#this art is so beautiful n textured

[creativesparkz]

i think, therefore i am.

[mjhartwork]

that scene from Godzilla Against Mechagodzilla, style is inspired by @venacoeurva

[fr0stf4ll]

Flavours of Prythian

Coming from that request

paring; Azriel x reader

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

word count ; 7.8k

warning; //

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You couldn’t. You wouldn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Even if it tore you apart.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[blockedbykei]

𝐛𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐬

🏐 — hinata shoyo x f!reader

— synopsis: he always had a lot of energy. the boy made out of literal sunshine. but he also knew how to made your knees weak and made butterflies flutter around your stomach

— warning: timeskip!hinata being SUCH A FLIRT (art not mine)

— a/n: now i know hinata would be such a dork when he's older when it comes to girls but lord this FANART i am like melting HNGH

hinata was a ray of sunshine; everyone knew that.

you felt like you'd burn if you get too close to him, your fingertips feeling that gratifying burn when you graze his soft, tan skin. he always managed to bring a smile on your always frowning face, always made you laugh when you felt like crying.

in your eyes, hinata was the kindest man you knew who always had an amicable energy in his veins. that serotonin in your veins, the adrenaline rush in your brain. the one that made your heart pound.

so seeing him tower over you, cheeks flushed, breath of sweet vodka, eyes drooping in some kind of flirtatious approach with his hand beside your head, pressing against the rough texture of a brick wall, you feel butterflies prodding at your knees to weaken them.

his eyes— usually full of exultation, are now heavy with amorous vigor. the corner of his lip is twitched upwards, his other hand using his thumb to graze the skin of your chin, tracing up to rub the moist skin of your bottom lip.

"you..." he murmurs, eyes glancing between your lips to your eyes. you can't help but keep your lips parted, head tilted upwards to look ay him. this feeling is foreign, this sight is bizarre. "do you know how beautiful you are?"

there's a shaky sigh that leaves your lips at that question, your head tilted upwards to look into his eyes. "thank you...?"

"you have no idea what you do to me, sweetheart," he chuckles, his eyelashes fluttering, his voice deep. hinata wasn't lightweight; a few sip of vodka felt like drinking water to him, but you're beginning to wonder what it is that gave him the courage to speak to you like this.

your hands wrap loosely around his wrist, the other on his chest. you feel the hard muscle tense beneath your fingertips. "what do you mean?" you ask, breathless.

"you drive me crazy," he smiles, his bottom lip catching between his lips. "you and your voice, your laugh, your smile, those gorgeous fucking eyes,"

his hand that was on your chin cups your face, his thumb on your cheek, tilting your head upwards so that your lips were directly parallel against his. there's a small sound emitting from the back of your throat that just made him a little smug.

"so, so beautiful," his eyes trace the features of your face, like mapping and placing a pushpin on the parts he loved the best (he loved your entire face). "so gorgeous. fucking stunning."

"shoyo,"

"i want you," he inches closer, nose nudging against yours. "you're everything that i need."

then his lips hover over yours dangerously, like he's tiptoing the edge of a cliff, experimenting the way the skin of his lips graze yours. you want to melt into him, get your fingers lost in his hair, get lost in him.

"can i kiss you?" he almost sounds taunting, like he knows you want him to kiss you. "pretty please, angel?"

"yes," you breathe out, the hand on his wrist coming up to grip his hair. "please."

his lips taste of alcohol, sweet alcohol and him— full of fervor, hunger, desire to take over you, sweet yearning. his tongue wastes no time to graze the bottom of your lip and slip it inside your mouth.

heavy breaths. his body inches closer to yours and locks his legs between yours, the hand against the wall wrapping around your waist to push you against his chest, his mouth moving against yours in harmony.

"shoyo," you murmur against his hot mouth. hinata smiles.

"yeah?"

"nothing," you laugh, rubbing your hand against his chest. "just wanted to say your name."

hinata moves the hand on your cheek to the back of your head, gripping your hair lightly. "i love it when you say my name."

HNMGH reblogs and feedback are appreciated!

[astralnymphh]

copy that, romeo

— ellie williams was supposed to be your supervisor, not your object of infatuation ~ ♡

⋆❝ this is cordero tower, calling in.❞⋆

CHAPTER ONE: SUMMERTIME INTERLUDE . NEXT CHAPTER > ♡. pair; firewatcher!ellie x recruit!reader

♡. summary; it's 1995, and the angel crater national park welcomes you; a retrograde lookout all to yourself, a space nerd for a supervisor, and a whole summertime job spent in hues of sepia and juniper, waiting for the first sign of smoke. ninety–three days. you don't know her face, you share no breath— but by walkie–talkie, you know her voice.

♡. a/n; READ THESE; 1 and 2, HELP HERE, BOYCOTT. CLICK HERE. DO NOT BUY THE REMASTER, TLOU2, TLOU1, OR ANY GAME FROM NAUGHTY DOG! neil druckmann (the creator) is a zionist. PLEASE READ THIS. AND REBLOG THIS. ALSO THIS.

♡. content; EVENTUAL SMUT, narrator present, silly fourth wall breaking, a dash of comedy, slowburn (somewhat), living alone, long–distance pining, reader/characters are similar ages(mid–late 20s), depression, heavy metaphor usage, complicated poetry styles, mentions of organs, mentions of weaponry, metaphorical death, grim humor, drinking alcohol, drunk!ellie, drunken flirting (vaguely and bluntly), ellie jumpscare, uh-oh sassy masc apocalypse, she's corny and cheesy too (a dork), awkwardness, humiliation, lighthearted bickering, nicknames used. [lmk if i missed anything] . SERIES PLAYLIST .

WC; 6.1k+ ✮ thank you @trackinglessons for your sexy brain and beautiful ideas + custom art ✮ masterlist ✮ series masterlist ✮ ellie ref sheet

Summertime is the interlude between misery and Mondays.

  May was a rough patch for you. A coagulated chapter within the spring world, a shunned ponder, red jello in the gradience of passage. Tempus, time. Early months hence were just as pessimizing, doubt is an arid reservoir in you. But, as a maypole sits a svelte giant in the sweet Beltane soil, braving an invisible smile whilst little ones— little laughters, spun prances and wraps of dainty satin to an ensnare on its long body, it weeped for its delicate capture. You; flesh coarse like timber, relate to the log standing, ensnared. Sunk in that gelatinous texture, unmoving as pressures collided with the surface outward, ripples everywhere yet incapable of sprinkling through you. Something would have to delve itself to drag you out.

  Chapters; cusp of autumn to April, every single month, wound ‘round you. They each had separating colors, and spared turns to soundly fold your limbs and bulge your skin in ribbons. It snipped your circulation, shriveled the ripe breath in your skull and traded it for a pressure. A throb. Weight upon the cranium, you felt the narrowing cradle inside wilt from thought, drain from consciousness, and soften your stiff eyes locked on drywall. Hour to hour.

  But those weren't the only things taunting you with a dance— expectations danced faster. Expectators, paired minds heaping expectations; yourself and the selves blackjacking their wants expressed as worries onto you. Stressful creatures, they are. Bosses, co–workers, energy vampires disguised as lover boys prowling about your workspace, general creatures of the retail world. God, they're like ravenous wolves snarling hunger through their teeth, slobber moonlight–bright of that dire carnality for variety meats. Depression just took the first serving before they could.

  Even the domesticated places are a wilderness untamed.

  Stress drained you of life. It softened your desire to even try. Gods are dulling, blamed you, on another dull morning where the trickling sound of coffee pouring drilled irk into your ears, rather than simply a trickle. Caffeine, a roast so void–black was brewed to un–drain you. Yet, it fuckin didn't.

  Impugning was your everything, until it could no longer purify; Elaine. Emptiness. Hmm, you gave this state of vacuum–headed hollowness a name, keenly because it deserved so by its dismantling of your autonomy. You don't want it. It's not you. It's Elaine. A some–angel fallen out of grace, weary of its wander upon a washed up cove, beige toned and swept shivering–cold. Interested by the warmth your sundry organs pushed into its light silhouette. 

  And perhaps, if the bird was never freed from its heavenly cage, it would be powerless to pester you, to poke the meat inside with the pointy end of plumage.

  Elaine was an organized assault on your wellbeing, moreso against the pulpy, pinkish-gray blob sitting ugly above your throat. Believe it, or assume it. A paralysis, moving shoulders from bed sheets proved farcical, running bristles over your teeth twice a day rhymes with nonsense, and midnight ink born to swirl and curtsy to convey thoughts gone rancid, goes unused atop the white flutter between your journal hardcovers. You have a morbid case of the seasonal blues, except this time, the season is beyond its blue hues. Spring, a fuckin’ kaleidoscope embellished. Blotches of big fuck you greens so vibrant you'd long to die from your tears, and an abstract spit of smell me reds thorny as your stomach brought to a scream for something. Anything.

It was a slow, banal descent into the jello.

  January, floating atop the sweet delicacy, atop your bed.

  February, the solidity gave out beneath you, goo subtly etching around your ankles, calves, elbows, unforgivingly cold when it first hit. When in reality, the bed was heating from your lay.

  March, marrow goes heavy, your limbs at this time could not lift, your efforts waned, and satiating the rumble in you with sustenance was forgotten, as that rumble got so, so.. quiet. 

  April, the jello had stuffed your nose, your sockets, and lullabied your ligaments. You let it happen.

May.

  You let yourself sink. Let yourself decompose and go mush in the head. Like a zombie.

  The descent doesn't taste of sweet delight, but it also fails to churn your lips with a heavy saccharinity. Neutral, your hopeful side did say. Nothing, rationality slapped past your lips.

Five months, either a misery, or a Monday.

  Yes Eve, a bite out of the Apocrypha will indeed fill this human abysm in me. Forbidden knowledge is my craving. Contraband of truth, bite to bite, I envy that I could not cope with its coating of my empty gut earlier.

  Innocence is so dull. You are depressed, not a fucking saint for staying indoors, starving your rage.

  But on came a crisp bouquet of biker–boy newspapers; ‘Hiring’, and a few scans further; ‘Do you harness a great love for the evergreen?’

  A honed section in Missoula's local print— jobs. A publisher boldens and compresses enthusiasm sporadically; writing–on–the–wall hollers speckle themselves meticulously on the newsprint that strike a sense of obligation into the susceptible and soft–of–heart chunk of the population. A pert voice read with persuasion between your ears, gritty in tone and stereotypical of a middle aged ranger, vocals fried by cigarettes but as booming as a cannon.

“Do you care for the animals inhabiting our national sanctuaries?”

  Abutting small paragraphs, the sagging belly of a black bear, tender caramel snout and snoopy–faced, fitted on its head a mustard yellow campaign hat labeled, ‘Smokey’. Its burly, blundering frame on all fours stood out over a comic–style vista of the Montana rockies, paws obscured by blocks of thickset text reading ‘Only you’.

  Huh, a realistic depiction of Smokey Bear— over a not–so–realistic background, avant–garde. 

  Tree greens sprawly that didn't shout ‘Fuck you’ on your poor, sunken eyes searing for sleep and a twilight darkness. Sagey lichens that didn't draw out the spasms above your own bones, calling your regard to bring pin–sized problems and blemishes sprawling your own flesh out of the bliss of ignorance. Brunette muds with only a fleck of sun, a slice of earth dull, humble and unprocessed enough from benevolence to leave you unconsumed, unsunken. A mere slop and pudge in the future and wake of your walk. Nothing obnoxiously grand, nothing sanctimonious. Nature is by birth— righteous, regardless.

  “Before we can be proud of our nation, our nation must be proud of us!”

  The advertisement gropes for a summertime made free. A cyclopean sinkhole in the becoming of time. Recruits–in–waiting are called to bargain normalcy and the bustling cities plump with lumbering limbs of sheen–tight pantyhose shaded under short shapes of plaid skirts for boot–cuts n’ backpacks hefty with gear that could either save you the trouble of mountaineering by path, or trouble your time with a faulty snapping of two things. Rope and neck.

Too grim?

  A months’–long moment of tension snapped at the pressure joint— Summertime the snapper.  You'd be devoting ninety–three suns, ninety–two moons, and some two–million breaths of fir laden air up in Angel Crater National Park, northwest of here. Pupils flickering the double-page setup, you continue: A pictographic, old–fashioned lookout taller than the timber spires surrounding would be your station, your core of operations, for those three young and sunny months. Boxed provisions and supplies are guaranteed to ship every other week, and testimonies encourage even the anxious, balmy buzzes of your brain to sigh in solace learning that the weald creatures there— are mostly harmless, if you aren't bred an imbecile. Alongside, an appointed supervisor, whose name was never disclosed duly except for a scratch of text gingerly clasped in quotations reading, “E.R.W” trailing the mention of said supervisor. What’s required of you was delivered plain written and patent on that shoddy newspaper, held thick in your intrigued thumbs; Keep the forest from catching wild fire.

  You fiddled the idea. Should I? Or should I wallow the summer away? Fiddled it anxiously, fiddled it needily, bumped the clumped rim of the newsprint on your cupid's bow in bending rumination, steadied it cause newspaper smells oddly good— but next to minutes racing hours upon musing, a conclusion had to knock your static looping of gloomdom in the butt.

  One phone call, and the bird would be barred again. Pesterer, Elaine the Terrible, would be cast back where eyes can't roll over the cottony clouds. Just a couple fucking prods to your number–pad, might genuinely un–drain you.

  Luckily, you aren't an idiot reared to take bullshit longer than meritted.

You took the job.

May 30th, 1995, 7:28 PM.

  What does any clever pedestrian traipsing capricious terrain store in their pack to avoid total gangly–branch–grips–of–nature butchery?

Item one; Black nylons— scratch that, you aren't getting paid to snag at every kink and curl of the forest, tighties of gossamery fabrics are a no–go. Citywear stays citywear. Double scratch on those sweet, blackberry Mary Janes too prized and polished to muck up in shit of the earth. Immolating the rigid underside of some chunky hiking boots to the unruly woodlands is the adrenaline pinnacle of out–worlding, come on. It proves you've got a hardy backbone and the right row of teeth to chew what you've bitten off, sullying boots ‘till the color is forevermore stained. Backup boots are tradition, so that's item number two. Best get used to cargo, ankle–length overalls and miscellaneous graphic tees, cause the rockies’ fashion gurus can't get enough of ‘em!

Clothing, check.

  Swathes of ropes twined pumpkiny orange and plenty of clanging anchors to bolt them in, goddesses and gods forbid you be tight on anchors. Medical kits— duh, did you trudge all from yonder just to die out here? This country is dicey, at the cuddly claw of a bear, or not. Hair ties, scrunchies you hoarded as a teenager in the eighties, disposable camera to suit your flaky memories, and an eclectic dump of nutty and fruity cereal bars galore. Unless you're allergic. Substitute.

Accessories and essentials, check.

  Ah, and a spare pistol and switchblade in replacement of newcomer paranoia! Keep that hush–hush though. No matches or lighters, obviously.

True American, illegal weaponry, check.

  All this paraphernalia bangs and clangs heavily on the polyester holding of your backpack, straining your scruff uncomfortably as you tiptoe, scarcely tumble, and tread lightly across a log. It creaks, it groans, it wobbles slightly over the blaring white rush of a stream, suctioning your heart–to–stomach when it grinds a wee bit louder than you thought it should.

  “Shit!” you crimp your torso in and dart wary hands on the timber beam at your feet, assuming a gawky newborn–bambi–pose in hesitation, shuddering in cracked tones, “This can't be the right way..” 

  Hoping on an evaporated sun, you frazzlingly testify in repetitive thought that the map mailed by the rangers a week prior led you on this perilous and incorrect path.. for the last two days. Winding and wounding, literally— your bruises are measureless and on top of that ache your skin to want no more of this. But, you have to. A boulevard of brown, short and stout, wrung unyielding from one gray side to the greener other, a shortcut. Assumed to be a shortcut, based on the route drawn by utter confusion.

Oh yeah, and remember the advertisement stating the park was twenty-five miles out?

Nothing about that hot-press, black-cat inked newspaper accounted for the extra eight weighing your ankles down and your motivation dead low. Twenty-five only stretched out unto the ranger parking lot. The entrance, for fuck's sake.

  Shaky flit of your digits, they float gently off the carve–veined surface of the wood, unfolding your spine as you rise. “Wrong way—” you utter to your chest, oven–warm as it puffs, “—gotta be the wrong..” 

  Tentative–ism is normal here, right? Like, no way you're cautious and sweating at the brow for nothing. Right? 

  One foot— creeakkk— in front of the prudent other, two sailing lunges, three hurried hops and a matched thud soft as marshmallows plants your shoes to hallowed ground. Blades of verdant whiskers so innocent crush under, and it feels fucking— demeaning, actually. All that gulping and pausing.. for nothing.

  You tuck a shoulder–glance to the makeshift ricket of a bridge, and blankface, “Didn't feel like killing me today?”

The tree bears no reply.

  “Hmph, surprising. Seeing as someone killed you,” a sigh parts, fading into the whip and straightening of your head, “figured the pursuit of revenge doesn't stop at ghosts.” and the hoist of your boot up, carrying onward.

  Sundown paints, crescent layers repose approaching moonlight and dying sunlight sprawls psychedelic limbs above you. Balance ambling in tiny bops only made the swirling grasp of those gradient rays more trippy on your eyes and coercive of daydreams, rot–nip for the brain. You spot nutbrown brick— a fireplace in your mind, fevered heat roasting on the inside wall of your forehead too. It was Christmas before the storm, a subzero December. And it was, in fact, colder than the unreachable heaven. Dad was hunkered down in front of that innocuous amber crackle, his right leg slack to the ground and his left arched in the neck of an acoustic guitar, arms plaiting its hollow curve into his chest. 1971, when the veil through and within was thin, and love–vomit poured so easily through. A time of justified ignorance; Childhood. 

  Stood you adjacently, legs short and posolutely not stout, dimpled in the knees. Aged two years, and mushy as ambrosia, contorting your mouth jubilant as you're told for the camera, contrary to your father with his expression drooping to his strumming fingers. Sickly sweets, adult–you unpurposefully neglects to twirl lips at, your extraordinary grins now turned ordinary flat–lines. Holiday memoirs, those spoiled ripe quick after adulthood bolted itself in the slabs of your tender spine and instilled an artificial love for labor and country, displacing nostalgia from ever being seen as a flesh existence. 

“Say cheese!”

  America is sub–human, and sub–humans created America, the imperfect cycle. Families tear, eagles outcry, friends drink their death, and the days continue to unfold without a trace of acknowledgement. Days exist where you soak festivities and stave off the pointer–finger poking at so called slack you relish, and some twenty dwindling years ahead the slowly deadening oak grove road, carousals will be criminally known as layabout–makers.

Joy is a luxury now.

  A blockage prevents your foot from winching clean forward, meeting the bone–hard kiss of a boulder to sore your toes. “Fuck!” you brand your throat walls to a shout, pissed at the rock rather than your woolgather that lead you to said rock, “Fucking fuckhead rock!”

  Woolgather means daydreams, by the way. Funner to use words that don't make a split of sense. Yay for English.

 The sunset clouds dripped with a mania of fascination and had strung your brain to its hypnotic whims, like a siren had soloed a trance, drifting your mind somewhere utopian and phantasmagorical. It sounds silly, but, blanking out seems so often out of grasp from your control, you usually could never flag what caused it, when it started, and why. Nothing practical surfaces. Fuck, your head is so tangled upon memories, you haven't even noticed the progression of scenery twelve o’clock from you. 

  Ponderosa boughs band together where your eyes brush shapes and forage for a clue of what scene wants to greet you ahead. The sequestering silence of rustles indicates a clearing, possibly. Possible as it could be, you fully expected this cruel footslog to wallop your ass into a minefield, so you bet cards and course carefully beneath the crowns of pine, completely bent to the chance of another obstacle threatening your tender ankles. Leafy whispers above strum your ears brimmed with its sotto voce song, and then— colors it silently behind.

“Holy shit.”

  Presence crumbles above you, and opens before you. The lookout. Wood shafts slant in opposing directions, up and up along four brawny beams in three consecutive layers, like a blocky cone. The face closest to you overlaps the backing rest, giving the illusion of tufted wooden legs sketched under all lackadaisical. Endgame daylight spies from behind this one–roomed cyclops, gushing final spurts of citrus rays as if it truly was an orange squeezed to pulp. So, the flank and forehead of that towering, mountainscaping lookout rolling a cold shoulder to the sun, paves in a tattered tapestry of garnet smokiness instead. Shadow of sundown. From where you sow feet, a football field apart, petty details are difficult to squint into clarity, but the window panes appear tawny, too.

  An intimidation, “So much for a tiny room.” A beaute intimidation, “And no actual bathroom.” it makes you feel like a genuine insect compared.

  A sort of stairwell serpent faintly chokes the foot, the calves, the thighs, and punctures kindly a mouth leading up to the skirting balcony hedged in many gaunt teeth. Tamping gravel closer, subtleties and fine points fade as the tower's plank–lined and flat underbelly turns to you. Larger and larger, it dips darkly from miniscule masquerade.

  Bringing your decently aching foot to the first step, you press into the curb and meander your cruder aching— thanks to a random boulder— foot weirdly on the outer ridge of your boot. Making it up the stairs to fund yourself a fucking break was a palpable mockery in itself. Like, ‘Hey! Climb this long–ass stairwell for a teensy break before doing it all over again the next day!’. 

Un–fucking–believable. 

  Fifty years of history and past rangers grate in your walk, the floorboards thump with their stories, thump into your skin— verse you a wordless eulogy. Each step is a sentence, and every sentence branches into a whole tree of genealogy, lives. Lifestyles you can't understand now, but will.

  Really redundant of me to highlight the generations alive in those floorboards. The walk up there isn’t that exciting.

  After the last step, you're met eye–to–frame with a scratched door, pygmy window centered and paper–screened from within, and the stories predating your stay inspire a comical theory, “Jeez— bears make it up here?” you half–suppress a snort, palming a fist on the doorknob coldly before rotating and giving sympathetic pressure to the door.. jammed. 

  “C’mon..” knuckles pulse into the knobs plate, gradually upping the force you pushed, “.. losing light out here..” eventually adding your other hand to sweeten the push.

  Sure, a whole year has gone by since it homed somebody, and it's retro, but come on.

  Breaking splinters into the door was your last intention, so you try so–so carefully— to some extent, “Please..” now butting the tip of your boot on the rim to ease it— ease, and finally pry, a clapback of wind blowing dusty, nightfall air past your crescent cheeks following the snap of the fallow door.

  Thank goodness for your grace and balance, some days, avoiding a timely trip face–first to a floor so powdered in light dust, any kid would mistake it for a good time sweeping snow angels. 

  Not so good for the respiratory system though.

  Muggy space filtering your lungs tightly, you cough out, “Gah— fuck!” nothing higher than the level of a guttural wheeze, your chest punching into your throat. Gaping out the last flock of butterflies clumped at your collarbones, the tickle inside calms, and you find your sights taking in a dark box. A dim orb of lily silver glow rests in the middle of the pall room, raising the natural, “Where's the ligh— ah, big clunky thing—” 

  Flicking the off–white and stubby nub attached to an impractically sized lightswitch, which frankly resembles an electric box externally, an essence of Apollo ladens the room. Lemony–gold light, passably bright off the redwood ceiling, and murmuring a low buzz through one ear, and out the other, your pupils caper along the contrasting shades awakened.

  “Definitely retro, but.. no roommates.” spoke you, gingerly content with the colors piecing this camper pad together. You observe.

  Forget–me–nots bled the cotton bedsheets baby blue, leavening the mattress with a tidy emotion as it's tucked, folded at the top and draped in a complimentary quilt— benevolent blues, hues your lids soften on. The bed beelined from the doorway, a corner counter fawn–brown as the wood extends adjacent to it, covering the northeastern angle of the room. Magpied brands of canned food clutter shelves, spines spanning thick books of epic poetry to sci–fi comics create a ribcage of literature along a compact bookcase perching that countertop, and sunken in the east side of it, a steel sink. It shimmered sunflower bands of light as you moved, a rainbow–arched faucet brightened completely.

  Step by step, you draw near a circular table in the middle. Strange rods and gadgets stuck out of the borders, inlaid glass protecting a local map so sleek you could see a phantom of your face in it, and a black bar looming the width, so it rings with tangible importance. Of which you'll gauge about later. Truthfully, the journey by foot here? Dead–beating, your knees bloated, throbbed flesh hot, and almost buckled; fatigues infamous way of scolding you to sit the fuck—

“Sup Maple lake, you there?” 

  A pang hammers to your heart, and a crawlish wave of startled blood pales from your face and drops to your jaw, “Jesus!” sweat hitting you a blink after, every normal function just— flunked. That voice, more like a ruptured stereo sizzling, caught you the fuck off guard. Now you dither, dumbassery taking your eyes through a new loop of figuring out where–why–how and what the robotic intruder wants.

  But pre–realizing, your ears perk to a more coherent, and outstretched string of static, “C'mon, know you're checked in.” and post–realization tugs your eyes to a mustardy n’ black cased device; a walkie–talkie.

  Okay, way to creep recruits out. Whoever, for whatever reason— at the nick of night too, gimme’ a break. You wry, knitting raisin crinkles above your nose, trying to discern your palette of options; pick up the walkie, tap in and feign politeness in the shortest and sluggiest scraps of small talk to be done with the day, or rant off the bat— highlight how fucking late it is, and how taxing a double–goddamned–day hike made your head and patience feel. And right now, the second response route feels arguably more tempting than—

  “This is Cordero Tower, calling in. Can see ya’ standing by the Osborne, by the way.” 

  Its staticy feedback has waned completely, densening a thick husk and tilting towards a honeyed undertone. Relaxed sounding or not, what the fuck.

  You react predictably, flicking your chin west, then east only for you to meet the dead of night— thanks mountains— stalking perfectly in every single window. So, useless to check. Answering it was a yes–go, it would be sickenly awkward to thrust it under the rug now. Your knees pull forward, eyes calligraphing the power buttons tinted in cherry light, palm drawing to meet your focal point.

  The case is ribbon gentle under your fingertips’ graze, fresh and in store–new condition. Maybe the only thing hot from the pot of newfangled technology. Plastic intricacies roll under until you settle on a swollen button, denting the plush of your finger as you press, hold, and speak. A crisp crackle activates your line, tuning you in.

    Breath hesitates between your chords, “Maple.. lake.. speaking,” off–the–tongue words manifesting on–the–spot, “you can see me?”

