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mahalachives · 8 days ago

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Part 9: The Rise of the High Lady of Autumn

Pairing: Azriel x F!Reader

Genre: angst, romcom, humor, fish out of water reader, canon (ish)

Summary: Murdered after a late-night study session in the modern world, you awaken in Prythian—still yourself, but with Fae features and the infamous title of Beron’s cold-hearted and ruthless daughter.

Then, fate snaps the mating bond into place between you and the shadowsinger, Azriel—who rejects it so fiercely, even the magic recoils.

You died a healer. You woke up a villain. Now fate’s mated you to who wants nothing to do with either—you’ll prove them all wrong, one heartbeat at a time.

Between Two Fires - Masterlist

The wind rushed past, cold against your tear-streaked face as Azriel's wings cut through darkness. His arms formed an unbreakable cage around you, keeping you pressed against the steady beat of his heart.

Below, the world stretched in shadow-painted patches: forests giving way to hills, plains to mountains, all rushing by as he flew with desperate speed.

You couldn't breathe. Couldn't think.

Eris was captured. Your safe haven in Dawn Court had crumbled in moments.

"It's my fault," you whispered, the words torn away by wind. "Beron wants me."

Azriel's arms tightened fractionally. "No." The word vibrated through his chest, against your cheek. "Beron sealed his fate the moment he betrayed you. What happens now was always coming."

The charm between your bodies pulsed with shared warmth, fire and shadow interwoven. It offered comfort where words failed, a silent promise that transcended the chaos below.

When the most imposing mountain range you'd ever seen loomed ahead, Azriel banked sharply.

You closed your eyes against vertigo, burying your face in his leathers. He smelled of night-chilled stone and cedar, of safety and danger in equal measure.

"Look," he commanded softly, his breath warm against your ear.

You opened your eyes.

And there it was.

Velaris. The City of Starlight.

Nestled between mountains and sea, it glowed with a light that owed nothing to the sun. Instead, thousands of lamps, pearl and gold and silver, cast their glow across buildings that somehow managed to be both ancient and alive.

A river cut through its heart, midnight blue and glittering with reflected stars. Bridges arched gracefully across the water, each one uniquely beautiful.

In this moment, suspended between sky and earth, you understood something profound: beauty could exist alongside terror. Light could persist through darkness. Perhaps this was what the bond had been trying to teach you all along.

"Home," Azriel offered, the word rife with meaning.

It wasn't a demand or expectation, merely an invitation. A possibility.

He circled lower, wings extended to catch thermal currents as he guided you toward a house built into the side of a mountain.

A balcony extended outward like an offering hand, glowing with warm light that spilled from tall windows.

"The House of Wind," he explained. "Where the Inner Circle gathers."

The mention of his family sent anxiety coiling through you. The bond reacted instantly, tightening between you as golden light briefly illuminated your joined bodies.

Azriel landed with practiced precision, wings folding with mechanical efficiency as he set you carefully on your feet. Your legs wobbled, unaccustomed to solid ground after hours of flight.

His scarred hand steadied you, the touch brief but grounding.

His eyes, normally warm when they looked at you, turned to ice as they shifted toward the waiting figures. "They're here."

The glass doors opened. A male of such devastating beauty it seemed almost cruel stepped onto the balcony. Violet eyes flickered between you and Azriel, noting the proximity, the lingering touch.

Rhysand's power rolling off him in midnight waves, stars glittering within that darkness like predator eyes. Yet there was wisdom there too, ancient and considering.

"Az," he greeted, voice cultured and carefully neutral. "I see your mission was successful."

Something in his tone made your spine stiffen.

Not hostile, precisely, but measured. Assessing.

"High Lord," you responded before Azriel could speak, straightening to your full height despite your exhaustion. "Thank you for your hospitality."

Rhysand's eyebrows rose slightly, surprise flickering across those perfect features. "Lady of Autumn. Welcome to Velaris."

Behind him, others appeared. Feyre and beside her, Cassian, his wings tucked loosely against his broad back.

And then, a golden-haired female, beautiful in ways that transcended conventional prettiness. Her eyes assessed you with such cold hostility it felt like a physical blow.

Morrigan. The cousin who had once been promised to Eris in marriage, before he'd left her bleeding at the border between their courts.

Your brother's victim.

The air thickened with tension as her gaze slid from you to Azriel, noting how he'd positioned himself half a step ahead of you, wings still partially extended in unconscious protection.

"What is she doing here?" Mor demanded, voice sharp enough to cut. "We discussed this, Rhys."

Rhysand's expression tightened fractionally. "Mor..."

"No," she interrupted, her beautiful face contorted with a fury that seemed to transform her from within. "This is Velaris. Our sanctuary. Our home. And you bring Autumn Court royalty here?"

Azriel didn't speak. Didn't warn.

His shadows simply expanded, darkness slithering across the balcony floor toward Mor like living things with purpose, with intent. The temperature plummeted so rapidly that frost crystals formed on the railing beside you.

"Az," Cassian said, voice low with warning.

Azriel's face remained perfectly expressionless, but his shadows darkened, swallowing nearby lamps with cold precision. When he finally spoke, his voice carried none of the gentle cadence he'd used with you. Each word fell like a shard of ice.

"She is under my protection."

Four words. Simple. Final.

Mor's eyebrows rose in disbelief. "We're talking about Beron's daughter. Eris's sister. Have you forgotten..."

"I forget nothing." Azriel's interruption was soft yet somehow more threatening than any shout. His shadows coiled tighter, their edges hardening into something closer to blades than mist. "Nor do I need reminding of my own experiences, Morrigan."

The use of her full name, not the casual "Mor" of five centuries' friendship, fell like a blow between them. Something fractured in the air, invisible yet undeniable.

The bond between you flared in response to the building tension, golden light not just briefly visible beneath your skin but radiating actual warmth that pushed back against the frost his shadows had created. It was like standing in a ray of winter sunlight, your joined magics creating a balance neither could achieve alone.

"I don't expect welcome," you said quietly, meeting Mor's hostile gaze despite the instinct to retreat. "Only temporary sanctuary."

"Well, you won't find it here," Morrigan replied, her voice cold as Winter Court frost. "Not as long as I have any say."

Feyre stepped forward, diplomatic mask firmly in place. "Perhaps we should continue this discussion inside. Our guest has traveled far under difficult circumstances."

"Our guest," Morrigan repeated with venomous emphasis, "shouldn't be here at all."

The charm against your chest burned painfully hot as Azriel moved, not toward Mor but toward you. His body shifted until he stood between you and the others, a physical barrier of muscle and wings and shadow.

"She is my mate," he said, each word precise as a blade strike. "That should be enough for you, for all of you."

The declaration fell into stunned silence. Even Rhysand seemed momentarily at a loss for words. His violet eyes widened fractionally, power momentarily faltering around him as the implications registered.

In that silence, you felt something shift within the shadowsinger beside you. A weight lifting, perhaps.

"Mate or not," Mor said, recovering first, "she's still Beron's daughter. Still Eris's sister. Or have you forgotten what Autumn Court nobility is capable of?"

Azriel didn't turn to face her, his body remaining a shield between you and the others. His wings flared slightly, an unconscious display of aggression that made even Cassian's hand drift toward his weapon.

"You know nothing about her," he said, voice midnight given sound. "Nothing about what she's endured or survived."

Cassian shifted uncomfortably, the movement drawing your eye. The general's expression held none of Mor's hostility. Instead, he watched the exchange with something approaching concern, recognition flickering in his eyes.

"Az," Cassian said quietly, "maybe now isn't the time..."

"There is no better time," Azriel cut him off, his normally controlled voice edged with emotion. "Before assumptions become actions."

Ember and Sizzle materialized on your shoulders, sensing your distress. Their tiny flame forms brightened defensively, casting warm, pink light across Azriel's shadowed wings.

In their appearance, you understood something about magic you hadn't before. It answered to emotion as much as to will. Perhaps that was why the bond had formed in the first place, answering to something beyond conscious choice.

Rhysand's expression shifted subtly as he studied you with renewed interest.

Feyre moved closer to her mate, her own gaze thoughtful. She slipped her hand into Rhysand's, a silent communication passing between them. As High Lady, she would understand better than anyone what it meant to be bonded to a powerful male, to have that bond form against all expectations.

"She can't stay here," Morrigan insisted, crossing her arms. "I won't have it."

Something cold and resolute settled in your chest.

The truth was simple. You didn't belong here. You couldn't heal in a place where your very presence caused others pain.

"She's right," you said, the words falling into sudden silence. "I shouldn't be here."

Azriel turned to you then, shock evident in his expression, his shadows momentarily dispersing with his surprise. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying I won't stay where I'm not wanted," you replied, voice steady despite the pain radiating through the bond.

"Where would you go?" Feyre asked, genuine concern in her voice. She, of all of them, had once been the outsider, the human in a world of immortals.

"Somewhere else," you answered simply. "Somewhere new."

"Alone?" Cassian's brow furrowed.

"If necessary." You lifted your chin, refusing to bend beneath the weight of Morrigan's hatred. "I've survived worse."

Azriel's shadows exploded outward, dark tendrils lashing the night air. The temperature on the balcony plummeted until breath fogged before faces. Even Rhysand took an involuntary step back, momentarily stunned by the ferocity of Azriel's reaction.

"You won't go alone," he growled, the words vibrating with conviction. "Wherever you go, I go."

The declaration stunned everyone into silence. Even Mor's hostility faltered, replaced by disbelief.

Your heart stuttered painfully in your chest. The bond between you blazed golden-bright beneath your skin, responding to the absoluteness of his choice. Through that connection, you felt what he felt, centuries of isolation crashing against the terrifying freedom of choice. Five hundred years of darkness giving way to a light he'd never believed himself worthy of claiming.

A choice made not out of duty or obligation, but something infinitely rarer. Free will.

"Az," Rhysand began carefully, "think about what you're saying."

But there was something beyond caution in Rhysand's voice now, something like understanding. His gaze flickered to Feyre, a silent acknowledgment passing between them. He, too, had once chosen his mate over everything else.

Azriel turned to face his High Lord fully, his body shifting to stand beside you, equals, not protector and protected.

"I have thought," Azriel replied, his voice colder than you had ever heard it. Gone was the shadowsinger who had flown with you through the night. In his place stood a warrior hewn from winter frost and ancient darkness. "For five centuries, I've served the Night Court. I've spilled blood and shadow without complaint or hesitation."

His wings snapped fully open, an intimidation display that made even Cassian take an instinctive step back. His shadows formed patterns of such complexity and rage that they hurt the eye to follow.

"But I tell you now, clearly, so there can be no misunderstanding." His gaze swept the gathered circle, lingering longest on Mor. "If the choice is between my mate and my court, I choose her. Every time. Without hesitation or regret."

The words fell like a thunderclap. Mor's face drained of color. Rhysand's expression remained carefully controlled, but something like pain flickered in those violet eyes, the understanding of a High Lord who might lose not just his spymaster but his brother.

Your body went completely still, breath caught in your lungs. Five centuries of brotherhood. Five centuries of loyalty. Five centuries of shared battles and blood and nightmares. And he would walk away from it all, for you.

The bond between you vibrated with the magnitude of his choice, golden light spilling from beneath your skin, illuminating the night around you both. It wasn't just light; it was truth made visible. Undeniable. Absolute. The warmth it generated seemed to push back against the chill, creating a pocket of heat around you both, as if the magic itself rebelled against the coldness of potential separation.

"No one is asking you to choose, brother," Rhysand said, voice deceptively calm despite the power now coiling around him like a storm waiting to break. His eyes, though, betrayed deeper emotion, the memory of his own sacrifice for Feyre shadowing his features. "There are other solutions. We can find another place within Night Court territory..."

"No," you interrupted, your decision solidifying with each passing moment. "This is your sanctuary. Your safe place." Your eyes met Mor's, acknowledging her pain without minimizing it. "Some wounds can't heal in the presence of what caused them. I understand that better than most."

"You don't have to leave," Feyre insisted, stepping forward. "Mor doesn't speak for all of us." She, perhaps alone among them, fully understood what it meant to be separated from a mate.

"But she speaks truth," you replied. "And I respect that more than false welcome."

You looked at Azriel, heart pounding against your ribs. "You don't have to come with me. This is your family. Your home."

Azriel's scarred hand found yours, cool fingers slipping between your warm ones with careful deliberation. "You are my home now," he said simply.

Through the bond, his emotions crashed into you, raw and unfettered: centuries of silent longing, of watching others find connection while he remained in darkness. The terrible, wonderful freedom of finally choosing something for himself. The fear of unknown pathways balanced against the certainty of what he'd found in you.

Not out of obligation. Not out of duty. But out of choice.

Cassian moved forward, genuine alarm in his features. "Az, think about this. Five centuries together. We're brothers."

Azriel's gaze shifted to Cassian, something almost like regret flickering briefly in those hazel depths before ice reclaimed them. "And brothers understand when one must follow his own path," he replied, though the slight roughness in his voice betrayed the cost of his choice. "This isn't goodbye, Cassian. Just... a different road."

"Where will you go?" Rhysand asked, power now visibly swirling around him, tiny stars coalescing and fading within the darkness that clung to his skin.

"West," Azriel answered after a moment. "Beyond Prythian's borders. Beyond the reach of courts and politics."

The words hung in the air between them, heavy with finality. Rhysand's face remained impassive, but his eyes, those star-flecked violet eyes, revealed the depth of his shock. Centuries of brotherhood, of shared battles and blood and loyalty, suspended in this single, fragile moment.

"I won't command you to stay," Rhysand finally said, each word weighed and measured. "I never would. But I ask you, as your High Lord and your friend, to reconsider."

Though his tone remained controlled, Rhysand's power betrayed his turmoil, stars burning brighter, darkness swirling more intensely. He understood the choice Azriel faced, had made similar sacrifices himself, yet still struggled with the reality of losing his shadowsinger.

Azriel's expression remained coldly resolute,"I've made my choice, Rhys. As you once made yours for Feyre."

The comparison wasn't lost on any of them. Rhysand had once risked everything, including his own life, for his mate. The parallel hung between them, uncomfortable but undeniable.

Morrigan stepped forward, her earlier hostility tempered by dawning realization. "You would really leave? For her?"

"Not just for her," Azriel corrected quietly, his shadows calming as they settled around you both. "For myself as well. For what we might become together, without the weight of past sins and obligations."

The admission stole your breath. This wasn't just about protection or duty. This was about something far more profound, a future neither of you had dared imagine possible. The knowledge of it settled in your chest like a stone, heavy with potential and terror in equal measure.

"At least wait until morning," Feyre urged. "Rest. Eat. Make this decision with clear heads."

Before you could answer, a sudden tug pulled at your awareness, a sensation like blood calling to blood. Your head snapped toward the city streets below, an instinct more primal than thought drawing your attention.

Chaos erupted below a heartbeat later. Shouting rose from the streets of Velaris, the sounds of panic reaching even the lofty heights of the House of Wind.

Rhysand was at the balcony's edge in an instant, power rolling off him in midnight waves as he scanned the city below. Cassian and Feyre flanked him, their own magic rising in response to potential threat.

"What is it?" Morrigan asked, moving forward despite her earlier hostility.

"Something's wrong," you whispered, the familial connection pulling at you with increasing urgency. "Someone's here. Someone of my blood."

Azriel's shadows stretched outward, tasting the air, gathering information beyond normal senses. His expression shifted from confusion to grim determination as they confirmed what your blood already knew.

"Lucien," he said, shadows confirming what his eyes could now see. "He's wounded."

You pushed past him to the balcony's edge, eyes straining to see through darkness.

There, in the street below, stood your brother. His clothing was torn and bloody, his hair matted with what could only be more blood. But he was alive, standing proud despite obvious injury.

"Lucien," you whispered, relief and fear warring within you.

Azriel's hand found yours, scarred fingers twining with your own. "I'll take you to him," he said, voice rough with shared concern.

As he gathered you in his arms and launched from the balcony, you caught a glimpse of the Inner Circle's faces, shock, concern, and in Mor's expression, something complicated that couldn't quite eclipse her earlier rejection.

The shadowsinger carried you down toward your brother with swift purpose, his wings creating eddies in the night air.

Landing lightly beside Lucien, Azriel set you carefully on your feet. Your knees nearly buckled as you took in the full extent of your brother's injuries, a deep gash across his forehead, burns along his arms, a limp that spoke of damage to his right leg.

"What happened?" you demanded, moving to your brother's side. "Where's Eris?"

Lucien's mismatched eyes were haunted, the mechanical one whirring erratically. "I couldn't get to him in time," he said, voice ragged with exhaustion and grief. "Beron caught him organizing the rebellion. He..." Lucien's voice broke. "He's torturing him. Using him as an example."

Horror flooded through you, cold and paralyzing. "No," you whispered. "No, no, no..."

"I tried," Lucien continued, the words tearing from his throat. "Mother above, I tried to reach him. But Beron's guards were everywhere. I barely escaped with my life."

Cassian landed beside you, having followed from the House of Wind. His face hardened as he took in Lucien's condition and his news.

"We need to get you to a healer," Cassian said, military precision taking over. "Then we plan our next move."

"There is no next move," Lucien replied, his voice hollow. "Beron has sealed the borders of Autumn Court. Every entry point is guarded by his elite. He's sent a message to all High Lords, any interference will be considered an act of war."

"And the rebellion?" Azriel asked quietly.

"Still fighting," Lucien confirmed, though his expression held little hope. "But with Eris captured... their leadership is in chaos. Beron is systematically hunting down anyone connected to the resistance."

The implications settled over you like a physical weight. Eris, your eldest brother who had risked everything to help you escape, was now paying the price for his defiance. The brother who had always seemed so untouchable, so invulnerable, was at Beron's mercy.

And Beron had none.

"We have to do something," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "We can't just leave him there."

Azriel's shadows coiled tighter around you, as if trying to shield you from a truth too painful to bear. "We won't abandon him," he promised, the gentleness in his voice a stark contrast to the coldness he'd shown his Inner Circle moments before. "I promise you that."

"But we need a plan," Cassian added, his battle-trained mind already working through scenarios. "Not a suicide mission."

You glanced back at the House of Wind, where Rhysand and Feyre still watched from the balcony. Morrigan had disappeared back inside.

"We still need to leave," you said quietly to Azriel. "But not until we've done everything possible for Eris."

"We'll find a way," Azriel agreed, his shadows swirling protectively around both you and Lucien. "Then we go."

Lucien's gaze shifted between you and Azriel, confusion evident in his mismatched eyes. "Go? Go where?"

"Somewhere new," you said simply. "The Night Court isn't the right place for me. For us."

Understanding dawned in Lucien's tired face. "Mor," he guessed, accurately reading the situation. "She's still blinded by the past."

"She has reason," you acknowledged, refusing to villainize someone whose pain was so clearly genuine. "And I won't heal in a place where my presence causes others to suffer."

Lucien's gaze shifted to Azriel, assessment clear in that mechanical eye. "And you? You would leave everything for my sister? Your court? Your High Lord? The family you've served for centuries?"

Azriel's expression remained neutral, but his shadows curled possessively around your joined hands. "I would."

The words shimmered between you, a truth so profound it left you breathless. The realization of what this male was offering, not just protection, not just loyalty, but a future built on mutual choice rather than obligation or duty, made your heart pound against your ribs.

"We stay until we've done everything we can for Eris," you said, your decision made. "Then we find our own path."

Lucien nodded slowly, acceptance settling in his weary features. "I understand. More than most."

The healing center of Velaris melded practicality with comfort in ways that spoke to the Night Court's character. Stone walls, softened by tapestries in deep midnight blue, captured and reflected the perpetual night of the city. Windows stood open to the cool air, carrying the distant hum of city life and the faint scent of salt from the nearby sea. Rooms glowed with starlight captured in floating glass orbs, their light gentle enough for healing but bright enough for precision work.

The air carried the distinctive scent of healing herbs: night jasmine to induce restful sleep, crushed moonberries for pain, and the sharp tang of wintermint for clarity of mind. Beneath it all lingered the subtle sweetness of healing magic itself, like honey dissolved in water.

Healers, quiet and efficient in midnight-blue robes embroidered with silver stars, had immediately taken charge of Lucien, guiding him to a treatment room where they now worked on his injuries with methodical precision. Their hands moved with the confidence of those who had mended far worse wounds than his.

You waited outside, pacing the smooth stone floor. Each step echoed softly in the quiet corridor, marking time like a heartbeat. Azriel stood motionless by the window, his shadows stretching periodically down the hallway, gathering information, monitoring for threats. His stillness made your restlessness all the more pronounced.

The door at the end of the hallway opened, admitting a slender female you had seen.

Elain Archeron.

"Where is he?" she asked, voice melodic yet urgent. "Is he..."

"He's being treated now," you answered, instinctively stepping forward.

Elain. Lucien's mate.

The female whose face appeared in his rare, unguarded moments, whose name he sometimes spoke in his sleep. The female who had sent warning, created diversion, saved Lucien's life.

Azriel's shadows maintained their steady patrol, neither reacting to her presence nor acknowledging any shared history. His face remained calm, completely unperturbed, as if greeting a casual acquaintance rather than someone with whom he might have once shared deeper connection.

"You helped him escape," you said softly to Elain.

Elain's gaze finally focused on you fully, wariness evident in her posture. Her fingers twisted a small silver ring with nervous energy. "You're his sister. The Lady of Autumn."

"Just his sister," you corrected automatically. "Nothing else matters right now."

Her eyes narrowed slightly, assessing you with unexpected sharpness. Then, apparently satisfied with whatever she saw, she nodded once. "He called for you. In my visions. Before they happened."

The words sent a shiver down your spine. "Visions?"

"I'm a Seer," she explained simply, no pride or apology in the statement. Just fact. "I See what's coming. Sometimes. Not always clearly. Not always in time." Her gaze drifted to the treatment room door, guilt shadowing her features. "Not soon enough for Eris."

Azriel's shadows curled inward at the mention of Eris, growing denser, almost defensive. "You did what you could," he said.

Elain looked at him fully for the first time, her expression complicated. "Az," she acknowledged, something like resignation briefly crossing her features at his professional demeanor.

Before any of you could say more, the treatment room door opened. A healer stepped out, bowing formally to Elain.

"He's asking for you," she said simply, stepping aside.

Elain moved forward, then hesitated, glancing back at you. "Will you come? He needs his family too."

The unexpected inclusion startled you. You looked to Azriel, whose shadows had gone utterly still, as if holding their breath. He nodded once, a tiny movement that nonetheless conveyed complete support for whatever you chose.

"Of course," you said, stepping forward to follow Elain into the room.

Lucien lay on a bed of midnight blue, his injuries already partially healed. The gash on his forehead had closed, leaving behind a thin red line that would fade to silver. The burns on his arms were covered in a translucent green salve that smelled of mint and something sweeter, like crushed berries. His mechanical eye had been removed for repair, the empty socket covered with a patch of dark silk.

His remaining eye widened at the sight of you and Elain together. Surprise, then something like wonder, crossed his features. Beneath it, you caught the flash of vulnerability, the momentary disbelief that his mate and his sister would stand together at his bedside.

"My two guardian angels," he said, voice rough with exhaustion but touched with genuine amusement. "Come to ensure I don't slip away?"

Elain moved to his bedside without hesitation, her hand finding his with practiced familiarity. The moment they touched, a barely perceptible sigh escaped him, his body relaxing as if a hidden tension had finally released. "You're not going anywhere," she said, the dreamy quality entirely gone from her voice. In its place was steel, determination, a will that seemed at odds with her delicate appearance.

His eye never left her face, drinking in her presence as if storing it against future drought. The nakedness of his need was almost painful to witness, a male so thoroughly claimed by the mating bond that even the presence of others couldn't mask it.

You approached from the other side, relief making your movements unsteady. "The healers say you'll recover fully."

"They always say that," Lucien replied with a weak smile, finally tearing his gaze from Elain. "Makes the patients feel better." His gaze shifted to Azriel, who had remained by the door, shadows wrapped tight around him. "They're treating me better than I expected, Shadowsinger. Your doing?"

Azriel's face revealed nothing, but his shadows briefly formed a pattern that might have been confirmation. "The Night Court respects loyalty to family," he said quietly. "Even when that family belongs to Autumn."

Lucien's eye narrowed, studying Azriel with unnerving intensity. The mechanical gold eye, temporarily removed, would have been whirring with calculation.

Lucien's expression sobered. "We need to act quickly. Beron won't keep him alive indefinitely."

"We need a plan," you agreed, anxiety clenching your stomach at the thought of Eris in Beron's clutches. The bond with Azriel flared briefly, responding to your distress with golden warmth that pushed back against the cold fear. "A way to reach him."

"I can help with that," Elain said, her dreamy voice returning, eyes going slightly unfocused. "I've Seen a path. Through shadows and flame. A way beneath mountains where guards don't look."

Azriel straightened, interest sharpening his features. "What did you See, exactly?"

Elain's gaze turned inward, focusing on something none of you could perceive. "A tunnel. Ancient. Forgotten. It runs beneath the border mountains between Night and Autumn. It emerges in a grove where the trees burn eternally without being consumed."

Recognition flashed across Lucien's face. "The Sacred Grove. It's less than a mile from the Autumn Court palace."

"How did you know about this tunnel?" Azriel asked Elain, his voice remaining professionally curious rather than personally invested.

Elain's eyes refocused, meeting his with unexpected directness. "I Saw it after you left the House of Wind. When I knew what you'd chosen." She shrugged lightly, acceptance rather than hurt shaping her features. "The Cauldron shows me what's needed, Az. Not what's wanted."

The atmosphere remained calm, without the charged tension of unresolved feelings. Azriel's shadows continued their steady vigilance, neither reaching for Elain nor recoiling from her. Whatever history lay between them seemed settled, at least on his part.

Lucien watched this exchange with careful neutrality, though his fingers tightened slightly around Elain's. The movement was subtle, possessive yet insecure. A male who had found his mate but still feared losing her, even to a male who clearly had no interest.

"This tunnel," you interjected, "can it get us to Eris?"

"Yes," Elain said, attention returning to you. "But not all of us. Two, at most. More would draw attention."

"I'll go," Azriel said immediately, shadows coiling with deadly purpose.

"Me too," you added, the decision requiring no thought. "He's my brother."

"You can't," Lucien protested, struggling to sit up. "Beron wants you most of all. If he captures you..."

"He won't," Azriel interrupted, his voice midnight-cold and absolute. "I won't allow it."

The conviction in his voice silenced Lucien's objections. The scarred male exchanged a long look with Elain, some silent communication passing between them.

"When?" you asked.

"Tomorrow night," Elain answered, certainty in her voice. "When the moon is highest. The guards change shifts. There's a gap in their rotation, seven minutes when the eastern dungeon corridor is unwatched."

"How do you know that?" Azriel asked, shadows stretching toward her as if testing the truth of her words.

"I Saw it," she replied simply.

The finality in her voice sent a chill down your spine. Azriel's shadows recoiled slightly, then settled into watchful stillness.

"Then we leave tomorrow night," you said, decision made. "And afterward..."

"You go your own way," Elain finished for you, no judgment in her tone. "West, beyond Prythian's borders."

Lucien's eye widened, realization dawning. "You're leaving the Night Court?"

"I'm not welcome here," you said simply.

The bond's golden light briefly shimmered beneath your skin as you spoke, carrying warmth and certainty despite the unknown path ahead. In that moment, you realized that "home" was no longer a place for you, but a connection. A bond not forced by fate but chosen in defiance of it.

"And I go where she goes," Azriel added, voice softening when he looked at you despite the distance he maintained from the others.

A complicated series of emotions crossed Lucien's face. "I understand," he finally said, gaze lingering on Elain. "Sometimes the place you're meant to be isn't where others think you belong."

Elain's hand tightened on his, an unspoken acknowledgment of his words. "I'll draw you a map," she said to Azriel. "Of what I've Seen. The tunnel entrance, the guards' positions, the cell where they're keeping Eris."

Azriel nodded, gratitude softening his severe features. "Thank you, Elain."

She met his gaze directly, simple kindness in her eyes. "Be happy, Az," she said quietly. "That's all any of us ever wanted for you."

The words struck him visibly, shadows briefly dispersing in surprise before gathering closer than before. He didn't respond, but his eyes flickered to you before returning to her, answer enough.

The bond burned beneath your skin, molten gold tracing veins of fire through your borrowed body as you walked the streets of Velaris.

Each pulse echoed the question that had haunted you since waking in this world. Which life is truly mine?

The Night Court's famed city of starlight unfurled around you in painful, breathtaking beauty. Artists captured moonlight on canvas beneath silver-starred streetlamps. Music spilled from taverns like liquid joy, mingling with laughter and the scent of cinnamon and sea salt. Couples strolled arm-in-arm, their faces illuminated by faelights hovering like captured stars.

Too beautiful. Too perfect. A dream you'd never dared imagine.

"Are you cold?" Azriel's voice slipped through your thoughts, quiet as shadow. He walked beside you, wings tucked tight, shoulders angled to shield you from curious stares without touching you.

You shook your head, not trusting your voice. The golden thread of the bond twisted tighter as another wave of panic crashed through you.

Eris in chains. Lucien fighting alone. Beron's flames consuming all you'd begun to care for.

Azriel's shadows reached toward you before retreating at your rigid posture. You pretended not to notice the hurt that flashed across his face when you stepped further away.

"Just ahead," he said, gesturing toward a townhouse nestled between two larger buildings. Three stories of pale stone with midnight-blue shutters, a small balcony dripping with night-blooming jasmine. "Rhys and Feyre arranged it. Privacy until..."

He didn't finish. Until you left. Until he abandoned everything for you. Until you made choices that would shatter one world or another.

You nodded and walked ahead, climbing the few steps without waiting. The scent of jasmine clung to your clothes as you passed beneath the flowering vines, sweet and foreign and heartbreaking.

Inside, the townhouse breathed quiet elegance—plush furniture in midnight blues and silvers, windows strategically placed to capture moonlight, walls adorned with paintings of star-strewn skies. A fire burned in the hearth, casting dancing shadows across the polished wood floor.

Too much. Too real.

The flames reminded you of Eris. Of his face when he'd declared rebellion against Beron. Of what your father must be doing to him now.

Not your father, you reminded yourself. Not your blood. Not your world.

Azriel stood in the doorway, shadows darker than the night outside wreathing his powerful frame. His face remained carefully blank, but his shadows betrayed him, curling into agitated patterns that revealed his concern.

"There are two bedrooms upstairs," he said, voice carefully neutral despite the golden light flickering beneath his skin whenever the bond pulsed. "You can choose whichever you prefer."

You moved toward the stairs without answering. Each step felt like wading through water, your limbs heavy with exhaustion and fear.

At the landing, you paused, throat tight with words you couldn't say.

Don't throw your life away for me. Don't sacrifice everything for someone who doesn't belong here. Don't care for me—please, don't care.

"I need to rest," you managed, the words hollow.

"Of course." The shadows around him shuddered with something like despair.

You turned away, entering the nearest bedroom and closing the door with a soft click that somehow felt deafening in the silence.

Alone at last, you sagged against the door, sliding to the floor as exhaustion claimed you. Ember and Sizzle materialized in twin pops of flame, immediately nuzzling against your trembling hands.

"What am I doing?" you whispered, voice breaking. "He's giving up everything for someone who can't stay. Someone with a body lying in a hospital across worlds, family keeping vigil, machines beeping out the rhythm of a life half-lived."

The flame bunnies chirped softly, climbing into your lap, their tiny warmth both comfort and burden. Hadn't they, too, become real? Hadn't this body, this magic, this life begun to feel more substantial than the ghostly memories of a human existence?

You pushed yourself up and crossed to the bed, not bothering to change out of travel-worn clothes. Sleep claimed you almost instantly, dragging you into dreams of hospitals and beeping monitors and sobbing aunts who had long since given up hope.

You woke drenched in sweat, heart pounding against your ribs with enough force to hurt. In your dream, Eris had been screaming your name as Beron's flames consumed him, the scent of burning flesh so vivid you gagged.

The room was pitch black, moonlight long since faded. The city below slumbered, only occasional lights visible in distant windows.

Decision crystallized in your chest, cold and final. You couldn't wait until tomorrow. Not with Eris suffering at Beron's hands. Not with Azriel preparing to throw away five centuries of brotherhood, of family, of purpose—for a female he barely knew.

For an imposter in a body not her own.

You dressed silently, strapping on the knife Lucien had pressed into your hands before you'd left the healing center. The blade thrummed with old magic, protection spells etched into its hilt.

Ember and Sizzle watched from the bed, unusually still, their tiny flame ears laid flat against their heads.

"Stay with him," you whispered. "I need to do this alone."

Your palm curled around the silver charm Azriel had given you.

Break it and I'll come to you, across any distance.

You removed it carefully, placing it on the bedside table. You wouldn't drag him into this. Wouldn't be responsible for another sacrifice.

You eased the door open, heart in your throat, and nearly collapsed at the sight that greeted you.

Azriel.

Sitting on the floor outside your room, back against the wall. His magnificent wings were folded tight against his spine, shadows wrapped around him like a living blanket against the chill.

Not sleeping—you doubted he ever truly slept—but guarding.

Waiting.

His head snapped up at your appearance, and the naked emotion in his eyes stole your breath.

Concern, yes, but something deeper. Something that made the bond sing gold and fire between you.

Shadows writhed around him, betraying his agitation even as his face remained carefully neutral. Several tendrils reached toward you before he called them back with visible effort.

"You're leaving." Not a question. His voice, velvet darkness wrapped around steel, betrayed nothing of his feelings.

"I have to try," you admitted, unable to lie to that piercing gaze. "For Eris."

"Alone?" The word carried more emotion than any outburst could have.

"Yes." You moved to step around him, refusing to acknowledge how the bond screamed against the distance you insisted on maintaining.

Azriel rose in a single fluid motion that reminded you what he was—warrior, predator, death on silent wings. He blocked your path without touching you, his body a wall of night and shadow.

"You'll die," he said. The starkness of it, the absolute certainty, sent ice down your spine.

"Better me than him." You straightened, meeting his gaze despite the effort it cost. "Better me than you."

Something fierce flashed across his face, breaking through that careful mask of control. "That's not your choice to make."

"And throwing away your life for mine isn't yours," you countered, frustration finally cracking your careful indifference. "Five centuries with the Night Court, with family who loves you, and you'd walk away for what? A broken bond with someone who isn't even supposed to be here?"

His expression shifted, surprise briefly visible before his shadows receded slightly.

"Is that what this is about?" The gentleness in his voice threatened to shatter you. "You think I don't know what I'm choosing?"

"I think you're making a sacrifice you'll regret for the rest of your immortal life," you said, forcing yourself to hold his gaze despite the pain it caused. "And I can't let you do that."

"Let me?" A ghost of a smile touched his lips, though his eyes remained grave. "I've been making my own choices for five hundred years."

The words sent heat curling through your veins, unwelcome and undeniable. The bond flared in response, golden light briefly visible beneath your skin, beneath his, a betrayal of bodies despite minds' protestations.

"Come downstairs," he said, soft as night breeze. "Please. Before we both do something we'll regret."

The request was reasonable enough that you found yourself nodding, following him to the small sitting room on the main floor.

Shadows settled into corners as you both sat on the same couch, a careful distance between you that somehow felt both too great and not nearly enough.

The silence stretched, alive with all you couldn't say.

"Why have you been shutting me out?" he finally asked, directness catching you off-guard.

You stared at your hands, at the borrowed skin with its too-smooth texture, its too-perfect nails, its too-bright veins of gold that danced beneath the surface like trapped sunlight.

"Because this isn't real," you whispered. "None of it."

"It feels real to me," he replied, the simplicity of it cutting deeper than arguments ever could.

"It's not," you insisted, looking up at last. "This bond, this world, this body—none of it belongs to me. And I can't... I can't let you destroy your life for an illusion."

His scarred hand moved slightly closer, not quite touching yours. Even that small movement sent the bond into a frenzy of golden heat beneath your skin.

"What if it's not an illusion?" he asked, voice dropping lower. "What if this is precisely where we're both meant to be?"

The words struck closer to your secret fear than you'd thought possible.

What if he was right? What if the hospital room was the dream, and this—this magic, this bond, this male whose mere presence eased an ache you hadn't known you carried—was your truth?

"I don't belong here," you said, throat tightening around the words. "My body—my real body—is waiting for me to come home."

Understanding dawned in his eyes, followed by compassion so genuine it hurt to witness. "The hospital. The human world."

You nodded, tears threatening. "I can't stay here, Azriel. No matter how much I might..." Want to. Belong to you. Need you. "I have family waiting. A life."

"And you think I'm following you out of obligation?" The question was gentle, offering understanding where you'd expected hurt. "Out of some misguided sense of duty to the mating bond?"

"Aren't you?"

His shadows stilled completely—a rare occurrence that drew your attention more effectively than any shout could have.

"I have spent five centuries in darkness," he said, voice so low you had to lean closer to hear, to breathe in his scent of night-chilled stone and cedar. "Five centuries as weapon and warning, as the nightmare that keeps enemies at bay. Five centuries watching others find connections I believed I could never have."

His eyes, when they met yours, contained such vulnerability that your breath caught. The golden light beneath his skin pulsed in time with your heartbeat, the bond singing recognition between your bodies even as your minds fought its pull.

"I thought I loved Mor once," he continued, the confession clearly costing him. "Then Elain. But it was always the idea of love that drew me. The possibility of light. Not the females themselves."

