#and a familiar silhouette stood between the trees

[emicat1159]

Just some normal relationship hurdles, surely won't end badly

(Half finished because I don't think I'll have the patience for it rn lol)

Also check out this song and this song because they fit my Astor's character in the later parts of the story just perfectly and I'm obsessed with them (if ya want)

[blackenedsnow]

I would love it if you did some werehog sonic for spooky season. Maybe he doesn't want reader to know it's him but they find out anyway and comfort him (idk I just need more werehog sonic in my life)

moonlight

WARNING: None

PAIRING: Sonic the Hedgehog x Reader

NOTE: Thanks for sending in this request! I had so much fun writing this guy. Let’s keep the spooky season going!!!

SUMMARY: Sonic never wanted you to see him like this. He had been doing everything to hide his Werehog form from you.

You hadn’t seen Sonic in almost two days, and it was starting to worry you.

Normally, Sonic would pop in to check on you, even if just for a quick chat before zipping off to wherever his next adventure called. But lately, his visits had become scarce, and when he did show up, it was always during the day—never at night.

Something was off, and you could feel it.

You asked Tails about it, and he told you that he still saw Sonic around until the evening, which he found odd, but he never questioned it.

Now it was late in the evening, the sun having set hours ago, leaving the landscape bathed in shadows. You stood by the window, staring out at the full moon hanging in the sky, the eerie light casting long, dark silhouettes across the ground. A shiver ran down your spine, but you weren’t sure if it was the chill in the air or the nagging feeling that something was very wrong.

“Where are you, Sonic?” you muttered to yourself.

A sudden noise from outside caught your attention—a rustling in the bushes near the edge of the clearing. You squinted, trying to make out what it was, but the shadows were too thick. Then you saw it—a large, hulking figure darting behind a tree.

Your heart jumped. It was too big to be Sonic—or anyone else you knew. But something about the shape seemed... familiar.

Grabbing a flashlight, you headed out into the night, determination outweighing the fear gnawing at the back of your mind. You had to find out what was going on.

As you made your way through the trees, the sound of heavy breathing reached your ears, low and raspy. You stopped in your tracks, heart pounding, the beam of your flashlight sweeping across the dark woods. Finally, the light landed on a pair of glowing eyes—bright, green.

There, crouched in the shadows, was a massive, wolf-like creature. Its fur was dark and shaggy, its body rippling with muscle, and its sharp claws dug into the ground as if it was ready to bolt at any second.

But those eyes... you knew those eyes.

“Sonic?” you whispered, the flashlight slipping from your hand and falling to the ground with a soft thud.

The creature flinched at the sound of your voice, as if caught, and slowly stood to its full height. There was no mistaking it now—the familiar cocky stance, the slight tilt of the head, even in this monstrous form, you could see the hints of the Sonic you knew.

But Sonic didn’t say a word. He took a step back, as if trying to retreat into the darkness, away from your gaze.

You stepped forward, undeterred. “Sonic, I know it’s you.”

He froze, shoulders tense, his clawed hands curling into fists as he kept his eyes lowered, refusing to meet your gaze.

“I—” His voice was different, deeper, rougher, but it was still unmistakably him. “I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

Your heart ached at the vulnerability in his tone. He had always been so confident, so sure of himself, and seeing him like this—scared, ashamed—it was a side of Sonic you had never seen before.

You approached slowly, careful not to startle him, but determined to close the gap between you. “Sonic, why are you hiding from me?”

He let out a low growl, though it was more frustrated than threatening. “Because... look at me!” His voice rose, and for the first time, he looked at you fully. “I’m not... I’m not me. Not like this.”

Your eyes softened as you took in his appearance. Yes, he looked different, but underneath the fur and claws, he was still Sonic—still the same hero you had known for so long. And the fact that he was trying so hard to hide this side of himself from you broke your heart.

“You’re still you, Sonic,” you said softly, stepping closer until you were just a few feet away.

He shook his head, turning away again. “I’m a monster.”

“You’re not,” you insisted, reaching out slowly to touch his arm. His fur was coarse, but warm, and you could feel the tension in his muscles as if he was expecting you to recoil. But you didn’t.

Instead, you gave him a gentle squeeze. “You’re not a monster, Sonic. You’re still you, no matter what you look like.”

Sonic was silent for a long moment, his body still trembling slightly under your touch. Finally, he sighed, the tension in his shoulders easing ever so slightly. “You’re not... scared?”

You smiled softly. “Of course not. Why would I be scared of you?”

Sonic let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. The relief in his eyes was evident, though he still looked unsure, as if he couldn’t quite believe you weren’t running away from him. “I didn’t want you to see this,” he admitted quietly. “I thought you’d think I was... I don’t know. Dangerous?”

You stepped in front of him, forcing him to meet your eyes. “Sonic, you’re the least dangerous person I know. You’d never hurt anyone—especially not me.”

His ears twitched, and he finally met your gaze fully, the glow in his green eyes softening. “Yeah, well... I guess I’m not as good at hiding as I thought,” he muttered, a small, sheepish grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

You laughed softly. “No, you’re not. But I’m glad I found you.”

Sonic huffed, though it was more playful this time. “You always were too smart for your own good.”

There was a brief pause before Sonic shifted awkwardly, still not quite comfortable in his Werehog form, but no longer trying to hide it from you. “So, uh... now that you’ve seen me like this, I guess you don’t mind hanging out with a big ol’ werewolf looking thing, huh?”

You smiled warmly. “Not at all. In fact, I think it suits you.”

Sonic blinked, surprised. “Really?”

“Yeah. I mean, you’re still fast, still strong, and now you’ve got extra muscles and claws. It’s like Sonic... but enhanced.”

Sonic chuckled, the sound more like a growl in his Werehog form. “Huh, never thought about it that way.”

You reached up, gently brushing a stray tuft of fur from his face. “You don’t have to hide from me, Sonic.”

For the first time since his transformation, Sonic seemed to relax completely. His broad shoulders slumped in relief, and the anxious edge that had been lingering in his eyes disappeared. “Thanks,” he murmured, his voice softer now. “I guess I needed to hear that.”

You smiled up at him. “Anytime.”

[livelaughlovesubs]

~ 09.10 - Michael ~

Dom!reader x sub!michael - reader is gender neutral

Warning: thigh riding, dubcon (becomes consensual), dacryphilia, mind break, sub space, virgin Michael, corruption kink, slight hierophilia, public sex..?, a bit exhibitionist, teasing, kissing, making out, mentioned kidnapping, Michael cries a lot just saying, this is a little sad in the middle

~ Wordcount: 6.2k ~

Nini!rant: requested by @rae-pss - inspired by his evolution date, I SPEND TOO LONG ON THE PREMISE

Kinktober list 2024

It’s been a few days now that you’ve been brought to heaven by Raphael. He did promise you he’ll kidnap you one day, what you didn’t expect was for that ‘someday’ to happen this soon. As to how that happened? Well, the sky was clear that day, so much that he could see your silhouette from the edge of heaven. Leading to him darting down like a hawk who found its prey, and holding you between his arms before flying off again.

You didn’t even have time to yell or reach out to your companions, who were dumbfounded to the point of being frozen in place. It must have looked pretty stupid after all. Once you were brought to heaven, Raphael looked at you expectantly, as if waiting for a treat. “I’m not going to call you 'good boy', Rara, you kidnapped me.” You brushed him off, then sighed and asked, “I can’t go back down, huh?” He nodded his head. “As expected, fine, then show me around here.” This was a reaction he didn’t expect, why did you sound so done with everything—

The next few hours were spent with the little angel showing you around all excited, though he tried his hardest to not wag his tail. You followed closely, looking around this unfamiliar place. There weren’t any kind of fun things or shops in heaven, only houses for residents. It looked pretty depressing, especially because everything was rid of colors and purely white. When he asked if heaven ain’t better than hell or earth, you didn’t have the heart to answer honestly.

Soon you reached the last destination, his own place, where he would spend his nights. That’s when you found out all the seraphim’s sleep together, on the floor, with a thin cushion only. Compared to the devils, angels must have been real minimalists. To Raphael's dismay, Gabriel and Michael were also inside the building. You met Gabriel in the prayer room, where you almost got blinded by his halo. When your kidnapper saw him, he quickly tried to rush you out of the room, but Gabriel still noticed your presence.

“You brought Solomon’s descendant here? Why?” He shot you a glare, ready to put his scythe to use. You stared back all disgusted. “Don’t you dare, Gabriel. They belong to me.” He scoffed, and stood between you and the once-praying angel, to hide your form from his piercing gaze. The two of them were fighting like cats and dogs, basically not paying any attention to you anymore.

Which is why you took that opportunity to sneak away, tender steps as you backed out of the room. You aimlessly walked around their residence, exploring this new world, starting to pity their mundane lives. If you were to spend centuries in this boring place, where everything was white and monotone, you'd become a feral beast as well and probably lose your mind.

Like a miracle, you found something colorful, amid this white paradise. Carefully you stepped out of the building, into what seemed to be the garden. With a gentle swipe of your hand, you opened and closed the door, looking around to get familiar with your surroundings. There were flowers, everywhere, so many that it looked like straight out of a painting. It was simply beautiful. By the looks of it, this could be the garden of Eve that’s so infamous on earth, for this was a scenery so magnificent you didn’t anticipate it.

Heck, it looked a little out of place even, for so many colors to exist on this plain canvas that’s called heaven, as if god dropped a bucket of paint over this secret place. Slowly, you walked along the path to the huge apple tree in the middle. In front of it was a white pavilion, underneath it was a table with six chairs, but two of them had been stacked and pushed to the side.

“Beautiful…” you whispered breathlessly, eyes sparkling with admiration. There were so many kinds of flowers you’d expect the smell to be intense and intoxicating, but it wasn’t. This defied all logic, though you were kind of getting used to it by now. Only if you squeezed your eyes shut and focused solely on the smell, could you feel a sweet scent reach your nose, a scent you couldn’t quite describe. You tried to identify the smell and concentrated really hard, but to your surprise, you noticed a hint of sadness in the undertone of the scent.

Startled, you looked around, wondering if you were going crazy. Then you heard water flowing, no, to be more specific, someone watering the flowers. With even quieter steps, you approached the source of the noise and caught a glimpse of a figure with black hair. It must be Michael, you thought, and wanted to turn around and quickly leave before he tries to kill you, if not for him who mumbled, “Don’t run.” You froze in place, he didn’t even look up from the flowers, still tending to them.

You waited until he was done, nervously sweating as you clenched your hands. He wouldn’t kill you here, right? “Are you going to kill me?” Look at you, so bold, taking the initiative like this. Michael frowned, “Not here, I don’t want your filthy blood getting on my flowers.” So you were correct, Michael was the one who took care of those plants. “Ah.., ermm, understandable, those flowers are very pretty.”

The angel still had that distinct scorn on his face and a breath of arrogance, but he was beautiful nonetheless. His black hair stood out among all the colors, and the feathers of his wing that fluttered softly in the wind, as well as his right cheek which still hasn’t stopped crying. “Obviously they'd be pretty, I’m personally tending to them. Now get out, you are lucky I’m busy.” He walked past you, shoving you to the side and almost making you fall into the flowerbed, before filling up the watering can.

You stared at him emptily, then walked to the pavilion and sat down on one of the chairs, leaning back and watching him. “What do you think you are doing?” Michael then groaned, shooting you a furious look. “I’m looking at the flowers," You answered defiantly. “I thought I told you to get out—”

“Y/n!” Raphael’s voice rang through the garden, and he ran, almost tripping over Michael who was hovering near the entrance. “Urgh- don’t stand in my way, Michael.” When the black-haired angel heard that, he flared up, and his wing also flapped around very quickly, “Bloody hell Raphael, I was here first.” Quickly you stumbled across the yard and stopped the fight from escalating, grabbing the arm of the red angel, “Don’t fight, don’t fight, I’m here Rara. So, where did you want to take me?”

Raphael gave the other angel a final glare, before turning to you, "I haven't shown you your bedroom yet, come." Afterward, he walked away without looking back, holding your hand in his. Your gaze lingered on Michael for a while, longer than intended, before eventually turning around and following the much too enthusiastic boy.

That was your first day in heaven, and the days that followed weren’t all that different. It has become your daily routine to come to the garden, every single day. You were simply infatuated by the exotic flowers, and frankly, because you were curious about Michael. Why was he so dead on taking care of these flowers? Did he like pretty things, or was this simply his hobby? Every day, without fail, you’d bring some snacks and drinks with you and enjoy them under the pretty pavilion. Sometimes, more often than not, you’d be accompanied by Raphael as well.

Michael didn’t like that one bit, but since this garden belonged to all three seraphim’s, he couldn’t forbid Raphael from entering. Whenever you two spend time chatting and eating, he’d try to ignore you. Yet he couldn’t help but steal the occasional glances at the two of you being all lovely dovely. If you were to meet his face during these moments, he'd have an expression of pure disgust on his face, though he would never look away. Sometimes he also stares with an expression that wasn't disgust, it was something you couldn't put your finger on.

Particularly so when you’d pat and stroke Raphael on the head, hug him goodbye, or have him lay his head on your lap while you laugh all carefree. There was something about it, that seemed way too familiar, so intimate that it made him reminisce.

Back to the present, this time you came to the garden alone, which was rare, but not unusual. Michael hovered on the ground, the watering can placed next to him, he found it to be insane how used he’s gotten to your presence. Normally, he'd immediately luge for you and try to murder you, but now he's tolerating you for the sake of Raphael. You walked up to the angel, squatting, looking at the same batch of flowers he was looking at. He frowned at you for a split second, before turning his gaze back to the flowers.

“They are pretty, what’s their name?” You eventually asked, after admiring them for a good second. The flower had a pure white color, it hung from the thin stem, looking like multiple little bells. Michael stayed quiet for a moment, a gentle breeze running through his silky long hair, making them fly up a little. His soft feathers moved gently, proof of how soft they must be, you felt an impulse to reach out and touch them. He pondered over if he wanted to talk to the likes of you, then answered, “Lily of the valley.”

After hearing his answer, your eyes widened, you didn’t expect him to actually reply to you, and so calmly as well, it almost made you flustered. Wanting to continue the conversation, you quickly chirped, “Ah- it’s a pretty name.. erm, do these flowers have a meaning?” His head hung low when you voiced that question, the scent of sadness tickled your nose again.

Since you’ve spend so much time in the garden, you’ve come to understand it was the scent of Michael, who cried all the time. He debated with himself whether or not he should tell you, it was a little too intimate to tell strangers after all, yet there was something about you that made him feel weirdly at ease, and he whispered almost inaudibly, “They remind me of someone.” You didn’t need to ask twice to understand who he meant, instead, you chuckled. The boy grabbed your collar with an angry expression, and snapped, “What are you laughing at?”

You didn’t resist and explained, “Nothing, I’m not making fun of you. It was a bittersweet laugh.” Michael hesitated, the hand clutching your collar trembled slightly. “What do you mean.” He demanded, not even really asking. “It’s just… there’s someone I know who also plants flowers to remember his loved ones.” His grip loosened, and he pulled his hand back, you could swear you noticed his tears flow a little faster. “I think I know the name of the flower as well, it was— gardenia.”

He was a smart man, even if you beat around the bush he was fully aware of the person you meant. Seeing as you got him on your hook, it was time to spill the tea, just for the drama effect. You weren't sure where you were going with this, though you've always wanted to help these forsaken brothers, even if just a little, “but you know, he was a clumsy man. Even though he was the one who told me the name of the flower, he'd mistakenly call the flower ‘Michael’. What a silly man.”

Suddenly Michael darted towards you, tripping you over. You tried your best to not damage any of the plants around you, hands kept to your chest as the male got on top of you, pinning your head between his arms. Your head luckily didn't hit the stone floor, though his weight was a little uncomfortable. That's when you heard him scream, “Stop… acting like him..!”

“Hu-huh..?” The confusion was undeniable in your tone, and you tried to look at the man who was hovering over you. His hair blocked your sight, tickled your skin, and then wet droplets splashed onto your face. Were these... tears? Ah, probably from his- hold up, he was crying with both eyes. You gawked, surprised by his vulnerable emotional state. Guess angels were only neglected children after all. Gently, you brushed his hair to the side, seeing his eyes become watery and spilling hot tears.

Contrary to what you expected, he didn't deny your touch but instead leaned into it. His voice was quivering ever so little as he stated, “You knew from the start, didn’t you? So why.. why did you.. you and Raphael, you two..” his sobbing increased, blurring his sight with his tears. In the end, he stopped pinning you to the ground and straddled your lap.

With lingering doubts, you sat up, watching him wipe his tears with his now equally wet sleeves. You didn't know what came over you when you whispered subconsciously, “Beautiful.” It was what you thought at that moment, your most honest feelings. He stopped for a moment to look at you, then smiled bitterly, muttering, “You two are similar even in that regard..." Suddenly he hugged you, wrapping his arms around your neck and holding onto your back, clenching your clothes tightly.

Without missing a beat, he nuzzled into your neck, sobbing into your shoulder, all quietly, only the occasional hiccup could be heard slipping from his puffy lips. You knew all he needed was a shoulder to cry on, so you patted the back of his head, stroking through his soft locks, using your other hand to grab his waist. “It’s alright. And let me tell you something, I know Lucifer loves you just as dearly as you do." To your surprise he rubbed his wet cheek against yours, then turned to look at you, “…I guess you weren’t doing it on purpose?”

He had a meek smile on his face, an almost embarrassed expression. The tears didn’t stop flowing, though it seemed he calmed down a little. “I don’t know what you mean?” You retracted your hand from the back of his head and wiped his tears away. The angel stared at your fingers for a moment, then leaned even closer to you, uttering, “Lucifer Hyeong would have kissed them away.” For the next few seconds, you froze.

Why did he tell you that...? Was he hinting at you to do the same? Does that mean he thought you were similar to Lucifer?

“May I ask why you think so?” The question was a little out of pocket, but he knew what you tried to ask him. “You know what I... miss about Hyeong?" He looked down, clenching his teeth, muscles tensing before relaxing them again to finish his sentence, "Everything, I-I miss his laughter, his hugs, his soft strokes- And guess what you've been doing in front of me?” You went quiet at the last part, this time you knew exactly what he meant without further explanation.

Though you truly weren't doing it to spite him or with other ulterior motives, you were simply being yourself. The look you had was indescribable, it wasn’t quite pity, but more a cocktail of many emotions. “You…” he began once again, stopping to take a deep, shaky breath, to calm his erratic heart and stop the sobbing, before continuing, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I didn't mean to appear identical to-” you didn’t get the chance to end your speech when he interrupted you, “don’t you dare speak with my brother’s tone, while looking and acting like him.” At this point, you didn’t even know what to do, how could it be that everything you did reminded him of that person? Furthermore, you feared he was starting to have a twisted and possibly delusional image of you, to make you his substitute for Lucifer. You were sick of playing house after all that ordeal with the devils— especially Sitri.

All in all, no matter how similar their image of you and the person they meet in their dream is, you could never become the same. You were your own person, and not whatever others wanted you to be. The only thing you could think of doing was to somehow comfort him, this beautiful man who didn’t understand his own feelings, in a way his dearest older brother would never. So you hugged him, pulling him into a tight embrace, something he desperately wanted and needed.

The results were him crying even more frantically, weeping like a baby bird while he cried out, “I missed you so much, brother.” You didn't like his choice of words. After a while, you said silently, like a soft exhale of air that grazed his ears, “I’m not Lucifer.”

His grip on you tightened, but nothing else happened until you commented, "And I'm not your brother or Hyeong." The angel whined out, “Stop..” yet you didn’t, you followed your statement up with, “Not to mention I doubt Lucifer will ever come back to heaven.” Micheal looked like he was devastated, unable to accept the truth, he was basically begging you now as he yelled, “S-stop! I demand you to stop talking—” You shifted in your seat, now grabbing his wrists with one hand, “Michael, I think the reason he left is because it’s time for you to move on.”

He stayed completely still, arms now placed above his head, cheeks, and nose completely red while he wore this lost look in his eyes. “I’ll say it again, I’m not Lucifer. No matter how I act, I won’t be able to give you the same solace as he does.” Slowly, you guided his wrist to your lips, and bit down, leaving behind a red mark and a flustered Michael. He whimpered at the pain, taking his sweet time to snap back to reality as if he wanted to stay in his own fantasy world. “I can at most comfort you in other ways.” You then added, holding him closer with your free hand.

The boy didn’t struggle anymore, his pupils shook slightly, cheeks rosy as he hid it behind his wing. His face has been decorated with those pretty, shiny water droplets, some even dried off already. “W-what..?” Before he could prepare himself for what you had in store for him, you guided his body to move back and forth on your lap. He almost shrieked at the sudden movement, and then he stared at you with a baffled look.

If he had to describe it, it felt like he was riding a horse, but why were you doing this? Rubbing his metallic chastity belt against your skin, wasn't it uncomfortable? “Hold on to me.” You then said, and he became even more confused. Nonetheless, he obliged all obediently, grabbing your shoulders but taking care to not use too much strength.

This shift in behavior wasn’t because of you, he was still seeing you as that person, as him. With gritted teeth, you pulled down the zipper to his pants, and his cheeks flushed immediately. “Wait! What do you think you are doing?!!” He screamed, obviously not prepared for that bold move of yours. The boy was being so loud your eardrums almost exploded.

Judging by his reaction, you were achieving the effect you wanted, breaking down his idolized version of you, “I’m guessing Lucifer never taught you sex education~?” You joked and stared at his chastity belt. It’s the second one you’ve seen, the first one was Raphael’s. This one looked a little different in shape and color, it was golden, like most of the accessories of Michael. Despite it being a few weeks already, you still remembered clearly how you unlocked that device, which is why it didn’t take long until you freed the poor member of the male from its cage.

Michael stared down at you, unmoving, eyes widened while being as red as a tomato. When he heard the click of the lock, he felt his heart leap for a second. “No- no way.. you opened this? So easily?” He blushed and seemed slightly disgusted by the looks of his erection, which was leaking glowing precum down his shaft. This is also his first time seeing his dick, you almost forgot about the fact, that angels are basically all virgins. Gosh, how cute~

With one pull, you threw his chastity belt to the side, staring at his half-erect dick. “Yep. And- oh my? You are way bigger than your brother?” To be honest, you weren’t even sure if you were impressed or terrified. Michael hid his face with the back of his palm, thighs instinctively trying to squeeze close when a gust of wind blew against his now fully hard cock, though of course there weren't any results, considering he was straddling your thighs.

“No, d-don’t look..! No one should... expect god…” more tears swelled up in his eyes, he was also embarrassed at doing it outside, here so many people could catch you two. It would be blasphemy if anyone saw him in this state, he'd probably rip off his own wings and join his brother in hell if that happened! Knowing that you almost felt bad for him, for all these sexually frustrated and very much depraved creatures.

“Shh, don’t worry, I’ll just help you jack one off. You’ll feel much better afterward.” With that being said, you got to work. Fingers sinking into his smooth flesh, moving him around on your thigh, making him rub the underside of his most intimate parts against your clothes legs. It felt so rough against his perfect and soft skin, and on top of all of it, it felt so weird and so hot. He mewled, unable to fathom all these sensations, eyes searching for some guidance from you. Though you deliberately ignored him, gliding him across your thigh, trying to stimulate the male.

He began trashing around, resisting, pushing you away while crying out, "No! H-hyeong would never do something sinful like this..!! You stop these.. unholy and inappropriate acts!" You only laughed in response, asking teasingly, "But tell me, Michael, doesn't this feel good?" Completely treating his request like some passing breeze, feeling grateful that he was still capable of making his own judgment.

"I- no, I'm not answering you?! Are you trying to slander my brother?" He sounded just a tiny bit angry with you, trying hard to ignore the building arousal in his lower abdomen. "No, I never claimed to be him. Do you understand what I'm getting at, Michael?" His mouth hung open, as if he wanted to say something, yet not a single word escaped his throat. On the other hand, a series of moans and choked-out whimpers reached your ears. "Nghh... ahHh- I, s-still, sto- hnNghhh!"

