#this is tentatively at 5 chapters but... who knows

[heli-writes]

A dragon's heart, part 16.

Pairing: Barbarian!Bakugou Katsuki x female!reader

Summary: The dragonblood tribe is known for being cruel, barbarian warriors that slaughter, loot and rape all places they pass through. They are feared among the villagers and even bigger cities. Having lost most of their women to a plague, they're trying to ensure their tribe's survival by kidnapping women from other places. However, they're not the only monsters in human form out there. When y/n experiences this first hand, she has no choice but to ask for help from no other but the barbarian leader Katsuki Bakugou himself.

Disclaimer: trust issues, implications to abuse

[Please don't read if you are sensible to or triggered by the topics mentioned above.]

Note: Two chapters in a month? Say what. I know, I'm surprised myself. Blame it on a national holiday.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16

Series Masterlist

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Part 16

Y/n doesn't want to admit it, but she enjoys Katsuki's absence.

It's been three days and she has had more company than the entire time she's been with Katsuki. At least, if you don't count the several visits by the healers, that is. Mitsuki is still hostile toward her, but she doesn't leave y/n up to her own devices which y/n appreciates. Moreover, the two women she helped with the knives, have taken an interest in her. It seems as if they've noticed that y/n can be quite useful for a variety of tasks and thus give her chores upon chores. A lot of them revolve around creating weapons or taking care of weapons which y/n does not appreciate that much.

On the last day, y/n spent wrapping arrowheads to shafts. During the day, the skin on her fingers is ripped open in different places which is quite painful. However, y/n doesn't want to look like a wimp in front of the older women and works through the pain. Also, she enjoys the women's company and doesn't want to be sent away because she can't get the job right. She's afraid they'll send her back to Mitsuki.

Nevertheless, she must've done an okay job since her arrows pass inspection by Mitsuki (again). She tries to hide her hands from the blonde woman, but Mitsuki catches on anyway. She says something to the older women who then inspect y/n's wounds and put a slave and bandages on them.

The evenings she spends mostly alone in Katsuki's tent. The other women invited her for dinner around a bonfire, but y/n retreats to the tent rather quickly since the mountains are cold once the sun disappears behind their peaks. Being used to Katsuki's company, the evenings are terribly boring. Eventually, y/n occupies her time by carving game pieces out of wood. She hoped that maybe she could teach Katsuki the game when he returned. She's too shy to ask the women for that.

The next morning, y/n is picked up by the old woman with whom she mended clothes with. The woman animatedly tells her something that y/n doesn't get and leads her to a stone hut she hasn't seen before. Y/n swallows hard. Was I demoted because of my hands?, y/n wonders as the woman pushes her inside the tent.

Inside, an old bearded man stands by a forge and hammers onto metal. The old woman loudly announces their arrival and the smith lowers his hammers. He listens to the woman's rambles while looking y/n up and down. Y/n feels like she's shrinking under his gaze. Why did she bring me to a smith?, y/n wonders. The smith barely says anything and just grumbles as a response to the older woman.

After the woman takes her leave, the smith waves y/n over and shows y/n a couple of knives and some arrows. For a moment, y/n doesn't understand why he's showing them to her until she realizes that those are her work. She sharpened those knives and made those arrows. Looking at the smith and points at the weapons and then at her. “Yes, I did that.”, she tells him while nodding. The smith nods and waves her over to the forge. He doesn't actually believe that I can make weapons, y/n thinks.

Turns out, he doesn't but he makes y/n help him. Apparently, he is working on making a sword. He makes y/n hold the metal piece down while he hammers it into shape. When the forge cools down, y/n has to bring new firewood and it's her task to make sure that the forge doesn't cool down. He even lets her try hammering on some metal but quickly takes over again. I bet I don't have the strength to hammer metal into shape, y/n thinks.

By midday, y/n's exhausted and ash and grime stuck to her sweaty skin. She's glad when the smith waves her outside the hut for some lunch. It's only then that y/n notices how absolutely famished she is. Together, they eat a hearty meal of brown bread and thick slices of cheese and ham. Y/n thinks it's the most delicious meal she's had since she arrived here. Maybe it's because it reminds her of the rustic meals her family used to eat. Or, more likely, she's just that hungry considering that she hasn't done that demanding physical work in quite a while. Either way, she enjoys the meal she shares with the smith. Mostly, because the smith doesn't talk much. She's sure that it's not because he knows she doesn't understand him but it's simply because he doesn't talk much at all. She feels a lot more comfortable around him than around the women who keep talking around her until her head swims.

When she's done with her meal, the smith gives her a cup of tea and they sit in the sun for a little while. To occupy herself, y/n takes out her game pieces and a knife. Her set is complete, but the wood still feels rough. She tries to smooth them with the edge of the knife but she just keeps cutting notches into it. Frustrated she lowers the knife. Only then, she notices the smith watching her while sipping his tea.

Y/n can feel her cheeks heat. He must think I'm incapable of simple handiwork, y/n thinks.

Suddenly, the smith gets up and enters the hut again. Y/n hears him rummaging inside. When he comes out again, he hands her some sandpaper. Y/n's heart skips a beat. How nice of him!, she thinks and beams up at the smith. Immediately, she gets to work and starts smoothing the wood of her game pieces. When the smith finishes his tea, he waves her back inside and the two of them go back to work.

At the end of the day, y/n is absolutely spent. Nevertheless, she feels pretty good. The smith patted her on the head when he let her go for the day and y/n felt like she did a good job. She joins the other women for dinner around the bonfire and they laugh at y/n's ash-covered face. Y/n takes no offense in it as they also pat her on the back and shove some stew into her hands.

As she eats, she looks around the bonfire. Nadia is nowhere to be seen. She hoped to see her and start a conversation, but it was no luck. However, she did see some women take off with some bowls with stew in the direction of multiple living tents. I wonder if more women like Nadia live inside those tents, y/n wonders. But why am I the only one around the bonfire? And working?

After dinner, y/n waves the women goodbye to retreat to her tent for a well-deserved bath. After her bath, y/n sits on the bed working on her game pieces. Carefully, she runs the sandpaper over each piece smoothing the edges and softening their surface until they're nice to the touch. It's rather late when she's finished and slides underneath the covers. Shivering, she wraps her arms around herself.

It's rather cold without Katsuki, she decides as she's drifting to sleep.

~*~*~*~

Y/n's up early the next morning. She wanted to do some laundry before someone came to pick her up for work. She's glad that the wounds on her hands are healing rather quickly. She's standing outside hanging up her washing when the smith approaches her tent. She smiles at him and waves.

Guess, I'm up for another day at the forge, y/n thinks. Not that she minds, y/n actually likes working with the old smith. Maybe I have a thing for grumpy men?, she wonders as she follows the smith to his forge.

The day passes as the one before. She helps out the smith with a variety of tasks. While the smith does not make her hammer onto some metal again, he does make her blow into a large pipe. However, they both quickly give that up. I've got neither the strength nor the lung capacity for being a smith, I guess, y/n decides. It doesn't really matter to her since she's completely fine with playing the assistant.

After lunch, she hands back the sandpaper and the smith points towards the sachet in which she keeps her game pieces. Y/n takes them out to show him. The smith inspects them by turning them over in his hand and feeling the edges. He nods approvingly and hands them back. He asks y/n something she doesn't understand. Maybe he's asking what they're for?, she wonders.

Y/n draws the pattern of the game board into the dirt with a stick and sets up the game pieces. The game's rather easy to explain since the all game pieces can only do the same steps on the board. It doesn't take long for the smith to understand the rules of it and they play for a while until y/n beats the smith. With furrowed brows, the smith gets back to work and y/n follows him.

After the day's work is done, the smith demands another game which y/n is happy to comply. She's glad that someone is willing to play it with her. The game is rather simple: You win when you occupy the most places on the board which means you have to plan multiple steps ahead.

Y/n loved playing with her dad even though he beat her almost every time. Therefore, it's even more fun that she keeps on beating the smith. They keep on playing until someone calls them over for dinner around the bonfire.

~*~*~*~

Two more days pass and y/n continues to work with the smith. She's rather glad that Mitsuki seems to have lost interest in her and leaves her alone instead of handing her around people and inspecting her work. The work with the smith doesn't get boring since he makes not only weapons but household goods as well. He shows her how to make metal spoons which y/n takes up rather easily since it consists of hammering only a thin metal stripe into place and then carving and smoothing the surface with sandpaper. It's a process y/n already knows since her mother and she used to make lots of wooden spoons that they sold in the villages they passed through. The smith seems to approve of her results and she's allowed to keep the first spoon she made. During the lunch breaks, the smith and her keep playing with y/n game pieces and the smith even manages to win once or twice.

~*~*~*~

The air starts to get cooler as it rushes through Katsuki's ears. It's an unpleasant feeling but Katsuki embraces it nonetheless. It means home is getting close. He's even more glad when he sees the familiar mountain chain ahead of them. Kirishima on his golden dragon flies a head and does a somersault whoopingly. The men behind him cheer loudly.

They're all glad to get home. The raid was successful even though they ran into complications with some Todoroki soldiers. However, they faced no losses as Katsuki and Kirishima fought ferociously side by side leading them to victory.

“Yo, Kirishima, knock it off! You're about to lose our precious cargo!”, Katsuki howls through the wind but Kirishima only laughs as he falls behind his chief again.

While the village they raided was evacuated by the king's soldiers, there still was enough gold and goods to appease his men. Even better, in Katsuki's opinion, is that they managed to capture one of Todoroki's men alive. It's about time to squeeze out of this dirtbag what's really going on in the kingdom, Katsuki thinks.

“Ey, Katsuki, what do you think y/n will think when she sees all the goodies you brought for her?”, Denki teases at his side. “Ya think, she'll drop her panties for ya?”, the blonde laughs.

Katsuki glares at him and swivels Drami into Denki's dragon's path. The dragon yelps and quickly maneuvers out of the larger red dragon's way but Denki only laughs in response.

Of course, I wonder what she'll do when we see each other again, Katsuki thinks. He hopes his mother didn't take it too hard on y/n while he was gone. Part of him also wonders if y/n missed him in his absence.

~*~*~*~

Upon landing, a large crowd of people gathered to greet their warriors. Mothers and fathers hug their sons upon arrival. Even Kirishima's mate showed up which is a rare occasion. It sends Kirishima over the moon.

Katsuki scans the crowd for y/n but fails to find her.

“Son.”, his mother calls out to him. Katuski eyes her suspiciously.

“Where's y/n?”, Katsuki asks sharply. Mitsuki gives him a cool look before answering.

“I don't know. Haven't seen her in a few days, actually. The other women say that she's been dining at the bonfire every evening so I wouldn't be too worried about her.”, Mitsuki tells him.

Katsuki is relieved but still suspicious. “Any idea where she could be at?”, he asks.

Mitsuki shrugs. “Probably with the smith. She's been helping him out.”, she tells him.

Katsuki immediately sees red. “Working at the forge? How did that happen, mother? That's no place for a woman!”, he yells.

Mitsuki gives him a sharp look. “Who are you, a man, to determine what a woman can or cannot do? I heard she's rather good with forging and taking care of weapons. Maybe she is good for something after all.”, she replies.

Katsuki feels like ripping his mother to shreds. “It's your doing, I know it.”, he hisses, “Sending her to the forge, giving her such hard, dangerous work. You're punishing her for becoming my mate.”

“Do you really dare to accuse me of such a thing?”, Mitsuki hisses back, “Y/n is the mate of our chief, therefore she needs to pull her weight. She can't relax in the tent like the other women you brought here do. She needs to show her face when you're gone. After all, she's supposed to be the leader when you're not here.”

Katsuki's quiet at that. Of course his mother is right about that, but Katsuki is sure that y/n isn't ready for that.

“Moreover, isn't the smith one of our most honorable craftsmen?”, his mother adds and Katsuki bites his tongue.

“I rather hope so!”, a voice behind them says. It's Testutetsu, the smith's son.

“Is it true your mate picked up the role of my father's assistant?”, Tetsutetsu asks, “In that case, I owe her a thank you. After all, she picked up my work.”

Katsuki grinds his teeth. “I guess so.”, he replies. Tetsutetsu joined his men for the raid, but Katsuki knows the man would rather stay behind helping at the forge. Unfortunately for him, Tetsutetsu is one of the tribe's strongest warriors and therefore indispensable for such raids.

“Let's go and see if she's at the forge.”, Tetsutetsu proposes and Katsuki follows him after giving his mother a last, dirty glance.

~*~*~*~

“I'm surprised my father let her stay at the forge. He's rather picky with whom he works. There are days that he can't even stand me around the forge. Says that I talk too much and he can't focus.”, Tetsutetsu chats as they walk towards his family's workshop.

Katsuki huffs. “I guess he won't have a problem like that with y/n. She can't speak our language and therefore often doesn't speak at all.”, he grumbles. Tetsutetsu gives him a glance.

“Yeah, that must be weird. Can't imagine being mated to someone who doesn't understand me. How do you two even communicate?”, he asks.

“Barely.”, Katsuki says truthfully.

As they march up towards the stone hut that is the Tetsutetsu workshop, they see two figures sitting infront of the workshop on the ground.

“Father!”, Tetsutetsu calls out, “We're back!”

His father waves at him dismissively as the two younger men approach. Katsuki notices the game pieces on the ground. Y/n makes a move and the smith throws his hands into the air.

“She keeps beating me!”, the smith exclaims in a deep, gruff voice. Y/n beams up at him triumphantly.

The two men come to a stop infront of them and y/n notices them for the first time. Upon seeing Katsuki, she only smiles slightly and waves at him. It's not the welcome I hoped for, but at least she's happy to see me, Katsuki thinks.

“What'ya two playing?”, Tetsutetsu asks and crouches down before them.

“It's the girl's game.”, the smith says, “The rules are simple but the girl's hard to beat. She's got a smart head on her shoulders, I've got to give her that.”

“How does it work?”, Katsuki asks and sits down next to the smith.

“She's your mate. Let her show you.”, the smith says getting up to greet his son.

Y/n tries to put the game pieces away thinking that Katsuki has come to collect her, but Katsuki stops her and points at the board. Y/n is quick to understand and sets up the board again. She shows him how the pieces move and Katsuki is quick to take up the rules. They start a game while Tetsutetsu and his father watch.

As they keep moving the pieces around, the furrow in y/n's brow deepens.

“You almost got her, chief.”, the smith mumbles and Katsuki moves another piece. Y/n stares at the board for a long time. She tries to move multiple pieces before giving up. She looks at Katsuki and shrugs. The smith laughs.

“Seems like she's got some serious competition!”, he tells Katsuki and Tetsutetsu gives his father an amused look.

“You're in a good mood, dad.”, he says. The smith only shrugs. “The girl's been some fresh air around here.”, he simply replies. Tetsutetsu laughs.

“Oh my, I feel like I'm getting replaced here!”, he exclaims. His father shakes his head, “Well, you might be. Considering that the girl's actually good at executing orders instead of lounging around by the fire.”

Meanwhile, y/n packs her game pieces back into her sachet and gets up. Katsuki gets up as well.

“We'll be off then.”, he tells the Tetsutetsus. The old smith nods. “Alright then, y/n's welcome back anytime. Maybe she can even teach my son some work ethics.”, he replies at which Tetsutetsu only rolls his eyes. Katsuki walks on ahead and y/n waves at the smith smiling brightly before running after Katsuki.

“What a nice young lady.”, the smith tells his son, “I think our chief made a good choice there.”

~*~*~*~

Katsuki and y/n walk back to their tent in silence. Now that she's alone with Katsuki again, y/n doesn't know how to act. Nevertheless, she's happy that he played the game with her. Maybe he'll play again with me tonight, she thinks.

When they arrive at their tent, there are multiple men carrying wooden boxes into the tent. They greet their chief respectfully despite the blonde y/n has seen before who wiggles his eyebrows at Katsuki who only snorts in return. They enter the tent and y/n looks at the boxes with furrowed brows. Katsuki enters behind her and gently touches the side of her arm and gestures for her to walk to one of the boxes. With a knife, he yanks the box open. He rummages through the box and pulls out a beautiful dark green dress. Golden leaves and tendrils were stitched into both sides of the dress. The best part of it, however, was the long sleeves which is something all the dresses Katsuki brought her so far lacked. Katsuki holds the dress out to y/n who hesitantly takes it. Katsuki watches her expectantly as she inspects the dress and holds it against her own body to see if it fits her. When she looks up and meets Katsuki's eyes, she softly smiles at him.

Katsuki gestures to y/n to go through the box and take what she wants. Hesitantly, y/n walks to the box and peeks into it. Katsuki watches her for a moment as she looks through the contents of the box before turning around. I really deserve a bath, he thinks and leaves y/n to her own devices.

Meanwhile, y/n gets bolder in looking through the box. She finds more clothes that clearly originate from the Todoroki kingdom judging by the designs. They're winter clothes with long sleeves, lined interior fabric and fur overcoats. Y/n smiles as she runs her fingers over the soft, warm fabrics. He must've chosen them for me, she thinks.

Y/n takes the liberty to look at some of the other boxes. She finds a hairbrush, thick socks, books in her language, paper and all sorts of other trinkets. She also finds an expensive-looking flancon of perfume which she can't help and spray on her neck. A modest, flowery scent wavers through the air. Y/n thinks she never smelled anything that nice.

Suddenly, Katsuki enters the tent again. He's only wearing his linen pants and walks towards the closet to get some fresh clothes before hopping into the bath. When he passes y/n, he stops and sniffs the air. He looks at the flacon in y/n's hand and then sniffs the skin on her neck. He grunts and his nose wrinkles in disgust. What the fuck is this shit?, he thinks to himself. The perfume smells absolutely disgusting to him. Why would she cover up her scent like that? Is she planning to walk into enemy territory undetected?, he ponders. Meanwhile, y/n's cheek heat in embarrassment. Clearly, he thinks it stinks, y/n decides.

“That stuff needs to go. No woman of mine should smell so horrendous.”, Katsuki decides loudly and takes away the flacon. Y/n purses her lips at that but doesn't stop him. When he turns back around to her with a mischievous gleam in his eyes, y/n feels like he's about to do something bad.

Katsuki then lunges forward and grabs her by the wrist. He heaves her over his shoulders and marches into the bath hut with her. He sets her down at the entrance of the bathing hut. Y/n's heart thunders. She really doesn't like it when Katsuki shows her just how superior he is to her when it comes to physical strength.

Katsuki moves to the bathtub and takes off the rest of his clothes. Y/n watches his very naked, and very muscular, backside. She's getting embarrassed and tries not to stare at him. It's not like she's embarrassed by his nakedness (clearly she's used to it now), but considering her last naked experience with him (no, not the one where he kept walking around their tent fully naked), she expected to be more repulsed by him. Instead, she finds her gaze wandering and heat rising in places where it really shouldn't. Without noticing, her hand flies to the scar on her neck.

Katsuki notices her stares and gives her a complacent smirk. Then, he throws a sponge at her and points at his back. “Your man just came back from war, you should treat him a bit.”, he tells her.

Y/n is taken aback by it, but eventually complies and washes his back. Katsuki leans forward in the tub so that y/n can reach his back better. Y/n can't help but trace the muscles on his back. It's only then that she notices the many scares that adorn Katsuki's back. When she's done with his back, Katsuki leans back and gives her access to his chest which flusters y/n even more. Y/n stares at his broad chest and tries her best to not let her gaze wander more downwards. Katsuki takes her hand and lets it wander to his abdomen just above his – y/n yanks her hand back, her cheeks flushed in scarlet. Katsuki gives her a dirty laugh.

“It's not funny!”, y/n laughs getting up from her place beside the tub. Anger flushes her system. How can he make such jokes? Doesn't he understand just how traumatizing it was what he did to her? Or does he simply doesn't care?

Upon seeing her angry face, Katsuki understands that he crossed a line. His face becomes regretful He only wanted to see how far she'd go. Katsuki reaches for her hand that balled into a fist by her side. Gently, he strokes over the back of her hand and y/n relaxes.

“Sorry”, he mumbles and y/n understands the apology. She takes the bucket with cold water that stands next to the tub and pours it over Katsuki's head in one swift motion. Katsuki yelps and lets out a string of courses.

“Now we're even.”, y/n tells him grinning and Katsuki rolls his eyes. Y/n laughs and Katsuki is taken aback by how pretty y/n sounds when she laughs. Then, y/n takes the soap again and starts washing his hair. Gently, she runs her fingers through the wild, blonde strands and scratches his scalp. Katsuki leans back again and sinks a bit deeper into the tub. Y/n's hands feel good on him. He regrets pushing her earlier, but her soft hands make him remember how they feel around his dick. Quickly, he tries to shake the thought. He can't get a boner right now, not after y/n made clear what she thinks about touching him intimately. Instead, he tries to focus on the feeling of y/n's hand in his hair.

Katsuki hums relaxed and y/n can't help but notice how he leans into her touch. She tries the anger from earlier. Katsuki's been nice to her. He got her all these new, warm clothes and books. Clearly, he must've thought about her while he was away and y/n feels a little bit bad that she didn't think that much about him.

Maybe I can be a little bit nicer to him, y/n decides.

~*~*~*~

While Katsuki finishes his bath, y/n goes back to their tent and tries on some of the dresses Katsuki brought for her. They're a bit too long for her, but y/n figures she could ask the old woman for help in resewing them. It shouldn't be too hard to tailor them to her size.

The fabric feels nice and warm on her skin and y/n wishes she had a mirror to look at herself. She twirls around in the dress and when she comes to a stop, she sees Katsuki leaning at the doorway to the bath hut grinning at her.

“Ya like it?”, he asks and y/n smiles brightly at him. “Thank you, Katsuki.”, she tells him.

Katsuki's heart skips a beat. I'm being a good mate, right?, he thinks to himself and feels rather smug. He takes a step forward and examines y/n in the dress. He takes the hem of the skirt and swishes it around a bit. The fabric is rather heavy. Doesn't that bother her?, he wonders but y/n seems perfectly happy with it. He runs his fingers over her hips and y/n stiffens. He mistakes her stiffness as a rejection and he clicks his tongue. At least I can see her curves better like this, he decides.

Meanwhile, y/n grows hot under her clothes. I really shouldn't react to his touch this way, she decides, after all his touch hurt me before.

~*~*~*~

After Katsuki's hair is dried, he takes her to the bonfire. It's bigger than most nights and the smell of food and hot alcohol lingers in the air. There are men celebrating and laughing everywhere. I guess it's a feast, y/n decides. Katsuki maneuvers her to Kirishima who sits beside a pale, thin woman who keeps her eyes on the ground. Curiously, y/n looks at her. When the woman raises her head a bit and meets y/n's eyes, y/n smiles at her, but the woman quickly looks down again.

Disappointment flashes through y/n and she quickly adverts her eyes as well. Only then she notices that there are multiple younger women she hasn't seen before. They all look timid and pale. She counts 13 of them including Nadia who only slightly shakes her head when y/n spots her. Y/n walks over to her anyways.

“Nadia, where have you been?”, y/n asks. The woman glances at her husband who is sitting next to her talking to some other men. When he doesn't react, she replies to y/n: “At home, where else?”. Y/n's eyebrows furrow.

“Doesn't the tall blonde woman put you to work?”, she asks and Nadia crooks her head ever so slightly.

“They make you work?”, Nadia says in a hushed tone.

“Yes, I helped at the forge.”, y/n says proudly but Nadia only gives her a bewildered look.

“The forge? Oh, you must have it worse than us! I've told you Bakugou Katsuki is the worst of the lot!”, Nadia exclaims and winces when her husband laughs loudly and hits his own leg in amusement.

At first, y/n is surprised by that. Then, she remembers that people in the kingdom have very different ideas about what is suitable work for a woman. Her own people never made a big distinction between male and female work. Of course, hard labor often was done by men but it's mostly because they're naturally stronger than women. Nevertheless, such work was not forbidden for women. If one had a talent for a certain type of work, they were encouraged to take it up. For example, her father was exceptionally good at needlework. While her mother was good at mending clothes, it was her father who stitched pretty patterns into her clothes.

Before y/n could answer, Katsuki calls her back to his side. She quickly says goodbye to Nadia before turning to Katsuki's side. Katsuki's sitting in a circle with the same men y/n saw close to the dragon's den. One of the men hands her a cup with warm liquid which turns out to be a sort of hot wine. Y/n takes a big gulp of it. It tastes fruity and sweet. She immediately takes another gulp and the men laugh. Katsuki, however, puts a hand on her arm.

“Slow down, that shit's strong.”, he tells her but y/n only shrugs which earns her another round of laughter.

The men continue chatting among themselves and y/n watches how Kirishima offers some of the fruity wine to the woman next to him who courtly declines his offer. Kirishima gives y/n a deflated smile when he notices that y/n is watching them. Having already finished her cup, y/n extends her arm to take the cup from Kirishima.

“Geez, Katsuki! Your woman can drink!”, one of the men laughs when they see y/n on her third cup of wine. Katsuki rolls his eyes. “She most definitely will regret this tomorrow.”, he grumbles and Kirishima pats his back.

At some point, y/n doesn't remember when (probably due to the amount of alcohol she consumed), people brought out instruments and started playing music. The music of Katsuki's tribe is very different from the music y/n's people played. Since y/n's people were always on the road, they didn't bring big, heavy instruments along like drums or horns. They stuck to small flutes and light guitars. The dragon tribe's music is louder, faster and y/n can feel the drums within her bones. Eventually, people start dancing and y/n watches them for a while. While their dance isn't light-footed like her people's dances, they're still enchanting to watch. Heavy foot stomps are followed by graceful turns and rhythmic clapping.

It's been so long since I danced, y/n muses. She remembers the midsummer festival days before she met Katsuki. Even then she only could watch. Turning to Katsuki, she notices that the man is watching her over the rim of his wine cup. Immediately, an idea pops up in her head.

I bet he knows how to dance, she thinks.

She leans over to Katsuki and pulls on the hem of his sleeve. Then, she points towards the dancers and looks at him expectantly. He looks at her bewildered.

“Absolutely fucking not.”, he tells her and shakes his head. Y/n pouts and gives him a pleading look.

“I said no. End of discussion.”, Katsuki grumbles and turns away from her.

Feeling rejected, y/n stares into her empty cup. What an ass, she thinks. Then, another idea pops into her head. I bet the others know how to dance too, she thinks and takes a look at the men sitting next to Katsuki. There's Kirishima who looks a bit deflated and keeps glancing at the woman by his side. He's probably kind enough to teach me, y/n thinks. She almost made up her mind to ask him when her gaze fell on another man. It's the blonde called Denki who gave Katsuki the wiggly eyes earlier. I bet that would really piss Katsuki off, y/n thinks smugly, Good.

Determinedly, y/n stands up. Katsuki gives her a wary glance. Confidently, y/n walks over to Denki who's been watching her for some time now.

“What can I do for you, Miss?”, he asks and grins and y/n. Y/n tucks his sleeve and points towards the dancers.

“Oh, you wanna dance? Doesn't your man wanna dance with you?”, Denki asks and gives his chief a questioning look.

“Over my dead body.”, Katsuki simply replies.

“Then it's okay when I show her how to dance?”, Denki asks and Katsuki only shrugs. “Knock yourself out, Denks. Just be careful she doesn't puke on you.”, he tells his subordinate.

Denki flashes y/n a grin and stands up, leading her to the area where the people dance. Firstly, he shows her a simple coordination of steps which y/n imitates. When y/n feels confident in the steps, Denki speeds up the pace. Y/n has some trouble keeping up with him and steps on his toes. Denki only laughs and spins her around. Y/n has to laugh too and lets Denki take the lead now that she's gotten used to the steps and speed. Together they stomp and clap and Denki keeps spinning her around. Maybe it's the spinning, maybe it's the alcohol, but eventually y/n loses balance and crashes into Denki who luckily is a lot stronger than her and keeps holding her up. They both laugh at y/n's clumsiness and y/n feels fuzzy inside.

Dancing really is fun, she muses as she steadies herself. Expectantly, she looks up to Denki but he looks at something behind her. She turns to look at whatever Denki's looking at, but the man is quicker than her and he quickly pulls her in again.

“Katsuki's jealous.”, he whispers into her ear. Y/n only understands the word “Katsuki” and honestly, it doesn't need a genius or translator for her to figure out that Katsuki's probably not happy about her dancing with another man this closely.

Whatever, he didn't want to dance. It's his own fault when I dance with somebody else, she decides.

She pulls at Denki's arms who gives her an amused look.

“You're playing with fire, missy.”, he says before swirling her around for another dance.

Just when the musicians start a new song, Katsuki materializes next to them.

“Take your hands off my woman.”, Katsuki hisses at Denki. There's rage behind his eyes. However, Denki's not impressed by this.

“Pretty sure she put her hands on me first.”, Denki replies but stops dancing. Katsuki looks as if he's about to spew fire. Denki lets go off y/n and shrugs. “Not my fault you don't know how to please your woman.”, Denki says mischievously and retreats before Katsuki can reply (or punch him).

Katsuki turns to y/n who looks at him equally unimpressed. She rolls her eyes. “Men and their ego.”, she mumbles before turning around to join the group back at the bonfire. Katsuki stomps after her. Sulking, y/n sits down on a log crossing her arms infront of her chest. The men laugh at Katsuki as he joins them again. He tries to give y/n another cup of wine as a peace offering but declines sharply.

To be honest, y/n wanted Katsuki to be jealous. She hoped it scraped his ego enough to make him dance with her but Katsuki seemed to have no intention to do that. Whatever, y/n grumbles to herself, It should've been obvious that he doesn't know how to have a good time.

They stay at the feast for a little while longer. The men chat among themselves but Katsuki doesn't join their conversation anymore and y/n keeps glancing at the dancers longingly. Finally, Katsuki has had enough. He pulls y/n up and says goodbye to the rest of the lot before dragging y/n back to their tent. By the time, they arrive, y/n is still sulking which pisses Katsuki off even more.

Y/n starts to get ready for bed and disappears into the bath hut while Katsuki puts on his own sleepwear. When y/n returns, she still doesn't spare Katsuki a glance.

“I just hate fucking dancing!”, he exclaims loudly as y/n settles onto the bed. She gives him a flat look and shrugs. Then she turns around to slide under the covers.

I just can't get it right with her, Katsuki thinks angrily. He's getting more and more frustrated. A more reasonable voice in the back of his head says: You could've gotten this right. She clearly told you what she wanted and you were too proud to entertain the idea.

Katsuki stands at the edge of the bed and stares at her form. She seemed to have so much fun with Denki. She didn't even mind when Denki touched her hips or when her chest touched Denki's chest when she crashed into him.

It could've been you, she laughed with., that nasty voice says. Unfortunately, he has to admit that the voice is right. He could've made her happy tonight. He could've undone a little bit of the damage of the mating if he wasn't so goddamn prideful.

“Fuck it.”, he grumbles and leans over to y/n pulling her towards the edge of the bed. Y/n swirls around and looks up at him. “What?”, she demands and Katsuki motions for her to get up. Slowly, y/n does so.

“What do you want, Katsuki?”, she asks him increasingly annoyed. Katsuki pulls her into the middle of the tent which is still crowded due to the boxes that were brought in earlier. He stands closely toward her and puts a hand on her hip. He looks kind of embarrassed.