His scarred fingers traced patterns on the cushion between you, not quite touching you, but close enough that you could feel the coolness radiating from his skin.

"With you, it's different," he said, voice roughened with emotion. "From the moment the bond snapped into place, even as I rejected it, I knew. This wasn't just magic. This wasn't just fate. This was recognition."

"Of what?" The question escaped before you could stop it.

His shadows stirred, curling into shapes that reflected his words—wings and flames dancing together, darkness and light intertwined.

"Of the only person who's ever seen me," he replied, each word carefully chosen, heavy with significance. "Not the shadowsinger. Not the spymaster. Not the weapon." His voice dropped lower. "When you look at me, your eyes don't reflect centuries of blood and darkness. They show me something I thought I'd lost long ago."

"What?" you whispered, unable to look away from the raw emotion in his gaze.

"Possibility," he said simply. One word that contained worlds.

His shadows curled toward you with heartbreaking hesitancy, stopping just short of contact. "I'm not following you out of duty or obligation. I'm following you because for the first time in five hundred years, I've found something that's mine alone. Not given by Rhysand. Not shared with Cassian. Not demanded by war."

"I can't give you what you want," you finally said, each word a shard of glass in your throat. "I can't stay here, Azriel. I can't be your mate. Not permanently."

"Why?" His voice remained gentle despite the pain that flashed across his beautiful face.

"Because I don't belong to this world," you whispered. "This body isn't mine. This life isn't mine. And someday—somehow—I have to find my way back home."

His scarred hand finally reached across the distance between you, not grasping, simply offering. "What if this is home? What if that human girl is the dream, and this is your reality?"

The question struck deeper than you'd expected, touching the fear that had haunted you since waking in this fae body.

What if he was right? What if the hospital was the illusion, and this strange, magical world was where you truly belonged?

"I don't know," you admitted, the confession leaving you raw. "I don't know which is real anymore."

"They both are," he said, shadows forming shapes that looked like doorways, like bridges between worlds. "And whichever you choose, I'll respect it. Even if it means losing you."

The words hung between you, heavy with sincerity. This wasn't just about the bond anymore. This was about choice—his and yours. About making decisions with open eyes and full awareness of the consequences.

"Why would you do that?" you asked, voice breaking. "Why would you leave everything for someone who might not stay?"

His scarred fingers extended further, an invitation without pressure. "Because some moments are worth an eternity of loss."

Your heart stuttered in your chest, the bond responding with a flare of golden warmth that momentarily eclipsed all doubt, all fear. This male who had known only duty and shadow for centuries was offering you something no one in either of your lives had ever given: complete freedom to choose your own fate, without expectation or demand.

His shadows brushed your wrist, cool as night air, gentle as a whisper. "I would rather know you for a single heartbeat than live an eternity wondering what might have been."

The bond between you shimmered, visible now as golden threads spanning the distance between your bodies, delicate as spider's silk but stronger than steel. Each breath you took made them glow brighter, a constellation of shared possibility.

"Tomorrow we rescue Eris," you finally said, pulling your hand back despite the bond's protest. "After that... I don't know. I don't know what happens next."

Azriel nodded, accepting your withdrawal without question. His shadows retreated, curling back around his shoulders in patterns that spoke of restraint, of patience, of understanding beyond what you'd thought possible.

"One day at a time, then." He spoke the words like a promise.

"One day at a time," you agreed, rising from the couch. Your legs felt unsteady beneath you, the weight of his truths, of your fears, threatening to pull you under.

He stood as well, shadows gathering around him like a living cloak. "Would you prefer I remain downstairs tonight?"

There was no judgment in the question, no hurt, only simple respect for your boundaries. The consideration—so at odds with the fearsome reputation that preceded him—made your throat tighten with emotions you weren't ready to name.

"You don't have to sit outside my door," you said quietly, the bond aching as you forced distance between you. "But... I wouldn't mind knowing you were nearby."

The admission cost you, revealed more than you'd intended, but you couldn't bring yourself to regret it when understanding flashed in his eyes, followed by something that might have been hope.

"I'll be here if you need me," he promised, shadows reaching toward you one last time before he pulled them back. "Always."

You nodded once, then turned toward the stairs, unable to bear the weight of his gaze any longer.

In your borrowed bedroom, you sank onto the edge of the bed, Ember and Sizzle immediately materializing to nudge against your trembling hands.

"What am I doing?" you whispered to them, the question you couldn't ask Azriel. "What am I going to do?"

The flame bunnies had no answers, only warm comfort as they curled against you, tiny embers of promise in a night that seemed endless.

Outside your door, shadows whispered quiet vigilance, a promise kept without words. Downstairs, the shadowsinger of the Night Court—who had offered you his scarred heart without demanding yours in return—waited patiently for a decision you weren't sure you could make.

And in another world, separated by barriers of reality itself, machines beeped a steady rhythm beside a hospital bed where a body lay suspended between life and death, while family members whispered, "Please come home."

Two lives. Two worlds. Two hearts beating across an impossible divide.

The bond pulsed once more, golden light briefly illuminating the darkness of your room, carrying with it the echo of his words: Some moments are worth an eternity of loss.

Tomorrow, you would rescue Eris. Tomorrow, you would fight for family—chosen and given and made. Beyond that lay choices that terrified and tempted in equal measure.

You closed your eyes, the weight of worlds pressing against your chest.

One heartbeat at a time.

The High Lords converged on Velaris like gathering storm clouds.

The emergency conclave had been called by Rhysand after news of Beron's actions spread across Prythian. War loomed on the horizon, and even ancient enemies now sought common ground against Autumn Court's growing madness.

You stood on the balcony of the townhouse, watching as entourages made their way through the streets below. Each High Lord had brought a small contingent, enough to demonstrate power without appearing threatening. The air itself seemed to thicken with magic as they passed, a tangible pressure against your skin.

"Are you certain you want to attend?" Azriel asked from the doorway, his voice quiet. His shadows curled restlessly near the railing but never touched you.

You didn't turn. "I need to be there," you replied, fingers whitening as they gripped the cold stone. "For Eris."

Azriel said nothing more, but his presence shifted closer, a silent offering of strength.

The River House had been transformed for the gathering. The central chamber now held an enormous circular table, each seat marked with the sigil of a different court. Rhysand and Feyre stood at the entrance, greeting each arrival with careful diplomacy.

You entered with Azriel at your side, his presence a cold comfort as curious gazes tracked your movement. His shadows remained tightly controlled, but you could feel the tension radiating from him, a predator walking willingly into enemy territory.

Tarquin of Summer Court nodded politely as you passed, sea-salt scent clinging to his turquoise robes. Helion of Day Court studied you with scholarly interest, golden eyes missing nothing beneath his crown of light. Kallias of Winter Court remained expressionless, his silver-white hair contrasting sharply with his midnight blue attire.

Something strange fluttered in your chest at the sight of him, not recognition but a sudden chill that traced your spine despite the warmth of the room. You swallowed hard, attributing the feeling to general anxiety about the meeting.

The discussions began with Rhysand outlining the situation in Autumn Court, his voice measured despite the rage that occasionally flashed in his violet eyes. The rebellion, Eris's capture, Beron's increasingly erratic behavior. Maps were spread across the table, territories marked in colored ink.

"Winter Court has intelligence suggesting Beron has moved Eris to the eastern dungeons," Kallias was saying, his voice crystalline and sharp as ice. "Our late Lord Kieraven provided similar information before his death in the war with Hybern."

The name hit you like a physical blow.

Kieraven.

Your vision blurred at the edges, the room suddenly too bright, too hot. Your heartbeat accelerated, a fluttering bird trapped in your chest. Something about that name made your skin crawl, though you couldn't place why. Your fingers curled into fists beneath the table, nails cutting into your palms.

"These dungeons have access points through the servant corridors," another Winter Court advisor added, pointing to the map with fingers that seemed too long, too pale.

A phantom sensation of cold hands gripping your wrists flashed through your body. Your throat tightened as if invisible fingers pressed against it.

Beside you, Azriel shifted slightly in his seat.

To anyone else, the movement would appear negligible, a simple adjustment of posture. But you felt his attention sharpen, felt his shadows condense beneath the table, pooling around your feet in silent vigilance. His face remained impassive, yet something in his eyes had changed, a dangerous awareness that hadn't been there moments before.

"Are you well?" Tarquin asked from across the table, sea-glass eyes noting your pallor.

"Yes," you managed, though your voice sounded thin even to your own ears. "Just concerned for my brother."

The meeting continued, but you felt increasingly detached, a strange buzzing filling your head. Whenever your gaze drifted toward the Winter Court contingent, unease rippled through you, gooseflesh rising on your arms. You deliberately looked away, focusing instead on the maps spread across the table, tracing the familiar outlines of Autumn Court territories.

Azriel remained silent throughout, his contributions limited to precise tactical observations when directly addressed. But his attention never wavered from you, from the cold sweat beading at your temples, from the minute tremors in your hands that you tried to hide.

"The eastern corridor has twelve guards stationed at regular intervals," the Winter Court representative continued, "but there are passages between guard rotations where..."

Thirteen.

The thought came unbidden, bewildering in its certainty. There were thirteen.

"...where infiltration would be possible with proper timing."

When the Winter Court advisor mentioned "corridors in the eastern wing," your stomach twisted violently. Without warning, tears sprang to your eyes, though you had no idea why. The scent of frost and blood filled your nostrils, a memory that couldn't be yours.

Stone walls. Cold floor. Hands holding you down.

"The structure of these dungeons suggests a weakness in the northwestern corner," Kallias added, his pale finger tracing a path on the map.

Voices whispering things that couldn't be forgotten. Pain beyond naming.

You blinked back tears furiously, refusing to show weakness in front of these powerful beings. But Azriel noticed, of course he did. Nothing escaped the shadowsinger's attention, especially not concerning you.

His hand found yours beneath the table, scarred fingers wrapping around your trembling ones. A touch so light it might have been imagined, yet anchoring you to the present. His face remained distant, focused on the maps, but his thumb traced a small circle against your wrist, steadying your frantic pulse.

"Each rotation changes at midnight," the Winter Court advisor was saying. His voice seemed to come from far away, distorted as if through water. "Which gives a window of approximately seven minutes..."

Seven minutes. Seven minutes where no one came. Seven minutes of desperate hope before the eighth male arrived.

The room began to spin, colors bleeding into one another. Your lungs couldn't seem to draw enough air, each breath shallow and insufficient. The bond beneath your skin pulsed erratically, your borrowed Fae body remembering what your human mind could not.

When you tried to speak, your throat closed. Panic rose without explanation, your breath coming in short, shallow gasps. The room seemed to shrink around you, the voices of the High Lords becoming distant and indistinct.

A single tear escaped despite your efforts, tracking silently down your cheek.

Azriel was on his feet in an instant, his movement so smooth it seemed he'd simply materialized standing. His shadows flared around him, tendrils whipping in patterns that spoke of deadly intent, though his face remained controlled.

"My lady requires air," he announced, his voice giving no room for question or challenge. "Continue without us."

Before anyone could object, he had gathered you into his arms. Not gently, not tenderly, but with efficient, impersonal precision that would appear as duty rather than concern to watching eyes. His wings unfurled as he strode toward the balcony, his face a mask of cold indifference that belied the protective fury radiating from him.

"My apologies for the interruption," he said to Rhysand, his tone suggesting anything but remorse. "We'll return shortly."

Then you were airborne, the cool night air rushing past as Azriel carried you away from the River House. Your body trembled against his, tears flowing freely now though you still couldn't understand why.

"I don't know what's happening to me," you whispered against his chest, embarrassment and confusion warring within you. "I don't know why I'm reacting this way."

Azriel said nothing, his silence almost comforting as he flew through the darkness. The city fell away beneath you as he climbed higher, banking toward a sheer cliff face that towered over Velaris. Stars scattered across the vast expanse of night sky, cold and distant as ancient memories.

He landed on a small ledge invisible from below. A tiny flat space carved into the rock, overlooking the entire city and the sea beyond. A single bench made of polished stone sat against the cliff wall, worn smooth from centuries of use. The air here smelled of wild thyme and night jasmine, undisturbed by the scents of the city below.

"No one knows about this place," he said, setting you carefully on the bench. "Not even Cassian or Rhys." The admission hung in the air between you, significant in its rarity.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to stop the trembling that seemed to come from somewhere deep within. "I'm sorry for disrupting the meeting. I don't understand what came over me."

Azriel moved to the ledge's edge, wings partially extended as if ready for flight. His shadows swirled in agitated patterns around him, occasionally forming shapes that looked almost like protective shields before dissolving back into formless dark.

"You have nothing to apologize for," he said, his voice softer than you'd ever heard it.

"I do," you insisted, wiping at tears that wouldn't stop. "Breaking down like this when Eris needs us to be strong, to be focused..."

Azriel turned to face you, and the expression in his eyes made you fall silent. Not tenderness or concern, but something darker, more knowing. His shadows quieted, gathering close to his body as if containing secrets too dangerous to share.

"The body remembers what the mind forgets," he said, each word carefully chosen. "Sometimes it warns us of dangers we don't consciously recognize."

You shook your head, confusion only deepening. "What are you talking about? I've never even met these people before."

Azriel didn't answer directly. His gaze shifted to the city below, to the River House where the conclave continued without you. "The Winter Court," he said finally, voice so low you had to strain to hear it. "Your reaction wasn't without cause."

"I don't understand," you whispered, another tear sliding down your cheek.

He moved to sit beside you, not touching, a precise distance maintained between your bodies. His shadows, however, encircled you both, creating a barrier between you and the rest of the world. The scent of night-chilled stone and cedar enveloped you, bringing strange comfort.

"You're safe here," he said, voice gentle despite its underlying steel. "No one can reach you. No one can hurt you."

The words should have been comforting. Instead, they made you cry harder, great gulping sobs that seemed to rise from some hidden well of grief you hadn't known existed. Your body remembered something your mind could not access, a trauma buried beneath layers of magic and dimensional walls.

"Why do I feel like this?" you gasped between sobs. "Why does it hurt when I don't even know what's hurting me?"

Azriel remained silent for a long moment, his shadows shifting restlessly. When he finally spoke, his voice was carefully controlled. "Some wounds run deeper than memory."

You turned to face him fully, frustration cutting through your tears. "Stop speaking in riddles. Tell me what you know."

His eyes met yours, ancient and knowing and filled with a darkness that made you shiver. "I can't," he said softly. "This is something you must discover for yourself, when you're ready."

The bond between you pulsed, golden light briefly visible beneath both your skins. It thrummed with truth, with connection deeper than conscious thought.

"Your human life," Azriel continued carefully, "and this Fae existence... they're more connected than you know."

Before you could press further, he removed his outer leathers and draped it around your shoulders. The leather was still warm from his body, carrying his scent. The weight of it was grounding, pulling you back from the edge of panic.

"For now," he continued, "just know that your reactions are valid. That what you feel is real, even if you don't understand why."

The certainty in his voice gave you pause. There was more to this, much more, than he was saying. But the gentleness underlying his cold exterior suggested whatever knowledge he held was being withheld out of protection, not cruelty.

"Will you tell me someday?" you asked, pulling his jacket tighter around you.

"When you're ready to hear it," he promised, shadows briefly touching your hand before retreating. "Not before."

After a long while, when your tears had finally subsided, you found yourself leaning against him despite your earlier resolve to maintain distance. His body tensed momentarily at the contact, then relaxed, one arm coming around you with cautious precision.

You both sat in silence, watching the stars reflect on the distant sea. The panic had receded, leaving exhaustion in its wake. The night air carried the salt scent of the ocean mixed with the wild herbs growing in crevices of the cliff face.

"I sometimes think about what life would be like," you whispered into the night, voice raw from tears, "if I stayed in Prythian."

The moment the words left your lips, the entire world seemed to still. Even the wind paused, holding its breath with you.

Azriel's body went rigid against yours, but his arm remained, a steady anchor around your shoulders. His shadows, ever-moving, froze in mid-air like fractured pieces of night. The only sound between you was the soft rhythm of his breathing, more careful now, more measured.

"Tell me," you continued, heart hammering against your ribs, "if you could choose any life for us, what would it be?"

The question hung between you, fragile as spun glass.

For several heartbeats, he didn't move, didn't speak. Then his shadows pulled tight around his body, as if he were gathering parts of himself that had never been exposed to light.

"Not here," he finally said, voice so low you felt it more than heard it, rough-edged with longing he'd never allowed himself to voice. "Not in Velaris or any court."

You tilted your face to study his profile, severe and beautiful against the backdrop of stars. "Where then?"

He swallowed, the movement visible in the strong column of his throat.

"There's a place..." He faltered, then began again. "Beyond the western mountains. Past Illyrian territory."

His voice softened into something you'd never heard from him before, something almost reverent. "A valley hidden between two peaks where the snow never falls too heavily and the summers are mild."

As he spoke, his shadows formed shapes you could almost recognize. Mountain peaks. Pine trees. A lake surface rippled by gentle wind.

"No High Lords," he continued, something in his voice breaking open. "No war. Just forest and mountains and a lake clear enough to see the stars reflected in its depths."

Your breath caught. "It sounds beautiful."

"I found it centuries ago," he admitted, the confession weighted with significance. "During a mission for Rhys. I've never told anyone about it." The words that followed were quieter still.

The knowledge settled in your chest, a precious gift. This wasn't simply a fantasy he was spinning; this was a secret he had kept, a dream he had nurtured in solitude for centuries.

"Why not?"

His eyes remained fixed on the horizon, as if he could see this valley even now, waiting beyond the darkness. "Because some sanctuaries must remain untouched." His voice dropped further. "Because some dreams are too fragile to share."

The bond between you pulsed, golden and warm, as if in recognition of truth freely given.

"Would we have a house there?" you asked, allowing yourself to fall into this impossible future.

"A cabin," he corrected softly. "Built of pine and stone. Simple but strong."

He hesitated, then added in a voice that made your heart crack open. "Windows facing the sunrise."

"With a porch," you added, your own voice thick with emotion. "Where we could watch thunderstorms rolling across the mountains."

His shadows stirred, curling toward you before retreating. "Yes," he agreed. "And space behind it for a garden, if you wanted one."

"I would," you whispered, the vision so vivid you could almost feel soil beneath your fingernails. "Herbs and vegetables. Maybe wildflowers. Things that heal and feed and bring beauty."

You closed your eyes, imagination carrying you further into this shared dream. "What would we do there? So far from everything?"

"Live," he said softly.

The word hung between you, heavy with all it contained. No wars. No courts. No duty. No pain. Just existence without the weight of the world on your shoulders. Without the pressure of a bond neither of you had asked for. Without the pull of another world where machines kept a body breathing while you inhabited this one.

"No missions," you murmured. "No courts summoning you away."

His arm tightened fractionally around you. "No more shadows used as weapons," he said, voice roughened with longing that cut you to the bone. "Just shadows as they were meant to be, cast by trees and mountains and ordinary things."

Something tight in your chest unraveled at his words. This wasn't merely a dream of escape. This was his deepest yearning—to be defined not by his power or utility, but by simple humanity.

"Ember and Sizzle would love it," you said, thinking of your flame bunnies exploring forest trails.

A sound escaped him—so close to a laugh it made your heart stumble. "They'd terrorize the local wildlife," he replied.

"I'd want coffee," you said, surprising yourself with the mundane desire.

Azriel turned his face toward you then, his expression softer than you'd ever seen it. "I'd find a way to get it for you," he promised. The certainty in his voice made something within you ache. "Whatever it takes."

"I'd bring other things too," you continued, warming to the idea. "Music. Books. Ridiculous holiday traditions that would make no sense to you."

His brow lifted slightly. "Like what?"

"Christmas trees," you said, smiling despite the tears still drying on your cheeks. "Bringing an entire pine tree inside the house and covering it with shiny objects. For no logical reason whatsoever."

His brow furrowed. "That sounds... hazardous. Especially with your flame bunnies."

The laugh that escaped you was unexpected, bright and clean in the night air. "It is! People's houses catch fire all the time. But we do it anyway because it's beautiful."

Something shifted in his expression as he watched you laugh—a softening, a wonder, as if he'd just witnessed something rare and precious. His shadows reached toward you, hesitant, almost shy.

"Tell me more," he said, voice hushed with quiet hunger. "About these strange human traditions."

"We'd have movie nights," you said, leaning into him. "Which would be impossible without electricity, but let's pretend. We'd huddle under blankets and watch stories play out on a screen."

"I don't understand what that means," he admitted. The honesty in his face, the genuine desire to know this part of you, made your throat tight with emotion.

"It doesn't matter," you whispered. "I'd find other stories to share. We'd make our own traditions."

His eyes held yours, something unspoken passing between you. The bond thrummed, golden threads weaving tighter with each heartbeat.

"Would we have children?" you asked, the question slipping out before courage failed you.

Azriel went completely still, even his breathing suspended. For a terrible moment, you thought you'd shattered everything with that single question.

Then his arm tightened around you, so subtly you might have imagined it if not for the way his shadows trembled, forming and reforming shapes that looked suspiciously like tiny winged figures near your joined hands.

"Would you want them?" he asked, voice controlled to the point of breaking.

"Yes," you admitted, the word falling like a stone into still water. "Two, I think. A boy and a girl."

"With wings?" he asked, the question barely audible.

You turned to face him fully, heart in your throat at the vulnerability in his expression. "Of course with wings," you said fiercely. "Beautiful wings like their father's."

His breath caught, the small sound devastating in its honesty. His hand found yours, scarred fingers intertwining with your own as if they'd always belonged there.

"And your fire," he said, voice rough with emotion. "Your courage. Your heart."

The bond between you blazed, golden light spilling from beneath your skin to illuminate the darkness around you. His shadows didn't recoil from the light but danced with it, twining together in patterns that spoke of possibility.

"They'd be free," you whispered, the realization settling bone-deep. "No courts claiming them. No ancient grudges to inherit. Just mountains and forests and stars."

"I'd teach them to fly," Azriel said, voice breaking on the final word. "Among the peaks at sunrise."

You could see it so clearly—his powerful hands steady on small backs, his fierce protectiveness tempered with patience as tiny wings learned to catch the wind.

"I'd teach them stories from both worlds," you said, tears gathering again. "So they'd understand where they came from. Who they are."

"They'd know peace," he said, the word like a prayer on his lips. "True peace."

You both fell silent, the shared vision suspended between you—so vivid, so beautiful, so achingly out of reach. The cabin in the valley. The children with wings. The life built on choice rather than duty or obligation.

Yet for the first time, you found yourself wondering which world truly felt like home. The human one, with its beeping monitors and grieving family? Or this one, with its magic and pain and the possibility of a valley beyond the mountains?

"It's a beautiful dream," you finally said, unable to keep the longing from your voice.

Azriel shifted, turning to face you fully. "It doesn't have to be just a dream," he said, and for the first time in all your encounters, you heard naked pleading in his voice—an emotion you'd never expected from the controlled, deadly shadowsinger.

When you looked up, what you saw stole your breath. Azriel—the Night Court's most feared assassin, the male who had witnessed five centuries of darkness without flinching—had tears in his eyes. Not falling, not yet, but there, shimmering in the starlight like diamonds.

"Azriel," you whispered, reaching up without thinking to touch his face.

He caught your hand with his scarred one, pressing your palm against his cheek in a gesture so vulnerable it fractured something essential inside you. His skin was cool beneath your touch, but warming rapidly. The bond between you pulsed, a heartbeat shared across bodies and worlds.

"Whatever you choose," he said, each word weighted with centuries of solitude, "know that the cabin waits. Whether in a month or a century." His voice faltered. "Whether we go together or—"

The words died in his throat, but you heard them nonetheless.

"Or I return to my world," you completed for him, the possibility that had always stood between you.

He nodded once, barely perceptible. But his eyes, those ancient, haunted eyes that had witnessed centuries of darkness, held yours with unflinching courage.

"Either way," he said, "I wanted you to know. That somewhere, there is a place that belongs to us alone. Without courts or duty or pain."

The first tear fell then, tracing a silver path down his scarred cheek and onto your joined hands.

The bond between you flared, golden light spilling from your joined hands, illuminating your faces in the darkness. Not a chain binding you together, but a bridge between worlds, between possibilities.

"Thank you," you whispered, voice breaking. "For showing me this. For letting me see."

His only response was to draw you against him, wings unfurling to create a private sanctuary around you both. Against your cheek, you felt the steady rhythm of his heart, its beat perfectly synchronized with your own.

Tomorrow would bring danger—Eris's rescue, confrontation with Beron, an uncertain future beyond. But for now, cradled against the shadowsinger's chest while his rare tears mingled with your own, you allowed yourself to hold that impossible dream close.

The cabin in the valley. The children with wings. The life beyond the courts.

A dream, perhaps.

But with the golden bond pulsing beneath your skin, the solid warmth of his body against yours, the scent of night-chilled stone and cedar surrounding you, the human world of beeping monitors and grieving family seemed increasingly distant. Like a half-remembered dream fading with the dawn.

For the first time since waking in this borrowed Fae body, you felt something settle inside you. Not certainty, not yet. But possibility. Hope.

Home.

Which was real? Which was home?

For the first time, you weren't certain you knew the answer.

The golden bond thrummed beneath your skin as you woke, an urgent pulse matching your heartbeat. Outside, Velaris slept under indigo skies, last stars fading as dawn approached.

Perfect timing. Perfect silence.

You dressed in shadow, fingers finding Lucien's enchanted blade without looking. Its weight at your hip felt both foreign and familiar, like muscle memory that didn't belong to you.

Ember and Sizzle materialized at your feet, tiny flame bodies flickering with anxiety. They sensed your intentions without words. You pressed a finger to your lips, and they quieted, though pink embers sparked with protest.

"Stay," you whispered, stroking each once. "Wait for him to return."

They settled on the windowsill, sentinels against the pale horizon, their glow dimmed to near-invisibility.

Downstairs, the townhouse held its breath. Azriel's jacket hung by the door, night-chilled stone and cedar wrapping around you as you slipped it over your shoulders. One last comfort before what must be done.

Your fingers found the silver charm at your throat, his parting gift. Break it and I'll come to you, across any distance. You placed it on the small table, a note beneath in your hurried hand.

Forgive me.

Three heartbeats later, Velaris's pre-dawn streets enveloped you. The rising sun gilded rooftops with the same golden light that pulsed beneath your skin, a warning you ignored.

What you planned was foolish. Suicidal, even.

Going alone to rescue Eris when the combined might of multiple courts had organized for tomorrow. But another day meant more torture for your brother. Another day risked Azriel's life for your family's conflict.

Another day meant facing him with the truth. That you planned to return to your world. That his dream of a cabin in the valley, of children with wings and your shared future, would remain just that, a dream.

Between one step and the next, reality fractured.

The hospital room blurred over Velaris's cobblestones. Your aunt's face, tear-stained and haggard, superimposed over dawn-touched buildings.

"The doctors say it's time to consider letting you go," her voice echoed, "but I can't. I just can't."

You stumbled, shoulder striking stone. A passing Night Court citizen glanced with concern, but your forced smile sent them on their way.

The winnowing point beckoned from the edge of the city, a place to bend reality and step directly into Autumn's territory. You'd memorized it from the war maps, burned it into your mind while the High Lords plotted.

But first came the hardest part.

In an alcove away from prying eyes, you pressed your hand to your chest. The bond pulsed steadily, familiar as breathing. A constant presence anchoring you to this world, to him.

"I can't let you suffer when I go," you whispered to no one, to him, to yourself. Golden light spilled between your fingers. "It would destroy you."

Better a clean break. Better mercy than slow torment.

"I release you."

The golden light flared, blinding.

"I sever this bond, not out of hatred but mercy."

Pain lanced through your chest, not external but from within, like ribs cracking outward.

"Not out of rejection..."

Your knees struck cobblestones.

"...but protection."

Tears blurred your vision, golden light pulsing erratically.

"I reject this bond." The words tasted like ash and iron. "I reject it so you may be free when I am gone."

Something inside you tore, not muscle or bone but something essential, something primal. Your vision whited out, breath stolen.

"I reject it because..." a gasping sob interrupted, "...because I love you."

The golden light pulsed once more, then dimmed. The connection that had hummed between you since that first moment in the Autumn Court didn't vanish but receded, like music heard underwater, distorted, distant, muffled.

Cold swept through spaces where warmth had lived. Hollowness echoed where completeness had dwelled. Your hand pressed against your sternum, searching for the familiar pulse, finding only silence.

You dragged yourself upright, swaying. The world felt wrong, off-balance. You'd grown so accustomed to the bond's weight that its absence left you lightweight, untethered.

No time for mourning.

Dawn broke fully now, spilling gold across the city. Soon Azriel would return. Soon he'd find the charm. Soon he'd feel the muted bond and know.

The winnowing point shimmered as you approached. Your magic felt diminished without the bond's amplification, but determination burned hotter than power. You gathered what remained, world dissolving around you.

Reality reassembled. Endless autumn spread before you, trees burning with color that never faded, crimson and gold leaves against a perpetual sunset sky.

You stepped forward, then stumbled as another merged memory hit, hospital corridors overlaid with forest paths. Medical staff around your bed, discussing options, timelines, prognoses. "Irreversible" floated through the air as your doctor shook his head.

"Not yet," you gasped, forcing clarity. "I'm not finished here."

The castle loomed in the distance, Beron's ancestral seat. Eastern dungeons, according to intelligence. Servant passages with specific guard rotations.

You moved toward it, staying to shadows, avoiding patrolled roads. The spice-and-smoke scent of autumn wrapped around you, so different from Velaris's salt-touched breeze. Yet something in you recognized it, a distant familiarity you refused to acknowledge.

Spires pierced a blood-orange sky as you approached. Your body ducked beneath a low archway without conscious decision, hands finding servant passages your mind shouldn't know existed. Stone whispered beneath your fingers, hidden doors responding to touches that felt both foreign and instinctive.

Memory flashed, running these same passages as a child, hiding from brothers who sought to torment, servants who sought to tame.

Not your memory. Not your life.

You pushed it away.

The first guard appeared at the dungeon approach, young, barely more than a boy, bored with his assignment. His eyes widened at sight of you, recognition blooming.

"My lady," he breathed, dropping to one knee. "We were told you were..."

Your hand found his forehead before he finished, sleep spell springing to your lips without thought or practice. He slumped forward, consciousness fleeing.

The magic drained you more than it should have. Without the bond's strength flowing through you, your powers were diminished, hollowed. You leaned against stone, breath ragged.

"Just a little further," you told yourself, pushing away.

The main dungeon entrance waited ahead, an iron door carved with moving flame patterns. Two alert guards stood before it, hands on weapons.

You couldn't risk another sleep spell. Not when Eris waited beyond, not when escape would demand whatever magic remained. You drew Lucien's blade instead, its enchanted edge catching torchlight.

Then you stepped into view.

"My lady," one gasped, shock evident. "Lord Beron said..."

"Lord Beron says many things." Your voice emerged colder than you'd ever heard it, a tone that didn't belong to you but to the body you inhabited, the cruelty cultivated over centuries.

Both guards hesitated, confusion and fear battling across their features. They'd been trained to obey the High Lord, but generations of instinct told them to defer to the Lady of Autumn.

You exploited that hesitation, moving with deadly grace you'd never possessed in your human life. The blade found the first guard's throat, not killing, but promising.

"Open the door," you commanded the second, "or watch your companion bleed."

He fumbled with keys, fear making him clumsy. The heavy door swung open with a groan of metal, revealing a staircase spiraling into darkness.

"Down," you ordered, pushing the first guard ahead while keeping the second at blade-point.

The stairs descended endlessly, air growing colder, damper with each step. Blood and fear-scent thickened as you descended, your stomach knotting with dread.

At the bottom waited another door, this one reinforced with both iron and magic.

You studied the symbols carved into its surface, pulsing with malevolent energy. Following instinct that wasn't yours, you pressed your palm against the center where Beron's sigil burned brightest.

Fire erupted beneath your hand, searing your palm. You gritted your teeth, refusing to pull away as the sigil flared once, recognized something in you, then faded to ash. The door swung open.

You turned to them, fire of the Autumn Court burning in your eyes. "Leave," you commanded.

They fled, taking the stairs two at a time.

The chamber beyond was lit by a single brazier, shadows dancing across stained stone. The air reeked of blood and burned flesh, of bile and sweat and despair.

And there, chained to the far wall, hung Eris.

Your breath caught. You'd prepared yourself for injury, for pain. Not for this.

The once-handsome face swollen beyond recognition. His right arm hung at an unnatural angle, broken in multiple places. Blood had dried in rusty streaks down his chest and legs. The stench of infection and charred flesh made your eyes water.

His breathing came in wet, labored gasps. Each inhale bubbled with what might be blood in his lungs.

"Eris," you whispered, rushing forward.

At your voice, his head lifted slightly. One eye, the only one not swollen shut, focused on you with effort.

"You... fool," he croaked, each word a struggle. "Trap."

"I'm getting you out," you said, examining the chains that bound him.

His laugh was a broken thing, dry as autumn leaves. "Sister... you need to..."

You reached for the chains, examining the enchanted metal. "I need to get you out of here."

"Be careful," he warned, words slurring. "Spelled to..."

You pressed Lucien's blade against the lock before he finished. The enchanted metal glowed briefly, then clicked open. Eris slumped forward as the chains released, his weight falling against you.

"Can't walk," he mumbled against your shoulder. "Ankle... shattered."

"Then I'll carry you," you replied, though you had no idea how you'd manage it without the bond's strength.

Before you could figure out a solution, slow clapping echoed through the chamber.

You whirled, pushing Eris behind you as best you could while drawing your blade.

Beron stood in the doorway, flame crown burning atop his head. Behind him, a dozen guards filled the stairway, weapons drawn.

"How touching," the High Lord of Autumn said, voice like silk over steel. "The wayward daughter returns for her traitorous brother."

"Father," you acknowledged, keeping your blade steady despite the fear coursing through you.

Beron studied you, head tilting slightly. "But you're not really my daughter anymore, are you?"

A chill ran down your spine.

Beron circled you slowly, flames dancing at his fingertips. "My daughter was cruel. Calculating. Vicious." His eyes narrowed. "She would never have risked herself for anyone, least of all Eris."

The way he said it, not with anger but something like baffled wonder, unnerved you more than rage would have.

"I'm not her," you said flatly. "I never claimed to be."

"And yet..." Beron's voice softened unexpectedly, "...you opened the sigil door. Only the power of the High Lord can do that."

Something in his expression shifted, a flicker of recognition that made your heart stutter.

"I remember when you were born," he said, each word deliberate. "So small. The first female born to Autumn in three centuries."

"Stop it," you snapped. "These mind games won't work."

A memory flashed unbidden, sitting on Beron's knee as a child, watching in wonder as he formed fire animals in his palm.

You shook your head violently. "Those aren't my memories."

"You don't want them to be," Beron corrected. His flame crown dimmed slightly as he studied you. "But they are yours. As is this body. As is this court."

"I have a family," you insisted. "A life waiting for me."

"And yet you're here." Beron gestured to the dungeon around you. "Risking everything for a brother who would have let you die without a second thought."

"He's lying," Eris rasped from behind you, somehow finding strength to stand straighter. "Tell her, Beron."

"Tell me what?" you repeated, unwillingly drawn into the conversation.

"After Winter Court," Eris said, each word costing him. "Thirteen nobles. Left you for dead."

Beron's jaw tightened. "Ancient history. Diplomatic matters."

"Not... diplomatic," Eris forced out, blood speckling his lips with the effort. "Assault. Torture. Abandonment."

Ice flooded your veins as another memory surfaced, cold hands on your skin. Laughter echoing off stone walls.

Pain beyond imagining.

"No," you whispered, the blade trembling in your grasp. "That's not... I'm not..."

"Your soul fractured that night," Eris continued, each word a blade between your ribs. "Split in two. Half fled to another world."

"That's not possible," you said, but your voice lacked conviction.

Because it made sense. It explained everything, the foreign memories, the body that felt both alien and familiar, the life in another world that seemed increasingly distant.

"My little flame," Beron said, and the childhood endearment struck like a physical blow. "I made you into something terrible because I had to. The courts would have devoured you otherwise."

Another memory, Beron teaching you to hurt servants, to hide weakness, to cultivate cruelty as armor.

"You were so gentle as a child," he continued, something like regret coloring his tone. "I remember how you wept when you accidentally burned a butterfly. How you tried to heal it with your fingers."

The memory crashed through your defenses, the orange butterfly, its wings blackened by your untrained magic. The desperate attempt to save it, tiny hands cupping its broken body.

"Stop," you begged, but the memories kept coming.

Beron took a step toward you. For an instant, his face transformed, not the cruel High Lord but the father who'd once lifted you to his shoulders. "I wasn't there when Winter took you. I thought... I thought it was politics. By the time I realized..."

"It was too late," you finished, the words rising from somewhere deep inside. "I was already torn apart..."

Beron nodded, something like pain flashing across his features. "Your mother warned me. She said making you cruel would destroy what made you special. I didn't listen."

The blade wavered in your hand, your voice breaking. "You left me to them. You let them..."

"I didn't know what they planned," Beron said, but his eyes slid away from yours. The lie sat heavy between you.

"You knew," Eris snarled, finding strength from somewhere deep inside. Blood trickled from his mouth with each word. "You knew and did nothing. Then covered it all up."

