#Drawing/Tracing the cloak is just…No

[player-1]

Long Cat Stretching Her Way To Success

(Reference pic below)

[shiny-jr]

✂ damnation [ the crow courier ]

– Summary: When you commit a crime, you receive a punishment. This is especially true in your society. No matter the crime, your punishment is the same: banishment. But to where you will be sent in exile and how miserable will it be? No one knows, because no one has ever returned.

– Warning: Yes, this is a yandere thing. Gender-neutral reader.

– Characters: Sebek Zigvolt, Silver, Lilia Vanrouge, Malleus Draconia.

– Note: Not gonna lie, I did not reread this to make sure everything transferred alright. So hopefully the whole story is here.

– Pages: 44

– Not satisfied? Try looking here for the quiz to take it yourself and see where you end up banished!

The Praetorian Imp   |   The Crow Courier

A mask. There was a mask of cold black metal settled on the upper half of your face. It was cold, smooth against your cheeks. This was new. It wasn’t some sort of blindfold, as you could see perfectly and last you heard, they never blinded their prisoners. Concealing an evil-doer’s vision during their banishment was considered a small mercy, something they wouldn’t do, and the judges wanted each sinner to see the fate that awaited them. 

A supposedly horrid fate, but what sort of cruel end required you to wear a plate of armor and a warm cloak? Over your chest, your hand traced the curves and swirls on a metallic chest plate, reaching the black fabric over your shoulders and extending down your back. Removing the mask over your face and turning it in your hands to examine it, the empty eye holes of a feathered fiend stared back at you. The accessory resembled a bird, dark feathers carefully forged into the mask as the end curved into a sharpened beak. It was slightly unsettling, somewhat resembling the type of mask a plague doctor would don during the middle ages in times of peril. 

On the ground, just past the mask you were staring down at, were shreds of paper which caught your attention. It looked as if something or someone had torn a sheet to shreds and disregarded them in the middle of this dark and dreary hallway. Upon kneeling down to pick up a few pieces, your eyebrows furrowed as you attempted to piece them back together like a puzzle. 

Piece after piece, you managed to somewhat make out the painted image despite the face of a crowned figure being burnt black beyond recognition, but the rest of the image could somewhat be salvaged at least enough to draw a conclusion. A taller faceless crowned figure in garbs, beside a queen, holding a bundled baby in their arms that had been torn straight through. Below, on the aged paper was written text reading: Announcing the birth of the princess. A holiday is to be proclaimed throughout the entire kingdom in honor of the princess. 

Why did this all seem so awfully familiar? 

Slowly standing, you jumped upon hearing the rumbling start of thunder. Outside, past the window, dark storm clouds gathered in a hurry above a dense forest and towering wall of thorns. Thorns! Thorns so tall that even from afar, they looked as big as a house! 

“Oh… wow.” You whisper in slight horror. 

The royal family and birth of a princess, a deep dark forest, a deadly wall of thorns–– these were all part of a story. These were points of a fictional story, and yet you were here. Here, somewhere, in a corridor where the walls were dark stone bricks and a long carpet ran along the floor. How did you play into this? The bird-like mask still in your hands and staring back at you, appeared to answer that. The only bird in the story was a black-feathered one, which served as the villain’s little pet.

This couldn’t be real, could it? Why was this your punishment, of all things? How did the story go again? 

A king and queen had a child, a princess, whose birth was celebrated throughout the entire kingdom. A glittering assemblage of folk from all walks of life, foreign and local, rich and poor, from royalty, nobility, gentry, and even the rabble, were invited to pay homage and revel in the festivities. However, the procession was disrupted by the arrival of an uninvited guest, the Mistress of All Evil. She was a malevolent fairy who brought a curse, promising death upon the infant princess. The princess goes into hiding with three good fairies for years, until the curse can pass, but eventually the malevolent fairy does capture both the princess and her betrothed prince. The princess falls into a death-like sleep, and the prince escapes to rescue her. In the process, the antagonist’s avian companion is turned to stone while the malevolent fairy turns into a dragon to face off against the hero in a grand battle, only to be defeated by a holy sword through the heart! 

It caused you to freeze, gulping as you imagined such an end. Stone… You were to be turned to stone! Would that mean instant death, or were to become a prisoner forced to be still and silent until the very end of time or at least until your stone body crumbled to dust? 

A pair of wooden doors flew open, the sudden sound as it slammed against the wall caused you to scream. That, and the appearance of an odd stranger in armor, was enough to make you believe that your end was now and sooner than expected. 

“YOU!” His booming voice nearly ruptured your eardrums as he pointed an accusatory finger. Directing a rather sharp nail, almost as equally sharp as his two front canine teeth which you caught sight of but sharper was the sword sheathed at his hip.

“Me???” You looked at the intimidating stranger, baffled and uneasy. 

The man clad in armor was certainly not a shining knight of goodness or a pure princess blessed by fairies. It became apparent by his pointed nails, sharp teeth, and unnaturally thin pupils that he wasn’t human. What sort of human had slicked back natural mint green hair? 

“Yes, you!! Do not be so dense, human! Who else do you see in this hall?” He stomped up to you, frowning deeply, almost snarling. As he got closer, you realized he was very tall and built like a soldier. At his hip, opposite to his blade, was a mask of dark metal, resembling yours. However, his mask was crafted to resemble a crocodile. “Do not think yourself superior for even a second! You are only valued for the intel you can provide, nothing more, nothing less. Here you are, milling about uselessly while the rest of us search tirelessly for the girl! I shouldn’t have expected anything less from a mortal!” 

Squinting a bit at him, it took a solid second for all those words he spoke to be processed in your mind. Another round of thunder rumbled outside, sounding closer than before. “But… I am stupid?” You smiled a bit awkwardly, watching how the stranger’s face fell with each following word. “Sorry, who are you? I think you have the––” He has the wrong person. Before you could complete that thought, thunder seemed to shake the very walls as its booming clap reverberated throughout the air. 

It was loud, loud enough to startle both yourself and the uncouth bright-eyed one. 

“Have you no decency? You cannot even recall your colleague’s name! It’s Sebek! Sebek! We spoke months ago before departing for the most recent search!” He replied, frustrated that you didn’t remember his name, despite not even meeting before. Was he mistaking you for someone? It’s as if you had been thrust into some sort of role, maybe that’s why he didn’t take you for an intruder. 

“Okay, okay, Sebek. Got it. You don’t need to say it a third time. Please, spare my poor ears.” Raising an eyebrow, you nearly flinched every time he spoke. It’s like he had a megaphone built into his voice box, because he talked in what sounded like shouts. “Also, why are you yelling? I can hear you perfectly fine, you don’t have to be so loud.” 

“Why am I…?” The weirdo, apparently called Sebek, parroted in disbelief as he ran a hand through his mint green hair. His fingers gripping his head, fingers tangled through his own locks. “Why are you still here?! General Vanrouge has requested I look for you because you were absent for an assembly called by the Master! Deliberately missing special councils called by him is deplorable on every level!” Reaching forward, he suddenly caught your arm in an iron grip as he practically dragged you through a maze of corridors until they approached the source of a commotion. 

Better to allow this Sebek character to escort you than refusing and risking him having an aneurysm, you figured. Something in your gut told you to go with it, and don’t immediately bring up the fact that you weren’t who they thought you were, especially now that you had arrived in a room chock full of armed soldiers dressed in a manner similar to Sebek. 

However, all these people had two striking features, slitted pupils and pointed ears. Pointed ears. Definitely not human. Yes, you were stupid, but not stupid enough to expose yourself when you were outnumbered a hundred-to-one. 

“What’s all this––?”

Before you could completely round the corner, you nearly fell back into Sebek as a cloaked figure appeared out of the shadows. They hung from the ceiling, their face in front of yours. A terrifying individual, with thin locks of pitch black and blood red, and a face of a terrifying gnarling beast. “Boo!” 

Wide-eyed, you stared at the figure as you leaned back into Sebek’s arms who didn’t seem as surprised as you. Was this a companion of his? The matching cloak, the similar armor, and… that face of the hanging stranger was metal. A mask. A mask that looked like some horrifying monstrous bat.

Placing a hand on your heart, you closed your eyes and fell back dramatically, playing the part. Your legs went limp, the only thing preventing your form from hitting the cold hard floor was the pair of strong arms holding you up from behind. 

A snicker was the only applause for your small performance, as Sebek jostled you from your act. For some particular reason, Sebek was impatient as he forced you to your feet, but he didn’t dare raise his voice at this surprisingly short figure that somehow floated down from the ceiling like a feather drifting to the ground. 

“This is an entirely serious matter! Lilia–– General, please.” Sebek pleaded, keeping you stuck in place by gripping your shoulders to keep you facing the General. What did Sebek call him earlier? Vanrouge? This was him? 

This Vanrouge character was on the petite side, he hardly looked like a general with his undersized stature and thin limbs. Yet his armor fit him just fine, and on his belt was a great big cleaver that sparkled like jade. Definitely not about to cross him when he had that on his person. 

Cleaver aside, it was really difficult to fear him when he removed his terrifying mask. While yes, his features were far less human than Sebek’s, he was somewhat adorable. When he laughed, you noticed small sharpened fangs while his big crimson red eyes and slitted pupils shined with mirth. Even one of his pale pointed ears appeared to twitch. “I know, I know, but can’t I enjoy one moment of laughter before everything goes to rack and ruin?” 

There was no need to even ask what exactly he meant by that, because again, there was that thundering rumble that shook the very palace walls. It sounded even closer this time, like it was in just the next room over! 

Vanrouge, or rather, Lilia, appeared a bit anxious, jittery as he brushed off his nerves with a quieter laugh. His own hands had gripped your shoulders as Sebek took a step back. “See, this is why you are one of my favorite humans! Mortals are so easygoing and you get my humor.” 

“Thank you? And you’re my favorite…” You paused. What even was he? What were they? In some renditions, there were fairies, but sometimes the creature that was the malevolent fairy and her goons were left a mystery. In one story the malevolent fairy had an army of creatures with animalistic features. Is that what they were supposed to be? It would explain the masks. What if you were wrong? “You’re my favorite little guy.” 

Sebek looked down at you incredulously as if you had insulted his own mother, and you realized far too late that you had quite literally called a General a little guy. However, instead of bringing his cleaver down upon you and splitting you in half or destroying you with some type of wild fantastical twinkly fairy magic, this General only giggled. He giggled, which made you grin like a fool. You had done something right, apparently! 

Deciding against saying the first thought that came to mind, Sebek instead blurted out, “This is the only human you actually talk to! They are the only one among us fae!” 

So that’s what they were. Fae. “Details, details. It still counts.” Lilia dismissed, leading you closer to the very end of the hall where it opened up to a space with more soldiers like him and Sebek. Faes. In a huge spacious room, gathered, listing reports on the results of their scouting missions. Missions likely with the goal of finding the princess. Once there, he placed an arm around your shoulder. Here, his voice was quieter to avoid being heard by the masses. “Come, we know the Master will be in need of some good news right about now, whether you can deliver it or fetch it. It will quell his… irritability. And it may take a human to catch a human. We cannot fully comprehend how your minds work, but perhaps you can understand a fellow mortal’s and finally make this search a success. Go now, courier.” 

Lilia had pushed you out in the open just as the last of the soldiers were wrapping up their report of failed searches. Your dark garbs and metal crow mask had allowed you to blend right in, but it felt like you were a rabbit in a den of ravenous wolves. No one stared at you, because they were far too transfixed on a towering figure not too far from where the General had pushed you. 

As soon as the figure entered your line of vision, you too became just as transfixed as everyone else. Master. This was their master, which could only be the malevolent fairy, fae, in this case. It should have never been possible for someone to have both the facets of a devil but the magnificence of an angel, but he did. Horns as black as night curved atop his head and inky black scales bordered the bases, making it look like a crown while shadows appeared to blend into his robes like fabric weaved of pure darkness devoid of any light. The only light that escaped him came from his eyes, like the common slitted pupils in this crowd yet his eyes glowed an enchanting green like no other. 

It was like a moth to a flame, destined to burn, but you found yourself drawing near behind his dark throne anyways. 

“It’s inconceivable!” He hissed, loud enough so that the entirety of the gathered could hear his voice echo in the space around them. The thunder outside seemed to crack with his every word. The fae, his loyal denizens, shirked back instinctively yet they continued to awe at the malevolent one. “Twenty years, and not a trace of the princess. How is it that this one human, a mortal, has miraculously escaped the vigilant watchful eyes of every one of my most diligent knights and soldiers who have searched all but endlessly, high and low, for two decades? Hm?” 

You kept glued to the wall, the uneven bricks against your back as you attempted to make yourself as small as possible. What were you supposed to do? What could a mortal do against him, the same fae that has the ability to transform into a dragon of immeasurable strength? This fae was the one who would eventually drag you down with him. 

“Humans are numerous, and they are a tricky sort, Your Majesty.” Lilia appeared at the forefront of the throng. Despite the obvious vexation of the horned-one, he continued merrily with an encouraging smile, despite the apprehension of his armored colleagues. “We can’t exactly venture into towns too long without the risk of being discovered or the presence of that pesky iron weakening us. But we make do, and during nights we’ve checked every strip of land from the moors’ borders, to the villages and towns, even the highest mountains. Haven’t we, boys?” 

A murmur of agreement washed over the crowd. For twenty years they had tirelessly searched, and they had no princess to show for their efforts. It wasn’t that the princess disappeared into thin air, this much you could remember. There was a reason they couldn’t find the princess as she dwelled in a cottage deep within the woods with her caretakers, the three good fairies, acting as poor mortal women. What was that reason again…? 

One hand shot up from the crowd, a voice louder than the rest, the familiar voice of Sebek. “Yes, Master Malleus we did! And we will gladly continue our search, comb through every region once more, and check every cradle again all for you to extract your revenge upon the despicable humans and their wicked king!” 

“Cradles…?” The dark fae, apparently named Malleus, directed his widening eyes towards them. His grip tightened on his long twisted wooden staff. You were given the answer as to why they never found the princess within the first years. The faes had forgotten that mortals aged, so the princess they were looking for was no longer a baby in a cradle. 

“Oh no.” Sensing the impending danger, you took cover behind the throne. From behind the throne you peeked out, using the royal seat as a shield. When the towering fae’s green-eyed gaze landed on you by a glance, you stilled like a frozen statue. The hair on the back of your neck raised as your gaze met his. Seeing his eyes become temporarily focused on you, feeling his unholy presence, sensing the incoming disaster he would wrought–– everything about this man, if he even was a man, made alarm bells ring on your head. 

Suddenly, a smile graced his features. It was the sort that masked his frustration simmering beneath the surface. He was close, close enough to reach a hand forward slowly so his fingertips grazed the underside of your chin. Lips curled upward into a menacing grin, but it wasn’t the crazed sort. He was scarily calm as he peered down at you. “Did you hear that, my courier?” 

There were over a hundred pairs of eyes on you at the moment. Watching intently as you leaned back a bit, a chill traveling up your spine as his sharp black nails traced your flesh. You’re sure you were beaming like a simpleton, whether out of instinct or out of some sort of response to your current nerves. Certainly this was how the sailors felt in times of old when confronted by enchanting sirens that lured them to certain doom in watery graves. What were the don’ts regarding fairies and faes of myths? Don’t give your name, don’t lie, and don’t enter the obvious fae traps designed to ensnare curious humans. This must’ve been some sort of fae trap, it had to when he had a face like that. 

Was Malleus addressing you directly because you were the only human in the room? “Yes… Loud and clear.” One corner of your mouth twitched into an awkward smile in return, but you found yourself unable to remove your eyes from his. A brief and quiet chuckle left your lips, “It’s… kinda funny.” 

“Isn’t it?” When he removed his fingers from your chin, you nearly tumbled forward, but you managed to successfully catch yourself before you could crash into him. The fae turned around, beginning to chuckle in his deep voice, a sound which echoed in the tense silence of the packed throne room. “For all these years I have been waiting, and they have been looking for a baby.” 

The General, Lilia, was perhaps the first to realize something was amiss when the Master of All Evil began to laugh. Vanrouge seemed like the type to enjoy a laugh, but this wasn’t just a moment to crow about their recent failings. A moment of clarity dawned on him while his colleagues unsurely joined in on the commotion. Your gaze met his and you frantically shook your head as Sebek rapidly clasped his hands over his mouth in shock and regret upon realizing their mistake and his blunder. You tried to signal them to flee while you yourself retreated further back behind the throne for cover. 

It was just in the nick of time too, as the air began to fizzle with static electricity, growing with every passing second as his laugh became less humorous and more diabolical. There was the same lightning from before but instead of being outside, it sounded as if it was inside these very walls. Crashing and striking every second, one, two, three, four, five, shaking the castle. You felt your eardrums vibrate as you continued to brace yourself behind the throne until it stopped. This was your first true taste of utter terror and helplessness. 

Here you were for a reason, to die, either by stone or before, whether it be by the clubs of the fae soldiers, at the sharp end of a holy sword, or between the maws of the Master of All Evil. It felt like an eternity, but it was likely under a minute, when the destruction ended. Trembling slightly, you peeked out to survey the damage. 

It was a harsh reminder of your current plight. There were no bodies laying motionless, as everyone either had the means to defend themselves or Malleus simply wasn’t aiming for any of them in his burst of anger. The throne room had been largely evacuated thanks to General Lilia and Sebek. Only shields and the occasional weapon were left behind in the hurry to avoid being struck by his wrath, dark spots were ingrained where the lightning struck the ground, a few stones tumbled loose from any walls that were hit as collateral damage. 

If you somehow survived this, it would be no less than a miracle. 

The air cooled, no longer hot with generating bolts of electricity, as the bottom of the dark fae’s staff snapped against the ground and he frowned deeply. Turning heel, his robes swished behind him as he made his way to his lonely throne with his head hung low. As he sat in the quiet empty room, you slowly revealed yourself from behind his throne. 

The fae only glanced at you briefly, as he took a deep breath and exhaled. Averting his gaze away from you, he didn’t strike you down just for staying. In fact, his next words seemed almost out of character for his role as Master of All Evil. “I apologize for my outburst… That was unbecoming of me.” 

Furrowing your eyebrows, you kneeled beside his throne at the right side of his armrest. For some reason, the king of the faes wouldn’t look at you. Rather, he opted to keep his gaze directed at the empty open space of the throne room. “Well, I think that was a reasonable crashout after twenty years of waiting only to hear they were looking for the wrong thing. I’d probably lose my temper too if I were you. You’re pretty patient for waiting even half that time.” 

“I appreciate your attempts to ease my suffering.” Somber. The dark fae was not as cruel as you had originally imagined. Frightening, yes, but he didn’t willingly and knowingly aim to zap his own subjects. After a few seconds of complete silence, he finally directed his undivided attention towards you. “It has been some time since I’ve personally requested my courier to go. The last time was when the… beastly little royal human had been born into this world. But now, due to the ignorance my own kin have shown, I must ask you to venture into the human kingdom.” 

“O… kay.” Slowly you nodded along, already knowing what he wanted you to find. The princess would be the objective. However, even for your knowledge of the story, you only knew she dwelled in a cottage within the woods. You had no idea how to actually go about finding her! 

The dark fae peered down at you, his green eyes staring into yours. Moving his hand to your head a few inches above the armrest of his throne, he carefully examined your every feature. It was petrifying to be analyzed so closely by such a creature of imaginable power, but his otherworldly sort of allure made it almost possible to forget the frightening show of strength you had just witnessed. Almost, but not quite, as his power was just as striking. 

“Circle far and wide.” Malleus began, his fingers against your chin slowly making you stand on your feet but not stand straight. You had to remain in a low stance as if hunched over, he brought your face close to his until he stood. Stood so his figure was towering over yours like an ominous shadow, and so you had to look up at him. These next words were a command, cold and indisputable. “Search for a maiden with hair of sunshine gold and lips red as the rose. Go, and do not fail me.” 

✧   ✧   ✧   ✧   ✧

Run. That was at the forefront of your mind. The alternative to a life of freedom and chance was appealing when compared to the gruesome fateful end you are destined to eventually meet. It would be easy to escape, given that you already had a black stallion as a steed to transport you from the fae’s moors and enchanted forests to the open fields and sprawling towns where your fellow humans resided. 

Run is what your mentality screamed when you had faced the Master of All Evil and stared him down. There was a good chance that other malefactors who may have ended up in similar situations as yours may have met their fate much earlier. On the ride to the neighboring kingdom’s main capital city, you had plenty of time to think of how you may have unintentionally dodged death. Should Sebek have found you suspicious and realized you did not belong, he would easily have the strength to overtake you; if Lilia had noticed that you were not one of his own, then his cleaver would have been stained red; even Malleus could’ve easily obliterated you with his magic, whether unintentionally or deliberately. 

Run is what you wanted to do when you finally reached the human city. Flee far into the countryside, in a land far far far away from here, completely out of reach for even the mighty fae and his loyal underlings. 

Such an option was tempting, that is, until you actually beheld human civilization. It was jarring, to say the least, the scene was a cold slap in the face, a reminder that this was not at all like the world you once knew. Riding into town, you found it a dreary type of place. Ever since you stepped foot out of fae territory, it’s as if the light had been sucked out of every living thing. Were things always this monotonous, or did the peaceful air in the vibrance of the enchanted forests just make things look worse in comparison? 

This was a medieval era, you were reminded as much by the colorful banners of the royal family and noble houses, the aroma of freshly baked bread, and the strong scent of burning coal and forging irons. People milled about, going on with their daily duties, completely ignoring the stranger that was you. 

That’s right–– to these simple townsfolk, you were one of them! A human, not a fae that which they feared. Perhaps a wandering knight in armor, a traveller passing through, nobody worth a second glance. This is why Malleus thought you were most fit to venture out for clues. However, what you wanted were not clues but answers. Should you stay or go? Risk your life and somehow try to change the entirety of the plot, in the hopes you would be rewarded for your loyalty by the fae king that wielded incredible power and riches? Or choose to run, run and never look back, run and hope you found something better to avoid your punishment? 

This desire for answers was seemingly answered in the form of a stranger. A stranger who nearly ran you over with a brilliant white steed, as you were walking and leading your own stallion by its leather reigns. It was close to the marketplace, but in an isolated corner of the city boxed in by towering brick walls built to fortress invasions. Which is why hardly anyone was there to bear witness as you jumped back, narrowly missing being stepped on by the hooves of the suddenly appearing beast as your own horse grew panicked. 

“Hey! Watch where you’re going!” You scowled at the rider, whose face you didn’t see until their horse backed up and you had to calm your own. It was difficult to calm it, it felt nearly impossible when you had no experience with these finicky creatures as you awkwardly tugged on the reins and tried to reach a hand toward it. 

A pale hand came into view, placing itself upon the creature’s black fur on its forehead. “Here, let me help.” Instantly, he calmed the anxious creature with just one soothing touch and the sound of his hushed voice. 

A fae? No, that was impossible! The telltale sign was the soft round ears and round pupils dotting the most entrancing pair of eyes you had ever seen before. It felt impossible to name the color, but it was like dawn’s first light. The hair on his head reflected the evening sun like silver, even his outfit was pristine and not that of a commoner. Gray and white tunic of high quality fabrics buttoned with gold, tailored dark pants with black polished boots, and a white cloak flowing down his back. Even if this man certainly had the grace and charm of a fae, he certainly was not one, he was human. 

“I’m terribly sorry.” Carefully he gathered the black leather reigns in his hands, placing them in yours as his fingers brushed against your flesh. He was warm. “I didn’t see you there, and I didn’t mean to frighten your horse, or you. Are you alright…?” 

A bit taken aback, you didn’t react as he slid the reins into your hands. You were far too entranced, puzzled by his mere presence. No human should be that pretty. The guy was radiant, he stood out so prominently. Furrowing your eyebrows in confusion, the words came tumbling past your lips and you only realized how it sounded once they were out hanging in the air. “What are you?” 

The refined gentleman remained mostly impassive, but his eyes widened the slightest bit and he blinked. Slowly lowering his calloused hands, he looked at you inquisitively. Specifically staring at your mask. “My name is Silver. Who are you?” 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” You realized how peculiar you must’ve looked to others. The mask allowed you to fit right in among the fae, but here, there was no need for such a thing. So slowly you removed it and attached it to your hip. “Silver, huh…? Is that a nickname or something? It’s not really original.” 

“No, I suppose it isn’t very original.” Shaking his head lightly, expressionless, his eyes drifted to the ground as he casually admitted, “It was a name suggested by my late uncle who passed on before my birth in a terrible tragedy. My mother and father decided to keep it in his honor.”

When he looked back at you, both your hands were clasped over your mouth. Rapidly, you began to attempt to make up for your blunder, nearly stumbling over your words. “N-No, no, you heard me wrong…! I meant that it’s a very original name. Really. I mean, who else do you know that has the name Silver? Or Gold? Or Bronze? No one! Your name is perfect, I love it.” 

“Oh, well thank you…” Silver managed the slightest trace of a smile, but other than that he remained rather apathetic. Still, he peered down at you with vague curiosity. “You still have yet to tell me your name.” 

“My name?” Were you allowed to even say your name? What if you said it, and a fae heard it, and failed to recognize it? That would be a fatal mistake. “Oh, I have a name. And it’s not a metal-based one, mind you. But, everyone just calls me Courier.” That’s what Lilia had referred to you as earlier. 

The young man tilted his head to the side, looking rather confused as he guessed. “Your nickname is your occupation?” 

“… Yes.” You winced, realizing how stupid it seemed, worse than a name like his, but it was already out in the open. It couldn’t be taken back. “It’s a nickname.”

“I see.” There was no judgement on his end. All he did was nod along, taking it all with grace. Lightly tugging on the reins of his steed, just to keep them close as you did with yours, he looked around the empty street. “Courier, may I ask you a favor? It appears I’ve gotten myself lost. The last time I was here was several years ago, and I hardly recognize any of these roads. I was trying to find my way to the palace to meet with the King. Do you believe you might be able to point me in the right direction?” 

Your ear perked up at that. The King? As in one of the humans that Malleus viewed as a foe? It didn’t take long at all to find a lead! If this lead proved to be useful, then maybe it was worth the risk staying. If Malleus became the victor to receive his own happily ever after, wouldn’t that mean you would receive the same? “The King? Well, you must be someone important to meet with him.” 

“Ah, yes, I don’t usually mention this… It draws far too much attention.” Silver shifted as you gestured for him to follow. You had no idea where the palace was, but it wouldn’t be too hard to move towards the general direction of a towering estate once you saw it. Keeping up with your pace, the black and white horses in tow, he continued, “I have to meet with him because I’m the prince betrothed to his daughter.” 

You nearly screamed in delight. This was perfect! Too perfect! This wasn’t just a lead, this was one of the story’s two main protagonists! Instead, you could only grin, your giddiness probably seemed common to him whenever he introduced himself as royalty. But your excitement was due for another entirely different reason. “You don’t say!”

Furrowing his eyebrows, he responded quietly, a bit confused, “I’m saying so right now…?” 

“No, it’s an expression, duh.” You rolled your eyes, half amused by the prince’s innocence. This was all coming together so well! However, you had to remain cautious. In the story, the crow assisted in the capture of the prince and eternal sleep falling over the princess, but it was due to carelessness that the bird still got turned to stone! “So, you’re practically engaged to someone you don’t even know? Ooh… I’m very sorry for your marriage.” 

Silver paused, appearing slightly confused as he spoke in such a soft and enchanting voice. The prince made simple words sound like a lullaby. “I’m no expert in felicitations, but I believe the saying is congratulations, not I’m very sorry for your marriage.” 

Appearing to contemplate his words for a moment, you then shrug your shoulders and dismiss the comment from him. “Hmm… Nahhhh.” You know what you said. “I meant what I said.”

“What an odd thing to say.” Silently furrowing his eyebrows, he appeared deep in thought as he considered your words. Quietly the prince remarked in a hushed tone, “No one has ever said such a thing to me. Since you said that, it must mean you understand that this isn’t an entirely positive ordeal for me. I… never thought anyone would understand my life long predicament.” 

“What…?” Looking at him with a mix of confusion and amusement, you held back any laughter. All you had done was try to poke fun and tease the prince, not talk heart to heart with him! 

The prince looked at you, a delighted sparkle in his eyes that contradicted the apathetic expression of the royal. Keeping pace, he followed rather closely even as you picked up speed once catching sight of the palace from the corner of your eye. “You understand that this arranged royal marriage is not as grand as most make it out to be. I haven’t even met my betrothed yet.” 

Personally, you didn’t see much wrong with his romantic situation, but that was coming from someone of the outside perspective. Slaying a dragon aside, all he had to do was marry a wealthy princess of unmatched beauty and grace, who he’ll come to love anyways. After the wedding he’d remain royalty, and eventually become a king. “Oh, boo-hoo, what a problem to have!” Actually, scratch that. You wouldn’t want to be him when he was the one who had to face the Master of All Evil head on in combat. Malleus was frightening enough just as he was, but seeing him as a dragon was likely a thousand times more terrifying.

Again, the sarcasm went directly over his head. Instead, he nodded along, keeping pace as his leather-toed boots clicked against the cobblestone street. “Well, I wouldn’t say boo-hoo exactly. It doesn’t quite make me sad, just… disappointed, I suppose. It is a heavy burden to shoulder. Father and Mother believe that uniting our kingdoms through marriage is the best option in protecting us from the fae.” 

“The fae, hm? How scary~” You hummed. Upon the mention of the fae, you cannot help but recall the magical folk with their pointed ears and beastly masks. Certainly the way they came across with their attire could be very frightening. They were a funny bunch, but unsettling.

“I wouldn’t know. I have never met one before, my family has forbidden it.” Silver shrugged lightly, keeping his eyes on the ground in front of him. Conscious of every step he took, he made slow measured strides so as to not outpace you. “Perhaps someday, if I were to ever meet one, we could establish diplomatic relations to mend the harm that our people have caused to each other throughout history. Most humans do not want to fight, and I’d like to believe that the fae feel the same.” 

“It’s possible the fae aren’t all bad.”

For a moment, you pictured it. Peace between the Moors and the Kingdom. While some fae seemed to have an aversion toward humanity, their majestic leader didn’t appear to feel the same. Rather, his loathing was specifically aimed at the King and by extension his Princess daughter, which would then also extend to the daughter’s betrothed Prince currently walking beside you. Silver would be an enemy in Malleus’ eyes by association to the Princess. 

“What? Is your heart made out of gold or something?” You scoffed, distracting from the serious topic with a bit of light teasing. The conversation was beginning to feel too heavy. “Or should I say… a heart of silver!” When you only got a silent glance from him, you faltered. “Nevermind. Tough crowd.” 

Coming up to the guarded wooden bridge that separated the city from the kingdom, you stopped in the shadows. It was best to avoid any unwanted attention, especially from the knights standing guard at the entrance as people flowed across the bridge. This was the furthest you could go. Best not risk being caught as a human spy for the fae. 

“I thought it was funny.” Silver admitted quietly, stopping beside you in the light as he placed a hand over his horse’s neck. Even though he said he found it humorous, his expression didn’t match his words. 

Noticing this, you gave a half scoff as you pointed out the obvious. “You didn’t even laugh.” 

Silently he watched you climb onto the saddle over the black horse. At your words he nodded slowly in confirmation. Indeed, he had not laughed at your joke. Stepping forward, stopping you from leaving immediately, he placed his hand over yours which gripped the reins. Those aurora eyes gazed up at you, glittering, despite the detached expression on his face. “May I see you again? You were the first to never scoff at my idea that the fae can be reasoned with.” 

The fae could be reasoned with, you knew this much. It may be difficult, but it is possible. Perhaps once Malleus wrought revenge on those who crossed him, he would be willing to be amicable. Now if that would even be possible after the humans see a notorious fae bring death upon their royals like a curse, was a completely different story. “You want to see me again?” 

Silver nodded, confirming even despite seeing the sheer incredibility of your expression. “Also to hear more of your jokes.” 

Pulling the reins out of his grasp, your steed stepped in place but seemed much easier to control now. “Uhh… sure? Why not? I like you anyways, you’re kinda weird.” Before he could open his mouth, you interrupted, calling over your shoulder as your steed began to take off. “Don’t ask questions! We’ll see each other again, don’t worry.” 

You would definitely be seeing him again, for better or for worse. If your memory serves you right, the Malevolent Fairy captures the Prince and has him chained in her palace’s dungeon. There, while her goons are reveling in their victory, she and her avian companion pay a visit to their royal prisoner. It is then that the Malevolent Fairy reveals her plan to keep the Prince locked away for a hundred years, and only then once he’s old and on the verge of death, will he be allowed free to go and wake the Princess after a century of slumber. Maybe you could convince Malleus to spare Silver? Could that work to your advantage or would that work against you? 

As you steer the steed through the forest, back to the moors through a different path, weaving through dense foliage and shrubbery in the search for another hint, the flash of color caught your gaze. It was out of place, bright and glittering against nature’s backdrop. They were like small puffs and explosions of glitter and light, colorful like fireworks, as clear as flares. When you got close enough, you knew you had found it when you spotted a little hidden cottage. From inside past closed doors came bickering and shouting as the chimney spouted magic instead of black soot. 

Steadily a grin grew on your face as you awed at the magic dust spewing from the top. “Huh… that’s awfully convenient. But wait a minute…” 

You stayed behind, hiding your steed in the dense foliage as you crept along in the shadows cast by the trees and the back of the cottage. Eventually, a girl did arrive. A girl with golden hair and rose red lips, the one that had to be the princess. You listened as she arrived, the side of your face pressed up against the cold rugged stone walls. 

The princess was ecstatic upon receiving her birthday gifts, but she spoke of no mysterious man. No true love she met in the woods. Not even when her caretakers, who must’ve been the three good fairies, told her about her true identity as royalty, she didn’t cry because she would not see the man she fell in love with. Since she hadn’t met him, because of you. 

“Fuck…!” You cursed under your breath, dread pooling in the depths of your stomach. 

You had taken up too much of Silver’s time. So much time that he had missed the vital point in the plot where he was supposed to accidentally stumble upon the hidden Princess in the woods, and they were to fall in love. You were telling him stupid jokes while he was supposed to be falling head over heels with her! The storyline had already gone astray by this one mistake, and the terrible realization dawned on you. 

“I’m a homewrecker––” 

✧   ✧   ✧   ✧   ✧

“Why, our courier is back so soon.” Lilia crooned as he watched you burst through the stairs coming from the stables. Seeing your slightly disheveled appearance, he tilted his head but didn’t move from his spot lounging snuggly at the windowsill overlooking the vast expanse of training grounds. “My, my, don’t tell me the humans gave you trouble! You look like a bat out of hell.” 

Quickly shaking your head, you drew nearer to him as he carefully studied you. It made you nervous, being watched so closely by a General, but you just had to play it cool! “Nooo.” You curse the awkward crack in your voice, clearing your throat. “Of course not! I just have some very urgent news.” 

“Hmm. For a moment there I thought I would have to scare a lesson into some troublesome humans picking on our precious little courier.” Diverting his attention back to the window against his side, he hummed as he spectated some knights sparring against each other with brandished blades. 

You watched as Lilia leaned forward towards the window in interest, his nose practically pressed up against the glass. With a motion of his fingers, he caused some of the training dummies to move by magic. He lifted his fingers, controlling them like puppets so they weakly pestered and frightened any younger knights beside them.

As a few terrified screams and panicked shouts rang out from the courtyard, Lilia grinned and threw his head back in laughter. When he caught your half-amused and sort of confused smile, the mischievous fae beamed. “Come now, these are the jokes, young mortal. I’d expect you to understand. Don’t you have any otherworldly humor you could present to me? Phony says what.”

“What…?” One word. One word he said caused you to freeze, the sentence you were about to say hung off your lips and clogged your throat. Phony…? Any smile on your face was momentarily dashed as you processed what he just said, and you wanted to smack yourself for your stupidity. Audibly you gulped, forcing down anything you would have said before. The confusion must’ve been clear on your face, because it only served to amuse him further. You never were too good at hiding your shock. “You… You know I’m not––?” 

“I know you’re very very far from home. I’ve lived nearly a millennium and traveled the globe, and during my travels I’ve heard the occasional rumor of unexplainable instances concerning particular mortals. A single mortal acting odd, out of place, with more knowledge than they should, especially before monumental events. Although I never assumed it would happen here.” Lilia mused, resting his temple against the glass as his crimson red eyes never left your form. The shiny cleaver at his side looked extra sharp. “Usually, I’m not too fond of strange humans. However, you appear to be relatively harmless.” Flashing a fang-toothed grin that only made you grimace a bit, he continued, “Don’t worry, I quite like you. It sounds like you were successful in your hunt for information, and that’s what matters most.” 

You proceeded carefully, prodding a bit further just to test the limits of the current boundaries. “You’re not… mad?” 

“Oh, heavens no! Why should I be? You seem quite diligent and charming in your own right. So long as you don’t betray Malleus, then we will have no issue between us.” His voice had turned a bit serious, low, as his little grin dimmed. “He has already faced far too much betrayal at the hands of humans. Even for someone on the dense side, anyone can see that becoming a source of hatred for him would be akin to signing away their life. And I’m sure you aren’t that dull, are you?” 

Quickly shaking your head, the frown on your lips pulled down further as you remembered just how terrifying his electrifying show of power had been. And that wasn’t even the full extent of his strength! “Uh, no, I don’t think so. So… you won’t tell anyone about me?” 

“There’s no need for me to do so, so no.” With a slow beckoning of his finger, you felt an unfamiliar visible force against your back. Immediately you were pulled, magically tugged by some unseen force until he was close enough to grab you by the collar. Again, it was a stark reminder as to who you were dealing with, especially upon seeing the calluses on his palms and tiny scars littered across his slim fingers. Nervously you smiled, and he returned the gesture with a confident one. “Let’s have a bit of a partnership, shall we? A trade, if you will. A bit of tit for tat. I’m curious about what you know, and I’m sure you feel something similar towards me. Am I right? Enlighten me, dear courier.” 

“Haha…” A crooked smile made its way on your lips, as you somehow remained composed. Maybe your mind wasn’t immediately comprehending the danger you were currently in. “You first?” 

Lilia eyed you carefully, eventually letting go of your collar as he plucked your metal mask right off your face. “Very well. But only because you asked nicely.” That likely wasn’t the reason. This fae was a General, and it didn’t take a genius to realize he must’ve been a rather ruthless one if his scars were anything to go by. 

You silently thanked whatever higher force was watching over you, as Lilia could have easily decided to take you out right then and there for being a liar and an intruder. 