“So... I don't know how to do this. If ya want it, ya need to show me.”, he grumbles and laces his fingers with hers. Y/n stares up at him unsure what his intentions are. She sighs deeply and shakes her head.

“I don't know what you want from me, Katsuki.”, she says and takes a step back turning back to bed. Katsuki catches her arm and twirls her around to him. Clumsily, he starts to sway back and forth. Y/n has to laugh.

“Now you want to dance?”, she laughs, “And what is this? This is not dancing!”

Katsuki's ears turn red and he mumbles something y/n doesn't understand.

“Don't tell me the great Katsuki doesn't know how to dance!”, she says more solemnly. For a moment, she observes him before deciding: “Alright, I teach you how my people dance.”

Y/n takes a step back and for a moment Katsuki thinks she's going to lie down again. Then, she softly bows to him and raises her hand. When he doesn't react, she takes his hand and lays it flat against hers, so that their hands float in the air. Then she takes a step forward and a step back.

Katsuki imitates her embarrassedly. Y/n starts moving them in a circle and after four full circles, she steps closer to him, angling their hand sideways and pulling his other hand on her hip. They spin again.

Katsuki's face is a deep scarlet and a soft smile of amusement graces y/n's face. It's actually kind of sweet that he's trying, she thinks, he's still terrible at it though.

Eventually, y/n takes another step forward and leans her head against his shoulder and they sway back and forth, a dance move Katsuki appreciates. Y/n can hear the thundering of his heartbeat. Katsuki stops the swaying and drops her hand. Instead, he pulls her close against his chest. Gently, he strokes over her back and buries his other hand into her hair softly scratching her scalp. Carefully, he presses a kiss against her temple.

“I'm really trying, ya know?”, he mumbles before burying his face into her hair as well. Y/n hums and runs her hand through his hair which sends a pleasant shiver down Katsuki's spine.

“I really would love to be able to speak to you, Katsuki.”, y/n tells him, “Even if it's only to point out how stupid you are sometimes.”

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

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[jessiemeows]

Lost & Found

Chapter 3 - Crypts and Traps

A/N: Hi! I would have posted this sooner, but unfortunately, I had a rough few weeks—including losing one of my pets who was 19 years old. This is a longer chapter but things are finally picking up. Over the past few days I've been writing like crazy and got chapter 4 and 5 almost ready but I need to edit the heck out of it first because I know I spelt a lot of things wrong lol. But anyways I should post those in a week or so :) As usual there may be a few spelling/grammar mistakes but I proofread as much as I could

Pairing: F!Durge, OC (Amaya), Tiefling, Selunite Cleric X Spawn Astarion

Rating: 18+!!! TW mentions of violence, blood, corpses, death, and abuse! This chapter will have a few flashbacks of Astarion's and Amaya's abusive pasts.

WC: 3000

Previous Chapters: Prologue | Ch 1 | Ch 2

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Story:

"When you're finished with him, Godey, ensure he's presentable enough to fetch another mark by midnight. A proper bath should do it." The kennel door slammed with a metallic clang that sent shivers down Astarion's spine.

The skeleton's bony fingers twisted in Astarion's silver-white curls, yanking him from the filthy mattress that reeked of mold. "Just a few more lashings, child, then you can clean yourself up."

"Fuck you," Astarion snarled through fanged clenched teeth. He swung at Godey, but his body betrayed him, forced by unseen magic to kneel before Cazador's faithful right-hand man. Astarion’s muscles screaming in protest, but he couldn't move an inch.

The skeleton's hollow eye sockets seemed to gleam with cruel amusement. "Sweet child, if only you'd learn to obey. Things could be so much simpler."

Astarion jolted from his trance, sweat beading on his pale skin as his crimson eyes darted wildly around him. Recognition slowly dawned—this was his tent. Not safe, perhaps, but far from Cazador's cruel grasp.

He'd chosen to trance late in the morning as the others had still slumbered, he had only needed four hours of rest after a night spent jumping at shadows. Every snap of the campfire, every whisper of falling leaves had sent his mind racing back to Cazador. He had assumed the others would have woken but the day had stretched on in eerie silence, broken only by the dying crackle of embers and the gentle symphony of birdsong beyond his tent walls.

It must have been nearly noon. Astarion fell back onto his bedroll, watching sunbeams dance through the canvas above him. Before his trance, he'd basked in the sunrise, marveling at its beauty. Two centuries in darkness had almost made him forget how vibrant the world could be; how the sky painted itself in impossible shades of pink and gold.

A rustle from across the camp pricked his pointed ears, followed by a thunderous yawn.

"Finally," Astarion muttered, "it’s about damn time someone’s awake."

He meticulously arranged his silver curls and tucked his cotton shirt back into his waistband, refusing to appear anything less than immaculate—especially if the cute tiefling companion was the first riser. But when he pushed aside his tent flaps, his hopes deflated at the sight of the wizard, who was busy conjuring a firebolt to resurrect their dying campfire and clanking pots around.

"Ah, good morning, Astarion!" Gale called out cheerfully. "Sleep well, considering....?"

Astarion settled by the fire with a dramatic sigh. "It would be a good morning if it weren't practically noon."

Confusion flashed across Gale's features. He scrambled back to his tent causing great commotion within, returning moments later with an ornate timepiece clutched in his hands. "Why didn't you wake us? We're rather pressed for time, in case you've forgotten about the whole tadpoles-in-our-heads situation."

"I assumed you all needed the beauty rest." Astarion's lips curled into a wicked smile. "And judging by the looks of you, I wasn't wrong."

Gale massaged his temples, clearly fighting back frustration. "This isn't a joke, Astarion. We're racing against time here. I-" He cut himself off with a sharp breath. "Just... go wake Amaya. I'll handle Shadowheart."

"As you wish," Astarion drawled, waving him off with elegant dismissiveness.

While Gale hurried toward Shadowheart's tent, Astarion took his time approaching Amaya's velvet red tent. Behind him, chaos erupted.

"WHY WOULD YOU THROW A BOOK AT ME?" Gale's voice cracked.

"Why are you in my tent?!" Shadowheart shot back.

"Because it's past noon and we need to get moving!"

Astarion chuckled at their squabbling before turning his attention to Amaya's tent. Her soft snores drifted through the canvas, and with nimble fingers, he untied the entrance flaps. The sight before him made something stir in his stomach—a feeling he'd rather not examine too closely. The tiefling lay curled beneath her blanket, clutching a threadbare stuffed bunny. Her usual ponytail had come undone, leaving raven-black and burgundy curls scattered across her face, some strands tangled around her glowing ember-colored horns.

"Cute," he whispered, his dead heart seeming to skip a beat—yet another feeling he'd been studiously ignoring since their first meeting.

He reached out to gently shake her awake, but in a blur of motion, Amaya had a dagger at his throat, pulled from beneath her pillow. Astarion raised his hands in surrender, maintaining his composure despite the knife pressing against his skin.

"Shall we take a step back, darling?"

Horror washed over Amaya's features as recognition set in. The dagger clattered to her blanket. "Gods, I'm so sorry! I was... I was having a nightmare." Her hands trembled as her big, puppy dog eyes darted around the tent, still half-trapped in whatever terror had gripped her dreams.

"No harm done," Astarion said with a roguish wink. "Now we're even. You should join us for breakfast —we've all had quite the lie-in." He spun on his heel and returned to the fire.

Moments later, Amaya emerged, her hair still charmingly disheveled, and settled between Astarion and Shadowheart, who was weaving her long black hair into an intricate plait.

"Good afternoon, Amaya." Gale's smile was painfully earnest as he offered her dried fruit and coffee. Astarion rolled his eyes at the wizard's transparent attempt at courtship."I ate earlier." Astarion declined when Gale extended a bowl to him.

Gale shrugged and added the extra rations to his bowl but Astarion could feel Shadowheart's suspicious gaze boring into him, making his shoulders tense.

Amaya and Shadowheart whispered between themselves, their conversation drifting between hair braiding and other such trivialities. Astarionn, however, could not have cared less for their chatter, though he had wished Amaya was paying attention to him instead though..

"So, what's the plan?" Shadowheart then asked, turning to Amaya, who had barely touched her food.

"Oh, right, um, the temple," Amaya replied, setting aside her breakfast to sip her coffee and wrestle with her tangled curls. "We might find a healer there, or at least supplies we can use."

"I suppose that is our best option at the moment, though this place seems devoid of any people," Shadowheart mused. "Very well —shall we say twenty-five minutes to prepare?"

A sudden, intoxicating scent cut through the morning air—faintly metallic yet strikingly sweet similar to the rich aroma of chocolate pastries that filled Astarion's nostrils.  Astarion's gaze snapped to its source: Amaya had worried her cuticles raw until they bled. He wrenched his attention back to the fire, licking his lips. Everyone’s words began to jumble around him as his hunger began to worsen.

"Does that sound good to you too, Astarion?" Shadowheart’s voice cut through Astarion’s distraction.

"What? Yes, fine, whatever you say." He stood abruptly, retreating to his tent avoiding anyone’s gaze.

----

She was in her dreams from the night prior again, she was twelve, her small feet thundering down the creaky stairs of their cottage. The worn wood groaned beneath each step. She collided with a tall figure— a familiar wood elf with dark hair streaked with silver, and his eyes were wide with fear.

"Daddy, what's happening? Who are those people?" Her voice trembled.

He crouched before her, placing his hands gently on her shoulders. A familiar scent of pine needles laced within the air. "Sweetheart, I need you to go upstairs and lock yourself in your bedroom. Don't come out until you hear my voice. Do you understand?"

"But where's Mommy? And Uncle Vance?" Her small fingers clutched at the strings of his worn white doublet’s collar.

"They're talking to our... guests." His voice cracked on the last word. "Please, hurry." His fingers gently twirled her raven curls in an attempt to soothe the young tiefling.

"But the bad thoughts are coming back," she whispered, her head beginning to pound with familiar darkness.

His grip tightened on her shoulders, eyes boring into hers. "Listen to me, baby. You must fight those thoughts. No matter what happens, always fight them. Now go!" He gave her a quick peck on her forehead before releasing her with a soft push.

Amaya fled upstairs, her heart hammering against her ribs. She slammed her bedroom door, quickly locking it before shoving her heavy oak toybox against it. A woman’s screams pierced the air, and Amaya clapped her hands over her ears, but she couldn't block out the whispers in her mind. The murderous thoughts that grew louder with each passing second, keeping time with the approaching footsteps in the hall.

The scene dissolved, reforming into rain-slicked cobblestones. She was now sixteen, running through streets that stank of stale ale and desperation. Drunken leers from taverns followed her passage, hands grabbing at her clothes, her hair, her skin. A iron-strong grip suddenly locked around her wrist, spinning her to face a human man with weathered skin, grey-streaked beard, and a winged serpent pin that gleamed dully in the street lights

"Where the fuck do you think you're going?" Alcohol soured his breath.

"Please," she begged, "let me go."

His laugh was ugly. "You think stabbing me would be enough for you to leave? I own you, girl. Get back to the safe house. Now."

"Cralos, please-"

"You heard me, safe house. Now."

She closed her eyes as the dark thoughts plagued her mind, a flood of wonderfully violent imagery —his throat opening beneath her blade, blood painting the cobblestones a thousand different ways; stabbing him over and over again. Her eyes snapped open and she then dropped the blade from her hands, blood covered her hands and splattered across her face. A smile then crept across her features, the urge she had been fighting, finally won.

Reality snapped back into focus as strong fingers gripped her wrists. Astarion's face swam before her, his crimson eyes wide with alarm.

"Are you trying to get yourself killed?" His grip tightened. "You nearly walked straight into that trap!"

Amaya yanked free, rubbing her reddened wrist. Before she could retort, Astarion threw up his hands in exasperation.

"I'll disarm the rest myself, since I seem to be the only one paying attention." He stalked ahead, muttering under his breath.

Amaya leaned against the cool temple wall, crossing her arms. Their hope of finding a healer had led them only to bandits and emptiness. A gentle touch on her shoulder made her flinch— Gale, watching her with poorly concealed concern.

"You seem rather lost in thought," he said softly. "And I don't believe it's our little tadpole friend causing it."

She managed a weak smile. "Just on edge. Everything that's happened..."

"Aren't we all?" His hand moved to her back, rubbing soothing circles. "Perhaps what you need is a proper hot meal and several glasses of that firewine we found. Nothing soothes the soul quite like good food and better wine."

"That sounds heavenly," she murmured. Gale then gave her a soft smile and went to examine more of the books they had discovered in one of the abandoned studies. However, her eyes drifted to Astarion, who was watching them with an unreadable expression as he worked on another trap. Pain then slightly flared in her wrist—as she could feel a bit of blood seep into her wrist bindings—and she whispered a healing spell under her breath.

Astarion materialized beside her, making her jump. "Found something interesting." He held up an iron key and a peculiar coin, both gleaming dully in the temple's dim light. "This should open the next chamber."

"An iron coin?" Amaya turned it over in her palm. "That's... unusual but finders keepers." She handed the coin back to Astarion.

"Indeed." His eyes lingered on her face a moment too long before he turned away.

The key led them into what must have been the temple's main sanctuary. Rows of dusty pews faced an altar, and towering statues loomed in the shadows. The air felt thick with age and forgotten prayers.

"Armed scribes," Amaya observed, noting the skeletal remains scattered about. "But no signs of struggle."

Astarion's voice was thoughtful. "I wonder what was so subversive about their words that they commanded struggle.”

“Apparently it was for Jergal given the statue depicting him, the Scribe of the Dead,” Shadowheart interjected, studying the towering statue before them, “Though, I don't think much worship him anymore.”

The bones began to stir and crack before she'd finished speaking. Skeletal fingers clutched ancient weapons as the scribes rose, their hollow eye sockets gleaming.

Gale's witch bolt crackled through the air as Shadowheart's divine magic forced several undead to retreat. Astarion and Amaya found themselves backed against the altar, facing three of the skeletal warriors. Astarion vanished into the shadows, appearing behind one to drive his blade through its spine. He kicked another's legs out from under it, but the third caught him across the face with its blade. 

Amaya wielding her own divine magic, shining as bright as the moon, empowered her glowing shortsword into one of the skeletons rushing toward Gale. But in the corner of her eye, she saw Astarion stumble backward, caught off guard as the skeleton advanced on him

"Shit, Astarion!" Amaya's scream echoed off the stone walls as the skeleton raised its sword for a killing blow. 

Suddenly a luminous flame erupted from her hands, consuming the undead in brilliant light. The skeleton crumbled to ash as she rushed to Astarion's side, helping him to a nearby bench. 

"Te Curo," she whispered, the once bright magic was now fading to a soft glow of a twilight evening, her magic flowing from her fingers to a gash on his cheek. The wound sealed beneath her touch, but she found herself lingering, her hand cupping his face. His eyes had softened, losing their usual sharp edge as he looked up at her.

"Does that feel better?" she asked softly, her heart skipping at their proximity.

"I... yes." He cleared his throat, a faint flush coloring his pale cheeks. "Thank you." He gave a small, almost formal bow before retreating to where Shadowheart was healing a wound on Gale.

The rest of their temple exploration yielded more questions than answers. They encountered Withers, an ancient undead who spoke in riddles and promised to join their camp—though Astarion showed much discomfort for the wraith to join them. By nightfall, they'd returned to their camp, where the promised firewine flowed freely and the air filled with the mouthwatering aroma of sautéed sausages, caramelized onions, and melted cheese.

Astarion sat apart from the others, sprawled elegantly near his tent squinting at a book in his lap, the candlelight casting shadows across his sharp features. When the food was ready, he took his portion to a nearby cliff edge, silhouetted against the now-set sun.

"He seems uninterested in our company," Shadowheart remarked acidly.

Gale shrugged. "Perhaps he just likes to be alone"

Shadowheart rolled her eyes at Gale's remark, as she shoved another piece of sausage into her mouth. 

 "Give him a break, we've all been through hell lately, and literally." Amaya said softly.

Shadowheart nodded, her expression softening and her voice gentle as she replied, "I don't trust him. But I suppose you're right." She then gathered her dishes, tossing them onto the growing pile that someone would eventually have to clean up. "I'm going to pray and meditate for now. Amaya, come find me if you still want me to do your hair," she added with a small smile, retreating to her tent.

Amaya then gathered her courage along with her bowl and approached Astarion's solitary perch. "Astarion?"

"Ah, my dagger-happy friend." He didn't turn, but his lips curved into a slight smile. "What troubles you my dear?"

“May I join you?”

“By all means.” Astarion waved his hand, gesturing for her to join him.

She settled beside him, close enough to feel the strange coolness that always seemed to emanate from him. Overhead the nightsky beforethem was a tapestry of glittering stars, without a cloud in sight. The pale moon shining, casting a slight glow upon the both of them.

"So, not a tentacle to be seen," Astarion mused, breaking the comfortable silence.

Amaya speared a piece of sausage. "I could say the same to you."

"True enough. We're all doing remarkably well, considering. Though I'm not taking anything for granted. First sign of transformation, and I'll have to stop that pretty little heart of yours." He tapped her chest lightly, the gesture somehow both playful and threatening. "I'm open to suggestions—knives, poison, strangulation. Whatever you'd prefer."

"If I had to choose..." She set her bowl aside, meeting his gaze. "Make it quick. With a knife."

"A classic choice!" His eyes sparkled. "One clean thrust to the heart, and it's over. Though we'd need a proper blade—can't have me fumbling about with a dinner knife." He paused, his smile softening. "All hypothetical, of course."

"And you?" She tilted her head. "How should I kill you?"

"Oh, you cute little thing." His hand rose to her face, using cool fingers gently tucking a wayward curl behind her pointed ear. The casual intimacy of the gesture sent warmth flooding through her chest. His fingers lingered, plucking a leaf from her hair. "I'd like to see you try. Though perhaps we should focus on finding you a proper comb first. Your curls seem to be collecting half the forest." He purred, voice low and sultry.

The frigid touch left Amaya's skin tingling, and she found herself leaning slightly toward him before catching herself. "Qavzhe, I- Shadowheart told me she was going to help me with something," she stammered, abruptly standing up and hurrying toward Shadowheart's tent, tripping over her own feet, acutely aware of Astarion’s gaze following her.

“What’s wrong with you?” Shadowheart stifled a laugh when Amaya entered her tent.

“Nothing, it’s nothing. Can you just show me how you braid your hair.” Amaya asked, trying to sound casual.

Shadowheart smiled warmly. “So pushy but come here.” Amaya sat cross-legged next to Shadowheart on her bedroll while Shadowheart began to comb her fingers through Amaya’s curls. “You know, I can just do this for you every night until we find a healer.”

“That sounds nice actually, perhaps after dinner?” Amaya said softly.

“It’s a deal.” Shadowheart then began to carefully weave Amaya’s curls into an intricate braid.

----------------------------

End A/N: If you are wondering "Qavzhe" means "gods" in infernal from the translator I'm using :)

[shardminds]

pencil skirt (3/?)

pairing: gwyn/rhys rating: e (for even rhys fumbles the bag sometimes) wc: 7,067 primary tags: alternate universe - office, rhysand is whipped, eventual smut (tags to be updated with each chapter)

"See you soon, Azriel," Rhys watches as she waves him off, a secret smile framed by shimmering sheer pink. He'd never noticed her wearing lip gloss before but it certainly is a sight to behold, slick sheen glinting in the light streaming through the windows. He'll never invest in blinds. Not ever. "Send my love to the twins!" The what?

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"Harassment training isn't enough," Azriel groans, near tearing his hair out at the roots by the way he grips it. It's longer than it's been in years, falling into his eyes like it did when they were teenagers and Rhys is half tempted to ask his barber to set up shop in one of the conference rooms and ambush Azriel into sorting his shit out. Not that it looks bad, it actually suits him — probably more than it should for a man in his early thirties. Rhys just doesn't want the competition. That, and he knows Azriel prefers to keep it tight. "At this point, we need to have him put down."

"I'm not against the idea," He starts, as Azriel pushes up from his seat, smoothing out the creases in his trousers. "but I don't think, feasibly, we can murder Cassian just because he's unable to maintain professional boundaries with someone he's known since before he could form cognitive thought." The fact they met on the first day of secondary school goes unsaid. "Just get him back… within reason."

Cassian, being Cassian, was very clear on his opinion of professional boundaries. That is to say, he ignores them entirely. It would be an issue, if he wasn't surprisingly competent at his job. The fact that sales was where he found his niche, after spending the majority of his formative years in careers that required less brain and more brawn, was a surprise to everyone. Well, everyone except Mor, who had suggested it in the first place.

Despite being the human equivalent of a sequoia, their clients took to him with unmatched ease, accepting his mark ups and margins and thanking him for the pleasure. Honestly, Rhys isn't quite sure how he does it. Even with his stint as sales director, he'd experienced a fair share of customers that he's pretty sure wanted him dead.

Not much has changed since he took over as CEO.

"That sounds awfully like you recommending I instigate psychological warfare against a colleague." Azriel sighs, a deep reverberating thing that seems to shudder out of him.

He shrugs, they've all done worse and got away with it. "It's a step down from murder."

"True." Azriel muses, tucking a stray curl behind his ear in a move that makes him look way more demure than he actually is. It might be worth asking if Gwyn can schedule something— no, that is not her job. "I've got to get back, no doubt Devlon will have raised another petty grievance by now."

Rhys moves his King of Spades to an empty column. What? He can't play solitaire on company time? Who's gonna tell. Who would they tell? Upper management has some perks. "You could always fire him."

He doesn't need to see Azriel's face to know he's rolling his eyes. "You know that's not how it works." He scoffs and when Rhys looks up, he's gone — slipping out of the office in that soundless way he does. If not for the Bye Gwyn he offers on his way past the front desk, Rhys wouldn't have noticed him leaving at all.

With a few more clicks (and not a single hint, thank you very much) Rhys' screen fills with the falling cards. It's by no means his quickest time, but it's still beneath five minutes, which is always nice. He slips his laptop shut. Lucien requested a meeting regarding the expansion of his team and, with Amren tied up in something else, Rhys had scheduled it in himself — much to Gwyn's aggravation.

Speaking of—

"See you soon, Azriel," Rhys watches as she waves him off, a secret smile framed by shimmering sheer pink. He'd never noticed her wearing lip gloss before but it certainly is a sight to behold, slick sheen glinting in the light streaming through the windows. He'll never invest in blinds. Not ever. "Send my love to the twins!"

The what?

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[coldilikeit]

Isekai reader x Batfam (Neglected au)

Female reader

Chapter 3- Gotham's most beloved

______________________________

"wha- AGHHHHHHH, SHIT, THIS ISN'T MY FAULT", you try to tell the system "STOP! PLEASE!"

Alfred runs to you, "Miss what's wrong?", when he touches you, he feels it too, he lets go immediately, thousands of questions on his head "Miss?"

The system cannot be known. Use 5000 points for memory erasure or face another penalty

Time: 5 minutes

Penalty: death

"I GET IT! STOP! IT WASN'T MY FAULT PLEASE!! I DIDN'T KNOW HE FOLLOWED! PLEASE STOP" You yell

After the penalty was over, your breathing was heavy, tears struck on your face, the food toppled over from your squirming and crying

Alfred is right there. Looking at you with shock and worry "Miss (Name) what-" before he could finish his question, you moved

-5000 points

•memory erasure 2 minutes

He forgets, now he's just standing there awkwardly, not knowing why 2 minutes ago while he was watching from afar it was neat cute set up but now it's messy and spilled

"Alfred... Why did you come!?" You yell at him

He seemed taken aback "Miss I just felt you shouldn't spend your birthday alone, I was worried"

The pain in your body has subsided and you stand up, getting out of the tent, not caring for the rain "Can't you just act like the rest of them!? Can't you just hate me!?!"

His eyes looked at you with pity, but that only fueled your anger, you didn't need pity, you didn't want pity

"But Miss, I'm not like the rest of them, I care-"

"No you don't. You feel obligated, you devoted yourself to Thomas and Martha, you feel devoted to take care of the only thing they left, Bruce. And your loyal to him and everyone Bruce cared about, the only reason you're here is because I share the blood of your previous masters, you're not here because of me. You don't know who I am" you yell

You have a right to feel angry, you just got electrocuted because of him, he doesn't know that, well, he forgot

He knows you're right, that's why he's doing this, he wants all he Wayne's to get along, that's what Thomas and Martha would want "Miss... I know master Bruce has his shortcomings, no father should have neglected their own daughter-"

"tell that to your own daughter, the one you left in England to serve the Waynes"

He freezes.

You don't understand why the authors of this concept write Alfred as a good guy

"How is Julia? When was the last time you saw her?" You ask "Go keep taking care of the Waynes leave me be"

"Miss (Name), you are also a Wayne" he says

"No I'm not, I am my mother's daughter, not Bruce's, how can I be his daughter when he doesn't act like my father?"

______________________________

You wake up feeling shitty, your body hurts, your brain hurts, and your heart feels heavy, you should be used to it by now

No one in this house is ever going to be on your side, Alfred didn't care about you, he just wanted to preserve Thomas and Martha Wayne's blood

He knew you've been going and living with your mother's last name

And you've just spent 5000 points, you were saving up to buy a mirror that could see back in your previous world, it was 1000000 points

This sucks. You wanted your mom, and your other mom... And your real dad, and your real siblings, not these condescending assholes

In every reincarnation story, it's either possible or impossible to return back to your original world, you don't know if it's possible

"System?"

Yes?

"Is it possible for my return... In my original world?"

It is possible

Holy fuck, you jump out of bed "How!?"

You already know how

"what!? No I don't!"

You do

"is this like a Dorothy situation? Do I just shut my eyes and click my heels three times?"

You sigh, you might as well try, you close your eyes, "there's no place like home, there's no place like home, there's no place like home"

You open them and find yourself still in your bedroom "Well now I just feel stupid."

"Miss (Name)?" A knock on your door, "Breakfast is ready, please come down" It's Alfred

You cringe and remember your outburst last night, you were just so angry that he made you fail your mission and got you electrocuted

After a few seconds of silence he knocked again "young Miss... Are you angry with me?" He asks

Yes you are. You don't like how he claims to care but whenever he sees you being bullied by one of Bruce's kids he doesn't reprimand them, whenever Bruce misses an award ceremony, he doesn't force him to go, how do you think you got away without being known as a Wayne for 2 years?

"I'm skipping breakfast" you say (no you're not)

From your 563th mission, you had to perform a violin concert without any of your family members attending, it was easy enough and the reward was a magic mini fridge that gives you whatever food you want

As by the system's words "A neglected reader isn't worthy of eating with their family, they eat alone"

You open the fridge and somehow end up with fresh hot pancakes and syrup

______________________________

You walk through the streets of Gotham, you're 12 your bag is loaded with shit, pepper spray, a pocket knife disguised as a ball pen, and a taser

Why is it always raining in Gotham?

You've been dodging Alfred for the past few days, you can't rely on your magic fridge forever since Alfred will start wondering if you're starving yourself or something

"Jollibee..." You see the building in a far distance, near it you see a child in worn out clothes, he seemed to be selling something

Ah... He's selling flowers...

As you spot the cart behind him still full, he didn't sell much, you also see some girl toys at the bottom of his cart

You enter the restaurant "3 orders of C3 please, to go"

"um miss... Can you please separate the orders, 2 and 1, for the 2 please add some peach mango pies" you add

You wait for a while, subtly eyeing the kid, and your hunch was right an even smaller girl came with two umbrellas, the boy had a little sister

After getting the order, you come near them, is this weird? Approaching a boy, a little younger than you and giving them food, the boy looked about 8 and the girl 6

"Miss..." He looks embarrassed "We can't pay you for the food..."

"that's fine, just give me a flower" you smile "And also... Do you live in a neighborhood?", he tilts his head "Yes Miss I do"

"you should just work for your neighbors, don't stray too far from home, Gotham is dangerous" you feel kind of a hypocrite since you use to do the same things this boy did, at an even younger age "so your sister won't have to fetch you when it's raining, both of you might get sick"

He smiled at you "Yes Miss, thank you again"

You walk away, no matter how many years you've been living here, you still hate it, you were either born very lucky or very unlucky in Gotham

You see a woman under a bus stop on call with someone on her phone "Sweetie... Mommy is going to be late tonight, I don't have an umbrella, just sit tight there okay?" She hangs up "Should I just make a run for it?" You hear her say

Then you remember, your mom once came home soaked and feverish, she had promised to buy you takeout since you cooked for her the day before, she was worried you'd sleep without eating anything so she ran through the rain to be able to eat with you

It was fine, you had a jacket anyway, you pull the hood of your jacket to your head and approach the lady "Ma'am, do you need this?" You hand her your umbrella

She looked shocked "oh I can't possibly take this from you!", you give it to her nonetheless "It's alright ma'am, I have a jacket and my house is very near" (the house is a lie obviously), she smiles at you "Thank you so much, I left my daughter at home and god knows how hungry she is right now, take care okay? The roads are slippery" she says before leaving

You underestimated the rain and ended up soaking wet by the time you're at the manor, Alfred greets you and he looks away from you, he seems worried about your state but is ashamed

Then you hand him the flower you got earlier "Im sorry I lashed out" you say

"thank you miss... And I'm sorry for disturbing you when you visited your mother, I shouldn't have overstepped" he says

He meets your eyes and guides you to sit down at the kitchen, he comes back with a towel and dries you off

You need at least one person who cares for you, at least one

______________________________

You wake up the next day, finally comfortable to eat downstairs because reconciling with Alfred, you're the first one here, guess the family is still asleep, or maybe they already ate, you don't know, you pick up a news paper and-

"Gotham's angel.

Spotted giving food to children, and giving away her umbrella in the cold rain, we found that this kind girl is none other than Bruce Wayne's hidden daughter! After investigating some more we found out that (Name) Wayne donates books and toys to an orphanage without even her own father knowing!"

"Because that's the orphanage I stayed in!" You panic, you wanted to still be able to visit the few friends you managed to make in your days there

"She also tutors children from a poor neighborhood for years without charge and doesn't tell her family! True kindness doesn't need an audience but years of compassion from (Name) Wayne should be recognized, she's been helping other people for years without anyone knowing, a true angel!"

"That place was my old neighborhood!? What is this angel bullshit???" Hello??? Again those children are your friends!??

You've unlocked a special event!

Most Neglected readers blend in the background, but in some cases, they become popular through either being a celebrity or becoming a business man

You have become famous! Continue being famous and gain fans!

Special mission: Make the public like you even more, to 100%

Public love meter: 60%

Time: 1 week

Special reward: bulletproofing (Gotham is a dangerous place! Who says you need to be from krypton for bullets to bounce off you? Everything you wear becomes bulletproof!)

"So... If non-common tropes of neglected au can happen... Like if the reader gets famous, does this mean I can get superpowers?" You whisper to yourself

No you cannot. You already have me, don't be greedy ಠ⁠ಗ⁠ಠ

"ah.. sorry system" you whisper again

______________________________

Reader: having flashbacks to when she was poor and doing good deeds to those she meets that resembles her past situation

Gotham: an angel?

