#like the way the world (or the only one she knows) works around her. but she also knows there isnt much they can do yk.

[goldfades]

sweet on you Joe thanking his wife during his MVP speech when he wins pretty pretty pleaseeeee

omg yes! this idea has been floating around as soon as you sent this ask. hope you enjoy!!! sweet on you will be back i promise, just need the motivation to finish :) and yes in this universe he DID win mvp

MVP SPEECH FT. SWEET ON YOU

The stadium was deafening. Fans roared, confetti rained down in gold and white, and the cameras were all on him—Joe Burrow, the newly crowned MVP, standing under the bright lights, trying to keep himself together.

He ran a hand through his slightly damp hair, exhaling a slow breath as he adjusted the microphone in front of him. The trophy was heavy in his other hand, but it wasn’t the weight of the metal that had his chest tight—it was everything leading up to this moment. The years of hard work, the sacrifices, the unwavering support from those who had been there since the beginning. And more than anyone else, it was her.

Joe cleared his throat, the noise dying down just a fraction as he leaned in. “Man,” he started, shaking his head with a small, breathless laugh. “This is—this is crazy. I don’t even know where to start.”

The crowd cheered again, cameras flashing, but his eyes weren’t searching for them. They were searching for her.

And then he found her.

Sitting in the front row, hands clasped over her mouth, eyes glassy and bright, looking at him like he had just hung the damn moon.

His wife.

His whole world.

Joe swallowed hard, gripping the mic a little tighter. “Obviously, there’s a long list of people I need to thank—my teammates, my coaches, my family. None of this happens without you guys. But, uh—” he huffed out a soft, nervous laugh, shaking his head before glancing at her again. “There’s one person in particular who—God, I don’t even know if I have the words.”

The crowd fell a little quieter, as if they could sense this was something important.

Joe smiled, softer now, and only for her.

“My wife,” he said, voice thick with emotion. “You’ve been with me through everything. Before all of this—before the trophies, before the headlines, before anyone knew my name. You believed in me when I was just some kid with a dream. You stood by me through every high, every low, every doubt I ever had about myself. And somehow, through it all, you loved me.”

She was already crying, shaking her head like she couldn’t believe him, even though she should have known by now just how much he meant every word.

Joe chuckled, rubbing a hand over his jaw as he glanced down at the trophy for a second, then back up at her. “I know I work a lot, and I know there have been nights where football took me away more than it should have. But not once—not once—have you ever made me feel like I was in this alone. And I need you to know—I need everyone to know—that I wouldn’t be standing up here if it weren’t for you.”

A collective aww rippled through the audience, but Joe didn’t even hear it. He was locked in, focused only on her, watching as she wiped at her cheeks, smiling like she wanted to scold him for making her cry in public.

“And Hayes,” he added, his voice hitching just slightly at the mention of their son. “Our boy. I hope one day, when he’s old enough to understand all of this, he knows just how lucky he is to have a mom like you.”

She let out a teary laugh, covering her mouth again, and Joe grinned.

“I love you,” he said simply, his heart in his throat. “More than football. More than anything.”

The crowd erupted in cheers again, but none of it mattered. The only thing that mattered was the way she looked at him in that moment, like he was the greatest thing she had ever seen. Like she had always known he was capable of this, long before he ever did.

And when he stepped down from the stage a few moments later, trophy in one hand, the other reaching for her, she was already there—waiting, arms open, eyes shining, love pouring out of her like a flood.

She kissed him, right there in front of everyone, not caring about the cameras or the eyes on them.

“You’re ridiculous,” she murmured against his lips, laughing softly as she pulled back just enough to look at him.

Joe grinned, pressing his forehead against hers. “Maybe,” he admitted. “But I meant every word.”

And when he kissed her again, the whole world could have disappeared, and he wouldn’t have cared. Because this—she—was his greatest victory of all.

[ghost-proofbaby]

thinking about Eddie being so eager to kiss you all the time and he just gets a little too excited sometimes a little too rough and you bump into something and he cradles you while you giggle cause he can't stop smiling into his kisses

And sure maybe it's a little awkward and teeth knock against each other and he catches your lip in his teeth a little too hard but it's okay cause you're deliriously happy

And it's not about getting to the sex (not all the time anyways) but he's just so happy to have found a safe place to land and he's enthusiastic that he found someone who wants to kiss him just as much as he wants to kiss you

And this time he's not too much and his feelings aren't too big and he doesn't need to tone it down cause you're his person and he's yours

Okay bye ily

mouse. mouse get the fuck back here. MOUSE DONT LEAVE ME LIKE THIS

he's just so happy to have a safe place to land and this time he's not too much and his feelings aren't too big were daggers straight to my heart you come back here right now before i actually bleed out from needing this man so badly.

no but thats exactly it. eddie has spent so long jumping and toeing that line of either trying to cram himself into this bite-sized shape for the ones around him, and just exploding and pretending he doesn't give a fuck that he will never fit into anyone's cup of tea so he'll just make himself even larger, that when you enter his life he just doesnt know what to do about it.

because he starts with his regular tricks of being so over the top, so unbearable, and all you're doing is laughing and entertaining his antics. even playing along at times. and so he retracts a little, turning back into a quiet boy who will shrivel up until he's invisible or easy to love (whichever comes first). but then that doesn't work - and to be truthful, he doesn't even know what his mind's end goal is here because why is he trying to push you away so desperately? - and he's just at a loss. you want him on the thundering days, where he makes his grey clouds everyone's problem and all his lightning is blinding and sporadic. you want him on the quiet days, where the downpour is no longer a roar but a soft drizzle, a bit more silent and a bit more bearable but still there. and he can't tell if it's a joke - he can't decipher if your kisses amidst his rambles are sincere, if you're actually smiling at his jokes because you like him or you're too polite to break his heart. he can't see through those gentle hands you use to caress back his wild hair to be sure that the softest of touches are really just you, or some strange gloves of care that you're only simply wearing for now.

and then one morning, he wakes up, and you're still there, awake before he is and just watching him with so much love. feather-light fingers taking their time tracing over his tattoo on his chest and arms, not noticing he's awake yet as you smile so serenely at him. you're looking at him in a way that he's never really gotten to experience so vulnerably before - like he isn't a nuisance, isn't a mistake. like the universe has so intentionally dropped him into your palms, and you're so aware of how delicate he can be below the surface. and he just breaks.

"i love you"

he'd blurt it out, the first time he's ever said those words to you. it almost feels like the first time he's said those words, period.

he's said them to wayne, in their own way, both a bit stiff in expressing affection and skirting around those words whenever they can for a simply ruffle of hair or unexpected side hugs. he'd said them to his mom, a young boy with shining eyes despite it all, looking at her like she was the world because she was his world.

and... well. that's it. he can count the number of times he's said those words on one hand, and now he's said them to you, and all he can hope is you handle them with as much care as you've handled him.

he hopes you can feel the weight of his heart pressing down on them.

and he thinks you do, when you startle a little, looking up to his lips where those rough words had just fallen from in a cracking tone, and you take your time in awarding him with a smile that could save lives. cure cancer, cure sadness, cure the end of the world even. every cliche possible.

"yeah?" you'd whisper back, and his heart skips a beat, terrified that the next words you say won't be what he needs to hear so desperately. but they are. because of course they are. you wouldn't have been watching him sleep in that way if they hadn't been on the tip of your tongue, "i love you."

not a crash landing, but a soft-padded decent. a slow fall with a cushion to prevent broken bones and more invisible scars.

he kisses you then the way he was going to kiss you every day going forward: pushing forward recklessly, teeth and noses bumping a little, smiles making it nearly impossible. he kisses you like he's coming home after a long day, because he is.

he's home. no boxes in sight to fit into, no cups that'll overflow from all the fizzling feelings pouring out of his chest. you've got him, and he's got you.

[moonlitstoriess]

I have a request if it's possible. Could you write a fanfic or a oneshot about Azriel and the reader being a ballerina and also a shadow singer

When Shadows Waltz- Azriel x fem!reader (oneshot)

Summary: Y/N, a ballerina and Shadowsinger, has spent her life balancing grace and darkness. But when whispers of doubt and cruel words make her question her place, she hides her insecurities from Azriel, not wanting to burden him. Yet, he sees everything—and he won’t let her fall. With patience, love, and a bit of humor, he helps her realize that her shadows don’t ruin her dance—they make it unforgettable.

See masterlist

Warnings: angst, fluff in the end, protective az🤭, mentions of insecurities, some bullying

A/N: Thank you for the request! I didn’t know if you wanted angst or fluff so I incorporated both, hope you enjoy it🥰

The mirrors in the studio reflected everything. Every movement, every misstep. Every flaw.

Y/N stood at the center of the room, her pointe shoes silent against the polished floor. The dim glow of the chandeliers cast long shadows, and hers twisted unnaturally, curling and flickering like smoke. No matter how hard she tried to suppress them, they never truly left her alone.

She exhaled slowly, rolling her shoulders back. Focus.

With practiced precision, she lifted onto pointe, extending her arms in a graceful arc. The motion should have felt effortless, but something was off. Her balance wavered, the weight of unseen eyes pressing against her skin. Not good enough. Not perfect.

Her foot barely faltered, but the mistake rang loud in her mind.

She could still hear the whispers from earlier that day.

“A Shadowsinger dancing ballet? It looks unnatural.”

“She doesn’t belong in a world of elegance.”

“No wonder they only talk about her being Azriel’s mate—what else is she known for?”

Her fingers curled into the fabric of her practice dress. She hated how easily those words found cracks in her armor, how they settled like poison in the back of her mind.

They didn’t matter. They shouldn’t matter.

But they did.

A quiet knock at the door startled her, and before she could gather herself, the very person she didn’t want to see her like this stepped inside.

Azriel.

His shadows slithered in behind him, merging with hers so seamlessly it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began. His piercing hazel eyes took her in—her stiff posture, the tension in her hands, the exhaustion she hadn’t even realized was etched into her face.

She tried to smile. “Hey.”

Azriel didn’t return it. He simply tilted his head, studying her with that sharp, all-seeing gaze. Then, softly—so softly it made her chest ache—he asked,

“What’s wrong?”

Y/N forced a small smile, hoping it would be enough to make him drop the subject. “Nothing’s wrong.”

Azriel didn’t move. Didn’t blink. His stare remained steady, unreadable—but she knew better.

He always saw through her.

A slow tilt of his head. “Try again.”

She sighed, crossing her arms. “How can you even tell something’s wrong? You just got here.”

His lips quirked slightly, but the look he gave her was pure come on now. “You’ve been my mate for nearly a year, love. You really think I don’t notice?”

The warmth in his voice curled around her like a soft ribbon, and despite herself, her heart gave a little flutter. Cauldron save me.

It was so stupid—the way he could unravel her with just a few words, how easily his presence melted through her walls. Even now, with his scarred hands tucked into his pockets and his wings resting at his back, he radiated quiet strength. Calm. Steady. Hers.

And yet—

She still couldn’t bring herself to tell him.

So she smiled a little wider, making sure it reached her eyes this time. “I’m fine, really.”

Azriel didn’t believe her. She could tell by the way his shadows curled around his boots, restless. But she wasn’t giving him the chance to push further.

Before he could open his mouth again, she smoothly changed the subject. “I have my audition tomorrow.”

That worked. His head straightened slightly, some of the tension in his shoulders easing. “For the seasonal performance?”

She nodded, feeling something close to excitement creep past her unease. “It’s a huge opportunity, Az. If I get the role, I’ll be one of the principal dancers for the entire winter season. The main performance is the biggest of the year—leaders from all over the place will come to watch. I need to represent our court in the best way possible.” She hesitated, then admitted, “Your family will be there.”

Azriel’s expression softened. “And you want to impress them.”

“I need to impress them.”

His brows pulled together slightly, but before he could argue, she rushed on. “Feyre is an artist, Nesta trained with Cassian and is basically a Valkyrie now—everyone in your family has accomplished something incredible. I want to prove I belong.”

Azriel stepped closer, lifting a hand to cup her jaw. His touch was featherlight, reverent. “You already impress them, Y/N.”

Her breath caught as he leaned in, brushing the softest kiss against her lips. “You’re more than enough.”

The words should have settled in her chest like a soothing balm. But instead, the weight of her insecurities pressed heavier.

She managed a small smile, even as she whispered, “I still want to get the role.”

Azriel exhaled, his thumb brushing over her cheek. “You will.” His voice was quiet, certain. “Trust me, you will.”

And for a fleeting moment, she let herself believe him.

Y/N let herself sink into the warmth of Azriel’s touch for just a moment before pulling away, forcing herself to focus. “I just need everything to go right,” she murmured, mostly to herself.

Azriel tilted his head slightly. “It will.”

She huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “You sound so sure.”

His lips curved, but his eyes held nothing but certainty. “Because I am.”

Cauldron, how was it so easy for him? To have that unwavering belief in her, even when she wasn’t sure she believed in herself?

Azriel reached for her hand, intertwining their fingers, his grip firm yet gentle. “Come,” he said, leading her toward the small bench by the wall. “Sit with me for a bit.”

She sighed but followed, letting him tug her down beside him. He didn’t say anything at first, just ran his thumb in slow circles over her knuckles. The silence was comfortable, but she knew he was waiting—for her to speak, to confess what was really on her mind.

And she wanted to. She really did.

But the words refused to form, stuck somewhere between pride and fear. If she said them out loud, if she told him about the whispers, the doubt clawing at her chest, then it would make it real.

So instead, she leaned her head against his shoulder and whispered, “I just hope I don’t mess it up.”

Azriel’s wings shifted slightly, his shadows curling around them both like a protective cocoon. “You won’t.”

She sighed, not bothering to argue. He’d just contradict her again with that quiet, unshakable confidence.

After a moment, he spoke again, his voice softer this time. “Do you want me to come watch?”

The question made her heart lurch. “You—you’d come to the audition?”

He turned his head, pressing a kiss to the top of her hair. “Of course.”

Something in her chest squeezed painfully, caught between joy and hesitation. “You don’t have to.”

Azriel huffed a quiet laugh. “I want to.” Then, as if sensing her uncertainty, he added, “But only if you want me there.”

She did. She really did. But—

Y/N swallowed. “I think I’ll be too nervous if you watch.”

Azriel didn’t seem offended. If anything, amusement flickered across his face. “You dance in front of hundreds of fae, but I make you nervous?”

She groaned, shoving his arm. “Don’t say it like that.”

He chuckled, pulling her closer. “Fine. I won’t watch. But I’ll be waiting outside.”

Y/N lifted her head, meeting his gaze. “Really?”

Azriel nodded. “Really.” Then, smirking, he added, “Unless you change your mind and want me front and center.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at her lips. “I think I’ll survive without that pressure, thanks.”

Azriel just hummed, clearly unconvinced. But he didn’t push. Instead, he leaned in, brushing his lips over her cheek, his voice a murmur against her skin. “You’re going to be incredible.”

Y/N closed her eyes, soaking in the warmth of him, the quiet reassurance in his touch.

She wanted to believe him.

But deep down, that familiar doubt still lingered, whispering that maybe, just maybe—

She wasn’t enough.

The sun had barely risen, but Y/N had been awake for hours.

The studio floor had long since warmed beneath her relentless movements. Every turn, every extension, every landing had been drilled into perfection—had to be perfect. She refused to stop.

Azriel had been the one to come and go, appearing like clockwork with food in hand, a quiet reminder in his eyes. “Eat,” he’d say. “Sit for a moment.”

She’d obey, just for a second. Just long enough to take a sip of water, a bite of fruit. But her feet would pull her back onto the floor before she even realized it. Again and again.

At first, Azriel had tried. Tried to coax her into resting, tried to make her breathe. He’d leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching as she pushed herself past exhaustion. A few times, he’d even taken her hand, pulled her to him, murmured against her ear, “Enough for now.”

She never listened.

Eventually, he had sighed, shaking his head as he stepped in front of her. She barely had a moment to react before his lips found hers—a slow, lingering kiss, warm and full of something dangerous. Something that made her knees weaken more than all the training ever could.

When he pulled back, his eyes were softer, but his voice was firm. “Food is packed for you to take in.” He brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I have some things to take care of, but I’ll be there when you come out of the audition.”

Y/N blinked up at him, caught between nerves and something unbearably sweet. “Promise?”

Azriel exhaled, pressing another kiss to her forehead. “You think anything could keep me away?”

Her heart stuttered, warmth spreading in her chest.

Then, with one last glance—one that said please, don’t run yourself into the ground—he left.

Silence settled over the room, broken only by her own breath.

Two hours later, she was sitting on the floor, hair damp and body strained as she stared into her reflection.

An hour later, the auditions would begin.

That realization sent a fresh wave of nerves crashing over her. With a deep inhale, she shook it off, forcing herself to move.

She needed to clean up, get dressed. She needed to leave.

She grabbed the food Azriel had packed, tucked it under her arm, and stepped out the door.

It was time.

Velaris was bathed in afternoon light, the streets alive with warmth and chatter. But Y/N barely noticed any of it.

Her steps were steady, precise, each movement measured like a dancer counting beats in her head. But inside? Her heart pounded, a nervous rhythm she couldn’t quite shake.

She had walked these streets a thousand times before, had spent her life weaving through Velaris’ twisting paths, but today, everything felt off.

Maybe it was the way her shadows curled around her ankles, clinging like wisps of smoke. Normally, they stayed quiet, hidden. But today? Today, they coiled and flickered in the late afternoon light, shifting uneasily as if they could sense her nerves.

She forced herself to breathe, to smooth her expression into something neutral. Calm. Steady. No one else could hear the thoughts racing through her head.

But they could see her.

She felt the stares before she even registered them. Passing merchants, nobles, fae of all kinds—glancing, double-taking, murmuring behind their hands. Some were subtle about it, a flick of the eyes before looking away. Others… not so much.

She supposed she must’ve made quite the sight.

A ballerina dressed in soft pastels—pink tights, a flowy white wrap skirt, a delicate shrug over her leotard—strolling through the streets, framed by shadows as dark as night.

It was almost comical.

She had heard the whispers before, of course. Had caught snippets of conversation when people thought she wasn’t listening.

A Shadowsinger, really? In ballet?

Shouldn’t she be in Illyrian camps instead?

Those shadows make her look unnatural.

She doesn’t belong on that stage.

She clenched her jaw and kept walking.

Azriel would have torn them apart if he’d been here to hear it. He’d spent months convincing her that none of it mattered, that she belonged just as much as any other dancer.

She wanted to believe him. But with every lingering stare, with every quiet murmur as she passed, doubt curled around her ribs like a vice.

By the time she reached the towering glass doors of the audition hall, her chest was tight, her palms clammy despite the cool breeze.

She exhaled sharply, shook out her hands.

It’s fine. You’re fine.

She pushed open the doors and stepped inside.

The waiting room was already full.

Dancers lined the benches, stretching, warming up, adjusting their satin slippers. The air buzzed with quiet tension—whispers of last-minute corrections, murmured prayers, soft hums of concentration.

The floor-to-ceiling windows bathed everything in golden light, making the polished wooden floors gleam. At the far end of the room, a set of doors led to the main audition space, where the judges were already seated, watching the first few candidates perform.

Y/N barely had time to take it all in before she felt it—the stares.

It was subtle at first, the way conversation dipped when she walked past, the way dancers exchanged looks, eyes flicking from her delicate pastel ensemble to the dark tendrils of shadow trailing at her feet.

She swallowed, lifting her chin.

Just get to the changing rooms.

She weaved through the crowd, passing the line of dancers already dressed in pristine costumes. A few were adjusting their hair into perfect buns, fixing smudged makeup, stretching out their limbs. Others were simply watching her.

She could feel their judgment.

It’s funny, isn’t it? she thought bitterly.

A girl like her—draped in pinks and creams, with ribbons laced up her ankles—moving with the grace of a trained ballerina, while shadows slithered at her feet like something out of a nightmare.

Like she was some contradiction that shouldn’t exist.

She tried to act indifferent. She forced herself to walk like she wasn’t being scrutinized, like the weight of their judgment wasn’t pressing into her spine. But inside, her stomach twisted.

She barely let out a breath when she finally reached the changing rooms, slipping inside.

Alone at last.

She pressed her hands against the counter, staring at her reflection in the large mirror.

Her face was composed, expression calm. But her hands—her fingers trembled against the polished marble.

Her shadows curled tighter around her, as if sensing her unease.

She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply.

Just a few more minutes.

Then it would be time.

Y/N sat with her hands folded neatly in her lap, her posture straight despite the way her stomach twisted in knots.

Dancers came and went, each vanishing through the grand doors at the end of the waiting room before reappearing minutes later—some with relieved smiles, others fighting back tears.

Her turn was coming. Soon.

She tried to focus on steadying her breathing, on keeping her shadows from shifting too visibly around her. They were curling tight at her ankles, slithering up her arms like they, too, could sense her nerves.

And then—

“Are you lost?”

The voice was sweet. Mocking.

Y/N turned, already knowing what she’d find.

A group of three female dancers, all in the same pristine white audition attire, stood together near the mirrored wall. Their leader—a tall, elegant blonde—tilted her head, expression full of exaggerated pity.

Y/N forced a calm smile. “No.”

A few of the other dancers nearby had already started whispering.

The blonde raised a brow, looking her over slowly—lingering on her darkened shadows. “You? Ballet?” She let out a high, amused laugh. “I think you might have the wrong building, sweetheart.”

The other two girls behind her giggled.

Y/N kept her shoulders relaxed, her face carefully neutral. “I’m here for the same reason as you.”

The blonde blinked, as if that was the funniest thing she’d heard all day. Then she let out another sharp laugh. “Oh, darling. No, no—you can’t be.”

Y/N clenched her jaw.

“Oh, don’t look so serious.” The girl smirked. “It’s just… well.” She gestured to Y/N’s shadows, which had curled tight at her feet like wary animals. “You don’t exactly fit, do you?”

A sick feeling churned in Y/N’s gut.

The girl leaned in slightly, voice a conspiratorial whisper. “Did you hit your head? Or do you just have some kind of delusional sickness?”

More laughter. More murmurs from the surrounding dancers.

Y/N’s throat felt tight. Don’t react. Don’t let them see it.

She tried to respond, tried to form a retort—but her mind was suddenly blank.

Her shadows flickered uneasily. The blonde just smiled wider. “Oh, sweetheart,” she said softly, like she was so concerned. “It’s not your fault, really. You just weren’t made for this world.”

Y/N felt her hands clench in her lap, her thoughts growing darker, heavier.

And then—

“Y/N.”

Her head snapped up.

A staff member stood by the grand doors, scanning the room with a clipboard in hand. “You’re up next.”

Her heart stopped.

For a moment, she was frozen in place.

Then—slowly, unsurely—she stood.

She could feel their eyes on her as she walked toward the doors. Could hear the hushed snickers, the barely concealed whispers.

Just as she passed, another girl murmured under her breath, just loud enough for her to hear—

“Maybe she’ll trip and vanish in those shadows.”

Her stomach clenched.

But she didn’t stop. She couldn’t.

She stepped through the doors.

The audition stage was massive.

Golden chandeliers hung high above, their light casting a soft glow over the polished wooden floors. The room stretched wide, with sweeping archways and tall, pristine windows that overlooked Velaris.

And at the very front—seated behind a long, curved table—sat the panel of judges.

Five in total.

Their expressions were unreadable as they observed her, hands folded, quills poised.

Y/N swallowed hard.

The reality of it all hit her at once.

This was it.

Her entire career—her dream—was hinging on the next few minutes.

She forced herself to stand tall, to ignore the way her nerves coiled deep in her stomach.

“Whenever you’re ready,” one of the judges said, voice clipped and professional.

She nodded.

The music began.

For the first few moments, everything was fine.

Her muscles knew the movements. She had drilled them into her body a thousand times over. Her limbs extended with precision, her turns were smooth, her leaps controlled.

But then—

The whispers came back.

Not real, but in her head—echoing, clawing.

You don’t belong here.

Those ugly shadows—

Maybe she’ll trip and vanish—

You just weren’t made for this world.

Her rhythm faltered.

Her mind spiraled.

No, no—focus, keep going—

But the doubts were crushing her, strangling her.

And then—

Her foot landed wrong.

A sharp twist of her ankle.

A gasp.

And she was falling.

Hard.

The music cut out instantly.

For a moment, there was nothing but silence.

Y/N stayed where she was—knees against the polished floor, hands shaking, breath ragged.

She didn’t dare look up.

Didn’t dare face the judges.

But then—

“That will be all.”

The cold, detached voice sliced through the air like a knife.

Her head snapped up, eyes wide. “No—please—”

One of the judges, an older fae male, raised a hand. “There’s no need,” he said, his voice edged with boredom. “We’ve seen what we need to see.”

Her chest tightened. “I—please, I’ve been training for five years—”

Another judge, a stern-looking female, scoffed. “And?”

Y/N’s throat burned.

The older fae leaned forward slightly. “Just because you are the Spymaster’s mate,” he said coolly, “and the High Lord’s sister-in-law, does not mean you own this place.”

The words hit her like a slap.

“No, I—” She swallowed, scrambling to find the right words, to fix this—“I don’t think that, I just—”

“You are not fit for this stage,” another judge interrupted, eyes cold. “You have neither the discipline nor the grace required to perform at this level.”