  “Yeah.” the walkie chuckles, sugary curl pitching up and through their tone, “Look out ur’ north window, you'll see her.”

Her?

  Nooking your nose north, you only widen pupils on that same, starless coast of darkness nosing the rim of your window sills. What do they mean to—

  “Nh–no,” You literally said north, “get closer to the window, n’ look up.” What, are you a fucking sparkling, rasp–voiced eagle?

  “Fuck are you talking about,” mouthed you void of voice, stumped on what this person was getting at. Wedging your knuckles below the meshy underside of your backpacks right strap, you wrangle it down your arm as you glide rubbery sole along croaking oak, tossing that bag so cumbersome atop a lily white pillow— looking fresher than a daisy, and clamber the mattress pliantly dented to your knees to grasp a broader panorama. 

  And with that window hood washed over, a convoy of fireflies focus a tiny constellation in the murked glass. Little pinholes of light, dots in the distance. They rough–hew a blur, but the excess seconds taken to brood squints and balance the blurry blotches, an outline crops up. Another fire lookout, sprouting from rock and rise of a berg. Offspring of the distant cordillera that gives this whole park its sense of a cradled–woodland, but either way thought, a lookout hosts it home on top.

  “You can see me from all the way out there?” you wondered, truly. I mean— at minimum, a sore sprawl of miles bridges you both.

  “Mhm..” a pause loiters that fluid hum, then some really throaty syllables, “Binoculars~” you could almost envision— nah, feel the stare of those binocs, undoubtedly taking note of every contort in your body right now.

  “Oh thats, totally.. not,” you blunt your tone, shying a few inches from the glass, “.. creepy.” awkwardly. “Uh, who are you anyways— are you like, uh, another recruit?” as you engage small talk, grumpy frown pouting, the habit of kissing your wrist to your jaw as you would a piglet–tailed telephone overruns your burnt out focus, having to wince the walkie away when your eardrums nearly burst.

Ouch.

  “For one, I'm actually your supervisor. I know, I don't sound like a typical smoker–lunged, middle–aged white dude.” their tone gruffs and deepens to impersonate, finger air quotes practically radiating from the other end, “And two, my name is Ellie— Ellie Miller–Williams, if you care.”

  “Don't.” you heave out the pain stretching your head, aching each time you simply thunk.

  “Straightforward,” her timbre ups in approval, seemingly, “I like it. I like you, recruit I dunno’ the name of.” and a bubble hics her throat, quite audibly.

  “Not single.” Wrong, just uninterested. Hooking two fingers in the fabric handle of your bag and craning it to the ground, with scattered grates of plastic buckles skating the floor.

“What?”

  Oh, shit she wasn't— oops, ‘course she meant that platonically, heads so damn muggy,  “Uh, it's—my name.. sorry I’m just a bit out of the loop—” Dumbass, unscramble your brain alphabet soup, will you?

  “That’s a long ass name, what were your parents thinking? Haha.” Her duo–beat chuckle flares your humiliation, and then proceeds to pinch its swollen parts into total inflammation, “Where does it originate from?”  

  Cheesy bitch, “Can you not— I like, pfhh..” you temper yourself with a moon–cool blow to chap your lips and inflate your cheeks, ending up with a draw of an even more loosened tongue sour as it complains, “Did a whole two–day hike through the most torturous terrain just to get here, I really don't—”

Please.

  And if gripes trudged through teeth aren't persuasive enough, you recess your bone–ache bod avidly in the springy haven of your bed which chirped at your weights shifting motions, collarbones packing down on your vocal chords. You shouldn't sound up to chat whatsoever. Instead, vehemently drained, “I just wanna get some shut eye, talk me over n’ the mornin’.” your thumb lying a button away from disconnecting. 

  “Hey, hey—” Ellie ushered, her slurry breath fogging up the mic. Lips squeak softly into it, smacking before an intone, “Can't I be a little curious?”

  You synchronized in noise, sucking teeth behind heart–pursed lips, “Do you think somebody this exhausted has the appetite to entertain you?” stilling your thumb–pad on the power off key.

  “If I keep bothering you,” that alone ticked you, her blatant drive to carry on when your brain rejected its substance, “.. yeah. Maybe you'll be nicer then too.. huph!” a heartier peep hicced up on the speaker, and right then that noise jogged a discovery.

“Are you drunk?” has to be.

  Of course, she ignores the naked and sorely obvious, “Did your boyfriend break ur’ heart or something— an’ that's why you're out here?” bottle sloshing in the background of her mumble.

  Dumbstruck, you furrow a miffy expression, “W–what, boyfriend?” 

  “Said you weren’t single.” she recalls, warmly unspinning the fuddle that knit your brows, “Think I forget so easily?” drawled like a sultry retort, baking your ears.

You a hundred percent forgot though.

  Gosh, short–term memory sucks, or it's just your energy drought making you woozy. Blame it on lethargy, “No no, that was just.. tired talk. I thought you were hitting on me.” 

  “Oh? That's cute.” her choosing to say that latter statement unfolded discordantly, you seriously couldn’t gauge if that was a flirt, or another paper daisy— mock honey, a platonic notion. Even so, it sounded so damn smooth, lace to the ears. “But no, I wasn't— m'not like gay or ‘whutever.” stammered her, light snort fanning.

  A stifled chuckle hops from your chest, mixing with hers, “Uhuh, cool.” halfway uncaring and halfway amused, bafflement working your facial muscles. 

  “Yeah, um, but seriously..” her voice drifts into a ponderous rasp, the faint rustles of flimsy paper licking page to page subtler than her speech, “what's got you out here, newbie?”

“Newbie. Really?” A brow pricks.

  “I mean, you're new— new to the lookout, new to the job, in need of my phenomenal supervision and my wide range of knowledge. Yeah, a newbie.” 

  Then your brow mellows, tension held in your face dropping dead on backhanded flattery, “You are funnily agonizing.”

  “Aw.” her scratchily suave coo has your jaw set like stone, “That's so sweet.” but her short–lived song has your heartstrings soaked in ripe honeycomb, touched to the core by sweetness nebulose and an assortment of some foreign threads. Thickened heart, tighter ribs, a churn to weaken your stomach, a maverick of things unfamiliar to you.

  Momentaries, but still noticeable even if your senses were twisted backwards.

  Chewing over how you'll begin to explain, a few letters sift through your chords, until you hook on a sigh, “Ah, well, I'm out here for a fuck ton of reasons—”

“Reasons, or— huhp, problems?” Ellie blurt–hics, nosy.

“..”

  A brief gulp and exhale wheezes from her, “Sorry, it's the bourbons’— super good. Continue.” 

 You loosely split your mouth, gasping to exchange a gale for words pressing out, “A series of reasons, and problems, that I don't bother to lay on a grand platter, so you'll get a summary tossed on an appetizer plate.” you preface. Allow an elliptical gap to cut through, rousing her hum to let you know her ears are as intent–peaked as a Chihuahua’s, “Contact with my parents’ has gone cold, my last job made me want to hurl into a pack of crocodiles— and the city became too loud and too heavy–handed. Saw this job on the local paper, and got the hell out of dodge.”

An omissive summary, you meant. 

  There’s more that eats the heart. People can’t just.. drop the burden of knowledge wantonly on randos like they’re idling under fertile treetops waiting for the apples to plummet, biting into a pulpy biography. She’s just a girl, not a therapist.

  A discomforted purr lengthens into her reply, “Mmmmh, ever try a drink or two?” her intoxicated reply.

  “Oh, see,” you flap your hand and slap it to your denim clad thigh, “you are drunk.” as if she could even see your gesture.

  “No, I’m Ellie, hmhm~” comes with a giggle, and you consider her state of insobriety to be— wavering, but it’s stimulating to hear her fluctuate between groaned jokes and extra raspy comments, “Still haven’t told me your name though.”

  Some moments during this whole ‘Who are you?’ seminar made you concerned for your future here— if you’ll make it out psyche intact, but some moments found by winnowing through the illogical backtalk touched you with inbound camaraderie.

  Invisible touches that inhabit your neck with a leak of your name so— sincerely. It transforms into a fairer sound on your ears when she repeats it, affirming it. Nobody else's teeth clutches your name so welcome as she.

  “Hmm, ‘name kinda fits your voice.” odd commentary, but since composed with her already peculiar and drunken tongue, the shoe fits.

  That said, crabby confusion seems easier to articulate, “Thanks, weirdo.” but lips rebellious, they press an inevitable grin together. 

“No problem, sleepyhead.”

So many nicknames.

  Recognizing that downtick in hubbubs and breaths on the walkie, checking out for the night posed as a passionate option the burden weighing your eyelids couldn't or shouldn't veto. So you haul your torso up, kick and poke your toes over ankles to butt your boots off prior planting your heels, whisking toward the lightswitch and committing your lookout to swell with the outside's dark fresco. 

Stygian tones.

  “Speaking of sleepy heads..” you taper off speech, leaving the rest to her— touch wood— wide enough, hopefully–not–drunk–enough imagination to fathom as you slide and slip desperately beneath woolen blankets, sleepy worries, and sentences sailed to rest.

  “Aw man.” Ellie bums so, so stupidly, for comical value.

“Yeah, man.”

  “Mpht—” wetness smacks, “wanted to bore a pretty girl to death with recruit regulations and syllabi..”

How would you know?

  In reality, Ellie was reaching a transcendent caliber of wasted, drinking up your atmospherics and drunken to her gutly core. Woods hatch forlorn people; forlorn people get thirsty, “But, mhh, heads’ nearly falling off, whoof.” she expresses a soaring of vowels, but it parallels a gruff howl more. 

  Drowsy, buzzy jubilancy, plucking her flirty strums. You sugarcoat the flare in your chest hearing ‘pretty girl’, ears clicking to the swallow convincing your heart that Ellie was not flirting. As established; She’s under the influence, and not gay. Your brain repeats that, over and over, repeat, repeat, she isn’t flirting. 

  “Hey, here's a tip..” you inch the walkie a penny away from your flopped head, clefting your lip open, “Don't get drunk on the job. They didn't hire you to decoct your brain the day before chaperoning a recruit in the literal wilderness. So, stash that shit, n’ let's both get some shut eye, yeah?” and saying all that, may have just cashed in your last dose of breath and brain cells for the night.

  Ellie being Ellie— well, what you suspect is a ‘her’ thing after these few speckled minutes, dopily laughs at you. And dammit if she wasn't glamoring a dopey smirk in accord, you’ll have gleaned wrong.

  A voice, “Who’s the boss again?” her witty and cruel wisecrack, “They didn't pay you to boss the— hup, boss around.” 

  They will pay you to confront and reflect your spectrum of limits if this girl brushes their seams, that's for certain. Or, play God and lambast her, tender as milk.

  There's even a stroke of a chance, that your crooked lips poached her dopey grin instead, “Kay, well, maybe they'll reimburse me for your poor services.” 

  “My services are not poor. You'll see, tomorrow.” the volume of her melts away, going muted under liquid swills clanging on glass.

  “Please tell me that's the sound of you putting the bottle away.”

  “Mhm!” came out plugged, the bottle confining her garble, then popping clean as a cork, “Fuck— okay,” she siphons air in, pure little clink tinting the end of her sharp–edged sniffle, “Make sleeping in earlier worth it t’morrow, wanna drive you nuts with my questions.” she nasals, drawing near the mic again.

  Such a magpie, “Cause you're lonely?” and weird.

  “Shut up,” she shushes you, a satin whisper light–hearted and quick on beat, “M’not lonely anymore, right?” The type of softly spoken outcry that would balloon your cheeks with soreness if you were face–to–face with the throat that conducts it. Involuntary smiles plague you everywhere. But there is no mouth, no larynx, no throat that you view the swallow of. Just a walkie, so you settle in stoicism.

  You tug your upper–lip and pivot your eyes, drumming up something clever to combat, “In a sense. Not like we’re bunkmates, thank goodness.”

  “Fuck you,” Ellie breaks into a cuss spout so serenely, she sounded small and harmless, “just go to bed.” reduced to birch in winter shed of its brittle autumn arguments.

“Don’t gotta tell me once.”

  By the first full and emphatic giggle she cast just now that wasn’t suppressed nor achieved by humble pie, you take it that Ellie found you funnily harrowing just as her, two peas in an outstretched pod. Fault be with her, for getting wasted. Otherwise, you might have pried her skull open with questions dolled up as a pruner, clipping the forelimbs that are foliated in a messy breadth of first glance leaflets and attitudes until you piece it prettily, in a way that thralls you to never shrink your eyes back into their sockets. Drunk people are like prone beehives though, so you don't prod them.

Tomorrow, you can paint her portrait, or vice versa.

“Whatever you say, newbie.”

And with the whirry crunch of the walkie shutting off, Monday, came to a close.

if you enjoyed this chapter, please lmk what you thought!! i love getting asks about my content ♡

perm taglist: @whore4abby @aouiaa @ellieslittlewhore @baumbii @tlougrl @mina-281 @beabeebrie @fleshunger @elliewilliamsisactuallymygf @nicolicht @cosmikoo @xinyaya @sawaagyapong @reinersbigolboobies @brunettedolls-blog @syrenada @fairyysoiree @p4ison1vy @nil-eena @hi2647 @disaster-bi-suki @rarestdoll @narieater @hrtmal @eudaemoniaaaa @ellie-07063 @luvfaeri @carleenaelaine @kissyslut @ellieswh0r3 @beemillss @elsmissingfingers @bugaboodarling @slynxs @maleelee @savannahsdeath @littlegingerperson5 @seraphicsentences series taglist: @tearouthearts @planetloverr @elliesexual @isitadinosaur @eveshyper @3lli3l0v3r @yourmothersfavgirl @emst4rr @theloserqueen @crxmxnzl-c0rpzes @whenlostinthedarkness @diddiqueen @deliriousrn

[cieloclercs]

what would you say (if i told you i love you)? — charles leclerc

PART: 4/? (read part 3 here)

summary. in which childhood best friends blur the lines between what they’ve always known, and something more

warnings. pure angst lmao, charles is an idiot with a capital I, swearing, basically everyone hates charles, the leclercs (minus charles) and joris being iconic + your unnamed bestie, i used pictures from france 2022 so sorry about that 🫠

pairings. charles leclerc x artsy!reader

face claim. tara michelle

author’s note. alex is in one of the pictures as a face claim for a different character but absolutely no hate is intended to her at all !! sorry for the angst in this one 😭 but i promise it won’t stay like that for much longer! <33

liked by yourfriend and 27,836 others

y/nsart experimenting with new textures and media! super happy with the outcome 🖤

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yourfriend incredible 😍

*y/nsart liked this comment

username oh fuck.

username now i really want to know what charles did

username so i’m not the only one getting REALLY sad vibes off these paintings??

username nope 😃

username will any of these be going for sale? 👀

y/nsart i don’t think so unfortunately! i’m just painting for me at the moment :)

username @charles_leclerc what the fuck did you do?

username what happened to y/n’s light tones and summer landscapes? ☹️

username charles happened apparently

username pascale normally comments on y/n’s art posts…is this confirmation? 🥲

username babes you’re reaching

username or at least i hope you are

username the charles thing aside, these are so beautiful!

username no charles like either 😭😭

username it’s the beginning of the end girls :’(

arthur_leclerc amazing as always 🖤

*y/nsart liked this comment

username at least arthur’s still here !!

username wrong leclerc. no offence arthur

arthur_leclerc none taken, i fully agree 😃

username WHAT

username ok so we’ve got no pascale or charles…but there’s still some leclerc presence 🤔

username i’ll be honest i’ve got no idea what’s going on

username same bestie !!

username i mean it’s got to be all connected. charles’ dnf in zandvoort and how sad he looked all weekend (he didn’t even post after!!) and now this?? something weird is going on

username i just want charlesy/n back 🥲

liked by formulaupdates and 9,736 others

f1wags Charles Leclerc arrived in the Monza paddock today with Italian model Bianca Santoro. Sources suggest they looked pretty cosy 👀

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username it’s over for us charlesy/n nation 🥲

username i’m literally sobbing

username YOU’RE JOKING

username this can’t be happening.

username it’s only been three weeks and he’s already forgotten about y/n??

username you say that like they ever actually dated 🙄

username no they didn’t, but they’ve been best friends since they were literal toddlers! that’s not something you just get over in a few weeks imo

username my heart is breaking wtf

username @charles_leclerc WHAT ABOUT Y/N???

username oh my god for the last time, THEY NEVER DATED !! 🙄🙄

username i seriously believed charles was in love with y/n 💔💔

username why does this feel like a betrayal 😭

username i feel so bad for y/n 🥲

username yikes

username guys this girl might actually be nice! don’t be so quick to judge just because you all want charles and y/n together 😁

username we never said she isn’t.

username but they were my endgame 😭😭

username the only positive out of this is that we’re about to be fed with the most beautiful, haunting, gut-wrenchingly tragic paintings OF ALL TIME

username y/n’s rep era (painter edition) loading…

liked by leclerc_pascale and 104,357 others

y/nsart the heart was made to be broken

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username oh.

username not the oscar wilde quote 💔

username i was not mentally prepared for this

username i don’t think any of us were babe 🥲

username i’m never going to forgive charles for this

username why am i feeling this so deeply 😭

leclerc_pascale ❤️

username i can just imagine what pascale’s going to say to charles after this lmao

username she’s gonna tear him apart 😭

arthur_leclerc stop this now i will cry.

username arthur 😭😭

username phahah he’s one of us

username @arthur_leclerc same bestie

username as sad as this is i wish i had an outlet for my emotions like this…i feel like it would be so liberating

*y/nsart liked this comment

username this is exactly what heartbreak feels like. i’m not ok.

username charles is now enemy number 1 after making my girl y/n feel like this

username i was going to say i hope he dnfs but he’s already cursed enough it’ll probably happen anyway

username HAHAHA SO TRUE 😭

username someone said y/n’s rep era would be the only positive out of the charles-bianca thing BUT THIS IS PAINFUL. PLEASE MAKE IT STOP I WANT HAPPY Y/N BACK.

username oh god the first and last slides 💔💔💔

username she’s not even denying it anymore…

username i’m going to pray every day from now that charles comes to his senses and tells her how he feels 🙏🙏

username can i join you

username and me

username our delusional asses need to stick together rn 😔🙏

username on a slightly less sad note THE AMOUNT OF LIKES THIS HAS GOT OMG.

username as it should! y/n’s talent needs to be more widely recognised 😌

username @charles_leclerc you’re breaking all our hearts here

liked by f1wags and 15,736 others

formula1updates Charles Leclerc after his DNF in Monza 💔

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username karma.

username honestly it serves him right

username we manifesting it guys !!

username i want to be sad because that’s his championship hopes completely out of the window but he genuinely deserves it after the way he’s treated y/n…

username you mess with y/n you mess WITH GOD BITCH

username lmao it’s so funny that he brings his little girlfriend with him and then crashes out 3 laps in 😭

username he KNOWS he deserves it as well

comments on this post have been limited.

yourfriend

yourusername toujours mon amour 🩷 arthur_leclerc take care of her please ↳ yourfriend what do you think i’m doing? 🙄 joris_trouche can’t believe i wasn’t invited 😔 ↳ yourfriend do you understand the meaning of a ‘girl’s trip’? charles_leclerc please can you ask her to answer my texts? ↳ yourfriend why should i? you’ve already hurt her enough.

three weeks later…

liked by charles_leclerc and 26,836 others

tagged: yourfriend

yourusername healing 🌊🤍🌙

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yourfriend la plus belle fille 💕/ the most beautiful girl

yourusername je t’aime <3

leclerc_pascale Reviens vite à la maison, mon ange 🤍 / come home soon, angel

yourusername tu me manques, maman 🥹

username the strongest person i know 🩵

*yourusername liked this comment

arthur_leclerc i never thought i’d say these words but i miss you ☹️

yourusername awww arth 🥹🥹 i miss you too x

joris_trouche still sad i wasn’t invited on the girl’s trip :’((

yourfriend tais toi, stupide 🙄 / shut up, stupid

yourusername 😭😭

joris_trouche rude 🙁

username guys are we all seeing the same thing right now or am i hallucinating 😳

username charles liked??

username OMG IM NOT HALLUCINATING

username CODE RED 🚨🚨🚨‼️‼️‼️ CHARLES LIKED EVERYBODY STAY CALM

username not charles trying to crawl his way back bitch please 😭

username @/yourusername tell him to go fuck himself x

username HAHSHAH STOP

username nah i’m calling it he’s definitely been lurking around her and y/f/n’s stories for weeks trying to figure out how to win her back 🤞🤞🤞

username girl you’re delulu if you think y/n’s gonna take him back that easily 🙄

username y’all just ignoring the fact that he still has a whole ass girlfriend 😭😭

username let me be delulu in peace please and thanks. 😐

username this is the mediterranean girl summer i want 😍

username how to be y/n y/l/n

username babe this isn’t google

username this bianca girl has NOTHING on y/n

username fr she’s literally a goddess 😫

username if charles doesn’t want her i’ll gladly take her 🤭

username two pretty best friends 🤩

username the growth 🤍 @/yourusername i’m manifesting love and happiness for you girl !! no one deserves it more 😘

yourusername thank you my love 🥹🥹

username charles get tf out of here 😂

username lmaooo he’s ruining the hot girl summer vibe

➜ part 5

tagged: @incoherenciass

[frenchkisstheabyss]

♡ Venus in Cyprus ♡

♡ Pairing: boyfriend!hyunjin x chubby!fem!reader

♡ Genre: smut

♡ Summary: A peek inside your boyfriend's mind and heart when he's making love to you. Told from Hyunjin's point of view.

♡ Word Count: 721

Warnings: unprotected sex & that's all, darlings

A/N: I wrote this to break my writer's block. I've never written anything from a male's POV before, let alone a male idol so let me know what you think ♡

I’ve visited museums that some artists can only dream of stepping foot in. The Musée du Louvre and the Musée d’Orsay in Paris. The Tate Modern in London. The Uffizi Gallery in Florence. I’ve been inches away from Botticelli’s “Birth of Venus” painting, depicting the arrival of the goddess of love herself to the island of Cyprus.

Its beauty is enough to bring some to tears but it’s nothing more than pigmented egg yolk on canvas, dull and unremarkable when compared to you. With you staring up at me, your eyes oceanic trenches of eternal admiration, the rest of the world falls away. I drown in them...in you.

I gently brush my finger along the line where your lips meet. They’re like velvet against my thumb. They part, the air stolen from my own lungs filling yours as I sink into you. Your body welcomes me into your warmth, eagerly swallowing my length inch by inch until you have all of me. My body trembles as my mouth meets yours.

I can feel your smile. A tiny one at first. The corners of your mouth barely lift. You clench around me. Release. Clench. Release. Your smile grows wider the deeper I groan. You know what you do to me. You love it. And so do I. Your hands skim my bare chest, arms coming around to trace my spine with your fingertips.

“Hyunjin” you gasp, the pressure of my throbbing tip hitting that one perfect spot overloading your senses. “Hyunjin.” My name’s sugar cane on your lips. I crave the sound of it. I lift you from the bed just enough to take two handfuls of your lush ass into my hands. I grip you tightly, securing you in place, and thrust into you harder.

“Say it again. My name.” Please don’t make me beg because I will. Anything to hear you say it. “Hyunjin” you’re moaning, hips raising to meet mine. I trail kisses down your neck, inhaling the scent of jasmine and saffron permeating from your soft skin. Your fingers are tangled in my hair now, delicately tugging at my hair, guiding me along your collarbone.

Between your cleavage. To the rise of your succulent breasts where your buds stiffen to meet the textured surface of my tongue. I free a hand up to caress your breast as I lap at your delicious bud, pausing every now and then to watch it glisten with a thick coating of my spit. You twist beneath me, your body too lost in pleasure to know what to do with itself.

I can feel your heart racing, a rhythm I could mimic in my sleep like the notes of my favorite song. You’re soaking wet. I can feel your juices dripping down my shaft. Coating my balls. Making such a mess of your plush thighs. My hands, they have to travel. Explore the gentle curves of your body. I’m a slave to the way your soft body gives to my touch.

Addicted to tracing every stretch mark. Nibbling on the plumpest, sweetest parts of your figure. No paintbrush in the world can mimic the art of a body so tempting I’d give my whole being simply to lay eyes on it. You say my name again. Broken. Laced with need. You whisper to me, my lips at your neck once more, how close you are but I know. By the fluttering of your walls and the arch of your back.

I sneak an arm between us, stroking your firm clit with two of my fingers. Your nails dig into me, tearing skin, leaving behind an abstract message that I am, in fact, yours. Yours when your body tightens and twists, your whimpers flowing through the air. Yours when the ecstasy of your high has you trashing. Screaming. Incoherent. Nectar rushing from your pussy like a waterfall. Majestic and powerful all at once.

Yours when your sweat slicked body relaxes in my arms, those angelic eyes staring up at me with the same admiration as before. “I…” you start but your voice cracks. You clear your throat, shaky hands cradling my face like I’m some precious thing, “I love you.” And I love you. My work of art. My Musee du Louvre. My Musee d’Orsay. My Venus in Cyprus. 

I love you too.

[vase-of-lilies]

❀  Pairing: Dark!Mermaid!Wanda x Sailor!Reader

❀ Non-con, dubcon, Captivity, restraints, slight experimentation, shapeshifting! Wanda, the ocean, sailing on a boat, a storm, shipwreck, a little bit of violence, virgin!reader (she has never had a sexual encounter, period. So she is very innocent), Wanda doesn’t know human anatomy lol, oral (r receiving), forced orgasm, overstimulation, fingering, (this next part is major whump, so PLEASE heed the warnings) Sewing readers legs together for a punishment, holding reader under the water until they pass out, screaming, lots of screaming, making someone stay unconscious with telekinesis, quick acceptance, soft-ish wanda, some fluff, Stockholm syndrome, (if there is anything else PLEASE let me know!!)

❀ Disclaimer and Authors Note: The pictures only represent aesthetics and themes. There is no certain skin color, body type, ethnicity, or description other than Y/n and “you”. I hope you like this! The pictures go to their rightful owners on Pinterest, and the comic-style picture belongs to the beautiful artist Jenifer Prince. I also have a really big feeling that Mermaids' love language is gift-giving. Because… stuff is all they find lol!

This is for @eloquentreverie 's Dusk Till Dawn writing challenge! I chose the lines “All you are is a liar…” “My love for you is not a lie.”

Bright rays of sunshine reflect off the water, not one cloud in the sky.  The perfect conditions for sailing. You had been planning this trip for ages, and the perfect time has never been seen before now. Packing your bags was an easy task, all that was left was prepping your boat. Aphrodite is what you call her. The beautiful sailboat your father had left for you.

