sleep.

Naoya screamed when he realized that his cousin, Ranta, had entered his room without permission while he was masturbating. The young man looked at him, perplexed by such a scandal. Naoya closed his leather notebook before closing his robe, completely blushing.

“Who the fuck gave you permission to enter?!” The commander scolded him.

“I knocked on the door like three times, I thought you were asleep,” Ranta defended himself, still confused. It was the first time he saw Naoya so upset and blushing. “Were you perhaps seeing something forbidden?” He mocked with a hint of morbidity.

“No!” Naoya barked.

“I don’t believe you,” Ranta braced himself.

“I don’t give a shit if you don’t…!” Naoya’s body completely froze mid-sentence under his cousin’s technique. He was in trouble.

Ranta ran to the notebook to discover what his commander was hiding. In it, he found illustrations of landscapes, animals, and some familiar ones, but he stopped at the one he was currently working on.

“Wow… She’s so sexy. Who is she? She looks familiar,” Ranta wondered as he inspected the drawing closely. “Wait… Isn’t that that girl from the ball in the red dress? The maid… What was her name?” Ranta undid his technique.

“Y/n!” Naoya answered before snatching the notebook from him.

“Y/n… Yeah right,” Ranta reminded you. “Do you like her?”

“What? No way. She’s just attractive, that’s all.” Naoya denied having any feelings for you. Rather, he denied it to himself.

“Yeah, right.” Ranta rolled his eyes, knowing that this conversation was going nowhere. “I came by order of the king.”

“The king?” he asked, perplexed.

“Yes. He told me that all of us from The Heir will accompany him to the meeting of allied sorcerers.”

The Heir was an organization made up of the most powerful sorcerers of the Zen’in family, which is led by Naoya. The commander knew that King Toji and his wife would go to the meeting of allied sorcerers that takes place every semester in the Gojo Kingdom. What he didn’t understand was why King Toji needed the Shining Group there when only the kings can enter the room.

“We’ll leave in the morning,” Ranta told him.

“Thank you for letting me know.”

“I’m going to sleep, I’ll leave you alone with your drawing.” His cousin scoffed before leaving the room.

“Fuck you,” Naoya muttered before slamming the door shut.

He blew out the candles before finally going to bed. He closed his eyes and there you were in your red dress and unfriendly face. The chances of him seeing you again were painfully slim, but it was for the best. He was a commander, he didn’t need some random maid distracting him. He hit his pillow a few times to get comfortable. He tried to close his eyes again, but there you were again, letting King Gojo kiss you while he watched through a hole in the wall, wishing to take the albino’s place for at least a second.

“Get the fuck out of my head!” Naoya screamed into his pillow in frustration.

The dance had come to an end. The servants rested in their beds, exhausted from the evening, while the curses took their positions of vigilance, silent shadows under the moonlight. In the great hall, the guests of honor still raised glasses of wine, immersed in conversations bathed in laughter and secrets.

Sukuna, with his imposing bearing and confident walk, guided you along the path of flowers that led to your room. The fragrance of the petals, mixed with the night breeze, a balm that intoxicated the senses. At his side, you felt the world blur into a whisper, and the only reality was his presence.

You could not contain the smile that curved your lips, a mixture of happiness and slight disbelief. The sweet words he had whispered to you during the night still echoed in your mind, warm and tempting, like a promise you could not ignore.

“This was the best night of my life. Thank you so much.” You stood on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek, but only reached his jaw.

“I’m glad you had fun. I understand why you like these balls so much.” Sukuna leaned down a little so you could give him a proper kiss on the cheek. “You must be tired from all that dancing. You should go to sleep.”

“I will.” Sukuna opened the door for you.

“Good night, my daisy.” He gave you one last kiss on the lips before leaving. If he stayed one more second, who knows what he was capable of doing to spend the rest of the night with you.

You took a step towards your room, but it felt wrong to enter alone. He was still in the same hallway, but you missed him already. You didn’t want him to leave. You really wanted to thank him for the unforgettable dance he planned for you, but words wouldn’t be enough. You smiled to yourself as you had a terrible idea.

“Sukuna.” The sweetness of his name coming out of your mouth made him stop suddenly. “Could you do me a favor?”