Her heart shattered.

“We will not be moving you forward.” The older judge’s voice was final.

She couldn’t breathe.

Couldn’t move.

“Thank you for your time,” the female judge added, already looking away. “You may go.”

She had no choice.

Numbly, she stood.

She turned.

And she walked.

The moment she stepped back into the waiting room, the whispers started again.

A few of the dancers gave her long, smug looks.

She kept her head down.

She ignored the snickers, the cruel, whispered comments.

Her hands trembled as she grabbed her bag.

Then she turned and all but ran to the changing rooms.

The second the door shut behind her, she let out a shaky breath.

Her mind was spinning. Her heart ached.

What have I done?

Her fingers curled into fists.

She had ruined everything.

She had humiliated herself in front of the most prestigious judges in the city. She had proven every cruel whisper, every doubting stare right.

Her own hatred curled deep inside her, sharp and suffocating.

And then, a single thought struck her.

Azriel.

He was waiting outside.

Waiting for her with that quiet, steady patience. Waiting for her to walk out with a hopeful smile. And she—she had nothing to give him but failure.

Y/N took a deep, shuddering breath.

Then another.

She had exactly five seconds to fix her face before she walked out of this building.

One. She straightened her spine.

Two. She swallowed down the lump in her throat.

Three. She pulled her shoulders back, forcing her body to relax despite the tremors running through her veins.

Four. She curled her lips into the most dazzling, effortless smile she could manage.

Five. She stepped outside.

The cool evening air brushed against her skin, a sharp contrast to the suffocating weight pressing down on her chest.

And there he was.

Azriel stood by the entrance, his wings tucked neatly behind him, his scarred hands loose at his sides—but his entire body radiated the quiet, lethal stillness of a male always waiting, always watching.

The moment his eyes landed on her, something in them shifted.

His shadows stirred.

She knew he felt it. Knew he sensed something was wrong.

She forced herself to smile wider. “Hey, you.”

Azriel’s gaze flickered over her, his expression betraying nothing—except his shadows, which curled tight around his shoulders like wary sentries.

Then, his voice, low and steady: “Why did you close your side of the bond?”

Her breath hitched.

Shit.

She hadn’t expected him to catch onto that so fast.

She let out a soft laugh, waving a hand dismissively. “Oh, that? I just didn’t want to worry you with my constant overthinking.”

His eyes narrowed the slightest bit.

She pressed on, slipping seamlessly into her usual teasing tone. “You know how my mind gets—I was obsessing over little things before the audition, and I figured you didn’t need to deal with that.”

Azriel didn’t respond right away.

Instead, he watched her.

Watched her too closely.

For a second, she thought he might call her out on it—might push past the weak excuse and demand to know the truth.

But then, with a quiet exhale, he reached for her bag. “Nonsense,” he murmured, effortlessly taking it from her grasp.

She let him, knowing better than to argue.

Then, before she could react, his arms were around her—one hand pressing against her back, the other coming up to cradle the back of her head as he tucked her into him.

Y/N nearly broke.

The warmth of him, the quiet strength in the way he held her—it nearly shattered her.

But she couldn’t let it.

She wouldn’t let it.

So instead, she melted into him, resting her cheek against his chest and breathing in the familiar scent of night-chilled wind and cedar.

Azriel pressed a kiss to the top of her head, his lips lingering for just a second longer than usual. “Promise me you won’t do that again.”

She blinked. “Do what?”

His grip on her tightened. “Close your side of the bond like that.”

Y/N swallowed hard.

“I was ready to break in just to make sure you were safe,” he murmured, his voice quieter now. “Don’t do that to me again, love.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. He can’t know. He can’t know.

When she finally spoke, her voice was light. Playful. “Az, you’re being dramatic.”

His arms didn’t loosen.

She tipped her head back just enough to meet his gaze, mustering up a soft smile. “I’m fine. See? Perfectly fine.”

Azriel studied her.

For a long moment, he said nothing.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, he exhaled through his nose and finally, finally released her—though his hand lingered on the small of her back as they started walking.

They moved in comfortable silence for a bit, the cool night air wrapping around them.

And then—

“So,” Azriel said, his tone light, casual. “How did it go?”

Y/N froze.

Only for a fraction of a second.

But he noticed.

Of course he noticed.

Her heart hammered against her ribs, but she forced her body to remain loose, her expression to remain bright.

Then she laughed, shaking her head as if amused. “Oh, it went great.”

Azriel glanced at her. “Yeah?”

She nodded eagerly. “Yeah. I can’t wait to see the results. They said the decisions will be out in two weeks, so…” She trailed off, shrugging. “Now it’s just a waiting game.”

Azriel was still watching her.

She felt his eyes on her, felt the way his shadows curled subtly closer.

She knew what he was doing—trying to read her body, her breathing, her heartbeat.

So she made sure they all remained steady.

She had years of training in deception. She could fake confidence, fake nonchalance—hell, she could fake a damn performance if needed.

And right now, she needed Azriel to believe her.

Because if he didn’t—if he so much as suspected—

Az hummed. “So they didn’t give any immediate feedback?”

She shook her head. “Nope. Just the usual ‘thank you for your time, we’ll be in touch.’”

His brows furrowed slightly. “That’s standard?”

“Very,” she assured him.

Another hum. “And you feel good about it?”

She beamed. “I do.”

Azriel didn’t speak for a long moment.

Y/N’s stomach clenched.

Please let this work. Please believe me.

Finally—

“Well,” he said, his voice softer now. “Then I guess we wait.”

She let out a small breath of relief, nodding.

Azriel gave her a sidelong glance. “But just so you know…”

She raised a brow. “Hmm?”

His free hand reached for hers, fingers threading together effortlessly.

“I don’t need to hear the results to already be proud of you.”

Her throat tightened.

Her nails dug into her palm.

She forced herself to smile. “You’re sweet.”

Azriel only squeezed her hand. “You’re mine.”

For a split second, the weight in her chest almost lifted.

But then she remembered—

The failure.

The fall.

The cold, dismissive words of the judges.

You are not fit for this stage.

And just like that, the crushing guilt came surging back.

So Y/N just held onto his hand a little tighter.

And she kept smiling.

Azriel insisted on making dinner, saying she should relax after the audition.

And so here he was, moving around the kitchen like it was his second home, the rhythmic chopping of vegetables mingling with the sizzle of something cooking in the pan. Y/N sat at the table, silently watching him, trying her best to keep her expression neutral. She didn’t want him to see through the mask she was wearing, didn’t want him to know how much she was falling apart on the inside.

“You’re being quiet,” Azriel said, not looking up from his work.

Y/N smiled tightly. “Just tired.”

He paused, his gaze flickering to her from over his shoulder. She caught the way his brow furrowed slightly, but he didn’t say anything—just went back to what he was doing, humming softly as he worked.

Azriel was always calm, always steady, and she found it both soothing and maddening. He could sense things—things she wasn’t always ready to confront—and she hated how well he knew her. But tonight, she wouldn’t let him see. She couldn’t.

She reached for her glass of water, her hand trembling just slightly. She was sure he’d notice. But he didn’t. He was focused on the dinner, and for a moment, she let herself relax into the normalcy of the moment, the small relief of not having to pretend she was somewhere else, someone else.

When he finally brought dinner to the table, Y/N forced herself to smile and thank him. She even complimented him on the food, but she could feel him watching her, his eyes scanning her every move, trying to figure out what was wrong.

Azriel didn’t ask any questions yet, but Y/N could sense the storm brewing behind his calm façade. He always knew when she wasn’t okay.

They ate in silence for a few moments, the clink of silverware the only sound between them. Her mind was elsewhere, far from the meal in front of her, as the words from her audition echoed through her thoughts.

“You’ve been quiet all evening,” Azriel said again, this time his voice much softer.

Y/N blinked and met his gaze. He was studying her, his brow slightly furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line. He was worried—she could feel it, even if he didn’t say the words out loud.

“I’m just thinking,” she replied, trying to keep the tremor out of her voice.

“About the audition?” he asked, his voice casual but with an undercurrent of concern.

Y/N hesitated. Should she lie? Pretend that everything was fine? Or should she admit it—admit how awful it had gone?

But before she could answer, he reached across the table, his hand covering hers. His thumb brushed along her skin, warm and reassuring.

“You don’t have to pretend with me,” he said quietly.

She sucked in a breath, her heart pounding in her chest. The warmth of his hand almost made her break, almost made her say it all, but she couldn’t. She wouldn’t.

“I’m fine, Azriel,” she said, her voice soft but firm. “Really.”

He didn’t believe her, she could see it in his eyes, but he didn’t push. Not yet.

He nodded slowly, his eyes not leaving hers. “If you say so.”

But there was an edge in his tone—one that made her heart sink a little further.

Dinner passed quietly after that. They talked about trivial things, Azriel asking her about her plans for the next few days, but it all felt distant to her. As if the words were just background noise, and her mind was somewhere else, drowning in everything she was trying to bury.

Finally, when the meal was over, Azriel cleared the table, his movements sharp, precise. Y/N stayed seated, her fingers picking at the edge of her napkin, twisting it nervously.

“You know,” he said, his back still to her as he loaded dishes into the sink, “you don’t have to keep things from me.”

Y/N’s chest tightened. She looked down at her hands, trying to keep her face composed.

“I’m not keeping anything from you,” she said, her voice a little too high.

Azriel paused, his back still turned, but his posture was stiff now. “You’re lying.”

Y/N bit her lip, her heart thudding in her chest. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t break. Not in front of him. Not when he had already given her everything—his trust, his heart. She couldn’t disappoint him.

“Azriel,” she started, her voice trembling just slightly. “Please, just… don’t worry about me. I’m fine. I swear.”

He turned to face her, his expression unreadable, but his eyes… they were full of that quiet, relentless concern that always seemed to follow her.

“You don’t have to be strong all the time, Y/N.” His voice was almost a whisper, like he was afraid to push her too far. “Not with me.”

For a heartbeat, they just stared at each other, the space between them charged with unsaid words.

Finally, Y/N forced a smile—one that she hoped was convincing enough to fool him. “I know,” she said softly. “But right now, I just need a little time, okay?”

Azriel didn’t respond at first. He studied her for a long moment, as if trying to decide whether or not he should press her further. But then, with a soft sigh, he nodded.

“I’m here when you’re ready to talk,” he said quietly.

Y/N smiled again, though this time it felt more like a mask than anything real.

“I know.”

But inside, the walls she’d spent so long building were crumbling, piece by piece, and no matter how hard she tried to hold them up, she knew it wouldn’t be much longer before they all came down.

She just hoped Azriel wouldn’t be the one to see it happen.

Not yet.

Not while she was still pretending.

The next evening, when Azriel came home, he was expecting nothing more than the usual quiet, the calm of his home and his bondmate waiting for him. What he hadn’t expected was to find Y/N sitting on the couch, her posture rigid, her eyes staring blankly at the wall.

His heart immediately sank at the sight. Something was off—he could feel it in his chest, that strange, unsettling tightness that always came when Y/N was hurting. He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him softly, not wanting to startle her.

“Y/N?” His voice was tentative, but there was an underlying current of concern.

She didn’t respond right away, and the silence stretched between them like a fragile thread. He walked closer, his eyes scanning her face. She looked… exhausted, drained, as if the weight of the world was pressing down on her. He crouched beside her, tilting his head to catch her eyes.

“Love, are you okay?” he asked softly.

Y/N blinked and finally turned her gaze to him. There was something in her eyes—something that made him take an instinctive step back.

“I’m fine,” she said, the words too quick, too rehearsed.

Azriel studied her for a moment longer before sitting down next to her, his tone shifting, more serious. “You don’t have to lie to me, Y/N. What’s going on?”

She didn’t meet his eyes again, her gaze dropping to her hands, folded neatly in her lap. The stillness in her was unnatural, and the shadows around them seemed to pulse with tension. Azriel’s brows furrowed as he let out a quiet sigh, his instincts kicking in.

He didn’t press her at first—he’d learned by now to give her space—but the questions came slowly, each one a little heavier than the last. “How was your day?”

“Fine.” Her voice cracked slightly, but she recovered quickly.

“Did you think about the results?”

“Not really, as I said the audition went well” she answered too quickly, her voice tight.

Azriel paused, his eyes narrowing slightly. She was hiding something, and the silence between them was thick with the knowledge that he wouldn’t be satisfied until he got the truth. “Really?”

She nodded, but her breath hitched ever so slightly, the only sign that something was wrong.

Azriel’s gaze softened, but his suspicion grew, and it was in that moment, when the quiet stretched on just a little too long, that the final thread snapped. He couldn’t hold back anymore. He had to know. He had to confront whatever this was.

He leaned in slightly, his voice hardening with a cold edge. “That’s why you tripped and fell during your audition yesterday?”

Y/N froze, her eyes widening, her body stiffening. The breath in her lungs caught. She hadn’t expected him to know that. Hadn’t expected him to have seen through the lies she’d told herself, the façade she’d built to protect herself.

“How do you know that?” Her voice was small, trembling with the weight of the question.

Azriel’s gaze darkened, his anger simmering just below the surface. He didn’t let her answer before he spoke again. “I knew something was up the moment you stepped out of those doors. I couldn’t just sit around pondering what was wrong with you. My shadows did their job well and brought me all I needed to know.”

Y/N’s mouth fell open in disbelief. “From the… the start?”

Azriel’s jaw clenched, his fists tightening in barely contained rage. “Yes. From the moment those bastards bullied you.” His words were venomous, and Y/N could see the raw anger in his eyes. “I know exactly what they said. The venom they spilled at you…” His voice trailed off, trembling with rage.

Y/N stood up abruptly, her hands shaking. “You had no right!” she exclaimed, her voice rising in anger and desperation.

Azriel stood, his body tense with rage, his eyes dark as shadows swirled around him. “No right?” He took a step forward, his voice rising with every word, a dangerous edge creeping in. “NO RIGHT?! Those bastards were bullying you, Y/N, and you didn’t say a thing?! You didn’t tell me what they said, didn’t let me help you—didn’t let me protect you?”

Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, her shoulders shaking. Her voice cracked, the raw emotion spilling out in a flood of hurt and frustration. “I couldn’t, Azriel! I couldn’t—don’t you get it? I couldn’t bring myself to tell you! I’ve been… I’ve been hiding this from you because I didn’t want to burden you. I didn’t want to be weak. I didn’t want to show you how broken I am. How useless I am…”

She stumbled backward, shaking her head in a frantic movement, her chest tight as she gasped for breath. “I’m just… I’m just not good enough! I’m not strong enough! I fail, every time. I failed at the audition, Azriel! I’m never going to be good enough for this world, for you! Don't you see the stares? Hear the whispers? No one thinks I'm worthy enough, no one..."

Her words came in a rush, all the broken pieces of herself spilling out in one chaotic moment. “The shadows—the way they looked at me, the way they whispered behind my back. They were right, Azriel. They were right about me. I’m nothing, I’m just…” She choked on her words, her knees buckling as she collapsed onto the couch again, her face buried in her hands.

Azriel’s heart clenched painfully in his chest as he stepped forward, his anger now replaced with an aching sadness. His voice was gentle but firm as he knelt beside her, reaching out to take her trembling hands in his. “Don’t you ever say that about yourself. You hear me? Don’t you ever say that again.”

Y/N shook her head violently, her tears pouring freely now. “I’ve failed so many times, Azriel. Every time I try, I trip, I fall, I let everyone down. The shadows—they don’t even care about me. They—”

Azriel grabbed her shoulders, forcing her to look at him, his eyes filled with a depth of emotion she hadn’t seen before. His voice was a low, raw growl. “They were wrong. Every damn thing they said was wrong. You are good enough. You are strong enough. And I’ll be damned if I let you talk about yourself like this again.”

Y/N gasped, her heart pounding in her chest. Her lips trembled as she tried to speak, but all that came out was a broken sob.

Azriel’s jaw clenched, his gaze searching hers, desperation in his eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you trust me?”

She pulled away from him, her hands shaking as she wiped at her tears. “Because I couldn’t bear the thought of you seeing me like this. Of you seeing how weak I am. I thought I could handle it, that I could be enough on my own, but I’m not. I’m not…”

Azriel’s gaze softened, and he cupped her face in his hands, his thumb brushing over the tear tracks on her cheeks. His voice was soft but unwavering. “You are enough, Y/N. Don’t ever believe otherwise. You are stronger than anyone I know, and I’m so damn proud of you. Don’t you dare let anyone tell you otherwise.”

Her sobs subsided, but the rawness of her insecurities still lingered between them, like an invisible barrier. Azriel leaned forward, his voice low but firm. “Names.”

Y/N shook her head, her breath coming in ragged gasps. “Please, Azriel. Don’t do this.”

“I already know who they are,” he replied, his voice calm but insistent. “But I need to hear you say it. Confirm it. Please.”

She hesitated, then, with great reluctance, she whispered the names of some of those she knew of who had bullied her previously, each one a dagger to her heart.

Azriel nodded, his face unreadable as he absorbed the information. When she finished, he reached for her, pulling her into his arms once more. She let herself sink into him, her heart breaking, her trust growing just a little bit stronger with each passing moment.

“I won’t let them get away with this,” he whispered fiercely into her hair, his voice promising more than words could say. “But I need you to promise me something.”

“What?” she whispered back, barely able to speak through the tears.

He pulled back, cupping her face, his expression firm. “Swear to me that you won’t hide anything from me again. No more lies, no more keeping things from me. Keep the bond open, always. Promise me, Y/N.”

Her eyes met his, a flicker of hesitation passing through her, but in the end, she nodded. “I promise.”

Azriel’s face softened, but the resolve in his eyes remained. “And don’t you ever doubt yourself again,” he whispered, pressing his forehead against hers. “You’re worth everything, Y/N. Don’t you ever forget that.”

As the two of them stood there, lost in their embrace, something shifted between them. The pain, the secrets, the walls—they weren’t gone, but they were no longer insurmountable. And for the first time in a long time, Y/N allowed herself to believe that maybe, just maybe, she was enough.

The days that followed the confrontation were quieter, more contemplative, but no less intense. Y/N struggled with her shadows, each day finding new cracks in her confidence, but each day, Azriel stood by her, watching in the background, patiently waiting for her to let him in.

It started with the small moments, those subtle acts of care that made her feel seen without being smothered. She had always been strong, had always prided herself on standing on her own, but now, after everything, the thought of dancing again seemed like an insurmountable mountain. The audition failure had knocked her harder than she’d let on. And the cruel words, the judgment she’d faced, were still echoing in her mind. She wasn’t sure if she could go back to the barre, could go back to the thing that had once been her escape.

But Azriel wouldn’t let her hide from it.

“You don’t have to do this all at once,” he’d say quietly, stepping into the room when he sensed she was lost in the shadows of her mind, the world outside muted in her silence. “Take it slow. But don’t quit. Don’t let them win.”

Y/N would look at him with that guarded expression, not wanting to admit how much she wanted to run. Not wanting to show him how weak she felt.

But he was patient. He’d never push too hard, never rush her into something she wasn’t ready for. Instead, he’d talk to her about anything else—about the weather, about his training, about the little things that made her smile—until, gradually, the conversation would shift, and the quiet moments would fill the space between them.

Then one day, when she was too tired to pretend she wasn’t aching, he sat across from her as she wrapped her shoes.

“You still want to do this,” Azriel said quietly, watching her with a gaze that spoke volumes. “Don’t hide from it.”

Y/N didn’t look up. “I don’t know if I can,” she whispered.

Azriel stood, moving closer without a word. He didn’t touch her, didn’t crowd her space, but his presence was soothing, a gentle reminder that she wasn’t alone in this. His shadows, ever loyal to him, surrounded her, their warmth seeping into her own. “You can,” he replied simply, his voice carrying that deep, unwavering certainty that made her chest tighten.

His words weren’t demanding, weren’t pressuring. It was more of an invitation.

Slowly, Y/N laced her shoes, her hands trembling just slightly, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t. Not with him standing there, not with the strength in his eyes watching her like she was the only thing that mattered.

“Let me help you,” Azriel said, his tone low, intimate. “Let me help you heal, one step at a time.”

She didn’t answer immediately, but she didn’t need to. His quiet persistence was enough, and it settled into her bones, wrapping around her like a familiar cloak.

And so, the days passed. Each one a little easier than the last. Azriel’s presence was constant—he didn’t force her, didn’t push her, but his quiet admiration, his praise when she succeeded, built her back up in ways words alone couldn’t. Every small improvement, every hesitant movement, was a victory in his eyes.

Whenever she danced, whenever she felt the weight of doubt try to settle in, she’d sense his presence in the room. He was always there, hidden in the shadows, watching, waiting. His shadows moved with hers, always in sync, always intertwined in a dance of their own, a silent exchange of trust and understanding.

His admiration for her wasn’t in loud declarations or grand gestures. It was in the little things. In the way his shadows would curl around her when she hesitated, steadying her when she almost fell. In the way his eyes softened every time she let herself lose control, the way he made sure she always felt seen, even when she thought no one was watching.

One evening, after another failed attempt at perfecting a pirouette, Y/N huffed in frustration, stepping back from the barre. Her muscles ached, her body exhausted from the constant battle to get back to where she once was.

Azriel didn’t speak right away. Instead, he walked up to her, his gaze unwavering. He was always watching, always noticing.

“You know,” he began, his voice low, teasing just slightly, “your shadows were in perfect sync with mine tonight.” He smirked, his eyes glinting with a playful edge. “It’s almost like they know what you’re capable of, even if you don’t.”

Y/N looked up at him, her breath caught in her chest. She opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out.

“I’ve been watching you,” he continued, his voice softer now, more earnest. “You have something no one else does, Y/N. Your strength—your heart—it’s what makes you beautiful, and it’s what makes you powerful. And every time you step back into that studio, you show me a little more of who you are.”

His words were simple, but they struck her in ways she couldn’t explain. She felt her heart pound in her chest, the raw emotion of his praise and support slowly melting away the remnants of the fear and doubt that had clouded her for so long.

Y/N took a deep breath and nodded, her gaze meeting his, no longer afraid to hold it. “I’ll try again,” she said softly.

Azriel’s smile was small but full of pride. He stepped back, his shadows still lingering around her. “I know you will. And when you do, I’ll be here.”

Every step she took, every movement she made, she could feel his presence at her side, not as a crutch but as the support she didn’t know she needed. And for the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel so alone in the dance.

The healing was slow, but it was real. Each moment, each word, each look from Azriel was a step toward rebuilding the confidence she had lost. She wasn’t just getting back to where she was—she was becoming something more. Something stronger. Something she didn’t think was possible. And with Azriel by her side, she knew that, no matter what came next, she wasn’t going to give up. Not anymore.

Azriel paced through the streets of Velaris, each step heavy with anger. His thoughts churned, his mind unwilling to leave the image of Y/N from earlier that morning. She had smiled, but it hadn't reached her eyes. She was trying to hide it again, pretending like everything was fine when it was anything but.

His shadows swirled around him, agitated by his own tension. They could feel his fury, his frustration, and his desperate need to protect her, even if she didn't fully understand it herself.

She had tried to hide it from him. She thought he didn't know about the insults— the cruel words those judges had spat at her.

She thought he couldn't see it in her eyes, in the way she held herself, the way she moved now as if she was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders.

And it made him seethe with rage.

The anger that had been simmering inside him ever since she had confided in him about what happened during the audition was reaching a boiling point. He had promised her. He had sworn not to act. But how the hell was he supposed to keep that promise when the world-these people-had done this to her?

He clenched his fists, feeling the ache in his bones, the frustration gnawing at him. The female he cared about, the one he loved, the one he wanted to see succeed, was broken in ways that no one could understand. No one except him.

And all he wanted to do was rip apart the world that had done this to her.

He felt the weight of his own limitations pressing down on him. He was a warrior, a spymaster-he was trained to eliminate threats, to take down anyone who stood in his way. But this... this was different. This wasn't some battle he could fight on a battlefield. It was a war waged on the heart, and it made him feel helpless, more than he had ever felt before.

He was so fucking angry. Angry at them for humiliating her. Angry at himself for not noticing sooner. Angry that she thought she could bear this burden alone, hiding it from him.

But that was going to change. He couldn't keep his promise. Not when he knew what they had done. Not when he knew the damage they'd caused. He could feel it in every fiber of his being-this deep, primal need to protect her from everything that wanted to break her down. He was done standing by.

Done pretending that he didn't see the cracks in her.

Done watching her hide from the truth.

He was going to make them pay. Every last one of them.

The judges' gathering was held in the home of one of the higher-ranking members, a large, lavish place that screamed of power and authority. As soon as Azriel winnowed himself in, the room fell silent. His presence was enough to make everyone freeze. He could feel their eyes on him, the shock radiating from their faces. They weren't expecting him, weren't prepared for someone like him to walk in.

They had no idea what they were dealing with.

eyes cutting through the air like a blade. He didn't say a word, his silence hanging heavy in the room, suffocating. He could feel his shadows coiling tighter around him, his anger leaking into the atmosphere like a dangerous storm.

"Spymaster," one of them said, his voice barely a whisper, fear seeping through.

