#and away from the long shadow of their family

[hyuniemyunie]

Valentine's Day ⋆˚☆˖°

sonic characters! (some of them)

sfw

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

(ФωФ): all romantic, except tails. silver the hedgehog x gn!reader, established relationship, fluff, long distance angst. shadow the hedgehog x gn!reader, confession, first kiss, awkward shadow. knuckles the echidna x gn!reader, mutual pining, protective knuckles. rouge the bat x gn!reader, flirty, playful, yet romantic. sonic the hedgehog x gn!reader, ride or die ahh. tails x gn!reader, platonic, found family.

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･

Love Across Time and Space

Silver always knew time was a fragile thing. He had spent his whole life watching it shatter, crumble, and reassemble itself in ways that never felt quite right. But right now, he wasn’t thinking about time in the grand, world-ending way he usually did. He was thinking about how much time he had spent away from you.

Valentine’s Day was meaningless in a ruined future, but with you, it meant something. It meant love, warmth, and all the little moments he had once believed were lost to history. So when he finally managed to pull together enough energy to warp to your timeline, he landed on your doorstep, breathless and unsteady, hands clutching a small, carefully wrapped package.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he panted, silver quills disheveled, eyes bright with excitement.

You barely had time to react before he was hugging you, holding on like you might disappear if he let go. “I didn’t think you’d make it,” you murmured into his shoulder, feeling the tension in his muscles ease at your touch.

“I’d tear through time itself to see you,” he whispered, pressing the gift into your hands. Inside was a small, glowing crystal—something he had pulled from the ruins of his future, polished and shaped until it shimmered like a star. “So even when I’m not here, you have a little piece of me.”

Tears pricked your eyes. You held it close, knowing he had fought against fate itself just to be here, to bring you this. You kissed him, slow and lingering, pouring all the love he had missed into one perfect moment.

No matter what time tried to take from him, he would always, always find his way back to you.

Love in the Shadows

Shadow didn’t believe in Valentine’s Day.

It was frivolous. Commercialized. A human construct designed to make people feel lonely, or worse—forced into performative displays of affection.

And yet.

Here he was, standing at your door, holding a single, freshly picked rose. He wasn’t even sure why he had grabbed it. Maybe because Rouge told him showing up empty-handed would be “pathetic,” or maybe because he had seen the way you admired flowers, even the most insignificant ones.

You opened the door, surprised to see him. “Shadow?”

He shifted uncomfortably, gripping the stem of the rose a little too hard. “I… was in the area.” A lie. He had walked here. On purpose. “Here.” He thrust the rose toward you like it was a weapon. “For you.”

You took it carefully, a small smile playing on your lips. “You’re really bad at this, huh?”

Shadow stiffened. “At what?”

“Romance.”

His ears twitched. “...Is that what this is?”

You stepped closer, looking up at him. “Why else would you be here?”

Shadow opened his mouth, then closed it, red eyes darting away. The silence stretched, but you didn’t rush him. Finally, he exhaled sharply. “I think about you too much,” he admitted, voice quiet. “It’s… distracting. But when I don’t see you, it’s worse.”

Your heart pounded. “Shadow, are you saying—”

“I don’t know what I’m saying,” he interrupted. “But if I don’t do this now, I’ll never do it.”

Before you could react, he kissed you—brief, uncertain, like he was afraid he had made a mistake. But when he pulled back, he saw your stunned expression, the way your fingers touched your lips, and for the first time in his life, he didn’t feel like running away.

Fists, Fireworks, and Feelings

Knuckles had never been good with words.

He could fight off entire armies, guard the Master Emerald with unwavering dedication, and endure the crushing weight of loneliness, but the idea of telling you how he felt? Impossible.

So when he saw someone bothering you at the marketplace—some overly pushy vendor who wouldn’t take no for an answer—he didn’t think. He acted.

“Back off,” he growled, stepping between you and the merchant, towering over them with a glare that could melt steel.

The vendor stammered out an apology and scurried away. You blinked up at Knuckles, wide-eyed. “Uh. Thanks?”

Knuckles crossed his arms, trying to ignore how fast his heart was beating. “You shouldn’t let people push you around,” he muttered.

You raised an eyebrow. “I was handling it.”

He hesitated. “...I know.” His ears burned. “I just don’t like seeing people mess with you.”

A slow smile spread across your lips. “Knuckles, are you being protective?”

“No,” he blurted, then immediately sighed. “Maybe.”

You tilted your head, amused. “Because you like me?”

His entire body tensed. He turned away, rubbing the back of his head, mumbling something you couldn’t quite hear.

You stepped closer. “What was that?”

“I said yes,” he grumbled. “Happy?”

Your laughter made his stomach flip. “Yeah, actually.”

And then you kissed his cheek—just a quick, playful peck—and Knuckles, the mighty guardian of Angel Island, went completely red, utterly speechless.

A Thief's Heart

Rouge loved shiny things.

She loved jewels, rare artifacts, and anything that glittered under the moonlight. But above all, she loved the things she couldn’t have.

Which was why she was currently lounging on your windowsill, one leg crossed over the other, a knowing smirk on her lips. “Miss me, sweetheart?”

You rolled your eyes, leaning against the wall. “You say that like you ever give me time to miss you.”

She chuckled, gracefully dropping down from the windowsill. “I can’t help it. You’re my favorite heist.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Heist?”

She tapped a manicured finger against your chest. “You stole my heart first.”

Your face heated up. “That was… disgustingly smooth.”

“I know.” She leaned in, voice softer now. “But I mean it.”

For all her bravado, there was something genuine in the way she looked at you—something unguarded, just for you. You swallowed, trying to keep up with her pace. “So… is this where you sweep me off my feet and take me away?”

Rouge hummed, pretending to think. “Tempting. But I’d rather stay right here.”

She kissed you then, slow and deliberate, her hands tracing over your shoulders like she was mapping every inch of you. When she pulled away, she grinned. “Happy Valentine’s Day, sugar.”

And just like that, she was gone, slipping back into the shadows—but not before leaving a single, heart-shaped ruby in your palm.

She may have been a thief, but tonight, she was the one who had given something away.

Love at the Speed of Sound

Dating Sonic was like trying to hold onto a summer breeze—he was fast, untouchable, and always on the move. But somehow, against all odds, he always found his way back to you.

Which was why, on Valentine’s Day, you weren’t expecting anything too special. Sonic wasn’t exactly the chocolates-and-roses type. You figured maybe a quick visit, a few jokes, and then he’d be off, chasing another adventure.

What you didn’t expect was him showing up at your door, grinning ear to ear, holding a blindfold.

“Uh,” you said, eyeing it. “Do I even want to know?”

“Oh, c’mon, where’s your sense of adventure?” Sonic wiggled the blindfold in front of you. “Trust me, it’ll be worth it.”

You sighed but let him tie it over your eyes. The next thing you knew, he had scooped you into his arms, wind rushing past as he took off running.

Your stomach flipped as he skidded to a stop. “Okay, ready?”

He tugged the blindfold off, and your breath caught. You were standing at the peak of a cliff, overlooking an endless ocean. The sunset turned the sky into a painting of pink and gold, waves crashing below. It was breathtaking.

Sonic leaned against the railing, smirking. “Not bad, huh?”

You turned to him. “You ran me all the way out here just for a view?”

“Nah.” He rubbed the back of his head. “I mean, yeah, it’s nice and all, but… I just wanted to spend today with you. No running off, no bad guys. Just us.”

Your heart melted. For all his speed, for all his need to be anywhere but standing still, he had chosen to stop—just for you.

He stretched out a hand. “So… what do you say? Wanna watch the sunset with me?”

You took his hand, fingers lacing together. “I’d race you to it, but we both know I’d lose.”

Sonic laughed. “Yeah, but I’d let you win just this once.”

And for once, he didn’t run away.

Genius at Work

Tails had been locked in his workshop all day. You weren’t surprised—once he got lost in a project, hours could pass without him realizing it. But it was Valentine’s Day, and you weren’t about to let him spend it cooped up with nothing but blueprints and half-finished gadgets.

You knocked on the door. “Tails? You in there?”

A crash, a muffled “Ow,” and then, “Uh—yeah! Hold on!”

A moment later, he opened the door, goggles perched on his forehead, fur smudged with oil. “Oh! Hey, What’s up?”

You held up a small box. “Figured you’d forget to eat, so I brought you something.”

His ears perked up, tails wagging slightly. “Oh! Thanks!” He took the box, opening it to reveal a homemade meal, carefully packed. His eyes softened. “You really didn’t have to…”

“I wanted to.” You leaned against the doorway. “You do a lot for everyone, Tails. Thought someone should return the favor.”

He scratched the back of his head, embarrassed but clearly touched. “I guess I do get carried away sometimes…”

You grinned. “That’s what I’m here for—to remind you to actually be human. Or, well… fox.”

Tails laughed. “Well, in that case—wanna see what I’ve been working on?”

You knew what that meant: hours of enthusiastic explanations, endless tinkering, and getting caught up in his excitement. And honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

Sweeter Than Candy

Amy had never been subtle about her feelings. She loved love. She believed in grand gestures, romantic confessions, and fairytale endings.

So when she showed up at your door on Valentine’s Day, holding a heart-shaped box of chocolates, you knew exactly what was coming.

She took a deep breath, gripping the box like it was a lifeline. “Okay! I rehearsed this, but now that I’m actually here, I’m kinda panicking—”

You reached out, gently squeezing her hand. “Amy. Breathe.”

She exhaled. “Right. Okay. Here goes.” She thrust the chocolates toward you. “I like you.”

You blinked. “I—”

“Like, a lot,” she continued, words tumbling out in a rush. “Like, more-than-friends like. Like, every time I see you, my heart does this stupid little happy dance, and I think you’re amazing, and I—”

“Amy.” You smiled, taking the chocolates from her hands. “I like you too.”

She froze. “You—wait, really?”

You laughed. “Yeah, really.”

Amy made a sound somewhere between a squeal and a gasp. “Oh my gosh! Okay, um—wait, I had a whole speech planned, and now I—wait, no, that doesn’t matter, because—you like me back!”

She threw her arms around you, squeezing tight, her hammer clattering to the ground as she forgot everything else. You hugged her just as tightly, warmth blooming in your chest.

Amy pulled back, eyes sparkling. “So does this mean I can call you my Valentine?”

You tapped your chin, pretending to think. “Hmm… I dunno. What’s in it for me?”

She gasped dramatically. “Rude!”

You laughed, and before she could protest, you leaned in, kissing her cheek. “Of course, I’m your Valentine.”

Amy beamed. “Best. Valentine’s Day. EVER.”

