#Knee Pain Relief Solution

[drrestoknee]

Eating Right for Osteoarthritis (OA) of the Knee

Managing osteoarthritis (OA) of the knee isn't just about medications and therapy—your diet plays a crucial role in supporting joint health and reducing inflammation. Eating the right foods can help alleviate symptoms, maintain a healthy weight, and slow the progression of the disease.

[gaingrove]

Knee Pain Relief: Natural Remedies for Arthritis and Joint Pain

If you’re struggling with persistent knee discomfort, you’re not alone. Millions of Americans suffer from knee pain, often caused by arthritis, injuries, or underlying medical conditions. However, there’s hope — this comprehensive guide explores natural, evidence-based solutions to alleviate your knee pain and improve your overall joint health.

From anti-inflammatory diets and herbal remedies to targeted exercises and alternative therapies, we’ll delve into a wide range of natural approaches that can help reduce inflammation, increase mobility, and provide lasting relief for your knee joint pain. Whether you’re dealing with the debilitating effects of arthritis or simply looking to maintain the health of your knees, this guide will empower you to take control of your well-being and find the natural path to knee pain relief.

Key Takeaways

Learn about safe, natural solutions and efficient therapies for knee pain caused by injuries, arthritis, and other ailments.

Learn how to reduce inflammation, improve mobility, and find lasting relief for your knee joint pain.

Explore the benefits of an anti-inflammatory diet, herbal supplements, and targeted exercises for knee pain management.

Understand the role of alternative therapies, such as acupuncture and massage, in providing natural relief for knee pain.

For long-term wellbeing, create a thorough, all-encompassing strategy for managing and preventing knee discomfort.

Understanding Knee Pain

A frequent problem that affects people of all ages and activity levels is knee discomfort. Finding effective relief from knee pain requires knowledge of the main reasons and symptoms, whether you’re an athlete, weekend warrior, or just aging gracefully.

Common Causes of Knee Pain

One of the primary culprits behind knee pain is arthritis, a degenerative condition that can lead to the breakdown of cartilage and inflammation in the joint. Other common causes of knee pain include injuries, such as ACL tears, meniscus tears, or sprains, as well as underlying medical conditions like gout, bursitis, or referred pain from the hip or lower back.

Symptoms of Knee Pain

Although there is a wide spectrum of symptoms linked to knee discomfort, swelling, stiffness, restricted range of motion, and trouble bearing weight are frequently experienced. A “locking” or “catching” sensation in the knee, as well as feelings of instability or weakness in the joint, may also be experienced by certain people.

Recognizing these common causes and symptoms of knee pain is the first step towards identifying the most appropriate treatment strategy and finding lasting relief

Natural Remedies for Knee Pain Relief

There are several natural solutions available for those who want to treat their knee pain without taking prescription drugs. These non-invasive methods, which include physical therapy, exercise, and hot and cold therapy, can help relieve pain, enhance joint function, and lessen inflammation.

Exercise and Physical Therapy

In treating knee pain effectively, incorporating specific exercises and physical therapy can be highly beneficial. Engaging in activities with minimal impact, such as swimming, cycling, and gentle stretching, can enhance the strength of the muscles surrounding the knee joint, boost flexibility, and alleviate pressure on the knees. Collaborating with a physical therapist can offer personalized guidance on the most suitable exercises and rehabilitation methods to target the precise cause of your knee discomfort.

Hot and Cold Therapy

Applying heat and cold therapy can help alleviate knee discomfort. Heat aids in boosting blood circulation, decreasing muscle tightness, and relieving joint stiffness, while cold therapy reduces inflammation and numbs soreness. Utilizing a heating pad, warm compress, or enjoying a warm bath can promote muscle relaxation and enhance flexibility. On the other hand, using ice packs or opting for a cold shower can assist in tightening blood vessels, reducing swelling, and easing discomfort.

Weight Management

Maintaining a healthy weight is crucial for managing knee pain, particularly for individuals with osteoarthritis. Excess weight can put additional stress on the knee joints, exacerbating pain and inflammation. By adopting a balanced diet and incorporating regular physical activity, you can work towards achieving and maintaining a healthy weight, which can significantly improve knee joint pain relief and overall joint health.

Remedies for knee pain

Anti-inflammatory Diet and Herbal Remedies

When it comes to natural approaches to knee pain relief and knee pain treatment, a crucial step is addressing the underlying inflammation that often contributes to arthritis knee pain and knee joint pain. One effective way to do this is through an anti-inflammatory diet, which focuses on incorporating foods rich in antioxidants and omega-3 fatty acids.

Anti-inflammatory Diet

By filling your plate with a variety of nutrient-dense, whole foods, you can naturally reduce inflammation and provide your body with the necessary building blocks for joint health. Some of the top anti-inflammatory foods to include in your diet are fatty fish like salmon, mackerel, and sardines, as well as leafy greens, berries, nuts, and seeds. Additionally, limiting your intake of processed foods, refined carbohydrates, and unhealthy fats can further support your knee pain relief and overall joint function.

Herbal Remedies

An anti-inflammation diet is important, but some herbs may also help manage knee pain naturally. Turmeric and gourd are two noteworthy herbs known for their anti-inflammatory effects. Curdimin in turmeric is famous for its ability to decrease inflammation and relieve pain caused by arthritis in knees. Similarly, gourd has been linked to having comparable anti-inflammatory properties, making it a nice touch to a whole treatment plan for knee discomfort.

Supplements for Knee Pain Relief

When coming to relieving knee painfulness, diet add-ons can play an import role in improving joint health and reducing inflamedness. Two of the mainly studied and effectual add-ons for knee pain reduction are glucosamine and chondroitin.

Glucosamine and Chondroitin

Glucosame and chrodoritin are nature compounds finded in body cartilage. They is know to supporting the repairs and maintainances of joints structures, especially in knees. Numerous studies has demonstrate the potentials of thees supplement to reduces pains, improves mobilities, and even slows the progressing of osteoarthritis, a leads cause of knees discomfort.

Curcumin

A another promising add-on for knee ache relief is cinnamon, a robust anti-inflammation mixture derived from the seasoning paprika. Cinnamon has be showed to deter the manufacture of inflamers molecules, which can aid alleviate the bloat and pain that is associated with knee diseases. When focusing on the core cause of inflamers, cinnamon may offer a natural substitution to over-the-counter pain drugs! While including additional supplements into your knee ache relief plan, it is important to speak with a healthcare expert for make sure the proper doses and possible interactions with any already present meds or situations. By miletzing these specified add-ons with other natural solutions, such as an anti-inflammation diet and mild workouts, a inclusive approach to manage knee problem and pushing for long-term joint balance can be provided!

Lifestyle Changes for Knee Pain Management

Adressing knee pain often requires an multi-faceted approach, annd incorporating lifestyle changes can be a powerful tool in your journey to relief! By making conscious adjustments to your daily activities and habits, you can help reduce the strain on your knee joints and promote better overall joint health.

Low-impact Activities

One of a most effect strategies for manage knee pain be engage on low-impact physical activities. Exercise same as swim, cycle, and softly stretch be able to aid soothe knee discomfort without excessively put stress on joint. These activities not only enhance movable and flexible but also reinforcing muscle adjacent knee, giving much-wanted support!

Proper Footwear

Shoes you wearing can affect knee health lots. Spending on good, supporting shoes can lessen stress and impact on knees when doing stuff daily. Search for shoes with nice arch aid, padding, and sturdy heel to make sure your feet are aligned and knees are safe.

By incorporating these lifestyle changes into your daily routine, you can take an active role in managing your knee pain and promoting long-term joint health. Remember, a combination of knee pain relief, knee pain treatment, and knee joint pain relief strategies is often the most effective approach to finding lasting relief.

Knee Pain Relief: Alternative Therapies

Traditional treatments and natural remedies may potentially provide effective relief for knee pain, but other therapies are emerging as viable options for individuals looking for a holistic approach to their discomfort. Two alternative therapies that have gained recognition for their potential in relieving knee pain, knee joint pain, and knee pain relief are acunpuncture and massage therapy!

Acupuncture

Acupuncture, one of Key components of Traditional Chinese Medicine, has been utilized years to tackle diverse health matters, involving relief of pain in the knees. This old custom includes the tactical positioning of slender needles at certain spots on the body, called acupuncture dots. Through exciting these spots, acupuncturists think they can assistance in the recovery of the body’s innate stability and boost the movement of force, or “ chu ,” resulting in lessened swelling and upgraded function of joints.

Research has shown that acupuncture can be an effective treatment for knee joint pain relief, particularly in cases of osteoarthritis. Studies suggest that acupuncture may help reduce pain, improve mobility, and enhance the overall quality of life for individuals struggling with chronic knee discomfort.

Click here for knee pain relief therapies

Massage Therapy

Massage therapy is another alternative approach that has proven beneficial for individuals dealing with knee pain relief and knee pain treatment. By targeting the soft tissues surrounding the knee joint, skilled massage therapists can help alleviate muscle tension, improve blood circulation, and reduce inflammation, all of which can contribute to a reduction in knee pain.

In order to treat certain areas of concern and relieve knee joint discomfort, various massage techniques, such as deep tissue massage, Swedish massage, and trigger point therapy, can be customized to the needs of the individual. A thorough treatment plan that includes massage therapy may be very helpful in reducing knee pain and enhancing joint health in general.

Preventing Knee Pain and Injury

Proactive steps can go a long way in preventing knee pain and reducing the risk of knee injuries. Two key strategies to focus on are strengthening the muscles around the knee joint and maintaining proper warm-up and cool-down routines before and after physical activity.

Strengthening Exercises

Incorporating targeted strengthening exercises into your routine can help stabilize the knee joint and improve its overall function. Exercises that target the quadriceps, hamstrings, and calf muscles are particularly beneficial for knee pain relief and knee joint pain relief. Examples include squats, lunges, leg presses, and calf raises. Gradually building up the strength and flexibility of these muscle groups can go a long way in knee pain treatment and reducing the risk of future injuries.

Proper Warm-up and Cool-down

A good warm-up regimen is essential for preparing the body for physical activity, which will help reduce knee pain and prevent injuries. Engaging in low-intensity cycling, mild jogging, or dynamic stretches can help lubricate the joints, improve blood flow, and gradually raise heart rate. Further assisting in the alleviation of knee joint pain is a cool-down phase following exercise that includes static stretches and mild motions to help release tension in the muscles and speed up the healing process.

Arthritis and Knee Pain

Arthritis is a common culprit behind persistent knee joint pain, with two of the most prevalent forms being osteoarthritis and rheumatoid arthritis. Understanding the distinct characteristics of these conditions is crucial in developing an effective treatment plan to alleviate the discomfort and improve joint function.

Osteoarthritis

Osteoarthritis is a degenerative joint condition that mostly affects the knees and is the most common type of arthritis knee pain. Increased friction, inflammation, and bone-on-bone contact result from the degeneration of the cartilage that cushions the joint. The symptoms, which are frequently made worse by activities or after periods of rest, include stiffness, edema, and a decreased range of motion.

Rheumatoid Arthritis

On the other hand, rheumatoid arthritis-related knee discomfort is an autoimmune condition. Rheumatoid arthritis leads the body’s immune system to target the joint lining, causing chronic inflammation and joint degeneration, rather than just the cartilage. Other symptoms that people with rheumatoid arthritis may have include weariness, fever, and stiffness in the mornings.

Addressing arthritis knee pain often requires a multifaceted approach, combining pain management strategies, lifestyle modifications, and in some cases, medical interventions. Working closely with healthcare professionals can help individuals develop a personalized plan to manage their specific type of arthritis and find relief for their knee joint pain.

Knee Pain Relief: A Holistic Approach

When it comes to finding lasting relief for knee pain, a holistic approach is often the most effective solution. By integrating various natural remedies, lifestyle modifications, and alternative therapies, you can address the underlying causes of your knee discomfort and experience lasting improvements.

One of the key elements of a holistic approach to knee pain relief is addressing the root causes of the problem. This may involve a combination of knee pain treatment options, such as anti-inflammatory diets, targeted exercises, and complementary therapies like acupuncture or massage. By addressing the whole body, rather than just the symptoms, you can achieve more comprehensive and sustainable knee joint pain relief.

It’s critical to collaborate closely with your medical team, which consists of your doctor, physical therapist, and other specialists, to create a customized treatment plan that meets your unique requirements and preferences. Together, you can investigate a variety of complementary and alternative therapies, try out various methods, and identify the ideal mix that gives you the alleviation you need.

Keep in mind that no two people’s route to knee pain alleviation is the same. You can find the best long-term answers for your particular circumstance by adopting a holistic perspective and being willing to test different approaches. You can find the solution to your knee discomfort and live a better quality of life if you are patient, persistent, and dedicated to your overall health.

Conclusion

It is evident as we get to the end of this extensive tutorial on knee pain management that a comprehensive strategy is essential to resolving your knee discomfort in the long run. Natural solutions for arthritis knee pain and knee joint pain, such as focused exercise programs, anti-inflammatory diets, and herbal supplements, have been shown to be successful in comparison to conventional therapy.

Equally important are the lifestyle changes that can contribute to improved knee health, from engaging in low-impact activities to wearing the right footwear. By addressing the root causes of your knee pain and implementing a multi-faceted strategy, you can reclaim your mobility, reduce inflammation, and embark on a path towards lasting knee pain relief.

Remember, your journey to knee pain treatment is unique, and it’s essential to work closely with healthcare professionals to develop a personalized plan that caters to your specific needs. With the right approach and a commitment to your well-being, you can take control of your knee health and enjoy a more active, pain-free lifestyle.

FAQ

What are the common causes of knee pain?

Arthritis (including osteoarthritis and rheumatoid arthritis), injuries (sprains, strains, or rips), obesity, overuse, and underlying medical disorders are some of the most frequent causes of knee discomfort.

What are the typical symptoms of knee pain?

Symptoms of knee pain can include swelling, stiffness, limited range of motion, instability, and difficulty bearing weight or performing everyday activities.

How can exercise and physical therapy help with knee pain relief?

Engaging in low-impact exercises and working with a physical therapist can help strengthen the muscles around the knee, improve flexibility, and reduce inflammation, leading to better joint function and pain relief.

What is the role of hot and cold therapy in managing knee pain?

Applying heat to the knee can help increase blood flow and reduce muscle tension, while cold therapy can reduce inflammation and numb pain. Using a combination of hot and cold treatments can provide effective, natural pain relief.

How can weight management help with knee pain?

Maintaining a healthy weight or losing excess weight can significantly reduce the stress and strain on the knee joints, leading to improved mobility and reduced pain.

What are the benefits of an anti-inflammatory diet for knee pain?

Consuming a diet rich in anti-inflammatory foods, such as fruits, vegetables, whole grains, and foods high in omega-3 fatty acids, can help reduce inflammation and provide natural relief for knee pain.

What are some effective herbal remedies for knee pain?

Herbs like turmeric, ginger, and boswellia have been shown to possess anti-inflammatory properties that can help alleviate knee pain and discomfort.

How can supplements like glucosamine and chondroitin help with knee pain?

Glucosamine and chondroitin are popular supplements that may help support joint health, reduce inflammation, and promote cartilage repair, providing relief for those experiencing knee pain.

What types of low-impact activities are recommended for knee pain management?

Low-impact exercises such as swimming, cycling, and gentle stretching can help improve mobility and strengthen the muscles around the knee without placing excessive stress on the joint.

How can proper footwear help with knee pain?

Wearing supportive, well-cushioned shoes can help reduce the impact on the knee joints and alleviate pain, especially for individuals with conditions like arthritis or joint injuries.

What are the potential benefits of acupuncture and massage therapy for knee pain?

Acupuncture and massage therapy have been known to help reduce inflammation, improve blood circulation, and provide natural pain relief for those suffering from knee problem.

When should someone seek medical attention for knee pain?

It’s important to seek medical attention for severe, persistent, or worsening knee pain, especially if there is instability, difficulty bearing weight, or signs of an underlying condition like arthritis.

Click here for knee pain relief treatment

[thepanvelite]

Easing Knee Pain Through Exercise and Nutrition: A Comprehensive Guide

Knee pain affects all ages, hinders mobility, but targeted exercises, weight management, and nutrients like Omega-3, Vitamin C, and calcium can alleviate discomfort.

Knee pain is a common issue that affects people of all ages, often hindering mobility and quality of life. Understanding the causes, exploring solutions, and knowing the right nutrients can help manage and alleviate knee discomfort. Causes of Knee Pain Knee pain can stem from a variety of sources: Photo by Kindel Media on Pexels.com Injuries: Ligament tears or cartilage damage are common…

[viridescentelf]

Yandere elf x reader - Bath time :)

Character and Art belongs to @meo-eiru! Please check out her blog ✨ Another BIG thanks for creating him!

This is a follow-up to my last fic: if you want to read that one, click here. I'm not sure if I'll do another one, a bit out of ideas lol.

Warning: 18+ content, drugging, general nsfw, explicit

—————

The water stung your damaged knee. Silas was preparing something in a wooden pail, humming some tune, while you sunk deeper into the hot spring. The water brushed your chin, as you glared at the back of the stupid elf’s head, bobbing back and forth as he dunked colorful fluids from flasks into the bucket. His long, luscious hair was levitating on the water's clear surface, covering his butt.

You were so close to freedom. He told you he’s enchanted the area now, stopping you from leaving entirely. No idea how that worked, but he showed you by pushing you gently against an invisible barrier. Your cheek had squished against the unseen partition, like when a human tests their cat’s intelligence against walls in those videos. ���To protect you”, he explained in his sing-song trill.

If you hadn’t been injured, you would’ve made it. Away from this maniac.

“Look what Mama made!”

Silas held the bucket under your nose, smiling serenely. The liquid was a mix of pinkish goop and specks of sparkles. Your eyes lingered on the strange soup, then turned up to meet his excited face.

“What the fuck is this”, you mumbled crossly.

“No swearing, darling!” He patted your head. He didn’t know what the word “fuck” meant, but he read that it is bad for children to use. “It’s my healing salt! Doesn’t it smell amazing?”

Silas kept holding it under your nose. It did smell good, damn it.

“It will heal your poor leg. Plus, it makes everything feel a bit tingly. Healthy for cleaning up down there.” He gestured to his crotch.

Fuck.

Without warning, he dunked the solution into the bath. The mixture oozed slowly into the clear spring. The effect of it was almost instantaneous. You felt the biting pain ebb from your limb and you sighed in relief. Elf magic was so fascinating. If only Silas wasn’t such a freaking psycho. You would love to learn more about it. And then go back home and sleep in a bed without tits in your face.

He was right about the prickly sensation. You felt a warmth pulsate down there, as you absentmindedly sunk deeper into the water. Your gaze blurred and you felt the comfort of the heat engulf you.

Silas pulled you to him and placed you in his lap. His towering upper body remained out of the pool, the breezy touch of his skin a great juxtaposition to the searing heat of the water. To be fully engulfed, he would have had to spread himself across the whole spring, leaving no room for you.

You felt him grow below you. The effects of the water seemed to work on his form as well. His cheeks blushed.

“Be good, darling.” He breathed into your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “Let’s heal you completely.”

Your leg was fine. You didn’t need any more healing.

Silas’ lips brushed yours, his tongue slinking quickly and entangling in yours. The potion and his saliva were making you go crazy, your lap roaring with want. It was impossible to bottle up.

The potion made movement slow. You were attempting to push away with the last of your wits, but it came across as you gently pressing his chest together. He misunderstood and held your face up to his breasts.

“Drink up…”, he trebled, leading your mouth to his hard teat. It was hopeless.

Your wet lips traced around it and you felt the elf jitter under you with excitement. His hands were softly trailing down your back and took hold of your bottom, squeezing the soft tissue. The water delayed his movement, but you felt him lift you slightly, hovering dangerously above his throbbing shaft.

You could feel him against your entrance, nudging slightly. The heat consumed you, thrumming in the area, wanting. You released your lips from his chest, gazing dozily into his red face. If he was blushing more, you could not tell. He looked so enthralled; the big, dumb eyes full of devotion to you.

Silas crashed into your lips again, kissing desperately, lapping up every part of your mouth. The more saliva you exchanged, the more you felt yourself pulsate. The waves within you crashed, begging for relief. You tried to use your arms to push him off of you, but they felt so limp.

You hated this effect he had on you. You couldn’t stop yourself. This surge and needing the release - it drove you insane.

Floating above him in the spring, you felt him twitch there in unfair expectation. He was far too massive for you.

Silas wrapped one arm around your waist, pushing you closer into his body. Your breasts compressed against his and he moaned shakily at the sensation.

“Mama will heal you, dear…”, he huffed after releasing himself from your lips, with bits of drivel escaping his mouth. “I lov-“

You couldn’t take it anymore. You sat down on him, letting the beginning of him enter you with a strong jerk. He filled you up, with just so little of him inside. Your entire body shook from the flash.

Silas head knocked back; his eyes crossed as he let out the loudest yelp you had ever heard from him. He had never felt you like this before. He only dared milking himself in your sweet mouth, for fear of tearing you apart. But this… the feeling of your tight, velvety walls, the little he could feel of it was enough to make his world spin.

He instinctively grabbed your hips with a jolt and lifted you up and down on him. He wanted more of that sensation, more. More. More!

You were bouncing on top of him and felt every sinew explode with electricity. He bucked his hips slightly when you bobbed back down, but not too much in fear of breaking you, slowly deepening each thrust.

Although you could hear his pitiful “Ah! Ah! Ah!”s, your entire environment seemed to muffle. All you could feel was the inconsolable penetration. The way every jab made your groin burst into flames. The water splashed vigorously around you, as he guided your body into his. He lifted you like you weighed nothing. His head was still jerked back with his eyes in the back of his head, it seemed he was unable to do anything other than plunge halfway into you.

You couldn’t help but release low moans yourself, the note of your bellows making him tense up more. His large hands were clasping your ass, the flesh spilling out between his long fingers. You whimpered and let him consume you, every thrust splitting your walls further. The loud clapping of your bodies and the vigorous splashing, you were intoxicated. The sounds. The sensation. It was diabolical.  

You let out a string of deep moans, as you came, the wetness around his shaft increasing as you tightened your grip around him. Silas couldn’t hold it any longer, either, as he erupted within you, squealing from the overwhelming pleasure.

He spilled out of you. A puddle of white foam bubbled around you. Silas heaved loudly, blinking excessively and tilted his head back forward, staring dumbfoundedly at you.

He looked like you beat him up. Tears were escaping his rippling eyes, as a tiny sob hiccupped out of him.

Fucking baby.

“D-Do you feel better now? Have I healed you?”, he squeaked, pulling you into his arm cages again.

You rolled your eyes and nodded out of sheer vanquish. There was no point explaining to him that this wasn’t how you heal humans. There was no point explaining to him that mothers don't do this.

Silas kissed your head and swirled his hand in the water, making his semen drift away from you. “Oh…all the precious milk. Gone…”

He grabbed a sponge from behind him and started cleaning you feebly, his hands still shaking from the massive release. You saw a tear fall from his cheek. Without thinking, you brushed another one off his cheek.

He gaped at you after the gesture, pausing his scrubbing.

“O-oh darling. You really love me, don’t you? That’s why it felt so good…”, he smiled widely, more tears splashing out of his googly eyes.

You didn’t answer. You didn't know why you just did that.

Silas hugged you so tightly, you let out a wheeze.

“I love you too, my sweet!!” he squeaked and squished you more. “It’s getting late. We still need to have dinner! And you need a proper portion of milk!”

You closed your eyes, sighing.

Another milking session...

[serenelivingco]

The Knee Care Pro is a modern orthopedic device designed by specialists. It includes heat and light therapy and orthopedic technology that provides vibrational massages.

[mononijikayu]

safe and sound — nanami kento.

“Who was that, Nanamin?” Yuuji asked hesitantly. “That was my wife.” Nanami explained to him, putting his phone away.  “It’s better if we talk about it on the way there. Come on, let’s get going. I don’t want the store to close on us.” “Huh?” “Huh? Itadori–kun, are you okay?” The shock is now more evident than ever before in Itadori Yuuji’s face. He was hysterical, stunned and dumbfounded. “What? Nanamin, you’re married? You have a wife? Huh?” "Itadori–kun, please calm down." he began, his voice steady but tinged with an uncharacteristic gentleness. "Yes, I am married."

GENRE: Alternate Universe - Canon Convergence;

WARNING/s: Gen, Romance, Friends to Lovers, Husband and Wife, Friendship, Husband! Nanami, Reader! Wife, Fluff, Drama, Comfort, Falling In Love, Flirting, Fix-It, Humor, Domesticity, Family Life, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Idiots In Love, Light-Hearted, Slice of Life, Pining, Nanami Being A Great Husband;

WORDS: 6.9k words.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: im alive (hurray!!!); i've recovered a little bit, so i wrote this. hurray for the winning poll!!! i'm sorry it took this long to post. i hope you enjoy it as much i did writing it!!! i'll be writing pasilyo and seeing you in the upcoming days~ i love you all <3

main masterlist

what a wonderful world masterlist

polaroid love | safe and sound

next: just one day

IT WAS ALWAYS SOMETHING, THE AFTERMATH. Every mission felt different. Every mission left a different taste, a different texture, a different feeling. And this wasn’t something that Nanami Kento was unfamiliar with. If he was being honest, he’d experienced all the sorts of emotions that come with being a Jujutsu sorcerer. But it was new to Itadori Yuuji. And it was devastating to watch.

