#Friendship Caravan | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

xuchiya · 2 months ago

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"stuck in this fairytale" || choi san || series || epilogue

| genre: prince! san. fluff. angst. adventure | mentions: cursing. | here's the first part

masterlist

ONE WEEK LATER...

The restoration of the kingdoms progressed slowly but steadily, like new shoots emerging from scorched earth. The JeoKang Kingdom began to bloom once more. Trees that had stood lifeless for years now swayed with vibrant leaves, their branches alive with the chatter of birds. The gardens, once barren, now boasted bubbling fountains and fragrant blooms. The people returned to their homes, their laughter echoing through the cobblestone streets. The kingdom itself seemed reborn, its essence transformed into something stronger, brighter, and filled with hope.

In the Jung Kingdom, trade flourished anew. After years of isolation, the gates stood wide open, welcoming merchants and travelers alike. Caravans loaded with exotic goods and medicinal herbs moved back and forth between kingdoms, rekindling alliances and friendships. The air carried the mingling scents of spices, dried flowers, and the faint metallic tang of coins exchanging hands—a testament to a future built on collaboration.

The Kim Kingdom radiated wisdom. Scholars filled its libraries, their heads bent over ancient tomes as they sought solutions for tomorrow's challenges. The people, guided by the kingdom’s sage leadership, found balance in their lives. “A wise man hears one word but understands two,” the saying went, and the wisdom of the Kim Kingdom was reflected not only in its governance but in the clarity of mind and health it brought to its people.

Finally, there was the Choi Kingdom. Though it would never be as it once was, it had begun to rebuild into something even better. The scars left by the curse remained, but they were now markers of resilience and growth.

As sunlight beams into your room, the morning light pours in through tall windows, illuminating the large bookshelf that San had personally commissioned for you. The golden rays danced over the polished wood, casting soft shadows that seemed to breathe life into the quiet stillness of the room. Your fingers brushed along the spines of the books, feeling the smooth leather covers and gilded titles, their intricate designs catching the light. Each book held a story, a piece of history, or a dream of what could be, their very presence filling the air with a comforting sense of possibility.

A small smile graced your lips as your eyes scanned the thick and thin pages of the books. There was something endlessly satisfying about the sight of books stacked neatly on shelves. It brought you back to childhood, where you often imagined yourself in a world of endless stories and knowledge. The scene reminded you of Belle—a kindred spirit and bookworm—who had tamed a beast and found love in the unlikeliest of places.

The thought drew a chuckle from you until it suddenly shifted to San, and your heart faltered for a moment, thudding loudly in your chest. Your smile faded into a look of surprise as a blush crept to your cheeks. It had been almost a week since San had come to your chamber at the JeoKang palace. His visits had been frequent enough to draw attention, though he had insisted on coming to "see the hero of the kingdoms."

You had tried to play off his visits as casual gestures of gratitude, but you couldn’t ignore the glances, the subtle warmth in his voice, or the way his expression softened when his gaze lingered on you. The hero of the kingdoms—those were his words—but through the eyes of their distant cousins, Yunho and Yeosang, you suspected there might be more to it.

You exhaled a shaky breath, trying to steady the sudden flutter in your chest. Your hand paused as it touched one particular book, different from the rest. The leather was worn, and its edges frayed, as though it had been read countless times. It was the book—the one that had brought you to this world. Your breath hitched as you pulled it from the shelf and sat on the edge of your bed, the weight of it settling in your lap.

The pages flipped easily beneath your fingertips, each one carrying the familiar scent of old parchment. You stopped at the place where you had left a bookmark weeks ago—the story of the first dragons created by Brigid, the goddess. Your heart tightened as you read, memories of recent events flooding your mind. The parallels between the tale and what you had experienced were too surreal to ignore.

One illustration caught your attention. A woman stood surrounded by towering shelves of books, her face streaked with tears. The library seemed otherworldly, filled with a golden light that softened its grand, infinite expanse. The details tugged at your memory, though you couldn’t quite place why.

Your thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock at the door.

“Miss Brigid, Sir San is looking for you,” Seonghwa’s voice came from the doorway, his tone polite but warm.

You glanced at him, nodding as you reluctantly closed the book, though your fingers itched to read more. It had been so long since you and San had spoken—his days consumed by the kingdom’s restoration. This was your chance to reconnect.

“Is he alright?” you asked as you returned the book to its place on the shelf.

Seonghwa chuckled, his tone light. “More than alright. He’s been asking for you all morning.”

Walking down the hallway with Seonghwa, you noticed the subtle shifts in the castle—the softened tension in the air, the gentle smiles exchanged between guards and servants. It felt lighter, more alive, than it had a week ago.

Seonghwa cleared his throat, glancing at you. “I should thank you for everything you’ve done. Not just for us but for everyone.”

You looked up at him, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “There’s no need to thank me, Seonghwa.”

He stopped abruptly, turning to face you with an intensity that made you pause. “You haven’t just saved the princes’ lives. You’ve rewritten the story itself.”

Your brow furrowed as his words settled in. “The story?”

Seonghwa’s lips curved into a faint smile. “You have saved these people from meeting their doom, Miss Brigid. And afterall, you are a descendant of Brigid, aren’t you? The goddess who created the dragons, the keeper of balance and the justice maker. This was more than fate—it was your history unfolding before you.”

The realization struck like lightning. You had been so consumed by lifting the curse and uncovering the Choi family’s truths that you had barely thought about your own origins. Being a descendant. Now, pieces of the puzzle fell into place. Your mother’s fiery red hair that you thought was just natural orange hair, your father’s dark locks, and the inexplicable warmth you had always felt within yourself—all signs you had overlooked.

“I... I am,” you murmured, your voice wavering as the truth took root in your mind.

Seonghwa tilted his head, studying you. “You seem troubled. Have you been struggling to make sense of your past?”

You looked away, the weight of your thoughts bearing down on you. “It’s not that. It’s... I thought this was just a story. A fairytale. But it feels so real, like it’s more than that.”

Seonghwa regarded you for a long moment before stepping closer, his expression soft. “Sometimes, the truth hides in plain sight, dressed as a story to protect itself. But you have lived it, Brigid. You are part of it, and it is part of you.”

Your breath caught as his words resonated deeply. Was this world truly a reflection of your past, a mirror held up to show you who you were meant to be? Or was it something more?

“Is this... real?” you asked, your voice a whisper laden with emotion.

Seonghwa’s brows knit together, his own uncertainty mirrored in his eyes. “Does it matter if it is? What matters is what you do with it now.”

Before you could respond, the heavy oak doors of San’s office creaked open, revealing him standing at his desk. His gaze lifted, meeting yours, and for the first time in weeks, his expression softened into something almost resembling peace. And in that moment, surrounded by restored kingdoms and unanswered questions, you realized that whether this was a fairytale or reality, it was yours to shape.

When San let you into his office, your eyes immediately landed on the familiar faces gathered around a round table—Wooyoung, Yunho, Yeosang, Hongjoong, and Noella, with Mingi casually leaning against the wall in the corner. He waved enthusiastically, and you waved back, utterly perplexed by the sudden reunion.

“Are we recreating the Knights of the Round Table?” you joked, hoping to lighten the mood. While most of them looked at you in confusion, Wooyoung snorted, his laughter breaking the tension. Even after everything you'd been through in recent weeks—no, months— Wooyoung felt light as your sense of humor hadn’t abandoned you entirely. The sound of your humor warmed him.

“No,” San answered, his tone both amused and serious, “but Yunho found something important.”

Curiosity piqued, you allowed San to guide you to the table, his hand on the small of your back. Your cheeks burning and your body sparks. It was when you reached the table, your gaze shifted to the centerpiece—a book surrounded by scattered papers, their edges slightly curled.

“What is it?” you asked, eyes darting between the group. Yeosang stepped forward, a small grin tugging at his lips. “It’s about your world and ours. Apparently, your world has a portal that connects to this one—and to others as well. These portals can only be accessed by those who share a connection to the universe.”

You squinted, trying to wrap your head around the revelation. “Which means…?”

Yunho stepped in, handing you a picture. Your breath caught in your throat the moment you saw it—it was the very illustration Aven had shown you back at your mother’s house.

“This…” you began, your voice trembling with shock. “This is the one Aven gave me.”

Yunho nodded. “Aven wasn’t just a guide in your world. He was Brigid’s messenger. Whenever her lover, the True King Jeoyoung, was away, she sent Aven to deliver messages and look out for him.” He gestured to the picture in your hands. It also brought you back to how you met Aven— the zoo’s eagle. It didn’t leave your shoulder, many of the zookeepers lured him with various snacks and foods but to their avail, it stayed on your shoulder.

“Aven isn’t just the only one who stayed on your side.” Wooyoung whispers. You look at him, confused as to what he is pertaining to. He gave you another illustration yet it was just a polaroid. It was you, Wooyoung and Jongho.

Your eyes burned from the tears and your nose clogged at the sudden rush of emotions. Wooyoung had told everyone about Jongho’s sacrifice. That night, every kingdom assembled and lit up lanterns to offer their gratitude to Jongho. You couldn’t sleep that night because of what happened, Jongho is someone you hold dearly in your heart. That little bear that stood lost in the crowd.

“Jongho was Aven in my universe.” You whisper, your thumb brushing his gummy smile. Jongho stays beside you whenever Wooyoung is occupied with his works. Jongho keeps you safe whenever you return from your night classes to your dorm. Even if San had come along the scene, he still kept himself present in your eyes.

San noticed your shaking shoulders and pulled you to his chest, “He is written amongst the stars. The one you point at night.”

Now, the illustration seemed even clearer. Your eyes focused on the image—a castle, a dragon, and two figures standing side by side. Brigid and King Jeoyoung. A small bright star at the far right corner of the illustration.

“That’s not you, nerd,” Wooyoung chimed in, breaking the solemn silence. He smirked as you rolled up the paper and smacked him lightly on the head. “I know it’s not me,” you retorted, voice slightly muffled from the clogged nose as you try not to suppress a smile. “But my grandma and I do look alike.”

“Of course she’s your grandma!” Wooyoung countered, grabbing a nearby paper, rolling it up, and swatting you back. The room collectively groaned as the two of you bickered although relief from your light impact on the topic about Jongho. San stepped between you, snatching the makeshift weapons from your hands. “Enough. Brigid, you’re uncovering answers about your past. And Wooyoung, focus!”

“You two seriously…” Seonghwa muttered, shaking his head.

You turned back to Yunho, an apologetic smile on your lips as he chuckled, shaking his head. You were eager to redirect the conversation. “So, you’re saying I traveled here because my great-grandmother was Brigid’s daughter?”

Yunho nodded solemnly. “Their story ended mysteriously, leaving few answers. But since you’re here…” He motioned for Hongjoong, who handed you a book.

“This,” Hongjoong said, his voice calm and steady, “was stored in our library. It’s written by your great-grandfather, recounting Brigid’s life and her legacy.”

Your fingers trembled as you took the book. The cover was worn but familiar, as though it had been waiting for you.

“So… I can go back and forth between this world and mine?” you asked hesitantly, the initial thought of having two worlds that you can travel as portals existed. An awkward silence fell over the room. Most of them avoided your gaze, save for Wooyoung, who, ever confident, spoke up. “Even if you’re connected to both, a life you belong to will stay rooted where it is.”