[im-so-normal-iswear]

Shadow x reader (platonic) where reader is a failed prototype of project Shadow? And was scrapped by the scientists at the arc, due to be being abandoned early on, the reader has powers similar to Shadow but they’re weaker and doesn’t last for more than a couple second, they have a larger lifespan but they’re not immortal like Shadow. Shadow finds them and wonders why the reader kind of looks like him (same red highlights) and Shadow takes them in and they basically become found family and Shadow is protective of reader, sorry if this is long I’ve just had this idea for a while （＾∇＾）You’re one of my sonic comfort blogs, take your time!

Shadow x failed prototype reader

Platonic

You had been discarded before you even had the chance to live.

A failed prototype of Project Shadow, deemed unworthy, unfinished, weak. The scientists aboard the ARK had left you to rot, your incomplete body a testament to their mistakes.

Unlike Shadow, you weren't immortal. Your abilities flickered and died after mere seconds of use, a dim light compared to the living superweapon they had perfected.

Yet, despite your flaws, you had survived.

You didn't remember how you got off the ARK, nor did you know why you were still alive after all these years. Your body aged slower than ang other mobians, but time still weighed on you. You had wandered, hidden, avoided those who might see you as an anomaly to be studied or destroyed. You had long since accepted that you were alone.

Then, you met him.

Shadow had been the one to find you. His sharp crimson gaze locked onto yours the moment he saw you, his usual air of indifference wavering for just a moment. He stared, his brows furrowing as he took in your features, your red-highlighted hair, the streaks along your arms that resembled his own markings. You looked like him. Not exactly, but close enough that confusion crossed his face.

"Who are you?"

You hesitated. No one had asked you that in years. You didn't even know how to answer.

"A mistake"

Shadows expression darkened. He didn't speak right away, but something in his stance shifted. You expected him to leave you, to walk away like so many others had before. But he didn’t.

Instead, he stayed.

He learned your story piece by piece, though you never had much to tell. When you told him what the scientists had done, how they had abandoned you before you were even complete, his hands clenched into fists. You weren’t just a discarded experiment to him. You were proof of their cruelty, another victim of the same people who had taken everything from him.

That was the day you became his responsibility.

Shadow never said it outright, but you could feel it in the way he lingered whenever you pushed yourself too hard. Your powers weren't strong, and they drained you quickly, leaving you exhausted after even the smallest burst of speed or chaos energy. Shadow didn't let you overdo it. He trained you, yes, but only within your limits. He scolded you when you pushed past them.

You weren't a weapon. You weren't going to be used and discarded. Not anymore.

The first time someone tried to hurt you, Shadow made sure they regretted it. He was always protective, but that night solidified it. You weren’t like him, you weren't immortal, you weren't as strong. The idea of losing you, of watching another part of his past be erased, wasn't something he would allow.

"I won't let them take you," he had said, voice quiet but resolute.

And you believed him.

You were not a "mistake". You were his family

[dreamauri]

♪ — 𝗠𝗜𝗗𝗡𝗜𝗚𝗛𝗧, 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗦𝗧𝗔𝗥𝗦 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗬𝗢𝗨 - four mafia! charles leclerc x wife! reader ( ??? ) series summary . . . after preparing your whole life to be married off to a mafia boss, you now have the difficult task of figuring out your new marriage and life, ensuring they don't turn out to be miserable.

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The atmosphere in the grand hallway was thick with tension, but you focused on Charles, straightening his tie with steady hands. You tugged gently at the lapels of his suit, smoothing out invisible creases, your eyes scanning him with quiet scrutiny. He looked every bit the part—powerful, composed, untouchable. But you knew him well enough to see the subtle weight pressing on his shoulders.

“You’re going to do fine,” you murmured, fixing a stray curl in his hair before letting your fingers trail down to his collar. “No one in that room holds more power than you.”

Charles huffed a soft laugh, tilting his head slightly as he watched you. “You think so?”

“I know so,” you said simply, eyes flickering up to meet his. “You’re Charles Leclerc. Your name alone commands respect.”

His gaze softened, his hands finding your waist as he pulled you just a fraction closer. “You always know what to say to me, ma chérie.”

You smiled, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before he could get too sentimental. Charles, of course, was never one to settle for half-measures. Before you could pull away, he caught your chin between his fingers and kissed you properly—slow, deliberate, lingering just long enough to make his point.

When he pulled back, his lips barely brushed against yours as he murmured, “Stay close to me in there.”

You nodded, and with that, Charles pushed open the heavy doors, stepping into the grand meeting hall where Europe’s most powerful crime families were gathered.

The room was a spectacle of wealth—tailored suits, glittering jewelry, designer watches. Wives sat beside their husbands like living trophies, diamonds cascading down their throats. Every glance, every movement, every unspoken word was a statement of power.

The two Leclercs stood tall, unshaken by the silent battle of status being waged around them.

And then, he arrived.

Max Verstappen entered the room like he owned it, his presence commanding attention without him having to say a single word. He was dressed simply, no excessive displays of wealth, but somehow, that made him stand out more. He didn’t need to flaunt anything—his reputation did it for him.

Your stomach twisted uncomfortably as his sharp gaze swept across the room before settling, for the briefest moment, on you.

Then, he spoke.

“Apologies for the . . . inconvenience,” Max started, his voice smooth, practiced. “But Belgium had to be taken. It was necessary.” He paused, letting the weight of his words settle over the room. “If anyone has a problem with that, now’s the time to speak.”

Silence.

No one moved. No one dared.

Because they all knew the truth—Max Verstappen wasn’t just powerful. He was dangerous. Crossing him was a death sentence.

And as much as you wanted to look away, you couldn’t shake the feeling that, beneath it all, his message wasn’t just for the room.

It was for you.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The moment you stepped outside the meeting hall, the air felt lighter—free from the thick tension and unspoken threats lingering within. You exhaled, rolling your shoulders back as you approached the water dispenser, filling a glass with slow, deliberate movements.

A moment. That was all you needed.

But a moment was all it took.

You sensed him before you saw him. A shadow in your periphery, a presence too familiar, too heavy to ignore.

“Thirsty?”

The voice sent a chill down your spine, not from fear, but from something far more complicated.

You didn’t turn immediately, instead taking a slow sip, letting the cool water settle before acknowledging him. “Is that a crime now, Verstappen?”

Max chuckled, stepping closer—too close. “No,” he said, voice laced with amusement. “But some things are.”

You finally met his gaze, and it was a mistake.

Because he was looking at you like that. Like he used to. Like he still saw you as his, like he still believed you should be.

“You’ve been talking to Victoria,” he murmured, his head tilting slightly as he studied your face. “I appreciate that, you know. Not many people would bother.”

Your fingers tightened around the glass. “She’s my friend, Max.”

“I remember,” he said softly, and for a moment, just a fraction of a second, something unguarded flickered in his expression. “I remember everything.”

His hand lifted before you could stop him, fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from your face.

You stiffened.

He noticed.

But he didn’t stop.

Instead, he let his fingers trail lower, his knuckles grazing your jaw before he held your chin—so gently, so carefully, as if he was afraid you’d break beneath his touch.

There was no malice in his gaze, no roughness, no anger. Just something far more dangerous.

“I could give you a place,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t belong with him, schatje.”

Your breath hitched at the old nickname, and Max caught it.

He always caught everything.

“I know why you married him,” he continued, his grip still featherlight against your skin. “I know it wasn’t your choice.” His thumb ghosted over your chin, his touch achingly soft. “But this? Us? That was.”

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to steel your nerves. “There is no us anymore.”

Max smiled then, but it wasn’t a happy one. “There could be.”

Your heartbeat pounded against your ribs.

He leaned in just slightly, just enough for his next words to ghost against your skin. “Come back to me.”

Your lips parted, but nothing came out.

“Come back,” he repeated, voice smooth as silk. “Take your place with me. Where you should’ve been all along.”

You tried to step back, but his hand at your chin kept you still—still gentle, still careful, but firm enough to remind you of the power he held.

“You think he can keep you safe?” Max’s head tilted, amusement flickering in his expression. “You think he can stop me?”

Your fingers curled at your sides, nails pressing into your palms.

Max didn’t miss it. His smirk returned, amused. “I’ll take Monaco,” he said, as if he were discussing the weather. “You know I will. And after that?” He paused, letting the words sink in before delivering the final blow. “And then I’ll take Italy.” His thumb pressed lightly against your jaw. “And when I do, lieverd, there won’t be anything left for him to protect.”

Your pulse roared in your ears.

“I’ll give you one chance,” he continued, his voice almost too soft. “Make the right choice.”

Your breath felt too shallow, too quick. “I need to get back.”

Max didn’t stop you. He simply released your chin, his fingers lingering for just a second longer before dropping to his side.

You turned sharply, gripping the glass so tightly it might have cracked.

You didn’t look back.

You couldn’t.

But you felt his eyes on you the entire way back.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The meeting had finally drawn to a close, the grand hall emptying as the various mafia heads and their entourages filtered out into the cold Monaco night. The tension still clung to the air, thick and unspoken, but for now, it was over.

You let out a slow breath, shaking off the weight of it as you turned to Kika, offering a small smile. “See you soon?”

Kika, ever warm and effortless, pulled you into a hug, her perfume light and floral as she squeezed you briefly. “Definitely. Text me, okay?”

You nodded, stepping back as Pierre gave you a nod of acknowledgment, his hand resting on the small of Kika’s back as they left.

Charles stood beside you, his hands in his pockets, his expression carefully neutral until they were out of earshot. Then, with a scoff, he rolled his eyes.

“Some New Year’s gathering,” he muttered, the irritation clear in his voice.

You huffed out a laugh, watching as he strode forward and opened the car door for you, the deep red of the Ferrari gleaming under the soft streetlights.

Before you could slip inside, something pulled at the edge of your awareness. A feeling.

Your gaze drifted instinctively across the lot.

And there he was.

Max stood near his own car, a sleek Honda NSX, his posture almost hesitant—like he wasn’t sure if he should leave just yet. His hands flexed slightly by his sides, but his sharp blue eyes were locked onto you, unreadable in the dim light.

For a moment, neither of you moved.

Then, as if deciding against whatever thought had crossed his mind, Max tore his gaze away, slipping into the driver’s seat and shutting the door. The low hum of the engine echoed through the parking lot as he pulled away, disappearing into the night.

You swallowed, turning back to Charles, who was already watching you with narrowed eyes.

“Let’s go,” you murmured, stepping into the car.

Charles said nothing, but as he shut the door behind you and rounded the front of the Ferrari, you could feel the shift in the air between you.

He had seen.

And he had questions.

[koyagifs]

𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻𝔂𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓲 𝔀𝓪𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓭

pairing: wooyoung x reader au: idol | friends to lovers | genre: fluff | slight angst word count: 2 k synopsis: she fell first, he fell harder warning(s): angst in the beginning but fluff afterwards, sweet tooth rotting - literally will get cavities.

