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happilykrispypirate · 1 year

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Don't touch her

Pairings: Mattheo Riddle x hufflepuff!reader

Warnings: Swearing, violence, blood, tw! abuse, bullying, and my shitty writing

Summary: Y/n has two older brothers in Ravenclaw. Both are little entitled shits that love treating their sister like shit. When Mattheo finds out when they take it too far... Well, we all know what he'll do.

A/n: @victoriapedroza thank you for requesting! Im sorry if u didn't want me to make the reader a hufflepuff, I just thought it was a good idea. It's not my best, but do let me know what you think of it.

Y/n smiled happily as she saw Mattheo waiting for her after class.

"Hi love," Mattheo smiled as Y/n came to a stop in front of him, he pecked her lips before taking her hand in his as they walked down the corridors to the Great Hall for lunch, "How was class?"

"Great! I helped Hagrid with the nifflers and one of the babies gave me a gold coin. Have you ever heard of anything like it? A niffler giving instead of taking something shiny. I feel honoured," Y/n smiled brightly.

Mattheo felt a warm feeling bubbling in his chest as he watched her smile brightly.

"That's amazing, baby," He said kissing the side of her head.

"What's also amazing is that I heard a certain someone won the potions competition again," She smirked as she eyed her boyfriend, "Another vial of liquid luck that is going to collect dust?"

"Why would I need liquid luck if I have my lucky charm right here?" Mattheo smiled as he brought their hands up to his lips and kissed the back of her hand.

"You're cute, you know that?" She smiled kissing his cheek, "Oh! I completely forgot I have herbology next. I have to go get my books. I'll see you at lunch. Tell Pansy that she has to finish that story that she told me earlier."

"I will," Mattheo smiled before kissing her, "Now hurry back."

Y/n smiled at him before she hurried towards the hufflepuff common room. When she rounded the corner she bumped straight into someone.

"Watch where you're going!" She looked up and saw Gavin and Phillip, her two older brothers. Phillip was the oldest and Gavin was only a year under him. (Btw, the years might not make sense. However we're here for the story, not math)

"Oh, it's you," Phillip said.

"Sorry, I was in a hurry. I have to get my her-"

"Yeah, we don't care," Gavin said interrupting her.

Y/n stood up and brushed her robes off, "No need to be rude," She mumbled.

"What was that?" Phillip asked harshly.

"Nothing, forget it. I'm going," She said and started to walk off before she was pulled back and pushed up against the wall.

"You've been lucky until now, you little bitch," Phillip spat, "That little boyfriend of yours has always been around. Where's he now, huh?"

"Let me go," Y/n begged, tears threatening to fall.

"Aww is little Y/n going to cry?" Gavin said mockingly.

Phillip then laughed, "I'll give you something to cry about," He said before he threw her on the ground and she landed against one of the pillars. He then proceeded to kick her in the stomach.

She went to grab her wand but Gavin stepped on her wrist. She cried out in pain.

"Don't even think about telling anyone, or you're dead," He spat before the two of them walked away.

Y/n had to move quickly to get to the common room and back to the Great Hall, all the while making sure there was no evidence, just so that Mattheo and the rest don't get suspicious.

"You took a little longer than expected, love," Mattheo said as she plopped down next to him, "Everything alright?"

"Yeah, just had to look for it," Y/n said, "Room's a bit of a mess."

"As always," Mattheo said chuckling.

Y/n smiled at her boyfriend and kissed him before pulling away and looking at Pansy who was in front in of her explaining the story she had told earlier. Just behind her, on the other side of the hall sat Gavin and Phillip who were both glaring at her.

She immediately turned away.

It was a few days later the bruises on Y/n's hip and wrist got worse and were sore. So, sore that she couldn't move without cringing in pain. Something she had to do internally because she couldn't show it, she didn't want Mattheo or anyone else to find out.

Thank Merlin, it was winter, or they would've gotten suspicious if she wore a long sleeved shirt.

She sat with the rest of the Slytherin gang in the Slytherin common room. She was allowed to be there. She insisted on getting permission instead of sneaking in all the time and risk getting caught and getting detention.

"I'm so ready for the weekend," Enzo said, "I can't wait to get fucked."

"Fucked as in fucked or drunk and high?" Theo asked.

"Both," Enzo said.

"I could do with a drink right now," Pansy said.

"I can help with that," Y/n smirked as she stood up. Mattheo glanced at her confused, and as she stood up her shirt lifted slightly and he could see the big purple bruise.

Y/n then pulled two bottles firewhiskey from her bag.

"Holy fuck," Enzo laughed as he took one of the bottles from her, "Hufflepuff's becoming one of us."

"Shut up, I just thought we needed something to make us feel better," She smiled as she sat back down.

She went to open the bottle but her wrist pained. Mattheo watched as she struggled and saw the bruise.

"Looks like I'm not strong enough, you want to help me babe?" She asked smiling as she held out the bottle to him.

Mattheo took the bottle from her and opened it. Deciding to ask her later and not in front of everyone.

Later then came as Mattheo was walking Y/n back to the hufflepuff common room.

"Love," Mattheo said.

"Yeah?" She replied looking over at him.

"Why are their bruises on your wrist and hip?" He asked.

Y/n's heart began to quicken.

"Uh," She said before laughing nervously, "I was holding a bag that was stacked full of books. I was cleaning my dorm of course and then I bumped into the table. Guess I'm a little fragile."

Mattheo nodded, not believing her. She knew Mattheo didn't believe her, and she was glad he didn't asked anymore questions.

Y/n once again forgot her book in her room, and the same thing happened last time. She bumped into her brothers.

This time, she didn't submit to defeat like she has always done. This time, she pulled her wand out.

"Ohh, someone's brave," Gavin said as he pulled his wand out.

Y/n looked around to see if anyone was coming. Why was the hall always empty when she runs into them?

"Just leave me alone," She said as she started to back away.

"How could we? You keep bumping into us. You need to stop running down the halls, forgetting your books," Phillip said.

"We should teach you something about that," Gavin said.

"Like... this!" Phillip then shot a spell at her but she deflected it.

Then Gavin shot a spell and she deflected it.

Soon both started shooting spells trying to disarm her. She couldn't take much because it wasn't long before her wand was thrown to the other side of the corridor.

"Now, you should know not to pull your wand on your older brothers," Phillip said, "Crucio."

Y/n fell to the ground and screamed in pain. Gavin walked up to her and started kicking her. He even threw in a punch. In her face.

"Alright that's enough," Phillip said and all the pain stopped.

Y/n felt like she could breathe again and coughed for air, and there was blood when she coughed.

"Oh that's fucking disgusting," Gavin cringed.

"Come on, let's go before someone comes along," Phillip said before they vanished down the corridor.

That's the last thing she saw before she passed out.

"I wonder what's taking Y/n so long?" Pansy said. Lunch was almost over and Y/n stilled hadn't returned.

"I'm going to go find her," Mattheo said as he stood up.

"See you guys later then," Theo said before Mattheo walked out of the Great Hall.

He rounded the corner and at the end he saw someone lying on the ground.

"Y/n," He realised as he ran over to her. She was beaten up badly. He gently picked her up before running to the Hospital Wing.

"Who would do such a thing?" McGonagall asked Dumbledore as they stood in front of the hospital bed that Y/n was laying in. Mattheo sat next to her, he refused to move until she woke up.

"There are many that envy her," Dumbledore said, "But none that would hurt her like this."

"Well obviously someone did, we have to find out who. There is no place for bullying in this school," McGonagall said before they left.

It wasn't long after that, that Y/n opened her eyes.

"Shit," She said as she realised where she was.

Mattheo's eyes shot up, "Hey," He said once he saw she was awake, "I'm here."

Y/n turned her head to him, "Hey," She said.

"Love, who did this to you?" He asked, "Don't lie to me this time. I know when you lie."

Y/n sighed, "Gavin and Phillip," She said, "They've been doing this for years. Gotten worse and worse."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Mattheo asked.

"They're my brothers. I'll never escape them," She said.

Mattheo remained silent. He only remained calm for her, but he wasn't going to hold back the next time he sees them.

A week later Y/n was healed. Mattheo never left her side.

They were all sitting outside under the big tree in the courtyard. It was a peaceful day.

However that peacefulness didn't last long because Gavin and Phillip arrived.

Mattheo glared at them before he stood up from his where he sat and walked over to them.

"Oh dear," Y/n sighed as she watched Mattheo punch Phillip.

"What the fuck dude?" Gavin said before he himself got punched.

"Don't you ever fucking touch her again," Mattheo said as he kept throwing punches at Gavin. Phillip tried to pull him off but instead got himself landed under Mattheo receiving multiple punches.

"We should probably stop him," Pansy said.

"Nah, this is fun," Y/n said.

"What in Godric's name is going on out here?" McGonagall asked as she rushed outside. Mattheo got up and glared at the two boys whose faces were covered in blood.

"Just making sure these two never hurt touch their sister again," He said.

"They're the ones that hurt her?" McGonagall asked and Mattheo nodded, "I'd like to see you two in my office the second you're out of the hospital wing. You'll also get 3 months of detention. Every day."

McGonagall then turned to Mattheo, "As for you Mr Riddle. Five points will be taken from Slytherin for your act, but 25 points will be rewarded for standing up for your peers," McGonagall gave Y/n a wink before she disappeared with the two bloodied up boys behind her.

Mattheo walked back over and sat down again before pulling Y/n into her arms and kissing the side of her head, "That'll teach them never to touch my girl ever again."

#mattheoriddle #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo #mattheo riddle x fem reader #mattheo riddle #x reader #reader insert #x fem reader #draco x reader #harry potter #draco malfoy x reader #lorenzo berkshire x reader #riddle #riddle x reader #theodore nott x reader

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boiohboii · 10 months

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Hi! Could you do like toddler Leclerc reader, like she’s the baby sister of the Leclercs and even tho they are quite a lot older than her they love her more than anything and are very protective and doting over her, especially Charles

The three big bad wolves (leclerc!toddler!reader)

N.B: dear anon, thank you for the request......i had this in my inbox for a while, I hope you like it.... WARNINGS: not proof read, don't focus too much on age and stuff, baby leclerc having a crush on mr carlos sainz (who doesn't), I feel like I could've written the ending in a better way of sorts..... if I missed anything please let me know....

masterlist

The three leclerc boys had fallen in love in 2016, Lorenzo was 20, Charles was 19 and Arthur was 16 when they saw their first love. It was when YN Leclerc was born. Her lips parted as hiccups left her small body, her hands laying on her mother's chest and her eyes twinkling as she looked up at her three brothers.

The three boys didn't think their love for yn could be deeper, could be so much more than their hearts dancing at the sound of her giggles, so much more than sitting on small chairs, having their nails painted bright colors and their faces smeared by their mother's make-up. They didn't know how far their love can go, how deep their feelings could be but when tragedy struck the Leclerc household the three boys swore that they'd not just die for their baby sister, they would kill for her, they would tear down worlds for her.

YN coming to races had been rare, Pascale rarely leaves her baby girl out of her sight, she always wants her within her eyesight scared of what the world might do to her little baby.

So when Charles made his way with YN on his hip, some would argue that she is too old for this, her face hiding in his neck and arms wrapped tightly around him feeling safe in her brother's arm. Lorenzo and Arthur were with them as well, just behind Charles, trying to get yn to look at them but to no avail.

"Is that baby leclerc?"

A British voice rang through the hallway as Lando ran up to Charles, pushing Arthur out of the way to take a closer look at yn, stretching his hand to squish her chubby cheeks.

"Hey!"

Lando's protest was loud and clear as soon as Charles moved yn out of his hands way

"Stay away from my sister norris"

Lorenzo's sharp tone scared the youn brit into moving away, allowing Arthur to squeeze himself back into his rightful place.

"Yn baby"

"Yes 'tur"

The sound of her small voice had all 4 men melting, wanting to wrap the little girl in a blanket and keep her away from everything bad in this world.

"Come here"

Arthur extended his hand so that he can carry yn, but Charles maneuvered away from his younger brother refusing to let go of yn

"You have to let her go man, you need to change anyway"

"No no, just for a bit"

"Charles!" His team principle came within their eyesight, looking at charles as he pouted, wanting to have yn in his arms for a bit more.

Not wanting to get fired Charles moved yn into Arthur's arms as Lorenzo kept running his hand through her hair upon seeing her yawn.

"Hey, little leclerc!"

All tiredness disappeared from yn's face as Carlos Sainz jr. entered the room, yn had a crush on him and it wasn't a secret. Her mother and Carlos found it cute, it was a silly little thing that she'll grow out of, her brothers however hated it they didn't want to entertain the idea that she should even have a crush before being 25 years old.

"No, go away" Lorenzo spoke as he moved in front of yn, trying to block her eyesight but it was too late.

"Enzo, moovee" yn whined as she tried to push lorenzo away from her so that she could see the Spaniard

"Come on man, it's just a baby crush, it'll go with time" Carlos reasoned as yn stretched her arms towards him and started fussing in Arthur's hold, wanting to be held by the oldest driver.

"Hey yn" Carlos greeted as he bounced her lightly on his hip, the two words making the little girl blush, a smile on her lips so wide that she would later complain of her face hurting

"Non! Not again! Carlos!" The heavy sound of racing boots running closer reached everyone's ears as they looked towards charles

"Leave yn alone! Give her here"

"Non! Charles, I want to stay with Carlos" tightening her grip onto carlos' shirt, yn looked at Charles, challenging him and making sure that he sees her little hands on his teammate's shirt as a way to make it clear that she's not going anywhere.

"Mon ange!" Charles whined as he stomped his feet

"Honestly, which one of you is the little kid?"

"Zip it norris"

"Be nice to landy" yn frowned at her older brother, reaching one of her hands towards Lando's hair as she patted it as a form of apology making all three leclerc brothers annoyed

"This is just unfair" Arthur complained as he watched his sister have a puppy crush on two drivers, they really shouldn't have introduced her to any of the drivers.

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withwritersblock · 2 days

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Think Later

~think later by Tate McRae~

Author's Note: Requested! I love this song so mf much Summary: Jack and Luke's sister is in town to visit when she finds a different Devil's player more interesting Warnings: implied smut, a very brief mention of toxic relationships Word Count: 1,585 Nico Hischer vs. Hughes fm!reader

Jack pulled his gear from his shoulders, letting out a huff of air. The team had beaten the Bruins in a 4-2 win. Where he scored two goals. He was excited to get out of the locker room because his older sister was in town. Her flight landed an hour before the game started, she barely had to time to go to Jack’s apartment and drop her bag off.

“You guys going to Jerry’s?” Nico asked. It was bar and restaurant that the team liked to go to after they won games. Or even after horrible losses. Jack shot a look towards Luke across the room. Luke took a deep breath.

“Our sister is in town, she might want to just go home,” Jack offered. Nico perked upward, a smirk toyed to his lips.

It was safe to say, he has crushed on Y/N since the first time he met her. It was during Jack’s rookie season, she stayed with Jack for a few weeks. Jack was struggling emotionally for a lot of his rookie year, and having his older sister in town was simply enough to help him get through it.

“Don’t even think about it,” Jack pointed towards Nico. The locker room was pretty empty at this point, most of the guys had showered and left already. Luke furrowed his eyebrows harshly as he whipped his head around.

“I wasn’t-” Nico started but Luke interrupted.

“She just got out of a relationship,” Luke let out as he walked towards Nico.

“I said I wasn’t thinking about it,” Nico defended as he ran his fingers through his hair, “I’m gonna hit the showers,” Nico continued as he had a small smirk on his lips.

It took another twenty minutes before both Jack and Luke left the locker room to see their older sister Y/N waiting for them. Luke smiled widely as he quickly made his way towards her. She gladly opened her arms for her youngest brother.

She was technically the oldest. She was older than Quinn by twelve minutes. A fact she constantly reminded Quinn of. She was the only Hughes kid that lacked any interest in hockey, other than her brothers playing. She was a theatre kid, which was a complete one-eighty to what her parents childhoods were like. Her brothers were always more than supported.

She felt teary-eyed as she engulfed her younger brother in a tight hug. This was the first time she saw Luke play in person in the Devils jersey. Her ex-boyfriend was a really difficult guy and wouldn’t let her travel on her own. He never wanted to spend the money to travel, so she never went to see the games. She was tightly wrapped her arms around his neck tightly.

“Good job, Lukey Boy,” she let out as she pulled away meeting his eye. He smiled softly as he blinked away his own tears in his eye. She moved away from Luke towards Jack. “What a game, J,” she mumbled as she hugged him tightly.

“Thanks, how are you feeling? Up for Jerry’s?” he said as he pulled away, his eyes slightly teary. She nodded dramatically.

“Oh god, my rich brothers buying me drinks all night? How could I say no?” she asked as she stared walking towards the parking garage, blindly hoping they’d show her where Luke’s car was.

They stepped into Jerry’s to see the entire bar was the team and their partners. The three of them walked towards the bar. Nico was sitting alone, nursing a beer as he kept his gaze on the TV screen replaying their game. It was in the middle of the first period. Jack patted on his shoulder, pulling his attention towards him.

“Nico, you remember our sister, Y/N!” he let out loudly, over the noise of the bar. Nico met Jack’s eye for a second before he turned his gaze towards Y/N. Her eyes widened slightly as she met his gaze. The smirk on her lips quickly went away as fast as it appeared. Jack gave him a visual warning, a small head shake. “I’m gonna get us drinks, Lukey what do you want?” Jack shifted his attention towards Luke.

“Nico, it’s nice to meet you again,” she offered as she stood beside him, close enough their arms could touch at any moment. He turned his gaze towards her, his heart beating hard against his chest.

“You too, Y/N,” he licked his lip as he shifted his gaze towards Jack and Luke behind her.

“What do you want?” Jack asked smacking his hand against her back. She jolted suddenly, looking towards the bartender.

“Tequila soda extra lime, please,” she expressed. The bartender nodded as he began to work.

“Are you sure? Tequila may not-”

“Jack,” she scolded. He nodded reluctantly as he leaned against the bartop. Over his entire life, he knew to never argue with his older sister. She was feisty and could easily ruin him. She turned her gaze back towards Nico.

He never once looked away from her features. He couldn’t focus, he couldn’t breath as she was so stunning. She knew it too. The second she met Nico’s gaze, she pursed her lips forward. She tried to not smile.

“Bold choice,” Nico muttered as he lowered his gaze towards her lips. They were glossed with a red color. She shrugged slightly.

“Boring choice,” she pointed towards the beer in his hand. Nico dropped his head, a chuckle leaving his lips. “Trying to act all tough in front of your teammates?”

“I don’t need to try, I am,” he never wavered eye contact as he brought his beer towards his lips. He took a small sip.

The bartender slid the tequila soda towards her. She smiled politely towards the bartender as she brought the glass towards her lips. Taking a sip, it tasted perfect.

“At least my drink has flavor,” she mumbled as she took another sip. Jack and Luke got their beers and were long gone, didn’t want to stay to witness Nico hit on their sister. Or even worse, their sister play along.

“It has flavor,” he defended, taking a sip of the beer. Cringing at the taste, her eyes widened as she chuckled. He smiled, “Didn’t say good flavor,”

She leaned towards him, sliding her glass over, “Go ahead, try it,” she expressed. He clenched his jaw as he reluctantly placed his beer down. He hesitantly took a hold of the short glass. “Come on it’s so good,” she offered as she delicately rested her hand onto his forearm. He smirked towards her as he took a small sip. He quickly pulled his face away, his face scrunch together.

“Oh that’s awful,” he barely got out.

“Oh come on!” she groaned out as she pulled the glass towards her, “You’re joking,” she let out. He shook his head, quickly pulling beer towards his lips.