“How may I help you?” he asked as he returned to you.

“Mrs. Inoue surely already went to sleep. Would you help me untie my corset?” you asked timidly.

You took the haori off your shoulders and stepped out of the dress to be left in your corset and petticoat. Sukuna gulped as he saw your exposed skin in front of him. He had seen you naked before, why was he so nervous? This time, he understood what it meant for you to let him see you like that. Beyond love, it was trust.

His hands slowly traveled down your hips until they reached the bow of the corset on your lower back. Goosebumps rose on your skin as he felt his fingers brush the bare skin that peeked out over the petticoat. His hands trembled at the light contact. Now he understood that every touch, caress and feel counted to make you feel. He pulled one of the ribbons to undo the bow with agonizing slowness. He opened the corset little by little while his empty hands ran over your waist that he managed to expose. There was no turning back now.

The corset fell to the floor. Sukuna kissed your neck while his hands molded to your waist and breasts. You gasped as he pulled you towards his burly torso. His giant hands covered your breasts completely, kneading them like a baker in the morning. Your body involuntarily moved towards him. You stroked his pink hair as you opened the opening for him to fully explore your neck.

His thumbs hooked into your tongue to pull it down along with your underwear. He caressed your legs on the way down. He cupped your ass and gave it a couple of slaps to watch it bounce. You smiled at the tickling. You kicked the tongue away from you before clinging closer to the king with a mischievous smile. Your eyes widened as you felt the large bulge against your ass. You had imagined that since he was big, his member was too. But it was the erection that rubbed against you that was terribly large.

“You know I'm impatient,” Sukuna purred in your ear. “I can't wait until the wedding, tonight I'm going to make you the mother of my children.”

Sukuna carried you over his shoulder. He removed the bouquet of roses from the bed to lay you down on the bed, leaving you at the edge of the bed. The leftover rose petals tickled your skin. Sukuna knelt in front of you and spread your legs.

“What are you doing?” You moaned as soon as his thumb passed through the wet folds of your vagina.

“Preparing my dinner,” he answered before inserting his index finger.

A moan escaped your lips as soon as he invaded your body. It was intrusive, thick, tight. He slid his finger slowly, going deeper each time. Your flushed face was a work of art, and your moans were the best symphony he had ever heard. His cocks already wanted to escape from his pants, they will have their turn. First he had to make sure you were wet, as the erotic books dictated. Sukuna reached your breasts to caress your nipples, erect from the cold. He pinched them gently, eliciting a moan from you. You covered your face in embarrassment of him seeing you like this. He moved up to your body and removed his hands that were blocking his sight.

“Let me see you, I want to make sure you like it,” he whispered before kissing your forehead.

He intertwined your fingers with his to keep your hands on the sides of your head. With his bottom hand he played with your nipples and the other one continued to fuck your vagina with two of his fingers. The tongue on his stomach licked your entire vagina, the tip passing directly over your clit. You arched your back as you felt him play with your button. Sukuna noticed and focused on having his tongue focus on licking your clit. The tsunami of sensations was too much, almost unbearable. Sukuna attacked you from all possible sides, without leaving any place untouched. You squeezed your legs against his sides in an attempt to contain your body.

His lips traveled down your neck and down your shoulder. He took one of your breasts in his mouth and licked your nipple in circles. His predatory eyes on you made you feel small and harmless like a hare in the jaws of a tiger. He continued his journey kissing your abdomen and focusing on your stomach. He held your hips under your legs as he heard your insides moving inside you.

“What do you want to have first? Girl or boy?” Sukuna asked you.

“As long as they’re healthy, I'll be happy.” You pull his hair tenderly.

“But if you could choose.” Sukuna insisted.

“A boy to give you the heir you want so much.” 

“A girl could also be my heir. If she's as strong as her mother, I'll be more than happy.” He said before continuing to kiss your thighs.

Even though you were in a situation where you couldn't think of anything else but your carnal needs, you couldn't help but evoke a smile thinking of Sukuna with his baby in his arms. You had no idea what kind of father your future husband would be, but you were sure he would be a good one, or at least a decent one.