Not good, he was being swept up by those hellish sentiments, by the temptations of the flesh. Why did it have to feel so hot, and be so brain-numbing? Poor birdy could barely think straight after all that edging on your part. You were way too perverted and too much of a tease to be his kind and gentle Hyeong!

"Y-y/n...! Please, I-I don't want this... it's scary, stop..!" At last, he resulted to pleading, unable to deal with the weight of his emotions clashing and fighting internally. It was the truth that he sought comfort by your hands and wanted you to fill the hole in his heart, but then you went ahead and turned the table at him. He didn't want to be touched by someone who wasn't god... and Lucifer. He also didn't want his first sexual encounter to be with you, or if it had to be done, out in the open in a place like this, where he'll defile all these pure and pretty flowers.

"Don't touch me..!" Even though he was so deadbeat on his mindset, he didn't try to push you away, was it out of consideration for the flowers or because he didn't dare hurt you after seeing Lucifer in you? No, hardly so, you could see right through his facade. He was probably thinking about how awful this situation was, but you knew he was lying to himself.

To prove your point, you stopped, leaning back and using your arms to support yourself off the ground, you apologized almost half-heartedly, "Alright, sorry then, I won't touch you. So, you do as you see fit. Climb off if that's what you truly want." Once again you surprised the angel with your actions, he didn't think you'd be so willing.

Only when you stopped pleasuring him he noticed that he actually missed the bubbly and warm feeling of your touch or that his erection was throbbing almost painfully so. He glanced down in disbelief, humiliation filling his senses. If he had to be blunt he had absolutely no idea how to react to this, so he did the only thing he could think of, doing whatever you did. Mind you his brain was already turned into mush due to all the tension from before.

Skeptically, he rolled his hips along your thighs, squeezing his lips shut in a poor attempt to stiffen his moans. At this rate, he was going to overstimulate himself since he didn't know what he was doing. Pride thrown out of the window while he bit back his shame, desperately grinding against you with that flushed look on his face. Small, muffled whines still seeped through his almost, almost water-tight defense. "Don't you dare... say anything... mhm!!"

He knew how hypocritical he was being, doing exactly what he apparently ‘hated’, that's why he didn't want to hear any mean comments from You. But his body moved on its own, he couldn't stop chasing after his own bliss. Why did it have to feel so good anyway? To drag his cock along your thigh, grinding his pre into your clothes... You watched the show unfold with attentive eyes, smirking as if you were saying, "Told ya". His grip on your shoulders got tighter, almost painful to bear.

Then he laid his forehead against the crook of your neck, body shivering tremendously while he groaned, "I-I... bloody hell... you did this to me." That angelic voice of his grazed your skin, hot and laced with need. "I don't know why I'm.. hngg, reacting l-like this..." He continued, egging you on, not getting to the point. "So, what are you getting at?" Again, you were aware of what he wanted from you, but you wanted to hear it from him personally.

“What I mean is- you... you take over!” Suddenly he leaned back to stare right into your eyes, he was still crying from both eyes. This time you were sure it wasn't due to his self-pity and sadness. You reached out for his cheek, cupping his face. His skin was hot, so much so that your hand felt ice cold against him. He leaned into your touch, lips squeezed into a pout, brows furrowed as he held his gaze low. "I thought you didn't like it?" You cooed, rubbing his tears away with your thumb.

Michael stayed quiet, he couldn't argue with that, he was the one that desperately pushed your touch away. That's why he just slumped back against you, mumbling, "P-please... I don't like— this heat either... make it go away..." Just to mess with him some more, you hummed, tilting your head to the side, "Hmm, I don't know, can't you do it yourself?" Now the angel was gritting his teeth, you wondered if you went too far. Much to your surprise, he pulled you into a deep, clumsy kiss.

The salty taste of his tears grazed your lips, his tongue messily stumbled into your mouth and he slurped and swindled it around aimlessly. You stayed still for a second, partly due to you getting startled, as well as you being in awe about how bad he was at kissing. Perhaps it was his first kiss, how cute, he's willingly gifting it to you. Since he has given you something so valuable, you had to show him a good time now, ain't that right?

Slowly, to not scare him, you moved your tongue as well, meeting his eager kiss with a smile on your lips. Closing your eyes to fully immerse yourself, only after seeing the embarrassed look on his blushy features. While he was distracted, you placed your graceful fingers around his slim waist again, giving him little instruction on what to do. Then, once he got into a rhythm, you moved your leg to meet his thrusts.

His heat and wetness already seeped through your pants, soaking your skin with his sticky substances. Yet you didn't bother, focusing solely on him and his pleasure. After a few sucks on your side, against his willing body, he started moaning into the kiss. Long, drawn-out moans that ended with a high-pitched whine for more, "ahhnnngh.. mhmm-uhm!!"

His hips suddenly jerked forwards, his poor cock was leaking and twitching helplessly, wagging around like some kind of tail. The neglect was impossible to overlook. May it be for his red, swollen tip that was decorated with glistening pearls of pre, or his bulging veins that looked like they were about to pop, it didn't matter. All he knew was he wanted more of this ecstatic, hypnotizing feeling that only you could provide.

Gradually, his movements became faster and more sloppy, your grip on him was so tight that his skin bruised. He choked, gagging on your tongue, throwing his head back to break the kiss. This was too much, too intense..! That poor birdy needs a break, or his brain will melt! Despite that, you grabbed him by his wing and forced him to stay still, lips crashing against his again. The feeling of your hand on his wing only intensified his pleasure, making him more erratic as electricity coursed through him.

You weren't done nor satisfied yet, hence you shoved your tongue down his throat again. "Mffhhmm!! ♡♡~! Y/n- I- nghhH..!!" This sensation, of something tingling inside him, threatened to burst at any rate. How was he supposed to hold himself back? All resistance fell on deaf ears and crumbled, and he felt himself being brought over the edge of bliss and sanity. For a moment that was supposed to be forbidden for him, or downright sinful, he felt strangely warm inside.

He hadn't felt this fuzzy and at ease for a long time, and so, he did what his instincts told him, he embraced the feeling. Tears poured from his eyes like little waterfalls, his face ruined to the point of being unrecognizable, and his wing flapping around in a pathetic attempt to balance out the pleasure. He grabbed a fistful of your clothes, almost digging holes into them as he relentlessly rode your thigh. He felt weak, so powerless like never.

His knees have been shaking for quite some time now. If it wasn't for your hands on his hips, he would have slumped forward and fallen into your embrace, that was how weak he was. More sweet whispers of pleasure slipped from his swollen lips, sending a tingle down your spine. "Hmmm... m' su-sumthin's cummin'..!♥︎♡!!" Michael tried to warn you, head so empty he couldn't form proper sentences. Not to mention you were still making out with him, rendering it almost impossible for him to speak coherently.

His dick twitched around a few times again, the tip was rather rubbing against your belly than your thighs, leaving behind strings of pre in its wake. Finally, after an eternity of tension and promised pleasures, he felt himself reaching his limit. The feeling was nothing he had ever experienced before, he couldn't even try to put it into words that was how mind-blowing it was. With one last meek try to warn you, which ended up sounding more like a high-pitched shriek of bliss and pure, primal ecstasy, he came all over the two of you.

“MhNMHHH~ aaAhHHnNNGGh♡♡♥︎♡♥︎～!!” Tridal waves of pleasure surged through his veins, making him shudder due to the intensity. His toes curled, wing flapping uncontrollably as thick ropes of white cum spurt out of his way too-overstimulated dick. It splattered across your clothes, and his as well. Judging by the amount of glowing fluids he shot out, he must have been pent up. Once again, you took the first orgasm ever of an angel, and it felt weirdly fun.

All this pleasure was too much for an inexperienced virgin angel like him~ his mind basically blanked out during his ejaculation, causing him to whimper and groan like some animal in heat, "Ah- uhm.? Nghh, uh-hnggh ♥︎♡♡!" He never knew there was pleasure like this, this amazing and tingly. It was just like the day he lost his eye.

You weren't even sure what he was trying to say, maybe nothing, maybe insults, whatever it was you didn't really care. Instead, you were fascinated by how different yet similar his reaction was to Raphael's. So it was true that angels were as bland as their buildings, with no real knowledge of what the pleasures of the flesh meant. You smiled, looking at his wrecked face. Still as red as ever, with dried-out tears stuck to his skin, and drool hanging out of his mouth, he has never looked more beautiful.

His wing has also calmed down, it was almost limping next to his head. Eyes still a little unfocused as he slowly regained his clarity, moving his hand to his face to rub his puffy eyes. That silky, untangled hair was a little messy more, and his clothes wrinkled. "That was a little too much stimulation for your first, huh?" You joked, and he didn't have the strength to give you a sassy answer, but he glared at you nonetheless. It was more of an I'm-too-tired-for-this glare than anything else though.

You didn't move from your spot, not wanting to rush him, giving him enough time to collect himself until he deemed himself ready to stand up from your lap. In the meantime, you noticed that the sad scent that radiated from him has dissipated, at least for now. Somehow, you felt really proud of yourself for that, smiling under your breath as you placed a kiss on his forehead.

Michael squeezed his eyes with a pout but didn't resist. His argument or defense for himself was that he was too worn out and tired, for now, and that he had enough opportunities to kill you in the future. It was nothing else but excuses, considering angels are just delusional beings at their core. As soon as he stood up on his wobbly legs, you wanted to ask how he was doing, that's when Raphael emerged from behind the doorframe.

His head peeked into the garden as he smirked darkly, mischievously even. "Pff, you look like a horny beast, Michael. Was it fun, screaming so loud I could hear your disgraceful moaning from miles away?" You stared at the blond angel with a skeptical look, he was acting as if he didn't act just the same. Then, he turned to you and said, "Anyway, y/n, you, come with me. I have something to show you." Now he stood in the doorframe with his entire figure, leaned against it.

You stood up from where you were previously sitting, and answered all carefree as you walked past him, "Okay ~ lemme get changed first." Raphael made way for you when you walked by and nodded in acknowledgment. Once you were gone, he made eye contact with his dear brother and had a slight scorn on his face. Michael frowned back at him, brushing off the dust from his clothes, even though there were bigger problems about his appearance than that. Like his disheveled hair, or the traces of shining cum on his shirt.

“What, don't like the fact they aren't only yours?” After a quick glaring contest, Michael spoke up, a sneer present in his voice. He got closer to Raphael, now standing right in front of him, crossing his arms around his chest. Though it seemed he had recovered very quickly, his legs and knees were still a little uneasy. "...I can't say I'm pleased with it, but they are free to do as they wish." The Blondie said, averting his gaze for a split second.

“How unusual of you, sharing was never your strong point.” The black-haired seraphim commented. A snarky laugh erupted from the red angel, and he scoffed, "You are one to talk." Afterward, he turned around, waving his hand as if to say goodbye, "It's a shame that I'm not the only angel who has experienced god's given pleasure now, but oh well, I'm still their first, remember it well." With that, Raphael disappeared into the building, leaving Michael standing at the entrance to the garden, clenching his fists and gritting his teeth.

Tags: @shianarou @ghostiegirl56 @thisisnotangel @ghostgoosygoose @aghrentroplayer @i-dont-fooken-know @chuuya-brainrot @allyfoxglove @thigh-o-saur @fallenthemisticalyingyang @fem-dom-roze

Nini!rant 2.0:

I found many different translations for the meaning of the mentioned flowers, but these are the ones that I liked best.

Lily of the valley: purity, happiness, nostalgia, sadness, pain, death

According to the bible, lily of the valley is most infamously mentioned in the Song of Solomon (2:11). It’s also sometimes used as a metaphor or comparison to Jesus Christ, due to its sweet scent and white colour (Ephesians 5:2). White, which is knows to be a sin-free colour, used to describe a person without sin -> Michael still sees luci as a person without sin

There’s also a saying that lilies are the tallest of flowers, but hangs its head down, symbolising humbleness (Philippians 2:6~8). Also it’s supposed to have a lot of medical qualities, so it fits lucifer, who’s a healer.

Gardenia: purity, harmony, sweetness, joy, secret love

Here, it’s also qualities and things lucifer wishes for Michael. Like harmony, joy. Then, how he sees him and thinks about him. I thought it’d be cute haha

I choose them very carefully, there was quite a lot of thought behind them, that’s why it got its own special mention here :]

[drgnmnts]

knuckles bruised (like violets) │ jacaerys velaryon x targaryen!OC

Title: knuckles bruised (like violets)

Pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x Targaryen!OC (Daenys Targaryen, daughter of Viserys I Targaryen and Alicent Hightower)

Summary: There is no war so hateful to the gods as a war between kin, especially for those caught in between, longing only for peace as they're met with fire and blood.

_______________________________________________

Chapter 4 - Belonging

📢A/N: JACE HAS CURLY HAIR. LET'S FORGET THAT WIG EVER EXISTED, OKAY? IMAGINE THIS JACE WITH CURLY HAIR. I WOULD GO TO WAR FOR THOSE CURLS. 📢

Word count: 3.4k

SIX YEARS LATER

“Limbās, Silverwing.” 

Slower. 

The powerful beat of the she-dragon’s wings came to a stop as she let her enormous body glide steadily through the clouds, her iridescent scales glistening like precious jewels in the sun’s embrace. 

As she circled around Bronzegate, right above Storm’s End, Daenys could descry King’s Landing on the other side of the Kingswood. 

Despite Rhaenyra giving her full agency to visit the capital whenever she so desired, the truth was that Daenys had only flown back to see her family three times in the time she had spent living at Dragonstone. 

The first time had been a couple of months after her departure, upon receiving a letter from her mother in which the queen told her she missed her. When she arrived, Alicent had stared at her in confusion, as if she hadn’t expected her daughter to interpret her words as an invitation. 

The second time had been for Aegon and Helaena’s wedding, but she was back at Dragonstone before the bedding ceremony. 

The third time was a year later, when Helaena had given birth to Jahaerys and Jahaera, and it had pained Daenys terribly to say goodbye to her dear niece and nephew. 

After that, she had never returned.

Across the expanse of trees, Vhagar’s silhouette stood out, too big to be kept in the Dragonpit with the others. Daenys had encountered Aemond several times throughout the years, both siblings finding the coast of Tarth their preferred place to rest after a long ride. They had never spoken to each other, perhaps out of fear of not knowing what to say, or perhaps (and this Daenys would never admit out loud) because Aemond had grown up to become quite an intimidating young man, and Daenys wasn’t sure whether he would be up for a conversation or a shared meal. She didn’t really know him anymore, and a big part of that was her fault.

As she ordered Silverwing to head back to Dragonstone, the dragon’s sinuous movements beneath Daenys so familiar and a testament to its formidable strength, Daenys wondered if her brothers ever thought of her. She knew Helaena did, as the sisters often sent letters to each other to keep in touch and share whatever news they may have, but she hadn’t heard from the boys in years, not even from Daeron. 

“Lantā mēre,” she commanded after a few hours in complete silence as Silverwing approached the Dragonmont and, as her rider requested, the dragon descended gently. 

Daenys was sore after such a long ride, though this kind of pain she was happy to endure.

“We imagined you in Essos already,” welcomed her Daemon, covered in ash and dirt as a result of one of his expeditions to the volcanic tunnels searching for eggs.

“I am ten-and-seven, Uncle. How come you still worry about me as if I were a child?” she asked, smiling at him as she let the dragonkeepers tend to Silverwing.

“When did I say I was worried?” he wondered, feigning confusion, as he properly greeted his niece with a side hug. His other arm was occupied with a satchel, where she assumed he had placed Syrax’s eggs.

“How many?” she asked, pointing at the leather bag.

“Three,” he said, clearly overjoyed by the new addition to the Dragonmont collection. “We would have more if you let Silverwing rest for a bit, being able to coil with Vermax would have her producing eggs in no time.”

Daenys let out a small laugh. “You ask too much of me, Uncle,” she replied. “Speaking of Vermax, where is Jace?”

______________________________

After a quick bath and a change of clothes, Daenys followed Daemon's indications about Jace's whereabouts. His High Valyrian lessons always took place in the Great Hall, where he practiced with old texts and the invaluable help of Maester Gerardys.

"Vezhof, Maestur. Iā iāhor naejot ābrot ñuha lentys' tresys isse hāedrys," she said as she walked down the stairs. You may leave, Maester. I wish to instruct my sister's son this morning.

“Certainly, Princess.”

As Maester Gerardys left the room, Jace stood in his place, hands joined at his back, waiting for his aunt to take the maester’s place next to him. Daenys could feel his warm gaze on her, but she didn’t meet his eye; instead, she scanned the page they had been practicing with and continued the lesson where the maester had left it.

“Aegon mazverdagon lēkia rȳ ondoso lentor bē skoros,” she read.

Jace repeated the sentence a few times, and tried his luck at the translation:

“Aegon… built a small wooden fort… atop the hill”.

“Sȳrī jorrāelagon, ñuha dārilaros,” Daenys said. Well done, my prince.  “Dāria voktys belmonda zūgusy issa nāpār lēkia.”

This one took a bit longer. It was a difficult text but she knew Jacaerys was eager to become fluent, which made this kind of practice necessary.

“The city expanded… fast?” he tried. He used to be ashamed of speaking High Valyrian in front of her, too embarrassed of his struggles when it clearly rolled so easily off her tongue, but he enjoyed her lessons way too much to miss them due to his own self-consciousness.

“Rapidly,” she corrected. “Zūgusy issa nāpār lēkia, under his descendants. It’s a tricky one.”

“Not for you, it seems,” he said, not an ounce of bitterness in his tone. 

Daenys beamed at him and shrugged. “I guess growing up with Aemond being as competitive as I am had its perks. It motivated me to become better than him at everything.”

Jace nodded, chuckling at the memory of Daenys as a girl, all those times she would demand a rematch with tears in her eyes everytime she lost at something, tireless. 

“Come on, one more,” she urged. “Ñuha jorrāelagon gevie issa bē sȳndesse.” A small smile tugged at her lips, and Jace grinned to himself as he approached her and wrapped his arms around her waist.

“My betrothed looks… lovely this morning,” he replied, earning himself a pleased hum from Daenys, thus letting him know that he was, in fact, correct.

“Perfect,” Daenys said, placing the palms of her hands on his chest.

Neither of them could remember when their friendship had turned into something more, as the idea of marriage slowly shifted from a burden to something they both awaited with indescribable excitement. 

Perhaps it had been a consequence of the hours they spent flying together on Vermax and Silverwing, or their walks along the coast of Dragonstone, sharing memories and secrets. Perhaps it had been Jace’s efforts to make her feel included and welcomed from the moment she set foot on Dragonstone all those years ago, despite her initial reluctance to get close to him and his family. Or maybe it had been the tenderness she exuded every time she spoke to Joffrey, or how easily she made Luke laugh, or the way Jace’s heartbeat quickened every time she met his gaze.

Jace brushed his nose against hers. “We can go for a walk later,” he offered.

“Or a ride,” she said, and the two of them smiled at her eagerness to be on dragonback again after having spent so long flying over the bay.

“A ride, then,” he agreed.

Daenys’ hands slid up his chest and shoulders until they reached his face, where she gently stroked his cheeks with her thumbs. Too absorbed in gazing lovingly into each other’s eyes, neither of them noticed that someone else had entered the room.

“Is this how you expect to become fluent at High Valyrian?” Princess Rhaenyra asked as she made her way down the stairs. Her tone was of amusement and there was no intention of admonishment in her face, but her presence made the young couple separate immediately.

“Mother,” Jace greeted her bowing his head, partly to salute her, and partly to hide the bright red that now tinted his cheeks.

“My princess,” said Daenys, curtsying accordingly, equally embarrassed.

Rhaenyra walked up to them, her hands softly caressing her pregnant belly, which was now starting to round as she was almost halfway through her pregnancy.

“Maester Gerardys said I would find you here. I should've known you would be much more invested in your lessons with such a beautiful teacher.”

Jace smiled timidly, still unable to look at his mother. Amused, she continued.

“Perhaps you’d like to show me how the instruction is going?” she requested as she took a seat at the table, tired from the pregnancy. 

Daenys quickly returned to the text, ignoring the pink in her cheeks. It took her a moment to find the right page.

“Dāria Āeksio daor lēkia Aegonforto,” she read.

Jace sighed. “Daria…”

“Dāria,” Rhaenyra corrected, watching her son intently.

“Dāria Āeksio daor… The Red Keep changed the Aegonfort.”

“Replaced,” the two women said at the same time, the occurrence making them chuckle. 

Not wanting to make her son suffer any longer, Rhaenyra gestured for Daenys to close the book; there was no need for the lesson to continue. 

“It pleases me that you two have found it in you to enjoy each other’s company so much,” she began, “but you have to be careful. We do not need rumors starting to spread around about the princess’ virtue.”

At the mere mention of his betrothed’s reputation being affected in any way by his lack of care, Jace’s expression changed into a serious one.

“Of course, Mother. I would never allow such a thing.”

“It won’t happen again, Princess. I promise,” added Daenys, fully aware of how terrible it would be if such slander was thrown her way.

Rhaenyra nodded, pleased with their attitude, while she caressed her belly. As she stood, both Jace and Daenys straightened their backs again, showcasing the respect they felt for the princess. Rhaenyra approached them, and placed her motherly hands on each of their cheeks.

“A raven arrived today from Driftmark,” she began, and both Jace and Daenys’ brows furrowed with worry almost simultaneously. “Baela wrote to Daemon to let us know that Vaemond Velaryon is attempting to challenge Luke’s claim to the Driftwood Throne.”

“But Lord Corlys already named Luke his heir, and Father agreed,” Daenys protested.

“Lord Corlys might not survive his injuries. We cannot count on him,” Rhaenyra said simply.

“What about Princess Rhaenys?” wondered Jace.

Rhaenyra sighed. “Let us hope she chooses to support us.”

“So we’re going to King’s Landing?” the young princess further asked.

“On the morrow,” Rhaenyra confirmed, and Daenys’ expression changed despite how much she was trying to hide her emotions. “Luke is upset, as you can imagine,” she added, speaking to Jace. “He needs his brother.”

Jace nodded, understanding, and gave Daenys a look of apology: their ride would need to wait. 

After her son had left the room, Rhaenyra sat down again.

"I know that face," she said to Daenys. 

Ever since welcoming her into her family, Rhaenyra had earned herself the role of mentor and confidante in Daenys’ life. She had taken the time to explain the politics of the realm to her, the importance of legacy, and the strength that Daenys would need to cultivate if she were to become queen consort one day. With time, the pair had found it in them to slowly build a bridge over the chasm that had once separated them.  

Daenys sat across from her, and that perspective made them look like two different versions of the same person.

“How bad is it?” she asked. 

Rhaenyra took a moment to answer as she stroked her belly.

“By putting into question Luke’s legitimacy, he’s also questioning Jace’s and my own claim to the Throne.”

Daenys lowered her gaze, worried. “Why now?” she asked.

“What did your mother say the last time she wrote to you? That Father was getting weaker and weaker by the day, could barely move or speak without overexerting himself,” she said, raising her brows slightly.

“So you think this is their doing? The queen and the Hand’s?” Daenys asked. My mother and my grandsire.

“Not entirely, but they are definitely supporting Vaemond’s claims.”

Daenys buried her face in her hands. She was tired. Exhausted. The fact that after so many years the matter was still being questioned despite King Viserys’ blessing for Luke to inherit the Driftwood Throne was senseless.

“There is something I wanted to talk to you about. Or ask of you, to be precise,” said Rhaenyra after a moment of silence. 

When Daenys nodded, encouraging her to speak, Rhaenyra reached over the table and grabbed her hand.

“I need you to promise me that you will stay strong while we’re at King’s Landing. That you won’t falter when they spill their honey in your ear,” she said. Daenys’ brow furrowed, feeling confused and slightly insulted.

