#and away from the long shadow of their family

[acoazlove]

A New Place | part five

Azriel x Archeron!Reader

Summary: A couple of weeks after your conversation with Azriel, your mind won’t let you sleep. what happens when the person on your mind can’t sleep either

Word count: 2.8k

Warnings: Angst, Fluff ? maybe?

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Eyes flutter open, blinking a few times to reorient yourself. Adjusting to the dark room. You turn your head towards the windows, dark. Still nighttime.

With a heavy sigh, you heave yourself out of bed. Waking up hasn’t been such a task since you were human. Living in that cabin—if you can call it that. Waking up back then was simpler.

But since you left your sisters and the rest of their family, you can’t bring yourself to care if you don't get out of bed ever again.

Pulling the covers off of you, sliding out of bed. Your feet meet the chilled floor while making your way blindly into the bathroom. Turning on a dim faelight.

Everything about your apartment is old, and worn down and you used to think it gave it character, made it unique. But as you look at the light you can’t help but wish it was the old cabin. Life was easier back then, no fae, no wars, no monsters, no evil kings or cauldrons, but most of all, you had your sisters. Of course you were all on the verge of starving or freezing to death. You don’t miss that.

Despite the fighting, you were all closer. Now everyone’s gone their separate ways and have their own families and partners. You don't have any of that. That thought breaks you from your reverie, turning to the mirror hanging above the sink. The edges are slightly rusted and the frame is a bit scratched.

Locking eyes with your reflection, you cringe. Dark shadows under your eyes, hair messy and frizzy as if you hadn’t brushed it in days, shoulders tense with undercurrents of your strained emotions. You look exactly how you feel. Tired.

Ignore it. A small voice in the back of your mind. You turn the tap and splash water on your face. There’s no going back to sleep so might as well do something.

Turning back and entering your bedroom, heading straight for your wardrobe. Putting on the first thing you grab. Staring in the mirror for a moment too long, you grimace once again at your reflection. How long had you looked a mess? Your friends would tell you if you didn’t look okay. Right?

With a heavy sigh, you exited your room. Passing the kitchen—you’re not feeling well, you’ll eat later, you tell yourself—and go straight to the front door, grabbing your coat as you glance at the clock on the wall by the door. 4:00 am, no wonder everything’s so quiet.

Without another thought, you slip out the door. You can’t be in that apartment for another moment. Shoving your hands into your pockets, you decide to clear your mind and go for a walk. Because walking down dark streets at 4:00 am is totally normal.

You miss the small shadow slipping under the door, following you. A second one going in the opposite direction, away from you.

─

Meandering down the streets of The City of Starlight, your thoughts wander despite trying to clear your head.

Wandering to a certain shadow-wielding Illyrian. Your conversation had been two weeks ago now. You wanted to talk to him again. or at least just see him.

You huff. Where had that thought come from? I mean he was kind enough to go for a walk with you and listen to you rant.

But he hadn’t exactly offered to be the company you’d seek out, but you’ve been lonely. You’re not sure if you’re ready to forgive your family just yet. You want to, but you won’t reach out first. They need to put in the effort for once.

Surprisingly—or unsurprisingly you should think—there are a few fae still wandering the streets. Maybe they were in your position too. Can’t sleep, and might just need to clear their mind, and get some night-chilled air

The Court of Dreams. It honestly doesn’t feel like it. You don’t feel like you’re dreaming. Nor had any of your own dreams had come true. It felt more like a nightmare.

Alone. All because your family forgot your birthday. You think bitterly. But then again, the more you think about it, you find more reasons that had been chipping away at your patience with them. It just happened to explode into a huge freakout on your birthday. The last straw.

They probably thought you were being overdramatic. You kick a small stone on the ground in front of you at that.

─

Tossing and turning, wings shifting uncomfortably, azriel grunts as he clenches his eyes shut. Trying to get some sleep for once, only for it to be just out of reach.

It’s like his mind was in overdrive—every thought shifting to another even more unwanted one—making him restless, which in time made his shadows restless. The main issue was that they weren’t telling him what was wrong. he doesn’t like that.

Finally, as his body relaxed and he was so close to falling asleep a new shadow joins the mix. Immediately slithering across his bed until it reached his ear. The information he received had him shooting up from where he had been lying down, and every last ounce of tiredness drained from his body.

She’s going for a walk. He glanced out his window. With how high the moon was in the sky he gathered that it was around four in the morning-

Why are you going for a walk at this time?

With a huff, knowing he won’t be able to sleep at all now, he pulls the blankets off him at the same time as sending a few more shadows to follow you, to make sure you’re okay and not in any danger of course.

Azriel hasn’t been able to get the conversation he had with you either. Well, it was more him listening as you spoke your mind, plus him apologising a few times and getting some of his thoughts out there. Or maybe it was just you in general. He can’t quite figure it out.

Now that he was out of bed he realized he didn’t actually know what he was planning to do with the situation. You’re going for a walk at four in the morning. You won’t want company. Besides, he already sent a few shadows. That should be fine.

The rest of Azriel’s shadows whirl around him, still agitated. Wanting him to do something, but still not telling him what. A long-suffering sigh leaves him, as he turns to look at his leathers, which are hanging over the back of the chair at his desk—thrown there after a long day—then back to the window.

He’s been staying in the townhouse since his last encounter with you, to make it easier for you if you want to seek him out and don’t want to see the rest of the family. Which you haven't. Why would you?

He also has a better view of the streets of Velaris from here. Which is why he sees a figure walk down the street, heading towards the sidra. Though he can’t see their face, he doesn’t need confirmation to know who it is. The posture, the way your shoes scuff when you walk while in thought, the way your hair falls with your head down.

Nevertheless, a shadow snakes up his arm, to his ear. Sad. Confused. Angry. Guilty. Lonely. The last word repeats over and over.

Azriel’s features contort into a frown. Watching as you disappear from view, having turned a corner. And without a second thought, he put on a change of clothes—deciding that if you do see him, his leathers possibly might make you uncomfortable, might think that there’s some kind of danger—opening up the balcony doors, stepping out and launching into the starry night sky. Following the direction you went, keeping a decent distance.

As he catches sight of you once again, slows down, descending to the ground. Landing as silent as he could for a massive Illyrian male.

Azriel steps into the shadows, trying to stay out of view and give you space.

He stands there feeling slightly awkward suddenly. Never has he felt that way about watching his family. Confused and caught off guard he misses the way his grip on his shadows loosens, most of which scramble their way over to you.

Already reaching your feet before he finally realizes, much to his horror. Frantically trying to yank them back to his own body.

─

Your train of thought is interrupted by small shadows softly brushing against your ankles before, slinking up your legs and entwining with your fingers. A soft smile curves your lips, as a scuff sounds from behind you.

“Hi Az.” your voice is soft. Looking over your shoulder, at the same time as he steps out from his hiding place. And even though it’s dark and void of any street lamp where you are, the stars and moon light his face enough for you to see the pink tinge to his cheeks. The sight brings you far more enjoyment than it should.

“Sorry.” he mutters lowly, watching the shadows almost reluctantly untangle itself from your fingers and body, returning to their master. “They have a mind of their own sometimes.”

Your smile widens ever so slightly, “It’s okay,” turning back to your beautiful view of the sidra, shimmering like the stars above. “I like them. They’re good company.”

Azriel blinks a few times, dumbfounded by your admission. You like them and think they’re good company. Not many think so. A lot of people perceive them differently. Not inherently scary, but wouldn’t consider them good company.

After a long moment he gathers himself. “Would you-” he stops himself mid-sentence, mouth snapping shut before the full question is out. But rather than running in the other direction like he assumed you would, you turned to face him, “Yes, I would like company Azriel.” That certainly caught him off guard.

You aren’t quite sure where the confidence came from. Cheeks tinting pink, gaze darting back to the sparkling sapphire river. You don’t even know if he was going to say that.

Right as you prepare yourself to leave, utterly mortified, his dark figure enters your peripheral.

Shoulders still stiff from the previous embarrassment you look out the corner of your eye. Thanking the mother when you see that his attention is elsewhere.

Your gaze casts downward, suddenly feeling awkward, you clear your throat, causing the Shadowsinger's attention to shift back to you.

Shifting between your feet, turning your head slightly to glance at him, “Uh…” Unsure.

You watch a shadow crawl around from his shoulder to his ear. a twitch between his brows at whatever information he had been given, before evening back out. Body turning fully toward you. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

Your eyes widen marginally. “No!” you say all too quickly, rubbing a hand down your face. “No, I’m just not-” gaze meeting hazel, “I was just wondering if you maybe wanted to go for a walk?” Voice quieter than before, “Rather than just standing here.” Trailing off.

His wings twitch at his back, you barely catch the movement, before he gives a gentle nod. You give him a small smile before whirling around, and heading back through the streets of Velaris. Azriel and his shadows follow closely behind before coming up next to you.

The walk settles into silence. Not awkward like before. Comfortable. That’s something you’d noticed about Azriel from the moment you first met him in the human realms. He always let others talk and listened intently to every word. Contributing to the conversation only when needed.

Your thoughts drift to every interaction with him. He’d always been observant and encouraged conversations with you. Wanting you to feel comfortable. Similar to what happened with Elain a long while ago. Except he’s never had any romantic feelings for you. He was just being polite. Just as he is now.

You ignore the turn in your thoughts. Weird. And your destination is only a few steps away. The bridge above the sidra. The place you come to when you really need some kind of white noise to clear your head.

You lean forward, over the bridge peering down at the broad sparkling river. Almost mirroring the beauty of the stars above. You feel Azriel settle next to you on the bridge. Twist your head to look at him. He’s looking up at the sky, shadows swirling contentedly around his shoulders and wings.

You take a moment to look at him. Really look at him. You always knew he was handsome, would have to be blind not to. But in the moonlight, he’s stunning. The way his dark hair falls over his forehead, shadows cast over his eyebrows, his other features highlighted. His hands resting on the bridge wall, the lighting illuminating the ridges and crevices of his scars.

Just in the corner of your vision, you see the sun starting to rise, pinks and oranges, painting the previous starlit skies. It was views like these that make you wonder what the other courts are like. The Night Court obviously has exceptionally beautiful night skies, the stars so clear you might think one could reach up and touch them.

But then there were The Dawn Court’s dawn skies. A customer at Benny’s Bar once told you that when the sun rose in dawn it was one of the most breathtaking views one could see, that you had to see it at least once in your immortal life.

The Day Court had some of the most incredible libraries filled with immense knowledge. Something you’d like to see and explore at least once too.

The seasonal courts had to be amazing as well, you hadn’t heard too much about them except Mor saying how much she loved The Winter Court because of her best friend and how beautiful the snow is, and briefly of Summer from when Varian is around with Amren. And Spring, well Feyre and Rhysand don’t like talking about The Spring Court, so you never asked. The same goes for The Autumn Court.

You feel a cool brush of Azriel’s shadows against your hand, pulling you from your longing, wrapping around your wrist almost as if to comfort. You let out a heavy sigh, your walk must have been longer than you anticipated. Originally just hoping to clear your head, and tire yourself out before going back to sleep.

You have work anyway. Early shift, which is fine, you get to finish early in turn.

Turning to the Shadowsinger, “I should head home. I have work earlier today.” You fiddle with your fingers, not wanting to to head back to your apartment just yet. Back to the tavern. You haven’t talked to your coworkers much since the inner circle dined at the tavern.

Azriel gives a small nod, watching your features for a few moments before speaking, “Would you like me to walk you home?”

without hesitation you give him a nod in answer. “yes please.” Your answer soft.

He gives you a gentle smile before turning with you to leave.

─

Standing at the bottom of the stairs to your apartment you run a hand down your face. Azriel is quiet behind you. You huff, spinning on your heel to face him. Trying to find the words to what you want to ask him.

He’s patient as always, features kind. Allowing you to sort through your thoughts.

Inhaling sharply, you open your mouth, then close it again. Frustrated, you just blurt it out instead, “Would you like to do something once I finish work today?”

Azriel’s brows raise fractionally, and your face heats up. “of course only if you’re free, or even want to. If you don’t want to that’s okay-“ You pause your rambling when you see the subtle smirk curving his lips.

“What?” You cross your arms over your chest. He huffs out a laugh. “You didn’t even give me a chance to answer,” keen eyes, observant as ever, see you shifting from foot to foot, clearly uncomfortable from the lack of an actual answer. “I would like that. I’ll come by and you can decide.” Voice more quiet than before.

You give him a curt nod, happy with the response, turning toward your stairs once more, stopping at the top step, looking over your shoulder to the Shadowsinger, “Thank you az.” At the tilt of his head you continue, “For just… showing up, I guess. I appreciate it.” Smile at him and slip through your door before he can reply.

Azriel stares at the closed door for a few long moments before heading back to the townhouse. His shadows far more calm now. Interesting.

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a/n: Hi guys, I’m so so sorry that I took so long to post this but I was in a really bad writing slump and had other stuff going on in my life. I’m better right now and am planning on writing more. I know this isn’t the longer part that I asked you about but I just wanted to get this out, and it would’ve taken longer to come out. i’ve already started the next part as well. next week I probably won’t update just because I’m going to Australia with my sister for a week but you never know. Anyway I edited this but there still might be some mistakes. I love you all and thank you for your patience, I hope you enjoyed. <3

[mxtantrights]

Azriel is in love with you (not so secret)

There he was. The man who took everything from you.

He stands tall, basking in whatever recent glory he's found. A heavy sack of coins in his hand and a large sword in the other. You remember that sword.

That's the one he used to make you an orphan.

Azriel had winnowed you in like he said. He kept his word. And you knew that both you and him would suffer the consequences for it when you got back home.

But consequences be dammed.

You and Azriel are watching him talk to a female. Probably boasting about his kills. Probably making himself out to be a hero in the story. There's no one around right now except for them.

"We have a small window if you want to do this stealthily." Azriel says from your side.

He says it actually right into your ear. You can feel his breath on your skin. You don't even flinch though. And you don't look away from the male.

"All I need Is seven seconds." you reply.

"I'll handle the female."

And without saying anything else he disappears into his shadows. You watch as the female turns around and starts walking away from the male. Now is the time to make your move.

You unsheathe the blade located on your hip and slowly walk over to the male. His back turned to you. You go right up to him and tap him on the shoulder.

He turns around, right into your blade. His eyes go wide as he looks down. The blood slowly seeping out of him and soaking his clothes. You twist the blade and he grunts.

Grabbing the back of his head and bringing him closer, so he can hear you.

"May my entire family haunt you in death." you whisper into his ear.

Then he goes tumbling down onto the ground. A shadow comes bounding over to you. You expect Azriel to be somewhere close but after a few seconds of waiting for him you get worried.

The shadow pulls you wrist and drags you a couple of paces down the alley. There you see him, Azriel, laying against a brick wall. His lip is split, and he's out of breath.

You run over to him and look him over.

"Azriel what the hell happened?" you ask.

"The female wasn't as uninvolved as I thought." he answers.

"You should have called for me." you say.

"No, you needed to finish what you were doing. I could wait. I'm not-"

You reach out toward his face, and his busted lip. He leans forward and embraces your touch. It should shock you but it doesn't. Not after he basically confessed the other night his feelings for you.

"Don't you dare say you're not important to me Azriel, you have just given me the one thing I thought I would never have." you admit.

"I've waited a long time. I could wait a little more." he says.

You shake your head.

"No more waiting." you drop down and peck the side of his mouth.

You wrap your arms around him and winnow the both of you out of that dark and damp alley. Right into your room. You stumble with him onto the floor. No doubt alerting the house you were back home.

You didn't care about the consequences before. To hell with them now.

"Can't believe you took a beating for me" you speak softly.

"I'll be taking another from Rhys pretty soon." he grumbles.

You lift your head up and gaze at him. There's probably tons of reasons why you didn't see it or didn't know that he had feelings for you. The shadowsinger is used to espionage, hiding things and playing his cards close to his chest.

"As soon as he's done, come find me. So we can talk about what you meant. And so I can thank you properly." you say with a smile.

And he smiles right back at you.

[a-court-of-fics-and-errors]

Feasting on You

The sequel to part one: Afternoon Appointments

WARNING: SMUT. THIS IS A CONTINUATION OF THE SMUT FEST I AM PUTTING MYSELF THROUGH. HAPPY VALENTINES DAY YOU LOVELY PEOPLE. MINORS DNI.

Fluff, declarations of love, Beron Vanserra being the absolute worst person alive, unprotected sex with the hope of pregnancy (male and female receiving). Breeding? Again, they're trying to have an heir so I guess? Jealousy, infidelity/sex-work. Mentions of infertility and the struggle to get pregnant, vaginal penetration with fingers and penis, fingering, it's a menu, pick what you want.

Word Count: 6,022 - Hard to believe I work full time.

Since all y'all wonderful people seemed to enjoy the last smut-post I made I figured I'd continue, especially on the day of love. It's not going to be too much longer, maybe one or two more parts but again, it's my palette cleanser from my agonizing slow burn of myself.

Summary: Eris, your mate joins you for dinner after a rather disheartening conversation with his council over your combined failure to produce an heir to the court. After denial of his father's suggestion, Eris hopes to remind you just how devoted he is to you, and only you.

SMUT BELOW THIS LINE. BE AWARE.

Long after the sun had dipped below the horizon, you finally made your way into the grand dining room for dinner. The table stretched before you, a lavish display nearly overflowing with an abundance of meats, vegetables, and freshly baked breads. It seemed as if the kitchen perpetually prepared as though they were feeding a family of ten, never quite adjusting to cater solely to you and Eris. Dinner was a sacred time reserved just for the two of you, a cherished ritual unless you were hosting guests. As long as no visitors graced your halls, or neither of you was summoned away on a diplomatic venture, you always reunited for dinner—a time to recap the day's events, reconnect with each other, and recenter your spirits.

As you entered the room, the fae-light chandelier cast a gentle glow above, its flickering light dancing across the walls. The fire crackled warmly in the hearth, casting long shadows. Yet, you found yourself alone. Evidently, your mate had not yet managed to extricate himself from his own pressing duties. You eased into a seat at the magnificently carved table, pouring yourself a glass of rich, ruby-red wine. Settling back into the large, high-backed chair, you allowed yourself a moment to breathe in the enveloping silence.

Life before the mating bond had certainly never been dull. As the daughter of a prominent merchant residing near the border of the Autumn Court, your days were a whirlwind of activity—entertaining guests, immersing yourself in study, assisting with the intricacies of business dealings, and attending court. Yet now, it seemed you rarely found a moment to draw a breath, as the demands of your new life swept you along in their relentless current.

The sharp, rhythmic clatter of boots echoed down the hallway, each step growing louder until Eris' familiar scent—a mix of pine and something musky—filled the air before he even appeared. You turned your head eagerly to welcome him, but as he stepped through the gracefully arched doorway, it was impossible to miss the storm cloud hovering over his expression. His forehead was knitted in a deep frown, and his hair was tousled, evidence of the restless fingers that had clearly raked through it more than once. His shoulders were rigid, like a bow drawn taut, ready to release. Most telling of all was his failure to flash that usual bright smile upon seeing you.

Eris approached the table with a slowing gait, just enough to lean forward. He placed a steadying hand on your shoulder and gave you a kiss, yet it lacked its usual fervor, missing the lingering, breath-stealing passion that typically marked his arrival.

When he broke from the kiss, he settled into the seat across from you and immediately reached for the bottle to pour himself a glass. You watched him closely, studying the lines of his face. "Everything okay?" you asked.

Eris looked up from pouring, set the bottle down, and took a long gulp from his glass before answering. "I'm fine," he replied, though his tone didn't quite convince.

"You don't seem fine, my love," you said.

Eris placed his glass back on the table, adjusting in his seat as he exhaled deeply. "It's nothing," he insisted.

“Well, it sure seems like something,” you pressed further. “What happened between now and earlier today?”

Besides his habit of running his hands through his ginger hair when anxious, his constantly shaking leg was another dead giveaway. Something had definitely happened; you just couldn’t pinpoint out what.

You mentally sorted through a list of potential issues. The Autumn Court was currently thriving, and nothing urgent came to mind that could have dampened his mood, especially when he had been so lively earlier.

Eris had averted his eyes to the table, trying to keep his gaze from meeting yours. Normally, when he was hiding something from you, he would avoid looking at you at all. The second your eyes would meet his the entire facade he had been wearing would erode—something that served you well, but at times tormented him.

“Eris—” you urged softly, your voice low and laced with affection and also a seriousness that couldn’t be ignored. “Tell me what’s happening, my love.”

After a tense, lingering silence, he finally lifted his gaze. His tongue licked over his teeth—a nervous, winding gesture—as he weighed the right words for whatever was on his mind. “I don’t want to upset you,” he murmured.

Tilting your head ever so slightly, you replied with the same calm insistence, “Well, now that I know it’s about me, I think it’s even more important that I know what’s going on.”

With a resigned sigh, Eris leaned forward over the table. “Before I say anything, I need you to understand that I in no way endorse what was said, nor will I act on any of it,” he declared.

A frown creased your brow, the confusion and creeping anxiety twisting deeper like thorns in your stomach.

He hesitated, eyes darting from yours to the table and back in a silent plea of understanding or perhaps more time to cushion the blow. “My father—”

You arched your head back and released a low, sour growl, the sound echoing the bitter disappointment that bubbled within you. “Oh, so it’s your father,” you retorted.

Your loathing for Beron Vanserra was as fierce as Eris’s own—its roots tangled in a history spanning decades. Beron had all but attempted to murder Eris once he’d been almost forced to abdicated the High Lordship, on the strict condition that he remain at Eris’s side as part of the council. Beyond his controlling tyranny and his cruel, abusive past with both his wife and sons, Beron harbored a deep hatred for you. To him, you were the shadow behind Eris’s newfound courage to challenge his rule, the unseen poison that had emboldened his favorite son against him. In your defense, you had spoken little of any ambition concerning Eris’s potential ascension. You had maintained that the choice should be solely his, offering nothing but unwavering support in the swells of his decision making. Yet when Beron was receiving Eris’s propostion, you were standing just outside the council chamber as he hurled ignoble slurs—”whore and “power-hungry bitch”—in your direction. In that moment, Eris had come perilously close to severing his father’s head in retribution. Ever since, the mere whisper of Beron’s name left a bitter, acrid taste in your mouth.