Your heart sank at his words, looking around to confirm what Wooyoung said. “So… I can’t?”

Mingi shook his head slowly, the solemn expression on his face making the reality even harder to bear. The weight of the revelation hit you—this might be the last time you’d see this world, this other version of yourself, or the people who had become so dear to you.

“Each universe holds its own imperfections,” Noella said softly, her smile tinged with bittersweet understanding. “Not everything works out the way we want, but each world functions as it should. Pain, imperfection—they make the universe what it is.”

Her words lingered in your mind as the group fell quiet. Then Wooyoung’s voice broke the silence. “Nerdy girl…” You turned to him, noticing the uncharacteristic seriousness in his expression.

“You might have the chance to go home,” Your heart lifted slightly at his words, “We’re going home?!” you said, optimism lacing your voice.

But Wooyoung didn’t smile back. His solemnity deepened as he shook his head. “No… “ His eyes look around as though the final news or whatever vibe you failed to notice from the beginning dawns at you as this meeting was not all about your family tree line.

Your face pale as you look at Wooyoung. You studied his face, searching for any sign of doubt, but all you saw was quiet conviction. His breath hitch as another set of fresh salty tears were in the corner of your eyes. His nose had burned from the upcoming tears, “I-I’m not coming with you.”

His words stopped you cold. “What? What do you mean, Woo?”

“This is my home,” he said firmly, gesturing around him. “This is where I belong.”

Wooyoung sighed, the weight of his decision evident in his eyes. “It may sound selfish, but I grew to love your world—being a normal person, a college student, hosting parties, making friends. But my only reason for being there was my mission. Hongjoong gave me a vision, a glimpse of what he saw. The answers were in your universe, and I had to find them. Now that I have finished my part and you save us all… I have no more reasons to go back.”

A lump formed in your throat as his words sank in. The time you’d spent together, the bond you’d built—it was all coming to an end.

“Wooyoung…” you began, your voice trembling, but he cut you off with a small, sad smile.

“I’ll miss you nerdy girl.” You swallowed hard, nodding as tears blurred your vision. Saying goodbye to this world, to him, felt like losing a piece of yourself. But as you glanced around the room at the faces you’d come to love, you realized that your journey had been about more than lifting a curse or uncovering your past. It was about discovering your strength, your place, and your connection to both worlds.

“Even if I leave,” you said softly, “I’ll carry all of you with me.”

Wooyoung grinned through his own tears. “And we’ll always be here—rooted where we belong.”

As you clutched the book to your chest, you knew that no matter where you went, you’d never truly be apart from this world—or the people who had changed your life forever.

The meeting had ended on a solemn note, leaving you feeling as though the weight of the universe was pressing against your chest. As San walked you back to your room, you clutched the ancient book tightly. The leather cover felt cool under your fingertips, but the knowledge it held burned in your mind. Each step felt heavier, the reality of your situation sinking deeper with every stride.

You couldn’t help but think about the people you'd come to care for in this world—the bonds you'd formed, the laughter, the struggles, and the unexpected moments of peace. Would it all disappear the moment you stepped back into your own universe?

As you entered your room, you stopped in front of the bookshelf San had crafted for you during your time here. Its polished wood gleamed softly in the dim light, filled with books and trinkets from your adventures. Your fingers ghosted over the edges of the shelves as your vision blurred.

San lingered by the doorway, his arms crossed but his expression open, watching your hunched shoulders and faraway gaze. He hated seeing you like this. A part of him wanted to say something, to reassure you, but how could he? The reality was as cruel as it was undeniable—you belonged to another world, and no matter how connected you felt here, this wasn’t your home.

With a deep breath, he stepped inside. “Hey…” His voice was soft, almost hesitant.

You turned slowly, your eyes meeting his for a moment before you let yourself lean into his chest. His warmth grounded you, a temporary solace in the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside. The steady beat of his heart was a contrast to the erratic rhythm of your own.

“I don’t want to leave,” you whispered, your voice cracking slightly.

San rested his chin atop your head, his arms wrapping around you protectively. “I know,” he murmured. “But you don’t have to feel sad about leaving us. You’ll always carry a part of this with you.”

You pulled back slightly, looking up at him with tears clinging to your lashes. His hand came up to brush a stray strand of hair from your face. “Wooyoung said there are people who look exactly like all of us in your world,” He said, yet you shake your head in disagreement as a frown settles. “But it’s not the same. The life we’ve lived here... it’s different.”

San gave a small chuckle, though there was a hint of sadness in his eyes. “Then make a difference,” he said, tapping a finger gently between your brows to ease the frown forming there.

“What do you mean?”

His expression softened as he cupped your face, his thumbs lightly grazing your jaw. His gaze held yours, sending a shiver down your spine as heat rushed to your cheeks. “If you want things to change, you take the first step. Change begins with you. Whether here or in yours, the journey starts with one choice— it's yours to take and risk.”

The sincerity in his voice struck a chord deep within you. For a moment, the ache in your chest lightened. But the thought of leaving this world, leaving him, still clung to your heart like a vice.

“San…” you began, but the words caught in your throat. He smiled faintly, his hands lingering on your face. “Brigid,” he said softly, then paused. “Or should I call you by your real name?”

Your eyes widened in surprise. You hadn’t expected him to bring it up, especially now. The sound of your real name slipping from his lips made your heart flutter unexpectedly, and a small, playful smirk crept onto his face. The Choi San smirk—the same mischievous expression, from yours and this, he wore whenever he and Wooyoung teamed up to prank Jongho.

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, despite yourself. “How do you always manage to make my heart race?”

“Because you already won my heart.”

Before you could say more, San’s gaze grew more intense, his hands steadying your face as he whispered your name again, this time with a reverence that made your breath catch. The space between you vanished as his lips pressed against yours in a kiss so soft, so full of unspoken emotions, that it left you dizzy.

Your hands instinctively found his wrists, your fingers curling gently as you gave in to the moment. The kiss wasn’t rushed or desperate—it was a quiet exchange of everything you both couldn’t put into words. His touch was warm, grounding, yet bittersweet, as if he was memorizing this moment in case it had to be the last.

When you finally pulled apart, his forehead rested against yours, his eyes closed as he let out a shaky breath. “No matter where you go,” he murmured, his voice barely audible, “you’ll always be a part of this world.”

“And... you’ll always have a place here.” He said as he guided your hand towards his beating chest. Both of your eyes locked once again. Tears welled up in your eyes again, but this time they weren’t solely from sadness. There was something else—a mixture of gratitude, love, and the faintest glimmer of hope.

“San…” you whispered, your voice steady despite the emotions threatening to spill over. He smiled softly, brushing his thumb along your cheek one last time before stepping back. “You’ll be okay,” he said gently, his voice tinged with the reluctance to let you go.

As he turned to leave, your hand ghostly reached out for him but pulled back, you clutched the book tighter to your chest, your gaze lingering on him. He turns around, “I’ll see you again, my sapphire.” Until he disappeared down the hallway. Alone in your room, you let out a deep breath, feeling both the weight of the decision ahead and the comfort of knowing you wouldn’t face it alone—not truly.

For even if this chapter of your life was ending, the memories and connections you’d made would stay with you, guiding you through whatever came next. As new tears streaked down your cheeks, you whimpered softly, squinting against the bright light that suddenly enveloped you. Instinctively, you raised your arm to shield your eyes, but the brilliance was overwhelming. Closing your eyelids became your only refuge.

When the light began to fade, you slowly lowered your arm. For a moment, you lingered, dazed and unwilling to accept the quiet truth settling in your chest: the pain of parting. It felt like the weight of everything you’d experienced crashed down on you at once, leaving you hollow.

A voice suddenly broke through your haze.

“Oh? You’re here?—Hey, why are you crying?”

Startled, you turned toward the voice and froze as arms wrapped around you in a tight embrace. The scent of cologne tickled your nose, bringing with it a bittersweet comfort. When the person pulled away, holding you at arm’s length, their worried eyes scanned your tear-streaked face.

“I’ve been searching for you for the past two hours!” they said, frustration laced with concern.

You furrowed your brows, confusion swirling in your mind. Slowly, you glanced around, noticing the Victorian-style room was gone. In its place were the familiar colors of your university. The huge ceiling fan spun silently overhead, and the muffled hum of students echoed faintly in the background. You were surrounded by bookshelves, their spines a comforting reminder of the library you frequented.

Looking back at the person before you, your gaze settled on their worried eyes. A faint smile tugged at your lips despite the tears that refused to stop.

“I... I’m okay, Mingi” you whispered, the words as much for them as for yourself. It was at that moment, you totally forgot why you were standing there inside the library and why you have tear stains in your eyes.

Heck you don’t remember why you have a book about “Stuck in this fairytale” on your hand and the page was bookmarked to where two people share a moment and the last thing that guy said is, “I’ll see you again, my sapphire.”

The following weeks passed in a blur. Though life had returned to normal, a strange sense of déjà vu lingered in your heart. It was as if the world was nudging you, preparing you for something.

Yunho had burst inside the library, startling the students and the librarian shushing him as he sheepishly apologised and rushed towards you both worriedly after Mingi found you in that library, dishevelled and confused. At first they thought you were so immersed in the story because of the bookmark to the two people kissing.

But they weren’t expecting you to react in a way that is out of yourself. “I— I don’t know … I don’t even remember having this book.” You whisper as your finger traces the outlines of the said prince of the story. A tinge of familiarity tickles your brain yet you couldn’t place a finger on it.

Both Mingi and Yunho stare at you confused and concerned as tears run down your cheeks. That day, they have to drag you to the nearest arcade place to distract you. It was successful despite the harsh winds of November hitting your face when you stepped out of the library. The wind was comforting even if it nips your skin, you look around as it just drapes around you in a warm way.

A week goes by and when you entered the university campus, Mingi had pushed you into joining the student council because of your steadfastness and stubbornness along with your fierce look. That was like weeks after your weird encounter inside the library. You knew about these two boys distracting you in whatever you were going through and you were thankful for that.

Back to where Mingi had written your name in the list of the student council. It was ridiculous at first because you weren’t that competitive but when you saw your opponents, it was like a sudden burst of fire or determination flared inside you.

And that is where the first time you met Wooyoung. He is loud yet his voice is fierce and strong. It was during a heated student council meeting. He stood out immediately, his energy and charm commanding the room. He caught you watching him and gave you a grin that made you feel both seen and challenged. Something about him felt... familiar, though you couldn’t place why.

“Fire playing with fire does get you burned but hey … “ He sticks his hand out, a smile on his lips, “Friends?”

You chuckle, gripping his hand as you shake it gently, “Friends, Wooyoung.”

Months have passed and you, along with your new friends, Wooyoung and Yeosang— that you met during your Christmas break. He works part-time in a museum that your mother took you to. He works to explain the illustrations. It was that day when the museum wasn’t that busy as always and you found yourself wandering around the goddess area as your mother yaps on one of the statues with your aunt.

“She looks like you.” A voice said. You turned and saw someone the same age as you, also staring at the illustration. If it were a different person, you would laugh and thank them politely but this person made your eyes widen and blush crept in your cheeks.

