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megamindsecretlair · 1 month ago

Text

Make Me Weak, Part 2

Pairing: Sex Therapist!Terry Richmond x Sub!Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. Cursing, mentions of depression, anxiety, and description of sex acts and sexual issues. Hair pulling, PIV, condom use. Power imbalance, Shy!reader. Dark!Terry. Dom!Terry, AU Terry, all consensual. Sorry if I missed some. I'm not a therapist and while I do not make light of therapy, this is purely for my own fun. Please seek real medical attention when necessary.

Summary: You followed Dr. Richmond’s instructions to the best of your ability. You spent so much time in your mind that willingly descending into your body was an experience that opened your eyes to how much you had neglected. Your second session forces you to confront more truths than what you were ready for.

Terry reaches some conclusions of his own as he tries to shake whatever is ailing him by disappearing between Tasia’s thighs. Yet his mind is on you, on your thoughts and words. During the second session, he can’t help but push you beyond your limit.

Word Count: 5,018k

Part 1 | Part 3 | AO3 Link

A/N: I'n back babbyyyy. I got so inspired reading so many lovely fics. Plus the encouraging asks really helped. I had TOO much fun writing this and you will not hurt my feelings if you don't want to read this one. However, I must tag to keep my taglist updated. Forgive me, my loves. Toss a coin to your blogger by leaving a comment, gif, or unhinged ask.

You

Hot steam rolled out from the shower as you set it to your desired temperature. You faced yourself in the mirror, thinking over Dr. Richmond’s words. You supposed that there was some truth to what he had told you.

Most people did start by exploring their own bodies first. It must be so easy for guys. Close the door, grab some lotion, and rub one out. Girls on the other hand…your life was constantly spent in a state of panic.

Panic that anything on your person would make your mother snap. Harsh criticisms hidden behind “just talkin’ shit” that Black people liked to hide behind. You were too sensitive to jokey-joke with when you weren’t able to reciprocate. It’s not like you could talk about your mom. It’s not like you could throw insults back in her face and tell her to take it in stride.

Panic that you could be caught or exposed at any point. You were a grown woman, yes. You were also taught to believe that you needed to act as if someone was watching. You believed there was some kind of life after all this and so wouldn’t it stand to reason that someone or something would be looking at you? Or worse, someone would come flying through your door because your family lacked boundaries?

Panic that you didn’t know what lay on the other side of an orgasm. How would you feel? How would you look? Surely something like that changed a person. Feeling that rush of relief for the first time had to be special. Had to be amazing. Otherwise, why would anyone ever be obsessed with sex?

Panic that you’d never reach that peak and fall over. Never feel that rush of euphoria that everyone talked about. Porn, books, friend groups. You always felt left out and you didn’t want to anymore, dammit.

You watched yourself in the mirror as steam overtook it, inch by inch. Until you were only staring at your eyes and the disbelief written all over your face. Would this even work? Were you wasting your time?

“I need total, focused commitment from you.”

Dr. Richmond’s sultry voice skittered along your naked skin. Goosebumps raised on your flesh from the cold air moving through the house. You would be focused. You would be committed. This was something you wanted so badly, you were fucking desperate.

So you took deep, measured breaths using the Box method a previous therapist told you about. You inhaled for a count of four, held for four, exhaled for a count of four, and then held it for four. You repeated the process, doing a full body scan.

You focused on your head, starting with your scalp. You focused on your forehead, feeling the tension melt away and your eyebrows start to relax. You hadn’t even realized that you had it scrunched.

You brought your attention to your eyes, unfocusing them, and allowed them to close. You repeated the process, breathing the entire time, settling down into your body when your mind wanted so badly to escape. To flee. To leave the Horrors.

When you felt your mind drift, you didn’t chastise yourself. You continued to breathe, focusing on your breaths until you continued with your scan. Your body relaxed fraction by fraction. Your shoulders lowered from up around your neck. Aches and pains became more prominent.

Your belly expanded and you sighed. You hadn’t even noticed how often you clenched your stomach, never allowing yourself a full breath. You always had to be on edge. Never knew where the next danger was coming from. What new fresh hell you would encounter just around the corner.

By the time you reached your feet, you felt more relaxed than you had in a long time. Your body prickled with your newfound awareness. Steam caressed your bareskin and you quickly hopped in the shower, letting the warm water cascade across your body.

The water felt different on your body. Each droplet may as well have been a tiny earthquake, popping all over your skin and making you tingle. This…wasn’t too bad.

You lathered up your facial scrub and gently moisturized your face, soothing the stiff areas. Your jaw popped as it loosened and you moaned from the relief.

How long? How long have you spent outside of your body? A stranger to it? A foreigner to this vessel you carried around? Had you truly loved your body when you were so alien to it? Or had you just learned to layer on the armor and pretend?

God, you felt like crying. With one session, Dr. Richmond already had you re-thinking your entire life. Like the answer was there in your face the entire time and you just needed him to shine a light on it.

You rinsed your face while you grabbed a washcloth and lathered up with your favorite soap. You added body wash and then took your time trailing the washcloth around your body. Starting with your neck, you worked your way down to your chest.

You took your time feeling the rough cloth against your smooth, watery skin. You rounded the washcloth across your nipples and they beaded under the slow torture. Oh, this was new. This was very nice.

You were focused, letting the water act as a sound machine, lulling you into a further relaxed state. You followed the washcloth with your hand, moving over and under your areolas and nipples. You pinched your nipples and gave it a tug. You gasped from the responding tug in your pussy.

You moved on, remembering Dr. Richmond’s words about not making it sexual. But fuck, how could you not?

Heat flushed beneath your skin that had nothing to do with the hot water on your body. You washed your back and then moved lower, skirting your throbbing pussy and washed your legs and dug the cloth between your toes.

On the way up, your fingers glided around your mound, your hips pushing forward. Your breathing turned rapid, feeling yourself getting more and more excited. Your brain turned to mush, retreating from your actions. Like it wanted to picture something else. You shook your head, and started up with your Box breathing again.

You stopped mid-shower to reorient yourself and get yourself back into that zone of ultimate calm. If Dr. Richmond were there…

You focused on what he might say. There was no rush. There was no rulebook for this sort of thing. There was no reason to chastise yourself. There was no test to pass or box you had to check in order to achieve an orgasm. You just needed to relax, dammit.

Slowly, achingly slow, you went back to that calm. You continued lathering up your body and then rinsed the soap off. You repeated the process, adding more soap to thoroughly wash your body. To enjoy the feel of the cloth and water and soap on your skin. On your body.

“This is the only body you’ll ever have so it’s time to think beyond simple body maintenance. Admire your body.”

This was the only body you would ever have. It was time you stopped treating it like the enemy.

You turned off the water and then got out. The chill air hit the water on your back and you shrieked and shivered, quickly drying off. You went through your nightly routine, taking care of your teeth, face, and deodorant. You sat down on a decorated stool in your bathroom to apply your lotion.

As instructed, you looked at your body. Every mole, every scar, every bump, and every wayward hair. Being in your body was weird to say the least. You had to disassociate to survive your childhood and you never learned to drop those defenses. Your body never realized that it wasn't at war anymore. Or perhaps it was and this was battle fatigue. You were so damn tired.

You massaged the lotion into your skin and then slipped in your panties. You pulled on an ankle bracelet you got while visiting New York once and it made you feel extra pretty, so why not. You turned on your bedside light and pulled out a notebook.

You started a new entry and wrote about the sensations and revelations you experienced. Some of it you would discuss with Dr. Richmond and some of it was never leaving your grave. It felt good to get it all out, uninterrupted.

Sometimes, venting to someone else just gave them room to talk over you. To steer the direction back to them. Brooklyn was like that. In an effort to relate, she ended up taking over the convo and made it about her situation. Then you ended up comforting her about her issue and never feeling truly heard about yours.

In a journal however, you pretended that you were just relaying it to a friend. The type of friend who allowed you to speak. To get your jumbled thoughts out without getting mad or trying overshadow you.

Done, you collapsed against your bed as if every ounce of strength left your body. You breathed through it, allowed your body to rest for a moment. The hell kind of voo-doo shit did your therapist put you through?

Immediately, warning bells went off in your mind. Surely, you would be whisked away to some super important task around the house. Surely, your phone would ring with some awful accident you had to attend to. Surely…nothing. You were drained. You had nothing.

You had just enough energy to put the journal up, turn off the light, and drift off to the deepest sleep of your life.

Terry

Tasia bounced like a porn star on Terry’s dick and it wasn’t doing a damn thing for him. He felt himself getting soft the more Tasia shuddered with her pleasure. At least one of them was having fun.

Maybe he rushed this. Too intent on getting you out of his mind that he hopped immediately into Tasia’s warm heat and didn’t consider that there was no substitution. He knew it was irrational to be drawn to you so fast. After only one session. He was conflicted on that front, but it went beyond just looks.

Your case, your assessments, your willingness to try, and your obvious smarts was a cocktail shooting through his veins and turning his body liquid. The perfect sub was dropped into his lap and he couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

And as a man used to getting his way in the bedroom, it stuck in his craw that he couldn’t have you. That it wasn’t your pussy that his dick disappeared inside of. Would you moan loudly? Were you shy in the bedroom? Were you enthusiastic?

What would your mouth look like taking the full length of him? How far down could you suck him? Did that same determination translate to the bedroom?

Tasia grunted beneath him as his dick rose back to life, thoughts of you turning him harder than a brick. He could build a house with how hard he was at the moment, picturing the curves on your body. The natural handles in your waist for his big hands to wrap around. To hold.

He moaned, picturing it all so clearly. His thumbs would dig into your back. The sounds you would make. His hips jerked just thinking of pounding into you. No mercy. You weren’t some fragile flower. Your insightful thoughts were like a mirror to his own. He wanted to explore with you. And the fact that he couldn’t had him pulling Tasia’s hair back.

“Call me Dr. Richmond,” he commanded.

“Yes, D-Dr. Richmond,” Tasia moaned. It was starting to piss him off.

“Softer,” he said.

“Yes, Dr. Richmond,” she said, bringing her voice lower, softer. It was nowhere near your voice, but it’d do for the fantasy he concocted in his head. He didn’t have time for any extra tricks tonight. He just needed to get to the other side of his nut.

He closed his eyes and thought about your case. He wondered if you were doing as you were told. He wondered how well you would take commands in the bedroom. If he even had to give commands at all. If you’d instinctively know what he needed when he needed it. Tasia used to know that. Tasia used to have him out of breath.

Now…she was a beautiful girl with deep mocha skin, a cute face, and wide expressive eyes. She was like a little doe in a meadow somewhere. He was attracted to the overall softness of her and of her body. The natural way she seemed to know what he needed.

Perhaps it was him that had changed. His tastes. He was no longer interested in a casual sub-relationship. Perhaps he wanted a more permanent sub. One he could explore every single nasty fantasy with and never get bored. He was getting older, getting into his early-thirties without a significant partner.

And that was what he wanted. A partner. An equal. Someone he raced home to see or spent his days thinking about how he would break her and put her back together like a puzzle box.

Terry groaned and came into the condom, gripping Tasia’s asscheeks for dear life. It was one of the hardest climaxes he ever experienced. His release triggered hers, causing her to fall forward as her pussy gripped his dick.

He pulled out and immediately disposed of the condom, coming back to help clean up Tasia.

“That was…different,” she said, using the word in place of something else. He didn’t want his reputation to slacken in that regard, but hell, this whole thing had been a mistake. He still made sure she came twice before he did, but he usually put more oomph into his sexual exploits.

He usually had Tasia popping her pussy on his face, or contorting her like a pretzel. Now…he was just over it. Over trying to impress someone that wasn’t permanent in his life. That he couldn’t play with whenever he wanted. He was no longer excited at the prospect of making many women cum. He just wanted to make one cum over and over again. He wanted to collect each one like trophies.

Terry grabbed Tasia’s hand and kissed the back of it. “Forgive me. Tonight should’ve probably been a gym night,” he said. He smiled for good measure, but it was a close-lipped smile.

“Oh, I’m not complaining. That dick still know how to rock my world,” she said. She stood up, pulling on her sweats and sweatshirt, and slipping on her sneakers. He sat down on the bed and watched her, not feeling an ounce of desire.

She leaned over and grabbed his chin, making him look up at her. “You take care of yourself and whatever or whoever got you in this funk. And if you need more relief, you know my number,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said with another close-lipped smile. Tasia had been one of his longest play partners, he’d be sorry to see her go. She smiled and gave him a kiss on the cheek, showing herself out.

Terry sat in his fancy bedroom in his fancy house, staring at the empty archway Tasia disappeared through. His mind and body told him that he was ready for something more. Something tangible. Something he could hold and never let go. He only hoped he found it soon.

You

You clutched your journal to your chest as you sat in Dr. Richmond’s office. Nothing about it had changed except the man himself. He chose to wear a cream colored outfit. A soft, oatmeal colored sweater and khaki pants with white sneakers. His gold rimmed glasses flashed every so often from the light overhead and you couldn’t help catching every single thing about him. If only to distract you from your racing thoughts.

It was one thing to live in your body when you were in the comfort of your own bathroom. Your mind escaped once more, retreated to the safest place you knew. Your knee bounced with nervousness.

“You don’t have to share if you don’t want to. This is a safe space. It’s your space. You get to decide what we do here,” he said.

You closed your eyes to the sound of his voice. If he wasn’t so damn helpful, you’d ask for someone else. Literally, anyone else. But he was the first therapist to give you a glimpse of the other side. You wanted that more than you were embarrassed.

“No, I want to share. I need to share,” you said. You licked your lips and then cracked open your journal. You skimmed over things you didn’t want to reveal just yet. Too embarrassing for a second meeting, of course.

“I think…I think my mind is safer. I am constantly on alert that I’m “doing the right thing”, as opposed to what actually makes me happy,” you said.

When you didn’t say anything, Terry leaned back in his seat. He rolled up his sleeves, revealing the golden brown of his forearms. Your mind emptied of any other thought until he cleared his throat. “Can you expand on that?”

You looked up into his eyes before heat rushed to your ears. You looked back at your journal, focusing on that rather than his lush, pink lips.

You told him more about how you reached this conclusion. That there was a standard for being Black that you never quite achieved. That at any moment, multiple mobs of people were coming for your Black card. Or, you were constantly trying to over-achieve at school. You had to work twice as hard, had to be the smartest in the class, because if you came home with a B, your mom went on a long rant about being stupid and never achieving anything real in life. Or how everyone praised you at work for going above and beyond and then got mad when you couldn’t sustain it. You were constantly on the lookout for someone else’s standard.

“I have so many fucking voices in my ear, telling me to do this or do that. And I fucking hate it. Which is wild considering that that’s what I seek in a sexual partner,” you said.

Dr. Richmond smiled and nodded. “Your mind is trying to re-contextualize your upbringing. Being submissive is actually about putting yourself in the position of power. A dom is only as good as how well he treats his sub. It’s about the ultimate act of trust on the submissive’s part,” he explained.

“Yes! And how can I trust that someone isn’t going to…take what I say or want and abuse that or make fun of me for it?” You asked. You played with the corner of your journal, not willing to look at Dr. Richmond. You didn’t need to see the pathetic pity in his steel blue eyes.

“You have to stand resolute in what you want. You have to recognize that pleasure and sex is about give and take. Trust and acceptance. The right partner isn’t going to make fun of you, abuse you, or rush you,” he said.

You sighed and leaned back on the brown sofa. You felt like you were chasing a unicorn. What kind of guy was willing to be dominant and care about your needs? Reassure you when you needed and took control when your body sent massive panicked waves at him? Took care of the trust you were placing in him to help you relax and cum? While also being physically attractive to you and have you be attracted to him; not a chubby chaser, not a creep, and not an abuser?

It was impossible. Hopeless.

“If you’re comfortable, tell me more about what you found,” he said.

You took your mind off of your dream mystery man. When the fuck was it going to be your turn?

You scanned your journal once more, noting the sensations about actually living inside your body. “I think when I feel an orgasm approaching, I get scared. And that could be part of why I’m blocking it, but even when I’m alone, I don’t know what it feels like. Or…”

“Or…?” Dr. Richmond prompted.

You grimaced. Fuck, this was so hard to put into words. Too hard to expose yourself like this. But did you want to reach your sixties, seventies, never having a true orgasm? Never finding your way to actual release?

“Or, there’s no way to control the orgasm,” you said.

Dr. Richmond nodded. “The goal isn’t to control it, you know,” he said.

“I know!” You groaned and stood up. You thought better on your feet. Or maybe when you had something to do, you were better able to regulate the jumble of emotions inside of you. No wonder your emotions were all over the place. You spent too long disassociating, too long in your mind and not enough in your body.

“What benefit do you get from being in control all the time?” The scratch of his pen on the notebook drew your attention to him. To his pretty face, dark eyelashes, and push lips. You watched as he wrote in his notebook. Watched the lines and planes of his gorgeous face. His short curled afro.

“If I’m in control, if I never look weak or stupid or incompetent, then I win. I win at life. And all my bullies, from school to home are all wrong. There’s nothing wrong with me because I know what to do. I know what to say. I’m not an alien,” you said, taking a deep breath at the revelation.

Whatever your insurance company was paying him, they needed to double it. You admitted things you never had in the past. Your previous therapists attacked your problem sex first, focusing on different methods you could try. Some wanted you to describe, in detail, whatever you did to get yourself off. Safe to say they weren’t practicing ever again.

“Do you believe there’s something wrong with you?” He asked. He leaned back in his seat, giving you an unflinching stare. His face gave away nothing, revealed nothing, as you thought through his question.

“All the fucking time. Why else do friends keep leaving me? Or guys don’t want me? Or my mom is…my mom,” you said.

“Have you considered that you aren’t the problem?” He asked.

“How could I not be? I’m the only common denominator,” you said. You flopped back onto the couch but it wasn’t that soft. It thudded under your weight and you took a deep breath. Fuck, you wanted to cry. Tears pricked your eyes, turning them hot and itchy. You refused to cry in front of this man.

This strange, quiet man who seemed to read you like one of the many books on his bookshelf. No wonder he had so many degrees. He could drag a full confession from a mute.

“That may be true. But, bear with me, consider that you aren’t the problem. If you take yourself out of the equation, what are you left with?” He asked. He leaned forward on his desk and the sudden intensity of the question made your mind blank.

You had…nothing. No explanation, no back up. You were used to making yourself the problem. The issue had to be you. If it wasn’t you…

You shrugged your shoulders and looked away from him. The silence stretched on, so quiet you could hear the quiet tick of the clock on the wall.

“Don’t shy away now, dig into it. If it’s not you, then…?” Dr. Richmond prompted.

The question only seemed to make you clamp up. Your tongue swelled. Your throat constricted. If it wasn’t you, then what? Everyone was incapable of giving you what you wanted? Everyone just had an agenda against you? Please, that was narcissistic as hell.

Dr. Richmond stood up from his desk and took off his glasses. He pulled out a drawer and retrieved a glass cleaner cloth. He cleaned his glasses and walked around the front of his desk.

“Consider, for a moment, that other people have deficiencies as well. That people congregate in groups because biologically, it’s safer. We seek groups to be in and when we can’t find one, we tend to think that we’re the problem. That we are outcasts, getting left out to defend ourselves. But all that means is that we haven’t found our group yet. You’re trying to fit a round peg into a square hole. You don’t belong with the squares, so no, you won’t fit in with them.

“The same goes for sex. Everybody has their preferences. People have their kinks, their needs. When those needs aren’t meant, society teaches us to look at our own deficiencies rather than someone else’s. Perhaps the man you need sexually is far different from the men you take to bed,” he said. He waved around his glasses as he spoke, drawing attention to his massive hands.

Seriously, they were huge. Like two lion paws that could strike down someone with one hit. He held his glasses by the frame, waving it around delicately as he spoke. You were still paying attention to his words, but fuck…he was unreal.

“But how do I find the man that I need sexually?” You asked.

Terry

Terry inwardly groaned as you asked him that. Plenty of suggestions came to mind, each too crass to suggest. How could he tell you to go into another man’s arms? How could he send you to another man to unleash that hidden hellcat within you and he wouldn’t get to experience it?

He needed to end this. End this before it even began. He placed his glasses back on his face and crossed a line that he never thought he would. “I think we have more work to do to adjust the way you think about sex before we get into how you attract what you’re seeking. In fact, I’d suggest you abstain from sex until we get deeper into this,” he said.

“Abstain?” You snorted and he fought a smile. Your face showed absolute disgust, like the mere thought was abhorrent.

“Abstain. From what you’ve told me and what’s in your file, you jumped from overcoming your initial thoughts and reluctance about sex right to jumping into bed. Without really, truly exploring yourself first. Kids explore their bodies all the time right? They grow conscious of themselves and start thinking about hey, my equipment is different from someone else’s equipment,” he said.

You couldn’t help but giggle and it caused him to smirk in return. Yes, it was silly. Talking about sex was silly. But it was true. “And as you start to notice people that you’re attracted to, you start to grow conscious of hormones in your system. Brain chemistry. All the fun stuff that goes into attraction. You start to touch yourself more, explore your preferences through porn or books or experimentation.”

You cringed when he brought up experimentation. He tilted his head. “Did you go through an experimentation phase?” He asked.

You closed your eyes and sighed as if it were the last question you wanted to answer. You completely fascinated him. He had no idea what would come out of your mouth next. How you would respond to certain questions or ideas.

He snuck a glance at the clock, he was nearing the end of the session. He flexed his jaw. This was so damn irritating. By the time you were willing to open up, it was time to end it. He wished he could carve out a month of sessions to get you to lower your defenses and let him inside.

“No? I grew up in the wrong generation. All everyone thought about was sex and while I did too, no one was checking for the fat Black nerds unless it was a prank. And I saw everything as a prank. I was always getting pointed at, made fun of, stared at. Jesus, being exposed fucking sucks! So, no, I didn’t experiment. There was no one to fucking experiment with.

“And it wasn’t like I could go ten feet from my mom without her up my ass about where I was going. Claiming she just didn’t want me to get snatched when all she really wanted was just to control me. To not let me end up like her. Young and pregnant,” you practically yelled, spewing way more vitriol than he expected.

He figured it was a sore spot for you by the way you grimaced, but he hadn’t been expecting…that. Again, he balled his fists thinking of every person that ever let you down. Every person that was supposed to uplift you, guide you, help you, all dropped the ball in teaching you about self love.

Every experience every kid was supposed to have was denied to you. Instead of being asked out with interest, with sincerity, boys treated it like a prank. He was wild in his youth, he wasn’t always nice to people, or he went through life like a little gremlin. But he liked to think he mellowed somewhat in high school. Treating everyone with respect. From the nerds to the jocks. He didn’t know what not trusting people’s words felt like. Like everything that someone said came laced with poisoned barbs ready to sting.

“This is so fucking stupid,” you whispered. Your lip trembled but no tears fell down your face.

Fuck, even now you were trying to hold everything in. Control a natural response to something painful. “When was the last time you cried?” Terry asked.

You stood up and snatched your purse and journal from the couch. “Session’s up, right?” You asked. You avoided looking at him as you rushed to the exit. The faux glass door clanged against the wall as you threw open the door and left, steps echoing on the linoleum flooring.

He stared at the door as it lazily swung back and he wondered. And he pondered.

Wheww, need more? The Secret Terry Richmond Files | Part 1 | Part 3

Taglist: You guys, ya'll gon make me cry with this taglist! Thank you!

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angelbarelywrites · 10 months ago

Text

♡ slashers scenarios | you’re almost a victim..

