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fr0stf4ll · 5 months ago

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Flavours of Prythian

Coming from that request

paring; Azriel x reader

summary; Y/N, a talented restaurateur’s life is turned upside down when she forms an unexpected bond with Azriel, the mysterious Spymaster of the Night Court. Befriending Elain, who confides in her about a male she’s trying to win over, she eagerly helps her new friend — only to discover the male is none other than Azriel. When the bond between her and Azriel snaps at first touch, she’s torn between loyalty to Elain and the undeniable connection she shares with the shadowy warrior.

word count ; 7.8k

warning; //

notes; Yoo everyone, here is my first one shot ! Thank you again for the request<333 Should I do a more general taglist so that you guys can be permanently on it. Enjoy it, see you <3

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Prythian was a land of many wonders, from the towering peaks of the Illyrian mountains to the lush, rolling hills of the Spring Court. But for you, the true magic of the land was found in its kitchens, markets, and the rich flavors that each court had to offer.

You had always been drawn to the culinary arts, even as a child. Your curiosity led you to travel across the courts, tasting the distinct dishes of each region, learning from the most skilled chefs, and uncovering the hidden culinary gems that most would overlook. You spent years journeying from the Day Court, where spices danced like sunlight on the tongue, to the Winter Court, where hearty stews and warm bread were a staple against the biting cold. In the Night Court, you discovered the delicate balance of flavors that mirrored the starlit skies above, and in the Summer Court, you indulged in the rich, vibrant tastes that seemed to capture the very essence of the sun-drenched beaches.

Your travels weren’t just about satisfying your own cravings; they were a quest to bring the best of Prythian’s diverse cuisines to others. And so, you did the impossible—you opened a series of restaurants, each one in a different court, each one a testament to the culinary traditions you had learned and made your own. Your establishments became a haven for those seeking not only a good meal but an experience, a journey through Prythian’s tastes and textures without ever leaving their seat.

Your flagship restaurant, nestled in the heart of Velaris, was particularly special. It was here, in the City of Starlight, that you combined the flavors of all the courts into a menu that was as varied and enchanting as Prythian itself. Word quickly spread of the remarkable dishes served within, and soon, it wasn’t just the citizens of Velaris who came to dine—High Fae from every court sought out your creations.

One such evening, as you oversaw the final preparations for the dinner service, the door to your restaurant swung open, and in walked a familiar face—Elain Archeron. Elain had been wandering through Velaris, taking in the beauty of the city, when the warm, inviting aroma from your restaurant had drawn her in.

Elain was known for her gentle nature, her love of gardening, and her keen eye for beauty in all things. But tonight, she was here for something different—a new experience, a chance to explore another form of beauty through the culinary delights that had been whispered about throughout the city.

As Elain took her seat near a window overlooking the Sidra, she immediately felt at ease. There was a sense of comfort and warmth in the restaurant, and it wasn’t long before you found yourself walking over to greet her. She looked up with a warm smile, her eyes bright with curiosity and a touch of shyness.

“Welcome,” you said, your own smile reflecting her warmth. “I’m Y/N, the owner and chef here. It’s a pleasure to have you.”

Elain’s smile widened, and she nodded appreciatively. “I’ve heard so much about this place, I just had to come see for myself. The aromas alone are worth the visit.”

You chuckled, feeling an instant connection with her. “I’m glad to hear that. I’ll make sure the food lives up to the expectations.”

As the evening went on, you found yourself returning to Elain’s table more than once, the conversation flowing easily between the two of you. You talked about your travels, the different courts you had visited, and the inspiration behind some of the dishes on the menu. Elain, in turn, shared stories of her own—of her love for gardening, the peace she found in the quiet moments spent among the flowers, and her growing appreciation for the little joys in life, like a perfectly prepared meal.

There was something comforting in the way you both connected, as if you had known each other for much longer than just one evening. By the time dessert arrived—a delicate pastry inspired by the flavors of the Summer Court—you and Elain were chatting like old friends, the conversation punctuated by shared laughter and the occasional appreciative hum as she tasted each new dish.

As the night drew to a close, Elain hesitated for a moment before speaking. “I’d love to come back,” she said, her voice soft but sincere. “Maybe we could do this again sometime?”

You smiled, genuinely pleased by the idea. “I’d like that. You’re welcome anytime, Elain.”

Elain quickly became a regular fixture at your restaurant, her visits growing more frequent as the two of you bonded over shared stories, laughter, and the occasional glass of wine. It wasn’t long before your casual conversations began to take on a more personal tone, with Elain confiding in you about her life, her hopes, and her dreams.

One evening, after the dinner rush had died down and the restaurant had settled into a peaceful hum, Elain arrived with a particular glint in her eye. You noticed it the moment she walked in, her steps lighter, her smile brighter. She took her usual seat by the window, and you didn’t waste any time joining her, a knowing smile on your face.

“Alright, Elain,” you said, sitting down across from her. “You’re glowing tonight. What’s going on?”

Elain blushed, her hands fluttering nervously in her lap. “It’s nothing, really… Well, maybe it’s something. I don’t know.”

You leaned in closer, eyes wide with curiosity. “Come on, you can’t just leave me hanging like that. Spill!”

She bit her lip, hesitating for a moment before finally giving in. “There’s… this male,” she began, her voice soft but filled with excitement. “I’ve been trying to get his attention for a while now, and I think… I think it might actually be working.”

You couldn’t help but squeal in delight, clapping your hands together. “Elain! This is amazing! Tell me everything—who is he? How did it start? What’s he like?”

Elain giggled at your enthusiasm, her own excitement bubbling to the surface as she began to share the details. “He’s… well, he’s different. Reserved, I guess you could say. But there’s something about him that just draws me in. He’s kind, in his own way, and he has this quiet strength that I really admire.”

You listened intently, hanging on her every word as she described this mysterious male who had captured her attention. It was clear that she was smitten, and you couldn’t help but feel a surge of excitement for her.

“So, what’s the plan?” you asked, your mind already racing with ideas. “How are you going to win him over?”

Elain smiled shyly, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. “Well, I thought… maybe I could start by cooking for him. You know, something simple but special. He loves good food, and I think it might help him see… well, see me.”

You practically jumped out of your seat with excitement. “Elain, that’s perfect! And you’re in the right place—I can help you with recipes, tips, anything you need. We’ll make sure this meal is unforgettable.”

Her eyes lit up with gratitude. “Really? You’d help me?”

“Of course!” you replied, beaming. “This is what friends are for. And besides, I love a good love story. We’ll make sure he can’t resist you after this.”

From that moment on, the two of you were inseparable. Elain would visit the restaurant every few days, sometimes to try out a new dish, other times just to chat and share the latest developments in her budding romance. The more she talked about this male, the more you could see how deeply she cared for him, and it made you all the more determined to help her succeed.

You spent hours in the kitchen together, experimenting with different ingredients and techniques, crafting meals that were not only delicious but also filled with meaning. Elain would watch you work, her eyes wide with admiration as you explained the significance of each spice, each flavor, and how it could be used to convey emotion.

“There’s a language in food,” you told her one afternoon as you kneaded dough for a loaf of bread. “Every dish tells a story. When you cook for someone, you’re sharing a part of yourself with them. It’s intimate, in a way.”

Elain nodded thoughtfully, her hands busy chopping herbs for the soup you were preparing. “I never thought of it like that, but it makes sense. I want him to know how I feel, even if I can’t always find the words.”

You smiled, your heart swelling with affection for your friend. “Then we’ll make sure every bite he takes is filled with love.”

As the days turned into weeks, Elain’s visits became a highlight of your day. She would burst through the door, her eyes sparkling as she recounted her latest interactions with the male who had stolen her heart. You would listen with rapt attention, offering advice and encouragement, celebrating every small victory and reassuring her during moments of doubt.

“He loved the soup,” she told you one evening, her cheeks flushed with happiness. “He said it was the best thing he’d ever tasted. And I think… I think he’s starting to notice me.”

You grinned, feeling a surge of pride. “I told you, Elain. No one can resist good food, especially when it’s made with love.”

She laughed, her joy infectious. “I couldn’t have done it without you, Y/N. You’ve helped me so much.”

You waved off her gratitude with a smile. “Nonsense. You’re the one doing all the hard work. I’m just here to cheer you on.”

But the truth was, you had come to care deeply for Elain and her happiness. It wasn’t just about the food anymore—it was about seeing your friend find the love and connection she so deserved. And as she continued to come back, sharing her hopes and dreams, you couldn’t help but feel that you had found something special too.

Your friendship with Elain had become a source of joy and fulfillment, a reminder that sometimes, the most meaningful connections were forged in the simplest of moments—over a shared meal, a quiet conversation, or a burst of laughter that echoed through the night.

And so, as the seasons changed and the nights grew longer, you continued to help Elain in her quest to win over this mysterious male, knowing that whatever the outcome, you had found a true friend in her. A friend who had come into your life unexpectedly, but who had quickly become an irreplaceable part of it.

Weeks had passed since you and Elain had first started crafting meals together, each one a carefully planned step in her quest to win over the male who had captivated her heart. Every visit, every dish, brought a new story, a new glimmer of hope in her eyes. You were genuinely happy for her, thrilled to see her so full of life and excitement. So, when she asked if she could bring him to your restaurant for dinner, you couldn’t have been more supportive.

“Of course, Elain!” you’d said, flashing her an encouraging smile. “I’ll make sure everything is perfect. It’ll be a night he won’t forget.”

You’d spent the entire day preparing, selecting only the finest ingredients and crafting a menu that would showcase the very best of what your restaurant had to offer. You wanted this night to be special for her—special for them. You had no idea how special it would become, for reasons you never could have imagined.

As the evening sun dipped below the horizon, casting the city of Velaris in a warm, golden glow, Elain arrived at the restaurant with a male by her side. You couldn’t quite make out his features at first, but the way she clung to his arm, her eyes bright with anticipation, told you all you needed to know. This was the one.

As they stepped into the softly lit dining room, you finally got a good look at him—Azriel, the shadowsinger of the Night Court. You had heard of him, of course, through whispers and stories, but nothing could have prepared you for the moment your eyes met his.

Elain beamed as she introduced the two of you, her voice filled with warmth and pride. “Azriel, this is Y/N, the wonderful chef I’ve been telling you about. And Y/N, this is Azriel.”

He extended his hand to you, his expression polite, reserved. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said, his voice deep and smooth.

You reached out, intending to greet him with the same friendly courtesy you offered all your patrons. But the moment your hand touched his, something shifted in the air—a sudden, overwhelming rush of heat and energy that took your breath away. The bond snapped into place with such force that it nearly knocked you off your feet.

For a split second, the world around you faded, and all you could feel was the pull, the undeniable connection that tethered your soul to his. His eyes widened in shock, and you knew he felt it too—the bond, the realization that fate had just entwined your lives in a way neither of you had expected.

But as quickly as the bond formed, reality came crashing back down. Elain was standing there, her eyes full of hope, completely unaware of the storm that had just erupted inside you. She had no idea that the male she was so clearly infatuated with, the one she had been working so hard to win over, was now bound to you in a way that went beyond anything you could have ever imagined.

Panic surged through you. How could this happen? How could you possibly accept this bond when it would mean shattering the friendship you had built with Elain, when it would mean taking away the one thing she wanted so desperately?

You couldn’t. You wouldn’t.

With a forced smile, you quickly withdrew your hand from Azriel’s grasp, the warmth of the bond lingering like a phantom touch. “It’s nice to meet you too,” you managed to say, though your voice sounded hollow even to your own ears.

Azriel’s gaze lingered on you, confusion and something deeper flickering in his hazel eyes. But you couldn’t let yourself look too long, couldn’t let yourself feel what was brewing inside you. Not when Elain was standing right there, her happiness hanging in the balance.

“Please, take a seat,” you said, stepping back and motioning toward the table you had specially prepared for them. “I’ll make sure everything is perfect.”

Elain smiled, oblivious to the turmoil in your heart, and took her seat. Azriel hesitated for just a moment before following suit, his eyes never leaving yours. You could feel the weight of his gaze on you, the unspoken questions hanging in the air between you, but you didn’t dare meet his eyes again. You couldn’t.

As the evening went on, you did your best to stay professional, to act as if nothing had changed. You brought out dish after dish, each one more exquisite than the last, all while ignoring the fire burning in your chest. Every time Azriel tried to catch your eye, every time he tried to speak to you, you found a reason to turn away, to focus on something—anything—else.

Elain chattered on, completely unaware of the tension building between you and Azriel. She complimented the food, praised your skills, and even mentioned how much Azriel seemed to be enjoying himself. And through it all, you kept up the facade, kept pretending as if the bond snapping into place hadn't turned your entire world upside down.

But it was getting harder. With every glance Azriel sent your way, with every quiet question he tried to ask you in passing, it felt like the invisible thread between you was pulling tighter, demanding to be acknowledged. Yet, you refused to give in.

As the night dragged on, the tension between you and Azriel grew unbearable. He could sense it—you knew he could—but Elain remained blissfully unaware, happily recounting the gossip from the latest happenings in Velaris, smiling every time she caught Azriel glancing her way.

Azriel's eyes kept drifting back to you. Not once, not twice, but every time you approached the table, as if he couldn’t stop himself. You could feel the weight of his gaze burning into you, the way his expression darkened each time you brushed past him without so much as a word. He knew you were avoiding him, and he didn’t like it.

When you brought out the final dish—an indulgent dessert meant to close the evening on a sweet note—Elain excused herself to step outside for a moment, leaving you alone with Azriel for the first time since the bond snapped.

You could feel his presence before you even turned around, the quiet intensity of his gaze. And as you set the plate down in front of him, you knew you couldn’t avoid this confrontation any longer.

“Y/N.” His voice was low, barely more than a murmur, but the way he said your name sent a shiver down your spine. “We need to talk.”

You swallowed hard, keeping your eyes firmly fixed on the table in front of you. “There’s nothing to talk about,” you said, your voice cold and distant, a stark contrast to the whirlwind of emotions raging inside you.

Azriel leaned forward, his voice dropping even lower. “Don’t lie to me. You felt it too.”

The bond. He didn’t have to say the word for you to know what he meant. It was a truth that hung in the air between you, undeniable and impossible to ignore. And yet, you had to. You had to protect Elain, to protect your friendship, no matter the cost.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you lied, your heart aching with the effort it took to deny the pull you felt toward him.

Azriel’s expression darkened, his hand curling into a fist on the table. “Don’t do this, Y/N. Don’t shut me out.”

But you couldn’t let him in. If you let him in, if you allowed yourself to even consider what the bond meant, you would be betraying Elain in the worst way possible. How could you even think about being with him when she had spent weeks confiding in you, trusting you with her feelings for him?

“No, Azriel.” You stepped back, your voice firmer this time. “I can’t.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, frustration simmering just beneath the surface. “Why? Because of Elain?”

You winced at the mention of her name, the weight of guilt pressing heavily on your chest. “She cares about you. A lot.”

Azriel's expression softened, understanding dawning in his eyes. “Y/N, it’s not like that between Elain and me.”

But you shook your head, refusing to let yourself believe it. “It doesn’t matter. She’s my friend. I can’t—I won’t—do this to her.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The air between you was thick with tension, a storm of emotions swirling just beneath the surface. Azriel opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, the sound of the door opening broke the silence.

Elain re-entered the dining room, a bright smile on her face as she made her way back to the table. “Sorry about that,” she said cheerfully, oblivious to the charged atmosphere between you and Azriel. “What did I miss?”

You forced a smile, masking the turmoil raging inside you. “Nothing,” you lied, your voice steady even though your heart was breaking. “Just making sure everything’s perfect.”

Elain beamed, clearly pleased with how the evening had gone. “It really has been perfect, Y/N. Thank you so much for everything.”

Azriel’s gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before he finally looked away, the tension in his jaw clear as he nodded in agreement. “Yes… thank you.”

You nodded once, offering them both a stiff smile before excusing yourself from the room, your chest tightening with every step you took away from them.

As you retreated to the quiet of the kitchen, your hands bracing against the counter, the reality of what had just happened began to sink in. The bond had snapped. Azriel was your mate. And yet, you couldn’t—wouldn’t—accept it.

You had promised yourself you’d never hurt Elain. And if shutting down every advance Azriel made, if pushing away the one person the Cauldron had chosen for you was the only way to keep that promise, then that’s exactly what you would do.

Even if it tore you apart.

Back in the kitchen, you leaned heavily against the counter, your hands gripping the cold marble surface as you tried to regain your composure. The bond had snapped, and with it, any sense of stability you had managed to hold onto throughout the evening. The world felt off-kilter, like you were standing on the edge of a cliff, teetering on the brink.

One of your sous chefs, a sharp-eyed female who had worked with you since the restaurant’s inception, noticed your pallor. She set down the pan she was holding and approached you, concern evident in her eyes.

“Y/N,” she began cautiously, her voice gentle but probing, “are you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

You forced a nod, though you knew your expression wasn’t convincing. “I’m fine,” you murmured, though your voice was shaky and unsteady.

She frowned, clearly not buying your response. Her eyes scanned your face, taking in the unusual paleness of your skin, the way your hands trembled slightly as you gripped the counter. “You don’t look fine. Do you need to sit down? Maybe get some air?”

You shook your head, trying to brush off her concern, but the weight of the bond pressed down on you, making it hard to breathe. “No, I’ll be okay. It’s just… been a long night.”

She hesitated, still studying you closely, before glancing around the bustling kitchen. “But, Y/N,” she continued, her tone turning more inquisitive, “it’s strange. You always insist on preparing Miss Elain’s meals yourself, especially when she’s bringing a guest. But tonight, you didn’t even touch the preparation. You left it all to us.”

You froze at her words, the reality of what had happened sinking in even deeper. She was right—normally, you would have insisted on handling every detail of Elain’s meal, wanting to ensure that everything was perfect for your friend. But tonight, when it mattered most, you hadn’t been able to bring yourself to do it.

The truth was, the moment you realized Elain was bringing someone special, you couldn’t bring yourself to touch the ingredients. You had let the staff handle everything because deep down, some part of you knew something was about to change—something you weren’t ready to face.

“I…” you started, but the words caught in your throat. You swallowed hard, trying to find some semblance of an explanation. “I just thought… maybe it was time to let you all handle it. You’re more than capable.”

She tilted her head slightly, her frown deepening as she searched your eyes. “Are you sure that’s all it is?”

You nodded again, more firmly this time, even though the lie tasted bitter on your tongue. “Yes, I’m sure. I trust all of you with the kitchen. You don’t need me hovering over every detail.”

She didn’t seem entirely convinced, but she didn’t press the issue further. Instead, she offered a small, supportive smile. “Well, if you ever need a break, don’t hesitate to step out. We’ve got things under control here.”

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I appreciate it.”

With a final nod, she returned to her station, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the crushing weight of the bond you were trying so desperately to ignore.

You took a deep breath, closing your eyes for a moment as you tried to push away the overwhelming emotions swirling inside you. But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shake the image of Azriel’s eyes, the way they had widened in shock and recognition when the bond snapped into place. You couldn’t forget the warmth of his hand in yours, the way the world had seemed to narrow down to just the two of you in that fleeting, life-altering moment.

But Elain… you couldn’t do this to Elain. You couldn’t shatter her hopes, her dreams, just because of a bond you had never asked for. So, you did the only thing you could—you steeled yourself, pushed down the emotions threatening to break free, and vowed to keep your distance from Azriel, no matter how much it hurt.

You would be there for Elain, just as you always had been. You would help her win over the male she had been trying so hard to impress, even if it meant denying your own heart in the process.

Because that’s what friends did. They put each other first, no matter the cost.

And as you stood there in the kitchen, surrounded by the comforting sounds of sizzling pans and clinking utensils, you made a silent promise to yourself: you would protect Elain’s happiness, even if it meant sacrificing your own.

—

Azriel sat in the sitting room of the townhouse, surrounded by the familiar faces of the inner circle, yet he felt completely out of place. The evening had been an unexpected whirlwind of emotions, leaving him reeling from the bond that had snapped so suddenly and without warning. He had come here to find solace, to clear his mind, but every thought seemed to spiral back to you—the way you had looked at him, the way you had recoiled after the bond had formed during dinner at your restaurant.

He couldn’t understand it. How could something so significant be brushed aside so easily? He had tried to reach out to you, to understand what was happening, but you had shut him down, leaving him to grapple with the weight of the bond on his own.

The others were chatting around him, the sound of their laughter and conversation filling the room, but it all felt distant, muffled. Azriel’s mind was too clouded to focus on anything they were saying. He was trapped in a loop, replaying the moment over and over in his head—the spark, the connection, the way your eyes had widened in recognition before you quickly masked it.

He was so lost in thought that he almost missed it when Rhysand mentioned your name.

“You know, Y/N’s restaurant is one of the best in Velaris,” Rhys was saying, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied smile. “Feyre and I went there a few nights ago, and it was nothing short of incredible.”

Feyre nodded enthusiastically, her eyes lighting up at the memory. “The food was amazing. Every dish was like a work of art. She really has a talent, doesn’t she?”

Mor, who was lounging on one of the couches, joined in with a grin. “That’s not even the half of it. Y/N’s got restaurants all over Prythian—one in each court, if you can believe it. She’s become a bit of a legend in the culinary world.”