It was no secret—your feelings for Wooyoung had always been written across your face, obvious to anyone who cared to notice. Growing up side by side through the whirlwind of high school, your bond had been strong, almost unbreakable. He was the sunshine in your life, lighting up every room with his infectious energy and mischievous smile. Everyone teased you about it, but you never confirmed it—until the day you decided to confess.

It was the day he announced that he'd been accepted as a trainee. The two of you were sitting on the school rooftop, the sun setting behind him as he excitedly talked about his dreams and ambitions. Your heart raced, your palms clammy as you mustered the courage to speak.

"I like you," you had blurted out, interrupting his flow. "I’ve liked you for a long time, Woo."

The silence that followed felt deafening. His eyes widened in surprise before softening into a kind, almost apologetic gaze.

"I… I’m sorry, Ynie," he said gently, using the nickname he’d given you years ago. "You’re my best friend, and I care about you so much, but I don’t feel the same way. And with this trainee thing… I don’t think I could handle anything more right now."

Your world shattered in that moment. Every ounce of bravery you’d summoned felt wasted. You forced a smile, brushing it off like it was nothing, but the ache in your chest lingered long after.

For months, you avoided him. You couldn’t bear to see his face, hear his voice, or pretend like everything was fine. It hurt too much. Wooyoung tried to reach out—calling, texting, even showing up at your house—but you shut him out completely.

Wooyoung had tried to bury the guilt, the regret that gnawed at him for losing you. Even as his dream of becoming an idol came to life, there was always a part of him that wondered what things would be like if you were still by his side. Every practice session, every performance, every achievement—there was always a lingering shadow of your absence. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d lost someone irreplaceable, even if he had told himself it was for the best.

What he didn’t know was that you never really left—not entirely. Despite the heartbreak and the distance, you couldn’t bring yourself to let him go completely. You followed his career from afar, quietly cheering him on as he rose through the ranks to become the star you always knew he could be.

At every fan meeting, showcase, or concert you could attend, you were there, tucked away in the crowd where he couldn’t see you. Over time, some of his more observant fans began to recognize your familiar face, often whispering among themselves about who you might be. They thought you were just another dedicated fan, but they couldn’t have known the history you shared with him—the countless memories, the inside jokes, the confessions and heartbreak.

And it wasn’t just the events. You’d kept in touch with his family, too. His mom still greeted you warmly when you visited, treating you like the old friend she remembered. She never questioned why you came around, as if she understood there were things you couldn’t say to Wooyoung directly.

But you did, you've been at every event you could for Wooyoung to the point where some fans recognized you. Wooyoung had no idea that you still follow him, even talking to his family.

“It means a lot to him, you know,” she had said during one of your visits, her hands busy folding laundry. “Having someone believe in him like you do. Even if he doesn’t know.”

Her words stayed with you, but they also left a bittersweet ache in your chest. You’d convinced yourself you were fine with the distance, fine with supporting him from the shadows. But the truth was, every time you saw him on stage, every time his smile lit up a room, you felt the sharp pang of what you’d lost.

Every time you watched him on stage, your heart swelled with pride. He was living his dream, shining in the spotlight in a way that only Wooyoung could. But there was also a pang of sadness, knowing that you were watching from a distance, unable to share in his success the way you once had.

One day, at a fan sign event, a girl next to you nudged your arm, her eyes wide with recognition. "Hey," she whispered, leaning in. "Aren't you that girl? The one who's always at Wooyoung's events? Some of us have noticed you before."

You froze, your fingers tightening around the album you were holding. You hadn’t expected to be recognized, let alone confronted about it. "Uh, yeah," you said awkwardly, trying to downplay it. "I’m just a fan like everyone else."

The girl gave you a knowing smile, as if she didn’t quite believe your casual response. “Right,” she said, her eyes drifting back toward Wooyoung as he greeted the next fan. “Well, whoever you are, you must really care about him. We’ve seen you around for years now.”

Your chest tightened at her words. You did care, more than anyone knew. But Wooyoung still had no idea that you were following his every step, silently supporting him from the background.

You told yourself you weren’t ready to face him again, not after how things ended. But deep down, you knew the real reason you stayed away—it wasn’t just about the pain. It was about the fear. Fear of rejection. Fear of what he might say if he realized you’d been there all along.

And now, standing in his dorm hallway with flowers in hand, his piercing gaze locked onto yours, you realized there was no running anymore. His band mates shuffling pass, heading into their dorm as Wooyoung stood there in shocked.

His jaw tightened, his expression a mixture of disbelief and something deeper—something he couldn’t quite hide. He stared at you for a moment longer before shaking his head, almost as if trying to snap himself out of a dream.

“How?” he asked, his voice quieter, laced with confusion and a hint of frustration. “How are you here, Yn?”

You shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant even though your heart was pounding. “ I’m on the guest list,” you said, your tone light but your grip on the bouquet betraying your nerves. “Surprised me too. I didn’t think you wanted to see me again.”

He frowned, stepping closer, his eyes scanning your face as if searching for answers. “Why would you even want to? After everything… after what I—” His voice cracked, and he stopped, swallowing hard. “Why?”

You hesitated, the weight of his question pressing down on you. For a moment, you thought about brushing it off, making some excuse, but you knew you owed him more than that. After all this time, the truth deserved to come out.

“Because I never stopped caring about you, Woo,” you admitted softly, your voice steady despite the lump in your throat. “Even after you broke my heart, even after I told myself I couldn’t face you again… I couldn’t let go. So I kept following your journey, cheering you on from the sidelines. I didn’t plan to show up here, but your mom called and said i should visit…” You trailed off, looking down at the flowers in your hands. “I guess I couldn’t stay away anymore.”

Wooyoung’s eyes softened, the tension in his stance slowly easing as your words sank in. His expression was a mix of surprise and guilt, his brows furrowing as he tried to process everything you had just said.

“My mom called you?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, letting out a shaky laugh. “Yeah. She said it was time I stopped hiding and finally talked to you. Said you’d been… missing me, even if you wouldn’t admit it.”

He looked away for a moment, running a hand through his hair as he let out a quiet sigh. “She’s right,” he murmured, almost to himself. When his gaze returned to you, it was heavy with emotion. “Ynie, I—God, I don’t even know where to start. I thought I lost you. After what I said, I didn’t think you’d ever want to see me again.”

“I didn’t,” you admitted honestly, though your tone was gentle. “Not for a long time. It hurt too much, Woo. But your mom was right. I couldn’t keep pretending like you weren’t still a part of my life—even if it was from a distance.”

He took a step closer, the bouquet still clutched tightly in his hand. “You didn’t have to do that. I don’t deserve it, not after how I hurt you. You were my best friend, Ynie, and I let you go. I’ve regretted it every single day.”

Your heart ached at the raw sincerity in his voice, but you managed a small smile. “You didn’t let me go, Woo. I chose to walk away. I didn’t know how to be around you after… everything.”

“I got scared yn..” he admitted, his voice cracking slightly. “I love you too, but - i was so terrified that both of my dreams are clashing at the same time.”

His words hit you like a tidal wave, leaving you momentarily breathless. You stared at him, wide-eyed, as his confession hung in the air between you. The weight of it, the raw honesty, was something you had dreamed of hearing for so long that it didn’t feel real.

“Wooyoung…” you whispered, your voice barely audible, your grip tightening around the flowers in your hand.

He ran a shaky hand through his hair, his gaze dropping to the floor as if he couldn’t bear to look at you. “I was scared, Ynie. Scared that if I let myself love you the way I wanted to, I’d lose everything—my dream, my career, and you. And the thought of losing you in any way… it was too much.”

Your heart twisted painfully at the vulnerability in his voice. The boy you had known for years, so full of confidence and fire, now stood before you with his walls down, his emotions laid bare.

“I thought pushing you away would protect us both,” he continued, his voice trembling. “I thought I was doing the right thing, but all I did was hurt you—and myself. I love you, Ynie. I’ve always loved you. I just didn’t know how to handle it.”

Tears welled in your eyes, and you blinked them away quickly, trying to steady yourself. You wanted to be angry, to tell him how much his fear had hurt you, but all you could feel was the overwhelming warmth of finally hearing the words you had waited so long to hear.

“You should have told me,” you said softly, your voice thick with emotion. “You didn’t have to go through it alone, Woo. I would have been there for you, no matter what. That’s what I’ve always wanted—to be by your side.”

He finally looked up, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I know that now,” he said, his voice breaking. “I was stupid, and I let my fear get in the way. But if you’ll let me… I want to make it up to you. I want to try again. I want to do this right.”

The sincerity in his words left no room for doubt, and for the first time in years, the pain you had carried began to melt away. You took a deep breath, stepping closer to him until there was barely any space between you.

“I’m scared too,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “But I’ve been scared for so long that I don’t want to let it hold me back anymore. If you’re willing to try, then so am I.”

His eyes searched yours, as if making sure he had heard you right. When he saw the determination in your gaze, a small, hopeful smile broke across his face.

“Really?” he asked, his voice soft, almost disbelieving.

You nodded, a tear slipping down your cheek as you smiled. “Really.”

In the next moment, his arms were around you, pulling you into a tight embrace. The flowers tumbled from your hands as you melted into him, feeling the weight of years of pain and longing finally lift.

“I won’t let you down this time, Ynie,” he murmured into your hair, his voice steady with conviction. “I promise.”

And for the first time in a long time, you believed him.

[littlepeach-world]

Confessions Over Dinner (Min Ho Moon x Fem!Reader)

Pairing: Min Ho Moon x Fem!Reader

Summary: You were certain Min-Ho despised you... so why is a picture of you is his lockscreen? Or Imagine your shock: Min-Ho, who's always acted like you don't exist, has your photo as his lockscreen background!

Warnings: emotional distress, Min-ho being embarrassed, confrontation, love confession.

Word count: 1.09k

Notes: Hello this is my first time writing for this character. He’s so fucking fine, and I need him really bad so I wrote this. Please let me know if you would like more min ho fics!

A year had passed since you first arrived at KISS, and in that time, you had seamlessly integrated yourself into a lively and diverse group of friends. Kitty and Yuri, your roommates, were among the first to embrace you, their warm personalities making your transition into a new school environment not just easier, but genuinely enjoyable. Dae and Q soon followed, each bringing their unique flair and energy to the group, and before long, you found yourself surrounded by friends who felt like family.

Despite this, there was one member of the group who remained an enigma: Min-Ho. From the moment you met, there was an undeniable tension in your interactions with him. While others in the group greeted you with open arms and easy smiles, Min-Ho seemed to erect an invisible wall whenever you were near. His behavior confused you; with everyone else, he was effortlessly charming and personable, yet his demeanor shifted the moment his eyes met yours—or, more accurately, avoided meeting yours.