Casting a dagger-like glance toward your mate—a look darkened by resentment. “And what, prey tell, does my remarkably kind father-in-law have to say about me now?” you challenged.

Eris’s gaze dropped back to the table as he deftly twirled one of the silver forks between his fingers, the metal glinting under the soft light. “He made it abundantly clear that he believes we’re taking too long to produce an heir,” he said, his voice laced with frustration.

You rolled your eyes, letting out a deep, exasperated sigh that seemed to echo through the room. “And what does he expect us to do about it? It’s not as if we haven’t been trying,” you retorted, your tone tinged with irritation.

Eris nodded, his warm hand reaching across to rest reassuringly over yours. “He knows that,” he reassured, his touch grounding. “Everyone on the council is aware of that.”

In any other realm, the notion of ten elderly council members being privy to your and your mate’s rather passionate and frequent attempts to conceive would send a shiver down your spine. Yet, the matter of an heir was of paramount importance to the court, with significant interest vested in ensuring the High Lord had a successor.

“So what now?” you questioned, a hint of sarcasm in your voice. “What does he suggest I do? Since he’s clearly an expert in fertility healing,” you added, the words dripping with irony.

Eris’s father had once suggested that unless his son exercised “complete and total control” over you, preventing you from “running wild around the court making a spectacle of yourself,” you would never produce an heir. He had deemed you “too loose” and “brazen,” criticizing the way you carried yourself with confidence and poise.

That choice of words had almost driven you to seize one of Eris’s swords, your mind briefly entertaining the thought of storming into his father’s chambers to slit his throat. But Eris had physically restrained you, even while you kicked back at him with the strength of a donkey.

Eris took a deep breath, his eyes focused intently on the spot where his fingers traced gentle, rhythmic circles on the back of your hand. "He had suggested that if we didn't conceive within the next year, I should consider taking on a mistress."

The word "mistress" struck you like a physical blow, and your vision blurred as shock settled over you. The mere thought of your mate entwined with another female sent a surge of fiery indignation through you, making you want to storm out of the dining room and stab your fork right into Beron's eye. "I see," you replied, your voice strained as you clenched your napkin in your lap so tightly that you feared your nails might splinter and snap under the pressure.

Eris squeezed your hand reassuringly, his voice soft and earnest. "You know I would never do that."

Your eyes snapped up to meet his, your words laced with an intensity that surprised even you. "Did you tell him that?"

Eris momentarily looked taken aback by the sharpness in your tone, his brow furrowing slightly. "Of course I did, my love."

Your lower lip trembled with anger, and you blinked rapidly to keep the hot tears from spilling over, even as they threatened to escape. You shook your head, biting down on the inside of your cheek to keep your emotions in check. "Just because your mother was the most fertile female to have ever been born doesn't mean that I am too."

"I know that," Eris reassured, his voice steady and calm.

"What?!" you exclaimed, your exasperation giving way to anger. "Does he think I'm just toxic? Does he think I'm willing myself to be sterile?"

Eris exhaled softly, a hint of weariness in his sigh. "I don't know what he thinks, but ultimately it doesn't matter."

“What did the other council members say?” You asked, your voice quivering as though it might shatter.

Eris hesitated, and the silence felt like a lead weight sinking your stomach.

“They’re eager for an heir, sooner rather than later.”

A wave of nausea surged through you, and you stared blankly at the table, gnawing at your cheek.

Eris’s hand enveloped yours, a gentle anchor trying to pull you back to the present. “It’s going to be alright,” he whispered.

You lifted your gaze to meet his, forcing down the lump in your throat. “Would you do it?” You asked quietly, each word laden with fear.

Eris’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“Would you take on a mistress if I couldn’t give you an heir?” You pressed.

His mouth fell open, disbelief etched in his features. He leaned closer, the golden glimmer of his eyes shimmering as he gazed at you, unwavering. “Of course not, my love. I would never do that to you.”

“Yes, but if I couldn’t—“ You stammered, words tumbling out in a rush, “couldn’t give you a child, for the good of the court, would you?”

Eris paused, and for a moment, the room seemed to echo with the sound of your heart, shattering.

“No—no,” he shook his head vehemently, as if dismissing the thought itself. “I would never, ever, do that to you.”

“What if I gave my blessing?” You whispered, a tear tracing down your cheek in a long, wet line.

“Why would you even suggest such a thing?” He asked, his continued bewilderment turning almost into fear.

You shrugged, tears now readily overflowing. “It’s vital that you continue your line. That you pass on your gifts to a successor.” A pause, a deep breath to muster courage. “If it came down tot he continuation of the court and my happiness, it would be selfish—treasonous of me to stand in the way.”

Eris rose from his seat, only to descend to his knees before you, clasping your hands in his own trembling grasp. His eyes, filled with an ocean of sorrow, met yours, as if the sheer weight of your tears was enough to fracture his soul. “My love,” he began, his voice soft, unwavering. “The Mother bestowed upon me the blessing of finding my mate, my missing half. The other fragment of my soul that I once despaired for ever knowing.” His thumbs caressed the backs of your hands. “She wove our paths together, for in every essence—mind, body, and soul—we are destined to intertwine. To share the tapestry of our lives side by side. No world exists where I could desire—crave—anyone but you. You are as entwined within me as I am within myself, and to bear a child with another would desecrate the sacred blessing the Mother bestowed upon me in the form of you.” He looked down, shaking his head with a soft, incredulous laugh. “In truth, I don’t think I could ever be with anyone else again. You have unraveled me and rebuilt me in your essence.” He paused, his gaze locking on yours with fiery intensity. “If it came to that, I would rather throw away my title than be with any other. And I mean that with every fiber of my being.”

“Eris—“ you began, trying to cut him off. The notion was outrageous, a fantasy. For him to renounce his title, the very thing he had dedicated his entire life to achieving, just because you might not produce an heir was beyond all comprehension. But before your voice could protest, he interrupted you with a fierce determination.

“My love, there is no universe where I could cherish any child as I would cherish ours. We have all the time in the world to try, and if fate decides otherwise, then we will embrace the truth that our destiny is to spend eternity together. And for me, that is more than enough.”

Your heart swelled and you leaned forwards out of your chair into Eris’s waiting arms. He wrapped himself around you, one arm pulling your waist, the other gently cradling the back of your head, his fingers massaging into your hair, you let out sobs, each one a release of the pent-up feelings of anger and intense sadness, mingling with the loving devotion of your mate. He pressed kiss after gentle kiss into your temple, his lips warm and reassuring, as he rocked you back and forth until you could find your balance once more. You leaned back, feeling the heat of your flushed face, tendrils of hair sticking to your skin, dampened by your tears. A soft laugh escaped you as you wiped your face with trembling hands. “I’m sorry—I look like a mess.”

Eris gently pulled your hands away, cupping your cheeks with a tenderness that you melted into. “You look beautiful,” he whispered. He leaned forwards, kissing your forehead. You closed your eyes, inhaling his scent deeply, a mixture of smoke and spice that grounded you. Your mate. Your devoted, love-sick mate who would willingly burn his entire life to the ground if it meant securing your happiness.

Looking down at you, he chuckled softly. “Though,” he began, “I‘d by lying if I said that I am not more than a little happy that I can continue to fuck you senseless.” He raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “For the good of the court, of course.”

You laughed in a response, a small hiccup escaping you. “Of course,” you drawled, wiping at your face. “We couldn’t so easily forget our duties.”

He threw a quick glance at the table, still laden with untouched food before he turned his smoldering eyes back to you. “Are you hungry?” He asked, a rather teasing edge in his voice.

Your response was a gentle shake of your head. “No, unfortunately. Not so much anymore.”

A sinful grin slowly spread across Eris’ face, causing a heated shiver to travel down your spine. “Well then, my love, let’s use this precious time for more…intimate responsibilities,” he suggested.

His body left yours as he stood, gazing up at him. “Perhaps I should remind you just how deep my devotion to you truly runs.”

His devilish grin widened as he waited for your response. “And how would you do that, my lord?” You asked, your voice lilting just slightly.

Eris wasted no time as he swept the table clean with one strong arm; plates and platters crashed to the floor in a a rush of chaos that had you jumping back slightly from where he stood. His attention returned to you instantly, bending down to grip your hips firmly and hoisting you onto the now clear table.

Hunger evident in his eyes, he gently parted your thighs and leaned closer, his hot breath fanning against your neck as he pushed your hair aside. The sensation of his lips and teeth exploring the sensitive skin beneath left you breathless.

“You made a mess,” you managed to moan out rather than complain.

A low growl vibrated against your chest as he nipped at your ear. “I’ll take care of it later.”

Your hands found their way to his broad shoulders, gripping them in a fervor, your nails sinking into the firm muscle hidden beneath his shirt. He yanked you closer, his powerful hands anchored securely on the swell of your hips, grinding into you with carnal intent. “Fuck, you‘re divine,” he groaned against your ear, his voice like whiskey and smoke.

You learned your head back, offering him the full expanse of your neck and chest like a sacrificial alter. “You’re my whole universe,” he murmured, his heat-soaked world painting an intoxicating image of obsession. “You’re the reason I wake in the mornings, why I draw breath.”

His roving hands ventured away from your hips, hiking up the hem of your gown until it rode high on your thighs. His fingers fanned out along the softness of your flesh, kneading and caressing as he pressed his body into yours.

He claimed your mouth in a heated kiss, his lips parting in tandem with yours to allow for a passionate exploration, his tongue danced with yours in a sweet torment that had you gasping for air. Your fingers tangled into his wild hair, pulling and yanking at the strands as you sought something solid to anchor yourself.

The blistering heat simmering between your thighs danced enticingly against the bulge of his throbbing arousal, igniting a wire fire that shot through every nerve ending in your body.

Eris, with a low growl, bit onto your lip, his teeth marking you before he withdrew, leaving a pang of emptiness behind. His gaze fell down on his tan trousers, now stained with the evidence of your own rampant desire. “Eager little minx,” he purred, a lascivious grin on his face as he released himself from the constraints of his clothing, his trousers still sitting low on his chiseled hips.

Your breath hitched at the sight of him, stroking his thick, inviting shaft with an insatiable hunger glistening in his eyes that made you feel like the most desirable female in existence.

Discarding your own demureness, you hiked up your skirts, revealing your drenched panties acting as the final barrier to the ecstasy that Eris was promising.

Pushing them aside, Eris’ eyes darkened even more—if possible—as he watched them snag and stretch against your slick, glistening skin.

Your arousal was so peak high that the mere touch of the fabric skimming over you had you gasping out moans that sounded like sweet melodies in his ears.

As he pleasured himself, your eyes locked onto him. His rhythm hastened at the sight of your unveiled desire. You widened the inviting gap of your thighs, keeping your eyes focused on him as he seemed to lean back into his hips, arching his back, letting out a load, audible groan.

You traced your fingers up your satin-like inner thighs, teasing the edges of your exposed core. Your head feel back in anticipation, caught up in the erotic symphony of Eris’s hand colliding against and again with his hard length mixed with the intoxicating sounds of his small moans.

Your hands ventured further down, your fingers exploring the trail of your desire. As you pulled your fingers apart a shining residue of your arousal was left glistening on each one of them. You tantalizingly brought them to your lips, tasting your own sweetness.

“Fuck—“ Eris growled out as you opened your sultry eyes, casting him a heavy look of need. “What I’d do for you,” he groaned.

You traced your hand down the length of your body. “And what would you do for me, my lord?” You purred back as your hand returned to your core. You used two fingers to spread yourself to reveal the jewel of pleasure that Eris craved so passionately.

At the display, he released a trembling groan and swallowed hard against what you thought might be a trembling climax that he was already at the edge of. “I’d burn whole realms for you,” he growled fiercely. You slid a finger down through the center of your split core. “I’d tear apart anyone who laid claim to you.” As you circled your clit, a shaking moan that escaped from you. “I’d pull the gods from their thrones and place you atop them. I’d surrender my entire life for yours.” You gently slipped a finger into the welcoming heat, then another one followed rhythmically, driving the poor male into a frenzy as he tugged at himself. His cock now a deep crimson, almost throbbing with intense longing.

Your mind raced, suddenly conjuring up the unwanted vivid to a tableau of Eris, entwined passionately with another female. His resonant moans, those heady sounds you had so effortlessly drawn from him, now being elicited by her as he drove into her. His chiseled muscular back flexing as he rutted, sending trails of desire coursing through his veins as her unknown throat moaned out his name as he explored her curves like a playground.

Your brows furrowed, a challenge flashed in your eyes towards him as you amplified the rhythm of your own gratification. Your fingers danced over your clit, the pulsating caresses in synchrony with the fervent plunge and withdrawal of your other fingers into your heated depth. You pleasured yourself to this haunting image, a wildfire of rage and competitive desire fueling your passion forwards.

Eris seemed utterly captivated by the sight, he senses consuming him. He allowed himself to surrender into the intoxicating allure, his body responding to your own pace and matching the rhythm with his hand as his hips worked in tandem to work himself over.

You hadn’t wanted this imagery to clutter your thoughts. But everything spun into an uncontrollable whirl of erotic images and scenes, each successive the previous with more intense encounters between your mate and this unseen female.

Eris released a fragile whimper, his hand faltering ever so slightly, breaking the rhythm as though he was in a struggle to restrain himself. “I need to be deep inside of you,” his voice was raspy, almost a groan. “Let me feel the tight warmth of you clasping around me, my love.”

Barely thinking, your hands continued to move with skilled precision over your own body, each encounter with your skin sending tingles through you. You shot back at him, “Fuck me like it’s your last breath, with the desperation of a male starved for pleasure.“ You moaned lightly. “Like this might be your last taste of ecstasy.”

Eris seemed to flinch for a moment, his piercing eyes slightly unhinged by your phrasing. But when you increased the rhythm of your self-pleasure, your chest heaving in rapid succession of anticipation and tantalizing pleasure, he seemed to figure out that if he didn’t act quickly, you would reach that peak with or without him.

Eris moved closer, positioning his hard length at your inviting entrance as you held yourself open to him. He gripped his arousal at the base and carefully guided the throbbing head through the tightness, pushing all the way to the hilt. His breathing staggering hitched in his throat as the delicious warmth of you encasing him was overwhelmingly intoxicating.

He lingered for a slow, burning moment as he steadied himself. His eyes were shut tightly as he whimpered, like he was holding himself back.

Tenderly, your hands rose up to cup his face as he gazed down upon you. With your legs wrapped snugly around him, you whispered a sweet dare into the air. “Take me as if our existence depends on it.”

With one hand strategically positioned behind you for balance, Eris’s low growl echoed in the room as he forcefully gripped your hip, placing his other flexed hand on the table while driving powerfully into you. His thrusts were so ferocious that you slid back on the table, teetering on the edge of losing your positioning until Eris assertively yanked you back to the precipice. The air seemed charged with the tensed desire, both yours and his, magnifying by the desperation wrought by your circumstances. It was all raw, carnal passion—need.

His relentless pace did nothing to soothe his growing frustration towards how much you shifted with each stroke. Pulling back, his sculpted chest rose and fell rapidly with his labored breaths; he rasped out a simple command: “Bend over.”

You willingly complied, abandoning your perch on the table to present your torso over it’s smooth surface.

Eris traced a firm hand along your arching back, as he hitched your skirt back up revealing your bare essence to him once again. After teasing himself briefly, he repositioned himself and began again.

Your body sank beneath his touch as you leaned on your forearms and pressing into your toes to give him easier access. As he reclaimed his place within you, it felt like uncharted territory, a new depth that sent waves of pleasure through you—a heavy pressure that made your lower abdomen ache deliciously.

Your body responded without your conscious choice as you arched upwards, muscles straining as you supported yourself on shaking arms. Each thrust from Eris elicited short, desperate moans from your lips. His own grunts were beginning to take on a raw, primal edge as he drove into you relentlessly, his breath hissing through gritted teeth. His hand roamed from the small of your back to your shoulders, fingers digging in if trying to pull you even closer with each powerful pump. His muscled torso smashed against your soft curves in perfect rhythm, your bodies creating a symphony of harmonious moans and the slick clapping of skin against skin.

“Harder,” you panted out, your own fingers digging into the linen tablecloth.

His only response was a deeper, more powerful thrust, his hard cock filling every inch of you, deep enough to feel him in your stomach. You began to mirror his rhythm, arching your hips against his thighs. Each time he withdrew only to plunge back into you with heightened force that brought forth gasps of pleasure from both of you.

Eris’s strong hand found its way to your ass, gripping it with such intensity that you were certain to find a constellation of blue-purple reminders tomorrow. Your head fell forward languidly between your outstretched arms as he continued his relentless pounding. His fingers abandoned the tender flesh to circle the inner curve of your thigh, his muscled torso pressing into your trembling back as he leaned down onto you. His fingers danced down the length of your thigh before stopping at the apex of your core, drawing circles over the most tantalizing spot.

The sensation was overwhelming, a wave of pleasure so intense that your screams were muffled only by the table beneath you as he drove into you. His ragged moaning accompanying each thrust echoed in your ears. “That’s it,” he grunted. “Take it. Good girl, take every fucking inch of me.” His thrusts escalated in power, pushing your body against the sturdy table before releasing you over and over while his fingers continued to work your clit that throbbed with anticipation.

“Fuck, Eris—” You wheezed out in a sharp exhale.

“Say it, my love. Say my name.” He replied.

You recited his name like a confession until he started echoing yours with equal fervor.

Your toes tightened in your heels and a divine tingle of your climax started forming at the base of your skull.

In between stifled moans, you managed to utter out a warning, “Fuck, I’m on the edge, don’t stop!” It sounded more like a plea than a command.

Eris complied with no hesitation, his motions continuing as he pinched, circled and tugged at your clit which sent a jolt of pleasure through making you squirm beneath him.

As the delightful tingle began snaking down your spin, you felt the intense clenching sensation in your core, occurring in waves. It was the release you had been so intensely waiting for—burning a trail down your body like a wave of heat. It was as though your body pulsed around him, rhythmic waves, grasping and attempting to pull Eris over with you.

He was right on your heels. His thrusts persisted, driving you through the contractions of your orgasm until he could hold off no longer. You felt him give in to his lustful release deep within you, warm and more profound than any time you had been intimate before. He bent over you, his hands clutching at your hips as though they were his lifeline. You could practically feel the heat from his body as he moaned, a sharp intake of breath between gritted teeth accompanying each pulse as he spilled deep into you.

Finally, he descended from the euphoric peak, seeming to float back down to earth. His chest remained taut and panting as he eased off you, your face still resting on its side,

remnants of pleasure still coursing through you. He tenderly brushed strands of hair from your flushed face, his fingers ghostly against your skin as he planted a soft kiss on your cheek. “Are you alright?” His question was sincere, his other hand tracing comforting circles on your dampened back.

“Mm,” you responded, eyes still veiled by heavy lids.

Eris gradually separated himself from you, an audible moan escaping him at the final pull out, as if the sensation had sent shockwaves through his every nerve. His fingers leisurely explored your backside; even with your eyes closed, you could tell he was admiring his handiwork.

A low grunt slipped from him as his fingers traced up your slickened crevasse, painted in a cocktail of your combined arousal. “Fuck—” he muttered so quietly, that you knew it had been unintended. Suddenly and without warning, he plunged two fingers deep into you causing a breathy whimper to leap from your lips.

“There,” he whispered huskily, “None of it goes to waste.”

His fingers continued their dance inside you, lightly twisting and kneading your tender walls painted with his essence. Your response was a soft symphony of moans.

"Do you want more, my love?" He queried, his voice dipped in honeyed seduction. "Do you need more?"

You whimpered out an eager confirmation and as if on cue, Eris pulled away from you leaving a void that consumed you.

The harsh grating sound of a chair scraping against the floor reached your ears before his commanding voice followed with "Come here, my love.”

Turning your head slightly towards the sound, there he was—an arousing silhouette seated by the glow of the flickering firelight; his arousal rigid and glistening in its golden glow.

“Come,” he beckoned again, “I'll satisfy your craving.”

Rising off the table, your dress cascaded down around you and warm trails of your shared climax trickled down your trembling thighs.

As you approached him, wide-legged and inviting, he instructed, “Take off your dress.” His cock twitched in anticipation against his chiseled torso of his opened shirt.

Stopping before him, you slipped your heels off and made quick work of the ties securing your gown—it pooled at your feet.

Eris surveyed you with a savage, primal hunger, his lips moistening in undisguised desire. "Gods-damn gorgeous," he breathed out, voice husky as he stretched one hand towards you. You took it, and he drew you back into his sphere of heat and lust, turning you so your back pressed was to him, mere inches from his body. His hands rested on your ribs, fingertips tracing a tantalizing path along the curve of your sides down to the swell of your hips. His gentle tug guided you downwards onto his lap, onto his semi-hard cock that demanded attention. It entered you slowly, inch by agonizingly delicious inch, setting off a crescendo of moans from deep within you.

Eris allowed you to adjust to the exquisite intrusion, your ass settling on the curve of his thrusting hips that eagerly came forward to cradle you. You reclined languidly against his defined chest, your head nestled in the crook of his neck and shoulder while his fingers danced along your thighs, guiding them open. The flickering fire provided a welcoming warmth against the sensual slickness that was still weeping out from within you, rolling down Eris' arousal and staining both pants and chair alike.

"That's it," he purred, "Spread your legs for me for me, love."

With him buried so deep within you moving seemed near impossible as waves of satisfaction washed over you. Yet he nudged them apart persistently, draping them over the chair's arms so that you were fully exposed and ripe for his enjoyment; completely naked in the heart of the dining room with Eris' rock-hard cock nestled snugly within you.