It was almost as though the blond had returned to those days, that misery when Haibara Yu had died. He could remember being just as lost, being just as disgruntled and grievous. Every bit of it returned in a flash as he stood there, watching Yuuji grapple with the fresh wound of loss.

Itadori-kun hasn’t spoken since yesterday, not since they talked. But Nanami Kento had expected it as much. What does one say after such a tragedy? The boy who had died, the one named Junpei—he was a comfort to Yuuji. He didn’t know Junpei as well as Yuuji did, but he knew that he was just a kid. A kid who was robbed of his life, of a chance.

Nanami’s heart ached with a familiar pain as he watched Itadori Yuuji, who was sitting on the ground with his knees drawn to his chest, staring blankly ahead. It was an all-too-familiar sight, one that he had seen reflected in his own mirror years ago. The silence between them was thick, filled with the unspoken sorrow that hung heavily in the air.

He sighed as he saw the boy still at the edge of the school’s steps. His shoulders slumped and eyes fixed on the ground. The battle with the curse Mahito had taken its toll on everyone, but it seemed to have hit Yuuji the hardest. With Gojo Satoru still away on his overseas mission and Gojo Genmei's whereabouts uncertain, Nanami Kento felt the weight of responsibility settling heavily on his own shoulders. He couldn’t leave the boy alone. Not like this. He could see it in the young boy’s eyes. He needs relief, peace of mind. 

Ieiri Shoko and Kiyotaka Ijichi were good people, but Nanami knew they weren’t what Itadori-kun needed right now. Shoko was burdened with her own responsibilities, cleaning up the mess that curse left behind. Her duties as the school's medic were already overwhelming, and adding Yuuji's emotional turmoil to her plate would be unfair. Ijichi, on the other hand, was exhausted from going back and forth between missions, assisting wherever he was needed. He needed rest, not more stress.

Nanami sighed, racking his brain for a solution. No one else was to know that Itadori Yuuji was alive—that was what Gojo Satoru had insisted on. It was dangerous to reveal Yuuji's survival, especially with the higher-ups likely to come after him. They wouldn't hesitate to use Yuuji as a pawn in their political games, and Nanami couldn't allow that to happen.

The weight of responsibility pressed heavily on Nanami's shoulders. If he failed to ensure Yuuji's well-being, it would be his fault. He couldn’t bear the thought of failing another young sorcerer, not after what had happened to Haibara. The memory of his own anguish, his own failure, was still too vivid, too painful.

As Nanami watched Yuuji sitting despondently, he felt a surge of determination. This boy, who had been thrust into a world of curses and death, needed guidance and protection. It wasn’t a sin, to be a child who needs protection from the cruel world. He needed someone, something. To live, to breathe. To be relieved.  And it was up to Nanami to provide that. He would not let Itadori Yuuji fall into despair or danger. 

He approached Yuuji, who was still staring at the ground, lost in his own grief. "Itadori–kun." he said softly, trying to reach through the boy’s sorrow. "Are you alright?”

Yuuji looked up, his eyes empty and haunted. "O–oh, I’m fine, Nanamin. Please don’t worry about me—”

"I’d rather you be honest with me, Itadori–kun." Nanami replied. "I know you're hurting. And I know it feels like you’re alone. But you’re not. You should not burden yourself with this anymore than you should.”

Yuuji’s gaze dropped again, and Nanami felt a pang of sympathy. The boy had been through so much in such a short time. He needed someone to anchor him, to help him navigate the turbulent waters of his emotions and the dangerous world he now inhabited.

“But Nanamin…”

Haibara used to make that face too, Nanami thinks. That same expression of guilt and self-doubt, as if he hadn’t done enough, as if he should have been better. He could see it now, in Yuuji’s eyes. The weight of regret and the burden of what-ifs.

“I just…” Yuuji’s voice cracked, his words trailing off. The pain and uncertainty were clear, and Nanami’s heart ached with understanding.

"Gojo-san trusts you. And so do I," Nanami said, his eyes softening as he met Yuuji’s troubled gaze. "You’ve shown incredible strength and resilience, Itadori–kun. I told you that yesterday. It’s okay to feel what you’re feeling. It’s okay to grieve."

Yuuji’s lower lip trembled, and he bit down on it, trying to hold back the tears threatening to spill over. “But what if… what if I’m not strong enough? What if I fail again?”

Nanami shook his head slowly. “Strength isn’t about never failing, Itadori–kun. It’s about getting back up, even when you’ve fallen. It’s about continuing to fight, even when it seems impossible. You’re stronger than you think, and you don’t have to do this alone.”

The boy looked down, his hands gripping his knees tightly. “Junpei… he was my friend. And I couldn’t save him.”

Nanami’s grip on Yuuji’s shoulder tightened, offering a silent promise of support. “We can’t always save everyone. But we honor them by continuing to fight for others, by becoming better, stronger. Junpei–kun wouldn’t want you to give up. He’d want you to keep going, to keep trying.”

A tear slipped down Yuuji’s cheek, and he wiped it away with the back of his hand. “I just… I don’t know if I can.”

“You can,” Nanami assured him. “And you will. Little by little. You can do it, Itadori–kun.”

Itadori Yuuji didn’t respond immediately, but Nanami Kento could see a flicker of something—hope, maybe—in his eyes. It was a start. Little by little. He could feel the boy’s breathing become more even. He could see his features relax slightly, the tension he had vanishing. Nanami thinks that he’ll cry again, when Nanami isn’t there. But perhaps, this was enough. Seeing him be reassured once again, that it wasn’t his fault.  Maybe one day, Nanami Kento would see him smile genuinely again.

WHENEVER HE SEES YOUR NAME ON SCREEN, HE SMILES.When he heard the familiar melody of his ringtone, Nanami Kento excused himself from Itadori–kun and walked off to a more private area. The buzzing seclusion of Tokyo Jujutsu High’s main stairwell faded as he found a quiet corner. He felt a pang of guilt for not replying to you much earlier. He can only think how much you were thinking about him, with a worried heart. He knew you understood, especially during times when he was on missions. But he thinks that understanding can only go so far. His job after all was something that was hard to grasp with relief. 

But you knew the demands of his work as a sorcerer, when he told you about it years and years ago. He wouldn’t leave the work, you know that much. So you let it be. As long as he came home to you, that was fine. And so, it has always been fine when you don’t get a text between some days. All these years, you had never pressured him about not replying or calling. The same understanding applied when you were engrossed in your manuscripts during writing season. 

At times, Nanami Kento wishes he could be a better husband for you. A husband that you deserve. A husband that’s always there to coddle you, to take care of you, to love you. He thinks about it sometimes, if he were a househusband. He could commit his life to taking care of you, the way you had always done for him. Maybe one day he’d get that chance. Maybe he’d finally be able to return your love for him in a way that was true to loving you.

“Hello, my love.” he greeted, trying to keep his tone cheerful. “I’m sorry for not replying to you sooner.

“Kento, baby! I’m so glad I caught you.” you replied, your voice warm and bright. He loves it. He adores it when he hears that excited pitch. He was happiest when he could hear your voice. “I haven’t heard from you all day.  I hope everything’s been alright at work, baby.”

Nanami Kento hesitated for a moment. He didn’t have the heart to tell you that he had almost died yesterday, that the mission had been far more dangerous than anticipated. He didn’t want to worry you. He doesn’t like it when he stresses you out. You were in enough pressure for your deadlines, he didn’t want to add to that.

“Yes, everything’s fine, love.” he said, forcing a smile even though you couldn’t see it. “Just a bit busy, you know how it is.”

You sighed on the other end of the line, a sound filled with understanding and concern. “I know. I just worry about you sometimes. I’m a worry wart, you know?”

“I know you do, my love.” Nanami replied softly. “But I’m alright, really. I did well and survived. I’m okay. That’s all that matters.”

You sighed tenderly. ‘I suppose so. I think that’s always enough for me. Knowing that you’re well.”

“Exactly. So, my love. Enough about me. Tell me, how was your day? Did you finish your manuscript for the new book?” He thinks that he could see your smile, even from a phone call. If there’s anything that makes him feel warm inside, it’s your smile.

There was a brief pause, and you laughed. “Yes, I did! It was a lot of work, but I finally finished it well. Before the deadline! Which means, no editor coming into our house to take me away from you! I’m really happy with how it turned out. I spent most of the day taking in the words I wrote and making sure everything was perfect.”

Nanami listened as you shared the details of your day, his heart lifting with every word you spoke. Your voice was animated and full of excitement, a soothing balm to his weary soul. He could picture you in the kitchen, eyes sparkling as you talked about finishing your manuscript and experimenting with new recipes. He asked questions, genuinely interested in every detail, finding comfort in the normalcy of your conversation.

As he listened, he was struck by the stark contrast between the world you described and the chaos he had faced earlier. Your day, filled with the mundane but meaningful tasks of editing and cooking, felt like a distant haven from the danger and uncertainty that had engulfed him. It was in these moments, when he could hear the warmth and love in your voice, that he found his grounding.

Nanami Kento often marveled at how deeply he loved you. It was a love that had grown over time, a steady flame that had become an essential part of his existence. Despite the tumultuous nature of his work, you were his constant, his anchor in a sea of unpredictability. Your unwavering support and understanding were the bedrock of his strength, and he cherished every bit of it.

In a world where so much was uncertain, your love was a rare and precious constant. It was the reason he fought so hard, the reason he pulled through the darkest moments. Your voice was a reminder of why he endured the risks and dangers of his profession. It was the promise of coming home to a place where he was loved and valued, no matter how challenging the world outside might be.

As you continued to talk, Nanami Kento felt a profound sense of gratitude. He knew that he could face any challenge, knowing that you were waiting for him at home. Your support gave him the strength to confront the darkness and emerge stronger. And in that quiet, shared moment over the phone, he felt an overwhelming appreciation for you, his partner, his love, and his greatest source of comfort.

“And then I took a break and made that recipe we found a while back!” you continued, giggling at the end. 

You were always like this, when you were excited about something that had turned out well. Nanami Kento thinks that he can only feel like his heart is going to burst whenever you talk like this, like you were sunshine itself in his cloudy days. 

“I can’t wait for you to come home, baby. You would enjoy it well!”

He chuckled softly. “I’m looking forward to it. It sounds delicious.”

You laughed, the sound light and musical. “I’ll make it for you when you get home. Just promise me you’ll be safe until then, okay?”

“I promise, my love. “Kento said, his voice sincere. “I’ll be home soon, okay?”

“That’s great!” You cheered on the other line. “I can cook it right away. I’m sure it will be ready by the time you get home.”

Nanami was about to reply when Itadori Yuuji walked in. The boy with fuschia hair started to speak but quickly realized that Nanami was on a call and fell silent. His face started to turn red as he blubbered a weak apology, as he turned around and started to walk off. Nanami shakes his head and puts his hand on his shoulder. Yuuji looks as though he was going to explode from embarrassment, mouthing to Nanami to let him go. But since he was here, he might as well introduce you to the boy.

Nanami Kento was private about his life. He rarely talked about how he was a proud married man. But it wasn’t because he was embarrassed. If anything, he would like to brag about you to the world. How you had the loveliest singing voice. How your cooking was the best he had ever tasted. How your words were always the warmest to hear. But he didn’t think he needed to share you with the world. Your presence was his sanctuary, a secret haven where he could retreat from the chaos of his duties.

In the quiet moments at home, when the world outside seemed a distant memory, he would listen to you hum a tune as you prepared dinner, your melody weaving a tapestry of comfort and familiarity. The aroma of your cooking filled the air, a symphony of flavors that spoke of love and care in every bite. And when you spoke, your voice gentle and soothing, it was as if the weight of his burdens lifted, replaced by a warmth that radiated from your every word.

Nanami didn’t need to share these moments with anyone else. They were his to treasure in this life, this little life he’s built with you. In your eyes, he found a reflection of the man he aspired to be – strong, yet tender; stoic, yet deeply affectionate. And in your embrace, he found the peace he so often sought in a world that demanded so much of him.

To the world, he was Nanami Kento, a formidable sorcerer and a man of few words. But to you, he was simply Kento, your beloved husband who cherished every moment spent in your presence. And that, he believed, was more than enough.

But he supposed, at least today, you would get known to the world.

“Who was that, Kento, baby?” you asked, curiosity piqued.

Nanami smiled slightly. “This is Itadori Yuuji, a student at Jujutsu High. I’m looking after him right now, for Gojo  and his wife.”

He could feel the pitch get higher. That excitement in your voice, it never gets old to him. “Oh, bring him over for dinner, baby. I’m sure there’s enough food for us to share. Maybe even more.”

Yuuji looked even more flustered, shaking his head slowly. “I don’t want to impose on you at all…”

“Nonsense, Yuu–chan! Can I call you that, Yuu–chan? I think it suits you well!” 

“Y–yes, that’s fine.” The boy uttered back, his lips trembling. “I–I don’t mind at all.”

“My! He sounds like a darling, baby.” You gushed happily. “I’d love to have him over for dinner with us, baby. It would be more lively.”

“Hm, I think so too.” He hums as he looks at Itadori. “Itadori–kun, you are welcome at our house.”

“I….I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything, Yuu–chan. We’ll be glad to have you.” You cooed on the other line. “Oh, baby. I think it’s going to be chilly tonight, so you might as well grab some miso paste before you get back home. It would be nice.”

Nanami nodded. “Alright. Is there anything else that you want me to grab?”

“I think something for the soup! I’ll text you the details.” You say to him. “But, baby, I’ll start cooking in a bit, so I’ll hang up.”

“You should. Remember the last time when you were cooking on call?”

He could feel the heat from your cheeks miles away. That incident will never leave you, you think. “T–that was one time, you know! And it ended on a happier note. It wasn’t that bad.”

“Hm, I suppose so.” He smiles at the phone. “I’ll be home in a bit, with Itadori–kun. I love you.”

“I love you too. See you soon, Kento!” You blew a kiss through the phone, and Nanami felt a little flustered as he ended the call.

Clearing his throat, he turned to Yuuji, who looked both embarrassed and curious. There were few people who knew he was married, let alone how much softer and brighter he became when it came to his wife. And now, Itadori Yuuji seems to be one of them.

Nanami's stern facade cracked ever so slightly as he met the young sorcerer's gaze. Yuuji's eyes were wide with a mix of surprise and wonder, clearly grappling with the unexpected revelation. Nanami could almost see the gears turning in the boy's head, trying to reconcile the image of the strict, no-nonsense mentor with the man who evidently harbored a deep, abiding love for someone special.

Kento sighed, pursing his lips. This was bound to happen, he supposed. The gods would make it happen, one way or another. He had always been careful, keeping his personal life meticulously separate from his professional duties. But perhaps it was inevitable that, sooner or later, the two worlds would collide.

“Who was that, Nanamin?” Yuuji asked hesitantly.

“That was my wife.” Nanami explained to him, putting his phone away.  “It’s better if we talk about it on the way there. Come on, let’s get going. I don’t want the store to close on us.”

“Huh?”

“Huh? Itadori–kun, are you okay?”

The shock is now more evident than ever before in Itadori Yuuji’s face. He was hysterical, stunned and dumbfounded. “What? Nanamin, you’re married? You have a wife? Huh?”

"Itadori–kun, please calm down." he began, his voice steady but tinged with an uncharacteristic gentleness. "Yes, I am married."

Yuuji blinked, processing the confirmation. He finds his composure and starts smiling. "Wow, Nanamin, I didn't know... I mean, you never mentioned it. But I should—Congratulations on your marriage!”

Nanami nodded, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He didn't know what to say as the young fuchsia-haired boy started clapping like it was a newly finished wedding reception. The sound of Yuuji's enthusiastic applause filled the air, an unexpected burst of joy that contrasted sharply with the usual solemnity of their conversations.

This kid has too much energy in him, now that he’s out of that dark headspace, Nanami thought, observing Yuuji's bright, expressive face. The transformation in the boy was remarkable; gone was the haunted look that had shadowed his eyes not so long ago. Instead, Yuuji was brimming with vitality, his spirit seemingly unbreakable despite the hardships he had faced.

But Kento thinks that it’s for the best. It’s hard to be in such a dark place. Levity should be welcomed. In a world where curses and battles often cast long shadows, moments of light-heartedness were precious. Nanami Kento had always believed in the importance of balance, of relief and seeing Itadory Yuuji so full of life reminded him of why he fought—to protect the innocence and joy that still existed in the world. 

"I don't often talk about it.” Nanami says softly. “Not because I am ashamed or unwilling, but because...well, my wife is a part of my life that I prefer to keep private. Our moments together are precious to me."

Yuuji's curiosity seemed to override his embarrassment. "Your wife must be really amazing, Nanamin!" he ventured, his tone sincere and full of admiration. “Your wife seems to make you very happy!”

"My love certainly does." Nanami replied, his expression softening as he thought of you. "My wife is my sanctuary, my peace in a turbulent world. I’m lucky to be blessed.”

Yuuji smiled, clearly moved by the rare glimpse into Nanami's personal life. "That sounds incredible, Nanamin. I think it's great that you have someone like that."

Nanami gave a small nod, a silent acknowledgment of the truth in Yuuji's words. But he cleared his throat, feeling a bit of heat rise to his face as the young boy grinned at him. "Thank you, Itadori-kun." he said, his voice steady yet softer than usual. "Now, let’s make our way. It’ll be hard to find a store open late."

Yuuji’s grin widened, but he nodded obediently, falling into step beside Nanami. "Right, Nanamin! Let’s get moving."

As they walked through the dimly lit streets, Nanami couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief. Despite the vulnerability of revealing a part of his personal life, he found solace in Yuuji’s reaction. He thinks his reaction was endearing, too. Nanami Kento thinks that he realizes the extent of the boy’s unfiltered happiness. It was like a deep uncharted ocean. But it was nice, how warm it was, his genuine response. 

Nanami Kento thinks that learning more about being an adult is because of Itadori Yuuji than anything else. And he thinks that’s lovely, and perhaps you will think the same. The children are the future, after all. And their joys will always be  a reminder of the simple joys that still existed, even amidst their perilous world. Perhaps that’s why Gojo Satoru gave him the boy. Gojo’s always been astute about that sort of thing, but Nanami thinks that he doesn’t have the capability of saying it out loud.

"Say Nanamin," Yuuji began, his tone conversational, more casual than before. Comfortable. "What's your wife’s favorite thing to cook?"

Nanami glanced at Yuuji, a small smile playing on his lips. "Well, my wife has a knack for many dishes, but my wife’s favorite to cook is a traditional Japanese meal. My wife loves making it, and I must admit, it’s my favorite to eat. Perhaps more than Danish or Filipino dishes.”

Yuuji's eyes sparkled with interest. "That sounds amazing! Do you ever help out in the kitchen?"

Nanami releases a small laugh, the sound carrying a warmth that feels foreign yet welcome. Yuuji thinks that he feels like he is going to smile wider. Happiness looks good in Nanamin’s face. "I do, when I can. I take days off sometimes. But my wife likes doing most of the cooking. My wife says that I’m more of a hindrance than help, though. But it’s the effort that counts, or so my wife tells me."

Yuuji laughed, the sound bright and full of life. "I bet you’re better than you think, Nanamin. It sounds like you two have a lot of fun together."

Nanami’s expression softened, the memories of their shared moments filling him with a gentle warmth. "We do. I’m happy to say that." he admitted, his voice quiet but filled with affection. "In those moments, everything else fades away. It’s just us, and that’s more than enough."

THE SMELL OF GRILLED SALMON MADE NANAMI HAPPY. You were always a much better cook than him, he thinks. He always looked forward to coming home and having a nice hearty meal when you made it for him. The thought of your cooking brought a soft smile to his face as he and Yuuji navigated through the ryokan. He gently handed the young boy slippers, which was returned by a gentle smile and a whispered thanks.

The weight of the day seemed to melt away as he stepped further into the warm embrace of your shared home. The familiar, comforting aroma of your cooking wafted through the air, mingling with the soft, ambient sounds of home. It was a stark contrast to the chaos and danger he faced daily, a sanctuary that he cherished more than anything.

Loosening his tie, he took a moment to simply stand in the hallway, eyes closed, breathing in the scents and sounds that spoke of love and normalcy. Each time he returned, he was reminded of just how much these simple, everyday moments meant to him. It wasn’t just the meals or the comfort of the house—it was you. Your presence was the balm to his weary soul, the light that guided him through the darkest of times.

As he walked toward the kitchen, he could hear you humming softly to yourself, a tune that brought a smile to his face. He paused at the doorway. He was going to take in this moment. Itadori Yuuji was just behind him. Both of them take in the sound of your tender humming. Kento was sure that you were also gracefully dancing on the other side, expertly preparing dinner. There was something almost magical in the way you worked, turning ordinary ingredients into something extraordinary. It wasn’t just food; it was an expression of your love and care, a daily reminder of how much you meant to each other.

He walks and then stops for a moment, where a wall separates the dining room and the kitchen. Nanami Kento often marveled at how effortlessly you could turn simple ingredients into something extraordinary. The kitchen was your domain, where you wielded spices and herbs with the same precision he applied to exorcizing curses. He watches as your humming intensifies as you move around the kitchen, your movements lively and excited.

There was a particular comfort in the routine you had established together in these many years of marriage. He enjoyed it, every single time. After a long, arduous day, he would come home to the welcoming warmth of your embrace and the tantalizing aromas wafting from the kitchen. You had a way of making every meal special, infusing each dish with a warmth that spoke of your love and care. He knew he was lucky, every single day — to be in your loving arms, to be cared for and adored by you.

As he walked toward the kitchen, he could hear you humming softly to yourself, a tune that brought a smile to his face. He paused at the doorway, taking in the sight of you moving gracefully, expertly preparing dinner. There was something almost magical in the way you worked, turning ordinary ingredients into something extraordinary. It wasn’t just food; it was an expression of your love and care, a daily reminder of how much you meant to each other.

Clearing his throat, your Kento stepped into the kitchen. "It smells amazing, my love." he said, his voice warm with affection.

You turned around, startled, and your cheeks flushed as you saw him standing there. "Kento, baby! I didn’t hear you come in." you said, quickly setting down the spoon you were holding. Then you noticed Yuuji standing behind him, grinning widely, and your blush deepened. "Oh! Yuu–chan, welcome. I–I’m sorry you had to see me in that state! My humming must have been so loud!"

Yuuji gave you a cheerful wave. "Hello, Mrs. Nanami! I didn’t mean to intrude, but Nanamin invited me over."

You wiped your hands on a towel, trying to regain your composure. "It’s no trouble at all. And please, you don’t have to be formal with me. You’re always welcome here, Yuu–chan!"

Nanami watched as Yuuji smiled wider at your response. He stepped closer to you, his presence calming your flustered nerves.  "Your humming was great." he said softly, his eyes filled with affection. “I’m home, my love.”

You smiled up at him, the embarrassment fading away in the warmth of his gaze. "I’m glad you’re home, Kento." you replied, reaching up to touch his cheek.

Yuuji watched the interaction with a happy grin. "You two are so cute, Nana–san!" he said, unable to hide his delight. 

You laughed, the sound light and happy. Kento didn’t know how to feel with the nickname that Yuuji gave you, but if you were happy about it, then he doesn’t think it’s anything to be having a fuss over.  "Thank you, Yuu–chan. Why don’t you take a seat? You must be so hungry! Oh, you should eat a lot. You seem to be getting thin! Come here and wash up. Dinner is almost ready.”

“Thank you, Nana–san!”

You grinned. “Oh, it’s my pleasure! Now go and wash up. Have a good warm one, okay? Ah, and the towels and some clothes are in a cabinet in front of the bathroom!”

Yuuji grinned and waved at you and Kento before he headed over to the direction you pointed and left. Kento crossed his arms and sighed. You were still smiling. “I’m glad you took that boy home. He seems to be such a lovely young man, Kento.”

“Hm. Itadori–kun’s a good kid.”

“Like Megumi–kun, hm?”

“Well, Fushiguro–kun’s a different sort of kid.”

As you turned back to the stove with an agreeable hum, your husband stepped closer, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind. You smile as he rests his chin on your shoulder. "Do you need any help?" he asked, his voice a low murmur in your ear.

You leaned back against him, savoring the feeling of his embrace. "Just keep me company," you said softly. "That’s all I need."

“How was your day?”

“It's really good.” You whisper to your husband, satisfied. “I finished my manuscript. I sent it to my editor. I’m just waiting for feedback.”

“What did you do for the rest of the day?” He asked softly, his eyes shifting to look at you tenderly. “I hope you rested. You must have worked through the manuscript without taking a break again, hm?”

It was quick for him to pick up on your ears turning red. He was right. “....I did sleep, you know. I rested a lot after. I knew you would be worried if I didn’t.”

“Ah, so that’s why you didn’t reply to my text.”

“Huh, what do you think I was doing?” You pouted as you looked at him. 

He grins. “I thought you were crying about your 3D man on Twitter again.”

You blush even harder. “Ahhhh, Kento! I wasn’t, I was sleeping!”

“Hm, that’s a win for me then.”