“I— Thank you?” He chuckles, turning to you. His side profile seems so perfect already but seeing his entire face plus the red spot on his cheek, it was that moment you have seen a statue alive.

“I meant it to be true. She looks like you, the curls and the redness of your hair.” He explains. You return your gaze to the illustrations and to be exact, the guy was true. It did look like you in some angles that your eyes gaze a little too long. “She is Brigit, she’s a goddess of the hearth, forge, and sacred flame.”

Nodding, yet your head tilted to the side when you noticed a creature behind her, it was something in your head that had been tickling you. Pointing, “Is that a dragon?”

He hums, “She gave birth to the first breathing dragons— actually before it was dragons, it was called …”

“Pseudodragons.” Your voice overlaps with his to which he finds shocking as he watches you stare with a frown on the illustrations. He walks up to you yet maintains the distance between you two, “It seems like you know more about this than I do …”

You turned to him, inside you were in confusion but there was a pull that this is going on the right path, “Perhaps … I do.”

Senior year arrived with its relentless demands, and your role as head of the student council kept you busier than ever. And as soon as you mentioned bloody works, you were walking around the campus to find Wooyoung because he decided to ditch at the last minute.

Grumbling, you huff as you turn down the corner and approach the open area where students go around in finding their designated clubs. As you pass by a desk, Jongho raises his head to place a banner on their table which is the student council.

You weren’t quite aware of the new member of the student council after your senior— Seonghwa— gave his position to you as the head chief of the student council. Jongho has been part of the student council for quite some time during the Christmas break, immersed in his responsibilities when he notices you, looking lost but determined to find something or someone. Before he had a chance to offer help— it was you who approached him but in a different matter— you’d hurried over to him, grabbing his arm just in time to pull him out of harm’s way as one of the string lights hanging above came crashing down where he’d been standing.

The moment left him stunned, but you only brushed it off with a simple, “You’re not hurt, are you?” He nodded slowly, still processing what had just happened, while you let out a relieved sigh, you were about to speak when Wooyoung appeared behind you, tackling you with his usual playful energy. Jongho heard you laugh as Wooyoung’s arm draped around your shoulder, pinching his side in response to his antics and it sent calmness in his whirlwind mind.

“Oh Jongho! You met my friend here! This is your head chief—” You elbow Wooyoung playfully as you look at Jongho, sticking your hand out with a smile on your lips.

“Nice to meet you Jongho.” When your hands clasp, an electricity zaps between you two. Both of you must have felt that electricity as you stared at each other with wide eyes. It was like something clicked in your mind that is yet to be known.

New Year’s came and went in a blur, and soon February arrived, bringing with it a campus draped in red hearts, pink ribbons, and mischievous little cupids seemingly floating over your head. The festive decorations felt like a personal affront as you groaned, dodging a massive bouquet of red roses that nearly hit you square in the face. A guy rounded the corner excitedly, oblivious to the near-collision as he hurried to surprise his girlfriend.

It wasn’t the romantic atmosphere itself that irked you—though, admittedly, it might have been a little of that. The endless barrage of chocolates, squeals, and hand-holding couples was grating.

"Seems like someone woke up on the wrong day," Yunho teased, leaning casually against the lockers with a knowing smirk. Beside him, Mingi, Wooyoung, and Jongho chuckled, clearly enjoying your irritation.

You crossed your arms and stopped in front of them, huffing dramatically. "Oh, hush! If I could abuse my position as head chief, I’d ban Valentine’s Day on this campus altogether."

Your indignation only made them laugh harder, and you retaliated by kicking off your shoe and playfully throwing it in their direction. Mingi barely dodged, holding his sides as he doubled over with laughter.

The moment was interrupted by Seonghwa, who appeared with a regal air, followed by Hongjoong. With a flourish, Hongjoong handed you a paper bouquet, while Seonghwa dramatically slung a glittering sash over your shoulders.

“Make way for the Queen of Hearts!” Seonghwa announced with a grin, drawing curious stares from passing students.

You blinked in surprise, looking down at the sash’s glittery letters spelling out the title. "Wait—what? Where’s this coming from?"

“Where’s the crown?!” Seonghwa called theatrically.

As if on cue, Yeosang appeared from the far end of the hall, carrying a delicate crown adorned with red and gold accents. He approached with his usual quiet confidence, gently placing it on your head and adjusting it until it was perfectly set.

“Perfect,” Yeosang said softly, stepping back with a satisfied nod.

The boys erupted in cheers, with Mingi and Wooyoung hyping you up so loudly it was impossible to hide your embarrassment. The attention from nearby students only made you retreat behind the paper bouquet, your cheeks burning.

“Alright, alright, let’s take it to the club room,” Hongjoong interjected, ever the responsible one, shooing the group toward a less crowded space.

As the group began moving, Wooyoung suddenly broke away, “You guys go ahead. I’ve got someone to meet!”

You furrowed your brows at his departure, curiosity sparking, but decided to let it go. You’d pry it out of him later, knowing Wooyoung couldn’t keep a secret for long. Back in the club room, Yeosang placed your crown, sash, and bouquet carefully on one of the tables before settling into a seat. His art and calligraphy classes kept him on the other side of the building most of the time, which explained why he often seemed like a rare guest among the group.

Seonghwa, always one to blend work with banter, perched himself on a table and gestured toward a stack of junior applications for the student council. “Head chief,” he began with mock seriousness, “what’s your verdict on the next batch of council hopefuls?”

You leaned on the edge of the table he sat on, scanning the neatly organized stack. "Honestly, it’s not just about their qualifications. It’s about their will and determination to balance the responsibilities of handling each club while keeping up with their studies."

Seonghwa nodded thoughtfully, his expression serious for a moment before a grin broke through. "You’ve been hanging around Hongjoong too much. That’s exactly what he’d say."

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. Being surrounded by this lively, supportive group had turned what could’ve been another Valentine’s Day to dread into something memorable.

As you were engrossed in the papers in your hands, Yunho let out a curious, amused sound that broke your focus. His sudden noise pulled your attention, and you turned to see him gazing out the window, his expression equal parts fascination and bewilderment.

“An eagle!” he exclaimed, pointing outside.

Your brows knitted together in confusion as you followed his gesture. Perched on one of the tree branches outside, a magnificent eagle sat perfectly still, its sharp eyes locked on the room. It didn’t move or flinch, even as the group began to stir around you.

“That’s odd,” you murmured, stepping closer to the window.

The boys crowded near the glass, each one squinting at the bird as if trying to decipher its intentions. You stood behind them, your curiosity piqued. The eagle’s presence felt deliberate, its intense gaze focused unwaveringly on all of you.

“Damn, this is creepy!” Mingi said, breaking the tense silence.

You chuckled softly, but your eyes remained fixed on the eagle. There was something about it—something strange and familiar. You let your gaze drift over its sleek feathers, its curved beak, and the way its piercing eyes seemed to follow your every move.

You tilted your head to the side, testing its reaction, and to your surprise, the eagle mirrored you, tilting its head in unison. A spark of unease fluttered in your chest, quickly replaced by a growing warmth. Your heart began to race, pounding harder with each passing second, as though something deep inside you had been stirred awake.

The room around you seemed to blur, your ears ringing faintly as an invisible force pulled you inward. Time slowed, and your surroundings melted away.

In a blink, you weren’t in the club room anymore.

You found yourself in a grand bedroom, lined with tall bookshelves that stretched toward a ceiling adorned with an intricate Victorian design. The faint scent of old parchment and polished wood filled the air, grounding you in the peculiar space. Your breath hitched as you took it in.

The room felt like a memory—something buried deep within you.

A soft creak broke the silence, drawing your gaze toward the door. Slowly, it swung open with an almost theatrical deliberation. Your pulse quickened, and you turned to face whoever, or whatever, was on the other side.

The sound of Wooyoung’s voice snapped you back to the present before you could make sense of the vision.

“Hey guys, I want you all to meet the newest member of our group,” Wooyoung announced, his voice tinged with excitement.

You blinked, disoriented but drawn to the scene unfolding before you. Wooyoung stepped aside to reveal a figure standing in the doorway.

He had striking red hair that seemed to glow under the sunlight streaming through the windows. Tall and poised, he carried himself with the regal air of a prince, bowing gracefully as if he were greeting nobility.

“This is San,” Wooyoung said, throwing a casual arm around the newcomer’s shoulders. “He’s one of my closest friends through my mom. Thought it was time for you to meet him.”

As San lifted his gaze, his eyes locked onto yours with startling intensity. For a moment, the world seemed to pause. His lips curled into a small, knowing smile, and his eyes held a glimmer of recognition—as if he’d been waiting for this moment.

“It’s nice to meet you again, my sapphire,” he said, his voice smooth and resonant, carrying a weight that made your heart skip a beat. The words struck you like a bolt of lightning, your chest tightening as memories, emotions, and fragments of something familiar surged forward. It all clicked—the faces, the connections, the inexplicable feelings.

You weren’t just reliving your past; you were stepping into it all over again. But this time, in your own time and path.

And this time, you vowed to cherish every moment, whether things felt too good to be true or overwhelming to comprehend. You reminded yourself to believe that everything happens for a reason. Meeting people who fit perfectly into your world, who understand you deeply, or experiencing stories that surpass your wildest expectations—all of it had already begun unfolding.

Exaggerating these moments, highlighting their significance, felt necessary because they were pieces of something greater. They were reminders that life, in all its unpredictability, is a story worth living.

Life back then may not be the same as the life you have now, but what makes it extraordinary is that you were the one who started it. You made the choice to step forward, to embrace the unknown. Let it flow, wherever it may go. Let it be what it’s meant to be. And most importantly, learn from it.

In doing so, you found not just a story to live, but a reason to thrive.

𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔢𝔫𝔡

taglist: @passerbyforfun . @seongwars . @candied-czennie . @ffenjoyerdazme . @jiwoongsblondehair

#ateez #ateez imagines #ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez scenarios #ateez choi san #san ateez #ateez san #choi san #ateez san fluff #ateez san x reader #ateez fluff #ateez atiny #choi san fluff #choi san x reader #choi san ateez

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wileys-russo · 1 year ago

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hey!! could i request a little fluffy kcc fic where it’s like ‘the 5 times you and kyra almost kissed and the 1 time u did’ or sumth like that :P

the five times you almost kissed kyra, and the one time you did II k.cooney-cross

this is a super cute concept, maybe I’ll make this a lil prompt series for different players 🫶🏻

@celmeme this one’s for you bby

the five times you almost kissed kyra, and the one time you did II k.cooney-cross

one. you'd befriended kyra since the very first day the two of you had signed for melbourne victory. having played alongside one another a few times before in the young matildas a few years prior you knew of each other, but beyond that you’d really not interacted all that much at all.

you'd grown a lot closer at victory, being the same age you often roomed together for away games and through nights spent filled with breathless laughter, poor dad jokes and card games your friendship deepened.

you hadn't realized you felt much more for her than loving her like your best friend until it was during one of those sleepless sleepovers, the two of you clutching at your stomachs as your guts hurt from the deep belly laughs you desperately tried to stifle into your hands.

you were sprawled out on her bed, your own laying untouched with both your cases on it, clothes flung messily around the room as the two of you came down from a post win high, agreeing to pull an all nighter so you could sleep on the flight home tomorrow.

kyra was determined to teach you a new card game, one she'd grown up playing that must have been a queensland tribute as you'd grown up in victoria and never once heard of it.

your growing frustrations at losing over and over were grating at your patience, but the more annoyed you became the more kyra's grin grew.