Tonight, as you gathered with your friends at a trendy, newly-opened restaurant in the heart of downtown, Min-Ho's detachment was on full display. You expected it by now, yet a small, persistent part of you couldn’t relinquish the curiosity about why he reserved such aloofness exclusively for you.

As you settled into your seats, the table came alive with a symphony of voices, overlapping in laughter and vibrant conversation. Dae animatedly recounted a recent adventure, his enthusiasm infectious, while Q chimed in with witty remarks that had Kitty and Yuri in stitches. Amidst all the chatter, you couldn’t help but notice Min-Ho's behavior. He laughed and participated, engaging readily with the others, but the moment you addressed him or tried to draw him into the conversation, he would tense slightly, his gaze skirting away from yours.

His usual confidence seemed to falter whenever you were around, adding yet another layer to the mystery that was Min-Ho. You couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more beneath his aloof exterior, a dynamic that was both intriguing and frustrating. It left you with an unsettling mix of emotions—curiosity, frustration, and a reluctant intrigue—that you couldn’t quite quell.

Despite the commotion and camaraderie buzzing at the table, Min-Ho's distance was a shadow that lingered at the back of your mind, a puzzle that refused easy resolution. Was it something you had said or done that created this invisible barrier, or was there a deeper reason for his unusual behavior? The questions swirled in your mind, mingling with the cheerful noise of your friends around you, a reminder of the enigma that Min-Ho represented in your otherwise close-knit group.

Min-Ho sat diagonally across from you, his sharp outfit making him look striking as always. His keen sense of fashion had become one of his trademarks, and tonight was no exception. Yet beyond the stylish exterior, you sensed something more elusive whenever you glanced his way.

Midway through your meal, Q made an exaggerated joke that had everyone at the table bursting into laughter. Amidst the commotion, Min-Ho's phone, which had been precariously nestled in the pocket of his jacket draped over the back of his chair, slipped out and clattered onto the table. The sound cut through the laughter, drawing everyone's eyes to the device that landed face-up. Your heart skipped a beat when you saw your own smiling face as his screensaver.

"Hey, is that Y/N on your screen?" Q's sharp eyes had noticed it first, and his voice carried a note of playful suspicion.

Heads swiveled towards Min-Ho, whose face turned an alarming shade of crimson. He quickly reached for his phone but fumbled with it, his hands shaky. The group erupted into a mix of surprise and light-hearted teasing.

"Wow, didn't know you were such a fan, Min-Ho," Yuri quipped, her voice brimming with amusement.

"Seems like someone’s got a favorite," Q added with a teasing grin.

Min-Ho glanced around at the curious, grinning faces surrounding him, clearly flustered. "Uh, no, it’s not what it looks like," he stammered, his discomfort evident.

"Not what it looks like? It looks pretty clear to me," Kitty teased, raising her eyebrow in a playful challenge.

"Come on, just admit it. You like her, don't you?" Q pressed, the gleam in his eyes betraying his curiosity.

Min-Ho's gaze darted to you, then back to his phone. He seemed to struggle with his words before standing up abruptly, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. "I... I just remembered, I have something urgent to take care of," he mumbled, avoiding eye contact as he hurriedly grabbed his phone and jacket, making a swift exit.

Back at the table, an awkward silence lingered before the group exchanged curious glances. Kitty shook her head and smiled. "Well, that was unexpected."

"He really bolted, didn't he?" Q chuckled, still amazed by the turn of events.

"You think he's embarrassed?" Dae questioned, his voice softer with slight concern.

"Obviously," Yuri replied, rolling her eyes. "I mean, it's cute in a way." She turned her attention to you, "Right?"

You hesitated for a moment, considering her words. "I suppose it is, in a strange way," you replied, a small smile playing at your lips. "But I still don't understand why he acts like that around me."

Kitty leaned in, a thoughtful expression on her face. "Maybe he's just shy? Or perhaps there's something about you that makes him nervous."

Dae nodded in agreement. "It's possible. People act weird for all kinds of reasons, especially when it comes to feelings they're not sure how to handle."

You sighed, still puzzled. "I just wish I knew what he was thinking. It's been a whole year, and he hasn't given me any indication of what the problem might be."

"Have you tried talking to him about it?" Q suggested, his tone serious. "Sometimes the direct approach is the best way to clear things up."

Yuri chimed in, "Yeah. Maybe if you just asked him, you'd get some answers. It might be awkward, but at least you'll know what's going on."

You considered their advice, the prospect of confronting Min-Ho about his behavior both daunting and oddly appealing. "You're right," you said finally. "I'll find a time to talk to him. It's time to get to the bottom of this."

The group nodded in support, their encouragement bolstering your resolve. The conversation eventually shifted to lighter topics, but the mystery of Min-Ho's aloofness lingered in your mind, a puzzle you were determined to solve.

You found yourself lost in the whirlwind of your thoughts, reflecting on the recent incident with Min-Ho and his lock screen. Did this mean what you thought it did? The implications were both thrilling and terrifying, leaving your mind in a whirl of possibilities. You tried to gather your composure, but the image of your face on his phone and the look in Min-Ho's eyes kept replaying in your mind.

Their voices seemed to fade as you pondered the revelation. Your heart pounded with a mix of excitement and anxiety. Min-Ho was always so composed and confident; seeing him so flustered only added to your own confusion. With each passing moment, the reality of the situation began to sink in, leaving you to wonder what this meant for your relationship with Min-Ho and for the dynamic of your whole group.

Later that evening, you found yourself standing nervously outside Min-Ho’s dorm room. Your heart pounded in your chest as you summoned the courage to knock on the door, the earlier incident replaying vividly in your mind. What did it all mean?

Moments later, the door swung open, revealing Min-Ho’s face. A flicker of surprise crossed his features before he composed himself. "What brings you here?" he asked, his voice steady but his eyes betraying his unease.

You took a deep breath to steady yourself and stepped inside. "We need to talk about what happened earlier," you said, trying to keep your voice calm despite the turmoil within you.

Min-Ho closed the door behind you, and the air in the small space grew thick with tension. "It was just a mistake. The screensaver—I can explain…"

You interrupted him, your eyes searching his face for a sign of honesty. "Why is my photo on your phone?" you demanded.

Min-Ho’s carefully maintained façade crumbled, revealing a vulnerability you had never seen before. He took a deep breath and looked away, his voice barely more than a whisper. "Because I'm in love with you, Y/N," he confessed. "I’ve been trying to hide it, thinking maybe you’d never feel the same way. I thought avoiding you would make it easier, but it's only made things more complicated."

You stared at him in shock, your mind racing. You had spent so long convinced that he hated you, and now this? "You... You love me?" you repeated, still processing his words.

Min-Ho nodded, his expression a mix of anxiety and hope. "I do. And I know it’s sudden, but I can't pretend anymore."

For a moment, the room was filled with silence as both of you grappled with the weight of his confession. Then, taking a shaky breath, you finally found the words. "Why?" you asked, your voice trembling. "How? I thought you hated me! You never talk to me or acknowledge me when I walk into a room.”

"I always saw you," Min-Ho said softly, stepping even closer, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine. "I love the way you smile even when things are tough, and how you're always willing to help others no matter what. But more than that, I love your laugh. You laugh in so many different ways. When embarrassing things happen in your favorite dramas, you shriek like fireworks and sometimes throw your phone away in horror, hiding under the pillows. It's adorable."

He reached out, gently touching your cheek. "And I know about your little quirk of not being able to sleep unless you find the right fake scenario to play in your head." He chuckled softly. "It's a little weird, but I find it endearing. I’ve admired you from afar, thinking it was the best way to protect my heart if you didn’t feel the same."

Your heart swelled with his words, every mention of your quirks and habits feeling like an intimate tribute. Tears welled up in your eyes—not out of sadness, but out of overwhelming relief and joy at knowing the depth of his feelings. "Min-Ho, I thought you hated me," you said, your voice breaking slightly. "But the truth is, I have feelings for you too. I just never thought you felt the same."

Min-Ho's eyes met yours, a dazzling blend of relief and joy sparkling in them. "You really mean that?" he asked, almost not daring to hope.

Instead of answering with words, you closed the distance between you, pressing your lips to his in a kiss that was both tender and deeply passionate. It was as if all the confusion and tension of the past melted away in that moment, leaving only clarity and connection between you.

When you finally broke apart, you were both breathless yet elated. Min-Ho’s hands lingered on your waist, drawing you closer as if afraid to let you go. As you stood there, wrapped up in each other, it felt like the beginning of something new and beautiful.

[moonlight-joy]

The North Remembers Part 2

Fandom: House of Dragon

Summary: Part 2 of The North Remembers. @duckduckgooss @horrorlover304 @princessbitchybucket

Pairing: Reader/Cregan Stark

The halls of Oldtown were nothing like Winterfell. Where the North had been rugged and untamed, filled with howling winds and quiet, solemn strength, Oldtown was warm, suffocating in its grandeur. Every hallway felt like a gilded cage, every whispered conversation a reminder that you did not belong here anymore.

You should have felt at home, surrounded by your kin, but your heart remained in the North—with him.

The days stretched into months, and still, Cregan’s letter remained tucked away beneath your pillow, the ink slightly smudged from the countless times you had traced his words with your fingertips.

I’m waiting for you.

Each day, you woke with the weight of duty on your shoulders. Your father watched you with suspicion, your mother barely concealed her disappointment, and your brothers whispered behind closed doors. You had brought shame to House Hightower, and they would not let you forget it.

But they underestimated you.

The letters between you and Cregan continued in secret. Every moon cycle, a raven would come, bearing his words of longing, of unwavering patience. He did not ask you to return before you were ready, but the message was always clear:

The North still waits for you.

Then came the announcement. Your father summoned you to the solar, his expression as cold as the marble floors beneath your feet.

“You will marry Lord Baratheon,” he declared, as if it had already been decided long ago. “The alliance will strengthen our position and restore what you nearly cost us.”

Your stomach dropped. The Baratheons had remained neutral throughout the Dance, but you knew their nature—proud, unyielding, possessive. A marriage to one of them would ensure you never set foot in the North again.

You lifted your chin, meeting your father’s gaze. “I refuse.”

The slap came swiftly, stinging across your cheek.

“You do not have a choice,” he hissed. “You have humiliated this family enough. This is your chance to make amends.”

Tears burned in your eyes, but you did not let them fall. He thinks he can control me. But I have seen true strength.

That night, as the city slept, you prepared to leave.

The journey north was treacherous. You traveled under the cover of darkness, cloaked and hooded to avoid recognition. The gold your mother had slipped into your hand before you left was enough to pay for safe passage, though no coin could guarantee complete safety.