Sukuna snatched you from your domestic thoughts as soon as his mouth infiltrated your vagina. You arched your back as you felt him eat your core like he hadn't had a bite in years. He held your thighs tightly so you wouldn't close up to him. His tongue focused on pressing that button that made you moan louder. Your pussy tasted so good that he didn't want to stop anytime soon.

“'Kuna…” You gasped, holding onto the sheets.

Sukuna smiled against your pussy. It was the first time someone had called him an abbreviation like that. He bit one of your lips carefully to suck it slowly, causing an injection of adrenaline to run through your body.

“I won't last long if you keep going like this…” You admitted.

“You're going to last until I tell you to.” “That’s the king I know” you thought.

Sukuna pulled down his pants, letting out his monstrosity. Or rather, both of his monstrosities. Your mouth dropped in shock. There was no way those things would get inside you. The king approached your body, but you backed away in fear.

“What's wrong?” He asked, confused.

“You're crazy if you think that's going to fit in,” you stammered.

“A baby is going to come out of there, I think it can,” he told you before taking possession of your body.

You swallowed dryly when you saw him on top of you. You were about to defend yourself, but Sukuna fell on you by you, sliding one of his cocks through the wet folds. You took his arms when you felt how well he molded on you. Sukuna let out a curse from his lips, it felt much better than his hand.

“Be careful. I've been told that the first time hurts,” you whispered, embarrassed.

“Whatever my queen asks for,” he placed a kiss on your forehead to take away your worries.

He took his lower member and slowly introduced it into your intimacy, while the other rested between your lips. It was big, thick, tight. It was abysmal, but it felt so good against your walls. He went all the way in, breaking your hymen. A pang made you let out a small tear of pain. Sukuna quickly kissed your tear away.

He slowly moved his hips against you. He growled against your ear at how tight you were. You wrapped around his cock so tightly that he thought he was in heaven even though he deserved hell. He fought with every fiber of his body against his instinct not to move like an animal in heat, he had to make sure you felt good.

The pang of pain was exchanged for a feeling of pleasure and fullness that you had never experienced before. Your fingers ran down his back as you felt every inch and vein against you. Your nipples brushed against his soft pecs, while the tongue on his stomach played with your clit.

Hearing you moan again, Sukuna immediately knew he could keep going. He moved his hips harder to hit your core. You grabbed his hair to pull him against you. A moan escaped his lips at that minimal display of control. Even though he liked to say that you were all his, the truth was that he was all yours without any kind of restriction.

“You’re taking it very well,” Sukuna congratulated you before biting your neck.

“It feels good,” you moaned against his ear.

Sukuna picked up the speed with each fuck. He was getting faster and harder that at some point you thought you were going to break. He took possession of your hips and raised his back to see you from above, an image that used to terrify you, but now excited you.

“God…” You gasped.

“Don't you dare bring another man into this,” he scolded you before giving you a spank that echoed through the room.

You howled in pain, but Sukuna didn't stop. He continued to fuck you with what little he had left. The climax wasn't about to take long. It was hard to hold back with the beautiful sight before him. Your legs spread before him still wearing the heels with small flowers on the ribbons, your breasts bouncing with each rough movement and your face flushed. He bit his lower lip before continuing to fuck you as only he could. The combination of their two wet cocks was too powerful to bear. You clawed at his thighs in an attempt to calm your cravings, but it was no use as you heard your fiancé moan.

“I need to cum,” you whispered.

“Almost there, a few more minutes, my love,” he babbled in ecstasy.

This was definitely not the curse, I mean, the man you were used to. Despite his great muscles, he had a harmless look full of pleasure. He continued to pump your center with firm and fast thrusts until his cock twitched.

“Only you can do this to me, my daisy,” he growled before continuing to fuck you hard.

You arched your back as you felt he had no mercy on your small body. His tip rubbed perfectly against your G-spot making it harder not to cum. You moaned his name over and over again until the expected climax hit your intimacy. Sukuna didn't let you rest until he came in and out of you, leaving your body full of his semen.

You both sighed heavily as if he had finished training. His arms were resting on the sides of your head so as not to crush you. Sukuna kissed your forehead before pulling out of you, leaving a trail of milk at your entrance. He laid down next to you to let you breathe a little, but to his surprise, you hugged his chest tightly.

“That felt really good,” you whispered to him shyly.

