#until dawn chapter 8 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

startaegi · 1 month ago

Text

CHAPTER 002 . . .

in which namgyu breaks the heart of his childhood sweetheart and tries to piece it back together again while fighting death.

previous next masterlist playlist

You floated through the next week like a ghost. You worked your usual shifts, took overtime for a few colleagues, barely spoke a word to anyone minus the patients you had to attend to and slept through the rest of the hours. You never saw the strange man again but you pondered a lot about that unusual night. The numbers on the card burned a hole in your pocket, every day becoming more tempting to dial.

It was like some form of twisted fate had heard your inner battle. You exited work with a phone flooded with messages and unanswered calls, all from the same number you had been avoiding. You sighed a little too loudly catching the attention of a passerby who didn't attempt to hide his scowl, you bowed an unamused expression on your face and quickly made your way towards the subway station. Your tired eyes read the messages over and over again.

You said Monday.

Don't give me the same shitty excuses.

Bring the money to the usual place or it won't just be pretty boy losing a kidney. Midnight, tonight.

You couldn't stand to look at it any longer, walking onto the train platform you tucked the phone into your backpack as far from your hands as possible. You took a seat, watching a train pull into the station. The doors opened and what looked to be college students exited, kitted in halloween costumes. It suddenly dawned on you that today was October 31st. Somewhere deep within you feel jealous. You’re here barely able to keep your head above the crashing waves, all your problems piling one on top of the other, ready to take you out any second. Your debts worry you most, you know the messages don't come lightly, they would happily take a body part or two just to cover what you owe. There was no way for you to get that kind of money so soon.

You groaned, forcing yourself from your racing mind to look at the notice board, your train was arriving in 8 minutes. You rested your head against the cold tiled wall, teeth nervously ripping at the skin inside your lips. A bad habit you were trying to break. Your fingers scraped against the card in your left pocket, you felt the grooves of the numbers carved into the back. Would it really be so bad? You could go and at least try, if you don’t win then you can just leave and give the loan sharks a kidney and maybe a lung too for all the interest they've added on top. You laughed out loud. You were going insane.

A few minutes until your train. There really was no other option. You pulled out your phone, dialling the eight digits and pressing call. It rang for a second then abruptly went through.

"Do you wish to participate in the game?" A voice on the other end questioned.

"Yes"

The male voice replied in an instant, "Seoul Tower, 11:30pm" You heard the faint rumble of your train approaching as the call ended.

Hushed whispers awakened you from your slumber. You reluctantly opened your eyes, they felt heavier than usual as did your limbs, as if they had been removed and reattached - and no longer belonged to you. You moved your pounding head to the side, rows of beds piled high greeted you. You slowly sat up in confusion. Your memory felt hazy, none of the pieces from the night before fitting together. You remembered leaving your apartment and getting into an unknown car, thinking now that probably wasn't the best of ideas but there was nothing after that. You took notice of the countless people making their way to the centre of the room - so bright and big it was blinding you, eyes squinting to see.

All of the people were dressed similarly. In matching green tracksuits, numbers stitched to their chest. You kicked away the thin blanket only now noticing you were no longer in your work scrubs. Like everyone else you were in a tracksuit that didn't belong to you, the numbers 382 rested against your chest. You should have felt some sort of panic at being kidnapped, like the woman beside you who was currently scanning the place in shock but instead your worries were on Namgyu. Even in the worst situation you were only scared for him. When the loan sharks arrived at the meeting place at midnight and hadn't found you there, ransacked your apartment and harassed your neighbours, it was him they would look for instead. They'd make good on their promise and probably kill him in the process. Your heart raced in fear thinking about it.

Commotion from the centre of the room pulled you from your darkening thoughts. Eight figures entered: all of them in red suits and black masks. You could vaguely remember one of them being the driver the night before.

"I would like to extend a hearty welcome to all of you," The masked man in the middle said, voice echoing across the room. "Everyone here will participate in six different games over six days, those who win all six games receive a handsome cash prize"

"Excuse me," a woman called out from across the room. You were too far to see properly, but you could faintly make out a face descending the stairs. “You said I'd be playing games, but you practically kidnapped me, so how can I believe you?" she asked the masked guards.

She was right, you thought. But right now you would do anything to get some extra cash in your pockets, so if it meant being kidnapped, then so be it.

"I apologise, please understand that it was necessary to maintain the game's security"

Another woman called, this time from somewhere at the front, "What's with the mask then? Is your face also a secret?"

"Yeah! Why are you hiding your face? Is this some kind of illegal gambling house?" A man cried out in agreement.

"Even the dealers don't cover their faces in those places" The same woman replied.

You watched as a hundred heads nodded in agreement.

The guards don't falter at the countless voices hurling questions at them, instead the centre one replied, "To ensure fair gameplay and confidentiality it is our policy not to reveal the identities of staff." He paused. "Please understand"

The same thing goes on for minutes, different voices from all over the room calling out, sometimes ridiculous, questions. Your head flies up at the mention of a familiar name, "Player 333, Lee Myunggi"

You found him in the crowd, only seeing the back of his head and the number 333 on his back. He looked up at the screen as it changed to a clip of him playing ddakji.

Just as a hand raised to slap him, the masked guard spoke up again, "Age 30, used to run a YouTube channel called MG Coin. After convincing subscribers to invest in a new crypto coin called Dalmatian, causing losses of approximately 15.2 billion won, you shut down and disappear"

You always told yourself if you somehow bumped into the man who was one of the leading factors in your relationship ending, you would hit him and never stop. But now looking at him he was getting everything he deserved, his debt was big enough karma.

The guard continued naming off names, all of them in similar or more debt than you. Your questions had finally been answered, only after everyone had been shamed for their piling money worries. The prize amount was 45.6 billion. You couldn't fathom ever having that kind of money, what could you even spend it on; other than the obvious. Everyone around you seemed to be feeling the same, shocked whispers filled the room.

The masked guard - the centre one with the square, said loud and clear, no emotion in his voice, "If you wish to participate in the games, please sign the player consent form. Those who do not wish to participate please speak up now, we will always give u the chance to leave the games"

PLAYER CONSENT FORM.

1. A player is not allowed to voluntarily quit.

2. A player who refuses to play will be eliminated.

3. The games may be terminated upon a majority vote. In case of a tie players will vote again.

4. If the games are terminated, players will divide the prize equally.

SIGNATURE________.

You quickly signed the paper, no hesitation in your decision. You bowed your head at the guard, turning to leave the overflowing line. You noticed MG Coin, now known as Myunggi, signing where you once were. You walked back to the bed, eyes still on him. He turned, a little smile on his face that slowly dropped as two figures approached him.

Namgyu stood beside a purple haired boy. The number 124 attached to his chest. His hair was longer than it had been six months ago but his face was exactly as you remembered. No part of you was surprised to see him here. If money was involved, more than likely Namgyu also was. You felt stupid for worrying about him. All of your sympathy leaving at the sight of his smile, the same one you longed to forget.

You moved closer to hear their conversation but far enough away that they wouldn't notice. The purple haired one, player 230, spoke up, "You may not know me, but I know you. MG Coin" He waved his hands in front of his face while speaking. "I was subscribed to your channel and I lost a shitload of money, asshole"

"So did I," Namgyu agreed, both boys staring Myunggi down. "Money and my fiancée" He added, side-eying 230 for a reaction but he gave none.

You laughed, hand quickly covering your mouth at the stares from beside you. He had the audacity to act as if he wasn't also to blame, as if your relationship wasn't already broken long before.

"You've got the wrong person" Myunggi defended, moving to pass through them.

Player 230 stopped him with a hand on his chest, knocking him back a little, "I watched your content all day, every day. Now I see you in my dreams, motherfucker" He swore. He rested a hand against Namgyu's shoulder who looked at him awkwardly. "Was your name Namsu?" 230 asked.

"It's Namgyu from Club Pentagon" He replied. You felt your heart drop at the mention of the nightclub. It was a place of nightmares.

"Right," 230 replied, waving him off. Myunggi looked to the side, uncomfortableness written all over his face. You sat still as his eyes met yours but he quickly turned again. "Thanks to you, I bonded quickly with Namgyu here because we share the same pain" He finished.

The purple-haired boy turned to walk away and just as you thought it was over Namgyu spoke up again, "I thought the sons of bitches who made that coin fled to the Philippines with the money. So why are you here? Did they cut you loose?" He asked.

"What do you want from me?" Myunggi questioned.

Player 230 rushed forward, his hand grabbing the back of Myunggi's neck, gasps erupted in the room. "What do you think? Give me my money" 230 seethed.

The grip on his hair was strong as Myunggi fought back, "Did I force you to buy that coin?" He broke free, questioning both of them.

"You told us to bet it all, you fucker." 230's voice was angry. "You swore it'd shoot up! You said we'd be fucking idiots if we didn't buy it" His voice grew louder.

Myunggi took in a deep breath, repeating like he had been rehearsing his entire life, "You are responsible for the final decision on your investment, didn't you hear me say that at the end?" He paused. "You said you watched every day"

You in a way knew he was right. He didn't force Namgyu to waste your joint savings on a coin that only broke you apart, Namgyu had done that on his own accord. But you needed somewhere to place that blame and Myunggi happened to be that person.

Player 230 grasped Myunggi's zip-up, fist raised at his face. "You asshole" He bit through clenched teeth.

Namgyu attempted to break the two apart, "Hey calm down" He repeated. "People are watching, you don't wanna be on the news"

The three eventually broke apart, Namgyu following his new friend like a lost puppy. Myunggi watched the pair, you could sense a little fear and embarrassment on his face.

With them finally gone it only gave you room to think about Namgyu again. You were going to finish these games without bumping into him, as hard as it would be in such a small confinement, you didn't need to open old wounds. You would win that money, pay your debts and never have to face him again.

previous next masterlist playlist

notes . . . warnings for future chapters include child abuse, drugs, alcohol, death, toxic relationships & all the usual squid game stuff. will add them before the chapter they're included

taglist . . . let me know if you wanna be added!

#namgyu x reader #nam gyu x reader #player 124 x reader #player 124 #nam gyu #squid game x fem reader #squid game x reader #namgyu x fem reader #｡𖦹°‧⭑.ᐟ favourite crime

399 notes · View notes

joelsrose · 3 months ago

Text

Guns and Roses: Chapter 8

here she iss eeeek insert monkey hiding emoji im scaredddd of yallll haha side note - i lowkey picture Caleb as Adam Brody from Nobody wants this but imagine him as you wish

previous chapters

The air thickened, suffocating and heavy, as Tommy’s words sank deep, each one like a leaden weight dropping into the quiet depths of your mind.

Joel was gone.

The world seemed to tilt, a hollow ache unfurling within your chest, spreading with a pang that left you breathless. Just yesterday, he had been here, a solid, reassuring presence beside you. How was it possible that he had simply… vanished?

His warmth clung to you, hauntingly vivid—the scent of his worn flannel lingering in the air like a ghost. You could still feel the subtle intimacy of that final night together, the easy quiet that had stretched between you beneath a sky scattered with stars. His shoulder had pressed against yours in quiet solidarity, his steady breaths breaking the silence, grounding you in a way you hadn’t fully appreciated until now.

Every detail replayed, sharpened by his absence, each memory carving a deeper hollow within you. He had spoken softly, apologizing, explaining, baring a part of himself he rarely showed, and you had made a promise—a desperate promise that he wouldn’t lose you.

And now, with that promise hanging in the still, empty air, you felt like you could hardly breathe.

Late last night, he’d lain beside you, his hand warm and grounding on your arm, each gentle stroke of his fingers slow and tender, as if he was memorizing the shape of you. Those soft, lingering touches left you breathless, daring you to imagine a world where this could last—where he might finally be yours.

Now, that memory felt fragile, like something barely grasped from the edges of a fading dream, slipping further away the more desperately you tried to hold onto it. The warmth, the tenderness, the quiet promise nestled in his touch—it was all dissolving into something hazy and unreachable, leaving only the ache of his absence behind.

Questions surged, one after another, relentless and raw.

Why now? Why after all the moments that tethered you to him? Had you misstepped, said something to push him away, or was it something left unspoken?

Or, perhaps, had this always been inevitable, a slow unraveling that you’d been too afraid to see?

Your voice wavered, a faint tremor betraying the fragile hope you clung to—a hope that, somehow, this was all just a mistake.

A simple misunderstanding.

Maybe Tommy had it wrong. Maybe Joel was only out gathering supplies or down at the market, grabbing something for dinner, about to walk back through the door with that familiar, unhurried stride. Any moment now, you told yourself, as if willing him into existence.

“What do you mean, he’s gone?” The question slipped from your lips, barely more than a whisper, hanging thick in the quiet air. The weight of it lingered, pressing into the silence, as though waiting—just as you were—for an answer that might make everything right again.

Tommy’s face tightened, worry etching lines deep into his brow, his gaze heavy with a fear he was barely holding back.

“He left early this morning,” Tommy murmured, his voice low and thick with a heaviness he couldn’t quite hide. “Just before dawn. The folks at the gate saw him with Ellie, said it looked like they were headed out on a quick supply run.”

He paused, swallowing as his eyes drifted past you, as though searching for some unseen answer. “But… they haven’t come back. Hours have gone by, and their places are empty—Ellie’s room, Joel’s…” His words trailed off, and his gaze shifted, a shadow of dread flickering across his face. “I don’t see any of his things downstairs. Not a trace.”

Each word settled into the silence between you, the weight of what he wasn’t saying sinking in, thick and foreboding.

Your heart seemed to stop, caught in a painful, suspended beat, as though time itself had faltered. The familiar sight of Joel’s worn work boots by the door, his rifle resting against the wall, his jacket—a constant, comforting fixture draped in your doorway—was gone. The absence felt like a wound, a piece of him violently torn from the space you’d shared, leaving nothing but a hollow, unsettling silence in its place.

Tommy paced the room, his shoulders rigid, his eyes locked on the floor as if searching for some hidden answer in the worn planks. “Did he… did he say anything to you? Act… different?” His voice broke, the words laced with a frantic desperation he couldn’t quite mask, each syllable threaded with a rising panic he fought to keep at bay.

“No… no, he didn’t say anything,” you stammered, the words barely escaping as panic coiled tighter around your throat.

Tommy’s gaze softened, but there was something raw in his eyes, a disbelief that seemed to waver, shaking the resolve he was so desperately clinging to. “Joel… he doesn’t just disappear like that. Not him.” His voice cracked, the tension in his tone betraying the fear he tried to bury beneath his words. “We’ve already got people out looking, but…”

“What if… what if something happened to them?” The question slipped out, trembling, every syllable weighted with the dark possibility you’d been trying to keep at bay.

“Hey.” Tommy stepped closer, his hand settling firmly on your shoulder, a solid, grounding presence amid the chaos spiraling through your mind. “We don’t know that,” he said, his voice calm but charged with urgency. “They’re tough—you know they are. But we need to move, and we need to move fast.”

A surge of determination flooded through you, sweeping away the fear that had nearly anchored you in place. You took a steadying breath, nodding to Tommy, and followed him out of the room, each step quick and resolute despite the dull ache pulsing through your leg. The discomfort faded into the background, pushed aside by the urgency driving you forward—there was no space for weakness, not now.

As you stepped outside, the sun had already dipped low, casting a fierce, amber glow over the horizon. The world was bathed in a fading warmth, a fleeting light slipping into shadow as dusk descended, cloaking everything in quiet anticipation.

No matter where they were, no matter how far you’d have to go, you would find them—no matter the cost, no matter the sacrifice. Joel had been your anchor in the storm, the steady, unbreakable presence who had saved you more times than you could count. He’d been there, unwavering, his voice guiding you through the darkest nights, his strength carrying your burdens when you could no longer bear them alone.

Now, it was your turn to be relentless. You owed him that much.

•••

You and Tommy rode through the wilderness on horseback, moving silently under the cover of night. The rhythmic hoofbeats thudded against the ground, muffled by a thick layer of fallen leaves, the only sound breaking the oppressive quiet. The moon hung high above, casting silver shadows over the trees, but offered little warmth, and even less comfort. There was no calling out, no shouting their names; a single echo could draw attention from raiders—or worse, infected lurking in the woods, hidden in the inky dark.

The hours dragged on, each minute blurring into the next, stretching into an eternity as you scoured the trail. Your flashlight cut through the dark, casting narrow beams over twisted branches, scattered leaves, the faint outlines of abandoned cabins and crumbling fences—yet there was nothing.

No trace of Joel or Ellie. You searched desperately for any sign: footprints, a drop of blood, anything to tell you they’d passed this way.

The air bit into your skin, each gust of wind stinging your cheeks, but you barely registered the cold. It felt distant, insignificant against the gnawing dread growing steadily in your chest. With every step, the silence pressed heavier, yet you refused to slow, driven by a single thought—finding them, whatever it took.

Tommy rode slightly ahead, his gaze darting to the shadows that moved along with the trees. He would glance back at you now and then, his expression a mix of determination and worry, as if he shared the same stubborn resolve but feared what he might find—or not find—in the end.

Each mile you covered without a trace of them chipped away at your hope, your initial conviction giving way to an aching uncertainty. You felt your heart race with each bend in the trail, hoping, praying that around this corner, or maybe the next, you’d see them, that familiar, solid figure of Joel watching over Ellie as he always did. But every turn led only to more shadows, the dark swallowing each ounce of hope you tried to cling to.

The cold seeped deeper into your bones as the hours passed, a slow, creeping chill that even the steady, jostling movement of the horse couldn’t shake. Your grip on the reins tightened, knuckles white, muscles tense as you fought to keep moving, refusing to let your exhaustion show.

But as the night wore on and your flashlight flickered in and out, casting faint shadows along the trail, a heavy realization settled over you.

You were running out of time.

•••

You found yourself back at Tommy and Maria’s house, the quiet weight of the late hour pressing down on everything. Maria stayed close, her hand a gentle but firm presence on your shoulder as she guided you to sit, her movements tender. “Just take a moment, sweetheart,” she murmured, pressing a warm mug of tea into your trembling hands. Her voice was low, soft as a lullaby, each word laced with quiet reassurance. But the comfort felt thin, hollow—a shadow of solace in the absence of the one thing you truly needed.

A surge of frustration flared within you, hot and suffocating, threatening to consume the fragile composure you clung to. Tears burned at the corners of your eyes, blurring the dim room as the questions swirled, relentless and unforgiving.

Why did he leave? Was he hurt? Dead?

The uncertainty gnawed at you, twisting deeper with every silent second, each tick of the clock amplifying the aching void he’d left behind.

“I just… I don’t understand why they’d leave like that,” you whispered, your voice trembling, barely more than a fractured breath.

Tommy stood in the hallway, pacing once more, his footsteps a muted rhythm against the walls, each step laced with his own silent worry.

Maria settled beside you, her hand resting warmly on your shoulder, an anchor in the swirling tide of your worry. “I know, honey,” she murmured, her voice soft, filled with a compassion that felt both comforting and achingly bittersweet.

Her gaze held yours for a moment, then she offered a small, reassuring smile. “Why don’t you stay here tonight? Just for a bit, hm? Give yourself a chance to breathe.”

You managed a nod, unable to find words past the tightness lodged in your throat.

Deep down, you knew Maria was right—you needed rest, a sliver of calm to steady yourself. But as you lifted the mug to your lips, the warmth did little to soften the hollow ache gnawing inside you. The tea, the gentle comfort, none of it could fill the void left by his absence.

All you wanted—all you needed—was Joel.

•••

You tried to eat, but each bite felt like swallowing shards of glass, the anxiety coiled tight around your throat, refusing to loosen. Staying at Tommy and Maria’s only magnified the loneliness; every quiet, familiar corner of their home served as a relentless reminder of Joel’s absence.

The routine you’d fallen into with him—those stolen glances over morning coffee, the quiet, easy conversations under starlit skies, the warmth of his presence near you—now felt like memories from another life.

It had been a week now. A week of riding along rugged trails, combing through barren fields and dense forests, silently calling out into the dark, praying for even a flicker of his shadow.

Hours spent on horseback, searching until your legs burned, and nights of restless tossing and turning in a bed that felt all the more empty and cold.

Every night, you and Tommy would return empty-handed, the weight of defeat pressing down on both of you as you rode back in silence. And every night, Maria would be there, a cup of tea in hand, her eyes soft with worry, her presence unwavering. She’d sit beside you, her hand resting gently on your shoulder, a steadying presence as she tried to lend you some of her quiet strength.

“Sweetie,” she’d murmur, her voice a soothing balm against the raw ache in your chest, “I’m sure he’s fine. Joel’s the toughest person I know. He’ll come back any day now.” The words would change, the phrasing slightly different each time, but the message stayed the same—that he was fine, that he’d come back.

But it wasn’t enough.

But you shook your head, anguish spilling from your heart and filling the space between you. “You don’t know that, Maria.” The words came out sharper than you intended, tinged with a desperation you couldn’t hold back, fear and sorrow woven into every syllable.

As the first tear slipped down your cheek, the floodgates opened, and you felt the weight of it all—the fear, the unanswered questions, the hollow ache of his absence—crash down on you.

The world felt like it was closing in, darkness pressing against the last flicker of faith within you. But even as you trembled, heart aching with an unspoken plea, you refused to let go of that hope, dim but unyielding.

You couldn’t lose him—not now, not after everything.

•••

Six months.

Six months had crawled by—a slow, painful stretch marked by the fading of summer’s warmth and the creeping chill of winter. The once-vibrant air, alive with the sweet scent of blooming flowers and laughter echoing through Jackson’s streets, had turned crisp and silent, as if holding its breath.

The landscape shifted, the lush greens giving way to brittle browns and steely grays, trees stripped bare, their branches stark against the somber sky. Snow draped the ground, muffling the sounds of daily life.

Christmas was approaching, but the usual festive spirit was dampened to you, swallowed up by the bleakness of winter. Jackson itself had changed; the streets that once pulsed with the warmth of camaraderie now felt strangely deserted, the weight of the cold driving everyone indoors.

Flickering lights in windows were the only hints of life in the wintry gloom, a reminder that, even in this frozen quiet, people clung to routine. Each day, the sun rose half-heartedly, casting a pale, listless glow that barely seeped through the thick, oppressive clouds.

Since Joel and Ellie had left, you’d been staying with Maria and Tommy. It was an unspoken agreement, a shared understanding that you all needed each other to get through this. Returning to your own place felt unbearable. You’d stop by now and then, just to keep things in order, but the emptiness inside those walls weighed too heavily on you.

Every corner of your home seemed haunted by memories of him—the kitchen where he’d quietly worked, assembling dinners with a surprising tenderness, the living room where he’d settled close beside you, his quiet presence filling the space.

And your bed, where traces of his warmth lingered like an imprint on your heart. The silence in those rooms was razor-sharp, each echo of him too raw, too overwhelming to face alone.

From your window, the world seemed a reflection of your own heart: numb, blanketed in a persistent, aching silence. You watched as Christmas lights went up in Jackson, their soft twinkling swallowed by the heavy, endless gray, like distant stars in an unyielding void.

You’d been drifting in a numb haze, the days blurring together into a colorless stretch of time. A heavy fog wrapped around your thoughts, dulling every sensation until nothing felt real. Each morning bled into the next, weeks passing without distinction as you moved through life on autopilot.

You ate, you slept, you helped Maria with whatever needed doing. You went on patrol nearly every other day, half for distraction, half—though you didn’t admit it to yourself —in the quiet, desperate hope of catching some trace of them. But nothing held meaning. Each task was empty, a hollow ritual performed on borrowed time.

Memories drifted through your mind, stolen glances and shared laughter slipping away like fragile snowflakes, melting before you could hold onto them. The quiet conversations, his voice low and steady, the way his eyes would soften just for you—each memory surfaced only to fade, leaving behind an ache that settled deep in your bones, a constant, unyielding reminder of everything you’d lost.

Every time the gate creaked open, your heart leapt to your throat, a brief, painful surge of hope that maybe—just maybe—it was him. You’d rush to the window, breath caught, anticipation tightening in your chest.

But each time, the flicker of hope shattered, leaving you with the heavy, familiar ache of disappointment. The emptiness that settled in your stomach felt like a lead weight, dragging you back into a despair that felt inescapable.

Joel was everywhere and nowhere, haunting the edges of Jackson like a lingering shadow, an echo reverberating through a hollow space. Each corner of this town held pieces of him, fragments woven into the fabric of your days, reminders of a bond now stretched across an impossible distance.

You saw him in the stables, the scent of hay and leather stirring memories of his quiet strength, his gentle hands calming restless horses. In the dining hall, a glimpse of an empty chair tugged painfully at you, bringing back the rough warmth of his laughter, the way his gaze would linger on you just a moment too long when he thought no one else was watching.

Walking past the workshop, the faint hum of tools conjured memories of him bent over his work, sleeves rolled up, the intensity in his eyes softened only by the rare, almost shy smiles he’d save just for you. Even in the simple rhythm of Jackson’s streets, you felt his presence—a figure rounding the corner, a low voice in the distance, each one a cruel mirage, dissolving the moment you got too close.

He was everywhere and nowhere, an ache that settled deep in your bones, a ghost that followed you, unshakable, as though he was still here, just out of reach. Every memory sharpened the yearning, the quiet desperation to have him back beside you, to feel his hand graze yours, to see him in flesh and blood rather than in the flickering fragments that now consumed you.

As snow drifted gently outside, blanketing the world in a pristine layer of white, you allowed yourself a moment to slip back into memories. Outside, the world lay silent and frozen, but in your heart, a faint warmth lingered, a stubborn ember that refused to be extinguished.

Even in the heart of winter, a flicker of hope persisted, like a quiet promise that spring would come again.

•••

Maria’s figure had transformed, her belly now round with the weight of new life as she neared her last trimester. You could see the way Tommy clung to the anticipation of his child’s arrival as if it were a lifeline, his focus locked on the future as a shield against the shadows that had crept into your lives since Joel and Ellie’s departure.