By the time you reached Winterfell’s gates, your body ached with exhaustion, but your heart hammered with anticipation.

The guards stiffened as you approached, their eyes widening with recognition.

“Fetch Lord Stark,” you commanded, your voice steady despite the wind’s cruel bite. “Tell him his wolf has come home.”

Cregan came at once.

You saw him before he saw you, stepping into the torchlight, his broad frame shadowed by furs. His face was the same—strong, severe—but as his eyes locked onto yours, something in him shattered.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The night stretched between you, heavy with everything left unsaid.

Then, suddenly, you were moving—running—closing the distance between you. His arms caught you before you could fall, and you buried your face against his chest, breathing in the scent of pine and frost and home.

“You came back,” he murmured, his voice hoarse.

Tears finally spilled down your cheeks. “I told you I would.”

His grip tightened. “I would have waited a lifetime.”

You pulled back, looking up at him, searching his face. “But you don’t have to.”

Cregan exhaled shakily before his lips crashed onto yours, claiming you with a desperation that had simmered for far too long. The cold melted away beneath the heat of his touch, and for the first time in months, you could breathe again.

The following weeks were filled with hushed whispers and cautious stares. Your return had not gone unnoticed, and the North, as always, remembered.

There were those who questioned your place, who doubted your loyalty. But Cregan stood beside you, unwavering.

“She belongs here,” he told them simply. “With me.”

The murmurs did not cease, but no one dared to challenge him outright.

One evening, as the two of you stood atop the battlements, watching the snow drift across the land, Cregan spoke quietly.

“They won’t stop questioning you, not until they see proof that you are truly one of us.”

You turned to him, brow furrowed. “What are you saying?”

A small, knowing smile played at his lips. “Marry me.”

Your breath caught, your heart slamming against your ribs. “Cregan—”

“I love you,” he interrupted, his voice firm but tender. “The North may take time to accept you, but they will never doubt my wife.”

Tears welled in your eyes, but this time, they were of joy. Of certainty.

“Yes,” you whispered. “A thousand times, yes.”

The wedding was unlike any grand ceremony of the South. There were no lavish displays, no golden banners or extravagant feasts. Instead, you were wed beneath the heart tree in the godswood, the cold air thick with the scent of pine and snow. The solemn vows were spoken in the old way, a sacred bond witnessed by the gods of the North.

Cregan’s hands were warm despite the chill as he wrapped them around yours, his gaze steady as he whispered, “You are mine, and I am yours. The North remembers, and so shall we.”

You had never felt surer of anything in your life.

That night, as you lay together beneath thick furs, his arms wrapped protectively around you, you realized that you had been searching for home in the wrong place all along.

Home was not the stone walls of Oldtown.

It was not duty, nor the expectations of your family.

Home was here, in Winterfell. In his arms. In the North.

And the North would remember forever.

[n0vazsq]

Decode | Pedri Gonzalez x Reader

pairing . . . pedri x ex!reader

summary . . . You tried to forget him. Tried to move on, to bury the past. But when the storm hit, so did the memories. The pain, the longing; him. And just when you thought you’d break, his arms found you again and his lips were on yours.

request . . . yes!! based on this request!

word count . . . 2.3k+

warnings . . . angst but it turns into fluff!

faceclaim . . . N/A

alexavia yaps . . . RAHHH this can be read as part 2 of the loneliest or as a standalone!! pls don't find me @bernalswifeyy !! BRO ITS SO BAD AND SHITTY BC IDK HOW TO WRITE ANGST TO FLUFF BUT I HOPE IT WAS GOOD ENOUGH

. . . Rain lashed against the window as the howling winds drowned out all the other noise, combined with the sound of thunder that shook the walls. The air was cold, biting against your skin as you quickly shut your living room window, the smell of earth slowly fading away as a dampness that clung to everything washed over you.

Despite it being early in the afternoon, the skies were dark and gloomy, creating a dark shadow over the neighbourhood outside. You shivered slightly as you took off your coat and scarf, wiping off the dampness clinging onto your skin and hair. The heater was whirring, but it deemed useless in this condition.

Your plans of going out today was thrown out the window as soon as you saw the grey clouds gather above you. Now, your house was the only escape from the storm, a silent sanctuary that felt heavier now, the tension of the past still filling it to the brim. You didn't like to stay here when you had the chance, it reminded you too much of the past, too much of him.

The clash of thunder and the glow of lightning snapped you out of your train of thoughts, sending a shiver of fear through your spine. You hoped the electricity wouldn't cut out, as it always did in storms like this when you were a kid, the floods and lightning striking down the electricity poles and stations.

Puddles of rain filled your backyard as you walked over to check it out, the droplets creating littles holes as they clashed with the still water. Letting out a small sigh, you noticed the water leaking inside your kitchen from the closed french doors. Hurriedly, you grabbed a few towels from the cabinet nearby and lined them up along the location where the water was gathering.

Your attention was pulled away from the leaking water when a knock on your door was heard. You weren't expecting any visitors, and none of your friends said that they'd be coming over. Worry washed over you, could it be an emergency? What if something happened to one of your family members? Or even a friend of yours?

There was a second knock on the door, followed by a deafening bolt of thunder. You shuffled slowly, careful to not slip on the wooden floor, whoever was outside would die of hypothermia if you didn't let them in now. The keys that were once laying on the table near your door were grabbed in a haste as you unlocked the door, letting out a sigh of relief as you finally opened it.

"Sorry it took so long, I was-" When your eyes met the person outside's eyes, you stopped speaking as your body froze. 

It was him.

Pedri.

He was drenched and shivering, water covering him from head to toe. He gave you a weak smile, and you noted his shattering teeth. You remembered how he used to smile when he saw you, how that smile always made everything else fade away. Now, the smile felt like a distant memory; one you weren't sure you could reach anymore.

Hesitating, you slowly opened the door wider, what should you do? Are you willing to let him in, despite everything? Part of you wanted to scream at him, to demand answers for why he left, but another part of you just wanted to forget everything. The storm outside raged, but the chaos inside was worse.

You had spent so long convincing yourself that you were okay. But the moment you saw him, you knew nothing had changed. Sparing him a glance, your eyes met again in a quick exchange of glances; it was too much, too overwhelming, but as the rain hit the ground stronger and the winds howled louder, you considered letting him inside.

Weighing the decision quickly in your head, you decided to let him in, only to let him warm up for a few minutes until he called someone to pick him up. It's only ten minutes, you tried to convince yourself as he wiped his shoes on the carpet outside and finally stepped into the house.

An awkward silence took over, both of you standing there, not knowing how to bridge the gap between you. Everything felt different now, the air between you thick with unspoken words, tension so thick you could cut it with a knife. You'd always been able to speak without words, but now... it feels like you’re strangers, no matter how close you once were.

He was soaking wet from the rain, but you couldn't help but let your focus shift; focusing on the way his jacket clung onto his frame, the way his damp hair covered his forehead, his eyelashes darker with the rain water, framing his brown eyes. You couldn't help but notice his slightly pink cheeks, a result of the cold biting at them, and the way his jaw was subtly clenched, as if trying to hide his annoyance at being in the same room with you. 

You wanted to push him away, to pretend that it's just a fluke that he showed up, but the storm was real, but so were your feelings. You didn't ask for this. You didn't want this. But your heart can't lie about what it still wants. It wanted him.

Pedri was still shivering, and you swallowed the lump in your throat as you tried to not start crying right then and there. You wanted him, no, needed him. But he was gone.

Trying to fight the feeling, you busied yourself with something mundane; grabbing a towel so he could dry himself, giving him a blanket to make him stop shivering, preparing a cup of tea to warm him up. However, no matter what you did, your mind kept drifting back to him and the memories of you two before.

The unspoken tension reached its peak, and you could both feel it. Finally, Pedri spoke, muttering something that made the barrier in you break free, causing a dam of emotions to unleash.

"You never used to push me away like this," He stared at you, and you scanned his face for any hint of mockery, a hint that he was joking and didn't actually say that. But there was none, he said the thing you least expected him to say, and it was the thing that made the barrier in you break.

His fingers brushed against yours, a fleeting touch that left a spark. You pulled back, trying to convince yourself that you didn’t want this. But your heart was betraying you, pounding faster the closer he got.

You always told yourself you’d be fine. But the sight of him here, looking at you like he used to, it makes you wonder if maybe you've been lying. The feeling of being under his gaze almost made you go crazy, this was too much, too much for you to handle.

Not being able to fight it any longer, you moved closer, fingers brushing a droplet of water on his cheek so lightly, and for a moment you thought your skin didn't touch his. The emotional pull was too strong, pulling you against him without your will. Suddenly, his hand found your waist, gripping it tightly. 

You inhaled sharply at the contact, your bodies flushed against each other, leaving no space for anything to be between you. No tension, no unspoken words, no memories. Just you and him. Just Pedri.

His eyes were staring at your lips, your faces so close, not even an inch apart. You could feel his breathing, the proximity causing it to mingle with yours. You could see him swallow, as if this wasn't supposed to happen, like he didn't want it to happen.

Without any hint, he cupped your cheeks and pulled you into a soft, desperate kiss. Your hands found his hair, as if they were meant to be there. You'd been pushing him out of your mind for so long, but now, with his lips on yours, it feels like no time has passed.

You broke off the kiss, inhaling a sharp breath as you stared at him with wide eyes, you were both breathing heavily, cheeks flushed and hair messed up. The kiss felt like both an end and a beginning; soft but heavy, releasing the tension but leaving behind unresolved questions.

His hand rested gently on your back, pulling you closer until there was barely any space between you two. His breath was warm against your lips, and you could feel his heartbeat racing beneath his chest, syncing with your own. When he pulled away just slightly, his forehead pressed to yours, and you both just breathed together for a moment, the weight of everything between you melting away in the intimacy of that small space.

Pedri smiled softly at you, the action sending a wave of flury to your heart. "I didn't think you'd let me back in. Not after everything." He muttered as he brushed his hand against your hair, moving it slowly towards your face as he got closer again, your noses touching.

"Let me kiss you again, please."

You let out a shaky breath at his words, hearing him plead to kiss you brought back a wave of memories and flashbacks, but you nodded slowly. You needed this as much as he needed it.

He titled your chin up so you could look at him, then his lips found yours. This time, the kiss was slower, but more heated, his hands wrapping around your waist while yours interlocked behind his necks. He pulled you tight against him, deepening the kiss. 

The storm is still raging outside, but inside, things are quieter now. The storm outside mirrors the chaos inside, but for a brief moment, everything feels calm. After you two pulled away from the kiss, he glanced at you, eyes full of love.

You stood up to grab another blanket from the couch, but before you could, his hand caught yours. "Stay with me. Just a little longer," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, as if the words themselves were too heavy to say aloud.