“Have I not proven my loyalty to you time and time again?” she asked.

“Of course,” Rhaenyra replied immediately. “Yes, always. But right now, the Red Keep is a venomous place. I wouldn’t want you to be put in a situation where you have to choose sides.”

“But I have chosen a side,” Daenys said, defensive. “Every single day, by not escaping, I am choosing a side. It is your cause that I believe in, your son the one I want to see sitting on the Driftwood Throne when the time comes.”

Rhaenyra let out a breath. When she spoke again, her eyes were honest.

“You are very important to me, Daenys. Not only as a sister but as an ally. Your support means a lot to this family and I fear that, by exposing you to them, I might be pushing you away from us.”

As she always did when she was stressed or worried, a habit she had unknowingly picked up from her mother, Daenys began nervously picking at her fingers. Rhaenyra noticed and held her hand again, making her stop.

“You took me in six years ago,” she began, “a girl you barely knew, who had been mean to your children, who had... taken part in the narrative that was told about them at court. I didn't make it easy for you at first, and yet you treated me as if you were my— as if I was your daughter. You offered me a seat at your table, a chair next to you by the hearth, a place in your council. Do you really think me so ungrateful?”

Rhaenyra lowered her gaze, ashamed for having even considered the possibility of betrayal, but also pleased with Daenys' contained outrage: it meant she truly cared.

“No. No, of course not.”

The tension between them eased as they shared a moment of silent solidarity, but the weight of the impending trip to King’s Landing still loomed over them.

Finally, Rhaenyra spoke again, her voice steady. “You should get some rest. There’s much to be done before we leave.”

_____________________

That night, as she sat at her desk with only the hearth and a single candle illuminating her chamber, Daenys decided to write to Helaena.

My dearest Helaena,

It has saddened me deeply to learn that Vaemond Velaryon means to call into question Lucerys’ legitimacy. I might err on the side of innocence, but I had hoped this matter was already settled. Perhaps this instance will finally put an end to such nonsense. 

Despite this, I look forward to seeing you again, and your children. They must be so grown now… I will make sure to bring presents for them so they can remember their aunt. 

We will arrive at King’s Landing within the week, as we must sail since  Rhaenyra and Daemon want Father to meet little Aegon and little Viserys.

I do hope we can have a peaceful time together.

Your sister, who loves you,

Daenys

As she rolled the piece of parchment, the wax for the three-headed dragon seal already melted and ready to use, Ser Lorent knocked on her door.

“Forgive me, Princess. Prince Jacaerys requests a word,” he announced. 

“Of course. Send him in.” It wasn’t uncommon for Jace to visit Daenys in her quarters, and Rhaenyra allowed it, so long as the door remained open.

Unlike Daenys, who was already clad in her sleeping clothes, a beautiful crimson robe covering her nightgown, Jace was still wearing his normal clothes, save for the cape. Once he was inside, she stood.

“How’s Luke?” she asked.

Jace made a face, shrugging. “Terrified, honestly. You know how he feels about this matter,” he explained.

Daenys hummed, cutting the distance between them. As soon as she was in front of him, Jace wrapped her in his arms.

After a few seconds of comfortable silence, drowning in each other’s familiar scents, with Jace’s face buried in her neck and her hands in his curls, Daenys spoke. “I don’t want to go,” she confessed, and she sounded just like she had all those years before, except this time it was the opposite situation. She had been holding her feelings in all day but now, in Jace’s arms, she felt safe enough to let them out.

“I know,” he murmured back. “I’m not too excited about it either.”

When Daenys spoke again, she was crying.

“Am I horrible?”

As soon as he heard her broken voice Jace broke the embrace, only to gently grab her face as his brow furrowed in worry.

“No! Of course not, why do you think that?”

He caught a tear with his thumb as it slid down her cheek.

“I don’t know, I— I haven’t seen them in years, and when the opportunity arises I would rather just not go. And I’m worried about Luke, and I don’t want your mother to get upset, and—.”

“Shh…” Jace soothed her gently, noticing the way her anxiety was starting to escalate. He put his forehead against hers, and Daenys closed her eyes. Outside, Ser Lorent peeked discreetly, just to check in on them. “Listen to me. Whatever Vaemond Velaryon has to say, it will be to no avail. My mother will defend Luke and put an end to all of this once and for all. And… I know it is difficult for you to see everybody again, but you will not be alone this time, hm? I will be with you. We will all be with you.”

Daenys had spent her entire life trying to feel like she belonged. Somewhere. Anywhere. Neither from here, nor from there. Always adjusting, fitting in, packing up, looking for a spot.

For many years, the only moment she was able to achieve that feeling was when riding Silverwing, hence her passion for spending her days on dragonback. Whenever she rode her dragon, she felt like a part of her that was never good enough for anyone was restored: bad daughter, bad sister, bad princess, good dragonrider. And so, she had decided that her place in the world was on her dragon’s back.

Jace had changed her mind.

He wasn’t just kind, or gentle, or good. He knew her; really knew her. And every new part of her she showed him, no matter how ugly, or embarrassing, or despicable, he embraced it. Loved it. 

Daenys belonged on her dragon’s back, but she also belonged in Jace’s arms.

I love you, she thought.

“You are too good,” she said instead, still sniffling but much calmer.

Jace smiled before softly kissing her forehead. “And you worry too much. It isn’t so bad, actually. I think I’ll find enjoyment in showing off my betrothed around the court.”

This made Daenys smile, a beautiful shade of pink bringing her cheeks to life. “I’m sure all the girls will bat their eyelashes at you as soon as they see you,” she said. “And the women.”

Jace chuckled, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Let them. They can bat their eyelashes all they want. Besides, they’ll be too busy being envious of how beautiful you are.”

Daenys shook her head, but her beaming smile and the way she couldn’t hold Jace’s gaze for a second showed how much she loved his flattery. 

She kissed his cheek, and Ser Lorent cleared his throat outside.

Jace sighed.

“I must go. I’ll come for you in the morning.”

“Sleep well,” she said as he softly kissed her hand.

Jace smiled at her once more before finally walking out the door, leaving her alone again in her chamber.

As she settled into bed, trying to find sleep quickly, she didn’t think of Vaemond Velaryon, her mother’s frown, or the politics of the realm. Instead, the only thing on her mind was kind brown eyes and the smell of leather and salt water.

_______________________________________________

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[woso-story]

The Weigth Of Love And Loss - Part Seven

Alexia Putellas x Reader - Part One Two Three Four Five Six Eight Last Part

It had been eight months since you last saw Alexia. Eight long months that, at first, felt like wading through molasses, each day dragging painfully into the next. But as time passed, things got easier. You found a rhythm, a new normal, and bit by bit, the ache of separation dulled.

You had come to terms with everything. What happened between you and Alexia was bittersweet—a beautiful love that, somewhere along the line, fell apart. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, not really. You’d both tried your best. It just wasn’t enough.

And now, here you were, living your life again. A full life, a good life. You had your work, your little apartment near the park, and your constant companion, Mylo. The tiny Maltese filled your home with energy, his little barks and happy wiggles a constant reminder that joy could be found in the simplest of things.

Sometimes, in quiet moments, Alexia still crossed your mind. The memories weren’t as sharp anymore, not the way they used to cut deep. Now, they felt warm, like the distant glow of a sunset. You were glad to have had her in your life, even if it was only for a time.

You’d even ventured back into the dating world. It wasn’t anything serious—just a few dinners, some coffee dates. Enough to remind yourself that there were other people out there, that you could laugh and flirt and feel something again. And yet, every time someone leaned in close, their eyes bright with hope, you’d find yourself pulling back.

You told yourself it was just a matter of time.

---

It was a warm, golden afternoon, the kind that made you feel like everything was right in the world. You had laid out a blanket in your favorite spot at the park, a shady patch beneath an old oak tree. A book rested in your hands, though you weren’t reading as much as enjoying the sound of birds chirping and the occasional burst of laughter from nearby families.

Mylo was at your side, his little body sprawled out with his favorite toy between his paws—a rubber bone that squeaked loudly every time he bit down.

The moment was perfect. Peaceful.

Until the football hit your side.

Startled, you sat up, your book tumbling onto the blanket as Mylo shot to his feet, barking wildly at the unexpected intrusion. You blinked, disoriented, and spotted a ball rolling to a stop near your feet.

Then, a voice called out, hesitant and apologetic:

“Sorry!”

You turned toward the sound, squinting against the sunlight that filtered through the tree branches. And then you saw her.

Alexia.

She was standing a few feet away, her silhouette framed by the sun, her hair tied back in a loose ponytail. She wore a simple t-shirt and athletic shorts, her cheeks flushed from exertion. But it was her expression that made your heart stop—the wide eyes, the slightly parted lips, the look of someone who couldn’t quite believe what they were seeing.

It had been eight months since you last saw her in person, and yet here she was, as if she had stepped straight out of your memories.

You froze, unable to speak, unable to move.

---

Mylo, oblivious to the tension in the air, bounded toward the ball with his tail wagging furiously. He grabbed it with his tiny teeth, shaking it as if it were his prized possession.

“No, Mylo,” you said, your voice shaky as you reached out to take the ball from him.

You stood, brushing off your shorts, and held the ball out for Alexia.

She took a step forward, her hand reaching out to take it, but she paused, her fingers brushing against yours for the briefest moment.

“Sorry about that,” she said softly, her voice carrying that familiar warmth that you hadn’t heard in so long.

“It’s okay,” you replied, managing a small smile despite the whirlwind of emotions crashing over you.

You stood there, just inches apart, and for a moment, the rest of the park seemed to fade away. The distant laughter, the rustling leaves, even the gentle tug of the breeze—it all disappeared.

Neither of you spoke. Neither of you moved. You just looked at each other, the weight of eight months hanging in the air between you.

---

Mylo, sensing a potential new friend, began jumping at Alexia’s legs, barking happily. She looked down, a soft smile spreading across her face as she crouched to pet him.

“He’s yours?” she asked, scratching behind his ears.

“Yeah. His name’s Mylo,” you said, watching her with a mixture of awe and disbelief.

“He’s adorable,” she said, her voice tinged with genuine affection.

Before either of you could say more, another voice broke the moment.

“Ale!”

You turned to see Mapi jogging toward you, her expression shifting from confusion to surprise as she realized who Alexia was talking to.

“Hey,” you said, offering Mapi a polite smile.

“Hey,” Mapi replied, her tone cautious but friendly. “Long time no see. How’ve you been?”

“Good,” you said simply, not trusting yourself to say more.

The moment felt awkward, as though the universe had collided in a way it wasn’t supposed to.

“We have training,” Mapi reminded Alexia, glancing between the two of you.

Alexia nodded, her gaze lingering on you for a moment longer before she turned to leave with Mapi.

“It was good to see you,” she said softly, her voice laced with something you couldn’t quite name.

“You too,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

---

You were just settling back onto the blanket, trying to process what had just happened, when you heard footsteps approaching again.

You looked up, surprised to see Alexia standing there once more.

“Would you want to have dinner with me sometime?” she asked, her voice hesitant but steady. “Just to talk. Catch up.”

Your heart raced. You hesitated, unsure if it was the right decision, but then you nodded.

“Sure,” you said. “Just text me. I still have the same number.”

Alexia smiled, a small but genuine smile, and nodded. “Okay. I will.”

As she walked away, you sank back onto the blanket, Mylo climbing into your lap with a concerned little whine. You stroked his fur, trying to calm the storm of emotions swirling inside you.

You thought you were over her. You thought you had moved on. But now, you weren’t so sure.

And Alexia? As she walked away with Mapi, her thoughts were just as chaotic. She had convinced herself that it was over, that she had moved on. But seeing you had stirred something deep inside her, something she hadn’t felt in months.

For both of you, the question lingered: Was it really over?

Neither of you had the answer, but for the first time in months, there was a flicker of hope. Dinner couldn’t come soon enough.

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

There will be a final part. But, I don't know exactly how the story is going to end. Either there will be a big talk and a final goodbye or they will get back together and have their happily ever after. Not sure yet. What do you want?

[graynvmbr]

I've Been Waiting for You | Harry Potter

pairing: harry james potter x female!reader (no use of y/n)

summary: welcoming someone new

word count: 5.1k (I apologise)

based on the song by abba

The soft patter of rain against the windows filled the quiet of your cottage. Outside, the world was wrapped in the muted greys of a late November morning, the trees bare, the ground frosted from the night’s chill. Inside, warmth seeped from every corner—the faint crackle of the fireplace, the glow of the kitchen lanterns you’d forgotten to turn off.

Upstairs, the bathroom felt like its own cocoon. You stood by the sink, clutching the small plastic test in trembling hands. The air seemed heavier, thick with your anticipation, and the only sound was the erratic rhythm of your breathing.

You stared at the test, the seconds feeling like hours as you waited for the result to appear. Your mind raced, flipping between hope and caution, between the dreams you’d held for so long and the fear of another disappointment.

For as long as you could remember, you’d dreamed of this moment. You’d imagined tiny hands clutching yours, soft laughter filling the house, and a little one who you could hold and love unconditionally. Being a mum wasn’t just something you wanted—it was something you felt destined for, a part of who you were.

And then it appeared.

Two lines.

You froze, staring at the test as though it might vanish if you moved too quickly. The world seemed to tilt and slow all at once. Your breath hitched, and your hand instinctively flew to your stomach, as though the life within you could already feel the overwhelming love coursing through you.

Tears blurred your vision as a shaky laugh escaped your lips. You pressed the test to your chest, clutching it as if it were the most precious thing you’d ever held. You sank onto the edge of the tub, your hand still resting protectively over your stomach, your mind filling with the enormity of what this meant.

This was it. The moment you had waited for.

Footsteps creaked softly in the hallway, pulling you from your thoughts. A familiar voice called out, warm and tinged with concern. “You okay, love?”

Harry’s silhouette filled the doorway, his hair tousled and his cheeks faintly flushed from the morning chill. He paused when he saw you sitting there, his brow furrowing as he noticed the tears streaming down your face. “What’s wrong?” he asked gently, stepping into the room.

You couldn’t find the words, your emotions too big to articulate. Instead, you held out the test, your hand trembling slightly.

Harry’s gaze dropped to the test, and for a moment, his expression was unreadable. Then, slowly, his eyes widened, and his lips parted in disbelief. “Is this—” His voice caught, unable to finish the question.

You nodded, tears spilling over as a breathless laugh escaped. “We’re going to have a baby, Harry.”

He stood frozen for a heartbeat before dropping to his knees in front of you. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you close as he buried his face against your stomach. “I can’t believe it,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I can’t believe it’s happening.”

You ran your fingers through his messy hair, your own tears falling freely now. “I’ve been waiting for this my whole life, Harry. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

Harry pulled back just enough to look up at you, his green eyes shining with unshed tears. “I know,” he said softly, his hand resting over yours on your stomach. “And no one deserves this more than you. You’re going to be the most incredible mum.”

You let out a small laugh, your heart swelling with love for the man kneeling before you. “And you’re going to be an amazing dad.”

He leaned forward, pressing a tender kiss to your stomach before looking back at you. “I’ve been waiting too,” he whispered. “But this... this is your moment, love. And I’m going to be right here with you every step of the way.”

For a long while, you stayed like that, your hands clasped together over the life growing inside you. The rain continued its gentle patter against the windows, but inside the cottage, the world had shifted forever. The wait was over, and the dream you’d held in your heart for so long was finally coming true.

—

By April, the chill of winter had melted into the gentle warmth of spring. The days grew longer, the sun lingered in the sky, and the meadow beyond the cottage bloomed with wildflowers, their colours spilling across the green like a watercolour painting. Everything felt alive, renewed, and full of possibility—a reflection of the new life growing inside you.

One particularly serene evening, you found yourself sitting on the back porch, wrapped in the glow of the setting sun. The light breeze carried the scent of lilacs and the faint hum of bees. You wore a long skirt and your favourite cardigan, its softness offering warmth against the coolness of the early April evening. The skirt brushed gently against your legs as you gently swayed on the old wooden swing. One hand rested protectively on your belly, the other tracing the edge of the armrest.

Harry stepped out a moment later, balancing two steaming mugs of tea. He paused when he saw you, his breath catching as he took in the sight of you silhouetted against the evening light. Your figure, gently outlined by the soft curve of your belly, was framed by the glow of the setting sun.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, crossing the porch to sit beside you.

You smiled up at him, accepting the mug he handed you. “It’s the glow,” you teased lightly. “Pregnancy has its perks.”

He chuckled as he settled in beside you, his knee brushing yours. “That, or it’s just you.”

The two of you sipped your tea in comfortable silence for a while, the swing creaking gently as it swayed in time with the breeze. Around you, the world seemed to exhale in harmony, the hum of springtime settling like a melody.

“I think he’s going to love it here,” you said suddenly, your voice quiet but certain as your gaze drifted to the meadow.

Harry raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking into a smile. “He?”

“Just a feeling,” you said with a small laugh, placing your hand over your belly. “I can’t explain it. I just... know.”

Harry set his mug down and shifted closer, his hand covering yours as he looked down at your belly. “You’ve got good instincts,” he said softly. “And if you’re right, he’s going to be so loved. So incredibly loved.”

You turned to look at him, your heart swelling with affection as his green eyes met yours. “Boy or girl, they’re already loved more than I thought was possible,” you whispered. “I’ve been waiting for them for so long, Harry. My whole life, really.”

He leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, then another just above your bump. “And they’ve been waiting for you too,” he murmured against your skin.

A lump formed in your throat, and you reached up to wipe a tear from your cheek, laughing softly at yourself. “This is everything I’ve ever dreamed of,” you said, your voice thick with emotion. “And now it’s real.”

“It’s only the beginning,” Harry replied, his voice steady and filled with love. “And we’re in this together, every step of the way.”

The swing rocked gently as you leaned into him, your head resting on his shoulder. Above you, the sky began to darken, the first stars appearing like scattered diamonds.

Then, as if in response to your words, a tiny flutter stirred under your hand. You gasped, guiding Harry’s hand to the spot. “Feel that?”

His face lit up with awe as he felt the movement, his hand stilling as he focused on the sensation. “They’re saying hello,” he said with a grin, his voice filled with wonder.

You laughed softly, your heart swelling as tears welled in your eyes. “Hello, little one,” you whispered, brushing your fingers gently over the spot. “We can’t wait to meet you.”

Harry leaned down, resting his cheek against your belly for a moment, his voice low and tender as he murmured, “We’ll be here waiting, and we’ll love you more than anything.”

In that moment, as the two of you sat on the porch with the world alive around you, you felt the weight of the waiting lift completely. This was the dream you’d carried with you for so long, now unfurling in the warmth of spring and the glow of the love you and Harry shared. And as the stars began their nightly dance above, you knew that everything was exactly as it was meant to be.

—

Come June, the air around the cottage had turned warm and inviting. The meadow outside had blossomed into a sea of vibrant greens and wildflowers, the gentle hum of bees and rustle of leaves a constant melody. The longer days brought with them a soft golden light that spilled into the house, touching every corner with warmth.

One evening, just as the sun began to set, painting the horizon in shades of amber and rose, you found yourself standing in the nursery. The room was a perfect blend of coziness and anticipation. Soft, pale colours graced the walls, a light green that reminded you of fresh spring leaves, and the furniture was simple yet elegant—wooden shelves lined with books and small mementos, a plush rug on the floor in gentle pastel shades. The crib, already assembled and carefully decorated, sat in the centre, waiting for the little one who would soon call it home. The rocking chair in the corner, with its soft cushions and worn wood, seemed to beckon you to sit and relax.

The heat of the day had faded into a comfortable coolness, and a light breeze carried the faint scent of lavender through the open window. You wore your favourite flowing dress, the fabric brushing softly against your ankles as you shifted your weight, one hand resting on the small of your back while the other cradled your growing belly. The soft glow of the setting sun filtered through the window, casting long, warm beams across the room and illuminating the golden wood of the crib. The room felt peaceful, filled with quiet joy and the promise of new beginnings.

The light outlined your silhouette, highlighting the curve of your figure and the soft fullness of your stomach. You stood there quietly, gazing at the crib, lost in thought as the fireflies outside the window began to blink into existence, their soft glows dotting the landscape like tiny stars. You imagined the little one you’d soon be holding in your arms, and your heart swelled at the thought of it all.

Harry’s footsteps were soft as he entered the room, but you heard him immediately, his presence familiar and comforting. He stopped in the doorway.

You turned slightly, offering him a small smile as your hand moved to smooth the fabric of your dress over your belly. “It’s peaceful in here,” you said, nodding toward the crib. “I like to imagine what it’ll be like when we can bring him home, when he’ll sleep here in his crib, and we’ll be the ones to tuck him in.” You glanced toward the rocking chair in the corner, imagining rocking him to sleep in the quiet of the night, his tiny body cradled against you. “When he’s old enough to run around, play with the toys we’ve got waiting, and maybe even chase the fireflies in the garden.”

Harry crossed the room to stand behind you, his hands gently resting on your shoulders before sliding down to join yours over your bump. He stood there for a moment, his chin resting lightly on your shoulder as he took in the soft surroundings, the nursery filled with love and warmth. “I can see it now,” he murmured, his voice filled with awe. “Him running wild, laughing like it’s the best day of his life. And you, chasing after him, probably just as carefree as he is.”

You laughed softly, leaning into him, the weight of your belly making the small movement feel all the more significant. “I hope he gets your sense of adventure,” you said, your voice filled with affection. “And your heart. He’ll need both to take on the world.”

Harry turned his head, brushing a kiss to your temple. “And I hope he gets your kindness. And your patience.”

You snorted softly, glancing back at him. “Patience? Have we met?”

He grinned, his green eyes sparkling with affection. “Alright, maybe not patience. But your love, your strength—those are things he’s going to feel every day.”

Your smile softened, and you rested your head against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat a quiet reassurance. “Sometimes I still can’t believe this is real,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “That after all the waiting, it’s actually happening.”

Harry tightened his arms around you, his embrace both protective and loving. “You’ve been waiting for him your whole life,” he said gently. “And now he’s almost here. And when he is, you’re going to be the most incredible mum.”

You closed your eyes, savouring the moment, the warmth of the setting sun on your skin and Harry’s arms around you. Outside, the fireflies continued their quiet dance, the world settling into the soft stillness of the evening.

“I’ve dreamed of this for so long,” you said after a moment, your voice filled with emotion. “And now that it’s real, it’s more beautiful than I ever imagined.”

“It’s only the beginning,” Harry replied, his voice steady and filled with quiet joy. “There’s so much ahead of us. And I can’t wait for all of it—with you.”

For a long time, the two of you stayed there, wrapped in the golden glow of the evening, the promise of the future settling warmly around you. In the quiet of the nursery, surrounded by love, you knew that the wait had been worth every second. The life you had dreamed of was finally within reach, and together, you would welcome it with open arms.

—

It was the early hours of August 3rd when things finally started moving quickly. You’d been at St. Mungo’s for hours, the contractions coming at steady intervals, each one more intense than the last. The sterile room was quiet, save for the occasional murmur of the healer and the soft beeping of the machines monitoring your progress.

Harry never left your side. He was a steady presence, his hand gripping yours through each contraction, his voice low and soothing. You barely spoke anymore; the pain made it difficult, your focus narrowing to just the next breath, the next moment. It felt like everything else had faded away.

The healer had told you early on that it might be a while, but as the minutes stretched on, you could tell things were changing. The pressure in your body was relentless now, and the time between each contraction seemed to shorten.

Harry kept a cool cloth against your forehead, wiping away the sweat that had gathered there as you clenched your teeth. He was watching you closely, his face pale, his eyes wide with concern, but he didn’t say anything to distract you. Instead, he whispered soft words of encouragement when he could, his voice a familiar anchor that kept you grounded.

“You’re doing great,” he murmured again, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Just breathe, love. We’re almost there.”

You couldn’t respond; words didn’t seem to matter anymore. Instead, you focused on the rhythm of your breath and the pressure that continued to build, your body responding with instinct and determination. It was hard to believe how much time had passed, and yet, each minute felt like it had been stretched into eternity.

