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joelsrose · 2 months ago

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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

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@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

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phyx-m · 2 months ago

Text

Beneath The Silk

True form Sukuna 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/61 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 dicks, Sukuna’s extra mouths, heavy angst, eventual romance, trauma, reader is touch starved, panic attacks, protective Sukuna, possessive Sukuna, tension, sexual tension, manipulation, touch her and die, soft Sukuna, Sukuna POVs, Sukuna starts off very cruel, 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

#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

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charlietheepicwriter7 · 10 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...

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0ceanic-cosm0s · 4 months ago

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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

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giuliettagaltieri · 11 months 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

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zoropookie · 5 months ago

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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

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fanaticsnail · 1 year ago

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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

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skyonfilm · 7 months ago

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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

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evildeadfan102 · 11 months ago

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I played Until Dawn Session 8 set.

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

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mythicalmaven · 5 months ago

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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.

—————⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺—————

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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

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scribblesofagoonerr · 6 months ago

Text

— You can kiss my ass, cowboy!

pairings: leah williamson x reader!monkey

summary: monkey's continuing her adventures in nashville with leah and her family, and of course she's her usual chaotic self throughout.

pt. 8 of chaos fc. ↪ read the rest here: chaos fc masterlist

thank you to @alotofpockets for help with this chapter with the aesthetic photos & shizzle.

ps. brace yourself folks, this is quite a long one.

"Shut that alarm up!" You grumble, your peaceful slumber being interrupted by the annoying sound of the blondes' alarm clock blaring right through from the other side of the wall in the adjoined room - You wish that you were trusted to have your own room, far away from Malfoy and that stupid alarm of hers.

But apparently that isn't the case...

"Leeeah!" You shout aloud in annoyance, before attempting to block out the noise by shoving a pillow over your face.

Did it work? Nope.

"Oh and good mornin' to you too, Monkey," Leah teases, peering her head into your hotel room to find you curled up on the bed with the pillow shoved over your head.

"Just shut it off already!" You exclaim in protest.

The blonde chuckles and fiddles with her phone, finally turning off the blaring sound, "That better?" She jokes, moving to sit on the edge of your bed, "You're never a morning person are we, eh?"

You remove the pillow and scowl at her, "What'd you think?"

"Come on cranky," Leah pats at your leg which is covered up with the duvet, "The alarm was set for a reason anyways, it's time to get up." She adds in a cheerful tone of voice.

"Too early for your cheeriness," You grumble, trying to keep hold of the duvet before the blonde has a chance to rip it away from you.

"You're so dramatic sometimes," Leah remarks as she attempts to rip the duvet covers away from you like the meanie that she is.

Whining in defiance, you scowl at the blonde again, "I'm not dramatic! You're the insane one for waking me up this early!" You exclaim, wanting nothing more than to go back to sleep.

Sure when you're awake you're a menace, but you actually love your sleep a lot and its' precious.

"For somebody who had a fair amount of sleep last night, you're still exceptionally grumpy, eh?" The blonde continues to tease you.

"I can't help bein' tired, I'm a teenager. It's what we do-- Wait, how'd I get back?" It finally dawns on you that your in the hotel room, however, you don't remember much of how you get here at all.

"Took you long enough to realise that one," Leah quips in, shaking her head in amusement, "You crashed out at the festival, so I ended up carrying you back here." She explains.

Your eyes widen in disbelief, "What? No you didn't!" You refuse to believe that you fell asleep on the floor of a crowded place.

"I did, you were completely out of it after the sugar crash from eating all of the churros that I told you not to eat," Leah remarks, pursing her lips, "So I had no choice but let you sleep on me until we came back here." She adds.

"They were too good to not eat them, Le!" You insist, holding your head in your hands to hide your initial embarrassment when you remember its' not just you and Leah, but also her family too.

"Yeah, well that's what you get when you eat so many of them at once," The blonde still continues to tease you for her own joy, "I have photos for proof if you want to see them?" She offers.

"Oh my God, no!" You're quick to deny seeing evidence of your state of sleep the previous night, "You didn't post them on Instagram, did you?" You can't help but ask, already dreading the answer.

"What do you think?" The blonde has a shit eating grin plastered on her face, "That's going straight in my Instagram photo dump."

"You wouldn't dare!" You narrow your eyes at her, although you know pretty well, she most definitely would.

Leah continues to smirk proud of herself as she shrugs her shoulders, "You know you actually looked like well, not such a menace like usual with your face buried in my neck while you snored-- Whoa, hey!" She shrieks, dodging the pillow that you just so happen to have thrown in her direction.

"Your so annoyin' sometimes," You grumble in annoyance, slowly moving to get out of bed with very little effort that you have, "So mean, Malfoy." You add quietly, barely loud enough to hear.

Leah snorts in amusement, "Really? Speak for yourself, Monkey. Speak for yourself," She states as she takes a minute to realise what you said, "Oi. What have I told you about calling me that!" She states, firmly.

"I know, I'm a menace to society, yada, yada, yada! Kim spent the whole ride back from that open training session in Melbourne lecturing me about it," You murmur, rolling your eyes, "The bus ride was so long back to the hotel!" Walking off to grab your clothes out of your suitcase, you leave the blonde standing there in disbelief at your usual antics.

"Can we eat yet? I'm starvin' marvin!" You complain, being sat at one the tables in the diner that you're currently waiting on Leahs' family to join the pair of you.

You're not very patient most of the time, but you can't help that.

"Just be patient and wait a bit longer," Leah gives you one of her usual pointed looks that your more than familiar with.

You can't help but huff impatiently, "It's bad enough to drag me out of bed at the crack of dawn and now you're making me wait to eat-- Neglect. Complete neglect!" You shout loudly, catching the attention of a few people, who look at you in concern.

Leah's eyes widen in horror as she laughs slightly, "Shes' fine, shes' fine, honestly, shes' just being dramatic," She reassures them the best she can before she turns back you and swats the back of your head, "Oi, don't shout that out loud in here. What is wrong with you?" She scolds, trying to hide her overall embarrassment.

"I'm hungry," You whine, ducking down in your seat.

"We're waiting for my grandma and cousin. Can you be patient enough to wait ten minutes before making a scene?" The blonde questions, completely mortified how you'd just acted.

You groan dramatically, "You're killin' me here, Le! I'm completely wasting away!"

"So dramatic," Leah murmurs, rolling her eyes, "Honestly, even Buddy doesn't make this much of a fuss sometimes." She remarks, referring back to her 3 year old and your favourite little buddy.

You wish that she could have joined you on the trip, it would have been fun. However, shes' spent the week on holiday in Greece with Jordan.

You decide to make the most of your time by attempting to stack the salt and pepper shakers on top of each other to try and make a make-shift tower, finding other little bits to add to it.

Leah could've said something but she was just grateful enough you weren't shouting the house down and causing a scene in the cafe.

"Sorry, we're late," Leahs' cousin, Jordan, calls over to you both as two older women enter the cafe.

"Finally!" You exclaim being miss dramatic over here.

Leahs' face blushes red slightly, "Yeah, sorry about her. Someones' impatient to wait long enough to eat." She remarks, poking fun at you.

"I'm hank marvin' I can't help it!" You whine in protest, while in the process you end up knocking over your newly built tower, "Awh, shucks!" You mumble, scrunching your face up slightly.

"Ah, I see," Leahs' grandma, Berny, chuckles and moves to take a seat at the table, "Did you sleep well, love?" She wonders, turning her attention to you.

"You definitely were conked out on the floor last night," Jordan chips in.

This time it's you who faintly blushes, "Ehm, yeah. I er, I didn't realise I passed out the way that I did." You admit, awkwardly scratching the back of your neck.

"Shall we order?" Leah chimes in, sensing your shyness with her family.

It might come as a surprise to some people, but you were, at times, incredibly shy.

Especially when it comes to blondie's family.

You didn't know why, but you tried to always be respectful and not be a complete menace around them.

Of course you have known them all for a while, having moved in with Leah when you first joined the team at 16 and you'd found a way to slot yourself into her home and family, but it still didn't mean you weren't shy around them.

It's only this holiday that you've really started to come out of your shell around them, both of them having seen what happened the previous night.

"I want pancakes!" You perk up at the mention of food, "A whole stack of 'em with bacon and tons of syrup!"

"That's not healthy, Monkey," Leah grimaces at your choice of breakfast.

"So? I'm on my holiday, innit!" You flash the blonde an innocent smile, "What Thanos doesn't know, won't hurt him." You remark, shrugging your shoulders.

The blonde tuts at your choice of breakfast, "You're not having that much sugar, regardless of being on holiday or not," She quotes, using her fingers as air quotes to mock you, "You can have a few pancakes or none."

You can't help but feel annoyed about Leah putting her foot down on this one and of course you protest about it, "It's not even that much sugar. What's the big deal?" You question, huffing slightly.

"The big deal is that its' enough sugar for you to be bouncing off the walls and we don't need a repeat of last night, do we?" Leah remarks knowingly.

Awh, shucks...

"Mean Malfoy," You murmur in disagreement, slumping back into your seat and pouting at the blonde.

"I heard that," Leah states, still not much a fan of her newfound nickname.

"Good you were meant too," Sticking your tongue out at her because you can't help but be a complete menace sometimes.

Leah tuts and shakes her head, "Sometimes I forgot who the toddler is."

"I think Buddy's more well behaved, isn't she?" Leah's grandma chimes in.

"Probably right there," Jordan chuckles in agreement.

You continue to pout in your seat at the older women's comments, "That's rude."

"But true," Leah states, blunt as ever.

"I don't like being ganged up on like this, this isn't fair!" You huff in protest about it all 3 older women saying what did, "I think for this I deserve to get all the pancakes that I want!" You insist.

Leah snorts slightly and shakes her head, "Ha, nice try but the answers still no, so pick again."

"Damn it. I really thought I had it then!" You grumble, slumping your shoulders in protest, thinking that you will be able to get away with that one.

"I'm free as a bird!" You exclaim, walking out of the cafe with a newfound love for american style pancakes and chocolate flavoured milkshakes that you had luck with getting Leah to cave in eventually.

"What?" Jordan asks, puzzled with your carefree spirit to run wild.