The sails are off-white, the texture of a canvas. In a way, this boat is its own form of art, and the beautiful name that your father picked fits perfectly. She was small, livable, and durable. It could withstand the fiercest of storms, waves, and monsters. Monsters, that you at least think are real. They were all just myths your mother told you about. 

Mermaids that left trinkets on the helm of each ship they came across, an octopus-like creature pushing the boats in the wrong direction, and even the ocean itself; a lively source of nature that will always lead the way when these malicious creatures have any form of malicious intentions. 

Making your way down to the pier, you are stopped by a villager, an older woman who knew your father very well. “Y/n! Y/n! Come here, I have something for your travels!” You hear from her frail yet powerful voice. She gently grabs your hands and pulls you into her home, making you giggle softly as she sits you on her couch. 

“Now, I knew I would see you today because of the conditions out… there. I have this for you, wishing you safe travels and return.” She puts a dainty necklace in the palms of your hands. “It was a gift from your mother, she had told me to wait until you were older, and I think now would be the perfect time.” She smiles as you look at the beautiful oval-shaped locket. 

“My family and I really love you, Eleanor. Thank you for taking such good care of us.” You smile up at her, closing your fingers around the locket with a picture of both your mother and your father. “Thank you, really, for everything.” 

She shakes her head, “The only thing you owe me is a hug and a proper goodbye.” She says, opening her arms for you. You happily oblige, wrapping your arms around her hunched body. She was like a grandmother to you even when she was just a family friend, but you most definitely loved her as a grandmother. 

“I love you so much, and I will most definitely bring you some trinkets if mermaids ever leave anything for me.” She chuckles in response and waves you off, sending you on your way to uncertainty. 

Entering the deck of your boat was a feeling of freedom that you had longed to feel ever since the death of your parents. It was difficult to make it through the day without breaking down into your most vulnerable form; A sobbing, shaking mess. 

Standing at the helm brought mixed emotions. You were finally here. You were finally able to feel like the woman your mother described you as. “You are a brave, independent, beautiful girl Y/n. You will do amazing things one day. That may be tomorrow or ten years from now. But amazing things they will be.”

Those words stuck with you from the day she died. Those words were what drove you to sail alone after all these years. She told you that you were brave, and that was all it took to motivate you to learn, grow, and persevere in your passion for sailing. 

Now all you had to do was make sure you had enough food, water, and supplies in the cockpit, untie the sails, and mark the coordinates on your map. Once those subjects were taken care of, the last was to untie Aphrodite from the pier and raise the anchor and you are all good to go!

With the small gusts of winds every now and then, it would take about 6 to 7 hours for you to make it to your destination. That is if there is no storm, headwind, or pirates that you have to worry about. Crossing Captain Barnes is on your list of “most feared encounters” and you could not imagine getting stuck with him, let alone see him. Rumors say he lost his arm to the Kraken and used the gold from a found treasure to make a new arm. A much more dangerous one than he already had. 

The thought of seeing him gives you chills in of itself, so you decide to put your mind to something else. You begin to steer the boat in the direction of your destination, your blue navy-themed sailing dress your mother made you flowing in the wind. You smile as the smell of salt and cold water fills your nose, the ocean and wind guiding you in the right direction.

~~~~~~~~ 3 hours later ~~~~~~~~

The clouds had come out of nowhere, casting a large, dark shadow over Aphrodite. The wind was skin-biting and strong, the waves getting unruly as she becomes angry with something. What? You had no idea. You had prepared for this, but the worst thing that could happen happened. 

As you put on your dark blue cloak to keep warm, a large wave crashed over your boat. With much luck, Aphrodite held strong and pulled back up from the water. Raindrops soaked your clothes as well as waves that rolled over the surface of your boat. As you were pulling on the sails, you froze in fear. A colossal wave formed. Bigger than anything you have seen, towering over you. At this point, you knew your fate and you fully accepted it. 

As the wave crashed over your boat, the water engulfed you into a frigid and bitter hug. The sheer force of this wave cracked your beautiful boat in two, ripped the sails a part as if it was cut by scissors, and lastly shredded your near-perfect map to shreds. It was a saddening sight to see to anyone on the outside. 

As your vision fades to black, numbness takes over your system and you are finally at rest. 

Or so you thought. 

“Is she ok? She- Oh she’s breathing! She looks ok, just a little roughed up.” 

‘Squawk!’

“She’s a human! She’s beautiful, she looks so cute in this little dress of hers.”

‘Squawk!’

“Can we keep her?”

A pause…

“Let's bring her inside, but we have to make sure she doesn’t escape. Grab some of the rope from her boat, that will hold her.” 

“She scared? She scared?” The animal squawked. 

“For certain…”

The voices were faded and muffled, and you felt like you were held in a bubble. Everything was quiet. The voices were smooth, siren-like, minus the power. There was something dark in the woman’s voice that hovered over you. There was something in her voice that sounded almost… dark and evil. As if she had malicious intentions with you. 

Your eyes fluttered open at the sound of waves crashing against the sand, but you were not on the beach anymore. You were in a cave, a dark, cold, dreary cave. With a pounding in your head, you moved your hand to your temple. Well, tried to. You look to your left, letting your eyes get used to the darkness and you see rings of rope around your wrist, holding you to a rusty bed frame. Looking to your right you see the same.

Struggling was your first instinct, but you were frozen in place. It was fear taking over your body and you didn’t know what else to do. There wasn’t much you could do in your state. It was so cold, and you couldn’t find a way to get warm. 

“H-hello?” Your voice echoes in the abyss of the dark cave in front of you and you have yet to hear anything other than that. But moments later, other voices fill the cavern's echos. 

“I wonder when she will wake up, oh I sure hope it’s soon.” One voice said. Were they talking about me? You think to yourself. 

“Well, when she does, it will be quite the surprise don’t you think?” That voice, it was the voice that sounded evil… 

In an instant, the dark cave was filled with lowly lit torches. From what you could see was a room full of different trinkets, a makeshift vanity with a sea-glass mirror, shelf portions of the cave filled with sea shells, and lastly her.

A beautiful woman walks into the cave carrying what looks to be wood, sail rope, some canvas sails, and cloth. It took you a moment to realize that these were parts of Aphrodite. Your precious boat. 

“Ah, she’s awake.” The woman says to her accomplice, a parrot on her shoulder. 

“Awake! Awake! Awake! Awake!” The parrot responds, making the woman let out a soft chuckle. 

“Please, let me go!” You plead. 

“No, you are mine now and I get to do what I please,” She gives you a smug smile and sets her trinkets and shells down on her vanity. You watch her carefully, salty tears falling down your cheeks as you pull at the ropes around your wrists. “There is no coming out of those ropes, darling. I know how to tie a good knot” She emphasizes the ’t’, making you jump slightly in response. 

“Such a curious creature humans are. They move around on these water contraptions just to go see another piece of land. Can you imagine that?” She says, chuckling at her own question. “Well of course you can, you were doing just that!” She moves towards the makeshift seaweed and canvas bed and sits on the edge. 

“I have yet to see a real human up close and see what they are really like. How much pain and torture they can take, just like my sisters had to endure.” 

Her intentions scared you, and her smirk told you that she already knew that. “P-please don’t hur-” she cut you off with a laugh and a mockery of your fear. 

“Puh puh puh, please! Oh don’t be so cute, I love hearing screams of fear…” She leans close to your face, her tongue sliding against your cheek and picking up a tear. “Mmmm, tastes so good. I can’t wait to taste the rest of you.” You whimper as her eyes turn bright red and before you know it, the clothes are ripped from your body leaving you nude, cold, and exposed. You flail your feet attempting to kick her, but she quickly pins them down and wraps more rope around them, connecting them to the bed posts at the bottom.

She shakes her head at your action and gently slides her fingers over your now exposed belly, “Nuh uh, none of that. We don’t need anyone else to get hurt, right?” You shiver in response, making her smile grow even bigger. “Oh, so you feel me…” She realizes and she runs her fingers up your belly, and to the valley of your breasts. 

Your reactions are very minimal at first, but then she starts going in other directions. “Hmm, I have little buttons like these too, I wonder what yours do?” She moves and grazes her fingers over your nipple, making you shudder. A new feeling has come to you, and the woman takes note. “Ah, how interesting. This little bud of skin is much more sensitive than the skin over here…” She does the same motion of rolling her fingers but with just a small section of skin from your breast. 

“What if we do both?” She inquires, moving both her hands above your breasts. Taking both nipples in her fingers, she smiles at your reaction of curling in on yourself. The little noises you make are what set her off. “Wow, how amazing,” She whispers, smirking at your reaction. As you whine and shake your body slightly, you try to get her off of you, but she is just pulled towards you again. 

“Someone is a little feisty,” She slaps your breast harshly and you yelp in pain. She chuckles and stands up. “Now let me introduce myself. I am Wanda, and as you can see I take the shape of a human, like you. But I am nothing of the kind. I have morals.” She pauses, and moves between your spread-open legs. “When I got the ability to use my shapeshifting power, I first wanted to try to be human. Just to see what it feels like to walk and run. I liked it at first, but then came this feeling that I can’t describe. It is like a fire was lit right here,” she puts her hand just above your lower regions, goosebumps pebbling at the touch of her skin on yours.

“There was nothing I could do to put it out. So I explored down there… I have a button down there just like up here,” She rolls your nipples in her fingers once again, making you whine in protest. “Oh, my Poseidon… it felt heavenly when I rubbed it just right. I thought the feeling would never end! But then it did… it felt like I exploded. It was like getting caught in a wave, only to fall back down into warm water again.” She smiles down at you from her spot between your legs. 

“I want to see if you feel it too.” She smirks and you whimper as you pull at the restraints around your limbs. Dismissing you, her fingers spread your slick petals and she gently rubs around the top of your pussy. A soft moan emits from your mouth and she gasps. “Oh, I think I found your button too,” Wanda continues to rub your clit, loving every single reaction from your mouth. With curiosity, she pokes at your entrance with her fingers. When she enters her fingers into your wet cunt, the moan from your mouth is beautiful. 

“That was beautiful, I need to see more!” She exclaims and starts to move her fingers in and out of your hole while rubbing your clit. With never feeling these things before, you are like an exposed nerve and are oh, so, sensitive. 

You soon start to feel what she was describing, the fire, the riding up the wave, and after seconds, the falling from that wave and into warm water. As you cum, she smiles at the feeling of your walls clenching around her fingers. “It feels nice, doesn’t it…” she states, not addressing it as a question. You vigorously shake your head, denying her. She smirks, knowing deep down you absolutely love it. 

The ropes burn your limbs and you were tired. But Wanda was far from done. She had so much more planned as she was infatuated with your pussy and how it pulsed around her fingers. “Should we see how many more of these little episodes we can see today?” 

“N-no! No, please no more, I- I want to go home, please,” You beg, knowing deep down you most likely won’t make it out of here. Not without a fight. Already you were scheming how you could possibly escape her, but your thoughts were shut down as Wandas' fingers intruded your hole at a fast rate. Her fingers moved in and out of your cunt, a burning feeling bubbling inside of you once again. 

“Oh, you’re so wet down here, little one. I swear if I go too fast, there may be a tidal wave coming at me.” She smirks at her words, not slowing her pace as she curls her fingers in a ‘come hither’ motion. Your moans were music to her ears, like putting a sea shell to one's ear and hearing the beauty of the ocean on the other side. 

Failing miserably, you try to quiet your moans. But the feelings are just too intense for you to handle. She leans down as she continues to pump her fingers inside of you and smiles as she licks along your red, hot clit. Your legs jolt once a more sensitive wave of pleasure falls over you, her tongue moving expertly over your little bud. Your back arches as much as it can with the bonds keeping you down and you try to enjoy your current state under Wandas' domination. 

In a matter of seconds, you are crumbling at the feel of Wandas' three fingers inside of you as well as her tongue licking your clit over and over again. Cumming a second time was even more of an experience. You saw white as your orgasm came crashing over you once again. Whimpers come out of your mouth as tears are falling down your cheeks. It’s too much, and your cunt feels like it's on fire. 

Finally, Wanda has had enough, and she lets out a sigh as she looks down at your abused petals. “Aw, look how red you are. You must be so sensitive, hm?” She chuckles at your fucked out sounds as she grazes your clit with the back of a finger, your hips pulling away in retaliation. You whimper as she suddenly stands up, her other fingers leaving your hole in an instant. You shudder at the emptiness, letting out a sob as your emotions take control of your body again. 

“Sweetheart, don’t cry, we have just barely begun.” Her smile is malicious and full of evil. There is nothing welcoming about her smile, almost like the waxing gibbous, right before a full moon. Only a sliver of a smile of the night sky, then the werewolves come out. Her teeth were sharp but smooth enough to look human. But she was far from human.

You found out she was a mermaid while she let you roam the beach a little bit. All she gave you for clothing was a paper bag-type dress made out of the canvas of your sails, and a rope around your middle as a belt. She took the chains from the anchor of your boat and kept it around your ankle, the other end under a very heavy bolder that she moved with her powers. 

While you stayed on the beach, chained to the rock that gave you the shade you needed, Wanda was hunting. There was a little bit of forest above the cave you both took shelter in, but she warned you to never go in there. Well, not without her. You were curious as to know if there was danger, or if she just didn’t want you out of her sight. But it was easy to say, she did not want you going anywhere. 

Sitting on the beach was the little bit of freedom that you looked forward to every day. One hundred and eighty-two (182) days of being in Wandas' captivity. You learned on day seven (7) to never run away from her. She will make everything hurt. She will take everything away from you if you try to take yourself away from her. 

On day seven (7), you found a way to rub the chain links together and break the loop off of your foot. Making sure she was in the water, you made a run for it on the wet sand of the beach. Trying to go around the island and then out into the ocean was your goal. Wanda sensed you were gone the second the chain broke. It was no use trying to swim away from a mermaid. 

She caught up with you in a matter of seconds, her webbed tail making her swim much faster than you; A mere human. She grabbed your ankle from underneath the water, dragging you down to the ocean floor. Not too deep as she knows the pressure builds, but deep enough where you would not be able to escape. She smiled as you thrashed against her iron grip, your arms trying desperately to reach the surface, and the last few bubbles exited your mouth as you finally fell unconscious. 

Once you were out, she pulled you to the beach, getting the water from your lungs and making sure you are breathing again. She sent a wave of energy over your body, keeping you in an unconscious state. Picking you up, your head hung over her arm as your legs hung over her other arm. She looked at your sleeping face in slight disappointment as you were doing so good the few days before this. She knew that the time outside was going to be limited as part of the punishment she was going to give you. 

Laying you on the bed, she gathers a few trinkets she has found. Including a sewing kit. She looked over your body and stripped you of your canvas dress. She laced the rope around your arms and fastened them to the rusty bars above your head. Angrily, she stares, thinking of the things she is going to do to you when you wake up. She growls and pounces on top of you, grabbing your legs and putting them together. She takes more rope from your boat and wraps your thighs and ankles, rendering you unable to walk. 

Now comes the painful part; She threads the thread through the eye of the needle and pinches the skin of your thigh. Carefully she puts the needle through your skin, puncturing through the layers mercilessly. As she pulls the thread through the hole in your skin, she meticulously sews your legs together in an intricate zig-zag shape from your left leg to your right leg. Once she gets to just above the rope around your ankles she hums at her work, making sure that you won’t be able to pull the thread out of your legs, even if you tried as hard as you could. 

Waving her hand takes away the power keeping you unconscious, and she makes her way out of the cave, not wanting to hear your screams as you realize what she had done to you. Of course, she loved to hear you scream, but not in pain. It was never meant to be this way. If you had just listened and stayed where you were put, this never would have happened. As she transforms into her mermaid form, she dives into the ocean to cool off as she was much too angry to argue with you, worried she would kill you in the snap of a finger if you said the wrong thing to her. 

You started to come to, becoming more and more aware of your surroundings by the second. Once again, you tried to move, only to be stopped by the ropes around your wrists, but there was much more than what was done to you last time. You looked to the source of the tension of your legs and your panic set in. Screams of pain and horror echoed through the cave, tears and sobs were heard for miles outside of the cave, and Wanda was nowhere near where she could hear them. 

~~~~~~~

More than a few hours later, your sobs had calmed to nothing more than whimpers. Your legs were screaming in pain, blood dripping from each of the holes Wanda's needle had made, soaking the thread and keeping them together. You closed your eyes, hoping that someone would find you, help you, kill you. But your wishes were only met with more fear.

As Wanda entered the cave, she had a whole net of fish, more shells, and trinkets from the ocean floor, as well as the part of your ship you were going to miss the most: The picture of you, your father, and your mother. It was still in its gold-plated frame, the monotone black and white of the picture still prominent. “I brought you a couple things,” Wanda says, unapologetically. Setting the net down, she places a pink and coral-colored conch shell next to you on the bed, the picture, and what looks like a shell necklace that she put together herself. 

You did not acknowledge her in the slightest. From the moment she walked into the cave, to the moment she begged you to talk to her. She even untied your arms and helped you sit up, but you didn’t say a word. In a fit of rage, she throws your body against the bed, letting you curl against yourself as you try to undo the thread. 

“It's not going to come off. I put a spell on it, and until you talk to me, it will stay that way. Do you understand?” She holds your chin in her hands, her sharp nails digging into your soft, beautiful skin. You whimper in response, tears pooling in your eyes. A few fall, but Wanda is quick to wipe them away as you look up at her. She gives you a soft smile and your brows furrow. This smile is different, it's out of pity, and out of a different type of intent. “Please, say something…” She whispers, tears of her own filling her eyes.

“Wh-why did you do this to me?” You whimper, pulling your hands away from the thread and to your chest to cover yourself. 

“Because you ran away… I told you to stay here, and you disobeyed me. This never would have happened if you just stayed, and enjoyed the sun like I so generously allowed you!”

Her eyes close, and she covers them with her hand. As she removes her hand, she sits down on the bed and her eyes soften as she looks at you. “I never wanted this to happen, love. You are mine, but I never wanted to hurt you.” 

"All you are is a liar..." You respond, with no emotion in your voice, eyes, or heart. Wanda sighs and helps you sit up once again. 

“My love for you is not a lie.” She says, moving to the floor as your legs drape over the side of the bed. She unties your thighs and ankles, her hands glowing a soft red color. Your legs lose feeling for only a moment, and you watch in awe as the thread is removed without pain or discomfort. It floats out of your skin, and the holes where it once was were closed. “Please forgive me, my little human. I won’t do this unless you make me angry. You won’t be punished if you don’t do something punishable. Do you understand me?” 

You nod softly as the feeling returns to your legs. You stand up, as does Wanda. You stumble at first, but you slowly make your way out of the cave and over to the rock where your chain lay. You wrap the chain around your ankle and hold it up for Wanda to seal with her magic. She looks at you, confused. 

“What are you doing?” She asks. 

You sigh and you hold up your foot again. “Im showing you I can be good. That I can keep a promise of being good.” She understands and seals the lock over the two open links. You stand up again, and you make your way to the water. You have already accepted the fact that will rip the dress off of you when you get back inside anyway, so you stand in the sun, bathing in the warmth as you stand nude. You are grateful that the chain grants you the length to reach the water. 

The waves make you sway slightly, and you close your eyes. Your destiny has proven itself, and you were to stay captive with Wanda. 

Soon enough, day three hundred sixty-five (365) hits and you are smiling with Wanda. Happily letting her devour you every night to her heart's desire, as well as shower you with gifts and jewels she finds on her hunting trips. In a form of trust, you both agree to a collar around your neck. One that claims you as well as keeps you on the island when Wanda is away. It was a way for Wanda to make sure you were safe, and a way for you to feel secure in someone's watch. And if any pirates come to the island, it would notify Wanda if you were in danger. 

She loved to see you in the sun, the jewels around your neck shimmering in the bright sunlight above you. A bright ruby right at the center of your neck, represents the love that Wanda has gifted upon you. Every morning when you woke up in her arms, you felt safe and sound, and no longer in danger of her. Of course, you were never going to make it home to Eleanore, so you threw a bottle with a letter in it into the ocean hoping that it finds her well. 

Yours and Wandas' routine grew every day, her even letting you go for a swim. She would transform into her mermaid form, and you would hold onto her shoulders as she sped through the water at speeds you have never felt before. On other days, she would take you to the edge of the forest above her cave. She told you stories of the cannibals that lived among the trees but willingly agreed to keep on their side of the island and never venture past the river about a mile into the grove of trees. 

You would tell stories of when you sailed with your father and cooked with your mother. Wanda loved to hear about humans and the hobbies or skills you can acquire with the right supplies and practice. She was infatuated with humans just as she was with you. 

One of your favorite things to do with Wanda was lay out on the sand at night, a soft seaweed blanket underneath you both, the water reflecting the moon, and the stars shimmering above you. For every shooting star there was, you would point to it and give Wanda a soft kiss on her cheek, making her smile and return the kiss. That was a nightly ritual you both had and when the both of you had soaked up the moonlight for the perfect amount of time, she would take you inside and make love to you. She would worship you, and care for you. She gave you meaning in a world where you had no one else to be there for. 

She loved you.

Your keeper loves you, yet you love her too.

[netherfeildren]

Someone's Wife in the Boat of Someone's Husband .2

Series Masterlist : Moodboard

(Joel Miller x F!Reader)

Rating: Explicit 18+

A/N: Art is Body, the Texture, Seung Ah Paik, (2008-2009)

Word Count: 4.8K

Read on AO3

.2

I mean maybe I was holding all of the aces, but what was the game?

Joan Didion, Play It As It Lays

Gerri’s sister, Andrea, makes a wonderful dinner that night, linguine with mussels in a white wine sauce, a tossed salad, and several bottles of a lovely and crisp Pinot Grigio. By all accounts, it should have been a perfect evening. Friends and family in a beautiful setting. The day had been warm and lazy and seemingly perfect on the surface, but the underlying vein of tension was inescapable and un-ignorable. A huge drama had unfolded when you’d come back inside the house from the dock earlier. Eva was up in arms that Joel hadn’t brought you in immediately after the sting, said that he had no business tending to you when you were hurt and there was a doctor present. She’d even gone as far as to suggest that perhaps, if you felt too unwell, you should head back to the city, for a fucking wasp sting. Gerri had stepped in at that, said that it had been her sister who’d rented the house, and thus, was the only one who had the right to suggest when anyone should or should not leave. A screaming match had ensued. No one had really stopped to listen when you’d said that you really were fine. 

The seven of you now sit quiet and awkward at the dinner table out on the deck facing the dark and serene lake. A gorgeous setting with a terribly dark cloud hanging over all of your heads. The conversation is stilted and forced and there is a palpably bitter ball of tension being tossed back and forth between Joel and Eva. Sharply spit whispers and murmurs under their breaths as they sit across from you. She keeps rolling her eyes and clicking her tongue at him every time he tries to join the conversation Gerri’s been fighting tooth and nail to keep going. 

Ger’s best friend, who was supposed to have joined the weekend so that you’d not be the seventh wheel, had canceled last minute, and so you now sit at the the far end of the table across from the happy couple, trying your best to drown your awkwardness and the memory of Joel’s mouth on your skin in as much wine as you can guzzle as quickly as you possibly can. Light-weight or not, these are dire circumstances, it calls for desperate measures. 

The tension between Gerri and Eva wasn’t much better, and by extension between her sister. The three of them reminded you of the angry wasp from earlier, waiting to see who’d strike first. Everything about this was filling you with a type of anxious fizz that has the nape of your neck breaking out into a cold sweat and the backs of your knees itching. You want to run to your room, get all your shit, and run away from this place and these people as quickly as you can.

And then fucking Joel. Part of you wants to kick him on the shin under the table as hard as you can. What was his problem, helping you like that, touching you like that, calling you sweetheart, putting his goddamn mouth on you? Fanning the flames of this terrible, horrible, life ruining crush you’re developing on him? Perhaps this is the wine talking, but it feels like he’s slowly consuming your mind like wildfire. The feel of his hot, wet mouth, the slide of his tongue over the sensitive center of your palm, it’s all you can think about. You can’t stop picturing what it might feel like between your legs, over the tips of your breasts. He’d said he’d be gentle, but you have the uncontainable thought that that’s the last thing you want him to be with you.

You really hate yourself. This has to be classified as some flavor of masochism or something, you sitting across from him and his wife as they have a covert fight, all while you’re imagining what it’d be like for him to lick your pussy. 

Yes, definitely a masochist. 

He hasn’t uttered a single word in the past half hour or so, but you’ve been watching him out of the corner of your eye. You’re trying to be discreet, but you’re pretty sure you’re failing, and you can feel the bright, hot flush of the wine broadcasting itself on the surface of your cheeks like a blaring sign. He looks so good. His hair is wet from the shower, slicked back, and he has a slightly red flush from the sun today across his cheeks and the bridge of his strong nose. And he’s so broad, the sleeves of his button down straining with the thickness of his biceps. Your mouth feels parched, like there’s fire crawling up your throat, writhing within the confines of your arteries, licking up the notches of your vertebrae. 

You should go home. You should get away from these people. This was a mistake. And yet you do not. You remain, for some inexplicable reason. Masochist, masochist, masochist. A girl who likes things that aren’t good for her, that will only hurt her. 

You can’t help but think there’s something strange in the way that the two of them circle each other, in the way they exist around each other. Like two opposing magnets – connected by something, some sort of sameness, but constantly repelling each other, at the same time. You can’t say, quite precisely, what it is, perhaps, the undercurrent of hostility they move around each other with, as if at any moment someone’ll swipe out with sharpened claws, go for the jugular, but also, almost slowly, lagging, as if they are very tired of fighting such an interminable fight. You recognize something in them, and it isn’t until this moment, with you sitting across from them on the universally familiar battleground that is a family dinner table, that you’re able to realize what it is – a marriage filled with nothing but unhappiness and resentment. 

They remind you, very much, of your own parents. 

With age, you now thought that whenever people spoke of love, they were rarely ever speaking of real love. Most of the time it was a shroud for power or fixation or loss. Life has taught you this, your parents have taught you this. In many ways, you are now teaching yourself this. After all, all of these things most usually serve as the true center of what a romantic relationship posed as. Maybe. Or maybe you’re wrong. Too jaded – too gnarled. But when you look at these two people sitting before you, when all you can see in them is the bitter, ghostly reflection of your own parents, all it does is reinforce that idea. 