The excitement of a new beginning felt bittersweet, casting a harsh light on the hollow space left by Joel’s absence. You saw Tommy’s attempts to mask his worry in forced laughter, the strain showing in his eyes, his gaze clouded with an unshakable concern that he carried silently, like an invisible scar.

Months ago, you’d both stopped mentioning Joel, a silent understanding forming between you and Tommy. Hope had become a delicate thing, slipping through your fingers like sand. Instead of grappling with the gnawing possibility of Joel’s fate, you filled the empty spaces with small talk, with musings over nursery colors and baby names, each word a distraction, a balm against the ache of what might be true.

With your leg fully healed, you spent your days at Maria's side, helping her with tasks that had grown too challenging in her final trimester. The rhythm of daily chores brought a small comfort, a steadying anchor in a sea of uncertainty, as you focused on caring for someone else.

Yet, beneath the surface, an unease shadowed your every action, a quiet tension in the space between you and Maria. You both fell into an unspoken game of play-pretend, smiles and small laughter filling the silences, as though you could craft a reality where Joel’s absence didn’t weigh so heavily.

But you both knew, deep down, that everything had changed. Life had shifted in a way that couldn’t be undone. Each meal prepared, every chore tended to, reminded you of the hollow truth: Joel could be gone. He might never come back. And the thought was like a wound that never fully healed, a grief that echoed in the quiet moments—a phantom ache for someone who felt as much a part of you as your own heartbeat, but who remained painfully out of reach.

Helping Maria set up the nursery, sorting through baby clothes and arranging tiny blankets, you often found your gaze drifting to the window, half-expecting to see him coming up the path, his familiar stride cutting through the cold. But the streets remained empty, the winter air heavy with silence.

In those moments, the world felt impossibly vast and indifferent, a stark reminder of all you had lost and all that might never return.

•••

It was 2 a.m. when you were jolted awake by a scream that tore through the stillness of the night. Your heart pounded as you leapt out of bed, rushing down the hall toward Maria’s room, adrenaline surging through your veins. Tommy was there by her side, wide-eyed and tense, his body coiled with worry.

“It’s happening!” Maria gasped, her voice raw with both pain and urgency. Her face was pale, eyes wide with a mixture of fear and determination as she gripped the edge of the bed, her breaths coming in sharp, shallow bursts.

“Oh, God. Okay!” you stammered, fighting to steady yourself against the wave of panic surging up, clawing at your composure. “I’ll—I’ll get the doctor!” The words tumbled out, breathless and unsteady, as you turned, urgency propelling you forward even as fear tightened around your chest.

You sprinted down the stairs and out into the freezing night, mind racing with everything you’d read and rehearsed. The signs of labor had seemed so straightforward in theory—contractions building gradually, giving everyone time to prepare.

But this was nothing like you’d imagined. It was sudden and overwhelming, every moment infused with urgency and the weight of what was to come.

The doctor—the same woman who had once treated your leg—lived just a few houses down. You sprinted through the silent streets of Jackson, the night air sharp and biting against your skin. Maria’s panicked cries echoed in your mind, propelling you forward, blocking out the cold and exhaustion.

Within twenty minutes, you returned, breathless, leading the doctor into Maria’s room. The doctor moved with calm efficiency, her gaze sharp as she took in the scene. “How are you doing, Maria?” she asked, her voice steady and grounded, a quiet force amid the chaos.

Maria gritted her teeth, clutching the bed as another contraction wracked her body, her face twisted in pain. “I think my contractions are getting stronger,” she managed between labored breaths, her fingers gripping the sheets until her knuckles whitened.

The doctor nodded, stepping closer. “Alright, let’s get you comfortable, and I’ll check your progress,” she said, her voice soft yet unwavering. She spoke with the practiced calm of someone who’d seen it all, grounding the tension in the room with her presence.

You took a step back, your heart pounding as you watched the scene unfold, an electric mixture of anxiety and awe buzzing in your veins. Maria was about to bring a new life into the world, and you were here to witness it, to support her through this momentous night.

•••

The hours bled together in a haze of low murmurs, Maria’s labored breaths, and the doctor’s steady, calming instructions as he guided her through each wave of pain.

You stayed close by Maria’s side, whispering words of encouragement, while Tommy held her hand tightly, both of them drawing strength from each other in those final, agonizing moments. The doctor’s usual brisk demeanor softened, her voice now warm and steady as she guided Maria through each push, her confidence a steady beacon in the room.

And then, with a final, guttural cry that seemed to echo from the depths of her soul, Maria summoned the last of her strength. The room fell silent as the doctor lifted a tiny, wriggling baby into the air, and in that instant, time seemed to stand still. A swell of warmth flooded your chest, catching in your throat as you took in the sight.

The baby was beautiful—a perfect blend of Maria and Tommy. She let out a small, tremulous cry, a sound so pure it filled the room with an unmistakable sense of life, breaking the stillness with its sweetness and bringing tears to your eyes.

“Congratulations!” the doctor announced, her voice thick with emotion. “It’s a girl!”

Maria sank back against the pillows, her face flushed with exhaustion but glowing with joy, tears slipping down her cheeks as she gazed down at her daughter for the first time. Tommy was at her side in an instant, his eyes filled with wonder and love as he looked at his family, a raw, unfiltered happiness radiating from him.

As you stepped back to give them space, a soft smile tugged at your lips. The room was filled with an overwhelming sense of love and hope, a quiet magic blooming amidst the chaos of the world outside. This was a moment you knew you’d carry with you always—a reminder that even in the darkest times, life had a way of breaking through.

You stayed with them, entranced by the tiny miracle before you. The baby’s delicate features, her tiny hands wrapped around Maria’s fingers, seemed almost too precious for this world.

“She’s beautiful,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion, eyes fixed on the little girl nestled securely in her mother’s arms.

Maria looked up, her eyes gleaming with warmth and affection as she held her daughter close. “Do you want to hold her, Auntie?” she asked, her voice gentle, the title wrapping around your heart like an embrace.

Your breath caught, and you nodded, managing a quiet, “Yes, please.”

Maria carefully passed her daughter into your arms, and you marveled at the weight of her, so light yet so full of promise. The soft fabric of the blanket brushed against your skin as you cradled her close, an overwhelming wave of love sweeping over you.

“Hey there, little one,” you murmured, your voice barely a whisper as you looked down into her wide, curious eyes. “Welcome to the world.”

Your heart ached in ways you couldn’t quite define—a bittersweet mixture of joy and longing as you cradled the baby close. She was warm, her tiny breaths soft and steady against your chest, and you wished with every fiber of your being that Joel could be here, standing beside you, sharing in this tender moment.

You pictured his face softening, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he nudged you gently. “Well, would you look at that—you’re Auntie now,” he’d murmur, his voice soft and warm. The thought sent a tender ache through your chest, filling you with a longing for a moment that felt so close, yet achingly out of reach.

You looked up at Maria and Tommy, their faces bathed in the soft glow of love and pride as they watched you holding their daughter. For them, this was a fresh start, a new beginning to bring light into the shadows that had long lingered.

As you glanced back down at the little girl in your arms, a gentle realization settled over you—despite the ache in your heart, despite the empty space Joel had left, you were grateful to be here, to be part of this beautiful chapter in their lives.

•••

The makeshift Christmas market in Jackson was alive with the vibrant energy of the season, the air filled with laughter and the gentle hum of holiday cheer. People moved between stalls, exchanging goods and warm greetings, their voices blending with the soft music drifting from a nearby record player.

The winter sun hung low, casting a golden hue over the scene, while the crisp air carried the scents of woodsmoke, pine, and the sweet spices of freshly baked treats.

Stalls were draped in strings of scavenged twinkling lights, each one a small beacon against the stark backdrop of winter, and for a brief moment, it felt as though the world outside had faded away, leaving only this small oasis of warmth and celebration.

That’s when you first saw him.

He was new to Jackson, having arrived only a few weeks before with a small group of survivors. His arrival had been the talk of the town, a blend of excitement and wariness threading through the community.

You’d caught snippets of conversation about them—stories of their long, treacherous journey, of how Tommy and some others had found them during a routine patrol and brought them to the safety of Jackson.

As you stood by a stall cluttered with recipe cards, your mind drifted, fingers skimming over options—cherry tart, pecan pie, a rich stew. You were lost in thought, weighing the choices for Christmas dinner with Maria, Tommy, and the new baby.

The gentle hum of the crowd faded into a quiet murmur as you sifted through the recipes, each one conjuring an image of their cozy home filled with laughter, the warmth of the fire casting a golden glow over familiar faces, the simple comfort of a shared meal.

Then, without warning, you felt a presence beside you.

“Tough decision,” a voice remarked, his voice warm and casual, drawing you out of your thoughts. Startled, you looked up, meeting his gaze.

He stood tall, broad-shouldered, with an easy confidence that immediately set him apart in the bustling crowd. Dark curly hair framed his face, tousled while his clothes—faded denim, a well-worn jumper, and scuffed boots—carried the unmistakable signs of long days on the road.

“Oh—sorry?” you replied, a little thrown by his sudden appearance.

“The recipe cards,” he explained, a faint smile pulling at his lips. “Seems like a big decision.”

You laughed softly, feeling a bit self-conscious as you kept your gaze fixed on the table. “Oh, right. Yeah, well… I’m a terrible cook, so I’m not sure these will do me much good,” you murmured, a small, nervous smile tugging at your lips.

He chuckled, a deep, easy sound that wrapped around you. “Believe me, you’re not alone. Once, I managed to go a whole week without dinner because I accidentally set my kitchen on fire trying to make spaghetti.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the mental image pulling a grin from you as you looked up at him. “A whole week? That’s impressive, in a way.”

He shrugged, his grin widening. “What can I say? Survival skills might be high, but cooking…not so much.” He shrugged, a glint of humor in his eyes. “I figure if it’s not completely inedible, it’s a win.”

There was something refreshingly genuine in his easygoing manner, a warmth that made you feel instantly at ease. For a moment, the chaos of the world outside faded, leaving only the twinkling lights, the soft hum of holiday cheer, and a stranger who felt oddly familiar.

A smile crept onto your face, the sheer absurdity of it all tugging laughter from somewhere deep within. It bubbled up, unexpected and warm, filling you with a lightness you hadn’t felt in what seemed like ages.

For the first time in months, the weight of your memories loosened its hold, if only for a moment, allowing you to breathe freely. You hadn’t laughed like this in so long—it was as if a piece of yourself had finally broken through the clouds.

“I’m Caleb,” he said, offering his hand with an easy smile that radiated genuine warmth.

You took his hand, feeling the steady strength in his grip as you introduced yourself. There was something in his gaze—an openness, a sincerity—that sent a quiet warmth through your chest.

He looked at you not with the guarded wariness so common in Jackson, but with the unmistakable ease of someone who was simply, honestly, glad to meet you.

For that brief moment, as your hands met, a quiet spark flickered between you—a connection so subtle it was almost unspoken, a warmth that lingered just beneath the surface, delicate yet undeniable.

But with that glimmer of warmth came a piercing pang of guilt—a hollow ache for Joel that twisted deep in your chest. Memories of him surfaced unbidden, vivid and relentless. The feeling of his hand on yours, rough and reassuring, the quiet strength in his touch—it all washed over you, an aching reminder of what was missing.

You shook your head slightly, as if somehow, with that small motion, you could dispel the thoughts, push them back into the shadows. But they lingered, stubborn and insistent, weaving themselves into every quiet corner of your mind.

“I should probably head out,” you said, your voice steady, though memories tugged at you, filling you with a sudden urge to escape. You forced a polite smile, masking the quiet turmoil churning beneath the surface. “It was nice meeting you, Caleb.”

The words felt hollow, yet you held them there.

“Same here,” he replied, his smile warm and sincere. There was something in his gaze, a friendliness that reached beyond mere courtesy.

You turned to leave, offering a quick wave as you walked away, Caleb’s smile lingering in your mind.

•••

Over the next few months, Caleb became an unexpected constant in your life, seamlessly weaving himself into the rhythm of your new reality. His presence was a quiet comfort—a steady, familiar face that always seemed to show up when you needed it most, as though he had an instinct for the moments when silence weighed a little too heavily.

He and Tommy had quickly struck up a friendship, their bond forming over early morning patrols and long days in the fields. They’d joke about the little things—who had the better aim, who could lift more, trading stories of life before and after Jackson.

Caleb had this easygoing charm that drew Tommy in, a quiet humor that paired perfectly with Tommy’s unguarded nature. Soon enough, they were inseparable, working together to repair fences or sharing a drink at day’s end, laughter echoing into the quiet streets.

For you, it was comforting, even endearing, to watch them fall into step with each other. You soon found Caleb everywhere—At the clinic, he’d be there often, volunteering to sort supplies or assist with whatever needed doing.

Sometimes you’d catch glimpses of him at the library during storytime, surrounded by children, his voice rising and falling with animated enthusiasm as he brought storybook characters to life. His laughter, bright and infectious, filled the quiet spaces, drawing smiles from even the sternest faces.

And at the stables, he’d be coaxing a skittish horse with gentle patience, exchanging quiet smiles with the ranch hands as he worked, his presence a calming influence on both people and animals alike. He was kind, always there with a helping hand or a lighthearted joke, his warmth settling into your life like a gentle balm.

As weeks turned to months, you found yourself looking forward to these moments. In his presence, you felt an unexpected ease, a sense of reprieve from the lingering sorrow tied to memories of Joel.

Soon, he became a regular presence at your table, joining you, Tommy, and Maria for dinners that filled the house with shared stories, the warmth of food, and laughter echoing through the walls.

One evening, you watched as Caleb gently cradled Tommy and Maria’s baby in his arms for the first time. His expression softened, wonder and tenderness in his eyes as he gazed down at her tiny face. “I’ve always wanted kids,” he admitted quietly, his voice filled with a sincerity that struck a chord within you. He held her with a tenderness that was unmistakable, every little sound she made bringing a soft smile to his lips.

Yet, even within the warmth of these moments, a bittersweet ache would surface—soft but unrelenting, a reminder of Joel that lingered in your heart. You’d imagine him with the baby, envisioning how he’d hold her with surprising gentleness, his rough hands steady and protective, softened by a past that had once made him a father. You could almost see him cradling her close, the hard edges of his face easing, his expression slipping into a rare tenderness, a quiet gentleness breaking through the weathered lines he so often wore.

The thought would catch you off guard, slipping into your mind like a familiar melody, stirring memories you’d tried to bury. No matter how much warmth surrounded you, a part of you still felt that quiet pull toward the one person who remained just out of reach.

•••

One evening, you found yourself beside Maria in the warm glow of the fire, its flickering light casting gentle shadows across the room. The crackling flames filled the quiet, and Maria cradled her baby, the soft coos and gurgles creating a soothing backdrop. You held a drink in your hand, but your gaze was fixed on the hypnotic dance of the flames, lost in thought.

Maria’s gentle voice broke through your thoughts. “You okay, sweetie?” she asked, her tone soft, though a hint of concern threaded through her words. You turned to her, pausing, the weight of everything settling a little heavier in that moment.

She asked you this question often, and every time, you’d give her the same small, unconvincing smile.

You’d lie, and she’d accept it, knowing but never pushing, letting you hold your pain close.

But today was different.

Today, you couldn’t bring yourself to smile or hide behind hollow reassurances. Today, the ache felt too raw, too close to the surface, and you found yourself unable to pretend.

“No,” you murmured, barely audible over the fire. “Maria, I miss him.”

Maria’s face softened, her eyes reflecting an understanding that only deepened the ache in your chest.

“I know you do,” she said quietly. She hesistared before continuing “But, honey, life’s gonna move on. You deserve happiness—even if it feels complicated right now.” Her words hung in the air, gentle but firm, a reminder that Caleb’s presence, his growing affection, hadn’t gone unnoticed by her.

Her words settled heavily within you, undeniable yet daunting. “But I don’t think I’m ready to let him go,” you admitted, voice tight with conflict. “I don’t know how to move forward without.. without feeling like I’m leaving him behind.”

Maria leaned in, her gaze steady and reassuring. “You don’t have to rush. But don’t let fear hold you back from living. Joel wouldn’t want that for you. You deserve to be happy—even if it feels impossible right now.”

Her words struck a chord, resonating with a truth you hadn’t let yourself fully face. But the thought of moving on, of letting go of the hope you clung to, tightened in your chest like a vice. “What if I take that step and… regret it?” you whispered, a tremor of uncertainty in your voice.

Maria’s hand drifted to her baby’s head, her fingers brushing over the soft hair as if grounding herself in the love and life she held. “Life’s too short to live by ‘what ifs,’” she said gently, her voice filled with conviction.

“Taking a step forward doesn’t mean forgetting him. It just means you’re choosing to live, even with the pain. You’re allowed to find happiness again.”

•••

The night they left

You had fallen fast asleep beside him, blissfully unaware of Joel's watchful gaze. As he lay there, his mind was tangled with thoughts of the evening—the way you’d looked up at the stars, your face softly illuminated, a quiet glow in your eyes as you’d whispered promises meant just for him.

He’d finally lowered his guard, letting slip the long-buried apology along with a hint of the feelings he’d guarded so fiercely. In return, you had placed your hand in his, a quiet promise that you wouldn’t leave. The warmth of your touch anchored him, grounding him in a way he hadn’t realized he needed, filling the empty spaces he’d carried within him for years.

In that moment, lying beside you, Joel felt something he hadn’t in a long time—relief. The years of guilt, the weight of holding his feelings in check, all eased in the comfort of your presence. For the first time, he allowed himself to feel at peace, letting go, if only for a night, of the burdens he’d carried alone for so long.

Slowly, he reached over, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, his fingertips lingering as he gently traced circles at your temple, as if etching this moment into his memory. He wanted to tell you how much you meant to him, how your quiet promise had started to ease the weight in his chest. He ached to close the distance, to press his lips softly against yours—but he held back, waiting for the right moment, fighting the pull that had never felt stronger than tonight.

And he let himself smile, knowing you wanted it too. You stirred something deep within him, a feeling nestled low in his stomach, reminding him just how far out of his depth he was.

But then he froze, hearing movement downstairs. A sharp knock at the door cut through the silence, urgent and relentless.

He squinted at the dim-lit clock, barely making out the time—4 a.m.

Jesus Christ, had he really been awake this long? And who the hell would be knocking at this hour?

With a sigh, he slipped out of bed, glancing back at you once more, his heart twisting at the thought of leaving you, even for a moment. He moved quietly, careful not to wake you, and made his way downstairs, each knock echoing louder as he approached.

As he opened the door, he found Ellie standing there, pale and shaken, her backpack slung over her shoulder, eyes wide with a fear he’d rarely seen in her.

“Ellie?” he whispered, dread pooling in his stomach. “What’s wrong?”

“They know,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “They know about me, Joel. They know I could be the cure. And they’re coming. They know I’m here in Jackson.”

Joel’s blood turned to ice. He glanced back at the staircase he’d descended just minutes ago, the image of you peacefully asleep etched sharply in his mind. Then he looked at Ellie, his mind racing.

Joel’s jaw tightened, memories of Sarah flashing painfully through his mind, the ache of that loss still raw, still haunting, even after all these years. Protecting Ellie felt was a second chance—something he couldn’t afford to lose.

He looked back toward the stairs, a silent vow etched in his mind—he’d return to you and explain everything once Ellie was safe, no matter what it took.

“Then we leave—now.”

•••

Tag List: If i didnt tag you i wouldve forgot !! pls comment on here if youd like me to tag u !! xx

@karolinape @wasitforrevenge @picketniffler @somedayheaven

@anoverwhelmingdin @ashleyfilm

@somedayheaven @anoverwhelmingdin @joeldjarin @yourgirlcin

@swimmingeggcloudkid @dlwrish @cathsteen @reneerocks3617

@denisanoemi @prnxcessfics @orcasoul @rosebuds-and-moonlight @rescuethewretched

@valkyreally @ccmoonshine @dlwrish @immyowndefender @babygals-world @zenrobbins0021 @malfoycassimalfoy @damneddamsy @atenceladusiaawfytbwb @frogjumps-world @dendulinka6 @orcasoul @whirlwindrider29 @lol-im-done

@somedayheaven @ohdearvalentine @keseqna @kulekehe

@darkheartgatita @ickearmn @spacegirl-3 @mystickittytaco

@sukunnayuuji @jasminedragoon @merm4id5lut @ickearmn

@dugiioh @ginsan-eyes @smoochispoof @off-dreaming-again @cynicalbunny @dendulinka6 @w-w-a-n-d-r-l-u-s-t-t @path0logicalpeoplepleaser @spacemamax @lizzie-cakes @off-dreaming-again @cumberpegg @agnus04 @laliceee @bambisweethearts @thoughtfulmoonchild911 @joelspeach

247 notes · View notes

phyx-m · 3 months ago

Text

Beneath The Silk

Heian-era Sukuna (True Form) x Reader

You’re forced into a marriage with the King of Curses as part of a scheme to end his life. With your cursed gift, it should be an easy task. You couldn’t be more wrong.

Masterlist below the cut.

🔗 Originally posted on AO3 (I thought I would post on Tumblr, though I may not be as active/slow to update. Forgive me!)

Status: Ongoing/63 Chapters

🔗 Music playlist (if you're into that)

Explicit. NSFW. Minors DNI.

Tags and warnings: Cannibalism, non-con elements, forced marriage, blood and gore, violence, female reader, slow burn, smut, Sukuna has two cocks, Sukuna’s extra mouths, heavy angst, eventual romance, trauma, reader is touch starved, historical inaccuracies, character development, panic attacks, protective Sukuna, possessive Sukuna, tension, sexual tension, manipulation, touch her and die, soft Sukuna, Sukuna POVs, enemies to lovers, slight canon divergence, reader has powers but won't use until later, Heian era, misogyny, cursed techniques aren't explained, reader has a sister, finding yourself, falling in love?, child abuse, size difference, additional warnings at beginnings of chapters, dismemberment, not beta read.

Masterlist

🔗 Prologue

🔗 Chapter 1: A Walk In The Forest With The Devil

🔗 Chapter 2: Rip And Tear

🔗 Chapter 3: Sanctified To The Thing With The Pink Hair

🔗 Chapter 4: The Belly Of The Beast

🔗 Chapter 5: Nightly Visits

🔗 Chapter 6: The Tip Of Your Tongue

🔗 Chapter 7: Duality Of A Different Kind

🔗 Chapter 8: The Remedy For Bad Dreams

🔗 Chapter 9: The Space Between

🔗 Chapter 10: A Snake Shedding Its Skin

🔗 Chapter 11: The Tragedy Of Want And Need

🔗 Chapter 12: Falling, Too

🔗 Chapter 13: Ruiner

🔗 Chapter 14: All The Hands Past Midnight

🔗 Chapter 15: All The Hands At Dawn

🔗 Chapter 16: Everything Unwanted

🔗 Chapter 17: The Lies We Tell Ourselves

🔗 Chapter 18: Snake Den

🔗 Chapter 19: Something's Burning

🔗 Chapter 20: Still A Monster

🔗 Chapter 21: A Warm Place

🔗 Chapter 22: Small Blade

🔗 Chapter 23: Rotting Wound And A Hole In The Wall

🔗 Chapter 24: The Devil At Your Back

🔗 Chapter 25: Something Wicked This Way Comes

🔗 Chapter 26: The Other Daughter

🔗 Chapter 27: The Great Collapse

🔗 Chapter 28: Fingertips To Flesh

🔗 Chapter 29: Shatter

🔗 Chapter 30: Sans Silk

🔗 Chapter 31: The Flower In The North

🔗 Chapter 32: One Final Breath Of Lungs To You

🔗 Chapter 33: Ruin

🔗 Chapter 34: All Oil And Flame

🔗 Chapter 35: Goodbye, Little Red Flower

🔗 Chapter 36: A Burial Of Things

#true form sukuna #heian sukuna #sukuna x you #sukuna smut #slow burn #beneath the silk #jjk #dark romance #dark content #sukuna fanfic #dark fantasy #sukuna x reader #jujustu kaisen fanfic #enemies to lovers #ryomen sukuna #jujustsu kaisen x reader

263 notes · View notes

charlietheepicwriter7 · 11 months ago

Text

Dick Grayson V Gotham

Chapter 1 - AO3 - Constantine Jr. AU

There were a few minutes every morning, in the dark before dawn when his alarm hadn’t yet rung, where Dick Grayson felt most at peace. Despite the ache in his body the night out as Nightwing, he felt refreshed and content to just rest his eyes until his phone rang and it was time to get ready for the day.

Unfortunately, peace was never meant to last.

With a loud crash that definitely woke the neighbors, a little body kicked his door in. A switch was flipped and blinding light filled the room. Dick squinted in the general direction of the intruder. “Get up already!” Danny, his ward, snapped, rushing forward to rip the blankets off his bed. Dick let him. “There’s a case ready for us at the precinct!”

Dick checked his phone. No missed calls, and Danny didn’t have a phone yet. “Is this another psychic thing?” he asked.

Danny rolled his eyes. “If I say yes, will you get your ass out of bed already?”

“Language,” he chided absentmindedly, but still got out of bed. Danny glared up at him, still not satisfied, and dragged him to the bathroom with a surprising amount of strength for an 8-year-old. “Huh! You’re really in a hurry today.”

“No, you’re just super slow!”

Dick pulled back against Danny, slowing their progress considerably. “Oh, it’s the age!” Dick bemoaned, draping himself dramatically against the wall. “Now that I have a kid of my own to look after, the years have started to take their toll—Ow!”

Danny glared up at him like he hadn’t just kicked Dick in the shin. Brat. “Be dramatic in your own time! We have a case, Dick, we need to go!”