“It's something I've wanted to do for a long time,” he confessed with an embarrassed smile.

“Sukuna, what a perverted man you are,” you scolded him with a playful smile.

“Blame your teacher for that. Every time I read his books, I can't help but think of you,” he told you before placing a kiss on your forehead.

Sukuna got out of bed to look for a rag to clean you with. You laid down on the bed with a smile plastered on your face as the king cleaned up his remains from you. Now he was the one cleaning you up. “Oh, the twists and turns of life” you thought amused.

“What are you thinking about?” Sukuna asked you as he saw your face.

“What names can we give our children.” You lied so he wouldn’t feel embarrassed.

“Good, which one you’ll choose?” Sukuna said before throwing the cloth aside.

“Why not choose him together?” You pouted before he tucked you in.

“Because you’ll be carrying him for nine months. I’ll agree to whatever name you choose.” Sukuna kissed your lips before laying down next to you.

He snuggled into your body. You smiled as you remembered the first time you slept together in his big bed. You were terrified that you would do something wrong while he was sleeping like a cute little kitten. You were going to remind him of that day until you noticed that he had already fallen completely asleep. You kissed his arm before walking with him, as you would do for the rest of your life.

Masterlist.

A/N: So after some consideration, I need a break from this fic because I wanna work on other fics I have kinda abandoned because of this one. Plus, I want to write an original novel! I'll be updating about it here, thanks for your support and understanding, happy holidays! :3

taglist:

Tag list: @bbnbhm @pxnellian @kbirdieee2540 @konigswifeyforlifey @kyo-kyo1 @calico-cheriies @imas1mpp @alone-the-honored-one @vlads-dracula3 @bigraga-sk @neeke-lilac02 @shaazd @airandyeah @energiepie @awkward-walking-potato @delightfully-studying @danniwerner @paradisestarfishh @missroro

(let me know if you want to be tagged in next chapters!)

[hunters-vigil]

The Archon's Baby - Chapter 13 - Parents

First Chapter Previous Chapter

Warnings: swearing, a nsfw joke, arguing, mentioned death, everyone's getting stressed at the impending abyssal attacks.

Fic under the cut, don't repost my stuff on other platforms, i have ao3. Reader is not the traveller. Reader's adoptive sisters are Chasca and Chuychu.

"There you are, young lady!"

"Fuck me…" you immediately froze, looking at Mavuika with wide eyes.

"That is how we got into this situation." She remarked quietly, turning her head to acknowledge your parents, who had Chuychu and Chasca trailing behind them. Chuychu gave you a wide-eyed look, while Chasca avoided looking at you entirely, instead looking for a way she could fly away from this family reunion. If only she had seen your begging look, wishing she could take you away with her… but Chasca's soulsniper whatever it was called only had room for her.

"What exactly did you think you were doing avoiding the tribe, your family for so long? Come over here so we can ground you without shouting across the stadium!"

"Ground me? I don't even live with you anymore!" you retorted, raising your voice much to Chuychu's horror, as she mouthed 'calm down' at you.

"Yet we agreed when you asked to move out, that you would visit. You three have been acting strange since the family dinner over a month ago." Your father reminded you, watching as you winced.

That last family dinner was the day you found out you were pregnant.

"It's a long story. I can't come back to the tribe, it's just safer if I stay at the stadium, stay near the Sacred Flame." Your eyes remained on the floor, your hands shaking until Mavuika's hand brushed yours, your fingers tangling with hers.

"Archon? I apologise but this is family business-" Your father was cut off by your mother, much to the lack of shock of their three daughters, "why do you need to be near the Flame? You weren't contaminated by the abyss, were you? Chuychu specialises in the abyss, she could have helped you in seconds-"

"I'm not sick, I'm just…" you let out a sigh, cutting off your parents before they assumed the complete wrong thing.

"Just what? What's wrong, little one?" you could feel their concern as your father began to fawn over you, your stomach twisting as your heartbeat beginning to thud loudly in your ears.

"I'm pregnant."

The silence was loud, even your sisters didn't dare speak. At least nobody had asked you to repeat what you said. Instead you waited, Mavuika feeling more and more awkward by the second as she felt your hand trembling in hers.

"Can someone please say something?" you hissed through gritted teeth, fighting back tears as you heard footsteps.