Joel’s eyes are a little blank, as if his mind is very far away from here, as Eva goes on about her new project at work, but you watch that little, fluttering muscle in his jaw from earlier make its frustrated return. If he grinds his teeth any harder you’re worried he’ll crack them. Gerri and Tommy have been having some sort of silent conversation for the past few minutes, she kind of looks like she’s beating him up with her eyes, screaming at him to do something to make this dinner even the slightest bit more bearable. His jokes are terrible and keep falling flat which you find quite funny, even though no one else seems to. Andrea’s girlfriend got up to go to get another bottle of wine like twenty minutes ago and never came back. 

Joel has his left hand resting on the table beside his plate, the other hidden below the edge. His fingers are long and thick, the nails trimmed neatly. He keeps stretching his hand open, and rotating his wrist to the side, back and forth, as if he’s stretching the muscles in his forearm out. His ring finger and thumb come together intermittently to meet and he rubs them together slowly, slowly. You sit across from him, chin cupped in your palm and watch the slow caress of those two fingers, eyes slightly glazed. Your legs beneath the table are crossed at the knee, thighs pressed together as tightly as you can. 

Eva’s been going on for the past half hour about someone on her team who, she claims, is the best insurance agent she’s ever met in her entire career. Impressive. You think you must scoff or make some sort of unconscious sound, lost in your daze staring at his hand, because she turns to you suddenly, abandoning her tirade to bestow her critical eye on you. Your knee jerks beneath the table, bumping against the underside and rattling the dinnerware on the surface. You feel the wine flush deepen at her inspection. You hadn’t really contributed much to the conversation throughout the evening, feeling too out of place and anxious to think of something interesting to say, too distracted by the sight of him.

“You know,” she starts – her voice has a deceptively guileless lilt to it that you think people must find incredibly charming when the look in her eyes isn’t calling for blood. “You’re a little quiet. Don’t have much to contribute, do you?” she purrs. 

You clear your throat once, twice, you hear Joel spit her name under his breath, and Gerri says something from the end of the table, but a white, rushing noise is filling your ears suddenly. She sounds very familiar. You clear your throat again, “I was just really enjoying hearing all about what it’s like to sell insurance,” you tell her. “I didn’t want to interrupt.” You hear Gerri snort loudly from the other end of the table. Sometimes you could have a backbone, if you tried very, very hard. 

She hums, arches a thin eyebrow at you. “Gerri says you’re single. That you’ve been unattached for quite some time.” You hear Gerri try to interject again, but Eva cuts her off, continues her set down. “Maybe that’s why you still haven’t found someone yet. No man wants a mouse, you know.” She clicks her tongue and it makes you flinch. You can’t look away from her, it’s like you’re sitting across from a ghost. Even the cadence of her voice reminds you of your mother. When you grow up with an angry parent in your house, there will always be an angry parent in your house, and you are acutely reminded of that in this moment.“Some people might think you’re boring if you’re not careful. Don’t you agree, Joel?” She turns to him, wide grin stretched across her face, and you feel your eyes burn, backbone obliterated, back at your parent’s dinner table. 

“No, I don’t agree,” he says coldly. “That’s enough, Eva.” She ignores him. 

She cocks her head at you, “Could be somethin’ to work on,” she says sweetly. 

“Joel, think it’s time for you two to say good night, don’t you?” Tommy says from the end of the table. 

You try to say that it’s alright, but you think you might’ve accidentally swallowed your tongue in your plight to find your voice. Joel stands suddenly, his chair jostling violently with the abruptness of his movements and clasps her around the elbow, pulling her up with him. “Yeah, we’ll say good night now, everyone.” She goes along with him, laughing loudly. 

“Goodnight,” she sing-songs, as he drags her down the hallway. 

That little girl you’d used to be, the one who always needed to make herself lovable, amenable, good, surges up sharp and vicious inside of you at her words, at the uncomfortable look of embarrassment in Joel’s eyes. He couldn’t even look at you, his eyes trained uncomfortably on his plate. All the care and generosity in his gaze from the afternoon cast away in the face of his wife cutting you down and your inability to defend yourself, your pathetic meekness. 

You turn to look out at the dark water, close your eyes and take deep breaths to ease the tightness in your throat. Gerri says your name softly. You swallow once, twice, clear your throat, swallowing the humiliation. You force a smile onto your face and turn back to her, roll your eyes, “It’s okay.” You try to huff a laugh. 

“It wasn’t – I’m sorry about that,” Tommy says. He looks just as embarrassed as Joel. You want to leave so, so badly. Perhaps this need to always run is just another inheritance from your mother. Just one more terrible burden, in a long line of disappointing inherited traits, that she’s left you with. 

“Tommy, really—”

“No,” he says sharply, letting his fork clatter onto his plate. Gerri says his name softly, you see her put her hand over his clenched fist on the table. “They’re unhappy. She’s unhappy — so she tries to cast the net of her misery around the rest of us – trap us in it with her. Make us all as uncomfortable and as miserable as she is.”

“I know — I can see that. That’s why I’m saying, it’s okay. I understand.”

But you don’t think he hears you, he goes on, “And she’s got my brother trapped there with her.” He looks at Gerri now and you can see all the worry and anguish he carries for Joel in his gaze, a little helpless. “I don’t – I don’t really know how to help him anymore.”

“Baby, it isn’t on you,” Gerri tells him gently. “All you can do is be there for him.”

Tommy turns back to look at you, and for a moment, the helplessness seems to have turned to contemplation, for some reason, as he tells you, “I just want him to be happy.”

-

Joel lays in bed hours later, arm propped under his head, unable to sleep. Eva’s in the room next door with Sarah. They’d slept in separate rooms since the start of their marriage. Neither of them had ever considered the alternative, and he’s especially grateful for that right now. He has the window cracked open, and the cool breeze is soothing on his overly hot skin. His cock is hard and throbbing under his boxers, and he wants nothing more than to call your face to his mind and fuck his palm right now, but he knows he shouldn’t. That if he does it once, he’ll never be able to stop again, will use your face to fuel his fantasies forever afterwards. He can’t stoop that low. He’s not that desperate. Not yet, at least.

And he’s angry right now too. So fucking frustrated at his wife and her attitude and the things she’d said to you at dinner. And most of all, frustrated at himself. Frustrated at the fact that he hadn’t said something more to defend you, that he hadn’t prevented that terrible look of shock and hurt from crossing your face. He should’ve stepped in sooner, said something more, stood up for you. He could tell that it was difficult for you. But he’d been a little taken aback at Eva’s words, at the venom in her tone. He knows she doesn’t have any sort of real problem with you, specifically. He can see through the shroud of bitterness to the heart of the issue at hand which is nothing more than what it always is, that she’s reaching the end of her line – been too stagnant for too long, stuck around with him and Sarah for too long. She’s unhappy and she wants to leave and she’s lashing out because of it. 

He knows she just needs time to come to that on her own, to gather the resolve to abandon her daughter and finally leave the way she wants to. He also knows that this will be the last time. That after this, after she leaves this time, she’ll be done with them for good, but also, that he can’t let her continue this. He needs to set a boundary for himself, but more importantly, for Sarah. She cannot watch her mother come in and out of her life, whenever she pleases, forever. There needs to be some sort of structure to their life, to their relationship, it’s his responsibility to make sure she has that. 

So, for now, until Eva comes to this decision on her own, he’ll put up with her venom and her attitude and her lashing out at him, but at him, not at you or anyone else. You don’t deserve for the misery of his life to spill over onto you. You don’t deserve that, you’re too good for that. Too good for him. 

He’s also really fucking frustrated that his cock is hard right now. That he’s such an idiot that the confirmation that you’re single had filled him with an inappropriate amount of relief and satisfaction, that if he isn’t careful and conscious of his thoughts and his body and his proximity to you at all times, he’s almost always verging on being halfway to hard in your presence. Like some horny, desperate, perverted old man. But he can’t help himself. You’re just too pretty. And now that he knows how soft you are, that he’s held your small hand in his, that he’s gotten close enough to be able to smell that subtly sweet scent that envelops you at all times, well, he’s practically a lost cause. Putting his mouth on you today, tasting the salt of your skin, fucking Christ, he shouldn’t have done that. He can never do it again, should never get that close again. It would be, he thinks, extremely easy to lose control of himself with you.

But he also thinks, despite this very aware notion he has that he should keep his distance, that he wants to find any excuse, any at all, to be close, to get closer to you. Maybe he should go apologize. Maybe he should go and say something about tonight, tell you how sorry he is for his wife’s words, for his lack of thought to speak up for you in the moment, to ask you how your hand is, if you’re in pain, if you need anything. Yes, he thinks, he most definitely should do that. It would be the right thing, the polite thing. It’s almost necessary, he finds. 

-

This was a mistake. He knows he shouldn’t be here, he knows this is a bad idea. Dangerous in a way crafted specifically by himself to hone in on his own weaknesses, strike where he’s most vulnerable. Fucking self sabotage and self flaggelation, all at the same time. He lifts his fist to knock quietly anyways. Fuck what he should do, what about what he wants?

You take a long moment to answer, he can hear your shuffling and movement through the door. You were probably in bed, maybe you were asleep already, maybe he’ll get to see that soft, intimate look of sleep in your eyes. Maybe he’ll be so lucky. 

-

“Joel – is everything okay?” Your voice is cracked and gravelly, and you try to inconspicuously wipe away the stickiness of your slick on your hand on the back of your sleep shorts, wind the long sleeves of your soft sweater over your fingers to hide the evidence of the fact that you’d just had three of your fingers stuffed to the knuckle inside your wet cunt, trying to make yourself come at the thought of him. What the hell is he doing here right now?

You plan to never see him again after this weekend, you’ve decided. You’ll tell Gerri you can’t be friends anymore, if need be, as much as it’ll devastate you. This is too risky, you feel at risk in his presence. There is something, some terrible sense of dread you’re filled with, a fight or flight instinct, the sense of prey right before it’s taken out by a larger, stronger predator, but some sort of instinct is telling you something very bad will happen to you if you stay anywhere near this man. That he’ll make you feel things you’ve never before felt in your entire life. 

“How’s the hand?” 

You almost choke. “Wh– what?”

“The sting?”

“Oh–” you’re trying to control your breathing, the stuttering of your heart from the interrupted orgasm, paired with his presence here right now has you close to hyperventilating, “Oh, it’s fine – thank you.” Your cunt is tight and throbbing painfully.

“Doesn’t hurt anymore?”

“No,” you lie.

He shakes his head a little, gives you the gentle curve of his crooked smile, “Don’t gotta lie, sweetheart.” Your heart drops at how easily he sees through you, has your throat tightening into a knot. The reprimand at the pet name catches in your throat. After the humiliation at dinner, the tears you’d shed in the shower, the feeling of being too emotional, overly sensitive, of not being able to just brush off someone’s offhandedly cruel words, your inability, even after all these years, to develop thicker skin – it’s hard to cast away the slight comfort. Even if you know it’s wrong. 

“Your wife?” You need to remind the both of you about her, in this moment. It feels very precarious, set on the edge of a cliff, for some reason. Perhaps because of how soft his old t-shirt looks, his low, gravely voice and messy curls, the late hour – the fact that all you’re wearing is an oversized sweater and sleep shorts and that your cunt is wet and swollen. 

“Asleep with Sarah.”

“Oh, she’s–” you cut yourself off abruptly, none of your business. 

“We don’t uh –” he stutters, a blush creeping into his cheeks, “We don’t st– stay together.” He blinks rapidly, looking down at his feet. The fringe of his lashes is long and thick. 

“Oh… okay–” you can’t think what it is you’re supposed to say to that, but you’re filled with a terrible sense of premonitory dread. He’s trying to establish something now, between the two of you, you think, explain something to you about the dynamic unfolding here and the one between himself and his wife. 

“I wanted to apologize – again.” He looks back up at you now. “I’m sorry for dinner. We were incredibly rude to you.”

“You weren’t rude. You didn’t say anything.”

“Exactly. I should have said something more. I’m sorry for that.”

“That’s not what I meant. You– you don’t need to defend me from your wife. That – that isn’t–” That isn’t right, you want to say, but the words fail you.

“Maybe so – but I should’a done it anyway. She was out of line, and I’m apologizing for it now.”

“Okay–” He looks away then, peers down the dark, quiet hall. Fuck, he mutters under his breath. This feels wrong. You wonder if your mother ever felt this anxious heaviness inside of her right before she did something she knew she wasn’t supposed to. 

“We– we don’t have a conventional marriage,” he says then, spills the words in a rushed tumble. His embarrassed blush flares brighter, and you squeeze your eyes shut, hold on to the door’s edge for support, like he knows, perhaps, that he shouldn’t be going here with you but feels the need to tell you this anyways. 

You blink rapidly, the dread in your gut churns violently. You shouldn’t be hearing this right now. The two of you shouldn’t be standing here at the door of your bedroom in your pajamas having this late night, hushed conversation. You tighten your grip on the door. 

“I – I don’t follow.”

“It’s, well – I don’t –” a frustrated huff, “We’re not really… together.”

You scrunch your nose at him, “It’s – it’s open?”

He frowns, shakes his head confusedly, “What?”

“You have an open marriage – an agreement to see other people?”

He passes a palm over his mouth. “Oh – I – I guess, yes. That’s – well, she does. But it wasn’t an agreement or anything.”

This is what Gerri had alluded to, you realize. “She cheats on you?” Too harsh, but you need to be clear now, on what it is he’s trying to make you understand. Although you’re not sure why, why you feel you need this clarity. You’re treading extremely dangerous water here, surrounded by the violent sharks of your history. 

“Well, I wouldn’t call it that either. I don’t–” he laughs bitterly, “I don’t feel cheated. That’s not what it is. We don’t have a close marriage or… I guess a real one, I don’t– I don’t know what to call it – an intimate one, I suppose. We aren’t really together, in a true sense.”

“Why– why not?” Looking at him, you can’t imagine how anyone could ever not want to be close to a man like this. 

He leans against the door frame, crosses his arms across his chest so his biceps bulge, and it brings him in slightly closer to you. Your mouth feels so dry, parched. “Different reasons, incompatibility. We never – we were never in love or anything. We got married for Sarah. It was complicated, I guess.” He frowns, “And then we just did it, and now this is how we are.” He shrugs. 

“Okay…” you say slowly. You lean against the door now too, rest your head against the smooth grain, prop one foot on top of the other. If you shift your knee forward just a few inches you’d bump his leg. You want to ask him why he’s telling you this, to put him on the spot in a sense, but you know why. You know why he’s saying these things to you. There is, against all odds, against all rationality, logic, morals, fear, there is something here, between the two of you. You’re afraid, you carry your baggage on your shoulders like the weight of a mountain, like the weight of a lifetime of fear and abandonment and painful longing, but you aren’t stupid or blind. You know there’s something unspoken blooming here between the two of you, intentional or not.

“Okay,” he says back to you, equally slowly. His eyes shift between yours, the look in them, so soft and warm. Kind eyes, he has kind eyes. Honest eyes, despite what’s happening here now. Despite the fact that even though you know it should feel dishonest, it doesn’t, not really. “Just wanted to tell you that.”

“I understand,” you tell him, because you do. You do understand. 

“And to apologize.”

“You already did that.”

The gentle curve of his smile, “Again, then.”

You can’t help but smile back, “Apology accepted.”

“And to check on that hand.”

You hold up your open palm for his inspection. “I think I’ll live.” And then he brings his own hand up, without your expecting it, and catches the thin of your wrist on either side by two thick fingers, gently brushes his thumb against the prominence of the bone at your joint. He nods his head tightly, jaw clenched once again, and then lets you go. 

“You have to,” and you think he means it in jest, but he says it so seriously, the look in his eyes so direct, but also…sad, slightly sad or desperate or something you can’t fully identify, that causes the joke to fall flat, has the muscles in your throat tightening painfully. 

“I’ll try.” You can’t tell what it is you’re promising to try to do. To live? To stay away from him? To let him come closer? Does it even matter? Is the act of trying wholly futile already? In some insane way, it feels like it is. As if what’s going to happen is already set in stone and nothing either of you do or don’t do will be able to change the course. 

The thought terrifies you.

He’s quiet for another beat, the two of you just looking at each other. You wish you could press your front to his, feel his breath push into your belly with each one of his inhales, fit your nose to the space behind in his ear, where the scent of him is strongest, and breathe him in, memorize him. You think you’d like to know everything about him. What his favorite meal is, what books he likes to read, what his parents are like, what music he listens to, what his favorite thing to do with Sarah is. 

None of that information is yours to have though, so all you’ll take from him now is his unnecessary apology.

“Goodnight, Joel.”

He nods once, pauses, twice, swallows. He doesn’t want to go. He’s telling you this with his silence and his lingering, but then he lets his eyes flutter shut and nods once more, slowly this time, and you watch another swallow pass through the strong column of his throat. 

“Goodnight, sweetheart.” You don’t correct him this time either.

Chapter .3

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

[janaem]

Let Me Rule You

Jareth x f.reader

This is chapter 1 (Entranced) | Chapter 2 (Wish)

Synopsis: She never imagined that she would once again be drawn into the enchanting world of fictional characters, a place she had not ventured into for many years. However, on a warm summer Saturday night, everything changed as she found herself captivated by the enigmatic goblin king, Jareth, while watching the mesmerizing film "Labyrinth." Word count: 5.4k (20 pages)

Warnings for this chapter: swearing and arguments

Key:Y/n= your name | L/n= last name | M/n= mom name |d/n= dog name

For visual purposes, here is the house you are living in.

Author note: It's sure been a while since I wrote something as long as this. I hope you all enjoy this first chapter as much as I did! I don't intend for this to be a slow burn, but I'm sure not rushing to the climax either. Things will definitely start to progress in the chapters to come at a reasonable pace since I'm aiming for this to be only a few chapters. I will also be publishing this on ao3 and wattpad:)

The dusk was calm, and the only movements were the swaying of the trees in the warm midsummer breeze. The dark green leaves of the trees fell sporadically on the fresh pavement street of Evansville. It is a typical upper-middle-class suburb located on the outskirts of the great city, beyond its beautiful lake. During the summer, Evansville is usually bustling with life. Kids can be seen racing on their scooters while their parents watch from the front lawn of their craftsman and single-family-style homes. Teenagers speed down Sherhigh Avenue by the Lakefront with their windows rolled down, blasting music and singing the lyrics. The beaches are always full from morning till nearly midnight.

Nestled close to the tranquil lakefront was Nordstin Street, which exuded an air of a close community feel. From afternoon till night, the neighborhood was painted with playful children and their parents' laughter on their lawns, the jingle of ice cream trucks, and frequent splashes from small backyard pools.

But once dusk faded away, it was different. The winds picked up abruptly around four thirty and leaves started dancing in a choreographed frenzy while flower petals broke free from their delicate confines. The windows of these sturdy homes rattled, adding a discordant note to the chaos. The tides of the lake were more than violent, threatening to engulf anything in their path. The crashing waves against the cluster of boulders are reminiscent of clashing symbols. 

In the heart of Nordstin, a grand single-family home exudes warmth and elegance. The gray fiber cement exterior, adorned with white accents, perfectly complements the intricately decorated gray brick roof. The beautiful porch is a work of art, supported by sturdy white stone pillars, making it both practical and stunning.

In the vast living room downstairs, an eighteen-year-old, Y/n,  lounged on the cream sectional sofa, surrounded by plush beige pillows of varying textures. With one pillow snug against her torso, she tuned into the news forecast, her gaze fixed on the screen as she observed the latest updates.

The male news reporter's voice filled the room, his words a solemn warning. "The winds are blowing at 26 miles per hour," he announced, his tone carrying a sense of urgency. "It's best to stay home if you don't need to be outside, especially away from water." 

Suddenly, a harsh voice from the kitchen shatters the tranquility, disrupting Y/n's peace of mind.

Y/n’s mother, m/n, walked urgently from the kitchen and halted at the entrance of the living room, wearing an unpleasant expression. She holds a meticulously cleaned empty Tupperware container in her left hand. 

“Y/n,  did you eat the last of the lasagna?” She asked, shaking the container so it was brought to Y/n’s attention. 

Y/n looked over at her displeased mother and replied dryly, "Yeah."

Her mother gives her a repulsed look, “Why? What makes you think it’s okay to eat up everything in this house and not leave anything left for anyone?” 

Y/n gave her a look of offense, sitting up from her leisure posture, her voice remained level, “Those were the only leftovers I ate. And you told me that I could  help myself to whatever I wanted today.”  

“That doesn’t mean you eat a whole thing of lasagna, Y/n. You can’t always think about yourself!” 

“It wasn’t even half of a container mom, relax.” 

“Don’t tell me to relax. I know what was in there.”

“Can you please stop yelling?” 

“I’m not yelling! This is how I talk.”

Already feeling fatigued from the ongoing conversation, Y/n released a small, exhausted sigh, grabbed the remote, and switched from the news channel in search of something else to ease her mind.

However, the fuming woman continued, “You could’ve called me asking if you could save me some because that is a lot for one person.”

“It wasn’t.” Y/n had completely given up.

“Okay, Y/n,” m/n scoffed, walking back into the kitchen, “This is ridiculous, you think about nobody else but yourself.  Your dad and I are already paying for your college, and the least you can do is not act selfish all the time!”

Y/n turned up the volume of the television, finally finding a show that piqued her interest. Unfortunately, she could still hear the immature mutters of her mother’s complaints.

“It’s all about Y/n, Y/n, Y/n…never thinking about anyone else…that’s sad…this is ridiculous!...eat something healthy…never seen anything like it…eighteen years old…”

“So fucking extra,” Y/n huffed, turning down the volume of the television. She throws the pillow from where it landed with the other pile of pillows on the couch and walks up to her room, considering watching a movie there instead. Maybe she’ll Facetime her friend to vent about how unbearable her mom was acting again. 

It wasn't uncommon for Y/n and her mother to engage in disputes, which seemed to arise almost daily, creating an atmosphere of constant tension. By now, Y/n was used to it, maintaining a more composed demeanor. However, there are times when she'll mirror or even exceed her mother's outbursts. Their relationship wasn't entirely negative, but it was far from fulfilling. As for her father, Y/n's connection with him was characterized by neutrality with a more manageable dynamic. He was currently on a trip with her uncle and a few friends at Turks & Caicos and won’t be back for another five days.

Y/n walked into her room, paying no attention to the insistent buzzing of her phone on her eider white desk. She sank into her plush queen-sized bed, surrounded by a sea of pillows and stuffed animals, and disappeared under the soft covers, letting out a long sigh of satisfaction.

She didn't want to get too hot under the covers in her oversized hoodie, so she shifted to a more upright position, reached under a nearby pillow, retrieved the remote, and switched on the television. The clock on the top right-hand corner of the starting page displayed 9:45 pm. She then clicked on one of the streaming apps and started browsing through the movies, uncertain of her current mood.

Y/n, with a deep appreciation for classic films, gravitated towards the 80s-90s subcategory. The screen was filled with a vibrant array of movie covers competing for her attention. As she scrolled through the seemingly endless list of movies, Y/n's eyes eagerly scanned the colorful and nostalgic offerings.

She scrolled through rows and rows of movies of all kinds, eventually getting bored and heading over to the sidebar for a better selection. There, subcategories of the 80s and 90s movies appeared: Action, Romance, Documentary, thriller…

Fantasy.

It has been a while since Y/n watched any fantasy-related films, especially older ones with effects that she found to be somewhat uncoordinated and eerie. However, curiosity got the best of her, so she clicked on it, and a series of other subcategories dropped down: Animation, Fairy Tale, Steampunk, Vampires...

Cult films.

Y/n furrowed her eyebrows at the name, “Cult?” she whispered as if she was sounding it out for the first time.

As she clicked on the remote, a rush of warmth and excitement filled her chest. Her eyes eagerly scanned the screen, searching for a familiar movie. Despite having watched The Neverending Story countless times, she scrolled past it along with other movies like The Dark Crystal, Short Circuit, Big Trouble in Little China, and The Goonies. 

Yet, an inexplicable urge drove her to keep searching. After a few more minutes, she suddenly paused, as if an unseen force prevented her thumb from clicking the arrow button, and her gaze settled on a movie she had never come across before.

Jim Henson’s Labyrinth.

Y/n felt an overwhelming and unexplainable sensation coursing through her body as she gazed at the movie cover and its title. It seemed to evoke a powerful wave of nostalgia, captivating her as she fixed her eyes on the glowing screen.

She clicked on the movie, reading its summary.

“Sixteen-year-old Sarah is given thirteen hours to solve a labyrinth and rescue her baby brother Toby when her wish for him to be taken away is granted by the Goblin King Jareth.”

“Poor girl,” Y/n commented as she pressed play, where the credits roll while a white barn owl flies around. Her dog, D/n, shoved the door open with their nose and climbed into bed with her, lying at her legs.

Y/n was captivated by the film's cinematic elements and grainy aesthetic. In particular, she found the character Sarah Williams, to be incredibly gorgeous. Despite her beauty and gentle appearance, Y/n observed that Sarah's behavior didn't align, from her furious stomping into the house to her tendency to catastrophize minor inconveniences. 

Y/n grimaced at the first appearance of the goblins, all jumbled up as they awoke from their slumber. Their raspy and grating voices matched their grotesque appearances.  When they emerged in the bedroom after Sarah's brother went missing, they appeared in various parts of the room--- under the bedsheets, inside closets, behind the door. Sarah looked around frantically, unable to catch a break. Then, suddenly, the same white barn owl from the movie's beginning barges into the room through the balcony doors and lunges at Sarah. Startled, Sarah shields her eyes, and then a human shadow emerges at Sarah's feet.

The once barn owl had been mystically transformed into a human being. Y/n took in his lithe stature, which stood in a way that excluded flamboyance and regal confidence. His long, dark, and dramatic coat, adorned with intricate designs and embellishments, billowed in the wind as he made his captivating presence known on screen.

"You're him, aren't you? You're the Goblin King." 

The Goblin King tilts his head, offering Sarah a proud smirk. Y/n couldn't help but notice his untamed, tousled blond locks that framed his face, enhancing his unconventional and otherworldly allure.

"Sarah…go back to your room. Play with your toys and your costumes. Forget about the baby."

His voice flowed like honey, smooth and melodious. Y/n had heard that voice before, possessed by others, yet the Goblin King made it uniquely captivating with its rich, velvety timbre.

"I've brought you a gift."

"It's a crystal, nothing more."

The Goblin King outstretched his gloved hand, and a translucent ball appeared out of thin air. Y/n's eyebrows raised in awe as he effortlessly juggled it about his hands in a way she'd never seen before. It rolled from one hand to another, from his fingertips to the palm of his hand.