“Alright, alright, I’m going!” Dick complied and got in the bathroom, saying just before he closed the door, “Make sure you’re dressed in clothes you can afford to lose! I don’t want you to get blood on your favorite jeans again!” Danny shouted back his agreement and finally, Dick was alone.

As Dick washed his face and did his business, he contemplated how he got there. Honestly, he didn’t get what Bruce was always complaining about; this guardianship thing was going great! It was three weeks since he’d wrangled Danny home, but he’d been preparing for this for months, ever since he learned that the little brat trying to solve murders was homeless. It took months of classes, meetings with CPS, and interviews with friends and family, but Dick was now the proud foster parent of Danny Smith!

Fortunately, Dick had managed to convince Bruce that the foster license was precautionary, like if he needed to protect a minor. Which was what he was doing! So not technically a lie!

Although, Bruce had his hands full already. Some new crime lord had taken up the Joker’s old alias and it was driving the old man up the wall. Bruce had even asked Dick for help on the case last night! He’d said no, of course; he wasn’t just going to abandon Danny in Bludhaven for days while they hunted down Red Hood, and he wasn’t going to spring Danny on Bruce, nor Bruce on Danny. Danny was a flight risk and had expressed disdain for millionaires in the past, and Bruce was… worse than he used to be. Tim had managed to resurrect some of the dad Bruce used to be, but ever since Jason…

Well, it was good that they wouldn’t be seeing each other any time soon. Maybe by then Tim will have convinced Bruce to go to therapy!

Coming out of the bathroom, Dick started at Danny, dressed in jeans and a Digimon t-shirt, standing on the counter and getting Dick’s lunch bag off the shelf. He cocked an eyebrow. “What are you doing?”

“Packing breakfast to-go!” Danny said, jumping off the counter. Dick’s heart skipped a beat and he lunged forward, but Danny landed before Dick could reach him. He glared at Dick. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing.” He straightened up, playing it cool. He observed what Danny had laid out for breakfast as he started the coffee machine. A banana, two yogurts, and a handful of granola just poured out onto the table. “You know, you absorb more nutrients when you sit down and actually enjoy your food. And we don’t need lunch to-go. Remember, we talked about this? We have to wait for someone to report the crime first.”

“How do you know no one hasn’t yet?” Danny challenged.

“Have they?”

“...No. We could report the crime though,” Danny grumbled, but opened a yogurt cup.

They really couldn’t. If they reported the crime, they’d still have to wait for other officers and CSI before investigating, and that’s even if they were given the case! But more importantly… Dick was the only officer in the department who believed Danny could see ghosts.

Sure, Commissioner Gonzalez believed Danny, but that was just one woman. As much as he appreciated the Commissioner’s work helping get Danny off the streets and processing the paperwork to ensure the boy got recognition as an official BPD consultant… well, Dick knew she had ties to the gangs in town, he just couldn’t prove it. Just because she liked him and Danny doesn’t make her good.

The fact that she promoted him to detective was evidence enough. Dick was an amazing detective—like everyone trained by Batman—but normally you’d need a certain number of years and successful cases for that level of promotion, both of which Dick didn’t have. Hell, he’d only been working as a cop for two years! But Danny was only willing to work with Dick… so Dick became the youngest detective in the city.

The coffee machine sang a little robotic song and Dick placed a Nightwing mug under the spout just in time to catch the stream. As Danny finished his breakfast, Dick shooed him off to go brush his teeth and turned on the TV. He still had thirty minutes before they had to leave for work—

“—taking after his father!” Jack Rider’s voice rang through the apartment. Dick frowned; why was this trash on? “Although I have to say, I don’t think anyone ever expected Richard Grayson to adopt a child of his own!”

Dick froze. What? No, he’d worked so hard to ensure that no one would find out—

A picture flashed on screen of Dick and Danny. Dick recognized it immediately; he’d taken Danny out to eat to celebrate Danny officially becoming his foster child. But that was weeks ago! They’d been sitting on the story for that long?

They didn’t even bother to blur Danny’s face.

“Now, Jack,” the co-host chided, “Let’s not get too hasty. Our source at Bludhaven PD—who will be unnamed to protect their privacy—said it was only a foster, not an adoption.”

Jack waved her concern away. “Yes, a foster. For now. Don’t you remember how long Richard was Brucie’s ward? Sure, the kid might only be a foster for now, but with this family, adoption is always on the table!”

Turning away from the TV, Dick checked their security cameras on his phone. When he’d first moved in, Babs had hacked into all the cameras in the apartment, piggy-backing off their feeds. There, outside the building’s main entrance, were multiple reporters. Some had even gotten into the building, although their aimless wandering told him that their apartment number hadn’t been leaked yet.

“Still, another street kid in the family,” Jack continued to muse. “That’s two now for the Waynes, right? Are they going to take off with an entire orphanage next?”

“Dick?”

He locked eyes with Danny, who gave the TV a worried look. But Danny didn’t get worried; he was a cocky, grumpy brat who’d given Dick a heart attack when he dared a gang member to shoot him in the face. But a news story scared him?

Smart kid. Dick was feeling scared too. So, he made the executive decision.

Dick knelt down to Danny’s height, gently grasping his shoulders. “Okay. Here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to call out of work—”

“But Mrs. Bennett’s murder!” came the immediate protest.

Dick took note of the name, but held up a hand to stop him. “I know, I know. But it’s not safe for us to go to the precinct right now.” Someone at BPD had told the reporters about them. One of his colleagues, pissed that he’d gotten his promotion unfairly? Someone who hated that a little kid solved murders better than them? Or anyone looking to make a quick buck? The possibilities were endless.

He continued, “Commissioner Gonzalez will understand and help us consult with the case from online, okay? We’ll get sent pictures of the crime scene and you can talk to Mrs. Bennett and we’ll consult from Gotham just to be safe.” He had some PTO he could use, right? If not… Gonzalez could just fire him. He’d already known his co-workers were corrupt assholes, but to willingly put a child in danger was a step too far. If Gonzalez wanted to keep Dick—and therefore, Danny—she’d better clean house.

Danny made a face. “Why Gotham?”

“That’s where my family lives! While we wait for the story to die down, I’ll introduce you to my grandfather, Alfred, and my brother Tim, and my friend, Barbra! I’ll show you around to all the fun spots, it’ll be fun! So go get packed, buddy.”

Hesitating in the doorway, Danny said, “They won’t listen to me. The other officers aren’t like you.”

“They will listen to you. I’ll make them,” Dick promised. He’d gathered enough blackmail on his fellow detectives to force the issue, if needs be. He ruffled Danny’s hair. “Don’t worry, Danny. It’ll just be for a week or two and then everything will be back to normal. I promise.”

Danny glared at him, batting his hand away. “I’ll keep you to that promise, old man.”

As Danny retreated to his room—Dick’s former workout room—to pack, Dick went to his own, closing and locking the door behind him. The call to Gonzalez went about as well as he was expecting: first her anger at him taking time off, then his anger about being sold out to the media, then Gonzalez swearing as she found the news online, until finally agreement.

As they talked, Dick methodically packed away his Nightwing gear. After last night, where a slime meta had unceremoniously caked his suit in gunk that would not come out, he had two functioning suits: his back-up and his original that he kept for sentimental value. He packed all three, along with his gear. Maybe Alfred would be able to get the gunk out? But he couldn’t leave his things here. Their location was already compromised. If reporters decided the risk was worth it, they could break into his apartment and turn the whole place upside down looking for a story.

So, Dick had to take the story with him.

With all his gear packed, there was little room for personal belongings, so he did the best he could and only took the important things. His room at the manor still had a few changes of clothes. Fortunately Danny wasn’t a nosy kid, otherwise he’d never be able to get away with carrying his Nightwing gear in a normal duffel bag like this.

Now, the hard part.

The phone rang three times before it was picked up. “Master Richard.” Alfred’s icy tone made him wince. Oh, he already knew. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Hey, Alfie…” Dick rubbed the back of his neck. “I just wanted to say that I decided I can help Bruce on that Red Hood case after all?”

“I see.” No matter how angry Alfred was, he was frighteningly polite. “And shall I prepare a second bedroom for your ward?”

Dick winced. “That would be great, Alfred. Thank you.”

“Then I will see you soon. And please inform the young master that I look forward to meeting him when you both arrive.”

“I’ll tell him. He’s been looking forward to meeting you; I’ve been talking up your cooking for months now.”

“Months?” Oh no. “How kind of you, Master Grayson.” It got worse. Alfred was pissed now. Why did he have to say months? It wasn’t like Dick had intentionally hidden Danny from his family; he was just hiding him from Bruce! He wanted some privacy and to figure things out himself! But now Alfie was mad and suddenly that privacy didn’t seem so important anymore. “Shall I assume you’ll be arriving soon then?”

“In around an hour.” Leaving his room, he checked on Danny. He was trying to back everything he owned into the suitcase Dick had bought him. “Maybe a little longer? I’ll call when we’re ten minutes away.”

“Then I will see you soon, Master Grayson.”

@starlightcat04 @maeashryver @widderwise @darkstarsapocalypse @sisma @luminanightfall @storm-fire98 @amyheart19 @collectingthegoods @redhoneysugarorange @lordfirecat2004 @screechingnoises @meira-3919 @dannyphannypack @satisfactionbroughtmeback @rowanaway-fromthisbs @i-always-say-yea @avelnfear @some-rotten-nest @ark12 @heirxofxtime @akikkobara @blep-23 @skulld3mort-1fan @markus209 @stargirl1331 @onlyhereforthechaos @inth3world @awkwardmaiden @fantasticbluebirdfan @currant-owo @alice-hazelwood @screamingtofillthevoid @crystalqueertea @gaelicholiday @gmkelz11 @mattybook1987-blog @bytheoldwillowtree @apointlessbox @chemical-pepis @ghostface3100 @idontgetpaidenoughforthisshit @bathildaburp @boo-ghosties @bubblemixer @halfalix @lyra689 @dragon-dancer16 @lunadoll36 @mimilikey @hellomygay @frogs-are-pretty-awesom @overtherose @cyrwrites @your-emo-nightmare @lexdamo @roman4517 @a-slytherinish-gryffindor @raginblastocyst @thegatorsgoose @fisticuffsatapplebees @olivethetreebitch @vixen-uchiha @ae-vixrose @joseph557 @kisatamao @gin2212 @thewondersoflebanon @d4ydr34min9 @malice-of-the-sunrise @tiblii @that-awkward-fae-nerd @aph-mable @dolfay @ghostreblogging @wackyattack @writer-extraordinaire @boo-ghosties @coruscateselene @emergentpanda-blog

#dc x dp #dp x dc #dcxdp #dpxdc #de aged danny #constantine jr au #c: danny fenton #c: dick grayson #this took FOREVER #I could not figure out where to start #because the very beginning felt wrong to me?#but i figured out why #because that part i cared about was the drama #the stuff before now is just backstory #backstory i will go into through talking and flashbacks and memories but still backstory #idk if i'll continue posting on tumblr but the ao3 link is right there so...

511 notes · View notes

0ceanic-cosm0s · 6 months ago

Text

To the Hellfire

[Josh Washington x F! Reader]

Story wrote by @sharkology and @xghostcr0wx

Masterlist

You and Josh Washington came to know each other a few months ago, when you both were admitted to the Ocean View mental hospital. Since then, you've kept in contact with each other in hopes to hang out again. You finally get the chance to see him when he invites you to the annual Blackwood winter get away with his friends. Unfortunately, things took a very unexpected turn for this trip.

⚠️WARNINGS⚠️

[nsfw, angst, mental health issues, descriptions of self harm, suicide attempt mentions, spoilers for until dawn,]

!!warnings will be listed on each chapter!!

[0] [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10]

Story is also posted on Wattpad under @schark_

#josh washington x reader #until dawn x reader #until dawn #until dawn smut #josh washington smut #josh washington #me and my friend wrote this

214 notes · View notes

onebadassunicorn · 21 days ago

Text

The Spy Who Loved Me

pairing: Azriel x Reader

content warnings: angst, torture and eventually some very light smut and fluff

word count: 9.9K

Taglist: @motheroffae @rosecobollway @tele86 @anainkandpaper

If you would like to be added to the taglist, please leave me a comment!

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

********

Chapter 14

As your side of the bond became a very faint echo, Azriel sat alone in the quiet of his chambers, the dim glow of the stars outside casting faint light across the walls. The room felt larger than usual, emptier, though he couldn’t tell if it was the space itself or the hollow ache inside his chest that made it seem that way. His wings rested heavily against the back of his chair, his scarred hands clenched into fists on the table in front of him.

But no matter how tightly he tried to hold himself together until dawn, his thoughts unraveled, spiraling back to you.

He exhaled shakily, leaning forward and pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes, as if he could block out the memories that flooded his mind. But they came anyway—vivid, unrelenting, cutting through the haze of anger and regret that had consumed him for weeks.

Rhysand’s words echoed in his head. Every time Eris touched her, she thought of you. She hated it. It made her sick.

The weight of that truth settled heavily on Azriel’s chest, constricting his breath.

He couldn’t stop the images that followed, the ones Rhysand had described with clinical precision—Eris’s hands on you, his mouth on your skin.

The thought of it had been driving Azriel crazy before, but now… now it was worse.

Because he knew that while your body might have been with Eris, your mind had been elsewhere.

It had been with him.

And as he sat there in the suffocating quiet, the memories of your time together at the beach house came rushing back, vivid and undeniable.

He thought of the way you had laughed as you splashed water at him, your hair shimmering in the sunlight, your eyes alight with mischief. The way you had shrieked when he had lunged at you, pulling you into the surf and pinning you beneath him in the gentle waves. Your laughter had turned to soft gasps as he’d leaned down to kiss you, the warmth of your skin contrasting with the coolness of the water.

He thought of the nights spent tangled in the sheets, the moonlight streaming through the windows as the sound of the waves filled the room. He remembered the way you had whispered his name, breathless and reverent, as he made love to you. The way your fingers had traced the scars on his hands and wings, as though you were trying to memorize every part of him. The way you had looked at him, your gaze filled with something he hadn’t dared to name at the time but now knew was love.

It had been real.

For you and for him.

The weight of his cruelty pressed heavily on him now, each word he had spoken to you replaying in his mind like a damning echo.

He had called you a liar, told you that the bond didn’t matter, that you couldn’t be trusted. He had accused you of toying with him, of manipulating him, when all along you had been risking everything for the greater good.

Azriel’s chest tightened as he thought of the way you had looked at him in the dungeon—broken, devastated, as though he had ripped your heart from your chest and crushed it in his hands.

He wasn’t sure if you would ever forgive him for what he had said, for what he had done.

And the thought of losing you, of losing the future he had begun to imagine during those quiet nights at the beach house, was a pain he wasn’t sure he could endure.

He let out a ragged breath, his hands shaking as he braced them against the table. He didn’t want to be here, sitting alone in the darkness, consumed by his mistakes.

He wanted to be with you.

Back at the beach house, walking along the shore with the sand between his toes, listening to your laughter as you teased him for his seriousness.

He wanted to hold you in his arms as the moonlight reflected off the water, to feel your warmth against him as the waves crashed outside.

He wanted to make love to you again, to hear you say his name the way only you could, to remind you—and himself—of what you meant to each other.

And as the hours stretched into the night, he sat there, haunted by the memories of what he had thrown away—and the aching hope that somehow, you would still be alive when he came for you tomorrow.

********

The Autumn Court awoke to chaos.

At the break of dawn, thick plumes of smoke began to rise from the far wings of Beron’s palace, accompanied by the unmistakable roar of flames licking at the ancient stone walls. The fire spread with terrifying speed, fed by carefully placed accelerants that had been set ablaze under Eris’s orders. The inferno consumed the servants’ quarters and storerooms first, drawing the attention of Beron’s men as shouts of alarm echoed through the grand halls. The courtiers were roused from their chambers, rushing to escape the growing flames, and the palace guards scrambled to organize a response.

Eris stood in one of the upper balconies, watching the fire spread with calculated calm. His golden eyes gleamed as he observed the carefully orchestrated chaos, his sharp mind focused on every detail of his plan. He had made sure that the guards stationed near the dungeon had been redirected to assist with containing the fire, leaving only two to guard your cell. He knew Beron would be furious at the distraction, but it didn’t matter. This was your only chance.

He prayed that Azriel was already there, waiting in the shadows.

The path was finally clear.

********

Azriel arrived just as the first rays of sunlight pierced through the dense canopy of the Autumn Court forest. He winnowed directly into the outskirts of the palace grounds, his shadows coiling tightly around him as he assessed his surroundings. The air was thick with smoke, the acrid scent stinging his nose, but he didn’t falter. His focus was razor-sharp, his heart pounding in his chest as he approached the dungeon entrance.

He moved silently through the shadows, his movements a perfect blend of stealth and precision.

The air in the dungeon was thick and suffocating, the acrid scent of blood and damp stone clinging to everything. The faint, distant roar of flames from the distraction above reverberated through the walls, but Azriel paid no attention to it. His entire focus was on the corridor ahead, his steps silent as his shadows writhed around him like restless sentinels. Truth-Teller rested in his hand, its blade glinting in the dim torchlight, ready to strike.

His heart pounded in his chest, a relentless rhythm that mirrored the faint pulse of the bond in his chest. It was still there, fragile and faint, but it was enough to keep him moving. Enough to keep the desperation at bay, though only barely.

Two guards stood outside the heavy iron door to your cell, their attention half-focused on the faint sounds of chaos from above. They were distracted, unprepared—and Azriel capitalized on it. He moved like a shadow, swift and deadly, his blade slicing through the first guard’s throat before the man could even draw his weapon. The second guard managed a strangled gasp before Azriel’s shadows wrapped around him, pinning him in place as Truth-Teller plunged into his chest. The bodies crumpled to the floor, their blood pooling beneath them, but Azriel didn’t spare them a second glance.

He turned to the door, his hands trembling as he worked to unlock it. His shadows slipped through the cracks, manipulating the mechanism with precision, but every second felt like an eternity. He could feel the bond growing weaker with each passing moment, the faint thread that connected you to him stretched impossibly thin.

Finally, the lock clicked open, and Azriel shoved the door wide.

His breath caught in his throat as his hazel eyes landed on you, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop.

You were slumped against the wall, your head tilted to the side, your body limp and lifeless. Deep cuts crisscrossed your arms and legs, blood seeping from the wounds and staining your torn clothing. Your hands hung limply at your sides, your fingers mangled where your nails had been ripped away. Bruises marred your once-radiant skin, dark and cruel, and your chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths.

Azriel froze in the doorway, his entire body trembling as he took in the sight of you. His heart clenched painfully, the weight of your injuries hitting him like a physical blow. You looked so small, so fragile, like a doll that had been carelessly tossed aside and left to break.

“Gods,” he whispered, his voice cracking as he stepped into the cell. “No, no…”

He dropped to his knees beside you, his shadows curling protectively around both of you as he reached for you with shaking hands. His scarred fingers brushed against your cheek, gentle despite the storm of emotions raging inside him. Your skin was cold, far too cold, and he could feel the faint tremor of your weak, uneven breaths against his palm.

“Please,” he murmured, his voice hoarse and trembling. “Please, wake up. I’m here now. I’ve got you. Just open your eyes.”

You didn’t stir. Your head lolled to the side, your honey-colored eyes closed, your body completely unresponsive. The bond pulsed faintly in his chest, a fragile reminder that you were still alive, but the sight of you like this—broken, battered, and so lifeless—shattered something inside him.

Azriel let out a choked sob, his wings drooping as tears blurred his vision. He gathered you into his arms carefully, as if you were made of glass, cradling you against his chest. You were so light, so still, and it made his heart ache with a pain he had never known before.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice breaking as he pressed his forehead to yours. “I should have been here sooner. I should have protected you. Please, don’t leave me.”

The bond throbbed weakly again, and Azriel clung to it desperately, his tears falling onto your bloodied skin. He had seen death countless times, had been the one to deliver it more often than he could count. But this—seeing you like this—was unbearable. It wasn’t just pain; it was a hollow, gaping wound that threatened to consume him entirely.

“I love you,” he murmured, his voice trembling as he kissed your temple. “I love you so much. Please, just hold on. I’m taking you home.”

Azriel stood, holding you close as his wings flared wide. He glanced around the cell one last time, his shadows swirling darkly around him, before he winnowed away.

When Azriel emerged in the open field outside the Night Court, the morning sun casting a golden light over the landscape, he fell to his knees. He held you tightly, his arms wrapped around you as if he could shield you from everything that had hurt you. The bond in his chest flickered faintly, but it was enough to tell him that you were still with him, even if just barely.

“Stay with me, baby” he pleaded, his voice soft but desperate. “You’re going to be okay. I promise. Just hold on.”

Though you didn’t wake, Azriel felt the faintest flutter of your breath against his neck, and it gave him the strength to keep going.

He pressed another kiss to your forehead, his tears still falling as he whispered, “I’m never letting you go. Never again.”

He winnowed once more, the world blurring around him as he carried you toward safety, his heart breaking with every beat.

He would save you.

He would bring you back.

And when you opened your eyes, he would tell you everything.

How much he loved you.

How much he needed you.

And how he would spend the rest of his life making sure he never doubted you again.

********

Azriel winnowed into the heart of the Night Court, cradling your broken body against his chest as if you were the most precious thing in the world. The bond in his chest pulsed faintly, a fragile thread tethering you to life, but it was enough to keep him moving, to keep him from breaking completely. His wings flared behind him as he landed in the House of Wind, his shadows writhing with agitation as he stepped into the grand hall.

The inner circle was already there, their faces pale and tense as they turned to see him. Rhysand’s violet eyes narrowed in concern as he took in the sight of you—limp and bloodied in Azriel’s arms. Feyre let out a soft gasp, her hand flying to her mouth as she took a step forward, her gaze filled with horror.

“Madja,” Feyre said immediately, her voice tight with urgency. “I’ll get her.” She didn’t wait for a response, disappearing into a winnow as Rhysand stepped closer.

Azriel barely acknowledged them. His focus was solely on you, his hazel eyes dark with anguish as he carried you toward the nearest sitting room, where a plush chaise awaited. He laid you down gently, his hands trembling as he adjusted your position to make you as comfortable as possible. You looked so small, so fragile, and the sight of you like this made his heart ache in ways he didn’t think were possible.

“Az,” Cassian said softly, stepping forward. “What happened?”

“It’s my fault,” Azriel said hoarsely, his voice trembling as he knelt beside you. His shadows curled protectively around the two of you, their movements erratic and desperate. “I didn’t get there in time. She… she suffered because of me.”

Rhysand crouched beside him, his violet eyes sharp but filled with understanding. “This isn’t your fault, Azriel,” he said firmly, though his voice was laced with a quiet pain. “You brought her back. She’s alive because of you.”

Azriel shook his head, his jaw clenched as tears slipped silently down his face. “She shouldn’t have been in that position in the first place. I—” His voice broke, and he turned back to you, his scarred fingers brushing against your bloodied cheek with infinite tenderness. “I failed her.”

Before Rhysand could respond, Feyre reappeared with Madja in tow. The healer’s sharp, no-nonsense gaze swept over you, her expression tightening as she took in the extent of your injuries.

“Clear the room,” Madja ordered briskly, her tone leaving no room for argument. “I need space to work.”

Azriel didn’t move.

“Az,” Feyre said gently, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Let her work.”

But Azriel didn’t budge, his eyes locked on your face as if letting you out of his sight for even a moment would make you disappear. “I’m not leaving her,” he said quietly, his voice trembling with resolve. “I’ll stay out of the way, but I’m not leaving.”

Madja glanced at him, her sharp gaze softening slightly as she saw the raw anguish etched into his features. “Fine,” she said briskly. “But do not interfere.”

Azriel nodded, his shoulders sagging with relief as he moved to sit in a nearby chair, his eyes never leaving you. He watched as Madja worked, her hands glowing with faint, golden light as she assessed your injuries. Feyre stood beside him, her hand still on his shoulder, but he barely noticed. His entire world had narrowed to you—your shallow breaths, your too-still body, the faint flicker of the bond that told him you were still hanging on.

Hours passed, the tension in the room thick enough to cut. Azriel sat in silence, his hands gripping the arms of the chair so tightly that his knuckles turned white. Every now and then, Madja would mutter something under her breath, her magic flaring as she worked to stabilize you. But Azriel couldn’t bring himself to ask questions. He didn’t want to know how bad it was. He didn’t want to hear that he might lose you.

When Madja finally stepped back, her expression grim but determined, Azriel was on his feet in an instant.

“She’s alive,” the healer said, her tone cautious but steady. “But her body is weak—dangerously so. It will take time for her to heal. Days, perhaps weeks. She’s unconscious now, and there’s no telling when she’ll wake.”

Azriel nodded stiffly, his throat too tight to speak. He moved back to your side, sinking into the chair as he reached for your hand. Your fingers were cold and bruised, but he held them gently, his shadows curling around both of you like a protective shield.

“She’s strong,” Madja added, her gaze softening as she looked at him. “She’ll fight her way back. But you’ll need to be patient.”

Azriel nodded again, his gaze locked on your face as he whispered, “Thank you.”

Madja left the room, followed by Rhysand, Feyre, and Cassian, though they lingered at the door, their eyes filled with worry. Azriel didn’t acknowledge them. He was already leaning forward, his forehead resting against your hand as he whispered softly.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured, his voice cracking as tears slid down his face. “I’ll never let this happen again.”

********

The bed in the quiet, softly lit room felt far too large and empty as Azriel carefully climbed onto it beside you. His movements were slow and deliberate, as though he feared disturbing you even in your unconscious state. You lay motionless on the plush mattress, surrounded by the scent of lavender and herbs from the healing salves Madja had applied to your battered body. Your face was pale, your honey-colored eyes hidden beneath closed lids, and your chest rose and fell with shallow, uneven breaths.