Azriel didn't respond. He took a step forward, the air growing colder with every inch he moved. "You know why I'm here," he said, his voice low, dangerous, a growl rumbling in his chest.

The head judge, a man whose face Azriel recognized all too well from the reports, shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "I don't-"

"You don't?" Azriel interrupted, his voice laced with venom. "You don't remember insulting her? Belittling her? Telling her she wasn't good enough?”

The room went silent, the judges exchanging nervous glances. None of them dared to speak. They all knew exactly who he was talking about. They all knew exactly who he meant.

"Y/N," Azriel spat the name like it was poison, but the force of it sent a shiver down their spines. "You remember her, don't you?"

They swallowed hard, eyes darting around as if trying to find an escape. But there was no escape. Not from him.

"You made her feel like she wasn't worthy.

Like she wasn't good enough to be there," Azriel continued, his voice rising with each word. "You made her doubt herself. And I swear to the gods, if I hear any more of that bullshit from you, you won't live to regret it. If you ever so much as think about doing that to her again, I will make sure you regret it with every breath you take."

The judges were visibly shaken now, the threat clear in Azriel’s voice, but still, they tried to deny it. “We— We were just doing our job,” one of them stammered.

Azriel’s cold smile made the hairs on the back of their necks stand on end. “Your job? Your job was to make her feel small? Your job was to crush her spirit? Tell me, what part of that is ‘just doing your job’?”

One of the judges tried to stand up, but Azriel was faster. In a heartbeat, he grabbed him by the throat, lifting him off the ground. “You’re going to listen to me very carefully, and you’re going to do exactly what I say,” Azriel growled, his voice dripping with menace. “You’re going to redo the audition. Only for her. You’re going to send a letter, and you’re going to call her back here. And when she walks through that door, you’re going to praise her performance. You’re going to tell her she has what it takes. You’re going to give her the chance she deserves.”

The man was gasping for breath, his eyes wide with panic as he choked on his words. “Y-yes… yes, we’ll do it,” he croaked, but Azriel wasn’t done yet.

“You better,” Azriel hissed, tightening his grip just enough to send the message. “And if you don’t… I will come for every one of you. I’ll start with your families. Your children. Your wives. I’ll make sure every single person in this room knows exactly what it means to cross me.”

The man whimpered, his hands clawing at Azriel’s wrist in a futile attempt to break free. “We… we’ll do it. Just let me go…”

Azriel’s eyes darkened, his expression chilling. He released the man, letting him crumple to the floor, gasping for air. He turned to the others. “Do you all understand?”

They nodded, fear and desperation written across their faces.

Azriel’s gaze swept over them one last time, making sure they understood just how close they had come to losing everything. “If any of you try to play this off as something else, if you try to twist the truth, I will come back. And next time, I won’t be as merciful.”

He turned, leaving them in the silence of his threat. As he stepped out of the house, his shadows coiled around him, a dark presence that was both comforting and deadly.

He had kept his promise to Y/N. For now. But Azriel knew there was no stopping the fury that had been unleashed. He would protect her. He would always protect her. And anyone who tried to hurt her would regret it—deeply.

Feyre’s studio—her space in Velaris—was warm, filled with the scent of fresh paint and the faintest trace of lavender from the candles she had lit. Sunlight streamed through the wide windows, casting a golden glow over the half-finished paintings scattered across the room. It was peaceful. A quiet retreat from the weight of the world.

Y/N ran her fingers over the rim of a cup of tea, listening as Feyre hummed while mixing colors on her palette. They had been talking about nothing in particular—just idle chatter about a new piece Feyre was working on, how the city had been lately, and Y/N’s attempts to distract herself from the gnawing disappointment still lingering in her chest.

She had been getting better. She had been trying to move on from the humiliation of that audition. Feyre, as always, had been patient and kind, giving her space to talk but never pressing when she didn’t want to.

Y/N was about to respond to something Feyre said when the door swung open, and a familiar, commanding presence filled the room.

Azriel.

Her heart skipped, a warmth blooming in her chest the second their eyes met.

“High Lady,” he greeted Feyre smoothly, giving a respectful nod.

And, Cauldron boil her, Y/N knew she was hopelessly in love with this male the moment his expression shifted. The moment that cold, unreadable mask softened as his gaze found hers.

She went all mushy, as Feyre had put it before, whenever he did that. She hated how accurate it was.

“Az,” she breathed, already moving toward him before she could think twice about it.

He caught her the second she was within reach, his arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her into his chest. Y/N melted into him, pressing her face into his shoulder, inhaling the familiar scent of night-chilled wind and cedar.

Home.

She felt his lips press a kiss to the top of her head before he pulled back slightly, his hazel eyes warm with something unreadable. “I missed you.”

A smile curled on her lips. “Where were you all day?”

Azriel hummed, running a hand down her back as he gave a nonchalant answer. “Handling some things.”

“Secret spymaster things?” she teased, tilting her head up at him.

His lips twitched, but he didn’t confirm or deny it. Instead, he leaned down, brushing his nose against hers before pressing a soft kiss to her lips. “You didn’t need to miss me. I’m always here.”

Y/N sighed, wrapping her arms around his neck, enjoying the quiet moment of just them. “Sap.”

He chuckled, pressing another lingering kiss against her temple. “Only for you.”

Feyre, being the saint that she was, took that as her cue to excuse herself. “I’ll just—give you two a moment,” she muttered, already heading toward the back of the room.

Y/N barely acknowledged her leaving. She was too busy soaking in the rare gentleness of the male before her.

But then—

A hesitant voice called out from the hallway. “Uh…Az?”

Feyre had just returned, but she wasn’t looking at them. She was looking past them, toward the entrance of the studio, her brows raised in confusion. “Did you bring… all those females into my hallway?”

Y/N blinked, pulling away slightly from Azriel’s hold.

Feyre continued, looking increasingly concerned. “I mean, I don’t want to sound judgy, but they’re bound in your shadows. And there are like… fifteen of them.”

Y/N froze.

She turned fully, stepping out of Azriel’s embrace to look at him properly. “What?”

Azriel sighed. Not in regret. Not in guilt. But in the sort of way that said, I knew this was coming.

And then, he turned to her with a small, knowing smile. “Yes.”

Y/N’s stomach dropped.

Azriel took her hands, his thumbs running over her knuckles. “And they will all apologize.” His voice lowered, his lips brushing against her forehead. “They will beg on their knees for your forgiveness.”

Feyre choked. “Forgiveness? What—what the hell is going on?”

Azriel, ever so casually, replied, “Nothing you need to worry about.”

Y/N’s heart hammered in her chest. “Az,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, shaking her head. “No. Please.”

His hands cupped her face, his thumbs tilting her chin up as he leaned in, pressing another soft, deliberate kiss against her lips. It wasn’t hurried. It wasn’t desperate. It was firm. Resolute.

When he pulled back, his hazel eyes burned with unwavering determination. “No,” he murmured against her lips. “You need this.”

Y/N’s breath caught.

Azriel turned to Feyre, his voice returning to its usual icy calm. “Stay here.”

Then, without another word, he led Y/N to the hallway.

And there they were.

Fifteen females, all bound by thick, writhing shadows, their wrists locked together, their ankles bound. Some of them were trembling, silent tears streaking their faces. Others looked frozen in fear, their lips parted, as if they wanted to speak but couldn’t.

Y/N could barely breathe.

Azriel didn’t hesitate. His shadows curled tighter around the females as he spoke, his voice dark, merciless.

“Now,” he said, loudly enough for everyone to hear. “Get in line.”

The shadows obeyed, shifting, forcing them into a single row.

Azriel stepped forward, his wings partially flaring as a cruel smirk played at his lips.

“One by one,” he drawled, “each of you will take turns begging for my mate’s forgiveness.”

Y/N stared at him, shock rippling through her entire body.

And she had no idea what to say.

The air was suffocating.

Y/N stood frozen as the first female, the moment Azriel’s shadows slithered away from her wrists, collapsed to her knees in front of her.

The thud of her body hitting the marble floor echoed through the hallway.

“I—I’m sorry,” the female gasped, tears streaming down her face, her voice breaking with desperation. “Please—please, I take it back. I take it all back.”

Y/N’s breath caught. Her fingers twitched at her sides, her gut instinct screaming at her to take a step back, to shake her head, to tell her that it was fine—

Azriel’s hand came to rest on her forearm, a quiet, grounding touch.

She turned to him, her wide eyes meeting his. His expression was unreadable, his jaw set, his wings tucked behind him like a warrior standing guard. A silent message passed between them.

Do not give in. Do not let them escape the weight of what they did.

And maybe—maybe he was right.

Maybe these people, these females who had mocked her, who had shamed her, who had torn apart something she had poured her entire soul into—maybe they should feel this. Maybe they should know what it was like to have the world force you onto your knees, to feel helpless, to feel humiliated.

So she swallowed hard, ignored the burn in her throat, and slowly, slowly, she gave the smallest nod.

And then the next female fell.

Then the next.

And the next.

One by one, they dropped before her, sobbing, stammering out apologies that all blurred together.

We didn’t mean it. We were just talking. Please, please, I swear, we didn’t think— Forgive me, I was wrong, I was wrong!

Y/N watched, her fingers trembling, as they all crumbled. As they begged.

The last one, the one who had humiliated her the worst, remained standing.

Azriel’s shadows didn’t let her go.

Her lips were pressed into a thin line, her shoulders shaking as she forced herself to meet Y/N’s gaze. Unlike the others, she wasn’t crying.

But she was afraid.

And Azriel?

He smirked.

His voice was low, a whisper of lethal amusement. “Oh? Nothing to say?”

The female’s jaw clenched. She was shaking, her hands curled into fists at her sides. Y/N could see the war raging behind her eyes—her pride battling with the absolute terror of what he would do to her if she didn’t submit.

Azriel stepped forward. His movements were slow, calculated, the air around them darkening as his shadows curled along the floor like ink spreading through water.

“I remember you,” he murmured, tilting his head as if studying prey caught in a snare. “You had so much to say that day. So many things to mock, so many insults to throw.”

His smirk sharpened.

“Say them now.”

The female visibly swallowed. “I—”

She didn’t get to finish.

Azriel was suddenly inches from her, his hand gripping her chin with a deceptively gentle hold. His wings flared slightly, his breath a ghost of a whisper against her skin.

“No?” he purred, mock surprise lacing his tone. “Why not? Where is that sharp tongue of yours now?”

The female’s body trembled, her knees visibly weakening, but she remained standing.

Azriel’s fingers pressed in just a fraction tighter, forcing her to look at him. “Do you know what happens to people who insult what belongs to me?”

Y/N shivered at the quiet, lethal promise in his voice.

The female finally cracked. A soft whimper escaped her lips.

And then—Azriel’s shadows dropped her.

She hit the floor with a painful gasp, and before Y/N could react, she was crawling forward, her hands gripping the fabric of Y/N’s dress as she bowed before her.

“I—I was wrong,” the female choked out. “I was so wrong. Please. Please, forgive me.”

Y/N could only stare.

Azriel stood behind her, looming like a shadowed god. His voice was pure ice as he spoke.

“Beg louder.”

The female’s body trembled violently as she clutched Y/N’s dress, her fingers digging into the fabric like it was the only thing keeping her upright.

“Please,” she choked out, her voice raw. “I—I was wrong, I—”

Azriel’s cold, deadly voice cut through the air like a blade.

"Louder."

The female flinched, her breath hitching. Y/N’s heart pounded as she stared down at the woman who had torn her apart just days ago, who had laughed at her, who had made her feel like she was nothing.

Now, that same woman was crawling at her feet.

Y/N’s hands trembled at her sides. This—this was too much. This wasn’t her. She didn’t need this.

But hadn’t she dreamed of this moment?

Hadn’t she imagined looking into their faces, imagined hearing them admit what they had done? That they had crushedher? Hadn’t she wanted this?

A twisted part of her, buried deep inside, relished it.

Not for the power.

Not for revenge.

But because for once—for once—she wasn’t the one who had to bend.

She wasn’t the one forced to apologize for simply existing.

Azriel moved beside her, his warmth grounding her in the storm of emotions raging inside her. His wings cast a shadow over them both as he crouched, his voice nothing but a whisper laced with deadly amusement.

"I told you to beg louder."

The female sobbed. “Please! I was wrong! I—” Her voice cracked as she practically collapsed lower, pressing her forehead to the floor at Y/N’s feet. “I was cruel. I am the worthless one, not you! I take it back! I take all my words back! I—I didn’t mean it. I swear. I swear, I didn’t mean it—”

Y/N inhaled sharply.

Didn’t mean it?

No. That was a lie.

They meant it.

They had enjoyed it.

They had looked her in the eye and mocked the thing she loved most, had seen her hurt and laughed.

And now?

Now they were just scared.

They weren’t sorry for what they did.

They were sorry that Azriel had made them face it.

The realization hit her like a crashing wave, stealing the breath from her lungs.

She turned to him, her fingers instinctively reaching for his.

He was already watching her.

His hazel eyes softened—not with pity, but with understanding.

And that was when she realized—

This wasn’t just about making them beg. This was about giving her the choice. The power had always been in their hands.

Now, it was in hers.

Her gaze flickered back down to the female, still crying at her feet.

A beat of silence passed.

Then, Y/N took a slow step back, pulling herself from the woman’s grasp.

The female’s sobs quieted.

Y/N straightened her spine, letting the tension bleed from her limbs. Then, with a voice steady and calm—her voice, not Azriel’s, not anyone else’s—she spoke.

"Get up."

The female’s breath hitched.

Y/N arched a brow. "I said, get up."

Slowly, hesitantly, the woman obeyed, wiping at her tear-streaked face as she stood.

Y/N met her gaze, unwavering. “You’re not sorry for what you did.” Her voice was quiet but firm. “You’re sorry for what happened because of it.”

The woman opened her mouth—probably to protest, probably to claim she was sorry—but one look from Azriel had her shutting it immediately.

Y/N exhaled.

“I don’t need your apologies,” she continued. “They don’t change what you did. They don’t change how you made me feel.”

Her nails curled into her palms.

“I don’t forgive you.”

A flicker of something crossed the woman’s face—humiliation, maybe. But Y/N didn’t care.

“You can leave now,” Y/N said simply.

She saw Azriel’s shadows twitch—as if they didn’t want to let them go—but at her command, they loosened.

One by one, the females scrambled out of the hallway, their heads bowed, their faces still streaked with tears.

Y/N didn’t watch them go.

Instead, she turned to Azriel.

He was already looking at her.

And gods—gods, that look.

Like she had just become something entirely new before his eyes. Like she was something fierce, something untouchable.

His hand lifted, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face, his knuckles grazing her cheek. “I’m proud of you,” he murmured.

Y/N swallowed.

She didn’t answer.

She just closed the distance between them and wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his chest.

His arms came around her instantly, holding her close, his chin resting atop her head.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Then, softly—

“Az?”

He hummed in response.

She pulled back just enough to meet his gaze. “Don’t ever do that again.”

A slow smirk curled his lips. “Not even a little?”

She glared.

He chuckled, but his fingers gently tilted her chin up. “Alright,” he murmured. “No more shadows dragging terrified females through the streets.”

A pause.

“Unless they deserve it.”

Y/N groaned, hiding her face in his chest again. Azriel just laughed, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of her head.

The morning sun streamed through the kitchen window, casting golden light over the small breakfast she was preparing. The scent of fresh bread and honey filled the air as Y/N moved around, her mind still heavy from yesterday’s events.

Even after all that happened, even after them begging for her forgiveness, a part of her still felt like it was over. That she had lost her dream.

She let out a quiet sigh as she plated the food, determined not to dwell on it. Az would be awake soon, and she wanted to surprise him with breakfast in bed—

A sudden whoosh of magic broke through the quiet morning.

She gasped, stumbling back as a parchment appeared before her, floating midair before it landed softly on the counter.

Her brows furrowed in confusion. With hesitant fingers, she reached for it, breaking the wax seal and unfolding the letter.

Her breath caught the second she read the words.

Miss Y/N,

After reviewing our previous judgment, we have come to realize that we misjudged your performance. We deeply regret our oversight and would like to offer you another opportunity to showcase your talents. If you are still interested, we invite you to perform again today in the afternoon at the Grand Theatre. We sincerely hope you will accept.

Her heart stopped.

Her hands trembled as she reread it again. And again.

She clutched the letter to her chest.

This—this can’t be real.

She had lost her chance. They had crushed it, torn it from her hands.

And now… they were offering it back?

She was so caught up in the storm of emotions that she didn’t hear the footsteps behind her, didn’t notice the warmth approaching until two strong arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her against a broad, familiar chest.

Azriel buried his face into the crook of her neck, pressing a lazy, sleepy kiss there as he murmured, “What is it?”

She felt the smile on his lips.

The knowing smile.

And something clicked in her mind.

She stiffened slightly, turning in his arms as she held the letter up between them. “Did you have anything to do with this?”

Azriel blinked at her. His expression was a perfect mask of confusion, of innocent curiosity. “What are you talking about?”

His voice was so smooth, so convincing—too convincing.

He tilted his head slightly, his brows furrowing in the perfect Azriel-has-no-clue-what’s-going-on way.

And gods help her—she believed it.

Y/N’s breath came out in a shaky exhale, her body relaxing as she turned back to the letter. “Oh my gods,” she whispered, her lips parting in disbelief. “They really want me to perform again. They really—”

Her voice broke off. A choked laugh escaped her as her hands clutched the parchment tighter.

She had a second chance.

She had a second chance.

A delighted laugh bubbled up her throat as she turned back to Azriel, practically launching herself into his arms.

Az chuckled as he caught her with ease, spinning her slightly before settling her against him, his wings curling around them both.

“I knew it,” she beamed, her voice breathless. “I knew they’d see their mistake. Oh my gods, Az, I get to try again—I get to prove myself.”

Azriel cupped her face, brushing his thumbs over her cheeks as he gazed at her, devoured her with pride shining in his hazel eyes.

“I told you,” he murmured, pressing his lips to her forehead. “I told you that you deserved this.”

Her heart swelled at his words, at the warmth of his touch, at the way he looked at her—like she was everything.

She pulled back slightly, grinning up at him. “What would I do without you?”

His lips curled. “You’d be just fine,” he said, nudging her nose with his. “But lucky for you, you don’t have to find out.”

She laughed, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him down into a kiss. He met her eagerly, his hands gripping her waist as he deepened it, as he poured every ounce of pride and love into her.

When they finally pulled apart, he whispered, “You’re going to blow them away.”

Her smile was radiant. “You really think so?”

Azriel’s gaze darkened with something fierce, something possessive. “I know so.”

Y/N laughed again, burying her face in his chest as excitement and nerves thrummed in her veins.

She had another chance.

And this time, she wouldn’t waste it.

Y/N had been preparing for hours.

The moment the letter came, she had thrown herself into practice. Every movement, every turn, every step—she perfected them over and over again, determined to be flawless today. Azriel had been with her every second, his unwavering support wrapping around her like a second skin.

He had sat on the floor of their room, watching as she practiced in front of the mirror. His eyes followed every movement, sharp and analyzing, but also filled with something softer, something adoring. Whenever she faltered, his deep voice was there, murmuring reassurances, guiding her back into focus.

And when the nerves crept in, when she doubted herself for even a second, he pulled her into his arms, pressing soft kisses to her forehead, her cheeks, her lips—reminding her exactly why she was meant for this.

Now, standing outside the grand doors of the theatre, she could feel her heart pounding in her chest.

The streets were quieter today, the usual rush of dancers missing from the entrance. It felt eerie, so different from the weeks before when the halls had been filled with hopefuls, all vying for the lead role.

Now, it was just her.

Azriel stood beside her, his hand gripping hers tightly, as if he could sense the battle raging within her.

"You’re ready," he murmured, his voice steady, unwavering.

She turned to him, searching his hazel eyes, seeking the same reassurance he had given her all morning. And she found it—found that unshakable belief in her, the absolute certainty that she could do this.

Her fingers tightened around his. “Stay here?”

He huffed a soft laugh, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “You have to force me to leave your side, love.”

Warmth bloomed in her chest. She exhaled, stepping closer, pressing her forehead against his. His hands found her waist, his touch grounding.

“I’m nervous,” she admitted.

“I know.” He tilted her chin up, pressing a lingering kiss to her lips. “But you are going to be breathtaking.”

She let out a shaky laugh, letting herself melt into him for just a moment longer before she whispered, “I love you.”

Azriel smiled, and it was the kind of smile that turned her bones to honey. “I love you more.”

With one final breath, she slipped from his arms and stepped inside.

The theatre was silent.

It was so empty, so wrong compared to the chaotic energy of before. Her footsteps echoed against the polished wooden floors as she ascended the stairs, pushing open the doors to the main audition room.

The five judges were already seated, waiting for her.

The moment she entered, their expressions changed.

Not cold, not disinterested like before. But polite. Respectful.

It was… weird.

She took a seat, smoothing her hands over her skirts, and studied them carefully.

The older woman who had scoffed at her before now gave her a small, almost nervous smile. Another judge—one of the males—could barely hold her gaze.

Her eyes flickered to the last judge, and she nearly snorted.

A large, deep bruise curled around the side of his neck, just barely peeking out from the collar of his jacket.

What in the world did he do to deserve that?

She shook the thought away. Focus.

“Miss Y/N,” the eldest judge said, clearing his throat. “We want to thank you for coming today. We deeply regret our misjudgment the last time and hope you will give us the honor of seeing you perform again.”

She tilted her head. Weirdly nice.

She didn’t let herself dwell on it, merely nodded and made her way to the center of the room.

The music started.

She closed her eyes, inhaled.

And then—

She moved.

The first few steps were careful, precise. But with each turn, each shift, she let herself go, let herself become the movement, let herself lose everything but the rhythm thrumming in her veins.

The room faded away.

There was no theatre, no judges, no pressure—just her and the music.

Her shadows twined around her, blending into her movements, wrapping around her like an extension of herself. They curled at her fingertips, twirled with her in perfect synchronization.

Her fears melted away.

Every insult, every rejection, every ounce of doubt—gone.

She was light, she was free.

And as she reached the final note, she landed in a perfect, graceful finish—chest heaving, heart pounding.

The silence that followed was deafening.

She opened her eyes, chest rising and falling.

The judges were staring.

Wide-eyed. Mouths slightly open.

Then—

“You… gods above,” one of the females breathed.

The eldest judge straightened in his chair. “That was phenomenal.”

Another nodded. “Extraordinary.”

“The way you move,” a female judge added, “it’s like the dance was made for you.”

She blinked at them, overwhelmed.

They kept talking—throwing praise after praise, compliments she had never expected to hear from them.

She could barely process it.

She had done it.

She had done it.

Azriel was waiting outside.

The moment she stepped through the doors, his shadows curled around her, his sharp eyes scanning her from head to toe.

His jaw tightened. “Did they say anything—”

She didn’t let him finish.

She launched herself at him.

He barely had time to react before she was in his arms, gripping his shoulders tightly as happy tears streamed down her face.

Az caught her with ease, holding her like she was the most precious thing in the world.

“I got it,” she choked out.

He froze. Pulled back slightly. “What?”

A watery laugh bubbled past her lips. “I got it, Az.” She beamed up at him, breathless. “They said—there’s no need to wait. They’ve already reviewed everyone, and none came close to me. They said I was meant for this role, that I will represent Velaris and its art beautifully.”

Azriel’s chest rose sharply. His grip on her tightened.

Then—

“That’s my girl,” he murmured, voice thick with emotion.

And before she could say anything else, he kissed her.

Not soft, not hesitant—fierce, hungry, filled with pride and love and something utterly consuming.

She melted into him, smiling against his lips as his hands cradled her face, as if he couldn’t bear to let go.

When they finally pulled apart, his forehead rested against hers.

“I knew you would do it,” he whispered. “I knew it.”

She exhaled a shaky breath. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For always believing in me.”

Azriel let out a soft chuckle, pressing another kiss to her forehead before whispering, “Forever.”

With fingers intertwined, hearts still racing, they turned toward home—toward the future she had fought for.

[scoupsleftcheekdimple]

The Best Gift

starring: svt leader and husband! seungcheol x wife! reader

aus: fluff, angst if you squint

warnings: none

synopsis: after a day out with her friends, Y/N can’t help but notice how beautiful they all looked with their luxury jewelry and bags. she’s not sure that she deserves such things… but her husband knows that she does.

word count: 693

A/N: this stemmed from my own longing for the Clair D Lune Christian Dior collection…

The faint glow of the screen reflected against Y/N’s face. She let out a soft sigh while scrolling, the prices only becoming more and more absurd as she reached the bottom of the Christian Dior page. 

But I suppose… beauty is expensive, she mused. 

Her mouse hovered over the Clair D Lune necklace. It was a simple piece, a thin silver chain with the signature CD, studded with diamonds, on it. But the price… $540.00. 

She let out another sigh. She wasn’t usually like this, but, after spending the day catching up with her friends, Y/N couldn’t help but notice how seemingly all her friends had the most recent Louis Vuitton, Gucci, Celine, and Prada bedazzled their fingers, ears, and even their feet. As much as she was happy for them to be enjoying such things, there was a slight twinge in her heart as she returned home. Because a small part of her wanted to be able to find the freedom to just splurge as well.