Azriel’s heart sank further as they continued to praise you, each word driving the knife deeper into his chest. It wasn’t that he disagreed with them—he knew you were remarkable, talented, someone to be admired. But right now, every mention of your name was like salt in a wound that was already festering.

Cassian, who had been listening with a smirk on his face, finally spoke up, his tone playful. “Sounds like Az here missed out on one hell of a meal tonight. Maybe he’ll have to go back and get a taste of what everyone’s raving about.”

Azriel tensed, the comment hitting far too close to home. He knew Cassian was just joking, but the implication—the reminder of what had happened tonight—was too much to bear. Without a word, he pushed himself up from his chair, his movements abrupt enough to draw everyone’s attention.

“Az?” Feyre called out, concern lacing her voice as she watched him head for the door. “Are you alright?”

He didn’t trust himself to respond. Instead, he muttered something about needing some air and quickly left the room, the weight of their gazes heavy on his back as he made his escape.

As the door closed behind him, an uncomfortable silence settled over the room. Everyone exchanged glances, clearly taken aback by Azriel’s sudden departure.

“What’s gotten into him?” Rhysand wondered aloud, his brows furrowed in confusion.

Cassian, never one to let an opportunity for humor pass by, snorted and shook his head. “Probably just realized he’s been a brooding mess all night and couldn’t handle the idea of someone actually having a good time.”

Mor chuckled, though there was a trace of worry in her eyes. “Or maybe he just can’t handle the fact that Y/N’s cooking is so damn good, it knocked him off his game.”

Rhysand sighed, glancing toward the door Azriel had just walked through. “He’s been off since he got back tonight. Maybe something happened.”

Feyre bit her lip, her expression softening. “I hope he’s alright. He seemed… different.”

Cassian, ever the optimist, leaned back in his chair with a lazy grin. “He’ll be fine. Az is tougher than all of us combined. He just needs some time to brood in his room, and he’ll be back to his grumpy self in no time.”

The group shared a few more laughs at Azriel’s expense, but the concern in their eyes never fully faded. They all knew Azriel well enough to understand that when he withdrew like this, it meant something was seriously bothering him.

Azriel’s footsteps were heavy as he made his way to his room, the quiet of the hallway amplifying the thoughts swirling in his mind. As soon as he entered, he shut the door behind him and leaned against it, closing his eyes as he tried to block out the noise, the chaos of emotions inside him.

He couldn’t shake the feeling of your hand in his, the way the bond had snapped into place like it had always been there, waiting. The connection was undeniable, and yet… you had denied it. Denied him.

Why? The question gnawed at him, refusing to let him rest. He had seen the recognition in your eyes, the brief moment when you had felt it too. But then, you had shut down, shut him out as if the bond meant nothing.

It was more than just confusing—it was painful. Azriel had spent centuries in the shadows, watching from the sidelines as his friends found their mates, found love. He had accepted his place, accepted that perhaps it wasn’t meant for him. And then, in the span of a heartbeat, everything had changed. You had changed it.

And now… now he was left in this strange limbo, caught between the undeniable pull of the bond and the walls you had erected between you.

Azriel’s fists clenched at his sides as he fought the urge to storm back to your restaurant, to demand answers, to make you acknowledge what had happened. But he knew he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t force you to accept the bond, couldn’t force you to feel something you clearly weren’t ready to face.

With a frustrated sigh, Azriel pushed off the door and crossed the room, heading to the window that overlooked Velaris. The city was peaceful, bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight, but his mind was anything but. He rested his forehead against the cool glass, his eyes scanning the distant lights of the city below.

“Why?” he whispered into the empty room, his voice tinged with a desperation he rarely allowed himself to feel. “Why won’t you let me in?”

But the night offered no answers, only the quiet whisper of the wind as it brushed against the windowpane.

—

The next day passed in a blur. You threw yourself into your work, letting the familiar rhythm of chopping, stirring, and plating distract you from the turmoil brewing inside. The restaurant had been busy, as always, with customers filling every table, their laughter and chatter echoing through the dining room. But despite the bustle, you couldn’t shake the heavy weight in your chest—the bond that you were trying so desperately to ignore.

When the last customer had left, you sent your staff home, insisting that you would handle the closing on your own. You needed the time alone, needed to clear your head without the distraction of others around. As the front door clicked shut behind the last of your employees, you finally allowed yourself to breathe.

The kitchen was quiet now, save for the soft sound of the knife in your hand as you prepped ingredients for the next day. The rhythmic motion of slicing through vegetables was soothing, almost meditative. But as you worked, you couldn’t help but feel the tension still coiled tight in your chest.

You were focused on the task at hand, chopping carrots with practiced precision, when a voice cut through the silence, making you freeze in place.

“I bet you could be good with a sword with how you work that knife,” came the familiar, deep voice, tinged with a hint of amusement. “Personally, I wouldn’t want to be those carrots.”

Your hand stilled mid-slice, the knife hovering just above the cutting board. You knew that voice all too well—Azriel.

Slowly, you turned to face him, finding him standing just inside the doorway to the kitchen, his expression guarded but his eyes full of determination. He had changed out of his usual leathers, dressed instead in a simple tunic and trousers, but there was no mistaking the intensity in his gaze.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The tension from the previous night hung heavy in the air, thick and suffocating. You could feel the bond thrumming faintly between you, a constant reminder of the connection you were trying so hard to deny.

But you knew why he was here. You had been avoiding him all day, refusing to even think about the conversation you knew was coming. But now, with the restaurant empty and the two of you alone, there was no escaping it.

You set the knife down on the counter, wiping your hands on a nearby towel as you steeled yourself for what was about to happen.

You took a deep breath, willing yourself to stay calm as you faced Azriel. The tension in the room was almost palpable, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavy between you. You had been dreading this conversation, but there was no avoiding it now.

“You shouldn’t have come back,” you said, your voice firm, though you could hear the tremor in it. “We can’t do this, Azriel.”

His brow furrowed, confusion flashing in his eyes. “Why not? Y/N, you felt it too. The bond—it snapped into place. We can’t just ignore that.”

You shook your head, your heart aching at the look on his face. “I’m not ignoring it. But I can’t—I won’t act on it. Not when Elain… Not when she’s been trying so hard to win you over.”

Azriel’s eyes widened in realization, and he took a step closer to you, his expression softening as he reached out. “Y/N, I think there’s been a misunderstanding. Elain wasn’t trying to win me over… not in the way you think.”

You hesitated, frowning as you tried to make sense of his words. “What do you mean? She’s been telling me everything, Azriel. How she’s been trying to get your attention, how much she cares about you… I can’t do that to her. I won’t be the one to hurt her like that.”

Azriel sighed, running a hand through his dark hair, clearly frustrated but determined to set things right. “Y/N, you don’t have the full story. Elain… she’s not interested in me like that. She’s been trying to make Lucien jealous.”

You blinked, taken aback by his words. “Lucien? But… he’s her mate. Why would she do that?”

Azriel nodded, his expression softening as he saw the confusion in your eyes. “Yes, he’s her mate. But they’ve been going through a rough patch lately. Lucien’s duties as emissary for the Night Court have kept him away, and Elain’s been feeling… neglected. She thought that by spending time with me, by pretending there was something more between us, she could get a reaction out of him. It was never about me, Y/N. It was always about Lucien.”

You felt your heart drop as the realization hit you. “So, you were just helping her as a friend?”

Azriel nodded again, his gaze steady as he took a step closer to you. “Exactly. I was only doing this to help her. I never had feelings for her in that way, and she knows that. We were just… playing a part to get Lucien’s attention.”

You swallowed hard, the pieces of the puzzle starting to fall into place. “She didn’t tell me any of this.”

“She probably didn’t want to worry you,” Azriel said gently. “Or maybe she wasn’t ready to admit it to herself. But I promise you, Y/N, there’s nothing between Elain and me. There never was. She’s still trying to figure things out with Lucien, and I was just trying to help her.”

You looked away, your mind racing to process everything Azriel was telling you. You had been so sure, so convinced that you were protecting Elain by shutting Azriel out. But now, with this new information, everything felt uncertain, like the ground had shifted beneath your feet.

“Azriel, I…” you started, but the words caught in your throat. You didn’t know what to say, how to respond. You had built up walls around your heart, walls meant to protect both you and Elain from the pain of betrayal. But now those walls were crumbling, leaving you vulnerable and confused.

Azriel took another step closer, his voice gentle as he spoke. “Y/N, please. Don’t shut me out. Let’s talk about this—really talk. Give me a chance to show you that this bond isn’t something to be feared. It’s something that could be… everything.”

You stood there, trying to process everything Azriel had just told you. The confusion, the guilt, the realization that you had misunderstood everything—it all came crashing down at once. You looked away from Azriel, your gaze dropping to the floor as you struggled to make sense of it all.

“Okay,” you finally muttered, more to yourself than to him. “Now I actually feel like a dumbass.”

The words slipped out before you could stop them, and you cringed internally. But when you glanced back up at Azriel, you found him staring at you with wide eyes for a moment—before a warm, rich laugh escaped him. It was a sound you hadn’t expected, a sound that cut through the tension and made your own lips twitch into a reluctant smile.

Azriel shook his head, still chuckling softly. “You’re not a dumbass, Y/N. Just… someone who cares a lot about her friend.”

You let out a shaky breath, your shoulders relaxing slightly as the weight of the misunderstanding began to lift. But even with the air between you lightened, you couldn’t shake the lingering worry, the uncertainty of what this all meant.

“I just… I don’t know you that well,” you admitted, your voice quieter now, more hesitant. “And this bond… it’s a lot to take in. I was so worried about Elain’s feelings that I didn’t even stop to think about how I felt. About how to navigate this.”

Azriel’s expression softened further, and he took a careful step closer, making sure not to crowd you. “I understand. The bond is… overwhelming, especially when it comes out of nowhere. And I know we don’t know each other well yet, but that’s something we can work on. We don’t have to rush into anything, Y/N. We can take this one step at a time, if that’s what you need.”

You looked up at him, meeting his gaze fully for the first time since the bond had snapped. There was no pressure in his eyes, no demand—just a quiet patience that made your heart ache with a strange mix of relief and something else, something warmer.

“But… what if this doesn’t work?” you asked, your voice small, the fear you had been trying to suppress finally finding its way out. “What if I can’t be what you need?”

Azriel’s eyes softened even more, and he shook his head gently. “Y/N, you don’t have to be anything but yourself. The bond doesn’t demand perfection—it’s just a connection, a starting point. We figure the rest out together.”

You swallowed, feeling the sincerity in his words. The fear was still there, gnawing at the edges of your mind, but it was tempered now by something else—a tentative hope that maybe, just maybe, this could work.

“Okay,” you whispered, more to yourself than to him, but Azriel caught it nonetheless.

He smiled softly, his wings shifting slightly as if in relief. “Okay,” he echoed. “One step at a time.”

For a moment, you both stood there in the quiet of the kitchen, the bond humming faintly between you. It wasn’t perfect, and it wasn’t without its complications, but it was something. And for the first time since the bond had snapped, you felt like maybe you could handle this—together.

Azriel extended his hand, not as a demand, but as an offer. “How about we start with something simple? A walk, maybe? Just to talk, get to know each other.”

You hesitated for a moment, the anxiety still lingering, but then you nodded slowly, reaching out to take his hand. His grip was warm, reassuring, and as his fingers closed around yours, you felt a little of that fear ease away.

“Yeah,” you agreed, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “A walk sounds good.”

And as you both stepped out of the kitchen, hand in hand, you couldn’t help but feel that maybe—just maybe—this was the beginning of something worth taking a chance on.

#azriel fic #rhysand #azriel #cassian #acotar #azriel x reader #azriel x you #sword #a court of thorns and roses #acotar series #acotar fanfiction #azriel spymaster #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #acotar fanfic #acotar x reader #acotar x you #elain

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dilf-docs · 19 hours ago

Text

My Baby's Fit Like A Daydream

husband!pedro pascal x younger!reader

summary: your relationship is finally out to the world. now, pedro and you will explore what it feels like to have your love out in the open.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, smut, FLUFF, the empire of bad humor strikes again, hurt/comfort bc all roads lead back to angst, a brief mention of bodyshaming, this is lowkey pwp my bad, dirty talk, fingering, p. in v., bathroom sex ijbol, exhibition kink (they be fucking everywhere but in a bed), degradation kink (he calls her a slut twice), the one and only creampie (twice), so naturally: breeding kink, ALSO pls stop the husband!pedro reqs, i beg. a delulu girl can only take so much 💔

word count: 10,991 words

side note: not one but two requests to be fullfilled! this is as a sequel to call it what you want. also, spam time: i happen to write in wattpad as well, and i have a pedro pascal social media fic going on :) but it's on spanish tho. if u speak the language and would like to tune in, read it here AND spam again but speaking of the ptwt dynamic, why don't we become moots? check my (new) stan twitter account here (i had one in 2022 that i had since 2016 but entered a crisis and deleted it lol)

part: I/II

The news had spread like wildfire.

As soon as you hit the red carpet, hand on hand, rings finally on display―shining under the spotlight, your phone had been blowing up nonstop: every show, podcast, tabloid, news outlet and social media had been talking about it. California had turn into an easter egg playground; everyone was eager to know it all.

(They had found the church where you married, the dress boutique, jewelry shop where Pedro bought the rings―the employees ratted him out, even sharing pictures of the moment, your husband posing with them without knowing of the future treason. They too had found the place where the reception took place, and even the name of the priest who had married you, but he refused to give the hungry press any details. God Bless)

In short, it had been a hell of a week. You figured dissapearing for a while was for the best, but with some interviews still left, that option had been discarded. Still, doesn't mean you couldn't retreat for a couple of days to the tranquility of your home while it was time to show up again. Well, as peaceful as it could get, since reporters were camping near your house and roaming around Hollywood Hills like vultures; the neighbour's nagging was just another layer of problems in your shit cake.

"I'm sorry, Louis. Walks will be postponed for a while" you talk to your cat, but the lazy bastard just stretches and lays down again. "Yeah, I can see you're affected. Don't cry"

"It's not the cat's fault" Pedro emerges from behind, "don't take it out on him"

He takes a sit next to you, two mugs in hand. He gives you the one with a chocolate steam, a souvenir he bought when you visited your home country last summer. You wonder if that's a trip you'll ever be able to make again.

"I'm not. Just- It's horrible that I can't even go outside my own house and walk the same roads I've walked in four years because the press is hidden with cameras in, I don't know, bushes!" you exclaim, quiet rage carried within your words. "It's unfair, really. All I want is to walk my damn cat without a flash up my ass"

Pedro nestles his face in your neck, nose carressing the skin. Giggles leave your lips, the sensation ticklish.

"It'll pass. It always does" he says, voice assuring, probably because he's used to the violation of privacy, but you're not. Getting bigger, is this the price to pay for making a name for yourself and claiming out loud who you love?

"I hope so" you murmur above the quietness of your home, a sound as eerie as fake, devoid of it's tranquil nature as a world of invasion awaits outside.

"Do you trust me?" Pedro speaks, voice unwavering. He holds your gaze, steady brown challening your shaky orbs.

"I do" you speak up, yet you wish you could believe it. You believe in him, there's no question to that, but do you believe in yourself? That the love you'd put out to the world would be treated with the same care and respect you have treated it in secret? For a fleating moment, you miss the secrecy.

"Then trust me this will be over sooner than expected" he presses a kiss to your lips, soft and sweet, feeling remanents of chocolate he licks away, as you mockingly yell ¡Qué sucio! but it's devoid of malice. "In time, this will become another anecdote we'll share with our kids, and laugh with our grandkids when we get older"

You smile, feeling tears in the corner of your eyes. Oh, doesn't he turn you into a pathetic sappy wife?

"Well" you sniffle, giggling to push back the tears away. "About the old part..."

He playfully kicks your side. "Uno ya no puede ser romántico, que le salen con estas cosas. Your generation could use some respect, you know?" (one can't simply be romantic anymore)

Pedro gets up, picking the mug from your hands as both rings brush together, the gold shinning under the morning Californian sun.

"And your generation could take a joke" you quip, lips curled up like you hadn't in weeks.

"Very funny, y/n. Thought you loved me" but then he's pressing a kiss to your temple like kissing you once isn't enough, promising to return after washing down the mugs.

"I do!" you shout to his dissapearing broad frame as he enters the kitchen, and he playfully makes a dissmissing move with his palm.

The laughing dies when your phone chimes next to you.

You shouldn't really, but the curiosity that draws you in is as intense as a magnet. The phone burns on its position, screaming for you to open it, despite being told by your husband that the best was choice was to ignore it until the buzz had died down, but you're afraid the turmoil isn't nowhere to be finished. Comments can be mean, he'd said, they can hurt you. Pedro said he'd learn with time to ignore it, but he was experienced. You weren't, so naturally, as your husband and protector, he wanted to shield you from the pain.

Although, both of your fandoms had been pretty supportive of your relationship, some user even claiming to suspect it, making threads full of easter eggs and connections that validated the theory which was now a reality. I've connected the dots, followed by pictures of you sharing wardrobe, slips on interviews, similar backgrounds in your posts across social media, and of course, the two Gladiator Ii interviews. Many resorted to making edits or screaming over your pictures in the premiere, demanding for more content you had yet caved in to share (there was a gigantic carpet of evidence sitting heavy in your cloud).

So, in a way, this support made it hard for you to truly dimension the hate Pedro warned you about: all you saw was fans being happy and showering you with love, making paparazzi to be the only problem as for now.

That's it.

You cave in, turning the phone on as you bite your lip, searching first your Instagram: a bunch of new followers, many with variations of ispunk on their usernames, as well as a swarm of comments on your recent posts. There's a small voice in your head telling you to turn away, but your thumb moves without thinking, clicking on pictures of the red carpet―a carrousel of you and then a picture of you both at the end, one fans had been gushing about the last couple of days, rings on display, practically up their noses. You were smiling, and Pedro was looking at you fondly, his other hand holding Lux but his gaze never leaving yours; he was too perfect to be real―yours.

You unconsciously smile at the captured moment, love obvious on your faces, so you open the comments, thinking it would be the same support or love radiating of the comment.

But boy, weren't you wrong?

It was all the same, support lost between waves of hate. Variations of bodyshaming, age shaming and even gold digger claims were on full display across the comment section. "She's ugly" "In it for the money, am I right?" "I thought Pedro had better taste, lol" "She got the role in Gladiator II because of nepotism. Or cocksucking" and then a cruel answer that read "Right, threesome with Ridley. Ew, what a whore!"

Worst of it all, some even had Pedro profile pictures, or usernames and accounts dedicated to him.

Your heart was beating like crazy, chest heavy and hollow, face red with emotions you couldn't quite place (embarrasment? fear? rage? sadness?) as you kept searching across Twitter*, doing a quick skim of the trendings that included you. The same hate speech pattern was all over the timeline, some betting for divorce in a couple of years (even months!), while others took their time dissecting your looks and relationship. As if they knew. Long gone were the edits and harmless threads: the hate wave was here to stay. Some where even being a bit racist, the irony of it all, being Pedro himself was latino and didn't shy away from it, rather proud as he didn't miss an opportunity to shot out his dear Chile. Or any social issue, as a matter of fact, very vocal on his political beliefs.

This was fucking ridiculous, and if the cameras were an issue, this swarm of negativity is what really took a toll on you, the flashes as you went grocery shopping now barely a scratch. No, this was worst. All you wanted to do was cuddle in a blanket while wearing one of Pedro's shirts and dissappear. Too much noise. Too much hate. You can feel it creeping up your body, tainting your soft curves, wrinkles, acne scars and face. It's like rough hands, tugging harsh, ripping your vocals because you can't scream; no words to express this pain.

You knew one day it would come, but never imagined the hurt and to what extent people were capable of. Cruelty. Dissecting your life and body like it was a show for them to be entertained: your marriage was a circus and your body a joke.

It hurt their condescending dismiss of your love, questioning as if the gap were only numbers and not a pillar of your relationship that made you and Pedro closer, despite the bridge in age. You were reduced to a middle-age crisis, and he to a filthy man pinning for a younger girl. Your body was turn apart, despite no real flaws existing. Humans are meant to be so, not perfect, but real, and that was the problem: you had turn into an object―a target for their dards to pierce through.

Your body shakes violently with cries, deafening your ears that you don't hear when Pedro walks in.

"Why are you crying?" he rushes to your side, panic on his voice. "What happened? Are you hurt?"

You barely manage to shake your head, and then his eyes scan all over your features, until they land on the phone on your hands. The worry turns to anger as he asks:

"You looked at them, didn't you?"

He isn't yelling, but it would be better if he did. This contained fury, fading into dissapointment, as if you were a naive child scolded by their parents makes you feels small and stupid, as if you knew no better.

"I'm sorry-" you manage to choke out among tears, "I know you told me-"

"I told you" he interrupts, words laced with wrath, "so this wouldn't happen. See what happens?"

"Why are you talking to me like it's my fault?" you yell, and Pedro sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation. "I didn't ask to receive all this! Do I deserve the death threats, shame and hate?"

He walks past you, and it's like a slap to your face. Was he going to behave like this? Didn't it matter how you felt, or was it something childish that could be brush to the side like nothing? Insecurities you hadn't even think of come crashing down on you, doubts creeping up and attacking you from all sides. It's horrible. You try to hold onto the good memories, praying you don't loose him. You can't. You just can't.