"i give up!" you huffed, throwing the cards in her smug face and flopping down onto the bed with a frown. "sore loser! sore loser! sore loser!" the girl chanted beside you, playfully smacking you in the face with the playing cards as she grinned.

she finally ceased her teasing and laid down beside you, the two of you on your sides so you were face to face. kyra challenged you to a staring competition, forever competing with you over anything she could, and you of course accepted.

though as you were practically forced to look at her, properly look at her, you couldn't help but be distracted as you locked in on all the little features which made her, well her.

the freckles which littered her sun kissed skin, arching over her nose and cheeks, the alluringly safe and warm pools of hazel which were her eyes, the dimples in each corner of her mouth as she gave you that signature cheeky grin.

and her lips, her rosy pink lips which sat there staring right at you, you felt a weird pull in your stomach and blinked, the girls cheering at her victory snapping you out of it.

you could have kissed the smug smile right off her face then and there.

two. you don't know how you ended up here, you hated crowds and you hated the feel of the sweaty bodies all pressed up against you, the sour tang of alcohol soaked clothing filling the air.

but when you glance to your left and see her smile, everything else just melted away and suddenly there isn't anywhere else you'd rather be than here by her side.

you'd lost the rest of your friends hours ago but neither of you minded, wanting to see different bands than they had anyway and you all knew where to meet up later once the festival came to a close and the six of you would begin your long walk back to the caravan park you were spending the weekend at.

you hear her yell in your ear that she wants to get closer, her favourite band are up next and she's been hanging for their set all day, they were the main reason the two of you even ended up at this festival in the first place.

neither of you were drinking, just soaking in the luxury of another blisteringly hot australian summer and having a week break in between the A League season finishing and the international camp starting.

you felt her hand slip into yours, squeezing tightly as she threaded her way through the throng of intoxicated bodies littered around you, glancing over her shoulder with an excited grin to check you were still with her, eventually settling a few rows back from the front of the barricade.

she chattered away happily to you, always having been the talker among the pair of you as you were ever an avid listener. you loved the way she spoke so animatedly, gesturing her hands around and throwing her whole body into a story, switching between personalities and accents to really make you feel as though you'd been there with her.

the sun setting behind the main stage casted a gorgeous orange glow on the eager crowd below, the next band announced as a deafening cheer ripped out the pack of festival goers, kyra screaming in your ear as she shook you happily making you let out a loud laugh.

it was a few songs in when two more of your friends found you, hands resting on your shoulders as kyra's face lit up even more as they started to play her favourite song. you laughed in surprise as she grabbed your hands, sunglasses teetering on the end of her nose as she sang to you, spinning you around and dipping you as your laughter only increased.

though your breath caught in your throat as she suddenly pulled your body into hers, pressing her sweat dampened forehead to yours and screaming the final few lyrics in your face, lips only a mere millimeters from yours

all it would have taken was a slight adjustment, a sudden burst of unwavering confidence and you'd have kissed her, you wished you had.

three. the first real bump in the road came when both you and kyra finally broke out of the A League and into the international football scene. she signed with hammerby and you with arsenal, and though you'd spent time on different teams when she'd moved briefly to the wanderers, you'd never had this sort of distance between you.

it meant for more sleepless nights but this time alone, the two of you staying up to watch one anothers respective matches when they were on, face timing as much as you could and keeping in as much contact as possible.

and though your feelings for kyra should have dimmed given the way you'd not seen one another properly for so long, it seemed the distance in between you two had made your heart grow fonder.

you found your mind constantly occupied wondering what she was doing in the spare pockets of time you had to yourself.

not that you really had to try to hard to imagine it given kyra texted you at least a hundred times a day with constant updates of her whereabouts, inner monologue and just sometimes the most unhinged random thoughts which popped into her head.

as the months ticked by you found yourself counting down to the next matildas camp, your stomach knotting at the worry that you might not be called up, despite steph and caitlin's constant reassurance you would be.

of course, you were, and not even thirty seconds after hanging up with tony did kyra's contact photo flashed across your screen making you smile.

"looks like i'll be stuck with you again in july." she sighed dramatically as the two of you chattered away and wandered from where a few of the other girls were huddled together for a movie night, sitting out on steph's back deck as calvin came to keep you company.

"oh show me!" kyra begged as you scratched at the furball with his head on your legs, switching to facetime and flipping your screen to show him, kyra cooing her hello's. "well well well and here i was thinking you were out here alone." you jumped slightly hearing steph's voice as she came to join you.

"congratulations on the squad call up, not that any of us doubted you both would be. except maybe this one!" steph playfully shoved your head as you handed her your phone, her and kyra catching up for a moment before your best friend bid you both goodbye, needing to get ready for training.

"god you're both such oblivious idiots." steph chuckled as she handed you back your phone. "and what's that supposed to mean stephanie?" you challenged with narrowed eyes as the two of you stood, the older girl shaking her head with a smile.

"it means you're both clearly obsessed with one another but too in denial the other feels the same way to act on it." she smiled knowingly, slinging an arm over your shoulder and whistling for calvin to follow you both inside.

"shut up." you grumbled, shoving her off and taking your seat back beside lia and leah. "you didn't deny it." steph teased with a wink, prompting several of the other girls to try and wedge their way into whatever the two of you had been discussing, you waving them all off refusing to continue the conversation.

though as you tucked your knees into your chest your phone vibrated and you glanced down seeing kyra had sent you a series of snapchats. you turned your body a little more for privacy and opened them, smiling as you clicked through the various selfies.

the last one your finger hovered over to click out of, kyra up close to the camera with her lips pursed into a duck faced pout, captioning it 'smooches for pooches' and telling you to give calvin a kiss for her.

but unbeknownst to your best friend, the only person you wished you could give a kiss was her.

four. the world cup had all but flown by, weeks felt like hours and with every match played your emotions became all the more heightened. you were lucky enough to get your starting debut in the game against canada, having been utilized as a super sub in every other game.

once you were informed the first person you sought out to tell was your best friend, who'd started most games and you knew would understand the electric combination of excitement and nerves wracking your body.

"i'm starting tomorrow!" you burst through the door of your shared room, making kyra jump from where she'd been previously laid in bed doom scrolling. your best friend let out an excited squeal, jumping to her feet and launching herself at you.

"ow! dickhead." you laughed and shoved her as she landed on top of you, sending the two of you tumbling to the ground, a tangled mess of limbs. "see! i told you! i toldddd you!" the brunette sang out with a grin, grabbing your face and kissing your cheek with a loud mwah, and you were aware of the blush you felt creeping up your neck, wishing nothing more than for her to kiss you like that but not on the cheek.

"i'm so proud of you squish." the girl grinned, the two of you standing before she quite literally tackled you onto the bed, beaming down at you as you rolled your eyes at the nickname. "god don't call me that." you groaned, the midfielder only squishing your cheeks together aggressively with her hands making you squirm and push her away.

"hey kid, breathe." caitlin chuckled behind you, squeezing your shoulders as you tapped your foot anxiously in the tunnel, peering out to the thundering screams of the pitch which awaited you.

"you've earned this, go and show the world why!" stephs hand came to rest on your cheek where she stood in front of you, captains armband sitting proudly on her bicep as you nodded, sending her an appreciative smile.

your best friend watched from toward the back of the line up, the pining look after you not lost on her other best friend whom you were also quite close with, the blondes eyes narrowing as a smile curled on her lips.

"i think that if she scores tonight you need to reward her by telling her how you really feel." charlie leant forward and whispered in kyra's ear, causing the girl to turn around and shoot her a glare, mumbling for her to shut up before facing forward again.

unlike the match prior the team kicked off with a flying start, hayley getting you all on the score sheet early on much to the teams collective relief, everyone feeling the pressure of two prior lackluster performances looming over them.

by the time the clock wound down into injury time you were three goals up and absoloutely flying. you hadn't expected to play the entire match, tony had given you the heads up you'd likely be subbed off not long after half time for some fresh legs.

but here you were entering the 100th minute, legs still pounding the pitch as you trailed after hayley, flanked by ellie on your left and kyra on your right as they passed between them as you moved into position on the other side of the box.

kyra's head popped up for a moment and her eyes caught yours, you sent her a grin expecting her to cross it over to charlie who was right by the post, but she sent you a nod and suddenly the ball was sailing toward you as a sea of red uniforms came charging in.

you jumped suddenly realising that if you didn't the ball would be easily clipped out of play by a defender. you went in blind as two canadians pressed into either side of you, then suddenly as your eyes squeezed closed and you felt someone crash into your midsection, something came bouncing off your forehead moments before you slumped down to the ground.

any pain you felt from the harsh tackle was immediately wiped away as the stadium errupted and bodies piled on top of you as the final whistle sounded to end the game.

you were drowned in kisses and hugs and slung over shoulders and passed from team mate to team mate, celebrating your debut goal as you couldn't wipe the shit eating grin off your face.

"look! see! you're a little fucking rocket." steph beamed, grabbing you by the shoulders and turning your body, pointing up to the big screen where your goal was replayed, your captain shaking you with an excited cheer, kissing your cheek before running off.

you watched the goal replay as a sense of pride unlike something you'd ever known began to creep through your body, drowning out the deafening cheers and chants of the crowd as you finally felt like you belonged here.

though the moment was cut short as a body crashed into you, sending you tumbling to the ground as your best friend hovered over you. "you fucking did it! you scored! you played the full game and you pulled out a banger in the last minute!" kyra screamed at the top of her lungs, tilting her head back as she sat on top of you and cheering as loud as she could up toward the open sky making you laugh.

"wouldn't have happened without your assist!" you smacked her chest as you sat up, kyra shuffling off of you as the two of you sat side by side on the pitch, her head falling to your shoulder as you both soaked it all in for a moment.

you felt a warm hand slip into yours, fingers intertwining and gently squeezing as kyra brought your hand up to her mouth, kissing it and sending you a smile so soft you could have melted into the grass beneath you.

and again you both felt the world slip away as your eyes remained locked, the two of you seemingly caught in a trance as without realizing you both began to lean in slightly, kyra's eyes dropping down to your lips before flickering back up, left eyebrow every so slightly raised as if asking permission for something.

however you were both brought swiftly back to reality as charlie suddenly launched herself on top of the two of you with a squeal, arms slung around your necks as both yours and kyras cheeks burnt red, both avoiding one anothers gaze as if it would turn one another to stone.

five. ever since the almost kiss after the canada game and the crushing semi final elimination, things with you and kyra for the first time ever had felt strained, awkward, different.

decompressing after a whirlwind world cup you threw yourself with pre season and a week away with your arsenal national teammates, you and kyra had hardly spoken bar a few painfully awkward text conversations.

you were both aware of how uncomfortable things had become, and of course you both knew why and wanted to speak about it, but neither of you realised the other was feeling the same. and for fear of rejection or losing your friendship all together, you both suffered through the rough patch silently.

but then, everything changed the day that kyra's signing was announced.

seeing it pop up on your social media's you found yourself overcome with waves of differing emotions. you were angry she'd not told you, sad that she hadn't felt like it was something she could have told you, over the moon that once again you'd finally be playing alongside one another at a club level, and absolutely terrified at the thought of seeing her again in person.

turns out your chance came quite soon, kyra arriving to colney for her first training session with the team meant she'd called you the night before. she'd apologised over and over for not telling you, explaining she was doing her best to keep it as under wraps as she could before it was announced given it was such a last minute buy and transfer.

this had then snowballed into the two of you spending three and a half hours on the phone together, catching up on everything and anything from the past month you'd not actually spoken about, things finally starting to feel a little more normal again.

