#and escape to silly little fantasy worlds

[willows-escape]

purposely avoiding doing things that i NEED to do because i wanna write 🤝 not writing anyways because the things that i need to do are stressin me outtt

actually ruining my life - last month i had a REALLY important final criminology exam, and i didn’t study for it for the months leading up to it because i was like ‘noo i wanna write’ bitch i didn’t write OR study 🤬 EXECUTIVE DYSFUNCTION CAN KISS MY FUCKIN ASS

[mashmouths]

so i started this show and it just gets worse and worseeeee not only did it lift the romance subplot directly from twilight (and not well) but they also are trying to play the forbidden love angle hard in the fantasy racism vein except it's a "cross-species" relationship between the two whitest people i've ever seen in my life and there are three people of color in the whole (first season of the) show who aren't villains and it seems that every other episode (and sometimes ebery episode and sometimes twice an episode!) there is a man physically or magically subjugating a woman and i keep waiting for the big reveal at the end to be stolen from fucking rainbow rowell

[sectumsempraaa]

Send Him My Regards

Pairing: fem!reader x idk they’re all in love with you LOL, but Draco's down bad

Summary: You aren’t one to provoke the aggressive nature of your closest friend group (a bunch of reckless Slytherin boys) but when the new hire at your favorite bookstore makes you uncomfortable, you’re forced to ask for their… “help.”

Word Count: 2.5k

Featuring: The whole damn crew. Draco, Theo, Mattheo, Pansy, Blaise, Lorenzo

TW: Implied non-consensual touching/comments, implied violence, panic/mental distress, cursing, disgustingly fluffy

Notes: This is based on something I recently experienced, as many of you have, too. I tried my best to convey my very real thoughts on this matter. Avoiding threatening men is a constant, everyday struggle. If you can relate, this is for you.

“Love, you already own every book in the world.” Draco proclaims, staggering behind you with his pack of Slytherin watch dogs.

Whenever you go anywhere as a group, they always let you lead so they can keep an eye on your surroundings. You think it’s silly, but it’s their thing, and you secretly appreciate the protection, so you let them be. It makes them feel important, and you find it endearing.

“I most certainly do not! Only like… two hundred.” You respond, muttering the number under your breath.

“Then I’ll buy you every book in the world. Must we come here every weekend?” he groans. Of course, Mattheo interrupts, shooting Draco a furrowed brow.

“Mate, for the love of god, either stop coming on these trips, or use some of that fancy cash you love to go on about to take us elsewhere. Pick one.” Mattheo sneers. Naturally, he’s carrying your bag and coat, making sure you never lift a finger. His response earns a smirk from you.

You’re not really listening though, more so taking in the beauty of Hogsmeade. You love escaping the castle for the little town on perfect, brisk days like this one, hitting everyone’s favorite shops and downing a couple of butterbeers.

The boys continue arguing in the background as you make your way down the cobblestone street, your hair blowing softly in the chill of the November breeze. Blaise and Theo share an eye roll with each other before coming to your side, leaving the two to bicker as they trail behind. Theo steps in, heaving a dramatic sigh and throwing an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close to him. His words drip with that rich Italian accent.

“Ignore them, bella. We’ll wait for you outside.” You smile at him and he gives you a wink. A man of few words, but oozing with charm. He will occasionally act as a grounding force when the others get rowdy. You hear Draco drag on about how he “earned” his money or whatever.

“Oh wow, a real rags to riches story!” Mattheo shouts, lunging at Draco. You shake your head laughing with Blaise, sending you a look that reads as “I’ll take care of them.” You enter the bookshop, making the bell ring as the door opens.

The first thing you notice is the shiny new display of fantasy books you’ve been dying to get your hands on. You make your way towards it, not being able to contain the thrill on your face. You’ve been waiting for this series to restock and here they are, all of them, ready to be yours. You touch the smooth covers, tracing your fingers over the author’s name on each one.

The second thing you notice is… him. Your heart drops as your sheer excitement instantly morphs into dread.

Please, not again. 

The new hire at this bookstore has ruined the last couple of trips for you. You were hoping he would stop working weekends but… there he is. And he eyes you right away, like you’re on his radar.

The first time you came in, it was the comments. Calling you pet names, pointing out his favorite features on you, and it was relentless. You somehow got through it and attempted to shake it off, praying he would quit or just get fired before your next trip.

The second time, it was the touching. Brushing against your back when trying to “get through”, his hand grabbing your arm too tightly while he led you down an aisle. You tripped on your way out while trying to make a swift escape, and of course he was there to “catch you”, only giving him an excuse to grip both hands around your waist, hesitant to release you.

Your eyes go between the book display and his movements as he starts creeping his way out from behind the counter. You have to make a split-second decision to either stay and endure, or leave safely and empty handed. It pains you but your nerves heighten as he gets closer. Panic sets in as colors blur and sounds become muffled. Your brain and your body and your heart scream together in unison: “danger.”

You burst through the door back outside with a speed and force that could only be conjured by your anxiety. Facing the door, you stumble backwards and let out a gasp when you land in someone’s familiar arms. You recognize the brown suede material of Theo’s jacket as you attempt to catch your breath. It seems no amount of oxygen could suffice at the moment.

“Bella, bella, what’s wrong?” He asks urgently, hoisting you back up to your feet. The others notice the incident and immediately stride their way over. Draco, always leading the pack, puts his hands on your shoulders and lowers his eyes to your level.

“Hey, look at me,” he coos, forcing you out of your episode. He speaks with a tenderness that is almost heartbreaking. “What happened, love? Are you quite alright?”

There’s too many thoughts and feelings swimming around in your head to give an honest answer. Everything is moving in slow motion and you need time to regroup. Swallowing your fear, you decide to lie, at least for now. The last thing you want to do is impulsively encourage their hostility.

“Yeah, I’m good,” you respond, avoiding his gaze. He looks at you, deciding whether to believe you. “Really, I am.” You add. He glances down to your empty hands.

“You left without a book. You always buy a book.” He says, speaking with suspicion in his voice. The others stay back, knowing when to give Draco his space. They all adore you, but Draco would do things you’d rather not think about in order to keep you happy and safe. And he has. It’s been like this since you can remember. 

“Just didn’t have what I wanted, is all.” You explained. The doubt on his face is evident. He speaks just above a whisper.

“Y/N, you know we would take care of anyone that so much as breathes near you wrong, yeah? It’s important to me that you know this.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Mattheo ditching his cigarette and cracking his knuckles. You give a small nod and a shrug, releasing yourself from his hands and walking back in the direction of the castle. Your head is still reeling, but not enough to block out the boys’ debriefing behind you.

First, Mattheo. “She rarely ever gets like that.”

Then Theo. “Only when she panics.” And Blaise. “Her face was almost as pale as Malfoy’s.”

And Draco, but with a tinge of hurt in his voice. “She barely looked at me.” He glances in your direction, contemplating. “Give her time. We’ll look after her tonight. Someone tell Pansy.”

The rest you don’t hear, feeling embarrassment creeping in. You wish they’d just let it go and forget about it, cowering from the attention it’s bringing to you. Your pace quickens as the heat spreads across your cheeks, eager to be alone in your hideout at the castle.

Too focused on your path, you slam into someone’s chest as they’re coming out of the bakery you’re passing.

“Ugh, Lorenzo, I’m so sorry,” you say frantically, smoothing out his jacket and moving past him, never meeting his gaze. His face contorts with confusion and concern. He watches you take off then turns back to the group.

“Something off with that one...” The boys give him a knowing look.

“No shit, Berkshire.” Mattheo sneers.

—

After what felt like an eternity, you had reached the castle and darted to your hideout: a corner balcony high up in one of the towers facing the pitch. Leaning your elbows on the edge of the balcony, you watch the sun slowly descend into its eventual bed of twilight. Then, the spiraling begins.

Thinking back, you’ve never really dealt with something like this because of who your friends were. No one dared to even step too close to you, aware of what the consequences would be. But you weren’t on school grounds this time. You felt… unprepared. Lost. Violated. Guilty.

Does running away make me weak?

Why can’t I stand up for myself?

How did he gain control so quickly?

Did I ask for it? Did I do something wrong?

This is too much. It feels ridiculous and quite frankly enraging that you considered this being your fault. The stress is exhausting.

You let yourself relax, laying down on a stone bench and staring up at the black night sky. You start to mentally identify the stars in view, something Draco taught you to do when you’d get anxious. It always worked, as evident by the many hours you fell asleep. Upon awakening, you gasp as your watch reads 1AM.

You hear footsteps rustling around nearby, and echoing voices calling your name. Shit. They’re looking for me.

Sneaking around corners, you tiptoe around, trying not to get yourself noticed. Maybe, just maybe you can get back to the dungeons without getting caught. Until you hear the voice of your best friend, who admittedly, you could really use right now.

“Pans?” You whisper, catching a glimpse of her shadow down the corridor. Her head whips around before running to you urgently.

“Where the hell have you been?! The boys are going mad looking for-” She stops abruptly when you force yourself into her arms, hugging her tight and burying your face in her shoulder. Her tone softens to that of an older sister. “Oh, Y/N,” She rubs your back while your eyes well up.

“Fuck, Pans, I don’t know what to do.” You say through subtle sobs, holding back as much as you can for her sake. She looks at you with a questioning look before your words stumble out, caked in distress.

“There’s a boy at the bookstore, MY bookstore, and-and, and he’s there all the time now, following me around, and…”

“Y/N, calm down. You’re okay. It’s just me, sweetie.” She says, running a hand through your hair as her eyes shift to someone behind you; their voice deep, slow, and filled with angst.

“There’s… a… what?” He asks, the voice you recognize as Draco’s ringing off the walls. Mattheo, Theo, and Blaise walk into frame behind him when they realize he found you. The sight of them strikes you; your fiercely loyal group of friends that would go to the ends of the earth for you. To your surprise, you are relieved to see them.

But their anger is palpable. Draco’s jaws clenched tight. Theo’s heavy eyes claiming the darkness. Blaise’s hands rolled into fists. Lorenzo steps forward, eyes soft, holding out a gentle hand. 

“Let’s get you to the common room, and you can tell us-” he turns to the other boys before emphasizing his next words, “-what you’re comfortable with, if you want to talk at all.”

You nod in agreement, taking his hand while Pansy takes your other one. In your head, you’re thanking whatever higher power put Lorenzo on this planet. The voice of reason amidst all chaos.

—

It’s nearly 2AM now. You’re sat on the common room couch in front of the blazing fireplace under a mess of blankets, warming up after your frigid nap. Theo on your left, Lorenzo on your right holding your tea, Draco and Mattheo sitting on the coffee table facing you, with Blaise and Pansy on the floor. All with mixed looks of curiosity, empathy, and sheer rage.

After thinking it over, you decided to prioritize yourself for once. A lot of people don’t realize how hard a decision that can be. This is a risky favor to ask for. But there’s only a couple truly precious things in the world you can’t live without, and this is one of them. You want your fucking bookstore back.

So, you tell them. Everything.

As you recall the events of the last few weeks, you feel the air become tense. Blaise looks like he’s about to combust. Theo reaches for your hand, letting you fiddle with the bracelet on his wrist. You hear Pansy call this boy every name in the book under her breath, your favorite being “bastardly filth”. Draco and Mattheo listen, periodically looking at each other with knowing stares, having their own wordless conversation. You know those looks. Plotting looks.

When you finish, you’re briefly met with silence, temporarily paralyzing you. Do they believe me?

You break the stillness. “I suppose I’m making a big deal out of something quite trivial.” You say to them, diminishing your story, and for what?

Mattheo stands up, ushering Blaise and Pansy out of the way as he kneels in front of you. He rests a comforting hand on your knee, his eyes glowing with brutal honesty.

“It’s really very simple, little dove. You’re in danger, we take down the threat. I can assure you we all agree that your safety is anything but trivial.” He states. He gives your knee a squeeze. “Gonna be honest though, Y/N. It’s going to be ugly for him when he meets us.”

You look up to Draco, who���s been oddly quiet since you all got back. You hold his gaze as you respond.

“Good. Send him my regards.” You reply, earning a wicked grin from him, his eyes suddenly crinkled and brimming with pride. Everyone shifts a bit in their seats, wrapping up the late night discussion.

Draco strides over to you, taking the teacup from your hands and setting it down on a side table. He looks so handsome like this, facing you on the couch with his hair disheveled and the top of his shirt buttons undone. The glow from the fire accenting his features, so sharp yet yearning for sleep. He takes your face in his warm hands.

“I need you to hear me right now. Listening?” he asks. You give an unconvincing nod as his thumb caresses your cheek. Yes, but damn you make it hard to.

His stare intensifies, pulling you from your trance and forcing you to dial in to his statement.

“Never feel bad for wanting them to pay for the pain and discomfort they inflict on you. Their reasons were senseless, yours are justified.”

For the first time tonight, just for a moment, you feel sure of yourself. You wrap your arms around him, pulling yourself closer, his body becoming your safe haven. His hands nestle you to his chest as you feel him place a kiss on the top of your head.

He loves you and you know it. He’ll wait for this to pass, for things to be right. He’ll wait for you to feel whole and secure again. And he’ll do whatever it takes to help you get you there, even if that means giving you space.

As Pansy sees the two of you off to bed, you repeat his sentiment to her. “My god, that bloody boy is down bad, and I mean bad, for you Y/N.”

Ascending the staircase to your dorm, you faintly hear Draco informing the boys of the plan.

“Tomorrow. Noon.” He demands. The boys nod. He pauses before adding another instruction.

“Oh, and we’re gonna need a bag. We’ve got books to bring home.”

🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

[hairmetal666]

Eddie survived the Upside Down. The bats. Vecna. And after the hospital, the town recovery, the shady government agencies clearing his name, after all of that, he has the best year and a half of his life. A lot of it is due to Steve and Robin. Well. The whole group of them, really, but Harrington and Buckley specifically.

Except that, you know, he survived extra-dimensional horrors and now he's going to die anyway, brought down in his prime by his devastating crush on Steve Harrington.

It's a stupid way to meet his end. Even worse than going at the hands of a demented telepathic wizard named after a DnD monster. Though...it's not like he didn't see the crush coming a mile away. Eddie may not have any practical experience in matters of the heart, but he knows he likes a pretty boy and Steve is the prettiest of them all.

There is no dimension where his feelings are requited, so he flirts and he pines, and knows it means nothing when Steve matches him quip for quip, touch for touch. He keeps getting himself in these situations where he thinks--maybe--but Steve is straight, constantly goes out with pretty, bubbly girls.

The pining may kill him, but he's determined to leave this world with a little bit of grace.

Until Steve's Halloween party.

It's a whole thing. All the kids, the rest of their own group of young adults, plus the Hellfire Boys, and the actual adults. It's a weird mix, but Eddie figures that, well. It's a family thing.

Halloween is his favorite holiday, one he plans for all year, but this year he decides to take it easy, electing to do a take on the vampire gang from The Lost Boys. The party is in full swing when they walk in, Wayne quickly spotting Hopper and making his way to the kitchen, but Eddie doesn't see Steve in the chaos of kids and Jonathan and Argyle's dual Frankensteins.

He grabs a beer from Robin who keeps giving him this look all knowing and sparkling and he doesn't understand it, not until he hears delighted laughter and shouts in the main room.

Buckley squeezes past him, and he takes the moment alone to close his eyes, brace for whatever fresh, unwitting, torture Steve has in store for him tonight.

He steps into the living room and time freezes.

Steve's in the shortest shorts Eddie's ever seen, thick, muscular, bitable thighs on full display. He's wearing a pink sweatshirt, neon fingerless gloves that very distantly Eddie recognizes as belonging to El, and gold hoop earrings in both ears.

Eddie has to sit down.

Wham! Isn't his kind of music, and he finds George Michael grating because of it, but--he's seen men dressed like that in magazines he steals from bookstores in Indianapolis, had wondered if George Michael was gay too. And now here Steve is, looking like a fantasy ripped direct from Eddie's brain.

Before he can make an escape, someone turns on the Monster Mash. The two Frankenstein's lurch into the room and start dancing. The rest of them are quick to follow, even Wayne and Hopper, after some light cajoling from Joyce, Max, and El.

It's silly fun, the perfect way for Eddie to forget about Steve and the way his ass looked in those shorts. They dance and goof around, and Thriller comes on, so they all try to do the dance, him and Nancy laughing until their stomachs hurt with their stiff-limbed moves.

The song switches to Material Girl, making El and Max screech, and the next thing he knows, Steve is in front of him, shimmying along. It's the closest they've been all night and now Eddie can see the faint eyeliner smudged along Steve's lash line. Something low and hot tightens in his core.

Steve grabs his shoulders, pulls Eddie closer. "C'mon, Munson, even you have to dance to Madonna!"

He laughs through his breathlessness, can't believe he and Steve are dancing together, not with Steve looking like that, somehow innocent, sexy, and ripe all at once.

Their eyes meet and Steve smiles all slow and dangerous, knotting up Eddie's stomach with a wild kind of anticipation. He doesn't have time to stop himself feeling it, can only give himself over to the shrinking distance between their bodies, the way Steve is warm and muscular against him.

Eddie's not hearing the music anymore, unaware of all their friends dancing close by. He's hypnotized by the dark heat in Steve's hazel eyes, lets himself clutch at Steve's hip, drag their bodies together. He feels Steve's breath escape in a quick burst, and it's a crash of cold water.

He disentangles himself, rushes out the patio doors. The night air is bracing as it chills his heated skin, his burning lungs. He takes a cigarette out of his jacket pocket, lighting it with a shaking hand.

That was too much. He let himself feel too much; want too much. Got swept away by Steve in makeup and earrings and tiny shorts. On the street, he hears children laughing, music thumping from a passing car, tries to get lost in that instead of his embarrassment. It makes him miss the slide of the patio door opening again. Doesn't realize he's not alone until he hears Steve say, "Eddie? You okay?"

He nods, but doesn't turn. "Just needed some air." He lifts the smoldering embers of his cigarette before dropping it and stomping it out.

Steve stands close enough that their shoulders bump. Eddie forces himself not to flinch away. "What are you doing out here? You'll freeze." It's not all a deflection.

"I'm fine," Steve says. "Sweatshirt." He wiggles the sleeve in Eddie's face.

"Yeah, but your legs, man. C'mon." He pulls his jacket off his shoulders. "At least cover them up a little."

Steve gives him an annoyed smile, but takes the jacket, trying to settle the leather around his legs. It's kind of a losing battle, but it makes them both laugh.

"I'm sorry," Steve says. "For back there. I shouldn't have pushed."

"Pushed?" Eddie feels like he missed a couple of stairs on his way down. "You didn't--"

Steve runs a hand through his hair. "Yeah, I did, Eddie. And Robin said," he sighs. "Robin said to just talk to you but I'm shit with words, so."

"So?" He faces Steve now, completely perplexed about where this is going. "I'm the one who pushed too far."

"Of course you didn't." Steve laughs a little. "I wanted to dance with you. I wanted to be close to you."

Eddie takes a step back, nervous smile on his face. "Is this some kind of weird joke?"

"What? No! Why would it be? I'm trying to say that I like you, man."

"Wha--But you're--"

"Don't--don't say popular or a jock or any of that. I'm--you know who I am, Eddie, better than most people."

"I was going to say straight."

Steve stills, blinking. "I told you I was bisexual."

"You did not!" Eddie yelps.

"I did! After went to see The Lost Boys!" He grabs Eddie's leather jacket. "I said I thought Kiefer Sutherland was sexy!"

"I thought you were being hyperbolic!"

"I wore this for you!" Steve wiggles his naked calf in Eddie's face.

"I don't like even like Wham!"

"You stared at a picture of George Michael in this outfit in one of El's Teen Beats for fifteen minutes!"

"I did NOT!" Except now that Steve's said it, Eddie has a pretty good memory of doing that very thing. "Wait. You were trying to seduce me by dressing as George Michael?"

"Like you weren't doing the same with the whole hot vampire biker thing?"

"I didn't expect it to work!"

He doesn't--will never--know who closes the distance first, but they crash together in a clash of mouths and teeth and noses. Steve's hands fist into Eddie's t-shirt, Eddie yanking at Steve's belt loops, until nothing separates them.

The kiss breaks as Steve mouths along his jaw, down his neck, and Eddie's fucking helpless at the turn of events. Never in his wildest fantasies--

"Stay tonight?" Steve asks, voice muffled against Eddie's skin.

"Are you kidding, sweetheart? I'm going to tear these shorts off with my teeth."

[rosabell14]

The hunters of Artemis, Reyna, and Asexuality in Riordan's writing

I kinda started thinking about this since Reyna became a hunter. I could never articulate why I hated this Choice. I was asexual after all. Shouldn't I be happy about this rep? We Ace people barely get any after all. Then I realized that it's because I just didn't like the hunters as ace representation. And I didn't need to be grateful for mediocrity.

You want to know why the hunters of Artemis suck in general? And as Ace rep specifically? Because Riordan did not write them with that mindset.

Like people are so busy hailing this man as the king of representation in literature(blegh) that they forgot how heteronormative and white(sometimes racist) the original series was. Y'all really think this man was thinking about writing asexuals in the year 2007? Get real. What Riordan was doing was a white man trying to write feminism and failing (there's a reason most of his female characterization of female characters boils down to tough "not like other girls" characters who are dicks to the boys around them yet also to the girls around them if they're jealous)

Now onto the hunters.

The hunters when first presented in TTC are not a group of asexuals but rather religious celibates. Fantasy Pegan nuns if you may. The first problem arises when their ages are brought up.

"Then the archers came from the woods. They were girls, about a dozen of them. The youngest was maybe ten. The oldest, about fourteen..."

Remember, before ToA gave us Emmie and Jo, the hunters WERE all young girls. Now why in the world are they so young? Especially when in the actual myths, the hunters could come from any age whatsoever? Well the reason is a doozy.

"Are you surprised by my age?" she asked.

"Uh… a little."

"I could appear as a grown woman, or a blazing fire, or anything else I want, but this is what I prefer. This is the average age of my Hunters, and all young maidens for whom I am patron, before they go astray."

"Go astray?" I asked.

"Grow up. Become smitten with boys. Become silly, preoccupied, insecure. Forget themselves."

Hooo boy. What a way to phrase it. Going astray. Losing themselves. This kinda confirms that the reason why Artemis goes after young girls specifically is because she only wants girls who have yet to finish puberty. Girls have yet to discover their own sexuality. Now I'm not a representative of Asexuals everywhere, but I'm pretty sure most of us don't discover our sexuality at the age of ten. Let alone have the maturity to decide to become celibates about it. And let me reiterate: celibacy is not sexuality. Sure asexual people CAN choose to be celibates but it's not the same thing at all. In fact Zoe and Thalia are big cases for this. Both of them had liked men before(herakles and luke) but joined for their own reasons. Thalia to escape the prophecy and Zoe out of heartbreak. Hell, Bianca herself is mostly swayed by the idea of having no responsibility and a new family.

Now Rick does another thing that goes against the myths. The exclusion of make hunters. Artemis frequently hung around or taught male hunters who respected her. Daphnis, Scamandrius, freaking Hippolytus whom Artemis greatly cared about. Oh but we need to come up with bullshit reasons why Nico can't just join the hunt with his sisters so the hunters of Artemis are all: Ewww men. Also note how at no point does Riordan mention people who fall in love with women.