"Answer!" you demand, tears spilling like a broke dam.

"I was just closing the windows. Or do you want to fuel the talk, huh? Give the hungry hoard more to bite?" Pedro then stands to hold your gaze, and you hate that you can't place his emotions. Anxiety corrodes your brain: was this really the beginning of the end?

"Do I?" you dare to speak up, and even if its loud, it comes out drowned, the exhaustion from the emotional turmoil taking its toll on you. "Do I deserve it?"

"No, you don't, carajo!" Pedro bursts. "You don't deserve any of that, which is why I didn't want you looking at those things!"

He sighs, realizing the anger is misdirected.

"I'm sorry"

Your broken wails are the only thing to be heard. He hates himself for being a part of it, even if not the biggest.

"No, I'm sorry for being so stupid" you sob. "I-I just wanted for people to be as happy for us as I am with you"

"Come here" but he's the one cutting the space to embrace you.

His scent calms a part of you, body still rocking with violent shakes.

"You're not stupid. Nor ugly, or any of those things people are calling you. No, mi amor. You're beautiful, smart and talent. They fail to realize I'm the lucky one. So please, don't be hard on yourself, yeah? I can't bear to see it. Less if I know it's not true. You didn't ask for it; you don't deserve all that bullshit"

He presses a kiss to your temple, arms that hug you tighter holding you close close up to the point his heartbeat melts within your own.

I won't let you go. You won't fall as long as I got you.

"We'll get through this, yeah? Think of the future, and what's to come. It's hard, that I know, but let us enjoy the moment. Life is too precious to waste it away" he brushes stray tears with his thumb, softly and full of love that words aren't enough to express. "I'm here" the out loud, "and I'm not going anywhere. That's a promise"

Later that day, Pedro posts a carrousel of unseens, even one of your wedding (a video of your first dance), telling people to leave you alone. That he loves you, and that no malicious news, fans or comments will ever change that―suck it energy laced within his rageful statement.

Safe to say, in the next weeks, hate is barely a small voice whispering in the back of your neck, one that hushes down with each kiss and/or words uttered by your one and only devoted husband.

mandoshoney: y/n protection squad pull up, we ride at dawn starlightt180: unhing3dprincess WHERE ARE U??? PTWT IS IN SHAMBLES AND NEEDS U MY SHAYLAAAAAAAAAA elysyannemimi: i feel like a kid scolded by their dad. pedro has achieved the ultimate daddy status bobgirlll: is no one going to talk about how rageful/protective pedro sounded in that story????? NEED MORE FERAL PEDRO RN GRRrrrr ps. photos so cute, wish that was me lol pyramiidsf: i hope y/n is okay, ppl can be so cruel sometimes but at least she's got pedro on her side <3 he's such a perfect man :,)

It had been days since your fight.

In an sweet attempt to cheer you up, Pedro had taken you out for dinner to a fancy restaurant you can't remember the name of. If they'll snap pictures of my wife without my permission, I might as well show you off. So, per his petition, you had wore a little black dress that hugged every curve of your body perfectly and pushed your tits to the top. Stunning, he had growled, and it had been hard to push him off as he devoured your mouth in your house's doorstep.

"Let's give them talk" you had agreed.

So now you sat at the restaurant, Pedro filling your cup of wine for the third time in a row, talking about all and nothing: about politics, the weather, your siblings, Louis the cat, upcoming gigs around your home you wanted to go to, how support had risen and the hate had dwindled, the numerous calls of job offers and interviews to keep on milking your relationship... life had never been more hectic.

"You know, maybe the dress was a bad idea" he takes a bite of his meat, tone nonchalant.

"Yeah?" you challenge, cheeks flushed with alcohol, "why's that? I thought I had to look good. What changed your mind?"

"Turns out" he looks at you, gaze piercing through your body, brown warm eyes darkening, "I figured something"

You know your husband. It's still fresh in your mind the first day you took a notice of it: jaw clenching, gaze fixated at nothing and white fists balled up on to the sides, arms swinging while fingers itched. A vein on his forehead would pop, and brows would melt together in a furrow. It happened when you got recognized by a fan, on your early days, and he had taken a picture of you, uploading it to social media. Dating Pedro had been going on for little to five months, and the way this guy hugged you from behind, hand resting above your ass, had made your then-boyfriend see red. His posture stiffened, demeanor changed and face adquired all the characteristics above. There was only one correct answer: Pedro was jealous, so fucking jealous.

So here he is now, jealous to the bone, alcohol increasing the rage.

"And that is?" you push his buttons, something you normally wouldn't do, but you're drunk and God, so sex-starved. His possesive side was always hot, yet now? It had a layer of allure it didn't have before, the idea of calming him down long lost.

"You know what it is" he answers, but you tilt your head to the side, acting confused. Pedro growls, clenching the glass a bit too tight; you fear it'll break.

"No, I don't" you serve more wine in your glass, savouring the liquid. Some spills into your mouth, and you lick it while not breaking eye contact. "Enlighten me"

"Turns out" the words come out strained, a whirlwind of emotions burning in the tip of his tongue, "that I wanted people to look at my wife, but I looked their looks and realized I don't like how they look at her"

He rambles the words out, speech pattern slurred and ideas clashing into one another, clearly drunk.

"I see" you draw out, demeanor calm, but your panties have started to get wet.

"No" he hits the table, making your eyes go wide and people turn to your table. You should be embarrased, but you're only aroused. "You don't see what I see. And I hate it, I fucking hate it" he seethes, words spit out over your unfinished meal.

"Dessert?" the waiter appears from seemingly nowhere, menu on hand.

Pedro doesn't even look when he answers, "Sure. Bring your best"

"The chef's suggestion is Soufflé, a classic dessert from his country"

"That'll do" Pedro looks at you, but his brain seems to be somewhere else. Like he's thinking. "How long will it take?"

The waiter ponders the answer, yet doesn't think any weird of it.

"About twenty to thirty minutes. Would that be alright? Or would you prefer to switch to one of our quick-fixes? They're as delicious as our fresh and-"

"No" your husband interrupts, eyes shinning with something akin to dangerous. "We'll take the soufflé. Just want my wife to eat the very best"

The waiter smiles. "Sure, will be back in a few. More wine?"

Pedro stops the action, removing the bottle's neck from pouring more red liquid in your glass.

"Won't be needed"

They excuse themselves, leaving both of you alone. The restaurant bubbles with chat and instrumental music from a band playing on a corner, but all you hear is his heavy breathing and your heart.

"I wanted more wine" you pout, not even knowing why you said it.

He smiles devilishly. "I'll give you something better than that"

How does it happen, you have no idea, but then Pedro gets up with a brash move, chair making a sound that draws attention. He smirks, his auburn reflecting on the candle glowing in the center with a light that's menacing.

"I'm going to the bathroom" an announcement that feels like a threat that runs through the newfound tension; it could be cut with even a butterknife.

You sit there in silence, too stunned to speak. Your phone chimes in what feels like an hour (it's been a few minutes, probably three). You open the notification, a single text from Pedro.

I'm waiting.

So this was his plan all along, huh? Maybe he's gotten bored of sex on a bed and room like normal couples, because ever since that time you sucked his dick in his trailer, Pedro has shown an appetite for public sex. Well, more like just shown but never done. Guess that changes as of tonight.

I'm coming.

Truth is, after the reveal and fight, you hadn't had sex since that time before the London premiere. Press tour hadn't finished, and the movie was still playing in theathers, but it feels much longer the time you had gone without having his dick rearranging your insides. That changes as of tonight.

You practically leap out of your sit, rushing to the restroom, which is too fancy for your liking. You're unsure how to proceed, and it should be because you realized how stupid and reckless this is, but it's more because you don't know which door Pedro is behind: men or women.

You knock softly on the ladies room first. "I'm here" you speak, voice small.

After a few seconds, a muffled voice from behind replies: "Me too"

You giggle as he pulls you inside, mouth devouring yours in a hot kiss.

"The lock!" you squeal, yet Pedro is busy buring his face between your breasts, pulling the dress down until he's nipping at the skin before licking the spot with his tongue. Your back is pressed against the tiled white wall, cold meeting your now heating skin.

"Mmm, missed this" he mumbles in a drunken state. "Needed my girls so bad"

His words elicit a moan out of you, a way to comunicate that your body too had been aching for this.

"Please, Pedro-" you whimper, trying to get rid of the pretty dress. He doesn't say it, but his movements command for power, big hands dragging your dress down until the black cloth falls to the floor in a sound filled with grace, it feels merciful.

"Black panties? But I thought I was a man with a plan" he groans, calloused digits ghosting over the wet patch in the middle. He smells your arousal off his fingers, and this is so nasty but you're so into it.

"Two can play" is all you answer, eager fingers unbuckling his belt as you unbutton the formal pants and pull them down to his knees, so with his underwear.

"Sure thing" he chuckles darkly. "Just look at you, baby. So loud, but you gotta be quiet. ¿Quieres que alguien entre y te vea así? Fucking slut, begging for my cock" (do you want someone to come in and see you like this?)

He's always been sweet-talking you through sex, and you know he doesn't mean it aside from being lewd words, but you also didn't know you could be aroused by it. Change is welcome, to say the least.

His hard dick is immediately stroking at the apex of your thighs, like he's got no time to loose, kissing you roughly like he hasn't eat and your mouth is his meal.

"Twenty minutes" he grumbles, groaning.

"Or thirty" you add, whining when his cock brushes dangerously close to your dripping folds.

"Can't believe you're this wet already" he chuckles, but it sounds more like a breathy sigh, lost in the inside of your mouth.

"I've been wet since before we left the house and you kissed me"

"And I kissed you" he adds. "No sé ni por qué putas te traje si sólo quería quedarme en casa y comerte" (i don't know why the fuck i took you out if all i wanted was to stay at home and eat you out)

You moan at his dirty mouth, clicking your tongue as a way to say so.

"You dirty old man-" it dies in your throat when he glides inside your folds with ease, a finger slipping in, then two, as he curls them. Your head rolls back, landing against the door with a hollow thud.

"Dirty? But you enjoy this, don't you?" his fingers buried up your hilt. Your eyelids flutter, whimpering drowned by your lips, bitten so deep you think you start to taste blood. "Bad news, mami. You're as dirty as me"

You choke in your words. "No-"

"No what?" Pedro mocks, sliding his digits out of you and shoving them inside his mouth, sucking on them while looking at you. You whine at the display and loss of them, knowing he's tauting you for fun. "Don't tell me you don't want someone to come in here and see you acting like a dirty slut? To see you almost coming here and now with just two of my fingers"

"Fine. What if I want to, huh? Just give me your damn cock already and quit teasing"

Words were lewd, but Pedro smiles with adoration.

"That's my girl"

His length springing free to slap against his now smooth stomach, your mouth drooling.

"Sit"

He glares back, "in the toilet?"

"Well, do you happen to see a couch or bed?" you quip. "That's right: you were the one who chose the bathroom, desperate old man. So needy, aren't you?"

You see your husband turning around, ashamed, and you laugh. "I didn't think it through" and you avoid to add a that's quite obvious snarky type of reply.

"Want me as much as I do?" Pedro doesn't protest anymore, grunting some spanish curses before sitting on the cold surface. "Good. Then comply"

You swing a leg over his lap, not afraid if the thing breaks, dragging your wet folds against his cock. He moans, gripping your thighs hard, biting at your lower lip to hide a growl that seems to erupt from deep within his chest.

"Gonna ride you, baby. Is that okay?" you take the lead, and Pedro gets frustrated that you're taking up a plan that was originally his. Despite such, he just finds himself nodding wordlessly like a fool.

You line up, desperate to have him inside of you. But you go slowly down, taking his size, maybe because you're drunk or because you'd never fucked in a bathroom before. Because, really, how will you even try to explain your PR team a broken bathroom?

You gasp as he bottoms out, struggling to catch your breath with the relentless push. His strong arm cages your waist, as he moans in your ear, bodies going up and down in sync. His slides are smooth across his length, helping you find your pace.

"Fuck" you whimper, legs starting to shake. "I think I-"

"I know" he interrupts you, a quick kiss to your earlobe. "It's okay; I've got you, linda"

He thrusts upwards, toilet creaking as Pedro keeps you in place.

You bury your teeth into his shoulder to muffle your moans, skin slapping against skin loudly, his movements becoming faster. The pressure keeps on adding, until the tightness on your walls is too much, and you're collapsing over his chest, folds spasming as he empties his load inside of you, seed deep in your walls, dripping down your legs.

"Oh, shit" you gasp, "Pedro!"

"Perdón!" he shouts, then covers his mouth. "Mierda, no quise ser tan ruidoso. Ay, carajo. Didn't want to spill all over you-" (sorry! didn't mean to be so loud. oh, fuck)

"There's a sink" you start, "and toilet paper. We'll manage"

"Right" he looks at his watch, "we got about ten minutes"

You smile, cheek resting against the warm skin of his neck. "If the chef took the whole thirty"

"There's only one way to find out" he gasps for air. "Pero, ¿no estás llena? Still up for dessert?" his big hand finds it's way to your tummy, you still contentedly stuffed full of him. It lingers, and when you look into his eyes, he averts his gaze, ashamed of whatever he thought. (but, aren't you full?)

"After this, I need some sugar to make it home" your eyelids drop. "I'm starving"

He presses a loud kiss to your head, "that's my girl"

"Yours" you pull back to rest your forehead against his. "Just yours"

He jolts forward, capturing your mouth in a hot kiss, and you smile into it.

"Good. Now, I'll give my good girl what she deserves" he takes some toilet paper to clean his spilling load out of you, kisses running from your face to neck. Then, gently so, lets you dress in again, exiting the bathroom first to give you some cleaning up space. When you come back to your table, the Soufflé is there.

"Eat" he commands, voice thick and rough. You smirk, giving it a bite as you look into his eyes: hair disheveled, puffy lips and droopy eyes. The bite mark seems to shine, or maybe you need to lay down for a while. "Y no mires atrás, ¿sí? We got ourselves a crowd" (don't look back, yeah?)

That night, you upload a story with a picture of the dessert with a caption that reads: best meal I've ever had. The context is lost until news of your bathroom affairs hit headlines next morning, but you don't notice: your phone happens to be dead, and you're too busy getting railed in what could count as round two to charge it.

pompeiianbollockr: hello just woke up and saw the pictures WTF TMZ??? did they really do #that 😭 bring back public shaming unhing3dprincess: i bet my grandma they fucked in that fancy ass restroom ㅤㅤmostannoyingbillioner: unhing3dprincess QUEEN U ARE BACK 😭 BETTING UR GRANDMA AGAIN? OH IKTR WE WERE LOOSING THE ANCIENT TEXTS poppysplayground: ohhhhh they're so nasty (do u want a third) ㅤㅤann-gell: poppysplayground fr like INVITEN

The interview for Entertainment Weekly's behind the cover for Gladiator II was supposed to just include Paul and Pedro, but taking advantage of the free publicity and buzz your announcement made, they added you. Especially after the news about your restroom affair had hit, courtesy of TMZ; the rumor wasn't taken into account in the beginning, but now added gasoline to the gossip fire. Just what the movie needed: free promo.

You're sat in the middle of the two men, dressed in white as well, to match their attires with a flowy dress that loosely resembles that of Rome's. Then, Paul begins to speak.

"I saw the film for the first time when I was about 13 with my dad" he talks about the original movie.

"I saw it in the movie theater when it came out" you imagine a young Pedro lined up to see Russell Crowe's magnetic performance and let out a small smile. "I saw it twice, because of how emotional the movie was. Obviously it's incredibly visceral, and epic and the kind of movie you rarely get to see made, uh, these days"

You look at him, elbow resting on the arm chair as your body is all turned to his side. Truth is, you love listening to him, especially when he seems so invested, love for the subject rooted in each word.

Pedrito, you'd affectionally call. Ésto es una conversación, no un monólogo. And he'd blush embarrased, only for you to laugh it off, saying you would turn mute if that meant for him to continue speaking. (this is a conversation, not a monologue)

"It had an impact emotionally. I remember that, I guess, sadistically I was drawn to a second time go back again because, weirdly, it was very comforting. I remember it perfectly came out in year 2000. Right?" he asks, and Paul and you agree with a yeah. "I can remember what theater I was in and everything-"

"What theater was it?" Paul interrupts his passionate talking.

Pedro stops, "It, uh-" he rambles, before you all laugh.

"What about you, y/n? Were you even born?" Paul jokes, making you roll your eyes at his antics and deliberate desire to keep nagging you like some older annoying brother.

"I was like, born a year after you, Paul. But I didn't watch the movie until I was fifteen" you feel the gaze of both men fall upon you. "The first Ridley Scott movie I watched was Thelma and Louise, as you all know. Then my dad insisted I should watch it, and finally, at fifteen, when I had given up on my dreams to go on one last epic trip to the Grand Canyon, he played it. My eyes, they were, like, glued to the screen. I couldn't stop thinking about it for a while" you leave a small lingering touch on Pedro's arm, "just like he said: epic and emotional. Also, I had a huge fat crush in Joaquin Phoenix that lasted until I was twenty"

"That was like, seven years ago!" Pedro yells, making Paul snorts. "I feel deceived"

"Qué dramático. We're both married, you big baby!" you laugh, then make a joke before the next conversation starts: "You wouldn't think he plays an epic Roman General, would you?" (how dramatic)

They film some shots of you and the boys before moving to the next talk.

"I was doing a play in London at the time. I'd met with Doug and Lucy who are the producers of the film in LA, and then a zoom was set up and I spoke to Ridley for about 5 minutes about what Gladiator was going to be about. And then we spoke for the next 25 minutes about like, gaic football and dogs, and then I thought we'd do like camera tests and- but no, he just-" he shrugs. "I found out about two weeks later"

Now it's Pedro's turn.

"I knew that the project existed. I knew that Paul was doing it. I think it started with an actual like meeting with Ridley to go and sit down with him and I, whether or not the movie was going to happen for me or not, I was like I'm going to go meet Ridley Scott" he jokes, making you both chuckle. "It wasn't even about getting the job, it was like I'm going to go and sit down maybe five minutes, ten, twenty, as many minutes as I can"

"It was in LA" you speak up, "in his offices"

"Yeah, and thankfully he was willing to talk about all the things I wanted to know about, in terms of other movies, and that's what it really turned into"

"He's a wonderful Storyteller" Mescal compliments. "You could sit down with Ridley for-"

Pedro makes a joke, speaking over him. "Give me another one, give me another one-"

You still kind of hate the guy after his supposed comments on your husband's weight, but won't talk bad about a man who gave you work and your biggest role to the date yet, so you explain how it happened to you.

"I wasn't even planned to appear on the movie. As a matter of fact, my character was squeezed in last minute. Ridley is, just as they said, indeed, a storyteller" you smile. "The truth is, I worked with Cuba, his granddaughter, on a proyect together, a photography one. I was in London at the time, auditioning for a movie, when we met"

"London?" Paul asks.

"Yes" you laugh, ashamed. "I traveled to London with some of my savings, because you know what they say about not doing and then regretting. But I do regret it; I cried for my money to be back!"

"You didn't get the part" Pedro adds, barely containing a snicker.

"I didn't" you sigh, "Cuba saw me sitting alone on a café, eyes red with tears of failure and talked me into capturing such vulnerable moment. She didn't know me but made my day better, and she took some of the most beautiful pictures I've seen of myself. So, in a way, I won. I mean, she's the reason I got the role: my name came up on a phone call with Scott, as I had already made a name for myself, and showed him the pictures. He got in contact with my agent and I got the role after auditioning. Call that friendship nepotism"

"Didn't Pedro tell you about it? I find it funny that he was in the movie and didn't get you in" Paul comments, curiously.

"We were supposed to remain a secret, and the sudden connection when we had barely interacted according to the public, would've been weird. So no, Pedro rubbed his role on my face and then I came home with the new script as he received his. We both won our roles separately, and until we got it both, we realized just what it would mean"

"But now we're here" Pedro speaks fondly, taking your hand. "Rome conquers it all"

You can only hold his and stare back lovingly.

"Oh" the Irish man feigns disgust, "don't get all lovey dovey on me!"

The topic changes again, as Paul speaks.

"We meet early in the film, and this is again kind of Ridley's genius. He shoots it in a way that it feels plausible, but in like- the real action of that there's no way-"

They start talking ovwe each other excitedly about the process of filmaking, Pedro listing all the settings were the epic action takes place.

"We lock eyes" Pedro jests, "we lock eyes"

"All right" Paul plays along. "Three, two, one"

"i'm right here" you say, pushing your body to the front. "You got me third wheeling in my own marriage"

Paul laughs, breaking contact.

"Time for you to get a taste of your own medicine. You've made the rest of this press tour unbearable!" he protests, but his tone is devoid of complain.

"Marcus Acacius represents like-" Mescal then speaks about your husband's character, "he's a Roman general"

"No, he is the general of Rome" you correct, smirking.

"Be careful, princess. Don't let the emperor see you all over his General" the blue-eyed man next to you mocks, and you roll your eyes again.

"Will you ever let me live?"

