#this is not ‘your mother will miss you’

[luludeluluramblings]

Socialite!BatSis!Reader x Yandere!Bat Family - Part Two

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Part One

A/N: I don't know if this will live up to the last one. But, the BatFamily is now going to deal with the consequences of their own actions. This is where we get Bruce and Barbara's POVs on the matter.

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Warning: Start of Yandere spiral, Implied past Assault/SA, Fem!Reader, Reader is coping in the only way the known how.

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You had no recollection of falling asleep the night before. But, when you woke up in your own bed late in the morning, you laid there for a while blankly.

Thoughts of laughter, flames, and the echo of a princess's name in your head. Although you quickly reminded yourself that Cinderella wasn't ever really a princess. She was a noble and she had work to do. Just like you.

Ignoring the empty drawers spaces of your vintage wood dresser was easy. It wasn't like it had belonged in the family for generations. It was just something Bruce bought for you when your designer clothes took up too much space in the old one you brought with you from your childhood home. The drawers had broken on it from being stuffed with items your team of stylist insisted you needed. And, now you wonder if Bruce had ever gotten your old one fixed. Probably not.

You shook your head of the thoughts. Moving into your spacious closet filled with empty coat hangers. You hadn't thrown your shoes in the fire last night, but looking at the bloody red bottoms on some of the heels made you wish you had. But, you can't be Cinderella if you have no shoes.

Shaking your head again and again of the thoughts that plague your mind. You really are Cinderella though. And, you have work to do.

Throwing on one of the more casual designer outfits - you would have laughed at the thought once, you begin your routine for the day. Scrubbing everything away in the shower as you exfoliate every bit of skin that had been touched and every stray bit of ash that had clung to your skin.

Then beginning your much too long skin care routine. You made sure to play some music to help the complex task that your highly skilled and highly paid team of dermatologist told you was an absolute must. With expensive creams and odd chemicals that once made your skin burn, but now you seemed to depend on. You miss the beef tallow your mother insisted worked better than anything. But, it wasn't vegan. So it had to go. It's not like half your shoes and handbags weren't made from real leather.

You shake the thought again. Always shake it away. Even as you mouth the lyrics to the random song playing.

Go and fix your make up, girl, it's just a break up

Run and hide your crazy and start actin' like a lady

'Cause I raised you better, gotta keep it together

Even when you fall apart

But this ain't my mama's broken heart

The chorus echoes in your head as you wash away the oils and lather on the creams. Slowly you apply the makeup to your tired eyes as you start to make yourself look human again.

Powder your nose, paint your toes

Line your lips and keep 'em closed

Cross your legs, dot your eyes

And never let 'em see you cry

The smile you give the mirror after everything is said and done, primped and polished, should win you an Oscar. But, thankfully you don't have to deal with anything like that for a few more months. The season has just ended and you needed to contact your stylist about a new wardrobe for this coming one.

Go and fix your make up, well it's just a break up

Run and hide your crazy and start actin' like a lady

'Cause I raised you better, gotta keep it together

Even when you fall apart

But this ain't my mama's broken heart

Your hum as you move down stairs. Time to gag on that collagen and green juice concoction before going to the spa. Not to relax. No, you had to pretend last night wore you out, and it did. But, socialites can only relax if they spend money. Them is the rules. Oh, wait. You're not supposed to talk like that anymore. Better shake that thought away.

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Bruce was used to long nights of no sleep. Of being beaten by criminals and his own demons. Sometimes he'd even have bruises from his own children littering his skin. Either from missions gone wrong or a training session gone right.

But, the scars you left on him last night. The way you tore him to shreds and wailed. The bruises on your skin. Those would haunt him.

You were the delicate one. But, he didn't know how to handle delicate things. He just knew how to give things purpose. And, so he did. Placing you at his side to face the Gotham elites had been a genius move, he had once thought. It freed up Tim, who had been his primary asset in the field. It kept Damian from harming some of the more aggravating members of high society. And, he knew the other's lack of interest in the events and the people you make pulling teeth a more pleasant experience.

Additionally, you were utterly charming. How could you not be? You didn't even get it from him. You clearly had gotten it from your mother and everyday he had been grateful for it. Her features blending with his own mother's had made you. His sweet girl.

He can recall the times in the Bat Cave when no one was around and he'd give in to that temptation. The one where he'd justify checking in on you and your mother. And, ignoring that other man.

The smiles and laughter, it all was foreign to him. The landscape foreign. The house foreign. But, deep down he knew you where his. Always his. He had many regrets. Letting your mother raise you wasn't one of them. Letting her go? Maybe. But, he desperately avoided lingering on it.

Right now, sitting in the Bat Cave and seeing the damage the others had sown across Gotham in a wave of crime so violent, great, and terrible that people didn't even connect it back to the very protectors of this city; Bruce regretted leaving you to handle it. You had done it so beautifully. But, he needed his little girl back. He had gifted you to Gotham and left you in it's hand, but that had been his mistake.

He's sorry. He'll fix this. Or, if his destructive hands can't, he'll direct them somewhere they'll be of better use.

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It was Barbara who found you first. In the kitchen acting like everything was normal as you drank your morning concoction. You had laughed off you gagging on it once when Duke asked what it was. You had joked it was disgusting with a laugh.

She remembers thinking 'Better you than me.'

There wasn't anything malicious intent behind the thought either. It had been a passing casual thought that had been lost to the flood of other things in her head.

But, she was grateful she never said it out loud. The only thing she had to ease her guilt at the moment was that she had been silent in your downfall.

Which wasn't good. But, was still nearly just as terrible. She helped people, damn it. Even when she was broken, she helped people. Why had she missed helping you?

"Hey, how are you feeling?" She can't stop the slight wince at the tentative way she asks while you set down the much to large empty cup. Inwardly, she notes that you don't move to eat anything else.

Barbara can faintly recall a time when you wore those silly almost childish t-shirts from some southern store that she hadn't been overly fond of, while making a giant batch of cinnamon rolls. She hadn't eaten one at the time. But, Alfred had reported you ate four yourself. And, she knew Jason had stolen nearly six in his usual pantry raid, and the other's had squirreled off with a few. But, only long after they had cooled and you had disappeared into your room.

"Fine." Comes your reply as you snap her out of her memories. Only to watch you drink some water to chase away the taste in your mouth with practiced easy.

"I don't believe that." Barbara isn't one to mince words. She's briefly reminded of Bruce's stubbornness with your short reply. But, she's stood up to him before without any fear.

"What do you expect me to say? I had a breakdown. It was therapeutic. All better. Time to get back to life."

"You can't juts call that therapeutic. You started a bonfire last night and where practically nude-"

"Oh, come on. No one got hurt. Not even a criminal. Besides, those clothes were out of season and I need to clear space anyway." The way you casually dismiss her had her reeling back.

It sounded like such a vain way of putting things. And, it almost made Barbara want to drop the topic out of annoyance with you.

Until she realizes, this isn't you. This is something they let you become.

No, worse. It's something you thought they wanted you to become. Something they pushed you into and let you rot away while trying to fill your role in this family.

"Fair enough." She finds herself saying instead. This is new territory, and she knows she's not going to fix anything with one conversation. This is going to need some careful deprogramming. A detox from this lifestyle you felt forced into.

Barbara may have gotten rid of the perpetrators with the other's, but now it was time to bring you back into the fold where you would properly flourish. There's was still a chance. Last night had shown her there was. You had broken, but the pieces were still there. They could fix this she could fix this.

"What are your plans today then? Something a bit more relaxing, I hope." She tries to smile, and you even smile back. But, it's wrong. It's too sharp. Not in anger, but from how brittle it looks. Like your lips are made from fractured glass, dangerous to touch and cracked.

"A little bit. I have to go to the spa. Do the usual post-Gala wind down. By massage therapist is a huge gossip so she's the best way to get some of the rumors I heard last night to spread quickly. Then I need to call my stylist. Gonna need a new style since the seasons are changing." You lightly comment. Explaining your day to her with ease.

In a sickening awe, Barbara looks at you.

You… You had a strategy for this. You had been doing this long enough that there was a strategy in place for this. One that made it so easy for you to bounce back into things even if you broke down.

"You could take and actual break you know. Take a day off. Gotham had a busy night last night. A lot of those rich asses got their lives upended. We could put out a statement that we were one of them-"

Your eyes narrow at the statement. Not in anger, but in opportunity. "Come on Barbara. The world doesn’t stop turning just cause I lit a pyre. It keeps moving a turning. Now is the prime time to come out looking unshakable to the other Elites. A game of whoever is left standing is being played here. Of who’s not going to crumble under the pressure?"

Already the ways to spin your actions to garner sympathy with the others in your circle start to pop into your head. Cinderella has to get back to work.

Time to pull the lintels from the ashes.

Barbara feels a dawning sense of dread and horror. This is going to be worse than she anticipated. The shame she feels makes her eyes prick. You were more like Bruce than anyone had realized and they had made you use it in the worst possible way.

As she watched you go about your day, making phone calls while pinching your cheeks to add a natural color to them, she made note. They would fix this. They would bring you back. Fuck those assholes, they were old pawns in Gotham's games of power.

Time to bippity-boppity-off some more and keep you home.

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A/N: As I said, don't know if I hit the mark here. But, I want to watch the Bat Family struggle to fix this. Reader's not going to have a villain arc, though she deserves one. She's going to get princess treatment. Just remember, that might not be a good thing.

A/N: Song is 'Mama's Broken Heart' by Miranda Lambert. Yes, it is a break up song, but the undertones have this sorta feminine rage bubbling under the surface.

A/N: Also, for anyone wondering where I've been, I had/have thyroid cancer. But, we caught it early! I'm currently radioactive and in quarantine on an air mattress in the corner of my bedroom. I also had my entire thyroid removed in March. I'm okay though! It's all uphill from here!

[mywritersmind]

IN THE WAY - KA12

summary : You and a specific curly haired f1 driver may or may not be sneaking around. You think you’re a distraction. He calls you good luck. Relentlessly teased by other drivers and preoccupied by a certain young girl, you both sneak around the bahrain GP in a mess of laughter, kisses, and compliments.

listen up : one of my fav kimi fics ever!! kissing! insinuating sexual acts! lando, george, alex, and max being funny as hell and way too nosy!! no actual p in v but pretty hot and heavy! dual pov! hickeys!

words : 6003

⋆｡‧˚⋆

you

I shouldn’t be here. I know it. He knows it. But how could I say no? Kimi’s mother is fantastic and kind and invited my family to watch her beloved son do what he loves.

What she doesn’t know is she just brought a certified distraction for Kimi.

My mom always says I should support Kimi as much as possible, reminding me of how close we used to be and making it sound like her biggest regret in life was moving into the town over.

I support Kimi more than she knows. And not with homemade posters I would bring to his karting races.

“Fuck.” Kimi mumbles against my lips, pressed against me in his race suit while I'm sitting on his driver's room table. “Need ya.”

“No…” I groan into him, the feeling of rushed kisses and his hand hiking up my skirt too familiar. We both know we should stop. And then his lips find my neck and with ease, my head lols back, making me lose all memory of why the fuck I would say no.

“We have time.” He’s a liar and I know it.

Pulling away for real this time, I push him back. His face is flushed and his curls all messy from my grip. He looks drunk on me.

“You have got to focus.” I hop off the table, smoothing down my skirt, ignoring the pulsing between my thighs, and fixing my hair in his mirror. “And I've got to go.”

Kimi grabs my wrist, pulling me back with a pitiful look on his gorgeous face. “Just stay for a bit longer… we don’t have to do anything.”

I try to not look at his lips which are pulled into a frown and looking extremely kissable. “That’s the thing, Kimi. We will.”

He shakes his head, “No no. I won’t do anything. I’ll stay all the way across the room and do my warm ups while you take selfies or whatever.”

I cross my arms, “You’re looking at me as if you want to eat me.”

“Looking is different than doing… I'm a very patient man.” I don’t miss the way he tugs me closer, his grip soft and his eyes full.

I laugh, “Kimi!” He tries to kiss me again.

“Y/n.” He groans when I dodge him, pulling my hand away and grabbing the door handle, “Fine, leave me then! All alone…”

“You have Quali in thirty minutes!” I twist the handle, shaking my head, “Good luck, Kimi.”

“No good luck kiss?” I keep the door shut as he walks closer, rolling my eyes, I kiss his cheek.

“You got enough good luck five minutes ago.”

He smiles in that cheeky way he does whenever he reminisces. “Want me to walk you out?”

I scoff, walking out the door backwards, “I know the way-” What I don’t realize is how small the hallway is and when I don’t look before leaving the room, I slam the door into someone.

“Shit!” The British man says, making my eyes go wide along with Kimi’s. We hurry out of the room to see George Russell rubbing his head.

My hand slaps over my mouth as the idiot beside me, laughs! “Are you okay!?” I say quickly, punching Kimi in the stomach to shut him up.

“Yeah-” George looks up and registers the situation, “Yeah i’m fine.” He looks at me, then Kimi, then me again. I feel like I'm about to get scolded by my mother.

My phone rings in my pocket, I pull it out to see my actual mother calling me, “I really have to go now! Good luck, both of you!”

⋆༺

kimi

Qualifying goes well and just as I'm about to make it into the media pen, George whistles me over. He’s standing with Lando and Max, all looking at me as if they know something I don’t.

“Little Antonelli…” Lando grins, “I’m impressed.”

“Sorry…?”

Max claps me on my shoulder, laughing, “So, she your girlfriend or what?”

“I mean- she better be.” George pipes up, “Have you seen the way he looks at her?”

“Excuse me!?” I push Max’s hand off me, “What the fuck are you guys talking about?”

“The girl, the one who slammed the door in my face when sneaking out of your room. She’s pretty.” George grins at me as I narrow my eyes. What the hell is happening right now?

I scoff, “She was not sneaking out-”

“You work fast, kid.” Lando nods, “At eighteen I couldn’t even imagine a girl in my driver's room.”

“Probably because you didn’t have a girl or driver's room.” Max shoots back, Lando flipping him off and pushing his arm. Max looks at me again, “So, answer my question.”

“What q-”

“Is she your girlfriend?” George answers for him.

I blink. They’re asking if Y/n is my girlfriend right now? Seriously!? “I- uh… No.”

“More of a sneaky link then?” Max asks and gets punched in the arm by Lando promptly after. I’m too caught up on the fact that Max said ‘Sneaky Link’.

“You can’t ask that!” The man in orange says.

Max scoffs, “Why the hell not!?”

“That’s a child!”

George mumbles, “Didn’t seem very childlike when he was leaving his locked room with swollen lips and a hard o-” Lando hits George this time.

“Can you all shut up!?” I look around us, people milling about and starting to pay attention to the three men hounding me, “Why do you even care?”

“We’re just curious.” George shrugs, bringing his water to his lips.

“And nosy.” Lando adds.

“Nosy about what?” Alex walks up to us, dapping up George and nodding at the rest.

“Kimi’s got a girlfriend.” Max explains.

“I do not!” I groan again.

Alex raises a brow at the group. “How do you know?”

“Saw him sneaking her out before quali.” my teammate passes along his gossip.

“Seriously?” Alex crosses his arms, “I didn’t even risk Lily in my room until a year after we started dating.”

“Well we’re not dating!” This shuts the group up, as if they all are just hearing me for the first time.

“Well…” Max smirks, “What are you doing then?”

“She’s my friend, okay!?” I shake my head, wishing I was with her instead of these idiots, “Just my friend.”

Lando nods past me, “Just a friend who’s getting flirted with by Franco right now?”

I swear, if looks could kill, Franco Colapinto would be dead right now. Y/n is listening to him talk animatedly, nodding along politely. I refuse to believe she’s actually intrigued by the argentinian.

I turn back to the drivers who are all staring at me, “You okay…?” Alex asks.

“Yes! Why wouldn’t I be? She can talk to whoever she wants.”

“Even ‘Flirty Franco’?” Lando teases the nickname, something I don’t find funny.

“So tell me more about this little room rendezvous…” Alex asks George.

“Yeah!” Max agrees, “She hit you with a door?” Alex laughs at this piece of information he didn’t know.

George tells the story, I don’t expect it to be so embarrassing until he mentions her LIP GLOSS ON ME. I facepalm myself, “I gotta go-”

“Oh no you don’t Serena Vanderwoodsen.” Alex grabs my sleeve, pulling me back with ease, “I want to know more about this girl. Did you just meet her?”

“No! You really think i’d hookup with some random girl in my driver room?” They all just stare at me, “Have you!?” I get no response, telling me that they definitely have.

“So you admit you hooked up!” Lando points out, clearly not caring that i’m a ‘child’ anymore.

“Not today! I mean, shut up! This is not your business.”

“But she’s not some random girl?” George asks.

“I told you! We’re friends. Her family knows mine.” I cross my arms, watching George who nods suspiciously as if he doesn’t believe me.

They all go suspiciously quiet and I get the same feeling as before, like they know something I don’t. “She’s coming over here.” Max says, making my eyes go wide and answering my question-

“Hey.” I’d know that voice anywhere. I turn to face her, smiling because I simply can’t not when she’s around, “Sorry to interrupt.”

“Please, Don’t be!” I hear Lando say as she looks around at the group politely.

“I just-” her eyes flick from the guys to me, “Kimi, your mom wants to know when you’ll be at dinner…” She looks almost uncomfortable to say it and it makes me mad because I know exactly why. The four drivers are staring at her as if they’ve never seen a teenage girl in their life.

I’m about to answer her but am soon cut off by Max, “Kimi! You’re a horrible host. Introduce us.”

“Host…?” I look at him confused, then back to Y/n who I shoot a reassuring smile. “This is Y/n.”

“Friend, girlfriend…?” Lando adds teasingly. This makes Y/n laugh, I mean, actually laugh. It surprises me most out of the group.

“Friend.” She answers for me. “Kimi isn’t that lucky.” My jaw drops at this, the guys cracking up at my utter humiliation. She smiles at me and to the naked eye, one would think it’s innocent. But I know her, I know that wicked glint in her eye and the second her genuine smile turns into a mischievous smirk.

“I like her.” George says, bumping into Alex as they laugh harder.

“What were you saying about my Mom-” I turn back to Y/n, looking even more stunning then when I last saw her. If that’s even possible.

“Oh yeah! She wants to talk to you.” She points to where my Mom and dad are, they wave me over and when I look back to see if Y/n is following me, I realize she’s staying and already laughing with the drivers.

“Don’t worry, Kimi.” Max grins, “Go talk to mommy and daddy.” Lando is laughing even harder now, trying to say something but failing through choked laughs.

I hurry over to my parents and rush through the conversation, looking back frequently to make sure they’re not laughing with Y/n too hard…

“Just be at the hotel tonight at…” My mom finishes saying.

“Yeah, yeah, I'll be there!” I practically run back to Y/n, my hand drifting across her elbow as I smile. “Wanna grab a snack?”

She turns to me, “Why don’t I remember you crashing George’s car last year?” I glare at George who looks far too proud of himself.

“Maybe because you barely listen when I talk-”

“Oh don’t blame this on the poor girl!” Lando cuts in, “It’s okay to admit you were too embarrassed.”

“Okay!” I say quickly, turning back to Y/n and surprising the urge to take her hand. I know my parents are nearby and I'm not even sure how she would react if I did. “Come grab a bite with me.”

“Ordering the lady around now?” Alex raises a brow, “Y/n you better stand up for yourself.”

She just smiles, “Don’t worry, Kimi knows his place. I’m pretty sure he just wants me away from you lot.”

“Absolutely correct!”

Max leans in, “Before you go, what did Franco say to have you laughing so much-”

“Okay bye!” I do grab her hand now, pulling her away from the older drivers as she laughs.

⋆༺

I’m sitting across from her and trying to pretend her heeled foot isn’t tapping against my leg. My dad is telling a story and Y/n is laughing and listening along but I can’t do anything but watch her.

Maggie is next to her, smiling at the girl I know she looks up to. “Can we have a movie night?” my sister asks.

My mom shakes her head, “Not tonight love, everyone’s tired.”

“That’s alright!” Y/n says quickly, “I’d love to! I mean, if it’s okay. She can sleep in my room too!”

My mom adores Y/n, she’s always going on and on about how we should be closer and that Y/n’s mum wants the same. I don’t know how they haven’t noticed that we are close.

“Am I invited?” I ask, not even allowing myself to think before I speak.

Maggie grins, “Yes! Yes!”

“I don’t know…” Y/n eyes me, “Are you going to buy us snacks before?” Maggie gasps at this, giggling along with my friend.

I sigh, “One each and only from the vending machine-” Maggie jumps out of her seat at this, Y/n pushing back her chair as well.

“Wait, wait!” my dad says, wiggling his finger as he beckons me over. I lean into his ear, “Maggie stays with you two the whole time. No funny business.” I nod, slightly embarrassed even though no one else heard.

“Get a good rest too, Kimi!” Y/n’s mom says to me sweetly, “And Y/n, don’t keep Mag up too late.”

She smiles, her arm around my sister, “Yes ma’am!” The two hold hands and skip to the elevator, I get held back by a few people asking for photos but make it just before the doors close.

They sing Taylor Swift the whole way upstairs and Maggie bolts down the hall when she sees the vending machine. “So, when you imagined your big fabulous Formula one life, did you imagine getting ready for a race with a movie night?”

I smile softly, walking slower so we have more quiet time together, “Maybe not. But I'm glad it turned out this way.” I glance at my shoes, somewhat intimated by her, “You look really pretty tonight.”

She laughs as if it’s the most ridiculous thing she’s ever heard, “I’ve been wearing the same thing all day and sweated all my makeup off.”

I shrug, not taking back a single thing. “My compliment still stands.”

My slow steps don’t matter because Maggie squeals at the end of the hall, rushing both of us.

I buy Maggie a candy bar and Y/n a bag of sour strips. “Nothing for you?” She asks, ripping open her package as we make our way to her room.

“Kimi is all healthy now.” Maggie pretends to gag as we walk in, making Y/n laugh and me roll my eyes.

Maggie decides that rapunzel is the correct choice for this magical Bahrain night. She plops herself in between us, candy in hand as her eyes grow big at the cartoon.

Maggie leans her head against my shoulder at some point, singing quietly with the songs.

I’ve never prepared for a race like this. Snuggling up with my little sister and my gorgeous friend, watching a childhood movie as they both sing and snack. Still, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

At some point, Maggie falls asleep between us, slouching into the pillows and blanket. “You’re really sweet.” Y/n says out of nowhere. “With your sister, it’s cute.”

“Thanks?” I lean my head against my pillow, watching her watch me in the dim light of her hotel room.

“I really like that about you.” Her eyes leave mine, “Not just with Maggie- like with me too.”

“What do you mean?”

She blushes a bit, something I don’t often see from her, “Like, I know we just mess around and stuff. But you’re really nice about it. You’re nice to me.”

“I’m… I'm glad you think that.You deserve it.” She smiles softly, the faint sound of rapunzel and her lantern song in the background, “So uh… I saw you talking to Franco today.”

She laughs out loud, “Yeah?”

“Did he say anything interesting…?”

“Kimi.” she blinks, “He’s twenty one.”

“I know!” I say in a quiet tone, “I’m just wondering.”

“He’s funny.”

I bite my tongue, “That’s good.”

She tilts her head against the wall, “He’s way too old for me.”

I smile, wide. “That’s even better.”

She rolls her eyes, shaking her head, “Jealous.”

I scoff, “What about the other drivers, what’d they say to you? Besides mentioning my crash.”

“They asked me about my intentions.” This piqued my interest, “with you.”

“Oh?”

“Mhm… George seemed to know something.”

“He wouldn’t shut up after he saw you leave my room.”

She hums, “That explains it.”

“They didn’t give you too much trouble, yeah?”

“No.” She laughs, “They’re funny. Big brother like.”

“They do give that vibe.” I say, “How was your view of quali?”

“Great. I saw this really hot guy in black and teal take off his helmet on TV. A highlight for me.“

I grin, “Curls and all?”

“No actually he was really tall and almost villain-esc.” I throw a pillow at her. She laughs so hard that Maggie wakes up, sad that she missed her favorite scene but fully awake once that horse is back on.

We stay quiet for the rest of the movie, sparing glances and small smiles over my sister's head. She falls asleep again, this time against Y/n’s shoulder. “I should go.” I whisper as the credits roll.

Y/n nods as I stand slowly. She replaces her shoulder with a pillow for Maggie, standing up with me and walking over to the door.

I don’t open it, I don’t really want to.

She looks tired, crossing her arms over her hoodie and leaning against the wall. “Night, Antonelli.”

I take a step, “You sure you don’t want to come to my room?” She smiles sleepily, her hand dropping to my pocket and tugging me closer.

“Your sister is staying in my room.”