“No, that was horrible,”

It had been an hour since she showed up to the bar, and it was pretty obvious that her and Nico were into one another. Jack would show up between them every so often, trying to shut down whatever was happening but it wasn’t working.

“You know, I’m not supposed to be talking to you,” Nico let out as he tilted his head to the side. He scraped at the label of his beer bottle. She squinted her eyes slightly.

“Why’s that?” she pulled her lip gloss from her front pocket and slowly started applying it to her lips.

“Jack doesn’t want me involved with you,” he let out. She rolled her eyes dramatically.

“He can’t control who I talk to, or who I get involved with,” she explained confidently. She shoved her lip gloss back into her pocket as she hopped off the stool. She seductively ran her hand across his arm, slowly gripping his bicep.

“I live across the street,” he mumbled as he lowered his gaze towards her lips. She nodded as she slowly ran her hand down his arm again, interlocking her fingers with his.

“I just got out of a bad relationship,” she explained, meeting his gaze, “Bad in more ways than one,” she let out. Hoping he caught on. He nodded as he cleared his throat.

“Come on,” he mumbled as he stood up from his stool, guiding her towards the bar exit. Y/N’s met Luke’s gaze from across the bar.

He tried to hold in his laughter as he watched Nico drag Y/N out of the bar. Luke smacked his hand against Jack’s arm. Jack and Dawson both shifted their gaze towards Luke. “Caps hooking up with our sister,” he let out, subtly pointing towards Y/N stepping out of the bar. He started laughing. Dawson tried to keep his laughter inside as he saw Jack’s angry expression.

“That motherfuc-”

Nico continued guiding Y/N across the street towards his apartment complex. They stepped into the lobby, he nodded towards the receptionist as he walked towards the elevator. He pressed the up button multiple times.

“Think once is enough,” she whispered. He rolled his eyes playfully as the doors opened. He took a hold of her waist, pulling her inside.

“Once is never enough,” he muttered as he pressed the button to his floor. He quickly guided her towards the back of the elevator, devouring her lips in the process.

“Oh my god,” she mumbled against his lips as she ran her fingers through the ends of his hair.

#nico hischier x y/n #nico hischier x reader #nico hischier imagines #nico hischier #nhl imagines #nhl #nhl x reader #nhl fic #hockey #nj devils #new jersey devils fic #new jersey devils x reader #new jersey devils

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1d1195 · 6 months

Text

Dolcezza I

You know me and my need for love at first sight.

This is where I’ll keep her: Dolcezza

Warnings: mostly fluff, mentions of stalking

~5.5k words

Definitely multi-part. This part is mostly from the MC perspective. The very end peeks into Harry's brain and the second part will likely pick up more onto his POV.

Hope you enjoy!

“You really don’t need to trouble yourself,” she promised.

Harry turned pausing by the shelf pressed against the wall. “D’you really want me t’leave?” He asked with a frown. “M’sorry. I jus’... really want t’help you, kitten,” he explained. “S’like I need to. S’almost... compulsive... but I’ll leave if y’want me to.”

“No, I’m totally fine, thank you,” she said into her phone.

“Are you sure?” Eleanor asked. “I can send Louis over.”

“No, no, that’s so unnecessary, El. Really. I’ll be fine.”

She could hear her best friend sigh heavily into the speaker. Eleanor was nearly a thousand miles away. She got a new job and while the benefits and everything about it were great, and would make Eleanor wildly successful, she was sadly away from her platonic soulmate. It was extremely hard to let her go. Worse, Louis would be joining her just as soon as he nailed down a new job out there.

But Louis was around for now, which was a great relief for Eleanor. Her best friend was a lot of things, but aware of how scary her situation wasn’t one of them. Louis knew he was essentially filling as best friend for the time being and he was expected to drop everything to get to her aid if Eleanor said so.

But that would only last so long.

Eleanor didn’t want to think about that right now.

She was carrying a box from her car toward the building. Her shoulder pressing her phone to her ear as best she could. Beside the building was a small little alley where her entry way to her new place resided. As much as it killed her to pay for it, she got a whole moving company to bring her furniture in already so at the rest was pretty standard. Her family, God love them, didn’t even think that she might need some help. If anything, she would have had to bribe them into helping her. Even if it was just for the furniture. If Eleanor was in town she would have helped with the boxes and other stray things she had heaped in her car.

Even with Eleanor’s presence closer, she felt alone. Eleanor had Louis and she would never fault her for that. Louis was everything she would want in a best-friend-in-law. But there was always this element of not fully having Eleanor—not like when they were in college and sharing a dorm room. It was different now. Not bad, but different. Her family was great but a little self-centered at times. Part of the problem, she dropped everything to help them whenever they asked but they rarely returned the favor. She did it all, so why would she need help?

Fortunately, moving allowed her to downsize quite a bit so her mid-sized SUV was able to hold almost all of her boxes in one trip from her storage unit to the new place. Maybe, this even helped her explain away her family’s lack of help.

But her brother was either busy working at the college dispatch center most of the weekend or playing beer pong at a frat party. Her sister was so wrapped up in her high school love life or maybe just being the princess her mom and dad made her out to be by never making her do anything of importance. Her parents were probably waiting on her hand and foot without even realizing. If not, they were probably creating some sort of computer-virus havoc on their home computer that for some reason her sister wouldn’t be able to fix. Or maybe they finally started fixing the kitchen up as they said they would for the last year waiting for their oldest to come home and fix all the little things they broke in the process.

If she thought about it too long, she would get annoyed. Her brother and sister were more than capable of helping and they just didn’t. It drove her nuts. So, at the end of it, she couldn’t bother her family for help. Because it barely felt like they could help themselves.

She was lucky because the alleyway wasn’t creepy. Not even at night. The whole street was a dream come true really. Part of her thought that despite the circumstance, this was actually a much-needed move. It was almost lucky that she found such an amazing place. Her own parking space right out front of the building, a coffee shop—a mere stone’s throw from said parking space—almost everything she needed was within walking distance. It was perfect.

Of course, the best and most wonderful selling point of all was by far that her new apartment was right above an Italian restaurant. It smelled like fresh pasta, garlic, and just the most comforting of scents. It reminded her of Sunday’s making meatballs with her dad and watching sports with her brother and sister.

When her coworker Mitch told her about the place, she thought it was too good to be true. But Mitch knew someone who worked at the restaurant. The owner, Antonio, was looking for a tenant after he informed Mitch’s friend that he was outgrowing the space. It was a generous size. But it was meant for a place to stay and keep watch over the restaurant—max two people and that was pushing it. The little place could not support Antonio, his wife, their first born, and another little one on the way. Four people was too big for this place.

But it was perfect for a girl who loved garlic bread and spaghetti who needed a new place and wouldn’t mind the smell of olive oil all hours of the day.

“How did you find this place?” Eleanor asked, her third-degree questioning tone was present in her voice.

“A friend of a coworker,” Eleanor already knew this.

“Mitch?” She clarified.

“Yes, Mom, Mitch,” she rolled her eyes.

“I don’t know how you can be so blasé about all this. It’s serious!” She reminded her. “I’m not even there to protect you.”

She didn’t need to be protected. She had a restraining order. The police in the area were well aware of the situation and she was almost always at home or traveling one day a week to work. If she ran errands, it was always in public spaces. She only ever worked out at a public female-only gym. Plus, she had given Louis her location. All of it was nearly a non-issue. “I don’t even know how I got a stalker,” she muttered grumpily. The whole thing was an inconvenience. If it wasn’t for Eleanor, she probably wouldn’t have even gotten the restraining order.

“You’re too nice,” Eleanor reminded her.

She sighed, tired of the story. It had been almost a year since the creepy sensation of the guy following her had started. Eleanor had approached him on more than one occasion to get rid of him. But the whole thing seemed like a bigger deal than it needed to be. The guy was basically harmless; if not just a little bit more on the creepy side. He couldn’t take the hint that she wasn’t interested and had a hard time letting go. He kept a huge distance from her—she wasn’t even sure she knew the color of his eyes from how far away he followed her. If he was around, she hardly noticed. “Well, I’m moving to a whole new place now so it should be fine now.”

“You didn’t tell anyone else about your address change?”

“Nope, just HR,” she promised. “As far as everyone knows I’m still living in that crummy apartment.”

“Well, maybe this is a blessing that you’re out of there anyway,” Eleanor sighed, relief in her voice. “How do you like this place?”

She smiled dropping the box in the middle of the room before she closed the door and descended the staircase back to her car to grab more boxes. “El, it’s literally perfect. It’s like the apartment of my dreams.”

“How come no one at the restaurant wanted it?”

“When you come visit, we can go and ask all the questions—”

As she entered the alleyway from her apartment entrance she was pushed to the ground. The rattling of glass bottles clinked, clattered, and broke on the pavement. She already felt the bruise forming on her tailbone from landing so hard on the ground. In the process she dropped her phone, and she could hear Eleanor shouting from the speaker. “Ouch,” she muttered.

“Don’t move!” She turned to the sound of the guy in the alleyway with her—he was hurrying to his feet having also toppled to the cold, hard ground. He was wearing all black. Short sleeves even though it was a chillier fall day—showing off an array of tattoos that lined his muscular arms. His black pants had fingerprints and handprints of flour on them. There was something dark colored—probably tomato sauce—dried on the half apron around his hips. He clearly worked in the restaurant. The bag of bottles he was previously carrying ripped open and was broken on the ground. “M’so sorry, Principessa,” his voice was smooth and warm. “Antonio told me y’were moving in today. Should’ve been more careful,” he frowned grabbing her wrists without a thought and hauling her to her feet to get her off the cold ground and away from any broken glass. “M’so sorry,” he repeated making sure she was steadily on her feet. He turned her hands over inspecting them so delicately. Like she was the glass that had broken at their feet. “Are y’alright, Principessa?”

The silence coming from Eleanor on her phone was nearly deafening. She blinked a few times as she gazed at the most beautiful man she had ever seen in her life. His hair was the color of melted milk chocolate and looked like it had been sculpted of the very substance into the most unfairly beautiful curls any man should have been allowed to have. His cheeks were smooth except for the stubble lining his incredibly sharp jawline. His lower lip was chapped, and she realized how close she was to face to notice such a thing. Probably from the way he was biting it with the worry that he had hurt her. But they were still very rosy—like pink wine and much like the rest of him, very, very pretty.

He picked up her phone out of the debris. Wiping it on his apron then brought it to his ear. “Hello?”

“Oh, God,” she whispered to herself, trying to process the last two minutes. Eleanor was going to lose her mind.

“Uh... m’Harry... She’s fine—I think... Are y’okay, Principessa?” His gaze turned back to her.

It felt like her heart stopped as her eyes connected with the beautiful green ones looking back at her. It was unfair someone like Harry was that pretty.

She nodded, holding her hand out for her phone. He returned it to her immediately and she cleared her throat. “I’m fine, El. Promise.”

“Principessa?!” She gasped. “Oh. My. God.”

“I’ll call you later,” she whispered feeling her face warm as Harry inspected the mess.

“M’sorry, Principessa,” he repeated for a fourth time. If he called her Principessa again though, she might fall right back on her sore tailbone. “Wasn’t expecting you t’come out the door,” he frowned. “Did y’get cut at all?” He asked, scanning her quickly from head to toe. She was dressed for moving on a cool fall day. A chunky sweatshirt, a pair of joggers, and trainers. Her hair was pulled tight to keep out of her face.

She was the furthest thing from looking like the princess that he kept calling her. “Oh...no... I’m alright,” she promised. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think—”

“Don’t apologize, kitten, s’entirely my fault.”

She shook her head rapidly trying to get some neural networks firing. “Really, I’m okay,” she smiled gently. “I should have watched—”

“M’serious, s’my fault,” he interrupted again.

“Harry, what’s the hold—” Antonio entered the alleyway but stopped his train of thought looking at the pair of them. “Oh, hi, tesorino,” he had called her that a lot since he spoke and met with her. “See you’ve met Harry,” he looked at the broken bag and the glass. “Did he hurt you?” He asked.

“No!” Harry glared at him, a frown adorning his pretty lips and a matching pinch between his brows. Harry looked adorable when he was angry. “I didn’t Principessa, did I?” He turned back to her looking apologetic again.

“No, I’m sincerely fine,” she promised shoving her phone into the pocket of her joggers. “I should have watched where I was—”

“No, no, tesorino,” Antonio shook his head. “It’s Harry’s fault. M’sure.” What kind of reality was this? Antonio reminded her of Louis or a much older brother—maybe even a young dad, but not like her dad. She imagined Louis saying the same kind of taunting thing to Eleanor or even herself. It was surreal. A cute guy bumped into her when she was starting fresh. It was like fate—a new start and a new guy. “I’ll get you a broom, Harry. Make sure she’s alright.”

“Yes sir,” he nodded firmly. Antonio disappeared back to the restaurant to get the broom.

“I’m really fine,” she promised.

Harry was smiling now, he bent down to get the big pieces of glass that shattered and carefully placed them on the broken plastic bag. “M’glad, Principessa,” he hummed quietly.

“Uh...” she smiled awkwardly and stepped to the side. “I should get out of the way...” she trailed off and started for the street to gather more of her stuff.

“Here,” Antonio reappeared with a broom and a new bag, passing it off to Harry. “Tesorino, are you sure you’re alright?” Antonio had an Italian accent. It made her smile and even if she was hurt, she was sure that she wouldn’t—couldn’t feel any pain because it was so comfortable being around an Italian restaurant where people worried about her.

“I’m really, truly fine,” she promised.

Harry was quick to pick up all the glass and took a few steps around the area to catch any of the broken pieces. It seemed this wasn’t the first time this had happened. It was like she was glued to her spot watching Harry take the collected glass down the alleyway to one of the dumpsters. “Do you need help moving your stuff upstairs?” Antonio asked.

“Oh no, that’s alright, I’m fine—”

“Harry, help her with her stuff,” he ordered, ignoring her brush-off. “Her car is out front.”

Harry handed the broom back to his boss and hurried to the front of the building. “Hey!” She frowned and looked at Antonio. “I don’t need help—”

“Tesorino, please. S’no big deal. Harry would be happy to help.” Harry was already coming back with what she knew was a heavy box labeled ‘kitchen’ and heading for the stairs. Truthfully, she was dreading carrying that one, so she was grateful Harry was literally doing the heavy lifting for her but didn’t want him to feel like he had to. “He helped us move our stuff out already and into our new home,” he shrugged. “Come down for some lasagna for dinner,” he said heading back toward the front.

The entire interaction had left her so completely confused. Harry was beautiful and clearly a cook of some sort in the kitchen of the restaurant. Currently, he was up in her new apartment putting her box in the kitchen. Right as she came to the door to head after him, he bumped into her again, reappearing from the door so quickly, she almost fell right back to the ground. This time, Harry caught her around the waist. “M’sorry, Principessa. I don’t know why I keep getting in y’way,” he frowned.

He released her waist just as quickly as he caught her before heading back for her car. The warmth of his arm around her body lingered as she followed him. “You don’t have to help.”

“S’no problem, kitten,” he shrugged grabbing a box labeled ‘bedroom’ that she knew had an array of random things including an assortment of old CDs, a few pictures, and everything from her nightstand—including a box of condoms. Just the knowledge of knowing he was carrying them was enough to make her face warm. She frowned, hurrying to grab a box herself. “Y’don’t have any friends t’help you?” He asked over his shoulder as he made himself at home coming to stop in front of the second door in the little hall at the top of the steps. Beside her apartment was a second office for the restaurant. Antonio assured her that he was the only person who used it and at this point in time, it was mostly storage. Either way, she didn’t mind. The place was a steal and beyond helpful for her new start. Especially with Eleanor breathing down her neck worrying about her.

“I don’t like to bother people with something I can do myself,” she explained quietly while pushing the door out of the way for Harry to enter—but he waited for her to go first. A silent direction in his eyes as he stood still with the box in his hands. After an awkward pause, she went in first.

Unfortunately, she was compelled to fill the silence with more explanation. “My best friend got a new job—so she’s unavailable. She offered her boyfriend but he’s working. My other friends... no one wants to help move. You know?” She explained. But it was hard to hide the catch in her throat while she spoke. No one wanted to help her.

It was weird to have a conversation with Harry like that. It was a little personal, nothing crazy. But apparently, it divulged enough. “S’unfair, Principessa,” his voice was so gentle. “M’sure you’d help if they asked—or even if they didn’t ask.”

How on earth could some stranger possibly know that about her without so much as speaking for more than ten full minutes? There was a jolt of sadness that washed through her. But she pushed it aside and frowned at the stranger who seemed to read right through her without so much as a second glance. “They would help if I asked,” she murmured. But it felt like sand in her mouth as she said it because she knew it was a lie.

Harry didn’t harp on it though. He glanced around the empty space. “Are y’new to the city?” He asked.

“No... not really,” she shrugged. “I used to live just a couple towns over.”

“Ah,” he nodded. “D’you have a lot more?” He asked.

She shook her head. “No, not really. You... you grabbed the heavy kitchen one. So, it should be easy from here on out.”

“Great,” he smiled. “I’ll get Niall, we’ll be done in half an hour.” Harry left her breathless for more than one reason. He hurried back down and stopped outside of the restaurant. She was practically running to catch up.

Dolcezza was written in cursive script above the big window showcasing the beautiful restaurant. Most Italian restaurants always seemed so darkly lit. This one looked so warm and cozy and on the brighter side. It reminded her of her grandparents’ house.

Harry pulled the door open. “Niall!” He shouted. Without waiting for whoever Niall was, Harry turned to her car to grab the next box.

Niall was a little less than half a foot shorter than Harry. His eyes were the color of the sky in the middle of June, and he had an adorable smile. “What’re you doing?” He asked Harry as he walked by with a box. “Hey tesorino,” he winked at her.

“Grab a box,” Harry nodded his head toward the open car and continued for her apartment once more.

What the heck!?

She stumbled to get a box herself and hurried to follow the two guys moving her stuff into her new place. But she had to give credit where credit was due. Harry was right. Thirty minutes, and everything in her car was now in the apartment. Niall headed back to the restaurant without a word, but Harry stayed behind. “D’you need help with anything, kitten?” He asked sweetly.

She couldn’t possibly imagine him helping her more than he already had. “N-no, thank you. That was...really helpful. I can take it from here.”

“Jus’ come grab me from downstairs if y’do think of something, kitten. Antonio won’t mind,” he promised. He smiled at her once more and looked around. His gaze stopped on the tall bookshelf. He walked toward it and looked at each side. He pulled a little bag of screws that were taped to the side and put it in plain view. “Make sure y’anchor that bookshelf before putting books on it. Don’t want it falling on you,” he mentioned kindly. She frowned. In her old place, her bookshelf was recessed into the wall. Having built the new shelf so the movers could take it the other day, she truly hadn’t thought about it. She only taped the little bag to the inside of the shelf so she knew what it belonged to when she created a junk drawer in the kitchen.

“Er... right,” she nodded—unconfidently.

Harry looked her over again, sizing her up, as if he knew she didn’t know how to do that and was too proud to ask. “I’ll come back up before dinner t’do it. D’you have a screw gun and such?”

“I can Google how to do it if I need to,” she assured him knowing that if he didn’t say anything, she wouldn’t do it. “I doubt I can put holes in the wall like that.”

Harry snorted. “Don’t worry, Principessa, I’ll tell Antonio. He won’t argue.”

“It’s really—”

“M’offering myself, kitten. S’nothing t’worry ‘bout. M’happy t’help. S’no trouble at all.”