He kissed at your neck and shoulders, rocking his hips slowly, nothing like the punishing pace of splayed on the table, but just enough to continue to churn the orgasmic fluids that rested deep inside of you. At the same time, his fingers returned to your core, teasing over your clit with the pads of his fingertips in slow circles.

His other hand made it’s way to your breast, toying lightly at the pebbled nipple, twisting it in his fingers and light flicking it. His world revolved around you, and your soft, staggering moans were music to his ears.

Your body was still ablaze from the aftershocks of your previous peak, hypersensitive and yearning amidst the haze of pleasure. As he drove into you with languid yet powerful strokes from below, complementing it with the rhythmic play on your clit; it was all too much. You let out a delicate whimper before your body started convulsing again. “Surrender to me, love,” He urged. “I want to feel you fall apart again.”

Obediently, your body rippled against him as a fresh wave of euphoria crashed over you. Your skin sprouted goosebumps under his touch, and a loud moan escaped you as ecstasy took control once again.

Your body melted against him, utterly exhausted and breathless, as you lay cradled in his embrace, the aftermath of passion leaving you completely spent. With tender care, he swept your hair away from your face, placing a gentle kiss on your cheek. He carefully lifted your body, handling you with the delicate touch one might use with fragile glass, before settling you back down on his chest, where his now relaxed member rested lightly against your back. A soft chuckle escaped his lips as he whispered in your ear, pressing a warm kiss to your temple. “Let’s get you to bed, my sweet angel.”

My spay appointment is tomorrow at 8:00 AM. My mom can drop me off if yours can pick us up.

[organic-bloodbath]

Can you do a part three for Teach Ddakji to me plz

Teach Ddakji to me - Part 3

The Salesman x American!Reader

Summary: A stranger leads you towards unfolding the secrets of the man you've fallen in love with.

A/N: My people has been begging and i shall serve. Once again, i do not know what the hell i'm writing so i'm just vibing.

Part 1 - Part 2

♡♡

"I can explain," he said, putting the glasses and bottle on a side table. You kept holding the gun with your fingers.

"Yes?"

"It's only for protection, i promise," he insisted. "And it's not loaded."

You were silent, not sure exactly what to do or say.

He sighed. "When my dad was shot, i sort of got a gun to feel safer. He was killed in his own home, so getting a gun meant i could defend myself if anyone came here and tried to harm me as well."

You looked at him suspiciously, narrowing your eyes.

"I haven't used it, i swear," he promised, taking a step closer to you. You let out a sigh.

"Okay," you mumbled and shook your head. "Well, okay, i suppose."

He slowly put his hand on yours, grabbing the gun from your hold. You eventually let go of it and let him have it back.

"I can take it elsewhere if you're more comfortable then," he offered, afraid this was going to scare you away. You nodded and he went to take it to another room where you wouldn't have any business walking into.

You had never been a fan of guns. You knew people in the U.S. who had a gun at their homes but your family had never been one of those, as far as you were aware of.

You did feel bad and had sympathy for him the longer you thought about it. You couldn't imagine how bad trauma you would have if your own father was murdered, you didn't think you would be able to live anymore. You couldn't blame him for having sleepless nights and afraid for his own safety after that.

To be honest, if that happened to you, you would have gotten some sort of weapon into your home too, just in case someone would come after you too.

Soon he came back, a nervous look on his face now when he approached you slowly.

"Hopefully that didn't ruin the night?" he asked carefully and stepped in front of you.

"Do you have others in your house?" you asked. "Or like, anywhere?"

"That's the only one," he immediately swore.

He put his hand on your cheek and pushed a strand of your hair behind your ear. His warm touch always managed to relax and calm you down, forget all the worries in the world for a moment. He looked at you with all his love and kindness in his eyes, and you knew you could trust him.

"Let's grab the wine, hm?"

"Okay."

♡♡

He was meant to keep his work a secret from you. You couldn't find out about what he really did, no. You would instantly leave him, that was for sure, and he didn't want to think about that possibility. He only had to come up with more and more lies - but for how long? How long could he really keep up this facade around you? He had turned his back away from you for only one moment at his house and you already managed to find one of his guns.

Or would you leave him? Would you be okay with it after all? It would be so much easier to be able to explain everything to you. But he also knew he had to keep the games secret from any outsiders who wouldn't take a part in the game.

The look on your face haunted his mind the next day as well. You had looked at him in a way like you didn't know who you were dating after all.

And for the most parts, you didn't.

The look on your face had told him loud enough that he couldn't tell you about his true self – not now or in a long time.

Along with that, he had felt someone watching him outside. He wasn't sure who it could be, but he was certain that he was being followed by someone and he didn't like that feeling at all.

He had to find out who was trying to shadow him.

♡♡

The three of you were supposed to go for a dinner together soon, but your brother had to cancel last minute and changed the plans for tomorrow, making you frustrated.

"I'm so sorry, something came up," he had texted. "Let's meet up tomorrow, okay?"

There was always something that 'came up' when you tried to make plans with him. You tried to question what he meant but he wouldn't tell you, preferring to stay all secretive to his sister.

As you were driving home in the car your friend had borrowed you to use for a week, you were falling into your thoughts a little too hard, not paying as much attention to your surroundings as a good and responsible driver should have. Sooner than you realised, you were stopped by a traffic cop and had to pull over.

You saw a man look at you through the window, motioning you to roll your window down.

He said something in Korean to you which you couldn't really understand. He switched to English as he figured you were a foreigner.

"License, please?"

You grabbed it from your purse and handed it to the man.

"You were speeding a little," he stated.

"I know, i'm really sorry, i wasn't thinking."

"I'll have to write you a ticket, miss," he said seriously.

"I know," you sighed and closed your eyes, laying your forehead against your hand. "I really am sorry, i didn't mean to."

"Are you feeling alright?" the cop asked, a hint of worry in his voice – but only a little bit.

"Yeah, yeah, no problem."

Truth to be told, you weren't entirely fine. You had slept only couple of hours and had drank almost an entire a bottle of wine last night. You weren't really hangover right now, just suffered from a bad headache, for which a painkiller hadn't helped.

"Are you sure you're able to drive further?" he tried to confirm, unsure if he should just let you go with the ticket without questioning you further.

"I'm sure," you said but didn't sound believable even to your own ears.

"Could you step out of the car, please?"

You let out a deep breath and opened the door, stepping outside. He stood right in front of you, trapping you between himself and the car. He pulled a small flashlight from his pocket.

"Follow the light with your eyes."

You did as you were told, trying to act as cool as possible. You had been only once before pulled over on the road by a cop and that had been in America. You hadn't been sure if the protocols in Korea would be the same.

He turned the flashlight off and put it back into his pocket.

"Alright, you can go now," he nodded. Thank god he didn't actually believe you had been drunk driving.

Looking at his face closer, you could see that he was young and very handsome. If you weren't in a relationship and would have met him somewhere more... relaxed environment, you could imagine yourself starting a nice chat with him.

"Thank you, officer," you said politely in Korean before stepping back into the driver's seat, slipping the ticket into your purse. You tried to make atleast a little better impression with your poor Korean skills but weren't sure how correct the pronunciation really was.

"Have a good day, miss. And do pay your ticket on time."

♡♡

"Had a fun and eventful night with your man, i hope?" your roommate asked, one eyebrow up and teeth biting her lip to hide her smirk, failing on the simple task.

"Sure did," you answered and managed to make yourself smile. You wouldn't mention the gun part of the night to her, trying to brush the entire thing off your mind. "How about you? Found a hot guy at the club?"

"Oh, i definitely did," she answered. "He's some sort of a rapper, i think, though i had never heard of him. He gave me his phone number if we should catch up again some other day."

"Mhm, he gonna take you on a date?"

"Oh god no, all i want is to get into a bed with him again. He knows what he's doing," she stated seriously. "Besides, romantically i'm into more mature men, like that your hottie. Unfortunately you can't really find those men at the clubs where people our age go to."

Your roommate had met him a few times, but rather quickly, they hadn't had the chance to actually get to know each other since you didn't really bring him inside your apartment longer than a few minutes when he would come pick you up or bring you back home. But when he had met your roommate, he had acted as the most charming version of himself, like a man would act around a girl's parents when he'd meet them for the first time.

♡♡

"Okay, darling, i need to go to work for a few hours now to settle a few things," he said later that day as you were walking on the street together, his hand holding yours. He leaned down to kiss you on your lips.

"Come pick me up afterwards?" you asked with a smile.

"Of course, see you then," he smiled, pressing one more kiss on your lips, and turned his back to you, disappearing behind the next corner.

You took your phone from your pocket and was browsing a song on Spotify to listen to, until a man stopped you, stepping in front of you.

"Excuse me," the man said, making you turn around to face him. "You were with a man just a moment ago, dressed in a suit, right?"

"Um," you started, brows furrowed in confusion. "What's this about?"

"You were with a man in a suit?"

"Yes, but i-"

"Listen, i really need to find him. He's uh... a colleague of mine," he explained. "And i need to see him as soon as possible."

"Why do you need to see him?"

"We have some business to do. Work related," he quickly answered.

"Don't you have his phone number? Work phone or something?"

"I got a new phone and lost it."

"Just call to your workplace, maybe they can-"

"I don't have the time right now," he said, startling you with the tone of his voice. He noticed it and lowered his voice a little, not meaning to freak you out. "Could you just point the way, please?"

"Well, he didn't really say where he was going. Only that he had to go to work. Can't you meet him there?"

You narrowed your eyes, you could tell he acted very suspiciously. Did this man really know him? He had sounded so hesitant when telling how he knew him. Usually you weren't able to tell very easily when someone was lying to you, but right now even you could tell his behavior and reactions were too odd.

Besides, this guy was complete opposite than the man you knew, by the looks of him atleast. If they worked together and were on their way to work, you'd imagine this stranger would wear a suit too or something similar and cleaner.

♡♡

Gi-hun could tell that you were completely oblivious about the Recruiter or otherwise you were just a good actress to hide his secrets, refusing to tell his location. But you had looked completely lost with Gi-hun's approach to you and the talk about the man's work.

To be fair, he did probably look like a crazy person so he couldn't exactly blame you for not giving the information he so desperately needed.

Gi-hun hadn't thought about the Recruiter's private life, of course not, so it was strange to see a woman kiss him and hold his hand. He always seemed like only a pawn in this sick game to other people, since Gi-hun didn't even know his name either. The Recruiter always wore that same suit too, he felt like some sort of a default character in a game who had no proper development.

Which he basically was.

Gi-hun had lost his contact to the men he had hired to track down this man, until finally, his phone rang again.

♡♡

Of course you had grown too curious and suspicious about this stranger that you had to follow him wherever he was going.

Was it a good idea? Probably not, but you were still going to do it. It slowly started to rain, and of course you didn't carry an umbrella with you.

The man got a phone call, but you couldn't fully understand what he was saying since he spoke in Korean. You had studied Korean the best you could during the months you had been here and a little before you left America, but you couldn't translate complete conversations in your mind in just a few seconds. But you could hear some familiar words in the man's speech here and there. You could have probably understood more if he talked more slowly.

Where?

What?

Hotel?

Four?

The tone of his voice sounded panicked and rushed too, even more making you curious.

After a while he finished the call and put his phone back into his pocket. He started walking fast around the corner, soon starting to move faster and faster.

You quickly ran after him. You tried to make sure that he wouldn't see you if he happened to glance back over his shoulder, but you also couldn't lose the sight of him. You weren't exactly the fastest runner and would be out of breath soon, but luckily the distance to the destination wasn't too large.

Eventually, you ended up by a building, a hotel or hostel of some sorts. He went to the back of the building through a side alley, not entering through the front doors, which seemed to be locked by chains.

When you entered the hotel inside, you had lost the man, but you knew for sure that he had arrived here as well, right before you, so he couldn't be very far.

There was nobody else around, the place was totally empty, most of the lights were out and there were no sounds around you, forcing you to tiptoe even quieter not to make yourself known to anyone else possibly here. You didn't want a guard to find you trespassing, if there was one.

You started walking up the stairs, slowly and as quietly as possible, heart racing so fast you were afraid someone could hear it if they stood too close to you. You unintentionally held your breath as well out of this thick suspense what was going on.

Maybe this was completely unrelated to the man you loved. Maybe something else had come up with him and you were following a stranger somewhere private like a creep. Would this end up being a trap of some sorts?

Then, you heard speech somewhere in the fourth floor and walked towards the noise with even slower steps.

You were approaching one of the rooms where you heard two men talking to each other now much more clearly – the walls of this building seemed to be as thin as paper, since you had heard them already further away.

But then you noticed that the door wasn't closed, so you could easily open it without a sound and peek inside the room.

Two men were sitting at a table on the opposite sides, facing each other. It was that same man who had stopped you on the street. Your eyes widened on what you were witnessing right now.

He had a gun in his hand. It wasn't the same revolver which you had seen in his house.

"I used to work at the game too," he explained to the man with a calm voice. "Clearing and burning countless of bodies of people like you. I remember thinking: 'These things aren't human. They're just trash, they have no purpose in this world.' That's what i kept telling myself for a few years. One day they gave me a gun. I liked the way it felt. It was like someone had finally acknowledged my existence." He leaned back in his chair. "I don't know what year it was, but there was a man who lost, and i went over to shoot him. I recognised his face. Guess who it was?" He now leaned towards the man opposite him, his voice turning into a mere whisper, and you weren't sure if you heard it correctly or just imagined it. "My dad." You noticed a small smile lingering on his lips. "I was pointing the weapon at my very own father. And he begged me, tears in his eyes, to spare his life. You know what i did?" In under a second he lifted the gun and pointed it right towards the other man's face, who didn't even flinch. "I shot him right in the middle of his forehead and i realised: 'Huh, i guess i really am good at this'."

Your blood ran cold and all you wanted to do was to run away, but your legs refused to move at all. They shared a few more words but you couldn't concentrate on their conversation anymore. You felt like you weren't able to breathe. The ground beneath your feet was slowly failing you.

The next time you looked towards them, he pressed the gun on the man's forehead again, now actually pulling the trigger, making you slightly jump from the noise.

You were frozen on your place. What the hell were you supposed to do in this situation? Run away, confront them or call someone for help?

But as he moved the gun towards himself, inserting the gun deep inside his mouth, a playful smirk on his face, you had to act.

You tried to say something as you stepped towards the table from the shadows, finally able to make yourself move before he would be able to pull the trigger, but you couldn't get a word out of your mouth.

He let the gun slowly fall out of his mouth and his entire face turned pale like a ghost as he realised who had joined their little game. When his eyes met yours, you noticed something red on his cheek, and you instantly thought of it being someone else's blood, the same red splattered on the collar of his white shirt.

"Y/N? What are you doing here?"

This was the man who you had fallen in love with. A man who took you on sweet dates, took you into his warm embrace as you slept with him in the same bed, kissed you both softly and with passion... a man who opened up to you about his father's death and how someone had murdered him coldblood.

The murderer had been him all along. How could you be so naive and dumb? Had there been red flags which you had just missed?

Other than the damn gun at his house.

But now there sat only a man just couple of metres away from you who had just confessed on shooting his own father with his own gun. Pulling the trigger himself. And he had told it with a smile on his face.

He had lied to you this entire time. You wanted to shout and yell at him, then run away, but you couldn't move your body. Until he stood up.

Instantly, without hesitation you took a step back as he took one towards you, which made his heart break.

♡♡

A/N: I'm not sorry about the ending 🙂‍↔️ the last scene is obviously not 100% accurate to the show. Next part will take a while too so be patient with me 🫶🏻 if you want to be added or stay on the taglist, lmk.

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@k1ra-park3r

@aftersnrise

@sakurayashiro

@zmbiefiend

@preppyfella

[andy-15-07]

Hii, I have a request; Joel x reader. A little sad one, where one night they're talking, she's taking care of Ellie who's sick and she opens up to Joel telling his she lost her family, and he opens up talking about Sarah

Shadows of the Past

Pairing: Joel Miller x female reader

Word Count: 2119 | Requests are open! (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

The night had settled heavy over the abandoned safehouse, the kind of quiet that pressed in on every memory and thought. Outside, the wind whispered through the broken trees, carrying with it the scent of rain and decay. Inside, a weak, steady glow from a dying lantern cast long shadows across the rough-hewn walls. You sat at a rickety wooden table, your gaze flickering between the comforting warmth of the fire and the restless form of Ellie, who lay curled on a threadbare cot. She had been battling a fever since dusk, and you’d taken it upon yourself to nurse her back to health—an act of tenderness in a world that had long forgotten such luxuries.

Joel had joined you quietly, slipping into the worn armchair opposite. His eyes, tired yet perceptive, watched the interplay of light and dark, as if searching for meaning in the half-light. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The silence was filled with the soft crackle of the fire and Ellie's labored breathing.

Finally, Joel cleared his throat. “You holding up okay?” he asked, his voice low and cautious, as though he weren’t sure if he wanted to intrude on your solitude.

You managed a small smile, though your eyes betrayed the heaviness you carried. “I’m alright. Just… thinking,” you replied softly.

He nodded, his gaze drifting to the flickering flame. “Sometimes the night brings up too many thoughts,” he murmured.

You hesitated, then shifted in your seat. “I lost my family a long time ago,” you said, the words catching in your throat. “Every time I think I’m past it, it feels like I’m reliving it all over again.”

Joel’s eyes softened, and he leaned forward, the fire’s glow catching the lines of pain on his face. “Losing family… it never really stops hurting, does it?” he said, his voice gentle. “I lost someone too.”

A long pause stretched between you, weighted with unsaid words. Finally, you asked, “Who did you lose?”

His jaw tightened slightly, and he looked away as if the memory was too raw to face directly. After a few seconds, he spoke, his tone laden with sorrow. “My daughter… Sarah. She was my whole world. And then—” he trailed off, the silence returning, filled with the echoes of a past that refused to die.

You felt a pang of empathy, knowing all too well that loss wasn’t something that ever truly left you. “I’m sorry, Joel,” you said, reaching out as if to offer comfort, though you knew words could hardly mend such deep wounds.

Joel’s gaze met yours, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of gratitude in his tired eyes. “It’s… it’s something I’ve carried with me every day,” he admitted. “Sometimes, I think about what life would have been like if I’d been able to protect her.”

The conversation paused, and the only sounds were Ellie's soft coughs and the murmuring wind outside. You shifted your focus back to her, noting how fragile she looked in the dim light. “I worry about her,” you confessed. “Every time she gets sick, it feels like I’m failing her somehow. Like I’m not strong enough to keep her safe.”

Joel leaned forward again, his tone careful yet earnest. “You’re doing everything you can. It’s not about being strong all the time—it’s about showing up, even when you’re hurting, and caring. I know that pain. It’s… it’s relentless sometimes.”

You glanced at him, feeling a connection in that shared understanding. “How do you manage, Joel? I mean, how do you keep going with the weight of it all?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He paused, searching for the right words. “There are nights like this when I just sit and let the memories wash over me,” he explained slowly. “I remember the sound of Sarah’s laughter, the way she’d cling to me whenever I tried to fix something broken in our lives. And then, I remember the moment I lost her… and I realize that maybe, just maybe, those memories are all I have left of her.”

You listened intently, the weight of your own loss mingling with his sorrow. “I lost my family in a raid,” you admitted, your voice shaking with the memory. “One moment we were all together, and the next… everything was gone. It’s like I’m constantly chasing ghosts, trying to piece together a life that can never be whole again.”

Joel’s eyes darkened with empathy. “I know what it’s like to chase ghosts,” he said quietly. “Every day, I see the echoes of Sarah in every quiet corner, every whispered wind. It’s a reminder of what I lost, but also of what I still have to fight for.” His hand brushed against the table, almost as if reaching out to the memory of a past that haunted him.

The silence that followed was thick, filled with mutual understanding and unspoken pain. Finally, you broke the stillness. “I feel so alone sometimes,” you confessed. “Even when I’m surrounded by people—like Ellie—there’s this part of me that’s always empty, always aching.”

Joel’s gaze softened, and he leaned forward once more. “I know loneliness,” he said. “It’s the hardest part of all. But you’re not alone in this, you know. We both have scars that remind us we’ve lost so much, but maybe that’s what makes us hold on to the people we care about now.” His words were measured and gentle, offering a tentative lifeline out of the abyss.

You managed a small laugh, the sound brittle and tinged with sadness. “It’s funny, isn’t it? How the things we lose make us value the things we still have… even if it feels like we’re barely holding on.”

Joel nodded, his eyes distant as he remembered his daughter’s smile. “Yeah. Sarah used to say that scars were just reminders of how hard we fought to survive, that they were proof we’d loved and lost. I wish I could believe that sometimes.”

A brief silence enveloped you both, each lost in the labyrinth of memories that defined your separate sorrows. The steady rhythm of Ellie’s breathing provided a quiet counterpoint to the heavy words that hung between you.

After a moment, you shifted your gaze to Joel. “Do you ever think about what could have been?” you asked, your voice soft yet inquisitive. “About what our lives might look like if nothing had ever happened?”

Joel’s expression turned reflective, the pain of what-ifs evident in his eyes. “Every day,” he admitted. “There’s a part of me that wonders if I could have been a better father, if I could have done something to save Sarah. But then I realize that life isn’t about perfect choices—it’s about the choices we make in spite of the pain.”

You absorbed his words, feeling the truth resonate in your own experiences. “I made choices too,” you murmured. “Some I regret, some I wish I could take back. But every time I look at Ellie, I see a chance to do something right, to give her the love and care that I never got.”

Joel’s gaze softened, and he offered you a gentle smile. “That’s all any of us can do,” he said. “Try to make up for what we lost by giving everything we have to what remains.” His hand briefly touched the back of your hand on the table, a silent offering of solidarity in a world that had long forsaken kindness.

The conversation lulled into a comfortable quiet, punctuated only by the occasional cough from Ellie and the low hum of the wind outside. You both sat with your respective ghosts, finding solace in the shared understanding of loss.