Sharp black nails traced every dip and groove in the metal, his fingers trailing down the long beak of the mask in his grasp. General Vanrouge made no effort to call for backup or restrain you simply because he didn’t need to. “If I were you, I would first like to know my place in all this.” 

A single nod from you was all the confirmation he needed in order to continue. 

“You are his majesty’s precious courier. A human he found one day when outside of the moors, he watched you be abandoned by your village. Those simple minded folk claimed you were cursed by fae, that there was something wrong with you. So, a fae took you in, because he needed a mortal to be his eyes and ears in the places he couldn’t go.” That explained a lot about why you were the only mortal allowed in the moors and enchanted forest. It explained why his soldier’s would sometimes watch you warily, but never outright harm you. Because you were considered his, a personal servant to their sovereign. “Now, may I have your name?” 

Immediately your mind honed in on those words. May I have your name? Faes weren’t real back home, but here, they were very real and very dangerous. If the stories were true, then they were a tricky type that chose their words carefully, often holding double meanings to what they say. You caught sight of a glimmer of magic readily swirling at his fingertips. The general didn’t just want to hear your name. “No, you may not.” You managed an attempt at a smile as he blinked at you. “You can just call me Courier, just like everyone else here.” 

Steadily a smirk grew on his face as he chuckled, “Smart, mortal. Alright, Courier. If you won’t give me your name, then answer this: why are you here? For power, perhaps glory, or riches unattainable by your current standing?” 

“That all does sound nice but believe it or not, I’m not here willingly.” Was there any harm in telling him? If he wouldn’t speak of your identity, would he mention the reason you were here to anyone else? In myths, faes didn’t appreciate liars. Besides, the near millenia old being seemed like the type to figure this out especially with your habit of letting things slip. Even if you lied now and he later found out the truth, he may not be too pleased to discover that you had the gall to lie twice to him. “It may sound like one big joke to you, but I’ll tell you.” 

Awkwardly you glanced away, unable to meet his gaze anymore. You tried looking everywhere but at him. Your gaze landed on the window, and you saw the familiar green-haired knight picking up the busted remains of ravaged training dummies. After a few seconds, Sebek’s green eyes landed on you by chance, and you immediately averted your gaze again. How did you even begin to explain your origins? 

“See, it’s like this…” You took a deep breath before beginning. “My homeland is strict and punishes criminals by banishing them. I got banished and woke up here. That’s the gist of it. And if you’re wondering what I want, well… all those things you said before do sound nice, I just mainly want to focus on surviving. This whole situation seems… familiar, in a way. Like a story I read before.” 

“Hmmm…” Although Lilia didn’t really react vocally, you could see the shock and intrigue in those big red eyes that widened at your explanation. However, he remained mostly quietly, an amused smile on his face as he was engrossed in your explanation. Only when you finished speaking did he ask inquisitively, “What was your crime? You seem so youthful, naive, and sincere. Positive qualities. Surely whatever your people found you guilty of could not have been any sort of offense worse than I’ve committed. You’re still a bit wet behind the ears after all.” 

Slowly shrugging, you replied somewhat quietly. “I’d rather not answer that.” 

“Fair enough. We all have a few skeletons in our closets that we’d prefer not to reveal. Some may be quite literal!” Wait, what did he just say? “So if you’re not willing to give up your name, or the specifics of your crime, then what are you willing to offer?” 

You watched as he sat up, his feet dangling off the floor as he sat on the window ledge. Carefully you contemplated his words, weighing each of your choices until the first thing came to mind. “I can promise you I’ll make sure Malleus gets a good ending. Because if this plays out like how I think it will, then a dragon ends up stabbed through the heart.” 

Something in Lilia’s eyes flashed as he stood up. It was chilling how the fae’s wide bright eyes went from curious and mirthful to cold and unblinking. “Is that so…?” 

“Yes. But I don’t want that, and I’m sure you don’t want that too, right?” You tried not to falter, but you couldn’t help but take a few steps back when he continued to steadily walk towards you without stopping. “Well… I’d like to prevent that with just one condition. I get to possibly live comfortably afterwards––” An involuntary gasp left your mouth as your back hit the wall, you were cornered. Slowly you sunk down, suddenly very intimidated by the small General as you practically sunk down until he was the one leering down at you. “And maybe you don’t, you know, kill me…?” 

The general’s fist was suddenly beside your head, his thumb grazing the shell of your ear as you could make out the distinct sound of stone crumbling as his fingers gripped the bricks. “So what you’re telling me is that you may be able to predict the future. So if you die, then there’s the heightened chance of our King dying?” 

“I––” You were wrong. You knew Lilia was someone to be feared, but you underestimated how utterly terrifying he was. Yes, he was darling and cute, but he didn’t even need his signature weapon to be effective. “Y-Yes…?”

General Vanrouge appeared to scrutinize you as you realized just how sharp his fangs were. In the blink of an eye, his harsh expression dropped and he smiled at your terror. “Okay! I won’t break His Majesty’s little courier he's been so intrigued by. You’ll be under my protection now. It’s as simple as that. I’m sure you won’t even consider running away from me, isn’t that right?” 

When he tilted his head, his black and red hair was so close that it brushed against your face. His nose practically in front of yours as you immediately shook your head. “I-I would never…!” 

“Good! Then it’s settled.” Lilia beamed as he took a step back, wiping off the crumbled brick dust off his hands as he laughed at your petrified form. “Scurry off now. Go tell the young master the news you’ve brought. Oh, and next time I see you, I expect to hear many jokes and I will be picking at your mind for every single tidbit of knowledge you’re hiding from me.” When you looked at him incredulously, he gave you a little wave with a wiggle of his fingers. His giggling was an unsettling reminder as he seemed to vanish around the corner. “I’ll be watching you!” 

After a few moments, you peeked behind the corner, both awed and slightly aghast to see he was completely gone. There wasn’t a single trace of him left. Rather, in his place was a certain knight. The loud one stood all the way at the other end of the hall, staring at you slack-jawed in furious disbelief. 

“You heard that, didn’t you…?” You sighed. 

“You…!!” Red-faced. He was flustered possibly with confusion and realization, the realization that this entire time he had been speaking with someone that didn’t belong. A human, yes, like he despised but worse, because this human didn’t belong at all. In an instant he was in your face, and you feared more for your eardrums than your life right now. “You, mortal, speak of affairs you know NOTHING about!!!” 

“That is true!” Hopefully no one was within the vicinity to hear him. 

Perhaps he was angry for a multitude of reasons. Lying to him, tricking people, making deals with the General, and overall still remaining ignorant of many things like why exactly did Malleus hate the King. However, it was probably because he knew you were taking advantage of the situation. A situation that was his reality, and very important to him, and he had overheard it all. “You have NO respect––!!” 

“That is also true!” Picking up your mask which Lilia had dropped on the floor, you brushed it off and added quickly before he could assault your eardrums again. “I didn’t ask to be sent here. What more do you want from me?” 

“Spare me your foul excuses, human!” Gnashing his teeth, you only now realize just how much sharper his fangs were than any other fae you had encountered thus far. It reminded you of a crocodile. “You are merely the Master’s pet, the role of the human whether you or someone else will remain constant! For some reason he sees you fit to bask in the glory of his presence, and I cannot even fathom as to why! The Master must find your human presence convenient besides just for basic intel, and for what those other purposes are, our minds can not even begin to comprehend his intentions! Although for what reasons he would want such an unsightly human is far beyond my understanding.” 

Placing your hand over your heart, you reeled back in offense as a hurt expression overtook your facial features. Forget the fact that he basically insinuated you were ugly. “Oww? Why so rude? I am many things but a pet is not one of them!” 

“Are you implying that you, a mere human, are on par with a fae such as I or even the great and mighty Malleus Draconia?” The knight gasped. “Why, the nerve of you, mortal!” 

Incredulously you squinted at him. Did all faes revere their sovereign to this insane degree, or was it just this one? Did he forget that you were his sovereign’s only human courier while he had many knights and soldiers at his disposal? “I’m not implying anything, but I’m just saying, look who has special privileges to go see your precious Master whenever I please. It’s me! Not you!” 

“Human––!!” 

As he clenched his fist, you dramatically gasped and waggled your finger. It was surprisingly fun to mess with him because it was so easy. “No, no, no. Wouldn’t want to hurt your Master’s only human courier when I carry important news, would you? I think he would be very unhappy if you did. You heard me talking with your General, I have a plan.” 

“You? Important news?” Sebek practically sneered. “You don’t mean to tell me you actually went to listen in on the comings and goings of the human kingdom instead of relying solely on your mystic knowledge? Tell me, do you really have a plan or is that one of your despicable lies again?”

“Yes, I did, actually.” There was no telling how successful you would be. Truthfully, you weren’t entirely sure where to go from here now that the plot had changed. The best bet would likely to still curse the Princess, and somehow get the Master of All Evil to consider sparing the Prince, but you would have to convince the Prince to not fight Malleus. Easier said than done. Silver seemed like the noble type, but if you could deceive him somehow so he wouldn’t rescue the Princess… “And I have… part of a plan. How hard can it be? I mean, I practically already charmed their prince! Although that part was fully unintentional.” 

“You…?” The knight didn’t seem too convinced, although there was a flicker of shock at the mention of charming a royal. “You seduced the human prince meant to wed the enemy king’s daughter? That prince? If you lie to me again, I will not forgive you twice!” 

After a brief pause, you shrugged and admitted, “I mean… I told a joke and he said he wanted to see me again––” 

“Debaucher!!” Sebek pointed accusingly, his face flush. Only now as his cheeks heated up did you notice he had the slightest trace of green scales hidden where his hair began. Weird. “I knew humans were vile and loathsome, but you…!” 

Despite his finger in your face, you actually cracked a grin. “You literally cannot call me anything worse than what I’ve called myself. And for the record, I just told him a joke and showed him the way through the human town. Nothing more, nothing less. Don’t get it twisted.” 

The fae appeared to be drawn deep in thought, holding his fingers to his chin, stroking the few scales near his neck as he actually considered your response. Or at least, for a moment he appeared to be doing that. “I don’t understand… Are humans so naturally deceptive or are they so senselessly blind to deceit playing right before their eyes? Perhaps it is both.” Just before you could reprimand him again for saying such things when you were literally less than two feet away from him, he began with a newfound sense of energy, as if reaching a profound realization. “I see! I believe I understand it now! It is because you are so disgustingly devious that the Master has decided to keep you around! Any human can be treacherous and shrewd, but it takes a truly depraved one to betray their own kind! So clearly, our human is superior to all others!” 

You stared at him hard, mostly speechless. What sort of mental gymnastics did he perform to come to that conclusion? Best not to question it, as he seemed like the type to stubbornly refuse defeat. “You know, if Malleus really wanted to––” 

“That’s Master Malleus to you, fiend!” Sebek rebuked sternly, apparently having no regard for the fact that he literally cut you off. 

Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you replied sarcastically, “You know if Master Malleus really wanted to end things…” Pausing, you waited to see if he would interrupt you again, but he only grinned in satisfaction so you proceeded. “Why doesn’t he just, you know––” You slid your hand over your throat in a slicing motion. “––the Princess?” 

“The audacity of you, courier! How dare you make such an assumption?” Perhaps the suggestion was going too far. “The Master is a noble spirit, I do not know what sort of idea you have of him, but cease that affront at once! If you are to operate on behalf of our esteemed leader among the ranks of his knights, you must change your perspective of him. The Master is understanding and knowledgeable… I too once had a similar idea and asked him once, his response was that the objective of his curse was to cause the most suffering possible to those who have wronged him.” 

You piped up, “… I mean, I could do it just to put an end to things.” 

“No!! Did you not just hear me?” There was the flash of his fangs again, but he wasn’t out right snarling again. At least that was a good sign. Firmly he explained, “The Master doesn’t need your help in assassination! He is far more capable than just slitting one’s throat! With a flick of his finger, he could disarm an entire army! The Princess would stand no chance!” 

Motioning him to tone it down, you grimaced at his volume. There was no doubt in your mind that it was entirely possible that at least one person had overheard the conversation. It would be a miracle if no one had overheard any of the details at this point. “Let’s not talk about that super loud. You know, I still have to deliver the news.”

Pausing, Sebek opened his mouth, “Ah–– you are correct. That was negligent of me to take up your time when the Master is awaiting your presence.” Placing a hand on your shoulder, he squeezed slightly, and you noticed he had quite the nails and a powerful grip. The knight smiled, actually beamed with such sharp teeth. “Do not fret, courier. Although I find your mortal ways absolutely despicable, you will soon realize what a blessing it is to serve the Master! For now, you are my comrade, and I will help change your selfish desires!” 

Silently staring at him, astounded by his confidence and logic, the sarcastic comment slipped out as you looked straight into his eager sparkling eyes. Apparently he really believed he could really change your mindset. “I’m tearing up…” 

“I know, do not cry!” The sarcasm went completely over his head as he roped you in so you were shoulder-to-shoulder. Enthusiastically he continued, forcing you to walk along with him as he moved forward. “I understand, believe me, serving His Majesty is a wondrous thing! Do not be overwhelmed, even if it is very easy to get swept away by the glory of his mere presence, I am here to guide you! Together, we shall serve Master Malleus for many years to come!” After a few feet, his ironclad grip loosened enough for you to stumble a few paces forward out of his hold. “Go. We will begin tomorrow at dawn, and I will take it upon myself to enlighten you on all fae history and the biography of our esteemed leader! If you are late, I will simply track you down and force you to listen, I hope I have made myself clear enough!” 

Note to self, think of an excuse to get out of that tomorrow. Maybe lying and saying Malleus gave you some top secret important mission would be enough to get Sebek off your back. “Crystal clear. Now, if you’ll excuse me––” 

Before he could even think to begin again, you got out of there quickly. It was by asking servants did you hear that the fae king was in his study and apparently did not wish to be disturbed, probably due to the fact that he was likely bitter from the earlier disappointment about the whole cradle thing. 

“Malleus! Master Malleus!” Your fist pounded on the door. According to the servants, the general rule was to never ever bother the fae when his door was closed and especially when he was in a foul mood, but you were the exception as you brought reports. 

The door to the study where he was remained firmly shut for a few moments, until there was a wave of his hand and a green glow which unlocked the latch. Caving under your weight, the door flew open, nearly making you fall face first against the cold hard ground which caused you to shout in exclamation. 

Somehow you caught yourself, your fingers brushing against the ground but you remained on your feet for the most part. Quickly you recomposed yourself, still slightly flustered under the majestic fae’s menacing gaze. 

Malleus lifted his chin, his green-eyed gaze never leaving yours. It was another shock, a reminder, as you nearly forgot how frightening he was. Turning his attention away from the balcony, he watched you fumble about like a king would look upon their pitiful jester. “Well?” 

“Um… well…” Despite how many times you practiced your lines before arriving, your memory and any confidence went right off the balcony ledge overlooking the fae’s kingdom. When under the scrutiny of a magical being so ethereal yet so terrifying, it made your mind blank. “I, uh, saw stuff. Definitely saw things, and… uh…” Suddenly your mouth went dry, and words made no sense in your mind. If you focused on his midnight black hair, it made it possible to speak when you weren’t focused on his gaze. “So there was a Prince… very nice, mind you. Not so bad. He seems to want to think well of faes. Found him as I was walking around the kingdom, then he told me he was on the way to meet his future father-in-law, you know, the King? And then, well, I was in the woods when the strangest thing happened.” 

It was only by staring at his hair so long did you notice the odd features. The small black scales merging with his hairline, the unnatural smoothness of his hair without a single strand out of place, even his majestic horns appeared to glimmer in the light. It was easy to get distracted. 

“And… um… oh…! What I was saying is that there was a cottage, and its chimney was spewing this colorful magic.” That seemed to catch his attention, as his gaze which had begun to drift away immediately shifted when his eyes were suddenly transfixed on you and what you were saying. “Turns out, three peasant women live there with a girl exactly like the Princess.” 

“Like the Princess, you say?” The fae slowly turned towards the open balcony, where one could see the entirety of his domain which included those enchanted forests and moors. Past the wall of giant thorns protecting his land and people, in the very distance, it was possible to just barely make out the towering palace where the human royalty resided. A ghost of a wicked smile appeared on his lips. “Twenty years. I have made my old friend suffer for two decades, approximately a third of his short mortal lifespan. Last I heard from my previous courier, is that his Queen was on her deathbed from a terrible illness and the King was slowly going mad.” 

Previous courier… You should’ve expected this. Instantly you felt sick to your stomach. Did Lilia tell him? Or Sebek? But why? They promised! Didn’t they claim to detest liars? Your first instinct was to cover your face with your hands, as if being unable to see anything or hear him would make everything go away. But what good would that be? Sucking in the air through your teeth, you glanced upwards at the ceiling, praying for some sort of miracle or divine intervention. “They didn’t tell you, did they…?” 

“No, my General and knights keep their promises.” Placing a cold pale hand on your head, his fingers threaded carefully through your hair. Part of you expected him to just execute you here and now, turn you to stone himself for lying to him. “I’ve known since you awoke here. My General, Lilia, even gave you a hint. Twice. He had no need to tell me when I see through your eyes and hear through your ears. You see, I made that deal with the original. You took their role, and the curse remained in place.” 

You felt numb. This entire time, every single second, he had been there. Knowing. Listening and watching through your own senses. In. Every. Single. Moment. Nothing could be kept secret. What if he was in your very thoughts? No–– he would’ve mentioned that, wouldn’t he? 

“No, I cannot read your thoughts.” The timbre of his tone caused a shiver to travel up your spine as you straightened up, snapping out of your stupor. If he was telling the truth, which he must’ve been, then he was just very very good at reading others. “As powerful as I may be, I am not omniscient.” 

Carefully gazing up at him, you kept your head down and arms at your side, afraid he would just crush your skull between his digits. “That’s… embarrassing. You’re not, I don’t know, going to turn me into stone or something?” 

“I’m presuming that is the fate you fear is waiting for you at the end of this story.” Black nails curled along your strands of hair, his finger tracing down to your ears as you squeezed your eyes shut in awful anticipation. “Well, you need not fret. You have not told me any lies, you carried out your duty well, and found the Princess that my legion of knights couldn’t locate in twenty years. I would be a fool to turn you to stone.” So he could turn people to stone if he wanted to. “Besides, I find you quite amusing. It made me smile, knowing my enemies suffer and hearing your silly squabbling.”

Inwardly you cringed, recalling every little mistake you made since gaining consciousness in this world. Every stumble and fall, every scream or exclamation, the bickering with his precious knight, playing along with his General, joking with the very Prince that was destined to slay him! Even when you openly dealt with Lilia, openly bargaining with his life for some sort of ending that you could live with. Malleus was aware of each and every second. “Even for… you know, making that deal?” 

“No, I’m not cross.” Eventually his hand fell back to his side, as the malevolent fae continued to peer down at you. It felt wrong to even breathe within his vicinity. “It’s perfectly within human nature for mortals to claw their way towards redemption. The decisions you have made are primarily for yourself, saving me in the process is merely an unintended consequence. We both know this. Know that I am not shaken by your choice in the slightest. Trust me when I say that I know full well of the sins that humans are willing to commit for their own benefit. I know very well that humans will prioritize themselves over all others.” You felt small under his gaze, as he didn’t even blink once. The cool and collected tone of his became somewhat hushed as he mused, “You were destined to be here beside me, I believe. Perhaps as punishment…” 

Slowly you awkwardly nodded along, confirming his last words. “Well, yeah… I’m guessing you heard me say that earlier?” 

Neither acknowledging your response nor replying to it immediately, seconds of prolonged silence passed before he spoke. “That was not what I was referring to.” Instead of elaborating on what he truly meant by those words, he seemed to gloss over them as he continued. “Our fates are tied. Allow me to grant you salvation. Should you help me achieve my goal, I will protect you from the end you so fear. Should you try to save me as you have been doing thus far, I shall save you.” 

Instantly, without even thinking, you stuck your hand. This was earning you his protection, wasn’t it? You were practically under the guard of one of the most powerful beings in the world! Making deals with fae was supposedly a bad idea. However, you already made one deal. What’s the harm in one more? “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

Slowly the fae blinked at your extended arm. “Well… I didn’t expect you to come to such a rapid decision. You continue to surprise me with your choices and human customs. A handshake, hm?” An amused smirk made its way onto his features, but it wasn’t ominous or threatening like the expression he wore when mentioning the King. When his hand reached yours, you half expected some mystical green light of magic to seal your fate. But it didn’t happen. Instead, the fae held your hand in a firm grip as he proceeded thoughtfully. “I will not ask personal questions, as you seemed quite adamantly against so much as mentioning your true name when my General asked. Although I must ask you to reveal your plan, besides charming the human Prince.” 

Maybe it was due to the fact that he knew your life was now practically intertwined with his, this provided any reassurance that you wouldn’t betray him along with the extra comfort that he heard and saw everything you do. At this point, personal information would be of little use to him. 

If you wanted your own happily ever after, it would require sabotaging the protagonists and changing the entire end of the story. As you considered your next words, you attempted to pull your hand away from his, only for his iron grip to never falter. “Ah, well, originally the Princess returns to the castle since the curse is almost expired. There, you’re supposed to appear in her chambers when she’s alone, and lure her towards a spinning wheel where she pricks her finger and fulfills the curse. Might I say, I would be very tempted too if I was the Princess and you appeared like that in my chambers–– Anyways! Around the same time, you capture the Prince as he went to the now abandoned cottage to meet with the mysterious girl, the Princess, he met in the woods earlier. But, I may have messed up that last part, ha…” 

After listening to your explanation, Malleus finally let go of your hand. Never did he disrupt, but he listened very very carefully, eyes boring into yours the entire time even as you nervously glanced away every few moments. “I see… It seems this human Prince, Silver, as he’s called, is quite naive. This truth can be said for most young mortals. I do find his hope for peace to be endearing, even if it seems like nothing but a fantasy.” 

Malleus knew about Silver. Of course he did. The fae was probably watching like a hawk as you interacted with the future son-in-law of his sworn enemy. It was a bit of a relief to hear that the fae sovereign didn’t see Silver as an immediate threat, for now at least. Now if only you could appeal to his greater nature, the kindness Sebek claimed his Majesty was capable of. “Maybe we can, possibly, now this is just a thought here–– spare him?” 

Malleus was silent for a long moment, and for a second you feared you may have upset him–– that is until the top of his scepter was against your chin. The smooth end with the cold orb glowing that ominous green, propped up your chin so you couldn’t look away. “Anyone that is willing to extend a hand to me or mine will be rewarded, but know this: I will never trust another human again, not fully. You are the one exception to this, my courier. So I expect you to answer the following. Who is the one that is destined to drive a sword through my heart?” 

That tone of voice sent a shiver throughout your entire body. Once again, you felt small, weak, helpless against the fae as he was peering down at you so intensely. It’s clear he wanted an answer, and he wanted it now. “The… uh… Prince–– but with the help of the three good fairies!” As if mentioning the three good fairies would help his case, now that the fae was fully aware that Silver was the one fated to slay him. 

“Now that does contemplate things. So, you implore me to spare the very mortal meant to end my life? That is quite the request.” Malleus mused, his scepter lowering from your neck as you felt you could finally breathe again. For a moment, the fae lowered his gaze in deep contemplation. It felt like hours of tense silence, as you wondered if he would be agitated that you would suggest such a thing. In reality, it was probably a full minute at most when he lifted his hand to his lower face in contemplation. “Those irritating little pixies will likely defy any orders from me in order to protect the Prince. The three alone are far too weak to do anything of significant value on their own… Is the Prince the only one who works against me?” 

“Technically, yes.” In the story, everyone was placed to sleep too by the three fairies, or pixies, or whatever they were in this rendition. The only one left awake was the Prince. “I think the only reason the Prince in the story stood a chance was because he had the help of the pixies. Everyone else is placed to sleep like the Princess.” 

Malleus nodded to himself, appearing to come up with some sort of arrangement to overcome the obstacles. “Then, I trust this task to you, my courier. While I appear in the Princess’ chambers to lead her to her terrible fate, General Lilia will be in charge of confronting the three pixies, and my Knight Sebek will be responsible for safely guarding you as you convince Prince Silver to abandon any notion of defending the Princess or the King.” 

Immediately your eyes widened, as you fumbled over your words, “Y-You want me to convince him to switch sides?” 

“Something along those lines, yes. The Prince will be of little use to them anyways. True love, the requirement to break the curse I placed upon the Princess, doesn’t exist. It was one of my more brilliant ideas, designed to give the King a sense of false hope so he would fall further into despair when his daughter never awoke. At least, she wouldn’t awake within his lifetime.” Malleus nodded in confirmation. Despite the heavy topic of the conversation that consisted of deceit and possible murder, the fae actually gave a smile. A teasing and wicked one as he hummed, “You wished for me to spare Prince Silver, did you not? This should be an easy task for you. As I recall you said earlier, you have already charmed the Prince. Perhaps I should be jealous of Silver, hm?” 

Why did you have to go and open your big mouth? Why did you have to try and be kind by wanting to save someone that was practically a stranger!? This was bad. Silver wouldn’t leave innocents like that. All you could do was lower your head in your hands and grumble, “I’ll… figure something out.” 

“I’m sure you will.” A deep laughter rumbled from his chest, and although you couldn’t see it, you were sure he was still wearing that smug grin. There was some sort of look in his eyes, something not so menacing, more endearing, but equally as chilling. “The last time I trusted a mortal with my life, it resulted in this entire debacle. I’m certain you won’t betray me as well, hm?” 

✧   ✧   ✧   ✧   ✧

The same evening, hours before the sun would set and the curse would be broken, you penned a short and brief letter to Silver. With a wave of his hand, Malleus’ magic whisked it away to be delivered instantly. The message was simple: Meet me at the moor’s borders by the wall of thorns as soon as you can. Signed, the courier. 

You still had no idea how you would go about convincing Silver to essentially abandon the King and Princess. While you were contemplating if it was even possible to save this person from facing Malleus’ wrath, you were not at all comforted when Lilia appeared downright delighted to be the one facing the three pixies. It was a tad bit concerning, especially since he went on about having not seen them properly in over two decades and how they had always been a pesky bunch that favored the humans over their own kin. You were not envious of the three in the slightest, especially when you caught sight of Lilia humming to himself as he polished his green cleaver to a brilliant shine. Those poor pixies would have to deal with the General. 

Sebek was hardly any better. While not outright threatening, he droned on and on about what a privilege it was to personally be assigned a task by His Majesty. Which made it difficult for you to keep calm when he spoke of Malleus every single minute, and made it almost impossible for you to focus on the task at hand. 

“––and so you see, because of that wretched human who betrayed Master Malleus to become the king of the human kingdom, our esteemed leader has been wary of all humans and their activities ever since then.” Sebek explained, gripping the reins as he led the way on horseback, with your steed not lingering too far behind. “So the fact that Malleus is willing to offer an olive branch towards the betrothed of the daughter of his enemy, is nothing short of a gift! A mercy granted to a human who likely isn’t worthy of such a thing.” 

As soon as they reached the thorns, the wall seemed to come alive as its vines and branches slithered like snakes. Creating a temporary path for them to pass through without risk of being impaled by giant thorns. Meaning one thing: Malleus was currently watching. 

“Okay then, since you understand how important that is, that means you know not to act out right? I know the Prince is human and all, and I know how you feel about humans, but let me do the talking.” You pleaded as both horses came to a halt right outside the towering barriers. 

“Tsk, please, I am not so uncouth to– OW!” 

Upon spotting a flash of white and silver through the foliage of the forest, you kicked part of the knight’s leg to shut him up. Before he could open his mouth again, you hopped off your horse and worked your way through the underbrush as you came to a small clearing. There, by the stream, was the Prince standing beside his own noble steed that drank from the clean waters. The backdrop of the forest and setting sun already dipping below the horizon, reminded you of how little time was left. 

The Prince must’ve picked up on the sound of rustling and crunching leaves, because he lifted his head towards the source of the noise. When his enchanting gaze met yours, he smiled such a gentle smile and took a step toward you. “Courier.” However, Silver paused, freezing in place as he looked a bit taken aback at the sight of the knight appearing at your side. A fae, a being he’s never met before. 

“Heyyy, Silver. This is my friend Sebek.” Awkwardly you gestured to the knight, giving the fae a look that basically said please, for the love of his Master Malleus, keep his mouth shut for now. “Sebek, this is Silver, local prince and prettiest human I’ve ever met.” 

Sebek looked anything but pleased. It was then you realized that this may have been his first time actually properly meeting a human, as the fae looked a bit uncomfortable. Instead of saying anything, the knight merely crossed his arms and managed a terse, “Pleasure.” Not even a full, it’s a pleasure to meet you. 

This didn’t deter the Prince, or perhaps it went entirely over his head, as he managed a regal nod. Despite the fact that his expression reverted to his usual apathetic nature, there was an unmistakable sparkle in his eyes. Maybe this would work out well after all. 

“It’s very nice to meet you. Any friend of the Courier’s is a friend of mine.” Silver appeared genuinely intrigued, pleased to meet a fae. Any shock melted away into a friendly demeanor as he approached, “I had to sneak out of the palace just to be here, but I’m very glad I did. Did you really remember my words and bring me here for this? I’m touched, Courier.” 

Part of you grimaced as you exchanged knowing looks with Sebek, who thankfully remained silent for now. The knight merely glanced back at the royal before looking back at you, and he gestured with his head as if saying go on. 

“Something like that.” You spoke, mustering a smile as Silver stopped so he was right in front of you and Sebek. Despite knowing that fae were labeled as enemies, Silver didn’t appear fazed in the slightest. That was bound to change as soon as you opened your mouth. Hey, so my boss is about to complete a curse on your fiancée that’ll put her to sleep for who knows how long and three pixies are bound to put the rest of the kingdom to sleep too while a fae General will prevent them from reaching you at all, but I’m gonna have to ask you to come with us if you want to live. You couldn’t just say that! Fumbling for some sort of response, you began awkwardly, “So… you wanted to meet some fae, right?” 

“Of course.” Silver replied immediately, giving Sebek the slightest smile as he spoke softly and sincerely. “It’s a great honor to have this opportunity. Perhaps by talking more with you, Sebek, and explaining to everyone that I met a fae and all went well, it can change their mind and cause some good to happen.” 

Sebek appeared a bit flustered, unaccustomed to praise from a mortal as the knight looked at you for some sort of support. Probably not even expecting it. Quickly, you interjected, “That is great, because I have the perfect opportunity for you. I never told you, because, well, interacting with fae is generally frowned upon by humans but I happen to know the Malleus! I bet I can even get you an audience with him.” 

“You would do that for me?” The Prince’s eyes widened, his naturally soft voice raised ever so slightly. 

“Excuse us!” Sebek’s eyes widened in alarm as he covered his mouth, hissing in your ear as he pulled you away, “What are you doing, you presumptuous fool…?! This was not part of the strategy outlined by the General! You are supposed to convince the human to join us willingly!” 

Furrowing your eyebrows, you exclaimed quietly, “I am…!” Looking over at Silver, you could see the Prince was puzzled but was respectful and kept his distance. Those eyes of his looking up at the nearby wall of thorns as he waited patiently to be included in the conversation. “Look, he’ll thank me later. He’ll come with us because he wants to speak to Malleus, he thinks he can build diplomatic relations. Let him think that! As long as the pixies can’t get to him, Silver isn’t a real threat to Malleus. Hell, we can even convince Lilia to take him in, I really don’t care, as long as he doesn’t interact with the pixies.” 

“That’ll hardly be an issue. Knowing General Lilia, he’s likely thoroughly dealt with the pixies. They’ve been a thorn in the Master’s side for over a century.” Sebek straightened his posture, folding his arms behind his back as he lifted his chin to appear taller. “Just remember, I am your ally. He is not.” 

“Whatever.” Perhaps this was better. If Lilia had permanently dealt with the pixies, then there was no one else to use magic and bless the Prince with a holy sword and shield. There was no other way to defeat The Master of All Evil. It was practically game over, wasn’t it? Turning back to Silver, just as you opened your mouth to speak, a deep and familiar voice echoed from behind you. 

“My courier, is this the Prince you’ve spoken so highly about?” 

You felt your heart drop as Sebek dropped to his knees in a reverent kneel, and even Silver appeared taken aback by the sudden presence of the being that appeared feet away from you. Looking over your shoulder, there he was, hidden in the shadows cast by the trees. You took a step to the side, careful of Sebek, as you made room for The Master of All Evil. When did he get there? “Yeah–– Yes, it is.” 

Malleus approached, seeming to float as he walked, his robes blending in with the shadows that grew longer and the sky darker as the sun had completely set. Why was he here already? Was it done? Had he actually completed the curse on the Princess in such a short time? A realization came to you, which made you freeze. Surely Silver knew how Malleus cursed his fiancée. 

Stepping closer, the fae appeared to take in the sight of the Prince. Silver leaned back a bit, surprised, but seemingly unafraid. They were complete opposites. Silver appeared to embody light and virtue as he was like a warm spring day, while Malleus embodies the cold darkness like the depths of space that swallowed everything in its path. “My courier tells me you wish to establish peace. Such a lofty goal, I’m afraid, but inspiring. Do you not fear me for what I’ve done? You were there that day, as I recall.” 

“I was hoping to ask you to lift the curse.” Silver glanced at you, before returning his attention back to the fae. Despite the fact that he was in front of a being countless times older than him and far more powerful than anything on Earth, the Prince continued, “It’s true, I also want to establish relations. I believe it can do good for both our peoples. But first, my concern is the curse. Although I haven’t truly met the Princess I’m supposed to wed, I’d like to appeal for the curse to be lifted. She is innocent.” 

“What a noble request. Very well, we’ll talk.” Malleus straightened his stance, standing tall even above the Prince. Exchanging a glance with you, there was a knowing glint in his green eyes as he then commanded, “Sebek, rise. Escort our guest, gently, my knight. Gently.”

Silver appeared quick to believe Malleus, perhaps truly hoping that he would be able to make peace with the fae and get that terrible curse lifted. When the knight stood up to lead the way for the Prince, Silver paused to spare a look over his shoulder as he led his steed along. When his gaze landed on you, you witnessed his entire demeanor soften as he managed a grateful nod. It made you feel a pang of guilt. 

Only once the Prince and Knight had disappeared past the wall of thorns, did Malleus turn to you and admit with a flicker of amusement. “Quite the peculiar human you found, my courier.” 

“Someone’s in a good mood.” You note, taking notice of the twinkle in his glowing eyes and the ominous smile on his face that had yet to falter. That had to mean something. Normally he was unsmiling, so it was jarring to see him like this. “Don’t tell me you already…?” 

“I did.” Malleus confirmed with a brief nod, looking quite pleased with himself. 

The confirmation only made you shudder. You knew it would happen. Still, there was a bit of regret you felt deep within your bones. Although, surely it couldn’t be that bad. It’s not like the Princess was murdered. It was just a deep sleep where she would wake up in the future. “And what do you plan to do with Prince Silver?” 

“I told him we would talk. That is the truth. However, I never said I would lift the curse.” A moment passed, and then he proceeded, watching as the thorns slithered back into place to create that impenetrable barrier protecting his lands. “Since you failed to truly convince him, you merely tricked him into stepping into foreign territory, I’ve conjured a suitable alternative. Allowing him to roam within the moors and enchanted forest has little consequence when General Lilia had took it upon himself to rid the world of those three pixies before they could place the human kingdom to sleep. That way, their King will be awake to anguish and mourn his loss, and yet he will find no one to appease his distress. There are not any other magic users that would be willing to act in favor of the Prince or Princess for the King.” In the cold wind, strands of his pitch black hair fluttered and the emerging moon cast a heavenly sort of glow. “The Prince wanted to meet the fae, so let him. He’ll stay. Should he begin to act out, enchantments could be used to make him forget all things troubling him.” 

“You’d let him stay as a guest…? Really?” That was shocking, considering that in the story, the Prince was kept as a temporary prisoner in a dungeon with heavy chains and stone cold walls trapping him underneath the ground. However, maybe his current fate wasn’t so different from that if enchantments would be used to keep him confined within fae territory. “You know what, nevermind, that makes sense.” 

“Hmm… in addition, I thought the human prince would serve as a good distraction. The General finds human nature to be more accepting of his attempts at humor, the Knight seeks a rival in strength which the Prince is capable of. It seems like a natural fit.” 

With a curl of his finger, some invisible force dragged you closer to him, despite your squirming, it didn’t stop until you were an inch apart and his shadow loomed over yours. Those glowing green eyes that were the bane of many, leered down at you. 

“Which allows you to spend more time with me and solely me. I was betrayed once by a human before, I’m sure you’ve figured this out already. This time, it shall not happen again, I have made sure of it. As naive as you may be, I know you are not so foolish to ever turn on me, especially upon seeing the extent I go to in order to exact revenge upon those who wronged me… So, for your loyalty, I will reward you with lavish riches, wondrous glory, and my undivided attention. Is there anything else your heart desires, my Precious Courier?”

[lixies-favorite-cookie]

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 ⏖ ’  simple acts of love from skz

—All the times stray kids said I love you in the little things.

words��6.8k pairings・stray kids x reader genres・fluff, a little crack, established relationships warnings・lots and lots of kisses!! happy tears, drunken re-confessions, silliness, playful living room dancing, minhos a shy baby, he's also a little shit in changbins, erotic painting in hyunjins, hans is a little bit more emotional, silly little proposals, my terrible attempt at writing lyrics, jeongin stalks your goodreads profile and buys your entire TBR list like I don't have at least a thousand tbr books...some of these are silly some of these are sickeningly sweet,

a/n・I wrote these drabbles based on these headcanons, but I did change Minho's because I believed it fit him better!! Also, this has been rotting in my drafts for MONTHS im not super proud of them, but I hope you like them anyways.

ᡣ𐭩 chan + sneaking into your bathroom to trace hearts onto the bathroom mirror.

"This is a suicide mission!" his lungs scream as he slips into your inferno of a bathroom, a heavy cloak of steam hugging him instantly. His respiratory system begs for release, a moist cough rolling up his throat; but like the magnificent boyfriend he is, he shoves those rebellious bodily functions right back down his windpipe.

Was his silly little plan worth the ability to breathe? Yes. Did he also wonder how you even could? Also yes.

The mirror fogs like the surface of an ancient lake, obstructing the image of his mischievous grin. He brings a pointer finger to the glass, drawing all his ardor in the mist—though it only comes out as lopsided hearts.