It was jarring. That was the only way to describe it. It was as if Harry could read her thoughts and see on her face that she didn’t want to trouble someone on her behalf. “Antonio s’not kidding ‘bout lasagna either, Principessa. He’ll want y’down between five-thirty and six. Come down t’eat or he’ll make me come up here t’get you.”

“Who was that?” Eleanor asked in greeting as she answered the phone.

“Hi Eleanor, the move has been going well. I’m about to start unpacking boxes and arranging everything. How has your day been?” She answered with an eye roll.

“Shut up, tell me about the guy, principessa,” her voice was nearly hysterical. Her tone was almost mocking with the nickname Harry had bestowed upon her. It made her stomach flip to hear even Eleanor say it.

Sighing, she put her head on the counter of her new kitchen. She eyed the heavy box Harry had put there on the floor. “His name is Harry. He works at the restaurant,” she explained. “Antonio had him help me with all the boxes and stuff, his friend Niall too.”

“I don’t care about that. What does he look like?!” The pause was telling. She knew it. “Wow,” Eleanor sighed. “He is so hot, you’re speechless.”

Rolling her eyes again, she was glad Eleanor couldn’t see her cheeks burning red at the correct assumption. “He’s cute,” she managed.

“Oh puh-lease,” she gasped. “What a cute little story you’ll be able to tell your grandchildren.”

“Can you relax? I talked to him for twenty minutes and mostly about moving.”

“Mostly?!”

“Sweet Jesus,” she sighed pinching the bridge of her nose and closing her eyes trying to think of the fastest way to get rid of her friend from making her crazy. “He correctly identified that I have shitty friends who wouldn’t help me move even if I had asked. He also got his friend Niall to help with the boxes in my car. And when I came back from the storage unit with a second load, they ran out in the middle of a lunch rush to help anyway.”

“You could sell movie rights,” Eleanor sighed dreamily.

She rolled her eyes. “His boss made him help.”

“His boss made him call you principessa too?”

“He called me kitten too.”

“Oh, you’re so going to marry him.”

“I have to unpack my house now.”

“What does he smell like?”

“You are insane.”

There was a knock on her door.

“Wonder who that is,” Eleanor practically sang. She glanced at the stove clock. It wasn’t even five o’clock. Not time to head down for lasagna. After the crazy afternoon she had, she wanted to make sure she didn’t give a reason to the funny cooks and owner downstairs that were helping her a reason to waste their time with her. She truly planned to head down for lasagna as they asked. But part of her thought Harry was joking about the bookshelf.

With the phone still against her ear, she pulled the door out of the way and found Harry. He was not joking. There was a screw gun at his side. “Hi Principessa,” he grinned so brightly it made a dimple in both cheeks appear. “M’gonna anchor y’bookshelf and then take y’down t’get lasagna,” he maneuvered right by her without so much as an okay.

“You really don’t need to trouble yourself,” she promised.

“Don’t you dare let him leave,” Eleanor said to her ear, her voice was practically a sigh. She and Harry stood feet apart gazing at one another.

But it felt so bad getting help from Harry. “Well...er... if you’re really sure it’s not a bother,” she murmured.

“Not at all, Principessa,” he smiled. “Promise,” he nodded. “S’jus’ a couple minutes and then I’ll bring y’down.”

“Eleanor, I gotta go.”

“I can’t wait to give my maid of honor speech at your wedding.”

She hung up on her friend. Harry was quick. He was shifting the bookshelf away from the wall. He snagged the little package of screws taped to the side. “Can I help?” She asked tossing her phone on the couch.

“I think m’alright, principessa. Thank you,” he said kindly, like he wasn’t doing her a favor by doing this. It was quiet while he worked. At one point he did drop one of the little screws and she was quick to grab it and place it in his hand for him. “Thanks, kitten,” he hummed quietly. His expression was so concentrated as he fixed up the shelf.

It wasn’t much, honestly. She knew that. It was just a bookshelf. But it was somehow so much more. Her heart felt so out of place. Her throat felt tight with emotion bubbling to the surface. No one had ever done anything like this before. A near stranger at that. Probably because it was so much more. It was a worry about her safety which people nearly forgot—unless they were Eleanor and by extension Louis.

She turned away briefly and busied herself with pulling throw pillows from the box labeled living room. Harry hummed quietly to himself. It was soothing. For a moment she forgot about who she was and that she had moved because she had a stalker. If she was a little more vulnerable feeling, she might have cried. It wasn’t the time, but she felt like she had known Harry her whole life. But she had barely spoken more than a hundred and fifty words to him. It was feeling extremely domestic in her new place even though hardly anything was unpacked.

The whole place was one wide open room kitchen and living area. There was a little space she designated for a table for sitting at and along the front wall by the window she planned on putting her desk. There was so much she needed to do. There were three doors along the back wall of the apartment. A bathroom, a bedroom, and a little alcove where a washer and dryer resided. She was lucky the owner lived here previously as she was certain there wouldn’t be a washer and dryer otherwise and that may have deterred her from taking the place. The idea of lugging her laundry up and down the stairs to a laundromat was not something she wanted to do in her late twenties.

“Oh crap,” she frowned. Realizing her state of being at the thought of walking up and down the steps all day.

Harry paused and turned to her. “Y’okay, principessa?” He frowned as well. His eyes looked her over with worry.

“Yeah...no, I just... I have to change before I head down there,” she sighed.

Harry smiled and turned back to his task. He gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Oh, y’could go like that, I think y’look beautiful,” he said sweetly.

Her heart rate took off rapidly. She could feel her cheeks warming but she knew her hair was pulled back and little pieces had frizzed and fallen from the elastic. She knew she was sweaty and there was simply no way she looked beautiful.

She snorted awkwardly. “Uh...thank you,” she cleared her throat. “But I would feel better if I changed.”

“I’ll wait outside, then,” he promised. “Jus’ finishing this last bit,” he murmured his attention focused on securing the screws perfectly.

“I’ll be quick,” she promised.

“Take y’time, principessa. M’in no rush,” he stood after finishing the final bit. He stepped back outside the apartment. God, he was nice. It had to be the fastest time she had ever gotten ready for anything. Changing out of comfy clothes and into jeans and a blouse that she would wear to her team meetings, so it didn’t look like she was wearing pajamas to work. She slipped on a pair of the first presentable ankle boots she could find a pair of in the box of shoes that was still unpacked. After she found a clip to pull her hair back in a more presentable fashion.

“Oh, wow,” Harry smiled dreamily as she stepped into the hall and locked her door. “Didn’t know y’could get any more beautiful. In less than five minutes too. M’gonna faint when y’have more than a minute,” he smiled and headed down the stairs as if he hadn’t just stolen her heart.

She was a little surprised he went down the stairs first, but she was grateful because maybe he wouldn’t be able to tell she was shaky and gripping the railing to keep her upright after Harry’s sweet compliment. But she realized it was merely so he could open the door carefully and make sure she wouldn’t bump into someone in the alleyway. Once he decided the alleyway was cleared, he gestured for her to exit first. “Thank you,” she said sincerely.

“For what, kitten?” He smiled as he closed the door behind him.

“Being helpful and nice. I... I’m not really used to that,” she admitted.

The grin on his face was kind. He shoved his freehand in his pocket and shrugged. “Happy t’help y’principessa,” he winked and headed for Dolcezza, surely to open the door for her first.

“Why did he name it Dolcezza?” She asked following behind him.

Harry smiled and glanced over his shoulder to wink at the pretty girl. “It means sweetness. Antonio met his wife when he was studying business, called her la mia dolcezza. He always wanted t’own a restaurant but never knew what t’name it. He knew the second he met her,” he shrugged. “S’a cute story.”

“Very sweet,” she smiled as she walked by Harry to enter the warm and homey restaurant. She was correct in her assumption that he would hold the door open for her. He chuckled at her joke.

There was something about the girl he literally bumped into and proceeded to fall for instantly physically and emotionally. He wasn’t lying when he said it was compulsive to help her. The warmth he felt inspecting her hands for injury and the worry he felt when she didn’t seem sure of anchoring her bookshelf. The thought that she was just above the restaurant that he nearly lived at more than his own place was comforting. A tug on his heart he didn’t know where it came from but couldn’t help it. Harry had never felt such an emotion like this for someone he had just met. It was like he had known her his whole life and he hadn’t spent more than an hour in total speaking to her. But he wanted to spend forever talking to her now that he had a glimpse of someone so beautiful and gentle.

It took every bit of inner strength for Harry to refrain from telling her he would name every child, every restaurant, anything he could name, he would dedicate to her.

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Dolcezza: @matildasatellite

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tadpolesonalgae · 6 months

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Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You - Part 10[*]

Pairing: Azriel x Third-Oldest-Archeron-Sister!Reader

A/N: Well, buckle up I guess

Warnings: Plot™️, I know clocks are canon but it still feels weird to do this, starting heavy 💪

Word Count: 6,012

-Part 9- -Part 11-

He sighs.

It’s not like she can help the way she is. Not like she can help the fact that whenever she tries to make things better it simply creates more work for him to do. By receding into her room, he has to pay more attention to when she appears, becoming extra vigilant in the moments she steps outside.

He shouldn’t be so harsh. Sometimes fatigue clouds his judgement, enough so it becomes apparent to even himself sleep is a necessary luxury. Still, they’re harmless behaviours really. Small habits that with the right guidance will enable her to flourish again.

A broken bone that needs to be left to set, to be good as new.

6:57 p.m.

Azriel massages his temples, the beginning aches of a headache making themselves apparent. Eases in a breath, counts, and releases. It seems a night of rest is unavoidable, but there’s so much to be done. He could perhaps rearrange breakfast…but that would collide nastily with training. Maybe moving lunch to three instead? But then that would impact the start time of going though the towering stack of reports, which would in turn result in him working later anyway.

Thick brows narrow as he prowls silently down the hallway of the River House, deciding to leave for some peace and quiet. It’s not an idea he’s keen on, but if he dips out of practice with Cassian atop the House of Wind tomorrow…that would work. Frustration simmers in his knuckles, tightening the trapezius. He doesn’t like the idea of skipping over valuable training time with the priestesses. They’re forcing themselves out of their comfort zone. The least he can do is respect their resolve by attending.

He’s so caught up in thoughts of schedule and routine he only realises she’s in the River House, on the same floor, when she’s a single corridor away. Another thing he needs to keep an eye on. Swiftly reorganises his thoughts, rotating and recalling the information his shadows have provided over the recent days and hours. The scraps of speculations Mor had offered from a single outing. If he remembers correctly, she will have just gotten back from her trip with Mor now. So why is she here? She should be back up at the House by now, retreating to her room away from everyone else.

Still, he rounds the corner in time to see her click a door closed—her sister’s. His curiosity piques, shadows already recollecting the news they’ve catalogued for the female with soft, cocoa eyes. Gloves still adorn her hands, but it does nothing to conceal their tremor.

Attention narrows in on her, darkness skittering back into the corners of the hallway, hiding between his wings as he approaches. Her lips are chapped and tight, features strained as her gloved hand rests for a moment atop the handle. Appearing in her own world—eyes glazed and vacant. Her jaw is wound tighter than usual, tight enough he can hear the grinding of enamel, like bone and porcelain powdered against rock. Brows draw together at the notice of her waxen complexion, skin gleaming faintly with peaky dew.

Blank eyes flick up to meet his own, and he steps forward. Her hand stiffens on the handle, posture turning rigid. Scent taking on a tang he’s far too familiar with from nights spent with his blade. He comes to a stop, keeping his distance from her taut form.

Azriel’s first thoughts are she must be pushing too hard with her magic. Honestly, he hadn’t anticipated her to be so resolved in mastering her power independently. Neither had he anticipated her making a lick of progress. At least not through measures that a sensible mentor would allow.

He should never have yielded to her look of despair. She’d be safer if he had simply insisted on doing things correctly. A foolish mistake on his part, and now she might be going down the wrong path. “Are you okay?” He asks, splitting his weight equally between each foot, resting in his place. Watches the roll of her throat, shifting in place, away from Elain’s door. Had there been an argument?

She nods her head, trying to straighten her spine as she sometimes does when pulling herself together. The effect is nullified by the was she hangs her head, never quite succeeding in meeting his eye for extended periods. He shouldn’t have ignored it for so long. Leaving something like that unchecked… Well, he should have known better.

“I’m—” She clears her throat, and tries again. “Good. I’m fine.” Nods to herself, eyeing the floorboards with bland eyes. He waits quietly, allowing the silence to coax her into unravelling. She shifts again, stepping away from Elain’s door, her gaze flitting about the corridor. Flicks to the stairs behind him, leading down to the exit—likely wanting to return to her haven up in the House by now.

Eyes regain a little focus, pupils contracting as a nervous smile quirks her mouth, nodding to the door as she makes for the stairs. “We were just speaking,” she elaborates, moving away hastily. “Catching up.”

Azriel watches, noting the briskness of her steps. It’s unusual for her to be so keen to leave his presence. What had happened?

“Wait,” he says, turning as she makes to move past him, peering at the floor, marking her steps. She pauses, gloved hand resting on the carved and polished banister. He steps forward, morbidly intrigued by the glaze in her eyes, as if made of glass. “You aren’t well,” he states. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m fine,” you repeat blandly, “just tired.”

Something bad then, if she’s not willing to even discuss whatever exchange happened with Elain.

Shadows loiter at the threshold, waiting to hear for any sounds that might offer hints, like the soft breath of cries, or the gentle splash of muffled tears. Nothing.

She turns again, descending the stairs, sweeping down the case quietly as she makes a bee-line for the door, vanishing out into the dark, leaving him perplexed and curious. A dangerous combination for the Spymaster.

She’d looked shaken up, so he should make sure things are okay.

It’s been a long while since he last had a one-on-one conversation with the soft-eyed female.

Azriel turns in the hallway, moving back the way she’d come.

8:36 a.m.

“We should talk.”

His words pull you from the world of bliss that had been graciously clouding your mind. Peer down at him from where you’re straddling his lap, pale sheets crumpled, clothes strewn about from being swiftly discarded. “About what?”

Thick, dark brows narrow over piercing golden eyes, full lips twisting down in the corners. Your own features shift to match his, “now, Bas?”

He sighs, large, warm hands splaying across the bruised skin of your hips. “I know, I know, I suck at timing. No need to tell me.” Almost immediately the edges of your lips lift up, a smile tugging at your mouth, vanquishing the momentary surge of annoyance. Fingers lightly press into the softness of his chest, spine losing its rigidity, relaxing your weight back onto him. Feeling slightly dizzy as pleasure sinks into your bones.

“Fine,” you mutter, playfully, “what is it?”

Bas shifts beneath you, thumbs soothing your skin, your back arching as you attempt to still the swirl of your hips. “Two things, actually,” he clarifies reaching higher, a reassuring pressure over your ribcage, rubbing to your waist. Peek down at him, raising a brow, “I wondered why you weren’t giving me a hard time tonight,” —shake your head, smiling slightly— “I should have known.”

He offers a tight smile and your own slips away. “Now you’re worrying me,” you murmur quietly, fingers curling. “What is it?” Golden eyes meet your own, concern shining in their depths, “you’ve been off recently. And I’m worried. So, it’s fine to be emotionally intimate too… Yeah?”

You blink, lips parting in surprise. “I’ve been…off?” Brow furrows in confusion, “what do you mean by that? Am I doing something wrong?” It’s an earnest question, yet it resonates a little deeper than you had expected. Thankfully he doesn’t pick up on the inner conflict. “It’s not that,” he reassures, hands stroking slowly, lightly. “But you’ve worn the same dress the last three times I’ve seen you.”

Internally, you cringe, making to pull away. “Do I smell?” You ask, wincing, bringing your arms to your chest. A slight smile tugs at his lips then, “no.” Relax a little, hands twining as he brings them back to his torso. “But…you taking care of yourself up there?” Sigh, shoulders losing their tension, lips resting into a quirked position.

“I’m fine, Bas. I like it up there, where it’s quiet, and—”

“No.” He interjects gently, hand slipping from yours, pushing a strand of hair from your cheek. Lightly cups your jaw, thumb skimming across the skin. “I mean up there.”

Spine stiffens, fingers freezing. Breath pauses. “Everything’s fine,” you murmur, watching him. He gives a look that urges you to stop lying, squeezing your hands. “Talk to me,” he says in response. “Something’s up. I can tell.”

“Bas—”

“Don’t even try,” he murmurs, golden eyes shimmering as he peers up at you. “I know what that feels like,” he whispers, hand raising to skim your breast, thumb brushing atop your heart. “I know change is difficult.”

“Bas, I don’t want to talk about it.”

Eyes lock, staring at one another.

His hand falls away.

Muscle loosens.

Licks his lips, gaze flitting elsewhere. “I was lonely too, when the attack happened.” Spine softens, brows tightening. Wait silently for him to continue. Licks his lips again, returning to watch you. “Ma… It was hard on both of us, losing pa. Y’know one day he was there, then the next it’s just us.” His throat rolls, eyes glazing as he looks into the middle distance. “We had our own ways of dealing with it—the loss. Mother knows I can’t talk about healthy coping mechanisms, I practically fucked anything that would let me. Probably drank more than I should have, too.”

The attack.

You and your sisters hadn’t yet come here, still mortally human and wonderfully unaware. Well, you and Elain, anyway. Even now, there were still signs of the aftermath. Traces of grief that had yet to be healed.

He shakes his head slowly, limbs turning stiff. “It got… I know what it’s like.” Golden eyes latch to your own. “So talk to me. Don’t keep that—…stuff, to yourself.” Shake your head, breaking the connection, pulling away. “There’s nothing to talk about. Stop prying.” Shake off the heaviness, easing a breath. “What else did you want to talk about?”

His expression is indiscernible, brows dipped, lips tugged down, eyes swirling with molten gold. Shifts beneath you, your hands pressing to his chest to steady yourself as he raises into a sitting position. Moving to be eye-to-eye, hands spanning your waist, gently keeping you still. Fingers brush the concealed muscle of his shoulders, linking at his back, hips winding in gentle encouragement.

A rough-skinned palm settles on the nape of your neck, sliding and gripping your hair lightly. Thumb oscillates over your waist. Calling up loneliness from the pit of your chest. Lips brush your mouth, the slightest caress of hot skin that feels like heated silk and tastes like spices and thyme. He looks like he’s about to try again, but decides against it, instead pulling you forward.

Only you’re taken to the crook of his shoulder, palm cupping the back of your head. His free arm snakes up your back, cradling you to his chest. Keeping you close by. At first you’re stiff, unsure how to react, muscle locks as his skin presses hot to your own, smooth and soft. Warm hands soothe along your spine, gently skimming across the expanse, tracing the knuckles of bone. Fingers draw light patterns atop, oscillating and sketching with reassuring steadiness.

He makes no move to kiss you, just holding you still, the thick locs of his hair scratching softly against the nape of your neck. His arm spans across the back of your waist, hand flattening against your side, thumbing over the skin, soothing you to melt.

Your bones begin to feel heavy in your body, sinking low as you hesitantly raise your arms to lock over his sturdy shoulders, tentatively shuffling to rest your cheek against him. Inhale slowly, deeply, taking in his scent—like rosemary and myrrh. He settles across your skin, and you sink deeper, emotion thawing as you melt into his arms, so tender and soft. Healing and welcoming.

Wet drops splash atop his shoulders, dripping onto dark skin as arms pull a little tighter, squeezing as lips tremble. Spine shudders, soft breaths stuttering as tears trickle down your cheeks, wetting strands of hair as fingers grip closer. Full lips graze your temple, and you feel those small cracks that had emerged during your argument with Feyre begin to spiderweb out, restraint fracturing just a little more.

Lower lip wobbles, and you curl around him tighter, body shuddering with quiet sobs as he holds you. Dry hands wrap into fists, nails biting the flesh of your arms as you fall into him, wanting to be washed away.