After a while, Joel spoke again, his voice barely above a whisper. “You know, sometimes I think about how different things might be if I could start over. If I could go back and change one moment, just to save her from that moment of loss.” His eyes glistened with unshed tears, and you saw the depth of his pain in that fleeting vulnerability.

You reached out, your voice soft and steady. “Joel, I don’t think any of us can ever truly change the past. But we can choose how we move forward. And maybe, in some small way, every choice we make is a tribute to those we lost.” Your words carried both the weight of your sorrow and the hope that somehow, by caring for others, you could honor the memory of what was gone.

He nodded slowly, the silence that followed heavy with understanding. “You’re right,” he agreed. “Every small act of kindness, every moment of love—it’s a rebellion against the darkness that took everything from us.” His hand squeezed yours briefly before retreating back to the table, leaving behind a warmth that belied the coldness of the world outside.

As the night deepened, the conversation shifted between memories and moments of tentative hope. You talked about the little things that reminded you of your family—a favorite meal, a song, a smell that carried a thousand memories. Joel shared stories of Sarah, recounting her mischievous grin and the way her laughter could light up even the darkest day. Each story, each memory, was a small step toward understanding that even in loss, there could be fragments of beauty.

At one point, Ellie stirred, and you excused yourself to check on her. In the soft lamplight of her makeshift bed, you gently brushed her hair back, whispering reassurances. “It’s okay, Ellie. I’m right here,” you murmured, more to yourself than to her. The weight of your own pain mingled with your determination to protect this fragile life in your care.

When you returned to the table, Joel looked up, a quiet smile tugging at his lips. “She’s a fighter, isn’t she?” he remarked, his voice filled with a mix of admiration and wistfulness.

You nodded. “Just like us,” you replied. “Even when it feels like the world is against you, you keep fighting. That’s all we can do.”

Joel’s eyes met yours, and for a long moment, the past and present seemed to converge in that simple, powerful truth. “We fight,” he said quietly. “And in fighting, we find the pieces of ourselves we thought were lost.”

The conversation lulled once more as the night wore on, each of you wrapped in the delicate fabric of shared grief and quiet resilience. Outside, the first hints of dawn began to lighten the horizon, a reminder that even in the darkest nights, there was the promise of a new day.

Before the light fully broke, Joel spoke again, his tone resolute yet tinged with sorrow. “I know I can’t bring Sarah back,” he said, his voice barely concealing the ache. “But maybe, by protecting the people we love now, we’re in some small way honoring her memory. By keeping someone safe, we’re defying the loss, even if just for a moment.”

You reached across the table, your fingers brushing his in a silent affirmation. “We honor them every day,” you said softly. “In every act of love, in every moment we choose to live despite the pain, we’re keeping a part of them alive.”

Joel’s eyes shone with a quiet determination. “Then let’s keep fighting,” he whispered, the simple declaration carrying the weight of everything you both had endured.

The night gradually gave way to the soft hues of early morning, and the heavy shadows of grief began to lift ever so slightly. In that fragile transition from night to day, you both found a renewed sense of purpose—a promise that even in the midst of sorrow, there was a future worth fighting for.

As you prepared to settle back into a few more hours of restless sleep before the next day’s challenges, you felt a subtle shift inside. The weight of your shared pasts had not vanished, but in the exchange of memories and heartfelt words, a small light had been kindled—a reminder that you were not alone in the struggle, and that every day, in every act of care and compassion, you were building a bridge from the past to a future that still held promise.

And so, in the quiet dawn, with Ellie resting a bit easier and the horizon hinting at a new beginning, you and Joel faced the world together—two souls bound by loss, yet united by the determination to keep fighting, to keep loving, and to keep the memories of those lost alive in every whispered word and every tender touch.

The fight wasn’t over, you thought, but maybe, just maybe, we could find a way to live with the scars and let them be the map to our healing.

[souliebird]

[[and then I met you || Ch. 32]]

Series: Daredevil || Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader || Rating: Explicit

Summary:

A one-night stand years ago gave you a daughter and you are now able to put a name to her father – Matthew Murdock. Everything is about to change again as you navigate trying to integrate your life with that of the handsome and charming blind lawyer’s and Matt realizes he needs to not only protect his new family from Hell's Kitchen, but from the world.

chapter masterlist

Words: 3k🌶️

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The billboard across the street shifts from casting a blue glow into Matt’s apartment to a warm purple one. It is bright enough for you to be able to see your keyboard, but low enough that everything is still in shadow. You can maneuver around easily enough, which makes it the perfect level considering you are apparently the only one in your family who needs light to do so. 

Paired with the overall lack of decor, it fosters a nice working environment, with the ambience of the city providing the perfect background noise. 

You have a fair bit of invoicing to catch up on, so you have set yourself up at the dining table as Matt readies himself for his own night of working. Luckily, all the excitement of temporarily moving into a new place left your little Mouse exhausted and getting her down to sleep was as easy as it has ever been. You wish you would be able to go off to Dreamland as quickly as she does, but you know your brain won’t let you drift off without hours and hours of worrying first.

“You don’t need to wait up for me,” Matt says for about the millionth time. He’s changed mostly into his red Devil suit, and it still baffles you how different he looks in it versus his Lawyer suit. It is like he’s been possessed or switched out with a twin - it’s not necessarily evil but it is a completely different aura. All his fun and charm has been replaced with a caged animal ready to rip someone’s throat out, and you just happen to be his keeper who he knows isn’t a threat. He’s of no danger to you, but anyone outside these walls is fair game. 

“I have about forty emails to answer and even more orders to review and this is the only time I’ll be able to sit down and focus on doing all that. These are my working hours, too,” you reply as you finish connecting your VPN. “Plus, I’ll be up worrying until you are home safe. Killing two birds with one stone.” 

“No killing anything,” he chides, his voice dropping an octave. It sends a pleasant shiver up your spine, and you are starting to think you may like this Devil-y side of Matt. 

“You know I can’t even kill a cockroach.” 

He huffs from across the room, then in a few long strides, he’s behind you, putting his large, gloved hands on your shoulders and rubbing at them, “I mean it. If you finish before I’m back, try to get some sleep. You need it.” 

You let your head fall forward and enjoy the way his thumbs dig into your muscles. “I need to make sure I get my work hours logged. When you get home, we can both get some sleep.” 

Behind you, a pleased rumble comes from Matt’s chest. He bends forward and nuzzles just above your ear, whispering in that deep voice that makes your core clench, “call it ‘home’ again.” 

Your eyes flutter shut as your entire being heats up again. It isn’t just his voice and actions - it's the implication of his request - that he wants a home with you. He wants your home to be here with him. You can’t even take a moment to think about it, because you just want to please the Devil behind you. 

“Come home to us.” 

He buries his nose into your hair and inhales deeply while his hands tighten on your shoulders. He nods after a moment, then you feel him have to force himself to step away. 

“I’ll always come home to you. I swear on my life.” 

You resist the urge to follow after him and say something cheesy or dramatic. You stay planted in your seat instead, eyes still closed and breathing through your nose, trying to calm your fast beating heart. 

Matt strides back to where his gloves and helmet wait for him, and you listen as he dons the last pieces of his armor. Only when he has fully become the Devil do you let yourself speak again, hoping to encourage the beast coming to life inside of him.

“Keep the Kitchen safe. For me. For Minnie.” 

----

It’s closing in on three am when you hear the crunch of boots on gravel coming from the roof above you. You expected Matt to be home closer to one in the morning, but that was just a time you made up. 

Your emails are still on your screen, so you close them out and clock out just as the door on the landing opens and the Devil returns to the apartment. There is a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, and you scrunch up your nose in confusion as he makes his way down the stairs.

“I thought you would be asleep by now,” he growls out and you can instantly tell the poor man is exhausted. 

You are up and out of your seat in an instant, making your way to him with your water bottle in hand. You hold it out to him as he comes to a stop in front of you and he quickly drops the bag to his feet in exchange for chugging the rest of your water.

“I told you I had a lot of work. Are you okay? What is with the - “You cut yourself off as the light coming from the billboard changes from red to yellow and you see there is a slice of suit missing from Matt’s arm. “You’re hurt!”

You don’t give him the chance to deny or explain - you turn and hurry back to the kitchen to get the first aid kit. 

“I’m fine,” he grumbles from behind you. You hear something thunk on the ground and assume it is his helmet. “It went through and through.” 

The words take a second to process and color drains from your face as they do. “You were shot?” 

“I’m fine,” he insists, a small hint of annoyance in his voice. “I just need to wrap it.”

You yoink the first aid kit down from where it’s hidden in a cabinet and whirl back around the face Matt. He’s removed his helmet and gloves and is in the process of taking off his boots. Your mind swirls into overdrive, flying back to your binder pages about gunshot wounds and you find yourself huffing at the Devil as practicality fills you. 

“Wrap it?” You almost scold as you march back to him. His head jerks up and his brows furrow, but your Mom Mentality is quicker than the Devil. “You can’t just wrap it; it needs to be cleaned and disinfected. Who knows what is dripping off your suit into it. You can’t punch away an infection, Matt.” 

His face slackens into confusion as you move to squat in front of him so you can open the kit and begin to rummage through it. 

“What..?”

“I need to clean it,” you repeat as you inspect the meager contents of the kit. “And disinfect it. I’m not very good at stitches yet, but you have butterfly stripes,” you hold up the pack as you find it and continue your rambling, “and gauze, so we can wrap it, and hopefully that should be good enough. Do you know what caliber it was? Was it a hollow point?”

He doesn’t answer you right away, and you assume he is trying to remember what happened. You focus on reading the different packets you pick up, setting aside wipes and antibiotic ointments. If it was through and through, you shouldn’t have to get out any debris, but you add the tweezers to your pile anyway. Your mind is a step-by-step checklist of everything you need and you really hope all your studying has prepared you for your first real wound cleaning. You are a pro at scraped knees and paper cuts, but a bullet wound is a completely different level. 

“What?” Matt repeats and you look up to see he looks completely dumbfounded. “You…aren’t angry?”

It is your turn to be confused. 

“Why…would I be angry?” you ask slowly, trying to understand why he is asking. “You..didn’t mean to get shot, did you?” He shakes his head slowly, and your lips turn down into a frown. “Then..I’m not angry.” 

You slowly sit yourself down and cross your legs, trying to process your own feelings around your Fix It and Make Things Better thoughts, “I’m scared that you got hurt. And I’m worried..I worry about you every night when you go out, but this…this is small, right? It’s through and through and in your arm and you aren’t bleeding everywhere, and you are standing on your own. You’re…you’re okay. You’re hurt. You’re hurt. But you’re okay…you’re okay and I just need to make sure you stay okay.” Tears start to prick at the corners of your eyes, and you shake your head to chase them away. “Please let me make sure you are okay.”

Slowly, Matt kneels in front of you and takes your face in his hands. He thumbs away a tear that managed to escape before leaning in to press his forehead to yours. 

“I’m okay,” he whispers, the Devil gone from his voice, and he sounds so so tired. “I’m okay, my darling. Let me get out of this and you can clean it, yeah? Then we can go to bed.” 

You press into his touch, needing it to ground you and help you keep your emotions in check. 

Matt’s hurt, but he is okay. It’s just a little wound, something you can handle. You know he is going to get hurt, going out and acting as a vigilante, and it isn’t always going to be bruises and split knuckles. 

People shoot at him. They try to stab him. They might have weird fire breath or laser beams. 

He’s going to get hurt, but right now he is okay. He just needs to be patched up and that is something you can do. 

You’ve been practicing and studying to make sure he will stay okay. 

You take a shaky breath and center yourself, then let your lips turn up into a small smile, “You’re all sweaty, you need a shower before bed. Or Minnie will complain that you are stinky in the morning.”

Matt huffs a small laugh and tips his head up to kiss your forehead. “Well, according to her my whole apartment is stinky and dusty and cold.”

“That’s why we are playing housekeeper tomorrow,” you whisper as he pulls away. 

You allow yourself to wipe your eyes with your nightshirt as Matt removes the rest of his armor, leaving him in just his boxers. You then focus on double checking all the items you’ve gathered, letting your mind go back into Practical mode versus Emotional. 

“Why do you have a duffel bag?” you finally ask, curious as to what he had been up to all night and why he has a new accessory. 

Matt gives a quiet groan, then begins to explain as he sits himself in front of you. “I found an abandoned…lab is the only way I can put it, in one of the utility tunnels. I guess it got flooded out with all the rain and whoever was running it was clearing it out. When I got there, there was only one guy.” As he talks, you begin to clean his wounds, and you are not surprised at how stoic he remains despite the stinging of antiseptics. “I think he was just grabbing files, and that is what is in the bag. Paper files and what I think are thumb drives. I’m not too sure.”

You look up in time to see him turn his lips down into a hard scowl. “The whole place reeked of human blood, though. Not fresh - stale. And there were cages. It was just a few rooms, but someone was definitely up to no good down there.” He flexes his fingers, then says your name softly. “I think it was some sort of government agency. The gun the guy had was standard issue for the FBI and the way he moved was in line with their training, but it didn’t feel like the FBI. It felt more advanced and after everything with Fisk I don’t think they’d try something twice here so close together. But in my gut, it’s telling me this isn’t something like the Hand or something underground.”

You turn to look at the simple bag laying on the floor, your heart sinking as you take it in. You trust Matt’s gut with this - this is not his first rodeo, and he has so much more information about all of this than you ever will. 

“Do you want me to read them for you?”

He shakes his head, “No. Well.. yes, but no. I think this is something I need to take to everyone - Foggy, Karen, Frank, Jessica. Another piece of the puzzle of what has been going on lately. I think we all have different parts, and we need to start looking at what fits together.” He pauses, rolls his lip between his teeth. “I’d like for you to be there, too..if you’d like. I don’t want to keep you in the dark. You aren’t out there, like we are but..I’m dragging you into this just by being with you. I…” 

He stops, and turns to fully face you, pulling his bicep from your grasp so he can cup your jaw with his other hand. He runs his thumb over your lips. 

“I can’t risk losing you. If you being in the know and understanding everything that is going on is what is going to keep you safe - keep Minnie safe - then I can’t lie to you and I can’t hide anything. But I need you to understand that there is a risk of knowing what lurks in the shadows. It is your choice; I want it to be your choice. I need you to be okay, too.” 

You don't need to let the words turn over in your mind - you know your answer. “I want to be there. I want to help, even if it is just helping you talk through things. You don’t need to hide things from me. I…I understand what you are doing.”  You mimic him and reach to cup his cheek, rubbing your thumb so lightly over his lower lip. “I just want you to be safe, Matt. I want you to come home at night.” 

You purposefully use the word, knowing it triggered a reaction before. 

It does again.  

His eyes flutter close, and he kisses your finger gently. 

“I’ll always come back to you,” he breathes out before swallowing thickly. You watch his Adam’s apple bob in his throat, and you wonder if he wants to say more.

Do you want him to say more?

You don’t know.

You don’t know and you don’t want to think about it. 

“Okay,” he whispers as you hand drops, and he turns so you can apply butterfly strips to the holes in his bicep. 

You just want Matt to be safe and right now that means finishing wrapping his bicep. You let your thumb linger on his lip for a moment before pulling away, “I’m almost done with your arm. I..I think it doesn’t need stitches. Everything here should be plenty.” 

You let your mind fall back to your guides as you wrap the gauze, mentally picturing exactly what you need to do while also making mental notes about directions you need to change and products you need to buy to fill out Matt’s first aid kit. While he has apparently been so much better at taking care of himself, his supplies are a bit lacking. 

As you finish, you hesitate before leaning in and placing a small kiss over the entrance wound, mumbling as you do, “Minnie would admonish me if I didn’t add a kissie for extra healing.” 

“She is the Doctor,” Matt replies gently, and you can’t help but smile.

You start to repack the first aid kit as Matt pushes up into standing to gather his own gear. You both clean in a comfortable silence and only once everything is put away, does Matt come back to you. 

“Shower with me?” He asks, his voice soft and low and your whole body quivers for him.

You don’t reply with words. You take his offered hand, and he leads you to the small room. 

The two of you can barely fit in the shower together, but it doesn’t matter. As soon as you are under the water, you are one.

Matt cups your jaw with both hands as he kisses you like he is savoring every microsecond. It is slow and languid, and you melt together so easily. Your hands are in his hair, pulling his closer, like you want to absorb him because maybe you do. Maybe you want him to absorb you, because you are safe in his arms, and nothing will ever hurt you or make you cry if he is there. 

You have Matt Murdock, and you have the Devil and he has you.

You don’t know if it's hours or minutes or days that pass before one callused hand drops to your thigh and with the lightest of touches, urges it up. Once it is around his waist, Matt rocks forward and slides into you with no resistance.

His pumps are as slow as his kisses and you lose yourself in him. If you could think, you would imagine he is lost in you as well, but the only thing on your mind is the pleasure he is bringing you and how perfectly full you feel.

His name is falling from your lips over and over, breathless and needy, but not for a release - just for him and it is like he knows that. His head drops to your shoulder, and he buries his nose into your throat, his lips moving in words barely heard above the spray of the shower.

Your name.

Mine.

Yours.

Perfect. 

Please.

God.

Love. 

((“I love you.”))

((“I love you, too.”))

---

:) <3

---

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[lostatsea-blog]

Take Me Home

Alexia Putellas x Reader

Admiring Alexia across the club

(The Spanish in this is google translate so I apologise if it is wrong)

Take Me Home

You asked the taxi driver to drop you off one street away from the club. You wanted to make sure you could sneak in without being seen by any of your teammates. After paying the driver, you slipped out onto the pavement and already you could feel the thrum of the music; the vibration of the base making your spine tingle. As you neared the front you could hear mindless chatter and laughter from the drunk people who had made their way outside for some fresh air. You paused on the corner with a clear view of the front entrance to make sure that none of the gathered crowd were people you knew. Certain that you were safe from knowing eyes, you approached the main entrance; the dim lighting both outside and inside allowing you to pass through unseen with a simple nod from one of the security guards.

Once inside, the thrum of the music and the fluid movements of the gathered party goers allowed you to move unobtrusively until you found a small table in the corner. Sitting down, you began to scan the room searching through the crowds of people at the bar and on the dancefloor until you spotted the striking beauty you had been looking for. Your heart rate sored as you watched her throw her head back and laugh at something Patri said. Her laugh exposed the tanned skin of her neck and you imagined how good it would feel to attach your lips to it and hear that breathy moan as she pressed closer to you. It wasn’t often that you had a chance to just watch her so this opportunity filled you with excitement.

Scanning the room you realised that yours were not the only eyes watching the beautiful blond and that knowledge made you chuckle. You couldn’t blame them for being drawn to her beauty and her charm but you knew with certainty that any attempt they made to get her attention would be politely turned away. The team were all scattered around the club: some at the bar, some on the dancefloor and some attempting to pick up and bedmate for the night. When Patri drained her glass and headed towards the bar, one of the blond woman’s admirers plucked up the courage to make a move. You laughed to yourself as the Spanish beauty smiled politely before muttering something that sent them scurrying back to their table, head down and cheeks pink.

Deciding you had watched for long enough you stood and moved towards her. You moved stealthily around the edges of the club, keeping to the shadows not yet ready to be seen by her. You managed to sneak up behind her and slipped your arms around her waist, she tensed but quickly relaxed as you whispered, “Has anyone ever told you that you look just like Alexia Putellas?” She spun quickly in your arms her face breaking into the most breathtaking smile before she threw her arms around your neck.

“¿Cómo estás aquí? dijiste mañana!” (How are you here? You said tomorrow)

“I wanted to surprise you” You whispered more than willing to accept the kiss that she leaned in for. It had been three weeks since you had seen each other in person with both of you attending your respective international camps. You had stayed in England an extra week to catch up with your family who you had not seen in months. While you had spoken to each other every day, it didn’t compare to the feeling of having her warm body in your arms while she attempted to mould herself to you. She leaned in for another kiss, this one longer and more intense; her lips fought you for dominance sending electricity straight to your core

 “Te he extrañado mucho. Llévame a casa.” (I have missed you so much. Take me home) she demanded with a seductive smile. In that moment you were at her will and would do anything she demanded.

Would anyone be interested in a part 2 - What happen when they get home?

[himasgod]

Sharing Valentine's Day with NRC

SCARABIA VER.

HEARSTLABYUL VER SAVANACLAW VER OCTAVINELLE VER POMEFIORE VER IGNIHYDE VER DIASOMNIA VER

SCENARIO: The morning sun shone down on Night Raven College as students prepared for Valentine’s Day. Classes had ended earlier than usual, and the hallways were filled with rumors of chocolates, a few confessions, and secret dates. Despite the general excitement for that day of remembering and sharing, you hadn’t planned anything special for that day. Or at least, that’s what you thought.

But he had been acting oddly suspicious since the night before. You’d noticed his furtive glances and failed attempts at hiding smiles whenever you came near. You knew he was up to something.

With Jamil Viper and Kalim Al-Asim

Jamil Viper

It was Valentine's Day at Night Raven College, and the atmosphere was filled with laughter and music. Inside Scarabia, however, the air was calmer, almost solemn. The heat of the day and Kalim's party had subsided, and now only the soft lights of the paper lanterns hanging in the Entrance remained. You had received an invitation from Jamil that afternoon, short and mysterious:

"Come to the entrance tonight."

It was rare for Jamil, always reserved, to take the initiative on a day like this. The intrigue was enough to convince you to attend.

The whole Scarabia was adorned with soft lights and red and gold flowers. Jamil was there, waiting for you sitting on a cuison. His relaxed posture contrasted with the thorough attention he had clearly put into the preparations. He wore his uniform impeccably, but had added a dark red sash that highlighted his dark eyes.

"Thank you for coming" he said with a barely perceptible smile.

You stepped closer, noticing the warm glow of the lights reflecting in his eyes.

“What’s this all about, Jamil? You’re not usually this… festive.”