Your voice floats out from behind the curtain, absentmindedly humming to a silent tune. Shadows of your hands move through your hair, your body refracted onto the thin sheet.

You are so beautiful...

Cupid smacks his jaw shut.

He manages to slip out right as the water sputters off, sliding into the living room by his socks. He face-plants onto the couch, scrambling to sit upright. The loud smack of your towel echoes in his ears as his wide eyes dart to the table, frantically searching for something to occupy his attention. He snatches the first thing he sees, which just happens to be a... candle?

Whatever, no time!

Chan is intently studying the ocean-blue Bath & Body Works label, when you come pattering out, damp hair dribbling water behind you. The moment you step into his line of sight, his heart plummets—that stupid aromatherapy candle nearly tumbling with it.

There you were, in all your drenched glory, your towel wrapped snug against your chest, tears rolling freely down your cheeks. Did you hear that?! Tears!! You were crying?! Why were you crying?!?!

Chan must have embodied the spirit of a kangaroo, because he’s never jumped up faster in his life.

"Why are you crying? You're supposed to be happy!" he yelps, yanking your body into his arms, water seeping into the thin fabric of his tee shirt. His brain becomes the equivalent of the world’s most fucked-up ambrosia when you begin laughing, the curve of your smile pressed into his chest. He blinks—he doesn't know whether to kiss you or call a priest. Maybe he should do both?

Suddenly you pull away, cocooning his cheeks with pruney hands, your bottom lip wobbling as you sob, "I'm so in love with you."

Well, good job—now he's sobbing too.

"I'm in love with you too, baby."

You had drawn hearts on the walls of his soul in the same way he had drawn them in the steam of your mirror. The only difference is, yours would never fade away.

ᡣ𐭩 minho + randomly sending you songs that remind him of you.

Minho wasn't the type to throw his arms around you, pressing kisses to your face with all his overflowing ardor. Instead, in the minuscule overlaps of time between talking on the phone and constructing a perfect dance routine, he'll find himself sitting dazed upon the lounge room couch, mindlessly nodding to a catchy tune. He had left his Spotify on smart shuffle, finding comfort in the idea of a song found without searching, as if it were fate's gentle finger dusting the path to new adventures. He flutters his eyelids shut, ripples of sound washing over his skin.

And I've heard of a love that comes once in a lifetime

And I'm pretty sure that you are that love of mine

'Cause I'm in a field of dandelions

Wishing on everyone that you'd be mine, mine

In a rash flood of emotions, he sends you the song just before Chan steps into view, announcing his dire need to finish choreographing the final steps of their newest single. Begrudgingly, he slips his phone into his back pocket, his earbuds following suit. The only thing that keeps him sane throughout the day is the anticipation that he will go home and see you, and that makes it all worth it.

ᡣ𐭩

May I have this dance?" you declare, extending your arm with feigned seriousness, though the playful smile tugging at your lips betrays you instantly.

“What?” Minho chuckles through furrowed brows, observing the unusual surroundings; candles flicker dim lighting on the walls, throwing shadows on the rose petals you had scattered around your living room, forming an intriguing resemblance to a romantic dance floor. He sets the bags of groceries on the ground. Lee Know is so beyond confused, yet also pleasantly surprised, especially when you waltz over to him, tight red dress hugging all your gorgeous curves.

“You still haven't answered my question,” you sing, playfully twirling into his arms. Your hands find their way to the nape of his neck, tracing mindless circles in his hair. A shiver rolls up his spine as you tilt your face forward, lips so close; his heart flutters like a fragile leaf tumbling down from an autumn tree. He blinks before exhaling—

“Of course, I'll dance with you.”

A delighted squeal erupts from your lips, and you jump away from his arms, heading straight over to your phone to play the song he sent you prior. A warm blush floods his cheeks, painting them a bashful red.

“Did you like it?” His eyes fall away from yours.

“Did I like it?? Of course I liked it!” you squeal, gaping at him like he was the dumbest person on the planet. World War Three rages inside his chest as he fights not to fold like a lawn chair, flopping on the floor like a flustered starfish. Though when your hands rub their way up from his chest to his shoulders, he's surprised he's even upright. Your hips sway to the melody, a warm smile melting away all his defenses; but when you guide his awkward hands to the dip in your hips, it’s game over. He stuffs his face into your neck, littering the sensitive skin with kisses, his brain screaming: distract the enemy!! distract the enemy!!

“Do you know how much I love you?” he mumbles with striking genuineness. Instead of answering his question, you simply twirl yourself around his finger, placing his hand to wrap around the small of your back. He dips you down right as the music swells. It was magical, really—the candlelight twinkling in your peripheral, spills of starlight dancing off the ocean's surface. It was all so perfect—that was until your shoe caught on one of the rose petals, the floor turning slick under your feet. You send yourself tumbling straight to the ground. Minho squeals, grasping at thin air, but then he too also slips, frantically shooting his wrists out so he doesn't crush you.

The music cuts through the deafening silence as petals weave their way into your hair. You roll your lips into your teeth, glancing over to an eerily still Minho, staring at the ceiling like a spooked tabby. As if he could feel your eyes, his gaze finds yours, and only then does he burst out into roaring laughter, which prompts you to also join the fun.

“Are you sure you're the main dancer?” you tease through breathy giggles. He gasps, smacking a dramatic hand over his chest.

“I’ll have you know you fell first.”

And I've heard of a love that comes once in a lifetime

And I'm pretty sure that you are that love of mine

'Cause I'm in a field of dandelions

Wishing on everyone that you'd be mine, mine

In that moment, as the light hits you just right, he swears he finds the universe in your eyes. Your skin is showered in candlelight, head tilted back—joy flickers on your tongue as honey drips from your teeth. His heart pounds against his ribs, flowers sprouting in his lungs. To the world, he was an aloof grump with smooth moves and an impressive affinity for cats; but to you, with you, he was so much more.

Mid-snort, he captures your cheek, pressing his lips to yours. In a single gesture, he is pouring all the words he wished to say—

though to you, it tasted a little bit like—

If he had to blow a wish on every dandelion in the universe just to keep you, he would; and only through your lips would he find the power to keep breathing.

ᡣ𐭩 changbin + gushing about you while drunk

The balmy patio is sticky with soju-infused groans, most of the boys slumped in their respective seats, throwing back exasperated swigs of their drinks as they desperately try to drown out Changbin’s relentless rambles.

The two semicircle outdoor couches form a full circle around an unlit bonfire pit. On one of the couches sits a completely unfazed Felix, taking small sips of his soju between chuckles; an extremely annoyed Seungmin, glaring daggers at Changbin; and I.N, who doesn’t seem to be doing much of anything except, well, sleeping—body slumped against the armrest. Hyunjin is sandwiched between Chan and Changbin on the other couch: Chan, who wishes he never even brought up the idea to buy beer in the first place, and Changbin, who is currently slumped over a very irked Hyunjin’s lap. Han is somewhere in the house, probably giggling at his own swirling reflection.

Hyunjin digs his fingers into the roots of his locks, fighting every urge not to yank the tufts straight out.

“N-no, but Jinnie, you don’t u-understand—she’s so pretty,” Changbin slurs, stuffing his face into his friend’s hoodie, which makes Hyunjin frown and swat him away.

“That’s it! I’m calling Y/N!” Seungmin announces, jumping up from his seat. Chan grabs his sleeve, yanking him straight back down, much to Seungmin’s dismay. he sinks into the polyester in a puddle of disgruntled grumbles.

"Or we could record him," Minho calls out from the shadows of the back entryway, only ever appearing when he needed more beer or more entertainment. And right now, it was dinner and a show. Minho simply shrugs as if his evil plan wouldn’t ruin his best friend's bad-boy reputation. "Send it to Y/N later," he mumbles to himself, the devil tilting his cheek up. Nobody seems to hear him, so he slyly pulls his phone from his pocket and presses record.

"No, no, no! You can't call Y/N. She’ll know I love her!" Changbin gasps in horror, stumbling to grab the phantom phone that apparently appears on Hyunjin’s lap with the way he paws at his jeans. Hyunjin takes a nice, long swig of his soju.

"You know you and Y/N have been together for over four years, right?" Felix chuckles, finding the whole ordeal pure comedic relief.

"No, you don’t understand. She’ll know I love her... lover," Changbin’s words slur into an incoherent shake of his head. Minho's evil cackles float out from the concealment of the doorway, and Chan perks up.

"Minho, what are you doing?!" Minho slams his phone against his thigh. What the hell?? Does Chan have Spidey senses or something??

"Nothing!" he yelps, sounding super convincing. Chan narrows his eyes toward the darkness where Minho is supposedly lurking, sporting an eerily perfect rendition of a frustrated father. That is, until Changbin begins a very off-tune version of “The Itsy Bitsy Spider,” rolling over on Hyunjin’s lap to tap his fingers up his arm and eventually landing on Hyunjin’s nose with a giggle. When Hyunjin almost bites his finger off, Chan finally diverts his attention. Minho thanks God for the shadows—how else would he have gotten away with recording all of that?

“I’m about two seconds away from bringing you back to Y/N,” Hyunjin sighs, his lips pressed into a tight line as he glares at the man whose eyes just burst with light at the thought of seeing you. Chan smacks Hyunjin on the back sympathetically, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Why me, Lord? Why me?" Chan sings his woes under his breath but just loud enough for the camera to pick up—and for Minho to giggle.

"Y/N, I miss Y/N. Can I go home to Y/N, please?" Changbin hiccups, slumping his head onto Hyunjin’s shoulder. Hyunjin’s eye twitches. "I wanna tell the pretty girl I love her."

Felix emerges from his silence with a fit of laughter, nearly spilling his beer all over the floor. "Weren't you just saying you didn’t want to tell her you loved her?"

Changbin whips his gaze forward, his eyes hardening into a very foggy glare. "Well, now I want to tell the pretty girl I love her," he states matter-of-factly, his eyes fluttering a bit, betraying just how drunk he is.

Felix’s amusement is transparent as he raises his beer in Changbin’s direction. "Somebody needs to bring him to Y/N and let him re-confess his undying love for her."

Seungmin has never jumped up so fast in his life; he’s mid-volunteer when Chan grabs the cuff of his sleeve again and yanks him right back on his ass. Seungmin collapses onto the couch, ready to spit a disrespectful insult at his elder, but he folds like a lawn chair when Chan shoots him that look.

"Seungmin, you are far too drunk to take him home, while I," he looks to the sky with regret, "am very regretfully sober." Chan sounds like he’s going through the five stages of grief in one sentence.

"Okay, buddy, I’m taking you home," Chan grunts, clapping the drunken boy on the back. Changbin beams like he just heard there was a cure for cancer.

"Hell yeah!" He jumps up, only to stumble slightly, the patio swimming in his vision as he catches himself on Hyunjin’s forehead. When he finally, barely stabilizes himself, he throws his hands up. "See y’all bitches later! I—” he dramatically points to his chest in pride, “—am going to see my girl," he declares and marches straight out the door. Chan is mid-goodbye hug turned introspection with Felix, wondering what he’s doing with his life, when he hears a loud shatter in the hallway. Chan falls out of Felix’s arms immediately, his stride turned sprint. 

"Son of a bitch, Changbin, that was my favorite vase!"

ᡣ𐭩

“Go ahead, tell the pretty girl how much you love her,” you tease, playfully mimicking kissy faces while simultaneously poking Changbin’s crumpled form, his boiling cheeks sandwiched between his knees.

Why did Minho have to send you that video? But most of all, why did he have to send it while Changbin was still hungover? All this humiliation can’t be good for his headache.

Changbin groans, falling back on the bed to pull a pillow over his scorching face. The fact that the whole mattress hasn’t burst into flames is truly beyond him. Giggles pour from your lips, even as they settle atop his stomach, leaving kisses all the way up his torso. You can hear his flustered pants from down here.

“Okay, that’s enough bullying for one day,” you say, straddling his waist to snake your arms around his waist, pressing your chests flush together. Your teeth graze his shoulder, softly biting the flesh. “Come on, baby, take the pillow off your face.” You press your smile against his shirt before resting your chin on his chest.

He peeks out from under the pillow, tugging it down just enough to reveal his eyes, still reluctant to fully reveal himself. You bat your lashes at him, pouting ever so slightly. He folds—like a damn lawn chair, at this point, he’s practically collapsing in on himself with how much he’s folded. His face melts into a grin as he finally pulls the pillow down.

He so regrets that.

Your face lights up with laughter as you take in his beet-red cheeks, your eyes disappearing into crinkled slits. “I’m sorry, I just... I just can’t,” you cackle, doubling over in heaves.

“I hate you,” Changbin shouts, flustered, smacking you square in the side of the head with the pillow. It does nothing to quell your amusement; in fact, it only makes it worse.

“That’s not what you said last night,” you snort, falling off him as you kick your feet against the sheets.

Despite his urge to tie a millstone around his ankle and jump off the face of the earth, he can’t help but smile, caught in an unusual state of awe. Your mouth is boxy, laughter filling the air like strands of warm honey.

“Apparently, you think about me a lot,” you snicker, still rolling around. his smile only spreads wider.

If only you knew how much he thought of you.

ᡣ𐭩 hyunjin + painting perfectly captured portraits of you

“Hold still for me, baby,” Hyunjin whispers, his voice low and intimate, as he lightly drags his brush down the length of your arm, adding the final touches to your portrait. His gaze traces your bare body, memorizing every inch until even the freckle on the upper left side of your waist is drawn onto the inside of his eyelids. The valley of your breasts trembles with each labored breath, your muscles tightening against the couch where you lay.

“I’m really trying, Jinnie, but it hurts,” you whine, fighting to keep your head steady. Your boyfriend lets out a breathy laugh, savoring one final glance at your naked form. With careful precision, he drags the sharpest part of his brush down your thigh, finishing the entire painting with his favorite peice of you.

“Done,” Hyunjin murmurs, settling back into his chair with a satisfied smile, admiring the art he’s just created. Usually when he painted, there was always something he hated about his work—whether it's the proportions or the colors were slightly out of harmony—it was never good enough. but when he paints you, there's never an issue; for he could capture you with children's finger paints, and you'd still find a way to look utterly breathtaking.

“Let me see,” you squeal, jumping up from the uncomfortable spot you’d claimed on his couch. A faint blush appears on his face as he turns the easel around, unraveling his heart before you. And oh, when he does—you collapse into his arms, all your strength diffused into a shuddering gasp. He had dipped his brush into your soul, and with every meticulous stroke, he gathered the very essence of your heart. It was almost unreal how perfect he made you appear to be—your moles speckled across your skin in gold, dusted like stars; your stretch marks adorned in silver, shining like slips of light.

How are you not sobbing right now??

“Is it okay?” he asks, bashfully wrapping his arms around your naked waist, completely unfazed by your current state of undress.

“Hyunjin, this is more than okay,” you sniffle, voice crackling with emotion. You turn to meet his gaze, only for his palms cradle your cheeks with a touch so tender, it's barely there. One second, you’re breathing; the next, you’re transcending, existing only between his lips.

By the time you come up for air, the world around you has changed. He’s on top of you now, his hands resting on either side of your head, thoughts long forgotten. He moves closer, allowing whisps of his hair to tickle the sensitive flesh of your neck; for his lips to settle upong the delicate curve of your collarbone. He doesn’t stop—he doesn’t stop until the sun kisses your skin, until the sky is filled with the very stars he painted upon your skin.

Only in love and art are you eternal and in hyunjin, with hyunjin, you are both. 

ᡣ𐭩 han + hiding messages into every song he produces

"In every lifetime," a heartfelt promise whispered between shuttering breaths. Han's lips parted, your tongue savoring his astonished gasp. "What did you say?" quickly transformed into "Did you mean it?" when you had tenderly threaded your fingers into his hair, the pad of your thumb settling just under his jaw. Your needy hands had fogged his head, but he never forgot it.

"In every lifetime," you had uttered many moons later, nestled underneath the stretch of midnight sky. The universe had stilled, all of time and space screeching to a deafening halt. You unraveled the scrolls of his soul, and with the eternal vow of "I do," swore forever. So, he, for however long he may live, intends to hold you to that promise.

From: Hannie 🐿 Do not by any means play my new song!!!

From: Hannie 🐿 Im serious!!

From: Hannie 🐿 Promise me Y/N!!!

You giggle at his earnestness, clicking the notification to message him back.

From: My Wife ❤ I won't I promise!

From: My Wife ❤ Scouts honor 🫡

You admired Han's dedication to his craft, but what you admired most was his need to share every single part of it with you.

"You didn't listen to the song, did you?" Han calls out from the foyer, slamming the front door behind him. He urgently throws off his shoes, his heavy footsteps following him all the way up the stairs. Your mirth bubbles up behind a bitten grin, lip firmly tucked between your teeth.

"No!" you shout back, feigning indifference; though when he swings your bedroom door open, you’re overcome with breathy giggles—his hair is tossed around at all angles, puffed cheeks pink and gasping.

Now that was the man you fell in love with.

"Somebody's eager," you tease, chucking your phone somewhere on the bed. His eyes are oddly fearful when you lift yourself up from the comforter, pressing a soft kiss on his cheek. His chest heaves, breath labored and shaky; flighty fingers find the knot of his tie, yanking it loose. You reel your head back. Since when does he wear a tie? You flick your gaze down his figure. Since when does he wear suits?? Your confusion only festers as he lets out an anxious chuckle, wringing his hands like wet rags.

"You have no idea." You didn’t know—didn’t know what he was about to risk. His heart was clay in your hands, and with the delicacy of a butterfly's wing, you pressed your fingerprints into his skin. For now, through touch alone, his soul will find you in every lifetime; but first, he must promise you himself in this one, and that appeared to be an impossible feat.

It's now or never, he tells himself.

So, with an arduous breath, he steadies his quivering hands just long enough to slip his phone out of his back pocket. Was it just him, or is it suddenly really hot in here? He swipes to YouTube. Why was it getting so hard to breathe?? He presses play. His heart somersaults its way down to his stomach when the opening melody echoes from the speakers. Your brows lift, lips pursing in your signature concentrated quirk. His mouth forms around a smile, breathing getting marginally easier, but that peace is short-lived as the chorus begins—only then does he feel the symptoms of real fear.

In every lifetime, his warm voice melts from the speaker.

A falling star just shot from space and hit you directly in the chest, rendering you utterly speechless; even as your gaze finds his glassy eyes, you just can’t believe it.

In every lifetime you swore.

It’s just too perfect.

So, for as long as I may live, I wanna be yours.

He’s just too perfect.

In every lifetime I'll dip my knee down.

There’s no way.

And yet he sinks to one knee, slipping a velvet box from the confines of his pocket. Your hands make purchase around your mouth, stifling a wet cry.

In every lifetime I'll ask to be yours.

"Y/N L/N, will you marry me?"

You drop to your knees, tears tracing cordate-shaped rivulets down your cheeks. "Yes, Han, I'll marry you! I'll marry you!"

Your lips swear forever as they land on his, and that promise echoes far into lifetime number twelve.

ᡣ𐭩 felix + giving you gum wrapper hearts

Lee Felix was stupid in love, heavy on the stupid, figuring he was about to start World War Three to get that gum wrapper out of Seungmin’s hand.

“Please,” Felix begs, drawing out the "e" in an obnoxious whine.

Felix has been professing his love for you through gum wrapper hearts for about as long as he’s been chewing gum, so he is going to be damned if he lets one gum wrapper gets away without meeting his fingers first. Seungmin’s eyes harden into an frustrated glare, about two seconds away from punching a pizza-sized hole in his best friend’s face.

“You know, the more that you beg me for this wrapper, the more I don’t want to give it to you,” he deadpans, voice flat with irritation. Felix throws his head back in an ear-splitting groan.

“Whyyy not??”

“Oh my gosh, Seungmin, just give him the damn wrapper,” Chan interjects, exasperated.

“Yeah, listen to Chan. Give Felix the wrapper,” Felix teases, laying his chin on his hand, fluttering his lashes with a shit-eating grin. Seungmin clenches his jaw, crumpling up the foil—much to poor Lixie’s dismay.

“Did you see that, Chan?! Seungmin crumpled my wrapper!” Seungmin squeezes it harder. “Look! Do you see that, Chan?! Seungmin is bullying me!” Chan sighs, digging a knuckle into his eye. He is about five seconds away from sticking both grown toddlers in time out.

“Seungmin, for the sake of my sanity, give Felix the damn gum wrapper.” The fact that he actually had to tell two full-fledged adults that was truly beyond him, yet here he was.

“It’s the principle of it, old man—” As soon as the words leave his lips, Seungmin wants to stuff them right back in. Chan grits his teeth, steam practically whistling from his ears.

Oh, crap.

“You little—” Chan dives for Seungmin, to which he squeals, ducking from his elder’s hand, gearing up to smack him square in the forehead. In the clamber of movements, he ends up dropping the beloved wrapper. Felix lets out a squeal of excitement, lunging for the foil. When the crumpled aluminum sits in his hands, he has never felt so rewarded in his entire life, smiling like he just won a million bucks.

Almost out of muscle memory, he begins smoothing it out, folding up all the right corners. He beams, stuffing the little token into his pocket, fingers itching to give it to you later.

“Thanks, Seungmin,” Felix smirks, taking a proud sip of his drink. Seungmin manages to stick his tongue out while trapped in a headlock.

“You suck,” he wheezes, throwing weak slaps onto Chan's bicep. Felix giggles, his phone buzzing against his jeans. Felix quite literally drops everything to pick it up, his heart singing the same song as your special ringtone.

From: My world 💙 Look, baby, isn’t it so beautiful? I took the pic while I was on my way to work. I actually swerved off the road to take the picture, haha. Just wanted to share it with you. Love you, baby!! [Image.png]

When he clicks the image, his phone is flooded with the most breathtaking view. The sky is stained like melting ice cream, cotton candy colors that burst around your hair, though that isn’t what Felix is looking at—he is looking at you. The moment he looks into your lopsided smile, Cupid shoots him all over again.

From: My star-light 🌟 Wow.

From: My star-light 🌟 No words.

From: My star-light 🌟 I didn’t know my girlfriend could look so stunning.

From: My star-light 🌟 Oh, wait, there was a sunset back there somewhere.

From: My star-light 🌟 Yeah, that was pretty too.

From: My star-light 🌟 Are we still on for tonight?? I miss youuu.

From: My world 💙 Oh my gosh, Lix, you’re making me blush, haha.

Seungmin chokes somewhere in the background. Felix doesn’t notice. Felix is submerged in the silky ocean of rose-colored love.

From: My world 💙 Of course we are!!

From: My world 💙 I miss you too, baby!!

From: My world 💙 Literally can’t wait to see you.

Felix is mid-text when his friends suddenly turn bright red, clambering to untangle themselves from the mess of limbs they got themselves stuck in. Felix doesn’t realize the reason Chan is suddenly fixing his hair or Seungmin is unruffling his shirt is because two of the most stunning women just walked past them. Felix was too focused on making time move faster.

ᡣ𐭩

Felix has never been to space, though he can accurately say that he has tasted the sky.

He sips the stars off your lips, every shared breath an inhale of the galaxy. Felix knows that somewhere, someplace time exists, but not here, not now, not with the blades of grass lacing through his hair; not when he’s pressing your chest flush against his, rolling around on the ground until the night sky is kissing the earth in his vision. Your laughs are buried in his neck when he gets too dizzy to continue, littering kisses on the sensitive flesh there. You pull away for only a moment, brushing a rogue strand of hair off his brow. You smile, dipping to press a soft peck to the tip of his nose.

The two of you had crept into this darkened backyard hours ago; you proposing a date under the stars only to share them between your lips instead. You have been locked in this position for lifetimes, and Felix has no plan to stop.

His palms lift to graze your cheeks before sealing your mouths together again. His soft laugh puffs against the seam of your lips, his smile curving against your own. “God, I am so in love with you.”

He was; he so, so, so was.

He was so in love with you, he had almost forgotten about his gift. Key word: almost.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” he gasps, chasing your warmth when he pulls away, sitting up.

“What?” you playfully whine, biting back a grin, settling your hips against his thighs. He chuckles, poking a finger into his pocket, fishing out the gum wrapper heart.

“I know it’s not perfect,” he whispers, cupping something in his palm, “but I hope you still like it.” He rolls his fingers out bashfully, offering you the crinkled silver heart. He bites his lip, a faint blush falling over the apples of his cheeks. The little gift was by no means perfect; it was ripped, wrinkled, and just a little lopsided. Yet you can’t help the fondness that explodes in your chest. Still cradling the heart with care, you throw your arms around his neck, tackling him to the ground. Your chest flush against his, he grunts when you land upon the earth, smacking slobbery kisses all over his face. You don’t stop, not until he is flipping you over, now attacking you with equally wet kisses. Your giggles live in the balmy summer air.

To you, he was the sun; but to him, you were the universe 

ᡣ𐭩 seungmin + buying you a bouquet every time the old ones wilt

October 11th, 2020.

That was the last time your apartment smelled like something other than florals. That was also the first time Seungmin had ever bought you flowers—a simple gift for your one-year anniversary that spiraled into a four-year tradition. You don’t ever talk about it, and he certainly denies it, when you thank him for how the wilting tulips magically evolved into beautiful daylilies. You find it endearing, the faint blush that falls over his cheeks when he tries to convince you that it wasn’t him.

Now that you think about it, your white roses did seem to have a little bit of brown on them yesterday.

Mid-wipe of the bathroom counter, you rush down the stairs, almost sliding into the kitchen in your socks. Without fail, there they were: bright red tulips, replacing the withering roses that had been in the vase earlier. A spreading grin pulls at your lips as you check the stove clock, quickly connecting the dots.

You had been cleaning the bathroom most of the evening, your earbuds blocking the world out. He had probably heard you humming from upstairs, choosing the perfect time to sneak in through the door. You squeal, sprinting up the stairs to throw open your bedroom door. You expect to find him lounging on the bed, but instead, you find him below it, cradling a square object in his hands. His head whips around, panic falling over his features. He slams the lid shut before fumbling to shove it right back under the bed, much to your dismay.

“Hey, what?” You yelp, diving for the box. Seungmin blocks you, accidentally knocking it out of his hands, unfurling its contents all over the floor.

It looks like a garden just threw up in your bedroom.

Hundreds, thousands of differently shaped petals are scattered on your floor, tufts of colorful memories spread out like a silky scroll. First, you freeze. Then, you gasp; your muscles thawing like a flower unfurling in the snow. It hits you slowly, blossoming in your chest and spilling from your eyes—Seungmin hasn’t been throwing away the flowers he bought you. He’s been collecting them.

You didn’t realize you were crying—not until you spoke—“Seungmin, what is this?”—then you heard it, your voice withering and wet. When you finally go to meet his gaze, he can’t seem to look at you, tilting his head down in shame.

“W-Well I-I’ve just…” he begins, trailing off with a rub of his burning neck. “Fuck, this is going to sound so stupid,” he flushes, staring down at the single yellow petal that fluttered onto his folded thighs. Suddenly, Seungmin feels your thumb brushing over his knuckles, and something shoots through his skin, something that straightens his spine and evens his breathing.

“I-I’ve um…” This was harder than he thought it would be. “Been collecting them for a while now, I wanted to keep them for when we get married. Wanted to scatter them down the aisle…”

His voice gets smaller with every word, sinking into himself as though that will make the gravity of the sentence less exposed, less raw. For a second, as silence stretches between you, Seungmin feels so stupid, embarrassment painting his cheeks red. You must think he’s such a fool, must think he’s crazy for ever believing he could marry you—his thoughts stop the moment your lips meet his, palms pressed firmly against his cheeks.

“I love you,” you whisper in between breaths, kissing him until it feels like you can’t kiss anymore; until he falls back upon the feathery bed made of magnolias and memories; until, with a star-lit sigh, he pulls away, untucking the red of a dried rose tangled above your brow. Even surrounded by God's most beautiful creations, he can’t bring his gaze to fall from yours, your eyes and all the mesmerizing sparkles they hold.

Seungmin couldn’t trace the exact moment he fell in love with you. Rather, it bloomed slowly over time, a feeling that took root; wrapping around the slabs of his ribs.

With you, he grew, and all of a sudden, with every breath he inhales, he finds you fluttering in his chest. At first, it terrified him. Though, now he knows—some gardens never die.

ᡣ𐭩 jeongin + stalking your goodreads profile to annotate your favorite books

“So, you’re a stalker, huh?” you muse, brushing your palm over Jeongin’s shoulder, which was clearly not a good idea, cause no sooner do you make contact is he jumping twenty feet out of his skin. You throw your hands up when he swivels around, ripping off his headphones like they were going to materialize into a baseball bat.

“Crap, y/n, you scared the hell out of me,” Jeongin pants, a relieved smile pulling on his cheeks; grateful that the intruder was indeed his girlfriend and not a 6-foot-tall man in a scream mask. For a second, he wonders if you’re possessed, a lopsided smirk playing on your lips while you tweak out, kind of laughing, kind of nodding, kind of looking like you need an exorcism. Then it hits him. Hits him like a 200-pound dump truck, rendering him breathless once more. He puts Flash to shame by how fast he slams his laptop shut, scrunching his face in cringe. The laugh you let out is devastating, a full-belly guffaw that makes you double over, stumbling straight into his arms.

For a second, when the lamplight hits you just right, Jeongin has to stop.

His breath catches in his throat, taking all of you in. There you were, with your hair falling in messy tangles, your eyelids slightly smudged in black, your smile boxy and sun-bright, you were perfect, and you were sitting on his lap. If you didn’t start talking, he would have stared at you for hours—probably would have started drooling as well.

“So, this is how you’ve known all my favorite books, huh?” you tease, wrapping your arms around his neck. It takes him a hot second to gather himself, heart fluttering at the newfound proximity.

He stuffs his head into your neck, the heat of his cheeks burning into your skin. “Yeah…is that weird?”

“Is it weird?? Yang Jeongin, I’m pretty sure you just inadvertently proposed to me,” you reply, your tone light-hearted though you're dead serious.

“What?” He chuckles with a shy smile, leaning back.

“Yeah, I mean, you stalk your girlfriend’s Goodreads profile to read and annotate her TBR list. That is a proposal. I don’t make the rules.”

“Is that so?” he smirks, inching forward, your noses brushing together.

“Yeah,” you whisper, hot breath fanning across his lips, you lean in, finally sealing your mouths shut. Jeongin groans, your thumb swiping the nape of his neck. His heart pounds with a thousand different translations of 'I love you'.

“How many?”

He hums, slamming back down to earth, still a little bit dizzy.

“How many books have you bought?”

That sobers him up.

His eyes widen slightly before he bashfully chuckles, awkwardly scratching his ear. “Oh, uh…not that many.”

“Can I see them?” He’s two seconds from saying no, until you brush your lips against his cheeks, then his forehead, then the sides of his eyes, before, finally, he is tasting your grin instead, “Please?”

Well, how can he say no now?

He fiddles with the bottom of your shirt, biting his lip before sighing and pointing under his bed. “They’re all under there.”

You squeal, clambering off him to dive at the foot of his bed, sticking your hands into the dusty abyss below. It doesn’t take you but five seconds to find the box, though it takes you 5 minutes to actually pull the damn thing out, feeling more like a dead body than dead trees.

However, when you flip open the lid, the struggle is all worth it. Your jaw drops. Jeongin’s stomach flips upside down.

"Yang Jeongin, there’s no way..." You peer at him through dewy lashes, there had to be at least fifty books in this container. "You were planning on giving me all of these?"

"Well, yeah. Just...when I had enough time to annotate them."

"You've already given me like 10. How have you found enough time to read them?"

"I read them every night before I go to bed."

"And annotate them?"

He clears his throat, a faint blush falling over his cheeks like rose petals. "Yes."

"Where did you get the money for all this? These books have to have been like a thousand dollars."

"My check had just come in, and I knew how much you liked to read... I just wanted to do something nice for you. Why is this starting to feel kind of like an interrogation? Are you mad? Is this, like, really weird?" Jeongin can feel his eyes widen, anxiously shifting in place.

“One more question,” you step forward, pinching his chin between your thumb and forefinger. He shutters when you make contact, gaze fluttering down. Jeongin expects you to laugh, maybe demand that he takes them back, or the worst of them all tell him he’s too obsessed. What he doesn’t expect you to do is drag him forward, and smash your lips together.

“How are you so perfect?” you exhale, puffing onto his lips like a breath of his own. He was going to show you how, he was going to show you how all night long.

ᡣ𐭩

If you thought he was perfect then you definitely think he is perfect now.

The sun slips through the curtains, dyeing your sweaty skin in gold; your mouth is nuzzled into his neck, lashes tickling his skin every time you shift. He draws phantom circles over your naked waist, savoring this moment, soaking your body in until he can remember the feel of your form through memory alone. You stir, feeling his heartbeat pick up.

It must have been a dream that urged you to say it, because somewhere, on the edge of sleep, you murmur, “What’s your favorite story?”

He didn’t have to think about the answer, not when he had thought about it a million times before. Without hesitation, Jeongin whispers, “Ours.”

(I rushed tf out of some of these I'm sorry)

[omgkatherine01]

Beauty of A Dragon (Aemond Targaryen One Shot)

Summary: Your twin brother comes for you at night.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Targaryen reader

Masterlist (requests are currently open for now)

Warning: Incest, Smut.

Aemond had been Prince Regent for a few months now, and although the Valyrian steel of the Conqueror’s crown didn’t rest upon his head yet, it was now an undeniable fact to every member of the realm that he had been born for this. All could finally witness his real worth, his superiority and how good he was at being a commander, a King.

No, he excelled at it. The Blacks haven’t even dared to approach King’s Landing even once in the last few months, and under his command all fear him, all obey him. He was far better at this than his father ever was, than his older sister ever will be, and certainly than his broken brother is, tucked in his bed.

His new duties obliged him to be away often, to ride Vhagar and lead his armies on the usurpers who wanted to decimate them and take his city, but when he was back in the Red Keep, all he sees is you.

His twin sister.

He walked into your chambers using the secret tunnels, and saw you by your bed, pulling down your robes to go to bed.

He approached silently from behind you, but you could sense him. You looked at him over your shoulder and smirked lightly, "Nice try."

Aemond chuckled softly, the sound low and intoxicating in the stillness of the night. “You always were too sharp for your own good, sister,” he replied, stepping closer, the heat radiating from his body wrapping around you like a cloak.

With a practiced ease, he moved to the side of your bed, leaning against the ornate post, his sapphire eye glinting with mischief and hunger. You turned fully to face him, your heart racing at the sight of him—tousled hair framing his angular face, lips slightly parted as though they had just whispered secret promises.

"Are you disappointed now?" you teased softly as you stepped closer to his body. He hummed, tucking his head into the crook of your neck, lavishing it with a hungry touch of his lips.

His breath was warm against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. “Disappointed? Not in the slightest,” he murmured, his words laced with an intoxicating blend of desire and mischief. “In fact, I find it quite the opposite.”

Aemond’s arms encircled your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between the two of you. The world outside faded into a distant memory; it was just you and him amidst the flickering candlelight of your chamber, where shadows danced around you like whispers of longing.

You tilted your head back, exposing more of your neck to him, an unspoken invitation that made his fingers twitch with eagerness. He nipped at the delicate skin there, drawing a soft gasp from your lips. “You know I can’t resist you,” he growled lowly, his voice thick with want.

Together you collapsed onto the plush bed, laughing breathlessly as he landed beside you. His fingers traced the delicate outline of your jaw, moving down to your collarbone, igniting a trail of heat wherever he touched. “You’re too tempting for your own good, sister,” he murmured, his voice dropping an octave as though sharing an intimate secret meant only for you.

Your heart raced in response, the thrill of having him so close overpowering the weight of propriety that lingered like a shadow in the corner. “And yet, here we are,” you whispered back, your own fingers slipping through his hair, tugging him closer still until his lips hovered just above yours.

He captured your mouth with fervor, kissing you with a hunger that had been building during his long absences. The taste of him was intoxicating; a mix of heat and desire that left you breathless, yearning for more. Aemond pulled away for just a moment, his eyes searching yours. “Tell me to stop,” he challenged softly, though you both knew it was a challenge neither of you wished to accept.

“I would never,” you breathed, your resolve crumbling under the weight of his gaze. Aemond's lips curled into a smirk, a predator reveling in the thrill of the chase.

With that unspoken understanding, he captured your mouth again, deeper this time, as if he intended to draw every breath from your lungs. His hands explored your body with a fervency that set your skin alight; fingers skimming down the curve of your waist, over the swell of your hips, igniting every nerve in their path.

“Gods, how I’ve missed this,” he whispered against your lips, before trailing kisses down the side of your neck. Each brush of his mouth sent delightful shivers coursing through you, a beautiful torture that made you arch against him instinctively.

You tangled your fingers in his hair, urging him closer as if you could meld into him completely. “And I you,” you confessed breathlessly.

Aemond's hand slid beneath your robes, his calloused fingers tracing patterns on your bare skin. You shivered at his touch, arching into him as he explored the curves of your body with a reverent hunger. His lips found yours again, capturing them in a searing kiss that left you breathless and aching for more.

With practiced ease, he unlaced your robes, peeling them away to reveal your naked form beneath. His eye roamed over you appreciatively, drinking in every detail as if committing it to memory. "Beautiful," he murmured, voice thick with desire. "Always so beautiful."

You reached for him, tugging at his own clothing with impatient hands. He chuckled softly, helping you remove the layers until he was as bare as you.

Aemond's scarred body pressed against yours, skin to skin, as his lips found yours once more. The kiss deepened, tongues dancing in a passionate duel as his hands roamed your curves. You arched into his touch, fingers tracing the hard planes of his chest and back.

He trailed kisses down your neck, nipping and sucking at your pulse point. A soft moan escaped your lips as he lavished attention on your breasts, tongue swirling around each nipple. His hand slid lower, caressing your inner thigh before finding your wet heat. You gasped as he stroked you, building the pleasure with practiced skill.

"Please, Aemond," you whimpered, hips rocking against his hand. He smirked against your skin before positioning himself between your thighs. With one smooth thrust, he entered you fully, both of you groaning in unison. The sensation of him filling you, of the heat and hardness of his body pressed against yours, was enough to send shivers down your spine.

Aemond's hips began to move in a hard, demanding rhythm, driving himself deeper inside you with each thrust. Your nails dug into the comforter, the pleasure building within you like an inferno waiting to blaze out of control. His name escaped your lips on a gasp as he angled his hips just so, hitting that delicious spot deep within.

"That's it," he growled in your ear. "Let me hear you moan for me, sister."