To peacefully melt to a place far from memory.

Slowly fade into absence.

2:43 p.m.

The iron-cast ring weighs on your palm, the glittering blue jewel of its swollen abdomen gazing up at you like silver moonlight dripping to dark, gleaming midnight. Polished and sharp like armour and blade.

“Do you like it?” Mor asks from your side, peering over your shoulder. You’d heard her footsteps that time, but shake your head absently, putting the ring back where it belongs. “It’s a lovely piece of jewellery,” you hedge, not wanting to talk badly when the shopkeepers are around. Spiders are still a little too close to home—insects at all, really.

She hums quietly, attention skimming to a piece beside it: a silver band fashioned to the stalk of a flower, the petals looking like stretched out droplets of warm citrine. Mor examines it for a moment, then holds it out for you to look at, which you do. “What about this one?” Fingers mindlessly come up to fumble with the glass pendant at your neck, steadily becoming a habit. “It’s very pretty,” you answer, hoping it suffices. Mor hums again, seemingly getting the hint, returning it to sit on the counter.

“You liked the dress, didn’t you?” She asks, quietly. Brows dip together as you turn in her direction, cascading golden hair loosely tied back. “I mean you wanted it. Not just because I was pushing you to get something.” A beat of quiet passes, and you examine her expression: the edges of plush and pillowy lips lengthened by slight worry lines, brow marginally dipped in the centre. Minute shifts in features that would have gone undetected by human eyes.

Throat rolls as you look away, but nod. “I did like it,” you mumble, fumbling your words, “do like it. Thank you.”

“Have you worn it yet?” She asks. Dread ices your skin, eyes flitting to honey warm irises. “I— No…” you manage honestly. Look away, scanning the jewels, that blue spider again catching your attention. “It’s a special dress,” you murmur, “I was waiting for a special occasion.”

More quiet beats between you, background chatter buzzing through your mind. But then she nods, accepting your answer. “It looks nice on you,” she replies, picking up a necklace this time—a thin chain of gold that shimmers beneath the daylight streaming in from the windows. Dip your head in silent thanks.

Peer out into the streets, watching fae pass by, enjoying their lives. Spots of colour splashing along as they go about their day. Eyes mark a small shop across the road, stools holding little trinkets like cups and pottery spilling out onto the cobbles, ceramics gleaming beneath the lowering sun. Plants sway in the crisp breeze outside, the nippy winds of early autumn already setting in.

Ease in a steady breath—there’s less than a week left until you’re due to complete your side of the agreement, and only small bits and pieces of progress to show. Not enough to avoid bringing it up to the rest of them.

Glance at Mor from the corner of your eye, watching through your peripherals as she holds up a necklace to herself, peering into a mirror. How would she react if you told her right now? She’d probably smile and tell you that’s great. Maybe ask you to show her or give a demonstration. The breath releases, knowing that question will crop up eventually. Seeking results when you have none to provide.

“Are you coming to dinner tonight?” She asks breaking you out of your wondering. Blink, pulling yourself back down, having forgotten about the extra supper they’d decided to fit in. Shake your head, turning your attention back to the jewellery stand, then flitting out to the shop. “I’m feeling pretty tired,” you reply quietly, “so I don’t think so.”

“Sure?” She says absently, already having moved onto the next stand. “The food’s really great—pork that practically comes part on your tongue. And the jam that goes with it is absolutely mouth-watering,” she dreams, smiling faintly as her fingers scrunch with anticipation. Your nose wrinkles for a split-second before you shut off the reaction, offering a bland smile, “how lovely.”

“You must try it at some point,” she gushes, turning to you now, accessories forgotten. “It’s one of my favourite places in Velaris. All the dishes they serve are,” —her hand flexes, as if trying to grasp onto something, eyes briefly shutting in bliss— “amazing.”

You smile again. “I’m sure.”

Warm-honey eyes narrow on you, examining the set of your expression. “You liked the soup,” she says, ��what else do you like?” Throat rolls and you shift on your feet, fumbling. “Mash?” Mor nods slowly, remaining silent; in doing so forcing you to speak, too awkward to allow it to continue. “With thyme… Beans are nice, too?” She continues her bout of silence, quietly watching you. “The rice and…sauce. That’s been nice. Very nice.”

Her brows squish together, tension coiling in your stomach and shoulders. Lick your lips. “The—…” You pause, not knowing the name of the food. “The doughy balls? With…mushroom? in the middle? With—”

Eyes pop open. “You don’t eat meat.”

“I eat meat,” you say, hurriedly, but she’s in her own world.

“That’s why Az—” Her hand smacks up onto her forehead and you internally cringe—was the coddling that noticeable? To everyone but you?

“Why didn’t you say anything?” She asks, a mix of shock and exasperation lining her tone as she stares at you. Throat rolls and you turn away from her, picking up the silver band with the citrine-coloured flower. “I can eat meat just fine,” you mutter quietly, “it’s not as though there was anything else.”

“There was the soup,” she argues, still facing you, “you could have asked me to pass it to you—I even had some for myself.”

“No, I mean—” —eyes lock, her brows risen in confusion, not accusation. You sigh, shaking your head. “Sorry. Forget I said anything…” Her neatly groomed brows dip, head tilting ever so slightly. “No, what were you going to say?” She asks, voice quietening. Glance at her sidelong, fiddling with the ring in your hand, sliding it on and off your gloved little finger—far too large for it to possibly get stuck on. Lick your lips, spinning the band as you fidget. “I just mean, it’s basically all we ate back then,” you mumble, peering at your feet with forced interest. “Just brings back some bad memories, is all. Nothing I can’t deal with.”

She sighs softly, and guilt tightens your stomach, putting the now-warm ring down, listening to it clink on the glass. “You don’t like meat,” she states. It’s not a question.

“I can eat it,” you counter quietly, not wanting to be a bother. You’ve seen how much the others enjoy it. “But you wouldn’t choose it,” she returns, keeping her body open as she faces you. Shift on your feet, “I… No.”

Mor nods, hair glinting like freshly spun straw beneath a summer day. “Then we can eat somewhere else. Or order different dishes,” she reasons smoothly, “I’ll just mention it to the others since none of us even knew. Well, I suppose Az—”

“Please don’t,” you interrupt, cringing internally. “It’s fine. Meat’s good for you and I shouldn’t be so picky anyway. It’s annoying.”

“To who?” She asks, making you glance at her. “Who does it annoy?” She repeats, seemingly earnestly. “It’s silly to switch restaurants just because of…because of something so small. I can eat when I get back, anyway. It’s fine.”

She looks appalled.

“Mor, please don’t say anything,” you repeat quietly, meeting her eyes, a pained look unknowingly on your features. “I’m fine with how things are. Don’t make a big deal out of it.” Her brow narrows, eyes flicking around the shop, taking in the other customers. “None of us would mind,” she says quietly. “You wouldn’t be causing a problem. We’ll just order more dishes without meat. We don’t have to change places if nobody wants to.”

But you shake your head adamantly. “I can eat when I get home. Please don’t change what you order just because—”

“Why don’t you deserve to eat food you like?” She asks sharply, voice remaining quiet but harsh. Blink at the tone, stiffening briefly before tension uncoils from your muscles. “It’s not like that,” you reply, turning from the display, slowly stepping toward the door. Mor follows beside you, appearing to have lost interest in the surrounding trinkets.

“No?” She asks, glancing at you through her peripherals. “What’s it like, then?”

You pause in the street, feet halting their movement as the question registers. She halts at your side, slowing to a stop, attention turned to you. “Mor, I don’t know how I could possibly put into words…” A heavy sigh escapes from you, shoulders sloping, exhaustion lining your eyes. “Never mind. Forget it.” Spine straightens, continuing heavily across the street to the shop with the little carvings and pieces of glazed pottery.

She follows quietly as you wander toward the stalls, inspecting the bits and bobs on display. Watches you quietly, taking in the ankle-length dress, clunky boots, thick cardigan and scarf. The vomit-yellow gloves. She should at least find another pair with a lighter colour for you. “You know,” she begins softly, a hint of a smile in her tone, “for someone so reserved, I didn’t expect you to be so stubborn.”

Fingers freeze for a moment, reaching out toward a small carving of a woman holding some drooping daisies. Breath catches, before you manage to resume motion, picking up the small figurine. “Sorry,” you mumble, “I don’t mean to be.”

“That’s not a bad thing,” she murmurs. “You’re strong willed. It’ll serve you well.”

But you shake your head in denial. “Feyre’s strong willed. So is Nesta.”

“Do you think Elain is?” Mor asks, holding up a glazed mug she clearly has no interest in. Your brow dips, peering at her, not having anticipated the change of direction. “Why are you asking?”

“She’s been quiet, no?”

Turn your attention back to the woman in your hand, flipping her over to peer at the lines of her dress—swaying in a breeze. I wonder why… You think sardonically. Instead a hum lulls from your mouth, non-committal and vague. Mor nods her head, again picking up those minute hints you’re unaware you’re even capable of dropping.

“That’s a nice carving,” she says brightly, redirecting the conversation without a hitch, smooth fluidity long ago mastered. “Your father was a carpenter, wasn’t he?” She asks softly. “Would you like it?”

Gloved fingers rub the concealed skin of your other hand, knuckles itching for reprieve. Under ordinary circumstances, you would have declined the offer— it looks well carved. Not that you have an eye for such things. This time, however, you can make an exception. “That would be nice,” you answer quietly, “thank you.”

Swallow down the apology that had been slowly making it’s way up from your stomach.

She smiles then, and you look away.

She’s far too bright.

6:49 p.m.

You excuse yourself as soon as you step inside, heading up the stairs and along the hallway before returning to the House of Wind. Walk quietly along the floorboards, hoping to avoid any unnecessary confrontations. Reach the door you’re looking for, landing a series of knocks to the hardwood. “Elain?” You call, listening for a reply. She answers, letting you to come in, voice soft but terse.

The door swings open on oiled hinges, and you step inside, hearing it snick shut at your back. Eyes instantly locate your sister, sat in a large armchair facing the lit fireplace. Curtains are drawn, blocking out what little light remained in the sky, room set aglow with the golden-orange of flame. Cocoa melts to something soft and spicy as she peers into it, and you wonder if she’s perhaps missing Lucien.

“Hey,” you mumble quietly, noting how she seems kind of distant. You can’t help but be reminded of those initial months, the transitional stages of your lives where the world was turned upside down. How she’d shut down almost entirely, rarely speaking. Rarer still to get anything coherent, like she was trapped in a dream state. “I just…I wanted to see you,” you murmur, moving toward her.

Haunted eyes flick up to meet you, blank as they take you in with ghostly smoothness. She blinks and it’s gone, gesturing to a seat opposite from her, closer to the fire but angled for prime conversation. A smile lifts the edges of her mouth, etched with strain, chest stretching as you take in her fatigue.

Sigh heavily, settling into the plush armchair, remaining straight-backed as you put the paper bag at your feet, careful with the little carving. Wait for a beat to pass before looking to her, cocoa already reattached to the fire. “Elain,” you call quietly, gaining her attention. In the light of the flame the circles beneath her eyes are more pronounced, shadow flickering across the heavy crescents. Worry takes root in your gut—it seems to be taking more of a tole on her than you’d thought.

“You went out with Mor today didn’t you?” Elain asks, voice soft and faint, as if coming out of a daze. A shy smile curves your lips, nodding. “How was it?” She asks distantly, gently curled hair hanging in rich ringlets, tight and silky as they spill down the lilac night gown she likes. Throat rolls, turning your attention to the fire. Will this ever be an easy subject between the two of you? Between any of you?

Eyes flit down to the bag, pulling it up into your lap for comfort. “It was good,” you manage softly, nodding. “It was…nice. To be outside. Around someone, for a little.” Elain nods, a bland smile on her face, though you don’t doubt its sincerity. “I—…Mor’s nice,” you add, fumbling your words as you try to direct the flow of the conversation toward what you’re trying to get at. But you’ve never been good at reading the room, and it’s showing.

“You should…I mean, it would be nice for you to come along sometime…” you suggest, trailing off as fingers wring together in your lap, playing with the paper handle of the bag. “We could…I don’t know…” Shift in the chair as you try to think of something. “I’m sure there are some shops for gardening, or somewhere to sample pastries? You’re trying out pastries at the moment, aren’t you?” Eyes flit to your sister, the smile gone from her lips, lids heavy as she soaks in the heat of the fire. Letting it drink her in.

She’s quiet, and it’s obvious something’s off. Or is she just tired? She’d told you she’d been sleeping badly recently, has it not yet gotten better? Run your attention over her supple form, smooth skin over tight knuckles, the lilac of the fabric complimenting her drained complexion, dark circles beneath her eyes making the rich coca of her irises deeper, swirling with thought. They flick to you suddenly, shadow being cast across her delicate features as she turns, as if about to speak.

You look down into your lap abruptly, staring at the little carving. “I miss dad,” you blurt out quietly, the words being hauled up your throat, spat out into the air.

Elain stiffens in your peripherals, and your lips press together tight. Heart heavies, shoulders no longer being held taut as you begin to drown into the cushion. “I know…” you begin quietly, thoughts eddying away once you try to grasp for them. Just stare at the maiden holding the drooping daisies. “I was thinking about him,” you say quietly, managing to keep your voice somewhat even. “Earlier, when I was out with Mor,” you clarify, reaching into the bag.

Push the paper apart, reaching for the female figurine. Fingers brush the smooth wood of the carved figure, the pads able to sense the very grain with heightened nerve endings. She’s hewn from a darker material, deep brown and riddled with smooth and polished knots, creating a labyrinthine twist of swirling lines and wrinkles. It was probably once a beautiful piece of trunk, carried from a forest to a carpenters shop, whittled away until the figure emerged.

“I want to speak with you.”

You look up, hand stilling, fingers grasping the carving. Maybe…you’ve learned in the past it’s better to let someone else lead the conversation. Yours don’t seem to go anywhere unless the other is interested in a continuation.

“Okay,” you murmur, releasing the statue, pulling free as you return the bag to your feet, set aside so you can deliver her your full attention. “What is it?”

Elain blinks slowly, and hairs rise on the back of your neck.

“Elain?” You encourage, no more than a whisper.

For a long moment she won’t speak, just watching intently, as if she can see through you and is examining the sub-atomic structure of your soul, down to the bits and bobs between. Stiffen as cocoa bores into you, looking far older than should be possible as the flame flickers dully in muted brown. Throat rolls, trying to maintain the connection, letting her know you’re there. She’s been around for you; it’s the least you can do.

The contact breaks, her lids closing briefly, gaze returning to quietly observe the fire. Taking in its motion—how the heat wells, practically rolling from the hearth to the rugged floorboards. “There’s been something…” Elegant brows dip almost imperceptibly, the edges of her delicate mouth quivering, lips parted on a syllable. Close again, as if the words won’t suffice for what she’s trying to say. The fire almost seems to match her, growing more intense as she stares into it, shadows darkening as they writhe across the walls, like the wings of a great creature.

“I haven’t been sleeping well,” she murmurs absently.

Worry sparks across your chest but you say nothing, allowing her to articulate her thoughts at the pace she wishes.

Cocoa returns to you, the colour of conkers—you can picture them sitting cozily among the branches of a dense forest, perfectly in place. “I need you to be calm,” she says firmly. “Can you do that for me?�� Brow narrows in confusion, attention fading form your body as it’s directed to your older sister, posture lithe but firm. Sitting with the preternatural stillness of the fae, and something more… Something beyond what even…

You nod—as if your voice might break whatever she’s fallen into. Might cause a change in mind, your chance to comfort her lost. She stares for a moment longer, quiet and observing. An unwelcome itch builds beneath your knuckles, but you push it away, attention solely on your older sister. Her pupils seem to be the wrong size, as if you’re something far off in the distance that she’s struggling to focus on. Her posture relaxes, silently settling into the depth of her armchair, as if it might hold her together.

“Sleep has been difficult as of late,” she murmurs, eyes locked to yours and you find yourself unable to look away. She keeps herself still; poised; refined. Even in the undress of her lilac night robe, she’s collected, but there’s something off tonight. You nod in understanding—sleeping can be difficult. Especially after the war.

“Have you been taking care of yourself?” The question pulls from your lips before it’s fully formed in your mind. A faint smile sharpens her mouth—hairs prickling at the nape of your neck. Cocoa blinks, and the sharpness has faded, settling into the familiar gentle curve that makes Elain herself. “I’m perfectly fine,” she replies quietly, though her voice is strained. Eyes again run over you, weighing. Again you keep still, enduring the assessment.

Tongue peeks out to wet her lips, shadows flickering across her face as she shifts in her seat. “I’ve been trying some different tonics,” she admits quietly. “Chamomile, root ginger, valerian…they work fine, and I end up falling asleep swiftly.”

A dull wave of relief washes through your system, like a cool balm to desiccated skin. “I’m glad, ‘Lain,” you say softly, happy she’s found a remedy. But Elain shakes her head solemnly, shadows growing darker, weighing beneath her eyes. “It’s not…I’m not struggling with sleep,” she whispers, as if the walls are sitting in on the conversation. Eyes flit about, and your brows narrow. She’s being shifty. “Maybe we should have this conversation in your room,” she murmurs to herself, fingers massaging her temples.

“Elain…” you interject quietly, worry lacing your tone, “are you okay?” Eyes flick to you, heavy with gravity. “I told you, I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” You press gently. Could she have been sold another kind of herb? “You don’t seem fine…” She waves her hand dismissively, as if physically able to bat the thought away. She exhales heavily, staring again into the fire. Deep into the flames, like she can see to the other side.

“Chamomile, valerian, send me to sleep fine. It’s just not—” She cuts off, searching for the word. “They don’t send me deep enough,” she murmurs, a slight tremor in her voice. “What do you mean?” You ask, shifting toward her in your seat. Eyes snap to you with the movement, brows curving in a look of…

Fear.

You pull back, comprehending. Lean forward, on the verge of standing to cross the room to be at her side again. Like you were for those initial months. “Elain, what’s wrong?” You repeat, anxious to assuage her anxiety however you can.

“They’re back,” she whispers hoarsely. Fingers tremble in her lap, lightly gripping the lilac of her skirts to calm herself. “It’s the same thing again and again,” she manages, staring at you from across the hearth. “I see you at the edge of a forest with the wolves, traveling with the fox, ending with the…” She shakes her head. Steadying her breathing. Calming her nerves.

“There’s a flash of light—light like starfall, except it itches. Itches and burns. And then he’s down, and bleeding, and—”

“Elain, slow down,” you interrupt, standing from your seat as you hurry to her side, fingers linking with her own to soothe the trembles. Crouch before her, clasping her hands in you own gloved ones. “I don’t understand,” you say, staring up at her. “What are you talking about?”

Cocoa drains, dark and haunted.

“They’re back,” she whispers. “The visions.”

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#azriel x reader #azriel angst #a court of thorns and roses #acotar #Azriel acotar #a court of silver flames

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writing-goblinnilmerg · 1 year

Text

You’re his mate? | Neteyam x Omatikaya!reader

Word count: 1.2k

Summary: Aonung gets it into his head that you’re together

A/N: Credit to @dantakeyoman for inspiring the ending

Masterlist

GIF cred: @urlocalfeiner

Being Neteyam’s mate, you couldn’t bear to watch him leave the Omaticaya forever. So, you went with the Sully family. You had no family to speak of, so leaving was an easy decision. You cried when you left, however; the forest had been the only thing you had known. Neteyam held on to you, feeling exactly the same way, but waiting until you and him were out of sight from his family, not wanting to make it worse for Kiri and little Tuk.