This is definitely a side in you that nobody in Leah's family ever usually sees, unless sugar is involved.

Also one of the reasons why you don't have it too much.

Leah exhales a sigh and shakes her head, "This is normal, don't worry-- Monkey, careful near the road!" She shouts aloud, yanking a hold of your arm when she catches you wandering way too close to it with the cars zooming past at the speed they did.

"Awh, I just wanted to see if I can balance on the curb like I do back home!" You insist, being caught out as you try an improvised balancing act to keep your brain distracted for a bit.

It seems to have done the trick, until blondie yanked you away from it.

"You're about to get yourself run over by that distraction," Leah clicks her tongue disapprovingly, "Come on, we're heading this way." She gestured in the direction of where the road led to a strip of shops.

You're not at all keen to follow that direction until you set your eyes on your version of heaven.

"Oh my God," Your eyes widen in amazement, her mouth dropping in shock and excitement, "I'm in heaven!" You exclaim.

A lego shop, your perfect version of heaven!

"You're what now?" Leahs' cousin questions, confused and more so concerned for your sanity.

Leahs' family look bewildered while Leah is more used to this type of conversation with you.

"Oh boy, she's seen it," Leah remarks jokingly, shaking her head.

"I'm in lego heaven!" You repeat the sentence, "OH MY GOD, LOOK AT THAT! WOW, ITS' SO COOL! A GIGANTIC FREAKIN' LEGO COWBOY!" You shout aloud to nobody in particular, too much excitement to care about any concerned looks whatsoever.

You don't waste any time yanking your arm out of the blondes' grasp and run directly towards it, wanting to see it better up closer.

"Oh great we got a runner," Jordan jokes, watching as you run off.

Berny chuckles in amusement, "Shouldn't you go and chase after her, love?" She questions.

"Nah, she'll be fine, wait actually, yeah... I'll be back," Leah speaks aloud in realisation, quickly chasing after you before you end up causing more trouble, "Monkey, come 'ere, now!"

"Oh she's definitely got her hands full with that kid alone," Jordan remarks, laughing as her cousin runs after you.

"I agree," Berny replies.

"Monkey? C'mere!" Leah catches up to you, looking slightly annoyed but you couldn't care less when you are in lego heaven, "You need to stop wandering off so much!"

"Look, Le, look! There's a lego cowboy!" You squeal in excitement, jumping up and down on the spot, "I want one, I want one! Can I pleeeease get one?" You all but plead, wanting your own lego cowboy.

Sure you're technically an adult but you don't handle money well at all, so you had your bank card held captive by Malfoy, something about your lego habits being out of control... but who can blame you when they're so cool to build?

Leah can't help but chuckle in amusement, "I don't think you really need one of them, do you?" She wonders.

You gasp at the blonde in fake horror, "Are you serious? I need one. We haveeeee to get this, it would be so sick," You insist excitedly, "Buddy would love this as well!" Knowing that your favourite little buddy would indeed love this as much as you do, you hope Leah caves at that.

Hearing the mention of the 3 year old, Leahs' more lenient to listen to your pleading, "Fine, alright. We'll get it." She agrees.

"For real?That's awesome!" You're incredibly excited now as you all but drag the blonde inside the lego store, your eyes widening in complete awe, "Can we get this one as well?" You ask, motioning to another lego set.

"I think just one is fine for now," Leah shakes her head in disagreement.

You can't help but pout then, "But you know Buddy would love it as well, not just me!"

"Really? Using my kid as a way to get things," Leah quirks her eyebrow and continues to shake her head while you continue to give her your best puppy dog eyes, "Oh you know that doesn't work on me now... Alright fine, we'll get that one as well, but that's it!"

"Yay!" You jump for joy and pick up the second lego set, the excitement was unbearable to be able to build it.

"Oh my God, this is the best day ever!" Walking along the road near to the venue of the festival, you come across a fluffy cow in the field, "Oh my God, Derek. Is that you!?"

"Off she goes again," Leahs' grandma remarks, shaking her head, "That kid sure is a whirlwind." She adds.

Leah pinches the bridge of her nose and shakes her head, "Monkey, where are you goin' now?"

"Look! I found Derek-- How'd he get here from Scotland? That's so far!" Your eyes widen in confusion, "Look, Le! It's Derek, the fluffy cow!" You point over to the field where there's a cow that is the exact replica of the one that you saw in Scotland.

"Oh... She's not serious, is she?" Jordan looks at her cousin for clarification.

"I fear she might be," Leah admits, biting her bottom lip.

Jordan can't help but laugh, "Are you sure you don't think its' wise to get her tested, for you know, obvious reasons?"

"I'm not crazy, I'm just quirky!" You shout aloud before dashing to the field to where the fluffy cow is, "Hi, Derek. Quick this is the perfect photo opportunity-- Ay Malfoy, can you take mine and Dereks' photo?"

"Malfoy," Jordan snickers in amusement.

"My names not-- Fine," Leah begrudgingly snaps the photo of you with your new favourite animal, somehow accepting her new nickname.

"It's nice to meet you bud, thanks for the photo!" You grin and pat the cows' fur gently, "Le, wouldn't it be so cool if we could get a fluffy cow as a pet?"

"NO!" Leahs' quick to disagree, "We don't have a house big enough for a fluffy cow, don't get any ideas!"

"But we could though!" You insist, trying to find a reasonable solution to have your own fluffy cow.

"No! Come on, lets' go before you get any more crazy ideas!" Leah is grabbing hold of your upper bicep and all but dragging you in the direction of where you were previously heading to the venue.

"My ideas aren't crazy, I'm just havin' a good time," You huff in protest and reluctantly follow after them to walk to the venue for the second day of the festival.

"Come on menace," Leah remarks.

You grin excitedly still in awe of seeing the cow, "I still can't believe that Derek's here! I am shook!" You exclaim.

"You know he's not... Ah, never mind," Leah shakes her head, giving up on the explanation, not sure if you'd understand it right now, "Think you can stay awake this time round?" She jokes.

"Shut up," You blush red at the mention of your antics the previous night, continuing to follow them until you saw something else that looks pretty cool in your opinion, "Wow, that looks awesome! I wanna go on it! I wanna go on it!"

The 3 older women look in the direction of what's caught your attention and all laugh in amusement.

"Think you stay on long enough without falling off it?" Jordan challenges.

You scoff in agreement, "Please, I'd be a pro!" You're more than up for the challenge, already heading in the direction of the mechanical bull.

"Don't sound too confident about that one," Leah stifles her laughter before she reaches into her pocket to take the money out and pay for the ride, "Try not to fall off, menace." She jokes.

"Yeehaw' lets' go!" You exclaim, rushing towards it and hopping on, the bull starts up in a slow motion as it starts to fasten the pace, "Woohoo! This is great, I love this-- YO NASHVILLE!! YEEHAW MUTHA FUCKER!"

Leah's way too busy filming this to even be bothered to scold you about your use of colourful language, this is pure entertainment at its finest.

"She's' really enjoying herself on that thing isn't she," Leah's grandma comments as she beams a wide smile, happy that your able to be carefree as you want, however she is certainly surprised about the words that come out of your mouth.

Leah's cousin is cracking up in laughter, "I'm surprised she hasn't fallen off it yet. You know she's definitely going to try and get you to buy one of these things now, eh?" She jokes with the blonde.

Snorting in amusement, Leah shakes her head as she saves the video for later and pockets her phone in her pocket, "She can try all she likes, where on earth would I have room to fit one of those in the house?" She wonders.

"I'm sure she'd try and fit it in her bedroom if you let her," Jordan remarks, shrugging her shoulders as she continues to watch you have an absolute blast on the mechanical bull.

"That was... That was awesome!" You exclaim, stuttering your words as you try to get your breath back after being thrown around, "We have to get one of them!"

"Told you," Jordan states, looking at Leah knowingly.

Leah chuckles and slings her arm around your shoulder, "We are definitely not getting one of them," She states, letting you have a few minutes to catch your breath again before you continue to yap about something else.

"I don't think it would be safe or practical in a house," Leah's grandma chuckles.

"But it would be so cool, wouldn't it? You know Buddy would love that!" You insist, knowing its' the blonde weak spot to mention the little 'un.

"Oh no, you're not doing that again. There's no chance I am letting Buddy near one of these things at all any time soon," The blonde states, firmly much to your own disappointment.

"It would be so fun though, wouldn't it?" You try and give a convincing speech to get your own way, but judging from the look from the older blonde, you're having a hard time with that, "Guess I'll just have to get one when I get my own place."

Leah snickers and shakes her head, "You're definitely way off that happening any time soon at all, Monkey." She tells you.

"Really? I think it would work out pretty well," You insist, shrugging your shoulders, "It's okay to admit that you'd miss me though, I get it." You joke, knowing secretly that the blonde will definitely miss you too much when you move out, even if she doesn't openly say it.

"I wouldn't miss you," Leah remarks as you all walk into the venue of the festival, "Besides, I'm not letting you out of my sight when you think that takeout meals, sweets and energy drinks are an acceptable diet-- Oh you think I didn't know about them ones, huh?"

"I thought you were banned from energy drinks?" Jordan asks, knowing that you don't react well with them.

"She is supposed to be, but someone sneaks them when they think we don't know about it," The blonde remarks, looking at you.

"He, I'm a menace," You smirk at the both of them, "I can't survive without sugar sometimes!" You declare, you love sugary drinks and you can't get enough of them.

However, some people, i.e. responsible adults, think differently about them, so sometimes you have to get creative to get a hold of them.

Leah clicks her tongue disapprovingly, "We seriously need to talk about your caffeine addiction before it gets out of hand, Monkey."

"I think you might be past that point love," Berny chimes in, amused at the conversation.

Leah exhales a sigh and nods her head slowly in agreement, "I fear you might be right there, grandma. Our Monkey's habit of caffeine certainly is concerning." She states.

"Yo, this music is my passion!" You exclaim loudly over the volume of the noise, enjoying yourself being in your element once again, "Nashville's a total vibe!" You shout, even louder if that's even possible.

"If this is her without so much sugar then I hate to see what she's like with it," Jordan remarks, leaning in close to Leah so she could hear her over the music.

"Carnage, complete and utter carnage," Leah states, wincing at the flashback of the last time you had a ridiculous amount of sugar.