Now the next point is the oath itself. Artemis says this:

"What oath?" I said.

"To forswear romantic love forever," Artemis said. "To never grow up, never get married. To be a maiden eternally."

When I tell you that Emmy and Joe were retcons . Rick was freaking INSISTENT on the hunters being kids. Also note the three points: to never fall in love, to never get married, to stay a maiden.

I mean I think I don't need to explain why obsessing over the virginity of young girls is creepy. Does Riordan think girls older than fourteen can't keep it in their pants? And let me be adamant here Riordan only cares about the virginity Clause here. He mentions falling in love and marriage because he sees them inherently intertwined with sex.

Now onto the wording of the oath itself:

'I pledge myself to the goddess Artemis. I turn my back on the company of men, accept eternal maidenhood, and join the Hunt.'

I mean you might be able to interpret men here as mankind and therefore excluding women as well. But I have many reasons to believe that Riordan didn't even CONSIDER women as a possibility(someone inform this man that lesbians existed smh 😞). Also note that falling in love is not mentioned in the actual oath but maidenhood is.

Now onto the next big issue. Percy Jackson's Greek gods and its chapter on Artemis. It basically confirms all of my problems.

"IT’S NOT THAT ARTEMIS HATED ALL MEN, just most of them. From the moment she was born, she knew one critical fact: Guys are kinda gross."

No mention of girls. In this chapter Percy(Rick) brings up Artemis' disdain for dudes over and over again.

“Let me be a maiden forever, Father,” Artemis said, twirling her finger in Zeus’s beard. “I never want to get married.---- But you can grant me a bunch of followers: ocean nymphs, river nymphs, wood nymphs—what the heck, how about mortal girls, too? Any girls who want to join me can become my followers, as long as they remain maidens like me. They should probably make the decision when they’re about nine years old, before they get interested in boys, because after that, they’ll be all distracted and of no use to me.”

Yikes yikes yikes. Ladies and gentlemen the age has been lowered to 9. Freaking 9. Also I guess girls older than that don't need Artemis' protection then? (the real problem is that older/married girls should be out of Artemis's jurisdiction and under the protection of other gods like Hera, Hestia, and Ares. But Hestia is barely there. Hera is terrible and the Amazons also suck)

Now when I tell you that Artemis' big point was about virginity, I mean it. This actually has mythological evidence.

The myths actually DO mention what happens when female hunters fall in love. Rhodopis and Euthynicus were two hunters who offended Aphrodite by choosing a chaste life so she had Eros make them fall in love. However note that they weren't booted out of the hunters for falling in love, but rather after having sex in a cave. THAT was what Artemis took offense to.

Another myth is the story of Aura. A huntress who offended Artemis by comparing their breasts(Greek mythology am I right?). Saying that her breast were better than Artemis' because they were smaller and hey maybe that means that Artemis isn't actually a maiden. Artemis punishes her by making her lose her VIRGINITY. She goes to nemesis for revenge. Nemesis goes to Eros who makes Dionysus fall in love with Aura and when Aura refuses his advances he ties her up and... Yeah you can guess where I'm going with this.

But hey! Those myths aren't in the Greek gods book. You know which myth is? The myth of C(K)allisto. And this one angers me so much I want to chew on the drywall.

The way Riordan writes it. Zeus turns himself into Artemis, brings Kallisto's guards down with the disguise, gets close to her and then when Kallisto REJECTS Artemis' supposed advances, forces himself on her. I need to say this again. Kallisto does not fall in love, she isn't seduced, she does not break her oath. But we still need a reason for her to be yeeted out of the hunters so her lack of maidenhood it is

“You were my favorite,” Artemis said. “If you had come to me immediately, I could have helped you. I would have found you a rich, handsome husband and let you settle into a new life in the city of your choice. I would have allowed you to retire from the Hunt with honor. You could have gone in peace. Zeus’s assault was not your fault.”

Kallisto sobbed. “But I didn’t want to lose you! I wanted to stay!”

Artemis felt like her heart was breaking, but she couldn’t show it. She had rules about her followers. She couldn’t allow those rules to be broken, not even by her best friend. “Kallisto, your crime was keeping the secret from me. You dishonored me, and your sisters of the Hunt, by not being honest. You defiled our company of maidens when you were not a maiden yourself. That I cannot forgive.”

I want to slap this man so hard he flies to the opposite side of the universe. We are not here to blame victims of assault guys! Except we are! But with extra steps. If you get attacked, it's not your fault, but If you are too scared to admit the truth then you deserve to lose your only safe space and turn into a bear. Oh nooooo Kallisto DEFILED Artemis' company by being an icky non virgin. The moment you lose your virginity even if it's not your fault you get punished. But not because I'm gross but because YOU lied. How terrible! And he expects us to feel for ARTEMIS???

But rosabell! This is how things go in the myths. What was uncle Rick (bleghhhh) supposed to do? I don't know... Choose a different version of the story? There are versions were Zeus/Hera are the ones who transform Kallisto into a bear. There are versions where Kallisto actively CHOOSES to sleep with Artemis. Granted it's still assault because she's being lied to but at least then, she'd have a degree of autonomy in the events. At least Artemis could rightfully accuse her of breaking her oath. But noooo, Riordan doesn't know lesbians exist. He actively makes Zeus into a canonical Ra*ist. Why is he on the throne again?

(the fact that this book came out AFTER HoH y'all 😭)

Once again, Riordan sees maidenhood(virginity)/love/marriage as intertwined. This is NOT what being on the aroace spectrum means. You can fall in love but not have sex. You can have sex but not fall in love. You can have sex AND still be an asexual. You can be married and still be a "maiden". Riordan doesn't get to claim to be such a progressive ally for retconning the hunters in 2017, TEN years after he first introduced the hunters because he suddenly remembered that lesbians exist.

Or more like because he doesn't know what to do with his female characters. The hunters more than anything are Riordan's heroine dumping ground. If you don't want it put them in relationships, either kill them(Bianca whose main purpose is to die) or make them eternal virgins(the hunters, Rachel). The fact that some people genuinely think that Calypso should have joined the hunters astound me. Girl suffered for years because of the gods and you all think that the best thing outside of Leo for her(not that I like Caleo) is to become a servant to the gods? Because you can't perceive a female character doing anything else if she's not in a relationship. Like with Thalia, this at least made sense on a strategic level because she didn't want to reach sixteen. Oh but we also don't know what else to do with her so she needs to want to be a hunter after the war is over so we give her a half-assed argument with Luke and now she can be all: wah wah Zoe you were totally right about boys. And the cherry on the cake is that she doesn't even get to be in the final confrontation with Luke or say goodbye to him because of a freaking STATUE. And after pjo her personality becomes Zoe 2.0 and her and Jason get ONE measly meeting.

When I first spoke of not liking Renya joining the hunters this is what I mean. Riordan had so many options with Reyna. Why did she have to leave her esteemed position which she worked so hard for? Two boys rejected her? Why couldn't she go reconnect with her sister more then? She could have joined the Amazons. But nooo Riordan was so allergic to the fans asking him wether she could be Bi or a lesbian. For the stupidest reasons too? Oh Reyna being a lesbian would come off as stereotypical because she got rejected by two guys beforehand! My dude, do you think people don't say the same thing about us who are on the aroace spectrum? That we say we are aro/ace because we got rejected before? Come up with a better excuse next time.

My brother in Christ couldn't even allow Reyna to talk about her sexuality and whatnot. It couldn't even be fully about her. No. He had to turn Reyna into his own mouthpiece admonishing the EVILLLL fans who may have shipped Thalia and Renya. He literally had her say the word "shipping". How cringe can you get? And then he had the audacity to admonish the fans by saying: Why does a strong friendship always have to progress to romance?

It's a sentiment I agree with but coming from this man, it's extremely hypocritical? I don't know Richard maybe because YOU are obsessed with shipping? No character can escape your shipping hands unless they're eternal virgins or dead. You literally turned the Argo2 into Noah's ark2. So much attention focused on shipping that the seven barely felt like friends.

Why does Reyna need to join the hunters? She can choose to not relationship without having to become a servant to female Peter pan.

This is actually a really adequate metaphor when you consider that Emmie and Jo say that they have not met Artemis in YEARS and Apollo mentions that the two of them were lucky she let them LIVE. god can you imagine joining Artemis when you are 9? At an age when you have still not finished maturimg cognitively and therefore shouldn't be trusted on taking a freaking celibacy vow(were you even given the talk yet that age) and after 70 years you decide you want to leave? If you're lucky Artemis will part with you on good terms but SIKES every person you probably knew before joining is now dead. Where is THAT angsty Bianca fic?

Speaking of Bianca. How she was handled also angers me. In another post, I've already talked about how the hunters barely gave her adequate information before letting her join.

How Zoe was the main reason for her death. Zoe KNEW that at least 2 people might die in the quest she was given and yet she decided to bring the least experienced girl to the quest and couldn't even watch her properly.

But you know what else pisses me off? The fact that THEY should have been the one to tell Nico about his sister's death. I've always hated how Chiron made Percy the CHILD tell Nico the other CHILD about his sister dying. But more than anyone, it should have been the hunters' responsibility. Bianca was THEIR responsibility. She died in a quest to save Artemis. The least they could do was tell her remaining family of her fate. The Doylist reason of course is that we need to kickstart Nico and Percy's complicated relationship and have Percy discover that Nico is a son of Hades. But in universe, the fact that they immediately fuck off from the camp upon regrouping makes them come off as extremely selfish. We don't even know if Bianca was given a funeral by them or not. We see Artemis being upset about Zoe but we never see her react to the news of losing Bianca.

[coco-loco-nut]

I Hate It Here

Pairing: Max x Sister Reader

Summary: Max takes a stand for his sister

TW: jos verstappen, mentioned abuse, depression, mentions of death, mentions of an affair

requests open masterlist ttpd masterlist

——————

With Max gone, you were the one subject to the wrath of Jos Verstappen, especially when you stopped karting after a couple years. So while your brother was off winning grand prix after grand prix, you were continually reminded that you aren’t good enough, that you were the dud of a child.

“Maxie, tell me a story,” you call your older brother in tears one night, you don’t blame him for the fact that you are a failure. You love your older brother more than anything.

With a heavy sigh, Max dives into a made up story, like he was a poet trapped inside the body of a race car driver, except he is an awful storyteller. He does but doesn’t want to know the BS your lame excuse for a father told you.

Max is your best, and only friend, your consolation prize for surviving this far. You stopped really leaving home years ago, only leaving to go to the grocery store. Even to your job, you were just another remote employee.

Max only ever wants the best for his sister, you haven’t seen Victoria since you were so young that you don’t really even know if she actually exists, so he is all you have. Victoria doesn’t really remember you either, seeing as how you were the child of an affair. Max always tries to bring you to races as a lucky charm, but your response is always the same ‘i don’t believe in good luck, maybe next time’. It’s like you are scared to leave home, safer in the comfort of the walls you’ve only ever known.

You pull out your headphones and listen to music, tuning out the world. You hate it here, you hate your father, but you only know of one way to escape. You close your eyes and go to the little paradise in your mind. You read about something similar when you were a kid from a book Max you. It sits on your nightstand, the spine worn and frayed from years of use.

That’s similar to how Max finds you when he arrives a couple weeks later. By now he is used to finding you in that state, you spend most of your free time in your own mind.

“Y/n? Where do you go? In your mind,” Max asks, laying beside you in your bed.

“A little garden, you need a key to get in though,” you say, a little dazed.

“And how would one get a key?” He asks further, trying to keep you engaged.

“There is only one, mine,” you reply, moving to grab your headphones again. Max quickly, but gently takes them.

“Charles was asking about you. He wanted to know how you were, since he hasn’t seen you since I joined F3,” Max continues, you just look at him, an oddity in your dark room.

“Charles?” You ask and Max nods.

“My friend, you thought he had a silly accent, and thought he was cute,” Max elaborates, searching your face to see a look of recognition. You just shrug.

“We used to play games, travel back in time to different decades. You loved the 1800s,” Max says, not ready to give up.

“I was a debutante,” you whisper causing Max to smile brightly. You just shake your head, you read once that nostalgia is a minds trick. “I bet I hated it, it is always freezing in the palace,” you say, unknowingly giving Max a glimpse into the secret escapes in your mind. In your fantasies you travel everywhere even to space. Secretly you love it, but you are more than content to stay at home, even if you hate it here.

“Come to the FIA Prize Giving with me, pretend it’s one of your fantasies,” Max says, you nod your head, already away in another world where only the gentle survive.

“Max? Am I going to die?” You ask out of the blue, well out of the blue for Max. He doesn’t know how to respond before you turn back into yourself. He stands up, watching you for a minute. You stayed out of your depression a minute longer than usual, a small win for him.

“Leave your poor sister alone,” Jos says, Max just glares at him. Jos is the man who made you like this and Max will never forgive himself for it.

“Y/n is coming with me to Monaco, for good. Since you don’t care about her, I will take care of her,” Max says, prepared to stand his ground.

“Whatever, if you want to tolerate her worthlessness, that’s up to you,” Jos waves his hand, one less failure in his home.

“Don’t call her that,” Max grits his teeth. He was going to wait a couple days, but perhaps it’s necessary to expedite it here.

“Yeah, yeah, she’s your problem now,” Jos walks away. Max returns to your bedroom, getting a suitcase from your closet. Only the essentials for now, the rest can be picked up tomorrow. He packs up as much as he can in an hour before somehow convincing you to go with him to his hotel. You just stare out the window of the car as he drives, clearly uncomfortable. Max gives you the bedroom and takes the pull out couch. He immediately dials Charles.

“Max? What happened?” Charles can hear the exhaustion in Max’s voice.

“I’m bringing Y/n back to Monaco with me, she’s basically being left to rot by Jos. She’s lonely and bitter, but swears she’s fine. Y/n gets lost in her mind on purpose, there’s this fantasy land that she saves the good parts -her romanticism- in her mind. I’m losing her,” Max chokes back a sob.

“Max, what do you mean, losing her?” Charles asks, more alert.

“She doesn’t eat, she’s depressed beyond imagination, doesn’t leave the house, spends the time she isn’t working remotely in her mind. This house, our father, makes her feel worthless. If I didn’t come tonight, she might’ve died. Charles, she asked me if she was going to die,” Max has your image ingrained in his memory, a little too thin and pale.

“I just texted Maman, she will come over and visit her for a little every day, make sure she eats,” Charles says, holding back his own tears. He remembers you fondly as the little girl with pig tails, always excited to spend time with her big brother.

You struggle with the move to Monaco, one you didn’t get a say in it, likely because you spend most of the year in your mind. You have come to grow more comfortable with the woman who visits you and uses food from your brother’s fridge to feed you.

“Y/n? Feel like talking today?” she gently asks, setting the food in front of you, like she does every day. You look up, and Pascale nearly cries, seeing you start to breaks through. Your blue eyes pierce hers.

“Tell me something awful, like you are a poet trapped in the body of a finance guy,”

[thursdayinspace]

So I rewatched "Our Town" last night and when I sat down at my laptop this morning to do something that was not writing, I ended up writing instead. These things happen. Just a silly fluffy-ish little thing because omg that ep is so gross and also Scully has to be getting sick of being abducted all the time. Mulder feels the same way.

She can’t sleep. It’s not every day you almost get beheaded—even after everything that she’s already been through this year, it seems there are still things that can shake her up pretty badly. She rolls over on the lumpy motel mattress and tries to get comfortable. For a glorious moment, she considers quitting. Handing Skinner her resignation and walking away, finding a nice job with regular hours where people won’t handcuff her to radiators, stick her in closets, contort their stretchy bodies through cracks in her bathroom window, or drive her around in the trunks of their cars before handing her over to aliens or the government or whatever theory Mulder’s going with right now. A job where she won’t spend the end of a work day strapped into a metal harness as a guy in a mask raises an ax above her head.

In her mind she pictures a simple life: a nice house with a yard, a dog greeting her as she opens the door and walks inside after a long day at the hospital…no, a private practice? A day of teaching? Whatever she’s been doing, she walks into a kitchen that smells like home-cooked dinner, leaning up to kiss her faceless husband who’s vaguely Mulder-shaped. “Honey, I’m home!” “Dinner’s almost ready! How was your day?” “Fine. Narrowly avoided decapitation. Nothing exciting.” Fuck. Not even fantasy-Scully can escape the absurdity of this life.

The knock on her door doesn’t even surprise her. She already knows who it is. He stopped waking her unless it’s something really important, so she groans and gets up, her bones aching, weeping inwardly as she makes her way to the door. So she can’t sleep; that doesn’t mean she wants to spend the night going over their case report or whatever that infuriatingly charming insomniac wants from her this time.

But when she opens the door, he doesn’t look as if he wants to go over case reports. He looks like shit. As much as that’s even possible for him. Another thing that’s simply unfair about her life, she thinks with a sigh. Even with bags under his eyes and pale as a sheet he still looks beautiful. “Mulder?” she says.

He doesn’t answer, just steps right into her and pulls her into a wordless hug, so tight she’s a little afraid he’ll crack her ribs. She hugs him back weakly and pats his back, not quite sure what else to do since she has no idea what the fuck he’s even doing. She expects him to pull back, but he just keeps holding on, and she’s genuinely having trouble breathing.

“Uh, Mulder?” she says again, a little louder.

“You’re okay,” he mumbles into her hair, and she wiggles in his arms, trying to loosen his grip.

“Not for much longer if you don’t let go.”

“Sorry.” He drops his arms and takes a step back, but keeps looking at her like he’s never seen her before. “Sorry, I just—”

“It’s fine,” she says. “Did you have a bad dream?”

He shakes his head. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Yeah.” She grimaces. “Me neither. It’s been…a day.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks, and she laughs. She’s too tired not to.

“Thanks to your timely rescue, my head is still firmly attached to my body.” It sounds a little bitter, and she’s surprised at herself before she feels another little piece of her frustration clicking into place. Ah, yes, she thinks. There’s that too. Rescued once again. She makes a mental note: fantasy-Scully in her little imaginary suburban nine-to-five utopia will never have to be rescued. She’s gonna be the one doing all the rescuing. Except nobody needs to be rescued in that perfect little world, because nothing bad ever happens to anyone.

“You don’t sound okay,” Mulder says, and she closes her eyes for a second. She’s not annoyed with him, she reminds herself. It’s not his fault that she became part of these townsfolks’ dinner plans, and it’s not his fault that she needed him to keep that from happening.

“I’m just a little tired.”

“I’ll let you sleep.” He sounds exhausted and when she looks at him, she sees leftover fear in his eyes. “No more interruptions, I promise.”

Her hand reaches out for his before she’s fully conscious of what she’s doing. It’s just that he’s here and she’s had enough of being Agent Scully for tonight, and he really looks so much like Doctor Scully’s faceless dinner-cooking husband in her nice little fantasy home. “Come on,” she says.

“What are you—”

“Bed,” she explains, hoping he won’t ask any more questions.

“Oh. Okay.”

She gets in on her side and is relieved when he lies down next to her without another word. She closes her eyes, but she can feel him stock-still as a statue next to her, she can feel the tension radiating off of him, and, hell, it sounds like he’s even trying to breathe without making a sound. So she grabs his arm and rolls onto her side, tugging him with her until he has his back against her chest, and she holds firmly onto his hand and snuggles back into him.

“Scully?” he asks, sounding a little confused.

“Relax, Mulder,” she tells him. “Sleep.”

“Are you sure?”

“About sleeping?”

“You know what I mean.”

She laughs and squeezes his fingers. “No. Of course not. But honestly? I really don’t care right now.”

“Okay,” he says, and he gets it, she knew he’d get it. “Okay,” he repeats, and laces their fingers together. She feels him lift his head, feels his hot breath against the side of her face, and then a gentle kiss against the corner of her eye. “Good night, Scully.”

“Good night, Mulder.”

Behind her closed eyelids, fantasy Scully lies just like this with her faceless partner, who’s just as warm and smells just as good as real Scully’s friend-partner spooned up behind her. The only difference is that her own real Mulder is…well, real. No matter how perfect her beautiful little dream house with her beautiful perfect husband may be, she kind of prefers snuggling with someone who has a face and a name. And maybe she’d actually miss the mess.

Not all of it. Not the ax-swinging, homicidal maniacs or the lumpy motel mattresses. But a partner who knocks on her door in the middle of the night because he couldn’t sleep without making sure she was okay? Who sleeps wrapped around her with his breath ruffling the hair at the back of her neck, knowing this isn’t leading anywhere other than comfort and friendship? And…she kisses the backs of his fingers once she convinces herself he’s probably asleep…a vague hope that maybe this won’t always be all there is between them?

Yeah. She’ll take it.

[angel-of-the-moons]

When you get the chance do you think you could write a Miguel x chubbyF!reader ?

(It's my first time requesting and I wanted to try and give like an idea of it)

Miguel saw the reader in the library and she caught his eye and he went on about what he was doing until he grabbed the same book as her and it just happened to be both of their favorite books and they ended up talking about it and maybe going to a coffee shop after?

The Very Grumpy Spider

Miguel x Chubby/Curvy!Fem!Reader

TW/CW: None

Taglist: @tojishugetiddies

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Miguel was hiding away from the world in the most unlikely of places. It wasn't his home, or his darkened office at HQ, or the labs at Alchemax.

No, it was the library. It hardly had any foot traffic, and the libraries of the world were quickly becoming obsolete with their actual paper books in favor of all the digital files you could simply download online these days.

Which is why it was perfect for him to hide in.

It was quiet, almost no people, and his favorite reading nook had the comfiest chairs. Hell, sometimes he'd sit in the bean bag chairs and nod off a bit.

Today he was browsing the shelves labeled "Classics -- Science Fiction".

His large fingers drummed on the spines of each book as he weighed the decision of which one to read, his glasses perched low on his nose. It seemed silly, that someone who has superpowers would like something as simple as science fiction, but these books were a big escape from the abuse he and his little brother were witness (and in many cases victim) to.

It was also the library he'd run off to back then, too.

It was a sanctuary, a sweet, private Sanctuary.

Miguel was so warped in his thoughts that he didn't notice somebody was now standing right next to him.

Not until a small hand reached out and they both touched the spine of the same book.

An omnibus of sorts containing all the stories of a series called "Dinotopia" by an author named James Gurney, a little over a hundred or so years ago. Miguel as a child had silly fantasies of finding such a place and now the stories were a source of great comfort when the stress of his life became a bit too hard.

"Oh! Sorry!" You say, awkwardly snatching your hand back. "I... Er. Didn't know that anybody else liked... uh, nevermind."

You were... cute. Not obnoxiously made-up like many of the women he's met; you were very minimal makeup and he could even see a few blemishes here and there.

Your body was not rail thin--again, like most women he's known--you were soft, your clothes hugged your body in a way that showed that you had little rolls that spilled over the top of your jeans, your legs and arms a bit on the thicker side, and your round little face definitely set you apart.

And Miguel found himself quickly liking the sight.

He lowered his hand and shook his head with a soft chuckle, "Ah, no, it's alright. I'm surprised anybody even knows these books exist."