Azriel settled beside you, his wings tucked close to his back as he gently slid an arm under you, cradling you against his chest. His other hand came to rest lightly over one of your bruised hands, his scarred fingers brushing against yours with infinite tenderness. You were so fragile, so quiet, and it tore at him in ways he couldn’t describe. But the bond still pulsed faintly in his chest, a fragile thread of hope that kept him grounded.

“I’m here,” he murmured, his voice soft and trembling as he pressed his lips to your temple. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He held you close, his body curled protectively around yours, his wings draping lightly over the bed as though they could shield you from the world. His shadows stirred at the edges of the room, subdued but ever-watchful, their movements slow and deliberate. Azriel closed his eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply as he tried to steady the storm of emotions raging inside him.

“I love you,” he whispered, the words falling from his lips like a prayer. “Gods, I love you so much. I should have told you sooner. I should have fought for you, protected you. But I’ll do better. I’ll make it right.”

The room was silent except for the sound of your breathing, and Azriel tightened his hold on you slightly, his head resting gently against yours. He began to speak, his voice low and filled with emotion, as though he were pouring every piece of himself into the words.

“I’ve spent so much of my life in the shadows,” he said quietly, his fingers tracing light patterns along your arm. “I thought that’s where I belonged, that it was all I’d ever have. But then I found you, and… everything changed. You brought light into my world, brighter than anything I ever thought I deserved. And now, I can’t imagine my life without you.”

He swallowed hard, his throat tightening as he continued. “I think about the life we could have together, the life I want with you. I think about waking up next to you every morning, hearing your laugh, seeing your smile. I think about building a home with you—somewhere quiet and safe, where we can just be together.”

Azriel’s voice softened, filled with a tenderness that was almost painful in its rawness. “I want to take you flying, to show you the beauty of the world from above. I want to hold your hand and walk through Velaris, to see the stars reflected in your eyes. I want to give you everything, everything you’ve ever wanted, because you deserve that and so much more.”

He paused, his thumb brushing gently over the back of your hand. “And one day, if you’ll let me, I want to have a family with you. I want to see you happy, to hear the sound of our children’s laughter filling our home. I want to give you a life full of love, full of joy, because you’re my mate, and you’re my everything.”

His voice broke slightly, and he pressed another kiss to your temple, his tears slipping silently onto your skin. “But none of that matters if you don’t wake up,” he whispered, his chest aching with the weight of his words. “I can’t do this without you. I need you, more than I’ve ever needed anything in my life. Please, come back to me. Please.”

Every day, Azriel spoke to you like this. He told you stories of Velaris, of the stars, of his dreams for the future. He whispered his love for you over and over, his voice trembling with emotion as he poured his heart into every word. He told you how he wanted to spend forever with you, how he couldn’t wait to start the rest of his life with his mate.

And every night, he held you close, his arms wrapped protectively around you as he drifted into a restless sleep. His shadows kept watch, ever vigilant, as though they, too, refused to let anything happen to you.

He waited, day after day, for the moment your eyes would finally open.

********

The world came back to you in fragments.

The first thing you felt was warmth. It wrapped around you like a cocoon, chasing away the cold emptiness that had been your constant companion for what felt like an eternity. The softness beneath you was foreign, a sharp contrast to the rough, unforgiving stone of the dungeon floor you had endured for so long. Slowly, sensations began to filter in—soft fabric against your skin, the faint scent of cedar and something darker, richer, that was achingly familiar.

Your lashes fluttered open, the light in the room muted but still enough to make your head swim. The ceiling above you was unfamiliar, high and elegant, painted in soft hues that didn’t belong to the dark dungeon you had last remembered. Panic stirred faintly in your chest, but it was quickly replaced by something else—a steady, comforting weight wrapped around you. An arm, strong and protective, holding you close.

Your gaze shifted, and your breath caught in your throat.

Azriel.

He was lying beside you, his body curled protectively around yours as if shielding you even in sleep. His face was inches from yours, peaceful but etched with exhaustion, the faint shadows beneath his hazel eyes betraying the toll the past weeks had taken on him. His wings draped over the edge of the bed, his arm slung lightly over your waist, and his scarred hand rested just above your hip, his fingers curled slightly as if even in sleep he couldn’t let go of you.

You blinked, unsure if you were dreaming. The bond between you felt faint but steady, a quiet hum in your chest that soothed the ache of all you had endured. Your fingers twitched, your body sluggish as you tried to lift a hand to touch him. It felt unreal—impossible—that he was here, holding you as though you were his entire world.

“Azriel,” you whispered, your voice hoarse and trembling.

At the sound of your voice, his body tensed. His lashes fluttered, and his hazel eyes opened, meeting yours. For a moment, he stared at you as though he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. And then his expression crumpled, the sheer relief and emotion that flooded his face stealing the breath from your lungs.

“You’re awake,” he breathed, his voice breaking as tears filled his eyes. “Gods, you’re awake.”

He sat up slightly, his hand moving to cup your face with a tenderness that made your chest ache. His scarred fingers brushed against your cheek, and his thumb traced the line of your jaw as if to assure himself that you were real.

“I thought I’d lost you,” he whispered, his voice trembling as tears slid down his face. “I thought… I thought I was too late.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but the words caught in your throat as his arms wrapped around you, pulling you against his chest. He held you tightly, his body shaking with quiet sobs as he buried his face in your hair.

“I love you,” he murmured, his voice raw and full of conviction. “I love you so much. I can’t—I can’t live without you. You’re my mate, and I will never let anything happen to you again”

Your own tears began to fall, the weight of his words and the depth of his emotion breaking through the walls you had built to protect yourself. You clung to him, your fingers gripping the soft fabric of his shirt as you pressed your face into his shoulder.

“I thought I was dreaming,” you whispered, your voice muffled against him. “I didn’t think… I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his hazel eyes glistening with tears as he took in every detail of your face. His fingers brushed your hair back from your forehead, his touch gentle and reverent.

“You’re here,” he said softly, as though trying to convince himself. “You’re alive. And I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure you stay safe, that you know how much I love you.”

His words wrapped around you like a balm, easing the raw edges of your soul. You nodded, your throat too tight to speak as fresh tears streamed down your cheeks.

Azriel leaned forward, pressing his forehead against yours, his breath warm and uneven against your lips. “You’re everything to me,” he whispered. “Everything. I don’t care how long it takes—I’ll prove to you that you can trust me, that I’ll never let you go again.”

You closed your eyes, letting his words sink into the deepest parts of you, soothing the cracks and fractures left by the horrors you had endured. The bond between you pulsed faintly, growing steadier with each beat of your heart, as though it, too, was healing.

The silence stretched between you. Finally, you looked up at him, as he wiped your tears with trembling hands. “I don’t know if I can trust you again,” you whispered. “You threw me into a dungeon like I was a criminal. Like I was a piece of trash. How could you think that about your mate?”

Azriel flinched, your words hitting him like a physical blow. He gazed back at you, his shadows swirling tighter around him as he struggled to speak. “I was angry,” he admitted, his voice shaking. “I was jealous, and I let that blind me. I couldn’t see past my own pain, my own rage. And I hurt you—gods, I hurt you so badly.”

You stared at him, your chest heaving as tears streamed down your face. “You broke me, Azriel,” you said, your voice trembling. “You broke me when I was already broken.”

His throat tightened, his voice soft and pleading. “I know. And I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you if you’ll let me. I was a fool. I didn’t deserve you then, and I don’t deserve you now. But I love you, and I will do whatever it takes to make this right.”

He looked at you, his hazel eyes filled with a mixture of sorrow and longing. “Rhys told me everything,” he began, his voice trembling slightly. “Everything he saw in your mind that day.”

You stiffened as your eyes searched his. “And?” you asked quietly.

He took a shaky breath, his gaze never leaving your face. “He told me how you sacrificed everything for Prythian. How you gave yourself to Eris, how you hated every moment of it. How you thought of me—every time.”

Your shoulders tensed, you stared at him. He continued, his voice cracking, “He told me how you were saving yourself for your mate, for someone you loved, and you gave that up because it was the only way to save lives. He told me how much you love me.”

His hazel eyes glistened with unshed tears. “You fell in love with me the moment you saw me,” he said softly. “You wanted me, even when I gave you no reason to. And I… I love you too. I’ve loved you since that week at the beach house, since I held you in my arms and heard you laugh and saw the way you looked at me. I love you, and I can’t—I can’t live without you anymore.”

You searched his face, your heart aching at the raw sincerity in his gaze. Taking a deep breath, you brushed a tear from as it began to slide down his cheek. “Azriel,” you began, your voice trembling, “everything Rhys told you—it’s true.”

His breath hitched, his shadows flickering around him as he watched you intently.

“I fell in love with you the moment I saw you,” you continued, your voice soft but steady. “I didn’t even know who you were, but something about you—it just… it drew me in. And that week at the beach house? It was the best time of my life. I’ve never felt so happy, so free, as I did in your arms.”

His jaw tightened, his hazel eyes filled with a mixture of pain and longing.

“I wanted to give myself to you completely,” you said, your voice breaking slightly. “With my maidenhood intact. It was important to me—to save that for someone I loved. For my mate. For you.” Tears slipped down your cheeks, and he raises his thumbs to wipe them away. “But I couldn’t. I had to do what I did, Azriel. I had to get close to Eris, to gain his trust, to save the countless lives that depended on that information.”

Azriel’s throat worked as he swallowed hard. “I understand,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “I hate what you had to do, but I understand.”

You nodded, your tears falling freely now. “Being in your arms,” you whispered, “is the happiest I’ve ever been. And making love to you—it’s nothing like I’ve ever experienced. Your smile, your touch, your kiss, your heart—they captured me in a way nothing else ever has. And knowing what it felt like for you to hold me, to love me—every time Eris touched me after that, it made me physically ill. I hated it. I hated him. Because it wasn’t you.”

A soft, choked sound escaped Azriel’s throat. His scarred hands cupped your face, his thumbs brushing away your tears as his hazel eyes searched yours, his expression filled with anguish and love. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “For what I said. For what I did. For not believing in you. I didn’t deserve your love then, but I swear to the gods, I will spend the rest of my life earning it if you let me.”

You reached up, your hands resting on his wrists as your tears continued to fall. “I don’t know if I can forget what happened,” you said softly, your voice trembling. “But I do know that I still love you. I never stopped.”

Azriel let out a shaky breath, his wings folding tightly against his back as he leaned his forehead against yours. “I love you,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “And I will do whatever it takes to make this work. To make you happy.”

Your heart ached as you looked at him, the bond between you thrumming faintly, a reminder of the connection you couldn’t ignore. And though the pain lingered, something in his eyes—raw, vulnerable, utterly unguarded—made you realize that he meant every single word.

He loved you.

“I love you,” you whispered, your voice trembling but sure. “I love you so much, Azriel.”

He let out a shaky breath, his lips brushing softly against yours in a kiss so tender it made your chest ache.

And in that moment, surrounded by his warmth and the steady hum of the bond, you knew you were safe.

********

You sat up in bed, your body weak but slowly gaining strength as the days passed. Azriel was perched on the edge of the mattress beside you, his hazel eyes watching you with unwavering attention. The bond between you pulsed steadily now, stronger than it had been in weeks, but you could still feel the remnants of his guilt and anguish woven through it. His scarred hand rested lightly on your knee, a grounding touch that spoke of his need to keep you close, to remind himself that you were here.

The warmth of his presence was comforting, but questions lingered in your mind, questions you had been too weak to ask when you first woke. Now, with the clarity of thought returning, you turned to him, your voice soft but steady.

“Azriel,” you began, your honey-colored eyes meeting his. “What happened in Hybern? And how… how did I get out of the dungeon?”

Azriel’s jaw tightened at the mention of the dungeon, a shadow passing over his face. He took a deep breath, his wings shifting slightly behind him as he began to speak. “Hybern’s forces were mobilizing, just as we feared. Beron had aligned himself with them, and Tamlin’s court had joined their cause. Eris... Eris knew his father’s plans, knew the invasion was imminent, but he was waiting for the right moment to act.”

You listened intently, your heart pounding as he continued.

“Eris… helped me,” Azriel admitted, his voice low but steady. “He sent word to Rhysand about where you were being held, about the distraction he would create to give me time to get you out. He risked a lot to ensure we had a chance to save you.”

“Why would Eris do that?” you asked, your brow furrowing. “Why would he help you after everything?”

Azriel hesitated, his gaze dropping to your hands, which he gently held in his own. “Because it served his interests. And because he needed the support of the other courts to take down his father. Eris followed through with his plan—he killed Beron the same day I got you out. He’s now the High Lord of Autumn and has allied himself with the courts that remain loyal to Prythian’s survival. Rhysand and Tarquin are among those counseling him as he tries to stabilize his court.”

Your breath hitched at the mention of Beron’s death, and you couldn’t help but ask, “He’s… gone? Beron is dead?”

Azriel nodded, his expression grim. “Yes. Eris didn’t waste any time. He knew the longer Beron remained in power, the more damage he could do. He struck swiftly, using the chaos of the distraction as cover.”

The weight of the news settled over you, and you leaned back against the pillows, exhaling shakily. “And you… you rescued me during all of that.”

“I did,” Azriel said softly, his voice heavy with emotion. “But not soon enough. I should have gotten to you faster. I should have never doubted you in the first place. What happened to you… it’s my fault. I’m so sorry.”

You reached out, placing a trembling hand over his. “Azriel, you saved me. That’s what matters.”

He shook his head, tears glistening in his eyes. “You were so close to death when I found you. Seeing you like that… it broke me. I’ll never doubt you again. Never.”

The sincerity in his voice, the raw vulnerability in his expression, made your chest ache. You squeezed his hand, offering what comfort you could, but there was something else you needed to share—something that had been lingering in the back of your mind since you’d woken.

“Azriel,” you began hesitantly, “while I was unconscious, I… I had these dreams. They felt so real, like memories of a life I wanted but couldn’t have.”

His brow furrowed, his attention locked on you as you continued. “I dreamed of us. Of a life together. Of waking up next to you every morning, of walking through Velaris hand in hand. I dreamed of us building a home, raising a family, of you flying me above the clouds to show me the stars. It was beautiful, and it felt so real.”

Azriel’s breath caught, his hazel eyes widening as he stared at you. His hand tightened around yours as tears began to spill down his cheeks, his shoulders shaking slightly. “Those weren’t just dreams,” he said hoarsely, his voice trembling with emotion. “Those were the words I whispered to you while you were unconscious.”

Your eyes widened, and your breath hitched as he continued, his tears falling freely now. “Every day, I sat by your side. Every night, I held you and told you about the life I wanted with you. I told you how much I love you, how I want to spend forever with you. I talked about the family we could have, the places I’d take you, the life we could build together. I didn’t know if you could hear me, but I couldn’t stop. It was all I had to hold onto.”

Tears blurred your vision as the realization sank in. “I heard you,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “I didn’t know it was real, but I heard you. I saw it all, Azriel. The life you described… it was everything I wanted.”

Azriel let out a soft, broken sob, pulling you into his arms as he buried his face in your hair. “I thought I’d lost you,” he murmured, his voice trembling. “But you came back to me. And I swear, I’ll make that life real. Every dream you had, every word I whispered—it’ll all be ours.”

“How would this even work?” you asked softly, your voice trembling slightly. “Between the two of us? You’re a spymaster for the Night Court, and I’m—” You hesitated, your throat tightening. “I’m a spy for the Summer Court. Our lives are built on secrets and lies. How do we make something real out of that?”

Azriel exhaled shakily, his wings shifting slightly behind him. “I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice low and rough. “But I do know that I can’t live without you. We’ll find a way. Whatever it takes, we’ll find a way.”

“How do we move on from here?” you asked softly, your voice trembling with vulnerability. “With both of us being spies? How do we make this work?”

Azriel’s hands stayed on your face, his thumbs brushing your cheeks as he exhaled deeply. “The only way this works,” he said, his voice steady but low, “is if we’re completely honest with each other. No secrets, no lies. Not when it comes to missions or anything else. We need to trust each other fully.”

You nodded slowly, your hands resting on his wrists. “And the boundaries?” you asked cautiously.

“We have to respect them,” Azriel replied, his hazel eyes steady. “Your missions, your choices—I won’t stand in the way of them, and I won’t let my emotions interfere. But that has to go both ways. We need to communicate and make decisions together, especially when it comes to dangerous assignments.”

You felt the weight of his words, the sincerity in his tone. It wasn’t going to be easy, but you knew he was right. Trust and honesty would be the foundation of whatever came next.

“There’s more,” Azriel said hesitantly, his gaze softening. “Rhys has a proposal for you. He’s spoken with Tarquin, and they’ve reached an agreement.”

Your brows furrowed slightly, confusion flashing in your eyes. “An agreement?”

Azriel nodded. “Rhys wants you to take up a position in the Night Court. You would work for both courts—Summer and Night—as part of the alliance. Tarquin has agreed to the terms, but it means you’d be working closely with me.”

Your breath caught, and you tilted your head slightly. “Working with you?”

“Yes,” he said, his tone softening further. “Rhys and Tarquin agreed that for the most dangerous missions, you and I would work as partners. We’d handle them together, side by side. For less dangerous assignments, you’d go solo, operating under the direction of either Tarquin or Rhysand, depending on the mission.”

You blinked, your mind racing as you tried to process what he was saying. “Why would Tarquin agree to this?”

Azriel’s lips curved into a faint smile, a shadow of his usual stoic demeanor. “Because he trusts you, and he knows how valuable you are to him—and to Prythian. He also knows the value of an alliance with the Night Court, and he sees the logic in sharing resources. You’d still be loyal to him, but you’d also be part of something bigger.”

You swallowed hard, your chest tightening as the implications sank in. “So, I’d be splitting my time between the two courts? Working with you, with Rhysand, with Tarquin?”

“Yes,” Azriel said, his gaze steady. “And it means we’ll have to be more careful, more intentional. But it also means we won’t have to hide from each other anymore. We’ll be in this together.”

The words hit you like a wave, a mixture of relief and apprehension washing over you. You had spent so long operating alone, hiding your truths and your vulnerabilities, that the idea of working alongside Azriel—of being honest and open with him—felt both terrifying and liberating.

“Do you want this?” you asked softly, your voice trembling. “Do you want me to work with you?”

Azriel’s gaze softened, his hazel eyes filled with a quiet intensity. “I want you with me,” he said simply. “In whatever way I can have you. I want to protect you, to stand beside you. And I want to earn back the trust I broke. If this is a way to do that, then yes, I want it.”

Your heart ached at his words, the sincerity in his voice wrapping around you like a warm embrace. You nodded slowly, your hands tightening slightly on his wrists. “Okay,” you said softly. “I’ll do it. I’ll work with you. But you have to promise me something.”

“Anything,” Azriel said instantly, his voice firm.

“Promise me you won’t let your emotions cloud your judgment,” you said, your gaze steady. “Promise me that you’ll trust me, even when it’s hard. And promise me that you’ll respect my choices, just as I’ll respect yours.”

“I promise,” Azriel said without hesitation, his voice filled with conviction. “And I’ll prove it to you, every day.”

Azriel’s hands framed your face, his calloused thumbs brushing away the lingering tears on your cheeks as he leaned in closer. His hazel eyes, filled with love and longing, searched yours as though memorizing every detail.

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion. “So very much. More than I ever thought I could love anyone.”

Your breath hitched, the bond between you thrumming with a warm, steady hum that echoed the truth of his words. You lifted your hands to his face, your fingers tracing the strong lines of his jaw, the curve of his cheekbones. “I love you too,” you whispered, your voice soft but steady. “I’ve loved you since the moment I saw you.”

Azriel’s breath hitched, his wings flaring slightly behind him as he pulled you closer. He kissed you then, his lips gentle at first, reverent, as though he was savoring the moment. But as the kiss deepened, as your hands slid into his hair and his arms tightened around you, it became something more—something raw and unrestrained.

His hands roamed over your body, his touch firm yet tender, igniting every nerve as he slipped his fingers under the hem of your dress. His lips moved from your mouth to your jaw, then to the sensitive spot just below your ear, making you gasp. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured against your skin, his voice rough with desire. “I’ve missed you so much.”

You couldn’t hold back the soft moan that escaped you as his lips traveled lower, his hands slowly peeling your dress from your body. You mirrored his urgency, your fingers working to undo the clasps of his tunic, your movements clumsy in your desperation to feel his skin against yours.

Azriel pulled back for a moment, his gaze raking over you with a mixture of awe and hunger. “Perfect,” he whispered, his voice filled with reverence. “You’re absolutely perfect.”

Your hands found their way to his chest, tracing the planes of muscle as you pushed his tunic off his shoulders. Your fingers fumbled with the ties of his pants, driven by the need to remove the last barrier between you. He stepped out of them quickly, and when he stood before you, completely bare, your breath caught at the sight of him.

He scooped you up effortlessly, his wings spreading slightly for balance as he laid you down on the bed. Azriel hovered over you, his wings framing you both like a protective cocoon. He kissed you again, his lips passionate and hungry, his hands exploring every inch of your body as if committing it to memory.

When he finally joined with you, the bond between you flared, a bright, golden light that filled every corner of your being. You gasped, your hands clutching at his shoulders as he moved with you, his rhythm slow and deliberate, each movement a declaration of his love.

“You’re mine,” he whispered against your lips, his voice raw and filled with emotion. “And I’m yours. Always.”

You moaned his name, your body arching into his, your fingers threading through his hair as he kissed you over and over again. The world outside faded away, leaving only the two of you tangled together, the bond between you glowing brighter with every touch, every whispered word.

He loved you thoroughly, reverently, his movements growing more urgent as the night wore on. And when you finally reached your peak together, his wings flared wide, his head dropping to the crook of your neck as he whispered your name like a prayer.

The hours passed in a blur of kisses and soft touches, of whispered confessions and promises. He made love to you again and again, his passion for you seemingly endless. And when sleep finally claimed you both in the early hours of the morning, you felt a peace you hadn’t known in years.

When you stirred awake, the first rays of sunlight filtering into the room, you felt Azriel’s warm body pressed against yours, his arms wrapped tightly around you. Before you could fully open your eyes, he kissed your shoulder, his lips brushing softly against your skin.

“Good morning,” he murmured, his voice low and husky.

You smiled, turning to face him, your heart swelling at the sight of his messy hair and the tenderness in his eyes. “Good morning.”

He didn’t give you a chance to say more before he kissed you again, his lips insistent as his hands began to wander. “I’m not done with you yet,” he whispered against your mouth, his voice filled with desire.

You laughed softly, your fingers tracing the curve of his jaw. “Then don’t stop,” you whispered back.

And as the morning sun bathed the room in golden light, Azriel made love to you all over again, the bond between you stronger than ever, unbreakable.

In that moment, you knew that no matter how broken you felt, no matter what you had endured, you would heal.

Because Azriel was there, and with him, you could rebuild.

Together.

********

The days of healing passed slowly but steadily, and with Azriel’s unwavering presence, you began to feel like yourself again. The bruises had faded, the deep cuts had turned to faint scars, and even your fingernails were almost fully regrown. Though your body was mending, the memories of the torture and the dungeon still lingered in the back of your mind, a shadow that clung to you. But Azriel’s love—his presence, his whispered reassurances—became a balm that softened the ache.

One evening, as you sat by the fire in the sitting room of the House of Wind, wrapped in a soft blanket with Azriel at your side, you turned to him. His scarred hand rested on your knee, and his hazel eyes, warm and steady, met yours the moment you shifted.

“I’ve been thinking,” you began softly, your voice hesitant but resolute. “I’d like to go to Autumn. To see Eris. To thank him for everything he did.”

Azriel’s brows furrowed slightly, his wings tensing at the suggestion. “You want to go back to Autumn?” he asked, his voice low and cautious.

“Yes,” you said, holding his gaze. “I know how dangerous it was for him to help me, to defy Beron. Without him, I wouldn’t be alive. I owe him my gratitude.”

Azriel’s lips pressed into a thin line, his jaw tightening as he considered your words. The idea of you stepping foot back in Autumn made his shadows writhe uneasily, and the thought of leaving you unprotected there was unthinkable. But he could see the determination in your eyes, the resolve that he had always admired in you.

“If you go,” he said finally, his voice firm but gentle, “I’m coming with you. I’m not letting you out of my sight. Not yet.”

Relief flooded through you, and you nodded, reaching for his hand and squeezing it tightly. “I wouldn’t want to go without you.”

********

The cool, crisp air of the Autumn Court was laced with the vibrant hues of the season. Golden leaves fluttered gently to the ground as you and Azriel appeared on the palace grounds, his arm firmly wrapped around your waist. Though you were here to thank Eris, the weight of your last experience in Autumn lingered faintly in your chest. Azriel’s presence, steady and protective, helped you keep your focus as his shadows curled around you, restless but comforting.

Eris stood at the edge of the courtyard, waiting for your arrival. His golden-red hair caught the sunlight, and his amber eyes flicked over the both of you with an unreadable expression. The sharp angles of his face softened momentarily when his gaze settled on you, clearly taking note of your healed appearance. Relief flickered across his face, though he quickly masked it with his usual cool demeanor.

“You look well,” Eris remarked, his voice smooth, though there was a hint of genuine warmth in his tone. “Far better than when I last saw you.”

You stepped forward, offering a small but sincere smile. “Thanks to you,” you said, your voice steady but filled with gratitude. “I came to thank you, Eris. For everything you did to save me. You risked so much to help, and I’ll never forget that.”

Eris inclined his head slightly, his lips curving into a faint smile. “It was a calculated risk,” he said casually. “But one I deemed worth taking. Your survival benefits more than just me.”

“Still,” you pressed, holding his gaze, “I’m grateful.”

Eris studied you for a long moment, his amber eyes flickering with something contemplative. Then, as though deciding something, he let out a quiet sigh. “You know,” he began, his tone shifting to something more personal, “I once imagined you beside me on the throne. As my High Lady.”