This is tame for you.

"I fuckin' love being in Nashville!" You scream at the top of your lungs, standing on a chair and swinging your cowboy hat around in the air.

"Hey! Language!" The responsible adult, ie, captain of the fun police chides you, because it's' just so typical of her, "Get down before you end up breaking your leg!" She adds.

"Geesh, calm down there, Captain America!" You roll your eyes, but begrudgingly get down off the chair to save the defender having a cardiac arrest right there and then.

The blonde clicks her tongue, "You're such a menace sometimes, Monkey!" Completely caught off guard when she watches you pull a pair of glow in the dark glasses out of your back pocket, "Wha-- Where on earth did you get a pair of them from?" She questions, bewildered.

You smirk and slide the pair of glasses on, "What, you mean you don't carry a pair of these at the ready?" You gasp in shock horror.

"You really are something else sometimes, Monkey," Leah remarks, shaking her head.

"I'm impressed," Jordan chips in.

"They suit you love," Berny pipes in.

"Thank you," You grin at the older women before you turn to look at Leah, "See? I'm totally rockin' them! Wanna pair, they come with two!" You offer the spare pair to the blonde.

"Oh no, I think only you can pull off a look with a pair of them glow in the dark glasses and cowboy hat," Leah states, amused with your usual antics and doesn't miss the opportunity to snap a picture for the memories.

"I gotta take a video of this and send it to Kyra," You state, sliding your phone out of your pocket to pull up the camera app, "You know, I wish she could be here to experience this!"

"I'm glad, I don't think I could handle the pair of you together," The blonde tells you honestly.

You can't help but smirk confidently, "Only because she calls you Lord Farquaad far too much for you to handle!"

"Lord Farquaad?" Berny questions, confused.

"That's certainly creative," Jordan chimes in as she tries and fails to stifle her laughter.

Leah groans and shakes her head, "I don't know what it is with you pair and coming up with these nicknames." She mutters in disbelief.

"Oh, we made code names for everyone!" You exclaim, remembering all of the time it took you and Kyra to come up with them all, "We called Katie leprechaun cos' she's Irish, innit?"

"I'm sure she loved that," Leah deadpans, trying to figure out what went on inside your head sometimes.

"Smile, Le," Taking the perfect opportunity of Leah pulling her usual frowning face, you snap a picture and upload it to your Instagram right there and then, "I got the perfect shot, Instagram approved."

"Don't you even dare post that, Monkey!" The blonde states, firmly.

"Eh, its' too late for that," You flash her an innocent smile and pocket your phone again and start to dance to the beat of song that you recognise.

"Hey sweetheart, you're lookin' like a fine thing," A man attempts to horribly flirt with you and gets a bit closer to you, "Wanna have a dance and maybe even a kiss?" He offers.

You scrunch your face up in disgust, "Ha, no. I tell you what you can kiss though," You state as you near his face, "You can kiss my ass, cowboy!"

"Well if the offers there," The man smirks in agreement.

"Ew," You murmur, not understanding why he wasn't going away.

"Whoa, hey, no, no," Leah shakes her head in disagreement and moves to stand up, trying to square up to the man, "Back off, mate. Shes' too young for you!" She states, not having none of it.

The man holds his hands up in mock surrender, "Geez, alright, no need to be so protective," He jokes as he backs off in the other direction.

"You can't say these sorts of things, that man literally took it like that!" Leah shakes her head in disbelief, "You should know that men don't always think with their heads!"

You huff in disagreement, "I had it handled though, you didn't need to intervene. I was totally gonna wind him up about it!"

"Menace," Leah mutters to herself.

"I'm thirsty, I'm gonna go and get a drink," You declare, going to move in the direction of a bar.

"Hold on, I'm comin' with you. I don't trust you alone with what just happened," The blonde's quick to say, following after you before you can wander off once again.

"Are you sure I can't have a beer?" You try your luck with this once again, maybe hoping the blonde has changed her mind.

"That depends if you want to sit in jail for the night," Leah remarks as the two of you wait to be served by the bartender, "Hi, can I get 2 vodka cokes, 1 gin and tonic and a coke as well, please?" She asks.

"Comin' up," The bartender nods and gets to work pouring the drinks one by one.

"Oh, no ice or oranges!" You interject, holding your finger up in the bartenders direction.

Leah snickers, "Do you mean lemon or lime, instead?"

"Whatever," You murmur and shrug your shoulders.

With the drinks passed over to you both, you start walking back to Leah's family as something on the ground catches your attention all of a sudden.

"Er, what's that?" You move closer to inspect it, reaching out to try and poke it out of curiosity.

Leah's eyes widen in horror as she's quick to swat your hand away from it before you can reach it, "Ew, no. Don't touch that!" She states, firmly.

"Why?" You cock your head in confusion as you inspect it closer and the realisation suddenly hits, "Oh-- Ew, ew, that's gross! Oh my God, I almost touched that! Why... Why's it on the floor-- Why did you nearly let me touch it?" You screech in disgust, having a complete meltdown over it, earning a few odd looks.

"That's why I swatted your hand away before you did, Monkey," Leah exhales a sigh and shakes her head, "You should know better than to touch things on the floor, anyways." She adds, expecting you to have some sort of common sense.

You pout at her words, "I was curious. I didn't realise it was a condom!" You whine in disgust, trying to move away from it now, "I'm innocent, I don't know about them things!"

Leah laugh in amusement, "Well, at least you know for next time," She remarks, pulling you in the direction of where her family members are, "Here you go." She hands the drinks to them and sits back down in her seat.

"I just almost touched a freakin' condom," You murmur in horror still, feeling traumatized about the experience.

"What?" Jordan blinks in confusion.

"It was right there on the floor, like ew, why would anyone leave such a thing like that on the floor?" Your close to having a complete breakdown over this, "That is totally disgusting! Absolute filth! Wha... Why would somebody-- I just don't understand it!" You exclaim.

Berny and Jordan can't help but laugh, while Leahs' holding her head in her hands feeling somewhat embarrassed for you making a scene like you did in typical you style.

"Oh dear," Leah's grandma states, amusedly.

"Calm down, Monkey," The blonde tries to calm you down, but your not having none of it as you continue to wave your arms about in the air and still have a complete meltdown over it.

"No, no! It's not right, its' horribleeee! What if... What if I actually touched it? I could have... I could have picked up anything at all!" You screech in horror, displeased about the whole thing.

"Monkey, relax. It's fine, you didn't touch it," Leah states, trying to stifle her laughter as she has to admit watching you freak out in this way is funny, and it proves that you really are innocent with some things after all.

You huff and slump down in your chair, not liking being mocked fun off as the beat for a familiar song kicks in, "Hey this song's great-- Yo, Le, have you sung this to Lia at all?" You joke, you can't help but want to mess with the blonde.

The speculation from fans is always wild about Leah being with Lia, of course you know they're just the best of friends, but you're a little shit and you can't help but want to stir trouble even more.

"Monkey!" The blondes' glare is enough to make you crack up laughing even more, "Enough of that!" She states, annoyed.

"You know I just can't help it sometimes," You reply trying to feign your innocence, "Are you sure there's nothing more serious going on there? I'll give the fans the inside scoop-- Agh! No, get off meeee!" You can't help but screech loudly as the blonde is quick to pull you into a headlock and press her hand over your mouth to shut you up before you continue to talk.

Yep, definitely worth being a menace sometimes.

monkeymenace_ just posted.

liked by leahwilliamsonn and 18,023 others.

monkeymenace_ adventures in nashville with malfoy and co, my dreams came true in more ways than one!

from getting to pet derek the fluffy cow, finding the best lego store and riding a bull, and that's without even talking about the music. it's been a blast!

nashville, you have my heart! 🤠❤️

leahwilliamsonn: glad you have had the best time, monkey! 🐒❤️

bethmead_: ha, that denim jacket is perfect for you! ↪ leahwilliamsonn: i thought the same when i brought it her

kyracooneyx: missin' you, eagle 1 😢🦅 ↪ monkeymenace_: missin' you too, eagle 2 😭💔🦅🦅

#woso x reader #woso fanfics #woso imagine #arsenal x reader #woso one shot #scribblesofagoonerr #arsenal women x reader #arsenal wfc x reader #woso #leah williamson x reader #chaos fc #monkey #leah williamson #woso community

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mintmatcha · 9 months ago

Text

Inevitable Things: chapter two

aizawa x reader fic

cw: aizawa x reader, cisfem reader, office AU, no quirks. no porn in first two chapters, sorry gang :)

previous chapter | masterlist | next chapter

When you arrive at 8:35, all of the lights in the building are already on, a warm, yellow hued light against the stormy sky. The exterior almost melts into the overcast; it makes you think of that ‘bye-bye blue' that Disney coined for its buildings, only much more depressing. Sometimes you look at this build and think about the hours of your life that it’s stolen, but not today. No, for once, you decide to have a good day.

It’s your birthday, after all.

The dash across the parking lot is a bit wobbly, your heels catching the gravel and potholes. Mic had texted you last night to remind you to wear something special, since he and a couple other office friends were taking you out, so you had dawned the only pair of heels you actually liked: a red pair you found at a thrift shop years ago. The stilettos are a bit high and much too sexy for your taste, but there’s an unknowable something about them that you love.

You did, however, forget your umbrella.

One of the interns is by the door, jacket pulled over his head to protect himself and his cigarette from the rain. Izuku, chubby cheeked and doe eyed, is shorter than most of his peers, with thick green curls that puff up and frizz in the humidity. For his stature, he’s surprisingly built; he and his boyfriend -no, fiance now- go to the gym together every morning and the hard work shows. You can’t help but notice the curve of bicep that flexes as he moves his arm back to his face.

“Good morning!” you call out. The weather is cool, so you wrap both hands around your special little birthday latte. Izuku seems unphased by the weather; he sniffles a bit as he pulls another drag, freckled nose wrinkling. The red stained rims of his eyes are stark against his tan skin.

“Yeah.” He sucks in a breath, trying to keep his voice light and failing. His Southern draw sits heavy on his tongue. “Not quite.”

“Oh no, what happened?” Rain drives a shiver up your spine and so does the look in his eyes.