"But if you turn it this way and look into it, it'll show you your dreams."

As the film played, Y/n was entirely captivated by the intricate and fantastical journey unfolding before her. She couldn't help but admire Sarah's courageous interactions with the strange and repulsive creatures, except the adorable worm at the beginning. Fairies, goblins, and monsters filled the screen, leaving Y/n in awe of the film's grungy artistry.

She started taking a liking to Hoggle, although he is a coward, he truly cared for Sarah and her wellbeing, which is the type of friend that anyone could need in such desperate times.  However, above all the characters Y/n found remarkable, the enigmatic Goblin King, Jareth, captured her attention every time he appeared.

The ballroom scene, in particular, mesmerized Y/n, watching as Jareth's intense yet affectionate gaze lingered on Sarah in a way that set Y/n's nerves ablaze, leaving her breathless. Amidst the dancing figures and smooth song, Y/n couldn't help but imagine herself in Sarah's place, enveloped in the lingering sensation of Jareth's possessive regard.  

As she watched, a soft sigh escaped her parted lips, tinged with wistfulness. She pondered what it would be like to be looked upon with such desire in a crowded room, to be longed by someone you secretly desired, as you sought them out in the hopes of meeting their eyes again. She briefly fantasized about being in Sarah's place, feeling the electricity of Jareth's presence, drawing her closer every second.

Y/n's growing desires and anticipation danced amongst the sea of masked faces and whispered secrets. What would it feel like to be carefully handled the way Jareth did Sarah at that moment as she nearly lost herself in his eyes? She wondered this throughout the rest of the film, as the last scene with Jareth played on screen.

“Just fear me. Love me. Do as I say, and I will be your slave.”

A sickening sweet feeling aroused in the very heart of Y/n’s chest, causing her breath to abruptly become shallow as if it were her first time trying to breathe. Eyebrows furrowed and lips parted, she took in the lithe being presented on screen in front of her. Everything in her room surrounding her began to fall and fade away—all she could see was him. 

“Yes,” she subconsciously whispered, “say yes.”

“You have no power over me.” Sarah’s voice rang triumphantly, as the goblin king gave in, taking the form in his owl self once again.

As the film came to a close and the end credits started rolling, Y/n sank further into her pillows and covers. 

“I feel like there should’ve been more to the film,” she said to herself, “something’s missing. I’m not satisfied.”

D/n stirred in their sleep, not paying mind to a work y/n just said. The girl sighed, seizing the remote once more to watch something different.

That was until the door flew open and her moments of peace were shattered once again by the sharpness of m/n’s tone.

“Why didn’t you help me with dinner,”  she questioned, “let alone, make dinner?”

“It’s too late for dinner,” Y/n replied, “plus I’m not hungry.”

“So, you disregard everyone else in the house after you ate two servings of lasagna?”

“I guess so.” Y/n deadpanned, refusing to fuel the fire with the rebuttal about the lasagna being enough for one person. 

“Unbelievable,”  M/n huffed, putting her hands on her hips and looking around the room, “your room’s a mess.”

“Okay.” Y/n replied dismissively.

“No, I’m being serious, Y/n. You’re going to have a roommate in college and I sure hope you two get along through all this mess.” Her mother turned on the lights abruptly, waking up d/n and irritating Y/n. 

“Mom, what the heck,” Y/n fumed, getting out of her bed, and rushing to the wall to turn off the lights, the room went dark once again, “It’s eleven o’clock!”

“I expect you to get up tomorrow and clean this room,”  m/n declared, walking to the food frame, “I’m going to bed, and I want you to think about ways you can use your time more productively.”

Before y/n could fire back, M/n was already gone, shutting the lights of her room off. 

The eighteen-year-old girl couldn't catch a break even before bedtime. M/n, while not overly strict, had this unspoken rule that Y/n should just think like her. It led to endless clashes between them, leaving Y/n feeling weighed down.

Talking to friends helped a bit, but the constant disagreements with M/n still felt like a heavy burden on Y/n's chest. Trying to find common ground with someone who seemed to see the world differently was tough, and Y/n knew there was little to do about it.

"It'll all be over in a few months," Y/n told herself while she returned to her bed, submerging into the covers once more, turning off the television, and falling into a deep sleep, searching for peace of mind.

It was well into the morning when Y/n woke up to the sound of a mourning dove, the clock just nearing 10:45 am. She knew her mother was already awake, perhaps reading a book and having breakfast in her room. She planned to say good morning to her later.

D/n, who was once at the foot of her bed, was now propped up, wagging their tail in excitement to see Y/n, who smiled as she melted into the dog’s soft and loving gaze as she ruffled their fur. 

Y/n decided that this morning she would clean up her room and place all the unnecessary things in a giveaway bag. She immediately went downstairs, grabbed a garbage bag and a glass of water, and rushed back upstairs to get to work in her considerably well-kept room.

She wasn’t doing this because she wanted to; she was doing this so she wouldn’t be greeted by a nagging mother.

D/n remained on the bed, peering over at Y/n curiously as she continued. Y/n opened the cabinet of her desk and began rummaging through items she’d touched in recent months, setting aside everything except for one particular item. Tucked away at the back of the stacks of read novels and old workbooks rested a pristine bin.

She tossed the workbooks aside, intending to dispose of them, and placed the novels on top of her desk next to her computer, calendar, and another smaller stack of books. She then reached for the bin she hadn’t seen in over a few years. It was a simple clear plastic bin with a turquoise lid.

As she eagerly lifted the lid, a rush of nostalgia engulfed her senses. Beneath the lid lay a jumble of crumpled lined papers adorned with intricate drawings, stacked on top of older notebooks, comics, and mangas, which in turn rested upon other well-loved books from her middle school days. It was a veritable treasure trove of memories that Y/n found impossible to resist. Without hesitation, she reached for the first item on top - a character sheet.

Growing up, Y/n's love for storytelling and creativity knew no bounds. She had especially displayed a remarkable talent for crafting complex characters and their elaborate backstories. While progressing in her budding artistic skills, her true passion lay in building and immersing herself in fantastical worlds. She was engrossed in the worlds of anime, mangas, and fiction which surpassed the typical interests of children her age. Her mind was a treasure trove of knowledge, brimming with insights into various fandoms, literary works, and both contemporary and classic fantasy films.

“No way!” she chuckled, flipping through a notebook full of her drawings of characters she’d seen in anime along with anime characters she'd made up. Each page was adorned with meticulous side notes containing non-canon theories, potential romantic head-canons, and intricately woven backstories that she had crafted from her boundless imagination.

As Y/n spent the next twenty minutes soaring down memory lane, she felt a sinking in her chest, leaving her feeling empty and yearning for that same sense of creativity to ignite within her once again.

She continued sifting through the pile of memories until she reached the bottom, where she found a black velvet notebook with plain white pages. Upon picking it up, she discovered that it was empty. Feeling a bit disappointed, she placed all the objects back into the bin, carefully arranging them in the small compartment.

As she did so, she recalled the various stories she had created in the past - witches, vampires, fairies, and superheroes. She especially missed the sense of accomplishment she felt upon completing each small project, as well as the innocent crushes developed on fictional characters from specific scenes and fan fiction.

Y/n missed how she didn't have a care in the world between what was real and what was fake.

She got up and ascended the stairs once more with the garbage bin at hand and placed it at the bottom of the back door. She figured that once her father came back he’d drive it over to the Salvation Army warehouse. She walked into the kitchen welcomed by the blaring sound of the blender her mom was using to make a smoothie. 

M/n stopped the blender and poured some of the smoothie into a glass cup, handing it to Y/n with a “Good morning sweetie.”

“Good morning, Mom,” Y/n replied, taking a small sip of the berry enriched smoothie, “how did you sleep?”

“Oh, I slept fine,” M/n replied, unplugging the blender and setting it aside on the kitchen’s white valley granite countertop, “the bed feels empty without your dad in it.”

“I’m sure.” Y/n agreed leaning against the counter and taking another sip.

“Did you sleep alright?” M/n asked.

Y/n nodded.

“Good,” M/n noted, about to sip her smoothie once more; she then stopped, “Where’s D/n?”

“Upstairs,” Y/n replied.

“You should always take your dog out for a walk in the morning.” M/n inputted, setting her smoothie down.

“I know, but she was asleep and I was cleaning my room and disposing of things I didn’t need.”

“So, you were up this entire time and didn’t bother to walk your dog or make us any breakfast?”

Y/n studied her mother’s furrowed expression, not sure of what to say.

“Your room would have waited, Y/n. You need to start—”

“Mom, I don’t wanna hear it, it’s too early.” Y/n interrupted, feeling her boiling blood course through her veins.

M/n disregarded her daughter's advances, “It’s nearly noon, Y/n and we’ve barely eaten. I need you to start thinking and be able to multitask and take the initiative. What you’re doing right now won’t get you far in your career.”

Y/n had heard M/n repeat this thousands of times, using as many things to say back in previous times, Y/n was now worn out. 

“Whatever.” She uttered making her way to the kitchen’s exit.

“Excuse me?” M/n’s tone was sharper now.

“Nothing, Mom.”

“Y/n, I tell you these things so you can become more mature. The behavior has gotten too far. You’re eighteen years old and it’s ridiculous the way you act at such a grown age. I constantly have to repeat myself—”

“Then don’t,” Y/n argued.

“Then give me a reason not to,” M/n fired back, “I’ve never seen your age treat her mother the way you do and act selfishly and dismissively.”

Y/n sighed, “This is so unnecessary. All of this over breakfast.”

“You belittle everything, Y/n. Grow up.”

“You can relax now.”

“Grow up.”

“Telling me to grow up won’t do anything.” 

“What I’m saying, sweetie is that you–”

“Okay, mom. I get it. I’ll do better.” Y/n surrendered, not wanting to ignite the flame any further. She was already getting a sickening feeling in her stomach.

She exited the kitchen and rushed up the stairs and back into her room, shutting the door behind her. She set her smoothie down on her desk and paced her room feeling a lump forming in her throat. 

“It’s like she always has to start a problem no matter what I do!” She hiccuped feeling her eyes sting with tears. 

“Can’t she just let me live for once, God, for fucking once!” 

Tears streamed down her face, hanging at her chin, she looked outside at the clear blue sky with the sun well overhead.

“Y/n! Walk your dog!” Her mother yelled from downstairs.

“Okay!” Y/n’s seething voice cracked, “shut up.” she muttered sniffling.

“Now!”

“Give me a minute!”

More tears started spilling down Y/n’s face. She sobbed and hiccuped quietly, continuing to look out her window, which was only a few feet away. Her heart was aching, and her throat was twisted in a knot of sorrow; her chest heaved with exhaustion. She started to cry harder after she attempted to swallow her tears; she knew M/n was going to notice her tear-stricken face. 

Y/n grabbed her phone and trudged over to her bed and plopped down on her back, sighing in defeat. She figured that before she walked D/n she would at least distract herself from the pang of sorrow that knocked at her chest. 

She opened her web browser and typed in “labyrinth 1986,” and thousands of search results appeared, including links to websites, articles, videos, and even books and comics.

The girl's eyes widened in disbelief as she clicked on the first image that showed the same book with a striking red cover that Sarah had been carrying at the park.

“No way, there’s an official novelization of the labyrinth,” she gasped as she further searched. To her surprise, there were comics and mangas as well.

The pain Y/n was feeling suddenly subsided, replaced by a sense of wonder and excitement as she eagerly read through the summaries and reviews for each comic, book, and archived piece available.

“Finally back in print and for the first time in hardcover is the novelization of LABYRINTH written by A.C.H. Smith and personally overseen by Jim Henson. This is the first in a series of novels from the Jim Henson Archives.”

“Labyrinth: Coronation is a 12-issue comic book series written by Simon Spurrier and illustrated by Daniel Bayliss, published by Archaia from 2018 to 2019. It is a prequel to the 1986 film Labyrinth that takes place in 18th-century Venice and tells the story of how Jareth became the Goblin King.”

“You’re lying” Y/n muttered, enticed by the various series of books presented before her, she clicked on the official novelization first, seeing that it was available in her local bookstore for $30, seeing that there was only one in stock, she made a reservation to pick it up today on her walk with D/n.

“I have to have it.” She said putting in her online payment, which had been successfully authorized. 

Thank you for your purchase! The book you have requested will be available within 20 minutes. You have two days to pick it up.

“Oh, shit I gotta go.” Y/n gasped frantically getting out of her bed. She rushed to her closet and grabbed a pair of gray sweats and a simple scoop navy blue cami top, throwing on white socks. She grabbed her mini purse with her wallet inside and made her way down the stairs, D/n  followed.

“I’m going to the library, D/n is coming with me,” Y/n said as she passed the living room where M/n sat on her computer. 

“Okay. Take the car of course.” M/n replied in deep concentration on whatever was on screen. 

Y/n unlatched the garage door, the sound of its metal creaking filling the air as she stepped inside. She slipped on her comfortable slides and made her way to her car, with D/n following closely behind her. The afternoon sun poured into the garage as she settled into the driver's seat, and D/n took their place in the passenger seat. Y/n rolled down the windows, feeling the warm summer breeze on her skin as she carefully reversed out of the garage and onto the driveway.

She made her way down Nordstin Street, making a right onto Seems Street, she marveled at the vibrant activity around her, knowing that the lakefront was only a couple of streets away. It was nearly one o’clock, and the streets were alive with the energy of people going about their day.

It didn't take long before Y/n reached the library. Finding a snug parking spot near the entrance.

She turned to D/n, letting all the windows up, leaving the passenger’s side slightly cracked.

“I’ll be right back, the window will be cracked for you,” she said leaning in and giving her sweet dog a peck on the nose.

She quickly exited the car and walked up to the library and opened the dark wooden doors, where she paid no attention to her surroundings as she marched straight to the front desk, which was occupied by a lady cashier. They greeted each other warmly.

“My name is Y/n L/n and I purchased Jim Henson’s Labyrinth today.” She spoke clearly. 

As the lady behind the counter heard Y/n's request, she paused, her fingers dancing across the keyboard as she searched for the book. With a few swift clicks to confirm the order, she leaned down and carefully retrieved the treasure Y/n had sought. The rich, crimson book with the elegant golden title "Labyrinth" embossed on its cover was presented before the younger girl, its allure captivating her gaze.

“You’re all set Miss L/n, have a good day!” She chirped sweetly. 

“You too!” Y/n returned as she made her way to the front door, her heart hammering in her chest in anticipation as she made her way back to the car. Luckily, there was a park just across the street from the library.

Y/n opened the car door and let D/n out, the leash making a jingling sound as the dog shook its fur. Y/n shut the door and grabbed hold of the leash, holding the book in another hand and the two made their way to Gillson Park.

Gillson Park was one of the more popular parks in Evansville because it was known for its stunning natural landscapes that are cherished by both locals and visitors alike. Characterized by lush greenery, serene ponds reflecting the sky, and winding walking trails on steep hills. Tall trees provide a cool respite from the summer sun, while colorful blossoms add vibrancy to the surroundings. Many may describe it as a meadow away from the bustling suburban life. 

Y/n found a nice bench by an open field, letting D/n’s leash to wander about the grass and flowers. She propped herself so that she was lying across the bench comfortably, her elbow resting on the arms of the bench. She opened the first page and began to embark on her reading journey.

“Through dangers untold and hardships unnumbered, I have fought my way here to the castle beyond the Goblin City, to take back the child you have stolen.” She read aloud, attempting to capture the determination in Sarah’s voice, she chuckled to herself.   

“For my will is as strong as yours, and my kingdom as great…”

An Owl glided over the sky unnoticed as it emerged amongst Gillson Park. A creature of pure elegance in the backdrop of the midday scenery. His plumage, a pristine canvas of a bold white, seems to shimmer with an otherworldly luminescence, catching the last rays of the afternoon sun like a cascade of fire woven into feathers. He settled on a branch of the tree that was hovered over Y/n, as she continued to focus on the compelling words in the book. 

His large, dark eyes were fixed on her as she sat with rapt concentration. Her lips were slightly parted and her eyes moved swiftly across the crisp, white pages. Her hands were holding the book motionless on the crimson red cover as if she was hesitant to disturb the stillness of the moment.

The Owl’s trance was interrupted by the barking of D/n, his heart shaped head turned to the direction of the galloping dog making its way to Y/n, who looked up from her book, set it on her lap, and petted D/n softly.

“This is a good book so far, D/n,” she said with a smile, “I appreciate its detail.” she leaned down and ruffled the dog’s fur, smothering her pet with the love and affection they deserved. 

Unbeknownst to them, the owl had been silently observing Y/n's every move from the highest branch of the nearby tree. Y/n shut the book and got up from the bench to grab D/n's leash. As Y/n closed the book and rose from the bench, the owl maintained its vigilant watch, its piercing eyes following their every step. Y/n secured D/n's leash, and the two began their stroll back towards the library's parking lot, the owl gracefully gliding from tree to tree, never losing sight of them.

Once both were in the car, the owl perched on the concrete edge of the library's roof, its keen gaze fixed on the departing car as it merged into the occupied street. 

Only when the car disappeared from view did the owl spread its feathered wings and take to the sky again, disappearing into the horizon.

[writingforstraykids]

Lessons in love - Chp.1

Pairing: Hyunchan (mention of Changlix | Minho)

Word Count: 4013

Summary: Chan and Hyunjin, both teachers at Stray Seoul University and roommates, are hopelessly in love with each other, too scared to admit anything. Chan's best friend Minho tries to help after he gets jealous of Felix and Changbin casually flirting with Hyunjin all the time.

Warnings/Tags: college!au, fluff, angst, mutual pining

A/N: So this whole thing is based on this reblog by miu @slutforchanlix and the following rambling with azzy @galaxycatdrawz. This developed into a series real quick and will focus on different dynamics between the rest of the boys as well. I hope you'll have fun reading🖤

do not repost, translate, or plagiarize my works in any way here or on other platforms. ©️writingforstraykids 2024 -

In the quaint corridors of Stray Seoul University, where ancient oaks whispered old secrets and the breeze carried the scent of fresh paint and old books, Hyunjin and Chan found their sanctuary a few years ago. The two of them were close friends and roommates, each harboring a secret that was as beautiful as it was terrifying. This secret was their unspoken love for each other, a silent symphony that played in the background of their everyday lives. It had been for years.

Hyunjin, with his delicate hands and bright eyes, was the Arts teacher. His classroom was on the third floor of the main building, a room with wide windows that bathed his workspace in natural light. Here, canvases burst into life under his guidance as he taught his students the dance of brush and color. His methods were something new, and his critiques were always constructive but layered with an enthusiasm that made every student feel like a budding Van Gogh. His passion for art was evident in the way his eyes sparkled when discussing the texture of a painting or the gradient of a sunset.

Chan, on the other hand, loved his position as an English teacher. His domain was just a corridor away, in a classroom filled with the rich aroma of old books and new paper. Chan’s lessons were a journey through the landscapes of literature and the intricacies of language. He had a reputation for making Shakespeare relatable and teaching grammar without the usual dread associated with it. His students loved his animated storytelling sessions and the way he could bring characters to life, making metaphysical poets as compelling as contemporary novelists.

Their home was a small apartment just a few blocks away from Stray Seoul University’s campus. It was a cozy little apartment, where each room was filled with the artifacts of their professions - Hyunjin’s sketches adorned the fridge, while plenty of Chan’s annotated copies often lay scattered on the coffee table. They moved around each other with comfortable ease, a rhythm perfected over time, shared smiles, and an occasional brush of hands that neither dared to acknowledge the way they’d love to.

Despite their closeness, both Hyunjin and Chan were guarded about their feelings. Their friendship was a delicate vase on the edge of a table, beautiful but terrifying in its fragility. Evenings often found them on their small balcony, where they talked about everything but those feelings. Hyunjin would describe his latest project, his hands painting the air as he spoke, while Chan would listen, his eyes often lingering a moment too long, full of words he couldn't voice.

At college, they maintained a professional but friendly demeanor. Students often speculated about their closeness, their seamless cooperation during faculty meetings, and their mutual admiration when discussing school projects. They were known for spending their lunch breaks together, and every student knew if there were a field trip planned, the other would be the additional teacher. Both were beloved for their dedication and the safe space they created in their classrooms. Their colleagues respected them for their talents and the subtle ways they supported each other - Chan providing literary quotes that Hyunjin might use in a lecture on art history, or Hyunjin recommending visual materials that could help Chan illustrate a point about descriptive narratives.

Yet, in those quiet moments between tasks, when the world seemed to slow down, Chan found his thoughts drifting to Hyunjin more often than he would admit. He remembered their first meeting, an accidental encounter in the university library back when they just started studying themselves. Chan had been searching for a particular book on Elizabethan poetry when he had spotted Hyunjin, a few shelves away, deeply engrossed in a book on Renaissance art. Their eyes had met briefly, and something unspoken had passed between them that neither of them could explain.

From that moment on, their paths seemed to intersect more frequently. Shared lunches in the cafeteria turned into evening strolls around the campus, and those strolls led to late-night conversations that stretched into the early hours of the morning. Each interaction was a new layer added to their growing bond, a bond that was as comforting as it was confusing for Chan.

He often found himself mesmerized by Hyunjin's presence. There was something about the way Hyunjin moved, with a grace that seemed almost ethereal, and the way he spoke, his words like gentle strokes on a canvas. Chan admired his friend’s passion for art, the way he could lose himself in a painting for hours, completely absorbed by the play of colors and textures. It was during these moments, watching Hyunjin in his element, that Chan felt the stirrings of something deeper, something that went beyond friendship. Shit, he was in love, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Hyunjin’s love for Chan had grown slowly over time, like a seed taking root in the fertile soil of shared experiences and mutual respect. He cherished their friendship, but the intensity of his feelings often left him breathless. He admired Chan’s dedication to his students and the way his face would light up when discussing a particularly engaging piece of literature. Hyunjin found himself mesmerized by the passion in Chan’s eyes, the way his hands would move animatedly as he spoke. It was in these moments that Hyunjin felt the stirrings of something deeper, something that went beyond friendship.

Every day, as they walked to the university together, Hyunjin would steal glances at Chan, hoping to catch a glimpse of the emotions that might mirror his own. The soft morning light would play on Chan’s features, highlighting the lines of his jaw, the curve of his lips, and the warmth in his eyes. Hyunjin’s heart would beat a little faster, a silent testament to the love he kept hidden.

One rainy afternoon, as they sat together in the university café, Chan was grading papers while Hyunjin sketched absentmindedly. The sound of rain tapping against the windows created a cocoon of intimacy around them. Hyunjin looked up from his sketchpad and watched Chan for a moment, admiring the way his brow furrowed in concentration.

“What are you working on?” Chan asked, glancing up from his papers and catching Hyunjin’s gaze.

“Oh, just a rough sketch,” Hyunjin replied, a blush creeping up his cheeks. He quickly looked down, feeling the weight of his unspoken feelings.

Chan smiled warmly at his friend's shyness. “Can I see it?”

Hyunjin hesitated for a moment before handing over the sketchpad. The drawing was a portrait of Chan, his features captured with an intimacy that spoke volumes of Hyunjin’s admiration. Chan studied the drawing, a look of surprise and something else - something tender - crossing his face.

“This is incredible, Hyunjin,” Chan said softly, his voice filled with awe. “You’ve captured…so much.”

Hyunjin’s heart raced as he searched Chan’s eyes for any hint of recognition, any sign that his feelings might be reciprocated. But Chan’s expression remained unreadable, and the moment passed, leaving Hyunjin with a bittersweet ache in his chest. “It's nothing,” he waved him off, taking it back.

Chan chuckled at him, fondly rolling his eyes. “Always so modest.”

Hyunjin hummed gently, staring out of the window as Chan continued working. He watched the raindrops painting their vivid pictures along the glass, but his eyes went back to Chan much sooner than he’d like. He often found himself caught in moments of quiet admiration for Chan, his eyes tracing the contours of Chan's face with the same intensity and focus he applied to his art. 

A sliver of late afternoon sunlight streamed through the window, breaking through the clouds and illuminating Chan’s profile. The light danced across his face, highlighting the arch of his cheekbone and the curve of his jaw. Hyunjin watched as Chan read, completely absorbed in his students’ work, his brow furrowing slightly in concentration. It was these unguarded, intimate moments that Hyunjin cherished most - the quiet, the soft rustling of pages, and Chan's expressive eyes moving swiftly across the text.

Chan’s beauty was not just in his features but in his movements and expressions. When he laughed, his eyes lit up, creasing at the corners, and his whole face seemed to brighten the room. When he was deep in thought, his lips would purse slightly, and his fingers would tap rhythmically on the surface beside him. These nuances, these small, everyday gestures, drew Hyunjin in deeper, his admiration growing with each passing moment.

Hyunjin's sketches often contained these details. His sketchpad was filled with lines attempting to capture the essence of Chan’s expressions. Each drawing was a silent testament to his deep affection - a collection of moments that Hyunjin treasured. 

The sound of the door opening pulled him from his thoughts, a soft smile covering his lips, spotting Felix. Felix, the owner of the cafe, was a charismatic Australian who had quickly established his little shop on campus as a warm, inviting haven. With his sunny smile and talent for remembering his customers' favorite orders, Felix had become particularly popular among the university crowd. His friendly banter and the occasional free pastry for his regulars only added to his charm.

"Hyunjin, Chan! Good to see you guys," Felix greeted them with his usual broad smile, putting aside his jacket. His gaze lingered slightly longer on Hyunjin, something that didn’t escape Chan’s notice.

"Hey, Lix," Hyunjin replied, his own smile a mirror of Felix’s enthusiasm. "It’s getting chilly out there, isn’t it?"

"Yeah, perfect weather for a hot cup of your favorite," Felix chuckled, already turning to prepare their usual orders, spotting their empty cups on the table. "The usual for you both?"

"That would be great, thanks," Chan interjected, trying to sound casual but feeling a twinge of discomfort at the easy banter between Hyunjin and Felix.

As Felix set about making their drinks, Hyunjin browsed through some of the new art magazines stacked on a nearby shelf while Chan watched Felix. He had noticed the way Felix moved with an effortless grace around the café, the way his eyes sparkled when he laughed, and how he seemed particularly animated, especially around Hyunjin a while ago. He knew Hyunjin and Lix got along quite well, and he wouldn’t be stupid enough to try and destroy that. It still bothered him.

When Felix brought over their coffees, his hand brushed against Hyunjin’s as he passed him the cup. Chan’s heart sank a little at the sight, the warmth in Felix’s eyes seeming to hold a hint of something more than just friendliness.