At one point, a sharp contraction hit, sending a wave of pain through your body. You tensed, your grip tightening on Harry’s hand. The pain was almost unbearable, and you let out a sound that was somewhere between a groan and a gasp.

“Stay with me, love,” Harry said, his voice steady as ever. His hand was still firmly wrapped around yours, his thumb moving in small circles. “Focus on me. Just breathe.”

The healer checked in again, confirming that it wouldn’t be long now. You felt like you couldn’t take much more, but somehow, you kept going. The feeling of Harry’s hand in yours, the way he never wavered, gave you just enough strength to keep pushing forward.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you could feel the shift. The pressure in your body intensified, and your instinct took over. You squeezed Harry’s hand so hard that he winced, but he didn’t let go.

“Almost there,” the healer said. You could hear her moving around, adjusting the bed, preparing for the final stage. Harry’s eyes never left yours, his expression a mix of awe and concern.

“Just one more, love,” he said, leaning close to your ear. His voice was low, gentle. “You’ve got this.”

With that, you gave it everything you had left. The final push. The room seemed to quiet in that moment, the world narrowing to just you and Harry. Then you felt it—a moment of relief, of release.

There was a sudden, sharp cry that cut through the silence. It was loud, raw, and filled with life. A mixture of relief and joy flooded through you as you exhaled.

Harry kissed your forehead before looking over at the healer, who was carefully lifting James into your arms. You could barely take it all in, but when they placed him on your chest, everything else faded away.

Your son, tiny and warm, his skin soft against yours. You looked at him, his face scrunched up in that unmistakable newborn way, and your heart swelled.

Harry stood beside you, one hand gently resting on your shoulder. His eyes were glistening, a rare softness in them. “He’s perfect,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, still in a daze, as you cradled James in your arms, marvelling at the weight of him, at the life that had come from you both. The exhaustion hit you all at once, but the relief was overwhelming.

You looked down at your son, the exhaustion from labour still lingering in your muscles, but it was all worth it in that instant. The weight of him, small and warm against your chest, grounded you in a way nothing else could. He blinked up at you with wide eyes, his tiny features scrunched as though he was trying to take in the world.

“James,” you whispered, your voice rough with emotion. The name sounded so right, so final, and everything felt real now. “You’re here.”

Harry’s breath caught as he watched you, his face softening with a look you had never seen before. His hand gently brushed over James’s tiny hand, his fingers delicate as he traced the little palm. "You did so well." Harry murmured, his voice cracking slightly.

You nodded, too overwhelmed to say anything more, but the tears that welled up in your eyes were enough to say what words couldn’t. Harry leaned in close, pressing his lips to your forehead with a quiet, “I love you,” as he placed his hand on your shoulder. He didn’t need to say it again; you both knew the truth of it, the depth of the love that had led you to this moment.

The healer moved in the background, checking on James and making sure you were both stable, but none of it mattered. You were lost in the tiny details—the way James’s fingers curled around yours, the softness of his skin, and the slow rise and fall of his chest as he settled against you. The room, the world beyond, felt so far away.

It was just the three of you now.

James let out a small, sleepy sigh as his eyelids fluttered closed, his tiny body curling into yours as though seeking the comfort and warmth of your embrace. You could feel his breath even out, a quiet, contented rhythm that made your heart swell. He was finally in your arms—where he belonged. The tension that had been building in your body since the start of labour began to melt away, replaced by a deep, profound peace. The noise and chaos of the world seemed to fall away, leaving only the soft sound of his breathing and the warmth of Harry’s presence beside you.

Harry was still watching you both, his face soft with awe as he traced his finger lightly over James’s tiny hand. The weight of the moment hung heavy in the air, but it felt like a gentle embrace. James, so small, so perfect, seemed to understand instinctively that he was safe now—that he was with his mother, the person who had waited for him, loved him, and dreamed of him long before he was ever born.

You held him tighter, savouring the feel of his soft skin against yours, the steady rise and fall of his chest. He seemed at ease, calmed by the simple act of being in your arms. He was no longer alone. He had his family now. And somehow, that made everything feel right.

“I love you,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion, turning to Harry, whose eyes were now filled with tears.

“I love you too,” he murmured back, his voice barely a breath, before pressing a kiss to your forehead. “We’re a family now.”

He was right. For a long moment, the world outside seemed irrelevant. The waiting, the uncertainty—it was all in the past now. James was here, and you, Harry, and him were finally a family. But in that quiet space, in the dim light of the hospital room, you knew that this was only the beginning of something beautiful.

—

Bringing James home was a moment you’d dreamed of, and the reality was even sweeter than you could have imagined. The journey back to your cottage had been quiet, the familiar sight of the ivy-clad stone walls, the cozy windows glowing with soft light, welcoming you back. Inside, the summer warmth lingered in the air, the breeze flowing through the open windows, carrying the scent of fresh grass and wildflowers. Everything had been prepared—the crib, the blankets, the soft toys waiting in the nursery—but it was this moment that you’d imagined for so long: the three of you, together at last, in your home.

Inside, the house was as welcoming as always—bright and airy, with light streaming through the windows, casting soft shadows across the walls. The nursery, ready and waiting, was perfect—fresh linens, a gentle rocking chair in the corner, and small books placed on the shelves, all set up just for him. But it wasn’t the room or the preparations that made the house feel like home. It was the feeling of James in your arms, the sense that your little family was finally together in the space that had been waiting for him.

You sat in the rocking chair by the window, your legs propped up on the ottoman, holding James close. His tiny body rested against your chest, warm and peaceful, the rise and fall of his little breaths matching the soft rhythm of the chair rocking back and forth. The room was quiet except for the occasional creak of the chair and the gentle sound of the birds singing outside. You could hear the rustling of the trees and feel the cool breeze coming in through the open window, but inside, it felt like time had slowed, just for you three.

Harry sat beside you on the floor, his back against the wall, his legs stretched out in front of him as he watched the two of you. His gaze was soft and full of awe, and he seemed as content as you had ever seen him. He reached up and gently brushed a strand of hair from your face, his hand lingering on your cheek as he leaned in to kiss you softly on the forehead.

“You’ve given me everything,” he said, his voice quiet and filled with emotion. He didn’t need to say more; you could see it in his eyes, in the way he was looking at you both. You’d always known he would be a great father, but seeing him with James in that moment, his eyes full of pride and love, made your heart swell in ways you hadn’t expected.

You leaned down and kissed James’s forehead, his tiny fingers curling around your hand as you did. “We’ve waited for this for so long,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “And now he’s here. He’s ours.”

Harry smiled softly, his eyes glistening. “He’s perfect,” he said, his voice catching slightly. “I can’t believe he’s here with us.”

The room felt full in that moment—full of love, peace, and a quiet kind of joy. Everything you had worked for, dreamed of, was finally here. You looked down at your son, so small and fragile in your arms, and a sense of complete contentment washed over you.

For the first time, you let yourself relax fully, letting the exhaustion from the days leading up to James’s birth melt away as you settled into the comfort of your own home. You felt Harry’s hand rest gently on your knee, his warmth beside you a steady reassurance.

The world outside was alive with summer—the gentle breeze, the sounds of the meadow—but in this moment, it felt like the rest of the world had paused. Just for a little while, it was just the three of you.

James let out a small sigh, his eyes fluttering closed, his tiny body shifting against you in the most natural, peaceful way. You couldn’t help but smile, feeling the weight of the moment settle over you, the quiet hum of the world outside blending with the soft rhythm of your heartbeat. The house, filled with the warmth of summer, seemed to embrace you both, every creak of the floorboards, every soft rustle of the trees outside, somehow more alive with the sound of your new family.

Harry shifted beside you, leaning back against the wall, his gaze never leaving James as he slept soundly in your arms. His legs were stretched out, his feet tucked beneath him, but his posture was relaxed now, a rare moment of peace for both of you after everything. There was something in the way he looked at the two of you—an unspoken tenderness that made your heart swell.

“You’re going to spoil him, aren’t you?” you teased softly, catching Harry’s gaze.

Harry smiled, a soft, almost proud smile, and shifted to sit up straighter. “I’m just making sure he has everything he needs,” he said, his voice low but filled with affection. “And that includes all the cuddles and love he can get.”

You laughed softly, looking down at James’s tiny face, his features still scrunched in that adorable, newborn way. “I think he’ll be more than fine with that.” You paused for a moment, thinking. “It’s just... so hard to believe he’s really here.”

Harry’s gaze softened as he looked at you, the weight of the moment settling in. “I know. I keep looking at him, and I still don’t believe it sometimes. But here he is, ours. He’s been worth every second of the waiting.”

You nodded, gently rocking back and forth in the chair, a calm peace falling over the room. “I keep thinking about all the days leading up to this, everything we dreamed about, and now he’s here. It feels... overwhelming, but in the best way possible.”

Harry’s hand found yours, squeezing it lightly. “We’ve built something beautiful, love,” he said softly, the words thick with emotion. “He’s proof of that.”

The room fell into a peaceful quiet, just the sound of the wind moving through the trees outside, and the soft, rhythmic creaking of the chair. You felt completely at peace in that moment, with Harry beside you and James nestled in your arms. It was as if the rest of the world had faded away, and all that mattered was here, now.

The moonlight began to spill softly through the window as evening fell, casting long, gentle shadows across the floor. The light seemed to dance, filling the room with a quiet calm. You let out a deep breath, still holding James, feeling his tiny breaths against your chest, and Harry’s hand resting gently on your knee.

“Do you think we’re ready for this?” you asked quietly, the exhaustion from the past few days beginning to settle in, but the satisfaction of having your son in your arms still kept you wide awake.

Harry’s voice was steady, sure. “We’ve always been ready. Maybe not in the way we expected, but we’ve always been ready to love him, to give him everything.”

You nodded, your heart swelling with love for both of them, feeling so completely and utterly connected to your little family. “I’m so glad it’s with you.”

“Always,” Harry replied, his voice thick with certainty. “You and me, together.”

You leaned back against the rocking chair, cradling James in your arms, feeling a deep sense of peace. The quiet outside was perfect—soft winds brushing against the meadow, the distant chirping of crickets beginning their nightly song, and the gentle hum of life settling into its new rhythm. For a moment, time seemed to slow, the only thing in the world that mattered being the family that now filled the cottage.

With James now sleeping peacefully in your arms and Harry beside you, everything felt right. Your life had changed in an instant, but it was a change you’d been waiting for, and now it was here—your little family, whole, together, and more perfect than you’d ever imagined.

And as the night unfolded around you, you knew that no matter what the future held, you were ready for it, because it was just the three of you, at home, where you were meant to be. It felt like the fulfilment of every dream, every wish you had quietly held in your heart. You had been waiting for him—for this—and now, you had everything you ever wanted.

I hope the ending isn't too repetitive 🌷

back to my harry potter masterlist

[violettwrites]

the fence is white. the lawn is dead. 🏹 daryl dixon

a/n: hi guys !! sorry i haven’t been super active lately but this popped into my head tonight and i thought i’d post it for y’all !! i hope you enjoy 🫶🏻

if you enjoyed, please don’t forget to like, reblog, and/or comment !!

this is my masterlist

and my ask box is currently open !

summary: as the greene farm falls, reader reminisces on her time growing up at the farm. a certain southern male comes along to make sure she gets away safely.

pairing: daryl dixon x greene!daughter (middle child)

warnings: angst !!?

word count: 670

— — —

there was nothing more you hated than the apocalypse. because all it did was take. it took the people you loved the most: your mother, step brother, friends, and now, the place you had grown up in, where you called home.

standing there in the distance as you watched the flames take over the barn, reflecting in your eyes. it could be seen for miles— and to you? it looked like the end of the world. you continued to watch, frozen in place as the place you grew up was overrun by walkers.

that’s all this world did now. it took, and took, and took. and it would continue to do so until everything was gone. until there was nothing left but the undead.

you squeezed your eyes shut for a moment, just wishing that you could go down with your family home— but you knew you couldn’t. because you had to survive. keep the memory alive. because once you were all gone? there would be no one to remember the greene family farm.

pulled from your thoughts by a familiar rumble of a motorbike engine, you turned your head to see a headlight pointed at you; the familiar silhouette getting off his bike and making his way over to you. his pace was rushed, but still steady.

you had grown close with the southern male during his group’s stay at your family’s farm— he had taught you how to use his crossbow, and you had taught him how to ride a horse after he had admitted to you that he was scared of them.

”they’re just too big,” he huffed, arms leaning on the fence of the stables as you stood on the other side, hand brushing over the neck of chestnut, a smile on your face.

“they’re gentle giants,” you retorted, shaking your head as you continued to pat the brown gelding, fingers brushing through his mane.

“c’mon, we gotta go,” daryl called out to you as he neared you, arm immediately wrapping around your shoulders in an attempt to lead you back to his bike.

“it’s gone—“ your voice cracked as you spoke, looking over your shoulders as you let him lead you. you knew better than to put up a fight, especially with a horde that big, but it still split your heart in two. seeing the place you and your sisters grew up just taken away.

you could remember every single little detail about growing up there. the grass between your toes during the summer, how you and beth would take turns on the tire swing your father had put up in the tree, and the many, many arguments between all three of you girls, but you wouldn’t have changed it for the world.

“i know,” daryl spoke softly, his voice low as he moved to stand in front of you, fingers brushing your hair off your face. usually, you would blush. but right now you couldn’t even think straight. “‘m sorry, darlin’. but we really gotta go.”

daryl climbed onto his bike, hands on the handle bars as he looked at you. waiting. you took one more look at the place you called home before climbing onto the back of daryl’s bike, arms wrapping around your torso before he sped off down the dirt road— assuming towards the rest of the group.

you watched the barn in the side mirror of daryl’s bike, your heart crumbling in your chest as you pressed your cheek against his shoulder blade, tears slipping down your cheeks. you could feel him move his hand from the handles of the bike, gently placing it over your hands on his stomach, giving you a gentle squeeze. the gesture was small, but it made you feel less alone in the moment.

with his hand back on the handle, you closed your eyes as you let the wind whip around you, memories flooding your mind as you left your home behind, trying to keep every single memory locked in your mind forever.

[oepionie]

🍰 demented devotions & dark chocolate cake

— ꒰ pairings ꒱ : m.draconia x reader x r.flamme in the moonlit garden, rollo stumbles upon you and malleus in the midst of a slow dance. malleus doesn't like how rollo is being so touchy with you and promptly drags you away. — ꒰ warnings / tag ꒱ : obsessive behavior (rollo), possessiveness, slight power dynamics, soft yandere, rollo calls you 'my lamb', twinge of religious themes because it is rollo event masterlist

NOBLE BELL COLLEGE, bathed in the gentle light of the moon, was a breathtaking sight. The buildings, reminiscent of sanctuaries with their time-worn stone walls, bore intricate carvings that appeared to come alive in the ethereal glow of night. Every archway and pillar whispered stories from the past. The bell towers stood as dark silhouettes against the starry canvas of the night sky, and each chime of the bells echoed through the entirety of the campus.

For Rollo, it had become a nightly custom to wander through the college gardens, a torch in hand, casting light upon his path. The garden provided him with a haven away from the cold, austere chambers of his dormitory.

As he strolled along the cobblestone pathways, the moonlight cast elongated shadows from the trees, while the warm torchlight bathed the surroundings in an almost magical ambiance. However, even in this tranquil setting, memories of a recent festival continued to plague him. The festival began with promise, a colorful whirlwind of music and laughter, but unsurprisingly, it swiftly descended into chaos. And yet, among these memories, your presence stood out as a bright spot amid the less pleasant recollections.

Your hair, like the finest silk, would sway gracefully when caressed by the breeze, and the sparkle in your eyes resembled stardust. However, what had left an indelible mark on Rollo's memory was the scarf that clung to your neck.

Rollo's fingers gently brushed against the soft fabric of that very scarf tucked in his pocket, and a wistful smile played upon his lips. Pulling it out, he pressed the scarf to his face, captivated by the lingering scent that still held traces of your presence. Ah, he could vividly recall how the scarf's color complimented your eyes. You had left it behind by the bell tower that day, and he had stumbled upon it. Although he had intended to return it to you, his search for you had proven fruitless.

No matter, he thought to himself, pocketing the purple fabric, he was certain he would find you sometime during the week.

Suddenly, distant sounds of laughter reached Rollo's ears. The alluring and familiar sound called out to him, and he couldn't resist its pull. Step by step, he followed it, drawing nearer with each move. As he cautiously peeked around the corner of an academic building, his heart sank upon witnessing the scene before him.

Your lips bore a wide, giddy grin as you were swept up in Malleus Draconia's embrace, twirling gracefully in a delicate dance. The fae's lips barely brushed your cheek, a subtle smile gracing his features. The enchanting dance held you both captive in a world of your own, oblivious to your surroundings.

"Heavens," Rollo grimaced, torn between watching the spectacle and turning away. The sight of Malleus pressing a kiss to the side of your neck only deepened his disapproval.

Brazen, lewd, and odious. It was a vile, depraved display.

Unable to watch anymore, Rollo cleared his throat and stepped out of the shadows, shattering the enchantment that had held you both in the dance's spell.

"There is a strict rule on public display at Noble Bell College, one that I had hoped you were aware of," he called out, his tone firm and disapproving.

In that moment, your eyes widened in realization, and you hastily pulled away from Malleus's embrace. Rollo couldn't help but smirk inwardly at the faint frown that momentarily marred the fae's face.

Embarrassment lined your features as you ran a hand through your wind-tousled hair, gesturing with the other, voicing your remorse for breaking such a basic rule.

"I will overlook this transgression for now," Rollo assured as he advanced toward you. His hand reached up to cup your cheek, and you tensed at his touch, your cheeks flushing a pretty shade of red. As you instinctively started to pull away, his hold on your chin remained firm, coaxing your gaze back to his.

Rollo extended his torch closer to you, wishing to see your features more clearly. The flames danced perilously near, a few errant sparks floating in the air, almost singing the tips of your hair and the lapels of your coat. He observed your reactions with an amused smile, enjoying your wariness as you wrinkled your nose at the acrid scent of smoke.

Cute.

Rollo then leaned in closer, the flickering torchlight casting intriguing shadows across his face. His voice dropped to a low, confidential murmur, mindful of the fae hovering over you two.

"What a delicate soul you are," Rollo whispered, his intense crimson gaze locked on yours. "It's rare to see someone like you, tainted by the presence of magic, and yet somehow, still… pure despite it all." His words hung in the night air, a puzzle in his eyes, as if he were unraveling a secret you weren't even aware of.

"Pure?" you blinked, tilting your head in confusion, your curiosity piqued. "What do you mean by that?"

Rollo's lips curled into a wry smile as he brushed his thumb against your cheek. "Oh, my lamb, it's a complex matter, one best left for another time. You're already dealing with plenty, especially with those miscreants at NRC. Those fools are probably driving you mad."

The endearment he used sent a warm shiver down your spine, and you felt flutters in your stomach. Your eyes nervously shifted from Rollo to the serene surroundings of the garden, the moonlight casting a soft, ethereal glow on the foliage.

Malleus, unable to stand and watch any longer, clicked his tongue disapprovingly, signaling his irritation at the unfolding situation.

Wordlessly, he positioned himself behind you, his large, possessive hand gently running up your back. Despite the seething anger within him, Malleus restrained his magical abilities, aware that any inadvertent spells or outbursts could only serve to worsen the situation. As much as he wished to unleash his fiery wrath on Flamme, that would have to be reserved for another time.

"If you'll excuse us. We have somewhere to be," Malleus murmured, his voice laced with urgency as he swiftly pulled you away from Rollo and led you out of the garden.

Unbeknownst to you, Rollo's gaze bore into Malleus with an intensity that bordered on obsession. His crimson eyes radiated an otherworldly fire, and sparks ignited at the soles of his feet. As the flames danced beneath him, the once lush and vibrant grass around him withered and turned into dry, lifeless ash. Rollo then scowled, turning his attention to the scorched ground. He pulled out his handkerchief and pressed it to his face, muttering to himself in frustration as he stepped away from the darkened earth, dusting his shoes off with an absentminded air.

"Blasted fae."

🍰 . . .

Once you were safely out of earshot and view, Malleus came to a halt and his demeanor took a shift.

"Malleus?" you murmured, looking up at him curiously. The fae didn't say a word and instead turned to face you. The moonlight cast soft shadows on his face as he suddenly knelt down before you.

With a look of reverence in his eyes, Malleus took hold of both your hands, his touch warm and tender. He began to lavish adoring kisses along your palms, wrists, and fingers, each press of his lips filled with a tenderness that spoke volumes. It was as if he were trying to convey a silent promise, a pledge to protect and cherish you.

"Mine," he whispered, his emerald eyes sparkling with an almost possessive light, his voice tinged with a sense of ownership that sent shivers down your spine.

"Mine and mine alone."

[whitedarkmoonflower]

Blood brother

Pairing: Sihtric x reader (female)

Authors note: I kind of hate it. It's so long since I wrote something and it feels like first time again. I have wanted to write it for a while already but never got to it. It's a wonderful idea planted into my head by the lovely @thenameswinter99 in one of our chats but I know I made it different, so I hope you'll not be angry with me.

Warnings: actually none. Some description of violence but nothing very graphical

Word Count: 8,7 K (sorry 😅)

Summary: having lost everything and thinking she's been abandoned by everybody, even her best friend Sihtric, reader on her quest for revenge founds out that life can be full of surprises and that there is always space for hope

The night was dark, the feeble, pale light of the new moon barely illuminating your path through the woods. You shuddered as if trying to shake off the cold, the chill air biting your cheeks and each exhale leaving a shimmering, silvery fog in the air. Yet you didn’t stop, didn’t turn back. Just the opposite. 

Your small feet quickened their pace, finding the path beneath them with the assuredness of a cat on the hunt, and with each step you took your eyes adjusted further to the darkness and to the eerie shadows and flickering shapes the moonlight made dancing around you.  

You should have been scared, a small girl alone in the middle of the forest, the familiar and warm lights of your home far behind. But you weren’t, not anymore. 

You pressed on, ducking under the bony, outstretched arms of thorn bushes and leaping over moss covered, fallen trunks. Yes, there had been fear, but that was before. Before this forest had become your home, your secret ally, the protector of your dreams. Before you had learned to become one with it, to listen to its whispers, to feel its heartbeat in the quiet rustling of the leaves.

Before you had met him. 

—----------------------------------------------------

The sun was slowly dipping behind the horizon, making the shadows grow longer, and a distant crack of a twig sent your heart racing. You had never been so scared before in your whole life. 

You had been picking berries, one step leading to another, each shiny little red perl hidden in the green tapestry of shrubs inviting you further and further from the familiar path until there was no path at all, only an impenetrable thicket of trees and bushes all looking alike.

You clutched the small basket you had been carrying as if it could shield you.

That was when you heard that low, unmistakable growl behind you.

You spun around and froze, your legs refusing to obey your desperate need to run. A wobbly step back sent you tumbling to the ground, a loud shriek escaping your lungs. 

Wolf, as if stepped out of the fairy tales your grandma told you before sleep. You had never seen one before but there was no doubt, your grandma had always been a vivid teller of stories. 

Eyes wide open you stared at the majestic animal before you and waited. Waited for the end to come. 

“Don’t move,” a soft and strangely calm voice reached you as a small silhouette of a boy probably the same age as yourself suddenly stepped between you and the wolf. “It can feel your fear.”

“I’m scared,” you whispered, as tears started to stream down your face.

“I’m not,” he said simply.

The wolf snarled, shifting its weight as though preparing to pounce but the boy didn’t flinch. Instead, he crouched slightly, meeting the animal’s gaze head-on. A strange, low sound rumbled from his throat—a growl, so very similar to the one the wolf had made just a moment ago that you couldn't help but shudder.