“Like, okay, it was so-” He takes another thick pull and exhales it too quickly, coughing a bit as he talks. His ideas come faster than his mouth can handle. “First thing this morning-- well, actually, Ka-chan and I got here before anybody, so it wasn’t, like, first thing-first thing, you know? Anyway, like- thirty minutes after the first thing, when Mr. Aizawa arrived, he like, didn’t even set his stuff down before he told me to get into the conference room, which is crazy because he usually won’t do anything until you’re here and-”

“Izuku, focus.”

“I am focused-- these are important details! Mr. Aizawa pulled me into a conference room this morning and reamed me out. Incompetent: he called me lazy and incompetent, which is crazy because I do so much in this department! You wouldn’t believe it! And you know what Ka did? Laughed. He could hear it from the cubicle and he laughed, isn’t that awful? We’re getting married and yet he thinks it's okay to laugh at my misfortun-?”

“Wait, slow down,” you say. “Why were you yelled at?”

Izuku takes a dramatic gulp of air to slow himself, but it clearly does nothing. His finger twiddle the cigarette back and forth, ash falling to the puddle at his feet.. “He told me the work I turned in yesterday wasn't acceptable.”

It couldn't be the things you did. There’s no way; you’re smart -- well, okay, maybe not. You’re competent at least-- competent enough that you’ve done the reports previously without any complaints.

“No.”

“It's my fault.” Izuku continues. His accent gets thicker when it’s holding worry, clipping words and rounding out other sounds. “I should have finished them myself, but Denki offered to help me out-- and I had a meeting with the wedding planner yesterday so I had to leave early; if i was late again I would have upset Mitsuki and I couldn’t upset Mitsuki again because she’s intense, like, way more intense that Katsuki ever is, so I’m a little terrified of her-”

Fuck. You can’t listen- you’re trying to focus on keeping your breakfast down. That was your work. You’re the one that made Izuku and Denki look bad.

“-Biomedical engineering. Why did I pick biomedical engineering? I should have chosen law school like Iida. That would have been a better career path.”

“What about Denki?” You interrupt his rambling and he seems to snap out of his panic loop. For once, he’s quiet. “What about Denki, Izuku?”

“Oh.” Izuku says. “Yeah. Well.”

He places the cigarette between his teeth and goes to suck, only to realize he’s hit the filter. With a tsk, he smashes the embers against the concrete side of the building, but doesn’t drop the butt, instead holding it in his palm. A trickle of rain runs down your cheek, just enough to make you shiver.

“Allegedly,” Now, he speaks too slowly, chewing on every word. “HR is working on his off boarding.”

Your body forgets how to breathe. The interns are all part of a specific college program- if they aren’t working, they don’t get credit towards their summer graduation. Because of you, Denki will not be graduating this spring-- in fact, he’s going to have to wait another full school year until he can apply for graduating again. Your head is spinning from the lack of oxygen and you have to manually force yourself to suck in a breath.

“He’s fired?” you ask, stupidly.

“I’m not surprised, to be honest.” Izuku says. His pretty little curls are flattened now, heavy with wet. “This was his fifth big mistake and Mr. Aizawa is, well… he’s Mr. Aizawa. He doesn’t pull any punches.”

“Oh, geez.” You want to barf. “Oh, no, oh, geez.”

You’re ruining someone's life. One mistake and you’ve fucked everything up. Tears prickle hot behind your eyes as you think; what are your options here? You can’t just let this happen. Your job is to fix things-- that’s the only thing you’re good for. Discussing this with Aizawa would be a dead end; he’d probably just fire you too. You need to go above him.

“I’ll fix this,” you say, mostly to reassure yourself. You turn on your heel and march inside, a plan already forming in your mind. “Don’t worry.”

“Fix what?” Izuku calls after you. “Denki getting fired?”

You flash the security officer your badge, not bothering to turn around. There’s no time for that. The head of HR is usually punctual, so you only have a couple minutes before he arrives and sees the termination paperwork. It’ll take time to process, of course, but you’d rather fix this before it’s even reached that point. You scramble to your desk and don’t bother to sit down before you’re picking up your phone and dialing. The number is posted on a little sticky note, right under ‘emergencies only’ written in big red letters. This… counts, right? This is an emergency in its own regard.

The line rings once, then twice. Then, it clicks.

“Good morning.” The voice on the other side is unusually smooth, a clear timbre despite it all. In between words he takes long, drawing breaths, pulling through his nasal cannula. “Is my company? On fire?”

You laugh at that and you aren’t sure why. Maybe it’s the trill of fear in your gut, burrowing its way out anyway it can. “Good morning, sir. No, the building is still standing, luckily.”

“Please," he says, and you understand immediately.

“Yagi.” The informality of it all feels weird, even after all this time. He's the CEO and he wants you to address him like a friend. It’s been that way since you first started, but it still feels undeserved. “How are you?”

“I’m well.” Behind him you can hear the mumble of the television: a children’s show, you think. “My niece is visiting. So, I’ve been. Spending a lot of time. By the pond, feeding the ducks.”

He mentioned once that he had wanted children, but the company had taken up too much of his time. That memory makes your gut twist in a different way as you remember just how finite his time really is.

“That sounds lovely.”

“It is lovely.” He pauses. Then, clears his throat. “Not that I’m. Not happy to hear from you, but… why are you calling?”

“Well, I-” You’re not sure where to start. You shift your weight from one foot to the other, swaying like you have to pee. “I made a mistake.”

“What kind of mistake?”

“Not a company ruining one, but…” Oh, geez. Maybe you'll end up being the one without a job today. “I finalized some work for the engineering department interns and it wasn’t up to standard. And the manager-”

“-Shouta?”

“Yes, uh. Aizawa. He wasn’t aware of that fact and he fired the intern for work that I did.”

There's a pause.

“Are you sure?” He sniffles a bit. You can picture how he itches his nose with the back of his hand. He hates that tube. “I know he isn’t. The warmest man, but Aizawa. Isn’t one to fire. An employee without. Apt reason. Have you tried. Speaking to him?”

You can’t. The idea of confrontation makes your skin itch. Besides, you can’t just look him in the eyes and admit you fucked up-- he’d lose his mind.

“I just can’t let Kaminari get in trouble for my work.”

Yagi hums a low tone.

“I’ll bring it. To Shouta’s attention.” You almost jump for joy at that. “And I’ll let HR. Know.”

“Oh, thank you.” You’re physically bouncing. “I felt so guilty.”

“That’s under. Standable.” he says. “Maybe we. Have the engineers. Do their own work from now on, okay?”

“I know, I know, I just--” Can’t say no? “I like to be useful.”

“You’re more than useful.” His voice is warm, almost paternal. “I’m being told that I have an episode of Bluey to watch, so…”

“Goodbye, have fun, thank you, thank you, thank you.”

You hang up, then wait a couple beats before sighing with relief. Crisis avoided! Happy birthday to you! Maybe, against all odds, this will be a good day.

You drop into your seat and let it spin. Your latte isn’t hot anymore, but even lukewarm it’s still pretty damn good. After it boots up, your computer notifications are alight with companies wishing you a happy day and a merry 30% off. There’s a couple of DMs from coworkers that you haven’t opened yet as well and the attention makes you glitter.You almost forget that Touya still hasn't read your messages. It's not a surprise; he always forgets your birthday. It shouldn’t upset you at this point.

The workday official starts and, for once, it’s calm. There’s time to organize your desk and check on your facebook. Maybe, just maybe, the universe has decided to be kind to you. Yagi sounded better than he usually does, if not a bit winded.

You’re thirty, but you don’t feel older. 18 feels like last week, 25 is still your friend. Being this old almost feels like a joke-- especially being this old and single, with a job you’re not passionate about. You thought, maybe, that things would be okay by now. You’d be successful, with more than a couple hundred in your checking account, and a husband that could return a fucking text. Life, of course, had other plans.

It’s not that you don’t love Touya. You do. You really do. You just wish that you didn’t. It's easier to love someone like Hizashi or a boring man from R&D, but being with him feels like running on sand as it sinks down an hourglass. You're too far gone already, too intertwined with him; fate has linked you to a man that will inevitably break your heart, over and over again.

You almost don’t notice the stomp of boots down the hallway until it’s too late. You’ve been eclipsed.

Aizawa turns the corner so quickly that you jump and spill your coffee. His brow furrowed so deeply that his ‘11’ lines have gained an extra 1, and extra wrinkles have puckered around his straight drawn mouth. When he speaks, his lips curl up in one corner in revulsion, giving you a hint of canine. Someone from marketing walks down the hall, meets your eyes, then turns back around, fleeing it away from this situation. You wish you could do the same.

His hands press flat against your desk. The space he takes up alone makes you wilt, drawing back into your chair. Oh, he's pissed. Beyond pissed. His hair is down for once, falling in front of his face as he talks, and his hoodie sleeves are pushed to his elbows, revealing the punched, tense muscle underneath. The finer hairs on his arms are raised up into goosebumps, standing straight like pins.

“If you have a problem with the way I run my department,” Aizawa seethes. “At least have the balls to say it to my face.”

The air in your lungs turns icy. You’re frozen there, hands hovering above your keyboard, unsure if you should even pick up your drink.

“On what planet is it acceptable to tattle on me to the CEO?” His voice carries down the hall as he growls at you, the low, rolling tone of his voice somehow more terrifying than actual yelling. He reminds you of a wild dog, ears pinned back and ready to bite. And you’re just the poor rabbit in his path. “And to HR? Are you fucking kidding? You’re better than this.”

Oh, this is the type of interaction you were trying to avoid. Heat flares across your cheeks as you sputter and you frantically look anywhere else to avoid the burn. “I-- uh--”

“Did the interns come crying to you again?” Aizawa continues. “Did you let them walk all over you again?”

He leans in even closer.

“You are not their mother or their friend. They are adults. With jobs. And they do not need the secretary saving them from work they are paid to do-- especially Kaminari, who regularly abuses your good faith.”

Your shoes. You focus on those. Your pretty, candy red heels with the delicate strap, the ones Touya always compliments and the ones that make you feel beautiful.

“Calling Toshinori? May I remind you that he is actively dying? May I remind you that you are actively wasting his time with this?"

Shoes, look at your shoes.