You smiled sheepishly up at him, dimples in your soft cheeks as you did. "Yeah... My grandpa used to read these to me when I was little. It's hard to find them nowadays and the copies I had got ruined when my apartment flooded..."

"I used to read them as a kid, myself." Miguel smiled at you as he plucked the book off the shelf, looking at the illustrated cover; protected by a dust jacket but the cover was faded with time, the pages slightly yellowed.

"They were a nice escape."

"Oh! Yeah... They--they are." You say as you watched him turn the book over in his massive hands. Hell, they were so goddamn big that the thick volume looked like a tiny booklet. And oh, did you try to ignore how strong they looked.

Miguel sighed and held the book out to you, "Here. Far be it from me to keep someone from reading a favorite, huh?"

You held your hands up, waving then a bit. "Oh! No, no, um... It's okay. You can read it."

You both stood there, blinking at each other in an awkward silence.

Until you both broke out into soft laughter and Miguel lowered his hand that still clutched the book.

"...We're just going to go back and forth about this, aren't we?" He asked.

"... Probably." You giggled, rubbing the back of your neck.

There was another pause, until you decided to break it.

"Um... well. We can... Talk about it?"

When he tilted his head at you with raised eyes you felt yourself flush. "I--! Well, I just mean that, um... Er. It's unusual to find anybody that knows about that series because it's so old, so, I mean..."

He laughed again, and god, did it sound wonderful as it tumbled out of his lips. He fixed his dark eyes on you and smiled. "Sure. I don't have anywhere to be for the rest of the day."

You swore you could see that his eyes glimmered a different color as he spoke, and your heart slipped a beat.

🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷

You and Miguel chatted for what must have been close to three hours. You'd even gotten so close as to read the book together; or, well, a few of the stories in it here and there.

You guys had sat so close you could smell his cologne and aftershave.

Meanwhile Miguel could smell your sweet, cherry-like perfume. Hell, he could even smell your lip balm (it had notes of honey) thanks to his super senses.

He loved watching you move, he would often take his eyes from the pages to scan your form, looking at how soft and plush you were. He had the most intrusive thoughts about laying his head in your lap and just letting you run your fingers through his hair as you read the book aloud to him.

Oh, your thighs looked like perfect napping pillows...

He was gorgeous, and he found you absolutely beautiful. You were cute, funny, and quirky, whereas you found him intelligent, witty and kind when he spoke to you.

Something beeped on Miguel's watch and when he looked at it, he grunted. Lyla was asking him when he was going to just ask you out, because apparently she'd been eavesdropping covertly through his watch.

Yeah, it had been hours.

"Is that, um... A call you need to take?" You ask hesitantly.

"No, it's just my assistant checking on me." He turned it off and lowered his wrist, smiling again at you, and he felt something gnaw in his stomach when he saw your hopeful expression.

Fuck it.

"Hey... Would you like to get a coffee?" He finally asked you directly.

And oh, the little error-code face you made was just precious.

"Oh!" You shake your head softly, and smile up at him again. "Sure! I--I mean that is I'm okay with with that, and... uh."

Miguel stood, the book once again in his palm and he extended his hand to you politely to help you out of your seat.

Witty and chivalrous. It made you positively weak in the knees!

"But, um... are you sure?" You ask, following him to the check out counter.

He smiled at you over his shoulder, waving the book.

"Of course. After all, how else are we supposed to finish reading this together?"

[arboretics]

opposite sides - carcar (developing relationship perhaps) christmas ficlet, 0.5k

Of course, Oscar thought, a little derisive, when Carlos sent him the picture. Like, it was sweet and all, the Sainzes all lined up and smiling their perfect, earnest smiles, but of course Carlos’s family is the kind where you wear a suit to Christmas.

When the Christmas Eve pictures roll into Oscar’s WhatsApp thread, it’s already Christmas morning in Australia, and Oscar was sat in the ugliest sweater his sisters had ever bestowed upon him, sweating. It was dead heat now in Melbourne, no white Christmas in sight, and a little bit of Oscar longed for London—he was out of sync with his own home now, maybe upsettingly, maybe just realistically.

His neck was itching. Staring into Carlos’s pixelated face, a little goofy in the angle, the wild spray of his hair, Oscar scratched at himself deftly. Distantly. There was noise in the kitchen, boisterous and happy, and Oscar found himself thousands of miles away, imagining himself in a suit, stumbling through feliz navidads. It was a silly fantasy, unwieldy, not very imaginative, and raw in Oscar’s mind. Too soon to be thinking of such alternatives, the relationship too undefined.

Oscar hearted the picture, sent a partial selfie of the sweater, the bottom of his chin, DACHSHUND THROUGH THE SNOW sprawled across his chest. Carlos would like that, would send laugh-crying emojis, a picture of one of the many dogs clattering around in the Sainz mansion. Oscar, if he tried, could hear their little claws skittering along the hard floors, disappearing across the thick rugs. He had only seen Carlos’s home in images, obviously, but. As with everything related to Carlos, Oscar had spent plenty of time imagining. That old undercurrent of spite thrived in those daydreams—cold feet, Pomeranians with no personality—until it spun to Carlos himself. His grey vest, suit jacket long shed. Piñon, tall and wiry, sitting patiently by his side, the two of them escaping for long walks across the countryside.

That was where Oscar liked to imagine himself, following Carlos down his familiar paths, frosted fields, too cold to sweat even when Carlos insisted on a jog. “Got to stay ready for the season,” he would say, wiggling his brows. Carlos could probably lay off training for the whole break and it wouldn’t make a difference in the Williams, Oscar figured, but still. There was pride in his strength, his grace, his blunt hands and big eyes. Carlos had won Oscar’s home race with a bandage around his stomach, just weeks out from surgery, after all—what a slap. That scar taunted Oscar sometimes, a white gash through Carlos’s impeccable tan. Remember what you’ve both lost?

The sunlight lasted long in Melbourne, started early. Breakfast was in the works, to which Oscar had contributed a fruit salad, and now he watched the morning stretch out over the backyard, through the big bay windows of this house he’d never lived in. The sweater was starting to scratch at his wrists too, and somewhere across the world, Carlos was going to bed while thinking of Oscar.

[fictional-orphan-smackdown]

ROUND 3, MATCH 5!

All propaganda and what each competitor is from under the cut

Trafalgar D. Water Law (Once Piece)

Law is a genocide survivor who saw his parents' dead bodies along with experiencing a whole bunch of other messed up stuff (his sister burning to death, the people of his country being shot for being poisoned by their own government, being terminally ill, escaping the genocide by hiding under a pile of dead bodies, etc etc). After all this shit, he eventually got forcibly adopted by this one guy and dragged around the world looking for a cure for his illness. Right when Law started to trust and love his new caretaker, he is also brutally murdered in front of him. Law's life goal for the next decade is to get revenge on the person who killed his adoptive father. Vote for him bc he needs a goddamn win for once in his life. He is the people's princess and the narrative's favorite punching bag. Also, his depressed, PTSD-ridden autistic swag and scoliosis realness have captivated me body and soul

His biological parents were killed (before his eyes, by the governement) when he was 10(?). He then joined a bunch of pirates, knowing he wouldn't have much time (and will) left to live anyway. There he was sort of adopted by the Big Bad Pirate's brother, who managed to save his life, only for said brother to be killed (more or less before Law's eyes, by the Big Bad Pirate), when he was 13. You could say he was orphaned twice.

He’s literally got the double orphan special (Parents died and then the guy who took him in after them died too) that’s a 50% increase in orphannedness above your standard orphan. He’s also cool as fuck.

Law's parents were already on death row along with him and his younger sister due to a disease that shortens the life span of a person. The disease can only be passed down genetically and has afflicted everyone in the town that he has grown up in. Due to the sudden outbreak and unknown nature of the disease to the rest of the world panicked and the government closed off his city, killing everyone there. That is how his first set of parents died when he was 10, I think. Still then Law would later join a pirate crew where he would eventually be taken away 2-3 years later by Corazon, marine working undercover as a pirate in order to take down this brother, who is the captain of crew Law joined. Corazon took him in order to cure Law's disease which he still had and to get him away from Doflamingo, his brother. Over the course of 6 months the two became close with Corazon essentially becoming a father figure to Law. I am simplify this but at some point of Doflamingo catches on to Corazon being a double agent and finds him. Doflamingo then proceeds to find Corazon and shoot him in front of a chest that Law was hiding in.

Law has faced many hardships since he was a child, but used his experiences to become an extremely powerful doctor. His pirate crew theme and his Devil Fruit ability are all owed to his adoptive father. Law acts really gruff and serious most of the time, initially seeming like a cool, calculating character and feared swordsman… but one second around the Straw Hats and you quickly see just how silly he really is. He hates bread. He collects coins. He is obsessed with ninjas and superhero comic books. In one arc he just fucked around with his powers and INVENTED harpies and centaurs. Oh, and his First Mate is a polar bear. What could be better than that?

The government ordered to kill everyone in Law's country due to everyone getting "fantasy lead poisoning" disease, which was wrongfully thought to be contagious stroked. Law's family was living at the hospital when they got attacked, his parents (who were doctors) got killed and the hospital got set on fire with his little sister inside. He managed to fled the country hiding in a pile of corpses and ended up joining a pirate crew lead by Doflamingo. Law knew he had the disease and it was going to kill him in three years. Doflamingo's brother, Rosinante took Law hospital to hospital to find a cure but they always rejected him thinking the disease was contagious. Then they learned that someone had offered Doflamingo a devil fruit that could grant him immortality. The fruit could also cure Law so Rosinante stole it and made Law eat it. He then made sure Law could escape Doflamingo and got killed by his brother.

dude spent his childhood getting thrown out of windows, while dying from a deadly disease (that was eventually cured) but while he was still showing symptoms of the disease no one would go near him out of fear and disgust, save for his father figure.

nothing can ever go right for this man. its fucking hilarious in the series and makes for some wonderful angst content. i want everyone who has not watched or read One Piece to know that, for half of his 'main' arc, he's carried around like a potato sack by MULTIPLE people. he is a damsel in despair. he didn't even need to be carried, he honestly could've walked, but he had to save that energy so he could take the like 17 lead bullets out of him. he's always getting shot or thrown out a window and he's severely injured more often than not. he's also a doctor/surgeon, one that should be able to cure incurable diseases, yet his pathetic loserboy ass is too busy being emo to worry about the several gunshot wounds and internal bleeding. god help this man but also don't because honestly it's really fucking funny

Ok, FIRST, when he was a tiny frog-disecting little kid, him and his family and island contacted a disease equivalent to cancer BUT his fam didn't die from that. No, no, his parents got gunned down by the military and his little sis was burned alive with the rest of his house, so, yeah, very traumatic, horrific in a way that makes you very angry at yourself and life and want to oh I don't know, kill everyone and everything possible until the day you die, which won't be long because you have cancer after all. Later, after joining a mafia/cult/gang, Law meets Corazon who after like 2 years kidnaps him to try and get him healed and so they spend the next 6 months bonding, WEEEEEE!! Wait, no, NOT weeee because Cora who is now his father-figure DIES having protected and saved him, and thus bruv becomes orphaned not once, not thrice, but TWO very traumatic times! If this isn't an orphan, idk what is……

Anthony Lockwood (Lockwood and Co)

Lockwood (he's known by his surname mostly) is the mysterious, daredevil and charming founder of Lockwood and Co., a detective agency specialised in protecting people from angry -and sometimes sort of hungry- ghosts in a world where they're rampant. His agency is starting small despite Lockwood bragging it's the best in London but get more and more recognition as the series progress and the agents composing them meet success (when they're not on the verge of dying). Lockwood has open manners but hid his painful past from his coworkers to protect himself. He and George, the first teenager he recruited, are quite stunned by Lucy, a country girl who fled to London after disaster striked in her hometown. Thanks to her talent, she quickly becomes known as one of the best ghost fighter in London and finds her place in the small team despite having the same determination to hide her past than Lockwood, which draws him close to her, making George jealous, but Lockwood's manifest good skills in leadership and the three of them become fast friends while unravelling secret truths and risking their lives repeatedly

He has a lot of trauma and a lot of pain but he always smiles and always has a warm and polite attitude; he’s so protective of the ones he loves that it overrides his suicidal tendencies; at the end of the series he starts to heal from his past; he’s hot but has only two braincells.

[hergrandplan]

Hellooo for the Spotify drabble challenge

#5

💜

Hi June! Congratulations, you got So Long, London by Taylor Swift. I don't see how any of this could possibly be bad...

Little info since I didn't put the lyric in the text: this is particularly based on the line "and you say I abandoned the ship/But I was going down with it"

“Can I ask... why did you give up on us?” Wille’s voice breaks through the quiet.

Snow flurries around them, and Simon watches it for a bit, watches how it blankets the world around them. If he lets himself, Simon can almost imagine them in a different time, a different ball, a different escape that had led them to the exact same spot they're standing now: looking out over the quad while the party continues inside.

They’re a decade older now, and Simon likes to think he’s a decade wiser. But the wise thing wouldn’t have been to follow Wille out. Yet here he is.

But a decade earlier Simon would have rolled his eyes at the question, maybe even scoffed, because how dare he even ask that? How did Wille not see how in love Simon still was? That it was never about them, that it was everything else pulling him, pulling them under.

The truth of it, though, is much simpler. So now Simon just smiles sadly at Wille, as he watches the snowflakes settle in his hair. As he sees the grooves that 10 years under the crown have etched in his face. Simon feels guilty, all of a sudden. For keeping this from him for so long, for never telling Wille how he...

Simon can feel Wille looking at him, waiting for an answer, and for some reason, he feels like he’s laid bare.

“I never gave up, Wille.” He looks back out over the quad, unable to look at Wille as he admits what he'd carried for years. “Do you remember the last time we saw each other? You told me –”

“To have a good summer.” Wille lets out a bitter chuckle. “Yeah, I remember.”

“I... part of me had hoped that you'd stop me. Ask me to stay, to just give us one more chance. That you’d... you’d realize how being Crown Prince was killing you. I had hoped that breaking up with you would make you see that.

“And then when you didn't, I had this fantasy that you'd run after the car.

“I know it's silly. And dumb. But I pictured you somehow catching up and asking me again, and I ... I would have said yes, Wille.

“Anyways,” Simon continues in a much lighter tone, as if he hasn’t imagined that scenario over and over again for the last ten years. As if admitting this isn’t the hardest thing he's ever done. “When you didn't I realized that this was the life you chose, Crown and Country, and that I had no place in it."

“It would have killed you.” Wille’s voice is strained, like it’s taking every ounce of self-control he is to get the words out, but still, Simon can hear the surprise, the disbelief.

Simon laughs, half-heartedly, puffs of white in front of him. “Yeah. It would have.

“But maybe,” and at this, Simon takes a deep breath, “maybe it would have been worth it. To be with you.”

He swallows thickly, past the lump on his throat, and looks up at Wille. Wille, who's staring at him with wide eyes, whose voice is barely audible when he asks, “do you still believe that?”

Simon nods.

Send me Wilmon + a number and get a ficlet based on a song from my Wrapped!

[angelremnants]

Between Strength & Style l L. Laufeyson

PART ONE.⠀WHERE LUXE MEETS RESILIENCE...

summary : Loki’s probationary stint with the Avengers takes a surprising turn when Thor insists on dragging him to the team’s fluorescent-lit gym—a place he deems far beneath his dignity. His disdain shifts the moment you stride in with effortless confidence, transforming the mundane gym into your personal runway, commanding the room and worse, directly challenging his ego. Determined not to be overshadowed, Loki initiated a playful competition, vying to outshine you as the gym’s reigning fashionista. Yet, what began as irritation soon evolved into intrigue—and an electric chemistry taking place between you and forcing him to confront not only your undeniable allure but also his own battle for self-control. The only question left was: how many Fridays would pass before one of you finally caves in?

pairing : Loki Laufeyson x f!reader

warnings : Mature (16+), slow burn, eventual romance, eventual smut, sexual tension & innuendos (lots of it), suggestive content, flirting & teasing, emotional conflict, strong language. Proceed with caution if you're sensitive to such material.

word count : 15k

author's notes : And we're kicking off 2025 with me being an absolute simp for Loki and blending my gym goals with my fantasies. Huge shoutout to my ex the gym rat—I would’ve been completely lost without all the knowledge he dropped on me and the playful gym flirting we shared. Side note: I was listening to Sting at some point and couldn't help but notice how the chorus fit Loki so well: "I'm a legal alien, I'm an Englishman in New York". :')

I know I was supposed to start on my next Steve fic, but this silly little idea just couldn’t wait to take shape. It was so fun, I honestly spent my time laughing my ass off while writing some dialogues and screaming at certain things I wrote. Part two will possibly contain sexy time. Coming soon! It's in the works as I'm posting this. :p

NEW ! — Find the continuation here.

(ao3 version)

⠀

The Avengers had a strict, almost religious adherence to fitness. The gym wasn’t just a facility; it was a cornerstone of their lifestyle. Staying in peak physical condition was non-negotiable—after all, the world's fate occasionally hinged on how fast you could sprint, how hard you could punch, or how much stamina you could muster during a battle. It had become an unspoken sanctuary for them, a place that bridged their shared mission and personal pursuits. Within its walls, they weren’t gods, soldiers, or assassins. They were simply people, sweating out their stress and pushing their limits like anyone else.

But make no mistake—the Avengers’ gym was far from ordinary.

Spanning two gleaming floors in Stark Tower, it boasted everything a superhero could ever need: state-of-the-art equipment that looked more like experimental prototypes than fitness tools, reinforced floors capable of withstanding Thor’s hammer tosses or Hulk’s occasional tantrums, and enough space to host activities ranging from sparring matches to aerial combat simulations. Tony Stark, ever the showman, had outfitted the space with panoramic windows that overlooked Manhattan, creating a breathtaking backdrop for their grueling workouts. The sound system piped in everything from Steve’s retro playlist to Natasha’s instrumental beats, depending on who got to the controls first. And, of course, there was the infamous juice bar, complete with personalized protein blends and a weekly “Tony Special” that no one dared try twice.

Attendance wasn’t optional. Fitness was woven into the very fabric of their lives, an unspoken rule that even the most reluctant team members adhered to. It wasn’t just about preparing for missions—it was about maintaining discipline, bonding as a team, and, for some, finding a momentary escape from the weight of their responsibilities.

Fridays were sacred.

Steve Rogers had instituted weekly group training sessions with all the fervor of a drill sergeant assembling his troops. These weren’t just about staying in shape—they were a way to assess the team’s physical and mental states when they were off duty, to spot weaknesses, and to build camaraderie. But “lighthearted” was a generous term when describing these gatherings.

“Lighthearted” was a stretch when it came to some members of the team. 

Steve approached his workouts with military precision, every move calculated and methodical. He was a relentless taskmaster, his circuits punishing even for those who had superhuman strength. Natasha was equally intense, her fluid, controlled movements a testament to her assassin’s training. She moved through her routines like a panther on the hunt—silent, deadly, and impossibly graceful. Clint, in contrast, trained like a lone wolf, using the quieter corners of the gym to fine-tune his aim or practice his balance on precarious surfaces.

Thor treated every session as a challenge to prove his godly might. His booming laughter echoed off the walls as he lifted weights that no one else could budge or turned sparring matches into theatrical displays of Asgardian strength. Bucky stayed at the edges, quiet and focused, his every movement deliberate as though his training was less about fitness and more about control. And then there was Tony, who somehow managed to mix workouts with tinkering. It wasn’t uncommon to see him squatting with a set of repulsors strapped to his wrists, testing their durability mid-session.

The gym was, in short, a finely tuned machine—a symphony of sweat, grit, and camaraderie.

And then Loki entered the picture.

He hated the gym. He loathed it. The very concept of it offended his sensibilities, a joke to his Asgardian practices. The idea of “working out” was not only unnecessary for someone of his divine stature but also painfully mortal in its mundanity. To the God of Mischief, the gym was a prison masquerading as a temple. The sweat, the grunts, the clanging of metal against metal—it was all so beneath him. He didn’t need to build strength or stamina; he was a god. And yet, as part of his probationary agreement to join the Avengers, Loki was expected to participate. 

Why on Midgard—or any realm, for that matter—would one willingly subject themselves to mundane physical labor? For a god, no less? The idea was completely ridiculous, though he had quickly learned that this argument did not hold much weight when hurled at Thor or any of the other Avengers.

He resisted, of course. Loki had become something of an escape artist when it came to group gym sessions, weaving elaborate excuses and literal illusions to avoid stepping foot into the gym. He had tried every trick in his arsenal to escape these sessions: conjuring illusions of himself running laps, pretending to bear injuries, and even disappearing mid-session with a sly smirk and the faint shimmer of green magic. Once, he had gone as far as feigning a “sudden illness,” complete with a convincing pallor and a strategically weakened gait. 

But none of that worked.

Loki suspected that Stark’s Artificial Intelligence, F.R.I.D.A.Y., was in league with Thor, keeping tabs on his every move and dutifully reporting his attempts to escape. Every time he tried to slip through the cracks, a disembodied voice would politely but firmly inform Thor of his absence. Loki didn’t have proof, but he had a sneaking suspicion that Stark had programmed the AI specifically to torment him.

Without fail, his brother would drag him back to the fluorescent-lit hellhole of the gym, wielding Mjolnir like a schoolteacher brandishing a ruler. Loki suspected that Thor took far too much joy in these acts, his booming laughter often echoing through the gym as he tossed Loki over his shoulder like a sack of flour.

“Brother,” Thor would say, his voice tinged with amusement as he brandished Mjolnir, “you may think yourself above this, but if you wish to remain part of this team, you will endure it like the rest of us.”

And so, Loki endured, dragged back to the fluorescent-lit purgatory of the gym time and time again.

But if the clanging weights and Thor’s incessant laughter grated on Loki, nothing annoyed him more than you.

You were his antithesis in every conceivable way. Where Loki saw the gym as a prison, you saw it as a sanctuary. You thrived there, radiating an energy that he found both baffling and irritating. You weren’t loud like Thor, nor were you the silent, brooding type like Bucky. Instead, you were relentless—a force of nature who tackled workouts with a precision that rivaled Clint’s arrows.

You always seemed to have an easy smile, a flicker of amusement dancing in your eyes as you darted between machines or launched into another grueling set. You approached every workout with enthusiasm, treating each challenge like a personal battle to be won. Your determination was palpable, your focus unshakeable. But it wasn’t your dedication to the gym that truly got under Loki’s skin; it was your attitude.

You had no qualms about speaking your mind, and you were quick to match Loki’s biting sarcasm with quips of your own. Your sharp tongue, paired with your unflappable demeanor, made you a particularly fun target for Loki’s antics. He found your relentless optimism grating, and your tendency to challenge him downright infuriating. But it was precisely these traits that made you so... fun to provoke.

Quite frankly, he found solace in riling you up.

All he had to do was comment on your form, or question the weight you were lifting, and you would rise to the bait every time. It was, he supposed, the only thing that made these wretched sessions bearable.

Of course, he didn’t think much of you beyond that. You were a mortal, after all. A clever one, perhaps, but still mortal. The fact that you managed to worm your way under his skin so easily was simply a testament to his boredom, nothing more.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

Loki had discovered this during his very first group session. You had called him out—publicly, no less—for standing idly by while the rest of the team warmed up.