♡ fandoms; Halloween, Texas Chainsaw Massacre (2006), Black Christmas, Dead by Daylight, slashers (general)

♡ characters; Micheal Myers, Thomas Hewitt, Billy Lenz

♡ reader; gender neutral

♡ cw; very suggestive content

♡ note; i wasn’t sure how to word the title/concept of this one?? but essentially you’re almost a victim, but you’re a little to okay with it/something they do and it throws them off?? idk just read ‘em

also only 3 little meow meows in this one, i wrote most of this on break at work uwu

•┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈•

Micheal Myers

> he’s been stalking you for months

> in his mind you’re the perfect victim

> clueless to his presence, adorable and vulnerable

> he’s drawing it out as long as he can

> but he’s practically twitching the night you come out onto your porch in your tight pajama shorts, relaxing with some tea

> he’s got you pinned to the wall before you can even scream

> he wants to savor this, so he keeps his knife tucked away and has a massive hand around your throat

> he doesn’t miss your breath catching

> and he takes a moment to watch your chest heaving, your cheeks all flushed

> but he’s not that easily impressed. could be the lighting. maybe you’re quick to panic.

> “…you’ve been watching me.”

> you knew?

> you knew, and you still played his game

> interesting. very interesting.

Thomas Hewitt

> Tommy boy is already giving you special treatment

> something is different about you

> he’s not sure what, you’re pretty, but he kills plenty of pretty people

> maybe something about the way you look up at him through your lashes?

> and you’re terrified now, but you weren’t scared of the initial sight of him..

> he doesn’t put you on a meat hook, instead rigging you somewhat kindly, your hands chained above your head but your bound feet on the ground

> whatever he decides on, he knows that you’re special. you deserve to be honored.

> he takes extra care in examining you, feeling you shiver as he grazes your exposed stomach - a side affect of your position, but a welcome sight

> he roughly grabs your face and pushes it left and right, pausing to rub your cheek with his thumb

> you would be a pretty face to wear

> he shoves two fingers into your mouth as he’s mentally measuring

> and he practically startles at the noise you make

> he’s never heard a sound like come from a victim- especially not his victims

> when he pushes a bit and you whimper around his fingers it confirms his suspicions. you’d given a choked moan at the initial intrusion

> he stares down at you, breathing heavily through his mask

> oh you were very special

Billy Lenz

> you were renting a spare room in the sorority house

> while you were good friends with the girls, you valued your alone time

> you quickly became Billy’s favorite to watch, mostly because you were always home

> when he calls he always tries to time it so you pick up

> but usually the girls downstairs still answer- you’re never expecting calls so why bother?

> this evening however, he’s lucky- there’s an on campus event and you’re home completely alone

> you answer on the second ring and he’s delighted, immediately babbling profanities and filthy threats

> “gonna fuck that pretty piggy c—“

> to his surprise you giggle at him

> not a nervous sound, but genuine giggling

> before he can snap, or really even process you laughing at him, you stop him

> “yknow if you want phone sex, you can just ask nicely mister”

> he hangs up in a panic

> that was certainly the last thing he expected

> but now he’s beyond fixated on you

> he barely sleeps just to peep through your wall

> and it’s just about time he paid you a real visit

#thomas hewitt #slashers #dead by daylight #thomas hewitt x reader #slashers x y/n #slashers x you #slashers headcanons #tcm 2006 #tcm #black christmas #billy lenz x reader #billy lenz #micheal myers x reader #micheal myers #halloween #g/n reader #gender neutral reader #slashers x reader

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sl-walker · 2 months ago

Text

Other Fandom Archives

At least, other ones running on the otw-archive software!

SquidgeWorld Archive

Open to all fandoms, SqWA is run under the nonprofit squidge.org! In addition to the archive there, Squidge also offers image hosting, podfic hosting and a bunch of other excellent services. Beyond that, it utilizes more extensive archive warnings than AO3 and also accommodates two additional relationship categories! SqWA has a no-AI policy that is both up front legally and implemented behind the scenes through various coding measures.

The TOS is here. The information about the additional warnings can be found here.

Ad Astra :: Star Trek Fanfiction Archive

A single-fandom Star Trek fanfiction archive, this one's home for any and all Trek fandom! Using the same warnings as AO3, but a much stricter (and therefore searchable) tagging scheme, Ad Astra's also connected to one of the friendliest and most supportive Trek communities on the internet! We run weekly challenges, monthly review/comment hunts and like the other archives, we take a very hardline stance against AI both in actual terms and in firewalling the site. AI 'bots can't even reach the server before getting sucked into a black hole of 4XX errors and bannination jail!

There's an additional QPR (Queer-platonic relationships) tag accepted in the form of Character A ~ Character B, as well. Two invitations go out once a day, unless you want to contact me directly, then I can send one immediately.

Find the site FAQs here, please pay special attention to the posting rules!!

superlove

Run off of a macbook by a very talented young person, superlove is for all fandoms and original fiction and pretty much whatever else melo wants to open the doors for! In addition to the same archive warnings and relationships available to people using AO3, superlove also has a few more warnings that users can use and both QPR and vs. tags for queer-platonic and adversarial relationships. Given this is largely a private project, please make sure you review the rules carefully.

Comic Fanfiction Authors Archive

The CFAArchive is an archive built specifically for comic book and comic animation adjacent fandoms, rather than live-action properties! It uses the same archive warnings as AO3 and Ad Astra, but has the two additional tags QPR and vs. for queer-platonic and adversarial relationships! Much like Ad Astra, the tagging scheme on the CFAA is very strict to maximize searchability and minimize tag-spamming. There's also an attached Discord, where we run a bi-weekly writing challenge, the occasional comment/review hunt and a monthly focus feature where everyone reads a book, discusses it and creates based on it! If you love comic books and comic animation properties, this is the place for you!

Much like Ad Astra, the filtering out of AI 'bots is extremely strict; they get 4XX'd into oblivion and so far, none have gotten through since the new firewall rules were implemented, so you actually can leave works unlocked if you like with minimal (though never nonexistent) concern about them being scraped.

Two invitations go out once a day, unless you want to contact me directly, then I can send one immediately.

The TOS is here; please read the rules carefully! The tagging FAQ is here; don't be intimidated, it's not hard once you get into the swing!

#squidgeworld #ad astra #trek fanfic #superlove #cfaarchive #comic book fanfiction #otw-archive #feel free to signal boost!

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mariasont · 2 days ago

Note

hi!!!!

I'm soooo in love your work. bimbo!assistantreader wil always have a special place in my heart!!!

Now i have this of idea that i think can work for either aaron or spencer, but basically bau!reader who kind of always wears the same type of outfit in the field that's always really modest. Buttttt when they kind of like "know" it's just going to be a paperwork day she likes to were skirts... short skirts and Aaron/Spencer are just feral for them...

Can either be fluff of smut... I trust you indefinitely xxx

Short Skirt, Long Day - A.H

a/n: hi hi hi hiiiiiii!!! ugh thank u sm i kinda took this an interesting route so let me know what you think!!!! im also heavily thinking about writing a smutty pt 2 for this but id love to hear everyone’s opinions

masterlist

pairings: perv!aaronhotchner x bau!reader

warnings: 18+ MDNI, suggestive content, aaron being a straight PERV!!! (im into idk man), aaron imagining scenarios he didn’t shouldn’t at work, idk this is quite different from my usual postings but i kinda fuck with it

wc: 1.4k

Aaron Hotchner loved paperwork day.

Days like these meant the frenetic energy of ringing phones and rapid footsteps is replaced by the soft drone of air conditioning and the occasional rustle of files being shifted. It’s the kind of morning he appreciated—time to breathe, to recalibrate without the air of an active case breathing down his neck.

But that's not why his pulse is thrumming more than steadily beneath his skin.

Hotch glances at the clock on his desk. It's early—too early for most of the team to be here yet, save for a couple agents whose faces barely register in his peripheral vision. His focus is elsewhere, fixed on a singular thought. Or, rather, on a singular person.

You.

Hotch leans back in his chair, exhaling slowly as a shameful type of heat rises to his face. It's a little pathetic, he thinks, how predictable he's become—it's not the work that makes these mornings bearable anymore. It's the anticipation.

The knowledge that, any minute now, the elevator doors will part, and you'll step out, wearing something that will completely dismantle his carefully constructed composure.

Hotch had noticed a pattern (of course he did, that was his instinct honed to a razor's edge). In the field, your outfits are a study in practicality: slacks, fitted jackets, muted tones--professional to a T. Nothing flashy, nothing that would draw undue attention.

But in the office, when the cases are shelved, and the team is left to wade through stacks of paperwork... it's different.

And it drives him insane.

The image takes root before he can stop it: the curve of your thighs, tantalizingly framed by a skirt that seemed designed to test his limits. The way the fabric molds to you when you move, clinging in places that his eyes are all too quick to follow.

Hotch exhales sharply, clearing his throat as if that could somehow clear his mind. It's unprofessional--he knows this, knows better than to let his thoughts stray so far from where they belong but yet…

The ding of the elevator pulls his attention like a magnet, and there you are. His grip on the pen tightens instinctively, the knuckles blanching as his gaze locks on you.

You're wearing that skirt today--black, fitted, and infuriatingly short, hugging your hips in a way that leaves nothing to the imagination.

He tells himself to look away, and for a second, he manages it--his eyes dropping back to his desk, his breath coming out slow and measured. But that reprieve is fleeting. His gaze flicks back before he can stop it, drawn helplessly to the curve of your waist as you laugh at something one of the other agents say.

You're too good. Too sweet. Too damn oblivious to realize what you're doing to him.

And he knows it's wrong—knows he's toeing a line he has no business approaching. But the way his body reacts to you, the pull you have on him, is beyond reason. It's instinctual, raw, and completely out of his control.

He calls out your name. "Could you come in here for a moment?"

You turn, blinking at him with wide, curious eyes. "Yes, sir?"

"I need you to grab something for me," he replies, his voice level, though every syllable felt like a tightly coiled spring. He motions towards the cabinet near the corner of the room. "The Marcus file. Bottom shelf."

He was a terrible terrible man.

Without hesitation, you step toward the cabinet, crouching slightly as you begin to sift through the lower shelf. The moment your body lowers, his eyes start trailing down where the hem of your skirt lifts, just barely revealing the soft curve of where your thighs meet your ass. Then, as you bend further, shifting your weight slightly to reach deeper on the shelf, the fabric stretches taut, clinging to your ass in a way that sends a jolt straight through him.

Hotch's throat feels tight, his breathing shallow as he drinks in the sight before him. You're so close, just feet away, and the angle offers him an unobstructed view. The shape of you, the smooth expanse of skin that's always just out of reach in the field, is right there--so achingly close he feels like his chest might explode.

He knows if you dipped any further, your panties would be on display and he couldn’t help but wonder what color you had on.

You’ve always had a meticulous attention to detail, choices leaning towards deliberate but understated at the same time. In the field, you favored muted tones—greys, blacks, navies. But here in the relative safety of the office you allow a little more personality, more femininity.

His mind turns to your preferences—pink, maybe.

Hotch swallows hard, pulse roaring in his ears. The thought gnaws at him, insistent and unrelenting—he needs to know.

“Careful,” he says, feigning concern. “You might need to check further back on the shelf. Sometimes the files get pushed out of sight.”

You glance over your shoulder at him and he swears he could combust. “Further back?”

He nods, leaning back in his chair to appear casual, though his grip on the armrests were anything but. “Yes.”

You turn back to the cabinet, shifting your weight again as you crouch lower, leaning further to search the back of the shelf. The motion sends the bottom of your skirt riding higher, and for a brief, heart stopping moment, the lace of your panties is on full display.

It was a pink barely there strip of fabric.

His mind betrays him, conjuring images he knows he shouldn't entertain. He imagines his hands on you, running over the curve of his hips, gripping your thighs, sliding that damn skirt higher until there's nothing left to hide. The thought of you like this, pliant and completely unaware of the effect you're having on him, makes his pulse pound in his ears. He wonders what you would do if he were to push those panties to the side and slide a finger in you.

You shift again, leaning deeper into the cabinet as your voice drifts back to him, murmuring something about not seeing it. His jaw locks, teeth pressing together as he fights to maintain control. His fingers dig into the armrests of his chair, the leather creaking faintly beneath the strain. It's a futile effort, though; the pressure building in his chest, his body, is relentless.

The heat pools low in his abdomen, simmering and insistent, a sharp pulse of arousal tightening every muscle in his body. He's painfully hard now, the evidence uncomfortably against his slacks, but he doesn't dare move. His mind a blur of want--what he wants to do to you, what he knows he shouldn't do, and the precarious line he's treading just watching you like this.

The tension in his body seems unbearable, and for a fleeting second, he considers how easy it would be to walk over, to let his hand graze your hip, to tilt your chin up so you'd look at him and see the wreckage you've left in your wake.

But he doesn't. He can't.

Instead, he forces himself to remain still, staying rooted, the self-restraint biting and bitter.

"Are you sure it's under here? I still don't see it."

Hotch's lips twitch, the smallest shadow of a smirk threatening to break free on his face. He leans forward, feigning surprise as he picks up the file from the corner of his desk.

"Ah," he says, waving the file. "Looks like it's been right here the whole time."

You straighten abruptly, brushing your hands down your skirt and turning towards him with a soft laugh. "Hotch! So I was practically upside down in that cabinet for nothing!"

He shakes his head, giving a small chuckle to match yours. Not for nothing. The satisfaction still simmers low in his chest, a private indulgence he knows you'll never suspect--the movement was far from wasted.

"My mistake."

"Well, I guess we all have our moments. Let me know if there's anything else you need, okay?"

When the door finally closes behind you, he exhales shakily, the breath spilling out like a confession. Leaning back in his chair, he presses his fingers to his temples, his entire body tense with the effort of restraint. He feels unmoored, like a man balancing on the edge of a precipice, one misstep away from losing everything he’s worked so hard to keep under control.

But for now, he’ll settle for watching, for imagining, for wishing—knowing full well that nothing could ever come of it. And yet, as he glances at the door where you’d just been, a part of him wonders how much longer he can hold out.

It’s going to be an impossibly long day—but the most troubling part of all is how much he’s starting to enjoy the torment.

taglist: @readergf @edencherries @aurorsworld @princess76179 @malindacath @broadwaytraaaaash @sunfyyre @sleepysongbirdsings @trulycayla @crouchingapple @navia3000 @aaronlovesava @bakugocanstompme @pansexualhailstorm @averyhotchner @looking1016 @everythinglizzy @sky2nd @alexxavicry @spencerssatchel @candyd1es @storiesofsvu @pleasantgardenwitch @kodzukenmaa @hiireadstuff @dilflover-3 @spennciesslut @phoenix-le-danseur-de-pole @jstcln @just-here-to-read13 @c-losur3 @wondergal2001 @oliver-1270 @ssahotchbabe @savagemickey03 @justanotherbimboslxt @imoonkiss @estragos @khxna @de-duchess @raysmayhem-72 @piinksdoll @justyourusualash @whimsicalpolitical @kcch-ns @cool-light32 @reidfile @sugarbutterbailey @ssamorganhotchner

join my taglist here!

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #perv!aaronhotchner #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner smut #aaron hotchner fic #criminal minds fic #criminal minds #aaron hotchner x fem reader #hotch #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds smut #criminal minds x reader

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7-wonders · 2 months ago

Text

"Watching horror movies together"

From a Halloween prompt list. Thanks for reading, guys :)

In your humble opinion, October is one of the best months of the year. How can it not be, when there are so many fun activities that come along with the fall season? Pumpkin patches and apple picking, haunted houses and costume parties, colorful trees and fall-scented everything. One of your favorite parts of October? An excuse to watch as many scary movies as you could possibly desire.

You don’t just watch scary movies in October, of course. Halloweentown and Hocus Pocus were made for this month, and it’d be a shame to not watch them both at least once. But horror movies, in all their spooky, creepy glory, have a special place in your heart, and they’re something that you go out of your way to watch this month. There are only so many days that you can pack in all the Halloween you can handle, after all.

You’re spending the night as you do so many others in October—with the lights off, a snack on your coffee table, and the horror movie of your choice on the screen (tonight’s pick being The Conjuring). The movie is maybe 15 minutes in when you get your first jump scare, but it doesn’t come from the screen. Instead, it comes when a man materializes out of the shadows of your living room, making you yell in fright before your eyes recognize the messy head of black hair and alabaster skin.

“You scared me!” you exclaim, quickly getting over your fear and being unable to stop smiling when it sinks in that Morpheus is actually here.

“My apologies.” He takes in the scene before him, you sitting in a darkened room with a blanket on your lap watching a movie, with interest. “What are you doing?”

“Watching a movie. Shouldn’t I be asking you that? You’re almost never in the Waking.”

It takes him a moment to figure out how to say what he wants to say. “My duties have kept me away from you as of late. I wish to rectify that.”

After translating from Morpheus to English, you have to exert a lot of willpower to keep from breaking. He came all the way to a realm he’s not comfortable in simply because he missed you? Because he feels guilty for being busy and wants to try and make it up to you?

(There’s no need for him to make anything up, because you’re not mad at him in the slightest. He’s the ruler of a freaking realm; of course, that’s going to take precedence over almost everything in his life. But if his misplaced guilt causes him to spend more time with you, then you certainly won’t complain.)

“Okay. Do you…want to watch the movie with me, then?”

He considers the question, likely the first time he’s ever been asked such a thing. Regally, he answers, “I suppose.”

Now he’s here, sitting next to you on your secondhand couch in your cozy apartment, trying to wrap his all-knowing mind around what a horror movie is. You’re simply pleased beyond measure that your boyfriend is doing something so human and mundane with you, and therefore willing to answer any of his questions that take your attention away from the screen.

“These are watched with the express purpose to leave the viewer frightened?”

“Exactly. You know, like how people read Dracula and Frankenstein?” Relating the movie to classic literature he’s familiar with (you doubt he’s had time to catch up on Stephen King novels) finally makes it click for Morpheus, who nods. “It’s fun to be scared, sometimes.”

Even though this is likely one of the first movies that Morpheus has ever watched, he has enough of an idea of the concept to realize that it’s an activity that’s mostly conducted in silence. It’s a concept he respects…for the most part.

(“Why do they not simply move to another home?” Morpheus asks when one of the daughters sees someone standing in the dark behind her door. Smirking, you simply say, “Now you’re asking the right questions.”)

When the pictures fall off the wall and remind you that one of the best scenes is seconds away from happening, you smile as an idea comes to mind.

“There is another plus to watching scary movies together,” you begin, making Morpheus look at you curiously.

“And that would be?”

“Well, when scary things happen on screen…” Carolyn Perron falls down the stairs as the spirit locks the door. “And if I were to, say, jump in fright because of it…” The basketball is thrown from within the cellar, and you jump exaggeratedly. “Then it would only make sense for you, as my romantic interest, to…” Taking Morpheus’s hand in yours, you maneuver his arm until it’s draped around your shoulders. “Comfort me.”

It takes him a moment to settle into the new position, for his arm to relax around you until he naturally pulls you closer to him. When he does, your smile widens until you’re flashing a very smug grin at him.

“I believe you are right,” he says. “This does make the experience better.”

Laughing lightly, you kiss his shoulder before turning your attention back to the movie. October continues to be full of new reasons as to why it’s one of the best months of the year.

#the sandman #morpheus x reader #Morpheus imagine #dream of the endless x reader #dream of the endless imagine

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woniedarlin · 7 months ago

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Love Beyond The Council: Yang Jungwon

pairing: stuco pres!Jungwon x quiet! reader

synopsis: Jungwon, a dedicated student council president whose attention is inexplicably drawn to you, despite your quiet demeanor. As he navigates the halls of the school, he finds himself captivated by your presence, unable to shake the feeling that there’s something special about you. Will Jungwon summon the courage to break the silence and initiate a conversation, or will his admiration remain unspoken? Follow Jungwon’s journey as he grapples with his feelings.

warnings: kissing, fighting, chaos, Jungwon likes physical affection

note: Hello again 💖 I did this just now at midnight. I suddenly had an urge to write. I'm very sorry if there were errors. Happy reading! 📖

Jungwon, the student council president, stood tall in the school hallways. With his hand inside his pocket, he meticulously looked at each passing student, his gaze unwavering and authoritative. Then, amidst the throng, his attention fixed on you. You are a year younger than him. Though you two weren’t that close, he was aware of you. Despite your quiet demeanor, your respectful nature towards him and your elegance and beauty, they had not gone unnoticed. Many students harbored crushes on you, and Jungwon understood why. They all recognized that you were truly one of a kind.

His stern expression softened ever so slightly. He nodded in acknowledgment, a hint of warmth in his usually stern gaze, recognizing the unique aura you brought to the school. Approaching you with measured steps, Jungwon's composed demeanor belied his inner admiration. As he drew closer, his sharp and focused eyes flickered with a subtle warmth.

"Hey," Jungwon said, his voice smooth and composed. He adjusted his uniform tie slightly, his fingers moving with practiced precision as he continued, maintaining a professional distance.

"Your academic excellence precedes you," he remarked matter-of-factly, a hint of reverence in his tone.

Surprised by his approach and compliment, you responded, “Oh, thank you, Jungwon,” with a soft smile, feeling a warmth spread through you at his unexpected praise.

A small, barely perceptible smile tugged at the corner of Jungwon's lips at your reply. "It's the truth," he responded, his voice carrying a note of conviction. His gaze softened, a rare show of warmth.

"You maintain a balance of both academics and grace. Your dedication is admirable," he continued, his tone measured and respectful. He paused, his gaze meeting yours for a moment, before he spoke again, his voice a bit softer. ‘’You set a good example for your peers. Keep up the great work. It's evident that you're making a positive impact on others," Jungwon finished, his words carrying a weight of sincere appreciation. While he maintained his professional facade and the air of authority expected of him, his genuine praise shone through, a glimpse of his true feelings.

“You can be the next student council president after me. You have the potential,” Jungwon suggested, his tone both encouraging and confident.

Caught off guard by his confidence in you, you lightly shook your head and replied, “I don’t think I fit the standards of a student council president.” Despite your words, there was a hint of doubt in your voice, as if you were questioning your own judgment in the face of his unwavering belief in you.

"Nonsense." Jungwon’s firm but gentle tone was filled with conviction. His eyes locked on yours, leaving no room for doubt. He shook his head slightly, his expression serious yet nurturing.

"You underestimate your own potential. Your qualities as a young woman are beyond admirable. Your humility, intelligence, and grace are just a few of the reasons I believe you could lead this school," he began, his sincerity resounding in every syllable.

“Thank you,” you said, still processing his unexpected confidence in you. Despite your initial doubts, his belief in your potential left you with a lingering warmth and a seed of possibility.

He nodded, his gaze softening as he observed your gracious acceptance of his compliment. "Don't thank me," he said quietly, his voice tinged with a hint of warmth. He adjusted his uniform, his eyes studying yours once more, before he continued. His next words carried a heavier meaning, each one carefully chosen. "Just keep being yourself. That's more than enough."

You didn’t know why, but you suddenly had the confidence in yourself to say something.

“I know we aren’t that close, but I hope we can be,” you said with a smile, fiddling with your hands nervously. Your words hung in the air, filled with hope and the promise of a new connection.

Jungwon's gaze met yours, his eyes softening. A hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "Distance is nothing more than a matter of time and effort," he noted with a hint of reassurance. "Perhaps we can bridge the gap between us. After all, the student council is open to all students, isn't it?” he added, the corner of his lips curling up into a small, genuine smile.

“Yeah,” you nodded, your smile growing a little wider as you met his gaze. You felt a sense of possibility and anticipation for the friendship that could blossom between you.