______________________________

@yuyuzi-ling @sweetsugerskull @butratherbutrather @yu-reiii @clementinesyummy @lfiee @iamapotatoe @type-ink @unknownloner1345 @randomlyappearingartist

[ariestrxsh]

dealer!chris x dealer!reader

💸 content warning: smut/angst (in later chapters; this one's mostly just suggestive), mentions of hard drugs and guns, enemies to lovers, slow burn

💸 summary: you and chris spend the night hanging out on his roof after your first day of making sales together.

there will be several parts to this story, and they will contain sex, drugs, violence, use of weapons, and a lot of things that could be triggering if you've ever been apart of the drug world or loved someone with an addiction. i don't mean to glorify drug use, selling, or anything like that, but i wanted this story to be realistic, so it does appear like a somewhat "glamorous" lifestyle to chris and the reader in the first few parts. i want to make it very clear that when you get involved in the drug world in real life, you usually end up in one of two places: the ground or prison.

WHEN SPARKS FLY

chapters: | intro | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 |

The sun sank slowly below the skyline, and the evening turned to nightfall as you and Chris finished up your last deal of the day. You'd been showing him all the stops, introducing him to your customers, and teaching him the way you did everything.

He got into your passenger seat and sighed as his head fell against the headrest, really wishing he had a joint right about now. "Damn, ma. I can't believe how much money we made today," Chris mumbled, slouching down into his seat. He reached into his pocket, pulling out the wad of cash he'd made for the day.

"I know, and we're only a third of the way through the product," you smiled back, doing the math in your head about the potential profit. "I could never work a 9 to 5," Chris sighed, sifting through the $100 bills. "Can't believe I just made in a day what it would take some sucker to make in two weeks at some office job."

You fastened your seatbelt and turned the key in the ignition, admiring Chris, who brought his fingers to his lips and slowly licked them as he separated the crisp hundreds. "What are you thinking about, ma? My tongue or my fingers?" Chris flirted, catching you staring out of the corner of his eye and giving you a seductive smirk as he ran his tongue along the pads of his fingers again, flitting through his money.

You squeezed your thighs together as you bit down on your lip. For a moment, you were thinking about both at the same time. You hated the effect he had on you, the way he knew how to get inside your head, intrude on your thoughts, and invade your sexual fantasies. "You're fucking gross, Chris," you replied, rolling your eyes and trying to hide how turned on you were.

He responded with a chuckle, knowing that he was getting to you even if you wanted to deny it. "So, am I dropping you off at your girlfriend's house?" You asked, reminding him that he had one. "Nah, can you drop me off at my place? I'm staying home tonight," Chris requested. "I can do that. Just tell me where to go," you replied, your eyes darting around between the road in front of you, your side mirrors, and your rearview.

"So, have you told Daisy yet?" You asked, your gaze flickering over at Chris, who was shaking his head. "I'll tell her, ma, when I'm ready," Chris grumbled. He knew you were right. He knew he had some things to work out, like telling his girlfriend the real way he made his money or dealing with the fact that he was finding himself sexually attracted to his new business partner. He stole another glance at you from your passenger seat as the fantasy he'd had the night before flashed through his mind, praying you wouldn't notice the tent forming in his jeans.

When you pulled into Chris' driveway, he thanked you again for the ride. "I can't believe I've been sober for eight hours," Chris mentioned, bouncing his leg as you parked. "No wonder you've been so uptight today," you teased him. "Maybe you should come smoke with me since you're always uptight," Chris smirked, nudging you in the arm with his elbow, but his offer was genuine.

You gave him an annoyed look, but you couldn't hold back the smile that spread across your lips. "I don't smoke weed, Chris. I haven't since I was a teenager," you replied, fidgeting with the material of your black steering wheel cover. "Why not?" Chris wondered, surprised by your admission. "I like being clear-headed. I don't like feeling out of control," you shrugged.

"We're on a floating rock in space, ma. The idea that you have control over anything is an illusion," Chris laughed, reaching for his door handle. "C'mon. Come inside. Do you drink? I've got a beer with your name on it if you wanna hang out with me for a little."

You were quiet for a second. It wasn't often that people invited you to hang out or just do something fun with them, and for a moment, you thought maybe you could use it. "I could stay for one beer," you responded hesitantly, nervously rubbing the back of your neck. "That's what I'm talking about, ma. Let your hair down once in a while," Chris replied, beaming with a smile.

You trailed behind him, staring down at your shoes as you followed the pattern of the stepping stones that led to his front door. "Oh, shit. I forgot my house key at Daisy's place," he sighed, running his finger through his hair. You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms over your chest. "Do you need me to take you to Daisy's place after all?" You huffed, slightly annoyed at the situation.

"Nah, it wouldn't do any good anyways. She's at work. Plus, this won't take long," Chris said, pulling a pin out of his pocket and fiddling with the lock. You nervously looked around, worried someone was going to see him picking his lock and call the cops or something, but in a matter of seconds, you heard a click, and you watched as he turned the knob. His door creaked open, and he glanced back at you with a mischevious smile.

"Okay, now you're just showing off," you replied, raising an eyebrow. "What can I say, ma? I'm good with my hands. Gotta show you my skillset somehow," Chris playfully winked at you. You scoffed, biting back a smile. A part of you liked the way he couldn't keep himself from making sexual innuendos and flirting with you.

"If you need me to pick a lock on a deal, though, you're splitting the money 50/50 with me," Chris told you, stepping into his living room. "What kind of shady shit do you think I'm up to, Chris? I'm just selling coke. Not robbing people," you joked, following him in. "You never know," Chris peeked back at you over his shoulder with a smirk on his face.

"This is it," he announced, raising his arms to present his place to you. It was a dimly-lit, relatively small place, but it had a safe, cozy vibe to it. "I like it," you told him, your eyes scanning them room. You noticed his sprouting marijuana plants in the corner sitting beneath his grow lights and an old shelf beside it that was littered with comic books and novels you'd never heard of.

His house faintly smelled of weed and sandalwood, like how Chris always smelled, and you found the familiar scent comforting as it wafted through the air. He directed you over towards his couch and motioned for you to sit. You sat down, awkwardly perching at the edge of the couch cushion.

"C'mon, ma. You can relax. Kick your feet up," he told you, heading over towards his fridge to give you that beer he promised you. You exhaled and slowly leaned back into his sofa that was much softer than you imagined it would be. Chris twisted the cap off the bottle and handed it to you. The red and white label that read Stella Artois stared back at you, and you hesitantly reached out and took it.

Chris plopped down on the couch beside you, and you watched as he sprinkled a bit of ground weed into his rolling paper. You peered down at his rings and his fingers at the way they skillfully handled the joint, tucking the paper in and folding it in on itself.

His gaze flickered up at you as his tongue darted out, and he licked a long, slow stripe across the edge of the joint. His lips curled into a suggestive smile as he noticed you watching him, but you acted unamused, pulling your eyes away from his. You held the bottle up to your lips, taking a small, refreshing sip, the bubbles fizzing against your tongue as you relaxed further into the comfy couch.

You peered down the hall to an open door at the end. The room was dark, but you imagined it was probably Chris' bedroom. You found yourself wondering what it looked like, how comfortable his bed was, and how hard it would be for you to keep your hands off of him if you ever found yourself alone with him in there.

"You coming?" Chris asked, pulling you out of your thoughts and standing to his feet as soon as you'd gotten comfortable. "Coming where?" You wondered, giving him a perplexed look. "To the roof. The view's great up there," Chris responded, making his way towards the back door.

You hesitantly followed him back out into the cool air of the backyard where he had a ladder propped up against the side of his house. "C'mon, ma. I'll hold your beer. You start climbing the ladder," Chris told you, extending his arm to take your bottle from you. "Yep. Just smoking and drinking on a roof. What could possibly go wrong?" You muttered under your breath as you wrapped your fingers around the cold, metal rungs.

"Don't worry, ma. I'll be right behind you, so if you fall, I'll catch you," Chris' breath tickled your neck as he pressed his warm body into yours. Your heart skipped a beat, and you felt your breath hitch in your throat. It was the closest you'd ever been to him. You were just glad you were faced away from him, so he couldn't see the unmistakable look of desire written in your expression as heat radiated off his skin.

You cleared your throat and regained your composure. "Is that your gun, or are you just happy to see me?" You snarked at him, peering over your shoulder in an attempt to take control of the situation again. Chris chuckled, but he didn't answer you, leaving it up for interpretation. You started to hesitantly climb the ladder, and Chris followed closely behind, keeping his promise to not let you fall as he held your beer in one hand and the unlit joint between his lips.

The two of you made it to the roof, and Chris handed you your beer once the two of you got settled. The star-filled sky hung overhead as you looked out at the horizon. You saw the tops of the other houses, the city lights scattered across the skyline, and the waves crashing on the beach shore off in the far distance. You brought your bottle of Stella Artois up to your lips and took another sip as you took in the view. There was something about this perspective that made your problems feel smaller and less pressing.

"Pretty cool, isn't it, ma?" Chris asked beside you as you heard the flick of his lighter sound as he held the flame up to the end of his joint. You quietly nodded, surprised by how much you could see from Chris' roof. "So, ma. What do you say we get to know each other better and play your favorite game, twenty questions?" Chris smiled over at you with the lit joint pinched between his two fingers.

You rolled your eyes, but you didn't have an excuse this time. There was no work to be done, and there was nowhere to go to avoid his questioning, so you took a deep breath and another swig of your drink. "Okay, fine. Hit me," you finally replied after a moment of hesitancy.

"Where do you go to clear your mind?" Chris wondered, his gaze locked on you. "The beach. I like the waves. The sounds of the seagulls. Feeling the sand between my toes. It's peaceful," you shrugged. Even though the question wasn't a very personal one, you felt vulnerable answering.

"What about you, Chris?" You wondered aloud. "You're looking at it," Chris said with his joint tucked between his lips. He didn't need to explain anything further. You could tell why this was the place he went to sort out his thoughts.

"Alright. What kind of music do you listen to?" You blurted out, not sure of what to ask him next. "Anything, really. But I prefer indie over everything else," he told you. "Okay, play me your favorite song," you told him, gesturing towards his phone he had sitting beside him. He picked it up, staring back at you as he thought about it for a moment. "Alright," he responded, scrolling through the saved albums on his phone until he came across AM by Arctic Monkeys. No. 1 Party Anthem started playing through the speaker of his phone, and you nodded in approval as the melody filled the space between you.

"If you could have dinner with anyone, dead or alive, who would you choose?" Chris asked, turning off his phone screen and letting the song play softly in the background of your conversation. You thought about it for a moment. "See, I wanna say Pablo Escobar or something, but I think I'd want to have dinner with one of those druglords who flew under the radar so well that we don't even know their names," you replied. "Damn, ma. That's a good answer," Chris mumbled with the joint hanging from his lips.

He glanced up at you as if silently reminding you it was your turn to ask a question. "What did you think of me when you first met me?" You wondered aloud. You gave him a look like he should be careful about how answered this question. He cracked a smile, remembering the first time you'd approached him and threatened him for selling his weed on your block and trying to steal your customers. "I thought you were tough. Not the kind of woman you want to mess with. I also thought you were super hot," Chris admitted. You blushed, hoping Chris couldn't tell in the glow of the moon.

"What's one thing you don't leave the house without?" Chris asked you, pulling a long drag from his joint. "My keys," you sharply responded, subtly teasing him for having to break into his own place earlier. He let out a laugh. "And my gun," you told him. You sipped on your bubbly drink, noting that the song had changed.

Why'd You Only Call Me When You're High started to play as you glanced back over at the blue-eyed man beside you. "If you could change one thing about yourself, what would you change?" You asked, peeling the label off your beer bottle. "Nothing," Chris smirked over at you. "Nothing?" You reiterated, furrowing your brow. "Nothing," he repeated. "You're a little cocky, aren't you?" You shot back. "I prefer confident," Chris chuckled before he pulled from the joint again.

"What do you think the most important quality in a friend or partner is?" Chris asked after a few seconds of silence. "Honesty and loyalty," you said without hesitation, and Chris nodded in agreement. "You?" You asked. "Probably just someone who isn't going to bail when things get hard," Chris sincerely responded.

"What's your biggest fear?" You asked him, the questions getting deeper and deeper. "Losing the people I love," he answered, staring down at the build-up of ash on the cherry before flicking it off. "How about you, ma?" He returned the question. "Trusting the wrong person and getting hurt," you responded almost immediately. "I get that," Chris answered, his gaze still fixed on you.

"What's your guilty pleasure?" Chris asked you, his luscious lips curling into a smile as he awaited your response. "Probably those dumb reality shows," you admitted, your cheeks growing warm. "Really? Never took you for a girl who likes trash TV," Chris teasingly nudged your arm. "Daisy loves that shit, too."

"What's one of your guilty pleasures?" You asked Chris. He bit down on his lip as he looked you up and down. He knew what he wanted to say, but he knew it would be crossing the line of just playful flirting and venturing into uncharted territory, so he came up with something on the spot.

"Watching the trash TV with her. I'm always making fun of her for watching The Bacholorette and shit like that, but then I find myself watching it with her and getting all invested," Chris confessed.

"I totally get it. Like, I started watching it as a joke at first, and then you get to know the people. Then you start wanting them to end up together," you said, glancing up at him, and his eyes met yours. The song changed again, and you listened as the lyrics came through:

🎶 If you like your coffee hot, let me be your coffee pot. You call the shots, babe. I just wanna be yours. 🎶

The two of you stared at each other in a comfortable silence for a moment, Chris taking a puff of his weed as you took a swig of beer. "So, what does Daisy think you're out doing all day when you're working?" You wondered, raising an eyebrow at him. "As far as she knows, I work in sales, which isn't totally a lie. She just doesn't know about the drugs," Chris shrugged. "Yeah, she doesn't know about the most important detail," you scoffed, tapping on the glass of your bottle.

"Why are you always judging me for that, ma? I've got my reasons. Why are you so pressed about it?" He asked, sounding a bit defensive. "I had an ex who kept things from me, like how much money he owed certain people. He put me in a lot of dangerous situations. Don't want to watch you do the same shit to Daisy," you murmured, letting Chris in more than you had up until this point. "I didn't know, ma," Chris said, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder and relaxing his jaw. "You know, I'd never intentionally hurt her. Or you."

"It doesn't matter, Chris. You can be the most well-intentioned person in the world and still hurt the people around you," you responded. He was quiet for a few minutes, mulling over what you said.

"Your ex? Alex?" Chris wondered, blowing out a cloud of smoke against the night sky as he recalled Joe using that name earlier. "Yeah. My dumb fuck ex. He got himself killed because he owed the wrong people money," you said in a dry tone. "Holy shit. Ma, I'm so sorry," Chris whispered. "Don't be. He deserved it," you muttered under your breath.

"Hey, I have a question. Why do you always call me ma?" You chimed in. "It's just a sign of respect. That's all," he shrugged. "Why? Does it bother you?"

"No. It's fine. I don't care what you call me. You gotta stop looking at me like that, though. Looking like you're gonna kiss me or some shit," you accused him, following his gaze that danced between your eyes and your lips as you took another drink of your beer. The song changed again.

🎶 How many secrets can you keep? 'Cause there's this tune I found that makes me think of you somehow, and I play it on repeat until I fall asleep. 🎶

"I'm not looking at you any type of way! Maybe you're projecting because you wanna kiss me," he shot back. The sexual tension between the two of you was thick, and for a moment, you each thought about it. The temptation was there, and it was strong. You wanted to pull him as close as you could, passionately press your lips against his, and tangle your fingers in his soft, brown hair, but you didn't want to ruin your business relationship with him.

Chris thought the same, wondering what it would be like to kiss you, but he didn't want to screw up what he had with Daisy, and he didn't want to give you the wrong impression. He diverted his eyes, glancing down at his joint that had burned down to the roach, and he put it out. "Get enough of the view, ma? I'm getting kind of tired," Chris chimed in as you admired his profile in the moonlight.

For a moment, you forgot he was talking about the scape of the city from the roof. "Oh, right. Yeah, of course. I should probably go," you said, fiddling with the empty bottle in your hand. "You can stay the night if you need to," Chris motioned towards the alcoholic beverage you'd finished off, but he knew he was playing with fire the moment the words left his mouth, inviting you to stay the night.

🎶 Do I wanna know if this feeling flows both ways? Sad to see you go, was sort of hoping that you'd stay. 🎶

The two of you exchanged a look like you both knew it wouldn't be a good idea. Even with you both sleeping in separate rooms, you each knew deep down that a closed door wouldn't be enough to deter you two from the temptation. "It's cool, Chris. It was just one beer. I'll just grab a glass of water, sit on your couch for twenty minutes, and I'll be fine to drive," you told him. Chris picked up his phone and paused the song. "I got you, ma. I'll help you down."

You felt elated once you were finally sitting back down on Chris' couch, sobering up. You weren't sure if it was a buzz from the alcohol, an adrenaline rush from being on the roof, or just the way you were starting to feel around Chris.

Chris gave you some crackers to help "absorb the alcohol," because he had "heard somewhere that it does," and even though you'd only had one beer, it was sweet that he cared enough. You also both just knew that you had to sober up, because staying the night wasn't an option unless you were both prepared to give into the force that was pulling the two of you together and end up doing something that could hurt Daisy or hurt your business relationship.

So you were munching away on Ritz crackers on Chris' couch after your single beer, and once you felt like the effects of the alcohol had worn off, you made a comment about how late it was getting and about how you should probably get going.

You left, following the same stepping stones you'd used when you walked up. When you approached your car, you reached into your empty pocket for your keys just to remember you'd left them on Chris' coffee table. "Shit," you whispered, realizing you were going to have to do a walk of shame back up to his front door after giving him shit for forgetting his keys earlier.

Chris had already started to get ready for bed, shedding his layers and slipping into a pair of flannel pajama pants when a soft knock sounded at his front door. He peeked through the peephole to make sure it was you, his heart racing and secretly wondering if you'd come back to kiss him or confess your feelings for him, his mind swirling with half a dozen possibilities.

He turned the doorknob, and when you saw him, your eyes were immediately drawn to the fact that he was shirtless. "Uh, sorry. I forgot my keys," you told him, unable to conceal your smile at the irony of the situation. "Oh, you mean, the keys you don't go anywhere without?" Chris asked, leaning against the door frame and indulging in the fact that you were doing nothing to hide the fact that you were checking him out.

"Yeah. Those ones," you smirked, biting down on your lip. "I'll go get 'em, ma," Chris chuckled at you as he turned to retrieve your keys. You found yourself holding your breath as your gaze danced over the definition of his back muscles in the soft lighting of his living room.

He handed them to you, and as you took them from him, his hand brushed against yours. You both exchanged a look that was heavy with the words unspoken between you, but you also both silently agreed it was for the best. "Okay, goodnight," you said, unconsciously batting your eyelashes at him. "Goodnight," Chris smirked, eyeing you up and down as you turned to walk away before closing his door again.

As soon as you made it to your car, you reflected on the way you acted and how stupid you must have sounded, silently kicking yourself. You didn't harp on it for long, though. Your embarrassment was quickly overshadowed by the intoxication and bliss you felt from being around such an attractive man who was beginning to make you smile more than he made you roll your eyes.

click to read chapter 6 ✨️

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[aurynsia]

Unrequited, Terrifying Chapter 3

James Potter x Reader

Summary: A boy in your class haunts your search for your secret admirer, uncovering some feelings you thought you lost years before…

Warnings: Some very subtle sexual implications, secret admirer trope, extremely fluffy, nervous!james x shy!reader, some subtle wolfstar action in the background, idiots in love, oc!friends, lovesick!james, no use of Y/N, James is a virgin, reader is referred to with she/her pronouns, oblivious!reader, Remus being the most supportive and helpful friend James has ever had, reader is a bit of a nerd, NOT EDITED!

Word count: 1.5K

Series Masterlist

Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7

——————— ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

Potions concluded with the setting sun. You adjusted in your seat to reach your bag, dropping supplies into its dark void. You had managed to phase the unusual situation you were in to the back of your mind, forgetting your secret admirer as you completed the class work. This was, however, short lived.

You turned back to your desk and spotted a folded note on its surface, the paper identical to the one you received the night before. You attempted to conceal your growing curiosity and excitement as you swiftly snatched it and launched yourself out of your chair, bag in hand.

Turning to leave the room, you thought of your friends’ ecstatic faces at the discovery of a new note, before-

Bump.

“Oh Merlin, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to…” You turned your frame to face the source of disruption, air pushed from your lungs for just a second. There stood a tentative James Potter, a splattering of rose appearing on his cheeks at your eye contact. “Um, I- I’m sorry!” He rambled, rushing away before you could even consider the interaction.

Your stomach quietly dipped and flipped at the contact, creating an unfamiliar warmth which you quickly forced down as you shook your head with a small smile. James Potter, ladies man, smooth talker and prank puller couldn’t even form a coherent sentence around you. Strange. Though, at least he apologised this time.

You exited the classroom, remembering the note you held in your hand, and practically skipped towards the Gryffindor common room with bubbling enthusiasm.

——————— ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

“And then I just froze! I can’t help it, her eyes are so captivating and she smells really good and the way she clutched the note so protectively made my heart flutter!” James finished his rambling, looking around his dorm in disbelief as his friends snickered affectionately.

“Good Merlin, Prongs! Every attractive bird you bump into like that at post-match parties would be subject to a dousing of charm, flirtations, and charisma by now…” Sirius quipped with a smirk, amused by the boy’s rare, flustered look hiding behind his hands.

“I mean, of course she’s a pretty one, Prongs, but what’s stopping you from wooing her like all the rest?” Silence fell on the group as James considered Sirius’ words. “Well, I don’t know, Prongs, maybe it’s because- well, you know, you’ve been…saving yourself…for h-“ Peter attempted, choosing not to finish his sentence after the entourage of warning glares met his eyes.

“James, Peter might have a point…for once…” Remus spoke after some consideration. “You obviously view her differently to all the other girls you’ve spoken to, and I know the reason you hesitate with all the rest is because you wish they were her…” Remus glanced at the raven-haired boy sitting on his bed as he said those last words, who was unaware as he moved to console James.

The young Potter was arched over, with his elbows on his knees and his face in the palms of his hands. His bed dipped under the weight of Sirius taking a seat beside him.

“Prongs, let me put it bluntly,” Sirius began, “you’ll have to either man up, chat her up and finally get the girl you deserve, or move on and bloody kiss someone else already. It’s no use pining over her if she doesn’t even know you’re pining! Now what did that second note say?”

——————— ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

“‘You look so pretty today, I really like how you did your hair! And thank you for all your explanations in the class discussion, it really helped me stay on top of my grades with a beautiful thing like you sitting near me.’ He drew a little winking face next to that, ‘Forever yours.” Charlie and Hope burst into a fit of giggles after you recited the most recent note.

“He’s obsessed with you! This is so cute!” Charlie squealed, holding your shoulders and shaking you slightly for emphasis. “You know what this means, right? He must be in your potions class!” Hope stated with a smirk, leaning across from her seat on the floor to pick up your list of potential suitors.

“Let’s see, that leaves us with about…five options!” She exclaimed. Your bewildered expression contrasted her excitement, crawling over to her position on the dorm room floor. One, two, three, four…five. You counted the Gryffindor boys in your potions class as your eyes widened.

One name stuck out to you in particular: James Potter. As if sharing the same thought, Charlie brightened as she spotted the same name on the paper. “Potter is in that class! Oh my, my…you are quite the catch aren’t you, love?” She teased, inching closer to your warming face. “Ooh! You’re blushing! Are you sure you really got over him all those years ago, hmm?” Hope joined Charlie in closing the distance between all three of you as your cheeks gave you away.

“Of course I’m over him! That was in fourth year…well, maybe…ugh, it doesn’t matter! It’s probably not him anyway, I mean, I can’t imagine him finding the time to do any of this with his adoring fan club constantly surrounding him…” you muttered.

“But it could really be him! I mean, you were saying he gets all nervous and awkward around you, there’s a chance that could mean-“ You stopped Charlie’s rabbit hole of conspiracy, choosing not to dwell on the matter longer.

“There are four others on this list, it’s best if we cover all our bases.” Hope reasoned, joining you in rationality and convincing Charlie to do the same. “Let’s keep an eye out for any of these distinguished gentlemen paying extra attention to our darling friend.”

——————— ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

The quiet night caused the atmosphere of the Gryffindor house to soften under the soft glow of the crescent moon. Remus couldn’t sleep. It was almost too peaceful, and he didn’t like it.

Sitting up in his bed, he glanced over the figures of his friends, their chests softly rising with each breath they took. Slinking into the cloak of darkness by the door, he slowly opened the door and forged a path to the common room.

There, sat under the light of a lamp, was a flowing cascade of your hair over the back of the couch. You were hunched over paper, concentrating on your History of Magic homework.

“Hey, can I join you?” Remus attempted not to startle you as he rounded the corner, joining you on the coach after you noticed his presence and nodded in confirmation.

Remus was always the more mature member of the Marauders, more focused on his studies than pranking innocent students.

“So, listen,” He began after a beat, “You’re working on History of Magic, right? I’ve noticed you’re really excelling in that class and, not to brag, but I’m quite good at it too.” You met his gaze. “I know, I’ve seen your writing. You clearly work hard.” You replied, instilling that Gryffindor courage in every word that would have normally been absent during interactions such as this, often causing you to dismiss the compliment with a shy smile.

Remus allowed himself a small grin at your unfamiliar nonchalance, continuing his proposition. “Oh, thank you! Well, I was wondering if you wanted to team up. I could be your study partner, and we could top the class together! I’ll teach you anything you’re not sure about, and I’d ask for the same in return.” You turned his proposal over in your mind, causing a small moment of silence between you two.

“There are some years I’m not so familiar with, and I certainly could do with the clarification. So sure, Remus, I’ll be your study partner!” You smiled warmly, comfortable in the newfound knowledge that the boy wasn’t a possible face behind your recently received love confessions. You found his proposition to be a friendly gesture, and far more genuine than any action you’d expect from a Marauder.

“Great!” He cheered, “We can start tomorrow. I often sit with my friends in the library, if you’re willing to join…” Remus trailed off, hoping you’d sit with his lovestruck friend for a few hours in the name of good grades.

“I’ll be there, Remus, thank you for the offer.” The words escaped your mouth before you had a chance to consider them, but Remus was already delighted by your acceptance. “I’ll see you tomorrow then, love, goodnight.”

He flashed a soft smile your way as he stood to return to his bed, leaving you bathing in the light of the lamp with an optimistic fluttering in your stomach.

You decided to leave it be, along with the hope that the boy with the rounded glasses would be there to get all flustered over you again, nagging that sweet, romantic side of your brain.

——————— ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

A/N: Woohoo, here we go! I hope you’re all excited for some tooth aching fluff in the next chapter because it looks like reader is warming up to the Marauders >.< Thank you so much for reading this series, and be sure to like and reblog! Comment to be added to the tag list so you don’t miss chapter 4!

[lucysarah-c]

Mounting Spring Ch. 5

Summary: Paradis has opened its doors to the world, and the Rumbling has not yet occurred. The military board insists, "We need more Ackermans!" to avoid ruining Mikasa's life. Levi agrees. Arranged marriage, explicit consent, Omegaverse. Alpha! Levi x Omega! Y/N. Mentions of underage marriage but it doesn't happen, the reader is over 21.Age gap but they are both adults. (I would say enemys to lover but they don't even know eachother to be enemys lol.) Author note: I've had this idea for so long… Omegaverse is my guilty pleasure, and I decided to treat myself with it. From the creator of "Not in season?" I bring to you "Mounting Spring" lmao haha sorry it's just that my first omegaverse was rather a success… so I decided to do another. Masterlist to the previous parts! Ao3 link in case you prefer to read there! Chapter dedicated to @satoruandkento Who did good in an exam! Congrats sweetie!

“... Hello?” 

She opened the door of the room slowly, peeking through the crack, only to find the ransacked office completely empty. The space was faintly illuminated by the softened natural light filtered through the drizzle outside. The storm had passed, leaving only the gentle, persistent patter of rain. 

Flicking her fingers absentmindedly, she stood barefoot in the stillness. The silence was unnervingly heavy, making her skin prickle. She rubbed her arms against the chill. Turning on her heels, she retreated to the bedroom and glanced at the clock. 

“What a great wife I am... waking up at midday,” she muttered, her gaze landing on the drawers. She hesitated, debating whether she should rummage through them for a sweater or something warmer to wear. But a muffled commotion from outside the room caught her attention. 

Her curiosity piqued, she took tentative steps toward the small window above the nightstand. The angle was inconvenient; she couldn’t see much from where she stood. Carefully moving a few items off the surface, she climbed onto the nightstand, kneeling on it with her hands gripping the frame. Peeking just above the sill, up to her nose, she felt absurdly catlike—like her pet trying to sneak a bite off the dining table. 

Outside, the training grounds came into view. Nothing unusual stood out at first glance, save for a cadet surrounded by scattered equipment. She could hear voices carrying over the rain. 

“Jean-boy, are you really that useless?” Connie's voice rang out. “You’re going to drop a thunder spear one day, and that’ll be the end of you.” 

“Don’t call me that, baldy!” Jean shot back, hurriedly picking up the pieces he’d dropped. 

That seemed to strike a nerve. “I’m not bald anymore! I grew my hair out!” 

Jean straightened with his arms full, ready to retort, but froze when his golden eyes locked onto hers. 

“!!!” She squeaked in surprise, almost toppling off the nightstand as she lost her balance. 

“Jean, we’re going to be late,” Connie called, approaching his friend. He frowned when he saw Jean standing motionless. “What are you staring at?” 

“I saw a girl in Captain Levi’s room,” Jean muttered, dazed. 

Sasha, who had been trailing behind lazily, perked up with a mischievous grin. “Are you sure you’re not just hungry and hallucinating?” she teased, referencing one of Jean’s infamous complaints. 

“Tch! I’m not imagining things! I saw her,” Jean insisted, pointing toward the window. “She’s right—” But when all three turned to look, the window was empty. 

“Why would Captain Levi have a girl over?” Sasha wondered aloud, clearly entertained by the thought. 

“Isn’t he, like, really popular?” Connie asked. 

“Short men aren’t popular,” Jean retorted. 

“Maybe you think that because being tall is your only redeeming quality,” Sasha fired back, smirking. 

“Guys, what’s taking so long?” Armin approached, puzzled. 

“Captain Levi kidnapped someone!” Connie blurted out. 

The pause that followed was almost deafening as Armin processed the statement. Finally, he grimaced and said, “Alright...” He dragged the word out, rolling it on his tongue as if dissecting it. “You’re going to have to walk me through how you reached that conclusion.” 

Back in the bedroom, she muttered under her breath as she replaced the items she’d moved earlier. “He owns so little furniture, and I almost broke it,” she grumbled. Time felt distorted—passing yet standing still. Determined to accomplish something, she opened the drawers, searching for warmer clothes. 

Her fingers brushed against a thick, knitted beige cardigan. A faint smile tugged at her lips as she pulled it out. Its quality was better than anything else in the drawer, and it appeared barely worn. She slipped it on, savouring the cozy warmth and the elegant braided patterns that adorned it. 

Her hair, however, was another story. With nothing at her disposal to tame it into a neat bun or anything similar, she opted for a simple braid. Her “skincare routine” consisted of splashing water on her face and brushing her teeth. The bathroom cabinets offered little—no face cream or other luxuries. 

She wanted to look more presentable, but there wasn’t much to work with. Her dress was still a muddy disaster, and her shoes sat damp by the unlit fireplace, refusing to dry in the humid air. At least she’d managed to put her bra on underneath his clothes, even if they were slightly damp. It was... something. 