"I also don’t have the fucking time for this. We are a business in a time crunch-- I don’t have the energy or brain power or man power to be dragging around dead weight," he says. "If I decide someone isn't fit enough to work here, they are not fit to work here. Do you understand that?”

Oh. A sudden, horrible realization hits you. All of the weeks of stress and loneliness and heartbreak and other random bullshit that’s built up in your life is hitting all at once and, despite how hard you’re trying not to, you are going to cry. Tears are prickling hot against the corners of your eyes, burning to come out, and you know there’s only second before they spill over-

“Do you understand that?”

You look up. He looks down. Your lip quivers.

Aizawa immediately draws back, eyes widening with realization. He opens his mouth, then closes it, then opens it again, drawing in a short breath. His brows are pinched together differently now; if he was anyone else, you’d assume he was sorry. If he was anyone else, you might care.

“I didn’t mean to…” he tries.

“You’re-” You want to scream and fight and curse, but all you can say is: “I hate you.”

It’s incredibly juvenile, but saying it feels good. With all of the fury you can muster, you stand, chair bouncing back against the wall behind you, and march out of there and straight into the women’s bathroom. You hold your chin high until the door slams behind you.

Then, you sob. It’s loud enough that you know it can be heard in the hall, wet enough that all of your make-up ends on the back of your hands, hard enough that you lose one of your contacts, but you just can’t stop. It comes in a torrent, one that doesn’t stop until you’re all blurry eyed and swollen and absolutely, positively destroyed.

Fucking astrology. Fucking Aizawa. Fucking work. Fucking Touya. Fucking turning thirty.

Your heels look stupid against the blue and white linoleum. The faux leather no longer looks convincing, but like cheap, normal plastic. Your cellphone is still on your desk and covered in an 8 dollar latte, so there's nothing to distract you from your own downward spiral. You want to be helpful. You want to be a good person, but nothing seems to work out that way.

By the time you manage to peel yourself out of the bathroom stall, the world has started to turn again. Someone’s at the coffee station, stirring in way too many sugars, someone else is taking on the phone just out of earshot. Aizawa is thankfully gone. You’re not sure you could have handled more of that.

Frankly, you’re not sure you can handle more of anything. You strip your other contact from your eye and throw on your only other option: the emergency glasses you have stashed in your desk. Great, as if you didn't feel bad enough already, now you feel ugly too.

A ping comes through from HR, letting you know that you have sick time available 'if need be.’ For once, the office gossip works in your favor. You shoot off a quick reply, confirming that you're going to head out, then grab your phone. It's sticky and wet, but it still works.

do you want to leave work early and go get drunk?<-

Hizashi’s response is almost immediate.

->leave work early????? who is this and what have you done with my babygirl?????

-is that a no? ): <-

->are you kidding?????? I’ll be at your desk in 15

You are going to get drunk. Very. Very. Drunk.

341 notes · View notes

onebadassunicorn · 4 days ago

Text

His Blue-Eyed Angel

pairing: Azriel x Reader

content warnings: depression, talk of torture and captivity, longing, angst

word count: 7.9k

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

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Story tags: @bravo-delta-eccho @tele86 @tiredsleepyhead @celestialgilb @theflowerswillbloom @fuckingsimp4azriel @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @salvatoresister1 @imperfect0angel @stvrdustalexx @anneas11

Image owned by Velocity Visual Media.

********************

Chapter 19

Azriel POV

The moment lingered in his mind like a cruel echo. The last time Azriel had seen Y/n, was when she stood at the edge of the River House courtyard, her figure framed by the soft glow of dawn. Her long, dark hair cascaded down her back, her wings tucked tightly against her as if she were trying to shield herself from the world.

But it wasn’t her poised figure or even her battered wings that haunted him most—it was her eyes.

Her blue eyes, so striking and vibrant in happier times, had become something else entirely. They had always been a window to her soul, a reflection of her emotions. Once, they had been a lively mosaic of blues: the sparkling turquoise of shallow waters when she laughed, the endless cerulean of calm seas when she gazed at him with quiet affection. But that morning, as she looked at him, they were none of those things. They were darker, stormier, like the ocean during a tempest.

The sadness in her gaze was raw and unguarded, pulling him into its depths like a riptide. Her eyes held the weight of everything she had endured, every scar she carried, every moment she had been left alone to fight for herself.

Her gaze flickered to his, hesitant but piercing, and he felt the bond between them stretch taut, trembling under the strain of unspoken words. The color of her eyes shifted as her emotions swirled—deep cobalt at the edges, a stormy gray-blue bleeding into the irises, as though her feelings had darkened the very ocean within her.

“Angel,” he had murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. He wanted to say more, to beg her to stay, to promise he would spend every moment making up for the choices that had brought them to this moment. But the words lodged in his throat, his usual calm and calculated demeanor shattered in her presence.

She stared at him, her lips pressing together as though she were biting back her own words. The softness in her eyes, the vulnerability she tried to hide, cut him deeper than any blade. For a fleeting moment, he thought she might reach for him, that she might let him hold her and ease the ache between them. But then the storm in her gaze deepened, and she turned away.

“Take care of yourself, Azriel,” she had said, her voice steady but tinged with a tremor she couldn’t quite suppress.

Her words felt like a dagger twisting in his chest, but he had forced himself to nod, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. “You too,” he had replied, feeling hollow inside.

But he couldn’t stop her. Not when he had been the one to fail her.

As she stepped toward the waiting winnow from Tarquin’s emissary, she glanced back at him one last time. Her wings shifted slightly, a faint, hesitant motion that spoke of uncertainty. And when her eyes met his again, they had darkened further, the blue turning almost black with the depth of her emotions.

Sadness.

Longing.

Hurt.

It was all there, written in the stormy ocean of her gaze.

And then she was gone.

The space where she had stood felt like a void, her absence a tangible weight pressing down on him. Azriel exhaled shakily, his wings drooping as he let his shadows swirl around him, a futile attempt to fill the emptiness she had left behind. Her eyes lingered in his mind, those storm-filled depths that had spoken more than her words ever could.

He knew he would never forget them. Those eyes, full of pain and longing, would haunt him until the day she returned.

If she ever did.

And until that moment, he would carry the memory of her gaze like an anchor.

A reminder of the love he hadn’t been able to protect, the bond he hadn’t been able to mend.

******

Azriel POV

The nights in Velaris were quieter now, the usual hum of the city feeling hollow without her presence. Azriel sat on the edge of the cliffs overlooking the Sidra, the soft wind tugging at his hair and wings. His shadows curled around him, restless and searching, as if they too felt the ache of her absence. The stars above seemed dimmer, the moonlight less comforting.

Everything was muted without her.

She had returned to the Summer Court. Y/n had said it was where she needed to be, where she could heal after everything she had endured during her captivity. Azriel had wanted to fight her decision, to beg her to stay in Velaris, where he could keep her close, protect her. But when she had looked at him, her blue eyes heavy with pain and resolve, he hadn’t been able to bring himself to argue. She had gone, and he had let her.

Now, he was left with the emptiness she had left behind—and the crushing weight of his guilt.

He closed his eyes, the memories of that night haunting him like a specter. He had made his the difficult choice on the battlefield to leave her and save Elain, the image of her, bloodied and outnumbered, would never leave him. The love in her gaze when she had seen him fly away with someone else—leaving her behind—seared into his mind like a brand.

You failed her.

The thought clawed at him, a constant, unrelenting torment. His shadows echoed the sentiment, their movements jagged and erratic as if reflecting the storm within him. He had been too slow. He had made a choice, and it had cost her more than he could ever repay.

The reports of her captivity had been unbearable to hear. The physical wounds, the psychological scars—she had endured so much, and he hadn’t been there to stop it. When he had finally found her, she had been barely conscious, her wings battered, her body broken. But it was the look in her eyes that had gutted him the most hollow, detached, as though some vital part of her had been stolen away.

Even after she had healed enough to speak, she hadn't provided many details about what happened in that cell, her words distant and measured. She didn’t blame him for the time it took to find her and rescue her, but the bond between them, faint and fragile as it was, felt strained.

She had returned to the Summer Court not because she didn’t care for Velaris, but because she needed to heal. He tried to keep telling himself that, but the guilt of not finding her sooner constantly tormented him.

Azriel exhaled shakily, his hands curling into fists. His wings trembled slightly, the tension in his body barely contained. He had spent centuries honing his skills, perfecting his ability to protect those he cared about. And yet, when it had mattered most, he had failed the one person he couldn’t bear to lose.

Gods, he missed her.

Every moment of every day, he missed her.

The sound of her laughter, the warmth of her smile, the way her presence had made even his darkest moments feel lighter. She was a part of him, his mate, and the empty space she had left behind felt like a wound that refused to heal.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into the night, his voice barely audible over the wind. He didn’t know if she could feel his words through the bond, faint as it was, but he said them anyway. “I’m so sorry, Angel.”

The guilt, the longing, the love he felt for her—it all churned within him, a storm with no end in sight. He didn’t know if she would ever return, if she could ever forgive him, but he knew one thing with absolute certainty: he would spend the rest of his life trying to make it right.

******

Y/n POV

I stood by the open windows of Tarquin’s seaside palace, the salt-kissed breeze tugging at my dark hair and brushing gently against my battered wings. The ocean stretched endlessly before me, its rhythmic waves offering a soothing backdrop to the turmoil inside me.

Home.

I hadn’t spoken of my time in captivity since returning to the Summer Court, hadn’t allowed myself to relive the memories that haunted me every waking moment.

But now, as Tarquin approached me with quiet steps, his expression kind but resolute, I knew I couldn’t keep it locked away any longer.

“Y/n,” he said softly, his voice carrying the warmth of the Summer Court, but laced with concern. “You’ve been silent since you arrived. I won’t push you, but if you’re ready to talk… I’m here.”

I turned to face him, my eyes shadowed with pain, the once-bright color dulled by the weight of my experiences. For a moment, I hesitated, the words caught in my throat. But the steady patience in his gaze, the unwavering presence of someone who had always cared for me, allowed me to take a trembling breath.

“They broke me,” I whispered, my voice barely audible above the crash of the waves. “Not just my body… but my spirit.”

Tarquin’s brows furrowed, but he said nothing, giving me the space to continue.