"You understand nothing of ruling," Beron snapped, anger flaring. "Sacrifices must be made. Alliances preserved."

"I was your daughter," you whispered, the truth of it settling into your bones. "Your only daughter."

Something in Beron's face cracked then, a glimpse of the father beneath the High Lord's mask. "Yes," he admitted. "And I failed you."

The words hung in the air between you, unexpected in their sincerity.

For a heartbeat, silence reigned.

Then Eris moved.

It happened so fast you barely registered it. Eris, who moments ago could barely stand, lunged forward with hidden strength. Something flashed in his hand, a small blade concealed somewhere on his broken body.

It struck Beron in the chest, driving deep. Directly into his heart.

Beron's eyes widened in shock, his gaze locked with Eris's. "Son?" he gasped, blood bubbling at his lips.

"For her," Eris whispered, holding his father's gaze without flinching. "For what you let happen."

Beron's flame crown sputtered, then flared blindingly bright. Power, ancient and terrible, erupted from his body as he collapsed. It swirled like a living tornado, seeking its new vessel.

Eris fell to his knees, arms outstretched, face lifted to receive what had been promised him for centuries, the High Lord's power.

But the magic had other ideas.

It swirled around Eris, examined him, then veered sharply toward you. Golden fire engulfed you, lifting you from the ground as it poured into your chest, your veins, your very soul.

You whimpered as centuries of power and knowledge invaded your body, not just magic but memory, history, duty.

The fractured pieces of yourself collided, human and Fae, present and past, nurse and Lady of Autumn.

When the transfer ended, you collapsed beside Beron's motionless form. The High Lord of Autumn was dead. His power now resided in you.

"No," you whispered, staring at your hands where flames now danced unbidden. "No, this isn't right."

Eris stared at you in shock, his face drained of what little color remained.

"It chose you," he said, disbelief evident. "The magic recognized its own."

Around you, the guards had fallen to their knees, recognizing their new High Lady in the same moment you did.

"I didn't want this," you said, tears streaming down your face. "I'm not supposed to be here. I'm supposed to be..."

But where were you supposed to be?

The hospital room seemed like a distant dream now, your human life fading like mist in morning sun. This, the flames dancing at your fingertips, the memories flooding back, the fractured soul finally reunited, this was real.

"Long live the High Lady of Autumn," Eris said, bowing his head despite his injuries. "My sister. My High Lady."

Fire danced across your skin, responding to emotions too complex to name. You weren't just who you'd been in that hospital bed. You weren't just the cruel Lady of Autumn from before.

You were both. You were neither.

You were something new entirely, forged in trauma, tempered by two lives, crowned in fire.

And somewhere deep inside, beneath the shock and grief and power, a small voice whispered.

This is who you were always meant to be.

Author's Note: I could apologize for the emotional damage... but let’s not lie to each other. You came here willingly. 😌🔥 Beron’s toast (literally), your girl’s a High Lady, and Azriel is one "where is she?!" away from emotionally combusting in a corner. Buckle up. It only gets worse better from here.

💌 Thanks for reading, crying, and mentally punching Beron with me. Now the real questions: Will our girl embrace her inner fire queen or sprint back to her coma body like it’s the last bus home? Will Azriel survive this emotional rollercoaster without setting something (or someone) on fire? Will Eris finally get a nap?

Stay tuned. I have no idea either. 😇

Taglist: @circe143@lunarxcity@willowpains@messageforthesmallestman@lreadsstuff@evye47@lovely-susie@moonfawnx@tele86@moonlitlavenders@darkbloodsly @ees-chaotic-brain @smol-grandpa@auraofathena@lottiiee413@minaaminaa8@claudiab22@moonbeamruins@shewolf1549@crimsonandwhiteprincess@a-band-aid-for-your-heart@kathren1sky-blog@alimarie1105@masbt1218@topaz125@falszywe@randomdumsblog@sophia-grace2025@okaytrashpanda@thegoddessofnothingness @unarxcity @svearehnn@suhke3@galaxystern08@ivy-34@hellsenthero@nayaniasworld@raccoonworld@bobbywobbby@evergreenlark@greenmandm@shinyghosteclipse@catloverandreader@the-onlyy-angie@bunnboosblog@i-like-boooks@ashduv@kayjaywrites@lovelyreaderlovesreading@badbishsblog@vera0124@i-am-infinite @scatteredstardustt @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @chaotic-luvrs @etsukomoonbeam @justtryingtosurvive02 @dianxiaxiexie @annaaaaa88 @mortqlprojections @quiet-loser @shamelesswolftheorist @vanserrasimp @lovelyflower7777 @probendingwords @allthatisbuck1917 @thejediprincess56 @forvalentineboy @romwyz @plowden @jada-lockwood @traveling-neverland @wanderwithmex @magicaldragonlady @makemeurvillain @justswimm @saltedcoffeescotch @rafeecameronsbitch @sherhd @stainedpomegranatelips @ayohockeycheck @yourdarkrose @taurusvic @illyrianshadow @s-h-e-l-b-e-e @ly--canthrope @star-chaser1 @dormantzzzs

#acotar #azriel #azriel x oc #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #rhysand #azriel x you #cassian #feyre acotar #nesta acotar #lucien vanserra #eris vanserra

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beelanddiavolosimp-blog · 3 months ago

Note

hihi I saw that one about somniphilia and was wondering if you could do Diavolo and Simeon too? :p

Ofc!

Side characters reaction to a somnophilia kink MC

Diavolo

He thought humans were such unique creatures and once you arrived he realized they were also severely horny creatures as well. He wasn't grossed out just a bit confused. When you explained it to him he was immediately on board with it all. He often times is either asleep before you or after you. He agreed to the kink as well so if he were to fall asleep before you, you could use his body as you desire. Ride him, suck him off, etc. Now if you were to fall asleep before him he would purposely go slow in the beginning because well he had a huge demon cock it'll obviously wake you up if he's too rough. He does go slow for a bit but he becomes too desperate to cum he immediately pounds into you once he's close. Not that you mind too much.

Simeon

He couldn't believe his ears. You want him to fuck you as you sleep? Wouldn't that anger you? You're losing sleep? What if he does too much? He has many questions which will all be answered with time. He was hesitant the first time he attempted it but when you woke up halfway through it and just moaned his name happily he wasn't displeased by the idea now. He often uses you when you come over to the purgatory hall because you usually don't so it's the only time he can and he ends up not caring who's around (if luke is gone)

Solomon

He loves this kink so so much. His ass is everywhere and usually sleeps late at night from doing way too much sorcery. He isn't rough which is surprising because he usually is. He just fucks you slow and deep and admires your body as he does so. He likes these moments because they feel so intimate and loving.

Meso

He immediately thought you were joking and told you to fuck off. After you bring it up repeatedly he finally gets the hint. He also was a bit hesitant but it didn't take much consideration when you were only in his shirt and nothing else on his bed. He went slow to not wake you but got slightly faster. He goes at a moderate pace not too rough or slow. It's somehow perfect to where you do feel everything in the morning but aren't sore.

Thriteen

She titled her head then giggles "such a little freak Mc~" she teased. She didn't mind of course. She mainly used your sleeping body as a type of experiment for her sexy toys. She based how good the product was on how fast it made you cum. She does sometimes fuck you herself with a strap on if you're a girl or uses your dick to ride as a male. She just goes nice and slow and sighs happily like a sort of stress relief alike Solomon (do not tell her that)

Raphael

He scowled at first at such a kink. Those types of things exist? He doesn't degrade you just doesn't understand why you'd enjoy it. He does however attempt it for you. He used his hands first before anything else and as he watched everything on you closely he realized you were much more vulnerable in this state than when you're awake. He won't admit it but he does enjoy indulging in your kink.

#obey me shall we date #shall we date obey me #obey me fandom #obey me x mc #obey me scenarios #obey me headcanon #obey me diavolo #obey me side characters #obey me simeon #obey me solomon #obey me mephistopheles #obey me raphael #obey me 13 #obey me nsft #obey me smut #obey me

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randomshyperson · 2 years ago

Text

Sanctify - Cult Leader!Wanda Maximoff x Reader - Kinktober #06

Summary: After your worst semester at NYU, your Aunt Agatha convinces you to join the Children of Chaos as an alternative, and very expensive form of therapy. Leaving the cult becomes a very difficult task when you develop an unexpected affection for their leader.

Warnings: (+18), dom!wanda and brat!reader, rough smut, face-fucking, power dynamics, brat taming (ish), praising, lots of tension and teasing, definitely blasphemous on some levels, a lot of plot, mentions of past toxic relationship, unspecified age gap. | Words: 7.900k

A/N-> I’ve been dying to write something about Cult Leader Wanda since I watched the second season of Yellowjackets and became obsessed with Lottie Matthews, so while writing this, I was picturing Lottie’s cult to be fair. I also like how I ended this, as it makes it possible to turn it into a series. Good reading!

General Masterlist | Kinktober Collection | AO3 | Wattpad

-&-

Although the movement of the car brought a gentle breeze through the window, the weather was hot enough to actually make thinking painful. In an attempt to relieve the temperature a little, and perhaps escape Aunt Aggie's provocative reminiscences about the long journey and the events that made this trip necessary in the first place, you put your arm on the door, and propped your chin up, your face on the safety edge outside the window.

New York had been out of sight for hours and had given way to countless trees and a plantation further and further away. You figured it wouldn't take long for the radio signal to stop working, but to your pleasant surprise, the soft melody of cassette tapes hidden in the glove compartment by Nicholas were picked up once that happened.

Your cousin had grown up over the summer - His still youthful appearance now featured neatly cut curly hair and reading glasses that he often hung on the collar of his shirt. When younger, it was common to hear how much he resembled Sir. Scratch, his scumbag father in the words of Agatha and the other adults, not yours - but over time, he looked much more like his mother.

Nick met your gaze through the rearview mirror and gave you an assuring smile. You didn't reciprocate, but not because you were upset. Just because you were distracted by the huge sign coming around the next corner.

"Oh, boy, I've missed this place." Agatha commented with a nostalgic sigh, as soon as she noticed the entrance plaque. She slowed down enough that the wind wasn't enough anymore, so you returned to your original position with a low snort.

"There's still time to turn around." You muttered, getting a warning look from the older woman.

She leaned over, without answering you, to grab something from the open glove compartment. You pushed your hair back as a pamphlet was dropped into your lap.

"I know you hated the idea, but you need to trust your elders for once in your life, darling." Agatha began, as you grimaced at the crumpled paper. The title Children of Chaos was painted in red, but it was faded in several places. "The 70s were the apex for this place, I had a lot of fun here. It's such a unique experience, connecting with nature and the chaos that is part of us all."

Nick chuckled through his nose. "Mom, don't start your witch thing again, you'll scare her." Mocked your cousin from the passenger seat, but Agatha waved him off.

"She'll thank me when she gets there, I'm sure."

But you didn't do that. When the car finally came to a stop, and what looked more like a fancy farm merged with the forest took over your vision, all you did was crumple the Immersive Community pamphlet into your pocket and throw your old backpack over your shoulder.

Aunt Aggie and your cousin hugged you tightly, saying they were going to write, but they couldn't get past the reception desk since they weren’t part of the program. You saw Agatha take your mom’s borrowed credit card out of her purse to start your so-called treatment, and the last goodbyes left your tongue before one of the tutors started the tour of the place.

In between presenting a large number of different huts that served as dormitories and classrooms for the most diverse activities - painting, handicrafts or poetry were the ones you memorized - Mr. Emil Blonsky also took the time to welcome you, emphasizing how incredible the community was and how lucky anyone was to be there. You bit your tongue to keep from telling him that only those with money could.

Finally, Blonsky showed you the stables and greenhouses on the edge of the property, and on the way back to the rest of the huts, you noticed the path up the hill.

"And what's up there?"

The man stopped walking with a small smile. He was wearing clothes very similar to those of the other people you'd seen on the tour, the difference being a golden necklace with a strange symbol that was hidden by the movement of his loosely buttoned shirt.

"We must not go up there without permission." He begins, although he's smiling, there's something in his gaze that says this rule cannot be disrespected. " The Prophetess' Retreat is a sacred place of peace and reflection."

You look back at the hut at the bottom of the mountain, far enough away that you can't make out the decorations on the balcony, but still beautiful and quiet, high enough to make it look like the prophet had her own little piece of heaven.

"So, no bothering the boss without asking? Got it." You retort, getting a chuckle from the other at the summary. He starts walking again along the path towards the general area, but you can't help the curiosity burning in your chest. "About this prophet, will she be isolated up there or will I get a chance to meet her?"

Blonsky walks up beside you, and looks you in the eye to say; "You'll meet her when it's time to meet her, not early and not late."

You don't know what to say to that, everything here is so theatrical in a way. Mystical, you might say. It suits Aunt Aggie so well, that it's not hard to imagine her here, dancing to the midnight moon and talking to the trees. She already does that in New York, it should have been much simpler in the middle of the forest.

"Come, child. You must start the cleaning process soon." Announces the man as he picks up the pace on the trail. With a sigh, you decide not to contradict him by saying that you bathed before coming, thank you.

It was soon revealed that the cleansing process really meant a bath - the colleagues around you who helped you laughed when you joked that it was a strange way of saying that someone stinks, before clarifying that it was nothing of the sort. The Cleansing Process was a bath of salts and herbs, in a tub of stones and some kind of botanical baptism, the latter of which only members who had completed thirteen full moons could take part in. You would be invited to the baptism with the prophet's blessing, but there was still a long way to go.

Blonsky handed your uniforms, and explained the last rules before leaving you alone, or almost, since your hut was shared with six other people, and despite this, it seemed very comfortable and organized. There were bunk beds and private bathroom spaces, and at least three spacious shelves for each. The latter wouldn't be of much use to you, since you'd brought almost nothing and the vast majority of your belongings had been left at NYU. Just thinking about that place gave you a terrible stomach ache: You would have skipped dinner, but the mere suggestion of not attending made one of your colleagues frown in concern and repeat the rules, so you ended up giving that up.

The routine that followed was calm: it didn't surprise you that the new members were responsible for the hardest tasks, and it didn't bother you either. You were never afraid of hard work, and keeping your hands busy also helped to calm your mind, so it was a win-win. Besides, even if you didn't get the jobs nobody wanted, all veterans had chores. There was some rule about the amount of service time and dedication being rewarded, so those senior members could choose what they wanted to do first.

You didn't have to worry about this anyway: you would do what you had to do because, after all, the agreement was to stay here only for the summer. However, with each passing day away from exams, traffic, and New York's typical filth, it became harder to imagine leaving the Children of Chaos and their strange harmony and kindness.

After three weeks in the group, you learned to knit. You also earned the privilege of mail when you showed up for all your appointments without delay and decided to check the items in the privacy of your cabin during the last hour of prayer.

Since you hadn't yet found your faith or received your calling or whatever weird way Blonsky explained this, you barely joined in the prayer sessions. This evening, excited to receive news from home, was no different.

Aunt Aggie wrote about the store doing well and mentioned your mother, who didn't write to you with more than vague words about hoping you'd feel better soon. The best present was hidden in Nicholas' letter about the university being a sack without his favorite cousin. Wrapped in silk and next to a lighter.

You haven't earned the right to write outside yet - something about a month in isolation to accomplish. So you just clutched the items to your chest and wished your cousin knew how grateful you were.

Your initial intention was to save the weed for some more stressful day - which was rare in the leisurely pace of this place - but the last letter made you consider using it all that night.

The recipient's perfect handwriting, and the address you knew by heart. You didn't even open the item, you put it away in your drawer and stood up with the weed hidden in your pants pocket.

The common area was empty, as the vast majority of your colleagues were praying. You stepped up to one of the bonfires and threw the unopened letter into the flames, without hesitation and without caring to see it burn. You turned on your heels and continued along the trail, heading for one of the few more secluded spots you had discovered during the hours of exploring between tasks.

The rules were clear about the prophet's hut but said nothing about the road towards it. And since apparently everyone there was afraid of upsetting the boss, that spot was always empty and the perfect place to smoke in hiding.

You leaned against a tree, curled up and lit the weed, and tried to keep away all the painful memories about last semester that the damn letter had brought up.

You were halfway through a joint when you heard a voice at the end of the trail next to you.

"Good evening, Y/N."

"Jesus fucking Christ." You gasped, jumping with fright and almost dropping the blunt to the ground. You looked sideways abruptly, imagining that you were hallucinating because of the weed, and were almost sure that you were when the words escaped you due to the apparition in front of you. The most beautiful woman you've ever seen in your life. Instead of a uniform, she wore a loose dark wine dress that hugged her curves perfectly; her long red hair cascaded down her shoulders and back and her emerald eyes shone curiously in your direction. The dim light from the fire lamps scattered along the trail and the moon really made the woman look like an angel.

You coughed awkwardly. "Sorry, you scared me." You clarified, the cigarette hidden behind your back a stupid attempt to mask what you were doing. Sure enough, your pupils were dilated, and it was very easy to see the smoke. So, as soon as you tried to hide it, you gave up, offering the woman an awkward chuckle and gesturing the cigarette gently. "Don't tell on me."

There was a soft pause, which you couldn't tell from the intoxication in your system. The woman watched for a moment as the charming gesture of bringing the cigarette to the smile formed on your lips and blew the smoke into the starry sky with your neck slightly stretched. Your mind seemed to clear, and before the woman could speak, you grimaced. "Wait, didn't you just say my name? How..?"

She smiled, folding her hands in front of her body. "It was premeditated that we met today, of course. I'm Wanda."

You've heard her name before, in conversation circles and in advertisements about her heavenliness hanging around.

"Shit." It was your natural reaction, which made her laugh softly, and it must have been the weed's fault that the sound echoed in your mind and made your body shudder.

"Don't worry, I won't snitch on you." She assures you with an easy smile playing on her lips, and you swallow dry, completely at a loss.

"Thanks... but I thought you were the boss." You mumble, and Wanda makes a funny expression, like a false realization.

"Oh, you're right." She murmurs amusedly. "I think I can let this one slide if you'll share it with me."

"Fuck, of course, here." Your limbs feel strange, almost too heavy to move around her. You awkwardly hand her the cigarette, certain that your face is flushed. Hell, the last time you were this clumsy was last semester, with-

"You swear a lot." Wanda's comment pulls you out of your daze. She takes a long drag before adding: "Especially for a Christian."

You chuckle, shaking your head. "My father's a Christian, not me." You retort, and end up grimacing. "And how do you know-"

"This is a very exclusive program, sweetheart." Wanda cuts you off again, the cigarette between her fingers but her gaze is completely focused on your face. "Having a lot of money or being someone's niece isn't enough to guarantee you a spot, but a good letter of recommendation might. And Agatha wrote me almost everything about you, except the reason for rushing to get you here before the next recruitment period."

The sentence was an invitation for you to speak, but you didn't fall for the bait. On the contrary, you looked away with tense shoulders, and Wanda didn't press. At least, not now. She took another drag before commenting more softly:

"We have general meetings every Wednesday. We encourage members to open up."

You grimace softly. "Group therapy isn't my thing."

But Wanda smiles lopsidedly, giving you back the joint. " Neither is nice weed." She retorts a little provocatively, attracting your attention. "If you want to try something new, show up next week. And if you want to try something good, you should try the weed from our greenhouse. It won't taste like crushed dirt." Adjusting her hair around her shoulders, she offers you a wink. "Have a good night, darling."

You think about the color of her eyes for the rest of the night.

-&-

Sooner than you'd expect, you'll discover that Wanda isn't the type to let things slide. Far from it, she notices everything, especially those who are being too slack and prone to not following the teachings of the Children of Chaos, possibly ruining their record of total efficiency or something.

She puts an end to your plans for a quiet summer, trying to go unnoticed among the countless other followers just as abruptly as she left her meditation hut. Wanda seems to appear at every moment that you consider escaping from your commitments - it even occurs to you that she has a particular interest in watching you, but the idea sounds so absurd that you push it away while forcing a polite smile before returning to your duties.

Less than two weeks after you met, you finally stopped avoiding Group Therapy and showed up on time to join the session. The presence of Wanda, in a loose dark purple dress and her red hair tied up in a neat braid, makes you almost give up, convinced that you couldn't say anything without stuttering in the presence of such a stunning woman.

But she offers a gentle smile, opening her arms softly. "Come along, darling, you're just in time." She greets and you stumble towards a corner in the background, begging the gods that you can attend in silence this time.

It doesn't seem so difficult when it's other people doing it. A young man with whom you've already shared the task of looking after the stables spoke of the frustrations of returning from enforced service with a missing limb, and how the support he didn't get from the government and family members, he found here. Bucky received a finger-snapping applause - something that was explained to you as a way to avoid triggers on the countless ex-combatants or victims of post-traumatic stress that make up the crowd - before giving his turn to another ex-military woman, Carol Danvers.

More stories were shared until Wanda's gaze fell on your slumped figure and she called your name. All the attention in the room fell on you too, and you chuckled awkwardly.

"Thanks, but I'm not good at public speaking." You retorted, but Wanda, with her hands folded over her stomach, gave you a gentle smile.

"Don't worry about it, dear, this is a no-judgment zone." She says, but you make no mention of getting up, and her gaze becomes more insistent. "It's important that we all make an effort to be present at these exercises. We encourage participation around here. Come along, dear, please." And she smiled so kindly that you could only trust her.

The group offered a small chorus of encouragement, and before you knew it, you were a few steps away from the redhead, who held out her hands for your wrists.

"I want you to take a deep breath and close your eyes." Wanda guided, her melodic voice bringing goose bumps all over your body. "Turn all your attention inward. And tell me, is there anything in there that you'd like to share with the group?"

The memories of last semester hit you full force. But Wanda massages your wrists and it feels as if she can calm down the whole storm inside of you.

You sigh, before opening your eyes. "I... I don't know where to start." Your whisper is met by another chorus of support from the members, who retort that you're safe. Wanda releases your wrists to sit with the others, and you try not to be so self-conscious while you're in the spotlight. "I think I can share with you the reason why I'm here." You declare a moment later, taking another deep breath.

Bucky gives you an encouraging smile, mimicking that of the people around him, and you swallow.

"I don't have a history of fighting and overcoming war or any illnesses, so I'm sorry to disappoint anyone." You mumble, receiving confused looks.

The former sergeant assures you: "No problem competes with another. All our pains have their importance." And it seems to be something that has already been repeated here a few times because everyone shakes their heads in agreement.

You scratch the back of your head awkwardly. "Right... well, I won't beat around the bush. A month ago, when I was first enrolled here, I had just been kicked out of my house. Well, it wasn't exactly my house anymore, because I'd been living on campus for about three years, but I think you get the idea." You say, laughing awkwardly at the anxiety in your chest. You try to clear your throat so that your voice doesn't come out so shaky, but only Wanda's gaze really helps to calm your nerves. "And the reason for this was a relationship that my parents, more specifically my mother, didn't approve of. To be fair, no one really approved, because, well, the person... hm, I don't think there's any other way to put it, was another woman. An older woman, and also my professor. And well, the whole thing would have been a scandal anyway, but I really let myself believe that when the worst was over, we'd be fine. Bad news, we weren't." You laugh sadly. You pause, imagining that you'll get judgmental looks, but everyone listens attentively. "For a while, I thought the worst part was afterward. When everyone knew and judged me, and how my mother freaked out, and I tried... but no. The worst part was not realizing what that love if I can call it that, was doing to me. How ill it was making me. And until I got here, learned things about myself, and managed to take a break from everything that was left behind... For a while, I really hoped to go back and fix everything, but now... damn, sometimes I don't even think about leaving this place."

The group celebrates quietly, exchanging words of encouragement. Your ears feel warm, and Wanda stands up again. "You can stay as long as you need, darling." She says, massaging your forearm. She calls someone else to speak, but doesn't miss the opportunity to whisper in your ear: "I'm proud, stay a little longer today, I want to talk to you."

And you think you haven't absorbed anything for the rest of the morning.

Eventually, the session ends, and as soon as the room is empty, Wanda turns her face towards you.

"You were brave today, sweetheart."

Your hands, busy putting the cushions away, tremble a little. But you offer her an incredulous chuckle.

"Yeah, right." It's your answer, which makes Wanda frown in curiosity. At her inquisitive silence, you sigh before clarifying: "Everyone's nice, but I know it's kind of silly that my big trauma is a break-up and not post-traumatic stress from war or something that actually matters."

Wanda presses her lips together, studying you for a moment, and you take the opportunity to put away the last of the cushions. Suddenly, she says:

"This lack of respect for your own feelings comes from parental negligence, I suppose." You turn your face away in surprise, but Wanda gives you a small smile: "James wasn't lying when he said that no pain should compete with another. We all have our internal and external battles, and we shouldn't belittle our pain. I believe we should honor it, and wear it. And here, dear, you will learn to do that." Wanda makes her way around to one of the cupboards at the back, and you watch her movements in silence, from reaching into one of the last drawers to returning to you with an item in hand. "I have an invitation for you."

She opens the box she's brought, and inside is a necklace very similar to the one the instructors wear. The main difference is the symbol, the crown that Wanda also carries on the pendant around her neck. You frown in confusion.

"What is it?"

She wraps the item between her fingers, her gaze on you. "The disciple's necklace. The last one from the current solstice."

You imitate the gesture, touching the item with the tips of your fingers. Wanda doesn't move her hand away as your fingers brush together, and you ignore your own shyness as you watch her bite her lip for a moment. "I don't understand what it means."

She licks her lips, and the movement doesn't go unnoticed by your eyes. "It means that you would be my apprentice. You would accompany me during periods of meditation, you would study my teachings closely, you would be... entirely dedicated to..."

"You?" you add, and Wanda lets out a shuddering breath, warm against your cheek. When did she get so close?

"If you wish." She whispers, and you pull away gently, your face hot but the last thread of sanity in your mind.

"I'm sure there are more experienced members dying for this position. It wouldn't be right-"

Wanda shakes her head, interrupting you. "They weren't chosen. You were." She assures you, pressing the box with the necklace against your chest. "And if it wasn't you, the place would be empty until the next solstice. You don't have to accept it, darling. It's not a summons. It's an invitation."

You sigh, holding the box against your chest. "I just... I've never done anything like this. I don't want to mess things up."

There's a bell in the distance, signaling the start of the next activities. Wanda glances outside briefly before stepping close enough to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth that makes your whole body heat up at once.

"Just listen to your instincts." She whispers, before pulling away with a small smile.

You write to Agatha about it the following evening, but you don't have the courage to seal the letter for sending. The whole conversation with Wanda seems too private to be shared in this way.

Although the woman said it was just an invitation, you could feel some pressure to make a decision, and it seems that the news had been circulating ever since one of the tutors couldn't find the box of the last chaos disciple pendant, and Wanda ended up mentioning that she had extended another invitation.

In a way, you were stalling. Between your activities and meetings, you hadn't made any decisions and you hoped that the end of the summer would force Wanda to choose someone else. But there was also the question of the new, burning feelings that had appeared since you first laid eyes on her, and which seemed to awaken every time you two were in the same environment.

The idea of departing, of leaving her behind like a closed chapter in your life, seemed absurd every passing day.

In your second month with the Chaos Children, you received a rather unusual request: take the prophet her morning drink.

The crumpled piece of paper was handed to you by one of your cabin mates: Kate Bishop. A former student, a little younger than you, who, after destroying a bell at the university, was sent here by her millionaire mother. Kate was to stay until she had balanced her irresponsible impulses and could take over the family's security empire.

She seemed a little reluctant to interrupt your concentration on cleaning the garden, but much more determined not to disappoint Wanda.

"Just give it to the kitchen staff, they'll know what to do. And prioritize, she doesn't like to wait." Said the girl, but you gave her hand a gentle tug before taking the paper.

"But why did she ask me?" you asked, but Kate had no idea and just shrugged before leaving the garden.

While the kitchen staff prepared the item, you tried to improve your appearance in the bathroom next to the lounge, wiping all the soil from the plants from under your fingers, and even what had run into your cheeks.

When you came out, there was another order on the counter and a small group of people who hadn't been there before. They didn't see you. Blonsky, accompanied by two other women you didn't know, were talking to each other.

"I bet it was Carter. She hasn't stopped talking about her private piano lessons with the Prophetess for four whole weeks." Said the first, but the other laughed quietly.

" Sharoon is a simp, that's all. Wanda wouldn't choose her after the episode with Rogers last year, she knows she can't trust her." Rebutted the other. "Besides, I would have assumed it was Bishop, after all, she already acts like a maid. Why train another when you already have one so dedicated?" The women laugh amongst themselves until they finally notice you approaching, and fall silent. Blonsky smiles, but he appears very vicious.

"Hello, miss. Wouldn't you like to have a say in who our next disciple is?" He asks you, but you shrug, moving forward in the queue in front of the canteen to grab the prophet's items that were clearly being prepared in priority.

"I don't know anything about it." That's your answer, but the shorter woman gets in your way.

"Come on, dear, it's easy." She begins with a giggle. "Every solstice, the prophetess chooses her disciples. There are 24 of them, 12 of whom will become apostles after their apprenticeship."

You grimace softly. "It's very biblical."

Blonsky chuckles. "Of course, it is, despite the multiculturalism of our group, Wanda was raised in a Jewish Christian home. You're not going to tell me you didn't know that?"

You clear your throat. "Not really. Sorry, I have to run."

But the man puts a hand in your way, only to stretch his body out on the counter and reach for some colored leaves that he crushes and drops into Wanda's glass.

"She likes it this way. I would know, I prepared many when I was her houseboy for the first few weeks here." He says, and you swallow dry, mumbling an awkward thank you before hurrying off.

The path is a little tiring, you think it makes sense of Wanda's physique if she had to climb that trail every day, and you mentally curse yourself for thinking about her body. It's not at all appropriate, honestly.

The door is open, but you knock anyway. The woman inside, wearing her typical long, loose dresses at the edge, is busy finishing a loose fringe in her hair and offers you a smile.

"Come in, dear."

You do so a little awkwardly, almost overwhelmed by the moment of entering the most private place in the whole camp. It's a beautiful cabin, you let her know, without stopping to admire the perfectly arranged surroundings. You would have thought that the privacy of this place would allow her to make some kind of personal mess, but everything is impeccably in place.

Wanda approaches to pick up the items, and the smile falters on her face at the first sip of her drink.

"Did you put... did you put maca root in this?" She asks, and your natural reaction is a short laugh.

"I didn't prepare it, Wanda."

But she doesn't smile again, her tone of voice remains the same but her attitude changes to one of false kindness. "My morning drink is an ashwagandha. I need my concentration to increase, not my libido." It really sounded like a scolding, and her attitude of handing the cup back to you, accompanied by the memory of the recent events, made your blood boil.

"Well, I'm not your fucking maid, so if it's not good, get another one downstairs, or even better, make it one yourself."

It's the first time you see any kind of fury in her gaze, hot and vibrant, and it makes something in you rouse. Your mention of leaving the cabin is prevented by her hands closing the door and trapping you against the wood.

Wanda takes a deep breath, and the gleam in her eyes changes. "Can I ask... where did this attitude come from?"

You hold the glass tightly against your body, very aware that you'll drop it if Wanda doesn't step away and let you breathe. "I just want to make things clear." You retort with a seriousness that doesn't do justice to the way your heart is racing. "I didn't come to this place to be your personal servant."

Wanda chuckles briefly, letting her gaze drop to your mouth. "Oh, of course not, darling." She whispers. "You're not the type to follow orders willingly. You'd do a terrible job."

Swallowing dryly, you retort: "And why am I here then?"

Wanda smiles innocently. "I asked you to bring my drink." It's her reply, clearly trying to tease you, and you snort impatiently.

"I bet you expected an answer. Well, I haven't made up my mind yet, so if there's nothing else, I'll just go."

Wanda moves to take the glass from you and put it on the table by the door. The next second, her hands are in yours.

"Don't be silly, of course, there's another reason." She retorts, pulling you along as she walks backward into the cabin. "I hear you love painting."

What you had assumed was her personal painting canvas is offered to you. The laugh that escapes you is shy and genuine.

"Wanda, I don't... paint anymore."

But she doesn't flinch, her hands still in yours. "I know you haven't since last semester. It was in the letter. But you've progressed so much, that I thought you could paint for me." When you don't answer, she makes such an adorable expression that your heart skips a beat. "Please?"

Wanda definitely knows how beautiful she is, and how those puppy-dog eyes can take her anywhere. You bite back a smile, agreeing, and almost forget to breathe when she jumps excitedly onto your neck, hugging it for a whole moment before letting go as if she hadn't turned you into a complete mess with one touch.

She doesn't complain about the cocktail again - instead, she drinks it entirely while you get comfortable on the painting stool, doodling for a few moments before starting to paint the only thing you could after so many months without touching a paintbrush.

It's only when the drawing is clearer on the frame that Wanda becomes restless again. Loud sighs take your attention away from the painting and towards her.

"Is something wrong?"

She smiles half-heartedly, and only now do you notice the soft color of her cheeks. "I shouldn't have ignored my own complaints and drunk that juice."

You frown in confusion, letting the brush rest next to the paints. "Was it that bad? If you want, I'll complain to the kitchen-"

Wanda chuckles, shaking her head and you have to shut up because she reaches over to push the canvas out of the way and stops right in front of you, close enough to touch.

"Remember what I said? About focus and about... my libido." She asks, and you can swallow dryly, looking up in the direction of her dilated eyes. She lets her hands rest on your shoulders, pressing the weight of her body gently into yours. "Well, I suppose you'll have to see for yourself. Hold out your hand sweetheart, no, no, down... yes, you can move my dress out of the way." Your trembling fingers brushed against her knee, and immediately obeyed the order. Slowly making your way under her dress, while Wanda bit her lip and watched you draw patterns on her thighs. Finally, your fingers reached the side of her underwear. Instead of pulling it down, you let the inks drop to the ground, and your other hand went under her dress too, repeating the same path as before while you and Wanda panted together. Your face fell forward, flush into her dress, and you pressed your nose against her, inhaling deeply the scent of arousal she exhaled so strongly.

Her hands squeezed your shoulders as yours began to pull down her panties right away. A moment later, gracefully as everything so far, she kicked the item aside and spread her legs gently so that you could slide your fingers between more easily.

You looked up the second your index finger met her warmth, gasping at the mischievous smile of the woman in front of you.

"All this time I've been here..." You started hoarsely, your fingers spreading the wetness between her folds, and enjoying the way Wanda's breath caught in her throat. "Were you this wet?"

Despite the failure of her own breathing, and the way it's harder to stand up with your intimate stimulation, Wanda gives you a mischievous look and leans her forehead against yours, her red hair making a curtain between your faces.

"I get like this every time I'm around you." She confesses, giving you a provocative tug on your lower lip that forces you to thrust inside her with more determination. Almost enough for her to lose her pose. Almost. "It's disconcerting, to be honest."

Your thumb presses down firmly on her clit, and Wanda almost buckles into you, the delicious sound that escapes her throat will be in your dreams for sure. "Well, should I apologize, high sanctity?"

She chuckles at the teasing hidden in the nickname, before leaning in completely and capturing your mouth in a fervent kiss that takes you out of orbit for a whole moment, intense enough for you to whimper into her tongue, and force her hips down into yours, practically begging her to grind your lap. Wanda's response to this is a dirty giggle mixed with a moan into your mouth.

Without breaking the kiss that turns into a much hungrier one the next second, you get to your feet, adjusting your hands to grab her thighs to pull her onto your lap and carry her around the room. Between stumbles, you press each other against the various surfaces of the room, tables, and cupboards, exchanging increasingly hot and desperate kisses, and you're pretty sure you're going to have Wanda against the bookshelf if she keeps grinding into your abdomen like that.

In a pause for breath, when she's still wedged between you and the bookcase, your mouth descends on her jaw and Wanda struggles to keep her eyes open. She whimpers shamelessly as your curious hands advance down her body, pulling her dress out of the way and leaving it barely hanging off her body for you to clasp your palms over her now-bare breasts.

Her patience for release is quickly exhausted by the precise stimulation of her breasts, your eager fingers teasing and pinching her nipples until you turn her into a whimpering mess. She gives a determined tug on the hair at the nape of your neck, forcing your face back to hers in a hard, dirty kiss that makes you shudder. She breaks it only to give an order:

"On your knees." And you groan in obedience, falling to the floor almost at once, desperately pulling her dress aside to force your face into her, now with nothing in the way. Wanda arches her back once your hot mouth finds her drenched cunt; her hands desperate for some kind of support on the shelves behind her, while her chest heaves and her hips are restless against your face.

Your hungry mouth leisurely devours her, your tongue teasing her folds, spreading her wetness around and making a mess on your face. Your closed eyes show your dedication and surrender to the task, but Wanda tugs at your hair again, trying to gain a little control back and order you to quit the teasing and fuck her the way she needs you to. Fully dilated Irises then confronts her from between her legs, and Wanda loses her breath.

"Beautiful." She panted, staring back, shamelessly grinding herself into your face. "So beautiful... fuck... on your knees for me... oh, God, detka." She struggles to compliment you, but her native language begins to escape mixed with English shortly afterward, her climax approaching. You moan contentedly at the scene, aware of the state of your own underwear from all this play. Wanda's body begins to betray her, trying to pull away so you grab her thighs with a strong grip, and one of her legs ends up over your shoulder, increasing your reach just the way she needs it to fall over the edge.