A comfortable silence settled between you, a moment of understanding and acceptance. The bustling sounds of the hallway seemed to fade into the background as you both stood there, an unspoken connection forming between you. After a moment, Jungwon spoke again, his voice carrying a mix of warmth and respect. "You're always welcome to attend our student council meetings. I'm sure everyone else would welcome your presence with open arms.”

“Sure. I look forward to attending your meetings,” you added softly, your smile reflecting both gratitude and the budding hope for a closer connection with him.

Another gentle nod from Jungwon, his eyes reflecting his sincerity. He took a deep breath, the sounds of the bustling hallway returning to fill the air. "If that's all, I should continue my inspection," he stated, a hint of warmth still evident in his expression. "There's no shortage of students who need a reminder about school rules," he added with a slight, wry smile, his eyes holding a sparkle of amusement.

You tilt your head slightly, and there is a hint of curiosity in your expression. “Am I in trouble? ”You ask, half-jokingly, though a flicker of uncertainty lingers in your eyes.

A hint of surprise flickered across Jungwon's eyes at your question, his brows furrowing ever so slightly, before a small chuckle escaped his lips. "Of course not," he answered softly, his tone holding a hint of reassurance. He shook his head gently.

"You have nothing to worry about. You've done nothing wrong. And even if you did," he continued, his voice low and sincere, "I assure you, dealing with such matters is a part of my duties. I can let it slide.” He whispered his last sentence and winked at you after.

“Really? ”You inquire, searching his expression for any indication of seriousness behind his words.

Jungwon nodded, his eyes softening at your disbelief. "Truly,” he replied, his voice carrying a note of certainty. “You've consistently adhered to the school's guidelines and shown great respect to your peers. I have no reason to suspect you of misconduct.” His eyes examined your face and continued, “Rest assured, you have nothing to fear or worry about in my eyes.”

"Thank you so much, Jungwon," you say, gratitude evident in your tone as you appreciate Jungwon's unexpected kindness and support.

Jungwon nodded again, a small smile gracing his lips at your gratitude. He took in your expression,

"There's no need to thank me. It's simply my duty." He let out a gentle sigh before continuing, his expression more relaxed than before. "Is there anything else you'd like to discuss or bring to my attention before we part ways?"

"Nope," you smile at him. "I don’t want to disturb you while you are doing your duties." With that, you offer him a respectful nod before stepping back, allowing him to attend to his responsibilities.

Jungwon returned your smile with a gentle look in his expression. "Until we meet again, have a pleasant day." He nodded in farewell, his eyes holding a hint of contentment and satisfaction as he watched you head on your way. As you walked away, you couldn't help but feel a sense of connection and understanding in the short exchange you'd shared with the student council president.

The next day, the hallways buzzed with commotion as two male students clashed in a heated fight, their shouts echoing off the walls. A crowd quickly formed around them, eager to witness the unfolding drama.

You stood at a distance, shock washing over your features as you took in the chaotic scene. Determined to intervene, you began to walk briskly towards the center of the commotion, your concern overriding your initial hesitation. Your steps quickened, driven by the urgent need to restore peace.

As the sound of a commotion filled the hallway, Jungwon's attention instantly snapped towards the source. He saw the gathering crowd and the unfolding fight. Without wasting a second, he began making his way towards the scene, his strides swift and purposeful. His eyes darted around, assessing the situation with a quick glance.

As Jungwon approached, he observed your determined stride, recognizing the concern etched on your face as you attempted to intercede in the escalating conflict. He knew he had to protect you, shielding you from the dangers of the fight unfolding before you.

Feeling Jungwon's firm grip on your waist, you're gently pulled away from the escalating confrontation, his touch both protective and reassuring. As his hand cups your cheek, his touch tender against your skin, you meet his gaze, finding solace in the depths of his eyes.

“I’ll handle it. Don’t worry,” he says softly, his voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves. In that moment, surrounded by chaos yet enveloped in his protective embrace, you find a sense of safety and trust, knowing that Jungwon will do whatever it takes to keep you out of harm's way.

“But...” you begin, your concern evident in your voice, but Jungwon’s gaze holds yours firmly, his silent plea urging you not to intervene. His head shakes gently, a mix of concern and urgency reflecting in his expression.

“Please, let me handle it. I don’t want to see you get hurt. Stay back,” he implores, his words laced with a soft sigh. “Trust me.”

Swiftly, Jungwon stepped between you and the center of the commotion, creating a barrier between you and the fight. His voice cut through the chaos, authoritatively yet respectfully addressing those involved. "That's enough!" His words carried a tone of firmness and finality, commanding immediate attention. He glanced between the two students, his eyes conveying a stern warning. "Break it up. Now!" He commanded, his voice leaving no room for disobedience.

The students involved paused, their faces showing a mixture of fear and surprise at Jungwon's authoritative tone and presence. The commotion of the fight slowly died down, replaced by a tense silence. As Jungwon stood there, a powerful figure projecting authority and control, both students sheepishly backed off, their eyes lowering in a mix of guilt and sheepishness.

The crowd that had gathered slowly dispersed, their murmurs of excitement giving way to hushed whispers of admiration for the student council president's effective intervention.

“You two, go to detention now,” Jungwon commanded, his tone firm and unwavering as he addressed the brawling students. Turning his attention to the rest of the onlookers, he continued, “As for the others, you all are blocking the hallway. I don’t want to see this ever happen again.”

With the crowd dispersing and the tension diffused, Jungwon took a moment to compose himself, his demeanor shifting from authoritative to attentive. Discreetly, he drew in a deep breath, his shoulders easing as he turned to face you. His eyes, filled with a mixture of concern and relief, searched yours for any signs of distress.

“Are you okay? ”He inquired softly, his voice a gentle reassurance amidst the aftermath of the confrontation. His hand reached out, tenderly holding your waist as he checked for any bruises or injuries, his touch conveying a sense of protectiveness and care.

“Yeah,” your voice carrying a hint of relief as you reassure Jungwon of your well-being.

A relieved sigh escaped Jungwon's lips as he felt your response. He nodded, his expression softening.

"Thank goodness." He continued to gently hold onto your waist, his touch remaining firm but not forceful. His eyes searched your face, assessing if you were truly unhurt by the incident. "Please don't approach fights like that in the future." His voice held a note of concern and protection.

“I was worried,” you admit, your voice softening with vulnerability as you acknowledge the concern that had gripped you during the chaotic situation.

Jungwon nodded, his eyes meeting yours, understanding your concern. ‘’I understand that you were worried about the situation and wanted to help, but I can't allow something to happen to you. My duty is to ensure the safety and well-being of all students. I couldn't bear to see you get hurt."

“Thank you for stopping me,” you express, your gratitude sincere.

A gentle smile tugged at the corners of Jungwon's lips as he heard your gratitude. He nodded slightly, his gaze holding yours for a moment before he spoke. "It was my duty as student council president to restore order and protect the students." He squeezed your waist softly. "But it was also a personal desire to keep you safe.”

“Really? ”You tilt your head slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing your features as you process Jungwon’s actions and his genuine concern for your well-being.

Jungwon nodded again, an earnest expression in his eyes. "Truly,” he assured you. “You may see it as just a part of my job as the student council president, but there's also a personal drive within me to protect someone I care for.” A hint of warmth crept into his voice as he looked at you, his gaze holding a mix of adoration and sincerity. His touch on your waist remained gentle but firm, a silent reassurance and a promise to protect you from harm.

"Please trust in my ability to handle situations like these. Your safety is important to me." He let out a soft sigh, his expression softening ever so slightly. "I hope you can accept my actions as an expression of care and concern, and not just my role as student council president."

“I am,” you confirm with a smile, touched by Jungwon’s care and thoughtfulness.

A small smile of contentment tugged at the corners of Jungwon's lips as he heard your response. He nodded once more, a soft sigh escaping him. The warmth in his eyes reflected his genuine appreciation for your understanding. "Thank you. Thank you for trusting me and understanding my intentions." He gently squeezed your waist once more before reluctantly letting go, though the protective and caring nature remained evident in his gaze. “Well, I should head to detention to give a little talk to those two.”

‘’Alright,” you respond, a sense of calm settling over you.

Jungwon nodded, his gaze flickering over yours one last time before he reluctantly let go of your waist. “Be careful, okay? ”He held your gaze for a moment, his eyes filled with a mix of concern and affection, before turning around to head to the detention room.

As the months passed, Jungwon and you found themselves spending more and more time together after school. You two continued to explore various hangout spots, from intimate cafes to bustling malls and arcades. With each encounter, their bond deepened, the connection growing stronger with each shared laugh, story told, and experience.

Jungwon always made sure to prioritize your safety and care. His protective nature was a constant presence, guiding their interactions like a comforting security blanket. Whether it was holding your hand to guide you through a crowded street or offering a sincere word of encouragement during a tough day,.

As you walked through the school early in the morning, you couldn't help but notice the peaceful atmosphere that filled the hallways. The school felt tranquil, with only a few students present.

Jungwon, as dedicated as ever, was already present at the school. As student council president, he often arrived early to get a head start on his duties. The sound of papers shuffling and the scratching of a pen against paper filled the air as he diligently prepared for the day ahead.

Feeling a sense of contentment, you continued to walk through the empty hallways, your steps echoing softly against the walls. As you passed by a classroom, you noticed the door slightly open. Glancing inside, you saw a glimpse of Jungwon engrossed in his work. He seemed deeply focused on his task, his eyes scanning the sheets of paper in front of him with intense concentration.

He glanced up from his paperwork and noticed your approach. A small, warm smile immediately lit up his face. He set his pen down, giving his full attention to you as you entered. "Good morning, pretty," he greeted, his voice filled with a gentle warmth and contentment. "You're here early."

“I am. I knew you’d be early, and I want to see you as much as possible,” you admit with a shy smile, the sincerity of your words evident in your gaze as you meet his eyes.

A sparkle of both surprise and joy filled Jungwon's eyes at your words. "Is that so?" he replied, his voice tinged with a hint of warmth and contentment. He gestured for you to come closer and sit down next to him. "I'm glad you decided to come earlier. I admit, it means a lot to have your presence, even if it's just to keep me company while I work."

You settled into the seat next to him, a sense of comfort washing over you in his presence. “You seem really busy. I hope I didn’t disturb you,” you remarked, a hint of concern in your voice as you considered the possibility of interrupting his work.

Jungwon smiled softly, his eyes meeting yours. "Not at all, pretty. Your presence is always a pleasant interruption. In fact, I was just about to take a quick break after this." He leaned back in his chair, the tension in his shoulders easing a bit as he relaxed. “So, what brought you here this early? ”

“Like I said, I want to see you as much as possible,” you reaffirm with a soft smile.

Jungwon let out a small chuckle, charmed by your honesty and straightforwardness. "Well, I must say, your straightforwardness is both refreshing and endearing," he replied, a warm smile playing on his lips and his dimples showing. He leaned in slightly, his gaze fixated on you. “It’s nice to know that you enjoy my company so much that you’d sacrifice your sleep just to spend more time with me.”

“Well, you sacrifice yours too, so I must say that it’s admirable. I hope you will get enough rest after,” you said, acknowledging Jungwon’s dedication to his responsibilities while expressing concern for his well-being.

Jungwon nodded, his expression turning a bit more serious. “You’re right. It’s important to prioritize rest too. But sometimes, you have to put in extra effort to achieve something, right? In this case, that 'something’ is finishing these tasks.” Turning his attention back to his paperwork, he began organizing the papers on his desk. “Anyways, I’ll try not to work too hard. Don’t hesitate to let me know if you feel bored, okay? ”

‘’Okay.’’ You nodded reassuringly. Jungwon continued his work, his pen moving swiftly across the paper as he filled out forms and took notes. From time to time, he would glance up from his work, casting a glance your way, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. The atmosphere remained comfortable and peaceful, with only the sound of pens on paper and the occasional rustle of papers filling the room.

After what felt like an hour or two, Jungwon finally finished his paperwork. "Phew!" he let out a long, exhausted breath, stretching his arms up and arching his back. The sound of his joints popping echoed softly in the room as he let out a small groan. He glanced over to you and the clock. "It looks like it's nearing the first period already."

“Yeah, well, I should go to my classroom,” you said, acknowledging the passage of time and the need to attend your classes.

A hint of reluctance flickered across Jungwon's features, but he nodded in understanding. "Alright, I understand. You need to get to class. I should probably make some last checks around the school before the first period." He stood up from his chair and offered a warm smile. "I'll see you later. Have a productive day, pretty girl."

"You too," you replied with a soft smile, offering a wave of goodbye as you turned to leave, feeling a sense of gratitude for the brief but meaningful interaction with Jungwon.

Jungwon nodded, his eyes holding a hint of warmth as he watched you leave. As you left the room, he couldn't help but feel a small sense of emptiness, wishing to spend more time with you. However, he pushed aside the feeling, knowing he had his duties as the student council president to attend to.

As you headed to your classroom, the thought of seeing each other again later filled you with a sense of anticipation and contentment.

As classes ended, students began exiting their respective classrooms, the hallway filling with the sound of excited chatter and bustling footsteps. Jungwon, who was still on student council duties, stood near the entrance of the hallway, talking with a few other council members. He glanced up as you exited your class, his eyes lighting up the moment he laid eyes on you.

A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he excused himself from the conversation and made his way over to you. When he arrived in front of you, he greeted you with a soft yet warm smile. “Hey, how were your classes? ”He asked, his voice holding a note of genuine curiosity. “I hope they weren't too stressful.”

‘’It was alright. It’s manageable. What about you? ”You asked, engaging Jungwon in conversation.

He chuckled softly, with a hint of playfulness in his tone. "Manageable, you say? Well, I'll be honest with you, my workloads can be quite overwhelming, especially during exam periods. Balancing student council duties and classes is no easy feat." He let out a small sigh, his expression turning serious for a moment before brightening again ‘’But you know what they say, no pain, no gain."

“Exactly, but still. I hope you get enough rest,” you said, expressing concern for Jungwon’s well-being as you reached out to gently hold his hand.

He laughed softly, a sense of comradery existing between the two of you. He motioned his head to the hallway. "Now that classes are done, why don't we take a break?’’ He gestured down the hallway. “There's a vending machine not too far from here. How about we get some drinks and chat?”

"Sure. Let’s go?" you asked, ready to accompany Jungwon.

A small smile tugged at his lips as he heard your response, a sense of contentment filling him ‘’Perfect. Let’s go then.” Both individuals’s hands were still held together. He began walking down the hallway, the sound of his footsteps echoing softly against the walls. The chatter of the students around them filled the air, adding a lively atmosphere to the moment. “You know, you have a way of making my day brighter,” he admitted, a hint of sincerity in his smile.

“Really? I don’t do much,” you replied modestly, though a flicker of warmth touched your eyes at his words, grateful for the connection you shared with Jungwon.

Jungwon chuckled softly at your modest reply, a warm glint in his eyes. "Well, you might not think you’re doing much, but your presence alone makes my day all the better. Believe me, just having you here and having these conversations means a lot to me."

With a gentle smile, he gestured towards the vending machine. “So, what drink would you like to get? My treat.”

‘’Orange juice, please, thank you,” you said, your smile polite.

Jungwon nodded in response, a small smile playing on his lips. "Orange juice it is." They approached the vending machine, which was filled with various drink options. Jungwon punched in the code for orange juice, and a moment later, the familiar sound of a bottle clunking against the dispenser could be heard. "There you go, pretty," he said, offering the drink to you. "Your orange juice."

He smiled, watching as you took the drink from him, appreciating the small gesture. He then approached the vending machine himself, punching in the code for bottled water, which was dispensed a moment later. He turned back to you, the bottle in hand. He gestured towards the door that led to the school garden. "Let's head over to the garden. It's a nice place to chat. Plus, it's quieter there." With a smile, he headed towards the door, waiting for you to follow him.

You nodded and followed him. As you stepped through the door leading to the garden, a wave of tranquility washed over you. The scent of blooming flowers and the rustle of leaves filled the air, creating an atmosphere of calmness and serenity.

Jungwon led the way, finding a spot under a tree where they could sit comfortably. He gestured for you to take a seat on the grass beside him. He sat down, leaning back against the tree trunk, the setting sun casting golden hues of light over them.

He popped open the cap of his bottled water and took a sip, the cool liquid refreshing him after a busy day. He turned to look at you, content in his eyes. "I always find solace in this garden. After a long day of classes and council duties, it's nice to take a moment for ourselves. Don't you think?"

‘’It is. The garden is very beautiful. The gardening club did absolutely wonderful,” you agreed, admiring the lush greenery and vibrant blooms that surrounded you.

Jungwon nodded in agreement, a hint of admiration in his eyes as he glanced around the garden. ''They had truly outdone themselves. Seeing all the work they put in to create such a serene atmosphere... I hope they can maintain it for many years to come.” He took another sip of his water, his gaze returning to you. “Ah! I almost forgot.” He reached into his bag and took out a small snack bar. “I had an extra one. Would you like it? ”

‘’Yes, please,” you responded politely, accepting his offer.

Jungwon handed over the snack bar with a small, almost shy smile on his face. "Here you go. Enjoy."

He leaned back against the tree, watching you with contentment. A comfortable silence settled between them, the only sound being the occasional rustle of the leaves and the gentle hum of nature. "I must admit, I’ve enjoyed spending time with you even more than usual. There's something about being here in the garden with you that makes the moment feel... special.”

‘’Every moment with you is special. I cherish every single thing,” you replied sincerely, your heart swelling with affection for Jungwon and the bond you shared. In this tranquil setting, surrounded by the beauty of nature, your connection felt even more profound and meaningful.

Jungwon’s smile grew warmer as he heard your words. A sense of contentment washing over him.

“You're making me blush,” he replied playfully, laughing at your words. "But you know what? I agree. Even the simplest times spent with you feel extraordinary." He reached out, gently taking your hand in his, their fingers intertwining.

He gently caressed your hand with his thumb, a small smile playing on his lips. He looked up at you, his eyes filled with a mix of adoration and contentment. “Being here with you, enjoying nature, and simply being ourselves—it's moments like these that I cherish the most. I hope we can create many more unforgettable memories together."

‘’I hope so too,” you replied, your voice soft yet filled with conviction. In that moment, surrounded by the tranquility of the garden and the warmth of Jungwon’s touch, you felt a sense of certainty that the bond between you would only grow stronger with time, creating countless cherished memories along the way.

He smiled, his eyes filled with warmth and contentment. The serenity of the moment, the beauty of the garden, and the presence of you beside him made it all the more special. "You know, every time I spend time with you, I feel blessed. I hope you know how much you mean to me. You make my life happier and more fulfilling." He lifted your hand up to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of your hand, his eyes never leaving yours.

‘’I feel the same way. I’m very happy when I’m with you,” you replied softly, your heart swelling with love and gratitude for Jungwon and the happiness he brought into your life.

Jungwon's heart fluttered in his chest as he heard your words. To hear that your feelings mirrored his own brought contentment and joy he couldn’t fully express in words. As the sun began to set, casting a warm, golden glow over the garden, he smiled, squeezing your hand gently. "I promise to cherish these moments and to continue finding joy in each other. Life is short, and I want to spend every moment of it by your side."

As you looked at him, your heart warmed with love and gratitude for the man beside you. His words touched you deeply, reaffirming the bond you shared and the commitment you both had to nurturing your relationship.

As Jungwon's eyes sparkled with contentment, he found himself captivated by the radiant beauty of your features, illuminated by the setting sun's last rays. Drawn to you by an irresistible pull, he leaned in slowly, his heart fluttering with anticipation. Closing the distance between you, he pressed his lips against yours in a tender kiss, the world around them seeming to fade away in the embrace of the moment. With each gentle caress of his lips against yours, a surge of warmth and affection enveloped him, his heart overflowing with love for you.

Deepening the kiss, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer as if to convey the depth of his feelings through the embrace. His fingers gently tangled in your hair, the touch filled with tenderness and devotion as he savored the precious moment shared between you. In that timeless embrace, surrounded by the beauty of the garden and the warmth of your love, Jungwon knew that he had found his home in your arms.

Jungwon reluctantly pulled back, his breathing slightly uneven as he looked at you with a mixture of contentment and discontentment. He brushed a strand of hair away from your face; his touch was gentle and affectionate. "Being with you... feels so right," he whispered, his voice filled with sincerity. He gently rested his forehead against yours, letting the moment wash over them.

‘’It really does,” you replied softly, your heart swelling with love and gratitude.

Jungwon smiled, his fingers gently tracing your jaw before cupping your cheek in his palm. He gently closed his eyes, savoring the moment and the feeling of closeness between them. “You truly make me the happiest I’ve ever been. I never want this feeling to end,” he softly whispered, his other hand gently intertwining with yours.

“Be mine, pretty? ”

‘’I already am,’’ you replied without hesitation, your voice filled with love and certainty. In that moment, surrounded by the beauty of the garden and the warmth of Jungwon’s embrace, you knew that your hearts were forever entwined, bound together by an unbreakable bond of love and devotion.

His heart skipped a beat, and a bright, warm smile spread across his face. “Really? You have no idea how happy you’ve made me just by saying that. Knowing that you’re mine... it’s truly a blessing.” He reached out, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “But just between you and me, can I share a secret? ”

‘’Yeah,” you replied, curious to hear what Jungwon had to share with you.

A small blush crept across his cheeks as he leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I've had a thing for you for a while now. Ever since I first saw you, I just knew that you were someone special. And as I got to know you better, that feeling only grew stronger." His thumb gently brushed over your hand as he continued speaking. “I was worried that you didn’t feel the same way, but now that I know you do, it’s a dream come true.”

‘’Oh? I thought I made myself clear that I like you too,” you replied with a playful smile, teasing him gently. The warmth in your eyes mirrored the affection in your heart as you shared this intimate moment with Jungwon.

Jungwon laughed softly, his eyes shining with a mixture of relief and happiness. “Perhaps I was just too nervous to admit my own feelings. But now, with our feelings out in the open, I feel like I’m on top of the world.” He pulled you closer, gently wrapping his arms around you in a warm embrace, their bodies pressed together. “I can't wait to spend more time with you, to create memories, and to grow even closer. ”

He chuckled softly as he examined your face. “I might as well marry you when the time is right to make sure that we’ll have countless memories.”

You blushed slightly at his words, a tint of pink evident on your cheeks. “Stop joking around,” you teased, though a hint of fondness shone in your eyes as you playfully chided him.

He smiled, leaning in to softly kiss your blushing cheek. “Who said I was joking? ”He teased, his tone filled with sincerity. “Why would I joke about something as serious as that? ”He gently took your hand in his, his eyes meeting yours with a look of genuine affection. “When I look at you, I see my future. So why not plan out the best possible future together? ”

You couldn’t help but feel a flutter of excitement at his words, though a hint of uncertainty lingered in your mind. “Isn’t it too early? ”You questioned softly, your eyes searching for reassurance.

He chuckled softly, his smile warm and genuine. “Of course it's too early. But it's never too early to dream, is it? ’’

He gently took your hand in his, bringing it to his lips and kissing your knuckles gently. “I know it's not practical, but just the thought of us sharing a future brings me happiness and hope. Even if it is just a dream, it's a beautiful one to have. ”

‘’It is indeed,” you agreed, a smile tugging at your lips as you leaned in to peck his lips tenderly.

He smiled against your lips, the brief contact sending a surge of warmth through him. When he pulled back, his eyes were filled with contentment. "You have no idea how much I love you," he whispered, his voice tinged with a hint of amazement. "Your presence in my life has been nothing short of magical, and I can't imagine spending my days with anyone else. I will always strive to make you happy and to be the best version of myself for you.“

‘’I love you,” you whispered softly, your heart overflowing with love and warmth for Jungwon. In that moment, surrounded by the beauty of the garden and the embrace of his arms, you felt an overwhelming sense of peace and contentment, knowing that you were loved and cherished by the person who meant the world to you.