“They tore at my wings first,” I said, my voice cracking as I glanced over my shoulder at the still-healing feathers. “They slashed at them, trying to cripple me, to make me feel powerless. They knew what wings mean to an Illyrian—to me—and they wanted to take that from me.”

Tarquin’s hands clenched at his sides, his golden-brown skin taut as he fought to keep his anger in check. He stepped closer, his voice steady but tight with emotion. “You’re not powerless, baby sister. You’re here. You survived.”

My throat tightened, and I shook my head, tears slipping down my cheeks. “It wasn’t just the wings, Tarquin. They… they cut me. My arms, my legs. They wanted to see how much I could take. How much I would endure before I begged for mercy.”

Tarquin’s jaw tensed, and his fists clenched again, but he kept his expression soft as he reached out to gently touch my shoulder. “You never begged, did you?” he asked, his voice quiet but filled with pride.

My lips quivered, and I shook my head, a bitter laugh escaping me. “No. I didn’t give them that satisfaction. But… but I wanted to. By the end, I was praying for it to stop. Praying for death to take me.”

Tarquin stepped closer, his hands settling on my shoulders now, grounding me as I trembled. “But they didn’t. They couldn’t,” he said firmly, his voice unwavering. “You came back, Y/n. You fought through it. That doesn’t mean it wasn’t hell—it doesn’t erase what they did. But it proves that they didn’t win. You did.”

My tears fell freely now, and I bowed my head, my dark hair shielding my face as my wings trembled behind me. “I don’t feel like I won,” I admitted, my voice breaking. “I feel… hollow. I feel like a piece of me was left behind in that cell.”

Tarquin gently cupped my face, tilting my chin up so I had to meet his gaze. His azure-blue eyes, so similar to mine yet so different, radiated kindness and understanding. “Then we’ll find that piece,” he said softly. “We’ll rebuild it together, piece by piece, no matter how long it takes. You are not alone in this, baby sister. You never have to be alone.”

My hands trembled as I gripped the windowsill, my gaze fixed on the endless horizon of the ocean. The rhythmic crash of waves below did little to calm the storm within me, the memories of my captivity clawing at the edges of my mind. I had never spoken the full truth aloud, had never allowed myself to put the pain into words. But now, standing in the safe haven of the Summer Court with Tarquin’s steady presence beside me, the words began to break free, no longer content to be buried.

“They didn’t just want to break me physically,” I said quietly, my voice brittle but steady. “They wanted to make sure I carried their mark for the rest of my life. They wanted me to remember, to never forget.”

Tarquin stilled beside me, his golden-brown skin paling as my words settled heavily in the air. “What did they do?” he asked softly, though his voice was tight with barely restrained anger.

My breath hitched, and I turned slightly, my eyes meeting his. They were darker now, stormy and filled with the weight of everything I had endured. “They carved into my skin,” I said, my voice cracking as I gestured to my stomach. “They carved it deep enough to scar. And then they used faebane to make sure it would never heal.”

Tarquin’s jaw tightened, his fists clenching at his sides as fury swept through him. But he kept his voice calm, his tone soft and encouraging. “Show me,” he said gently, his gaze searching mine for permission.

I hesitated, my throat tightening as shame threatened to drown me. But there was something in Tarquin’s eyes—an unshakable kindness, a promise that he would never see me as anything less than who I was. With a shaky breath, I reached for the hem of my tunic and lifted it just enough to reveal the jagged scar etched across my abdomen.

The scar tissue a harsh white against my skin. It was a permanent reminder of the cruelty I had faced, of the lengths they had gone to in their attempt to strip me of my identity, my dignity.

Tarquin’s breath left him in a shuddering exhale, his golden eyes darkening with a mix of rage and sorrow. “Y/n…” he said, his voice trembling with emotion as he stepped closer. “They’ll pay for this. Every last one of them.”

I shook my head, my arms dropping to my sides as I lowered my tunic. “Azriel already made sure of that,” I said quietly. “Even if they’re gone, it doesn't matter because this—” I gestured to my stomach, my lips trembling. “This will always be here. I’ll carry it forever. Every time I look in the mirror, I’ll see what they did to me.”

Tarquin’s hands rose slowly, hesitating for a moment before settling gently on my shoulders. “It does matter,” he said firmly, his voice steady despite the anger simmering beneath it. “Because what they did doesn’t define you. This scar, these marks—they don’t take away who you are. They don’t make you any less.”

My throat tightened, tears spilling down my cheeks as I whispered, “But every time I see it, I feel… dirty. Like they succeeded in taking something from me.”

“They didn’t,” Tarquin said fiercely, his hands tightening on my shoulders as he leaned closer, his voice softening. “You’re here, Y/n. You survived. They tried to strip you of your strength, your dignity, but they couldn’t. You’re still standing. That scar doesn’t define you. It’s a mark of your survival, not your defeat.”

My wings trembled slightly, my chest heaving as sobs wracked my body. Tarquin pulled me into his arms, holding me tightly as I cried against his chest. His hands moved gently, brushing over my back, my shoulders, careful not to press too hard against my still-healing injuries.

“I’ll help you through this,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “Whatever you need, whenever you’re ready. And I promise you, baby sister, you are so much more than what they tried to make you.”

My lip trembled, and I let out a soft sob, leaning into his embrace as he pulled me close. His arms were strong, steady, a quiet reminder of the safety and love I had always found in the Summer Court. I buried my face in his chest, my tears soaking into the soft fabric of his tunic as he held me, his grip unwavering.

“You’re safe now,” Tarquin murmured, his voice a low, soothing rumble. “Whatever you need, whenever you’re ready, I’m here. And I’ll make sure no one hurts you again.”

I clung to him, the weight of my pain easing just slightly under his steady presence. The scar on my stomach would never fade, but in Tarquin’s arms, I felt the faintest flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, I could learn to see myself as something more than what they had tried to reduce me to.

As the waves crashed against the shore below, I let herself believe, for the first time in a long time, that healing was possible—even if it came one fragile piece at a time.

******

Elain POV

Elain had suspected something for a while.

She wasn’t blind to the way Azriel’s gaze lingered on Y/n, the way his shadows softened around her, or the quiet warmth in his voice when he spoke her name. But hearing the truth, learning that Y/n was Azriel’s mate, still struck her like a blow to the chest.

The words came to her from Feyre, softly spoken but impossible to misunderstand. “Y/n is Azriel’s mate.” Feyre’s gaze was gentle, searching Elain’s face for a reaction. Elain had nodded quietly, offering a small smile to reassure her sister.

But inside, a storm was brewing.

Elain retreated to the garden after Feyre left, needing the solace of the flowers and the open sky to process her feelings. She knelt by the rosebushes, her hands working the soil mechanically as her mind raced.

At first, there was confusion.

She had known Azriel cared for her once, had seen it in the quiet way he lingered near her, the hesitant touches, the unspoken words between them. But she had also known, deep down, that something had shifted. He had grown distant after Y/n’s arrival, his focus elsewhere, and she hadn’t been able to understand why—until now.

Then came the sting of jealousy, sharp and bitter, like the thorn of a rose she hadn’t seen.

Y/n.

Beautiful, strong, radiant Y/n, who had come into their lives like a storm and captured Azriel’s attention effortlessly. Elain couldn’t deny her own envy, couldn’t pretend she didn’t feel overshadowed by her presence.

But beneath the jealousy, there was something else.

Relief.

Elain let out a shaky breath, brushing the dirt from her hands as she sat back on her heels.

Relief, because she had always felt a quiet pressure when it came to Azriel—a pressure to feel something more, to give him what he wanted, even if her heart had never truly aligned with his.

Relief, because she hadn’t been able to let go of the tether to Lucien, faint as it was, no matter how hard she tried.

Azriel and Y/n made sense. That was what struck her most as she sat there in the garden, the sun warming her skin. They fit. Y/n, with her strength and fire, matched Azriel’s quiet intensity in a way that Elain never could. And for the first time, Elain allowed herself to admit that she didn’t want to.

She didn’t want to be Azriel’s mate. She didn’t want to try to force feelings that weren’t there. And now, with this truth laid bare, she didn’t have to.

Still, a pang of sadness lingered as she thought of Azriel. She had seen the way he had once looked at her, the quiet longing in his hazel eyes, and it hurt to know she had never been able to give him the same in return. But now, knowing he had found his mate, someone who could meet him on every level—someone who belonged to him—it eased that guilt.

A faint rustle of shadows drew her attention, and she turned to see Azriel standing at the edge of the garden, his expression unreadable. His hazel eyes searched hers, cautious and careful, as though he already knew what Feyre had told her.

“You know,” he said softly, his voice low but steady.

Elain nodded, brushing her hands on her skirt as she rose to her feet. “I do.”

He hesitated, his wings shifting slightly. “I didn’t want to hurt you,” he said quietly. “I never wanted—”

“You didn’t,” she interrupted gently, meeting his gaze. “Azriel, I… I’m happy for you. For both of you.”

Surprise flickered across his face, followed by relief. “You are?” he asked, his voice laced with uncertainty.

Elain smiled softly, though there was a hint of sadness in her eyes. “I am. She’s your mate, Azriel. And she’s… she’s incredible. You two belong together.”

Azriel’s shoulders relaxed slightly, and he inclined his head in quiet gratitude. “Thank you,” he said, his voice sincere.

Elain nodded, the tension between them easing. As he turned to leave, she called after him, her voice soft but certain. “Azriel?”

He paused, glancing back over his shoulder.

“She’s lucky to have you,” Elain said, a small smile curving her lips. “Don’t forget that.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, Elain felt free—free to move forward, to explore what her own path might hold.

And as she watched Azriel disappear into the shadows, she silently wished him and Y/n all the happiness they deserved.

******

Y/n POV

At the Summer Court, healing didn’t come all at once for me—it came in fragments, little moments that pieced me back together bit by bit.

The first time I stepped onto the beach, the familiar scent of salt and the soothing sound of waves washing against the shore, I felt the tiniest flicker of something I hadn’t felt in months: peace. Tarquin walked beside me, his presence steady and grounding, as though he understood that the silence was what I needed most.