“Valentine’s Day is usually loud and over the top. But I wanted to offer you something different. Something just for us.”

His words made your heart race.

Jamil extended a hand towards you.

“Will you dance with me?”

The music began to play softly, a traditional Scalding Sand's tune you’d never heard before. He took your hand with a calm assurance, leading you through the steps with elegance and precision. Despite his reserved nature, Jamil’s every move was filled with intention and grace.

“I’ve always kept to the shadows,” he said as he led you in a spin. “But with you, I find myself longing for something more.”

The words took your breath away. It was rare for Jamil to open up like this.

“You don’t have to stay in Kalim's shadow anymore...,” you replied softly. “Not with me.”

Jamil paused for a moment, his eyes locked on yours. There was something raw and vulnerable in his gaze, an internal struggle you had always suspected but had never admitted.

After the dance, Jamil pulled out a small wooden box decorated with intricate gold patterns.

“This is for you.”

Inside was a bracelet of red and black agate beads, each bead polished to perfection.

“It’s a tradition in my family to give something handmade to those we care about. I wanted to make it myself.”

You took the bracelet, feeling the soft texture of the beads between your fingers.

“It’s beautiful, Jamil. Thank you.”

The silence that followed was filled with unspoken emotions. Finally, Jamil broke the tension with a more open smile than usual.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Prefect."

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Jamil.”

Kalim Al-Asim

Valentine’s Day had arrived with full force at Night Raven College, but no one had celebrated it with as much enthusiasm as Kalim Al-Asim. Since dawn, Scarabia had been decorated with gold and red lights, with piles of flowers and garlands everywhere. The garden fountain was filled with rose petals floating in the water, and soft music filled the air.

You knew Kalim was planning something special, but he hadn’t revealed any details to you. Still, the invitation to meet him at dusk had arrived with a scented card, signed in his signature cheerful handwriting.

When you arrived at Scarabia’s entrance, Kalim was already there, waiting with a bright smile. He wore a white and gold robe, with jewels that reflected the light from the lanterns hanging all around the garden.

“You’re here!” he exclaimed, running towards you. “I’m so happy you came!”

“Kalim, this is amazing,” you said, admiring the festive atmosphere around you.

“I wanted this night to be unforgettable! Come on, I have something to show you!”

He took you by the hand and led you, where a silk blanket was spread out on the ground, surrounded by soft cushions and a low table with sweets and drinks.

“I thought we could watch the stars together. It’s the best way to spend Valentine’s Day, don’t you think?”

You sat next to him, enjoying the cool night air and the soft sound of the waves from the nearby oasis. Kalim watched you with a serene expression, different from his usual energy.

“You know, I’ve never celebrated Valentine’s Day like this before,” he said, playing with a beaded bracelet on his wrist. “I’ve always been surrounded by people, but with you… everything is different.”

You turned to him, surprised by the sincerity in his voice.

“Different how?”

“Different because with you I feel free. It doesn’t matter if there’s a party or it’s just the two of us, I’m always happy when I’m with you."

Heat rose to your cheeks. Kalim was known for his disarming honesty, but these words had touched you deeply.

Kalim pulled out a small wooden box adorned with mother-of-pearl inlays.

“This is for you.”

Inside was a gold pendant in the shape of a sun, with a small red stone in the center.

“In my country, the Scalding Sands, the sun symbolizes happiness and good luck. I want you to have this so you’ll always remember that I wish you all the happiness in the world.”

You were speechless as Kalim helped you put it on. The stone shimmered softly under the starlight.

“It fits you perfectly!” he said, his smile lighting up the night.

“Thank you, Kalim. This means a lot to me.”

He leaned towards you, his eyes soft and full of affection.

“Happy Valentine’s Day"!

"Happy Valentine's Day, Kalim."

[theladyofbloodshed]

When Cassian, the Lord of Iron Crest, has a meeting with the High Lord of the Night Court in Illyria, destiny nudges Lady Death into his path.

Chapter 3

It had been all too easy to force the high lord into a corner. He hadn’t changed his fighting style since they were boys, much less his ability to bargain. How many times had Cassian heard him pleading and offering anything when he wrenched Rhysand's arm behind his back and forced his face into the mud? He sought to keep his precious city safe. He always had – at the expense of Illyria and the Hewn City. Cassian had perhaps embellished his words. The army wasn’t quite unified enough to mount a cohesive attack on Velaris with him at the helm, but it certainly would cause enough destruction to give Rhysand panic. And what was the life of one once-mortal worth against the lives of Velaris?

The shadowsinger stood carved from marble a few paces away from his high lord as they hashed out the agreement in Windhaven. Tomorrow evening, Nesta Archeron would become Cassian’s wife. He had waited five hundred years for her and yet that extra night seemed like an eternity.

‘For six months, she will reside here with you. For the remaining six, Nesta will return to her family.’

Cassian frowned. ‘I will not spend half a year away from my land.’

‘You misunderstand. You will not step foot in Velaris. Decide how you want the six months – spread or all at once.’

He gave a low laugh in response. ‘If you think I will spend half a year away from my wife then you are sorely mistaken in that regard too, high lord. Only death may cleave us apart.’

‘Nesta will be your wife in name alone. You will not seek to do harm to her. Any finger that you lay against her with ill-intent will cause massive injury for you, perhaps death.’ Rhysand leafed through the unnecessarily long magically-binding contract then turned to his left. ‘Is there anything else we should inform him of?’

Helion Spell-cleaver, High Lord of the Day Court, gave a shrug. ‘Am I to assume he can’t read?’

The slight pulse of his siphons almost gave away Cassian’s shame. No, he could not read. Few opportunities to study with a tutor were offered to bastard boys who had to fight to survive.

‘My wife will be with me for the whole year,’ he stated.

‘You are a fucking bastard,’ growled the shadowsinger. ‘She was stolen from her bed and is only now adjusting to being fae and you will steal her away again for your own gain.’

Cassian waited a beat or two then replied with a grin that he knew would boil the shadowsinger’s blood. ‘For the gain of all of Iron Crest, brother. We will make good use of Nesta Archeron.’

It was too easy to unsettle that one. The mere reminder that his blood was Illyrian had Azriel’s shadows swarming him, blocking him from view.

‘Since I am generous and my army don’t feel like soaking their armour in blood today, Nesta will be here for twelve months of the year. In winter, we will live in a cabin that you shall fund and build. I can’t imagine high fae faring well in the northern winters.’ Cassian folded his fingers together. ‘You – and her family – are more than welcome to visit Nesta in Iron Crest at any point. She can visit Velaris for one week per month. If she requires longer then I will accompany her as her husband.’

He could not say which irked the high lord more: his conditions or calling it his army. But at least he was considering it.

‘Very well. Azriel will come once a week to speak with Nesta privately. You are forbidden from the conversations. You are forbidden from pressing Nesta on what was spoken of. If she expresses that you are intimidating her or that any male in this camp has threatened her, the contract - and marriage - is void and she returns at once to Velaris.’

None of the males in his camp would dare speak out of line to a female, much less his wife. Change had been difficult. A great deal of blood had been spilt. Cassian did not sleep easily from the things he had done in Iron Crest to bring about change. But if it meant a safer life for his children – for Illyria’s children – then he would sacrifice himself over and over.

‘Nesta will never be harmed.’

Helion used his power to alter the contract, but before he finished, Cassian spoke again. ‘I’d like it added there that Nesta cannot harm me either.’

Rhysand snickered. ‘You believe Nesta would seek to harm you?’

‘I don’t know what you have been teaching her in Velaris now, do I? Perhaps my wife is a would-be-assassin. I’d not like to take the risk.’

When it was done, he extended his hand for Rhysand to shake. The male loathed him and Cassian knew it. He cared not for a half-breed high lord who ran to his mother each time Cassian beat him in a fight.

Ink wound its way around his wrist and forearm as the contract was sealed. In certain lights, the dark ink seemed to shimmer at the edges with gold, courtesy of Helion.

Cassian exited the tent. Over his shoulder, he called, ‘Give my regards to my wife.’

Then, he spread his wings and soared through the night’s sky back to Iron Crest.

[winxanity-ii]

⌜Knot in Time | Chapter 02 Chapter 02 | weary conqueror⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝

❘ prev. chapter ❘༻✦༺❘ next chapter ❘

The battle was won. The war, for now, had ended.

Telemachus rode at the front of the Ithacan forces, his face marked by dust and dried blood, his expression unreadable. The men behind him shouted their triumph, yet their cheers were subdued by exhaustion.

They had seen too much, lost too many. The price of war lingered in their bones, even as the thought of home soothed their aches.

You followed unseen.

Occasionally, you'd drift away; your shears needed elsewhere to snip the threads of those whose time has come. Yet, inevitably, your path brought you back to him, the young prince whose fate you're deeply intrigued by.

You watched as their ships cut through the waves, observing Telemachus.

Despite the surrounding celebration, he remained aloof, separated from his men by the invisible wall of his thoughts and responsibilities. He stood on the deck, his gaze fixed on the horizon, seemingly untouched by the revelry around him.

His isolation was palpable, a solitary figure burdened by the weight of expectation and the ghosts of those he had lost.

Soon, Ithaca's cliffs loomed in the distance; the wind carried the scent of salt and olive trees, a far cry from the stench of battlefields past.

The ship glided into the port, and the soldiers disembarked.

On the docks, the people of Ithaca gathered, their faces a mix of hope and sorrow. Families pressed close, eyes scanning the returning soldiers, searching for familiar faces among the weary ranks.

Some found what they sought.

Joyous reunions unfold before you—tears and laughter mingling in equal measure, relief flooding through those who had feared the worst. Others, however, find only emptiness. Their search ends in the cold realization that some will never return to home's embrace.

And there, among them, stood Penelope.

Her hands were clasped tightly before her, her blue peplos catching in the wind.

She stepped forward—quicker, then running.

Telemachus barely has time to step off the gangplank before she was upon him, cupping his face as though to prove he was real. "My son."

Telemachus didn't speak at first. His fingers twitched at his sides before slowly coming to rest against her arms. He leaned into her touch, if only for a moment.

"Mother," he murmured at last.

Penelope's expression wavered, and then she was fussing over him, brushing strands of hair from his forehead, checking the fresh bruises and cuts marring his skin.

Odysseus watched from a distance.

The years had settled into him, the sharpness of his youth worn into something quieter, more tempered. He did not run to his son as Penelope did, but there was something in his stance—something in the way his gaze lingered on Telemachus—that spoke of pride.

When Telemachus finally turned to him, Odysseus stepped forward, clasping his son's forearm in a warrior's greeting.

"You've done well," Odysseus said simply.

Telemachus met his father's gaze. There is a moment—an understanding that passes between them, unspoken but felt.

And then, Penelope was speaking again.

"There will be a feast," she declared, her voice bubbling with the joy of his return. "You and the others—you must eat, you must rest." She barely gave Telemachus time to protest before she was shooing him away, gesturing for the servants to take him, to see that he was bathed, that he was prepared for the night's celebrations.

Telemachus allowed it.

But he didn't seem eager.

You watched as they led him away.

And later, when the halls grew rowdy and the moon hung high, you made a choice.

☆

☆

You sought him through dreams.

It was late at night when the world was hushed and shadows stretched long and deep, hours after the welcome-back feast had dwindled into quiet conversations and lingering goodbyes.

The palace was silent, save for the soft murmurs of the night breeze.

Telemachus was fast asleep, his body relaxed and unguarded in the deep embrace of exhaustion.

You emerged from the shadows to his sleeping form, pausing for a moment to watch him. Moonlight filtered through the window, casting a gentle glow across his features, softening the hard lines of his warrior's face.

Here, in the quiet of his chambers, he looked different—youthful, at peace, a stark contrast to the cold-faced warrior who had taken a life so simply all those days ago.

You leaned over, and with a gentle brush of your fingers against his temple, a shimmer of connection formed. His consciousness yielded, inviting you into the labyrinth of his dreams.

It wasn't difficult. The mortal mind is pliable in sleep, softened at the edges, drifting between memory and imagination.

You slipped between those cracks with ease, settling into the unguarded spaces where his thoughts lay.

You told yourself you did this to understand.

Was it luck? Coincidence? A warrior's instinct sharpened beyond reason? Or was there something else? Some force—some unknown, unseen thing—that had intervened?

You must know.

You must know so it doesn't happen again.

And so, his dreams opened before you.

And you stepped inside..

.☆.     .✩.        .☆.

You expected carnality.

That's what you've always seen.

Mortal dreams, when not touched by the gods, are selfish things—filled with hunger, with longing, with that ceaseless reaching for what they cannot have.

They dream of flesh, of power, of lost loved ones. They dream of desires so deep they drown in them.

But... Telemachus didn't.

You found him beneath the shade of a cypress tree.

The sun was high, warmth spilling through the branches in soft golden waves. He leaning against the rough bark, eyes closed, his expression unreadable. The grass bent with the wind, whispering in hushes that you didn't strain to hear.

He didn't stir.

It was a dream of peace.

A dream of stillness.

How rare.

You watched for a time, waiting for the dream to shift, for some deeper hunger to surface, but it didn't. If anything, he seemed to sink further into it, as if this moment—this brief pause in an otherwise chaotic existence—was something he wished to preserve.

But you hadn't come here for this.

You stepped forward, deeper.

The world bent.

The cypress and the warmth dissolved into mist, curling around your limbs as you pressed further into the hazy corridors of his mind. The deeper you went, the thinner the veil between memory and dream became.

And then—

A boy.

He was young—no more than five or six summers old. His frame was thin, wiry, his hair tousled from salt and sun. He stood in the courtyard of the palace, surrounded by men—older, stronger, towering above him.

They called him little wolf.

Though, not in kindness.

They laughed, their voices thick with wine, jesting about the boy's mother, about her "faithfulness" during Odysseus' absence. Their words were cruel, each one a barb meant to wound.

"Careful, pup," one of them chuckled, ruffling the boy's hair in a way that made his small hands clench into fists. "You bite too hard, we'll have to wonder who really taught you."

"Maybe you're more a stray than a prince. Who knows who you've really got running in your blood, eh? Maybe that's why you're so quick to snarl."

The boy didn't lash out.

He stood there, shoulders stiff, his jaw locked tight as he took the taunts. His nails dug into his palms.

He didn't look at them.

He didn't cry.

He waited until they were gone.

Only then did he exhale.

Only then did he move, retreating to the shadows of the halls, his small frame vanishing into the vastness of the palace as if he could disappear from the harsh world they'd thrust upon him.

The memory shifted.

A boy of thirteen.

You found him alone—his body leaner, his limbs stretched awkwardly as he grew into himself. He trained in the yard beneath the watchful gaze of no one.

No tutor. No father.

No man to guide his hand, to correct his stance, to sharpen his edge.

So he drilled himself.

Again. And again. And again.

The sun was low, casting long shadows that merged with his own. Yet he didn't stop.

He moved through the drills over and over, a wooden sword clutched in his aching hands, sweat dripping down his back, matting his hair to his forehead. His feet shifted across the packed dirt.

Each movement is deliberate. Repeated. A thousand times over.

His strikes were clumsy. His footing, uncertain.

But he didn't stop.

He pressed forward, his lips pressed thin, his brows furrowed in fierce concentration.

Every time he faltered—every time the blade dipped too low, every time his step was misplaced, every time he felt the sting of his own weakness—he gritted his teeth and began again.

It wasn't a skill he trained for.

It was readiness.

He was waiting.

Waiting for the day his father returned.

Waiting for the day he no longer had to prove he belonged here.

Waiting for the moment he'd no longer be seen as a child, but as something more.

You stepped closer.

Close enough to see the blisters forming on his hands.

Close enough to feel the sheer want burning in his bones.

His frustration mounted with each misstep. The wooden sword becoming an unwieldy extension of his tiring arms.

Finally, his endurance frayed, snapped by the weight of his exertions and the burden of expectations.

With a cry of exasperation, the sword clattered to the ground.

His energy spent, he collapsed beside it, his breaths heaving.

Dragging his knees to his chest, Telemachus tilted his head back, his eyes tracing the reddening sky as the sun dipped below the horizon.

In the silence, his voice cracked—not with pain, nor anger, but with something deeper. "Father... where are you?"

The quiet that followed was deafening.

A silence that spoke louder than any answer ever could.

And then—

The memory shifted again.

And now—he was older.

Not quite the man you saw on the battlefield, but close.

You knew this moment before it unfolded.

The threads of this event were woven long ago, stretched taut over the loom of fate, the echoes of many shears snipping with each thread you severed.

The suitors.

The great hall was awash in blood. It dripped from the marble columns, pooled beneath overturned tables, stained the once-pristine floors of his home.

Telemachus moved through the carnage with the precision of a man who had trained for this moment his entire life.

His movements were methodical, a dance of death perfected through years of silent preparation.

He fought beside his father now.

Odysseus—returned at last.

Reclaimed, reborn, bringing vengeance upon those who defiled his home.

Telemachus mirrored him, step for step, his blade an extension of his will.

Each suitor's life ended with a clean stroke.

Each final breath was swallowed by the great silence of the slaughter.

A man might've wept in such a moment.

Might've crumbled beneath the weight of it all.

But Telemachus didn't.

His expression was a mask of stone, unreadable even as the dying cursed his name.

He cut them down with the same ruthless efficiency as Odysseus.

It wasn't vengeance.

Not rage.

It was something colder.

Something... inevitable.

And you wondered—

How many mortals live their lives so deeply entrenched in both the mythical and the harrowing?

How many face gods and ghosts, war and loss, and emerge still standing, unbroken?

Enough.

You stepped away.

The memories unraveled, mist curling back into the void.

You withdrew from his mind.

You left the sleeping prince behind, returning once more to your duties, and after a few more snips, you returned home... if you can even call it that.

To call it a place would be a mistake. It wasn't a place, and yet it wasn't nothing.

It existed beyond existence, where time didn't pass, where the concept of form and function was a mere afterthought.

Here, the great spool of fate turned without ceasing, an endless thread twisting and stretching into eternity.

It was delicate, vast, incomprehensible.

To mortal minds, it was believed that the Fates worked tirelessly, aided by a hundred attendants—souls chosen to weave and sever the destinies of men.

They were wrong.

It wasn't hands that guided the threads. It wasn't effort that kept fate in motion. It simply was.

An eternal spinning. A balance.

A thing that should not be interrupted.

And yet—

When the halls are dark and your sisters weave their quiet rhythms, you find yourself thinking of him still... mortal who had slipped past his fate.

The son of Odysseus.

Telemachus.

You told yourself this wouldn't happen again. That you'd learned what you needed to. That his life was merely another thread in the grand design, nothing more.

And yet, you found yourself intrigued.

One step outside the weave, and what does a man become?

You think you'll watch him a little longer.

A/N: just wanted to post the first 2 chappies before i hit the hay; so what do you guys think?? it has promise???

[hitodama3]

Best Friend's Brother (Caleb-LaDS)

So this bare shadow of a plot bunny has been pawing at my brain all day...

Along with the song Best Friend's Brother.

I can never see myself as the protagonist in otome games, or really any dating sims so imagine...

Not protagonist x Caleb

You are the childhood best friend of the LaDS protagonist.

You two are thick as thieves, and she spends as much time at your house as she does her own.

So, of course, you're well acquainted with her older, adopted, brother Caleb, and as the years have passed you've gained a bit of a ... crush.

And of course, your BEST friend would notice your change in behavior. Becoming a little mooney, maybe doodling something in a notebook before hiding it away when you see her coming, or even staring a *little* too long at the boys during the down time at lunch. She pounces on you like a hyena demanding to know what's going on.

Eventually, you're unable to avoid it any longer, and the feeling like you're going to burst out of your skin. You blurt out rapid fire that you have a crush.

She is over the moon! Immediately wanting to know who. So she can start planning a strategy on how to get them to like you. At first you refuse to tell her, because; What if it ruins your friendship!?! This is your best friend's brother after all!

But, eventually, you can no longer hide your wandering eyes, or maybe she sees the scribbled out C in your notebook, and puts two and two together.

You have to cover her mouth; when she almost screams your feelings, for everyone to hear! Your eyes dart around her face concerned that this may ruin your friendship, but you have no way to know that this could be the best thing that's ever happened to your friend.

What friend hasn't wanted their best friend to *actually* be their sibling, and a part of their family? She honestly couldn't think why she hadn't tried to orchestrate this sooner! She'd be able to keep her brother AND best friend forever this way!

You struggle to contain her excitement, and to keep her from; at the earliest opportunity, march over to Caleb and demand you date.

She tries her best to give you as much insider information as she can; into what Caleb likes and dislikes, and tries to set up as many encounters and alone time as possible.

You'd be embarrassed about how blatant she was being if you didn't enjoy his company so much. His presence making you feel warm and happy, while also feeling like you'd throw up at any time.

You were going to confess.

After months of interactions both created and situational you knew you weren't going to get any closer to him.

So no matter how stereotypical it may seem you pick Valentine's day to confess. You go out and find the largest sunflower you could find, before asking Caleb to see you alone. Though you could see your friend hiding around the corner as a mildly awkward and supportive audience, and confess.

You watch the face you'd been studying for months and you see that easy smile shift into a hesitant tilt. The moment becoming awkward and heavy and you knew his answer long before a word left his mouth.

You told him it was okay and that you guessed he only saw you as his sister's friend, or even a second little sibling, but you were glad that you confessed your feeling to him if to give them a release so they might start draining out so you could move on.

When you start to see him relax that you wouldn't burst into tears or yell you tried to put on a smile pushing back the bile that wanted to rise up your throat, and looking a little above his head and refusing to blink to dry your eyes. You held out the sunflower and asked if he'd take the flower at least, and thank him for not making fun of your feelings.

You turn away and your friend peaks out seeing your face and frown pulls at hers as she darts out snagging you and pulling you away as fast as possible.

The was the last time you talked to Caleb for many years. You'd see glimpses of him just from being friends with his little sister, but he did you a service by trying to be our of the way when ever you were near. Probably to be considerate of your feelings though it stung regardless.