Paul then talks about his character. "I'm like a lieutenant in the numidian Army. I kind of see Acacius as this, he- he represents everything that I hate about, uh, the Roman Empire"

"Well, the Roman Empire is expanding and expanding" Pedro takes the word, "and invading Numidia just to gain more and more power, and we realize that there really is kind of no ceiling to the lust of that power"

"And that's to do with the Emperors, right? Like, played by Joe and Fred who are wonderful" Paul adds, complimenting both actors in the process. "And let's not forget our Empress too"

You make a face at that, feeling in the need to defend your character.

"Empress Alba is tragedy. I think she embodies well the feelings of helpnessless all women felt during that time. She's an object, another shiny possesion subjected to her husband's amusement, so she drowns in all pleasure available to forget her existence. Lucius hates her because he sees all the filth of Rome in her, like, this whole debauchery and squandering while the people beg for scraps. But it's a pattern seen across history, isn't it?" you pause. "I think it's interesting to compare her to Lucilla, because she's loved by the people, seen as human- despite being noble. It's sad because it's until too late that Lucius realizes she's a victim of the system he hates"

Pedro smiles at your little intervention, loving the way you explain a character you'd play so graciously. One of your favorite movies is Marie Antoinette, by Sofia Coppola, so probably it felt personal to you in some level. God, hadn't you made him watch it at least ten times?

"It unravels through the film that I've kind of miscalculated who I think Acacius is, just as with Alba" Paul comments.

"His character misunderstands my character just like Paul misunderstands us" Pedro quips, making both of you laugh.

"Then it kind of culminates in a big fight that we have in the-"

"Doesn't it always?" you add. "Wouldn't be an epic without it"

"Do you want to talk about it?" Paul dares, jokingly.

"No we're not talking about it" he cuts him off.

"Who's the better fighter'" Paul asks after some silence. Pedro dares him with a go on.

"I would say I'm better the better share. What you think?"

"I would say Lucius is the better fighter"

"Lucius is the better fighter" Pedro repeats slowly, incredulous. "Do you want us to fight? Lucius is a better fighter than the general of Rome, who survived decades and conquered" Paul tries to defend himself but Pedro doesn't let him. "I fight four men before I get you, and I call it off!"

"Yeah, but I think if you hadn't called it off -"

"You don't think I would have do some sort of mature aged learning-"

They end up discussing a bit more until you clear your throat.

"Why don't you ask for a third party to break your tie?" and you point towards yourself, mouthing a cute me with your painted pink lips.

"No!" Paul immediatly opposes, "It would be biased, silence her!"

"Have you seen Acacius' arms?" you gauge Pedro's arms, biceps flexing under the white attire. "It definitely isn't biased, at all"

The conversation carries on after some more shots. In some, you pose seriously, but in between such, you laugh along with them, Pedro even hugging you and Paul from behind in one of both. No kisses yet, but you know fans will be rabid just with the lingering touches and flirty undertones in your interactions.

"We began together in Morocco, and I think seeing that set and the scale of the production so quickly, desensitized me to the scale of the of what- Malta was in the Coliseum, and Ridley moves at such a pace, which I actually think really helped me because you don't have time to kind of sit there and and kind of bask in the wonder of it" Paul talks. "Because you're shooting three or four scenes, build your expectations of how to meet the size of, it or anything 'cuz 'cause it's impossible" Paul looks at Pedro and asks: "and I think Ridley; did I tell you what Ridley said first day of shooting to me? He came out to the tent while they were dressing the set, thousands of extras, everything fire, camels and he comes in, and he's- he's smoking a cigar, and we're all stood around and he's like Are you nervous? and we're all like No and he slaps me on the back and goes Your nerves are no good to me, before we filmed anything. But I think it was like- it's funny, but it's this idea that this is your playground, and you have to kind of step into it and own it. So, I-I don't actually really remember my first walking into the Coliseum, 'cause I feel like I lived in the Coliseum for about three or four weeks"

"You lived in the Coliseum of your mind" Pedro quips, making Paul laugh.

"I do remember, you know, when I first walked into the Coliseum, you know. It- it gave me chills. Like, literally chills. Look! I still get the goosebumps" you point your arm. "Honestly, all of it felt just too real, and I couldn't help but for a moment, think I actually was in Rome- that I belonged to nobility"

Pedro takes your hand and kisses it gently. "That's because you do, princesa"

"One of the things that I have never experienced on a movie before, is that there was so little left to the imagination" Pedro expresses. "Me and the rest of the ensemble are together in the emperor's box, and there's this enormous battle that's taking place, and Ridley composed all of the off camera for us in the emperor's box, with Paul leaping from one ship to another taking two men down what would you call that?"

"A cloth line flying" Paul answers.

"Clothes line?" you try.

"A flying- a flying clothes line" Pedro decides, carrying on "just so that we could know what we were looking at. I couldn't f*****g believe it"

"That's true" you remark. "The result goes so hard- I mean, it looks amazing" you sheepily laugh. "The action, the violence, the epic... it all shines through. It just- it makes sense"

The conversation shifts again.

"The legacy of the first film is so profound, and has such a strong place in so many people's, like, hearts and minds, it's inescapable, but I was looking at it- and I was like" Paul shares. "The screenplay does a lot of that work for you in terms of like, the rubbing the dirt between the hands. the kind of DNA and the genetics that Lucius inherits. I remember reading the script and there's like, a moment in the script where it's Lucius puts on the breastplate and it's written like Lucius now becomes Maximus"

"But Lucius, despite being a son, is also a man" you counter. "He isn't Maximus"

Paul agrees.

"I kind of tried to park that to one side, because ultimately, where Lucius is coming from at the start of the film, he has a very different journey than Maximus does, and I was hoping that whatever DNA- and even just the physical gestures, was going to be one part of- a kind of small part of the performance" he explains. "What I tried to do is figure out exactly who Lucius was and where those differences lay between Lucius and Maximus"

"One of the things that I loved most about my character is that he's introduced in the beginning of the movie, in this very epic battle sequence, that I think in its own way homages the first film" Pedro shares. "But even better, because we follow him back to Rome and discover his direct connection to one of the only characters that is living and with us from the first movie, and I loved being a a kind of thread, an invitation, into what we know from the first movie by being Connie Nielsen's man"

Paul looks at you silently, before poking your side: "Someone is real quiet with that comment"

You narrow your eyes. "I have no idea what you're talking about"

"I am Connie Nielsen's man as Marcus Acacius, but as Pedro Pascal, I'm all y/n's"

Your face goes red at how easily you are to be understood, your husband answering just what you wanted to listen.

"Ha! Look at your face, I was right!" Paul ridiculises you.

But after such an embarrasing moment, he shifts the conversation again.

"There's a moment where Pedro has this, uh- it's so clever from a- from an acting standpoint, but also in the in the script like, you see this brutalizing Force come into Numidia, and there's this section where there's the burning of the bodies, and that it's one of my favorite shots in the film" Paul muses. "It's this closeup on Pedro, when he says Vae Victis to the conquered, and you feel like it's a really difficult thing to communicate in one line, that you see: Oh, this General is, kind of wearing this responsibility with great difficulty and shame"

"I wasn't doing that at all" your husband deadpans. You stiffle a giggle.

"You were very good in it" Paul argues back with a smile.

"That wasn't what I was playing" he insists, serious but Paul asks What were you playing? and you all laugh.

"If I had a favorite scene, I'd say it'd be naval fight" you mention. "The colliseum is filled with water, and it's this- it feels like a thing that has never been done before, and with the people cheering and the buzz, and the announcement and echo of the drumming, it's as if you were there, in the crowd. The tension is palpable, the violence is thrown at your face but the scariest one, is the one that lies underneath. Uh, Lucius character tries to attack the General while we, you know, the royals and especial guests, are sitting at our box, and he gets so close, it serves, I think the bottom climbing the ladder to bite the ankles of the top. Obviously, that before we know who Lucius actually is, but I think it's kind of cool"

The interview is ending, the last of your twelve-minute conversation being filmed now.

"I am really excited for everyone to see Paul" Pedro beams, making the younger one laugh. "I'm sorry but it has to be said. You are sensational in the movie" then adds, "and pretty easy on the eyes"

"Everyone in this movie is easy in the eyes" you quip, looking at your side. Pedro coughs a bit before speaking again, even if a faint blush is coating his cheeks.

"-And he worked so hard, and I got to see that happen like, in front of me, and on the day and just lead with Ridley, this enormous crew and this enormous cast... To get to see that, on the big screen, is really exciting and I think people are going to- they're going to love it"

"That's very kind" you exclaim softly with a smile, then add. "I'm sure of it, especially if you were a fan of the first. Both are very interwined, although each film is its own thing" you comment.

"For a lot of us, the actors, we haven't worked on a film on that scale" you violently shake your head "and I think, there's a little bit of trauma bonding that went on with, kind of having to- kind of feel like, total impostor syndrome within it all. But to see your friends operate at that level on a film of that scale, doing like incredible work. I think, across the board, I haven't seen a film on this scale for a long long time rhat's rooted it has the scale and the performances, and I personally think it's one of Ridley's greatest pieces of work"

senhoritamayblog: y/n was SO REAL holding pedro's arm and talking abt how he'd beat paul bc he's beefy ME WHEN moltisantiii: you know what i think ridley's greatest piece of work is? giving us this trio youlooklike-clarabow: y/n is truly a princess 🥹 i don't know if i want to be y/n to be with pedro or pedro to be with y/n ㅤㅤann-gell: youlooklike-clarabow well, she's the people's princess after all!

You haven't even left the room when Pedro is all over you, kissing your neck on that sweet spot of yours that elates a little breathy whine. Doesn't he know you well?

"What are you doing?" you manage to squeak out as his needy big hands grope your body, flesh soft under the flowy white dress. He grunts when he catches your panties, embarrasingly wet already at just a few sloppy kisses and eager touches.

"What do you think?" he whispers against your ear as you both try to walk away from where voices can be heard, and then Pedro is guiding you to a room, closing the door behind him. If he was able to walk to the room while kissing you, he must've seen it in a passing. Had your husband plan this all along? Greedy needy old man.

"What I think, baby, is you're forgetting something" you push him off, giggling. He makes a little pout, making it hard to keep your ground. "Now that everyone knows we're married and we suddenly both go misteriously missing at the same time, they'll just put two and two together. I mean, does it really take a smart person to figure it out?"

Pedro doesn't back down, still caging your frame against the locked door.

"So?" his annoyed and tense voice only makes you laugh more. That turned on was he? Pedro seems annoyed at your fit of laughter, his pants tight.

"What do you mean so? We almost got caught by Paul last time!" you chuckle amused. "And, are you seriously going to pretend TMZ didn't air our bussiness just about last week?"

"Well, maybe you should've thought about it before" he goes back at the task of attacking your mouth, words spewing in between hungry kisses. You mouth a little taunting innocent looking Before what? and then Pedro is talking while his gaze is glued to yours, tightening his arms around you, and the answer is just about that. "You should've thought about it before getting all flirty with me, grabbing my arm in front of the camera like the naughty girl you are. So fucking needy you can't hide it for a few hours, can't even go through an interview without touching me, looking at me, being possesive at a fictional marriage even" your face burns hot with embarrasment at that. Oh, was he being nasty on purpose? Why bring that up? "Haven't I taught you manners?"

It's hard to force yourself to hold his gaze while standing still. Taunting. Defiant.

"José Pedro Balmaceda Pascal" you chastise, "do you want people to know we are raw dogging in the dressing room? That's the manners you so badly talk about"

His face goes red, his demostrations stopping for a bit as he studies your now serious face.

"Wait, do you want to raw dog in the dressing room?" he gasps at the boldness in your words, which, to be fair, is kind of exaggerated, as you both have said worst stuff before. "That's not what I had in mind"

"That's not?" you arch an eyebrow. "Oh, no. Absolutely not. You can't just kiss my neck greedily and touch my body eagerly like a goddamn starved horny idiot, and then expect me to not act up on it, you old man"

There's silence before he speaks up again. "Y/n, you talked about manners"

You take a deep breath in, making sure the door is actually locked.

"Well, fuck them manners"

You capture his lips on a hungry kiss, same kind of force you had made fun of him, just minutes ago. He's pushing his tongue inside of you, as his hands move up to your shoulders and back down to your waist. You rub yourself against him, looking for some kind of friction, and his big calloused hands pulls your waist closer in an attempt to do the same.

"Manners maketh man" he's reciting, and such stupid proverb and line from one of his old works shouldn't turn you this much. Pedro lifts up the dress until your body is devoid of the cotton, murmuring about how unfair it was for you to taunt him with translucent cloth, tender flesh hiding under the white. So hard to focus on interviews, mami, when you're close to me or something like that, as you're too lost in the fire. No bra? Fuck, baby. Do you want to kill me?

"Sofa" you command, eyes darting to the furniture so you can show him where. "Now"

You take off your panties in a go, revealing the slick that's just a few seconds from running down your legs.

"I see, my legs won't be the only thing drooling" you mock his agape mouth. He takes off the blazer with shaking hands, sitting as you get on top of him. Pedro kisses his way down your neck, sucking on the skin. How will you get out of here without comfirming suspicions? Surely, there must be something inside here that could be of help.

"Well, I've wanted to do this for a while" he mumbles against the now red patches of before honey-ed skin. Again? you think.

"Have me or fuck again in public?" you ask out loud, and even if you're laughing, there's a layer of fondness in your voice. "I'm starting to wonder if you have an exhibition kink, papi"

He breathes a little no before biting right above your collarbones, his tongue then releaving the pain with a wet slick move over the flesh as you let out a whine.

"Busy schedule, mami. A husband's gotta find a way to make time for his pretty wife, even if it means fucking her in the goddamn dressing room" he says into your ear. Pedro had done more interviews than you, and between that and filming for his other projects, he's right. "So what if they find out? Need them to know who you belong to. I'm just a devoted husband, will you punish me for that?"

You caress his face, pristine hair now disheveled, the gel succumbing to the heat and sweat trapped in the room.

"Look at you, naughty boy. El burro hablando de orejas" you laugh, "but of course I won't. Need you too so bad" (look who's talking)

His finger wanders down to your pussy, big hand roaming around the area. His middle and ring finger run over it, the golden band starting to shine with your arousal. Fuck, that just made you wetter.

"Shit, baby. You're so eager... wasn't lying when you talked before"

"Needed you since you kissed me today, when you woke up" your teeth grit at his lingering digits. "Your dick rubbed against my bare thigh, fucking hard"

Truth is, you're always horny; being married to Pedro Pascal does that to you. But mornings? Waking up to that handsome face and girthy dick? You really be testing yourself sometimes.

"Jesus, mami" he whistles. "So fucking dirty, thinking about me all the interview because my morning wood grazed your skin, you dirty naughty girl"

Pedro finally slides his fingers inside of you, making you squirm under his gaze as your back archs. "So fucking beautiful, can't believe you're all mine" he moans and you squeeze his shoulders, nails digging and bruising his skin under the shirt that sticks to his skin, body heating up like a furnace.

"Please, Pedro" you plead, lip biting your under to supress a whimper. "Please curl your fingers, need to have you- feel you inside. Fuck-"

Your words cut off as he moves his fingers with learned ease, his thumb rubbing your clit as a treat.

"Mmm" you murmur with pleasure, back arched again, your tits too dangerously close to his face. Without much thought, he licks your nipple and then devours the whole breast with his mouth. All while looking at you, this absolute horndog. Your nails dig in deeper as you pronounce his name in a shaky exhale. Wanting more. Begging for more.

"Mmm? That's right" his palm on your waist squeezes lightly, more pressure on his grip. "Can't speak 'cause I'm making you feel so good, huh?"

You don't answer, instead throwing your head back, nails digging deep to the point he winces, making a face by the pain. You mouth an apology, but then he licks your nipple again, and teeth move to your nibble your earlobe―you're not sorry anymore.

"S-stop" you choke out, body shivering.

"What? Can't take what you asked for? No muerdas más de lo que puedes masticar, niña mala. Bad girl" (don't bite off more than you can chew, bad girl)

His lewd words elicit another moan out of you.

"I-I can. In fact, I want- no, need more. I don't want to cum on your fingers" you whisper in his ear, hot breath probably why he shivers. "Pull down your pants, pretty boy, because I want to cum on your dick"

"Fuck, mami. What a dirty mouth" he moans.

Eager hands try to lower his pants as your fiddle with the same feel, the borrowed wardrobe struggling to get off in the current position. His underwear goes next, and you squirm as he aligns his tip with your dripping entrance.

You moan and he grunts, as his dick enters your tight folds, sounds clashing onto each other as so do your bodies, fitting perfectly. His hands travel from your waist to ass, his head against the back of the sofa, your hands that were before on his shoulders now on his chest.

"Such a pretty view you're giving me, wifey" he tries to laugh, but the sound comes out strained along each powerful stride of his cock that buries inside of you, each bouncing harder, his hands pathethically running over your ass, back, hips, and legs, as his eyes devour the way your tits jiggle with each thrust, tongue burning with desire to suck on the skin again. "So beautiful, and all mine. Only mine. Mía"

His words drip with devotion and wordship; all the love in the world. Pedro calls you beautiful, goddess, and a string of spanish words crossed with adoration. Mami. Linda. Princesa. Diosa. Hermosa. It has your orgasm looming over, head spinning and pussy stretched, walls tightening.

"I'm close" you whisper, riding him with soft-paced movements as his turn sloppy.

You see stars, walls almost kicking his dick out as you coat it in your slick, arousal dripping down until it's coated his balls and smeared the white attire. Fuck. Now Pedro's moving his waist, hunting for his own orgasm.

"Me too" he breathes out, "stay with me"

His hands travel sloppily to your waist, lazily holding you still with his calloused digits.

"Quick, baby" you breath out, "I'm sensitive"

"I'm almost there. Just hold on a little longer" then a whine before shakily pleading. "Please, please, just wait for me"

You move your hips slowly, aroused by his needy pleads, robbing a moan out of him. "Cute" you praise, making his cheeks redden with sweat and blush.

He is cute: hair messed up, mouth red and puffy, and brown puppy eyes.

"I love you so much" Pedro let's out, and it sounds like a confession, despite being married for so long.

"I know, baby, I know" you reach for his face, removing some sweat beads from his forehead, and he leans on the touch, closing his eyes as another gutural growl erupts from his chest. "I love you too"

You keep on riding until you feel his dick twitch inside of your walls.

"We need to stop doing this" you pant out.

"Too late for that, bonita. At least no one found out this time" Pedro laughs. "But you like the talk, don't you? Gonna give 'em something to talk about" he pants, "will fill you up so good you won't be able to walk without my seed spilling from you" sweat beads from your face fall onto his. He obscenely licks the salty drops. "Te voy a dar tantos hijos, que no cabrán en la casa. That way they will know you're mine" (will give you so many kids, they won't fit in the house)

You moan loufly, folds now coated on thick ropes of hot cum, as his movements come to a stop, slowing down until all that can be heard is your uneven breaths trying to recover.

And on cue, there's a knock at the door. Shit. You both remain silent, as if it would stop, but the knocking turns persistent.

"Pedro, I know you're in there"

It's Paul freaking Mescal, again. You might just have to invite him next time if he keeps showing up like that.

"Should I go?" Pedro whispers, and you shrug, stating it would be weirder to pretend he wasn't if Paul knew he was. "How do I look?"

You eye him up and down, eye glistening with dissaproval, red cheeks giving away your thoughts as if the furrowed eyebrows and ashamed gaze didn't already.

"We are fucked"

"No" he giggles, "we just fucked"

"That's not funny!" you roll your eyes, playfully smacking his chest. "Please, look into the mirror and try to fix yourself a bit. If not, we're doomed to be remembered as a horny couple. Oh, we were going so well! Fans will make fun of us and the press will call us horndogs" you lament, exaggerating your voice.

"Oh, shush. We wanted to be able to be in public. This is what it feels like"

You blush. "Maybe we can reduce the public aspect a bit..."

Pedro snorts before doing a quick fix to his appearance, walking to the door where Mescal patiently waits behind. Oh, of course; that little fucker. After the TMZ news dropped, he connected the dots and know that whatever happened in that trailer when Pedro told him to fuck off, wasn't holy at all. Now, he's probably laughing or scheming.

"Paul!" Pedro opens the door. "W-what's up?"

The younger man does a quick scan of his friend, barely able to hide a laugh.

"Looking radiant, my friend" he answers with a shit-eating grin. "They need to do some re-shootings. Have you happen to seen y/n? She just keeps dissappearing when you- oh, when you do!" he mocks. "Well, if you ever happen to find y/n, tell her you both need to get a good fix unless y'all want to show up on TMZ again. I'm pretty sure you can find something in this dressing room to cover those marks, yeah?"

He finally breaks down laughing in front of Pedro's shocked face.

"Ah, you guys are the absolute worst" he folds in a fit of laughter, "so fucking horny you end up fucking in bathrooms and dressing rooms!"

Your voice can be heard from inside as you growl, face red with fury and shame:

"Hijo de puta" (son of a bitch!), "don't make me bring Daisy Edgar-Jones into this!"

l-u-n-a-m: they're just milking their relationship atp for promo but i'm not complaining need more pictures of the photoshoot NOW vnightx: istg if they don't stop flirting in front of my single ass face. i need a gun at0michips: have i gone insane or does pedro have love bites ㅤㅤmybritishstyle: MI HIJO DOES NOT HAVE LOVE BITES. HE JUST FELL DOWN THE STAIRS

*i'm never gonna call twitter as X. it's still twitter, and will always be. fuck that ugly bigot filthy billionaire hoe called elon-trump-cocksucker-musk.