“Yeah and she could literally sleep through an apocalypse- come on…” I beg, leaning in with a smirk. She shakes her head before she kisses me. Her lips are soft, slow… stable.

I don’t care about sleep or my sister or what my dad said. I care about how perfectly she fits against me and the feel of her hand slipping under my shirt.

We stay like that for a while. Kissing gently in the dark. I don’t want to leave. But I know I have to.

She pulls away first. Her face is only lit by the light that sneaks in through the hallway, just barely letting me make out how she’s biting her lip. Fuck it makes me want to kiss her again. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Night…” Is all I can choke out, opening the door and letting my hand drift off her. She waves slightly, her cheeks rosy and her eyes tired.

I force myself to walk away, force myself to not look back even though I know she’s watching me walk down the hall. I like this. I like us. I really fucking like her.

⋆༺

you

I’m wearing a teal dress. My mom said I look like a fish but Maggie said I look beautiful so I smile as I walk into the paddock. I’m wearing sneakers, for once, with my hair down and my dress flowing around my thighs.

My phone rings just when I walk into the Mercedes hospitality. KIMI🧐🏎️🥵🍝😘 is calling me.

I roll my eyes at the contact name, something he did for himself when I left my phone in his room, and pick it up. “Don’t roll your eyes.” He says immediately, making me a bit freaked out.

“You usually like it. Stalker.” I say, hearing him chuckle and having to turn in a full circle to finally spotting him next door, looking at me through the glass.

In baggy jeans and a very cute sweater I've borrowed multiple times, he looks really good. Especially when one hand goes to his pocket and the other to his hair. “C’mon those are different circumstances.”

“Why’d you call?”

“Come to my room?”

I frown, even though my stomach does a little flip when reminded of what happened yesterday in that same room. “Now?”

“Just to hangout…” He smiles at someone passing him before looking back at me, “Promise.”

“I wouldn’t be mad if you broke that promise…” He lets down a slow groan, tilting his head against the glass and looking away from me. I can’t help but smile when I see his curls pressed up against it.

“We can’t. I can’t- Fuck Y/n why did you have to say that?” He stands up straight, a hand over his face as he responds, “Just come. I mean- don’t! But wait. Shit.” I laugh at the accidental dirty joke and nod.

“I’ll be there in ten.”

He sticks up his thumb, now fully facing away from me, and hangs up.

I’m with him fifteen minutes later, getting caught up by George who introduces me to Carmen as ‘Kimi’s friend’, very suspiciously.

Kimi and I sit on his table-like bed, except I'm the one who’s sitting and he’s laying on his back with his head in my lap.

“Are you always this nervous before a race?”

He opens his eyes instantly, “I am not nervous.”

I push his hair back just like I've been doing for the past five minutes, “Kimi, your hands are shaking.” I take one of his hands in mine, his eyes following the movement.

“Maybe you just make me nervous.” He says quietly.

I smile softly, “It’s not the fact that your whole family is showing you off to mine?”

He sits up at this, keeping my hand in his, “Maybe it’s a bit of that too.”

“My family loves you.” I reassure him, scooting closer, “And they watch all your races anyway. This time it’s just… a bigger screen.”

He nods slowly, leaning in and saying my name the sweetest I've ever heard it. “Can I break my promise now…?”

I’m reminded of last night now, his soft voice in the darkness of my room. I swear I slept like a baby because of how gentle he was. How he always is.

I nod but he doesn’t like it when I don’t use my voice, “Words?” His lips are an inch away from mine as they curve into a smirk.

“Yeah, Kimi. You can do anything you want.” And then his lips crash into mine. It’s more hungry than last night, one hand on my waist and the other bracing himself on the bed.

“I like this dress.” Is all he mumbles before sliding a hand under the fabric and moving up the side of my leg. I get goosebumps immediately, his big hands warm against my skin.

He cups my boob, something that, might I add, looks excellent in the dress he likes so much. In fact, I get the sneaking suspicion that it’s the reason why he likes it. His lips trail down my throat, to my chest.

“You leave a mark and I'll kill you.” I moan halfway through my sentence and all he does is shoot me a hot little smirk.

“I’ll just make it hidden.” And then he grabs my waist and physically pulls me over to him, sitting me down on his lap.

“Didn’t know you had a marking kink.” I say as he carefully slips the shoulders off my dress, pulling it so carefully down as if it could rip at any moment.

Kimi eyes me, then he dips his head down to my stomach. “I don’t.” He mumbles against my skin as I purposefully grind into him. His hands grip my waist tighter when I do, kissing up my skin and shifting my lace bra just enough so he can get his lips just below my boob.

“So you’re not drooling at the idea of your marks on me?” He responds through movement, using his other hand to drift over my nipple and make me grind into him even more. “Shit, Kimi.”

“Say my name again.” I swear I've never heard anything so hot. He leaves my skin, I can’t tell if there’s a hickey or not because his lips are on mine again.

My bra is out of place, now covered by his hands. I grip the back of his neck and rub against him, wanting to go farther but knowing my limit.

“Kimi.” I whine as he grabs my ass. I don’t even know if the door is locked and honestly- I don’t care.

I can feel him under me, the hardness growing at every move I make. I kiss his jaw, his neck, tug at the fabric covering him.

I bite his lip, “I like this sweater.”

“Yeah?” He says against me, tugging at the hem already.

“Yeah.” I pull it off for him, uncovering his body. God I love his body. Saying Kimi is fit would be an understatement, I take in every hard line of him before kissing him again, running a hand down his bicep.

My hand goes to his chest, down his abs and teasing the waist of his jeans. His cheeks are red, his eyes wide with lust as he stares up at me. I smirk and just as I unclasp the button, an alarm blares.

“No!” Kimi groans in frustration, grabbing his phone and turning it off immediately, “Fuck.” He leans his head back so hard that he knocks it on the wall.

I frown, knowing what it means.

I go to get off of him but he holds me firmly in place, “No.” He looks genuinely so defeated that it’s hard not to laugh.

“Kimi.” I slowly climb off of him, smiling at the boy who’s now cupping his hands over his dick print. “Kimi!” I laugh, adjusting my dress as he groans again.

“You’re so fucking hot…” He says, his eyes closed and sounding as pained as he looks.

I smile at his words, How could I not be flattered?

“And I really wanted you to give me a hickey.” He tugs my dress back down like it’s nothing, “Look how good mine looks.” Now he’s smiling and the second I follow his instructions, I understand.

There’s a bruise on my rib, still a bit shiny and aching. It does look really good. “I wish we were in my car again.” I laugh at his sudden words.

His car, as in, the first time we had sex.

I remember the whole thing so well that it makes me bite my lip just at the memory. He was just gifted his mercedes and wanted to give it a test drive, no one else wanted to go so Kimi and I hopped in the car, ditching our families and dinner, blasted music, and drove to the beach.

There was no one around because of how far up this hill we went. And for some reason, Kimi made a joke about getting in the backseat. And then we did.

Our parents asked what took us so long and when Kimi went red, I just shrugged and said he lost his keys for a moment. Lost his mind more like, but we won’t dwell on the details.

“I can’t give you a hickey now.” I pull out my lipstick, swiping it on in his mirror, “But I can still leave my mark.” He’s moved to be laying down now, his hands over his face and his boner painfully obvious.

I kiss him right in the middle of his chest, my lipstick rubbing off and leaving a perfect mark. He opens his eyes, smiling at it and then promptly frowning.

“That won’t stay.”

I shake my head, grabbing my setting spray from my purse and spraying it. He yelps slightly at the cold feeling, Sitting up and tilting his head at it. “Have I ever told you how hot you are?”

I kiss Kimi’s cheek, smearing some red on the area by accident this time. “Good luck today.”

“Good luck!?” He sits up, “You’re gonna leave me with this!?” He motions down to his dick which makes me laugh.

“You’ll be okay.” I pat his shoulder but he holds my hand there with his, shaking his head.

“I will not. I will not be okay!”

“Just don’t think too much about the mark on me.” I say, “The one only you can see…”

“You're evil!” He says as I back up, “Absolutely evil.”

“I’ll be screaming your name.” I wiggle my fingers at him, “Have fun.”

“I hate you.” He lies right to my face and we both know it.

⋆༺

kimi

The race went okay, besides almost fainting when I got out of the car, it was boring from my side.

I almost pass out again when my family corners me after I finally get out of media. All I want to do is go to the hotel and fall asleep, even if I know I won’t be able to.

They talk to me all the way to the hotel, Y/n sitting in the front seat quietly on her phone. I wonder if I did anything wrong, especially when she doesn’t say anything after my family gets out of the elevator on their floor.

Our rooms are on the same floor, something I was looking forward to. “Are you okay?” Is the first thing she asks me, “You looked really bad getting out of the car.”

I blink, “Jeez, thanks.”

She shoves my shoulder and just like that, we’re back. “I was worried, idiot!”

I smile tiredly at her, watching her lips pull together in a line, “Wanna come to my room tonight?”

She sighs dramatically, “I guess I can spare a few hours.” I roll my eyes as we step out of the elevator. “You did good today. I like coming to your races.”

I love hearing her talk like that. I slip my hand into her back pocket, her dress replaced with jeans. “Thanks for coming. I like having you here.” I don’t mean to make it sound so… domestic? But the way she looks at me after, I swear I feel my heart grow.

She’s about to say something but shakes her head and kisses me instead. I kiss her back, in the middle of the hallway, my hand still on her denim.

And then… a little gasp interrupts us.

I swing my head back to see what could possibly get in our way now. The answer?

My little sister.

“Holy shit.” My jaw drops at her use of swear words. Holy shit is right though.

“Maggie!” Y/n practically tears away from me, her eye wide and refusing to look at me. “Hi.”

“Uhm…” Maggie steps closer, still looking shocked, “Kimi, you forgot this.” She hands me my phone. My fucking phone!? Why do I have to be such an idiot.

“Thanks.” I don’t even want to look at her i'm so embarrassed. I grab my phone and pocket it quickly, “Uh Mags?”

“Hm?”

“Could you not tell mom and dad about this…?” I look at Y/n who’s nodding along enthusiastically,

“Or anyone, for that matter.” Y/n adds on.

“Sure.” She blinks before turning around, “One more thing. Are you dating?” I swallow.

“No.” Y/n says right as I nod, “Yes!”

Oh just kill me now.

I close my eyes, wondering how my life has led to this moment.

“We uh…” Y/n gives me a look, “It’s new.”

Maggie nods slowly, “Okay! Well, never kiss in front of me again.” And then she turns around, skips away, and the second she turns the corner to where I know the elevators are, Y/n hits my arm.

“Hey!”

“You need to be more careful.”

“Me!?” I scoff, swiping my key against the door, “You kissed me!”

She shakes her head, dropping her bag on the table and walking in. “Your hand was on my ass.”

“I didn’t expect her to be there!” I lay flat on my bed, shaking my head in mortification still, “Do you think she’ll tell?”

“Maggie?” She asks, “Honestly, no. She’d do anything you ask.”

I roll over, shoving my face into my pillow, “I can’t believe I told her we’re dating.” I say muffled by the soft fabric.

“Neither can I.” I feel her hop onto the bed next to me.

“I didn’t mean to.” I sit up quickly, realizing she’s now changed into one of my hoodies, “Honestly I just panicked and didn’t really feel like explaining… us.”

She’s smiling. “That’s okay.”

She said no. Maggie asked if we were dating and she said no. Of course she said no! We’re not dating. So why the hell would I say yes!?

“If she tells our parents, we’re screwed.” I blink, not sure if she’s understanding what I might have just gotten us into.

“Kimi.”

“No- Like actually we’re gonna have to pretend to date and act all lovey dovey because if our moms finds out I swear they’ll send out the wedding invites.” She laughs at this, “I can’t believe you’re laughing! We’re going to fake date and you’re laughing!”

“Or… you could just ask me out for real.” My eyes go wide. Sorry? What!?

“Come again?” my brows furrow as she laughs harder.

“I mean…” She fiddles with the sleeves of my jacket, “If you don’t want to, that's fine.”

“No!” I shoot up to my knees, looking at her and probably looking crazy, “I absolutely do! I thought… I thought you didn’t.”

“Why would I not want to? Kimi. I’m in your bed right now.”

“Cause I thought you wanted to hook up-”

“I’m wearing your hoodie.” She deadpans.

“Ever heard of aftercare?”

“Kimi!” She groans in frustration, pulling up my shirt and reminding me of the kiss mark she left there. It’s a bit smudged now, but definitely still visible. “I really want to go out with you. For real.”

“Oh.” I breathe out, “Okay.”

“Okay!?” She slaps my arm, “Kimi!”

I laugh, pulling her in again, “I really want to go out with you too.” Kissing her cheek, I smile. “For real.”

A moment passes between us, quiet and completely comfortable. And then I laugh, “You like me.” She hits me with a pillow- hard.

“Shut up!”

⋆༺

you

Kimi holds my hand as we walk into the elevator. I rest my head against his shoulder as we start moving. I’m in shorts and his Mercedes jacket, we’re both holding our luggage and ready to leave the hot country.

The elevator stops at one floor, Lando Norris and Max Verstappen walk in. “Morning.” Lando says to both of us, squeezing into the metal box.

Kimi sends me an apologetic look. He’s already embarrassed, his cheek go red easily and this morning is no exception.

“Fun night?” Max asks, clearly trying to get a rise out of the curly haired boy.

“Fuck off.” He mumbles.

The elevator stops again and Alexander albon walks in. His eyes go wide for a moment before nodding at the lot and entering.

Kimi squeezes my hand even harder as I bite back a laugh, the group all eyeing each other with tension thick in the air.

Just as I think we’re almost done, the elevator stops one more time. George Russell stands outside of it.

George eyes me, then Kimi. He says nothing, walking in with a bag slung over his shoulder. And then, Lando coughs.

For some reason, this is what makes Kimi break.

“Alright, let it out!” They erupt in laughter, shoving and talking to each other loudly as we finally descend to the lowest level.

“This is the best morning of my life!” George claps Kimi on the shoulder as Lando literally holds himself up by Max.

“This made my weekend, mate, really.” the brit nods.

“I get five bucks!” Alex yells out, grabbing the bill out of Lando’s hands.

“Oh my god.” I actually laugh at this. As if they forgot that I was there, the group of older drivers stared at me! “You’re all rich, five bucks is all you could spare!?”

The doors open and Kimi physically pushes past the group, all of them staring at us as we leave. I snatch the bill from Alex’s hand and smile. “I’ll take that, thanks.”

[cameronsbabydoll]

hii’ i dont know what au this would be for or whatever but could you write something about a reader who doesnt cry? like she sees it a weakness but then oneday shes struggling to hold it in?? idk..w/ rafe tho please:)

rafe with a reader who doesn’t cry!

warnings: crying & reader sees crying as sort of a weakness

wc: 442 — a/n: hopefully this fits your request !!

you don’t cry.

that’s always been your rule. a silent promise to yourself, born from a lifetime of watching other people fall apart—your mother in the kitchen, tears sliding down her face while the roast burned in the oven, your friends behind closed bedroom doors, crying over boys who never called back.

you always thought it looked like weakness. like giving something away for free.

so when things get hard, you shut down. you go quiet. you smile politely. you nod and keep moving.

and rafe knows that about you.

he teases you sometimes—calls you robot, stone-cold, heartless, always with a grin, always with that teasing lilt in his voice. but deep down, he gets it. he’s not much of a crier either. he just breaks things instead.

but tonight is different.

he finds you in the kitchen, standing still, staring at the counter like you’ve forgotten why you walked in there. the kettle’s whistling, the light above the stove flickers a little, and you’re holding onto the edge of the counter so tight your knuckles are white.

“hey,” he says, stepping in slower than usual. “you okay?”

you nod too quickly. the kind of nod that’s rehearsed. the kind that’s meant to shut someone up, not convince them.

“baby.”

your lips press together. you still don’t look at him.

he walks up behind you, quiet, and rests a hand on your waist. not rough, not teasing. just there. warm. solid.

“talk to me.”

you shake your head, but your chest rises too fast, and he feels it before you do—how your body tenses, how your shoulders curl in.

and then your breath hitches.

it’s so quiet, he almost misses it. just a tiny little sound, barely even real. but he knows you. he knows you. and he knows that sound means something’s slipping.

“you’re gonna cry,” he says softly.

“no, i-i’m not,” you snap, but your voice cracks on the last word, and that’s it. that’s all it takes. his arms wrap around you tighter, pulling you back into him as the tears finally push forward.

you don’t sob. you don’t collapse. you just breathe hard through it, fast and panicked, like you’re angry at yourself for letting it happen.

and rafe doesn’t say anything about it. he doesn’t tease you. doesn’t call you soft. he just holds you there, chest to your back, hand covering your stomach like he’s trying to hold everything in for you.

“i hate this,” you whisper.

“i know,” he says. “but you don’t have to do it alone.”

you don’t answer. but you lean back into him just a little.

and for rafe, that’s enough.

[noirflms]

BEING A GIRL DAD — hq men

to them their daughter is their world, to them she is everything. or wherein haikyuu men experience being girl dads.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ HINATA SHOYO !

his little girl is his everything. he’d bring the whole wide world to her feet if he could. he would do anything for this little girl of his. the day she was born brought him nothing but immense pleasure, it was one of the best days of his life; the day that made him grow, the day he realised that there would never be nothing as important as the little one in his arms and you — the love of his life and the mother of his child.

to him, being a girl dad came easy. he had looked after a young girl once, who has now become an outstanding woman in the field of his very own expertise — volleyball. being a father to a daughter came easy to him, he loved her like it was breathing, to him she was the very thing that brought him to life.

he loves his little girl to pieces. for he sits at her tea parties, even wears the crown and play the princess in despair. he lets her paint his nails the colour that mummy’s (your) eyes are, he lets her do his hair the way she wants it to look for her daddy should always look handsome. he adores his little one to death; for she brought him strength, she grounded him to where he belongs.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ MIYA ATSUMU !

twins. you birthed twin girls. it was a miracle, yet there was no doubt they were supposed to be twins, it was the very thing that ran in his family. the day they were born, he wasn’t there and he hates that he was not present to see them be welcomed to the world, but you tell him, their love won’t change one bit for him. the girls are his universe, they mean so much to him, that he might go insane if they aren’t in his sight.

they are daddy’s little girls, they love their father too much. the press kisses to his cheeks when wishing him goodnight, they punch him when he hurts their mommy, they giggle when he turns into the kissy monster for them. he does everything for them; he calls it making it up for when he misses their birth.

he tries his best to be at home, to always be a face engraved in their memory, so they don’t forget him when he leaves for matches and tournaments and return after months. he doesn’t want his little girls to forget who he is. he cries in your arms at night thinking he does so less for the three of you, but only if he knew the girls screamed the loudest whenever their papa came on screen, their faces lit up with the brightest smile whenever they get to talk about him.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ KUROO TETSURO !

he always wanted a little girl. and his wish came true. she looked like you, yet had subtle hints of his features, yet she was so much like you. to him, his daughter was the very thing that breathed life in him, she meant the world to him. he remembers when he first held her, she was too small in his big arms, he couldn’t help but tear up at the sight, as you laughed with tears lingering in your eyes at the scene before you. in the moment he realised he would even go to war for this little soul he helped create.

being a girl dad came with consequences of their own. but he knew, that if he wished to give her the world, he would even take the bullet of circumstances and chaos brought to him. from seeing her take her first steps to seeing her blow the candles of her birthdays, from watching her say ‘dada’, to crying in the morning when he left for work — he wished he could take a leave but he knows you’d scold him so.

to kuroo, his daughter is his life. he gives her all, from the dresses she would only wear just once and throw away, to toys she just had to touch and they will all be brought. but she was his heart more when she touched the volleyball and the glint in his eyes grew, but he knows he would only do whatever she wants, for she was the one ruling his heart now.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ IWAIZUMI HAJIME !

his daughter was his exact copy. from loving godzilla to calling oikawa — uncle shittykawa. to giving names to people without a second thought behind her eyes. she was exactly like the man you married, it made you wonder if she even had the littlest of your traits. in hajime’s eyes he is proud for he has the strongest girl, his warrior princess as he calls her.

she has your eyes and that is what iwaizumi loves, for he gets to fall in love with the same eyes again and again. and those are also the eyes, that he would never be able to say no to. it takes all in him to begin with ‘no, sweetheart, not this time,’ that gradually turns into, ‘don’t tell your mom i got you this.’ but he forgets he is too loud at whispering within these thin wood walls and you’ll always know.

your daughter is an absolute hero is what you’ve also known. she was four when she had picked up an bug from the garden brought it to you, you almost fainted but kept your cool at the bug being suddenly brought up to your face. it’s funny how much she looks like you to only share traits with her father, and so it makes you wonder, would another little one have your traits of just the same as their father’s?

back and i am better 😝😝

NOIRFLMS 2025 ! all rights reserved - plagiarism is a crime , do not translate my works without permission.

[augustwinesworld]

𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞'𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐬—𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐨

What if your eyes looked up and met mine one more time?

description: The shift had been ordinary. Until it wasn't. Until her. She shouldn’t be here. Not in his hospital. Not holding a boy whose face hits him like a slap. In the space of a heartbeat, Michael is no longer a doctor. He’s a ghost in his own body, watching his past rewrite itself in real time.

pairing: dr. michael robinavitch x female ob/gyn attending! reader

genre: hidden pregnancy…maybe? age gap (michael late 40s, reader mid 30s), female reader.

warning: graphic portrayals of a depressive episode, injured minor.

notes: i lied, it’s actually longer than the first one. Also, i wanted to thank everyone for their kind messages, they made me actually melt ​💗​💫​

word count: 4 k

extra: moodboard | playlist | ☆:**:. 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐞 .:**:.☆ 

Feel free to #𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞 (◕‿◕✿) *:･ﾟ✧ if you have any scenarios in mind! I might not write everything but I’ll respond to everyone.

series masterlist: 𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞'𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐬

Just for an instant, a second really, everything appeared to stay still. You were both staring at each other with some kind of distant recognition that didn’t really feel right anymore. 

Time stopped—or maybe it just cracked. For a second, all Robby could do was stare, breath frozen, stomach caving in on itself like the room had suddenly lost oxygen. 

Everyone had seemingly gone silent, waiting for the other shoe to drop—for the story to wove itself in front of their very eyes. 

Then everything moved at once.

The trauma bay around him hummed—orders being barked, the sharp beeping of a monitor, a pair of gloved hands reaching for suction—but it all blurred at the edges, sound thinning to a high-pitched whine, like air being pulled from the room.

But he looked at you, really looked at you. Breathing you all in. 

And you looked exactly the same.

No, not the same. Older. Stronger. Tired in that way only a mother could be, like you’d carried the weight of a thousand nights with no sleep. But still you. Still you.

His heart stuttered in his chest.

You, on the other hand, were just frozen.

Like something inside of you had stopped working.

Like your brain couldn’t process what you were seeing, and your body was bracing for impact. Your lips parted, soundless, and your expression turned glassy. Like you’d just stepped on a landmine and heard the click.

Michael felt something inside his chest fracture.

Your eyes—god, your eyes—looked through him, then past him, then back again. Like you thought you were hallucinating. Like you wanted him to disappear.

His mouth opened. He didn’t know what he was about to say. Maybe nothing. Maybe just your name again, missing how it felt falling from his lips. 

Maybe just please.

Finally, you stepped back. 

No—stumbled.

Your hand shot out toward the edge of the table, missing it, and your shoulder hit the wall instead. "I—" you whispered, more to yourself than anyone else. "I can't. I can’t do this right now." 

And your voice broke on the last word.

He opened his mouth again, throat dry. "Wait—"

"I just—" your hands came up like you could block him out with your palms. "I’m sorry. I can’t do this right now. I can’t—"

"Hey, it’s okay, just—"

But you were already shaking your head, already turning, already backing toward the door with panic in your eyes like he’d set the place on fire just by existing in it.

You didn’t look at him again. Not really. Your eyes fluttered shut like it hurt to see him. Like his presence was too loud, too heavy, too full of old ghosts and wounds that never healed right.

"I’m sorry to interrupt," Whitaker said gently, stepping in at the exact wrong—and—right time. "They’re ready for us upstairs."

Robby didn’t blame him. Whitaker was just doing his job—by the book, probably didn’t even realize the air had gone thin with something heavier than oxygen. Still, Robby felt the moment rupture like tissue paper.

Of course, it had to be him. Of course, it had to happen like this.

You didn’t even look at him again.

"I have to go," you said. Firm. Final.

He reached for you, instinct more than thought. "Wait."

Gone.

The door swung shut behind you, and then it was just him and the echo of your voice in a room that suddenly felt too quiet.

Michael stood frozen. Stupid. Helpless.

He watched you vanish around the corner—following behind the gurney. Watched the back of your salmon-pink scrubs disappear into the chaos of the ER. Watched you leave him. Again.

But all he could see was you.