The words sent a ripple of tension through the air. Azriel stiffened beside you, his wings twitching slightly, and his shadows flared in response. You glanced at him, catching the flicker of irritation in his hazel eyes before turning back to Eris, stunned by his admission.

“I…” you began, your voice faltering. “I didn’t know.”

Eris’s gaze softened, and he stepped closer, though he kept a respectful distance. “You’re remarkable,” he said plainly, his voice smooth but sincere. “Intelligent, resilient, cunning. You have everything a ruler needs to survive in a court like this. And more than that…” He hesitated for the briefest moment before continuing. “I could see myself falling in love with you. We’re alike in many ways, you and I. Both of us have had to endure, to fight to survive in worlds that seek to crush us.”

Azriel’s hand on your waist tightened slightly, and his wings flared just enough to make his presence known. His shadows coiled darker and closer, a tangible representation of the irritation simmering just beneath his carefully composed exterior.

“I thought we could rule this court together,” Eris continued, his gaze flickering to Azriel briefly before returning to you. “Rebuild it, make it stronger. But I see now that your heart belongs elsewhere.”

Azriel’s shadows writhed violently, and his hazel eyes burned with a cold fury as he spoke, his tone sharp. “Her heart was never yours to claim, Eris.”

Eris’s lips quirked into a faint smirk, clearly enjoying Azriel’s reaction, though his tone remained smooth. “Relax, Shadowsinger. I’m merely acknowledging the truth.”

Azriel’s wings shifted again, and you placed a hand gently on his chest, silently urging him to remain calm. “Thank you, Eris,” you said firmly, your voice steady. “For everything. But my place isn’t here. My place is elsewhere.”

Eris studied you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he nodded slowly, the faintest hint of regret flickering across his face. “I know,” he said quietly. “But should you ever change your mind, the offer stands.”

Azriel stiffened again, his jaw tightening as his shadows snapped at his feet like restless flames. “She won’t,” he said, his tone low and final.

Eris merely smiled faintly, clearly unbothered by Azriel’s ire. “I’ll take your word for it,” he said lightly, though his gaze lingered on you for a moment longer.

You inclined your head politely, though your heart was firm in its decision. Your place was with Azriel, in the Night Court, where you had found love, purpose, and the life you wanted to build.

As you turned to leave, Azriel’s arm slipped around your waist once more, his touch grounding and protective. He winnowed you both away without another word, leaving Eris behind in the golden light of the Autumn Court.

********

As the familiar warmth of the Night Court enveloped you both, Azriel guided you silently into the sitting room of the House of Wind. His hand lingered at your waist, steady but tense, and his shadows coiled tightly around his legs as if they shared his frustration. The journey to the Autumn Court had gone as smoothly as it could have, but the weight of Eris’s words lingered heavily in the air between you and Azriel.

You turned to him, your honey-colored eyes soft as you gently placed your hands on his chest. “Azriel,” you said quietly, searching his face. “What’s wrong?”

His hazel eyes met yours, swirling with a storm of emotions—frustration, jealousy, and something deeper, raw and unrelenting. “Eris,” he said tightly, his voice low and simmering with irritation. “The way he spoke to you. What he said about falling in love with you. About wanting you beside him on the throne.”

You let out a quiet sigh, cupping his face gently in your hands. His skin was warm beneath your touch, but his jaw was taut, his tension radiating through every part of him. “Azriel,” you said firmly, your voice steady but soft. “Eris may have seen something in me, but that’s all it was—his vision of what could have been. My heart was never his to claim. It has always belonged to you.”

Azriel’s hands came up to cover yours, his scarred fingers trembling slightly as he closed his eyes and exhaled deeply. “You’re mine,” he murmured, his voice low but filled with unshakable conviction. His hazel eyes opened, locking onto yours as he repeated, “You are mine. My mate. My forever.”

A shiver ran through you at the possessiveness in his tone, but it wasn’t fear you felt—it was reassurance, a fierce love that echoed your own. You stepped closer, tilting your face toward his as you whispered, “Nothing and no one could ever take me away from you again. You’re my mate, Azriel. My forever. And I’m yours—completely, utterly, forever.”

The tension in his shoulders eased slightly, but the intensity in his gaze didn’t waver. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you flush against his chest as his wings curved around you protectively, cocooning you both in their shadowed warmth. His hands slid up your back, anchoring you to him as he pressed his forehead to yours.

“I’ve spent so many nights worrying,” he murmured, his voice trembling slightly. “Thinking of all the ways I could have lost you. That someone else could have claimed you. That Beron could have taken you from me permanently. I can’t go through that again. I won’t.”

“You won’t have to,” you whispered, your hands sliding down to rest on his chest. “I’m here. I’m alive. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Azriel’s lips pressed to yours in a kiss that was both tender and consuming, a silent promise that said more than words ever could. His hands held you close, as if letting go might mean losing you all over again. The bond between you pulsed strongly now, steady and unyielding, a lifeline that tethered your souls together.

When he pulled back, his hazel eyes were glistening with emotion, the vulnerability in them breaking something inside you. “I love you,” he said softly, his voice cracking with the weight of his words. “I’ll spend the rest of my life proving that to you. Proving that I’ll never let anyone or anything come between us.”

You smiled, tears welling in your eyes as you rested your forehead against his. “I love you too, Azriel. More than anything. And nothing—no one—will ever change that.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, Azriel’s expression softened completely. The shadows around him stilled, their restless movements calming as he let out a slow, steady breath. He pressed another kiss to your forehead, his wings tightening around you as he held you in silence for a long moment.

“You’re mine,” he whispered again, as if reaffirming it to himself. “And I am yours. Forever.”

And as you stood there, wrapped in his arms, you knew that nothing in the world could ever take this away from you.

Not Eris, not the trials of the past, not even the darkness you both had endured.

You were his, and he was yours—and that was all that mattered.

Forever.

The end.

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel x reader #azriel fanfic #azriel fanfiction #azriel #azriel x you #azriel angst #azriel fluff #azriel fic #azriel x y/n #azriel x female!reader

111 notes · View notes

baronessvonglitter · 27 days ago

Text

Law of Attraction ~ Chapter 8

Rom Com AU divorce laywer!Dave York x fem!Reader (featuring private investigator!Tim Rockford and plumber!Joel Miller)

Word count: 4,653

Summary: Secrets are unearthed at the infamous Starlight Motel. Are you and Dave strong enough to face them?

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Explicit for smut and allusions to smut. Fluff. Unprotected piv. Nipple play. Fingering. Mentions of infidelity. Catching cheaters in the act. Mild violence/blood/injury. A bit of the male gaze for laughs. Secret m/m relationship. References to embezzlement and crime. Reader wears a dress/skirt. No use of y/n.

Author's note: at the end

Series Masterlist

Maybe it's the caveman instinct in him, but after hearing that you've only ever been with Javier before him, Dave makes it his priority to bring you pleasure in every way possible. After leaving your store, you make your way to your place, getting lost in each other all over again.

He lives for the breathy way you say his name as he thrusts into you, the sweet sound of your gasps when he angles your hips just so to reach the hidden spot inside you.

There's not much sleep to be had that night, your eyes finally closing as the dawn hours approach. It just feels right to wake up next to you, to watch the late morning light dance across your skin, glinting in your hair.

"Have I told you how handsome you are?"

Resting his head in your lap, his face lights up at your words. He can get used to hearing compliments like this, especially from you.

"You're only saying that because you like my work down here," his large hand splays across your thighs as he winks.

"Maybe I am a little biased," you smile back.

Maple looks up from her corner of the room, eyeing you and crying for attention until you pat the bed, inviting her up to sit with you.

Scratching Maple's little ears, Dave looks like he belongs here. Not necessarily the house itself, with just the one bedroom, but he belongs in your life, of that you're sure. You can easily envision a home with him, weekends with the girls, movie nights and board games. Even if you never have your own kids, you know you'd be a good mom to Dave's girls.

That evening you start on a late dinner, his hands wrapped around you as you stand at the stove over a simmering pot, giggling as he buries his nose in the crook of your neck. You could get used to simple domesticity with him.

A simple dinner of pasta, sauteed chicken and spinach, paired with your favorite wine, is the perfect ending to the day. As the violet light filters through the kitchen window you fill up the dishwasher, cleaning the remains of the day as Dave sneaks up behind you, planting a kiss on the back of your neck.

Smiling, you turn slowly and envelop him in an embrace, kissing him full on the lips, wanting him again, wanting him always.

Dave groans into the kiss, pressing his body more firmly against yours. He lifts you up onto the counter and steps between your legs, his hands roaming under your shirt, desperate for you again. His lips trail across your throat, his voice rough with longing. "I can't wait any longer.. I need you right now."

"Mmm.. Dave.. fuck me right here.."

He doesn't need to be told twice. He hooks his fingers into the waistband of your underwear and practically tears them off. Then he pulls your shirt off over your head, leaving you in just your bra. He nips at your neck again as he deftly unclasps your bra, his actions led by the primal desire to remind you that you're his.

"How'd you do that so fast?" you chuckle.

He smirks, pulling your bra away to reveal you, now gloriously naked before him. "I'm just good with my hands, baby."

"I know.."

As much as a hurry he was in to get you naked, he slows it down, taking a moment to revel in your beauty, thankful to whatever fate brought you together. He caresses your breasts, sucking each nipple and lightly tweaking each one in turn.

"Taste so sweet," he murmurs, cupping each one in his large palm as he lifts your skirt up. "And so fucking wet.."

His fingers delve inside you as his other hand pulls down his pants, releasing his throbbing hardness. It's like he can't get enough of you.

Pulling you to the counter edge, flush with his own body, he rolls his hips against yours, the friction against his cock almost enough to make him come right then. Your desperate whimpers remind him to take control, to make this good for you. Your pleasure is his pleasure. "Tell me what you want, baby," he growls, low and rough in your ear.

A shiver runs through you. You love this side of him. "Want you inside me.."

He guides himself to your entrance, his blood thrumming like a low, primal drumbeat as he teases your folds, delighting in each hitch of your breath, watching how your core quivers in sweet anticipation. "Tell me you want me."

"I want you, Dave," you gasp, "more than I've ever wanted anyone."

He fights the urge to slam his whole length into you, instead feeding it into you slowly, watching himself disappear into your cunt. The sound you make is the sweetest music, your head tipped forward, and he realizes you're watching with him, needing to see the true connection of your bodies.

"Wait, I want to feel you," you whisper.

He freezes, every muscle tense as he holds back. Your warmth surrounds him, taking every ounce of willpower he has not to start moving again. He leans in, his forehead resting on your shoulder. "Y-yeah, baby. I'm right here," his voice comes out strained and rough.

"Ravish me," you whisper, and he growls, all restraint gone. He captures your lips in a fierce, hungry kiss, his hips finally moving against yours, claiming you in every way possible.

One of your hands pulls his hair while the other helps prop you up against the counter. His head ducks down, lips finding your neck, his tongue and teeth teasing your skin, leaving marks in their wake. Perched on the edge of the counter, thighs open wide, he thrusts into you as if his life depends on it. Hearing your desperate cries urges him on, holding back just enough, because even though he's had you several times already, you could still get him to come in a few strokes, just like he's a damn teenager all over again.

"Rub that sweet little clit for me," he whispers, his hands gripping the globes of your ass as he feels you close to the edge, your tight channel quivering around him. "You're almost there, baby. I'm gonna get you there," he grunts, keeping the same pace until your thighs lock around him in an effort to fuck yourself right on him. "That's it, that's it, fucking use me," he groans, letting you work him until you scream his name, your pussy milking him into his own orgasm. Filling you up is officiallly his favorite thing to do, and he stays lodged within you as long as he can to keep close to you.

He pulls you against him, his body still shuddering with the aftershocks of his climax, fingers tangling in your soft locks. "You undo me, baby.."

"You're perfect," you whisper.

"I'm far from perfect, darling, but I appreciate the sentiment." He presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. "You, on the other hand.."

His phone rings and he lets out a frustrated sigh, taking a quick moment to answer Tim's call. He reluctantly untangles himself from you. "You've got awful timing, you know that, Rockford?"

"That's the nicest thing anyone's said about me this week," Tim says stoically. "I'm just calling to make sure you're still coming to the motel tonight to confront Carol and Mr. Miller."

Dave doesn't like letting Joel the unscrupulous plumber being referred to as "Mister" as if he deserves the least amount of respect. He groans, knowing he has to get back to reality to deal with his wife. "Yeah, I'll be there tonight." He takes down the address and agrees to meet Tim there.

You watch as he ends the call. "So you're really going?"

"Believe me when I say I'd rather spend all night here with you," he says, cupping your chin. "But I need to confront her and get this over with."

You put your hand on his. "Do you want me to come with you?"

"You'd do that?"

"Of course.. I'd do anything for you, Dave.."

He brings you hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. "Thank you, baby. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Whatever happens tonight, we'll face it together."

Molly and Alice are spending the night at their friend's house, leaving Carol free to meet with Joel, and Dave free to catch them in the act.

Neither of you speak much as you drive up to the Starlight Motel, a typical charge-by-the-hour place to house people who want their dealings kept secret. Red neon advertises the name, above a sign heralding free HBO and adult channels.

Dave's car pulls up right alongside Tim's nondescript black vehicle. Anticipation is thick in the air between you.

"Are you nervous?" you ask as Dave turns off the engine. You're both sitting in the darkened car.

"Yeah," he answers, sighing, a sense of dread deep in the pit of his stomach. "I don't know how I'm going to feel about seeing her with someone else.."

You rub his arm soothingly, wishing you could kiss away all his worries and they'd magically go away. "She never deserved you, Dave."

"I know." When he looks at you, gratitude and pain are etched into the tired lines around his eyes. "It's still hard, you know? To think she's willingly throwing away years of our marriage-"

Tim knocks on the driver's side window, interrupting. "Hey, they're in room 103. They just went in about twenty minutes ago. You still want to do this, Mr. York?"

Dave takes a deep breath, steeling himself for what he's about to encounter. He's used to rehearsing what he's going to say before a trial or a mediation, but now that the moment is about him, he's relying on pure instinct.

"Yeah. I need to do this. Let's go."

As much as you want to be at Dave's side, Tim convinces you it's best for you to stay out of the way, citing that it wouldn't look well for Dave to confront his cheating wife while his girlfriend is with him.

Leaving you back at the car, the lawyer and the PI make their way to the motel room. "You and her ever.. date?" Dave asks Tim, a random question to quell the rising apprehension in his chest.

Tim blushes, or maybe it's the neon sign illuminating his face. "No, it was never like that with us. Strictly business," he assures Dave. "Besides, I'm.. kind of seeing someone."

"Oh. That's great," Dave says encouragingly, a little bit of relief going through him before they approach room 103.

The sounds coming from within set a stab of jealousy and anger flare up in Dave's gut. A man and woman, moaning, gasping, cursing.

"You're sure there in this room?" Dave asks, suddenly frozen to the spot.

They're really going at it..

"This is the one," Tim says. "Do you want to knock or should I?" A gun is in his holster at his side, a fact he keeps hidden from Dave, not wanting to alarm him. Sometimes even an easy thing like this can go badly, especially where adultery is involved.

Dave nods that he'll do it, takes a deep breath and attempts to shut out the obscene noises coming from within. He raises his hand and raps firmly on the door.

The sounds stop and there's a shuffling, like blankets tossed aside. A man opens the door with a sheet around his waist. His salt-and-pepper hair is slicked back, deep-set brown eyes narrowed in annoyance at being interrupted. "What the hell do you want?" he asks in a deep, gravelly, Texan accent.

Dave freezes, the sight of this man who Carol has risked everything to meet up with and spend time with, is like a punch in the gut. Joel Miller. But he forces himself to remain composed, his heart thudding in his chest and his voice cold and measured.

"I'm looking for my wife."

There's a gasp from within as Carol hides under the duvet. Dave's gaze hardens. "I know she's in there, now let me in."

He shoves past Joel, with Tim pushing the door open before it can be closed on him.

Dave almost pities his wife in this moment, watching her try to hide as if he really wouldn't find her. "You were never very good at being subtle, were you, Carol?"

She groans, sitting up and covering herself. She casts an irked glance at Tim, who's explaining the situation to Joel, keeping him at arm's length so Dave can speak with her.

"I can explain," she says, wincing when Dave gives a bitter scoff.

"Can you? Can you really? I'm standing in a room where you were just caught in bed with another man, and you think you can explain this away?"

"You pushed me towards this!" she fights back. "You were always working late, or out of town. I wanted something for myself!"

Dave can hardly believe what he's hearing. He always thought Carol to be smarter than this, but here she is, using the lamest excuse in the book. "You wanted something for yourself, so you decided to cheat on me instead of talking to me about how unhappy you were? Or leaving me, or even just asking for a divorce?" His jaw tightens in anger and disbelief.

"I don't want a damn divorce, Dave. I just want to be with Joel now and then, okay?"

This must be a nightmare. It has to be a nightmare he'll wake up from, only to find you there next to him in bed, slumbering peacefully as he plants a good morning kiss on your shoulder.

You are the only reason he's not completely falling apart at the seams right now.

"Is that how little you think of me?" he asks. "You love me just enough to keep me around, for what? You don't need my money, you barely pay attention to the kids. Just go off with this asshole, forget all about us, and live whatever goddamn fantasy you have built up in that head of yours."

"Dave-"

He whips around to address Joel, who's been letting the scene play out, amused.

"Did you know she was married? Did she even bother to tell you?"

Joel smirks, and Dave wants to punch him right on the jaw. "Look, buddy, she came onto me like a cat in heat. Would you turn down free pussy like that?"

Carol's hiding her face in her hands while Dave's own hands ball up into fists, Tim's voice barely registering in his ears, cautioning him to stay cool as he gets between him and Joel.

Heated words are exchanged, with Tim trying to get both men to calm down, shouting over both of them.

"What are you going to do now?" Carol asks, her voice small, humbled for once.

"You really want to know what I'm gonna do now? I'm gonna end this farce of a marriage, for starters. And I'm gonna expose you to our friends and family so they all know the kind of person you really are."

"Dave," she gasps, "you wouldn't!"

He's unrepentant, every word that comes out of his mouth more than she even deserves. If he was a worse person he'd leave without telling her. He'd pack up and take the girls away. "Don't tell me what I would and wouldn't do. Obviously we don't know each other that well anymore."

For the first time Carol looks truly contrite, but Dave steels himself against her manipulative ways. "At least let me clean up and we can talk about this. Please."

He nods begrudgingly, turning away as she goes to the bathroom. Soon the shower is heard running.

"You can have her," Dave tells Joel. "She's not my wife anymore. I guess she never was."

Joel scoffs. "She ain't worth the trouble. Crazy bitch thinks I'm in love with her. Maybe you take her," Joel tells Tim.

The PI looks disgusted. "Is that how you usually talk about women? I should've let Dave beat the shit out of you. Maybe then you'd have some sense knocked into you."

"Don't fucking talk about her that way," Dave agrees, casting Joel a repulsed glance. "Is it too late for me to beat the shit out of him?" he asks Tim.

"As if you fuckin' could," Joel sneers.

"Big talk from someone wearing a bedsheet around his waist," Tim rolls his eyes. "She's been in there a long time, hasn't she?"

Both Dave and Joel hurry to the restroom, finding it unlocked, the shower running with no one in it.

"She's gone. She left through the fucking window," Dave says, pushing past Joel and going around the side of the building.

Tim follows as Joel quickly puts his jeans on before running out as well.

There, in the alley behind the motel, is Carol, sprawled on her back, and you on top of her torso, pinning her down.

"Got her!" you announce, trying to catch your breath as you straddle Carol, your dress riding up your thighs and breasts spilling over the front of your dress.

For a full minute all three men stare in surprise and lust.

Waiting in the car, you get out for some fresh air, keeping an eye on the motel room as Dave and Tim went in. Your heart leaps in your throat. It's really happening..

What if he doesn't choose you? What if he decides Carol is what he wants?

You shake your head of these thoughts. Dave promised he wanted you and you alone. It's not just the promise you believe, but you trust the feeling you have when you're with him, that spark in the air that you've never experienced before, not even when you were in love with Javier.

There's no motion from the room. Maybe it's going to be a peaceful ending after all..

Grabbing a couple dollar bills from your purse you start towards the side of the building to get a soda from the machine. Right as a cold drink is deposited in the little receptacle, you grab it as you feel someone running towards you.

Not at you per se, but in your direction. You know her face immediately, though you've never met her before.

Carol.

She's in a bra and underwear, running into the alley behind the motel. Without a second thought you take off after her.

"Hey! Stop!" you call out, but she doesn't listen.

Running on adrenaline, you catch up with her, knocking her to the ground as you lose your footing, landing on top of her. You ignore the shock of pain throbbing in your scraped knees and shins as the three men come around the corner, finding you.

"What's going on here?" Dave asks, the first to be snapped out of his stupor.

"Let go of me, you bitch!" Carol growls, and while you're momentarily distracted by Dave, she backhands you, cutting your cheek with her ring.

The men come forward, helping you up while Joel pulls Carol off the ground, pinning her hands behind her back. "Actin' crazier than a damn feral cat," he hisses at her, his antipathy obvious.

"Are you okay?" Dave asks, tenderly touching your cheek, pulling back when you wince. "It's just a scratch, baby. We can fix it."

"Who the fuck is that?" Carol yells. "Fucking someone already, Dave? You've got to be kidding me!"

"Who she is is none of your damn business. You lost the right to question me about who I spend my time with when you decided to go crawling into bed with this scumbag," he glared at her and Joel.

"Scumbag? Fuck you and your bitch, you fuckin' asshole!" Joel approaches threateningly. Dave places you behind him to protect you.

"You better watch your goddamn mouth, pal, because the next thing coming out of it will be your own teeth if you don't stop talking about her like that."

"I don't think you've got the balls-"

Dave swings, his fist connecting solidly with Joel's jaw. He stumbles back, shock and surprise on his face as Carol immediately hovers over him, screaming at her husband.

"Baby," you softly take hold of Dave's other hand.

"I'm all right," he says, taking you in his arms and kissing you.

"Apologize," he says to Joel, cold as ice. "Tell her you're sorry."

Joel's wiping blood from his mouth, spitting it out on the ground. "Sorry," he mumbles.

"Didn't catch that."

"Sorry," he repeats, getting up and shoving Carol away from him.

Carol groans from the ground watching Joel leave her and watching you and Dave embracing. "Really??"

"Find somewhere else to sleep tonight, Carol," he tells her, wrapping his arm around you as you start to walk away. "I'll have your things packed up and ready for you to take."

The motel office has a first aid kit and a restroom for both you and Dave to clean yourselves up in. The desk clerk doesn't look happy about violence occurring on his property and advises you to get yourselves patched up and leave before he calls the cops. Tim stays at the desk to talk some sense into him as you and Dave share the small sink to clean your wounds.

The cut on your cheek is superficial and shouldn't leave a scar, but Dave cares for you gently nonetheless. He softly applies a butterfly bandage to your cheek, pressing a soft, healing kiss to it after, and tends to your scrapes on your knees and legs, cleaning the gravel out of the skin. His knuckles are bloody and brusied from when he decked Joel, and you tend to those as well, washing and appying antibiotic cream and and sterile bandages, giving them a kiss as well.

"What a night, huh?" he says, his smile showing signs of tiredness.

"Yeah.. how do you feel?"

"Honestly.. you know that feeling when you're going to puke, and you don't want to because it's gross, but when you finally do puke you just feel better?"

You chuckle at that. "Yeah."

"I feel exactly like that."

A sigh leaves your lips as he brushes a strand of hair from your face. "I'm sorry you had to go through all that, Dave.."

"It was worth it all, if it let me be with you."

You share a soft kiss, pressing your foreheads together as you enjoy this little moment of solitude.

"I don't want any more drama or surprises," you tell him. "I've had enough twists and turns to last a good while."

And just as the words leave your lips, there's a commotion at the front desk just outside. You and Dave exchange a look before heading out there.

"I know he's here, Tim! One of his goons finally talked. He's here, and not even you knew that!"

You recognize the voice before you see the blond woman screeching at Tim in the motel lobby.

Connie Murphy, the wife of you ex-husband's business partner, Steve.

"Hey.. Connie?" You approach her from behind Tim. "What are you doing here? Is Steve okay?"

You could care less about him, the way he always treated you as if you were invisible, only referring to Javier when you three were in the same room.

Her eyes land on you, the look in them softens. You hadn't been especially close with her while married to Javi, but she'd been kind enough to send a gift and give comforting words after your divorce.

"It's Steve. He's holing up here. I paid this so-called private investigator and he never tracked him to this spot." She shoots Tim a deadly glare.

"I'm sorry, Connie," you tell her. Of course Javier and Steve would be best friends, business partners, and adulterers. Birds of a feather really do stick together.

"I'm not working now, Mrs. Murphy," Tim calmly explains. "Do you know what room he's in?" He turns to the night manager. "Can you tell us?"

It's against the law, he says, but his tune changes when Dave slips him a fifty dollar bill.

"Murphy and his companion are in room 206, upstairs," he says, palming the bill and stuffing it in his pocket.

"Who is it?" you ask, following her up the stairs, Tim and Dave following right after.

"It's not who he's with that I'm concerned about, it's the fact that he's been embezzling money from the club," she says, her face taking on a hardened look. "Some of the money that comes in from some of the.. financiers" she sneaks a glance at Tim, "has gone missing, and Steve right along with it. I'm gonna track him down and turn him in." She had a cold gleam in her eye and you believe that she really will turn the tables on her no-good husband.

Room 206 is quiet, not much going on inside. The glow from the TV is visible through a crack in the curtains.

Connie breaks the silence, pounding on the door. "Open up, Steve! I know you're in there!"