She knew that money was not the issue… Seungcheol reminded her of that almost constantly. She simply wondered if she had the right to flaunt such jewelry, so openly. Even after getting married to one of the most famous and rich idols in the world, wealth was not something that Y/N was accustomed to. 

She had grown up witnessing her family working hard for all that they had, with her dad working long, odd hours, and her mother rushing to make sure the household was maintained. 

Before Y/N could delve deeper into her thoughts, the house lock beeped, signalling Seungcheol’s return home. She immediately slammed her laptop shut, not wanting Seungcheol to know what she was looking at. 

“Cheol! You’re home!” she exclaimed as she made her way towards him.

He was still taking off his shoes as she approached, but, as soon as he was done, his arms wrapped around her waist, lifting her off the ground. Y/N let out a giggle before gently slapping him to signal to him to put her down. 

“What were you looking at?” he whispered while nudging his head into her shoulder.

“Nothing, nothing important… taxes,” she muttered.

He hummed before following her into the kitchen but not before taking a mental note to check her laptop. 

—

As soon as Y/N fell asleep, Seungcheol snuck back out to the living room. He sat down and opened her laptop, adjusting his glasses as he did so. He chuckled as he saw what website she was open to. 

He had always tried to convince her to spend his money; now, he finally knew what she actually wanted.

—

A week later, Y/N made her way home after a long day of work. Her feet hurt, her arms ached, and all she wanted was to crash on the couch for a couple hours. 

To her surprise, Seungcheol was already home. She smiled softly at seeing his relaxed state. As she approached, she noticed a small smirk on his face before he suddenly stood up and ran to the counter. Her eyes followed him to see him grabbing a rather large bag. 

“Seungcheol?” Y/N mused with a small smile. “What are you doing?”

He simply smiled, both lovely dimples on display before grabbing her wrist and setting her down on the couch. 

“I have a surprise! For you!” he practically squealed.

Y/N rolled her eyes, exhaustion apparent. “Seungcheol, please. I’ve had a long day, and I haven’t even had the chance to change—”

Before she could finish her sentence, Seungcheol practically shoved the bag into her lap. As her eyes focused on it, she noticed the emblazoned gold ‘DIOR’ shining on the white bag. 

“Seung- Seungcheol? Is this…?” Y/N whispered.

“You deserve it. More than anyone I know,” he said with a soft smile.

As Y/N opened the bag, she noticed that it was more than one luxury item… Seungcheol had gotten her the whole collection: the necklace, the bracelet, the two earrings, and even a ring! But as she looked at him, she realized that the best gift? It was him.

tag list: @seungkwansflower @reiofsuns2001

check out my masterlist !

[alexrosa13]

Valentine's Favourites

Sylus x female!reader

Genre: fluff

Warning: 2,4k words, overuse of the word kitten and allusions to cat like behavior

Note: fanfiction for my Valentine's Event

for masterlist and request info head to the navigation →

← how are Luke & Kieran doing ★ continuation of the evening →

~★~

Any day spent with Sylus was worth remembering, anytime he felt like it he spoiled you with various gifts and dates, indulging every desire of yours. This time he decided to surprise you, how much will you like the gift he prepared for you...

Being kidnapped from your apartment by your boyfriend who didn't want to share any information about where you were going was not on your to-do-list but oh well, here we are.

It's not that you didn't trust him, it was the fact that you were dying to know what came over him to pull a stunt like this, and he refused to acknowledge your questions.

The audacity of that man? But alright, you can try to act like it didn't bother you, looking out of the window of his luxurious car you tried your best to recognize your surroundings, but it seems that he was taking you to a totally unfamiliar place.

"When will you end my torment?" once again you turned your head his way to stare into his very soul, but he didn't act bothered in the slightest, sly smirk tugged on his lips, he didn't even spare a glance your way.

"Soon, sweetie, I promise, you need to be a little more patient than that." his teasing voice made you want to both: kiss him and strangle him. With a loud sigh you turned your attention back to the outside world, the trees passing fast before your eyes made you feel dizzy.

You closed your eyes, promising to open them in a moment, but then a moment became a minute, then two, then fifteen...

Quiet music coming from the speakers soothed you to sleep.

Sylus couldn't help but smile at the sight, his love, cuddled up in her seat, looking so vulnerable and calm, in contrast to her usual storm-like fierce character.

Well, she had the guts to take over the Onychinus one day if needed. But he wouldn't leave her to take care of such a responsibility, of course. The hard and dirty work shall be his, so she can enjoy herself in the world without worries.

Without counting the worries she felt because of his stubborn actions, but that's a story for another day.

Seeing your body starting to lean a little forward, he used his evol to make sure you won't hurt yourself if your head was to drop and hit something. Seeing you all comfy and safe once again he returned his full attention (99% of it) to the road.

He enjoyed your curious questions and bold but empty threats thrown his way. His favourite one was when you said you'll hang him like a pinãta and let the twins have some fun, how did you even come up with that?

He couldn't help but wonder what your reaction for his surprise will be. Will you be happy? Or disappointment? Will you shed some tears of joy or maybe call him a lunatic for driving you to nowhere just to ask one question.

The only thing that matters is your reaction and answer. Hopefully, you won't get disappointed.

It was around two hours later when you arrived at the destination.

"It's time to wake up kitten." his voice and him gently shaking your body woke you up, your eyes slowly opened, like in haze you stared at him while he tried to bring you to a fully conscious state.

"What..." your sleepy voice made him chuckle a little, he saw you closing your eyes again. Yeah, cats needed their sleep more than anything, right?

"Sweetie, we arrived." he kissed your head gently, your eyes opened once again, still looking tired after your nap.

He caressed your thigh for a moment before leaving the car to go and open your door. The moment he got to your side and crouched down you pulled him into a hug. Instantly his arms pulled you closer to him, making sure to keep your posture comfortable, and not let you lean too much down.

After half a minute or so, he gently moved you to sit back, which made you let out a quiet groan of disappointment at his warmth disappearing from you. He reached out for your shoes that you took off before your nap, carefully taking your ankle in his hands, moving it to rest on his thigh and putting your shoe on for you, giving your calf a kiss before following the same steps with your other leg.

After he was done he looked up, noticing your eyes closed again. A smirk tugged on his lips while he shook his head at your attics, before standing up and picking you up from your seat.

You didn't even flinch, already used to him carrying you whenever he finds the occasion to do so.

Closing the car doors with his leg and clicking the button on his keys to lock the vehicle, he started walking with you in his hold, your hands gripped his shirt like a kitten afraid to fall. Your eyes stayed closed, trusting him completely with your well-being. Your relaxed features made his expression soften, his precious kitten all comfortable in his arms.

The sun started shining a little brighter, irritating your eyes even with your eyelids shut closed, you hid your face in his chest, your arms wrapping around him tightly. He laughed at your behaviour once more.

The same woman who acted all cold and harsh with him the first few months he knew you, now completely trusting him to keep you safe. Your relationship started on rocks, but you managed to build a castle from the rumbles. And he couldn't be happier.

A couple minutes later he finally reached the place he wanted to show you.

"Sweetie... Open your eyes." slowly you followed his instructions. Meeting his eyes above you, the warm light making his features look more gentle than usual.

Slowly he puts you on your feet, your eyes never leaving each other. You stood up on the rocky path still hugging his side.

"Look." he whispered, his eyes turning to look at something ahead of you. You turned your head around, your eyes catching the grassy field full of white flowers. You tried to tell what kind of flowers they were, but you stood too far away from them "Those are datura flowers." he answered your silent question.

"Datura?" you peeked at his face above yours, him still holding you in the back hug "Aren't those like super poisonous?"

"They are." he kissed your head, unbothered.

"Why did you take me here?" you tried to search your mind for any memories that could somehow be connected to those flowers, but your thoughts were blank.

"There's a legend about those flowers, but it's a tale for another day. They just have a symbolism that matters to me." he pulled some strayed strands of hair behind your ear "I didn't just take you here to stare at the flowers."

"You didn't? Then what for?" you looked at him, your full attention dedicated to him.

"There's another place here that I want to show you." he took your hand in his, pulling you to walk after him.

"How did you even find this place? We're two or three hours away from Linkon, we'll be coming back in the middle of the night." he only chuckled at your question.

"Who said something about coming back tonight?" you looked at him stunned, but he didn't even glance your way.

"What do you mean?" you questioned again.

"I own a house not too far from here." you scoffed at his words.

"Pff of course you do." you continued your walk side by side, you tried to guess where he wanted to take you, but everything around you looked the same, no matter how many meters you walked.

After maybe twenty or so minutes you complained about him taking you to nowhere and making you move around too much when you just wanted to chill in your home. The only thing he said was 'be patient sweetie' just like before in the car.

Soon the sun started to hide behind the horizon, you couldn't help but gaze at the breathtaking sight before you, not noticing how your lover's attentive eyes were watching you, taking in the view of your beautiful face coated with warm orange light.

Too taken by the scene in the sky, you didn't see when you walked up to the place he wanted to show you all along.

You felt him coming to stop, your head instantly turned his way, asking a silent question. He only looked at you, with one corner of his mouth raised.

Confused you started to look around, the sight before you made your eyes widen.

A huge, red tree met your eye. Something about it making you feel like under a spell. In a daze you stared as the leaves swayed slowly with the wind, there were some lights hung on the branches, hidden behind the layer of leaves.

Your daydream got interrupted by Sylus's voice.

"Come back to me sweetie." you turned your head towards him, looking at him, waiting for explanation. Why did he take you here? "This place is also a part of the local legends. I guess you could also say that it has a... personal meaning to me." he looked at nature's creation.

"Personal meaning? May I ask why is that?" you observed his face, his expression not giving you any clue.

"A couple of years ago, that very tree was dying, locals tried their best to save it, but their efforts were not enough to help with its withering state. I paid it no mind at first, until I heard a legend surrounding that tree. It's said that a dragon lived in this village centuries ago, ruling the lands for many years, until..." his eyes turned to you "He sacrificed himself for his lover."

"Why did he have to sacrifice himself for love..." you asked, your tone gentle, Sylus started to look vulnerable, his gaze turned even softer.

"I don't know, there are many tales explaining that, some claim that his lover was the one who killed him, their greed for his richest becoming stronger than their love, some say that people rebelled against him, and he had to sacrifice himself for his lover to run away, others believe that he had to kill himself or else he would have to hurt his lover." your face took a rather sad expression.

"Which one do you believe is true?" his head lowered to kiss your forehead, soft smile gracing his lips.

"If I had to guess." he stopped to think for a moment "None of them." you looked at him confused, he couldn't help but chuckle at your expression "None of them ever made enough sense for me to believe them."

"Does everything need to make sense?" you crooked a smile, looking at him with something hiding in your gaze.

"No." he turned to look at the tree before you.

"What's the real reason you took me here?" you read through him once again.

"When I came here for the first time, this tree was almost dead, but it still clung to the last string connecting it to life, not letting itself leave this world." it reminded me of myself, the last string connecting me to this world being you "I decided to help it and a couple months later it grew larger, healthy and strong. I couldn't help but come back to this place every once in a while, something about it brought me a sense of peace." something only you were really able to achieve.

"It is peaceful here, unlike your usual environment." you giggled, hiding your head in his chest.

"Don't tell me you don't enjoy the thrill in our life sweetheart." our? "I brought you here because I wanted to show you more... Peaceful piece of my life. Something that you deserve more than the usual routine of the N109 Zone."

"I enjoy my days in the N109 Zone, I wouldn't change a thing." you nuzzled you head into his torso, earning yourself a quiet laugh from the man.

"I know sweetheart, seeing you happy in my home makes my heart fill with joy every time." gently he touched your chin, making you raise your head and meet his gaze "That's also part of the reason why I came out with a proposition for you."

"A proposition?" you were confused, what could he possibly talk about?

"Move in with me permanently." your brows raised in shock, was he actually asking you that? But you already talked about it..

"But... We said that we'll do that once we'll be ready to get married and stuff..." you let out a nervous giggle. Of course you wanted to agree, but you thought that it was still too early for him?

To your shock you saw him leaning down.

"What are you doing-" don't panic, don't panic, DON'T PANIC.

He kneeled before you, your palm still resting in his, you felt your heart beating two times faster than normally.

"Marry me." his voice didn't falter, his gaze confident. You wanted to faint on the spot.

"You're kidding me."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are."

"Kitten, I'm not."

"Sylus I..." his free hand reached into his pocket, pulling out a red velvet box.

You watched as he swiftly opened it, your eyes falling onto the ring probably worth more than your apartment.

"So? What's your answer?" you saw how his eyes seemed to lighten up every time you looked at them, you couldn't help but think about how he looked like a cat, pretending that he found himself in the same room with his owner totally by accident.

Your eyes left the jewelry, now looking straight into his eyes. You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding.

"Sylus..." you felt tears forming in the corners of your eyes. The man of your life, the one who treated you like you deserved the world, who saw you at your worst and still reminded you how beautiful you were to him, was proposing to you "Of course I'll marry you."

He smiled, not his usual cocky grin, but a genuine smile. Gently he put the ring onto your finger, the gem adoring your hand perfectly.

He stood up, taking your face into his palms, your hands went up to his elbows.

He watched your glassy eyes shine, felt your happiness like it was his own, and maybe - it was.

His head dipped down to plant a kiss on your lips, deepening it almost instantly, sharing his feelings with you.

He absolutely adores you, and he'll continue to, through every life and story.

[holylulusworld]

Not my Logan (1)

Summary: Problems with the Multiverse suck. Even more when it brings someone back who has been long gone.

Pairing: Worst Wolverine x Immortal!Reader, Deadpool x Reader (platonic or not. You know him.)

Warnings: angst, language, mentions of loss of loved ones, grief, cocky reader, Deadpool being a pain in the ass, violence, mentions of killings, multiverse chaos, world building

A/N: For my story, all X-Men died, except for the reader. She lives in the same universe as Deadpool from DP & Wolverine. I don’t follow canon. Live with it.

Square filled for the Wolverine bingo @buck-star created for me: Square 1: Claws

“WADE! Wade Wilson! Stop right there!” You growl, ready to shoot the bastard breaking into your property. Well, technically it’s not your property. Or it is. Charles left it to you in his will. Not because you were his favorite X-Men, but because you are the last one standing.

You huff before jumping out of the window. Wade would’ve loved to stop and admire your superhero landing, but he’s busy chasing after a very pissed Wolverine.

“Wolvie, stop! She won’t understand! Fuck. Shit. I said, Stop!” Wade takes off his mask. He wheezes because all he did all day was chase after the worst Wolverine. Logan’s words, not his. “HEY! I didn’t tell you about her for you to run off. We still have a job to do!”

“WADE WILSON!” You start to run, seeing Wade kneel on the ground. He still tries to catch his breath as you storm toward him. “I’d kill you but watching you grow legs and arms is disgusting!”

Instead of decapitating his head or stabbing Wade, you slap the back of his head.

“Ouch, Y/N.” He complains loudly. Wade got stabbed and shot; he lost body parts but whines like a baby when you slap him.

“What are you doing here? No one is allowed to come here any longer. You know that.” You sniff when he slowly gets up. “Not since…”

“I get it, I get it!” Wade raises his hands in surrender before turning around to face you. His face is a mess as always, but you can’t help but smile, seeing a familiar face. If you’re honest, he’s the only friend (if you want to call the cocky motherfucker a friend) you’ve got left. “Extinction is hard.”

“What did you say?” You slap him across the face, earning another whine. “You are an insensitive asshole.”

“Sweetheart, we both know you would have outlived all of them, no matter what. It just happened a little earlier this way.” Wade shrugs before putting his mask back on.

You run one hand down your face and huff. “What do you want, Wade? Is the world on fire, or did you lose a ball again?”

“No jokes about a man’s balls,” he points a gloved finger at you. “But yes, the world is ending once again. Or not. I mean… It depends.” Wade babbles as you put your hands on your hips.

“What did you do? I bet you messed with the timeline again, huh?” you snap at Wade. “Because that worked out so well last time. I told you to not fuck with timelines and shit. The dead shouldn’t come back.”

“Oh, about that,” Wade nervously chuckles. “I swear I didn’t resurrect anyone, but…uh…you see. Maybe, and I’m not saying it happened. But maybe I was hopping through different universes to find an anchor to save our universe from destruction.”

“Wade.” You close your eyes and inhale sharply. “Whom did you bring here, and do I have to kill them?”

“No, no! You cannot kill him,” Wade hastily says. “I came here for a short break. You see, bad guys are after our cute asses, and this is the safest place I know.”

“Christ on a cracker, WADE!” You kick his shin. “I’ve been out of this business for years.” You dip your head, hearing someone sneak closer. “Why would you bring anyone here? This is a lost place. Dead and forgotten. Just like me and the rest of the X-Men. Just like—”

Twirling around, you ready yourself to attack the person sneaking toward you and Wade.

Your body goes stiff, and you whimper, facing the man you lost so many years ago.

“No…” You step back and shake your head. “No…no. Wade. Out of all the people you could bring here…you do this to me?!”

“I swear, if I had a choice, I’d never do this to you. But—” Wade sighs and points at the worst Logan, he brought to your universe. “He wouldn’t believe me. Logan said you must be dead here too.”

You wrinkle your nose. “I cannot die. I am…immortal. My Wolverine would know that.”

The man, looking so much like your one true love, dips his head. He has the same body, the same eyes, and the same claws. Hell, he even wears the same fucking suit. But he’s not your Logan. He’ll never be your Logan.

“Go away. Both of you. Whatever will happen to this universe is not my problem. Maybe I can finally rest then too.”

You turn around to walk away, leaving Wade and Logan’s clone behind.

“Wait, Y/N!” Wade jogs after you. “I know you’re angry, but I couldn’t stop him. If there’s only a tiny piece of the undefeatable Y/N still inside of you, help us. Help me save my friends and this world.”

“Your friends,” you say, your heart heavy with sadness and grief. You glance at the photo Wade shows you, swallowing thickly.

“If there was a way to save your friends, you’d do anything, right?” Wade presses on. Even though he knows it’s a low blow, he cannot shelter you or your feelings. You’re his only chance to convince Logan to help him and get his clones off his back. “Please help me…”

“What the fuck is that?” You dip your head to look at the ugliest dog you have ever seen. “Uh—is that thing even alive?” Crouching down, you poke the dog’s nose with your index finger. “Who did this to you, little pug?”

“I think he was born this way?” Wade chuckles while picking the dog up. “And he’s not ugly. Dogpool is the sweetest.”

“Y/N. How?” Logan finally found his voice. He steps closer to you and Wade, not looking you in the eyes. “Why did you do it?!” He yells before jumping at you.

Logan tackles you to the ground to ram his claws into your sides. He growls like an animal, stabbing you again and again.

“What’s his problem?” You laugh as Logan tries to kill you. His claws dig deep into your flesh, but it doesn’t do much damage.

“Uh—from what I heard, you killed his people because he didn’t love you or shit?” Wade shrugs before letting the dog lick his face.

“YOU!” Logan growls. He slides his claws back in to slam his fists into the ground. Again, and again, and again. You can hear bones crack and flesh tear. “Why don’t you die?”

Logan looks at you, shaking his head. “You’re not her…”

“I assume in your world, I was mortal,” you sit up and push Logan away. While you slowly get up, he watches you with tears in his eyes. “In this world, my Logan would’ve cut your head off for touching me.”

“After we introduced ourselves, we should talk about the guys wanting to end this world. Come on, sweetheart. You know you want to help your Deadpool.”

“You’re annoying as fuck,” you huff while rubbing dirt off your ass. “If you keep that thing in line.” You jerk your head toward Logan kneeling on the ground. “We can talk.”

“She’s not her…” Logan repeats. “Not her…”

“You sound like a broken record,” you say and slap the back of Logan’s head. “And for the record, you’re not my Logan either…”

Tags in reblog.

[lovethyauthors]

AHH OK well now you’ve got me thinking, what if there is no one Reason, what if they’re just stressed and distracted from the day to day of their jobs and just don’t notice how she’s feeling? Or if they do notice they think she needs space to work it out herself? OR WORSE what if they are actually annoyed with how often she checks in on them? Not enough to not want to be with her but just needing some space?

She’d eventually drop the whole break the bond request, though not after some arguing / begging I’m sure, and pretend like it’s ok but would walk away from the conversation CONVINCED she needs to change to keep her team happy. So she sets out to be more like Johnny, minimizing her needs, trying to get by on the bare minimum.

OR she accepts that Price won’t break the bond now so she decides to distance herself to save herself the heartbreak, to make their bond weaker so next time she asks, they’ll be as ready to get rid of her as she thinks they already are.

Either way it’s not a fun time for anyone as the team starts to notice how she’s slipping away, how she’s not their sweet, comforting girl anymore.

Price is confused when days go by and she doesn’t pop into his office once, doesn’t come check on him, doesn’t remind him to take a break and eat if he hasn’t. When he gives in and just calls her to his office, he’s hurt by how she stands by the door, shuffling her feet like she can’t wait to leave, and avoids eye contact at any cost. He wants his warm and bubbly girl back who would walk into his office and plop herself down on his lap like it was her rightful place, who would steal kisses and snuggles while he was filling out paperwork and he doesn’t know what he needs to do to get her back.

Simon has never been chatty, content to always let her drone on about the little things while he listens and chimes in when needed. He doesn’t realize how much he misses her sweet voice and giggles, how much they make him feel normal instead of the monster everyone else assumes he is, until she stops seeking him out. Now, everything she says to him is monotone and soulless, and only ever related to work. She never sticks around for long after she’s said what she needed too, never rewards him with the beaming smile at the end of her words like she used to and he hates it!! He hates that she seems like she’s been turned into a shell of her former self!! He tried to remember what she used to like to talk about, tries to follow up on those conversations, asks her about the things she could’ve ranted about for hours, only to receive a shrug and short answer. Simon doesn’t remember being this anxious trying to have a conversation since he was a child, and after the third time being shut down, he decides he’s had enough and storms in to Price’s office because they need to fix this! It’s tearing their little family apart, even Soap and Gaz are feeling the effects, and he’s had enough!!

Soap and Gaz who’ve tried to be much more gentle only to have her recoil at their smallest touch, always slipping out of their fingers, always having an excuse for why she needed to leave. Soap and Gaz who are torn between watching her leave and following her, not knowing what the right thing to do is in this new world they’ve found themselves in. They look to Ghost and Price for guidance, for leadership, but they’re just as lost, only knowing that they’re loosing her piece by piece.

Mmmmmm I can’t decide if they confront her about her new behaviour and the clear effects it’s having on her (because surprise surprise sacrificing your needs to keep others happy isn’t healthy if her weak and tired state and constantly sad smell is anything to go off of). If they do, I can see her finally being angry, yelling at them that they need to make up their minds about what they want from her, and as much as it hurts them to think that she’s been acting this way because she thinks it’s what they want, they’re relieved that at least she’s talking to them again, at least she has her spark back.

Or maybe they’re too cautious, maybe they avoid saying anything for fear of making it worse, of upsetting her more so they just don’t. And then they’re sent on a mission, gone for two months as they try to save the world from certain doom, at least content in knowing their entire world is home, safe, even if she’s upset. Does distance make the heart grow fonder? Or is it a trial run for separation? Because as hard as it is, as much as each day away from them hurts her, it makes it even more clear what she has to do.

Finally they’re back home, all safe, all alive, minor injuries that don’t really mean much anymore, not in their field of work. And they’ll take her comforting presence over anything, no matter how distant, no matter how cold. What they can’t take however is her request for Price to break the bond again. Four elite soldiers, used to death and blood and war, reduced to tears because for the first time they feel hopeless. Simon secretly wonders if it would’ve been less painful to bleed out on the battlefield than come back home to this.

Hey friend. I've put off this ask a little while, because I'm sure you're tired of getting it by now, but... are there any updates on the neglected! reader (a/b/o)? I really liked that one, and though I have no issues with the second part not being done yet, a little progress update (if you want to add one) would be very cool! Thanks for writing :)

ugh i know i've been putting it off for a long time but i haven't abandoned it guys! just feeling very stuck with where the narrative is sitting rn 🥲 however, here's a little tease of the beginning of part two, keep in mind it may not be written exactly like this when i post it:

"what?" kyle mumbles, rising from john's lap to grapple with the sudden coldness that overcomes him. no one else says anything, but you can see how your words affect the rest of them: john stiffens in his seat, simon's dismissive glance has turned into a burning glare, and johnny's hand has slipped from where it was resting on his captain's shoulder, a look of confusion and panic twisting on his face.

your anxiety may have dissipated, but that doesn't make this any easier. the air feels too tense, too uncomfortable. you don't like how agitated everyone's scents became the moment you walked in, and it hurts even more knowing they didn't even try to hide it. you don't like seeing them all together here like this. you don't like that you're believing that spiteful little voice in the back of your mind jeering at you that they've been planning your departure, planning how to break the news to you that you're not worth the hassle anymore.

it only makes sense why they're all cooped up in john's office, whispering amongst themselves.