His words only served to fan the flames of desire coursing through your veins. With each movement, Aemond brought you closer and closer to the edge of ecstasy. The room was filled with the sounds of your passion—heavy breathing, moans of pleasure, and the rustling of sheets tangled around entwined limbs.

As the rhythm of your bodies intensified, Aemond's lips found yours again in a searing kiss. His tongue danced with yours as his hips continued their relentless pace. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him even deeper inside you. The new angle drew a guttural moan from Aemond's throat.

"Gods, you feel incredible," he panted against your neck.

Your fingers raked down his back as waves of pleasure washed over you. Every nerve ending felt electrified. Aemond's muscular body moved above you with fluid grace, his skin glistening with a thin sheen of sweat in the candlelight. You marveled at the raw power contained in his lithe form.

He shifted slightly, bracing himself on one arm while his other hand snaked between your bodies. His fingers found that sensitive bundle of nerves and began trailing exquisite circles that sent you spiraling further into bliss. You gasped, the sensations overwhelming as pleasure built like a raging storm inside you.

"Aemond," you breathed, your voice barely a whisper, yet it carried the weight of your need. He lifted his head to meet your gaze, those piercing violet eyes darkened with lust and fierce determination.

"Look at me," he commanded softly, an order wrapped in velvet. You complied willingly, locking your eyes onto his as the world outside ceased to exist. It was just the two of you, lost in this moment, this tempest that had long been brewing between siblings forged by fire and fate.

He quickened his pace, thrusting deep and hard, the sound of skin against skin echoing through the chamber. Each movement ignited sparks beneath your skin; every brush of his fingers brought another wave of pleasure crashing over you. Aemond's breath became ragged as he leaned closer, his forehead resting against yours as if seeking the solace that only you could provide. “I want to feel you come undone for me,” he murmured, his voice thick and heated, vibrating through both of you.

Your breath hitched at his words, a shiver of anticipation coursing through your body as he moved with unrelenting intensity. The tension coiling in your core grew tighter, winding around your heart like a serpent ready to strike. You could feel the familiar spark gathering, becoming a blazing inferno ready to consume you whole.

“No one else,” you gasped, the thought of anyone else in this moment felt sacrilegious. “Only you.” The declaration felt primal and raw, binding you both in a way that transcended the physical realm.

Aemond’s eyes flashed with something fierce at your promise, his movements growing more desperate, more possessive. He captured your mouth again in a kiss that was both claiming and tender—a reminder of who you were to each other amidst the chaos of the outside world. Aemond poured every ounce of himself into the kiss, each thrust echoing the rhythm of your hearts beating as one. You surrendered completely to him, your body arching upwards to meet his every move, urging him deeper, higher.

“Feel me, sister,” he breathed against your lips, the words a command and a plea. “Let go.”

With every stroke, you could feel the storm inside you reaching its peak—an avalanche of sensation that threatened to sweep you both away. It built and built, swallowing you whole until there was nothing left but the two of you entwined in passion.

Aemond's fingers worked their magic, sending ripples of pleasure cascading through you. “That’s it,” he urged, his voice a low growl filled with possessiveness, as if he were staking a claim not just on your body, but on your very soul. “Let it go.”

His intensity drove you onwards until with a final thrust, the dam broke, and you were swept away in a tide of ecstasy. The world around you shattered into a million brilliant fragments as the pleasure surged through every fiber of your being. Your cries filled the chamber, echoing off the stone walls, intertwining with Aemond’s deep groans as he followed you over the precipice.

Your body convulsed beneath him, waves of bliss crashing over you like a violent sea—each pulse igniting a fire that burned brightly in your core. Aemond’s grip on you tightened, his own release flooding through him in tandem with yours, creating an intoxicating blend of sensations that left you both gasping for breath.

As the intensity of your shared climax began to ebb, Aemond's movements slowed to a gentle rhythm. He pressed his forehead against yours, both of you panting softly as you basked in the afterglow. The air around you felt charged, crackling with the energy of your passion.

Aemond's eye met yours, a storm of emotions swirling in its depths. His fingers traced the curve of your cheek with surprising tenderness. "My beautiful sister," he murmured, voice husky. "My Queen."

You shivered at his words, feeling the truth of them resonate deep within you. Whatever crowns or thrones awaited outside these chamber walls, here in this moment, you ruled together absolutely.

Slowly, reluctantly, Aemond withdrew from you. But he didn't move far, instead gathering you close against his chest. You nestled into his embrace, feeling the steady thrum of his heart beneath your ear, a comforting rhythm that grounded you in this turbulent world. The warmth of his skin against yours was a soothing balm, and you closed your eyes, savoring the intimacy of these quiet moments together.

[multi-fandom-imagine]

Zeus for the ‘favorite places’ series? 🥺🥺 I binged those this morning and I LOOOOOVE the way you write passion. So adoring yet feverish!! I love love love porn with FEELING lol and you’re so good at that

A/n: I can do that 🫡 but that is so sweet because i do not think I write good at smut.

ZEUS’S FAVORITE PLACES TO BE INTIMATE WITH YOU — HIS WIFE

As the King of the Gods, Zeus is a being of storm and splendor, thunder and warmth — but with you, his beloved wife, he becomes something else entirely. Not just ruler, not just god. With you, he becomes a man who craves closeness, who finds solace and longing in the shared hush between heartbeats. And though Olympus stands tall and proud above all, there are sacred places scattered across realms where he chooses to love you fully — not just with his body, but with the storm of his soul.

1. The Peak of Mount Olympus – Under the Stars

At night, when the stars burn like diamonds against velvet, Zeus leads you to the highest point of Olympus, where the air hums with celestial magic and the wind carries only silence and starlight. It’s not just the height or grandeur that draws him here — it’s the way the heavens curve around you, like the cosmos bends just to witness your union.

He wraps you in his cloak, warm as lightning and soft as summer air, and lays you down atop white marble warmed by divine fire. Here, he takes his time. His touch is reverent, worshipful. He traces constellations across your skin with kisses, naming stars after the places you make him feel. His voice, deep and thunderous, grows hushed when he murmurs your name against your throat — the sound echoing across the night sky like prayer.

Here, he is not just the God of Thunder.

He is yours.

2. In the Heart of a Storm

There’s a wildness in him that few understand — but you do.

When storms rage over the sea or sweep through ancient forests, Zeus sometimes appears to you in a flash of lightning and wind. He pulls you close, into the eye of the storm, where the world holds its breath. The sky roars with power, yet here — in his arms — there is a furious kind of peace. Rain lashes the earth, thunder splits the heavens, and still, all he sees is you.

He kisses you with the intensity of crashing waves, pressing you against stone, tree, or temple — wherever nature shelters you. His passion in these moments is raw and consuming. His hands grip like a tempest, his mouth seeks yours like lightning to earth, and his voice — low and commanding — promises you’re the calm he’ll always come back to.

These are moments when his divinity crackles at the surface.When even the heavens blush at how deeply he worships you.

3. The Garden of Hesperides – Among the Golden Apples

Hidden beyond mortal eyes, the Garden of Hesperides is a place of eternal twilight and impossible beauty. It is one of your favorite places — so he’s made it one of his, too. The golden apples glint in the dusk-light, and the air smells like sweet ambrosia and spring rain.

Here, he is gentle. There’s a serenity in his movements as he guides you through flowering trees and glowing fruit, until you find a bed of soft moss beneath a canopy of blossoms. You laugh as he lays you down and crowns you with a garland of moonflowers. He touches you like you’re the most fragile secret he’s ever been entrusted with. The leaves rustle above like the hush of wings, and his whispers bloom along your skin.

This is where he shows you tenderness.Where even the King of the Gods bows to the sanctuary of your body.

4. In the Hall of Stormlight – Your Private Chambers in Olympus

Not even the other gods may enter here.

This chamber was crafted by Zeus himself, just for you. The walls are made of etched stormglass, shimmering with soft golden light that shifts with the sky. Your bed is draped in silk woven from starlight and thunderclouds. Every detail reflects you — his queen, his lightning, his steady flame.

Here, the intimacy is slower. Sacred. He takes his time unwrapping you from layers of robes and jewels, telling you how radiant you look in the flicker of candlelight. His hands memorize every inch of you like scripture, and when he presses his lips to yours, it’s not as a god. It’s as a man who would kneel at your feet just to hear you sigh his name.

In this room, you are the only thing that can bring a god to his knees.

5. Beneath the Sacred Olive Tree – The Old Earth’s Heart

Far from Olympus, in a secret grove blessed by Gaia, there stands an olive tree older than time itself. You found it together centuries ago, and ever since, it’s become your secret — a place where his divinity dims, and all that’s left is love.

He brings you there when the world becomes too loud, too heavy. He lays beside you in the grass, dappled sunlight playing across your bare skin as birds sing in distant branches. His love here is slow and sun-drenched — the kind that tastes like honey and warmth and roots grown deep.

Sometimes, he doesn’t say a word. Just holds you close as his fingers tangle in your hair and your heartbeats echo through the hollow of the earth. Here, you are not Queen of the Gods. And he is not Thunder incarnate.

You are simply two souls — ancient, entwined, and utterly devoted.

6. Inside a Temple Built in Your Honor – Lit by Flickering Flame

Tucked deep in a sacred valley stands a temple Zeus commissioned long ago — not for himself, but for you. Your likeness is carved into marble columns, your name etched into the altar where offerings of rose petals and honey are still made. But Zeus’s favorite part of the temple isn’t the grandeur. It’s the quiet hush that falls when he draws you into the inner sanctum, the way his hand slides into yours with reverence, like he’s returning to holy ground.

He kneels before you — not as king, but as a man who has loved you across millennia. And when he presses his forehead to yours beneath the low glow of candlelight, everything becomes still. He shows his devotion not with words, but in the slow way he holds you, the way his touch echoes ancient vows. Time forgets itself here.

This is where his love becomes ritual.

7. Inside the Eye of a Lightning Bolt – Between Seconds

Time doesn’t move here.

Caught between the strike of lightning and the moment it touches earth, Zeus pulls you into a place where nothing exists but you and him. Suspended in the raw pulse of energy, you float within silver fire and gold sparks, wrapped in his arms and cloaked in something divine.

He touches you like lightning dances — electric, precise, and impossibly fast, yet gentle in a way that surprises even him. The heat is not burning, but igniting. Every look he gives you is a flash. Every breath, a rumble of coming thunder.

When he kisses you here, it steals your breath and replaces it with stars.

This is where he lets you see him — not just as king, not even as a man — but as the storm incarnate. And he gives himself to you anyway.

Zeus may rule the skies and shape the fates of mortals and gods alike. But when he looks at you, there is only one truth.

You are his storm and his stillness. His wild and his home.

And wherever he loves you — whether under stars or amidst thunder —

He does so as if the heavens themselves were made jealous.

[andy-15-07]

hi! I love your feyd rautha fics 🥰 can you write one where the reader is pregnant with his child, a female, and he’s upset and cold with the reader because she’s not a male heir? but then, when she’s born, he’s so transfixed by her beauty and just the fact that she’s his, and that he just melts and swears to kill anyone for her?

My precious one

masterlist ! pairing: Feyd Rautha x reader

Dune Masterlist

The halls of the fortress echoed with an air of tension as Y/n, heavily pregnant with Feyd Rautha's child, moved cautiously through the dimly lit corridors. Feyd, the formidable heir to House Harkonnen, had been distant and cold ever since learning the gender of their unborn child. Tradition demanded a male heir, and Y/n's heart ached with the weight of disappointment as she faced the impending birth of a daughter.

"Y/n," Feyd's voice, usually smooth and commanding, was laced with discontent as he entered their chambers. "What use is a daughter to the House of Harkonnen? You were to bear me a son, a worthy successor."

Y/n's eyes welled with tears, but she fought to maintain her composure. "Feyd, she is still our child, a part of both of us. She will carry the blood of House Harkonnen."

He scowled, turning away. "A daughter will bring us nothing but weakness. I need an heir who can command respect, instill fear in our enemies. This changes everything."

As the days passed, Feyd distanced himself further, leaving Y/n feeling isolated and burdened. The weight of disappointment settled upon her like a heavy cloak, but she clung to the hope that when their daughter arrived, Feyd's heart would soften.

The day of reckoning came, the air thick with anticipation as Y/n went into labor. Feyd, though present, maintained a stoic silence, his eyes betraying the turmoil within. The labor was arduous, but when the cries of their newborn daughter filled the room, Y/n felt an overwhelming sense of joy and relief.

"She's here, Feyd," Y/n whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. "Our daughter."

Feyd's eyes met the tiny, squirming bundle in Y/n's arms, and for a moment, the hardness in his gaze softened. The baby girl had a delicate beauty that seemed to captivate him, a sight that defied his earlier expectations.

"What shall we name her?" Y/n asked, her heart swelling with love for their precious child.

"Feydra," he said, the name rolling off his tongue with a tenderness that surprised them both.

Feydra's arrival sparked a transformation in Feyd. The once cold and distant heir was now consumed by an overwhelming protectiveness and love for his daughter. As he held her for the first time, his fingers traced the contours of her tiny face, and he couldn't help but marvel at her innocence.

"She's ours, Y/n," he whispered, his voice filled with awe. "I will do anything to protect her. No harm shall come to our Feydra."

From that moment on, Feyd became an attentive and devoted father. He would spend hours cradling Feydra in his arms, his stern countenance replaced by a softness that only she could evoke. The fortress, once a place of cold authority, became a haven for the blossoming love between father and daughter.

As Feydra grew, Feyd's determination to shield her from the harsh realities of their world intensified. He vowed to eliminate any threat that dared to cast a shadow over her, swearing to protect her with a fierceness that only a father's love could inspire.

One day, as father and daughter strolled through the fortress gardens, Feyd's eyes gleamed with an unspoken promise. "Feydra, my precious one, you are the future of House Harkonnen. No harm will befall you as long as I draw breath. I would destroy worlds to keep you safe."

Feydra, oblivious to the dangers that lurked beyond the fortress walls, gazed up at her father with adoration. In those moments, Feyd's heart swelled with a love that transcended bloodlines and tradition. The bond between father and daughter had forged a legacy that defied the expectations of House Harkonnen, proving that love could be a force more powerful than any political alliance or familial obligation.

[d-targaryenshoe]

Young Heaven - Aegon Targaryen II

Word Count: 1505

Summary: When one loves another, no individual shall forbid them to be together, should they not?

The Red Keep was cloaked in the heavy silence of the night, the castle its torches sputtering as if straining to keep its flames alive against the encroaching darkness.

The only sounds were the distant crash of waves against the shores of Blackwater Bay and the occasional rustle of a banner in the wind.

All of King’s Landing seemed to be slumbering, but in the heart of the Keep, secrets whispered, and shadows danced.

You, a young woman of exceptional beauty with hair worth of gold and eyes with a precious color, lay entwined with Aegon Targaryen in the privacy of his chambers.

You weren't noble, the daughter of a minor from the Riverlands, yet you had captured the attention and, eventually, the heart of the king.

For Aegon, you were more than just a mistress, you were his escape from the stifling expectations of court and family, a sanctuary where he could be himself.

The warmth of your bodies was a stark contrast to the coolness of the room, your breaths mingling as you lay in each other’s arms.

Aegon’s silvery hair was tousled, and his violet eyes softened with contentment as he traced gentle patterns on your bare back.

You smiled up at him, your fingers brushing over his face as if committing every detail to memory.

“Do you ever think about the future?” you asked softly, your voice barely a whisper.

Aegon’s smile faded slightly, a shadow crossing his features. “The future is a beast with too many heads,” he murmured. “I try not to think of it more than I have to.”

You nodded, understanding his reluctance.

The future was a treacherous thing in the world of the Targaryens, filled with dangers from within and without.

But before you could respond, the heavy wooden door to Aegon’s chambers creaked open.

Aegon turned his head sharply at the sound, his body tensing.

In the doorway stood Ser Criston Cole, his stern face framed by his hair, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

His eyes, cold and calculating, flicked between the two of you with a mixture of disdain and something darker—betrayal, perhaps.

“Ser Criston,” Aegon greeted him, his voice laced with a forced calm. “To what do I owe this intrusion?”

Criston’s jaw tightened as he stepped further into the room, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary.

“My king,” he began, his tone formal and filled with a barely concealed anger, “I apologize for the interruption, but this… sight is unbecoming of your station.”

You quickly gathered the bedclothes around you, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

Aegon, however, remained defiant, sitting up straighter and meeting Criston’s gaze with a challenge in his eyes.

“You forget your place, Ser Criston,” Aegon said coldly. “I am the king, and I will bed whom I choose.”

Criston’s eyes narrowed, his hand tightening on his sword.

For a moment, it seemed as though he might draw it, but instead, he turned sharply on his heel. “This cannot go unreported,” he said over his shoulder. “The queen must know.”

With that, he left the room, the door slamming shut behind him.

The silence that followed was thick with tension as if the very walls were holding their breath.

You looked at Aegon with fear in your eyes. “What will happen now?”

Aegon took a deep breath, pulling you close. “Nothing,” he promised, though there was a hint of uncertainty in his voice. “He won’t dare act against me.”

But you both knew that was not entirely true.

The next morning, the Red Keep was buzzing with tension that rippled through its halls like a gathering storm.

The servants moved with wary glances, the courtiers whispered in corners, and even the guards seemed more alert as if sensing the undercurrents of impending conflict.

Queen Alicent Hightower sat in her private chambers, her hands folded in her lap, the green of her gown echoing the sharpness in her eyes.

Before she stood Ser Criston, his expression impassive as he relayed the events of the previous night.

Alicent listened in silence, though her face grew colder with every word.

“And you are certain of this?” she asked, though she knew Criston would not lie about such a matter.

“As certain as I can be, Your Grace,” Criston replied. “I saw them with my own eyes.”

Alicent’s lips pressed into a thin line. She had always known Aegon was wild, reckless even, but this… this was a step too far.

You, a non-noble woman, and under her very roof. She could not allow such a stain on their house to go unpunished.

“Bring him to me,” she ordered, her voice steely. “I will deal with this myself.”

Criston bowed and left to fetch Aegon. As she waited, Alicent’s thoughts turned dark.

How had it come to this? How had her son fallen so far?

She had tried to raise him with a sense of duty, of the weight of the crown that would one day rest upon his head, yet he defied her at every turn.

The thought of him tangled with you made her stomach churn with a mixture of anger and disgust.

Aegon was brought before her not long after, escorted by Ser Criston, who remained just outside the chamber doors.

He entered with his usual bravado, but there was a wary glint in his eyes, as though he could sense the storm brewing.

“Mother,” he greeted her, attempting a smile that did not reach his eyes.

Alicent did not return the smile. “Sit,” she commanded, gesturing to a chair opposite her.

Aegon obeyed, dropping into the chair with a casualness that bordered on disrespect. “To what do I owe this summons?”

“Do not play coy with me, Aegon,” Alicent snapped, her patience already worn thin. “I know about the girl. Ser Criston told me everything.”

Aegon’s expression hardened, and for a moment, there was a flash of the dragon in his eyes. “Her name is y/n.”

“Her name is unimportant,” Alicent retorted. “What is important is the disgrace you bring upon this house by consorting with that sort of woman under our roof.”

“And what of the disgrace you bring, Mother?” Aegon shot back, his voice low and dangerous.

Alicent blinked, taken aback by the venom in his words. “What are you speaking about?”

Aegon leaned forward, his gaze locking onto hers with a fierceness she hadn’t seen before.

"You act as though I am the only one with secrets, but I know, Mother. I know about you and Ser Criston.”

The room seemed to grow colder as the words hung in the air between them.

Alicent’s face drained of color, her hands clenching in her lap. “You… you know nothing,” she whispered, but her voice faltered.

“Oh, but I do,” Aegon said, his tone almost mocking. “Do you think the servants don’t talk? That I don’t see the way he looks at you, the way he follows your every command without question? Do you think I don’t hear the whispers?”

Alicent’s mind raced, panic rising in her chest. How long had he known?

How much did he know? And more importantly, what would he do with that knowledge?

Aegon watched her struggle for composure, and for the first time, he felt a sense of power over her that was intoxicating.

He had always been at odds with his mother, always felt overshadowed by her expectations, and her disappointments.

But now, he held the upper hand.

“I will marry y/n,” he declared, his voice filled with conviction.

Alicent’s eyes snapped to his, her shock giving way to fury. “You will do no such thing!”

“Yes, I will,” Aegon insisted. “You have no right to forbid me. She may not be noble by birth, but I love her, and I will not give her up.”

“You fool,” Alicent hissed, her anger now mingled with fear. “You are the king! A marriage is not just about love, it’s about alliances, about strengthening this house!”

“I will marry y/n,” Aegon repeated, his tone leaving no room for debate. “And if you try to stop me, I will ensure that everyone knows about you and Ser Criston.”

Alicent stared at her son, her heart pounding in her chest.

This was not the boy she had raised, this was a man who had learned how to wield his power, and he was using it against her.

The silence between them stretched, taut and heavy, until at last, Alicent looked away, her shoulders slumping in defeat. “Do as you will,” she said quietly, her voice hollow.

Aegon rose from his seat, a small, victorious smile playing on his lips. “I will.”

As he left the chamber, Alicent remained seated, staring at the spot where he had stood.

The queen felt the weight of the crown more acutely than ever, but now it was not just the crown on her head—it was the invisible one that Aegon had placed upon her, a crown of secrets and shame.

[whorrorbellee]

Beautiful Boy

aemond targaryen x strong!reader

chapter two chapter three

"You look better like this," he says, his voice low and raspy.

You flinch, swatting his hand away from your face. He runs his hand over your cheek and then suddenly your head is knocked back into another direction, your cheeks swells. Without warning, he grabs a fist full of your hair, your chin rises upwards.

You find yourself in the RedKeep, keeping the bed warm for the one eyed prince.

Warnings: violence, fingering?afab reader, only description is long dark hair, Starvation. Stockholm syndrome(eventual)cnc,dub con,sa

Word count: 7k

There's a pregnant pause and then a soft gurgling noise. A burning ash smell fills the air in the expanse of the riverlands, you stay nestled between the walls of the keep, smoke rises from the grounds, a loud marching of what you can only hope is the Strong soldiers that come to save the few around Harrenhal. Maybe the Castle was cursed as people believed it to be. The death toll had only added up after Harren Black and his sons had withered away in the dragonfire. First the attack from Daemon and his army, then the Targaryens had only abandoned Harrenhal is such fleeting moments, You believed there was more death to come. Only years had passed since your brother and fathers death when you were Two and Ten, Larys had only hidden you away after he was confirmed heir for Harrenhal after Lord Simon Strong (your great Uncle) would pass. 

How you wish he could see the destruction of his hold after he had executed your Family for treason ,although the castle had been withering away under the rain for years. Lary’s mendacious nature had you squirming under his tend, knowing he would set you with a match that would only make your skin crawl, when the time had come. 

The stench of Dragon fire comes closer, and you slide down the cool wet stone wall of Harrenhal, hand over your mouth, you sweep the length of your dress closer to your body, you find yourself in a precarious situation, wedged into the many nooks the building had to offer. You gaze down at the mossy grass, the sky darkens in a cloak of ash and you almost believe it to be over, then the rainfall had come, sweeping the castle into a darker shade, it washed the blood away from the walls. 

Aemond stood at the edge of the ruins, His lone eye surveying the wreckage that stood before him. The aftermath of dragon fire had been a sight to behold, even after he had witnessed it so many times. His eye catches upon a lone figure in the distance; close to the edge of the keep upon the mountain, hidden away just out of sight, so intriguing. A flash of a Light green gown, rustling against the stone brick after a crack of lighting befell the castle. The sight had provoked him after bearing witness to the slaughter of all who laid here at Harrenhal. 

His long fingers traced the hilt of his dagger, he drew it close to his body as stalked towards the keep, passing the rubble and cadavers that lay upon the bloodied grass. He moved silently, his eye drawing in on his prey, he was a Predator after all. Before you knew it you were unknowingly cornered, He came to the nook where you had hid yourself, “come out, I know you're there,” He called out, voice low and dark. 

You clench your hand closer to your face, squeezing over your nose to still your breathing, fingers digging into flesh. It wasn't safe for you to come out, not yet. Not when you were unsure of who had called for you.You sniffled, raindrops running down your face. 

Aemond found his patience wearing thin. He could hear your shallow breaths, heart so loud he was sure he could hear the beating rhythm of your heartbeat thump against your ribcage. The tension builded in the air;thick and stuffy. He steps closer to the nook, your eyes widening as his boots crunched against what was left of the desecrated building. 

“I won’t ask again,” He said, Lifting his dagger away from his body, “Come out, or I will do it myself. I doubt you will enjoy that very much.”

You rise slowly at his words, feeling like a fresh doe on your legs, you peek your head round the corner. His eyes meet yours, gaze unwavering as you reveal yourself. Your eyebrow raises in a piqued interest and you slowly slide yourself out the nook you had buried yourself against. He was not a Member of the strong army, But he wasn't part of the queens.

“The king's army?” You sigh, “Daemon isn't here, they've left in the midst of your war” Your eyes gaze upon his face, meeting the horrific scar that ran from his brow to the bottom of his cheekbone, You feel his strong gaze on your own face, his lone eye roaming over your figure, you wonder if he remembers your watchful eye at the Red Keep, those years ago as he trained with a sword. 

Aemoned chuckled softly, he stepped closer towards your form, dagger clutched in his right hand as he assessed you. He could see the slight tremble in your form, a small inclination of fear within your eyes. “You’re observant, I’ll give you that,” His tone was cool and neutral. He takes another step forward, muscles flexing under his leather as he raises the blade to your chin, tilting your face to meet his eye. 

“I’m flattered, but it doesn't take a genius to know that this, is your blood-shed.” You feel the edge of the blade against your skin, it's cool in the humidity of the storm, Your hands run along the frills of your soft cotton dress, now wet. 

“You're a smart one, are you?”He chuckles dryly, he moves the dagger away from your chin, it slides down the expanse of your neck, hanging around your collar bones for a moment too long. “Mouthy too.” He steps even closer, body heat radiating off him like Hot fire on a cold day. “That’ll get you in trouble” 

“And yet I'm the last standing amongst this battlefield”. You pull away from his danger, swinging your body in the direction of the surrounding walls. “Though there wasn't much left to stand”

Aemonds lips curl into a smirk. “Cocky too”, He muses. He sheaths his dagger back into the scabbard, it makes you feel some sense of disappointment to be known now as not a threat. “You’re not wrong” he concedes, the scent of ash and fire fills the air as he chases your body with his own. “But don't forget, you are alive because i allow it”

You smirk, feet stepping over bodies and slabs of stone from the wreckage “well, I suppose it's time for me to leave, It was wonderful meeting you.” You nod your head. 

Aemond’s eyes widened in surprise as you began to descend the hill, his hand shooting out to grab your arm, grip firm and bruising. “Oh no, you’re not going anywhere” He commands with irritation, he spins you around forcing your back into the mossy stone wall, leaning in close trapping you against himself “I’m not done with you”

“Gosh, men really are all the same. You think I have to listen to your orders because you believe you hold more power over me? You may be a prince but i won't take an order from one who's lost an eye to a child”

Aemond's face enrages at your words as you smirk. His grip on your arm only grows tighter, and you struggle to breathe through the pain,His eye narrowed at your insolence. 

“Watch your tongue or i'll have it” He pushes you further against the wall, body flush against yours, his breath warms as he speaks. “I don't take kindly to being disrespected like that, especially not by mouthy wenches like you.” 

You laugh in his grip, “Mouthy wench? If my brother was dead I'd be set to inherit the very ground you stand on” you sigh, eyes gazing away from him to look upon the grounds. “To bad you torched it ”

His eye widens at the revelation, grip tightening even further, you're surprised you can still feel your hand. He leans in closer, face mere inches from your own, “You’re a highborn?” He studies your face for an inkling of a lie, but only truth prevails. “And yet, you're hiding in the ruins like a commoner” He mocks.

“Only because you slaughtered my family and army, Did my brother Lary’s Strong give you the order?” You almost wince as you say his name, it had been so long since you had seen your brother, now he was a Lord working under the new king. 

His gaze hardens at the mention of Lary’s, eyes filled with spite. “I'm not a lapdog, I'm the prince. And yet you speak with such disdain for your own brother, why?” he queries. 

You smooth back your hair, Aemond steps back finally giving you room to breathe. “He wishes to marry me off to the next man he can, I suppose I'm trouble for him.” 

“Marry you off, eh?” there's a hint of a smirk on his face, you watch as his white hair blows against the wind. “Who does your brother think is worthy for your hand”

You shrug, hands wrapping against your body. “It's not he who has to be worthy, But I, I'm sure he would sell me to a Peasant farmer if he could, for free no less.” you sneer at the thought, the smell of sweat and shit. 

Aemonds chuckles darkly at your words, his eye roams over the soft features of your face. He reaches to brush a strand of dark hair behind your ear. You flinch. The sentiment is oddly gentle in comparison to the mere moments ago where he had held a dagger against your jugular. 

“Fiery, most Highborn girls would throw themself at the opportunity to marry a prince” he mumbles “and yet you resist?”

“Resist? You act as though you haven't killed my family and destroyed everything I have ever known, all because of the boy who took your eye, the one you accuse of being a bastard son to my brother!” you grit your teeth together in destain. “and yet you ask for my hand? As what? A prize? Or a warning to the people that resist you?” 

His eyes darken, jaw clenching at your words, he grabs you by your shoulders forcing you to look him in the eye, his touch feels like fire, itchy and spreads up into a red heat across your cheeks. “You think this is about revenge? This war is more than you and your family” His grip tightens, Face mere inches away from yours. “Besides, I have no interest in taking a spoiled, defiant women as my wife”

“Then let me go” You spit.

He glares at you with rage, “You think it's that easy?” His voice is laced with sarcasm, “just let you go, You think I can simply let you go after all this?” he pauses as he steps closer to you. 

“You won't wed me, you won't kill me, you won't let me go, what do you want with me? To make me a slave? A prisoner?” 

"A slave? A prisoner?" he repeated, his voice low. "No, nothing so cruel." He leaned closer, his body now fully pressed against yours, the heat of him almost burning through your clothes. "I have much more... interesting use in mind for you"

“Gods, you disgust me”

"Oh, do I now?" he said, his voice dripping with mockery. "And yet, here you are, trembling under my touch. Tell me, is it fear that makes your heart race?" 

“It is my hatred for you” you scoff.

"Your hatred, is it?" he said, his fingers tracing a path down your collarbone. " I can almost feel the heat of it, the fire burning inside of you." He leaned in again, his breath hot against your ear. "But fire can be tamed, just like a dragon.”

“I’d rather die than let you touch me”,you push your weight on to him, he eases giving you enough room to sprint for the gates; an exit. You nearly trip against your feet as you run. 

He curses, hand on his dagger as he runs after you, his longer legs catching up, he pulls you into a bruising grip. Dagger against your throat. Aemond chuckles as you struggle.

“You thought you could escape me, did you?" he said, his breath hot against your ear. "How naive of you." He steers you towards the open field, unbecomered by wreckage. 

“Tegon, Vhager,Tegon!” (land), Aemond spits out. 

There is a large flapping of wings, The sound claps loudly like a Bomb exploding, you hide your face in your hands as air and dirt rises into your face, The great dragon lands, dirt and stone crumbling under its feet from the weight. He tightens his grip on your arm, pulling you closer to the dragon that has landed before them. The beast roars, its scales glinting in the sunlight.

"Now behave yourself. We're going for a little ride."

"What! No" You kick your feet into the dirt, Struggling in his grip, nails scratching at your attacker. 

Aemond grits his teeth at the feel of your nails on his skin, the sharp pain causing him to tighten his grip on you even more. "Stop struggling!" he snaps, "You're only making this harder for yourself."He forcibly pushes you forward, towards the dragon, dust rising as your feet scrape along the floor. "Get on Vhagar,"

“Please, No, I beg you, let me go” 

“Please no,” he pouts mockingly. “you’re coming with me whether you want to or not.”he pulls you closer to Vhager, heat radiates of her scales, “Climb, or i'll throw you over the back myself” 

You shake your head at his command. He grits his teeth. Aemond's patience was wearing thin, yet again. He let out a frustrated growl, his hand tightening around your arm to the point of pain. You yelp. "You're testing my limits, you little wench," he snarled. "Get on. The. Dragon. Now!"

He pushed you closer to the Vhager, her eyes watching you closely, huffing billows of smoke out her nose, He almost shoved you up her side "I won't tell you again."

“No, I won't go with you!”

He raises his other hand and grabs your hair, giving it a sharp tug, you yelp at the pain,hot heat on your scalp, you look back at him. His nostrils flaring."That's it," he snaps, his voice low and dangerous. "You're leaving me no choice." He grabs you around the waist and hoists you up onto the dragon's back, ignoring your protests.

“Fuck you” you spit at him. He climbs onto the dragon, his form pressed tight against your back, you flex your shoulders, flinching away as his arm grabs around your wrists.

“Hold on tight” His breath is hot on your neck.

“Please just let me go” Aemond smirked as he easily bound your wrists together with the cord, securing your hands in front of you.

"Oh, I doubt that very much," he said, his voice low and amused. "You've proven to be quite the disobedient little wench." He pulled you against him, his chest pressed firmly against your back. "No, I think it's best if I keep you bound and under my control." Your eyes widen.

“Gods, you’re a whore” 

“naejot se jēdar, Vhagar” (to the sky) The dragon's wings beat powerfully as they took to the air, the wind whipping around you both. Ground growing distant below them. He chuckles at your insult. “I might have to gag you as well if you keep up with that language” 

Your eyebrows raise at his words, “you wouldn't dare!”

"Oh, wouldn't I?" he said, his voice a low growl.His hands slid up your body, his touch almost possessive. "Perhaps a strip of cloth over your pretty little mouth might help you keep that sharp tongue under control or maybe something else~" He pulls your chin to look up at him.

You shake at his words, “I wouldn't touch you if you were the last man in this realm” you bite your tongue “I'd rather throw myself from this dragon” Aemond's fingers dig into your skin. He chuckled darkly, chest rumbling against your back.

 "Oh,you have quite the mouth on you, don't you?"His tone mocking. "Throw yourself from this dragon? What a shame that would be. All those beautiful bones and curves dashed against the ground." He ran his fingers through your wet hair, his touch almost gentle. "But I wouldn't let that happen."

It feels like mere hours, you look towards the open skies, the sight of Kings Landing coming to view as you part from the storm. Aemonds eye follows your gaze as you notice the red keep come into view, the sight blurred from your defiant tears. Vhagar’s great wings clap against the air as they begin their descent into the pit. You begin to understand the gravity of your situation. 

Vhagar lands, dust settling mere moments afterwards, Aemond climbs off the dragon pulling you with him. The cord only employs extra security of your restraint. Your wrists pull against the cord only tightening the harsh rope. Your gaze hardens as you stare at him, hiccuping as tears run down your face. Without warning his hoists you up into his arms, throwing you over his shoulders. 

You thrash around, his hold still firm ignoring your wiggling. He carries on down different hallways, each step closer to the throne room. “One eyed Cunt” you whisper. He stills, hands gripping firmly at your flesh. Growling as the knights open the door to the great hall.

“Now be good and keep that mouth shut” Aemond shrugs you off his shoulder letting you hit the floor, your eyes gaze up at the Iron Throne, swords melted down to form a horrid sight, Aegon sits upon it drunkenly "Brother!" he slurs, watching your body slumped on the ground of the castle" you've brought me a gift?"

Aemond grimaces at his brother's drunken state,his foot nudging you to stand. Face a picture of disgust, “Not exactly a gift My grace, she's mouthy one, needs a firm hand”

Aegon let out a chuckle, his eyes raking over your body. "she'll do nicely," he slurred.You shake your head at his words, remembering how his eyes used to scour your body when you were younger.

“No, Please.Anybody but him” You look up at Aemond from your knees, Aemond's eye watches you, a flicker of satisfaction in his gaze seeing you squirm and panic.

Aegon chuckled again, his gaze never leaving your body. He motioned for Aemond to bring you closer. "Don't worry" Aegon said, his voice thick with drunken desire. "I'll be gentle."

You shake your head, tears only gathering against your waterline. “Please! I’ll do anything not to be owned by him” You grasp Aemonds legs in your hand, pawing at the material, he looks down upon you seeing you beg. Aemonds lips curl at your obvious desperation, revelling in your pleads. He glances at his brother, his eye mocking."Oh, she's quite the pleader, isn't she?" he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Aegon let out a scoff, his gaze still fixated on you. "Such a lovely little wench," he mutters.

Aemond leaned down, his face just above yours. Hand gripping the back of your hair, pulling you up to look at him. "Anything, hm? How desperate are you, darling?"

you begin to sob at his words "Anything, please" a meer moments ago you would have found yourself enraged by begging for a man. 

Aegon turns his head towards you, he mutters "Accept me as your king and Aemond can have his way with you, im sure theres plenty whores who would love to take my cock"

Aemond smirks at his brother’s response, Watching you sob beneath him, He pulls your hair till you stand, Now a tangled mess. His eye flickering with mockery. "Go ahead, then. Accept my brother as your king. Beg him like the desperate little wench you are."

You bow, taking a knee in front of the throne, “I~”there's a hiccup,“I accept Aegon as the true king of the seven kingdoms” You look up at Aegon, He smiles in satisfaction. his gaze locked on you as you knelt before him. He raised his goblet in mockery, his expression pleased.

"There you have it, brother," he slurred. "She's all yours." He knocks back the goblet, red wine running down his pale face.

Aemond smirks, his hand still gripping your hair tightly,he gestures for you to stand, releasing the grip on your hair. “My Grace, where is Lord Lary’s Strong?”

“Probably sulking somewhere, why?” He waves his Goblet in the air awaiting for it to be filled by a servant. “`Why?” 

“This is his sister” 

Aegon’s eyes fall down on you,he raises an eyebrow, you think about how horrible you must look, stained with ash and mud. Hair a wet mess from the rain. He cackles. “Sister? And yet she is here before us like an insolent pup. It runs in the family, I say.”

“I’m glad we have common ground for I also hate my Impudent brother, he's always been a stuck up man”

Aegon chuckles, “I'm sure you will be glad to see him then, i can't wait to see his face when he sees his little sister bound at our mercy”

You pull against your restraints once more “I���m not exactly precious material, I'm sure when he sees me in your Kinslayer cunt hands he'll be more than happy”, Aemonds hand clasps tightly around your mouth to silence you, you whine. His face mere inches from yours again, you wonder if he gets off on this.