She only quits pounding when Steve answers, shirtless and obviously shocked to see a crowd at his door. "Connie, what the hell?" He closes the door behind him, stepping out onto the balcony.

"What do you mean what am I doing here, what are you doing here??" she pushes him against the wall as Tim intervenes, keeping her away from doing more harm.

"Steve, babe, what the fuck's going on out there?" The door opens and Javier steps out, his hair mussed, wearing only his briefs. His neck and chest are covered in love bites. His hand snakes around to Steve's middle in a protective lover's clasp right before he sees the crowd gathered right outside his door. He takes his hand away but you've already seen it.

Javi and Steve. Lovers.

"Of course you're with him," Connie sneers. "When are you ever not together? I'll have you know the feds are on the way. Did you really think you could hide forever?"

She turns to you, a look of victory on her face. "I knew it. I should have told you before, but I had no proof, and after you left him I figured you wouldn't care anyway."

Stunned as you try to processs this new information, your gaze flits between Javi and Steve. They were always together. Steve always seemed jealous of you, protecting whatever secrets Javier possessed, encouraging his infidelities. Because he was too afraid to lose him.

"Javi, what the fuck?" you whisper. "Why didn't you ever tell me?"

He rubs the back of his neck. "Jesus, sweetheart, I didn't know how. I didn't think you'd understand."

"But.. all those women.."

He shrugs, looking defeated. "I guess I was trying to fool myself into thinking I wasn't actually.. you know."

"Gay," Dave says, also invested in the play-by-play of this circumstance.

"Well, yeah," Javi nods. "Wait.. what the fuck are you doing here?"

Sirens howl in the distance. You crane your neck to see lights of blue and red traveling quickly up the road to where you are.

"Did you really do all those things?" you ask him. "I don't care that you're with Steve, that's the last thing I'm worried about. Did you really take the money?"

He gives you a long look, finally sighing, knowing his time was up. "Do me one favor, okay? Don't tell Cindy. She should hear it from me."

Shaking your head, you wish him luck as Dave takes your hand and leads you downstairs to the car.

"Take care of her!" Javier shouts down to Dave. It's the last of him that you'll ever have to hear as both of you leave the past behind and walk into a future you can build together.

A/n: The bomb has dropped. I read somewhere about a woman whose husband was constantly sleeping with other women, and as it turned out he was gay 🤷🏽‍♀️I thought it'd be an interesting twist (not that it excuses any of it) but it also looks like Javi's gonna have his day in court for his crimes 😎 And Joel being an asshole was kind of a given. I wanted him as a foil, and Carol doesn't deserve a happy ending IMO. Thank all of you for your continued support ❤️

dividers by @strangergraphics and @adornedwithlight 👑

taglist: @penascigarette @joelalorian @la-vie-est-une-fleur29

@darkheartgatita @speaktothehandpeasants @rav3n-pascal22

@vickie5446 @mrs-pedro-pascal @sunnytuliptime

@mysticsuitcasealmondwombat @joelmillerisapunk @almostfoxglove

@itwasntimethatdidit40 @604to647 @milla-frenchy

@everybodylovedcontractors @misstokyo7love @ppascalq

(if anyone wishes to be removed from the taglist, please let me know. the only one who hurts my feelings is myself -- and my seven year old)

#pedro pascal #dave york imagine #dave york smut #dave york x reader #dave york x you #dave york au #dave york #dave york fanfiction #dave york fic #dave york series #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal character headcanons #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal character fanfiction #ppcu #ppcu fandom #ppcu fanfiction #pedro pascal cinematic universe

94 notes · View notes

skyonfilm · 9 months ago

Text

WELCOME TO WENDYS!!! 💀🖤

📺 | should we investigate the voice?? || until dawn [part 9]

#skyonfilm #until dawn #gaming #until dawn chapter 8 #until dawn gameplay #youtube #youtuber #small youtuber #gamer #until dawn mike #until dawn wendigo

0 notes

evildeadfan102 · 1 year ago

Text

I played Until Dawn Session 8 set.

#Until dawn #session 8 #chapter 7 #ps4 #game

4 notes · View notes

fanaticsnail · 1 year ago

Text

Chapter 3

Masterlist here, Moodboard here

Sapsorrow Masterlist

Word Count: 8,054

Themes: enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, forced proximity, lord and subordinate, one bed trope, apprehension, mutual pining, obligation, slow burn, eventual love, protective, "where is my wife" trope. Slow-slow-slow burn. Series Inspiration link: The Storyteller Episode 8

Song Suggestions: The Green Light - Je Suis Parte

(Image Source: Here)

Your sleep that night was restless; your body awakening much before the first dawn of sunlight cracked through the dark of the night to awaken the many unique birds within the lands of Kuraigana. Their voices were yet to cry out and alert the castle and surrounding keep of the morn, yet you continue to lay sleepless amongst your plush bedsheets.

Huffing out a breath of frustration, you shook your head and rose from your reclined position against your pillows and thrust the duvet from your body. One foot falling over the mattress first, followed by the other, you slid your feet into your sleep shoes tucked beneath your large bed and hoisted yourself to your feet. Reaching over to your armchair, your fingers found your lengthy silk negligée and wrapped it around your body and tied it firmly around your front. The lengthy pale sleeves draped around your wrists, you found your hairbrush and began angrily detangling your sleep-deprived hair from their matts.

Why did he look at you like that? Why was he so intimately holding you? Why did your breath hitch as your eyes met? His eyes, the amber hue bearing such intensity and longing- was that what it was? Surely you were mistaken. Those were the thoughts keeping you from a blissful slumber, clawing like a beast at the walls of their cage, the thoughts rendered you paralyzed and incapable of rest.

You angrily thrust your hairbrush down within your firm grip, a loud clack of the metal base echoing against your vanity benchtop. You clenched your eyes firmly shut, pursing your lips and biting back a frustrated scream.

It had been years since any action was outside the realms of your control, this one being the first to draw a physical outburst to occur since you were a teenager. You sucked in a deep breath while closing your eyes, rotating your neck to rid it of its sleep-deprived, rigor-mortis akin stiffness. Reopening your eyes, your pupils narrowed in as you focussed on your puffed eye-bags below your irises.

“You came here to do a job. You are a governess,” you reassured yourself, affirming yourself sternly in the mirror, “You are strong. You are safe. It is just a job.” Your looped affirmations continued as you attempted to repress memories from arising, but to no avail. You knit your brows together, shaking your head to rid the memories from coming to light before your eyes before the sun was yet to create the dawn.

“You are in control here,” you again spoke aloud, rising from your seated position against your vanity. You claimed a small unlit lantern hanging limply from the door, unhooking it from the wall and drawing out a small box of matches to ignite the flame atop the wick. Shaking the flame away from the matchstick, you discarded the small piece of twig into the basket below your desk and fled from the room causing you sleeplessness.

The halls became ignited by the small flame in your lantern, illuminating the portraiture littering the gloomy halls. Several generations of the lord you unwittingly bound yourself to with the Sapsorrow ring lay staring vacantly at you as your slippers peppered the ground with your featherfall footsteps.

You were unsure as to where your feet were carrying you until you found yourself amongst the large wooden shelves in the large library. Each book was meticulously cataloged and alphabetised, the colors on the leatherbound spines ranging from the deepest of emeralds to dark magenta with golden twine. As each of the spines of the books drew you in by their pigments and binds, your left hand unconsciously flew to the shelves and danced among the pages. Tracing upon the many spines as you wandered aimlessly amongst the shelves, your fingers met with a vacant space in the nook; your fingertips falling through the space housing a book that no longer resides within its crease.

Looking at the space for any semblance of literature navigation, you noticed you were in the section marked “S”, somewhere tucked between knowledge of Sangiovese vines and winemaking, and Sailing the uncharted waters of the grand line.

“Sapsorrow,” you spoke aloud in a small whisper, gasping as your fingers collected the moved dust, “that was what he said,” you pressed your sleep-deprived memory for a semblance of thought: “Ten rings of the Sapsorrow queen, all riddled with charm, none can break from its challenger’s gleam, or cause the commissioner harm.”

“What does that mean?” you gasped once more, drawing up your fingertips to look at the dust collected, rolling the powder and webs within your hand, “there’s ten of them. What is a Sapsorrow? Ten of them?” you looked down onto the moss-coloured stone sitting innocently atop its golden circlet of destiny, “Like ten fingers?”

Turning again to the bookshelf and looking at the vacant space against the shelves, you huffed out another breath of exasperation and grumbled; “It would have been useful to have a book on the matter. Perhaps that is what my betrothed-,” you rolled your eyes at the taste of the title over your palate, "-is doing with the book. If there even is one.”

You growled beneath your breath, another attempt at ridding yourself of the memories of the night prior. It was dancing behind your closed eyes slower than it occurred in reality. Each small brush of his fingertips over your body as he took your measurements, the small rasp in his voice as he spoke to you, his humility in joining his forehead against your own, and the way he held you against himself. You were going mad, reading into something that was truly not there.

Shaking your head and breathing in deeply, you attempted to calm yourself down and reached for the nearest book at the end of the row. Your brows furrowed as you looked at the title, a small curious smile prickling at the corners of your cheeks.

“Waltzing: A Pirate’s Guide to Entangling with the Upper Classes,” you spoke, your eyes lightening as your smile deepened. You examined the books cover for any other information, finding no further explanation, “there’s no author? Curiouser and curiouser.”

You took the book to the corner of the room, sitting atop a plush crimson armchair and placing your lantern on the side table to illuminate the corner of the room. You huddled against the suede arm of the chair, bringing the pages closer to the light as you turned the first chapter: “Swords and Steps.” Your face became more bright as diagrams of pirate gentleman holding his sword upright and extended, followed by the placement of an ornately dressed woman spinning within his arms; the imagery of the evening’s prior events falling away from you the further you dove into the pages.

The lantern’s wick began to flicker, the candle warning you it was in its final moments as the hours in the library began to fall away from you. You were barely aware of the dawn beginning to filter through the curtains, the first light a warm pink dusting the marble floor with its presence. The only sense able to bring you from your hypnosis within the pages was the scent of the extinguished wick as the stale smoke danced over the benchtop.

Shaking your head, you attempted to again return to the present as you closed the pages of the book together and rose to your feet; hastily sauntering over to the aisles to return it to its rightful position within the shelves. You didn’t even know where to begin navigating the halls, unsure how you managed to draw yourself from your wing into the library to begin with. The patter of your heart began thumping heavily against your ribcage, anxiety raising at the thought of being caught within your bed clothes by a member of staff, or worse: Zoro and Perona.

As the light of the sun began awakening the walls you wandered earlier, a strange mud-covered silhouette of a person holding a bouquet of flowers at eye level remained in the sunlight cascading over the front marble steps. They were picking at the thorns, clipping the stems and arranging the florals and vines in a fashionable style with pliers and ribbons of twine wrapping around the amassment of petals.

The figure almost didn’t look human; bipedal humanoid, surely, but not human. The amount of dirt, muck, fur and feathers eclipsing their body under their cluster made them look beastly. You heard a deep rumbly hum, the creature before you appearing to be singing softly to themselves a tune you could not recognise. This was the only clue that allowed you to presume their gender, the smoothness of their deep voice almost serenading you with its comfort. Rolling slightly on your heels to rid yourself of your nerves, you cautiously approached the figure while holding your arms laced over your chest to shield his view from your sleep-clothes.

“Excuse me, sir?” you called to them, their body’s stiffening in response and raising the flowers up further to cover their face, “No need for alarm, I am the Governess here.” He seemed to remain statuesque, rigid in his stance and not making a sound. You grew more curious, stepping forward again to get a better look at the arrangement, noticing it was similar to the ones placed atop your table and decorating your room.

“I know who you are, my lady,” he spoke slowly. His cadence seemed familiar to you, albeit his face was hidden, “You should not be up at this hour. Is there something troubling you?” You were taken aback by his direct approach, but it was a welcome surprise.

“I was unable to sleep, sir. My thoughts are my own, although I have been having trouble ruling over them of late,” you replied honestly. He nodded behind the flowers, your eyes trailing over him and studying his attire. He was clad in hessian pants, his boots trekking mud into the cobblestone galley. His torso was clad in a pale linen with mud, sticks and leaves masking the pigment of his skin from your eyes with how heavily caked he was beneath the thick sludge.

“If I may be so bold as to ask for your help,” you asked him, stepping further into his proximity. The scent falling off him in waves was the earthiness of the mud mixed with the petals clutched over his face. As you drew in closer, you noticed he was wearing a broad straw hat, his face shielded by the wide brim, while his nose and lips were covered by a piece of woven cloth. He held his sight fixed to his hands, electing not to make eye contact with you.

“You may ask anything of me, my lady,” he responded, his eyes remaining holding to the floor beneath him. You allowed a soft smile to rise against your lips, a small sigh electing to release itself from your chest at his candor.

“I am unaware of my surroundings. I have been here a fortnight now, this being the first night I have opted to explore the grounds rather than remaining sleepless in my bedchambers,” you confessed to him, nodding as you spoke, “I have no idea where my wing is from here, and I assume you are a member of staff here.”

“I am something of the like, my lady,” he admitted to you, nodding while actively listening to your words as they fled from your lips, “I admit I was on my way to your chambers presently.” Your eyes widened, looking at the bouquet clutched firmly within his hands then back to his face.

“So, I’ve finally caught the culprit,” you laughed at him, “just as you have caught me in naught but my nightdress. Those are meant for me, are they not?” His rigidity did not halt, nor the tingle in his fingertips dancing amongst the vines.

“You’re the one who brings the ever changing arrangements to my bedchambers, am I correct in my assumption?” you asked him while fixing your gaze on the white puffs of roses clutched within his muddy fingertips.

“That you are, my lady,” he again admitted, bowing in a low stoop as a performer would to receive their applause. You smiled warmly, reaching for his forearm and lacing your right arm within his.

“Chaperone me,sir. Please lead me to return to my wing,” you asked him with a small laugh, uncaring for the dirt falling from his sleeve onto your own.

“I will make a mess of the halls, my lady. I should not be above the cellars while dressed like this,” he spoke in a warning tone, “I don’t enjoy cleaning up the boot prints I trek in at this hour.”

“Tush,” you dismissed his warning, tugging at his forearm, “I cannot wait for you to strip yourself of your tarnished clothes, bathe and escort me to my wing. I am in my nightdress, sir,” His eyes widened at your comment, his eyes almost holding a honey color displayed from its angle to you.

“I would not desire tarnishing your own clothes with my mess, my lady,” he sighed as you both witnessed some mud falling from his shirt onto your sheer chemise. You smiled at his halt while bringing your other hand to fall atop his dirt-caked forearm. “Please, sir. I cannot have the lord of the house seeing me like this. Nor our shared wards.”

“Is not the lord of your house your betrothed?” he asked you, his brows furrowing as he spoke his warning.

“That he is, sir,” you nodded your confirmation while laughing once more, “all the more reason for the both of us to scurry on to my wing so we can both be rid of this predicament.” He hummed in response, shaking his head slightly with a small chuckle. You sighed in relief as he began to shepherd you towards your room, your body physically relaxing aside his as he guided you through the halls. You made idle conversation, the morning rising alongside the chirps of local birds warning you the day has been broken and to be thrust into your day.

“How long have you been working the land here in Kuraigana? Your arrangements speak wonders to your skill, sir,” you praised him, watching as his smile began to upturn in the creases of his eyes. His nose and lips remained hidden beneath a woven cloth, his eyes being the only human part you could gauge the emotions of.

“I have been working with agriculture since I first laid eyes on the keep. There’s something about the soil here that is particularly riveting. The grapes thrive here,” he expressed with such unbridled passion, you could feel his joy at working the soil of the gloomy land, “they grow large, their skin dense and firm. Perfect for a variety of vines and vintages.”

“A viticulturist also? My, you have an array of talents. What do you grow here?” you ushered him to continue expressing his passion, your interest in the land growing by the interaction with the creature guiding you to your wing.

“I do enjoy watching the vines grow, yes. I also have had a hand in crafting the varieties into wine,” he admitted, nodding beneath his wide, straw hat.

“A wild ferment, perhaps? A malolactic for chardonnay and sangiovese?” you asked him, prodding him and probing with your pointed questions. He chuckled at your comments, shaking his head at your comments.

“You are well versed in the art of conversation, my lady,” he commented accusingly, with a small whisper of humor beneath his words, “you need not humor me with your polite words.”

“Sir,” you furrowed your brows at the creature, halting your steps, “if I was not interested in your craft, I would not be asking so many questions,” your confession rendered him almost speechless. You chuckled at his surprise, once again allowing your feet to fall in pace towards your chambers.

“To further spur how truly interested I am in what you have to say, I would simply hum and nod to showcase my active listening while not asking questions,” you continued, your warm smile continuing to power your words, “my favorite phrase to use in that particular situation is: ‘that certainly sounds interesting’.”

He chuckled at your comment as he continued leading you to your chambers, the door within your sight as he unlaced his arm from within yours and opened your front door for you.

“A gentleman amongst the staff of Kuraigana?” you praised him with your words, prompting him to hand his head with a small huffed chuckle at your words.

“I aim to be, my lady,” he uttered, walking within your bedchambers and beginning to remove the prior arrangement of flowers atop your desk and replace it with another arrangement. Unbothered by his presence in your chamber, you began tending to yourself by finding an appropriate uniform for the day and hooking it over your changing screen beside your bed. You continued to hear his footfalls against the room adjacent to yours, yourself feeling secure behind the screen enough to begin changing into your uniform to begin your day.

You threw off your chamise, followed by your night dress, slippers and socks before weaving yourself into your chosen attire for the day. A simple long dress, practical in nature with a cinched waist and a modest neckline: exactly how a governess should be seen by members of the household staff, not scantily clad in your bed attire.

“I am heading out, my lady,” the strange chaperone informed you, prompting you to hasten your pace of lacing your boots.

“Wait, sir. Allow me to thank you for escorting me back to my wing,” you called to him, hastily making your way towards the table setting in front of you. The flowers were breathtaking, this one filled with difficult to collect flowers with sweet scents and crystal-like dew drops. You carefully selected one from the bunch, a simple bushel of baby’s breath clutched between your fingertips as you carefully pried it from its place amongst the bouquet.

“This one is for you, sir. Thank you for aiding me in my time of need,” you presented the small bushel of flowers to him; his muddy hand coming out to collect it within his discolored fingertips.

“Thank you for your kindness, my lady,” he nodded in a small bow, your fingers brushing together slightly at his withdrawal.

“What may I call you, sir? Surely you have a name, and I would like to know I have a friend here in Kuraigana while I work,” you asked him, your trail of intellect deducing the flurry of thoughts, “or would you prefer to be known simply as ‘Farm-hand’?”

“Farm-hand,” he repeated back to you, his voice almost laughing, “Farm-hand is fine to me, my lady.”

“If you are to go by this name, please bestow one of a similar likeness to me, Farm-Hand,” you laughed at his candor, as you reached for the metal hairbrush you were using earlier and began hastily smoothing over your tangled locks.

“If I am to be Farm-Hand,” he thought hard, a small hum exiting from his chest, “you ought to be ‘Lost-Lady’. Considering it is too much of a mouthful to address you as ‘woman clad in naught but her nightdress’.”

You laughed again at his comment, before guiding his muddied form outside of your bedchambers.

“Until tomorrow's flowers, Farm-Hand,” you stooped in your low courtesy and offered him your left hand. He accepted it, bringing down his forehead to brush against the back of your hand atop your knuckles.

“Until the morrow, Lost-Lady,” he raised his forehead from his bowed position and watched as you turned back into your chambers to continue readying yourself for the day, the door shutting with a small click behind you.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

Mihawk was frozen, his dirtied hands rolling over the small white flowers within his fingertips. He hooked his hand against his mask, drawing back the material to taste the air once more without the filter of material or mud. His beard was no longer scratching behind the mask, the flavor of the air feeling all the more sweet. As he twirled the flowers within his fingers, he sighed at the innocent object dancing in his hand.

His left hand shook, feeling the warm tingles of the memories of your flesh joining briefly with his as he clutched yours within his fingers. The ghost of radiant heat against his forehead remained alongside the memory of such a warmth you presented to him, a presumed low-ranking member of his staff.

He looked down at his attire, the mud covering his body causing him to physically hiss out a verbal reprimand at himself.

“So stupid to lose footing beneath the vines,” he chastised his appearance, “especially to collect the insignificant little baby’s breath-.” His words halted as he drew up the pale flowers you had gifted him in return once more, a soft smile rising to his lips.

“What have I ever done in this life to deserve such sweetness?” he whispered to himself, a sighed laugh falling from his lips as he shook his head.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

Sitting with the young pink haired debutante in the courtyard, you noticed her eyes were glazed; her far off expression alerting you to her being not overly present for this afternoon’s private lesson.

“Perona, dear?” you called to her, placing your cup back on the saucer. She hummed in response, slowly blinking her eyes but remaining away with the ghosts that haunt her. You sighed deeply, rising to your feet and moving behind your chair. You slowly wedged the chair beneath the circular dining table and walked over to crouch in front of her.

“Perona,” you softly spoke, reaching to claim her hands laced within her lap beneath your palm. She squeaked, looking down into your eyes and uttered a hasty, “yes, my lady?”

“There you are, you’re back,” you smiled at her, prompting a blush to rise and litter her pale cheeks with its hue. You smoothed your thumb over her knuckles to reassure her she wasn’t keeping you waiting.

“I’m sorry my lady, they-,” she began, rapidly blinking as she attempted to articulate her thoughts to place them within the air verbally, “-they have been saying some unusual things to me. It’s been a bit tricky to ignore them.” You quirked your head to the side, not completely processing what she was admitting to you.

“Oh?” You prodded her, rising to your feet and tugging lightly on her hand to usher her to her feet, “and what do they have to say today? Only good things, I hope.” Her teeth drew outwards in a straight line, cringing out a small apprehensive wince of a smile.

“Not exactly,” she admitted while rising to her feet in front of you. Her smile only drew more apprehension from you, curiosity now being eclipsed by concern at her words. You nodded to her to continue relaying her thoughts to you, her nodding while adding; “they say he’s found a way. Something about the moon being first, I think. Help? He’s getting help- no-... asking for help? They’re not making much sense.”

You knit your brows further in the center of your forehead, her words not drawing any conclusion to your already troubled mind from sleeplessness earlier.

“A beast? No... A Crocodile has the moon?” she nodded with her eyes shut tightly, focusing on the voices as they presented themselves to her. She continued shaking her head, the many voices falling over her mind and corrupting her thoughts with their nonsensical visions.

“Perona,” you called to her, her aura beginning to turn a different hue to indicate her beginning to be overwhelmed by other worldly voices. You took both of her hands in yours and gave them a firm squeeze, “Perona, sweetheart.” She opened her eyes, glossy and a different hue than her usual vibrancy.

“The moon,” she uttered, “the moon has commenced.”

“Perona!” your voice held an elevated firmness to your tone, immediately snapping her from her daze and coming back to the world she views as reality.

“I’m sorry, Governess,” she uttered quickly, bowing her head to you and beginning to tremble a little, “they’ve just been enthusiastic lately. They are very interested in that.” She nodded to your left hand, your ring shining its smoked, green gemstone within the sunlight.

“They say,” she teeters off her voice, shaking her head as the voices begin to eclipse her form and shroud her mind with their nonsensical visions. She allowed herself to snap out of it, taken aback by their final informational relay, “there’s a party? Oh! And there’s a dress for you.”

The blood in your face physically leapt from your head and paled. He’d done it. He’d made the first dress, the doom of your wedding day approaching with more haste than you would have desired. You were to be a bride, donned in dresses of the finest make and forced down the aisle with the knife of destiny thrust against your back to usher you onwards-.

“-Not one of those, my lady,” Perona broke you from your thoughts, her eyes wide and serious as they met with your widened gaze. She gently squeezed your hands within her own, reassuring you with her kind expression, “they say the party is to announce your engagement, and Mihawk has had a dress made especially for you to wear to it.”

“O-Oh,” you stuttered, the color once again returning to your cheeks. Perona giggled at your apprehension, lacing her arms within your own and beginning to draw you closer to the sage-colored hedge-ends to look over the impressive grounds of Kuraigana.

“You want to go and see it? They say he has it ready for you, if you like,” she shrugged, her enthusiasm sparking at the corners of her cheeks as she physically began to shake with anticipation. You allowed a softness to fall over your body, your young debutante beginning to break down your walls and squeeze herself into the realms of personal friendship.

“I think I will wait until he sends for me,” you smiled at her, “for now, we need to continue with your lessons.”

“Why, my lady?” she whined, a small semblance of childish anger falling from her pouted lips, “I don’t want a husband, I don’t want to be a lady.”

“Do you desire to wear beautiful gowns, dance with handsome men and woo them with your radiant beauty?” you sighed, your eyes rolling with a soft smirk arising against your lips. She immediately snapped out of her childish tantrum.

“Yes, my lady,” she softly spoke while nodding, her pink-hair bouncing with the gentle bob of her head.

“Then lessons in being a lady are to continue until I’m satisfied you are able to showcase my reputation alongside your own,” you chastised her with your smirk rising into a pleasant smile.

“Yes, my lady,” Perona sighed, beginning to lead you throughout the beautifully maintained hedge-ends. The map of the maze lay unpolished, dust and dirt falling over the sign and making the object unable to be read.

“I shall talk to the Farm-Hand about that tomorrow,” you spoke under your breath. Perona looked to the side, conversing with an astral projection beside her, “We have a farm-hand? I thought that was-... oh…”

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

“WHAAAAAAAA-?” the den-den-mushi split the lord of Kuraigana’s eardrum with the verbal cry form the other end of the transmission.

“Silence your incessant screaming, Clown,” Mihawk growled into the receiver.