“What’s the matter, Princess?” you had teased, hands on your hips. “Afraid you’ll chip a nail?”

The room had gone silent, all eyes darting between you and the god as they waited for his response. 

The corner of his mouth had twitched, a glimmer of amusement flashing in his emerald eyes. “Hardly,” he drawled, his voice as smooth as silk. “But I fail to see the point of mimicking your primitive rituals when I could achieve the same results with a flick of my magic.”

“Oh, sure,” you had shot back, unperturbed. “Because magic’s going to save your ass when you’re out of breath halfway through a chase.”

The tension broke with Thor’s booming laugh, followed by Steve’s approving nod.

From that day on, it had become a game between the two of you. He would conjure illusions to distract you mid-set, question your form with exaggerated disdain, or mutter sarcastic comments just loud enough for you to hear. For all his protests, Loki found himself looking forward to these exchanges. You were clever, sharper than most mortals, and your unflappable confidence intrigued him.

And you? You gave as good as you got. You’d roll your eyes at his dramatics, challenge him to exercises he clearly despised, or make snide remarks about his “delicate Asgardian constitution.”

It was all in good fun—or so you told yourself.

The peculiarity of your training wasn’t just the intensity or the focus—it was the way you turned the gym into your runway. Where others wore functional athletic gear, you brought a level of fashion that could only be described as couture-meets-athleisure. You had an eye for proportions and colors, pairing fitted leggings with chic cropped tops, effortlessly layering with lightweight jackets, or wearing statement sneakers that seemed designed to catch the light just right. Even in the middle of a grueling set, you exuded confidence, every movement precise and deliberate, every outfit an unspoken declaration: I own this space.

You knew you looked good. Whether or not you consciously acknowledged the wandering eyes that followed you, you thrived on the attention, making it clear—without ever saying a word—that you were the reigning queen of the gym. There was a proud tilt to your chin, a glimmer in your eyes as you caught your reflection in the mirrors, as if silently reminding yourself that you had earned this. And for good reason. The way you carried yourself was a testament to your hard work, a visual declaration of pride in your strength and discipline.

Even Loki, who had spent most of his time mocking your relentless energy and discipline, could not deny the appeal. His sharp tongue rarely stilled when you were around, but more often than not, it masked the moments when his eyes lingered a fraction too long. He told himself it was merely curiosity—analyzing your absurd obsession with turning every mundane workout into a parade of style and flair. Yet, there were times, in between his biting remarks, when he caught himself watching you with a strange mix of irritation and intrigue, noting the way the faint sheen of sweat only seemed to enhance your glow rather than detract from it.

The more he observed, the more he realized just how much you enjoyed being the center of attention. Not in a boastful or arrogant way, but with a quiet confidence that made it clear you knew you were admired. And that, of course, irked him to no end. You had claimed a throne he hadn’t even realized existed until now—the crown of the gym’s fashion icon, the darling of the Avengers' collective admiration.

Loki was no stranger to attention. He had spent centuries perfecting the art of standing out, whether in Asgard’s golden halls or Midgard’s bustling cities. His wardrobe was a testament to his vanity: sleek, tailored suits, flowing robes, sharp leathers—whatever suited the weather, his mood or the gender he chose to embody for the day. He prided himself on his taste, on his ability to effortlessly outshine others with his sense of style. He was, after all, a god. If anyone could dethrone you, it would be him.

The idea took root almost immediately: Loki would dethrone you as the gym’s reigning fashionista. It wasn’t about vanity—well, perhaps it was—but it was also about proving a point. If anyone deserved to claim the title of sartorial excellence, it was him. The God of Mischief would reign supreme, even in this mundane, sweat-soaked realm.

He decided right then and there that this wasn’t just about workouts anymore. This was war.

And Loki? He intended to win.

After all, he was always destined to be king. What’s another throne stolen, if only a metaphorical one?

⠀

⠀

The first Friday Loki launched his attack was one for the books.

The gym buzzed with the familiar sounds of clanking weights, motivational shouts, and the hum of treadmills. Steve was barking out orders to a pair of rookies who were trying to figure out how to do a proper squat, Thor was loudly boasting about his ability to deadlift more than any mortal in the room, and Tony—typical Tony—was multitasking on the treadmill, holding a holographic interface in one hand while doing intervals. You and Natasha had just finished a punishing round of planks and were at the juice bar, catching your breath and swapping jokes about the ridiculous amount of protein shakes people seemed to consume in this place.

Her sharp wit and easy banter were usually more than enough to distract you from any physical discomfort, but not today.

Even Natasha couldn’t hold your attention when he walked in.

You noticed the shift in the air before you even saw him. At first, you didn’t quite register what was happening. It was subtle, like a wave of electricity passing through the room. Conversations slowed. People’s movements faltered for a split second. Even the sound of clanging weights seemed to dull slightly, as if the gym collectively held its breath in anticipation. You could feel eyes shifting toward the entrance, and when you looked over, you nearly choked on your spit.

There he was.

Loki Laufeyson, God of Mischief, Prince of Asgard, and notorious gym hater, strolled into the gym like it was his personal parade. You’d seen him here before, of course. Usually, he lingered in the background, arms folded, observing Thor’s attempts to get him involved in some sibling rivalry over strength. But today? Today was different.

For one, he wasn’t wearing his usual dark leathers or Asgardian garb. Instead, he had opted for what could only be described as a masterclass in Midgardian gym couture. A black compression tank clung to his lean, lithe frame like it was painted on, emphasizing every sculpted muscle with effortless precision. The deep armholes revealed teasing glimpses of his toned sides, and the dark fabric set off his alabaster skin in an almost unfair way.

The material emphasized his toned arms, his chest, and the subtle flex of his abs when he moved. Every inch of him was artfully showcased, and it seemed to have the exact effect he was after. The room was practically buzzing with appreciative glances.

But that wasn’t even the most distracting part.

His joggers—dark, fitted, and stretching just enough over his thighs—hugged his legs in a way that could only be described as sinful. They tapered neatly at the ankles, revealing his bare feet, adorned in simple black trainers. A few people did a double-take, but you, of course, noticed all of it. And you hated how your eyes traced the lines of his body despite yourself.

And then there was his hair.

Usually wild and untamed, his raven locks were now swept back into a low, effortlessly messy bun. It looked like he had spent exactly five seconds on it, yet it was somehow perfect. Casual but purposeful, messy but precise. And for reasons you couldn’t entirely explain, it made your stomach flutter in a way you definitely didn’t want to admit.

“He’s up to something,” you muttered, narrowing your eyes at him.  “And I don’t like it.”

You didn’t realize you were staring so intently at him until Natasha spoke.

“What gave it away?” she asked with a sly grin, lifting her protein shake to her lips. “The way he’s strutting across the room like he’s starring in a fashion show, or the fact that his outfit looks like something straight off a GQ cover?”

"That’s the thing," you sneered under your breath, huffing as you crossed your arms. "He’s way too comfortable here."

Natasha just quirked an eyebrow and chuckled. “Uh-huh. You know, I always wondered if he could look that good without his usual dramatic flair. Turns out, he’s even more distracting in gym gear than in his Asgardian getup.”

Your scowl deepened as Loki’s gaze swept lazily across the gym, lingering for just a moment too long when it reached you. He tilted his head, his smirk curving even further, before continuing his casual prowl toward the free weights.

“He’s not even here to work out,” you said, turning back to Natasha.

“Of course he’s not,” she replied, her lips quirking into a sly smile. “He’s here to annoy you. And judging by the way you’re staring at him, it’s working.”

You shot Natasha a sharp look, but her grin only widened. She was thoroughly enjoying this. You had to admit, Loki's presence was causing more of a stir than you'd anticipated, and despite your best efforts, your eyes kept drifting back to him.

He was moving through the gym now, his casual stride somehow managing to command attention in a place filled with some of the strongest people you knew. He wasn’t even trying, and that made it worse.

“I am not staring,” you hissed, trying to desperately convince yourself while jerking your eyes away from him and fixing them firmly on Natasha.

She raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Sure you’re not. But hey, I get it. The hair’s doing things. The arms, too.”

“Natasha.”

“What? I’m just saying, he’s got the whole ‘tall, dark and handsome in gym gear’ thing down. Maybe that’s the real mischief—making everyone forget they’re supposed to be lifting weights and not staring at him. It’s distracting. And you’re totally distracted.”

"Not happening," you retorted, but your voice was a little less convincing than you wanted it to be. You couldn’t deny that the sight of Loki in a fitted tank top that clung just right to his lean frame, revealing the subtle play of muscles beneath, was an attention-grabber. His joggers did nothing to mask the long, graceful lines of his legs, and as he moved, you found yourself noticing details you'd previously managed to ignore: the effortless way his black hair framed his face, the glint in his eyes that always seemed to carry a secret he was more than happy to keep.

Loki seemed aware of the effect he was having, too. When his gaze flicked toward you again, the smirk curling at the corners of his lips was downright smug. He knew, and he reveled in it. You braced yourself, straightening up and setting your shoulders as his long strides carried him across the gym floor. He stopped in front of you, arms crossed over his chest, his smirk firmly in place.

“Enjoying the view, pet?” His voice was smooth and rich, and you hated the way it sent a shiver down your spine. You mirrored his position and also crossed your arms, tilting your head as you glared up at him.

“Hardly,” you shot back. “I was just wondering if you’d finally decided to try blending in with the rest of us mortals.”

“Ah, yes,” he drawled, glancing down at his outfit with mock curiosity. “Midgardian spandex. Quite the cultural achievement. Though I must admit, it’s a step up from those garish uniforms Stark insists upon.”

You rolled your eyes, but the heat creeping up your neck betrayed you. “You look like you’re about to pose for GQ, not lift weights.”

Loki leaned a little closer, his smirk never faltering. “I’m afraid you’re simply crossed that the star of today’s show is most certainly me." His eyes glittered with amusement as they swept down your form before meeting yours again. "You’re not the first to notice. But don’t worry, I’m used to the attention.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but Natasha cut in with a snort of laughter.

“Alright, you two, break it up,” she said, waving her hand between you like a referee. “Some of us are here to actually work out.”

Loki’s smirk didn’t falter as he straightened, his green eyes flicking to Natasha with a glint of amusement. “Far be it from me to interrupt such noble pursuits, Agent Romanoff.” He turned back to you, his gaze lingering just a moment too long. “Try not to let me distract you, pet.”

And with that, he sauntered off toward the free weights, his long strides and effortless grace drawing more than a few admiring glances as he went.

Natasha watched him go, then turned to you with a knowing grin. “You’re blushing.”

“I am not,” you snapped, though the blood rushing up your face betrayed you.

“Right,” Natasha interrupted, sounding far too amused for her own good. “Maybe you could distract yourself from him for a second, unless of course, you’re planning to throw yourself at him like everyone else.” She waved a hand, rolling her eyes dramatically.

“Natasha!” you hissed, but it didn’t have the desired effect—she was grinning from ear to ear.

“Don’t deny it,” she slyly replied as she sipped her shake. “You know, I’ve seen him make a lot of people mad, but I’ve never seen him this dedicated to pissing someone off. Congrats, I guess?”

“He’s not pissing me off,” you muttered, glaring at Loki’s retreating back. “He’s just… annoying.”

“Sure,” Natasha said, smirking.

Before you could formulate any kind of retort, a low whistle cut through the air. You turned toward the sound just in time to see Loki doing overhead presses with a pair of heavy dumbbells. His presence seemed to have an almost magnetic pull, and as he passed by a group of agents, several of them couldn’t help but glance at him—some even a little too long, caught in the spell of his unnerving charisma. His movements were slow and controlled, every line of his body radiating strength and precision. The tight top did little to hide the way his muscles flexed with each lift, and the sheen of sweat on his skin only seemed to amplify the effect.

One of the agents passing by all but stopped in his tracks, staring openly at him with wide eyes. Loki, as always, was quick to notice. He paused in the middle of his walk, glancing over his shoulder, his lips curling into a devilish smirk.

“Oh dear, careful there,” he called out, his voice smooth and teasing. “You might want to watch where you’re looking. I’d hate for a fetching creature like you to trip over the lingering effect of my charm.”

The agent, a relatively new recruit, blushed crimson and stumbled in his walk, fumbling with his dumbbell as if it had suddenly gained weight. Loki’s smile only widened as he slowly lowered his gaze to the ground, as if examining his almost clumsy reaction.

“Ah,” he said with mock disappointment, “we wouldn’t want to add embarrassment to your list of misfortunes, would we?”

The poor man muttered something incoherent, cheeks burning brighter as he hurried away, his awkwardness palpable. Loki’s chuckle, soft and teasing, echoed in the air behind him, and he turned back to his dumbbells with the ease of someone who had just won a victory in an ongoing game.

“Oh my god,” Natasha groaned, half-amused, half-exasperated. “You have to go give him a taste of his own medicine.”

You glared at the back of Loki's head, watching him grab a towel and casually drape it over his shoulder, his arrogance practically dripping from every movement.

“You’re right. Game on,” you muttered, pushing yourself up from your seat and striding toward him with quiet determination. If he wanted to play this game, you were more than ready to beat him at it.

Natasha laughed, clearly enjoying the spectacle. “That’s the spirit. Now go wipe that smug grin off his face.”

As you approached, you saw Loki glance over at you, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly as a grin tugged at the corners of his lips. He was expecting you.

“Ah, she finally manifests herself,” he began, tilting his head slightly, “come to join the ranks of my admirers? Or is this simply an opportunity for you to bask in my presence?"

You shot him a look of feigned disinterest, crossing your arms over your chest as you leaned against the free weights beside him.

“Not exactly,” you replied coolly. “I just wanted to see if you’d been working on your form, or if you were still too busy flexing in the mirror.”

Loki chuckled, a rich sound that practically oozed with self-assurance. “Ah, I see,” he said slowly, leaning in just a little, enough to lower his voice to a near-whisper. “So you’re one of those who prefers to focus on technique over the end result. Admirable. But I must confess…” He leaned closer still, until his lips were just inches from your ear. “The result is the technique.”

You felt a flare of heat rush to your face, but you refused to let him see it. Instead, you gave him a pointed look, stepping back and crossing your arms more firmly. “Keep telling yourself that,” you said, offering him a smirk of your own. “But if you’re planning to keep distracting everyone with your ‘technique,’ maybe you should get a private room. The rest of us are here to work.”

Loki’s eyes gleamed with mischief as he straightened up, flicking his towel over his shoulder and sending you an almost playful glance. “Oh, I do love a challenge,” he murmured, as though the words were a promise, and then he effortlessly turned away to continue his workout.You stood there, your mind still swirling with that smug little smirk and the way his breath had brushed so close to your skin. It was far from over, and you had no intention of letting him think he’d won this round. Game on, Trickster.

⠀

⠀

The second Friday had a palpable tension in the air, as if everyone knew something was going to shift today, but no one knew exactly how. The gym was quieter than usual, with a sense of anticipation hanging over the team like a thick fog. You, however, had a different idea for today. You weren’t the same as the others—always polished, always well put-together in some way, but today you were about to leave everyone guessing.

You walked into the room in an outfit that could not have been further from your usual appearance. Your sweatpants were a dull gray, high-waisted and hanging just right on your frame, but enough to leave the wandering eye guessing about the shape of your form. The hoodie you wore was oversized, swallowing your frame, the sleeves long enough to hang just past your fingertips. The hoodie’s color was muted, and the cap pulled up over your head was the only thing that hinted at the familiar sense of control you usually had. Your hair was left down today, cascading in soft waves, slightly tangled from the lack of attention yet still effortlessly styled. There was no sleekness, no polished edge to your look—just simplicity and ease. Somehow, it worked, and there was a quiet power in how little effort it seemed to take.

You casually crossed the gym toward the wall, water bottle in hand, and you could already feel the eyes of your teammates following you. The contrast between your normal, tightly controlled persona and the relaxed, effortless confidence you radiated today was enough to make anyone pause and take notice. But the person you were waiting for—the one you knew would be most affected by your transformation—was Loki.

Sure enough, not long after, said god walked in. His usual tight-fitting black workout gear was his go-to for showing off, the sleek fabric hugging his frame, every movement emphasizing the muscles that rippled beneath the material. But today, unlike last week when he had gone for a polished yet sharp look, Loki’s attention seemed caught somewhere between sizing you up and attempting to keep his usual air of superiority.

As he entered the gym, his eyes immediately flicked over to you. You were sitting cross-legged against the wall, deep in conversation with Bucky. His sharp gaze narrowed, and the familiar smirk—half taunt, half self-assured—made its way to his lips. Loki sauntered toward you with that characteristic air of confidence, almost like he had an agenda that involved rubbing your nose in it.

"Quite the shift in wardrobe, isn’t it?" Loki’s voice cut through your conversation, dripping with that same playful taunt. “Did last week’s little performance leave you with a sudden desire to renounce attention? Perhaps you're now looking to blend in, like a shadow?”

Your lips quirked up in a sly smile as you took a slow sip from your water bottle, not even bothering to look up at him right away. The only acknowledgment you gave him was a slight raise of your eyebrow, eyes still trained on Bucky as you finished your conversation with him. The lack of immediate reaction seemed to throw Loki off, just as you had intended.

The soldier standing beside you shot a look at Loki, his grin widening. “Careful, puny god,” he intervened, his voice a little too amused. “You’re starting to sound like one of those bad guys in the movies who can’t get the girl’s attention, and it’s driving him crazy.”

You suppressed a chuckle, casting a brief glance at your companion before returning your attention to the task at hand. Loki, however, wasn’t so easily dismissed. His gaze lingered on you, searching for a hint of reaction.

“Oh, Loki,” you replied casually, meeting his gaze only after taking your time. “Not everything has to be a performance. Some of us are just here to focus."

The words were simple, but there was an underlying confidence in them that made Loki’s smirk falter for a fraction of a second. He tilted his head slightly, his sharp green eyes narrowing as he tried to process your response. He wasn’t used to being ignored or dismissed in such a calm manner, especially by you. It was a reaction you’d like getting used to, and you couldn’t help but feel a bit smug about it. Loki, the god who prided himself on control, was already thrown off by your indifference.

Before he could respond, Steve’s voice rang out across the gym, cutting through the tension.

“Alright, Avengers, time to assemble!” Steve called, and immediately, the atmosphere shifted as everyone gathered to form pairs. You could hear the shuffle of feet and the sound of various team members cracking their knuckles, ready for the workout ahead.

You stretched your arms overhead, muscles extending lazily. You had no intention of getting up nor getting overly involved in today’s sparring session, not unless it was absolutely necessary. 

“Think I’ll stay over there today,” you said in your usual low, steady voice. “Proximity combat is a little too personal for me, anyway. I prefer to prepare mentally first.”

Steve shot you a wry smile. “I understand, [Y/N], but this is hands-on. Come on, get in there. The more you work with the team, the better.”

You sighed, rolling your eyes dramatically but without actually showing any reluctance. “Don’t worry about me, Cap, I’ll be fine. I already did my warm-up, anyway.”

Loki, who had been watching the exchange, raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised that you weren’t jumping at the chance to compete. “Oh, please. You can’t tell me you're actually avoiding the fight today.”

You gave him a look that was more bemused than anything else, the faintest smirk playing at the corner of your lips. “Not avoiding anything. Just taking my time. We all have our methods.”

You had never been one to show off, but you could tell that he was getting increasingly intrigued by your laid-back confidence. He didn’t know how to react when you weren’t playing his usual game. You weren’t worried about the training session itself, but Loki was. He was keenly aware of the dynamic, especially when the pairs were being called up.

"Tell me, does the simplicity of your attire reflect the simplicity of your game?" Loki asked, his voice smooth like velvet, but with a sharp edge that betrayed his curiosity. His eyes scanned you, lingering for a moment longer than they should have, his smirk never faltering.

You glanced over, a slow, amused smile tugging at your lips. "You’ll find out soon enough, Loki. When it’s my turn."

“Is this some sort of riddle?” he asked, his tone darkening, a hint of annoyance creeping in. “You think you can just dismiss me like I’m some passing distraction?”

You simply smirked, taking another casual sip of water, making a show of it to further ruffle his feathers. “Not a game, Loki. Just not interested in playing along today.”

Bucky desperately tried to hide his growing smirk as he nudged you playfully. “Ouch, man. Looks like you’re losing her to the whole 'I’m too cool for you' vibe.” He could barely keep his voice steady as he watched the Asgardian scowl.

He was so used to being the one in control of the situation, not the one scrambling to keep up. And now, it seemed you were throwing him off his game entirely, which only served to heighten his fascination with you.

With one last glance at the two of you, Loki muttered under his breath, “This isn’t over.” The tension was palpable, but before he could say anything more, Steve’s voice called out, signaling the start of the upcoming matches.

The duos for the first round were quickly formed, each chosen based on skill sets, strengths, and weaknesses. The first pair to face off was Loki and Sam, and as the match began, it was immediately clear that Loki was in his element. Every move he made was calculated, and fluid, his body working in perfect harmony with his sharp instincts. There was an intensity to his movements that commanded attention—the way he twisted with the grace of a predator, the elegance of someone who had trained in the art of deception and control for centuries. His magic flickered at the edges, as if it too was eager to lend him an edge. It wasn’t long before Sam found himself outclassed, Loki easily outmaneuvering him with a mixture of skill and playfulness that left no room for doubt. The moment Sam stumbled, Loki was there, his victory secured with minimal effort, a smirk already forming on his lips as he looked down at his defeated opponent.

He strode toward the sidelines, his posture exaggerated with pride, every step oozing with the quiet confidence of someone who knew exactly what he was capable of. He could practically feel the attention of the room on him, the admiration of his peers—it was a familiar sensation.

But when his eyes sought out yours, expecting to find at least some hint of acknowledgment, he was met with the unexpected: you were looking at Bucky, engaged in a casual conversation with him. You weren’t watching him. Not even a passing glance. Your attention was fully on Bucky, your face soft with that effortless smile you reserved only for certain people. It made Loki pause mid-stride, his brows furrowing as he tried to reconcile the fact that, for once, you seemed completely uninterested in his performance.

He felt a strange unease twist in his chest, something he couldn’t quite place. The indifference you showed was almost palpable, and it hit harder than any of the quips or taunts that usually got under his skin. Surely, you just hadn’t noticed? Or maybe you were playing coy, pretending to be unimpressed? The thought made him grin a little wider, but the feeling gnawing at him didn’t go away. You weren't looking at him, and it wasn’t just that—there was something in the way you laughed with the soldier, something that made him feel like an outsider, a player who had been left on the bench.

His eyes narrowed, and without thinking, he shifted his attention back to Sam who was still recovering from their match, his expression darkening. He wasn’t used to this. To this feeling of being... disregarded. Of being ordinary.

Bucky leaned in closer to you, his voice low and teasing. “Think you’ve got him rattled already?”

You shrugged nonchalantly, finally giving him a small, playful look. “Could be. I want to think so, but I don’t want to give him the pleasure of looking at him and making it seem like I care about his reaction.”

“Well, this should be fun,” Bucky said in a low voice, enough so only you could hear him. “Loki’s not used to being ignored, is he?”

You shot him a dry look. “Not in the slightest.”

Bucky chuckled softly, his tone full of amusement. “Must be getting a rude awakening, then.”