His heart skipped a beat as he heard those three simple yet powerful words, and he felt a rush of emotion wash over him. Wrapping his arms around you, he pulled you closer, holding you tightly as if never wanting to let go. “I love you more,” he whispered against your hair, his voice filled with sincerity and affection.

Years later…

It has been years since the confession in the garden, and the two of you are now happily settled into life and still madly in love. Jungwon, the steadfast and dedicated president, and you, the beauty who had captured his heart, had built a life together, filled with joy, love, and countless shared memories. Graduated from high school and then years later from college, now in their mid-twenties, Jungwon and you were still going strong, but now as a married couple. You two had faced countless challenges and obstacles together, supporting and motivating each other through thick and thin.

In the middle of the night, the couple lay together in bed, wrapped in each other’s arms, engaged in their late-night conversations. They were nestled closely, finding warmth and comfort in the intimacy of their shared moments.

He was comfortably curled up in your embrace, your head resting on his chest. His fingers gently played with your hair; the repetitive gesture was soothing and relaxing. The room was filled with a warm, tranquil atmosphere, with the only sound being our voices and the soft rustling of the sheets.

“I still can’t believe how lucky I am to have you in my life,” he whispered, his hand gently tracing patterns on your skin.

‘’Me too, bub,” you replied, your own voice soft and affectionate.

He smiled, relishing the warmth and contentment he felt in your arms. His fingers gently brushed over your shoulder, a tender gesture filled with affection. “You know, it’s moments like these that make me realize just how far we’ve come. From the confessions in the garden to this, holding each other and basking in our love. It’s a dream come true.”

“You were so serious about marrying me. Look at us now, years later,” you remarked, a hint of amusement in your voice as you reflected on the journey of your relationship.

He couldn’t help but chuckle softly at your words, bringing his hand up to gently brush a strand of hair away from your face. “You had doubts? ”His voice was lighthearted and teasing. “I was always serious about you. From the moment I laid eyes on you in that hallway, I knew you were the one. But who would’ve thought that our confession would lead to this life? Waking up beside you and falling asleep in each other’s arms. It’s everything I could have wished for and more. “He then placed soft kisses on your jawline and cheek.

‘’I am married to the student council president,” you said, emphasizing the “the” with a playful glint in your eyes.

He chuckled, his breath warm against your skin, as he continued peppering your face with gentle kisses.

“Yes, you are,” he agreed, a hint of amusement in his voice. “You snagged the most handsome, charming, and hardworking student council president in the whole school. And now he's yours forever." He placed a deep kiss on your lips.

“But I was also able to snag the prettiest, most elegant, and most intelligent student in the whole school. Now, she is mine forever.”

‘’Exactly, bub. I am yours forever,” you affirmed, your voice filled with love and devotion as you reaffirmed your commitment to Jungwon.

He smiled at you, gently tugging your body closer to his and wrapping his arms around your waist. He leaned in to press a soft peck on your lips. "Now, why are we still talking so much? Let's enjoy this moment and each other's presence, shall we?" He whispered before pulling you even closer. His hands caressed your back, gently trailing over the curves and contours, while his lips sought out yours once again.

The tender moment between you and Jungwon was interrupted by the sudden cry of a baby from inside the room.

His eyes widened in surprise when he heard the loud cry from the baby; the sound effectively pulled them back to reality. He pulled away from the kiss, his breath slightly ragged and his eyes still filled with affection. "Seems like someone's woken up," he said with a soft chuckle, running a hand through his hair. "I'll go check on him." He reluctantly untangled himself from your embrace and got up out of bed, softly padding over to the crib that held their precious child.

He softly picked up their baby, cradling the small bundle in his arms and gently caressing their backs to comfort them. "Shh, it's okay. Daddy's here," he whispered soothingly. He continued to soothe their child, gently rocking him back and forth while trying to calm him down. "It's alright, I've got you now. You're safe with me."

After a few minutes of tender care and soothing, the cries of the baby gradually subsided, replaced by the gentle sound of peaceful slumber.

After the baby had finally calmed down and fell back to sleep, he placed them back in their crib and let out a deep sigh, a smile tugging at his lips. He quietly made his way back to the bed, climbing in next to you once more. "It's never a dull moment with them, is it?" He whispered with a chuckle, his voice filled with a mix of exhaustion and love.

‘’Never, my love,” you whispered softly.

He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close to his chest. He let out a contented sigh, his body relaxing against yours. "But they definitely make life more interesting," he said, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. He gently pressed a kiss on your forehead, his fingers gently combing through your hair. "And I wouldn't want it any other way. As long as I have you and our child, I have everything I need."

‘’Well, it’s 2 in the morning. We have to go to sleep, bub,” you said, gently reminding Jungwon of the late hour. As much as you both enjoyed these late-night moments together, you knew the importance of getting rest, especially with a little one to care for.

He nodded in agreement, his eyelids growing heavy with fatigue. "You're right, my love. We should get some sleep," he whispered, a yawn escaping him as he cuddled you closer.

"I don't think I'll be able to sleep without you in my arms anyway." He smiled softly. He tightened his embrace, holding you close as he finally let his exhaustion take over and drifted off into a peaceful slumber.

As the night embraced them, they sank into a profound slumber, cocooned in each other’s warmth. Continuing their story as lovers and parents..

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fr0stf4ll · 8 days ago

Text

A court of Shadows and Moonlight - Part 3

paring; Azriel x reader

summary; In the wake of looming war and changing traditions, a gifted healer returns to the Night Court after centuries of wandering the continents. Tasked with stepping into Madja’s legendary role, she must guide reluctant healers, soothe wounded warriors, and face the entrenched prejudice of Illyrian leaders. But as she mends torn wings and broken spirits, an unexpected bond awakens between her and the Night Court’s enigmatic Spymaster. With rivalries simmering and a dangerous threat looming on the horizon, she must reconcile duty and desire, learning that true healing can extend beyond flesh and bone—if she dares to embrace the light hidden among the shadows.

word count ; 4k

Trigger warning; Blood, pain, injuries.

notes; Hello everyone! Thank you so much for the comments on the previous parts. I'm so happy that you’re enjoying this story (because I personally am, lol). Don't hesitate to give feedback, as I'm trying to improve overall! I have uploaded all of my stories on AO3 if any of you are more comfortable reading on the other platform. Also, my requests are open if any of you are interested. It's vacation time for me, so I have more time these days. <3 See you soon and enjoy part 3!

Link; Part 2 or Part 4

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Weeks had turned into a comfortable rhythm, each day drawing you deeper into the heart of your new responsibilities. Winter’s chill still lingered outside, but within the clinic’s halls, warmth and purpose filled the air. Madja had constructed a careful routine—mornings spent reviewing patient logs, afternoons dedicated to meeting the healers who operated throughout Velaris and beyond, and late afternoons or early evenings tending to those who required care. You found yourself adjusting more easily than you’d anticipated, the constant hum of healing magic and quiet conversation making the place feel more like home with each passing day.

Your old room at the hostel now felt like a distant memory. Within a week of settling in, Madja gently insisted that you take the apartment above the small clinic—originally her own workspace and resting spot. At first, you hesitated, still feeling like an outsider who had just returned, but Madja’s firm yet kind encouragement made it clear that this was part of the transition. Now, the apartment’s modest rooms welcomed you each evening: a simple bed with a soft quilt, a desk cluttered with your notes and sketches, and shelves lined with medical texts and herb guides. There was a small window overlooking the Sidra, and sometimes at dusk you’d watch the lamplight glitter on the water, heart at ease.

Costa, your horse, had been entrusted to a capable ostler in Velaris—an Illyrian female who handled the animal with gentle expertise. Knowing Costa was well-fed and groomed, free to stretch his legs in a stable yard not far from the city’s edge, soothed the restless part of your mind. You missed riding, missed the quiet hours of travel with Costa’s steady hooves on unknown roads, but for now you needed to be here, grounded and ready to step fully into Madja’s role.

You’d met most of the healers who had worked under Madja’s guidance—some younger than you, bright-eyed and eager, others older, with steady hands and calm smiles. They greeted you politely, some with curiosity and others with measured caution, as if trying to understand what this new change meant for them. Madja still hovered at your shoulder during these introductions, offering subtle nudges of reassurance. Gradually, you learned their names, their specializations, their quirks. You discovered who excelled at mending broken bones, who shone at delicate surgeries, who possessed the gentlest bedside manner for frightened children. Each person became a piece of a larger tapestry, one you would soon be charged with overseeing.

In between these professional duties, you’d also been summoned to meet with the High Lady, Feyre, on several occasions. These meetings were less formal than you expected—Feyre seemed determined to put you at ease. She asked thoughtful questions about your travels, your impressions of the healing wards, and the ways you might improve the system Madja had built. Often, Rhysand or one of the other Inner Circle members would be present—Cassian slouching in a chair with that easy grin, Azriel standing quietly near a window, shadows at his shoulders. The High Lord listened intently, violet eyes calm, while Feyre nodded, her hand sometimes resting lightly atop a stack of parchment filled with notes.

They all gave the impression of patient confidence. They trusted Madja’s choice, and by extension, they trusted you. That trust both comforted and weighed on you. You were determined not to disappoint them, not to squander the opportunity to shape Velaris’s healing corps into something more agile, more prepared. If war truly loomed on the horizon—whispers still lingering in the court’s quieter corners—then every ounce of skill and knowledge you possessed would be needed.

Evenings found you often at your desk, reviewing patient charts by lamplight. Sometimes Madja would join you, a mug of herbal tea in hand, and together you’d discuss strategy and staffing. At other times you’d work alone, jotting down improvements to the triage system or ways to store emergency supplies more efficiently. The silence of the small apartment felt companionable rather than lonely. You were home, after all these years, in a place that recognized your abilities and gave them purpose.

One morning you awoke early, pushing open the window to let in a crisp breeze. The scent of bread baking somewhere below drifted up, and you smiled. Outside, Velaris shimmered under pale winter sunlight. The city no longer felt quite so strange or distant. You were beginning to know its streets again, to navigate its corners without hesitation. In the stillness, before the day’s demands rose up to greet you, you allowed yourself a small, private moment of contentment.

You had found your footing, a rhythm that matched Madja’s measured guidance with your own growing confidence. Soon enough, Madja would step back fully, leaving you to guide these healers through whatever trials awaited. The thought no longer filled you with anxiety, but with a quiet resolve. You were ready—or at least you would be, by the time Madja’s gentle presence receded from your daily life.

For now, you cherished these weeks of transition: the gentle hum of voices in the clinic halls, the scent of fresh bread and simmering broths, the steady beat of your heart as you prepared to carry on the legacy of a healer who’d believed in you from the start.

———

It was late—well past the hour when the clinic’s final lamp should have been dimmed. Yet, there you were, hunched over a desk scattered with patient files, sketches, and half-finished notes on new salves. Outside, snow whispered against the windowpanes, muffling the night sounds of Velaris. The quiet calm of your small workspace was broken abruptly by a fierce pounding at the clinic doors.

You startled, heart lurching into your throat. Who would come at this time? Without hesitation, you rose and hurried down the corridor, slippers slapping softly against the floor. Approaching the door, you called, “Who is it?” But another series of urgent knocks answered you first.

Flinging it open, you found Cassian standing there, breathing hard, eyes wide with panic and urgency. He said nothing at first, just grabbed at your arm as if to anchor himself. The wild look in his gaze told you something was terribly wrong. Already, you could feel the adrenaline surging, steeling your nerves.

“I need you,” he managed, voice tight and rough. “It’s Azriel.”

You didn’t waste a second—no words of reassurance, no questions. Instead, you spun on your heel, darting back into the clinic’s supply room. Your hands moved with practiced speed, snatching up a medical bag and stuffing in gauze, vials of herbs, antiseptic solutions, and needles for suturing. You threw in a few carefully sealed packs of medicinal leaves, even a small jar of pain-relief tonic. Whatever you might need, because you didn’t know what awaited you.

“Come,” Cassian urged, voice raw. He led you out into the cold night, scarcely giving you time to close the door behind you. Before you knew it, he had scooped you up in a practiced motion and launched into the air. The sudden whoosh of icy wind shocked your lungs, but you clutched your bag tighter, keeping your head low and trusting Cassian’s strong arms and powerful wings to carry you safely. The moonlit panorama of Velaris rushed beneath, a blur of snowy rooftops and dim, golden lights.

Within moments, the House of Wind’s silhouette rose against the starry sky. Cassian landed hard, not bothering with a gentle approach. He half-dragged you inside, footsteps echoing down silent corridors. You found yourself nearly running at his side, alarm thudding in your chest. You followed him through winding halls, the hush of the night fractured by his ragged breathing and the frantic scuff of boots on stone.

He burst into the living area and there, on the massive table that usually served as a gathering place for the Inner Circle’s quiet talks or strategic meetings, lay Azriel. One glance at him and your stomach clenched: his wings—those powerful, graceful wings—looked shredded, raw gashes marring the membranes, blood staining the wood beneath him. Deep cuts scored his arms, his chest. He was breathing, but it was shallow and uneven, face drawn tight with pain.

Rhysand and Feyre hovered nearby, their eyes filled with worry. The High Lord’s jaw was clenched, hands fisted by his sides as if struggling to maintain composure. Feyre’s face was pale, knuckles white where she gripped the table’s edge. Neither dared approach the wounds, knowing to leave it to you.

You didn’t hesitate. “Clear some space,” you ordered, voice firm. Your professionalism took over, pushing aside the horror and fear. You dropped your bag on a nearby chair and quickly rolled up your sleeves.

Azriel’s half-lidded eyes flicked toward you, recognition and relief mingling with agony. His teeth were clenched hard enough to crack. You met his gaze steadily, letting him see that you were here and you would help. Cassian took a shaky breath and stepped back, giving you room.

“Tell me what happened later,” you said sharply to anyone listening, as your fingers deftly opened your medical kit. “For now, we stabilize him.”

A hush fell. The High Lord and High Lady stepped back, trusting you implicitly. Azriel’s shallow breathing and the soft drip of blood became the only sounds. You placed a hand gently near one of the deep cuts, already planning how to close the wounds, which salves to apply first, how to handle the delicate membranes of those damaged wings.

“Azriel,” you said softly, your voice calm and sure, “I need you to hold on. I’m here now.”

He gave an almost imperceptible nod, and you began working, every movement precise and determined. This was what you had trained for, traveled for, returned home for—moments like this, where skill and resolve would mend what cruelty had torn.

“Azriel, drink this,” you said firmly, pressing a small vial to his lips. He tried to turn his head away, but Rhysand and Cassian held him steady, their expressions grim. With a trembling swallow, Azriel took the tonic, his face contorting as the bitter taste hit his tongue. The mixture would dull the pain, buy you precious minutes to work.

You spared no time waiting for the tonic to take full effect. Turning abruptly, you called out to Feyre, voice steady and certain despite the chaos. “Open the windows and doors—all of them,” you ordered.

A flicker of confusion passed over everyone present. Feyre hesitated, eyes darting from you to Rhys, who gave a subtle nod. Then she darted across the living room, unlatching windows, throwing open doors. The chill of the night air swept in, carrying scents of snow and starlight. The House of Wind sat high above Velaris, offering nothing but open sky and a tapestry of stars. The moon hung low and bright, and its silver light spilled across the table, across Azriel’s bloodied form.

Cassian’s grip tightened on Azriel’s arm as the spymaster struggled feebly. Azriel let out a ragged hiss of pain, trying to curl in on himself. You reached out, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, meeting his gaze with steady determination. “Hold him still,” you directed, and Rhysand and Cassian complied, pinning him just firmly enough to keep him from thrashing as you worked.

The sudden openness, the influx of night air and celestial glow, began to make sense. You lifted your hands above Azriel’s body, fingers spread, eyes focused. The moonlight brightened, as if drawn closer by your intent. It pooled onto the table, over his torn wings and deep gashes, shimmering faintly. With careful, precise motions of your hands and a calm, centering breath, you guided that gentle lunar glow.

A thin thread of silvery radiance wound down from the sky, through the open spaces, into your hands. It took on a living quality—like a liquid beam of starlight. Guided by your focus and your will, it slipped into the wounds that needed attention most urgently. You could feel the damage through the magic, each ragged edge of flesh and shredded membrane translating into a sensation of raw, quivering energy beneath your palms.

Your eyes narrowed as you directed the moonlit thread along the worst injuries first—carving a path from torn wing membranes to a deep slash near Azriel’s ribs. Under that gentle illumination, blood flow began to slow, tissues knitting just enough to prevent him from bleeding out. His breathing, ragged moments before, evened fractionally, each breath less desperate than the last.

Everyone watched in stunned silence. Rhysand’s eyes, wide with a combination of shock and relief, met yours briefly as you worked. Cassian’s knuckles were white where he gripped Azriel’s shoulder, but he dared not speak. Feyre stood by the open window, the night breeze stirring her hair, eyes reflecting amazement as she realized what you had done.

You had brought the very light of the cosmos into your healing—the moon and stars aiding your skill. Focused entirely on Azriel, you guided that pale, silvery essence along lacerations, coaxing flesh to mend, halting the most life-threatening bleeding. Each moment counted, each movement of your hand coaxed more life back into him, steadied his pulse, strengthened the tenuous hold he had on consciousness.

And so, amid the hush of the night and the quiet gasps of onlookers, you let that quiet moonlight flow from your fingertips. If any doubts remained about why Madja trusted you, why you had returned at this critical time, they dissolved into silver luminescence and slow, steady healing.

“Turn him over,” you instructed, your voice steady despite the rapid pace of your heart. You had stabilized Azriel enough that he was no longer on the brink of collapse, but if he couldn’t use his wings, he might never fly again—an unthinkable loss for an Illyrian warrior. Rhysand and Cassian exchanged a glance, then moved together, careful and deliberate, rolling Azriel onto his stomach.

Your breath misted in the chill air drifting from the open windows, but you barely noticed it. All your senses were focused on the damage stretched before you. His wings—those proud, powerful wings—were torn and ragged, membranes frayed, the framework bruised and bleeding. Gently placing your palm near a particularly deep tear, you summoned the silvery light again, coaxing it along the rips and gashes. The quiet hush of the room pressed in, everyone mesmerized by the shimmering moonlight threading through your fingertips into Azriel’s wounds.

Bit by bit, you restored what had been brutally disrupted. You couldn’t make it perfect, not instantly, but you could ensure that he would heal, that flight would remain possible. Rhysand and Cassian kept him still, muscles taut with the effort of not jarring his injuries. Feyre stood watchful by the open window, letting in the night’s gentle glow. Her features were tense but hopeful.

When you had done all you could, you nodded once, giving them permission to turn Azriel back onto his back. His breathing was steadier now, his expression more tranquil. The moonlight’s touch lingered over the last of the cuts on his chest and arms. Methodically, you sealed them, coaxing bleeding vessels to close, torn muscle to knit. The worst damage handled, you eased back, allowing the faint star-born thread of light to dissolve, the connection with the celestial glow fading as you willed it so.

Azriel’s lashes fluttered, a quiet groan escaping him. His eyes opened briefly—heavy-lidded, hazy with pain and exhaustion. In that fleeting moment, your gaze locked with his. Something passed between you then—something warm, startling, and utterly unexpected. In the hush, as if the world had paused, you felt a golden thread snap taut between your hearts. Your breath caught, shock flaring through your veins. You knew the stories, the descriptions passed in hushed whispers: the feeling of a bond, a mate. And here it was, sparking in a place of blood and moonlight, in the eyes of a wounded warrior who had nearly died under your hands.

Your heart hammered in your chest. Azriel’s eyes drifted shut, too weak to question what he’d seen in your startled expression, and he slipped into a healing sleep. But you stood there, rattled. Him—your mate. How could this be?

Rhysand’s voice broke the silence, cool and concerned. “Y/N? Is he all right?” He must have seen the shock in your eyes, the subtle tremor in your posture.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to regain composure. The weight of that discovery pressed down on you, but you could not falter now. Azriel needed rest, treatment, not confusion. “Yes,” you managed, your voice calmer than you felt. “He’s stabilized. We need to bring him to his room, clean the wounds properly, and apply salves. The stitches and light will hold, but he’ll need careful monitoring.”

Cassian and Rhysand relaxed visibly at your words. Feyre approached, the night breeze stirring her hair. She considered you with quiet sympathy, not fully understanding your reaction but trusting you nonetheless.

“Very well,” Rhysand said, relief tempered by careful pragmatism. “We’ll move him now. Show us what you need.”

You nodded, forcing a small, reassuring smile. Inside, your heart still thundered, grappling with this new reality. Azriel—your mate. There would be time later to make sense of it, to examine the golden thread that had just woven your fates together. For now, you steadied your trembling hands, prepared your supplies, and focused on the healer’s work still ahead.

With Azriel finally settled into his bed, the soft glow of faelight illuminating the room, you stepped back and surveyed your work. Now that he was washed free of grime and old blood, you had been able to apply the final ointments and bandages, each touch carefully measured. He was stable now, breathing steadily. But every time your fingertips brushed his skin—no matter how clinically—it felt wrong, as if you were crossing some invisible boundary. A patient, nothing more, you reminded yourself sternly. Yet the memory of that golden thread you’d sensed earlier lingered, unsettling your calm.

Rhysand and Cassian stood quietly by, the heavy pieces of Azriel’s armor piled in a corner, their expressions grim and distant. Feyre lingered near the doorway, arms folded, her face etched with concern. At last, with Azriel’s wounds tended and his feverish warmth easing under your skilled hands, you turned away from the bed and walked out of the room. The door clicked softly behind you, sealing the sleeping spymaster safely inside.

In the hallway, Rhysand, Feyre, and Cassian were waiting. The tension was nearly palpable, a silent acknowledgment of the danger that had brought Azriel to this dire state. You drew a steadying breath, mind still whirling with the revelation of a mate bond—one you could not, would not, address now. Instead, you focused on the immediate concern: understanding what had happened, what threat had caused such injury.

“So,” you said softly, meeting their eyes in turn. “What actually happened to him?”

The three shared a look—one that you, even as an outsider to their inner circle, could interpret as worry and anger mingled. Rhysand stepped forward, his posture poised, voice low. “Koshiev’s menace grows,” he began, each syllable measured. “We’ve been hearing whispers: new alliances forming, old enemies sharpening their blades. Azriel was gathering intelligence, trying to confirm rumors we’d caught in the shadows.”

Feyre’s gaze lowered, her jaw tightening. “He found what he was looking for, it seems. Reports suggest he managed to spy on someone—one of Koshiev’s allies or agents. But the enemy must have suspected something. They lured him in, set a trap, and ambushed him before he could escape.”

Cassian’s wings rustled restlessly. He crossed his arms over his chest again, scowling. “He was alone,” he growled. “We couldn’t send a whole team without risking alerting them, and now we see the price of that risk.” There was a note of self-reproach in his voice, frustration that they hadn’t prevented Azriel’s misfortune.

Rhysand inclined his head, the blue of his eyes darkening with resolve. “We still don’t know the full extent of their network, but this attack proves they’re bolder than we thought—and dangerously organized. It’s another sign that the threat Koshiev poses is not distant or hypothetical. It’s here, inching closer to our borders, to our people.”

You absorbed this quietly. The room felt colder, as if the open window had let not just fresh air in, but the weight of the coming storm. So that was it: Azriel’s blood on your hands because he’d tried to protect these lands from a greater horror lurking in the shadows. Your jaw tightened; you knew now more than ever that Madja’s warning of a future conflict wasn’t idle.