Wanda comes on your tongue, spasming against the books, and in a deep moan. You don't let her pull away, keeping her restless hips in place as you lick your way through her previous climax in search of a new one. Soon her whimpering protests at the overstimulation turn into begging, and you fail to hide the smug smile at feeling her so at your mercy for a second time.

She's so close, so close, that the Sokovian comes back to her tongue, but there's a sudden knock on the door, and all the stimulation is interrupted by your fright. Wanda gasps incredulously, losing the time to react in time due to her own lust, and having to watch you stumble away - quickly wiping her cum from your chin with the back of your hand - as she tries not to fall down on her shaking knees.

"Why the fuck did you stop?" she asks in frustration through her teeth, but you, with a very flushed face, look at her with a certain desperation.

"Wanda, there's someone at the door!" You retort as if it were a very justifiable reason to steal an orgasm from her. Wanda huffs angrily, lunging at you and ignoring your confused eyes to pull you upright by the collar of your shirt, hurriedly throwing you onto the mattress. "W-wanda, what?"

"Quiet." She cuts in, pushing your shoulders until you're lying down and following the movement of your body to straddle your lap. The person outside knocks again, and although she's pulling her off, and is still shaking from her last orgasm, Wanda manages to speak in the same tone of voice as she does every morning meeting: "What is it?"

Your protests are muffled when Wanda sits on your face, and in fact, you would have forgotten any guests if Blonsky's voice hadn't sounded in the next second.

"Good morning, Reverend, I've come to join you for today's service." Says the man, but Wanda has to bite her lip hard because you're eating her out again, somehow even better than before. "Reverend?"

Wanda shakes her head, frowning at the difficulty of maintaining a rational thought when she has your tongue inside her. "Hm, I'm not going today, Blonsky... Deliver the service in my place." She fails to sound so breathless and has to close her eyes when your hands grip her thighs tightly, holding her down.

Blonsky then sounds concerned: "Aren't you feeling well, Reverence?"

Your nose nuzzles into her clit and Wanda reaches for the headboard, a satisfied sigh escaping her. "I feel great." She murmurs back and has to take a deep breath so that the next sound that escapes her isn't a moan. "Just busy. Anything else, Blonsky?"

The man clears his throat, Wanda has to press a hand against her own mouth as you reach another right spot.

"Hm, yes, Reverend... As you know, the deadline for the selection of the disciple is coming to an end." He begins, luckily unable to hear the muffled sighs inside the room through the closed door. "I have expressed my concerns to Your Reverence about a premature choice of new members-"

Wanda snorts impatiently. "Are you really going to question my choices again, Blonsky?"

"N-no, reverend!" He defends himself quickly. "Never. I just worry that the... affinity, that Your Reverence has acquired for some new members, might affect your judgment about their vocations. The premature choice of a disciple could result in their departure from our community, and we know how the withdrawal of one of our own affects everyone..."

"Don't worry about it." Wanda cuts dry, and now, she's remarkably close to climaxing. She doesn't care about the roughness, she thrusts her hips frantically into your face, muffling your breathless moans. "Y/N is the best choice... she's... so-god... dedicated and-hm... talented-" Wanda's lucky you're quick to react too. She would have screamed to the ceiling, exposing all the inappropriate activities in the room if you hadn't grabbed her thighs and spun her on her back onto the mattress. She didn't have time to lose this orgasm by the brief interruption of your movements - your fingers took the place of your tongue when you hovered above her, and your free hand covered her mouth when you sank inside her again.

Wanda came harder than before, squeezing your fingers and wetting the bed. She clings to your body in a desperate grasp, shocked by the achievement over her body, and grateful for the muffling of her moans. You keep thrusting until she stops squirting on the sheets.

You only remember that Blonsky is still outside because he speaks again. "I'll take your word for it, Your Reverence. And I hope you've made a good choice." He says at last, the sound of his footsteps moving away is ignored by you and Wanda, who meet in a hot kiss in the next second.

Your fingers continue to thrust lightly inside her, even though Wanda shudders from the excessive stimulation. And despite this, she also controls the kiss, which slows down so that she can ask in between: "Tell me, love. Did I do it? A good choice."

You kiss her a little harder. "I still don't know... what I want... or what I should do, Wanda."

She brings one of her hands up to your wrist, stopping your movements. You open your eyes to look at her. Wanda smiles, but her eyes are very mischievous. "You think too hard when the answer is right here." She retorts, giving your hand a gentle tug. You follow her lead, and soon, you have your drenched fingers with her cum inside your mouth. Your hips move instinctively, pressing down on her, and Wanda giggles mischievously, her free hand trailing down your back to encourage the movement. "Don't you want that, baby? You can be all mine."

You suck your fingerprints clean, removing them from your mouth to support yourself on the mattress now that you're so wildly grinding your hips against Wanda's thigh. She doesn't let you indulge in the sensation, grabbing your cheek and stopping your hips with the other at your silence.

Your soft protest is ignored, and your voice is almost a pathetic plea when it comes out. "It's not fair... I was feeling so good."

"Oh, darling, I can make you feel even better, every day if you decide to stay with me." She retorts, her grip softening on your cheek. You look at her, but there is still hesitation in your gaze and Wanda wishes to replace this doubt with something else. She kisses you but pulls away when you go to increase the intensity, ignoring your protest and pushing you gently away by the shoulders. "No playing, until I have an answer."

Wanda flees - because she doesn't think she'll live up to her words if she is under you - and slips out of bed before you can grab her back. Your next long protest is muffled against the mattress because you press your face down.

Wanda giggles half-heartedly as she stands up, reaches for her dress, and tries to adjust her appearance a little. "Thank you for the sex, sweetheart, it was a very pleasant surprise, but I can't let Blonsky lead a communion, he's not good at it. And you have errands, so if you'll excuse me..." Your silence made Wanda, now dressed, look at the bed again. To her surprise, you were sitting on the mattress, hanging something around your neck.

Your gaze met hers as the disciple chain was secure on your skin. The mischief in your gaze made her swallow. Twirling the symbol between your fingers, you smiled as you asked: "So how does this work? Should I confess my sins so that you can forgive me?"

"God offers forgiveness, not me." Wanda whispers back, brazenly watching you start to unbutton your shirt, the necklace hanging in the valley of your breasts is doing things to her.

"Hm, since I'm going to be forgiven, maybe I can sin a little more..." Wanda moved on instinct, crawling onto the bed to meet you halfway like a magnet being drawn towards you.

Your foreheads touched, and she sighed against your lips. "I should punish you for this blasphemy." She says, to which you smile naughtily before sticking out your tongue to tease her lips, eliciting a low moan from her.

"Promise?" You challenge, and Wanda gets tired of wasting time.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #elizabeth olsen x reader #kinktober 2023 #marvel imagines

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kiame-sama · 1 month ago

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Excluding Vil, Rook, as well as family members sharing the Hae!Human who out of the established poly groups (and ones that have been played around with like Ace + Deuce if your okay writing that) could/ will develop romantic, sexual, or both for the others in their clicks? What spured this on was rereading the Sebek portion of your "virgin rollcall" post where you said he would sleep with either Malleus or the Human. I couldn't help but think "is he looking at it like a prince doing a favor for his guard, or is this coming from desire he's ignoring due Malleus being so far above him in hs eyes". 🌻 anon

Warnings: Adult themes, adult behavior, minors do not interact, all characters are 18+, poly relationship, harem route, yanderes venting yandere frustration with other yanderes, by selecting 'view more' you consent to view content and are of age to view content

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Trey and Cater pair very well together given Trey is quite good at guiding and leading Cater through things.

Riddle and Alistair may even pair up if encouraged by the Human so they can work out their conflict in a less aggressive or destructive way.

Ace and Deuce will 100% hook up as date-mates together if they are part of the Harem. It mainly starts during a threeway with the Human that the two realize they would be fantastic mates together. They fight still, and argue, but they will make a great pairing especially after the Human has their kids.

Sebek would weep tears of joy if he got to be the Human's mate and Malleus' mate, but Malleus is more likely to just go for the Human and maybe let Sebek join if the Human asks. Sebek holds back his personal want for Malleus because he believes the prince to be so far above him he shouldn't even have the right to ask.

Jack would absolutely let Leona mount him and mate him if Leona wanted. He respects and idolizes Leona quite a lot despite some questionable behavior Leona shows towards others.

Rook and Neige would absolutely pair up given Vil is still a little prickly towards Neige and Rook adores both Harpies. Neige thinks Rook's little names and titles are absolutely charming.