Your indifference was practically driving said god crazy, and he scowled even deeper when Steve called your name to get into position for the next match. "Oh come on, not now," you muttered, rolling your eyes. "Is it really necessary?"

The blonde’s usual cap-tipped grin only deepened. "Yes, now get moving."

Bucky gave you a small, encouraging nod. “You’ve got this,” he said with a grin that suggested he knew exactly that they were all in for a spectacle. “Show him what you’re made of.”

With an exaggerated sigh that seemed to draw every eye in the gym, you smoothly rose from the ground, taking your time. Every step was measured, as if you weren’t in any rush to show what you were capable of. The others could feel the shift in the air around you, the subtle yet undeniable presence that you commanded without a single word. You could practically feel the way Loki’s eyes followed every movement you made, but you didn’t let it faze you. 

Slowly, deliberately, you pulled your hoodie off. The gym, which had been buzzing with conversation and the light sounds of stretching, seemed to pause as every set of eyes turned toward you. The motion was so effortless, it almost seemed like choreography, and as the fabric slipped away from your body, revealing what was underneath, there was a collective shift in the air.

The defined lines of your abs came into view first, marking your taut skin that spoke of years of dedication, strength and control. The tight sports bra you wore accentuated every curve, every inch of muscle you had worked so hard to sculpt. Your sweatpants, low-slung and hanging just enough to showcase the V-lines that traced your inner thighs, fit you in a way that didn’t demand attention—but it certainly garnered it. The room seemed to suddenly lack air, and you could feel the temperature rise as the atmosphere shifted from casual banter to a raw, electric tension.

Loki’s gaze immediately swept over you, his pupils dilating as he took in the full scope of your appearance. His eyes flicked all the way down your body, then traced back up to your face, but it was the way he was looking—like he couldn’t quite focus on any one part of you—that gave you a clue to how he was feeling. His sharp breath, barely audible in the silence, was the only sound you could hear over the thumping of your own heart, but the way his chest rose and fell gave away more than words ever could. He wasn’t prepared for this. He hadn’t expected you to be... so revealing.

You dramatically tossed the hoodie back to your previous spot, where Bucky effortlessly caught it mid-air. With a playful smirk, he let out a teasing wolf whistle, clearly amused by the scene. “Damn, doll,” he called you out with a grin. “Lookin’ like a fine piece of art over here.”

Loki’s head snapped toward him, his eyes narrowing dangerously. “Must you be so uncouth, Barnes?” he bit out, his tone sharp but laced with just a hint of indignation. The faint twitch in his jaw betrayed the irritation simmering beneath his cool facade, though whether it was directed at Bucky or his flustered reaction, even Loki couldn’t quite say.

Bucky, entirely unfazed, chuckled and tossed the hoodie onto the bench. “Relax, snowflake. Just calling it like I see it.”

You reached up to gather your hair into a ponytail in a swift and efficient movement, but there was a quiet grace to it that only added to the overall aura you exuded. The way your muscles flexed as you tied it back, the fluidity of the motion, all of it seemed effortless, second nature to you. It was all the more striking against Loki’s own dramatic flair—theatrical, exaggerated, designed to draw eyes to him. He was used to being the one who commanded the room with a mere flick of his wrist, the one who could manipulate and control with his every movement. But now? Now, it was your body that spoke louder than any words or gestures ever could.

Loki's breath hitched imperceptibly, a momentary lapse in his carefully constructed composure.  His jaw tightened, his body tensing as he tried to regain control of himself, his eyes momentarily lingering longer than they should on the soft curve of your waist, the way your hips swayed when you took your first step toward the arena. Every part of you, every inch of skin and muscle, seemed to demand attention—yet, you didn’t seem to care about it. You were focused, your steps silent but certain as you advanced toward the battleground, the confidence in your stride undeniable.

You reached the center of the arena and gave him one last, almost imperceptible glance, and that was enough to make him falter. His heart rate had picked up, and he cursed under his breath. His usual self-assurance had wavered, replaced by an unfamiliar unease. There was something about the way you carried yourself—like you were a force of nature, untouchable, yet impossible to ignore—that rattled him in a way that very few people had. He could feel his composure cracking under the weight of the attention you hadn’t even realized you were commanding.

The arena buzzed again, the murmur of voices rising as your opponent—the one who would face you next—looked on, unsure whether to be impressed or intimidated. But Loki, for all his control, could not shake the feeling that he was the one standing on unstable ground.

And then, Steve announced the match-up.

“Loki and [Y/N], your turn.”

Loki’s eyes narrowed as he turned his attention toward you, his smirk faltering for just a split second. It was subtle, but it was there—an almost imperceptible shift in his usual confidence. He watched you move into position, calm and collected, your very presence seemed to knock him off balance. The way you stood there, completely unaffected by his earlier display, only served to fan the flames in his mind.

He couldn’t let you get away with this. Not again. Not when you were so effortlessly pulling his attention in every direction, when your quiet strength was becoming impossible to ignore. The playful taunt he had been intending to throw your way now carried an undercurrent of something he couldn’t quite acknowledge, but still something that bothered him. He knew what it was, even if he didn’t want to admit it. It was frustration. 

“Ready to taste defeat, pet?” Loki’s voice rang out, smooth and velvety, laced with both a challenge and amusement. The words slipped effortlessly from his tongue, but beneath the surface, the slight tremor of frustration lingered. His green eyes watched you intently, like a predator sizing up its prey, but there was something more. Something you couldn’t quite define, but you could feel it crawling beneath the surface.

You tilted your head slightly, the movement small but deliberate, eyes narrowing just the slightest as your lips quirked upward in a knowing smile. Your posture remained relaxed, but there was a steel edge to the way you carried yourself now—a quiet strength that seemed to radiate outward. You could feel the way the entire gym was watching, how every inch of focus had shifted onto the two of you, but you didn’t let it faze you. Your gaze met his without hesitation, and you matched his playful tone with one of your own, voice light but carrying an underlying confidence that made it clear you were anything but intimidated.

“I’m not the one aching for a taste of something, Trickster,” you replied smoothly, the words slipping off your tongue like a promise. The glint in your eye—the challenging, unwavering look that met his—spoke volumes. You weren’t just here to go through the motions. You weren’t here to entertain him, or anyone else. You were here to prove something. “I’ve been waiting for this.”

Loki's smirk faltered for just a fraction of a second, the faintest hint of surprise at the blatant innuendo flickering across his face before it vanished. He recovered quickly, though, leaning into the moment as his expression shifted into something far more dangerous—half amusement, half intrigued.

“Careful now,” he growled, his voice lowering ever so slightly, the edges smoother than before but carrying an unmistakable sharpness. The faint flush creeping up his neck betrayed him, but his gaze never wavered, studying you like you were a puzzle he hadn’t quite solved. “Promises like that tend to come with consequences.”

The words hung in the air between you, thick with meaning. It wasn’t a threat; it was a statement of intent. You were ready for this moment, for the challenge he presented, and you weren’t backing down. Your cool demeanor only served to heighten the electric tension between you. He could feel it now—how you were playing him at his own game, how your words and actions were slowly chipping away at the armor of self-assurance he’d spent so long building.

Bucky stood near the sidelines, arms crossed casually over his chest as he kept his gaze fixed on the two of you. His focus never wavered as he observed the back-and-forth between you and Loki. There was something electric in the air, and he couldn’t help but feel a little more invested in the outcome than he expected. 

With a wry grin tugging at the corner of his lips, Bucky leaned in toward Steve, who had been quietly watching the exchange with growing interest. He whispered under his breath, careful not to break the flow of the moment, but unable to hide the amusement in his voice. “I think she’s got him right where she wants him.”

Steve glanced over at him, brow slightly raised in curiosity and a smirk already playing at the corners of his mouth, betraying his ever-serious Captain demeanor. “You think so?”

Bucky nodded, eyes flicking back to you as you casually prepared for the sparring match by wrapping your knuckles, your body language practically dripping with self-assurance. “Oh yeah, definitely,” he assured, voice low but filled with confidence. “Loki’s too used to getting the upper hand in these things, but this time she’s challenging him for the spot. And you can tell he’s not sure how to handle it.”

Steve’s eyes followed the scene with a thoughtful expression, the wheels turning in his head as he took in the dynamic. He gave his best friend a knowing glance, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Well, let’s see how she handles it,” he said, voice laced with a quiet confidence of his own. “Kid’s got a good head on her shoulders.”

The atmosphere in the gym felt electrified, thick with the unspoken tension between you and Loki. The sharp clang of Steve's voice signaling the start of the match barely registered as your focus narrowed on his every movement. His sharp gaze stayed locked on you, calculating and predatory, his posture deceptively relaxed but ready to strike.

True to form, Loki made the first move, his steps smooth and predatory as he closed the gap with surprising speed. He didn’t waste time, weaving in with a series of feints meant to throw you off. But you didn’t flinch. Instead, you shifted closer into his range in grand audacity, your movements fluid and unyielding as you met him head-on. The sharp crack of his elbow slicing through the air missed its mark as you deflected it with a quick parry, your forearm brushing his as you stepped into his space.

Loki’s lips quirked upward, a sly smirk tugging at the corners. “Not bad,” he slipped in, his voice smooth and low, as though he was testing you and complimenting you at the same time.

But you didn’t give him the satisfaction of a response. You used the momentum of his strike to pivot, bringing your body closer to his, forcing him to retreat a step. The shift in proximity wasn’t lost on him, and you caught the flicker of surprise that darted across his features before his mask of confidence returned.

He countered quickly, twisting to trap your wrist in an attempt to throw you off balance, but you slipped free, ducking low and sweeping a leg toward his. Loki leaped back to avoid the sweep, his quick reflexes saving him from the mat, but the action pushed him further off his rhythm.

Your advantage grew as the fight devolved into sharp close combat, every movement a test of speed and control. Loki was fast, his strikes calculated and deliberate, but you were faster, your motions seamless as you anticipated his next move. Each block, deflection, and strike left him recalibrating, searching for an opening that simply wasn’t there.

You could see the irritation brewing in his expression, the sharp edge in his narrowed eyes as his breath came heavier. He wasn’t used to being outmaneuvered, least of all so consistently. You could practically feel the frustration radiating off him.

“Frustrated already?” you teased, your voice light but challenging as you ducked under another swipe and leaned in close, your breath brushing against his jaw for just a second before you danced back out of reach.

Loki’s jaw tightened, his smirk slipping for the first time as his focus sharpened. He surged forward suddenly, his arms locking around your wrist to pull you off balance, but you twisted fluidly, your bodies nearly colliding as you maneuvered out of the hold. The shift brought you chest to chest for a brief second, the proximity enough to unnerve even Loki.

“Come on, Trickster,” you taunted, your voice dropping just slightly as you glanced up at him through your lashes. “Is that all you’ve got?”

The faint pink that crept up his neck wasn’t missed. His grip faltered, just slightly, but it was enough. You capitalized instantly, slipping free and ducking beneath his arm. Before he could react, you shifted close again, pressing your palm to his chest—not hard, just enough to distract him. And then, with a smirk that he didn’t quite know how to interpret, you did the unexpected: you leaned in, just enough for your lips to brush the shell of his ear.

“Gotcha,” you whispered.

It was barely a breath, a fleeting moment, but it sent him reeling. His entire body stiffened, caught entirely off guard by the motion, and his split-second hesitation was all you needed. Twisting sharply, you hooked your leg behind his and used your momentum to pull him off balance. Loki stumbled, his footing completely lost as his back hit the mat with a thud.

You stepped back, grinning down at him as you straightened, your breath steady despite the exertion. You watched as his chest rose and fell sharply, his flushed face half-hidden beneath the mess of dark hair that had fallen into his eyes.

“Better luck next time,” you said in an almost teasing way, the tension between you growing even thicker. “Though I do appreciate the effort.” The gym was quiet, save for the faint sound of his breath catching in his throat as he tried to regain his composure. You could feel the electricity in the air intensifying, the challenge now fully embraced.

Loki’s eyes burned with frustration, his pride wounded more than he cared to admit. He was a god, accustomed to being the center of attention, controlling every situation with a flick of his wrist and a smirk. But you—you—had managed to completely dismantle that with nothing more than your calm confidence and precision.

His teeth ground together as he shot you a glare, seething with irritation. “You’re playing a dangerous game, [Y/N],” he said, his voice sharp, but there was an undeniable fluster behind the words—his usual control slipping with every passing second. He was not used to being made to look like this, to being outmaneuvered so effortlessly.

You didn’t even seem to acknowledge the weight of his threat, instead smoothly backing off, a casual smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. “What can I say? I like keeping things interesting. Can’t have you getting bored,” you replied, voice light, but with a mischievous twinkle in your eye.

And that was it. The last straw.

Loki, already feeling his temper flare, lunged at you with an almost animal-like snarl, hoping to catch you off guard this time. But you were prepared. The moment he moved, you shifted your weight with that same effortless grace, sidestepping him like he was nothing more than a fly. 

With a flick of your wrist, you sent him crashing down onto the mat, hard.

There was a beat of silence as Loki lay there, chest heaving in disbelief, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. His hair, usually so perfectly styled, was now mussed, and his cloak was askew. The whole scene was a jarring contrast to the image he’d worked so hard to maintain.

He swallowed hard, attempting to steady himself, but the way you stood over him with such quiet authority made it impossible to focus. Your presence was imposing, your posture effortlessly graceful, and every movement you made seemed carefully coordinated. The slight tilt of your head, the faint curve of a smirk on your lips—everything about you exuded control. It was clear you had the upper hand, and the effect it had on him was both unsettling and undeniable. His eyes, despite his best efforts, couldn’t help but be drawn to the way your form exuded power and confidence. The sharp lines of your body, the subtle flex of your abs as you shifted, the slight forward tilt of your pelvis as you crossed your arms—it was all framed perfectly by the soft glow of the gym light, and it hit him like a revelation. He had underestimated you in more ways than one.

Bucky, watching from the sidelines, couldn’t suppress a grin. “Well, that was something alright,” he said, voice dripping with amusement. 

Steve, who’d been quietly observing the exchange, let out a sigh, shaking his head. “This is going to be a long day, isn’t it?”

You glanced at the two of them, your lips curving into an easy smile as you wiped your hands. “Don’t worry about him,” you said lightly, your tone teasing. “He’s just a little startled. He’ll recover.”

Loki, still on the mat, let out a frustrated growl, his face flushed with both anger and something that felt a little too much like embarrassment. He glared up at you, unable to hide the flustered irritation that now flooded his system. He wasn’t used to this. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. He was supposed to be the one in control, the one who had the upper hand. And yet, here he was, on the floor, defeated by someone who had barely broken a sweat.

As you turned to leave, talking with Bucky and Steve, Loki seethed, his body still tense with the humiliation of it all. This is not over, he thought, his mind racing for a way to redeem himself. I will get her back for this.

But for now, he lay there, absolutely flustered, trying to control the mix of emotions swirling inside him—irritation, pride, and a hint of something else he wasn’t ready to confront yet. He quickly stood up, adjusting his clothes and trying to compose himself, but there was no mistaking the flush in his cheeks and the tightness in his jaw.

“Oh, I’ll have my revenge,” Loki muttered to himself, eyes narrowing as he watched you from across the room, his heart still pounding in his chest. “Just wait.”

The 1-1 was marked on Loki’s scorecard, and as he slowly pushed himself up, he scowled, trying to shake off the lingering effect your victory had on him. The amused look you gave him only deepened his irritation, but one thing was clear: this was far from over.You laughed with your compeers, completely oblivious to the storm you’d just stirred up in his mind that began to race with plans, schemes, and the faintest spark of something else—a determination that he would be the one getting the last laugh.

⠀

⠀

You hadn’t seen Loki all week. After that chaotic Friday showdown, you assumed it was finally over—that the tension had reached its peak and now it would settle back into normal gym routines. You’d thought that, maybe, you’d taught him a lesson he wouldn’t forget.

But as you were talking to Sam and Tony, venting your frustration, you heard the unmistakable sound of feline steps hitting the floor. You knew that stride all too well. Of course, it was him. And, of course, he was about to make an entrance.

“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you scoffed, disbelief dripping from your tone. The week of silence had made you forget how intense things could get when Loki was around. You thought you’d dodged a bullet, but it seemed the universe had other plans.

Sam's eyes gleamed with amusement, a slow smile spreading across his face. Tony, on the other hand, barely hid his grin. Both of them knew full well what Loki's reappearance meant.

“Woman, you really thought he was going to let it go after that last little scene?” Sam chuckled, his voice low but full of amusement. He leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms and watching Loki’s every move with a knowing gaze. “The guy’s like a cockroach. You just handed him the perfect reason to come back for more.”

Tony, ever the instigator, didn’t miss a beat. He shot you a teasing grin, leaning in slightly as he waggled his eyebrows. “So, that was quite the performance last Friday,” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm as he gestured between you and the door. “And here I thought you had him all figured out. Looks like I was wrong. Clearly.” He dragged the word out for emphasis, clearly enjoying the aftermath of that heated moment between you and Loki.

Your eyes narrowed at Tony as you placed your hands on your hips, half in annoyance, half in amusement. You couldn't hide the corner of your mouth twitching upward, despite your best efforts to keep the facade of irritation intact. The whole match had been a rollercoaster, and as much as you’d convinced yourself you’d come out on top, you couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that you hadn’t fully won. The mind games, the tension… they were far from over.

“I thought I had the upper hand,” you muttered, rolling your eyes in mock exasperation. “I mean, after that last move, he was the one on the floor looking like he’d been hit by a freight train.” You stopped, catching the flicker of doubt creeping in at the edges of your thoughts. “Guess I underestimated him.”

Tony shook his head, grinning like the cat who got the cream. “Oh no, you’ve got it all wrong, Glamazon. Frosty loved that show. He ate it up. It’s exactly what he needed to get under your skin. You made it too easy. I’m almost impressed.” He jerked his thumb toward the door, where Loki had just entered the gym.

And damn, was it hard to look away.

Loki walked in, his usual air of confidence radiating through every step, like nothing had ever happened. But this time, the outfit was different. Daring, even. He strode into the gym with the kind of assurance that made everyone in the room turn their heads. And there was no denying it—he was flaunting it. The dark green, form-fitting performance shirt clung to his torso in a way that left little to the imagination. The mesh on the sides and back offered tantalizing glimpses of his skin, daring you to look, daring you to react. It wasn’t just the fit—it was the challenge in his very presence.

And then, the shorts. Those shorts. High-slit athletic wear, the gold trim practically glowing against the black fabric. You could feel the heat of your gaze flicker down, almost involuntarily, as the slits revealed a generous portion of his toned thigh, the compression leggings underneath leaving just enough to the imagination. The effect was maddening, and you found yourself completely captivated by the sight.

As he walked by, each step seemed to make the slits ride up higher, exposing more of those muscular thighs. Your gaze lingered a moment longer than you intended. The way his legs flexed with every stride sent an unexpected jolt through you, a wave of heat rushing to your chest. You felt the urge to look away, but it was impossible. The image of his thighs—powerful, perfectly sculpted—began to invade your mind.

A sudden thought hit you, one you couldn't shake. You imagined your hands trailing up those legs, feeling the tension in his muscles, the heat of his skin beneath your fingers. The thought of running your hands over them made your breath catch, your mind racing with vivid fantasies of what it would feel like to be wrapped around those thighs. Get it together, you mentally scolded yourself, but it was too late. The fantasy clung to you like a stubborn shadow.

He was just so damn shameless. And so tempting. Everything about him was designed to taunt, to provoke, to ensnare. And as much as you wanted to resist, your body had other ideas. Loki knew exactly what he was doing—every glance, every step calculated to make you lose control.

You exhaled slowly, trying to regain composure. Two can play at this game, you thought, your mind racing to formulate a response. You weren’t going to back down. Not now.

Sam let out a low whistle, leaning closer to you. “Okay, I see what you’re dealing with,” he said, glancing between you and Loki with a grin. “I don’t know, man, looks like he’s really trying to get under your skin today.” His voice was teasing, but there was a glint of seriousness in his eyes. He knew this wasn’t just about working out—it was about playing mind games. And Loki was very good at them.

Tony, as always, had to add his two cents. “Oh, I get it now. This is one of those ‘play hard to get’ things, huh? You can’t fool us. We all know you’re enjoying the view. The guy practically glows with that outfit. And we all know what happened last Friday... that little show you two put on? No one’s forgotten about it. Puny god sure hasn’t.” He grinned, watching you closely, clearly enjoying how uncomfortable you were getting under the weight of their teasing.

You scowled at him, trying to suppress the heat that was rushing to your cheeks. “We were just messing around,” you muttered, crossing your arms over your chest. “And it was all him, to be fair.”

Tony raised both hands in mock surrender. “Yeah, and I’m the next Pope.” He gave you a knowing look, his grin wide and mischief written all over his face. “I saw the way you two were looking at each other. That wasn’t just a wrestling match, it reeked of flirting. Ew, by the way.”

“Tony, you’re closer to being the Antichrist than the Pope,” you shot back, your voice dry with sarcasm.

You groaned, suddenly aware of the gossip that was circulating among your friends. Sam and Tony had seen through it all—they knew exactly what was going on. And now, they were feeding off of it, enjoying your discomfort.

Loki, however, had already caught wind of the attention he was drawing. As he stepped into the center of the room, his eyes slid over to you, catching your gaze for just a moment. The smirk that tugged at the corner of his lips was nothing short of dangerous. He wasn’t fazed by the gym’s collective attention. In fact, it seemed like he was basking in it, as if this was exactly what he wanted.

Loki gave you a once-over, his gaze lingering longer than necessary. It was as if he knew exactly what was going through your mind. His lips curled into that mischievous smile that always made your stomach do flips. There was something about the way he looked at you—something far more personal than just the game he was playing. And you couldn’t help but notice the gold chain dangling from his neck, glinting in the light. It was subtle, but it caught your attention. And you couldn’t help but imagine how it would feel, how it would look, catching it in your teeth as you—

“Well, then,” Loki’s voice broke through your thoughts, smooth as silk. “I hope you’re ready for round three, my dear. I wouldn’t want to disappoint.”

The words hit you like a wave, and for a moment, you were speechless. He’d been watching you, observing you, knowing exactly what effect he was having. You couldn't suppress the thought that came rushing to your mind: Oh, I’m definitely up for more rounds than you can think of.

And then, just as quickly, the heat rushed to your cheeks in embarrassment. You quickly pushed the thought away, trying to regain your composure.

Sam and Tony exchanged amused glances. They clearly weren’t going to let this go anytime soon.

“I spy with my falcon eye someone looking a little flustered,” Sam said with a raised eyebrow, his tone light but laced with amusement. He glanced over at Loki before turning his attention back to you. “Something you want to share with the class?”

Tony leaned back, crossing his arms as he took in the scene, his grin growing wider. “I don’t know, Tweety. I think we’re witnessing something here.” He looked at Loki and then back at you, practically gleaming with mischief. “It’s like a reality show, but better. Someone cue the theme music.”

You rolled your eyes, your face still warm. “I’m just trying to get through my workout. Can you guys not make this awkward?”