Feyre cleared her throat, drawing your attention. “Your swift action saved him,” she said softly, gratitude flickering in her eyes. “Without you… I don’t like to think what might have happened.”

Cassian nodded, grim acceptance in his stance. “We owe you a great deal,” he added, quieter than usual.

Rhysand’s face was serene but serious. “You’ve proved yourself beyond measure tonight,” he said. “Though I regret that such a test came at all.”

You inclined your head, acknowledging their thanks without lingering on it. There would be time for gratitude later. For now, what mattered was that Azriel lived, and that you knew—however unexpectedly—the depth of your new responsibilities. A mate, a looming war, a court depending on your skill and leadership. The path forward would not be simple, but you’d chosen to return to the Night Court for this reason: to heal, to help, to protect. Even if your own heart trembled at what fate had just revealed.

“I’ll prepare more medicine and check on him through the night,” you said at last, voice steady. “We’ll keep him stable, and with rest and care, he’ll recover. As for what comes next… we’ll be ready.”

Your words hung in the hush that followed, a quiet vow that all of you, together, would face whatever darkness Koshiev and his allies chose to bring.

Back in the living room, the tension that had filled the air began to dissipate as Azriel’s rescue shifted into a task of careful aftercare. The others lingered quietly while you settled yourself at a low table, spreading out your supplies. You’d taken a pouch from your bag, emptying it of tools, salves, and ground herbs that would form the next ointment for Azriel’s wounds. With measured concentration, you started mixing ingredients, mortar and pestle working in a rhythmic hush.

Feyre moved closer, her presence calm and unobtrusive. She knelt beside you, watching your hands as they skillfully combined powders and oils. Her gaze trailed to your face, and when you met her eyes, there was genuine admiration there. “What you did back there,” she said softly, voice laced with honest wonder. “That was… remarkable. I’ve never seen healing like that before.”

As if summoned by her words, Rhysand approached, standing behind Feyre, arms lightly folded. “I must agree,” he said, his tone thoughtful. “We’ve had healers here for ages, but none who channel the stars, the moon, or the sun into their craft. The way you drew that moonlight… it defied expectation.”

You inhaled slowly, organizing your thoughts before answering. It was natural that they’d be curious—this was your secret, your gift. “I can heal using the power of the celestial bodies,” you explained, keeping your voice low and measured. “The moon, the stars, the sun—they lend me their energy. When I open the spaces around us, letting their light spill in, I can coax that light into wounds, encourage flesh to knit and blood to still.”

You paused, stirring the ointment gently. The mixture took on a faint floral scent, the herbs reacting perfectly to the warm oil. Feyre’s eyes widened slightly at your explanation, her lips parting as she tried to imagine the scope of such power.

“Does it work every time?” Rhysand asked, tilting his head. The question was not accusatory, merely curious. He understood power and its limits as well as anyone.

You offered a small, wry smile. “So long as the sun, moon, and stars exist, I can tap into that energy. But it’s not effortless. It costs me a great deal of strength to channel their light in that way. Healing major injuries like Azriel’s wings or deep lacerations drains me quickly.” You pressed the pestle harder, grinding a stubborn clump of dried leaf into powder. “I must be careful not to overreach. Exhausting myself completely would help no one.”

Feyre nodded slowly, as if turning the idea over in her mind. “It’s a rare gift,” she said, voice full of understanding. “I’m sure Madja knew what she was doing when she asked you to return.”

A hum of agreement escaped you. “She trained me to harness it in more subtle forms, originally. But my travels—my time in other lands—taught me to focus it more precisely, to use it in dire circumstances.” You allowed yourself a brief glance back toward the corridor where Azriel lay resting. “Tonight was certainly dire.”

Rhysand’s expression softened, and he exchanged a meaningful look with Feyre. “We’re grateful you were here,” the High Lord said quietly. “Not just to save Azriel, but to show us what this court’s healers might achieve under your guidance.”

Your chest tightened, a mixture of pride and responsibility blooming there. “We’ll need all the strength we can gather,” you replied. “If Koshiev’s threat is as real as you’ve warned, I can’t afford to hold back.”

Your words lingered, and for a moment, all of you silently acknowledged the uncertain future—a world where any advantage might tip the scales. In the stillness, you returned your attention to the ointment, gently scooping a bit up to examine its consistency. Perfect, you decided, and let your shoulders relax a fraction.

“I’ll come back in a few hours to apply this to Azriel,” you said quietly. “I need to return to the clinic—dawn is approaching, and I must be there when the other healers arrive. He should remain stable for now, but if anything changes, please bring word to me immediately.”

———

When you returned to the clinic, the world seemed to tilt sideways. The door shut behind you with a soft click, muffling the distant hum of Velaris just awakening to dawn. Inside, the quiet halls that had always felt comforting and safe were now suffocating. A hollow ache pulsed in your chest, and before you could even set down your bag, you sank to the floor, knees hitting the hardwood with a dull thud.

Your heart thundered in your ears. He was your mate—Azriel, the spymaster you had saved in a frantic blur of blood and moonlight. The knowledge pressed down on you with unbearable weight. You wanted to cry, to scream, to lash out at the absurd cruelty of fate. You wanted to vomit, as if emptying your stomach might purge the confusion from your veins. You wanted to slap yourself, to break free from this overwhelming tangle of emotions.

How had this happened? You’d returned to the Night Court to take up Madja’s mantle, to heal and guide, not to be shackled by some golden bond you’d never asked for. You’d only wanted to help him, just as you would have helped anyone bleeding out on that table. Yet in that single, unexpected glance, the world had changed—his fate entwining silently, irrevocably with yours.

A sob lodged in your throat. You pressed trembling fingers against your eyes, as if darkness and pressure could hold back the tears. Every thought spun wildly: you were a healer, not some love-struck fool, not someone who had time or space for this destiny you never sought. But a mate. A mate was no small thing, no bond easily ignored.

Your breathing came in ragged gasps. You had just promised Rhysand and Feyre that you would return, that you would apply the ointment to Azriel’s wounds in a few hours. By then, he would be more stable, perhaps even conscious. Would he sense the bond too? Would he look at you differently? Or would he remain blissfully unaware, leaving you alone in this torment?

Your shoulders shook with silent tears. You drew in a shuddering breath, trying to reason with yourself: you were strong, capable, trained to face agony and death. Yet this… this you had not trained for. The golden thread bound you to a future you had never planned.

Minutes passed, or maybe hours—time lost meaning as you knelt on the clinic floor, trapped in your own swirling thoughts. Eventually, your tears slowed, leaving you hollow and raw. Outside, the city stirred. Healers would soon be arriving, expecting you to open the doors, to lead them through another day of caring for the ill and injured.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself upright. You would bury this secret for now, lock it away until you found the words or the courage to face it. Azriel was alive because of you. Your duty was to keep him healthy, to keep everyone healthy. The matter of mateship—of love, destiny, or whatever name this bond took—would have to wait.

Steadying yourself, you rose, wiped the tears from your cheeks, and breathed deeply. No matter the chaos in your mind, the clinic needed you. You would open these doors again, greet the other healers, and carry on. Somehow, you would find a way to reconcile the golden thread strung between your heart and Azriel’s. But not now. Not yet.

For now, you would endure.

----

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seelestia · 9 months ago

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in lieu of the boop fest: genshin men as boopers.

⎯ something made on a whim to commemorate the lovely booping chaos going on. may not be accurate but i tried!!! 🙏 which one are you?? tag yourself /j this is the silliest thing ever, forgive me. fluff & crack (and made with love).

the harbinger of dedication (???): boop them once and oh, it's on. boops you back and will not stop booping you back — it's an all-out war! or at least, to them. they take this whole matter as an opportunity and certainly don't mind tiring their fingers out just tapping the button on repeat. does it for the fun and to get a reaction out of you. also, probably eats (sends) super boops for breakfast, lunch and dinner. it's their bread and butter.

childe (of course), arataki itto, cyno (has a desire to max out his boop-o-meter till the end - a completionist's habit).

the menace (as simple as that): they have no need to be booped because they're the one booping you first and a lot at that too. oh, you got 99+ notifs? yeah, that's an act of love and it's from them. they hoped you liked the gift because they had fun giving it. grab a handkerchief because you're gonna have to scrub that smirk off their face, literally.

wriothesley, kaeya, shikanoin heizou, lyney (he apologizes by treating you to a meal afterwards).

confusion (awkward ver.): ...what. what is this? what does 'boop' even mean? why does it sound so oddly menacing when uttered out loud? and why are you smiling at like that? it's a trend, you explain and they — reluctantly and nervously — send a boop back. they have no idea what they're doing but at least, seeing that proud look on your face amounts to something. maybe, they did well? they then proceed to send you another one just for good measure. how cute.

xiao, gorou.

confusion (boomer ver.): their first thought was that they're getting hacked by a... feline virus? how interesting (please explain). with some explanation from you, they'll eventually understand the concept! a passive booper at best, but has a proclivity to treat boops as a “i'm thinking about you” button. so just know one boop equals to one time you crossed their mind.

zhongli, neuvillette, dainsleif (still confused at the end of it), diluc (secretly because he has pride).

the 'humble' reciprocator (dark horse?): all is in perfect tandem. you give one boop, they give one back. you give two boops, they give two back. you squint your eyes at them from across the room suspiciously, they chuckle into their hand in response. is that an act of mischief or demureness? you wonder what will happen if you boop them one hundred times? well, let's find out. (they will give back the exact amount, no matter what.)

kaedehara kazuha, baizhu, kamisato ayato (a true hybrid between being humble and a menace, he is. starts off nice until he spams boops when you least expect it... with a smile, of course!).

the bystander with the popcorn: thanks for the boop, you get one back. yes, only one, sorry. they'd rather not participate in the chaos and prefer to keep their inbox clean. no offense meant, you're free to have your fun so go ahead. they're just here to observe because in their humblest opinion, it serves them well enough as participating does. oh, don't look at them like that. you did get one back, didn't you? rejoice in the fact that you're one of the few — if not, the only one — they gave a boop to. treat it as an approval badge. it means you're special (to them).

alhaitham, tighnari, albedo, wanderer (he thinks he's above this childish and pointless act of booping... or is he?).

the victim™: is getting booped left and right without rest. suffocating and drowning in them even. lady luck is not on their side; they swore they booped everyone back to infinity and beyond — surely, it's all repaid and they can take a break now, right? wrong. they rest for 5 minutes and come back to 99+ notifs every single time. (if you relate, you might be a victim of affectionate bullying. feel free to riot about it.)

kaveh, thoma.

the loser at the start line: sneezes whenever the paw comes up on screen, yikes. A+ for effort, though!

venti.

— thanks for reading!

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worlds-end-discotheque · 5 months ago

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This isn’t a fully finished thought-project yet so please bear with me but I’m pretty sure Cuno is the one paying the bills for the de Ruyter apartment.

Or at least he’s trying to.

When you go into Cuno’s apartment, the first thing you realize is the chain and the warning about the electricity. From what we know about how Cuno protects his shack (and the state of his inebriation-comatose father) we can safely assume that Cuno’s the one who chains the door closed whenever he leaves. Obviously, no one in Martinaise would want to leave their home open for any reason, but the apartments clearly have deadbolts installed in the doors— so the chain is an extra measure. Cuno can’t have anything being stolen, even taking the extra effort beyond confidence in his own intimidation to chain it up.

The apartment has two rooms: Uuno’s bedroom, and the living room. Uuno’s bedroom consists primarily of the bed, the clothes line, presumably a dresser or some end table-like surfaces. Plenty of room for his substances and shit.

The living room has the sofa, which is clearly covered in Cuno’s clothing and a makeshift sleeping setup. The risqué pinup on the wall is basically confirmation that this is Cuno’s “space,” not something that he and his dad alternate or share. The L-Couch is Cuno’s bed, bedroom, and dresser, effectively.

Which leads us to the tiny desk. The items on the desk are minimal, but crucial: Cuno’s speed with the straw, Cuno’s textbook and homework, a lamp, the stack of bills, and an open phone book.

We’ve established already that Cuno and his father do not share space. Cuno is already a territorial kid, established by his limited safe zones in his own home. He wouldn’t leave his damn homework out somewhere where his dad could access it; the fact that the homework exists means that beneath his attitude, Cuno clearly has a deep level of care for his schoolwork and at least a desire to complete it. With how terrified he is of his father, there’s no way in hell Cuno would leave his schoolwork out in a place that his father could damage it or get angry for it. Which essentially confirms that the desk is Cuno’s space only.

The speed has its little straw, making it convenient to sip on consistently while doing work at the desk. (I do this with my water tumbler.) especially if you’re at the desk for a long time. With the open phone book, it’s clear that Cuno is at least trying to find the numbers for the companies that the bills are coming from. It’s not just a pile of mail on the desk— he’s doing research into it. Gathering phone numbers to take outside to one of the payphones. The desk is organized, business-like, unlike anything Cuno is— except for how he deals.

Which leads me to my last bit. Cuno’s insistence on selling you shit. Obviously, the best way for this kid to maintain a steady supply for his own addiction is to be a dealer. However, for a 12-year-old boy with a substance addiction in the world of DE where there’s nothing else to do, that level of self-control is absurdly high. There’s a meticulousness to it that betrays a primary aspect of Cuno’s approach: business. Cuno isn’t doing it for popularity, for “cool” points, and if his focus was only his own addiction then he would likely just steal them, take it all for himself. He’s not supplying his dad, that’s for sure. On top of that, he’s got a side hustle selling clothing and other crap he picks up, enough to try and pitch it to Pigs— repeatedly. There’s a lot to buy off Cuno, and it’s the one thing he repeatedly brings up in dialogue options, aside from insults. He wants you to know he’s willing to do business. He needs the money. Because the bills are stacking up, his dad could die any minute, and now he’s got Cunoesse too. (It’s not confirmed if she stays in the apartment with him, and I’m inclined to think not, considering the chain, his fear of her too and the fact that she stands on the other side of the fence than him— there’s a special separation there. There’s also no trace of Cunoesse-noted belongings nor a second space to sleep indicated on the couch; shivers, empathy, none of the skills speak up when inside the apartment about anyone but Cuno and his dad. At the same time, this is again unconfirmed).

I lost what I was talking about here, but the point is. Cuno breaks my heart and I want to adopt and take care of him so badly. It’s one thing to be a delinquent kid, it’s another to be a 12-year-old delinquent kid trying to pay your own damn bills in Martinaise. Fuck, man. I love this kid so much. He breaks my heart.

As much as I yap about my old man yaoi, I think Cuno is my favorite character in DE. He’s just… I need to take care of him. God help me. I wanted to kill his dad so badly. Sigh.

Anyways. That was my thought project. Thought Cabinet just adopted Cunology.

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clairewritesjjkxreader · 1 year ago

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Sukuna’s Wife and Yuuji’s Onee-chan (Sukuna x Reincarnated!Y/N) Part 4

Part 3

Request from @gojodeluluwifeu

Yuuji Itadori slowly awoke. With only the flames of several candles to illuminate this prison-like room with paper seals, he almost felt like a doomed protagonist in a horror movie. For better or worse, he had a companion sitting across from him.

Satoru Gojo wore a nonchalant, expectant grin. “Yo.”

“You are… !” The memories of the monster attack hit him like a train and he fussed around in his seat, soon realizing that his arms were bound behind him. He whipped his head towards Gojo. “Where is my sister? What happened to my friends? Are they still alive–”

“Hm, you’re not really in a position to be worrying about other people. Actually, you know what, I guess we should talk about your sister. Though I already know she’s just a neighbor.”

“Huh?”

Gojo pulled out a tablet and opened a file for Yuuji to see. At first glance it appeared to be your resume, as it had a 2x2 ID photo of you in formal wear and your basic information written right next to the image, but the more Yuuji read, he realized that it was far more terrifying than a simple resume.

Gojo used his finger to scroll down the document, which had to be around fifty pages at least. “Age, birth place, height and weight… even her three measurements are here.”

Yuuji stomped his feet. “Why do you–”

Gojo turned the tablet around and began to read, “No clubs or extracurriculars. All her grades are either slightly below or slightly above the school average. Only two instances of getting called to office, once in middle school, and again in high school, both times were because teachers suspected that she was being bullied, but both times she told the adults involved ‘not to worry’ and that she ‘just doesn’t like socializing.’

Other notes from previous teachers were similar: ‘That kid was always quiet, never caused trouble,’ ‘She doesn’t seem to be hated but no one ever approaches her… she doesn’t approach anyone either,’ ‘I don’t know if she’s shy or maybe she really likes her space, either way, she won’t go far in life if she keeps to herself like this,’ ‘She never skipped class, though whenever she called in to say that she couldn’t come it was due to a family emergency,’ hm…

Her classmates and former employers didn’t have much to say about her, too. They kept using the same words: ‘keeps to herself,’ ‘doesn’t cause trouble but doesn’t talk either,’ ‘I don’t remember much about her,’ uwah–there is even a detailed calendar here full of her class and work schedules. Let’s see… apparently she missed school whenever you or your grandfather were sick or hospitalized. Same thing with her part-time jobs.”

Gojo read on, nodding his head.

“Ichiji is surprisingly talented at this. It’s almost creepy.”

“Wait! What’s going on? Why do you have records on Y/N-nee?!”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out.”

“???”

“According to the other people in your neighborhood, you’re not blood-related and she’s not even your step-sister or adoptive sister, she’s literally just the girl from next door. And you’ve heard the things other people have to say about her, there is nothing special about that person. If anything, she has to be one of the most boring people I know.”

“Don’t insult her! S-sure she’s quiet and doesn’t like interacting beyond the bare minimum, but towards me she’s kind and selfless and even a bit overprotective! She’s not perfect but she’s not boring or average or horrible!”

“... Do you know what happened to her parents?”

If he were thinking more clearly, Yuuji would’ve kept his mouth shut but he was furious and couldn’t help himself. “They’re abroad. They send money regularly but Nee-chan has always been alone in that house. That’s why grandpa and I let her sleep over sometimes. She’s always been…alone.” Wait. Yuuji scrunched his eyebrows. Alone? That can’t be right.

“‘They’re abroad,’ is what she said to you.”

“That’s right.”

“Itadori, there are no records of her parents ever leaving the country.”

“Well, you’re wrong. Grandpa said that she told us that the first day we met her.”

“Hm. Itadori-kun, do you recall the date that you moved in with your grandfather?”

Yuuji didn’t remember much about his childhood before his grandfather, the two of them have always been together for as long as he could remember. It was the same with you. Always together…

Gojo showed him a page from the tablet. It was an affidavit of ownership. “Before that, let me ask you, do you know whose house your ‘sister’ used to live in? The one next to your grandfather’s.”

“What kind of question is that? Obviously it belonged to her–her parents, of course. That’s her last name.”

“This house belongs to a family with the last name L/N. But look here.” Gojo scrolled down and showed a picture of a family of five. There was a father, a mother, two young boys in middle school, a boy no older than two, and a dog. “This photo was taken back in 2003, a year before your birthday. They’re the only family members who lived in that house.”

“So? She’s probably a distant relative.”

Gojo shook his head. “We actually asked the other neighbors. Everyone also believes that she’s some cousin from the province. But it’s strange that you all believed that she belonged to that family when no one should be living there in the first place.”

“You just said that that family owned it.”

“Yup, you’re right, they owned that house.”

Yuuji blinked. What?

“I hope you have a tough stomach.” Gojo scrolled down.

Yuuji’s stomach stirred and he bent over as far as his bondage would allow him. He wanted to throw up. He wanted to cry. He refused to look up, the image of those poor parents hugging their children will forever be burned in his memory. “Why are you showing me this?”

“This L/N family was brutally murdered on the night of **** **, ****.”

“That… that’s…

“That’s the same date your grandfather took you in, isn’t it?”

Yuuji doesn’t remember it himself, but his grandfather told him once and you often mentioned that date when you brought up his toddler days.

He reluctantly opened his mouth. “Did… did she…” He couldn’t say it. He couldn’t even think about it. Memories of you smiling, laughing, taking care of him and grandpa, and welcoming him home flooded Yuuji’s senses.

“Ah,” Gojo interrupted, “she didn’t kill them if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Eh?”

“The doggie bit one of the burglars. Hard. And she bit him in the *ahem* boxers. He and his partner were caught almost immediately.” Gojo showed him the mug shots.

Yuuji: ??????

“She had nothing to do with this murder, but after the funeral, the house was bought immediately. After further investigation, we discovered that it was bought under a fake name. She was a child when the land was purchased, but it couldn’t have been her parents, and there are no signs of other people having lived there other than her. Not to mention, the whole neighborhood bought into her lie that she was a visiting cousin. Isn’t that odd?”

Odd? Major understatement. There were many holes. Number one thing was that no one seemed to remember the murders. Even if it was fifteen years ago, Yuuji would’ve heard of it, if not for his grandfather then from the other kids. Children love horror stories after all. And yet…

“You’re telling me that…Nee-chan has been sleeping, eating and bathing in a murder house?”

“Well, I assure you, there are no curses or ghosts in that area. Luckily, the family passed on without any grudges, perhaps because they were with each other when they died? Anyway, normal humans have no way of knowing that the house is clean. Usually, unless you’re dirt poor or an idiot, you would never even consider living in a potentially haunted house.”

“That’s…!” Yuuji stopped himself. “Wait. What did you mean earlier that her parents couldn’t have possibly bought the house?”

Gojo tilted his head. “Because they’re dead.”

He presented an old newspaper article. It was dated a few weeks before the family’s death. The headline read: COUPLE FOUND DEAD IN THEIR OWN HOME, ***-OLD DAUGHTER NOWHERE TO BE FOUND.

“The bodies were described as having been ‘torn apart from the inside,’ but there were no weapons that fit the wounds. There was only a large puddle of water soaking the corpses… ‘Based on testimonies from neighbors, the couple were suspected of abusing their daughter, whose current whereabouts remain unknown. It is likely that she has been kidnapped.’” Gojo glanced at him. “You get it, right? The couple mentioned here are Y/N’s birth parents. They lived in a rural area with a town population of less than 5000. They don’t even have a convenience store–or a mall. Ouch.”

Gojo looked at Yuuji. “The murder itself was brutal but it never reached national news. Still, a lot of things don’t add up.”

“...I-if they’re dead then…” then why did you act like they were still alive and well? How could you smile and walk around as if everything was fine?

“Well, anyway, those things are minor.”

“Hah?!” Minor?!

“The crux of the matter is this: you ate a finger of a cursed spirit known as Ryomen Sukuna, and he called Y/N his wife. Not to mention, just before passing out, she called you her child.”

“...!”

“From what I can tell, Sukuna seems to treasure her a lot, and yet there is nothing about her background that points to her being any more special than the average Jane. What are you? And what is your relationship with that woman?”

Yuuji gritted his teeth. ‘That woman’ was his precious older sister, who took care of him when Grandpa was at work, who cleaned up his wounds when he got hurt playing, who loved him so much she couldn’t stand by as a monster attacked him.

“She…”

***

Over a decade ago, in a tiny house by the foot of a mountain, you watched as gigantic icicles–bigger than yourself–tear through your mother. She was arguing with your father, who was now on the floor, gasping and clutching at his chest. He too had large pieces of jagged ice pierced all over him.

When he caught you in the corner, a wry grin made its way to his face, that was the only time you ever saw a semblance of a smile from him. He reached out his arm towards you. “H-hurry up, c…call s-s-someone–ARGH!”

The hand reaching out to you was cut by a blade of ice.

He squirmed and screamed before another cold knife cut his face in half. The kitchen fell silent.

At that time, did you feel afraid? Did you feel sad? You couldn’t remember.