Neige will try to win over Vil, having always believed Vil to be the most beautiful Harpy he has ever laid eyes on. Vil has more of a hate-mating view of Neige unless the Human mediates between them, where Vil is noticeably gentler with Neige.

~~~~

Some even go outside of their Household groupings to pair up with others in the Hoard.

Azul and Jamil would happily form a loose mating partnership whenever they meet up. Azul is more into it than Jamil is, but they do pair well together.

Rook pursues Leona, Azul, Idia, Jamil, Malleus, and Riddle becuase the thinks they are unique brands of beautiful. Rook will consider any who accept his advances- even if it is only once- as mates.

Vil and Leona pair up more as a venting session between the two, and they bicker almost constantly during their pairing.

Jamil would also be willing to pair up with Floyd, especially if he wants to make a mating ball with the Eel in spring.

Jade would actually pair up- purely for the sake of curiosity- with Trey if the Kelpie allows it (he will, also purely for curiosity's sake).

#kiame-sama #humans are extinct twst au #tw poly

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writingbluerose · 3 months ago

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once upon a dream | silver vanrouge x reader

summary : it has been a few weeks since you've entered Twisted Wonderland as a student and defeated Riddle's overblot. But you've been having these dreams...and a boy is always in them, he's so handsome and kind, too bad he's just a boy made by your imagination, right...?

warnings : maybe some mentions of bullying, reader is Yuu and it's implied she's a girl <3 ; suggestive!

a / n : Other Silver fanfic order for you! A plot that came to me while I was trying to sleep, heh, ironic :3 ( and yes I KNOW, this ain't really an original fic name but believe me I didn't think anything was more fit for this story than this title )

Other day done at Night Raven Collage. Classes upon classes and lots of students that had nothing better to do but laugh and look down at you as always then getting beaten up by Ace and Deuce. It was a routine at this point and it always made you just as tired every day and even more excited at the thought of just crashing into your bed and never wake up again. Though you couldn't help but think about that dream again.

You've been having this dream lately, you're always in the same spot. A forest, with tall thin trees and colorful flowers, and also a lake, so clear it could resemble a mirror and so so very pretty. And yet, not one of them can top his beauty. While dreaming of this forest, there was a boy. A boy with silver hair and eyes with such a beautiful color to them that they rival the aurora borealis back in your world, a boy so pretty you wonder how did your consciousness even make him up. And he comes to you in every dream, every single one, not once he had missed a meeting. His name is Silver, he says, and he's a knight, a knight in training. It's been roughly a month since you met, and you keep wondering if he's truly a fragment of your imagination because he's somehow too perfect and if you were completely honest you've grown to have romantic feelings for him, which not even you can believe.

In another part of the school past the hall of mirrors and into the Diasomnia dorm, a silver haired boy is sitting on the couch deep in thought. Not about something, rather about someone, someone who's been in his dreams for far too long and now occupies his every waking thought. And of course, to search for an answer he goes to the wisest person he knows yet. “Father, are you busy? May I tell you something?” Knocking on a room's door, Silver opened it quietly to reveal the figure of Diasomnia's vice housewarden, Lilia Vanrouge, also Silver's adoptive father. “Of course you can Silver! Come in and tell me, you've made me curious” Giving him a smile, Lilia invited the boy in. Sitting next to him Silver looked at the floor then at his father. “You see, lately my unique magic has been... activating more frequently” “Is that so? How come?” “I don't know how but it's not really that which concerns me more. It's the fact that no matter how many times it activates I end up in the same dream, with the same person, and well... I don't know how to say this...” “Do you know? — Lilia was now listening more closely, more interested by the second by his son's story — Who's dream does it belong to?” “I don't...but, it's a girl. I remember she said her name was Y/N” If Silver would've stayed just a few more seconds looking at his father he would've saw how his smile grew ten times more at his son's confession. Scooting closer to Silver he pushed him to tell more. “And? What's happening in those dreams hm?” “Well, the place we're in is the same. It looks so similar to Briar Valley though, she's always there by the lake, like she's waiting for me and we talk and laugh. I think she thinks I'm just a fragment of her mind, but even so she seems so happy talking to me like she's in her own element and that makes me happy, but lately I can't get her out of my mind, she's always there” “Then? Are you in love perhaps?” His father asked quite boldly yet he didn't miss how his son's face turned the faintest shade of red. “I don't know for sure, maybe I am...but, what I know for sure is that... She's beautiful”

At the same time, three first year students were crashing in Ramshackle's dorm lounge, three friends to be exact and one little magic beast snoozing away in the corner of the couch. “So this guy has been in your dreams ever since you came here?” “And he's never missed a single one?” Clutching a pillow to your chest, you buried your face in it, clearly embarrassed by the conversation which you started with the goal of searching for a solution to your feelings. You quietly murmured a yes in the pillow causing the two boys to look at each other. “Well I ain't got nothing for your situation Y/N” “Myeah, sorry, me neither” “Guys COME ON! There's got to be something! Right? Right?!” Grabbing Ace's shoulders you shaked him desperately, you were way too exasperated for this yet you couldn't help but ask your friends, they were the only ones you could lean your shoulder on. “Ok ok geez! Stop shaking me like that I'm gonna puke! Sevens...hm, to be fair, I can't help but think that that description of yours seems oldy familiar, but I can't wrap my head around it” “I agree with Ace — Deuce turned his head to look in your direction — something about that description seems familiar but I don't remember anyone looking like that at all” You whined and sat on the couch sulking. “What am I gonna do?! How did I even feel in love with a guy that MY imagination created?! This isn't even possible!!” Ace snickered. “Well can't do anything about that! But um, are you entirely sure your imagination created him?” “Well what else would bring him in my dreams every single night?” “Well, it could be someone's, you know... unique magic” “Hm? Oh like Riddle's 'Off with your Head' spell?” “Yeah!” You hummed and looked at the floor thinking. Even if he was real, how can someone be so... perfect? And so so beautiful like Silver?

Two days passed since the conversation with Ace and Deuce and by now you're almost convinced that the two were right and that in fact the boy who accompanied you in every dream was a boy who was brought here by, probably, his unique magic. Though who is he really? Is his name really Silver? Does he know who you are, is that why he's with you all the time? Or he doesn't and he's being brought here by accident? Answers, you'd like to have the answers to these questions. “You alright Y/N?” Feeling a hand on your shoulder, you turned around to see Deuce next to you. Behind the two of you, Grim and Ace were bickering about an accident that happened in professor's Crewel class. You softly smiled at Deuce, “Yeah don't worry about it Deuce. I was just thinking” The dark blue haired boy frowned at you, “Are you sure that's all? You know you can tell us everything right?” “Of course yes, it's just...hm...” He took his hand off your shoulder, his expression turning softer. “Hey, if it's about that guy in your dreams, don't worry about it. I'm sure we're going to find him soon! Don't let that ruin your day, alright?” You gave him a soft smile and turned your head in front of you, but just as you started walking again your body was thrown onto the floor by a sudden force...you hit someone didn't you? “Y/N! Are you alright? You're not hurt are you— Hrk!” Eyes trailing to the two figures in front of them, Deuce was suddenly face to face with two of the students from Diasomnia. Its Vice Housewarden and... and Silver, who, now that Deuce thinks about it, looked awfully similar to the description of the boy you saw in your dreams. “Oh my! Sorry about that you two! Silver didn't see you here!” Lilia laughed at the little unexpected meeting, not noticing the way Silver looked down at you. Something about you was awfully familiar.

Silver snapped out of his thoughts and held out a hand for you to take. “I apologize, I... I didn't see you, I wasn't paying attention to where I was walking” Rubbing the back your head, you took his hand before looking at him with a smile. “That's ok, I also need to pay attention to where I- ah!” Your hand stopped mid-air, your eyes wide at the person in front of you. It's him, that's him! That's...that's Silver! “U-uhm...” You shakily took his hand and pulled yourself up on your feet quickly retrieving your hand from his. “I'm- uh- yeah! I'm ok! Don't- don't worry about it!” You looked anywhere but at him because goodness, if you did you wouldn't be able to tear your eyes from his. Unbeknownst to you, Silver was thinking the same. He finally found you, you're here at NRC, right in front of him, you. Turning your head around, you looked at Deuce with a panic the boy has never seen before. “Come on Deuce! We gotta go!” Startled by your voice Deuce barely had time to think before you grabbed his arm. “Wh- hey are you ok?? Y/N?!” You hurriedly pulled his arm to be out of Silver's vision. From behind you, Ace's voice echoed through the halls, completely oblivious to what happened seconds before. “Hey hold on where're you going? Wait for us!” With Grim on his shoulders Ace quickly caught up to both of you and just like that you were out of Silver's reach. His eyes trailed to the place you feel. Noticing his distress, Lilia questioned him, “Something wrong Silver?” The silver haired boy waited a minute before answering back to his father. “Lilia that was her. That's Y/N, it's her, she's here” Silver couldn't believe it, you were not a meaningless dream he's been having, you're real. And Sevens, he never wanted to feel your touch more than he does now.

Ohmygodohmygodohmygod. Your mind was racing as you stepped in circles in the back of the Ramshackle dorm. After class ended you quickly excused yourself to Ace and Deuce and ran back to your dorm. You can't believe it! Silver! He's- he's real! And he's at this school! Gosh you've never felt more embarrassed than you did now. How are you even going to meet his eyes or even cross him in the halls without it being awkward? And yet... you feel so happy. He could've easily dismissed you like everyone else, he had magic so he had every right to. Yet he didn't, he stayed and listened to whatever you had to tell him despite your inferiority. And that made you really happy. Silver was kind, perhaps the only kind person you'd ever find here. Smiling to yourself you looked up at the sky, “I wonder if he'd meet me now that he knows who I am” “Of course I would, I don't have any reasons not to” From behind you, a calm voice answered your question. Silver silently walked and stopped next to you. “Why would you think I wouldn't?” You looked down before blushing slightly “Well, you know...not many people want to have something to do with me because I'm...well...you know, magicless, so I'm weak” Silver frowned. “Weak? I wouldn't say that being magicless means you're exactly weak. There are other types of strength you can train and use to your advantage, just because you don't have magic does not mean you're inferior to anybody, you should always remember that” Smiling at you, Silver landed you his hand in hopes that you'd take it, and you did. “Do you trust me?” You laughed “After all the time we spent together? How could I not?”

Without any words exchanged between you, both of you walked deeper and deeper in the forest with you taking a peak at Silver's expression from time to time to see if you can discover what he plans on doing. Soon enough you both arrived at an opening in the forest. The trees were tall and forming an almost perfect circle around you giving space for the sun to peak through the leaves and branches, there were small patches of flowers with all types of colors and you could hear tiny birds singing happily. How could such a place even exist on the grounds of this school? It's like a place from a fairytale. “This place is...really pretty, I didn't know such a place existed here” “It is yes. I come here whenever I feel drowsy after hours, I would usually hate the idea of sleeping for such a long time, but sometimes even I can't help myself... Though I wish to get rid of my drowsiness as soon as possible” Pouting, Silver scratched the back of his head in embarrassment. “But that's not why I called you here” He came to you and took both your hands in his, dragging you a bit farther into the opening. Still holding your hands he looked at you with a seriousness you've never seen from him, even in your dreams. “Y/N — he began, a bit hesitant, you noticed — I wanted to tell you this here, so I hope you'll listen to me until the end” Looking at his questioningly you smiled and signaled for him to continue. “Ever since I've met you in your dream, I-... I wasn't able to get you out of my mind. You were there in my thoughts even at times where I was thinking about something completely unrelated to our adventures. And soon enough I... I discovered that I love you! I really love you and when we met today I realized that my feelings for you were even stronger! So I don't know if you feel the same but I wanted to tell you. I love you Y/N, I love you so much” Taking a few seconds to process his words your face became redder and redder in every passing second you thought about every single word he said. “Silver I... I love you too! And I've been loving you for so long, even when I thought you were part of my imagination! I mean how could I not? You're so handsome and kind and- and perfect! I... I've always loved you, like, a lot” The boy's eyes widened in surprise at your words “Perfect? You think I'm perfect?” You excitedly nodded at his question.“The most perfect person I've met”

You steeped closer, your bodies almost touching. Silver's eyes trailed to your lips signaling what he wanted before he met your eyes again. One hand went to your waist the other still holding yours. Doing the same one of your hands found its way to his shoulders pulling him even closer, feeling his breath so so close to your lips that you couldn't help but shiver. At that, Silver squeezed your waist as a way of telling you that he is too, getting impatient. You looked him in the eyes while your lips almost touched. “Do you want to? Show me how much you love me?” “If you'll allow me” Feeling his words against your lips you nodded, accepting. At that, Silver's lips finally found yours and he groaned at the contact. His hand left yours to hold your cheek and yours flew to his silver locks and grabbed his hair. Silver groaned again before he nibbled at your lip and bit it causing you to gasp against his mouth allowing his tongue to explore you. Not a single inch was left out, Silver wanted to engrave you in his mind, how you felt against him, your touch, your looks every single thing. The kiss lasted for a long time, every single breath, whimper, groan and brush of tongue exchanged was engraved in both of your minds, bodies so desperate for each other's touch that letting go was almost impossible.

After some time, you finally parted with heavy breaths and puffy lips. You looked at each other for a while before smiling. Silver's hand brushed the hair out of your face and tucked it behind your ear smiling softly. “You're so beautiful” “Me? You're mesmerizing” You said laughing. The boy took your hand in his and brought it to his mouth kissing it, his lips lingering for a moment before he pulled away and kissed you on the lips once again. “I love you” “Hm, I love you too Silver, so much” You hugged him pecking him on the lips, you just couldn't resist not to do it, he was just so pretty for you to resist.

After the confession, you and Silver didn't stop meeting in your dreams. Even when Silver's unique magic didn't work he himself made it so he can see you every night. Dancing, laughing and exchanging kisses in the dreamworld whenever you couldn't meet at school. But when you did, you make sure to sneak out, even if just for a minute, to spend time together before going back to your respective tasks. And both of you couldn't have it any other way. Silver sometimes hopes that you'll stay with him. So both of you can get married and have a family, at the end, growing old together. He knows it's selfish, but he's allowing himself to be, just for a little while, if that means you'll stay with him until the end of his life.

#✦ ~ 𝐚𝐳𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬 !#ANOTHER SILVER FIC WOO!!#I needed to make this the moment my mind made it up #because it's SUCH A COOL CONCEPT #i mean i think that but i hope you guys will like it too!#twst #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twst silver #twst silver x reader #silver x reader

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licityvibes · 10 months ago

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Can You Hold Me?

✶ Pairing: tennis player! Kim Hongjoong x therapist female reader ✶ Word count: 10,8 k ✶ Warnings: cursing, traumatic past, mentions of death, mentions of alcohol use, a lot of angst, a little suggestive at the end

✶ Summary: You had chosen to become a therapist, but why? So that you could help others, and at the same time escape your dark and traumatic past. One day, the problematic tennis player Kim Hongjoong comes in for a session, and everything changes from then on as you find solace and understanding in your traumatic pasts.

✶ A/N: Yoo, I'm back omg, I officially graduated and now I'm an unemployed nobody yaayy. So about this story...I'm not quite satisfied with my writing in it and I don't expect much from this, I just needed to write it because it kind of helped me through tough times. And I just realized writing angst helps me get through my anxiety lmao. Oh and just to add, I have no idea about psychology I kind of improvised the whole process so sorry if it’s not how it is going.

So buckle up ig, I wanted to make this very angsty but ended up making it rather fluffy lmao, so enjoy! Okay byee! (divider)

(p.s. This song inspired the title and it perfectly describes Hongjoong's feelings, I recommend listening to it hehet.)

Human's minds are pure chaos. Within each person lies a world as complex as our physical reality. There exists pure happiness alongside deep darkness that can both consume and strengthen. It's hard to escape the maze of rusty, huge walls that separates us from our sanity. Sometimes people desperately need a guiding hand that belongs to a person and runs along the dark maze, pulling them out of the dark labyrinth of thoughts that slowly destroy them.

I was a helping hand in hundreds of people's lives. People came to me shouting for help desperately or sometimes they were too stubborn to ask for help so I needed to convince them first to trust me, so they could let me lead them out of the dark.

I was a clinical psychologist, I fixed people's minds. It is a hard task, everyone has their unique story, and their own problems that can drive people crazy. And I needed to prevent that. All the process looked like a brain surgery, it just didn't need steel tools and extravagant knowledge of the different kinds of nerves and muscles. I couldn't just cut out people's brains like the doctors and fix things like that. A brain surgery could take up to 7 hours, but if I needed to save someone from the dark, dirty maze...that is impossible for them and for me to help in that short of time. It needed years. Years of trying to show the way out into the light that sometimes comes with the biggest hardships. To put together the lost pieces so they can be their old selves. But the thing is, they could never be their old selves again, just little pieces of it. Sometimes they can overcome it alone, sometimes they accept my helping hand and sometimes...they don't make it out of the dark ever. Those are the hardest journeys of my bumpy road.

I always felt like my life's purpose was to help people overcome their fears. I liked to dive deep into people's minds and play with the strings of their nerves, to find out their deepest, darkest secrets that they only told me. All the time someone confessed their feelings, when they opened up to me, I felt like a Goddess to whom people whispered their biggest sins. It was like they told me their Sea of Confession.

And why did I like it? Hearing people's dark thoughts made my mind concentrate on their problems, so I could run away from my own problems, from my own dark thoughts that hunted me in my nightmares, until my mind was tired enough so it could finally go blind.

I could fix people, but who fixed me?

I was in a hurry as I sipped from my morning coffee next to a quick breakfast that I made in a hurry because of course I overslept and now I was late for work. As I was sitting in my small one-room flat, I drank the last drops of coffee from my mug, quickly grabbed my keys, and turned off the TV that was a white noise on my chaotic morning.

Before I turned the TV off, I saw that the news was about some 26-year-old professional tennis player who got into a scandal, that was speeding through the highway drunk and nearly causing an accident. I heard about this player a few times on the news, he was always in some kind of trouble, like being drunk during an interview or shouting at a reporter after he lost a game, these attitudes of his made his fame slowly fade through the years as people started to judge him, because of his behavior.

I saw a few of his interviews, where he just seemed as bored as a prisoner in a cell, he spoke with people like they were some kinds of slaves. Something was up with him, I knew it—I was a therapist—he had a reason because people don't go insane just because they want to. I was sure it was deeper than the effects of being a professional tennis player dealing with fame.

He fought with some demons just like all of us.

The news also said that they just took his driver's license and the problem was solved, just because he was an athlete and had money. Our world was very fair. I scoffed at that after I quickly turned off the TV and glanced one last time at the full-body mirror, checking if my white shirt was perfectly ironed, which I paired with a grey, tight skirt that barely reached my knees with black heels, I pulled on my grey blazer that fitted with my skirt and left my cozy flat to step out into the air full of the breeze of spring.

As soon as I parked my car I hurried straight to my office, my first client was already there waiting for me in front of my door that held my name 'Dr. Kwon Y/N'.

"Ah, sorry for being late, but the traffic was horrible, my apologies." I quickly took out my keys from my purse and opened the door.

"It's okay, I know it can be the worst." My client smiled at me, his blonde hair fluffy from the morning hours, black framed glasses sitting on his tall nose, his dimples showing from the curve of his lips. His name is Song Mingi and he has been going to therapy for over a year now, he experienced a horrible trauma and it takes time to get over it, step by step but he is going to fight his demons.

"C'mon in." I smiled at him genuinely.

I stepped into my office, which looked comforting, and full of warm colors, that being orange, brown, and all shades of red. I wanted to make this room look like a place where people who are coming to my office, feel safe, to feel that whatever they tell me, stays there. The walls were painted warm orange. The furniture was brown, in the middle of the room there was a brown armchair with some orange stripes and in front of that, there was a sofa with the same colors, where my clients could lay down or just sit comfortably. On my left side, there's a big window and on the ledge, there are some green indoor plants. My main purpose was to give them a place where they can feel comfortable.

I sat on my armchair as I waited for Mingi to get comfortable.

"So how are you feeling today, Mingi?" I crossed my legs and all my attention was on the man in front of me, trying to listen to his thoughts and feelings that confused him.

Noon went by quickly and I had a little break before my next client came, so I went to the nearby bakery to buy some fresh baked bread. As I was walking back to my office, finishing the bread I bought, I got a text from my assistant, saying my next client was already here so, I needed to hurry back. Today was not my day that is sure. I kind of started to speedwalk, and that turned into running. I just hated it when my clients needed to wait for me because that didn’t seem professional.

As soon as I stepped into the building trying to catch my breath because of the running. I spotted a man who leaned against the wall in a black hoodie the hood was over his head, where a few blonde strings of his hair fell onto his forehead and his hoodie was paired with ripped black jeans.

"Good afternoon, sorry for being late!" I approached the strange man; it was his first time being here.

He quickly snapped his head up and looked at me with a bored and quite sharp expression. "Finally, I've been waiting for ten minutes already." He sighed staring at me with deadly eyes.

It didn't surprise me when my clients offended me and made me the wrong person. It was common when people didn't want to say anything at all to me or to be everywhere but here. Throughout the years I learned how to handle these kinds of people.

As our eyes met, that was the moment when I recognized this man, pictures from all over the media and the news appeared in my mind of the professional tennis player Kim Hongjoong.

I bowed my head a little as a sign of my apology. "My apologies, come in!" I opened the door with that and went in, to sit down in my armchair. He followed me with a disgusted expression as he looked around the room, and plopped down to the sofa. He was laying on his back with his legs pulled up, shoes still on, hands interlaced over his stomach, and closed his eyes, with his hood still on. I analyzed every little movement of his because it told me hundreds of things about him. I knew he wouldn't talk to me much, so my job was to read his moves. It was the kind of situation where we won't talk a lot because he just doesn't want to be here, it could be even that someone forced him to come here, or he just opens up with difficulty.

I was a tolerant woman and I knew, I needed to make him trust me.

"My name is Dr. Kwon Y/N, nice to meet you. Kim Hongjoong, right?" I asked with a warm voice as I crossed my legs and opened his files on my laptop that was on my legs. As I quickly glanced through his file, I immediately understood the reasons behind his behavior.

"Yeah. Can you stay quiet, I want to sleep." He said with a low voice, his eyes still closed.

I was in plenty of situations like this, sometimes people don’t know what is respect towards the other. You just needed to make them respect you.

"Well, you are not here to sleep right now, Hongjoong." I just looked at him with a knowing smile, because the next thing was that he opened his eyes and turned his head to look at me.

"Well, I don't want to talk." He turned his head back to stare at the ceiling.

"We don't have to talk about your problems or feelings, only if you want. But firstly, we are here to feel comfortable and to trust each other." I said, closing my laptop and leaning forward to place it on the small table that separated us.

Hongjoong just scoffed at that. "Yeah, right."

I leaned backward folding my arms. "What is your favorite color?"

He looked at me again with a confused expression. "Are you kidding me? Are we in kindergarten or what?"

"We have to start somewhere, aren't we?" I raised my eyebrows at him with a smile. I needed his attention and this was the best solution.

"It's black I guess." He said with a bored expression.

"Favorite animal?"

"Squirrel"

"Oh, that's an unusual one." I smiled. He just shrugged.

"Favorite place to go on a vacation?"

"I don't really have time for those things."

"But if you had time?"

He rolled his eyes. "Probably Greece."

"Greece is beautiful, I agree."

"Why did you choose tennis?" And here we are, the real-deal questions started now. I hoped he fell into my trap with the previous questions.

The question surprised him, but he just shrugged. "My dad showed it to me when I was younger and I immediately felt a connection with it." It was a short answer but told me a lot of things. Passion from childhood—noted.

"Something you like doing, other than tennis?"

"Nothing." I stood silent because I saw on his face he was thinking. "Probably driving. But I fucked that up too." His features changed to anger. It seemed like he was mad at himself. It was good. At least he knew something was up with him.

"You can get it back, it's not permanent," I said to him, trying to calm him with my soft voice.

"Well," he suddenly got up in a sitting pose and stared at me like it was my fault. "That was the only thing that could clear my head and I lost that too because I fucked up." He raised his voice, his expressions mirroring pure anger, that was pointed at me, but at the same time I knew he just couldn't face the mirror and to fully blame himself. At least he showed emotion, that was always a good sign, even if it were bad emotions.

"Sometimes people need to lose something that brings them joy, so they'll learn to live without it and find other things that bring them joy," I said seriously, looking deep into his eyes, trying to find a little light in them.

"Stop this bullshit, cliché speech. It's not true. When you lose something important to you, that will never come back." He was leaning over his knees with his elbows, his hands interlaced. He seemed vulnerable for a second, I saw a really broken part of him, that was going to be tough to put together, but there was no impossible task for me.

We weren't talking about driving I knew it; it was just easier to speak in metaphoric sentences.

"Yes, there are situations when that something won't ever come back, but that doesn't mean we have to destroy ourselves and live in self-pity for the rest of our lives." I just needed to stay calm and only beam positivity, even when people shouted at me, blaming me for everything.

"No, you don't understand." He stood up and buried his face into his hands in frustration. "I can't do this." He said and went to the door without looking at me.

"Thank you for coming today, Hongjoong! See you next time!" I told him quickly before he angrily slammed the door.

I sighed as the silence swallowed me. Being a therapist is one of the hardest jobs on earth. It is physically but especially mentally stressful and it can eat you alive if you let it. It not only affects your feelings, that you kind of have to close out every time you have a client, but you also have to transform into them and imagine yourself in their situations and their feelings. And these different types of feelings can really overwhelm you, it's cruel.

But in the end, when I see in people's eyes, after some sessions, that they changed and are trying to be better, it fulfills my heart, that is when I say, it is worth the ups and downs that come with it.

Hongjoong wasn't my first client to act like this; they were difficult to handle and required patience. However, I knew he would calm down one day, and we could have a sincere conversation.

That night I dreamt about a little boy's face, eyes full of passion, that looked so familiar but I still couldn't recognize it.

Hongjoong came back the next day and after. He was calmer than the first time. He slowly opened up to me, as we talked through the hours of the sessions, sometimes it went well, sometimes it was rather quiet, but we made progress.

"What does tennis mean to you?"

"It's my everything, that is what is left for me in this world. But I feel like it's slowly not enough to keep me here."

"Maybe you should try something new out."

"I'm only good at tennis, I tried to do sports like football, but I wasn't that passionate as for tennis."

"Do you want to give up on tennis?"

"I don't want to, but... I'm getting so bad at it because my feelings are eating me alive. I'm not the old unstoppable Kim Hongjoong who beat everyone who came his way."

"Fighting against your feelings won’t solve your problem. This is why you should speak about them."

"What if I don’t want to?"

"How does the media affect your feelings?"

"I don't give a fuck about the media, those are some fucked up people whose lives are so boring they need to bump their noses into other's life."

"It's a really good point of view, I agree they don't know the real reasons for people's actions, only what they see. But you can't say it never affected you."

He stood quiet for a second, thinking. "It affected me when they talked shit about my close ones."

"Do your friends support you?"

"Yes, I have only a few friends, but they support me in everything. Especially Wooyoung, who is like my brother."

I nodded. "Does Wooyoung live here?" Before he could say anything, I added. "Just if he's close enough so you can talk or hang out if needed."

"He lives in the city, we play football a lot of times together and hang out after for some drinks."

"Do you like to drink?"

"Who doesn't?"

"Replying to a question with a question. I see. You are learning from me." I smiled at him just to elevate the mood.

I saw a very little curve appear on his lips. We were heading in the right way.

"But back to my question. You know you did a lot of things while being drunk."

"Well, that is my only escape from this fucked-up world."

"But you know it affects other people as well, for example when you nearly caused an accident driving while being drunk."

"Do we really need to talk about this? I know I messed up, okay? You don’t have to shout at me for being stupid." His mood swings were like a child's—one moment he was cooperative, and the next he was angry for no apparent reason.

"Why did you become a therapist?" He asked, looking sincerely curious. It occurred a lot of times when my clients tried to ask things about my personal life and I only thought it was fair to reply to them but keep the boundaries in their place.

"It wasn't even my dream until 5 years now, the idea came suddenly and I realized I always liked to talk to people about feelings and give them advice," I said keeping eye contact with him as he was sitting in front of me.

"Did you always live here?" He asked, leaning back on the sofa.

"Yes." I smiled at him.

"Do you like it here?" I wasn't surprised by his questions, there was always a moment when people realized they didn't know anything about the person sitting in front of them, to whom they confessed their deepest feelings.

I looked out the window on my right and thought about the question. "I think, I do. Do you?"

"I hate it." He looked down at his hands when I turned my head back to look at him.

"Why?"

"Because a lot of shit things happened here."

"So why are you still here?"

He shrugged. "I don't know, I have nowhere to go."

"Maybe, you could go to Greece." I smiled at him.

"Yeah, maybe." He lifted his head to look at me a visible smile appearing on his lips.

"The night they caught you drunk in your car, what did you feel before?" I brought back that case because we needed to talk about that so I could understand what went through his head that night.

"Anger, heartbroken?" To my surprise, he answered, without getting angry at me. Maybe it was one of those good days of his.

"So you thought drinking and speeding through the highway would solve them?"

"I didn't think anything at all. I just needed to clear my head and that seemed the best solution."

I nodded. "Do you regret doing it?"

"Of course, I do…"

"That is a good sign. Sometimes we consciously won't admit our mistakes. But you did Hongjoong and that is a very big progress."

It was a dark, rainy day, with clouds obscuring the sun's feeble attempts to warm the world after a freezing winter. I was at work, having already seen a few clients. Some sessions went smoothly, while others made me wish I could run to the ends of the earth.

And when Kim Hongjoong came in, it continued. We made a lot of progress throughout the weeks. It went well. But something happened again because when I saw Hongjoong I felt like it was like the first time he came in. No emotions, just the bored face, and the I-don't-give-a-fuck-attitude. It felt like we started everything from the beginning like we didn't even speak the past few weeks.

"What's on your mind?" I started, hoping I wouldn't play with the string of his nerves.

He sighed. "I don't want to talk today." He leaned back on the sofa and stared at the ceiling.

I nodded. "Alright, we don't have to."

I just opened my laptop and started to reply my emails that I haven't had the time to reply to. But it was also a tactical move, I knew he would feel bothered because I didn’t pay attention to him.

I felt his gaze on me after a while. I looked up from my laptop, adjusting my glass as my eyes met with his. His expressions were confused rather than angry.

I lifted my eyebrows. "Yes?"

He looked away, seeming a little shy after being caught staring. "So, we won't talk?"

"You just said you don't want to talk."

"I know but it's strange sitting here and not talking."

"We can talk."

He just nodded, his lips forming a thin line. He was dressed in all black again—black jeans and a black T-shirt, along with a black cap that hid his eyes. With his tattoo ‘No1likeme’ on the inside of his upper arm peeking out.

I observed that when he was in higher spirits, he tended to wear brighter colors such as orange and beige. Conversely, when he dressed in all black, it signaled that he might not be feeling his best.

"What do you want to talk about?" I asked with my full attention on him.

He shrugged. "I don't know. What's your favorite color?" He looked genuinely interested, his eyes slightly hidden beneath his cap, making his gaze darker.

"Look around and try to figure it out." I smiled at him.

He slowly lifted his head and hummed his eyes scanning the whole room, taking it in, analyzing. I was watching him the whole time, his sharp jawline and characteristic nose on the sight.

"Is it orange?" He asked, his attention back on me.

I chuckled. "It is, it wasn’t impossible to guess."

He smiled at that too. Whenever he smiled, it was like witnessing the world's eighth wonder—a unique and rare occurrence that could rival any God’s smile.

"What is one word you don't like?" I asked.

"Love. It's just so overrated." Again, his expression changed as he was staring down at his hands thinking.

"Don't you love someone?"

"It's not that I don't love. It's just…" He adjusted himself on the sofa straightening up a little. "It's just doesn't embrace truthfully how I feel."

"How would you express it then?"

He paused, carefully choosing his words. "I treasure the people I feel close to. Everything they give me, whether it's gestures or words, they're little treasures that I keep deep in my heart, like in a small chest. And from that chest, I give to others. It might sound silly, but that's just how I feel." His voice sounded uncertain as if this were the most vulnerable moment of his life.

My heart started racing, and I began to feel what he felt, causing my heart to ache.

"It is a very unique and beautiful way to think of love, it’s not stupid at all," I said understandingly.

"But sometimes no matter how much you treasure the people you love, life takes them away anyway." He slowly stood up and walked to the window as his voice came out unsure.

I stood quiet because I knew he wanted to keep going. He ran his fingers through his blonde hair. "What did I do to deserve this?" The fingers in his hair grabbed his hair and pulled it as I saw his back only. "I fucked up." He raised his voice.

I stood up but refrained from approaching him, knowing he could explode at any moment.

"What happened Hongjoong?" I asked with a calm voice.

"I couldn't say goodbye to her." His voice sounded weak like he was crying.

"To whom?" Tears appeared in my eyes as well, this was the most difficult topic of my life I could never speak easier about this even if it was the hundredth time.

"My little sister." He whispered his shoulders moving up and down as he was breathing heavier. "I couldn't keep her safe." He yelled and in a fit of rage, he swept the plants off the windowsill, sending them crashing to the floor. The pots shattered, and soil scattered across the room.

I trembled from the sudden sounds of the shattered pots my heart pounding in fear. I saw a lot of situations throughout my career, but this—never.

"I couldn't keep her safe and now she is gone." He calmed down a little as his knees got weak and he fell on the ground his face in his palms.

My breathing grew heavier. There were strict boundaries between therapists and clients—any personal connection was strictly prohibited. But... how could I stand by while he was broken on the floor with shattered pots and dirty soil around him?

I approached him slowly and knelt beside him, extending my hand toward him as he stared down at his hands, lost in his own thoughts. I hesitated, afraid to touch him, but I knew I had to take the risk. When my hand gently landed on his shoulder, he lifted his head to look at me with wide eyes.

"It's okay it's not your fault, Hongjoong. Life can be cruel and make us believe it is our fault but sometimes we can't do anything to stop what was already written." I carefully lifted my hand towards his face to wipe his tears. As soon as I realized what was I doing I quickly withdrew my hands. But before I could do that, he grabbed my wrist and held it against his face staring into my wide eyes.

"Can you hug me?" He asked with an unsure voice.

"Y-yes." My heart wanted to jump out of my chest because I knew I couldn't do such things, I couldn't bond with my clients emotionally, but it was just too late because we had so much in common with Hongjoong it was impossible not to.

I slowly wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him close. The scent of sweet caramel filled my nostrils, instantly calming me and prompting me to draw him even closer. His hands encircled my waist, gently lifting me as I settled into his lap. And I let him do it without a word, my only intent was to bring him comfort.

"How could I forgive myself?" He whispered into the crook of my neck, wetting it with his tears.

"Time will make you believe it wasn't your fault, trust me. Time heals everything." My hands unconsciously started to caress his back when he nuzzled his nose into my neck.

"I couldn't say her goodbye." He whispered weakly.

Tears welled up in my eyes as memories of my own began to flood my mind. Memories that I dig deep down so I won't ever have to remember. A little boy's face I saw every night in my dreams. A little boy's face, that slowly faded away.

"She's watching you from above," I whispered weekly.

And then someone shut the door outside and reality hit me suddenly making me jump out of Hongjoong's lap.

"My next client is here. You should go. Thank you for coming," I said, avoiding his eyes, and realizing the line I had crossed. I walked over to another door where supplies were kept, kneeling to begin cleaning up the mess he had made.

"Let me help you, please. I'm so sorry, Y/N!" I closed my eyes, hearing my name. He kneeled next to me to gather the shattered pieces but I didn’t let him.

"You don't have to help me. My next client is here, so please leave," I stated flatly, glancing at him without showing any emotion. He stared at me wide-eyed, as if unable to believe what I was saying. Then, he dropped the pieces he was holding, stood up abruptly, and left the room, slamming the door behind him. I trembled at the sound, and tears began to stream down my face uncontrollably. But I couldn't allow myself to break down here when others needed my help. I wiped away my tears, took a deep breath to compose myself, and began cleaning up the mess.

To my next client, I appeared as an always smiling and understanding woman, offering advice that could save their life. But who would save mine?

After that day, I thought I would never hear from Hongjoong again. Perhaps he felt he had opened up to me only to have his feelings disregarded. I respected his emotions, but they overwhelmed me, and I was hesitant to deepen our connection. It didn't seem fair. Yet, he returned and acted as if nothing had happened on that dark, rainy day. We resumed our therapist-client relationship, asking each other questions as if he hadn't cried on my shoulder just a few days earlier.

It was a Friday evening when my last client left, it was late in the afternoon the sun was slowly disappearing, switching places with the moon. I locked the door of my office and left the building to sit in my car.

When I shut the door, sudden emotions hit me like a train that had no breaks. I needed to grab the steering wheel. All day I needed to put on a mask and smile for the people who needed reassurance and tell them only positive things that made them feel better.

I needed to keep my emotions in, which flooded like water crushing into a dam's cement walls. I needed to keep them back and just make that wall thicker, and stronger so it won't break. But there were already some thin cracks on it.

I breathed in and out slowly. This day was the worst of the year in five years. Today five years ago I lost my little brother in a bus accident that was a fault of a man driving drunk. And that school bus was just there at the wrong time, taking the lives of many little kids who were the most innocent human beings on earth. I broke that day, just like my parents, who still did not process what happened. Life was unfair and I blamed God, destiny, and everything I could just so it could be better. But it didn't, it happened and I just couldn't do anything at all. My little brother was the sweetest thing in this cruel world. He was only 7 years old, but he was so smart and kindhearted compared to his age. He simply did not deserve this fate, just like the other kids who died that day. Since that day, I see his face in my dreams which are sometimes nightmares, as the accident is playing in my head, even though I wasn't even there when it happened. But his face slowly disappears in my dreams, it's starting to get blurry and I was terrified on the fact, slowly I won't even remember his face.

Psychology was the thing that saved me from burying myself in the dark. Studying distracted me and after I finished college, I settled for a job that was being a therapist and hearing other people's problems and dark thoughts—which sometimes scared me to death—but after working in this field for 5 years now, I realized this is just people—people who only need help, a helping hand that guides them towards the light. In the process of guiding them, I slowly helped myself out alongside them, their thoughts and problems being the priority of my life, distracting me from my real problems.

But on that day, I couldn't hold it back any longer. After gathering myself, I drove to the cemetery with a bucket of flowers in hand. The cemetery appeared dark, reminiscent of scenes from horror movies, with only a few faint lights illuminating the path ahead. I knew the way to my little brother's grave as well as I knew the back of my own hand. The weather was chilly, and I hugged myself tightly for warmth, clutching the bucket of white lilies.

When I reached my little brother's grave, I couldn't contain my emotions any longer. Everything I had been holding back broke through like a dam bursting, and I fell to my knees, crying uncontrollably.

"I miss you my little bud." My tears wetted my cheeks, the moon above illuminating my brother’s grave as I whispered into the quiet. My sobbing echoed through the dark and quiet cemetery. I had never truly had friends who could be there as shoulders to cry on. It's one of the reasons being a therapist is challenging. Friends often come to see you as the sole stable point in their lives, where they can vent about their struggles and expect reassurance and advice without offering much in return. The problem was they only saw me as their therapist-friend. Over time, I grew accustomed to it and began to cut ties with those who were only friends with me for this reason.

I was still kneeling on the dirty ground, miles away from the real world as I just stared at my little brother's grave that said 'Rest in peace forever, our brightest star'.

"Y/N?" I heard a voice that seemed strange but a voice I felt like I had known my whole life.

I glanced to my left and saw a man standing there in dark clothes with a hood on. Blonde strands of hair partially hiding his eyes.

"Hongjoong?" My voice came out weak, almost like a whisper. I quickly wiped my tears away, it was a habit of mine, where no one could see me in any vulnerable state.

"What are you doing here at this hour? You'll get cold." He stepped closer with a confused expression.

"I—I just… visited my little brother." I couldn't take my eyes off him as he slowly kneeled next to me, the universe now turning as the other time it was me kneeling next to a broken Hongjoong. He looked at me with a broken expression and slowly reached his hand to wipe my tears away.

"I'm so sorry for your loss." He whispered, cupping my face into his hands. "It could have been difficult when I spoke about my sister. You are so strong, Y/N." His voice was filled with concern, his eyes watering as I broke again and started to cry again. For myself, but for Hongjoong’s loss as well.

"Come here," he said, pulling my head closer to his neck so I could breathe in his sweet caramel scent, which enveloped us both. "It's okay, let it all out. You deserve to." He gently stroked my hair, then slowly slid his hands behind my thighs and lifted me onto his lap. I settled onto his lap, wrapping my arms around his neck and burying my face into the crook of his neck. Throughout, he continued to caress my back and hair, whispering reassuring words that melted my heart. Gradually, his calming caramel scent helped me feel better.

"Let's get out of here, you are shivering." He said putting distance between us to look into my eyes, I just nodded, as he slowly took off his black hoodie, and despite my resistance, he helped me wear it. It made me look small, its sleeves hiding my hands, but it was so warm it made me forget how cold I had felt. He slowly lifted me off his lap and helped me up like I was a porcelain.

"And what are you doing here at this hour?" I asked looking up at him as he held my waist.

"Visited my sister." He gave me an understanding smile.

"Oh, they are in the same cemetery? Then they have company at least." I smiled, imagining his sister and my brother playing around, even though I never saw her.

"Yeah, I am sure they are having fun." He smiled genuinely. "Did you come by car?" He asked as we started to walk towards the exit in the dark and terrifying cemetery, while he was still holding me by my waist, scared I might fall at any moment.

"Ah, yes," I replied, trying to ground myself back in reality. I hated when people saw my vulnerable side and perceived me as fragile as glass.

"Let me drive you home, I won't let you drive in this state." He said looking at me with concerned eyes.

"I'm okay, I can drive. And you don't even have a driver's license Hongjoong." I looked at him and frowned.

"I don't care I won't let you go home alone." He seemed determined and I was too tired to fight against him.

So I let him drive my car, to where I lived even though he had no available license, but he didn't seem to care about that so neither did I. We managed to arrive at my place without the police handcuffing Hongjoong on top of my car and I felt relieved at that.

"Thank you," I looked at him grabbing the handle. I was tired and I just wanted to get a warm shower and collapse into my bed. "You can take yourself home I'll get my car tomorrow." I chuckled as I said to him.

Hongjoong chuckled at that too. "Now you are not scared I'll get arrested?" He smiled sweetly which warmed my cold heart.

"Sounds like a you problem. If you get arrested, I'll just say you stole my car." I lifted my hands with a teasing smile.

"Hah, of course you would," he remarked, reaching his hand quickly to pinch my cheek. "Okay, but only if I can take you somewhere tomorrow," he added, leaning back in the driver's seat.

I looked at him confused. "You know we can't do that."

"Why?" He asked mirroring my expression.

"Because you are my client?" I asked my brows furrowing further.

"And you think I give a shit about that?" He leaned closer to my face as he whispered it.

"But then I won't be able to hold your sessions anymore," I tried to say, attempting to create some distance, but finding myself frozen in place, the words nearly escaping me.

"I don't care, I just want to be with you." He said leaning even closer, our warm breaths melting together.

"You barely know me," I stated.

"I'm going to change that." He whispered onto my lips and then leaned back looking at my slightly blushed face satisfied.

"I'll text you, sleep well!" He said with a confident smile, winking at me.

"How do you know my number?" I asked him frowning.

"Dear, you are my therapist." He said with a shit-eating grin.