"Go lay down. Doctor's orders, this stress isn't good for you. Chasca and I will handle mama and papa." Chuychu gently rubbed your back, coaxing you away.

"Chuychu-" your father began, but he fell silent at the look on your face. The same vulnerable look he saw when the patrol found you all those years ago…

"She's not a kid anymore, papa. None of us are." Chasca cut in, trying to keep the peace as Mavuika went to follow you.

"Archon? You never answered my question." Your father spotted her about to leave, while your mother continued to observe you, spotting the signs immediately as she just muttered to herself. How did she miss the signs?

"The baby is mine, Cusco. I'm dating your daughter." Mavuika would have stayed longer, but you hurried back over, taking her hand and all but dragging her away, in turn saving her from the aftermath of that reveal.

"And now we're both screwed…" you led Mavuika back to the Speaker's Chamber, heading through to the personal chambers.

"That could have gone better…" Mavuika confessed, bringing you into her arms as you hands ran over the top of your shirt, lingering over your belly.

"I'm eleven weeks. They'll either be mad I didn't tell them earlier, or mad in general- I can't even finish my spiralling because I have to pee! And you need to organise the defences of the nation for fighting against the abyss-" you rambled as you headed to the toilet.

"It is in progress, my love." Mavuika explained through the bathroom door.

"What about-"

"The Traveller is currently helping out the Children of the Echoes, but I've heard from Amina and Wayna that those two have been all over Natlan, to the People of the Springs and the Scions of the Canopy too." Mavuika already knew what you wanted to ask, observing you as you returned, covering your face with your hand to hide a yawn.

"Good, that's good… Mualani said something about exploring with them."

"You should rest, we can deal with everyone when they've calmed down…" Mavuika cooed, coaxing you into bed, where you snuggled your face into her shoulder.

"A nap sounds nice…" you whispered as your eyes began to flutter, and sleep took its hold on you. Mavuika rested her face onto the crown of your head, listening to your breaths as she held you close. If she could stay in a moment like this forever, she would…

///

Atea passed away not a few days later, may the Wayob grant her peace, for her story will be remembered.

You watched her vision extinguish from the glowing red of pyro, to a cold grey-ish silver. A masterless vision, now in your hands, at her request.

Mavuika had become ensnared in preparations for abyss attacks, especially with Mualani's awakening as the next Ancient Name bearer. Only two were yet to awaken, and the abyss would do anything to stop the plan coming to fruition.

Xilonen had greeted you after her meeting with your lover, looking over you tenderly as you two pretended like the geo vision bearer didn't know you were pregnant. Or that you knew that she had just chewed your lover out for breaking Kinich's claymore and her sunglasses, oh and the entire debacle of the Traveller's ancient name. Instead, she petted your head, informing you that if you needed anything, you just had to ask her.

Meanwhile, with your sisters… Chasca was patrolling more and avoiding going home, while Chuychu was all over the place helping with anyone who had been injured. An agreement had been made however, the three of you would return to the tribe soon. Even your mother was reducing her workload to keep an eye on you and your sisters. Despite your anxieties, Mavuika was attempting to hide her fears too.

You were fast asleep, laying on your side with pillows to support you, while Mavuika was behind you, holding you as you slept. Her fingers gently ran over your growing belly, yet to be showing but you were entering the second trimester, so at least she hoped she'd get to see it. The news that you and your sisters would be returning home to your parents made her heart skip a beat. The abyss would have sensed your pregnancy early on, but being away from Mavuika gave it the perfect attempt to strike.

Isolating you from your family, no matter how many secrets your parents kept from you, was not an option. Maybe if Xilonen had her motorbike, Flamestrider, fixed up in time, she could get to you quickly? Although Chuychu may decide to join Chasca in the previous plans of killing their Archon if they saw their baby sister on the back of Mavuika's motorcycle. She had a helmet made for you ages ago, but it probably wasn't a good idea. Pregnant or not.

It didn't help that Mavuika now knew the fate of your birth parents, but was it her place to tell you? Would you want to know that your birth parents were killed by the Fatui on Natlan soil?