“This servant deeply apologizes for being so late.” A handsome woman, or maybe they were a pretty man, stepped out of the shadows and walked towards you.

The doll-like person with snow white skin and wearing traditional clothes knelt down. They offered you a small smile. “I offer my greetings to the madam.”

“...are you… going to kill me, too?”

He shook his head. “This servant would never.”

“Then…”

“I came here to ensure that you were living peacefully until the lord’s return, but regretfully, even in this life you are treated like this. I tried to make them suffer before dying, but my temper has gotten the best of me. This servant apologizes.”

The person said things you didn’t understand, but you at least knew this much: they weren’t going to hurt you.

“My lady, I’m afraid you can’t live here anymore.”

The beautiful, doll-like creature that introduced themselves as “Uraume” packed what few materials that belonged to you and led you away. Their skin was colder than the air of a fridge, yet you never felt more safe and warm than when they held your hand on the way to your new abode.

“Uraume-san–”

“Please just call me ‘Uraume,’ my lady, this servant doesn’t dare to be referred to in any other way.”

“R-right. Uraume, you said that I will be living in a different neighborhood.”

“Yes. I handled everything. Though humans have evolved into being more efficient, the paperwork was too much.”

“Will I be living alone?”

They gave you a sad smile. “It would be the highest honor to wait on the lady, but I still have much to prepare for Sukuna-sama’s arrival.”

“Sukuna…sama?”

“He has never tired of searching for you, I’m sure he will be very happy to know that you are now safe and well.”

“Does that mean… that he cares for me?”

Their eyes seemed to sparkle. “Such words are too light to describe the weight of his feelings. Sukuna-sama has devoted every part of himself to you. When you died, he never remarried, and when other sorcerers or village chiefs offered him brides, he would slaughter them all without hesitation. He was especially mad when the women looked like you in any way, be it height, skin color or hair color. This servant personally put their severed heads on poles to be displayed for all to see as a warning. One time, he…”

You didn’t really get it. This person spouted out a lot of information that you didn’t grasp, like a hardcore fan talking about their idol to a normie.

They seemed to be having fun so you let them talk the entire trip to your new house.

“Do you like it, madam?” Uraume asked as you examined the residence from outside. “It’s small, but putting you in an apartment complex was out of the question. It would’ve been nice if we got you a mansion but the people I spoke to claimed that only this house was available. Unbelievable, Sukuna-sama would never have tolerated this–”

“I like it.”

“Hm?”

You turned to Uraume and smiled. “I like it, Uraume. Thank you for your efforts.”

Uraume blinked. Then they slowly covered their mouth. “M-my lady, your smile is as radiant as I remember.”

“Are you crying?”

“This servant will go and organize everything so please relax as much as you like!” They then dashed inside.

What an odd person, you thought. But you didn’t want to go inside just yet, not because you were afraid of potential ghosts. Uraume explained the truth about the house before the drive here, and they didn’t seem bothered with it so why should you?

However, the house was still full of movers carrying furniture and whatnot, and you’d rather avoid people.

As you thought about where to pass time, something tugged the hem of your dress.

“Fwah…”

You glanced down and found a toddler pulling on your skirt. “Huh? Go away.”

“Mm?” The baby raised his head and met your eyes, and time stopped.

Your head felt heavy and everything around the toddler turned blurry.

“Yuu…ji?”

Huh? Did you say something just now?

“There you are, Yuuji! You almost gave me a heart attack. I’m pretty sure I locked the door, how do you keep escaping?” An old man came over and picked up the child from the ground. “What on Earth am I going to do with you…hm?”

The old man finally noticed you. “I’ve never seen you here before.”

You kept your eyes on the child, who was clapping his hands. “I…I just moved in.”

“Moved in? Where? Oh.” He scratched his stubble when he realized it. “That’s unfortunate.”

You stared at the baby in his arms. Its cheeks were so chubby. You wanted to pinch them until he cried.

“It’s not my place to say this but… maybe you and your family would be better off going someplace else…” The man whispered.

“What do you mean?” You finally looked away from the toddler.

He sighed. “It’s complicated, but since your parents bought the land they probably already know. It’s a pity. This little one and I will be moving out soon and you could’ve gotten our house instead.”

“Moving out?”

“It’s nothing a kid like you should concern yourself with. Let’s just say that after everything, it’d be bad luck to stay here, right, Yuuji?”

“Ehehe,” the baby garbled out a laugh, making a spit bubble.

“You can’t leave…”

“What’s that?” The man turned to you.

You gazed deep into his eyes and repeated, “You can’t leave.”

“We have to, little miss. It’s the best thing for us. I’m not sentimental but I don’t believe in tempting fate. I don’t know if you’re aware but living in this street feels wrong after the mur–ahem, after the incident.”

“What incident?”

“Like I said, you’re too young–”

“There wasn’t any incident.”

“What’re you talking about? Ah, I guess your parents didn’t tell you, after all.”

“There wasn’t any incident,” you said again, never breaking eye contact. “Nothing happened, everything is fine. You’re not going anywhere.”

Your mouth was moving but you couldn’t hear yourself. Your mind was muddied.

The old man stared back at you, unblinking and silent for a whole minute, before his lips moved, “I haven’t seen you before.”

“No. I just moved in with the L/N’s.” You pointed at your new house.

“Ah, I see. Are you a visiting cousin or something?”

“Yes. My parents are working abroad so my aunt and uncle decided to take me in.”

“Aha, I see. They’re good people, your aunt and uncle, though their sons are a bit rowdy.”

“Yes, they are.” You turned to the baby who was now looking at you with curious eyes.

The old man noticed and proceeded to introduce himself and the kid. “I’m your neighbor, Wasuke Itadori, and this one’s named Yuuji. His parents are… not here, so I’m in charge of him.”

The baby beamed before reaching out his fat sausage arm towards you.

You offered him a finger and he grabbed it tightly as he giggled.

“Nice to meet you. My name is…”

You opened your eyes, a bit groggy from a dream you could no longer remember.

“Finally awake?” A woman asked. She had long brown hair and wore a lab coat. A doctor. “Hello, I’m Shoko Ieiri. Do you remember who you are?”

You rose to a sitting position, but didn’t answer.

“Do you know today’s date?”

You stared at her. “Where is Yuuji?”

“Hm… how do you know that name?”

“Yuuji is my neighbor but we’re more like family. Where is he?”

“He was right…” Shoko murmured as she wrote something on her clipboard. When she noticed you glaring, she put it away and grinned. “Don’t worry, he’s indisposed but otherwise in good health. You’ll be able to meet up with him in a few minutes. We need to focus on your condition right now.”

“I’m perfectly healthy.” You raised your arms in an attempt to show how fine you were. “Nothing hurts and I remember my own name and the date today. Please let me see him.”

Before she could reply, her phone buzzed and she excused herself.

As she stepped out to answer the call, you stared at your hands as they pulled on your blanket.

“Yuuji…”

@shadowywizardarcade @hannya-exists @nineooooo @lilachaeyo @pumpkindudeishere @jessbeinme15 @fluffy-koalala @cringeycookies @frogzxch @isimpfordanielpark @marvelsgirl4ever @sanzusmom @sheccidoscar @alastorhazbin @satosuguswife @lumanii @leahlovesreading @blackstaw @boba–12 @certainduckanchor @langweile @amitiel-truth @qualityprincessrunaway @thatoneweirdgirl17 @lilith-snape

A/N: This took longer than expected. But anyway, happy human holidays, everyone! Comments are always appreciated.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #sukuna x y/n #yandere #sukuna x reader #sukuna #reincarnation au #husband #married #married au

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brunchable · 2 months ago

Text

Winter King, Chapter 8: Bad Blood

Pairings: King AU Bucky Barnes x Queen!Reader Themes: Royaltycore AU, love and power, arranged Marriage, georgian/regency era misogyny, profanity. Warning: Talks of assasination. Summary: Tensions rise as everything begins to unravel. A/N: It's here. It might feel a bit boring since this is focusing on the more serious stuff. I didn't want to go into detail though, because everything seem to be straight forward about who the bad guys are and their intensions. The first few part is a flashback and will be in 3rd person since I find it weird to be in a pov of a six y/o. Uhhh i might've miss people who wanted to be tagged. Sorry? I really need to post a form lol. Also not thoroughly reviewed, so all mistakes/inconsistencies are all on me.

The sun bathed the Zienna palace gardens in a warm, golden glow, casting long shadows across the lush greenery. It was Y/N’s sixth birthday, and the celebration was as grand as it was beautiful. The scent of jasmine filled the air, mingling with the laughter of children and the murmur of noble guests who had gathered from across the realm to honor the princess.

Amid the festivities, Y/N stood in her lavender gown, twirling absentmindedly as she waited for her mother, Queen Seraphina, to finish speaking with one of the advisors. Her father, King Marc, was nearby, engaged in conversation with a pair of visitors—two regal figures, their posture straight, exuding an air of quiet authority.

“Y/N, come here, darling,” her mother called softly, her graceful hand motioning for her to approach. Y/N immediately perked up and hurried over, her small steps light as she reached her parents.

Standing beside the queen and king were two young boys, about eleven years old, each dressed in fine clothing that marked them as nobility from a distant kingdom. They stood tall, though their expressions were contrasting—one with a warm, open smile, and the other with a reserved, watchful gaze.

“Y/N, we have some special guests,” her mother said gently, her eyes filled with love as she introduced the boys. “This is James, and his twin brother, Isaac. They have traveled a long way to join us for your birthday.”

King Marc placed a reassuring hand on Y/N’s shoulder, his voice rich and silky. “Their father is an old friend of mine, from the northern kingdom. It is an honor to have them here.”

Y/N looked up at the two boys, her eyes wide with curiosity. James, with his bright smile and calm demeanor, immediately put her at ease. He stepped forward, giving a slight bow, his manners polished beyond his years. “Happy birthday, Your Highness. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Y/N blushed slightly at the formality, offering a shy smile in return. “Thank you.”

Isaac, standing just behind his brother, offered a curt nod, his sharp blue eyes briefly meeting hers. Though he remained silent, there was an intensity in his gaze that Y/N found both intriguing and intimidating.

“Why don’t you three go play?” Queen Seraphina suggested kindly, glancing toward the gardens. “The other children are by the fountain, and there are plenty of games.”

Y/N hesitated for a moment, glancing up at her father. King Marc gave her a reassuring nod. “Go on, darling. Have fun.”

James offered his hand to Y/N, his smile widening as he led the way toward the garden. Isaac followed closely behind, his steps measured and composed, though his eyes never stopped scanning their surroundings.

As they walked deeper into the garden, Y/N’s initial shyness began to melt away. The gentle rustling of leaves and the bubbling sound of the fountain made the space feel like their own secret world, separate from the grandeur of the palace behind them.

Birds sang in the trees, their melodies adding to the soft laughter of children playing near the fountain. Y/N, her lavender gown fluttering as she walked, led James and Isaac through the garden paths.

As they wandered away from the main celebration, Isaac finally broke the silence, his voice casual but carrying that sharp edge of curiosity.

“James is going to be king one day, you know,” he said, glancing at his brother with a slight smirk.

Y/N looked up at Isaac, her brow furrowing in confusion. “King? What do you mean?”

Isaac’s smirk widened, and he nudged James with his elbow. “I overheard them talking about it. They said James will be king, and…” He paused, his eyes twinkling mischievously. “That you’re going to marry him.”

James’ face reddened slightly, and he shook his head quickly. “Isaac, stop. You shouldn’t listen to everything people say.”

But Isaac was undeterred. “I heard it clear as day. One of the advisors said that when James is king, he’ll need a queen, and who better than the Princess of Zienna?”

Y/N blinked, her mouth slightly agape at the idea.

“Me? No, thank you,” she said firmly, shaking her head. “I want to stay here in Zienna, with my brother.”

Isaac chuckled, clearly amused by her reaction. “You don’t want to be queen?”

Y/N crossed her arms, her voice resolute. “No. My brother Marc is here. I’ll stay with him. I don’t want to leave Zienna, even for a crown.”

James, being polite, gave Y/N a gentle smile, though his cheeks were still tinged with pink. “You don’t have to marry me, Princess. You should do whatever makes you happy.”

Isaac raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying himself. “But what if they try to make you?”

Y/N scrunched her nose, looking quite determined for a six-year-old. “Then I’ll say no. I’ll tell them I’m going to stay here forever with my brother, and no one can make me leave.”

James chuckled softly, but Isaac’s mischievous grin remained. “Well, you’ve got a lot of time to decide, I suppose.”

Y/N gave a confident nod, her resolve unshaken. “Exactly.”

As the three children continued to wander through the vibrant garden, young Y/N’s eyes sparkled as she admired the clusters of flowers swaying in the breeze. Her small fingers brushed over the soft petals of a nearby bloom, curiosity lighting her face.

James, standing a little ways behind, noticed the way she lingered on a patch of delicate white daisies. With the shy determination only an eleven-year-old could muster, he glanced toward Isaac, who was busy exploring the garden himself. Quietly, James crouched down and carefully picked one of the daisies, holding it gently in his hand.

With a quiet step, he approached Y/N.

“Here,” he said, his voice a little hesitant but filled with sincerity. Before she could take the flower, James hesitated for a moment, then stepped closer, his movements careful and uncertain.

He held the daisy up, and with a boyish smile, he brushed back a loose strand of her hair. Gently, he tucked the flower behind her ear, his fingers barely touching her skin.

“Now it looks perfect,” he whispered, his eyes darting between the flower and her face, as though making sure it was just right.

Y/N blinked up at him, her small hand reaching to feel the flower now tucked into her hair. Her cheeks warmed with surprise, and a smile tugged at her lips. “Thank you, James,” she whispered, her voice filled with the kind of simple, heartfelt gratitude that children often expressed.

James shrugged a little, trying to act casual, though his face flushed a deeper shade of pink. He scratched the back of his neck and looked down, suddenly feeling awkward. “It’s… nothing. I just thought it’d look nice,” he mumbled, kicking at the dirt with his shoe.

Y/N smiled brightly at him, her happiness infectious. “It does,” she said softly. “It’s really pretty.”

James looked at her again, his heart beating a little faster in his chest, but he nodded, his boyish confidence returning. “Good,” he said simply, but the warmth in his voice revealed more than the words did.

Isaac, having noticed the interaction from a few feet away, grinned to himself. He didn’t tease, though—something about the quiet sweetness between James and Y/N made him pause. He simply watched for a moment before turning back to his own wandering.

James glanced once more at Y/N, stealing a look at her with the flower in her hair. He felt proud, like he’d done something important, even if it was small. And as Y/N beamed up at him, that small, simple act felt like the most special thing in the world.

× × × ×

The soft notes of Queen Seraphina’s lullaby floated through the air, wrapping around the room like a warm blanket. Y/N’s eyelids grew heavy, lulled by the gentle melody her mother had always sung to her. As the last few notes faded into the evening, Queen Seraphina brushed a strand of hair away from Y/N’s forehead, smiling down at her daughter.

“Is that better, my darling?” Seraphina asked in a soft, tender voice.

Y/N nodded, her small fingers clutching the edges of her blanket. But there was a thoughtful look in her young eyes, something more than just sleepiness lingering behind them. After a moment of quiet, Y/N spoke up.

“Mama… what’s it like to be queen?” Her voice was curious, but there was an innocence to her question—a child’s simple wonder about the world.

Seraphina blinked, slightly taken aback by the question, but her smile never wavered. She gently stroked Y/N’s hair, her eyes thoughtful as she considered how to answer.

“Well,” she began softly, “being queen is many things, my love. It’s a great honor, and with it comes much responsibility.”

Y/N’s eyes widened slightly, listening intently.

“It means always thinking of others,” Seraphina continued softly. “Of the kingdom, of the people. You must be strong when others need you, even when you’re tired. You must be kind, but firm, and always fair, even when it’s difficult.” She paused, her gaze softening as she looked into her daughter’s wide eyes. “And sometimes, it means showing mercy to those who have wronged you.”

Y/N’s brow furrowed slightly, the concept of mercy still foreign to her young mind. “But… why would you be kind to someone who hurt you?”

Seraphina smiled gently, her hand brushing through Y/N’s hair in soothing strokes. “Because mercy is a strength, my darling. To punish is easy. But to offer mercy, even when your heart aches from the wrong done to you, takes great courage. It shows that you are not ruled by anger or vengeance, but by wisdom and compassion.”

She sighed softly, her eyes distant for a moment as if recalling her own struggles. “There will be times when people hurt you, betray you, or make you feel small. But as queen, it’s your duty to rise above that hurt and show grace where others would only see opportunity for retribution.”

Y/N’s eyes were wide with curiosity. “But won’t they do it again?”

“Perhaps,” Seraphina admitted. “But mercy doesn’t mean allowing someone to hurt you over and over. It means giving them a chance to change, to be better. And if they fail, you act as needed, but without letting cruelty taint your decisions. To be a queen is to understand that your strength lies not in how harshly you punish, but in how wisely you show compassion.”

She looked down at Y/N, her gaze softening. “But mercy, my love, is also a sacrifice. It requires you to set aside your pride and your pain for the greater good. And that,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, “is what makes a true queen.”

Y/N nodded slowly, though the weight of her mother’s words still swirled in her young mind. She thought of Isaac’s earlier comment about marrying James, her confusion slowly giving way to a new understanding of the responsibilities that came with such titles.

Y/N’s eyes shone with wonder, but a flicker of concern crossed her small face.

“Why do you ask, little one?” Seraphina asked gently, tilting her head with a knowing smile. “You seem very curious tonight.”

Y/N hesitated for a moment, then shyly glanced up at her mother. “Prince Isaac said… he said I’m supposed to marry James. He said I have to.”

Seraphina’s eyes widened in surprise, and then, much to Y/N’s confusion, she let out a soft, musical laugh. Her laughter was gentle, filled with love, as she shook her head slightly.

“Oh, did he now?”

Y/N nodded earnestly. “Yes, Mama. He said that because James will be king, I’ll have to marry him.”

“Well, my darling, sometimes little princes have big ideas. But don’t you worry yourself about that just yet.” Seraphina chuckled again, her eyes twinkling with amusement. She leaned down and kissed Y/N’s forehead softly.

Y/N’s eyes, still wide with curiosity, searched her mother’s face. “But… do I have to, Mama?”

Seraphina smiled warmly, brushing her fingers through Y/N’s hair. “You’re still so young, my sweet one. Right now, all you need to do is enjoy being you. Who you marry, what path you take—that is for the future to decide.”

Y/N’s lips curved into a small, thoughtful smile. She shifted slightly under the blanket, her hand brushing against something tucked beneath her pillow—a small, delicate daisy that James had given her earlier in the day. She had held onto it all afternoon, not sure what to do with it, but when night had fallen, she had placed it under her pillow for safekeeping. Now, as her fingers brushed against the soft petals, she felt a warmth bloom in her chest.

“I like staying here with you and Papa. I don’t want to leave.” Y/N murmured, her fingers gently closing around the flower.

Seraphina’s heart swelled with love for her daughter. She kissed Y/N’s forehead again, pulling the blanket up around her shoulders. “Then that’s all that matters right now,” she whispered. “You’ll always be our little girl, no matter where life takes you.”

Y/N’s eyes grew heavy again, the soothing sound of her mother’s voice lulling her toward sleep. Queen Seraphina stayed by her side, stroking her hair gently until Y/N’s breathing evened out and she drifted off into a peaceful slumber.

With a soft smile, Seraphina whispered one last time, “Sleep well, my love. You have plenty of time to decide who you’ll become.”

× × × ×

You sat on the balcony of your chambers, the soft evening breeze tugging at the edges of your robe as you slowly brushed your hair. The view of the gardens below, where your mother had once walked, usually brought you peace. Tonight, however, the air felt stifling. Your brother’s words still hung in the air, their weight pressing down on your shoulders like an unwelcome burden.

Marc stood in the doorway, watching you with that same stern expression he had worn since he became king. He had been pacing, delivering his decision like a royal decree, but you hadn’t been listening—not fully, anyway.

“You’ll leave for Monte Lune in a fortnight,” Marc repeated, his tone firm, as if trying to break through your defiance. “You are to marry James Barnes, the King of Monte Lune.”

You huffed, dragging the brush through your hair with a little more force than necessary.

“Are you serious?” You shot him a look over your shoulder, your eyes flashing with irritation. “I haven’t even met the man.”

Marc’s expression didn’t waver. “Yes, you have. You met him on your sixtg birthday.”

You laughed, the sound sharp and mocking. “Oh, that day. I barely remember it, Marc. His face is a blur. That was years ago.” You set the brush down, turning fully to face him, leaning back on the chair with your arms crossed. “And now I’m supposed to marry him?”

“Yes,” Marc said, his voice calm but unwavering. “You cannot refuse. The arrangements are already in place. The council has approved it, and I’ve given my blessing.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, your frustration bubbling over. “So, that’s it? You and the council decide my future, and I’m just supposed to smile and play along? What if I don’t want to leave? What if I want to stay here?”

Marc sighed, his patience clearly thinning. “Y/N, this is bigger than you. It’s about the kingdom, about securing our alliances.”

You stood abruptly, your frustration giving way to defiance. “And what if I don’t care about alliances? What if I’d rather stay here and—what was it you called it once?—become a spinster?”

Marc’s brow furrowed, but you could see the hint of exasperation in his eyes. “You’re not going to be a spinster, little sister. Stop being ridiculous.”

You smirked, stepping toward him, arms crossed. “Why not? Sounds like the only way I’ll get any freedom around here. Or maybe I’ll join a convent of nuns. Wouldn’t that be lovely? Peace, quiet, and no royal decrees dictating my every move.”

Marc’s face tightened, his voice growing more stern. “This isn’t a game. You can’t just—”

“Oh, I know it’s not a game,” you cut him off, your voice sharp. “It’s my life, Marc. I’m not just some piece on a chessboard that you can move around as you please. I love it here. I love this place, being surrounded by the memories of Mother and Father. And now you want to ship me off to some foreign kingdom to marry a man I don’t even know?”

Marc stepped closer, his voice softening, though his resolve remained firm. “I know you love it here. But you have a duty, Y/N. We all do. You’re my sister, and I love you, but this is what’s best for the kingdom.”

You shook your head, turning back toward the balcony, your fingers gripping the edge of the railing as you looked out over the gardens. “What’s best for the kingdom,” you muttered bitterly. “Always what’s best for the kingdom.”

Marc placed a hand on your shoulder, his voice gentler now. “I wouldn’t ask this of you if it wasn’t important. You know that.”

You didn’t respond, your gaze fixed on the distant horizon, the weight of his words sinking in, though the fire of your defiance still smoldered inside you.

× × × ×

“To be a queen is to understand that your strength lies not in how harshly you punish, but in how wisely you show compassion.”

Your late mother’s voice echoed in your head. But compassion felt like a distant concept now. How could you offer mercy when the very people you trusted had sought to control you, to weaken you, to strip you of the future you had hoped for?

The revelation of the poisoned tea still churned in your stomach, the betrayal sharp and unforgiving. They hadn’t just denied you the chance to conceive an heir—they had poisoned your very body, seeding destruction where there should have been life.

You clenched your hands at your sides, nails digging into your palms as you stood next to the Queen Dowager, your posture rigid. Everything around you felt distant, as though you were watching from outside your body, the events unfolding without your true presence. A trance had settled over you since the announcement at the Queen Dowager's birthday—since Bucky had declared Wanda as his consort.

The murmurs of the nobles like distant echoes. Your eyes were on the center of the hall, not really fixed on a certain space. Wanda, in a simple yet elegant gown, approached Bucky with the grace and poise she had always carried. She moved with confidence, but you could see the guilt of this moment in your friend's eyes. There was no joy here—only duty.