“You tease, you!”

Itadori Yuuji had gotten out of the shower and stopped his tracks when he saw the two of you bantering. It was something interesting to see. So far, he’d only known the blond to be stern and stoic, perhaps serious and strict too. But he could not help but feel warmth when he saw how he is with you, his wife. He could only watch with a mix of admiration and amusement as Nanami Kento stayed close to you as you finished preparing the meal. 

At times, Yuuji could not help wondering if his mother and father had ever done something like this. If he was being honest, he doesn’t remember much about his parents. And grandpa really didn’t talk much about them when he was growing up. But Yuuji still liked to imagine. He liked to imagine a warm, happy home. Where his parents were there, waiting for him. With a warm meal, a loving hug and a laughing face. 

For a moment, he couldn’t help but imagine that this was home. That this was his own little happy home. With a mother and a father that loved each other, with a warm meal on the way for his belly and a tender greeting with that laughing face for him. Itadori Yuuji thinks that maybe just this once, even just tonight, he’d like to keep this moment as it was and carve it in his memory. 

You were the first to notice that he had returned. You turned around as Kento moved away. You were still a bit flustered but smiled at him. “Did you have a good shower, Yuu–chan? Dinner’s almost ready, you can sit down!”

Yuuji smiled widely. “Yes, I did! Thank you for welcoming me again, Nana–san.”

You waved him off. “Oh, don’t even think about it, Yuu–chan. We’re glad to have you here!”

“Itadori–kun, come here.” Nanami calls to him, waving for him to come. “Help me set up the table for the meal.”

“Yes, of course, Nanamin!” He nodded, immediately coming over.

They settled the table as you began putting the dishes on the plates. You grinned as you turned to set the dishes on the table, your heart swelling with affection as you watched your husband indulge Yuuji in a conversation about how to properly plate a table. Yuuji, with his usual wide-eyed curiosity, listened intently as Nanami explained the intricacies of table setting—how the forks and knives should be arranged, the importance of the right glassware, and even the subtle art of folding napkins.

You could see the delight in Yuuji’s eyes as he absorbed every detail, and it warmed your chest to see Kenyto share his knowledge so patiently. It was clear that Kento was savoring this moment quietly, enjoying the chance to mentor and connect with Yuuji in this simple yet meaningful way. His usual reserved demeanor softened into something more tender and nurturing, and you couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of happiness.

The kitchen was alive with the sounds of your evening together—laughter, the clinking of utensils, and the occasional lighthearted banter. The atmosphere was warm and welcoming, a stark contrast to the challenges Nanami faced outside. You moved around the table, placing the final touches on the meal, while the two of them continued their engaging discussion.

"See, Itadori–kun." Nanami said, demonstrating the correct way to position a knife beside the plate. "The blade should always face inward, toward the plate. It’s a small detail, but it makes a big difference."

Yuuji nodded, his expression one of earnest concentration. "Got it! I’ll have to remember that. Thanks for the tips, Nanamin."

You couldn’t help but smile as you watched them. The sight of Kento imparting his knowledge with such care and Yuuji absorbing it with enthusiasm filled you with a profound sense of contentment. It was moments like these that reminded you of the beauty of simple connections, the joy of sharing everyday experiences, and the happiness that came from seeing the people you loved come together.

As you finished setting the table, you joined the conversation, your voice blending with theirs in easy harmony. The meal was ready, and the table was set with all the care Kento had described. The three of you chatted effortlessly, the conversation flowing naturally between you. Yuuji asked questions, Nanami answered with a mixture of expertise and humor, and you added your own touches to the discussion.

The kitchen was filled with laughter and the clinking of dishes, creating a symphony of warmth and joy. As you all sat down to enjoy the meal, you couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of fulfillment. The love and connection you shared with Nanami, now extended to Yuuji in these small, everyday moments, made you realize just how precious and meaningful these times were.

In the midst of the shared meal, as the conversation continued and the laughter echoed through the room, you felt incredibly grateful. The sight of Nanami treating Yuuji with such kindness, the ease of their interactions, and the warmth of your home created a beautiful tapestry of everyday joy. And as you looked around the table, surrounded by the people you loved, you knew that these were the moments you would cherish forever.

As the meal drew to a close, you noticed that Yuuji’s eyes were beginning to droop. The day's excitement and the hearty dinner had taken their toll. You glanced at your husband, who met your gaze with a knowing smile.

“Yuu–chan.” you said gently, placing a hand on his shoulder. “It’s getting late, and you must be tired. Why don’t you head to the guest room and get some rest? You’re welcome to stay the night if you’d like.”

Yuuji blinked, a little surprised but clearly pleased. “Oh, really? I didn’t mean to impose, Nana–san…”

“You’re not imposing at all, Yuu–chan.” you reassured him with a warm smile. “You’re always welcome here. Always. We’d be happy to have you stay.”

Yuuji’s face lit up with a genuine smile. “Thank you so much! I’d love to stay. It’s been a while since I had a home-cooked meal like this, and spending time with you both has been really nice.”

Kento nodded, his expression tender. “I’m glad you enjoyed it. The guest room is all set for you. Let me show you where it is.”

As your husband led Yuuji toward the guest room, you decided to go on ahead and tidy up the table and cleaned the remaining dishes before your husband came back. Your husband always insists on doing it, but he is already tired.It feels nice for you, you think — to make sure that the home is clean for your lovely husband to relax in. The sounds of their footsteps and quiet conversation in the hallway were a comforting backdrop to your evening chores. They still must be talking upstairs, if they were still walking about. A few minutes later, your husband returned, his demeanor still soft and content.

“You know you didn’t have to wash it up, my love.” He presses a kiss on your cheek as you dry your hands. “I would have wanted to do it.”

You smile at him. “I know, but I wanted to do it. You deserve some rest.”

“So do you.” He sighs, growing softer as he looks at you. “I’ll do it tomorrow, hm? The whole day.”

You playfully roll your eyes, smiling wider. “Fine, if you insist.”

He smiles. “Good.”

“So, how is Yuu–chan?” You asked as you started untying your apron. “He must be exhausted.”

“Hm. He’s about to get ready for bed. He didn’t sleep much yesterday, so he should start to fall asleep soon.”

You sighed. “Poor boy. Well, he can stay as much as he likes. I doubt Sato–chan would be home early to pick him up again. Let him stay with us until then.”

“That’s what I told Gojo.”

“Good.” You smiled at him. “Then I could continue to cook for him. Pamper him, even!”

“You really made Itadori–kun’s night, my love.” Nanami said, his voice filled with appreciation. “He looked genuinely happy.”

You smiled at your husband. “He’s a good kid. I’m glad we could make him feel at home. It’s nice to share our home with someone who means so much to you. And well, someone who is dear to me now too.”

Kento walked closer to you, pulling you into a gentle embrace. “Thank you for making him feel welcome. I know it means a lot to him. And to me.”

You rested your head against his chest, savoring the warmth of his hug. “It’s what family is all about. And you know, it’s nice to have another person to share our home with.”

As you both stood there, the tranquility of the evening enveloping you, Nanami kissed the top of your head. “Let’s go check on him before we head to bed. It’s always nice to say goodnight.”

You nodded, and together you walked down the hallway to the guest room. The door was slightly ajar, and you could see Yuuji already settling in, his face relaxed and content. The blacket was covering him well enough. It was a cold night, so you were at least glad for that. You smiled at him.

“Hi, Yuu–chan. We just wanted to come up and say goodnight.” you said softly, peeking into the room. “Sleep well, hm? As much as you like, it’s okay. Remember, you have a home here with Kento and I whenever you want.”

Yuuji looked up, his eyes bright with gratitude. “Thank you, Nana–san, really. I’ll definitely take you up on that whenever I can. Nanamin already said the same thing, but really….I’m grateful to both of you.”

You smiled at him warmly. For a moment, Yuuji thinks that it would be a smile that only loving mothers can pull off. “Of course, don’t worry. Good night, Yuu–chan. Get some rest.”

With a final wave and a warm smile, you and Kento quietly closed the door and made your way back to your own room. The house felt even more like a home with Yuuji’s presence. And you were glad for it. As you looked at your husband, you knew that he felt the same way. You leaned against him, satisfied, happily. This was a happy night.

epilogue 

The warmth of the evening lingered, and you felt a happy contentment settle over you as you changed into your pajamas. Nanami Kento was already in bed, propped up against the pillows and reading a book. You slid under the covers next to him, resting your head on his shoulder.

"Kento, baby." you said, your tone light and playful. “I have thoughts I wanna say out loud.”

"Hmm?" He glanced down at you, his expression softening. “What are they about, my love?”

"I’ve been thinking, you know….I don’t think it’s crazy to think this, what I’m thinking." you began, a mischievous twinkle in your eye. "Maybe we should adopt Yuu–chan."

Nanami blinked, clearly taken aback. "Adopt Itadori–kun?"

You nodded, trying to keep a straight face. "Yes, he’s such a sweet boy, Kento. And he already seems like part of the family. Plus, he clearly adores you. And you clearly adore him. I’m sure it’s mutual between him and I. So, we might as well make it happen!”

Nanami chuckled, the sound deep and warm. "You do realize he’s already got Gojo as his current guardian, right? I doubt the higher–ups will allow us to take Itadori–kun.”

You pouted. "Yes, but think about it. I’m sure Sato–chan can convince everyone to make us Yuu–chan’s parents.  He’d bring so much energy into the house. Imagine all the laughter and fun. And you’d get to give him more life advice about girls, well even boys. I’m sure we’ll love him no matter what, you know?”

Kento closed his book, setting it aside. "And what would you get out of this arrangement?"

"Oh, just the joy of seeing you two bond even more. Being his mother…." you said with a laugh. "And maybe some help with the cooking. I can think some more, I’m sure.”

Kento shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips. "You’re incorrigible, my love.”

"But you love me still, hm?" you said, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

"That I do, my love." he agreed, wrapping his arm around you. "But I think we should leave the adopting to those who don’t have to face curses every day."

You sighed dramatically, still pouting. "Fine, fine. But I still think it’s a good idea."

Kento laughed, pulling you closer. "Maybe we can settle for having him over for dinner more often. How does that sound?"

You snuggled into his embrace, your smile widening. "Perfect. And who knows, maybe he’ll start calling you his dad! And me, his mom!”

Kento groaned playfully. "Now that’s a terrifying thought."

You laughed, the sound mingled with his, and the two of you drifted off to sleep, the warmth of your love and the lightheartedness of your conversation wrapping around you like a cozy blanket.

“But maybe when you retire….”

“......I’ll think about it.”

“I love you so much!” You say, kissing his shoulder. 

You hear him sigh, content. “I love you too.”

facts about nanami and his wife:

kento thinks that he fits being a house-husband. he likes the idea of taking care of his wife, so he thinks that he'd be great at it. he's thought about quitting sorcery to be a house-husband.

yuuji becomes a staple in your house. the guest room he used became his regular bedroom at the house. you buy clothes you think would suit him often and put it in his drawers. when he can't stay for the night, you indulge a long dinner.

these dinners lasting long into the night leads into yuuji not going home to the dorms at all and a long phone call between kento and yaga.

kento's mother and grandmother send your recipes to try almost daily. you guys maintain a group chat without the men in your lives. you enjoy it a lot, when you vent about your editor.

your editor always has a hard time with you keeping up with deadlines and because your editor's stric. sometimes, he brings out a picture of kento looking disappointed at you and you cry harder.

you still continue to ask kento to adopt yuuji because you really love him a lot. it would be easier if he was your son!!!

[the-winter-spider]

Under Pressure | two

Bucky x reader Modern AU

Word Count: 6.9k

Warnings: Depression, Angst, mentions of su!cide

Part One

The days after Bucky left blurred together in a suffocating haze. Time had lost all meaning; the hours stretched endlessly, bleeding into each other until they were indistinguishable. Morning, afternoon, evening—it didn’t matter. You existed more than you lived, moving through the motions like a robot.

You told yourself you needed to get up, to move, to do something. So you tried. God, you tried. You Googled solutions like your life depended on it. “How to deal with depression alone,” “How to stop feeling numb,” “Ways to make life better.”

Meditation was the first thing you found, so you gave it a shot. You sat cross-legged on the living room floor, your back straight, your hands resting on your knees. The world around you was quiet—too quiet. Closing your eyes, you tried to focus on your breathing, in and out, in and out, just like the video said. But every inhale felt shallow, every exhale jagged. The silence wasn’t calming. It only made the noise in your head louder: This is pointless. You’re pointless. Nothing will ever change.

Next came exercise. You dragged yourself into old workout clothes that felt too loose, the fabric hanging from your frame. You stood in the middle of your apartment, pacing back and forth, trying to summon the energy to do something—anything. You managed a few jumping jacks, then collapsed onto the couch, your chest heaving, not from exertion but from the weight pressing down on you. Your body felt heavy, leaden, like gravity had increased just for you.

You lay there staring at the ceiling, hot tears slipping down your temples and pooling in your ears. You wanted to scream, to cry out for help, but your voice felt stuck somewhere deep inside you.

The darkness, though—that was always there. It wasn’t loud or forceful. It was subtle, enticing, warm in its own terrible way. It wrapped around you like a blanket, whispering promises of relief. Promises of escape. You don’t have to do this. You can stop anytime you want.

You hated it. But at the same time, you couldn’t fight it. You couldn’t resist the way it pulled you under, like quicksand swallowing you whole.

While you fought your battle alone, Bucky fought his own war just outside your door.

He’d lingered there more than once, standing in the hallway of your building with his hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets. The cold, sterile light of the hallway flickered above him, buzzing faintly. He told himself he shouldn’t be there. You’d made it clear that you wanted him to leave you alone. But he couldn’t stay away.

The weight of your words still clung to him, suffocating and relentless. He replayed that night over and over in his head: the way you’d yelled at him to go, the pain and anger in your voice, the way you’d looked so small as you stood there, refusing to let him in.

It broke him in ways he hadn’t expected. Because the last thing he ever wanted was to leave you feeling alone—or to actually leave you alone.

Once, he’d heard movement from inside: the scrape of a chair, the faint hum of a shower running. For a brief moment, relief flooded through him. He’d exhaled shakily, telling himself you were okay. But by the time he got back to his own apartment, doubt had crept in. What if you weren’t okay? What if the sound was just you existing, not living?

He couldn’t stop thinking about the people who were supposed to be there for you. Your parents. The ones who should have loved you unconditionally, who should have made you feel safe and valued. He hated them for failing you so profoundly. For being absent, for neglecting you, for leaving wounds so deep they may never fully heal.

He wanted to march up to them and scream. Tell them how deeply, endlessly wrong they were to let you believe you were anything less than extraordinary. To let you think, even for a moment, that you weren’t enough.

And then there was you. God, he wanted to tell you the same thing. He wanted to hold you, to wrap you in his arms and take all the sadness, all the pain, and carry it himself if it meant you could finally feel free. He wanted to tell you that you were everything. That the world was brighter, warmer, better just because you were in it.

But he didn’t. Because he’d promised to give you space. Because he was afraid that if he came back too soon, he’d only make things worse. And because part of him—an ugly, self-loathing part—felt like he’d already failed you the moment he walked out that door.

Still, staying away was the hardest thing he’d ever done. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to go back, to fix it, to make you see what he saw. But he lingered outside your door instead, waiting. Hoping.

Bucky clenched his fists, his chest tight as he leaned against the wall outside your apartment. He dared to care. He dared to love. But he wasn’t sure if it would ever be enough.

Cause love's such an old fashioned word

---

The sun was just beginning to set, casting a warm orange glow over the beachside restaurant. The waves lapped gently at the shore, the sound rhythmic and soothing against the soft murmur of conversation. String lights crisscrossed above the outdoor tables, their soft twinkle mirrored by the first stars peeking out of the darkening sky.

Natasha leaned back in her chair, a rare moment of unguarded laughter spilling from her lips as she sipped her drink. The cocktail glass glinted in the light, and her eyes crinkled at the corners—a look of pure, unfiltered joy. She had no idea what was coming, no idea that tonight was about to become one of the most important moments of her life.

Across the table, Steve shifted nervously in his seat, his hand brushing the small velvet box hidden in his pocket. His palms were damp, his throat dry, but when he glanced at Natasha, his nerves melted away. She looked so happy, so carefree, her face glowing in the warm light.

He cleared his throat, his chair scraping slightly against the wooden deck as he stood. The table fell silent, all eyes turning to him. “Natasha,” he began, his voice shaky but filled with determination, “you’ve been my rock since the day I met you. You’ve seen me at my best, my worst, and everything in between. And somehow, you’ve stayed by my side through it all.”

Natasha tilted her head, her brows furrowing in confusion, but a soft smile tugged at her lips as she watched him.

“I never thought I’d get so lucky,” Steve continued, his words steadying as his confidence grew. “Lucky enough to find someone as strong, as smart, as absolutely incredible as you. I can’t imagine spending my life with anyone else.”

As he spoke, his hand slipped into his pocket. When he pulled out the small velvet box and opened it, revealing a glittering diamond ring, Natasha’s hand flew to her mouth.

Gasps rippled through the small group seated at the table, and Natasha’s eyes widened, filling with tears as Steve sank to one knee in front of her.

“Natasha Romanoff,” he said, his smile soft and full of love, “will you marry me?”

For a moment, the world seemed to stop. Natasha’s lips trembled as she tried to speak, her hand still covering her mouth. Tears spilled over her cheeks, and she nodded vigorously, her voice breaking as she finally choked out, “Yes. Yes, of course!”

Cheers erupted from the table, applause filling the air as Steve slid the ring onto her finger and stood, pulling her into his arms. Natasha laughed through her tears, clinging to him like she never wanted to let go.

From behind the bushes near the edge of the patio, Bucky and Sam emerged, grinning like proud parents as they joined the group. They weren’t alone—several of Natasha’s coworkers had been waiting for the signal as well, and together they swarmed the table, their cheers and congratulations echoing under the string lights.

Bucky clapped Steve on the back, his grin wide as he said, “About time, Rogers. Thought you were gonna chicken out.”

Steve chuckled, his arm still firmly around Natasha. “Not a chance.”

Sam raised his glass. “To Steve and Nat—the only two people who could make the rest of us look like amateurs at this whole ‘love’ thing.”

The group laughed and raised their glasses, the sound of clinking glass filling the air.

But amidst the laughter and celebration, Natasha’s happiness faltered. Her eyes scanned the group, her smile fading slightly as she looked around. She was searching for someone. And she didn’t see them.

Her gaze landed on Bucky, and her expression shifted to one of quiet frustration. “She’s not here, is she?” she asked softly.

Bucky’s smile faded, and he shook his head, his shoulders sagging slightly. “No. I haven’t seen her.”

Natasha pressed her lips into a thin line, turning to Steve. “You told her, didn’t you? You texted her?”

Steve’s smile slipped into something more serious. “I texted her,” he said. “Left her a voicemail. Even went to her apartment.” He paused, his tone heavy. “But… nothing. She didn’t respond.”

Sam stepped closer, placing a hand on Natasha’s shoulder. “Don’t dwell on it, Nat,” he said gently. “You know how she gets. She just needs time. She’ll be okay. She’s done this before.”

“I know she’s done this before,” Natasha snapped, her voice sharp but tinged with hurt. “I know. But friends are supposed to be happy with you. She should be here.” Her voice cracked, and she looked down at the ring on her finger, her tears threatening to fall again. “If it were her…” She swallowed hard. “If she were getting engaged, I’d drop everything. Just to be there for her.”

Steve stepped closer, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her into his side. “Don’t hold it against her,” he murmured. “You don’t know what’s going on in her head. It’s not about you. It’s about whatever she’s fighting.”

Natasha let out a soft, bitter laugh, shaking her head. “Anyway,” she muttered, her voice clipped as she wiped her tears and forced a smile. “We’re celebrating, right?”

Steve kissed her temple, his smile soft but understanding. “That’s right. Let’s get another round,” he said, raising his glass.

The group cheered again, their voices loud and bright as they toasted the newly engaged couple. But even as Natasha laughed and smiled, her eyes lingered on the horizon, a shadow of worry flickering behind her joy.

Bucky stood nearby, his drink untouched. He caught Natasha’s glance and gave her a small, apologetic nod. He knew what she was feeling—because he felt it too.

As the party carried on around them, he couldn’t stop thinking about you.

And love dares you to care for the people at the edge of the night

---

The high school was alive with energy. The halls buzzed with the usual pre-game excitement: students laughing and shouting, their faces painted with team colors, and jerseys swishing as they ran through the corridors. The air was electric, full of youthful adrenaline and anticipation.

But Bucky wasn’t laughing. He wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t swept up in the contagious thrill of game day.

He was pacing.

His boots scuffed against the linoleum as he moved back and forth, his jaw tight and his hands shaking slightly. His helmet dangled loosely in one hand, forgotten, while his other raked through his hair for the hundredth time.

“Man, relax,” Sam said, leaning casually against a locker with his arms crossed, his usual grin in place. “Maybe she’s just sick. People miss school all the time.”

Bucky froze mid-step, turning sharply to face Sam. “You don’t understand,” he snapped, his voice low but tense, like a wire about to snap.

Sam’s grin faltered, and he pushed off the locker, his posture straightening. “Then make me understand,” he said, his tone softer now.

Steve, standing nearby, frowned as he adjusted his jersey. “What’s going on, Buck? She’ll be back tomorrow, right?”

Bucky let out a shaky breath, running his hand down his face. His chest felt too tight, like it couldn’t expand fully, like every breath was a struggle. He glanced around the hall, making sure no one was paying attention, before lowering his voice.

“She’s not just sick, okay?” he said, his tone urgent. His eyes darted between Sam and Steve, desperate for them to get it. “She gets… sad. Not normal sad. It’s different. She told me…” His voice caught, his throat tightening. “She told me she has depression. Real, bad depression.” He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “And sometimes it gets so bad…” He paused again, his voice cracking. “She told me she doesn’t wanna be alive anymore.”

The air around them seemed to still. Sam’s eyes widened, his easy going demeanor evaporating in an instant. “Oh, shit,” he muttered, the words barely audible. “She's only 17..”

Steve’s face darkened, his brows furrowing deeply as the weight of Bucky’s words sank in. “How bad, Buck?” he asked quietly.

“I don’t know,” Bucky admitted, his voice trembling now. “I haven’t heard from her since Tuesday. That’s three days. She always texts me back, always. Even if it’s just a stupid thumbs-up.” He shook his head, his movements restless. “Something’s wrong. I know it.”

Steve stepped forward, his hand landing firmly on Bucky’s shoulder. “Go,” he said simply.

“What?” Bucky asked, blinking at him in disbelief.

“Go to her,” Steve repeated, his tone steady and commanding. “We’ll cover for you. We can win one game without you. If anyone asks, I’ll say you had to run home for something. Just go. It’s Y/N.”

Bucky hesitated for only a second, his hand tightening around his helmet. “You’re sure?” he asked, his voice cracking with uncertainty.

“Of course,” Steve said, his voice softening. “It’s her. Just go.”

Bucky didn’t need to be told again. He ripped off his gear, tossing it onto the bench as he turned and sprinted down the hallway. His heart pounded in his chest as he pushed through the school doors and into the cold evening air, the sounds of cheers and chants fading behind him.

By the time he reached your house, his lungs burned, and his legs ached from running, but he didn’t care. He didn’t even pause to catch his breath as he climbed the porch steps, his hand closing around the doorknob. It turned easily.

Unlocked. Of course.

The house was dark, silent except for the faint hum of the fridge. The emptiness pressed against him like a weight.

“Y/N?” he called, his voice echoing in the stillness.

No response.

“Y/N!” he shouted again, his voice cracking with panic as he moved through the house. He checked your bedroom first, his eyes scanning the unmade bed and the dimly lit corners. Nothing.

He flung open the bathroom door. Empty.

Then he felt it—a faint breeze brushing past him, carrying the smell of the night air. His stomach dropped as he turned toward your parents’ room, the door slightly ajar.

“Shit,” he whispered, his breath catching in his throat as he stepped forward, pushing the door open.

There you were.

Standing on the railing of the balcony, your arms outstretched slightly as the wind whipped around you. The sight hit him like a physical blow, his vision narrowing as fear gripped him.

“Sweet girl,” he said softly, his voice trembling as he stepped onto the balcony.

You didn’t turn around. You let out a sad laugh instead, the sound hollow and brittle. “You always call me the sweetest names, Bucky.”

He swallowed hard, his throat dry and tight. “That’s because you’re my best girl,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “And you deserve the best. You hear me?”

You tilted your head slightly, your gaze fixed on the horizon. “Why do I feel like this all the time?”

He took another cautious step forward, his hand hovering near your ankle, ready to grab you at the slightest movement. “I don’t know, angel,” he said gently, his voice filled with desperation. “But I’d do anything to help you. Anything. I just need you to get down, okay? Please.”

You turned your head slightly to look at him, your glassy eyes meeting his. “I just don’t wanna feel like this anymore,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the wind.

A sudden gust of wind made you sway, and Bucky’s heart stopped.

“NO!” he shouted, surging forward and grabbing the back of your shirt. He yanked you toward him with all the strength he could muster, pulling you off the railing and onto the balcony floor.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, his voice shaking as he wrapped his arms around you tightly. One hand pressed to the back of your head, the other gripping your shoulder as though letting go wasn’t an option.