Pleased or not, you finally arrived at the islands across the sea. You were fed up; you had been traveling for days, left your home, and now you learn that it might all have been for nothing. Your tail was swishing in anger, so Neteyam put his arm around your waist and Lo’ak put his hand on your shoulder - before he got side tracked by Tsireya, that is.

Two boys about your age were looking at you and whispering to each other. Now it was Neteyam’s turn to be angry; he never liked seeing other boys watching you. You lent into his shoulder to calm him down before he did something that he would regret.

Finally, you were granted a safe haven, much to the displeasure of the two boys, who left. Jake negotiated to give you and Neteyam your own Marui, following complaints from both Lo’ak and Kiri about hearing you two “cuddle all night”.

***

You were practicing breathing exercises with Tsireya, Lo’ak and Neteyam when Aonung ran up to you and said that Neytiri was looking for you and Tsireya. You shrugged, and the two of you left your little circle to go find out what she wanted. Neteyam ruffled Lo’ak’s hair and ran off behind you, leaving behind a silent warning not to anger Aonung.

Left alone with Aonung, Lo’ak started packing up his things to go practice elsewhere, while the metkayina boy tried to start up a conversation.

“You know, for freaks, your oldest sister is very pretty.” Lo’ak scoffed and walked away. Kiri was hardly an ideal choice of mate for Aonung.

You, meanwhile, were completing chores that Neytiri had assigned after talking to Tsireya. Neteyam had been dragged away by his father to hunt.

“Hello!” You jumped up from where you were crouching, startled. Aonung stared back at you, his hand up in a shy wave. You hissed and went back to what you were doing.

“We should get to know each other better. Like a date?” He said. The last thing that you wanted to do was go on a date with him, especially since you had already mated. However, he was the chiefs son, and you had promised Jake that you wouldn’t cause trouble, so you scuttled away without replying.

Unbeknownst to you, Aonung had taken this response as a positive one and had gone to tell the entire clan about it.

***

You were eating dinner with Neteyam, Lo’ak, and Kiri when Tsireya ran in to your marui.

“Is it true? You’re dating Aonung?” She cried out, breathless. Neteyam immediately moved from his position next to you. Upset that Neteyam would so easily doubt your trust, you shook your head.

“He asked me out but I left without saying anything. I wanted to spit in his face but I kept it civil.”

“Actually, yesterday he came up to me and told me that my sister was pretty. I thought he was talking about Kiri, because anyone with eyes and a brain could see that you two have mated.” Said Lo’ak, thinking back to the beach.

“Well, unfortunately for you, my brother is lacking a brain.” Said Tsireya, annoyed by his antics.

“What should we do? Just ignore it?”

“Tsireya, could you please tell anyone who talks to you about this that Aonung and I have never dated, and that it was just a rumor.” You asked your friend. She nodded and left the marui with her new mission.

***

A few weeks have passed since Tsireya had burst into your dinner, and the clan seemed to have moved on to other gossip. It was time for Aonung’s rite of passage.

You weren’t particularly interested in the scumbag boy becoming a scumbag man, so you and Lo’ak were cracking jokes the whole time while Neteyam tried to stifle his laughter.

“My son, Aonung, has become part of the clan!” Boomed Tonowari. “He may now choose a mate!” The clan cheered and dispersed, gone to their maruis so that the new member could visit them individually, as was Metkayina tradition.

All the eligible girls of the clan hung an ocean flower above their door, signaling that they were interested in being courted. Your marui was noticeably flower-less, and you and Neteyam settled down for the night.

***

Neytiri shook you awake.

“You must come! Now!” She whispered urgently, trying not to wake Neteyam up. Unfortunately for her, he’s always been a light sleeper. He jumped up immediately. Neytiri pulled you up and dragged you to Tonowari’s grand marui. Inside were the chief of the Metkayina and his family, plus the sullys. Aonung brightened when he saw you.

“Y/n. Aonung has told me that he has chosen you as his mate.” Lo’ak burst out laughing as Kiri scoffed, but Neteyam had had enough. He pulled you into the middle of the marui, where everyone could see, and kissed you, hard.

“I am going to say this for the last time,” Neteyam said, barely controlling his anger. “She is mated to me, understand?” Aonung nodded quickly. Jake stepped forward to fill in the awkward silence.

“Tonowari, thank you, but we must talk about this later. Neytiri, would you mind taking y/n?”

Neytiri took your hand and gently led you out of the marui to go with your ikran. You weren’t particularly worried for Neteyam; you knew that, when it comes to your relationship, Jake wouldn’t be too hard on him. You didn’t know why, but Neteyam suspected that it was because your relationship resembled his parents’.

***

“You humiliated him in front of his family! In front of ours! You need to go apologize, immediately!” Jake thundered.

“I’m not going to apologize for this. He went too far this time.” Neteyam defended.

They argued for longer as Kiri and Lo’ak stood outside, clearly eavesdropping.

Neteyam got nervous when he fought with his father; when he gets nervous, he plays with the beads on hair that you arranged for him. It just took this small touch to remind Jake of your bond. He scolded him one last time before deciding to calm down. They agreed that Jake would go apologize to Tonowari for the disturbance, not for the actual act.

“Besides, who taught you how to kiss like that?!” Lo’ak and Kiri jumped into the tent and started making kissing noises. Jake ruffled Neteyam’s hair and he left to go find you.

***

“You have to admit, it was kind of sweet though.” You said. You and Neteyam were relaxing on the beach during the eclipse.

“How dare you!” He playfully said. You laughed and curled up in his arms.

Divider cred: @cafekitsune

#neteyam #avatar movie #blue people avatar #blue people movie #neteyam x reader #aonung #Omaticaya #metkayina #avatar the way of water #avatar #avatar fic

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adventuringblind · 10 months

Text

I See Your Beauty

Charles Leclerc x Verstappen!reader

Genre: a little angst mixed with fluff and comfort

Summary: the youngest Verstappen is forced to do life without her vision. Thinking she might not be able fully experience her life due to the remarks of her father, she concedes that finding love is unlikely. Until she runs into Charles who helps her believe she doesn’t need her eyesight to be loved.

Warnings: Jos is his own warning now. Talks of disability and reader having an accident. Talks and depictions of verbal and physical abuse.

Request: nope this is self-indulgent. However, I am taking requests for Max, Charles, Lando, Oscar, and Daniel.

Notes: written in third person. Also, this fic deals with disabilities, particularly blindness. I myself am blind though I still have some vision left, which is mainly what I’m basing this off of. Please remember that blindness is a spectrum like many other disabilities. It is defined really by a loss of vision that can’t be corrected. I’m open to answering questions about it if y’all have any. My inbox and asks are always open :)

Masterlist

The youngest of the Verstappen’s very close with her brother, Max. The two are barely a year apart so it makes sense. Though they get in each others nerves often as well. Victoria doing her best as the oldest to settle arguments between the two.

Jos decided that two children in racing gives him better odd then just one. Electing to have both start karting at an early age.

They liked racing together. Getting used to being each others rocks when their father was harsher then necessary. It became routine for the two to defend each other.

Then everything changed.

The two were moving up through the ranks. Competing harder then ever to make your dad proud.

The accident wasn’t her fault. A consequence of her father from trying to build a faster car and not having test run it.

The engine exploded during the race. Every one of her senses ranged useless as she tried to react.

Ears ringing.

Smoke from the fire burning in her nose.

Blood from whatever hitting her knocking her teeth into her lip.

Heat nipping at her skin.

Lack of sight making her steering erratic.

Max had immediately rushed to aid his sister. Their father only staring in disappointment. He became resentful of his father that day.

The ambulance arrived and took you away. Max begged to go with but Jos ignored his request, telling him he needed help cleaning up his youngest daughter mess.

After hours the finally arrived back home. The other two Verstappen’s confused why the youngest was nowhere to be found. Max finally broke down in tears, much to his father dislike, and clutched Victoria for comfort. Telling her everything that had happened.

While three of them went to the hospital to find you, the fourth sat wallowing in disgrace at the display from his children today. He couldn’t admit he’d made a mistake. One that might have cost him a child.

Meanwhile the youngest was out of surgery. Continually crying for her family. The nurses had tried to reach her father who had given the medics his cell number, but they had yet to hear from him.

When her family arrived she tried her best to make out their faces. The sparks from the engine had been so bright that they burned her retinas. The combination of the fire doing permanent damage. The impact of the engine had knocked her helmet almost all the way off and she instinctively pushed it away to try and see again. The protection of the visor gone.

The three siblings cuddled together in her hospital bed. The youngest not fully comprehending why she couldn’t see. The lights were too bright. She was squinting to make out the small details.

Things didn’t improve after that. Jos became angry towards her. Constantly reminding the girl of what happened, what she did wrong, and how if she hadn’t messed up she might have been successful.

Regardless, she listened to him berate her at everyone of Max’s races. He stopped commenting about Max when she was within earshot. Mostly because she told him off every time he insulted her brother. Jos already deemed her the disappointment of the family, standing up for Max couldn’t possibly make things worse.

Max had also gotten more protective of his sister. Having been the one to pull her away from the wreckage and cleaning up the damage made him realize he didn’t want you to get hurt again.

He made it to every doctors appointment he could. He attended as much physical therapy as you would let him. He even put on a blind fold so he could understand a bit better. He helped her learn cane skills and how to guide you himself. All in an effort to help his sister feel less alone.

He was aware she still had some eyesight lift. Mostly cloudy and bright patches dotted her eyes making it difficult to make out where things are and any specific details. She liked seeing what she could of her siblings faces though.

Max determined he was going to bring you to every race with him. The Verstappen losing all ability to drive now making things harder for her and she didn’t want to stay with her father.

Victoria had a room for her in her house and let her stay when she needed. Max always made sure there was a room for her if she wanted to travel with him. She loved how willing her sibling were to help her out. However, it left her feeling useless and vulnerable at times.

Eventually, Max helped get her a job with Redbull as a strategist. She enjoyed playing with the different data. Listening became a more essential job then seeing.

Race days were spent in the garage unnoticed in the back. Hopefully out of view of the cameras and away from her father. They saw each other often, much to her dismay. He always had something to say to her when Max wasn’t around.

It was during her downtime that she met Charles.

Deciding her cane was unnecessary since she knew her way around the paddock and the ground is relatively flat, she went to hunt down her brother.

Neither party was paying attention leading to them running straight into each other. She could vaguely make out the Ferrari red race suit standing in front of her. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.” Came the voice of Charles Leclerc. Though the two had never formally met, she had heard during interviews enough to know his voice.

“It’s alright, neither was I.” She smiled at the Monegasque. “Have you seen Max anywhere?”

He chuckles. “Unfortunately no. Are you his girlfriend?”

The question makes her laugh hysterically. “I’m his sister.” She can hear him sigh in relief at the clarification.

“That’s better at least because I wanted to say that you are very beautiful.” The playfulness in his voice doesn’t go unnoticed. Completely taking her off guard. Sure she’d gotten complements, but not often enough to make her used to them. The words of Jos not letting her believe them anyway. “Would it be alright if I give you my number?”

She lost all words in that moment. This had never happened before. “Sure-” she manages to stutter out before handing him her phone. The screen reading out things to her so she could get to her intended destination.

“I’ve never see a phone do that before.” Charles takes the phone from her and starts to put in his information.

She mentally face palms herself. Obviously he hasn’t realized she’s blind. “Actually I don’t have much of my eyesight.” She play with the bottom of her shirt. Her father having instilled in her that her blindness is something to be ashamed of.

“Wait- so you are blind? That is very interesting, I would like to know more if you’re okay with it.” The curiosity in his voice rising.

She wasn’t prepared for this. Nobody asks her questions about her condition. Even Christian doesn’t touch the subject and she never brings it up in conversation. “I guess, if your really interested.”

“Great, I’ll see you later tonight. Send me the address of where you’re staying.” His playful and flirty manner never faulted as he walked past her. Leaving the girl confused and blushing.

Little did she know that Charles had seen her around the paddock. Mostly hanging off of Max’s arm. He assumed she’d never notice him wave or try to get her attention. Turns out she couldn’t see him. He knows better then to assume. He blames it on the anxiety of being around her.

The youngest Verstappen finished up her duties as quick as possible. Catching a ride with her brother back to the hotel. He has learned to read her though and immediately noticed something was different. “What’s going on with you? You seem very smiley today.” He laughs.

“I can’t tell you because you’ll hate me.” She did her best not to appear nervous but was ultimately failing. Her hands fiddling in her lap.

“I could never hate you.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

She glances over at him. Eyes planted on the road. His calm demeanor putting her at ease. “Charles Leclerc asked me on a date tonight.”

Max begins laughing hysterically. His once smooth driving now a bit jerky from his sudden movements. “You thought I would hate you because of a date?”

She stutters a bit. “Well- aren’t you two rivals?” She manages. His laughing throwing her emotions all over the place.

“Sure, on the track. Off the track we are still friends and I trust him.” He explains. Relief floods through her body at his words. Her confidence in the situation going up a little.

She can feel the smug look on Max’s face. “Do you want help getting ready?”

The two siblings spent over an hour playing dress up. Max eventually having to video call Victoria and ask her opinion. The two trying to make their sister feel like she owns the world.

Dressing is less tricky then make-up. Sometimes she didn’t feel like it was worth the struggle and didn’t put it on. Some day she had to call Victoria to make sure everything looked right. If there was good lighting she was typically fine, but tonight was not one of those nights.

Growing up between two sisters, Max had learned a decent amount about make-up. He even enjoyed getting to do it on his sisters if they would let him. The almost squeal he let our when his sister asked for help was both hilarious and ridiculous. Immediately setting things up on the bathroom counter and going to work.

Max could tell his sister was anxious. Their father having scared away any of your potential boyfriends. Even going as far as to tell they that she is diseased. One of the worst things about having Jos around the garage, is that you’re left with him.

Though Max has stepped in many time and even lectured his father about his word choices, he never let up on any of the Verstappen children. All of them getting some aspect of their father’s insecurity thrown back at them like it’s their fault.

When he was done, Max tried to sooth your nerves. “Dad isn’t around. He’s in his own hotel room. Go have fun.”

And that’s exactly what she did.

The conversation between her and Charles flowed. He asked questions that weren’t invasive and was respectful if she didn’t want to answer. He made her laugh ridiculously hard.

So they kept doing it. She had to follow Redbull for work which made things easier in the two. Finding down time to meet up or celebrating together after races.

After the season was over, the two went on a holiday together.

Charles spent a good amount of time learning from her (and in turn Max) how to guide if the need ever arose.

Charles was so gentle with her. Always letting her know if there was something unexpected around. Telling her who was in the room.

If felt like a dream. One she never wanted to wake up from. Charles had assured her multiple times that she wasn’t dreaming and that their love is very real.

But alas, Jos likes to make things difficult.

A few races into the new season, Charles still had yet to formally meet Jos and the Verstappen siblings intended on keeping it that way. It wasn’t secret. Everyone in the paddock know the two were dating. Jos just hadn’t had the chance to talk to him yet.

She’d mentioned her childhood a few times but could never get out the full extent of what happened. Charles thankfully is patient with her and lets her take her time. He knows Jos’ reputation. Her childhood couldn’t have been the most amazing with him around.

This particular race, she was forced into close proximity with him. There had been a mistake during a pit stop for Max which made him lose some positions. Ending the race in fifth. To her it isn’t bad at all, but to the angry Dutchman unleashing his fury on everything, it most certainly is.

Sensing his rising anger, she had pulled her father into a more secluded area. Hoping that Max wouldn’t come back to the garage for awhile. At least not before she could talk some sense into their father.

She said nothing as strings of curse words left his lips. Only waiting for him to run out of breath.

“Did you see how he got lazy? He would’ve finished higher after the idiots didn’t do their jobs if he had put in more effort.”

“Max put in all his effort and you know it.” She scoffs. Arms folded over her chest. This is nothing new to her.

“Like you have any room to talk.” He snaps back. Her head now sagging, knowing his anger is now finding a new direction.

Charles, on the other hand, had been looking for her. It’s his first win of the season and she is nowhere to be found. Max ran up to him as the podium celebration ended. Patting him on the back for his well earned win.

“Have you seen your sister anywhere, mate?” He asked the Dutch.

Max ponders for a moment. “She might still be in the garage debriefing after what happened.” He replies. “I can walk you over if you want.”

The two drivers made their way to the Redbull garage to find most of those who would normally be inside, standing outside in a huddle. “What the hell is happening?” Max shouts over to Christian as the two approach him.

“I was just about to go find you.” Christian sighs in exasperation. “Can I call security on your father? He hasn’t stopped shouting since the race finished up.”

Charles and Max exchanged glances. The young woman’s absence now making more sense. “I’ll try and talk him down.” Stated Max before weaving his way through the sea of Redbull shirts. Charles following close behind.

Before the two could get further away, Christian yelled out to them. “Good luck, your sister has been trying!” The statement make the two move faster.

Charles could feel his emotions bubbling as the shouting got louder. As him and Max turn the corner, he immediately spots who he’d been looking for. Tears rolling down her cheeks as she felt around the floor looking for something.

Max steps in between her and the angry Dutch, shouting back and forth in their native tongue. Charles tries to spot what she’s feeling for. Scanning the ground until he spots her phone. The entire thing shattered. Small pieces of glass just barely reflecting the light. He’s down by her side in an instant.

“Love, it’s Charles, max is here also, I’m going to get you out of here okay?”

Her body turns towards Charles. It’s then he notices the specks of blood dotting her hands from feeling around the glass and a deep purple bruise forming on her forehead.

She’s struggling to breath now. Listening to the angry shouts. The pain in her head and the bright fluorescents not helping her see anything. She back in the crash.

Her father had spend from the end of the race until now laying into her. She had successfully defended Max and thought she was prepared to take the brunt of it. Until he snatch her phone and threw it at her. It hit her head so hard she was in the ground in seconds. Trying to feel her way around to where it might have gone so she could call Max.

The words were so familiar to her. The ones she heard in her nightmares when she was once again surrounded by smoke and bright lights stealing away her vision.

“I don’t want to crash again Charles. It’s to hot. It hurts too much. I can’t see anything.” She tried to search for him but ended up with more glass in her palm. The tears only thickening.

“Stay put, okay? I’m going to help Max and then I’ll be right back.” He didn’t want to leave her on the floor. She looked like a child, and so did Max in this moment. The two getting their fathers wrath with no end in sight.

Charles sprints back to Christian, yelling at him to call security, then sprints back to Max.

“Mr. Verstappen I think you are out of line here.” Says the monegasque. Signaling Max to stay with you. He didn’t move at first but it was obvious he was getting nowhere, so he obliged. Kneeling down to help his sister calm her breathing.

Jos scoffs at Charles. “You have no right to get in between me and my children.” Anger pooling from his features.

“I mean no disrespect sir, but you’re being an asshole.”

“And is she-“ he jabs his finger at the girl on the floor, “-not disgusting.” Charles almost hits him but refrains from doing so knowing security will be arriving soon.

“On the contrary, I think she is an angel.”

“She’s diseased. She hasn’t even tried to fix her mistakes. Look at her! She just wants attention for what she did to herself!”

Now Charles doesn’t hesitate to punch him. His fist colliding with Jos’ jaw, sending him stumbling into the wall.

Max took his attention off his sister, who was leaning against him, and placed it on Charles. Shock clearly evident of his features.

Jos attempted to confront Charles again, but security finally showed up and escorted Jos out of the paddock.

Charles exhales, glad the confrontation is over. “That’s not how I imagined meeting your father for the first time.” Charles chuckles nervously.

Is doesn’t take much longer until Charles has his love safely wrapped in his arms. Whisking her away to his hotel room. Max had stayed ti make sure everything got cleaned up at the paddock. Kelly arriving shortly with Penelope in tow, ready to comfort Max.