#dilfistwrites #gladiator II #gladiator ii #gladiator 2 #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x you #pedro x reader #pedro pascal fluff #taylor swift #reputation #call it what you want #paul mescal

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ma1dita · 10 months ago

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love me dry

a 'partners in crime' installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader prev -> forever falling | next -> when the curtains close words: 4.5k summary: (post-TLT) The one where he meets you at his mother’s house, though both of you didn’t expect the other to be there. A glimpse into May Castellan’s perfect day (Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader) a/n: macbeth references (comment if you catch them/or ask and i’ll yap) and slight suggestive stuff under the cut—but anyways let’s just say the prophecy by taylor swift came out at the right time. (posted 4/19/24, semi-edited)

—

The drive to Westport has become almost an afterthought in these past few years— in the way you unconsciously reach for your favorite hoodie on the way out the door or tuck in your chair before you leave a table, almost automatic but ingrained with a touch of care.

With letters to May Castellan occupying your passenger seat instead of the boy who wrote them, you’d make the drive multiple times but stop short just before the property line. It took months of parking at the bottom of the hill and just watching the sun set on the little house, so clearly being able to imagine a smaller version of him running around and wreaking havoc.

Little Luke, with bandaged knees and feet that move as fast as his motor mouth, amber eyes glinting like windchimes in the summer breeze. His mom must’ve watched him play by himself through the bay window before calling him home when the clouds covered the horizon, wispy tendrils stretching over the rain gutter like how lovers hold hands. It must’ve reminded her a lot of his father, leaving nothing but the open air in his wake. Still, all of this was familiar to you too—despite having never stepped foot in the white house.

But knowing Luke meant knowing his home like it was a part of you.

The old hatchback’s engine gently rumbled against the quiet of the property each time you visited, and May would wait for you to come near— waiting for you to be ready to walk into a mausoleum of the boy you both once knew. You were familiar to her too, even as a blurry figure hunched over the steering wheel. She’s seen your face in the small glimpses between the shattering earth of her reality and the hazy foresight she lets herself succumb to remember what her son looks like. In every vision of him since he’s left, you’ve been there; and something about that quells the pain and anguish that it brings to her body when she sees it. But May Castellan is ever an observant woman, gift of prophecy aside. A mother always knows.

It also turns out that she makes excellent conversation over a plate of slightly singed chocolate chip cookies.

—

Luke Castellan is years older than the version of him that last sat at this kitchen table. He doesn’t know if he’s any wiser for it—wondering if he’s made a mistake in coming back here after all this time as he watches his mom hustle around the kitchen that’s suspiciously sparkling clean. A silver spoon clinks against the glass pitcher that May stirs mixed berry Kool-Aid in, his favorite, he remembers, and it makes him squint against the light that filters through the gauzy curtains of the windowpane above the sink. Luke could’ve sworn that there used to be badly patched rips in the fabric, but he attributes it to the dark corner of his memory he still hides away like a secret. Sitting there and taking it all in, he wonders what it would’ve been like to actually grow up here—to stay, for once.

But that’s something he doesn’t have the privilege of knowing. When his mom turns to hand him a glass with her shaking hands, wrinkles and laugh lines are mapped across the expanse of her face. He’ll never know how they got there. The wooden chair creaks under him, groaning under the weight that he carries and Luke once again feels uncomfortable in a place he once called home.

“Knew you’d come back. A mother always knows,” May mutters, voice disembodied like she’s floating just out of reach. Her hands clasped over his, rubbing her thumbs over the veins as if she’s checking his pulse (or the possibility of him being an apparition) and the crack in her smile mirrors his. But this isn’t the home he remembers—his frontal lobe was underdeveloped back then and the only plan it could form was the one to get him the hell out of Westport, there’s something different in the details. Tiny things, like the patio swing chain reattached to its post, a mended table leg, and ceramic tiles on the countertop unbroken and smooth. This is a home and a mother he once longed for as a kid, along with the feeling of comfort and safety you can only attribute to a place like this.

Calculating eyes scan the perimeter of the kitchen, but no one knows he’s made the trip to Westport, not even his own crew. Surely nothing could mess this up for him, not here. This was his last step before his quest for redemption eats away at his physical body, and then it will all be out of his hands.

There’s not much left for me here, he thinks— there’s not much of me left here, either.

Then Luke hears you before he sees you—the sound of you humming under your breath mixed with the jingle of keys turning in the front door. With bags of groceries leaving marks on your arms and a soft smile he hasn’t seen you wear in ages, for once you look lighter again. For a moment, the thought crosses his mind that this must be what you look like when he’s not around. Nonetheless, he breathes easier when you’re near. Of course, you’re here, and the irony grips him by the neck almost as if to make it known why his home feels like home again.

“Yeah hon, I’ll have to call you back,” you laugh into your headphones before tapping them with one free finger to end the call. In a split second, your eyes meet. Staggering back at the sight of him sitting at the table and the absolute grin on May’s face, you decide to continue into the space ahead and start putting the groceries away like nothing is out of sorts.

“I see you have a visitor, Miss May. Is he staying long?”

Luke sips at his glass, juice extra tart just how he likes it. His lips pucker at the taste it leaves in his mouth and when he opens his mouth there’s a hint of blue. You try not to look too long.

“For the night,” he answers, even if you weren’t talking to him, but it makes May so vibrant with the notion of him not running again that she instantly hops to her feet and rushes to make the bed in his old room. “I won’t be in your way,” he swallows. You gravitate towards him like a moth to a flame, but move around his chair without touching him—further proving that Luke is, in fact, an obstacle you must overcome. He’s a stranger in his own home and you’ve found yourself at ease in it. You wonder if any of that will make a difference in the long run.

“She’s…”

“More peaceful. I’ve been practicing with my dad, so I do what I can to ease her fits but I’m not exactly equipped to lift a curse from Hades,” you mutter through a bitten lip. Luke stares at you but it feels nostalgic, like someone on the outside looking in. Well, shit. He’s been leading demigods to their deaths every summer and you’ve been trying to cure his mentally ill mother in the time you don’t spend trying to stop him.

“I don’t think I even remember the last time she made sense while talking to me,” he laughs hollowly. You purse your lips and shrug, “I visit her every two weeks. She still has her triggers, and she gets confused but she’s not in pain. Your letters helped.”

“Is that why you came here then?”

“Don’t shoot the messenger,” you joke feebly. It falls flat and yet he still smiles, even when you say, “They weren’t for me.”

“They were about you. All of them were.”

You know that too. May makes you read them to her before bedtime as you stroke her hair and send her off to Hypnos. You’ve relived your relationship with Luke a million little times, and he’s written about you and all of your yesterdays like it was the only glimpse of Elysium he’d ever reach. In those letters, you get to remember the good parts of being in love—laughing in the empty amphitheater, holding hands under the dining table, sneaking kisses in the strawberry fields.

You used to understand each other so well: every dream, every feeling. But there is nothing you understand about the man sitting across from you now. The both of you sit at the kitchen table and there is nothing more to say.

Luke doesn’t have to stay. While you were at the supermarket, he spent an hour trying to explain to his mother that he needed her blessing to swim in the River Styx. Through nuances and veiled simplicity in the words he weaved to convince her, there wasn’t much opposition in her half-empty, half-prophetic mind. May always knew that Luke loved to swim when she took him to the beach, and that was that.

There was nothing more to say.

—

He knows it’s too good to be true when moments later May’s screams carry through the halls of the little house, down the stairway you’re currently clambering up to reach her. By the time his boots reach the second landing, he finds the two women he loves most in a huddle against the linen closet, his mother’s glowing green eyes and empty groans rattling him to the bone. If he were any smaller, he’d be shaking. Even now he doesn’t know what to do— feet frozen as he watches you brush her curls away from her face and lull her to solace.

“Can’t find Luke’s sheets—he needs the Toy Story ones…” May mutters as she rocks on her heels, “My boy needs to be home… He’s meant to be home!” Her fingernails are cutting into your wrists and then she silences with a wave of your hand.

“He’s home, Miss May. He’s right there,” you whisper. When your eyes look at Luke, you watch him crumble—the cracks in his fortitude tumbling like fallen rocks at the sight of the two of you and then you see him. The boy you met at 14 who was angry at the world for making him run away from his mother and the hands of fate until it crept up to snuff him out for the sake of a prophecy foretold by deities who will never understand what it’s like to be human. But there are no second chances, and there is nowhere left to run. “He’s here for you. I’ll take care of him, don’t worry.”

“I see it, the two of you together. The worst will be over soon, and then it’ll all make sense,” she says breathily, licking her lips and straightening herself like nothing happened. Even after you send her off to prepare a basket for the beach, Luke doesn’t move when his mother pats his arm and walks around his body and towards the stairs. Neither of you speak until your fingers touch his jaw lightly, and Luke doesn’t know if you’re trying to help him or inspect him. He tilts down to look at you anyway.

“She thinks we’re still together.”

He blinks. Somehow that’s the most shocking thing he’s heard today. Fate is most definitely cruel and fucked up because he never expected it to be like this—once upon a time he hoped he could take you home to meet his mother when everything was said and done; no shackles from Titans or pressure from the gods.

It was supposed to be different.

“The letters probably didn’t help as much as you thought they would then,” he mumbles, calloused hands guiding your hands over to his swiftly beating heart. You scoff, “Neither does bringing up my boyfriend. She thinks it’s you.” He’d believe anyone who’d say they watched you yank his heart out of his chest with that statement, everything bloody in your hands. It’s still yours, even if you don’t want it.

“Kit?”

You shake your head and shrug, “That was forever ago. But he treats me well.”

Luke wants to ask more but by the tension in your shoulders, he knows not to push. He’s not entitled to know anything more than what you give him. It’s not his place anymore. So his brow furrows at your next suggestion.

“Just pretend, Luke. For the day, so your mom doesn’t get agitated. I’m not asking for much here.”

It’s a terrible, terrible idea—even you know that. But you both have always been good pretenders. Liars, a voice corrects in the back of your mind. You reason that it’s for May and insist upon that fact, even if the heartbroken girl you left at Camp Half-Blood is raging at you from deep inside the recesses of your mind that you hide her in. What’s one day with him compared to the many you’ve gone without? You don’t need to know the rest of why he’s here, or what more he’s going to do— and you don’t ask.

Not knowing has always hurt less.

—

You’ve forgotten how good Luke is at playing the part of a good boyfriend. He offers to drive to the beach, carries the picnic basket and blanket for you all to sit on, and listens intently when May asks about your college classes. There’s no discomfort in the way he holds your hand as you walk in the sand or dusts your feet off before laying them across his lap. It’s easy to laugh at his bad jokes, it’s easy to act like the boyfriend you describe is anything like him (even if he’s the complete opposite), and it’s too damn easy to fall into the familiar rhythm that is you and Luke. The three of you lay down as the spring breeze covers you from the rest of reality, hiding away from the truth of a broken woman and two ex-lovers. By late afternoon, you find yourself enjoying it, and it’s cruel how the guilt isn’t rolling off you in waves, instead longing for him to follow you anywhere.

He meets you by the shoreline with both of you waist-deep in the water. May’s collecting seashells but she turns to look at you two every so often like she’s framing this memory in her fragile mind. Without saying it out loud, the both of you hope it will hold.

“She always talks about you, you know? Even without trying,” you mutter as saltwater pours from your fingers to the valleys made by the veins in his forearms. It’s like initiating touch without the consequences of actually doing it, and he immerses himself in the feeling as it spills over him, feet rocking against the tide.

“I do too. Can’t help it.”

When the sea ripples once more pushing you against the wall of his body, you end up holding on, and he doesn’t let go. You both smell like salt and sunshine, pressed together and nothing has made more sense. The silence goes on for a beat too long—he whispers, “You still talk about me? Your boyfriend must hate that.”

“Why wouldn’t I want to talk about you? For anyone to get to know me, they have to know you.”

Your shirt is stuck to your skin in the surf and Luke’s hands brush over the waistline of your underwear, daring to reacquaint himself with your touch and spur a reaction from you. You may be the best actress he’s ever known but anything is better than watching you be complacent with the false niceties of the day.

“There isn’t much worth knowing.”

“I’d never say that, Luke,” jaw tensing, you let out a breath when his hands encircle your hips, hidden in plain sight in the deep of the ocean. He chuckles and the sound tickles your brain to remind you it's the type of laugh he spits out when he’s hiding his anger, “There’s a lot we’re both not saying.” Your name slips past his lips, sneaking past your defenses and hitting you head-on like a bullet.

“Why?”

Why are you doing this? Why are you helping his mother, why aren’t you actively fighting and turning him in, why are you letting him hold you if he’s only going to leave again—there are too many questions and only one clear answer.

“Because it’s out of our hands, isn’t it, Luke? You love your mother but you wouldn’t have come here unless it’s too late. Annie told me you went to see her in San Francisco.”

He was never here to make amends or save face. There was no version of him that was going to ask you to run away with him because he knows you deserve more than always running from fate. He’d do it all over again as long as you got this— the life you’re living with your college degree, your boyfriend, and your happy family— and Luke has no place in that.

A dry laugh bubbles from his throat, sticking like seafoam when he says, “You hate San Francisco.”

You wouldn’t have come, anyway.

—

By the time you get home for dinner, your skin is sensitive and tingly from the heat of the sun. May’s tracing circles into the back of your hand as she leads you up the patio steps. There’s a sinking feeling in your stomach that makes you sway against the doorway.

“Too much time having fun,” she mumbles, patting your cheek, “Take a cold shower dear. Join us when you’re ready?” Luke’s eyes follow you all the way up the stairs and then again, he’s left to his own devices.

Most of the said shower was spent thinking about what your friends would say about you for playing house with the enemy. The guilt felt like ice along your spine, paralyzing you for wanting to be selfish, to choose what makes you happy even if it fucks the rest of the world. But looking in the mirror afterward was scarier—you recognized the girl that stared back at you as someone you thought you’d never see again. A version you left behind years ago, with her head held high and so sure of herself with your Luke by your side.

Surely, there’s no harm in indulging in this vice for the rest of the night. Not when you haven’t felt this relaxed in years.

Dinner is being served by the time you make your way back downstairs. It’s a simple dish you taught Luke how to make back at camp when you raided the kitchens at midnight. Nothing special, reminding you of your own home—but the fact that he remembered makes your smile widen as you take a seat and promise to wash the dishes. Luke chuckles the type that makes his eyes crinkle in mirth once he watches you dig into your meal, knees brushing under the table like old times.

Everything feels easier after that.

“Today was the best day,” his mother mutters as you tuck the covers under her chin. May kisses both of your cheeks before she shuts her eyes and you gently fold the letter she chose tonight back into her nightstand for safekeeping. This time, you read her the story of your first kiss with Luke sitting at the foot of her bed in the dim light of her room. It’s less scary here than he remembers, but maybe it’s because this time there’s no screaming and him running to hide in the closet. Your voice is much more pleasant than those suppressed memories, immersing you all in a more pleasant one— the both of you in the amphitheater kissing on the stage with his hands in your belt loops. Luke could recite every word on that page if it meant he could go back in time, not with Backbiter but with you, just to live through that moment again. I think I’m falling in love with her, is how the letter ended but by then he already knew. Writing it down to tell his mother always made it real.

This, you, right here—everything is real.

He’s silent even as he watches you smoke through the cracked window of his childhood bedroom, and you’re surprised when he steals a puff. His hands are shaking under the moonlight and suddenly it’s clear that he’s scared. Everyone feels fear, but in all the years that you’ve known him, Luke Castellan has never let you see it.

“Those things will kill you one day,” you mumble, watching him lean against the windowpane. It’s what he used to always tell you so that you’d quit, but old habits die screaming. It’s another vice you refuse to let go of.

“Wanted to try something new before I…” his voice drops off.

Lose myself.

Lose you.

Luke coughs as the smoke enters his lungs, a momentary rush hitting him brought by the nicotine. Your hands go to cup his jaw as you set your forehead against his, a silent plea for him to just be honest if there’s truly nothing left to lose.

“I’m out of time, Trouble. It’s out of my hands.”

Shuddering at the feeling of him tracing every ridge of your spine, you think the way he says your nickname sounds like the way he used to say I love you. It’s raining outside now, the harsh pitter-patter of wet drops drowning out the sound of your voice, “What can I do? Is there anything left for me to do?” When his head shakes, your noses brush, and your breaths intermingle, almost magnetic. Perhaps the rain is getting in from the open window and you feel it hitting your cheek until you see the shine of his eyes.

“You think I did this because of you. I know you do, but you need to know I did all of this for you, trouble. I choose you and me. Every time,” Luke gasps, intertwining his fingers with yours, the both of you pushing and pulling in this embrace like the moon with the tide.

“Luke…”

You’re pressing yourself against him, face hidden in his shirt as your brain catches up to your heart, hasty breaths and every atom of your being screaming to be held together by him and then you’re on him, through tears and clenched fists tumbling towards the tiny twin bed. The only way he likens himself to his father is his yearning to be a true traveler, but what he knows best out of anything in this entire world is you. He knew this body once too— every birthmark, scar, and dimple. Who else has had the privilege to navigate the ridges of your spine, to know the pressure of your kiss? A tattoo peeks out to say hello at your hip bone. There are new stories and new marks, there are parts of you unknown to him now. Luke thinks that must be what hurts most about each time he leaves you.

But then gods, why does this feel so good?

Warm palms caress your waist, nudging your shirt up in the hopes that this will be enough compensation for all his misdoings—the tears you’ve cried, the anger you’ve felt, the things you had to do and will have to do because of him. Luke is someone who’s gotten comfortable with manipulating time, but time has manipulated him and all of his plans for the both of you. Sleepy setback bedroom eyes meet his own that glow in the gentle light of the lamp on the nightstand. Maybe if you pretend again his childhood bedroom can turn into the star-speckled darkness of cabin 12. You can just lay down and tuck underneath his arms waiting for him to fall asleep. But he stays up this time, making you hiss at the feeling of his lips against your neck.

“We can’t… Angelface,” you say breathily, still leaning into the trail he marks across the valley of your collarbone, “We’re not together anymore.”

A kiss is placed on your pulsepoint, knocking against the cord of your necklace.

“We shouldn’t… I have a boyfriend.”

Another kiss rests against the warmth of your forehead.

“We’re on opposite sides of a war… You’re my enemy.”

Finally, his lips meet yours, for a moment as if to test the waters.

“Not tonight,” he says, and there is no other option but to agree. There is a lifetime to make up for in a night, and fuck it—they’ll crucify you anyway. You were never meant to be a hero, that’s what he always wanted. You just wanted him. Your head hits the pillow and he looms over you until you’re pulling him in for more than what’s necessary to accept an apology.

There’s nothing left to lose.

—

Before your mind can wake up dreading the consequences of last night, your socked feet take you to the kitchen to clean up the mess you’ve both left behind. The old floorboards creak underfoot and there’s a method in the way you’re washing the dishes, hot water and soap starting to seep through your shirt sleeve but you choose not to notice. Scrubbing at the dirt and grime left behind on the porcelain until your fingers start to prune, a lump forms in your throat before you can stop it. Maybe if you scrub hard enough at the glass that Luke drank out of last night it can eventually be clean. But it’s taking you longer than you thought, jaw tensing and fingers turning white at how hard you’re holding on. May appears behind you, guiding your hands away from the scalding water, and though you resist— the glass drops into the sink and shatters with a loud crack.

“Damn spot wouldn’t get out,” you sniff, turning away to look out the window and think of anything but him, but he’s everywhere even when he’s not here, so much so that it suffocates you. Guilt lines every shaking breath you take until lavender eyes meet amber at the sensation of her clasping your red and raw palms with a dishtowel.

You see him in her too.

“His fate is greater than the cards he’s been dealt with. You know that.”

It’s the clearest and most sensible May’s spoken in days. Perhaps when it comes to Luke, she’ll always know better. Eyes darting elsewhere to fight the tears that brim at your lash line, you look down at your swollen hands, palm up towards the heavens almost imploring, “Why couldn’t it be me?”

The question’s direction is unclear and you don’t expect to get an answer, turning away to grab some ice from the freezer and she remains standing there—staring at the windowsill at a compass that’s now found its home next to the faded picture of a man who’s left more times than there are reasons to stay. Just like his father, she thinks, a small smile quirking at the side of her lip where a scar would meet her son’s. Clicking it open delicately like how she used to hold his hand, there’s a photo of you and Luke resting against the cover ripped away from a memory frozen in time.

“It is you,” May says quietly, though you’ve already left the room.

A mother always knows, after all.