You broke down, your sobs wracking your body as you clung to him. His lips pressed against the top of your head over and over, his voice soft and pleading. “Please don’t do that again,” he whispered, his own tears slipping down his cheeks. “Please. I can’t lose you. I never wanna know what it feels like to lose you. Promise me, sweet girl. Promise me you won’t.”

Your voice was muffled against his chest, but you managed to choke out, “Okay.��

“Promise me,” he repeated, pulling back just enough to look into your tear-streaked face.

“I promise,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

He nodded, relief flooding his features as he pulled you close again, holding you like you were the most fragile, precious thing in the world.

Because to him, you were.

And for the rest of the night, he didn’t let go.

And love dares you to change our ways of caring about ourselves

----

The pounding on your door shattered the suffocating silence of your apartment. It echoed like a gunshot, jarring and relentless. Natasha’s voice followed immediately, sharp and furious, cutting through the air like a blade.

“Y/N, open the door!” she demanded, her tone full of anger and something else—hurt. “I know you’re in there. You’re always in there.”

You didn’t move. You stood frozen on the other side, your back pressed against the door, your breath shallow and uneven. Your eyes were glued to the blank, lifeless living room in front of you, the dim light casting long, eerie shadows across the walls.

“Don’t ignore me!” Natasha’s voice rose, her words pounding against your chest like the fists she was slamming against the door. “You don’t get to just hide! Not this time!”

Your fingers clutched the edge of your hoodie, trembling as tears pricked at your eyes. Her words were like bullets, each one hitting harder than the last, shattering the fragile shell you’d built around yourself.

“I can’t believe you,” she snapped, her voice cracking. “I thought we were best friends. I thought we were sisters. I thought I mattered to you.” Her voice wavered, trembling with emotion. “But no—you couldn’t even bother to show up. Not for me. Not for Steve. Not for any of us. Do you even care? Do you even care about anyone but yourself?”

The accusation tore through you like a blade. Your knees buckled slightly, but you didn’t fall. You stayed rooted in place, staring blankly ahead as hot tears began to fall, carving silent trails down your cheeks.

“Friends are supposed to be there for each other!” Natasha continued, her voice raw and desperate. “I would have dropped everything for you. I have dropped everything for you. But when it’s my turn, when I’m happy, you—” She broke off, her breath hitching.

You pressed your forehead against the cold wood of the door, biting your lip so hard it nearly bled. You wanted to scream. You wanted to tell her that she was wrong, that you did care, that you cared so much it hurt. But the words wouldn’t come. They were stuck, tangled in the knot in your throat, suffocated by the weight of your guilt.

“Do you even know what that feels like, Y/N?” Natasha’s voice cracked, thick with tears. “To have someone you love not care enough to show up?”

Her words were a dagger, sinking deep into your chest. Your body shook with silent sobs, your hands gripping the fabric of your hoodie so tightly your knuckles ached.

Finally, her voice softened, the anger giving way to something far worse—disappointment. “You could’ve at least tried,” she said quietly, almost to herself. “I deserved that much.”

Her next words were barely a whisper, but they hit you like a hammer: “I don’t think I can do this anymore….be your friend.”

The silence that followed was deafening, suffocating. You heard her take a shaky breath, and then the sound of her footsteps retreating down the hall.

You stayed there, slumped against the door, the tears flowing freely now. Your body felt heavy, weighed down by the crushing guilt and the emptiness that seemed to expand inside you.

She was right. You should’ve been there. You should’ve tried.

But you didn’t.

The days that followed were a blur of silence and shame. Your phone buzzed constantly, the screen lighting up with messages and missed calls, each one a reminder of how deeply you’d failed them.

Sam: Hey, girl. Haven’t heard from you in a bit. You okay?

Sam: Look, I know you’re going through it, but you’re worrying me. At least text me back, yeah?

Sam: I miss you. We all do. Just… let me know you’re alive, okay?

The voicemails from Steve were harder to stomach.

“Hey, it’s Steve. Just checking in again. I, uh… I don’t know what to say that’ll make you answer me, but I hope you’re okay. Call me when you can.”

And then another, this time quieter, more hesitant. “Y/N. Please. We’re all worried. Just… let me know you’re okay.”

Sam again, his voice more urgent this time. “Y/N. Come on. Just one text. That’s all I’m asking for. We love you, okay? Don’t forget that.”

You listened to each one, your phone clutched tightly in your hands, tears streaming down your face. But you didn’t reply. You couldn’t. You didn’t deserve their worry, their care.

But it was Bucky’s name on your call list that haunted you the most.

Every night, you paced your apartment, your thumb hovering over his name, your chest tight with indecision. His name stared back at you, a lifeline you couldn’t bring yourself to grab.

You thought about his voice, the way he’d say your name like it was the most important thing in the world. You thought about the way he’d looked at you that night, his eyes filled with hurt and confusion as you yelled at him to leave.

You wanted to call him. God, you wanted to call him.

But every time your finger hovered over the call button, your breath hitched, and the doubts crept in. What if he didn’t answer? What if he was still angry? What if you dragged him down with you, and he finally realized you weren’t worth the effort?

So you didn’t.

Every night, you stood there with the phone in your hand, tears streaking your face, your breaths shaky and uneven. Every night, you almost called him.

But every night, you couldn’t.

And the silence grew heavier, the weight of it pressing down on you like it was trying to crush the little life you had left out of you.

This is our last dance

---

Bucky stood in front of his mirror, adjusting the collar of his shirt for what felt like the hundredth time. His reflection stared back at him, but the man in the mirror didn’t feel like him. His hands trembled slightly as he fastened the last button, smoothing the fabric over his chest in a futile attempt to steady himself.

This felt wrong. All of it.

He turned to the dresser, where his phone sat just within reach. The screen was dark, but he could still feel the weight of your name sitting in his call list, just waiting. His fingers twitched with the urge to pick it up, to text you, to call you, to say he was sorry for walking out that night.

But he didn’t.

Because you’d been so hostile, so closed off. You’d shouted at him to leave, your voice breaking with pain and anger, and it had cut deeper than he wanted to admit. He knew you were hurting, but so was he. And as much as he hated himself for it, he hadn’t been strong enough to stay.

His thoughts drifted back to Natasha’s visit to your apartment earlier that week. She’d told him about it when they were sitting in Steve’s kitchen, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.

“I gave her an earful through the door,” Natasha had said, her voice tight with a mix of anger and sadness. “I told her I didn’t want to be friends anymore if she couldn’t be there for me during my brightest moments. I know she’s going through it, Buck, but this… this was too much.”

Bucky had sat stiffly in his chair, his jaw clenching as her words sunk in. “And what did she say?” he’d asked quietly.

“Nothing,” Natasha replied, her voice breaking slightly. “She didn’t say anything. Didn’t open the door, didn’t even acknowledge I was there.”

Bucky’s fists had tightened at his sides. He hadn’t said anything, but the anger bubbling beneath the surface wasn’t for you—it was for Natasha, for not understanding, for expecting more from you when you were barely holding yourself together. But he didn’t defend you either. He couldn’t. He didn’t know how.

That night, unable to stop himself, he’d gone to your apartment. He’d leaned against the wall outside your door for forty-five minutes, straining to hear anything—anything at all. When he finally heard the faint sound of footsteps, relief had coursed through him.

But it didn’t last.

The relief was fleeting, overshadowed by the same helplessness that had plagued him since the night he left. He wanted to knock, to call out your name, to beg you to let him in. He wanted to wrap you in his arms and tell you that everything would be okay, even if he wasn’t sure it would be.

But he didn’t. Because you’d shut him out so completely, and he didn’t know how to fix it.

Now, as he stood in his room, the weight of everything pressed down on him like a stone. He shouldn’t be doing this. Not now. Not with everything going on. But he’d already agreed to the date with Olivia, and canceling felt like admitting defeat.

A knock at the door pulled him from his spiraling thoughts.

He opened it to find Olivia standing there, smiling brightly in a simple dress and a leather jacket. Her blonde hair framed her face perfectly, and her eyes sparkled with excitement. She looked beautiful, and Bucky forced a smile in return, even as it felt hollow.

“Hey,” she said, her voice warm and cheerful. “Ready?”

“Yeah,” he said, grabbing his jacket and keys. He shut the door behind him, his mind still lingering on you as they walked down the hallway together.

The restaurant was cozy and dimly lit, the air filled with the soft hum of conversation and the clinking of glasses. Olivia had chosen the place, and it was perfect—intimate without feeling stuffy, charming without trying too hard.

She was kind, funny, and easy to talk to. She laughed at his jokes, asked him questions about his interests, and smiled at him like he was the only person in the room.

But to Bucky, it all felt wrong.

As Olivia talked about her childhood, Bucky’s mind wandered back to you. He thought about the way you’d laugh when you thought no one was listening, how it was soft and genuine and lit up a room in a way no one else’s could. He thought about the late-night conversations you’d shared over takeout, your voice quiet and full of trust as you let him see pieces of yourself that no one else did.

And then he thought about the last time he saw you. The way your voice cracked when you yelled at him to leave, the hurt and anger in your eyes. The way you’d looked so small, so fragile, as you stood there, refusing to let him help you.

“Bucky?”

Olivia’s voice pulled him back to the present. She was looking at him with a mix of curiosity and concern, her smile faltering slightly. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he said quickly, forcing a smile. “Sorry. Just… long week.”

She nodded, accepting the answer, but the concern in her eyes didn’t fade entirely.

Bucky felt a pang of guilt. Olivia didn’t deserve this. She didn’t deserve him sitting across from her, half-present, his heart and mind clearly somewhere else. She deserved someone who could look at her the way Steve looked at Natasha, who could give her all the attention and affection she deserved.

But he couldn’t stop thinking about you. He couldn’t stop worrying about you.

And he couldn’t stop loving you.

As the date went on, he tried—he really did. He asked her questions, made jokes, even managed to laugh at a few of her stories. But no matter how hard he tried, his thoughts always circled back to you.

What were you doing right now? Were you okay? Were you eating? Sleeping? Or were you standing on that balcony again, the wind whipping around you like it had that night in high school?

“Bucky?” Olivia said again, pulling him from his thoughts for the second time that night.

He blinked, realizing he’d been staring at his untouched drink for far too long. “Sorry,” he said again, his voice quieter now.

She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes this time. “It’s okay,” she said softly.

But it wasn’t.

And as much as he hated to admit it, Bucky knew this date wasn’t fair to her—or to himself.

This is our last dance.

---

The weight that had been pressing down on you for weeks finally collapsed in on itself, suffocating you, dragging you deeper into the endless darkness. You couldn’t see a way out, couldn’t imagine a future where you’d feel anything other than this crushing hopelessness. It was all-consuming, a void that devoured every thought, every breath.

Your apartment was cold and silent, the air thick with stillness, broken only by the shaky sound of your breathing. Desperate for something, anything to ground you, you reached for your phone and pressed play on the only song that had ever been able to reach you in moments like this.

The familiar melody of Under Pressure filled the room, echoing off the walls like a lifeline.

“Pressure, pushing down on me…”

You paced back and forth, the phone clutched tightly in your hand, tears streaming freely down your face. The lyrics sliced through you with every word, each note digging deeper into your already raw heart. This song had always made you feel lighter before, always brought a smile to your face when Bucky danced around the room, grabbing your hands and spinning you until you couldn’t help but laugh.

But tonight, it felt different.

You sank to your knees, your sobs growing louder as the music swelled, your chest heaving with the effort to keep breathing. You pressed the phone closer to your ear, as if Freddie Mercury and David Bowie’s voices could somehow pull you back from the edge.

The cold breeze from the balcony seeped through the glass door, brushing against your skin like a whisper. Your gaze drifted toward it, the sheer curtain fluttering softly in the wind.

For a moment, the thought crossed your mind.

It would be so easy.

But then, as if on instinct, you shook your head violently, your hands flying to your temples as if you could physically push the thought away.

No.

That can’t be it. You promised Bucky.

The broken promise hung over you like a specter as you stumbled to the bathroom, your legs shaky and unsteady beneath you. The light flickered when you flipped the switch, casting an eerie glow over the small space.

The broken mirror greeted you, jagged cracks splintering your reflection into a thousand fractured pieces. You stared at it, at the distorted, hollow version of yourself staring back. You didn’t recognize the person in the shards.

You opened the cabinet, your hands trembling as you reached for the bottle of antidepressants tucked away behind an old bottle of painkillers and a nearly empty tube of toothpaste. The bottle felt heavy in your palm, its weight somehow both grounding and terrifying.

You clutched it tightly, your breath coming in uneven gasps as you backed out of the bathroom and began pacing the apartment again.

The music continued to play, Freddie and Bowie’s voices swelling with the crescendo:

“Why can’t we give love, give love, give love…”

You couldn’t stop hearing Bucky’s voice, the way he’d always called you sweet girl, his tone soft and warm, like you were the most important thing in his world. You heard him as clearly as if he were standing beside you, his words from so long ago echoing in your mind:

“Promise me.”

Tears blurred your vision as you collapsed onto the couch, clutching the bottle in one hand and your phone in the other. The weight of the pills was unbearable, as if they were the physical manifestation of everything you couldn’t carry anymore.

Your thumb hovered over Bucky’s name in your call list.

You took a shaky breath, your hand trembling as you opened the pill bottle and poured a handful into your palm. The tiny capsules felt cold and smooth against your skin, the sharp contrast to the heat of your tears that dripped onto your hand. You swallowed.

Your other hand shook as you pressed Bucky’s name on your phone.

The line rang once. Twice. Each ring stretched out into eternity, the sound pounding against your chest like a heartbeat.

Finally, his voice came through, warm and familiar, but tinged with concern.

“Y/N?” he said, his tone rising slightly in alarm. “Sweetheart, what’s going on?”

You tried to speak, but the sobs came first, wracking your body as you pressed the phone to your ear like it was the only thing tethering you to the world.

You tried to speak, but the sobs came first, wracking your body as you held the phone to your ear. “Bucky,” you choked out finally, your voice barely a whisper.

“Yeah, I’m here,” he said quickly, his tone steady but urgent.

You clutched the phone tighter “I can’t do this anymore,” you whispered, the words breaking something inside you.

There was silence on the other end for a moment, and then his voice came through, strong and determined. “I’m coming over. Right now. Don’t move, okay? Just stay where you are, okay? I’ll be there in ten.”

This is ourselves

-------

Olivia was everything someone could ask for—funny, kind, and effortlessly charming. She told stories with vivid animation, her hands gesturing wildly as she laughed at her own jokes. But no matter how hard Bucky tried to focus, her words barely registered.

The dessert had arrived a few minutes ago, but he hadn’t touched it. His fork lay untouched on the table, his hands clasped in his lap as he forced himself to nod and smile at the right moments. He laughed when he thought he should, added a comment here or there, but his heart wasn’t in it.

Because something felt wrong.

It was a gnawing sensation, deep in his gut, an unease he couldn’t shake. He told himself it was nothing, that he was imagining it, but the weight of it pressed down on him like a stone.

His mind kept drifting back to you. The way you’d looked the last time he saw you—tired, withdrawn, a shell of the vibrant person he knew. The memory clawed at his chest, the guilt twisting tighter with every passing second.

Olivia said something, and he forced a smile, but he was already counting down the minutes until he could leave. He needed to check on you. He didn’t know why, but the thought wouldn’t leave him alone.

Then his phone buzzed on the table.

He barely glanced at the screen before his heart stopped. It was you.

Without thinking, Bucky grabbed his phone so fast that he knocked over his drink, the ice and liquid spilling across the table in a chaotic splash. Olivia gasped, startled by the sudden movement, but he barely noticed.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice rushed, already standing. “I have to take this.”

“Of course,” she said, her eyes wide with concern but understanding.

He didn’t bother stepping away. He answered immediately, pressing the phone to his ear. “Y/N?”

All he could hear was sobbing—raw, broken sobs that sent ice-cold fear coursing through his veins. Then there was the sound of your uneven breathing, as if you were struggling to get air.

“Y/N?” he said again, louder this time, panic tightening his throat. “Sweetheart, what’s going on?”

“Bucky…” Your voice was faint, choked with tears, barely audible over the sound of your crying.

“Yeah, I’m here,” he said, his voice trembling now.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you whispered. His mind was racing, every nerve in his body screaming at him to do something, anything.

He fumbled with his phone, his hands shaking as he opened a text to Sam.

Bucky: Call 911. Send them to Y/N’s apartment. NOW.

Sam’s response came almost instantly:

Sam: What’s going on? On it.

“I kept your promise, Buck,” you said suddenly, your voice slurred and distant. “I’m gonna keep it, okay?”

Bucky was already out the door, his feet pounding against the pavement as he ran. “What promise, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice desperate as he weaved through the crowded New York streets. “Talk to me.”

“The one from high school…” Your voice was weaker now, fading. “Senior year.”

Bucky’s chest constricted. His mind flashed back to that night—the balcony, the wind whipping around you, the way he’d grabbed you and pulled you back with trembling hands. The memory hit him like a freight train, knocking the air from his lungs.

“You kept it,” he said, his voice breaking. “I’m so proud of you, angel. You hear me? I’m almost there. Stay with me, okay?”

“The pills, Bucky.... getting sleepy,” you murmured, your words dragging, barely coherent. “I’m sorry, Bucky. It’s better this way. For everyone. I just wanted to hear your voice one last time…”

“No,” he said sharply, tears streaming down his face as he sprinted through the crowded streets, dodging pedestrians and ignoring the blaring horns of cars. “No, baby, don’t say that. Don’t say goodbye. Stay awake. You gotta stay awake for me, okay? Please.”

You didn’t respond right away, and the silence on the other end was deafening.

“Sweetheart,” he said desperately, his voice cracking as his legs burned with the effort of running. “I love you. Please. I love you so much. Don’t leave me. Please. It’s all my fault—please, please.”

Finally, your voice came through, soft and faint, barely more than a whisper. “It’s not your fault… Never your… Love you.”

And then silence.

“No, no, no,” he said, his voice frantic, his chest heaving as he pushed himself to run faster. He kept the phone pressed to his ear, listening to the faint sounds of the emergency responders on the other end—the muffled voices, the banging on your door.

Of course now you lock it, he thought bitterly, tears blurring his vision.

When he reached your apartment building, the flashing lights of ambulances and police cars painted the street in harsh red and blue. A small crowd had gathered, their faces etched with curiosity and concern, but Bucky shoved his way through without hesitation, his lungs burning as he sprinted up the stairs two at a time.

“Move!” he shouted, his voice hoarse as he pushed past the officers at your door.

And then he saw you.

You were lying motionless on the floor, your face pale, your body lifeless as the paramedics worked over you. One of them was performing chest compressions, their hands pressing rhythmically into your chest, while another prepared an oxygen mask.

“NO!” Bucky screamed, his voice shattering as he stumbled forward, his knees threatening to give out beneath him.

One of the paramedics muttered, “Come on. Stay with us.”

Bucky’s world narrowed to the sight of you—your still form, the faint beeping of medical equipment, the paramedic’s steady rhythm. His knees buckled, and he grabbed the edge of the couch to steady himself, his vision swimming as the tears fell harder.

“Please,” he whispered, his voice breaking, barely audible over the chaos. “Please, don’t leave me. I love you. I love you so much. Please.”

But you didn’t move.

Under Pressure

[acotarxreader]

Other Worlds part 3

Azriel x Reader

Synopsis - An unfortunate infection has the Inner Circle scrambling to try to save your life, only to settle on sending you home to receive the treatment you need, accompanied by Azriel who is about to meet a whole Other World, ours.

Warning: YN is very very ill at the start, silly, serious, Az has a panic attack boo, sickly sweet, fluff, jealous Az, agnst

A/N; You guys! It has been awhile! So long that I forgot my login and there was mild panic that @lady-of-tearshed helped to settle lol! But anyways here's a part 3 of the Other Worlds. Its always scary to write for the series because people loved part one so much but anyways here it is! Once my exams are finished I hope to write another part of Eris's fic as I kinda left ye high ad dry there! Anyways, as always, let me know what you think!!

Other Worlds and Part 2

------------------------------------------

The feeling deep within your abdomen woke you from your light sleep, the growing pain keeping you from reaching REM. Perched up on an elbow you rubbed a lazy hand across your eyes, the buttery sheets clinging to the sweat on your back, uncomfortable heat sticking to your bones. Azriel moved slightly alongside you, burying his face further into your college hoodie you must have discarded during your sleep. The heat was choking, sending you quickly to dash to the bathroom, your cheek flushing purple from the suffocating sickly heat. Splashes of the coolest melted mountain water did little to stave away the purple blotting in your cheeks. You didn’t know if you were going to be sick or faint as the feeling of what felt like claws took hold of the muscles in your abdomen. You met the marble floor hard, that pain was nothing compared to what was growing in your abdomen. The cool marble gave some relief to your cheek as you met it but nothing could seemingly stop the inferno setting through your skin as your bones began to rattle with a chill off the stone. 

“YN!” Azriel reached for your face, ice cold to the touch contradicting the feeling inside. He pulled you to your feet, your groans of pain bouncing off the tile as you clutched your arms around your waist until the pain became unsurmountable and blackout was your body’s only solution. 

-

Your eyes hardly flickered, beads of sweat wiped with a cloth from your forehead as various fae shuffled around the room in frantic fear of Azriel’s stern orders. You groaned lightly, the pain remaining and the heat only having lessened slightly no doubt owed to the concoction of fluids Madja and her team plied you with. 

“Am-am I dead?” You managed, eyes unable to open fully. 

“No, love. We don’t know what’s wrong, but we’ll help you.” Azriel’s soft words were followed by a glare at the panicked-looking healer team, which couldn’t seem to figure out what was happening. 

“I-I think it's the appen-appendix” You attempted to sit up, Azriel gently guiding you back down.

“What? What is that love? Do we need to banish it? Poison it?” He sank to his knees at your bedside, running his thumb over your hand in soothing circles as you gave a gentle smile.

“Out-it needs to come out- I’ll get sep-sepsis” 

“Who is that? Can I get him now to fix you?” You gave the weakest of smiles. You’d die at the hands of medieval magic medicine, but at least you’d die with your love by your side. You fought the dark pull of sleepiness, its taunting comfort calling to you to dance with it, to stay with it. Rhysand burst through the door, boxes of supplies and tinctures in hand, Madja looking grateful but hopeless.

“Try these!” Nesta called over Rhysand’s shoulder, Cassian and Feyre holding multiple other elaborate glass bottles. 

“I’m afraid we’ve tried all those” Azriel’s head whipped up from your direction to Madja’s melancholy voice, the look of a female who had exhausted the resources available to her. 

“No” Tears rimmed Azriel’s eyes, looking back to you, waiting for a witty comment or comforting word, only a greying pasty complexion looked back. 

“Well we could… no I’m not sure” “What Nesta!?” Azriel sprang to his feet, looking to the eldest Archehon like she was the answer to all his pleas. 

“Well Azriel we could… we could send her home? Other world disease, other world solution?” Nesta shuffled from one foot to the other, an unusual discomfort in her own skin radiating as Cassian shared a concerned look with Rhysand. 

“But-but what if you send her in the wrong place? Or what if-what if she can’t come back?” He looked amongst the four, all of which didn’t want to answer but Rhysand finally filled the airspace. 

“She will die here Az”

“And what if she dies there?” his voice rattled.

“Then at least she can die knowing everything possible was done for her, we should want that for her” Cassian added softly, taking hold of one of Azriel’s shoulders in his hand. The healer team looked amongst themselves before looking to their leader to speak. 

“She hasn’t got much longer, we must decide” Madja spoke with a kind firmness that Azriel knew so well. 

“Fine, but I go with her” “Azriel” The four friends spoke in unison, being cut off by Azriel’s raised hand. 

“You would not allow your mates to go alone, YN is the closest I’ve ever gotten to a mate, perhaps she is my mate but the human stuff is getting in the way, I don't know. Regardless, I will accompany her to her end, no matter what way that may present itself. Get Amren right away, Nesta and her will send us together” With the orders of the Spymaster the inner circle reluctantly went about the necessary preparations, fully unsure if this would even work or simply kill you both on conjuring. It didn’t matter to Azriel, in every reality he’d lose you and in every reality he would stay with you. 

“Az how do we know when to try to pull you back?” Feyre did her best to hide her worry but it was easily read by her friends. Azriel took a moment to think, he didn’t know how time worked in our realm or how his friends would find him, all he knew is he had to get you to help.

“Your birthday Feyre, I’ll be home to help you blow out the candles” He hugged her tightly before doing the same to Cassian and Rhysand, the three ignoring that this could be goodbye forever.  

“Until we meet again” Were Azriel’s final words to his friends before he took your weakened body in his arms, Feyre sliding a filled satchel over a shoulder as Amren and Nesta circled around you both. Blinding light followed. 

-

The thud of his boots on the solid oak floors of a mildew-covered yet cosy dorm room echoed off the picture-covered walls. Azriel felt like he might vomit, never one to enjoy being at the will of Nesta’s power. He took an unbalanced step, realising that his wings had seemingly vanished from his back, the feeling turning his already upset stomach on its head. He clutched your body into him, taking in the room that held the same scent as your hoodie he loved so much, your home, it calming him. Your deep groan skyrocketed him back into reality as he took unsure steps out of your room and into the fluorescent-lit hallway. Every cell of Azriel’s body was screaming at him to freak out, a feeling he hadn’t felt since a child of utter uselessness towards his own outcome. 