“You called Me, Hawk-Eyes,” the voice called on the other end, Mihawk’s migraine beginning to worsen its throb against his temples. He should never have done this, requested aid like this. From them.

“That I did, Clown,” he admitted in a defeated sigh, bringing his index and middle fingers up to rotate around his temple.

“Stop calling me ‘Clown’. I have a name,” the voice spat back at the gloomy warlord as he sat neatly dressed against his desk, “and if you’re calling in a favor, I require to have my full title spoken to me.” Mihawk sighed again, his defeated eyes closing as his humility began to overcome his body.

“Captain Buggy D Clown,” Mihawk uttered darkly into the microphone at the end of the den-den-mushi, “I need you to make something for me. I know you can do it, I’ve seen something similar at your big-top. It needs to be starlight. A gown for a bride as radiant as the stars that litter the night sky. A dress so spectacularly clustered with diamonds of glittery stars, people would be amazed that something so beautiful could be found within the realms of mortality.”

A brief pause occurred, static from the other end of the receiver before the clown once again spoke up.

“Mihawk, baby,” the voice taunted him, “you had me at ‘I need you’.”

At that, the other end of the receiver clicked to indicate the end of the conversation, the clown striking a bargain with the darkened lord of Kuraigana, who’s very core was wrecked with absolute hopelessness.

“Two calls down,” he sighed, rotating his neck to rid it of the tension arising within it, “the drunken red-head is next.”

Lord Dracule Mihawk understood this undertaking was seemingly impossible, the three gowns he was to present to his governess- …no, his betrothed, was no easy feat. He did not initially intend on asking for aid, but his resources and contacts were depleted with such haste, there was no way he would be able to commence such an undertaking on his own.

The Crocodile managed to sense there was a difference in his usually stoic and disinterested demeanor, which prompted Mihawk to relay his troubles onto the larger gentleman. A cigar clenched within his pearled teeth, his eyes held amusement rather than their usual boredom at Mihawk’s predicament.

“I have some material you may enjoy, former warlord,” he spoke with such confidence, his eyes almost twinkling with delight at the notion he had something to hold over the golden-eyed swordsman, “a shipment delivered balls of silk and satins to my keep. Pale as the coldest chill of the first drops of winter,” his taunts continued as he blew a puff of cigar smoke into Mihawk’s face, “it almost looked as radiant as the moon.”

“Almost,” Mihawk spat, his eyes narrowed and anger growing more tangible, “almost will not do. It needs to be exact, precise, executed to the highest quality for my bride-.”

“-Your Bride? Mihawk,” Sir Crocodile’s sinister grin split his reptilian face upwards, “You never took me as the type to marry. Concubines? Of course. They have their uses. But Bride?” He removed his cigar from his teeth and pressed the butt-end with his thumb into the ashtray, “A Bride to the lord of Kuraigana. She must be some woman.”

“Indeed, that she is,” he admitted, his anger only remaining within its elevation at the taunts from the larger man. Sir Crocodile hummed, stooping lower to Mihawk’s stature, and smiled further upwards to crinkle his cheeks.

“I will have it made for you, Hawk-Eyes,” he hissed into his face, his shadow from his larger stature doing nothing to intimidate the confident swordsman, “and I expect a favor in return for it. Send her measurements to me, and I will have a hundred hands stitching it for you.”

“Mihawk, you gloomy old prick, that you? What are you calling me for at this hour?” the lazy voice of the overly confident red-headed captain asked at the other end of the receiver. Mihawk sighed, his anxiety at requesting the final object from his oldest rival getting the better of him the longer he remained in silence.

“Mihawk, if you don’t speak soon, I’m going to hang up the call and go back to my drinking-” Shank’s voice was halted by Mihawk uttering a single word.

“Lingerie.” Silence. Naught a word was spoken for several seconds; the anxiety elevating higher in Mihawk’s chest the longer the silence remained stagnant. An uproar of laughter was thrust into the receiver, several members of the red-hair pirates thrusting their jovial laughter into the air at a single word. As the laughter stifled back, Shanks spoke up once more.

“Lingerie, Mihawk? You want some lingerie? Is it for you, or is it for you?” the red-head captain jested, taunting the dark-haired warlord with his words. Mihawk shook his head, notably too far deep now to pull away from his request now.

“Red-Haired Shanks,” Mihawk began, the verbal shushing from the redhead on the other end to hush his crew to silence as he heard the request of the former warlord.

“Yes, old Hawkie? Go on, relay your request for intimate items onto me. See what I can do with your raunchy thoughts, you sick bastard-.” Shanks’ words were halted as he heard the tone of voice depicted by the usually stoic gentleman.

“Sapsorrow, Shanks,” Mihawk gasped in desperation. The audible sound of the thud of footsteps and the voices of the crew fell away from the speaker, indicating the redhead was actively moving away from the campground.

“You still have that thing? Mihawk, you should’ve cast the cursed thing into the seas. Mine was at least swallowed by the sea-beast while I protected the boy,” Shanks hushed an elevated whisper into the receiver.

“I know,” Mihawk uttered, his brows knitting further into his face as he cursed himself of such stupidity. After another moment of silence, Shanks spoke again.

“And your betrothed requested Lingerie to be a condition of her intention to wed. My, Hawk-Eyes, you’ve at least got a good one,” he chuckled into the receiver, “go on, lay it on me. What conditions needs to be met with this one?”

“Gold,” Mihawk confessed into the mouthpiece of the receiver, “Gold as heated and radiant as the sun, beams of dawn and cracks of dusk. Admittedly, I am unsure where to begin with this request.” More silence followed on the other end of the receiver, Mihawk feeling the anxiety once again claw at his throat with anticipation.

“Do you have her-... I’m assuming it’s a her, yes?” Shanks asked, his voice giddy and boyish; elevated with a twinkle of mischief and excitement.

“Yes,” Mihawk hummed his gruff confession into the receiver.

“Hah!” Shanks laughed triumphantly, “Wonderful. Do you have her measurements?” Mihawk relayed his governess’ measurements to the one-armed Captain, hearing the thump of sandals footsteps falling against the sandy shores of Shank’s island’s shores, crunching beneath his heels.

“Beckmann,” Shanks called his voice away from the receiver, “Beckmann, you’re not going to believe this-... Mihawk, give me a moment, would you? Beckmann!” Mihawk’s expression was not amused, his eyes narrowing beneath his lengthy dark eyelashes.

“Beckmann, bring me my anvil, pliers and soldering pick! All the gold we’ve got on us and then some-... Mihawk,” Shanks laughed into the receiver, his voice brimming with absolute glee, “Oh, Mihawk. You’ve made my day.”

“I’m glad one of us is getting a semblance of joy from this request,” Mihawk sarcastically spat into the receiver.

“Oh, lighten up. You’ll be getting some joy out of this once I’m done with it, Hawkie,” Shanks laughed again into the mouthpiece, several clangs and elevated voices being spoken into the mouthpiece.

“All the gold on us, Captain? That seems a bit rich comin’ from him. Isn’t he a lord or somethin’?” Beckmann’s raspy voice held a distant quietness away from the mouthpiece.

“Yeah, but I’m gonna make something out of it, Becks. Lingerie for the sword-wielding lord’s future misses. Gotta get out the good stuff for this one-... Hawk-Eyes, are you still there?” Shanks called back into the receiver, Mihawk feeling his anxiety beginning to calm at the notion that Shanks was willing to participate in the task.

“I’m here, one-arm,” Mihawk lazily drawled into the microphone, exasperation relayed on every syllable. Shanks chuckled at his title, disregarding it with glee.

“I’m gonna make your future misses something you will both never forget,” He laughed into the transponder, his boyish charm prompting the swordsman to almost crack a small and apprehensive smile.

As the call of the den-den-mushi went quiet, Mihawk sighed and lulled his head back on his arched backrest. He felt relieved to have the weight of his predicament shared with his allies, but also apprehensive at the requests they would omit from him in return. And the teasing. He loathed being on the receiving end of taunts and jabs from the three of them, particularly the idiot clown.

He propped his neck back upright and glanced his amber eyes over to the desktop, honing in on the small bushel of baby’s breath you had offered him earlier. He reached his fingertips forward, his index finger and thumb grasping the twig holding the cluster of white flowers.

“Lost-Lady,” he smiled at the innocent balls of petals clinging against the sprigs. He chuckled at your earlier interaction, how open you were with him about your feelings of late. He was already thinking of another arrangement to create to decorate your halls with his flowers and vines: sweet jasmine, honeysuckle, bluebells and daisies were amongst his choices for your following tabletop. Much less of a risk of becoming covered head to toe in mud again.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

“M’Lady, Hawk’s lookin’ for ya,” Zoro huffed a small grunt, extending his left forearm to you as you and Perona entered the galley. You shook your head at Zoro, your eyes glaring at him to wordlessly reprimand his pronunciation of your title. He furrowed his brows at first, before his eyes widened in clarity as it dawned on him. He shook his head slowly, rolling his eyes within his skull and bowing sloppily and lowly to you.

“Forgive me, my lady,” His voice, absolutely dripping with the sticky molasses of sarcasm, “I extend my most sincere apologies, my lady. Would my lady prefer me to kneel on the ground to receive a verbal reprimand, or dost my lady prefer me bent over her lap? Perhaps at such an insult to my lady, I should be drawn and quartered. A cat and nine tails whipping their iron slashes into my chest for insulting you in such a way, my lady-.”

“-That’s quite enough, Zoro,” you reprimanded him, unlacing your hand from within Perona’s arched elbow. Your brow descended into the middle of your face, your chin extended into the air as you circled him, “and here I thought you were making waves as a gentleman, but you are remaining evermore a petulant brat.”

“I aim to please, my lady,” the corner of his lip curled upwards into a small smirk. Perona refused to react to the situation for fear attention from her governess would be drawn to her rather than the display offered by Zoro.

“You are doing a poor job it today, Trainee,” you snarled at him, causing his smirk to widen as his eyes narrowed at your challenge.

“Bein’ a gentleman?” Zoro scoffed at you, his lip darting out to dampen his bottom lip as he tested you further.

“Pleasing me,” you quipped back, your challenging eyes and candor immediately bringing a warm blush up the swordsman’s neck and teasing the lobes of his ears. He remained speechless, Perona allowing a silent giggle to threaten to pour over her lips. As the silence began to build with tense air, you clicked your neck and approached the young swordsman.You were now within a foot of the tall gentleman in training, continuing to warn him with your expression.

The three of you were so caught up in this moment of challenge, you remained blissfully ignorant yet again to the silent approach of the lord of the house watching from the shadows. He was on the edge of his hypothetical seat as he witnessed Zoro challenge you, but now watching on with amusement at how you were effortlessly managing him.

“Try again,” you ordered him. There was not a sound that dared break your challenge of the green-haired swordsman within the galley. He sighed deeply, bowing his head formally to you and closing his eyes.

“My lady,” he uttered slowly and cautiously, “the lord of Kuraigana has requested your presence in the parlor. Perona and I are to escort you to meet with the formal dressmakers for a fitting.” He almost made it through the sentence before allowing his distaste for the whole situation known.

“We’re all to have a fitting?” Perona squeaked in joy, “We all get a pretty outfit for it?”

“Yeah,” Zoro huffed, his brows falling against the arch of his nose to indicate his displeasure, “we’re all meant to get one.for it. He’s invited everyone already. They’ll be here by the weekend.” You allowed a shocked breath to escape your chest, not understanding such haste in such a ceremony.

You inhaled deeply through your nose, closing your eyes in deep thought before speaking again.

“Zoro,” you began, calming your body and attempting to regain control of your uncontrollable circumstances, “escort Perona to the parlor for her fitting. I will be going to my chambers for a small moment,” you cringed a small smile, attempting to stifle the anxiety by gritting through the pain, “unless the lord of the house is here to escort me himself, I will need a moment or two to myself-.”

At that small apprehension, Mihawk made his entrance to where the three of you had met within the galley. Perona withheld her small smile behind her palms, her upturned eyes doing nothing to satisfy her amusement and joy at the swordsman approaching them. Zoro followed Perona’s eyes to lord Mihawk, which in turn alerted you to his presence approaching behind you. You felt the waves of his confident aura falling from him before you turned to meet his gaze. He cleared his throat briefly, honing his gaze on the green-haired swordsman and addressing him.

“You heard your Governess,” he commanded him, turning to Perona and nodding to her, “Off you go to the parlor. Ensure the spatchcock is properly feathered, Perona.”

“Yes, my lord,” she chuckled, taking Zoro’s arm and immediately springing in her steps towards the parlor without a word from Zoro regarding his new bird-related nickname. You remained stationary and rigid in the galley, your chin extended outwards and tongue pressed to the roof of your mouth. Eyes narrowed, you felt him circle your body like a hawk looking over their next catch.

“I have come to inform you,” he began, remaining behind your back and away from your sight, “I have announced our intentions to wed. There is to be a ball this weekend, held here at the keep,” he paused his words, the tap of his feet indicating his approach in front of you. You closed your eyes, feeling waves of anxiety again rising over your body and filling your head with the thoughts that swirled well into the night. You remained with your eyes tightly closed, clenching your jaw behind your closed lips.

“Betrothed?” He addressed you, halting his prowling in front of you. He extended his hands above your own, hovering over where you had them hanging together in front of you but refusing to bring them down to touch yours. You opened your eyes, your brows furrowing as you looked down at his hand slowly descending and hovering above your own before snapping your gaze back against his amber-colored eyes.

“Yes, Betrothed?” You asked him, eyes dancing between his irises and searching within them for an indication as to how he was feeling. He sighed, finally bringing his hands down to collect yours and smooth his thumbs over your knuckles softly. You were again taken aback by his softness, unsure as to which place this was coming from.

“Is there someone I could invite for you to make this transition easier for you?” he whispered in a low rumbly tone, “it is quite the conundrum: coming here to complete a job, only to find yourself bound to your employer in matrimony. What can I do? You may ask anything of me, my lady-... Betrothed.”

Your heart began to race your mind with how frantic and sudden this expression of care for you had been brought on. You took your time to study his face, looking from his brows to his cheekbones, bearded jaw down to his smooth lips beneath his manicured mustache. You drew your gaze back up to his amber-hued orbs and danced your gaze between them.

“I have no one, Betrothed,” you admitted with a small nod, placing one of your palms atop his hand, “you knew this of me from back when I first tutored that arrogant blond boy in shells-town with his iron-jawed father. We discussed this at the gala.” Mihawk arched his brow upwards, deep in thought.

“Remind me, Betrothed, the mention has fled from me presently,” he asked, bringing his other hand to rest atop the one you just placed atop his. You inhaled deeply, exhaling out your tension at the memory.

“No father, no mother,” you smiled at him, “no sisters, nor brothers. Although, you may be interested in my dowry,” scoffing at the comment, Mihawk rolled his eyes and nodded his chin for you to continue on. “My mother died birthing me, my father died of illness on the road as he ventured over the estate.”

“No friends, nor extended relations?” He inquired, drawing up your hand to lace within his elbow, leading you on towards the parlor at a leisurely pace.

“None that are alive, nor that you would not already know, I’m sure,” you commented with a polite nod, “you did attend many of the functions I presented my students at.” He hummed in response to your comment, continuing to fall in step with you through the hallways onwards.

“No former lover to come knocking on my door, betrothed?” Mihawk’s curiosity pulled at the corner of his lip with his brow arched upwards. You halted your step with him, pulling him to a halt and shooting him a warning look. As his eyes met with yours, he understood the tangible emotion clawing at your chest.

“If you are asking what I think you are asking, sir,” you snarled at him, your lip curling upwards at his question, “I am a lady.” His eyes widened at your comment, searching your face for any further emotion to depict your unspoken confession.

“I did not mean to pry into your personal-,” he was halted by your words as you spoke over him, your eyes softening and a small smile rising to your lips at his attempt to flee from an uncomfortable situation he created for himself.

“This title we have been using to address each other,” you commented, again keeping in step with the tall swordsman at your side, “I am no longer comfortable with our mutual use of the phrase. Shall we dream up something else more appropriate together?”

Mihawk’s breath caught in his throat, hoping you did not catch such a quiver of anticipation falling from him. Why did you have such a hold over him? Why was the way you were speaking to him affecting him like this? Your voice, that sweetness you held in your cadence. It was intoxicating.

“I am sure we will think of something,” he held tight his jaw and remained outwardly stoic. Internally; he was delighting in your willingness to allow him to think of you. You gently squeezed his forearm in support, walking in comfortable silence towards the parlor together.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

Zoro’s arms were horizontally outstretched, perpendicular to the floor as the tailors began to pin and prod the material he was trying on. Perona beamed at her reflection, her eyes reflecting her joy at the trim and frill of her fine gown. Zoro smirked, closing his eyes and addressing his peer.

“Mihawk’s infatuation is starting to spill out, isn’t it. He’s not even hiding it anymore,” He chuckled, Perona immediately laughing at the comment before retorting her own comments on the matter.

“Speak for yourself, Moss,” Perona continued to giggle, “your little crush isn’t as hidden as you think it is, either.”

Tag List: @sordidmusings@writingmysanity @gingernut1314 @since-im-already-here @feral-artistry @be-good-please @little-bunnybabe @sukilovesyou @buggyenjoyer @thesailus @under-kitty @acehyacinth @andriannag @one17 @canthebest1 @khaleesihavilliard @quirkyrascal @hungrhay @sentieence @lebanese-afg-ya @captaincupio @szired

#one piece #opla #opla fic #one piece live action #x reader #mihawk #mihawk x reader #sapsorrow fic #dracule mihawk #dracule mihawk x reader #zoro #perona #shanks #buggy #sir crocodile #mihawk fic #mihawk series #mihawk x you

469 notes · View notes

giuliettagaltieri · 1 year ago

Text

Fight for Carnage

Pairing: Mentor!Coriolanus Snow x Mentor!Reader

Chapter Synopsis: The Admirer

Warning: angst, unrequited love, mean Coriolanus Snow, academic rivalry, elitism, injuries, greed, mentions of death, Capitol cruelty, spoilers

Word Count: 1296

1 of 6

Before the onset of the Dark Days, Panem has seen no better tag team than that of Crassus Snow and Thanatos Swansworth, your father.

Men who helped shape the society, who kept the rebels at bay by putting a leash on them. They were the lightbringers of the Capitol and the harbingers of death to the Districts. They were well respected, or feared. Nobody really cared to understand the difference.

And to you and Coriolanus, they were people to be highly looked up to, they were not the best fathers but they were great men. And being their children, given the task to take up the challenge of reviving their legacy is a dream.

Although, it was never that easy.

Coriolanus Snow is your classmate in the academy, but he never really liked to socialize with you. It was a great insult to you when he once left your company to seek out Sejanus, a person he claims only to tolerate.

It did not deter you.

In class, you tried to offer smiles to him, asking him about his day, and he would respond to you curtly.

When there were gatherings, you tried to get him to make you his date, lingering by his side like a desperate little puppy, but it was always Clemensia Dovecot, his class partner who got the honor of having an arm looped around his.

It hurt you deeply. Especially when you always believed as a child that it was him you would marry. Your fathers loved to bring it up in every opportunity they had. They say that you and Coriolanus are one and the same.

Coriolanus disagrees with that.

Aside from having dead tyrant fathers, you had nothing else to sympathize over.

He had chosen his friends well. They were promising individuals, truly in the path of being the next great leaders of Panem.

And you, of course you were an exceptional student, someone who made it into the Academy’s top 24 best-performing students.

The news of having to become mentors in the 10th annual Hunger Games made your stomach turn.

Death was not foreign to you, your mother made sure you watched every single game. She said it was a way of honoring your late father. She has done it every year until she followed your father in death.

As a child, you had to develop resistance to brutality.

And the thought of having to take part in the backgrounds of such savagery did not affect you. The task, however of having to make your first step into the path your father wanted you take, had you completely anxious.

They had given you a young boy from District 8. He was plain. You saw no potential in him. Not that you voiced that out when they assigned him to you. It was only when you got to talk to him and he told you interesting things you can do with a sewing needle that your interest was piqued.

Coriolanus was invested in his tribute.

You saw it, heard it, as you passed him in the cafeteria when he had his luncheons with Sejanus. The way he looked at Lucy Gray’s eyes, the way they talked with such familiarity. You had trouble hiding a sneer. Surely, he would not stoop so low as to trick a woman’s affections just so he can come out as the victor.

When the games started, Cooriolanus became more and more detached, jittery, always on edge, as if using every moment to scheme.

That evening, you chose to rest early so you can come back before the break of dawn.

You were alone when you arrived, and you were met with the battered face of your tribute. Had it not been for his clothing, you would not recognize him with how bad his face has suffered from the brutal blows.

You stand in front of the screens, your body rigid as you cross an arm over your chest to support the other. You saw your father doing it often when he was plotting with Crassus. He often had a thumb under his chin and his index pressed in his lips as if to silence anyone who dared disturb him, and overtime, you managed to acquire the same gesture.

Your eyes were calculating as you watched every detail around him. It was a bloodbath around him. From the looks of the splattered blood, the culprit did not hold back. And the weapon, it was lying on the side, the concrete painted crimson.

Your narrowed eyes squinted at the other tributes, hardly anybody moved from their spots. Who could have done it?

You stood in the middle of the stage, eyes on every screen. Most of them had their own chosen weapons. What could have happened that your tribute had to die such a slow and brutal death. A pitchfork to the heart or an ax to hack his throat would have been better, at least his suffering would have been short.

Coriolanus Snow arrived after you. His eyes were blown, his forehead sweaty, and his shoulders stiff. He made no effort to acknowledge you first, you decided to do it for him.

“How have you been?” You ask gently. “I see your tribute is still cooped down there.”

He glances at you and at Lucy Gray on screen. “Yours?”

“Dead.” You smile at him.

The stillness in his movement did not go unnoticed by you, so did the grimace he pulled when he moved his shoulder wrong. You did not hide the way your eyes scanned his posture and he was watching you as you did so.

“Where were you last night, Corio?” Your smile is still on your face. Tone similar to the usual one you used when you ask for extra notes in class.

“Library.” He spoke with practiced calmness.

“In the middle of the night?” Your brows frown playfully. “And in the middle of the games?”

His back straightens at the tone of your voice.

Coriolanus Snow always detested how you were your father’s daughter. It was unfair to you, of course. But how is it that you, the daughter of Thanatos Swansworth did not have to suffer like him when he also lost his father. You were a sweet little girl. But the way you are at this moment, he started second guessing everything he knew about you.

“Were you scouring for strategies, you sly little fox?” You giggle as you walk over to him.

Coriolanus did not respond.

For a moment you just look at each other. His eyes are as glacial as you remember. He really is attractive, his ambitious nature even more so.

You squeezed his arm and the way your eyes darted to his shoulder had him holding his breath.

“Promise me you will not do anything stupid again, please?” You say with your voice barely above a whisper, almost begging him. He tries to break free but you pull his coat with your free hand, you are gripping his arm now. “Please, Corio.” You press yourself closer to him, eyes searching for something that is clearly not there.

He grabs your wrist tightly, making you let go of his coat. His eyes are not fazed with the unshed tears in your eyes. As his lips remain a firm line, you shy away from his cold gaze, feeling utterly pathetic.

But you will not let him see that he got through you.

It never ceases to amaze him how you can pull such authentic looking smiles.

“May the odds be ever in your favor, Coriolanus Snow.”

You stand on your tippy toes to press a kiss to his jaw and you leave him there with his thoughts building up a storm inside that golden head of his.

Hunt for Glory

#coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus snow x reader #tbosas #academic rivals #the hunger games #young coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #hunt for glory

418 notes · View notes

zoropookie · 7 months ago

Text

SWEET MELODY

☆ chapter eight — i don't care abt the homeless 🎂

You unlocked the key to your home after returning that night, presence in the air riddled with the absence of your brother.

The door creaked open, being greeted by the familiar scent of old books and a hint of maple in the air, meeting with the faint trace of the cinnamon scented candle you keep buying just because he did.

The silence was oppressing you, especially with how rough the reception was for you. You took slow steps through the corridor, your steps echoing slowly on the floorboards, creaking at every turn. Rancor poured into your eyes like a glass, the main room of the home left exactly how it was for years.

Every article of clothing on the floor, every knickknack and miscellaneous object wasn't moved. You hardly found the strength to go in there yourself, knowing that you wanted it to be a snapshot in time. The blanket you both snuggled into was laying there on the floor, in a halfhearted attempt beforehand to be folded neatly by your brother.

You sighed deeply after taking it in again, feeling your shoulders wrack in defeat, the tears pooling relentlessly. Enveloped in grief, you took a sharp breath in and shook your head, immediately heading towards your room to find the letter.

You panicked to find the letter again, going through every box and every single faded out picture that you could find. Nothing ever worked as well as it did with that letter, a flicker of warmth crashing on your body as anxiety made it's way to your lungs, forcing you to manually breathe.

"Where... where??" You murmured to yourself, almost in whimpers.

In haste, you pulled open drawers, scattered old postcards, flipped through dusty photo albums, taking in a lot of things that just made your heart ache more, but you couldn't stop looking for it. You needed that letter, the only thing you knew could momentarily connect to his thoughts.

Your breathing grew more labored once you trashed your entire floor with the past, each inhalation feeling like a struggle against you. Like there was 8 tons pressing down on your chest, the tears ruthlessly burning against the ducts of your eyes. "Where is it...?" You sobbed out, voice cracking with desperation.

You fell asleep that night, failing to soothe the raw edges of your pain. You were now left with both the painful night you've been through, and a lack of drive for your own profession. You couldn't say which one of those were benefitting you.

It was time for Mona to go herself, if your employees weren't going to bring it up.

She learned a long time ago that if anything was going to be done on her terms, she was going to have it do it herself. The bitter thought of your employees betraying you like this in terms of a business proposal is tragic to her.