"So, Hyunjinnie," Felix started, slipping onto the bench next to him with a casual air, "how’s the new project going? You were telling me about that abstract piece you were working on."

Hyunjin’s face lit up at the question. "It’s going well, thanks for asking! I’m trying some new techniques, so it’s a bit of a challenge, but I’m enjoying it."

"That sounds amazing. You’ll have to show me sometime. I’d love to get a better understanding of your process," Felix replied, his interest seeming genuine but his tone perhaps too eager for Chan’s liking.

Chan watched as Hyunjin nodded, his eyes bright with the prospect of sharing his work. "Definitely, I’d appreciate your feedback."

The conversation flowed smoothly, and Chan felt increasingly like an outsider, his contributions to the conversation feeling forced and hollow in comparison to the natural rapport between Felix and Hyunjin.

The rest of their café visit passed in a blur for Chan. He laughed at the right moments and engaged in the conversation when necessary, but his thoughts were clouded with an unwelcome jealousy. He found himself analyzing every interaction between Felix and Hyunjin, each smile and each glance adding to his growing unease.

Chan tried to talk himself out of his feelings. Felix was just being friendly, he reasoned; it was part of his charm and why the cafe was so popular. Yet, no amount of rationalization seemed to soothe his unease.

One day, driven by a mix of desperation and a desire to understand, Chan decided to confront the situation. He waited until he and Hyunjin were alone, their steps echoing slightly as they walked through the quiet university campus back to Chan’s classroom.

"Hyunjin, can I ask you something?" Chan’s voice was hesitant, a stark contrast to his usual confident tone.

"Of course, Chan. What’s on your mind?" Hyunjin looked at him with concern, sensing the seriousness in his friend’s demeanor.

"It’s about Felix… and you," Chan paused, struggling to find the right words. "Do you feel like he’s… well, flirting with you?"

Hyunjin looked surprised, his eyebrows arching slightly. "Flirting with me? I… hadn’t really thought about it. He’s always nice, but I just thought he was like that with everyone,” he said, pulling the door to Chan’s classroom closed after himself.

Chan nodded slowly, the response not quite easing the tightness in his chest. "Maybe, but it seems different with you. More personal."

Hyunjin considered this for a moment, then sighed. "I suppose I can see how it might come across that way. But he’s with Changbin; he can’t mean much with it,” he giggled. “Changbin does it too, and you never mentioned it.”

Chan anxiously chewed his lower lip, thinking of Felix. There was something undeniably captivating about Felix - his demeanor exuded a warmth and magnetism that drew people to him. Watching him, Chan couldn't help but feel a mixture of admiration and a curious twinge of envy.

Felix's laughter could fill the café, a sound that seemed to echo off the walls and infuse the space with an extra dose of vitality. His hair was tousled perfectly as if each strand had been artfully arranged to give him a carefree, effortlessly charming look. His eyes sparkled with genuine interest as he listened to his customers, making each person feel like the center of his world. It was this quality, Chan thought, that made Felix not just a great café owner but a person who seemed to love his life and his interactions genuinely. It was hard not to think of Felix as someone out of a feel-good novel - the charismatic, adventurous protagonist that made Chan sometimes feel like he was missing from his own life. Sitting there, sipping his coffee, Chan allowed himself a moment to imagine what it would be like to live with that kind of joy and confidence. He couldn’t really blame Hyunjin for preferring his presence over his own.

“Yeah…but Binnie has stated quite often that he’s joking,” Chan argued weakly, his thoughts lingering on Changbin, the PE teacher whose presence seemed to lighten the mood wherever he was. There was an undeniable vitality about Changbin, an enthusiasm that he brought to his classes and interactions. Changbin’s face wore a constant, warm smile, making him approachable despite his imposing physique. His kindness was not just in his gestures or words but in his eyes, which sparkled with genuine concern and interest whenever he engaged with his students or colleagues. Today, Chan had watched him from afar, helping a student perfect their volleyball serve, his patience evident in his calm demeanor and encouraging nods. Chan admired how Changbin treated everyone with the same level of respect and kindness, whether they were star athletes or struggling novices. It was this treatment that truly set Changbin apart in Chan's eyes, making him not just physically attractive but deeply admirable. 

Reflecting on this, Chan thought about the subtle strength underlying Changbin’s kindness. It was a reminder that true strength was not just physical but the grace with which one treated others. Changbin’s hands, so capable of demonstrating sports techniques, were also gentle in offering a reassuring pat on the back or a high five. There was a natural charisma about him that made people feel valued - a trait Chan not only admired but also aspired to include in his own teaching. 

Hyunjin remained quiet for a moment, frowning softly. “I’m sorry, Chan, I didn’t realize it was bothering you. I thought you liked Lix."

Hyunjin's words caught Chan off-guard, stirring a mix of feelings within him. "I do like Felix," Chan admitted, his voice tinged with reluctance. "He's a great guy, but seeing him around you like that... it made me feel unsettled. And I guess it's because..." Chan hesitated, the words stuck in his throat.

"Because what?" Hyunjin prodded gently, almost hoping for Chan to make a confession right here and now.

Chan sighed, the weight of his unspoken truths pressing heavily on him. "It's because I care about you, Hyunjin. More than I probably should,” he said, missing the hopeful glint in Hyunjin’s eyes as he stared at the floor.

Hyunjin's expression softened, his eyes conveying a mix of surprise and compassion. He reached out to place a reassuring hand on Chan's shoulder. "I care about you too, so much...so, please be honest. What’s suddenly bothering you about it?"

Chan looked into Hyunjin's eyes, finding in them a reflection of his own fears and hopes. "I just don’t want you to get hurt," Chan said, managing a small smile despite the tumult of emotions inside him.

“Oh,” Hyunjin nodded, forcing a smile onto his lips. “There’s no need, really. Lix just loves to flirt a little,” he said, swallowing down the bitter taste of disappointment lacing his throat. “I should get to class; I’ll see you later.”

“Okay,” Chan nodded, staring after him. A shaky breath left his lips as the door shut close behind his friend, and the silence around him grew awfully loud. “Coward,” he whispered to himself, groaning softly. He checked his watch and nodded to himself. One more period until lunch break. Which meant his best friend had his break now, teaching a class later. Slipping his papers into his bag, Chan made his way to the faculty lounge, where he knew he would find Minho, the beloved Dance and Performing Arts teacher and his best friend since childhood. Minho was already at their usual spot in the corner of the university's bustling cafeteria, his tray filled with food. As Chan approached, Minho's face lit up with a welcoming smile.

"Channie! How's the master of Shakespeare today?" Minho teased, pushing a chair out with his foot for Chan to sit.

"More like the master of self-conflict," Chan muttered as he sank down into the chair, his shoulders slumping.

Minho's expression shifted to one of concern. "What's up? You look like you've lost a fight with a couple of your metaphysical poets."

Chan chuckled weakly. "It's not the poets giving me trouble. It's...it’s about Hyunjin."

Minho raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued. "Hyunjin, huh? What about him? Don't tell me you finally confessed?"

Chan shook his head, stirring his coffee absentmindedly. "No, nothing like that. It’s just... Felix was flirting with him again, and I don't know; it made me feel weird."

Minho's laughter filled the air, a light-hearted sound that made a few nearby students glance over in curiosity. "Oh, Channie hyung! That’s classic!"

"It's not funny, Minho," Chan protested, though a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I know it sounds ridiculous, but I can’t help feeling... jealous."

Minho burst out laughing again, covering his mouth with his hand. "Jealous? Of Yongbokie? That man flirts with anything that breathes—it’s probably just his way. But this is good!"

Chan frowned, puzzled. "How is any of that good?"

"It means you’re finally facing your feelings head-on instead of burying them in your lesson plans and Shakespearean monologues," Minho chuckled, then became more serious. "Look, Chan, it’s obvious to anyone with eyes that you’ve got it bad for Hyunjin. Maybe it's time you did something about it."

“Do what? He’s probably happy about Felix showering him with love,” Chan sighed heavily. “He might…oh fuck you,” he snorted at Minho’s intrigued grin.

"Might fall for his devilish charms?" Minho finished for him, his voice dripping with mock drama. "Come on, Chan. Hyunjin’s got eyes for someone else, even if he doesn’t know it yet."

Chan sighed, knowing Minho was referring to him. "I wish that were enough to stop me from feeling this way. I just hate feeling so... powerless."

Minho reached across the table, placing a reassuring hand over Chan's. "Listen, hyungie, what you’re feeling is totally normal. But you can’t control how Felix acts or how Hyunjin responds. What you can control is what you do next. How about you focus on showing Hyunjin just how much he means to you?"

"And how do I do that without spilling my guts and potentially ruining everything?" Chan asked, his voice tinged with frustration.

"Subtly, Channie. Subtly. Start with small things. Be there for him, make him laugh, and share more of those deep poetic thoughts you keep locked up in your brain...do it with him for once instead of drooling all over my food during lunch break,” he teased softly, pulling a small smile from him. “Build the connection you already have. Trust me; actions speak way louder than confessions thrown out during a moment of jealousy."

"But what if it ruins everything?" Chan’s voice was tinged with worry. "Our friendship, our living situation... I can't lose him, Minho."

Minho nodded, understanding the depth of his friend's fear. "I get it. But consider this—what if telling him opens up the chance for something amazing? You won’t know until you try. Besides, Hyunjin's a great guy; he won’t let this ruin your friendship."

Chan considered Minho's words, the fear mingling with a flicker of hope. "I... I don’t even know where to start."

"Start with the truth. Tell him how you feel, how you've been feeling. It’s not about Felix or anyone else. It’s about you and him," Minho advised, his tone gentle yet firm.

"And if he doesn’t feel the same?" Chan’s voice was barely a whisper now, the weight of his unspoken love heavy on his chest.

Minho’s face softened. "Then you’ll deal with it like the mature, sophisticated intellectuals that you are," he said with a grin, trying to lighten the mood. "Seriously, Chan, honesty is terrifying but liberating. Hyunjin deserves to know, and you deserve to be honest with yourself and him."

Chan considered Minho's advice, feeling a semblance of a plan forming in his mind. "Maybe you're right. I just need to be patient and more... proactive."

"That's the spirit!" Minho exclaimed happily. "And who knows? Maybe Hyunjin is closer to seeing the truth than you think. You've got to give some credit to our boy; he's an artist, after all. He sees beauty where others see the ordinary."

“Talk about being poetic,” Chan giggled at him, and Min winked at him fondly.

The bell signaling the end of the break rang, pulling them back to the reality of their day. Minho stood, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "Think about it, okay? I’m here no matter what happens. And who knows? Maybe Hyunjin is waiting for a sign from you."

Chan nodded, feeling a mix of dread and determination settling in his heart. "Thanks, Minho. For listening... and not making too much fun of me."

Minho laughed, pulling Chan into a brief, tight hug. "What are friends for if not to listen to your romantic worries and push you out of your comfort zone? Now, go inspire the future lovers and poets. And think about what you want to say to Hyunjin."

"Thanks, Minnie. Really," Chan said, feeling genuinely grateful for the pep talk.

"Anytime, Chan. Now fuck off and finally be the leading man of your own love story," Minho cheered, giving Chan a playful shove toward the door, giggling as the older flipped him off. 

MASTERLISTS | PROMPT LIST | GUIDELINES

As their ways parted, his mind raced with possibilities and what-ifs. The thought of confessing his feelings to Hyunjin was daunting, but Minho's words echoed in his mind, a mantra of encouragement and challenge. Maybe it was time to stop hiding behind their friendship and take a risk that could potentially change everything.

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[the-fiction-witch]

... I've killed an angel

Media The Artful Dodger

Character Jack Dawkins

Couple Jack X Reader + Jack X Belle (Dodgerfox)

Rating Sweet + SAD!

I stood at my small stall in the Port Victory Street doing some business with the people in town. The sweet sun beat down harshly, as usual, enjoying the pleasant day. 

"Morning  Y/n," I heard,

I glanced up and saw Doctor Jack Dawkins as he headed over to the stall, in his dusty brown shoes, faded brown trousers, washed out and tattered white shirt with strained cuffs on his sleeves poking out his jacket sleeves, his blue textured waistcoat, his straggly green tie tucked into it, his purple patterned jacket and his black velvet hat on his head. He smiled and gave me a wave as he made his way over. 

I blushed hard and adjusted myself, fixing my green cotton dress brushing off some dust and dirt from the day, and pulling my braid of  Y/H/C hair over my shoulder a little. 

"G-Good Morning, Jack," I greeted with a warm smile, 

"You alright?" he asked warmly,

"I'm alright, everything okay with you?"

"Same as usual, You coming to the cat and the bagpipes tonight? I need my back up especially with Darius still sniffing around." 

"I don't know I have a lot of work to do,"

"Aww work's more fun than cards with me is it? Come on  Y/n I need you, Angel," He said as he came close and fixed some of my  Y/H/C hair from my face, "Please," He pouted giving his pouty puppy eyes, 

"Course, how did seven sound?"

"Perfect, I'll see you later then." He said starting on his way but he turned back, "Actually."

"Yes, Jack?" I asked excitedly, 

"I think you know what I'm gonna ask," he smiled wickedly, 

"what do you need?" I jokingly rolled my eyes, 

"You think you could get your hands on some beeswax?"

"Why?" 

"Hey! That happened to the no judgment part of our deal?"

"Alright, I'll see what I can do, when do you need it by?" 

"Whenever you have time  Y/n," he cooed and headed off on his business. 

I blushed and got on with my work making a note of what he wanted. 

I smiled as I headed to the cat and the bagpipes to play cards with Jack, Darius and whoever else was there tonight, I saw Jack waiting outside so I headed over with a smile. 

"Evening Jack,"

"Evening, you seem chipper tonight?"

"I like playing cards with you," I smiled, "Ohh here I found you some," I said handing over the beeswax candles I found for him out of my pocket, 

"Ahh, you are an angel,  Y/n," He smiled happily taking them and adding them to his pockets, kissing my forehead. 

"What do you need them for anyway?"

"Hey, you know our deal. I don't ask how you find stuff you don't ask why I need it." 

"Alright fine, come on let's get going." I encouraged going to head inside but I noticed he was looking, I thought for a moment that he was staring at me and I blushed hard feeling so giddy with joy to see him look at me with such sweet loving eyes, "Ohh, Jack... You're staring?" I giggled,

"Hum? Ohh uhh yeah I uhhh I guess sorry she uhh she's just -" He explained shaking himself out but immediately returning, 

"She?" I asked turning on my heels to see the busy street with various people heading away for the day I saw a sight. 

Across the street, a woman stood in a beautiful impressive red plaid dress, with sweet blonde curls and a lady-like hat and parasol, she walked on the arm of the governor as they went about some business. 

He was looking at her, not at me. 

And I felt my heart shattering to see him looking the way I had always wished for him to look at me, but he didn't look at me. I have been standing and waiting by his side for so long but now he looks at a girl he doesn't even know the name of that he sees briefly across the street. 

"shall we go then?"

"Yeah, Yeah I uhh I'll meet you in there okay," He said as he walked away heading down the street,

"Jack-" I began but he was already gone, 

I sighed and headed in sitting at the table and starting the card game without him, I played a few games wondering and worrying where he was until finally, Jack arrived, "Hey, You finally joining us?"

"Yeah, sorry." He said sitting down beside me and we started a new game, 

"You okay?"

"Yeah, fine." He answered as he took his lucky coin from his pocket and began his usual trick of tossing the coin between his fingers as we plaid, 

"What did you have to do?"

"Nothing  Y/n," he chuckled and we got on with our game, 

"...Alright," I sighed,

I got on with my work at my stall doing my business for the morning,

" Y/n," Jack greeted as he approached,

I smiled widely as I hadn't seen him in a few days odd as I was used to seeing him daily, "Morning Jack,"

"I have a little job for my angel." He smirked leaning on my stall, 

"Oh?"

"I need you to go do a little whisper searching, a little recon, a little digging for me,"

"Digging? around what am I digging? Are you trying to find out Sneed's secrets again? cause I keep telling you he's a very boring man he doesn't have interesting dirt to dig though," I chuckled, 

"No, No not Sneed." He said, "Belle."

"Humm?"

"Lady Belle Fox. I want you to... do a little digging for me."

"For what exactly?"

"I wanna know... What she's like, what she is interested in, her little secrets and such like, Come on your good at this stuff." 

"I will have a dig but why do you-"

"You don't judge that's the deal." He said, "Come on, Please" he pouted,

"Alright, when do you need it by?"

"As soon as possible." He winked, "You're an angel, I'll see you soon." He said before he headed off, 

I didn't like doing this but I knew I wanted to do as Jack had asked me, I snuck my way to the governor's estate in my cloak. I found my way into her room and dug around for information about her but I didn't need to dig for long her room reminded me of Jack's, filled with surgical diagrams, and equipment, Belle's room showed her lack of care for art, for music the often frivolous lady things, she was focused, driven, wrote to surgeons overseas, kept medical journals of her experiments.

... all of it froze me to my core, to think of how she and Jack would be so perfect together. 

How much he would surely love her.

I got what I needed and headed to the hospital where I found Jack in his room waiting for me, 

" Y/n!" He perked up getting to his feet from his bed where he had been laid with his waistcoat and tie gone, "Did you dig?"

"I... I did."

"Well, what can you tell me?"

For a moment I considered lying to him, telling him lies about her to try and convince him to completely stay away from her but I couldn't bear to do so. I told him the truth, I told him everything he wanted to know and he couldn't be happier. He held my arms and kissed my forehead.

"You are an angel." He smiled, "Thank you,  Y/n,"

"You're welcome," I nodded,

"I need to get to work then," he smiled,

"I uhhh I'll let you get on then," I said trying to hide my feelings forcing them away and forcing myself to leave before my pain overflowed.

I got on with my work as usual on my stall, I missed Jack more than anything but I hadn't seen him in weeks now. Not even in passing, but I couldn't bring myself to go and see him especially without a reason to. I felt like... He'd abandoned me. 

When I packed my stall for the day I noticed a book in my box, I was meant to give it to Jack a while back when he asked me to find it for him and I never did give it to him. So I packed up and headed to the hospital book in hand, I went up to his room but I found it empty, so I went to his ward and again found it empty, I checked the theatre but still empty, I was confused wondering if perhaps he was out. But as I wandered the halls and corridors at last I found him, in the morgue cutting open a body, with Belle beside him. She looked beautiful in her black dress their hands connected and bloody as he guided her and aided her, his head inches from her shoulder. 

"Somewhere in there is how we think, and feel," she said, As she watched the surgery they worked on, "And Love,"

"And die,"

"It's so much more than plumbing"

he smiled to her giving her this look of utter devotion, the look I had always wanted, "Oh-  Y/n."

"Hi, Jack,"

"what are you doing here?"

"I uhh I have that book, you were looking for," I said stepping closer fixing my hair and offering him it,

"Ohh! right! course. Sorry, I forgot I even asked you too look for it for me." he laughed, "Thanks." he said, almost cold, No angel, no kiss, nothing. 

"Y-you're welcome," I nodded trying to fight back tears as I turned around and headed out, 

"Right on to the next thing Milady." He said to her, 

I began to walk out and by the time I was at the hospital entryway, I was balling tears flooding down my face and my feet were causing me to run, bursting out the door and quickly finding a wall to try and hyperventilate. 

That's it. 

I've been replaced. 

I had been doing my best to deal with everything, but it wasn't going well, I hadn't seen Jack in ages, he hadn't come to see me at all and I missed him so badly, I knew I couldn't wait anymore I had to go and tell him the truth, tell him how I felt. So I slipped on my cloak and headed through to the hospital I checked his ward, he wasn't there, I checked his room, he wasn't there, I went to check the theatre but the door was locked that's odd? so I went around into the prep room door and thought there to go in that way I stopped short. 

I looked through the prep room glass window into the theatre, and I saw Sneed on the table knocked out for his surgery. Lady Belle on one side of the table, Jack on the other. The surgery hadn't begun yet so I planned to rush in but- 

Before I could even move I saw this moment in slow motion, as they leaned in, leaning over the table and even if it broke my heart into a million pieces I saw as they're lips met and they kissed. 

My mouth fell open and I wanted to scream but no sound came out. 

Tears flooded down my face.

I turned and ran out of the hospital onto the darkening streets, through my tears and broken heart I accepted it, finally and completely. 

He loved her, and I was nothing. 

I went home and I cried for what felt like weeks, unable to even leave my bed. 

Slowly I accepted that I had to get on, make money, and pay my way, even with a shattered heart. I tried to rationalize it by feeling happy, that Jack had found someone he could love so utterly, that he and Belle were happy together, they'd be together in love, get married, have a house with surgical equipment everywhere, little blonde doctor children and live a happy life. Even if that meant I wouldn't get what I wanted, even if I wasn't a part of this life he was to build. 

I got on with work at my stall when I saw a sight that... even after this time still brought me such pain, Jack walking arm in arm with Belle down the street he barely noticed me the two walking past like I was nothing, just another market girl. But he stopped,

" Y/n?"

"Hi Doctor Dawkins," I answered part of me hoping he wouldn't have to stop, 

"Hi, Sorry I haven't seen you Everything has been so busy at the hospital."

"That's alright,"

 "You know I uhh I'm going out for cards tonight, if you wanna come?"

"No, I uhhh... I'm busy tonight."

"Oh, Really? you never miss cards come on."

"I really can't I'm sorry,"

"Shame. Alright then. But as I see you I do have a little job for you."

"Ohh I uhh I don't do that sort of thing anymore."

"wh-what?" he chuckled,

"I don't do that sort of thing anymore Doctor."

"You don't?"

"Jack we should be going we have to be back at the hospital for Mr Martin's amputation," Belle spoke up,

"Yes, just one second." he told her, "You really don't do it anymore? but it's always been your little job? You're my angel? and what's all this doctor stuff? what's going on with you?" 

"Y-You should really get going."

"...Alright, we're not done talking about this." He says the two heading off, 

I had hoped it was over, that he would simply forget. But I saw as they walked away heading to the hospital, I saw a black carriage the horses going crazy, the carriage heading through the town on a course. But I couldn't let it happen I bolted across the market and shoved Jack and Belle out of the way hearing them both complain as they hit the dirt. And I screamed as my body hit the carriage and the earth. 

" Y/n!" I rushed over as the carriage hurried off, I picked her up in my arms seeing her bloody and her body broken, her green dress stained with her blood and the muck of the carriage wheels, her  Y/H/C hair cascading around her, her pale skin even more so than usual, her Y/C/E eyes looking up to the meet the blue sky. " Y/n,  Y/n," I muttered,

"she- she pushed us out the way," Belle spoke up as she came close,

"She pushed us... she saved us..." I muttered already tears welling up, "Get a cart we have to get her to the hospital now!"

She nodded and quickly fetched one so I picked  Y/n up and carried her in setting her in the back, 

"You're gonna be okay, it's all okay, I'm gonna fix you, It's all gonna be okay angel I promise," I told her, 

She couldn't speak, she could barely look at me, we rushed her to the hospital and into the theatre where both Belle and I worked attempting to piece back together her mangled body being careful not to damage her further having given her a decent dose of morphia to dull the pain, 

"Jack..." Belle spoke up as she held  Y/n's neck and shoulder her pale skin purple, red and swelling by the moment, and I knew what the issue was,

"No. No. say it isn't so."

"... If we don't the bone will continue to pinch her jugular-"

"and it'll kill her." 

"But if we reset it-"

"We have a fifty-fifty chance we miss nicking the jugular which if we nick... she bleeds out and dies." I finished and she nodded, 

"what do we do?"

"...I... I don't know." 

"If we do nick it... can we sew it with surgery?"

"Not the jugular if we nick it she has two minutes maybe before she bleeds out or drowns in her blood. I'm fast I'm not that fast. not on sewing a jugular." I explained, 

"I-I'll give you a moment," she said heading out leaving  Y/n and me alone,

" Y/n,  Y/n.  Y/n angel please, please just open your eyes for me." I pleased her holding her head in my hands, she heard me and slowly opened her eyes staring at me with those Y/C/E orbs her breath harsh as she could barely deal with the pain. " Y/n, There is something we have to do, if I don't do it you'll die, but if I do... it's a coin toss if you'll survive. I-I can't make this decision on my own. I don't want to rush you but uhh time is an element here,"

"Jack..." her voice breathy her hand came to stroke my cheek, "I loved you."

"wh-what?"

"I loved you, from the first moment we met. I never was an odd job girl... I just did whatever you asked me no matter how foolish."

"You- You did that for me?"

"I did. Becuase I loved you, and I wanted to do whatever you asked to try... and make you look at me." she gasped, 

"If you loved me why have you been so distant?"

"Becuase I watched you fall for her."

My heart broke as she told me,

"I watched you fall for her, Love her, I watched her take up the place I dreamt of, I saw you look at her how I always wanted you to look at me."

"why didn't you tell me? if you had just told me we-"

"What?"

"We could have been together, I love you of course I love you, I've always loved you. You're  Y/n. My  Y/n. My odd job girl. My sweet sweet compainion, My Y/C/E eyes siren, My card partner. My- My angel." I explained through my tears, "If you had just told me we could... we could have been together."

"It's too late."

"It's not too late-"

"But I'm not her." she gasped, "and I can't replace her in your heart."

"But I love you..."

"And you love her, but you can't love us both." she said, "and you'd be happier with her-"

"You don't know that, you don't know that I wouldn't be a million times happier with you." 

"I can't make you choose between us, that isn't fair." she said, "...like this moment, there is nothing you can do, no choice you can make, without the risk of hurting one of us." 

"I don't want to hurt you, or her."

"I'm not making you. I'm letting you be happy."

"You can't make this decision for me."

"Please, Jack... Just let me go... you can't let me live in a world where I will never have the man I love,"

"what if I choose you? what if I pick you? We can get married, have a house, a family everything you've ever wanted, if I made you feel loved, if I told you how much I love my angel for the rest of our days,"

"Then that's not fair to her is it?"

"She's a lady she has a thousand suitors."

"But there not you. She's perfect. I knew that the moment I met her you couldn't give her up for me Jack."

"what if I want to. What if I want to give her up, to be with you?"

"I will not have her broken heart on my hands," she gasped, "I know that in this world I can't have what I want."

"I want you to have what you want. I want to love you, I want to be with you."

"Jack, please... don't make this harder." she pleaded, "let me go please, let me go and I'll be happy to know you're happy."