But as the minutes dragged on with no sign of him, her attention drifted to the door. The knob gleamed temptingly, as if beckoning her. Her fingers wrapped around it, testing its cool, polished surface. With a light press, she tried to turn it—and froze. 

“What?” 

She tried again, her confusion mounting when the result didn’t change. 

“Excuse me?” she huffed aloud, offended. 

Determined now, she moved to the office. Dodging the desk, she pulled back the curtains to find the main window. She grasped the knob and tried again. Nothing. 

Panic rising, she rushed back to the bedroom and tried the window she’d peeked out of earlier. It wouldn’t budge. 

“He locked me in!” 

The realization hit her like a slap. Outrage bubbled up as a thought from the previous day resurfaced—that he treated her like one of his cadets. 

“I take it back!” she declared, indignant. “I’m not a soldier under conscription... I’m kidnapped!” 

When the front door of his chambers creaked open, she jumped from her seat as if propelled by springs. Levi stepped in, quiet as ever, carrying a tray in one hand and his muddy boots in the other. His gaze was fixed downward, his movements precise, only to falter when he noticed her staring at him with wide, startled eyes—like a deer caught in the hunter’s sights. 

“You’re awake,” he said, stating the obvious as though it were groundbreaking. His attention, however, quickly shifted to the cardigan she was wearing. His brows furrowed slightly, his displeasure clear, though the reason for it escaped her. 

“I was cold,” she explained defensively. 

Levi pressed his lips together, shifted to set the tray down on his desk, and gave a curt nod. “It’s fine,” he said, though his tone didn’t match the words. 

“Where were you?” she asked, her voice sharp with accusation. 

Levi ignored it entirely. “I brought you something for lunch,” he said instead, carefully placing the tray on his desk. His sharp eyes caught the teacup she’d left behind—nearly full, now cold, and utterly wasted. 

It was like an unpractised waltz, each moving out of sync with the other. He felt a flicker of irritation at the wasted tea but refrained from clicking his tongue. She, on the other hand, felt the growing need to demand answers. 

Kicking off his socks near the unlit fireplace, he dropped his mud-splattered boots beside it. He was damp, though not as drenched as the day before. His green cloak had served its purpose well enough. As he moved purposefully through the space, she trailed after him, shadowing his every step like a duckling following its mother. 

The first time he turned sharply and collided into her, Levi froze, startled and visibly annoyed. “Where were you?” she asked again, her persistence dogged as though tethered to him by an invisible thread. 

This time, he spared her a side glance. “Working,” he said curtly, as if she were prying the words from his mouth. 

“With this weather?” 

He didn’t dignify the remark with more than a curt “Yes,” as he made his way into the bedroom. Opening the wardrobe, he pulled out another pair of uniform boots with the ease of a man who knew exactly where everything was. Unlike her, Levi moved through the space like he owned it—which, of course, he did. His demeanor lacked curiosity, replaced by a brisk efficiency. Everything was where it should be, and anything out of place drew his immediate notice. 

Could he have explained that the soldiers trained in such weather to prepare for maneuvering their ODM gear in storms? Possibly. It might even have smoothed the conversation. But Levi wasn’t inclined toward unnecessary elaboration. Instead, he moved to his drawers and opened them, his jaw tightened when he noticed the contents had been rearranged. 

“Tch.” His annoyance was audible. He worked quickly, deftly refolding the clothes and restoring his meticulous color-coded system. 

“Where are you going?” she pressed, her relentless questions earning a sharp exhale from him. 

“Working,” he said without looking up. 

“Still?” 

“Yes.” 

“Are you going to keep training?” 

“No.” 

“Then?” 

“Meetings.” 

“Now?” 

“Yes.” 

“When will you be done?” 

“Later.” 

“Later when?” 

“I don’t know. As long as it takes.” 

Each question landed like a pebble tossed at his patience. She followed him step for step, persistence wearing his resolve thin. “You locked me u—” she began accusingly, only to stop abruptly as he spun around to face her. His expression was dark, his irritation palpable as they stood in the doorway leading to the bathroom. 

She froze, lips pressing together as her wide eyes met his. His jaw tightened, and his heavy breathing was audible. 

I want to take a shit,” Levi growled, his tone flat but sharp. “Would you let me do that, or are you planning to follow me inside too?” 

Her eyes widened, and her lips parted slightly, but no sound came out. Silently, she took a step back, clearing his path. Levi shut the door firmly behind him. 

Later, during a meeting, Levi would reflect that he should’ve kept his composure. But at the time, frustration got the better of him. As unfamiliar as all this was to her, it was equally new to him. He wasn’t used to sharing the four walls he called home. Seeing them disrupted—by his standards, turned upside down—was far from easy to stomach. 

Levi wasn’t used to this. His quarters, his routines, his calm—it had always been his. Seeing it disrupted, even slightly, felt unbearable. The wasted tea, the cup left precariously on his desk where it could stain, the tea set not cleaned immediately, his clothes rearranged, stray hairs in the bathroom sink—it all gnawed at him. 

Levi wasn’t sentimental about objects, but the cardigan? That had been a gift from his previous squad for his birthday. He hadn’t yet worn it—by choice, not for lack of opportunity. It was a high-quality piece, and he’d never felt the need to use it. Now, seeing it draped on someone else without permission added to the sense of invasion. 

And the way she chased him, trailing at his heels like an overeager recruit, added insult to injury. The last time someone had followed him around like that had been Isabel, back when she was just a kid. That had been over a decade ago. 

Levi was a man of discipline, order, and solitude. This upheaval felt like his carefully ordered life had been tossed out the window on the whim of a few bored members of a military board. And he wasn’t handling it with grace. 

Levi emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later, his hair slightly damp and a faint scent of soap clinging to him.  He had tidy up his appearance after heavy training, back inside the room. Only to find her sat down at one of the office’s couches. The pouting and demanding glance from her didn’t stop him. 

He ignored her gaze, brushing past her to grab the tray of food he'd brought. "Eat," he said simply, placing it on the coffee table next to her. 

She hesitated, glancing at the tray—a bowl of steaming soup, some fresh bread, and a cup of tea, the latter clearly a replacement for the one she'd neglected earlier. “Thank you,” she murmured, though the tone held a trace of reluctance. 

The sound of the bathroom door opening snapped her attention back. Levi emerged, his damp bangs brushing his forehead, his expression as unreadable as ever. His eyes flicked briefly to the tray, then to her. Giving her quick flickering checking looks as he sort through a stack of papers. 

“Eat while its warm,” he insisted. 

“I’m waiting,” she replied, though her tone carried an edge. 

Levi raised an eyebrow, then crossed the room to retrieve his cloak. He pulled it on with practiced efficiency, securing the straps across his chest. “I’ve lunch with the squad,” he said shortly, his tone brooking no argument. 

“Where are you going now?” she asked, her voice rising just slightly. 

Levi paused at the door, his hand on the knob. He turned his head just enough to glance at her over his shoulder. “I told you. Meetings.” 

His grip on the door tightened for a moment before he sighed, turning fully to face her. “I don’t know how long it’ll take. But I’ll be back. Don’t go anywhere.” 

“It’s not like I can leave this place,” she spat, her frustration spilling out. 

For the first time, a flicker of amusement crossed Levi’s face, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “You’re not a prisoner. You’re just confined for now.” 

He searched for patience within himself. “I don’t know,” he muttered, ready to leave, “Take a nap.” 

Before she could fire back, the door closed behind him with a decisive click. Was he always like this? Was he angry, or was this just his way? She hated this imbalance of power. 

“If his idea of marriage is locking me in and giving me orders, this is going to be a long arrangement,” she muttered aloud to the empty room. She had heard of Alphas who kept their Omegas close, but this felt excessive, even extreme. 

Levi arrived at his meeting, letting his weight fall into the chair with a sigh. He couldn’t help but reflect on the situation. His mind drifted away from the discussion at hand. ‘I’m not angry, I’m just busy’, he told himself. But then, his thoughts returned to the cold tea left behind, unused. ‘Maybe I’m a bit angry.’ 

Dragging his feet down the hallway, Levi entered his chambers quietly, the door creaking softly as he stepped inside. The room was warmly lit by a few candles. “Y/N, I brought you dinner,” he announced, his voice flat as he moved toward the bedroom. The lights were dim, but bright enough to make him think it had been left on for a while. 

She was asleep, curled beneath the covers, her arms sprawled outward, fingers almost touching the floor. The sight of her like that—a far cry from the tense, demanding energy she had shown earlier. 

The glint of something caught his attention, flickering in the night. Levi bent down to pick it up and examined it closely. The ring had likely fallen off her finger and onto the ground. "Tch," he muttered, irritation bubbling up—not because she wasn’t wearing it, but because he had one job to do. 

He didn’t know her well enough yet, and honestly, matching her ring size would have felt like a miracle, but still—he couldn’t help but think it should have gone a little smoother. He placed the ring safely on the nightstand, then checked the clock. 

Almost midnight. Exhausted, Levi ran a hand through his hair, frowning as a heavy sigh escaped him. He had intended to finish quickly, but this was exactly why he hadn’t married by choice. Do I look like someone who has time to be a present husband? 

With the windows shut, the air in the room felt thick and stale. Each breath only reminded him why he had kept her confined. He could breathe through it, but barely. His eyes, whether intentionally or not, had drifted to her parted legs, one hanging out from under the blankets. The weather had improved, and she’d taken off her sweatpants. 

His throat tightened, saliva thickening as his senses kicked in. The lingering scent was lighter than yesterday, but still potent, and her body’s confusion over the heat slowly dissipated. Meanwhile, his body felt like Christmas had come early. Recalling his thought the day before the wedding—when had been the last time he’d gotten laid? Especially with an omega? 

His instincts didn’t care about the specifics, though. They just kept track, happy that the wait was finally over. 

“The last thing I need right now... is getting into a rut,” he muttered under his breath as he stepped out of the room. The quiet of the building settled in now that everyone was asleep. He opened the window, letting the cold spring night air flow in. 

From one of his desk drawers, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one up. It would cloud the scent and, hopefully, give him some mental peace. His instincts couldn’t distinguish between the smell of a passing heat and the prospect of an upcoming one. All day, he’d been making sure no hormonal alpha had caught wind of it and gotten into a rut, but now, he feared he might be the one who needed to worry. 

His eyes flicked toward the food tray. The bowl of soup remained mostly untouched, only a few bites taken from each item, the bread barely nibbled. She had eaten very little, if anything. Something about that unsettled him, as if the quiet act of leaving the meal half-finished was an unconscious rejection of the care he had tried to offer.  

The candles—those half-melted stubs—still flickered weakly, forgotten in the dim light. She had left them burning, and it struck him as careless. It was a small thing, but it stood out in his mind. He moved over to extinguish the flames, quietly placing everything back into order, the habit of tidying his surroundings kicking in without thought. When the candles were out, the only light in the room came from the faint glow of his cigarette. 

“Tch.” He clicked his tongue again, moving to his desk to find that the papers had been shuffled, his pencils moved. Perhaps his standards were too strict after years of having everything in its place. 

But then, he saw it. 

A small, simple drawing—done with the precision of someone who knew what they were doing. A bird’s nest, complete with baby swallows peeking out. His gaze narrowed as he studied it, his attention caught by the perspective. 

Instinctively, his eyes flicked to the window behind his desk. He glanced to the right, and there it was—between the roof and a column, the exact same nest. A small smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. Not bad. Not that he had any right to judge—his own art skills were nonexistent. 

He turned the paper over. 

She had written, “One swallow does not a summer make.” 

Levi scoffed. She had probably gotten it from some old book he didn’t know about, or at least that’s how it seemed by the way it was phased. He stubbed out his cigarette and made a silent promise to try harder the next day. 

“You’re up early,” Levi remarked, his voice tinged with surprise as she stepped out of the bedroom. He was still getting ready for work, adjusting his cravat in front of the small mirror by his desk. 

“I’m tired of lying in bed,” she mumbled, her words nearly as tangled as her hair. “I slept all day yesterday.” 

Levi sighed and stepped closer, placing his hands on her shoulders to steer her toward the couch. “Out of the way,” he muttered, guiding her out of the narrow corridor that connected the rooms. He needed the space to move around without tripping over her. 

She sat obediently, her eyes following him with unwavering attention as he continued preparing for the day. The morning light was unusually bright, the weather having improved dramatically. The birds were chirping, and the sun had already begun to heat the room. 

“Look at the bright side,” Levi said, almost forcing himself to be more conversational than the previous day. “Your stuff might arrive soon.” 

“Can I leave the room?” she asked tentatively, her tone almost hopeful. 

Before she could even finish, he turned sharply, his expression serious. “No.” 

The reply was firm, final. There was no room for debate. 

Instead of her continuing to bombard him with questions like an interrogation, Levi moved quickly, pacing around and delivering a monologue of his own. 

“Listen,” he began, his voice steady but low, “This isn’t the kind of place where you wander around on your own. Not in your state. You’re not a soldier, and you don’t know the layout. You get lost or end up somewhere you shouldn’t, and it’s on me.” 

He paused to finish tightening his cravat before throwing her a sharp glance over his shoulder. “When it’s safe, I’ll let you out. Understood?” 

She simply nodded, not saying anything. 

“I brought you breakfast. Eat.” His tone softened slightly as he moved away from the bathroom and over to a cabinet in his office. “Where the hell did I put it?” he muttered to himself, not expecting an answer. 

Levi crouched by one of the lower cabinets, rifling through its contents with the efficiency of someone accustomed to order but occasionally betrayed by his own lack of use for certain items. “Aha,” he murmured, pulling out a small glass jar of raspberry jam. “Farmers nearby gave it to me.” 

He set the jar down on the tray alongside the other food he’d prepared. It was clearly homemade, the seal still intact. 

Ready to leave, Levi glanced at her again. “I’ll try to come back earlier today.” 

Levi’s sharp grey eyes settled on the untouched tray sitting on his desk. The stack of paperwork tucked under his arm wavered slightly as his fingers drummed against the wood in slow, deliberate taps. His jaw tightened, irritation brewing beneath his otherwise stoic demeanor. 

Turning toward her, he fixed her with a pointed gaze—like a parent catching a child avoiding their vegetables. She sat curled up on the couch, avoiding his eyes. 

“You barely touched anything I left you,” he said, his tone edged with annoyance. His mind raced. ‘Is she doing this on purpose? Some sort of protest?’ 

Her gaze flicked away, searching the room as if trying to escape his frustration. Levi, however, wasn’t the type to let things slide. He raised his hand, expecting—no, demanding—an answer. 

“So?” he asked, his tone sharp. 

“…I’m not used to eating barley bread,” she murmured, her voice small and hesitant. The dark, dense bread hadn’t been to her taste, especially compared to the soft, fluffy buns she was used to. Her fingers fidgeted with the loose ring as she added, “And plain black tea gives me heartburn.” 

“…I usually have it with milk,” she finished, almost as if confessing a secret. 

Levi released a weary sigh, one that seemed to carry the weight of a man pushed to his limits. ‘This is so fucking hard.’ 

“You could’ve at least tried the damn jam,” he muttered, his frustration softening into something closer to resignation. 

Her lips pressed into a pout, the kind of silence settling between them that Levi had learned to dislike. Finally, she spoke, her voice barely audible. 

“…I couldn’t open it.” 

The honesty of her admission, paired with the image of her struggling to twist the stubborn lid, tugged a rare chuckle from him. Grabbing the jar, which was still vacuum-sealed, Levi effortlessly twisted it open with a single motion. 

“Here,” he said, handing it back to her. 

But instead of gratitude, she frowned up at him, her pride clearly bruised. Her tone was sharp as she retorted, “I loosened it.” 

The corner of Levi’s mouth twitched into a smirk. “Sure,” he replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. 

Two thoughts flickered through his mind: Cute, and Grocery shopping—noted.

Link to my masterlist and my other works if you feel like checking them out.

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Levi's inner alpha thinking they are going to get laid ->

[hivemuthur]

Hey! I was the one who wanted to request an arrange marriage (regency era) au with viktor and reader. I would like the reader to be bubbly and artistic (for painter/drawer), if that’s okay?

If you’ve watched bridgerton, perhaps reader would be apart of that family? But if you haven’t, that’s fine, just ignore this part lol

Hi Anon! So... this is happening. People this is my take on Bridgerton-inspired regency AU :v more under picture!

A Deer and a Man - Ch.1.

viktorxfemale!reader mature (overall explicit) - tho this chapter is a little pornographic, there is some naked wrists, running around in nightgowns and men with loosened cravats, so proceed with caution :v

Ch.2. | Ch.3. | Ch.4. | Ch.5.

word count: 7,7K (it will be this long, sorry!)

tag: #d&m

summary: You are the eldest daughter of a noble family, soon to be married to one of the most eligible bachelors in the region—Viktor, the adopted son of House Talis. The arrangement is simple: a marriage that secures your family's wealth in exchange for access to Hextech. What could possibly go wrong?

author's note: Anon, forgive me, but I wasn't able to write it precisely into the Bridgerton universe, I don't know it nearly enough. Also, I got brain damaged while writing it and included the artist part as a pianist, as this is the subject I know best. Super special thanks to @mithrava who helped me with details (I almost squeezed our poor girl into a corset, but she fucking hates bras anyways) and to @rennethen who beta reads and brainstorms the ideas with me!

also the artist behind art is here!

Cross-posted on AO3

—

The first look into the mirror in the morning is always suspended between a thing in bloom and a thing fading away. What blossoms is the vision of yourself, wrapped up in a short stay, your form sculpted to society’s liking, cheeks brushed with a becoming rose tint, hair pinned into a careful bun, soft tendrils escaping to frame your face. The self that fades is the girl who may draw a full breath, whose flushed cheeks owe nothing to powder but to joy, whose wild curls defy taming. You greet her each evening and bid her farewell each morning, so that the lady—your family’s prized jewel—might step into the light. Mostly.

That is, when you were not hunched over the piano, playing Appassionata with a furious fervour instead of what your mother deemed proper, like some dull Hummel or Clementi. How utterly boring and soulless they seemed, that you could almost hear your night self scolding you each time your fingers reluctantly touched the keys to play one of those Sonatinas.

Running was also a thing you had to avoid, for the most part. Eating a whole apple was strictly vulgar. As for a whole egg—well, that was something to be done in the strict privacy of the kitchens, once you’d managed to filch one without the cooks noticing. Yanking your skirts up while sitting on the grass and scribbling was also one of those moments when, if your mother had caught you, she would have been most displeased, to say the least. All in all, you had precious little time to let your night self emerge during the waking hours. She was continually suppressed by the version of you that took small, delicate bites, drank tea from a tiny cup, and sat upright while playing agreeable tunes.

Today, of all days, it is imperative that your night self remain firmly in check, while your day self does her utmost to impress the very man you have already deemed beyond salvation—without so much as laying eyes on him. A rare occasion indeed, where both versions of you are in agreement.

He has but one benefit of the doubt, and that is Jayce Talis. A brilliant inventor you once encountered when you slipped away from your mother and sisters while running errands in town. Back then, he had been mocked and overlooked as he tried to preach his discoveries from a modest tent set up on the way to the pharmacy. Someone particularly unkind had flung a fistful of mud in his direction, which Jayce avoided with such grace that your eyes had lit up.

You had been so young then, perched atop a crate of peaches, listening from afar, watching him wave his hands about, utterly bewitching.

"Is this truth you are speaking? Absolutely fascinating," you had said, once you had mustered the courage to approach him and give voice to the questions grinding in your hungry mind.

"It’s all possible, Miss," he had replied with a brilliant smile. "Take a pamphlet. I am here every Thursday."

But before you could so much as tell him your name, your mother had seized you by the ear and dragged you—nearly by force—into the nearest perfumery. Huffing and sighing in disapproval, she had straightened your dress, grumbled about the mud on your shoes, and scolded you for indulging the poor man’s delusions.

Little did she know.

Five years later, Jayce Talis is one of the most sought-after and highly regarded inventors and scientists in the entire region. Yet it is not he whom your family desires—not exactly. His research and the opportunity to invest in it—now that is what truly entices them.

And standing beside Jayce is his partner, Viktor. A stray, adopted by House Talis as though he were its own son. Apparently just as brilliant, undoubtedly just as sought-after.

"A good match," your mother says with a firm tone.

"A bright future for you and your sisters," your father says, his voice tinged with sadness and apology.

Of all men, you had thought him the one who would never betray you. And you tell yourself it is only one part of you that he has betrayed. Yet it wounds you so deeply because it is the part he always claimed to love most of all.

The real part of you.

You push her aside as you tuck a loose lock back into your bun. Fill your lungs with as much air as your short stay allows—nearly not enough. Then you answer your mother’s call with a rehearsed, “I will be right there, Maman!”

One last glance in the mirror—oh, no. You forgot a smile.

So you plaster it back onto your face, let the stale air escape your chest, and run—no, walk—downstairs. And the noise is already there as they all exchange their exaggerated good afternoons—your sweet father, your benevolent mother, your silly younger sisters, Jayce and Viktor. You hear their voices, your mother chuckling politely at Jayce’s remarks about bumpy roads, Viktor’s reserved greeting with a lilt of an accent that makes your ears perk up. Pretty.

Your eyes land on Jayce first—his frame broader than you remember—and something swells within you. Not sultry, just pleased to see this once-boy now a full-grown man, taking up the space he was always meant to claim.

And next to him—oh.

Emerging from your father’s embrace is Viktor, visibly startled by the stark contrast between your official mother and your matey father, who claps him on the back, smiling with flushed cheeks. Happy, relieved, because the boy who will marry his daughter is a slender, gentle man with kind hands and bright eyes. Your father breathes deeply, granting himself absolution for sending his eldest away into the arms of a stranger.

And the man at the bottom of the staircase looks nothing like the monster you painted in your mind. His frame is lithe yet full of quiet strength, supported by a cane. His face, all sharp angles, is touched by shifting light and shadow with every expression he tries to suppress. Lips small and tender, nose a work of the most skilled sculptor, eyes the colour of your father’s favourite bourbon—and your favourite honey, the one from summer flowers. His leg is hugged by a strange contraption of a brace, and you feel a weird sense of camaraderie—both of you constricted in some way.

"Hello," you say in your rehearsed voice, though it wavers slightly at the touch of his hand on yours. Your heart stumbles between beats when his lips press to your glove, his thumb steady on your knuckles.

"I am so glad to finally have met you, Miss. I have heard so much about you," says Viktor, holding your gaze. His composure settles back into place, his eyes drilling into you. And beneath his voice, a hint—suggesting he has heard more than just that you are a sweet young lady.

"Only good things, I hope?" you ask. And truly, the hope lingers in your tone, even though you know Jayce has told him what a wild thing you are when nobody is watching.

Briefly, you wonder—what would it be like to be asked by this man to marry him, had your families not decided your fate for you? Would you say yes, tears in your eyes? Or would you smile gently and tell him a polite maybe? Would you challenge him or take him in without compromise, had you met and known him before everything was resolved for you?

"Only good things," Viktor says with a false, polite smile as he releases your hand. And the falseness of it stirs something within you—a worry, a flicker of fear.

What is this man like when no one is watching?

You have heard almost nothing—only mentions of his brilliance and good behaviour. But if they are as much half-truths as the mentions of your brilliance and good behaviour, then this arrangement could be either a blessing or a curse.

Not that it matters. If you ever wanted to be married, which you still do not. You merely accept your fate for the sake of…

For the sake of your family. Of course.

The exchange of pleasantries has barely settled when the butler steps forward, his voice measured and precise. "My lord, my lady, refreshments are prepared in the drawing room."

"Ah, excellent!" Father claps Jayce’s shoulder in a display of easy camaraderie. "We have much to discuss, Mister Talis. Shall we?"

Mother inclines her head gracefully, extending a gloved hand toward the open doorway. "Come, gentlemen. We shall not let business keep us from our tea."

The procession to the drawing room is orderly, Father leading Jayce in enthusiastic conversation about the boundless opportunities ahead. "A partnership of this nature is unprecedented, of course. An investment in the future—our shared future."

Jayce responds with the confidence of a man accustomed to admiration. "Precisely, my lord. With the right support, we could revolutionise industry as we know it."

You follow with measured steps, Viktor at your side. He has not spoken since the introduction, his expression composed, though his eyes—deep, contemplative—move with interest over the fine furnishings of the room.

As everyone settles, tea is poured, the gentle clink of porcelain filling the brief lull in conversation. You accept your cup, watching as Viktor does the same, his fingers long and careful around the delicate handle. A man of precision, no doubt.

You lower yourself onto one of the chairs as a maid pours the tea, your hands folding neatly in your lap as you watch your father and Jayce fall into an easy rhythm of discussion. They speak of investments, of Hextech’s promise, of the ways in which your family’s patronage will shape the future. You hear none of it.

“You must find this arrangement rather inconvenient,” you say to Viktor, keeping your voice light as you turn toward him.

His eyes sharpen, though his smile remains polite. “How so?” His hand playing with the cane stills, long fingers extend idly toward its wooden pole.

You tilt your head. “To be bound to a wife you do not know. And for science, no less.”

Viktor exhales a quiet chuckle, setting his tea down. “Science is a noble cause, Miss. Perhaps even nobler than marriage.”

A test. You recognise it as easily as you recognise your own reflection.

"Then I suppose you have the better end of the bargain," you say, knowing it’s in fact, the exact opposite.

What Viktor doesn’t know, is that your mother has ensured the bargain benefits your family far more than it does the inventors. And looking at both of them—Jayce, hardly containing the beam on his face, and Viktor, observing everything reverently—you feel a pang of guilt, followed by a flicker of anger at the injustice.

A plan formulates in your wicked brain faster than you can blink.

Viktor’s lips press together, but amusement flickers in his gaze. “Perhaps we both do.”

Whatever he means by that, you don’t get the chance to find out. Your mother’s voice cuts through the conversation, her smile as polished as the silverware. “My dear, do spare Mister Viktor the interrogation.”

You return her smile, though yours is sharper. “I was only ensuring he is as clever as they say.”

Your mother’s eyes narrow slightly before she turns back to Viktor, seamlessly redirecting the conversation to something safer. "Dearest, I do believe Mister Talis was about to ask your thoughts on Clementi’s compositions. Such refined taste in music is most becoming."

A deliberate redirection. A warning.

You inhale, curbing the temptation to press further. "Indeed, my lady Mother." Turning to Jayce, you summon a practiced smile. "I do believe his sonatinas have their merits. Though, some find them rather—predictable."

Viktor’s gaze lingers a moment longer, unreadable. You have tested him, and he has not recoiled. A curiosity, then. A mystery yet to unfold.

You spend the rest of the afternoon refreshments chatting to Jayce about mediocre music, wondering if he is as bored as you are. He is ever the gentleman, offering the occasional enthusiastic nod or agreeable remark, though you catch the way his gaze strays toward the conversation between your Father and Viktor. You, on the other hand, attempt to suppress yawns, stuffing your face with biscuits only to receive a sharp, silent scolding from your mother—her ever-composed expression unchanging, yet her message perfectly clear in the slight arch of her brow and the subtle narrowing of her eyes.

Jayce, for his part, is far less burdened by such silent reprimands, complimenting the food with an easy charm that has even the servants standing a little straighter. "Absolutely delightful," he declares after a bite of pastry. "Your cooks must be geniuses, my lady."

Mother responds with a gracious nod, her practiced smile unwavering. "We do strive for excellence."

Meanwhile, across the room, Viktor exchanges politeness with your father, and—intriguingly—seems to warm to the conversation. While his initial responses are careful, measured, there is a spark of genuine enthusiasm as the subject shifts to research. Your father, less constipated than your mother in matters of etiquette, easily shakes off formality, allowing his hand to linger on Viktor’s shoulder longer than necessary—a gesture of camaraderie and gratitude.

As the discussion unfolds, Viktor’s composure loosens. He leans in slightly, his hands moving as he speaks, his eyes lighting up with the excitement of a man entirely lost in his own world of ideas. His voice, once restrained, now carries a lilt of passion as he explains the intricacies of Hextech and its boundless potential. You watch, fascinated, as the façade slips away—just a little—revealing something softer beneath. And how lovely he looks when he forgets himself.

Dinner proceeds without any great disturbances, save, again, for your mother’s silent rebukes whenever you take too large a bite or drink too greedily. Conversation flows between the three men, animated and full of promise—the future, progress, the shape of the world yet to come. All three desire it in their own way, though you suspect Viktor’s hunger for it is of a different nature than the others’.

And then, of course, comes your turn to be put on display. After dinner, Mother’s hand lands lightly on your wrist, her voice smooth as silk yet firm beneath the surface. "Dearest, why don’t you show our guests the depths of your talents? A sonatina, perhaps? Something refined."

Refined, meaning dull. Predictable. A test, as everything always is.

You rise, crossing the room with measured steps, already feeling Viktor’s gaze on you. He has seen something of you in conversation—but now, he will listen.

And so—you play the godforsaken Sonatina, your skin pulled tight over your face, eyes hooded, fingers moving with all the enthusiasm of a prisoner serving a sentence. Your back aches from keeping your spine stiffly straight, and despite your best efforts, your brows begin to furrow in ironic frustration. You only realise it when your mother clears her throat���pointedly, just a touch too loud.

You correct yourself immediately, smoothing your expression, though you swear you hear the ghost of a chuckle slip past Viktor’s lips. How dare he.

"How lovely," Jayce says, his smile wide and honest. You return it with one of your own—entirely dishonest—as you offer an insincere, "Thank you, Mister Talis," and bow politely. Viktor nods and swallows, and for some reason, you catch the way his throat bobs.

"Gentlemen, I believe it is time to discuss business. Let us move to the smoking room," Father announces, beaming. You can't suppress the sigh that escapes you. Soon—very soon—your night self will be free. She has been clawing at the edges of your skin for hours.

"Goodnight, my dearest girls," Father says warmly, pressing a kiss to both your forehead and your mother’s—a gesture so private, so natural, it earns him a scoff from his wife and a kiss on the cheek from his daughter.

Pleasantries are exchanged, and as soon as the men are out of sight, you bolt toward your bedroom. Your mind is already racing, gears grinding. Your feet slip from your heels, and you clasp them in your hands as you take the stairs two at a time. Every step sheds another layer of constriction—the short stay, the chemise, the pins biting into your scalp, the suffocating weight of your skirts. Off, off, off. The blush, the powder, the pretence. Her watch has ended for today.

You shake your hair loose from its updo before you even reach your door, already calling for your maid the moment you step inside, clawing at the laces of your gown in desperation.

“Miss, why the dramatics?” she teases, catching up with you in the corridor.

“Peggy don’t test me. I can’t breathe,” you whine, slumping onto your vanity chair, hands pressing against your ribs to emphasize the urgency. “I am convinced that in hell, everyone wears a short stay.”

Peggy chuckles but says nothing more as her fingers work deftly at the laces, loosening them with a care that speaks of years spent tending to you. You feel the tension ease, your ribs finally expanding without resistance.

“Well?” she prompts, her voice light but expectant. “How was the evening?”

You hesitate. The words sit heavy on your tongue, as though speaking them aloud would solidify them, make them real. And you are not quite ready for that. Instead, you exhale slowly, composing yourself before replying, “He is… nice.” That is all you can manage.