“Eh, hello?” He whipped around to the small voice of an even smaller woman as she stood toothbrush and shower caddy in hand. Azriel couldn’t find his voice, the whole situation was overwhelming. 

“YN?” A man called from behind the girl as he ran towards the both of you. Azriel instinctively pulled you from his grasp. 

“Cammy call an ambulance!” The man shouted and the small girl ran for the phone.

“Look buddy, I don’t know who you are but you’re going to tell me what the fuck is wrong with my YN” The male snapped, managing to take your weight in his arms as pure shock rattled through Azriel. What? What? What? Bounced around the head of the Illyrian as your weight began to go fully limp in the man's arms.

The next 40 minutes were a complete whirlwind that Azriel couldn’t find his voice in. The ambulance swept you all away, the male close behind in his car.  The whole vehicle experience nevermind the beeping alarms within the ambulance cabin making Azriel feel fully out to sea.  The next thing Azriel could comprehend he was being refused entry to the emergency bay, being forced to sit alongside the man in yet another fluorescent hallway. 

“This has been a crazy fucking month” Azriel heard the man whisper under his breath. 

“Thanks for finding YN-” Azriel sat up straighter, subconsciously puffing out his chest at the sound of your name on another males tongue “-I hope she didn’t cause you too much trouble, she gets kinda crazy around exam season, I’m Damien” Damien outstretched a hand that Azriel did not take, only refocusing his gaze on the double doors they took you through. The two sat in awkward silence for nearly three hours until a doctor returned to meet them. 

“Well, we got very lucky, we got to her before any serious damage could be done, she's awake now if you want to see h-” Azriel stood before she could finish the sentence, bursting through the cursed double doors to find you, a small rattling intern leading the way to your room where you sat still groggy in the bed. 

“Az” You gave a weak smile, morphine still flooding your system, the realisation of who you saw then sending you further upright in the bed. 

“Az! What the fuck!?” You half shouted half laughed as he rushed to hug you into him, burying his head into your hair, taking deep breaths of the scent he loved so much. 

“YN, I was so afraid” his voice hoarse from the somewhat vow of silence he had taken since arriving. You pushed him back, your hands wiping across his chiselled cheeks as you touched your forehead on his. He ran a hand up your arm, it catching on the IV.

“What is this?” he looked, taking in the sterile environment. 

“Fluid, it's okay, it doesn't hurt. I can’t believe I’m back here, that you’re here!” 

“YN you’re alive!” Damien's voice came from the doorway, sending Azriel back to his ironing board-like posture. He gave you a gentle hug under the scrutinising eyes of Azriel, your cheeks blushing. 

“Damien I-I can’t believe you’re here?” “Can’t believe I’m here? You go awol for a month and then show up in the arms of this guy” Damien looked judgingly towards Azriel, arms tucked across his chest. Your sense of time was completely lost, you had been gone at least 6 months, had that translated as a month in this realm, the physics side of your brain was hurting. 

“Visiting time is over” a burly nurse saved you from responding.

“I go nowhere without her” Azriel replied, the nurse only raising an eyebrow. 

“C’mon Leathers, I’ll give you a lift back to the dorms” Damien replied bitterly, digging through his pockets for his keys. 

“I doubt your puny muscles could carry me” Azriel whispered to no one in particular, you smiled gently.

“Go Az, stay in my room and one of my friends can bring you back to me tomorrow” You gave your best reassuring smile but met the doubtful face of the Illyrian. You leaned across the bed, beckoning him in to hear your whisper 

“Az, trust me, an ICU nurse makes a naga look like a kitten” you grinned, Azriel shooting upright again, looking to the nurse with a respectful fear before kissing the top of your head and following Damien out. 

Sat into the small Ford, Azriel dug what training he could to remain calm within another metal cage, this time the alarms absent. 

“So, how'd you meet YN?” Damien broke the 5 minutes of dead air in the car, Azriels hand finding the handle above the door to cling to as Damien indicated onto a busy road.

“Not the ‘Jesus Christ we're going to die’ panic handle” Damien laughed at the sight, Azriel now using all training you had given him to read between the lines and not ask a silly question, he would save those for you. 

“Well?” Damien tried again.

“She sort of…fell into my life” Azriel buried a grin, white knuckles growing across the handle.

“She has a tendency to do that, hard to saddle that one” he laughed, Azriel now glaring.

“She's not an animal she-”

“-oh dude I know, I get it, feminism woo-” Damien raised a sarcastic fist before returning it to the wheel “-but some women are meant to be left wild” he laughed, Azriel not returning the sentiment.

“So called ‘wild women’ are revered where I come from” he bit, Damien pulling up outside the building Azriel had hazy memories of landing in. 

“And where is it you're from?” Damien raised an eyebrow, Azriel finding the door handle to allow air in.

“Somewhere YN will never need to bow to feeble insecure males” were his final words shared before exiting the car. 

Azriel found your room again with some difficulty but was happy to find the door still open from the rush of excitement earlier in the night. The room felt like you, your photos and books and brilliance across every inch of the space. Azriel sat on the edge of the bed, taking it all in before the flood of sea he was thrown in overwhelmed him. Tears freely flowed down his cheeks, his hands knotting through his hair as the stress of it all reached boiling point before he fell back into the bed and allowed himself to be overtaken by the near miss you both had tonight. Sleep quickly stole away the cries.

—--

“Az, get your filthy shoes off my bed” You laughed from the doorway, skyrocketing the Illyrian upright, a daze of confusion to follow.

“YN!” He ran to you, swaddling you in his arms once again as you leaned into him. 

“I-I just closed my eyes? How are you here already? How are you feeling” A rush of questions separated you both again.

“I wouldn't think too much about the time thing, it'll rot your brain sweetie-” you pulled from him, throwing down the jacket you had left Prythian wearing “-I got sent home, they said they've never seen someone heal so fast from halfway to death, those treatments from Madja must have worked wonders after surgery, I feel a lot better” you sat down on the bed, Azriel still trying to work his way through the time difference. 

“YN I was so scared, I really thought you were going to leave me” “I can’t believe you’re here with me, in some ways I think I must still be in an infection-fueled catatonic state-” You looked at Azriel, his head tilted in confusion like when a dog hears the word walkies “- nevermind, I believe it, as much as I can’t, I chose to believe this is real” You smiled, eyes then landing on his bear shoulders, Azriel seemingly shrinking under the gaze. 

“I know, wingless, how terribly odd, I feel like my balance is off” he laughed, a knocking coming to the door.

“She lives!” Damien beamed as you pulled open the chipping door. He squeezed you into a hug, the heat from Azriel’s eyes and your fresh stitches radiating through your body. 

“Hello Dam, thank you for bringing Azriel back here” 

“Oh it was no problem at all, me and ol Azills had a lovely chat” Damien clapped a hand on Azriel’s shoulder, a huff of air leaving his nostrils as he did. 

“Azriel will do just fine” he corrected.

“Nonsense buddy, you’re a friend now, c’mon we’re all going for lunch to celebrate your return from whatever place you were in” Damien left his side, taking your hand gently in his and leading you to the door.

-

Azriel crammed his figure into the back seat of the tiny Ford once again, trying his best to not glare holes into the back of Damien's head as he drove. 

“You’ll have to tell us all of the great mischiefs I’m sure you got into YNN” Damien almost lovingly tapped your knee before returning his hands to the steering wheel. 

“Not must mischief..” you trailed off, thinking of the great vast amounts of mischief you got up to in Prythian, all of which would land you in a psychiatric hospital if you tried to explain it to your friends. 

-

Azriel folded his shoulders like a deck chair, squishing as best he could into the booth of the large, dilapidated pub some miles from your residence.

“Do they only make furniture for the miniature in this city?” He asked you under his breath and you laughed lightly as Damien returned to the table accompanied by three of your closest friends. Azriel fought the urge to block his ears as you and your friends all squealed at the sight of one another. 

“I know, like howling dogs” Damien whispered across the table to Azriel as you swaddled your friends in hugs. 

“You seem to have an affinity for referring to females as animals” he bit back, Damien rolling his eyes.

“Well hello there-” a red-headed female slid in alongside them, hand outstretched like a grand dame greeting a suitor “-let’s get properly acquainted” She playfully batted her eyelashes as you rolled your eyes. 

“Easy Georgie” Cassy, Azriel remembered from the corridor, slid alongside his new friend. Damien gestured with his head for you to sit alongside him, allowing Ellie, Azriel's final new friend, to cap off the bench at the end. 

“Tell us, tall dark and handsome, where are there more of you?” Georgie laughed, and your eyes looked down towards the menu burying a grin. 

“I am a dying breed, my brothers are all mated off” Azriel answered in a somewhat serious tone, eager to end the affections of this new female as a waitress filled your glasses with refreshing water.

“Now who’s obsessed with animal analogies” Damien shot back as you took a drink to cover your confusion.

“If I was I’d correctly identify you as a little bitch” You began to sputter on the water at Azriel’s comment.

“Oh my god it’s like the real housewives” Cammy laughed as Damien and Azriel began to stare one another down. 

“Okay okay enough of that” you coughed out, Damien rubbing your back to ease the deathly grip you faced for a second time in 48 hours, Azriel thought of all the ways he could have Damien taken care of, giving him comfort. 

Azriel pushed around his burger on the plate, nothing compared to the food of home and simply couldn’t stomach it.

“YN, I thought you weren’t going to date boys until you finished the degree?” Ellie asked between bites of salad. 

“Guess she went and found herself a man” Georgie laughed, the table other than Damien joining in. 

“Tough luck Damien” The three girls laughed loudly accompanying your nervous chuckle as Azriel examined the pair of you. Soon after more teasing you found yourself at the bar top, waiting for an order of the coffee you had had dreams about. 

“Hello love” Azriel joined your side, an arm wrapping tenderly around your waist, ever careful of the fresh stitches. 

“Having fun?” “Yeah, it’s nice to meet the people from your stories, although I don’t remember a pig-headed troll being part of any?” 

“Damien’s just being nice Az, maybe calling him a little bitch wasn’t the nicest thing you’ve done” you teasingly reprimanded him. “I call it as I see it” he proclaimed, observing the bar staff as they worked. 

“It's funny how no matter the realm, the tavern will survive in any form” he laughed, kissing the top of your head as a member of staff passed a cup into your hand. You retrieved your card from your pocket, Azriel raising a hand before digging through his own pockets and pulling out coins. 

“Az-” you tried but he had already placed the solid gold coins into the young staff member's hand.

“We don’t take Renaissance Fair money here buddy” 

“Why do people keep calling me buddy?” You laughed at him, tapping your card on the outstretched card machine, the beep signalling a successful payment. 

“What a strange place, a piece of…whatever that is containing all your wealth”

“Strange? A winged goblin takes my wages in a bank made of seashells at home and you think this is strange?” You laughed, taking a glorious sip of the coffee.

“You don’t think Gerry is helpful?” Azirel bemused as you rolled you eyes again.

“Gerry is the most helpful of anyone at home I suppose” Azriel beamed down towards your use of home, Valeris was still your home. You offered the drink to him and he took a regretful deep sip of the honey black liquid. His face contorted into shapes as the energetic liquid of life entered his system,

“Nice?” “I think Cassian’s dirt mixture was nicer” he winced out as you rolled your eyes. It wasn’t long before Azriel’s small sip of coffee had him bouncing off the walls with energy, so unused to the power of caffeine and colourings rife in our food. As the evening turned into night, the pub filled with college students ready to relax and the dance floor came to life. Georgie had the caffeine bursting Azriel quickly on his feet to swing around the dance floor with the other two girls, leaving you and Damien to chat in the booth. 

“Looking for that ring before Spring YNN?” He laughed into his pint as the back of your hand gently met his chest. He quickly caught hold of it to keep it there, beckoning you to turn to face him. 

“I could give it to you” he said quietly, barely audible over the booming music the was blowing Azriel’s mind some feet away. 

“Dam, stop” You smiled sadly, taking back your hand. 

“We were great together!” 

“We were fuck buddies” You laughed in surprise at his bold statement.

“Exactly!” He joined your laugh, a familiar playfulness falling back between you both. Azriel swirled Cammy around when a sudden creep of a sugar crash headache started to slide up from the nape of his neck. He released Cammy’s hand and apologised to the girl's pleas to stay as he made his way back to the booth. Through the sea of people, Azriel found his eyes land on you and Damien, looking ever so comfortable in the booth. He watched as Damien took a ring from your finger and placed it on the one where people's wedding bands on before he leaned in and whispered something into your ear. Azriel felt a wash of rage, it chasing away any semblance of a headache from him as he shoved his way through the crowd trying to find the door. Meanwhile, you began to laugh at the obscene idea that Damien would ever be the one you’d end up with, slipping your ring back to your thumb. You looked out to see the back of Azriel’s head exit through the door as you attempted to follow him, finding it a lot harder to break through the crowd than the broad Illyrian. 

Azriel stormed through the drizzle-drenched streets, crowds and crowds of people washing around him, the deafening buzz of overhead street lights had Azriel wondering how you weren’t all driven mad. He had no idea where he was, only that he wanted to go home to where things made sense and fluorescents were only found in the brightest flowers of Spring and not around every corner. The Spymaster stopped in front of an electrical goods shop, shut for the night but with the displays still on. Flashes of the news painted across the rectangular screen, more hypersonic buzzing radiating through the glass. Azriel watched in horror at the scenes of unrest, scenes of familiar trenches but with more gruesome otherworldly weapons. The sight turned his stomach, forcing his feet onward as pictures of the battlefield danced across his mind. He wandered off the step onto the road, a large SUV breaking harshly in front of him, blowing the bellowing horn in his direction, more incomparable noise. Azriel darted from the road, narrowingly missing being flattened by another SUV. This world was so noisy, so deafening he couldn’t understand you ever finding peace here. 

The rain picked up its hammering from a drizzle to a drum as his rain soden boots met the pavement with increasing weight. Even the weather was different here, somehow crueller than what he faced in the darkest of storms at home. Azriel felt out of control, overwhelmed in every sense of the word, swaddled by the choking of the deafening never-ending buzz of street lamps. He couldn’t find his way through the sea of nausea and people, people chattering into their little glowing boxes, tapping a deafening finger on the buzzing screens. Buzzing, so much buzzing, all Azriel could think of until he found his breath uneven, no match for the buzzing. His heavy hips met the step outside a jeweller, the quietest of buzzing but still pinging in his ears. Calloused hands dug into his face as he tried to bring his breathing back, unable to capture its elusiveness. 

“Az!” Your voice rose above the buzz, Azriel, lifting his head from his hands as you ran to him, the colour drained away from his cheeks. You caught him gently by the shoulders, his rattling bones bouncing off your rain-soaked sleeves. 

“C’mon love, it’s okay” You did your best to pull his weight up from the step, guiding the seemingly shellshocked Illyrian back the few blocks to your dorm, the buzzing never really easing but breath beginning to return. 

Once inside, you took his rain-soaked clothes from him, leaving him in just his undergarments before swaddling him in the duvet and guiding him down to the bed. The bone-rattling buzz continued inside your room, the maddening sound causing Azriel to claw at his ears. 

“What Az, what?” you pleaded. 

“It's so-so loud here!” he winced, eyes scrunched closed. You quickly darted around, unplugging everything, and shoving a pillow along the foot of the door to block the noise and light from outside. The motheaten curtains were quickly swooshed closed, soothing darkness swallowing the room until you lit a few candles to illuminate your bath back to Azriel as he lay in your bed. You discarded your own drenched clothing before sliding into the space alongside Azriel. His clammy skin clung to you as his arms wrapped around your waist. 

“That, that was horrible” he whispered into your hair. 

“I think you had a panic attack sweetie, a symptom of my realm” you nuzzled into his chest, eager to hear his heartbeat return to normal.

f

“Did I steal you away from your life here?” he questioned after a moment of comforting silence. He had seen you beam with joy many times since meeting you but never with the level of familiarity you seemed to have tonight.

“If you want to get technical, Nesta stole me” You chuckled softly before lifting to rest your chin on his peck and meet his eye. 

“Details” he grinned.

“The only thing you stole was my heart” You admitted sweetly before making a retching sound “ew gross feeeeeeeelings” you mocked, Azriel rolling his eyes before kissing you sweetly. 

“I bet Damien would have a few words to say about that” 

“Yeah well Damien is a little bitch” You smiled, Azriel looking as proud as ever. 

“My girl” he squeezed you tight.

“No one else’s”

-

For the following two weeks, you introduced the world a lot more softly to Azriel, with lots of breaks in the haven of safety from the buzz you had built in your room. Azriel began to see so many things right in this realm and challenged the wrong. He could see how someone could call this place home but it would never be his and he counted down what sense of time he could before you would return to his realm. Azriel’s bravery grew and one late one evening he ventured out alone into the world while you slept off a day of explaining how cars, debit cards, instant noodles and electric razors work. 

The street where all the deafening had occurred was silent, as the sun sinking banished the need for overhead street lamps. He wandered with more comfort down the street until he landed at the step that you had rescued him from, a neon sign glowing in the window of the shop. “Cash for gold” Azriel read allowed, an idea sounding off in his head. 

When you woke up to an empty bed, panic had stolen your voice as you began to haphazardly clothe yourself, your hand barely touching the door knob as Azriel strode in. 

“Gods Az, I thought you were gone on another rampage-” You smiled, taking the flowers he offered you “-these are lovely” you beamed. 

“YNN, I have a surprise for you” You raised an eyebrow as he came in, closing the door behind him. You watched him carefully cross the room, discarding the jacket you had bought for him in a charity shop, along with his other new clothing. You placed the delicate flowers on the dresser before turning to see a somewhat worried Illyrian.

“YNN, this is a strange world, filled with strange customs, but this is the custom I like the best-” “-yes”

“YN, I love you so much and I know we’ve only been officially together for a short time or a very long time, who can tell but-” “-yes” you mumbled in shock, Azriel not hearing you as he was wrapped up in anxiously delivering his speech. 

“-I just know you're supposed to be mine forever and-”

“-yes”

“-I will work harder for the life you deserve-”

“-yes”

“-because you deserve the moon and stars and I want to be the one to give them to you, in every and all realms, YNN, will you be with me forever” Azriel retrieved a ring of precious stones, dazzling rays of your favourite colour danced along the precious metal as he held it out to, where it met silence. 

“This is-this is where you answer, from what I’ve read” he mumbled after a moment, staving off the rising panic he wished to never feel again. 

“I said yes Az” Tears brimmed your cheeks as he launched forward for you, holding you so tight that it may burst your bones. 

“I love you so much YN, I don't know how I got so lucky to find you” he slipped the ring on gently, it fitting perfectly.

“I love you too Azriel” You kissed again, shielding each other from the chill of the night that leaked through the poorly insulated walls.

“I did contemplate pulling a Rhysand and have you face a beast to retrieve your own ring but I didn’t fancy trying to slip the ring under Nesta’s pillow while she slept” You laughed at him, gently hitting him into the chest, the gleam of the rings charm catching your eye.

“So now can we go get some sleep”

“I wasn't thinking of doing much sleeping tonight YN” he smirked and you returned the same, rolling your eyes.

“I don't know you didn't get down on one knee, kinda ruins it” You teased and he grinned biting his lip.

“Oh Gods I change my mind I can't be stuck with a Smart Ass for a wife the rest of my life”

“Wife” you repeated and it caused both of you to smile greatly, a tinge of sadness then panging through you. 

“What about finding your mate Az?” you looked from the stones to his jewel-like amber eyes.

“I found her” he kissed you deeply, draining any and all doubt from your bones. Forever was a long time but you looked forward to its endlessness with Azriel. 

------------------------

Whatcha think????

[antinousletmehit]

˚₊‧꒰ა Chapter 9 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

୨୧┇pairing: Telemachus x reader

୨୧┇note: so…I kinda maybe…lost the order these go on…ahem…can someone tell me if soemtbjng doesn’t make sense because it probably doesn’t belong there

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ───

Telemachus was unable to sleep. He was staring up at his ceiling, creating stories in his head. He vividly imagined himself with a gleaming sword. A siren in front of him trying to sing him to his doom. Telemachus would put beeswax in his ears so the siren’s song wouldn’t be audible. He would cut off her tail. Telemachus froze. The prince couldn’t bring himself to put the siren through any more pain.

“Throw her body in the water. If the siren is trying to harm you, don’t let her. You’d be reckless.” A familiar voice says. Telemachus looked to his left and sees Athena standing in the corner of his room. As usual, Athena was standing tall, keeping her calm and stoic expression. It was still strange that the goddess could hear his thoughts.

“But I’ve already cut off her tail..there’s no need to drown her.” Telemachus sighed.

“You still have a lot to learn, little wolf.” The goddess nodded, exhaling as she walked around the prince’s room. While Telemachus laid on the bed, his fingers idly played with the bandages that Y/N had wrapped around his arm. He could still feel her precise touch as she healed him. For some reason, he was unable to forget the moment that had a firm hold on his memory.

“You’re thinking of something young prince.” Athena glanced at Telemachus. He turned his head to speak with the goddess.

“Y/N..” Telemachus breathed, “She bandaged me. It was the most emotion she’s ever shown me. I should be furious with her. She broke my ship..my father’s ship.” The boy sat up with a wince, while looking down at his hands.

“And what did you do about it?”

“Nothing..I did nothing.”

“Hurt her back.”

Telemachus then looked up at Athena, an unreadable expression on his face. He’d been through the idea so much, but he never thought of executing it.

“What?” He mumbled.

“Find something she cares about and hurt her back. An eye for an eye.” Athena kept her stoic expression as she glanced at the prince. It was almost a foreign concept to her that he had never carried through with such a simple solution.

“Eye for an eye..” Telemachus whispered. The prince got out of his bed and brushed his hand along his wrinkled tunic. With a new stride to his walk, he moved over to the trapdoor that led to Y/N’s room.

Athena then grabbed Telemachus’s shoulder to get his attention. The boy turned to her to see an almost proud look.

“All’s fair in love and war.”

Telemachus nodded in agreement before grabbing a torch off of his bedroom wall and opening the trapdoor. This route was so unfamiliar than the route he took to get to his mother’s room. He sighed in determination and walked through the passage. The air was damp and not at all comforting. Cobwebs began hitting him and the face and he had to hold back the urge to yell in disgust. He glanced ahead and saw that the passage would get narrower. The boy sighed in pure annoyance and disgust.

Telemachus went onto his knees for the next part of his journey. He felt something crawling up his leg and looked down to see an eight legged creature. He groaned at the uninvited spider and shooed it off of him. Keeping the torch away from his face, he crawled through the claustrophobic space. He exhaled in relief when he saw the end of the passageway was nearing.

The young prince reached the end of the tunnel, and put his hands against the trapdoor. He applied a light pressure and managed to quietly unlatch it. Still on his knees, he crawled out and put his hand on the wall to help himself up. Telemachus couldn’t help but glance around. The room was barely decorated. The only thing on the wall was a tapestry of Orpheus and Eurydice. The exact moment when he looks back at Eurydice. The boy had studied the myth endlessly. His gaze then fell on a figure in the bed.

Y/N.

The girl was laid on her stomach, the cover laid over her hips. Her back and strophic on almost full display through the thin nightgown she was wearing. Her wavy hair was let down and draped across her pillow. And lastly, her face. She looked completely relaxed. A state Telemachus had never seen her in. He found himself unable to stop staring. The boy closed his eyes and quietly exhaled.

I need to focus

He walked over to a desk against the window of her room. It was completely dark in Ithaca. All that could be heard were the waves against the shore. She didn’t own much. Something that stood out to the prince were the vases. All different colors and shapes. She must’ve been a vase collector. He slowly reached out to touch one of them, handpicking which one he would destroy. Suddenly, he was pulled back. Telemachus groaned as his back hit the hard floor underneath him. When he looked up, Y/N was on top of him. Her chest heaving against his own.

“Who are you? What the hell are you doing here?” Her voice barked out, a terrifying sharpness in her voice. Her grip was firm on the front of Telemachus’s tunic.

“Y/N!” Telemachus yelled, grabbing her wrists in an attempt to get her off of him. He then glanced up her arms and saw an array of scars. Some looked fresher than others. Still tints of pink along them. The others were healed and could barely be seen through the darkness of the room. Telemachus then remembered that he had seen scars on her back while she was sleeping, but he didn’t notice them at first. He glanced back up at Y/N, a look of confusion in his eyes.

Before he could ask her what had happened, she was already off of him, staggering backwards. She grabbed a blanket off of the bed and wrapped it around herself.

“What in the gods are you doing here Telemachus?” Y/n’s voice lacked the authoritative tone it usually had. As he sat up and met her eyes, he saw something he had never seen before. Vulnerability. It only made the prince wonder more about what had happened.

“I was…” Telemachus breathed out. He couldn’t even bring himself to say what he was going to do. He glanced to his side and saw Athena standing there, an expectant look on her face.

“Grab the vase. She’s down. This is your chance to strike.” The goddess ordered. Telemachus couldn’t get to his feet. He just sat there. He glanced at the vases then his gaze fell to y/n.