"darling, what are you talking about?" john's voice cuts through your thoughts, but you try not to find comfort in it. he stands from his seat, and you try not to reveal how much you've missed his scent despite how thick it is with stress. your omega has been quiet for a while, but now that you're gathered in one place like this, she's getting restless, simultaneously wanting to hiss at them and cling to anyone who will spare a scrap of affection.

"please, captain, just do it. i don't want to be a burden any longer." you'll beg if that's what it takes; you'll get on your knees and clasp your hands together if it means saving them from unnecessary stress and annoyance and you from further heartbreak.

the earnestness in your voice is so strong it bites at them because how could you even suggest something like that? how could they even consider their pack whole if you're not there?

but hearing his rank fall from your lips leaves a bitter taste in john's mouth and a knot forming in his stomach. it's unnatural to hear you call him that while sounding so defeated and miserable. it's scary to feel so out of control when he's supposed to be your captain, your head alpha.

to know he's let you down so much makes his alpha growl pathetically in shame; how can he even consider himself a leader?

[starredblood]

NOWHERE GIRL

PART SEVENTEEN

kang sae-byeok x fem!reader

synopsis: sae-byeok has been ignoring you for a couple of days and you have to find a way to confront her.

wc. 3.6k

warnings: none

(nowhere girl masterlist)

During those two weeks you didn’t face, Sae-byeok had a lot of time to—think. Properly think. Not just about the outside worries of the world like her all consuming debts, but about who she is. At first, she used to immediately kill the idea of exploring her sexuality. She didn’t have time for such things, it’s not of her. But ever since you abruptly barged your way into her life, she keeps getting pulled back down to face this idea.

Sae-byeok didn’t care about love either. She was content being by herself and the idea of having to bear another person’s responsibilities is too much. But with you it was so easy. Too easy. She has seamlessly embraced you so many times now and has held your hand—all like it was a natural instinct.

She’s getting new feelings and emotions she can’t pinpoint nor has a clue how to act upon them.

Sae-byeok bites the inside of her cheek. She’s looking at you now after days of trying not to, and the answer became clearer.

She thinks you’re a wonderful person. The brightest thing in her shitty life. She likes how much more kinder and wiser you are than her about life, yet still have a form of resilience even if you act upon them recklessly. The fact that you chose to leave your comfortable world behind to find more meaning in yourself in a country that’s against you—it inspired her to think about herself in that aspect. The world was also against her, but she didn’t willingly leave everything she loved behind like you did. However, you both did it for the freedom. But you aren’t naive for leaving—you are an optimist…meanwhile she’s on the other end of that coin. A pessimist.

Today you both came back to the apartment around the same time, you were ar work at the gallery whilst she pickpocketed. Because Sae-byeok lost her most stable job ever and she isn’t sure what will happen once you leave for the summer—she’s tirelessly going from city to city almost everyday trying to collect as much as she can from people’s pocket. Life is becoming uncertain again. It’s scarier now that she has Cheol to take care of. She’s terrified the closer the date of your departure creeps up.

But what scares her the most is what will happen when you come back. You could potentially meet new, more interesting and stable people meaning you’ll forget all about her. Sae-byeok turns bitter just thinking about it.

That’s why she refuses to speak to you. Because realistically, you won’t come back knocking on the apartment door and you’ll just be a lingering ghost trapped in her mind forever. A faint memory.

It was hard at first, avoiding you. Especially since you come to her so bright and full of optimism. She learned to just reply to you with a head shake and walk away. It pained her at first, seeing the obvious hurt in your eyes and your lower lip twitch but one day you’ll thank her. And she will come out of this without a broken heart.

In the kitchen, Sae-byeok is waiting for the water on the pot to boil for her instant ramen. Her phones currently in her room charging—the only form of entertainment she has is watching you.

You, of course, were sitting on the couch with your legs in a crisscross position while you jot down things in your tiny notebook. She was curious to know what possibly you could be writing down. Maybe you were writing a list of items you need for your Italy trip—or spilling your feelings like a journal. Either way, you are deeply concentrated on writing something down. It must be important.

But after a while, your neck and wrist need a break. So, you stretch your limbs and in the process of that your head tilts to where Sae-byeok is standing looking at you. Your face lit up when you caught her because it’s been days since you two made eye contact.

However, her expression hardens and she swiftly spins back around to check up on the boiling water. She concentrates on the feeling she gets in her chest—the rapid thump of her heart. That was something new. And it only took you to look at her for her heart to react this way.

She mentally curses at herself when she hears you shuffling. You had to be making your way to the kitchen. It was hard to avoid you when you keep trying your best to approach her.

“Hey,” she hears that soft voice creeping behind her. Sae-byeok stiffens when you stand next to her. “I was thinking what if I bring back pastries back from Italy. Seeing as you worked at a bakery I think it would be nice to get you sweets. Do you know any Italian sweets?”

Sae-byeok nods no and silently pours the boiling water into the ramen cup.

“Okay, well see if you can find something that peaks your interest. I’m making a list and I want you fill at least half of it.”

There you go again—being the wonderful selfless person, she thinks.

Sae-byeok knows she doesn’t deserve even a quarter of your kindness. You can do so much better than this, she’s sure of it. She’s just waiting for the day you realize that your life could be so much more fulfilling if she wasn’t in the picture.

Sae-byeok just darts to her room with the ramen cup in hand. Dealing with the guilt of giving you the cold shoulder was hard, but she knows she’ll have a harder time dealing with the grief of you forgetting about her.

It’ll be better this way. You both will come out less hurt in the end.

⊹ ✿・・───・・✦・・───・・✿

The thrift shop felt like it was part of a ghost town. Only you, Ji-yeong, and a singular visible employee are situated within these four walls currently. Although most of the clothing and shoe racks were filled to the brim, you could only afford to come for the one thing you need. A suitcase. And Ji-yeong swore by this place.

“Ah, well this isn’t much. Not like last time.” Ji-yeong pouts, crossing her arms and looks disappointed at the fact that there’s only three suitcases in the entire shop. “But that’s what we get for shopping last minute right before June.”

You reach over to inspect each of the suitcases. However, most have huge stains on the inner lining and one doesn’t even have a zipper attached.

“I guess these are the ones people didn’t want.” you sigh and roll them back to their previous spot in the corner of the shop. “I probably have to break the bank a little and buy one in a market.”

She scoffs. “Nonsense. Let’s come on a Monday morning that’s the day they get the best stock out.”

“Where are you going?”

“Shopping obviously.” she chips and scrolls through the endless rack of women’s tops. You send her a look. “What? I need new clothes for the warmer weather and it seems like you do too.”

“I can’t.” you say. It’s true—although it wasn’t the original plan at first. If you didn’t insist on paying Sae-byeok’s rent this month you would’ve been able to get new clothes for your trip. But you’re not going to cry over it.

Sae-byeok. Even just thinking about her makes your chest pang. You couldn’t deny the crush you have on her anymore—not after she confessed something so personal to you.

Now, you think about what more she could be hiding from the world. Her smile. You wish to see her smile sincerely and not in the sly manner like she usually does. A genuine one. It would be nice if you could be the one to make Kang Sae-byeok crack a smile. But that won’t happen in a while because she has been avoiding you for the past week or so.

It’s eating you alive not knowing the reason as to why that is. Or could you possibly just be paranoid? You think you might’ve scared her in some way shape or form. But one can only assume so much before losing your mind. And you know you’re starting to turn crazy.

Sae-byeok has always been a wildcard. A candle in the wind especially when it comes to being vulnerable. And she’s been so vulnerable with you in the past but flipped the switch after her confession. It’s all so confusing.

You didn’t notice you were spacing out until Ji-yeong shoves a shirt in your face. You blink back to reality.

“What do you think?” she asks you. “It’s a basic plain shirt but I think the color is nice. And it’s only two bucks—score!”

“Yeah. Pink looks nice on you.” you hum. Ji-yeong grins and tosses the shirt over her shoulders to keep on searching. “Hey, Ji-yeong.” you say after more thinking.

“Hm?”

“I think, Sae-byeok is avoiding me.”

She pauses shuffling through the racks and turns to look at you with a hardened expression.

“What makes you say that?”

“When was the last time you saw her speak to me this week?”

She winces. “Shit. When you put it like that—it definitely seems like she is. Do you know if you’ve done anything to upset her? I know that’s a hard question to answer since she pretty much gets upset about many things.”

You press your lips into a thin line and think back to Sae-byeok’s confession. “No. Everything’s been normal.” you somewhat lie.

“The only way to find out is to directly ask her.” Ji-yeong advises. “She’s so stubborn I’m certain that she will hold a grudge against someone to the grave. But if you just cut the bullshit and ask her—boom! There’s a ninety percent chance she will tell you—not in the nicest way of course.”

Confrontation. You’re very familiar with it but it’ll be hard for you to confront Sae-byeok amidst the revelation of your feelings for her. You could choke up or even worse accidentally stare straight at her plump lips. It’s already happened once or twice it’s a shocker she hasn’t caught you in the act.

“This top just screams Italy.” she gasps, pulling out a white eyelet tank and measuring it on your upper body.

“I told you I can’t spend money.” you frown. It was hard for you to decline such a pretty item of clothing though.

Ji-yeong wriggles her eyebrows. “I’ll buy it for you, silly. You gave me this beautiful necklace—this will be my gift to you.” she pulls the necklace out from her shirt.

“Thanks.” you mutter with a shy smile. “I’m glad you’re actually wearing it.”

“I’m not one to wear jewelry but I like that this one isn’t heavy. I don’t even feel it most of the time.”

Ji-yeong spends another hour or so browsing through the thrift shop. You just trail behind her to be her judge but you couldn’t stop yourself from thinking about the stone faced girl. If her best friend agrees with you, then she’s certainly avoiding you. And you will do something about it.

The sun was threatening to fall into the depths of the night by the time you and Ji-yeong make it back to the apartment. The days were getting hotter now that summer was approaching, you could barely walk without feeling heat exhaustion. It might just be you though because Ji-yeong merrily enters the apartment with a new bag of clothes.

Her outburst broke Sae-byeok’s trance from the phone call she was in. She was currently sitting on the couch, posture slumped and currently eyeing her roommate while avoiding eyeing you. She blinks back to stare at the floor and waits for the person on the other end of the call to speak. Your jaw clenches slightly—it was so obvious now.

“Oh, here before I forget—or before I purposefully keep it for myself.” she snorts and tosses you the white tank from her bag. She leans to reach the shell of your ear. “Good luck and remember—confrontation.” she whispers and whisks away to her room.

You stand there, staggered and with a shirt on hand. The hardest part might actually be walking over to the couch rather than the talking. Her presence seems more intense than usual—like any tiny thing someone does or says will receive a major outburst from her.

But if Ji-yeong is right, she will tell you the truth. So, you suck it up and plop down on the couch leaving a great amount of room in between you and Sae-byeok.

She’s still looks unfazed by you and doesn’t shift her eyes anywhere other than the ground. It might be nothing but it still makes your chest tighten. What made you feel more hurt was the fact that you don’t know what you’ve done to get the silent treatment from her.

“If you haven’t found her why bother call me? You’re wasting my minutes.” Sae-byeok retorts on the phone. Her voice was loud and demanding, it made your muscles tense. “I know it’s—I’m getting there…Just call me when you get actual information next time. Fucker.” she mutters the last part after hanging the call.

“Is everything alright?” you ask right after.

Sae-byeok went poker face on you the second you spoke. But you caught the way she faintly bit the corner of her bottom lip. She perhaps was contemplating something before she stood up from the couch. This is the part where you know too well—where she runs and hides.

You get off the couch as well and walk around her tall stature to prevent her from secluding in her room. Her eyes went round for a brief second, like she wasn’t expecting you to stop her.

“You’re avoiding me. Why?” you say, demand in your tone.

Sae-byeok’s dilated eyes turn malevolent and she straightens her shoulders. When she finally looks at you that’s when her expression turns even colder. “What are you talking about?” she scoffs.

She bumps past your shoulders to her room. It left you so bewildered—her sudden change. Your jaw went slack.

Then she reappears back from her room with her coat that she aggressively throws on, her way to the entrance door. It leaves you appalled.

“Where are you going?”

“Out.” she responds coolly.

“Out? Just like that?” you ask and she slams the door behind her as a response.

You were the ten percent.

“Did you guys fight?” Cheol’s voice appears briefly after you stood there to process what just happened.

Your nostrils flare up but you try to remain calm in front of Cheol who slips out of the room timidly.

“She looks mad…and she always leaves the house when she’s mad.” he murmurs before yawning.

“No, we didn’t fight…But I’ll go talk to her.” you state. It was hard not to choke up and you aren’t sure if Cheol is buying your lie with the odd look he is giving you.

“Okay...” he says, unsurely.

“Don’t worry we’ll be back soon, okay?”

When Cheol reluctantly goes back into his rooms the tears you held back were start to brim your eyes. You didn’t want to talk to her anymore in fear of ending up more hurt. However, you still rummage through your basket of clothes to find your light weight jacket. A small part of you has hope and that might just be enough to confront her.

So, you run after her. When you step outside the complex, you could barely make out Sae-byeok’s stature in the shadows of the young night. She is already two blocks ahead and is about to make a corner turn. You did a lot of running this year, but you never expect to run after this girl.

You feel an immense adrenaline rush when you finally see her after running like your life depended on it. However, she kept up her fast pace.

“S…Sae-byeok!” you are barely to say across the other end of the block.

After hearing your faint cry she stops dead in her tracks but doesn’t make a move to turn around to look at you. Your adrenaline sparks even higher when you sprint closer to her.

Now that she was at arms reach, you yank her by her arm.

“What the fuck!” she hisses when you pull her to the direction of a alleyway corner. However, she doesn’t fight back.

You pin her to the back to the alleyway and take a couple steps backwards to properly catch your breath.

“What is wrong with you?” she snarls, her voice is shaking. It could be mistaken for anger but there was a hint of concern that seeps through her aggressive tone.

When you finally blink your eyes open, you straighten yourself up to face her fully. The alleyway was dark. The shadows cover Sae-byeok’s freckles and you could barely see her sharp eyes and grimacing lips.

All the anger, hurt, and sadness you were feeling whisks away. Now, you were full of determination because she has no choice but to face you. You don’t feel your body movements, however your mind is blurry with thoughts of her.

You grab her by her collar pull her closer to clumsily crash her lips into yours. It was a quick impulsive kiss that ended as soon as it started. You know Sae-byeok isn’t a person who trusts someone by their words, she needs to see their actions. Even if it jeopardizes everything, it was the only way you were able to express it to her.

Her glistening eyes search yours the moment you pull away. You couldn’t possibly tell what she was feeling, but your actions must’ve flustered her by the flush that crept her face.

“I’m sorry.” you breathe, releasing your grip from her. The pull you had on her jacket exposed the lengthy scar on her neck she quickly tries masking with her hair. “But you won’t even listen to me I didn’t know what else to do to make you…”

Sae-byeok remains speechless by your earnest action. Her mouth opens and closes like a fish above water trying to search for the words needed to be spoken but ultimately flounders. To you, it was a sign to bury away your feelings deeply.

“Are you going to say anything?” you ask, your voice oozing with desperation. But she keeps on being quiet. “Fine, if—if you don’t feel the same way I’ll get over it…But if I knew you’d act weird like this then I promise you I would’ve never done what I just did!”

Sae-byeok was never a woman of words. You know that.

She doesn’t say anything at all when she reaches to cup the sides of your face to kiss you again. Now that you both know this affection is mutual, the second time is more gentle and lasting. This new sensation of intimacy was still so new to both of you, so you gave each other time to savor and test out this long felt kiss through feathery movements of each other’s lips and hesitant touches.

By the time you both pull away, both your arms are all over each others. Her hands gripping your waist, while yours were entangled in her short raven hair. Your faces were still inches away from each others as you both catch your breaths. Goosebumps trail Sae-byeok’s arms when your fingers absentmindedly traces the scar on her neck.

“Why were you avoiding me?” you ask, your eyes sparkly with tears.

“I’m…” is all she was able to say.

You push her away, causing her back to get pushed against the wall once more, and you wipe your tears. What was worse was the fact that you could still feel the ghost of her lips on yours.

“Wh—What did I do…?” you press further, still aggressively wiping off crystals of tears. When all the teardrops were gone you look into her guilty eyes. “Tell me, Sae-byeok!”

Her lower lip trembles and she faces down to her shoes. It was faint but you could hear her muffle to hold back sobs.

You reach to tuck the strands of hair on the sides of her face and gently make her face you. Her red eyes make your heart clench. “This isn’t just about me is it?” you whisper to her. “Tell me what’s wrong? Please.”

“I’m sorry.” she croaks. She tries to regain her composure by straightening herself up but you could still hear her sniffling. “I’m…just scared.”

You sigh and lean back against the wall beside her. It might be easier for her to talk if you weren’t directly looking at her.

“Scared of what?”

“You leaving.” she replies. You gulp. “Because you can. And you don’t have to burden yourself with me or my shitty life again because you have the opportunity to—to do great things in life. I don’t.”

“And you thought avoiding me would…hurt less.” you finish.

She barely just nods. And you just wonder how many more people in her life have left her in the past for her to want to cope this way.

“That won’t ever happen—“

“How do you know?” she cuts off, trembling. “People change.”

You go to take her hand and wait for her to look at you. “I know because what I feel for you won’t change after one stupid trip.” you say and watch the way her bites her bottom lip. “Sae-byeok, you’re so brave—and just…the love you have for Cheol and your mom it’s so beautiful. I get why you put on a hard front but I know you deeply care for your people. I see it everyday. Every sacrifice you’ve made was for love. And tomorrow, you will wake up at five in the morning like you always do because of love. Not many people in this world can do that, but you do. That’s why I really—truly like you…”

Sae-byeok immediately goes to wrap her arms around you. Her breathing relaxes through your touch.

“I really like you too.” she mutters shyly. “And I’m sorry again for avoiding you.”

“I forgive you. But please never do this again.”

“I won’t.”

“Promise me.”

“I solemnly promise.”

When the hug is mutually broken, the intense and high emotions is long subdued. Leaving you two to awkwardly stand there and reflect on this moment. When you and Sae-byeok make eye contact after this awkward pause, neither of you glance away. Instead, you share a small moment of laughter—also sharing blush cheeks and racing hearts.

“So…” you mumble.

“So…” she repeats, continuing to smile bashfully at you.

“Does this mean you are also a lesbian?”

🏷️: @monroesturnns @knfthxv @jumpedthenfell-13 @peelover25 @karli6 @kissedberries @bitchybananaflower @laurenkenss @saebyeokbliss @everly-summers-solace @we1rdth0ughts @wlvlurvsfimmia

[4urvalidation]

can you make a story where rafe and reader broke up 3 years ago, but she comes back to Outer Banks only now she has a daughter(who looks just like Rafe) and a husband (Whom she doesn't really love) and rafe still loves her

Oh, why you gotta make the wheels in my brain turn like this 😩 Not a huge expert when it comes to writing anything Y/N related, but willing to give it a go.

Didn't expect to connect to this as much as I did, so hopefully if the inspiration still flows once I'm done with A Case of Limerence I might explore this story further.

As for now, please enjoy this little blurb.

SUMMARY: Three years ago, Kook!Princess and Rafe began a secret love affair that lasted for an entire summer, until her parents found out and forbade Rafe from ever seeing their daughter again. Now, twenty-two years old and somewhat sober, he spends his days working a dull office job at his father's company wondering if he'll ever get to relive the golden days of his teenage years.

That's when she shows up - his first love. His only love. With a husband and baby and Rafe's heart is almost on the brink of breaking all over again until he realizes the kid looks exactly like him.

CONTENT WARNING: Mentions of alcohol and drug use; sexual content - nothing too graphic but the implications are strong; Rafe is not a psycho killer, but a drug addicted fratboy;

━━━━━━━━━━━━ ⸰ .° ☆ ° ☆ °. ⸰ ━━━━━━━━━━━━

The term Kook Princess has been thrown around a lot in these parts, but no one seemed to be embodying it as perfectly as her.  She was the golden girl; the good girl. With a pair of rich, uptight parents, designer dog and curfew. Never seen at parties, but always invited and if she were to come, she was always quiet, subdued - soft drink in a red solo cup pressed tightly to her lips; her loud best friend never leaving her side. 

Rafe doesn’t know what it was that made him so attracted to her. With her honey blonde hair and soft sun kissed skin, she was light years away from his usual type, but then again, not quite. She was forbidden; out of reach, a conquest if you will and as a man who was never taught the word no, he too saw her as something he simply must get his hands on. 

He spent his days scheming how to get close. They had no mutual friends, she rarely left the house and when she did she was always with her stupid best friend or her parents and yes - Rafe was fearless, but not to the point where he would openly embarrass himself in front of two of the most influential people on the island.  

Days passed and he forgot about her soft smiles and the way those long legs looked in all those frilly short skirts. That is, until fate decided to butt in. 

It was hot - the hottest summer they have had in years and it was his sister’s birthday and he was so sick and tired of her and all her stupid friends but then he saw a glimpse of honey blonde hair and freckled skin and Rafe’s entire world stopped turning. She was smiling: perfect white teeth on an even more perfect face and there were so many girls in the world; so many girls in his backyard in skimpy swimsuits, but at that moment, Rafe only had eyes for her. 

He had no idea she and his sister were friends; he had no idea she even had friends aside from that loud, annoying one and yet, there she was: taking his breath away in a bright red bikini. 

The following events happened in a blur. He had been drinking since 10 am that morning -  perks of having his father and stepmonster away for the weekend - and he’d been laying on his bed, joint in hand when she walked in. 

“Sorry,” Her voice filled his room and only when his gaze met hers was when Rafe realized her eyes were hazel and not brown like he originally thought. “I can’t find the bathroom.” He put the joint between his lips; his limbs limp with relaxation and he wanted to stand up; was desperate to move towards her and feel the warmth emanating from her body, but he was too fucking high for all of it. 

“It’s okay.” She giggled just then and it was the best sound Rafe had heard in years. “I’ll find my way.” 

To say that he was embarrassed was an understatement. He was fucking humiliated and so out of his mind, he could barely think of anything but that. The moment replayed in his head like a broken record of sorts; her soft smile on constant repeat and just as he was about to force himself out of the scenario the door of his bedroom opened again. 

This time she had put on shorts: the tiniest Rafe had ever seen and her bright red bikini was blinding and hot and fuck - she was so hot and he was so gone. He’d barely made any conversation with the girl and he could already imagine their entire life together. What the fuck was wrong with him? 

“Here,” Sitting on the edge of his bed, she handed him a tall glass of water and watched as he drank. Her eyes were insane; the freckles on her face an array of constellations and she smelled sweet like cupcakes or strawberries and fuck fuck fuck he wanted to eat her. Trace his lips and tongue in the crook of her neck; taste her mouth, taste her skin, taste her …

“Feeling better?” He heard her say, her voice quiet and meek just like she had been all those years he’s been aware of her presence.

“Yeah.” 

Rafe doesn’t remember how they ended up kissing. How the weight of her body moved on his lap; how she let him run his needy hands all over her body and kiss all that exposed skin. His shirt was off and she was practically naked, in his bed - just like all those times he had fantasized about her, except this was so much better. 

His name escaped her lips softly, always in a form of a muffled moan and suddenly all he wanted to do is make her feel so fucking good, she had no other choice but to scream his name. And she did. She was so loud he had to cover her mouth with his hand and feel her lips spread into a grin against the calloused skin of his palm. 

He was bewitched. 

Charmed. 

Fucking obsessed with her and for some reason this perfect, golden girl who could do no wrong felt the same. 

That entire summer she had him off balance; sneaking inside her home; always through her bedroom window and straight into her bed where they made crazy senseless love. She was going away after the summer but Rafe didn’t care. He loved her. Sure, he never made it his mission to let her know this, but actions spoke louder than words and boy did he show her just how much she made him feel. 

He was going to tell her - Rafe constantly made promises to himself but then she would give him those eyes and every word in the English language would suddenly disappear from his brain.

On the night he finally decided to let her know just how fucking in love he was with her, there sat her father. Sternly, with a pin straight back, he told Rafe to leave and never return. To forget her because she had already forgotten him. What they had that summer meant nothing and will remain nothing because Rafe Cameron had no business being around his perfect daughter. 

“I love her.” Rafe said weakly, but it went unregistered. The man didn’t care about that. He could care less about the way his heart burst whenever he was around her; how he was willing to do anything, be anything… All her father wanted was for Rafe to leave his little girl alone.  

She was smart, ambitious -  with a bright future and big dreams and all he had was a bad temper and drug problem. 

It all ended that night. 

She was gone without a trace. So gone to the point where not even that best friend of hers knew where she’d disappeared to. 

Days, weeks, months passed and Rafe tried moving on; dated girls that looked like her and when that didn’t work he started dating girls that looked nothing like her. He drank and smoked and snorted. He traveled the world and caused havoc and went to rehab and relapsed. He made his father proud and then disappointed him again and again and again and before Rafe knew, three years had passed by and he was twenty two and bitter.  

His hair was thinning and he might’ve been a whole year sober, but every now and then he’d be itching for a drink and peruse the liquor aisle wondering which bottle of whiskey was worth enough to ruin his life with. It was this exact thought that had been haunting him one June evening when fate decided to interfere again. 