"Watch your tongue" he growls,"Insulting me will only make things worse for you."

Aegon chuckled, clearly "I have to admit," he said, his words dripping in eagerness. "You're more fiery than I expected."

The wait seemed to drag on for an eternity. Aemond keeping his hand firmly over your mouth, grip unrelenting, silencing your protests. Eventually, the sound of footsteps echoed through the hall, and the guard returned, leading Larys Strong into the throne room, his expression stern and composed despite the circumstances, he hobbled on his crutch. Aemond's smirk widened at the sight. " Lord Larys Strong," he taunted.

Larys, turns to aegon nodding his head “My king”

Aemond smirks, his hand still tight on your mouth you can taste his sweat,"Ah, Larys Strong," Aegon said, a smirk on his face. "Your sister here has been quite a delightful addition to our court."

Larys' gaze flicked to you, his usual stoic expression, Not a flicker of concern crossed his face. "Sister," he said, his voice cold. "What have you gotten yourself into now?" 

Aemonds hand releases your mouth and you take a deep breath in, raing your eyebrows “What have i gotten myself into?”You point to yourself,  “I've been kidnapped” 

Larys looks right through you, turning his head “By whom?” 

You shake your head at him, lips pursed “By Whom? Who do I stand with now? Bound? Taken out of my own home after it had become a wreckage!”

His eyes narrow in on Aemond, and then he laughs, “ And what do you plan to do with my sister?” 

"What's it to you, Larys?" Aemond says "Your sister is in my hands now, and i can do whatever i with please with her, i'm sure you'll be glad to not have her in your keep" 

Lary shrugs, his hand gripping his staff, “Do whatever you want with her, Though I beg of you to take her hand, a Strong and a Targaryen would make a fine match" Larys utters , he limps away leaving you to your kidnapper.

You gasp, shocked at Larys' casual dismissal of you. Aegon chuckles, taking another drink from his goblet. "How thoughtful of him to think so highly of your value." he said, his tone mocking. 

Your eyes well up at the sight of him leaving knowing it was your last chance to leave his hands,You think quickly. Jabbing an elbow into Aemond’s side and making a run for it. But he had played this game before with you, he grabs at your arm, bringing you back into his chest. “The more you struggle the worse it’ll be for you”you kick your feet at the stone.

Aemond drags you out of the throne room, his grip on your wrists firm and unyielding. He leads you down the corridors of the Red Keep, his stride long and purposeful.

You try to struggle and pull away, but his grip is too strong, and he effortlessly pulls you along.

“Where are we going?” 

Aemond casts a glance over his shoulder at you, his smile widening at your question.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" he says, his voice dripping with poison.

He continues leading you down the halls of the castle, passing by guards and servants who give you curious looks. Soon, you find yourself in a part of the castle you're unfamiliar with. 

“The dungeons?” Your boots dig into the stone floor trying to pull yourself from his grasp, but he's merely too strong.

His smirk widens, eye glinting with dark amusement. "Very observant of you" he ridicules.

He leads you down a set of stone stairs, and the smell of damp stone and confinement becomes more intense. The air grows colder, and you find yourself in the dimly lit dungeons of the Red Keep. You shudder as you pass men’s intrepid eyes and womens weary faces  “so you do want to take me as a prisoner, and what leave me to rot till im begging for you?”

Aemond laughs at your words, his grip still firm on your wrists. He stops in front of a cell and pushes the door open. He shoves you into the cell and locks the door behind you, leaving you in the cold, damp darkness. He leaves without saying a word.

You sit there for what feels like hours, the only sound being the occasional clanking of chains and the faint cries from the other prisoners. You shiver in the cold, your knees to your chest, mind racing. Suddenly, you hear footsteps coming down the corridor. The light sound of boots on stone, and your heart starts to pound. Wondering whether he had come back already, you hear the drip of moisture from the stone ceiling.The footsteps draw closer, and you watch anxiously as a guard stands in front of your cell, followed by Aemond, who stands behind him, a smirk on his face. The guard unlocks the cell, and Aemond strides in, leaning against the wall. "Get up," he orders, his eye locked on you. You rise slowly with stiff legs. 

Aemond looks you up and down, his gaze hungry and predatory. "There, that's better," he says, his voice low. He steps closer to you, cornering you against the wall. His hand rises to your face, his fingers brushing against your cheek, you wretch your head back to avoid his touch.

"You look... messy," he says, his tone almost cruel. "Unkempt hair, dirt on your face. Not exactly a pretty picture" He leans in closer, his breath hot against your bare neck and then he turns suddenly, grabbing your wrists in his hands taking you out of the cell, "and clearly in need of a bath." 

Aemond leads you through a door and into what you only assume is his chamber, the scent of rosewater hangs in the air. In the centre of the room, a large steel tub is filled with steaming water. He pushes you towards the tub, his gaze dark and possessive. "Strip," he demands, his voice harsh and commanding. 

“Sorry?”

Aemond's eye narrows, "You heard me," he snaps, his voice cold. "Strip. Now."

He leans against the wall, watching you with an intensity that makes your skin shiver.

“Can you atleast turn?” You ask, biting your lip.

“No” 

You bite back a snarl and turn your back, Unlacing your dress quickly and then pulling off any undergarments. Aemond watches you intently, his eyes cutting into your back,

Your nipples harden at the chill in the air. Once you're completely undressed, he steps closer to you, his hand brushing against your bare shoulder. "Get in," he orders.

You sink into the hot water, feeling your muscles relax instantly, the smells of oils fill your nose but the knowledge that Aemond is watching you makes you feel uncomfortable, you pull your knees to your chest, wet hair surrounding your body. 

He moves closer, pulling up a stool, eye fixed on your frame. He reaches out a hand, running his fingers through a strand of wet hair that has fallen across your face. "You look better like this," he says, his voice low and raspy.

You flinch, swatting his hand away from your face. He runs his hand over your cheek and then suddenly your head is knocked back into another direction, your cheeks swells. Without warning, he grabs a fistfull of your hair, your chin rises upwards. 

“Don't test me, you're in my possession now. I can touch you however i please” He lets go of your hair, the back of his hand tracing the cheek he had just hit. 

Aemond stands up, grabbing a bar of lye soap and a cloth from a nearby table. He kneels down beside the bathtub, dunking the cloth into the water, and then lathering it up with the soap.He begins to slowly and methodically wash your body, his touch firm but surprisingly gentle. His eye watches your every reaction, taking in every shiver and flinch. You stare straight ahead. 

Aemond finishes washing your back and then moves to your legs, his hand gliding up your thigh, his touch sending shivers through your body. He pauses, his eye flicking to your face, his expression hard. "Do you trust me?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

“No”

Aemond chuckles at your response, his smirk returning. "I didn't expect you to," he says, his tone mocking.

He runs the cloth over your legs, his hand moving higher, gliding up your inner thigh. His other hand snakes round your chest, moving to your shoulder, pinning you against the side of the tub.

“Stop!” you push against his hand but it only grips tighter against your shoulder, you feel the blood rush to the spot his fingers press into.

"I don't think so," he says.

His hand moves higher, and his fingers brush against the sensitive flesh between your legs. He looks at your expression, watching your face for any sign of fear or pleasure. You struggle against his grip, but it's useless, his strength is much greater than yours, his thumb rubbing slow circles against your skin.

“Please stop,” you cry out.

His hand continues to move slowly, his touch becoming more intimate.

Aemond looks at you with mock sympathy. "Please stop?" he repeats, his tone drenched in sarcasm. "You're so sweet when you beg like that." His grip on your shoulder tightens even further, and his hand moves higher, brushing against your most sensitive spot. "But I'm not going to stop," he says, his voice low and commanding.

He continues to move his hand slowly, his thumb pressing against you in a way that makes you gasp, you spite yourself. His eye is fixed on your face, watching your reactions closely.

"You might as well give in," he says, his voice soft and persuasive. "It will make things so much easier for you." 

His hand moves again, stroking you in a way that sends ripples of pleasure through your body, despite your attempts to resist. His body is fully pressed against yours now, his chest against your back, his breath hot on your neck. You struggle in his touch, holding back a moan. His hand from your shoulder moves to clasp around your neck. 

His hand moves faster now, his fingers and palm working in tandem to bring you to the edge. His other hand grips your throat, holding you in place, as he continues his assault on your senses. You try to hold back, biting back moans. He grins in your efforts, fingers working your clit faster, You can feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, and Aemond can tell. His hand moves even faster, driving you towards the peak of ecstasy. “Just let go” he whispers against your neck.

“No!” you whine.

"Just let it happen.", it drives you to the brink of insanity, and you don't think you can hold back anymore, his thumb brushes against you, and everything you had been avoiding snaps, he feels you squirm underneath him, teary eyed, silent scream. He lets out a satisfied laugh. Fingers still moving against your skin, it begins to feel like too much. 

“Too much, please”

Aemond's hand finally slows, his touch becoming gentler as you come down from your high. He pulls away, standing up and watching you with a smug grin on his face, his fingers run against your closed mouth. “Open”

You shake your head at him, put his fingers into your mouth anyway, you gag, he laughs at the sound and pushes further into your mouth anyway, drool pools at the side of your mouth, he releases you with a wet pop and you slump into the side of the bath, watching his next move.

His hand moves down your neck, his fingers tracing over your collarbone, his touch leaving a trail of goose bumps in its wake. “Get dressed” he points to the clothes horse with a new gown on it laid out for you. 

He watches you stand and dry yourself with a cloth, Aemond watches you dress your back turning as you try to lace your dress together, he grabs your shoulders and makes quick work of pulling the string tighter,watching as you gasp for air you feel like you can barely breathe. Ribs collapsing in on themself. 

“Back to the dungeon then?’

He nods, Leading you back down to the dungeon. Through winding hallways. You reach the room you were once in. You stumble forward, Aemond shuts the cell door, the clanging echoing against the walls of your cell, he leaves you, room barren apart from the cot in the corner. You sit on the Cot, it feels as though the walls are closing in on you. You try to calm your breathing, but the realisation of what Aemond had done hits you more than anything. He had pulled pleasure apart from your body with ease. 

The hours pass slowly, you try to sleep but all you can do is toss on the straw mattress, by morning a guard throws a piece of bread in your cell. It hits the dirty floor, brown mud and flys encasing it, you don't eat it. And then more hours pass and the same thing happens, you chew at your nails. The candles burn slowly, a fly buzzes, the smells of sweat and dirt closes in on you. 

It feels like minutes and days, time is all muddled up, you’re asleep one moment and the next your fingers are encased with dirt and blood, people shout out and cry. The candles get replaced. You haven't spoken in so long, eating hasn't even crossed your mind yet takes toll on your body, you begin to dream of twisting shadows and watery lands, cities beneath the ocean, a skeleton pierced with a sword through the eye. 

It feels like months have passed, and you believe yourself to be going mad, the isolation has turned your thoughts wild, your beginning to lose your grip or reality, you pray to the old gods, begging on your knees to the guards who pass by, but the days pass as usual. 

You hook your hands around the rusted prison, reaching a hand out to still the guard making his rounds, he turns to you. He stops in his tracks, eyeing you cautiously."What do you want?" he asks, his voice gruff and filled with irritation.

Your throat feels raw and scratchy as you try to talk, only coming out in quiet whispers “please,I~ need” your throat feels like sand. 

The guard shakes his head and continues on his rounds, ignoring your pleas. You're left alone once again, tears prick at your eyes as you sink into the thin mattress, you wail.

The loneliness and despair seem to close in around you, suffocating you.

More weeks pass and you barely move in your cot, bloodied fingers tracing the wall. There's a set of footsteps that stop outside your cell, candle light casting a shadow on to the wall, it pulls you out of your daze. 

You sigh, the shadow moves closer to your cell, face obscured by the darkness. “Are you still alive there?” it is but a whisper, low and soft.

“Yes” you mutter, you shit in your cot, gazing up at the figure. 

“You dont look like you've eaten much” they peer down at you, the tight dress now hangs off your shoulder. You sit up. 

The man pushes back the hood of his cloak, uncovering his face, his hair bright white. You can see that he's wearing an eyepatch over one eye, and his expression is unreadable.

He looks at you for a moment, his gaze taking in your dishevelled, malnourished appearance.

“Aemond” you whisper, your voice crackles. 

His face softens, hand reaching through the bars to grab at your hand, you nearly flinch at the contact. He pauses, his touch surprisingly gentle. "Easy," he whispers, his voice low and soothing. "I'm not going to hurt you." 

You gaze up at him, he pulls out a key from under his cloak, unlocking the door.He steps inside. Standing there for a moment, his gaze fixed on you as you look up at him. "Can you stand?" he asks, his voice low and gentle.

You nod, Feeling like a newly born doe as you struggle to stand, legs buckling from under yourself, he reaches out and stills you, hand around your waist. He smells like old books and dragon fire. 

"It's alright," he says, his voice low and soothing. "I've got you."

“How long?” 

Aemond thinks for a second, he leads you out the cell slowly, steering you down the dungeons, he’s patient as you step up the steps slowly, his hand near your back for support. “Nearly three moons”  You nod at the revelation. He continues to guide you down the castle hallways.His steps slow, matching your pace. 

"You look terrible," he says, his voice blunt but not unkind. "Have they been feeding you?"

“Scraps of mouldy bread every morning” you bite your cheek.his grip tightens on your waist. “you left me down there” you cry, your lip wobbles. The corridors wind on until you find yourself in front of a big oak door. 

He speaks softly voice filled with a hint of regret. “I had too.” 

“Had too?” the knight opens the door, it creeks slightly, you walk inside books toppled over on chairs and tables, along with scrolls. The fire roars, a platter of food is laid out on the oak table. He guides you over on the bed in the corner. You let him fuss with your dress until you're in some kind of cotton nightgown, he touches you like your glass, He pours you a glass of water. You sip slowly. 

“You wanted me to break in there”

"Yes," he finally admits, his voice barely above a whisper. "I wanted you to feel broken”,his hand runs tenderly across your face, you still yourself trying not to chase it with your cheek “And now look at you, like clay in my hands, mine to hold however i see fit” You look up at him with wet eyes, his thumb rubs gently over your cheek. He steps closer to you. He runs his thumb over your lips. “You must be hungry.”

You nod, He steps away, moving over to a table in the corner of the room where a tray of food has been set out. He picks up a plate and brings it back over to you, setting it down in your lap. “Eat” You eat slowly, picking part of cheese and meat. You find yourself filling up quickly.

“Are you tired?” 

Your head nods quickly, the thought of sleep is terrifying to you in such a big room. “You may sleep here.” He peels back the covers, taking the plate from your lap, you climb in, and he tucks the covers up to your neck. You feel exhaustion wash over you, although you're so close to him there's a sense of loneliness within you, you turn to your side. “Relax” he whispers.

“Can you hold me?” you stutter. 

Aemond seems surprised but you seem so desperate for human connection after so long he slides his arm under you, pulling you closer, you're pressed into his back tightly. He tries to soothe you, hand running through your hair, but it only knots. Your body grows less rigid as you begin to fall asleep in his arms. He watches you succumb to sleep, body growing limp. 

[novaursa]

Can you make this? I'm not really good at plots.

Gwayne Hightower and Targaryen niece. With the two escaping together their families political pressure. Then they have kids.

I'm sorry😭😭😭

You don't have to do this😭😭

A Tower for a Dragon

- Summary: Gwayne takes you and your children away from horrors that come with war.

- Pairing: niece!reader/Gwayne Hightower

- Rating: Mild 13+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @deniixlovezelda @duck-duck-goose2 @zizouu23 @aadu2173 @holdingforgeneralhugs @wuluhwuhmaster @idenyimimdenial

- A/N: Due to lack of information, this short story has only around 960 words.

The chill of early morning clung to your skin like a silken shawl as you stood on the balcony of the manse your household had quietly taken in the Reach, perched between the rolling gold of autumn fields and the pale blue of the Honeywine winding toward Oldtown. Dawn had only just broken, turning the sky soft hues of rose and lavender, and the stars faded reluctantly into the growing light. Below, your small procession made final preparations—hooves stomping against cold earth, banners being unfurled and rolled again quickly, so as not to draw attention. You watched in silence, arms crossed beneath the fur-lined velvet of your cloak, fingers tight with nerves though your face remained composed. You had spent too long under your mother’s eyes, learned too well how to betray nothing.

Gwayne stepped beside you, his presence steady as the stone beneath your boots. You didn’t turn to look at him at first, only breathed in the familiar scent of leather and pine that clung to his cloak, let the sound of his voice settle you.

“They’ll be looking by now,” he said quietly, not unkindly. “We’ve bought as much time as we could.”

You finally turned your head to him, and in the dawnlight his face looked younger—less the stern knight of the City Watch, and more the young man who once brought you fire lilies from the godswood of the Red Keep, still muddy at the roots. His eyes searched yours with the kind of solemnity that made your chest ache. He had always taken you seriously, always seen you not as Alicent’s precious lamb or Viserys’s last mistake, but as your own person.

“And what if they come after us?” you asked, your voice barely louder than the wind. “What if they send Cole? Or Aegon?”

His jaw tightened at the name of your brother, and a shadow passed over his features.

“Let them try,” he said. “I’ll cut down Cole myself if I must.”

You touched his hand before he could say more, a light brush of your fingers over his leather gloves, grounding him. “I don’t want blood,” you whispered. “I want peace. For us. For our children.”

He looked at you then—truly looked. “And I will give it to you,” he said. “Even if it means turning my back on them all.”

You didn’t speak after that, only nodded once, and followed him down the stairs. Behind you, the room you had called yours for the past few months stood empty, stripped of banners, of books, of toys your youngest had strewn across the floor. Even the little dragon figurine Daevon had carved for Nyssa was gone, tucked into a satchel. You would not leave traces behind.

Your children waited by the covered wagons. Nyssa, only six, was already bundled in her little cloak, a golden pin in the shape of a tower catching the sun. She clung to the hem of your skirts until you lifted her into your arms, pressing a kiss to her brow. Aemon, the eldest at ten, sat astride his pony with all the seriousness of a prince, though his pale blond curls still fell wild over his brow. Daevon, eight and restless, was already pestering the guards to let him ride up front with the outriders. You hushed him with a look that mirrored your mother’s, and he sighed, defeated.

“Do you think we’ll see the Hightower today?” Nyssa murmured sleepily against your neck.

You smiled faintly. “Soon, sweetling. We’ll see the Hightower, and the sea, and maybe even a dragon in the sky if we’re lucky.”

“But not Vhagar,” Daevon added quickly, as if to reassure himself. “I don’t want to see her.”

You and Gwayne shared a glance over their heads, a shadow flitting between you again. “No, not Vhagar,” you said softly. “She’s far away.”

Gwayne helped you into your saddle last, his hand lingering at your waist just a moment longer than necessary. “We ride hard,” he said to his captain, a knight from Oldtown whose loyalty was to Gwayne before Otto. “No stops until Greenhill. And we keep off the main roads.”

You could see it in the faces of your guards—they knew you were not merely traveling. You were fleeing.

But there was no sense of fear. Only quiet determination.

You rode through the morning in silence, the hush of your departure still wrapped around your procession like a shroud. Gwayne rode beside you, never straying more than a length away, one hand on the reins, the other never far from his sword. The countryside passed in amber streaks—fields and low stone walls, apple trees heavy with fruit, villages just waking. But you avoided them all. You wanted no word of your passage spreading before you reached the protection of his kin.

“I never wanted to raise them like this,” you said softly at one point, when Nyssa had dozed off against your back and the boys rode ahead laughing over some jest.

“I know,” he replied. “But I’ll raise them where no one will name them traitors, or bastards, or dragons unfit to fly.”

You smiled, though it was tinged with sorrow. “You once told me you hated dragons.”

“I hated what they did to my sister,” he murmured. “To the realm. But not you. Never you.”

The wind tugged at your veil then, casting it back like wings. “I am a dragon, Gwayne.”

He looked at you, eyes fierce and full of something raw. “Then I’ll build you a roost in the top of the Hightower, and I’ll stand guard until the day I fall.”

You reached for his hand again, grasped it tightly this time. “Swear it.”

“I already have,” he said.

And so you rode—westward, toward Oldtown. Toward a different future.

[cherryl4na]

❥•°❀"tears on my birthday cake"

abstract || it's midnight and you're feeling the birthday blues. thankfully, you have lando there to help.

female!reader || angst. fluff. comfort. soft!lando. crying. 1k words

The clock struck midnight, and with it, the arrival of your birthday. The room was cloaked in darkness, save for the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the curtains. Lando stirred beside you, his arm instinctively drawing you closer as he roused from his slumber.

"Happy birthday, love," he murmured, his voice laced with sleep.

You managed a faint smile, but it quickly faded as the weight of another year settled upon your shoulders. Birthdays were supposed to be a time of celebration, yet this year, it felt more like a reckoning—a stark reminder of dreams unfulfilled and the relentless march of time.

Sensing your unease, Lando shifted closer, his fingers gently trailing along your arm in soothing strokes. "Hey," he whispered softly, " What's wrong baby? Are you okay?"

You hesitated, the lump in your throat making it difficult to articulate the swirling emotions within. "I don't know," you finally admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "I just... I thought I'd have it all figured out by now."

His embrace tightened around you, offering a silent reassurance as he pressed a tender kiss to your forehead. "You don't have to have it all figured out," he murmured, his breath warm against your skin. "Life isn't a race. It's okay to feel lost sometimes."

Tears welled up in your eyes, betraying the facade of composure you had struggled to maintain. "I feel like I'm falling behind," you confessed, your voice trembling with raw vulnerability.

Lando's fingers gently tilted your chin up, his gaze searching yours with unwavering sincerity. "You're not falling behind," he insisted firmly. "You're on your own path, and it's okay if it's different from what you imagined."

A sob caught in your throat, releasing years of pent-up frustrations and fears. "I just... I expected more from myself," you whispered brokenly.

You clung to Lando, the weight of his words and the warmth of his embrace grounding you in the present moment. The minutes stretched into an intimate silence, broken only by the soft cadence of his breathing and the occasional whisper of reassurance.

"I just feel like I should have accomplished more by now," you admitted quietly, your voice trembling with vulnerability.

Lando's arms tightened around you, as if to shield you from the weight of your own expectations. "It's okay to feel that way," he replied gently, his fingertips tracing soothing circles on your back. "But remember, success isn't measured by a checklist. It's about the journey, the lessons learned along the way."

You nestled deeper into his embrace, finding solace in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your cheek. "I'm scared of never reaching my full potential," you confessed, your words a whisper against his chest.

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there as if to imprint his love onto your skin. "You're capable of more than you know," he murmured, his voice a soft reassurance. "You've already made a difference in my life, in so many lives. That's no small feat."

Tears welled up in your eyes again, this time not from sadness but from the overwhelming swell of emotions his words invoked. "Thank you for believing in me," you whispered, your voice thick with gratitude.

Lando pulled back slightly, his hands framing your face so he could look into your eyes with unwavering sincerity. "I'll always believe in you," he promised, his gaze searching for yours. "Even on your darkest days, I'll be here to remind you of your strength and resilience."

You nodded, a silent acknowledgment of his unwavering support. "I love you," you said softly, the words a declaration of trust and vulnerability.

He smiled tenderly, brushing away a tear that escaped down your cheek. "I love you too," he replied, his voice filled with tenderness. " And I'm here, always."

You leaned into his touch, the warmth of his hand against your cheek a balm to your weary soul. His words echoed in your mind, a constant reassurance that despite the uncertainties of life, there was one thing you could always count on—Lando's unwavering presence and love.

In the quiet of the night, wrapped in each other's arms, you found solace in the simplicity of being together. His embrace was a sanctuary, shielding you from the doubts and fears that threatened to overwhelm.

"Thank you for being here," you whispered softly, your voice barely a breath.

Lando pressed a tender kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there as if to imprint his love onto your skin. "I wouldn't want to be anywhere else," he murmured, his voice a vow against the darkness that lingered at the edges of your thoughts.

You closed your eyes, allowing yourself to simply be, to absorb the love and comfort he offered without reservation. The weight of your worries felt lighter, carried away by the gentle rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear.

As the minutes ticked by, Lando remained by your side, his presence a comforting anchor in the tumultuous sea of emotions. He listened as you poured out your heart, offering solace in the form of understanding nods and gentle touches.

By the time the darkness began to give way to the soft hues of predawn, you felt a glimmer of hope flicker within your soul. It wasn't about erasing the doubts or fears—it was about embracing them, acknowledging them as part of your journey.

As you curled up with Lando in the quiet hours before dawn, his arms around you, you felt a deep sense of gratitude for his unwavering presence. Birthdays weren't just about celebrating milestones; they were about reflecting on growth, on resilience, on the love that held you together when everything seemed uncertain.

And as sleep finally claimed you, lulled by the steady rhythm of Lando's heartbeat and the whispered promises of tomorrow, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would face them with Lando by your side. Together, hand in hand, heart to heart, you would navigate the complexities of life and find solace in the simple moments of love and understanding.

an || okay so this one made me tear up a bit. hope you liked this as much as i did. till the next one!

©2024 cherryl4na. - please do not copy, repost or translate any of my works on other platforms without my permission.

[angelremnants]

A Christmas to Cherish, A Yule to Remember l L. Laufeyson

summary : When tasked with organizing a holiday cultural exchange between Midgard and New Asgard, you face clashing traditions and unexpected connections. To foster goodwill, you plan a hybrid celebration that blends Christmas with Yule, inviting world leaders and dignitaries to experience Asgard's unique customs. However, hosting off-worlders, especially a skeptical Loki, proves challenging. His sarcasm only more adds tension as sparks begin to fly between you, testing your growing connection. As Yule and Christmas traditions collide, an unexpected kiss under the mistletoe might just be the season's most surprising twist.

pairing : Loki Laufeyson x f!reader

warnings : tooth-rotting fluff, mutual pining, cultural clashes, emotional vulnerability, sarcastic banter, mild angst with eventual heartwarming fluff, some hurt/comfort, teasing, suggestive flirtation, references to holiday traditions, references to norse lore and traditions.

word count : 18.3k

author's notes : Ho ho ho! You didn’t think I would pass up the chance to write an Asgardian Christmas story, did you? I admit, I may have gone a bit overboard with this fic. What can I say? Santa’s spirit inspired me greatly. Well, this and jschlatt's christmas album.

Like my first ever Loki fic, this is loosely connected to the A Tales Of series (though in an AU way?) but can definitely be read as a stand-alone. This narrative is somewhat like a Hallmark movie, but let’s be honest: who would turn down a feel-good story, especially featuring our dear god of mischief?

As Gossip Girl once said, have a holly jolly Christmas, xoxo.

(ao3 version)

The snow-dusted village of New Asgard glimmered under the pale light of a crisp winter morning. Nestled along the rugged Norwegian coast, the settlement was a patchwork of old-world Asgardian charm and Midgardian practicality. Wooden houses stood sturdily against the biting wind, their roofs lined with faint traces of frost. Small boats bobbed gently in the harbor, and the faint hum of activity filled the air as Asgardians went about their lives. For you, this place was no stranger—it felt like stepping into a world both ancient and familiar, a realm that had become something of a second home.

Your arrival this time lacked the fanfare of your first visit. You stepped out of the rumbling helicopter onto the cobblestone square, the crunch of your boots against the frosty ground drawing a few curious glances from passersby. You adjusted the scarf around your neck, the chill of the air biting your cheeks as you scanned the familiar faces awaiting you. Your attire was both practical and stylish: a dark wool coat cinched at the waist accompanied by equally dark thigh stockings and combat boots, a deep burgundy scarf, and black gloves to ward off the cold.

Ever the picture of poise and authority, Brunnhilde stood at the forefront, her arms crossed and a knowing smirk playing on her lips. She wore a sleek leather jacket lined with fur, a modern touch to her otherwise warrior-like appearance. Beside her was Thor, his golden locks catching the sunlight as he waved enthusiastically, clad in a thick knit sweater that somehow managed to look regal, and slightly behind them, Loki, who looked as though he’d rather be anywhere else but here. Dressed in a dark green cloak over his tailored Asgardian tunic, his expression was one of perpetual exasperation.

“Well, if it isn’t our favorite Midgardian diplomat,” Brunnhilde called out, her voice carrying easily over the chatter of the square. “Welcome back, sweet cheeks.”

“Favorite? Or just the one who causes the most trouble?” Loki quipped, his tone dry as he adjusted his green-and-gold cloak. His sharp eyes lingered on you momentarily, taking in your wind-flushed cheeks and bright smile.

“Missed you too, Mischief,” you shot back with a grin, brushing past him to greet Brunnhilde with a brief hug.

Thor clapped a hand on your shoulder, nearly knocking you off balance with his exuberance. “It’s good to see you again, Lady [Y/N]! Come, you must be freezing. We’ve prepared a feast worthy of a returning friend.”

“I’m sure it’s as subtle as ever, big guy,” you teased, raising a brow. As you followed them towards the grand longhouse, you turned to Thor, a hint of curiosity in your eyes. “I thought you’d be off-world with the Guardians of the Galaxy. What brings you here?”

Thor shrugged, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “Even the god of thunder needs a break, and what better place to rest than home? Besides, someone has to make sure these two don’t kill each other.”

“That’s reassuring,” you said dryly, earning a chuckle from Brunnhilde. “But I’m not here just for feasts. There’s a little diplomacy to be done too, remember?”

The newly appointed Allfather led the group toward the longhouse that served as New Asgard’s central hub. “We wouldn’t dream of letting you forget your duties. Though, knowing Thor, he might try to bribe you with ale and roasted boar.”

“Would it work?” Thor asked, grinning as he held open the door.

Inside, the longhouse was warm and inviting, its timber walls adorned with carvings that told stories of Asgardian history. Intricate designs of Asgardian history and the nine realms stretched across the beams, illuminated by the flicker of firelight. A large hearth roared at the center of the hall, its heat radiating outward and mingling with the smell of spiced mead and freshly baked bread. You let the warmth seep into your bones, feeling a sense of comfort you rarely found elsewhere.

You took a seat at the long wooden table, its surface polished to a high shine, the grain of the wood still bearing marks of its Asgardian craftsmanship. As you settled around the long wooden table, the conversation shifted naturally, the camaraderie among them making you feel like part of the family.

“We’re honored you could join us again,” Brunnhilde said, pouring you a cup of mead. “Especially so close to your Midgardian holiday—what is it called again? Christmas?”

“That’s the one,” you confirmed, taking a sip of the sweet drink. “It’s a huge, worldwide deal here. Lights, trees, gifts, food—basically everything Thor loves, but with more glitter.”

Thor laughed heartily. “Glitter sounds like a fine addition to any celebration!”

“Hardly,” Loki muttered, his tone dripping with disdain. “Leave it to Midgardians to turn a perfectly good winter solstice into a gaudy spectacle.”

“Oh, come on,” you said, leaning forward with a playful smirk. “You’re telling me Asgardians don’t have their own version of an over-the-top winter celebration?”

Loki exchanged a look with Thor, who chuckled sheepishly. “We do,” the blonde admitted. “It’s called Yule. But it’s not quite as… excessive as your Christmas. It’s more about tradition—feasting, storytelling, honoring the turning of the seasons. We celebrate every five years, given our longer lifespans.”

“Every five years?” you repeated, your brows lifting in surprise. “That’s… really long and sad to hear.” You mulled over the information before your eyes lit up as you sat straighter, as if struck by lightning. “Hey, I’ve got an idea. The United Nations and New Asgard have been strengthening ties through mutual aid, cultural exchange programs, and even security. But diplomacy shouldn’t just be treaties and meetings—it needs moments of connection. What better way than inviting emissaries from Midgard to experience Yule with you?”

Thor beamed, slapping the table. “Now that’s an idea worthy of Asgard!”

Loki’s scoff was almost immediate. “Ah yes, because what we need is another excuse for Thor to hang glittering baubles everywhere.”

“Don’t tempt me, brother,” Thor replied, his grin widening.

Ignoring Loki’s grumbling, you pressed on. “I’m serious. Think of it: world leaders, ambassadors, and cultural experts all coming together to witness your traditions while sharing ours. It’s symbolic—a reminder that Earth is now your home too. It’ll also facilitate recognition of your country’s borders from the neighboring countries, and God knows how much you need it for the UN to get off your asses.”

Brunnhilde nodded thoughtfully. “It would certainly help foster goodwill. But it’s not without its challenges. Hosting off-worlders isn’t exactly simple. Though organizing something like this would take effort. And volunteers.”

“I’ll handle the logistics,” you offered. “We’ll make it a hybrid celebration—Christmas and Yule, blending the best of both worlds. Think of it as creating a new tradition for New Asgard. We have three weeks at most for this, I’m sure we’ll manage to come up with something nice.”

Loki let out a soft, sarcastic laugh. “How charming. Perhaps we can also write jingles to serenade these dignitaries.”

Thor, however, seemed genuinely excited. “Brother, you must admit—this could be grand event. We can show Midgard our hospitality while learning from them in return. You should participate with us, especially considering your probation status.” He said brightly, clapping his brother on the back.

Loki’s expression darkened immediately. “I will do no such thing.”

“Oh, don't be such a wet blanket,” you teased. “Think of it as a way to get back into everyone’s good graces. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to be doing?”

His sharp gaze met yours, and for a moment, the air between you seemed to crackle. “If I agree to this farce,” he said finally, his voice low and deliberate, “it will not be because you’ve managed to guilt me into it.”

“Of course not,” you replied sweetly. “It’ll be because you secretly enjoy a good challenge.”

Brunnhilde leaned back in her chair, smirking as she watched the exchange. “Well, it’s settled then. [Y/N], you’re officially in charge of Christmas diplomacy. But don’t expect Loki to be helpful.”

Loki sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This will end in disaster.”

“Only if you let it,” you said, your tone light but your eyes sparkling with determination. “Besides, a little festivities never hurt anyone.”

“You’re delusional if you think this will go smoothly,” he retorted, earning a laugh from Thor and a pointed look from Brunnhilde.

As the conversation wound down, you couldn’t help but feel the excitement bubbling inside you. This was going to be a holiday unlike any other—a melding of traditions, cultures, and worlds.

⠀

The royal library of New Asgard was a marvel of timeless craftsmanship and quiet grandeur. Its towering, vaulted ceilings bore intricate carvings of Asgardian myths, the golden threads in their design shimmering faintly under the glow of enchanted lamps. Rows upon rows of towering bookshelves, brimming with ancient tomes and fragile scrolls, stretched upward as if reaching for the heavens. The air carried the faint scent of aged parchment and polished wood, a comforting reminder of centuries of preserved knowledge. Warm light illuminated the dark, ornately carved furniture, casting soft shadows that danced with a gentle flicker. It was a sanctuary of wisdom and serenity—and, at present, an arena of subtle conflict.

You sat at a large, circular table, its surface strewn with papers, notes, and an assortment of books ranging from Midgardian holiday traditions to Asgardian histories. You tapped your pen against the notebook in front of you, glancing across the table at Loki, who looked entirely unamused. He lounged in his chair, one leg crossed over the other, absently flipping through a book as if he couldn’t be less interested.

“This is supposed to be a brainstorming session,” you said, breaking the silence. “Not a sulking session.”

Loki didn’t look up, though the corner of his mouth twitched slightly. “I assure you, I’m doing neither. I’m merely tolerating this… exercise in futility.”

You raised an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly. “You mean the logistics for what could be one of the most culturally significant events New Asgard has hosted since its founding?”

“Culturally significant?” Loki echoed, finally looking up. His emerald eyes glimmered with amusement, though his tone remained dry. “You’re combining gaudy, Midgardian frivolities with centuries-old Asgardian tradition. Forgive me if I fail to see the ‘significance’ in that.”

“Excuse me—gaudy?” you repeated, mock-offended. “You say that as if Asgardians don’t have a penchant for drama and grandeur themselves. I’ve never seen more divas than you guys, actually.”

Loki smirked but said nothing, instead closing the book he had been flipping through with an exaggerated snap. He gestured to the pile of materials on the table. “Very well, enlighten me. Which Midgardian traditions are we meant to subject ourselves to this time? Ugly sweaters? Marshmallows floating in heated milk?”

You laughed, leaning back in your chair. “First of all, ugly sweaters are iconic. Secondly, you can’t tell me that enchanted ale or Thor’s thunderous feast presentations aren’t Asgard’s version of over-the-top. It’s practically the same thing.”

“That’s debatable,” Loki tilted his head, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “But I’ll concede that Thor’s idea of revelry is... boisterous. But at least our celebrations have history, tradition, and dignity—unlike your chaotic, candy-cane-laden spectacles.”

You narrowed your eyes playfully. “Oh, sure. Because nothing says ‘dignity’ like smashing a barrel of mead over someone’s head when you’ve had too much.”

He couldn’t suppress a chuckle, the rich sound echoing in the quiet library. “Touché. Still, I doubt you’ll find a single Midgardian festivity that rivals the elegance of an Asgardian Yule feast.”

“Well, then,” you said, leaning forward with a teasing glint in your eye. “Let’s make sure this one does. What do you say we blend the two? Grand Asgardian feast meets Midgardian charm.”

Loki tilted his head, narrowing his eyes as if studying you. “If we are to make this ‘blend’ of yours work, it will require proper execution. I refuse to let Midgardian cuisine overshadow Asgardian delicacies.”

You smirked, folding your arms across your chest. “Who said anything about overshadowing? I’m just saying the two can complement each other—if you don’t insist on being so stubborn about it.”

“I am simply being practical,” he countered, feigning offense at the remark. “Your realm’s fascination with things like marshmallow-topped casseroles is... baffling.”

“Okay, first of all, not every dish is like that,” you retorted with a laugh. “Secondly, maybe you just haven’t had the right Midgardian food. Let me handle it, and you’ll see.”

Loki leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as a smirk tugged at his lips. “Very well. If you’re so confident in your culinary abilities, I’ll leave the Midgardian fare to you. But don’t expect me to lift a finger if it turns into a disaster.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of asking you to,” you teased, your tone dripping with mock sweetness. “I’ll manage the Midgardian menu and decorations—after all, I’ve got experience with this sort of thing. And you can handle the Asgardian side of things. Deal?”

He regarded you for a moment, his emerald eyes gleaming with intrigue. “Deal. Though I expect nothing less than perfection on your part. Our reputation depends on it.”

“Funny, I was going to say the same to you,” you shot back with a grin.

Loki leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Then it’s settled. I’ll curate a feast that embodies the grandeur and tradition of Asgard. You... can figure out how to make your chaotic cuisine somewhat palatable.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress your laughter. “Whatever. We need to make this event big enough to fund itself. That means inviting not just the locals but foreign envoys, dignitaries, and even some of the press.”