"You cannot ask this of me." I pleaded between tears, " Y/n, please. Angel. I love you, and I am a doctor both are reasons I can't just let you die in my arms."

"Please Jack," she begged, "Go, be with her, build a life with her, give her everything she has ever wanted, I ask only... for one kiss, and for you to hold me and look at me as I go, like I'm the only girl in the world."

"I-I will." I nodded even if it broke me apart, I held her close and kissed her sweet lips as I did I felt this horrible agony as I felt a firework a feeling I had never felt before, Belle might be perfect on paper but  Y/n gives me a spark I can't feel with anyone else. But it was too late. As I kissed her I did as she asked and I purposely reset the bone making sure I nicked her jugular immediately seeing the pain wash over her, watching her skin turn red the agnory in her eyes. I counted the seconds as I kissed her again, I stroked her cheek and I looked into her sweet eyes with the look of the purest and sweetest love I could give her, I looked at her as if we were all that mattered, all that existed. And she was all that I wanted. "I love you, I have always loved you, My sweet  Y/n, My Angel. I love you now. And I will love you until I am on the ground beside you." I whispered to her, "I will find you, in the next life, and I will show you all the love I should have given you in this one," as I watched the life leave her eyes and I held her in my arms, as I saw her into the next life. 

As soon as her heart stopped, I felt this agony, this crippling pain like my own heart was ripping apart, tears flooded down my face as I kissed her one final time her lips cold and the spark... gone. 

"Jack?" Belle spoke up as she had returned, she had seen what I had done and heard what I had said to  Y/n, her eyes teary. "What have you done," she whispered, 

"... I've killed an angel," I answered, 

[smoooothoperator]

Beautiful Stranger

Epilogue

Driver! Lando Norris x OC (Lily Barton)

Summer love, strangers to friends to lovers, Greece and Greek mythology references

Words: 3.4k

Masterlist

Official playlist

previous part

a/n: so... this is the end! I hope everyone liked this story, because believe me, I loved writing it, I loved writing about Lily and Lando. It was exciting write and read all the feedback all of you sent me, I'm so so so gratefull!!!

I want to thank my beautiful @racinggirl for being my beta reader and always cheer me up, and I want to thank @elisysd for creating Lyanne and letting me bring her to my story

I'm open to write bonus chapters for them, just ask me what you want o know about them!

The painting in front of her was being brighted by the flashlights the operators were fixing, making sure that the light was only on the surface of it and anything else. 

She felt shivers running all over her body, walking around the open room with paintings and sculptures that were part of the exposition, with the title of the piece of art, an explanation of it and the name of the artist. 

"Liliane, can you come check this out, please?" the man said, calling her with his characteristic Italian accent. "What do you think?"

She looked at the painting, how the colors and textures told her a story, how the protagonists of it were holding each other.

"I think it looks perfect" she nodded. "Maybe the nameplate should be placed a little to the right, but besides that, it looks amazing. Thank you Paolo"

"No, thank you" he smiled, hugging the woman and talking with the operators in Italian.

She walked away, grabbing her things from the reception and hanging her bag on her right shoulder. 

The streets were crowded with tourists that spoke a lot of languages, making her smile.

This last year she has been traveling as much as she could, discovering new places and new cultures. She learned new languages, new artistic techniques, new art. 

This last year she was the happiest.

Going back to her apartment she smiled looking at how it was decorated. There were new things, like the new space in her art and craft room, with a desk with a few monitors and glow neon details on the wall. Or her living room, with shelves with trophies and little wheels are placed where there used to be an empty space.

But the thing she liked the most was walking inside her bedroom and finding her boyfriend sleeping on the bed.

"Hey" she whispered, sitting at the edge of the bed and touching his shoulder.

"Oh hi" Lando yawned, stretching when he woke up and found her there. 

"Long flight?" 

"No" he smiled, rubbing his eyes and then looking at her. "Long media duties"

"Mhm" she nodded, leaning closer to him and kissing his lips softly. "I saw the new trophy box. I'm so proud of you"

"Yeah?" he smiled, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her closer. "Why don't you show me?"

"Idiot!" she laughed, hitting his arm softly making both of them laugh. "I was thinking about making you dinner"

"That sounds even better" he smiled.

She got up from the bed and walked towards the kitchen, hearing her tired boyfriend follow her and sit on one of the highchairs of the kitchen.

"How were things at the gallery?" he asked, grabbing the cutting board and cutting the veggies. 

"Amazing" she smiled. "Did you bring the suit?"

"Of course" he nodded. "At what time was it? Some of the guys wanted to come to visit"

"That's so sweet!" she smiled softly, touched by how his friends wanted to come to support her too. "Around seven the sponsors and art elite will come to the gallery. I can make a call and put them on the list"

"Cool" he nodded. "Maybe we should go have dinner after going to the gallery? What do you think?"

"I think that's a good idea" she smiled, pecking his lips.

When they finished their dinner, both of them went to the living room, starting the ritual they created after he moved in with her.

While she was making space for the new trophy, he grabbed it with his hands, looking at it with a proud smile on his lips. A new win in his career, making his points get higher.

She smiled looking at him and spread her arms to take the new addiction to the shelf. She grabbed it, looking at it and kissed the metal of it before placing it on its new spot.

"I'm so proud of you" she whispered, standing next to him and leaning on him.

Today is the big day.

Her collection of paintings will be finally exposed in an art gallery and she couldn't be more excited.

When she woke up he wasn't next to her, making her frown and moving her arm over his side, opening her eyes and watching the door if the room opened and the smell of food coming from the kitchen.

"Silly" she smiled to herself, getting dressed on the shirt he left next to her to wear, and walked out of the bedroom.

Her boyfriend was there, shirtless, humming a song and making breakfast for them.

"Smells nice" she whispered, wrapping her arms on his waist and kissing the back of his neck. "What are you making?"

"One of those Greek things you taught me to make" he smiled. 

"You are getting better at cooking, baby" she giggled, kissing his cheek.

"That's because I have the best teacher" he laughed.

They ate breakfast in silence, looking at each other with a smile. 

Today is an important day and they have to organize it perfectly. Their friends will come to help with everything, since they were going to have dinner in the apartment. Her friends would be locked in her bedroom, getting her ready like if she was a model and they were her make up artists and hair stylists.

"Should I go buy some things to have snacks for you and the girls?" he asked her, making her laugh.

"Is not necessary, love" she chuckled. "We will be quick! I have a model and and actress to help me get ready"

Their day continued normal. In the morning they cleaned the apartment and after that one of them went to get groceries for dinner while the other cooked lunch.

She had the dress ready, already hanging at the door of the wardrobe and all her makeup up collection was on her dresser. 

"Hello!" the first couple walked inside the apartment, making her giggle and walk towards her friend and hug her.

"Kika!" she giggled, hugging the girl.

"Lily!" she smiled, hugging her back. "I'm so proud of you!"

The two girls giggled and ran immediately to the bedroom, getting everything ready. Kika left the dress she will wear next to the one Liliane will wear and sat next to her. It's been a long time since they saw each other because of their work, and being able to come for a special occasion made both of them happier.

The second couple arrived, followed by his friends that stayed with him in the living room.

"Kika and Lily are already in the bedroom" Lando pointed, at the half closed door with a smile, hearing the girls talk with giggles in between.

Lando watched the actress walk towards the room with the dress on a bag and smiled hearing how the three women started to giggle, making him guess that they were hugging each other making little jumps.

"So… when are you going to do it?" Charles asked him with a smirk.

"Huh?" Lando hummed looking back at him.

"Yeah, you know what we're talking about" Carlos laughed. 

"Oh! Eh… This summer" Lando inked proud. "We planned a trip back to Greece. I'm going to ask her there"

"That would be cute, the place you two met" Max laughed softly.

"Exctly" he man laughed.

While the men were talking in the living room, the three friends were in the bedroom, getting ready for the event.

"When are you going to tell him?" Kika asked her, looking through the mirror at her friend.

"In Greece" she smiled. "We're going next week. I'm going to tell him there"

"That is so cute!" Lyanna giggled. "I'm sure he will like it"

The time to go to the art gallery finally came, and the friend group went there together. 

Everything was perfect, just how she imagined it. People walked around with glasses of champagne and things to eat to serve the people that walked around the exposition.

The moment she walked inside the room, people started to clap at her, making her friends give her space to join the clappins too.

"The exposition is so beautiful, Miss Barton" one of the sponsors said. "You have a very bright future"

"Thank you" she smiled breathless, not believing what that man told her.

She turned around to look at her friends and boyfriend, eyes wide open, surprised. She received a compliment from one of the most important art critics of the city, and she could see more of the sponsors getting ready to walk towards her.

"I think she will be pretty busy tonight" Pierre chuckled looking at Lily.

"Yeah" Lando smiled proudly, watching his girlfriend talk with people that started to get interested in what she was talking about. "Come on, let's have a walk around"

They walked around the exposition, looking at all the paintings and sculptures that were clearly influenced by all the travels she made with them. 

They stopped on the final painting, the main protagonist of the exposition. 

Lando smiled proudly looking at it, remembering the moment she showed it to him.

"It's you two!" Lyanne gasped looking at it, then looking at Lando. 

"Yeah" he smiled, looking at it.

The day he finally moved in with her, he bought dinner from her favorite restaurant. 

While she was folding his clothes and placing them on the wardrobe, he was  building the new shelves to put his trophies on it.

"Lando" she smiled, walking towards him and hugging his waist. "Are you sure about this?"

"I am" he said, nodding, looking back at her. "I really am, Lily"

"But what about your apartment in Monaco? What about work?"

"I still own it" he said. "We can go there when we have free time, how does it sound, hm? To enjoy the sun, go to the beach. We can use the apartment when I have a race there, so we don't have to be on a hotel"

"I like the sound of that" she smiled, kissing his cheek. 

They were holding each other, the shelves no longer in the process of putting them together, while listening to the soft music.

"You know I love you, right?" he whispered, placing his lips on her forehead. "So much"

"And I love you too" she whispered 

There they were, making a slow dance with an apartment in process of changing, with the light of the sun getting inside of the living room.

"It's so beautiful" the group of friends smiled, looking at the painting.

Lando smiles happily, watching the painting of them dancing on their living room.

The moment they landed in Athens she felt like home. She wanted to go immediately to Parga, to hug Nora, to thank her for everything she did.

"I rented something" Lando said smiling, holding her hand and walking out of the airport. 

"Lando!" she gasped, watching the camper parked in the parking lot of the airport. "No way!"

"Yes way" he smirked.

It was like the first time they made a trip last summer. But this time they were being themselves, not hiding anymore and stopping in crowded places without having to escape the people.

She liked watching how people walked towards him asking him for pictures, how he asked her with his eyes if it was okay to take pictures with the fans. 

She liked to walk around the places holding his hand, hearing him talk about his life and his plans, about what they should go next, what they should eat and who will drive next.

"We have to go to the temple of Aphrodite" Lando said, making her laugh surprised.

"But it's the other way! You should have told me when we were in Athens, Lando" she laughed looking at him and then at the GPS.

"Oh" he laughed. "I mean, I wanted to thank her for everything, but okay"

"Thank her?" she smiled softly. "Why?"

"I kinda prayed her to make you see that I'm the love of your life" he joked, making her laugh harder and kiss his cheek. 

"Oh yeah, yeah" she laughed. "It worked"

He smirked triumphantly, making her roll her eyes,smiling.

Since that day he came for her birthday, both worked hard to fix their mistakes and make their relationship grow every day more. Every minute next to him she fell even more in love with him, discovering his world and celebrating his wins and supporting him when he felt bad. She loved to go with him and learn new things about his work, enjoying race after race this new life and cheering for him louder and louder.

"We're close to Parga" Lando informed her, looking at the sign that marked the kilometers left to arrive at the town. "Do you want to stop somewhere and buy Nora something else?"

"Oh, yeah" she smiled. 

The camper smells like flowers after their stop, making her smile wider than before. During the stops on their trip she bought a canvas, wanting to paint something for the woman that took care of her during her stay in the town and that made possible the relationship she has with her boyfriend.

They parked the vehicle at the other side of the street, in front of the restaurant the old woman owns. Lily walked out of the camper with a big smile, giggled when she saw the streets she loved were exactly the same a year after.

"Nora!" they called her, walking inside the kitchen through the back door.

"Oh god!" she gasped. "My kids!"

They smiled and hugged her, giggling when the woman kissed their cheeks happily.

"How have you been? Everything's okay? Come on, tell me!"

They laughed hearing how excited she was. She checked what she was cooking in the oven and then grabbed two chairs, letting them sit and she started making something for them.

"We're good" Lando smiled, holding Lily's hand. "Really good"

"Lando won a few races this season" Lily informed.

"I know, I saw his races" the old woman smiled softly at him. "I'm so proud of you, little man" she said, pinching his cheek.

"And she put her paintings on an art gallery last week" Lando smirked.

"No way! Really?" Nora gasped looking at her. 

"Yeah" Lily nodded proudly. "Oh and we have something for you"

Lando got up and grabbed the painting his girlfriend made, one he helped to paint too, and gave it to the woman.

"Oh, Lily…" she smiled softly. "Thank you, so much"

Lily smiled and got up, walking towards her and hugging her tightly.

"Well, you want to stay somewhere while you two are here? I can ask the guys to get one of the free apartments ready" Nora smiled looking at them.

"It would be so nice, thank you" Lily smiled, holding the hand of the woman. "Let me help you, yeah?"

Lando smiled looking at the two women, how they moved in sync inside the kitchen.

"Then I'm going to take the things off from the camper" he said getting up, kissing his girlfriend's lips and Noras cheek. "Thank you for letting us stay on an apartment, really"

"No, thank you two for visiting me" she smiled. 

Lando nodded and walked out, getting the things out of the camper and looking at his backpack.

He smiled looking at the box that kept his best kept secret ever. He's surprised at how well he could keep it away from her, since he bought it two months ago with Lyanna and Kika during the race week in Monaco.

He planned everything. When and how he will ask her, where it will be and what he will say.

"Lando!" Nora called him, making him get out if his thoughts and look at the woman. "You brought it?"

"Yeah" he smiled, grabbing the box and showing her the shell that has jewel inside of it.

"It's so beautiful, kid" she smiled, watching the ring and being amazed by it. "I'm so happy for you two, really. I feel so proud watching you two be so in love. I'm glad you could fix everything"

"I did it thanks to you Nora" he smiled, hugging her. "You were so important on this, you helped us get together"

"And I'm glad you took the opportunity and didn't waste it" she said. "I'm so happy to watch her like this. She glows, kid. She's glowing and makes me so proud to see the woman she became. And to.see the man you became after finding her again. I'm proud of you"

He smiled and hugged her, rubbing her back and kissing her cheek.

"Would you let me grab a scooter?" he smiled. "I planned something"

"Of course, go ask Bastian" she nodded excitedly. "I'm sure he would let you take one if you tell him I sent you"

He smiled and nodded, leaving the suitcases to the guy he will get the apartment ready, and going where she told him and rented a scooter. After getting the keys, he drove back to the restaurant to pick up his girlfriend.

"Oh no" she laughed. "Not again"

"Come on, you know I got better at driving this" he laughed, giving her the second helmet. "Get on it, the apartment is ready"

She shook her head, laughing and wrapping her arms on his waist after sitting behind him, placing her head on his shoulder and watching the streets of the town, smiling at the people she recognized and waving at them hello.

She felt so glad to come back. She was so happy to be here again.

When they arrived at the apartment they put the clothes out of the suitcases, placing it on the wardrobe.

"Hey, why don't we go have dinner out?" he smiled. "To that place you liked that is near the beach?"

"Of course" she smiled.

"And wear this dress" he said, grabbing a dress he loved. 

The same dress she wore the day they met a year ago.

She smiled and put it, getting her hair and makeup ready for the hour he reserved a table.

It was perfect, the dinner was perfect as well as everyone around. None of them asked him to take pictures, or took off their camera. It was something private between the two lovers and people understood.

When they finished the dinner they walked around, holding hands and smiling at the people that waved at them.

"Come on, it's late" Lando said, squeezing her hand softly and walking back to the scooter.

They walked together to the vehicle and she sat behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist with a wide smile on her lips.

"This is not the way to the apartment, Lando" she said looking where he was driving. 

"I know" he chuckled, stopping the scooter. "But it's a stop I wanted to do"

He parked the scooter on one side of the street, holding her hand to help her get out of it and stand on the ground. 

"Do you remember this street?" he asked her, holding her hand and stopping in the middle of the road.

"How could I forget it?" she smiled, looking around

"It was a year ago" he said, kneeling behind her and holding the box. 

When she turned around she gasped, finding him with a box and kneeling on one knee.

"Lando" she gasped, feeling her heart beating so fast.

"A year ago we met in this town. This place saw us fall in love. I told you a lie about myself, but because I loved you I worked my ass to have your forgiveness. I tried everything to get back to you and here we are" he smiled, looking how she started to have tears in her eyes. "I love you, Liliane Barton. I love you with all my heart. And even if we met a year ago and we are 24 years old, I know I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to get married with you and have kids. I… God, I even wanted to buy Miss Rose's house, but someone was quicker than me and already bought it…"

"I did"

"But we can buy another house to grow old…" he said, but stopped immediately. "Wait, what?"

"I bought Miss Rose's house" she said, grabbing her bag and showing him the keys. 

"No way" he gasped, laughing. "God, marry me?"

"Yes!" she giggled, kneeling in front of him and kissing his lips.

"I love you" he whispered on her lips, holding her hand and putting the ring on her finger.

"I love you too, my beautiful stranger" she smiled kissing his lips. "I told you, some love stories start with a crash"

taglist

@lestappenloverr @racinggirl @roni-midnights @livster8 @kakorrhaphiphobia @starkeyellow @celestialpierre @ophcelia @msliz @lorarri @ironmaiden1313 @imsorare @mycenterfold @im-an-overthinker @soosheee @karmabyfernando @landoyesrizz @sticksdoesart @beatricemiruna @nonameishere @flwr-stella @lordperceval-16 @arisainz

[mrsdesade]

golden frames and watercolor (headcanons of a museum date with Loki)

Timeline: after Thor Ragnarok

TW: no one

Pairing: Loki x female!y/n

Note: I always thought about Loki being fascinated by human art and poetry, so what is going to happen If you decide to bring him to a museum date? Let's see 🎨

he's so curious when you tell him that you've organised something special just for the two of us for the day

but he was offended when you revealed him that you paid for his ticket, he still has difficult to accept gifts event from you (but inside he's melting and he's so grateful)

when Loki leads you through the museum, his hidden malice is evident in the way he points out subtle details in the artworks

when you both pause in front of a surrealist painting, he offers an unconventional interpretation that leaves you both laughing

"My dear, look, the art of deception. These paintings tell stories, just like you and I."

"Hopefully, our story has a happier ending than some of these artworks."

always hold your hand as you navigate through the art-filled halls

when you find a hidden corner in the museum, Loki conjures a small illusion, and make the painting looks animated just for seeing your eyes shining in admiration

with his enchantments he deactivated the alarm and let you touch the canvas so you can feel the ancient texture

you can catch him looking silently at some little painting, realizing that even the God of Mischief can be captivated by simple beauty

"Loki, I never thought I'd see you admire a watercolor."

"Watercolor has a delicate beauty, much like... vulnerability. Don't tell anyone I said that."

he's mesmerized by all the golden frames full of baroques details, at the point he wants to buy some for himself

"Would you like me to buy one of these my dear?"

"LOKI THIS IS AN ORIGINAL FRAGONARD."

he might challenges you to a friendly competition of finding the most beautiful canvas (of course he's going to support only his opinion)

he definitely wraps his long coat around your shoulders as you both explore a section of the museum with a chill in the air

sometimes he whispering you how beautiful you are, just to making you smile and adding a bit of sweetness

"These paintings capture the essence of mortals and their fleeting emotions."

"Is that a hint of sentiment I detect, Loki?"

"Sentiment? No, just an observation. Though, I must admit, the company does add a certain warmth to the experience."

as you explore a contemporary art exhibit, Loki playfully mimics some of the avant-garde poses of the sculptures, making you laugh

spotting an interactive exhibit, Loki challenges you to a friendly game of art-related trivia, showcasing his extensive knowledge with a mischievous grin

when you both stumble upon a live art performance, Loki, appreciating the theatrics, subtly incorporates some magical effects to enhance the experience

If the museum has a VR art installation, and you insist on trying it together he's going to make fun of you because he thought it's something just for children, but then he's going to try it just for you

"I can do thousands times better with my magic, how could you enjoy such a simple thing? It's like a little TV too close to your eyes."

in a quiet moment he create with magic two sketchbooks and pencils, inviting you to sketching together, each capturing your unique perspectives on the exhibits

you come across a mirror exhibit, and Loki can't resist making a few illusions within the mirrors, creating a mesmerizing dance of reflections

"Loki, do you have a favorite piece so far?"

"Much like love, art is a complex emotion. But that landscape over there has a certain charm."

as the day comes to a close, Loki surprises you with a classic red rose and something bought at the art shop just for you, it's his way to thank you for the date together

the funny thing is that you bought something for him as well (probably a book of poetry) so it's a funny moment of you two exchanging gifts outside the museum

"But...you know dear, mixed with silence, there was a certain chaos inside this building."

"Are you referring to the art exhibition or our relationship?

"Perhaps both. Chaos keeps things interesting."

the results is that from that day, he started to bringing you to all most famous museums on Earth

That's it! 💚 As an artist this post came out straight from my heart, hope you enjoyed as much I did while I was writing it~

[godesssiri]

Champaign Tastes on a Bottled Water Budget (because let’s face it, even beer isn’t cheap anymore) Thrift Tips

People are over living in white boxes. We now want richness and texture and colors and interest. Traditional design styles with lots of molding and detail and antiques are very in. People are making a living selling antiques online. Décor bloggers aspire to being able to bring back a container from European flea markets. People want to make their homes look like you have generational wealth.  But how do you have a home full of beautiful old things when you’ve got no money? Thrifting.

1. Always always check the art. Remember if you love the art but hate the frame you can always put it in a new frame, or makeover the current one. And vice versa, if you love the frame but hate what’s in it then it’s the simplest thing in the world to swap it out for something else, another piece of thrifted art, a print from Etsy or one of the many other places artists sell digital copies of their work, a color photocopy from a library book. And frames are very easy to make over, sometimes just changing the matting or painting a frame a different color or adding a little rub n buff makes a world of difference.

2. Rub n Buff or similar waxes are your friend for getting a gorgeous, antiqued look. The thrift stores are full of pieces that have great shape but they’re too modern looking for what you’re trying to achieve. But rub gold on the high points or a dark wax into the crevasses and suddenly they look completely different. I’ve got a ceramic parrot that looked very 80s when I got my hands on it but when I covered it with gold (leaving the original dark colors in the crevasses) he immediately looked like an antique. Just spray-painting something gold doesn’t have the same effect, using a wax creates depth.

3. Darken it up. Most old things are darker than new things. Darker furniture, fabrics, accessories, add depth and richness. If something is already dark, then when you thrift it then great. If it’s not then that’s what dye, paint, and stain are for.

4. Old souvenir pieces. I’ve got a load of old pieces that people have bought back from Greece and Rome, from Egypt, from China. They make my home look like it belongs to someone who has been on a Grand Tour. A lot of them are copies of ancient pieces which means they look timeless. They’re cheap tchotchkes that people have bought at gift shops but mix them in with old books and candle holders and natural pieces like chunks or crystal or large seashells, and they look classy and interesting.

5. Old books. Do you have any idea how many old books get thrown out by thrift stores? Like genuine antiques that get sent to landfill? Most thrift stores don’t want to deal with old books because they smell and harbor dust mites and are out of date and often look tatty. You may even be able to get a bunch for free if you sweet talk the volunteers. If you’re worried about dust mites, then pop them in the freezer for a few days. I know there are those who look down on people who use books just as décor, but if you using it as décor saves it from a landfill or a junk journaler and preserves it for a future generation then isn’t that a good thing?

6. Glass display items. Putting things behind glass makes them look lux and precious even if it’s some cheap trinket or even a bunch of dried leaves or other completely free natural items. Look for domes, plain clear vases you can turn upside down and glue a knob on top, display boxes holding ugly stuff that you can rip the ugly stuff out and re-purpose.

7. Antique reproductions. There’s been many points in history since humans started to mass manufacture stuff, that we have looked to the past a re-created what our forbears made by hand. There’s so much that ends up in thrift stores that looks old even if it’s no more than a few decades old. Cleverly mixing this stuff in to your décor can help you achieve the look of a home furnished with antiques at a fraction of the price.

8. Search ‘Old’ ‘Antique’ and ‘Vintage’ on FB Marketplace. Don’t get more specific than that, just literally type those terms into the search bar, set a distance you’re willing to travel, and scroll. People are always selling stuff that they don’t quite know what the heck it is, but they know it’s old. Yeah you’re gonna see a lot of trash but it’s worth it to find the treasures.

9. Candle holders and candles. I’m actually pretty meh about candles, I get why other people like them but scented candles mess with my allergies and I don’t get any joy out of candlelight – but if you feel the opposite to me, I do understand and encourage that. Candles are wonderful décor objects if you’re going to light them or not. Always check the section where your thrift store keeps candles, there’s often some really good ones. And candle holders come in so many different forms that you will always find beautiful and interesting ones. A figural brass candle holder will make my heart go pitty-pat. You don’t just have to use them for candles either, I have a gorgeously detailed pewter candle holder that I use as a display stand for a large mother-of-pearl shell, and my pair of huge Victorian cherubs currently have clear quartz crystals sticking out of them.

10. Actual antiques. I have hundreds of antiques big and small. I just tried to remember how many of them had been bought at actual antique stores and I think the total is 5. Real genuine antiques turn up in thrift stores All The Time. Sometimes the thrift store realizes what they’ve got and will price it up, more than you’d usually pay at the thrift but still way less than it’s really worth. Sometimes they don’t know/don’t care, they just want to turn over stock so they price it at whatever will get it out the door. You CAN furnish your home with antiques entirely from thrift stores. It just takes time and patience.

[testingthewatersss]

Where you left me Trigger warnings for PTSD, mentions of war, torture, flashbacks etc. Bucky Barnes x F Reader Chapter 3 5570 words fluff, angst, comfort. 18+ MDNI

Bucky comes home

Once she’s alone, she really focuses in on her task.

It’s a little after 7pm when Bucky is finally on his way back to his suite. It had taken an extra 2 hours after the meeting had officially ended for him to shake Steve, and Sam, and their overly excited chattering, he’d nodded along for the most part, but had drawn the line at grabbing Y/N and heading to a bar for the night.