She cried when they were finally safe inside. Pouring out to Charles about the accident and what it had caused in her life. He listened intently, doing his best to soothe the girl. Her panic still clearly evident.

Soon enough she’d calmed. Her head laying in Charles lap while he threaded his fingers through her hair.

“It don’t care what anyone else says. I see your beauty and it is not defined by what you can’t see.”

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marvelfanfn2187a113 · 10 months

Text

Shotgun

Dean Winchester x little sister!reader, Sam Winchester x little sister!reader

Synopsis: just some drabbles about your life before/during/after Sam leaves for college

Author’s note: I swear I’m still working on my Sherlock series, but the Supernatural inspiration keeps coming.

This was it. Your chance! This opportunity never showed itself, and you might never see it again.

Your oldest brother Dean was in the driver’s seat of the Impala, and somehow, impossibly, Sam was still inside packing his bag. You had beat him outside, bag packed and ready to go. That could only mean one thing…

“You know he’s not gonna let you stay there,” Dean side-eyed you as you slid into the passenger’s seat of Baby, instead of your usual prison in the back seat.

“I was here first,” you insisted, “Sam will respect that.”

Dean snorted, “Whatever sweetheart.”

You should have known Dean would be right.

“Hey, no fair!” You cried as Sam reached in and grabbed you, attempting to wrestle you out of the front seat as you grabbed for Dean’s arm. “Dean, help!”

Dean just held his arms up in mock surrender.

“Sorry bug, fight your own battles.”

“Jerk!” You weren’t sure which brother you were insulting as Sam dragged you out of the front seat and deposited you roughly onto the back seat.

“Sorry short stuff,” Sam patted you on the head patronizingly, and you scowled at him. “You should’ve known I wouldn’t let you stay there. Shotgun is like birthright for the second born child.”

You just stuck your tongue out at him, eliciting an eye roll from both brothers.

…

“What are you doing?” Dean asked as you climbed into the back seat of the impala.

Your brow knitted, and you frowned at your oldest brother.

“Um…sitting?”

Dean sighed, “Get up front, ok? It’s stupid to just leave it empty.”

You chewed on your bottom lip when you felt it quiver slightly as you eyed the front seat.

Sam had left the motel last night where the four Winchesters had been staying. He didn’t just storm out in anger. He had all his things packed, and he was college-bound. He wouldn’t be coming back.

At least that’s what dad and Dean kept telling you.

You didn’t believe it. No, you couldn’t. Sam wouldn’t leave you guys, he was born to be a hunter.

You shook your head stubbornly at Dean, “Nah, it’s alright. What’s the point in getting used to sitting up there, I’ll just have to move back again when…” you swallowed past the lump in your throat and hesitantly finished your sentence, as though you were trying to convince yourself that what you were saying was true. “Wh-when Sammy gets back.”

You saw Dean’s jaw clench, and glanced away when you saw him trying to make eye contact through the rear view mirror.

“Just come sit up here.” Dean managed through gritted teeth. It was starting to scare you how even the mention of Sam was making Dean angry.

“But when Sam-“

“Sam’s not coming back, now get up here!” You flinched when Dean slammed his hand on the steering wheel. You didn’t hesitate, scrambling out of the back seat and dropping down into Sam’s old spot. You weren’t used to Dean yelling at you; he had his anger issues, sure, but he rarely yelled at you.

Dean pulled out of the motel parking lot, and there was a tense silence for several long minutes. Dean seemed to still be angry, and you were starting to feel tears prick at the back of your eyelids, but you turned to look out the window so Dean wouldn’t see. You would’ve thought that after all the tears you had cried last night after Sam left, that you were done with crying for a while. But nothing ever seemed to make you cry quite as much as being yelled at, especially by Dean. If it had been dad, you would’ve been expecting it, but Dean was much gentler with you…most of the time.

“I’m sorry,” Dean said, shattering the silence. “I wasn’t trying to scare you.”

You pulled one knee up to your chest, hugging yourself tightly.

“It’s fine,” you still stared out the window, avoiding Dean entirely.

He sighed at this, and you turned when you felt his hand on your leg.

“No it’s not. Nothing’s fine right now, I know that. But…but it’s just you and me now, ok? It’s important that you understand that.”

Your voice was quiet, almost a whimper.

“Why?”

Dean lifted his hand to the top of your head, brushing your hair away from your face as he gave you a pathetic half-smile.

“Because we’re all we’ve got, ok? And I-“ Dean cleared his throat, brushing a tear off your cheek before continuing, “and I don’t think I can do this if you keep bringing up Sammy like he’s about to walk through the door any second. Because he’s not.”

The tears were flowing freely now, and you didn’t bother turning away.

“But I want him to.”

Dean sighed like the weight of the world was weighing him down.

“Me too, baby.”

…

You reached another motel that night, and you went to get settled inside while Dean went to the local bar, most likely to get some information about the hunt you were on.

He never really let you help, but you had to tag along. You had nowhere else to go.

You didn’t mind so much being left behind on hunts, you had homeschool work that Dean assigned for you, so that kept you occupied. It was a mixture of “normal” learning—math, history, and stuff like that—mixed with “hunter” knowledge that you might need to defend yourself—how to identify monsters, learning Latin, etc.

All in all, you liked your half normal, half hunter life. What you didn’t like was this, right here and now; sitting alone in a hotel room, knowing that there was some kind of monster out there that your big brother was hunting.

When Sam was still around, you were rarely ever alone; one brother would go out to talk to locals, while the other stayed and did research. You found being alone unnerving, and you spent the two hours that Dean was gone trying—and failing—to focus on anything but your mounting fear.

Any little sound was suddenly sending your mind into a whirlwind, remembering all the strange noises you had learned about. The ones that evil things make.

By the time Dean got back, you were wound up so tight that the door opening nearly sent you into a panic attack. When you saw it was just your big brother, you just couldn’t resist the urge to jump up and hug him.

He staggered back, surprised at your behavior.

“Heya shrimp, you ok?” He rested one hand at the back of your head, and lifted the other to your shoulder, pulling you back so he could look at your face.

You just nodded, your throat feeling too tight to speak.

“Ok, what’s wrong baby?” Dean was frowning down at you, and suddenly you felt ridiculous. You shuffled away from him, shrugging your shoulders.

“Nothing’s wrong, I just…I don’t like being alone.”

Dean ruffled your hair, an understanding smile on his face.

“That’s ok N/N, nothin’ wrong with that. Hey, how about I take you with me next time, ok? You shouldn’t be sitting alone in this motel anyway.”

You smiled up at him.

“Ok.”

“Ok. But just when I’m talking to locals, ok? I’m gonna have to leave you here sometimes when I’m going after the monsters.”

You smiled sadly, “I can get used to it.”

…

The night brought you no comfort. After being so wound up on your own that afternoon, you found that you weren’t feeling much better when night fell. When you remembered that you’d be in bed alone tonight—you had always shared a bed with either Sam or Dean, since there was always two beds in the motel rooms—you felt a sickening lump in the pit of your stomach. You didn’t want to sleep alone. In fact, you couldn’t even remember a time when you had slept alone.

You didn’t see much of an option, however, so you tried to get comfortable on your bed while Dean stayed up to do some research.

You tried, you really did. But no matter how much you tossed and turned, no matter how you rearranged the pillows and blankets, nothing could replace the comforting, safe warmth that sleeping next to one of your big brothers brought.

“You alright, Y/N?” Dean had obviously noticed your restlessness.

You sighed dejectedly and sat up, nowhere closer to sleeping than you had been thirty minutes ago when you laid down.

“I can’t sleep,” you mumbled, swinging your legs off the side of the bed and standing, your bare feet instantly freezing on the cold floor. Ignoring that, you made your way over to Dean and sat down next to him, leaning over to look at his computer.

“Whatcha doin?” You asked quietly. Dean smiled tiredly and ruffled your hair.

“Just some research,” he closed the laptop and stood, and you giggled as he lifted you into his arms. “C’mon anklebiter, it’s late, you need some sleep. Hey, at least you’re getting your own bed for once.”

Your heart sank when he dropped you unceremoniously on your bed, and began to walk towards his own, turning out the only light in the room on his way.

“Dean?” You called hesitantly, feeling your heartbeat pick up when you noticed you couldn’t even make out his silhouette in the gloom.

“Yeah?”

“I don’t want to be alone.”

Dean clicked on the bedside lamp, illuminating a small area. It wasn’t much, but you could see his face now, and it was comforting.

“You’re not. I’m right here,” Dean was frowning at you, seemingly confused.

“I didn’t mean…alone alone, just…” that pit returned to your stomach, and again you felt ashamed and stupid. “I’ve never slept alone before.”

Realization dawned in Dean’s eyes, and he looked from his bed to yours. He was debating the two sides of his brain—his desire to finally get a bed to himself versus his desire to help you. It wasn’t a long debate, and after only a couple of seconds he looked up at you with a smile, patting the bed next to him.

“C’mere kiddo, you can sleep here tonight.”

You grinned and slid off your bed, all but running over to your big brother, climbing into bed next to him.

“Just don’t be a blanket hog, alright?”

You giggled, “Thanks, Dean.”

Dean just grumbled, “Yeah yeah, well how am I supposed to say no to you when you give me those darn puppy eyes.” You felt him shift beside you to lay on his back, stretching one arm out to lay behind your head. You grinned at the open invitation, and scooted closer so your head was resting on his shoulder.

“Get some sleep baby, alright?”

Dean got no response, as you were already dozing, your steady breaths moving in time to Dean’s slow heartbeat.

…

“Would you stop dancing around like that? Jeez, you look like you’re about to wet yourself.”

You punched Dean’s arm hard, even though you knew he was right. You were squirming in your seat, and had been for probably two hours. You were too darn excited to sit still, you were going to see Sammy!

Granted, the circumstances weren’t great; dad was missing, and had been for days. But you could barely even focus on that as Dean and you made the long trip out to Stanford. You couldn’t focus on anything but the thought of finally seeing your big brother again.

“You wait here, I’m going to go get him,” Dean said as he parked baby.

“What? No way, I want to-“ Dean wouldn’t even let you get the sentence out.

“Nope, nada, I’ll only be a few minutes, just let me talk to him first; alright?”

You huffed, slumping back into your seat.

“Fine.”

Dean smirked and ruffled your hair, and you let out a whine and shoved his hand away before he could get your hair all tangled.

“Atta girl,” he started walking towards Sam’s apartment, but hesitated long enough to toss over his shoulder, “and you might want to get outta that seat.”

For once in your life you didn’t hesitate to relinquish the shotgun seat. You were too fidgety to stay seated anyway. You paced back and forth in front of the Impala, waiting for Dean to emerge with Sam.

When he finally did, the elation that built up inside you couldn’t be quenched. You didn’t even care that Sam and Dean were clearly arguing about something, you just rushed forwards and threw yourself into Sam’s arms.

You heard his laugh—you never realized what a great sound that was—as he dropped his bag and wrapped his arms around you, staggering slightly from the impact of your hug.

“Hey monkey, what’s up?”

You had never been so glad to be called Sam’s stupid nickname. You’d always had a skill—and a desire—to climb anything in your vicinity as a kid; trees, jungle gyms, stair railings, it really didn’t matter. It hadn’t taken Sam long to come up with the nickname, but it had stuck around way past its expiration date. Despite this, the name was one of the best things you’d heard in a while.

“Yeah yeah, alright, break up the hug fest would ya?” Dean grumbled, and you finally pulled away from Sam, a grin still etched across your face.

Sam picked up his bag and headed towards baby, and even though you beat him there, you didn’t even hesitate to climb into the back seat.

Sam got in after you and turned around in surprise.

“What, no fight?”

You just grinned at him.

“What? Didn’t you know that shotgun is like a birthright for the second born child?”

Sam chuckled and ruffled your hair, and you were so glad to see him that you let him do it for a full second and a half before shoving his hand away in annoyance.

“That’s my girl.”

You giggled, “Besides, when the driver’s picking the music, shotgun has to shut his cakehole. Nobody said anything about backseat.”

Dean barked out a laugh and ruffled your hair—ok it was getting ridiculous, your hair was definitely tangled now.

“Now, that’s my girl.”

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danikamariewrites · 8 months

Text

Peace

Eris x reader

Summary: A look into a normal day in the new Vanserra household

Warnings: none

A/n: HAPPY DAY 1 OF ERIS WEEK!!!! I’m so excited to share this fic with you guys. And thank you to @erisweek2023 for making this happen, you guys are awesome🧡

Once the last of Eris’ advisors left the throne room he relaxed into the chair. He needed a break. He rubbed the tiredness from his eyes and heard the door open. If the advisors were already back he was going to kill someone.

He opened his eyes and saw you walking toward him. Eris perked up smiling at the sight of you and the babe in your arms.

Your youngest daughter, Bruna, was always so content and smiley, it was just infectious. At only seven months old Bruna knew how to make her papa happy.

“My sweet girls.” Eris holds his arms open ready to embrace you both. He kisses you and looks at the babbling babe as you hand her to him. Eris bounces Bruna in his arms earning giggles from her, giving him a toothless grin.

You smile at them. They were already thick as thieves like he was with your oldest, Orla. You send a wave of love down the bond and Eris looks up at you. His face glowing with happiness.

“Where is my other sweet girl?” As if her ears were burning, your oldest, Orla, pushed into the throne room. Dressed in her training gear with her sword strapped to her back she stops in front of you and Eris. Sketching a bow to you both she breaks into a wide grin laying eyes on her sister. “Hello little sap.”

When you were pregnant Orla called Bruna a little sapling. When she was new to the world and learning her family's voices Bruna always smiled at her nickname. Orla takes her sister from her fathers arms and the girls giggle. Like they knew a secret you and Eris weren’t in on.

Eris wraps an arm around your shoulder as you look at your children. They love each other so much already it makes you both so happy. You know this puts Eris at ease as well. He’s a good father unlike Beron. Eris encouraged love, not competition and hatred, between his two girls.

Orla hands the little sapling to you and turns to her father. “I’m ready when you are papa.” Eris walks back to his throne and pulls his sword from behind the chair. “Let’s go then.” They walk away in sync as Eris straps his sword to his hip.

Orla is 17 now and Eris thought he should attend her combat training. Take the time to teach his daughter everything he knows, not just in politics but in battle. It frightens you to think your girls might one day face a war like you and Eris have seen. You pray to the Mother your children never have to fight.

Cradling Bruna, she pulls at the ends of your hair with her chubby fists. You smile at your babe and coo at her, “Should we go watch Orla and papa, huh?”

You go to stand on the balcony overlooking the courtyard where Eris and Orla train. At the sight of the pair walking out Bruna lets out a high pitched babble. Happy to have her sister and papa within eyesight again.

Eris draws his sword from its sheath, checking its glint in the afternoon sunlight. Orla stretches out her arms in a warm up the weapons master has walked her through everyday.

He smiled at his daughter. She was becoming a formidable warrior and he wanted to be there with her on this journey.

“So,” Eris started, taking up a fighting stance, “shall we begin?” Orla grinned and took up a mirroring stance as she and her father began circling each other.

Eris noted her foot work was good, but there’s room for improvement.

Orla lunged, striking first. Their swords clashing and sliding off each other. “Good. You saw an opening and took it.” Eris swung and Orla dropped, rolling behind him and kicking the backs of his knees.

He stood, facing Orla, backing up quickly and started circling his first born again. “Do you know why I wanted you to start training?” Orla shook her head still keeping her eyes on her father, watching his every move.

“You are the oldest. Meaning you are a protector. You are your sister's protector.” Orla nodded in agreement. “Do you remember the stories about your grandfather and uncles?” “Yes papa.” The pair continue to circle.

“Then you know why it’s important for you to do this.” Eris moves to strike but Orla blocks quickly. They have a good volley going until Orla spins out, back to the edge of the makeshift ring and paces back and forth.

“Grandfather seemed like a monster.” A breathy laugh escaped Eris as he backed away. If Orla was anything, it was honest. “He’s the reason I’m doing things…differently. You and Bruna are everything to me. I want to be sure you’re both safe and loved.”

They continued their conversations and sparring for hours. You eventually went in to feed Bruna and put her down for a nap. When the pair came back to the family living quarters Eris had his arm around Orla, laughing about something that happened during training.

“Alright you, go clean up. You still have tutoring later.” Orla groaned and headed to her chambers. Once her door shut Eris plopped himself on the couch next to you.

You immediately rest your head on his shoulder, bringing your fingers to trace patterns across his clothed chest.

“Don’t you still have work to do, High Lord?” You ask teasingly. Eris chuckles and rested his head on yours. “Oh my High Lady, I can do whatever I like. And what I'd like to do is spend time with my family.”

Eris leaned back and closed his eyes. You felt him relax, his breathing soft and small smile on his face. You silently reached out to his side of the bond. Eris felt peaceful. You hadn’t felt him this peaceful in years.

You could feel his happiness. The pride he felt for his daughters and you. Leaning up on your knees you peck his cheek and rub your nose against his. “I love you, Er.” Eris pulled you into a tight embrace, taking in your calming scent. “I love you more, y/n. Thank you for everything you’ve given me.” You hug him back tighter until you hear Bruna stirring in her bassinet. You move to go comfort your daughter before she starts crying but Eris puts a hand on your shoulder. “I’ll get her, fox. You relax.”

As Eris picks up the babe he smiles and coos at her, gently rocking her against his chest. You loved moments like these with your family. They were so rare at the beginning for just you and Eris. Everything happened so fast when Beron passed, then Orla came along a few years later and finally things settled.

You and Eris had found peace together. And if you had to go through all of the hard times to get to right now again, you would.

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar reader fic #acotar reader imagine #acotar imagine #eris acotar #eris vanserra #erisweek2023 #eris vanserra fluff #eris x reader #eris vanserra x reader #eris fluff #high lord eris #eris vanserra acotar #eris vanserra x you #Eris x you

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muzanswaifu · 1 year

Text

A Step Ahead

Yandere! Tomioka x Fem! Reader

18+

After celebrating New Year's in the city with your friends, it's time to go home for the night. A man is behind you. What will you do?

This is a game I've come up with where I will provide you with a couple paragraphs of story then give you choices for what actions the reader takes next. The winner of the poll will be the next section of the story the I will give you guys the next round of choices until the fanfic is concluded. Smut will occur at some point. Please join!

Warnings: Yandere, Smut later on

“We’ll see you later!”

“Yeah, see ya!”

You slowly turned away from them, walking down the busy street toward the eastern exit, passing several parade mascots and prancing dancers covered head to toe in loud clothing. The New Year’s Festival was always busy, but this year seemed to be especially popular, almost twice the amount of people than usual. You also were only visiting the city to visit friends and celebrate, but it just seemed so strange that everything was so crowded. Lines were longer for games and food couldn’t be made fast enough. You nearly didn’t stay long enough for the fireworks due to such overstimulation but with some pestering and blackmail by your friends, you bore through it long enough.

Quite honestly, you didn’t even want to spend so long in the city tonight. If you were up to you, you all would have gone to the festival, played a couple games, ate some food, watched a stage play, then gone back to someone’s home to lie around and gossip. But the ladies insisted you stay out all night, fooling around and even flirting with some boys that your fathers most certainly wouldn’t have approved of you talking to. It’s not that you minded too much being out and about, but it’s just… not what you had in mind for tonight specifically. You’ve been quite a bit anxious as of late, something felt off. You couldn’t point it out just yet, but the hair rising along your nape whispered cautions into your ear like a prophecy. It felt as if something were to go wrong at some point, so might as well quit while you were ahead.