"Well, not anymore," I replied, rolling my eyes with a smile that I couldn't suppress. I stepped out of my car, only to watch it roll away. A sincere smile spread across my face as I saw him drive off.

Might Kim Hongjoong be the person who saves me?

The next day, Hongjoong texted me that he would pick me up at 6 p.m. and told me to wear comfortable clothes. Unsure of what he meant exactly, I opted for sweatpants, a white crop top, and white sneakers. I also brought along my black sweatshirt, as the weather was still cool in the middle of spring.

When I stepped out of my apartment and went down to wait for Hongjoong, I looked up at the sky and it was slightly cloudy, it might rain in the evening and before I could run back to get an umbrella Hongjoong was rolling near the sidewalk so I could jump in.

"Hello there." He smiled at me sweetly taking me in with his gaze.

"Hi," I said, nearly blushing under his sharp gaze. I quickly glanced at him and noticed he was wearing black shorts that reached his knees paired with a white T-shirt. We were unintentionally matching.

"Okay soo," He looked at me unbuckling his seatbelt. "I think you should drive because I don't want to risk it anymore." He chuckled a little embarrassed.

I chuckled at that too. "As you shouldn't, I told you." I opened the passenger seat's door to switch places. When we met at the front of the car, he pinched my waist and quickly sat in the passenger seat smiling.

"Buckle up Mr. Kim, if you want to survive," I said with a teasing voice buckling my seatbelt.

"Yes, my lady!" He saluted as I laughed loudly.

I started to drive as Hongjoong told me the directions where we were going because I had no idea where we were going and he didn't want to tell me so I just drove where he said.

In the meantime, we carpooled a bit, because it's a must, and we both love shouting along to music. I put on Beach Weather's "Chit Chat," and we belted out the lyrics together.

"So come on, get your fix now, now, now"

"You drive me crazy with that"

"Chit chat do you want that"

"Or wanna take me home tonight?"

"I thought I told you, I really need you sugar"

"I'm going supernova"

When we arrived at a parking lot, I looked around, trying to figure out where we were. My jaw dropped when I realized.

"Are we going to play tennis?" I looked at him wide-eyed.

He chuckled sweetly. "Yes, if it's okay with you. Do you know how to play it?" His smile never left his lips and I loved it.

"Hmm, let me think…" I looked straight as we were still in the car. "I actually hate tennis." I side glanced at him waiting for his reaction.

He gasped forming an 'o' with his mouth. "Really? How dare you Kwon Y/N?" He seemed like he couldn't believe what I said, but this was the truth, tennis just seemed boring looking at it on the TV.

"Maybe, but just maybe you could change that." I smiled at him as I opened the door and got out of the car.

He got out as well and went to the back of the car to get his equipment and there was also a basket which I assumed was for a picnic.

"Ahw, is that a picnic basket?" I looked at him leaning against my car.

He closed the rear door with the basket and the equipment in hand and he slowly approached me hovering over me.

"Is there any problem with it?" he whispered; his lips so close to mine that I could feel his warm breath. His caramel scent enveloped me, making my knees weak.

"Not at all, it’s sweet," I whispered eyeing between his eyes and lips as I bit my lips. He looked so hot like this; I didn't know if I could keep it up anymore.

"Then let me teach you how to play tennis," he said, leaning close to my ear as he nuzzled into my neck. "God, I love how you smell," he whispered. At that moment, I needed air, feeling like I might faint. It felt like being a teenager again when my first crush approached me, leaving me uncertain if this was good or not.

I would've never thought I was going a date—I guess it was a date—with the professional tennis player Kim Hongjoong, who always seemed like an asshole in the videos I saw of him, and my first impression as a therapist wasn't also the best of him, but the truth is, he is just a lost man in the middle of his twenties who had none left in this world only tennis was the only thing that kept him going, that slowly slipped through his hands as well. But I really hoped he was going to find his way back to the passion that kept him going and I am going to help him find the way back to the light not because this was my job, but because in this short time, I started to care for him, not like I cared for my other clients, it was deeper and something invisible connected us that I couldn't name.

The tennis court was empty, illuminated by streetlights, with Hongjoong heading to the entrance to switch on the five floodlights. The court glowed green and a light shade of orange, divided by a net in the middle. I stepped onto the field, looking around in awe, as I had never been on a tennis court before. To our right were the seats where the crowd would cheer for the players. I was certain that one day I would be sitting there, cheering for Hongjoong with all my heart if everything went the right way.

"So," Hongjoong broke the silence. "Do you like it?" I turned as I saw his sweet smile.

"It's okay, I guess," I teased with a smile. I noticed he had already started unpacking the things he brought from the basket, laying a blanket near the net. He looked so sweet like this.

"I didn't know you were the romantic type," I said slowly approaching him, kneeling next to him to help him unpack all the food and sweets he brought.

"Well, it depends on the person." He side-glanced at me as he sat down on the blanket.

"Oh, should I feel special?" I sat down next to him, our shoulders slightly touching as I looked at him with serious eyes.

He looked back at me, tilting his head to the side and giving me a sharp glance. At that moment, I realized how close he was. His blonde hair perfectly highlighted his sharp eyes, and his cheekbones had a slight pink tint. My heart started to race, my body felt hotter than ever, and he hadn't even kissed me. I wondered if I could survive a kiss from him. I glanced at his thin lips, curved slightly in a smile. Up close, his face looked even more chiseled. He was so handsome that I finally understood why he was a famous tennis player. It wasn't just his skills; it was also how incredibly good-looking he was.

"Will we eat sometime or you will stare more?" Hongjoong's voice brought me back from my inner thoughts and as I realized I was staring the whole time I felt as my face got a little warm.

"Don't get over yourself, you did the same." I chuckled as I looked at the food and picked up a sandwich with ham and salad.

"How could I have not stared?" His voice came out low as he picked some green grapes and threw them into his mouth.

"Oh, shut up," I said, playfully bumping him with my shoulder as he chuckled.

"Make me." He leaned closer and smiled at me teasingly.

I laughed at that. "Does this work on other girls too?" I asked, hiding my mouth behind my hands as I tried to swallow the sandwich, nearly choking in the process.

He shrugged. "Don't know, haven't tried it."

"So, the bad guy image you created, isn't true?" I said looking at him suspiciously, finishing my sandwich.

"The media created that image, not me." He looked ahead as he supported himself on his hands behind his back, his legs straight.

"It must be hard, like…" I glanced at his side profile. "They follow every step of yours and they are waiting for you when are you going to make a mistake."

"It was hard at the beginning, there weren't anyone beside me, I was all alone…" He leaned forward and pulled his legs up his elbows on his knees. "But I got used to it with time and didn't give a shit about them."

I did the same, pulling my knees to my chest and hugging them. "Your parents…what happened with them?" I looked at him with soft eyes. "If you don't want to talk about it, it's okay."

"No, no, I want to. It was a long time ago…" He glanced at me briefly before looking down at his hands in front of him.

"They both died in a car accident when I was only 16. Just before the accident, I had started playing tennis. My dad encouraged me to play, and I couldn’t be more grateful for introducing me to this sport. After the accident, my sister and I were sent to an orphanage." His voice faltered slightly. I reached my hand toward his back and gently caressed it. "They even separated us because of the age gap. She was only 5 back then. We didn't have any relatives who could adopt us. So, I waited two years until I could take Byeol with me."

"It must have been difficult, you were only 18 and taking care of her and yourself at that age…" I looked at him as tears welled up in my eyes. This man went through hell and he was still here smiling.

"Yeah, well, she died too, in another accident... How is any of this fair, Y/N?" He rested his head on my shoulder, and I gently brushed my fingers through his hair.

"It's not fair at all. Nothing is fair. But we just can't do anything, we have to keep moving for them right?" I traced my hands from his hair to his cheeks, to his jaw to pull him up so I could look into his eyes.

"Right?" I asked him again caressing his cheeks.

"Right." He smiled genuinely at me.

He sighed and stood up. "Okay, enough of the sad moments. Let me teach you some real tennis," he said, offering his right hand to help me up. I accepted it, and he pulled me to my feet.

"So, this is your side and the other is mine." He pointed at the other side of the field and went to grab the rackets and the tennis ball.

"What if we play a game?" I asked, observing his reaction.

"What game?" he asked curiously.

"We ask each other questions every time we pass the ball," I suggested.

He looked excited and agreed, saying, "I'm in."

With that, he handed me one of the rackets. "You have to hold the racket like this," he began, explaining the main rules of tennis quickly and enthusiastically. The way he explained it, I almost felt like starting a tennis career (though I won't).

We started passing the ball to each other, and at first, I wasn't very good at it. But with practice, I improved, and soon we could pass the ball to each other at least five times without it going out or accidentally hitting Hongjoong. We were making progress.

As we played, we asked each other questions, gradually getting to know each other better. I had so much fun the whole time; I couldn't remember the last time I laughed this much. In recent years, my life hadn't been filled with happiness and laughter. It was all about work and making my clients happy.

It was never about me, but I realized I couldn’t have a life were I just serve people, trying to fix them, my happiness was also important and Hongjoong made me realize this, even though he was the same—his worldview was similar to mine. We always saw our little siblings in the back of our minds, even though they would've wanted us to be happy, but we were too stuck in self-pity and how life was unfair, we didn't notice how much we destroyed ourselves. So, we just need to put it behind us, they are always going to live in our hearts, no matter what. We are going to live for them.

As we passed the ball to each other and jogged in place, I started feeling like I might collapse. I wasn't the fittest person on earth, and after half an hour of playing, I was tired. We were so engrossed in the game that we didn't even notice the dark clouds gathering above us. It wasn't until a sudden rainstorm caught us off-guard that we realized, standing there soaked in the middle of the field, looking at each other and laughing.

Instead of caring about the rain, we continued playing. But then I cheated by not hitting the ball back properly, and Hongjoong jumped over the net that separated us, chasing after me. I screamed like a 12-year-old, our inner children coming to life as we ran, our sibling-like spirits taking over. But I didn't stand a chance—he caught my waist from behind and twirled me around. I laughed so hard from the surprise and joy that I couldn't stop.

"Got you!" He chuckled, as he took me down and hugged me from behind as we both were soaked the rain still pouring.

Then he slowly turned me around to face him. He was smiling so sweetly, his wet blonde hair glued to his forehead just as my hair. He reached his hand towards my face to brush off a string of wet hair behind my ear. His fingers tracing down from my ear to my neck, then to my jaw up to my lips where waterdrops dropped down to my already soaked top. He traced my bottom lips gently wiping the drops away. Our expressions turned serious, every goofiness leaving our soul as we both stared at the other taking in the other as the rain made us more beautiful. He looked so breathtaking with the passion burning in his eyes, his lips parted and the waterdrops that were on his lips made him more attractive. As his hands cupped both sides of my jaw, he slowly started to close the distance between us.

"I wanted to kiss you since the first time I saw you." He whispered onto my lips, his eyes never leaving mine.

"It didn't seem like that." I teased him with a slight smile.

"I'm sorry…" He leaned his forehead against mine.

"Just shut up and kiss me!" I said to him seriously.

He chuckled and finally closed the distance not even thinking a second, his lips crushed into mine like it was destined to each other. Our lips moved in synchrony as I could taste the rain that still soaked us with its full power, but I couldn't mind, because at that moment I didn't feel anything except Hongjoong's lips on mine, that tasted like sweet caramels mixed with the taste of rain. It felt like I was in paradise, as his hands moved from my jaw down my spine to my waist, he grabbed it and pulled me impossibly closer to him, our bodies melting together, closing the rain out. It felt like a relief, kissing him like my soul finally found its peace. When one of Hongjoong's hands dug into my hair at my nape, I unconsciously parted my lips and his tongue immediately found its way into my mouth as I wrapped my hands around his neck deepening the kiss. I felt like I might faint between his arms, as I had no oxygen left and he just simply made me feel weak like I could slip through his hands easily. But his arms held me strongly like a pillar and made me feel safe.

When we separated, he leaned his forehead against mine, out of breath and soaked till bone he leaned again towards my lips and gave little pecks onto my wet lips like he couldn't get enough of me.

"Let's go, we are going to catch a cold even though it might be too late." I smiled up at him, my hands still around his neck.

"Can I take you to my house?" He asked with a sweet smile his voice barely hearable because of the rain as his hands were still on my waist holding me close to his body. "Well technically you are going to take us to my house but you know." He chuckled.

"Yeah, let's go," I said, pulling away from him, still feeling the effects of the kiss that had made my legs weak. It was strange kissing Hongjoong, yet at the same time, it felt like the most natural thing in the world. I never imagined someone could make me smile the way he did that day.

Since my little brother passed away, I often felt undeserving of happiness. But today, this realization hit me hard. He would have wanted me to be happy, not to dwell in self-destruction. I tried to be happy, but I never felt truly happy, and I wasn't sure if that was even possible. However, right now, with Hongjoong by my side, I felt like I was on the path towards happiness.

When we arrived at Hongjoong's house, I was utterly fascinated. I already knew he was wealthy, being a professional athlete, but the house I saw surpassed all expectations—truly, I'm not exaggerating. It was colossal, almost like a modern castle. The exterior boasted white walls with expansive windows, sharp architectural features, and a garden adorned with delicate garden lamps. I even caught sight of a pool in the back.

Parking the car in the garage, we entered through a door that led directly into the living room—a space that was larger than my entire apartment. The main colors were black and white, with touches of brown. In the center of the room sat a black couch flanked by armchairs on each side. Opposite the sofa was a massive TV that seemed bigger than me. The walls were adorned with Renaissance paintings of various landscapes, which I admired until Hongjoong brought me some clothes, urging me to shower and change out of my soaked attire that clung uncomfortably to my skin. I hesitated to sit on the luxurious-looking couch, opting instead to explore the expansive space.

Moving slowly towards the fireplace—because of course, there was one—I observed the framed pictures displayed there. I guessed correctly that the photos were of Hongjoong with his little sister, and a picture of his parents when they were younger. Nearby were trophies he had won, along with a photo of a younger Hongjoong on a tennis field, beaming proudly while clutching a trophy larger than himself. His smile in that photo was so joyful and proud it touched my heart deeply. At that moment, I resolved to bring back that carefree Hongjoong—the one who only cared about winning games and making his little sister and parents proud. I wanted to see him smile like that again.

And when my eyes narrowed further it stuck on a framed picture that felt both familiar and strange at the same time. I had this picture at my home, framed but this picture was in Hongjoong’s house. My heart began to race, and I felt light-headed. The picture showed kids smiling happily to the camera with so much happiness, radiating pure joy. But I couldn't smile, because my little brother stared back at me from that picture.

"Here are some clothes that may fit you, I hope they are okay." I heard Hongjoong's voice behind me, but it seemed so far away I could barely hear what he said. I felt like suddenly I couldn't breathe, my lungs were full of air but I couldn't get myself to breathe it out. It stuck, just as my world stopped, at that moment and I couldn't believe what I saw.

Then I suddenly felt hands on my shoulders that brought me back to Hongjoong's living room, as I was still staring at the framed picture.

"Hey, are you okay?" I heard Hongjoong's worried voice on my left, as he was still holding me, turning me to face him, by my shoulders.

I slowly tilted my head up to meet his gaze, and I didn't even notice tears were falling down my cheeks, Hongjoong's concerned eyes met mine, filled with worry and uncertainty.

"Did something happen Y/N?" He reached his hand towards my cheeks to wipe my tears away.

I could finally breathe out the air that was stuck in my lungs and slowly reached my hands towards the picture bringing it between us. "I-is…w-was this your sister's class?" My voice came out unsure and weak as I felt I couldn't breathe again.

Hongjoong slowly took the picture from my hand, his expression softening into a slight smile. "Yes, she's in the middle. They took this on the day of the accident," he said quietly, pointing at his little sister in the photograph. His smile carried a tinge of sadness.

That was when I couldn't hold back anymore. I broke down, sobbing uncontrollably. Hongjoong looked at me with wide eyes, clearly bewildered by my sudden outburst. But as I gazed at the picture again, I realized something shocking—next to his little sister was a smiling boy who was unmistakably my brother. They were holding hands. It couldn't be true. It couldn't be that we both lost our siblings in the same accident and that they were friends, perhaps even best friends.

I buried my hands in my face as tears streamed down, my legs giving way beneath me. Before I could collapse completely, Hongjoong caught me and held me in his arms. I felt hollow, like an empty box that once held cherished memories but was now vacant. We both ended up on the floor, with Hongjoong holding me close, whispering comforting words and gently stroking my back and hair as I sobbed into his neck.

After a while, I began to feel a bit calmer. I realized it was best to explain to Hongjoong why I was crying before he thought I was irrational.

My hands reached towards the framed picture on the floor and my fingers traced through the middle where our siblings were holding hands. "This is my brother next to your sister. They are holding hands." I pointed at my brother on the picture whispering it in a weak voice.

Silence hung heavy between us, and when I didn't hear a response, I lifted my gaze to find Hongjoong's head tilted toward the picture in between us. He was staring at our siblings captured in that moment. Gently, I reached out and touched his jaw, turning his face towards mine. His eyes glistened with tears that rolled down his cheeks, each one precious as it traced a path across his face. With my thumb, I wiped away the tears and then embraced him tightly, climbing onto his lap. His arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me close to him, offering comfort and solace in our shared grief.

"At least they are together up above," I whispered into his ears as tears fell from my eyes again. It was me now, who tried to comfort him, as he did before without any word. I caressed his back then my fingers brushed through his blonde hair from his nape his hair was still a little wet. I put a little distance between us and leaned my forehead against his. "Are you okay?" I whispered it close to his lips.

"At least they are together." He repeated my words. "And we are here for each other too." His hands found their way up to my jaw and cupped it as the barely lit living room lights illuminated his face.

"We are," I whispered as I smiled at him slightly.

Then he pulled me closer to his lips as he cupped my face and I immediately felt at ease as his lips sealed against mine with passion I never felt in my life. Caramel scent embraces us with warmth, our soaked clothes are long forgotten. His lips moved against mine with a burning desire that whispered a promise between us to be there for each other forever.

The next thing I know is me being pushed against the wet wall of the bathroom, the water falling on us from the shower head above us, Hongjoong's lips on mine, our saliva mixing with the water, our hands interlaced above my head as we kissed each other with fire even the water falling on us couldn't stop the burning desire we felt for each other as his lips found their way down my neck, sucking on it, leaving little love marks here and there, as quiet moans escaped my mouth. The bathroom's walls echo the sounds our mouths made. As he whispered words into my ear that promised us a bright future together as we united our faith.

Two souls destined to meet, to heal from the sorrow their siblings' deaths left in their lives. Two souls that were destined to each other so they could find their way back to life, that is full of vibrant colors again, together.

A/N: Soo, that happened, lol. I just wanted to tell you I might write a part 2 for this story, only if I feel it tbh, because it is really just the beginning of their story. I have already some ideas of how I could continue it because let's think about it. Hongjoong is famous and lives in the media, and the paparazzi always find out everything so how would the media affect their relationship?

(Ateez masterlist)

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dustmusings · 7 months ago

Text

read between the lines

Fox x F!Reader

word count: 8.1k

description: the library is your favourite place to escape to when the galaxy gets too loud, and it just so happens to be the same for a certain marshal commander

warnings: sfw, fox being anxious & being frustrated about it, nervous (kinda non-sensical) ramblings from fox's pov incl. self-deprecating comments (basically projecting my anxiety onto him oops), but it ends cute and nerdy :)

a/n: really wanted to write a fox fic after seeing this post by @welcometo79s about fox being an introvert - I thought the idea was super interesting so here we have an anxious lil fox :) I could yap so much more but my notes are always too long so I'm gonna shut up

Going to the library was one of your favourite pastimes. Especially on a planet like Coruscant, which never seemed to slow down.

You had discovered this little corner of the planet years ago, and you spent more time here than you cared to admit. There were a number of libraries of Coruscant, but none of them as quiet and authentic as this one. You had truly struck gold in finding it, entirely by accident.

The feel of a real book, the feel of flimsi between your fingers, was an experience you relished in this technological day and age. You didn't have anything against technology, it was an integral part of your life and job after all, but holding something so precious and unique in your hands was something else entirely.

This particular library was not very large, though boasted an impressive catalogue of titles nonetheless. You loved curling up by the heater on cold evenings, in one specific cosy red armchair. It was a little more hidden, a reading nook of sorts, and it made the experience feel all the more special. Just you and a book, the outside world, the war, slipping from your mind easily.

In the last few weeks, there was a new regular that had started coming. At first, you were alarmed, his bright red armour alerting you to the fact that he belonged to the Coruscant Guard, but when he picked up a book and settled himself in a window seat, you had relaxed.

You had to admit, you found yourself watching him quite a lot. After a number of times seeing him, you had figured out exactly who he was. It was entirely surprising to you that the Commander of the Coruscant Guard frequented such a place, though he always walked in as if it was exactly where he should be, so you came to respect that.

Going to the library had become part of your daily routine, spending your evenings there as it was much quieter than spending them in your apartment. The people you lived with were particularly loud, not to mention the noise of the city outside the window. However, in the weeks that Commander Fox had begun to do the same thing, you found your reason for going shifting.

You couldn't help but be intrigued by him. You were always too far away to see what he was reading, and he never took his helmet off. You wondered how he could read through it, but you presumed that if it had been made for battle then a book probably wouldn't be a problem.

One day, as he was leaving, you noticed him acting a little odd. He peered around to see if anyone was looking his way, not noticing you at all, and then he pocketed a stylus that the person who sat there before him had left. You smirked, watching him leave the library with a little extra hurriedness to his steps. After that, you decided that you needed to know what it was he was reading all this time, your intrigue finally becoming strong enough.

When you entered the library the next day, he was already sat in his regular seat, one leg stretched out on the seat and the other foot planted on the ground. He held the book in one hand, the other absentmindedly playing with the stylus that he had stolen the previous day. You found the book you had been reading, and made your way towards his position, your stomach turning just a little.

The window bay that he sat in was reasonably large, with a wooden frame and covered with pillows. You made your way to the opposite side from him and took your seat. His head raised from his book quickly in surprise, and you offered him a smile, before opening up your book and finding where you had left it.

Unbeknownst to you, and contrary to your own thoughts, Fox had noticed you. It was hard not to; you were here everyday, and he found you to be distracting, to say the least. He had often watched you sneaking glances at him, the secrecy afforded by his helmet allowing his cheeks to heat up without detection. It was the reason he rarely took his helmet off really, he didn't want anybody to he able to read him, he had a hard enough time conveying his thoughts through words without people watching him try to do it.

Fox had always been somewhat of an introvert, a stark contrast to his brothers. He didn't know how he had ended up not sharing in his brothers’ natural outgoing demeanour, but it was something that affected him constantly. He managed to have a commanding presence and confidence in his work through his rigorous training on Kamino, and he now had enough experience in his role that it felt safe, natural. Though at the end of a long day, when his brothers went out to 79s, he much preferred to be by himself. He craved so deeply to have his own space, and finding this library recently had afforded him some semblance of that.

Fox drew his knee up towards his chest so that he wasn't invading any of your personal space, despite the feeling that that was exactly what you had just done to him. He watched you from behind his visor, intrigued and confused. You didn't look up from your book once, leafing through the pages gradually as you took in the information on them. You were reading something non-fiction, something to do with theories about wild space and beyond. Somehow that surprised Fox - he didn't know what he expected you to be reading but it wasn't that. After his heart had stopped racing at the thought of having to talk to someone, he let his eyes drift back to his own book.

For the entirety of the evening, you didn't talk to Fox, nor did you so much as look at him. He found it to be equally relieving and maddening. He was glad that you both seemed to just be enjoying each other's presence without the need for conversation, but he couldn't understand why you had joined him.

He knew his armour made him stand out among the civilians, and usually people seemed to be scared of him because of it, as if he would arrest them for looking at him the wrong way. It was a blessing and a curse. People left him alone, but he stood out nonetheless. He got what he wanted, but was constantly being perceived in ways he didn't know as he did.

He wondered what your angle was.

When he had seen you watching him, he had initially thought it was for the same reason: that you were scared of him. However, he soon realised that you looked at him with no contempt, no ill-will, and now that you had come and sat yourself within his presence, he was even more interested to know what was going on in your head.

After a number of hours - he had lost count how many - he noticed you rising from your seat. You placed down the cushion that you had set in your lap as you read, and cast a glance over to him. With how he had rested his book in his lap and looked up, it was obvious he was looking at you, and you gave him another sweet smile.

He was overtaken by the need to speak with you. Your kind gestures seemed to be an obvious response to the way he was acting, and that you were respecting the fact that he didn't want to talk. Unfortunately, before he could work up the courage, you had gone back over to the bookshelf and put the book back in its place, leaving shortly thereafter.

Fox sighed audibly, and it came out as a small hiss through the filter of his helmet. Despite liking his own space, he had enjoyed having someone else with him, just sitting in silence while you both focused on your own things. He didn't have that kind of interaction with any of his brothers, they were often far too excitable for him.

He loved his brothers dearly, they meant a lot to him, but being around them all of the time tired him out, and sometimes it was nice to get away from them. He found himself thinking that perhaps he didn't always have to do it by himself. Perhaps it was possible to spend time with someone who didn't drain his energy. Someone like you.

When Fox arrived at the library the next day, you were already there, sat in your regular seat. He watched you for a moment, the corners of your lips lifting as you read something from your book. You looked so kind, so approachable. He didn’t feel as though you were trying to draw him in in any particular way, at least not in a way that would ordinarily have him feeling flustered. It didn't seem that you sought anything that would draw him out of his comfort zone at all. With that in mind, he just truly felt like indulging in your simple company once more, and so he did.

He approached the corner of the library where you were slightly hidden away, and he settled himself in the armchair opposite you. You looked up to watch him do so, and smiled warmly when his visor turned towards you. The crinkles at the edges of your eyes gave away how pleased you were that he had decided to join you, and he relaxed a little, his body moulding into the chair as he opened up his book.

As you had the previous day, you both engrossed yourselves in your books. The worries of today and tomorrow washed away and you just soaked up the words on the page. You were curled up in your chair, a cushion held to your stomach as you often did, whereas Fox had his legs outstretched, one over the other, his hand tucked under his arm as the other held his book. You were both just comfortable.

As the day wound to a close, you flicked your eyes to the clock, and thought that you best be getting home.

Fox watched you raise from your seat, placing the cushion back onto it neatly. His stomach lurched a little, once again feeling the urge to speak to you. He felt exceedingly stupid as he couldn't bring himself to do it, and he was floundering for something, anything to say.

“Wait!” He heard himself say, a little louder than he would've liked, especially for in a library. You turned back to him, your eyes finding his visor as you waited for him to continue.

Fox's brain drew a blank. He couldn't think let alone speak right now. However, you just gave him a patient smile, not expecting anything. It calmed his mind enough to ask a simple question.

“What's your name?”

Your smile grew a little before you replied, you voice even more kindly than he could have imagined - soft, yet assured. He couldn't help but let the corner of his mouth raise a little under his helmet. After a moment, he realised that you weren't asking his name, and his smile dropped, slightly panicking for something to say again. He would've given anything to be as outgoing as his brothers at this very moment, or any subsequent one.

“Well” You cleared your throat as he just looked up at you, and a small smirk wound its way onto your face. “I suppose I'll see you around, Commander Fox” You gave him a little mock salute as you turned away.

Fox could feel his cheeks burning, his mind now in overdrive. You knew who he was the whole time? Somehow he felt especially embarrassed more than anything, and slumped back into his chair with a huff. What was he supposed to say to you now? How much did you know about him? If you knew who he was, why did you sit with him? And why didn't you say anything?

Endless questions swirled around in his head, stopping him from enjoying his book for the rest of the evening. Even as he tried to sleep in his bunk, all he could do was stare up at the ceiling, his cheeks still burning as he thought of how stupid he must've sounded asking your name and sitting by you, when you knew exactly who he was.

He desperately wanted to know what you thought of him. Surely if you knew his name then you'd know other things about him? But what did you know? Had you heard that he was somewhat removed or lonely and thought he could use a friend? Because that would be positively mortifying.

Fox ran a hand over his face. He shouldn't be thinking like this. For all that he avoided them, he cared far too much what people thought of him. He wished he could stop doing that.

Fox had thought about not going to the library the next day, but after a long talk with himself in the mirror, he decided that it didn't matter what you thought of him, and he wasn't going to let it ruin what he had come to know as his little corner of the galaxy.

He was already there when you arrived, as you had come a bit later than usual. That had only struck Fox with an unpleasant feeling in his gut, but he wasn't going to let on.

You slowly approached his window seat with your book tucked in your hands. His head didn’t raise until you spoke.

“Is it alright if I sit with you?”

Fox's head snapped up at the sound of your voice, his eyes a little wide behind his visor. He elected not to speak, and instead nodded his head and gestured vaguely to the other side of the window.

Unlike the last couple of days, Fox was positively unfocused on his book. It was maddening, all he wanted to do was relax, especially after his sleepless night and the stack of flimsiwork that had awaited him on his desk this morning. He couldn't be so lucky, you had to go and distract him. Of course it wasn't your fault, and Fox knew that, he was just annoyed that he couldn't shut his mind off for once second. Ever.

After around 45 minutes had passed, and Fox had finally settled into reading his book, he noticed you watching him, and he internally groaned. He had just started relaxing.

He raised his head to let you know he saw you looking at him, and you smiled warmly before speaking.

“Can I ask you a question?”

That made him nervous, the slight anticipation making his head nod quickly to release it.

“Is your helmet comfortable?” You asked, resting your book in your lap.

Whatever he thought you were going to ask, it wasn't that.

“Uh… yeah, it's fine” He replied awkwardly.

“Cool” You nodded, seemingly satisfied with the answer, and opened your book back up.

Fox just stared at you. Was there not any other reason for you asking that? Did you actually just want to know if his helmet was comfortable or not? Why couldn't he stop questioning your motivation for doing anything?

“How do you know my name?” He asked, getting straight to the point.

Your expression was sheepish when you looked back up at him again, and you fumbled slightly with your book, losing your page. You let out a small huff at that, “I don't know, I think everyone kind of knows who you are”

That was probably the worst reason you could have given. Fox cringed, his body folding in on itself fractionally even though he tried to stay rigid and strong.

He looked back down to his book and tried to read, but now it just felt like the awkward silence was swallowing him whole. He couldn't focus on the page, his mind swirling with various words that he tried to string together to reply to what you had said.

After a few minutes of that, Fox was fed up. He practically slammed his book closed and strutted over to the desk to return it, not looking back as he left.

The next night, you were still put out by the Commanders actions. You went to the library anyway, convinced that he probably wouldn't be going, that you had well and truly scared him off. You didn't know exactly why, or rather how, you had done it, but you could tell he'd been frustrated by it. You hadn't hardly said anything to him, but you supposed that you had managed to offend him in those few short words.

Thankfully, it soon slipped from your mind as you curled your legs into your chest and dove into the new book you had picked up today.

If Fox had been embarrassed by you knowing who he was, he was positively beside himself with mortification now. He had blocked it out the entire day, holing up in his ‘office’ and burying himself in his flimsiwork so he couldn't possibly let another thought into his head.

As it got to the end of the day, Fox couldn't stop watching the clock. Time was creeping along at a painfully slow pace, and that was as he was already staying late. It felt like torture, working late just to stop himself thinking. His brain was at maximum capacity, and all he wanted to do was rest.

“Commander” A voice called out, and Fox's head lifted slowly to see Thorn standing in front of his desk, “Maker, you look rough”

Fox scowled, “I thought I told you to knock”

“I vaguely remember you saying that…” Thorn said, a mocking grin growing with each word. “You do know this isn’t a door right?” He said, knocking on the wall that only vaguely separated Fox’s desk from the others.

Fox just rolled his eyes, “What do you want?”

“We're clocking out now, you fancy coming to 79s?” Thorn asked hopefully.

“You already know the answer” Fox looked down at his flimsiwork again.

Thorn huffed, “Come on vod, just this once?”

“I've got work to do” Fox replied.

“That's what you always say”

Fox gave Thorn a tired look, “Another time”

“You always say that as well” Thorn remarked.

Fox sighed aggressively, “Look, I'm really not in the mood for this tonight”

“Alright, alright” Thorn put his hands up in surrender, “I'll get you next time”

“I doubt it” Fox mumbled under his breath as his brother left.

He picked up his stylus. It was the one he had stolen from the library, or more accurately, whoever had left it at the library. He let a sigh escape him. It was filled with mixed emotions, positive memories of the library tinged by his own stupidity.

He twirled the stylus in his hand, manoeuvring it through his fingers. Maybe it wouldn't be the end of the world to go to the library, to seek the respite he so desperately desired. If you were there, he could just ignore you, it couldn't be that hard.

Once that thought had entered his mind and he'd let it grow for just a second, he rose to his feet, grabbing his helmet from the edge of his desk. When he stepped out of his corner, the chattering voices he could hear stopped, and the two remaining clones in the office looked towards him.

“Ah, Commander, you decided to join us after all” Thorn grinned.

“Uh, no. I’m going out” Fox replied, continuing to walk towards the door.

“Where to?” Stone asked, pushing himself from his desk.

“Just- out” Fox replied, much more rigidly than he would've liked. It sounded extremely suspicious coming out.

“Out? Like on a date?” Thorn asked.

“No!” Fox barked back, almost stopping in his place.

“Oh my god, you are” Stone’s expression turned to a broad grin as he dashed towards the door, stopping his brother from leaving.

“I'm not” Fox insisted, a sharp glare directed at Stone.

“You're blushing” He pointed out, which only intensified Fox’s glare. Stone pushed his brother's shoulder lovingly, “Aw vod, I'm so happy for you”

Fox rolled his eyes, pushing past his brother and grumbling to himself as he could hear the two of them laughing at his expense. He loved his brothers, but they really got on his last nerve sometimes.

When he got to the library, it was much later than he usually arrived, which the librarian commented on as he checked out his book. He just gave her a polite nod, not really pleased at his patterns being recognised.

He had planned to just ignore you, but when he saw you sitting in your usual seat, curled up and peaceful, reading your book as if you were the only two things in the galaxy, he couldn't help but feel drawn to you once more. He walked over to you in a few long strides, and cleared his throat. Your head shot up, eyes a little wide.

“Commander” You said, a little unsurely as it wasn't entirely clear if he wasn't upset with you or not. You couldn't tell from under the helmet.

“Please don't call me that” He replied in a somewhat affronted tone, though he must have seen how taken aback you were because he instantly backtracked, “I mean- No, just- Fox is fine, please”

“Okay then” You smiled, “Hi Fox”

Fox returned the smile, even though you couldn’t see it, “May I join you?”

You nodded, gesturing to the armchair opposite you. Fox sat down, leaning forward and clearly not finished speaking.

“I am… sorry, for leaving abruptly yesterday”

You couldn't stop your face from twitching with amusement, “You don't have to be sorry”

“Right… yeah” His hand snaked to the back of his neck on instinct as he spoke awkwardly.

“I do hope I didn't offend you though” You added, drawing your eyebrows together.

“Offend me?” Fox seemed genuinely confused.

“About… knowing who you are” You jogged his memory.

“Oh, no” Fox shook his head lightly. It had sent him spiralling, but you didn't need to know that.

“Good” You smiled sweetly and flicked your eyes back down to your book.

Fox watched you for a moment longer then opened his book, finding his place and continuing on.

What he liked the most about you, not that he knew much else, was that you seemed content just being in each other's space, and not needing to talk to fill the time. Talking wasn't his strong suit, it stressed him out at the best of times, even when he pretended it didn't. Particularly then, in fact. Somehow, without even communicating with each other verbally, this was the most meaningful connection he had shared with someone new in a long time. He didn't know that you thought that way too, but somehow he felt that you did.

Not too long later, the librarian came to tell you both that the library would be closing soon. Fox nodded and stood from his seat, but paused in going to hand his book back in when he realised you weren't moving. You hadn't even looked up from your book.

“Aren't you coming?” He questioned, his voice clearly showing his confusion.

You looked up to him, your lips curling into a smile, “I'm not quite done here yet”

Fox frowned, then sat back down opposite you, his knees spread and elbows leant against them, a stance he often took when questioning someone.

“You'll be chucked out by the librarian” He stated.

You shook your head gently, “I can be sneaky”

“Then you'll be locked in” He tried to find reason in whatever idea you had up your sleeve.

“Eh” You shrugged, “I can pick the lock”

Fox tilted his head. Even though you couldn't see the confusion on his face, you still found the action a little cute.

“You realise I could have you arrested for that”

Fox could see your eyes flash with a small amount of alarm as you remembered exactly who was sitting in front of you, but it was gone as soon as it came, and instead you narrowed them a little.

“Well, that would be a little pointless” You said as if it were obvious.

Fox’s eyebrows raised instinctively, “And why is that?”

“Because you'd have to arrest yourself too” You stated, your eyes sparkling with mischief and a grin overtaking your face.

“Wha-”

Before he could even finish the word, you had jumped up and grabbed his arm, dragging him towards the rows of bookshelves and pulling him in between two of them.

He wanted to protest, but the words were stuck in his throat. He was once again thankful for the shield that was his helmet, because he knew that his cheeks must have been bright red with the way you were looking up at him. Your face bore the widest grin, your eyes crinkled at your own mischief, and he was hopeless to do anything about it now.

Fox’s head was telling him to leave, that breaking the law, something that he dedicated his life to upholding, was not a good idea. Though between your excitement and the secret thrill it was giving him, his heart was aching to stay. So he did.

He watched you as you glanced around and listened out for the librarian. Somehow the only thing in his mind was that if he rocked forwards onto the balls of his feet that he'd probably be touching you, or at least feel the heat of your body. The thought was disturbed when the lights cut out and the librarian could be heard walking nearby. You grabbed his arm again, tugging him down the shelves to hide against the other end.

You were grinning, resting your temple against the end of the shelves and looking up at him.

“Having fun?”

Fox just hummed in reply as he copied your posture, not giving much away. You rolled your eyes, but your smile remained, and you kept listening out for the librarian. Soon enough, the clunk of the outdated technology of lock and key slotting together rang out in the darkness of the library, and you stood up straight, walking back over to your regular spot.

By the time Fox caught up with you, you had turned on a nearby lamp and were already sat back in the chair with your book open. He just sat opposite you, watching you through his visor.

The library was usually quiet, but now it was dead silent, and Fox couldn't help but relish in that fact. Even the sounds of the city couldn't be heard in here. It was an entirely peaceful moment, something he rarely got the opportunity to indulge in.

Fox peered around the library, making sure nobody else was lingering after closing, and then hooked his thumbs under the base of his helmet, pulling it off with a quiet hiss. The noise made your head raise, seeming loud in the quiet environment.

It was hard not to stare. You knew more or less what he looked like, he was a clone after all, but nothing could have prepared you for actually seeing him. His dark curls, streaked by silver, his eyes a dark brown and his battle worn skin. He was gorgeous, so rugged yet so stately, and so unique in his appearance as compared to the brothers of his that you had met.

He noticed you examining his face and immediately went to put his helmet on.

“No!” You called out, a little more desperately than you hoped for. Fox gave you a weary and puzzled look, and you could have melted right there. It was strange to see the emotion on his face when he had always concealed it from you.

“Sorry” You coughed out, a little flustered, “I didn't mean to stare”

Despite your words, you continued to observe him, inspecting his face. Every mark, every scar, every feature drawing you in.

Fox tilted his head to the side a fraction, a small crease forming in his brow, “You're still staring”

“Right, sorry” You looked down to your book and scanned your eyes across the page, trying to find where you had been when you got distracted by the sheer beauty of the man before you. It certainly wasn't helpful to think of it in those terms when you were trying not to look at him.

Fox let one side of his mouth quirk up at your reaction to him. He hadn't really expected you to care all that much, but your darkened cheeks were telling him that perhaps you did. He spoke your name, and the sound of his voice unfiltered by his helmet sent a shiver running up your spine.

“Hm?” You replied, glancing up.

“How often do you stay after closing?”

“Oh, not that often” You shrugged a shoulder.

“Why tonight?” He pressed.

You hesitated, “Well, you didn't come until late, and… I feel like that was kinda my fault”

Fox couldn't help the way his stomach flipped, even if he didn't know exactly why it had. He placed his book down on the table next to him.

“It's not your fault” He asserted, “I had a lot of work to do”

It wasn't exactly a lie, but he wasn't going to tell you that he had been trying to banish you from his head all day.

“But thank you. It's not often that I get to-” He gestured his hand vaguely around the library, “Experience the quiet like this”

“No problem” You smiled, setting your book down as well. It seemed you both were now more interested in each other's company than that of the books you had chosen.

Fox bit the inside of his cheek, a little nervous under your undivided attention. The feeling in his stomach was akin to his usually anxiety around socialising, but it felt different, not entirely unpleasant.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure” You replied, “I'm an open book”

Fox let out a breathy chuckle, the amusement dancing in your eyes letting him know that your pun wasn't accidental.

“What do you do?”

“Like… for work?” You asked.

“Yeah, I guess” Fox shrugged. He didn’t really mind what you talked about, he just wanted to know more about you.

“Um” You looked away, flexing your hands nervously, “Nothing. I mean- you know, nothing interesting… or important”

Fox hummed, giving you a sceptical look, “Something tells me breaking into libraries in the middle of the night isn’t the only illegal thing you do”

“Okay, first of all - I don’t break in, I only break out-”

“Not much better really” Fox shrugged, trying to keep the smirk from his lips unsuccessfully.

”Sure, maybe not” You smirked, “But it’s hardly malicious. It’s nothing like, say… Stealing someone’s private property, such as a stylus or something like that…”

A blush dusted Fox’s cheeks immediately, now knowing you had indeed caught him doing exactly that. He cleared his throat, looking away and trying to find a way to explain himself.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone” You teased, resting your hand on his knee for a second to draw his attention back to you, “Besides, who would I tell? We’ve already established that you’re not going to arrest yourself”

Fox dragged his gaze back to you, the gentle touch only making his cheeks burn hotter. He gave you a weary sort of look, but the edge of his lips curled upwards nonetheless.

“Why did you steal it?” You then asked, devoid of any of the teasing tone you had previously employed.

“Uh” Fox ran a hand through his hair, “Well… I don’t really have anything that’s… Mine”

You gave him a puzzled look, “How do you mean?”

Fox cleared his throat, “I mean… I don’t really have possessions, I share all of my time and my space with my brothers. I don’t have a place that is mine, to put anything that might be mine”

He paused for a moment, conscious that he may be oversharing, but your even gaze, the way you were sitting forward and listening attentively told him that perhaps you didn’t mind. That you were interested in what he was saying.

“I have an office, sort of, but not really. It’s just a tiny area in the corner of the Guard’s office, so it’s a little closed off, and it barely even fits my desk, but- anyway. I just take what I can get I suppose” He wrapped up his rambling.

“I can understand that”

“You can?” He asked.

You nodded, “Yeah, I’ve… never had a space to myself either really”

“You don’t have an apartment or something?” He tilted his head to the side.

“Not to myself. I live with three other people, and they’re very… loud. That’s why I come here”

“Yeah, same here I suppose” Fox smiled, then his face fell a little, “Hold on- We didn’t get to the bottom of what you do for work”

You chuckled a little nervously, “I’m a mechanic”