Loki’s gaze flickered between Sam, Tony, and you, his smirk curling deeper. “Ah, I see,” he said smoothly, his voice rich with amusement as he took a step closer. “Trying to keep your cool while the circus goes on around you.” He lingered a moment, eyeing you like a predator sizing up its prey. “But, my dear, there’s no harm in keeping things… entertaining.” His tone dropped lower, almost sultry. “Are you sure you don’t want me to keep you company while you work out? I’ll be here, of course, but don’t let me distract you.”

Sam smirked, his arms still crossed. “Bit too late for that, buddy.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to fight the rush of heat flooding your cheeks. “No, thank you. I’m just trying to get through my session without it turning into a drama show.”

Tony chuckled, looking between you and Loki. “Go on, do your thing, Ms. Olympia. We’ll be here, making sure everything’s as interesting as it can be.”

You huffed, shaking your head at them, desperate to regain some sense of focus. “I can’t even work out with you two around. It’s like I’m in some kind of bad sitcom.”

Loki chuckled darkly behind you, the sound low and wicked. His voice dropped, more teasing now. “Perhaps you’d like me to… help you with that focus issue. It’s a bit hard to concentrate when your thoughts keep wandering, don’t you think?”

Sam let out a low whistle, clearly enjoying this a bit too much. “Ooh, this is good. I’m here for it.”

Tony grinned, raising a thumb up in approval. “Keep it up, you two.”

With that, you turned on your heel and walked toward the leg press machine while grumbling about how you were surrounded by complete fools. You could feel Loki’s eyes following you, the intensity of his gaze almost tangible on your back. You tried to tune it out, but every step you took, every breath you drew, was tainted by the knowledge that he was watching. And it was impossible to ignore.

The air in the gym felt thick with anticipation as you adjusted your position on the leg press machine, trying your best to ignore the electric pull of Loki’s presence just a few feet away. It was supposed to be a simple leg day. Squats, lunges, some basic machines, a few stretches—nothing too exciting. But the way Loki was setting up at the squat rack, his movements so deliberate, made it clear this was no ordinary gym session.

Your mind had barely adjusted when he began his first set, the weight crashing down with a sharp thud. You couldn’t help but glance over, just for a second. His posture was perfect—shoulders broad, chest out, a small hint of a smirk curling at his lips. The man knew how to draw attention, and the workout attire didn’t help either.

But then it started—the thing you had been dreading.

Loki moved to the mat and set up for hip thrusts, his back against the bench, his legs spread wide to grip the weight bar. The moment the weight began to lift, his breath hitched, low and guttural. A soft groan slipped from his lips as he pushed his hips forward, and despite yourself, you glanced over to his form.

Your pulse quickened as you watched his muscles tense, his body arching in that perfect, rhythmic thrust. You tried to tear your eyes away, telling yourself it wasn’t a big deal. It was just an exercise. Just an exercise. Just focus on your own workout.

But it was impossible. The sound of Loki’s breath—those soft, strained groans that seemed to vibrate through the floor—was distracting. Each thrust, each controlled movement of his hips, echoed in your mind. You tried to ignore it, biting your lip as you switched positions and grabbed your weights. Deep breath. In. Out.

You couldn’t.

Every time Loki’s hips rose, there was that groan. That low, guttural sound that was more sensation than sound. It made your skin tingle in ways you couldn’t understand. Your thoughts were already turning to places they shouldn’t. The images, vivid and undeniable, started to form in your mind—hands trailing up your legs, the way his body moved with power, the flex of his muscles beneath your touch.

"Focus," you told yourself, but it was getting harder by the second. You quickly shoved your headphones in, cranking up the volume as loud as it would go. The thumping bass of your playlist should’ve drowned out the world. But it didn’t. Loki’s grunts still filtered through, faint but undeniably there, and now they were mixing with the beat of your music in ways that had you gripping the machine a little too tight.

Stop it, you mentally scolded yourself. It’s just a workout. He’s just... working out.

But the thoughts wouldn’t stop. You couldn’t stop imagining what it would be like to feel those powerful thighs under your hands, your body pressed against his, those same hips that were now thrusting against the air. His groan vibrated through your very chest, and the fantasy came alive—too alive. You tried to force it down, but it lingered, stubborn and insistent.

You focused on your leg press, forcing your body into the motions. Down, up, down, up. Your legs were burning, but your focus was elsewhere, your body aching for the release of tension you couldn’t get. Loki’s continued grunts—soft, rhythmic—were driving you mad.

Suddenly, you felt the eyes on you again. You glanced up, catching a glimpse of him watching you, that dangerous smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He was watching you, studying you. He didn’t even pause his workout, his hips thrusting upward again with a languid fluidity that had your breath catching in your throat. He knew. He knew exactly what he was doing, knew the effect he was having on you. His eyes lingered just a second too long, and you saw the flicker of smugness on his face.

Before you could even fully process the shift in the air, Loki suddenly appeared at your side, startling you. You flinched, and before you could react, he moved one of your earpieces to the side, his fingers brushing dangerously close to your ear. You stiffened, dismay flooding through you as his touch lingered a moment too long. You hadn’t even noticed him move, and now, with him standing so close, you couldn’t focus on anything else.

“You look like you’re struggling,” he remarked, his voice smooth, dripping with an edge of mischief that made your skin heat. You glanced over, but quickly averted your eyes when his locked onto yours. That familiar smirk tugged at his lips, and you couldn’t help the flutter in your stomach. 

Your heart skipped a beat as you looked up, meeting his knowing gaze. There was no escape now, not even in the sanctuary of your headphones.

"You've been staring," he purred, the teasing lilt of his voice making your pulse race. "Can't keep your eyes off me, can you?"

Hearing him speak made those deep, sensual sounds that slipped from his lips earlier strike your memory again in a thick whiplash. Your focus wavered, unable to hold its ground. The way he moved, the way he seemed to possess every inch of the gym with his presence—it was too much. The thought of him so near, teasing you without words, had your thoughts spinning, your concentration slipping further.

“I can help you, if you’d like,” Loki added casually, his voice now dipped in a teasing tone that made your skin flush. “I wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself, after all. It would be such a shame if you... collapsed under the weight. You wouldn’t want to get yourself into any kind of... compromising position now, would you?”

Your heart skipped, but you kept your cool. You bit your lip, trying to focus on the weights in front of you, and not the crafted image of Loki’s body beneath those tight shorts.

“I’m good,” you said, forcing a nonchalant tone into your voice as you adjusted your stance.

Loki chuckled darkly, a sound that sent a chill up your spine. “Are you sure?” His eyes tracked your every movement, and his words lingered in the air like a challenge. “It seems like you could use some assistance. Maybe a little guidance... in the right position?”

Your breath faltered. He wasn’t even pretending anymore, was he? Every word felt like it was wrapped in double meaning, and you weren’t sure how much longer you could endure it. His gaze followed you as you moved to the squat rack, watching you carefully. When you tried to start your set, Loki’s voice floated over again, his tone almost too smooth.

“Don’t strain yourself now,” Loki called with an exaggerated innocence, leaning against the nearby rack. “Let me help you out. I’m quite good at supporting... heavy loads.” His eyes twinkled with that dangerously charming glint, knowing full well how far his words were pushing the line.

His words carried more weight than just an offer of assistance. His lips curled further, clearly aware of what his proximity was doing to you. You swallowed hard, trying to regain some semblance of control, but it was slipping through your fingers, one teasing glance at a time.

You tried to clear your throat, attempting to steady your breath, but all you could think about was the way his body moved—each thrust, each groan, each deliberate motion that seemed aimed directly at you. The air was thick with tension, thick with him, and you could feel it clouding your thoughts like a drug.

“I think I’ve got it covered,” you talked through your teeth, trying to ignore the warmth pooling low in your belly as you adjusted your grip on the barbell.

Loki’s smirk only grew, his breath heavier now, louder as he moved to prepare his next sets. "Mh, I’m sure you do. But I’ll be here if you need to drop anything. I’m quite capable of catching things... especially when they fall out of control."

You could feel the tension building in your body, a mix of frustration and arousal swirling together. Your focus was shot, lost somewhere between your workout and Loki’s innuendos. Those seductive sounds that followed each thrust, seemed to be pulsing through your eardrums, practically vibrating in your bones.

"I said I’m fine," you finally snapped, irritated with both yourself and him. “I don’t need your help.”

The sensation of Loki’s eyes on you, the sound of his breath, the feel of his proximity—it was all too much. You couldn’t take it anymore. Your heart was racing, and it wasn’t from the workout. It was from him, from the teasing, from the way he seemed to find endless amusement in rattling your composure. It felt like he was intentionally trying to push you to the edge. You grabbed your towel from the bench, a sharp motion born from irritation, and stormed off to the treadmill, needing a change of pace. The last thing you wanted was to be anywhere near him at that moment. You couldn’t let him get to you—not anymore. Not like this.

Your focus was slipping, the heat of your skin betraying the resolve you were desperately trying to hold onto. You couldn’t afford the distraction. The only thing that could save you now was a good run, something that would let your muscles burn, let your thoughts bleed into the rhythm of your steps. Something that would drown out the chaotic swirl of fantasies and irritation that he had stirred up in your mind.

You punched in the settings on the treadmill, fingers moving with precision, though your mind was nowhere near as composed. The moment you hit "start," the belt began to move, and the familiar, repetitive thud of your feet against the treadmill’s surface became your anchor. You jammed your headphones back in, cranking up the volume, hoping the music would drown out the thoughts that were threatening to break through your focus. Music usually worked. But right now? It wasn’t enough. Not with him still in the background, somewhere in the periphery of your mind. You kept one muff slightly over one ear, just in case he decided to come prowl on you again.

You could feel it again, though. His gaze. It was like a weight pressing against your back, making your skin feel tight. You could almost feel him watching, studying you, though you refused to look. Not now. You kept your eyes fixed straight ahead, blocking out everything but the rhythm of your feet, the steady burn in your legs. Your mind was still racing, but you forced yourself to settle into the movement. You weren’t going to let him distract you anymore.

The sound of his low chuckle reached you from across the room, cutting through your thoughts like a hot knife. Your pulse skipped. You clenched your jaw, trying to ignore the sensation of him still lingering, even from afar. It wasn’t enough. His presence had a way of bleeding into everything you did. But then—another sound. A soft giggle, the clear laugh of a woman, cut through the air, and you froze mid-step, your feet stilling for just a fraction of a second.

You glanced to the side, and there he was. Standing at the weight bench, effortlessly chatting with someone—another woman. She was hanging on his every word, eyes sparkling with amusement as she laughed at something Loki had said. The sight of it hit you like a slap, sharp and immediate. Your gut twisted. Of course, he’d move on to someone else. Of course, he’d find someone new to charm, to entertain. Like it was nothing.

Your jaw tightened as your mind churned, irritation bubbling up once again. The way he was smiling at her, the way she was laughing, so easily caught up in whatever he was saying—it was like a reminder of how little you actually mattered to him. It was all a game to him. And you? You were just another piece on the board.

You turned back to the treadmill, determined to ignore him. You increased the speed, pushing your legs harder, faster, ignoring the strain in your muscles as they burned. You would focus on the run. You would make yourself focus on the run. The burn in your thighs, the tightness in your calves—it would ground you, it would help you forget about Loki.

But, of course, the sound of his voice was already creeping up beside you.

You felt the treadmill shift slightly, the subtle change in the rhythm of his footsteps as he jogged up next to you. You tried to block him out. You kept your gaze forward, staring at the wall ahead, trying not to even acknowledge that he was there. But the steady thud of his feet, the near-perfect, effortless pace with which he kept up, began to fill your ears, and before you knew it, his voice was slipping into your consciousness like the softest whisper.

“Trying to outrun me now, darling?” Loki’s voice was a silky purr, the words slow and deliberate, dripping with a teasing, almost predatory quality. "I do hope you're not tiring so easily. I’d hate to think you can’t keep up.”

You clenched your jaw. His proximity only made the effort to keep running feel harder, more impossible. But you weren’t about to let him win.

You shot a glance at him, your breath sharp. Loki was jogging beside you, his form so relaxed, so effortless. He barely seemed to be trying, while you were fighting every inch of the treadmill. His smile curled up at the edges, his eyes dark with mischief as he matched your pace.

“Oh, what’s wrong? Not used to the pressure?” he teased again, his voice dropping to an almost intimate whisper. “I thought you liked a challenge. Or is that just for when I’m the one in control?”

His words sliced through your focus, making your breath hitch. You ignored him, pushing yourself harder, willing your body to keep up.

But of course, Loki wasn’t done.

“You know," he continued smoothly, his pace not even breaking as he leaned in closer, his voice dangerously seductive, "I could make this a lot easier for you. If you let me guide you… show you how to keep the rhythm steady, how to control your breathing." His words dripped with innuendo, his every syllable teasing a deeper, more tantalizing meaning.

“Don’t you have someone else to bother?” you snapped, hoping your voice didn’t shake as much as you felt. You didn’t look at him as you turned the treadmill speed up again, pushing your legs to move faster. You had the advantage of effort now, your muscles burning as you tried to shake off his presence.

But he wasn’t done. Not by a long shot. Loki kept pace, not once showing any sign of struggle. His stride was effortless, like he was gliding through the air while you were forced to fight for every step. His voice, smooth as ever, slid through the air again, and you couldn’t help but feel his words wrap around you like a physical touch.

“I can’t help but wonder," Loki mused with a smirk, “are you running away from something?”

Your pulse spiked. The words hit their mark, pushing all the right buttons, pulling at your composure. You gritted your teeth and tried to ignore him, focusing on the speed, on the burn, on the rhythm. You couldn't let him derail you, not again.

“If running is all it takes to get you panting like that, darling, I can think of far more enjoyable ways to leave you breathless. Shall I show you?”

“Will you just shut up?”

You couldn’t help it. His words were a physical weight on your chest, like a pressurizing force. Your heart was racing—not from the run, but from him. You clenched your jaw, furious with yourself for letting him get under your skin like this.

Suddenly, your foot caught the edge of the treadmill, and in that instant, time seemed to freeze. You stumbled, your legs buckling beneath you, and without even a pause, Loki’s hand shot out, catching you by the waist. His grip was firm, secure, pulling you back into him effortlessly.

Everything stopped—except for the feel of his hand on your waist, his chest pressing against your back, the warmth of his breath on your neck. You could feel his heart beating against your spine, the tension between you two so thick it was almost tangible.

“Careful, now,” Loki’s voice purred, low and dangerous, as he leaned in, his lips grazing your ear with a softness that sent shivers down your spine. “Wouldn’t want you to fall… though, I’d gladly have you on your knees if that’s where you’re trying to end up.”

His breath lingered against your skin, hot and intoxicating, his words dripping with intention. It was as if time had slowed, every breath you took mingling with his, making the air thick with something more than just the scent of sweat and effort. Your heart was hammering in your chest, and for a split second, you forgot the pain in your legs, forgot the purpose of the run. All you could feel was the electric heat of his body just inches from yours, the weight of his words pulling you in like a magnetic force.

He didn’t just hold you steady. His fingertips danced on the small of your back, tracing little circles that made your skin tingle. The sensation was maddening—gentle, yet firm, teasing you without even trying. Each motion of his hand sent waves of shivers through you, and despite your attempts to hold it in, a soft, involuntary sigh escaped your lips.

You tried to focus, to pull away, but his grip only tightened slightly, keeping you close. Your thoughts were swirling, the line between annoyance and something far more dangerous blurring with every breath he took. It was all too much—his touch, his scent, the feel of his body against yours, and those little circles on your back that made you shiver and almost surrender to the sensation.

Finally, you yanked away, breaking free from his teasing hold. Your hand shot out, grabbing the towel from the bench, and in your rush to regain your space, you slapped it against his thigh with a little more force than you intended, your fingers brushing against his skin as the towel made contact. You didn’t mean for it to feel like that, but the heat in your cheeks was unmistakable.

“What I’d like is for you to fuck off, Loki,” you retaliated with a tight voice, though the words betrayed the truth—that it wasn’t the teasing that bothered you. It was him. All of him. The way he could unsettle you, make your pulse race in ways you weren’t ready for.

But even as you spun on your heel to storm away, you could hear him. His voice, smooth as velvet and laced with the sort of amusement that made your stomach tighten.

“Oh, I’m definitely getting ideas now,” Loki called out, a sly grin curling on his lips. “That slap of yours... so eager. You know where to find me if you decide you want to explore any of them.”

You couldn’t help it. Your breath hitched as you threw him a quick glance over your shoulder, eyes narrowed in mock annoyance, but the heated look in his gaze made it clear that this wasn’t over. You flipped him off, the motion sharp and a little more dramatic than you intended, but you couldn’t mask the rush of heat that surged through your body, making your skin feel too warm.

Your water bottle was a poor substitute for what you really needed, but you chugged it anyway, hoping to drown out the craving that had started to build in your chest. The cool liquid did nothing to cool the burn inside you, the heat of him still lingering in your senses.

You knew exactly what you wanted. But it wasn’t water. Not anymore. Not after that.

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[gremlingottoosilly]

in if you need to be mean, would the reader ever try to escape? and if she did, how would konig react? thinking about like, she planned for a few months how would she escape him, and she feels very conflicted bc she loves him, but she wants freedom and thats the only thing konig would never give her. so when hes away she takes the car and just goes. i dont know where, but shes so desperate te be free again to do whatever she likes without him hovering and always by her side trying to control what she does! would he feel sad? would he be devastated? would he go after her? i know that theres like a 1% chance of it happening but im so curious about how he would react and how it would change their relationship.

anyway, love your fanfics gremlin you're a genius!!! 🫶

Konig made everything in his power to prevent her from escaping without locking her up and breaking her legs, but it doesn't mean he won't do it.

He refuses to let her study German because he moved her to this foreign country without her knowing the language, and he specifically chose a distant tiny town in the middle of the Austrian woods, where not a lot of people know English and therefore, it would be hard for her to communicate. She doesn't have his car keys or a driver's license, he didn't leave her a lot of cash, so she forced to use his cards with updates of withdrawal and spending sent to his account, and she also just has a dependant visa that wouldn't allow her to do independent anyway. Her only way would be speaking to the police and hoping that they would start the investigation. It would be really hard because, well, Austria doesn't really care about immigrant's problems unless it's an international scandal, and Konig would know anyway - because he has cameras in the house, which he doesn't even hide, and if the investigation would die down, or his girl wouldn't go to the police, he wouldn't really break the contract and run to her immediately. He has quite a few friends around, especially if Krueger or Klaus are around and not on deployment with him, so he could ask them to go and visit his...wife. She is scared and a bit hysterical because of the foreign country, so she can tell weird things about kidnapping and escaping, they shouldn't listen to her! Konig won't be so nice when he returns. He really wanted to play this fantasy of having cute little housewife, nice house and a girl that is absolutely in love with him. He knows that you like him, at least, that you didn't want to escape, you're just silly! He infantilised you before, mostly because of the age difference, but it would be even harsher now. You are not allowed to leave the house, he often simply locks you in the bedroom so you won't have anything to do besides waiting for him to return with groceries and fuck you into the mattress. He didn't want to break you leg, but if you keep resisting, he might kinda push you a bit further. He would assign you a no-nonsense older caretaker so you would have company and help while your leg is broken! She also thinks that you have some sort of weird mental illness that made you paranoid and afraid of your husband, so you can't even get help from her. You can forget about going out while he is on deployment either. And he is very reluctant to let you out, even with him, the first few months after your attempted escape. The world is too dangerous for you anyway,

[pahtoosh]

the greatest form of flattery

[image ID: a gif of lloyd hansen smugly saying “right back at ya, sunshine” to a phone. /.end ID]

masterlist

18+

wc: ~1300 words

warnings: lloyd picks you up like a lot, play fighting, bad word(hell)

a/n: my first lloyd fic! I truly don’t know what came over me—I’ve never even seen the movie. I just thought this idea was so cute and then I had so many more ideas about the dynamic lloyd would have with his little! lots of play fighting and teasing(and kisses because it’s me🤭)

pairing: lloyd hansen x gn!little!reader

summary: Lloyd’s little finds a fake mustache.

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There was little you could do to bother your Daddy. Lloyd reserved all of his patience and understanding for you. You were his little love, so precious and pure. In his eyes, anything you did came from only the best intentions. He could brag for hours about how he had the best little to ever exist, and he taught you scarcely a thing about manners. You were naturally that sweet.

You were grateful that your needs coincided with what Lloyd could give you. Your rowdy days came out when he had more energy to spare chasing you around the yard. Your quiet days fell when he was exhausted from work and only wanted to cuddle in your home’s library, speaking in hushed tones as you escaped into worlds of fantasy. But there were some days when you sought mischief. You just hoped that your Daddy was in the mood to be silly too.

The day before, you attended a birthday party for one of your little friends. It was rare that Lloyd let you partake in events like this. His protective instincts went into overdrive when you showed him the invitation. Rather than giving in to his desire to hide you away, he fell for your pleading eyes and RSVP’d under the condition that he could come along and keep a close eye on you.

An afternoon of bounce castles, water balloons, and party games left you totally knocked out. You fell asleep in the ball pit, and Lloyd climbed in not long after. He scooped you up, resting your tired head on his shoulder as he carried you to the car. He accepted the gift bag from the party host on the way out, deciding that he could also use it to hold the shoes you had taken off before diving into the ball pit.

Feeling refreshed and awake the next day, you were delighted to see the gift bag on your nightstand accompanied by your morning note from Lloyd. He wrote that the package was from your little friend and that you could open it while you waited for him to finish his meetings. You gave his signature a kiss, then placed the note alongside your collection of every note Lloyd had ever written you. He left your little watch on the nightstand too. It was the same shape as your daddy’s, but customized to fit your wrist, and it displayed a digital clock instead of an analog. The screen also had little icons that lit up during snack or nap time. You carefully put on your watch just like how your daddy taught you.

The gift bag was calling your name now. It was simply made of paper, the cartoon animal design being its only saving grace under the scrutinizing eyes of a little. The tissue paper was mostly squished, but it called to you all the same. You dumped out the contents onto your desk, excited to see what you would play with first.

There were the typical favor bag items: stickers, a bouncy ball, and a tiny plastic soldier with a parachute. The bag also had a few little games and snacks. You separated the candy from the bunch and made a mental note about which ones you wanted to eat after lunch. As for the toys, you started with a sticky hand, promptly losing it to your ceiling. The mini dog-shaped puzzle was simple, yet fun. The underwater ring toss tested the last of your patience, but the ball maze lifted your spirits once more.

There were still a few minutes left until Lloyd finished his meeting and you had already played with all the toys in the bag. Or so you thought. You held the gift bag upside down and shook it one last time, hoping for a magical little toy to distract you during your daddy’s absence. Your wish came true when a fuzzy little thing plopped out. It resembled a caterpillar so much, you half expected it to move. Upon further inspection, it wasn’t a fuzzy little creature. It was a fake mustache!

Just like daddy, you thought. You giggled to yourself imagining Lloyd’s reaction to your new look. You carefully peeled away the paper backing and stood in front of the mirror to place the mustache under your nose. The plastic hair tickled a bit, making you sneeze a couple of times. Once you shook yourself off, you practiced a few poses mimicking Lloyd’s stance. His back was always straight, and he sometimes walked with his hands behind as if he were in a museum, which looked extra silly when he was just heading to the kitchen. He also checked his watch with a certain flair and spoke with his head cocked to the side when he was in a teasing mood.