Peggy hums knowingly. “From what I managed to spy, he’s also rather handsome.”

You scoff, turning your head away. “Is that all that matters?”

“It certainly doesn’t hurt,” she says with a grin, but she does not press further.

At last, the constriction gives way, and you take an exaggerated breath, filling your lungs like a drowning woman reaching the surface. Then, without ceremony, you slide off the chair and sprawl flat on the floor, half-dressed, limbs flung out like a marionette with its strings cut.

Peggy, unfazed, picks up your nightgown and drapes it over you as though covering a corpse. “God, grant rest upon my poor mistress’s soul and let her eternity be free of the constriction of breast support,” she intones in mock solemnity.

Laughter bubbles up from your chest, unrestrained and real. You lift an arm weakly and wave it in her general direction. “Saint Peggy, patron of weary ladies, I thank you.”

She curtsies dramatically. “As ever, at your service. Call on me if you need anything.”

“I expect I shall sleep like a log.”

“Good. You’ve earned it, I think.” With that, she takes her leave, pulling the door shut behind her.

Silence settles over the room, thick and absolute. You are alone.

For the first time since the day began, the weight of it all presses down on you. The evening, the introductions, the expectations—your mother’s sharp gaze, your father’s quiet resignation, the way Viktor’s eyes had searched yours with something unreadable. It is real now. You are betrothed.

You swallow. A part of you wants to dwell on it, to trace every moment back and find meaning in the way Viktor’s lips had pressed to your glove, or how he had looked when he spoke of his work, his façade slipping just enough to let something genuine through. But you stop yourself before you go too far.

No. There is still one more thing to do tonight.

You push yourself up from the floor, shaking away the thoughts. The night is not over yet.

Barefoot and silent, you slip from your chambers, the corridor dimly lit by the soft glow of sconces. The house is quiet, the faint crackle of a dying hearth the only sound accompanying your careful steps. You know this path well—the precise places to avoid so the floorboards won’t betray you, the door handle that needs an extra nudge before it turns smoothly.

Inside, your father’s study smells of ink, aged paper, and a lingering trace of cigar smoke. The large mahogany desk dominates the space, neat and orderly, save for the glass of brandy he left half-finished. You move swiftly, rifling through the stack of documents until you find it—your contract, tucked within a leather folder. The paper is thick beneath your fingers, the ink crisp and unwavering in its certainty.

You sit at his desk, candle alit, quill and ink poised above parchment. The contract lies before you, its neat, formal script a reminder of how little say you had in its creation. Pushed through by your father but shaped by your mother’s precise demands, it is, at its core, a transaction. A business arrangement designed to favour your family above all else.

Your eyes skim over the terms, and irritation prickles beneath your skin. The imbalance is glaring. The investment into Hextech is substantial, but in return, the Talises and your future husband receive only what your mother deems “reasonable compensation.” No direct ownership, no authority over the funds. Your family retains the power, and Viktor and Jayce are little more than beneficiaries at your parents’ discretion. A gilded leash.

You press your lips together. No. This will not do.

Dipping your quill into the ink, you begin to amend.

First, the finances—your father’s control over the investment is reduced. Instead of an allowance doled out at his leisure, the funds will be released in agreed-upon increments, ensuring neither Jayce nor Viktor are forced to beg for what is already promised to them. They will have the freedom to allocate resources as needed, without interference from your family.

Next, ownership. The contract had positioned your father as a silent but permanent stakeholder, yet he has no knowledge of Hextech, no hand in its creation. You strike that out, altering it so that once their research yields results, patents and profits remain in the hands of their rightful creators. Your family will receive a generous return, but not at the expense of their autonomy.

Then, Viktor himself. The terms outlining your marriage are, predictably, cold. Your mother’s hand is evident in every word. You are to be an asset to your husband, a guiding influence, ensuring that he remains focused and socially presentable. It is not about companionship—it is about control.

You set your quill down, flexing your fingers before taking it up again. You cannot undo the engagement, but you can redefine it. The clauses regarding expectations of your role are softened, turned into vague suggestions rather than obligations. Where once it stated that your husband must be “encouraged” to attend events and maintain appearances, you adjust it to read that he may do so at his discretion. No doubt your mother will notice this change, but you will cross that bridge when you must.

By the time you finish, the candle has burned low. You lean back, studying your work. The contract remains an arrangement, a tether you cannot sever, but at least now, it is fairer. A step closer to something tolerable.

You blot the ink, letting the parchment dry. The night stretches on, silent save for the scratching of your quill as you forge your own small rebellion in ink.

Once you deem it ready, you sneak back out, guiding your footsteps toward the guest bedrooms. An unthinkable mésalliance, your mother would say, but you feel that both Jayce and Viktor should be made aware—if your plan is to work. You step carefully, your bare feet growing dirty from crossing the house without slippers.

Muffled conversation filters through the door your mother assigned to Jayce. His voice is slightly raised, Viktor’s quieter, edged with irony. They are discussing the evening.

One proper breath, and then a knock on the door.

The hum of conversation ceases instantly as heavy footsteps approach. The door cracks open, and Jayce’s eyes widen—because there you stand, in nothing but your nightdress and a loose cape that does little to conceal your state of undress.

His mouth falls open, and only a small, startled sound escapes his lips.

“Let me in!” you whisper sharply, glancing down the corridor with nervous urgency.

“Oh, Miss, forgive me, but this… is very inappropriate,” Jayce says weakly, though he makes no move to stop you as you push past him and step into the room.

The air is thick with the remnants of their earlier conversation, the scent of brandy lingering. Viktor sits slouched in an armchair, one elbow propped on the armrest, fingers pressed against his temple as if warding off a headache. He watches you, silent, unreadable.

Jayce, on the other hand, is all frantic gestures and hushed protests. “You must go back to your room. If anyone—God, if your mother—” He exhales sharply, rubbing his jaw. “This is madness.”

You cross your arms, standing your ground. “Fuck the polite society, Jayce. Do you want to be a slave to my mother, or will you read what I brought you?”

At that, Viktor’s lips quirk—barely. “Quite a mouth you have there, Miss.” His voice is smooth, carrying none of Jayce’s flustered panic. He rises from his chair, extending a hand.

It’s only then that you truly take him in. His shirt is undone at the neck, the cravat abandoned somewhere, his hair tousled prettily as if he’s raked his fingers through it too many times. A flush warms his cheeks—alcohol, no doubt, courtesy of your father.

You hesitate for a fraction of a second before placing the document in his outstretched hand. Your fingers brush, and you retreat too quickly, as if the touch burned.

Silence. Viktor’s eyes flick across the page, reading with quiet intensity. Jayce, peeking over his shoulder, mutters under his breath, “Oh, my.”

Viktor lets out a quiet scoff, the amusement avoiding his eyes. “And to what do we owe this mercy of yours, pray tell?” His gaze lingers on the last lines of your text, his tone devoid of the warmth he carried earlier. Now, it is sharp, cold, measured—kindness stripped away as if it had only ever been a mask to wear in polite company. He swallows and lifts his eyes to you, utterly unamused, borderline bored. “I loathe charity.”

Heat rises to your cheeks before you can stop it, a tangled mess of emotions forming beneath your ribs, but anger is among them. You exhale sharply, crossing your arms over your chest, suddenly very aware of how exposed you are. “And I loathe injustice and trickery. This—” you gesture vaguely at the parchment. “Is fair. If I am to be sold to a man I do not know, let it be on terms that are humanely acceptable.”

“How kind,” he says, smiling—mocking. “And how do you expect us to accept this? Who do you think is stupid, me and Mister Talis or your own father?” He steps closer, ignoring the way Jayce’s hand presses against his shoulder as if to restrain him. His weight wavers without a cane, and for a moment, you think he might have to steady himself on you.

“My father is not an unkind man. He simply loves my mother too much for his own good. My mother…” You tilt your head, letting the words settle between you. “Well, she’s a woman.”

The corner of Viktor’s mouth twitches, the ghost of a smile. “Charming.”

“But my father will not read this upon signing, of that I am certain. We will be long bound before anyone notices.”

Viktor exhales, a sound of something between disbelief and amusement. “And who are you doing this for, my merciful Lady?” His voice shifts, the sharpness still there, but beneath it—a spark of something else. The same fervour he held when speaking of his machines, now laced with something darker.

“Myself, my Lord.” You meet his gaze without hesitation. “You just happen to be a casualty of my mercy.”

And something stirs in your chest—a swelling, an exhilaration. The night version of you, the real you, speaking bluntly to the man who is to be your husband. And he does not recoil. He accepts the challenge. Infuriatingly so, but beneath your irritation, something sparks under your skin that you cannot chase away. Excitement.

Viktor blinks, slowly. Then, he turns to Jayce, whose face has gone chalk white during your exchange. “What do you think of this?”

Jayce swallows hard. “What if he notices? Your father, that is,” he asks wearily, clearly tempted by your terms yet frightened of what it might cost your families' alliance.

“He won’t. And if, by some unholy joke, he does—I will take the blame. Tonight never happened,” you state firmly, bravely. You do not let your voice betray the truth: that you have no idea what you would do if your mother ever found out. She would probably cut your hair and throw you in a convent.

They both nod, and you allow yourself a breath. Then, Viktor extends his hand for a handshake.

You stare at it briefly before accepting—his palm is calloused, warm. Bigger than yours, his fingers so long they nearly brush your wrist. His grip is firm, unwavering.

For the briefest moment, his gaze flickers downward—to your chest. It’s so quick you might have missed it. But you didn’t. And neither did he miss the way heat rushes to your cheeks.

His eyes meet yours again, glinting with an unreadable taunt. “I think it’s best you return to your chambers, my Lady,” he says at last. To that, you can only nod.

You slip back into your father’s office under the cover of darkness, placing the altered contract precisely where it needs to be—where it will be signed without a second glance. Then, just as carefully, you retreat to your chambers, slipping past every creaking floorboard with the expertise of someone who has done this many times before.

Once inside, you bolt the door, shrugging off your cape before sinking onto the mattress. The night version of you refuses to rest. She tosses and turns, replaying every moment of the evening—the music, the dinner, the conversation, the challenge in Viktor’s eyes, the brush of his fingers against yours.

And yet, despite all of it, he is still a stranger.

Morning invades you with harsh light pouring through the abruptly opened curtains and Peggy’s voice urging you to get up.

“Miss? You’ve overslept! Up! Up!” she whisper shouts, pulling the covers down from the bed.

You groan and press your palms to your eyes, curling up into a bean. “Peggy, have mercy, I beg of you.”

“Sorry, Miss, no mercy today. Our guests are leaving soon, and you can’t miss breakfast, not today,” Peggy says with a kind smile that disarms you. You roll out of your bed, feet dragging across the floor before you slump down in front of the vanity. You watch as Peggy chases away the night self, pins your hair up, wipes the night drool of your face to make you at least vaguely presentable. She’s merciful with the short stay though­—picks a looser one, from the time before you lost your baby fat.

Your heels clack on the staircase and you can already hear voices coming from downstairs. As you approach the drawing room, a glimpse of the scene within stops you in your tracks. Lurking in the doorframe, you watch as Jayce and Viktor hunch over a parchment, feigning deep concentration as they pretend to read it thoroughly before signing. They do so, exchanging pats on the shoulder—conspirators sealing a silent agreement.

Then, it is your father’s turn. He catches sight of you lingering in the doorway and flashes you a warm smile. “Good morning, love.”

His eyes drop back to the document. He gives it one last cursory sweep, his quill hovering just above the space left to sign.

You hold your breath.

And he... hesitates. A small hmm escapes him. His brows knit together in fleeting consideration, and then—oh.

He looks straight at you.

Heat flares in your cheeks, but you do not waver. You hold his gaze, steady, unflinching. And for whatever reason—be it the bond of blood or simply the fact that he has known you all your life—his expression softens. A knowing smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

And oh.

He signs.

You exhale, breathless, weightless. Laughter erupts between them—hugs, handshakes, pats on the back. Jayce beams, his happiness unguarded. Viktor wears a smile that, for once, looks almost honest. Your father looks content.

It is signed. Done. Sealed.

Your father steps forward and pulls you into a firm embrace. “You’ve done well. I’m proud of you,” he murmurs against your hair. Then, in a quieter, amused tone, he adds, “Now, let us pray your mother doesn’t notice until the wedding.” He chuckles softly.

Oh. Right. You are getting married.

***

A few days have passed since the contract was signed, and to your relief, your mother has not noticed the adjustments you made. She remains blissfully consumed by wedding preparations, entirely unaware that the original terms—so starkly in favour of your family—have been tempered to grant House Talis a fairer standing.

However, your father called you to his study, his expression unreadable as he regarded you across his desk. His words were firm, yet not unkind. He did not scold, nor did he praise, only ensured you understood the weight of your actions.

"You have done them a service," he admitted at last, after a measured silence. "One I hope they will not forget." And though he said nothing further, though his approval was never voiced, something in his tone—something almost like respect—settled in your chest, easing the uncertainty that had lingered since you first put pen to paper.

Now, with a storm in your mind, your fingers fly over the keys, the sharp, cascading notes of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata (Presto Agitato) filling the room with thunderous urgency. It drowns out everything—the ticking of the clock, the creak of the floorboards, even the faint rustle of the curtains shifting in the afternoon breeze.

You have not thought about it until now. Not truly. Not beyond the abstraction of ink on parchment and the murmured discussions over tea and candlelight. But now, with only days left before you are no longer just yourself but someone’s wife, it hits you. A shift. A point of no return.

How strange, to know that the house you grew up in, the one you have played in, dreamt in, stormed through in childhood fits of temper, will no longer be yours. That soon, your place at this very piano, in this very room, will be an absence rather than a presence. The thought unsettles you.

So you play harder. Louder. Until the force of it rings in your chest, keeping you from thinking too much. You curl forward, biting your lip absentmindedly, your face twisted with emotion, your torso nearly hovering over the keys like a hunchback.

You do not hear the front door open, nor the sound of measured footsteps in the hall. You do not see the maid, Peggy, curtsy as she leads your visitor inside. You do not even notice when she hesitates, turning to announce him—because before she can, a voice stops her.

"It’s alright, Peggy. Please, allow me."

It is a quiet request, yet it holds the weight of something decisive. Viktor stands in the doorway, smiles for Peggy, but his eyes are fixed on you, considering. The way your body moves with the music, the tension in your shoulders, the way you lose yourself in the notes.

Peggy looks up at him, blinking in momentary surprise, before a small, approving smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. He is not appalled. Not by the passion, the volume, the unladylike ferocity with which you play. And that, she thinks, is a good sign.

So she gives him a knowing look, inclines her head, and quietly slips away—leaving him alone to watch you. And you, still unaware of his presence, continue to play.

He spies your reflection in the window—your face shifting from one expression to another with each rise and fall of the music. Your brows knit in concentration, your eyes clamp shut with feeling, your mouth parts slightly, forming an unconscious little o. Strands of hair have slipped free from their updo, framing your cheeks in wild disarray.

Viktor inches closer, careful to avoid the floorboards that might creak beneath his step. He drinks in the scene—the unguarded display, the sheer abandon with which you play. A thought takes root. Perhaps this arrangement will not be the terrible imprisonment he once feared. Surely, you—with your tempestuous fingers and flagrant disregard for propriety—will agree that freedom is the highest privilege, worth protecting above all else.

He tells himself the feeling in his chest is not admiration but hope. Hope that the two of you might reach an understanding, one that will allow you both to remain unshackled even within the binds of matrimony. He tells himself that your parted mouth is merely amusing, nothing more.

The piece crashes to an end, and with a frustrated groan, you collapse forward, resting your forehead and elbows on the keyboard. A discordant wail echoes through the room. Viktor chuckles and finally breaks the silence.

"Are you not happy with your play, Miss?"

You jolt upright with a sharp gasp, spinning around so quickly that you nearly stumble in your haste to stand.

"Dear God, my Lord!"

You attempt a curtsy, but the motion is so hurried and clumsy that you almost topple over. Viktor steps forward instinctively, his hands finding your forearms to steady you, cane clattering to the floor. His grip is light, his touch like a feather, amusement flickering in his gaze.

"Forgive me, I did not mean to startle," he murmurs, breath quickening despite himself at the warmth and tension in your arms. He holds you wondering whether his fingertips would meet had he closed them around you. The thought gets chased away as soon as it enters his mind.

You swallow hard, your heart still racing from the shock. The room suddenly feels much smaller, the space between you too charged. You are keenly aware of your appearance—loosened hair, flushed cheeks, a dress slightly rumpled from sitting too long at the piano. You feel exposed. He does not seem to mind, still holding your elbows.

"I do not know as much about music as Jayce," Viktor continues, tilting his head slightly, "but this sounded rather… challenging, no?"

"I’m so sorry—you weren’t meant to hear this," you blurt out, lowering your gaze.

"I enjoyed it thoroughly," he replies without hesitation. "It’s rather different to what I heard last time."

Your fingers twitch on his arms. Different was one way to put it.

"Oh, it’s quite different," you admit. Then, lowering your voice, "Also, quite forbidden. Please don’t tell my mother—she will burn my sheet music and make me play that measly Clementi until my fingers bleed."

Viktor smirks, his fingers wrapping just a notch tighter around your arms. "I shall keep your secret, Miss. What’s another one shared between betrothed? I imagine there will be more."

For the briefest moment, you wonder if he is flirting. Your pulse quickens at the notion, but you quickly clear your throat and step back, disentangling yourself from his grasp. You smooth your skirts, willing the heat in your cheeks to fade.

"What brings you here, if you don’t mind my asking?"

He leans to pick up the cane and you wonder momentarily if you should help, before he says, "Oh, I was announced to call upon you today. Have you forgotten?"

You press your lips together, mortified. "Forgive me. It completely slipped my mind—I got lost in thought."

Viktor hums, nodding in understanding. "That’s quite alright. I think I am familiar with the feeling." Then, arching a brow, "Also, why are we whispering?"

Your shoulders stiffen. "Because if my benevolent mother finds us here without a chaperone, hell will open its mouth and swallow me whole."

Viktor huffs a quiet laugh, unbothered. "I was told your mother went to town with your sisters, Miss. No need to fret. Or whisper, as much as I like the sound of it."

His voice is steady, indifferent to the scandalous implication of being alone together. You, however, remain acutely aware of it, your hands smoothing over your skirts once more as if to will yourself into some semblance of propriety. So odd to meet another who cares not about the binding of the rules made up by God knows who. Absolutely peculiar to be the one who leans toward the constriction on instinct, being presented with someone who doesn’t obey. The night self has cackled within you ludicrously.

“What is the reason for your calling, then?” you ask, forcing your voice to remain steady.

“I was told by Jayce’s sweet mother that such is a custom between courting couples,” Viktor replies, his tone unreadable.

Courting. Couple. Be still, your stupid heart. You press your lips together before speaking. “I thought I was considered to be courted by now.”

Viktor tilts his head slightly, watching you as though deciphering a puzzle. “If you do not wish me to visit, do tell. I don’t mean to impose upon you, Miss.”

“Oh no, my Lord, forgive my bluntness,” you say quickly, feeling a warmth creep up your neck. “I am merely not sure if I am able to entertain you in the way you desire.”

Something shifts in Viktor’s expression—his gaze darkens slightly, and his fingers twitch at his cane before he hesitates, swallowing as if choosing his words carefully. “I meant to invite you for a stroll later this week,” he says at last, voice softer, but still carrying that enigmatic lilt. “Apparently, it is good were we to be seen in public together. I thought we could kill two birds with one stone and have an unsupervised conversation while being regarded.”

There’s something about the way he says it—an almost playful contradiction in the idea of a private moment under the scrutiny of others—that makes you pause. He is studying you again, and though you should feel wary, you find yourself intrigued instead.

“Well, I would lie if I said you didn’t grasp my attention. I shall indulge you, my Lord,” you say after taking a long inhale, steadying yourself. The moment of unguarded reaction is gone—you slip back into the polished version of yourself, the one who knows how to navigate these waters. Calm, composed, hands resting gently on your abdomen, back straight, chin held high.

Viktor only smiles, his eyes flickering with something unreadable before he inclines his head. “I am no Lord, just a man. Please, call me Viktor.”

Your fingers twitch where they rest. He is dismantling barriers you had placed with such ease it’s infuriating. “I will be there, Viktor.” The name feels unfamiliar yet strangely natural on your tongue.

In response, he whispers your name softly, like a secret meant only for him to know. A shiver curls up your spine, and before you can stop yourself, your arms move—grasping at your elbows in a defensive clutch. The instinct to shield yourself is immediate, but you smother it, replacing it with a placid smile. If Viktor notices, he does not call attention to it, though something in his gaze flickers. He looks as though he is about to say something, but then he hesitates. Withdraws.

For a moment, you simply stare at each other, the air thick with something unspoken. It feels strange—utterly so. As if you are being assessed, studied with a precision that leaves you feeling exposed. And the duel is not fair. He has some sort of weapon, some unseen advantage, while you stand bare, vulnerable. Like a deer in the forest, ears pricked, waiting for the shot to ring out.

“I shan’t disturb you further,” he finally says, turning toward the door. “I will send a note as to when and where we will meet.”

On cue, the door creaks, and Peggy peeks through the crack.

“Miss, the Lady will be back soon. Shall I make some tea for you and your caller?”

You exhale sharply, regaining your bearings. “Mister Viktor is leaving, but thank you. We should, probably—” You catch yourself before you say too much, before you admit that you need to look as though you have been dutifully engaged in proper, ladylike pastimes rather than playing scandalous music behind closed doors. You glance at Peggy, willing her to understand.

She does. “Of course, Miss! I will be with you in a few moments.”

The door clicks shut behind Viktor.

You release a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding, pressing a hand against your ribs as though it could steady the frantic beat of your heart.

Save for your father, this was the first time you had been alone in a room with a man. The realisation settles over you like a weight, and the two halves of yourself clash within your chest.

The day you—the dutiful daughter—cannot help but acknowledge the impropriety of it all. She knows what is expected, what lines should not be crossed. And yet… she hesitates. Because the unease doesn’t stem solely from being alone with a man. It stems from being alone with Viktor, a man whose manners slip free of societal constraints the moment he is given the chance.

The night you, however, does not hesitate. She roars in satisfaction. This was thrilling. The push and pull of conversation, the glances, the knowing looks. And to do so while basking in daylight, without shadows to obscure the truth of it?

Intoxicating.

[pandora-writes-one-piece]

The Meet Cute - Law's Story - 16

Source for pic

The Great Pretender 16

Word Count: 4260

Tags For The Whole Story: Fem!Reader; Law is a soft dom; you have bratty tendencies (not all the time); voice kink; praise kink; cursing; very suggestive behaviour and innuendo from the start; sexual tension; teasing; so much flirting; romance; slow-burn; fluff; slight angst; mature audiences (though explicit NSFW moments will be properly tagged on the chapter); possessive Law; protective Law; soft Law; teasing Law; manipulative Doflamingo; inappropriate Doflamingo; fake relationship trope; only one-bed trope; reader has some anxiety issues; reader is a control freak and perfectionist; modern day AU; Mention of ex mentally abusive relationship;

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

Summary: After moving away from the hustle and bustle of Grand Line City to help your father around the property following a horse-riding accident - and in the hopes of healing your broken heart after your asshole ex-fiancé cheated - you settle into the country calmness of the Calm Belt. You and Law (your father's doctor) start to build a flirty friendship because of your father’s procedure. So much so that when he’s invited to Baby 5’s wedding (his cousin), he asks you to be his date. His uncle Doflamingo - who is filthy rich - is very adamant on finding a suitable wife for him. Seeing as he wants to avoid that, he asks you to pretend to be his girlfriend for the weekend.

Notes: The angst arrives in full force! How about that!? Come on, you had to be expecting that! Also, I'm thinking about two chapters left (well, one and the epilogue), so we're almost at the end! PS: This song fits the chapter like a glove! *chef's kiss*

|Masterlist| | |Chapter 15| | |Chapter 17|

The night is almost over. Just a few more dances before the guests send the newlyweds off to their honeymoon, and then you and Law can escape back into the safety of your room. Just one hour, tops. What could go wrong in an hour?

Even more so now that you’ve finally confessed the three words that have been bothering you for a while. And they were reciprocated.

You’re adamant about not letting go of Law’s hand for the rest of the night. A feeling of dread still coils in the pit of your stomach, and you don’t know exactly why, but you’re not about to let fate play a prank on you.

Except, fate’s got nothing on Donquixote Doflamingo. 

“Nephew, I need you. It’s urgent.” Law groans, his hand tightening around yours, since this is clearly Doffy's last opportunity to feed some lie to Law and try to break you two apart. You’re honestly tired of it all. 

“Tomorrow, Uncle. I’m tired.”

“Now.” Doflamingo’s tone leaves no room for discussion, and Law clenches his jaw. Underneath it all, Law still respects his uncle. You’re not quite sure why he still respects the man, he’s despicable, but you suspect it’s because he instilled in Law a deep-seated sense of family ties and loyalty. And Law won’t break free of his morals. 

“Go. I have to freshen up anyway.” You whisper with a smile. You’ve confessed. He knows how you feel. Nothing will come between the two of you. 

Law smiles at you, and with a last squeeze of your hand, he lets you go. 

-*-

You purposefully take a while longer in the bathroom, fixing your makeup, your hair, and your dress. Unnecessary moves, really, since you’re about to leave to go to bed soon, and you’re actually craving that massage Law mentioned earlier. 

That and… well, you’re craving Law. Period.

You exit the bathroom with a silly smile still plastered on your lips and almost bump into a chest. “Oh, forgive me, I–... Ichiji.” 

Obviously.

“Fancy seeing you here.” He begins.

“Cut the crap.” You don’t even let him say anything else, already pushing past him to return to the reception tent, but he halts you, a hand on your upper arm, and you seethe. “What did I tell you about touching me?”

He lets go of you immediately, taking a step back and sighing while passing a hand over his coiffed hair. “Right, sorry.”

Sorry? 

You look behind you and around, trying to notice if something feels out of place. You might have entered a portal to some sort of alternate universe when you were in the bathroom because there’s no way in hell Ichiji would ever apologise to you.

“What?”

“I’m sorry, Doll. For… well…” He sighs again, steps forward, and then back again. “For cheating, for treating you like crap, for taking you for granted… I… well, I know now it’s too late, but seeing you happy with someone else made me realise what I lost and how I was the only one to blame.”

No, seriously, there has to have been a portal back there. Something, anything. This is not happening. 

Your heart constricts in your chest. You lost count of how many times you dreamed about Ichiji asking for your forgiveness, to truly repent for what he put you through. But it happening here, in a place you'd never thought you'd meet him, and completely out of the blue? 

What's his game? 

“I don't think you need my forgiveness to move on. I know I don't need your apologies.” A heavy sigh parts your lips. “Not when you're delivering them far too late.”

You make another motion to pass through him, but he moves in front of you and whispers your name in a desperate plea. “I do need your forgiveness. I need closure.” 

What? You cock your eyebrow, your lips twisting down in a frown. “After all you've put me through for–...” You wave your hands in the air. “I’m not even going to count the years we spent together. Just today is enough! After all the theatrics and the taunting, you expect me to believe you just want closure?”

The way he slumps his shoulders and downcasts his eyes reminds you of the first times you argued, back in the beginning of the relationship, when you actually believed his apologies, and your heart constricts some more at all the memories. 

“Yes, Doll. Just closure. I'm about to leave the party, and I know we won't meet again, unless it's by chance, and I don't want us to part on bad terms.” He takes a tentative step your way. “Just say you'll forgive me, please.”

You want him out of your sight, out of your mind, and completely out of your heart. You know you don't love him anymore, but you still hold memories and feelings of nostalgia, and when he's looking at you with puppy-dog eyes, you can't help but soften up a little bit. He does seem sorry. 

“Fine, Ichiji, fine. We can part ways on lighter terms. I don't completely forgive you for what you took from me or for how you made me feel, but I won't resent you for it anymore.”

He actually smiles at you. Not that conceited, smug smirk, but a genuine smile. 

“That's all I ask for, Doll.”

“Good. Goodbye.”

“Wait, please.” Is that pain in his voice? Is he really sorry and repentant for everything? You don’t say anything, but you don’t move either, just waiting for what he wants to say. “Can I get one last hug?”

The face you make must have been something special to look at because he grimaces and chuckles softly, his hand passing through his hair again. 

“A harmless hug? Please? It’s just for–...”

“Closure, right?” Should you? He’s actually sounding human for once in all the time you’ve known him, and he does seem sorry. It’s just a hug goodbye. What harm can it bring? “Fine. Make it quick.”

With a sigh, you let him bend down to envelop you in his arms, but then you actually smile. You don’t feel anything. No rage, no pain, no hurt, no longing… it’s just a void. You know there used to be something there, but now you’re free.

It’s a wonderful feeling, actually. 

Until Ichiji’s hands cup your face, and he tilts your head to the side, doing the same to his and leaning in further, his lips inches away from yours. His taller frame engulfs you, and the lights are very dim near the bathroom. It almost looks as if you’re sharing a kiss. 

“Wha–...”

“I still win, Doll.”

A cold shiver runs down your spine as he shows you the same smug smile he always did, his canines almost glistening with glee. You’re frozen in place. What does he mean? 

And then he parts, leaving you open-mouthed, chest heaving, and cheeks flushed from trying to grasp what is going on. It doesn’t take long for your eyes to adjust to two figures looming at the entrance of the hallway that leads to the bathrooms. 

Doflamingo and… oh, no.

“Law?”

Doffy is bent down, one arm around Law’s shoulders, his lips moving fast as he mouths words into Law’s ears. You can almost bet he’s spewing lies and deceptions about you, twisting everything to make Law doubt you. You know he has trouble trusting people, it would be so easy to make him doubt.

But what breaks you is Law’s expression. His usually stoic face bears the signs of hurt, and he’s clenching his fists by his sides, jaw ticking, trying to contain his emotions and failing at it. 

“Law!” You try again, taking a step forward and see Doffy still speaking into Law’s ear. Lies, all lies, for sure. Law’s gaze falls on Ichiji and then back at you, and you realise that this was orchestrated. It has to have been orchestrated. 

Ichiji holding you as if he were kissing you, Doffy bringing Law by the bathroom? It was their ultimate move.

“It’s not what you think, Law.” You take another step forward, and you can almost hear the shards of Law’s flimsy trust being broken and shattered into pieces. 

He shakes his head and takes a step back, hand flying over his head to tousle his hair. “I… I need some air.” Turning on his heel, he leaves you in a hurry, and you stifle a sob. 

No, no, no.

You need to reach him, to speak with him and let him know what happened. That nothing actually happened! He can’t possibly think you would betray him like this. Turning your wobbly steps into strides, you try to follow Law’s retreating figure into the crowd, despair tugging at your insides, tears already threatening to fall.

And then you’re stopped by a strong hand on your arm. “Where do you think you’re going, princesa?” 

An actual growl leaves your lips. “Let go, Doflamingo. I need to speak with Law.” Your tug does nothing to loosen his grip, and you seethe. 

“That’s where you’re wrong.” He tuts, his fiery eyes boring deep into yours. “You won’t speak to my nephew. Not now, nor ever again. You’ll leave him alone to live his life and disappear.”