"you nervous to see your little girlfriend squish?" caitlin teased quietly as she took her seat beside you at breakfast, causing you to send her a firm glare, ignoring her words. "girlfriend?" katie had then chimed in, a lot louder than your australian team mate as your eyes widened and you smacked a hand over her mouth.

"do you have any other volume than fucking loud mccabe?" you scowled, removing your hand and shoveling a mouthful of fruit into your mouth.

"well clearly someone pissed in your cereal this morning." the irishwoman clipped, not taking the teasing any further as steph arrived and sent both women beside you a firm look, having overheard their previous words.

"hey, you okay?" the older girl kicked you softly causing you to look up and send her a nod, gaze dropping back to your tray as you picked at your breakfast.

"girls!" you all glanced up at jonas's voice, your breakfast suddenly caught in your throat at the sight of the tanned midfielder standing beside him with a nervous smile as jonas introduced her properly.

seeing the clearly overwhelmed look twinkle in her eyes, masked to almost everyone but you, you grabbed your tray and quickly stood to your feet. abandoning your breakfast you were quickly by her side, squeezing her hip reassuringly and grabbing her hand, pulling her with you to start introducing her to all of the girls.

“do you think they’ll ever confess that they’re in love with one another?” caitlin quietly murmured to steph who smiled, seeing the obvious glances of longing you and kyra would bathe one another with when you assumed the other wasn’t looking, and the way your gaze’s would quickly flick down to the others lips as you spoke, clearly distracted with the turmoil of your hidden affections for one another.

“yeah you know I do, but when they’re ready.”

one.

things finally felt normal between you and your best friend again, well as normal as it could be.

everyday you’d find you had to catch yourself, getting a little too close with the tanned midfielder.

a hug perhaps lingering a few moments too long, hands grazing skin as the two of you brushed up against one another in training, causing you both to become flustered and overwhelmed and yet somehow you both failed to notice the others obvious pining.

you both felt the tension between you two growing, but determined not to form any cracks in your once again rock solid friendship you refused to acknowledge them, pushing your feelings deep deep down and ignoring them as best as you could.

until one day, everything bubbled over.

it was the window of international break, so with over half your team mates scattered across the globe with national team commitments you and kyra found yourself with a lot more uninterrupted time together.

the two of you had done a lower body workout together earlier in the day under the watchful eyes of kim and jen, steph and caitlin normally your assigned babysitters away on a weekend getaway in spain together for some much needed r+r.

finishing up the two of you were left to your own devices, kim and jen satisfied that with your energy levels seemingly at bay you and kyra could be left alone in the gym for awhile before you’d all link back up later for some drills.

“i bet you i can hang upside down on this for five whole minutes!” kyra challenged as the two of you messed around with the gymnastics ropes, swinging around like monkeys as kyra had control of the gym speakers, your favourite band blasting around you.

“no way. you’ll break your neck if you fall!” you warned as the girl simply sent you a cheeky grin and shifted her position so she could get her legs up and into the hoops she’d been hanging off.

“ky you could seriously hurt yourself.” you warned again as she waved you off and continued on with her task, stubborn nature kicking in as you sighed in defeat and moved in closer, hoping to be able to catch her if she fell.

“okay start timing me!” the girl ordered, pulling herself up as you rolled your eyes but tapped onto the timer of your apple watch as she dropped her body, now hanging upside down with her feet through the hoops.

“see! told you, piece of cake mate.” kyra beamed beckoning you closer as you shook your head at her, the two of you basically eye to eye given how high she was on the ropes. “i feel like spider man this is so cool.” the brunette giggled, face starting to go red as the blood rushed to her head.

“you wish.” you rolled your eyes playfully, moving a stray hair out of her face as a comfortable silence settled between the two of you, eyes roaming one another’s faces silently.

“you could be my gwen stacey.” kyra smiled though much softer this time, her hands reaching out for you as you grabbed them, fingers intertwining, breath hitching as she tugged you closer, the two of you so close that if you even turned your head slightly your nose would bump hers.

and just like all those weeks ago everything seemed to slow, the guitar riff currently booming around the gym ceasing to a quiet hum as you found yourself completely lost in the soft pools of hazel brown which stared at you, a subtle longing drawing you in closer.

kyra’s breath hitched slightly as your hands came to gently clasp her cheeks, your touch warm and comforting and familiar. your eyes flickered up to her lips as she ever so slightly nodded, her body screaming out for the exact same thing yours was.

ever so slowly, agonisingly so for kyra, you leaned in that little bit further until finally, finally, your lips met hers.

her lips felt soft, and warm and your stomach did a backflip as they moved against your own, her mouth slotting perfectly with yours as fireworks punched their way around your insides, the gentle touch of your best friend setting your hairs on end, goosebumps rippling your tanned skin.

“kyra! jesus christ get the hell down from there you’re gonna break your neck!” you jumped away from her as the sound of your captains voice rang sternly through the gym.

caught off guard kyra let out a squeal as her feet unhooked, sending her tumbling down on top of you, the two of you crashing down to the ground with a loud thud and a shared groan.

but as the scottish woman ripped into the two of you angrily your eyes still found kyra’s, lips curling into a soft smile and cheeks glowing bright red as you slipped your hand into hers, squeezing softly as kyra reciprocated your shy smile.

because to the two of you in that moment, nothing else mattered.

#kyra cooney cross x reader #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso blurbs #kyra cooney cross #woso fanfics #woso #awfc #matildas

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iceagebaby · 6 months ago

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Courier time!

Backstory under the cut, please give it a read!

Born into the Jackal raider tribe, Vels "Marie" Spolsky grew up in an world of gore and voilence. The Jackals, known for their cannibalism and chem addiction, were a gang in decline after a failed raid at Shady Sands. As a member of this group, Vels was quick to become another raider to shoot on sight. At 19, after countless failures, losses and injuries, Vels's instinct for self preservation and survival kicked in. He abandoned the remnants of the clan and joined up with the Followers of the Apocalypse, who, miraculously, took him in and provided him with an education.

Despite his partial redemption, Vels still struggled with his impulses. As he traveled with Followers caravans, primarily as protection for the followers, he began to take on various odd jobs. During this time, he learned to use a sniper rifle, compensating for his poor eyesight. Eventually, this led him to the Mojave Express, where he took on a delivery job.

After being shot in the head, Vels was left with scattered memories. While he retained parts of his past - his addiction to Psycho, cravings (fo4), feral tendencies, and scars, his sense of self was altered. Despite his almost-membership with the Followers, Vels was far from reformed. He remained a dangerous individual, only slightly less unhinged than his raider days, but at last with a sense of wanting to become someone better.

Relationship with Arcade:

When Vels stumbled into the camp of the Followers of the Apocalypse, bruised, battered and desperately seeking refuge, it was Arcade Gannon who first met him with a mixture of skepticism and unwilling compassion. Arcade, as well educated and morally upright member as any could be, had his doubts about allowing a raider into their ranks. Yet still, something about Vels' determination and willingness to leave his violent past struck a chord in him. There was something about him that piqued Arcade's interest. Perhaps it was the raider's genuine desire to learn or his willingness to engage in discussions and listen to him was somehting that drew Arcade in.

Their initial relationship was rocky. Arcade's compassion for Vels was restrained by his deep seated moral convictions. He couldn’t ignore the fact that Vels had been part of a group responsible for untold atrocities. Despite that, Arcade couldn’t help but feel some sort of respect for Vels' decision to seek a better path in life. He was snippy and salty in their interactions, often challenging Vels on his past actions and future intentions.

Vels, on the other hand, found himself inexplicably drawn to Arcade. He admired Arcade's intellect and convictions, qualities that were foreign and fascinating to him. However, his upbringing as a raider had left him emotionally scarred and unsure of how to form genuine connections, especially with Arcades reservations for him. His attraction to Arcade was palpable, but he struggled to understand these feelings, often resorting to defensive or aloof behavior.

Thetension between them became more pronounced when they traveled together with a caravan heading to New Vegas. As they traversed the wastes, a tense bond began to form. Arcade couldn’t deny that Vels was a capable protector, as did Vels began to apriciate Arcades prowess with his Defender and found himself opening up, albeit slowly and with great difficulty.

Despite the growing friendship, Arcade remained wary. His interactions with Vels were filled with sharp comments and moral questioning, a constant reminder of the chasm between their world views. Vels, for his part, tried to prove his commitment to change, though he often slipped into old habits under stress.

A year later, after Vels was shot and lost much of his memory, their paths crossed again. This time, Arcade observed Vels from a distance at first, noticing the changes in him. The feral edge was still there, but muted by a haunted look and a sense of disorientation. Vels didn’t recognize Arcade, but there were moments of odd familiarity in his eyes, fleeting glances that hinted at buried memories.

Arcade decided not to reveal their past association immediately. He wanted to understand who Vels became without the burden of his past. As they spent more time together, Arcade saw glimpses of the man Vels could be, not just the raider he had been. Slowly, cautiously, Arcade began to extend his trust, hoping that this second chance would allow them to find redemption and perhaps a deeper connection.

The man before him was different, yet familiar. He couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope that perhaps this time, their relationship might find a steadier ground.

#fallout new vegas #courier 6 #courier oc #courier six #sorry i wrote this without profread so there is probably a ton of typos #i'm starting to get in more solidly how i want my courier to be #and trying to work on expressions ;D #this is CRINGEEEE #and i am the queen of cringe #vels spolski #the surname is so fucking funny #arcade #my tag i dont want to put it in main stuff #my art #ice writes #if i get 5 notes on this ill be happy #reference

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prospectingnightnovel · 11 months ago

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Spoilers ahead:

So, as it is commonly accepted, and talked about in the manga: Laios prefers monsters to humans.

Laios does not care for the complexities of humanity - this is probably due to his autism, and his lack of ability to read people. From a child, he didn't understand why everyone hated his sister. In adulthood, he faced issue with Toshirou, because he didn't realize his "fake" politeness. Later on, he doesn't pick up on Kabru's desire to be friends until they pointedly say it.

This brings me to my next point... Why monsters? Why did Laios not become introverted? He could have easily left the army and started a bakery. He could have lived through others in a merch shop. Why was his fascination with the fantastical consume him? (Note: to a point him and falin did, if daydream hour is considered canon, Laios did join a travelling caravan and lived a "normal" life.)

INTRODUCE MY MAIN POINT!!!!!

LAIOS AND HIS CHILDHOOD DOGS!!!!!!

Even to his parents, Laios never felt like he could properly confide in them, thus he turned to the farm life he grew up with. Things that don't talk back, but listen attentively. His father, who was the town mayor, and his mother, who was pregnant at the time, possibly had little time to tend to him. It could also be due to his lack of socialization, which we don't know much about at this age, but we can later see that he never quite fit in with the town's children.