The way your hands trembled, like you didn’t know what to do with them.

The way you kept pressing them to your chest like you were holding yourself together from the inside out.

The way you walked—fast, clipped, stiff—like if you didn’t keep moving, you’d collapse.

He barely noticed the rest of the trauma team shifting back into motion around him, unaware that something tectonic had just cracked open right there between the trauma room and the nurses’ station.

Because the second you left, everything else fizzled out.

All he could hear was his own heartbeat. Slamming.

All he could feel was the ringing silence you left in your wake.

And all he could think was—She’s here. She’s real. She saw me. And she left.

And behind that, behind the shock, behind the confusion, something darker twisted in his gut.

That boy.

The boy on the gurney.

Michael staggered back a half step.

The timeline rushed in and hit him straight in the face like a brick. Ten years. Ten years since he left. Since he disappeared with nothing but a coward’s note and a bleeding heart.

You hadn’t told him. Not a word. Not a single whisper. And why would you?

He was the one who vanished.

He was the one who chose the silence.

And now here you were, thrown together by whatever cruel god governed the ER, with you looking like you were about to shatter and him finally realizing—maybe he was the one who broke you to begin with.

He blinked hard, his pulse racing, and looked again at the door where you and the kid had left through.

The math wouldn’t stop spinning. The way you looked at the boy. The panic in your voice. The grief.

God.

Is he mine?

The question hit him like a blow to the chest. He couldn’t breathe.

He thought of you walking away, your eyes filled with unshed tears, hands shaking as you whispered those few words.

He thought of that kid, gaunt and still, hooked up to machines, and the way he flinched when someone called out Mom.

It didn’t feel like fate. It felt like punishment.

Like every choice he made led straight to this moment—where everything he’d buried rose back up and God himself asked if he was man enough to face it now.

Michael didn’t move.

He couldn’t.

He just stood there—chest tight, stomach twisted, breath caught somewhere between guilt and disbelief—as the trauma team carried on around him, not seeing that he’d just been gutted from the inside out.

He stood there for a long moment, stunned. Then he laughed, under his breath, humorless and tired.

Funny.

The last time he saw you, he’d walked away without a word.

You didn’t stop walking. Couldn’t.

Not until the elevator doors shut behind you with a soft ding and the metal started climbing, floors ticking past too fast. Your hands were still shaking. You tucked them under your arms, tried to breathe through it, but it felt like all the air had been sucked out of her lungs and replaced with something heavier. Thicker. Like you were drowning.

Beside you, Dr. Whitaker said something—not yet, hopefully soon enough—but it barely registered. You nodded because it felt like the right thing to do. The only thing you could do.

Then you were upstairs, in imaging. There were hands guiding your son into the MRI room. Gentle voices. Paperwork. Another nod. Another smile that didn't reach your eyes.

And then you were alone. Finally. 

They told you it would be about thirty minutes, maybe more. Long enough to spiral. Long enough to remember.

So you sat.

The plastic chair outside the radiology wing creaked beneath you as you leaned forward, elbows on your knees, face buried in your hands.

You’d seen a ghost.

No—that wasn’t right. He wasn’t a ghost. He was real. He was there. The same hands. The same voice. The same stupid little furrow between his brows when he didn’t know what to say.

And he’d looked at you like—like he’d only just realized everything he left behind had a heartbeat.

Your throat burned.

Ten years.

Ten years of silence, of wondering if he was alive or dead or just fucking cruel. Ten years of birthdays and fevers and nightmares and firsts you had to witness alone. And then he just—appeared. In a trauma bay. In a pair of scrubs. Like it was nothing. Like it was everything.

Your eyes stung, but you didn’t cry.

Not now.

You’d already done that once.

ten years ago...

The apartment was too quiet. 

So quiet it rang in your ears, high-pitched and shrill, like the aftermath of an explosion. The silence didn’t sit still—it crawled. Under your skin. Behind your eyes. In the space between your ribs, where your lungs refused to expand right.

It was never this quiet when he was here.

Even when you were asleep, there was always something—is breathing, the hum of the AC, his dumb phone alarms going off too early, his voice grumbling into her shoulder. Now, it felt…emptied. Like something had been ripped out, and the air still hadn’t settled.

The apartment felt hollow without him. 

The walls pressed in—close, too close—like they were waiting for you to crack. You kept thinking that if you were to turn your head fast enough, you might catch them shifting. Watching. 

The shadows moved wrong. The light hit strange. The floorboards groaned like they were in pain.

Your phone lit up. Then went dark. Lit up again. Dark again. Nothing.

You didn’t remember sitting down.

But you were curled up on the floor of your—your—bedroom, phone clutched in one hand, knees drawn to your chest, trying to make sense of the nothing he left behind. 

Waiting.

Begging.

Please. Please. Please.

Not even a call. Not even a fight.

Just a note.

A fucking note.

Not even a period at the end.

Just gone. 

Your hands had been shaking then, too.

You couldn’t cry. Not properly. It’s like your body wouldn’t let you—couldn’t. It held everything tight, like it was scared you’d unravel completely if it loosened its grip for even a second. So you shook instead. Buzzed like a broken wire.

Your brain kept folding in on itself fighting to understand what happened—why? 

You’d tried everyone. His old roommate. Coworkers. That one friend from med school whose name you always forgot. But no one had heard from him, said maybe he needed space. Or maybe they had and were lying for him. You didn’t know which hurt more.

Time blurred together after that. 

You’d called in sick. Voice hoarse. Hands shaking. Could barely get the words out to your chief resident.

She didn’t ask any questions. Didn’t even hesitate.

Just said, “Take the time,” like she already knew. Like everyone already knew.

And of course they did.

He was a junior attending in the same hospital—had been? They'd all worked side by side, shared vending machine coffee and overnight shifts and quiet glances in scrub rooms. 

The day he left, he didn't just disappear from your apartment—he disappeared from the job, too. Vanished from badge logs and email chains. Left behind the kind of silence that carried weight. The kind that people tiptoed around.

They all knew before you did.

You could feel it in the way the chief spoke to you now—soft, deliberate, like you were a glass too cracked to carry water.

And maybe you were.

Because all you could think was: God, they must all think I’m pathetic.

Still showing up with his coffee orders memorized. Still wearing the same necklace. Still smiling like you weren’t about to be gutted out for everyone to see.

A resident falling for her attending—how fucking cliché. Tragic, really. 

How many of them had smiled back, already knowing? How many had covered for him, lied for him?

You curled tighter into the blankets, the shame curdling in your stomach like bad milk.

Once a respectable doctor—a future star in her field—with her perfect pink scrubs, perfectly color-coded charts, and “good morning, everyone!” predisposition at six a.m., now reduced to a silence that soaked the walls of their apartment—your apartment—like mold. 

The knock on the door came hours later. Or maybe a day. Time had stopped meaning anything long ago.

Had you eaten? Showered?

Had the sun come up? Had it ever been up?

You could taste metal in your mouth and bile at the back of your throat.

The world felt wrong in your bones.

You kept thinking maybe none of it had been real. 

Maybe you’d made it all up. Maybe there’d never been a him at all—Michael, Robby, or whatever.

Just a ghost wearing his face, leaving behind traces of himself to fuck with you: the crooked toothbrush, the mug by the sink, the hoodie he’d probably forgotten in the dryer.

The knock on the door was distant. Like hearing it through a dream.

Then another knock. Louder. And finally, the scrape of the spare key jamming into the lock.

It was your sister. Probably.

Still, you didn’t move. 

The door opened. Footsteps.

Then just a low mutter—"oh my god."

She didn’t say a word at first. Just dropped to the floor next to you and pulled you into a hug so tight it finally broke something loose. 

She was warm and real. Smelled like home—and that cloying cinnamon Bath & Body Works scent she swore by. Too sweet, too strong. It hit your nose like a punch, and for a second, it almost made you gag.

"I don’t know what happened," you whispered. Voice hoarse from little use. Barely there.

"You don’t have to—"

"I don’t know what I did."

That cracked something. 

The sobs came sudden and raw, like your body had been waiting for permission. Like your cells had finally given up.

"I—I woke up and he was just gone."

She held you like she used to after you had a bad nightmare. One hand buried in your hair. A slow rock. Whispered words that didn’t matter, because it wasn’t about the words—it was about being held together by someone else, because you couldn’t do it by yourself anymore.

"He didn’t even say goodbye."

"Then he’s a fucking coward," she murmured. "You didn’t do anything wrong."

But your body disagreed.

Everything hurt. Your stomach curled tight into itself. Your skin buzzed. Your bones ached. And your head pounded in a slow, steady throb that never let up.

You muttered, "I feel sick."

"You look sick," She said, pulling back just enough to study her. "You’re pale as hell. Have you eaten anything?"

"I can’t. I keep throwing up."

The words made her sister still. Brow furrowing. Concern slowly creeping in as she watched you. 

But she wasn’t really there anymore.

You were staring. Blinking. Staring again.

Because when you looked at her—really looked—someone else took her place.

The eyes. Those same eyes.

Dark brown. Deep and unreadable, but soft in that specific, sickeningly familiar way. Like melted chocolate in sunlight. Like every time you’d caught him looking at you during early rounds, like he could see right through you and liked what he saw.

His eyes.

Right there, on your sister’s face. And it didn’t make sense. It didn’t have to. Logic had left the room days ago.

Your breath hitched. The nausea came back all at once, brutal and specific.

Not just grief. Not just panic. Something else.

Your hand went to your mouth as the room spun. You shoved yourself up and stumbled to the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet in time. 

The cold tile was unforgiving as you dropped to your knees, your stomach lurching so violently it knocked the breath from your lungs. Bitter, sour heaves wracked your body—nothing left but acid and air.  

You clutched the edge of the porcelain like it was the only thing keeping you upright, the only thing keeping you here, in this reality. When your forehead met the cold porcelain, an involuntary sigh slipped out—half relief, half despair—followed by shallow, stuttering breaths that scraped against your ribs.

Your sister followed—quietly, gently—and was behind you in seconds, no questions and no hesitation. She moved like someone who had done this before. Who had been here before.

Without a word, she gathered your hair, pulling it back with practiced ease. One hand rested steady on your back, the other stroking slow circles between your shoulder blades.

"I’ve got you," she murmured. "Just breathe."

You didn’t respond. Couldn’t. Your whole body trembled—not from effort, but from something deeper. Something bone-deep.

Eventually the wave passed. You coughed, spat, and flushed. Tried to rinse the bitterness from your mouth with shaking hands, but your limbs wouldn’t cooperate.

So you just sank back onto your heels, arms limp, forehead pressing against the cool wall beside the toilet.

Your sister knelt beside you. "Are you late?" she said quietly, voice low but edged with something cautious.

Silence.

"And now this."

You didn’t answer. Didn’t need to.

She shifted closer beside you, hand still holding a light grip on your arm. "Hey. Look at me."

You turned.

And there it was again—that look. Worry, yes, but something stronger. 

A mirror of a fucking mirror.

Because your sister’s eyes were dark. Chocolate brown. Just like his.

The realization hit like a bruise from the inside out. Your breath caught in your throat, eyes locked on the color you hadn’t been able to stop seeing.

The exact shade.

Your sister’s brow furrowed, confusion flickering, then concern. "What?"

But you didn’t answer. Couldn’t explain. Could only look.

Because it wasn’t your sister’s face you were seeing—it was his. Not fully, not clearly. But there. In the eyes. In the color.

Same warm brown. Kind. Deep. Unmistakable in the sunlight.

And for one terrifying second, it was like time bent sideways, and you could already see it.

Those eyes on someone smaller. Someone impossibly familiar.

You dry-heaved again.

But there was nothing left.

Your sister reached out instinctively, steadying you, voice still soft. "Babe…I think you might be pregnant."

The words didn’t echo. They detonated. 

The world tilted. The shadows closed in. The silence wasn’t empty anymore.

It was loud.

A voice broke through the quiet. "Miss?"

You blinked up. Whitaker—scrub pants too short, scuffed badge, steady blue eyes—stood in the doorway, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot.

"Uh—hey. Sorry, I—um. The scans came back. No internal bleeding. The head MRI’s clear, no swelling. They’re planning to keep him overnight just to be sure, monitor for delayed stuff, but… he’s stable. He’s okay."

The world tilted again. This time in relief.

"Thank you," you breathed, voice cracking, hands pressed to your chest. "Thank you so much."

He nodded—then hesitated, chewing his lower lip. "There’s just… one thing. There’s no open bed upstairs yet, so they’re going to keep him down here for now. In one of the trauma bays. They’ll curtain it off, make it private. Just temporary."

You nodded without thinking—until it hit you.

Trauma room. Downstairs.

Your stomach clenched on reflex. 

Fuck.

Robby was still down there. Which meant you’d all be in close proximity. Same hallway. Same noise. Same oxygen. Which also meant having to talk to him at some point during your stay.

You weren’t a monster. After today, after everything, you couldn’t just slip away without a word. That wasn’t who you were. You refused to be. 

But holy shit—why now?

You rubbed your face with both hands. Tried to push the day back, like maybe if you pressed hard enough, it would stop sinking its teeth into you.

It felt like too much. Too soon.

You could picture him already—playing in the nurse’s stations, standing near the room with his arms crossed. 

Probably rehearsing what he’s going to say. Probably thinking too much. Or not enough.

Just watching and waiting for the right moment to step in and wreck your life all over again. 

He’d come in with that voice—low but tight—and try to stay calm, but you’d hear the cracks in it. You’d feel the weight of everything unsaid pushing through the seams.

He wouldn’t yell. He wouldn’t have to.

He’d just talk, and somehow it would still feel like an accusation.

Like he was grieving something you took from him. Like you’d been the one holding the clock all this time.

Every sentence would be punctuated by a move of his hands—cutting through the air, trying to explain nine years of silence like it could all be mapped out in a few breaths.

You’d sit there, swallowing the heat in your throat, thinking—you left.

But it wouldn’t feel like a win.

It wouldn’t feel like justice.

It would just feel heavy. Sad. Like two people holding the same loss from opposite ends and breaking under the weight.

In the end, when there was nothing left to say, he’d take off his glasses and sigh—like that would make it all go away. Like blowing the air out of his lungs might somehow undo the last ten years—the same way he always did after a bad call earlier in the shift, when guilt started to creep in.

You hated that you remembered that.

You hated that part of you was waiting for it.

You breathed in, shallow. Let it out slow.

Okay. You’d do it.

So you nodded again, carefully this time, like the motion might somehow make the pieces of your life come apart.

Whitaker seemed to notice, but didn’t push. "You’ll be able to see him soon. They're just finishing the last few checks."

You sank into the nearest chair before your knees could give out entirely.

Whitaker hovered awkwardly for a second like he wasn’t sure if he should leave—then sat beside you with a quiet breath, clasping his hands between his knees. "You look like you’ve been through it today."

You let out a shaky, humorless laugh. "That obvious, huh?"

He offered the faintest smile. "I mean… I’ve only been here six weeks, so I don’t really have a baseline. But yeah. Kind of."

A small silence stretched out. Not awkward. Just there.

Then he glanced at the ID still hanging around her neck. "You a doctor?"

You blinked, like you’d only just remembered you were wearing your scrubs. "Yeah. Attending. OB/GYN."

"Ah." His voice softened. "You work here?"

You shook your head. "No, St. Luke’s. But I know some of the attendings here, sometimes I get called in for high-risk emergencies."

"Cross-trained?"

You nodded. "Emergency med. Just enough to be useful when everything goes sideways."

"That’s kind of badass." He let out a quiet whistle. "Bet you’re good in a crisis."

You huffed a sound that might’ve been a laugh. "Usually better than my own."

He nodded like he understood. "And your little guy—how old is he?"

"Nine." A smile tugged at your lips despite everything. "Well. Nine and a half, if you ask him."

"Good age."

"Yeah," you said quietly, "he’s a good kid."

"Was it just the two of you today?"

"Yeah. We were headed to—"

You froze mid-sentence, eyes wide.

"Oh my God," you whispered, scrambling for your phone. "Show and Tell."

"What?"

"Career day. It was today. I was supposed to talk to his class about my job—he was so excited—I have to call the school—"

You fumbled to unlock the phone with trembling fingers, heart suddenly thudding all over again, but in a totally different rhythm. Whitaker didn’t stop you. He simply reached out and rested a hand on your arm, grounding.

He just hesitated—and then, gently, offered, "Do you want me to get someone? Or… I can just sit here."

You shook your head, already scrolling. "I just—I have to let them know. His teacher. So they don’t think we just didn’t show."

"I’m sure they’ll understand."

"I know. I just…" Her voice cracked. "He was so proud. He kept practicing how to introduce me."

She swallowed hard, staring at the screen like it might swallow her back.

"I promised I’d be there."

Because that’s what you do, right? You promise. Even when there's nothing left to give.

next chapter ↠

taglist: @snowflames-world, @nosebeers

© AUGUSTWINESWORLD : no translation, plagiarism, or cross posting.

[writingbluerose]

TWST DRABBLE #18

The distant jazz music could be heard from all around while you and the others walked on the pale-yellow cobbled streets. Admiring the traditional houses and gentle music, you were most grateful that Jade had invited you and Grim to this event ;

When he came personally to Ramshackle to invite you, you found it hard to say no, double hard since he was your boyfriend and all that. What you didn't expect was that he'd invited Rook, Riddle and even Malleus to come assist him. Didn't he say he only needed to fill Floyd's spot...? Well, you'd rather not ask him...

And that's how you ended up here. Jade was in the front, guiding you to the main spot of the wedding with the others behind him, you watching Grim and Malleus happily chatting “Ohh, a fish!” “Grim be careful...” But the cat did not hear you, he happily skipped after the fish not noticing the barrel that he soon ran into, “Ah look at that he went right into that barrel” Malleus' gentle voice had an amused tint to it, you sighed, “His fault for being a glutton all the time” “You should pay more attention to your surroundings Grim” Riddle's stern voice scolded him while he watched the cat sniff from the pain before taking a spot on your shoulders ; “I'm truly mesmerized by this place Jade, so did you truly grow up here?” The merman chucked “Here yes, but not on the surface, as you know I was born an eel so of course I had spent my childhood in the waters. But of course, me, Floyd and Azul were given a lot of training and lessons about how to live on land before we got our first transformation potion” “Is that so? — Malleus put a hand on his chin in wonder — to think you'd need to learn so much just for a potion...” Jade chuckled again before continuing his walk

After a while of walking, you finally arrived at the place. A beautifully decorated harbor with a wooden path heading to a boat decorated with a dozen of different white flower bouquets. At the beginning of the wooden path, a gate of the same material could be seen, decorated with beautiful pink roses accompanied by a white cloth that was slowly shifting in the wind. And of course, the main decoration couldn't be missed, a beautiful silk path with beautiful designs fit for the theme of the city you were now in “Jade this is amazing! I don't feel like I'm enough to go to this wedding, it's beautiful” Jade laughed and put his hand around your waist “Now don't be so modest my dear, I chose you to come with me for a reason after all” Jade gave you one of his soft smiles “Oh how nice, you're all here! I hope you didn't wait too long”

Suddenly, a smooth yet soft voice made its way to your ears, and turning around, you found standing behind you an amazing tall lady, dressed in a black dress with a hat that blocked the sun out of her face, a face that..., it looked oddly the same with Jade's... could it be—? “Ah yes, everyone, this is my mother” Of course! The resemblance is uncanny... “And who is this nice company Jade?” “These are my best friends from Night Raven Collage” Everyone's expressions quickly turned to surprised ones, since to be called a best friend by the Jade Leech? That was something else ( Malleus seemed quite happy at the title, his smile was quite giddy )

You laughed at his expression, not noticing Jade making his way to you. He gently took your hand and guided you to his mother : “And this, mother — he gestured to you with a smile — is my girlfriend” You blushed, embarrassed, before giving the woman a little wave, at which Jade chuckled once again “My, my, is this the little Shrimpy I've heard about from Floyd? He could never stop talking about how you have my son Jade over here wrapped around your fingers” Jade's eye twitched at hearing whatever his twin said to his mother, but kept his smile on anyway, “My name is Georgina Leech, it's wonderful to meet you dear” You gave her a small smile in return to hers “The pleasure is mine miss” The woman took your hands in hers and shaked them, making you laugh

This might be the best event you've been to yet

© writingbluerose 2025

[xjulixred45x]

Imagine if Parent! Yuu's kids are all the Yuus (aka Yuuken, Yuuka, Yuuta, Yuuna, etc) from the TWST manga?

(LOL WHEN THE YUU RUNS IN THE FAMILY)

BUT IMAGINE—

Imagine that all the Yuus are siblings, that one by one they appear in Twisted Wonderland as time goes by and have their adventures (in their respective episodes, the other siblings stop appearing or don't appear as much because they're looking for a way to get back home).

Yuuken, being the ultimate Mommas Boy, gives me great feelings of an older brother who takes care of his younger siblings, even a little too much. He's very protective of his parent (especially if his other parent isn't in the picture) and wants to be the man of the house and help them as much as he can.

Yuuuka is the one who tries to protect her parent in the most direct way. If you talk shit about her siblings or, God forbid, her mother/father/parent, you'll face a world of pain followed by the biggest burn of your life. But she's ironically sweet to Yuu! Parent. It's probably because of their perseverance and optimism that Yuuka is the way they are; she admire them so much.

Yuuta, my sweet boy, another mama's boy who went to work in an attempt to help out around the house and ease Yuu! Parent's burden, whether it be with work or learning housework to make the house less of a mess. Yuu!Parent is not only a successful parent of four children, but they don't lose their composure even though, socially speaking, they probably receive a lot of scrutiny for being a "soft(bad)" parent in Japonese eyes(especially for how they raise their daughters or being too soft with their sons). But they never give up. Yuuta wishes he were that resilient and tough. He's probably the most vocal about missing home and their mother/father/parent.

Yuuna loves Yuu!Parent! They're always front and center when she auditions for singing roles. They help her rehearse, they make her tasty food when she spends too much time practicing without leaving her room, they make her favorite meals when she gets rejected from a group she wanted to join. Yuu!parent is basically her rock. When she arrived at Twisted Wonderland, she was probably so excited to tell Yuu!parent about a possible success for once...

I like to think about how this could expand the Yuu dynamic, how tensions would increase as more Yuu arrive, how in certain tense moments, they end up saying harsh things or things they didn't mean, precisely because they're children who were torn from their home and can't help but get upset.

Not just for them, but for Yuu!parent.

They don't know that they're okay, they don't know that they're all there together or what the hell is going on. They don't even know! All they know is that their father/mother/parent is left ALONE in their world, perhaps even thinking they've been abandoned by their own children, and that HAUNTS THEM.

So, they triple their efforts to get back home, pester Crowley even more, investigate on their own—anything! Anything to get back home! ANYTHING TO GET BACK TO THEM!

Until one day, something changes. again.

The Yuus don't even think much of it when Crowley calls them into his office again; they're so tired from another all-night investigation.

So imagine their collective surprise when they walk in and see a VERY familiar face sitting in Crowley's office. Yuu!Parent.

They probably thought it was a hallucination from lack of sleep at first, until Yuu!Parent went straight to check on them, telling them how something super weird had happened with a carriage and the strange birdman who was giving them the creeps, how awful they look, etc. And they know it, this is real.

And the biggest, most necessary hug they could have happens, even if it's not how they wanted it. Finally, the months of anguish are over, they're finally together, finally everything is okay.

(Crowley repeatedly ruins the moment by saying how "kind he is." Don't worry, as soon as the Yuus tell YuuParent everything, they'll make Roast Chicken.)

Should I talk more about this concept?

________

(ESPAÑOL)

(LOL CUANDO EL YUU CORRE EN LA FAMILIA)

PERO IMAGINA—

Imagínate que todos los Yuus son hermanos, que uno a uno van apareciendo en Twisted Wonderland mientras va pasando el tiempo y tienen sus aventuras (de sus respectivos episodios, los otros hermanos dejan de aparecer o no aparecen tanto porque buscan la forma de volver a casa).

Yuuken siendo el Mommas Boy definitivio, me da unas grandes ibras de hermano mayor que cuida de sus hermanos menores, incluso un poco demasiado. Es muy protector de su madre (especialmente si su padre no esta en la foto) quiere ser el hombre de la casa y ayudarla lo mas que puede.

Yuuka es quien trata de proteger a su madre de la forma mas directa, si hablas mierda de sus hermanos o, dios lo prohíba, de su madre/padre, te enfrentaras a un mundo de dolor seguido de la quemada mas grande de tu vida. Pero es irónicamente dulce con Yuu! Parent. Probablemente sea por su actitud perseverante y optimismo que Yuuka es como es, los admira muchísimo.