The wolf’s ears twitched, and for a while they just stood there staring at each other. A soft whine escaped you from the burning feeling in your lungs as you realised you’d been holding your breath, and you felt wolf's gaze shifting between you and the boy as if considering his chances.

The boy leaned forward slightly, his thin frame taut like a drawn bowstring. The wolf snarled, its hackles raised, but there was a slight uncertainty in its posture now. The boy didn’t waver, his eyes locked with the creature as he bared his teeth.

The wolf hesitated, its tail giving a flick of irritation, and then with a final growl, it broke eye contact, lowered its head and started to step backward. Its movements were slow, reluctant, as if it hated admitting defeat, but after a few steps it turned and with a few leaps disappeared into the shadows.

The boy straightened, his small chest rising and falling as he caught his breath, and for the first time, he turned to you, “It’s gone,” he said simply but you just continued to stare at him, your ability to speak stolen from you both by fear and awe plainly written on your face.

The boy was thin and malnourished, with bruises on his arms and legs, clothes hanging off his bony frame and the dirt smudged on his face, his bare foot rustling against the soft forest ground. 

He looked fragile, even breakable, but it wasn’t his disheveled appearance that struck you most, it was his eyes. One was a piercing blue, while the other earthy brown, shining with an inexplicable mixture of defiance and warmth.

“You shouldn’t wander this far into the woods alone,” he added, tilting his head and observing you with open curiosity, and you noticed how melodic and soft his voice actually was. “It’s not safe.”

It felt like a dream. He extended a hand to help you up, and you took it, your fingers trembling against his. His grip was surprisingly firm, grounding, and you couldn’t help stealing glances at him as he led you back to the path, your hand safely in his.

You both reached the edge of the forest in silence where he released your hand reluctantly, his fingers slipping away so slowly as though they didn’t want to let go. The boy's large, expressive eyes followed you as you stepped into the meadow, and it suddenly struck you that you had not the slightest idea who your mysterious saviour was. 

“What’s your name?” you asked, turning around and finally finding your voice even if it still sounded shaky.

He hesitated, his gaze shifting back toward the trees, as if unsure whether to answer or rather retreat. “Sihtric,” he said at last, his tone strangely wary, eyes darting to the ground. “Sihtric Kjartansson.”

“Will you come back tomorrow?” you asked.

His lips curled into a small, almost shy smile. “Maybe,” he finally said, but the faint glimmer in his mismatched gaze told you he would.

The next day, you returned with fresh bread and a small portion of ham tucked neatly into your linen shoulder bag. You weren’t sure if he would really come, but you hoped, and as you crossed the meadow, your heart skipped a beat at the sight of him, leaning casually against the trunk of the great oak.

“I brought you something,” you said as you stretched out your hand to offer the loaf of fresh bread. He hesitated, his gaze flicking between your face and the bread, his beautiful eyes mirroring a quiet surprise. It seemed as if he wasn’t used to kindness.

“You saved my life,” you added. “Please, let me thank you.”

Sihtric’s fingers slightly brushed against yours as he took the bread, and the brief contact sent a surprising rush of warmth to your cheeks, forcing you to look away, as you suddenly became aware of the heat rising in your face.

“Thank you,” he said at last as he held the loaf carefully, almost reverently, as though it was something precious. 

—---------------------------------------------------

You stopped, listening to a call of an owl echoing through the stillness of the night, before resuming your run. It was the signal and you were late.

“And I already thought you’d chickened out and wouldn’t come,” a familiar voice greeted you as you stumbled into the small clearing, a faint taunt lacing the words. 

“Mom stayed up late with her sewing,” you replied, breathless from your relentless sprint through the woods. “I couldn’t sneak out before she went to bed.”

A small figure emerged from the shadows of the nearby trees. Without hesitation you grabbed the hand outstretched towards you and let it guide you to the center of the clearing with a makeshift arch formed by a strip of turf propped up by three spears.

“Sihtric, where did you get these?” you asked, your eyes widening as you admired the haphazard construction.

“Everyone’s busy packing and fussing around,” Sihtric replied almost nonchalantly. “It was easy to grab a few things and sneak away. But I’ve got to bring them back before dawn, or I’ll get the shit beaten out of me.”

You shuddered, turning to look at the boy beside you. Sihtric’s voice was steady, but there was that subtle set of his jaw and the faint quiver in his grip.

“Stay,” you said. You wanted to sound confident, resolute but the way the word trembled on your lips, that sudden crack in your voice, it all betrayed your desperation. “Hide in the woods, and when they’ll be gone, come to my house. My father won’t turn you away if I ask him to take you in.”

But you already knew the answer.

“I can’t,” he said softly, his response almost a whisper. “I can’t leave my mom. She needs me. I have to take care of her.”

You squeezed his hand tighter, wishing there was something else you could do, something else you could say to make him change his mind. You knew there wasn’t. Your small world was falling apart, and there was nothing you could do about it.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” you said, withdrawing your hand and reaching into the small linen bag slung over your shoulder. “I brought fresh bread. Mom baked it just yesterday.”

Sihtric smiled faintly, just a shadow of his usual mischievous grin, but his gaze returned to the arch.

“Let’s do it first, if you are still sure about it,” he tugged you gently toward the arch. 

You nodded, swallowing hard. You wanted to smile, but your lips trembled. “Of course I am. ” 

“Alright.” Sihtric let out a shaky breath, and crouched down to retrieve a small knife he’d hidden in the grass beneath the arch, its blade a bit dull but still usable.

Without any further hesitation he drew the blade lightly across his forearm. The cut was clean and straight, a thin red line beading quickly with blood. He hissed softly at the sting but held steady, extending his arm to you.

“Your turn.”

Your hands trembled slightly as you took the knife, not that you were afraid of the pain. It was the significance of the moment that made your heart hammer in your chest. Sihtric watched you carefully, something like concern flickering across his face.

“You don’t have to do it if you’re scared,” he said quietly.

“I’m not scared,” you scoffed at Sihtric, tightening your grip on the handle and pressing the blade to your forearm, but your hand slipped slightly, and the cut ended up uneven and jagged. You gasped at the sharp pain, your free hand instinctively reaching out to press against the cut.

“You alright?” Sihtric asked, alarm evident in his voice.

“Yeah,” you whispered, blinking back tears. “It’s fine. It’s just... shit, it’s so crooked.”

He gave you a small, encouraging smile. “Doesn’t matter. It still counts.”

Sihtric held out his arm, his bloodied cut facing yours. You looked up, trying to read the expression on his face before pressing your wounds together. Sihtric wrapped a strip of fabric around your joined arms, and you helped him to tie it tighter.

“That’s it,” he said, his voice firmer now. “Now we have to say it.”

You both spoke at the same time, voices barely above whispers but full of determination. 

“Our blood is one,

joined under the moon and stars.

Brother and sister for life and beyond.

Your pain is my pain; your joy – my joy.

Wherever life leads you, 

You will not walk your path alone.”

The world around suddenly felt still, as though even the forest was holding its breath because you both surely were. 

You looked down at your bound arms, a small but proud smile touching your lips.

“Remember the wolf?” you suddenly asked, breaking the quiet.

Sihtric glanced at you, a small, knowing smile brightening up his eyes. “I wasn’t scared,” he said, his voice teasing.

“Liar,” you said, nudging him with your shoulder. But deep down, you knew it was true.

He reached out to ruffle your hair with his free hand, and you couldn’t help but lough. “Come on, sister,” he said. “Let’s eat that bread before the night gets colder.”

—----------------------------------------------------

The door closed with a quiet thud behind you as you slumped your back against it, fighting to steady your frantic breathing, to silence the voice in your head, screaming that this wasn’t right, that it wasn’t supposed to end like this. 

Raising your trembling hand, you let your fingers hover over your burning lips. Your very first kiss. Light like a feather, hot like a fire. You hadn’t planned this. You didn’t even fully understand how it had happened. 

It was just that strange feeling as Sihtric’s fingers had hesitated to let go of your hand just like that first time you had met, that haunting look of regret and sadness in his beautiful, mismatched eyes and the heaviness in your own chest. It all had been too much to bear for your small, fragile heart, so you just did it. The only thing you could think of. 

You rose onto your tiptoes and pressed your lips to his.

And then you ran. 

You ran as if your life depended on this, as if a hundred wild beasts were chasing you down, the touch of Sihtric’s soft but slightly chapped lips against yours burning in your mind. 

Your very first kiss. A good by. A farewell. A promise. 

You’ll not walk your path alone.

___________________________________________

You shifted carefully, stretching your numb legs one at a time. The night was cool but thanks gods – dry, a welcome change after an endless week of steady mizzling. That annoying faint drizzle was capable of seeping through every seam of your leather armour, soaking through all layers down to your undergarments and drenching it until there was not a single dry thread left. 

The Danish camp lay just beyond the treeline, its fires casting flickering shadows across the ground. You had been following them for weeks – them and other groups travelling from and to Dunholm. 

Your breath was slow and even. This was far from being new to you. Nights spent on the hard earth under the beautiful blanket of stars had long become your way of life. You didn’t complain, you had learned to endure, to let the numbness creep into your body without letting it dull your mind.

You shifted again, crouching closer, trying to get a better view on the fireplaces and to be able to catch glimpses of conversations. The underbrush rustled softly, and you froze, waiting for any sign that you’d been heard. Nothing. The camp remained busy but apparently oblivious of your presence.

Your fingers instinctively checked for the hilt of the dagger at your hip. All you wanted was to sneak through the bushes right into that nest of wasps, taking one life after another, quiet and deadly. But it was not yet the right time for that. 

You had dreamt of it for years. Of being here. Of finding your way into that damned fortress. Of wiping the name of the man that had taken everything from you from this world and any other worlds that possibly existed whether they called them Valhalla or Heaven. 

There hadn't been a single night that you haven’t woken up covered in sweat from the scattered images of the smoldering ruins of your home dancing before your closed eyes as clearly as the stars above you now. It was as if you could still smell the acrid stench of burned wood and flesh. 

Every fiber of your being longed to storm through Dunholm’s gates, to plunge your blade into Kjartan’s heart and to burn it all down to the ground as they had done to you. But you knew too well that this was not possible, that this would only lead to your own doom and not theirs. You had to wait and lurk in the dark, searching for a way that would ensure their ruin. You had waited years for this. You could wait a little longer. 

“Distracted, are we?” a soft voice murmured near your ear, calm and quiet as in the same moment you felt a cold steel pressing against your throat. Your body tensed up and your fingers slowly wrapped around the hilt of the dagger, readying for the strike. 

“Move, and you’ll lose your head,” the voice continued, the blade pressing just a fraction closer and a hand landed on your shoulder, keeping you in place.  

You cursed yourself silently, the threat was as calm as it was deadly.

“Drop your weapon,” he ordered.

You hesitated, your mind weighing the odds.

“Now,” he snapped, his tone sharpening.

“Fine,” you said, slowly pulling out the dagger and then you felt it – a shift in his grip, the tiniest slackening of pressure. It was all you needed.

You twisted sharply, pulling away from the blade while driving your elbow backward into his ribs. His grunt of surprise was satisfying, but you didn’t stop. Spinning on your heel, you unsheathed your dagger completely and brought it up between you.

The two of you stood frozen, knives pointed at each other’s throats. It was too dark to see the man clearly. The firelight from the camp didn’t reach your hideaway, and the moon was new, just a small slice in the dark sky, casting only fleeting, shifting shadows over his face. 

All you could tell was that he was young, well built and lean, unmistakably a Dane and a warrior. You were pretty sure he didn’t belong to the camp you were spying on as you  knew by now all the men there – an observation that did nothing to calm you as he still could be an enemy. 

His grip on his own blade was steady and his breathing even. If he was surprised by your sudden move, he didn’t show it, and there was a sharpness in his gaze that kept you on edge.

“Who are you?” He was the first to break the silence.

You tightened your grip on your dagger: “That depends on what your intentions are.”

“That depends on what you’re doing here,” he shot back, and for a split second you thought there was something strangely familiar in his slightly mocking tone.

You hesitated, your mind racing for some plausible reply as there was no way of revealing your true purpose. “I’m just passing through,” you said finally, knowing that the simple answer will not satisfy, but you needed some time to decide on your next move.

“Passing through?” the young warrior snorted. “Near a Danish camp, armed, and skulking in the shadows? Whom are you trying to fool?”

“And what about you?” you countered, trying to mask your nerves with defiance. “What are you doing here?”

But before you could continue the exciting conversation a distant shout shattered the stillness.

“Someone’s out there!”

Your breath hitched. The sound of boots hurriedly stumping against the ground grew louder, accompanied by the glint of torchlight weaving through the trees. The young Dane glanced toward the noise and then back to you as if weighing his options.

“They’re coming,” he muttered, pulling his blade back. “We can’t be found here.”

You hesitated, your instincts screaming to keep your guard up but the sound of the approaching Danes left little choice, and you carefully lowered your own weapon.

“Fine,” you said through gritted teeth. “But if you try anything—”

“Save the threats,” he snapped, his eyes briefly meeting yours. “Let’s go.”

He grabbed your wrist, and before you could protest, he was leading you through the dense forest. You stumbled after him, the sounds of pursuit growing fainter with every step. He moved like a shadow, his pace quick but deliberate, his grip firm enough to keep you close without hurting you.

When you finally stopped, your chest was heaving, and your lungs burned from the frantic run. It seemed that you had shaken off the pursuers at least for now. 

“Now,” he breathed, trying to catch his breath, “who are you really? And why were you watching the camp?”

He didn’t seem like a raider nor one from Kjartan’s men but he was clearly dangerous, and trusting him was a risk you couldn’t afford to take.

“I’m no one,” you said softly. “Just someone trying to survive. I’m no threat to you. You were not keen to be discovered by the Danes in the camp, nor am I. Let’s just part in peace.”

His lips pressed into a thin line. “Survivors don’t spy on camps full of Danes. And they certainly don’t carry daggers like yours.”

You glared at him, your fingers itching to draw the weapon again. “And what about you? You’re not exactly a farmer out for a midnight stroll.”

The faintest smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Fair enough,” he said, crossing his arms. “Let’s just say I have my reasons.”

“Then maybe we should leave it at that,” you said with a sly smile.

He tilted his head, studying you in the dim light. “For now,” he said slowly. “But don’t think I trust you.”

“Likewise,” you shot back, even as a small part of you couldn’t ignore the strange pull you felt toward him. There was something about the way he carried himself, the quiet intensity in his voice, that spoke to you, that reminded you of something, making shivers run down your spine but before you could give it another thought a distant shout broke the moment.

“We need to keep moving,” he said, his tone all serious again. “They won’t stop searching until they’re sure the woods are clear.”

You nodded reluctantly as the distant shouts grew louder and suddenly the torchlight started weaving through the trees like restless fireflies. Both of you tensed, instinctively drawing your blades and exchanging a sharp glance. An unspoken agreement passed between you: survival first, questions later.

Then the Danes burst through the trees.

“Over here!” one of them roared, his axe glinting in the firelight, and more followed.

The man beside you—lean, quick, and deadly—moved before you could think. His blade flashed in the dim light, cutting down the first attacker. You followed, blocking a strike aimed at your side and countering with a swift slash to your opponent’s arm. The Dane howled in pain, but there was no time to celebrate your small victory as another man charged at you, forcing you to dodge and roll, barely escaping his axe as it came down.

You fought together as if you had had years of practice behind. You couldn’t help but admire the way the young warrior moved, his movements fluid and practiced, filled with wild ferocity. The two of you were a perfect balance as if this were a dance where each movement needs to be attuned to the other, seamlessly covering each other as the Danes closed in.

But there were too many of them.

A sharp blow caught you off guard, knocking the dagger from your hand and making you stumble. You groaned in pain as a Dane’s boot sank into your stomach, sending you sprawling to the ground. Before you could recover a blade was pressed against your neck.

“Drop your weapon!” the man yelled, jerking you to your feet and wrenching your arm behind your back. 

 “Drop your weapon, or she dies,” the Dane repeated, his eyes narrowing at your companion.

You snorted loudly, the sound sharp and defiant, despite the blade pressed against your throat. “You think that’s a threat?” you spat. “He doesn’t even know me.” 

You looked over to the young warrior, frozen for a moment, his knife and axe still in his hands, his chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. Something flickered across his face – annoyance, or was it concern as he turned, his eyes fixed on you for a brief moment before shifting to the man holding you. 

You could clearly see the hesitation in the young warrior, his jaw tightening, his movements deliberately slow as he scanned the Danes around all ready to resume the fight. And then he did something you hadn’t expected. He raised his hands slowly, letting the weapons fall from his fingers.

“I surrender,” he said with a steady voice. “Let her go.”

The words hit you almost like a blow. Why would he do this? He could have fought his way out and fled. You were a complete stranger to him. 

The Danes exchanged glances and one of them stepped forward, pointing his axe at the stranger. “You’ll come with us, both of you.”

Before either of you could respond, rough hands shoved you forward, the blade leaving your neck but replaced by the iron grip of two men dragging you away. Your companion was similarly manhandled and brought to walk next to you.

You risked a hidden glance at the young warrior beside you, as you still couldn’t grasp why he had done this. What was his plan?

“What are you doing?” you hissed under your breath, unable to keep the confusion out of your voice.

“Saving your neck,” he replied quietly, meeting your surprised gaze for a brief moment.

And that was when you saw them – his eyes. The light from the torches caught him just enough for you to see the young man’s face clearly for the very first time of your hectic encounter. But you didn’t pay attention to anything else apart from the eyes. They were of different colour. One blue, one hazel brown. 

Your breath caught in your throat. It wasn’t possible. It simply couldn’t be. 

You turned away as quickly as you could, stumbling over a tree root. The grip on your arm twisted behind your back painfully tightened but you almost didn’t notice it, your mind too busy trying to reconcile the image before you with another one. 

The mismatched gaze of a boy you had trusted, the boy who had stood beside you beneath a makeshift arch, who had held your hand as your blood mingled. The son of the man who had destroyed everything – your life, your family, your dreams. Your entire world, reduced to ash and bitter memories, and he had been part of it, whether by blood or by silence. 

You shook your head in a silent dialogue with yourself, your pulse pounding in your ears. It can’t be him, you told yourself. It isn’t him. But even as you repeated the thought, a part of you still whispered that it might be. And if it was, you didn’t know whether to feel relief, rage, or something else entirely.

—-----------------------------------------------------

The coarse rope bit into your wrists with each futile struggle trying to loosen it. You sat with your back pressed firmly against the rough bark of the tree. The Danes had done a thorough job, binding the two of you on opposite sides of the same tree so tight to make even the smallest movement uncomfortable. 

Your companion on the other side of the tree, if one could call him that, had been absolutely silent all this time. Being a bit uncooperative when it came to letting himself be tied, he had earned several heavy blows to his abdomen and a split lip.

You shifted slightly, testing again the ropes that bound you both, and hissed as the fibers just dug deeper into your skin. It all just made no sense. It just couldn’t be him. The Kjartan’s men, you’d been spying on, were out to kill him and had tied him up without hesitation. They hadn’t recognized him as one of their own, as Kjartan’s blood.

You bit your lip, trying to coax both your body and mind to relax. 

—----------------------------------------------------

Sihtric leaned his head back against the tree. The sharp ache that radiated from his ribs almost made him groan. The blows he’d taken were nothing new; the pain being a constant companion in his life had long ceased to bother him. But this - being tied up, unable to move freel - this clawed at something deep inside him, making his skin crawl.

He clenched his fists against the rope, hoping that the sharp pain in his wrists would stop his mind from wandering back to the dark days under Kjartan’s roof, where being bound wasn’t just punishment but a lesson in submission, a lesson in unworthiness of his life to his own father. 

He had vowed to himself long ago never to let anyone have that power over him again. Yet here he was, beaten and bound like a dog because he had been foolish enough to be distracted.  

He cursed himself for his carelessness. He had seen the torches, heard the shouts, he knew the risk, he should have just left and run, yet he had lingered, drawn to you like a moth to flame. Why on earth had he decided to draw you with him?

There was something about the woman who now sat on the other side of the tree, that tugged at a part of him he didn’t understand. 

Sihtric closed his eyes, trying to force the thought away, but it lingered. With a loud scoff he hit his nape against the bark of the tree in frustration just to wince in the pain.  It had been stupid, yet he knew he would do exactly the same all over again.

He felt you shifting, straining against the ropes, testing their strength over and over again. It must be painful, he thought, yet you didn’t give up, you must have been scared.

“Hey, survivor, are you afraid?” he suddenly found himself asking, somewhat surprised by the hoarse sound of his own voice. “Spare your strength. You’ll need it. You’ll see, I’m getting us out of here.” 

The silence around the both of you stretched, broken only by the distant murmurs of the Danes, sitting at the fire. You just snorted at the stranger's question. 

Afraid? You couldn’t even remember the last time you were afraid. 

People are afraid if they have something to lose, something they care about. You had nothing. The last faint hope had left you as the rumors reached you that your brother Ragnar – the only one from your family who was not there on the night of fire – had suffered a shipwreck at the coasts of Ireland. 

You were alone in this world, you had nobody to care for, nothing to lose. You had nothing to live for apart from revenge and that was not a reason enough to fear death, to fear anything. 

“Why did you do it?” you finally asked after what seemed like an eternity of silence. “Why surrender yourself to spare me? You don’t even know me.”

Sihtric tilted his head, staring at the dark canopy above. Here it was. He had wanted to calm you, to reassure you, to give you something to hold on to and you came back with questions. Questions he had no real answer to. 

“Are you complaining that I saved your life?” he said, his voice almost hollow. 

There was a pause, and he could feel you shift against the ropes again. 

“No,” you whispered back. “I … I just don’t understand.”

Sihtric closed his eyes briefly, a sigh slipping past his lips. “Sometimes it’s just like that. It just… felt like the right thing to do.”

“You risked your life because it felt right?”

He let out a soft, humorless chuckle. “You make it sound foolish.”

“It is foolish,” you exclaimed, unable to hide the bewilderment in your voice.

“Then you owe your life to a fool,” he countered quietly. 

You opened your mouth to reply but found no words and before you could think of something more coherent to reply you were interrupted by the crunch of boots nearing the both of you.

“Get up,” the Dane barked, crouching down to slice through the ropes binding you to the tree. The sudden release sent a jolt through your stiff limbs, but you barely had a moment to process it before his hand clamped around your arm, dragging you to your feet. 

“Hey, where are you taking her?” Sihtric’s voice was sharp and there was an edge of worry beneath his tone, impossible to miss, as he struggled fiercely against his own bindings. His movements were desperate but ultimately futile, the ropes biting into his skin.

“Not your concern,” the Dane snapped, his grip on your arm tightening as he gave you a rough shove forward.

You stumbled, barely catching your balance, his bruising grip forcing you to move forward. The Dane dragged you toward one of the larger tents near the camp’s center, and your heart pounded against your ribs as you sensed your chance of escape nearing. You clenched your fists so tightly that your nails dug into your palms, the sting of it forcing you to regain focus.

Behind you could hear the young warrior’s voice, louder this time, laced with barely restrained fury, but it only made your captor laugh - a low, cruel sound that twisted your stomach in disgust.

—----------------------------------------------------

The Dane’s body hit the fur laden ground with a soft thud. You crouched down as you listened, fingers wrapping tighter around the hilt of the dagger you had snatched from the sheath strapped to his back.

“Men,” you muttered under your breath. “Cocksure arselings.”

You froze ready to leap, the faint rustle of the tent flaps catching your attention as a figure burst into the tent. You were ready to strike just to stop at the last moment as you recognised it. 

“Shit,” you hissed. “I could have killed you.” But the wide-eyed completely dumbfounded expression on the young warrior's face caught you off guard and made you let out a soft laugh. 

You always preferred a fair battle over the stealthy death in the shadows, but this time you had no choice. The majority in the camp were too drunk to notice anything at first and when they did it was already too late. 

You met the young warrior at the fireplace, both slightly panting, the blood covered hands and the eerie silence around you the only signs of what had happened. 