Shaking your head, you try again, but his grip is too strong. “He needs to listen to me! He’s going to be heartbroken. It’s not what he thinks.”

“He’ll be fine. He has a family that loves him.” Doffy’s words sound melodic, but the melody is one of doom, not hope. 

“Only Cora loves him, clearly.” Your scoff comes accompanied by stubborn tears you’re trying to keep enclosed. “All I’ve ever wanted from Law was love, all I have to give to him is love. Why do you want to take that away? Do you hate him that much?”

Doflamingo straightens his shoulders, and now he seems impossibly high. “On the contrary, cariño. I love him dearly. And it’s because I love him that I need him to learn this lesson. I thought he had already learned it the hard way, but he didn’t. Romantic love only brings weakness. It doesn’t do him any kindness, and he needs to let that go. He needs to be strong and in control, not a fool in love.”

Finally, your harsh tug makes him release you, but his imposing figure is still blocking the way. You stamp your feet, much like a small child, and grit your teeth, anger making your eyes blaze red. “You think that makes him stronger? Is that why you push the people that love him away?”

He shakes his head, those annoying tuts leaving his lips as he gives you a condescending look. “Not at all. Only those that do not.”

“Then you are a damned fool.” He growls at your disrespect, and you couldn’t care less. He lost any small ounce of respect you might’ve still held for him when he pulled this stunt. “Because if you hadn’t interfered, I would still be by Law’s side, and I love him!”

Doffy’s laugh comes in small waves, his eyes shining with amusement as he sizes you up with his fiery gaze. “An admirable sentiment, mi querida, though I doubt it to be true.” You open your mouth, ready to be disrespectful again, but he reaches into his pocket and pulls out an all-too-familiar device: your tablet. 

With a flick of his finger, he opens it to the spreadsheet you now know by heart: all of Law’s likes and dislikes, every useful thing for your fake relationship, every piece of information you and Law gathered to make sure you were prepared for this event. 

You can’t help the stutter that leaves your lips, nor the red flushing your cheeks. “Law… he.. Law knew about that.” Why does your voice sound so small? Is it because you were caught?

“I’m sure.” His demeanour contradicts his words. And then he hands you the tablet, a frown finally overtaking his mocking smile, and you almost shrink at how his aura suddenly feels very threatening. “You’re done here. You will never speak to my nephew again.”

Tears sting your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall. Doflamingo can’t win this, not after what you and Law went through. Not after realising he’s the love of your life. 

“You can’t do that.” Your voice comes out as a mere trembling whisper. “You can’t pull strings and control Law’s life as if he’s a puppet and you’re his puppeteer! He has a say in his own life!” You try to take a step forward, but he doesn’t budge. “I’ll tell him what happened, and he’ll realise I never meant to hurt him. Just let me through!”

“You’re done.”

“Law has a right to make his own choices. You don’t own him!” The pesky tears start to stain your cheeks, you feel impotent and useless. 

“Not choices that will end up destroying him.”

“The ones you are making for him might do just that.” Your voice finally breaks, and a ragged sob leaves your lips with the weight and the helplessness of it all. “He is not your pawn! You can’t manipulate him like this! Please… please! Let me speak to him! You’ll truly destroy him with this…”

Law placed his trust in you. After what he’s been through with Monet, you know it must not have been easy to let himself love and be loved. And Doflamingo manipulated you both to an extent that will come with dire consequences. Law will be broken, and so will you.

“I will face whatever consequences come from my actions with Law. He might be hurt for a while, but he will emerge stronger. He has done it once.”

“But at what cost?” You whisper, too drained to fight back. With a shaky inhale, you straighten your shoulders as your hands grip the tablet for some sort of grounding. “I’ll speak to him later, then. You can’t keep us apart. You will not ruin what we have.”

Pushing past him, you take one full step before Doflamingo’s words freeze you in place. 

“I would rethink that if I were you, querida.” Something in his voice halts your breathing as you look over your shoulder and find him grinning. “Your father is still recovering from surgery, right? Some businesses collapse pretty quickly when something like this happens… no one would look twice.”

What?

“Is that a threat?” Doffy certainly has the power to ruin your father’s horse business. 

Waving his hands in the air in a dismissive manner, his smirk returns to his lips, more menacing this time. “Oh no, no. I don’t make threats… they’re too amateurish.” His laugh fills your ears, and the same shiver as before courses through your veins. “It’s more of a prediction.”

Gathering strength and bravado you do not have, you square your shoulders and lift your chin. “My father is strong, and he has my help. We’ll manage.” Turning your face forward, you will your feet to move again.

“How brave. So what about Law’s clinic?” Your breath stops so suddenly that you almost think you have a collapsed lung. He can’t be serious. “I won’t be cryptic, cariño, here’s the deal: if you speak to Law again, I’ll make sure his clinic tanks. And you know how much he loves that little place, with his friends and helping people.” He tsks and waves his hand dismissively. “I would much rather he dedicated himself to the company, so perhaps you would be doing me a favour. Law, on the other hand? Now that would devastate him.”

“Please, don’t…” You don’t know what else to do. Doflamingo is too powerful, too influential. He will destroy Law either way and claim to be helping him while doing it. You feel trapped, what can you do? “Please don’t do that to him.”

“I don’t want to. I do love him. But that depends on you.” Doflamingo sets one hand on your shoulder to turn you back to face him. “There’s a car waiting for you outside with all your belongings. You will leave the party immediately with Ichiji, as it will help sell the ruse.” 

Your legs start to wobble as breath begins to catch in your throat again. Powerless. Completely stripped of any will. That’s how you’re feeling. 

“You will not speak with Law today, nor ever. Not even when you both go back to your boring little lives. He’ll think you abandoned him, which suits me, really. No one needs a gold digger.”

“I’m not–...”

“I don’t care!” Doflamingo leans in, and his breath fans your face. He’s as angry as you’ve ever seen anyone, and you can almost see the veins pulsating dangerously in his neck. “You’re a distraction and a liability. Law doesn’t need any of that.”

“Everybody needs love…” Is this your last hail Mary? Because it’s not a very strong one.

“Not the Donquixote family.” He steps back and motions Ichiji forward. “Leave. Don’t speak to Law. It’s simple, I’m sure you can follow that, princesa.” He chuckles again while fixing his tie and suit. “Or else…” 

The words he leaves unsaid are a weight on your soul. You can’t think, you can’t breathe, you can barely exist. All you know is that Law is somewhere, hurting, thinking you betrayed his trust.

And the fact that you will leave without any explanation will only cement that feeling. 

You thought you’d been heartbroken before - exhibit A is currently walking by your side, leading you away from the party with a hand on your back that you’re too tired to swat away - but you’ve never been hurt like this.

This pain is visceral. It burns, it blisters, it festers, and it destroys. 

You’re not actually sure you’ll ever recover from this. 

-*-

Law was taken away from you by Doflamingo yet again, and as his uncle drones on about business and about the imminent merger, all Law can think about is you in his arms and the peace you bring him.

“Are you listening to me, Law?”

“No, Uncle, I’m not. It’s late, and I’m tired.” He yawns for effect and shrugs. “I’m going to bed.” But before he can retreat, Doflamingo sighs and slings his hand over Law’s shoulder.

“Fine, Law. But first, I’ve made some assumptions during this weekend, and I need you to tell me if I’m right or wrong.” Law sighs and nods. Agreeing with Doffy is the fastest way to get rid of him. He starts leading Law back into the party, and Law follows without giving it much thought. 

“I know you and the little princesa were not a couple before this weekend. I’m actually doubting that you are a couple at this moment… and my assumption is: you told her you didn’t want to come to my daughter’s wedding without a date because I tend to introduce you to a lot of respectable young ladies you don’t relate to. So, to avoid that, she offered to come as your date. Am I right?”

Law already knew Doffy had discovered that bit of your ruse, so he doesn’t act surprised, he acts resigned. 

“Almost. I was the one who asked her.” Law grins. “The ladies you introduce me to are not respectable. Half of the ones I met proposed to do very salacious things to me in very public places.”

Doffy grins back at him, and Law sighs while shaking his head. 

“You got that half-right, Doffy. Are you happy?”

“Not in the least. You see, Law, what I think is that the young lady realised the family you belonged to and decided to take advantage of that fact by seducing you. Is that a correct assumption?”

“Frankly, Uncle, I’m growing tired of that subject. We have already proved to you that we care about each other deeply. And even if we didn’t, we don’t have to prove anything to you anymore. This is my choice, and you will not interfere in it.”

Doffy tilts his head and nods, a mysterious smile playing on his lips as he leads Law to the bathroom. 

“Fair enough. But… Nephew… do you truly believe she cares that much about you? Do you think she loves you?” A small chuckle escapes his lips. “I thought you were done with being naive…”

Law grits his teeth while his heart clenches in his chest. Doflamingo’s words always have a way of penetrating his skull and making him doubt everything. “She loves me. I know that.” He didn’t mean to sound so defensive, but then again, Doffy had no reason to attack him. 

“I hope, for your sake, that you are right.” Doffy brings one hand to his chest and bows his head slightly. “I would hate to see you blindsided. Again.” His emphasis on the word ‘again’ brings hurtful memories of Monet back to Law’s mind, and he grunts. 

“We’re fine, Doffy. Thank you for your concern.” Law is about to turn and leave, but Doffy holds him by the shoulder and directs his gaze towards the dimly lit hallway of the bathroom. 

“Oh… would you look at that, then…”

Law instantly freezes, his brain showing him tricks. It has to be tricks. There’s no way that’s you wrapped in Ichiji’s arms. Law can only see the back of Ichiji’s hulking frame, but that’s your dress he sees peeking from the side, those are your hands holding his waist.

And now he’s cupping your cheeks, leaning… no.

A kiss?

Law shakes his head, denial, frustration, and… betrayal. That’s the word echoing in his head incessantly. Where once were your ‘I love you’s’ now stood that shadow of a word. Betrayal, betrayal, betrayal…

“You see, Law,” Doffy leans against Law’s ear, his venomous tongue spewing hurtful words. Words that ring true, too close to Law’s heart. Too at home with his pain. “She’s no different from Monet, really… they both traded you, broke your trust.”

Law’s throat is dry, and he feels little sweat beads trickling down his sideburns. The nails digging into the flesh of his hand cut little crescent indents, trying to ground him, trying to pull him back from the pitfall of despair he’s about to be sucked into. 

“Love hurts, Nephew. Love tears and destroys. You can only trust your family or you should trust only yourself.”

Doffy keeps talking, but Ichiji breaks from you, and there’s a mix of confusion and distress on your face as your eyes meet Law’s. And then there’s panic as you whisper his name.

This can’t be happening. You wouldn’t do this to him. Not you.

“Law!” 

Your plea is clear, but he can’t think straight. It’s too much, it’s too painful. 

“Don't believe her lies, Law. You know what you saw.” Doffy murmurs. 

“I… I need some air.” Law’s voice comes out as a mere whisper as he turns and disappears. The air suddenly feels rare, his chest too tight. 

There’s not enough room in the world to harbour the size of this betrayal. It’s too much. 

-*-

The coolness of the outside air does nothing to soothe him. It still feels stifling, and the control is slipping away from his fingers. Running his hand through his hair in a desperate gesture only brings him more heartache. 

Why?

Law keeps thinking about your pain and grief when you spoke about Ichiji. How could you return to the man who hurt you so? 

Maybe you didn’t.

No. Law knows what he saw. You were in Ichiji’s arms.

But he didn’t see a kiss.

There was no mistaking it. He held your face and–... and what? Could he have forced you? Were you held against your will? Law tries hard to unscramble his jumbled memories, but the pain in his chest is so heavy that he barely knows where to start.

He didn’t see a kiss. Of that, he’s certain. Could he be overthinking it? What if it was nothing, or if he forced you? And instead of helping you or hearing your words, Law panicked? Hadn’t he promised you not to listen to Doffy’s words? 

Yet that was exactly what he did. 

Fuck.

Did he get this all wrong? Law sighs and inhales deeply three times, trying to calm his ragged breaths and his uneven heart. He knows you. You wouldn’t do that to him, let alone with a man who hurt you so deeply.

There has to be an explanation for what happened, and he’s ready to listen to it.

Turning around, Law returns to the party, hoping you’re still somewhere near so he can speak with you and listen to what you have to say, to what really happened, to the truth.

He’s expecting to find you frantically looking for him, and his heart is already constricting from the anxiety you must be feeling. He should’ve just stayed a while longer. You would have explained, and neither he nor you would have had to panic. 

But what he wasn’t expecting was to see you leaving the party. He wasn’t expecting to see Ichiji’s hand resting against your lower back, silently guiding you through the remaining guests. He wasn’t expecting to see you walking out with him.

Willingly. 

So it was the truth.

Law’s heart breaks completely, the full extent of your betrayal settling in, expanding, and commandeering all of his love for you. Doflamingo was right. It pains him to admit this, but he was.

You’re a liar, and Law was foolish enough to trust you.

Tag List:@rosidaze @beachaddict48 @armiliadawn @jintaka-hane @sprinkklz @baby5555 @hopelesslover06 @mars-mizuko @sleepykittycx @nerium-lil @eustasscapitankid @ren-ni @jqperi @lycoriskalmia @rainbow2312 @alexturnersgirl

|Chapter 17|

[erideights]

Little pieces here and there (1)

Pairing: Buggy x Fem!Reader (One Piece Live Action)

Chapters: two, three, four, five

Word Count: 2,6K (i was inspired by god itself)

Warnings: none, lot of context (i promise the next chapter will have way less filling), light flirting

A/N: I HAVE ALREADY THOUGHT ABOUT AT LEAST 5 CHAPTERS MORE, I HOPE SOMEONE LIKES THIS FIRST ONE BECAUSE I'M ON MY KNEES FOR THIS DAMN CLOWN. Let me know if you wanna be tagged in other parts! (Side note: i'm spanish, so if there's some mistakes, i'm trully sorry, i don't have beta readers).

It's not enough to suddenly find herself locked in a box with 3 idiots she met a matter of hours ago, no; To make it worse, as it could not be otherwise, it turns out that she is in a bloody circus, ''kidnapped'' by a band of pirates that she recognizes as soon as she sees the red and white tent over their heads, the distressed faces of the poor people that make up the audience, and the costumes of the band around them.

She sighs, and wonders what the hell she's doing there despite knowing perfectly well what kind of decisions have led her to that damned place. Wanna know what happened? Let's recap, shall we?

(Y/N) (S/N). That name doesn't sound familiar, right? Very few know it but the reputation that accompanies the person who responds to it is very famous throughout the 4 seas. She is not a bounty hunter, nor a marine, neither a pirate or a pirate hunter, like the green-haired hottie with whom she finds herself in such trouble, or a thief, like the ginger who she bet, will escape running without looking back at the slightest opportunity she finds.

No, she's a mercenary. She doesn't work solely for money, otherwise she would go against the most bloodthirsty and ruthless of each sea, and that doesn'tt interest her, because she would put herself on the radar of both the pirates and the marines.

No, she is contacted through different channels, none of them direct, and if the job interests her, amuses her, or even piques her curiosity, she accept it. She goes after all kinds of people, whether they are pirates or marines, gangsters at the top of the terror scale or criminals who, like her, tried to keep a low profile.

However, and as we were saying, despite trying to remain anonymous, she is good at her job, a born strategist with an incredible facility to adapt and blend in with her surroundings to sneak into the most remote places, so her existence inevitably began to be noticed along the seas, rumors about this young mercenary with an angelic face, who only responded to her own morals and of whom few escaped to tell the tale.

And this is how she met that group of weirdos who found each others through the power of the plot's convenience; her last assignment was to steal the map from the Grand Line. There are not many, these kept safe and protected in large fortresses throughout the globe, and among all those that she could have tried to steal, she made the horrible decision of going for the one that was closest to her, encountering those three idiots in the crossfire of the disaster that unfolded in Shells Town.

How did she end up giving up the assignment and at that precise moment there, with them?  Simple: Luffy piqued her curiosity. And there are few things stronger than (Y/N)'s curiosity.

"Hey, I know you. I saw your wanted poster in Shells Town, you're the clown guy. Umm, uh… Binky, right?" Luffy exclaimed, as confident of himself as usual.

Buggy, she mentally corrected, arms crossed over her chest, rolling her eyes at the same time the clown corrected loudly and dramatically listed his many nicknames. Which she was sure, only he called himself.

''Wow, you have a lot of names. I bet everyone in the East Blue knows who you are.” The audience gasp. There's confusion in the boy's face, and an almost psychopatic tic in the clown's one. ''What did you just say?'' Buggy asks lowly. ''Just that everyone knows who you are.'' Luffy repeats.

''Nose!? Are you making fun of my nose!?’’

Then came the slap, like the one someone usually gives when a friend is trying to steal their food or touch something they definitely shouldn't. Buggy is killing the straw hat boy with his eyes but the gesture is so… innocent.  She expected threats with knives, to be honest.

And because of the unexpected, she almost let a laugh escape in the form of a cough but she controlled herself fast enough to not grab unnecessary attention to her.

''What's real is...'' Buggy resumes the conversation, getting some distance with Luffy to walk around the rest too.  ’’I’ve been scheming for months to steal that map from old Axe-Hand moron…’’ (Y/N) sees how he approaches her, but she didn't expect him to close the distance between each other so much, his nose almost touching her own, sharp blue eyes fixed on her from a slightly lower perspective. The truth is... that she also doesn't know how to tell if that nose is real or not, but now she really wants to touch it to find out. Dear God, what a realistic texture. It’s incredible.

Pressing her lips together in a contained expression as she shakes her head, she raises an eyebrow, letting him know that the joke wasn't as funny as he hoped, and he clucks, accepting defeat in such good humor that no one would say, that is a kidnapping and someone would end up dead by the end of the day.

She heard of him. His reward was not one of the highest but neither one of those that go unnoticed in the East Blue. He was also an eccentric, of course people talked about the blue-haired, red-nosed clown who terrified his victims in a macabre way. Those who survived ended up traumatized.

He is, or at least looks, younger than she imagined, and he fit right in with the urban legends of evil clowns kidnapping children and then dismembering them. She wonders, silently, thoughtful eyes scanning his face and body language from a distance, if this is some softie on the inside with high aspirations in life who was unfortunate enough to bump into someone who traumatized him and hence all this show and facade of the cruel and heartless clown -to protect himself as the good cliché he seems- or if, on the contrary, he is, simply and plainly, a yandere who craves attention no matter how he has to obtain it.

If she remembers correctly, there was also a rumor that he ate a devil fruit. Just like Luffy, which it doesn't take long for the clown to discover after Zoro tries to save the situation by showing off his reputation -obviously it doesn't work- and Nami does exactly what (Y/N) predicted. Not her fault, either, she doesn't owe any of them anything at all.

''Okay. Here ends the theatrics.’’ The lights go out and it’s then that everyone can small the disaster in the air. A chill runs down the back of (Y/N), who tends to infiltrate without being seen and avoids, whenever possible, a direct encounter; hand-to-hand combat is not exactly his specialty. And given the circumstances is impossible for her to know if the daggers she usually hides in the side of his combat boots -for emergencies like this one- are still there. ''I know one of you has my map, and I'm gonna get it back. What was it you said, Rubber Boy? That it was in a safe place?”

How long were they unconscious before? Enough to hijack the ship, get to land, and move 4 dead weight bodies to that circus, locking them in a box. By that point she would bet some member of the gang would have thoroughly searched the ship, and them too. Disgusting.

Buggy takes a last, attentive look at both Zoro and Nami, ruling out that one of the two has the map because when the girl tried to flee, Luffy was not shocked thinking that perhaps she would steal it from him. Which leaves the two of them, Luffy and her, alone with him.

''So, please'' the clown gestures to his subordinates with his head. ''make these two guests uncomfortable in the green room. I’m gonna have a chat with my stretchy new pal and…’’ His eyes jump to her, tilting his head to the side with genuine curiosity. ''this beauty that was incapable of taking her eyes off me.''

Fuck. Was it that obvious?

''Doll, you are the only one who hasn't opened your mouth yet and I don't think it's because you’re a shy little flower.'' He begins, circling around her like an animal hunting its prey, analyzing it, hoping to see a chink of weakness to attack. ''Are you bored?'' He asks almost in a whisper near her ear. ''Is that it? Are you so, so bored that you don't think it's worth enough interacting with the rest of us?'' Breaking away from her when he realizes she doesn't falter, he smiles a huge, threatening smile, looking her up and down in such a way that it almost makes her feel dirty. "Or maybe you're the one who has my map, and you're quiet to try not to attract /my/ attention."

She? The map? Wearing such tight pants and top? Yeah, maybe up her ass, but she's not the one who is going to tell him otherwise because if he, or one of his subordinates, comes to search her, she could take advantage of the opportunity to steal some sort of weapon from them.

In particular from Buggy; (Y/N) saw the knives he keeps in his coat and… she wouldn't mind taking a closer look at that interesting nose.

"Busted." She finally admits with a lopsided smile, raising both eyebrows when she sees the surprise on the clown's face. He didn't expect such a cocky response, did he? "I'm not the type of person who likes to attract attention, the spotlight is for others who are more... flashy." She pronounces it honeyedly, repeating the same nickname he used before, pointing at him with a gesture of her chin. "However, I'm not going to tell you where the map is. If you want to find it, come and search for it yourself."

Shrugging her shoulders, she stretches out both arms in a gesture that invites him to come closer. Bold, he thinks, more than pleased with this unexpected turn of events, taking some steps in her direction. She adds once more: "although I would be surprised if you hadn't already done it during the time we have been unconscious"

"Me?" He points at himself, stopping right in front of her. "Take advantage of a defenseless young lady?" He almost sounded offended if it wasn't for the shit eating grin and the eager way he was scanning her body now. "What kind of degenerate do you take me for?"

She scoffs, and Buggy, unsure, seems to consider -for some long seconds- whether or not to do the job himself, (Y/N) being too calm for how helpless she seems. But surely, he knows, she doesn't have any weapons on her; his subordinates were in charge, as she said, of searching all of them as soon as they were brought to the circus.

In the end he gives up, because he would be damned if he dared to refuse to thoroughly touch this mysterious woman who may, just may, have his map hidden somewhere. He strongly doubts it, tho.

Soon enough, he moves again, standing then behind her, and without asking permission, he doesn’t need it either, his hands start roaming her shoulders and sides slowly, making sure to feel anything weird between her clothes and the skin underneath. Like the fucking map, folded until it is nothing more than a small piece of paper easy to hide. 

Because that is the whole point of that scene, right?

"Go on, be my guest." she says sarcastically, trying to stay calm and breathe slowly, because (Y/N) likes to pretend to be made of stone, but not /that much/. The pressure of those gloves against her already tight clothes and the hungry way she knows those -green? blue? difficult to say with those circus lights- eyes are watching her every move make her heart beat a bit faster in something she’d call /the average amount of nervousness when a known, wanted pirate search for something we wants while threatening to kill you if he doesn’t find it/.

Buggy, on the other hand, is so engrossed in his task that his usual cocky smile has disappeared a few seconds ago; he is waiting to feel a change in the girl's body language to be able to guess if she has it or if, on the contrary, this search will be saved in his memory as no more than a small pleasurable pause after all the stress that the goddamn map is putting him through. Because he can't deny it, she's actually a beauty, and in other circumstances he wouldn't mind getting to know her in a funnier way. At all.

Inhaling deeply, wetting his red lips with his tongue, he lets the air out slowly, tilting his head to the side to see her better. He should hurry up and stop making that scene as intimate as it's becoming, audience and all, but he's a thorough man. Or that’s the excuse -explanation- he will give to whoever dares to ask.

"Where the hell did you hide my map?" He asks melodiously as he finishes searching her torso, his right hand starting to go a little lower, getting dangerously close to her hipbone when (Y/N)'s right hand flies up and catches his wrist between her fingers, stopping him dead in his tracks. She couldn't help it, she acted on autopilot, she is not ready to be the main character of a porn movie with audience included letting him roaming all around as he pleases. "Not between my legs, so keep lowering your hands and I'll cut them off." she threatens, turning her face to look at him standing behind her.

Right back, as if those words were magical or something, the huge, shit eating smile of his returns to the lips of the unstable clown, and without letting go, he makes her spin, facing her with both hands on her waist, strongly keeping her in place, sharp eyes fixed on her, and without realizing it, she stops breathing for a second. "You promise?" He whispers, pleads almost, in an amused, delighted tone of voice after such a threat. She was way interesting than he expected, not as shy or scared as an unarmed girl like her should be. He likes that. A lot.

However, he has -sadly- things to do and he did in fact, already lost time with her. His eyes betraying him the moment they land on the girl's lips, Buggy winks at her with a cocky expression and pulls away suddenly, raising both arms "Another disappointment, how many more can our audience endure? You’re the only one left, Rubber Boy, don't let me down." He points him, moving closer, while (Y/N) just stays there where he left her, wondering what the fuck just happened and why does her heart run so fast now.

Adrenaline, probably.

"Take her with the others" he ends up saying to a couple of members of his gang, to which she responds by moving on her own in the direction of where they have taken Zoro and Nami before, preventing them from guiding her by force and discovering the knife she stole from Buggy when he got so damn close to her, and which she secretly hid between the waistband of her pants and her shirt.

Risky, she could cut herself with the smallest movement at the least expected moment, but it was way worse to see herself unarmed.

Buggy, infatuated, takes one last look at her and, raising one hand, waves his fingers in the air with a huge smile on his face as he says goodbye to her.

"See you later, love."

[staybabblingbaby]

Best Friend Protocol #14 (Team Meeting part)

[Caution: These are not full fics, or even full parts of fics for some, these are part of my writing progress archive!]

Concept: You're Felix's childhood friend, and you and he have been planning a visit to see him for his birthday for what feels like years now. Unfortunately, SKZ is a very busy group, and the week-long vacation you'd planned for doesn't seem possible.Until Felix decides to ask his bandmates a favor...

Word Count: 2672

Notes: IT'S FINALLY HERE! ALL HAIL THE LEGENDARY FIRST WRITTEN PART OF BFP! I meant to have this out over a week ago, but it's here now! I will be attempting to get a regular chapter out here shortly to fulfil my promised 4 november chapters. Wish me luck! Huge shout out to one of my beautiful beloved betas, @brbwritingfanfic for taking the time to make sense of this damn thing lmao. I appreciate you spotting all my errors, you a real one <3 For those familiar with my archive style and curious, this is A3D2 for this chapter. It was kicking my ASS. If enough folks are interested I don't mind releasing the other attempts, but BFP is a bit divorced from the usual archive proceedings, so I'll leave that up to y'all. I actually really loved how Felix's character came through here, and i'm pretty pleased with how the dialogue turned out. My poor fiance had to sit through like 5 separate rants about how i could not roll back the details enough and kept having to scrap dialogue so it sounded less like AI attempting classical literature.

Warnings: She/Her Reader. Sort of? Polyamory negotiations. More like, the possibility is tossed out there.

Leave me comments or questions or anything! Love hearing from folks

Additional Note: I'm always taking interaction requests. Just fyi

Masterlist | Prev Part | Next Part

The meeting goes something like this;

They pile into the living room of his and Seungmin’s shiny new dorm without discussion. It makes Felix both nervous and grateful. They’ve always had these meetings wherever Chris happened to be, before. It feels like an unspoken declaration of allegiance. Like they’re letting Felix take the lead, here.

The pressure is kind of getting to him already, as they all settle in. He doesn’t even know how he feels about it all himself, making a decision doesn’t seem like something he should be in charge of right now.

Still, he’s grateful. They’re being so mindful of him in this, and he kind of wants to cry about it. He feels seen, and loved. A bit too seen, maybe, but as embarrassing as it is he’s still a bit gooey inside about it.

Felix drags a beanbag over to where Hyunjin has settled on the couch, plopping down to lean against the other man’s legs. A hand automatically goes to bury itself in his hair, like an anchor against Felix’s stormy thoughts.

The grounding warmth of one of his best friends soothes Felix as Chris calls the meeting to order.  

“So!” Their leader casts an inquiring gaze around the room, “Who wants to start? Where are we at right now?”

A few glances are cast Felix’s way, but he tips his head back against Hyunjin’s knees to avoid their eyes. Everyone must get the message, because no one prompts him.

Jisung is the one who eventually bites the bullet, and Felix sends a silent ‘thank you’ to his birthday buddy.

“Well, I’d like to clarify everyone’s, like, goal in this?” Jisung puts forward tentatively, “Because I’m at the point where it’s more of a ‘I’d like to get to know her’ thing than a ‘I want to date her’ thing.” he shrugs to himself, “I haven’t talked to her much yet, I just think she’s cool.”

“I’m a little bit smitten,” Changbin admits from across the room. He gives Felix an apologetic grimace, but all Felix can do is wave him off with a worried smile. 

“We talked for quite a while the other day and, I dunno... We clicked? I guess? I feel like we did, anyway. I kind of want to see where that could go if we let it.” 

Changbin sends an almost appealing look to Felix as he speaks, and honestly? Super awkward for Felix right now.

Because, see, Felix’s first instinct is to get super defensive and shut everything down. He doesn’t really want to be talking about this, and it scratches at something delicate and boyish in him that they’re having this discussion at all.

It’s embarrassing to know that the feelings he’s kept so close to his chest for so many years are out in the open. It feels a bit like a betrayal that this meeting is about the fact that most of his friends have feelings for the girl he’s had a crush on basically his whole life, instead of planning how to get him to stop being stupid about said crush.

It’s just... Uncomfortable. On so many levels. An ugly monster wants to tear out of Felix’s throat as he locks eyes with Changbin, but a light scratch at his scalp from Hyunjin stalls the beast.

Right. Felix reminds himself that these aren’t any old friends. These aren’t just some acquaintances he could burn bridges with, or strange men he had to protect his angel from.

No, these were his brothers, the people he’d shed blood, sweat, and tears with. The men he’d lived with, grown with, the guys who’d seen more of him than any other person in the world.

Felix finds it in himself to spare Changbin a strained smile. He means it to be reassuring, but he’s so tangled up in his thoughts right now that it’s the best he can offer. The older man seems grateful for it anyway.

He turns his gaze up to Hyunjin, the catalyst of all this, and Felix’s current rock in the storm. He tries to keep in mind how much he loves these people as he moves the conversation forward.

He has to hear them out, at least.

“Thoughts, Hyun?” Felix gently inquires. 

Hyunjin briefly presses his lips together, gathering his thoughts into words. 

“I’ve been pretty open in my flirtation from the start, I think.” he finally says, “So I guess I’m more surprised that anyone else is? Surprised, I mean.”

Felix has to hand him that one. For all that his ‘no flirting’ rule had been mostly a joke, it did mean that he’d expected them to flirt with her. 

He wonders what makes things different now? He’d been okay with the flirting when he’d thought everyone was just joking around, has anything really changed now that he knows it’s real?

Felix sits with that thought while Minho throws his two cents in.

“I don’t think surprised is the right word,” their second eldest ponders aloud, “I’m personally more... worried about how this might work out.” He draws the words out slowly, like he’s tasting the flavor of them before he speaks.

It’s off-putting to hear Minho speak so cautiously- he’s usually so blunt with his words. 

“I’m more worried about how this will affect us as a group,” Minho admits, “I mean, I like her, she’s fun, but I don’t want her if it’s going to cause issues among us.”