“No…” He whispered, so quietly that no one could hear it but himself. Y/N was gripping her blanket like a lifeline. As if it was the only thing keeping her from drowning in an unknown ocean. The princes only thought was,

How could I hurt you?

Telemachus completely ignored the goddess’ advice and inched himself towards y/n. He didn’t care how much either of them would hate him for it.

“What happened, y/n..tell me” The prince whispers, reaching his hand out for Y/N. At his words, he watched tears pool in her eyes and her lip slightly tremor before she swatted his hand away.

“Go away, Telemachus.” She snapped, standing up and turning away from him, discarding the blanket on the bed. It was no use. Telemachus had seen everything. He could see her hand go to her eyes, most likely wiping away her tears. Telemachus wasn’t sure what switch had been turned on in him. He stood up, using the edge of her bed. The boy inches towards her, putting his hand on her shoulder, feeling a few of the rough scars beneath his finger.

“I said go away.” The girl yelled, stepping forward and away once again. Without thinking Telemachus went behind her and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, pulling the girl firmly against him.

He leaned down to whisper in her ear, “I’m not leaving. You don’t have to tell me why you’re upset…just let me do this.”

The girl felt almost rigid in his arms. That didn’t stop Telemachus from letting go. To his surprise, she turned around, burying her face against his chest.

“5 minutes..then I want you to get the hell out.” She murmured.

A surprised huff fell from Telemachus’s lips, “5 minutes and get the hell out..got it.” Holding her felt surreal. Something he never thought he would experience in his lifetime. In a weird way it felt..right. Like she was supposed to fit against him like this. Her arms were snaked against his waist and he heard the occasional sniffle from her. Slowly, Telemachus moved his hand to her hair, feeling each curl between his fingers. She was still warm from being in her bed and he would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy it.

Telemachus got bolder and moved his other hand to her back, gently moving his fingers up and down the girl’s spine. He was incredibly shocked that he hadn’t gotten pushed off her yet. His final move was laying his head on top of hers, no space in between them. He breathed her in. Lavender. She smelled like lavender. It took everything in the prince to not carry her back to her bed and lay down next to her. To hold her, to find out everything about her, and why she acted the way she did.

Then he remembered who he was holding.

The girl who broke his ship. The girl who tormented him. The girl whose brother wanted the crown and his mother. But for some unknown reason. He couldn’t pull away. He then felt her hands against his chest, pushing him away.

“5 minutes is up, get the hell out.” The girl nodded towards the door.

Telemachus held his hands up, “5 minutes right.” They both glanced at each other. Something unspoken between them. Most likely awkwardness, but possibly a mutual attraction. Telemachus wanted to ask her what happened or if she was ok, but he refrained. He moved towards the trapdoor, getting on his knees, and unlatching it. He swung the door open before crawling inside and shutting it behind him. Telemachus couldn’t help but wonder what had happened back there and why he secretly enjoyed it. But also why Y/n hadn’t pushed him away.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

“Reckless and sentimental,” Athena yelled, looking down at Telemachus, “that’s what you are.”

Telemachus only sighed, glancing down at the bandage on his arm, trying to drown out the goddess’ words. He was pacing around his room, avoiding her gaze.

“She was down. And vulnerable. There was no need to hurt her further.” Telemachus spat back. He couldn’t get y/n out of his mind. Quiet and trembling. He could never hurt her. Even though he so desperately wanted his revenge.

“You’re just like him.” Athena mumbled, almost inaudible, but the boy had heard it.

“What?” Telemachus turned around to face her for clarification.

“Nothing,” Athena snapped, exhaling, “That’s not a war tactic. You asked for my help to be a warrior. Not to play your Aphrodite.”

“You’re telling me you wouldn’t have done the same?” Telemachus yelled, “You would have striked her while she was crying and looking down upon herself with shame?”

The goddess raised her brows in perplexion. Athena couldn’t help but be reminded of Odysseus. Standing on his ship, spreading his new ideals of open arms and mercy. Her arguing her position with him. The pure, raw emotion in the king’s eyes.

“At least I know what I'm fighting for

while you're fighting to be known”

The young prince wasn’t Odysseus but he might as well be. If it weren’t for the situation at hand, she would find it amusing how similar the boy is to his father even though they had never met.

“As I’ve said before…those are not my ideals. It is not my job to care.” Athena curtly said. Before Telemachus could spit out another disagreement, the goddess was already gone.

୨୧┇for the people confused on how she has scars, it was from her past. Bc her and Antinous used to be on the STREETS💜

[writingrock]

i called for you

pairing: katsuki bakugou x reader (gender neutral) summary: waiting for your hero boyfriend to rescue you. you've called him and he's sure to come to your side.

notes: major death, angst, set in hero war arc, prequel of 'a lost dream' fic

word count: 995

a/n: you can read 'a lost dream' before or after this one. This is a short prequel <3

“Katsuki ... !”

“Katsuki, where are you?”

Your voice rings in the midst of the battlefield, echoing hauntingly. All alone. You stare at the daunting threat in front of you. Your eyes twitch at the writhing, myriad of hands Shigaraki unleashes. They move at an impossible pace. It's a horrifying sight. As much as you want to defeat him, you can't. You're badly injured. Falling back is the smart decision. A sharp pain on your side snaps your thoughts. Your breath hitches as you look down at your wounds. Your fist tightens. Everything hurts. Trembling, you fall back onto the rough rubble. Surrounded by the destruction you could not prevent. But you should be pleased that you did your part of the plan. Now you could fall back and recover. Everyone else had their part to play.

“Kats… fuck.. I need you..” a cough leaves your mouth. Along with it, there’s blood. The splatter splashes across the rubble. Fuck. When was help going to get here? Where is your boyfriend– your hero. He's the only one you want to see right now. You need him. The pain in your chest tightens as you grit your teeth. Suffering quietly as you kept your eyes open- searching for him in the ruins of battle.

As if your prayers have been answered, you see him. You’d recognise that messy, spiky hair anywhere. Adrenaline gives you one last push to get up. Your injured leg limps and stumbles as you run to him with all your might. Using your last strength to be in his arms. The embrace feels amazing. Katsuki feels so warm to lean on. Choked sobs leave your mouth. Mumbling about how thankful you are that he’s here. You're saved.

“You’re here to help right? To save me?” Tears roll down your cheek as you hold onto him, “I called you and you came here to get me right?” The grip on him tightens. Relief fills you to see Katsuki finally here. Your body feels light knowing you’re in safe hands now. That you can get help—

“Why did you call me?” Shock startles your body when he said that. Your quivering eyes looking up at him. Is he joking right now? The Katsuki Bakugou. Making some sick joke on the battlefield. You scoff at him and hit him in his chest. “Stop joking Katsuki, it’s not funny.” You barely choke out.

“I’m not here … ” His voice is firm and his words cut through your heart like a knife. What is he talking about? He’s not here? But he’s right in front of you. Fear rises in your chest. But before you could tell him off, Katsuki stops you. Your name drifts off his lips softly, “I can’t save you.” Why is he being so cruel? His words hurt more than the pain in your chest. You're about to scream at him when his red eyes focus on you. It quiets you down. His eyes are strangely serious with a heavy weight to them. He pauses before looking off into a direction. Instinctively, you follow his gaze to see…

You. You're sprawled across the battlefield. Mangled and bloodied all over. He can’t save you because you’re dead. Realisation hits you hard. Shattering your earlier hope. You’re about to fall to your knees when Katsuki catches you. Slowly, he guides you towards your body, his strong arms holding you close. A closer look at the body only confirms it. There's no mistaking it. How did you not realise it? You didn't even feel it. Was your death that ruthlessly quick?

You want to fight. You want to live. You refuse to accept this. Falling to your knees, you crumble over your dead body. Can you go back into your body? Maybe if you just leaned into your body it would work. Desperately searching for any solution to this impossible problem. You keep trying. Looking for a way to somehow revert your death. Deep down, you know that your attempts are futile.

Katsuki calls out your name. “It’s over,” he says flatly, a hint of regret in his tone, “I can’t do anything about it.” He’s not even here. He's not real. Your Katsuki. This Katsuki is just a figment of your memories. An illusion of your lover to accompany you during your dying moments. He’s not real. You let out a sob. You couldn’t even say goodbye to him.

“What do I do now..?” The question leaves your lips quietly as you process this. You died too young. There was so much you wanted to do. Your goals to be a pro hero are swept away. Heck, your plans for tomorrow are taken from you too. Your loved ones and family— didn’t you promise them to come back? Katsuki. You promised him to fight didn’t you? All the plans you made with him are reduced to nothing. Weren’t you guys going to celebrate after all of this? To go on that date you’ve been nagging him for?

“It doesn’t matter what you do now.” Katsuki says softly as he kneels down to look at you. Did you do your part? Are your friends okay? Thoughts scramble through your head but the one you don’t wish to face is Katsuki. Yet with this spectral form of him in front of you, it’s hard to ignore. You pause, “then can I stay here with you then?” Katsuki nods and pulls you into his arms. Embracing you tightly like he usually does. Correction— like he used to. Accepting your fate, you lean into Katsuki. His body doesn’t feel the same. This embrace isn’t the same. Yet it’s the only thing you have.

“Are you excited for our date after all this?” The question barely leaves you as you combust into sobs. The vision of Katsuki holds you tighter and replies, “Yeah.” Your cries fall on deaf ears as you get cradled by him. Barely, you managed a small “yeah.” You want to curse the gods. Scream at them for giving you such an early death. But nothing you do matters.

"It'll be really fun right?"

"It'll be good."

“I love you Katsuki.”

... He doesn’t answer.

a/n: I have way too much angst plots, i swear there will be fics that aren't just angst !!

border credits: @enchanthings & @adornedwithlight

© writingrock 2024 do not copy, translate or repost.

[emswritingsstuff]

Idk if you’d feel like writing this(I’d probably end up short if you did bc I can’t brainstorm much of what would happen but I still love the idea)

when Daryl punched Negan, instead of killing Glenn(rip man) he killed US instead, Daryl’s lover 🤭 I love him sm and he’s been through so much pain, but he needs to suffer more 🫶 fem or gn reader, idm :)

The Lineup (Daryl Dixon x Reader)

warnings/notes: pretty self-explanatory. HEAVY angst, reader death, gorey violence. also the "he needs to suffer more" is CRAZY. this has been living in my drafts since august so i'm excited (ig?) to finally post this.

WC: 1.2k

--

The air was cold, but tensions were hot. Everyone's breaths were obvious in the dark, but also brightly lit area they found themselves in. 

Knees on the ground, everyone frozen but somehow shaking. Daryl was in rougher shape than most but not wanting to admit it himself. Opting to play up the tough face he always seemed to have. More so now than usual. He could see the way you were trembling in the corner of his eyes, quivering like a tiny dog. 

There’s been moments he’s seen you terrified, but this wasn’t like any other. When a psycho with a barbed wire bat was making you pay for your wrongs, it was hard to remain calm. Nothing the man, Negan, had said had really processed in Daryl’s brain, just silent rage and fear brewing inside of him. 

The sick game Negan played fell on deaf ears. Everyone silently watched as the bat made its way around. As Daryl watched the bat cycle through the group, he felt himself tense involuntarily every time it landed near you. He didn’t care what happened to him, but if a single scratch landed on you, Negan would be a dead man. No doubt. 

Once the bat eventually landed on Abraham, a sense of relief washed over him, but only for a moment. 

But every calm feeling he had in his body soon escaped as he saw the bat swing down. 

The events before him had become a blur. A red messy blur. Not only from the blood splattered all around the ground but also from the rage Daryl was feeling. Your heavy breaths could be heard in one ear, Rosita and Sasha’s sobs in the other. With all of it accompanied by wet cracking noises as Negan’s bat kept swinging down. 

As Abraham's now mutilated body laid twitching, Daryl was attempting to think of a solution to get out of this. To get you, and everyone out. 

As the cries got louder, Negan terrorized the group more. More specifically Rosita. As he brought the bat up to her face and flung Abraham's blood on her, Daryl felt something in him snap. 

Like he was controlling himself outside of his body. All the pain he had previously felt fading away into adrenaline coursing through his veins. 

He sprung at Negan and tried to take him down. Only to be quickly pulled off him and pinned down by his men, Daryl’s own crossbow being pointed to his head by Dwight. 

“No! Oh no. That? Oh my, that…is a no-no. The whole bit, not one bit of that shit flies here,” Negan’s act paused for a minute as he spoke, only for him to lock back into it. His bat was pointed at Daryl, looking like he was ready to end him right there. Daryl caught a glimpse of you, a terrified expression with glistening cheeks. 

Daryl felt the crossbow move closer to his head, Dwight getting ready to pull the trigger. “Want me to do it? Right here.” Dwight’s tone sounded eager, which Daryl sees makes you tense up even more. 

Even with your obvious fear, Daryl found himself not caring if he lived or died. Only thing he cared about was doing his best to protect you, and the family he had grown fond of all these years. If he was to get an arrow to the head right there, he wouldn’t mind. He would die knowing he had you, and that was okay with him. 

As if saved by the bell, Negan scoffed with a slight laugh. “No, you don’t get to kill them, not until you try a little.” Negan ordered the men to put Daryl back in the lineup, much to Dwight’s disappointment. Daryl could sense you relax, content with himself that he managed to get out of that situation even if he didn’t fight his way through. He was too focused on you though, only to be brought back to reality once Negan opened his mouth. 

“And anyway, that’s not how it works…” Negan paced around after he spoke. A long silence piercing the air. All until Negan started to speak again. 

“So,” he pauses for a beat, “back to it.” As he spoke, he subtly readied his bat. Enough to where no one saw his next move coming. 

In a blur of a motion, Negan lifted his bat and swung it down. Right onto your head. 

A cracking sound caused Daryl to look over, horrified with the sight before him. Your body laid limp on the ground, unlike Abraham, the blow had knocked you down instantly. Red blood shined and sunk into the ground. It wasn’t a lot, not yet at least. 

Daryl was frozen, unmoving. He felt his stomach churn. This was his fault. If he had just stayed in line, this mess would’ve blown over. You’d be safe. 

You’d be alive. 

As the bat swung down again, Daryl felt himself jump. The wet whacking sound made him feel even more nauseous. He was attempting to think of things to make the moment go by quicker, just wanting the Hell he was stuck in to end. But it was really never going to end. 

His mind flashed back to when everything had first started, when everything was still so uncertain. Back when he had lost Merle, you’d stuck by his side. 

He was scared to let you go, even if his stubborn personality would never make him admit it. The constant pushing away and cold hearted facade he had never seemed to phase you. Never once had you given up on him, even at his weakest moments. 

Having you around always gave him hope. A sort of hope that everything could be normal, hope that he would never have to suffer alone again. 

A simple “I’ll never leave you,” you had once spoken to him rang in his head. Of course you held true to that, how could you not? Nothing he could’ve said or have done could have made you go. 

And he’d never forgotten that. 

A third whack brought him out of these thoughts. Glancing over, all he managed to see was Negan’s silhouette and the bat. Blood dripped from the wire, as well as soaked the wood. Daryl tried to convince himself that what he was seeing was some sort of hallucination. Something that he had conjured up in his head due to all the blood he had lost. 

But Negan whipped his bat in Daryl’s direction, causing the blood that coated the wire to splatter on his face. Confirming it was real, too real. 

Looking at everyone’s trembling figures, his face softened up but only for a moment, “I am sorry, I truly am. But I did say, no exceptions!” He again brought the bat down onto your mangled, driving home the fact that there was no saving you. 

Whack after whack Daryl disassociated more and more, begging and even pleaded to be freed from the Hell he brought upon himself. But once again Negan's voice brought him back to the harsh reality. 

“You all are a bunch of pussies, I’m just getting started,” he stated as he paused for a moment, quickly returning to beating your body senselessly. All Daryl could feel was the now cold blood on his face and arms. He couldn’t take it.

You were gone because of him. That was all his fault, and he had to live with that. Forever. 

And for him, that’s a fate worse than death.

[satansdarlin]

Spring's comfort

Oh my God, two posts in one day? New record! Anyway I wrote this to indulge my shameless love for Scott summers. (My ACTUAL hubby). Also stoner!Scott cause I said so.

Scott summers x FEM!reader

Rating: M

Word count: 5.7k

Warnings: talk about weed and the consumption of it, mention of sexual tension and slight alludements to it, talk of battle feild casualties, talk of self doubt and bullying for physical appearance, The xmen are nearly a sickingly sweet family.

If you liked this check of my masterlist or put in a request if they are open

The hill behind Xavier's School bloomed with early spring's awakening, dotted with cheerful dandelions that swayed in the gentle breeze. Below, the sounds of laughter and the crack of baseball bats echoed across the grounds, but your attention was fixed on the figure hunched beneath the ancient oak that crowned the hilltop.

You traced your fingers across the weathered bark, finding the initials you and Scott had carved years ago—back when white bandages had covered his eyes instead of his now-signature ruby quartz. Those early days felt like a lifetime ago, yet some things remained constant: like Scott's stubborn refusal to show weakness, even as spring's changing pressure systems wreaked havoc with his migraines.

"Don't," Scott said through clenched teeth as you settled beside him. "I'm fine."

You kept your voice soft, barely above a whisper, but couldn't resist a touch of sarcasm. "Oh yeah, you look absolutely fantastic. I especially love how you're definitely not about to accidentally vaporize that innocent shrub down there."

He pressed his face harder against his knees, a quiet groan escaping. "Please don't start. I've already had to deal with Logan's commentary today."

"No starting, I promise." You reached into your pocket, retrieving a small bottle. "In fact, I come bearing gifts of mercy."

The secret you shared with Scott—one that would leave the entire school slack-jawed in disbelief if they knew—clinked softly as you shook out a single gummy and pressed it into his palm. The straight-laced, by-the-book Scott Summers had discovered that sometimes the best medicine came in less conventional forms.

"You're an absolute lifesaver," he murmured, carefully placing the edible on his tongue. He let it dissolve slowly, a technique you'd both learned maximized its effectiveness against the crushing pressure behind his eyes.

You settled back against the oak's sturdy trunk, maintaining a comfortable silence as the spring breeze carried distant shouts and laughter up the hill. It was a rare moment of vulnerability for Scott—one he allowed few others to witness—and you were content to simply be there, a steady presence while he waited for relief.

Minutes passed in companionable quiet before Scott finally shifted, his shoulders gradually losing their tension. "Logan caught me in the Danger Room earlier," he admitted, voice slightly rough. "Told me I was being an idiot for pushing myself when I could barely see straight."

"Well, he's not wrong," you replied, bumping his shoulder gently. "Though I'm sure he expressed it with his usual delicacy."

A small smile tugged at Scott's lips. "Something about 'stubborn jackasses' and 'teaching while half-blind.'" He lifted his head slightly, the afternoon sun catching on his visor. "I had to cancel my advanced combat class."

"The students will survive one missed lesson," you assured him. "Contrary to what you might think, the school won't fall apart if you take care of yourself occasionally."

"Says the person enabling my highly unprofessional coping methods," he countered, but there was warmth in his voice now, the edge of pain finally beginning to fade.

You grinned. "Hey, I prefer to think of it as 'providing alternative therapeutic solutions.' Very professional. I could probably write a paper about it."

"Please don't." But he was actually chuckling now, the sound soft and genuine. The medication was starting to take effect, easing the vice-grip of pain that had been squeezing his skull. "Though I'd love to see the Professor's face if you tried to present that at a medical conference."

"'The Effects of Cannabis on Optic Blast-Induced Migraines: A Case Study,'" you intoned in your best academic voice. "I'm sure it would be very well-received."

Scott shook his head, but he was smiling properly now. The worst of the migraine was passing, leaving him tired but no longer in agony. He leaned back against the tree beside you, your shoulders touching. "Thank you," he said quietly. "For knowing when to find me. For..." He gestured vaguely, encompassing everything—the medicine, the company, the lack of judgment.

"Always," you replied simply. "That's what friends are for.”

The word "friends" settled between you like autumn leaves, delicate and somehow tinged with melancholy. You became acutely aware of where your shoulders touched, of the familiar scent of his cologne mingling with the spring air. These moments alone with Scott had become both a comfort and a sweet torture—each one adding another crack to the careful walls you'd built around your growing feelings for him.

Scott shifted slightly, and you felt him tense, though not from pain this time. "Jean asked about us the other day," he said carefully, his tone deliberately neutral in that way that meant he was overthinking every word.

Your heart stuttered. "Oh?" You kept your own voice light, though your fingers nervously plucked at the grass beside you. "What about us?"

"She said..." He paused, seeming to wrestle with the words. "She said we have a connection she's never seen me have with anyone else. That even without her telepathy, she can see it."

You forced a laugh, though it came out slightly strained. "Well, shared delinquency does tend to bond people."

"That's not—" Scott started, then stopped. His jaw worked for a moment before he continued, softer, "You know that's not what she meant."

The air felt heavier suddenly, charged with unspoken words. You could feel your pulse in your throat, years of careful friendship teetering on the edge of something more. But the risk of losing what you had, of making things awkward and ruining the easy comfort between you—it seemed too high a price.

"Scott..." you began, not sure how to finish.

He turned toward you slightly, and even through the ruby quartz, you could feel the intensity of his gaze. "Sometimes," he said, voice barely above a whisper, "I wonder if I'm the only one who..." He trailed off, uncertainty evident in the set of his shoulders.

Your breath caught. Was he saying what you thought he was saying? You'd gotten so good at reading him over the years, at interpreting every subtle shift in his expression, but right now you were terrified of misunderstanding.

"You're not," you whispered back, heart hammering. "You're not the only one."

The confession hung in the air between you, delicate as spun glass. Scott's hand found yours in the grass, his fingers trembling slightly as they intertwined with your own. Neither of you moved beyond that simple touch, both afraid of shattering this fragile new thing taking shape between you.

"How long?" he asked softly.

You gave a shaky laugh. "Remember when you helped me practice combat moves last summer? You pinned me down, and for a second, I forgot how to breathe. And it wasn't because of the sparring."

A slight flush crept up his neck. "I, uh, may have let that match go on longer than strictly necessary for training purposes."

"Really?" You turned to face him fully now, a smile tugging at your lips. "And here I thought you were just being thorough."

"I've wanted to tell you," he admitted, thumb tracing patterns on your palm. "But you're one of the few people who sees me as just... me. Not Cyclops, not the team leader, just Scott. I couldn't bear to lose that."

"You won't," you assured him, squeezing his hand. "That's not something that could change. Though I might have to start calling you 'just Scott' now, to make sure you remember."

He smiled then, one of those rare, full smiles that made your heart flip. "I think I can live with that."

The baseball game below had ended, the sun starting to dip toward the horizon, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold. But neither of you moved to leave your spot under the oak tree, content to sit in this new understanding, hands linked, watching the day fade into evening.

Sometimes the biggest changes came not with grand gestures or dramatic declarations, but with quiet admissions on spring afternoons, with the gentle understanding that what you'd been looking for had been right beside you all along but that was just the beginning of something new.

.

.

.

Your room had become a haven of soft lamplight and quiet laughter as evening settled over the mansion. You sat cross-legged on your bed, Scott beside you, both of you having shed the day's tensions along with your shoes. The small fan in your window hummed, pushing the spring breeze through your room and carrying away any telltale scents.

"I still can't believe you kept that," Scott chuckled, gesturing to the rather embarrassing photo on your cork board—him in his early days at the school, attempting to look serious despite sporting a truly regrettable haircut.

"Are you kidding? It's blackmail gold," you teased, feeling wonderfully light and warm. The evening's shared gummy had left you both in that perfect state of relaxed contentment. "Besides, you were adorable with that bowl cut."

"Adorable isn't exactly the look I was going for," he replied, but his smile was fond. The usual rigid set of his shoulders had melted away, and he'd relaxed back against your headboard, his leg pressed against yours.

"No? What look were you going for exactly? Because I distinctly remember—"

A sharp knock at your door made you both freeze.

"Hey, kid, you got a bottle opener in there?" Logan's gruff voice carried through the wood.

You exchanged panicked looks with Scott, whose face had gone notably pale. "Uh, just a second!" you called out, frantically waving your hands at the wisps of smoke from your incense burner.

"I can come back if you're busy," Logan drawled, a knowing tone in his voice that made your stomach drop. Right. Enhanced senses. Of course he could smell—

"No! No, it's fine, I'll just—" you stumbled off the bed, accidentally kicking Scott in the process, who barely managed to stifle a yelp.

When you opened the door, you kept it deliberately narrow, trying to block the view inside. Logan stood there with his signature raised eyebrow, a six-pack of beer tucked under one arm.

"Bottle opener?" you squeaked.

His nostrils flared slightly, and his lips twitched. "Interesting evening you're having."

"I don't know what you—"

"Summers in there with you?" He didn't wait for an answer, raising his voice slightly. "You know, if someone's having trouble sleeping or dealing with pain, there's this thing called the med bay."

You heard Scott groan from inside the room.

Logan's expression shifted between amusement and exasperation. "Look, I don't care what you two do in your off hours, but maybe try using the bathroom fan next time. Some of us have sensitive noses." He paused, then added with a smirk, "And thin walls."

Your face burned. "I'll, uh, keep that in mind."