However, Laios doesn't continue to treat these animals as "inanimate objects", things that will listen to him without any response. Soon, animals become "people".

A boy who was rejected socially found family in dogs; thus they taught him much of what he knew. His behaviourisms make a lot more sense, I feel like, if you look at it this way. Dogs are blunt creatures - when they're mad, they bare their teeth. When they're in a good mood, they wag their tail and show their belly. Compared to humans, who you have to deeply analyse their smallest twitch of a brow, it's outright confusing.

But, in the end, Laios cannot hate humanity because he loves his friends. This group he's collected are all people he cares for, equally as much as his sister. Even in the perfect world - a world consumed by the dungeon - Laios does not have a desire to see his friends harmed.... because they are "simple" people.

Chilchuck is outspoken. He's not afraid to growl and snap his teeth, though he struggles with the secrets of his life, and is tight with his affections.

Senshi? He's one of the few who actively support Laios' interest in monsters. He offers advice without cruelty, and anything he says is always genuine and with the best intentions.

I think that Marcille is easily understood by both the Touden siblings due to this. She shows her distaste easily, and her emotions seem to pour out of her. You always know what Marcille is feeling. I think Marcille reciprocates that feeling: As confusing as his desires for monsters might be, she knows Laios will always be there for her. They are a pack. I found it interesting out of all the desires he might feel, he wanted Marcille to be safe and happy. And I would argue it wasn't simply due to the string of the manga, having Marcille as the previous dungeon master. It's a long build-up of their friendship: From the succubus scene to curing Marcille's nightmares.

#dungeon meshi spoilers #delicious in dungeon #dungeon meshi #dunmeshi #laios touden #marcille #dungeon meshi manga spoilers

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thyras · 20 days ago

Text

→ of new beginnings

PAIRING → halbrand | sauron x female!elf!reader

WORD COUNT → 6.4k words

SERIES → of sauron & the moriquendi

WARNINGS → 18+ mdni - mind manipulation s*x (bruh i have no idea what the heck to call it), unprotected p in v, masturbation (fem), reminiscing, lots of foreshadowing (LIKE LOTS)

SUMMARY → after the fall of your city and beleriand, you build a friendship with a certain elf by what seems like chance and over the centuries he welcomes you into his counsel. though your fëa grows restless as your wayward husband seems to grow in the shadows.

AUTHORS NOTE → okay so lots of quenya names and sindar names are used. i had to come up with so many that it made my brain hurt cause ya know I did not know if in the lore anyone knew sauron by mairon before the fall of numenor (could not find anything in any of my lore books) reader goes by her sindar name now only people extremely close her like celebrimbor and eärlindë use her birth name. this is where the canon gets very loose y'all ❤️ also I wanna premise that this story is basically a rewrite for my dark!reader fic, so from now on I will be implementing things from the original idea to keep it sort of in that wave length. also we will be slowing down with parts for a while as I am to the point where I had written to, so it may be a day or two until I get the next part up.

PARTS → one // two // three // four // six

Tears traced cold paths down your cheek, falling as silently as the ash drifting through the air. You turned back, stealing one last glance at the city that had stood defiant against time, a place you had watched rise and fall with the ages, now reduced to embers and smoke. Towers that once gleamed like stars in moonlight were skeletal ruins clawing at the sky. The air tasted of sorrow and soot, and your heart clenched as the truth burned within you: the shadows had come, as foretold.

A soft touch on your arm broke your reverie. You turned to see Eärlindë, her features etched with a quiet grief that mirrored your own. Her eyes, the color of an overcast sea, held you with a tenderness you didn’t deserve.

“Come,” she urged, her voice a melody too fragile for this broken world. “We have to keep moving.” Her hand rested on yours, warm and grounding.

You swallowed the storm in your chest. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, voice barely audible over the crackle of distant flames. “I’m sorry this all happened.” The words hung in the air, incomplete. You couldn’t bring yourself to finish the thought, couldn’t tell her who had truly done this. Who had torn her brother from her arms and led ruin to your gates.

You. It had been you. Blinded by a love as poisonous as it was intoxicating, you hadn’t seen the truth until it was too late.

“This is not your fault,” she said firmly, her words meant to heal. But they did not. They only deepened the wound, the knowledge that it was all your fault—a betrayal born from love.

You glanced back once more at the burning remnants of Laureandor, the jewel of your heart, now a scar on the horizon. Slowly, you closed your eyes and sealed that image away. The ache in your fëa—your very soul—was unbearable, but to keep moving, to survive, you had to let him go. You had to let the love you had for that beast burn with the city he had destroyed.

Ahead, the River Ascar shimmered beneath the moonlight, its current whispering promises of passage and pain. A voice called out, pulling you from your thoughts. You turned to see Eäriel responding to another elf, their voices weaving together in the growing darkness.

“Are you from Gondolin as well?” the stranger asked as your group neared the caravan of elves.

Eäriel shook her head, gesturing to your small, beleaguered group. “We are from Laureandor. Orcs attacked four days ago. We are all that is left.”

The stranger’s face fell, sorrow filling his ancient eyes. “Join us, then. High King Gil-galad has set up refuge across the mountains.”

Eäriel and Ulmoion exchanged somber glances before nodding their thanks. As preparations began to merge your group with theirs, you busied yourself helping the wounded into carts and steadying horses burdened with supplies. The sound of soft weeping and labored breaths filled the night, a grim symphony of survival.

You turned to assist one last figure, only to collide with an elf carrying a crate. The collision sent him staggering, the contents of the crate jingling ominously. He barely caught himself, and your hand shot out to steady him. His eyes were wide, not with anger but with fear, his gaze darting to the crate as though it held something more precious than gold.

“I’m so sorry,” you murmured, a faint chuckle slipping out as you noticed the spilled covering revealing bottles of wine. Your laughter faded as something else caught your eye—a glint of metal nestled between the bottles. An ornate hammer. One almost as old as you.

The elf’s voice, barely above a whisper, broke the moment. “Thank you,” he said, pulling the covering back over the crate in a quick, practiced motion. He turned to leave, but your hand shot out, gripping his arm like a vice.

“Did you steal that?” you demanded, your voice a low hiss beneath your hood. His eyes, wary and sharp, flickered over you before settling into an unreadable mask. The hammer in that crate wasn’t just a tool—it was a relic something from a place that shimmered with even greater light.

“Why on earth would I steal something that is rightfully mine?” His voice was low and sharp, like a blade drawn across stone. His storm-grey eyes, piercing and unrelenting, flicked down to the chain around your neck. They lingered there, taking in the fiery red jewel resting against the fabric of your gown, its light dim but unmistakable.

Surprise caught your breath. Instinctively, you clutched the jewel, the warmth of its magic pulsing faintly against your palm, and tucked it hastily beneath the folds of your dress. The movement was quick, but his gaze didn’t miss a thing.

A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, though his brow arched in a look of mock curiosity. “Perhaps,” he mused, his tone cool and measured, “it is you I should be accusing of theft?”

His face was still gentle, but there was a slight tension in his jaw that told you he was not going to take anything but the truth.

“Care to explain how such a treasure came into your possession?” he added. You swallowed hard, your throat tight, and fought to form a careful, elusive answer to his pointed question.

“I… inherited it,” you managed, the words thin and brittle.

The elf shook his head, stepping closer, his boots silent on the soft earth but his presence heavy and unyielding.

“I can recognize the work of my lineage,” he said, his voice steady yet laced with frustration. “And that jewel… it bears the unmistakable craft of my grandfather’s hands. Its design is not one to be mistaken.” His stormy grey eyes held yours, their depths now simmering with annoyance at your evasion. “So I will ask again, my lady—where did you acquire that jewel?”

You hesitated, each second feeling like an eternity under his piercing gaze. At last, you dropped your eyes, your voice lowering to a solemn whisper.

“It was a gift,” you admitted, “one that I bestowed upon my late husband.”

His expression shifted at once. The hardness in his eyes melted, replaced by a shadow of sorrow. The lines of his face softened, and he seemed to draw back just slightly, as though your words carried a weight even he could not bear to challenge.

“He returned it to me for safekeeping,” you continued, the words growing heavier as they fell. “But I shall never see him again.”

The silence that followed was profound, the grief in your voice settling between you like an invisible barrier neither dared to cross. He reached out, his hand brushing your shoulder with a softness that spoke of understanding, a gesture of condolence that stirred something deep within you.

“Please forgive me, my lady,” he said, his voice quiet and genuine.

You waved him off with a gentle smile, a mask of composure hiding the turmoil within. “I should not have accused you in the slightest, my lord. Forgive me—it is not every day one meets a member of the house that crafted the Silmarils.”

His nod was slow, his gaze weighted by a sorrow that seemed to rise from some hidden depth within him. For a moment, it lingered, almost pulling you into it, but then it faded, replaced by a measured calm.

“What was your husband’s name?” he asked, the question as delicate as the night breeze.

Panic flickered in your chest, though you did not let it touch your expression. You could not tell him the truth, could not reveal the name that would betray so much. Mairon’s identity was a closely guarded secret to you as it should be with who he was, but this elf’s knowledge and intentions remained a mystery.

“Among my kin, he was known as Mornatano,” you said smoothly. “But he held others, names he rarely spoke of.”

His brow arched, intrigue flickering across his face. “Dark Smith?” he repeated, the words rolling off his tongue with a hint of curiosity. “An unusual name for one who was gifted an honor of such noble origins.”

You shrugged lightly, maintaining the guise you had carefully woven. “We were both Moriquendi, my lord. As is my lady Eäriel, whom I serve as ward. She and I hail from the Nandor who chose to remain behind, though my husband’s origins were a mystery even to me. He never spoke of his kin.”

The elf studied you for a long moment, his grey eyes unreadable, as though weighing your words and searching for truths beneath them. You held his gaze, steady and composed, even as your heart raced. If he doubted you, he did not show it, though the silence between you hummed with unspoken tension.

“I am Celebrimbor,” he finally said, his voice steady, carrying a quiet pride. With a slight bow, he added, “Son of Curufin, and of the House of Fëanor.”

You inclined your head in return, the ghost of a smile gracing your lips. “Tintilmë of Laureandor,” you replied, your voice smooth, though you felt a flicker of apprehension when his expression shifted.

His eyes widened with recognition. “Wife of the Golden Realm smith, am I correct?”

You nodded, keeping your smile gentle, though a ripple of fear coursed through you. “Indeed,” you confirmed, the words light on your tongue despite the weight in your chest.

“Please,” he pressed, his tone eager yet polite, “you must tell me more. I never had the chance to travel south and witness his work, but I’ve heard tales—wonders that bordered on legend.”

A soft giggle escaped you, the sound as involuntary as the warmth that rose in your cheeks. Mairon had always had that effect on people, enchanting even those who only knew him by reputation. If they only knew the truth—if they knew the things you knew about him—the stories would be very different indeed.

Celebrimbor’s hand found your arm, a gesture of camaraderie, and together you rejoined the caravan, falling into step with the others. As the journey continued, you spoke of your husband’s creations, weaving stories of brilliance and artistry. You described the works of his hands with care, each word imbued with the love you still felt for him, though tempered by the sorrow that lingered in your heart.