And the older man has a point. Anything that causes discord in a group like theirs is a disaster waiting to happen. Especially something like this, where a misstep could lead to long-term resentments and jealousies.

Felix feels pressured by the group’s regard for him all over again. One word from him, and he knows it all ends. The moment he says he can’t handle this is the moment that the rest back off. The emotions won’t fade, Felix knows, but they’d do it anyways.

Because they love him.

He loves them right back.

“I really like her,” Seungmin pipes in, face blank. His eyes cast toward the floor for a moment, before rising again to meet Felix’s. “I really like her,” He repeats, “I don’t know that I would be okay with letting go without trying.”

Felix pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and nods at the younger man. His head tips toward his lap while he thinks, brow furrowing as he loses himself to his tumultuous thoughts.

It helps to hear everyone’s feelings put so bluntly, Felix thinks. Having everyone’s stances laid out clearly like a map in his mind’s eye. 

Han, who’s not invested but interested anyways.

Changbin, who’s probably in deeper than he’d really like to be.

Hyunjin, who’d been open about his intentions from the start.

Minho, who the fact that he’s even considering her means more than Felix thinks the man realizes. And yet, he’d give her up at the first seed of discord among the group.

It’s kind of heartwarming, when Felix thinks about how much love their second eldest had shown them with those words. 

Finally, there’s Seungmin. A man whose compliments are hard earned, and whose feelings are closely guarded. A man who’d just handed Felix his heart on a silver platter, trust and love etched in every word, spoken and not.

Felix’s first instinct is still to shut them down. His clouded heart tells him to scoop up his angel and hide her away like a dragon with its hoard. To claim her as his and his alone, and feel slighted if anyone tried to contest that.

But that’s not fair. Not to his members and not to her. Not even to himself.

They’d shown him respect and care every step of the way, the least he could do is give them more than a knee-jerk reaction.

“Is it really all that complicated?” Jeongin ponders aloud.

Their maknae looks almost bored from his armchair, staring at them all. His furrowed brow gives away his worry, as does the way he allows Chris to pull him into the elder’s side with an arm around his shoulders.

“I mean, it’s up to her in the end, isn’t it?” their youngest continues, “she’s the only one that can really make a final call.”

“Could we handle that?” Felix finally speaks up. It’s a little scary having everyone’s attention snap to him like that, but this is the crux of the matter, he thinks.

“If she chooses one of us, could we handle that?” he elaborates.

A contemplative silence descends over the room. Felix kind of wishes he could peek into the member’s brains at this moment. He wants to know if they’re as worried as he is, if they’re worried about the same things he is. 

Because, quite honestly, the more he thinks about it the less he really minds if they flirt with his angel.

It’s taken him this long to untangle the ugly knot of emotions in his chest, and he still can’t see all of it for what it is, but the core of it all, he thinks, is fear.

He’s afraid that, at the end of it all, he’ll be left behind. That he’ll lose two of his very best friends, his favorite people in the world, to each other.

He doesn’t think he could handle that.

It’s an unjustified fear, Felix knows. His bonds with all of these people, the seven present in the room with him and one halfway across the world, are stronger than anything. Forged in fire and elastic with time, he’s sure there’s nothing that could ever truly break them.

That doesn’t stop anxiety from creeping up his spine.

Felix lets his eyes wander around the room, landing on each of his members in turn. It’s like something in him believes that they could guide him in this, just by looking at them, the way his gaze lands heavily on each of their forms.

Hyunjin’s hand drops from his head to knead at the base of his neck, and Felix feels himself soften. A little bit of the anxiety drains from him at the comforting touch, and with it gone he can see something new under the miasma of fear and uncertainty.

It’s bright, like hope, and a bit more exciting. A giddy little thought bubbles up with it-

“What if she chose more than one of us?” Han beats him to the punch. His eyes flick between them all anxiously, looking very much like the rodent he’s nicknamed for, and when he’s met with six confused stares and Felix’s suppressed grin, he starts to babble.

“I- I mean, we’ve all shared partners before. Like, sexually, at least. I just- I mean- We’re not strangers to sharing, is all I’m tryna say!” Han explains himself.

His shoulders rise up to cherry-red ears under the weight of their stares. Minho places a calming hand on his thigh, even as he pokes holes in the other man’s claim.

“We’ve never shared romantic partners though,” He points out, annoyingly reasonable, “That’s a completely different thing.” 

“I’d be willing to give it a shot,” Hyunjin shrugs when all eyes turn to him.

He was, admittedly, the last of them Felix had expected to back the idea. Hyunjin was the most romantic of them all, and the least likely to indulge one of them in sharing a partner or two.

“I love you guys, and I really like her,” Hyunjin states plainly, “I don’t see an issue with it.”

“So.. what? We try for, like, a.. polycule kinda thing if she wants?” Changbin questions. He scrunches up his face in concern at the concept, pointing out, “That feels a little unbalanced, doesn't it? Is it fair to hinge the whole thing on her?”

“It's going to hinge on her whether it's fair or not,” Jeongin interjects, “You all have crushes on her, not on eachother.”

“I just don’t know how comfortable I can be with that,” Changbin explains, “There’s one of her, and currently six of us. I don’t think it’s humanly possible for her to split her time enough for all of us, and it’s really unfair of us to expect it of her.”

“It could be a good thing, though,” Han argues, “None of us have the time to dedicate to a relationship how we should. Having more than one of us to turn to could be a good thing.”

“Okay, but you’re all forgetting something very important in this hypothetical,” Jeongin stresses the word, making pointed eye contact with his hyungs, “situation. She has to agree to it too. We can’t make a decision without her.”

Felix can't help but be proud of their youngest for reminding them of y/n’s place in all this. It’s not like they’d forgotten, but it was a good reminder anyway. It did feel a bit icky to be talking about their relationship with her like it was a foregone conclusion.

“I’m just saying!” Han proclaims, throwing his hands in the air, “It’s a possibility that we should be open to if it happens!”

Finally, Chris loudly claps to get everyone's attention and forestall any oncoming argument.

“Oh-kay!” he enthuses, “Let’s refocus. Show of hands, are we okay with everyone flirting with her if they want to?”

All hands go up, none of them opposed to anyone else shooting their shot. Felix pretends like all eyes aren’t on him as he easily raises his arm.

“Alright, next” Chris pushes on, “Do we think we can handle it if she chooses one of us?”

Hesitant murmurs sound around the room at this, but Felix has come to an understanding with himself during this meeting, so he speaks confidently when he says, “I think we’ll be okay.”

His words seem to reassure the others, and a ripple of agreement and gentle ribbing starts circling the room.

“Alright,” Chris nods to himself, interrupting the wave before they could get started with any mischief. He really does know them too well.

“And finally,” he starts, an indecipherable expression crossing his face, “show of hands, who’s alright with the poly thing if it comes to it?”

This subject is more divisive, Han, Hyujin, and Felix’s hands going up, but Minho and Changbin stay quiet with worried faces. Seungmin holds his arm out in front of him with his thumb held out sideways. When questioned, he just says he’s not sure how he feels about it yet.

“We’ll circle back on that later, then.” Chris decides, “I think that’s one of those things we need to be unanimous on.”

Agreements sound out, and the atmosphere relaxes. The evening quickly devolves into an impromptu game night, the group quickly descending upon Felix’s console games like a pack of hyenas.

Felix gets up to switch the TV over to his switch, intentions of strong-arming everyone into playing Mario Party in mind. Chris grabs him by the elbow as he walks by, nodding over to the kitchen. Felix follows him over, already unbearably fond. 

“You sure you're good?” Chris asks lowly, “You've been her friend the longest, and we quite literally thought you were dating her already for a while there. They'll back off if you ask, you know.” 

Felix nods, smiling softly at their leader’s care. “I'm good I promise.” he swears, “I meant it when I said I liked it when my favorite people get along.”

He turns to look through the doorway back at the living room. Despite the strange and personal nature of their conversation, jokes and laughter flow easily now. As if there was never any tension at all. 

Felix can feel himself practically melt as he looks at them, a sentiment he knows their leader shares.

“It would hurt,” Felix admits, “If she chose someone else. But there’s no one I’d trust to hurt me more, y’know?”

Chris doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t really need to. He squeezes Felix’s elbow gently as the younger dives back into the chaos, and Felix knows he’s been understood.

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[wangxianficfinder]

Fic Finder

Feb 5th

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1. hi there! i remember reading this fic ages ago and i can't seem to find it again - lwj has dreams/nightmares about falling. one scene i remember clearly is lwj waking up from a falling nightmare, stumbles and wwx catches him and holds him. i think they were in an inn? it's either canon or post-canon. it would be awesome if you could locate this - i've looked through the various requests others have sent it for hc/touch-starved/nightmares but couldn't locate this particular fic.

FOUND? Bitter Plants Bearing Sweet Fruit by Kryal (M, 83k, WangXian, graphic depictions of violence, canon-typical horror elements, Worldbuilding, Desert, Misuse of Historic Setting, Original Character Death(s), Case Fic, aftermath of canon, ridiculously long author notes, Established Relationship, Nothing Explicit But Shameless Innuendo) It's in a later scene, but Lan Zhan kinda sleeps walks into WWX after his nightmare

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2. hello! looking for a canon divergence fic, set during the sunshot campaign. what i remember is a scene where jc whips wwx with zidian. wwx collapses (having no golden core). lwj, who already knows that wwx has no core, intervenes and brings wwx to the medical tent. if i'm not wrong, there were two versions of the chapter in the medical tent, with a version that's with more jc bashing? I think it's a pretty long read. thank you! @potatokunst

ah this is right thank you thank you! the other version of that scene is in another story in the same series :)

FOUND! these colours fade for you only by doodlebutt (T, 36k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Fix-It, Fluff and Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Everybody Lives, Golden Core Transfer Fix-It, …eventually, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, bed sharing, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Sunshot Campaign) features Lan Zhan knowing about Wei Ying's missing core, Jiang Chen whipping Wei Ying with Zidian, causing him to collapse, and Lan Zhan rushing in to help him. I don't remember there being two versions of Wei Ying's treatment, though it's been a while since I read it.

as love and its decisive pain by doodlebutt (T, 1k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Fix-It, alternate ending for chapter 8 of these colours fade for you only, canon-typical violence and injuries, Angst) (the other version if anyone is curious)

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3. Hello again!! This time I’m look for help finding two stories! A) was a 3 chaptered ao3 WIP with inventor Wei Wuxian who made (among other stuff) a spiritual hairpin for jyl, it worked with her pacifist cultivation and slowed or paralyzed fierce corpses… and B) an au that was maybe on tumblr where the empress/empress dowager showed up for wwx because his father was a hidden prince?? I don’t know how much of the story was part of the au and how much I daydreamed so I don’t have more details… @pinsluke

3A)

FOUND! Here Again (Spirits Rise, Unbroken) by TheDefenestrator (T, 74k, WIP, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Time Travel Fix-It, Slow Burn, Happy Ending) which is two chapters and a time travel, but definitely has inventor wwx with jyl has a pacifist/tranquility hairpin!

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4. HELP…

I read a fic cannot find WWX is working in an office LAN something and he brings A-Yuan to work still a baby and usually he sleeps in one of the drawers of the file cabinete, LWJ comes in and sees the baby and asks to what WWX says something about he’s, filled correctly , LWJ takes the baby and LQ and LHuan buy all kinds of designer clothing and on their way to the baby furniture store @bkpmystinen

FOUND? Threadfic by 0Pink_Blossoms0

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5. Can you help me find this fanfiction? I’ve never actually read it before but the summary was something about how WWX was forced to marry LWJ after the archery competition when he removed LWJ’s forehead ribbon, and then years later after an unhappy marriage, he finally calls HC and LBH for help. I think HC and LBH are his sworn brothers in this fic, also. @sagegreencomforter

FOUND? The Wrong Choice by XunMichoco (Not Rated, 32k, WangXian, XiCheng, XuanLi, BingQiu, HuaLian, ZhuiLing, LQ/YQ, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, YZY is nice here, JFM being best dad, best sis JYL, JC is protective, Dark LWJ, WWX wants LWJ dead, mentions of xy, Sworn Brothers, Mpreg, YQ respect, SS is nice here, Forced Marriage, LXC is Suffering, From Nightmares)

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6. I have two fics I'm trying to find again. I read them a while ago, so I'm only putting details I'm sure of.

A) Lan Wangji is travelling and comes across a little lost paper man. He finds the silent paper man very endearing and with a lot of personality. They learn to communicate as they travel, and Lan Wangji grows attached. The paper man is obvs Wei Wuxian.

B) a Cloud Recesses fic, based on The Untamed. A Caught At The Cold Pond and Now Arranged To Marry fic. Wangxian are sent to a cabin and isolated there for a little while. I remember one scene where Wei Wuxian is trying to draw and keeps moving Lan Wangji further out of the way because he's mad at him and it makes Lan Wangji cry. There was also a puppy involved and Lan Wangji helping Wei Wuxian participate safely in the puppy's life. There was also something about the house they're in being alive? I think maybe also a winter storm and a dragon.

Anything you can do will be greatly appreciated. You guys do great work. Thank you! 🙏 @feralplantwife

6A)

FOUND! a paper friend by soft_wanning (G, 4k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Fluff, Paperman WWX, Identity Porn, Meet-Cute, Different First Meeting)

6B)

FOUND! Headband Wedding Bootcamp by gwynseren (M, 50k, WangXian, Accidental Marriage, Misunderstandings, Some Humor)

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7. I hope I'm doing this right, I've never sent in an ask before. Also don't know if what I wrote is appropriate.

There was this one fic, I think it was post-Sunshot campaign, where the abuse Wei Wuxian experienced under Madam Yu was exposed to the cultivation world. The details I remember are that the cultivators thought Jiang Cheng was continuing this abuse and even going further with sexually assaulting Wei Wuxian. The rumors/misunderstanding got to be so bad that Junior Lan Disciples actually stepped in to get Wei Wuxian away from Jiang Cheng after they witnessed a confrontation between the two and Wei Wuxian flinched or backed away from Jiang Cheng.

That's all I can really remember. I don't remember if it was a one-shot, part of a one-shot collection, or an unfinished fic. @freestrawberrynight

FOUND? 🔒chapter 15 of Vrishchika's Short Prompts

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8. for the fic finder! its a time travel fic where wwx falls off the cliff and finds himself in the past then raises his child self as if he were his father, been looking for a while but i just can’t find it myself 😭 @thwispsings

FOUND? In Another Life by SingingInTheRaiin (M, 21k, WangXian, Time Travel, but not the usual way, LWJ is smitten, WWX is a dumbass, LXC knows what's up, Portugese Translation Available)

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9. I’m not sure if it was Wattpad or Ao3 but I remember a scene where Wei wuxian is being stalked by a shadow/ mysterious figure but as the story goes on it turns out it was Lan Wangji from a different universe or time line that lost his Wei Ying so he decided to try to take this Wei wuxian. I think he was also getting memories or visions from far into the future and starts making references from the 20s century. I don’t remember if it was a time travel fic or a MDZS react fic.

FOUND?🔒我拿青春赌明天 / I’ll wager my youth against tomorrow by tombenough_and_continent (T, 37k, WangXian, Science Fiction, Historical, Time Travel, Enemies to Lovers)

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10. Hii, for fic finder. I've been looking in my bookmarks for a while but can't find it smh :( all I remember was Madam Yu hits a yuan with zidian

FOUND? Consequences by Remma3760 (Not Rated, 58k, WangXian, XiSu, XuanLi, Canonical Child Abuse, Abusive YZY, Good Uncle LQR, WWX is a Lan, Accidental Baby Acquisition, Bad Parents JFM and YZY) the whipping happens in chapter 25

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11. For a Fic Finder - I'm looking for a fic that i thought i had bookmarked. As usual, i can't find it, and don't recall the title.

It's set after Wei Ying loses his core, etc. The three siblings are back at Lotus Pier. Wei Ying is pretty drunk all the tome. So Yanli and Jiang Cheng write to Lan Zhan & adk him to take WY to Gusu to heal or detox. WY isn't happy but he goes. Then evades LZ's efforts to cleanse the resentment. One day he's in the back meadow & meets a tiny toddler Jingyi who is upset, i forget why. They make friends. There is a mystery about an array that kept Madam Lan stuck in her house (in the story it's not the Jingshi). I think WY figures out that her essence is still trapped. The boys end up freeing her, she borrow's WY's body long enough to talk to LZ. Turns out she's a Heavenly Official and LZ and Lan Xuchen are demigods. Before she leaves, she gived WY a part of her strong goldrn core. At the end of the fic, they confess, and the guys adopt little Jingyi, and obviously live happily ever after.

Any help tracking thid down is so much appreciated!

NOT FOUND! Practical Considerations by teawater, the_anthropologist (E, 97k, WangXian, JC & WWX, LXC & WWX, LQR & WWX, Arranged Marriage, Canon Divergence, Found Family, Spouses to Lovers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Politics, Scheming, Lán Elders are assholes, BAMF WWX, BAMF LWJ, eventually BAMF LXC, learning to make decisions, Learning Self-worth, Self-Esteem Issues, Sweet Wangxian, Domestic Fluff, Fix-It, JC is a big asshole, he improves somewhat but it’s open-ended, WWX learns to stand up for himself, Quote: Come Back to Gusu With Me, POV wwx, POV LWJ, POV JC, Golden Core Reveal, Teacher wwx, Golden Core Transfer Fix-It, Alcohol as a Coping Mechanism, Past Suicidal Thoughts, Post-Sunshot Campaign, WWX Protection Squad, Feelings Realization, WWX protector of the twin jades, Protective LWJ, Protective WWX, Protective LQR, Demonic Cultivator WWX, WWX is Loved, Married WangXian, Genius WWX, Everybody Lives)

FOUND! if i had the strength by agloeian (M, 16k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Post-Sunshot Campaign, Hurt/Comfort, Getting Together, Fix-It, somewhat of a case fic, Heaven Official's Blessing inspired gods & ghosts, Mild Alcohol Abuse, (see WWX's canonical coping mechanisms), Mental Health Issues, WWX is not in a great place for a lot of this fic, He Gets Better Though!, this fic is all about learning to give yourself the help you give others tbh, Baby LJY, recovery fic, Accidental Baby Acquisition)

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12. I remember starting a fic where LWJ stabbed himself and WWX through with Bichen before the 33 Lan elders could get to them and now I can't find it anymore. I pretty sure it was some type of time travel fix-it and I think LWJ apologized to Bichen for using it to hurt WWX or smth. If you could somehow find it I would be eternally greatful ♡

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13. I apologize if I have already sent this ask, I cannot remember.

For fic finder, I’m hunting down a fic that didn’t say it took place in Sacramento CA but almost certainly did. I remember almost nothing else about it other than the Jiangs live in the Bay Area, lwj lives in a town that “people don’t usually move to” and wwx moves to the area and lwj shows him around to things like apple hill or the costume mansion. This is like. A super specific and weird request but iykyk

Thank

FOUND? so hot you're hurting my feelings by isabilightwood (E, 40k, WangXian, JYL/WQ, Modern, Oblivious LWJ, Didn't Know They Were Dating, no moms were harmed in the making of this fic, mama lan took LQR in the divorce, LWJ Has Friends, all WWX characterization decisions were made to make LWJ pine harder for his own boyfriend, Fluff, Eventual Smut, Bottom LWJ, Halloween, WWX's birthday, Sub LWJ, Light Dom/sub, Spanking)

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14. Hi, I'm looking for a fanfic about Dragãoji and Foxxian where they were in a marriage contract because Foxxian was fertile. I only read the synopsis where Jiang Cheng said: if you marry him they will give us an army. Now I feel like reading it but I lost it. @quwieiidkd

FOUND? heavy is the crown by sweetlolixo (E, 58k, WangXian, High Fantasy, Dragon LWJ, Fox WWX, Romance, Dubious Consent, Warrior LWJ, Pregnant WWX, Language Barrier, Size Kink, Dark Royalty, Game of Thrones!Drogo/Daenerys Premise, Eventual Happy Ending, Breeding Kink, Arranged Marriage, Everyone Falls In Love With WWX At First Sight, Rape/Non-con Elements)

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15. Hi, I have a request for Ficfinder. I read a story awhile ago. I don't remeber much of it, just one scene where both Ln Zhan and Jiang Cheng were making soup for Wei Wuxian. Both were sure they were making his favourite, Jiang Cheng was making the lotus root and pork rib soup while Lan Zhan was making egg drop soup.

This was after the Burial Mounds, so Wei Wuxian had stopped eating meat. i think it was all about which one knew him best? Not really sure. Any help finding this story would be much appreciated. Thanks. @remma3760

FOUND! Where the Winds of Change Blow by merakily (G, 17k, WangXian, Angst and Humor, Canon Compliant, Post-Canon, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Golden Core, Family Bonding, Flashbacks)

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16. Hi I'm looking for a fic that I found through here lol. It's cssr & wcz survive but are very injured, wy is in a coma for a bit. They get to Lotus Pier to recover and it was a longer fic. That's all I remember 😅

FOUND? Building a home by R95irth (T, 586k, WCZ/CS, JFM/YZY, WangXian, JC/WQ, JYL/JZX, 3zun, BSSR/LY, MS/Sisi, Canon Divergence, Time Travel Fix-It, Everyone Lives, Angst with a Happy Ending, Horror, Nightmares, Canon-Typical Violence, Complete list of ships in the serie summary, Family Fluff, Found Family, Babies, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, but not done by the Lotus Pier squad, Also JGS exists so canon related things linked to him, Same goes for Lan parents)

~*~

17. Hi I was looking for these two very specific fanfics that I think I read on Wattpad years ago!

A) The First one is like: (Alternative AU) Wei wuxian and Jiang chang go to this school together and they like each other but the other person does not know they like each other and then Wei wuxian meets the principle's son lan zhan and they fall in love but Jiang chang is still in love with Wei wuxian and the story continues. 

B) The second one is like: Wei wuxian time travels back to his past after he falls down the cliff and then tries to harm himself to stop the future from hapenning but his loved him stop him and the story continues.  (like angsty at first and then turns to comfort - also I remember Jiang chang after knowing the truth becomes super protective of Wei wuxian in this story)

I honestly appreciate all your help - I have been trying to find them for ages but they seem to have disappeared :(

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18. hi!! for the next fic, would would you mind finding this one fic of an alternate universe, modern setting? In this fic, Wei Ying was a single adopted parent to A-Yuan I think, and he takes A-Yuan to a hockey camp where there is a guest coach who turns out to be Lan Wangji. Wei Ying and Lan Wangji used to play hockey together in college or something but Wei Ying had to drop out to help out Wen Qing and raise A-Yuan and disappeared for a few years. Anyway that is most of what I remember for this fic but it was super cute and I really want to reread it. I’ve tried every tag I can think of but I just can’t find it. Looking forward to hearing back from you if you can find it!! Thanks! @roundhen

FOUND?🔒Never Have To Ask by literaryoblivion (T, 14k, WangXian, Modern AU, Hockey, Kid Fic, Mentioned JYL, Mentioned JC, Fluff and Angst, Single Parent WWX, NHL Player LWJ, POV WWX, Past Character Death, Minor Character Death, Mentioned WQ, Car Accidents, Pining, Love Confessions, Friends to Lovers, Reunions, Mentioned Junior Ensemble, First Kiss, Requited Unrequited Love, Requited Love, Flashbacks)

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19. Hi so I was trying to find a fic that I listened to a few months ago I have no idea where it is right now because I did not add it or bookmarked it so it's a podfic. I know it is it's modern setting with magic wwx is a demonic cultivator and lwj is a cultivator they work together or something and they were like on a case about a haunting of the some house and wwx get injured or something or he performed empathy and lwj is so worried so he takes him home to wwx's apartment and the apartment building is where the wen lives and he sees them talks to them for a bit and then went to wwx's apartment turns out wwx apartment is haunted but the ghost is just like harmless or something I remember one Pacific scene where lwj is laying down on the bed and the ghost is right above him and then wwx wakes up and says to the ghost "knock it off"or something along those lines that's all I remember @constancebloodstone

FOUND? when I look over my shoulder by cafecliche (T, 10k, WangXian, Modern AU, exorcist LWJ, medium wwx, vague The Conjuring AU, some horror elements, Pre-Relationship, Mutual Pining, Hurt/Comfort)

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20. Hello! First, great work. Now, I'm looking for a fic where LZ is de-aged by a deity during a nigh hunt close to the burial mounds and this results in the truth about WY being revealed and he gets his core back thanks to the deity too. I think LXC and NMJ are there too. Thanks in advance. @multitudeofmes

FOUND! A Child’s Wish by Hauntcats (Not rated, 13k, WangXian, WWX & Wen remnants, Celestial meddling, Not JC Friendly, Fix-It, Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Everyone gets what they deserve, Age Regression/De-Aging, Child LWJ)

~*~

[lemonlover1110]

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐤

Suguru Getou & Kento Nanami

[Chapter 5] Camping Trip Pt. 2

← Previous Chapter - Story Masterlist

Pairing: Suguru Getou x f!Reader x Kento Nanami

*it's a christmas miracle

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Kento helps you set up your tent quickly, and for a moment you think that the camping trip will be fun. You won’t have to struggle much with Kento by your side, which definitely will make the trip easier, therefore more fun. It’s also nice to have someone who you can joke around with, which you could’ve done with Suguru if it weren’t for Kumi.

“Mommy, I’m hungry.” Sayuri comes to your side, and you hum, letting her know that you heard before going to your bag to grab one of her snacks. As you’re handing it to her, Suguru yells,

“I’m getting started on lunch soon! She won’t be hungry for lunch if you give her food now.” Which makes you roll your eyes. You proceed to give her the snack, because you won’t make her wait when Suguru hasn’t even started lunch. He puffs out a breath, biting his tongue. 

“Go take a seat, baby.” You smile at her, and she has no problem sitting down on the grass and opening her snack. Lately you’ve been doing everything you can to contradict him, and Suguru is upset about it. He really can’t understand why you are, but he isn’t going to ask you about it either because he knows that it’ll make the situation worse. 

“Can I have a snack too?” Kento asks, walking back to his tent with the bags that he packed. You’d think he would be staying here for weeks with how much he has in his hands. You chuckle, reaching into your bag to get something for him too. Kento walks over to Sayuri, taking a seat beside her before they begin to talk.

Watching them brings a smile to your lips, unlike Suguru who is glaring at them. He decides to look away, and tries to get started on lunch. You go to them, sitting with them and joining their childish conversation. You often wonder how Kento gets so entertained while talking to Sayuri, but he manages to carry out long conversations with her.

“You want some?” Kento offers you the bag that’s in his hand, and you shake your head. 

“Mommy doesn’t like that.” Sayuri points out, and Kento looks at the bag that’s in his hand. He raises his brows, recalling that you would crave the snack all the time during your pregnancy. He guesses you buy them for Sayuri now.

“Noted for next time.” Kento answers. He offers some to Sayuri, and she doesn’t hesitate before taking a handful. 

“Sayuri, come here, princess!” Suguru yells, making the little girl stand up and run to her father. She leaves the trash behind, and Kento picks it up for her because that’s the type of thing he does for her. You rest your head on Kento’s shoulder, watching your daughter and her dad interact from a distance.

“It feels like he’s distant lately.” You comment, and Kento looks at Suguru before his eyes land on Kumi. It’s not really a great mystery why, but he wonders what’s happening now.

“Do you really mind though?” He asks, and you take a moment to think about your answer– You really don’t, but you also have to care because of your daughter. It’s like he reads your mind, asking, “Is it because of Sayuri?”

“Yeah…” You answer, and Kento watches as Suguru carries her. His dandy little helper. Suguru adores Sayuri more than anything, so he doesn’t think you should worry. However, you see another side of Suguru that he’s never come across.

“Maybe he’s just more distant with you?” He suggests, not wanting to make any claims. Kento feels weird talking about Suguru, that man is usually a topic that he avoids. But he doesn’t want you to worry. “He loves her more than anything, he probably just feels awkward around you because of… You know.”

“Yeah, I guess.” You answer. It’s somewhat calming to hear, and you really hope that Suguru doesn’t stray further. You want Sayuri to have her father by her side, always. Even if you’re not getting along.

You get your hand off his shoulder, smiling at him. “Are you going fishing with them?”

“I don’t want to interrupt them, it’s best if I just stay with you. What are you going to do?” Kento responds, and you shrug. The plan was to stay in your tent and read since you don’t want to be a victim of some wild animal (probably a wandering squirrel), and prefer to avoid sitting outside alone. If it were up to you, you’d be at the beach right now; it was the original plan, and the smartest one too.

“We can find something to do while they… Fish.” You scrunch up your nose as you finish your sentence. You have no idea why they find it so entertaining, but they do. You’re not going to judge them if it entertains them, nothing matters as long as they’re happy.

“I brought my work laptop.” He brings up. Suguru made a strict no technology rule, but are you really going to listen to that? In the end, who is Suguru to dictate what you can and can’t do? However, you face another issue.

“We have no wifi, what would we do?” You respond.

“I downloaded some movies we can watch.” Kento answers, letting you know that he came prepared for this. You wonder how many movies he downloaded, and what kind of movies as well, but in this situation you can’t exactly be too picky. 

You kiss his cheek before telling him, “You’re simply the best. What would I do without you?”

“Probably be stuck with them.” Kento points at them, and you watch Kumi and Suguru yell back and forth while Sayuri looks for the food that Suguru packed to cook. Having Kento on the trip truly makes it ten times better for you, you’re not sure if you would survive without him.

You’re laying in your tent right next to Kento, watching a trashy movie that he swore you would love. It was either that or it was one of those movies he downloaded just in case you had run out of other stuff to watch. Either way, he likes it– Not the movie, the movie is bad. But you’re cuddling up next to him, your eyes focused on the screen. The movie is so bad, yet you can’t look away.

“This is such a dumb concept.” You can’t help but comment, and Kento hums in agreement. You’re still watching in anticipation, gasping at anything that was unexpected… Except you knew it was coming up. Kento is dozing off, finding himself too bored to pay attention to what’s happening. Sure, it’s messy but it doesn’t hold his attention, and he feels warm and cozy by your side. You poke his side when you notice his eyes shutting on their own, asking, “Are you sleepy, Nanamin?”

“A little bit, yeah.” He answers, and you hit the spacebar on the computer before closing it. He asks, “What?”

“Let’s take a nap, since you’re clearly tired.” You tell him, taking the computer from him and putting it back in its case. You’re back by his side, and he throws his arm over you, not really thinking twice since he’s half asleep. You don’t really mind though, in fact, you’re comfortable. 

You’ll wake up before you know it, you aren’t all that comfortable sleeping on the ground. You’re sure that you’ll be up before Sayuri comes back.

However, you aren’t always right.

“Hey–” Suguru opens the tent, around two hours after you fall asleep. He finds you cuddled up with Kento, and he immediately thinks that he’s interrupted an intimate moment, closing the tent and walking back to his daughter and Kumi. “You can show mom the fish you caught later.”

“What happened? Why not now?” Kumi asks, furrowing her eyebrows. Suguru’s cheeks are pink, and she looks back at your tent. Kento is nowhere to be seen, so she can only assume that something happened between you two. Suguru makes it seem as if you’re both naked and have caught you two doing inexplicable acts. “Let’s save the fish, Sayuri. We’ll cook it later.”