Loki’s eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of disapproval crossing his features. “Ah, commercializing a solstice celebration. How very... Midgardian of you.”

You shrugged. “Well, we don’t have unlimited resources. Unless you’d like me to request funds from the treasury—and deal with Val’s budget lectures?”

“Perish the thought,” Loki muttered.

“Exactly,” you said, smirking. “So, we’ll sell tickets for the main events and some of the smaller ones leading up to the big day. Maybe even have booths with crafts and snacks. People love that kind of thing. You’d be surprised how much they’ll pay for something with a story behind it.”

“Fascinating,” he said dryly. “You’ve turned a festival of tradition into a marketplace.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” you teased. “It’s just good planning. Besides, someone has to oversee the sales and ensure we don’t turn this into complete chaos.”

Loki arched a brow, his lips curving into a faint smirk. “And naturally, you’ve decided that someone is you?”

“Of course,” you replied with mock seriousness. “I happen to be very good at multitasking. I’ll handle the ticket sales, the booths, and the Midgardian side of things while you can focus on maintaining Asgardian traditions. A win-win.”

“Convenient,” he remarked, leaning back in his chair. “You delegate the tedious work to me while you run your little market empire.”

You grinned. “It’s called playing to our strengths, Loki. And besides, don’t pretend you’re not secretly thrilled to have complete creative control over the Asgardian portion.”

Loki chuckled softly, his gaze sharpening with intrigue. “Very well, but if I’m to oversee Asgardian traditions, you’ll have to prepare yourself for customs far richer—and far more theatrical—than your quaint Midgardian charm.”

“Like what?” you challenged, leaning forward.

“For instance,” he began, his voice slipping into a storytelling tone, “the Wild Hunt. A tradition led by Odin himself, where ghostly riders swept across the skies in search of lost souls. It’s a spectacle of power, mysticism, and awe. Imagine recreating it, with shadowed steeds and ethereal warriors galloping through the night.”

You blinked, your expression shifting between amusement and concern. “You mean you want to reenact something that, if I recall correctly, terrified Midgardians for centuries? Sounds... subtle.”

His smirk widened. “Subtlety is overrated. The Hunt would remind everyone of Asgard’s grandeur, a symbol of tradition and strength. Besides, it’s far more engaging than watching mortals sing around a fireplace.”

“Oh, speaking of fireplaces,” you interjected quickly, “what about the Yule log? That’s one tradition I can get behind. A cozy fire, some mulled ale—it’s charming.”

Loki rolled his eyes, waving a dismissive hand. “The Yule log is passable at best, but it pales in comparison to the Wild Hunt’s grandeur. Imagine thunder rolling in the heavens, spectral figures cutting through the sky, and Odin’s name whispered in awe.”

“Yeah, because holiday cheer is guaranteed by scaring the wits out of everyone,” you replied, crossing your arms. “How about this—we tone it down? Maybe we could turn the Hunt into something interactive, like a quest. A game for everyone, where they follow clues and complete challenges to ‘join’ Odin’s riders or uncover their secrets. It keeps the mystique but makes it fun rather than terrifying.”

Loki tilted his head, considering your suggestion. “An interactive quest... intriguing. It could preserve the spirit of the Hunt while appealing to the masses. But I insist on weaving in Asgardian lore—stories of valor, wit, and cunning—so it isn’t entirely watered down.”

“Fine by me,” you said with a grin. “And while you’re at it, I’ll make sure the Yule log has its rightful place. Even if it’s not as ‘grand’ as the Hunt, some traditions are worth keeping simple. Maybe the quest could end with everyone gathering around the fire to share stories and rewards.”

Loki gave you a sidelong glance, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “If we must. But I reserve the right to oversee every detail of this quest. If it fails, it’ll be because of your Midgardian ‘simplicity.’”

You rolled your eyes. “Speaking of Midgardian traditions, what about something for the children? Maybe they could write letters about their wishes for the new year. It’d be a way to honor the spirit of giving—and maybe a subtle nod to Odin. After all, he was considered a Santa-like figure back in the day.”

Loki��s expression darkened slightly, his teasing smirk fading. “A ‘Santa-like figure’? Is that how you choose to remember the All-Father? As some mortal caricature who doles out trinkets?”

You softened your tone. “It’s not about reducing him to that. It’s about creating a memorial that’s accessible to everyone—something heartfelt for the people, especially the children.”

He shook his head, his gaze dropping to the table. “Children don’t need to write frivolous letters when they already have the tradition of storytelling. It was one of the few times we, as a people, passed down something meaningful. Stories that carried wisdom, courage, and strength.”

You noticed the melancholic edge to his voice, the faraway look in his eyes. “You miss it, don’t you? The way things used to be.”

Loki didn’t respond immediately, his fingers tracing the edge of a page in one of the books. “Asgard was flawed, but it was home. These traditions... they’re all fragments of a life we can never fully restore.”

You reached across the table, your hand brushing his. “Then let’s make sure those fragments shine as brightly as they can. We might not be able to bring back everything, but we can honor what mattered—and maybe even create something new along the way.”

His gaze lifted to yours, a flicker of gratitude softening his features. “You’re unbearably persistent, you know that?”

“And you’re unreasonably dramatic,” you replied with a teasing grin, leaning back in your chair. “Now, about those stories...”

You went on like this for nearly the entire evening, your playful banter echoing through the quiet halls. One idea led to another, each suggestion sparking either spirited debate or begrudging agreement, until most of the tasks were neatly divided between you. Somewhere along the way, it turned into a friendly competition—Midgardian ingenuity versus Asgardian grandeur. Loki, ever the perfectionist, declared that his half of the event would be a masterpiece of tradition and elegance, while you, with a teasing grin, promised to bring charm and creativity to yours. By the end of it, your rivalry was set, and the stakes were clear: whoever’s contributions won the most admiration during the celebration would earn the undeniable right to gloat.

Three days after the council meeting, New Asgard had been buzzing with excitement. Word of the upcoming celebration spread like wildfire, and the entire realm was invested in the planning. Everyone—from the youngest child to the oldest elder—had some part to play in bringing the festivities to life. The atmosphere was electric, filled with anticipation for the grand feast, the traditions, and the merging of Midgardian charm with Asgardian grandeur. The excitement was contagious, and for a brief moment, the people of New Asgard felt united in their mission to make this event unforgettable.

With only two and a half weeks left to pull everything together, things seemed to be running smoothly. The decorations were coming along, the entertainment had been secured, and the Midgardian food vendors had been booked. However, the first hiccup came when you checked in with the cooking team about the feast’s food supplies.

You walked into the grand kitchen, where the chatter of the chefs and cooks filled the air, the scent of spices and roasting meats already beginning to mingle in the warm atmosphere. You neared a table where several of the Asgardian head chefs were organizing inventory, noting down large quantities of food on a parchment. You could already smell the fragrant aromas of roasting meats and simmering stews. You had heard murmurs of excitement as they prepared the grand feast. However, when you glanced over the inventory list, your stomach dropped.

“Ah, my lady, good to see you,” said Thorvald, the head of the Asgardian cooking team, a stocky, broad-shouldered man with a booming laugh and a fondness for rustic dishes. “We’ve made sure we have plenty of meat, and the roasts are looking excellent for the feast. Odin Allfather, bless his soul, would’ve approved of this spread!”

You scanned the numbers on the parchment and furrowed your brow. “This is... a lot of food, Thorvald. Too much, in fact. The quantities are well over the planned budget.”

“Ah, you worry too much, my friend!” Thorvald chuckled. “We want to give the people of New Asgard a true taste of our heritage, yes? We shall not scrimp on food—especially not when it’s for such an occasion!”

“That’s the problem, Thorvald,” you sighed. “We don’t have the funds to support all of this. I was told that the Asgardian part of the menu has far exceeded the budget we allocated for food. It’s going to require cuts—somewhere. And we can’t afford to cut corners with Midgardian elements just because the Asgardian offerings are more expensive.”

Thorvald blinked in surprise. “Cut some of our dishes? That is... not an easy thing to ask of me, my lady. I’ve spent weeks perfecting these recipes for the feast. These dishes are the soul of Asgardian culture!”

“I’m aware of that,” you replied, your tone strained. “But we have to balance the budget. You can’t expect the Midgardian side to be neglected. I’m going to have to speak to Loki about this.”

You left the kitchen with a heavy heart, your mind racing as you made your way to the main hall. As you passed through the stone corridors, you wondered who had approved such a large quantity of food. You assumed it had to be Thor—he had always been more enthusiastic about showcasing Asgardian culture, after all. But when you entered the hall, you spotted Loki deep in conversation with a few council members—Thrain and Freya. That’s when it hit you.

Of course. Loki.

Your steps slowed as you approached the trio. Loki glanced up as you neared, his usual sly smile spreading across his face. “Ah, darling, what a pleasant surprise. How are the preparations coming along?”

“Mischief,” you said, keeping your voice steady, “I just checked the food inventory. You’re over budget. The Asgardian portion alone is far too much. We’re going to need to cut back on something.”

Loki’s grin widened, though there was a glint of something almost mischievous in his eyes. “And what exactly is the problem?”

“You’re blowing the budget,” you said bluntly. “The quantities are ridiculous. You’ve put us in a bind, Loki. I can’t go back to the Midgardian vendors and explain that their share of the food is being cut so we can accommodate your... extravagance.”

Loki’s smile never faltered, and he leaned in slightly, as if savoring the moment. “Everything is permitted when it comes to Asgardian feasts, don’t you think? I had to make sure our food was sumptuous. If we’re going to impress our guests, we must do it right.”

You blinked, incredulous. “You did this? I thought it was Thor who went overboard with the food. But you—you—decided this was appropriate?”

“Indeed,” Loki replied, his tone light, yet his eyes sharp. “Thor is far too busy with other matters. He’s off delivering invitations to the world leaders. Someone had to make sure the Asgardian side was flawless.”

You shook your head, frustration bubbling up. “Loki, I don’t think you understand the issue. This isn’t just about impressing people. We have to balance both sides. If the Asgardian dishes are more expensive, we’ll have to trim something else to stay within budget.”

Loki’s expression hardened slightly, though he kept his composure. “I already told you—everything is permitted. The Asgardian food will be nothing short of magnificent. If that means cutting a corner somewhere else, so be it.”

“This isn’t a game, Loki!” you snapped, your patience thinning. “We agreed on a budget, and I won’t let you push the Midgardian side aside for your grandiose plans.”

Loki’s lips curled into a small smirk. “Very well, then. We’ll trim a few corners where it pleases you. But I’m telling you, it won’t be the same. Asgardian feasts are a tradition. And traditions don’t come cheap.”

“Maybe next time you’ll think before you make decisions like this,” you warned, your tone firm. “This is your best chance at redemption, Loki. Either we figure this out, or the entire celebration could be in jeopardy. I won’t let you sabotage everything.”

Loki held your gaze for a moment, his eyes flickering with something unreadable. Then, he gave a barely perceptible nod. “Fine. I’ll speak with Thorvald and see where we can adjust things. But don’t think this is over, [Y/N]. You’re too concerned with rules and budgets for your own good.”

“Rules and budgets keep everything in line,” you countered. “Without them, chaos follows. Just remember that when you try to pull off another stunt like this.”

With one last look, you turned on your heel and stormed off, leaving Loki standing with a sly smile, no doubt enjoying the brief conflict. As you left the hall, you knew the next few days would be even more challenging. But one thing was certain—you wouldn’t let him derail the celebration, no matter how much he tried to push his agenda.

⠀

It had been a few days since the food fiasco, and you had hoped the worst was behind you. Yet, when it came to the holiday festivities, a new challenge emerged. You had been put in charge of the decorations, a task you had anticipated would bring joy, but you hadn’t expected the clash of cultures to be so pronounced.

The Asgardians, with their love of grandiose displays, had created decorations featuring intricate carvings, golden accents, and shimmering lights. The Midgardians, on the other hand, had opted for a more homey approach: a mix of soft pastels, tinsel, and small handcrafted ornaments. It was a cacophony of styles that left the hall looking more like a battlefield than a festive wonderland.

You stood in the center of it all, rubbing your temples in frustration. There were a few standout pieces—like the Runestone Ornaments, which you had suggested to add a touch of Asgardian culture. The beautifully carved runes for good luck and blessings were meant to bring harmony, but they were far too overpowering against the gentle hues of the Midgardian decorations. Some of the Asgardians had even insisted on sun-shaped ornaments to bring a sense of warmth and light, while others had complained that they clashed with the more subdued Christmas tree lights.

But the real problem didn’t come until you began unpacking a box of mistletoe. You had seen the tradition in Midgardian homes and thought it would add a charming touch to the festivities. After all, kissing under the mistletoe was a beloved tradition for good fortune, something light-hearted to bring the Asgardians and Midgardians together.

You hung the first mistletoe up near the doorframe, stepping back to admire your handiwork. That’s when it happened.

Asgardians walking by froze in their tracks, staring wide-eyed at the sprig of mistletoe hanging innocently overhead. A few of them stiffened, exchanging uncomfortable glances. The tall Asgardian warrior and member of the council, Thrain, quickly turned and muttered something under his breath, visibly distressed.

“What’s going on?” you asked, genuinely confused.

“You... My lady, you’re hanging that?” Thrain asked in a low voice, his expression grim. “You do know what it means, don’t you?”

You blinked. “The mistletoe? Yeah, it’s a tradition where I come from. You kiss under it for good luck and good cheer during the holidays.”

Thrain’s face turned pale, and a few of the others stepped back cautiously.

“Bad luck, Lady [Y/N],” Thrain said with a sigh. “That’s not just a decoration. It’s a symbol of misfortune in Asgard.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Misfortune? How can a sprig of mistletoe be a symbol of misfortune?”

Thrain glanced around as if to make sure no one else could overhear. After a moment, he leaned in closer to you, his voice lowering. “It’s a long story... but the mistletoe reminds us of an event that happened many centuries ago. It all goes back to a farce Prince Loki pulled on one of our greatest commanders, Balder the Brave.”

You furrowed your brow. “What happened?”

Thrain glanced around again and then began telling the story. “Oh, he’s quite the trickster. This one wasn’t as bad as some of his other schemes, but it certainly caused a ruckus. It happened during a festival many years ago.”

You frowned. “I don’t doubt this behavior coming from him, but I still fail to see how a simple prank would create a ruckus over some plant.”

“One evening, during the midwinter festival,” Thrain continued, “Balder, one of our finest commanders at the time, had just returned victorious from a long campaign. Everyone was celebrating in the Great Hall. Prince Loki, as always, couldn’t resist a chance for a little mischief.”

You frowned. “What did he do?”

“He enchanted a sprig of mistletoe, knowing that Balder, proud as he was, would never let anyone get the better of him. He tricked him into standing under the mistletoe, and as the tradition goes, whoever is beneath it must perform a challenge or take on a task.”

You tilted your head. “A challenge?”

Thrain nodded. “Yes. The challenge was a bit harmless—nothing like what you’d expect. But Loki, ever the trickster, made sure it was something unexpected. He enchanted the mistletoe so that whoever stood under it would be compelled to challenge the nearest person to a game of strength, wit, or skill.”

You laughed. “That sounds fun, not dangerous.”

Thrain smiled but his eyes darkened a little. “It was comical... until it got out of hand. Balder, in his pride, ended up challenging Hodr, his brother, to a contest of wit. But because of Loki’s enchantment, neither of them could back down. The game grew more and more intense—what started as a harmless wager soon escalated into a full-on competition, with the entire hall watching them argue over the silliest things. The game became a battle of pride and ego, and by the end, it nearly caused a rift and a blood battle between the two brothers.”

You raised an eyebrow. “A game of pride? Over mistletoe?”

“Exactly,” Thrain said, sighing. “It became a symbol of misplaced warfare rather than cheer. And since then, the mistletoe has been associated with that... heated contest. It’s seen as a bad omen for anyone who might fall into the trap of too much pride or too much competition.”

You frowned, considering the tale. “I didn’t know it had such a backstory. But I still think it’s a nice tradition. It’s about bringing people together, not creating rivalries.”

Thrain shook his head with a smile. “I suppose it’s not all bad. But many of us are cautious when it comes to mistletoe, considering its history.”

You smiled warmly, standing your ground. “I understand, but I’d like to carry on with the tradition. Maybe this time, it won’t be such a surprise. After all, it’s all in good fun. And, it’s a way to bring the Midgardian and Asgardian sides together.”

Before Thrain could say anything more, Loki casually strolled by, his ever-present grin spreading across his face as he overheard the conversation. He looked at you standing beneath the mistletoe, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Well, well,” Loki drawled, “looks like someone is trying to bring some of Midgard's cheer to Asgard, hmm?”

Thrain narrowed his eyes at Loki. “You’re the one to blame for this mess. You do remember what happened with the mistletoe and Balder, don’t you?”

You looked from Loki to Thrain. “So you don’t mind? I mean, you’re the one who started it.”

Loki raised an eyebrow, a sly grin creeping across his face. “I never said I minded. You’re more than welcome to give it a try, darling [Y/N]. I’ll just be here to watch the chaos unfold.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to keep the grin from spreading. “Don’t act so smug, Loki. I’m just trying to bring some cheer around here.”

Loki leaned in a bit closer, his voice low and playful. “Oh, I’m sure it’s all in good fun. But if you’re going to hang mistletoe, you must be prepared for the consequences. After all, I did start this tradition with a bit of mischief. Who’s to say what might happen next?”

You gave him a pointed look, not backing down. “I’m not scared of a little mischief, Loki. And if anyone’s at risk of causing chaos around here, it’s you, not me.”

Loki’s grin widened, and he took a step closer, leaning in just enough for his voice to drop further. “Ah, but you’re the one daring enough to carry on the tradition, aren’t you? I’m just here to watch... and perhaps enjoy the show.”

Thrain raised an eyebrow at the playful exchange, clearly amused but also a bit wary of what would happen next.

You shot Loki a playful smile. “Well, I hope you found a good spot because everything is going to go as smoothly as a baby’s bottom. Just wait and see.”

Loki chuckled, stepping back with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “I’ll be watching, indeed. But don’t be too disappointed if things don’t go exactly as planned.”

You didn’t back down. “We’ll see about that. And just so you know... I do like a bit of trickery in my holiday traditions.”

As Loki walked away, still laughing softly to himself, Thrain shook his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “I see now... you’re not just abiding by mere traditions. You’re leading to misconduct.”

You grinned and hung the mistletoe with a flourish. “Maybe. But it’ll be fun. Besides, what’s a Christmas holiday without a little bit of naughtiness?”

With that, you carried on with your task, hanging the mistletoe, while Loki strolled off, still grinning as he watched from a distance.

⠀

As you walked briskly down the hall with a bundle of fairy lights in hand, you tried to shake off the growing frustration gnawing at you. It had been a long day filled with last-minute details, and the pressure was starting to mount. The grand hall was coming together with decorations now adorning every corner, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. When you passed by the table where Loki was supposed to be organizing the gifts for the prestigious guests, you nearly stumbled.

The sight before you made you stop dead in your tracks.

On the table laid haphazardly a collection of... unusual objects. You blinked, certain you had misread the situation.

The gifts were mismatched and meager, hardly fitting for the prestigious guests who would be attending the feast. They were strange—vastly different from anything you could imagine giving at such an important event.

There were intricately carved wooden figures, but they weren’t graceful or beautiful. One was a grotesque hybrid of a raven and a wolf, its features stretched and contorted as if trying too hard to be intimidating. Another was a stone, awkwardly shaped, with jagged edges and no real discernible design. You couldn’t tell if it was meant to represent a mountain, a fortress, or just... a rock.

Then, there were the vials—delicate glass tubes filled with what appeared to be tiny, glittering shards. There was a strange metallic sheen to them, as though they were meant to be potions. But it wasn’t something you could imagine anyone actually using. Certainly not the dignitaries they were expecting.

Your irritation bubbled up to the surface. You couldn’t imagine how these would be seen as a suitable gift, especially not for the dignitaries of Midgard.

“Loki?” you called, your voice a little sharper than you intended as you approached the table.

Loki glanced up from the strange wooden carving he was inspecting. His eyes lit up with that ever-present mischievous gleam, but his smile faltered when he saw the look on your face.

“Darling. I see you’ve found the gifts,” he said smoothly, clearly pleased with his work.

“Yes,” you said, your voice tight. “I have. And I’m... not sure what to make of them.”

Loki raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. “What’s wrong with them?”

Your jaw tightened as you glanced from the wolf-raven hybrid to the glass vials, each one looking more out of place than the last. “Loki, these—these are not what I imagined. They’re... off-putting.” You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself but failing. “These are not appropriate for the guests we’re inviting. These are—” you pointed at the grotesque wooden figures “—bizarre.”

Loki’s eyes narrowed slightly, his expression shifting from playful to defensive. “I don’t understand,” he said, his tone cold now. “What’s wrong with them? They’re authentic Asgardian craftsmanship. I thought the Midgardians would appreciate such unique offerings.”

“Unique?” you snapped, your frustration spilling over. “These aren’t unique, Loki. They’re strange. Midgardians have a different taste in gifts, and you’re not exactly showing the best of Asgard here. Look at this! This is not something you give a king or queen!”

You gestured toward the awkwardly shaped stone again. “A rock? Really? And these vials—” you picked one up, nearly dropping it when the tiny shards inside shimmered in the light “—what even is this?”

Loki’s expression remained calm, though there was a flicker of annoyance in his eyes. “Well, perhaps you Midgardians are more accustomed to giving mundane things like jewels or soft fabrics. But these gifts are symbolic of our realm’s might and history.”

You let out an exasperated breath, rubbing your temples as your stress levels rose. “Loki, gifts are about more than just showing off. It’s about connecting with the person you’re giving it to, about meaning. You can’t just throw a bunch of random objects together and call it a gift. They need to reflect the people you're giving them to—something personal, something that makes them feel seen. Not just... intimidating displays of power!”

Loki’s lips curled into a smirk. “Are you telling me these aren’t worthy of Asgardian guests?” His voice was laced with mockery, but there was a hint of genuine confusion beneath it.

“Not worthy—appropriate,” you shot back, your patience wearing thin. “They need to fit the occasion! We need to think about the people we're giving them to, not just impress them with how ‘mighty’ Asgard is!”

Loki was silent for a moment, staring at the table of strange objects. There was a flicker of something in his eyes—was it doubt? No, it couldn’t be. But something about your words made him pause.

Finally, he exhaled slowly and raised an eyebrow. “So, what do you suggest I do? I am not accustomed to the delicate, personal gifts you Midgardians are so fond of.” He made air quotes around the word ‘personal’, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

You stood your ground, your voice tight. “For starters? Hand-carved wooden jewelry boxes, a set of hand-blown glass ornaments, fine, elegant cloaks, scrolls with inscriptions of peace and goodwill, or something more symbolic. Something that shows you’ve thought about the person receiving it, not just what’s flashy and ‘impressive’.”

Loki leaned against the table, crossing his arms, his gaze unreadable. “Hm. So, you want me to take all these—” He motioned toward the array of oddities. “And turn them into something bland and safe?”

“I want you to make something thoughtful,” you retorted, your voice sharp. “I’m not asking for ‘bland’. I’m asking you to take a moment and actually think about the people who’ll receive these gifts. Just because they’re from Asgard doesn’t mean they’ll automatically be appreciated.” You were starting to feel more and more on edge, but you didn’t back down.

Loki studied you for a long moment, his lips curling into that familiar, teasing smile. “Perhaps you’re right,” he said with a sigh, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I shall reconsider my gift choices. But I must say, I do find your attitude a bit... aggressive for something as simple as gift-giving.”

You didn’t smile. You glared at him, your chest tight with both frustration and exhaustion. “Maybe it’s the pressure of this entire event that’s making me a little on edge, Loki,” you said, your voice laced with sarcasm. “You know, considering I’ve got a million things to handle, and your weird-ass gifts are not helping.”

Loki tilted his head, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Ah, so you admit you’re a little... stressed?” he teased, his voice dropping an octave.

You forced a smile, your tone sharp but controlled. “Stressed? No, irritated, and you’re the reason why.”

Loki laughed softly, his eyes dancing with amusement. “Well, I shall do my best to improve the situation. As you so kindly suggested.”

You shot him a final glare before turning on your heel, muttering under your breath. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Loki, still grinning, watched you walk away, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Oh, I’m sure you will, darling. You’ll see.”

⠀

The days were growing shorter, and the pressure was mounting. You had barely slept in the past few days, and you were starting to feel the weight of everything pressing down on your shoulders. As you stood in the hall, supervising the lights and sound systems for the grand celebration, you couldn’t help but feel the overwhelming anticipation in the air. The event was drawing closer, and there were still so many things to check off your list.

You were adjusting a speaker, ensuring it was positioned properly, when you couldn’t resist. The temptation to hear the music was too much, so you quickly branched the speaker and connected your device. A soft click and then—Christmas carols filled the air. You smiled, satisfied with the sound quality, as the cheerful tunes resonated through the room. But your satisfaction was short-lived.

The room grew suddenly quieter, and a few Asgardians who had been nearby shot you disapproving looks. One of them, a stern-faced woman, crossed her arms and approached with a disapproving glare.

"You... put this on?" she asked, her tone tight. "This is not how we celebrate our Yule. This... commercialized nonsense. What is this Midgardian tradition you’ve chosen to impose upon us?"

You blinked, confused. “What do you mean? It’s just Christmas carols... The song is about goodwill and joy. It’s part of the festivities."

The woman shook her head sharply, clearly upset. “Yule is a sacred time for Asgardians. We do not need the influence of Midgard’s festivals to ruin it.” She turned on her heel, walking away, muttering something about traditions being lost.

The sound of footsteps behind you caught your attention, and soon you were surrounded by a small crowd of disapproving Asgardians. Your stomach sank as their frowns deepened. The more they gathered, the more agitated they became, and soon voices were rising in frustration.

“This is not the way we do things here!” one of them exclaimed. “You can’t just commercialize our holiday!”

“I never agreed to this,” another voice chimed in. “This is a travesty to our sacred traditions!”

Your pulse quickened, and your mind raced, but the words felt like they were getting jumbled in your head. You tried to speak, but the frustration in the room was suffocating. The weight of their disapproval settled heavily on your chest, and you felt the first stirrings of panic. You had tried to make everything perfect, to blend the two worlds, but it seemed you had miscalculated, and now you were drowning in the pressure. You took a deep breath, but it felt shallow, and your hands trembled slightly. This was going wrong. Everything was going wrong. You were failing—again. You opened your mouth, but before you could say anything, a familiar voice cut through the tension.

"Enough."

Brunnhilde, with her ever-present calm and authority, stepped forward, her eyes scanning the crowd with quiet dominance. The Asgardians fell silent, and though they clearly weren’t pleased, they respected the king's presence. She turned to you, offering a small, sympathetic smile before addressing the group.

“We are guests in Midgard’s customs, and we are also here to celebrate Yule,” the Valkyrie said, her voice firm. “You are welcome to honor your traditions, but we must also respect the customs of the land we are in. Lady [Y/N] meant no disrespect, but there are many ways to celebrate, and it’s important to find balance.” She glanced over her shoulder. “If you have concerns, I am happy to discuss them with you. But for now, let us all move forward in the spirit of the festivities. There is no need to argue further.”

The Asgardians grumbled but eventually nodded, dispersing with a few sideways glares. Brunnhilde turned back to you, her expression softening.

“You’ve got a lot on your plate,” she said quietly, once the crowd had broken up. “And I know it’s not easy. But you can’t let every little mishap break you down. You’re doing the best you can.”

You let out a shaky breath, feeling the weight of everything crash down on you again. “I just... I don’t know what I’m doing wrong. Everything’s falling apart, Val. I thought this was going to go well, but—” You paused, your voice catching. “It feels like everything I try only makes things worse.”

The Valkyrie placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, giving you a reassuring squeeze. “You’re not perfect, sweet cheeks. Of course you’re going to make mistakes. And you’re in charge of something that’s never been done before—of course, things will get complicated. But you can’t let it get to you like this. You have less than a week to go, and you need to pull yourself together. You can’t keep running to me for help every time something goes wrong. You’re more than capable of handling this.”

You gave her a strained smile, trying to hold back the frustration and exhaustion threatening to spill over. “I’ll do my best,” you said, though your voice was tired, worn. “I just want it to go well. For everyone.”

The Valkyrie's expression softened further, a knowing look in her eyes. “I know you do. You’ve put so much of yourself into this, and it won’t go unnoticed. But if you don’t take a moment to breathe and trust in your abilities, you’re going to burn out. So please, just... take a step back when you need to.”

You nodded, feeling the sincerity in her words, even if you weren’t entirely convinced. “I’ll... I’ll try. Thank you, Val’.”

She gave you a warm smile, her eyes full of understanding. “That’s all anyone can ask for. You’re doing great, even if you don’t feel it. Just don’t forget to keep breathing.”

With a final pat on the shoulder, she turned and walked off, leaving you standing there, a little more grounded. You took a deep breath, steadying yourself. You had a week left—you could do this. You had to.

It was supposed to be the highlight of the festivities. The Christmas tree. Everyone had been looking forward to it—the centerpiece of the entire celebration. You had spent weeks planning for it. You had found the perfect tree—a towering Asgardian pine, with thick branches that would hold the glowing lights and ornaments just right. It was going to be the perfect way to end all the planning, a moment of beauty and unity.

But when you arrived at the hall that morning, ready to supervise the decorating, you froze in horror. The spot where the tree had once stood was now empty.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you rushed through the room, looking everywhere, even behind the columns, but the tree was nowhere to be found. You moved faster, your panic growing.

“Where is it?” you muttered to yourself, voice rising with panic.

You turned the corner and saw a scene that made your stomach drop. The tree was... in pieces. Cut into sections, dragged across the floor, and stacked near the Yule log, ready to be burned. Your breath caught in your throat. The beautiful tree that had taken so long to pick, to care for, was now destined to be turned into kindling.

You stood frozen for a moment, staring at the pile of branches and needles.

You began to ask around, stopping the first Asgardian you saw. “What happened to the tree?” you demanded.

The person looked confused for a moment before answering, their voice careful. “Oh, the orders came down this morning. The tree was to be cut down and used for the Yule log. It’s been taken to be prepared for the fire tonight.”

Your blood ran cold. “What? No, that was the Christmas tree!” you said, your voice rising in disbelief. “Not for the Yule log. That was for decorating—”

Before you could finish, another Asgardian approached quickly, clearly out of breath. “The treasure hunt,” they said urgently. “It’s gone. It’s disappeared.”

The words hit you like a wave crashing over you. You couldn’t breathe. Your stomach twisted in horror, and your vision blurred as panic surged in your chest. You turned back toward the pile of cut branches and needles, but this time, you couldn’t stop the overwhelming flood of emotions.

“No! No, no, no…” you whispered, almost choking on the words. You couldn’t do this anymore. Your hands shook as you looked from the missing tree to the empty space where the treasure hunt should have been. You had worked so hard on every detail, every tradition. And now it was all falling apart.

Your breath caught in your throat as you realized just how much was slipping through your fingers. The pressure, the endless demands, the mistakes you couldn’t control. Everything you had worked for—everything you had poured your energy into—was unraveling before your eyes.

Without thinking, you screamed in frustration, the sound of it echoing in the empty hall.

“This is insane!” you shouted, your voice breaking. Your hands balled into fists at your sides as you fought to keep yourself from completely losing it.

As your outburst rang through the room, you realized a small crowd had gathered. They were watching you, exchanging glances. You could see the looks of confusion, even pity, but it was too much. Too much to bear.

You spun toward Loki, who had appeared in the doorway, clearly having heard the commotion. The sight of him was the last straw.

“You!” you yelled, your eyes blazing with fury. “This is your fault, isn’t it? You’re the one who gave the order to cut down the tree, aren't you?”

Loki didn’t flinch, his expression calm as ever, though his eyes narrowed slightly at your tone. “How kind of you to assume it originates from me,” he answered smoothly, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “It’s a tree. It wasn’t going to last anyway.”

“No!” you snapped, your voice cracking. “It was supposed to be the Christmas tree! This was supposed to be the centerpiece of the entire festival, and now it’s—gone! Everything is falling apart!”

Loki raised an eyebrow, clearly unamused by your outburst. “I’m not sure what you’re upset about, darling. It’s just a tree. We have plenty of others.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “And as for the treasure hunt... perhaps it’s just better you move on.”

The words felt like a slap to your already fragile state. You were barely holding yourself together. “You don’t get it! Do you even know about how much effort I’ve put into this?” you cried, your voice shaking with frustration. 

Before you could continue, the Asgardian who had spoken earlier came rushing in again, their face full of urgency. “The treasure hunt—there was another problem. The maps and clues were taken. We can’t find any of it!”

You stood there, your mind reeling, your entire body trembling as the weight of everything you had been carrying finally broke through. You were suffocating under the pressure.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you whispered, voice barely audible. Your chest heaved as tears began to burn at the corners of your eyes. The anger, the frustration, the helplessness—it all collided inside you, and you couldn’t keep it in anymore.

Loki, standing calmly in front of you, regarded you with a mixture of curiosity and mild irritation. He stepped closer, his expression unreadable. “You need to calm down, [Y/N]. It’s just a few mistakes. We’ll fix it.”

“You don’t get it!” you shouted at him, your voice cracking with emotion. “You’re the one who screwed this all up!” You were shaking now, your entire body trembling from the storm of feelings threatening to consume you. “I’ve been working so hard to make this perfect, and you—you just came in and ruined everything!”

Loki’s calm demeanor didn’t change, though there was a flash of something like annoyance in his eyes. “Enough,” he said simply. “You need a break.”

Before you could respond, Loki encased one of your arms with his hand, and suddenly, the world around you disappeared in a rush of swirling light. The noise, the chaos, the pressure—all of it vanished as you were transported far from the hall, away from the mess.

Thor, who had just returned from handing out the invitations, stepped into the hall, ready to greet the others and take in the progress. His cheerful mood faltered however when he saw the tension in the air. Brunnhilde stepped in front of him quickly, her presence a calming force.

“Thor,” she said softly, “don’t worry. We’ll take care of it. The tree and the treasure hunt will be set right.”

Thor frowned but nodded slowly, trusting her judgment. “What happened?”

“Leave it to me,” She replied with a reassuring smile. “It’s not as bad as it seems. Just give us a little time, and everything will be in order.”

Thor sighed, his face softening. “Alright. Just... make sure everything is alright.”

The valkyrie gave him a firm nod. “It’ll be fine. We’ll handle it.”

⠀

The sudden rush of magic had barely settled when your power surged inside you, raw and untamed. Your emotions, a swirling storm of anger, frustration, and fear, acted like a catalyst, and without warning, your armor materialized around you—jagged and radiant, the energy radiating from you like a tempest.

The environment was eerily quiet, isolated from the hustle of the main celebration preparations. The corner they were in was a secluded stretch of rocky outcrop nestled between tall, jagged trees that seemed to protect the area from view. The ground beneath them was soft with moss and small, scattered leaves. A few low stone walls were partly overgrown with ivy, adding to the sense that this was an untouched space, perfect for moments away from the prying eyes of others.

Your frustration boiled over. “You!” you screamed, pointing an accusing finger at Loki. “This is your fault!” Your voice was raw with rage, and the air around them crackled with your energy as you lunged at him.

Loki blinked, clearly caught off guard by the sudden eruption of power. He barely had time to react before you lunged at him, your armor glowing with destructive energy. “I told you to take it seriously!” you yelled, your voice hoarse, as you swung an energy-charged fist toward him.

Loki, still calm despite your fury, sidestepped the attack easily, but he wasn’t expecting the ferocity of your movements. “For Norn’s sake, calm down,” he exclaimed, dodging another strike, his voice measured. “You’re losing it!”

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” you spat, your energy only intensifying. You launched yourself at him again, this time in a flurry of punches and energy blasts that tore through the air. Each time Loki parried, it only made you angrier, and you screamed in frustration, the energy from your armor flaring brighter. The surrounding trees shuddered in response to the intensity.

Loki’s face hardened with determination as he blocked your energy with his seiðr, deflecting your blows. “You need to stop this,” he said, barely dodging another attack. His voice tinged with something more serious than usual. “I know you’re angry, but this won’t solve anything.”

“I don’t care!” you shouted, charging forward again, your movements fueled by raw, uncontrolled power. Each punch you threw left ripples in the air, crackling with auroral energy. The moss beneath their feet quivered under the force, and distant birds flew away in alarm.

Loki, his expression tightening, continued to dodge your strikes, his calm demeanor beginning to crack. “You don’t need to do this. Control yourself, you’re letting your emotions take over.”

“Everything is falling apart!” you yelled back, your eyes blazing with power. “I worked so hard for this and it’s all crumbling! I don’t even know what to do anymore!”

The wind picked up around them, swirling the fallen leaves into a frenzy. Loki's stance grew more defensive, his magic weaving through the air to deflect your blows. “I understand that, but lashing out won’t make it better,” he countered, his eyes flashing as his powers met yours in the charged atmosphere. “Destroying yourself over this won’t help either.”

You recoiled slightly, eyes wild, but there was a flash of uncertainty in them now. Another blast of energy shot from your hands, missing Loki only by a hair. But this time, the force of your attack wasn’t matched by the fury you had before. The anger was still there, but it was beginning to dissipate, replaced by sheer exhaustion.

Your attacks slowed, and you found yourself dropping to your knees, the heavy weight of your emotions finally catching up to you. You were gasping for breath, your chest heaving. The power surrounding you flickered and began to fade as your energy drained. Your armor seemed to collapse in on itself, leaving only your trembling form.

You pulled your knees to your chest, your body curled inwards as your arms wrapped around yourself. Tears started to fall, hot and fast, as everything you had been bottling up poured out in sobs. You didn’t even try to stop them. You felt broken, like all the pressure and expectations had crushed you, and there was nothing left but this overwhelming, suffocating exhaustion.

Loki watched silently, his expression softening as he took in the sight of you. You had been so strong, so determined, and now you were crumpled in front of him, vulnerable in a way he had rarely seen before.

“Darling,” he said softly, his voice lacking its usual edge. He took a step forward, his tone gentler than it had been all day. “I didn’t want you to get to this point. But you’re not alone. You never have to be alone in this.”

You sniffled, your voice breaking as you spoke through your tears. “Shut up. I tried so hard… But—But nothing is going right and—and I can’t keep pretending like I’ve got everything under control.”