She gazed whimsically at the cute setup that the bakery had been decorated with — fairy lights to wrap neatly around the hedge bush for the strays that were left on the floor after taking care of the surrounding foliage. Their soft glow accompanied with the first light of dawn.

Mona sat there in her car with newfound resolve, getting out after taking procedure to hide her face. She opened the doors to the bakery, the golden lights of the early morning sun streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long and wide shadows across every seating.

As she noticed two of the workers bustling behind the counter talking about something she had no knowledge about, one of them was arranging a tray of freshly baked cinnamon rolls. The other was decorating a cake.

One of them, with beaming golden eyes, looked up at Mona as he wiped his hands on his apron. "Can I help you?"

She immediately cleared her throat, offering a gentle smile as she candidly lowered the mask below her lips to hover forward. "If you could tell me where (Y/N) (L/N) is, that would be lovely."

At first, the two seemed ready to comply. Until the one with the lighter blue hair raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms to his chest skeptically. "What do you need them for?" He asked, his tone cautious.

Her smile didn't waver. "I have an oncoming appointment with them that hasn't yet been finalized. I figure I come here myself and make sure everything's taken care of. Oh," She looked in between the two, holding a hand out, "I'm sorry for not introducing myself. Mona."

Suddenly, the golden-eyed worker's eyes squinted as if he knew who she was. He was quiet, inspecting her with little intention on pressing her further. "Like from the girl group?"

After a confirming nod from her, he hummed and nodded himself slowly. "Get me an autograph from Xiangling, and I'll tell you government secrets too."

"Deal."

The other's eyes narrowed. "You're such a sellout, Gaming. They're... just prepping banana bread right now."

Gaming's expression softened up, and he nodded. It looked like there were almost hearts in his eyes, easily swayed by yet another temptress. "Sorry for the precaution, Miss Mona~ We'll get our boss right away."

As he left to go fetch you, the other smiled apologetically at Mona. "Sorry...we have to be careful now. Last time we went to go get them for a customer, they started throwing things in their face and shouting for a refund. I told that guy not to get the peanut brittle because of his peanut allergy."

"No worries." She nodded, a small chuckle coming from her lips. "I understand, you guys do great work it seems."

Moments later, you came out from the kitchen, curiosity striking you as you made eye contact with the soon to be client. "What's going on?" You asked softly, eyebrows furrowing. "Were the cupcakes too dense yesterday? I knew they were a little off, but I sold them anyway...I'm so sorry—"

"No!" Mona shot her hands up, "No, no. It's not that. I have some business to do with you. I wanted to come here to discuss it with you, since that's one of the only ways I can get ahold of you directly."

"Oh..." You perked up again, smiling. "Of course...follow me!"

previous ☆ masterlist ☆ next

THERE ARE not many things that can sway your interest ever since the "incident", but in spite of that, you pushed forward. you are now the owner of the biggest bakery chain in your city, consistently seeing couples and catering to them as such. you've been a big host at weddings, events for celebrities, and even a big support for your friends and family. you've even earned yourself a niche following as well by how sweet you are to everybody around you. but, even with your kindness, you don't have a particular spark that keeps you going anymore these days. that is until one of your employees starts suggesting you write love letters to customers who request your services. at first you thought it was a horrible idea that could easily turn into trouble, but that was until you were tasked with writing one to your own (very very famous) ex-boyfriend.

taglist ☆ — @seternic @chemiru @coquettemaiden @1kio0o @emiixuu

@agaygothicmushroom @yomishen @jingyuan-wife-real @toruscorpse @whoooismkeee

@sketcheeee @st4r4ngel @xionri @scaradooche @lightyagamifan

@pwushizz @alatusorrow @eutopiastar @magica-ren @slu7

@vaxmpi @theyluvkatt @kyon-cherri @suzydarling @mimi3lover

@auroratumbles @vxcmx @yourfavoritefreakyhan @kunimylovee

@czerwka @little-honey-the-third @featuredtofu @simonisferal @justpeachyteastea

@liuaneee @skyoverkill1 @mellowberrie @lalalaloveallmydays @mostlymoth

@mtndewbajablasted @vernith @lovekeychains @danhenglovebot @elizshade

@balladeersflower @kazumiku @bananasquash @neversore @yevurin

@franaby @vicslz @kamiboo @thegalaxyisunfolding @morgyyyyyyy

@feikyuu @tamikahoshiko @kissingkzuha @bbysatoruuu @rvoulte

@kinvasions @kukikoooo @adriannauodi @pumpkincitrus

193 notes · View notes

mythicalmaven · 7 months ago

Text

Beyond Boundaries - Oscar Piastri (PART SIX)

Masterlist

Time for chapter 6! :) I hope you like it! A little more plot and fluff this time <3 Really curious what y'all will think! Let me know! :)

↳pairing: oscar piastri x female!reader (norris!reader) ↳word count: 4,3K ↳chapters in this series: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, ↳chapter warnings: fluff, kissing, brothers teammate trope, bestfriend!reader, mentions of sexual content, feelings, tension, 18+ content (mdni!)

↳series summary: Since Oscar joined McLaren as your brother’s teammate, you two have quickly become best friends. Recently promoted to be Oscar’s physiotherapist, you both relish the opportunity to spend more time together. However, as the new role brings you closer, you both realize you might be feeling more a little more for each other than just friendship

The morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. You stirred, the remnants of last night's escapades lingering in your mind. The warmth of the bed and the steady rise and fall of Oscar's chest against your back were comforting. A sense of contentment washed over you until the piercing sound of a phone shattered the peace.

Oscar groaned beside you, fumbling for his phone on the nightstand. He squinted at the screen, confusion etched on his face, before realization dawned. His eyes widened as he looked at you, a mixture of panic and dread crossing his features.

"Shit," he muttered, sitting up abruptly. "It's Zak. I've missed a bunch of calls."

You bolted upright, grabbing your own phone. The screen lit up with missed calls from Zak and one from Lando. Your stomach churned as you saw multiple texts from Lando:

Lando: 8:50 AM: Where are you? 8:52 AM: Zak is looking for you. 9:01 AM: You better not be with Oscar. 9:01 AM: Both of you are screwed if Zak finds out.

Oscar's phone continued to ring insistently. With a deep breath, he answered, "Hey, Zak."

Zak's voice came through urgently, "Oscar, I've been calling you for ages! Open your door, now!"

Oscar glanced at you, his eyes wide with panic. "I just woke up. Must've slept through my alarm."

"Well, hurry up! We have a flight to catch, and I need to talk to you and Y/N. I've tried calling her too, but she didn't pick up either. I'm right outside your door."

Your heart pounded in your chest. The urgency in Zak's voice made it clear you were in trouble. Oscar motioned for you to get dressed quickly. You scrambled to put on the clothes from the previous night, your hands shaking.

"Hide in the bathroom," Oscar whispered, his voice tinged with fear. "I'll handle this."

You nodded, slipping into the bathroom and quietly closing the door behind you. Your heart raced as you pressed your ear to the door, trying to hear the conversation outside.

Oscar opened the door, and you heard Zak's voice immediately. "Finally! You really need a better alarm, mate. Where's Y/N? She hasn't been answering her phone either."

Oscar hesitated for a moment before replying, "Uh, she came by my room early this morning to grab some breakfast and asked me if I wanted to join, i was too tired, so I declined and fell back asleep. Maybe she forgot her phone here, I'll have a look in a bit. She’s probably downstairs in the lobby."

Zak sighed in frustration. "Alright, but we need to get going. You both need to pack up. You're both running late for the debrief as well! I'll check the lobby for her."

Oscar nodded, "Sure, I'll be down in a minute."

As you listened to their exchange, relief washed over you. You quickly composed yourself, knowing you needed to sneak out without drawing attention. Once Zak's footsteps faded, Oscar opened the bathroom door, his expression a mix of worry and urgency.

"We really do have a knack for getting caught, don't we?" you chuckled at him.

"Unfortunately, yes" Oscar shoot you a smile, scratching his neck "He's gone to look for you in the lobby. You need to get out of here and pretend you just came back."

You nodded, stepping out of the bathroom and heading towards the door. Before you left, you turned to Oscar, your voice low. "Thank you."

He gave you a quick, worried smile. "We'll figure this out. Just be careful."

With that, you slipped out of the room, your heart pounding as you made your way to the elevator. The morning had started with a rush of adrenaline, and you couldn't shake the feeling that this was just the beginning of the trouble you'd both face.

As you made your way down the hall, you crossed paths with Daniel, who had just exited a hotel room. He immediately noticed the disheveled appearance you had, the clothes you were wearing, the same as yesterday. "Looks like you had a fun night, didn't you?" he chuckled.

"Oh, shut up. Just cover for me, will you?" you almost pleaded, explaining that you might run into Zak at any moment and weren't in the mood for his lecture if he found out the "truth." The story you told Daniel was a bit of a lie: you claimed you couldn't find your keycard and stayed in Oscar's room, missing Zak's calls as a result.

"Yeah, right. You slept on his couch, that's why you have a hickey on your chest," Daniel pointed out, nodding toward the visible mark on your cleavage, easily hidden in a regular shirt but not in the top you wore yesterday.

Then you had a realization. "Wait a second, why did you come out of Lando's hotel room?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Don't try to change the subject, Norris," he joked.

Before you could respond, the door of the hotel room opened, revealing your brother, jacket in one hand and suitcase in the other. "Ah, crap," he muttered.

Lando scratched the back of his neck. "Euh... good morning, sis."

"Well, well, would you look at that," you laughed, shooting them a smug look. "You know, this doesn't surprise me at all, to be honest."

Lando shrugged. "Whatever, you were bound to find out soon anyway. Saves me the trouble of finding the right moment," he said, earning a chuckle from Daniel.

"Apparently, having a thing for Aussies runs in the family," Daniel smirked.

"Why are you wearing the same clothes as yesterday?" Lando asked, shaking his head with a look of disgust. "Oh wait, don't tell me. Ew. You probably slept with Oscar."

"Lando!" you whisper yelled, playfully punching his shoulder. "No, we didn't sleep together."

"I find it hard to believe nothing happened between you two, considering the state you left the club in yesterday."

"Hey, I never said nothing happened, just that we didn't have sex."

"Ewwww," he childishly uttered, throwing his hands in the air.

"Chop chop, lil Norris, you should go and hurry to your room and change clothes" Daniel suggested, gaining a nod from you in return "Oh! And don't forget to cover up those hickeys, because the one I informed you on isn't the only one that's showing" Daniel winked

Monday, March 25th - 1:00PM

Oscar and you were currently hanging out in the McLaren hospitality after you finished the race debrief. Neither of you talked about what happened last night, both of you seemingly avoiding the subject. Which to be honest was a little relief to you, considering you honestly had no idea how feel about it. It was amazing, it really was, but it just shouldn't keep happening, yet it always does.

Once Oscar finished his coffee, he looked up at you "So, what are your plans until Japan?" he asked, referring to the race weekend that would take place in about 2 weeks.

"Honestly didn't really make any plans, yet. Might book a hotel. Either here, or maybe in Japan. Didn't really wanna fly back to Monaco, because I don't feel like another jetlag" you replied, sipping on your coffee.

Oscar smiled a little "Good" he replied, sending you a soft look "Wanted to ask you if you wanted to stay with me until we fly to Japan. We're in my hometown after all, wanted to show you around a little. And my mom has honestly been begging me to take you home, so she could finally meet you"

Your felt your heart filling with warmth, happiness spreading through your body. It made you feel a little honored that Oscar wanted to spend his free time with you. You would have totally understood if he wanted to send that time with his family and friends, now that he's finally back in Australia.

You shot him a smile, nodding gently "Yes, I'd love that, Osc"

Butterflies. That's what Oscar felt when you said yes. A blush rises to his cheeks and he smiles shyly to you. He knew that he shouldn't get his hopes up too much, knowing that you probably see this as a little getaway for friends, but he wanted to use this as an opportunity to show you what he had to offer. That he could make you feel happy, make you feel loved. He knows he shouldn't, knows that you two shouldn't go down that road considering your jobs and the complications that could be associated with that, but he can't help himself. He's just so in love with you it hurts him. Every thought that crosses his mind involves you.

He had to hold himself back to not giggle like a little schoolgirl, the delighted man that he was. He grinned at you and said "I'm looking forward to it" he smiled again, raking a hand through his hair "You okay with me calling my mom, so I can inform her?" he asked.

"Sure" you smiled back, feeling a little giddy. A feeling you knew you should push away, but did you want to push that feeling away?

Monday, March 25th - 6:00PM

Once you had arrived at Oscar's family home, he got out of the car and immediately walked around it to open the door for you, being the gentleman that he is. It was always nostalgic to Oscar, being back at the house he grew up in. He moved to the UK when he was young, but his parent's house in Australia will always feel like home to him.

You felt a small amount of nerves slowly building up in your body, worried about what Oscar's parents would think of you. Sure, you've seen his mom on Facetime before when Oscar called with her, but real life was always so different. In your opinion, the bar is quite high. Since you're not only introducing yourself as his best friend, you're also introducing yourself as his co-worker, one with quite the influence on her sons wellbeing. It scared you a little, afraid you're not living up to the image they have of you.

"You okay there? You seem a little zoned out" Oscar mentioned, pulling you out of your thought.

You nodded carefully at him, stepping out of the car "Yeah, just a little nervous"

A reassuring smile appeared on Oscar's face, placing his hand on your upper arm, causing goosebumps to appear "Don't worry, baby. You'll do just fine. I'm sure my mom will love you," he said, the nickname slipping from his lips unintentionally. A blush creeping on his face the moment he realized, hoping that you didn't notice the latter.

As if the nerves from meeting his parents weren't enough already, you felt yourself getting more jittery from Oscar calling you baby. It felt like something forbidden, not particularly because Oscar called you that, because it honestly isn't that big of a deal. But because of the fact that you actually enjoyed it him calling you that. It caused butterflies to swarm through your abdomen.

You grabbed your suitcase from the back of the car, taking one last deep breath before the both of you made your way towards the front door.

Oscar looked at you, non verbally asking you if you were ready. Once he earned a nod and a smile from you, he unlocked the door and guided both of you inside. He took your suitcase from you, placing it next to the coat rack "We'll bring that upstairs later, let's first introduce you to my mom. My dad is still at work, I think"

The moment you both made your way into the living room, you immediately were greeted by a very smiley and happy Nicole Piastri, engulfing her son in a bone crushing hug.

"Hi, darling!" she said as she pressed a kiss on the top of his head, pulling away to direct her gaze at you "Ahhh! Y/n, so lovely to finally meet you in person!"

You felt relief wash over you at the kindness that radiated from Oscar's mom. You gave her an honest smile, almost a grin "Likewise! It's so nice to meet you Mrs. Piastri"

Nicole chuckled a little "Oh please, honey! Call me Nicole" she said kindly, embracing you in a hug too, while meeting her sons eyes "Oscar already told me so much about you, it almost feels like I know you already! He honestly never shuts up about you!" she joked around, pulling away from the hug.

"Mom!" he scolded his mom, his cheeks immediately flushing again, feeling a little humiliated. While you couldn't do anything than chuckling at her comment.

Nicole patted her Oscar's shoulder "Oh honey, nothing to feel embarrassed about! There's nothing wrong with talking about a lovely lady like her" she said, meeting his gaze again

"Okay, I think that's enough, mom"

Nicole laughed at her son again, sending you another kind smile "Shall I show you around the house? Show you where you can sleep?"

You gave her a small nod, following her and Oscar around her house. You first went back to the hall to grab your and Oscar's suitcase, before she showed you the entire house, which was beautiful. It was cosy and felt like a lovely family home.

"We have two options for sleeping arrangements, so you can decide which one you prefer" Nicole began, as you reached the last room of the tour, Oscar's room "Since Oscar's grandparents are staying over for the weekend, we don't have a spare room. So we set up an air mattress in Oscar's room, so you could stay there if you'd like. But if that's not comfortable for you, Mae offered to give up her room and sleep on the air mattress in Oscar's room instead"

Oscar felt his breath hitch in his throat. You and Oscar had decided to stay at his parents house for at least a week, so the idea of you two sharing a room together for a whole week, made him feel jittery, but also a little giddy. Unsure of what to expect, since after all sharing a room with the one you're in love with, while you shouldn't be, seemed like a hard task. The other part of him was a little anxious. Anxious that you would say that you wouldn't be comfortable with sharing, which he honestly could understand from your point of view.

"I'm totally fine with staying over in Oscar's room" you replied, looking over at Oscar who opened the door to his room "Only if you are okay with that too, of course"

"Y-Yeah sure!" Oscar uttered, trying to keep his composure. He entered his room, sitting down on the bed.

"Good, since we have that settled, I'll go and call your dad to ask when he'll be home. Your sisters will be home later tonight" she said, walking out of the room before looking over her shoulder once more "Promise me one thing tho, Osc. No funny business in there!"

Oscar's eyes widened and hollered "Mom! She's my best friend, not my girlfriend." although he wished you were "And besides that, we're co-workers"

"Yeah, your dad and I were too, but that didn't stop us either" she quipped, before quickly striding off.

Oscar let himself fall backwards on the bed, his hands covering his face "God, I'm so sorry. I don't know why she did that"

You closed the door of his room, walked over to him and sat down next to him, placing your hand on Oscar's thighs, feeling the muscle tense under your touch "Don't worry, Osc. It's fine. She's funny" you told the young Australian with a grin covering your face.

Your eyes scanned the room, noticing the picture frames on the walls and the trophies on the shelf "Your room is so cute, it really embodies you" you say.

You didn't realize your choice of words until you heard Oscar laugh. "Did you just indirectly call me cute?" he joked, the smirk on his face evident as he propped himself up on his elbows.

You playfully gave him a push, causing him to fall backward again with a soft grunt. "Don't tease me, or I'll make you regret inviting me back here," you chuckled.

"I highly doubt you'll be able to do that," Oscar spoke with honesty lacing his tone as he looked up at you.

"Watch me," you joked back, turning around on his bed so you were on your knees. You placed your hands on either side of his waist and started tickling him.

Oscar's reaction was immediate. He burst into laughter, squirming under your touch. "No, no, stop!" he pleaded, his voice a mix of amusement and desperation. "I can't handle it!"

You continued your playful assault, delighted by how vulnerable he was to the tickling. "I told you not to tease me!" you said, grinning down at him.

Oscar's laughter was infectious, and soon you were both laughing uncontrollably. He tried to grab your wrists to stop you, but you were relentless. Finally, with a burst of determination, he managed to flip you over, his hands now seeking out your most ticklish spots.

"Not fair!" you protested between giggles, your own laughter now filling the room.

"All's fair in love and tickle fights," Oscar replied, his voice playful as he continued his tickle attack.

You wriggled beneath him, trying to escape his grasp, but he was persistent. The playful struggle brought you closer together, your bodies pressing against each other as you both fought for dominance. The air between you seemed to crackle with tension, each touch sending shivers down your spine.

With a sudden move, Oscar managed to pin you down on his bed. His hands still held yours, and his body hovered over yours. The laughter died down, replaced by a heavy silence as you both realized how close you were.

Your faces were inches apart, his breath mingling with yours. Time seemed to stop, the world outside fading away as you locked eyes. The playful glint in Oscar's eyes was replaced by something deeper, something that made your heart race.

He leaned in closer, his eyes flicking down to your lips. You felt your breath hitch, anticipation building as he drew nearer. Just as his lips were about to touch yours, a voice called out from downstairs.

"Oscar! Dinner's ready!" his dad's voice echoed through the house.

Oscar froze, his eyes widening in surprise. He let out a frustrated sigh, pulling back slightly. "Of all the times," he muttered, a sheepish smile forming on his lips.

You couldn't help but laugh at the interruption, the tension dissipating as reality intruded on your moment. "Saved by the bell," you teased, your voice breathless.

Oscar rolled off you, sitting up and running a hand through his hair. "Guess we should head down," he said, offering you a hand to help you up.

You took his hand, your fingers lingering in his for a moment longer than necessary. "Yeah, wouldn't want to keep your family waiting," you replied, your heart still pounding from the near-kiss.

As you both made your way downstairs, you couldn't shake the feeling that something significant had almost happened. The unspoken connection between you and Oscar hung in the air, promising that this was far from over.

"Ahh, there you both are" Nicole said as she saw Oscar and you entering the kitchen, sitting down at the dinner table. His father and sisters already seated.

"So, Chris, ladies, this is Y/n" she said, giving you a little introduction as you smiled kindly back at them "Y/n, this is Chris and these are Oscar's sisters; Amelia, Millie and Maeve"

They all waved at you and shot you a kind smile, Millie being the first to speak up "It's so nice to meet you, Y/n" she said, shifting her gaze to her brother now "Couldn't you have brought her along earlier? You normally only bring your male friends back here and I can already tell now that she is waaaay better company"

Her comment made you giggle "Hey, you've only just met me. I wouldn't be so quick to say that, maybe I am the worst" you joked back at his sister, immediately feeling comfortable in their company.

After a few jokes back and forth, Oscar's dad took a moment to start a conversation with you "So, tell me a bit more about yourself, what are your hobbies?" he asked kindly, honestly interested in your answer.

You took the time to explain what you'd like to do in your free time, while Oscar looked at you as he listened intently, drifting away in your gaze. Oscar was completely unaware of how he was staring at you, until he felt a kick against his leg from his sister Maeve, who moved closer to his ear "Stop staring at her, captain obvious" she whispered to him.

"So, y/n, do you have a boyfriend?" Amelia asked, immediately getting scolded by Oscar, who thought his sister was being to nosy.

You laughed at their interaction, before replying "It's okay, don't worry, Osc" you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear "But, no, I don't have a boyfriend"

Maeve shot a look at her brother, wiggling her eyebrows at him "Well, well, doesn't that come in handy" she whispered to him again.

"Mae, shut up, will you?" he whispered back through gritted teeth, trying to prevent you from hearing.

"Okay, enough y'all!" Nicole called out to her children, politely asking them to behave.

The dinner continued peacefully for a while, all of you enjoying the meals that Nicole had put on the table. Clearly prepared with love, which you could taste, the meal tasting wonderful.

Monday, March 25th - 11:00 PM

A few hours had past when you found yourself splayed out on your stomach on Oscar's bed, scrolling mindlessly through your phone. Oscar had excuses himself to his ensuite bathroom to take a shower. You decided on laying on his bed for a bit, since it was honestly the most comfortable bed you've ever been lying on. But the fact that it's Oscar's bed, might have to do with it.

Oscar emerges from the bathroom, steam following him as he runs a hand through his damp hair. He has a towel slung low on his hips, exposing his toned chest. "Hey, do you mind if I grab a shirt from the closet?" he asks casually.

You can’t help but stare, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. "Uh, sure," you manage to say, trying to sound nonchalant. The sight of him, still slightly damp from the shower, causes your heart to race.

As he rummages through his closet and can't seem to find anything, you get up from the bed to help him. Your hands brush against his as you hand him a shirt, the contact sending a jolt of electricity through you both. You can see the subtle tension in his jaw, the way his breath hitches slightly when your fingers touch.

Oscar notices your flustered expression and steps closer, his eyes locking onto yours. "You okay?" he asks softly, his voice filled with concern and something else—something deeper.

"Yeah" you softly say, accompanied by a nod.

Unable to resist any longer, he steps even closer, your breaths mingling. He takes the shirt from your hands, but instead of putting it on, he lets it fall to the floor. His hand reaches up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin. "I've wanted to do this all day," he murmurs.

Before you can respond, he leans in, capturing your lips in a slow, tender kiss. The initial touch is gentle, exploring, but as you respond eagerly, the kiss deepens. His hands find their way to your waist, pulling you closer as your fingers tangle in his damp hair.

The kiss quickly becomes more intense, your tongues dancing together in a heated rhythm. His hands roam your back, feeling the curves of your body, while your fingers trace patterns on his chest, teasing and exploring. The world outside fades away, leaving only the electric connection between you.

Oscar's kisses become more urgent, each touch and caress conveying the depth of his desire and affection. His lips move to your neck, leaving a trail of heated kisses that make you shiver with pleasure. You respond in kind, your hands running through his hair, pulling him closer as your bodies press together.

The intimacy between you both reaches a crescendo, your breaths mingling and your hearts racing. After what feels like an eternity of passion, you both slowly pull back, your foreheads resting together, your breaths coming in soft, shared sighs.

Oscar looks at you with a mixture of tenderness and longing. "Please," he whispers, his voice barely audible, "don’t say anything about this. I know we shouldn’t, but just lay with me for a while, okay?"

You nod, feeling the same deep, undeniable connection. As you made your way towards his bed to lay down on it, Oscar looked at you once more "I'll be there in a second, let me put on some clothes and get some water for us" he says, raking a hand through his still damp hair as he walked back to his bathroom with both of your empty cups, completely ignoring the shirt that was still laying on the floor.

Oscar came back from the bathroom, still shirtless, but now wearing a boxer. He had two glasses of water in his hands. He placed them on his nightstand, before carefully lying down on his bed next to you. Slipping under the covers. Without a word, he wraps his arms around you, pulling you close, and you rest your head against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat a comforting presence.

As you settle into the quiet embrace, the world outside seems to disappear, leaving only the warmth and intimacy of the moment you’ve just shared. You both fall into a peaceful silence, the closeness and mutual understanding making it clear that, while the night has been intense, it has also brought you both something deeply significant.

The connection between you lingers, a promise of more to come, as you both drift into a contented sleep, wrapped in each other's arms.

—————⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺—————

previous part | next part

Taglist @aceyalonso @saachiep81 @landosgirlxoxo @andruuu28 @il0vereadingstuff

#f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #smut #formula 1 #friends to lovers #fluff #formula 1 smut #lando norris #oscar piastri #op81 #f1 #mclaren #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri x you #logan sargeant #daniel ricciardo #kiss

174 notes · View notes