Thankfully over the years you were able to put your feelings to bed, but the peace didn't last long when in the future you get a call full of heart break and agony.

Caleb was dead.

You rushed to your friend's side and tried to be there through the nights of pure agony and pain. Trying to fill the gap of loneliness and grief as best you could. Sharing the loss of someone who had been a large part of both your childhoods.

But then... He was back.

Your friend demanded you meet her, and you were happy to see them. A lot had been going on in your friend's life as she juggled her work as an enforcer with four other men that seemed to be a big part of what was going on in your friend's life.

She waved you over to a seat at the cafe and you chatted happy to see each other and catching up on what had happened when your friend perked over waving someone else over to the table.

When you heard a familiar voice. The gentle and upbeat tone curling down your spine like a caress. You froze unmoving as if afraid that you might spoke the ghost that had come to haunt you before a heavy body dropped down in the chair next to you.

Caleb complained as he realized your friend hadn't told you he was alive, and your friend stating that she wanted it to be a surprise just like it was a surprise for her.

Slowly you turned your head fighting not to go slack jaw as your eyes collided with unfamiliar purple eyes in a vaguely familiar face.

He was familiar.

He seemed like a stranger.

He was beautiful.

He felt cold.

He teasingly greeted you eyes roaming your body and pausing appreciatively over parts of you.

It made warmth pool in your checks and stomach, as you shifted away as if trying to run from his gaze.

You tried to banter with your friend accusing her for surprising you with something this large when you felt a large hand wrap around your wrist giving an imperious tug to drag your attention back to him.

Eyes narrowed and a pasted on smile he tells you that his sister refused to give him the details on how you were doing saying it should come from you. What followed felt more like an interrogation than long lost friends getting to know each other again.

Your wrist stayed locked in his grip the entire time his some slowly rubbing circles on your pulse point. Fingers flexing when ever your friend would drag wild stories or shenanigans you hadn't gotten into during the time he had been... away.

Especially when she brings up your dating life. Your friend has thrown herself into her work in the wake of Caleb's death, and you had decided that you wouldn't stay in mourning for a relationship you never had and starting putting yourself out there.

Your friend took great pleasure and relaying some of your more disastrous dates to him. You could feel your embarrassment rise in the face of your first crush but snapped at your friend good naturedly.

You even started up on some of your fun dates and adventures happy to recount your newest relationship. You had met online and he seemed very nice taking you out to places you had shown interest in and doing group activities with you.

You had forgotten your wrist was in his grasp till you started wondering out loud if you might ask him to officially be your boyfriend when you yelped at the sudden pain in your wrist dragging your eyes over to Caleb's narrowed ones as his hand tightened around your capture wrist.

His fake smile widened now that your attention rested solely on him and he started to pick apart your new potential partner. Finding every little issue you've had and dragging it to the forefront on why he wasn't good enough. With every one of your protest his thumb would swipe over your wrist and he'd call you on any excuse you tried to spout.

When Caleb's phone digged he finally broke the staring contest you'd been under allowing you to finally feel as if you could breath deeply again, and you watched a real smile tug at his lips more a sneer than anything. He knocked his phone towards you so you could see the contents. Caleb snuggly showing every dirty secret on your potential love interest. Gladly showing off what a terrible man he was and his secrets he's been hiding, while simultaneously simpering to you that it was okay and bad men hide themselves well.

It truly wasn't more secrets then the average person had, maybe a few incidents in his youth then most, but when compiled together it truly was enough to shake you after the mental battering you'd been subjected to for at least the last hour, and after the shock of seeing a loved one return from the dead...

You were quite mentally pliable at the time.

You were staring in confusion at his phone not noticing as the siblings talked over your head with only their face expressions and some head tilts.

You wondered allowed what you were supposed to do you were supposed to have a date with this man tonight...

Still holding your wrist with one hand and carefully tilting your face up with the other Caleb directed your attention back to him. Telling you not to worry and he'd take care of it. Let him take care of you again just like old times.

After all you wanted to make his readjustment period after his return smooth didn't you? It has been quite rough his recovery after the accident.

You were confused before the hand on your face shifted becoming cold and metallic. You flinch away in shock watching Caleb lower his prosthetic to the table top and you were instantly fascinated and concerned.

Caleb easily held your attention explaining his circumstances and how it'd be easier to get used to his new apartment if you might come over and assist him?

Before you could turn and ask your friend she piped in stating how she had work and won't you PLEASE help Caleb put with this?

Between the sibling tag teaming you were no match and agreed to help Caleb out as much as needed. Handing over your phone so he could type in his number and address. While your head was bent to look over where he was staying you were unaware as your friend beamed so pretty at her brother.

She always wanted her best friend to be part of the family and Caleb ALWAYS gave her what she wanted, and he OWED her after this last stunt.

Caleb tilted his head in acknowledgement eyes towards you and his smile pulled becoming a bit more soft that was only present for two people in his life. He had only viewed you as a sibling all those years ago but now after his time away you had bloomed. He couldn't hide behind the thought of you as a sibling anymore. You were a beautiful individual and people were starting to take note.

His hand flexes around your wrist once more. Just short of causing you enough pain to look up again. He could see the beginnings of the bruise he'd leave on your skin form. He couldn't help but be pleased at the reminder that would be visible to all who were looking.

He wouldn't allow them to.

You were his.

He was your first love. Your puppy love. And he was sure he could reignite that spark. Especially considering the shy glances you had thrown around at the beginning.

Caleb smirked as he raised your hand to press the sunflower tattooed on your wrist with his supposed death date wrapped around it to his lips. Watching much like a hunting dog observing its prey as your face jerked up from your phone and flushing at the contact. Hand spasming as you attempted to drawn it away and color climbing towards your ears.

Yes, this new assignment would not be a problem at all.

[tenebraevesper]

With Light In My Heart, Entry 5: Shattered Worlds and Storybook Adventures

''This is my escape! I'm running through this world and I'm not looking back! 'Cause I know I can go where no one's ever gone and I'm not looking back! But how will I know when I get there? And how will I know when to leave? We've all gotta start from somewhere and it's right there for me, the possibilities are never ending! I see it, I see it, and now it's all within my reach! (Endless possibility!) I see it, I see it now, it's always been inside of me! (And now I feel so free!) Endless possibility!''

…

''Like the sun (the sun) , I run (I run) into the heat of day! Like a knight (like a knight) , I'll fight (I'll fight) until the fight is won! In a rage (s rage) , I'll save (I'll save) each and every, each and every, each and every one until this war is won! And I live to rule by the sword, slashing through the every inch of the power, the power in you! As I sit, as I stand by the table, I command my kingdom! I'm the Knight of the Wind!''

– Endless Possibility by Sonic Unleashed (NateWantsToBattle Cover) & Knight of The Wind by Sonic and The Black Knight (NateWantsToBattle Cover)

xXxXxXx

There was a sudden flash of light, with two hedgehogs emerging from it on the street, much to a few passersby's surprise. Shadow put the Chaos Emerald back in his quills, taking note of them being in the middle of a city, the architecture being dominated by building like apartments, shops and cathedrals. The streets were cobblestone-laid, with bushes and trees planted alongside the paths. Overall, the city had a rather old and archaic, but culturally rich feeling to it.

''I love that Old World charm,'' Sonic said, happy that he and Shadow finally made it to Spagonia and excited to show his rival, who was already looking around and taking in all of the city's architecture, all the sights he knew about.

Shadow was intrigued when Sonic suggested that they visit Spagonia. He couldn't recall ever visiting it, so this was a new experience for him. He had been told by Maria that she and her family did visit Spagonia before she got sick and that she liked the food there. His expression fell as he remembered their conversation, falling silent.

''Hey, Shadow, where do you- huh?'' Sonic's bright smile disappeared in an instant when he saw Shadow's somber expression. Sonic stared at his rival, his ears pinned down. ''Shadow….''

The dark hedgehog didn't appear to hear him, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. After learning about Black Doom's return, Shadow had focused completely on destroying him before he could fulfill his plans, but that didn't mean that he didn't take short breaks in-between missions to talk to the other people stuck in the White Space, mainly Maria and Professor Gerald Robotnik. However, looking back, he wished he could talk longer to them, especially Maria and hear more about her experiences and desires. He had his chance and he made the most of it. He couldn't go back to the past anymore, not when he promised to himself that he would move on.

He steadied himself, trying to push away this sense of longing and telling himself that he should use this precious memory and perhaps try to experience what Maria experienced. Even if she wasn't with him, she still roamed through all of those streets and visited the city's shops and restaurants, so he could try to honor her memory that way. They may not be able to experience this together, but he knew that she would approve of this decision.

''Shadow? You okay, buddy?''

Shadow turned to Sonic, who gave him a look of concern. ''I am. We should go.''

''Okay, then… Let's see,'' Sonic hummed as he thought about all the landmarks Spagonia offered. ''To think about it, the last time I've been here was to show Blaze around. Now, where to go first…''

''Do you know any good restaurants?'' Shadow asked, his question surprising Sonic. The cobalt hedgehog then beamed.

''Of course I know! I'll take you to the best one in the city,'' Sonic said, turning on his heel. ''Follow me!''

''Is it a chili dog stand?'' Shadow asked, arms folded across his chest. Sonic nearly stumbled over his own feet.

''N-No, it's not!'' he responded in a somewhat annoyed tone. Admittedly, while he knew exactly where to find the best chili dogs, he wasn't going to lead Shadow to those. Well, maybe later, but that wasn't the point. His annoyance turned to exasperation and slight amusement when he saw a teasing smirk on Shadow's lips. The dark hedgehog knew him too well and he clearly enjoyed seeing Sonic so flustered. ''You'll be eating some local cuisine. This way!''

He disappeared in a flash of blue, with Shadow closely following him. Despite the sense of tension he felt earlier, he allowed himself to relax and just take in the sights.

xXx

Sonic was excited when Shadow took initiative by asking him about the restaurants, making sure to show him every location he knew about or had visited previously, with the two ending up having lunch together. He was pleased to see that Shadow enjoyed the taste of the food, even with his usual serious look. Sonic kept them occupied by talking about the other landmarks that he wanted to show to Shadow.

''We should also visit Spagonia University. I've been there with Tails and Chip to ask Professor Pickle for help when Dark Gaia…'' Sonic trailed off when he saw Shadow raising an eyebrow. It appeared that this was an event the latter remembered well. ''Speaking of which, I don't remember seeing you anywhere. What have you been doing when Dark Gaia had been unleashed?''

''I've been fighting the Dark Gaia monsters just like you. However, I believe the reason that we've never come across each other was because I've been stuck on one continental landmass and I had no Chaos Emerald that would allow me to Chaos Control to another location,'' Shadow explained, narrowing his eyes. ''I assume that's because a certain someone took all of them.''

Sonic froze, giving Shadow an sheepish smile, knowing well that he had been caught. ''Well, I had to use them to go stop Eggman's newest weapon.''

''But, you didn't succeed,'' Shadow stated the obvious in a deadpan tone. Sonic's ears were pinned back and he didn't respond, with Shadow continuing. ''Considering how his weapon managed to destroy the Earth's surface, I assume he used the Chaos Emeralds to power it up.'' Shadow leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. ''He lured you into a trap.''

''Heh… Maybe you're right, but that didn't stop me from defeating Eggman and Dark Gaia,'' Sonic said, deciding to not tell Shadow that he was also in his Super Form when Eggman caught him. He knew that he wouldn't hear the end of it if his rival knew about it. After all, Shadow was observant and smart enough to figure most things out of the clues left behind. Sonic had to admit that it was quite admirable.

''Of course not. I don't believe that even death could stop you from saving the world…'' Shadow trailed off, only to furrow a brow when Sonic gave him a sheepish look. He sighed, resuming in a deadpan tone, ''I believe that you want to tell me that had happened at some point.''

''Actually, I'm not sure about it. I mean, I have a vague feeling that something like that may have happened at some point, but I don't really remember anything,'' Sonic explained, only to shrug.

''That's another point to add to my list of reasons why I should keep an eye on you,'' Shadow told him in a dry tone, while Sonic just gave him a cheeky smile.

''Says the guy who also almost died while trying to save the world,'' Sonic responded, only to fall silent for a moment. Shadow tilted his head, noting a subtle change in Sonic's expression, as if he was remembering something unpleasant, something that brought him great pain, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared. Instead, Sonic just continued in his typical carefree tone. ''What actually happened with Dark Gaia was that I got a transformation that gave me new powers.'' He had to chuckle at Shadow's expression, who wasn't even anymore surprised to hear something like that happen to Sonic. ''I became the Werehog and traded my speed for strength and stretchy limbs. It was really cool once I got used to that form, especially since the transformation only happened at night. If I remember correctly, it had to do something with Dark Gaia and the dark energy it released, which was also what kept people going bonkers.''

''I remember that. I had no idea why everyone was going berserk until Rouge gave me some intel about Dark Gaia,'' Shadow replied. At first, he believed that the people were just irritable and afraid because of the ongoing crisis, but he soon learned that the dark energy and the minions created by Dark Gaia were responsible for that behavior. He made sure to avoid getting exposed to it, but it wasn't easy. ''What about you? Since the Werehog seems to be another consequence of Dark Gaia's power, it should've been hard for you to control that form.''

''Actually, I didn't have much of a problem with it,'' Sonic replied. ''I wasn't sure why, and I thought it as because of Chip's presence, but he told me that it was my own will that kept me pure, even with the Werehog condition.''

''That makes sense,'' Shadow commented. ''At this point, it might be outright impossible to corrupt you in any way.''

''Heh, I like the confidence, but I'm still just a guy who likes to run around and beat up people who cause trouble. The way you're describing me sounds like I'm some kind of being with special powers that keep me pure,'' Sonic said, rubbing his nose and giving Shadow a bashful look.

''I'm simply pointing out the obvious,'' Shadow replied in a matter-of-fact tone, only to raise an eyebrow. ''Also, since when were you the type to downplay your accomplishments?''

''I don't think that this is such a big deal,'' Sonic replied, only to give Shadow a cocky smirk. ''But, I would never downplay my superiority when it comes to beating you in a race or a battle.''

Shadow snorted, looking rather amused by the response. Or rather, it was something he had expected to hear from Sonic. Nevertheless, there was still one more question on his mind that kept him occupied. ''Who is Chip? You keep mentioning him.''

''Oh, I guess I forgot to mention. Chip was a friend I met right after I became the Werehog. He actually had no memories of who he was, so I named him Chip and agreed to help him recover his memories. We later found out that he was actually Light Gaia and once we defeated Dark Gaia, he had to leave, getting sealed back within Earth together with Dark Gaia,'' Sonic explained, a fond smile forming on his lips as he recalled his adventure with Chip. ''He did leave his necklace behind for me as a gift and I still have it. He also promised me that he would never forget me and be always part of the earth I tread on.''

Both of them fell silent, with Shadow thinking about what Sonic had told him. It must've been hard for the hedgehog to say goodbye to a new friend, especially if the departure happened abruptly, which Shadow assumed it did. His rival was easily capable of making friends left and right, whether they were allies or enemies, but he had to wonder how he felt never being able to seeing them again. Shadow personally knew how much it hurt being forcibly torn away from the people he cared about without even giving him time to process his own feelings on the matter. In fact, it still hurt like hell every time he thought about it, but at this point he knew better than to push them away.

Shadow knew that, if he continued to act like that, they would just break through, flooding his mind and breaking his will. Unlike Sonic, it was much easier to corrupt him whenever he gave into his own dark desires, just as Black Doom had proven him during their last encounter. Even if there wasn't someone capable of corrupting him, he would still get overwhelmed by his negative emotions and choose a path that would put the people around him in danger, which was what had happened during the Metal Virus Incident. He may have been the Ultimate Lifeform, but could he really wield such title if he could easily get corrupted.

A shadow fell over his expression as another thought intruded his mind, that of him being not only created as a cure, but also as a weapon. It was possible that this was the reason why he could be so easily corrupted in comparison to Sonic, especially when he considered the fact that the two people who had a hand in him almost destroying the world were his own creators – Prof. Gerald Robotnik and Black Doom. After all, Black Doom even stated that he was created to be a warrior of destruction, and while Shadow responded that he would only destroy Black Doom, he knew that his words were still true. He had access to a power that could not only annihilate this planet, but even the universe, and if he ever decided to fully embrace that corruption. If that ever happened, Dr. Eggman and Infinite taking over Earth would be nothing in comparison to what Shadow was capable of doing.

Deep inside, Shadow sincerely hoped that he would never be brought to that point, and even if he did, that Sonic would be there to stop him for good.

''Shadow?'' Shadow lifted his head, only to see Sonic giving him a look of concern. ''Are you okay?''

''I'll be fine. I was just thinking about something,'' Shadow muttered. He knew that acting as if he wasn't affected by any of this would do him no good, but he didn't really want to talk to Sonic about it, at least not yet.

''I hope what you were thinking about was which flavour of your ice-cream sundae you want to choose,'' Sonic said in a chipper tone, his cheerfulness being quite infectious. ''Because that's where I'm taking you next. Or if you don't like ice-cream, we could get a dessert you like.''

''I'd prefer tiramisu over ice-cream, but I wouldn't mind the latter,'' Shadow replied.

''We could get both,'' Sonic said as he stood up, having finished his lunch, with Shadow joining him. ''I know exactly the place. Com'n!''

Shadow followed the eager hedgehog, feeling a sense of relief that Sonic didn't further question him about what he was going through. He hated being put on the spot and trying to explain himself, preferring to do it on his own terms, which was usually never. However, he did consider opening up to Sonic about the issue, especially since they did manage to have a productive conversation earlier. He knew that he needed Sonic to know about this possibility and to prepare him for when, not if, it happens.

xXx

Sonic hummed contently as he ate his ice-cream, while next to him, Shadow was eating the tiramisu he had bought at a cake shop. Both of them were sitting on a bench, admiring the view of the city's architecture. ''Over there is the Spagonia University. Once we're done, we can go visit it.''

''Are they really going to let us in?'' Shadow asked curiously. Sonic shrugged.

''I dunno. I guess they will,'' he replied in a carefree tone, with Shadow sighing in exasperation. Sonic grinned, focusing back on his ice-cream. Frankly, he had been enjoying himself so far, getting to visit all kinds of places in Spagonia together with Shadow. Not only that, but he had taken note of Shadow being much more interested in this trip, even if he never told him about his reasons. It didn't matter to Sonic, since he wanted his rival to have fun on this trip as much as possible before he returned back to his grumpy old self. Sonic cared about Shadow either way, but seeing him being happy and content for once was always a special treat.

Once they were done, Sonic led Shadow to the Spagonia University, both of them spotting many students and visitors coming in and out of the institute, including one old man Sonic was all too familiar with, currently struggling with carrying a stack of books.

''Hello, Professor Pickle! Nice to see you again!'' Sonic waved, with the old scholar perking up when he saw a familiar face.

''My, my, Sonic the Hedgehog! You came just in time. Could you please help me with all of these books? I need to bring them to the library,'' Prof. Pickle asked politely, with Sonic grabbing the large stack of books and dividing it between himself and Shadow. ''How is your friend, Tails? I haven't seen him for a while.''

''Oh, Tails is on a journey,'' Sonic replied, with the the two hedgehogs following the elderly man into the building.

''I see.'' Prof. Pickle's attention turned to Shadow. ''Who is your friend?''

''This is Shadow the Hedgehog, my rival,'' Sonic introduced the dark hedgehog, turning to Shadow. ''Shadow, this is Professor Pickle. He is an expert in ancient literature and sandwiches.''

''Sandwiches?'' Shadow gave him a confused look, only to realize a moment later that this was a sign for Prof. Pickle to go on a rant.

''Indeed I am! I have not only tried every kind of sandwich available, but also came up with my own culinary concoctions. I cherish my cucumber sandwiches, but just the other day, I have tried a sandwich with a pizza crust-like bread with soppressata, salami, a few cubes of cheese and a crisp crunch of lettuce, onions and tomatoes. It was quite delicious, but I wish they added cucumber to it. Definitely better than the sandwiches I tried at the conference a month ago. I'm telling you, that one was too sloppy made. The bread was too thickly sliced and the vegetables were too mushy…'' Prof. Pickle kept ranting as he led the two hedgehogs through the hallways towards the library. Shadow was completely exasperated, tuning the old man's rantings out at some point as he wasn't here to listen to what was basically How To Make a Perfect Sandwich 101. He glanced at Sonic, who didn't pay too much attention either, but looked quite amused about this whole thing. It was obvious that he was already used to it. Fortunately, they managed to arrive to the library after a few minutes of walking.

''…and that's why you need to need to be careful how much of pepper you use. That sandwich was only good for burning my mouth,'' Prof. Pickle ended his rant as the hedgehogs placed the books at the reception desk, with the librarian thanking them, as well as giving them a look of pity when she realized that the scholar roped them into one of his sandwich conversations.

''We'll keep that in mind,'' Sonic said, with the old man nodding.

''I'm sorry, but I haven't even asked why you're here,'' Prof. Pickle noted.

''I was showing Shadow around Spagonia and the university was one of the places we wanted to visit,'' Sonic explained.

''Is that so? Well, if you're ever interested in ancient scripts and lore, you can always ask me for help. I'd gladly tell you everything over a plate of cucumber sandwiches,'' Prof. Pickle said. Shadow just nodded politely. ''I need to return to my office now. Please, excuse me.''

As the scholar left, Sonic and Shadow exchanged glances, with Shadow commenting, ''He's quite… eccentric.''

''He's good at what he's doing and he helped me, Tails and Chip a lot during the whole Dark Gaia crisis,'' Sonic replied, then turning his attention to the rows and rows of shelves and books. ''Speaking of which, didn't we also agree to visit a library?''

''We did.''

''Great! Because I know exactly which books we could read,'' Sonic replied, beckoning to Shadow to follow him. The two were walking between the rows of shelves, reading the signs that informed them in which section they were. It took a while, since they weren't too familiar with the layout of the place, but Sonic eventually managed to locate two books, showing them to Shadow.