Unbeknownst to either of you, this moment of shared admiration would one day ripple through the tapestry of your lives, binding you and Celebrimbor in ways neither could yet foresee.

Unknowing to the both that this would one day benefit the one they called Sauron, and his grand design.

“I wish to seek pardon for my sins,” Sauron declared as he approached Eönwë, his footsteps slow yet deliberate. The remnants of Beleriand stretched out behind them, a haunting reminder of the ruin left in the wake of war. He stopped a short distance from where Eönwë stood, the wind tugging at his dark cloak. “I wish to repent.”

Eönwë regarded him carefully, his bright gaze steady and unyielding. “I cannot give you what you seek,” he said, his voice quiet yet firm. He took a measured breath, trying to temper his suspicion. Sauron was not easily trusted, his reputation a shadow that stretched far and wide. Yet as Eönwë studied him, he saw something he had not expected—the glimmer of true anguish in the Maiar’s eyes.

This was not the fear of the Valar’s judgment. It was something deeper, something ancient and raw, woven tightly into the very fabric of his being. Eönwë felt a pang of reluctant empathy but dared not let it cloud his judgment. Still, curiosity gnawed at him, and against his better judgment, he asked, “Why do you truly seek pardon?”

Sauron’s brow furrowed, confusion flashing across his face. His hesitance was palpable, the normally unshakable being caught off guard. He hesitated, his shoulders stiffening under the weight of the question.

“If I am to bring your request to Manwë himself,” Eönwë continued, his tone softening slightly but remaining firm, “I must know the truth.”

For a moment, silence stretched between them. Sauron’s jaw tightened, his composure faltering as his gaze dropped to the ground. Embarrassment flickered across his face—an almost mortal expression, startling in its sincerity. The feelings he harbored for you weighed heavily on him, a vulnerability he rarely allowed to surface.

Finally, he spoke, his voice low and resolute. “I made a promise,” he admitted, his words heavy with emotion. “To someone who deserves a world far greater than the one I have wrought. A world I swore to give them, to share with them for all eternity.” His hand clenched at his side as he spoke, as though trying to steady himself against the gravity of his own vow. “I promised to break the curse Morgoth placed upon them. To heal what I have shattered.”

His eyes lifted then, meeting Eönwë’s once more. There was no malice there, no hint of the deceiver he had been. Instead, there was pain—a raw, unguarded pain that pierced through the façade he had carried for so long.

“But to do so,” he continued, his voice almost breaking, “I must first seek forgiveness. I cannot undo what I have done without the aid of the Valar. And for that… I must repent.”

Eönwë studied him in silence, the tension between them stretching like a taut string. He saw the conflict in Sauron’s fëa, the genuine longing for redemption tangled with the shadows of his past. Slowly, Eönwë nodded, though his expression remained measured.

“I will bring your request to Manwë,” he said at last. “But know this—redemption is not easily won, even for those who seek it with pure intent.”

Sauron bowed his head, accepting the weight of those words. He had made his vow, and he would see it fulfilled, no matter the cost. For you, his light, he would endure anything. Even the fires of repentance.

When Eönwë returned to deliver Manwë’s verdict, the tension in the air was palpable. Sauron stood tall, his form a dark and imposing silhouette against the fading remnants of Beleriand. But as Eönwë spoke, his voice calm yet resolute, the anger and fear simmering within Sauron rose to the surface, raw and unrestrained.

Eönwë’s gaze flickered with dismay as he finished relaying the conditions. “If you truly seek repentance,” he began again, his tone unwavering despite the fury radiating from the other Maia, “you must return to Valinor. There, you will be stripped of your power for a time and bound to your fair form. You will never again leave the Blessed Realm.”

Sauron’s hands clenched into fists, his knuckles white, but Eönwë pressed on, though the weight of what he had to say grew heavier with each word. “True repentance,” he continued, “requires sacrifice. You must relinquish what you hold most dear to prove your loyalty and virtue. Only then will Manwë lift the curse and free them from the shadow that stains their fëa.”

Sauron’s breath hitched, and his expression twisted with rage and despair. The thought of you—the light of his existence—being free of Morgoth’s curse should have been a source of hope, but the price demanded of him turned that hope to agony. To leave you behind, to know he would never again see the one being who had brought him peace in the chaos of his existence, was an unbearable torment.

Eönwë could see the conflict raging within him—the anguish and resistance. “This is the only way,” Eönwë added softly, his voice touched with a hint of sorrow. “Redemption is not given lightly, nor is it won without cost.”

Sauron turned away sharply, his shadowy cloak swirling around him, as if to shield himself from the weight of the decree. His mind raced, his heart torn between the love that had driven him to seek forgiveness and the sacrifice that love now demanded. How could he leave you behind? How could he give you freedom at the cost of his own soul’s greatest tether?

But there was no other choice. Manwë’s judgment was final, and if Sauron wished to fulfill his vow—to free you from the darkness that lingered within you—he would have to relinquish you forever. True repentance demanded nothing less.

That was not how it happened, though.

For all the cowardice he carried in his heart, for all the intoxicating taste of power he had once gained, Sauron could not accept the verdict. He convinced himself that he could do better, that he could stay in Middle-earth and use the brilliance of his craft to heal you and the world itself. Not through the will of Manwë, but through his own hands, his own cunning. Only then, he thought, could he feel true repentance—if it was he, your beloved, who granted you salvation as he had vowed so long ago.

And in that moment of defiance, he turned his back on the light once more.

The shadows welcomed him with open arms as he descended into darkness, his heart hardening against the call of redemption. He began to plan, his mind racing with schemes and designs. He would forge anew, build an army of unparalleled might, and reshape the world until it bent to his will. One day, he would find you again, and when that day came, he would hold the power to rid you of the curse that clung to your fëa.

No Valar would dictate his actions, no decree from on high would chart his course. He was no longer Mairon, the Maia who once walked in the light.

He was the Dark Lord now, and the Dark Lord bowed to no one.

You step into the small library, the scent of aged parchment and cedarwood enveloping you as your skirts billow softly behind. Light streams through the arched windows, casting golden patterns on the floor. Across the room, Elrond Peredhel rises from his seat, his warm smile lighting up the space as he strides toward you.

“My Lord Celebrimbor did not notify me you were arriving,” You say, Elrond’s hands gently clasping yours in greeting. “It is so good to see you.”

His expression is filled with genuine delight, and when he reaches up to touch your cheek, the gesture is imbued with a familial affection that eases the tension in your chest.

“It warms my heart to see you well,” he murmurs, his voice as soothing as a lullaby. For a moment, the two of you stand in silence, the years of friendship filling the space between you. Then, with an unspoken understanding, he releases your hands, and the two of you begin walking side by side toward Celebrimbor’s private study.

“Lady Eärlindë sends her regards,” Elrond says, his tone tinged with amusement. “She is most insistent, though,” he continues, glancing at you with playful mischief, “that you come to Lindon in a year’s time to celebrate her betrothal.”

“My dear Elrond,” you reply, meeting his gaze with a smile just as teasing. “You know well that Gil-galad and I are renowned for never seeing eye to eye.”

Elrond chuckles at this, his laugh a quiet, melodic sound that fills the library with warmth. “You and Galadriel share in that sentiment,” he quips, his eyes glinting with humor.

As the two of you make your way through the quiet halls, the air between you is light, the weight of past burdens momentarily lifted. Here, amidst the tranquility of the library and the company of an old friend, you find a fleeting but much-needed sense of peace.

Once you arrived at Lord Celebrimbor’s study, the elven smith stood near the side of the room, engrossed in a parchment held lightly in his hands. His head lifted at the sound of your entrance, and a subtle smile touched his lips, though his expression remained thoughtful. Elrond moved toward the centerpiece of the room—a display holding Fëanor’s hammer. His hand hovered over it, as if the weight of its history reverberated even through the air around it. You took a seat on one of the chairs near the edge of the room, watching the two elves, your mind already awash in memory and emotion.

“Fëanor’s hammer,” Elrond mused, his voice filled with quiet reverence. “The tool that wrought the Silmarils. The jewels that contained the very light of Valinor.” His gaze shifted briefly to Celebrimbor before returning to the hammer. “Strange, isn’t it? How one object could be responsible for creating such beauty—and so much pain.”

You met Elrond’s solemn gaze, your own face shadowed with sorrow. The pain was always near, a fresh wound that never fully healed—the burning of your city, the shattering of your illusions, and the searing truth of your husband’s identity. You breathed deeply, steadying yourself against the ache.

“True creation requires sacrifice,” you said softly, your voice carrying a wistful weight. You paused, allowing the bittersweet memory of your husband’s words to settle. “Something my late husband often told me,” you added, a fondness creeping into your tone even as Celebrimbor’s gaze softened with shared sorrow.

The smith stepped closer and rested a hand on your shoulder, the warmth of the gesture offering an unspoken understanding of the grief you carried. Your hand instinctively moved to the chain beneath your gown, its familiar weight a small comfort. Though it had been centuries since you last opened your mind to him, whispers of his fate persisted—rumors that he had disappeared into shadow after Morgoth’s fall. Yet deep in your fëa, you felt a stirring certainty that those whispers were untrue, that somewhere, he still lingered.

“They say Morgoth found the Silmarils so beautiful,” Celebrimbor began, his voice contemplative, “that after he stole them, he spent weeks gazing into their depths, unable to do anything else.” His hand squeezed your shoulder briefly before he moved to the hammer, lifting it gently in his hands. “It was only when one of his tears fell upon them, and he saw his reflection twisted by his evil,”

You smiled faintly, a memory of long ago surfacing—a time when you had accused Celebrimbor of stealing the very hammer he now held. A soft laugh escaped you, the moment so distant it felt almost like a dream.

You were a tome of your husband’s work, never truly forgetting how a great smith of Aulë himself crafted marvels and forged minds as well as hearts to his work. The secrets you carried, the deeper truths of your husband’s legacy, remained locked within you, known only to you and him. Yet the wisdom you shared with Celebrimbor had undoubtedly shaped his work, even if the deepest truths were withheld.

“That the reverie was broken,” Celebrimbor finished his thought. “From, that moment, he looked upon the light no more.” He sighed, envy and awe mingling in his tone. “Fëanor’s work nearly turned the heart of the great foe himself,” he marveled, a short, incredulous laugh escaping him. “What has mine ever accomplished?”

You stood and approached him, your voice gentle. “It has turned our hearts, my lord.”

Celebrimbor glanced at you, his expression questioning, but Elrond nodded in agreement, his voice steady as he added, “It has turned many an elf’s heart.”

The smith’s gaze shifted between the two of you, uncertainty softening his posture. “My work will never compare to your husband’s,” he said, almost reluctantly. “For he was revered as one as great as Aulë himself, even surpassing Fëanor in his craft.”

Elrond turned to you, his brow furrowed in surprise. “You never told me your husband was a smith.”

You shrugged lightly, offering a pleasant smile. “There is a great deal I have not told you. But that is neither here nor there.”

Celebrimbor interjected, his voice carrying an almost teasing reverence. “My lady, Thilwen, is quite the expert on her husband’s craft.” The Sindarin name, though still strange to you, had grown familiar in this land. It was a shield of obscurity, one that kept the curious at bay. “She remains a great help to my work, even now as we aspire to do far more than both Fëanor and Morion.”