Unfortunately, you didn’t live in the city like your friends. Your parents still had their residence in a nearby small village and as much as you would’ve liked to have moved out by now, you simply couldn’t afford it. Your job at the shop didn’t pay enough, you weren’t in a relationship, much less did you have a husband, and you just weren’t ready to leave home yet. Mother was pregnant again, much to your displeasure as you had grown quite tired of having so many siblings, and she needed help around the house that the others couldn’t provide. Your two older brothers were already moved out of the house doing their own things and your oldest sister gone and married. You were the oldest in the house now and that came with responsibilities. Mother nearly hadn’t let you come out tonight until Father convinced her to let you be young while you still could. Despite having turned eighteen all that time ago, he still treated you like a little girl. That had its perks fortunately.

Unfortunately it had its cons as well - curfews. You were leaving now and would still be late, but one could argue that was better than not at all. You would get a talking to at most. But the walk itself was a punishment in itself. The road to the village hadn’t been paved by the city yet due to its lack of popularity. Not many people traveled to and fro so it hadn’t become a priority. The wood was still thick this way of town, and despite the wildlife being marginally safe, the fear of the unknown was a danger more fearsome. You’d yet to experience an actual life threatening experience, but you hated to jinx it. The gravel was as coarse as ever, threatening your ankle with a twist and providing the soles of your shoes with a challenge. Save for the sparse lanterns lighting the path, darkness was smothering you and sending shocks of nervousness up your spine. Had it not been for the fireworks filling the area with light every few minutes, you might’ve turned back and begged one of your friends to let you spend the night.

The walk was relatively silent, a trill here and there from squirrels and rabbits but nothing too frightening. What was really bothering you was the crackling of branches and fallen leaves behind you. The sound seemed misplaced compared to its siblings to the left and right of you. That combined with the chill had you increasing your pace, desperate to get home and crawl into your warm, cozy bed already. The sounds quickened. You gasped.

A firework broke off just as you turned, light filling in the gaps between the trees and setting off a bomb of clarity to your surroundings.

There was a man behind you...

His vision disappeared far quicker than it came, the light only temporary as you were yet again accompanied by questions. You didn’t see much, he was several yards away and taller you think, dark and messy hair. He could’ve been a mile away, short, and bright and you still would’ve been afraid. Who the hell trails behind someone like that in the dark? Unless… he was following you...

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staytinyville · 7 months

Text

OUTLAW (29)

ATEEZ poly!ot8 x Reader

Cowboy AU / Wild West

Series Masterlist

Warning: we back with our parents to talk, heated confrontations (we back at it)

A/N BETA READ (@mariana-mmtz). YALL. I missed the update. My bad! I was out visiting family this week. However because I've been starting to want to write a lot of other things, I might start changing the updates. Nothing too large. I think I'm going to do Monday's and Thursday updates.

Standing in front of the home you had known since forever felt intimidating to say the least. The last couple of times you had been in the house, it was spent having panic attacks and running away from your parents. You were worried about how things were going to go this time around, but the heavyweight resting within your palm made you feel like you could conquer everything.

“You ready for this?” You heard Yeosang ask you, hand squeezing your own.

“Who's ever ready for marriage talk?” You snorted.

“I'm going to be there the whole time.” He spoke, moving in front of you. “I promise you.” He whispered, rubbing his thumb along your hand.

“I'm not worried about you, Yeo.” You sighed.

“We'll take it slow.” He began to move towards your home. “Should things go wrong, I'll take you out of there.”

You gave him a grateful smile. “Thank you.”

The tight feeling in your chest got worse the closer you got to the front door. Your hand squeezed Yeosang’s causing the boy to look back at you. He gave you a reassuring smile, knocking on the door.

Your mother was quick to answer, a small smile on her face. She moved to the side, allowing both of you to walk in.

“You're home, (Y/N).” She spoke up.

“Hi, mom.” You nodded your head. Yeosang gave his own greeting, your mother acknowledging him as well.

You watched as she shuffled towards the dining room, the rest of your family waiting. You brothers were sitting at the table, waiting for your mother to bring out the food. Your sister was already bringing out the side dishes, giving you a smile as she passed by.

“Would you like some help?” You asked, looking at your mom.

“No, not at all.” She waved you off, pointing to the chairs. “Take a seat. We are just about done.” She placed her hands on your shoulders, wanting you to listen.

Yeosand moved your chair to help you sit, taking the spot to the right of you. Your youngest brother sat to your left, eyes on Yeosang. The 6-year-old had his lips pursed waiting for someone to speak up.

“Hello. My name is Yeosang.” The boy finally broke the silence, looking at your three siblings.

Your oldest brother, who was 20, kept his arms crossed as he gave you both a dark stare. Your sister gave Yeosang a kind smile and a nod of her head. The youngest only kicked his legs as he watched Yeosang.

“My older brother told me not to like you because you took (Y/N) away from us.” He said.

“(B/N)!” Your sister hissed, poking at the little boy next to you. “He didn't take (Y/N) away from us. He's just marrying her.”

Your mother had come out with the main course at that point, lips sealed tight to keep from making a face. You looked down, feeling your fathers stare on you.

“I don't wish to do that.” Yeosang told your little brother. “She is your sister first and I shall respect that.”

Your mother gave Yeosang a warm smile, thinking about how he must be treating you. Your father only sighed, looking down at his plate. They all knew that Yeosang was a kind boy, he wouldn’t do anything that would put your reputation in shambles.

“Let's have dinner then, shall we.” Your mother began.

Dinner went along normally, with small talk here and there. Most of it was from your youngest brother asking Yeosang what it was like to work at the hotel or what kind of things they liked. He seemed to enjoy the older man, which made you smile at how excitable he got as dinner progressed.

Once everyone had finished, your sister and mother had both gotten up to take the plates to wash. You had gotten up as well, moving to help them.

“Allow me to help.” You tried to take the plates from your sister.

“No need.” She told you. She glanced behind her at your father, giving you a tight lip smile. “You should probably stay. Good luck.”

You took in a deep sigh, moving to sit back down. Your mother was quick to come out, sitting next at your father’s side. Your older brother had taken your youngest brother out of the room in order for you all to talk.

“How was your rest? I hope good.” Your mother tried to start.

“We're done.” Your dad spoke up. “Why are you here, Yeosang?” He asked. “Wasn't this all just a lie to get me to let go of (Y/N)? It's done– it's over with. You don't need to continue.” He stressed out.

“On the contrary, I do.” Yeosang responded. “I have asked (Y/N) to marry me a few days ago. I know this is not the right way to go about things, but times are changing.”

“Is this true?” Your father turned to face you, but you avoided his eyes. “Why?” He looked back at Yeosang.

“I'm sorry?” Yeosang suddenly frowned. “Are you asking me why I want to marry your daughter?” He asked. When your father only gave him a pointed stare, Yeosang decided to continue.

“As her parents, you should know her more than anyone else.” He began. “I admire her because she's strong headed and has an amazing personality. I refuse to believe no man has ever wanted to conquer her.”

Your eyebrows furrowed as you listened to him. Your hands clenched onto your skirts as his words seemed to make your heart soar. You would never have guessed anyone would talk about you the way Yeosang was.

“A selfless person. Someone who will take action if it means saving others first.” He looked at you smiling as you both knew what he meant. “She will worry about the well-being of those she cares about with all her heart. Even when they don't deserve it, she'll always show mercy. And because of those things, she is the most beautiful woman I have ever got the chance to know.”

Your hand reached out to grab onto Yeosang’s, tears welling in your eyes. Your heart was beating rapidly in your chest, you worried he could hear it.

“You haven't said anything.” Your father turned to you. “That's not like you.”

“You're my parents and I respect you.” You took a deep breath. “But I cannot stand to look at you after you accused me of such nasty rumors.” You looked at Yeosang, a dreamy smile on your face. “I don't care if you say I can't marry Yeosang. I'm an adult and I want to be with him.”

Your mother’s lips pulled up into a smile as she watched you look at Yeosang. He had such a soft look that made your mother think about when your father had looked at her that way. Yeosang cared deeply for you, that much was obvious. And it seemed as though your father could see it as well.

“I need time to think.” Your father sighed.

“We'll be on our way then.” You nodded your head at your parents. “We'll see you in the morning. Tell the others I said goodnight.”

“Goodnight ma'am. Sir.” Yeosang bowed his head, holding out his hand. Your father hesitantly shook his hand, but bowed his head as well.

With a goodbye hug to your mother, Yeosang waited for you at the bottom of the porch before placing a hand at the bottom of your back. As you reached the edge of the forest where Yeosang had left the horse, you let go of a choked sob. Turning to Yeosang, you quickly wrapped your arms around his middle, feeling him pull you closer.

“It's okay.” Yeosang kissed the top of your head. “You did amazing.” He whispered.

You sniffled, looking up at him. “Did you mean it? All those things in there—did you mean it?”

“We all do.” Yeosang moved to hold your cheeks between his hands. “It's what we think of you, and it's what we always will. You've left such an impression on us, we can't let you go. We just want to see you happy.”

“Even if it's not just you?” You asked.

“They are my brothers in every life we live. I will never give them up and they will do the same. If we have to share you, it's not a problem—we will always stick together.”

He spoke about all the other boys as well. You had your doubts about the whole ordeal, but every time it was brought up, each one of the boys seemed to always bring up the others. They knew what it was you were feeling before you even did. They were a family that worked well together. That’s why they knew what to tell you.

“Kiss me.” You whispered.

And so he did. Yeosang leaned down, lightly placing his lips to yours. He knew that you had asked him for it, but he wanted to allow you to lean further into him. He wanted you to have a strong need for him to hold you. Not only that, but he was asking you to enter his own territory. He kissed like Mingi; however, he knew what he was doing. It was sweet, like he wanted you to feel every emotion through his skin.

One of his hands moved from your cheek down to your waist, pulling you closer to him. As you moved to lock your arms behind his neck, Yeosang placed his hands around you, pushing you up further. You let out a moan from the squeeze, causing him to chuckle into your mouth.

He leaned down a bit, palms skimming over your bottom and to your thighs. He quickly scrunches up your skirts in order to pick you up and wrap your legs around his waist. You didn’t shy away from the position this time, having already gotten used to the boy’s heated kisses.

Your legs immediately locked behind him, thighs clenching as his body was placed between them. He moved backwards, wedging you between his body and a tree trunk. Your hands made quick work of feeling under Yeosang’s shirt, finding yourself wanting to feel his skin against your hands.

You could feel your legs start to heat up, your body temperature rising with each lick and breathless moan against Yeosang’s lips. His hands kept squeezing at your skirts, feeling you through the fabric. One of his hands moved on your legs towards where it was connected with his waist. He quickly moved your skirts up, feeling your bare skin.

Your legs began to shiver from the cold air, but still you moved to unclench your legs to allow him room to feel for more. Yeosang’s breathing became hard as he moved closer and hovered over you. His fingers clenched at your skin, restraining himself from going further up. One of his hands placed themselves against the tree.

His breath hit your lips, your tongue moving out to swipe against them. When you opened your eyes to look at him, you could see the soft emotions swirling within his irises.

“You make us feel things we have never thought about feeling.” He told you breathlessly. “We don't want to give that up.”

Series Masterlist

@thefrog3223 , @iarayara , @0rangemilk , @explorewithd , @detectivedoodle , @bangtanxberm , @a1i33a , @loveforred , @drunken-deitence , @0325tiny , @the-ghostest-with-the-mostest , @atinyreads , @atinytinaa , @lexiigom , @smilingtokki , @mismatchfluffysocks , @brain-empty-only-draken , @sousydive , @alex-tinyy , @h3arteyes4mingi , @onedumbho3 , @popcatx0 , @blue1amory , @mommahwa1117 , @sunnyhokyu , @cloudieclair , @araknoid , @starjoongi1117 , @chel-awingcherry , @puppyminnnie ,

#kpop fanfic #ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez imagines #ateez x reader #ateez wooyoung #ateez hongjoong #ateez san #ateez yeosang #ateez mingi #ateez jongho #ateez yunho #ateez seonghwa #fanfiction #yeosang x reader #yeosang ateez #yeosang x y/n #yeosang x you

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spankinganthologies · 5 months

Text

by Girlsbeingspanked - Into Her Twenties

Susie got spanked at home.

They were real, hard spankings for real misdeeds. Most frequently, she was spanked for her attitude, but breaking the rules, especially coming in after curfew, resulted in plenty of sore bottoms too. If Susie swore or lied or talked back, she might get her mouth washed out with soap in addition to a spanking. Spankings were always given on the bare. No question. Afterwards, the soreness would linger for days and make sitting comfortably very difficult.

But Susie was not alone. Her sisters were spanked too. Often, Susie and her sisters got spanked together or, at the very least, in front of each of other.

The ultimate punishment though was the strap. If you messed up enough to get a dose of that, you got it bare ass naked and you got it in front of the entire family. Everyone learned a lesson on the night of strapping. And since house rules applied as long as you lived at home, Susie, who was the oldest and most rebellious among her sisters, was bending over the arm of the couch to get her butt whipped well into her twenties.

Well that certainly didn't take long.

Georgia missed curfew three times and earned herself a trip over her mother's knee. The fact that she was a college graduate and 22-years-old seemed to matter very little to her mother. Sure, Georgia argued and tried to talk her way out of it, but it was an argument she could never win. She knew the rules. She had, in fact, agreed to them knowing full well what the consequences would be when she decided to move back home in the first place.

So, it happened. Georgia got a spanking Sunday afternoon when her mother returned home from church. It was just like old times, bottom bare and very quickly beet red. First, it was her mother's hand and then came the dreaded hairbrush. Her butt was straight-up BLISTERED by the time it was all over. And that doesn't even account for the shameful begging and pleading and sobbed-out promises to be a good girl.

And then it's straight to bed. Even though it's only 2 PM and the sun is still shining bright. Georgia's grounded for the rest of the day and not allowed out of her room. If her ass wasn't burning so much, maybe she'd remember to use her phone to check for apartments in town!

Her mouth had a way of prolonging the punishment.

A simple spanking just never seemed to be enough. Even standing in the corner, with her jeans and panties already around her knees and her arms folded behind her back, she would inevitably say something to reignite her momma's rage. Her sore, pinkish bottom would once again become the target and her momma would whale away with wild, burning smacks until she tired herself out. Both of them would feel the aftereffects for days, sore all over, throats raw from the screaming and the crying.

She was a hardheaded girl though and these spankings, as shameful as they were, continued long past a point when any of her friends or siblings were still subject to corporal punishment. All through college and even up to her mid-twenties, until she finally moved away from her momma's house for good. She never seemed particularly bitter about it though and later in life, she even remarked on occasion that she missed a firm hand in her life and appreciated a good butt whoopin'.

(And even after!)

A red-bottomed, blubbering mess, complete with tears and snot dripping from her face, left in total disgrace after being given a long overdue and damn good spanking.

After a good butt whoopin', it's easy to fall asleep. She is drained - emotionally and physically. There is also a strange comfort and familiarity with a pillow wet with her tears. Her spanking cleans the slate. Everything goes back to zero.

Graduated from college 3 months ago and hasn't even started looking for a job. Sleeping in late rather than work on her resume. Something's got to give...

#girlsbeingspanked #after college

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3d-wifey · 9 months

Text

And They'd Find Us In A Week - Chapter 1

Pairing: Finnick Odair x Reader Word Count: 5.3k Synopsis: Here! Playlist: Listen up! A/N: Don't be scared to click the embedded links, you might get an auditory surprise (Ai voice cloning works wonders)

Past (i) - You

[15 & 16] - THE CAPITOL

Pine is a simple wood. It grows in abundance, representing purity and innocence. In Eleven, it’s saved for children. Children like Cane. Only thirteen years old, but at the end of his life. He died in the initial bloodbath from a knife in the heart, you saw it yourself as you were running away. You had made eye contact with him for a split second and had contemplated waiting for him behind one of the many buildings encased by overgrown greenery. But, within the next second, those eyes had clouded over and cannon fire rang in your ears.

He looks so small in his pine casket, you note. The pale shade of his little brown face is the only giveaway that he isn’t sleeping.

His parents come to stand before him, withdrawn in their grief for their youngest child. They each place a fruit in his hand: a pear in his left, and an apple in his right. One for himself and another to share with whoever comes to take his soul.

Neem, his brother, holds up his sister Venus, the youngest girl. She is distraught, wails bouncing through the clearing. Their oldest sibling, Vera, hadn’t been permitted to leave the fields to come to the burial.

Chrysanthemums represent death, mourning, life, and goodbyes. Roses represent life, grief, and sadness. You watch as the adults of the town move in to help his family cover him head to toe in the petals. A few of these flowers are shipped to the Capitol to be used aesthetically, you’re sure. Such an odd thought knowing the rest are used here only for funerals.

You can’t help but think about how close you came to being the one under all those flowers. You imagine your mom having to place the fruits in your hands by herself. The hand on your shoulder keeps you pinned in place as Venus’s knees buckle. Your mom squeezes you to her side and you look at her tightened face. You aren't the only one imagining it.

The grave has already been dug and above it sits his headstone, a rock bigger than both of your hands combined with his initials and his age carved into it.

C.B.

You stare at that rock long after they put him in the ground and cover him in dirt. At the end of the ceremony, all of the children in attendance get in line to hug the family. This one is no different. You’re only fifteen, but you’ve been to many funerals. Only one stands out: your dad’s.

You remember being ten and getting irritated at how sticky the pomegranate juice made your hands, but you preferred it to the painful lump in your throat. You had to be lifted so you could place the fruit in his cold hands and you don’t think your mom put you down after, holding you close to her chest as the town’s children hugged you.

You’re at the back of the line nervously picking at your nail beds. There’s a certain amount of guilt tied to being the one who survived, especially in the face of the grieving family. You haven’t spoken to them since you got back a month ago—it took a while for the Capitol to return his body—but you know they don’t blame you. That’s just not the way people think in Eleven. You don’t turn against your own.

You’re nervous because you have a bigger part to play other than offering condolences and you promised Cane you’d complete it.

Before you go in to hug his father, you speak.

“I, uh, have something for you.” You pull a small bear figurine out of your pocket, crudely carved from wood. “Cane, he gave it to me to give to his family the night before we went into the arena. Just in case I managed to come back.” Something neither of you had any real hope of happening, but you understood the gesture for what it was. He wanted you to bring him back to his family. So you protected it with your life, literally.

And now he’s home.

And that’s what cracks them, you think. His mom’s lips quiver and his dad makes a pained noise when you place it in his shaking grip. And Neem, who has tried to stay strong for his family, gasps around a sob. Venus pulls you into a hug, tears dripping onto your neck.

A breeze comes through, shaking the leaves in the tree and cooling you from the humid heat. You like to think that it’s Cane’s way of thanking you for not forgetting him.

“Your accent is just darling. Say something else, say something else!” The woman in front of you exclaims. You can’t remember her name, but you’re pretty sure she never introduced herself to you anyway. In fact, you don’t think anyone has introduced themselves to you.

"Like what?"

"Like what?" They mock your voice, clapping like you’re a dog that did a trick. You smile around the embarrassment. Maybe for your next act, you’ll play dead. "Oh, that is just a treat."

You've officially been the winner of the sixty-seventh Hunger Games for six months and thirteen days. It's the end of your Victory Tour and all you have to do is tolerate the Capitols poking and prodding at you until the night is over. Though, that's easier said than done.

You remind yourself to make a conscious effort to bury the accent, sound a little more like them. The old you wouldn’t give a damn about how a Capitol perceives you, but the old you didn’t get pawed at nearly as much as you have tonight.