Yuuta, mi dulce niño, otro niño de mama que se puso a trabajar en un intento de ayudar a la casa y aliviar la carga de Yuu! Parent, ya sea con el trabajo o aprender tareas domésticas para hacer la casa menos un desastre. Yuu!Parent no solo es un padre de 4 hijos exitosos, sino que no pierden la compostura pese a que, socialmente hablando, probablemente reciben mucho escrutinio por ser un padre muy “suave” (especialmente por como educa a sus hijas o es muy blando con sus hijos), pero nunca se rinde, Yuuta quisiera ser asi de resiliente y rudo. Probablemente es el más vocal con respecto a cómo extrañan casa y su madre/padre.

¡Yuuna ama a Yuu!Parent! ellos siempre están en primera fila cuando ella hace sus audiciones de cantante, le ayudan a ensayar, le hace comida sabrosa cuando pasa demasiado tiempo practicando y sin salir de su cuarto, le hace sus comidas favoritas cuando la rechazan de algún grupo que ella quería unirse, Yuu!parent es básicamente su roca, cuando llego a Twisted Wonderland probablemente estaba tan emocionada por decirle de un posible éxito a Yuu!Parent por una vez…

Me gusta pensar en cómo esto podría ampliar la dinámica de los Yuus, como las tenciones irían aumentando mientras mas Yuus van llegando, como en ciertos momentos de tensión se terminan diciendo cosas duras o que no querían decir, pero justamente porque son niños que fueron arrancados de su hogar y no pueden evitar angustiarse.

No solo por ellos, sino por Yuu!parent.

Ellos no saben que están bien, ellos no saben que están ahí todos juntos o que diablos están pasando ¡ni siquiera ellos saben! Lo único que saben es que su padre/madre quedo SOLO en su mundo, talvez incluso pensando que los abandonaron, y eso LES ATORMENTA.

Por lo mismo, triplican los esfuerzos para volver a casa, atosigan mas a Crowley, investigan por su cuenta ¡algo! ¡cualquier cosa para volver a casa! ¡CUALQUIER COSA PARA VOLVER CON ELLOS!

Hasta que un dia, algo cambia. Algo vuelve a cambiar.

Los Yuus ni siquiera piensan mucho cuando Crowley los llama a su oficina otra vez, están tan cansados por trasnocharse otra vez.

Por lo que imagina la sorpresa colectiva cuando entran y ven una cara MUY familiar sentándose en la oficina de Crowley. Yuu!Parent.

Probablemente al principio pensaron que era una alucinación por la falta de sueño, hasta que Yuu!Parent fue directamente a checarlos para ver si estaban bien, diciendo como había pasado algo súper raro con un carruaje y el extraño hombre pájaro que les daba escalofríos. Y lo saben, esto es verdad.

Y ocurre el abrazo mas grande y necesario que podrían tener, aun si no es como querían, finalmente se acabaron los meses de angustia, finalmente están juntos, finalmente todo está bien.

(Crowley para varias arruina el momento diciendo lo “amable que es”. No te preocupes, en cuanto los Yuus le cuenten a YuuParent todo, van a hacer Pollo asado).

¿deberia hablar mas de este concepto?

Shares, reblogs and comments are very welcome!

[fyuyushia]

Ruler!reader and Shadow monarch Sung Jinwoo guys....

In a last ditch attempt to save earth, one of the fragments of light(you) officially comes down to earth, hoping to save it from the calamities the monarchs caused. This was the second to the last attempt—there was no playing safe anymore. You had to take matters into your own hands because clearly what you and the other rulers have been doing all failed.

Sung Jinwoo just so happens to be standing at the right place at the right time and sees you falling from the sky. Ever the concerned citizen he is, he of course catches you. He doesn't even get the chance to think, only that oh no, this person's gonna die if they keep falling at this rate! So he catches you by instinct.

Did it hurt when you fell from heaven taken literally

You blink, surprised to see that you didn't just crash on the ground like you expected. How pleasant, you squirm, suddenly feeling the hands on you—one on your shoulder, the other below your knees. Keeping you up in a princess carry, you tilt your gaze up, surprised to meet concerned grey eyes meeting your stare.

However, it's not the fact that the man who caught you was conventionally attractive, or the fact that he was able to catch you with ease that piques your interest. It's the fragments of the fallen ruler you feel lurking beneath his shadows.

Before you even know it, you lean closer, welcoming the position. Your fingers trail from his neck to his chest, right where his heart is and rests there. You don't notice the way his body stiffens, the way his eyes narrow into slits as you continue with your motions, too focused on sensing the weak presence.

It's faint, barely noticeable. If it was anyone else they might've missed it, but it was you, so of course you didn't.

This man definitely had the remains of Ashborn within him.

You grin, chuckling to yourself. Perhaps this run through will prove different. With you on the ground, and this man with unbridled potential, if you could just unlock and help him become as strong as possible before the monarchs struck, then there might be hope for this ever so weak planet.

"uhm, can I help you?"

Sung Jinwoo with ruler!reader who now lives with him and his family because this ruler doesn't have anywhere to go and they get scammed every step they take, unaware of the way things go on Earth.

You're powerful, that's a relief—but that's expected because you were a ruler. Scraping money by dungeon raiding, he can't help but just sigh when he sees so many packages lined up in his house because you spend your money(which you earned from dungeon raiding) on practically everything.

Whilst he's helping you understand the way earth works, Jinah's there whenever you buy something, stopping you from splurging all your money in one day, acting as your financial consultant. His mother teaches you virtues, the beauty of humanity, and empathy. She's calm and level headed, inviting you to cook with her or simply indulge in peaceful moments with her.

You're clueless, fish out of water as you go by the days. Lucky for you, you have Ashborn's vessel and his family to help you adjust, lecturing you one scam at a time.

[genshinluvr]

The Boyfriend Brigade

Pairings: Various Love&Deepspace Men x reader

Summary: After being away on a solo mission for quite some time, you return to Linkon City feeling unwell. After failing to respond to text messages, you end up getting unexpected visitors and find yourself in a predicament.

Note: I had this fanfic in the drafts for months and couldn't finish it because of how busy I was ;v; but I finally got to finish it! The next update is another LADS update, but this time, it's a smut fic! I'm not sure if it will be separated by character or if all the men are involved in one smut fic. I'll probably have a spinning wheel choose for me. In case anyone is interested in joining, my Discord server is currently open. If you're interested in joining a small community of people who play LADS alongside Hoyoverse games, I'll provide the server link at the end of this fic. Anyway! I don't post anywhere else but on Tumblr (Genshinluvr), Ko-Fi (also Genshinluvr/Aaliah_exo), and AO3 (Aaliah_exo).

Warnings: Mother Nature comes to visit you unannounced, if that counts as one

Word Count: 8.2k

You lean against the tree behind you, trying not to collapse to the ground while in the middle of the woods of a foreign country. You’re exhausted, and things have not been slowing down for you. The metaflux levels are through the roof, and wanderers lurk in every corner, forcing you to stay on high alert (as if you weren’t on high alert already). During the first few weeks of your solo mission, you infiltrated Ever’s secret base two hundred meters from where you’re currently gathering intel on protocores and aether cores. 

Once you have gathered enough information and sent it to the Hunters Association, you continue with your solo mission: handling the wanderers and entering an area with a high protofield. Is it a smart idea to enter a protofield all alone? No, no, it’s not a bright idea, especially now that you’re dealing with endless hordes of wanderers in the woods, sniffing you out like a bloodhound. 

You’re not injured— or at least not horribly injured— but you are feeling under the weather. You barely have the chance to get some rest and sleep. You’re always on your feet, constantly looking over your shoulders to make sure that there aren’t any wanderers ready to strike while you’re trying to take a breather. After what felt like forever, it could be longer than you expected, but you digress— the protofield is stabilized, and you can finally rest after who knows how long. But before you can relax, you decide to return to Linkon City and report to Captain Jenna about your completed mission. On your flight back to Linkon City, you’re knocked out and sleep until one of the flight attendants (bless her heart) wakes you up from your slumber. 

You didn’t inform anyone of your return to Linkon, so you didn’t expect anyone to pick you up from the airport. Usually, it would be Zayne who picks you up from the airport, and sometimes it’s Sylus. So, here you are, sitting at the bus stop, waiting for the bus to arrive. 

Your eyelids feel heavy, and you can barely remain conscious. You lean against the bus stop, trying your best not to nod off. You pull your phone out from your pocket and turn it on. Once your phone finally has connection, a slew of notifications pop up on your screen. From text messages to phone calls to video calls, it just keeps popping up now that your phone has a decent connection after who knows how long. 

RAFAYEL:

“Miss Bodyguard, when are you going to be back from your dangerous solo mission? Personally, I don’t think you should be doing this mission alone, but that’s just me.”

“I don’t want to have an art exhibit without you present. You’re my number one supporter and my bodyguard! I can’t go anywhere without you by my side!” 

“Thomas is talking my ears off about it, and I’m trying everything I can to ignore him, but he’s  giving me this look.”

“Miss Bodyguardddddddd. When are you coming home? :(” 

“Are you back yet?”

SYULS:

“Kitten, I will be expecting you to return to Linkon City unscathed. Do not do anything reckless, alright? Always be two steps ahead of your enemies and know their weaknesses.” 

“Kick their asses, and don’t let them kick yours. Show them what I have taught you in the boxing ring.”

“I will see you soon, alright? I want you to return to me safe and sound. If anyone lays their hands on you, tell me who they are, and I’ll take care of everything.”

“Luke and Kieran keep pestering me about your return to the N109 Zone.”

“I found something interesting in Mephisto’s nest today. I believe these are your earrings and bracelets. [PHOTO ATTACHMENT] Mephisto loves shiny things, and he so happens to take a liking to your jewelry.”

ZAYNE:

“How is your mission coming along?”

“Are you resting? Make sure not to overexert yourself, and make sure to eat plenty of food.”

“It’s been a few days since I’ve heard from you. You are safe, right?”

“If you need any assistance, I am one phone call away.”

“Text me back when you get this message.”

XAVIER:

“Make sure not to storm into the protofield recklessly.”

“Let me know when your mission is completed. I want to be the first person you see when you return from your mission.”

“I made sure to water the plants on your balcony and organize the plushies in your room. They are waiting for your return, and I am waiting for your reply.”

“I hope you do not have to resort to this, but if you are in any danger and cannot complete your solo mission, don’t hesitate to call me for help. I will be there in a heartbeat.”

“It’s been a while since I sent my previous message, and I still haven’t heard back from you. Are you alright? Do you need me to step in to help you?”

Before you can unlock your phone to answer any of the text messages you have received, the screen suddenly goes black. You close your eyes and slump in your seat at the bus stop, realizing that you did not charge your phone at all before boarding the plane. Now that your phone is dead, you have no way to contact any of the four men to inform them of your return to Linkon City.

“This is fine,” You mutter, too exhausted to do anything. “I’ll message them once I charge my phone.”

When the bus finally arrives, you sit close to the back of the bus with your belongings and close your eyes. It’ll be a fifteen-minute drive to the nearest bus stop near your apartment, so you might as well sit back and get some shut-eye before arriving home. When the bus arrives at the bus stop a block from your apartment, you nearly miss your stop due to your nap. You stumble off the bus and trudge toward the direction of your apartment, still groggy from your nap on the bus. 

A small gust of air causes you to tense up and shiver. You hug yourself with one arm while dragging your luggage with the other, now realizing how cold you are. Despite feeling like a walking popsicle, your body is also covered in a thin layer of sweat. Dear goodness, you must look like a mess to whoever lays their eyes on you.

Everything is a blur after, and you find yourself collapsing on your couch after closing and locking your apartment door. Your luggage is abandoned next to the shoe rack, while one boot is beside the luggage, and the other lies beside your couch. You’re too tired to change out of your clothes and go to your bedroom. Your entire body is aching, and every limb feels like lead. You shift on the couch, digging your hands into your pockets to take your dead phone out of your pockets before tossing it onto the coffee table.

Once you get that out of the way, you curl up into a fetal position and hug your knees to your chest. Your body wracks with shivers when a wave of chills washes over your body as you slowly drift off to a dreamless sleep.

- Two Days Later -

Rafayel steps out of the elevator and turns to the right, walking towards a specific apartment. Before choosing to stop by his precious bodyguard’s apartment, Rafayel realizes that all of his messages are left on read. Now, Rafayel may not be much of a texter (only when it comes to other people who aren’t you), but seeing his messages being left on read with little to no response drives him up the wall. However, since you’re the cutest and most precious person in the world, Rafayel lets you off the hook. 

“She’s probably busy with the Hunters Association debriefing.” Is what Rafayel would say to himself, trying to bury the clenching feeling in his chest. But as time goes by, Rafayel will find himself opening the message between you and him, staring at the “READ” receipt at the bottom of his message— still no response from you, not even a phone call, voice message, video call, nothing. 

Rafayel doesn’t want to be seen as clingy, but he can’t help but crave for your attention, your voice, your laughter, your touch, you, you, you. Rafayel checks the tracking device he left on you (he did it for your safety) and sees that you’re at your apartment and not in some foreign country the last time he checked! Rafayel pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue, letting out a long exhale through his nose.

“I guess she wants me to be the one to stop by this time,” Rafayel mutters before standing up. “Thomas, I’m heading out. It seems like Miss Bodyguard wants me to stop by her place.”

Thomas looks up from his phone, watching the Lemurian man grab his coat and car keys. Before Thomas can say anything, Rafayel is already out the front door, closing the door behind him. Thomas sighs, shaking his head.

As Rafayel approaches closer to your apartment, Rafayel slowly stops in his tracks. Rafayel’s mood worsens after seeing familiar faces in front of your apartment door. Just when Rafayel thinks he’s going to be your first and only visitor after you return from your mission, three other men have the same plan in mind. Rafayel stops before the three men, sensing tension among the trio. 

Zayne chuckles dryly. “I see we all have the same intention,” Zayne mutters, his gaze flickering from Xavier and Sylus to Rafayel. “You three don’t need to be here. As her primary care physician, it is my duty to check up on her to make sure she’s okay.”

Xavier smiles at Zayne and crosses his arms over his chest. “Dr. Zayne, while I understand that you’re [Y/N]’s primary care physician, I’m her coworker and neighbor. I believe that I have every right to check up on her after not hearing back from her in a while.”

Zayne and Xavier continue to stare at each other; both men have fake smiles on their faces. Sylus chuckles, shaking his head while tapping on his temples as he watches the tension rise between your so-called coworker and primary care physician. 

Rafayel narrows his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest, puffing his chest out as he nods in Sylus’s direction. “And what about you?”

Sylus looks at Rafayel with amusement, pointing at himself. Rafayel nods, pressing his lips into a thin line as he waits for Sylus to respond. “Oh, [Y/N] and I are—” Sylus is cut off by the sound of footsteps approaching the door. The three men (Sylus, Xavier, and Zayne) take a step back, going silent as they try to hear other things coming from behind the door. Finally! Finally, you’re going to show your cute face to them all, reassuring them you’re okay and that you’re trying to recharge after a draining mission.

In a perfect world, that’s how everything will go down. In each man’s fantasy, they imagine you telling the other men to go home so you and he can spend time together after not seeing each other for a while. However, no one lives in a perfect world, no matter how much they hope. The doorknob wiggles, and a faint click and beep comes from the door. What everyone expects to see is you in a sleepy haze, answering the door in your cozy pajamas with an extreme bedhead, rubbing your eyes, and yawning. What they all did not expect to see is—

“Hello there! Is there anything I can help you all with?” A boy-next-door voice asks.

— A man in his mid-twenties answering your door… the very same door that belongs to your apartment. The man has black hair and French lilac with a hint of rose gold accents in his eyes, and he’s tall, perhaps the same height as Sylus. Maybe a little shorter than the Onychinus leader. Zayne tenses up the minute he and the mysterious black-haired man lock eyes. 

Shit. They didn’t get the wrong apartment, did they? Rafayel quickly glances at the apartment number above the door to make sure he (and the others) didn’t get the wrong apartment, but it’s the correct apartment, and Rafayel can see your signature furniture behind the man’s shoulders.

A look of surprise flashes over the man’s face before being replaced by a wide smile, and he crosses his arms over his chest, leaning against the doorframe of your apartment. “Zayne! It’s been a while since we’ve seen each other!” The man says.

Rafayel’s eyes dart between the two black-haired men, looking at them incredulously. “You two know each other!?” Rafayel blurts, grabbing Zayne and the mysterious black-haired man’s attention.

“Of course! We've known each other since we were children,” the black-haired man replies. “Isn’t that right, Zayne?” He smiles, tilting his head to the side as he waits for Zayne’s response.

Zayne nods. “That is correct. Caleb and I have known each other since we were children.”

Silence falls over the five men, no one saying a single thing. Rafayel puffs his cheeks out and sighs, crossing his arms over his chest while leaning on one leg before switching to the other. This Caleb guy is close friends with your primary care physician, but what is Caleb’s relationship with you? Surely you’re not dating this man, are you? Could he be your brother, by chance?

Xavier is the first person to break the silence. “If you don’t mind me asking, why are you in [Y/N]’s apartment?”

A look of surprise flashes over Caleb’s face. Caleb smiles and stands straight, propping both hands on his hips. “I’m here to take care of [Y/N]. I messaged her not long ago to let her know that I’m in Linkon, but she never replied. So, I took that as an opportunity to stop by her apartment to check up on her,” Caleb replies.

Sylus raises his eyebrows at Caleb’s reply, eyeing the man from head to toe— almost as if he’s sizing Caleb up. “How did you enter [Y/N]’s apartment? You didn’t happen to, oh, I don’t know, break into her apartment while she’s asleep, did you?” Sylus asks, narrowing his eyes at the black-haired man.

Caleb raises his hand before digging one hand into the pocket of his jeans and pulling out a key. “Me? Breaking into [Y/N]’s apartment? I would never,” Caleb rolls his eyes. “And for your information, she gave me a spare key a while back.”

Sylus briefly glances at the key in Caleb’s hand before continuing what he’s doing prior: sizing Caleb up (or at least that’s what it looks like to others around Sylus). The more Caleb stares at Sylus, the more he notices that Sylus’s eyes have a faint glow. Caleb breaks eye contact with the white-haired man before laughing bitterly.

“I assume you all want to check up on [Y/N]. I’m afraid I cannot let you all into her apartment as of now due to her current condition,” Caleb states, now crossing his arms over his chest.

That catches the four men’s attention immediately. Not only does it bother them that they’re not allowed to see you after not seeing you in a while, but the vagueness of Caleb’s response irks them to no end. 

Xavier takes a step forward, his eyebrows furrowing. “What do you mean by her current condition? She’s not hurt, is she?” Xavier frowns, his heart pounding in his chest.

Caleb sighs, unsure of whether he should explain the situation to the three unfamiliar men and Zayne. Residents of the apartment weave through the four men in the hallway to get to their apartment and the elevator, grumbling about people taking up space and being inconsiderate. Caleb presses his lips into a thin line before gesturing for the four men to enter the apartment so they wouldn’t block the hallway for the residents. 

After everyone is in the apartment, Caleb closes and locks the apartment door. Zayne, Sylus, Xavier, and Rafayel each take their shoes off and put on the spare slippers on the shoe rack. Caleb observes each man closely, mildly miffed over the fact that they know about the (now) unspoken rule when entering your apartment: shoes are to be taken off and put on house slippers. Everyone slowly migrates to the living room, some sitting on your couch while others refuse to sit. 

Caleb takes a deep breath. “[Y/N]’s sick,” Caleb says. Caleb looks at each person’s face to see their reaction.

The frown on Zayne’s face deepens as he crosses his arms over his chest, eyebrows furrowing with worry. “How long has she been sick?” Zayne demands, his eyes occasionally lingering in the direction of your bedroom. 

“I don’t know how long she’s been like this, but whenever I stopped by not long ago, she was unconscious on the couch. I carried her to her room and made sure she changed into loose and comfortable clothes. Thankfully, she took her medication when I handed her cold medicine. However, it seems her sickness has gotten worse overnight.”

Rafayel’s eyes widen with disbelief and horror. “Worse?! What do you mean by worse? Miss Bodyguar— [Y/N]’s not going to die, is she!?”

Zayne pinches the bridge of his nose, shaking his head after hearing Rafayel’s ridiculous question. Xavier and Sylus look at Rafayel with a questioning gaze while Caleb chuckles with amusement, shaking his head. 

Xavier crosses his arms over his chest, leaning back against the couch. “If she’s sick, then why didn’t she let any of us know about her condition?”

Sylus looks at the coffee table and sees your phone lying face down. “She’s either too drained to reply to our messages to inform us of her whereabouts or…” Sylus trails off, reaching for your phone. Sylus presses the button on the side of your phone, expecting your phone to light up. But alas, your phone doesn’t turn on, even if he presses down the button for ten seconds. “She forgot to charge her phone, and her phone is dead.”

Zayne turns toward Caleb and says, “As her primary care physician, it’s my job to check up on her.”

Caleb holds his hands up in a surrender gesture. “I know that, Zayne. I’m not stopping you from checking up on [Y/N]. She’s still sleeping in her room. I tried getting her to eat something, but she refused. She only took cold medicine before going back to sleep,” Caleb says, frowning.

Caleb gestures for Zayne to follow him before turning around and walking towards your closed bedroom door. Caleb grabs the door handle and quietly opens the door. Zayne and Caleb peek their heads into your bedroom to see you out cold on your bed, buried under mountains of blankets. Caleb opens the door wider before entering your room, with Zayne following close behind. The other three men stand by the doorway, eyes glued on your unconscious body.

“If [Y/N] wanted something to warm her up as she sleeps, she could’ve just asked me,” Rafayel mutters, leaning against the doorframe. 

Zayne kneels at the edge of your bed, eyes scanning your face. He presses the back of his hand against your forehead. You sigh with relief when you feel something cool press up against your hot forehead. You subconsciously lean into Zayne’s cool touch, wanting more of his touch to cool you down.

“You said she hasn’t eaten anything, correct?” Zayne mutters, looking at Caleb.

Caleb nods wordlessly, his eyes never leaving your face. “She has not, unfortunately. Again, I tried to convince her to eat the congee I’ve cooked, but she just wanted to sleep,” Caleb replies, now standing beside Zayne. 

The chatter around you slowly brings you back to consciousness. You crack your eyes open and look around your bedroom with bleary eyes. You mumble incoherent words, grabbing the attention of the five men around you. Upon seeing you awake, the men remaining at the doorway of your bedroom rush over to where you lie. Your body heat and the mountains of blankets over your body cause you to squirm as you struggle to sit up and push the blankets off your body. 

Xavier and Zayne help you sit on your bed while Rafayel fluffs the pillow behind you, cushioning your back against the bed frame. Sylus hands you a cup of water to drink after seeing you rub your throat while wincing. You weakly smile at Sylus before taking huge gulps of water. 

Xavier chuckles, sitting beside you, and tucks your hair behind your ear. “Careful, now. You wouldn’t want to choke, now, would you?” Xavier murmurs, wiping the droplet of water from the corner of your lips after you downed the cup of water. 

You shakily place the cup on your nightstand, leaning your head against the wall, and stare at your lap. No one says anything as they stare at you, waiting for you to say or do something. You rub your eyes with your knuckles, still groggy from your sleep. It feels nice to finally be home after a long mission, but you’re sick, and you feel like you got hit by a bullet train.

“Are you hungry, pipsqueak?” Caleb asks, rubbing your head affectionately before fixing your bedhead. 

You shake your head. “No, I’m okay.” You lie.

Before anyone can say anything, the silence is broken by a loud rumbling in your stomach. You clear your throat and hug your pillow to your chest, ignoring the gnawing feeling in your gut. You’re starving, but you don’t want to eat. 

Sylus frowns, crossing his arms over his chest as he scrutinizes you. “Sweetie, just because you’re sick and tired doesn’t mean you should starve yourself,” Sylus lectures you, shaking his head with disapproval. “If you don’t eat anything, how else will you recover from your illness, hm?”

You stare at the Onychinus leader with a visible pout on your face. The way you stare at Sylus makes him feel weak at the knees. You resemble a stray kitten found in a downpour— pathetic but cute. 

“Maybe she doesn’t want to eat congee. Is it possible she wants to eat something else?” Rafayel mutters, stroking his chin. “Hey, cutie. What do you want to eat? Definitely not boring old congee, right?” Rafayel jokes.

Caleb raises an eyebrow at Rafayel’s comment, turning to you. You press your lips into a thin line and think for a minute. You don’t mind eating congee since it's easy to stomach, but you’re not entirely sure if you want to eat the same thing over and over until you’re no longer sick. The congee Caleb makes is delicious, but you want something new and easy to eat, similar to congee, but without eating congee itself. 

“How about I make you some chicken soup? It has plenty of nutrients your body needs in order to recover from an illness.” Xavier says, grabbing hold of your hand and gently squeezing them.