It was his sister’s twentieth birthday and they were having her celebratory dinner at the country club for some reason. She’d brought her useless excuse of a boyfriend and because that wasn’t awkward enough, his father decided to invite one of their new hires: a software engineer named Marjorie that clearly had the hots for Rafe, but he was far too desperate for a drink to pay any attention to her. 

And then she appeared. 

Her laughter - that rambunctious, delicious sound - was the first thing Rafe heard before actually seeing her. And when he finally did it was like all pieces of his long ago broken heart finally fell into place. Her hair was gold and her legs were long and sure, she might’ve ditched the frilly skirt for a pair of sensible white shorts, but she still looked just as perfect as he remembered. 

His gaze followed her as she sauntered into the room; her parents behind her and a man and a child and there was Rafe’s heart breaking all over again. She hadn’t seen him and it was probably for the best, but then Sarah turned slightly and suddenly, she was all his sister could see. 

Smiling, Sarah had called her entire fucking family over. The scowl on her father’s face was unmistakable and in a matter of seconds there they were: having awkward small talk and introducing significant others and she was married. 

The diamond on her engagement ring was blinding, just like her smile and when she finally looked at him, it was like that very first time in his room when she begged him to kiss her and he couldn’t dare say no. 

“Hello.” She nodded at him like they used to be coworkers, but her gaze lingered - drinking him in like the whiskey he was so desperate to taste again.

“And who is this young lady?” He heard Sarah coo at the small child hiding her face in the crook of her husband’s neck and the word made Rafe sick. 

“This is Phoebe. Phoebe… baby, don’t be shy. Come now, say hi.” The tone of her voice softened and silently he watched her pet her daughter’s head until the kid was ready to face the audience. And when she did, a pair of wide, curious blue eyes were looking straight at him. 

Fuck.

It was like looking in a mirror. 

A tiny, chubby cheeked mirror. 

Even the way their hair was thinning is the same. 

Rafe swallowed.

She was looking at him, those hazel eyes dancing on his face expectedly as if waiting to see whether the realization has hit him yet. All those years ago… she didn’t disappear because she had stopped loving him or because her parents found out… 

She was pregnant. 

He had gotten her pregnant.

He looked at her and then at his daughter…

His daughter. 

He has a fucking daughter. 

A tiny little girl in a baby blue dress and pigtails. 

Their eyes met again and it’s as clear as day - she knows he knows and Rafe watched her answer his silent question with a single, curt nod. 

He is a father.

[shadamyheadcanons]

@shadowsfascination showed me this post from the Writing-prompt-s blog:

“Some say that an invisible red string is tied around the fingers of soulmates meant to be together forever. As it turns out, you can see these red strings, and have therefore created a highly successful matchmaking business.”

It gave me two brief ideas. The first one is a little more angsty and strictly involves Amy, while the second is fluffy and Shadamy-centric. They both have happy endings, though.

Angsty version:

Amy learns very early on about her gift, as it’s rare but not unheard of. She’s precocious about it; when she’s five, she’s prone to doing things like seeing happy couples with unconnected strings and bluntly saying, “You’re bad for each other.” Naturally, Amy’s mother is mortified by this behavior and urges her to stop doing it.

At first, this seems like a normal reaction...until one night at dinner when Amy asks, “Mom, Dad, why aren’t your strings attached? Mom is attached to the mailman instead.”

That’s how the truth comes out that her mom is cheating on her dad, which leads to their divorce. Amy blames herself, and her parents don’t do a very good job of convincing her otherwise. The resentment’s there, and she can tell. From then on, she resolves never to share her gift–her curse–with anyone for fear of ruining something else.

This continues until she hears two good friends of hers talking. One is trying to defend her clearly abusive partner, saying he’s “not always like that,” he’s “usually very sweet,” etc. And Amy just can’t hold it in any longer. She blurts out that they’re not meant to be together. The one she belongs with is the best friend who brought her in, the man who’s holding her as she’s speaking. Everyone’s silent for a moment, and Amy immediately regrets it...until six months later, when the two are dating and thank her for stepping in.

Amy embraces her gift at last and uses it to help others, becoming a matchmaker and relationship therapist. However, she spends just as much time “matchbreaking,” carefully working to break up couples who are bad for each other. She learns that sometimes, the best way to spread love is by ending ties that pull in the wrong direction, like pruning a plant of old leaves to allow new ones to thrive. It’s hard sometimes, but there’s no one who’s better at it.

Her mother never makes amends, but her father apologizes profusely for how he treated her when she was younger and introduces her to her new stepmom, thanking her for giving him the opportunity to meet her.

--

Now, the happier option:

Amy can see the strings tying people to their soulmates. Aside from aromantics like Sonic, who have little knots/bows on their fingers to show they’re complete on their own, everyone has a string...except for Amy herself. Hurt but determined, she decides to start a matchmaking business to spread love around the world in her own way, even if she can’t be a part of it.

Then, she meets Shadow, the only other person she’s met without a string. He brushes off her concern, as he doesn’t put stock in the concept and has reluctantly resigned himself to being a “dead end,” but Amy insists on trying to match him up with his soulmate all the same, as she feels everyone who wants a soulmate must have one. She finds it’s not so easy without the cheat sheet she’s had all her life. While getting to know Shadow and considering all the wonderful things he could offer as a partner, she can’t help but fall for him herself. Likewise, Shadow sees all the care and effort she’s put into bringing him happiness and fulfillment, the passion and devotion no one else could ever match. He doesn’t stand a chance, either. Amy takes the plunge and gets together with him even without that divine confirmation.

The truth of the matter, one that Shadow suspects, is that someone with the gift simply can’t see their own string, but Amy doesn’t need that validation to know she belongs with him.

[00valentina-writes00]

being Grayson’s wife?

♡♥︎ Being Grayson's Wife ♥︎♡

♥︎ Being Sheriff Grayson’s wife means living under the watchful, protective gaze of a woman who commands authority even in the quietest moments. She always has an eye on you, whether you’re in the same room or across the city.

♥︎ You get to witness the duality of her nature firsthand—the stern, composed officer that the world sees and the softer, more affectionate partner that only you are privileged to know.

♥︎ Grayson is a firm believer in structure and routine, which means she brings a steady, grounding presence into your life. She’s dependable to the core, always keeping her promises.

♥︎ She’s incredibly protective of you, though she never smothers. Instead, it’s a quiet sort of protection—walking on the side of the street closest to traffic, scanning a room the second you enter, standing just a little in front of you when tensions rise.

♥︎ She has a habit of resting a reassuring hand on your lower back in public, a subtle reminder that she’s there, that you’re safe.

♥︎ Her voice is low and smooth, and when she calls you “darling” in that measured, authoritative tone, it sends a shiver down your spine.

♥︎ She’s a soft dom through and through—she doesn’t need to bark orders or use force to get what she wants. A look, a slight shift in tone, and you’re already falling in line.

♥︎ She comes home late more often than not, exhausted from long shifts, but she always makes time to sit with you, unwind, and listen to you talk about your day.

♥︎ Grayson isn’t the most physically affectionate person in public, but in private? She’s all about slow, deliberate touches—fingertips tracing your knuckles, arms wrapping around your waist when she thinks you aren’t paying attention.

♥︎ She has a deep chuckle that she reserves for when you make a particularly clever remark or tease her just right.

♥︎ You are the only one who gets to see her let her guard down completely—hair down, uniform discarded, shoulders relaxed as she leans into you.

♥︎ When she’s in uniform, she looks downright untouchable, but when she strips down to just a button-down and suspenders, lounging at home with you? That’s when she’s at her most enticing.

♥︎ She smells like leather, polished metal, and something subtly smoky—something uniquely Grayson that lingers on your skin whenever she holds you.

♥︎ If anyone so much as looks at you the wrong way, she doesn’t need to say a word—her mere presence is enough to make them rethink their choices.

♥︎ She’s slow to anger, but the one thing that will set her off without fail is someone disrespecting you.

♥︎ When she scolds you, it’s not loud or harsh—it’s low, deliberate, and makes your stomach flip in ways you’ll never admit out loud.

♥︎ She has a way of gripping your chin with just enough force to make you look at her when you’re being stubborn.

♥︎ She takes pride in providing for you, ensuring you’re always well taken care of. If that means using her authority to pull a few strings for your benefit, so be it.

♥︎ Grayson is a natural caretaker—she wakes up first, starts the coffee, and ensures everything is in order before you even step out of bed.

♥︎ She leaves little notes for you before heading to work—sometimes reminders, sometimes just a simple, “Be good for me.”

♥︎ If she’s particularly exhausted, she’ll just pull you onto her lap at the end of the day and hold you, forehead pressed to yours, taking in the comfort of your presence.

♥︎ She absolutely melts if you run your fingers through her hair, especially when she’s had a rough day.

♥︎ If you ever get injured or put yourself in danger, expect a lecture, a long, lingering kiss, and then another lecture.

♥︎ She has a tendency to grip your hip when standing beside you, a subtle display of possession and protection.

♥︎ You tease her about her hooked nose, knowing full well how much you love it (especially for reasons best kept between the two of you).

♥︎ When she takes off her gloves and traces your skin with her bare fingers, you feel how gentle she truly is.

♥︎ She teaches you self-defense—not because she doubts her ability to protect you, but because she wants you to feel safe even when she isn’t around.

♥︎ She’s not one for grand romantic gestures, but when she does something sweet, it’s always deeply thoughtful and entirely for you.

♥︎ If you try to push her buttons just to see her reaction, she’ll simply raise a brow, smirk, and wait for you to realize you’ve only played yourself.

♥︎ She’s an expert at making you squirm with nothing but a slow, deliberate look.

♥︎ She absolutely adores watching you get flustered—whether it’s from a well-placed compliment or the way she murmurs in your ear when no one else is listening.

♥︎ Grayson is rarely rattled, but the first time she saw you in something particularly stunning, she actually forgot how to speak for a second.

♥︎ You get the rare privilege of seeing her sleep in—face soft, breathing even, utterly at peace in a way few ever get to witness.

♥︎ If you ever fall asleep before she gets home, she always makes sure to tuck you in properly, pressing a kiss to your forehead before settling beside you.

♥︎ She has a way of making you feel utterly secure—whether it’s in her arms, in her home, or just in her presence.

♥︎ You are the only person in the world who can make her truly, genuinely laugh—the deep, warm kind that makes her eyes crinkle.

♥︎ If you ever call her “Sheriff” in the right tone, she will give you that look, the one that makes you weak in the knees.

♥︎ No matter how chaotic or dangerous her job is, at the end of the day, she always comes home to you—her anchor, her love, her reason to keep fighting.

Ahem...nsfw:

♥︎ Grayson is a master of control, and that extends to the bedroom—she knows exactly how to handle you, how to push you to the edge, and how to keep you there until she decides you’ve earned your release.

♥︎ She has a slow, deliberate way of touching you, as if she’s savoring every reaction, mapping out what makes you gasp, shiver, and beg for more.

♥︎ Her voice is already deep and commanding, but when she leans in close, murmuring filth in your ear in that smooth, authoritative tone? It ruins you.

♥︎ She loves restraint—not necessarily tying you up (though she’s more than capable), but keeping you still with just the weight of her body, pinning your wrists down with a firm grip while she takes her time with you.

♥︎ She’s an expert at teasing. She’ll ghost her fingers over your skin, drag her lips across your neck, and let her breath fan over your core without giving you exactly what you need—until you’re desperate enough to beg.

♥︎ If you try to rush her, she’ll just raise a brow and smirk, taking her time even more because you’re squirming.

♥︎ She’s patient, but she expects obedience. If she tells you to keep your hands to yourself, and you can’t help but reach for her? Expect a punishment—a delicious, drawn-out one.

♥︎ Speaking of punishments, she prefers the kind that leave you aching for her rather than anything harsh—denial, overstimulation, making you hold still when you want to move.

♥︎ Her hooked nose? Perfect for grinding Your clit against you when she’s between your legs, pinning you down while she takes her time devouring you.

♥︎ She’s a giver—your pleasure is always her priority, and she won’t stop until you’re completely spent, trembling beneath her.

♥︎ But when she does let you take control, watching you ride her thigh or grind against her abs, she’s all smirks and firm hands guiding your movements.

♥︎ She has a habit of gripping your jaw, tilting your face up so you have no choice but to look at her when she’s wrecking you.

♥︎ She’s big on eye contact—if you look away when she’s fucking you, she’ll gently but firmly correct you: “Look at me, love.”

♥︎ Loves hearing you whimper her name, but if you get too loud? A firm hand over your mouth, a low chuckle in your ear.

♥︎ She has a thing for leaving marks, but only where she decides—somewhere you can cover up, or somewhere you can’t hide, depending on her mood.

♥︎ After a particularly rough session, she makes a point of pressing soft kisses to the bruises she’s left behind.

♥︎ She adores teasing you in public—resting her hand on your thigh, whispering something filthy in your ear, watching the way you shift in your seat.

♥︎ If you act up in public, expect a knowing smirk and a promise: “Just wait until we get home, darling.”

♥︎ She’s strong enough to lift you effortlessly—pushing you against the wall, carrying you to bed, throwing you onto the mattress with ease.

♥︎ When she’s particularly frustrated from work, she’ll take it out on you—not in an unkind way, but in the way she grips you a little tighter, fucks you a little rougher, chases her own pleasure just as much as yours.

♥︎ But other nights? She’s slow and methodical, pressing open-mouthed kisses to every inch of your skin, making sure you feel how much she loves you.

♥︎ She gets off on control, but she also loves watching you fall apart for her—if she’s in the mood, she’ll make you Cum over and over until you’re too spent to move.

♥︎ Her hands are rough from years of work, and you love the way they feel against your soft skin, the way she grips your thighs, holds you steady, leaves bruises in her wake.

♥︎ She loves when you leave scratches down her back—it’s one of the few signs that she let herself go completely with you.

♥︎ She’s a bit of a perfectionist, which means she will make sure you cum at least twice before she even considers stopping.

♥︎ If you ever try to take control, she’ll let you—just to see what you do—before flipping the dynamic effortlessly, pinning you down with that smirk.

♥︎ She enjoys teasing you with her voice alone—calling you good girl in that low, amused tone that makes your knees weak.

♥︎ She adores watching you struggle to keep quiet when she’s got her fingers inside you, especially if you’re somewhere you shouldn’t be doing this.

♥︎ Her uniform? Oh, she knows the effect it has on you. If you beg her to leave it on, she might indulge you—just to see you fall apart for her even faster.

♥︎ She’s a menace with aftercare—completely doting, running a warm bath, massaging your sore muscles, feeding you small bites of fruit with that amused little smirk.

♥︎ If you’re too tired to clean up, she’ll handle it—she’ll always take care of you afterward, no matter how rough she was.

♥︎ She has a habit of tracing her fingertips over your body in the afterglow, absentmindedly mapping out your curves as she murmurs praises against your skin.

♥︎ When she’s feeling particularly possessive, she’ll fuck you slow, deep, keeping you on the edge until you can barely think—“You’re mine, aren’t you, love?”

♥︎ She loves when you beg. Not because she enjoys making you desperate (well, maybe a little), but because she loves knowing that you want her that badly.

♥︎ If she catches you touching yourself without permission, expect her to make you finish what you started—while she watches, arms crossed, amused but in control.

♥︎ She’s always composed, even when she’s wrecking you—but the few times she lets go, voice breaking as she moans your name? You live for those moments.

♥︎ She lives for watching you come apart under her, the way your back arches, the way you gasp her name—she never gets tired of it.

♥︎ No matter how many times she’s had you, she still looks at you like you’re the most intoxicating thing she’s ever seen—like she could ruin you all over again and still want more.

[wanderingwolfwitcher]

"Don't need to read minds to know a lie when I hear one. Especially one from you. Used to be better at it... getting soft in your old age, red. Suit yourself. True enough, let's get on with it. Cult won't kill itself... besides a probable mass blood sacrificial ritual to wake their titanic mind breaking octopus-dragon-man looking 'Great Old One', of course. Let's get there before they do, not let them rob us of the fun."

Eskel's low, grimly amused voice returned to the crimson haired Sorceress, viper eyes still studying her closely, but not pressing her on the matter, helping lead her through the streets and on down the docks, as well as guiding Scorpion by the reins. The rain picked up around them as they spotted and reached the sizable ship, the Scylla appearing quite grim and foreboding yet befitting of the turn in the weather... the dark business that had brought them here. Crossing the creaking gangplank, getting aboard as the working sailors watched them all the while, they took the time to put Scorpion in the stables on the bottom of the ship before returning topside. As soon as they did, Sabrina drew him along and went at once for the Captain's cabin, predictably taking it over for herself, paying the less than enthused man and shutting herself away inside, locking the door, and leaving the Witcher to contend with the not exactly happy looking Skelligan whalers... looking of half a mind to try making him walk the plank. Regardless of the amount of coins she had handed over. A decades old tale, having to clean up the messes she left behind for the rest of the world. Thinking fast, he decided to distract and defuse their evident misgivings and likely reconsideration of the arrangement the best way possible... with some humor, charisma and repurposed truth. Shrugging his silver spike covered shoulders and addressing them all with a grimace.

"Don't look at me, gentlemen. She's always been like that. I know women are considered bad luck on a ship, but you only have to put up with her for the length of a boat ride. Consider yourselves lucky... destiny has had me dealing with that on and off since 1232. You older married men know what I'm talking about. Least you're getting paid for it. Maybe we'll be lucky and she'll sleep for most of the voyage. Or she'll drop the magically enhanced appearance and makeup and scare off any attacking Harpies and Sirens, free of charge. Her hair used to be black you know... even had the pointy witch's nose and everything."

The Witcher's marred visage smirked at the sudden, riotous laughter it managed to draw from the Captain and crew... men to the core, who had put up with their fair of ornery island women. On that note, the matter defused, they continued to set off about their tasks around the ship, preparing it for departure. He went down to the hold to check on Scorpion in his stall, patting the horse of destiny, feeding him some oats, then heading back topside in time to watch the ship casting off from Kaer Trolde Harbor. He found a good spot overlooking most of the rain soaked ship, watching them raise the anchors and head out to sea, but mostly kept his heightened senses focused on the crew, for any signs of cult behavior or treachery. He had little doubt she could handle herself if any tried to attack her in the cabin... but even so, he kept an eye out. Would visit her later, or she could join him up on deck. Even if they were cultists, it was likely they would want to deliver them to Darkwater Island, thinking they could use them as sacrifices. They would be in for a hell of a surprise if the attempt was made on a Witcher and Sorceress. He took out his bottle of Mahakaman Spirit and White Gull, taking a swig of it... not the only one aboard the ship already drinking as they headed out into the ocean, the Skellige Islands gradually growing more distant. He kept his eyes pealed, not just on the crew, but any sign of sea monsters... it had been awhile since he fought any, but his memories returned of other boat trips during his time at Skellige over the years.

@fallesto

Sabrina took a moment to compose herself, willing the pain to recede. She took a deep, calming breath, feeling the coolness of the night air fill her lungs. She knew she couldn't hide her distress from Eskel forever, but for now, she had to push through it. "Just a... headache." She lied, her voice wavering slightly.

"We need to move quickly, though. The cult isn't going to wait for us to make our move." She would lean into him for the moment. As she held onto his arm to steady herself as she walked. They moved through the damp streets, the rain picking up and plastering their clothes to their skin. The scent of salt and fish grew stronger as they approached the docks. The ships creaked and groaned with the tide, and the distant calls of sailors could be heard above the steady patter of raindrops. It was a familiar symphony to Eskel, one that had lulled him to sleep many times, but tonight it sounded ominous, almost foreboding.

Sabrina took deep breaths, trying to ignore the throbbing in her skull. She focused on her mind to ease the numbing pain that was there. She had to keep going, for the fate of the world rested on her shoulders. The book was a burden she had never wanted, but it was one she had accepted, and now she had to see it through to the end. She knew Eskel was right, would she admit it, never. But she would need to destroy it, there are many awful things she has done, but she never wished to unleash mass chaos into the land.

Finally, they reached the docks and spotted the Scylla, its wooden frame looming large against the backdrop of the night. The rain had picked up into a steady downpour, making the planks slick beneath their boots. They approached the gangplank, as she looked at the ship, this is what was meant to get them there, so be it, it would have to do, as she took note of Eskel concerns for the crew, but they would be paid and if they tried anything, she would kill them before they even had the chance to do anything to them.

Without hesitation, Sabrina stepped onto the swaying plank and made her way onto the ship, pulling Eskel behind her. She marched straight to the cabin door and pushed it open, not bothering to wait for an invitation as she left Eskel outside to deal with them all. The captain stared at her, surprise flitting across his weathered face before quickly being replaced by annoyance. "What do you think you're doing lass?" He demanded, wiping rain from his eyes.

"I'm taking your cabin." Sabrina said firmly, her voice steady despite the pain. She held up the coin pouch. "We're paying well for the passage, and I need somewhere private to work." The captain's gaze dropped to the pouch, and his scowl softened slightly. As she dropped the coin pouch onto the floor with a thud, taking the captains cabin for herself as she closed the door, locked it and quickly went to the bed to lay down.

[avifaunaa]

i tasted ash and knew [ it was you ] [ r.v. ] [ p.3 ]

Authors Note: Well, shit. Glad to see this garnered some attention and that you guys liked it 🫡 as per usual please keep an eye on the content warnings and take care of yourselves.

Some more useless history facts nobody wanted:

• Remedies for illnesses in the fifties were a mixture of at-home and rising industry cure-alls. Many people used sponge baths for fevers and hot water bottles for aches while taking their Asprin. It was an awkward middle ground of well-known techniques and modern medicine.

• Nail care was also becoming more popular in the fifties, as with everything in society now that a war was not a concern. In 1954 a dentist was the creator of the first fake / artificial nail since he was tired of his own nails breaking lmao. Most women took care of their own nails and painted them with practice, for the most part. Women also started reshaping their nails in the process of the upkeep!

• The fairs we know today and see as a sort of larger aspect of a season were a lot more deeply involved in the local communities back in the day. Fairs were used to bring many — or just one — communities together and often made a show of selling local goods by those who lived within the county it was held in. It had a large focus on the region’s agricultural culture as well and it wasn’t uncommon to see livestock at these events. This is how some fairs ended up being hosts to many beloved country events that go on today, like rodeos. The classic carnival rides we love were still used even then — but mostly had limited options that included Ferris wheels, bumper cars, the whip, and some games that may or may not still be found in today’s fairs!

• Cotton Candy was invented in 1897 by a dentist and a candy maker. There’s a joke in there somewhere.

• Funnel cake was brought over to the States by the Dutch as drechderkuche around 1879 and they themselves had gotten it after the dish spread in popularity across Europe after initially being dated back all the way to the medival worlds of the Persians known as zalabiyeh. Only in 1947 did it make a grand entrance to the carnival and fair life as a snack of wonder!

Masterlist

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART FOUR

Pairing: Rio Vidal x Fem!Reader

Summary: Rio’s really done it now. She’s created a monster of herself and broken her most important rule and revealed her lies to you in doing so: her inability to create life. Allegedly. Death becomes your dueling partner as all you can do is grapple for some semblance of control between her moments of appearance as she works double time to keep you — and now whatever she thinks grows inside of you — alive.

Content Warnings: Dark, so expect the usual — internalized homophobia and gender norm expectations in flashbacks, panic attacks, self-harm [ not graphic but it’s there ], angst, forced impregnation, misuse of magic [ Rio, always Rio ], manipulation, obsessive behavior, threats of violence [ R —> Rio ], Stockholm Syndrome taking effect, TAKE CARE OF YOURSELVES

Word Count: ~5.2k

2024

You awoke with the curtains pulled open and the sun glaring across your face which really only added to the pounding in the front of your skull that welcomed you back to the world of the living.

Gods — it wasn’t just your head that pounded. Your entire body felt like a dump truck came through the house and just meandered over your unconscious body and left behind whatever was left of you.

The pain alone was almost enough to convince you to go back to sleep, to try and escape it longer and what you knew it would mean by getting up.

Because you remembered last night — down to what Rio had whispered to you with deadly promise and such conviction that it still was too much for you to think about right now.

You should have known better trying to kill Rio. You were smarter than that, most days. You knew to some extent how powerful she was and that you had no true capability to so much as give her a paper cut if she didn’t allow it.

You drew your arm from under you and rested your forehead against it, still facedown against the pillows and refusing to move from your position. That would be . . . It would be admitting a lot of things to yourself, never mind Rio.

The wetness on your skin is how you found out you were crying. Quiet tears, falling directly onto your arm before your brain could catch up with the severity of your emotions.

You dug your teeth into the skin of your arm to silence any noise that would dare try to leave your chest. These tears would have to come and go without trace, and this would be your only acknowledgment that they were ever there at all.

Your body shook only slightly as you willed your crying to end and just let the anguish and loneliness be your friends for this single moment before you had to return to this endless game of brutality with Rio.

When you could cry no more and you were sure you could breath without shuddering, you pulled your teeth from your arm and assessed the damage.

You had dug in deep enough to bruise — it was already turning red and had left deep tracks, unforgiving in the proof of your inability to hold your emotions in.