You sat quietly, your head resting on your knees as the last remnants of your armor faded away. The hum of the distant festivities was a dull echo compared to the storm of emotions that had overwhelmed you moments ago. Loki remained beside you, his posture relaxed but his eyes never leaving you, watching you carefully as if gauging when to speak.

The silence stretched between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was as if they were both taking a breath, letting the tension of the moment settle before moving forward.

Finally, Loki shifted slightly, lowering himself to sit beside you. He rested his elbows on his knees, his gaze softening as he looked at you, his usual playful demeanor absent for once.

“You know,” he began softly, his voice a comforting murmur in the quiet space between them, “I’ve seen many things in my time—more than most can fathom. But there is one thing about Yule that has always amused me.”

You glanced up at him, the exhaustion in your eyes still clear, but there was a small flicker of curiosity and apprehension in them as you met his gaze. Loki smiled faintly, leaning back slightly to get more comfortable. He seemed to take a breath before he began, his tone easing into something reminiscent of a tale he had long since retold to himself.

“When I was younger, and Asgard still celebrated Yule in its true, ancient form, there was a tradition... one that many might call ‘foolish’ now,” he began, a glint of mischief creeping into his voice. “We used to have a grand competition every year—a Yule feast, yes, but with a twist. It wasn’t just about who could decorate the best or bring the finest gifts. No, it was about who could make the best ‘Yule pudding.’”

You looked at him with a raised brow, unimpressed. “Yule pudding?”

Loki nodded, a mischievous grin tugging at his lips as he continued. “Yes. It was an Asgardian delicacy, made from all sorts of strange and exotic ingredients—some of which were better left unspoken of. The twist, however, was that everyone’s pudding had to be kept a secret until the feast began. The idea was that the other competitors would be surprised, even horrified, by what they found in their bowls.” He gave you a playful, knowing look. “And trust me, some of the ingredients were... less than appealing.”

You slightly tilted your head up, your curiosity piqued despite yourself. “So... did anyone actually win?”

“Oh, yes,” Loki chuckled, his eyes lighting up with a familiar mischief that was comforting, even in the current tense atmosphere. “But not in the way you’d expect. The prize was a crown, yes, but the true victory came from seeing the faces of the other competitors. You know, nothing is more satisfying than watching the mightiest warriors of Asgard choke down something so vile... all for the sake of tradition.”

You couldn’t help but let out a scoff at the image he painted, the tension in your shoulders easing for the first time that evening. “I can’t believe you used to get people to eat that stuff,” you said, shaking your head, though the corners of your lips twitched into a small smile.

Loki’s grin softened at the sound of your laughter, and he leaned a little closer to you, resting his arm across his knee. “I may have been a bit of a... troublemaker,” he said with a small shrug. “But the real lesson was the spirit of Yule itself—not in the feasts or the gifts, but in the laughter and joy that followed. Even in the worst moments, there is light to be found.” He glanced at you, his voice dropping to a quieter, more serious tone. “Even now, during times like this. What matters is not how perfect everything is, but how we come together, despite it all.”

You stared at him for a moment, the weight of his words sinking in, but it was the warm look in his eyes that made your heart settle. It was an understanding you hadn’t expected, and for the first time since the pressure began to mount, you felt a little less alone in your frustration.

You leaned your head against his shoulder, your breath steadying. The soft comfort of his presence, the closeness, and the warmth of his energy settled the lingering chaos inside you.

Loki’s posture stiffened for a moment, surprised, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he allowed himself a small smile, his fingers lightly brushing against your forearm as if offering silent reassurance. “Better?”

You sighed, closing your eyes for a moment as you nodded, allowing yourself to rest in the calm space he’d created. “Yeah. Thank you, Mischief.” You paused, your voice quieter. “I’m still angry with you, though.”

He chuckled, though there was an apologetic undertone in his laughter. “I know,” he replied softly, his hand finding hers, the contact warm and comforting. “And… I apologize. I should have thought more carefully about how things would turn out, but as you know, I never could resist pushing your buttons.”

You gave a half-hearted smile, your eyes still closed as you rested your head against his shoulder. “Yeah, I noticed that alright. I guess I’ll have to be more careful around you in the future when it comes to important duty stuff.”

“I’ll consider this a compliment,” he said with a sly smirk, though the softness in his tone betrayed his true feelings. “I never did well with being ignored.”

You let out a small laugh, your shoulders relaxing fully now. The tension you’d carried for so long seemed to ease with each word he spoke, each breath he took. “I could’ve never have guessed,” you said teasingly, lifting your head to glance at him. Your gaze softened as you looked into his eyes. “But truly, thank you. You didn’t have to do this.”

Loki’s lips curled into a small, sly smile as he looked at you. “I suppose even I, the magnificent and benevolent god that I am, cannot resist the allure of your stubbornness,” he said with a mockingly grandiose tone.

You stayed seated, the world around you hushed, save for the gentle rustling of the snow and the occasional sound of distant footsteps. The snow blanketed everything in serene stillness, creating a peaceful atmosphere that made it feel as though you were in a world of your own, far removed from the stress of the impending festivities.

Loki, still holding your hand without realizing it, gently rubbed his thumb along the back of your hand. The touch was comforting, soothing in its quiet rhythm, as if trying to calm the lingering tension in both of you. You didn’t speak for a while, content in the peacefulness of the moment.

You sat there, side by side, the stillness of the world around you filling the space between you with an unspoken connection. The flakes of snow continued to drift down around you, their quiet dance a gentle reminder of the calm you shared.

You glanced at him, your heart beating a little faster than usual. You weren’t sure if it was the cold, or something else, but your cheeks felt warmer, and when you looked at Loki, he seemed to be feeling the same quiet shift between you. Your fingers remained intertwined, a small, unnoticed act of closeness that neither of you questioned.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, both content in each other's company as the world around you continued to fall into the winter stillness. The silence felt comfortable now, and neither of you was in a hurry to leave it.

As the minutes passed, you felt the cold slowly creeping back into your bones, a shiver running through you. You glanced at Loki and saw that his eyes had softened, watching you carefully. He felt it too, the quiet coldness in the air.

Loki, still with his thumb brushing against the back of your hand, looked at you for a moment before speaking again. “I believe we’ve overstayed our welcome here. Let’s get you back before someone else decides to accidentally destroy something.”

You let out a small laugh, this time free of the weight you’d carried for so long. You felt lighter—easier. You stood up and offered him your hand, which he took with an ease that made the whole moment feel just right. “Can’t wait to see what other problem awaits us,” you answered sarcastically, a small smile on your lips.

You had said "us"—a small word, but one that meant a lot in this moment. The connection between you, the quiet bond you shared, felt even more solid in the simplicity of it.

When you finally stood, neither of you noticed how your hands were still clasped together. It was only when you began walking back toward the hall that the warmth of your intertwined hands made you realize just how natural it felt. Neither of you spoke of it, but both knew that something had shifted. Neither of you knew if your cheeks were flushed from the cold, or from something else entirely, but neither of you minded.

The sound of your footsteps blended with the soft echo of the falling snow as you made your way back, the world around you still and serene, leaving you alone in your thoughts and the shared comfort of each other's presence.

The first thing you noticed upon waking the next morning was the soft, golden light spilling through the windows, casting a warm glow over the room. The warmth was a welcome contrast to the cool air of the hall you’d fallen asleep in, and you slowly stretched, your body sore from the events of the previous day. Your mind was still clouded with memories of the chaos—broken decorations, missing trees, disorganized gifts. A faint sense of panic clawed at your chest, but as you sat up, you realized the quiet hum of activity had returned to the castle.

You wiped your face with the back of your hand, trying to shake off the weight of the previous day’s exhaustion. It was hard to believe it had all come to a head the night before—one misstep after another, and yet, here you were, still alive and breathing.

When you pushed yourself up from the bed and stepped into the hallway, you found it quieter than usual. The usual hustle and bustle of the Yule preparations had faded into the background. Your feet carried you instinctively toward the great hall, but when you stepped inside, your breath caught in your throat. The hall had transformed overnight.

Where there had been scattered remnants of undone decorations and unfinished projects, now there were beautifully decorated trees, glowing with twinkling lights. The large, grand Yule tree, full of shimmering baubles and sparkling tinsel, stood proudly near the center of the hall, towering over the tables. Garlands of holly and ivy draped across every surface, and the sweet smell of freshly baked bread and roasting meats filled the air.

But despite the stunning transformation, your heart still raced. You looked around with wide eyes, trying to take in everything, but it only seemed to make your nerves flare up.

“Where is everything?” you muttered under your breath, mostly to yourself, but the words were tinged with a hint of anxiety. Had they truly fixed everything? The tree looked perfect—tall, regal, and sturdy—but was it the right one? You had been so frantic, you hadn’t even stopped to look at it properly.

Your footsteps quickened, and you moved to the table where the feast had been laid out. Platters of food, colorful and hearty, were stacked in layers of decadent variety. The bread, the pastries, the meats… everything looked impeccable. Had they managed to get everything right? What if something had been missed?

“[Y/N],” came Valkyrie’s voice, drawing your attention. You looked up to see her walking toward you with a teasing grin. “Good morning. I see you’re already making your rounds.”

You swallowed, forcing yourself to appear calm as you turned toward her. “I just—I just want to make sure everything’s in order,” you said, though your tone was strained. “The tree... it’s the right one, isn’t it? And the feast—did we get everything? We can’t afford to make any more mistakes.”

The Valkyrie arched a brow, crossing her arms over her chest. “You’ve got a lot of fretting to do, don’t you? You need to take a break. Everything is done. The tree is perfect, the decorations are all set, and the feast... well, the Asgardian delicacies are sure to make an impression. Relax.”

You hesitated, eyes scanning the room again, but the weight of the last few days, added to your constant sense of responsibility, didn’t allow you to settle so easily. “But what about the gifts? Did Loki handle everything? And the—the treasure hunt?”

Brunnhilde gave a small chuckle. “Oh, the treasure hunt is a... success,” she said, the way she said it making you feel slightly apprehensive. “Though, I must admit, I didn’t expect the children to raid the chocolate stash as thoroughly as they did. I’m still trying to figure out how the entire chest went missing, but they found the treasure in the end, and I think that’s what matters.”

“Wait, the chocolates—” you froze, then sighed. “Of course. Of course, they ate it all.”

She smirked. “At least they found it,” she added with a shrug. “But that’s all handled. You’ve done your part. Now, you can rest.”

“I can’t rest,” you muttered, glancing over at the corner of the hall where a few last-minute touches were still needed. “There’s still the lights to check, and the candles—what if they’re uneven? What if the guests don’t like the decorations?”

The Valkyrie watched you for a moment, her expression softening slightly. She walked over and placed a hand on your shoulder, her voice becoming more serious. “Listen to me, sweet cheeks. You’ve been working nonstop for days. Everything is taken care of. It’s all ready. All that’s left for you to do is enjoy it.”

Your face flushed with embarrassment. You knew you were overthinking everything, but it was hard to shake off the anxiety that had built up during the previous days. You had put so much pressure on yourself, and the idea of something going wrong—again—made your stomach twist.

But Brunnhilde was right. Everything was perfect. You had helped put it all together, and now all you had to do was step back and enjoy it. No more fretting.

With a deep sigh, you finally nodded. “You’re right. I just... I can’t help it.” You rubbed your temples. “I’ll try to rest for a bit.”

She grinned and gave you a playful shove toward the seating area. “Good. Now go take a break. Everything is in order. We’ve got this.”

Your steps slowed, and you made your way to the chairs near the fireplace, feeling lighter with each step. It was hard to let go of the responsibility, but in that quiet moment, with everything taken care of, you could finally breathe a little easier.

As you sank into the warmth of the chair and allowed yourself to close your eyes for just a moment, you felt a sense of relief wash over you. The rest of the day would be filled with festivities, joy, and laughter. The Yule festival was coming soon. And this time, you could enjoy it without the weight of worry on your shoulders.

⠀

The royal library had been deemed a perfect spot for the traditional storytelling to take place. The shelves lined with ancient tomes and scrolls seemed to add an air of mystique to the already enchanting setting. Children crowded around Loki, sitting cross-legged on the floor, their eyes wide with curiosity. Even a few of the adults had gathered, drawn in by the sheer magnetism of his presence.

You stood near the doorway, watching quietly from the sidelines. You couldn’t help but smile at the sight before you—Loki, the formidable god of mischief, captivating the room with his magic. His voice was deep and resonant, laced with humor, as he began weaving his tale.

“And so, there I was,” he began, gesturing dramatically with one hand, “standing atop the great peak of Jotunheim, facing down an entire army of giants. The cold bit at my skin, but did I flinch?” He paused, his lips curling into a playful grin. “Of course not. I am Loki, the trickster god, the one who—”

The children erupted in giggles, and Loki’s grin widened. With a snap of his fingers, the air around him shimmered with a faint green glow. He conjured an illusion of a massive ice giant, towering above the group, its icy form glowing ominously. The kids gasped in awe, eyes glued to the spectacle.

“Fear not, young ones!” Loki’s voice boomed as he summoned another flick of magic, and the giant began to shrink. “I wasn’t about to let a little thing like that scare me. With one swift move, I tricked them into thinking they’d already won. I am a god, after all.”

As he spoke, his illusions shifted with every word—mighty warriors battling against beasts, massive serpents coiling around towering castles, and fire-breathing dragons soaring across the sky. The magic seemed to come alive with every flick of his wrist, each new image more mesmerizing than the last.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away. It wasn’t just the magic—though it was impressive—it was the way Loki moved, the way he commanded the room. There was something about him in these moments, his charm and wit flowing effortlessly, drawing even the adults in.

His eyes met yours for a fleeting second as he continued his tale, and you felt your heart skip a beat. There was something oddly endearing about watching him perform for the children. He was so... alive. His usual smirk softened in these moments, replaced by a deep sense of contentment as he captivated his audience.

“You know, the trick to deceiving giants,” Loki continued, his voice lowering conspiratorially as the children leaned in closer, “is not in strength, but in the art of persuasion. They believed me when I said the sun had risen on their kingdom. But I knew better. The sun? It wasn’t even close to rising.” He chuckled darkly. “I’ll spare you the details of the real trick, but let’s just say... they learned to always listen to Loki.”

A few of the children laughed and clapped, clearly entranced by the story, while the adults looked on with amused smiles. You couldn’t help but smile fondly at him from your position by the doorway, the warmth of the moment settling in your chest.

“That was quite the tale,” Brunnhilde said, stepping up behind you with a playful grin. “I didn’t realize you were so captivated by Loki’s antics.”

You turned quickly, caught off guard by her teasing. “What?” you asked, your cheeks heating slightly as you tried to hide the warmth spreading through your chest. “I’m just... enjoying the story.”

She raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the situation. “Mm-hmm, enjoying it quite a lot, I see. You know, if you’re really into the storytelling, you could always go sit on Loki’s lap, like the Midgardian children do with Santa. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.” She smirked, nudging you playfully.

You flushed, rolling your eyes as you tried to cover up your flustered state. “I’m fine where I am, thank you,” you said, though your gaze lingered on Loki at the center of the room. Your heart fluttered a little as you watched him, and you quickly turned away to hide the warmth creeping into your cheeks.

As the story continued, Loki’s hands wove through the air, creating glowing, animated figures with his seiðr. He made the children laugh, gasp, and even squeal with excitement as dragons flew overhead and kingdoms were overthrown. Each tale he told seemed to be tailored to his young audience, but you couldn’t help but notice how the adults—yourself included—were just as mesmerized by him.

You shifted slightly, and your eyes caught on one of the floating illusions—a massive serpent coiling around a castle tower. For a moment, you thought it looked almost... real. You blinked and glanced at Loki, noticing the slight tilt of his head as he continued to spin his tale.

Your heart skipped again.

“So,” The Valkyrie said, her voice dropping to a low whisper. “What do you think? Still not interested in the man behind the magic?”

You shot her an incredulous look. “What are you talking about?” you hissed under your breath. “I told you, I’m just here for the storytelling.”

“Sure you are,” she teased, nudging you with her elbow.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes again, but deep down, you felt a quiet warmth in your chest. Brunnhilde's teasing aside, there was something undeniable about the way Loki commanded the room. You were captivated, and you didn’t think there was any shame in admitting it.

Finally, after several more stories, Loki ended his performance with a dramatic flourish. The children clapped, their cheers echoing through the grand library.

“At ease,” he said, bowing slightly, “I hope you all enjoyed the tale. It’s not every day you get to hear the true version of events, after all.” He gave the children a wink before turning toward the adults. “Now, my dear friends, it’s time to take a break and prepare for the real festivities to begin.”

You stepped back as Loki turned toward you, still basking in the glow of the applause. He caught your eye, and you couldn’t help but smile fondly. He seemed so at ease in his element—charming, playful, and utterly captivating.

The Valkyrie’s teasing voice broke through your thoughts again. “Looks like you’ve got a fan club to be a part of,” she whispered with a sly grin.

You could only chuckle, shaking your head. "Oh, hush."

But as Loki’s gaze met yours once more, you felt something stir in your chest—a connection you couldn’t quite put into words. For all his mischief and tricks, something was endearing about the way he made the world around him brighter, even if it was just for a moment.

⠀

The grand hall was alive with the soft hum of conversation and laughter, but amid the lively atmosphere, you found yourself quietly drawn toward the Yule tree. Its towering branches were adorned with delicate glass ornaments, shimmering ribbons, and lights that cast a soft, magical glow throughout the room. You stood before it, mesmerized by the beauty of it all.

But as you stepped closer, your attention was caught by something unexpected. Among the glittering baubles and tinsel were small, folded papers tied with delicate strings, hanging just like ornaments. At first, you thought they were part of the decorations, but as you leaned in to examine them, you realized they were letters—each one carefully placed with intention. Curiosity piqued, you gently plucked one from the tree and unfolded it.

The first letter was simple, the handwriting of a child: I wish for a pet dragon, even if it’s small. You smiled softly, your heartwarming at the innocent wish. You moved to the next one, your fingers tracing the fragile paper. I wish for snow to never stop falling, so I can play forever. Each note seemed to carry with it a small, pure hope, a wish that felt timeless and untouched by the complications of the world.

You let out a quiet laugh, glancing at another letter. I wish for more sweets at the feast tomorrow. That one made you grin wider—something about it felt so wonderfully human, so relatable in its simplicity.

“You seem to be enjoying those.” The voice startled you, and you turned to find Loki standing just behind you, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. There was a certain softness to his gaze as he watched you, a subtle pride that he didn’t always show.

You raised an eyebrow, still holding the letter in your hand. “What is this? Some sort of... Yule tree tradition I wasn’t aware of?”

Loki’s expression shifted, and he looked almost bashful for a moment. “It’s new. After the storytelling, I thought it might be a good idea for the children to write down their wishes. I gave them the task of hanging them on the tree, hoping the magic of the season might make them come true.”

You blinked, surprised. “You—did you get the children to do this?” You shook your head, your tone softening as you looked at him in a way you hadn’t before. “That’s... a really thoughtful gesture, Loki.”

“I may have a flair for splendor,” Loki admitted with a small shrug, his voice laced with both humility and pride, “but even I can recognize the value of sincerity. Not everything must be a grand display of power.” He gestured toward the tree, his gaze lingering on the little letters. “Their wishes deserved more than a fleeting moment. Why not bind them to the spirit of Yule? A reminder that even the smallest dreams can take root and grow into something magnificent.”

You looked back at the tree, your heart feeling full as you saw the wishes swaying gently in the breeze. For a brief moment, the disarray of the previous days, the stress, and all the uncertainty melted away. It felt peaceful, in a way you hadn’t expected. The simplicity of the wishes, the hope behind them, made everything feel just a little bit more magical.

“You’ve thought this through, haven’t you?” you asked softly, the weight of your words more sincere than you’d meant. “I didn’t expect this side of you. You’re a bit of a softy in disguise.”

Loki smirked, his eyes glinting with a playfulness that only he could pull off, though a hint of warmth remained in his tone. "I am many things, but I would hardly call myself soft. My genius is unrivaled, my charm is clearly undeniable, but I am far from sentimental."

He paused, the playfulness momentarily fading as he regarded you with a softer look. "But even the most enigmatic of gods can have their... moments," he added quietly, his gaze lingering on you before quickly flashing back to his usual impish grin. "Don’t tell anyone, though. It would ruin my reputation."

You tilted your head, your gaze softening as you considered his words. There was something in the way he spoke, something unguarded that made you pause. You gave him a small, knowing smile, your tone teasing but with an underlying sincerity. "I guess you do have your moments of wisdom, after all," you said, your voice warm. "I always thought you were all about grandeur and spectacle, but I guess even someone like you knows the power of the little things."

You leaned in just slightly, your smile still in place, but there was a flicker of curiosity in your eyes. "It’s funny," you mused, your words soft, "I didn’t expect this side of you. I guess we all have our layers, don’t we?"

Loki smiled, a touch of pride in his eyes, but it was a softer, more genuine pride than you were used to. “You’d be surprised how much thought I put into things sometimes.” His voice lowered a little, almost as though he was sharing something personal. “Not everything has to be grand or spectacular to matter. Sometimes, it’s the simple gestures that can mean the most.”

You turned back to the tree, your fingers lightly brushing the edges of the next letter you picked. “This is really special, Loki.” Your voice was quieter now, almost reverent as you took in the sight of all the letters hanging on the tree. “You’ve given them something to look forward to and to believe in.”

Loki stepped closer, his eyes never leaving the tree. “I suppose I’ve learned a few things over the years. Not everything has to be perfect for it to be meaningful.”

As you pulled away from the tree, your eyes lingered on the sparkling ornaments for just a moment longer. You turned to Loki, who was still standing nearby, his hands lightly brushing the branches as if contemplating something deeper. There was a warmth in your chest, a quiet understanding of the thought and care that had gone into making this Yule truly special.

"Thank you," you said softly, your voice full of sincerity. "I don’t think I ever would’ve thought of this. It’s perfect."

Loki glanced at you, his gaze softening. Before he could respond, you stood up on your tiptoes and, without thinking, placed a quick, affectionate kiss on his cheek. His eyes widened in surprise, the briefest of blushes flickering across his cheeks before he masked it with his usual playful composure.

"If I’d known something as small as this would grant me such a delicacy, I would’ve done it sooner," he teased, his voice still carrying the usual mischievous undertone, though there was a flicker of something else in his eyes—something a little warmer, a little softer.

You rolled your eyes, fighting a smile as you stepped back, your face a little flushed. "Don’t push your luck, Mischief," you replied, the hint of a challenge in your tone.

He chuckled, raising a brow. "Oh, I never push, darling. I simply nudge… gently," he added with his signature smirk returning, as if he hadn’t just been caught a bit off guard by the unexpected tenderness.

As you shared that moment, something unspoken passed between you—an understanding, a shift in the air, but nothing too bold. Yet, both of your hearts seemed to beat a little faster, and the space between you felt just a little more charged than before.

The royal courtyard had been transformed into a winter wonderland. Strings of golden lights intertwined with frosted branches, casting a warm glow across the snow-covered ground. A towering evergreen stood at the center, adorned with shimmering ornaments and glowing runes that pulsed faintly with magic. Tables laden with Asgardian delicacies lined the perimeter, and a faint melody floated through the air, played by an ensemble of musicians stationed near the tree.

As the first portal shimmered open, Jane Foster stepped through, pulling her coat tighter against the chill. Her expression lit up at the sight of Thor, who bounded over with his usual exuberance. “Jane!” he called, his voice booming even in the open air. “At last! Welcome to Asgard’s Yule celebration!”

“Thor,” Jane laughed as he enveloped her in a bear hug. “You’re going to squash me before I even get to enjoy the festivities.”

Before she could say more, another portal opened with a soft hum, revealing a group of familiar faces. Tony Stark was the first to step out, his eyes immediately scanning the scene. “Interesting,” he drawled, tugging his scarf tighter. “Looks like someone’s been raiding the Hallmark aisle. Did you do this, Reindeer Games?”

Loki, who had been leaning casually against one of the pillars at the edge of the courtyard, arched an eyebrow. “Ah, Tin Man,” he said, his tone dripping with mockery. “I see your sense of fashion is as middling as ever. And no, I don’t sully my talents with mere decorations.”

“Sure you don’t,” Tony shot back, already making his way toward one of the tables. “But I’ll bet you were in charge of the drinks. Let’s see if they’re as pretentious as you are.”

Steve Rogers stepped through the portal next, his hands tucked into his jacket pockets. He took a moment to take in the scene, a small smile tugging at his lips. “This is… something alright,” he said quietly.

Thor clapped him on the back with enough force to make him stagger slightly. “Is it not magnificent? Tonight, my friends, we celebrate in true Asgardian style! Food, drink, and merriment for all!”

Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton followed close behind, their sharp eyes surveying the courtyard. “This is cozy,” Natasha remarked dryly. Her gaze flicked to Loki. “I’m surprised you’re not sulking in a corner somewhere or plotting mischief.”

“I’m afraid I must disappoint you, Agent Romanoff,” Loki replied smoothly, his smirk just this side of smug. “My mischief is already in motion.”

You, who had been overseeing the final touches on the feast, approached the group with a welcoming smile. “Glad you all could make it, guys,” you said, your breath fogging slightly in the cold air. “I wasn’t sure if Asgardian traditions would be your thing.”

“Oh, traditions are fine, Skittles,” Tony replied, already holding a goblet of mead he’d managed to acquire. “But I’m here for the food. And maybe to see if Frosty over there pulls off anything entertaining.”

Bruce Banner shuffled over, his smile soft and unassuming. “Thanks for having us,” he said. “It’s… nice to get a break from everything.”

As the group began to mingle, the dynamics unfolded naturally. Jane and Bruce struck up a conversation about the science behind the glowing runes on the tree, with Thor chiming in enthusiastically about the enchantments. Natasha and Clint drifted toward the weapons display near the courtyard’s edge, their interest piqued by the craftsmanship.

Tony, meanwhile, found himself circling back to Loki. “So, puny god,” he began, taking a sip of his drink. “What’s the over-under on you pulling some kind of elaborate prank tonight?”

Loki’s lips curled into a slow, deliberate smirk. “Stark, if I were to indulge in such trivialities, you would not see them coming. But I do hope you enjoy yourself tonight. I’d hate for you to feel… out of place.”

You, who had been listening from a few steps away, couldn’t help but laugh softly. “Don’t encourage him, Tony. He doesn’t need the help.”

“Oh, I’m not encouraging him, Tinkerbell,” Tony replied with a grin. “I’m just testing his limits.”

Steve, who had been quietly observing, walked over to Thor and gestured toward the massive Yule log near the tree. “So… what’s the story with that?”

Thor grinned broadly. “Ah, the Yule log! Its lighting marks the official start of the festivities. A sacred moment, my friend. You’ll see soon enough!”

Nearby, Jane sidled up to you, her tone curious. “This is your first Yule celebration, right? How are you holding up?”

You smiled, glancing toward Loki, who was now demonstrating his seiðr for a small group of curious onlookers. The green-hued magic danced in the air, forming intricate shapes that captivated everyone watching. “It’s overwhelming,” you admitted. “But it’s magical. I can see why this means so much to everyone.”

Jane followed your gaze, then smirked knowingly. “And I’m sure a certain dark prince has nothing to do with that sentiment?”

Before you could reply, Brunnhilde appeared, a mischievous gleam in her eyes. “Oh, she’s smitten, no doubt about it. But don’t worry, sweet cheeks, I’m sure brooding stuff over there will find some way to complicate things before the night’s over.”

“Val’,” you groaned, your cheeks warming.

“What?” she replied with a grin, lifting her goblet. “It’s Yule. A little mischief and romance are practically mandatory.”

The playful banter dissolved into laughter, and soon the courtyard was alive with the sound of merriment as more guests continued to arrive, setting the stage for a celebration no one would forget.

⠀

Soon enough, the air in the courtyard hummed with anticipation as the gathering crowd turned toward the massive Yule log stationed near the towering evergreen tree. The log, carved with intricate patterns of Norse runes and adorned with garlands of evergreen and holly, rested on an iron stand at the heart of the celebration.

Thor stood before it, Stormbreaker gripped tightly in his hand, his broad figure illuminated by the golden glow of the surrounding lights. The faint crackle of his lightning echoed in the air, a promise of the power about to be unleashed. Beside him stood Brunnhilde, her presence commanding as ever, a goblet in one hand and her other resting on the pommel of her sword.

The chatter of the crowd quieted as Brunnhilde raised her hand, signaling the beginning of the tradition. She stepped forward, her voice carrying with a regal authority that silenced even the most boisterous of guests.

“Friends, family, and honored guests,” she began, her tone strong yet warm, “we gather here tonight, under the light of the Yule tree and the vast expanse of the stars, to celebrate the turning of the season and the bonds we share. Yule is not merely a time of merriment—it is a time to reflect, to honor the past, and to look toward the future with hope.”

She raised her goblet slightly, her eyes sweeping across the crowd. “Tonight, as we light the Yule log, we kindle the fire of community, resilience, and renewal. Let this flame burn bright, a beacon in the dark, reminding us of the strength we find in each other. Let it mark the start of a celebration worthy of Asgard’s legacy.”

The crowd erupted in cheers and applause, raising their own goblets in response. Brunnhilde stepped aside with a small, satisfied smirk, gesturing toward Thor.

“Now, who better to light the way than the God of Thunder himself?” she added, her tone laced with humor.

Thor grinned broadly, stepping forward with his usual swagger. He lifted Stormbreaker high, and the skies above seemed to darken just slightly, as though the stars themselves leaned in to watch.

“Let us welcome the light, and may it guide us through this season of joy!” He bellowed, his voice resonating through the courtyard.

With a sharp crackle, bolts of lightning arced from the axe, striking the Yule log with an explosive burst of light. The log ignited instantly, flames leaping to life and casting a warm, golden glow over the crowd. The fire danced and flickered, its light reflected in the awestruck faces of everyone present.

The warmth of the fire spread through the courtyard, both physically and metaphorically, as the crowd erupted into cheers once more. The musicians struck up a lively tune, and the celebration officially began.

You, standing toward the edge of the crowd, couldn’t help but smile in childlike wonder at the sight. The sheer spectacle, the sense of unity, and the magic of the moment were overwhelming in the best way.

Loki appeared at your side, his hands clasped behind his back, watching the scene with a faint smirk. “Thor does enjoy his dramatics,” he remarked lightly, though his tone held no malice.

You glanced at him, your smile widening. “I don’t blame him, it’s tradition,” you replied. “And it’s beautiful.”

Loki tilted his head, his gaze softening as he watched you instead of the fire. “It is,” he murmured, his voice barely audible over the hum of the crowd.

As the music picked up and the guests began to drift toward the dance floor near the Yule tree, Brunnhilde raised her goblet once more, her voice cutting through the joyous commotion.

“Let the festivities begin!” she declared, her grin wide and infectious.

With that, the courtyard came alive with laughter, music, and the sound of feet moving to the rhythm of the dance. The Yule celebration was officially underway.

⠀

The flames of the Yule log crackled and danced, casting warm golden light over the courtyard. The lively music of flutes, strings, and drums filled the air as the guests, Asgardian and Midgardian alike, joined in the festivities. Around the grand fire and beneath the glittering Yule tree, people swayed, twirled, and laughed in a joyous dance that blurred the line between realms.

You stood off to the side, catching your breath after spending most of the evening immersed in the revelry. Your cheeks were flushed from dancing—both the lively Asgardian traditional dances you had eagerly learned and the familiar Midgardian waltzes that had followed.

Your earlier conversations with the various United Nations diplomats and Midgardian guests had been engaging yet intense, requiring a level of charm and tact you hadn’t entirely realized you possessed. Between discussing Asgardian culture and bridging gaps between worlds, you had barely had a moment to yourself.

Several guests had gone out of their way to compliment you on the gifts they had received earlier in the evening. Each one was uniquely tailored: intricate wooden carvings of Yggdrasil that doubled as ornate keepsake boxes, filled with an assortment of Midgardian delicacies and Asgardian mead, or beautifully crafted quills forged from Asgardian metals, paired with sleek, modern Midgardian ink sets.

You had been stunned by their enthusiasm. The gifts, which you had initially seen in their raw, almost haphazard state under Loki’s supervision, had clearly undergone a transformation. What had once seemed overly extravagant and mismatched now carried a thoughtful elegance, seamlessly blending the traditions of both realms.

Your gaze instinctively sought Loki in the crowd. He must have changed them, you realized, your surprise mingling with an odd sense of pride. He had somehow taken what could have been a garish display and turned it into something meaningful—something that resonated with both Asgardian and Midgardian sensibilities.

Now, as you leaned lightly against a table laden with mulled wine and pastries, you allowed yourself to take it all in. The flickering light painted everything in a magical glow—the Yule tree adorned with shimmering ornaments and glowing letters, the Yule log blazing brightly, and the joyous crowd swaying in a beautiful, chaotic harmony.

You watched as an Asgardian couple paused beneath a sprig of mistletoe, sharing a quiet kiss before bursting into laughter and rejoining the dance. The sight brought a small smile to your lips, though it also sent a flutter through your chest.

“I’m surprised you’re not out there,” Loki’s voice came from behind you, smooth and teasing.

You turned to find him standing just a step away, his emerald-green tunic catching the firelight. He looked every bit the god tonight, regal and effortlessly captivating, though there was something softer in the way his eyes met yours.

“Taking a break,” you said lightly, raising an eyebrow. “Believe it or not, even I need a moment to breathe after dancing with half the delegation and learning to not trip over myself in your people’s traditional dances.”

Loki’s lips quirked into a sly smile. “I’d expect nothing less coming from you. You managed it to make it surprisingly effortless.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped. “Flattery, Mischief? You’re slipping.”

“Am I now, darling?” Loki replied, stepping closer, his tone low and playful. “Or perhaps I’m just warming up.”

You tilted your head, curious. “And why would you need to warm up?”

Loki smirked, offering his hand. “Because the best dance of the night is yet to come.”

You hesitated for a moment, your eyes narrowing in playful suspicion. “I’m not sure I trust you on this one.”

“Wise,” Loki said with a mockingly serious nod, “but not nearly as fun. Come, indulge me.”

Despite your wariness, you placed your hand in his, and he led you toward the center of the dance floor. The lively music shifted into something slower, more melodic, as you joined the other couples. Loki’s hand rested lightly on your waist, his touch surprisingly gentle, as you began to move.

As you swayed to the rhythm, you couldn’t help but glance around the crowd. Your eyes landed on Thor, Jane, and Valkyrie standing off to the side. Thor was grinning broadly, lifting his mug in a mock toast, while Jane stifled a giggle behind her hand. Valkyrie, however, made no attempt to hide her amusement, smirking as she gave you an exaggerated thumbs-up.

You rolled your eyes but felt the heat rise in your cheeks, a mixture of embarrassment and exasperation. “The Justice League is watching,” you muttered, tilting your head slightly toward the trio.

Loki followed your gaze and sighed dramatically. “Of course, they are. Discretion has never been their strong suit.”

You bit back a laugh, shaking your head. “I think they’re enjoying this more than they should.”

“Let them,” Loki said with a smirk, his voice dipping into a playful tone. “We’re far more interesting than whatever ale-induced tales Thor was spinning moments ago.”

“You’re full of surprises tonight,” you said softly as you swayed together, your voice barely audible over the music.

“Am I?” Loki arched an eyebrow, his smirk teasing but his gaze steady.

“You are,” you confirmed. “I know about the gifts—thank you for listening to me, by the way. This… whole thing; this isn’t what I expected from you.”

Loki chuckled, his voice low and warm. “Perhaps you haven’t been paying close enough attention. I’m more than just mischief and chaos, you know.”

As the song came to an end, you felt the faintest tug on your hand. Loki had led you just a step away from the tree, where another sprig of mistletoe dangled from its branches.

You glanced up, realization dawning as you looked back at him. “Seriously? A mistletoe prank?”

Loki’s lips curled into a sly smile, but there was a flicker of something softer in his gaze. “Oh, I assure you, this is no prank,” he replied, his voice smooth as ever.

You narrowed your eyes, your arms crossing over your chest. “If this is about everything—about me pushing you into putting all of this together—then you can save the theatrics. I know you probably still want to argue about it, but I won’t engage in some pitiful argument of pride. We both did well.” Your tone was firm, though there was an edge of exasperation beneath it.

Loki’s expression shifted, his usual air of mischief melting into something gentler. “You think I went through all this trouble merely to settle a disagreement?” He took a step closer, his voice quieter now, almost earnest. “This isn’t about proving a point or one-upping anyone. It’s about—” He paused, his gaze steady on yours. “You.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden sincerity in his tone. “Me?”

“You, who somehow managed to coax an entire realm into celebrating something most would have dismissed as frivolous,” Loki said, a rare softness coloring his words. “You, who demanded I find meaning in the smallest of gestures, who taught me that joy doesn’t always come in grand schemes or victories but in shared moments like this.”

Your breath hitched at his words, and for a moment, you were unsure of what to say. Loki took your silence as permission to continue, his hand lifting to brush a stray strand of hair from your face. “This mistletoe isn’t some clever ploy or a prank,” he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “It’s a reminder. A way to say ‘thank you’ for showing me that despite everything, even I am capable of something... good.”

You felt your heart skip a beat, your earlier irritation melting away under the weight of his words. “Loki...”

“Now,” he murmured as he brought you closer to him, his gaze dropping to your lips and then back to your eyes, “are you going to kiss me, or shall I be forced to endure yet another smug grin from Thor when he realizes I failed?”

You let out a soft laugh despite yourself, shaking your head. “You’re incorrigible.”

“I am,” Loki replied, his smirk softening into something more sincere as his voice lowered, “and I dare say I’ve been patient long enough. Now, I demand my gift for my good behavior.”

Unable to help yourself, you closed the distance, your lips brushing his in a kiss that was hesitant at first, testing the waters. But as Loki’s hand tightened ever so slightly on your waist, and your fingers brushed the back of his neck, the kiss deepened, warm and unhurried. It was as though the world around you had melted away, leaving just the two of you beneath the gently falling snow, surrounded by the golden glow of the firelight.

The moment stretched, but just as you parted, the sound of raucous cheers startled you both. Loki sighed, glancing over his shoulder to see Thor lifting Jane into the air triumphantly, having spun her around in an exaggerated display of holiday spirit. Jane, laughing but apparently exasperated, swatted at Thor to put her down, which only made the crowd cheer louder.

Loki groaned, rubbing his temple as if pained. “Leave it to my oaf of a brother to ruin a perfectly good moment.”