At first, my days were quiet. I spent hours by the water, letting the gentle ebb and flow of the tide remind me of the rhythms of life. I’d sit on the sand with my knees pulled to my chest, the warm sun kissing my skin as my black feathered wings rested limply behind me. My magic came slowly, tentatively at first. Little streams of water danced between my fingers, shapes forming and dissolving as I tested my strength. It wasn’t much, but it was mine, and it felt like a small victory.

One afternoon, a group of children ran past me on the beach, laughing and chasing one another. I watched them with a wistful smile until one of the braver children approached me, holding out a small shell. “Can you make it swim?” the girl asked, her wide eyes filled with wonder.

I hesitated but took the shell. I cupped it in my palm, and with a quiet breath, I sent a ripple of magic through it. The shell rose into the air, spinning and swirling like a bird in flight before it dipped into the water, leaving a tiny trail behind. The children clapped and cheered, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I laughed—a real, unrestrained laugh that lit up my face.

After that, the children sought me out whenever I was near, begging me to create dolphins, sea turtles, or even mermaids from the water. I indulged them, their joy infectious, and it filled a part of me that I hadn’t realized was so empty.

Tarquin noticed the change, a flicker of life returning to my eyes. He began spending more time with me, walking along the cliffs or sitting on the docks as the sun set. We spoke about the past, about the girl I had been before everything had gone so wrong, and he reminded me of the strength I carried even now. “You were always the brightest part of this court,” he told me one evening. “And you still are.”

I began to explore the Summer Court with renewed curiosity, rediscovering the places I had once loved but had felt too broken to return to. The hidden lagoons where I used to practice my magic, the coral gardens beneath the waves, the winding paths through the forest that led to waterfalls shimmering like liquid crystal. I laid on the glittery white sands, my feathered wings soaking up the sun as the waves washed over me. Each step felt like reclaiming a piece of myself.

One night, Tarquin invited me to a gathering by the water’s edge. The stars glittered above, and soft music drifted through the air as courtiers danced and laughed. I stood on the outskirts, hesitant, until Tarquin held out his hand. “Dance with me, baby sister,” he said with a smile.

I took his hand, letting him lead me into the soft glow of lanterns strung between palm trees. My movements were tentative at first, but as the music swelled, I let herself get lost in the moment. He spun me around until I was laughing and giddy from it all. When the song ended, Tarquin kissed my forehead. “That’s the sister I remember.”

The weight I carried didn’t vanish, but it grew lighter with each passing day. I wasn’t the same person I had been before—I would never be—but I was finding my way, piece by piece, back to myself.

And for the first time in a long time, I began to believe that maybe, just maybe, I could be whole again.

******

Y/n POV

As I began to rediscover myself in the warm embrace of the Summer Court, the ache I thought I’d buried started to resurface. It crept in during quiet moments, when the laughter of children faded into the rhythm of the waves, or when I found myself alone beneath the vast, star-filled sky.

I hadn’t thought about him at first. I’d been too broken, too consumed by the need to heal, to piece myself together in a place that felt safe. But now, with every day that I grew stronger, with every step I took back toward myself, I found my thoughts drifting to him more often than I cared to admit.

Azriel.

It was in the little things that I missed him. The way his hazel eyes always seemed to see straight through me, as if he knew my every thought before I spoke it. The quiet strength of his presence, the way he never pressed but was always there, a steady force in the chaos of my life. And his voice—low and steady, like the shadows he wielded—I could still hear it, calling me angel.

I would catch myself thinking about his hands, scarred but so gentle when they brushed my tears away after a nightmare, or the way they rested protectively on my lower back when we walked through the House of Wind as I was healing. I remembered the way he’d looked at me after my first laugh following my captivity, as if the sound had been a balm to his own soul.

But the memory that haunted me most was the last time I’d seen him on the battlefield before I was taken. His face, carved with anguish, as he’d whispered, I love you. I hadn’t been able to respond then, just realizing the mating bond to grasp the enormity of his words. And then I’d told him to go, to save Elain, unable to tell him before he flew away and unable to say it after he rescued me, when I didn’t even know who I was.

Now, standing on the beach with the warm sand beneath my feet, I realized how much I missed him. Not just the comfort he brought, but him. His humor, his quiet moments of vulnerability, the way he always put everyone else before himself. I missed the way he saw me—not as broken or incomplete, but as someone strong, someone worthy.

And with that realization came brought a sharper ache.

I left Velaris and never told him.

I hadn’t told him that I loved him too, that I’d known it in my heart for longer than I could admit. I had left without giving him those words, without even giving him the chance to show me that I was still enough.

The bond hummed faintly in my chest, a quiet, persistent reminder of the connection that tethered us. I pressed a hand to my heart, feeling the warmth of it, the pull that I’d tried to ignore. But no matter how far I went, it was still there, unyielding and steady, like him.

Tarquin noticed the change in me as the days passed. “You’re restless,” he said one evening as we sat by the water, the moonlight casting ripples of silver across the waves.

I didn’t deny it. “I don’t know what to do,” I admitted, my voice soft. “I came here to find myself, but I feel… incomplete.”

He gave me a knowing look, his blue eyes kind. “Maybe that’s because a part of you is still in Velaris.”

My breath caught, and I turned to look at him, searching his face. “Do you think I made a mistake leaving?”

“I think you did what you needed to do,” Tarquin said gently. “But healing doesn’t always mean running from what hurts. Sometimes it means facing it.”

I looked down at my hands, at the faint scars that lingered on my skin. “I don’t know if I’m ready.”

“You don’t have to be,” he said. “But if you’re thinking about him this much, maybe it’s time to stop running.”

The words stayed with me long after Tarquin had left. As I sat alone on the beach, the waves lapping at me feet, I let myself feel the bond, let myself imagine what it would be like to see Azriel again.

To tell him that I missed him.

To tell him that I loved him.

And as I let those thoughts linger, I gave the bond a good, hard tug.

******

Azriel POV

Azriel stood on the balcony of the House of Wind, the cool night air brushing against his skin. The Sidra glittered far below, its tranquil waters a stark contrast to the storm raging inside him. He leaned heavily on the railing, his wings drooping slightly behind him, their usual strength absent. The silence around him felt oppressive, broken only by the faint whispers of the wind.

He missed her.

It had been six months.

Six long months since she had left Velaris, since she had left him.

Six months of longing for her.

Every very corner of Velaris seemed to echo with her absence. The training ring felt empty without her determined presence, without the fire in her eyes that lit up when she pushed herself. The dining room was quieter, duller, without her laughter—or her silence, even, when she was lost in thought. Everywhere he went, he felt the void she’d left behind, and it was slowly suffocating him.

Azriel ran a hand through his hair, exhaling shakily as he closed his eyes.

The bond pulsed faintly in his chest, a quiet, persistent reminder of her. It had been so muted since she’d left, distant like the fading echo of a song he couldn’t quite hear anymore. But tonight, as he stood there staring out over the city, everything changed.

It wasn’t faint anymore.

A strong tug pulled at the bond, sharp and unrelenting, and his breath caught. It felt like her—vivid and unmistakable, like her very essence had reached across the distance and grabbed hold of him. His wings flared slightly, his instincts roaring to life as his heart hammered in his chest.

His Angel.

The bond didn’t just hum—it surged, pulling hard enough that he stumbled forward, gripping the railing to steady himself. He didn’t know if she was aware of it, if she realized what she was doing, but it didn’t matter. It was her, raw and present, and it was enough to break the fragile control he’d been clinging to.

He wanted to go to her. The urge to follow that bond, to winnow straight to her side, was overwhelming. Every muscle in his body screamed to move, to fly, to reach her. But he stayed rooted in place, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the railing tighter.

The tug came again, strong and insistent, like a plea whispered across the space between them. His jaw tightened as he tried to decipher the emotions spilling through the bond. It wasn’t fear or pain—it was something softer, something quieter. A yearning that mirrored his own.

She missed him.

The realization hit him like a blow. He could feel it now, the faint ache laced into the pull, the lingering trace of her thoughts pressing against the bond. She was reaching for him. After six long months, she was reaching for him.

Azriel’s wings sagged slightly, his hazel eyes closing as a thousand emotions surged through him. Relief, guilt, longing, and love tangled together in a knot so tight it felt impossible to unravel. He pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the bond pulse strongly beneath his palm, as though it were alive.

But what if she didn’t realize what she was doing? What if she wasn’t reaching out consciously, and this was simply a reflex, a moment of weakness? What if… what if she didn’t want him?

That thought stopped him cold, his wings stiffening behind him. He didn’t deserve her, not after what had happened. Not after he’d left her.

But the bond didn’t care about his guilt, didn’t care about the endless nights he’d spent replaying that moment in his mind. It called to him, her presence burning through the distance with a strength that left him breathless.

Azriel leaned his forehead against the cool metal of the railing, his wings folding tightly around him like a shield. He didn’t know how long he stood there, gripping the bond with everything he had as it pulled at him, stronger and stronger with each passing moment. But as the hours stretched on, one thing became painfully clear:

He couldn’t keep doing this. He couldn’t keep pretending the bond didn’t exist, that the love he felt for her wasn’t clawing at him every second of every day.

But what if she still didn’t want him? What if, even now, she was tugging on the bond out of habit, not out of need? What if he showed up at the Summer Court only to find that she had moved on?

Azriel shook his head, exhaling sharply. He didn’t have the answers. All he had was the unrelenting pull of her, the bond tying them together no matter how far apart they were. And tonight, that bond was stronger than it had been in months.

As he turned away from the balcony and walked back into the house, his heart pounding and his mind racing, one thought echoed louder than all the rest:

She was reaching for him.

And he wasn’t sure he could stay away much longer.

******

Tarquin POV

The air in Velaris was cool, the soft light of the setting sun casting golden hues over the Sidra as Tarquin arrived at the townhouse. The High Lord of Summer Court was greeted warmly by Rhysand, his easy smile in place as he gestured for Tarquin to step inside.

“It’s been far too long,” Rhysand said as he led Tarquin to the sitting room, where Feyre and Cassian waited. A fire crackled in the hearth, its warmth filling the room as the Summer Court ruler settled into a chair.

“It has,” Tarquin agreed, his ocean-blue eyes flicking around the familiar space. “But I’m glad to be here, even if the times demand it.”