You wipes the wetness from your arm and did not wince when a throb from touching the mark was returned. It was a small price to pay, and it would be a good grounding-point to slip out of bed.

At least your emotions were back to normal. . . They were regulating now.

That’s what you told yourself as you sat at the edge of the bed and stared at the plants on the shelves across from you on the wall.

The ache between your legs that matches the one deep in your chest beyond flesh and bone were ones that you knew well — from your previous marriage and then with Rio. Both with positive and negative connotations attached — at first.

Now you weren’t sure there was anything left to recover from those feelings. Not when you could reach up to your neck and practically touch the hum of magic that kept you tethered to her.

You flexed your fingers and dug them into the mattress as you tried to even your breaths again. The tears were long gone, but the breathing —

She took, took, and took and never once thought that she was taking. She only cared what it did for her and how it made her happy, to appease her immortality? The despair it brought with her to be alone so long?

You hated that it was you.

You used to love that it was you.

But the thing with Rio is that her affections are animalistic and not grounded in how it will hurt everyone else. You realized that when she collared you the first time and you had to escape under the cover of night and get the magic removed quietly and quickly.

She is selfless in her selfishness and that is her most dangerous attribute. A patient hunter who knows the game after a long time playing it.

“Mow.”

Billy was sitting in front of you, just inches away with intense eyes and his fluffy tail curled at his paws. He seemed almost curious.

You unclenched your fingers from the sheets and reached out, offering a hand passively.

He blinked at you, owlish, then stood and rubbed his head against the stretched hand and down your arm. Loud purrs soon filled the quiet surroundings and his tail vibrated as he chirped at you.

“Are you hungry?” you asked him, watching his flank ripple as your fingers ran through it. Your mind was quickly able to release despairing thoughts and the pit that sought to drag you deep.

A loud mrow was your response and you took that as an initiative to stand and find something comfortable to wear and pointedly ignore the pain left behind by Rio and ignore the fact that it was as though she was never there at all.

1954

You hid upstairs long after Rio had returned from her job. You folded laundry and ironed some, then refolded others again. When that was done and you couldn’t really make an excuse to just constantly fold laundry repeatedly, you locked yourself in the bathroom you had been using and decided to “organize”.

You had heard her inquiring calls from downstairs and had chosen to ignore them in hopes she would . . . Well, you weren’t entirely sure. Your mother’s news had been unsettling and left a sour taste in your mouth.

Why did you have so many lipsticks, now? You had five in your palm and three on the ground where you sat on your knees. They were in varying shades of reds and pinks and relatively new — all from Rio. She sometimes liked to bring you gifts from the store.

Did you really care how many you had? Did it matter?

Your mother said Rio was never married — no records of it were recorded in the archives, no official obituary to be found under the name Vidal. You supposed she could have returned to using her maiden name . . . But —

“Angel?” A rap to the door shook you out of your thoughts and the lipsticks clattered to the floor.

“Shoot,” you murmured and began to scoop all of them up hastily, “h-hang on, Rio. I’ll be just a moment.”

“It’s no problem, sweetheart, really. I was just concerned when you didn’t come to see me when I got home.”

You stacked everything back into place and lifted the container before setting it back into the medicine cabinet-mirror duo and shutting it. Your reflection startled you.

You had regained some flush to your cheeks and a light to your eyes after the death of your husband — even you could see it without it being pointed out. Nobody did, though. It would’ve meant implying something — something that was never meant to be discussed in the open.

But even as you stared at yourself you could hardly believe the difference that you found in your reflection.

“. . . Sweetheart?” Rio prodded from behind the door, tone gentle but more firm.

“I’m sorry, Rio.” You pushed off the sink and unlocked the door, swinging it open and smiling at her. “I haven’t been myself today. I think I’m just a little under the weather.”

She softens and steps closer to you, eyes roaming over you. The inspection felt intimate and you shelved the way it made you feel and reminded yourself that those feelings aren’t natural . . . And you were just a mess in general.

She seemed to be satisfied with whatever she found and leaned against the doorway. “You should’ve called me. Maybe I could’ve brought something home — heated lemonade is all the rage for colds right now.” She rubbed her hands together.

You smiled meekly. “That’s sweet, thank you, but it really only started when — oh, perhaps after I left lunch with Mother.”

She tilted her head, a black strand of hair floating from her updo. “Oh I remember you telling me you were meeting up with her. I’m glad you did — it was a beautiful day.”

You looked away from her and fiddled with your fingernails. Once nervously bitten and torn, now kept well-managed under Rio’s careful eye and money as she ordered you to a woman in town who knew how to do them from her home. You brought your own polish, but she did well with keeping them intact for you.

“It was a good lunch,” you answered carefully. “She — my mother has my best interests at heart.”

“Of course she does,” Rio agreed easily, pushing off the doorway and considering you with that gentle look of hers. “Did something . . . Did you two talk about something difficult?”

You didn’t immediately answer because you weren’t sure you wanted to go down this road with the other woman, in truth. She had been so helpful and the shame that filled you for feeling so useless and meek coiled tight inside of you.

But somehow you found yourself telling her anyway, without considering how you wanted to word it, “We talked about . . . My husband. Settling his affairs, mostly. Making sure I won’t see trouble down the road.”

Rio relaxed slightly as she eyed you. “That’s good, isn’t it? I wouldn’t have been so distressed during that period if I’d had my mother to help me.” She smiled a little, her silent support.

But if your mother was right in that Rio never had a husband — much less a husband that died in the war — then why would she be going through all of this trouble? How did she manage to make you feel so less alone in the agony you’ve been clawing your way out of?

“She’s been wonderful,” you say to her, reaching up to fidget with an earring. Her eyes followed the movement with hawk-like observance.

“Anything else that seems to be on your mind, angel?” Her head tilted slightly, curious and full of wonder. Like she was having a hard time getting a read on you — and maybe she was. Your moods weren’t subject to change so often and this one in particular was rare after moving with her.

“No, no just that.” You released the earring and smiled at her fully, returning to the present to be with Rio fully. “I’m sorry I wasn’t downstairs to greet you. I just got so caught up in finishing some things up here. I have so much lipstick, Rio . . .”

Her gaze drifted to the cabinet thoughtfully then slipped back to you. “Put some on — and dress somewhat warm,” she finally told you, unstrapping the straps that hooked over her shoulders to her pants. “Something pretty for me.”

Your cheeks heated even as you frowned at her. “What ever for? It’s such a waste to use when we’re not going anywhere.”

Rio chuckled. “Angel, we are going somewhere. The fair’s in town, remember? You’ve been eyeing the newspaper article on it all week.”

You brightened considerably in front of her, darting forward to grasp her arm. “Really? We’re going to the fair? You’re sure?”

The black-haired woman grinned down at you, tilting your chin up with a finger, “Very sure — if you can get ready before the field fills up on parking.”

You nodded rapidly and pulled back, filled with a sudden renewed vigor. “Oh I have the perfect scarf I’ve been waiting to match with that pair of pants you got me. The ones with red stripes.”

“You’ll look beautiful, I’m sure.” Rio winked at you and you made a point to ignore the weird fluttery feeling that crossed your chest at the action.

You’d felt that once — an old boyfriend who kissed you under the stars on top of his brand new Chevrolet before he returned you home and made sure to leave some of those stars in your eyes.

You’d married that boy once upon a time, and it ended up nearly destroying you later.

Rio left you to get changed and you busied yourself with finding the perfect outfit for such an outing. It was chilly outside during the day and so you expected it to be even more so overnight. It wouldn’t be wise to go out without layers, even if you planned on some festive rides to warm you up.

Oh and you so hoped they had spiced apple cider that they kept warmed at the stalls like they’ve been doing in the recent years. The drink was dangerously addictive and you indulged in the past when your husband inclined to go with you to the fairs. It always left a warm, fuzzy feeling in your chest after having a cup.

You were just pinching the scarf carefully into position when Rio reappeared. She hadn’t changed completely from her work attire, but she did cozy up. She made no move to disguise roaming eyes.

“Hmm I worry for the wandering gazes I may have to hide you from tonight,” she muses lazily.

You despised the way she managed to made you feel things a woman should never feel from another of her gender — despised that you were drawn to the way she somehow carried herself like she owned the world and could protect you from its’ angry realties. Despised the way she wasn’t a man and therefor kissing her is not allowed, not desired.

You despised how you were forced to feel the disgust in your stomach at how heavy with want it left you when you saw her and found what you could never give your husband.

“Perhaps I will be able to catch the eye of a wealthy man,” you got out, refusing to meet her eyes and instead finding your own in the mirror. “And you will surely catch the finest of attentions. You could have anyone you wanted and not blink before it was in your hands.”

Rio hummed at you. The footsteps on the flooring creaked until she was still behind you, chin just brushing over your shoulder as her eyes forced yours to meet together in the mirror. You were trapped between her and the sink, unable to escaped unless she willed it.

Or maybe you just made no effort to try.

“You speak as though I yearn for another man to warm my bed,” the black-haired woman crooned lowly, ruby red lips twisting upwards mockingly, “to handle my finances and give me the world.”

“Surely every woman wants that — wouldn’t you get tired of working?” you asked her boldly despite the tremble that threatened to shake you down. She was so close and you feared she would hear your heart’s cries if she got any further.

“Angel,” she started, the same tone, eyes becoming mischievous and glittering under the light above, “why would I seek out that which I want from a man when I can just get it myself?”

Your throat constricted and for a moment there was a terrible feeling you were a prey to a dangerous, deadly predator.

Rio. This was Rio — your only friend, the woman who shielded you when you nearly crumbled under the weight of the world when you realized what being a woman without a husband meant.

“I just — Rio?”

“Yes?”

“Why don’t you have any pictures of him?” you asked as you fought off the urge to sink into her from where you held onto the surface like a lifeline. “Your . . . Your husband. You’ve not told me his name, and you don’t even have photos of him.”

Her fingers reached up to capture a stray wisp of your hair that had fallen from the position you’d had it in. She held it delicately and observed it, wrapping it around her pale finger.

“Rio?”

She tugged suddenly and it left a minor sting when she did. Then she released it, tucking it behind your ear with a gentleness opposite of the previous action.

“His name and face live in the past and I seek to march into the future,” she finally told you, however no warmth remained in her voice. Only clear, concrete assurance. “Having either in my present keeps me from which I aim to go, so I decided a while ago to put him to rest for good.”

She moved away from you in order to give you some space and tucked a hand into one of her pockets. “Don’t take too long, Angel. I want to ride the Ferris Wheel with you while the stars are bright.”

She was gone and now alone, you tried to process what she laid before you but found that nothing was answered when you asked her those questions.

2024

You peeled open a can of wet food and scraped it into the fancy cat bowl Rio had conjured up. The little shit had dry food still full, but seemed to think he needed the good stuff two times a day.

Leaving him to scarf down his breakfast, you opened the French doors in the dining room. The dining room which, by looks of it, had been meticulously put back together as though you and Rio hadn’t tried to rip one another to shreds.

You weren’t entirely positive you could claim much of the damage anymore, though, looking back. You had the human ability to shove, break, and throw but Rio was above that in ways that made your predator senses switch into the brain of prey. It made you think of a time you saw a program — a lynx playing with its prey right before it decided to kill it.

Rio had been playing with you — perhaps leaking some frustration without realizing it. But you were stupid to believe that you could have the upper hand in any regard.

Your hand drifted up to your neck and rested there as the hum from the magic collar vibrates against your fingers, a warning that you were touching the invisible but powerful mechanism that kept you caged to this place. To her.

The bird feeders outside caught your attention from the open doors. Ten birds of varying colors, chirping happily and fluttering about as they picked their way around the feeders you filled the day before.

Was this to be your life now?

What did Rio intend to tell you about the status of your job? It wasn’t . . . It wasn’t like you adored it but it kept you busy, you sort of enjoyed it on some days.

A huff greeted you to your right.

Your eyes drifted to the source of the sound and knew it wasn’t Billy — who felt he was too sophisticated for such a noise and was still tinkering about in the kitchen with his bow and bell collar.

No — no, this was not him.

Instead a new object has been tucked into the corner of the dining room. A large, fluffy dog bed of a soft brown coloring and cream innards.

The source of the sound was the sleek looking canine laying there, head on paws and eyes watching you closely.

“A dog,” you said aloud as the two of you stared at each other. He was a light brown with black markings on his long legs and face. Pointed ears and a thin, long tail.

You’ve seen these dogs before — you knew they were used mostly in the military and police force. Similar to the German Shepard but smaller and leaner.

She got you a fucking protection dog — and she did it to taunt you. Because she knows not even the most trained, intelligent dog will be able to keep her from.

“Okay.” You got to your knees and the sun soaked into your body from doorway. The dog watched you. You watched him. He already had a thick leather collar with tags on it and it made you wonder if, like you and possibly Billy, she took him too. “Who are you?”

He didn’t respond, of course.

You got back to your feet and hesitantly made your way over. He lifted his head to watch you until you bent down next to him and carefully scratched behind his ears. He seemed to like it, and so you flipped his tag to read his name. TOMMY was stamped into the gold metal.

“She did you an injustice with that name,” you told Tommy, but kept petting him anyways. He sighed.

You eventually left Tommy alone to nap and went out to sit in the garden, your heart heavier now. The way she used things as a way to mock you was like an extra knife digging deeper and deeper each time she added a new aspect.

You sit for a while then make some coffee and down some plain toast to fight the nausea. You hated how lonely the house you were caged to felt but refused to break and call out for Rio to end the feeling.

You would bear it rather than face her and yourself and the night before. It was all too much and it would explode eventually, with angry sobs and violence like it always did.

But until she forced you out of your self-induced exile of silence and singularity, you would pretend like you’ve handled it and it’s over.

Even if it would never be over.

Rio heard naught when she returned from her duties that night. The lights were on but there was a lack of cooking to be found. None of the smells that brought her a great deal of comfort when you were behind the stove, no warm smile to greet her, and certainly no kiss to the cheek or anywhere else.

“Angel?” she called out, but was only greeted by the dark and watchful eyes in the kitchen’s entryway by the animal she had bestowed upon you before leaving that morning.

He stood stock still and regarded her with a type of cunning that almost made her wonder if she should’ve gone with a dumber breed to avoid issue. His hackles were raised down his spine and a low, vibrating growl was echoing through his chest.

Rio simply stared back at him. “I brought you into this house, creature,” she told him, continuing closer. “Angel please call off the dog.”

“No.”

Ah, so you were just feet away as suspected. A small grin pulled at the corners of Rio’s lips as she came to a stop just inches from the stiff dog. His tail was as rigged as the rest of him — and though Rio didn’t know dog language relatively well, she knew the universal language for “I do not fucking like you.”

“I don’t want to have to take him away after giving him to you so soon, my sweet,” Rio started sweetly, fingers reaching out to the curled lips of Tommy. Her tone hardened, “But I will if you can’t keep him in line.”

There wasn’t a reaction given to her in the first few seconds after she spoke, and the dog had become more hostile in those seconds. Rio was ready to snap him into another room and use that fear when she heard a soft, call.

“Tommy, come.”

Like a flipped switch and without any effort the dog seemed to rear away from Rio as quickly as he had been ready to try and maul the witch. He trotted back into the kitchen and so the pale figure followed.

He curled at your feet where you were rewarding him with slices of raw meat mixed in a metal bowl, prepped ones seemingly laid out for burgers ready to be grilled at any point.

Tommy took the offered pieces carefully from your fingers as you locked gazes with Rio.

“I see you two have bonded once you’ve made your introductions,” Rio concurred as she opened the refrigerator and looked through the contents. All of the bear she had to magic back in was once again gone.

Rebellious, angry little thing you were. It didn’t matter. She waved her hand and a cold beer appeared between her fingers instantly.

“Is there never consequences for what you do with that? you asked her quietly from across the room.

“Mm.” She slowly makes her way over to you, a twinkle of something dark and insidious covering her features. “There’s a consequence in everything of this universe, Angel. If you tie your shoes the wrong way, it can have a massive impact on someone else in another world.”

“Then why the fuck do you be so careless? I never asked — not before when I thought I could love you. But now that I know there’s always a price to the things we do . . . Why?”

The anger, the rage she fell so deeply for — she felt the fire in her chest when she saw a flicker of it again. “Because I can,” she told you simply, lifting the bottle to her lips. “I can, so I did. I have the opportunity and why would I leave it untouched?”

Your hands slammed on the table. “Because it means for every day I get to live someone else dies early!”

Rio rolled her eyes. “Is that what this is about? How long do you plan on mourning over the ones you never know about that take your place? They’re nameless to you and can’t bring the guilt that bears your name.”

“Because it’s my life, Rio,” you bit out. She looked closer and realized you had been crying, “and my ticket was punched a very long time ago but for some reason you won’t take it. You refuse my entry every damn time, and then you play with magic and ignore that it has its own prices and can—“ you suddenly pressed fingers to the bridge of your nose and breathed out shallowly.

Rio removed the rim of the glass from her lips, taking care to observe your actions. You stood without saying a word, eyes closed, as you experienced whatever it is went through your body while Rio simply watched.

And smiled.

1954

The music and the lights were overwhelming in the best of ways. There was so much joy to be found and the giggles of children darting through the crowds covered in cotton candy and fisting sacks of what you assumed to be allowances to go and play games.

You kept a polite distance from Rio despite the pestering urge to hold her hand and lean into her for warmth during the cold night.

You wished you could be a couple — but it simply wasn’t possible. So you maintained your space and pointed out stalls to stop at as she kept an unmoving look of amusement on her face.

You were elbow-deep in overly powdered dish that you’ve never tried — colorfully labelled the Funnel Cake — and you found that it was almost on par with your apple cider drinks you adored so. Rio seemed fascinated with it as well and the two of you shared the one you bought.

You did find the cider you so sought and made Rio get one too, even after she complained of having a full stomach.

“It’s rather good, Rio,” you begged as the two of you stood in line. “If you don’t like it, I’ll just drink your share.”

She arched one perfectly sculpted brow at you as a smile rose to greet you. “Oh, you will will you?” she asked.

The shine in your eyes must have been answer enough, because she ordered two of the drinks but ended up finishing half of it.

She seemed to enjoy it, but relinquished it to you on the claims that she couldn’t possibly fill her stomach any longer.

“More for me,” you commented like you’d gotten away with stealing something valuable. Rio barked out a laugh as her arm brushed against yours.

It was entirely too true that right now, you had no cares about how close she was. You were having fun with her and she with you as you talked and drank cider.

She won a little bottle game that was 50¢ a turn and she didn’t have to spend another quarter in order to fetch you a duck you had pointed out.

“How did you do that so well?” you asked her, beaming as you held the stuffed toy like gold. “I’ve seen children run screaming from their parents once they emptied their pockets.”

Rio tapped her temple. “All in the head, Angel. I wanted to win, so I won.”

“If only it were that easy!”

She simply smiled those red lips at you and pulled you toward the Ferris Wheel. The stars had become as bright as they could be while the fair was open and she wasted no time in deciding on what she wanted to finish it off with.

“Do you fear heights?” she asked you as she waited with two quarters in hand, back of the line.

“No,” you said, and you liked to think you were right in your belief. “No, I don’t think so. Not if I feel like there’s not a reason to be afraid of them.”

If you hadn’t been so focused on the way the wheel was spinning with its flashing lights, you might have been able to catch how Rio seemed to think over your words. But as quickly as the line went, so did your conversations and laughter.

The teenager in a red and white striped shirt waited expectantly at the till as Rio uncapped her hand over his to drop the two coins into his palm.

He led you both through the gate blocking access to the ride and waited for the Wheel to stop until a car came down and emptied the contents of its seats. Then he hastily ushered you in and pulled down the security bar.

“Hands and feet inside, no wiggling around,” he said with a sigh. “Enjoy the ride.”

Rio was startlingly quiet on the way up as she and you both took in the view. It was truly breathtaking -- and you could both see Westview in all it's small twinkly lights the higher up you rose.

Rio nudged you with her wrist. "I can see the house."

"You cannot," you scoffed at her, leaning into her to try and get the same view as she was.

Before you realized what was happening, an arm was being wrapped around your shoulders and you were being tugged close.

"Rio." You tried to tug away from her, a small swell of panic rising as you glanced around. You were close to reaching the top of the ride and the closest to the stars you would ever be for the first time. "Rio, the people above us can see."

"They can't," the older woman murmured as she bent her neck down to look at you, squeezing your hip reassuringly. "I wouldn't let them. It is just us."

"The people below . . ." you glanced down, wondering if the other cars would be able to see and hear you.

"Stop." She lifted your face to yours and gave you the softest of expressions. "Hey. It's okay."

And then she leaned down to kiss you.

Rio and Reader will return in Part 4

PART FOUR

[keepingitformyself]

older (and wiser): iii

A/N: well here we are! the final chapter of “older (and wiser).” this will not be the end tho! i plan to write a prequel series going more into depth about wanda and readers past, how they came to be, how they fell apart and what not. i do want to to make one more thing clear before you continue reading; this story is meant to be as realistic as possible. meaning the ending may not be for everyone. i specifically wrote this with intent of giving these characters an emotional arc they deserved. so, without further ado, enjoy this final chapter!

synopsis: wanda comes over for dinner one last time.

pairings: wanda maximoff x reader

genre: angst

warnings: it’s gonna be sad lowk. get the tissues ready.

MASTERLIST series masterlist

please do not repost my work anywhere for any reason at all. if you do see this happen to any of my stories, please let me know. thank you x.

wanda spends most of the night back at her hotel, staring out the large window that overlooks the city. neon signs flicker in the distance, their glow casting fragmented patterns across her room.

she leans her forehead against the cool glass, letting the city hum around her, lost in thoughts of you. she imagines what you could be doing right now. if paul’s arms were wrapped around you, if he makes you laugh the way she used to. a hollow ache settles in her chest as she lets herself sink into the deep loss of not having you anymore.

the next day, early morning, wanda’s phone buzzes on the nightstand. she reaches for it groggily, only to find a message from you at the top of her screen.

come by at 6:30? here’s the address: 150 west 26th street, new york, ny 10001. see you soon!

for a moment, wanda just stares at the screen, her thumb hovering over the message. she exhales slowly, closing her eyes as a wave of uncertainty washes over her. part of her wants to pack her bags right then and there, to book an early flight and leave you in this city behind.

she doesn’t know which is worse. never facing you again or having to sit across the dinner table from you and your husband-to-be.

she spends the rest of the day mentally preparing herself for how this evening could go, running through endless scenarios in her head.

what would one talk about when having dinner with their ex’s fiance? especially when said ex is someone you’re still seemingly in love with.

oh yeah, your fiance used to look at me the same way.

or

of course, i know what her favorite song is. ‘do i ever cross your mind?’ by dolly parton. i performed it for her on our eighth month anniversary.

yeah, i paid the tech guy in the theatre department extra to let me use the theatre after hours.

the thoughts make her cringe, but the bitterness is hard to suppress. she tries to bite back the small, unwarranted hatred she’s developed for paul. everything she’s learned about him—despite her best efforts not to—has been nothing but positive.

he’s generous, patient, successful, and clearly loves you. and wanda knows you wouldn’t be marrying someone who didn’t treat you like you deserved the whole world.

it’s all pathetic in its nature. she should have been over you long by now. but she doesn’t know how to explain to you— to explain to herself—that leaving you is still something she’s trying to process. that even when she didn’t appreciate you enough, you felt like everything to her. you still do.

and she doesn’t know how to make sense of any of it.

by the time the sun sets, wanda’s resolve is still fragile. she dressed carefully, standing in front of the mirror for far too long, fussing with her appearance. she wants to look composed, unbothered. as if seeing you happy with someone else doesn’t feel like dagger to the heart. one that you keep twisting without trying.

at 6:15, she steps outside her hotel and hails a cab, clutching a bottle of wine she bought earlier as a polite gesture. as the cab weaves through the bustling streets of new york, wanda wonders what kind of expression you’ll wear when you see her. will it be warm, nostalgic, indifferent? she braces herself for anything.

when the cab drops her off in front of a sleek residential building in tribeca, she lingers for a moment before buzzing in. the door unlocks with a soft click, leading her into a quiet corridor toward an elevator. she steps inside, pressing the button for your floor with a hand that feels unsteady.

the walls feel too close. the air feels too thick.

by the time she reaches your door, her nerves are frayed. she knocks twice, her heart hammering.

four seconds later, the door swings open, and there you are, beaming at her like no time has passed.

"hi! it’s so good to see you."

before wanda can say anything, you pull her into a hug, warm and familiar. she exhales sharply, caught off guard, but she lets herself sink into it, just for a moment.

when you pull away, she notices the man standing just a few feet behind you, a cat in his arms. he watches the interaction with a patient, kind smile before gently setting the cat down.

“sorry about that,” paul says, laughing as the cat immediately tries to sneak toward the door. "he bolts every chance he gets."

then, without hesitation, he steps forward and grasps wanda’s hands in his own. his grip is firm, his smile genuine.

“it’s really nice to meet you, wanda.”

for a second, wanda is stunned by the ease of his kindness. she had spent so much time building him up in her head as an obstacle, an enemy, but standing here now, faced with his warmth, she almost felt guilty for ever resenting him.