Fox gave you a dubious look, “That doesn’t sound illegal”

“It’s not” You sighed, “It’s just… my boss is a little dodgy”

Fox took a moment to shift in his seat, trying to appear casual, “What kind of dodgy? Who… is it?”

You just smirked at him, “You’re not getting it out of me that easily I’m afraid, Commander”

Fox wanted to chuckle, but he was also suddenly struck by the fact that he had no reason to believe you had any moral integrity or that you actually were any sort of good person.

“You don’t think they should be brought to justice?” He spoke with trepidation.

You smiled a little, “Yeah, I guess I do, but then I would be out of a job”

“You could get another one” Fox reasoned.

“It’s not that simple” You stated, “I don’t live with three people for the fun of it after all”

Fox was confused, you could see that much woven into the frown he gave you.

“I can’t afford anything else” You completed the thought, trying to sound as casual as possible.

“Oh, right” Fox replied.

Fox didn’t really know what to say. He hadn’t faced that kind of issue before in his own life, so he couldn’t say he fully understood. He wasn't shy of people turning to crime because of money, their were often few other reasons, though it certainly gave a new perspective to the way he looked at his role of what had turned into a short jump from policeman.

“Anyway” You said more cheerily, “It isn't such a bad job, I do get to spend my evenings here”

Fox smiled at that, “How long have you been coming here?”

“A few years” You replied.

It wasn't long before you were talking animatedly, sharing little details of your life with Fox. He could feel himself coming out of his shell the more you talked, enamoured by the way you spoke and the things you had to say. He found himself agreeing with many of the observations you made, even if he didn't say so. It was also hard to ignore how drawn to you he now felt, in a way he hadn't experienced with many others, possibly anyone. He told you details about himself too, a little bit about his brothers, about a book that he had heard of but couldn’t find, about what he does in the Coruscant Guard.

You were explaining a passage of your favourite book, and the way the light was hitting you face was making it hard for Fox to concentrate on your words fully.

“Do you think that was the right thing for them to do?” He asked, a crease in his brow to show his engagement.

“Well, no. Probably not, but that's what the book is questioning” You explained, then noted Fox's slightly dazed expression, “Maybe they should take a page out of your book and just start stealing” You raised your eyebrows a little, and Fox laughed defeatedly, both as his own habits and your terrible library humour.

“I can't believe you saw me do that and still came and sat with me” He joked, the outright sarcasm feeling unfamiliar on his tongue.

“Oh no, that was what made me do it” You admitted a little theatrically.

“Really?” He cocked his head to the side, giving you a genuine disbelieving look.

“Yeah, it interested me. I wanted to know what the Commander of the Coruscant Guard was doing stealing from a library” You chuckled, “It was just… not what I expected, I guess”

“What did you expect?” He asked with a teasing edge, “The armour does tend to give a certain impression”

“Oh no, I would never judge a book by its cover” You put your hand to your chest in mock offense, a smile still pulling at your lips.

He rolled his eyes, “Do you always have such terrible humour?”

“I think it's funny” You shrugged, covering your mouth as a yawn escaped it. You blinked a few times, and it was only then that you realised it was most likely very late. Checking your watch, you saw that it was past midnight and you sat forward in your chair, “I should be getting home really”

Fox was tired as well, but he wasn't ready to say goodbye just yet. Though, he didn't want to keep you if you were tired, and he wasn't exactly fully awake himself.

“Can I escort you back?” He suggested.

You smiled as you stood up, “Sure, that'd be nice”

Fox followed suit, grabbing his helmet, and letting you lead the way to the door, both of you returning your books to the shelf on the way.

“My very own Coruscant Guard escort, lucky me” You muttered, eyelids heavy with sleep as you looked up at him with a smirk.

Fox’s lips formed a similar expression. He rolled his eyes, though it wasn’t as spiteful as when he had directed it at his brother earlier on in the night. He had completely forgotten about the aspect of having to pick the lock, so was a little surprised when you then produced a small tool from your pocket and knelt down, slotting it into the keyhole.

“Should I be worried that you carry around a lock pick?” He asked, placing his helmet over his head.

You let out a breathy chuckle, “I only use it for this. Besides, it's just a regular tool, not specifically a lock pick”

The door cracked open, and you pulled the tool out, placing it back in your pocket.

It was only a few blocks to your home, and on the way you explained to Fox how you had first found the library on an evening stroll shortly after moving into your current apartment, trying to get away from your loud roommates.

You could already hear them as you approached now, music turned up loud and some form of excited squealing spilling from the windows. You cracked open the door, and winced as the noise became ten times louder. You gave Fox a sheepish expression and he chuckled a little.

“I can see why you go to the library” He noted.

“Yeah” You sighed, rubbing your neck, “They’re not so bad really, just…”

Fox nodded in understanding.

You both just stayed watching each other for a moment, neither one of you wanting to be the first to say goodbye. You stared into Fox's visor, hoping to find his eyes behind it, and by some miracle, he understood that, and took it off in one smooth motion.

You smiled up at him as his eyes emerged from beneath the mask, and his heart instinctively skipped a beat. With you looking up at him like that, and nothing to hide his own emotions, he suddenly felt exposed. His stomach erupted into what felt like his usual anxiety-ridden state, but for once, it was more exhilarating than it was scary.

“I'm glad I made you stay behind tonight” You admitted, little care for how odd the words sounded.

Fox chuckled slightly, “Yeah, me too”

There was another moment of silence, and now Fox read it as awkwardness, so he immediately began backing away.

“I- Um, I'll see you around?” He offered.

Your smile faltered for half a second before you replied, “Yeah, see you around”

Fox watched you get inside safely, and then turned on his heel to head back to his quarters.

The whole way back, and well into the night, Fox couldn't get you out of his head. Though, this time he didn't mind.

The following morning, Fox was once again buried in flimsiwork, already on his third caf and ready to pull his hair out.

“Commander” Fox heard the unmistakable voice from the ‘door’ of his office, and he could have easily groaned in frustration.

“I thought I told you to knock” He grumbled, not bothering to look up from his flimsiwork.

“Perhaps you did” Thorn shrugged, a grin evident in his voice, “But you have a visitor”

Fox's head snapped up at that.

“A visitor?”

“Mhm” Thorn confirmed in a somewhat teasing manner, “No idea how she got past security downstairs but, there's a woman asking to see you”

Fox frowned a little, but stood from his desk, walking over to look around the corner. He saw you leaning on Thorn's desk, looking around the office and a book clutched between your hands. You were in a mechanic’s jumpsuit, folded down to the waist with leather gloves tucked into the belt, and seemingly not caring one bit how your appearance made you stand out in the office.

He called your name, and your head turned towards him, along with everyone else in the office that had already been staring at the you, the person who didn't belong. Your eyes lit up a little as you saw him, and you pushed yourself from the desk, striding over to him and Thorn.

“What are you doing here?” He asked softly, leading you into his corner of the office.

“I wanted to g-”

“Actually, hold on one moment” Fox interrupted you, then walked back out into the office to find Thorn and Stone waiting just outside with their ears turned to the wall. Fox rolled his eyes and cleared his throat, making them jump away.

“Could I maybe have some privacy?” He gave them a pointed look.

Both of them mumbled a ‘yes sir’ as they slunk away, brandishing matching smirks. Fox huffed, before returning to you.

“Sorry about that” He ran a hand through his hair, “Are you alright? What are you doing here?”

“I'm fine” You smiled, “I came to give you this”

You held up the book in your hands, offering it to him. Fox eyed it suspiciously, his gaze flicking between you and the book.

“Did you steal this from the library?”

You laughed gratuitously, “No. I thought we established that was your thing”

“But…” Fox frowned, “Did you buy it then? You really shouldn’t have spent your money-”

“I didn’t buy it, it’s mine” You cut him off, “Well, it was mine, it’s yours now”

You tried to hand it to him but Fox just pushed it back towards you, taking a step forward, “I couldn’t possibly take your property”

“I want you to have it” You grabbed his hand and forced him to take it, looking up into his eyes intently.

Fox’s heart stuttered at your intense gaze, aware of how your hand still rested over his as you awaited his reply. He looked down at the book, and turned it over to read the spine. His eyes quickly found yours again, and a grin had bloomed on your face.

“This is it” He breathed out, “The book I was looking for”

“It is” You nodded, finally taking your hand away from his.

“Wh- How- I didn’t even know what it was called, how did you…?”

“I guess I can read between the lines” You shrugged, your grin widening, and Fox laughed, the edges of his eyes crinkling. “I’ve read it a few times” You admitted, then flipped the book open, revealing annotations in the margins, “I went through and pointed out my favourite parts, wrote a bit about why and kinda analysed it a little”

“You wrote these notes for me?” He questioned, his voice sounding unusually small as his brows pinched together.

“Yeah” You gave him a warm smile, “That way, it’s like… personalised for you”

Fox was at a loss for words. You had really listened to him yesterday, and heard how his lack of personal effects weighed on his mind, and now you were giving him something of yours, and you had made it personal to him. His chest spread with warmth, his shoulders relaxing in a small contented sigh.

He let the book fall to his side, and he leaned forwards onto the balls of his feet, so his chest was almost against yours. He brought his hand up and gently brushed your hair away from your forehead, his hand lingering against your cheekbone. Your eyes shone up at him, and a genuine smile crossed his face.

“I'm glad I met you” Fox murmured, his voice low so that only you could hear.

“I know you are” You grinned.

Fox rolled his eyes, “Let me guess, because you can read me so well”

You chuckled, your head tipping to the side in thought, “I hadn’t thought of that one actually. Looks like you’re picking up my novel sense of humour though”

Fox scoffed a laugh, “You’re terrible”

“Maybe” You shrugged, “But I like to think that maybe you don't mind”

Fox hummed, “Perhaps not”

You grinned up at him for a moment, and then stepped back, “I should be getting back really, I'm not supposed to be here”

“You don't have to tell me that” Fox raised his eyebrows at you, “How did you manage get up here?”

“A fun story for another time” You smirked, disappearing around the corner.

Fox followed after you, watching you leave from where he leant in the doorway, when you stopped in your place and turned back to him. You seemed to be weighing something in your head, and then evidently decided to go through with it, jogging back over to him.

Fox raised an eyebrow as you came to stand in front of him, “What is it?”

“I forgot something”

“Forgot wha-?”

Fox was interrupted by you raising onto your tiptoes and placing a delicate kiss to his cheek, your hand finding his to steady yourself. The feel of your hand gently holding his, let alone your lips on his cheek, was enough to set his skin alight. His cheeks were already burning by the time you pulled away.

You gave him a sweet smile, squeezing his hand lightly and speaking in a whisper, “See you later”

Fox watched you go with wide eyes, his body unable to move from where it was firmly rooted to the ground. Your body finally disappeared out of the office, and he let out a breath he didn’t realise that he’d been holding, his body relaxing.

“So you did have a date” Stone nudged his brother, a grin almost splitting his face. Fox just gave him a withering look.

“What did I say about privacy?”

“Well I figured that since you made it everyone's business-”

“I suggest you get back to work, Stone”

“Yep. Got it”

Fox settled himself back at his desk, his fingers trailing along the spine of the book that was now in his possession. His cheeks were still burning, and they probably would be for the rest of the day. He was looking forward to going to the library that night, but it wasn’t for the books this time.

taglist: @darthnihila @cdblake1565

#trex writings #clone commander fox #star wars #the clone wars #clone troopers #clones #tcw #coruscant guard #corrie guard #marshal commander fox #commander fox x reader #commander fox #star wars clone wars #star wars the clone wars #clone wars #divider by saradika

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ellethespaceunicorn · 8 months ago

Text

You're Mine

Title: You’re Mine

Rating: Explicit, 18+, Minors - DNI

Pairing: Dark!Daddy!Geralt x Female!Reader

Word Count: 1.8K

Prompts: Geralt of Rivia + Female Reader + Daddy Kink + “Can you feel how much I want you?” + Darkfic, requested by @chibijusstuff

Summary: After coming back from a hunt, you find out that Geralt isn’t himself.

Warnings: Daddy Kink, pet names for Reader (little one, my sweet), Darkfic, dark!Geralt, drugged!Geralt, choking, biting, scratching, manipulation, Geralt rips Readers underwear off, non-con, unprotected p-in-v sex, creampie, mention of bodily fluids, memory lapse, bathtime as aftercare, cuddling, possessiveness, dead dove: do not eat

A/N: Unbeta'd, because I was impatient about posting this. All mistakes are mine.

Dividers by me

Support/Reblog banner by me

Cover Art by me

Sweet Treats Event 2024 Masterlist

My Masterlist

You’ve been watching him for hours from your spot in a nearby chair as he kneels in front of the fire. The silver wolf's face on his medallion shines brightly from the flickering embers, suspended from his chest. The remnants of the potion in his system show themselves in deep, black cracking lines on his ashen skin that radiate from his closed eyes. He has never taken this long to shake off the effects of any of the mixtures he carries in his pack, and your concern is beginning to grow.

He barely acknowledged you when he came home in the early morning hours. He placed his swords in their spot by the door, shed his armor, and took his place in front of the fire to warm himself and meditate. The longer he remains in that spot, the more you wring your hands with concern.

You were but a commoner; you hadn’t much knowledge of the Witcher lifestyle before meeting Geralt in that tavern. And even now, Geralt wasn’t the most forthcoming with things he deemed ‘unnecessary for you to concern yourself with’, as he put it. You hadn’t the faintest idea of what was in his potions, let alone how to make them.

You only knew that he was usually back to himself by now.

Another thing you noticed was that his scent had changed. He tended to keep the smell of whatever beast or monster he had slain. But all you could smell were flowers, and more specifically, the aroma of tuberose.

Heady and exotic, the scent of tuberose is one you are accustomed to. Your mother would use tuberose oil as a perfume, saying it would lure in men with its sweet honey and warm spice combination. Your poor father had died years prior, and your mother barely waited for the dirt in his grave to settle before she was out with other men. But that’s a story for a different day.

Even though the oil performed just as she promised, you couldn't quite grasp why she never revealed the source of that unique blend to you. Of course, you called it magic, but she would always shake her head and say there was no way it was magical. She claimed it was a gift from an elderly beggar woman to whom she had once given a handful of orens. You knew well enough not to push any further, but that doesn’t mean you forgot that story.

Or that smell.

You were so in your thoughts that you almost missed Geralt’s grumbling. Your eyes returned to his face, and this time, his eyes looked at you. Gone was the golden yellow iris you had come to love, only to be replaced with full, black eyes. Black, like you never saw black. Nothingness.

Rising from the floor, he bares his teeth and growls lowly. You stand up from your chair and raise your hands in front of you.

“Geralt?” You attempt, moving backward when he takes a step forward. “Daddy...” you trail off as he smiles at you, a devilish grin showing his sharp canines.

“My sweet little one. Don’t you look delectable?” Geralt coos, crowding into your space as you are backed into the wall behind you.

His hands rest on either side of your head on the wall while he noses at your neck, no doubt smelling the fear-induced arousal that is shooting through your entire body.

“Daddy? Why don’t we take it slow? You’re not yourself yet-”

His hand flies to your throat, tightening at the sides. “You wish to refuse me that which is rightfully mine?”

“Geralt, I-”

“Ah, ah. Try again, little one,” he cautions, his grip on your neck ever sure.

“Daddy, I’m scared,” you breathe, tears falling from your eyes.

“I know. I can smell it on you,” he confesses, leaning back in to sniff under your jawline. He stoops to pick you up and brings you to the bed, lying his body on top of yours. He doesn’t waste time in rucking your dress up and pressing his clothed sex against your own. “Can you feel how much I want you?”

His voice, so delicate as he speaks to you, sounds like your Geralt. But those eyes, the way he takes without asking, and his smell only serve to repel you. It feels like your partner has been swapped out for a harsher, more unkind version of who he used to be.

His hand reaches between the two of you and rips away your undergarments before unbuttoning his pants so his thick and ready length can fall free. As soon as his shaft is uninhibited from its confines, he is pushing and prodding at your entrance.

Without preparation or care, he enters you swiftly. You aren’t given a second to adjust to his girth before he withdraws his cock and forces himself back inside you. By the third thrust, you are crying and begging him to stop. Your hands are balled into fists as you pound on his chest, his shoulders, anywhere you can land a blow.

He only laughs at your feeble attempts to thwart his actions. He also teases you when your body eventually betrays you.

“Look at you, being torn apart from the inside out, and your sloppy little cunt can’t get enough of it. Always so soft and warm for me. Stop fighting and take it, little one,” he soothes. His warm, rich voice invades your ears, and you cease efforts to push him away from you.

Once he has you malleable and compliant, he focuses on chasing his release. Unconcerned with your pleasure, he fists one hand in the sheets of your bed while the other tangles in your hair to expose your neck. Biting and sucking at your skin until blood is brought to the surface, he takes pride in marking you.

Soon, your neck and chest are littered with bite marks and bruises. You can feel every welt as he takes his time poking them as he drives into you over and over. His first orgasm is so intense that he lets out a feral growl, slowing down for a bit before it’s evident that he isn’t done in the slightest.

Realizing your fate, you begin to hyperventilate. Your chest is heaving as you inhale and exhale shallowly; you feel as though your heart could beat out of your chest. But only momentarily as Geralt leans down to speak into your ear.

“You’ve never looked lovelier than you do tonight. I can smell your fear; I can taste your panic. Just have to hold out a little longer for me, my sweet,” he sighs, nosing at your neck.

By now, you can feel nothing but pain from the bites, the scratches, and his relentless pounding into your battered and bruised heat. The stuttering of his hips is a gift, alerting you to his impending climax. You’d already given up on experiencing your peak.

“So close. I can feel it coming, little one,” he whispers, his voice strained and gruff as he forces his eyes shut. He thrusts into you one last time, his hips flush with yours as his cock paints your insides. Once he stops spasming, he lets out a heavy breath and opens his eyes.

You watch as he comes back to himself, the black veins disappearing from his face and his eyes returning to their golden hue. Frozen where you are, you observe the realization on Geralt’s face as he looks down at your marred skin and wet eyes.

As he relaxes just enough to pull away from your body, he quickly adjusts himself back into his pants and settles down onto his knees. He’s unsure of what to say; what can he say that would make this situation any easier? His eyes are drawn to where his semen drips from you.

“Daddy? Are you back?” you ask, your hands pushing your dress down over yourself as you sit up.

The sound of your tiny voice washes over him like a cold shower. He finally looks back at you, and a single tear falls from his left eye. As if a switch were flipped, Geralt appears smaller than before. He shrinks into himself, hunching his shoulders.

“I did this to you?” he guesses, nodding to the angry marks on your skin.

“Geralt, I think you were poisoned. What’s the last thing you remember?” you question, raising your hands to show him you mean no harm.

“The wyvern nest. There were druids; they surrounded me. I felt pain in my neck and then smelled flowers before everything went black. Next thing I know, I’m in bed with you,” he replies.

“You weren’t yourself, Geralt. This wasn’t you,” you insist, feeling the urge to comfort him.

“Poisoned or possessed, I am the reason you’re hurt right now. I could have killed you if I hadn’t come back to myself,” he frets, holding up a hand when you try to move closer to him.

“I’ve already forgiven you, if only you would forgive yourself,” you plead, trying to hide your distress.

“You should have a bath. Let me draw it for you,” he suggests, leaving you on the bed before you can say anything in response.

After he fills the wooden bath with enough water, he uses Igni to warm the water to your liking. He helps you into the water, washing your body and hair when you ask him to stay with you. When you are done, he helps dry your skin. You don’t exchange many words, and neither of you knows how to start a conversation.

After you are dressed in a nightgown, you climb into bed and pull Geralt in behind you. He reluctantly lays next to you, afraid that he will hurt you again somehow. Turning onto your side, you face away from him. You sniff, holding back tears and the lump in your throat.

Before you could clear your throat, Geralt was pulling you into his chest. His strong arms wrap around you, and he inhales your scent. While he can still smell the faint echo of fear on you, the most prevalent fragrance is overwhelming love.

You were pushing down your fear with all your might and thinking only of good moments of Geralt. Images of a smile pulling at his lips, your hands in his, and a stolen kiss cloud your vision.

You snuggle into his embrace, his body heat keeping you warm. He peppers kisses over your hickeys on your neck, lulling you to sleep. But just before you can give in to the draw of slumber, you hear his voice in your ear.

“I wouldn’t get too comfortable,” he whispers, laughing lowly. “You’re mine, little one. And I won’t let you escape.” His hand goes to your mouth, and you know your night is far from over.

A/N: I really enjoyed writing this story. It took so long to write, but I am happy with what I have created here. Also, I feel like there are very few dark!Geralt or Daddy!Geralt stories out there. Is it because we don’t like these or it’s just too taboo? Let me know, cuz I could write more dark versions of this man.

#henry cavill #henry cavill characters #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia x you #the witcher #ellethespaceunicorn fanfic #you're mine #x reader #x female reader #sweet treats event 2024

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restlesscrybaby · 3 days ago

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!!! MR. RING-A-DING / LUX IMPERATOR !!!

--- *LIGHT INVASION!*

A Headcanon Post!

[ Up to you if it's romantic or platonic! ]

----- ⚠️ THIS HEADCANON POST CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR THE ENDING! ⚠️ -----

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

I AM... EVERYTHING... AND I AM... NOTHING.

You swear those words were some sort of omen to you. Like.. Too close to you for your own good. It was strange.

Maybe it was your style.

Or your personality.

Or your use of all things light.

Or even your misuse.

But, it seemed you attracted the attention of a god.

It started up at the movie theater, a simple adventure to see a movie you had been DYING to see had come out and.. Of course, you were going to go. The scent of popcorn and butter flooded your senses for days after from that place. You swore you still had a popcorn kernel jabbed deep into your teeth from tossing it into your mouth while you stared at the big screen.

Like old times, Lux ( I'll call him 'Mr. Ring' since I think its cuter. ) had found himself in a theater again. He was everything now. He manipulated his way through any form of light. His attention was first grabbed when the projection clicked on. Out of the crowd. You were.. different

A new form of... Light.

It was almost confusing, confuzzling even, how your eyes so intently watched the screen, and he lingered transparently in the burning light of a projector. It was... Unique. It had been a LONGGG time since he messed with Earth, and watched all the people. Times were different... Film was gone.

Of course, when the projector clicked off, he crawled his way quickly into the lights, to him, it was like... Those glass floors you look down through. You tiredly walked, your hands tossing the empty bucket of popcorn into a trashcan, starting to teeter on being overfilled. You yawned, covering your mouth as the sounds of chattering families and friends echoed the theater.

Of course, you were quick to get home, now that the sun had set. The moon was beautiful...

IF YOU DRIVE A CAR. = You slammed the door shut behind you. You were quick to try to leave.

- You were swift to turn the car on, thinking of the movie you had just seen. Good? Bad? Maybe both. You just had fun!

- Your radio clicked on, and the screen on your car displayed the title of the song you had last been listening too on the way. You stared at the screen, before your foot pressed the brake and you grabbed the gear shift. It's just time to go.

- As you drive, you had no idea you had picked up a.. Hitchhiker of sorts. He pressed his face into the class of your cars computer system screen, his pig-like nose creating a small circle of fog around it, before he leaned back. With a cartoony 'POP!' Sound effect.

- Strange.. Your eyes looked to the system quickly, but.. Nothing was wrong. The song continued to play.

- Human music is so... Unique.

- He enjoyed your music quite a bit. The new music was so... DIFFERENT!! He couldn't help himself but dance to your music. Even if it meant taunting you JUSTTT a smidge by tap-dancing!

- Which was weird for you... Because why the fuck do you keep hearing slight tap-dancing?

IF YOU WALK HOME = Your footsteps emptied the movie theater lobby, leaving behind a place that would always be too expensive but oh so good. You tossed away the empty popcorn bucket into the trashcan.

- You held tightly onto your phone as the doors clicked open easily, and your shoes thudded the pavement outside the movie theater.

- You felt blinded by the AMOUNT of cars leaving. You turned your head away from the blinding lights shining as people rushed home now.

- Luckily, that isn't enough to diminish your mood! You strided down the stairs, as you held your phone tightly, your hands dipping into your pocket ( purse, or etc. ), digits coiling around earbuds. You were quick to pop one into your ear and begin your walking journey.

- The street lamps provided a sense of comfort as you walked beneath them, the streets got lonely, scary even during the night. Who could deny that!?

- The more you walked, the more houses you seen, before it became the LESS houses you'd see. You'd watch in the distance as porch lights clicked off, alerting to... Nothing, even, that the night was coming to an end and it was time for rest.

- For a moment, you stopped your footsteps beneath one of the street lamps, just for a brief moment. Tying your shoes, checking your phone, picking something up, anything.

- And the light flickered above you.

- You looked around, surrounded by eerie darkness for a split moment, the comforting hum of light reappearing as quick as it had disappeared.

- You let out a sigh of relief.

- Even if you didn't know it, you were gifted light once more from the humble hands of a chaos God.

- But, that doesn't stop a pep in your step.

As you returned home, Mr. Ring was. SO QUICK. To dive into ANY LIGHT you had clicked on.

You had the porch light on?

BAM!

You turned your phone on?

BAM!

You turned on the living room light?

BAM!!!!!!

He was. SO QUICK. To find his way into your life.

His favorite was your phone, computer, tablet, etc screen. He found your.. Almost MINDLESS scrolling and the thriving of content.. So entertaining.

What people did with light now!

Cat videos, dog videos, 'memes', blogging, vlogging, writing, art, selfies, life itself, all stuffed into a simple device that gave off LIGHT!

If you left your computer turned on and you left the room, he would have a FRENZY!

He would be quick to find his way to mess with the screen. He loved how advanced humans were! Yes.. He went through your stuff. No shame! It's human stuff!

With a move of the mouse, the refracted light shined and shifted, he stood on the screen, how funny it is what you can do as a God who is... EVERYTHING AND NOTHING!! He looked to the icons at the bottom, his rubberhose arms suddenly slinking and grabbing the icon of a small circle with a bunch of color on it. He jumped as a search engine popped up behind him, his head turning like that of an owl, then his body followed. His eyes widened, like dinner plates, and he began to explore what ever he could.

Oh.. You don't have a computer?

PHONE!!

Don't leave nothing open with him around now!

You had made ONE MISTAKE! You left your YouTube running and open! On a big essay video too... You were off doing.. Whatever! Showering, doing work, drawing, writing, cooking, cleaning, YOU PICK!

When he flooded his way into the device, feeling the light circle through his toon body, his thoughts were interrupted by the audio from your phone, his body doing that same turn. He gasped as the video played, mouth going agape as he let out an overdramatic gasp.

He was QUICK to find the way out of the video you HAD been watching. His four-fingered hands slinking around with cartoon logic, his world being opened by the sight of.. EVERYTHING!

Mr. Ring wandered until he found the old cartoons. The 1930's ones. Like his form! His eyes focused on the screen, the rubberhose animation bouncing, 'boing!', 'yoink!', and every other noise playing from the speaker. It's like a sense of home.

Of course. You would notice.

Lights flickering, your TV, phone, computer, everything acting weird. Huh...

You couldn't figure out the problem...

A lot of technicians said your lights were fine,

A lot of tech companies said your devices were fine,

So what was going on?

Even something as simple as your cars headlights clicking off and on was a dismissal from mechanics!

... You know,

Maybe one day, you'd figure out the culprit!

For now, he dived into your life behind the scenes.

...

FOR NOW!!!

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Only person to call him 'Mr. Ring' instead of his actual name? Probably!

This was my first time writing for him, so.. This is fun to step into.

ALSO. P.S. IF THERE'S ANY FUCK-UPS, IGNORE IT, PLSSS 🙏🙏🙏

WE ARE SO BACK!!!

#mr. ring a ding #mr ring a ding #mr. ring-a-ding #mr ring-a-ding #lux imperator #mr. ring-a-ding headcanons #reillys headcanons #WE ARE SO BACK #REILLY IS SOOOO BACK.

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mediocre-shark-tales · 21 days ago

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My Chosen Family is My Forever Family

Doohan Sister Reader F1 Driver Reader Cadillac Formula 1 Reader

Yes this has two titles, I couldn't pick one cause both are perfect. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this chapter as I thought it was time for a break from most of the extremely heavy angst style writing and topics. Story Y/n needs a break too right? So enjoy this extra sweet fluffy chapter! (Also I know I said in the update that none of the romance will be described to be a specific driver - but some driver interactions may seem romantic within specific chapters - if its not the driver you want y/n to fall for then pretend the interaction is in a more platonic light than potentially romantic one)

I had fully expected the first week of my mandatory break to be soul-crushingly boring. And not just the kind of “bored scrolling on your phone in bed” boring—no, this was a special kind of frustration. The kind that claws at your skin and makes your chest ache because you know there’s work to be done, training to be completed, sim sessions to suffer through, and races to be run… but you’re stuck. Grounded. Benched.

The doctors told me I’d only miss one race this season, which—on paper—should have brought me some peace. But it didn’t. Because every second I wasn’t behind a wheel felt like I was being peeled away from everything I loved. I couldn’t even enjoy the distractions I normally turned to in moments like this. Reading was hard with my dominant arm injured, playing any of my instruments or sim work was out of the question, and even cooking—something I did just to feel normal—was off the table unless I wanted to risk re-tearing the stitches, popping my shoulder back out before the tendons have healed back over it, or even just put too much stress on the forearm fracture.

I hated it.

I hated relying on others. I hated how slow everything suddenly felt, like the world had pressed pause for me and only me, while everyone else got to keep going. I hated the silence of my apartment. The empty hours. The ache that wasn't just physical but emotional—rooted in the idea that I wasn't useful, wasn’t doing anything. That somehow, this forced pause was proof I wasn’t strong enough to keep up.

And so, when I sent a simple message to the group chat I had with the boys—just something like “If anyone’s around this week, I could use a hand, I guess…”—I didn’t expect anything to really come from it. I’d barely hit send before the notifications started flooding in.

Within an hour, they’d sent me a color-coded schedule. One of them would be with me every day—just to hang out, help when needed, or keep me company. And if by some miracle none of them were available, Nico, my ever-patient manager, would step in for the day.

At first, I dreaded it. I assumed they’d hover, fuss, and treat me like I was made of glass. I thought being babied would make everything feel worse—like I was confirming all the fears that I’d become too fragile to be the version of myself I’d worked so hard to be.

But they surprised me.

They didn’t force help on me. They didn’t smother me in pity. Instead, they came over like it was just another afternoon, acting like nothing had changed unless I asked them to. And somehow, that was what I needed more than anything. It didn’t feel like they were coming to take care of me—it felt like they just wanted to be with me.

And in those moments, I didn’t feel broken anymore.

Each of them brought something different to the table—something comforting, something uniquely them. Little acts of care that didn’t feel overwhelming or patronizing, but thoughtful, effortless, and real.

I didn’t expect to enjoy any of it. But I did.

And now, thinking back on each day of this first week, I can’t help but smile. Because each of the boys gave me a piece of myself back without even realizing it.

Charles was the first one, naturally. He had insisted, texting the group chat three times the night before to make sure no one else would try to swap with him. “I’m going first. Non-negotiable.” It made me laugh more than I had in days, and honestly, knowing it would be him kind of made everything feel… easier. Charles had a calm about him—gentle, warm, grounding. Like a deep breath you didn’t realize you were holding until you let it out.

He showed up right on time, two coffees in hand and a paper bag from my favorite bakery tucked under one arm. “For the champion in recovery,” he said with a soft smile, leaning in to kiss the top of my head before I could even mutter a sarcastic thank you.

From the start, the day felt weirdly domestic in a way that both comforted and unnerved me. Charles moved through my apartment like he’d lived here his whole life—kicking off his shoes by the door, putting the pastries on a plate instead of leaving them in the bag, and checking in on me constantly with soft touches and even softer words.

“Need anything? A pillow? Blanket? Another croissant?”

At some point, I was seated on the couch, cradling the warm mug between my legs while he shuffled through my bathroom cabinet in search of my brush.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” I called, already dreading the answer.

“I know,” he answered simply. “That’s why I’m doing it.”

I heard him walking back before I saw him—his footsteps light but purposeful. When he rounded the corner, brush in hand and a scrunchie looped around his fingers, I gave him my best unimpressed glare.

“You’ve planned this.”

“I might have practiced,” he admitted, crouching beside the couch with a playful grin. “Carlos has long hair too, you know.”

“You practiced brushing Carlos’ hair?”

He winked. “That’s not important.”

I rolled my eyes but turned around, letting him settle onto the couch behind me. My injured arm stayed close to my chest, and I winced slightly trying to shift, but Charles noticed instantly. His hand came to my good shoulder with a tenderness that stole the air from my lungs.

“Relax,” he murmured, voice low and smooth. “I’ve got you.”

And he did.

His fingers threaded into my hair, separating gentle sections before beginning to brush. His touch was delicate, each stroke deliberate and slow, like he was afraid of hurting me or pulling too hard. The brush moved through the tangles patiently, occasionally catching on a stubborn knot, but Charles never tugged. Instead, he used his fingers to work them out, fingertips grazing my scalp just enough to make my eyes flutter shut.

“Feels nice, hmm?” he teased quietly, clearly noticing how still I had gone, how I was just breathing and existing beneath his touch.

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. Because it felt too nice. Too comforting. Too intimate.

And then he laughed—soft and warm, the kind of laugh that made you want to curl up inside it.

“You’re going to fall asleep,” he said. “Then I’ll have to carry you to bed, and you know I’ll complain the whole time about my back.” I turned just enough to shoot him a crooked smirk. “You act like I don’t know you’d gladly carry me anywhere.”

His eyes met mine, and for a moment, neither of us said anything. The air between us settled—quiet, safe.

He finished brushing with a final little tug and then gently pulled my hair back into a low ponytail, securing it with the scrunchie. His fingers lingered just a second too long against the back of my neck, and I swear I felt the warmth of his breath before he leaned back. “There,” he said softly. “Perfect.”

Later, while I was napping with my legs stretched across his lap and his hand absentmindedly tracing patterns on my shin, I realized something.

He never once treated me like I was broken. Not even for a second. He just made sure I didn’t have to do it all alone. And that meant more than I could ever put into words.

The second morning of recovery started a little differently.

I didn’t wake up to pain, or to the dull frustration of being limited by my injuries. No. I woke up to the faint clatter of pans and the unmistakable scent of something warm and buttery drifting in from the kitchen. My brow furrowed as I blinked awake, arm still tucked securely in its sling, a blanket half-hanging off the bed. It took me a few seconds to remember that no—I hadn’t left the stove on. I hadn’t even cooked in days. I mean, I couldn’t even if I wanted to.

Oscar.

Of course.

I should’ve expected it. He had the spare key from a couple months ago when I struggled with my panic attacks the most and he’d insisted on “emergency access” in case. Plus, the boys had agreed on him hanging out with me today.

I pushed myself up slowly, groaning at the dull ache in my side. My ribs still hated me for breathing too hard, and my forearm protested every time I shifted. I considered calling out to him, but the sounds in the kitchen only got louder—along with what I assumed was him humming softly to himself.

Padding out of the bedroom with one socked foot and the other dragging a blanket behind me, I turned the corner to find Oscar in the middle of what I could only describe as controlled chaos.

The counters were littered with ingredients—half-used eggshells in a bowl, pancake mix in a measuring cup, a bottle of orange juice open and half-poured into a glass, and Oscar standing in the center of it all, wearing one of my aprons like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He hadn’t heard me yet. I watched him lean down to check the skillet, spatula in hand, eyes narrowed in pure concentration. He flipped a pancake with the kind of careful deliberation usually reserved for high-speed turns on a track.

And the best part?

Nothing was burnt.

Yet.

I couldn’t help it. I laughed—a soft, surprised burst of sound that startled him just enough to make him jump and spin toward me.

“You’re not supposed to be up yet!” he exclaimed, eyebrows shooting up. “I was going to surprise you.”

“You did,” I smirked, leaning against the doorway. “Surprised you haven’t set off the fire alarm.”

Oscar rolled his eyes, cheeks dusted a light pink as he returned to the stove. “You’re hilarious. I’m actually doing fine, thank you very much.”

“You’re doing great,” I teased, eyes twinkling. “Even if it looks like a tornado hit my kitchen.”

He gestured dramatically with the spatula. “A small price to pay for gourmet breakfast.”

I walked over slowly, settling into one of the barstools with a wince as I adjusted my arm. Oscar glanced over immediately, eyes scanning me like he could somehow absorb the pain for me if he just stared long enough.

“Hey,” he said gently. “Don’t even think about helping. You just sit there and look pretty, alright?”

I blinked.

The words were said with a teasing lilt, but his eyes held something quieter. Something real. Something sincere and steady.

“I mean it,” he added, softer now, pouring the last of the batter into the pan. “Let me take care of you today.”

I didn’t argue.

Because the truth was, Oscar was one of those people who didn’t need to be loud to make you feel safe. He didn’t hover. He didn’t pity. He just existed beside you, making space for you to breathe without asking anything in return.

Once the pancakes were done, he plated them carefully—fruit on the side, syrup in a little ramekin like he’d seen me do once. Then he brought the plate over like it was a five-star meal, setting it down in front of me with a proud grin.

“You made this?” I asked, trying not to look too impressed.

“Every last slightly-lopsided pancake,” he replied.

I took a bite. It was fluffy, warm, and surprisingly good. My eyes flicked up to his and I nodded once. “Not bad, Piastri.”

“I’ll take that as a Michelin star.”

Later, after we’d eaten and he’d forced me onto the couch with a blanket and another coffee, I caught him washing dishes without being asked, sleeves rolled up, humming again under his breath. Oscar made even the dull ache of healing feel a little bit sweeter.

On the third day, Max arrived like a storm disguised as calm.

No dramatic entrance. No teasing comments or sarcastic remarks like I half-expected. Just a knock on the door, a quiet “It’s me,” and then the gentle thud of his backpack hitting the floor as he stepped inside like he’d done it a thousand times before.

I hadn’t realized how much my body had begun to ache from sitting awkwardly all morning until Max gently guided me back to the couch, fixed the pillows behind me, and placed a blanket over my lap—tucking it in with a care that didn’t match the usual intense persona he carried on race weekends.

“What?” I asked, arching a brow as he stood above me with crossed arms, eyes scanning me like he was memorizing a damage report.

He shrugged. “You look tired. And grumpy. That’s my job, not yours.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m fine.”

“Uh huh.” He didn’t look convinced. “Have you taken your meds yet?”

I blinked.

Shit.

He sighed, pulling out his phone and tapping the screen once before showing it to me. “I set alarms. You’re officially on the Max Verstappen Recovery Program.”

“You’re kidding,” I said, eyes widening slightly.

“Nope.” His voice was steady, almost playful, but there was something under it. Something fierce and unwavering. He reached into the side pocket of his bag and pulled out the familiar orange bottle, the one I always seemed to forget in my frustration with being… well, this version of me.

The version that needed help just to function.

“I was gonna take them—”

“Sure you were,” Max said, cutting me off with the smallest quirk of a smile.

I opened my mouth to protest, but he stepped closer, expression softening as he crouched in front of me. His fingers reached up, slow and careful, and tilted my chin gently so I had no choice but to look at him.

His blue eyes—always sharp, always focused—held something different now. Something quiet. Protective. Real.

“No excuses,” he murmured. “You don’t take care of yourself, I’ll do it for you.”

The pill bottle was pressed into my hand, and for a second, I just sat there, stunned into stillness by the tenderness in his voice.

This was Max. Max who never sugar coated. Max who rarely let emotion crack through the armor of being a two-time world champion. And yet here he was, setting alarms to make sure I didn’t forget my meds. Holding my gaze like the sky might fall if I didn’t take care of myself. Acting like my well-being was the only thing that mattered in the world right now.

I swallowed the pills without another word.

“Good girl,” he said softly, before standing and ruffling my hair in the most annoyingly affectionate way possible.

“You’re lucky I can’t punch you right now,” I muttered.

“You’re lucky I know that.”

Later, he sat beside me, our legs tucked under the same blanket as we watched mindless TV. He kept half his focus on the screen and the other half on me, occasionally checking the time or asking if I needed anything. Not hovering—but always there.

Not once did he make me feel like a burden.

Just someone worth showing up for.

And in the safety of that simple, quiet evening, I let myself lean just a little into him—into the warmth, the presence, and the overwhelming peace of being taken care of by someone who rarely let the world see how much he actually cared.

—

The knock on the door came earlier than expected, just as I was halfway through the frustrating, one-handed battle of pulling on my hoodie. The pain in my shoulder had flared up again, throbbing in time with my heartbeat, but I wasn’t about to call for help—not yet. I was stubborn, if nothing else.

“Don’t rush,” Franco’s voice called from the other side of the door, light and teasing. “I come in peace. And with croissants.”

I smiled despite myself.

By the time I shuffled to the door and opened it, he stood there grinning, one brow raised and a paper bag balanced in one hand. His hair was a little windswept, sunglasses still on, as if he’d sprinted over without a second thought.

“Morning,” he greeted, stepping in. “I hear we have a mission today.”

I sighed and tilted my head. “Please don’t tell me Nico sent you with a checklist.”

“Something like that,” he chuckled, setting the croissants on the counter and pulling off his sunglasses. “He wants people to see you. Remind the world that ‘Ghost’ is still very much alive and kicking.”

“Barely kicking,” I muttered, glancing down at my wrapped arm.

Franco didn’t miss a beat. “Barely is still enough.”

He was already moving toward the hallway, grabbing the gear bag I hadn’t even asked him to bring and pulling out my helmet. He held it like it was something sacred, brushing his fingers along the top before turning toward me.

“C’mere,” he said softly. “Let me help.”

I hesitated, but he gave me that warm, patient look—the one that always made me feel safe, even when everything else was chaos. So I stepped forward, and he carefully guided the helmet on, making sure nothing tugged too hard against my injury. His fingers brushed my skin as he adjusted the padding, gentle and deliberate, and I caught the way his eyes softened when he saw me wince.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

“Yeah,” I whispered. “Just hate feeling like this.”

His hand paused against the side of my jaw, thumb grazing lightly before he pulled back. “You’re allowed to hate it. Just don’t let it convince you that you’re weak.”

Once I was dressed—slowly, awkwardly, with Franco helping me get the shoulder support back on without making a production of it—we headed out to the team headquarters. Just like Nico wanted, everyone got a chance to see that “Ghost” was up, alive, and recovering. Franco stayed by my side the entire time, making it seem natural, like he was just there because he wanted to be. Though I am sure he did want to be with me, just not here where I could easily mess something up in my healing.

He didn’t treat me like a porcelain doll. He let me lean on him if I needed to, but never hovered or made me feel helpless. Just present. Grounding.

After enough smiling and pretending to be perfectly fine for the cameras and the team, we ducked out early. “You’ve earned the rest of the day off,” he said, nudging me with his shoulder as we got into his car. “What’s next? Grocery run?”

“God, yes. If I eat another instant noodle cup I might scream.”

We wandered the aisles like two university students who barely knew how to shop for real food. He made fun of my oddly specific snack preferences, and I teased him for the fact that he apparently can’t function without a very particular kind of olive oil.

When we got home, we cooked together—well, I supervised while Franco did most of the cooking, reading the instructions with exaggerated concentration. He looked so serious trying to make the sauce just right, even though it was something so simple. I sat at the counter, legs swinging slightly, letting the domesticity of it all sink in.

The soft sound of the simmering pan, Franco humming under his breath, the occasional “Try this and tell me if it’s too salty”—it was the kind of quiet intimacy I didn’t realize I’d been craving. It wasn’t about being cared for, it was just… being with someone who wanted to care.

By the time dinner was done, my arm was aching again and I was half-asleep at the table. Franco cleaned up without asking, humming that same soft tune he’d had going all day.

Before leaving, he leaned down and gently bumped his forehead against mine. “Tomorrow’s Lando's shift, but text me if you need anything. Or if you just want more pasta.”

I didn’t say anything until after the door clicked shut and the apartment returned to stillness.

Then I whispered it to the empty space he left behind: “Thank you.”

And I meant it more than he would ever know.

I had barely rolled out of bed when my phone buzzed. A FaceTime call from Lando. Not a text. Not a “hey, you up?” warning. Just a full-blown, front-camera assault first thing in the morning. I sighed, rubbing the sleep from my eyes and accepted the call.

Lando’s face filled the screen instantly—grinning, eyes bright, clearly way too awake for how early it was. “Good morning, sunshine!”

“You are way too chipper for this hour,” I groaned, flopping back into the pillows.

“I’ve got a surprise,” he said, practically bouncing in place. “Nico gave the okay. I got you cleared for something fun today.”

I blinked. “Cleared for what?”

“Quadrant. Video shoot. You and me. Karting track. But—” he raised a finger, “—don’t freak out. You’re not racing. You’re coaching. Like a proper boss. You get to wear your helmet and everything. Total mystery. Maximum ‘Ghost’ vibes.”

My heart fluttered at the thought. It wasn’t racing, not exactly. But it was a toe back in the world I loved. A toe that wouldn’t risk undoing the progress I’d made. A smile crept onto my face despite the dull ache in my shoulder.

“I’m in,” I whispered.

“I knew you’d say yes!” Lando grinned like he’d just won a bet with himself. “Be ready in an hour. I’m picking you up.”

Exactly sixty-two minutes later, Lando was in my apartment—letting himself in with the spare key Oscar had reluctantly given him, armed with a large quadrant hoodie and one of my helmets already polished and tucked under his arm.