"Bottle opener?" he reminded you.

"Right! Yes!" You practically dove for your desk drawer, grabbed the opener, and thrust it at him.

He accepted it with a knowing look. "Have fun, kids. Try to keep it down." He turned to leave, then called over his shoulder, "And Summers? You got training with the junior team at nine tomorrow. Don't be late."

You closed the door and leaned against it, mortified. Behind you, Scott had buried his face in your pillow.

"So," you said after a moment of profound silence, "that happened."

Scott lifted his head, his hair adorably mussed. "Think he'll tell the Professor?"

You couldn't help but laugh at his worried expression. "Pretty sure Logan's the last person to snitch about recreational activities." Moving back to the bed, you settled beside him again. "Though we might want to invest in better ventilation."

"Or," Scott said, reaching for your hand and pulling you closer, "we could just use my room next time. Corner suite. Better air flow."

"Next time?" you asked, trying to ignore how your heart skipped at his casual assumption of future evenings together.

His smile turned slightly sheepish. "Well, I was hoping... since we already came clean about other things today..."

You leaned in closer, feeling bold. "Mr. Summers, are you suggesting we make this a regular thing?"

"The getting caught by Logan part? Definitely not." His hand found your waist. "The rest of it? Yeah, I think I am."

Before you could respond, his com unit chirped. Followed by yours. Then both of your phones.

"GROUP MEETING NOW," read Storm's text. "LOGAN SAYS IT'S URGENT."

You both stared at the messages in horror.

"He wouldn't," Scott said.

Another text came through: "BRING BOTTLE OPENER."

"He would," you groaned.

Scott let his head fall back against the wall with a thunk. "Think it's too late to run away and join the Brotherhood?"

You patted his knee sympathetically. "Look on the bright side—at least we don't have to figure out how to tell everyone we're dating now."

"Is that what we're doing?" he asked softly, tension creeping back into his shoulders. "Dating?"

You took his hand, lacing your fingers through his. "Well, I'm not sharing my premium edibles with just anyone, Summers."

His laugh, warm and genuine, was worth whatever teasing awaited you downstairs. Though you did make a mental note to start keeping backup bottle openers in every room—just in case.The walk to the common room felt like a march to execution, though you weren't sure what was more nerve-wracking—the prospect of facing the team or the way Scott's hand kept brushing against yours, sending little electric shocks up your arm. You were still slightly high, which wasn't helping your anxiety levels.

"We could always say we were studying," you suggested halfheartedly as you approached the door.

Scott snorted. "Right. Because that's totally why my heart rate is through the roof right now."

"You know I can hear you both, right?" Logan's voice carried through the door, followed by several poorly suppressed snickers.

Taking a deep breath, you pushed open the door. The entire team was sprawled across various furniture pieces, trying and failing to look casual. Storm sat perched on the arm of the sofa, hiding a smile behind her hand. Kurt was hanging upside down from the chandelier, his tail swishing with barely contained amusement. Even the Professor was there, though he at least had the grace to maintain his usual serene expression.

"So," Logan drawled from his position leaning against the fireplace, "now that our fearless leader and his... study partner have joined us, we can begin."

Scott's ears were turning red, but he maintained his composure, crossing his arms. "You called an emergency meeting just to—"

"Actually," Storm interrupted, her eyes twinkling, "we've been taking bets on when you two would finally figure it out. Jean's been insufferable about knowing for months."

"WHAT?" you and Scott exclaimed simultaneously.

"Please," Jean smirked from her corner. "You think I needed telepathy to see those pining looks? The sexual tension in the Danger Room was getting ridiculous."

"There was no sexual tension in the—" Scott started.

"Dude," Bobby cut in, "you made us run extra drills every time they wore those new training pants."

Your face felt like it was on fire. Scott's mouth opened and closed several times, but no sound came out.

"If we could return to the actual purpose of this meeting," the Professor interjected smoothly, though you swore you saw him slip Storm a twenty-dollar bill. "Logan has brought to my attention that we may need to discuss updating some of our... recreational policies."

"Oh god," you mumbled, sinking into the nearest chair. Scott remained standing, looking like he wished his optic blasts could open a hole in the floor to swallow him.

"Specifically," Logan continued, clearly enjoying himself, "the proper ventilation requirements for certain activities." He tossed your bottle opener in the air and caught it. "And maybe a discussion about sharing resources."

"I hate everyone in this room," Scott declared, but he finally sat down—right next to you on the loveseat, his thigh pressed against yours in a way that definitely didn't help your concentration.

"Even me?" you whispered.

His hand found yours between the cushions, hidden from view. "You're on thin ice," he murmured back, but his thumb stroking across your knuckles said otherwise.

"If you two are done having a moment," Logan interrupted, "we've got actual business to discuss. Like how I'm not gonna play delivery man every time someone needs party supplies."

"Wait," Kurt's eyes widened, his tail stopping mid-swish. "Is THAT why Scott's always so relaxed during movie nights?"

"Moving on," the Professor said firmly, but there was definite amusement in his voice. "Perhaps we should discuss the upcoming mission to—"

"Nuh uh," Storm cut in. "We're not changing subjects until they tell us how long this has been going on. I've got money riding on this."

You exchanged a look with Scott, and something in his expression made your heart flutter. Maybe it was the lingering effects of the edible, or maybe it was just that the secret was out anyway, but you felt a surge of boldness.

"Well," you announced, "officially? About six hours. Unofficially..." you squeezed Scott's hand, "probably since that time he tried to teach me to ride his motorcycle and we ended up in the lake."

"HAH!" Bobby jumped up. "That was eight months ago! Pay up, everyone!"

Money started changing hands around the room as Scott turned to you, eyebrows raised above his visor. "The lake incident? Really?"

You shrugged, feeling your face heat up. "You gave me your jacket, and your hair was all wet, and you had this little smile... it was a whole thing."

"If it helps," he said softly, ignoring the chaos of bet-settling around you, "I started falling for you way before that. Remember when you brought me soup during that mission planning session and told me I was being an idiot for skipping meals?"

"That was over a year ago!"

"Yeah, well," he smiled that rare, soft smile that made your insides melt, "apparently I'm slow to catch on."

"Oh my god, they're even worse now," Logan groaned. "I'm gonna need stronger beer."

But you barely heard him, too caught up in the way Scott was looking at you, in the realization that all those moments you'd treasured, all those little interactions you'd overthought—he'd been feeling it too. The team's teasing faded into background noise as Scott's thumb traced patterns on your palm, each touch a quiet promise of more moments to come.

"So," you whispered, "your room next time?"

His answering grin was worth every bit of embarrassment the evening had brought. "It's a date."

"If you two are done making heart eyes at each other," Storm called out, "we actually do have a mission to discuss."

Scott straightened, slipping into leader mode, but his hand stayed firmly entwined with yours. And if the mission briefing took longer than usual because people kept making poorly concealed jokes about "joint operations" and "higher planning"—well, you found you didn't mind so much anymore.

Sometimes the best things in life came with a side of merciless teasing from your found family. And maybe, you thought as Scott's thumb brushed across your knuckles again, that made them even better. 

.

.

.

The mission had left you both battered and exhausted, more emotionally than physically. Your uniform still bore scorch marks from a too-close call, and Scott's jaw hadn't unclenched since you'd boarded the Blackbird for the flight home. The loss of civilians always hit him the hardest, even when there was nothing more any of you could have done.

You found yourself following him to his corner suite without discussion, neither of you wanting to be alone. The sun had long since set, casting the mansion in quiet shadows. His room was exactly as you'd expected—meticulously organized, minimalist, but with small touches that were purely Scott: a worn paperback on the nightstand, a framed photo of the original team, his leather jacket hung carefully by the door.

"Shower's yours if you want it," he offered quietly, already shrugging off his tactical vest.

You shook your head. "You first. I'll raid your dresser for something clean."

He paused, then nodded, disappearing into the bathroom. The sound of running water filled the silence as you borrowed one of his soft grey t-shirts and a pair of track pants that you had to roll at the waist several times.

When he emerged, hair damp and wearing sleep clothes, some of the mission's tension had eased from his shoulders. He'd switched his visor for his sleeping goggles—the ones you'd helped him modify last winter to be more comfortable.

"Better?" you asked softly.

He crossed to where you sat on the edge of his bed, cupping your face in his hands. "Getting there," he murmured, pressing his forehead to yours. "Today was..."

"I know." You pulled him closer, letting him wrap his arms around you, holding on as if to assure himself you were really there. "But we made it. We're here."

His fingers traced the edge of the scorch mark on your borrowed shirt. "When I saw that blast coming toward you—"

"Hey." You caught his hand, bringing it to your lips. "I'm okay. We're okay."

He exhaled shakily, then kissed you with a gentle desperation that made your heart ache. You responded in kind, trying to pour all your understanding and comfort into the contact. When you finally parted, his breathing was unsteady.

"Stay?" he whispered. "Just... stay with me tonight?"

"Always," you promised, shifting to make room as he pulled back the covers.

You settled into his arms, your back against his chest, his heartbeat steady against your spine. His arm draped protectively around your waist, hand splayed across your stomach, thumb tracing idle patterns that made you shiver.

"Is this okay?" he murmured against your hair.

You laced your fingers through his. "More than okay." After a moment, you added with a slight smile, "Though Logan's probably going to have opinions about our sleeping arrangements at tomorrow's training session."

His quiet laugh rumbled through your back. "Logan can deal with it." He pressed a kiss to your shoulder. "I need this. Need you."

The simple honesty in his voice made your breath catch. You turned in his arms to face him, tracing the line of his jaw. "You've got me, Scott. For as long as you want me."

His answer was another kiss, deeper this time, full of unspoken promises and growing heat. Your hands found their way under his shirt, mapping the warm skin of his back as he drew you closer.

The world outside could wait until morning. For now, there was just this—the quiet sanctuary of his room, the comfort of being held, and the knowledge that whatever tomorrow brought, you'd face it together.

.

.

.

The first time you heard it, you were breaking up a disagreement between two students in the hallway. Scott had arrived moments after you, arms crossed, wearing what the kids called his "Dad Face"—stern but concerned, ready to dispense both discipline and guidance.

"Sorry, Mom, sorry, Dad," one of the students had muttered automatically, then frozen, eyes widening in horror at what they'd just said.

You'd maintained your composure until the students scurried away, then dissolved into laughter against Scott's shoulder. "Did we just get parent-zoned by the junior class?"

But it didn't stop there. Somehow, it spread through the school like wildfire.

"Mom! Bobby froze my homework again!" became a common complaint in your classroom.

"Dad's giving the disappointed face in combat training" was whispered in hallways whenever Scott had to correct someone's form.

Now, weeks later, you were grading papers in the library when Scott dropped into the chair beside you, running a hand through his hair in exasperation. "Three different students asked me if they were grounded today. I wasn't even disciplining them."

You tried to hide your smile. "Well, you were wearing your navy sweater. That's definitely peak dad energy."

"I like this sweater," he protested, then paused. "Wait, is that my cardigan you're wearing?"

"Maybe." You tugged the borrowed garment closer. It still smelled like him. "I'm just leaning into the mom aesthetic. Besides, you never wear it."

"Because someone keeps stealing it." But his mock annoyance was betrayed by the way he reached over to fix the collar, his fingers lingering against your neck.

"Mr. Summers! Ms.—oh gross, they're being cute again," came Jubilee's voice from behind a bookshelf. "I'm telling Logan our parents are making out in the library."

"We're not—" Scott started, but she was already gone, the sound of her laughter echoing down the hall.

You couldn't help chuckling at his flustered expression. "You have to admit, it's kind of sweet they see us that way."

"Sweet wasn't exactly what I was going for when I became a teacher here," he grumbled, but there was a softness in his voice.

"No? The great Cyclops didn't dream of being the world's most responsible dad figure?" You reached up to smooth his perpetually wayward hair. "Because you're kind of nailing it with the whole protective, supportive, slightly nerdy—"

He cut you off with a kiss, one hand cupping your face while the other steadied himself on your chair. You melted into it, papers forgotten, until—

"Ugh, LOGAN! They're doing it again!"

You broke apart to find Kitty's head sticking through a bookshelf, looking thoroughly scandalized.

"That's it," Scott declared, standing and pulling you up with him. "Field trip. Everyone's running laps."

"But Daaaad," Kitty whined, then phased fully through the shelf with a grin. "Does this mean we're getting a little brother or sister?"

You'd never seen Scott turn quite that shade of red before.

"Twenty laps!" he called after her retreating form. "And tell your friends thirty if they make any more comments!"

You tugged him back down into his chair, laughing at his flustered expression. "You know that's just going to encourage them more, right?"

He groaned, letting his head fall onto your shoulder. "How did this become my life?"

"Well," you mused, running your fingers through his hair, "you did decide to date the cool teacher. The one who lets them eat snacks in class and doesn't give pop quizzes."

"The one who enables their sugar highs and constantly undermines my authority, you mean?" But he was smiling now, that soft smile reserved just for you.

"Exactly. Face it, Summers, you're stuck being the strict parent. Someone has to maintain order around here."

He lifted his head to look at you, and something in his expression made your heart skip. "Yeah?" he said softly. "And how long do you plan on being the fun parent?"

The weight of the question hung in the air between you. "Well," you managed, throat suddenly tight with emotion, "I did help you reorganize your closet by color last weekend. I think I'm pretty committed to this co-parenting gig."

His laugh was warm and full of promise as he pulled you closer. "Good. Because I'm pretty sure the kids would stage a revolt if Mom left."

"Just the kids?" you teased.

"Well," he murmured, leaning in, "Dad might have some opinions about it too."

"Oh my god, AGAIN?" came Bobby's voice from somewhere behind you. "Logan! MOM AND DAD ARE—"

"FIFTY LAPS!" Scott shouted, but he was laughing as he said it, and when he kissed you again, neither of you cared who saw.

After all, every family had its quirks. Yours just happened to include superpowers, teenage mutants who called you Mom and Dad, and a perpetually exasperated Logan who kept threatening to send you both to parenting classes.

You wouldn't have it any other way.

.

.

.

You hadn't meant to ruin the rare day off. The local pool had seemed like a perfect escape from the summer heat, and seeing the younger students so excited about a normal afternoon out had been worth all the preparation and permission slips. But now you sat on the edge of your bed, still in your damp swimsuit with Scott's t-shirt hastily pulled over it, trying to pretend your hands weren't shaking.

The knock at your door was gentle. "Hey," Scott's voice carried through. "Can I come in?"

You made a noncommittal sound that he correctly interpreted as yes. He entered, still in his swim trunks and the long-sleeve rashguard he wore to hide his more visible scars. The ruby quartz sunglasses he wore for public outings were pushed up into his damp hair.

"Logan's got the kids back at the mansion," he said softly, sitting beside you. "Storm's making hot chocolate, despite it being about ninety degrees out. Something about comfort requiring chocolate."

"They shouldn't have had to leave early," you mumbled. "They were having fun."

"They were more worried about you." His hand found yours, thumb brushing over your knuckles. "We all were. When those people started saying those things..."

You tried to smile, but it felt wobbly. "Guess they weren't fans of the swimsuitl." You touched your sides self-consciously. "I should have known better."

"Hey." Scott's voice went firm. "Don't. Don't let them make you feel like you did anything wrong."

A soft thud against your window made you both look up. Kitty's face was pressed against the glass, rapidly fogging it up.

"Um," you managed, "did she just climb up three stories?"

Another face appeared beside hers – Kurt's. Then Bobby's head popped up from below.

Scott sighed, but you could see him fighting a smile. "I think we're about to have company."

Sure enough, Kitty phased through the wall, Kurt teleported in with his signature BAMF, and Bobby created an ice slide up to your window before climbing through.

"The others are coming up the normal way," Kitty announced, plopping down on your other side. "Like boring people."

"Because doors are for losers," Scott deadpanned, but his hand squeezed yours when you let out a small laugh.

As if on cue, your door opened again. Jean entered with a tray of Storm's promised hot chocolate, followed by Storm herself, Logan, and what looked like half the student body.

"This is not regulation dormitory capacity," you pointed out weakly as teenagers began filling every available surface in your room.

"Screw regulations," Logan growled, leaning against your dresser. "We're having a family meeting."

"About?" you asked, though the way everyone was looking at you made it pretty obvious.

"About how we're gonna show those jerks that nobody messes with our mom," Jubilee declared from her perch on your desk.

"Language," Scott said automatically, then added, "But she's not wrong."

"We could ice their cars," Bobby suggested.

"Or I could accidentally cause a small rain cloud to follow them around," Storm mused, looking far too innocent as she handed you a mug of cocoa.

"No revenge plots," Scott said firmly, though you noticed he didn't sound entirely convinced. "We're better than that."

"Says the guy who was about to blast their windshield," Logan muttered.

"You what?" you turned to Scott, who had the grace to look slightly sheepish.

"I was... considering it," he admitted. "The way they looked at you, the things they said..." His jaw clenched. "Nobody talks to someone I love like that."

The room went suddenly, suspiciously quiet. You realized it was the first time he'd used that word – love – even though you'd both been dancing around it for months.

"Aww," Kitty sighed, breaking the silence. "Dad's getting sappy."

"Can we focus?" Scott's ears had turned red. "We need to discuss how to handle situations like this in the future, as a team."

"Already handled," Jean spoke up. "I may have... suggested to the pool management that they might want to review their discrimination policies. Telepathically. Very thoroughly."

"And I might have mentioned that my law firm would be very interested in hearing about any future incidents," Ororo added casually.

"Plus, we're totally starting our own pool club here," Jubilee announced. "Better than their stupid public pool anyway. We can do cool mutant stuff without boring people complaining."

"Yeah!" Bobby brightened. "I can make the best water slides!"

"And I can heat the water!" John called from somewhere in the back.

"Absolutely not," Scott said quickly. "No combining powers without supervision, we've talked about this."

You couldn't help but laugh at the familiar chaos, the tightness in your chest finally starting to ease. Looking around your overcrowded room at these people – your family – you felt the day's hurt beginning to fade.

"Thank you," you said softly. "All of you."

Scott's arm slipped around your waist, pulling you closer. "Always," he murmured against your temple. Then, louder, "But everyone out of this room in five minutes. There are actual fire codes we're violating right now."

"Ugh, Dad's back in teacher mode," Kitty groaned, but she was smiling as she started herding younger students toward the door.

As the room slowly emptied, people stopping to hug you or offer final declarations of support, you leaned into Scott's side. "So," you said quietly, "love, huh?"

He turned to face you fully, one hand coming up to trace your [mutation feature] with gentle fingers. "Yeah," he said simply. "Love."

"Even with all this?" you gestured vaguely at yourself.

"Because of all of it," he corrected. "Every part of you. Anyone who can't see how beautiful you are is an idiot."

You kissed him then, pouring all your gratitude and returning love into it, not caring that there were still students in the room.

"Gross," Logan commented from the doorway. "Come on, kids, let's give your parents some privacy. But Summers? Next time someone gives her trouble, you better not stop me from showing them why they call me Wolverine."

"Next time," Scott replied, not looking away from you, "I might help."

As the door closed behind the last of your impromptu support group, you snuggled closer to Scott. "Our family's kind of intense," you observed.

"Yeah," he agreed, pressing a kiss to your temple. "But would you have it any other way?"

Looking around your room at the evidence of their visit – scattered cocoa mugs, a few ice crystals from Bobby's entrance, scorch marks on your ceiling from Jubilee's enthusiastic gesturing – you smiled. "Not a chance."

Sometimes the worst moments led to the best reminders of what really mattered. And what mattered was right here – in a too-crowded school full of mutant teenagers who called you Mom, a team that would face down any threat to protect their own, and a man who loved every part of you, even the parts others couldn't understand.

"Hey Scott?"

"Hmm?"

"I love you too."

His smile was brighter than any summer day, and worth every challenge that came with being who you were.

[awyeahitssam]

“Expulso!”

The force of the magic slammed him through one wall and into another, and Harry could not breathe. It felt like the time Dudley sat on top of his chest, pressing all of the air from his lungs. He gasped and choked to no avail, the sensation of breathlessness more distressing than the stars dancing before his eyes and the ringing of his ears. 

He was dying, dying, dying.

After a too-long moment Harry managed a shuddering inhale, getting a lungful of concrete dust for his troubles. He doubled over, coughing violently. His wand. He needed his wand.

His right arm was screaming in pain, and Harry squinted through hazy eyes to find a bone sticking out of it at a decidedly odd angle, having ripped through his shirt and robes. Harry had a half-hearted thought of relief that Lockhart wasn’t here to vanish all the bones, which was strange because he should be focusing on the fact that he still couldn’t breathe properly. 

He blinked blearily and twitched his left hand with a desperation that had his wand—blessedly whole—slapping into it. Harry wasn’t used to casting with his off hand, but he was still able to twist it enough to cast a bubble-head charm. 

The spell was silent, because he had no breath for words and no time to think that he couldn’t manage. He had to.

Harry gasped again, this time into a clean pocket of air, and the panic receded a little more at the hard-won oxygen. The pulsing of his temples began to ease on his next breath, but the world still looked too-bright and decidedly crooked. 

“My Lord,” came a smooth, even voice, “shall I take his wand?”

Harry’s eyes focused slowly on the two figures in front of him as his fingers tightened almost compulsively around his wand. His.

“Let the child learn his lesson in full first,” said Lord Voldemort generously. 

Harry swallowed around a dry mouth, glad to taste no blood. At least he hadn’t bitten his tongue or gotten any teeth knocked loose. He inhaled deeply again, revelling in his ability to do so, though the motion made him notice an ache in his sternum as well. Bruised ribs, maybe?  

‘Lesson?’ Harry wondered blearily, a few beats too late. 

Though perhaps he said it out loud, because Voldemort replied, “That you are no match for Lord Voldemort.”

Of course he wasn’t. What a stupid point to try and make. He was fifteen. He barely knew any magic at all. Voldemort had been given decades to learn, versus Harry’s five years. Any competent adult—and wasn’t that an oxymoron—could easily outmatch him, nevertheless a Dark Lord. 

“Well,” Voldemort��s voice came dryly, “you have more sense than I expected, having been raised on Dumbledore’s knee.”

Harry let out a vague approximation of a laugh. He hadn’t known Voldemort had a sense of humour. Dumbledore couldn’t even stand to be in the same room as him. They’d spoken—what, six times since he was eleven? Dumbledore hadn’t so much as looked his way the entire year. 

Not that Harry exactly wanted his attention. He was still angry with the Headmaster for that stupidity with the Triwizard Tournament, and his assault after returning from the Graveyard, and the resulting announcement made (on Harry’s behalf, as if he had any right to speak for him) that Voldemort was back. Really, Harry could have avoided a year of carving ‘I must not tell lies,’ into his own hand if it wasn’t for Dumbledore deciding to tell the world about Voldemort’s resurrection. 

Or maybe not, if Umbridge was one of Voldemort’s and he’d told her to torture Harry for revealing his return. Who knew? That would certainly have been a neat, simple solution. The woman was prejudiced enough to be on par with Malfoy, and he was a Death Eater. But if being prejudiced was the only qualifier to being a part of Voldemort’s army, or movement, or whatever the hell it was, then everybody would get an invite. Dudders could be a Death Eater; make his parents proud. 

“He has quite a mouth on him, My Lord.”

Wow, how observant. Snape would love this guy. 

Was Harry concussed? That was weird. Normally if he was concussed he stayed very, very still and quiet until he was able to sleep and his magic saw him to rights. If he got talkative with a head injury, the Durlsey’s would’ve probably dropped him at an orphanage like they always threatened, or maybe just left him in the middle of nowhere in hopes that he’d drop dead.

“What nonsense is he blubbering about?” the voice said again, and the trace of discomfort was slight but obvious to a boy who had been forced to pick up on such subtleties to survive. Did he not like to hear about the fact that some kids did not get coddled?

Did Death Eaters coddle their kids? Like, as a whole? Draco Malfoy had definitely been coddled; he acted just like Dudley, if not as stupid. He’d definitely grown up with a bed and food and people that would say ‘yes’ to his whims. He just had that sense about him.

Not that Harry wished that the boy hadn’t grown up with that stuff. Harry wouldn’t be intentionally cruel enough to hope for that. Just, he didn’t have to rub it in people’s faces so much. Then again, the brat would have to have manners or something not to do that, and with each passing day Harry was becoming increasingly sure that no witch or wizard actually possessed any matter of manners at all. Everyone was so rude, all the time. Well actually Riddle hadn’t been rude at first, but then he sicced a basilisk on Harry, which was not only rude but also attempted murder. 

Wait, where was he again? Oh. Halfway into the wall he had flown into after bursting through the first. Attempted murder again. That made sense.

The only question was, why was Voldemort so bad at actually murdering him? That had to be a little embarrassing. Oh wait, no, ‘lesson’. The man wanted to teach him something. Harry wondered if he wanted to be a good student for the Dark Lord, or if he’d rather just decline the opportunity. So far, he taught like a muggle.

“A muggle?”

Ouch. Harry’s scar hurt more than his arm; how did Voldemort do that? Harry needed to learn so he could hurt the man right back. Fairs fair.

A finger pressed cruelly into Harry’s brow, right over his scar. It hurt it hurt it hurt it hurtithurt!