Hearing Xavier offer to cook you something to eat nearly has you in tears. It’s not like you don’t want Xavier to cook you food—actually, it is that. You love Xavier and his willingness to cook something for you to eat, but cooking isn’t his best suit. Xavier looks at you worriedly after not hearing a response from you. The puppy dog eyes Xavier has on his face is killing you.

Zayne clears his throat, sighing to himself. “Chicken soup is a good option if you don’t want to eat congee. Caleb can cook the chicken soup while I get your medication. Xavier, Rafayel, and Sylus can keep you entertained.”

You nearly cry in relief when Zayne says it’s going to be Caleb who’s going to cook the chicken soup for you to eat (sorry, Xavier). You nod, immediately agreeing to Zayne’s suggestion. After Zayne and Caleb leave your room, you lie back down and hug your pillow. You notice Sylus slip out of your bedroom for a moment, but instead of heading to your living room, he goes straight to your bathroom.

Rafayel pouts, staring at you like an angry toddler. “You don’t want to cuddle me, cutie? After not seeing each other for such a long time, you don’t want to cuddle to make up for the lost time?” Rafayel grumbles, his bottom lip jutting out as he plops down at the edge of your bed.

Xavier glares at Rafayel before looking elsewhere. “It’s not a good idea to cuddle with someone while they’re sick. [Y/N] still has a fever, and cuddling her will only add to the discomfort,” Xavier lectures Rafayel.

Rafayel rolls his eyes before lying down on you, his head resting on your lap as he grabs your hand, completely disregarding Xavier’s lecture and glare. Rafayel laces his fingers with yours and presses a gentle kiss on your knuckles. “Nothing is going to stop me from cuddling with you, cutie. Unless you demand personal space, then it’s too bad because I’m here to stay,” Rafayel states, smirking over in Xavier’s direction.

Xavier’s nostrils flare, and his hands clenched into tight fists. “You—”

“Now, now, gentlemen. I believe now is not the right time to be bickering with one another. You two will only make [Y/N]’s headache worse the more you argue with one another. We wouldn’t want that, now would we?” Sylus clicks his tongue with disapproval as he exits your bathroom with a wet cloth in his hand. 

Sylus sits at the edge of your bed near your head, brushing your damp hair away from your face and forehead. You stare at Sylus, watching him fold the small hand towel in half before placing the cool, wet towel over your forehead. 

You sigh with contentment. “That feels really nice,” you murmur, closing your eyes. “Thank you, Sylus.”

“Anything for you, kitten. Now, get some rest. I’ll wake you up when it’s time for you to eat,” Sylus murmurs, leaning down to kiss your cheek.

Rafayel and Xavier stare at Sylus with their mouths agape and eyebrows furrowing. Sylus chuckles and shakes his head at their reactions before getting up from your bed. “Make sure to behave, you two. You wouldn’t want another lecture from Dr. Zayne and Caleb, now, would you?”

Rafayel and Xavier glance at each other from the corner of their eyes before watching the leader of Onychinus peer from your bedroom door to see what Zayne and Caleb are doing. You pull the blanket up to your chin and slowly fall into a dreamless sleep.

- 40 Minutes Later -

“How in the world did she fall asleep already?”

“Yeah, she can be a pretty heavy sleeper when she’s sick.” You hear Caleb laugh.

Sylus sighs. “Sweetie, you need to wake up and eat. You can’t skip your meals while you’re sick.”

The voices around you continue to chatter, making it nearly impossible to fall asleep, but not impossible enough to stop you from doing so. You’re not sure how long you’ve been asleep, but when you open your eyes, you find yourself sitting on the couch with the blanket draped over your thighs. 

You smack your lips together, rubbing your eyes with your knuckles, almost struggling to lift your arms. You furrow your eyebrows, annoyed you can’t get your limbs to function. Your head is resting on the couch cushion, nearly lulling you to sleep again. 

“Oh, no, you don’t! Don’t fall asleep on us now, cutie.” Rafayel protests, rushing over to your side and gently patting and poking your cheeks to keep you conscious.

You softly whine, struggling to grab hold of Rafayel’s hand. You open your eyes, only to see how close Rafayel’s face is to yours. You stare at him, confused. Rafayel sighs in relief and slowly backs away, now sitting beside you. Your head droops forward as you try to fight off the need to sleep. How in the world did you get on this couch?

Xavier kneels beside you, grabbing your hand. “You don’t remember what happened before you were carried to the living room?” Xavier asks, staring into your bleary eyes.

You shake your head. “Not really.”

Caleb places a food tray on your lap and then sets down a bowl of chicken soup and cutlery in front of you. The bowl has shredded chicken with chicken broth, chopped carrots, and celery. The aroma of the soup is so delicious that it causes your stomach to let out a growl that’s loud enough for everyone in the room to hear.

Zayne sits to the right of you. “Do you want to take your medication now, or do you want to take it after you finish your lunch?” Zayne asks, holding up the bottle of cold medicine.

You stare at the bottle, hesitant about taking the medication again. You should really get new cold medicine because the one Zayne is holding makes you feel nauseous every time you take it. Could it be because you took the medication on an empty stomach? You point at the chicken soup before scooping the broth and shredded chicken with the spoon, and begin eating the soup that Caleb cooked for you to eat.

When you pick up a piece of carrot with your chopsticks, Zayne visibly narrows his eyes at the orange vegetable and watches you bite the soft vegetable. Caleb chuckles, shaking his head at Zayne’s reaction to seeing a carrot.

“You still don’t like carrots, Zayne?” Caleb teases, crossing his arms over his chest.

Zayne clears his throat, almost rolling his eyes. “What about you? Do you still hate cilantro?” Zayne mutters, looking at Caleb from the corner of his eye.

Rafayel, Xavier, and Sylus glance at each other while internally questioning the strange interaction between Zayne and Caleb. Caleb and Zayne said they were “childhood friends,” but the way they’re acting with each other says the complete opposite. The others around Caleb and Zayne can almost visibly see electricity spark between the two men, the more they shoot not-so-subtle glares at each other. If this continues, the two could burn down your (and Xavier’s) apartment building.

You set your chopsticks down on the bowl when you feel a sharp pain in your lower abdomen. You try to ignore the pain and grab the spoon, taking small sips of the chicken broth, hoping the warm soup will ease the pain in your abdomen. Your stomach isn’t hurting; in fact, it hasn’t been hurting since you returned to Linkon City. You start listing the possibilities of what can make your abdomen hurt while sipping your soup.

You haven’t eaten much since your return to Linkon City, so the possibility of eating something “bad” is out of the question. But that’s stomach pain, not lower abdominal pain. Wait— When was the last time you had your period? 

Xavier squeezes your hand, pulling you out of your thoughts. “What’s wrong?” He whispers, leaning over and staring at you intently. “Do you not like the soup? Would you prefer for me to cook you something instead?”

You blink at Xavier, slowly shaking your head. “The soup is fine, but…” You trail off, feeling the familiar pain return. “I don’t think I’ll be able to finish this soup.” 

The men around you peek into the bowl to see how much soup you have left, and you barely make a dent in the soup. You’ve probably eaten three slices of carrots and four shredded chicken and sipped the broth around two or three times, but either way, you’re not even close to finishing the chicken soup that Caleb made for you.

“Can you try to finish at least half of the soup? You don’t have to finish the entire thing, but half would suffice,” Sylus suggests, gazing at you worriedly. 

You stare at the soup, sighing. It’s not like you’re full, it’s just that the cramps you’re suddenly feeling are making it hard for you to want to finish your food. The longer you stare at your food, the more you can feel holes being burned into the back of your head from how hard the five men around you are staring at you.

You grab the food tray and place it on the ground before getting up from the couch. Just when you thought the cramps you were feeling a moment ago were bad, they just got worse the minute you stood up. You clear your throat, acting like you’re not being stabbed in the abdomen over and over by a box cutter. You point to the bathroom, letting them know you’ll be right back before sprinting away. During your journey to the bathroom, you feel the familiar sense of dread fall over you when, you’re assuming, blood starts gushing out of your lady bits. 

You accidentally slam the bathroom door shut behind you as you rush to the toilet, pull your pajama pants and underwear down. You grit your teeth and silently groan at the sight. That’s going to leave an ugly stain. 

“Maybe you’re the reason why I’m sick,” you grumble, poking at where your uterus is located. “Dropping by for a week-long visit with no notice ahead of time is absolutely foul.”

You remain on the toilet, letting the blood drip out of you as you wipe the blood from your panties. Well, at least you didn’t bleed through and stain your pajama pants. You reach into the sink cabinet, searching for your pads and tampons, only to find nothing. Your heart falls into the pit of your stomach, causing you to lurch forward on the toilet, peeking your head into the cabinet to double-check if you may have misplaced it somewhere.

You shake your head, in denial. “Fuck. Please tell me I didn’t forget to restock my pads and tampons,” you whisper.

“Everything alright in there, pipsqueak?” Caleb knocks on the door.

You close the sink cabinet with silent defeat, flush the toilet after wiping (a lot of wiping), fold toilet paper, and place it in your underwear as a temporary pad. You pull up your pants and underwear, waddling to the door. You crack the door open, peeking out to see Caleb and the others standing outside the bathroom door. 

You press your lips into a thin line and proceed to push past them, walking straight to your closet to pull out clean clothes to change into after your shower. It’s probably not the best idea to shower while you’re sick, but right now, it’s very much needed. You stop in your tracks, sighing. You still need to restock pads and tampons.

“What’s wrong, sweetie? You look distraught,” Sylus says, approaching you.

God, he’s so tall.

“Huh?” You blink at the Onychinus leader owlishly.

Sylus smirks, letting out an amused laugh, and crosses his arms over his chest. “You really are out of it, aren’t you?” He teases, now standing in front of you, and presses his hands against your forehead. “You shouldn’t be showering when you have a fever, kitten.”

You frown at Sylus, feeling all sorts of emotions hitting you like a brick wall. You’re angry that your period started, you’re also sad because you completely forgot to restock your tampons and pads, you’re humiliated that you stained your panties with your blood and now have to use toilet paper as a temporary pad, but you’re so tired and in so much pain.

You want to cry, but you also want to scream and obliterate the entire planet. Of all people, why you and why now? Sylus tilts his head to get a better look at your face; his gaze softens when he sees the look on your face. Before Sylus can say anything, you drop your clothes and bury your face into his chest, sighing. 

Rafayel takes a cautious step forward. “What’s wrong, cutie? It’s okay if you’re too tired to finish your soup. We won’t force you to eat,” Rafayel says softly.

You press your cheek against Sylus’s chest, peeking at Rafayel and the others with a pout. God, this is making you feel even worse. You shake your head, closing your eyes. You shudder, feeling like a stepped ketchup packet.

Xavier rubs your back, eyebrows knitted together with worry. “Please tell us what’s wrong. You seem to be doing far worse before you went to the bathroom,” Xavier pleads, pulling you away from Sylus.

“You guys know that I’m sick, right?” You mutter, sitting on the edge of your bed. 

The men around you nod, slowly migrating over to your bed.

You sigh, rubbing your eyes with your knuckle. “Well, turns out, I’m also menstruating! Yippee! Hooray! Someone please kill me and end my suffering.” You plop over on your bed and rub your temples. “Oh, and to top it all off, I completely forgot to restock my tampons and pads! Things just keep getting better and better!”

You grab your pillow, tempted to take yourself out of your misery. Instead, you hold yourself back and hug it against your chest, zoning out. Caleb makes a noise, grabbing your attention. You look over at Caleb to see him staring at his phone, stroking his chin.

“That makes sense on why I’ve been getting notifications about your menstruation cycle nearing,” Caleb says nonchalantly. 

You stare at Caleb owlishly. “You keep track of my period?” You ask with millions of questions running through your mind rapidly.

“I do too,” Rafayel says, waving his phone. “In fact, I just got notified that your period should be starting sometime this week, but it looks like it starts today! I should mark it.”

You sit up, ignoring the feeling of your blood staining your temporary “pad.” Wait, since when did they keep track of your period? 

Noticing the clueless look on your face, Zayne pats your head with a small smile. “In case you forgot, which, judging by the look on your face, you did, you wanted me to keep track of your cycle. By the looks of it, it seems like I’m not the only one who’s tracking your cycle,” Zayne says, looking over at the others.

You stare at the five men blankly, with your mouth agape, when the others show you their phone screens. You look at the ceiling, trying to recall the time when you asked them to keep track of your period. Well, at least you won’t have to worry about forgetting your impending cycle when you have five people who will notify you about it before it happens. Today, however, is different. No warning signs at all— well, maybe you getting sick is the warning of your impending menstrual cycle, and having no pads and tampons stocked in your bathroom is the worst situation to be in. 

Xavier strokes your hair. “If you want, you can go take a shower while we go to the store to buy you some pads and tampons,” Xavier murmurs, gazing at you with those adorable puppy dog eyes of his.

“If we do that, someone’s going to need to stay back and keep watch of [Y/N],” Caleb interjects, crossing his arms over his chest. “I know [Y/N] long enough to know what products she uses.”

You groan and flop over on your stomach. You can’t believe Caleb wants someone to babysit you while they go out to buy you menstrual products. You’re an adult, you can be left alone in your apartment while they’re out shopping at the nearest store. It’s not like you will bleed out and die if they leave you all by yourself. Plus, this isn’t your first rodeo as a menstruating woman, a hunter to be exact. 

After convincing all five of your lovely guests to let you be alone in your apartment while they go out to restock your menstrual products, you find yourself sitting in the shower, staring at the tiles. You watch the blood and shampoo trickle into the drain, wincing when another wave of cramps hits you. You lean against the shower wall, questioning everything. You have no idea how long you’ve been in the shower, but you truly hope that Caleb, Zayne, Xavier, Rafayel, and Sylus return before you’re done taking a shower.

Meanwhile…

Zayne walks to the cash register with three boxes of pads in one hand and a box of dessert from the store’s bakery in the other. Zayne stops in his tracks when he sees the other four, raising an eyebrow at them as they approach the cardiac surgeon. 

“Five boxes of tampons! [Y/N] won’t have to worry about running out of menstrual products for the next few months!” Rafayel says, looking smug.

Xavier scratches his head, holding up four boxes of both pads and tampons, each one different from the other. “I bought one of each for [Y/N]. If I remember correctly, she said her period flows tend to be different and unpredictable each month and day.”

The others nod and murmur with approval, earning a shy yet satisfied smile from Xavier. Everyone turns to look at Caleb, your childhood friend and Zayne’s childhood and maybe current love rival. 

Caleb laughs, shaking his head. “Wow, all of you went all out. I, on the other hand, got her the period essentials,” he says, holding up a shopping basket that contains pads, tampons, a couple of your favorite snacks, a heatable teddy bear, and a soft throw blanket. 

Zayne hums, mentally critiquing Caleb’s cart. Despite there being differences between Zayne and Caleb, Zayne approves of Caleb’s cart. Everyone turns to look at Sylus, who came empty-handed. Everyone’s silently judging the leader of Onychinus. Sylus chuckles, tapping on his temples before crossing his arms over his chest.

“While you all were shopping around, I put in a bulk order of pads, tampons, and wipes that will be delivered to [Y/N]’s apartment. It should be there by the time we return to her apartment,” Sylus says, glancing at the watch around his wrist.

Rafayel looks at Sylus with wide eyes, a mix of horror and awe. “Bulk order?! Are you implying [Y/N] is going to get warehouse-level type of shipments to her apartment?” Rafayel asks.

“Yes, because I don’t want her to worry about having to run back to the store to restock her menstrual products,” Sylus says nonchalantly, propping his hands on his hips. 

Caleb scrutinizes Sylus, propping one hand on his hip. “Where did you get the money to do all of this, Sylus?”

Sylus smiles, waving off the skeptical looks thrown his way. “I’m just a fruit vendor with a very successful business, that is all.”

- 15 Minutes Later -

You shut off the water and grab your towel, wrapping it around your body. You stand in the shower, debating whether you should step out and get dressed or wait for the others to return with pads and tampons. A knock on the bathroom door interrupts your thoughts, making you nearly cry out in relief. Oh, thank goodness you won’t have to make a temporary pad out of toilet paper!

You leave the shower and walk to the door, unlocking it. You crack the door open and take a peek. Zayne, Caleb, Rafayel, and Xavier are holding bags of pads and tampons. No Sylus in sight. 

Noticing your questioning gaze, Zayne gestures to the door leading to the living room. “Sylus is stocking your storage room. You’ll understand when you’re done with your shower,” Zayne says. 

You sigh in relief. You thanked the four men before grabbing a random bag from one of their hands, closing the door, and getting dressed. After changing and securing your underwear, you unlock and open the bathroom door. Caleb helps you with restocking the pads and tampons in your bathroom while Xavier and Rafayel help Zayne with throwing the boxes away.

“Where is Sylus?” You mutter, closing the sink cabinet door.

Caleb shrugs. “Probably still stocking up the storage room,” Caleb replies. 

Caleb wraps his arm around your shoulders before leaving the bathroom with you. When you and Caleb step into the living room, you stop in your tracks when you see Xavier, Zayne, and Rafayel helping Sylus stock your apartment storage room. You look at Caleb, who shrugs in response to your questioning gaze. 

You leave Caleb’s side, approaching the four men while trying to peek from their shoulders to see what they’re doing. Xavier and Rafayel move out of the way for you to look; your eyes nearly pop out of your skull after seeing your storage room, once empty, now completely full of boxes of pads, tampons, and wet wipes.

You look at Sylus, who reminds you of a smug cat showing his owner his successful hunt. “This was your doing, wasn’t it?” You ask.

“Well, of course it is, sweetie. I don’t want you to worry about restocking your menstrual products for the next few months. If you happen to use up the entire stock, then you can always let me know, and I will have them restocked in no time,” Sylus says.

Next few months?! You look back at the storage room, filled to the brim with boxes of pads, tampons, and wipes. Maybe it’s your period that’s making you emotional, or the fact that these men care about you so much that they would go out of their way to buy as many boxes of pads and tampons for you, you find it very touching. You can’t help but tear up at the sweet gesture, causing mass panic among the five men.

“Cutie, why are you crying?! You’re not in pain, are you!?” Rafayel asks, grabbing you by the shoulders and staring at you with pure panic.

You laugh and cover your face, bending over to avoid their worried stares. Rafayel looks at the others, unsure of what to do aside from pulling you into his arms and cradling you, patting your back. You wipe the tears running down your cheeks and let yourself loosen up in Rafayel’s arms, sighing.

“What do you want to do now, pipsqueak? Do you want to finish your food now or later?” Caleb trails off, stroking your hair.

You continue clinging to Rafayel, peeking over at the untouched (and most likely cold) soup. “Can we watch a movie first? I’m not really in the mood to eat right now. Maybe I’ll be hungry after we finish a movie,” you mutter, peeking at Caleb and the others.

Each man agreed to your proposal and began setting the living room up for the impromptu movie night. When everyone starts to settle down for the movie, they all leave space for you to sit next to them—lots of space. You prop your hands on your hips, unsure of where to sit, while these men subtly glare at each other. 

“Can you guys scoot a little closer?” You ask, gesturing for everyone to move in.

Caleb, Sylus, Zayne, Xavier, and Rafayel reluctantly scoot closer to each other. When they stop to look at you, you shake your head with disapproval and continue to gesture for them to move closer. Once they’re finally sitting side by side, thighs touching, you nod with approval. You grab the throw blanket that Caleb bought for you and drape the blanket over their laps, ignoring the confused stares thrown your way. You grab a plushie that works as a pillow and place it on Sylus’s lap. You walk to the light switch, turn the living room lights off before returning to where the others are waiting for you, still confused about what you’re plotting. On your way back, you grab the spare plush blanket that hangs from the armrest of the sofa. This is probably the most you’ve moved around since returning from your solo mission. 

You briefly sit on Zayne’s lap before lying down on everyone’s lap. If these men want to fight over who gets to sit beside you while watching the movie, you might as well make them your bed. You lay your head on the plushie pillow on Sylus’s lap, draping your blanket over your body.

Rafayel frowns. “Hey, how come I’m the only one with the short end of the stick?” Rafayel mutters, lightly tickling your feet, making you jolt.

You peek at Rafayel with a playful glare. “Don’t worry, Rafayel. I’ll be switching positions when we start watching another movie after this one,” you reply, getting comfortable. 

About twenty minutes into the movie, you slowly start to doze off. There are many times when you try to force yourself to stay awake during the first few minutes of the movie. But the more the movie drags on, you can’t help but slowly fall asleep. You’re so comfortable: fresh out of the shower, wearing cozy pajamas, lying on top of Sylus, Caleb, Zayne, Xavier, and Rafayel’s lap with a blanket over you. 

You don’t mind spending your vacation and sick days like this as long as you’re surrounded by the people who cherish you and care about you. Right when you succumb to your slumber, you feel someone press a kiss on your head, and more kisses soon follow after the first.

Note: I can't believe that this is my second fanfic for Love&Deepspace and the next fic is going to be smut 😭 One of my ideas for the smut was going to be based on the Tomorrow Catch-22 memories, but then that (the fic) ended up being the complete opposite of the event and the memories. So, I'm probably going to scrap that idea and come up with a new one for the upcoming smut-fic for my LADS series. If you're interested in joining my Discord server, the invite to my Discord server can be found [HERE]! The Discord server invite links will be different every time I post a new fanfic, and these links have expiration dates. It's a relatively chill server, which I like because the server nearly crashed when it was first created. Anyway, to all my new and returning readers, keep in mind that I ONLY post on my Tumblr (Genshinluvr), Ko-Fi (Genshinluvr/Aaliah_exo), and my AO3 (Aaliah_exo)! Nowhere else except Tumblr and AO3!

Read more of my works on my Grand Masterlist, which contains every masterlist I have created! Maybe support me by tipping me on Ko-Fi or by reblogging my fanfics! ^^ I will also be posting exclusive fanfics on Ko-Fi as well very soon! I might post all of my stories there, too, but who knows. You can also tip me on Tumblr if you'd like as a way to show support! ^^

[mahalachives]

Part 9: Shadows and Secrets

Azriel x f!reader

Genre: fated mates, rom-com, crack humor, eventual angst, eventual smut

Summary: Azriel never expected to finally meet his mate and to be… this.

A walking disaster with a talent for tripping over air, an uncanny ability to charm even the grumpiest Illyrian, and a knack for throwing herself headfirst into situations that require his immediate intervention.

She is warmth where he is shadow, laughter where he is silence. And worst of all? She makes him smile without trying.

Azriel, Are you Okay? - Masterlist

The dream always began the same way.

A small wooden cabin, nestled deep in a forest far from any court. The perpetual scent of pine and moss, the constant drip of rain on the roof.

Isolation that seemed to stretch forever in all directions.

In the dream, you were a child again, no more than six or seven. Your small hands worked methodically, stoking the hearth fire as winter winds howled outside. You prepared a simple stew in a dented pot, the steam rising in lazy spirals.

She lay on her bed, your mother, staring at the ceiling, as she had for days. Her once vibrant eyes hollow, her cheeks sunken. This wasn't illness.

This was something deeper, a wound in her spirit that never seemed to heal.

"Mother," your child self whispered, "I made dinner."

No response. Just that vacant stare, tears occasionally sliding down her temples to disappear into her hair.

You placed the wooden bowl beside her bed, knowing it would remain untouched. Just as yesterday's had. And the day before that.

"I'll leave it here," you said, your small voice almost swallowed by the emptiness of the cabin. "For when you're hungry."

Loneliness wrapped around you like a physical cloak, heavy and suffocating.

Through the window, you watched snowflakes dance in the darkness, deepening your isolation. No one would travel these woods in such weather. No one would find your cabin.

No one would find you.

Then came the voices, whispers that seemed to seep from the very walls of the cabin. Words you couldn't quite make out, meanings that skittered away when you tried to focus on them.

Strange images flashed. Your reflection in the window glass, eyes shimmering with an odd light. Your mother suddenly sitting up, panic lending her strength where grief had stolen it, grabbing your shoulders with desperate hands.

Words you couldn't remember upon waking, a promise you didn't understand.

You jolted awake, a gasp catching in your throat, but the sound was muffled against warm skin and solid muscle.

Disoriented, you blinked in the pre dawn darkness, momentarily confused by the weight across your waist, the unfamiliar heat surrounding you. Then recognition settled in, along with immediate comfort.

Azriel.

His arm was draped possessively around your middle, his chest pressed against your back, his wings partially unfurled to cocoon you both in living shadow and warmth. His breathing was deep and even, fanning against your neck in a rhythm that normally would have lulled you back to sleep.

But the dream lingered, its ghostly fingers still clutching at your mind.

You shifted carefully, not wanting to wake him, but of course he sensed the change instantly. Azriel had spent centuries honing his awareness, training his body to register the slightest disturbance even in sleep.