“But I want to show mommy.” Sayuri pouts. She’s been waiting to show you the fish that she caught, why can’t she show you now? She’s about to run to the tent, but Suguru picks her up and stops her.

“How about we… take a walk?” Suguru suggests, and Kumi is about to agree but before she can she has to ask,

“Can you find your way back?” She still follows him when she receives no answer, since she isn’t going to stay behind. Sayuri is calling out for you, her arms reaching out for the tent, but Suguru has no issue ignoring her. 

The sun is setting around the time you wake up, and you still find yourself alone with Kento. He isn’t hugging you like when you went to sleep, he’s outside, starting the bonfire. You stretch, getting out of the tent and walking over to Kento.

“Are they not back yet?” You ask him, your voice raspy after just waking up from a long, but necessary nap.

“Haven’t seen them.” Kento asks. He hasn’t been awake for too long, but he saw the fish in the cooler so he knows they’ve been back.

“You think Suguru got lost?” Kento chuckles, and you can’t help but hum in agreement. You can only hope that he can fight off any animal that comes along the way, protecting Sayuri from anything and everything. “How long till we go looking for them?”

“It’s getting dark, I don’t want anything to happen to my baby girl.” You answer, and Kento nods. You’re about to set off, but you hear some rustling from the bushes. It scares you half to death, and you nearly jump into Kento’s arms for safety, until you hear Suguru’s voice.

“What about us?” He can’t help but ask, holding Sayuri in his arms. Kumi is clearly mad, letting you know that they got into an argument– About what? Probably about the fact that they got lost. He will try to play it off like they just took a long walk, but they most definitely got lost. 

“What about you?” You respond, taking your daughter from his arms since she reaches out to you. You kiss her cheek and ask, “How was your walk with daddy? Unnecessarily long?”

“We didn’t get lost!” Suguru defends himself, but you ignore him since it’s what you do best. You ask her to show you the fish she caught, and of course she points at the biggest one. You don’t doubt it for one second, even though she’s lying. 

Suguru and Kento prepare the fish for you, and you proceed to eat around the fire. Even though she’s spent all day running around and being active, Sayuri still isn’t tired. So she suggests doing something more. The sun barely went down, she isn’t tired yet.

“I’m tired, I’m going to sleep.” Kumi says, disregarding what Sayuri says because she’s upset with Suguru. Suguru isn’t going to hold her off because he has other matters to discuss anyway. She can stay mad for as long as she wants to be mad. 

“Are you sure you’re not tired? After your long walk, you must be worn out.” Kento does it to poke fun at Suguru, but Suguru won’t let it get to him. Not that at least. You’re sitting together, dangerously close, although you aren’t touching. Suguru notices it right away. You’re not doing anything, you don’t even notice it, but a weird feeling consumes Suguru as he watches you two. 

“I’m fine! Not tired!” Sayuri claims, which makes you and Kento exchange a look before bursting into laughter. Suguru feels weird, probably because he’s never had a bond like that with you… And he doesn’t have a bond like that with Kumi. 

“You look tired, look at your eyes!” Kento points out, and they begin to argue about it. She claims that she has a lot of energy, when she obviously doesn’t. They keep bickering, and you chuckle. Your eyes glance at Suguru momentarily, finding a frown on his face. 

You won’t comment on it, it’s Suguru’s own issue.

“How about I tell you a story?” Kento begins, and her ears perk up with curiosity. He has no idea what he’ll tell, but he’ll come up with something, surely. “But it’s scary, so you probably won’t like it.”

“I like scary!” She claims, though she doesn’t know if she likes scary since she hasn’t been introduced to it yet. Kento is smirking, looking back at you. You give him a subtle nod of approval and he begins his not-so-scary story that has Sayuri clinging to you for dear life.

You barely notice Suguru glaring at you as Kento tells his story. You don’t care enough to see what Suguru is up to, you don’t even understand why he’s sitting outside with you and not joining his fiancée. 

There’s rattling in the bushes, which makes your little girl run to the tent in fear. You let out a low laugh before standing up, going after her to check up on her and comfort her. Which leaves the two men alone.

It’s always awkward when they’re around each other with no one else around. It’s clear they don’t like each other. They don’t have anything else to say to each other.

“Can you control yourself?” Suguru finally speaks up, which makes Kento’s brows furrow. What is Suguru even talking about? “I know that you’re really into her but this is a family trip– Which means you shouldn’t even be here. Just act like a responsible adult.”

“What are you talking about?” Kento asks, which only ticks Suguru off more. Kento notices the man’s hands ball into fists, which he finds humorous. Kento clicks his tongue, crossing his arms together.

“I caught you two in the tent earlier.” Suguru shares, which makes Kento raise a brow. As if it were a sin to sleep in the same tent… But no, that’s not what Suguru is thinking. Suguru is thinking something more happened.

“What if I had sex with her? Is it your business?” Kento lowers his voice, leaning in to speak to Suguru. The response is making Suguru’s blood boil. That’s not how Kento is supposed to respond at all. “Or are you jealous, Getou?”

“Why would I be?” Suguru scoffs, even though he’s clearly upset. “Just don’t do that shit here.”

“If I didn’t know any better I’d say–” Kento begins, and before he can finish the sentence, Suguru cuts him off.

“Don’t fucking finish your sentence.” Suguru warns him, which makes Kento chuckle. He’s not even trying to hide it.

“Yeah, whatever you say.” Kento says before standing up. He’s not tired, but he refuses to sit with Suguru for another minute. “Night, Getou.”

[ladykailitha]

The Au Pair Boy Part 14

There is just one more chapter, can you believe it? It is so insane to me that by this time next week, this story will be complete.

Thank you to everyone who has cheered me along, liked, commented, and reblogged. You guys are the best!!

In this we have Jane's happily ever after and the girl's birthday. And maybe a little bit of that final push for Steve and Eddie from Wayne.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13

~

Hopper was waiting in the front room, pacing back and forth. His face had been shaved and his goatee neatened up. His hair was neatly styled and he wore a well-fitted suit, all paid for, no doubt from Eddie’s coffers.

Soon enough Max was leading a very put together Jane. She was wearing a pink, sleeveless button up with the front tied and a white pleated skirt and matching flats. She put a hand on her head.

Eddie spotted the motion and jumped up. “I’ve got you!” He dashed off and came back with pink knitted beanie.

“Chrissy was learning how to knit for something to do while on tour,” he explained, handing it to her, “this was for Janie, but it was way too big.”

Jane pulled it over her head and then offered a tentative smile.

“Looks bitchin’, babe,” Eddie said with a broad smile and a thumb’s up.

Jane ducked her head to hide her blush as Max assured her that it did, in fact, look bitchin’. In the midst of everyone trying to cheer Jane up there was a knock on the door.

Steve went to go answer it as everyone else went to go sit in the living. He came back with a red-headed woman and an older man with grey hair.

“This is Dr. Owens who will be giving Jane a physical to make sure she’s okay,” he told them, “and this Barbara Holland. Joyce can’t be here because it’s a conflict of interest, but she told me Barb is the best of the best, so we’ll all be nice right?”

Everyone nodded.

Barb sat on the coffee table in front of Jane. “Hello, Jane. I’m Barb how are you feeling?”

Jane looked her dead in the eye and said with total conviction, “Safe.”

Barb smiled and reached out her hand. “Can I touch you?” Jane nodded and Barb gave her hand a squeeze. “I’m glad you feel that way and I’m going to do everything in my power to keep you feeling that way. So the first thing we’re going to do is the physical. You don’t have to get undressed or anything like that and then he’ll pull blood for testing.”

Jane’s eyes went wide but she nodded. Max took her other and gave it a squeeze of her own. She turned to Barb.

“Have you been informed of her being one of the Brenner experiments?” she asked coolly and formal.

Barb shared a glance with Dr. Owens and then turned back to the girls. “Yes, we have and I understand having her blood drawn is super scary for her, but we need to make sure she didn’t catch anything while living on the streets that need to be treated. We wouldn’t want her sick, right?”

Max glared at her for a moment and then nodded.

The rest of the meeting went really well with Dr. Owens being very gentle with Jane and making sure she knew what he was doing at all times. Barb was able to get all the information that she needed. She informed them that Becky Ives again refused to take custody of the girl, but was willing to allow Jane to visit her mom.

As she rose she asked one last question. “Which of the three of you will accepting parentis in loco?”

Hopper stood up quickly. “That would be me. I’ve got a house on the property with two bedrooms and everything she could want.”

Barb picked her file. “Yes, it seems that you passed the background check with flying colors. So congratulations Jim and Jane, you are now a family.”

Jane’s eyes lit up. “Just like that?”

Barb nodded and Jane and Max hugged each other. Then she started hugging everyone else, including, to everyone surprise, Dr. Owens.

Then they said goodbye.

Steve clapped his hands together. “I think it’s time to celebrate, who’s up for pizza?!”

Everyone cheered and Hopper and Eddie shared knowing glance.

~

Of course it wasn’t really that simple, but as far Jane needed to know it was. Hopper had a lot of meetings with Barb and Dr. Owen regarding her health and the kind of life she would living. They were shown her room and where she would be going to school.

Then they started the knowledge placement tests to find out how much she actually knew. It turned out that Jane had spent a lot of her time getting warm in libraries and museums so she knew more about English and history then most of her peers. She was really lacking in science and math, but with Dustin tackling one, and Mike tackling the other she was able to join their class only a month or two late.

Then it was time for Janice and Joan’s birthday. They were born on a bright October morning. The 13th, to be exact on a Friday. Eddie called them his lucky charms.

Steve had gone all out and bought matching everything in their favorite colors. Pink for Janice and blue for Joan. Judging from the way they kept choosing things differently and then suddenly agreeing, it was clear that this would be the last birthday where they perfectly lined up.

Eddie had enrolled the girls in a preschool for kids that missed the kindergarten cut of by this much and they had made lots of friends, that would all becoming to the party.

“You know,” Eddie murmured as Benny and Steve worked to get all the cupcakes frosted, “you don’t have to plan this. It’s not part of your job description and in fact I’d go as far to say that I’m pretty sure I have people for this. Chrissy for example.”

Steve snorted. “I don’t doubt her capabilities, but I live for this sort of thing. Plus, think of it as my gift to the girls, making it the best they possibly could have.”

Eddie smiled fondly at him and left them to their work. He wandered into the family room where everyone was gathered waiting for the little girls’ guests.

Jeff clapped him on the back. “Hey, man. Thanks for having us. I’m sorry we missed the first four, but we won’t miss the next forty, okay?”

Eddie smiled. The guys had really been working on becoming friends with him again. With even Miranda and Jeff moving to Indy full time to be near Eddie and the girls. Brian and Gareth were only in town until after Halloween, but it was great having them as long they had been.

“It’s great to see Miranda again,” he replied. “Has she gotten feistier?” He jerked his thumb behind him. “Because I just passed her on the way in and she embroiled in a long debate with Robin about the merits of foreign film.”

Jeff burst out laughing. “It started about whether Kirsten Stewart was a good actress or not. Miranda said she wasn’t. Robin said that she was the first American to win a French film award and Miranda said that it didn’t count.”

“And Robin insisted it did,” Eddie said nodding along. “I’m going to stay clear of that conversation then. Sheesh!”

“No wiser words that have ever been spoken, that,” Jeff said sagely. He looked around the room and smiled. “That Stevie sure has pull out all the stops for those two little girls. If you weren’t their dad, I’d say they loved him more than anyone.”

Eddie nodded. It was becoming increasingly clear how much his girls adored and loved Steve. He had become a fixture in their lives in a way you couldn’t tell he hadn’t always been there.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “Me, too.” He looked across the room where Benny and Steve had arrived with the now finished cupcakes and smiled fondly. This was his family now. All these people, the kids, their families, his band, Chrissy, Benny, too. But most importantly Steve.

“I’m in love with Steve,” he blurted out, eyes wide and more than a little frightened. “But I hired him to do a job, I don’t want to be one of those skeevy guys macking on the au pair boy and ‘elevating’ him from nanny to husband. It sounds like a bad romance novel.”

Jeff winced. That was something that Gareth, Brian, him and even Robin had discussed trying to find a way around. Because it was obvious that they both had feelings for each other. But that was such a hard hurdle to overcome.

“Fuck what other people think,” a warm tamber said behind them.

Both Jeff and Eddie turned around to see Wayne standing there with a cup in his hand.

“It’s not that simple,” Eddie whined. “I’m famous Wayne. His name is going to be all of the tabloids and gossip mags if I even go out in public with him without the girls. It’s going to be a mess.”

“Fuck what they think,” Wayne doubled down. “He loves you, he loves the girls, he likes you friends, hell, Ed he even likes your house, which even your friends find a little creepy.”

Jeff held up his finger and thumb close together. “A little bit.”

Eddie chewed his lip. “I love him. And so do Joanie and Janie.”

As if called Steve arrived at Eddie’s elbow. “Hey, the guests are set to arrive at any minute, can you look over everything and make sure it’s how the girls want it?”

Eddie scoffed. “As if you could produce anything less than perfect.” But he bowed anyway. “But of course my liege.”

“You’re the king of this castle,” Steve murmured gently, “and I am but a servant to it and you.”

Eddie stood up and realized how close they were standing. Their warm breath mingled and their noses brushed against each other. They couldn’t take their eyes off of the other, drowning in the sea of their eyes.

Behind them someone coughed discreetly and Eddie took a step back. Not a large one, just enough to calm his racing heart.

“Lead the way, my stalwart knight!” he said brightly and Steve turned around to show him where everything was laid out.

Jeff and Wayne both shook their heads.

“I thought they were actually going to kiss just now,” Jeff said a little breathless. “Like holy shit, they need to get their heads out their asses, soon. Before the tension snaps like a too tightly wound guitar string.”

Wayne hummed in agreement. Steve was coming up on six months with the Munsons and Wayne could tell that the girls were slowly starting lose memories of Ethan and the hurt he caused, and replace them with happy memories of Steve.

Across the room Steve and Eddie bent over the cupcakes with a smile. They were on a three-tiered stand with Joan’s name on one side and Janice’s name on the other.

“I like the gradient from blue to pink,” Eddie murmured, “with that soft purple in the middle.”

“It’s called lilac,” Steve said with a smile. “I thought it was great way to make both girls happy and their friends having options. The cupcakes are even a gradient, too, with chocolate for Joanie going to marbled in the lilac ones, then yellow cake in the pink ones for Janie.”

Eddie looked up at him in wonder. “You really are a marvel, Stevie.”

Steve blushed and scratched his check nervously. “I just wanted to make the day special for Joanie and Janie. They’ve had a really rough year and I wanted to make their day something to remember instead of all the bad stuff.”

Eddie gave him a fierce, quick hug. “Thank you so much,” he murmured into his shoulder. “I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

Steve just held him tight, drinking in the warmth from Eddie’s body and reveling in the solid form pressed against him. So he took his chance.

“I love you, Eddie,” he whispered, afraid that if he said it any louder then he would break this moment between them. “I’m so in love with you.”

Eddie squeezed Steve tighter, holding them as close as physics would allow. “I love you, too. So very much, but I was afraid of what people would think of you and how that might hurt the girls and I couldn’t–”

“Shhhh,” Steve murmured. “We can shield the girls from as much of the media as possible and I don’t care what people think. I’m willing to take that final step if you are.”

Eddie looked up and into the hazel eyes of the man he loved more than anything. He never thought he would love again after Ethan. Not after all the pain and torment and hell that man had put his family through. But now standing here in this man’s arms? He was home.

“Yes,” he breathed. “But we have a party to host and then we’ll talk, okay?”

Steve giggled. “Better than okay, that’s fantastic!”

And then as if on cue, the two girls came barreling up to them, hugging around both of their knees tightly.

“You guys ready for the best birthday you’ve had so far?” Eddie asked looking down at them with the biggest grin.

“Yeah!” they cheered together.

The party went off as well as it could with ten four to five year olds, six teens, and eight adults. There were two meltdowns and one temper tantrum, and one adult having to step away from the festivities for a moment to calm down.

Robin hadn’t been used to that many people all the time and she got overwhelmed. She stepped out on the veranda and took a deep breath of cool autumn air.

Steve joined her after a few moments.

“I think all children under the age of ten should come with a warning,” she said with a snort. “Caution: volatile under pressure.”

“I’m pretty sure you just described being human,” Steve said with a eye roll. He leaned on the railing and looked out onto the backyard where the teens were embroiled in a very heated game of croquette.

Jane was winning, but Steve was sure she was cheating too.

“So you ready to become Lady Munson and mistress of all you see here?” she asked bumping their shoulders together. Steve snorted. “Oh come on, I saw that hug before the party. That was way more than friendly.”

He blushed and hung his head between his shoulders. “We’re going to talk about it. See what dating looks like with the girls and Eddie being famous.”

“That’s something that is a slight more than there was before,” she murmured. “I’m glad you’re talking about it.”

Steve straightened up and turned back to look back at the party going on inside. He leaned against the railing. “I’ve never been this happy before and I don’t know how to contain all of it.”

“Three cheers to Nancy Wheeler then,” Robin said with a huff of laughter.

“I already sent her flowers with my first check,” Steve said with an answering smile. “I think Eddie did too, if I’m honest.”

Robin burst out laughing.

Just then Chrissy spotted them and raised a glass and a questioning eyebrow. Steve nodded that they were okay, but Chrissy started walking their way anyway.

“And here comes your own chance at happiness,” Steve said to Robin and got up to rejoin the party, passing Chrissy on his way.

Later that night when almost every else had gone home and the girls were put in bed, Steve looked out on the veranda and smiled at the sight.

Robin and Chrissy were chatting with their heads tilted, almost touching. Maybe they would both get their happiness tonight.

~

Part 15

Tag List: CLOSED

1- @itsall-taken @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @tartarusknight @gregre369

2- ​@a-little-unsteddie @cryptid-system @maya-custodios-dionach @yesdangerpls @goodolefashionedloverboi

3- @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch

4- @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji @ollieolive @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1

5- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

6- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

7- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

8- @sadisticaltarts @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @dolphincliffs @steddie-as-they-go @steddieislife

9- @kultiras @morallyundefined @themoonagainstmers @fearieshadow @blondie1006

10- @thesecondfate @wheneverfeasible @depressed-freak13 @genderless-spoon @sadiea20

[aurynsia]

Unrequited, Terrifying Chapter 7

James Potter x Reader

Summary: Your secret admirer finally gets the girl…

Warnings: HARD LAUNCH! Use of flashbacks, extremely fluffy, nervous!james x shy!reader, idiots in love, lovesick!james, no use of Y/N, OC!friends, reader is referred to with she/her pronouns, quiet!reader, NOT EDITED!

Word Count: 1.2K

Series Masterlist

Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7

——————— ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

Platform 9¾ was bursting with energy as the new group of first years clambered onto the Hogwarts Express. James had tucked himself in between Remus, Sirius, and Peter, practically jumping in his seat as he introduced himself to his new friends.

The four boys had excitedly rambled back and forth about their prospects at the exciting school of witchcraft and wizardry, only settling down when the train finally began to move as they waved goodbye to their families through the window.

The door slid open with an awkward creak, alerting the young Marauders to a small girl standing in the doorway. “Hi, um- can I sit here? The other cabins are full…” you spoke softly, twisting your feet in an anxious habit and biting your bottom lip.

James’ breath hitched, innocent eyes growing wide as he took you in. He nervously pushed up his glasses as his friends ushered you inside, moving food wrappers off of a seat to make room for your form.

You introduced yourself with a shy smile, promising not to bother them as you shoved your nose in a book for the rest of the journey.

James couldn’t help but ogle at your soft expressions, reacting to the exciting fantasy unfolding in between the pages of your novel. He gulped as his face grew visibly warmer, pushing up his glasses once more before turning back to his new entourage of mischief makers, already planning what would be their first of many pranks.

The Great Hall swarmed with chaos as students filtered in through gaping doors. The Sorting Hat had played in James’ favour, allowing all of his new friends into the house of brave hearted heroes.

He laughed with his friends as they stumbled to the Gryffindor Table, only distracted once again by the girl with the hat on her head. “Gryffindor!” The hat exclaimed, your eyes thrown wide with surprise as you tediously moved towards the four boys.

James grinned at you as you nodded in his direction, choosing to sit on the far end of the table with two girls who shared that stunned expression. When his attention returned to his three friends, he was met with a round of teasing coos and knowing smirks, causing him to sink down in his chair with a blush painted across his cheeks. The Sorting Hat really had answered all of his prayers.

——————— ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

You stood tentatively in the crowd of red and gold, etched between Charlie and Hope in the stands as your eyes curiously followed Gryffindor’s seeker.

The Quidditch pitch was filled with adrenaline as Slytherin rocked and tumbled against the force of the lion. James Potter was speeding through the mass of players, a joyful laugh permanently plastered on his face as he wove through the commotion.

Your red sweater was proudly on display in the stands, disguised as your warmest clothing when asked why you were in house colours. You didn’t dare tell your roommates about your newfound support for the team after the introduction of their newest fourth year seeker, but they slowly caught on as your blush began to match your clothing every time the boy flew purposefully close.

His laugh faltered with a gasp when he caught your eye in the stands, glancing at your attire that you failed to cover with your hands. Your eyes met for another brief moment before Gryffindor’s golden boy was soaring once again with newfound vigour.

Your gaze followed his figure in the air, a soft smile evident on your lips. Charlie and Hope leaned forward slightly to pass a knowing smile across your stiff form, only returning their gaze to the field as their house won the match.

The walk back to the common room was quiet, a soft hum of nature surrounding the three of you as you marched along the path. That was until Charlie’s curiosity got the better of her.

“So…Potter looked quite dashing up there, don’t you think, Hope?” She pretended to ponder, gaze to the night sky. “Why, he was really something! That speed made his hair quite an endearing mess, right, love?” Hope turned to you with a teasing smirk, patiently awaiting your flustered answer.

“Uh- yeah! Yeah, he was good, you know, for an egomaniac…” you kept your eyes fixed on the path ahead of you, praying to Merlin that your blush wasn’t visible in the darkness.

“Mhmm…he seemed quite taken by this little number of yours,” Hope gestured up and down your body, “maybe you want to fuel that pretty little ego of his, hmm?” You were surrounded by a chorus of amused chuckles from your friends as your face burned under the interrogation.

“No! Well, maybe…he looked cute in the uniform, that’s all! Nothing to write home about…” You pouted with furrowed brows, kicking a pebble in your path as your friends broke out in teasing cheers.

——————— ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

The Gryffindor table was filtered with soft morning light as your group eagerly grasped at any food they could get their hands on. James tucked himself securely into your side, a smug grin plastered on his face as you grumbled words of frustration, brows dipped and lips pouting at the lack of opportunity to serve yourself.

Sirius cheerfully loaded food onto his plate before passing the bowl to James, dodging your outstretched hands. Your look of frustration was about to shift to anger before the sweet boy beside you began scraping the leftovers in his grasp onto your empty plate. You turned to him with a grateful smile that he could stare at for hours, squeezing him around his middle in thanks before diving into your meal.

James continued to pile food in front of you, planting kisses across your cheeks between servings and spoonfuls before draping an arm across your shoulders. “Not so grumpy anymore, are you love?” James chuckled, “Maybe a certain boyfriend has lifted your spirits?”

You swallowed your mouthful as you nodded eagerly, looking up at him with wide eyes that melted his heart. “I think I’m finally getting this Gryffindor pride thing,” you mumbled as you reached for another spoonful of food, “Dating the captain of the Quidditch team is certainly an ego boost.”

James grinned at you, brushing his nose against your cheek with a mischievous expression. He was finally beginning to fall into a comforting routine with you, brushing aside any nerves your soft smile might ignite in him.

The others looked at the sweet pair with satisfaction, sharing looks of relief after you announced yourselves as an official couple.

“Merlin, it’s about time!” Sirius exclaimed, hitting the table hard enough to lift plates in the air at contact. The group laughed with amusement as James leant into your warmth, arms enclosed around your torso as he sighed into your skin.

The overbearing dread of unrequited, terrifying love that clouded his logic had melted away with your simple touch. This will be his year. The year he shares with you.

——————— ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

A/N: I hope everyone enjoyed this little series! While this is the official end to the story, feel free to request some blurbs based on these two characters in my asks! Thank you to everyone who patiently stuck with me while I worked on this, I’m eternally grateful for all your support <3

——————— ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

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[itacats]

Butcher Shop Connection

FT: Simon x gn!reader

Warnings: DV, abuse, please let me know if anything else should be here!🙏

SUM: After waking up in a hospital, you find yourself face-to-face with Simon, whose steadfast presence reveals the emotional toll of staying by your side. As you recover and transition back home, Simon becomes an anchor, offering comfort and reassurance in your most fragile moments. Together, you navigate the challenges of trust and vulnerability, taking tentative steps toward a deeper connection. Through shared laughter and quiet confessions, you begin to rebuild not just your strength but also a foundation for a relationship rooted in patience and understanding.

A/N: Alright, so this chapter is basically “healing, but make it emotional.” You’ve got antiseptic smells, painful realizations, and a guy with perfectly imperfect hair showing up like the world's most exhausted knight in slightly rumpled armor. Simon’s here to prove that not all heroes wear capes—some just sit on hospital beds looking like they haven’t slept in 72 years but still manage to care more about you than their own well-being.🩹💞

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 10

Part 9 - Healing in His Shadow

As your consciousness slowly returns, the relentless grip of sleep loosens its hold on you. The sterile scent of the hospital room fills your nostrils, mingling with the sharp, lingering odor of antiseptic. Blinking, your eyes adjust to the harsh overhead lights, and the world begins to come into sharper focus. It takes a moment for your senses to catch up, but when they do, your gaze lands on him—Simon Riley, seated on the edge of your bed.

His presence is comforting yet worn, the kind of presence that speaks of countless nights spent by your side, keeping watch. The toll of those nights is visible on him—dark circles beneath his usually bright eyes, a tiredness that seems to have settled deep into his bones. His hair, usually neat and controlled, is disheveled, strands of it sticking out in ways that tell the story of a restless man who’s been running his hands through it one too many times. It's a reflection of the silent endurance, the emotional weight he’s carried since you’ve been gone, both of you suffering through the same storm in different ways.

You let out a soft sigh, the sound barely more than a whisper, but it’s enough to catch his attention. His head jerks up at the sound, his tired eyes instantly locking onto yours, and in that moment, something shifts within him—hope, raw and desperate, flickers to life in his gaze. It’s as if the world has exhaled for the first time in days.

"Hey, you’re awake," he says, his voice a mixture of disbelief and relief, the words tumbling out of him like a breath he had been holding for far too long. The exhaustion on his face doesn’t mask the joy of seeing you awake.

You try to sit up, but the movement brings a sharp pain that makes you wince. Before you can even fully register the ache, Simon is there, his hands steady and gentle as he supports you. His touch is firm but caring, as though he’s afraid you might shatter under the weight of your own fragility.

"Just take it slow," he murmurs, his voice soft, the kind of tenderness that tugs at your heart. "You’ve been through a lot, love."

In that moment, the world outside your hospital room fades away, leaving just the two of you in this quiet, fragile space. The pain in your body is real, but the warmth of Simon’s presence makes it easier to bear. You might not be whole yet, but with him beside you, maybe, just maybe, healing is within reach.

As the days pass, you finally hold the discharge papers in your hands. Your heart flutters at the thought of going home—of returning to the place where you’ve always found comfort. Some part of you yearns to feel the warmth of familiarity wrap around you again, to breathe in the scent of home, so different from the sterile, clinical atmosphere of the hospital. But as you look up at Simon, standing beside you with an anxious devotion that stirs something deep within, you realize it’s not just the walls of your home you long for. It’s the unwavering presence of him in your life, a constant that you’ve come to rely on.

Your first night back in your own space feels surreal. The quiet is almost unnerving, the hum of the outside world muffled by the closed windows. Simon is there, too, in the living room, running a hand through his hair, a penitent expression etched across his features. “I can stay on the couch if you’d like,” he offers, his accent softening every word, adding an intimacy to his suggestion. "Just to keep an eye on things, yeah?" You can’t help but smile at the sincerity in his voice.

“You don’t have to, really, Simon. I’ll be fine,” you reassure him, though deep down, the idea of facing your own fears alone feels daunting.

Simon narrows his eyes, determination flooding his expression. “I want to. Besides, I’ve been to hell and back; I can handle a few ghosts in the night.”

You can't deny the comfort his presence brings, as he sinks onto the couch, making the weight of the world seem a little lighter. Over the next week, days blend into one another, each moment flowing seamlessly into the next as you grow accustomed to the rhythm of his being in your life. Laughter spills easily during shared dinners, hands brushing as you both reach for the same plate. Conversations flow naturally, and for the first time in a long time, you let go of the burdens of the past, allowing them to gather dust while Simon's patience and kindness help you heal in ways you never thought possible.

But as your emotions deepen, a quiet fear begins to creep in—reminders of the mistakes and scars you thought you had buried long ago.

One evening, as the sun sinks low, painting the sky in shades of tangerine and lavender, the two of you share a moment of silence. The air is thick with unspoken thoughts, and you feel a flutter of anxiety in your chest. His gaze locks onto yours, steady and warm, as he breaks the silence. “I care about you,” Simon says, his voice low and sincere, carrying a weight that makes your heart skip a beat.

You turn away slightly, unable to meet his eyes. “I’ve heard those words before, Simon. They didn’t mean anything then. It ended in betrayal. It ended in pain.” When you glance back at him, his expression softens, and you can see the hurt flash across his face, the vulnerability in his eyes.

The silence stretches between you, heavy and filled with unsaid things. You take a breath, trying to steady yourself, searching for the courage to confront your own fears. “I’m afraid, Simon. Afraid of repeating the past, of letting someone in again, only to be left wounded.”

Simon shifts closer, the distance between you shrinking. “I’m not going to hurt you. Not like that. I promise, y’know?” His voice is soft but unwavering, and the sincerity in his tone grips your heart, forcing you to reconsider everything you thought you knew about trust.

Your heart beats erratically, your voice barely above a whisper. “But I don’t want to get hurt, Simon. I don’t want to end up like before. I still feel the echoes of it.”

“Then let me prove it to you,” he says, his voice a low murmur that feels like a promise, wrapping around your soul.

You fight the self-doubt creeping into your mind, hesitant to trace the lines of another relationship. But as you look into Simon’s earnest eyes, something shifts within you. The instinct to trust, to open yourself to him, begins to cut through the fog of fear.

“Let’s take it slow,” you whisper, asking for the time to rebuild the connection between you, to truly get to know one another again.

A smile breaks across Simon’s face, a smile that carries warmth, tenderness, and a promise. “Slow it is, love. One step at a time, I’ll be right here with you.”

In the days that follow, you both navigate this new, fragile space—testing boundaries, sharing moments of laughter, and allowing each other to be vulnerable. Every conversation, every shared glance, becomes another piece of the foundation of trust that you are building together.

And slowly, amidst the laughter and quiet moments, a tentative relationship begins to blossom once more—one rooted in strength, resilience, and the understanding of kindred spirits. With Simon, you find a harmony you had long sought after, a promise unspoken but felt deeply between you. It’s a journey, imperfect and flawed, but one you’re ready to embrace with open arms, hoping to rewrite your own story with him by your side.

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Here's the current post schedule with some upcoming stories to look forward to!