''1001 Nights and King Arthur and His Knights of the Round Table,'' Shadow read the titles, glancing back at Sonic. ''Those are the books you wanted me to read?''

''Yeah! Well, either read them or get transported into them by Shahra or Merlina to go on an adventure,'' Sonic explained, only to take note of Shadow's puzzled look. He rubbed the back of his head, giving him a nervous laugh. ''Heh, I guess I should explain that one in more detail.''

Both went to the reading section of the library, sitting on the cushy armchairs, with Sonic dragging his next to Shadow so they both could read the books together, as well as talk without bothering other visitors.

''So, what did you do this time to get yourself into trouble?'' Shadow asked.

''First of all, I didn't do anything. In my first adventure, a genie named Shahra appeared to ask me for help because an evil genie named Erazor Djinn wanted to destroy not only the world of 1001 Nights by making it disappear, but also do the same to the real world. I tried to stop him, but he then shot me in the chest with a flaming arrow that would kill me if I didn't find the seven World Rings…'' Sonic trailed off when Shadow gave him a stunned look the moment he mentioned the arrow, only to quickly added. ''But, as you can see, I managed to defeat him. Oh, and I also met Ali Baba, Sinbad and King Shahryar, who for some reason looked like Tails, Knuckles and Eggman.''

''I wonder if there is a reason why the characters from a storybook looked like people you knew,'' Shadow mused. Sonic shrugged.

''Beats me, but it was weird having to save the life of someone who looked like Eggman after Erazor Djinn tried to assassinate him. In fact, King Shahryar had just as a nasty personality as Eggman, albeit without the whole murderous robots thing,'' Sonic replied, then smiled. ''Ali Baba and Sinbad were much more fun to hang out with. Not to mention, that wasn't the last time I saw a storybook counterpart of either of them.'' Sonic then tapped on the King Arthur and His Knights of the Round Table book. ''For this one, I was actually supposed to meet up with Amy for a date when Merlina, a young wizard of the royal court, suddenly summoned me to defeat an evil version of King Arthur, who had become corrupted because of the magic of Excalibur's scabbard. After I pulled out the sword Caliburn out of stone, we set to off to see Nimue, since she was supposed to know how to defeat King Arthur.'' Sonic narrowed his eyes, sighing. ''Caliburn could be a bit handful, and we had a rocky start, with him calling me knave and a fool, and constantly doubting my skills…'' He took note of the amused smile on Shadow's lips, deciding not to comment on the fact that the dark hedgehog agreed with the talking sword. ''But we eventually became friends, and we both learned a lot from each other. It is also thanks to him that I met the Blacksmith, or rather, Tails' counterpart in that world. Also, Nimue was a more serene, wise and composed Amy, and she told me that she would help me if I became a true knight by completing three tests, which I obviously did.''

''I would've been quite disappointed to hear that you had actually failed,'' Shadow said in a serious tone.

''Thanks for the encouragement, Shadow,'' Sonic replied in a sarcastic tone, even though he knew that this was Shadow's way of supporting him. He then perked up ''In any case, I got the title 'Knight of the Wind' and was confronted by King Arthur's knights, those being Sir Lancelot, Sir Gawain and Sir Percival. Gawain looked just like Knuckles and Percival looked like Blaze, so guess who resembles Lancelot.''

Sonic gave Shadow a knowing smile, waiting for a response, only for the dark hedgehog to give him a solemn stare.

''Silver?''

''What? No. That was Sir Galahad.''

''Jet?''

''Nope. That's Sir Lamorak,'' Sonic responded in an exasperated tone, wondering if Shadow really had no clue, or if he was just messing with him. To his annoyance, it was the latter. ''Seriously, the dude called himself The Ultimate Knight. That should ring a bell.''

''That sounds like a fitting title,'' Shadow said with an arrogant smile, confirming Sonic's assumptions.

''Yeah, and he was just as brooding and arrogant as you can be,'' Sonic said, only to smirk. ''That's why I defeated him during our first encounter, because he got careless.'' Shadow furrowed a brow, with Sonic continuing, ''After I defeated all the knights and took their Sacred Swords, I ended up fighting King Arthur, who turned out to be an illusion created by Merlina, who actually wanted to use Excalibur's scabbard to rule the kingdom. I ended up teaming up with Lancelot, Gawain and Percival to use the Sacred Swords to put up a barrier to protect the kingdom and then confronted Merlina. She had told me that she wanted to preserve the kingdom as it is, forever, because she knew that it would eventually fall.''

''So, you were willing to let a kingdom fall into ruin instead of allowing it to be preserved?'' Shadow asked, but his tone of voice showed no accusation, just mild curiosity.

''Shadow, I know what it sounds like, but keeping Camelot and its people in an eternal stasis of darkness wasn't right. Merlina was risking everyone's lives so she could escape her own sorrow. Besides, every story has its end, no matter how sad it is. Still, one shouldn't just sit there and waste their precious time. When you want to do something, do it right away. Do it when you can. It's the only way to live a life without regrets,'' Sonic responded, his tone slightly serious, only to turn gentle. ''That's what I had told Merlina after I had defeated her, and she understood. I think she always knew that she would hurt many people if she went through with her plan, but still did it because of her own despair.''

''I understand what you mean,'' Shadow said in a quiet tone, recalling his own despair when the White Space started to vanish alongside Maria and Prof. Gerald Robotnik. ''I also had once a choice in whether I would preserve someone I cared about in a timeless stasis or let go of them… and I went with the latter. As you had mentioned it earlier, every story has its end.''

''Shadow…'' Despite keeping his tone as neutral as possible, Sonic knew that Shadow was in great emotional pain, and while he didn't know who this 'someone' was, he had his assumptions. ''You know, just because a story has its end, it doesn't mean that it's the end of the whole adventure. You can always start a new story.''

Shadow nodded firmly, and Sonic felt happy to see him cheer up a little. He then added, ''Oh, and before I forget- It turns out that Caliburn was Excalibur all along and he told me that I was the true King Arthur and ruler of Camelot.''

''…What?'' Sonic almost laughed at Shadow's flat response, the latter being stunned to hear that one. The dark hedgehog shook his head. ''What was that sword thinking?''

''I guess it was because I saved everyone and proved myself as the Knight of the Wind? Not to mention, it seemed like everyone forgot that a true knight doesn't just serve just the king, but the people of the kingdom and I had to remind them of that,'' Sonic explained, shrugging. ''Admittedly, I did end up stuck there for a while, mostly to help rebuild the kingdom while insisting that I wasn't going stay and rule it as their king. I also ended up going on a few adventures, mainly with Lancelot, who insisted that as the most loyal knight to the king, he should stick by my side.''

Shadow took note of the fond smile on Sonic's lips, his own gaze falling. ''You miss them, don't you?''

''I do, but I couldn't stay there forever,'' Sonic replied, only for his expression to sour. ''Besides, I had a date with Amy, but when I returned and tried to explain to her what had happened, she took out the Piko Piko Hammer and chased after me because she thought I made that whole thing up. I don't believe we ever went on another date after that.'' He sighed, only to smile in a cheerful manner. ''That's why I'm so glad that you believe me.''

''I have seen you doing many kinds of things that shouldn't be possible, so not taking your word for granted would go against all I know about you,'' Shadow replied, with Sonic feeling relieved, only to get blindsided by the next sentence. ''Should I refer to you from now on as King Arthur? Or maybe King Sonic?''

''Dude, I told you already that I don't want to be a king of anything. I wasn't born to rule, but to go on adventures,'' Sonic responded in an annoyed tone, pouting when Shadow kept that serious look.

''Are you certain, Sire?'' Shadow asked, doing his best not to smile. Typically, Sonic was the one who got on his nerves, so them switching positions was rather amusing, especially since Shadow had finally allowed himself to have some respite. Not to mention, if Sonic claimed that Lancelot, Shadow's counterpart, was his most loyal knight, he could try to get into that role just to mess with Sonic. That and there was a certain tone with which Sonic spoke about Lancelot that Shadow couldn't quite put a finger on. ''Perhaps a proper challenge would help you relieve yourself of your stress.''

''Do you even know how to wield a sword?'' Sonic asked, raising an eyebrow.

''I believe you should question whether you have the skill to defeat me, Knave of the Wind,'' Shadow replied. Sonic snorted, giving Shadow a confident smirk.

''That's Knight of the Wind to you, Shadow,'' Sonic replied, clenching his fist in his resolve as he suddenly stood up, only to blink in surprise. ''Uhhh, where do we even find a pair of swords?''

Shadow just rolled his eyes at his rival once again not thinking ahead, with Sonic giving him a sheepish smile. Obviously, the sword fight wouldn't happen unless they got their hands on them. ''Maybe we should go back to reading. We're at the library, not on a battlefield.''

''Yeah, you're right,'' Sonic chuckled, sitting next to Shadow, who opened the King Arthur book. ''You know, if I ever end up having another Storybook Adventure, I'd love for you to come along.''

Shadow gave him a surprised look, only to see Sonic giving him a fond smile, the kind that warmed his own heart. He then smiled back, turning his attention back to the book. ''Then, you better give me a call if that ever happens.''

''Don't worry, I will.''

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[mintyys-blog]

BLACK SHEEP— loki laufeyson

WARNINGS: reader is Thors NON BIOLOGICAL daughter and she is over 20. Implied sex, forced marriage,

The golden halls of Asgard were always filled with light, with laughter, with the echoes of a realm that thrived in its own glory. Yet, despite its splendor, you had always felt like a shadow drifting through it—a presence that did not quite belong.

You were Thor’s daughter. Not by blood, not by birthright, but by choice. He had raised you with all the devotion of a father, his love fierce and unwavering, his protection absolute. He trained you himself, his booming laughter filling the training grounds as he praised your strength, his pride shining brighter than the golden armor he donned in battle.

And yet, the whispers never ceased.

She is not one of us.

She is an outsider.

She does not belong.

You had learned to ignore them, or at least pretend to. But tonight, as you stood beside Thor on the grand balcony overlooking the kingdom, the weight of it all felt unbearable.

Thor, ever perceptive when it came to you, turned toward you with a knowing look. “You are quiet tonight, little one,” he said, his voice a deep rumble softened just for you.

You hesitated, your fingers tightening around the goblet in your hands. The wine tasted bitter on your tongue, much like the thoughts you had been forcing down for years.

“Do you ever wonder if I was a mistake?” The words slipped out before you could stop them. You could feel Thor stiffen beside you, the golden light of the torches flickering across his face as he turned to face you fully.

“A mistake?” he repeated, as if the very idea offended him.

You exhaled sharply, gripping the cool railing of the balcony as your gaze drifted across the kingdom. “I don’t belong here, Thor,” you admitted. “I never have. The court tolerates me because of you, but I see the way they look at me. Like I’m… out of place. A black sheep among golden lions.”

Thor’s expression darkened, but not in anger. No, this was something else—something wounded, something aching. He placed a firm, calloused hand on your shoulder, grounding you with his warmth.

“You are no black sheep,” he said firmly. “You are my daughter. My family. No one in Asgard can ever take that from you.”

You swallowed against the lump in your throat. “Even if I never truly fit?”

Thor sighed, running a hand through his golden hair before leaning against the railing beside you. “There was a time I thought I did not fit either,” he admitted. “I was reckless, arrogant. I did not always understand my place.” He turned to you, his blue eyes filled with something deeper than mere reassurance. “But in time, I found it. And you will too.”

You wanted to believe him. You truly did. But there was a nagging feeling deep inside you, a restless ache that told you that no matter how much Thor loved you, no matter how fiercely he fought to keep you by his side, Asgard would never truly feel like home.

Thor’s words should have been enough. They should have soothed the ache inside you, but they didn’t.

That night, long after the halls of Asgard had quieted, you wandered. The golden corridors stretched endlessly, their polished floors reflecting the dim torchlight. You weren’t sure where you were going—perhaps nowhere, perhaps searching for something that didn’t exist.

You weren’t surprised when you found him. Or rather, when he found you.

“You look troubled, little one.”

Loki’s voice was like silk, smooth and effortless, wrapping around you before you even turned to face him. He stood in the shadows at the edge of the corridor, half-hidden, half-watching.

“You always seem to be lurking,” you muttered, crossing your arms.

His lips curled into an infuriating smirk. “And you always seem to be running.” He stepped closer, his movements slow, deliberate. “Tell me, do you ever find what you’re looking for?”

You exhaled sharply, looking away. “Not all of us have the luxury of knowing exactly where we belong.”

Loki hummed, tilting his head. “Ah. So that is what troubles you tonight.”

You tensed at his words, hating how easily he could read you. He had a way of peeling back your defenses, of seeing the things you wished to keep hidden.

“I don’t belong here,” you admitted, your voice quieter than you intended.

Loki’s gaze flickered with something unreadable. “No,” he murmured, “you don’t.”

You looked up sharply, expecting mockery, expecting him to revel in your insecurity. But there was no satisfaction in his expression. Only understanding.

Of course, he would understand. Loki, the second son. The shadow of a golden brother. The one who was always too much or never enough.

Maybe that was why you had always gravitated toward Loki.

“You could try, of course,” Loki continued, leaning against a marble pillar. “You could spend your entire life pretending, bending yourself into something more palatable for them.” His eyes darkened slightly. “But you will always be other.”

You swallowed hard, his words striking something deep inside you.

“That doesn’t mean I don’t want to belong,” you said, but it sounded weak even to your own ears.

Loki stepped closer, his presence unnervingly steady as his fingers ghosted just near your wrist—not touching, but close enough that you could feel the heat of him.

“Perhaps you’re searching in the wrong place,” he murmured.

The air between you was heavy, thick with something unspoken.

For the briefest moment, you wondered if he was right.

You should have pulled away.

Loki was dangerous, a master of weaving words into traps, of making you second-guess even your own thoughts. And yet, you stayed. You let the silence stretch between you, let his words linger in your mind.

“You speak as if you know where I should be,” you said, watching him carefully.

Loki’s smirk was slow, deliberate. “Perhaps I do.”

There was something unnerving in the way he looked at you—something far too knowing. It made your skin prickle, not with fear, but with something else entirely.

“And where is that?” you challenged.

Loki didn’t answer right away. He let the question hang in the air, his gaze flickering over you in quiet assessment. “You’re more like me than you are like them,” he said finally, his voice softer now, less playful. “You feel it, don’t you?”

You hated that he was right.

Thor’s reassurances had been warm, comforting, but they had not erased the doubt inside you. Loki’s words, however, fed it. Stoked it. And worse, he knew it.

“You don’t belong to them,” he continued, stepping closer until he was just a breath away. “But that does not mean you do not belong.”

You wanted to deny him. Wanted to tell him he was wrong, that you were Asgardian, that you did belong here. But the words never came.

Loki exhaled a quiet chuckle, as if hearing the answer in your silence. “I wonder,” he mused, tilting his head. “If you ever stopped chasing Thor’s approval for just a moment… would you finally see the truth?”

Your breath caught, but before you could respond, he was gone. A swirl of shadows and green magic, disappearing into the darkness as if he had never been there at all. The kingdom was in chaos.

“You will not touch her.”

Thor’s voice was thunderous, shaking the very walls of the palace. His fury crackled in the air, barely restrained, barely contained. He stood in the center of the throne room, his broad form rigid with rage, Mjolnir clutched tightly in his hand.

Across from him, Loki stood at ease, as if unconcerned by the storm brewing before him. A smirk ghosted across his lips, his hands folded behind his back in feigned patience.

“You speak as if it is your choice, brother,” Loki said smoothly.

Thor took a threatening step forward. “She is my daughter.”

Loki’s expression flickered—just for a moment—before amusement replaced it. “No, she is not,” he said, tilting his head. “She was never truly yours. No more than I was ever truly Odin’s.”

A sharp breath caught in your throat.

You had not meant to eavesdrop. You had been walking toward the throne room when Thor’s voice, filled with unrestrained fury, stopped you cold. Now, you stood frozen just outside the grand doors, listening—unable to turn away.

“Is that what this is?” Thor spat. “Some desperate attempt to spite me? To take what is mine simply because you cannot stand to see me with something you lack?”

Loki’s smirk widened, but there was something dangerous in his eyes now. “Oh, Thor,” he drawled, “you mistake me.” He took a single step forward, his voice dropping to something lower, something dark. “I will take her as my wife—whether you approve or not.”

A cold shiver ran through you.

Thor’s breath hitched, his knuckles whitening around the handle of Mjolnir. “You will not,” he growled. “I swear it, Loki, if you so much as—”

“Do not challenge me on this,” Loki cut him off, his voice sharp, edged with something lethal. “You think I need your blessing? You think I care for your permission?” He let out a quiet laugh, void of humor. “She was never yours to keep, Thor. She will be mine.”

Silence fell between them, thick with unspoken threats.

You barely dared to breathe.

Then, Loki turned, his footsteps echoing against the marble floor as he strode toward the door. You had no time to move, no time to hide before he emerged from the throne room—his gaze locking onto yours instantly.

You should have looked away. Should have run. Should have done something.

But you didn’t.

Loki’s smirk was slow, curling at the corners of his lips as his piercing green eyes flickered over you, reading every unspoken thought, every unsteady breath.

And then, without a word, he walked past you.

Leaving only the weight of his promise hanging in the air.

Odin had fallen into the Odinsleep, his once-mighty presence now reduced to nothing more than a fragile body lying motionless in the healing chambers. The golden halls of Asgard, once filled with light and laughter, now echoed with uncertainty and fear.

Then, Thor was gone.

Banished to Midgard, stripped of his power, his name whispered in confusion and sorrow among the court. Asgard had lost its prince, its protector.

And Loki had stepped into the void.

He took the throne with a grace that was almost effortless. Where others saw disorder, he saw opportunity. The golden crown suited him in a way that unsettled you, as if it had always been meant for him.

“You should not be here,” you had told him on the day of his coronation, standing in the shadows of the throne room as the courtiers knelt before him.

Loki had only smiled. “And yet, here I am.”

You watched as he ruled—not with Thor’s brute strength or Odin’s measured wisdom, but with cunning. He played the court like a game of chess, manipulating their fears, bending them to his will.

You wanted to hate him for it. You wanted to stand against him.

But something held you back.

Perhaps it was the way he looked at you now—not as an outsider, not as Thor’s shadow, but as something else. Something he had been waiting for.

And that terrified you more than anything.

The wedding was not a celebration.

It was a declaration. A conquest.

The golden halls of Asgard were draped in emerald banners, the mark of the new king. Courtiers whispered behind jeweled hands, some in fear, others in quiet approval. None dared to challenge him. None dared to challenge this.

You stood at the center of it all, dressed in flowing silks of deep green and gold, a mockery of the Asgardian regalia you had once worn so proudly. The delicate crown atop your head felt heavier than the weight of the moment itself.

Your hands trembled at your sides, and Loki noticed.

He always noticed.

His fingers curled over yours, a seemingly gentle touch—but beneath it lay possession, an unspoken warning. You felt his breath at your ear as he leaned in, his voice a whisper only you could hear.

“Do not mistake this for anything less than destiny.”

You swallowed hard, your heart hammering against your ribs. Your silence was the only defiance left to you, the only thing you could still call your own.

Odin was silent in the chambers of his Odinsleep. Thor was gone, banished, powerless to stop this. There was no one left to fight for you.

No one but yourself.

And yet, as the sacred vows were spoken, as Loki slid the cold metal of a ring onto your finger—a symbol of his victory—you felt something far more terrifying than hatred.

Because buried beneath your resistance, beneath the loathing, beneath the desperate wish to undo everything that had led you here…

There was something else.

Something dark. Something deep. And it terrified you more than anything else. The vows echoed in your mind, repeating like a chant that didn’t belong to you. But they had been said, spoken into existence, binding you to him in ways you could neither understand nor escape.

The ceremony had ended with no fanfare, no joy, just the cold finality of Loki’s victory. The courtiers had left one by one, all retreating to their own corners of Asgard, leaving you and Loki alone in the grand hall.

For the first time in hours, you were allowed to breathe without the weight of eyes upon you. But even in this space, there was no comfort.

Loki’s gaze never left you. He studied you with a kind of hunger, a silent anticipation that made your skin prickle.

“Do you feel it?” he asked softly, his voice almost a purr.

You didn’t answer. How could you? How could you explain what churned inside you, the clash of resentment and something darker, something more invasive?

Loki reached out, cupping your chin in his fingers. His touch was gentle, but it felt like a brand. “I can see it in your eyes,” he murmured. “That fear. That resistance. It will pass.”

His thumb stroked over your skin, the sensation far too intimate, too possessive to be comforting.

“Will it?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

Loki’s smile was slow, deliberate. “Yes. Because you will want me, just as I have wanted you.”

You shivered, unable to stop it, your heart racing despite yourself. The room seemed to close in around you, the walls pressing in with the weight of his words.

“I don’t want this,” you said sharply, the words tumbling out before you could stop them.

Loki’s eyes gleamed with something dangerous. “No,” he agreed, “you don’t. Not yet. But you will.”

He stepped closer, the space between you shrinking with each heartbeat. “You will want me until you cannot stand it. Until you crave me the way I crave you.”

His lips brushed against your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “And then, my dear, you will surrender. Not because I make you, but because you will choose it.”

Every word he spoke was a tightening coil around your chest, each one more suffocating than the last. And still, you couldn’t pull away. You couldn’t fight the pull.

Your mind screamed, telling you to break free, to tear away from him before it was too late. But your body… your body betrayed you, responding to the subtle power he held over you in ways you couldn’t control.

Loki’s lips brushed against your neck, his presence consuming you, wrapping around you like a dark cloud.

“You are mine now,” he whispered, and you could feel the truth of it deep in your bones.

Even as you hated him, even as every fiber of your being screamed in defiance, there was a part of you that trembled at his words, that responded to his touch in ways you could not ignore. And that realization—that was the most terrifying thing of all.