"What is it?" His voice was rough with sleep, yet quiet in the darkness. The arm around your waist tightened slightly, instinctively protective.

"Nothing," you whispered back, trying to keep your voice steady. "Just a strange dream."

You felt him shift behind you, propping himself up on one elbow to look down at your face.

Though the room was dark, you knew he could see you perfectly. Those Illyrian senses missed nothing, especially not the rapid flutter of your pulse, the lingering tension in your body.

"The same one?" he asked softly.

You nodded, though you couldn't remember telling him about the dreams before. Maybe he'd sensed them, felt the disturbance through the mating bond that connected you.

With gentle insistence, he turned you in his arms until you faced him. In the darkness, his hazel eyes seemed to glow faintly, catching what little light filtered through the curtains. His shadows stirred around him, coiling closer as if sensing your distress.

"Tell me," he urged, one scarred hand coming up to brush hair from your face.

You hesitated, trying to grasp the dream details that were already fading.

"I was a child, in a cabin somewhere... with my mother, I think. She was sad... or sick. I don't know." You shook your head, frustrated by the fragments slipping away. "It felt so real, but now it's just... pieces."

Azriel's expression shifted, the neutral mask giving way to something sharper, more alert. His shadows suddenly swirled more actively, stretching toward you in agitated patterns. One brushed against your cheek, surprisingly cool against your skin.

"This is the third night," he said, his voice no longer sleep-rough but precise, calculating. "The same dream, becoming clearer each time."

You blinked, surprised by his intensity. "It's just a dream, Az."

"Is it?" His gaze remained fixed on yours, searching.

You tried for levity. "Maybe I'm just stressed about Gregory's upcoming scale polishing appointment. Fish parenting is serious business."

Your joke fell flat against Azriel's unwavering concern. His shadows whispered to him, coiling around his ears before stretching out again to touch your hair, your wrists, the pendant at your throat.

"We need to see Rhys," he said suddenly, already sitting up. "Now."

"What?" You stared at him, bewildered. "Now, as in right now? It's not even dawn!"

"Now." The word was firm, brooking no argument.

"Azriel." You sat up, clutching the blanket to your chest. "It's the middle of the night. We can't just burst into the High Lord's bedroom because I had a weird dream about a sad mother and a pot of stew. That's not how normal people behave."

"You're not normal people," he said, already pulling on his fighting leathers with swift, economical movements. "You're my mate. And something's happening to you."

"Yes, it's called sleep deprivation," you protested. "Caused by a certain shadowsinger waking me up at an ungodly hour to discuss my dreams with his boss."

Azriel paused in buckling one of his many knives to his thigh.

Despite your exasperation, you couldn't help admiring the sight of him, half-dressed and serious.

The man could make paranoia look attractive.

"The cabin," he said quietly. "Did it have a blue door? With a carving of a crescent moon?"

Your heart stuttered. You hadn't mentioned that detail, had you? "How did you..."

"Rhys has been searching for a cabin matching that description for weeks," Azriel said, returning to his weapons with renewed urgency. "Ever since the night of the River House party, when he first recognized you."

"Recognized me?" You felt like you were missing several crucial pieces of a puzzle. "I've only met Rhys a handful of times since I started at the Archives."

Azriel's gaze met yours, something ancient and knowing in his eyes. "No," he said gently. "You met him long before that. You just don't remember."

A chill ran through you. "That's... that's not possible."

"Isn't it?" He crossed back to the bed, kneeling before you, taking your hands in his scarred ones. "The voices that no one else hears. The dreams that feel like memories. The way my shadows sought you out from the moment we met, like they recognized something in you that I couldn't yet see."

Your mouth went dry. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying," he replied, squeezing your hands gently, "that you need to talk to Rhys. Tonight."

"Can I at least put on clothes first?" you asked weakly, grasping at the last shreds of normalcy. "Or should I meet the High Lord of the Night Court in my nightgown? I hear that's the fashion these days."

A smile flickered across Azriel's face, there and gone in an instant. "Clothes would be advisable."

"Well, thank the Mother for small mercies." You slid from the bed, moving to your wardrobe. "But if Rhysand is sleeping, I'm blaming you entirely. I'll tell him you forced me to come, driven by some mad spymaster conspiracy theory about my entirely ordinary bad dreams."

Azriel watched you with that penetrating gaze of his. "You're deflecting."

"I'm coping," you corrected, pulling out a simple dress. "Some of us manage fear with humor rather than an arsenal of pointy objects."

His expression softened. "I would take all your fear if I could."

The simple sincerity in his voice melted your resistance. You sighed, shoulders slumping slightly. "Fine. We'll go see Rhys. But I want it on record that this is ridiculous, and I'm only agreeing because you look very convincing with all those knives."

Azriel's lips curved in a barely-there smile. "Noted."

Ten minutes later, dressed and marginally more awake, you found yourself gathered in Azriel's arms as he prepared to fly you to the River House. His wings spread wide, magnificent even in the dim light of your bedroom.

"For the record," you mumbled against his chest, "if he's is annoyed at being woken up for dream interpretation, I'm throwing you under the carriage."

"He won't be," Azriel said with absolute certainty. "He's been waiting for this."

"For what?"

Azriel's arms tightened around you as he moved to the window. "For you to remember."

As his powerful wings caught the night air and lifted you both into the star-strewn sky, you couldn't shake the feeling that you were flying toward something that would change everything. That the dream wasn't just a dream, but a key turning in a long-forgotten lock.

And somewhere in the back of your mind, a voice whispered.

You promised. No magic. No matter what you see or hear.

But whose voice it was, you couldn't remember.

The flight to the River House was mercifully brief.

Dawn was still nothing more than a promise on the horizon when Azriel landed on a wide balcony with practiced silence, setting you gently on your feet.

You'd expected darkness, servants scrambling to attend unexpected visitors, perhaps even an annoyed High Lord in sleeping attire.

Instead, warm light spilled from the open balcony doors. Rhysand stood waiting, fully dressed in elegant black, a glass of amber liquid in one hand.

As if he'd been expecting you. As if he'd been waiting.

"Right on time," he said, violet eyes gleaming in the low light. His gaze swept over you, assessing, before settling on Azriel. "The dreams have started."

Not a question. A statement of fact.

Your mouth fell open. "How did you—"

"Let's talk inside," Rhys interrupted smoothly, stepping back to allow you entrance. "Feyre has prepared tea."

Your steps faltered. "Feyre's awake too?" You shot Azriel an accusatory look. "Is everyone in the Night Court up at this unholy hour discussing my sleeping habits?"

"Not everyone," Rhys replied with a hint of amusement. "Just those who need to be."

The High Lord's study was unexpectedly cozy, with a fire crackling in the hearth and comfortable seating arranged around it. Feyre rose from an armchair as you entered, her expression kind but tinged with something that looked disconcertingly like concern.

"Please, sit," she said, gesturing to a plush sofa. "You look like you've had a rough night."

"Apparently it's about to get rougher," you muttered, but did as suggested. Azriel settled beside you, close enough that his wing brushed your back in a gesture of silent support.

Rhys remained standing, leaning against the mantelpiece with casual grace that didn't quite mask the intensity of his focus. "Tell me about the dream."

Under that violet gaze, you suddenly felt self-conscious. "It's nothing special. Just a cabin in the woods. A sad mother. Some voices." You shrugged, aiming for nonchalance and failing miserably. "Probably just my subconscious processing Archives stress or something."

"The cabin had a blue door," Rhys said softly. "With a crescent moon carved into it."

Your heart stuttered. "How do you—"

"You were small," he continued, eyes never leaving your face. "No more than six or seven. Your mother was... unwell. Not physically, but inside. She wouldn't eat. Wouldn't speak except to warn you about something. To make you promise."

The room tilted alarmingly. You gripped the sofa cushion to steady yourself, feeling Azriel's hand press reassuringly against your lower back.

"That's... that's impossible," you whispered. "How could you know the details of my dream?"

"Because it's not just a dream." Rhys pushed away from the mantelpiece, moving to sit across from you. His expression softened, a surprising gentleness entering his voice. "It's a memory. One that was taken from you."

"Taken?" Your voice sounded strange to your own ears. "By who?"

Rhys and Feyre exchanged a look laden with meaning. Then Rhys sighed, seeming to make a decision.

"By my father," he said simply. "The previous High Lord of the Night Court."

The words landed like physical blows. You stared at him, unable to process what he was saying. "I've never met your father. He died centuries ago."

"Yes." Rhys leaned forward, hands clasped between his knees. "But you knew him before that. When you were a child."

"That's not possible." You shook your head vehemently. "I grew up in a small village near the Day Court border. My mother was a seamstress. I only moved to Velaris a few years ago."

"Those aren't your memories," Feyre said gently. "They're fabrications, planted to replace what was taken."

You let out a shaky laugh, looking between them. "This is insane. Why would anyone bother tampering with a random child's memories?"

"Because you weren't random," Rhys said, his voice dropping lower, carrying a somberness that made your heart ache. "You were his secret, yes. A pawn, perhaps. But you were also—" His breath hitched. "—something he kept hidden, even from us."

The room went utterly silent. You could hear the crackling of the fire, the soft rush of Azriel's wings as they shifted. You could feel his tension beside you, the protective coil of his shadows around your wrists.

"No," you said flatly. "That's not... no. My father was a Day Court soldier who died before I was born. My mother showed me his portrait."

"Did she?" Rhys asked softly. "Can you remember his face?"

You opened your mouth to reply, to describe the portrait you'd seen a thousand times... and found nothing. No clear image. Just a vague impression of a uniform, a faceless figure, a story told so often it had become truth.

"This is ridiculous," you insisted, though uncertainty crept into your voice. "Why would you even think that I... that he..."

Rhys's expression turned solemn. "Because I remember you."

His hand trembled slightly as he reached into his pocket and withdrew a small carved star, its edges smooth from years of wear. It glinted in the firelight, a relic from a past neither of you could have foreseen. "This…" His voice cracked. "You gave this to me, when you called me brother."

A chill skittered down your spine. Something about the star in his palm tugged at your mind, a faint thread of recognition.

"You were brought to the Court Under the Mountain when you were about six. Your mother had been my father's mistress for years, but kept you hidden until then. One night, I found you on a balcony, watching the stars."

Feyre made a small sound, halfway between sympathy and wonder. Azriel remained silent beside you, but his hand found yours, fingers intertwining with quiet strength.

As the memories churned within you, Azriel's shadowed presence at your side became a delicate balance.

He was there—always there—but his restraint burned through him, a visible tension in his jaw. He wanted to reach out, to wrap you in his arms, but he was waiting for you, respecting the distance you needed. His shadows, once so familiar and comforting, now seemed like an extension of his anxiety, curling tight at his sides as if waiting for you to allow them closer.

"After that night, you disappeared," Rhys said. "Both you and your mother. My father forbade anyone from speaking of you. When I asked, he... punished me. And then he removed the memory entirely."

"But it returned," Feyre added, her gaze compassionate. "After all these years. When he saw you at the River House party, something clicked. A memory that had been altered but not completely destroyed."

You swallowed hard, trying to process what they were saying. "So you're claiming that I'm... what? Your half-sister? The illegitimate child of the previous High Lord?"

"Yes," Rhys said simply. "And I believe my father altered your memories before sending you away. Created a false past for you and your mother. To keep you hidden, perhaps as insurance, or perhaps out of some twisted form of protection."

"The dream is your true memory fighting to surface," Feyre explained. "The cabin was real. Your mother's depression was real. And the voices..."

"The voices were your power," Rhys finished. "A power I've never seen before in any daemati. Even in our bloodline."

Your head spun.

It was too much, too fantastical.

And yet... and yet it would explain the whispers in the Archives. The strange sense of recognition you'd felt toward Rhys from your first meeting. The way Azriel's shadows had always seemed to know you, reaching for you even before he consciously recognized the mating bond.

"What do you mean, a power you've never seen before?" you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Rhys leaned forward, intensity radiating from him. "I'm considered one of the most powerful daemati in Prythian's history. But your abilities, even when untrained and trapped behind whatever shield my father put in your mind... they're extraordinary. You don't just hear thoughts. You hear voices across realms. You hear the dead."

"That's not possible," you whispered, but even as you said it, fragments of memory flickered at the edges of your consciousness. Whispers in the dark. Secrets no living soul should know. The endless solitude of that cabin, broken only by voices that shouldn't exist.

"My father placed a shield in your mind," Rhys continued. "But I don't know why. What he was hiding. What he feared." His violet eyes locked with yours. "I want to help you uncover it. To remember who you truly are."

As he spoke about your mother, about the cabin, something shifted in your mind. Like a key turning in a rusty lock, a door creaking open to reveal horrors long hidden.

The image of her body—a stillness that didn't make sense to your young mind—kept cutting through your vision like a broken film reel.

Blood, you thought. It clung to your skin, soaked into your small hands, but the details weren't clear. You only knew the terror, the screaming. The whispers of someone else… someone cold… someone waiting for you to be strong.

Your mother.

Not sitting up in bed, not warning you about using power.

Her body. Still. Cold. Lifeless.

Blood. So much blood. On the floor. On your tiny hands. On your nightdress.

Your child self, screaming. Sobbing. Alone with a corpse in the wilderness.

And a voice, familiar yet chilling. "She was weak. But you, little one... you will be strong."

The memory slammed into you with physical force. You jerked back, a strangled sound escaping your throat. Azriel's arm immediately went around you, his shadows flaring protectively, but you barely felt it through the surge of panic.

"She's dead," you gasped, the words torn from some deep, wounded place inside you. "My mother. She's dead. In the cabin. I found her."

Rhys straightened, alarm flashing across his features. "What do you remember?"

But the memories were coming too fast now, a torrent of images and sensations breaking through the crumbling dam in your mind. Your mother's body.

The isolation. The terror.

You tried to shove it down, to rebuild the walls that had protected you for so long.

This couldn't be real. This couldn't be your life.

Your mother died peacefully. Your father was a hero. You were normal. Ordinary. Safe.

But the truth clawed its way out, ripping through the carefully constructed lies, leaving you raw and exposed.

The air stilled, thick with tension as your power surged, a wave of energy too raw and untamed to control. The fire sputtered and died in the hearth, the once steady flames now nothing more than flickering embers that reflected in Rhysand's wide, shocked eyes. The tea service shattered, its delicate porcelain scattering in a rain of broken shards that echoed through the silence, the sound as jarring as the chaos inside you.

"Stay away from me," you said, surging to your feet, backing away from them all. Your chest heaved with panicked breaths. "All of you. Stay back."

Azriel's shadows, once a comforting presence, writhed beneath his skin, the invisible tendrils curling tighter around you, though the proximity of his presence did little to ease the tempest inside you. His eyes darkened with his own helplessness, his usual calm shattered by the storm of emotions sweeping over you.

"You're safe," Azriel began, rising slowly, hands outstretched in a non-threatening gesture. "No one here will hurt you."

But you weren't seeing him anymore. You were seeing a cabin in the woods. A small child covered in blood. A High Lord with darkness writhing at his command, reaching for you, into you, twisting something in your mind until the world went black.

"Don't touch me!" The words burst from you in a wave of power that rippled through the room, knocking over furniture, extinguishing the fire, shattering the tea service.

Feyre gasped. Rhys moved in front of her instinctively, though his expression wasn't fear but shock.

And Azriel... Azriel stood perfectly still, watching you with those ancient eyes, shadows writhing around him but never approaching you.

"I need to go," you said, backing toward the balcony doors. "I need... I can't..."

"Let me take you home," Azriel said quietly. "Please. I won't touch you if you don't want me to. I won't speak. Just let me make sure you get home safely."

The raw concern in his voice penetrated your panic. You looked at him, really looked at him, and saw not the threat your fragmented memories had conjured but your mate.

Your protector.

The one who had woken in the night to your distress and brought you here out of worry, not malice.

"Az," you whispered, voice breaking on his name.

He took a careful step toward you. "I'm here."

"I don't know what's happening to me."

"I know," he said softly. "But we'll figure it out. Together."

You looked past him to Rhys and Feyre, who remained where they were, making no move to approach. The shock on their faces had been replaced by deep concern.

"I didn't mean to..." you gestured weakly at the destruction around you.

"It's nothing," Rhys assured you, his voice gentle in a way you'd never heard before. "Just furniture. What matters is you."

And in that moment, despite the terror and confusion, despite the horror of the memories surfacing in your mind, you felt something unexpected.

Belonging.

"I want to go home," you said finally, your voice small.

"Then that's where we'll go," Azriel promised, moving to your side but still not touching you without permission. "May I?"

You nodded, and he carefully wrapped an arm around your waist, gathering you close as his wings spread in preparation for flight.

"We'll talk when you're ready," Rhys said from behind you. "No pressure. No timeline. This is your journey, on your terms."

You didn't respond, couldn't find words through the storm in your mind. But as Azriel lifted you into the dawn-brightening sky, as Velaris spread below you in all its awakening beauty, you clutched the carved star Rhys had pressed into your palm and wondered what other horrors waited behind the walls in your mind.

The apartment felt both sanctuary and prison.

For three days now, you'd barely left your bedroom, the walls both shield and cage. Gregory's bowl sat on your nightstand, his silent companionship the only interaction you could bear.

Even then, sometimes his innocent bubbling felt like accusation—why are you hiding?

Outside your door, life persisted.

The quiet conversations, ceramic against wood as meals appeared and disappeared, untouched. The soft rustle of wings as Azriel moved through your apartment—a constant, patient sentinel.

He hadn't tried to force his way in. Hadn't sent his shadows slithering under the crack to spy.

He simply... waited.

Like the mountain waits for spring after winter's grip—inevitable, unrushing, certain.

Your latest nightmare had left your body hollowed, sheets damp with cold sweat that smelled of fear.

The memories—were they even memories?—grew sharper each night, glass edges cutting deeper. Mother's body. Blood pooling black in the moonlight. The silence after screaming that stretched into forever.

Who am I, if not who I believed? The question echoed, unanswered, a stone dropped into a bottomless well.

A soft knock pulled you from the spiral, gentle but unmistakable.

"There's food," Azriel's voice came through the wood, his deep timbre neither demanding nor pitying. Just stating fact. "And tea. When you're ready."

You didn't answer. Hadn't in days. But something in you ached at his voice—steady as the North Star while you drowned in shifting seas.

"Lira stopped by," he continued, as though conversing through doors was perfectly natural. "She brought more books from the Archives. Said they might help distract you."

Your chest tightened. Lira. Sweet, fierce Lira who knew nothing of your true heritage but had still shown up, bearing gifts and stubborn concern.

"Is she still sick?" she'd asked earlier, her voice carrying through the door.

"Something like that," Azriel had replied, the evasion smooth as silk.

You'd pressed your ear to the door then, desperate for that connection to normal life—if it had ever been yours at all.

"Well, tell her Gregory misses his mother," Lira had said, false lightness straining her words. "And that Mor is threatening to organize a rescue mission if she doesn't emerge soon."

The thought of Mor charging in, all golden fury and determination, had almost—almost—made you smile.

Another knock, firmer this time.

"You should eat," Azriel said.

Not an order but a reminder that your body still existed, still needed care, regardless of the crisis consuming your mind.

The whisper of fabric as he shifted outside—a sound so faint only Illyrian hearing could detect it. His shadows moved too, their presence palpable even through the door, like cool fingertips brushing the wood between you.

"This will pass," his voice came again, softer now, intimate as a shared secret. "Nothing lasts forever. Not even this darkness."

The words carried something rare for Azriel—naked emotion, unguarded by his usual careful reserve.

"How can you know that?" you whispered, unsure if he could hear.

A pause. Then, "Because I see you, even when you can't see yourself."

The simplicity of it burned your eyes with unshed tears.

For days, you'd been terrified of the power that had exploded in Rhys's study, of hurting those you loved. Yet Azriel's voice held no fear, only bedrock certainty.

"I'm afraid," you admitted, pressing your forehead against the door. "Of what I might do. What I might become."

"I know," he said, and you sensed him move closer, his presence a weight against the other side. "But whatever you face, you don't have to face it alone."

His shadows seeped through the thin crack beneath the door, not invading but reaching—cool tendrils of night that carried his silent promise.

"Some nights," he continued, voice dropping to a rumble that vibrated through the wood, "when darkness feels absolute, I remember that dawn has never once failed to come. Not once in five hundred years."

Gregory bubbled in his bowl, a mundane counterpoint to Azriel's poetry.

"What if I hurt someone?" The fear that had kept you locked away. "What if I can't control it?"

"Then we learn control together," he answered without hesitation, the words carrying a thread of steel. "No one expects you to master this alone."

You closed your eyes, his words settling into the hairline fractures of your fear like healing rain into parched earth.

"The others have been asking about you," Azriel said after a moment. "Mor. Cassian. Even Amren, in her way."

"Amren?" The surprise pulled your voice higher. "Truly?"

"She said—and I quote—'Tell the girl to stop wallowing and come learn what she can do.'" A hint of wry amusement colored his tone. "I believe that's her version of concern."

Tiny, ancient Amren, with her quicksilver eyes and merciless pragmatism, worried about you. The thought unfurled warmth in your chest—this strange, cobbled family refusing to abandon you, even now.

"Rhys hasn't pushed," Azriel continued. "He understands better than most what it means to discover truths about yourself that change everything. But he's there, when you're ready."

When, not if. The distinction wasn't lost on you.

"I don't know if I'll ever be ready," you confessed.

"You will be," he said, conviction running through his words like iron. "And until then, I'll be right here. Not moving."

His shadows pulsed beneath the door, physical manifestations of his oath, curling up like ribbons of midnight. One shadow reached toward your bare foot, pausing as if asking permission.

You stared at it—this living darkness that could pierce any barrier yet respected your boundaries enough to wait, to ask.

Slowly, you lowered your hand, allowing the shadow to brush your fingertips. The sensation was cool but not cold, silk against skin, a touch more intimate than any physical contact.

"Az," you whispered, his name breaking on your lips.

"I'm here," he answered immediately, voice taut with restrained emotion.

Your fingers found the door handle, hesitated, then began to turn it.

And then they came.

Whispers.

Not one, but dozens. Hundreds.

A cacophony of voices like brittle bones breaking, like water over burial stones, like the final stuttering exhale of the dying. They surrounded you, filled the room, pressed against your skin from all sides.

"Little listener," they hissed, words overlapping, discordant as broken instruments. "Little one with the gift and the curse."

Your hand froze on the doorknob, lungs seizing mid-breath.

"The shadowsinger cannot protect you," another voice rasped, this one colder, closer, the sound of it like frost forming on your spine. "His shadows are nothing compared to us. We exist in the space between heartbeats. In the darkness behind your eyes."

"His throat would open so easily," whispered one that sounded like a child, the innocence in the tone making the words obscene. "Wet and warm and red. We remember red. We miss red."

Terror crashed through you, limbs locking rigid as ice spread through your veins.

"His wings would snap like frozen branches," offered another, the voice wet with anticipation. "We could guide your hands. We could sing the song of breaking bones together."

"Stop," you breathed, the word barely audible. "Please stop."

The voices laughed—a sound like maggots writhing in rotting flesh.

"She thinks she commands us!" they mocked, voices layering over each other in horrible harmony. "Little daemati, little Night Court foundling. You don't command the dead. You are our doorway. Our puppet. Our hands in the world of flesh."

A sob caught in your throat, your fingers slipping from the doorknob as you backed away. The voices followed, clinging to you like grave mold, their phantom touch raising gooseflesh across your body.

"What's wrong?" Azriel called, alarm sharpening his voice. "Are you alright?"

You couldn't answer. Couldn't form words as the voices pressed closer, their whispers filling your ears, your mind, crowding out thought.

"Tell him," they urged, vicious excitement in their chorus. "Tell him we're here. Tell him we can see the exact moment his heart will stop beating."

"Tell him we're coming for him through you."

The doorknob rattled. "I'm coming in," Azriel commanded, all patience evaporated in the face of your distress.

A sharp crack split the air—wood splintering, metal snapping—and the door swung open, lock destroyed by Illyrian strength.

Azriel stood in the doorway, wings flared wide, shadows roiling around him like storm clouds. His eyes, usually so controlled, burned with fierce concern as they found you huddled against the far wall.

"Don't," you gasped, pressing back as if you could melt into the plaster. "Please. Go away."

"Too late," the voices crooned, crawling over each other in gleeful anticipation. "Too late, too late, too late..."

He didn't leave. But he didn't approach either.

Instead, he lowered himself to the floor, a careful distance away, movements slow and deliberate as if approaching a wounded animal. His wings tucked tight, though his shadows continued their agitated dance.

"I'm not leaving," he said quietly, each word a stone foundation. "Not now. Not ever."

The voices hissed—some in frustration, others in what sounded disturbingly like hunger.