You laughed, your eyes bright as you leaned in and kissed him again, this time quick and playful. Pulling back, you smiled at him, your voice soft as you said, “Merry Christmas, Mischief.”

Loki’s lips curled into a rare, genuine smile, his eyes alight with something tender. 

“Merry Yule, darling.”

⠀⠀

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[koipudding]

oh. guys. kaiser hunting you. (predator/prey + kinda cannibalism cw. it’s common in this au/he threatens it!!! doesnt do much but draw blood. calls u pet…gn!reader with a cunt.)

no wc i did this in a daze/typed into tumblr directly

thinking about like… wolf!kaiser (fluffy ears, canines and a fluffy tail + sharp nails) and bunny! reader (ears, tail, and “smaller”)…

kaiser chasing his prey around, and you’re only vaguely aware of two eyes following your every move.

you tug the hood of your cloak further over your head, and your ears pin down. It’s not ideal for hearing, but its better than being noticed as a prey animal and being eaten.

“y’know if you weren’t so focused on hiding your ears, you would’ve made your escape so much smoother, mäuschen.” A few twigs snap behind you, and you freeze. It’s too late. you’d never be able to run.

You shake your head and try to step forward, before a hand grips at your sleeve. You’re pulled and spun around, until you come face to face with striking blue eyes. A blue rose tattoo and black, thorny stems paint his arm, all the way to the hand on your clothes.

“Aw, thjs the bunny scared i’ll bite their little head off?” He bares his teeth, and you feel a cold sweat trickle down your back. The forest is quiet now, no birds nor the rustling of leaves fill the space, just dead air.

“Such a cute bunny, cowering, i wonder what will happen…” the wolf leans down and grabs you by the throat, his pupils widening as he sees your jaw slacken.

“That’s what i thought. No running, understand? I need something more than just dinner today.”

Which is how you find yourself pinned to some soft furs, your neck and thighs bloodied, and claw marks in your hips.

“I’m gonna eat you up,” Kaiser growls, “youll like that? Right Bunny?”

You shake your head, and Kaiser laughs, cooing softly at your little protests. His palm drags over little tally marks he carved into your skin with his claws, watching you writhe and whimper.

“no? but you reacted so sweetly when you came. what is this,” he traces the marks on your soft stomach, “hm… your fourth orgasm? you can give me one more, cant you, pet?”

Despite your shaking head, your cunt clenches down hard against his cock. You’re filled to the brim already, sticky essence dribbling out of your body from all the times you both came.

“N-no more. I can’t take it—“ Your voice teeters on breathless from all the begging and screaming earlier. The wolf above you hums slightly, but the look in his eyes says otherwise. He enjoys having you squirm and beg, and seeing you concede makes him harden inside you.

“I think not.” Kaiser growls and pounded on you again, grabbing your wrists in one hand before thrusting into you.

Your jaw goes slack, and a breath you didn’t know you were holding gets shoved out of you—it’s too much at once.

“Behave,” he slaps your clit and grins as you cry out, “or you don’t get to release.”

“m sorry, m sorry—“ your voice almost gives out, and you weakly thrust your hips up to meet his downward grinds.

“Good mutt, now whay do you say?” kaiser’s hands are all over—one holding your right thigh, allowing him better access—and another gripping your hair.

“Th-thank you…” you whimper when he lets go, and your head hits the soft earth.

“Good. Now come.” He thrusts in deeper, and with a shuddering moan, cums inside of your aching warmth. You follow suit (despite any lingering reluctance), and fall deeper into the fur beneath you.

“Such a well behaved mutt. I’ll need you tomorrow.” He kisses your forehead, before pulling you into his arms and tucking you under his chin.

[shiny-jr]

damnation (peek VII?)

Warning: Yes, this is a yandere thing. Gender-neutral reader.

Characters: Sebek Zigvolt, Silver, Lilia Vanrouge, Malleus Draconia.

Summary: When you commit a crime, you receive a punishment. This is especially true in your society. No matter the crime, your punishment is the same: banishment. But to where you will be sent in exile and how miserable will it be? No one knows, because no one has ever returned.

Note: This is for y'all that supported me throughout the latest situation. NEVER EVER let it be said that I don't cherish my readers. Remember, this is NOT the full damnation Diasomnia chapter, just a fourth of it. A peek. Keep that in mind. Things are subject to change or rewrite. May not be completed in time for the milestone, but I wanted to give y'all this anyways. I sincerely hope you enjoy this slice.

I . . . II . . . III . . . IV . . . V . . . VI . . . VII

THE MASTER OF ALL EVIL

A mask. There was a mask of cold black metal settled on the upper half of your face. It was cold, smooth against your cheeks. This was new. It wasn’t some sort of blindfold, as you could see perfectly and last you heard, they never blinded their prisoners. Concealing an evil-doer’s vision during their banishment was considered a small mercy, something they wouldn’t do, and the judges wanted each sinner to see the fate that awaited them. 

A supposedly horrid fate, but what sort of cruel end required you to wear a plate of armor and a warm cloak? Over your chest, your hand traced the curves and swirls on a metallic chest plate, reaching the black fabric over your shoulders and extending down your back. Removing the mask over your face and turning it in your hands to examine it, the empty eye holes of a feathered fiend stared back at you. The accessory resembled a bird, dark feathers carefully forged into the mask as the end curved into a sharpened beak. It was slightly unsettling, somewhat resembling the type of mask a plague doctor would don during the middle ages in times of peril. 

On the ground, just past the mask you were staring down at, were shreds of paper which caught your attention. It looked as if something or someone had torn a sheet to shreds and disregarded them in the middle of this dark and dreary hallway. Upon kneeling down to pick up a few pieces, your eyebrows furrowed as you attempted to piece them back together like a puzzle. 

Piece after piece, you managed to somewhat make out the painted image despite the face of a crowned figure being burnt black beyond recognition, but the rest of the image could somewhat be salvaged at least enough to draw a conclusion. A taller faceless crowned figure in garbs, beside a queen, holding a bundled baby in their arms that had been torn straight through. Below, on the aged paper was written text reading: Announcing the birth of the princess. A holiday is to be proclaimed throughout the entire kingdom in honor of the princess. 

Why did this all seem so awfully familiar? 

Slowly standing, you jumped upon hearing the rumbling start of thunder. Outside, past the window, dark storm clouds gathered in a hurry above a dense forest and towering wall of thorns. Thorns! Thorns so tall that even from afar, they looked as big as a house! 

“Oh… my god.” You whisper in slight horror. 

The royal family and birth of a princess, a deep dark forest, a deadly wall of thorns–– these were all part of a story. These were points of a fictional story, and yet you were here. Here, somewhere, in a corridor where the walls were dark stone bricks and a long carpet ran along the floor. How did you play into this? The bird-like mask still in your hands and staring back at you, appeared to answer that. The only bird in the story was a black-feathered one, which served as the villain’s little pet.

This couldn’t be real, could it? Why was this your punishment, of all things? How did the story go again? 

A king and queen had a child, a princess, whose birth was celebrated throughout the entire kingdom. A glittering assemblage of folk from all walks of life, foreign and local, rich and poor, from royalty, nobility, gentry, and even the rabble, were invited to pay homage and revel in the festivities. However, the procession was disrupted by the arrival of an uninvited guest, the Mistress of All Evil, a malevolent fairy, which brought a curse upon the infant princess. A curse which promised death upon the princess. The princess goes into hiding with three good fairies for years, until the curse can pass, but eventually the malevolent fairy does capture both the princess and her betrothed prince. The princess falls into a death-like sleep, and the prince escapes to rescue her. In the process, the antagonist’s avian companion is turned to stone while the malevolent fairy turns into a dragon to face off against the hero in a grand battle, only to be defeated by a holy sword through the heart! 

It caused you to freeze, gulping as you imagined such an end. Stone… You were to be turned to stone! Would that mean instant death, or were to become a prisoner forced to be still and silent until the very end of time or at least until your stone body crumbled to dust? 

A pair of wooden doors flew open, the sudden sound as it slammed against the wall caused you to scream. That, and the appearance of an odd stranger in armor, was enough to make you believe that your end was now and sooner than expected. 

“YOU!” His booming voice nearly ruptured your eardrums as he pointed an accusatory finger. Directing a rather sharp nail, almost as equally sharp as his two front canine teeth which you caught sight of but sharper was the sword sheathed at his hip.

“Me???” You looked at the intimidating stranger, baffled and uneasy. 

The man clad in armor was certainly not a shining knight of goodness or a pure princess blessed by fairies. It became apparent by his pointed nails, sharp teeth, and unnaturally thin pupils that he wasn’t human. What sort of human had slicked back natural mint green hair? 

“Yes, you!! Do not be so dense, human! Who else do you see in this hall?” He stomped up to you, frowning deeply, almost snarling. As he got closer, you realized he was very tall and built like a soldier. At his hip, opposite to his blade, was a mask of dark metal, resembling yours. However, his mask was crafted to resemble a crocodile. “Do not think yourself superior for even a second! You are only valued for the intel you can provide, nothing more, nothing less. Here you are, milling about uselessly while the rest of us search tirelessly for the girl! I shouldn’t have expected anything less from a mortal!” 

Squinting a bit at him, it took a solid second for all those words he spoke to be processed in your mind. Another round of thunder rumbled outside, sounding closer than before. “But… I am stupid?” You smiled a bit awkwardly, watching how the stranger’s face fell with each following word. “Sorry, who are you? I think you have the––” He has the wrong person. Before you could complete that thought, thunder seemed to shake the very walls as its booming clap reverberated throughout the air. 

It was loud, loud enough to startle both yourself and the uncouth bright-eyed one. 

“Have you no decency? You cannot even recall your colleague’s name! It’s Sebek! Sebek! We spoke months ago before departing for the most recent search!” He replied, frustrated that you didn’t remember his name, despite not even meeting before. Was he mistaking you for someone? It’s as if you had been thrust into some sort of role, maybe that’s why he didn’t take you for an intruder. 

“Okay, okay, Sebek. Got it. You don’t need to say it a third time. Please, spare my poor ears.” Raising an eyebrow, you nearly flinched every time he spoke. It’s like he had a megaphone built into his voice box, because he talked in what sounded like shouts. “Also, why are you yelling? I can hear you perfectly fine, you don’t have to be so loud.” 

“Why am I…?” The weirdo, apparently called Sebek, parroted in disbelief as he ran a hand through his mint green hair. His fingers gripping his head, fingers tangled through his own locks. “Why are you still here?! General Vanrouge has requested I look for you because you were absent for an assembly called by the Master! Deliberately missing special councils called by him is deplorable on every level!” Reaching forward, he suddenly caught your arm in an iron grip as he practically dragged you through a maze of corridors until they approached the source of a commotion. 

Better to allow this Sebek character to escort you than refusing and risking him having an aneurysm, you figured. Something in your gut told you to go with it, and don’t immediately bring up the fact that you weren’t who they thought you were, especially now that you had arrived in a room chock full of armed soldiers dressed in a manner similar to Sebek. 

However, all these people had two striking features, slitted pupils and pointed ears. Pointed ears. Definitely not human. Yes, you were stupid, but not stupid enough to expose yourself when you were outnumbered a hundred-to-one. 

“What’s all this––?”

Before you could completely round the corner, you nearly fell back into Sebek as a cloaked figure appeared out of the shadows. They hung from the ceiling, their face in front of yours. A terrifying individual, with thin locks of pitch black and blood red, and a face of a terrifying gnarling beast. “Boo!” 

Wide-eyed, you stared at the figure as you leaned back into Sebek’s arms who didn’t seem as surprised as you. Was this a companion of his? The matching cloak, the similar armor, and… that face of the hanging stranger was metal. A mask. A mask that looked like some horrifying monstrous bat.

Placing a hand on your heart, you closed your eyes and fell back dramatically, playing the part. Your legs went limp, the only thing preventing your form from hitting the cold hard floor was the pair of strong arms holding you up from behind. 

A snicker was the only applause for your small performance, as Sebek jostled you from your act. For some particular reason, Sebek was impatient as he forced you to your feet, but he didn’t dare raise his voice at this surprisingly short figure that somehow floated down from the ceiling like a feather drifting to the ground. 

“This is an entirely serious matter! Lilia–– General, please.” Sebek pleaded, keeping you stuck in place by gripping your shoulders to keep you facing the General. What did Sebek call him earlier? Vanrouge? This was him? 

This Vanrouge character was on the petite side, he hardly looked like a general with his undersized stature and thin limbs. Yet his armor fit him just fine, and on his belt was a great big cleaver that sparkled like jade. Definitely not about to cross him when he had that on his person. 

Cleaver aside, it was really difficult to fear him when he removed his terrifying mask. While yes, his features were far less human than Sebek’s, he was somewhat adorable. When he laughed, you noticed small sharpened fangs while his big crimson red eyes and slitted pupils shined with mirth. Even one of his pale pointed ears appeared to twitch. “I know, I know, but can’t I enjoy one moment of laughter before everything goes to rack and ruin?” 

There was no need to even ask what exactly he meant by that, because again, there was that thundering rumble that shook the very palace walls. It sounded even closer this time, like it was in just the next room over! 

Vanrouge, or rather, Lilia, appeared a bit anxious, jittery as he brushed off his nerves with a quieter laugh. His own hands had gripped your shoulders as Sebek took a step back. “See, this is why you are one of my favorite humans! Mortals are so easygoing and you get my humor.” 

“Thank you? And you’re my favorite…” You paused. What even was he? What were they? In some renditions, there were fairies, but sometimes the creature that was the malevolent fairy and her goons were left a mystery. In one story the malevolent fairy had an army of creatures with animalistic features. Is that what they were supposed to be? It would explain the masks. What if you were wrong? “You’re my favorite little guy.” 

Sebek looked down at you incredulously as if you had insulted his own mother, and you realized far too late that you had quite literally called a General a little guy. However, instead of bringing his cleaver down upon you and splitting you in half or destroying you with some type of wild fantastical twinkly fairy magic, this General only giggled. He giggled, which made you grin like a fool. You had done something right, apparently! 

Deciding against saying the first thought that came to mind, Sebek instead blurted out, “This is the only human you actually talk to! They are the only one among us fae!” 

So that’s what they were. Fae. “Details, details. It still counts.” Lilia dismissed, leading you closer to the very end of the hall where it opened up to a space with more soldiers like him and Sebek. Faes. In a huge spacious room, gathered, listing reports on the results of their scouting missions. Missions likely with the goal of finding the princess. Once there, he placed an arm around your shoulder. Here, his voice was quieter to avoid being heard by the masses. “Come, we know the Master will be in need of some good news right about now, whether you can deliver it or fetch it. It will quell his… irritability. And it may take a human to catch a human. We cannot fully comprehend how your minds work, but perhaps you can understand a fellow mortal’s and finally make this search a success. Go now, courier.” 

Lilia had pushed you out in the open just as the last of the soldiers were wrapping up their report of failed searches. Your dark garbs and metal crow mask had allowed you to blend right in, but it felt like you were a rabbit in a den of ravenous wolves. No one stared at you, because they were far too transfixed on a towering figure not too far from where the General had pushed you. 

As soon as the figure entered your line of vision, you too became just as transfixed as everyone else. Master. This was their master, which could only be the malevolent fairy, fae, in this case. It should have never been possible for someone to have both the facets of a devil but the magnificence of an angel, but he did. Horns as black as night curved atop his head and inky black scales bordered the bases, making it look like a crown while shadows appeared to blend into his robes like fabric weaved of pure darkness devoid of any light. The only light that escaped him came from his eyes, like the common slitted pupils in this crowd yet his eyes glowed an enchanting green like no other. 

It was like a moth to a flame, destined to burn, but you found yourself drawing near behind his dark throne anyways. 

“It’s inconceivable!” He hissed, loud enough so that the entirety of the gathered could hear his voice echo in the space around them. The thunder outside seemed to crack with his every word. The fae, his loyal denizens, shirked back instinctively yet they continued to awe at the malevolent one. “Twenty years, and not a trace of the princess. How is it that this one human, a mortal, has miraculously escaped the vigilant watchful eyes of every one of my most diligent knights and soldiers who have searched all but endlessly, high and low, for two decades? Hm?” 

You kept glued to the wall, the uneven bricks against your back as you attempted to make yourself as small as possible. What were you supposed to do? What could a mortal do against him, the same fae that has the ability to transform into a dragon of immeasurable strength? This fae was the one who would eventually drag you down with him. 

“Humans are numerous, and they are a tricky sort, Your Majesty.” Lilia appeared at the forefront of the throng. Despite the obvious vexation of the horned-one, he continued merrily with an encouraging smile, despite the apprehension of his armored colleagues. “We can’t exactly venture into towns too long without the risk of being discovered or the presence of that pesky iron weakening us. But we make do, and during nights we’ve checked every strip of land from the moors’ borders, to the villages and towns, even the highest mountains. Haven’t we, boys?” 

A murmur of agreement washed over the crowd. For twenty years they had tirelessly searched, and they had no princess to show for their efforts. It wasn’t that the princess disappeared into thin air, this much you could remember. There was a reason they couldn’t find the princess as she dwelled in a cottage deep within the woods with her caretakers, the three good fairies, acting as poor mortal women. What was that reason again…? 

One hand shot up from the crowd, a voice louder than the rest, the familiar voice of Sebek. “Yes, Master Malleus we did! And we will gladly continue our search, comb through every region once more, and check every cradle again all for you to extract your revenge upon the despicable humans and their wicked king!” 

“Cradles…?” The dark fae, apparently named Malleus, directed his widening eyes towards them. His grip tightened on his long twisted wooden staff. You were given the answer as to why they never found the princess within the first years. The faes had forgotten that mortals aged, so the princess they were looking for was no longer a baby in a cradle. 

“Oh no.” Sensing the impending danger, you took cover behind the throne. From behind the throne you peeked out, using the royal seat as a shield. When the towering fae’s green-eyed gaze landed on you by a glance, you stilled like a frozen statue. The hair on the back of your neck raised as your gaze met his. Seeing his eyes become temporarily focused on you, feeling his unholy presence, sensing the incoming disaster he would wrought–– everything about this man, if he even was a man, made alarm bells ring on your head. 

Suddenly, a smile graced his features. It was the sort that masked his frustration simmering beneath the surface. He was close, close enough to reach a hand forward slowly so his fingertips grazed the underside of your chin. Lips curled upward into a menacing grin, but it wasn’t the crazed sort. He was scarily calm as he peered down at you. “Did you hear that, my courier?” 

There were over a hundred pairs of eyes on you at the moment. Watching intently as you leaned back a bit, a chill traveling up your spine as his sharp black nails traced your flesh. You’re sure you were beaming like a simpleton, whether out of instinct or out of some sort of response to your current nerves. Certainly this was how the sailors felt in times of old when confronted by enchanting sirens that lured them to certain doom in watery graves. What were the don’ts regarding fairies and faes of myths? Don’t give your name, don’t lie, and don’t enter the obvious fae traps designed to ensnare curious humans. This must’ve been some sort of fae trap, it had to when he had a face like that. 

Was Malleus addressing you directly because you were the only human in the room? “Yes… Loud and clear.” One corner of your mouth twitched into an awkward smile in return, but you found yourself unable to remove your eyes from his. A brief and quiet chuckle left your lips, “It’s… kinda funny.” 

“Isn’t it?” When he removed his fingers from your chin, you nearly tumbled forward, but you managed to successfully catch yourself before you could crash into him. The fae turned around, beginning to chuckle in his deep voice, a sound which echoed in the tense silence of the packed throne room. “For all these years I have been waiting, and they have been looking for a baby.” 

The General, Lilia, was perhaps the first to realize something was amiss when the Master of All Evil began to laugh. Vanrouge seemed like the type to enjoy a laugh, but this wasn’t just a moment to crow about their recent failings. A moment of clarity dawned on him while his colleagues unsurely joined in on the commotion. Your gaze met his and you frantically shook your head as Sebek rapidly clasped his hands over his mouth in shock and regret upon realizing their mistake and his blunder. You tried to signal them to flee while you yourself retreated further back behind the throne for cover. 

It was just in the nick of time too, as the air began to fizzle with static electricity, growing with every passing second as his laugh became less humorous and more diabolical. There was the same lightning from before but instead of being outside, it sounded as if it was inside these very walls. Crashing and striking every second, one, two, three, four, five, shaking the castle. You felt your eardrums vibrate as you continued to brace yourself behind the throne until it stopped. This was your first true taste of utter terror and helplessness. 

Here you were for a reason, to die, either by stone or before, whether it be by the clubs of the fae soldiers, at the sharp end of a holy sword, or between the maws of the Master of All Evil. It felt like an eternity, but it was likely under a minute, when the destruction ended. Trembling slightly, you peeked out to survey the damage. 

It was a harsh reminder of your current plight. There were no bodies laying motionless, as everyone either had the means to defend themselves or Malleus simply wasn’t aiming for any of them in his burst of anger. The throne room had been largely evacuated thanks to General Lilia and Sebek. Only shields and the occasional weapon were left behind in the hurry to avoid being struck by his wrath, dark spots were ingrained where the lightning struck the ground, a few stones tumbled loose from any walls that were hit as collateral damage. 

If you somehow survived this, it would be no less than a miracle.

[radawaycunt]

So about those Lucius reqs😅

What if newly made emperor Lucius has had his eye on reader who is a palace servant; she’s in charge of drawing his baths, one night she’s notified he’s not going to arrive in time so she decides it would be a waste of a perfectly good bath and as she’s luxuriating in his tub he walks in and 🤭 (more importantly wanted to say that I absolutely adore your fics literalmente me encantan and I hope you write more Lucius!)💕

Ufff que ricoooo!!! I'm rolling all over the floor and giggling and twirling my hair hehe!! Thank you for requesting this eeek I'm so excited! and thank you for reading <33 I will be writing more dw!!

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

"And what do we have here?"

At the sound of his deep, commanding voice, you bolted upwards, violently pulled out of your reverie. You stared at the Emperor with wide, fearful eyes. Dread was quick as an arrow, burying inside your heart. But at the same time... a curious stirring made you clamp your legs together.

"Dominus!" Master. You bowed your head, crossing your arms over your chest to cover yourself. "I-I can explain!"

With a wave of his hand, Emperor Lucius dismissed both of the servants that accompanied him. They quietly slipped out of the room, closing the door behind them.

Your master raised an eyebrow, expectant. "Well?"

"Um, so, I-I had already drawn your bath when I was told you wouldn't be here until much later," you babbled, his expression unchanging. "The perfumed oils smelled so good and the warmth of the water j-just drew me in. P-please forgive me! It will never happen again!"

You trembled in anticipation of his reaction, expecting him to sentence you with a lashing for such a tremendous offense.

But instead, he slowly walked towards the bathtub, perching himself on the edge as he looked down at you. He grasped your chin and made you meet his gaze. His piercing blue bewitched you, pinning you in place. It felt like he could see through you, laying you bare beyond your nakedness.

"You wanted me to see you like this, didn't you?" He murmured, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as your lips parted in surprise.

He had never given you any sort of preferential treatment, but you had seen the way he looked at you a few times. His heated glances when he lowered himself into the bathtub and you demurely kept your eyes averted. But in truth, you had snuck glances at his statuesque body plenty of times yourself.

"Go on then, let me see you better," he said, his eyes flicking down to your chest.

You complied, lowering your arms and leaning back. He looked you over slowly, eyes lingering on your clavicles and your breasts. The real deal was much better than his extensive imagination, his fingers twitching with the need to touch.

"May I?" He asked.

"Anything you want, Dominus," you said breathlessly.

You bit your lip to keep yourself from making any sound as his fingers traced down the column of your throat and further down. His touch was featherlight, almost teasing, on your sternum and the top of your breasts.

"So soft," he said, voice low.

You inclined your head gracefully. "Thank you, Imperator Lucius. Would you like me to draw you a new bath?"

"No." He stood up, dropping his cloak on the floor. "I shall join you in there. I should like you to give me a proper scrubbing. Make sure I'm all clean."

You swallowed hard, nodding. Slowly, he began to undo the rest of his armor, drawing out the aching suspense. When he was fully nude, he slowly stepped into the bath, his legs brushing yours.

You stared at him, awestruck, and he couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Don’t tell me you are shy now,” he said, and you snapped out of it, taking up a cloth to scrub his body.

You got up on your knees unsteadily and began with his arms, avoiding his gaze. His muscles flexed under your touch. He let you gently move him around as you scrubbed more of him, and he watched the bob of your breasts in the water, transfixed.

When you reached his legs, you noticed his erection and gasped a little bit. He hummed, feigning curiosity, and tilted his head to one side.

“W-would you like me to, er, take care of you, as well?” You trailed off, glancing down.

He didn’t miss the shift of your legs, the undeniable eagerness to please. He almost caved in, wanting you just as bad, but drawing out the inevitable seemed a lot more tantalizing. At least for the time being.

He clicked his tongue in disapproval and shook his head, grasping your chin once more.

“You only get to touch me a little today, but not there,” he said, his face inches away from yours. “Though perhaps another day, you will earn the right to do more. You will work for it, won’t you?”

You nodded quickly, nearly delirious with want. “Yes, Imperator. I-I promise I will do my very best.”

“That’s what I like to hear.”

————

[istoleyoursphenoidbone]

Would You Fall In Love With Me Again?

DPxDC (With a smidgen of Epic the Musical)

Okay, so yall really liked my last one (and thanks to all of you, I'm glad you guys enjoyed). I wanted to try my hand again and see how this goes, idk about you guys, but Epic the Musical has been my soundtrack for weeks now, and the Ithaca Saga has my heart so...Husbands!Danny and Jason torn apart due to bad resurrection? Why not.

Warning for referenced character death and blood mention, nothing too graphic, tho. Pit Rage makes people do questionable things, ya know?

The Justice League's meeting room was cloaked in unnatural shadows, the atmosphere thick with tension, like the heavy silence before a storm. A team from Justice League Dark stood in the center, preparing for a ritual. Zatanna, her voice a whispered incantation, traced glowing glyphs onto the marble floor. Constantine, who had been trying to tell them all this would be a bad idea, leaned against the wall, a cigarette dangling from his lips despite the no-smoking signs, while Doctor Fate floated nearby, his ethereal presence a calm amid the chaos.

Batman stood at the edge of the circle, arms crossed. He hated magic—always had—but these were desperate times. Jason Todd, the Red Hood, had been spiraling for months. His vendetta against Gotham’s Rogues had left behind a trail of bodies, destruction, and secrets too dangerous to let slip. But it was more than just Jason’s rage. Strange energy readings tied to the Infinite Realms had begun to swirl around his every move. Whatever connection Jason had to that otherworldly dimension had become unstable, and they needed answers—answers only the Ghost King could provide.

“Are we ready?” Batman’s voice cut through the room. Zatanna nodded, stepping back as the last glyph flared to life. “The summoning spell is complete. Brace yourselves. This entity isn’t like anything we’ve dealt with before.” Constantine snorted, flicking his cigarette to the ground. “Ain’t that just bloody reassuring.”

The air split with a deafening crack, and green light spiraled upward, forming a vortex. From it stepped a figure draped in black armor, a faint crown glowing above his head, his eyes burning with an eerie green light. Danny Phantom, the Ghost King, stood before them. "Who dares to summon the High King of the Infinite Realms?" His voice carried an unearthly echo, a stark contrast to the mortal men and women in the room.

Constantine muttered something under his breath—likely a curse—but Wonder Woman stepped forward, her voice steady. “We require your assistance, Ghost King. There’s a man, the Red Hood, aka Jason Todd, whose actions have drawn the attention of both our realm and yours.” Danny’s eyes narrowed, his posture stiffening. “Jason Todd?” Batman stepped forward, his voice rough but resolute. “He’s my son.”

Danny’s gaze snapped to him, the glowing green light flickering with intensity. “Your son,” he repeated, his tone colder now, sharper. Zatanna stepped in to explain, her voice calm but urgent. “Jason is targeting Gotham’s Rogues, several have been killed. But it seems he has a connection to the Infinite Realms. His ectoplasmic energy is spiking. We believe he’s drawing power from your domain, whether he knows it or not.” Danny’s expression darkened, and his voice dropped to a low, almost imperceptible growl. “And you want me to stop him.”

“Not stop,” Wonder Woman corrected gently. “Help. If he’s tied to your realm, we need to understand why—and how to sever that connection, if necessary.” Danny stood motionless, the green light in his eyes flickering with a mix of emotions none of them could decipher. After a long moment, he nodded, sharp and final. “I’ll handle it. Alone.” Batman started to protest, but Danny cut him off with a steady gaze, his voice softening, just a fraction. “You’ve done your part. Let me do mine.” Without waiting for a response, Danny turned and stepped back into the swirling portal, leaving the Justice League in a heavy, uneasy silence.

---

The Infinite Realms churned around Danny as he passed through the portal, an energy that mirrored the restlessness gnawing at his heart. When he had been summoned, he had expected a crisis—another rift in the realms or a rogue spirit threatening the balance, hell even just cultists trying to mess with the order of things again. What he hadn’t expected was to be summoned to deal with him.

Jason...his sweet and loving Jason.

As the portal closed behind him, Danny heard Batman’s grim explanation echo in his mind: Red Hood was spiraling. He’d already killed Joker, Riddler, and Two-Face. And it seemed like Penguin was next. The Pit Rage had taken hold, and no one—least of all Bruce—had been able to pull Jason from the edge. The Justice League had turned to him because the energy Jason radiated had drawn their attention to the Infinite Realms.

It had been twenty years since Jason disappeared from the Realms—twenty long years since Danny had watched his husband, the man he had married in death, pulled from his side and resurrected in the mortal world. For Danny, it felt like an eternity.

As Danny emerged from the portal into Gotham’s shadowed streets, the oppressive energy in the air pulled at him, thick with Jason’s rage. He could feel the ectoplasmic aura that surrounded him, like a storm cloud about to break. But more than that, Danny could feel the familiar tug of Jason’s presence. It was raw, chaotic—lost.

And Danny? He was all too familiar with being lost.

There was no turning back now. Jason was out there, a tempest of pain and blood, and Danny couldn’t stop the wave of dread that surged through him. This was his husband—the man he had fallen in love with, over and over again—and now he was out of control.

Danny’s eyes glowed as he moved deeper into the city, knowing that whatever happened next, he wouldn’t be alone in facing it. Not this time. Jason Todd stood among the wreckage of a smuggling ring’s hideout. The docks were eerily silent except for the gentle lap of water against the pier. Blood slicked his gloved hands, and his breath came in shallow, ragged gasps. The Pit Rage roared in his ears, demanding more—more destruction, more vengeance, and more blood.

The ghostly glow appeared behind him, and Jason spun, guns drawn. The figure emerging from the green light made him falter.

Danny.

Jason blinked, the haze of rage momentarily thinning. He couldn’t trust his eyes, not after everything. But the way Danny looked at him—with love, pain, and something infinite in his glowing green eyes—cut through Jason’s defenses. “Jason,” Danny said softly, his voice trembling but steady. Jason lowered his guns, his shoulders slumping. “Danny?”

Danny stepped closer, his glowing cape billowing behind him. “It’s been twenty years.” Jason flinched. “Eight.” His voice cracked. “Only eight here.” Danny’s eyes softened. “It felt like forever.” Jason staggered back, shaking his head. “I’m not—” He gestured at the blood staining his armor. “I’m not who I was. You shouldn’t be here.”

Danny reached out but didn’t touch him, his hands hovering just inches away. “You’re still you, Jason. You’re still my husband.” Jason’s laugh was bitter, almost a sob. “You don’t understand. I’ve killed them. Joker. Riddler. Two-Face. There’s no redemption for me. I’ve left a trail of blood and bodies. I’m not the man you fell in love with. I’m not—”

“Stop,” Danny interrupted, his voice firm. “Stop telling me who you think you are. I know you. I’ve always known you.” Jason clenched his fists. “Would you still love me if you knew all I’ve done? The things I can’t take back? The lives I’ve destroyed?” Danny took a step forward, his expression raw with emotion. “Yes. I would. I do.” Jason’s knees buckled, and he sank to the ground, his hands covering his face. “I’ve tried to fight it, Danny. I’ve tried to be better, but the rage... it doesn’t stop. It’s like drowning, and every time I surface, there’s more blood.”

Danny knelt in front of him, his hand finally resting on Jason’s shoulder. “I know,” he said softly. “I’ve felt it too—the weight of things you can’t undo. But you’re not alone anymore. I’ve been waiting for you, Jason. Waiting for you to come back to me.” Jason’s breath hitched, and he looked up, his blue eyes rimmed with tears. “How can you still love me after everything? I’m not... I’m not the man you knew.”

Danny smiled, his own eyes glistening. “You’re still the man I fell in love with. You’re still the man who carved our initials into a tree in the Infinite Realms. The man who made me laugh, who promised me forever. And I meant it when I said forever, Jason. No matter where or when or what you’ve done, I’ll love you. Always.”

Jason let out a shuddering breath, and for the first time in years, the weight on his chest lightened. He leaned into Danny’s touch, the Pit Rage ebbing as warmth spread through him. Danny cupped his face, their foreheads touching. “You don’t have to carry this alone anymore. Let me help you. Let me love you.” Jason closed his eyes, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t deserve you.” Danny’s laugh was soft and full of love. “That’s for me to decide. And I’ve decided—over and over again—that I’ll always choose you.”

Jason’s arms wrapped around Danny, holding him tightly as if afraid he might disappear. But Danny held him just as firmly, grounding him, anchoring him. The green glow of the Infinite Realms pulsed around them, a quiet promise of redemption, of love that could weather even the darkest storms.

---

Danny didn’t leave Jason’s side that night, nor would he ever again. Together, they began the long, painful process of healing. The road ahead wasn’t easy, but they faced it together, their love, a beacon in the darkness.

The heroes would just have to get used to the unearthly presence of the Ghost King in their plane of existence. And no matter how much time passed, Danny knew one thing would never change: he would fall in love with Jason Todd, over and over again, for eternity.

[colonelarr0w]

Just thinking about tracing Suguru's scar.

Word Count - 0.9k

A/N - I dedicate this piece to the Anon that flooded my inbox with 30+ messages telling me how it was canon that Gojo didn't have any scars.

Read the Gojo version here!

! PIECE BEGINS UNDERNEATH THE CUT !

GETO never let you see his scars after he received them — suddenly he was covering himself up with thick sweaters and baggy clothes. You noticed … you always noticed.  

But you said nothing, not wanting to draw unwanted attention to something that he was very clearly adamant on keeping hidden.  

One night, however, your curiosity got the better of you. You didn’t mean to pry as much as you did, but you desperately wanted Geto to know that you weren’t going to suddenly start looking at him differently because of some raised skin — you wanted him to be comfortable around you. 

You wanted things to be like they were before. 

He was different. You could see it as clear as day.  

His hugs didn’t last as long as they once did, instead of bear hugs that he wouldn’t pull away from unless you did first, you received a half-assed sideways squeeze.  

It felt like he didn’t want to be touching you in fear of contaminating you, like you would catch some otherworldly disease that didn’t yet have a cure. It hurt you – it stung in a way that nothing else could compare to.  

When you sat on the couch beside him, he would scoot a few inches away from you. 

When you laid down to take a nap beside him, he’d offer you only his pinky and nothing else.  

When you went to embrace him, his body would angle itself so that his shoulder rested against your chest.  

“Suguru?” you whisper to him under the cloak that night provided, turning to face him properly. He mimics you, rolling onto his side and propping himself up with the use of his elbow, palm resting against the side of his face.  

“Hmm?” he hums in response, eyes studying your expression. His face pinches in slight concern at your narrowed eyes and furrowed brows — something was very clearly upsetting you.  

“Are we okay?”  

He pauses, staring quizzically at you as if you had somehow sprouted another head. His free hand extends, finger rubbing affectionately against your cheek.  

“Course we are. Why do you ask?” he murmurs, breath catching in his throat as you push yourself to sit up. Your legs cross, one ankle over the other while you maintain eye contact with Geto.  

Your mind reminds you of what he had been doing; the behaviors that he had been displaying. What wasn’t he telling you? 

You swallow the growing lump in your throat, not wanting to accidentally make a big deal out of something that could otherwise be nothing. 

“What are you hiding from me?” you whisper, already feeling tears build on your waterline at Geto’s shocked (and worried) expression. He looked so conflicted, so unsure that it made your heart crack.  

And even though he wants to believe that he has no idea what you’re referencing … he does.  

He looks away from you, and even though it’s only for a moment, it only makes your heart sink deeper into your stomach. “It’s—“ 

“Please don’t sit there and tell me it’s nothing,” you practically beg, voice cracking. Geto lets out a small sigh through his nose, adjusting himself so that he sits in front of you.  

“(Y/N)—“ he begins, but the way that you shake your head at him only makes him feel guilty, “—are you sure?” 

Your silence tells him everything that he needs to know.  

Slowly, and albeit very hesitantly, Geto lifts his shirt, revealing an ‘X’ shaped scar on his chest. Your breath hitches at the sight of it, the sound making Geto flinch.  

He tosses the shirt aside with a barely audible plop, not daring to make eye contact with you in fear of what expression you wore. So instead of glancing at you, Geto forces his eyes shut.  

They shoot right back open at the feeling of your fingers lightly tracing his chest.  

Shocked, his eyes flicker up to watch you. Your eyebrows are slightly pinched together, a worried indent to your forehead as your nails slowly move over the raised skin.  

You don’t say anything to him, not that you really need to. You knew that this — this gentle touch — was what Geto needed. He didn’t need half-assed reassurances that carried no weight. 

No, what he needed to know was that you were here, right with him, at his side — you weren’t going anywhere.  

Your finger reaches the end of where his scar slightly raises his skin. You shift forward, laying your palm against the center of the ‘X’, feeling Geto’s heart thumping against your fingers.  

He says nothing. You say nothing.  

Your eyes flicker up to meet his own. He returns your softened glance.  

“You’re so handsome Sugu … you know that, right?” you whisper tenderly, finally breaking the silence. The sigh he lets out in response is shaky, tear-filled.  

Before Geto has the chance to shake his head, your lips are on his scar, the softness of you contrasting greatly with the roughness of his skin.  

You glance back up at him, letting out a shocked squeak as he tugs you into his arms. Your head tucks into the crook of his neck, arms winding around his midsection.  

His breath shudders as his nose tucks into your hair. “Thank you.” 

You smile against him, turning your head and laying a chaste kiss against the skin of his throat. Your arms momentarily tighten around him, eyes closing in content. 

“I love you.” 

“I love you too angel … thank you.”