Bucky’s gaze flicked briefly toward you, you caught his gaze but you quickly looked away, and for a heartbeat, you thought you saw brokeness flash in his eyes. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by the mask of a king fulfilling his obligations.

Wanda reached the center of the room, bowing deeply to Bucky. He acknowledged her with a nod, his eyes dark and unreadable.

The court official stepped forward, holding a scroll in one hand. His voice, clear and commanding, filled the hall.

"Lady Wanda Maximoff, you have been chosen to stand as consort to His Majesty, King James Barnes. Do you, of your own will, accept this role and pledge your loyalty to the crown and the king?"

"I accept." Wanda lifted her head, her voice steady though soft.

Bucky’s eyes didn’t leave her face as she spoke. You could barely breathe, your heart heavy in your chest. You knew this was coming. You knew what had to be done. But it still felt like a slow, torturous unravelling.

The official continued, "Please state your vow, Lady Maximoff."

Wanda straightened, her voice clear yet solemn. "I, Wanda Maximoff, pledge myself to the service of the crown and the king. I vow to stand beside you in loyalty and devotion, offering my counsel when sought, my presence in moments of celebration, and my discretion in matters of state. I do not seek the crown, but I offer my heart and my service to the good of the realm."

Bucky remained still as the official turned to him. "Your Majesty, do you accept Lady Wanda Maximoff as your consort, to stand beside you in loyalty and support, as a companion in duty?"

Bucky’s voice was firm, though there was a slight tremor that only those closest to him could detect. "I…accept."

Just as Bucky's voice finished echoing through the Great Hall, a loud crash reverberated from the entrance, the heavy wooden doors slamming open. All eyes turned as Prince Isaac strode in, dragging Sharon Carter behind him. Her dishevelled appearance and the shock on her face made the council members murmur in confusion.

Isaac's expression was one of cold fury, and his steps were unrelenting as he shoved Sharon forward into the center of the room, where the officiating ceremony had been taking place.

The Queen Dowager sat straighter, her sharp eyes narrowing as she assessed the situation. Bucky’s gaze immediately hardened, his entire posture stiffening as he watched his brother’s entrance with a dark suspicion.

Lord Carter, standing just to the side of the council members, blanched but quickly masked his shock. His face returned to a composed, unreadable expression, though his knuckles whitened as he gripped the edges of his coat. The flicker of recognition in his eyes did not go unnoticed by Isaac, who let out a humourless chuckle, his grip tightening on Sharon's arm as he forced her to her knees.

Steve, near the entrance, straightened, his arms dropping to his sides as he glanced between Isaac, Sharon, and Bucky, ready to intervene if necessary.

Isaac’s voice was cold, cutting through the murmurs like a blade. "Forgive the interruption, Your Majesty, but I thought you might want to know exactly what kind of games have been played behind your back."

Sharon tried to stand, her face pale, but Isaac’s grip held her down firmly. She winced, but her expression was one of defiance mixed with fear. The nobles around the room watched with baited breath, their eyes shifting nervously between the royal brothers.

Bucky’s eyes, now dark with rage, flicked to Sharon and then to his brother.

"Isaac," he began, his voice dangerously low, "what is this about?”

“Go on, Lady Carter,” Isaac's voice was calm, almost too calm, as he spoke again. “Why don't you enlighten everyone?”

He jerked her arm slightly, forcing her to kneel lower as she flinched. Her breath hitched, panic clear in her eyes. Sharon's gaze flickered once more toward Lord Carter, silently pleading for some kind of guidance, but her father stood unmoving, his face cold and composed. It was clear she was on her own.

Isaac's patience snapped.

With a quick, ruthless pull, he tightened his grip on Sharon's arm, his face darkening with an ominous threat. He leaned down, his lips dangerously close to her ear.

“If you don't start talking in the next five seconds, Sharon,” his voice dropped to a deadly whisper, "I'll make sure every secret you've ever tried to bury comes spilling out right here.”

Sharon’s chest rose and fell rapidly as the pressure built around her, Isaac’s grip relentless and his whispered threat still hanging in the air. She swallowed hard, her eyes darting from Isaac to her father. Panic twisted in her gut, and finally, the words tumbled from her lips, desperate and frantic.

“I—I was following orders,” she stammered, her voice cracking. “I didn’t have a choice! My father—Lord Carter—he told me to lace the queen’s tea with contraceptives—I never knew it was mixed with poison!”

The room fell into a stunned silence. Every pair of eyes turned to Lord Carter, the weight of accusation crashing down on him. For a moment, the room seemed frozen in time, the tension so thick it was almost suffocating.

Lord Carter blinked, his expression quickly shifting from surprise to calm composure. He stepped forward, his posture straight and regal, addressing the room with a voice that dripped with sincerity.

“My lords and ladies, this is a grave accusation,” he began, shaking his head slowly, as if the very notion were absurd. “Why would I, a loyal servant of the crown, seek to undermine my king and queen in such a way? This… this is madness.”

He turned to Sharon, his face twisted in disappointment, his voice now filled with a fatherly reprimand.

“Daughter, I understand the pressure of the court can be overwhelming, but to lie—to attempt to place blame on your own blood to save yourself? That is truly unbecoming.”

The murmur of the court grew louder as Lord Carter’s calm demeanor and measured words began to sway the room. His voice was smooth, convincing, and there was a flicker of doubt creeping into the faces of the nobles.

Sharon’s eyes widened, her jaw tightening as she realized what was happening. Her father was throwing her to the wolves, sacrificing her to save his own skin. Rage boiled beneath her trembling exterior, her hands balling into fists.

“Liar!” she spat, her voice trembling with fury. She struggled against Isaac’s grip, her eyes locked on her father. “You told me to do it! You wanted me to—”

Lord Carter shook his head again, cutting her off with a wave of his hand.

“Enough, Sharon. You’ve already done enough damage with your wild accusations.” His voice remained calm, but there was a coldness beneath his words that made Sharon’s blood run cold.

The nobles exchanged uneasy glances, the room divided between the seemingly composed Lord Carter and his increasingly frantic daughter. Sharon’s breathing grew heavier, her heart pounding in her chest as the realization set in—she was being betrayed by her own father, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

As the room descended into chaos, the murmurs of the court growing louder with every passing second, a storm brewed inside you. The revelations of the past few days—the poisoned tea, the betrayal by those closest to you, the endless charade—had all built up like a tidal wave, threatening to crash over everything you held dear.

Sharon’s panicked pleas filled the room, her accusations piercing through the tense air, but it was Lord Carter’s cold, manipulative calm that sent a surge of fury through your veins. His smooth, convincing words aimed to bury the truth, to cast doubt over his daughter’s confessions, but you could see through him—his lies, his deceit.

The storm inside you was blinding. Your vision blurred, and all you could see was red as you charged forward, your gown billowing behind you like a cloak of fury. The rush of adrenaline coursed through your veins, every fiber of your being fueled by the injustice, the betrayal, and the lies that had suffocated you for too long.

Before anyone could react, you reached Lord Carter, your fist flying through the air with a force that surprised even you. The sharp, resounding smack echoed through the Great Hall as your knuckles connected with his face.

The court gasped in unison, shock rippling through the nobles as Lord Carter staggered back, a red mark blossoming on his cheek where your hand had struck him. His composed mask cracked, rage flaring in his eyes as he stared at you, dumbfounded.

“How dare you!” he sputtered, voice tight with humiliation as he raised a hand to his cheek. But you didn’t flinch.

The anger in your chest blazed into an uncontrollable fire. With a sharp intake of breath, you lunged forward, seizing a fistful of his hair. Your grip was ironclad, your fingers digging into his scalp as you yanked him closer, his composure entirely shattered. His startled shout echoed through the hall, his limbs flailing as he tried to pry himself free from your hold.

“You disgusting, spineless coward!” you spat, each word drenched in venom. “You poisoned me! You tried to control my body, my future—you think you can get away with that? You think you can deceive everyone here, twist the truth to suit your treachery?”

Around you, nobles shifted uneasily, a few trying to step forward to intervene, but you were a whirlwind of fury, your grip unyielding. “You’re nothing but a coward! A filthy traitor!”

Lord Carter clawed desperately at your hands, but you only yanked his head back harder, a fierce satisfaction in seeing him squirm under your grasp. He tried to speak, tried to muster some words of protest, but you gave him no chance, your words a relentless assault.

The hall erupted in chaos. Gasps, hurried whispers, and scattered pleas for calm filled the air, but you barely heard them. In the back of your mind, you registered approaching footsteps, felt a hand brush your shoulder. Yet you didn’t relent, leaning in closer to hiss through gritted teeth, “I won’t let you worm your way out of this!”

Suddenly, a firm arm looped around your waist, pulling you back with a surprising strength. You fought the hold, thrashing against it, but another arm wrapped around you, lifting you off the ground.

“Let go of me!” you shouted, thrashing against the unyielding grip, your fists still reaching out toward Lord Carter as he stumbled back, visibly shaken. “I’m not finished with him! That vile—"

“Enough,” a familiar voice murmured in your ear, gentle but firm. Bucky’s grip was unbreakable as he pulled you away, carrying you from the scene with your feet barely brushing the floor.

“Put me down!” you protested, your fury still burning hot as you twisted in his hold, casting a final, scathing glare at Lord Carter. “He doesn’t deserve to stand in this court! He’s a fraud—a poison!”

But Bucky’s hold didn’t loosen. He murmured your name softly, a quiet plea for calm as he tightened his arms around your waist. Despite your anger, the heat of his embrace began to seep into you, grounding you even as your chest heaved with fury.

You stilled, the last shouts of rage fading into breathless silence as he held you close, his presence the only thing keeping you from breaking free again.

Lord Carter’s face paled, the full weight of your words settling over the room. The tension was palpable, and for a brief moment, no one dared to speak. Even Isaac, who had been holding Sharon in place, watched you with a newfound intensity.

“Enough.” Bucky’s voice cut through the silence like a blade.

All eyes turned to him. His eyes darkened, a flash of the Winter Soldier rising to the surface for just a moment.

But he couldn’t lose control. Not now. Not in front of everyone.

Taking a deep breath, Bucky stepped forward, his movement demanding immediate attention. The hall fell into a heavy silence as the tension grew thicker. His eyes locked on Lord Carter, and though his voice was calm, the barely contained fury was evident beneath every word.

“Lord Carter,” Bucky began, his voice cold, dangerous. “These accusations—whether true or false—are not something to be brushed aside with mere words.” His gaze flickered briefly to Sharon, who remained trembling under Isaac’s grip, before returning to her father.

“If you think you can use your daughter as a shield to deflect responsibility, you’re gravely mistaken.”

Bucky’s fists clenched at his sides, the desire to lash out clear in his stiff posture, but he forced himself to remain steady.

“There will be an inquiry, a full investigation,” he continued, his tone leaving no room for argument. “And if any trace of treason is found—whether it leads to your daughter or yourself—you will both answer for it. Personally.”

The last word was a low growl, a promise rather than a threat. Bucky’s icy blue eyes never left Lord Carter’s, the weight of his authority and rage palpable. He was no longer just James Barnes—he was the king, and he wasn’t going to let this treachery slide.

Turning his attention briefly to Isaac, Bucky gave a curt nod. “Take them both to the dungeons. We’ll get to the truth soon enough.”

As Isaac moved to drag Sharon out of the hall, Bucky’s gaze flickered to you. There was a brief, almost imperceptible moment where the cold mask he wore cracked, and a hint of the man beneath—the one who hated seeing you caught in this mess—shone through. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by the king who had a court to manage and a betrayal to uncover.

He turned back to Lord Carter, who stood frozen, his calm demeanor now visibly strained.

“You,” Bucky commanded, his voice slicing through the air like a blade. “You will remain here until this is sorted out. Any attempt to flee will be seen as an admission of guilt.”

Before Lord Carter could so much as draw a breath, Steve stepped forward from his post near the entrance, his face set in stone. His voice was firm, carrying the weight of an order. “Guards, seize Lord Carter.”

Lord Carter’s composure cracked as the guards moved in, their hands firm on his arms as they began to escort him away. His face flushed with indignation, and he jerked his arm free from one of the guards, standing tall as if reclaiming his dignity.

"This is absurd!" he barked, his voice ringing through the hall. "You dare to lay hands on me? I am a loyal servant of the crown, and this is nothing but slander from a panicked girl trying to save herself!"

He turned sharply, his eyes darting between Bucky and Steve, his expression a mix of outrage and desperation. "There is no proof of these claims! No evidence! I will not be treated like a common criminal based on the hysterical accusations of my own daughter!"

Despite his protests, the guards tightened their grip, their movements unwavering as they led him toward the exit. Lord Carter struggled slightly, attempting to shake them off, his voice rising in anger. "You’ll regret this—mark my words! You’re making a grave mistake, Your Majesty!"

But Bucky remained unmoved, his cold gaze fixed on the scene, his jaw clenched as Lord Carter’s protests echoed behind him. The court watched in tense silence, the weight of Lord Carter’s protests doing little to sway the inevitable.

× × × ×

The hall fell into an eerie silence, the echoes of Lord Carter's protests fading as the heavy doors shut behind him. The tension hung thick in the air, the nobles exchanging uneasy glances as they tried to comprehend the spectacle they had just witnessed.

Pietro, standing close to Wanda, broke the silence with a tentative voice, his usual confidence faltering.

"What happens now?" He glanced at Bucky and then at the official standing awkwardly with the scroll in hand. "What happens with the ceremony?"

The room seemed to hold its breath, waiting for someone to speak, to bring clarity to the chaos that had disrupted what should have been a momentous occasion.

From the side of the room, the unmistakable voice of Nick Fury cut through the quiet like a knife. His arms were crossed, his one good eye sharp as it flicked between Bucky and the council.

"Well, that’s up to you, Your Majesty," he said, his tone carrying the weight of the decision. "You want to finish this ceremony, or does this little… interruption change things?"

All eyes turned to Bucky, the unspoken weight of his decision settling over the hall.

Bucky's eyes flicked toward you, his queen, the only steady thing in the storm that had just erupted in the hall. For a moment, his gaze softened, the weight of the decision pressing down on him as he searched your face for reassurance, for guidance. You met his gaze with unwavering calm, silently offering the support he needed.

Drawing a deep breath, Bucky squared his shoulders, and when he spoke, it was with the strength of both a king and a man who had made his choice.

“This ceremony was meant to be about loyalty, about securing the future of this kingdom,” he began, his voice steady yet carrying the unmistakable edge of conviction. His gaze moved from you, then to Wanda, lingering just long enough to acknowledge the turmoil she was feeling. “But it’s become something else entirely—a spectacle tainted by deceit.”

Wanda, standing beside Pietro, visibly tensed, her breaths shallow as if she had been holding onto the pressure of the moment. Bucky’s next words cut through the room like a blade.

“The ceremony is canceled,” Bucky declared, his voice firm, allowing no room for challenge. “I will not tie this kingdom’s future to a decision clouded by lies and manipulation. Wanda, you deserve better than this mess, and until the truth is fully revealed, we won’t move forward.”

Wanda’s shoulders sagged in visible relief, her lips parting as she let out a breath she didn’t even realize she had been holding. Pietro cast a glance at his sister, his own tension easing slightly as the room shifted uneasily.

Bucky's attention swept back to you, his eyes filled with gratitude and a silent promise, before turning back to the hall.

“Let this be clear,” he continued, addressing everyone now. “We will uncover the truth, and only then will decisions about this kingdom’s future be made. This ceremony is over.”

The room remained in stunned silence, the finality of his words echoing in the grand hall. Bucky had made his decision, and no one dared challenge the authority behind it. Wanda’s relief was palpable, and though the weight of unresolved matters still hung in the air, it was clear that Bucky had chosen the path that honored not only his kingdom but the trust he placed in you as his queen.

× × × ×

Bucky stood in the war room, leaning heavily against the grand oak table, his hands braced on its surface as he spoke in a low, determined voice. Isaac sat across from him, his arms crossed, watching his brother carefully. The Queen Dowager, Winnifred Barnes, was seated at the head of the table, her regal presence commanding the room, her sharp eyes flicking between her two sons.

“The Queen needs time away from this chaos,” Bucky began, his words laden with concern. “Everything that’s happening—Lord Carter, Sharon, the consort—it’s taken a toll on her. She wants to go to Zienna to recover, and I think it’s the right desicion. She deserves some peace.”

Winnifred’s gaze softened at the mention of Zienna.

“It’s a place of healing,” she murmured thoughtfully. “Yes, it would do her well. But Bucky, with matters still unresolved here, can you afford to leave just yet?”

“No, not yet. I’ll stay and see this through, for her sake and for the kingdom. But once this is handled, I’m going to Zienna to be with her. She shouldn’t have to endure all of this alone.” Bucky shook his head, a firm resolve settling in his expression.

Isaac’s brows knit together as he listened, then he leaned forward, his voice cautious. “You’re certain you can resolve things here in time? Lord Carter and Pierce won’t go down easily, and the court is still on edge.”

The Queen Dowager arched a brow, her tone matter-of-fact as she asked, “And then, who will run the kingdom in your absence? Even a week away is a long time during a crisis like this. You can’t simply leave without a strong hand at the helm.”

Isaac shifted in his chair, his sharp eyes narrowing as he caught the slight pause in Bucky’s words. He could already sense where this conversation was heading, and his expression hardened slightly.

Bucky straightened, his gaze drifting toward Isaac for just a moment. It wasn’t long, but it was enough to make Isaac’s shoulders tense. His younger brother narrowed his eyes, already understanding the weight of what Bucky was about to ask.

“Isaac,” Bucky started, his tone careful, but firm. “You’ve always had my back, always supported the crown when I needed you. And right now, I need you more than ever.”

Isaac’s jaw clenched as he sat up straighter, the realization hitting him fully. “You’re asking me to become Prince Regent, aren’t you?”

“Yes. Just for a short time, when I’m away. The kingdom needs stability, someone they can trust to lead in my place.”

Isaac’s eyes darkened as he leaned back in his chair, considering Bucky’s words. “You’re putting a lot on my shoulders, brother. Not just running the kingdom, but stepping into your role, even temporarily.”

“I trust you, Isaac,” Bucky replied, his voice unwavering. “And the people trust you. You’ve proven yourself time and time again. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t believe you were the best choice.”

Winnifred, who had been watching the exchange silently, finally spoke, her voice measured.

“This is no small request, Isaac. Becoming Prince Regent means carrying the weight of the crown, and everything that comes with it.”

Isaac’s gaze flicked between his mother and his brother, the gravity of the situation settling heavily on him. He was a soldier, a warrior, but this—ruling in Bucky’s stead, even for a brief period—was different.

“You’re sure about this?” Isaac asked, his voice low but steady, his eyes locked on Bucky’s.

Bucky nodded, his expression sincere. “I am. There’s no one else I trust more.”

Isaac exhaled slowly, his fingers drumming lightly on the table as he mulled it over. He knew the responsibility, the risk. But he also knew he wouldn’t let his brother down.

“Alright,” Isaac finally said, his voice firm. “I’ll do it. I’ll be your Regent in your absence. But you better make sure Y/N gets the peace she needs. And don’t take too long.”

Bucky’s expression softened, gratitude evident in his eyes. “Thank you, Isaac. You don’t know what this means to me.”

Isaac gave a brief nod, though there was a flicker of reluctance in his gaze as he glanced at his mother. Winnifred’s eyes were sharp, watching her sons with a sense of pride, though there was also a hint of concern.

The Queen Dowager spoke once more, her tone gentler now. “You both know what’s at stake. The kingdom will need to see unity in this time of uncertainty. Isaac, you must be prepared for whatever may come. And Bucky…” Her eyes softened as she looked at her eldest son. “Take care of Y/N. But don’t forget—you are still king, and your people will need you to return.”.

“I’ll keep the throne warm for you, brother. Just don’t make a habit of this Regent business.”

“I won’t.” Bucky chuckled softly, the tension in the room easing just slightly.

After Winnifred left the room, a heavy silence settled between Bucky and Isaac. Their conversation lingered in the air, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. Isaac sighed heavily, rubbing the back of his neck as he leaned back in his chair.

“So, that’s one down,” Isaac muttered, referring to the traitors, his tone low and tired. His sharp eyes were still clouded with thoughts about the looming investigation, but there was also a simmering reluctance buried deep inside him.

Then, as if trying to shake off the seriousness, he shifted, raising an eyebrow and glancing at Bucky.

“Sooo… Prince Regent?” Isaac asked, his tone light but the underlying tension unmistakable.

Bucky could feel his brother’s reluctance, the hesitation in his words. Isaac had always preferred to be on the battlefield, not tied to the throne. Bucky chuckled softly under his breath, leaning against the table as if to ease the seriousness of the situation.

"If I’m not successful in securing an heir, eventually, I’ll have to name you the heir," Bucky said, a smirk playing on his lips, though his voice carried a hint of truth beneath the jest.

Isaac froze for a moment, his expression darkening at the joke. His eyes flicked to Bucky, clearly not amused.

“Don’t joke about that.”

“I’m not joking, Isaac.” Bucky raised an eyebrow, his tone shifting to something more serious.

Isaac stiffened, the idea clearly unsettling him. "You are the king. You have the duty to secure the throne’s future, not me. I’m no heir. I never wanted to be."

“I know you didn’t. But if something happens, if I’m gone, the people will need someone they can trust. That’s you.” Bucky’s expression softened, but he didn’t back down.

"You’re not going anywhere, Bucky. And you will secure an heir. That’s not my responsibility." Isaac shook his head slightly, frustration evident in the lines of his face.

Bucky met Isaac’s gaze head-on, his voice calm but unyielding. "You’re my brother. If anything happens, I trust you to take care of things. Even if it means stepping into a role you never wanted."

Isaac’s jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists at his sides. He hated the thought, the very idea of being king. It went against every instinct he had. But the way Bucky looked at him—earnest, unwavering—made it clear this wasn’t just a hypothetical conversation.

“I won’t let it come to that,” Isaac muttered, though his words lacked conviction.

Bucky gave a small, knowing smile.

“Neither will I.”

But the unspoken truth hung in the air between them—neither of them could control everything, and the future was always uncertain.

After a moment, Bucky pushed away from the table and clapped Isaac on the shoulder, the brief moment of tension passing. “But for now, just take care of the kingdom when I go. That’s all I’m asking.”

Isaac huffed, shaking his head but relenting. “Fine. But don’t get too comfortable when you follow her to Zienna. I’m not planning to wear a crown anytime soon.”

Bucky laughed softly, the tension easing as he gave his brother a lighthearted grin. “I’ll be back before you can get used to the title, Your Highness.”

Isaac groaned, rolling his eyes. “Don’t push it.”

× × × ×

The morning air was crisp, a cool breeze sweeping through the courtyard as Bucky stood near the stables, watching you prepare for the journey. Dressed in riding clothes, you held yourself firm, though the weight of recent events settled heavily on your shoulders. Nearby, a carriage stood loaded with supplies, but it remained untouched—you’d insisted on riding, preferring the speed and maneuverability of a horse in case of an ambush. Around you, the best warriors waited in silent readiness, forming a protective entourage. Scott, a trusted friend, adjusted the reins of his horse beside yours, prepared to accompany you to Zienna.

Bucky’s gaze lingered on you, taking in the determination in your eyes and the tension you couldn’t fully hide. As you approached him, he stepped forward, his presence grounding and warm.

“My love,” he murmured, reaching for your hand, his fingers gentle but firm as he held your gaze. “I know things haven’t been easy. But I need you to know—I’ll join you in Zienna as soon as everything is settled here.”

You nodded, looking down for a moment, your fingers tightening around his.