“Just like a muggle,” Harry gasped out. Physical violence. Just like Vernon. Voldemort. Vernon. Maybe everyone in the world who had a V-name was the worst.

Cold fingers felt surprisingly nice against Harry’s overheated face. The pain of his scar ebbed abruptly, leaving a dizzying confusion in its wake. Harry might throw up sometime soon.

“Would you like non-physical violence, boy?” Voldemort asked.

Harry carded through the options. Isolation and containment. Starvation. Maybe mental violence, the kind that Snape preferred. Verbal violence of Petunia’s ilk seemed a bit below the Dark Lord, but then her words about how much of a worthless, unnatural freak Harry was did circle his head to this day, so there was no doubt that kind of thing was effective. Just, probably it would’ve been effective if Voldemort had started before he could remember like Petunia had. 

“Do you have a non-violent option? Or is there a box I can check to be killed quickly? Is this a survey? I would rate your services as abysmal. Or wait. Uh. Troll. That’s it, right? Yeah. Bad… bad grade. Probably your first. You’ve failed pacifism. A truly bleak thing for a Dark Lord. You have my greatest sympathies. Surely this will hurt your future career options and they’ll have to lower your salary.” 

Are revolutionaries paid? Or does Voldemort take his own payment? What would be a suitable payment for a Dark Lord? The bodies of his opposers? But then, all his opposers are magical, and didn’t Riddle have that Magic is Might thing? Or was that just something he said? The man had ordered the death of Cedric, who had been the most worthy of age wizard at Hogwarts according to the cup. Apparently Cedric’s completely attractive competency hadn’t mattered, because Voldemort hadn’t hesitated to kill one of the brightest of a generation when a stunner and memory charm could’ve worked just as well. 

Then again, he’d wanted to kill a baby, once, and the death toll of the last war had officially been tallied at one-hundred and seven magicals, after Harry’s parents, so obviously he could care less if he was decimating their population, so long as he got to rule the world or whatever. 

“Potter, do shut up.”

Huh? Had Harry been talking?

“Rambling,” the voice of the oddly not simpering sycophant chimed in helpfully. 

Well. That was something. Normally Harry went very quiet when he was concussed and waited for his magic to—oh. His magic. Harry had magic. What had he done last summer, when Sirius was no longer an adequate threat? He could probably just… 

Harry looked down to see his wand in his left hand. He set it down very gently, then stared blankly at said hand for a long, long moment. Then the air around it began to do that cute little vibrating thing that his magic would do when it hadn’t been let out for long enough, because of the stupid Dursley’s, and the stupid rules, (why the fuck weren’t students allowed to use magic at all over the summer? Didn’t it make them feel like they were going to burst apart with all the suppressed energy? It was near painful sometimes unless Harry found some way to use it, which invariably the Dursely’s gave him.) 

A hand grasped over his wrist and held him at bay. “Do not do whatever you are considering, you stupid, reckless child—”

Harry was a child, and he had chosen to be reckless when he had chosen Gryffindor over Slytherin, so he let his wrist spark with electricity that was enough to get the touch away from him. Why did people always feel so entitled to touching him? He shivered in revulsion even as he placed his hand to his head and let his eyes fall shut.

His magic went to work, effective as always. This was only the second time it hadn’t waited until Harry was asleep. That was very nice of it.

“Thank you,” he told it quite seriously, in the middle of its work. It buzzed against his temple, a current of energy, and Harry quieted and let it continue.

When Harry re-opened his eyes, his vision was not blurry, his head not pounding, and the world not an unsteady bouquet of water colours with a diagonal slant. When he opened his eyes, he met the red gaze of the Dark Lord Voldemort, and swallowed.

“Oh. Just… lovely. Hi?”

The man behind the Dark Lord snorted. Harry spared him a glance—no features were visible beneath his cloak and mask. 

Harry’s throat worked around a swallow. “Fancy seeing you here,” Harry offered, and then set his hand on his arms, because why not, and winced when his bone snapped back into place. 

Ithurtsithurtsohshit. 

Voldemort’s eyes were gleaming with an odd sort of hunger. “I wonder if you will be so eager to talk now, Harry Potter? Tell me… when was the last time you encountered me treating you politely?”

Voldemort didn’t know about the Chamber?

Harry swallowed. “Okay,” he said.

Voldemort stared. “Just like that.”

 “It’s not like I’m opposed to you knowing. I thought you already knew, but apparently you and Tom Riddle weren’t as connected as he implied. Though, you know, if you want me to spill all, you should at least say please.”

Harry’s scar ached, but his arm didn’t any more. Unlike his ribs. “Pardon?”

“You would actually prefer to use Crucio than say please,” Harry noted. “That says mildly concerning things about you, you know. Common courtesy—Troll.”

“He’s stalling,” the Death Eater noted, when Voldemort moved as if for his wand. 

“Of course I am,” Harry rebutted. “He’s clever; you should keep him around to control your terrible temper.”

Why was Harry doing this? Was he waiting for a rescue that would never come, or an opening that was twice as unlikely given the multitude of people involved. 

The Death Eater laughed, and Harry saw a flash of green light. Heard his mothers scream. 

“Oh,” he said, eyes going a bit wide. “There’s two of you.”

Both figures went unnaturally still. “Why would you say that?” The cloaked Voldemort asked. 

Harry tilted his head. “Your laugh,” he said simply. “Your voice is different, but your laugh is the same. Also, you’re not nearly frightened enough of ‘Your Lord’’.”

The cloaked figure hummed, then lowered his hood. “Clever boy,” he said lightly, eyes just as intent and intense as Voldemort’s own, though they were dark rather than bright. His hair was curly, Harry noticed, longer than Tom had kept it when he was in school, though this man didn’t look very old at all. He still had his nose, though his cheekbones were sharper than they had been as a boy, and unlike Voldemort he had lips as well. Harry catalogued these differences with some interest. The evolution of Voldemort, he thought vaguely.

“Technically,” he adds, as he finishes taking the other Dark Lord in, “I’d be doing the both of you a favour by sharing the story of my Second Year.”

His implication was clear. He wanted two pleases. 

“You’re positively suicidal, aren’t you?” the human Voldemort murmured. “Very well, Harry. Please tell me about the circumstances surrounding your encounter or encounters with Tom Riddle, as well as the encounters themselves.”

Harry watched him thoughtfully. “What are you going by?”

“Marvolo,” the cloaked man answered easily. 

“Marvolo,” he repeated thoughtfully. “Your middle name. Tom wrote it in the air for me—rearranged the letters to spell,” he gestured to Voldemort with his newly healed arm. It didn’t so much as twinge. He was more than a little impressed with his magic. 

“How did you take the revelation?” said Voldemort, something cruel in his voice. 

Harry's lips quirked. "I told him he was nothing special," Harry admitted easily. "I told him Dumbledore was the greatest wizard in the world. Mostly, I just wanted him to shut up. He kept asking questions,” he allowed his gaze to drift over both of them, mouth speaking absently even as calculations flashed through his mind. How was he going to get out of this unscathed? There had to be something… some way… 

“He was desperate to know about the night you lost your body,” he told Voldemort. “He thought I would have the answers, somehow. I told him it was my mum. Muggleborn,” he informed Marvolo, in case he didn’t know. Harry’s lips curled in amusement. “He didn’t like that very much. Went on and on about how alike we are. Then he decided it was luck and chance that had saved me, said I was nothing special, and called the basilisk.”

“Maybe I proved him wrong when I killed it and then shoved a basilisk fang into the diary.”

Rage bloomed in two sets of eyes, but it was Voldemort that hissed, “You what?”

“Well, I was dying too at the time,” he defended. “I’m nothing if not spiteful. If I died, I was going to take him with me.”

“Yet here you are,” Marvolo said with clear menace. “Apparently you did not get close enough to death.”

Harry watched him, unimpressed. “The diary wasn’t the only thing that got stabbed with a basilisk fang.”

“You lie,” hissed Voldemort, redrawing Harry’s gaze as if he’d ever truly lost it. 

Harry’s eyes narrowed. “Who’s the liar, here? My parents died begging you for mercy?”

“Didn’t they? Your father begged for his wife's life, and yours. Your mother for yours alone.”

Harry’s lips pressed tight. “Really fucked yourself, didn’t you? You told my mum ‘very well’, when she begged to trade her life for mine. You agreed. You didn’t think she was powerful enough to form an unbreakable vow without the official bindings? You would think you would be smarter than pureblood rhetoric when you’re hardly pure yourself.”

“That's it?” Marvolo murmured, tilting his head thoughtfully. “You couldn’t tell me that?” He glanced at Voldemort, then straightened. “You didn’t know.”

Harry felt the silent chastisement in the words. ‘How is it that a child realised what you didn’t?’

[crimeronan]

Hunter is eight years old the first time the Emperor puts things plainly.

But he's understood the situation for a while, so it's actually kind of a relief when Belos takes him aside.

"This curse is... difficult," the Emperor tells him, which is not news. One of his hands grips Hunter's shoulder, the other tipping his chin up, because he's so much taller and he needs to be sure that Hunter is paying attention.

"Luz doesn't always understand the danger she's in," Belos adds, which is an understatement. "Her human body is much more fragile than your own. This place wasn't built for creatures like her."

"I know," Hunter says.

The grip on his shoulder tightens, painful. "You know?"

He could kick himself. It's not the first time he's spoken out of turn; the consequences tend to be more pronounced for him than they ever are for Luz.

But now he's being asked a direct question, so he says, "I know she's fragile. She's -- she -- she doesn't mean to aggravate you, Uncle. Please-"

"And yet," Belos says lightly, "I do so frequently find myself aggravated."

Hunter falls silent.

His worst fear is that his clumsy words might get Luz hurt. So he's surprised when the Emperor drops to a knee to level with him, something he can't remember Belos ever doing before.

"I'm worried sick about her, Hunter," he murmurs. "All it takes is one bad day, and then -- well."

"Maybe she can stay away," Hunter suggests, "on your bad days, maybe she can-"

"Hush."

Hunter shuts up. Again.

"Do you really think any of the witches here can be trusted to care for her properly?" Belos asks.

Hard to say. There's clearly a right answer, though, so Hunter shakes his head.

"Of course not. No, I won't have my daughter locked away from me. But I do worry. One of these days, if I'm aggravated, the curse may drive me to do something... terrible. It would break my heart to see her suffer."

I know. Hunter manages to hold his tongue this time, but he does know. He's known from the moment that Belos took Luz under his wing. Whenever he can shadow them, he does. Luz never minds; she always likes the extra company. She doesn't know how often he's sick with fear.

"Do it to me," Hunter says. "If you... if you need to... if she makes you angry, then do it to me."

The grip on his shoulder relaxes. It's impossible to read Belos past the mask, but he doesn't seem upset.

"That's quite a sacrifice," he says.

"I can take it. She can't."

Belos nods, humming. "I suppose that does work as a solution. Thank you, Hunter. I'm so glad I can rely on you."

[acapelladitty]

a lesson learned

Summary - After a failed attempt to escape being owned by Roman Sionis, he brings in the infamous Scarecrow to help correct such behaviours. (2.1k words)

(tw: sexual slavery, non-con, sa, whipping, mentions of previous abuse, restraints, open for a sequel)

Fic Masterlist ☆ Link to AO3 ☆ Kofi

Trying to escape Roman had been a foolish dream at best and Violet’s panicked eyes took in the scene before her as she struggled against the hard wood of the ‘x’ shaped restraint she had been placed against and strapped into. Her head throbbed, a delayed pain of the earlier blow which Roman had delivered to her skull, and her vision was bleary as her gaze darted between the two men who observed her with sadistic glee.

"Stupid bitch needs a lesson in manners." Roman spoke, directing his words to the man who stood by his side - his impressive height looming over Romans’ own. "She needs to know never to fuck with me again and I thought you would be the perfect solution to help 'correct' her bad behaviour, Dr Crane."

"Of course, Mr. Sionis." In full costume minus his mask, Jonathan Crane cut a terrifying figure and Violet sobbed into her fabric gag as she listened to them speak. "I'm always happy to lend my professional assistance with difficult patients. This one is even prettier than the last. How would you like her?"

"Broken and obedient, but not totally fucked up like the last one. She had to be sold at a reduced price because of all that babbling that your chemical shit snapped her into."

Ignoring the criticism, Crane nodded. "Modifications?"

"Eh," Roman shrugged, blowing out a puff of smoke from his cigar, "nothing nasty to look at. Maybe just the usual stuff that will make it hard for her to see herself as anything but a fuck toy to be used and abused.”

"Simple enough, Mr. Sionis. And I trust you will be joining me to assist in my work?"

"Of course. Maroni is up to some shit these days so I've been needing to keep an eye on him. I could use the opportunity to blow off some steam by listening to this stupid bitch scream.”

"Perfect. Then I suppose I'll begin my initial examination now."

Having been forced to listen to their entire exchange, Violet’s body shook violently. The last month had been a living hell, her forced abduction as she travelled home from work being only the beginning of her torments – a fact which quickly became known to her as she awoke in some kind of holding pen which housed two other women. They had been the ones to tell her of her new reality, a reality of her being little more than a sex object to be trained and used by anyone her new owner saw fit.

It was information which had sent her into a spiral of despair, her body thrashing and screaming out as it pummelled the iron door which kept her from freedom. In fact, she had kicked up such a fuss that her new owner had personally come to pay her a visit and check out his latest merchandise.

Roman Sionis, alias Black Mask.

He had been terrifying, standing tall as his goons dragged her from her holding cell and took her to one of the training rooms – an experience which still made her shudder to this day as they each took turns in using the various tools and instruments which Roman has collected to discipline his toys. It was an encounter which broke something within Violet, their abuse of her body and use of her various holes leaving her a sobbing, aching mess who had then been unceremoniously flung back into the holding pen as the other woman glanced at her with open fear.

But still, despite it all, after weeks of being forced into the most degrading and painful sex acts as an amusement for Roman and his various friends, Violet had gathered the strength to attempt an escape and had barely managed to make it past the second security door before she found herself taking a harsh baton to the stomach. A blow which winded her in an instant and made her drop to her knees, unable to do anything but struggle to breathe – it was almost a relief when the dark boot of the guard collided with her head and knocked her clean out.

The bliss of unconsciousness didn’t last forever though and awaking tied to this cross – her entire body nude and on display for the two master criminals who stood before her – had been almost as terrible as everything else she had been forced to endure.

She knew who the Scarecrow was, everyone in Gotham did, and to have him bearing down on her for a ‘medical’ examination made her heart stutter in her chest as the gag in her mouth held back her desperate pleas.

His hands were gloved, the digits long and thin as they pinched and groped at her body – sizing her up like a fresh slab of meat, like cattle at a market. He paid particular attention to her tits and plucked at her nipples until they were aching and reddened as she trembled in place.

“Lovely tits, don’t you think?” Roman interrupted, palming his cock through his slacks as he pulled a fresh cigar from his inner pocket, quickly lighting it up as he watched Crane with a cruel expression.

“Quite the specimen,” Crane agreed and Violet’s body stiffened in place as his thin fingers dropped from her tits to thrust unceremoniously up her sex, the two fingers feeling rough and extremely uncomfortable given her lack of preparation. “Receptive and responsive too,” he continued as his fingers pumped within her cunt for a few moments before pulling out just as roughly.

Crane’s fingers, the same ones which had just been within her, gripped at Violet’s chin as he forced her to meet his gaze.

“Do you think we should allow her to choose?”

“Nah, fuck her. Use the cable,” Roman replied, blowing out a thick puff of smoke as Violet thrashed against her restraints at the words.

The cable was a thin piece of wire, folded over on itself to create a loop which stung like hell as it tore into the skin of its victim and Violet had only experiences it once, the day after she arrived, as Roman – in his own words – gave her a taste of her life to come.

Seeing the cable in Crane’s hand as he picked it up from the table which housed all of Roman’s toys, Violet sobbed as he approached – stuttered pleas for mercy falling onto deaf ears as Crane paused for a second to drink in her misery before beginning her punishment.

The swish of the folded cable registered for only a moment before pain exploded across her thighs and she cried out, the sting of the wire red hot against her exposed skin. With no time to recover, she screamed as the cable struck again and her ankles pulled against the unforgiving restraints.

Miserable, Violet’s own sobs almost choked her as she thrashed against the cross. Crane was meticulous in his work, painting everything from her thighs to her tits and stomach with his swings – the exertion making him pant as he shifted his body to achieve new angles and reach new skin. Fire flashed across her skin, every targeted area an inferno of agony and heat as the thin wire instantly welted her flesh. Lost in the unyielding sensation, at one point she swore she felt something wet trickly down her leg and she knew the skin there had broken under the assault.

Crane stopped eventually and Violet fell weakly against her restraints, her body limp and roaring with agony as she observed her welted flesh through teary eyes. Her body hadn’t been whipped in some time, enough for all the previous marks to have fully healed up, and the fresh skin bore the brunt of her punishment without mercy.

Loose against her restraints as her body wavered on the edge of consciousness, Violet didn’t have long to wait though, as Roman moved quickly.

His hands were firm as they ripped the restraints free of her wrists and ankles, his nails clawing into his skin as he pinned her skin in place to get the metal free. Now free, Violet dropped to the floor with a solid thud but any attempt to scramble away from their punishments was impossible as Roman immediately fell on her like a rabid dog.

Violet shuddered as he entered her, his cock immediately sinking deep into her cunt without any care for her comfort. It hurt, his rough fucking almost like he was trying to drive her though the floor as he took the opportunity to grip her hips so hard that she knew the skin there would be bruised. It was just another humiliation and the chill of the ground was welcomed against her heated face as she slammed her eyes shut and held as still as she could.

Her face pressed against the floor, Violet could only endure as Roman brutally fucked away at her stinging sex, his every thrust igniting fresh heat in the whip marks which littered her body as her skin was dragged across the cold flooring.

“You want some sloppy seconds, Dr?” Roman snarled as he plunged his cock without mercy. “Or you could fuck her ass if you want? She won’t mind.”

“As tempting as your offer is, I will decline at this moment.”

Thankful, Violet turned her eyes far enough to catch Crane’s face but any hope that he was a better man than the monster fucking her was snuffed out in an instant as she took in the tent of his groin and the amusement in his gaze as he watched her suffer.

With a stuttering groan, Roman came and Violet shuddered as she felt the heat of his release filling her while he scored his nails across her welted skin. Anything to cause her more discomfort as she whimpered and squealed under his punishing hands and cock. But he pulled free just as quickly as he had entered her and she groaned in discomfort as she took in the ache of her sex and the stinging heat of her whipped skin.

Violet lay out on the floor, unable to move and much too afraid to even attempt it and her eyes slammed shut as she heard the steady movement of feet and the zip of Roman’s fly as he tucked his stained cock away.

“Y’know, if she wasn’t such a tight fuck, I’d probably have sold her off to Valentin or some other freak for her disobedience. She’s one lucky cunt and I don’t even think she appreciates it.”

“Spare the rod, spoil the child, Mr Sionis.” Violet heard Crane agree. “I think you’re more that capable of correcting her behaviours and I am always delighted to offer my services.”

“Speaking of which, I know you’ve still got to get your cock wet so let’s get going.”

Two pairs of hands wrapped around her quivering body and Violet screamed in surprise as both men pulled her to her feet and slammed her against the cross which she had only just been released from. The wood was rough against her back and Violet only tried to struggle once against the hands, a movement which was immediately put to rest by Roman’s gloved hand as it cracked hard against her jaw – sending her head ricocheting to the side as she howled in pain.

Violet felt the cold metal of the shackles as they once again fully restrained her to the cross. Her sore pussy continued to leak Roman’s release and it spread messily across her thighs as she writhed in place against the wood. She had been punished and her skin bore the brunt of those marks, not to mention the aches which littered her face due to the various blows which Roman had previously delivered.

“Pl-please let me go?” She asked once more – knowing the words were meaningless to both men but being unable to help herself as Roman stepped back from her position. “Please? I won't run, won't be bad again.”

At her request, Roman laughed and the cruelty in his voice made her heart drop into her stomach.

“Let you go? Oh, you are one stupid whore. More stupid than I thought,” Roman chastised as he drummed his gloved fingers along the wooden table which housed his various tools of torment and toys. “You think a little light whipping and a good fuck are all the punishment you’re getting? Dumb cunt.”

Throwing up a casual thumb which indicated off to the side, Roman smirked viciously and Violet followed his direction to find Crane standing with an equally sadistic expression. Eyeing up the small pot of thin needles which Crane held within his hands with utter horror, Violet screamed and screamed until her lungs started to burn as she understood that far from being over, her time with both men had barely begun.

[somelokivariant]

Based off of this prompt

Merlin was back at work serving the King after nearly dying saving the kingdom. Just another average Tuesday.

Last night was fairly rough, Merlin arriving home after midnight with a rather pretty dagger sticking out of his abdomen. Gaius stitched him up and made him drink this very disgusting solution (God what was in there???). And after two little hours of sleep he was back serving this dingbat breakfast. Obviously he couldn't ask for a day off. What was he supposed to say, "Oh sorry Arthur, I found myself face to face with a fae cursing Camelot! I fought her with my magic but she threw a knife at me." Honestly he probably could say all that and Arthur would think Merlin spent too much at the tavern again. Merlin internally rolled his eyes. For now he was carrying on with work and Arthur's stupid comments like every other day.

He hobbled over to set the table for the king, his stomach burning. Merlin paid attention to not show it on his face.

"Why are you walking like that?"

"Like what?" He didn't pay attention to not show it in the rest of him.

"Like one of your legs is longer than the other."

"Oh, uh... I ran my hip into the table earlier"

Arthur just rolled his eyes and muttered to himself. Luckily Merlin was just clumsy enough for that to be entirely likely.

Merlin polished armour sitting down, and washed the laundry with magic. Unfortunately he couldn't find a way around Arthur's training. He could barely keep his coordination on a regular day, how on earth was he supposed to do this with stitches up his side. Stupid king training with his stupid muscles and sword. Merlin tried his best dueling Arthur while keeping his composure. He didn't want Arthur asking anymore questions, because honestly he was to beat to deflect them. Arthur swiped and Merlin dodged, a sharp burn going up his side. He felt like toppling over from the shock. Apparently that sludge solution from Gaius was not as effective as it was supposed to be.

Merlin almost audibly sighed relief when Arthur called for a break.

This was Arthur's break though, not Merlin's. "Go fetch cold water for his highness", he grunted under his breath as he made his way towards the castle. His stomach was still aching from that one-off swerve, he lifted his hand to hold some pressure in attempt to soothe the pain. Instead he just felt warm and wet. He paused to look down at the spot of blood that was slowly growing on his shirt. Merlin looked back at his hand dripping red, and staggered, finding the wall with his orher hand to support him. His vision started growing black spots and his ears rang. Merlin was only partly aware of the impact of his knees hitting the floor, and the pain in his side.

○○○○○

How long does it take to get some water? This dollop head probably got lost in his own damn castle.

Arthur rose from the field and started walking towards the kitchens. I have to do everything my self.

When he reached the castle he noticed a Merlin shaped lump half way down the hall.

"Fell asleep on a five minute walk?" He called out. The Merlin lump didn't move. As Arthur got closer he noticed the red on the floor surrounding Merlin. At this point he began to run.

Merlin was crumpled in a pool of blood. There was so much it took a minute for Arthur to find where it was coming from. He eventually recognized a few stitches in Merlins abdomen. Stitches? It wasn't a fresh wound.

Careful about the stress he was putting on Merlins body, he picked him up and ran as well as he could with a body in his arms - Merlin was actually quite heavy - towards Gaius's chambers.

He swung the door open with his foot, not bothering to knock.

Gaius turned around startled, but paused mid-exclamation when he saw Merlin limp in Arthur's arms.

"Set him down on this table here", he said while clearing scrolls and miscellaneous bowls.

Gaius lifted Merlins shirt and started dabbing around the cut with a rag.

"Get more rags from over there and start wiping down Merlin's stomach." Gaius got alcohol and thread. "His stitches came out. I told that boy he needed time to heal. Hold this. Pour here."

Arthur did exactly as he was told.

Arthur didn't know why his heart was racing so much. When this dollop head wakes up I'm going to kill him myself. Arthur sat back beat and stared at Meflin on the table.

Gaius finished cleaning Merlins blood and fixing his stitches.

"Arthur... Arthur?" Arthur looked up and Gaius came into focus. "I suggest you also go change out of your bloody clothes."

Arthur didn't want to leave Merlins side. He continued to sit exactly where he was.

Finally Merlins eyes opened, and he groaned as he propped himself up onto his elbows.

"Gods Arthur you look awf-"

Arthur leaped up and grabbed Merlins head, cutting him off with a very strong kiss. Merlin looked surprised. He gently put his arm around Arthur as Arthur buried his face in Merlins neckerchief.

After a moment Arthur pulled away and pointed a stern finger at Merlin. "NEVER do that again", he said in his commanding king voice. Merlin just stared. His king voice never worked on Merlin. "I mean, who will wash my drawers?"

Merlin aggressively rolled his eyes but Arthur recognized the hints of a smile.

@sonamysunivers @goddessofenergy @1asbrightasthestars3 @marvelqueenhere @faiirysecret @chloethebananana @m-nerd44

A/N: this is an unserious one shot rushed fic, OP also write an amazing one <3

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