“thank you for having me,” she manages, recovering quickly. she glances around, taking in the space. "you have a lovely home."

then, as if suddenly remembering, she reaches into her bag.

“i brought some wine,” she says, handing it to you. “the expensive kind. i know my stuff.” she huffs out a small laugh, forcing some lightness into her voice.

paul chuckles, taking the bottle from your hands to examine it. “i like her already.”

and just like that, wanda knows this is going to hurt more than she thought.

dinner passes in a blur of polite conversation and well-meaning smiles. paul is gracious, effortlessly kind, and wanda hates how easy it is to like him. she hates that there’s nothing about him to hate at all.

she watches the way you lean into him when you laugh, how his hand absentmindedly finds yours on the table. it’s second nature, the kind of comfort that only comes with time, with certainty.

and wanda knows, without question, that she has none of those things with you anymore.

paul has made it a habit to ask about how you and wanda met. even though she’s sure he already knows most of the story, he’s always genuine in wanting to hear more, especially the parts you tend to leave out.

“you got any funny stories about this one?” paul asks, flashing wanda a pointed smile. “something embarrassing, please.”

wanda huffs out a quiet laugh, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. she has plenty. but as she glances between you and paul, there’s a flicker of hesitation in her eyes. some memories feel lighter than others. some carry more weight than she knows what to do with.

still, when she sees the way you’re watching her; curious, amused, trusting, she decides to tell it.

“oh, i’ve got one,” she says, leaning forward slightly. “back in college, we tried to break into the theatre department after hours. it wasn’t really breaking in, technically, the door was open, but we definitely weren’t supposed to be there. they had this whole wire rig set up for the upcoming peter pan production, and somebody—” she tilts her chin toward you “—thought it would be a great idea to try it out.”

paul turns to you, amused. “why am i not surprised?”

you groan, already bracing for the rest of the story. wanda smirks but continues, her voice softer now.

“so, there she was, strapped into this ridiculous harness, so sure she was about to soar across the stage like some theatrical prodigy. but the second she tried to lift off, the harness jammed, and instead of flying, she was just—”

“i was dangling there,” you chime in, groaning at the memory. “like some tragic shakespearean ghost.”

“and then, of course, security walks in,” she says, shaking her head. “and instead of, i don’t know, explaining, she panicked and yelled, ‘i have done the deed. didst thou not hear a noise?’”

paul bursts out laughing, nearly choking on his drink. “you did not.”

“she did,” wanda confirms, laughing softly. “the security guy just stood there for a second, like he was reconsidering every choice that led him to that moment, then sighed and said, ‘get down.’”

paul grins, shaking his head. “so, what happened next?”

“i had to help her out of the harness before we both got kicked out,” wanda says. “and then we ran. fast.” she pauses, her smile dimming just a little. “ended up at that all-night diner by campus instead. sat there for hours, drinking burnt coffee, still laughing about it.”

her voice drifts for a moment, lost in the memory. you swallow, feeling something heavy settle in your chest, but before the silence can stretch too long, you force out a small chuckle.

“i could’ve flown,” you say, shaking your head. “i just needed a little more time.”

wanda looks at you then, and there’s something in her gaze. something paul doesn’t quite catch, but you do.

“yeah,” she murmurs. “maybe you just needed more time.”

paul laughs again, unaware of the way wanda’s fingers tighten around her glass. “you two were absolute menaces, huh?”

and just like that, the moment passes. the air lightens again, and Wanda takes another sip of her wine. but the memory lingers between you, heavier than it should be.

“did she ever tell you that we watch some of your movies sometimes?” paul cuts in, his eyes bright with genuine curiosity. there’s an eager energy to him, the kind that makes it clear he isn’t just saying it to be polite—he actually wants to talk about her work.

wanda raises an eyebrow, glancing at you. “oh?”

you offer a small, sheepish smile, and paul continues before you can respond.

“i mean, seriously,” he says, leaning forward slightly. “i’m already a pretty emotional guy, but your movies? they wreck me.”

wanda lets out a soft, amused laugh, her fingers absently tracing the stem of her wine glass. “that’s very kind of you to say.” she takes a slow sip before adding, almost offhandedly, “i guess i just have a thing for playing characters in distress.”

paul barks out a laugh at that, shaking his head. “yeah, well, you do it very well. it’s almost unfair.”

wanda smirks, but there’s something thoughtful in the way she tilts her head, as if considering his words. then, with a teasing glint in her eye, she leans in slightly and says, “i take it you’re a crier, then?”

paul places a hand over his chest in mock offense. “absolutely. no shame.”

that earns a more genuine laugh from wanda, and for a moment, the tension in her shoulders eases. the air between the three of you feels a little lighter.

when the plates are empty and the conversation slows, paul pushes back his chair with a contented sigh.

“i’ll start on the dishes,” he says, already stacking plates. “you two should catch up.”

you smile at him, appreciative, and wanda feels something twist in her chest. she shouldn’t be here. she doesn’t belong here.

still, she doesn’t move.

you refill your wine glass and lean back in your chair, watching her carefully. wanda swirls what’s left in her own glass, staring at the deep red before speaking.

“maybe i should’ve tried to convince you to run off with me,” she jokes, her voice light, almost teasing.

but when she finally looks up, she sees the way your expression falters, just for a second. you know, both of you do, that it isn’t really a joke.

you let out a small breath, shaking your head with a soft chuckle. “that wouldn’t have changed anything, wanda.”

“wouldn’t it?” she asks, a little too quickly.

your eyes search hers, and for a fleeting moment, it feels like the past is sitting between you, untouched, waiting.

wanda wonders if there’s a universe where you had run off together. if there’s a version of you out there, tangled up in her arms instead of in someone else’s.

she swallows hard. “i wish i had tried a little harder.”

your face softens, but it’s not enough to undo the distance between you. “you couldn’t help it,” you say, voice gentle.

"i could have," she insists, her hands gripping the stem of her glass a little too tightly. there’s frustration in her voice, but beneath it, there’s something raw. regret, maybe.

you don’t argue. you won’t. because the truth is, she could have.

"yeah," you admit, barely above a whisper. "maybe."

silence settles between you. wanda watches as your gaze shifts toward the window, toward the street where people pass by, oblivious to the ache sitting between you both.

she doesn’t know what she was expecting. maybe some kind of reassurance that she still lingers in your mind the way you linger in hers. that if things had been different, if she had been different, this could have been her home, her life.

but you don’t give her that.

paul’s voice calls from the kitchen. “babe, where’s the dish soap?”

you blink, turning toward the sound, and the spell is broken.

wanda forces a smile, downing the last of her wine before standing. “i should get going.”

you don't question it.

you grab wanda’s coat from the rack and walk her to the door. she doesn’t ask you to, but neither of you are quite ready for the night to end without one last moment.

“leaving so soon?” paul asks suddenly, his voice light but tinged with something unreadable. both you and wanda turn to face him.

she nods apologetically, adjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder. “i have an early flight tomorrow,” she admits, offering a small, regretful smile.

“oh.” paul’s disappointment is subtle but there, it flickers in his eyes before he shapes his expression into something more polite. “well, it was really nice meeting you, wanda.”

you glance at him, catching the way he shifts slightly, rubbing his thumb over the inside of his palm. a small habit of his when he’s holding something back. you wonder, briefly, if tonight was difficult for him too, if he’s been carrying the weight of this evening the same way you have. you decide you’ll ask him about it later.

stepping forward, you lean in to press a kiss to his cheek, feeling the way his jaw relaxes at the familiar gesture. his hand finds yours easily, his fingers warm and steady against your own.

“i’m just gonna walk her out,” you murmur, giving his hand a small squeeze.

paul nods, his eyes searching yours for a moment before he offers wanda another polite smile. “safe travels,” he says, his voice kind, sincere.

as you lead wanda toward the door, you feel the weight of paul’s gaze lingering on you, as if he knows that this goodbye is heavier than it appears.

the air outside is crisp, carrying the distant hum of the city. wanda stands beside you on the curb, her arms wrapped around herself despite the warmth of her coat. the streetlights cast long shadows, and for a second, it feels like you’re standing on the edge of something you’ll never get back.

her uber is a few minutes away. that’s all the time you have left.

she exhales softly, eyes fixed on the passing cars. then, as if she’s been holding it in all night, she finally asks, “do you think we could have worked things out? if we had been different people? under different circumstances?”

the question hits you. you open your mouth, but nothing comes out. because the truth is, you don’t know.

maybe in another life. maybe in a world where you didn’t leave the hotel before she could see you, where you both didn’t have to love each other from a distance, where you didn’t have to wonder if loving her meant waiting for something that wasn’t enough.

but this isn’t that world.

you swallow hard, staring down at the pavement. “i don’t know, wanda.”

she nods, as if she expected that answer, but the sadness in her eyes deepens anyway. “me neither.”

the uber pulls up, headlights cutting through the night, and you both turn toward it. this is it. the real goodbye.

wanda hesitates, then reaches for you, pulling you into one last embrace. you don’t know who’s holding onto who tighter. when she pulls away, her hand lingers on your arm for a second too long before she finally steps back.

“take care of yourself,” she murmurs, voice barely above a whisper.

you give her a tight-lipped smile, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “you too, wanda.”

she slides into the backseat, and as the car pulls away, you stand frozen on the sidewalk, watching until the taillights disappear around the corner.

and then it hits you.

the weight of it all crashes down at once. the grief, the finality, the understanding that there are some lives you’ll never get to live, some love stories that will never get their second chance.

you press a hand to your mouth as your chest tightens, eyes stinging, but you force yourself to turn back toward the building before you fall apart completely.

when you step into the lobby, you’re not surprised to see paul waiting by the elevator. he doesn’t say anything. he doesn’t have to.

the moment you reach him, you break.

a choked sob escapes you as you fall into his arms, and he holds you without hesitation, one hand smoothing over your hair, the other wrapped firmly around your back.

“i’ve got you,” he murmurs against your temple. and you believe him.

because this was never about leaving him.

you love paul. you’ve never questioned that.

but love doesn’t erase the what-ifs. it doesn’t quiet the ache of knowing there’s a version of you out there who loved wanda differently, who had a life that was beautiful in its own way. one that you’ll never get to live.

paul presses a kiss to your hair and just holds you, letting you mourn what could have been.

and when you’re finally ready, he walks you up.

[nameless-jamie]

Meet me on the Pitch

Valentine's Day Special - Day 1

A Jamie Tartt x fem!shy receptionist reader

Masterlist Valentine' Special

TW: cursing, kissing

Y/N had never been one to put much thought into Valentine’s Day. It wasn’t that she hated it—she just didn’t expect much. Working at AFC Richmond meant watching the players fumble through grand gestures for their girlfriends while she quietly sat behind the reception desk, perfectly content in her little corner, far from the chaos of romantic declarations.

At least, that was the plan.

But when she arrived at work that morning, a bright red envelope sat neatly on her desk.

Her name was written on the front in bold, slightly messy handwriting.

Frowning, she picked it up.

Y/N blinked, her heart fluttering nervously in her chest, her fingers trembling slightly as she glanced around. The office was bustling with the usual morning energy, but no one seemed to notice her. She slowly opened the envelope, pulling out a small card.

Inside, in a mix of rushed cursive and print, was a simple message:

Meet me on the pitch.

Her stomach did a little flip. There was no name, but something about the hurried scrawl felt oddly familiar.

"Exciting, isn’t it?"

Y/N jumped, a small squeak escaping her as Keeley Jones appeared beside her, practically bouncing with excitement.

"Oh my God, Keeley," she gasped, pressing a hand to her chest. "You scared me half to death."

Keeley didn’t seem to notice the shock in Y/N’s voice. Her eyes were locked on the card. "So... are you gonna go?" she asked, her grin far too knowing.

Y/N eyed her suspiciously, her voice soft. "Do you know who this is from?"

Keeley’s grin widened. "Maybe."

Y/N narrowed her eyes. "Keeley."

"Just go to the pitch, babe," Keeley said, winking. "Trust me."

Y/N wasn’t sure why she trusted Keeley—especially when she felt like her stomach was doing backflips—but she did. So, when her lunch break came around, she found herself walking to the pitch, the chilly February air brushing against her cheeks.

For a few moments, nothing happened. She just stood there, awkwardly shifting from foot to foot, wondering if maybe she was just imagining it. Then—

A football rolled toward her, stopping just at her feet.

Before she could process it, a certain Richmond striker jogged into view, his hands tucked into the pockets of his training jacket. Y/N froze, her heart jumping into her throat.

Jamie?

"Y/N," Jamie called, his voice sounding unusually tentative as he nodded toward the card still clutched in her hand. "Guessin’ you got my note."

Her throat went dry, and she blinked, taking in the football, then him, and then back to the football. "This was you?" she asked, her voice small.

"Uh, yeah?" Jamie rubbed the back of his neck, looking uncharacteristically sheepish. "I mean, I was gonna just ask you, but Keeley said I should do somethin’ a bit more… y’know, romantic, since it's Valentine's Day an' all that."

Y/N swallowed, her heart hammering in her chest. "Ask me what?"

Jamie shifted uncomfortably on his feet, his usual confidence faltering for a moment. "If you score a goal on me, I’ll tell you."

Y/N’s eyes widened. "And if I don’t score?"

Jamie’s smirk returned, but it was gentler now. "Then you gotta go on a date with me."

Her stomach churned. "Jamie—"

"Look," Jamie interjected quickly, his grin growing mischievous. "I could’ve just asked, yeah? But then I wouldn’t get to show off my world-class goalie skills."

Y/N couldn’t help but smile at his usual cocky attitude, even if it was wrapped in a layer of shyness she hadn’t expected. "Alright, Tartt. Game on I guess."

She took a step back, trying to steady her nerves, and lined up to kick the ball—

Only for Jamie to dramatically dive the wrong way as the ball barely rolled into the net.

Y/N burst into a laugh, her hand flying up to cover her mouth in surprise. "Jamie, that was pathetic. On purpose!"

Jamie sat up, grinning like a fool. "Oi, don’t disrespect my skills."

"That wasn’t skill," she teased, feeling the butterflies in her stomach flutter. "That was pity."

Jamie rose to his feet, brushing dirt from his sleeves, though his grin didn’t falter. "Yeah, well, either way—you won. So, I guess I gotta tell you."

He stepped closer to her, his expression softening, and for a brief moment, Y/N’s anxiety melted into something warmer, something sweeter.

"I like you, Y/N," he said, his voice quieter now. "Like, a lot."

Her breath caught in her throat, and her heart thudded painfully in her chest. Was this really happening?

"I know I can be a bit much sometimes," Jamie continued, rubbing at the back of his neck awkwardly, "but I wanted to do this proper. And I figured... Valentine’s was as good a time as any. I've liked you since you started working the front desk, you're the first person I see every morning and the last I see when I leave... I want that to be a permanent thing."

Y/N felt her cheeks burn, but the warmth in her chest spread, making her smile shyly. "So… uhm— could I maybe still— If you want— could we still go on that date?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Jamie’s grin returned, but there was something softer in it now, like he was genuinely relieved. "Well, yeah of fucking course. Now it’s a celebratory date."

Y/N’s heart swelled, and before she could overthink it, she quickly leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. That took all her courage...

Jamie froze, his eyes wide with shock, and Y/N immediately regretted it, pulling away faster than she intended.

"I'll be ready at seven, Jamie," she murmured, her voice almost cracking as she turned to walk away, her hands shaking with nerves. She couldn’t believe she’d just done that.

As she left, she could feel Jamie’s eyes on her, and for the first time in forever, she felt like maybe this Valentine’s Day wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

Jamie stood there for a solid two minutes, hand drifting up to where she had just kissed his cheek, his brain still buffering.

Did that just happen?

Did Y/N actually say yes?

Did he just win at Valentine’s Day?

Behind him, someone wolf-whistled.

Jamie whipped around to see a few of the lads—Sam, Dani, Colin, and Isaac—watching from the sidelines, grinning like they’d just witnessed the best rom-com moment of all time.

“Oh my God,” Jamie groaned, rubbing his face. “How long’ve you lot been standin’ there?”

“Long enough to see you completely fumble that confession,” Colin teased.

Sam crossed his arms, nodding approvingly. “But it was very sweet.”

“You are so in love, my friend,” Dani added, beaming. “It is beautiful to see!”

Jamie scowled at them, but it didn’t hold much heat—not when he was still floating from the fact that Y/N had kissed his actual face.

He cleared his throat, ignoring the fact that he was blushing like an idiot. “Shut up, all of you. At least I got a date on Valentine's Day.”

That only made them laugh harder.

Y/N spent the rest of the afternoon definitely not replaying the entire interaction in her head. She definitely wasn’t thinking about the way Jamie had looked at her, or how surprisingly sweet his confession had been.

Nope. Not at all.

“You’re staring at the clock,” Keeley said, smirking as she leaned against the reception desk.

Y/N blinked, snapping out of it. “I am not.”

Keeley raised an eyebrow. “Babe. It’s fine to be excited, y’know.”

“I—” Y/N hesitated, then sighed. “It’s just… Jamie’s never exactly been the romantic type, has he?”

Keeley’s expression softened. “People change, babe. And for what it’s worth? I know he likes you.”

Y/N bit her lip, nerves and excitement warring in her chest.

“Well,” Keeley continued, grinning, “you better go get ready, because it’s almost six.”

Y/N glanced at the clock—and sure enough, the workday was over.

Oh God.

This was actually happening.

At exactly seven o’clock, Jamie showed up at her flat, standing on her doorstep in a fitted blazer over his usual flashy attire.

He was holding a bouquet of flowers.

“Oi,” he greeted, grinning. “You look… really fuckin’ pretty.”

Y/N felt her face heat up. “And you look very handsome, Jamie.”

Jamie rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, figured if I was gonna take a gorgeous girl out, I should make an effort.”

"Thank you so much, I've never gotten flowers before..." She took the flowers from him, unable to stop smiling.

"Never gotten flowers?! What fuckin' idiots did you date before? Get used to receivin' flowers every day from now on."

“So, where are we going?” She asks, eager to change the topic, because she's completely blushing now.

His grin turned cheeky. “It’s a surprise.”

Y/N gave him a look, but she let him take her hand and lead her to his car.

The “surprise,” it turned out, was a cozy little Italian restaurant, where Jamie had somehow managed to get them a quiet table tucked away in the corner. The atmosphere was warm and inviting, and the food smelled amazing.

“I’m very impressed, this is beautiful,” Y/N admitted, sipping her wine. “I was expecting… I dunno, a club or something.”

Jamie scoffed, leaning forward. “What, and have us both screamin’ over the music? Nah. Wanted to, y’know… talk to you.”

Her heart did a little flip.

They did talk—about everything and nothing, about work and football and the stupid things the lads did in the locker room. Jamie was charming, as always, but there was a softer side to him tonight. A sincerity in the way he listened, the way he laughed at her jokes, the way he made sure she had enough of the garlic bread they were sharing.

Somewhere between the main course and dessert, Y/N realized she was having fun.

Like, actual fun.

Not the kind of fun where she was being polite or trying to make the best of a bad date. No, this was just… easy. Natural.

And when they left the restaurant, strolling toward his car under the glow of the streetlights, she realized something else.

She really wanted to kiss him.

As if reading her mind, Jamie slowed to a stop, turning to face her.

“So,” he said, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Did I fuck it up?”

Y/N blinked. “What?”

“The date,” he clarified. “Did I—did I fuck it up? ‘Cause, y’know, I do that sometimes.”

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “No, Jamie. You didn’t fuck it up. I loved it. I had so much fun, thank you.”

Relief flooded his face. “Good. ‘Cause I really wanna kiss you right now.”

Y/N’s breath caught. “Yeah?”

Jamie took a step closer, smirking. “Yeah.”

She barely had time to process before he leaned in, capturing her lips in a soft, lingering kiss.

It was warm and sweet, with just the slightest hint of cocky confidence—so very Jamie.

When they pulled apart, he was grinning.

“So, this means you’ll go out with me again, right?”

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “Yeah, Jamie. I will. Definitely.”

Best. Valentine’s. Ever.

[tearsaura]

In the woods, the monster awaits // Eris Vanserra x reader

Based on this comment by @astarionsdurge thank you so much for this prompt! I hope you like it.

picture is from pinterest: tanema3

Word count: 1.2k

The estate was much quieter nowadays. Visiting it served only two purposes: seeing my mother or following up on court business. It always felt cold, which is ironic since our power was quite the opposite.

My father’s office was the furthest away at the highest floor and even that didn’t seem far away enough from us. As I climbed up the stairs and entered his space a few moments later, the familiar smell of his cologne hit me and it made my skin crawl.

“We must check in with y/l/n. The magic on our borders is wearing of. There has been an increase on beasts in the woods and if they get any closer, they’ll feast on the village by noon and on us by the evening.” Beron said without looking up from his papers as I stepped closer to his desk.

Well hello to you too father!

Yes, I am doing alright thank you for asking!

Our army shrinks with every day that passes but you already knew that and you refuse to do anything about it! What will you do when there are none left, even for you?

How are you feeling? Any chance that you step down and free this court from its misery?

My father, the high lord of the autumn court, summoned me at dawn to complain, like he usually did. He did take me by surprise that he decided to do something about it instead of delegating it to someone else. Maybe the thoughts of being a meal for some beasts did worry him.

“Shall I meet up with him today?”

“No, I already scheduled to meet up and I want you to accompany me, I need to have a word with him first but after that it is going to be your problem.” He said, raising from his chair.

With other words, he wanted the people from the village to think that he does care about them. That’s what he usually does: Goes to the poorer villages occasionally, act as if he cares, promises them that he works something out to help them but never actually does it. He wordlessly walked out, his guards trailing after him. I sighed, counted to ten, and went after them.

The horse ride to the boarders went quietly thankfully. I tuned out my fathers talking and took in the lands. The autumn court was beautiful, especially the forest. We reached the said place at the border shortly, and nobody was there. I got off my horse and gave him something to eat before joining my father, who was already seething. It was astonishing, how short his patience ran.

“This is unacceptable. Where is the old man?” Beron complained as he dismounted his horse, walking further into the woods.

Please dear mother, let this man get lost in there and never come back.

“This is a forest, he probably needs some time to find us because it looks all, you know, the same.” I claimed, walking after him whilst keeping my distance.

“I am the high lord of the autumn court! I do not have the time or the nerve to wait on some old Witcher to find his way to the place I ordered him to get to on time. He’s a Witcher don’t they sense people?”

“We don’t. We only sense the magic, or well, the lack of it.” A feminine voice called and as I turned around, I was sure that reality had left me. The unknown woman came towards us, my father taking a few steps back as his guards stepped in front of him.

She nearly made me drop to my knees. There were no words on this world that would do right in describing how beautiful she was. No music could come close to the sound of her voice. Without thinking, I stepped closer to her.

The woman raised up her hands in surrender. “No need to draw weapons. I am not here to harm you, high lord. My father sends me: y/l/n, the old Witcher?” she said, a coy smile graced her red lips. Of course, I personally hadn’t seen her father but her signature light grey, almost white, eyes gave her away as a family member of the witches.

“Why didn’t he come himself? I specifically told him that he should come. One would think that the order of the High lord where to take-” “He went to another weak spot. Sadly, this area isn’t our only problem. It took me a while to find you because the magic is missing in multiple places.”

I swallowed. One leakage was bad, but manageable. Multiple where a bad sign. Something was wrong.

“So, what can we do about it?” I asked, her eyes now fixating on me. They looked just like the sky during autumns stormy afternoons. Very hard to look away from, pulling me deeper into this trance.

“You are?”

“Eris. Eris Vanserra.” She continued to look at me, her head tilting slightly. She had a mole right over her upper lip on the left side.

“My oldest son.” I hadn’t even realised that my father had stepped closer too. “He will take over this matter and you’ll correspond directly to him. Unfortunately, I must go. Court affairs.” He said, before he went to his horse, his guards trailing after him.

She waited for a few moments, watching my father and his guards leaving and as they became a small figure in the distance, her attention turned back to me.

“I feel sorry for lady autumn. It must be tiring to listen to this man for even a second, I fear.”

“You have no idea.” I replied and she gave me another smile. She had dimples.

“So, my father and I are working on resurrecting the old magic that was used. But it is many centuries old and all the tomes we have need to be translated first. We will work with lesser magic until we have it but that would only last days or weeks at most. For the time being I would stay here to make sure that everything is alright.” She said, stemming her hands on her hips as she observed.

She smelled divine. Oranges with a hint of vanilla. He wanted to wrap her scent around him for the rest of his life.

“The Forrest house isn’t far from here. You can stay there.” I blurted, her eyes widening in surprise. “Oh, that is quite all right I thought about bringing a tent-” “A tent? Absolutely not. You are saving your people with your work. The least I can do is make sure that you have an actual roof over your head.” I said, stepping closer to her. She bit her lip, as she looked up to me, the confidence from before replaced with sudden shyness.

“Thank you, Eris.”

Eris. That’s what did it. I suddenly felt the thin golden thread pulling me towards her and my breath hitched.

Mate.

Must protect her, must keep her safe.

I found my mate. I took everything in me not to blurt it right out.

“Of course.” I whispered, before I held out my arm to her hoping that she didn’t notice it trembling.

“I’ll bring you there.”