You sat back down, wrapping the blanket around him and pulling it tightly around your shoulders too. His head rested against yours, and you could feel his breath warm against your skin, a quiet reassurance that maybe this was all you both needed.

The rain was still coming down heavily, but the thunder had become a distant rumble, almost peaceful. The howling winds had quieted, and in the silence, you could hear nothing but the gentle creak of the floorboards beneath you as you shifted slightly on the couch. The room was warmer now, not just from the heater but from the quiet intimacy between you two.

And after a long comfortable silence, Pedri spoke, a smile on his face as he stared at you. "Remember the time we tried to bake that cake and it came out like a brick?" he laughed.

"How could I forget? I think we almost ate it anyway."

"I remember thinking we were so stupid," he smiled, glancing down at you. "But it was one of the best days."

"It wasn't the cake that made it great," you said softly, your fingers brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. "It was us."

He held you tightly, his grip trapping you in but not painful. You sighed in relief, this wasn't how you'd expected your day to end, but it was better than any other ending you imagined.

"You never left, did you?" you whispered, your voice barely audible, as if admitting the truth was too much to bear. His presence here, like this, felt surreal. The way his arms felt around you, the way he kissed you as if nothing had changed; it made you wonder if the last few months of silence had ever truly happened.

A small silence settled between you two, filled by his calm breathing against your fast paced one. You stared at him, his eyes full of something between love and regret.

"It's crazy how it feels like nothing's changed," you said, breaking the silence between you. "Like, even after all this time, it's like I still know you better than anyone else."

He smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "Yeah. Feels like we’re both just... waiting. For what, though, I'm not sure."

You laughed, though it was laced with bitterness. "Waiting for the storm to pass?"

"Maybe." His voice was lower now, more intimate. "But I don't want to wait anymore."

"Maybe we don’t have all the answers right now," you said quietly. "But I think we can figure this out. Together."

Pedri looked at you with soft, sincere eyes, and for the first time in a long while, you felt a sense of peace settle over you. He laughed quietly, the sound revibrating through his chest, warm and low.

"I never realized how much I missed your laugh until I heard it just now," you said softly, tracing the edge of his jaw with your fingertips, feeling the familiar yet slightly different feel of him.

"For a moment, I thought I'd forgotten what it felt like to be this close to you," he whispered as he traced circles on your arm, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours, despite the cold weather. "I didn't know how much I needed this until now."

"Maybe one day, we’ll look back at all of this and laugh." He nodded, the smallest smile tugging at his lips. "One day, I hope we can look forward to that."

"You know, I never wanted to leave."

"I never wanted you to."

"Maybe we can start over," You whispered, running your fingers through his hair. 

"I'd like that," he replied, pulling you closer. "I never wanted to leave. And I'm not going anywhere now."

"I'm here," you whispered against his chest, your hand resting over his heart. "And I’m not going anywhere either."

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[amingethia]

Fuck it here’s another character hot take/analysis thing.

Leonardo was scared of his brothers being human and leaving him.

In the 2016 (Bayverse) movie, his little meltdown has always rubbed me (and many others probably) the wrong way. It feels so random.

Like yes, maybe he’s confident being a turtle and would rather live in the shadows fighting crime than working a 9 to 5 and doing taxes (tbh who wouldn’t?) however, that in no way gives him the right to turn around and tell his brothers “We don’t need that kind of change.” “We’re turtles. Whether you like it or not.” (And of course the infamous and infuriating) “There’s only one vote that counts in this family. Mine.”

So what’s going on here?

My take is that it was fear. Fear of not only losing his little brothers, but them growing apart, growing away from him, deciding they don’t need him anymore. We see in the first movie Raph constantly challenging Leo’s position as leader (as a Raphael does of course) and implies that he hasn’t been leader for very long (we don’t know the exact time between them getting their weapons and Leo being named leader to the actual current events of the movie, but based on their appearance/size in the flashback scene it doesn’t seem very long) (maybe a few months at most). Which all of that concludes that he’s still trying to figure out what that role is and how to proceed.

And possibly has the same weight on his shoulders as other Leo’s, that his brothers lives depend on him, that at the end of the day it’s his job to get all of them home safe.

Then there’s Raph in the first movie talking about walking away and Leo insisting “He’s not going anywhere. We all stick together.” And of course the fact that he was in the cages with Donnie and Mikey, getting his blood drained and having to hear/process his two little brothers suffering/almost dying.

Long story short all of this is just my evidence to say that Leonardo, being the only one against the idea of turning human, was scared that being human would lead them all down separate paths, would cause them to drift apart.

And if he and his brothers drift apart, what team is he the leader of?

[butterflydm]

Wheel of Time s3 Trailer!

It is here! <3 (was I refreshing the prime video page over and over until it appeared? yes, yes I was)

Okay, two and half minute trailer, here we go!

First impressions: I was just watching rapt the whole time, but there was excited screaming going on inside my head. It looks so epic! Things that stood out right away -- we see Liandrin confronted by the Hall of the Tower, we get a bit more of the drinking scene with the boys, looks like Egwene finds out about Lanfear & Rand by running across them in TAR (ouch), we get Elayne giving Rand political advice.

Second impressions, with pausing and studying the scenes more:

We start with a shot of the group in the Aiel Waste, walking in the distance.

The next shot is, I think, from the stills of the Wondergirls dressed up on horses -- looks like Egwene is taking the lead. That's from her Accepted Test, so I'm thinking we might get the Wondergirls doing to Rand what Liandrin & Co were doing in the first scenes of the series when they were chasing down that man who could channel.

Long-haired guy standing in a river. Quality is either not good enough to tell who he is, or I haven't seen him before.

We get Siuan confronting Liandrin in the Hall -- and there's Nynaeve, as a witness against Liandrin, is my guess. We get several shots of the confrontation here and then out in the streets. I count either five or six BA sisters with her, I think. Definitely see Joiya.

We have Egwene already noting the cracks in the Tower: "This Tower is destroying itself from the inside out". That does make me feel like we're likely to get the coup this season, for it to be called out that directly.

"Moiraine setting up the stakes of why the Tower being in civil conflict is bad for Rand and the world. Then we get some shots of the Battle of the Two Rivers, I think.

Rand is looking at the portrait of Mat, cute cute. And Perrin does smile in this scene too! That's good.

Lan warning Nynaeve that ALL of them are in danger (per the changes the show set forth in s1 with Fain telling Perrin that all of the ta'veren are of interest)

Oooh, I think that's a shot of Nynaeve being interrogated by Moghedien in Tanchico!

Faile and Perrin in the orchards. I wonder if this is going to be about his family that Jordan invented for Shadow Rising or if it's going to be about Laila.

So... is Lanfear trying to overwrite/play a re-do on Rand's memories of Egwene? The two of them sitting on that mountainside is very much like Rand and Egwene sitting together in the first episode.

And again, it looks like TAR is how Egwene finds out that Rand was with Lanfear last season, and we'll get her asking him if he loves Lanfear.

Hmm, that scene with Egwene and the Aiel woman in TAR looks like it's the scene with her and Amys, but is that the actress playing one of the other Wise Ones?

Egwene is going to have flashbacks to being damane. :-(

Dragon tattoos!

The glass columns!

Oooh, the silver rings! They look neat!

Yeah, confirmed that the spinny futures are what she sees in the rings.

the picture quality isn't good enough for me to be sure but: is that Elayne or Morgase on the Lion throne there? Might be confirmation that we're going to get to see Elayne's Accepted Test too? Or it might be a Morgase flashback?

Mierin scene! Our final flashback in the glass columns, I assume.

Also! Elayne and Rand convo <3 <3 <3 <3

"Make them believe in you and they will follow you to the ends of the earth." Wearing the same shirt that we saw in the "Drinking with Aviendha" still. She's so sincere here. I love her so much. Giving Rand politics lessons my beloved.

In conclusion: AAAAAAAAH!

[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🌶️

ao3 link

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

---

@two-unbeatable-beaters @kiwwia-wiwwia @1988-fiend @xblueriddlex @loves0phelia @ninacotte @lovelyygirl8 @littlenosoul @ednaaa-04  @astridstark13 @hashcakes

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[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.

[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.

[mumms-the-word]

A Crow's Work is Never Done

Characters: Lucanis Dellamorte x Rook (Phyrra Mercar) Summary: Post-DATV, Lucanis and Rook attend a masked ball together. But Lucanis has some business he needs to take care of first before he can have any fun. Spite thinks he should just dance with Rook instead. A/N: This is kind of a spiritual successor/sequel to @cheerysmores' fic Unfinished Business (with a hint of vibes pulled from her excellent smut Yours. Mine. Ours. too!) so definitely check those out!! Friend, I hope I have done your Rook and Lucanis (and Spite!!) justice! Happy birthday!!

It had been some time since Lucanis attended a masked ball. He didn’t frequent Orlais much and Antiva had its own brand of extravagance that rarely required—or even desired— the anonymity of masks. The goal of a typical Antivan gala was to be seen and recognized. Be seen talking with the right (or sometimes wrong) people, be seen flaunting the latest fashions, be seen holding the finest glass of wine, be seen disappearing for a tryst that could entail anything from romance to business to murder. You had to be seen before you could be missed.

But Antiva had their masked events, too. A sense of carnivale was always the order of the day, a time of festive chaos where identities could be hidden for a few hours simply for the sake of shaking things up and keeping things interesting. While the Orlesians loved their masks, Antivans loved their theatre. The irony of the long-nosed trickster Zanni linking arms with the straight-laced Capitano braggart was part of the fun. If one didn’t see a gold-tressed Andraste (her hair always a wig) slipping away with an elegant Shartan (his elven ears sometimes fake) then it was a waste of a good masque. For a few short hours, you could become someone else for a change, acting the role of your new persona with all the zealous enthusiasm Antiva was known for.

Events like these were where the Crows thrived. Any given crowd of bird-masked figures could be hiding a genuine Crow in their midst. That, too, was part of the excitement. The man on your arm could be a wealthy merchant in a black-feathered mask, or he could be a sinister assassin, there to kill you. Do you risk the dance, the drink, the tryst? Are you any safer in the arms of a person dressed intentionally like a Crow? The only way to know was to take the chance.

Antivans did love a gamble.

It was no different tonight at this gala. Lucanis watched guests mingle, dance, and drink from his spot on a balcony overseeing the main ballroom. Though he had entered this villa as a guest, he was more comfortable watching from a distance, preferably somewhere up high and out of sight. Not so tonight. Tonight he needed to be seen…at least for a moment.

He adjusted the mask on his face, a black half-mask with a sharp beak curving down over his nose, a crown of eight blue-black feathers lining the edge. The Mask of the First House. It gave away his identity immediately—only one Crow family was ever allowed to wear this mask—but only to those in the know. Unfortunately for him, ��those in the know” probably made up half of this crowd.