—

“Aphrodite,” I pleaded to the moon-drenched night sky. “Tell me; if love is meant to heal, then why does it destroy those who choose it?” From somewhere beyond the clouds, I heard the Goddess laugh. And I knew. -Nikita Gill

#made by ma1dita ♥︎#luke castellan x reader #pjo x reader #luke castellan fanfic #trouble!verse #percy jackon and the olympians

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pathological-runaway · 1 month ago

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“Isle? But it’s so… empty.” You spend the next three hours wandering aimlessly across the sand dunes looking for anything that could make anyone prefer Isle to Prairie or Valley or even Wasteland. You get liking a place for its beauty or for its charm, and you almost understand enjoying it because of danger. But liking something that’s so empty, just sand and broken boats? It’s beyond your comprehension. The mystery of loving Isle of Dawn doesn’t leave your mind for days, yet, despite all your efforts, you don’t see what’s so special about the lifeless desert.

read the fic here or below the cut

“You alright?” they ask, sitting down on a bench. It’s nice to finally have a chance to talk to them.

“Yeah. Thanks for helping me.”

“You’re welcome!”

A pause. You should say something. You really should. But what?

“What’s your favourite realm?” you ask because you don't know any other way to keep a conversation going.

“Isle of Dawn.”

You’re confused.

“Isle? But it’s so… empty.”

They shrug.

“A little. But it’s nice.”

You spend the next three hours wandering aimlessly across the sand dunes looking for anything that could make anyone prefer Isle to Prairie or Valley or even Wasteland. You get liking a place for its beauty or for its charm, and you almost understand enjoying it because of danger. But liking something that’s so empty, just sand and broken boats? It’s beyond your comprehension.

Sure, the sunrise looks nice, but there’s not much to it, especially after you’ve seen it a couple of times.

You return to the village, confused.

***

The mystery of loving Isle of Dawn doesn’t leave your mind for days, yet, despite all your efforts, you don’t see what’s so special about the lifeless desert.

***

“What’s up, little one? You seem down. Is everything alright?”

You sip your juice sadly.

“Thanks, Candlemaker, I’m fine. I’m just thinking.”

The spirit sits down next to you, a radiant smile on their face. They’re kind and warm and it makes you a little sad for some reason. It would be nice to have someone this kind by your side all the time. But they’re a spirit, they stay in Aviary and never travel anywhere other than the starry sky. They have a family there, you recall. A partner and a child.

Their child is lucky to have a parent like them.

“Anything I can help you with?” they ask.

“I don’t know. About a week ago, someone told me their favourite place was Isle, but I don’t understand why. There’s nothing there but sand.”

Pointing Candlemaker thinks for a while, tapping their fingers on the counter.

“Well, Isle hasn’t always been like this, you know.”

For some reason, you've never thought of this. It’s easy to picture Prairie with all the buildings intact, or Valley in its past glory. Even Wasteland keeps traces of what was there before the world ended.

But Isle?

“It wasn’t?” you ask incredulously.

Candlemaker shifts in their seat to get more comfortable.

“Oh, you would’ve loved what it looked like before…” they start, and it seems that they’re never going to stop.

You listen to them carefully for an entire hour until you fall asleep to the rhythm of their voice.

You dream of starry nights and flowers and lying in soft grass.

***

You visit Isle again the day after. It's still empty, but if you look closely, your imagination paints a picture over the empty hills.

You see grass, just like that growing near the Temple. You see flowers — they’re neither big nor very bright, but their soft hues are beautiful, and you never expected this beauty to be hidden right here. You feel a cool summer breeze coming from the endless sea and hear a tinkle of bells in the distance.

You still think Isle is empty, but it’s good to know there’s more to it than you previously thought.

***

You’re lying in the grass on the roof of the Nesting shop, trying to discern a constellation in the sky. It’s tricky.

“Looking at the stars?” you hear a voice and sit up.

“Yeah…” you reply shyly.

“Is it alright if I join?” they ask, their eyes shining.

“It is. But, uhm… I think I’m bad at this,” you confess, fidgeting with your hands, “I haven’t found a single constellation yet.”

“Oh, it’s OK! I could show you if you want! It took me a while to learn to notice them, too.”

The smile on their face is so big you start smiling as well.

“Thank you. It would be great.”

You both lie down and study the stars. After some time, you ask:

“Stargazer, can you tell me about Isle?”

And they do.

You listen attentively and when you return to your nest, you think of vast seas and shooting stars and sitting quietly at the shore.

***

You go to Isle again and sit down on a stone, contemplating the ocean. When you close your eyes, you can picture a landscape so pretty you wish you could stay there forever.

You see waves kissing the sand on the coast. You hear birds singing nearby and a child laughing by your side. You imagine them playing with small rocks and building a tower. You feel a chilly wind coming from behind you as the sun goes down.

When you open your eyes, Isle is so painfully empty you consider never returning.

***

“Wow, that looks heavy! Mind if I help?”

You nod, and the spirit takes half of the boxes.

“Thanks, Voyager,” you breathe out.

“No problems, mate. Where are you taking all this stuff?”

“Harmony Hall. Frantic Stagehand asked me to collect all the instruments from the Concert Hall to get them checked. I guess I overestimated my muscles,” you add as your whole body screams at you.

“No worries kid, it happens. Let’s get going before you get arthritis or something.”

You start arguing that it isn’t actually how you get arthritis and that you’re too young anyway, and they laugh.

“I know, I know. Just kidding. Don't take it too seriously. Come on, no dawdling!”

When all the boxes are in their place, you don’t want to say goodbye just yet.

“Voyager, do you have anything nice to tell me about Isle of Dawn?”

They do. You sit down on the bench in the hall and listen to them talk, while some younger kids practice music clumsily in the background.

As you teach a little mothling how to hold the guitar correctly, you ponder on flying boats and birds and believing in a brighter future.

***

You come to Isle once again when you have time. You fly all the way to the Temple and look down at the desert. If you look closely, you notice things you’ve never paid attention to.

You see flying boats, big and majestic, carrying people to where you’re standing. You see kids playing, adults chatting, happy and enthusiastic and looking forward to arriving wherever they’re going. You hear birds chirping happily and guiding the travellers. The wind is rising. You see mantas flying — funny how you didn’t even know there were mantas in Isle.

There are no more.

A tear runs down your face. Isle is so empty now. So, so empty.

***

You sit by the bonfire with Passage Guide, Tumbling Troublemaker and a few mothlings. The marshmallows are tasty and the stories everyone’s telling are fun.

Oddball Outcast accidentally throws their ball into the fire, and everyone’s laughing while Passage Guide is indignant. You know they’re not actually angry.

You’re laughing along as you realise Isle has never been empty. You just couldn’t see it.

***

“I always get lost in these dunes,” your mothling says, frustrated.

“Don’t worry, you’ll memorise the path one day,” you pat them on the shoulder.

Have kids always been so small?

“I hope so. Thanks for guiding me.”

You smile at them.

“Oh, no problem! I like helping people out! The next one’s on the ledge.”

You land near the light and wait for the mothling to collect it.

“Do we have to do this every time?”

“Yes. It gets easier after a few tries though.”

They don’t look encouraged.

“Hey,” you say, getting down on one knee to look them in the face, “everyone moves at their own pace. It’s alright to learn things slowly. Stars, you can’t even imagine how lost I was at the beginning. I refused to leave Forest because I’d seen a red shard behind the Temple and though it was what Valley was like!”

You laugh, and the kid smiles.

“That’s silly.”

“Yeah. But it’s more fun this way, isn’t it?”

They think for some time.

“I suppose it is.”

And then,

“What’s your favourite realm?”

You can’t help but laugh again. Oh, what a mothling thing to ask!

They remind you of yourself, in a way. Young, innocent, and having no idea how to keep a conversation going.

“Isle of Dawn,” you reply after a bit.

They frown.

“Isle? But it’s so… empty.”

You smile and close your eyes.

“A little. But it’s nice.”

___

if you enjoyed this one, don't hesitate to drop a kudos or a comment here or check out my other fics. thanks for reading and have an amazing day!

#1414 words of me being a fan of isle of dawn #and its spirits because they're cool #sky children of the light #sky cotl #runaway writes #isle of dawn #pointing candlemaker #ushering stargazer #rejecting voyager

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naturistgirl · 6 months ago

Text

Crowded Tourist Spots, Deserted Places and the 'Textile Offended'

I live close to a beautiful tourist area. For a naturist that can be frustrating. The beautiful landscapes, valleys, hill tops and woodlands near where my home, come in two flavours - crowded and deserted.

I am openly naturist. I hate getting tangled with the 'Textile Offended'. Let me explain my meaning. Most people I meet are generally accepting of naturism; happy and cheerful in their greetings; few are ever offended. All of us have seen a naked woman before. The 'Textile Offended' apparently aren't among them. These are people who walk past you several times to get a closer look or even a photo on their phone. They are likely to go out of their way, even changing direction so that they can be 'offended'. They wear clothes and in this hot sticky summer weather they can get awfully hot and bothered. If possible I like to avoid the risk of being on the same path. They will come up to you to tell you you're 'breaking the law' (you aren't) or 'damaging children' (naturism is NOT a safeguarding issue). The clothed don't offend me by wearing textiles but I do draw the line at them bothering me with groundless arguments and accusations. That does offend me and and it can spoil my day!

Yesterday we went hiking above Newchurch-in-Pendle. This is a well frequented area with people climbing Pendle Hill. It is a very pretty village and one associated with the Pendle Witches. There is a little shop here 'Witches Galore' and the churchyard reputedly has a hanged witch buried there. See the little witches on brooms on the fingerpost above? It gets busy in summer (and on Hallowe'en).

I generally don't even put clothes on to start with. I do however carry a side tie bikini with me 'just in case'; little triangles of cloth that cover me (barely). I have 'Daisy Dukes' too if necessary and a very skimpy little gingham blouse. They don't get much wear and the bikini is pretty pointless anyway but they do keep the 'textile offended' at bay! Yesterday I had to wear them for a little while as there were plenty of people about. It is one of the penalties of visiting textile tourist spots!

Once naked, I STAY naked, even if I see someone approaching. They have already seen me, so what? Nothing looks worse than scrambling furtively into clothes or hiding behind a rock! Just be bold; smile (a lot) and say a very cheerful 'Hello' (around here the phrase is 'How do?' Generally, my 'emergency textiles' stay neatly in my bag where they belong!

The photographic shots here were all taken in relaxed fashion as we walked the track away from the village towards Ogden Clough. It demonstrates how you can do a little naturism even in a really popular tourist area.

Most people just tend to hang around the pretty village, buy souvenirs and take cute photos on their phones. I really like that they do! It keeps them off the trails. Yes, we did see a few people hiking on the same path as us but they were mostly busy, like us, enjoying the great outdoors.

If another hiker comes along the path behind me (one did), I don't really worry too much. I don't think my derrière is capable of offending anyone? I hope not! Hopefully the same is true for my husband. Girls like tight buns too!

Finally an entreaty! Tumblr is first and foremost a Blog Site. If you are a naturist like me and enjoyed this blogpost, please like, share and re-blog with my blessing. Do add your own affirmative comments. More important, if you feel inspired to hike clothes free, please blog about it too! Though there are maybe 6.5 million naturists in the UK, we do need some more!

I welcome messages from anyone who generally wants to know more about naturism. I also love to chat with other naturists about the lifestyle. This ISN'T a sexually themed blog however (I do have one of those too but the photos will never appear here).

Indeed a Naturist lifestyle is NOT about having lots of sex simply because you're naked! Paradoxically, sex is NOT about nudity and the absence of clothing. Erotic clothing (and its gradual removal) is a sexual tease and a must!. I also work as an adult model. Photoshoots generally start with underwear and what happens when it is removed! As a naturist I simply don't wear any!

My perennial postscript: Thank you to this wonderful guy (my loving husband) for the photos shown here. (I married my photographer!)

Without him, these blogs would be all words. He makes the blog special with what he does and I love him to bits.

Walking together with Mart, we are a naturist couple and if we meet anyone else, this is generally more acceptable (for some reason) than being alone. Single naturist men are often criticised, single naturist women tend to get chatted up (and delayed!).

Jane xx

#naturist #nude outdoors #clothesfree #nude in nature #girlblogging #normalize nudity #outdoor nudity #hiking #nonsexual nudity #naturismo #naturista #naturiste #nude outside #nude photos

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differenteagletragedy · 1 year ago

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swap au: the boy across the street is Baxter, the boy who lives far away but is still your friend is Cove, and the boy who comes for but one summer is Derek.

When I tell you the powerful and immediate urge I had to rewrite the entire dang game with this ... this is so much fun, thank you!!!

You could hear the new neighbors moving in at your spot behind your house. You'd thought about taking a peek to see what kind of people they were like, but decided to stay out of the way, watching clouds on the poppy hill instead. With how nosy your moms had been after the "for sale" sign disappeared, you'd be learning about them soon enough.

After a while, the clouds stopped holding your attention and you stood, looking for a new activity. Before you knew it, you were making your way to the shore -- there was always something to do there.

When you arrived, the typically empty beach wasn't quite as empty as it usually was. Up near the path, away from the water but still on the sand, was a boy. He looked to be your age, maybe a little older. He hadn't heard you approach, and was instead staring straight ahead at the ocean.

"Hi," you said, and you quickly broke whatever spell he was under. "I haven't seen you around before."

"That would be because I just moved here," he said. He pulled on the hem of his shirt, then smiled at you, extending a hand. "My name is Baxter Ward."

At the time, you thought it was weirdly formal, something grown-ups did to greet each other, not kids. But over time, as you got to know him and all his quirks, you looked back at the moment fondly.

That summer, he became your best friend.

You took to each other immediately, and if you had it your way you would've have spent every waking minute together. Sometimes Baxter couldn't hang out though -- he didn't talk about it much, but he seemed sad sometimes when he talked about his parents, and the few times you spoke with them you got the feeling they didn't like you very much.

But Baxter, as oddly formal as he was, wasn't afraid to break rules. And after a meeting between his parents and yours that didn't seem to go so well, your moms were quick to welcome him whenever he wanted to come over. You were able to get close.

By the time the summer was over, you could hardly remember what life was like before he came into it.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Five years later, you were 13, and Baxter was still your best friend. He went to a private school while you went to the public one, and from what little he told you about it, he didn't really have friends there. It was a boring place to be, he told you, and he'd much rather be spending time with you than with those spoiled rich kids.

He never bothered noting that he was also a spoiled rich kid.

One day, the two of you were in your bedroom, wasting away a day together. He was lying comfortably on your bed and you were sitting at the foot of it, leaned against the window he regularly used for secret visits -- when he didn't want to hear his parents complain about him spending so much time with you, he found it easier to just slip away unnoticed.

"There's a boy coming over today," he mentioned, ending a comfortable silence. "I think you'll find him interesting."

"If you think he's interesting, then I'm officially scared," you teased.

He smirked in response. He was proud.

Over the past few months, Baxter had started getting more experimental with his fashion. He'd always dressed a bit preppy, and that hadn't changed much, but now he was moving towards clothes that were only black and white. He'd shown you a few more alternative pieces he'd ordered, things that matched the color scheme but were a little more out there, but he hadn't had the nerve to wear them out yet.

"He's the son of a business partner of my father's," he explained of the mystery boy. "I've met him a few times before, he's very shy."

"Then why do you think I'll think he's interesting?" you asked.

"He's also very cute."

You blushed, and he laughed.

You'd had a crush on him for a while, and you couldn't tell if he knew, or if he might like you back, but it was certainly clear that he enjoyed teasing you about anything even remotely related to dating. It always flustered you, but he enjoyed that, too.

He opened his mouth to say anything else, but before he could, the door to your room opened and Liz popped her head in.

"Some kid is at the door asking for you," she told Baxter. "I didn't realize you'd officially moved in."

"Thank you for the warm welcome, sis," he said easily, then stood and looked at you.

"Let's go," he said. "That would be the boy of the hour."

He held out a hand to help you off the bed, and, blushing again, you took it. There was that smirk again, but this time he chose to let it go.

When you went downstairs and to the door, you saw the boy had retreated back towards the street, looking uncomfortable. He was tall and gangly with bright green hair and glasses, and Baxter had been right -- he was cute.

"Cove!" your friend called out brightly, leading you over for an introduction. The boy, Cove, held up his hand in a slight wave. He was nervous.

But as awkward as Cove was, he managed to work his way into your cozy little friend group of two, turning it into a trio.

At one point during the summer, you and Cove had exchanged phone numbers. His father -- his parents were divorced and he lived in another neighborhood with his dad -- was much more easygoing than Baxter's parents, so you were able to visit him quite a bit.

You were even invited over for a sleepover, which Baxter had been surprised about. He'd reacted strangely when you told him about it, it seemed -- you weren't sure if he was upset that his parents had never let you stay over, or if it was something about you getting close to Cove. But in the end, he'd put on his old friendly smile and told you to have fun.

When your moms dropped you off at Cove's house, he greeted you at the door and invited you in, as awkward as the day you had met.

"It was my dad's idea, to ask you to stay over," he explained as you made your way to his room to hang out. "Not that I don't want you to stay over! It was just his idea is all."

"Why would he want me to stay over?" you asked.

He turned to face you as you came to a stop in his bedroom, but he kept his eyes down. He started rubbing his arm, a nervous tick you'd picked up on pretty quickly.

"I don't ... I mean, I don't really have many friends, I guess," he said. "My dad wants me to have more. I think he worries about it."

"Why didn't you ask Baxter?"

"My dad doesn't like his dad," he said.

That made sense to you. You didn't like Baxter's dad either.

Cove didn't live in your neighborhood, but he still lived near a beach. You walked there together and spent most of the evening there, and when you went back, his dad had cooked you dinner.

Throughout the day, he had loosened up, but when it was time for bed, he started getting shy again. His father had laid out two sleeping bags side by side on the living room floor, and after you both got into them, he didn't say a word.

"Cove?" you asked.

He didn't say anything. You turned to face him, sure he hadn't been able to fall asleep that quickly. In the faint light coming in from the kitchen, you saw his eyes wide open, and maybe a tiny bit of color on his cheeks.

"Are you all right?"

He turned his head toward you slightly, not enough to make eye contact, and said, "Yeah."

It wasn't very convincing.

It was your turn to stay quiet -- you weren't sure what to say. Then, without further prompting, he turned to face you too. He met your eyes.

"I get nervous around you," he said plainly. "More than other people. That's why I don't say stuff sometimes."

"Oh," you replied. Then, "Why?"

He shrugged, a decidedly non-romantic gesture, but it still tugged at your heartstrings.

He ended up changing the subject, and you laid there together for a long time, whispering about what you'd done that day and what you wanted to do tomorrow, what you wanted to do with your lives. It was nice, and when you finally fell asleep, you thought maybe you could see Cove being in your life for a long time.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Five more years went by, and more big changes came with them.

Baxter was your best friend and still your neighbor -- for the time being. You'd graduated high school and were now adults, and you knew he was desperate to get out of his parents' home.

Cove was still important to you, though you'd been seeing him less and less. His father had cut professional ties with Baxter's, and there was a bit of bad blood there. He'd also decided he wanted to go to college to study marine biology, which was no big surprise, but it did mean that a lot of his free time went to studying.

You weren't sure what exactly you wanted to do, but at the beginning of the summer, an opportunity for a quick adventure before diving into real adulthood presented itself, almost literally on your doorstep.

Gossip spread easily in Sunset Bird, and your moms had heard that the newly vacant condo next door to Baxter's house had been rented. They were eager to see who was coming into the neighborhood, but because they had to leave for work before anything happened, they asked you and Baxter, who was almost always over, to keep an eye out.

Baxter agreed before you could say anything. He'd always done anything your moms asked. You thought it was because he was thankful that they'd unofficially adopted him as their third child.

The two of you settled outside on your front step, waiting and chatting idly about some nonsense he'd made up about who the new neighbor would be. He was really getting into the details when a cab pulled up across the street, and a guy who looked to be about your age stepped out.

"This is not what I expected," Baxter whispered to you before letting his mouth hang open.

You watched as the newest resident of your tiny town moved to the back of the car, opening the trunk and easily pulling out a suitcase. He was all muscles and tan skin and had such a big smile as he tipped the driver. The cab left, and the stranger must have felt your eyes on him, because he turned to you then and smiled even wider.

"Hey, neighbors!" he called out, sounding as friendly as he looked. He started making his way over, and you saw bright green eyes twinkling at you.

Baxter stood, sticking his hand out to help you up. You took it, and he used his other hand to smooth his black and white hair.

"My name's Derek," the guy said holding out a hand to you the same way Baxter had when you first met him ten years before. You shook it, and he smiled directly at you before moving to shake your friend's hand as well.

You and Baxter introduced yourselves, then Baxter asked, "So, Derek, what brings you into our tiny neck of the woods?"

"I'm on vacation," he answered. "Well, kind of. I play college soccer, and there's a coach in the city that's really good, I'm going to work with him this summer. My parents wanted me to have an actual vacation too though, so ..."

He finished his thought by gesturing to his condo.

"I see," Baxter said, and you could hear it in his voice already -- he was turning the charm on. "Well, you know what they say about all work and no play. If you ever feel the need to play, don't hesitate to find us."

Ten years of friendship, and Baxter could still make you blush. If Derek was taken aback by his forwardness, he didn't show it -- instead, he laughed openly.

"I'll keep that in mind," he said. You thought you saw him sneak a glance at you as his smile turned smaller, but you weren't sure.

You learned quickly that Derek was serious about his work. He left for long stretches to go into the city for his private training, and you frequently saw him out for runs around the neighborhood.

But he also, it seemed, had taken a liking to you.