Loki’s grip on your chin tightened, his fingers digging into your skin with just enough force to keep you still, to hold you in place as though you were nothing more than a prized possession. The space between you was charged, every second stretching longer than the last. His eyes, dark with intent, studied your every reaction—waiting, calculating.

“Don’t fight it,” he murmured, his voice smooth, soothing in its wickedness. “You may not want this now, but soon, you’ll crave it. You’ll crave me. Just as I’ve craved you.”

You trembled again, your breath shallow, your pulse quickening in spite of yourself. A foreign heat flooded your chest, an unsettling warmth that bled through your veins. You wanted to push him away, wanted to escape this maddening feeling—but somehow, you couldn’t. Every movement he made, every word he spoke, pulled you deeper into his world, into his control.

He leaned in, his lips grazing your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “You are mine. And you will accept it.”

The finality in his tone struck like a hammer, and for the first time, you didn’t know whether to hate him more for his arrogance or to fear the dark temptation in his voice. Loki wasn’t just taking you. No, he was reclaiming you, as if you had always been destined to fall into his grasp.

The crown atop your head suddenly felt unbearable, a cruel reminder that you no longer had the freedom to choose, that you no longer had a say in your own fate. It was as if Asgard itself had turned its back on you, leaving you here to deal with the consequences of this dark, twisted bond.

“You still don’t understand, do you?” Loki’s voice was colder now, the amusement gone, replaced by something darker, more dangerous. He tilted your head back, forcing you to meet his gaze—his eyes shining with a promise you couldn’t yet comprehend. “This isn’t about what you want. This is about what is meant to be.”

He leaned down, his lips brushing against your neck in a slow, deliberate caress, each press against your skin like a brand. A low growl rumbled in his chest, as if savoring the way your body tensed, your muscles reacting to his proximity.

“You can fight it,” Loki continued, his voice thick with hunger. “But it will not change what you feel.”

Every part of you wanted to scream, to tear away, to escape from him and from the twisted path you were now on. But the words died on your tongue. The pull, the intensity, the ache in your chest—it was like a magnet drawing you closer, despite every instinct telling you to flee.

“You will fall in love with me,” Loki whispered, his lips brushing against your ear. “And when you do, you’ll understand that it was never about your choice.”

And as he said those words, you felt the terrifying truth begin to sink in. He was right.

You could already feel the seeds of something stirring inside you. Something dark. Something you didn’t want.

Loki smiled against your skin, as if sensing your surrender, and for the first time in your life, you wondered if you had ever truly been free.

The air in the room was thick with tension, heavy and suffocating. The golden light from the candles flickered, casting shadows that seemed to move with a mind of their own, mirroring the unease that churned within you.

Loki stood in front of you, his eyes never leaving your face. His smirk, that ever-present mask of confidence, had faded to something more predatory, more dangerous. The room was quiet except for the sound of your breathing, shallow and uneven, as your pulse raced in anticipation of what was to come.

“You know what this is,” he said softly, his voice low, almost too calm, as he stepped closer.

You didn’t respond, couldn’t find the words. How could you? What was there to say? Every part of you screamed to run, to escape, but your body remained frozen, as if paralyzed by the weight of the moment.

Loki’s fingers brushed the back of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine, before he reached for the clasp of your wedding dress. The cool metal of his fingers against your skin made you wince, but you couldn’t pull away.

He took his time, slowly unfastening the intricate buttons, each click of the fabric loosening you from the tight cocoon you had once worn so proudly. You felt the weight of the dress lift, a small but undeniable part of you wanting to keep the only thing that marked you as someone untouched, someone who still held some semblance of control.

But it was too late.

As the dress fell to the floor in a silken heap, you stood before him in nothing but your undergarments. Vulnerable. Exposed.

Loki’s gaze darkened as he took you in, his eyes roaming over your form, assessing, measuring, as if you were something to be consumed. He stepped closer, his breath hot against your skin as he traced his fingers along the curve of your shoulder.

“You look… perfect,” he murmured, and you could hear the darkness in his voice, the possessiveness that made your stomach churn. But there was something else, something that ignited a flicker of heat deep inside you, something you despised.

Without warning, Loki’s lips were on your neck, hot and demanding, as he pulled you into him. His hand gripped your waist, pulling you tighter against his chest, and you could feel his heartbeat—strong, steady, as if he already knew how this was going to end.

You tried to resist. You wanted to push him away, to break free, but his touch was unrelenting, like fire against your skin, and you couldn’t help but respond, just a little, to the way his body pressed against yours.

He pulled away just enough to look you in the eye, his breath heavy. “You’ll learn, eventually,” he said softly, a promise in his tone. “That you want this. That you need this.”

You wanted to scream, to tell him that he was wrong, but the words caught in your throat. Loki wasn’t asking for your consent anymore; he wasn’t giving you a choice. This was his claim, his victory, and you were too far gone to escape.

“Let me make you mine,” he whispered, and you couldn’t deny the shiver that ran down your spine, the way your heart beat faster in your chest, against your will.

As he kissed you again, deeper this time, you closed your eyes, trying to block out the part of you that wanted this—desperately wanted it—and focused only on the hatred that burned in your chest. But it was hard. Harder than it should have been.

His hands were everywhere now, exploring your body with a mastery that made you feel like prey. You were trapped, caught in a web of his making, and there was no escape, not even from yourself.

And when he finally pulled away, his breath ragged, his eyes darkened further with that same twisted satisfaction. “Soon,” he whispered against your lips. “Soon, you will beg for me.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with the promise of what was to come. You were no longer just his wife by title. You were his to command, his to claim—and he had only just begun.

You lay there, motionless under the weight of his words. His presence enveloped you like a storm, violent and overwhelming. The room seemed smaller, suffocating, and each breath you took felt thick, as though the very air was pushing against you. The flickering candlelight danced in the shadows, but it couldn’t hide the truth of your situation, the truth of what had just begun.

Loki’s eyes never left you, studying you with a predatory gaze, as if savoring every moment. He ran a hand over your waist, his touch both gentle and possessive, as though marking you, claiming you in ways that words could never fully express.

“Do you feel it?” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous, as his fingers traced the edge of your undergarment. His touch was deliberate, each movement calculated, as if he were measuring your resistance, gauging your response. “The way your body betrays you?”

You wanted to say no. You wanted to push him away, scream at him to stop. But there was something inside you, something dark and unknown, that pulsed in time with his touch. The more he touched you, the more it became impossible to ignore. It was like a wildfire, spreading through you, igniting something that you hadn’t known existed.

His lips found your neck again, pressing against the soft skin there with an intensity that made your breath catch. His kisses were rough, hungry, each one leaving a trail of heat in its wake, and you could feel the way his body pressed against yours, hard and unyielding.

“You belong to me now,” Loki said softly, his voice barely a whisper against your skin. The words sent a tremor through you, but not the kind you wanted. It was a tremor of helplessness, of defeat, as if his words were carving something into your very soul.

Your heart pounded, but it wasn’t fear that quickened your pulse anymore. It was something darker, something that made you feel as though you were losing yourself, bit by bit.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his face hovering inches from yours. His eyes were dark, filled with desire, with control, with something else. Something dangerous. “You’re going to learn,” he said, his voice dripping with certainty. “Learn to crave me. Learn to need me in ways you can’t even imagine.”

You swallowed, trying to push away the feeling that was growing inside you. The fear. The disgust. The longing. You wanted to scream, to fight back, but the part of you that resisted felt weaker with each passing moment.

Loki’s hand slid up your thigh, his touch light but unmistakably possessive. “Soon, you won’t be able to stand being apart from me,” he whispered. “I’ll make sure of that.”

He wasn’t asking for permission. He wasn’t waiting for you to come to him. This was no longer about choice. It was about his power over you, about his dominance, about claiming you completely, body and soul.

You clenched your fists at your sides, trying to summon the strength to push him away, to tell him no, to make him stop. But the words died in your throat. Your body betrayed you, responding to him even when your mind screamed in defiance.

Loki’s lips curled into a slow, satisfied smile as he saw the struggle on your face. He knew. He always knew.

“You’ll come to understand,” he murmured, brushing a lock of hair from your face. “That this is what you were meant for. What we were meant for.”

His hand moved again, this time pulling at the remaining fabric that separated you from him, and you closed your eyes, trying to block out the pull, the ache, the undeniable truth that this was happening whether you wanted it or not. Whether you accepted it or not.

When his lips met yours again, it was no longer a question. It was a command. And you, despite everything, despite the hatred and fear and resistance, found yourself giving in.

Loki’s eyes gleamed with excitement as he studied you, his gaze lingering on every detail.

“Ah, little one,” he murmured, his voice low and thick with desire. “I’ve waited for this moment for what feels like an eternity. You’re so captivating, so full of untapped potential. I’m going to enjoy uncovering every part of you.”

He moved closer, his fingers brushing the curve of your neck, sending a chill through your body. “Don’t worry,” he added softly, his breath warm against your ear. “I’ll be patient with you… at least, at first.”

His lips brushed against yours, light at first, but deepening with a growing intensity. His touch became more certain as he drew you closer, and you felt the heat of his presence enveloping you.

As he kissed you, his hands roamed slowly, tracing the outline of your body, sending sparks of energy through your skin. You felt a surge of heat rise inside you as he moved, the intensity of his touch pulling something out of you that you hadn’t anticipated.

“Let me see you,” Loki whispered against your lips. His eyes burned with unspoken hunger. “Show me who you really are.”

For a moment, you hesitated, but something in the way he watched you, the power in his gaze, made it impossible to deny. You complied, and Loki’s eyes darkened with admiration as he took in the sight of you, studying every inch with unrelenting focus.

Loki reached out and pulled you close, his gaze intense as he hovered near you. His lips brushed against yours again, a soft kiss that left a warmth lingering between you. Slowly, he moved lower, his touch gentle but purposeful.

“You’re so intriguing,” Loki murmured, his voice a mix of admiration and something deeper. “You’re like a rare treasure, and I can’t wait to discover every part of you.”

As his lips brushed against your skin, you felt a shiver run through you, the sensation soft but undeniable. He took his time, savoring the closeness, his hands exploring carefully, as though learning every curve, every detail.

His movements were slow, deliberate, each gesture building a tension between you. With every touch, you could feel something stir within you, a sense of something more powerful, more complex than you had anticipated.

Loki pulled back slightly to look at you, his expression unreadable. “You’re so much more than you know,” he said softly, almost to himself. His fingers gently brushed along your arm, the simple touch sending a wave of warmth through you.

He laid you on the bed, and you looked up at him with uncertainty. He removed the last of your undergarments, taking in a breath. “You are even more beautiful than I imagined.”

After everything had settled, the room was quiet except for the soft sounds of your breathing, both of you taking in the stillness that followed the intensity of the moment. Loki sat beside you, his eyes softening as he looked at you, the usual sharpness in his gaze replaced with something more gentle. He reached over, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his touch unexpectedly tender.

“Are you alright?” Loki asked, his voice quieter now, a hint of concern behind his words.

You nodded slowly, still processing the emotions that lingered, unsure of what to say or how to feel. You weren’t sure if the storm inside you had settled or if it was just the calm before something else.

Loki shifted closer, wrapping his arm around you in a gesture that felt more protective than possessive. “You’re safe,” he assured, his voice low and comforting. “No harm will come to you here. I’m not the monster you think I am.”

His words were simple, but there was sincerity behind them, a side of him you hadn’t always seen—the side that cared, in his own way. He gently guided you to lean against him, offering warmth and a rare moment of peace between the two of you.

He ran his fingers over your arm, slowly, as if trying to ease the tension from your body. The warmth of his touch was grounding, and despite everything that had passed, you couldn’t deny that it had a calming effect. It wasn’t what you had expected from him, but somehow it made sense. Loki, for all his complexity, wasn’t without his moments of vulnerability.

“You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to,” he said after a while, his voice soft. “But I’m here. Just rest.”

As you lay there, the softness of the moment settling around you, you couldn’t help but wonder about the strange connection between you—how it had shifted from something intense and overwhelming to something almost… comforting. Loki wasn’t perfect, and neither were you, but in that moment, there was a quiet understanding between you, something deeper than either of you had expected.

The days that followed were a blur of quiet tension and inescapable reality. Loki ruled Asgard with an iron fist, his once-cunning mischief hardened into something far more dangerous. The golden city was now cloaked in an air of fear and submission, its people bending to their new king’s will. You watched it all from the confines of the palace, no longer just Thor’s ward but Loki’s wife—his queen, in name, if nothing else.

Servants moved through the halls with careful, measured steps, their gazes lowered as they passed. The throne room, once a place of justice under Odin and Thor, had become something else entirely—a place where Loki’s word was law, where defiance was met with swift and merciless retribution.

And yet, to you, Loki was different.

When he came to your chambers, he was not the tyrant who ruled over Asgard. With you, there was something else—something possessive, yes, but also strangely tender. He would sit beside you, trailing his fingers over your wrist, your jaw, as if memorizing you all over again. He would hold you at night, his grip tight, as if afraid you would vanish if he let go.

But even as he treated you with a twisted sort of care, you could never forget the chains that bound you to him. The golden wedding band on your finger felt heavier than any shackle. No matter how gently he touched you, how softly he murmured your name, you knew the truth: he had taken you, just as he had taken Asgard.

One evening, you stood by the grand window of the palace, looking down at the city below. The people moved with caution, their fear palpable even from a distance. Loki’s rule had changed everything. The streets were patrolled by his guards, and those who dared to resist had long since been silenced.

“You look troubled, my love.”

Loki’s voice was smooth as he approached, draping an arm around your waist. His presence was intoxicating, as always—a blend of danger and allure that made it impossible to think clearly.

“You’ve turned Asgard into something unrecognizable,” you said quietly, keeping your gaze on the city. “The people live in fear.”

Loki chuckled, the sound rich and unapologetic. “Fear is necessary. They never respected me before. Now, they will.”

“You think fear is the same as loyalty?” you countered, finally turning to face him.

Loki’s expression darkened, though there was no true anger in his gaze—only amusement, as if he enjoyed the fight in you. “Loyalty is fickle. Fear is constant. Would you rather I be weak, as Thor was?”

You swallowed hard, knowing there was no winning against his logic—not when he had already made up his mind. Loki had always been brilliant, always three steps ahead of everyone else. But now, that brilliance was sharpened into something cruel.

He tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. “You’ll come to see it my way in time,” he murmured. “Asgard belongs to me. And so do you.”

His lips brushed against yours, slow and deliberate. A reminder. A promise. A threat.

And despite yourself, despite the war inside your heart, you didn’t pull away.

[ros3mari3]

Problematic Stunt Double

Bucky Barnes x reader

AU : Stunt double ! Bucky x director ! reader.

3rd Person POV.

This is sort of inspired by the movie Fall guy !!

The movie set was buzzing with the usual frenetic energy, a sharp contrast to the atmosphere that had settled into Bucky Barnes's life over the past year. Once, he’d been in the heart of it all, pushing the limits of his body with each death-defying stunt, always striving to make the impossible look effortless. But that was before the accident.

Before everything changed.

A year had passed since the accident. A year since he’d stepped away from the adrenaline rush, the thrill of taking on impossible stunts. Since the moment when his body had betrayed him, leaving him with a broken back and ribs. The injury had been a wake-up call that he wasn’t invincible. And so, he had left the world he knew, cut ties with the people who once called him family, and disappeared into the shadows.

But the world, as it always did, had moved on. And now, after months of introspection, Bucky found himself on a familiar movie set once more, only this time, it wasn’t for a stunt—it was for a comeback.

The call had come unexpectedly, an offer to return to a big-budget action film, and against his better judgment, he had accepted. Maybe it was the desire to feel useful again. Or maybe it was the longing for the adrenaline, that high that had become a part of him. But what he didn’t know was that the director of this new film was someone he hadn’t seen in over a year.

Someone he had left behind.

The set was massive, more extravagant than anything Bucky had worked on before, but there was no mistaking the feeling in his chest as he walked toward the familiar scene. The smell of the stage, the hustle of the crew—it all felt like home. Until he saw her.

Y/N.

She stood on the opposite side of the set, clipboard in hand, directing the actors through the scene with the sharp focus he remembered all too well. She was wearing black cargo pants, a loose top, and her hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail. The sight of her took him by surprise, like a punch to the gut.

Their eyes met for a brief moment, and he could see the flicker of recognition in her gaze, but there was no warmth behind it. No smile. She stood stunned for a moment, before turning back to the crew, as if nothing had happened.

Bucky felt a pang of hurt. He hadn’t expected a warm welcome, but the coldness stung.

The last time they’d seen each other, it had been a bitter goodbye. He had pushed her away, knowing that his world was falling apart and he didn’t want to drag her down with him. He couldn’t bear the thought of her seeing him break.

But now, as he stood here, so close yet so far away, he regretted it.

The first few days on set were nothing short of awkward. Every time Bucky tried to speak to Y/N, she deflected him, her professional mask firmly in place. She didn’t want to talk about the past. She didn’t want to talk about why he left without a word or how he cut off all contact.

Her focus was on getting the stunts right. And Bucky? Well, he was struggling. His body wasn’t what it used to be. Every time he attempted a stunt, he faltered. There were cracks in his confidence that hadn’t been there before, and every failure felt like a personal blow.

"You’re going to need to redo that," Y/N said, her voice steely as she glanced over at him from the director's chair. The words didn’t sting so much as the way she said them, as though she expected nothing less than perfection from him.

Bucky clenched his jaw, fighting the frustration that simmered under his skin. He knew he wasn’t the same, but the way she kept pushing him made him feel like he’d never left.

He stood there, chest heaving, sweat dripping down his face, trying to steady himself. His body was sore, but he wouldn’t admit defeat—not yet.

He nodded sharply, the words caught in his throat. "Again."

The stunts continued like that for days—one attempt after another, with Bucky failing more than succeeding. Each time, Y/N's voice cut through the air like a whip.

"One more time," she said, her eyes hard and unyielding. "That was better, but your timing’s off. Again."

Bucky had been thrown from a car, leaped off a building, and narrowly avoided being hit by a speeding truck all within the span of an hour. And now? Now, he was running through the same damn scene over and over, and it wasn’t getting easier.

"Come on, Bucky!" Y/N yelled from her perch, her arms crossed as she observed. "This is the seventh time!"

Bucky let out a loud groan, standing up slowly, his body stiff with exhaustion. "You’re killing me, Y/N. You know that, right?" he called back, his voice full of dry humor.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, never one to back down. "You wanted to come back. Remember that when you’re crawling out of here in a body cast."

Bucky shot her a look of pure exasperation. "You know, some directors give their actors water and breaks, not... eternal suffering."

Y/N smirked, her eyes sparkling with that same sharp wit he’d missed. "If you wanted a break, you should’ve stayed retired, Barnes."

Nightfall came, and after another grueling day of filming, the crew finally wrapped up for the night. Exhausted and frustrated, Bucky retreated to his hotel room, his mind still reeling from the day’s mistakes.

His body ached, a constant reminder of why he had retired in the first place. He’d been living on borrowed time, and now he was paying for it.

But then, there was a knock on his door.

He opened it to find Y/N standing in the hallway, her arms crossed over her chest, looking as weary as he felt.

"Can we talk?" she asked, her voice low, almost vulnerable.

Bucky didn’t hesitate. He stepped aside, letting her in. The door clicked shut behind her.

She lingered for a moment, unsure of what to say. She hadn’t come here for answers, not really. But she had to understand. She had to know if the man who walked out of her life a year ago was still the same one standing before her now.

Bucky, for his part, wasn’t sure how to begin either. The silence stretched between them, both of them unsure of how to break it, how to fix the cracks that had formed.

Finally, Y/N spoke, her voice softer now. "You’ve been struggling with the stunts. I can tell. I am partially for my actions today, I guess I just wanted you to feel the same pain you left me to deal with, alone." She paused, her gaze meeting his. "You’re not the same as you were before."

Bucky swallowed, his throat dry. "I know. I thought I was ready. But I’m not."

Her eyes softened, a flash of something that resembled sympathy crossing her face. But it was quickly masked by her professional demeanor. "Then why come back? Why put yourself through this?"

Bucky’s jaw tightened. "I didn’t have anything else," he confessed, the words slipping out before he could stop them. "I thought… I thought maybe if I came back, I could prove to myself that I wasn’t broken."

Y/N’s expression faltered. She stepped closer to him, her voice quieter now. "You’re not broken, Bucky. You never were."

His breath caught in his throat. She was so close now, her warmth radiating off of her, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he let himself feel something other than pain.

"I pushed you away," he said, his voice thick with regret. "I didn’t want to drag you down with me, but I didn’t know how to handle it. I couldn’t… I couldn’t let you see me like this."

She reached out, her fingers brushing against his arm. "You don’t have to be perfect. Not for me. Not for anyone."

Bucky looked at her then, really looked at her—the woman he’d loved, the woman he’d left behind. She had every right to hate him, to hold onto the anger and disappointment. But she didn’t. And that was all the answer he needed.

Without another word, he closed the space between them, his lips finding hers in a kiss that was tentative at first, as if they were both testing the waters of their long-lost connection. But then, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, the kiss deepened, the years apart fading into the background, leaving only the raw need to feel each other again.

When they finally pulled away, both of them were breathless, their foreheads resting against each other.

"I missed you," Bucky murmured, his voice hoarse, every word soaked with longing. "I missed you so damn much. I… I thought I could handle being without you, but I was wrong. I can’t."

Y/N smiled softly, her hand resting against his chest. "I missed you, too, Bucky," she whispered, her voice just as full of the ache he felt. "But I never stopped believing in you. I never stopped waiting."

And for the first time in a long time, Bucky felt like maybe, just maybe, he was ready to try again. Ready to heal. Ready to be the man he used to be. With her by his side.

[isagrimorie]

Voyager is our Home.

[widowshill]

— And do you or do you not have difficulty remembering such simple instructions? — Only during thunderstorms, sir.

THE SOUND OF MUSIC (1965) / DARK SHADOWS (1966)