Treviso had too many Crows.

And this party had too many guests. Lucanis tapped his fingers idly on the railing of the balcony, conscious of every eye that swept up and over to look at him. It went against all his training to stand there out in the open, rather than slinking through the shadows. This was Illario’s realm, the kind of atmosphere his cousin had always thrived in, flirting and sweet-talking his way through crowds of men and women alike. In fact it wasn’t all that long ago that Lucanis watched from the roof as Illario navigated a Tevinter party to seduce some keys off a guard captain. That was before Zara, though. Before Spite.

Before Phyrra.

Where is she? Spite hissed in his ear. Lucanis cast a side-eyed look at the purple figure that materialized next to him. Spite walked restlessly along the edge of the balcony, keeping behind the banister as if it were a cage. He leaned over to look down at the ballroom below, as if Phyrra might be tucked directly underneath them, and then straightened again. Where?

“I left her with Teia and Viago,” Lucanis said. “They’ll keep her busy in another room while we work.” Or so they promised. Phyrra might have other ideas.

Work. Disdain and disgust dripped from the word when Spite said it. You said we could dance with Rook!

“And we will,” he said. “After the work is done.”

He looked across at another balcony directly opposite his, where a familiar dark-clad figure stood, half-obscured by a curtain. Their gazes locked across the space, an understanding born of years of work and training together crossing the distance easily and silently. Lucanis gave a single nod and the figure disappeared.

Him again, Spite spat. I want—

“No.”

Spite growled and paced again, but to Lucanis’ surprise, didn’t argue. The two of them could be of one mind about Phyrra, but Illario would always have them at odds. Lucanis was trying to keep forgiveness and redemption as an open option, no matter how much anger simmered beneath the surface whenever he thought of Illario’s betrayals. His opinion of Illario shifted by the moment, tangled up with years of memories and fresh hurts. Spite was much simpler. He saw Illario, and simply wanted blood.

Lucanis couldn’t blame him. Some days he was even jealous that Spite could be so direct with his feelings.

It wasn’t as though he wanted to work with his cousin. But ever since Illario had delivered that rogue Crow to his cellar and presented him with that serrated blade, the same one that had marred Phyrra’s back in an attack that never should have happened, Lucanis had agreed begrudgingly to let him assist in tracing the contract back from one piss-poor assassin to whatever mastermind was behind the contract. A single Crow could be dealt with easily, but a contract was forever, until the mark was dead.

Or until the contract itself was destroyed.

Next to him, Spite stiffened and then leaned over the banister again, craning his neck out toward the ballroom floor like a bloodhound on alert.

Rook!

Lucanis couldn’t help himself. He followed Spite’s gaze down among the crowd of masked guests, a churning sea of color and movement. His eyes fell on her immediately.

She looked stunning, her dark dress hugging every curve of her body, every line of her form sensual and lush. He’d loved that dress the moment she had put it on, back at the Dellamorte estate, loved the feel of it beneath his palm as he escorted her out of the carriage and into the ball with his hand at her waist, loved the thought of pulling it slowly and patiently from her body when they returned back to their room tonight. The fabric of the dress was a black, slightly iridescent material, the light of the candles and magelights reflecting subtle shades of blue, green, and pink like oil on dark water. The darker tones brought out the porcelain softness of her pale skin, while the occasional flash of rainbow made her magenta hair seem as natural as her perfect, ready smile.

She was, in a word, breathtaking.

She had always looked good in night tones—darkened sapphire and velvet black, midnight blue and rich indigo. Lucanis had once joked that she was made for a Crow’s color palette, that perhaps she ought to think about a change in factions, and she had laughed and said her hair would always give her away.

None of you are quite so colorful as me, she’d said, fluffing her pink curls.

It had made Lucanis smile. She always made him smile. And that is why I love you.

She wore a feathered mask of her own tonight. A gift from House Dellamorte, from Catarina herself, a more delicate replica of the Mask of the First House to match his. Every Crow here would recognize what it meant, and the power it gave her. Even if any of them dared to strike, they wouldn’t be able to plead ignorance.

She was a Dellamorte in all but name and she had entered on the arm of the First Talon. Anyone foolish enough to strike against her would find their names on a contract within moments, with all the might of House Dellamorte and its allies bearing down upon them. It should have guaranteed her safety, but instead…

Lucanis glanced back at the balcony where Illario had given him the signal. Clearly, despite all the ample warning his and Phyrra’s attire and appearance had given their audience, some fool was bold enough to make a move anyway. And now said fool was caught in a trap.

It would be rude to keep them waiting much longer.

Spite interrupted his thoughts with a strange sound, something between an irritated growl and a forlorn whine. She. Is. Looking!

Lucanis glanced down, heart in his throat, but Phyrra hadn’t seen him yet. She was enjoying a glass of wine with Teia and Viago, standing in one corner near the refreshment tables, but her eyes were not idle. She scanned the crowd, curious, but with a hint of disappointment. Looking for him, without a doubt.

He had disappeared from her side a few moments earlier with an excuse, one that only gave him twenty minutes of leeway at best. But Phyrra was sharp and at times wonderfully unpredictable. Those traits had served her well during their fight against the ancient elven gods. It could spell disaster tonight.

When her gaze swept up to the balconies, he stepped back, into the shadows. Spite, unseen by anyone but him, stayed by the railing, curling his fingers into the polished wood.

Us! She wants us!

“I’m aware. Come,” Lucanis said, needlessly because Spite couldn’t exactly get left behind. “The sooner we find out who this mastermind of ours is, the sooner we can return to Rook.”

The thought seemed to invigorate Spite. His sudden shift in excitement crashed through Lucanis’s mind like a gangly young pup. Yes! They hurt Rook!

Lucanis clenched his jaw, the image of that blade, stained with cheap poison, coming once again to his mind. If that poison had been successful (a pitifully low chance, but still a chance), it would have meant a slow death for Phyrra. A clumsy death. Dishonorable, agonizing, unskilled, and offensive to the very name of the Crows.

But the Crow who had attacked her was dead already. Whoever had sent him was not.

As if reading his mind, Spite was at his side in an instant, grinning wide. I want them dead!

Lucanis nodded. “As do I. Let’s go.”

—————

Lucanis returned over an hour later, weaving through the swaying crowds with ease and fixing the buttons on his sleeve as he went. That had taken longer than he liked. Illario was supposed to have everything contained to one room so that Lucanis could slip inside, carve a few answers out of the bastard, and then finish him off with speed.

Instead, the bastard had put up a fight.

It hadn’t been pretty and Illario had complained bitterly afterward about the bloodstains on his coat, but at least they had left with a few more names. They were getting closer to finding out whoever was behind the contract on Phyrra’s life. That had to count for something.

If his time as part of the Veilguard had taught Lucanis anything, it was that every victory mattered, no matter how small. Names were good. Progress was good. And, most importantly, no one would be ruining the rest of his night with Phyrra.

That was the biggest victory of them all.

Spite flickered in and out of view, appearing in gaps between people and looking high and low for Phyrra as Lucanis moved through the ballroom. At one point, Lucanis even caught him standing on a chandelier, holding onto the chain for purchase like a sailor in the rigging of a ship. Lucanis shot him an exasperated look, though it wasn’t as though anyone else could see Spite or that the chandelier was in danger from his being there. He hoped.

There! Rook! Spite pointed to the second level balcony, not far from where Lucanis had waited for his signal from Illario. Lucanis adjusted his gloves and made for the stairs, Spite disappearing from view but practically buzzing with excitement within his mind.

They found her leaning back against the balustrade, a half-empty glass of wine cradled in her hand. Teia and Viago stood nearby, chatting with her, but she seemed to only half listen to them, her face turned to keep most of the ballroom in sight in the corner of her eye. She looked up the moment that Lucanis drew near, as if sensing his approach.

“Lucanis,” she said, straightening and smiling at him. Even with the mask on her face, her smile brightened her whole expression, radiating out as if with tangible light. “Where have you been?

“Yes, my friend,” Viago drawled, looking, as usual, slightly annoyed and unimpressed. “Tell us what you’ve been up to that has been taking so long.”

Teia elbowed him hard in the side and then took his arm. “Ignore him, Lucanis. He’s just upset he missed all the action.” Viago made a noncommittal hmph but didn’t deny her accusation.

Phyrra cast a glance at Lucanis that was at first curious, then suspicious. “Action?”

Lucanis cleared his throat delicately. “Something came up.”

Lies, Spite hissed in his ear. Tell the truth! Tell her who we KILLED! Tell her how we did it! I want her to know!

“What happened?” Phyrra asked, instantly on alert. She set aside her wine glass and stepped closer, scanning his face and body for clues. “Did someone attack you? Do we have enemies here?”

Viago laughed. “You have enemies everywhere, Rook, least of all here. You should know better than to lead with such a question.”

“Stop teasing her, Vi,” Teia chided, pinching his arm now. She turned to Lucanis with a smile. “We’d better get back to the party. We have business of our own to attend to. Don’t we, Viago?” She gave him another nudge.

“Mm, yes, something to that effect,” he said, sharing a smile with her. It was the kind of smile he tended to save only for Teia, one that meant their business could just as easily be one of romantic passion as it could the business of the Crows. Lucanis didn’t dare ask which it would be tonight. He truly didn’t want to know.

Viago gave him a nod and then escorted Teia away. “Don’t wait up for us, First Talon. Enjoy your night.”

Phyrra watched them walk away, waiting until they had drawn far enough out of earshot before stepping close and lowering her voice to a whisper. “Business, Lucanis? I thought we were here for some fun. Wine, games, silly masks, that sort of thing. That was the plan, wasn’t it?”

“It was—it is,” he said, quickly correcting himself, while Spite looked smug just out of his periphery. Spite always looked smug when Phyrra was on his side, whether she knew she was or not. “But—”

“But what? But you had a contract?”

He shifted, uncomfortable, while Spite looked at him for his answer, his expression not unlike a clever cat eyeing a cornered mouse. “Think of this one more as a precaution.”

That didn’t convince her. “Lucanis.”

“It doesn’t matter now. It has been dealt with.”

“By yourself?” Phyrra took his arm, squeezing gently. “I could have helped you.”

Yes! Spite grabbed his other arm, his fingers digging in with pressure only Lucanis could feel. Next time, bring Rook. Not him. Rook is better.

Lucanis ignored him. “It wasn’t a simple contract, Phyrra. I needed…specific answers. If you were there…”

Spite sneered. Excuses. Tell her.

“What are you so worried about?” Phyrra asked. “That they would have hurt me? Or that I’d somehow look differently at you, seeing you get your answers?” She let go of him, frowning. “I’m no stranger to interrogation, Lucanis. You don’t have to coddle me.”