Your dress cinches at your waist uncomfortably. The heels you were forced into press painfully into the calluses on your feet, and you've eaten so many pastries that your jaw aches. Foreign hands pat at your hair, stroking and pulling at the curls as you recount for the fifth time how you escaped the tributes from District Five.

"I climbed to the top of a building and jumped between rooftops while they looked for me on the ground—"

“Skip to the part where you get your scythe!” Someone yells from the crowd, cutting you off. You purse your lips and bite your tongue so hard that you taste metal.

"Alright. Two days in, I was… gifted a scythe from a sponsor—"

"And you used it beautifully!" Another person calls from your left.

"Yes, that move you pulled off against that poor boy from Nine was simply marvelous!" A voice shouts from behind you. You remember him. How could you forget? The "move" you pulled off wasn't intentional. As a warning, you swung your scythe in wide arches, but he ran at you and the blade slit his stomach open. You think he did it on purpose, knowing how it would end for him. You put him out of his misery with his own knife.

He was the first person you killed in the arena. The first thing you had ever killed.

You bite into a muffin, and it tastes like ash on your tongue.

You try to ignore the multiple hands on your shoulders, arms, and neck; all moving to touch any bare skin they can reach. But it's hard to ignore soft hands that have never known a day of work. Much different from your own calloused palms, made rough from your days of harvesting crops and climbing high in trees to pick fruit.

You keep quiet as they talk at you, never actually trying to engage you in the conversation. You grimace as a hand touches your face.

"God, you are stunning—isn't she stunning?" A taller man smiles down at you with golden teeth, moving your face this way and that with his sharp nails.

"Oh, just gorgeous! Who knew they were hiding such a diamond in the Agriculture district, of all places?" The group breaks out in howling laughter, as if the very notion of something worthwhile coming out of District Eleven is outlandish. Somehow, both a joke at your expense and one they expect you to join in on.

You're willing to bet all of your earnings that none of these people have the slightest idea about life in Eleven, what it's like to be truly hungry. Children are being hung for stealing food and here they are, gorging themselves just to throw it all up. You're shaken by the thought that you are completely alone here. Forced to endure the abrasive attention of the Capitol residents until they grow bored with you. You contemplate how easy it would be to escape. You aren't sure how much longer you can go with people petting you like a domesticated animal. Maybe, if you make yourself sick from drinking those vomit-inducing drinks, you could make a strategic retreat with minimal fuss. "Excuse me, ladies, gentlemen," a smooth voice breaks through the crowd before a lithe body follows. The man—or boy, rather—is tall, all tan skin and sun-bleached-hair. Every eye falls on him as soon as he steps up, and you can understand why. Finnick Odair. He's objectively attractive; beautiful, even. You can tell from the brazen way he holds himself that he already knows that. Pink lips are settled in a smug smirk, but they don't take away from his eyes. If you were a writer, you could have authored a thousand and one poems about those eyes alone. "You wouldn't mind me stealing tonight's guest of honor for a dance, would you?" It's quiet, and the crowd looks at each other. They clearly don't want to give you up—their brand-new toy. But who can say no to Finnick Odair? Exclaims of oh, certainly and of course are called out before he comes to stand in front of you. Someone pulls the saucer of miniature cakes and cookies from your death grip and you feel bare before him. You had seen him two years ago during his games. Then, six months after that he came to Eleven for his Victory Tour, apologizing to the families of people he didn't know nor care about. He was just another pretty Career laughing and being gushed over on Caesar Flickerman's couch, pretty low on your list of priorities. But now—well, it was one thing to see him on screen, it was another to be in front of him. It's a lot like standing in front of the ocean, you imagine. You had seen it secondhand, through train windows and simulated in arenas, but nothing could prepare you to see it in person. He doesn't push you to take his hand, just holds it out in front of him like he has all the time in the world. Like he knows you'll take it, eventually. The temptation to reject him is strong. You’d pay money to see the look on his and everyone else's faces if you said no and walked away.

You reach forward and a callused palm meets your own. You trust him as much as you do everyone else vying for your attention here, but he's the lesser of two evils. You tense up as you follow him, mentally preparing yourself to be surrounded. But he doesn't lead you to the center of the dancing mass like you thought he would. Instead, you both linger on the edge, barely close enough to be a part of the crowd. He faces you and asks, "May I have this dance?" Overly formal in a way that nobody else here has been with you.

"We're already here, aren't we?" You say as if you weren’t just contemplating leaving him behind. You step closer to him as the band starts a new song, your right hand holding his left and the other on his shoulder. His free hand lays on your waist, a fraction above the slit on the side of your dress.

“Have you been having fun?” He picks, certainly nonexistent, lint off the shoulder of your dress. Is your eye twitching? It has to be. You want to place a hand on it to tamp down the spasms, but, instead, your nails dig into his shoulder through his suit jacket.

“What? Are you not enjoying your time in our great nation's capitol?” He deadpans. Your mouth tries to twitch into a smirk and you smother it down.

You narrow your eyes. “What’re your thoughts on lying?”

He inhales slowly, head tilting side to side contemplatively. “Depends. Am I the one lying?” You shake your head. He shrugs. “Then, I hate it.”

“Then, I won’t answer,” you shrug back. He lets out a puff of air from his nose, a laugh?

"I'm surprised Seeder isn't here with you. She talked you up a big game, you know. Very confident that you'd win." His eyes sweep over the crowd of dancing couples before settling on you. “Guess, I should have bet on you too, huh?”

You don’t know how you feel about that. Why would Seeder be that confident in a semi-malnourished fifteen-year-old with no combat skills?

You definitely wouldn’t have bet on yourself. If you were in his shoes, you would’ve put money into one of the Careers. Maybe that one girl from Two—perhaps the most muscular person you’ve ever seen. She was benching at least twice her body weight in the Training Center, but you think it was just an intimidation tactic. Though, a pointless one, since she didn’t even make it out of the Cornucopia. You suppose no amount of muscle can combat an axe to the back of the spine. “I wouldn’t have if I were you. But now that you've actually seen me, do I meet all the expectations she set?” You partially joke. Partially because as much as you hate to admit it, you are curious. Why you’re curious about what he thinks of you will remain a mystery. “Now that I've actually seen you? No,” you look up at him in shock before he grins like a shark, teeth on display. "You exceed them. Don't get me wrong. You were beautiful on screen, but the TV doesn't do you justice." He does little to hide the once-over he gives you. It was meant to be caught. You don't know what to say. You've been excessively complimented and fawned over since you were reaped, but somehow, it felt different coming from him. His gaze felt different. Like he actually saw you. You throw that thought away. Finnick is a known flirt—a playboy. He means nothing by it and neither does the look in his eyes. "She's pregnant. Seeder," you clarify, abruptly changing the topic. “About seven months along. She's resting at the hotel.” Traveling for so long had taken its toll. Not to mention the stress of just being in the Capitol. Snow, the bastard, wouldn't let her stay behind, even though Chaff was willing to take her place as your mentor on the tour. "Ah, congratulations are in order then."

"Please,” you scoff. “I'm sure you didn't come up to me just to talk about Seeder." Your gaze bounces around his face as you do everything in your power to avoid eye contact with him.

“Why not? I can’t ask about a good friend?”

“If you’re such “good friends” shouldn’t you have already known she was pregnant?”

“Touché.” He concedes with a nod, his smile still in place. Or at least you think he does. You aren’t entirely sure what touché means. “I came up to you because you looked like you were one more scone away from using it as a weapon." The laugh you let out is a surprise to you both and you have to bite your cheek to stifle it. You haven’t been doing a whole lot of laughing over the past six months.

"Was I that obvious?" He's quiet for a moment as he stares at you and you don't dwell on it. Instead, you focus on the freckles dotting the bridge of his nose.

You're only a year younger than him and, yet, there's something about him that feels far older than any other sixteen-year-old you've met. The way he carries himself—something sharp-edged hidden under indifference, an alertness in his eyes that you're sure mirrors your own. "To anyone who cared to look," his voice deepens as he hums. It really is smooth. "Definitely." "Am I supposed to believe that the Capitol's darling cares about little ol' me?" "So, you do know who I am." His lips shift into a shit-eating grin, preening as if he caught you in a lie. He’s probably used to people fawning over him, and that’s something you’d never do. Be that as it may, you can acknowledge that there might be something worth fawning over. “Who doesn't?” It’s been two years and people are still talking about his games. And for good reason, you have to admit.

"Touché...again.” He tilts his head with contemplatively narrowed eyes. You narrow your eyes right back simply based on the fact that he did it first. “You know, that’s the second time you’ve—” "Seriously, what're you hoping to achieve here? You've gotta have a motive. Everyone does.” You push, cutting to the chase and sounding more accusatory than you meant to. But, he’s a victor too, right? Maybe you can toe the line here without repercussions waiting on the other side.

"Hmm, blunt. Even you?" He questions, continuing when you nod. "What's your motive for dancing with me, then?"

You could have said no to this dance, but that would’ve meant staying surrounded by them. This, being with Finnick, is a breath of fresh air in comparison. He may not be Eleven or from any other district that’s similar to yours, but he is District. That’s gotta be worth something—some kind of kinship.

"I'd do just about anything to escape those vultures," you pause. Then, feeling emboldened, add, "And I guess you're not terrible to look at." If you were going to be forced to stay here, you might as well find your fun where you can. And talking to Finnick is fun. Undoubtedly, the only fun you've had all night.

"Oh, thank you," he laughs, mirth coloring his cheeks a pretty shade of pink. "You know, I was worried about that."

"Is that so?" You smile, trying, and failing, to not step on his feet.

"Definitely," he pauses for a second, seemingly deciding on something before answering your question, "It’s just that—you remind me of someone. They got wrapped up in the Capitol; thought they could handle the…” he makes a wide sweeping gesture to the gluttonous pageantry around you and you get it: the extravagance, the theatrics, the Capitol of it all. “But the Capitol asked for more than they were willing to give. And, well...I couldn't save them." His eyes look glazed as he trails off. His face is grim, his smile gone so fast it's almost like it was never there to begin with. You find that you want it back. "And you want to save me?" You guess, heart in your throat.

"Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed. The people here? Every single one of them wants us. They want to talk to us, touch us, sleep with us," you swallow at the look in his eye. "But they don't see us as people." He leans towards you and you freeze. For a split second, you think he's going to kiss you. That doesn’t scare you. Instead, he hovers by your ear. What would you have done if he had kissed you? You don't think you would've moved away. That scares you. "Me and you," he hums, lips against your ear, "Well, we might as well be a completely different species to them. We're lesser than. Beloved pets at most, tamed beasts at least."

“It wouldn’t be the first time.” You live in Eleven, after all. There’s a reason no one goes looking for the kids that go missing from the fields. According to the people in charge, there’ll always be another to take their place. You sigh through your nose and turn away, but immediately turn back to Finnick when you make eye contact with the smiling man with gold teeth.

He shakes his head, lips curled into a frown of disgust, "Look at them, the way they linger at the edge of the crowd." The hand on your waist moves to the small of your back as he spins you. "You see how desperate they are to get in your good graces?" You peek over his shoulder at the people watching you, teeming with anticipation.

"Is that not what you're doing?" You ask, your cheek pressed to his. "Trust me, sweetheart. If I was trying to gain your favor, it'd be somewhere a little more private with a lot less talking." He doesn't give you enough time to reply, not that you know how, before continuing. "I'm doing the same thing I've done since I was reaped," he lowers his voice, almost like he's imparting some kind of secret. To the right person, maybe he is. "Surviving. I'd suggest finding your allies now if you wanna do the same. " And then he turns to place a chaste kiss against your cheek. To anyone watching the two of you, it would look like he's just flirting with you. You shiver as he pulls away from you, taking all the warmth with him. He looks down at you for a moment longer, locking you in his gaze. You had never really seen the ocean, you remind yourself, but, through him, you're staring at it now. Vast and limitless. All-consuming. He brings your knuckles to his smooth lips, and he smirks. The urge to shiver again is alarmingly strong as his mouth moves delicately against the skin of your knuckles as he begins to speak. "Until next time." You catch the shimmer in his sea-green eyes. It has to mean something, something worth pursuing. You've never known the ocean, but as you watch Finnick walk away into the crowd of adoring Capitols, you think you could grow to like it. There's a drive in him that's rare to see outside of Eleven, let alone in the Capitol, and it further proves your assumption right. There’s a kinship between the districts that only the victors are privy to—you and Finnick might be cut from the same cloth, and that’s made even more apparent by the way the masses move in to surround you both. You jump as trumpets sound around you and a spotlight shines on the balcony. You missed your chance to escape. It's time for Snow's speech.

Present (I) - You

[23 & 24 ] - DISTRICT ELEVEN

It’s winter in Eleven. There’s little worse than winter in Eleven. You must have forgotten to close your window when you left in a rush because the air in your room is practically crystallized, and you mull over the idea of igniting your fireplace but decide against it.

Normally, you would go to the Capitol after being invited to a party, your prep team would scrub and shave you from top to bottom, and Snow would introduce you to your client for the night. Then, you would stay in your hotel room and have time to recoup before you left. But, this time, there was no party. Only a very important partner of Snow’s who is not a patient man. So you left in the early morning and made the trip back the next day as the sun was rising. Seven hours there, seven hours back. You’re dead on your feet and your bed has never looked more tempting. You stand before your vanity and grab a makeup wipe, dragging it over your face and revealing the bags under your eyes. You're tired, bone tired. You kick your heels off. You unzip the back of your dress and let it fall to the ground. Staring at yourself in the mirror, you press on one of the bruises littering your neck. You follow the trail to the top of your chest, breast, stomach, and hips. You frown at yourself. What a pitiful painting you make. "It's starting!" Your mom calls from down the hall and you sigh, looking at your bed mournfully. You'd usually avoid Snow's announcements like the plague, you don't want to look at him more than you already have to, but it's different this time. It's the Quarter Quell. The last Quarter Quell had double the amount of tributes, and Haymitch told you how he only won by the skin of his teeth. So, despite yourself, you're curious to see what kind of nightmare Snow comes up with. There's also something else driving you. A man you met in passing at the party. Plutarch Heavensbee. He was strange, but a different kind than you were used to from the Capitols. He's taking the place of Head Gamemaker after Seneca Crane's untimely death. He spoke in riddles, always hinting at things of importance without saying anything at all. And there's a nagging feeling in the back of your mind surrounding something he said. "I understand that there’s a certain kind of…job that President Snow has employed you for. If I told you there was a chance to put an end to it, what would you say?" "I'd say you should cut back on the Morphling." "I assure you, I'm sober," he laughed, "I can't go into detail right now. I just need to know, when the time comes, that I can trust you to fight." Fight. It’s an interesting term, but you wonder if it has the same definition for him as it does for you. You doubt it. Very rarely is there ever any overlap between the way of thinking for Eleven and the Capitol. The people of Eleven fight every day and you’ve heard the other districts have finally picked up on the habit. Riots upon riots upon riots and it’s all thanks to the kids from Twelve. You still can't decipher what he was telling you and you’d usually chalk it up to the regular Capitol jargon. But there was something, something different that you couldn’t put your finger on.

You throw pajamas on, something soft that won't irritate you, and walk to the living room. "Here: sugar, berries, and licorice root, just the way you like it." Your mom hands you the cup and pretends she doesn't see the marks on your body. You're thankful. She looks tired too, older. "Thank you, Ma." You say, for more than just the tea. "Of, course. Now, sit, sit. He's walking out." You settle gingerly on the couch beside her, sorer than you thought, and pull your legs under you as Snow stands behind a podium. He lets the audience quiet down before beginning. "Ladies and gentlemen, this is the seventy-fifth year of The Hunger Games. And it was written in the charter of The Games that every twenty-five years, there would be a Quarter Quell to keep fresh for each new generation the memory of those who died in the uprising against The Capitol." You drink carefully from your cup as he continues, steaming liquid burning the roof of your mouth. "Each Quarter Quell is distinguished by Games of a special significance. And now on this, the seventy-fifth anniversary of our defeat of the rebellion, we celebrate the third Quarter Quell," you place your cup on the table and fidget with your bracelet as Snow pulls a letter from an envelope, "as a reminder that even the strongest cannot overcome the power of The Capitol. On this, the third Quarter Quell Games the male and female Tributes are to be reaped—" The hairs on your arms stand on end. You brace for the blow. "—from the existing pool of victors in each district." "No. No, no, no, that's not, that's not right." You shake your head. It doesn't take long for your mom to start sobbing beside you and you…you can't breathe.

You suck a breath in and it feels like it's being funneled through a filter. Not enough, not nearly enough. Your heart's beating fast, faster, the fastest it’s ever beat and you're getting lightheaded. You stand up on shaking legs and stumble to the door, glass shatters as you knock a vase over in your pursuit. You need more air, you need, you need—you step out onto the snow-covered porch, submerging your bare feet in the white powder. It’s odd, it rarely snows here.

You kneel down and grab fistfuls of snow, smearing the ice on your face and grounding yourself. You breathe and you rationalize. You can breathe. You're taking in frigid lungfuls of air and you are breathing. You stare down the long walkway leading to your home, covered in both ice and snow. Across from that walkway is a cow pasture and past that pasture are woods. Vast and open and if you will it, no one would be able to find you. You wouldn’t be able to leave, not with the giant electric fence surrounding the district, but they wouldn’t find you.

But Snow could find your mom.

You stay out there until your feet and hands go numb. And then you stay until it hurts to move your fingers and toes, the skin of your shins and knees prickling with the temperature drop. You stay until your mom drags you in herself. "Let's warm you up." She says, but she's mostly talking to herself. She wraps you in a blanket and sits you on the couch. She goes to the kitchen and comes back with a fresh cup of tea. Saliva gathers in your mouth at the thought of drinking anything, so you use it to warm your hands instead.

“Oh, look what you’ve done to yourself.” You look to where she’s hovering over the carpet. Red footprints lead from the door to where you are now. You must have stepped on the broken pieces of the vase. You wait for the sting of pain to come now that you’re aware of the wound, but there’s nothing.

“I’ll go get something to clean you up with—”

“Can you just…can you just sit with me?” You ask and look away when you catch her frenzied gaze.

“Yeah, of course, baby. Of course.” The couch dips with her weight as she sits beside you.

By now, Caesar Flickerman is recapping the announcement to the audience with his cheery co-star. You can never remember his name. You're as still as a statue as Caesar goes over a list of remaining victors. You don't move when your mom holds onto you. She holds you and she holds you and she cries for you. You don’t think you have any more tears left in you.

“Now, it always hurts to say goodbye, Claudius, but I can admit there are a few lovely victors I’m particularly attached to.” Oh, you think, that’s his name. Doubtful that you’ll remember it.

“Yes, Caesar, I completely agree. Here’s one of mine now. From District Four: Finnick Odair!” Your eye starts to twitch, lower lid spasming. They play clips of him. Finnick waving to the audience as he walks on stage, Finnick posing for the camera at a photo shoot, Finnick walking down the red carpet at a movie premiere.

You imagine footage of him being reaped for the Quell and saliva is gathering in your mouth again, stomach flexing as you gag. You double over, nausea washing over you as you try to keep what little is in your stomach down. Absently, you feel a hand rubbing your back in wide, soothing circles that aren’t doing a lot to soothe you.

You were wrong. You do have tears left in you.

A/N: 1.) your arena is inspired by Valle dei Mulin in Italy 2.) The people of 11 all have farm and gardening-related names. (Neem tree, venus flytrap, aloe vera, Mass Cane) 3.) Cane had a crush on the reader similar to Peeta's initial crush on Katniss 4.) Each district has a different accent depending on their geography

#the hunger games #hunger games fanfiction #catching fire #hunger games catching fire #finnick odair #finnick x reader #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair fanfic #and they'd find us in a week

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