Rhysand nodded, pouring Tarquin a glass of wine before sitting across from him. “I appreciate you coming. I know there’s much to discuss about the remnants of Hybern, but first, tell me—how is my little sister?”

Tarquin’s face softened at the mention of Y/n, a rare tenderness crossing his features. “She’s doing well,” he said, his voice filled with quiet pride. “It took time, but she’s healing. She’s slowly remembering the person she was before everything… happened.”

Feyre exhaled softly, relief visible in her expression as she leaned forward slightly. “That’s good to hear,” she said. “We’ve all been worried about her.”

Tarquin nodded, his gaze thoughtful as he continued. “She’s been spending her days playing with the children on the beaches, using her water magic again. It’s been good for her, I think, to be surrounded by laughter, by joy. She’s even started dancing at our court gatherings again. And she has started sparring with me again. She is putting much needed muscle back on and she is beginning to look like a sun kissed Summer Court princess again.”

Cassian smiled faintly, his arms crossed over his broad chest. “That sounds like the Y/n we knew.”

“But,” Tarquin said, his voice turning more serious, “there’s something else.”

Rhysand’s expression sharpened, his piercing violet eyes locking onto Tarquin’s. “What is it?”

Tarquin hesitated for a moment before speaking, his tone carefully measured. “She still carries a fear, a deep one. Not just from what happened, but from what was done to her.”

Feyre’s eyes widened, her hand clutching the arm of her chair. Cassian straightened, his brows furrowing.

“They carved vicious wound into her abdomen,” Tarquin said quietly, his voice laced with anger that still simmered from the memory. “Something meant to humiliate her, to break her, and used faebane to ensure it wouldn’t heal. A cruel trick to make sure she never forgets what happened to her at their hands She hides it well, but I know she’s terrified of what Azriel will think if he ever sees it.”

The room fell into stunned silence, the weight of Tarquin’s words pressing heavily on all of them. Rhysand’s jaw clenched, his eyes darkening with fury. “She shouldn’t have to bear that alone,” he said, his voice low. “Not that. Not ever.”

“She thinks it makes her unworthy,” Tarquin continued. “She doesn’t say it, but I see the way she avoids mirrors, the way she flinches if someone’s gaze lingers too long. And I know she’s afraid. Afraid that Azriel won’t accept her, that he’ll see her as broken.”

“He wouldn’t,” Feyre said firmly, her voice trembling with conviction. “Azriel loves her. He would never see her as anything less than perfect.”

Tarquin nodded. “I believe that too. But she doesn’t. Not yet. And until she does, I don’t think she’ll come back to Velaris. She’s still healing, but this…” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “This will take more than time. It will take him.”

Rhysand’s brows lifted slightly. “What do you mean?”

Tarquin met Rhysand’s gaze, his voice steady. “It may take Azriel coming to her at the Summer Court. Showing her, with no doubt, that he accepts her fully—scar and all. That she doesn’t have to be afraid.”

Feyre glanced at Rhysand, her expression a mix of hope and determination. Cassian, uncharacteristically quiet, nodded in agreement. Rhysand’s violet eyes narrowed thoughtfully, his mind clearly turning over the possibilities.

“She misses him,” Tarquin added softly. “She won’t admit it, but I see it in her eyes. And I think he misses her too.”

Rhysand leaned back in his chair, his jaw tight as he processed Tarquin’s words. “If Azriel knew…” he began, his voice trailing off.

“Then maybe it’s time he did,” Tarquin said firmly. “Because I don’t think either of them can truly heal without the other.”

The room fell into a quiet stillness, the truth of Tarquin’s words sinking in. Rhysand’s expression softened slightly, though the weight of his thoughts was clear.

“Let’s hope she finds her way back,” he said finally, his voice quiet but resolute. “Or that Azriel has the courage to go after her. Because I don’t think either of them can survive losing this bond again.”

******

Rhysand POV

Rhysand leaned back in his chair, his violet eyes fixed on Azriel, who stood stiffly across from him in the quiet privacy of the study. The room was lit only by the soft glow of the fire in the hearth, casting long shadows on the walls. Azriel’s wings were tight against his back, his expression unreadable as always, though Rhysand could see the tension in his posture.

“Tarquin visited yesterday,” Rhysand began, his voice calm but laced with something heavier. “He came to discuss Hybern’s remnants, but most of our conversation revolved around Y/n.”

Azriel’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing, his hazel eyes locking onto Rhysand’s.

Rhysand studied his spymaster for a moment, the silence stretching between them before he continued. “He said she’s healing. That she’s remembering who she was before… everything.”

Azriel’s hands curled into fists at his sides, his gaze flickering briefly to the fire before returning to Rhysand. “That’s good,” he said evenly, though his voice was quieter than usual.

“It is,” Rhysand agreed. “But he also said she’s still carrying a deep fear. About her scars.”

Azriel stiffened, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Her scars?”

Rhysand nodded, his expression softening. “She’s afraid, Azriel. Afraid of what they mean. Afraid that they make her unworthy, especially in your eyes.”

Azriel took a step forward, his wings flaring slightly behind him. “I’ve never thought that,” he said, his voice low and fierce. “I could never think that.”

“I know,” Rhysand said gently. “But she doesn’t. Tarquin said she avoids mirrors, that she flinches if someone looks at her for too long. She’s convinced that you won’t accept her, that you’ll see her as broken.”

Azriel’s face twisted, a rare glimpse of emotion breaking through his stoic mask. “That’s not true,” he said hoarsely. “She’s not broken. She’s—” He cut himself off, his wings trembling slightly as he tried to collect himself. “She’s perfect. Scars and all.”

Rhysand leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk as he regarded Azriel carefully. “Then you need to tell her that.”

Azriel’s jaw clenched, his gaze dropping to the floor. “She left, Rhys. She went back to Summer Court. I’m not sure if she wants to see me...or if she would even be ready.”

“She went back to heal,” Rhysand said firmly. “And she’s been doing that. But healing doesn’t erase the doubts she’s carrying. It doesn’t erase the fear that you don’t want her.”

Azriel looked up sharply, his eyes blazing. “She’s my mate. Of course I want her.”

Rhysand raised a brow, his tone turning pointed. “You remember she watched you push her away for months while you spent time with Elain. And now with her scars, it makes her more cautious.”

Azriel’s fists clenched at his sides, his wings trembling slightly as he stood before Rhysand. The firelight in the study cast shadows across his face, but it couldn’t hide the torment in his hazel eyes.

“I failed her, Rhys,” he said, his voice low and strained. “When I went back for her… she was gone. And that image—her surrounded by those soldiers as I flew off with Elain—it haunts me every single day. I see it every time I close my eyes.”

Rhysand remained silent, his expression carefully neutral, though his violet eyes shone with understanding.

“It took us three months to find her,” Azriel continued, his voice trembling with the weight of his guilt. “Three months of her being tortured, of her enduring things no one should ever have to endure. And all that time, I felt the bond. Faint, but still there. I felt her pain, her fear, her agony. She didn’t even know she was sending it down the bond, but I could feel it. And I couldn’t do anything.”

He began pacing the room, his steps heavy and uneven, as if the weight of his memories was dragging him down. “When we finally found her… she was so broken, Rhys. So bloodied and beaten, barely clinging to life. I can still see her lying there in that filthy cell, her wings torn, her body trembling. And all I could think was that I should have been faster. I should have found her sooner.”

Rhysand’s brow furrowed, his hands clasping together as he listened intently. He didn’t interrupt, allowing Azriel the space to speak the words he had clearly been holding in for far too long.

“I don’t know if she’ll ever truly heal from what they did to her,” Azriel said, his voice breaking. “I don’t know if I’ll ever truly forgive myself for letting it happen. For choosing Elain over her in that moment. I thought—” He stopped, shaking his head. “I thought she could handle it. I thought she’d survive until I came back. But I was wrong. And she paid the price for it.”

Azriel turned to face Rhysand then, his expression raw and unguarded. “When I look at her now, all I see is what I failed to do. How I couldn’t protect her when she needed me most. And I’m terrified, Rhys. Terrified that I might fail her again. And I would never forgive myself.”

Rhysand leaned back in his chair. “Tarquin suggested that she might not come back to Velaris. Not unless you go to her and show her that there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

Azriel’s chest rose and fell as he took a deep breath, his fists still clenched at his sides. “And what if she doesn’t want me?” he asked quietly, the vulnerability in his voice startling even to Rhysand.

Rhysand’s expression softened, and he rose from his chair, walking around the desk to stand in front of Azriel. “Az, she misses you. Tarquin said she won’t admit it, but it’s written all over her. She’s just as afraid as you are. But if you keep waiting for her to come to you, you might lose her for good.”

Rhysand rose from his chair, crossing the room to stand in front of Azriel. He placed a firm hand on his spymaster’s shoulder, his violet eyes meeting Azriel’s with a steady, unwavering gaze. “Az,” he said softly, “you’re carrying the weight of something that wasn’t yours to bear alone. You did what you thought was right in an impossible situation. You saved Elain. And when you realized what had happened, you did everything in your power to find my sister. And you did.”

“But it wasn’t enough,” Azriel said, his voice barely above a whisper. “She suffered for three months, Rhys. How do I come back from that?”

“You don’t do it alone,” Rhysand said firmly. “She is strong. Stronger than you think. But she’s hurting too, Azriel, and part of that hurt comes from thinking you won’t accept her. You can’t change what happened, but you can show her what she means to you now.”

Azriel’s jaw tightened, and he looked away, his wings shifting restlessly. “I don’t know if I deserve her,” he admitted. “Not after everything.”

“You’re her mate,” Rhysand said, his tone softening. “And whether you think you deserve her or not, that bond exists for a reason. You’re tied to her, Azriel. And she’s tied to you. But if you don’t fight for her, if you don’t show her that she’s worth every ounce of your love, you’ll lose her.”

Azriel closed his eyes, exhaling shakily. “I don’t even know if she’ll listen to me.”

“Then you go to her,” Rhysand said. “You look her in the eyes, and you tell her everything you just told me. Every word. You let her decide if she wants to come back.”

Azriel opened his eyes, meeting Rhysand’s steady gaze. “And if she doesn’t?”

Rhysand squeezed his shoulder. “Then at least you’ll know you gave it everything you had. And that’s all you can do.”

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