“You’re a menace,” I told him as he helped me pull on the hoodie. “You know that, right?”

“Yeah, but I’m your menace today,” he shot back, grinning as he gently fixed the collar so it wouldn’t irritate the sling. Then, softer, more sincere: “You look badass. Even with one arm fully out of commission and the other only half as bad.”

He helped me with the helmet, adjusting the straps like he’d done it a hundred times. His fingers were careful, brushing under my jaw as he worked.

“There,” he said when he was done, stepping back to admire his work. “Ghost is back.”

The shoot was at a private karting track, nothing too intense, but buzzing with energy. Lando had already worked it out with the Quadrant team: he and I would each coach one half of the group for the day. It wasn’t about speed or competition—it was about chaos, laughter, and low-stakes fun. And somehow, even though I wasn’t driving, it felt like coming home.

Lando stuck close to me but never hovered. He made it look natural, like we were just teammates riffing off each other—his chaotic jokes balancing my deadpan commentary. He made sure I had a stool to sit on whenever I needed, slipped water bottles into my hand without saying a word, and every once in a while, he’d shoot me a look across the track—a grin that asked you okay? without needing the words.

And every time, I’d nod. Because I was.

One of my favorite moments was when a member of his team spun out dramatically and Lando nearly lost his mind laughing. I leaned into his shoulder, laughing just as hard, and he slung his arm around me without hesitation. It was instinctual. Natural. Like it had always been this way.

By the end of the shoot, we were both exhausted but glowing. He helped me out of my helmet and immediately fluffed my hair like a brat.

“You were incredible today,” he said softly, his voice almost lost beneath the fading roar of the track. “You know that, right?”

I nodded, cheeks warm. “It felt good. To just... be seen again. Even if no one really saw me.”

“But I did,” he said, eyes soft. “And you were you. All day.”

We rode home with the windows down, wind tangling our hair, laughter still lingering in the car like an afterglow.

That night, as I lay in bed with the ache in my shoulder reminding me I still had a ways to go, I smiled. Because today, I wasn’t just recovering. I was living. And Lando made sure I didn’t forget what that felt like.

—

When the knock came at the door, I knew it was Ollie before I even peeked through the peephole. There was something about his timing, always perfect without trying. He knew when to give space, and when to break the silence.

I opened the door and he immediately grinned, holding up a bag of pastries like some sort of peace offering.

“I bring sugar and distraction,” he said.

I chuckled and stepped aside to let him in. “That’s my favorite combo.”

He kicked off his shoes at the door and wandered inside like he’d done it a hundred times—which, honestly, he had. My apartment didn’t look like much now that I was practically living on the couch full-time, but it was still my space. My comfort zone. And today, it felt better with him in it.

“I figured we could start looking at places,” he said, setting the pastries on the coffee table and flopping down onto the rug like it was his natural habitat. “Kimi already sent me a voice memo from a mountain he hiked up at 6 a.m. to tell us how much he wants to freeze to death next week.”

“Oh god,” I groaned, easing onto the couch with a soft wince. “If he tries to make me hike, I swear I’ll fake a rib puncture.”

Ollie snorted. “I’m already making the executive decision to veto snow.”

He leaned back on one arm, looking up at me with that lopsided smirk of his, and for a moment, I forgot about the weight in my chest. About the way healing felt more like surviving these days. About how this break was supposed to be a rest, but mostly felt like punishment.

But then we passed the hallway later on our way to grab my laptop, and it all came crashing back. He stopped. I didn’t have to look to know why.

The display shelf by the hallway had always been a quiet little timeline of my career—my first F4 helmet, the one I won my first karting championship in, and a couple others from standout races. But now… now there was another.

My most recent one.

The one from the crash.

Still blackened at the edges. Still scarred by fire and dirt and desperation. I hadn’t touched it since it was returned to me. I didn’t know why I left it there—maybe to remind myself I survived. Maybe because I hadn’t figured out how to hide it.

Ollie stood frozen, staring at it like it had personally insulted him.

I turned to say something, anything to break the tension, but then he spoke—and it hit like a punch to the ribs.

“You kept it like that?” His voice was quiet. Unsteady.

I nodded slowly. “Yeah. I... I guess I couldn’t bring myself to clean it. It feels like—like proof that I got out, you know? That I made it.”

He didn’t look at me. “I thought you didn’t.” My breath caught.

His hands were balled into fists again, just like they had been in the medical room.

“You were moving,” he said, voice raw. “I saw you crawling out. I kept telling myself, she’s out, she’s out—she’s gonna be okay. And then it exploded again. I only saw it in my mirrors. Just... flames. You disappeared. I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t go back. I didn’t know if you were—”

His voice cracked. I stepped forward, gently placing my good hand on his arm. “Ollie.”

“I couldn’t do anything,” he whispered. “I just kept driving and praying they’d pull you out in time.”

“You don’t have to carry that,” I murmured. “You didn’t leave me. You were racing. You didn’t abandon me.”

He finally turned to look at me, and there it was again—that same look from the hospital. Like part of him still hadn’t let go of the moment he thought I was gone. “I’m here,” I said softly. “I made it. And you’re here, too.”

He didn’t say anything, just let me pull him into a hug. He wrapped his arms around me carefully, holding tight but not too tight, like he didn’t want to cause more damage.

We stood there for a long moment, the silence more healing than any words could’ve been.

When we pulled apart, his eyes were a little glassy, but his voice had steadied. “Okay. No more crash talk for today. We’ve got a vacation to plan.”

“Finally,” I said with a smile, wiping at my cheek. “Something that doesn’t involve ice packs or medical tape.”

Back in the living room, I curled up on the couch with a blanket, and Ollie sat on the floor beside me, laptop open between us. He pulled up a tab with about ten bookmarks already waiting.

“I did some scouting. Don’t worry, I filtered out anything colder than 10 degrees.”

I laughed. “You’re a saint.”

“Obviously,” he said with a grin. “First up: this little seaside villa in Cinque Terre. Gorgeous view, private terrace, walking distance to gelato.”

“Sold.”

“Wait, wait—next one’s even better,” he said, scrolling to a cozy mountain cabin in Switzerland. “Fireplace. Hot tub. Comes with a dog named Muffin, apparently.”

I gasped. “Muffin??”

He grinned. “Now you’re invested.”

We kept flipping through options, laughing and bickering like we weren’t two people who’d almost lost each other. At some point, we ended up side by side on the couch, sharing a pastry and debating which place had the better vibe for “healing, but make it cute.”

By the end of it, we had a list narrowed down and a tentative plan to leave in three days with Kimi.

And for the first time since the crash, I felt something like normal again. Not just alive—but living.

—

I didn’t realize how nice it would be to have Kimi around until he showed up with an armful of empty duffel bags and a determined look in his eyes.

“No offense,” he said, stepping inside and immediately kicking the door shut with his heel, “but your packing system is a crime. This time, we’re doing it properly.”

I blinked at him, leaning against the doorway of my bedroom in an oversized hoodie and a sling. “Hi to you, too.”

“Hi,” he replied, grinning in that boyish way that made it hard to stay annoyed. “Now sit down and point at things. I’ll do the rest.”

And he did.

Without hesitation, Kimi opened drawers, folded clothes, sorted toiletries, and somehow managed to get all my essentials into a suitcase in a way that looked almost... aesthetic? I couldn’t decide if he was just naturally organized or if he’d learned how to be useful from traveling nonstop with F2. Either way, he didn’t need to be asked. He just did things. Quiet, capable, and oddly comforting.

“You’re scarily efficient,” I said as he zipped up the second bag.

He shrugged. “You need comfy clothes, beach things, and at least one outfit in case we go somewhere nice. Everything else is overthinking.”

“I am overthinking,” I muttered.

“I know,” he said, eyes flicking to mine, teasing. “You always do.”

That made me roll my eyes and throw a sock at his head. He caught it without looking, like some kind of casual ninja, and smirked. “Is that your way of saying thank you?”

“Sure. Also, you’re lucky I can’t throw properly right now.”

“I’m lucky either way,” he said quietly, almost too casually—but the way he said it made me freeze for half a second. I opened my mouth, ready with a sarcastic reply, but he was already standing, stretching his arms behind his head like nothing had happened.

“Alright,” he said. “We need food before I start unpacking things out of boredom.”

We ended up ordering our usual takeout from the Chinese place two blocks down. Kimi set up camp on the couch while I shuffled over with the food, and even though I knew I looked like a gremlin in sweatpants and messy hair, he didn’t blink. Just scooted over, fluffed the pillow next to him, and patted it.

“C’mon, your side of the couch looks lonely.”

I plopped down and groaned dramatically as I got comfortable, which earned me a quiet laugh from him.

“You’re so needy,” I joked.

“You love it,” he shot back, unbothered. Then he handed me my drink without even looking. Like he knew exactly which one was mine.

We ate in comfortable silence for a while, trading bites and throwing in the occasional “this is so good” or “okay that chili sauce is illegal.” After eating, Kimi picked up the controllers and waved mine in front of my face.

“I updated your save file. You’re welcome.”

“You what?”

“You were stuck on that one level. I fixed it.”

“Are you trying to one-up Oscar’s breakfast day?” I asked.

“No,” he said, eyes bright with amusement. “I’m trying to make sure you never get rid of me.”

Again, the words landed softer than they should have, sitting somewhere in the back of my mind like a puzzle piece I hadn’t quite figured out.

The night went on like that—lazy and warm and full of inside jokes. We played a few rounds of our favorite co-op game, him carrying us through the boss fights and me screaming every time we nearly died. When the controller finally dropped out of my hand and I leaned my head against the couch in defeat, he just chuckled and tugged a blanket over both of us.

“Movie time,” he said, already scrolling through the streaming options. “You get first pick. But choose wisely, because I will complain the entire time if it sucks.”

“I thought you were supposed to be helping me heal, not raising my blood pressure.”

“Stress builds character,” he deadpanned.

I laughed, sinking deeper into the couch. We eventually settled on an old comfort film, and somewhere between the opening credits and the halfway point, I felt my eyelids growing heavy. Kimi didn’t say anything when I rested my head lightly against his shoulder. He just shifted slightly so I could fit better and kept watching, one arm resting casually along the back of the couch.

He smelled like clean laundry and citrus shampoo and something that was just Kimi—familiar, steady, safe.

As I started drifting off, I heard him say something under his breath.

“Might be my favorite day of break so far.”

I didn’t say anything.

But I smiled.

Masterlist

Taglist: @widow-cevans @honethatty12 @wierdflowerpower @imlonelydontsendhelp @thatsnotaddy @freyathehuntress @angelluv16 @littlesimps-world @dozyisdead @mizzy-pop @lost4lyrics @anunstablefangirl @nikfigueiredo @reiluvr @mymmyrym

#x reader #driver!reader #f1 #f1 angst #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 grid x reader #f1 imagine #f1 driver!reader #fluff #romance #romantic #love story #pick your poison #choose your own story

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luboy7rt · 5 months ago

Text

Kick (COD Ghosts): Random Headcanons

(Note: We don't get enough Kick content, so here's food. I ramble my bad. Just trying to get re-motivated for more headcanon stuff!)

- Kick would randomly just plops down near his comrades. Everyone can just be doing their own tasks and he's just coming by to invade everyone's personal space, but never for too long before he agites himself and just leaves.

(Here's how I think the other Ghosts would react to this)

This could happen to Keegan who would look like a deer in headlights, like he's silently looking around for help. Help this man, he cannot. Keegan ends up just silently pushing Kick off to leave, leaving Kick groaning and being grumbley until he finds his next target or he would silently just sit there, stiff and unmoving, he is now a statue. Won't even breathe. (0.5/10 on Kick Rates)

This could happen to Ajax, a quick ‘what's up’ or ‘hey’ Is exchanged before Kick just lets his body go limp, his shoulders digging into Ajax's lap who ‘unfortunately’ claims he got used to it. Ajax's is pretty chill about it though, he couldn't care less. But if he's watching a show and Kick tries to eat his snacks? Nope, Kick’s getting kicked out. (8/10 on Kick Rates)

This could happen to Hesh who is more inclined to just let it happen, I feel like Hesh is somehow the most uncaring about it. He's dealt with Logan all his life, and he has a dog who couldn't give a damn about personal space. Hesh just lifts his phone so he could keep doing What he was doing but Kick could do whatever he wanted as long as he respectable Hesh's personal space. (11/10 on Kick Rates)

This can happen to Logan who is alarmed the first time this happens, stiff as a board. Uncomfortable, unfortunately takes time for Logan to relax (-0.2/10 on Kick Rates)

Elias. Kick tried to lay over the man once but Elias left too quickly to get a good rating (Sad/10 on Kick Rates) Come back. Kick bets he's a damn good at cuddling/comfort too, he's holding out on him like that?

This could happen to Neptune, who's surprisingly chill with it as long as Kick didn't interrupt him on purpose or talk/breathe too loudly. It's comfortable and warm (100/10 on Kick Rates)

((Pardon these next two, we don't get a lot on Torch and Grim so OCC))

Torch is unique. Sits weird, cuddles weird, Kick likes weird so (10/10 on Kick Rates)

Grim is funky, cold but ends up being the second best at cuddling after Neptune (Might need more experimentation/10 on Kick Rates)

Riley? Fucking amazing cuddle buddy when hes up to it. Not so amazing when the dog farts, stinks like hell. (100/10 on Kick Rates. -1000 for the time Riley definitely let one rip on purpose just to get Kick to leave him alone)

- He's very intelligent and also he very much likes to mess with people. Likes tapping into Keegan’s devices just for shits and giggles. (No proof of this, but Keegan just knows. Kick just knows how to cover his tracks) Randomly gives ‘hints’ when he's in someone's devices when he's not supposed to be. This habit stops after Keegan did some cursed shit to simply get him to stop. Yet no one ever got Kick in trouble for this habit before, they just assume it's Kick’s way of trying to check up on them. Lol, No. He does it for his own curiosity but he’ll let them believe what they want.

- Kick likes to vibe when driving, making it his teammates problem to either ignore him or join in. He doesn't care as he's dancing while driving, ignore his playlist title, he's too busy singing under his breath to care about the done looks on his comrades faces.

- Neptune and Kick team ups are a vibe Kick lives for, he lives for slowly trying to convince Neptune to do something unhinged. He knows it takes a lot of planning, so Kick slowly tries to encourage Neptune to pull an insane stunt that will end up helping the team but also Kick gets the amusement he wants.

- He says cursed shit often, usually the others turn a blind eye to it. But sometimes some of the guys can't, hearing their little sighs of defeat make Kick's get a larger ego, it's pure bliss for him.

- Kick finds it utterly hilarious when he sees Keegan's blank stare, just looking into his soul. He finds it to be the most funniest shit, especially when they're meant to be doing something serious. He lives for when Keegan hears some stupid shit and slowly turns to face Kick, slowly blinking (frog blink even better in Kick's eyes). Kick has to always bite his tongue just to not full blown cackle when he's not supposed to.

- Makes shitty PowerPoints instead of actually decent debrief reports, like yes. We did this :). No, we failed that :(. With a shitty gif misplaced on the right side of the slide. Elias lets it pass and ends up rewriting the damn report for Kick because he just can't deal with this anymore. It's shitty on purpose but if he knows Elias has a bad day? He writes the best damn report he has ever done and hands it in like a proud dog who finally caught Its own tail.

- I feel like he builds/fixes up PCs, Computers or Other technology just for fun. Especially old shitty tech? He would love it, definitely has a collection of just old technology he has fixed over the years.

- Feel like he doesn't believe in spirits or ghosts, but makes it a point to announce to his dead comrades he's going to do something stupid or he would click his tongue and flip off an object if it just reminded him of one of his comrades.

(Ex: After Torch's death. One of Kick's candles sway too much and catches something on fire? Kick would blame Torch. It's all his fault, it could never be Kick's fault for placing that item too close to the flame.)

(Hah just got the idea of Kick ghost hunting for his teammates and then definitely messing with him, ‘Did you just fucking call me Honey Booboo Bear?’ Cue Kick staring at the camera behind him with such a straight face like it was the most horrid thing he has ever heard.)

Ajax would be the ghost calling him Honey Booboo Bear just to fuck with him because he knows (knew) Kick. Unfortunately.

Kick, Keegan and Neptune ghost hunter Au/freetime? Feel like that would be funny.)

(I got more ideas for this, I can go on about it but I'll keep it short, Neptune nonchalant camera man who just points out things bluntly, funny but mostly unheard guy behind the camera but when he speaks up you know it's good, Keegan skeptic who's just here to say he doesn't believe in it and to scare Kick. Kick firm believer who wants to get real evidence or flirt with a ghost.), (Even funnier if they bring Hesh, Logan and Riley along, because Logan is side eyeing while Hesh would slightly be panicking because why is Riley staring at a damn wall for 15 minutes? Even better if Elias comes along to ensure his boys are safe and just drags his kids out when Kick tries to encourage them to do stupid shit. Elias doesn't fuck with that shit.

(I find myself utterly hilarious. Felt like I should say that. Sorry if its a bit short, thank you. Dw if you don't agree with some of these headcanons, they are just for fun!)

#Call of duty ghosts headcanons #cod ghosts headcanons #cod ghosts #Kick headcanons #Cod Kick Headcanons #cod headcanons #call of duty headcanons #cod kick #call of duty kick #cod ajax #Elias Walker #kick call of duty #David Hesh Walker #Logan Walker #riley the dog #Thomas Merrick #Call of duty headcanons #Task force Stalker #cod riley

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caesarflickermans · 29 days ago

Note

Hello, CEO of Plutarch Heavensbee! I have a question for you.

How do you think Plutarch knew about Latin/Rome?

To me, this quote has so many layers to it that NEED to be looked into: (still mad we arent getting a plutarch book) "It's a saying from thousands of years ago, written in a language called Latin about a place called Rome."

Correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't think any other character ever says anything about other languages/countries. We only get a brief rudimentary dump about 12/Appalachia and the history of how Panem was formed, but that's literally it. At no point in any time does anyone else really reference the old world -- and Latin comes from the old world even to people from today!

How do you think he managed to dig up history texts? Do you think he shared his knowledge with a lot of his allies (or enemies)? He was just explaining the quote to Katniss, he wasn't sitting down and giving her a lecture. Do you think he just knew about Rome specifically, or do you think he knew about other nations?

I tried looking up theories or even interviews with SC but I couldn't find much. (I also, very stupidly, googled "How did Plutarch know about Rome" at first without realizing that I would need many actual THG terms in the search to get things that are not about the actual Plutarch philosopher lmao. But now I have a crack answer: Plutarch Heavensbee is the reincarnation of Πλούταρχος.)

I received this ask before Sunrise, and am happy to report that my initial thoughts perfectly align with the new material:

The Heavensbee family maintains a monopoly on historical texts.

The prequel gives us room to speculate, particularly in relation to Trajan Heavensbee, whom Plutarch references as the sole ancestor "who has been of any use" (SOTR, 9).

It is no likely no coincidence that Trajan's portrait depicts him holding a book, that he presides as the owner of the Heavensbee library, and that his statue is featured within the Academy. The family's influence extends so deeply that they have a hall named in their honour within the Academy.

While arguments have been made that Trajan's title as "Father of Panem" suggests a founding father myth, I propose a different theory. To me, he might have been the architect of Panem's education and indoctrination system during the formative years of totalitarian rule.

Ballad introduced us to some characters who make occasional references to the past—Snow references ancient US cities, while Gaul directly names political thinkers. However, Snow references the burning of books to keep warm during the war, thus implying that Heavensbee's possession of a library is extraordinary. Additionally, I believe that historical revisionism—similar to the one revising the events of the 50th Hunger Games—necessitates eliminating historical texts to maintain the illusion of Panem's superiority.

Hence, I assume that the Heavensbee library is quite unique within the Capitol, as Trajan likely played a vital role in maintaining (and being allowed to maintain) the library, many families burned their books, and I take it that alike Fahrenheit 451 and historic parallels, controlling the past (Orwell) was a vital factor far before the 50th Games.

Collins' reference to George Orwell in particular have made me giddy for the sole fact that I've viewed the Capitol through that very lens for years, thus meaning that Plutarch's in-depth knowledge is a rarity, and that the Heavensbee family's access to historical texts were what allowed them to escape parts of the indoctrination.

#plutarch heavensbee #trajan heavensbee #thg #the hunger games #sotr #sunrise on the reaping #sotr spoilers #if o'brien was speaking the truth? that would be plutarch #i did copy some aspects on o'brien's idea of rebellion to #how i perceive the capitol rebels!#anon #inbox

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mirai-e-jump · 7 months ago

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TV Life, 9/20/2024 Issue ft. Kamen Rider Gavv Cast Members (translation below)

Publication: September 4, 2024

Chinen Hidekazu x Hino Yusuke x Miyabe Nozomi

"What were your thoughts when you read the script?"

Chinen: I finished reading it in an instant due to how interesting it was. The more I read, the more I was drawn into the world of this show, and my excitement grew so much that I couldn't wait to play the role.

Hino: Me too. I was so curious about future developments, that every time I read the script, I couldn't wait to get the next one (laughs). Every character that appears is full of personality and intricately intertwined, making this a show that I think children, as well as adults will enjoy.

Miyabe: Naturally, the dialogue is interesting and fun to watch, but each and every character actually has their own problems and insecurities. I thought that the depiction of them growing while confronting these issues was wonderful and gives a human feel to the story. I'm personally encouraged by Shouma and the other's hard work and dedication, so I'd like to do my best to deliver the feelings I have to the viewers as well.

"How do you personally view the roles you play?"

Chinen: Shouma's a cheerful and energetic boy who loves to eat. He's usually innocent, adorable, and incredibly charming, but he's also a very mysterious character from another world. I think his clumsy side and his ability to work as hard as he can in everything he does is what'll make the viewers want to cheer for him, so I'd like to keep that in mind as I perform from now on.

Hino: I play the role of Hanto, a young man who works as a freelance writer, and who's pursuing info on the enemy Granutes. One of the unique characteristics of Hanto is that his feelings towards the Granutes are stronger compared to the others, so I'm always conscious of how to express that in my performance. Going forward, I hope you'll also make sure to pay attention to the development that causes him to transform and become Kamen Rider Valen.

Miyabe: Sachika's the gyaru president of the general store "Hapipare." She's really upbeat and energetic, and she's the kind of person who could just go up to the cool and difficult to approach Hanto and say, "Hey there!" I have no gyaru qualities in my everyday life (laughs), so to prepare for the role, I looked at works in which gyarus appeared and incorporated them into Sachika.

"So, to reference the theme of sweets, how would you compare each other to sweets?"

Hino: Because Hide looks so cute and has some fluffy vibes, I guess he'd be a marshmallow. He's perfectly white and pure just like a marshmallow. Truthfully however, because he also has a strong and unshakable core, he'd be candy filled marshmallows!

Chinen: Those exist?! (laughs). Still, being told I have a strong core makes me happy. Nozomi-san would be yokan.

Miyabe: Yokan?! How surprising (laughs).

Chinen: In contrast to the role she plays, Nozomi-san's usually a very refined person, so when I thought, "What elegant sweets are there?," I came up with yokan.

Miyabe: Thank you. Hino-kun is……

Hino: Huh? You seem stuck (laughs). There's tons of variety and something for everyone, isn't there?!

Miyabe: Since he's always positive when communicating with us and the staff, he's a friendly person, so I guess he'd be dagashi. The fact that he's loved by all ages, genders and generations is also appealing.

Hino: I'm relieved you gave a good answer (laughs).

"And, TV Life will start running your "Relay Series" beginning with this issue."

All: Alright! (clapping).

Chinen: Our seniors had also decided on their title. What should we do?

Miyabe: It should include "Gavv."

Hino: Definitely! I'd prefer it to be catchy and easy to remember, but…

Miyabe: I think serializations are a place where each person's individuality can come out, so how about "GavvPare!," which would be a lineup that reflects the essence of Gavv? (from "onparedo" = lineup)

Chinen & Hino: Oh~! Sounds good!

Miyabe: It'd be great if people could get to know the show and us throughout the series.

Chinen: Yeah. The first one will be mine. Once again, we look forward to your support over the coming year! _

GavvPare! Vol.1 (Chinen Hidekazu)

Q. Tell us your memories of sweets!

A. When I was a child, there was a rule in the Chinen house where sweets were only allowed on weekends, and so that in itself lead to a strong desire to eat sweets. Naturally, I didn't take eating them for granted, so I was really happy to spend time on the weekends choosing and eating my favorite sweets. By the way, when I had a craving for something sweet on a weekday, I'd chew on sugar cane as a substitute for sweets. (laughs).

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tessenpai · 6 months ago

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Kono Oto Tomare! Chapter 138 Scans and Rough TL

Disclaimer: Please DO NOT use this translation to make your own TL of the chapter!! The KOT TL group works very hard to give you the most accurate translation, that does as much justice to the original script as possible. This is a ROUGH translation. That means is faulty and there must be mistakes in certain places. This is just for impatient people like myself to get a grasp on what is going on in the chapter! You can REFERENCE my TL if you want to discuss the chapter but never USE it as it was your own.

Scans: kono oto tomare 138 raw scans

Page 1

Takezou[thoughts]: Back then, I couldn't have even imagined...

Side text: We experienced and overcame so many things together...

Page 2 & 3

*No text*

Page 4

*No text*

Page 5

Takezou [thoughts]: That this day would come.

Chapter title: #138 Tokise High School Koto Club

Page 6

Audience 1: Hey, it's the school of the incident.

Audience 2: It's finally here.

Uzuki: ...

Tsukaji[thoughts]: They're completely in enemy turf here. I already knew that but...

Page 7

Tsukaji[thoughts]: Somehow, through their performance they'll-

Audience 3: Hey, I even saw a bit of their performance on TV, but it wasn't all that impressive.

Audience 4: Totally.

Tsukaji: ...

Komaki: Ugh, everyone's just saying whatever they want! I hope they shut them up with their performance--

Tsukaji[thoughts]: To be honest, if it were Satowa's introductory solo like in 'Tenkyuu', it would surely have silenced the audience instantly with just the first note, but...

Tsukaji[thoughts]: 'Harmony' starts with Kurata's solo.

Tsukaji [thoughts]: When I heard it before it lacked confidence

Tsukaji [thoughts]: To put it harshly, it didn't come even close to Tenkyuu's opening.

Page 8

Tsukaji [thoughts]: Ahhhh I shouldn't be thinking like this! I don't want to think about it but...

Tsukaji [thoughts]: Ichiei and Meiryou made no compromises when assigning their parts...!

Tsukaji [thoughts]: I understand they wanted to be considerate with Kurata, with him being a 3rd year student and the club president!

Tsukaji [thoughts]: But that kind of kindness...

Tsukaji [thoughts]: At Nationals, it could be your downfall.

Judge Tatsumi [thoughts]: With this atmosphere, they probably won't be able to perform properly. Placing at the top is already unlikely. I just hope it ends without any major issues...

Page 9

Announcer: Program Number 13

Announcer: Kanagawa Prefecture. Tokise High School.

Announcer: Composed by Takinami Suzuka: Harmony.

Page 10

Announcer: In April of last year, Tokise High School's koto club was in the verge of disbandment, with only one member left in it.

Annoucer: Since then, one unique member after other gathered.

Announcer: Today, there are 9 members and 2 teachers.

Announcer: Altogether, it has now become a club of 11 integrants.

Page 11

Announcer: Each one of them is an irreplaceable and important presence.

Announcer: The song we will play today, Harmony

Announcer: Was composed for us from scratch by our club advisor Takinami-sensei.

Page 12

Announcer: This sound is our everything.

Announcer: Please, let it reach them.

Page 13

Takezou [thoughts]: I was always scared of that very first note that was entrusted to me. Scared of a future where someone might not be there anymore.

Page 14 & 15

*No text*

Page 16 & 17

*No text*

Page 18 & 19

*All the flashbacks*

Page 20 & 21

*No text*

Page 22 & 23

*No text*

Page 24

Tsukaji [thoughts]: --It wasn't out of consideration. It wasn't a kindness.

Tsukaji[thoughts]: This is

Tsukaji [thoughts]: Sincere, straightforward and earnest to the very end.

Page 25

Tsukaji [thoughts]: That is the sound of Tokise.

Judge Tatsumi: Oh man… if you add too many sounds like this one then-

Page 26

*No text*

Page 27

Chika [memory]: I wanna join the koto club.

Page 28 & 29

*No text*

Page 30 & 31

*No text*

Page 32 & 33

*No text*

Page 34 & 35

*No text*

Page 36 & 37

*No text*

Page 38

Judge Tatsumi [thoughts]: Wait...

Judge Tatsumi[thoughts]: Wait a second.

Judge Tatsumi[thoughts]: This is--

Page 39

Tsukaji: The second solo...!

Page 40

*No text*

Page 41

*No text*

Page 42 & 43

*No text*

Page 44

Tsukaji[thoughts]: Don't cry yet!! It's still too soon!!

Tsukaji[thoughts]: We got the 1st years left!!

Tsukaji[thoughts]: Only the upperclassmen have played together up to this point, you don't want to add any unnecessary sounds to-

Page 45

*No text*

Page 46

*No text*

Page 47

*No text*

Page 48

Ousuke [thoughts]: He's tapping out the bass rythm...!?

Haru [thoughts]: So- so- so cooool----!!!!

Sentarou [thougthts]: His rythm sense is insane!!!

Page 49

Tougo [thoughts]: He's playing Yamada style, same as Kio.

Kio [thoughts]: But the strength of the sound is a bit overpowering-

Page 50 & 51

*No text*

Page 52 & 53

*No text*

Page 54 & 55

*No text*

Page 56

*No text*

Page 57

Judge Tatsumi: ----... What... is this?

Judge Kurokawa: How...

Judge Agata: Why...

Page 58

Judges [thoughts]: ...Is the level of every single member this high.!?

Page 59

*No text*

Page 60

Kifune-sensei: ...

Audience 2: Hey, I... have no idea about the koto but...

Audience 2: --Could it be that

Page 61

Audience: Tokise is... Amazing?

Side text: This is Tokise's sound!

---Kono Oto Tomare! will continue in the next issue!---

#kono oto tomare #kono oto tomare!#kot #sounds of life #stop this sound!#kot!#rough tl #translation #scans #kono oto #kono oto tomare 138 #kono oto tomare! 138 #kono oto 138 #kot 138 #kot! 138

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callmelittlesunshinefics · 8 months ago

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Hello, Little Girl (Part One)

Logan Howlett (Wolverine) x Reader

Summary: You have been living at Xavier's school for a few years now, feeling slightly out of place as a Nephilim from another universe but welcome nonetheless. When something pops up that has no business being in this universe you're sent gearing up for a mission that you would rather leave the X-Men out of, but an anxious endless and overprotective step-uncle-devil insist on this being worked as a team.

A/N: The title is an Into the Woods reference for no good reason other than that I couldn't help myself. We're also loosely using X2 Logan purely because of the kitchen scene, but in reality it's an AU.

Some quick background, the reader (Y/N in fic, described with she/her pronouns) is based off of an OC I tend to pull out pretty frequently. Half human, half angel, displaced from their home universe and dropped into this one, with characters from Lucifer (show/comics) and The Sandman (show/comics) making appearances despite not existing in the Marvel Universe. *shrug* TW: Alcohol use, swearing, mature/explicit themes down the line in subsequent chapters so MDNI

Feedback/questions/comments HUGELY appreciated as it took me a long ass time to say f it and post this <3

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Reader

Word Count: 3,437

It was late when you arrived, but that was part of your plan. You didn’t want too much of a fuss and had plenty of groceries to put away, everyone made a big fuss out of missing your cooking when you announced your departure, so you were sure to come back with all the essentials you knew you’d be asked to make in the coming days. It was late to start cooking, even by your standards, but the silence in the house was so deep that you were certain starting some baked goods wouldn’t be the cause of any commotion. You got to work with plenty of butter, flour, sugar, and eggs on hand. All of the basics you would need to make as many things as possible.

You got started on big batches of basics; chocolate chip cookies, brownies, dough for cinnamon rolls to serve tomorrow morning. You had several bowls in various stages of prep when you fell silent, realizing you were no longer alone.

“If I had known you were here I swear I wouldn’t have started,” you turned, explaining yourself to the only person it could be, “You’re the only one who could’ve heard any of this from three floors away.”

Logan shook his head in the negative and unlocked the fridge that stored alcohol for the adults of the mansion, grabbing two beers. He held one out to you that you accepted, and he took a large sip of his before explaining.

“I was up as soon as you landed in the kitchen,” he referenced your unique method of travel, shrugging, “You might be flying too fast to see, but I heard you.”

You smirked, “Yet you waited until the cookie dough was just about ready…”

He shrugged, “Figured you’d be so happy to see your favorite in the house you’d be more likely to sneak me some extra.”

“Were you even asleep?” You cut through the bullshit, and Logan chuckled, “And so confident you’re my favorite?” You teased, “What if it’s Scott?”

He actually growled and wasn’t ashamed of it, “Don’t say things just to wound me, darlin’.”

You chuckled to yourself but relented, sharing the cookie dough with the wolverine with an extra spoon you pulled from the drawer as soon as you realized who was snooping. You took a long sip of the beer and hummed, relenting without much of a fight.

“How many are still here?” He knew what you meant without clarification.

“Not many, but they’re all older so no one complains about these,” He gestured to the beers between the two of you, “But all of this will be gone by tomorrow.” He meant all of your baked goods and you shrugged.

“That’s what they’re for, Old Man.” He glared at you, shoveling more cookie dough out of the bowl.

“How long are we going to do this little dance?” He asked looking you dead in the eye. It took a lot to throw you off balance, but Logan was better at doing it than most.

“Is it your hip? Need a seat, grandpa?” They were coming out half-hearted even to you, and he leveled you with a look to tell you as much as he continued to wait, “Alright look, I’ll admit those weren’t my best, but if you don’t want to keep up the dance how about you just ask me whatever it is you want to know?”

Logan looked genuinely surprised and you snorted, getting back to work you started to roll out dough that had finished resting for the cinnamon rolls. Logan sat down to watch, sipping his beer and enjoying your company while he worked out how to ask you everything he was thinking without scaring you off.

He sighed, “When you left you said you couldn’t tell us much, and I understand needing to leave the past in the past better than most.”

You waited for him to continue as you spread the filling across the dough. There were long silences sometimes between the two of you, but they never felt awkward. Logan didn’t have the gift of gab, but you weren’t in any rush. You learned early on that it was best to give him his time, but you also realized equally early that sometimes Logan sitting down and trying to talk about his feelings was like trying to recite a poem he’s never heard in a language he doesn’t speak.

“If I’m being totally honest, and I will be since it seems like that’s what you’re getting at, I don’t really know if I fixed anything or if I just…” You trailed off and Logan nodded, scooping up more cookie dough. This was the point you realized Logan really wasn’t leaving without more answers from you, any other day and that cookie dough would be a fond memory by now.

“If they’re sending you for intel it must be pretty bad, huh?”

You finally got a genuine laugh out of him, “No one sent me, bub. The reason I waited for this to be ready first,” he gestured to his snack, “Is because I could smell the stress on you miles away. Whatever sent you runnin off hasn’t let you alone since, matter of time before you accept the fact you need help.”

You squinted, “Can you actually smell stress or is that an exaggeration?” It may have sounded like a joke but you were genuinely curious and he knew, deciding to humor you.

“More complicated than I made it sound, but bottom line is yes, bub. Is it my turn to ask a question?” He threw you a signature smirk as you both nursed your drinks, cinnamon rolls temporarily abandoned. You took a deep breath.

“You’re no stranger to the fact that there are other worlds out there, some like the ones I came from, some much closer than that within this universe.” Logan sobered up quickly, sitting up straighter. He thought it would take more prodding, he didn’t expect you to casually toss him into the deep end. “Does the name Morepheus mean anything to you?”

Logan shook his head in the negative and you nodded, but he interrupted before you could continue, “Do you want me to wake the professor?”

You smiled sadly, “I’m going to tell him everything too. But is it alright if I just tell you first, we’ll consider it a first draft. I really have no clue how I’m going to explain this to-”

“I’m gonna get us some proper drinks, don’t get too ahead of yourself kiddo.” You rolled your eyes and took the break as an opportunity to finish spreading the filling and roll up the cinnamon rolls to rest ahead of slicing and baking.

Opening up to Logan first thing upon your arrival wasn’t on your bingo card for how your return was going to go, but it wasn’t unwelcome either. Your friendship with Logan was an easy one, but you couldn’t pretend it didn’t get strained in your absence. He knew you weren’t a mutant and that some part of you felt you didn’t belong at the school, didn’t deserve it, but he would be the first to remind you that didn’t matter. Of course, you weren’t fully human either, so what that made you to the team was always a question mark in your own mind.

Logan returned and began covering your many bowls before you had a chance to tell him what went where, “I take it you’re forcing me into a break?”

“And some sleep if I’m lucky.” He meant it as a joke but regretted it as soon as he saw your face fall, “But for now moving us into the study with the whiskey.”

You got the kitchen mostly in a state of order before heading down the hallway to meet Logan by the fire, plate of brownies in hand. If you weren’t painfully aware of the bad news you were about to deliver, it might even feel romantic, huddled near the fire with chocolate and alcohol. You kicked your shoes off and collapsed onto the small couch beside Logan, enough space between the two of you to feel intimate without being crowded. You closed your eyes and leaned backwards into the plush cushions of the couch, taking a deep breath as you tried to pinpoint the start.

“Now hon the first thing you need to understand is that nothing sent me off running. It may have seemed abrupt to everyone here, except the professor that is, but I was gone the second my head hit the pillow that night. I shut my eyes here and opened them in another world.” You took a deep breath as Logan stared back at you looking like he wasn’t entirely certain if you had completely lost it or were telling him something of dire importance. Once the shock wore off and he remembered who he was speaking to, a nephilim from another universe, he decided if you told him you were pulled into another world, he had no reason to doubt it as fact.

“Do you know where you were?”

You nodded and pointed to your empty glasses, “It’s not like you to be stingey with the liquor, ever plan on helping a girl out?”

He rolled his eyes but eagerly poured you both what looked to be maker’s mark. Not your favorite but for the conversation ahead anything would do. You weren’t a lightweight, but you couldn’t be called a drinker either, so you surprised yourself and Logan when you downed the double shot he poured before refilling your own glass and topping off his. You expected a snarky joke or more disapproval of your behavior, but instead the Wolverine just continued to watch you as if he were studying for a test he wasn’t entirely prepared for.

You didn’t need his heightened senses to see that your behavior was putting him on edge, and you quietly admired this as one of his most underrated abilities. He might not know what you were about to tell him, but his instincts knew before you said the words that you were gearing up for a fight.

“Have you ever heard of the Endless?” You asked Logan and he slowly shook his head no, “I didn’t think so, at this point most people think of them as myths. Stories that got lost to time and all that. But my Uncle Lu had a few run ins with the family, not all of them good, but you know how he could be…” You wandered off for a bit and Logan felt a chill, as much as he would try to deny it. You mentioned him so casually, your “Uncle Lu”, Lucifer Morningstar, the devil himself.

“Dream of the Endless dropped in at Lux to see if Lucifer was behind a hex bag found in the dreaming.” You pulled a leather pouch from your pocket and Logan felt all the hair on his arms stand at edge, “It’s unusual here though, this type of magic. Even some of the most powerful magic users in this world haven’t seen anything like it, but to be fair it’s some creative work.” You pulled the drawstrings slightly to open it just enough for Logan to see inside.

“Bones? And..” He squinted at the bag and you nodded as he finished, “Sand.”

“It belongs to Dream. Also known as the Sandman, never seen without a raven,” you gestured to the bones in the palm of your hand, “and his sand. They contain fragments of his power, even in this state.” You stared at the item in your hand that weighed on you more heavily than the literal weight of its contents. You felt yourself veering towards tipsy but reached for your glass anyway.

“The irony of who I’m saying this to isn’t lost on me, but you seem pretty quiet, even for you.” You threw a playful elbow nudge in Logan’s direction and completely missed, he caught your shoulder before you could fall over him onto the couch. His hand stayed on your arm as he shook his head as if to clear his head.

“Have you seen anything like it?” Logan asked cautiously. If he was being completely honest the direction of this conversation was unsettling him for reasons he couldn’t place, it was a new feeling entirely.

“That’s the million dollar question,” You smiled sadly, “I’m gonna need a favor, Lo.” You stood up and began throwing all your strength into sliding the small couch you and Logan had just occupied out of the way, lifting the edge of the rug it had been resting on. You gestured to a particular floorboard, “Can you lift that one?”

You expected another question or any hesitation really, but Logan stood and did as you asked. You reached into the opening as soon as the board was cleared and pulled out a small bag that looked nearly identical to the one you had shown Logan.

“I have a feeling I’m not gonna like where this is goin’.” Logan huffed as you returned the floorboard and started to climb back into your seat.

“Everyone told me the kind of things in the world I came from didn’t exist here, but even when I was with Lucifer and then came here, I couldn’t just…let my guard down?” It sounded like you were asking him a question but you just kept going, “I had been on the run for years, Logan, and everyone was telling me I was safe here, but-”

“You were stuck in survival mode.” He said it as matter of fact, and you closed your eyes and nodded, “So you hid these here for…protection?” Logan was giving you a break, filling in the gaps he came to understand from what you were telling him and what he already knew about you.

“Some are for protection,” You nodded, “Some of them actually act as little safeguards too so that if someone or something comes waltzing in here that shouldn’t be, it can bind them to the spot.”

Logan chuckled, the way you delighted in your clever tricks not lost on him, “Can’t say we couldn’t have used a few of those before you got here,”

“To be honest, I wasn’t even sure if they would work here. Still not totally sure, can only tell you that this one,” you pointed to the one fallen open with sand and bones, “Managed to work in the dreaming without Morpheus detecting anything.”

You didn’t need to tell Logan you were scared, your heart rate was erratic enough for him to start to wonder if he should change the subject, shit on Scott for a while or something else guaranteed to get a chuckle out of you. This time a few years ago he might’ve done that, when you were both still new and he didn’t know how quickly you would become pivotal to his life, to everything he knew about who he was, not that he ever said as much. When it came to you Logan wasn’t prepared to take the easy outs, he needed you to tell him everything.

“How does it work?” It was a careful question asked quietly, vague enough to keep you talking, but not specific enough to spook you.

“It was basically hijacking some of Dream’s power. Whoever made this used it to create a little pocket dimension for themself deep in the dreaming, the only reason Morpheus found out at all was an increasing number of dreams and nightmares stumbling upon it only to be transported back to Morpheus’s castle with no memory of their hours before.” Your voice was just above a whisper, and you startled a bit when Logan snorted.

“This guy has a castle?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

“You know, some would call this a castle, Logan.” You getured to the mansion you were seated in, tucked away in the cozy study that screamed wealth, intentional or not, “But yes, Morpheus, Dream of the Endless, King of Dreams and Nightmares. No one has that many names and doesn’t have a castle.”

Logan caught the mocking tone and was grateful to hear it, “So are you telling me you ditched us to go hang out in a castle, Princess?”

He smirked at you and your heart stuttered for a different reason entirely. Logan being insanely, ridiculously attractive was by no means new to you, but huddled next to the fireplace and calling you ‘Princess’, even jokingly….well, you took a deep breath and tried to laugh off just how flustered his comment made you.

He knew, of course he knew. Any other night Logan may have finally taken the plunge, grabbed you by the chin to look him in the eye and ask if the two of you were ready to stop dancing around your feelings. But then again he had been telling himself that for months already, and the night of your return showing up being chased by ghosts from your past was probably not the best night to add more to your plate.

“Something like that. I actually haven’t gone to the dreaming yet, Lu didn’t think…well, he thought-”

Logan stiffened and his mind started racing a thousand miles a minute while screaming at himself that he’s a fucking idiot, that he should have caught on to what this all meant sooner.

“He thinks they’re coming for you?” It was growled through his teeth, but he needed to ask it.

“He thinks…” you chose your next words carefully, not wanting to put Logan any more on edge than he already was, “That we don’t know enough yet to rule it out, and me prancing right into the dreaming, even with him and Morpheus-”

“You need backup.” Logan finished for you as you nodded.

“As much as I don’t want to involve any of you in this, I’m afraid I don’t have much of a choice. Logan, I,” you struggled with this next part, trying to figure out how to explain it.

“Just say it, kid, don’t worry about how it sounds on my account.”

“Logan, the best case scenario would actually be that they’re coming for me.” You whispered as Logan began to snarl, you continued talking faster, “The alternative is that someone with a lot of knowledge they shouldn’t have is trying to destabilize the dreaming. If that’s what’s happening, I’m not the only person in danger. Human and mutant alike, we’re all tied to the dreaming. If the dreaming dies…”

“Alright kid, look,” Logan sat up in his chair and took your hands, that you hadn’t realized you were wringing anxiously, in his, “I’ve lived a long time, alright? Until I met you I didn’t know about all of this celestial bullshit, hell I still don’t understand half of what you’ve told me tonight.” You chuckled, acknowledging it was quite a lot to handle in general let alone around 3 am, “But you know what, bub? I’ve been in more wars than I’d care to count, we’ve been in battles with imperial space birds, and I’ve had to time travel enough that Chuck sometimes has to fill me in on what’s changed when my consciousness returns to the present.”

You looked at him quizzically, not having been aware of that last one and he shrugged, “You can be nosey about it later, my point is everyone under this roof has stopped the end of the world a few times by now, don’t go losing sleep before we even know what we’re up against. Give us some credit.” He winked at you and squeezed your hands before returning them to your lap and finishing his drink.

You released a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding and smiled sweetly at him, a little too sweetly in fact, “That was quite the pep talk Lo, gotta be careful, some might say you’re starting to sound like Scott.”

You expected a glare, maybe even an actual growl as you compared Logan to the ever present thorn in his side but instead he shrugged, “You tell anyone I said this and I’ll deny it, but one thing Summers and I agree on is tackling the big bads as a team. From this universe or whoever the hell else is stupid enough to come knocking.”

There were a few beats of silence as what Logan said soaked in, and even though your instincts were still screaming at you to run, when Logan told you you would face it and beat it as a team, god help you, you believed him.

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