The theory was that your parents had been fleeing the organisation, but your birth may have taken them by surprise, leaving them to try settle in the outskirts. The Fatui hunted your parents down and killed them, getting interrupted by the incoming patrol of the Flower-Feather Clan's flying squad before they could kill you.

Cusco and his wife took you in, they already had Chuychu, but you'd never talked about when they took in Chasca, or how old you had all been when all of that happened. If Mavuika wanted to learn more about your childhood, she'd have to talk to you or Cusco, although that may be off the table after what she told him.

Atea and Mualani had mentioned how as children, Chasca would get into fights and Chuychu would drag her around after to apologise. She wasn't sure how you fitted into all of it.

"What's got you thinking so hard?" you croaked, keeping your eyes closed as your hands rested over Mavuika's, on your belly.

Mavuika only hummed, pressing a kiss to your cheek as you let out what could be described as a purr, before you began to shuffle around, but she resisted it.

"Nothing that should disturb your sleep, my love. Just some things Atea said to me."

"I miss her." she barely heard you speak, but she couldn't help but agree, closing her eyes and burying her face in your back.

"I miss her too."

///

From your knowledge and presence in the Speaker's Chamber over the last few days, you knew that the Scions of the Canopy and the Adventurer's Guild in Natlan were working together to spread communications while Mavuika assembled and stationed her forces to defend against the Abyss.

Mavuika had mentioned giving Xilonen the task of making an Ancient Name for the Traveller, with a smirk on her face that soon shrank when you gave her a stern look.

"Making an Ancient Name for an outlander… I swear if that ends up killing her, I'll ressurect you both, and make you change all the nappies." Mavuika held back from flinching, fully aware that she would most likely not live to see your baby be born, let alone be around to help you post-partum.

"I don't think Xilonen's nose could handle that. Even if she did know-"

" She knows… we're both pretending she doesn't. You get the nappies. Xilonen… I wanted to ask her to help with a nursery, or just a crib? I don't think I'll be able to stay here after… you know." You stared at the map of Natlan, your eyes lingering on the Flower-Feather Clan. Archons, you missed the taste of volcano cake.

"Are you sure you want to go back? If there is an invasion, I will be unable to drop everything to save you and our baby. I know Chasca is strong, and Chuychu is smart, and you…" Mavuika let out a sigh, "are stubborn and passionate beyond belief. You will do anything you can to preserve the legacy of your people."

"No." You frowned, blinking back tears of frustration as you heard Mavuika's breath hitch.

"No?"

"I am preserving your legacy, our baby is part of your legacy. I may not be able to save you, but this baby is what matters to me too. I need my sisters alive, I need my parents alive, so this baby has more than just stories as they grow up…" you hands played with the hem of your shirt, looking Mavuika in the eyes as her sternness melted like ice cream in the sun.

"Besides, we're not going yet. Chasca and Chuychu can't decide when to go back, they both have so much work going on," you paused for a moment, "plus, they agreed that it would only happen after my next appointment with Mayahuel."

"Chuychu was not available?" Mavuika straightened her posture as you avoided looking at her.

"Conflict of interest. It's the twelve week scan, to check if everything is progressing, my health, the baby's health… We went over a lot of the details last time I had an appointment with her. Medical history was a little tricky but I just said everything I knew from when they found me. up until now." You explained, fiddling with the hem of your shirt again until Mavuika's hands rested on your hips. Warm…

"Tell me when, and I will be there. I refuse to miss out on more than I already will." Mavuika leaned forwards, nuzzling her nose against yours as you both closed your eyes, enjoying the close proximity.

"Of course… Just focus on locating Ororon and The Captain, and your usual of saving the nation in the meantime."

"You focus on yourself and the life growing inside of you." Your archon whispered, pressing her lips to your forehead before embracing you warmly.

[fallenfawnn]

i have lost count of how many times i have cried today, i have yelled and screamed more than 10 times, collapsed to the floor more than 5 … im so exhausted now .. and slightly more stable.. but still the tears won’t stop. im a little glad they won’t.. i haven’t *felt* so much in a while. and maybe it is a little bit nice after months of dissociated autopilot.

[krispiblueberry]

SHADOW ! REMEMBER

Maria design for reference under cut :]

Just a quick sketch for ref ^_^

☆

[vee-lociraptor]

bad and useless forever. incurable