As you checked your little watch, you realized that Lloyd’s meeting would finish soon. You ran towards his office, avoiding the edges of the hallway’s carpet runner because it had a habit of tripping you. Lloyd was closing the door behind him as you barreled towards his form.

“Hey there, honey. What’s got you running like crazy, huh?” He kissed the top of your head and patted you on the back. He hadn’t noticed the mustache yet because you ran with your head tilted downwards for extra speed and hugged his legs instead of jumping into his arms.

“Missed you, Daddy,” you said, your voice muffled by his slacks.

“Aw, how sweet. Come up here, baby. Do you want some kisses?” He lifted you up, doing a double take when he saw your new accessory.

“Is that-“ Lloyd cut off his own sentence as he burst into laughter. He hugged you close and gave you a few kisses in between his chuckles.

You beamed. “Do you like it, Daddy?”

Lloyd nodded, pursing his lips to contain his laughter.

“Now I look like you!”

“Hey now, Daddy’s mustache looks nothing like that,” he defended.

“Does so!” You wiggled out of his arms and struck one of the poses you had practiced. “If you wanna make an omelet-“

“Alright, that’s enough outta you.” Lloyd lifted you up and blew a raspberry on your stomach, making you squeal.

“Da- aahh! That tickles!”

“Shame,” he teased, continuing his attack.

You tousled in Lloyd’s arms until he had to readjust his grip. Using this moment of weakness, you poked his ribs, making him fall dramatically to the floor with you in his arms. He laid there breathless for a moment and was about to sit up before you placed a hand on his chest, pushing him back down.

“I got you.”

“Hell yeah you did, baby.” Lloyd took a breath. “Pinned your Daddy down. Good job, sweetie.” He patted your thigh, wondering if he’d taught you that move during your self defense lessons or if you’d learned it somewhere else. His train of thought was interrupted but a scratchy feeling on his cheek, followed by a soft pucker.

“Did you just give Daddy a kiss?”

“Uh huh!” You did it again on his other cheek. This time, Lloyd couldn’t hide the uncomfortable look on his face.

“Is that how it feels when Daddy kisses you? All scratchy from the mustache?”

“Um.” You touched your mustache as you thought, looking somewhat like a cartoon villain. “Yeah, a little scratchy.”

Lloyd held your free hand in his. “Is it too scratchy? Do you want Daddy to shave off his mustache?”

You shook your head, clinging desperately to him. “No! I love Daddy’s mustache!”

“You do?” he asked.

“Uh huh! Makes Daddy handsome and makes Daddy kisses special!” You demonstrated by pointing to your forehead.

Lloyd sat up and tentatively placed a kiss where you directed, repeating the motion when you wiggled happily.

“See?”

“Okay, honey. Daddy’ll keep his mustache, and you can keep yours too. In a box. Save it for Halloween.”

[mr-damian-s-power]

It’s so baffling to me the way they changed Luz’s intro in the pilot to the utter bs in the actual show. I’ve seen it criticized before and there’s always some stan going like ‘it’s kid show it’s not that serious’…but the show wants to be serious. It wants to be a realistic and grounded take on a fantasy cartoon and prides itself on that. So obviously to do that they decide to change ‘weird and out-there, but pretty harmless’ to ‘teenager with vet mom misuses multiple living snakes and brings explosives into a school when she grew up in an age of mass shooting fears and not even a water gun could be on campus’.

Yeah, I've had some run-ins with salty stans who try and brush my criticisms off with 'it's just a kids show', but still praise it for being 'more than a kids show'. Gotta love double standards! Don't listen to them, I say! They're likely just upset you dared to say mean things about their precious show and just label you a hater.

-

To put it lightly, Luz has a terrible introduction for a character we the audience are supposed to feel sorry for. Her 'quirky antics' are genuinely dangerous! She brings Snakes into school, which escape and bite people. That's not even mentioning the fireworks in an enclosed environment! Then, she's just so blasé about it! Then we're just supposed to go 'haha, oh Luz, that lovable little rascal. She's so silly.' THEN, we're supposed to see her being sent to a camp for the summer as some terrible thing. Very tame punishment, I think! Luz, mate, you're lucky nobody got the police involved!

You're correct! I haven't seen it in a while, but I'm certain Luz was way more tolerable and sympathetic in the storyboarded pilot. She's shown as just being a bit eccentric, rather than an uncaring willingly oblivious arse. And, I think we actually see her being ridiculed and laughed at for the crime of being a bit weird, rather than people being rightfully annoyed that she decided to mess with things for attention.

The sad thing is that I wouldn't mind Luz being a bit of a self-important, delusional little shit at the beginning if this was part of some kind of character arc. While in the Demon Realm, she properly begins to realise that this 'fantasy world' is not like the ones in her stories, but a real breathing world with real people and real problems. You know, like how it SEEMED the show was going for at first before becoming a wish fulfillment power fantasy. She has to learn to stop living life through her stories and that her main character syndrome is only detrimental to herself and those around her.

As she goes along in the story, she begins to learn boundaries and that not everyone appreciates her intrusive behaviour. At the beginning, she thinks Camila is unfair and holding her back, but she soon comes to see that her Mum just wanted what was best for her. She comes to see that she was quite ungrateful and selfish. When Luz and friends come back to Earth, she practically dives into Camila's arms and profusely apologises for being a bad daughter.

-

Thoughts?

[anyamaris]

Once Upon a Crimson Moon

Word Count- 15825

Pairing- Fae!Yeosang x Fem!Reader

Summary- Leaving behind a tragic past, you've crossed into the realm of the fae in hopes of finding a better life. Yet, you find yourself thrust into an existence equally horrifying. Discarded by one court, traded like cattle to another, you make your escape but where will fate bring you?

A dark, mysterious creature that leads you to your inevitable demise might just be the one to save your soul.

Trope-Fantasy AU, Smut, Strangers to Lovers au

Warnings-Adult language, sexual language, heavy trigger warnings for alluded: abuse, torture, SA, death. Please be aware of these, they are alluded to, not explicitly spoken of. Both characters have a dark, tragic past. Some topics are depressing. Unprotected sex, sexually explicit scene outdoors, minors DNI 18+

Tags- @cultofdionysusnet @ksmutsociety @wooyoungmybelovedhusband @yoonguurt @shinestarhwaa @stardragongalaxy @kpop-stories-21 @starlitmark@millennial-fangirl @ericssmile @wooahaeproductions@changbinslovelylegs @yeosxxx @millennial-fangirl @starillusion13 @duchesskaren @minki-moo

@cafekitsune and @saradika Thank you for dividers! 🤍💜🤍

A/N- First- @1-800-shedevil, you've been here through the entirety of this process with me, encouraging me, cheering me on, soothing me when I doubted myself. There aren't words to describe how much I adore and appreciate you. I feel like you know these characters almost as well as I do at this point. Thank you. 🤍💜🤍@kwanisms for making my header as well as my Yeosang character picture for me! GAH YOURE SO AMAZING AND TALENTED! I love you. @sanjoongie and @stardragongalaxy for creating this collab from a simple picture and conversation, I've fallen deeply in love with writing and this story because of you two. Thank you so much for setting this all in motion and dealing with me through all my screaming and excitement. @mint-yooxgi for all the hype and my screaming and yelling as well, and for always encouraging me when I doubt myself.

This is a collab with CODN for Thrill of the Hunt and please go check out the other writer's submissions!

I have a lot more planned for this if people like it, a whole story lives in my mind so I hope you'll enjoy this as much as I loved writing it!

I've included my original mood board at the beginning for some visuals as well as a commissioned art piece She.drawssss was so amazing to do for me beneath the cut!

You awake in the cold damp cell yet again, your eyes dry from dehydration.  Groaning as you pick your aching body off of the filthy cloth they called a bed, you do your best to stretch and look around.  

No one has come for you yet, it appears, as you glance at the empty bowl they feed you in.  Sighing, you pull the ragged material of your gown down over your legs, looking up at the small window that barely allows any light in.  Luckily, the acrid smell of rust overpowers any sense of your own odors, you think, frowning at the metal bucket they’d given you for your personal toilet.  

“Still not the Ritz Carlton.” You whisper with a twist of your lips.

Your life has come down to this; a damp, dirty cell in the midst of a world you know nothing about.  The series of events leading you to this very moment are hazy, vague memories you struggle to remember.  

Nothing of your old existence is present here.  

Running away from everything seemed like such a great idea at the time.  Following the silly legends about faery rings, dreams of starting over completely.  

Well…you had. 

You’d run.

But now you wonder if the abuse and hardships from before were preferable to this disgusting tiny cell.  

Perhaps.  

Perhaps not. 

Somewhere between here and there you’d just given up hope.  

As you feel a tear slip from your eye, cursing the loss of moisture, your ears pick up the melodic sound of a bird.  Looking up, you spot the small blue bird perched on the small window above you.  It hops a bit, then lets out a little chirp, tilting its head at you.  

“You again?” You ask it, unable to stop the tiniest speck of happiness it always brings with it. 

Another tiny chirp reaches your ears and you sigh.

“Smile? Why? What’s the point?” you ask it, shaking your head.  

It hops then chirps once more, and you just let out a small laugh.

“Fine…for you…I’ll try.” Seeming to be placated at your words, the small bird flutters its wings, flying away with a song.

The clank of the doors unlocking behind you has you turning, expecting the daily meal of mush in a bowl, but instead a tall figure grunts a few words in a language you don’t understand.  

Before you can stand, two others are entering the cell, throwing a bag over your head and dragging you from the room you’ve called home for over a year.

“Shh, don’t speak a word, it’s the damned one…” 

“Don’t look him in the eye, lest he remembers your face….”

“Why do they suffer such an abomination?-”

“HUSH! One cry from his cursed throat will doom us all!”

“I hear he killed his-”

“QUIET! Don’t be foolish or-”

The whispers are nothing he hasn’t heard before, in fact he’d be shocked if he doesn’t hear the murmurs as he walks through the busy market area.  

Bodies part before him as he strides forward, gathering in his wake to curse his very existence. His red eyes scan the beings in front of him, daring any brave enough to meet their steely glare.  

Not one takes the opportunity, ducking their heads, pretending to be busy.  

The smirk that tugs at his lips beneath the black mask holds no mirth.  

Their disgust and revulsion only mirrors his own as he makes his way to the fae he reports to.  

“Quit frowning at her, she’s not worth your pity.” One of the elves hisses out, spitting to the side as he chuckles.  

“Barren, that one.  Not even worth the effort of transporting her. Should just leave her out here to the wilds.”  

You just blink at the sky as the cart trudges along, studying the darkening clouds, letting your mind wander.  You only half listen to the two fae who are charged with taking you to trade.  You’d heard them say it a few times as you traveled; Oidhche court.  

After having spent the last year being subjected to numerous atrocities by a variety of creatures in what you’d heard called Ciaradh court, you can only let out a breath at finally being outside once more.  

It has been a long while since you’ve seen the open sky and you smile a bit as you take in the sight.  

“Pretty”, you whisper and the smaller elf cocks his head back to look at you.  

“Eh?” he says, a look of disgust passing over his face as your eyes meet his.  “Tch,” he wrinkles his nose at you, then turns away.  

“Too bad, clean her up and-” 

“Let those mongrels in Oidhche have their way with her, I want to wash my hands of her as quickly as possible. Not worth the coin paid, when they will just dispose of her…”

Your mind tunes them out, focussing instead on gazing back towards the vast sky above you.  

Would it rain today? 

You hope so, the idea of the sound of droplets hitting the leaves on the giant trees around you has you closing your eyes again, drifting off into your own imagination to escape the stark reality of your life. 

What seems like days pass, trudging along in the shoddy cart you are forced to ride in.  You’d originally started out walking with them, just your hands bound by a rope but you’d stumbled and fallen so many times, the elves had traded for the small transport.  

They hadn’t bothered much beyond the bindings on your wrists and as you daydream while the sun sets, you unconsciously work at the small rope.  

It’s deep into the night when you can hear both of the guards snoring loudly that the bindings fall from your aching limbs and you rub them absentmindedly.  

Wondering if you should even bother trying to escape, you shrug and think, what does it matter?  Might as well try at least.  The absolute worst that could happen is that they hear you, or they hunt you down.  

From the way they were talking, it wasn’t likely you were going to meet with anything pleasant once they handed you off, so you creep slowly from the small vehicle and summon the tiny bit of grace you may have buried deep down.  

The noises coming from the two males remain steady as you skulk through the taller brush.  

You don’t stop concentrating on your movements until the sun is creeping up over the horizon and you’re sure that you’ve made it far enough to be clear.  

Not waiting any longer, you take off at a run on your cloth bandaged feet, not even worrying about injuring yourself as you let your adrenaline drive you away from your captors. 

With no idea of where you’re going, you just know that anything is better than whatever awaits you.  

You have no idea how long you’ve been wandering, only that you can hear the faint trickle of running water nearby.  Having only had the small drops of dew in the morning time, your heart soars at the sound. 

It feels like days since you’ve gotten free from your transporters and now you are thirsty and hungry. Following the noise, you make your way to an embankment, sighing in relief as you take in the clear, crisp water below.  

With a small smile, you slowly clamber down the side, being especially careful.  The last thing you needed was to injure yourself while you were out here alone, without food or shelter.  

“At least I’d have you,” you whisper to the small stream as you crouch beside it.  

Humming happily, you cup your hands to collect the water and drink greedily.  It’s cool and refreshing, bringing a much needed ray of hope into your current situation, as well as your parched lips.  

You spend a little time hydrating, then scanning the area to see if there is any way to carry water with you.  Finding none, you decide the best way is to follow the water source.  

Glancing behind, you try to acclimate where you’ve come from and determine the direction to head in.  

“As if you have a plan…” you murmur to yourself, seriously wondering what your ultimate goal is.  

From your experience so far, coming across any fae was likely detrimental to your survival.  The time you’d spent in that dank cell, subject to unspeakable things, told you all you needed to know about how the fae treated the human race.  You had heard some other humans come through speaking of different courts having contradicting ideas of how your race was treated, but you’d only ever come across the kind that despised you.

Your thoughts drift to the one who scared you the most. 

The one who came in the deep night.  

The one who slipped you herbs and forced you to drink vile concoctions.  

The disgusting creature who promised to make you his, repeatedly describing the numerous tortures that awaited you.  

You’d eventually stopped reacting to his goading, as it seemed to give him pleasure to watch you tremble in fear.  

“It’s ok now, you’re alright.  Look, the sunset is beautiful.” you hum, making your way to a small burrow you spot as you walk along the stream.  “It’ll all be fine.  Even if you die out here, it has a wonderful view…” you murmur, drifting off as the orange glow fades to red, then dusk settles in as your eyes close. 

“Go retrieve the human those idiots lost, shade. She escaped during transport around a week ago. Idiots took their time finally coming to report her disappearance but I know you’ll be able to find her. Meet them near the gate for her scent.  Under no condition is she to be killed, bring her back as she is.”  the captain commands, dismissing the creature known only as nightshade.  

The fae’s crimson eyes only register the command, then he is turning on his heel to carry out his superior’s orders without question.  He ignores angry muttering behind him as he makes his way outside.

Nightshade, or just shade, was what the fae had dubbed him.  

It was no secret that he was born and raised without a name.  

Such was the fate of one such as him, cursed at birth as a half breed abomination; a moniker befitting one that is as deadly as he is.  

The fact that they used the human term for the poisonous plant was not lost on him, but it mattered little.

Irritation at being sent on such a seemingly silly task to retrieve a run away human, he just frowns beneath the black mask as he spots his targets pacing outside the gate.  

“How long are we-SHITE AND FAIRYDUST! Why you-” the taller fae stops immediately as he takes in shade’s form as it solidifies, an undercurrent of fear in the elves’ normally apathetic gaze.  “Are you here for the human wretch?” 

Shade merely nods once and the two fae step back, gesturing to the wagon that had been transporting you.  

“Should just let her die out there, with the beasts.  No way she’s getting’ far.” the shorter one says.

The taller snorts and nods,  “Don’t even know why she bothered.” They both fall silent as shade turns his eyes on them and they look away quietly. 

“I’ll bring her back.” The deep rumble of his voice is barely loud enough to be heard but the two fae shiver at the sound, shrinking back.  

Nodding once, he turns and fades to wisps of smoke, hovering over the cart long enough to get a scent of the essence left behind before dissipating.  

“Don’t envy her the end she has coming from THAT one’,” the short elf whispers after a moment, finally able to talk once more.  

“Shite.” is the only response he gets as they head back towards Ciaradh court.

You awaken with a shiver and a cry, the heavy morning dew clinging to your exposed flesh.  

The dirty white gown they’d given you before you’d been unceremoniously dragged from the cell you called home was caked at the hem with mud and who knows what from the first stretch of your flight.  

You’d been running through puddles and burying yourself in leaves and whatever else you could find to hide in at every sudden noise that first day.  Yet you didn’t want to wash your clothing in the only water source you’d found, so you decide to leave it for now.

Stretching and shaking off the horrible dreams, you make your way back over to the stream to drink deeply, then make your way downstream once more.  

The sound of the water seems to be getting louder as the stream slowly turns into a river, the current picking up.  

Eventually you stop, trying to decide which side of the water you want to be on, as crossing looks as if it might be impossible later on.  

Finally deciding on the right bank to climb up, you scan the area around you.  There seem to be more trees and the birdcalls are louder as you travel.  

You’re not sure whether to be surprised or not, having come across no living being since you’d escaped the road you’d been traveling along with those two fae.  

To be fair, once you’d crossed into the world of the fae through the faerie ring however long ago, you hadn’t had much time outside of confinement.  So there was no way to tell what was ‘normal’ on this side.  

Deciding that the stream nearby would give you a water source, and heading towards the more tree lined area might provide some vegetation to eat, you make your way onwards.  You’re fairly sure you haven’t traveled very far since you have strips of cloth for foot protection and it has been rough on you.  

Figuring that the current of the river is decent enough to wash at least your wounds on your lower body in, you make your way to the side of the flowing current.  

Unwrapping the cloth around your filthy feet, you dip your toes hesitantly, then plunge your legs up to your knees, sighing blissfully.  

Numerous scratches and cuts, as well as a few punctures from sharp rocks are all calmed by the cool water.  You close your eyes and tip your head back, basking in the beautiful sunlight, the warmth shining down on you.  

“Where are you even going?” you ask yourself softly, breathing in deeply.  

Once you soothe your wounds, you rip some new cloth off of the rag you are wearing, rewrapping your feet with the much cleaner fabric.  At least it would provide some protection against the random rocks and such.  

The rest of the day's journey takes you into the copse of trees, keeping an eye out for any of the faery circles you’d gone through in your own world.  

Chances were low that you’d come across one, but at least it gave you something to work towards.  

As you come upon a small opening, you walk to the edge to look out over the land beyond.  

Looking around, you decide this is as good a place as any to rest and possibly spend a little time while you figure out what to do next.  There was a small waterfall you could see a little ways down, and a small area to possibly bathe.  

There were also some berries that looked promising as a food source, and given that it was between trying your luck at those or starving….well…

You collect a handful for your meager dinner, then bunch some leaves together under a smaller tree, hoping if the berries do kill you, it won’t be painful.  The thoughts are short lived as you give in to your exhaustion, passing out before the sun sets below the trees looking over you.

Awakening hours later, the dark surrounding you feels oppressive.  The constant dreams haunting you seem to follow you from your sleep as you take in the silent evening. 

Rubbing your stomach, you don’t notice any signs of pain, which is a good thing for the berries.  But your thoughts are cut off as you realize just how silent it is.  

Dead silent, no birds, no noises of creatures moving in the dark like you’ve come to expect.  

Just…silent as a grave.  A shiver of pure terror washes over you as you try to process if it’s still a dream or-

That’s when you notice the being, crouched down a few feet away, hooded with a black mask.  

You can’t really even see much else, but you can feel him.  The noise that threatens to escape your throat seems to be stuck as he stands and slowly walks to hover over you.  

As he approaches, the light of the moon illuminates his eyes, dark and intense.  A chill runs through you at the sight of his form standing over you, your body trembling in fear.  

This is it, this is my end, you think, a tiny part of you relieved that it’s finally come. 

You had a feeling something would come for you eventually.  

As the figure studies you, you can only wait for the peace of death.  

Despite your instinctive physical fear, your mind is oddly tranquil as you try to make out his features in the darkness.  

Wrapping your arms around yourself, you do your best to meet your last moments with a smile.  

“Please…will you make it quick?” your quivering voice squeaks out, wincing at the sound in the deep quiet of the night.  

The figure tilts his head at you, almost curious.  

“Quick?” he crouches down in front of you, mere inches away as his masked face looks you over.  

Swallowing, fear almost has you paralyzed at the nearness of the fae man, a sixth sense telling you he could crush you with one hand.  

“Please…I would like to die quickly.” you repeat, drawing your knees underneath you as you sit up to ready yourself.  

You grit your teeth to keep them from rattling together at the way you’re trembling, refusing to close your eyes to your final living companion.  

“Die?” he asks, and you watch him as you wait, finally noticing that his dark eyes are a deep crimson in the light of the moon. 

So pretty, you think distractedly.  Heaving a small sigh, you focus on their beauty, a tiny smile creeping over your face as you appreciate the only part of him you can see.  

“Are you not afraid, mortal?” he asks you, and you let his deep timbre wash over you, relishing in the richness of his tone.  

“Of course….. I am very afraid.  I’m terrified.” you counter and he just blinks at you, reaching a gloved hand out to hover near your face.  

Snatching it back, he squints at you.  

“Why are you so eager to die?” he questions and it’s your turn to blink at him.  

“I…I’m not eager to die…” you whisper and he shakes his head. 

“Confusing.” he states and you just stare at him.  

“Aren’t you here to kill me?” you ask him, wondering how you’ve found yourself here, debating your life or death with a terrifying masked fae man.  

“I am not.” he responds simply, causing you to sigh sadly.  

“Which means…” you say softly, glancing around the clearing you’d decided to make a temporary residence, finding yourself already back in the cells you’d been locked away in for so long.  

You turn your eyes back to him, his gaze still on you.  

“You’re here to take me back.” you state, not a question.  

His silence tells you what you need to know, and your throat closes as your eyes fill with tears.  

“Give me a moment, please.” you say, trying to collect yourself.  

His eyes go through an array of expressions as you fan your face, trying to calm down.  The trembling from his nearness wasn’t helping, but you weren’t going to ask him to back off.  Something in you told you that it was unlikely he’d listen anyhow.

“Are you going to take me back to those horrible men? Men…fae…I don’t even know what to call them…my captors?” you ask.

He merely nods, watching you curiously as you shiver and hug yourself.  

“I suppose there’s nothing to be done for it then.” you say, and give him a nod.  

“Are you going to…woosh me back or…?”  You flap your hands, not knowing the words you’re looking for, fear of what awaits you overpowering his presence momentarily.

His confused eyes have you sighing, waving your hands around erratically.  

“You know like, um…fly me back or …magic things…?” you ask, shrugging.  “I have only been confined since I came into the fae world…I’m really not sure how things work here.”   

His searching eyes just blink at you, then he sighs, sitting down to cross his legs in front of you.  