“Are you hurt?” he finally asked, his large eyes flickering with the same resentment that churned in your stomach. 

“I’m fine,” you returned, only now noticing the raw and bloody red lines around his wrists where the ropes had dug into his skin, betraying his earlier struggle.

“You want me to clean them?” you asked, your tone more calm as the adrenaline of the moment ebbed away.

He blinked, seeming surprised by your offer, then nodded slowly. “If you can spare the time,” he murmured, his voice low, almost uncertain.

“Hey, you saved my life. Please, let me thank you,” you murmured, reaching into the pouch at your belt and pulling out a strip of cloth, a small flask of water and a tin of salve, and you didn’t even notice the warrior's eyes widening at your words.

“Sit,” you said, gesturing to clogs at the fireplace. He hesitated before lowering himself, casting a few more surprised glances at your side.

Gently, you poured water over his wrists, watching the dirt and blood wash away. He flinched at the sting, but said nothing, his eyes following your every move.

“You shouldn’t have struggled so hard,” you chided lightly, trying to focus on the task but being constantly distracted by the sight of his muscular arms highlighted by the sleeveless cut of his armour. 

He let out a quiet huff. “Seemed like a good idea at the time. Didn’t expect you to be so quick to deal with him.”

You smirked, dipping your fingers into the small tin of salve and smoothing it gently over the raw, red marks on his wrists. “Guess you’ll think twice next time about underestimating me.”

As you reached to wrap a strip of cloth around his wrist, he pulled his hands back slightly. “It’s enough… thank you,” he murmured, his voice trailing off awkwardly.

You raised an eyebrow, noting the faint flush creeping up his neck. “Are you embarrassed to let me help you?”

“No,” he said quickly, though the way he avoided your eyes and rubbed the back of his neck betrayed him. “I just… it will hamper me if it comes to another fight.”

You took his hands firmly yet gently, pulling them back. “Hey, don’t be foolish. It will not disturb you more than those,” you nodded toward the thick golden arm rings on his upper arms. “But it will definitely hamper you if these get infected and swell. Hold still. ”

He sat stiffly, his gaze fixed somewhere over your shoulder, clearly unsure where to look. “I’m not used to—” he started, then cut himself off.

“Not used to what?” you prompted, glancing up as you tied the bandage securely.

“Being… taken care of,” he admitted quietly. 

“Well, there’s a first time for everything,” you smirked. “Even warriors need someone to patch them up sometimes.”

“You’re good at this,” he muttered a mixture of gratitude and shyness in his voice, and you smiled, catching the faintest trace of a blush appearing on his cheeks. 

You had no idea why you agreed when he suggested spending the rest of the night in the camp. Every fiber of your being screamed at you to run, to leave it all behind  and never look back, but you just nodded and followed him to the bigger tent in the middle of the camp. 

“I’ll keep watch. Get some sleep, survivor,” he smirked, showing you toward the keep of furs.

A hundred times, you wanted to ask it, to ask for his name, and a hundred times you swallowed back the question burning on the tip of your tongue. You wanted to know and you didn’t. You didn’t know what to do with the truth. You had been angry for so many years, partially blaming Sihtric for what had happened, questioning why he hadn’t warned you, why he hadn’t come for you when everything fell apart. 

You had no idea what you would do if this young, strikingly handsome, strong and deadly warrior was indeed the same wide eyed boy you had kissed on the edge of a meadow, your blood brother, the oath breaker.

You hadn’t realised how tired you were until you settled down into the softness of the furs. You wanted to stay awake, to keep an eye on him but the uneven struggle ended far too quickly and your eyes fell close. 

Sihtric settled himself near the entrance, picking up the only task that made sense - sharpening his blades. Not that they really needed sharpening but he needed something to focus on – the repetitive rhythm of the movement, the sound of stone gliding over the blade, the simple feeling of purpose in what he was doing.

Not that it really helped this time as his attention kept straying, his eyes constantly drawn back to you.

He couldn’t explain it, that strange pull he felt toward you, that familiarity, that sense that he had known you for ages, that thrill and the way his heart had jumped in his chest when your fingers brushed against his skin.

You suddenly moaned in your sleep, your breathing turning shallow and uneven as you twitched and shifted. Sihtric stilled, his brow furrowing as he slowly set the blade aside.

He knew this all too well - the restlessness of the nights, the fear of closing his eyes, the helplessness of being dragged into the realm where will withdrew and dreams took over. And for all your courage, fierceness and confidence in waking life it seemed that in that realm you were hopelessly losing your battle. 

“Hey,” he whispered, slowly crouching closer and placing his hand on your shoulder. You stirred, but didn’t wake up. “You’re alright. It’s just a dream.”

For a moment Sihtric just watched the shadows dancing on your face, hoping that you would calm down, but your breathing grew more ragged and another whimper rolled over your lips. 

He didn’t know whether it was a conscious decision or something else more primal, more instinctive as he carefully laid down next to you and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close against his chest. 

You were ripped from your sleep by the feeling of two strong arms wrapping around you and pulling you into a tight embrace. You instinctively froze, willing your breath to even out and preparing yourself to reach for the blade.

“It’s just a dream,” the soft murmur of his voice caught you by surprise. “You’re safe now.” 

The moments passed on but nothing happened, he held you just like that, his muscular chest pressed against your back, his embrace steady, firm but at the same time so gentle and protective. You couldn’t even remember the last time someone had held you like that. Closing your eyes, you feigned sleep, somewhat ashamed for having expected the worse.

He let out a quiet sigh of relief, feeling your body relax and your breathing calm down, but his hold didn’t loosen.

“You could be her…,” he whispered, his voice almost too faint to hear. “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you are her.”

You felt his frame tremble slightly and unable to pretend anymore, you shifted in his arms and turned to face him.

“I could be who?” you asked, holding your breath.

“Hey, I didn’t mean any harm,” Sihtric was quick to let you go, embarrassment flickering over his handsome face.

“It’s alright,” you whispered. “Please… just hold me again. Can you?”

“If you want me to…” he murmured and his strong arms wrapped around you once more as you hid your face in his broad chest. 

He nuzzled softly against your hair, his arms tightened slightly around you, as if clinging to some distant memory.

“I was just a boy when I met her,” he continued and you could clearly hear a faint quiver in his voice. “She saved me. She saved me in so many ways, it’s even hard to explain. The only person who looked at me like I was something worthy, who laughed with me, who shared bread with me.” 

Your heart almost stopped beating as you listened, your nose buried in Sihtric’s chest, fighting back tears.

“But I couldn’t save her. I was there but I couldn’t save her. My father found it amusing to let me watch. He probably knew I would try to warn her, so he took me with him just to tie me up and let me watch how he burned down her house.”

“You look so much like her. The way you move, the way you speak…” Sihtric’s voice trailed off but then he suddenly continued: “Tomorrow Dunholm will fall,” he said with such certainty in his voice that you raised your head to look into his mismatched eyes.

“Why are you telling me all this?” 

“I thought you’d want to know. I think you are here for the same purpose I am. The same purpose my lord Uhtred and his brother Ragnar are here for.”

You kept looking at him, unable to avert your gaze. 

“I’m not a complete fool. Even if you might think otherwise. There must be a reason you’ve been watching the Danes come and go around Dunholm. I’m guessing your reason is the same as ours - Kjartan.”

You wanted to speak, to ask more, but the lump in your throat made it impossible. Your whole world had just turned upside down. Uhtred and Ragnar were alive. It was impossible. Sihtric was here, there couldn't be any doubts about that anymore, holding you in his arms. That was even more impossible. 

This must be a dream, you thought, shifting closer to the muscular frame of your long lost friend, and if it was so, you certainly didn’t want to wake up from it, not now at least.

You waited and waited to be awakened from this strange dream, but the longer you waited the more you realized it wasn’t a dream. You felt Sihtric’s breath eventually evening out as his grip on you loosened and sleep finally claimed him, though his arms still rested around you. 

It was when the dawn finally broke that you slipped out of his grasp, careful not to wake him, and left the tent quietly.

Sihtric woke not long after, rubbing the remnants of sleep from his eyes. He had slept surprisingly peacefully but the drowsy smile on his lips faded the moment he realised the space beside him was deserted. He sat up quickly, his eyes scanning the tent for you, but it was empty.

—----------------------------------------------------

You adjusted the helmet you had taken from one of the dead Danes in the camp, your face carefully smeared with mud. Just in case. You didn’t want to be recognised, at least not yet, not before you had found out what was happening, before you knew that Sihtric’s words were not just some cruel game, as you still couldn’t make yourself believe they were true. 

It wasn’t hard to find Ragnar’s forces and slip between the warriors just a few moments before the assault started. 

Eyes wide open you watched the massive frame of your brother, leading the suicide attack on Dunholm’s gates. What was he doing? Had the whole world gone mad? Had the Norns chosen you to entertain themselves, letting you find your brother only to see him heading into certain death?

Your surprise grew even bigger when the impenetrable gates of Dunholm suddenly cracked open, leaving the fortress to the mercy of the attacking Danes. 

From that moment on nothing else existed apart from the deafening roar of war cries, the clang of weapons and the frenzy of battle. You fought like a demon, too immersed in the intoxicating feeling of being invincible, unstoppable, the harbinger of death and justice. You had never felt like this before.

You were reckless, drunk on the bloodlust and adrenaline, and it would have cost you your life if a pair of steady and strong arms hadn’t yanked you aside, burying an axe in the chest of a hulking, red faced Dane.

“Trying to survive, huh? Try harder!” Sihtric shouted, sinking his foot in the gut of another Dane about to swing his blade at you. 

It was all over far too quickly, your head spun and you had to steady yourself against a pillar as you watched Ragnar butchering Kjartan, as you saw Uhtred pulling him away from the mutilated corpse and Thyra emerging from the back of the yard.

And then among all the chaos there was Sihtric, standing in the front line and watching the death of his father, triumph and satisfaction in his face fading into disgust and resentment. 

—----------------------------------------------------

“Here you are,” you exclaimed as you found Sihtric sitting motionless on a hillock outside the fortress. 

He didn’t respond, didn’t turn your way, his eyes fixed somewhere ahead on a small pile of stones.

You hesitated. Maybe this wasn't the right time, maybe he needed space, and yet you couldn’t wait, you couldn’t leave him like this. 

“I was looking for you all over the place,” you said as you reached him, placing your hand on his shoulder.

Sihtric flinched at your touch, a faint shudder coursing through him, but he still didn’t turn to face you.

“You found me,” he said at last.

You lowered yourself beside him, your hand still on his shoulder. “Hey…” you began, but he didn’t let you continue.

“They’re all gone,” he murmured, as if speaking more to himself than to you. “Every single one of them. They’re all dead.” His voice cracked, and his fingers dug into the dirt beside him.

“I’ve had my revenge. And what? It didn’t bring them back. It didn’t make it easier.” He paused, his jaw tightening before he finally turned to face you. “There’s nothing left for me. No family, no purpose, nothing.”

“That’s not true,” you said, your trembling fingers squeezing his shoulder. 

“You don’t understand,” Sihtric interrupted you angrily. “I couldn’t save them. Not her, nor my mom. The only two people to ever care about me, and both ripped from this life by the man whose blood runs in my veins. And nothing I do - nothing - will ever bring them back.” Sihtric’s gaze shifted back to the pile of stones in the distance.

“Sihtric, please listen to me,” your voice quivered as you reached for his hand. He didn’t protest, didn’t pull away. He didn’t even seem to register that you’d called him by his name—something he hadn’t shared with you.

“I … I have to tell you something… I thought I’d lost everything too. My family, my home, even the sense of who I am…,” you swallowed hard, feeling the tears welling in the corners of your eyes but you didn’t fight them back, you let them flow freely, you didn’t even wipe them away. “But I was wrong. There’s always something to hold on to. There’s always someone.”

“Not for me,” Sihtric murmured, pulling his hand from yours.

“Sihtric, you did save her. You saved her so many times and you kept saving her without even knowing it. I let grief cloud my mind, cloud my judgement. I blamed you for what happened, blamed you for being Kjartan’s son, for not coming to warn me, for abandoning me, for breaking your oath. But the truth… The truth is, it was me. I was the oath breaker. In my grief and self righteousness, I never even thought to look for you. I never realised that you might have needed me. I’m sorry, Sihtric. I’m so, so sorry.”

Sihtric turned to you and the confusion and disbelief written plainly across his face made you laugh bitterly.

“By the gods, Sihtric… Do you really not recognise me?” Hot tears pouring down your cheeks, you rolled up your sleeve, stretching your arm toward Sihtric.  

Sihtric’s gaze dropped to your forearm. Carefully his hand reached for your arm and  his fingers brushed over the uneven, jagged scar, running along your skin, tracing it as if trying to prove it was real.

He didn’t say anything, he didn’t even look at you, his gaze fixed on your arm and as the silence stretched fear slowly crept under your skin, fear that he would be angry, that he would hate you for not revealing yourself sooner. 

Sihtric exhaled shakily, lowering his gaze to the ground, and your heart sank into your gut, expecting the worst, but then his fingers intertwined with yours, squeezing them almost painfully.

“Wherever life leads you, 

You will not walk your path alone,” he whispered, raising your palm to his lips. 

You cupped his jaw, letting your thumb hesitantly hover over his lips, and he leaned into your touch, his eyes falling shut, the dampness on his cheeks telling you more than any words ever could.

"I knew it. Deep down I knew it," he whispered.

Sihtric’s arms hesitantly encircled your shoulders, pulling you into a tight embrace and you melted against his muscular torso. You both just sat there for what felt like a lifetime, in silence, savouring the moment and each other's presence. 

You were no kids anymore. Sihtric’s broad chest heaved in the rhythm of his breath and you pressed your ear tighter against him, listening to the beating of his heart.

It was against all odds but you both were alive and here and that was enough. You didn’t even dare to think about something else. You were content in this moment, and you wanted it to last forever.

“Do you remember that last dawn? In the meadow?” Sihtric’s voice brought you back to reality after what felt like a lifetime of silence.

You tilted your head to look up at him, and his mismatched eyes met yours.

“You can’t imagine how often I’ve thought about it,” he said, “wishing I had been braver.”

“Braver?” you whispered, reaching up to touch his face. “You are the bravest man I’ve ever met, Sihtric.”

“But I wasn’t brave enough for this,” he smiled and with a soft exhale, he leaned in.

The kiss was hesitant at first, his lips brushing against yours in silent reverence, almost as if he were afraid you might disappear if he moved too quickly. But it got more demanding with each passing moment, melting away all hesitation, all doubts, all fears and leaving just the two of you, completely lost in each other and in the salty taste of tears on your lips.

[geliditramonti]

Through The Ashes

Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader

1. The Scent Of Blood

Logan was no stranger to silence. It was the kind of quiet that enveloped the dense woods surrounding his secluded cabin like a living thing. Out here, stillness was both a comfort and a weapon, a calm that sharpened his senses while soothing the chaos in his mind. The trees stood tall and ancient, their branches interlocking like the rafters of a natural cathedral. Even the faintest sound stood out: the gentle rustle of leaves stirred by a nocturnal breeze, the distant snap of a twig under a deer's cautious hoof, the melancholy cry of an owl echoing through the darkness. This was his domain, a sanctuary carved from the wild, and he thrived in its unbroken rhythm.

But tonight, that rhythm was off.

Logan noticed it before he could see anything. The sharp, metallic tang of blood tainted the cool night air, subtle yet unmistakable. It slithered through the crispness of the forest like a serpent, catching him mid-stride and halting him where he stood. Instinct took over, his breath slowing as his senses sharpened. The familiar crunch of his boots on the forest floor softened as he adjusted his gait, moving deliberately now, each step calculated. The scent grew stronger, coiling tighter in his chest with every measured breath. His jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck and shoulders tensing in anticipation, a primal unease settling over him like a second skin.

The pale glow of moonlight filtered through the canopy above, dappling the underbrush in a patchwork of silver and shadow. Logan's sharp eyes swept the ground, picking out details most would miss: broken branches, disturbed leaves, a faint crimson stain on the earth. His hunter's instincts, honed through years of isolation, guided him like an invisible thread until he reached a small clearing and froze.

You were crumpled at the base of a massive oak, your body a shattered silhouette against the rough bark. Blood soaked your clothes, the dark stain seeping outward in a grotesque bloom that merged with the pool spreading beneath you. The trail leading to your limp form was clear: dragged or crawling, the leaves and grass bore the marks of a desperate struggle. Moonlight illuminated your features, pale and ghostly, streaked with grime and smears of dried blood. Your shallow breaths came in uneven gasps, each rise and fall of your chest barely perceptible. You looked as if the forest itself had tried to swallow you whole and left you for dead.

Logan crouched beside you, his boots whispering against the earth as his sharp gaze cataloged every detail. The jagged wound tearing into your side drew his attention immediately. Blood oozed sluggishly from the gash, the raw edges glistening darkly under the moonlight. His jaw tightened as he assessed it, noting the viciousness of the tear. No accident could cause something like this. No animal, either, he'd seen their handiwork before. This was deliberate, calculated. Someone had meant for you to die.

A growl rumbled low in his throat as Logan's eyes darted to the shadows surrounding the clearing. His muscles coiled, ready for an ambush, his senses straining for any sign of movement. The woods held their breath, the silence deafening now. Whoever, or whatever, had done this might still be nearby, watching.

But then you moved. A faint, pained moan escaped your lips, so weak it was almost lost in the night. Logan's attention snapped back to you as your head lolled to the side, your eyes fluttering open just enough to meet his. The raw desperation in your gaze was like a blade sliding between his ribs, sharp and unrelenting. It pierced through the doubts, the caution, the instinct to walk away.

"Help..." 

The word rasped from your throat, barely audible, each syllable carrying the weight of your fading strength. Logan cursed under his breath, his hand flexing into a fist before he forced it to relax. He didn't need this. He didn't need you.

But he couldn't leave you, either.

"You're gonna be a pain in my ass, aren't you?" he muttered, his voice gruff with reluctant resolve. You didn't answer, your eyes already slipping closed again as unconsciousness reclaimed you.

Logan stared at you for another moment, weighing his options, before leaning down and slipping his arms beneath you. Your body was limp, unnaturally warm with the fever that had already begun to take hold. You felt too light in his grasp, as though the forest had already started to drain the life from you. He lifted you effortlessly, cradling you against his chest. A faint groan escaped your lips, but you didn't wake.

"You better not die on me," he grumbled, turning toward the path that led back to his cabin.

The journey through the forest was swift but deliberate, every step chosen with precision. Logan's boots crunched softly against the earth, the sound mingling with the faint rustle of wind through the trees. His eyes never stopped scanning, his ears straining for the slightest noise that might signal a threat. Your shallow breaths were a whisper against his chest, a fragile rhythm that told him you were still clinging to life. The sticky warmth of your blood seeped into his shirt, a visceral reminder of how little time you had.

Finally, his cabin came into view, a stark silhouette against the vast, star-strewn sky. It was simple but solid: rugged wooden walls, a slanted roof, and a chimney that always smelled faintly of smoke. To Logan, it was more than a building. It was safety, a stronghold in an unforgiving world.

Reaching the door, he shifted your weight in his arms and kicked it open with practiced ease. The heavy wood swung inward, creaking loudly before banging against the wall. Inside, the space was dimly lit by the warm, flickering glow of a fire. Shadows danced across the walls, casting the room in a mix of light and darkness. Logan carried you to the bed in three long strides, lowering you carefully onto the mattress. The old springs groaned under your weight, the clean white sheets immediately darkening as blood spread from your side.

"Damn it," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. For a moment, he just stood there, staring down at you. You looked so fragile, your features slack and pale, a thin sheen of sweat glistening on your forehead. Every shallow breath you took was a reminder of how close you were to slipping away.

Snapping out of his daze, Logan turned toward a cabinet in the corner. He grabbed a battered first aid kit and a half-full bottle of whiskey, slamming them onto the bedside table. His hands moved with practiced efficiency as he pulled out what he needed: bandages, needles, and antiseptic.

"This is gonna hurt." he warned, his voice low. He didn't expect a reply, you were too far gone to hear him, but he said it anyway.

With a flick of his knife, he sliced through the fabric of your shirt, peeling it away to reveal the full extent of your injury. The wound was worse than he'd anticipated. Deep, ragged, and angry, it was a testament to the malice behind its creation. Logan frowned, his brow furrowing as he studied the torn flesh.

He poured the whiskey over the gash in a steady stream. The liquid hissed against your skin, and your body jerked involuntarily, a faint groan escaping your lips. Logan pressed a firm hand to your shoulder, pinning you gently but securely to the mattress. "Easy," he murmured, though he knew you couldn't hear him.

As he worked, something strange happened. In your half-conscious state, your mind reached out, brushing against his thoughts like a feather grazing the edge of a blade. The sudden flood of emotion hit him like a wave: pain, fear, and the faintest flicker of trust. Logan's body tensed, his claws unsheathing instinctively as he recoiled.

"What the hell-"

But the connection broke as quickly as it had formed, leaving him staring down at you in suspicion and unease. Your eyes fluttered closed again, your breathing shallow but steady. Logan shook his head, his jaw tightening.

"You're full of surprises," he muttered, reaching for the needle. "And I've got a feeling I'm not gonna like any of 'em."

[rinnsverse]

MY MODEL: PG.12 - im working, bitch

MY MODEL: jing yuan x gn!reader

SYNOPSIS: seems like the Xianzhou has hired a freelance photographer to help with their new magazine. however, this model seems to have fallen head over heels for a certain photographer - what exactly is their story?

my model master list || prev. || next

SUNDAY, OCTOBER 8 2023 — 4:29 PM

FIDDLING WITH THE settings of your camera, you hear heavy footsteps approach — the dirt path crunching with every step made. Lifting your camera along with your head, you see a familiar shade of amber looking into your camera's lens with a glimmer of amusement in them.

Smiling softly at the sight of him, you take a picture of him right then and there.

"Has the photoshoot already started?" Jing yuan jests as you open your other eye to see him properly, without the white grid bordering his face.

"Nope, just wanted a new contact photo for you," you reply, clicking your cameras buttons to pull up the newest photo you took. "Not bad, right?" you turn your back to Jing yuan and raise your camera so he can no longer see the picture properly.

Leaning over your shoulder — breath tickling your ear lobe and your cheek — his baritone voice humming in your ear, "Mhm, it looks nice."

Feeling the tips of your ears burn, you play off the smile encroaching on your face by thanking him for his praises. "So what do you wanna do first? Do you feel like laying in the field, or maybe holding some of the flowers? Which do you prefer?"

"Picking the flowers would be amusing, as we just did that last week," Jing yuan chuckled, following your footsteps further into the flower field.

"I think here is good," you say, grasping your camera.

Humming in agreement, he kneels down closer to the flowerbed as if admiring them. Smiling at the sight, you snap a photo of the back of his head looking down at the flowers below your feet; he looks over his shoulder, giving you a smirk and a hand reaching out.

Thinking nothing of it, you place your palm onto his unbeknownst to the outcome of your actions. Letting out a yelp as he pulls you into the flowerbed with him, managing to clutch onto your camera at the last moment.

Your impact on him forced Jing yuan to sit fully on the grass, hand no longer holding yours but instead steadying your shoulder as your head rested close to his chest. The rest of your body laying on the ground between his legs.

Jing yuans deep laugh filled your ears as you were able to smell the earthy scent much easier now that you were closer to the ground. "Why are you like this?" you exclaim, your head leaving his chest to stare at him face to face with your hands gripping his shoulders.

"The urge was simply to big to resist," he simply states with a lazy grin on his face that most definitely established that he held no regrets.

Rolling your eyes at his response, you hastily get up (from essentially his lap), brushing of the dirt off your clothes. Grumbling, "I'm working, bitch."

FINDING COMFORT IN the shade of a nearby tree, you admire Jing yuan from a distance. He was once more kneeling in the flower field, his amber eyes matching the glow of the sun perfectly.