"How sweet, his devotion," they mocked. "How easily it will break when your hands wrap around his throat. Your body, our will. Your power, our purpose."

You squeezed your eyes shut, hot tears tracking down your cheeks. But you couldn't block the voices. They were inside you, part of this cursed gift you'd inherited.

"There's something wrong with me," you managed, words raw and jagged.

"No," Azriel replied without hesitation, the word landing with the weight of absolute truth. "There's something wrong with what was done to you. That's different."

The distinction hung between you—simple yet profound. He didn't demand explanations. Just sat there, solid as bedrock, his shadows gradually settling as your breathing steadied.

The voices retreated slightly, their frustration a tangible pressure, but they didn't vanish. They lingered at the edges of your awareness, whispering promises of violence, of control, of horrors to come.

"I don't know how to do this," you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. You couldn't tell him about the voices, about their threats. Not yet. Not when you feared they might use you as their instrument.

"None of us do," Azriel replied, unexpected vulnerability in his admission. "We're all just... finding our way forward. One step at a time. Even Rhys."

A surprised laugh escaped you, so incongruous with the terror still coiled inside that it startled even you. The voices recoiled at the sound, as if your moment of genuine feeling caused them physical pain.

That was... interesting.

"You don't have to tell me everything," Azriel said, his perceptiveness cutting to the heart of your silence. "Not until you're ready. But don't convince yourself you need to face it alone."

Gregory bubbled energetically from his bowl, as if agreeing—or perhaps sensing the momentary retreat of the dead that had filled the room.

"Even Gregory agrees," Azriel noted, the faintest hint of humor warming his voice.

You wiped tear-stained cheeks with trembling hands. "You broke my door."

"It was between us." he replied simply.

Another surprised laugh, this one stronger. "You're impossible."

"I've had centuries of practice." His gaze remained steady, shadows settling into calmer patterns. "Are you hungry?"

The question was so normal, so everyday amid the supernatural crisis consuming your life, that you could only stare at him.

Then, absurdly, your stomach growled—loudly.

Azriel's brow lifted slightly, the closest thing to smugness his severe features could manage. "I'll take that as yes."

For the first time in days, you felt something simple and human beneath the fear. Hunger—a reminder that regardless of what else you might be, you were still flesh and blood with basic needs.

"Maybe a little," you conceded.

He nodded, rising with fluid grace that belied his warrior's build. He didn't offer his hand, didn't try to help you up—understanding you needed to stand on your own terms, in your own time.

"I'll bring it here," he said, already turning toward the broken doorway. "You don't have to come out until you're ready."

The consideration in the gesture made your chest ache. "Az?"

He paused, looking back over his shoulder, wings shifting slightly.

"Thank you."

For staying. For breaking down doors. For not demanding answers you couldn't give.

"For everything."

His expression didn't change, but his shadows swirled with something that might have been tenderness. "Always."

As he left to retrieve food, the voices whispered again—fainter now but laced with malice.

"You won't escape us forever," they warned. "We are patient. We are eternal. We will always find you, little daemati."

But for the first time since they'd begun their terrible chorus, their threats felt less absolute.

A shadow—one of Azriel's—had remained behind, curling around your wrist like a bracelet of cool night. It pulsed gently, as if taking your pulse, reminding you that you weren't alone in this darkness.

That perhaps there was light worth fighting for after all.

Consciousness returned like the tide—gradual yet inevitable. Sunlight filtered through the curtains, painting golden stripes across your rumpled sheets and warming skin that had felt cold for days.

You shifted, muscles protesting after being tensed in fear for so long. The absence struck you first—that terrible chorus of dead voices had finally quieted sometime in the night. The silence in your mind felt vast and pristine, like fresh snow before footprints mar its surface. You'd forgotten how peaceful quiet could be.

A soft rustle drew your attention.

Azriel sat in the chair beside your bed, a sentinel carved from shadow and steel. His wings were folded tight against his back, the tips brushing the floor. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, the only evidence of his sleepless vigil. His shadows moved languidly around him, more settled than you'd seen them in days.

Guilt twisted through you. "You didn't sleep," you murmured, voice rough from disuse.

His eyes—sharp despite his evident exhaustion—focused on you immediately. The slightest tremor ran through his hands before he stilled them against the armrests. "You did. That's what matters."

You pushed yourself up against the headboard, studying him. The shadows beneath his eyes looked almost bruised, his normally immaculate appearance showing subtle signs of strain—a slight wrinkle in his fighting leathers, a strand of dark hair falling across his forehead.

"Az, you need rest too," you said softly.

A muscle in his jaw tightened. "I've gone longer."

The stubborn male.

Your lips pursed into what you knew was a childish pout, brows drawing together as you frowned at him.

Something shifted in Azriel then—subtle at first, like ice beginning to thaw.

The rigid line of his shoulders eased slightly. The severe set of his mouth softened at the corners.

Then, like dawn breaking after endless night, his expression transformed completely. A genuine smile spread across his face, reaching his eyes in a way so rare and beautiful it momentarily stole your breath.

"What?" you asked, unsettled by this sudden change.

"There you are," he said, voice hushed as if sharing a sacred truth. "I thought I'd lost you to the fear."

His shadows stirred, stretching toward you like creatures seeking warmth.

Before you could respond, he moved to the edge of your bed. Not with his usual predatory grace, but carefully, almost tentatively, as if afraid you might shatter or flee.

"Az?" Your heart quickened as he leaned closer.

His scarred hands hovered near your face—hesitating, uncertain—before gently, reverently cradling your cheeks. The calluses on his palms were rough against your skin, a warrior's hands trying to be gentle. Then he pressed a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering as if in prayer.

"Azriel!" Heat flooded your face at the unexpected tenderness.

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, something vulnerable flickering in the depths of his hazel eyes. A question. A fear of overstepping. But at whatever he saw in your expression, his hesitation melted away.

Another kiss found your temple, his breath warm against your skin. Then your cheek, the touch feather-light yet devastating in its sweetness. The tip of your nose. Each contact deliberate, almost worshipful.

"Az, what are you doing?" you asked, breathless.

The shadows of his lashes fell across his cheekbones as he looked down. "Making sure you're real," he confessed, voice rough with emotion he rarely displayed. "That the voices didn't take you from me."

His shadows joined this unexpected display of affection, curling around your wrists like cool silk ribbons. Where they touched, they left a sensation like starlight against your skin—bright yet gentle, familiar yet extraordinary.

"I'm still here," you assured him, flustered by this uncharacteristic display. "You can stop now."

He caught your chin between thumb and forefinger, his expression softening further.

"No," he said simply, the word carrying a world of tenderness you'd never heard from him before. "I don't think I can."

The bold declaration, so unlike his usual measured restraint, left you momentarily speechless.

"When did you get so impossible?" you managed finally.

His thumb traced the curve of your lower lip, his touch reverent. "When I thought I might lose you to the darkness in your mind."

You tried to maintain your composure, but a smile betrayed you, tugging at the corners of your mouth. "I'm stronger than that."

"Yes," he agreed, shadows swirling with something that might have been pride. "You are."

He brushed your hair back, the scarred ridges of his fingertips catching slightly against the strands. "The voices... are they quiet now?"

The question sobered you. You turned your awareness inward, holding your breath as you listened for that terrible chorus.

Nothing.

Where before there had been a cacophony of malicious whispers, pressing against your consciousness like hands trying to break through glass, now there was only blessed stillness. The relief was so profound it brought tears to your eyes.

"They're gone," you whispered, voice breaking on the words. "I can't hear them at all."

A shudder passed through Azriel, his exhale shaky as he leaned his forehead against yours. "Thank the Mother."

For a moment, you simply breathed together, sharing the same air, the same space. His shadows drifted around you both, forming a cocoon of living darkness that felt strangely like protection.

"You know," he said finally, his voice a low rumble that you felt more than heard, "Rhys believes he can help."

Tension crawled back into your shoulders. "How?"

"He's a daemati too," Azriel reminded you, one hand sliding to the nape of your neck in a steadying touch. "He could teach you to build shields in your mind. To filter what you hear."

His shadows faltered slightly at the mention of Rhys, twisting into agitated patterns before settling again—a tell you'd never noticed before.

"What if I hurt him?" Fear crept back into your voice. "What if the voices come back when I'm with him, and they make me do something terrible?"

Azriel's grip on you tightened fractionally, his jaw hardening with determination. "Then I'll be there. Between you and him. Between you and anyone who might be harmed." His shadows surged in agreement, darkening with protective intent. "But we can't hide from this forever."

The "we" wasn't lost on you—he had claimed your burden as his own without hesitation.

"I'm terrified," you admitted.

"I know." He kissed you again, this time at the corner of your eye where a tear threatened to fall. "But I've watched you face impossible things before."

"You make me sound braver than I am," you murmured.

"No," he said with unexpected fierceness. "I see you exactly as you are."

The simple truth of it struck deep, warming places inside you that had been cold with fear for days.

His thumb brushed your cheek. "We'll go only when you're ready. But Rhys can help in ways I can't."

You sighed, leaning into his touch. "When did you get so persuasive?"

"Five centuries of practice," he replied, the serious line of his mouth betrayed by the warmth in his eyes.

"Fine," you conceded, unable to resist the hope he offered. "We can see Rhys. But after that, you're going to sleep for at least twelve hours."

"Is that an order?" he asked, amusement threading through his voice.

"Yes," you said firmly. "And stop with all the... the..."

"Affection?" he supplied, pressing another deliberate kiss to your cheek.

You tried to summon a glare, but a helpless laugh escaped instead. "It's disconcerting. You're supposed to be scary and brooding."

"Only to everyone else," he said with quiet sincerity. Then, as if catching himself being too earnest, he added, "Besides, this is far more effective at keeping you off-balance."

He rose gracefully, extending one scarred hand. "Breakfast first? I imagine you're hungry."

Your stomach growled in agreement, making his lips twitch with satisfaction.

As you placed your hand in his and let him help you to your feet, you felt something fundamental shift between you. The voices might return. Your power remained untamed. But for the first time since the River House, since the memories and the whispers had begun, you felt a flicker of something precious.

With Azriel looking at you as though you were the dawn after his longest night, even the darkness that had nearly consumed you seemed less absolute, less eternal.

And in the Night Court, perhaps that was the greatest victory of all.

Author's Note:

Dear wonderful readers,

I apologize for vanishing faster than memories in the Night Court! Life's been a whirlwind—juggling the whispers of the dead, a pet fish named Gregory, and a moody shadowsinger boyfriend demands more multitasking mojo than I've got.

I promise the next update won't take as long—Azriel's threatened to hunt me down with his shadows if I keep you waiting. (Who knew he'd be so invested in my storytelling? Definitely not him!)

Thank you for your patience! Now, back to stumbling over things and accidentally causing havoc.

Tag List: @songbirdpond @tothestarsandwhateverend @lovely-susie @kksbookstuff @ladycaramelswirl @gamarancianne @writtenbypavani @bubybubsters @moonlitscrolls @valyas-corner @iris-lavender @lreadsstuff @nebarious @azrielssgirl @lamimamiii @fantasydreamwalker @dallynjennasgirl @tenshis-cake @lilah-asteria @sweetsugarcoffee @fall-winter-heart97 @lovely-susie @lreadsstuff @sofi03 @songbirdpond @nico707 @justtryingtosurvive02 @yourlocalcancer @saltedcoffeescotch @thatacotargirl @happypeanutstrawberry @theverseoftheblackpearl @tele86 @highladyofhogwarts @fuckingsimp4azriel @thegoddessofnothingness @lovelyflower7777 @stressed-reader @karespocketboyfriends @lreadsstuff @yourdarkroses-blog @plants-w0rld @oldernotwiser26 @ashduv @alittlelostalittlefound-blog @adventure-awaits13 @thegoddessofnothingness @fuckingsimp4azriel @highladyofhogwarts @stainedpomegranatelips @i-am-infinite @arcticfoxxes

[elodieunderglass]

although a lot of adaptations skip over this and sanitise it to the point where the message is apparently meant to read "you'll be forgiven for being born wrong, if you turn out thin and white and pretty!" - there's a lot going on in the original. For one thing, most adaptations present him as a wild animal, but the Ugly Duckling is born into captivity, into a society that mimics upper-class pretensions, which is why he's declared 'ugly'. His mother is loving and very generous at first - hatching him despite the inconvenient incubation period, and defending him firmly - but after the other domestic animals (including a higher-class dominant one) point out what a burden he is, she turns on her child. Previously, she genuinely appeared to like him.

And a thing that's missed, while kid's abridged adaptations miss out on the rest of the point, is that the Ugly Duckling decides he can't live like this and leaves the farmyard; he goes into the wild himself. In the various passages in which people try to keep him as a pet, or a duck, it's hammered home again and again that this does not make a good pet. there is nothing in him that suits being a domestic animal.

one of the particular parts that makes you go "sweet jesus, hans christian andersen" is where the wild geese rock up and are nice to the young swan, not quite recognising him as a swan but saying they're pretty into whatever weird vibe he has (is this a sort of queer recognition thing? we are told, explicitly, that the wild geese are both male, and they definitely say "you're so ugly it's hot - come with us" - given HCA, it might be) and then they're, you know, instantly shot dead. Because that's what happens to wild geese. They like your vibe and try to take you with them, and even offer to teach you how to flirt - and then you see exactly what happens to them. And then every encounter from there, from the old woman who attempts to keep him - a very satirical and funny passage - to the young family who genuinely attempt to save his life (but he's too fundamentally panicked and awkward to reciprocate their kindness, and explodes out of their house in a social catastrophe) the story hammers in: not only are you a terrible duck, but you just aren't MEANT to live with people. You're closer to the things they kill than the things they keep.

but yeah, adaptations miss this often: you have to go out into the wild to save your own life. you may die in the wild, and you WILL die where you are. nobody comes to save you - and nobody really could have, when you were younger - but ultimately, mate, you just aren't a very good pet. Of the list of "attributes of a domestic animal" you really suck, in detail, at all of them.

so it's very telling to me that the good ending is the one where he is a wild animal - but more importantly, a WILD SWAN.

Not killed. (like a wild goose).

Not kept. (like a duck).

but a secret third thing, that swans - of few creatures - get. they get admired and they get paid and they get LEFT ALONE. they have a position in relation to humanity, and it is BEING A LOVELY SWAN OVER THERE.

what a thing for a lonely heart to yearn for!

We never really talked about it but The Ugly Ducking that grew up to be a beautiful swan was still probably pretty fugly from a duck’s perspective

[twistedpink]

SOBBING at the thought of Azul as a father 🥹🥹🥹p not the part of "hell yeah we tried forever to have this kid thrust thrust" but how would he and reader form this family, like omg taking care of the kids ❤️ i want to sit on the couch with azul beside me while holding our baby 🍼

I’ve been thinking of this for WEEKS. You’ve ruined me. @bju3c0re (kids are referred to as “they”, reader is gn but heavily implied afab)(Azul could always be the mother lol)

Husband!Azul’s a MESS in the delivery room every time. To the point where he’s getting ice chips,, Of course there’s nobody blaming him for getting a little sweaty over a BABY coming into the world, but there’s always a doctor who assumes it’s your first :( It’s not earth shattering to be dissected by the hospital staff because they’re on his payroll, but if his baby jitters got out to the twins? I’m sure you’d be seeing a lot more of them!! The tweels loooovvveeee the babies, and they’ll never miss an opportunity to poke at their wittle faces- or Azul’s fragile confidence as a dad <3

Husband!Azul just can’t stop calling you what the kids do,, It’s not like he means to, he’s just got baby brain!!! Your big bad business hubby dies a little (lot) on the inside when he uses toddler lingo on official powerpoints, but it’s all a part of your evil plan to get a stay at home dad in the picture >:) He’s loathe to admit it, but cooking for you in his frilly apron and skimpy shorts isn’t sounding terrible when it’s time to review his budget forms,,, Its only a matter of time!!

No matter how many you end up having, husband!Azul always wants another baby :( As an only child the rare family photos he sees feel so empty without other sets of kiddie tentacles- nevermind how much his parents are insisting on a team of trust fund babies,, His mum took up knitting for them, and you love her more than him! Are you really going to cut her off before she masters mittens? Besides, Think of the discounts!! Your poor first born’s getting shoved in the face of every shopkeep who’s willing to listen, and with a baby giggle that cute, it’s all of them.

Husband!Azul’s a MEGA hot dad tm but it’s so hard to make him believe it :( The pepper stubble he’s got going on and arm definition from carrying the kids around is to KILL for, but at every family photoshoot he offers to take the picture,, It ticks you off to no end that he’s trying to hide away from cameras again. so what else were you supposed to do other than kiss him stupid and get it done? The kids look like they’ll hurl any second now, but sitting pretty on the same bench every year is Azul covered in kisses.. It’s worth every penny!!

Husband!Azul is completely, irrevocably obsessed with you and the little family you’ve made,, He never thought him of all people could find a love so gentle. And yeah, maybe he gets a little controlling with the kids once in a blue moon, but he wants nothing more than good lives for them.. Better than his, at the very least. But above all else, he’s holding out for them to find their own you, because he’s already antsy for grandkids!!

[norristeria]

Miss Independent ! LN04

━━━━━━ Part of the LOVESICK IDOLS anthology!

SUMMARY 𝄡 You can buy your own diamonds and flowers, you always have. This independence is so sacred, it blinds you to Lando's need to provide.

PAIRING 𝄡 Lando Norris x A-List Actress! FemReader

TAGS 𝄡 Fluff, Angst.

WORDCOUNT 𝄡 4k.

NOTE 𝄡 The idea hit me in the face in the middle of the night & I knew I had to get the words out before they vanished. I don't know if I like it, it's quite messy ( & not as poetic as Thy Trophy, I fear⏤I'm keeping all my pretty metaphors for another fic lol ) but oh well! This is not proofread so if you see a typo, no you did not... Enjoy!! <33

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

It all began with the bouquet of peonies.

Paris’s avenues stirred to life with the coming of spring, perfumed by the powdery scents drifting from adorned Haussmann balconies and overflowing flower stalls. Color, in all its revelry, reclaimed its dominion, dazzling eyes long dulled by winter—a resurrection both olfactory and optical, which served as a gentle reminder that Hope would always prevail.

Even the blinding fabrics of the archival pieces chosen by your stylist could not compare to Mother Nature, who had woven her finest tapestry the moment April’s soft sun had peeked through the clouds.

The prosaic birthed Beauty, and what could embody both better than a bouquet of flowers?

There, tucked on a side table in a corner, the peonies reigned. You had spotted them the moment you had walked in, and since then, they had haunted your gaze and mind.

Pink and violet blurred at the edge of your vision. Whenever the stylists were not looking, you would breathe in, hoping to catch their delicate scent, but were left only with frustration and the stiffness of your stance atop that damned pedestal.

You had been invited to yet another dinner—something of the “upmost importance,” according to your agent—and now you had to decide on a dress.  

Not on sunlit café terraces, nor in the gardens of the Tuileries, no, but here, in a showroom lit by artificial light and chilled by aggressive air conditioning.

Since morning, people had poked and prodded, measured and tightened corsets, adjusted layers of tulle and silk. More doll than human, you suffocated in the vast white hall of the 30 Avenue Montaigne, longing to trade its sterile walls for the breezy avenues of the 8th arrondissement.

Your gaze drifted again to the peonies, and you sighed.

Spring would have to wait.

Suddenly, your phone rang. The chime cut through the whispering—though not-so-discreet—remarks of the stylists, their brutal musings on the shape of your hips or the width of your arms.

You silently thanked whoever had called for silencing them, even if only for a heartbeat.

Unable to move—a stylist was pinning lace across your torso—you asked your assistant, Marguerite, to bring the phone to you. When you saw the name written on the screen, a breathless smile spread across your lips.

“Hello!”

“Hi, my love,” came Lando’s weary voice.

“How’s Japan?”

You heard the rustle of bedsheets through the speaker as he shifted. Night had long fallen in Suzuka, stealing away the euphoria of race day and leaving only its ghosts—the stress, the nerves, the doubt.

“It’s fine. It’d be better if you were here, though.”

You winced, guilt flaring sharp in your chest. You closed your eyes.

“I know, I know. I’m sorry... I’d rather be with you than do these stupid fittings.”

You ignored the scalding looks from the stylists.

Lando did not reply. He sniffed. Your heart broke.

How you wished you could pick up its pieces, but the corset pressing against your ribs held you prisoner in your pain.

You dreamed of following Lando across the world, cheering from the paddock instead of watching grainy videos shared online. But your career came first—whether you liked it or not. Your agent made sure of that.

Such was the price of passion: loving by proxy, surviving on scattered calls and whispered promises.

The gods had not been kind to you. They punished your love, destined to transcend physical laws and only exist on different time zones.

His breathing echoed in your ear as you searched for a distraction, something to take his mind of the weekend. He rarely called during races—it reminded him too much of your absence in the McLaren garage.

You knew this call meant more. It was flare in the dark.

Your eyes swept the room once more and found the peonies. They would do.

“Oh!” you exclaimed, perhaps a little too brightly. “Dior has the most adorable bouquet of peonies I’ve ever seen. Hold on, I’ll send you a photo!”

You snapped a picture and sent it before he could say a word.

“Don’t you think they’d look perfect in the apartment in Monaco?”

The apartment. Not yours. Just another in-between, you lived in. Not quite London, not quite New York. Not quite Monaco, not quite Paris. Such was the life of an actress, a never-ending wanderer.

“I trust your taste more than mine,” he said.

You nearly cried when you heard the smile in his voice. One spark of joy in Lando was enough to ignite your own. They had grown so rare these days, each one deserved celebration.

The start of the season had been rough, and it had not let up—even with the glory.

Heavy is the head that wears the crown, especially when your name is Lando Norris, and the internet has decided to make you its scapegoat.

You spoke of anything and everything, trying desperately to pull him from the darkness, though you knew—traitorous and stubborn as they were—those thoughts would crawl back to him later, whispering their lies in the night.

Minutes passed. A seamstress pricked you five times. Then came the question, sudden and soft.

“Do you think you could make it to Bahrain? With the triple header, we won’t see each other for another two, maybe three.”

Despair bled into every word. But you didn’t hear it—Marguerite was trying to tell you something. You bent toward her, the corset biting into your waist.

“Hmm?” you asked distractedly, straightening up. “Ouch!”

The stylist apologized, trembling, needle still in hand. You sighed and waved her off.

“Sorry, Love,” you said. “Marguerite was asking about my lunch order. What were you saying?”

“Nothing. Forget it.”

You wanted to insist, but he beat you to it.

“I should sleep. Jon will kill me if I don’t. Talk to you tomorrow?”

“Of course. Good luck for tomorrow. Dream of me.”

“Always.”

You hung up.

An hour later, after endless fittings and the final selection—a Spring 1998 gown—you said your goodbyes, promised Marguerite to update her on your whereabouts, and stepped out onto Avenue Montaigne, bodyguards in tow.

The peonies had colored your thoughts, and you were determined to bring a piece of Parisian Spring back to Monaco.

Your flight would not leave till late afternoon, leaving you enough time to find a florist. Luckily, you did not have to walk far. Monsieur Dior had loved flowers, and the whole neighborhood bloomed for him.

The chime of the shop’s bell greeted you. That small melody lifted your heart, though you couldn’t explain why.

You saw them instantly.

An explosion of color rather than a mere bouquet, the peonies demanded attention. You imagined them in your white-walled Monaco living room, an impressionist painting come to life, and did not hesitate.

You pointed to them, all smiles. The florist quickly wrapped them in tissue paper.

“That’ll be two hundred euros, please.”

You did not blink and paid absently, already lost in the scent of the blossoms. They wrapped around you, filling the hollow Lando’s absence had left.

Your phone rang again, just as you stepped outside. You frowned.

“You’re not asleep?”

“Can we FaceTime?” Lando asked, ignoring your question.

“Of course. One sec…”

You fumbled for an angle, nearly dropping the bouquet. The peonies spilled into the frame, half-hiding your face.

“Oh... you bought them?” His voice was unreadable.

Odd, you thought.

“Yeah! I couldn’t resist. I hope they survive the jet ride, but I don’t see why not! What do you think?”

“They’re beautiful. Not as beautiful as you, but close.”

You snorted.

“Flatterer.”

A silence.

“Are you okay?” you asked gently.

He sighed.

“Nervous. And I can’t sleep without you.”

“You have my hoodie, don’t you?”

“Not the same,” he mumbled. “And your scent’s fading.”

Your heart clenched.

“I promise I’ll talk to Christopher and my agent. Maybe I can free up a Grand Prix weekend. Miami? I’m not due back in Sicily until mid-May.”

Paris blurred around you. The Grand Palais, the Champs-Élysées. None of it mattered when Lando needed you.

Eventually, after reluctant goodbyes, you hung up and walked on under the bright Parisian sky.