Lucanis groaned. “No, it’s not that, it’s—look.” He took her by the arms, facing her directly. “I thought it would take only a moment to deal with, and I thought if you were in the room the target wouldn’t talk. If they attacked on sight and we killed them in defense, we’d get no more clues for a while. It was all meant to take only ten, maybe twenty minutes.”

Phyrra pouted, doubt written plainly on her face, even with the mask. Then a dry smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “But it went sideways, didn’t it?”

Lucanis smiled too. “It usually does.” He sighed and pulled her into a hug, resting his chin briefly on her shoulder. “Forgive me, mi amor. I should have told you before we left, but I didn’t want to alert the target that something was amiss. I needed them to think you could be caught unaware.”

“Oh, so I am bait now?”

He winced, starting to draw back. “No, that’s not what I—”

She locked her arms around him, giving him no chance to escape. “I know,” she said lightly with a little sigh. “You’re forgiven. For now. But next time…”

“Next time I will certainly have you with me.”

He sensed her smile, even as she turned her head to rest it on his shoulder, careful not to poke him with the little beak of her mask. “You’d better.”

“You have my word,” he murmured. She relaxed at last, all tension and irritation forgotten.

He closed his eyes, letting himself linger in her embrace. He cherished the warmth of her against him, the press of her supple form against his carefully honed muscle. He wanted nothing more than to whisk her away, back to the Dellamorte estate, and lock the two of them in a room until dawn. These days, his time with her was so precious. He couldn’t afford to waste a single moment.

He wanted to kill that arrogant Crow all over again, just for taking too much of his time.

But you couldn’t kill people twice (usually) and he had promised Phyrra a fun night at a party, so they ought to stay for a little while longer. Besides, people had already seen them in attendance. Even now, he knew their place on this balcony didn’t totally hide them from the eyes that may be watching. There would be plenty of talk about seeing the First Talon in a cozy embrace with Rook, the savior of the world. Talk was inevitable.

Talk was also dangerous. In Antiva, among the Crows especially, his name carried as much weight as the king’s, more so in some people’s view, but the name wouldn’t always protect him. It was the same for Phyrra. The name Rook was on everybody’s lips, but for every person wanting to reward or praise her there was another who wanted to exploit or kill her. There would be no escaping the gossip or plots against them unless they somehow retreated again to the Lighthouse, that dizzying, fragmented space where they had first kindled this romance.

He didn’t want to retreat. Despite it all, he would rather be here, where the sky made sense and the ground was solid and the air was filled with the familiar scents of home—spices and dried herbs, leather and salt, rich dark coffee and refined tobacco smoke. He wanted Treviso to be her home too. That’s what all of this was for. Eliminating the dangers so that one day, perhaps soon, she could settle here.

But was that what she wanted? A life with him would never be quiet or calm. Not in Antiva, not anywhere else. And Minrathous still needed to be rebuilt. As long as any rubble or ruin remained there, it would always call to her like a song, plucking her heartstrings, each note a sigh of guilt and grief. She loved him, he knew that, but she would always have one foot in Minrathous until that guilt was assuaged.

Perhaps he was merely standing in the way of that.

“Phyrra,” he said quietly. “Do you regret this road you have taken with me?”

She shook her head slightly, tightening her hold on him. “Of course not.”

“Even though it means a target on your back?” He pulled away to look at her again, his fingers lightly brushing her cheek. “Whether here or in Minrathous, you know that being with me will only…”

Stop! Spite snapped. He could sense the train of Lucanis’ thoughts, the destination that he was too hesitant to speak aloud. No! Rook is ours!

“I’ve got a target on my back no matter where I am or who I’m with,” she reminded him. She pressed a hand to his chest, right over his heart, searching for his heartbeat beneath the fabric. “Just because we have a new Archon doesn’t mean I’m safe in Minrathous either. But I…we can handle it. And it won’t be for forever.”

Right?

She didn’t say the word, but Lucanis could sense it hovering in the air between them. A silent plea for reassurance, her pride just enough that she would never say it, but her eyes searching his for an answer regardless.

At their side, Spite was staring at him too, an uncharacteristic look of worry on his face. He voiced the question she seemed unwilling to say.

Not forever. Right?

Lucanis released a slow breath. “Of course not.”

The tension in her shoulders relaxed. Carefully, slowly, he untied the strings of her mask, pulling it away from her face and leaving her gazing up steadily at him, her bare expression open and waiting. He leaned in, careful of the edges and points of his mask, and slipped his hand into her rich curls, guiding her into a slow, luxurious kiss. Patient, steadfast, reassuring. A kiss that whispered I’m here. A kiss that promised I’ll stay.

At the back of his mind, Spite settled into something like a low purr, all restlessness forgotten.

“Not forever,” Lucanis breathed against her lips. He drew back to meet her gaze again, cradling her face in his palms. “Nothing in Thedas can keep us apart forever. Neither gods nor tyrants nor the seas between us can do that.”

“Promise?” she whispered.

“I swear it.”

He kissed her again, letting her taste the oath on his tongue.

He knew she would go back to Minrathous soon. She had unfinished business there, just as he had unfinished business with whomever among the Crows wanted to kill her. But for now, for tonight, they were together. And one day they would be together for good.

“Lucanis,” she whispered in between kisses.

“Mm?”

“Dance with me.”

He drew back, a little surprised at first, but Spite’s voice filled his head before he could answer.

YES! Spite appeared behind her, spirit-fire eyes blazing with glee. Dance with Rook! Dance with Rook! He practically bounced on the balls of his feet.

Lucanis allowed himself a dry smile. “Would you like Spite’s answer, or mine?”

Phyrra hummed thoughtfully, playfully. “Both.”

Lucanis chuckled and shifted his hold on her until they were in a proper dance position, his hand on her waist. “Very well. We accept.”

[sturniololuvz]

I know there’s been a lot of angsty fics I don’t know if this is out of your comfort zone but could you do where the sister is like 14 and she wants to commit and she gets bullied a lot and the triplets talk her out to committing

😞ok this is saddddd

“Not Alone”

Sturniolos x sister

Warnings: Sensitive topics including bullying and suicidal thoughts. If you or someone you know is struggling, please reach out to a trusted friend, family member, or a professional. You are not alone, and there is always hope.

Y/N sat curled up on her bed, staring blankly at the wall, the weight of the world pressing down on her chest. Her phone lay face down on the nightstand, the words from the texts still burning in her mind.

“No one would care if you were gone.”

“You’re just an annoying shadow behind your brothers.”

“Maybe you should just disappear already.”

She had been dealing with this for months—at school, online, even in the hallways when no teachers were looking. It felt endless, like she was drowning, and no one noticed.

A quiet knock at the door made her flinch. “Y/N? You good?” Matt’s voice was gentle but concerned.

She didn’t respond. She didn’t trust her voice.

After a few seconds, the door creaked open, and Matt stepped inside. One look at her face, and his whole demeanor changed. “Hey… what’s wrong?”

She shook her head, wiping her face quickly. “Nothing. Just tired.”

Matt frowned, stepping closer. “That’s not ‘just tired.’ What’s going on?”

Before she could even attempt to lie, Nick and Chris appeared behind him, their faces instantly falling when they saw her red-rimmed eyes and trembling hands.

Nick sat beside her without a word, pulling her into a hug, while Chris sat on the floor in front of her, eyes scanning her face. “Y/N, talk to us,” Chris said softly. “Please.”

She swallowed hard, her throat burning. “I just… I don’t want to do this anymore.” Her voice cracked, and fresh tears spilled over. “I don’t want to be here. They hate me. Everyone does. And I just—” She took a shaky breath. “I don’t see the point.”

The room went silent. Not because they didn’t know what to say, but because they were trying not to break down themselves.

Chris was the first to move, grabbing her hands in his. “Y/N, don’t say that. Please don’t say that.” His voice was desperate, like he was afraid if he let go, she’d slip away. “You mean everything to us. Everything.”

Nick held her tighter, resting his chin on her head. “We’d be lost without you. You don’t even realize how much we need you.” His voice wavered, raw with emotion.

Matt sat on her other side, his arm wrapping around her. “Who’s been saying stuff to you? Tell us, please.” His usual calmness was gone, replaced with something close to anger.

She hesitated before whispering, “People at school… online… everywhere.”

Chris’s grip on her hands tightened. “They’re lying to you, Y/N. They don’t know you like we do. They don’t know how funny you are, or how you always make us laugh when we’re upset, or how much we love having you with us all the time.”

Nick nodded. “They’re just miserable people who want to make someone else feel the way they do. But you? You’re not them. You’re stronger than them.”

Matt wiped a tear off her cheek. “You have us. We’re your family, and we’re not going anywhere. Ever.”

For the first time in weeks, Y/N felt a tiny flicker of warmth in her chest. They cared. They truly cared.

Chris let out a deep breath, like he had been holding it. “Promise us, Y/N. Promise us you’ll stay. We’ll get through this together, okay?”

Y/N looked at each of her brothers, seeing nothing but love and fear in their eyes. They weren’t just saying this—they meant it.

With a shaky breath, she whispered, “I promise.”

Nick pulled her into another hug, Matt rubbing her back, and Chris pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “We got you, okay?” Chris whispered. “Always.”

And for the first time in a long time, she believed them.

If you or someone you know is struggling, please reach out. You are loved, you are valued, and you are not alone.

[kharrisdawndancer]

DWC February 2025 - Day 4 - Salty/Euphoria - Tinnaire

There had always been a light sense of euphoria after a good find. A pretty beetle shell that shimmered greens and golds. A rock with a spiral fossil. A leaf fallen and waxy with veins standing. Her basket had been filled, so many times. For as long as she remembered, she had taken joy in her treasure hunting.

Tinnaire’s basket was empty, but she would fill it presently. She stood at the edge of the forest, feeling the coolness of the ever-present springtime breeze dancing out between the Quel’Thalas trees. Sunshine warmed the back of her neck and the same breeze that carried the scent of the shadowed forest still hinted at the sea with the memory of salt.

She was far enough away from the city for the quiet of the land to surround her. Birds sang, insects buzzed, and leaves whispered. She thought she heard voices, for a moment, but it turned out to be a trick of her memory. She was far enough from the Scar to be safe from those memories and tragedy. But here was a small, less visible one.

Her family’s land had been timbered. It had provided lumber for the shipwrights and the harbors. These trees belonged to the state now, but in her memory she still had them, and under her fingertips, she still knew them.

Quiet as a wraith, the blonde woman slipped into the shadows between the giants, careful to appreciate each step onto the fallen litter. A wet sort of musty smell welcomed her home.

Sometime later, a single dragonhawk feather was her first find of the day, and she smiled as her longer fingers put it carefully in the basket. Her heart rose.

@daily-writing-challenge

[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.