You mentally argue with yourself on whether or not to take a photo, but that decision has already been made up for you as the model stood up with something new added to his silhouette. "Close your eyes!" his voice calls out.

"I'm scared," you say, closing your eyes nonetheless.

"Are they closed?"

"Yes."

"Good," he replies, voice now much closer than before.

The only thing your senses picked up on was the sound of Jing yuan's shoes stepping on the dirt path to the tree you were under and the smell of the flowers that surrounded every direction.

After a moment, you hear a gentle, "Open."

Blinking once, then twice to become adjusted to the sun's light once more, you're met with makeshift bouquet of daisies being offered to you. "Well?" he asks, eyes scanning your face for your reaction to his gift.

You were helpless against the smile that grew on your face, a light-hearted laugh escapes your lips, "Let me take a picture first."

The sun's rays fell perfectly against the folds of his clothes; the soft white petals of the daisies practically blending in with his shirt. Your camera clicked at the sight, looking down at the digital screen you see the results, "Nice."

"We should get one more," you say, looking at Jing yuan for his opinion on it. He only stares at you blankly, blinking once as if asking you a question in return. Glancing back down into his hand, you softly scoff at his antics and take the freshly made bouquet.

His lips quirk up into a smile, nodding his head in agreement as to what you said prior.

“Cool, now get your ass up on that swing,” you deadpan, pointing your free hand up at the swing made of simply wood and rope hanging from the trees sturdy branch; swaying slightly due to the wind.

“Alright,” he nodded once more, sitting on the swing; kicking his feet on the grass to start swinging on his own.

Stepping back, you lifted your camera to your face with the only thing that could be heard was the chirping of birds and the click of your cameras buttons.

EDITORS NOTES: so… how’ve y’all been ?

TAGLIST: @zyphyrr @ohmyfinggod @not-creativequill @klemen-time @nekobluecute @theautisticduck @aixaingela @kokocae @imma-too-many-fandoms @ceylestia @lunavixia @queencybow @arraxthatsonjah @kiiyoooo @immahuman @ksnu @mael1pastry @kamikokii @rain-and-a-nice-nap @havingnonamesucks @forsh4dow @boomie-123 @ukiyo-ikigai @saetoshi @whatamoodhoney @xiaossocksniffer @sxftiebee @poemzcheng @yawnzbf @organeatter @keirennyx @velovicy @superdark-soul @r4yyyyy @fakeblondies [ if you want to be added, send me an ask or feel free to comment! ]

[swee7dream]

could u do a cg!jisung w a nonverbal!fem!reader? idm the agere range for yn, maybe 1-3

nagging cg!park jisung x f!little!reader

genre agere content, slice of life, domestic warnings none dni if you sexualize age regression wc 733 a/n sorry i took so long to put this out ! regression block sucks ! ദ്ദി ꒦ິ꒳꒦ິ )✧

synopsis all you wanted was a nice late breakfast ! why does your cg have to be so . . . cg-y ?

Little men in uniforms ran along Jisung’s phone screen. They chased after the itty bitty ball rolling across the artificially green field. Soccer is always a lot more intense than you think it should be but that hasn't ever stopped Jisung from watching it, today included. Jisung sat on the couch with his thighs to his chest and his phone two inches from his face, not wanting to miss a second of the highlights of last night's game. His gaze was dark and focused, but it broke when he heard the stairs behind him creak, eyes trailing off to see a familiar silhouette standing at the bottom of the stairs.

“Hi.”

You swayed side to side in your nightdress, barefoot on the floor. You held your gray rabbit plushie’s arm with one hand while the other was up to your mouth. Your nail slid out from in between your teeth so your lips could press into a line.

“Hi,” Jisung tried again, softer. His finger tapped the screen, freezing the whistleblowing and cheering. The living room went quiet, only the hum of the fridge and the breeze outside gently brushing by trees heard by the open windows. “Good morning.”

It only took a couple of waddles to get from where you stood to where Jisung sat. You gave a weak salute.

Hello.

“Hey, sleepyhead.” You scrunched your face up when Jisung’s cold hand held your cheek, his finger carefully getting the sleep stuck in the corner of your eyes. “Sleep well?”

You nodded with a sigh, bringing your bunny to your chest in a hug. With an almost pained expression, you made a ‘c’ shape with one of your hands and slid it down slowly, slowly, slowly.

Hungry. So hungry.

“I’m sure you are.” Jisung clicked his tongue. “You slept for, like, 12 hours. I thought you started hibernation in spring.”

You brought your eyebrows down to a ‘v,’ staring up at your caregiver very much unamused. You were tired, sure, but that didn’t mean you turned into a bear. You were still very much a human.

The balls of your feet took little steps backward as you pulled on Jisung’s shirt. With your bunny tucked under your arm, you signed out your cry of hunger once more.

“Okay- hey! Hold on. You’re gonna stretch it out.” He placed his hand over yours, carefully undoing your fingers' tight grip around the sweatshirt and giving you his hand instead to pull him into the kitchen. His other hand brushed off invisible dust off the dark material and he looked down for any damage with a face that would usually make you laugh if not for the fact that you were about to die if you didn’t get food in your stomach in the next few minutes.

“Sit your bunny down at the table and go wash your hands. I’ll make you your breakfast,” Jisung said as he rolled up his sleeves. He left no room for you to argue, his back already turned toward you as he led by example at the kitchen sink. “Did you use the restroom before you woke up?”

Why does it matter? You just need food. You wished you had socks on so you could have dragged your feet as you walked but you didn’t so you opted on just sighing dramatically on your way to sit your rabbit on the chair next to your usual seat. You brushed the fur out of his eyes. Now he could see again.

“Bathroom.”

Bathroom, bathroom, bathroom, you mocked him as you made your way over to the restroom. So bossy. Jiji’s always so naggy during mealtimes.

“All good? Hands clean?” Jisung asked, holding his hands up and wiggling his fingers. You just nodded. So maybe you did have to go. Big deal. Your eyes just looked beyond him over to the table.

Cereal! Your eyes sparkled. In your favorite bowl! With the matching spoon and everything… this guy isn’t so bad after all, you didn’t think.

“Go eat.” He pointed over at your seat with his nose right before being tackled off his footing.

Your arms slid around his torso and you squeeze with all your might. You’re the best! Thank you.

“You’re welcome.” You felt his lips press against the crown of your head. “Remember to drink your two cups of water. You can’t get up before those are finished.”

Ugh.

[librababe99]

Moments Between Time: Part Four

CW: brief mentions of trauma and aftermath of traumatic events Word Count: 1605 Summary: Logan awakens to a world transformed....

A/N: Because I was gone for a few days I decided to post back to back chapters for y'all! 😘😘😘 I really hope you've enjoyed the series thus far and I'm planning on uploading the FINAL part tomorrow at some point, so please stay tuned!

(Epilogue)

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Logan awoke with a start, his heart pounding in his chest as he gasped for breath. For a moment, the shadows of the past clung to him, the memories of a world consumed by darkness and death. But as he blinked, the world around him began to take shape—bright, warm, and full of life. He was in a familiar room, the soft morning light filtering through the curtains, casting a golden glow on the wooden floorboards. The scent of fresh linen and the distant murmur of voices filled the air, a stark contrast to the cold, sterile silence of the future he had left behind.

His heart still raced as he sat up, the echoes of battle and loss fading but not forgotten. This was the mansion, the X-Mansion, but it was different. He could feel it in the air—a peace, a serenity that hadn’t existed in the timeline he had fought so hard to change. Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, Logan stood, his body tense with anticipation as he took in his surroundings. The room was simple, familiar in its layout, but the life that pulsed just beyond the walls was something he hadn’t felt in years.

He moved quickly, almost urgently, through the corridors of the mansion. The halls, once filled with the memories of battle and loss, were now alive with the sounds of laughter and conversation. Students hurried past him, their faces bright and unburdened by the horrors of war. Familiar faces appeared—Ororo, Hank, Jean—all smiling, unaware of the darkness that had been averted. It was surreal, this world that he had only dreamed of, and yet it felt achingly real.

But as Logan walked, his mind was focused on one thing: finding you. Each step felt like an eternity, the distance between you and him stretching out like a never-ending chasm. He pushed through the crowds, ignoring the curious glances and greetings, his heart pounding with a mixture of fear and hope. What if you weren’t here? What if the changes he had made hadn’t been enough?

Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, Logan found himself standing at the entrance to the mansion’s gardens. The sight before him took his breath away. The garden was bathed in the warm, golden light of the setting sun, the colors of the flowers and trees vibrant and alive. And there, standing amidst the beauty of the garden, was you.

You were gazing out at the sunset, your silhouette framed by the fiery orange and pink hues that painted the sky. The sight of you, so peaceful and serene, made Logan’s breath catch in his throat. For a moment, he couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, as if time itself had stopped. The world around him faded away, leaving only you, the one person he had fought so hard to protect.

Then, as if sensing his presence, you turned. Your eyes widened in surprise, the sunset casting a soft glow on your face. For a heartbeat, neither of you moved, the weight of all that had been lost and regained hanging in the air between you.

“Logan…” Your voice was barely a whisper, a mix of disbelief and relief. It was all he needed to hear. In an instant, he was across the garden, pulling you into his arms with a force that spoke of desperation, of fear, and of an overwhelming need to hold you close.

The embrace was fierce, almost too tight, as if he was afraid that if he let go, you would vanish, a figment of a cruel dream. His heart pounded against your chest, and you could feel the trembling in his hands as he held you, the remnants of a fear so deep it had rooted itself in his very soul.

“You’re here,” Logan breathed, his voice rough, choked with emotion. “You’re really here.”

You wrapped your arms around him, holding him just as tightly, feeling the strength in his body and the vulnerability in his grip. “I’m here,” you murmured against his shoulder, your voice thick with tears you hadn’t realized were falling. “I’m right here, Logan.”

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The world around you seemed to hold its breath, the garden bathed in the soft, golden light of the setting sun. The only sound was the faint rustle of leaves in the breeze and the steady thud of Logan’s heartbeat beneath your ear.

When he finally pulled back, it was only enough to look at you, his hands still resting on your shoulders as if to reassure himself that you were real. His eyes, usually so guarded, were filled with a storm of emotions—relief, joy, and a profound sadness that made your heart ache.

“You remember everything, don’t you?” you asked softly, reaching up to brush your fingers against his cheek. The stubble on his jaw was rough against your skin, a grounding sensation in this moment that felt too good to be true.

Logan nodded, his gaze intense as it locked onto yours. “Every damn thing,” he admitted, his voice low, gravelly. “The other timeline… It’s still in my head. I remember what happened, what you—what we went through.” His voice broke slightly, the words catching in his throat.

Your heart tightened at the pain in his voice, the memories of a world that no longer existed weighing heavy on both of you. You could see the haunted look in his eyes, the shadows of battles fought and lost, the ghosts of a future that had been wiped away.

“But it’s over now,” you said, your voice firm but gentle. You cupped his face in your hands, forcing him to meet your gaze. “You did it, Logan. You saved us all. You saved me.”

Logan’s eyes searched yours, as if seeking reassurance, as if needing to believe that this moment, this world, was real. Slowly, the tension in his body began to ease, the fear and doubt that had gripped him loosening their hold. He leaned into your touch, his eyes closing briefly as he let out a shaky breath.

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. “You kept me sane when everything else was falling apart.”

Tears welled up in your eyes at his words, the depth of his gratitude and love hitting you with the force of a tidal wave. You could feel the weight of the future that had been averted, the sacrifices made, the battles fought and won. But here, in this moment, with Logan’s arms around you and the sun setting in the sky, you felt a peace that you hadn’t known in a long time.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I don’t know what I would have done if—” You broke off, the thought too painful to finish.

Logan’s grip tightened on you, his voice a low rumble as he spoke. “You don’t have to think about that. We’re here, now, together. That’s all that matters.”

You nodded, swallowing hard as you fought back the tears threatening to spill over. You leaned into him, resting your head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart—a sound that grounded you, reminded you that this was real, that he was real.

For a long while, you stood there together, the sunset painting the sky in brilliant shades of orange and pink. The garden around you was quiet, the only sound the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze. The peace of the moment was almost surreal, a stark contrast to the turmoil that had defined your lives for so long.

But even in this peace, you could feel the undercurrent of all that had been lost and regained, the scars that would never fully heal. You knew that Logan carried those scars too, that the weight of what could have been would always linger in the background.

Finally, Logan pulled back slightly, his hands still resting on your shoulders as he looked at you with a softness that made your heart ache. “I never thought I’d get to see this,” he admitted, his voice low. "It almost doesn’t feel real.”

You smiled softly, reaching up to brush your fingers through his hair, the familiar gesture comforting in its simplicity. “It’s real, Logan. We’re here, and we have a future—a future we can build together.”

Logan’s eyes softened at your words, the tension in his body finally beginning to melt away. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering against your skin. “A future together,” he repeated, the words a quiet promise.

As the last rays of the sun dipped below the horizon, you stood there in the garden, wrapped in each other’s arms. The darkness of the past still lingered, but it no longer held the same power over you. Together, you had faced the worst the world had to offer and emerged stronger for it.

And now, as the stars began to twinkle in the night sky, you looked toward the future with hope—a hope that had been hard-won, a hope that you and Logan would nurture together.

No matter what challenges lay ahead, you knew that as long as you had each other, you could face anything. And in that moment, with the world at peace and the future full of possibilities, you allowed yourselves to simply be—to cherish the life you had fought so hard to protect, and to find solace in the love that had brought you back together.

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Taglist: @hughverine @itzyahgirllkita1 @nonamevenus @angelofthorr @swthxrry @ayamenimthiriel @charlyrmv @alex21705 @penguinsravioli @mxtokko

[brokebonewritings]

You Are Not Alone - Part 1

Loki x Reader

Tags/Warning: 18+, fluff, angst, smut, hurt/comfort

Summary: Loki finds you on your own timeline, and teaches you the power of want and how to become a fugitive of the TVA

Word Count: 4.6K

Navigation || Masterlist

The rooms in your house were silent. They always had been. Ever since your Fiancé passed away. Cancer. It was horrible in the end, but you were relieved by the fact that he would not be in pain anymore.

Pictures of the both of you were still nailed to the wall in small black frames. You didn’t have the heart to take them down just yet. Even after two and a half years.

You always found yourself standing in the hallway, staring at your engagement photos. The memory of that day flooded back to you - the way he had looked at you with such love and adoration. You felt as though you would never find the same love again.

The routine your therapist had set in motion for you kept you going though. Eventually the days melted into each other. Work, Home, Walk, Repeat. Nothing ever changed. Except today it had changed.

You walked through the park by your house, but couldn't help but feel as if someone or something was watching you. Stopping for a moment you don’t notice anything out of the ordinary.

As you stood there trying to shake off the eerie feeling, a sudden gust of wind sent a chill down your spine. You wrapped your arms around yourself, looking around nervously. The park was deserted, with only a few scattered leaves swirling in the air.

Just as you were about to dismiss the sensation, a movement caught your eye. A figure standing under the old oak tree at the edge of the park. It was too far away to see clearly, but you could make out a silhouette of a person.

Curiosity got the best of you as you cautiously made your way towards the mysterious figure. With each step, the figure became clearer, and a sense of familiarity washed over you.

As you finally reached the tree, the figure turned around slowly. Your breath caught in your throat as you locked eyes with a face you never thought you'd see again - your Fiancé.

“How?” You both said in unison.

“I-” He swallowed thickly, “I never thought I’d find you.”

“How?” You were thrown off by his remark. “Wait, what?”

“I’ve been looking for you.” He said as the wind blew his dark hair in his face. His piercing blue eyes staring at you.

“But you’re dead.” You say bluntly, and the air seems to become more suffocating.

“Oh, no, I’m not who you think I am.” He starts, “I mean. I am, but I’m not whoever this timelines version of me was to you.”

“I don’t understand,” you whispered, searching his eyes for answers that seemed out of reach. “How is this possible?”

“I know this is a lot to take in,” he continued, his expression a mix of longing and apprehension. “But I need help.”

Confusion swirled within you as you tried to comprehend the impossible situation unfolding before your eyes. Your heart ached at the sight of him, so similar yet undeniably different.

“You need my help?”

“I do,” he replied earnestly, his gaze unwavering. “Do you, by any chance, work for Stark Industries?”

How did he know that? How could he possibly know that? This wasn’t your Luke. It could never be. This didn't feel right. As you stood there, grappling with the impossibility of the situation before you, a sense of unease settled in the pit of your stomach.

“I... I do work for Stark Industries,” you finally managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper. “But how do you know that? And who are you really?”

The man regarded you with a mixture of sadness and determination in his eyes. “We need to find somewhere private to talk, it’s not safe to speak about this out in the open.”

You looked around as if to look for a hidden figure, but the park seemed to be empty besides the both of you. Looking back at him, you nod and begin to walk towards home.

Silence hung between you as you both made your way back to your house, the only sound being the crunch of fallen leaves beneath your feet.

You stole glances at him, trying to reconcile the familiar features with the unsettling truth that this couldn't be the man you lost. But his presence was undeniable, and a part of you longed to believe in the impossible.

Entering your silent home, the air felt charged with tension as you motioned for the man to take a seat in the living room. He hesitated for a moment before settling down on the couch, his eyes never leaving yours.

Sitting across from him, you found yourself at a loss for words. How could you begin to unravel the mystery?

“You better start explaining.” You begin, “Who are you? Who do you work for? Why do you look like him?”

The man took a deep breath, his gaze steady on yours as he began to speak. "I understand that this is difficult to comprehend, but I need you to trust me. My name is Loki, and I am not from this timeline. Obviously.”

He looked around uncomfortably. What he was saying sounded like something out of a science fiction novel, though your career choice was almost the same.

“So what are you doing in this timeline?” You raise an eyebrow.

“You are working on a project. Project X, correct?”

“That’s classified information! How do you know abou-”

“Timelines, Not from here, I know things you do not. Yes, you are working on Project X or not?”

You nod your head silently as you stare at him.

“Good girl. I need to see some of the documents and see if they are connected to the destruction to another timeline.”

You hesitated, unsure of whether to trust this mysterious man claiming to be from another timeline. But his knowledge of your work at Stark Industries and the uncanny resemblance he bore to your deceased fiancé unsettled you deeply.

Taking a deep breath, you rose from your seat and were about to walk to your office when a sudden knock was heard at your front door. Both you and Loki jump, with cautious steps you approach your door and look out the peephole. 

It was covered. This person obviously didn’t want you knowing who was there. You knew better than to just open the door. Looking back you see the tall mysterious man hovering by the Living Room entrance hand behind his back. Armed, most likely.

Loki's eyes narrowed as he looked from you to the door, a flicker of concern crossing his features.

You take a deep breath before speaking clearly. “Who is it?”

The voice that responded was muffled, but the words sent a chill down your spine. "Open the door, now."

The tone was commanding, leaving no room for argument. You felt your heart race as you hesitated, unsure of what to do next. Loki's hand tightened into a fist at his side, a glint of apprehension in his eyes.

Without a word, he reached out and gently pushed you behind him, stepping forward to stand between you and the door. As you watched, paralyzed by fear and uncertainty, Loki took a deep breath and called out in a firm voice, "Who are you, and what do you want?"

“Loki. We know what you’ve done. We don’t want to vandalize a civilian’s house now do we?”

You straighten up and grab his arm. Angry. “What the fuck did you do?” 

“I-” He turns to you, eyes full of sadness.

“What did you do?” You screamed, nails digging into his shirt.

Loki's expression softened as he met your furious gaze, his eyes betraying a deep sense of regret. "I didn't mean for this to happen," he admitted, his voice tinged with remorse. "But we need to move quickly if we want to stay ahead of them."

“Who?”

At that exact moment, the door bursts in with force. Armed soldiers run in and surround the both of you. TVA written across their chest.

At that exact moment, the door bursts in with force. Armed soldiers run in and surround the both of you. TVA written across their chest.

The soldiers trained their weapons on you and Loki, their expressions stern and unforgiving. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest as you struggled to make sense of the chaos unfolding before you. Loki stood protectively in front of you, his gaze locked with the leader of the TVA soldiers.

“Loki, God of Mischief,” the leader intoned, his voice devoid of emotion. “You are hereby charged with crimes against the Sacred Timeline, yet again. Surrender peacefully, or face the consequences.”

Loki’s jaw clenched as he assessed the situation, his mind working quickly to find a way out of this predicament. You could see the conflict in his eyes, torn between defiance and resignation.

“Wait,” you interjected, stepping forward cautiously. “What exactly is going on here?”

The armed man lowers his weapon slightly, “Our little pet here thought it would be a great idea to attack a TVA officer and steal a TemPad and use it to come find you.”

You looked to Loki for confirmation. He looked at you and then the officer.

“Oh come now, I asked nicely first.” He looked back to you. “It’s not my fault she said no and attacked me first.”

Loki's words hung heavy in the tense air, his gaze shifting between you and the TVA officer. The situation had escalated far beyond anything you could have imagined when you first encountered the man claiming to be from another timeline.

As you processed the information unfolding before you, a sense of unease settled in the pit of your stomach. You had heard rumors of the Time Variance Authority, an organization tasked with maintaining the integrity of the Sacred Timeline.

But to be swept up in their world so suddenly, with a fugitive like Loki standing before you, felt like a nightmare come to life.

“Is what they’re saying true?” You ask. 

“It’s not…false. Look, I was trying to find you, and yes I may have knocked someone out to get the TemPad…”

“But why me? Why did you need to find me?” you pressed.

The TVA officer eyed you warily, clearly not used to having civilians interjecting in their operations. Loki hesitated for a moment, his gaze flickering between you and the soldiers surrounding you.

“Enough with the chit chat. Loki. Come with us, or you both are under arrest.” The soldier announced.

“We don’t have much time,” Loki continued urgently. “You need to come with me if we have any hope of preventing the multiverse from collapsing in on itself.”

You looked between Loki and the TVA officer, torn between loyalty to your reality and the unknown future that lay before you. But deep down, you knew that there was no turning back now.

Taking a deep breath, you nodded. He sighs before turning back to the soldiers. “Sorry, but it looks like we’ll be taking our leave now.”

You watch as he grabs onto your waist, and opens a portal below the both of you. Free falling onto a cement sidewalk, he held you tightly, not allowing you to fall to the ground. 

“Where are we?”

“Dublin, don’t worry. It’s still the same year.”

“Why are we in Dublin?” You looked around in shock.

“We need to lay low for a while,” Loki explained, his eyes scanning the bustling streets for any signs of pursuit. “The TVA will be tracking us, and we can't risk drawing any more attention to ourselves.”

You followed Loki's lead as he navigated through the crowded sidewalks, his demeanor tense yet focused. The gravity of the situation began to sink in as you realized the enormity of what you had just been thrust into.

"Listen, I know this is all a lot to take in," Loki began, his green eyes searching yours for any hint of understanding. "But I need you to trust me.”

“I just don’t understand why you needed to find me, out of all the different versions of me?” 

Loki's expression softened as he met your gaze, a hint of vulnerability shining through his usually guarded demeanor. "Because you are not like the others," he murmured.

You couldn't help but feel a surge of curiosity at his words, a sense of destiny hanging heavy in the air between you. “Why don’t we get a hotel for the night?”

He nodded in agreement, recognizing the wisdom in laying low for the time being. Together, you found a discreet hotel to stay in, the dimly lit lobby offering a sense of temporary refuge from the chaos that had enveloped your lives.

As you settled into your room, the weight of the day's events pressed down on you, leaving you feeling both exhausted and exhilarated by the whirlwind of emotions.

Loki stood by the window, his gaze fixed on the bustling city below as he seemed lost in thought. You watched him silently, unsure of what to make of this enigmatic man who had suddenly appeared in your life. Despite his charm and charisma, there was an air of melancholy that clung to him like a cloak.

Sensing your eyes on him, Loki turned to face you with a small, knowing smile. "We may be fugitives now, but at least we're fugitives together," he remarked wryly.