He’s tired. He’s more than tired. The nap he’d taken earlier has only worsened how badly his body needs to rest, and although he’d barely managed to force down the sandwhich and protein shake Steve had presented him with for lunch, he had, in fact, forced it down, not that it had done anything to ease the aching in his head.

The pressure behind his eyes is distracting, it’s throbbing, he’s squinting, even though the hall way lights are dimmed in the evenings.

He nearly trips over a cardboard box. That startles him. He mutters a curse and looks around.

Oh, god.

There are at least 7 half collapsed containers.

Despite himself, he panics. The route to his room is normally pristine, he doesn’t like the change, he can’t help but worry that something’s wrong, that maybe Y/N has left- that maybe someone came in and took her-

His door opens without any resistance when he touches it and then his heart stops.

He blinks jaw slack, frozen in position.

There has to be a mistake.

This, isn’t his room. This, is beautiful.

There’s a woven, intricate, piece of art is hanging over the bed, which is now made with plush, cream sheets- There’s a deep navy throw over the edge of it, it’s glowing in the light from the row of candles which are placed across his dresser, which now holds a few trinkets he recognises from Y/N’s apartment.

It smells like baking, like cinnamon and vanilla and home.

He takes a tentative step inside, terrified that he might do something wrong, that he might breathe too heavily and cause everything to melt away.

“Hey, handsome” a familiar voice coos, making his head snap to the right, away from his newly decorate bed- to her, “Long day?”

She’s wearing a soft cotton top, and shorts, her hair is damp and curly, face fresh and smiling.

Bucky Barnes has never felt luckier.

He opens his mouth to reply, but then he sees the rest of the room illuminated behind her silhouette.

His couch is in the same place, but now, instead of glaring white, the carpet beneath it is covered in a huge, pile rug- it’s coloured with areas of soft orange, deep turquoise and pastel pinks that have been woven in to look they paint strokes.

The glass coffee table is gone, replaced by a low, pine surface that looks old.

There’s art on the walls, there’s a framed picture of them both nestled amongst the budding collection of charcoal sketches.

Suddenly, he sees something that makes him tilt his head, a disbelieving chuckle escaping his lips, despite how exhausted and pained he’s been feeling all day.

Next to the edge of the couch, there’s a huge wicker basket; and it’s full, of thick, soft-looking quilts.

They’re different colours and fabrics, he can see the textures shifting in the folds that are escaping the edges of the containers.

“W-what’s that?” he asks, voice totally awed

Y/N follows his train of site, concerned that her plan has back-fired, that he hates the changes she’s made, that she’s offended him and over-stepped.

“This?” she asks, pointing towards the blankets

He nods, silent.

“It’s a basket full of blankets” she tells him, a little uncertainly

He gasps again, before looking at her with an expression so sweet that she can’t help but smile at him.

“Why?” he whispers, not understanding what he could have possibly done to deserve any of this.

“Because” Y/N replies softly, “Nobody is ever going to be cold in here”

Bucky feels his heart swell impossibly in his chest. He’s so overwhelmed that he barely hears the mechanical grind of his arm as it falls lamely by his side.

“Jesus christ, Y/N/N”

“Do you like it?” she asks at last, feeling a little nervous again, “I know it’s a lot, I can always-”

“Do I like it?” he echos, staring at her, now, instead of his new home, “Doll, I’ve- I’ve never seen anythin’ like it- I- I don’t know what I did to deserve this- to, to deserve you- I-”

Her lips are against his before he can finish speaking.

His hands find her waist- he tugs her in to his front, frantically trying to prolong the affection, to show her how much he adores her, how infinitely important she is to him

“Bucky” she purrs, finally breaking away for long enough to nuzzle into his cheek, “You really like it?”

“I love it” he tells her, turning to look around again;

Every time he blinks he notices something new, a new detail, a new object that has appeared during his absence.

“How did you do all this?” he asks when he spins to take in the kitchenette, and it’s new array of appliances, “Y/N/N, it’s been less than 6 hours”

She laughs lightly, padding over to the counters, opening the drawers to show him his new plates, they’re cream, and un-polished, rimmed with gold paint.

Their are matching bowls, and mugs, as well.

And, as Y/N tells him happily, he is now the proud owner of a proper espresso machine.

“I kept the jar of… uh, instant stuff you had, it’s up there” she nods to one of the higher cupboards, “and, I’m afraid the food isn’t arrivin’ until tomorrow, so the fridge is still a pickle only zone”

“The food?” he echos, wide-eyed

Y/N scoffs gently, arm reaching out to stroke his vibranium fingers, where they’re poised against the dark marble unit-

“Yeah, sweetheart, I ordered some groceries for us, but I didn’t think you’d mind a take out tonight?” she pauses, watching him blinking at her with an expression she still can’t quite classify, “I’ll cook for us tomorrow-”

“You don’t have to do that” he tells her, suddenly bursting with the need to let her know that he’s grateful, “This is so much, doll- it’s-you’ve- you’ve already done so much for me- I-”

“Hey” she coos, seeing how he’s quickly becoming flustered, “I know I don’t have to, I know you’re not asking, Buck- don’t worry”

He nods and starts playing with her fingers as she tickles them over his smooth metal palm.

“I… I’m just grateful, Y/N/N” he whispers, feeling the need to divert his gaze, again, “so grateful”

His eyes float over to the corner furthest from the window, to the spot on the floor to wear he’d confessed to sleeping earlier. There’s a huge pillow there now, it’s velvet and plush, and the softest shade of violet.

“Oh, sweetheart” she sighs, really seeing the sudden onset of emotion on his face, “It’s alright, come here”

As soon as her arms open in invitation, he moves into her embrace, he buries his face in her neck and takes what feels awfully like his first proper breath since that morning.

“How was the briefing?” she asks, not even attempting to move away from the hug now that his hands have slipped into her back pockets,

“Long” he mumbles, “Stevie’s over the moon, doll- so is Nat- they- they can’t wait to see ya properly, they wanted to take us out tonight, to, to celebrate-”

“They’ll just have to be patient” she chuckles quietly, kissing his hair, “We’ve got plans tonight”

“We do?” he asks, unsure, still hiding against her front, “What’re we doin?”

He doesn’t want to go out, or do anything other than this. He would, if she were to ask, but he really doesn’t want to have to be around loud noises, or crowds or-

“We’re staying in, orderin’ a pizza, and gettin’ an early night.”

Bucky is so relieved that he can’t help but laugh as he finally draws back a fraction, staring earnestly into her eyes.

“That sounds perfect” he says shakily, “I… I can’t think of anythin’ I’d rather do”

Y/N beams at his response, making him flush pink.

“Why don’t you get changed, sweetheart” she suggests kindly, seeing the tension in his brow, “is your head still botherin’ you?

He’s half way towards his dresser when he hears her,

“I…” he murmurs with a short nod, “I had lunch”

“Maybe you just need to get some proper rest” she says softly, sitting down on a stool by his newly renovated ‘breakfast bar’

“Maybe” he agrees absentmindedly, listening to her ask FRIDAY to place a ridiculously large order from their favourite pizza place.

He opens his draw and finds himself once again awestruck.

The old clothes he’s had since he’d first arrived at the tower are still there, but there are newer additions as well. He’d never gotten round to buying himself anything, he’d taken what he’d been given and been grateful. Steve had gifted him the leather jacket he wears for his birthday, and his combat gear had been updated by SHEILD, but the civilian items he had, were sparse and generic.

Metal fingers furl in the soft wool jumper that’s at the top of the newest pile of tops. It’s a deep teal, it’s so smooth that the sensors in his hand barely prickle at the contact.

He flips through the collection and sees at least 10 sweaters, all different colours, all ridiculously thick and comfortable looking.

“I guessed the sizes” Y/N admits from behind his shoulder, “but I figured you could do with some more layers”

“You shouldn’t have, doll” he murmurs, turning too face her, “you’re spoilin’ me-”

“That’s my job” she whispers, pecking at his cheek, “Plus, you’re always buyin’ me things, ‘bout time I evened it up a little”

He scoffs shyly, averting his eyes back towards the dresser.

“Thank you” he murmurs, too overwhelmed to counter her again.

Y/N takes that as a victory, she gives his arm a gentle stroke from behind, before heading back to the couch, where she curls up under one of their new selection of blankets, with the TV on a low volume, and a cup of real coffee on a coaster within reach.

Bucky dresses slowly, every movement making his eyes narrow with added discomfort.

He wears boxer shorts and one his new, thick, sweaters.

It’s endearing, the way he’s fussing with the hem, like he can’t believe it’s real, that it’s his, and nobody is going to take it from him.

Comfort, is a luxury. It’s something he never takes for granted.

For a long time, it hadn’t been something worth even dreaming about- not that he got to dream often- but now, it’s something he’s surrounded by, even if he chooses to avoid to most of the time.

It’s not always a deliberate act of self-punishment, although, sometimes, that’s exactly what it is. Mostly, it’s because it feels wrong, it feels dangerous, like a trap he’s been caught in before.

But with Y/N, beckoning him over, draped in soft fabric, and offering a warm, non-violent embrace, he can’t bring himself to care.

There isn’t any price, no matter how terrible, that he wouldn’t pay to be allowed to stay exactly where he is.

“I don’t deserve you, doll”

Y/N blinks up as he pads up to where she’s waiting,

“Of course you do, Buck- You deserve the world”

There’s a smile on her face that nearly makes him cry. He’s so grateful that he can hardly bare it.

He slips in on her flank, flesh arm wrapping around her shoulder, so she can rest her head on his chest;

She kicks the blanket she’s using over his body, covering his legs with the warm, knitted material and rubbing her shins against his.

Bucky feels his head loll back at the contact, and it’s only then that he realises all the pillows he’s surrounded by.

There are several, small cushions decorating the previously barren couch. They are varying shades of pastel pinks, and blues, and the two behind his neck feel so soft he finds himself wondering where she managed to find all these so quickly.

“I ordered it all this mornin’” Y/N tells him calmly, eyes rolling up to look at his face, “Whilst you were napping”

He squints, nuzzling the top of her head again, tucking her even closer to his side,

“How’d it get here so quickly?” is the only question he can think to ask,

“Money” she replies easily, looking back towards the TV, “and I pulled the Stark card, people make things’ happen if they think Tony’s involved.”

Bucky hums at that, still totally uncomfortable mentioning the man by name. It feels like more familiarity than he deserves, even though the billionaire has long adjusted to his presence, and is rarely anything other than civil.

“Has he been by to see ya’ yet?” he asks, knowing how important his friendship is to the woman he loves, “I bet he’s happy you’ll be close by for a while”

“He came by just as you left” she tells him, “We got lunch before he had to run back to the lab”

He smiles, happy that she’s had company, that she hasn’t been alone all day. Despite everything, he likes Stark, he respects him, and is genuinely grateful for the way he’s become so tolerant to his presence, and for the way he’s always keeping an eye out for Y/N, it makes him feel better knowing that he’s her friend, even though he suspects he’s more like a brother, with how long they’ve known each other, and everything they’ve been through.

“He helped me get all this sorted” she tells him softly, already anticipating the guilt her admission is going to breed, “He insisted, before you say anythin’- I told him not to, but he wasn’t havin’ any of it.”

To her surprise, Bucky just scoffs, before humming gently against her hair.

He’s too exhausted to do anything about the feeling of unworthiness that’s heavy in his gut. It’s been a fixture of his being for so long that it barely seems to matter anymore, even when it stirs to life, sending sparks of shame up to his chest, making him blush red and embarrassed at the idea of a man who’s parents he murdered, not only taking him in, but now helping shift furniture for his benefit.

It’s pathetic, really, laughable, that after everything, an act as small as this still provokes a reaction.

‘Sergeant Barnes, sorry to interrupt, but your food is outside- Ms Romanoff has offered to bring it to you-’

“I’ll go, FRIDAY, tell Nat not to bother” Y/N replies cheerily, ignoring Bucky’s offer to go instead.

He looks drained, he looks like the journey downstairs and back up might be a little too far, especially if the others are buzzing around.

Her suspicions are confirmed when he doesn’t fight her, when he lets her go without objecting or insisting on joining her.

It doesn’t take long, she does make a quick detour to the common room, where she presses a box of fries into Tony’s lap, pecking his hair and waving cheerily at the others before saying goodnight and bringing the rest of the food she’s carrying back to her new room.

Bucky’s waiting for her, almost exactly where she’d left him. His eyes are wide, hair a mess, and he’s drowning in gentle layers of fabric.

She grins at the sight, putting the pizza boxes and soda cans down on the coffee table, before curling up beside him, again.

They laugh at the dumb sit-com that’s running on the TV. They joke about the characters, and how they don’t act like anyone in the real world ever would.

They eat, Y/N teases Bucky about the smear of sauce that’s clinging to the corner of his mouth. She uses her thumb to wipe it away, and he kisses her knuckles, more affectionate than usual, which is saying a lot, considering he boarders on touch-starved at the best of times.

He’s delicate, it’s glaringly obvious, despite his attempts at hiding it behind surly, sarcastic commentary, and playful pecks at her cheek.

When she chuckles he’s fighting the urge to flinch, and he’s clinging to her fingers whenever she’s not using them to eat, and when he finishes his own pizza, she catches him looking at her, with wide, hopeful eyes.

She offers him what’s left of the one she’s been picking at, but he refuses with an expression that’s almost distressed, and she realises that he’s yearning for approval as opposed to any more food.

He’s trying.

“How’s your head?” Y/N coos, as he wonders back over to the couch, after having disposed of the empty cartons,

He sighs, running a hand through his hair, pressing against his skull to try and relieve some of the pressure that seems to only be increasing inside.

“Not great?” she guesses, voice deliberately tempered, as he crawls back into place beside her, “Let me see”

He looks at her curiously as she cups his cheeks in her hands.

His own palms fall away, back to the hem of his new jumper, he tugs at the material, watching at her openly as she starts to stroke his temples, nails barely grazing his hair line.

“Watcha’ doin, doll?” he asks, voice small and shy, “It feels good, it, it’s lovely-”

“Shhhh” Y/N hushes him gently, shifting one of her hands over, so she can run her thumb across his brow, “You’re really tense, sweetheart, try and relax a little”

“I’m… I’m sorry” he murmurs, letting out a frustrated breath as he tries to make his shoulders sag, “I’m not doin’ it on purpose”

“I know” Y/N soothes with a patient smile, “Don’t be sorry, Buck, it’s been a long few days”

It’s been a long few decades, he thinks sadly, letting his eyes flutter shut for a moment.

She lightens her touch, caressing his cheeks, stroking the hollows under his eyes before tickling a line up across his jaw, to card back his hair. He keens into her fingers, almost purring in delight as she uses her knuckles to scratch at his head.

“Oh, god” he shivers, “Oh, god, Y/N/N”

It’s blissful, he can’t remember the last time someone just… touched him like this, just, gently, with no ulterior motive, without him having to earn it some how, or having to fear the consequences.

He supposes it will have been with Y/N, she indulges him often, she holds his hands, like they haven’t killed men double her size, she strokes his back when he can’t sleep, she kisses him, and lets him kiss her.

Still, almost a hundred years of solitary confinement, bar the occasional torture break, has left him desperately hungry for physical contact.

Skin on skin something he’ll never take for granted again.

There was a time, not so long ago, that he would have died (happily) or (not so happily) killed just for a moment of it.

Just for the most innocent, fleeting, brush of someone else’s skin against his own.

Hell, he’d have done just as much to have been allowed to feel his own hands against his body, and this, this is so much more than that.

His lower lip is trembelling, his eyes still wide and trained in on Y/N’s face. She can’t help but let one of her palms float down, to cup his jaw with her thumb sweeping across the pouting skin of his mouth.

“Hey” she purrs, “You doin’ okay?”

Finally, Bucky nods, tentative- afraid of discouraging the way she’s being so overt in her affection.

“Tired” he admits, voice cracking, “I- I’m tired”

Y/N hums in agreement, continuing to stroke his hair back,

“Where do you wanna settle?” she asks softly, “We can stay here… We can go to the bed… we can do whatever you want, handsome”

The bed looks inviting, but, he really, really doesn’t want to move.

“Can, can we stay here?” he asks, shyer than he’s been in a long time, “Please”

She beams at him, shifting a little so his head is settled in the dip of her lap, so one of her hands can loop across his chest, whilst the other stays against his brow.

He clutches the hand he can reach in his own, bringing it under the covers, so that he can play with her fingers.

“I- I- I- might” he gulps, “I- uh”

Her brows raise when he falls silent, letting out a frustrated breath and tensing his upper body involuntarily.

“I have nightmares”

That’s not new information. Y/N has spent enough nights with him to know about the terrors that plague him. She’s spent enough mornings trying to coax him out of his own head, to know, how violent his dreams can be.

She doesn’t remind him of that, though. She just nods considerately, before squeezing his palm.

“I’m stayin’ right here” he hears her promise, “nothin” she continues, “nobody, is goin’ to hurt you.”

The plates in his metal arm groan as he flexes his hand, bringing that one up to cup the one of hers that he’s already clutching to his chest.

“I.. I just, I should warn ya’-” he mumbles, “I- I’m worse, here- I-I-”

“You, are fine, sweetheart” she cuts in, “No matter what happens, okay? You’re goin’ to be just fine.”

“As long as I’ve got you” he murmurs, feeling her nails on his scalp again, “I- I don’t want to scare you off, Y/N/N- that's all”

Y/N lets out a laugh that’s almost silent, shaking her head as he looks up at her face.

“You’ve got me” she tells him, “I’m right here, I’m staying, right here, Bucky, I love you.”

He believes her. Despite the way he hates himself, despite the way that he can’t bring himself to consider that he might be worthy of Y/N’s affection, he believes that it’s genuine, and that if she really sees something in him that’s good, then maybe, just maybe, he’s on the right track after all.

“God, doll,” he whispers slowly, “I trust you- I, I really, I really trust you and, I- I know I tell ya’ often, but it- it still doesn’t seem like enough, I- I adore ya’…”

His words are so honest, so laced with heartfelt sincerity that Y/N feels herself blushing a little at his love-sick expression.

“Y’know-” she soothes, brushing a stray curl back away from his eyes, “-I think you might be the most beautiful man in the world”

He scoffs, rolling his eyes with a tightlipped smile that looks awfully boyish, even with the layer of thin stubble clinging to his jaw.

“and, for what it’s worth” he hears her drawl, “I adore ya’, too”

There’s a lilt of humour in her tone, but it’s gentle, it’s fond as opposed to mocking, and even though his cheeks once again fill with colour, he can’t help but think that it’s due to the way she’s still showering him in gentle touches instead of anything more humiliating.

A few seconds of quiet pass, Y/N could’ve been tricked into thinking that he’d fallen asleep, if he hadn’t flinched in place at a sudden burst of noise from the television that has been running all this time; the laugh track is glaring, she quiets it instantly, regretting the way the remote control is just far enough away for Bucky’s head to shift as she reaches for it.

“Sorry, handsome” she murmurs, sinking back into position with a sympathetic sigh, “Come on, get comfy, you’re alright.”

The nape of Bucky’s neck is aching now, too-

He shuts his eyes, rolling onto his side, so his cheek is nestled against into her thighs.

Y/N reaches down, stroking his arm as she pulls the blanket up higher towards his chest.

“Please, doll, don’t- don’t leave me here if I pass out”

Her heart cracks, she shakes her head, feeling his fingers tightening around her own, again.

“I’m not goin’ anywhere without you.”

He seems to like that, his shoulders unfurl a fraction, even though the tension he’s holding in his back pull them back together after a single, forced inhale.

Y/N lets her free hand trail down across his jaw, she rubs her thumb in a careful circle over his temple, seeing the way the muscle that’s visible seems to relax a little under the attention;

“Good?” she whispers, her own head finding a pillow, so she can settle too-

“So good” he murmurs, hoping that she’s not thinking about stopping.

“Good” she says decisively.

Now that she’s certain that she’s not adding to his discomfort, she readies herself to continue the rhythmic tracing of his face until he’s deep enough asleep to stay that way without it.

He grumbles a little, whispering complaints about the show that’s still running in the background, but refusing her offer of shutting it off. All in all, she’s pleasantly surprised with how easily he drifts off on her lap.

She stays awake for a few hours, watching television half-heartedly, and stroking his cheeks. Occasionally, she catches herself soothing the unconscious man with murmured terms of endearment; He seems to like it, even though she doubts he can actually hear her, with the way he’s snoring.

That makes her smile, him being deep enough asleep to snore.

Before long, Y/N is past out too, with one hand still clutching his under the covers, the other laced through his thick mess of hair.

He stirs a few times during the night, shifting a little to mewl in place against her front, body tensing and shaking until she reacts, until her fingers grazing his temples as she hushes out a calming breath to quiet him.

“Baby” she whispers, when she hears him whining into her chest, “Baby it’s alright”

Despite the fact that it’s late, that he’s been passed out for hours, by now, Bucky seems to hear her.

His shoulders unfurl, and as she blinks at him, ignoring the sleep clouding her vision, she’s almost certain that she catches him smiling.

“That’s it” she praises, unable to hold back, “sweetheart”

Her thumb grazes his cheek, drawing a shaky breath from his lungs.

“Y/N” the sleeping figure sighs, nuzzling into her collar-bone, “is…is everything alright?”

Bucky’s eyelids flicker as he teeters on the verge of waking fully, his voice is so quiet that Y/N has to strain to hear him;

“Yeah, baby” she’s quick to reply, “everythings’ alright, you’re restin’, you’re doin’ real good”

She shuffles, feeling the weight of him adjust too, his head staying firmly against her chest.

“l-love you” he murmurs, one of his hands releasing the one of hers that he’s been clinging too all night, so that it can float up to the hem of her shirt, where it tangles in the fabric, “can, can I keep this sweater?”

That exhaustion ridden question pulls a quiet, genuine laugh from her chest. She nods, kissing his hair and guiding his cheek up so that she can plant a kiss against the stubble.

He swoons at the tenderness of the gesture, he’s desperately grateful to be awake enough to feel the warm tickle of her lips against his face.

“Of course you can” she soothes, “You can keep everything, it’s yours, it’s for you”

It’s his.

The smile he dons is drowsy, his eyes are still shut, he’s still, mostly asleep, but he’s aware enough to keen out towards her voice, towards the gentle embrace she’s shrouding him in.

And just like that, he’s silent again.

Y/N follows suit, slipping back down into unconsciousness almost instantly.

Another few hours pass, the world outside spins from dusky grey to deep, starless black, and everything is peaceful, until Bucky next whimpers.

This time, the noise is strangled, it’s loud enough to rouse Y/N almost instantly, her eyes training in on him, and his parted lips as the source of the disturbance.

His body is shaking, the heavy, pliancy that had been filling him before, replaced with cramp-inducing stiffness.

She strokes his hair, again, repeating her earlier words of assurance.

When he wakes enough to feel her fingers, he shudders, before begging her not to stop, control waining at the soft tug against his brow.

“I won’t” she promises him gently, hating the way his words are cracking and so blatantly laced with desperation, “I’ll keep goin’, I’m right here”

He nods a little, metal fingers tugging anxiously at the hem of his new jumper.

It’s soft and he loves it.

He loves the idea of having things again, things that nobody can take from him.

He loves her.

He loves her more than any of it- suddenly, he’s reaching over to hold onto to her waist, smooth fabric totally forgotten.

“Sweet, sweet boy” Y/N murmurs indulgently, brushing his cheeks again, “what woke you up, huh?”

His brow furrows, teeth tugging at his lower lip until he lets out a nervous breath,

“I-I- was havin’ a bad dream” he admits, blinking up at her in the dark, “I was, I was on my own”

Y/N shakes her head, pecking at his brow.

“You’re with me” she reminds him softly, “You’re with me, and you are never, going to wake up on the floor alone, ever again.”

There’s something about time she’s spent sleeping with him tucked, safely in her arms that makes her words come easily, without hesitation.

Her mind is clouded, she’s being pulled back towards sleep with every deep inhale she’s managing to take, but still, she knows what she’s saying is true.

and so does Bucky.

He keens out in response to her promise, his hands tightening around her, his nose rubbing against the skin of her throat as a soft, muffled sob leaves his lips.

The idea of him being woken by some terrible nightmare, the idea of him coming round in a fit of panic, and throwing himself to the ground as he tries his best to remember where, or when he is, is suddenly even more sickening than it had been earlier, in day light, when the exact patch of floor he’d resigned himself to resting on had been plainly visible.

“Never” she repeats, voice melting into his hair, “never, I promise”

Blue eyes are on hers, they’re tired, they’re bloodshot and shining wet, in the dim light of the room.

“I…I’m sorry I upset you” he whispers, “I didn’t- I didn’t mean too”

Y/N feels her head tilt, she’s confused, and it shows.

“What are you talkin’ about?” she asks, stifling a yawn as she reaches over to tuck a stray curl back behind his ear, “you haven’t done anythin”

“Earlier” Bucky murmurs, “When… when I told you, when I told you where I- where I used to sleep, it- it upset you, I- I shouldn’t-”

His remorse is palpable. Y/N guides him in for a kiss, a proper kiss, against his lips, that makes his breathing slow.

“I wasn’t upset with you” she tells him firmly, breaking away enough to let him rest his brow on hers, “I was upset for you, Bucky, there’s a difference.”

Even in the dark, she can see the cogs turning in his mind. She smiles, and rubs her nose against his, treating him to another gentle kiss before cupping his jaw in her free hand.

He’s still clinging to the other one, he squeezes her palm and blinks slowly, looking over at the digital clock that’s being projected against the far wall.

It’s 4am. He’s usually wide awake by now. He’s usually coming round from some terrible dream, or trying to run around the compound’s track in a bid to burn off the remnants of adrenaline, and kill time until he can call Y/N, or join Sam or Steve to spar.

But now, he doesn’t have to worry about any of that, he’s draped in warm, soft, fabric that is so dense he can feel it despite the layer of brushed wool he’s wearing. He’s pressed, tightly against his lovers chest, and for the first time in what feels like forever, he feels like he could just…go back to sleep.

Y/N seems to be have been considering the time, too, and she seems to have come to a similar conclusion, regarding what she wants to do.

“Whadd’ya say, sweetheart” she coos, carding his thighs with her legs, boxing him in and drawing him back into position, “we’ve got nowhere we need to be until later, why don’t we get some more sleep?”

He smiles, tentative and hidden into her chest, before nodding, stubble grazing her skin-

“That sounds’ perfect” he whispers, half slurring

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