“I understand,” you replied softly, voice tinged with the exhaustion you’d been holding back. “But why do I feel like we’re always meant to be seperated. . . I don’t have a good feeling about this, James.”

His hand rose to your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin. “Everything will be fine, then when I’m finished here, I’ll be there. I promise.”

You managed a small, wavering smile, meeting his gaze with a quiet resolve. “I’ll be waiting for you, Bucky.”

He smiled gently, leaning forward to press his forehead against yours, letting your breaths mingle in a shared, comforting silence.

“I wish you Godspeed,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “Scott and the others will keep you safe, but still… take care of yourself.”

Blinking back the emotions that threatened to surface, you nodded. “And you. Don’t let them wear you down. Remember, I’m waiting for you.”

His hand tightened around yours, a silent reassurance. “I won’t let anything stop me from coming to you,” he vowed, the weight of his promise heavy between you.

For a moment, you stood there, suspended in quiet intimacy, until Scott cleared his throat gently. “Your Majesty, we should get moving if we want to reach the first checkpoint before nightfall.”

You nodded, your gaze lingering on Bucky’s as you reluctantly let go of his hand. With one last look, you turned and mounted your horse, steadying yourself as Scott and the warriors took their places around you.

As you rode through the gates, you glanced back, catching Bucky’s gaze one final time. He lifted a hand in farewell, his expression both resolute and tender—a silent reminder of his promise.

× × × ×

In the war room, Bucky stood at the head of the long, ancient table, his gaze hardened and his hands clenched at his sides. The air was thick with tension, the weight of recent revelations pressing down on everyone in attendance. Prime Minister Fury, Lord Stark, Lord Thor, and Lord Pietro surrounded him, their expressions equally grave. Isaac, who had been coordinating the efforts on the ground, stood beside Bucky, arms crossed, a look of fierce resolve in his eyes.

Lord Carter’s arrest had been a momentary victory, but it had sent Pierce scurrying into hiding, an alarming development that left Bucky with more answers. Sharon’s confession had revealed Haynesworth’s involvement—a coward now willing to cooperate under pressure. Yet despite this, the scale of Pierce’s plan remained daunting.

Isaac broke the silence, his voice a steady cadence of grim pragmatism. “My men and I have been able to weaken Pierce’s forces. The mercenaries we’ve detained have given us some insight into his network, but it’s clear we’re still facing a significant threat. Pierce has more men, well-funded and positioned, not just mercenaries, but soldiers loyal to him and his cause.”

Lord Thor frowned, the muscles in his jaw tightening.

“A coup,” he murmured, barely containing the disgust in his voice. “He’s not simply out for power; he’s mobilising the people, stirring resentment. He’s been playing on their fears for longer than we realized.”

“Indeed,” Fury added, leaning forward. “The arrests, the reduced supplies to outlying towns, the instability—he’s planted seeds that we’re only now starting to see bear fruit. He’s crafted his campaign to draw as many as he can to his side, creating the appearance that the crown is to blame for their struggles.”

Bucky’s gaze darkened, his jaw clenching as he processed their words. His kingdom was under attack from within, and the loyalty of his people was being manipulated by a man willing to incite chaos for his own gain.

“We can’t let Pierce continue to spread his poison,” Bucky said, his voice low but resonant. “If he manages to incite a full-scale rebellion, we risk losing not just the throne, but the very unity of this kingdom. . . Luckily Lord Starks provision of food and supplies weakened his campaign?”

Isaac nodded in agreement, his expression cold and focused. “I’ve had my men infiltrate some of Pierce’s hideouts, and we’re intercepting his communications where we can, but it’s not enough to turn the tide. If we’re to shut him down, we’ll need to identify his main camps and disrupt his resources—especially his connections to sympathetic lords who may still be in hiding.”

Lord Stark, ever the strategist, leaned back thoughtfully. “Pierce’s resources are formidable, but he can’t stay on the run without outside help. There’s a network feeding him, sheltering him, financing his troops. We’ll need to isolate and dismantle that network, one link at a time.”

Isaac’s voice took on an edge. “It’s not only Pierce’s direct allies we need to worry about. He’s stirred unrest among the common folk. They believe his lies about the crown, and that loyalty to him could grant them relief from the hardships they’ve suffered. That’s why he’s growing stronger.”

Fury added, “The situation’s delicate. If we move too brashly, we could reinforce Pierce’s narrative that the crown’s oppressing the people. But if we delay, he gains more ground. We’re working against time—and perception.”

Bucky exhaled sharply, frustration simmering just below the surface. He knew they had to strike with precision, neutralizing Pierce without alienating the kingdom they sought to protect. His gaze flicked toward Isaac, the only one who fully understood the precarious balance between strength and subtlety that Bucky faced.

“Isaac,” Bucky began, his voice resolute, “you’ve already done a damn good job of weakening their numbers. But we need more. I want a detailed strategy. Find their supply lines, their contacts in every town on the kingdom’s edge. Cut them off, quietly. And Haynesworth—press him until he reveals every name, every hideout, every ally Pierce has.”

Isaac gave a grim nod, the hint of a smirk touching his lips. “Consider it done. Pierce’s men may think they’re loyal, but everyone has a breaking point. We’ll use it to our advantage.”

Bucky’s gaze shifted to Stark and Fury.

“And we’ll need to address the people’s concerns. Show them that the crown isn’t neglecting their needs. Send more food and relief to the outer regions. Make it clear that Pierce’s attempts to block supplies were part of his campaign to weaken the kingdom.”

Fury’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “A good move. If we can reach the people directly, we can begin to counter Pierce’s influence. But it’ll take more than supplies. They need to see a strong, united crown—one that stands in defiance of Pierce’s lies.”

Bucky clenched his fists, determination etched into every line of his face. He wouldn’t let his kingdom fall to traitors, nor would he allow Pierce’s influence to taint the loyalty of his people. With Isaac, Fury, Stark, and the others, he would strike hard and fast.

× × × ×

Lord Alexander Pierce sat in the dimly lit chamber of his hideout, his face a mask of restrained fury as he processed the recent setbacks. His usually composed demeanor was fractured, his jaw clenched tightly as he seethed over the news of Lord Carter’s imprisonment and Haynesworth’s cowardice. He had carefully woven his network of allies over the years, a web of loyalists and useful puppets, yet one by one, they were beginning to unravel.

“Imbeciles,” he muttered, his gaze cold and distant as he paced the room. He knew that with Carter locked away and Haynesworth under palace protection, his own position was more vulnerable than ever.

Pierce’s attention was drawn to a shadowed figure near the doorway. One of his most trusted operatives, a man whose services were as lethal as they were discreet, waited silently, prepared for any orders. Pierce’s gaze settled on him, the weight of his decision already clear.

“Haynesworth has betrayed us,” Pierce said, his voice low, barely above a whisper. “He has exposed us to the crown, and he knows too much. We can’t allow him to hide under palace protection and think he’s safe.” He took a step closer, his eyes glinting with dark intent. “See to it that he and his family are eliminated.”

The operative nodded, a glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes. “It will be done, my lord.”

Pierce waved him away with a flick of his wrist, his mind already spinning with plans to stabilize the crumbling foundation of his revolt. But his contemplation was interrupted by the entrance of another figure—the leader of the mercenaries he had enlisted, a hulking, scarred brute with wild eyes and a snarl that twisted his face into something menacing.

The mercenary leader stomped forward with heavy, brutal steps, his broad, muscled arms crossed over his chest. His gaze fixed Pierce with an unyielding stare, the barely concealed rage in his eyes making it clear he was not a man of patience.

“We had a deal,” he growled, his voice like the scrape of iron on stone. “My men and I have risked much for you, but the royal vaults remain untouched. My men are getting restless. They want blood and gold, not empty promises.”

Pierce clenched his teeth, forcing himself to keep his composure. “And you shall have it,” he replied smoothly. “But we must act with precision. Rushing into the palace is not an option yet.”

The mercenary leader let out a guttural laugh, baring his teeth in a fierce grin that was anything but friendly. “We’ve been patient enough. Your plan’s unraveling, and my men won’t sit around much longer. If we don’t strike soon, they’ll get their gold elsewhere—even if it’s from the crown’s own coffers.”

Pierce’s eyes narrowed, his mind racing. He knew he had to maintain control over these mercenaries—they were his strongest line of offense. But he couldn’t afford an all-out assault on the palace until the right moment.

“You will have your prize,” Pierce said, his tone icy and firm. “But we do this on my terms. You’ve seen the chaos I’ve sewn within the court; the crown is weakened, and soon their defenses will be as well. An attack on the palace will come—but it must be swift and decisive.”

The mercenary leader leaned in close, his breath reeking of ale, his voice a low, savage rumble. “I’ve lost good men holding back for you, Pierce. We want our share, and if you won’t give it, we’ll take it ourselves. We’re done sitting on our asses.”

Pierce held his gaze, unflinching, though inside, he felt his grip on the situation slipping. He couldn’t allow a reckless assault that might undo all of his careful planning. But he couldn’t lose control of the mercenaries, either.

With a deep breath, he straightened, his gaze hardening. “Very well,” Pierce conceded, though his mind was already working through contingencies. “Begin preparations for an infiltration. We will test the palace’s defenses, probe for weaknesses. If we find a vulnerability, we will exploit it.” His lips curved into a thin smile. “But remember—do not underestimate the crown. This kingdom will fall by our hand, but only if we strike with precision.”

The mercenary leader’s barbaric grin returned, revealing broken, jagged teeth as he gave a curt nod. Without another word, he turned and stomped out of the chamber, leaving Pierce alone in the dark, the weight of the plan settling heavily on his shoulders.

Pierce clenched his fists, his mind sharp and focused as he considered the stakes. The royal vaults, the crown, the kingdom itself—they would all be his. But first, he would have to make every piece on the board move exactly as he commanded.

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sebastianswallows · 5 months ago

Text

Nobody's Darling — 1. The Road

— PAIRING: Benny Cross x F!Reader

— SYNOPSIS: Benny comes across a girl walking alone in the middle of nowhere and offers her a ride to the nearest town. They stop at a motel.

— WARNINGS: none

— WORDCOUNT: 3.1k

— A/N: Hello, my dears! So yeah, I saw The Bikeriders because of Austin (and Tom Hardy) and of course I had to write something for it 😂 I've been labouring at it for the past two weeks lol This was meant to be a one-shot but it kept growing and I decided to split it into chapters. The plot is partly based on something that happened to me, namely I missed my stop and the bus drove me way out of the city before I realised what had happened 💀 Anyway, hope you enjoy it! 😘💕✨

Grey clouds floated across the sky. Fields of yellow and burnt grass rolled along like waves. A string of birds cut through the far horizon. The fading light of the sun seeped softly through the glass and warmed her cheek but she was happy to keep sleeping, caught in that special spot between awake and dreaming when her thoughts were peaceful, settled, and she could weave from them a pretty fantasy. The chill of a November evening didn’t quite make it into the bus but the windows were already fogging and the seats grew cold.

She woke up with a start when the wheels struck a hole in the ground and everything jolted.

“Where am I?” she groaned, squinting at the window. Her reflection frowned back but beyond it, she could see… nothing. She was in the middle of nowhere with only naked fields and swaying power lines around her. She checked her watch and her heart stopped.

“I should’ve been home by now. Oh no, I did not sleep through my stop,” she whispered to herself — but she did. “Wait! Driver!”

She got up and ran to the front, scrambling past all those empty seats, her jacket in one hand and purse flailing in the other. The driver gave her a bored expression as she leaned panting against the divider.

“Wait, please, I need to get off! Where are we?”

The man looked at her with all the serenity of an overworked drone in a dead-end job. He didn’t seem particularly alarmed to see her there, nor did he seem to care about her predicament.

“Halfway to the next town,” he mumbled as he started to slow down. “There’s another stop ‘bout a mile back.”

“Great…”

“Next bus comes tomorrow ‘round seven thirty.”

“Oh.”

She looked around again as if she could see something different from up here but it was all the same. The vastness of it frightened her and she half-wished she’d never woken up.

The driver pulled over at the side of the road and tilted the cap on his bald head, his teeth tight around a toothpick.

“You’ll be alright?”

“Yeah…” she said automatically. “Sure.”

He opened the door and her whole body began to tremble, the situation suddenly completely real. She gathered all her nerves and put one step in front of the other, and as soon as her feet were on the ground the bus started to move again, driving away.

The sun was dipping into a pool of pink and the birds that circled overhead were growing louder. She was alone in a darkening field with nothing in front of and behind her except for lamplight spilling yellow and pale over an empty road and dead grass all around. If she regretted getting off that bus, it was too late now.

“At least it was warm inside,” she muttered. “But I could never make it back in time for work tomorrow from the next town… Damn it.”

There was nothing left to do. She sighed to herself and started walking back. In her head, she tried to calculate how late it would be by the time she made it home but each result only scared her further.

“Best not to think about it,” she said. “Just keep walking…”

She hadn’t gone on such a hike since she was a little girl, and never far outside of town. She’d only walked through fields and meadows and the forest that stretched east. There was certainly no time for it since getting hired at the local newspaper, and she liked it that way. Her days were measured and predictable, her clothes were always clean, and nothing ever hurt her — except her back if she sat down writing for too long. She was scared now not just because she was alone and in the dark but because she’d never done a thing like this before. Her heels were unsteady on the crumbling tar and her purse felt heavy on her shoulder. Insects were singing in the grass and creatures rustled through it that she dared not think about. Were there snakes around here? Rats? She pulled her jacket tighter around herself.

After half an hour she came across the bus stop that the driver mentioned. The sign for it was half-chewed off and the wooden bench was worn and stained a sickly yellow beneath a flickering light. She considered for a moment sleeping there until the morning but then the ignominy hit her: to sleep on a dirty wooden bench under the flutter of moths and mosquitoes. To come home unwashed and stinky with her hair a mess and her stockings torn. And if any of the neighbours saw her… No. She walked past that bus stop and didn’t look back, and soon found herself surrounded by darkness again.

“You deserve it,” she muttered as she wrapped her arms around herself, her body ambling forward with none of the grace and poise she had half an hour before. “How could you fall asleep? You weren’t even that tired, and the bus ride is so noisy. You couldn’t wait another ten minutes to get home? Idiot, idiot…”

The walk back to the city was taking longer than she thought it would, and by eight o’clock she was still out there. The sky was sprinkled with stars and the wind was flitting gently through her hair and the creatures in the bushes were growing ever louder. If she weren’t so cold and terrified she might have felt exhausted. Her feet hurt and her back was bent under the weight of her purse and she hadn’t eaten since noon. But suddenly, in the distance, she saw a glint of something made of glass and metal — it was a phone booth. The joy that rushed through her wiped all her pain away and she hurried to reach it, nearly tripping. She felt halfway home as soon as she stepped inside its murky walls.

“Please work, please work, please please please.”

She picked up the receiver and held it on her shoulder as she opened the phone book and started leafing through for the nearest police station. They would be obliged to come and pick her up — that is if she could only explain where she was…

“Hello? Operator?” But no voice came from the other side. The tone was dead. “Operator?” she tried again, her voice growing shaky. “Hello? Anyone?”

As she kept tapping on the phone hook, desperate to reach someone, a bright light came peeking over the horizon from the direction she had just come from. It couldn’t have belonged to a car but whatever it was that approached her was fast and loud as all hell. She held her breath as she watched it getting bigger, brighter, closer. This was the only driver she’d seen the whole night and she was equal parts hopeful and horrified of just what it could be. After all, what kind of person would be out driving at this hour on a weekday?

She forgot about the telephone as she followed this strange light until it was close enough to blot out all the darkness. It blinded her for a moment but that thunderous rumble soon settled to a pur and it stopped on the other side of the road from her. When her eyes adjusted to the brightness she realised it was a motorcycle, thin and lean and silver.

Its rider propped himself against the ground on one long leg clad in blue jeans and reached into his pocket. He was tall and slender, his figure swathed in shadows, his motions simple but relaxed and almost elegant.

“It doesn’t work,” he said as he lit a cigarette. “Been broken for a while now.”

The flash of flame from his zippo lighter gave her a hint of his face. He was young, perhaps even younger than her, with full pink lips and a slight stubble, soft blue eyes, and a sprinkle of dirt like freckles on his face. There was a wildness to him and an air of gentleness as well, but his jacket was a dark denim and thick with patches, symbols that probably meant something to him — he must’ve belonged to some sort of “club”. She didn’t know much about bikers aside from what she read about them in the papers, but they’d always seemed to be a bunch of layabouts. Aside from drinking far too much and smoking she knew they got into trouble with the law, had fights, caused accidents, and were generally dangerous to be around.

“I’m… just trying to get to town,” she said in a wary voice.

“Well, I’m headed that way.”

She said nothing, her hand still frozen on the telephone.

“Want a ride?”

It was a tempting offer but one that made her shiver. She’d never been around a man like that, never even exchanged words with one, and everything that she expected from his kind — rudeness, lewdness, and a bad attitude — was suspiciously absent from him. He looked at her with those soft eyes, his long leg braced against the road, and waited. She should have accepted his offer, she should have just gotten on his bike and wrapped her arms around him, but… she couldn’t.

“No, thank you.”

He kept on smoking quietly and looked her up and down much as she’d done with him. She wondered what he saw… She was probably a pathetic sight and a strange kind of person to come across in such a place. When his eyes finally left her figure they strayed across the wilderness. There was nothing around them for miles, they both knew that, and other cars wouldn’t be around that road for hours.

“You know how far away you are?” he asked, rolling the cigarette between his fingers.

“I’ll be fine.”

“It’s a long walk.”

“I don’t want to…” She was about to say she didn’t want to ride all the way back with a stranger but instead said, “trouble you.”

He didn’t react at first, keeping that air of stillness about him that made her wonder what he thought. But after a few moments, he nodded and dropped the cigarette, crushed it underneath his boot, and with a leisurely motion mounted his bike once more and revved the engine up. Before she could say another word he’d already sped into the distance and left only a cloud of dust behind.

She almost felt sorry to see him go. Almost felt guilty too… She didn’t want her distrust of him to be so apparent or to cause offence, no matter what kind of a person he was. But she told herself he must’ve been a dangerous man and that she was better off alone than riding back to town with him. Well, she wouldn’t be riding back with anybody now… The telephone line was dead, just as he’d said. The wire must’ve been disconnected somewhere.

She wanted to cry. Instead, she began to walk once more, trudging through the dark.

The sky was as black as a curtain cast across a silent stage and against it lit from below the pale lights of interspersed lamps. The roaring of the bike got slowly lost in the road that lay before her and soon only her steps echoed to remind her of how alone she was. She watched the small light of the rider fade and hugged herself against the cold, holding the purse to her chest as if it could protect her. Her feet were hurting so much she worried they were bleeding and she considered taking them off until she looked down at the road and its uneven dirty tar. She closed her eyes even as she kept on walking, too tired to gaze out at the same old nothingness again.

But then she heard a roar floating on the wind and felt a tremble in her chest as if an earthquake was approaching, and when she opened her eyes again she saw that lone light making its way back to her. He seemed to ride back faster than he did as he was leaving and he reached her in no time at all. She slowed down to a stop and so did he, parking right beside her.

“Hey,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck in an awkward, boyish way. “Look, I’m sorry if I scared you earlier. But I can’t just leave you out here. You sure you don’t want to —”

“Alright,” she said, her voice already weak and weary. She was hungry and cold and scared that she’d never make it back to town that night. Too scared to refuse his help a second time. “Just… just get me to the edge of town. I can make my own way home from there.”

If he was surprised at how quickly she accepted now, he didn’t show it. He simply moved closer to the front of his seat and made space for her behind him.

She took a deep breath and approached him carefully as if he rode a beast, not something made of metal. It looked solid and precariously thin at once and yet he straddled it confidently. The saddle looked just big enough for two. She hopped on as best she could and tried to keep her legs together but when he looked at her over his shoulder he shook his head and laughed.

“Legs on either side,” he said. “You’ll fall off if you ride like that.”

“But, my skirt…”

He looked up and down her legs and she tried not to read too much into the way his eyes had darkened.

“Roll it up,” he said in a low and soothing voice. “Don’t worry. I won’t look.”

She held her breath as she rolled her skirt up high enough so that she could throw her other leg over the side. He waited while she settled into the position and planted her feet firmly.

“Ready? Hang on,” he said as he revved the engine up. “I’ll go real slow, alright?”

“A-alright…” she said as she placed her hands timidly around his waist.

But he didn’t go slow, at least not by her standards.

It was completely different to riding in a car, more visceral and real with no windows to protect her. She let out a little scream and clung to his body more tightly than she meant to, eyes falling shut, legs tightening around his bike. He smelled of gasoline and metal and several days’ worth of sweat cooled down by the chilly autumn night but he felt so solid in her arms, so firm and steady, even as the world flashed by. Eventually, she was brave enough to rest her cheek against his back and opened her eyes to look at the vacant countryside. It was a little frightening, as she expected, but peaceful too. As she fisted her hands in his jacket, right over his heart, she tried to peek over his shoulder but could just see the side of his face, focused and relaxed, and the white circle of the headlight. Somehow, that was enough for her. His hair tickled her forehead, feeling softer than it had any right to be, and she found herself smiling. There was something base and ancient in the way he smelled, the way he spoke, even in the way he moved. It was as if he had in him the blood-memory of an ancient Knight on armoured steed galloping alone and steadfast through the fields and woods of untamed lands.

The outskirts of town were much tamer than that, however, and before long they could see the faint lights of the outermost buildings, squalid flats, and blinking advertisements. When he started slowing down she felt herself breathe a sigh of relief. It must’ve tickled the back of his neck because he bent his head forward as if to get away — or to ask for more.

“Where are we?” she asked once the noise of the motorcycle died down.

“Marshal Avenue,” he said, easing the bike to the side of the road.

She didn’t know exactly where that was, but she guessed they were on the other side of town from where she lived. All along the street were boarded-up shops, derelict flats, and liquor stores. Across from where he parked was a building that looked to be about a hundred years old. She could hardly fathom walking home at that hour, especially through a neighbourhood like that, but it was better than being in the middle of nowhere.

“Well, thank you. For the ride.”

He lit another cigarette and dismounted the bike, rolling his broad shoulders to unwind. She got off quickly, scrambling to cover her legs in the crumpled skirt before he turned around and saw her. He gave her a look over his shoulder when he heard her fussing and slowly turned around.

“You sure you don’t want me to drive you home?”

“Yeah, I… I can walk from here.”

He looked at her and stayed quiet but there was something in his eyes behind that veil of smoke that made her curious about what he had to say. He simply nodded and turned toward that old building behind him. She hugged herself and looked up and down the street, waiting for him to say anything — to ask for money, to make fun of her for thinking she could make it home, to make a pass at her…

“Well, good night,” she said.

And as soon as she started walking away he spoke to her again.

“Hey, it’s kinda late. They got rooms upstairs.”

“What?” she asked, turning on her heels a bit unsteadily.

“Owner knows me,” he shrugged, crushing the cigarette beneath his boot and immediately lighting up another. “Could get you one for cheap.”

She shifted her weight from one foot to another and looked around pretending to think… but her eyes kept coming back to him. He puffed quietly away and gazed at her with no design behind those clear blue eyes, looking just as uncertain and awkward as she felt standing in the middle of the street. She didn’t want to trust him but a part of her responded in the same way that she did when she saw a homeless puppy.

“You mean, a room of my own?”

“Yeah.”

She looked from him to the large building again.

He could probably tell that she was torn because he helpfully supplied, “They got food too. Hungry?”

She was. It had been over twelve hours since she’d eaten or had anything to drink.

“I kind of am.”

“Me too,” he said. “Come on.”

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