A soft chuckle escaped your lips, “Yes because I wanted to be a fugitive with a God from another timeline.”

Chuckling softly, Loki sauntered over to where you sat, his gaze intense as he met yours. "Sometimes fate has a funny way of bringing two unlikely souls together," he mused.

"Perhaps being a fugitive isn't so bad when you have the God of Mischief by your side," you quipped, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

Loki's expression softened at your words, a flicker of something akin to gratitude crossing his features. In that fleeting moment, you caught a glimpse of the man behind the mask he wore so effortlessly.

“Can I ask why you actually were looking for me?” You brought your knees to your chest at that moment. “It’s just, I keep thinking back to when you first saw me.” 

His gaze lingered on you, a mixture of emotions swirling in his eyes as he considered your question. With a sigh, he settled himself into a chair opposite you, his posture relaxing slightly as if preparing to share a part of himself that he seldom revealed.

“I-” He began but stopped. You notice the turmoil mixing in his eyes. “In my timeline, you were my wife. And as unbelievable as it may sound, you were my anchor in a world of chaos and deception," Loki confessed, his voice tinged with a rare vulnerability. "I never thought I would find you again, let alone in a different reality."

Your heart skipped a beat at his revelation, the implications of his words sinking in as you tried to process the weight of his confession. Here was a man you barely knew, laying bare a connection that spanned across time and space.

"I don't know what to say," you admitted softly, searching his gaze for any hint of deceit. But all you found was a raw honesty that tugged at something deep within you. “How long has it been?”

“2 years, 6 months, 1 day, and 17 hours.”

“You counted that much?” You ask surprised.

“I loved you.” He says before realizing. “her. I loved her.”

A surge of compassion welled up inside you, “I understand. I’ve counted every second over the last 4 years.”

Loki reached out tentatively, his hand coming to rest on yours. "I understand if this is too much to take in," he said, his touch gentle yet reassuring. "But I couldn't bear the thought of losing you twice."

"I never imagined...I never thought..." Your voice wavered as you struggled to find the right words to convey the storm of emotions raging inside you.

His grip on your hand tightened ever so slightly, a silent gesture of support and understanding. "I know this is a lot to process, but I couldn't keep this truth from you any longer," he murmured, his gaze unwavering.

Silence enveloped the room, broken only by the distant hum of the city outside. In that moment, it felt as if time had ceased to exist, leaving just the two of you suspended in a fragile bubble of shared vulnerability.

“I know I just met you, but I, I need to feel your lips against mine again.” He says softly.

Without a word, you leaned in, closing the distance between you and Loki. His lips met yours in a tender yet urgent kiss, a wave of emotions crashing over you both. In that fleeting moment, the barriers that had separated your hearts seemed to dissolve, leaving only the raw truth of your connection.

As you pulled back slightly, catching your breath, a sense of clarity washed over you. “I never thought I would be able to do that again.” 

Loki's expression softened, a genuine smile gracing his features as he cupped your cheek in his hand. “For the first time, in a very long time, I feel like I have found something worth fighting for.”

“So what do we do? Run from the TVA forever?”

"No, we face them head-on," he stated firmly. “But tonight, we rest and If you’ll allow me then I would like to hold you.”

“Just hold me?” You ask, rising from your spot on the bed.

“Would you want me to do something more?”

You shrug and step closer to him beginning to climb onto his lap.

Loki's arms wrapped around you protectively as you settled into his lap, finding solace in the warmth of his embrace. The rise and fall of his chest against yours seemed to synchronize your own breathing.

His touch sends shivers down your spine, igniting a fire within you that had long been dormant. It was more than just physical desire; it was a yearning for connection, for understanding, for a love that transcended time and space.

You rested your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat matching your own. In that intimate moment, words were no longer necessary as the silent language of touch spoke volumes between you.

He pressed a soft kiss to your temple, his breath warm against your skin. "I may be the God of Mischief, but with you, I could never do you any harm" he whispered, his voice laced with sincerity.

It’s your turn to leave him speechless. Grabbing his face, you kiss him with an overwhelming passion. Loki was taken aback by the intensity of your kiss, a jolt of electricity shooting through him as he responded with equal fervor.

His hands moved with a mixture of urgency and tenderness, drawing you closer as if afraid you might vanish into thin air. When you finally pulled back, a soft gasp escaping your lips, Loki's eyes searched yours with a hunger that matched your own.

"I never expected to find this kind of connection," he admitted softly.

“You just found the right version of me I guess.” you say before kissing him again, this time more intensely.

Quickly taking his bottom lip, you tug as if to make a point. This time, he growls against your lips. “Darling, you’re about to learn very quickly to not play with me as such.”

You giggle before kissing him once again. His lips were soft, and he smelled like firewood. You feel his hands exploring your body before lifting you up with him and setting you on the bed. With one swift motion, he removes his shirt revealing his chest.

His gaze burned with intensity as he hovered over you, his hands tracing the curves of your body.

“You are absolutely perfect.” He says, making you blush. “Oh darling, are you blushing?”

“Will you do something already?” You burst, he smirks at his work.

“As you wish.” He says ripping the shirt you’re wearing open, exposing your breasts. “No bra? Naughty girl.”

“Loki! That was my only shirt!”

“Shh, Let me take care of you.”

Lowering his head to your chest he begins to suck on one of your nipples, causing your back to arch towards him. You gasped, your breath catching in your throat as his mouth enveloped your sensitive flesh. His tongue swirled around your nipple, eliciting a heating sensation that spread through your entire body.

"Loki..." you murmured, your voice shaky with desire.

His hands continued their exploration, his fingers brushing against the sensitive skin beneath your navel, drawing a low groan from your lips. You arched beneath him, your hips bucking against the sensations he created.

“Loki, I need you,” you whisper, your voice a husky plea. His eyes meet yours making your heart pound against your chest.

“I’m here, love. I’ve got you.” He says as he sits back on his knees. Unbuckling his pants, you watch as you lick your lips.

Freed from the confines of his pants, Loki's erection stood proudly at attention, a testament to his arousal. His heart was pounding with anticipation as he looked down at you, his desire for you clear in his eyes.

With a deep breath, he began to undress you next. You felt a shiver run down your spine at the thought of what was about to happen. It had been almost 6 years since you had even been intimate. The thought almost scared you. But Loki's touch was gentle, tender, and full of affection. He didn't rush, taking his time to explore every inch of your body, making sure you felt safe and comfortable.

His erection was so hard, pressing against your leg as he worked to get you undressed. He was right there, in front of you, ready and willing to give you pleasure. And you were ready to receive it.

“You are the most beautiful creature I have ever laid my eyes on.” He says as he positions himself above you. “Are you ready to be fucked by a God?”

“Please, Loki, just fuck me.”

With a growl, Loki entered you in one smooth motion, filling you completely. Fireworks seemed to ignite inside you, and your eyes widened with pleasure and surprise. Moaning loudly, you tremble as he slowly pushes deeper into you. Tears fall down the side of your face, before he brushes them away.

“What’s wrong, darling?”

“You’re just bigger than I thought.” You say and he chuckles.

“I can stay right here until you’re ready.”

You nod and smile up at him. Leaning down he kisses you softly, hands roaming your sides and chest. Moaning softly, you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper into you. Loki groaned in response, his eyes locked on yours as he thrust into you just a bit more.

Just as you were getting used to him, he pulls out and thrusts into you causing you to loudly moan. His lips found yours in a searing kiss, his tongue dueling with yours as he continued to take you. The room seemed to spin around you as the intensity of the moment washed over you both.

Your hands grip onto his shoulders tightly, nails digging into his skin as the intensity of the moment builds. Loki's eyes are locked onto yours, sweat coating his forehead and he finally pushes all the way in. You both sigh heavily.

"Loki..." you breathe out, your voice filled with lust. Hearing his name seemed to drive him wild, as he thrust into you harder, deeper. Your body arches off the bed, a primal need taking over as he claims you.

His breathing is ragged, and his eyes flutter shut for a moment before finding your face once more. “I need you on top of me.”

Before you have a chance to react, he flips you both. In that moment, you feel closer to him than you ever have before. His cock buried deep inside of you, your pussy clenching around him tightly.

You begin to ride him, setting the pace, your movements slow and passionate at first, then faster and more fervent as the carnal need between you takes over. The bed creaks beneath you, and your bodies move in perfect synchronicity.

Your hands grab onto his shoulders, your nails digging into his flesh as you ride him harder. The sensation of his cock sliding in and out of you is unlike anything you’ve ever felt before.

Loki watches you with a mix of lust and love in his eyes, his hands gripping your hips, guiding you, thrusting into you as you arch your back, your breasts bouncing with every movement. The room is filled with the hot sound of skin slapping against skin, and your hips moving in a steady rhythm.

He reaches up to caress your breasts, his fingers gently teasing your sensitive nipples. The sensation sends waves of pleasure coursing through your body, making you moan loudly. His hips buck up to meet your every move, his eyes never leaving yours. He groans loudly as you continue your relentless pace, your hair swaying around your face, framing his face in its movement.

Your pussy clenches around his cock, and he growls, his grip tightening on your hips. The room seems to spin as you continue to move, your body trembling with each thrust.

You can feel the pleasure building deep within you, the heat of your climax slowly igniting and spreading through your entire body. Your breaths come in short gasps, and your eyes flutter shut as you surrender to the overwhelming sensation.

With a scream of pure ecstasy, you arch your back, nails scraping across his chest. Your entire body shakes as your orgasm takes hold. Loki's thrusts become more erratic, his grunts and groans filling the room as he battles to hold on, to stay with you in this moment.

Finally, with a roar that fills the room, Loki thrusts deep inside you one last time before he begins to cum. Liquid white pleasure coursing through both of your veins. You collapse onto him, panting heavily as you try to catch your breath. Your body is still trembling with aftershocks of your orgasm.

Loki's hands gently caress your body, tracing the outline of every curve and contour he can reach. His lips meet yours in a tender kiss, the culmination of the passion between you both.

"You alright, love?" he whispers, finally pulling away from the kiss.

You smile up at him, the love and adoration shining in your eyes. "I've never felt so alive."

He chuckles softly, his breath still labored from the intensity of your lovemaking. "Come here."

He slowly pulls out and helps you lay on the bed next to him. Resting your head on his strong chest, you listen to the steady beat of his heart, feeling safe and connected. Loki's arm wraps around you, pulling you closer to his warm body.

"Thank you," you whisper.

"For what?" he asks, stroking your hair.

“For finding me today.”

Loki's lips press against your forehead, his eyes crinkled with affection. “I would find you in any timeline. Obviously.”

You smile, his heart reminds you of Luke’s. It was good, of course there were rough patches but he was a good person. Loki was a god, but he was also a man. As the afterglow of your passion starts to fade, Loki moves to pull the covers over the both of you.

“We need to figure out where to go from here, Loki.” You say matter of factly.

“We will, darling.” He responds, “But let’s rest for now. It’s been a long day.”

His grip on your waist tightens as if he was afraid of losing you. Your own heart swells with appreciation. Maybe by some divine intervention you were finally given a second chance. Something you had been waiting ages for.

next part (coming soon) || join my taglist!

[earthnashes]

Melon slows his gallop to a halt once he reached the break through the trees, and feels a strange sense of Déjà vu; he stood on this particular cliff edge of the island in what feels like ages, but familiarity settles in all the same. He looks out over the horizon into the vast open expanse, down at his map. Up, down, then up again.

As marked, the little human village is merely a day's trip away. Unlike the first time he searched for it on his favorite cliff-- with the jungles and valleys and caves and foes as obstacles-- the only thing between them and the end of their long journey is nothing but the calm sea.

Melon takes in a deep breath. This is it. All of the danger and hardship, finally coming to a close. He feels a sense of relief in it, but as he gives a playful trot in place--and hears the familiar squeal of laughter from Mario as the boy hugs his neck, just like the day they started this adventure-- Melon suddenly feels a sense of sadness.

Despite everything, something in the yoshi doesn't want it to end. Not if it means being separated from Mario forever.

He's come to care for the human cub as if he were his own, and the thought of parting ways with him hurts the yoshi in a way he didn't expect. He needed his new family; he needed to be around his own kind. But Melon knows he's gonna miss him terribly.

The yoshi's breath releases in a heavy, bittersweet sigh, and he allows himself to get lost in the memories of their journey, staring blankly ahead. So preoccupied with reminiscing, Melon fails to notice Mario's laughter suddenly stop. He doesn't notice the patting against his shoulder, growing more insistent the longer he remains still.

He doesn't notice how the light of the sinking sun is suddenly blotted out by incoming silhouettes. Not until it's too late.

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

Part 9 of Melon's Adventure, donezo! Only one more part left before this ark of the story comes to a close!

I'm pretty sure I mentioned this a while ago, but this is where the story ultimately takes a turn to deviate from the canon plot of the game. This is specifically because Kamek and Bowser are not responsible for Mario and Luigi's kidnapping in this version. It's someone else! Can you guess who? The lil critters in the last two parts are hints. ;)

At any rate, giving ya'll this update early! Last part will take a little while because I got ambitious, so there’s likely no update for this lil story next Monday. I’ll instead post something else! Until then, thank ya’ll for taking a peek! ^.^

[ficnation]

“Your dad’s an asshole” Part 2 - Carl x Reader

Request: “Carl x son of negan. Where they meet when Negan goes to get supplies for the first time from Alexandria and Negan’s son keeps flirting with Carl and Carl gets flustered and acts like he hates it, because y’know son of NEGAN, but eventually they go on a sort of date and kiss? Just fluff with a lil angst? Whatever works for you xoxo”

requested by @thatcucumberwhore

Word count: 2,2k+

Pairing: Carl Grimes x Male! Reader

Warnings: usual twd themes (e.g gore, cursing)

A/n: Your relationship with Carl develops but you still have a long way to go. Also I do plan on writing some kind of an epilogue to this lil series eventually but it’s gonna take a while. Hope you enjoy it!

𝐅𝐔𝐋𝐋 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐋 𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

The only times you could see Carl was when you snuck out in the middle of the night or when your father wasn’t around. You always met halfway in the woods, not far from the main road that led from the Sanctuary to Alexandria. It wasn’t exactly safe for either of you, but if it was the only way you could see each other, it was a risk you were willing to take.

It was surprising how similar you were despite your different personalities. You’ve both lost your mothers at the start of the apocalypse, and your dads changed drastically because of that. You had to grow up far too quickly, drowning in loneliness with no one your age to talk to. Those things made you fit like two puzzle pieces—meant to be.

The forest hummed around you when you strode off the main road and into the surrounding trees, all but invisible from the outside world. You were careful not to step on any of the fallen twigs, afraid of making too much noise.

The sky above was dark and cloudless, yet you could only see a few streaks of light coming from the stars here and there. The crowns of the trees were far too thick to let anything more shine through them.

This part of the woods was usually peaceful—as peaceful as it could be in a world infested with the undead. But that didn’t mean you could feel safe or let your guard down. Even if there was no visible sign of threat, you had to keep your eyes and ears open.

You sat down under one of the many trees, mindlessly playing with a stray twig. You waited and waited, but time didn’t seem to pass fast enough while you waited for Carl to show up.

The darker the sky got, the more you started to worry.

But the moment you heard the familiar sound of careful footsteps, your eyes roamed around wildly. You couldn’t help the cheerful smile that spread across your face when you recognized the silhouette in front of you.

“Hey…” you greeted him, waving. Carl returned the gesture as he walked over to sit beside you, taking his spot under the tree.

His light brown hair seemed to glow under the dim moonlight, and his eye sparkled with happiness that only your presence could bring out of him. His cheeks were pink from the cold wind, and the thin material of his plaid shirt did nothing to warm him up.

Carl smiled at you and leaned back against the trunk of the tree, crossing his arms over his chest.

“It’s almost midnight,” he stated, gazing at the starry sky.

It was indeed getting darker and darker every second. Your breath hitched slightly as you watched the clouds move in front of the moon.

“You’re lucky I didn’t wake up Judith when I fell on my ass jumping out of the window.”

You grinned at his joke before looking down at your feet. “Yeah…” you trailed off.

It had been so long since you’d seen one another with the constant war between your communities, yet there you were, alone together at midnight, gazing up at the moon.

It felt so strange and different to be with him like this. It made you feel more alive and more relaxed than you ever had before. No stress or anger could ruin it because you both knew where you stood; no matter the hatred between your people, you agreed you wouldn’t let it influence your friendship.

Carl stared up at the sky, lost in thought, as he watched a shooting star pass by. You looked up, too, following the path of the bright star.

“That’s nothing in comparison to the way you shine,” you stated, a confident smirk already growing on your face.

You knew very well what would follow your words. The blush on Carl’s face was barely visible in the darkness, but the way he nudged your arm with his elbow assured you it was definitely there.

“Shut up,” he chuckled, and for some reason, it was the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard.

“Yeah? Or what? You’re gonna kiss me?” The world around you froze the moment those words left your mouth. Damn, you hated yourself for speaking before thinking.

The silence that suddenly fell between the two of you was more than awkward. And you had no idea how to take those words back because you did want him to kiss you. You’ve been thinking for a while now how it would feel to brush your lips against his. Would they feel rough or soft against yours? Would Carl let you tangle your fingers in his soft hair?

You tried not to think about it, to repress those thoughts and keep them far away from your mind. But they always came back when you expected it the least. Even when you were just eating breakfast, the thought of kissing Carl and really being with him randomly popped up in your head.

“I’m sorry, it was just a joke. I shouldn’t have said that.” You chickened out.

Carl didn’t say anything, sitting beside you, deep in thought. You couldn’t read his face or his body language. He didn’t seem tense to you, but as far as you knew, it could just be your brain trying to let you keep some shred of hope.

“Are you okay?”

“Hm? Yeah, why?” Carl finally looked at you, waking up from his frozen state with a shake of his head.

You gave him a look, clearly not believing his words.

He sighed and shrugged. “I’ve missed you. More than I thought I would.” His voice dropped into a soft whisper. “When you leave I feel like there’s something missing.”

Carl’s eye met yours in the darkness. His words and the way he looked at you made your breath hitch. He must’ve noticed that because seconds after you exhaled, his lips were on yours, leaving a soft peck. When your eyes fluttered in confusion, it was his time to chicken out and pull away.

“Well, shit. Now, I should probably be sorry.”

You grinned at him, your hand landing in his hair, pulling him back into the kiss. Carl chuckled into your lips, responding with just as much confidence. As your lips touched, time stopped, and everything around you faded away; nothing else mattered at that moment except for each other. As your bodies pressed together, the tension you’ve been building up suddenly released in an electrifying rush.

The forest was still and quiet early in the morning before the light even touched the horizon. The riverbank nearby made soft noises, its rushing waters calming in their constant flow. The sun had not yet greeted the world, and the dew that had settled the night before was just beginning to vanish in the early morning’s heat. 

You chased Carl through the clearing, laughing quietly, playing a game of tag while you escorted him halfway home.

The dew from the grass had saturated your jeans, the moisture seeping into the fabric effortlessly. Your pants were almost soaked through from the ankles all the way up to your knees. A small puddle of water even seeped into one of your sneakers, your foot squelching with every step you took.

Despite that, you were fast on your feet, and just when you were about to catch the back of Carl’s shirt in your grasp, the groans of undead filled the air. Their sounds alone turned the peaceful early morning eerie. Their groans seemed to come from all directions, the sound somehow omnipresent, as if it came from within and without, surrounding you. You could feel your hair stand on end as the happiness evaporated from your veins.

Your companion stopped so abruptly in his tracks that you couldn’t stop in time and ran headfirst into him, the impact causing you to release an involuntary grunt. 

“Fuck,” you grumbled, your hand instantly grabbing Carl’s arm in a tight, protective grip.

You looked into the distance to the dirt road leading to Alexandria. A herd of walkers moved forward in the direction of Carl’s community, one of the biggest ones you’ve encountered in your life. Your breath hitched in your throat, your hand shaking. They marched in a line so long you didn’t see the end of it. 

“We gotta get out of here,” you whispered right into his ear, pulling his arm in the opposite direction. You had to get as far as possible from the herd. 

“No, I need to get home,” Carl sneered, stubbornly planting his feet on the ground beneath. He didn’t even give you so much as a glance. 

“Not fucking happening. Let’s go. You’re not coming anywhere near them.” Your voice was firm; it wasn’t a request. 

The young Grimes stood silently for a minute, observing the herd in the distance. He didn’t know what to do; if his dad noticed his disappearance, he’d panic and send people to look for him. He didn’t want them to walk into this death trap, but at the same time, there was no way he’d get through the walkers unnoticed. 

“Carl,” he could hear the slight shift in the tone of your voice. It became stern. You’ve never spoken to him this way before. He knew that he had no choice but to go with you.

Finally, he nodded his head and let you guide him the opposite way. You traveled in silence, on high alert at all times. Your eyes scanned the horizon, and your ears strained to listen for the slightest hint of danger. You couldn’t risk gaining the attention of any of the walkers. If just one noticed you, it’d all be over.

After hours of walking, you reached the gates of a community unknown to Carl. He looked quizzically between you and the tall gates, but you could see the annoyance and suspicion spreading through his face.

“You brought me to the Sanctuary? Right under your father’s nose?” he questioned, fuming. He quickly pulled his hand out of yours and stepped away from your reach. How could you do this to him?

For a moment, you were oblivious to his suspicions and looked at him, confused. “What are you talking about?” 

“Don’t play dumb!” Carl’s voice was booming as he stared you down, fists clenched.

Your eyes jumped from Carl to the community’s gates, then back to your companion again. You quickly understood what he feared. “Well, I’m flattered you think the Sanctuary looks like this.”

Carl seemed disoriented; he blinked fast as the hatred fell from his face. He felt terrible that it took just this to make him doubt you and withdraw his trust. The boy looked down at the dirt beneath his boots.

“I wouldn’t take you there Carl.”

He nodded, reassured by your words, but still didn’t raise his head. “I’m sorry, I just freaked out.”

You walked toward him, your hand gently grasping his chin to make him look at you. You pecked his cheek softly before pulling him towards the gates. “This is the Kingdom. We’ll be safe here and we can rest a little before going home.”

“Are you sure? How do you even know about this place?” he questioned but followed you without any resistance.

“Uhh…” You scratched your neck bashfully. “It’s a long story. I will tell you someday, I promise.”

Upon reaching the gates, the man on watch duty stood up abruptly, revealing the biggest, friendliest smile as he recognized your face. Waving you in, he called to someone else to let you inside. You slipped through the crack in the gates without waiting a second longer.

Carl observed as the unfamiliar man greeted you by name with his arms outstretched and his face full of joy. You rushed up to him, throwing your own arms around his solid frame, a playful fight unfolding between the two of you before you remembered about your companion.

“Jerry, this is Carl.” The man raised his eyebrow, anticipating that you’d add something more to the introduction. So you humored him, “My boyfriend.”

“Didn’t think anyone would like your overconfident ass,” he joked, letting out a deep chuckle as you clutched your chest in the feigned offense. 

“Me? Overconfident?” You snorted, crossing your arms. “Never.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Jerry waved you off before changing the topic. “What brings you here so early?” 

“I hoped we could crash here for a few hours. We almost bumped into a herd,” you explained, your happiness faltering at the memory. 

“You’re always welcome here, you know that.” The man patted your shoulder reassuringly. He didn’t need more explanation. 

You smiled, nodding gratefully at him before your hand found Carl’s, and you pulled him down the path deeper into the community. 

“Come on, I know a place.”

You took him to a small clearing on the other side of the community, a makeshift garden nearby. You pulled him onto a comfortable hammock hanging between two apple trees. As the sun rose in the sky, you both basked in its warm glow and dozed off in peaceful slumber.

Even though you both would likely be in trouble once you reached your homes, the temporary escape was more than worth it. Carl’s company was worth all the trouble in the world. There was no place you wouldn’t have gone with him, no distance you wouldn’t have traveled, and no experience that wasn’t worth sharing with him.

Maybe someday, we can just live here.

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