One evening, he knocked on your door. You were home alone, so naturally you were the one to answer, and he was there, as always, with a big grin on his face.

"Hey!" he said. "I totally get if you have plans, but if not I thought I'd come check to see if you wanted to hang out?"

"I'm free," you told him.

"Cool. Do you wanna come over?"

When you paused, he quickly continued, telling you, "Oh no, I'm not ... I'm not trying to ... do you like video games?"

A few minutes later, you were sitting next to Derek on his couch, starting up a game of MarioKart.

His composure regained, he said, "I hope you know I'm not going to take it easy on you."

"Why would I think you'd take it easy on me?" you laughed, looking at the tv to choose your character.

"Pretty people always think they can get their way."

That stopped you in your tracks. You glanced over at him, and he was smiling at you.

"You would know," you replied, trying to return the compliment.

As you played, you both found little ways to get closer to each other. Once he scooted over to show you which button to press to do a certain move, and soon after you'd done the same, pretending like you'd forgotten.

After a particularly intense race, it happened -- you finally beat Derek. He'd stayed true to his word and hadn't taken it easy on you, beating you time after time, but now, you'd bested him.

You stood up enthusiastically, cheering for yourself, and ever the gentleman, he stood up as well to cheer along with you.

The next thing you knew, he had his strong arms around your waist, and yours had gone up around his neck. He leaned in a bit, then paused.

"I like you," he said softly, "and I think it would be nice to kiss you. But I'm going back to college in a couple of months, and --"

"A couple of months is enough for me," you told him.

He smiled again, then kissed you. It was gentle and sweet, and over far too soon.

"I'm thinking I should probably make a little bit more time this summer for playing," he said, giving you a smirk that could almost rival Baxter's.

#our life beginnings and always #our life #olba #baxter ward #cove holden #derek suarez #our life baxter #our life cove #our life derek #i cannot emotionally handle how much i love this #imagine the ghost moment with baby baxter #the rv moment with baxter #the boardwalk with cove #mountain scene with derek #DEREK'S GOODBYE ARE YOU KIDDING

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blackboard-monitor · 1 month ago

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3, 19, 22?

3. Favorite musical artist / group you started listening to this year? i got really into redacted hills which is a side project of @quinnhills

19. What’re you excited about for next year? oof yeah idk really; my current job ends at the end of january and as of now i don't have anything else lined up, so everything's very much up in the air. oh, i know, i am turning 30 next year and i have preliminary plans for two different celebrations, one with friends and the other with family

22. Favorite place you visited this year? i didn't really go a lot of places this year other than home and work but i always enjoy our summer house near jämsä

thanks for asking :)

#answered #2024

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rays-of-fire-and-ice · 2 months ago

Text

Returnal: Summer

Two Weeks of Hitsuhina 2024: Day 5 - Go with the Clouds / Hobbies

Rating: K/General

Setting: between the ten-year time-skip and No Breath from Hell oneshot.

Synopsis: While visiting a town in the World of the Living with Toshiro, Momo begins to have a strange feeling she’s been there before.

AN: this has been a stop-start fic since March of this year. It first came to me when I happened to be listening to World #07 Blues from the DiamondDust Rebellion OST (YT | Spotify) and looked at the clouds towering high in the sky on the horizon (in scientific terms, the formation is referred to as a cumulus congestus cloud… yes I looked it up in case anyone was curious XD). Since then, I was struggling to figure out what this fic was going to be about, because it felt like there was more to it than Momo and Toshiro have a day off int he World of the Living.

It didn’t really crystalise until I was thinking on the theme 'go with the clouds' and I figured out why Momo was feeling the way she was about the town.

A few notes before we begins:

In terms of what they’re wearing in this fic, imagine whatever you want, but I saw Toshiro in the Black Hole Disco attire (not with the headphones and wearing a pair of three quarter pants instead, but yes, he’s wearing the bucket hat), and Momo is in the outfit on the left here and her hair done up in a side ponytail

A shoutengai is a type of shopping district in Japan. It can be considered a market of sorts, where you can buy the usual things you’d find at marketplaces like groceries, meals and snacks, cosmetics, clothes, housewares and more. They vary in size from town to town, but regardless they can also host big social events like festivals. Most of my research for this came talking about them with a friend who’s been to Japan and from quick google searches. If I got anything inaccurate, please let me know so I can fix it.

The rats Hitsugaya mentions are the Ryukyu long-tailed giant rat. It’s a rodent native to Japan, specifically the Ryukyu Islands and it has long hairs that look like spikes.

The cup mentioned in this fic is here.

Momo is acting out of character at certain points, and is harsh at one point, This is deliberate, and I hope it makes sense why this is the case as you read along.

If I had to recommend any music to listen to, anything from the Clannad anime soundtrack will work.

I hope you all enjoy this one!

__________________________________

The sun bears down on the back of Hitsugaya’s neck. He tilts the brim of his hat back to shade it, and despite the heat, he’s not experiencing the usual sluggishness that comes with the summer weather.

Regardless, the action gets Hinamori's attention. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” he assures.

“It’s not far,” she encourages, gesturing to the buildings ahead of them on the horizon. “I wonder why the senkaimon dropped us off here? I thought it would be near one of the shrines.”

He shrugs. “It’s probably an old pathway. There might have been a shrine here once but it’s been lost to time. We’ll have to make a note to Twelfth Division when we get back”

She only nods, then continues towards the town. He doesn’t immediately follow.

The senkaimon had taken them to the outskirts, and he might have complained if not for the view and scenery it offers them. Aside from the sidewalks bordering either ride of the road, the powerlines coming down the hill and going into the town, there’s no other human-made structures out here. They’re on a flat plane in a valley, with flowers and tall grass on either side of the road. Bordering the area in far distance are hills and mountains, and towering high above them are clouds that slowly move across the sky.

Save for the few cars that have passed them, their shoes scraping along the footpath, and the swaying grass, it’s quiet. There’s a peacefulness here that is rare in most places he’s been to in the World of the Living.

He looks back to Hinamori, watching the ends of her skirt flutter in the wind and her cloth bag jostle around her shoulder. Out of everything, however, it the purposefulness in her strides that catches his attention the most.

“Why here?” he’d asked when she’d shown him pictures of the town on her denreishinki.

She’d given a small shrug, but her gaze never left the images. “I just thought it looks like a nice town to visit. I didn’t want to go somewhere too cold or hot, and I didn’t feel like going to a city. It's built up, but it also has a lot of nature. Maybe we could go for a walk there or do some shopping?"

There was something about her in that moment. She wasn’t being dishonest, but she hadn’t told him the whole truth, maybe even didn’t realise there was more to her choice than she knew. As if an unconscious force made her pick this place for their visit.

He brushes the thought aside for now, catching up to her and taking in the serenity around them.

_________________________________

It’s that feeling again. Something clinging to the edge of her heart, and fluttering at the back of her mind, hazy and out of reach.

Hinamori can’t decide if she should be perplexed by it or find it uncomfortable. It had started when she’d been searching for places she and Hitsugaya could visit for their day trip. More specifically, when this town showed up more than once as a recommended day trip destination.

The feeling intensifies now that they walk down the town’s main street. She tries to focus on her surroundings, taking in the architecture of the buildings around her. They’re mostly modern, but occasionally there’s a building that’s out of place, as if transported from another time. They’re well maintained, with obvious repaired having been made to their roofs or walls, but still maintaining their traditional look. They remind her of the buildings in the Junrinan’s business district.

There aren’t a lot of people around to considering it 'bustling', but there's enoguh to make her think the town isn't as small as one might assume based on the maps and pictures she'd seen. There’s a few residents that even have their pets with them, either carrying them or keeping them on leash.

“Look at that dog, Shiro-chan!” Hinamori quietly gushes when she spots a small, white Japanese Spitz with it’s owner across the street. “It’s so fluffy!”

Hitsugaya only snorts and watches the dog trot down the footpath.

“…You know, it kind of looks liked you.”

He lets out a strangled sound which briefly catches the attention of a few around them. “How?!”

“Well, it’s fur looks like your hair, it’s got a very determined stride, and…” She raises a hand to her lips, stifling a giggle and covering the teasing smile curling her lips.

He glares at her, even as blush faintly colors his cheeks. “We didn’t come here for you to compare me to a dog.”

“No, I suppose we didn’t.” She fishes out her denreishinki from her pocket, bringing up the map of the main and connecting streets. “Come on, lets go find the shoutengai.”

There are a few in this town, but the one that’d been recommend on a several Human websites she’d browsed through was the biggest of them all. It’s home to the usual types of shops, like clothing and homeware stores, but also obscure places like a tiny café that has hedgehog-themed food and beverages, a bookstore selling rare novels and collectables, and a confectionery shop with candies in all sorts of shapes and sizes and flavors.

It's several minutes later when they come across it. It’s hard to miss with the crowd gathered within and the different colored lanterns swaying beneath the shoutengai sign.

Hinamori stops before they cross the street to it’s entrance. “You sure about this?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I know you’re not a fan crowds, so…”

He shrugs. “It's not like we're staying here the whole time."

She smiles in gratitude. “Okay.” Even so, she can’t help but offer, “After this, we can go wherever you want.”

“There's that walking trail you mentioned before, I guess.” Before she can agree to it, he walks past her. “Come on.”

Crossing the street, they manoeuvre their way through the crowds in front until they’re inside. When they enter, Hinamori has to stop to take it all in.

Above them is a semi-circular glass roof, and hanging from it and the beams dotted every several meters are lanterns. Beneath them are smaller signs for all the store and stall within the alleyway. Despite the crowds packing the district, there’s an airy feel to the place. Something lively and cheerful. She grins, finally knowing she made the right decision to come here.

She grabs Hitsugaya’s wrist, and while he lets out a surprised grunt, she points to the nearby candy store, “I saw that one in the blogs! Let’s go check it out.”

They didn’t stay in the store long, with Hinamori buying several bags of sweets for Women’s Association members – Nanao had been keen for everyone to get ideas for their next event, maybe making and selling sweets might inspire them, Hinamori reasoned to herself – and for her captain – he likely misses treats from the World of the Living, she further reasoned.

Hitsugaya stays close as they wonder from store to store. A part of her wishes he’d peel off and go look at something himself, but he’s never been much of a shopper.

From there, she peruses all the store fronts, ducking in when something catches her eye. When she comes upon the hedgehog-themed café, it takes everything in her – and Hitsugaya's small lecture about saving funds – to not buy several of the hedgehog-shaped foods or pay to pet one of the hedgehogs there.

“I’m surprised,” he mutters when they leave.

She lets out a nervous laugh. “At least I only got one thing.” Said thing is packet of two cookies, stowed away with the other candies.

“Not that.” He shakes his head. “Since when have you liked those sorts of creatures? You used to run from the spiny rats in the Junrinan.”

“That was different! Besides…I was younger then, I didn’t know they were harmless.” She turns back to the front windows of the café, watching the Humans hold and pet the tiny creatures. “Besides, those little guys wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

“They literally have spikes!”

“Sounds like you are the one scared of them, Shiro-chan.”

“I am not!”

She laughs at his outrage. “You know, I think they remind me of you too.”

With a loud grumble, he stalks ahead of her. “I’m going to the bookstore.”

"You mean the one we were in before?"

"No, the other one."

That makes her stop. “There was a bookstore?”

He spins on his heel, and when he notices her surprise, his embarrassment turns to teasing. “How did you miss it?”

“You should’ve pointed it out to me!”

He shrugs. “Well, I’m going there. You’ll have to find it yourself.”

She blinks at his audacity, then scrambles to catch up to him. “Hey, wait up!”

She avoids bumping into Humans while trying not to lose sight of him. When a couple comes in front, she has to skid to a stop.

“Ah, sorry!” she quickly apologises, before going around them. Hitsugaya is gone. She sighs wearily. Well, at least he decided to go somewhere on his own.

Deciding to join him later, Hinamori wonders from shop to shop. She comes to another homemade housewares store a few minutes later, browsing the shelves at the front packed with cutlery and ceramics, varying in shapes and designs. She thought to buy a new cup for herself, something different from what she typically found in the Soul Society. When her eyes fall on a black and blue cup, another idea comes to mind.

It’s not his birthday yet, she thinks, and I don’t really have an occasion to give this to him anytime soon. Still…

She picks the cup up, turning it around in her hands. It’s mostly black, but there’s a shiny sliver of the brown clay at the base and blue colors the inside and covers the rim, as if water were spilling out over the lip. It’s the perfect size for tea and light in weight despite the sturdy construction.

The price tag makes her purse her lips, but after a beat, she walks into the store and straight to the cashier before she changes her mind.

Maybe I can wait until his birthday? she wonders after coming out of the store, bag now a bit heavier with the boxed up purchase. It’s only five months away, it’s not too long of a wait, right? It’ll save me having too…

A painting displayed on an easel catches her eye. It makes her come to a complete stop in the middle of the arcade, with Humans wondering around her none the wiser to the shock that thrums through her. She can’t understand this reaction, and that feeling that’d been lingering rushes forward like a tidal wave crashing up against the walls of her mind.

With slow steps, she treads to the painting. She barely registers that it’s a part of a small stall belonging to an artist, with several other paintings on display. She only sees the landscape rendered in muted acrylic paints. There’s a forest, with trees to thin but so tall they obscure the clouded sky. At the base of the trunks is a rocky bank, with stones colored brown and grey, and a small ring of dirt separated it from the green grass and flora of flowers and shrubs. The lake lapping at the bank is a pale blue-grey.

However, she’s seen that lake with her own eyes so many times, knows that it's actually a brighter, more vibrant blue. But how can she?

_________________________________

Hitsugaya walks out of the bookstore, a parcel in one hand and with his brow furrowed deeply. He’d expected Hinamori to follow him; she never misses the chance to visit a bookstore whenever they go out. Then again, she rarely gets to visit the World of the Living and she always gets caught up in the sights and sounds she’s never experienced before.

Hitsugaya will never admit he likes seeing her like this. This peace the Seireitei has been experiencing for the past eleven years allows her to be happy again without worry or restraint. Yes there had been the few strange moments before and during this trip, but seeing her in the stores gleefully browsing and picking up things to decide if she should buy them or not, even watching her debate whether or not she wanted to pet a hedgehog, it’s a balm for the part of him still unable to let go of what happened over ten years ago.

He scans the district, first to the left towards the exit, then to the right. He puts his hat back on and begins walking the way he’d come before leaving her. Worst case scenario, he can call her denreishinki and meet up at the strange café again. Proving to himself that she can be happy, that he can be happy, as times goes on.

He glances down at the parcel. It has string wrapped around it and tied off in a bow with a tag dangling from one of the ends.

She’s going to want to know about it. It’s rare for him to buy anything on any shopping venture he goes on. I could give it to her now and make the apology. He glances at the Humans around him. No, not here. When we go on the walk.

Through the crowds, Hinamori's profile into view. He makes his way to her, but the closer he approaches, the clearer her expression becomes and the quicker his steps get. She clutches the straps of her bag tightly, and her widened eyes stare at a painting. The furrow in her brow, something caught between distress and confusion, makes him surge forward, bumping into Humans without care.

Someone approaches her, however, knocking her out of this state. He forces himself to a stop, well within her view. Still, she focuses on the stranger as she raises her hand in reassurance and offers a wobbly smile. The Human – the artist of the painting, Hitsugaya assumes – bows her head, and again, Hinamori waves her hand and says something. They speak for a moment, and at one point Hinamori points a trembling hand at the painting.

He finally catches her eyes when he takes slower steps towards her. Hinamori visibly relaxes when their gazes meet.

“Ah, here’s my friend now. I better get going!” She bows to the artist. “Sorry again, I didn’t mean to cause a scene.”

“Oh, no, you didn’t! I was worried my painting had affected you somehow.”

“No, really, it was fine. Thank you for telling me about it.” Then, a bit too quickly, she leaves.

“What was that all –?” She walks past without so much as glancing at him. It only alarms him more. He catches up to her in a few steps and grabs her wrist, forcing her to stop. “Hinamori?”

She doesn’t look at him, staring ahead at the exit. After a shaky breath, she lowers her head, her bangs falling over her temples. “Can we leave? I need to get some air.”

He loosens his grip. “Yeah, sure.”

They make their way out, ending up on a quieter street. He lets her lead the way, taking a short walk through a park. He thinks to speak, to ask about what happened back there, but he waits, knowing she’ll bring up in her own time.

By the time they get to the other side of the park, where a road curves down a hill lined with building on their side and giving them a view of a forest sprawled out below. She opens her mouth, but closes it and presses her lips into a thin line.

“Looked like you were affected by that painting,” he offers.

Again she hesitates, but after a shake of her head, she says, “Yeah. It sounds crazy, but I’ve made a drawing of the place in that painting.”

His brow furrows. “Huh?"

“The thing is…I don’t know where that place is.”

“What?”

They’d been walking down the incline, and she brings them to a stop. “Remember when we were in the Junrinan I started drawing pictures of my past?”

He nods.

“I'm certain one of those drawings was of that place. By the time I was drawing it, I’d started to forget where it was and why I remembered it.”

“You're saying the place in that painting is from when you were a Human?"

"I think so..." She lets out a soft, choked sound. "But it might not be. Maybe it looks a lot like one of the places I drew, but it's not it."

Does this explain her strange behavior at certain points? Did something about this town resonate with long forgotten memories for her? Could this town even be...?

He’s out of his depth with this one. What can he say or do to make this better? “It’s not unheard of for a Shinigami to remember places from their past.”

Hinamori blinks. “Huh?”

“When I was a seated officer,” Hitsugaya continues. “I remember rumours among the officers too, about Shinigami acting strange when they were assigned to certain places, and as a result they needed to be transferred. I never paid it much mind, until one of my subordinates came back from a posting requesting to be transferred. He recognised certain buildings in a city he thought he’d never been too. He couldn’t understand it, and tried so hard to explain it to Matsumoto and I when he returned.” He tries to make his shrug casual, but it's too stiff. "That might be happening to you now."

“I guess. It was considered strange I remembered my past life for as long as you did when I arrived the Soul Society.” She sighs. “Sorry, our trip wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

“It’s fine, you couldn’t have known.” He steps closer to her. “Do you want to head back to the Soul Society?”

He expects her to either nod or say something to the effect of, ‘Not yet. I still need to make this a trip worth going on.’ He doesn’t expect the pursing of her lips or the balling of her hand into a tight fist around the straps of her bag.

“The thing is,” she says, “I asked that artist where that place was, and she said it’s here.”

The air around them changes, becoming thicker. It's all the confirmation he needs.

When a car rushes past, it jolts him to speak. “And you want to go looking for this place?”

She becomes rueful. “Yeah, I do.”

His eyes narrow slightly. “Are you sure that’s wise? Considering how you reacted before, it might not be a good idea.”

She vehemently shakes her head. “I need to find it! I don’t know how I know it, but if I go there, I’m certain I’ll understand.”

“But it’s from before your life in the Soul Society. What do you hope to gain from it?”

There’s a flicker in her gaze. “I don’t expect you to understand, and if you want to head back to the Seireitei, you can.” She turns and begins walking away. “She told me where I can find it, and I’m going there.”

He’s certain she meant no ill intention or malice behind her words, but he can’t help the pang that runs through his chest. He’s left speechless while watching her go. What’s gotten into her?

“As if I’m leaving,” he grumbles, rushing after her.

She doesn’t look back at him, her gaze searching for something around the town. They walk in tense silence until Hinamori points out a street sign for a shrine that's on the right. "She said to go left of this sign into the forest."

He doesn't like the grim determination in her eyes as they cross the road and walk between the tall trees. There's a dirt path winding around, leading from the flat they stand on down a gentle incline. "Then what?" he asks.

"Follow the path. At some point there's an old broken statue with white and purple flowers at the base."

She presses on, those purposeful strides back again. His hand balls into a fist at his side. "Oi."

She stops but only half turns back to him.

He sighs and folds his arms. "If we don't find anything in twenty minutes, I'm strongly advising we turn back."

She narrows her gaze at the ground.

"Hinamori."

She gives a curt nod. "Fine."

They continue on, walking in silence once more. He doesn't like this, and yet, he can see something softening in her. Is doubt creeping in? He finds he likes that even less.

But what would she want to get out of returning to something she can't remember? That causes her to act like this? He can't think of a similar experience, and even if he could, it's likely he still couldn't fully relate to what she's thinking and feeling right now.

He's certain they're comign up to the twenty minute mark. He pauses on the path to check his denreishinki, but something bothers him in his periphery. To his right, in the far distance, past the tree and shrubbery, there's something grey.

“Hey,” he says, tapping her shoulder, then pointing it out.

When they get closer, Hitsugaya still can’t make out what it is. It’s what was described to Hinamori, but it could be the base of a lantern or a statue, maybe even the broken remains of a pillar. Nothing in the area gives him any clues. As the painter had said, however, at it's base are white and purple flowers either swaying or trying to cling and snake their way by the stone surface.

He’s about to speak, but stops at Hinamori’s intense gaze. It’s like the one had with the painting, as if she were caught somewhere else.

“Hinamori?” When she doesn’t respond, he touches her shoulder. “Oi, you’re spacing out again.”

She jolts with a hitch of breath. “I…” Her head tilts up. “Do you hear that?”