Far away, in a hotel room in Suzuka, Lando sighed and, with a swipe of his thumb, canceled the peony order he had placed with a florist in Monaco.

Then came the restaurant.

Amid the empty plates and crumpled napkins, red circles had seeped and stained the once-pristine tablecloth of the three-star establishment. The wine bottle lay on the table, empty, but its effects were palpable.

The candles that had not yet melted cast a hypnotic glow on your face and illuminated what Lando loved most about you: your pupils, dilated from intoxicating love?

You had long since abandoned any sense of decorum. The tip of your stilettos had begun to stroke his calf, leaving Lando to grip his cutlery so hard his knuckles had turned white.

When you bit your lip, he snapped and stood up so abruptly he almost knocked over his chair.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” he muttered.

But instead of heading toward the back of the restaurant, he went the other way, stopping in front of the waiter. Lando handed him his card in an agitated gesture, running a hand through his curls. His thoughts were already drifting to the warmth of your skin, the softness of your lips, the tightness of your–

“It appears Madame has already paid, Mr. Norris.”

Both the effects of wine and desire evaporated in a heartbeat, leaving him pale. His hand froze in his hair. He blinked. His mouth opened, but no sound came out.

“What do you mean ‘she already paid’? When?” he finally choked out.

The waiter consulted his ledger.

“She left her card earlier in the evening. Here it is.”

He slid a black leather folder across the stand. From it, a metallic rectangle protruded. Lando inwardly cursed.

The black-and-bronze Centurion card, a symbol of wealth and privilege.

Now his nemesis.

Lando snatched it up. An intrusive thought crossed his mind as he held it in his large hand. What if he broke it? He’d pretend it was an accident, of course, but this temporary setback would give him the chance to finally, finally, provide for you.

He shook his head and returned to your table. The card dug painfully into his palm, a sharp reminder of its constant, unbearable presence.

You looked up when you heard him approach, a seductive smile painted on your red lips, completely unaware of the storm rising inside him.

You gaze dropped to his hand, which you admired for a few seconds, then lifted back to Lando’s now-dull green eyes.

“You got my card?”

He sighed and handed it back to you.

“Let’s go.”

Lando helped you with your coat, his hands lingering longer on your shoulders than etiquette would’ve allowed, and together you left.

“Next time, I’m paying,” he said as you waited for the valet.

“Of course,” you replied distractedly, tracing his jawline with the tip of a finger.

Your mind was already elsewhere, on the rest of your evening and the promises your smoldering gazes had recklessly sealed. Lando’s, however, remained stuck on the matter of the bill and the uneasy feeling that had spread through his veins like poison.

Insecurity.

His movements turned mechanical as he heard the engine of his Lamborghini roar. He tipped the valet, thanked him in a flat tone, opened the passenger door for you, offered his hand to help you sit down, then slipped behind the wheel.

His large hand instinctively found your bare, warm thigh—and squeezed.

In the hollow of his palm, the imprint left by the metal card still burned.

But it was the necklace that broke the camel’s back.

The streets of Monaco held a familiarity that comforted Lando after the chaos of the triple header. The narrow lanes and tight turns—walked instead of raced—distracted him from the season and the pressure it carried. The Monaco Grand Prix was still far enough away that he could see the city as nothing more than Home.

He rejoiced in the familiar scent of the Mediterranean Sea, curiously mingled with the tang of luxury car exhaust and the heavy perfumes spilling from boutique doors. Monaco oozed opulence, and you, at his side, fit so seamlessly into this surreal world.

His gaze wandered to you, dressed head to toe in haute couture. In a giddy rush of love and admiration, he stole a kiss from your lips.

Sometimes, he still could not believe you were his.

Hand in hand, the two of you wandered through the principality, with no purpose other than to enjoy each other’s company. You had managed to negotiate a break from your current project—Christopher Nolan would not need you in Sicily for The Odyssey until the end of May.

Lando had pounced on the opportunity, inviting you to join him in Monaco. Your moments were counted; every chance was too precious to be wasted.

Eventually, your idle stroll led you to the ever-crowded Casino Square. You weaved through a sea of phone cameras and autograph requests, sunglasses on, love-drunk smiles on your lips.

“Y/N! Can I get an autograph?”

“Lando! My son’s your biggest fan!”

“Can we do a fit check for my TikTok?”

When a fan strayed too close to you, Lando pulled you behind him and, in a sudden flash of protectiveness, veered you off your usual route, his hand against your lower back.

“What are you doing?” you whispered to him.

“An Oscar-winning actress deserves a proper gift,” he replied with a mischievous glint.

He ignored your questions and wrapped an arm around your waist. Your fingers laced through his on instinct—your body recognized and sought his.

Together, you slipped away from the crowd, past terracotta and granite facades, until you stumbled upon the discreet Cartier boutique tucked into the corner of the square. The chaos outside had already begun to fade, but you both knew iPhone lenses were still quietly tracking your every move.

The rules of paparazzi didn’t apply to phones—much to your dismay.

It was funny to think that just four months ago, you would never have had to consider such a thing; still cocooned in secrecy then, wrapped in love and shadows.

Though he hated the sacrifice of privacy he had made—your little paradise now dissected by the public eye—Lando could not suppress the flicker of pride that warmed his chest.

No more misplaced hopes from admirers; he could walk beside you in broad daylight, and finally, silence them all.

“It’s been almost two months since I got that Oscar,” you teased, realizing where he was leading you. “And you’ve said the same thing every time.”

He only shrugged.

“So what?”

You laughed softly and rolled your eyes.

A doorman opened the door, ushering you into the hushed, velvety quiet of the shop. The boutique, curiously empty, felt as though it had been waiting just for you.

A man greeted you both with open arms.

“Madame L/N, Monsieur Norris, what a joy to see you again! May I offer you a glass of champagne?”

You were guided to a private salon, away from wandering eyes. Some fans would have pressed against the glass just to glimpse at a fragment of your day.

“It’s been some time since we’ve had the pleasure, Madame L/N.”

The salesman’s attention naturally fell to you, and Lando didn’t mind. You were a loyal client—draped in their creations at every red carpet, every press tour, and even in the quiet of your everyday life.

The man waisted to time to present a diamond bracelet. You slid it on gently. The stones, dazzling and vibrant, were blinding, but you remained unmoved by its beauty.

And thus began a familiar dance. A necklace, then an emerald ring, ruby earrings. Each time, you shook your head.

Lando watched you, entranced by the dhow you were unconsciously putting on, happy to offer his opinion when you asked.

“That one’s cute.”

“Oh, gorgeous.”

“Pretty.”

When he complimented yet another jewel, you delicately placed the ring back in its crimson box, raising an eyebrow at him with a knowing smirk. He knew every one of your expressions—that spark in your eyes meant affectionate exasperation.

“You’re not being very helpful, you know.”

“Not my fault you make everything looks good,” he said, glancing at the salesman. “Right, Hervé?”

“Absolutely, Monsieur Norris.”

You stared at the glittering display before you—each piece more beautiful than the last—a pout tugging at your lips.

Lando had to resist the urge to kiss it away.

“Hmm. I don’t know. Nothing really speaks to me.”

“Perhaps you might consider this one?”

Lando tuned out Hervé’s voice. He stood and walked around the room, his gaze caught by thousands of gems shimmering in the light. The luxurious kaleidoscope made his head spin.

He blinked and stopped before a particular display. The necklace inside seized his attention instantly.

“Have you tried this one yet, love?” he asked, mesmerized by the play of light across its surface.

Hervé stood to get a better look.

“Ah oui. Our Reflection necklace. Crafted in eighteen-karat white gold and set with no fewer than three hundred and seventy-six diamonds. A masterpiece of craftsmanship.”

He stood up, unlocked the case and brought the box to the Louis XVI-style table, placing it reverently before you.

Lando returned to your side, unable to tear his eyes from the jewel. The reflection of the diamonds danced across the molded ceiling and glinted in every glass pane.

He could not wait to see them against your skin.

“It’s beautiful,” you murmured. “Could I try it on?”

“Of course, Madame. May I?”

With gloved fingers, Hervé fastened the necklace around your throat. The diamonds and gold sang a symphony of excess as they settled against your skin. Lando’s mouth went dry.

“What do you think, darling?”

He stammered a few inarticulate compliments, unable to look away from your diamond-clad neck.

His gaze dropped lowered.

He swallowed.

“That’s the one.”

“I think so too.”

His phone rang, shattering the moment.

You cast him a sharp look before offering Hervé an apologetic—or rather embarrassed—smile. You loathed rudeness.

He shot you a sorry glance, excused himself and stood up.

“I have to take this. Excuse me.”

The call with Jon lasted less than five minutes—but it was enough.

When Lando returned to the room, Hervé was handing you a bag.

You turned toward him as he entered, a radiant smile on your face. For once, he did not return it. He did not linger on your beauty either. No. His eyes went straight to that damned paper bag.

His heart dropped and reverberated in his now-empty mind. Its echoes gave rise to a strange unease that took over him completely—the same one he had felt at the restaurant.

“We can go. I already paid.”

“What?” he asked, voice hollow.

“You were right,” you said, oblivious—or indifferent—to his torment. “The necklace was the best choice.”

“You paid?” he repeated.

“Yes. I didn’t know how long your call would take.”

Something deep within Lando finally snapped.

The male ego is a curious thing. Poke it—and brace for the fallout.

Lando clenched his fist as a plan began to take shape in his mind.

“Love, have you seen my card?” you asked three days later from your shared bedroom.

Lando, lounging on the couch, quickly shoved the said card into the pocket of his hoodie. The metal clinked against his silver ring.

“No,” he cleared his throat. “Why?”

You stormed into the living-room, one hand tangled in your hair. Stress radiated off you in waves. Lando swallowed hard as a cold sweat slid down his spine. You had a gift for making him panic with a single glance—and of the two, he was certainly not the better actor.

“Shit! I had it this morning! I saw this bag that looked really nice.”

“I can get it for you, if you want,” he offered, almost shyly.

But you didn’t hear him—too busy tearing through cushions and knick-knacks, muttering under your breath.

“It’s alright, baby. I’ll buy it for you,” he tried again, more insistent this time.

You straightened up, frowning, the catch-all bowl clutched in your hand.

“I’m perfectly capable of buying this bag myself, Lando.”

The words cracked through the air—sharp, wounded.

Way to go, Norris. That’s not how you’re going to win her over.

“I never said you couldn’t,” he murmured. “It would just make me happy to do it.”

You ignored him and went back to searching. Lando watched, mouth slightly ajar. So, you weren’t even going to acknowledge him? He called your name several times, but you stayed deaf to his pleas.

“Can you just let me spoil you for once?!” he finally burst out.

The peonies, the restaurant, the necklace—all the frustration he had buried deep in his chest bled out in his voice—an uncontrollable hemorrhage of ego.

You arched a brow and placed the bowl back on the table with a frightening calmness. The soft chime rang through the silence as you slowly stood.

“Who are you talking to like that?”

“I just–! I mean– Argh!”

Lando dragged a hand through his curls, pulling at them—a gesture he had picked up from you. Love bred mimicry. The little quirks of one became second nature to the other.

“You don’t let me buy you anything,” he said again, softer.

“That’s not true. You gave me that dress not long ago.”

“Yeah. Because it was Christmas! Four months ago, Y/N.”

You scoffed and crossed your arms. From where he sat, he could see the tension in your shoulders, the pinch of your lips.

You were angry.

“Look, I—” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “It just feels like… like you don’t need me.”

The truth burned his throat. He lowered his gaze, afraid to see pity, or pain, or worse—incomprehension—in your eyes.

“That’s ridiculous.”

He exhaled, eyes shut.

“Maybe. But that’s how I feel.”

Silence fell over you both, thick and heavy. It struck him full in the chest. His heart thundered in his ears.

Why couldn’t you try and understand him? Why were you so stubborn? How long would you speak at cross purposes?

Eventually, the couch dipped beside him, and your scent wrapped around him.

“I don’t need you to buy me bags or necklaces, Lando,” you said, voice gentler now.

He flinched and his heart stung.

“But… I guess I understand why you’d feel that way. And even if it doesn’t make much sense to me…” You sighed. “Well, I suppose I can try.”

Lando looked up, chest already lighter. His pinky found yours on the cushion, and when it did, he did not let go.

You looked at him, lips pressed tight.

“One gift a month.”

“One big gift a month. Small ones have no limit.”

A beat.

You sighed.

“Fine.”

You held out your hand to seal the pact, but Lando pulled you into his chest instead.

There you stayed, quiet. He nestled into the curve of your neck, inhaling your scent—yours and yours alone—and closed his eyes.

“I’m sorry for not listening to you earlier,” you whispered minutes later, your throat vibrating against his lips.

“It’s okay.”

You pulled away, bracing a hand against his abs. Lando tried to tug you back against him, already missing your warmth, but you resisted, determined to make your point across.

“No, it’s not. Communication is important in a relationship, and I didn’t consider your feelings, only mine.”

He cupped your face and kissed you deeply before meeting your gaze. A mischievous grin crept onto his lips.

“Let me get you the bracelet and ring to match that Cartier necklace and all is forgiven.”

You rolled your eyes but did not argue. That alone made Lando beam.

Victory tasted sweet—but not as sweet as your lips, which he kissed again. His hands roamed, and yours soon followed.

But just as quickly, they stilled.

You pulled away, eyes narrowing.

“Is that my fucking card in your pocket?”

Lando winced.

[nakylvr]

— DARKNESS TENFOLD

sophia laforteza x fem!reader

summary: some things aren't always as they seem in the dark nights of the south. you know that. but when a mysterious woman shows up in your bar, you fail to notice those signs and stories your relatives told you time and time again.

warnings/tags: angst, mild language, period piece in the south, vampire!sophia, bartender!reader, suggestive content

now playing: sinners official playlist

yes i just watched sinners. maybe there will be a part 2 lemme know if i should 😋

there wasn't a whole lot that went down in the small town you lived in of mississippi. now, working at the local bar did give you some stories. like drunkards you had to kick out or break up fights when it got out of hand. but nothing too out of the ordinary.

being one of the bartenders at the pub, you often talked to the customers. and you enjoyed it. some would tell you old stories from when they were kids, some told you ancient stories claimed to be "voodoo" by your relatives, and some did try to have their way with you. but you handled those ones fast. it wasn't difficult once word got around that you stabbed a fork in one of their hands when they tried to grab a feel of you.

you liked your little life. you enjoyed it. you didn't see the need to find anyone for you, you weren't that type of person to be grounded by just one individual. but your mother loved to always say "someone could change that!". you have yet to find said person.

it was another night in the bar for you. music playing in the background as you wiped down the counter from the last customer when you heard the door open. "good evening!" you say loud enough for the customer to hear before looking up.

when you look at who walked through the doors, you're immediately entranced. a beautiful woman with jet black hair in a matching black dress, and a walk so delicate but so sure of herself and where she was going. you'd never seen this woman in your life, you're sure of that. you would've remembered someone like this. the woman sits in front of you and pushes her hair out of her face.

"what'll it be?" you ask her with a polite smile. "we got whiskey, irish beer, italian wine, or water, if you prefer that."

"i'll have your best wine," she answers swiftly, like she knew her answer as soon as you said it. "whatever you think is the best."

you let out a shy laugh. "well, i wouldn't trust my judgment, miss. i'm not much of a drinker," you reply.

"i trust your judgment, darling," she responds.

her accent tells you she's not from here. you know that much. maybe she's from up north. but the way she says it has you feeling like she's been here a while. the subtle twang she says it in. almost as if she was trying to mimic the others around town and how they talk.

"okay." you nod. turning around you grab your favorite wine, the only kind you drink cause you hate the taste of all the others, and a glass. you set the glass down in front of the woman and pour the crimson red liquid into the glass. you swear you notice a flicker of something in the woman's eyes, but you don't think much of it. "that'll be three dollars, miss."

the woman hums and nods, pulling out five dollar bills and sliding them over to you. "thank you, darling," she says, grabbing the glass and taking a sip. "mm, this is great." she then sets the glass down on the counter. "tell me, is there anything to do around here?"

you're a bit surprised by her question, but it just confirms your theories that she isn't from here. "well, not much if you want me to be honest," you answer while putting the bottle back. "i heard some brothers are back in town and are fixing up that old mill a bit outside of here to make it a juke joint. that'll be the best thing in this town in years." you pause, taking a look at the woman. "you're not from here, are you?"

"not exactly," she responds, circling her finger around the glass. "i'm from chicago, originally."

"ah." you nod. "the big city. are the rumors true? that you can really do anything up there?"

"indeed," she answers with a nod. "it's beautiful up there. but, i've always wanted to see the south."

"you travel a lot, then?" you ask.

"something like that." she smiles, taking another sip of her drink.

"work? or cause you want to?" you couldn't help but ask more questions, and you weren't sure why. there was something so enthralling about the woman sitting in front of you, something that pulled you in, wanted you to know more.

"both," she replies. "what's your name, dear?"

"hm?" you hum, taking a moment to process the words. "oh, it's yn."

"very pretty name," she says, taking another sip. "when do you usually get out of here?"

"it depends." you shrug. "most of the time a little after midnight. i don't like staying past midnight."

"why?" the woman tilts her head to the side.

"oh nothing." you wave your hand like it was nothing. "it's just around here the old folk love telling stories about these demons and ghosts and whatnot."

"do you believe any of them?" she asks.

you're breath hitches in your throat when she looks at you. her eyes seem almost foggy, a grey hue clouding over them that you manage to see in the light above you. and then it's gone in a second, like you didn't see it at all. you probably didn't.

"no." you shake your head. but you did. you knew the stories of demons who preyed the night and couldn't stand in the sun. that their souls would remain trapped in their bodies for decades, centuries even until they were killed. how they could seduce and trick you like it was nothing.

"that's good," she hums, finishing her glass. "could i have another?"

"of course," you say a little too fast, swiftly grabbing the glass and turning to grab the bottle. when you turn back, she has a warm smile on her face. you pour another glass and slide it over to her.

"so, you married?" the woman suddenly asks, surprising you.

"sorry?" you let out.

"my apologies," she waves her hand. "it's just, i'd be shocked if you were without a husband. you're quite beautiful."

your cheeks heat up at her words. "well...thank you, miss. but no, i'm happily unmarried."

"happily?" she cocks her head to the side.

"yes." you nod. "i've come to realize that i don't need a man to take care of me. i can take care of myself. those brothers fixing up the mill can assure you that."

"oh, really?" she smirks, but there's no condescending tone in her words.

"indeed." you nod again. "those boys are practically my own blood if they didn't come from a different daddy. if you see one of 'em, steer clear."

"and why is that?" she questions.

"they don't like people who ain't from here. and they especially don't like when they flirt with me," you answer.

a smile curls on the woman's lips. "you believe i'm flirting?"

you shrug your shoulders, leaning forward over the counter. "i dunno. a lot of folk like trying their hardest with me. i ain't surprised cause you're a lady, miss."

"really? and has any of them figured it out?" she says, still smiling.

"not a single one." you shake your head, a smile making its way onto your lips.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

"fuck,"

you let out the second sophia puts her knee in between your thighs, leaning your head back against the wall. her lips travel against your jawline, leaving wet kisses in her trace trailing down to your neck. her hands have your dress bunched up your legs, grabbing your hips tight enough to leave marks even through the clothing's material. her teeth nip at your neck gently, making a small gasp come from you before she starts sucking on the skin to leave a dark bruise. "god..." you sigh out.

hearing this, sophia pulls away from your neck and stares into your eyes. "god?" she says quietly. "oh darling...there is no god."

opening your eyes, you let out a gasp when you see her eyes, and her hand instantly clamps over your mouth to keep you from screaming with her other holding you in place against the wall. those red eyes, the exact ones you were told about. the ones that belonged to the demons of the night. they were staring right at you. you weren't sure if you were breathing at this point, fear completely overpowering your body keeping you in place.

"you listen very closely my dear," sophia starts, her voice low. "i came here to find the one with the guitar. if you cooperate with me and the others, then we'll spare your little town. what do you have to do? bring her to me, and nothing will happen to anyone. understand?"

you quickly nod your head, and she slowly removes her hand from your mouth. "are you going to kill me?" you whisper.

"no." she shakes her head. "but you're going to be one of us now."

before you can even process the words, she's grabbing your nape and biting you in the neck. a sharp gasp leaves your mouth as you feel the pain immediately upon her fangs digging into your throat. your hands grasp at her, trying to push her off of you but your body is getting weaker by the second, your heartbeat is slowing, your head feels heavy, your vision is growing dark.

this is it. this is how you die. in the arms of a demon of the night that you stupidly thought nothing of. you know it. your eyes flutter shut, and you barely feel your body drop to the ground.

"don't worry dear, everything will be fine."

[thereweredragonshere]

Pleeeease redesign the other fucks from the nine realms.

Oooo this was such a fun little project! Not a fan of the nine realms which is pretty standard within this fandom, but I do like the uh. Vibe. Of some dragons. The designs are always a miss apart from like. One or two.

Starting off with Thunder - species Night light:

Thunder being so night furyish makes little sense if we’re taking Toothless being the last night fury as canon. Either that mother fucker had the strongest genetics known to man, or dragons live for hundreds and hundreds of years, which considering httyd likes its realism(sometimes), I doubt is the case for a species like the night or light fury. So, I made his design lean way way more into being a light fury, but still making it clear that he is actually a night light.

Also, didn’t include any of the weird fucked up ‘evolution’ to the tail/wings/earnubs, because little short from it being a birth defect or cross breeding with a non-fury dragon (Which genetically speaking is 99.99% impossible) is absolutely NOT possible at all. 1000 years is fucking NOTHING for evolution. Maybe you’d get a slight gene change or something but you are not getting anatomical shifts that fucking visible in only 1000 years.

And anyway, the evolution Thunder supposedly went through is so stupid?? What’s the point of his wings’ surface area being decreased?? He can catch marginally less draft with those shit fuck wings??? And his PROPORTIONS OH MY LORDDD. He’s just inbred I have no other explanation. And his stupid fucking snout. Pugification of the night light. And I’m not even going to comment on the stupid ass tail there is literally no point. Why did they give him an aeroplane tail. They took one of the most recognisable features of the fury species and just fucked it. He can’t fucking shift air flow and change direction with that shit oml😭

Anyway moving on before this post just turns into a tnr night-light rant,

Feathers!!! - Species Featherhide (how creative)

Feathers is probably my favourite design from the canonical tnr dragons. I’m a massive fan of the parrot theme they went with!!! But one gripe I have is that she does seem just a bit too generic. She has pretty colours and some feathers on her head and tail. But like. That’s it. They didn’t really do anything else with the chameleon crap she’s got going on (for those who don’t know, her species has the same camouflaging ability as the changewings).

So, I went a lot more traditional reptile looking with her, and added way more feathers and general details to her design. I did consider making her eyes chameleon like, but it ended up looking a bit off. I like to think she scampers around and constantly licks her eyes, even though she’s perfectly capable of blinking.

Next up, Plowhorn - Species Gembreaker

I love love LOVE the beetle thing going on with her wings!!. It’s just incorporated into the design in such an awkward way😭 There’s so much space Beneath the beetle shell and her back, which makes them look glued on.

Anyway for the redesign I leaned more into the rhino theme they got going on, tough skin and big chunky face horns. (By the way- the placement of the horn on her face is SO off putting and I can’t quite explain why. It’s just. ????. Why is she an extremely scaly unicorn that got the pug treatment???) and I gave her ears cuz her canon design looks insanely bald.

I also attempted to un-derp her a bit. Cuz. I mean fucking look at her bro that shit is NOT scary😭

Neeeeeext is Wu & Wei - Species Mist Twister

The eastern zippleback

I really like the idea of half blue half red on this guy (I think it’s a he?), it makes for a cool Fire and Water theme.

My main problem with the canon design is how forced the colours kinda feel. Hard red to yellow to blue with a slight fade transition. Come on guys, incorporate your colours into the design!

Their heads as well. They’re just. Not nice to look at. The ends of their noses are making me incredibly uncomfortable. They look like spoon billed borzois

Anywho, I really enjoyed designing those guys!! Maybe I’ll do some of the other tnr dragons in the future lol

[bberry005]

andor really is like "there's a war to fight and the galaxy is horrible and we're following the story of a man who's doomed to burn what's left of his life for the rebellion, but the normal things like meeting your partner's mother who neither of you like and being in a weird stage with your girlfriend and missing your lover and attending a wedding will still happen either way" and you know what? i love that. it really puts the whole range of human experience on screen and in perspective. there's a war to fight and there's dishes to wash and there's a wedding to attend and there's work to be done. just because one thing starts doesn't mean the others stop. its overwhelming and vaguely uncomfortable to see all strung together, but all those things do happen all at once in the real world too. in real life they're just not carefully edited in an order that's designed to tell a story