A shiver slid down your spine at the mention of the name, so close to the truth it was almost too much to bear. You swallowed hard, trying to mask the unease that briefly flickered across your face. If either elf noticed, they gave no indication.

“My lady?” Celebrimbor prompted, his voice pulling you back to the present.

You crossed the room to the drawing table, your fingers brushing against the neatly arranged parchments. “An age ago, our kind brought war to these shores,” you said softly. “Now, we wish to fill them with beauty.”

Celebrimbor joined you, his presence steady at your side, as you reached for a few pieces of parchment and began to unfurl the plans for the new forge he wished to create. Together, you sought to transform pain into beauty, forging a new legacy for the ages.

As if it could somehow soothe the guilt that gnawed at your heart, the weight of everything you had brought to ruin through your husband’s deeds lingered, a shadow that never fully lifted. Not a day passed when you did not think of those centuries, the countless moments spent in the light of him. Twined in his arms, the world seemed to disappear, and in those fleeting instants, you were bound not just by love but by the very melody of your fëar—two threads woven together by the Song of Ilúvatar itself.

You had been his anchor, the one who tamed the tempest within him, the breaker of the Shadow that clawed at his heart. But when the curse of his master fell upon you, the mark of Morgoth’s malice staining your existence, he faltered. In his desperation to shield you from it, the man he had become unraveled, retreating from the light you had brought into his life. He turned away from the path of redemption, the path he had painstakingly carved, only to fall once more into the abyss of his former self.

Morgoth had known—he had always known—what could unmake him. It wasn’t power or fear or promises of dominion that could shatter his resolve.

It was you.

You, his single weakness. You, his enduring light, the only thing that could pierce the armor of his resolve.

And so, when the curse reached for you, when it threatened the existence of the one thing he could not bear to lose, he surrendered. He fought with all the fire of his being, but it was not enough. The desperation to save you, to undo the harm wrought by Morgoth’s will, drove him to forsake the light entirely. He gave himself to the darkness without hesitation, sacrificing even his fëa, the essence of who he was, if it meant sparing you from the pain and ruin his master had promised.

In his love, he had lost himself. And though you carried his light still, it was buried beneath the weight of his shadow.

As you readied yourself for bed, the gentle strokes of your brush through your hair carried your thoughts back to a time long past. A faint smile curved your lips as an old memory surfaced, warm and bittersweet. It was not uncommon for your mind to drift this way, for elves never truly forgot, even when the memories brought pain. Your fingers lingered at the ends of your hair, and for the first time in centuries, you felt the faint, magnetic pull of the chain and ring calling to you from their place in the ornate jewelry box before you.

The pull was subtle yet undeniable, a whisper tugging at the edges of your mind. Slowly, almost hesitantly, you reached out and opened the lid. There they lay, nestled on rich velvet, their beauty undiminished by time. The silver chain glinted faintly, its luminous blue jewel as vibrant as the rolling waves of the Bay of Balar, alive with an inner light that seemed almost otherworldly. Beside it rested the ring, its band shining with a brilliance reminiscent of the Great Trees themselves, its creation born of love and the yearning of a soul that had once known no limits.

Your breath hitched as you gazed upon them, your fingers twitching as if to reach for them. But you did not. Instead, you closed your eyes, the ache in your chest swelling. You had closed the door to those memories long ago, sealed it tightly against the pain. It was too much to bear, too dangerous to relive. These trinkets, once symbols of unshakable love and devotion, had become harbingers of anguish.

For it was not just your heart they affected, but your mark. That cursed scar, the remnant of Morgoth’s malice, a stain you could not cleanse. Whenever you dared to wear the jewel or the ring, the dark tendrils of the scar would stretch further, twisting and writhing, their shadowed reach dimming the light within you. The shadows of your chambers would stir, the stillness broken by whispers that chilled you to your core. Sweet nothings, they would murmur, tender and cruel in equal measure, taunting you to follow their call into the Void.

You pulled your hand back sharply, the weight of the moment pressing down on you. The memories, the scars, the love—it all felt too much. Closing the lid with trembling fingers, you pushed the box away and turned from it, your heart heavy with the burden of a past that refused to be forgotten.

A soft sigh escaped your lips as your fingers brushed over the chain resting around your neck. Though it had once belonged to him and had adorned him for centuries, it now felt as though a fragment of his very essence was captured within the fiery red jewel. The light of his being seemed to pulse faintly there, a protective presence that wrapped itself around you, shielding your peace. Or perhaps it was the trinket’s origins—crafted from the purest ores and the most radiant jewels of Valinor—that imbued it with such a profound and unyielding power.

Your gaze lifted to the mirror before you, and you studied your reflection. Despite the weight of the Ages you had endured, your delicate beauty remained untouched, as vibrant and eternal as the first dawn of Arda. The glow of your skin, the timeless grace in your features, and the quiet strength in your eyes spoke not of weariness but of an existence that, though burdened by pain, endured with unbroken resolve.

A smile graced your lips, soft and wistful, and you were certain it was that same smile that had first captivated him. But it was not merely your beauty that had ensnared him—it was your fëa, radiant and unyielding, that had undone him. It was your essence that had drawn him from the abyss, pulling him so far from the darkness that he had nearly returned to the being he once was, before shadow had ever tainted him.

In your presence, his heart had swelled with a purity and joy so profound that it seemed boundless, uncontainable. It was a joy that eclipsed even the echoes of his master’s will, a light that had reminded him of all he might have been, and all he could still strive to become.

But Morgoth envied his serveant so that Eru had gifted him such a beautiful being to share his existance with, or he was so disgusted by Mairon’s enchantment with you, a being of orgins he wished to mock. And in that envy or digust he had taken Mairon and turned him back to the very being Mairon had fought so hard to extingush inside of him.

You rose from your seat, slipping off your robe and carefully extinguishing each candle, one by one, until the room was cloaked in soft shadows. Crawling into the embrace of your warm sheets, you settled against the familiar softness, though your heart ached for what was no longer there. Your head turned, your eyes falling to the untouched pillow beside you.

Fingers brushed lightly across its surface, tracing invisible shapes into the pristine fabric as if by some miracle, you might conjure the presence you longed for. You could almost see him there, the glint of emerald eyes gazing back at you, and the wild, gingery strands that always seemed to catch the light. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you imagined your hand ghosting through his hair, teasingly brushing against the delicate curve of his pointed ear before he would pull you close, his arms encircling you in an unbreakable hold.

A happier time, you mused, your heart heavy with longing. Closing your eyes, you surrendered to the ache, wishing for just one more moment in that long-lost warmth.

In your dreams was where you found him most. Though not as strongly as you once did. He would often invade your dreams to spend delicate but passionate moments with you in the days after he left. His fingers ghosted over every inch of your soft skin, bringing up the fire that only he could bring up inside you.

As you felt the wet ache fill you on this night, something was different. The shadows seemed to dance around the room more than they usually did. The usual pain you felt with them was no longer there, only the ghost of a touch that you had never truly forgotten.

“Mairon…” you whimpered in your half-dreaming state. The ghostly shadow touches morphed and molded into the warm caress of his perfect hands.

“My sweet Mori,” his voice whispered into your ear, the nickname sending waves of relinquished pleasure through your entire being. It had been an achingly long time since his lips had graced your presence with that name. “My divine Moriquendi,” his shadowy lips ghosted over your ear as you now felt the weight of his warmth encasing you. His teeth grazed against the shell of your ear as you whimpered against the touch.

“Please,” you whimpered as his shadows nestled into the moon of your thighs, right where he was made to be. Your fingers moved to push up your gown to reveal the slick opening before moving to run your fingers down to your needy core, your fingers tracing through the arousal pooling there. His ghostly lips traveled down the flesh of your neck to your clavicle as those hands ghosted over your breasts, drawing a sharp breath from your lips.

“Be a good and faithful wife. Show me how much you have missed me, divine,” You did as he asked, and like so many times before, you slipped your fingers into your needy cunt. You imagined him seated deeply inside of you, pushing at the door to your womb in a way he only could.

His touch grew heavier as he seemed to caress over the jewel and chain he once wore. You reached and wrapped your fingers around his wrist, a blissful smile touching your lips as you looked into those emerald eyes of the dreamlike version of your husband. His throat worked as he looked upon your face. “There is nothing I would not do for you.” You whisper, reciting the words you had told him when he confronted you about Morgoth’s curse and who he really was.

Those ghostly, pillowy lips met yours with a desperate force you had never felt in him. His fingers wrapped around your neck and squeezed lightly as the feeling of your fingers was replaced with the ghostly feeling of his cock. Thick and hard, veins creating the ridging that perfectly matched your own. Your hips arched into the touch as he began to rut into you like how he had done thousands of times before, though this time it felt completely different.

Moans and whimpers left your lips like the sweetest of christenings over this moment. The pain of his animalistic thrusts caused tears to fall from your cheeks in desperation for him to go harder and tear you apart, only to remake you into his perfect wife once more. His beautiful and divine elven wife, the very being his dark fëa called for.

“So good for me…taking all of me…” His voice panted against your cheeks as his lips ghosted over your tears, kissing them away. “So faithful…so loyal to me,” he said, brushing his nose against yours as you reached up in the dream and cupped his face. Your fëar singing in harmony once more as they had long been quiet for so long that you had almost forgotten what it felt like.

“Mairon—” You trailed off with almost a whimpered plea as your core coiled in need of release. “Don’t leave,” you pleaded. He kissed your lips once more and quickened his pace as his hand snaked down to meet your engorged mound, pulsing with impending release.

“I have you, divine; I will see you through this, I promise.” He vowed, and with that, you came over him in a relief that you had not felt in centuries. Your core pulsed against his ghostly cock until he rutted into you one final time, groaning as he now found his relief. He filled you with his essence once more, and you felt your body react in the same way it always had, arching to take every drop until he coated every part of your womb. Hoping and wishing for that miracle to finally happen. But it never did, and you had grown okay with that.

He took a moment to breathe before rolling his back onto the mattress of your home in that golden place, keeping you astride him so you were coated fully with his mark. You felt the warmth of his touch tracing up your back as you nestled into the crook of his neck. His smokey scent covered you in the dreamscape, pulling you deeper into this place. This moment was one you had wished to have forever.

But as with all the times before, his ghostly touch started slipping away. Though with one parting kiss, he spoke one last time. His fingers ghosted through your hair. “This is not the end, Mori, I will come to you, and we will have our forever, my love,”

And like a whisper carried away by the wind, he faded from the dreamscape, retreating back into the shadows that claimed him. Your heart clenched with an ache so deep it felt as though it might shatter. Your fëa reached out instinctively, searching through the vast emptiness of the Void for his presence, yearning for even the faintest trace of him.

But there was nothing—only coldness and the unyielding weight of the grief that had lived within you for centuries, filling the spaces where his light had once been.

“I’ll be waiting,” you whispered into that endless darkness, your voice trembling yet resolute. You hoped, prayed, that somehow he could hear you across the immeasurable leagues that separated you.

You were patient. You were loyal. And you would wait for him, even if it took an age—or many more.

#sauron x reader #halbrand x reader #the rings of power #trop fic #rings of power fic #sauron #halbrand #mairon x reader #mairon

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