Now that she mentioned it, there’s a sound, one that isn’t like the birds chirping or the rustling of leaves. “Sounds like water.” Lapping water, to be exact. “We must be getting close.”

She nods, but stops. She looks down, finds something, and her gaze scans further down the hill. He frowns, trying to see what she does. It’s several heartbeats later when he notices the path hidden amongst the grass and foliage. It hadn’t been trodden on in quite some time, maybe even decades.

He startles when she sudden runs away, sandaled feet scrapping on the path. He nearly drops his parcel when leaps into action and sprints after her.

_________________________________

She’s gone into a state between shock and something heartfelt. She can feel tears burning in the corners of her eyes, but she can’t understand why. Shrubs and grass scratch at her legs and skirt, but none of it stops her. She’s utterly compelled to keep running, following something she doesn’t understand. The feeling from before has gotten worse, clawing at her heart.

The sound of water, the stone ruin they’d come upon, it fired something old within her, like a muscle memory she hadn't used in a long time.

Through the trees, a lake glitters ahead, and it only makes her run faster. She hears Toshiro call out behind her, sounding alarmed and confused.

The trees and foliage thin out the closer she gets, until all she can see and hear is the waves lapping on the shore. The stony bank rushes up to greet her, and she comes a skidding, abrupt stop before she falls into the water.

“What’s gotten into you?!” Hitsugaya exclaims from behind her. “You can’t just run off like that!”

She ignores him, is too caught up in the sights and smells. The tree line, the rocky bank, and beyond them are the valley’s mountains. The lake is shaped like a tear drop, wide up one end and narrow down the other, likely leading to a river or some larger body of water. There’s a small pier on the wider end, and judging from the bleached patches of wood, it hasn’t been maintained. She looks beyond it, tracing along the tree line. There are pockets where there’s no flora, as if something had once been there but has since crumbled away, left to age and vanish with time.

Something had been there, something she knew.

She lets out shuddering breaths, inhaling in the fresh, floral air. The smell of several flowers, some dangling from the trees, others from the shrubs that are dotted within the forest. It’s the smell of a distant time.

“I know this place,” she says, breathless. “I’ve been…” She shakes her head, dislodging a tear from the corner of her eye. “But that’s impossible. I-I’ve never been here.”

Hitsugaya’s shoes crunch in the pebbled bank as he comes to her side. He watches her for a moment longer, a deep furrow in his brow, then looks around the area. “What makes you so sure?”

“I-I’ve never heard this town,” she insists. “I’ve never even had to come to this part of the World of the Living for missions! Yet, I know it. I drew it! I…” She sobs without tears. “I’m so confused.”

She’d hoped coming here would explain why she felt these strange emotions, why she had drawn a picture of this lake and forest. She doesn’t understand the ache in her heart or the threat of tears. Her head is light, bordering on spinning.

The gentle but firm grip around her forearm bring her back to her sense. She meets her friend’s concerned gaze. She’s mostly found him to be a calming presence, and looking his eyes and focusing on her breath, it’s no different now. "Shiro-chan..."

He doesn't react to nickname. She might've laughed if not for the situation.

She thinks back on what he’d said before about subordinate who also experienced the same emotions as her. It occurs to her again that Hitsugaya can’t fully understand what’s happening to her. His life has always been in the Soul Society. He had no Human life to forget.

Yet here he is, trying to understand, and how had she reacted? She bows her head and rests a hand on top of his. “I’m sorry. I said some harsh words to you before.”

“Forget about it.”

“No, it wasn’t right. I don’t know what possessed me to come here. I don’t know why I thought I’d know what this place is if I came here. If anything, it’s just made me more confused.” She shakes her head. “I took out my frustration on you, I shouldn’t have. And I shouldn’t have come here, either. I really am sorry."

Hitsugaya breaks his gaze away, staring off to the side. For a time, there’s just the lapping of water, the distant calls and chirping of birds, and a gentle breeze that sways the branches of the trees and flora.

“You filled our sketchbook with so many drawings of places and people I didn’t know.” The furrow in his brow deepens. "I felt...I wish I could..." he clenches his jaw, clearly frustrated he can't bring himself to fully express how he felt about it. Still, the fact he's trying warms her heart.

“I wouldn’t know anything from those drawings anymore.” She shakes her head. “I wish I knew more. I wish I knew why know this place. I don’t know what to do, Hitsugaya-kun.”

“Are you certain about that?”

Is she? On one hand, coming here had only left her with more questions and confusing emotions. On the other, it doesn’t feel right to leave yet, as if something keeps her tethered here.

“What would you do?” As soon as she asks the question, she wants to take it back. He isn’t like most Souls. He has no earthly connection of any kind; no ancestors or memories to forget from another world. For him, there is the older woman he calls ‘Baa-chan’. She has no bloodties to him, but she is family to him nevertheless.

She can tell he's weighing whether they should leave or stay. She lifts her hands off his and slips out of his grip. “Let’s just head back.”

He sighs. “It’s not what you want though, is it?”

She presses her lips together. “What good will staying here do?”

“You tell me.”

She can’t help but chuckle, and the small twitch in the corner of his lip only makes her smile involuntarily. “You’re not being fair right now.”

“I think I’m being very fair. This is your decision, Hinamori. You’ve clearly been to this place before in your past and returning to it is making you existential. What say do I have in that?”

"But you do! I feel like I'm dragging you into this."

"I'm not a child anymore, I chose to come here."

He’s right really, but she still expected him to try and convince her to leave. He can worry too much, after all. But then again, the eleven yearlong peace has also mellowed him out a little. What moves her more is that he’s willing to stay and see whichever choice she makes through to the end. He’s always been like that, but it never ceases to amaze her how kind and loyal he can be.

She looks to the pier. “Maybe we could walk over there? I don’t really know why, but…”

“All right.”

Before she sets for the pier, she gestures to the parcel he holds. “Do you want to put that in my bag? You shouldn’t have to carry that the whole time.”

She nearly frowns at his hesitation. Before she can ask, he leans towards her bag. “Sure.”

She opens it for him and he drops the parcel in. “I’ll give it back to you when we get return to the town.” It’s only then it occurs to her he’d actually bought something. She grins as she starts up the bank and he follows. “What is it, by the way?”

“A book.”

“Oh? Are you getting back into reading?”

“Something like that.”

She pouts at his vagueness. “Aw, come on, you can tell me.”

“I will later. In the meantime, lets get to the pier.”

She decides to let it go. It had been a small diversion from the tumult of emotions going through her. She finds, however, walking along the bank with only their food steps and the sounds of nature is somewhat calming. If it weren’t for how she is feelings, she could take in just how beautiful the area is. She had tried to draw it from memory, but if only she could sketch it now.

Does she want a memento of this place? That begs the question: what happens when she leaves? Will she long for this place for the rest of her days? The thought of that makes her clutch a hand to her chest. She’s dealt with far worse, but knowing this place could haunt her for decades to comes fill her with a dreadful anxiety.

“Hinamori?”

She shakes her head. “No, I’m fine.”

She senses he wants to ask more, but he says nothing. Again, she’s reminded of his kindness. She presses her lips together hard to ignore the burn of tears tingling at the backs of her eyes. She’ll have to make it up to him somehow. None of this was right, not when today was about having fun and relaxing together.

As they near the pier, her heart flutters anew. “Do you think it’s safe to walk on?”

“Only one way to find out.”

She raises a brow at him.

Hitsugaya shrugs. “It doesn’t look that old. Besides, the lake seems shallow, you'll barely get wet.”

Is he trying to lift her spirits again? It doesn’t quite work this time, but she still indulges him with a small smile.

They comes to a stop where the ground transaction between dirt and wooden planks. Hinamori twists slowly in all directions. Behind them is one of the patches without trees. To the untrained eye, there’s nothing to see here, but she notices the strange bumps in the dirt and the odd what a hedge is shaped. Moss and a shrub have completely overtaken a featureless stone sculptures – not unlike the one that saw before – and there’s raised lines running through the dirt and grass. The shrubbery had completely grown over something round and wooden propped against a tree; she can’t make out what it is.

“I don’t think anyone has been here for a long time,” she says.

“Given there’s no official path to here, yes,” Hitsugaya replies.

“I wonder why?”

He walks over to the strange shrub. “Some things are just left to be forgotten. The World of Living is not like ours. The Humans move on quicker.”

The flicker of sympathy in her chest almost makes her forget about why she’d come over here. Still, she offers, “But we do move on, for better or worse or without even realising.”

He looks over his shoulder at her. His expression unreadable, but his usual frown has softened away.

Swallowing against the growing tightness in her throat, she returns her attention to the pier. She places a careful step on to the wooden planks. At the next, there’s a groan. Still, it feels stable.

She treads the rest of the way slowly, coming to a stop near the end. The view is even more beautiful from here, giving her a vista that’s only the lake below, the trees in the middle, and the sky. The clouds have gotten taller since they first arrived.

Her heart seizes and the air is squeezed out of her lungs. A spark. No, a flash, like the afterimage of a lantern after she blinks – the form is there for a second, but quickly dissolves into something shapeless, and then into only colors that fade into nothing. Two hands, one smaller than the other – she’s certain hers is the bigger one – and the lake in the lower half, the line of trees and bank in the middle, and high above is the sky. The hands reach – no, one points – to the clouds towering over the forest and reflecting in the water. The arms are clad is yukata sleeves, here’s in white with Sakura blossoms, the other in yellow and white flowers. Is there a boat on the waters too? With a fishing net cast out on one side? There’s laughter, childish and high-pitched.

She’s held by the memory, unable to breathe for a second that seems to stretch on forever. There’s clouds, but they’re not from the memory. She’s back in the present, Hitsugaya standing at her side. She gasps, trying to catch her breath and hunches over.

“Hey!” He shifts to stand in front of her and holds her shoulders. “What’s going on?”

She wets her lips before she looks to him. “I think…I think I remembered something," she struggles to get out. “I think it’s of me and…a sister?”

She can’t explain how she knows the other hand belongs to a sibling, but saying it aloud makes tears suddenly form again. “I had a sister.”

Hitsugaya only nods, prompting her to keep going.

“I had a sister, and now…she’s gone. I had…parents too.” It’s so obvious, and yet it’s as if it’s only occurring to her now. She’s never had to think about since losing her memories. Her heart hammers against her chest and she’s struggling to regain her breath. “I died before them. I have no idea what happened to them. I could have seen or met them in the Soul Society and never even known it.” A more horrifying thought takes hold. “They might even be Shinigami right now and I’d never know it.”

“Hinamori.” Hitsugaya says her name more pressingly. “Slow down. Breathe.”

“I can’t I –" Tears blur in the corners of her eyes. "What can I do? They’re gone. What am I supposed to do?”

She grunts at the sudden cold pressed near the nape of her neck. Hitsugaya’s hands had left her shoulders and now hold the underside of her jaw. Her tears stop, her mouth agape, but her breath returns.

Seeing her calm down, Hitsugaya’s gaze turns apologetic and he sips his hands away. “You decide, and tell me what I can do."

She’s going in circles. How can she come to terms with all of this? The wind picks up, throwing her ponytail off her shoulder and billowing her skirt. Leaves and petals scatter in the air, some falling on the lake and others amongst the grass.

She takes one of his hands and squeezes it. “Thank you, Shiro-chan.”

Letting go, she walks off the pier and he follows. She goes to the ruins, coming to a stop in the middle of the raised lines. It feels right to stand here, she can’t explain it. “I think there used to be some kind of boat shed here. I’m guessing my… family would come here to fish.” She shrugs weakly. “I don’t know for sure, I’m only guessing.”

She looks to the strange shrub. When approaching it, she can’t explain the uncertainty that it evokes within her. There’s nothing threatening about it, but there’s nothing familiar or knowing about it either.

The shrubbery is more like vines, with branches winding around the tree trunk, and it’s leaves shiny and big. She pulls at a clump, breaking it apart with ease. She takes a few more handfuls while Hitsugaya comes to stand behind her. Again she expects him to voice his concern, but he remains silent.

When she brushes several branches aside, she can make out what’s beneath. The wheel of a cart. It’s so aged she’s certain even applying the tiniest bit of pressure to any part of it would reduce it to splinters beneath her fingertips. Yet it still had its shape.

She thinks about her sketchbooks, stored in the back of her closet and collecting dust. She hasn’t looked at her first ones in years, and she didn’t have any reason not to. But maybe, she was scared to look and remember a time when she had memories of another time. It shouldn’t matter to her, that life ended, had been gone for close to a century.

She wonders if she was blessed or cursed with remembering her old life when she came to the Soul Society. The desperation she’d had the time when trying to draw everything from that life tells it’s the latter, yet she can’t discount the former either. To know one has lived a life before this, no matter how short, to have experienced things – good and bad and somewhere in between – that they may be experienced only once or for the first time again.

She looks back to Hitsugaya then. She’d experienced a lot with him, he makes up a lot of her childhood memories. In the first years of knowing him, the special and novelty of discovering a new world captivated her, but as both wore off, it made a part of her long for the place in her memories. She’d wanted to go back, until the memories went and she didn’t know what she could miss from her life as a Human.

Perhaps this is what all these emotions are, returning to her after all this time. The grief of a girl who wanted to go back, now has to find it’s all gone and the shame having forgotten about it.

It couldn’t be helped, was inevitable for every Soul. Hers. Her Human family too. The Soul Society is so vast that it’s incredibly rare for one to find their family from when they were a Human. She recalls rumors in the beginning of lieutenancy that Ikkaku had a younger sister he’d reunited after she became a Shinigami – despite how dismissive many were at the time, it turned out to be true.

However, in the event it old families found each other, it’s not always for the best. She’d heard whispers in her Academy days of Shinigami born in two very different districts, and finding each other again, only to resent each other for being born in a district higher or lower than each other. She even heard a story where an officer found their brother, only for them to die by his hands because he resented him for ‘leaving their family behind’. The validity of such stories is always contested, so rare is it for Shinigami to find old family members.

If she did meet her sister or parents again, she can’t say for certain how she will react. Would the memories of her previous life come flooding back to her? Would she simply just know it’s them but not remember a thing? Would they know who she is?

She stands, not breaking her gaze from Hitsugaya. She has this life to live, to be with him and everyone else. New family and friends to make and be with, and perhaps, one day even, someone to spend the rest of her life with until she’s reincarnated back to the World of the Living and starts that new life.

Hitsugaya opens his mouth, about to speak, but she stops him when she strides forward and pulls him into a hug. “I’m okay now,” she reassures. “I think I’ve figured it out.”

Hitsugaya is too stunned by her actions to speak at first. Eventually, he relaxes but doesn’t hug her back. “You have?”

She nods. “Thank you for coming here with me. I couldn’t have done this without you, really.”

Several heartbeats pass his arm come loosely around her shoulders and torso. She can sense his confusion, and why wouldn’t he be? It’s like the subordinate he mentioned: how can she express this experience in words? Could she even draw it?

She pulls back just far enough to meet his gaze. “I’m sorry again that I derailed our day.” She offers a rueful smile. “It’s hard to explain. I may never be able to –”

“It can’t be helped.” His words would sound cold if not for how soft his tone was. “So long as you’re all right, then it’s only for you to know.”

She blinks, stunned at first, then her smile widens into a grin. “Thank you.”

But it's not as simple as that. Not yet. Time would help it to make it that way. No, right now, it's too much. Her grin wavers, and that grief, that overwhelming shame, crashes over her like a wave. She bows her head, and the tears fall. "I'm..."

Hitsugaya isn't alarmed, doesn't even utter a word. He tugs on her arms, signalling her to return to the hug, and she does, sobbing into his shoulder.

If only he could've met her old family. If only her two lives could exist at once. If only she didn't know such feelings as these. It's life. It's hurt and relief. It's knowing he's here, has always been, even at her worst moments.

She stands with him for several minutes, coming up when she's certain there' s no tears left to shed. She wipes her face with the back of her arm and quietly apologies for wetting his shirt's shoulder. He says nothing, only raising a hand to catch the few stray tears clinging to the edge of her jaw.

After a beat, they watch the waves of the lake, the swaying of the flora and trees, and the slow migration of the clouds across the sky. Perhaps she should find a way to say goodbye to this place, to this old life. She can’t think of a way, and perhaps leaving with someone from her new life is fitting.

It feels like the right time to leave, but they remain for quite some time, even ending up sitting on the bank in companionable silence. In a moment of boldness, she rests her head on his shoulder, exhaustion slowly seeping into her. He doesn’t go rigid like she half expects.

“Will you come back?”

She glances at Hitsugaya, but he continues to stare out at the lake. He’s always had a striking appearance, but it’s in moment like these she questions if her feelings of friendship are something more.

“No,” she eventually answers. “I won’t.”

When she leaves, will the memories that led her to this place disappear again? Will she recall this day with fondness or melancholy? She doesn’t know, only time will tell.

An hour later, when they make their way back to the hidden path, she only looks back to the pier once. The feeling of rather than the visual of the memory burns in the back of her mind. It might be the last time she remembers it. It could be gone forever, buried like the wheel beneath the vines and flora. There will be no traces of it left in this world or in the Soul Society. She had already forgotten it once, and she will again.

It didn’t mean it didn’t happen or never mattered. So many things are forgotten, big and small, and yet, they live on in some way, consciously or not. She carries the memory and her old life in every step she takes into her new one without knowing. Every experience, remembered or not, has made her who she is.

________________________

Later, after coming through the senkaimon, giving her gigai back, and then parting ways with Hitsugaya, she returns to her room. Exhausted, she considers not joining everyone in the mess hall for dinner, but she’s hungry and it might concern them she isn’t there.

The clothes and bag she’d worn are her own, bought while on a mission in the World of Living just over a decade ago. She changes back into her uniform, ready to go down to the mess hall until she remembers her bag. She lifts it from her bed and takes out the boxed-up mug. She'd strongly considered giving it to him once they returned, another apology for how today turned out.

She makes a mental note get wrapping paper tomorrow in her break before putting it in her closet. It’ll be there for a while, but at least she doesn’t have to worry about getting him a birthday present for this year.

She goes to take out the bags of candy and the hedge-hog shaped cookie, but halts at the parcel. I forgot to give it back to him! Taking it out, she drops her bag and makes for the door, intending to sprint to Tenth Division before going to dinner.

The tag on the parcel flips over, and the characters written on the back make her pause. It’s her name, and beneath it ‘Sorry it’s late’. She frowns. This is meant for me?

Thinking back to before they parted, Hitsugaya had stared at her bag for longer than she expected. She wouldn’t have needed to remind him of parcel, he knew it was still in there.

She walks backwards until the backs of her knees hit her bed and she sits down. What had he meant by ‘Sorry it’s late’? White day had been and gone, there wasn’t any special event where she was expecting anything from him. If only he were here so could ask. Shell have to ask him when he sees her next.

She pulls on the string bow, then tears away the brown paper. A book. One she’s never heard of before. The cover shows a green valley and sky sparsely clouded. A woman stands in the foreground, back facing the reader, her head tilted upwards. The title, Gone with the Clouds, and the author’s name are high above the woman, making appear she’s looking at them.

She raises her head to the bookcase against her wall. There’s two rows of books, with a third starting to be occupied by the last three novels she’d gotten – one she bought earlier in the year, the other two collections of haiku poems from Izuru for her birthday. It contends with a purple vase that needs flowers in it and the gift from Hitsugaya and Rangiku for one of her birthdays of tiny figurines of a boy, short-haired and in a blue kimono, and a girl, pig-tailed and in a floral white and red kimono.

On other shelves are old copies of the Seireitei Communication that feature articles or creative contributions from her friends, a tea set she’d bought but has yet to use, the wooden box of color pencils given to her by Shinji last year for her birthday, the box of her colored and black charols, a stack of unused sketchbooks, a baking recipe book, a clay Chappy made by Ichika, a star plushies given by Kazui, a framed photo of her and then Women’s Association at their festival stall, the chest with her old hair accessories – her hair cloth, ribbon, clip, and a bandana given to her by Renji – and an lavender scented candle she’d last lit a few years ago.

She rises from her bed and goes over to slide the book in next to haiku collections.

A birthday gift. It’s a birthday gift.

She lets out a chuckle at the realisation. Honestly, he couldn’t have written it on the tag? This years had been like one of the few others where she didn’t get a gift from him, until today almost three weeks later. Maybe he’d intended to give it to her himself, but then her search for the past diverted things. In the end, she got a memento for this day, and there’d be no way to detach it from it. Not that she’d want to, because for better or worse, today happened.

She slides the book on to the shelf, becoming a part of everything she’d either brought herself or received from someone else. All from her life here.

#hitsuhina #hitsuhina week 2024 #toshiro hitsugaya #momo hinamori #fanfiction #bleach #I had a few ideas for why Momo felt she knew the town before #like it was somewhere she had been on a mission but it went badly and she wanted to forget what happened #she realises one of her subordinates is from the town and feels conflicted about whether or not to tell them she's been #she could sense a malicious Hollows lurking beneath it and her and Toshiro would have to fight it #but none of these ideas fit #and yes for keen-eyed readers Ikkaku's younger sister is Shino #I don't believe it's been stated if they died and came to the Soul Society together or if were born there #my headcanon is that Ikkaku died first then Shino did a few decades later after Ikkaku became a Shinigami #they found each other after Shino became joined the Thirteenth Division and they recongised each other right away

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