“I will not ‘magic’ you back, we will travel by foot.  I do not wish to touch you.” he says and you just sigh, looking up at the light of the moon above you.  

“Ah…I forget that we humans here are despised, of course you wouldn’t want to.  May I…have a bit of time before we go?” you ask him, and he just nods once.  

“As you will, mortal.  Rest, then. I do not need you to be a hindrance.” His form dissipates into a cloud of darkness, drawing out a shocked gasp from you.  

“So cool...” you whisper, even as your body trembles in his presence.  

Your attempts to sleep once more aren’t met with any luck, so you find yourself getting up, looking around the clearing.  You cannot see your ‘escort’ but you can sense that he’s around, watching.  

“I am just going to the little waterfall nearby…I’m aware that… running would be pointless…” you throw out, and you’re met with only silence. 

Taking that as a sign that it’s fine, you make your way down to the little waterfall, your heart feeling a semblance of relief for a moment as you realize you may not get to be free ever again.  

“I’ll just treasure this while I can…” you whisper to yourself, shedding the horrible gown and walking into the cool water.  

The sigh of relief that escapes your lips is so loud, you cover your mouth, then giggle.  It’s not as if you’re going to scare anything nearby, and the thought gives you a sense of freedom for a moment.  

Humming as you dip down under the water, you emerge with a happy laugh, swimming around for a bit, then floating on your back as you watch the stars above.  

Suddenly you are filled with a strong sense of being watched, heavier than before.  

Turning your head, you let out a scream, bobbing under the surface for a moment before you pop back up, looking over to see the dark fae man near the water's edge. Your heart seems to restart as you process his presence, watching you curiously. 

Turning to swim towards him a bit, you let your breathing even out before giving him a small smile.  

“I wanted to bathe before we left…” you tell him, feeling the need to break the eerie silence. 

He tilts his head, blinking slowly at you before his deep tone washes over you in a question.  

“Why do you laugh?”

“Excuse me?” you ask, flustered, his intense stare causing you to tremble once more.  

He pauses, his gaze even as he watches you. 

“You are laughing, yet there is no one else around.  Why?” he asks again and you sigh, floating a bit as you think of how to answer him.  

“I was simply enjoying the feeling of the water….it’s been quite some time since I was allowed to bathe…or see the night sky like this…” you trail off, as you stare up at the stars. 

Turning to look at him once more, you just contemplate.  

“Do fae not laugh?” you ask him and just blinks, then shakes his head.  

“Some fae laugh.” he responds and you get the feeling that he is not one of them.  

Frowning, you swim a little closer to where he is crouched.  

“Have you never laughed?” you ask him and he almost winces at the question.  

“I dare not laugh, nor would I have a reason to.” he says, his beautiful silky voice washing over you and you just shake your head.  

The thought of his laughter with that low velvety tone…..you shiver at the mere idea of it.  

“Well that’s sad.”  you tell him, going back to your humming.  

“Sad?” he asks and you look at him curiously.  

Between the hood and the mask covering the lower half of his face, the dark clothing and the gloves….well he looks completely like some assassin or dark creature from the fictional novels you used to read.  But he was sitting here, watching you bathe, asking you about laughter.  

Your heart cries out empathetically without even understanding why.  Instead of feeling the need to cower and run in fear you are…drawn to him.  His gaze, his voice, his presence is giving you the urge to know him, understand him.  

How confusing things were here.

“What is your name?” you ask him, and the wince from before is nothing compared to the dark pain that swirls in his eyes now.  Even in the low light of the moon, you can sense it, the agony in that reaction.  

“I have no name.” he finally responds quietly and your heart clenches. 

“No name? Do fae not name-?”

“They call me shade.  I am just a shade.” he cuts you off, standing abruptly.  

“Shade? How…on the nose.” you mumble and swim over to the edge, hoisting yourself out of the water.  

His eyes are on you once more as you slip into your dress, uncaring of his gaze.  

Your fae captors had long since stripped you of your modesty, and this particular fae was one of the first you’d met that wasn’t oozing hatred or lust for you.  His uncaring demeanor was a wonderful relief compared to the others you’d met.  

How odd to trust him on a feeling.

“I found myself unable to sleep so…we can go.” you announce, turning once more to take in the beauty of your bathing area, the sound of the small waterfall, the stars and moon reflected in the dark waters.  

At his look, you just shrug, gesturing to yourself as you rewrap your feet.  “I have nothing.  This is everything, just me.” you tell him, thinking he may think you have to retrieve things. 

It’s met with silence and you just stand, taking him in as you give him a small smile.  

“I’m ready.”  

The journey is slow, as he just meets your clumsy pace with silence, not once rushing you. 

The first day passes quickly, you having slowed to avoid any injuries. And well….you were in no rush to return to the hell of your captors. 

All attempts at speaking to the dark being escorting you are met with mostly mundane answers, his disinterest obvious, but you could sense an underlying sense of curiosity to him.  

Or maybe it was just your imagination, hopeful in this bleak existence of yours.

He mostly observes you as he quietly directs you, allowing you to stop to use the bushes occasionally, to pick berries to eat, or to drink from the waters of the river.  

He even watches as you get excited over a field of flowers you’d not seen on your way, exclaiming over the myriad of colors you’ve never seen in nature before.  

Unlike the other fae, your occasional stumbles did not earn you a curse or jests, he merely just waits as you recover to continue on.

That night, as you lay staring at the open night sky, your body finally allows you some broken sleep.  

Your shadowy escort can only observe from the trees as your body thrashes in the small hollow you’ve carved out for yourself as the nightmare plagues your rest.  

Awakening with a small cry, you can only sigh at the reality of your situation, resignedly readying yourself for another day of travel.

As the day passes you fill the silence with random thoughts spoken aloud, rambling at him about whatever comes to mind, never expecting much of a response. 

Occasionally he would start to respond to questions, but never more than a sentence here or there.  Still, you could sense that your endless prattling wasn’t unwelcome to him, and you could sense his gaze on you if you started to go quiet.  

As another night draws in the darkness around you, you find yourself yawning as you walk along, playing with some of the pretty flowers you’d found on the ground, unwilling to pluck any of the living ones.  

“I believe you should rest now,” his voice startles you, causing you to jump and clutch your chest.  

“I think that’s the most you’ve spoken today, you scared me.” you exclaim, and he just nods as if used to it.  

“It is my nature, to cause others to fear me.” he simply says and you tilt your head at him.

“Why? Even other fae fear you?” you ask him, recovering as you look around for a clearing to rest in.  

“I am aberrant to even my kind.” he says simply as if it’s a normal thing.  

“Why?” you ask, stopping to turn and look up at him abruptly. 

It was the first time he’d seemed willing to talk about himself and you weren’t letting the opportunity pass by.  

His shocked eyes blink at you, mere inches from him as you hold your flowers.  

“Why?” he echoes and you shrug, turning to head towards a little bunch of trees with some leaves and a nice little log to sit on.  

“You ask many questions.”

“Yes, you…well…I mean, when I got here, I was running from some pretty horrible things…I thought coming here would be a clean start, that life here would be better for me. I don’t really know much about this…world…realm?” You gasp as you see some berries and run to pick them, feeling his presence follow.   

“I had barely crossed when I was captured, then I was put in a cell and ... .well it was unpleasant, to say the least.  I’ve been treated as little more than cattle…tainted cattle at that.  The fae I encountered were terrifying, even as they looked like they should be a prince in a fairy tale from my world.” you continue, more to talk for talking’s sake than thinking he cared at all.  “I don’t put much stock in the way others appear at first glance, especially now.”  

Thinking for a moment about the dark cell, the horrible tortures, the comments, promises of worse…you shake your head, coming back to the present.  “I don’t even have anything but this tattered dress they gave me…” you whisper, looking down.  

Taking a deep breath, you work a smile back onto your lips.

“I can honestly tell you that you’ve been the kindest creature I’ve met since I came here…and it’s been a long time.  Even though initially I was fearful of you..I mean you kinda showed up suddenly and the mask doesn’t help.” you turn to see he’s only a few feet from you, watching you carefully.  

You pop a berry into your mouth, then hold your hand out to offer him one.  “Even so…thank you for that…I…. I know I am going back to something horrible… Thank you for this time and allowing me to be free for a bit.”  you smile at him softly and his eyes go wide, almost in shock at your words.  

Shock, confusion, a little bit of… warmth? 

Perhaps it was your imagination.

He simply holds out his hand and you scold yourself at your thoughtlessness.  

“Oh! I’m sorry, I forgot about not wanting to touch me…” you tilt your hand to let a few berries fall into his palm and smile up at him.  

“You…you’re confusing me.” he says and you shake your head at him.  

“How so?” you ask, making your way to slip down into the crackle of leaves, sighing in relief after the long day of walking on nothing but scraps of fabric.  

He sits down in front of you, studying you intently as you unwrap your feet to rub them, dabbing at the blood from the small cuts.  

He just watches, seeming to contemplate something in the long silence until his rich voice breaks it once more. 

“Would you…should I….” he starts, but pauses, shaking his head as he looks away, seeming to battle himself before he turns back.  

His crimson eyes are intense, but you feel as if he’s finally looking at you instead of merely studying you as if you were some curiosity.

“My mother was a banshee,” he begins, and you gasp without thinking as you realize he is opening up to you.  

“Does that make you afraid?” he asks at your reaction, but you just wave your hands frantically, shaking your head.  

“No, no not at all! I am…shocked yet pleased that you are telling me about yourself, please ….go on.  I … would like to know more about you..” you say and he seems taken aback, but it’s hard to tell with only his eyes.  

Finally after a long moment, he nods and you let out the breath you were holding, eager to hear more.  

His tone is low, an underlying hint of sorrow as he continues. “They say she wanted a child so much that a dokkaebi decided to grant her wish.  But, instead of just bringing her a child, the goblin seduced her, and they say she fell deeply in love with him.” 

He stares off seeming lost in his thoughts as he takes a moment.  

You wait patiently, enthralled with his voice as his eyes meet yours once again.

“Once he had gotten her with child, he disappeared, and no fae has seen him since.  Such is the way of our kind.” He shrugs, shaking his head. 

“He had granted her wish, and she should be happy, grateful for the gift.  Instead, she was so heartbroken from the loss of her lover, that she cursed the child for being conceived.  When she finally birthed the child, they say the cries of the creature granted her final wish, to extinguish the pain from her profound loss.” 

His pause is longer this time, a deep sense of despair settling over you, knowing what his next words will be before he even speaks them.

“I am that creature…that child.”

“When the humans found me, I was taken in for a time.  But at my cries, if I went hungry or was upset, the many humans who cared for me would die.  Finally, realizing I was not a mortal, they offered me to the fae, cursing my very existence for all the death I’d caused.  My mother’s people took me in, knowing what I was, yet I am not considered one of them.  I am an outcast, I was given no name as a punishment for my existence.  I am merely a shade, my presence a curse. My banshee mother “gifted” me with this voice…the mere sound of it causing those around me to tremble as I am only able to bring death and devastation.”

Your throat is tight as he speaks, your fist clenched in the material over your chest as it aches for him, for the small child subjected to such a life, merely for being born. 

“They gagged me before I was able to control my voice, and then taught me to never use my power unless it was of use to them. I speak now, but my voice holds a fatal danger within it. This mask is a reminder that I am aberrant, a monster…. a creature that should never have been.  My only use is to carry out my orders, and obey.”  

His dark eyes bore into you expectantly, but you can only manage your breathing through the tears that threaten to overwhelm you.

“When others see me, they cower and whisper in fear. They scurry from me, as I could kill them with a word, or even just a sound. They fear me for I am a threat, but also a blemish on my kind.  So it has been for my entire life.” 

He seems so stoic, so resigned that it hurts to even breathe. 

As he finally stops speaking, you tear a piece of fabric from your dress to wipe at your eyes and he refocuses on you, his eyes conveying confusion. 

“Are your feet so injured that you weep?” he asks, his brows drawing together.  

Shaking your head, you stifle a sob, shaking as you try to hold back the flood of heartache his story had caused within you.

“How…how could….they…?” you finally give in and burst into tears, drawing your knees up and sobbing into your arms.  

“I…do not know…how to ..what is wrong?” He asks, confused as he attempts to reach for you, then draws back.  

“What’s wrong!?  Everything about how they treat you is wrong!  How horrible!  How could they? A poor little innocent baby, what awful ... .you haven’t even done anything wrong!” you wail, and he looks at you in shock.  

“Did you not hear what I said? What I am? I am-" 

Frustration fills you, anger welling up. 

"I did hear, I heard everything you said and they are terrible!” You look up into his eyes, confusion and panic causing him to fidget, the normally stoic male now unable to figure out what to do with his hands.   

“Aren’t you angry? Hurt?” you ask him, reaching out to grasp his hands without thinking.  

He lets out a startled grunt as he reels back at your touch, but instead of letting go, you hold onto him, and he ends up pulling you into him.  

“DON’T!” he cries out in panic, but you shake your head, throwing your arms around his neck to hug him. 

“What are you doing!?” his voice booms and you tremble as you freeze, but manage to whine through your gritted teeth.  

The feeling of paralysis leaves you as he puts his hands on your waist but you only clutch him tighter.  

“I’m hugging you, so just deal with it!” you yell back at him, your voice not coming anywhere near the power of his but you didn’t care right now.  

“Are you..yelling at me?” he asks, astounded at the very thought, but he doesn’t force you away.

“You’ve never been hugged, have you?” you ask him in a whisper, his body tense against yours.  

His gloved hands shake as he holds you, afraid to move in case he hurts you.  “I .. have not.”  

You just sob against his shoulder, grasping him tightly. 

“Well…..now you have…so…just let me, okay?”  

You feel him relax slightly as he sighs, his hands gently settling on your back, allowing you to calm gradually down into sniffles.  

It was a surreal feeling, sitting in a fae’s lap as you embrace him, the very creature about to turn you over for more torture, possibly even death.  

But the amount of torture you’ve endured seems so pale in comparison to what he’d been through since his birth.  

It made you angry, outraged at the kind of beings who could hurt a small infant, raising him to believe he meant nothing.  

“It’s not right.” you whisper, drawing back to look into his eyes, which were filled with shock, confusion…fear.  

“I do not decide what is right and wro-” he says, but you glare at him, stopping his words.  

Slowly pushing back the hood over his head, you can feel him begin to shake again as you raise your hands to his mask. Long dark strands of hair fall forward, soft and shimmering in the midday sun.  

“Do not-” he growls out, grasping your wrist gently. 

“Why not? Will it hurt me?” you ask, and he just shakes his head. 

“Just-” he stops as you draw back, not wanting to push him. 

“My only wish is to see you fully, but I will not force you for my own selfish wants.” You tell him softly, brushing your thumb over his exposed temple, admiring his dark crimson eyes, his beautiful sable hair.  

“Why are you..I could kill you from a simple touch, with only a word..why…? I don’t understand…Aren’t you afraid?” he rasps out, his chest rising and falling erratically.  

“Do you want to hurt me…to kill me?” you ask him in a whisper and his eyes darken, black and red swirling together, his arms tightening around you. 

“No-never….” He whispers, shaking his head, studying your face as you search his eyes.  

“My touch can wither your delicate flesh, my voice can halt your breathing eternally.  You risk your very life to…hug me?” he asks, incredulous.  

Your heart aches at his question, a being having never known love or care, more afraid of himself as he’s been taught nothing else, given nothing else.  

“I trust you.” you whisper to him, stunning even yourself at the admission.  

You barely knew him, yet…something deep within you was stirring, perhaps because you were so close to your demise…having been devoid of feeling connected to another for so long, locked away.  

Whatever the reasoning, you could sense your heart stirring for this mysterious, tragic man holding you in his lap.  

At your words, he stiffens, blinking rapidly as his eyes darken.  

“Why?” His voice is even deeper, his words washing over you like a calm, cool breeze.  

Just the one word has you catching your breath, and without hesitation or thought, you lean in to press a soft kiss to his forehead.  

Your lips linger for a long moment as he trembles beneath you, a mixture of a gasp and a soft sigh barely heard through his mask as you pull away.  

His eyes are full of intense emotion, and you can’t help but smile tenderly at his confusion.  

“I…have no reason.  It’s just how I feel.” You tell him quietly, allowing yourself to bask in the peace of this moment with him.

His hands splay out over your back, slipping up your spine and you can feel the tremor as he touches you.  

“See…you’re not hurting me…” you tell him as you continue to brush his hair back, tracing the line of his eyebrow with the tip of your finger.  

At your touch, he closes his eyes, as if memorizing the feeling.  

You watch his throat work, but then suddenly his eyes are open, the pain within them slicing through your heart.  

“You should stop.” He rasps out, but you merely shake your head, refusing.  He lets out a strangled noise as he glares up at you.  

“Don’t you know when you’re in danger?” he asks as he attempts to remove you from being wrapped around him.  

“No.” you say simply, knowing he could toss you across the clearing easily, but unwilling to leave your spot without force.  

“Why are you so stubborn?” he asks, and you just laugh softly, his eyes softening at the sound.  

“It’s just my nature, I suppose. But…if you dislike my touch, I will stop. I apologize for upsetting you.”  

Finally giving in, you slowly stand, removing yourself from his lap.  

“I’m going to collect some more leaves…” you whisper, leaving the fae to himself for a moment, also needing to take some time for yourself.  

You stop to look back at him, still looking down at his hands, his hood pushed back. 

Feeling a pang of guilt for pushing him, you sigh before you continue on. 

In the long months, possibly even years you’ve been here, you've been wasting away in a cell, poked and prodded at by beings who treated you horribly.  

The few who had come along and shown any interest had ulterior motives, such as the tall elf who seemed to be in charge.  

He’d fed you strange herbs that made you sick, promising they were to help you.

But in the end, he’d also wanted to use you, albeit in different ways than the ones who came before.  

When they’d declared you barren, you’d thought it was a godsend but in reality, they had no more use for you.  

As the guards who’d been transporting you had implied, you were marching right back to a certain death.  

Death was the best thing that was waiting for you, you think sadly.  

Yet here you were, going soft for this being they called shade, your heart opening even though you knew it would only end in tragedy for you.  

“A little light in the darkness isn’t going to hurt….  It’s fine…it’s all fine..” you whisper to yourself.  

The pain of his story still rages through you, the urgent need to show him care, comfort….love. 

“How ironic to find such a thing, in the darkest days of my sad life.” you tell the wind, closing your eyes to the thought of his gentle touch upon you, no matter how brief. 

Oddly, you feel as if you could sense his presence, and when you returned back to the little spot, you found yourself smiling at his dark form.  

He was crouched near a small bush about ten feet from where you’d decided to make your little resting spot for the night.  

You deposit your leaves as he stands to turn towards you, his hands cupped as he makes his way to you.  

Settling yourself in the crunch of the foliage, he kneels next to you, his dark red eyes searching yours as he holds out his hands. 

“What-?” you start then look down at what he is offering.  

In his gloved palms, he was holding berries.  

“For..me?” you ask timidly and he just nods.  

“Th-thank you…” you smile at him, feeling heat creeping into your cheeks as his eyes never leave you.  

You take them in your palm as if they are treasure, warmth spreading through you. 

“Mm!” you exclaim as you chew on a few and he tilts his head at you in confusion.

“You act as if these aren’t the same berries you’ve been consuming this whole time.” he quips and you beam at him, munching happily.  

“They taste better because you got them for me.” you tell him, your heart seeming to stutter as his eyes widen then blink quickly, and his breath catches audibly.  

“I…get some rest…” he finally says, standing to turn and dissipate into that black shadowy cloud you’ve gotten used to now.  

“Sweet dreams…if you sleep…” you whisper to him, grinning like a fool at the berries he’d given you as if it was the greatest gift you’ve ever received.  

In your mind, his gesture means the world to you in this bleak existence you’ve found yourself in.  

Shortly after your meal, you lay down in the softness of the leaves, gazing wistfully at the stars as you commit this feeling to memory.  

Whatever fate has in store for you, be it death or worse, you’ve decided to save this day to a special place in your mind.  

When the pain of reality becomes too much, you’ll withdraw back to this moment; this small bit of sunshine in your bleak existence.  

In the trees above you, unseen, your dark fae watches over you as your eyes drift closed, a small smile playing over your lips as you drift into dreamless slumber.  

The next day, you find he is watching you even more closely, actually answering your little questions a bit more openly than before. The sound of his voice makes you smile and more than once, he gives you strange, curious looks.  

Neither of you speak of the prior days events, but there seems to be a simple companionship between you that wasn’t there before that makes you skip along, a little more carefree than you’ve felt in a long, long time.  

You cannot see his full face but you’re convinced that at least once, you’ve made him conjure up some semblance of a smile. 

Wishful thinking, perhaps.

“May I ask you something?” 

The fae’s deep tone interrupts your thoughts, shocking you as you turn to look at him. 

“Of course you can, anything you desire.” Smiling, you watch him as he takes his time to respond.  

“How can you…smile?” he asks softly, his words barely audible.  

You pause, turning to him as you think of how to answer.  

“If this is too intrusive-” he starts but you just shake your head, titling it as you look off at the beautiful blue of the sky.  

“I don’t mind…I’m just trying to think of how to put it into words.” You reassure him, watching as some small animals break from a brush to rush into another.  

Your lips quirk at the sight and you turn your gaze back to his.  

Your stomach does a little flip at his intense eyes, but you shake it off as you speak.

“I mentioned that I came across to escape from something horrible, from my world?” you finally say, your mind drifting to the day you’d run from your life.  

“In my world, there is no magic, but there’s plenty of evil.  Sometimes no matter how much you love or care for something, they can still hurt you.  I ran away from something…someone who was hurting me.” You tell him, shrugging a shoulder as if to make light of it.  

His eyes narrow, darkening and you continue before you can run from the question.  

“When I crossed, I was captured.  But in my mind, anything was better than what I left.  I…was wrong.  It was different, but just as bad as what I ran from.  The fae who captured me placed me in a small dark cell and ... .I won’t go into details about the things that were done to me.  I honestly don’t want to remember, let alone tell you.” your smile falters as you blink away tears, trying to recall where you were going.  

You watch his head tilt downwards, his eyes hooding as he studies you, and you manage to swallow back the memories as you continue.

“I’m unsure how much you know about what they do…to humans like me.” you say and he just shakes his head.  

“Well, it’s …..from what I heard from conversations I overheard and what was done to me…at least where I was.  They are trying to ….breed us.” you whisper, looking down to wrap your arms around yourself.  

You turn and slowly start walking as you recall to him some of your time imprisoned.  

“After many …. attempts ... .I was declared ‘barren’, basically worthless.”  You look over at him with a soft smile and he furrows his brow in confusion.

“The reason I was able to get myself free was because they were discarding me, as I have no use.” you tell him, shaking your head.  

“I don’t even know why they sent you after me, I imagine I’m going to be ... .disposed of at my return.”  you shrug, resigned.  

“It sounds like I’m not answering your question, but I promise I am!” You tell him, trying to put some cheer into your voice.  

You watch a vein in his neck pulse as he seems to swallow harshly, focused on you.  

“You see, I spent so much time angry at myself, at everyone around me, making myself sick with all of the negative things.  It really only made everything so much worse. One day, a small bird got into my little prison cell.  A tiny little blue bird, and the sound of its song was like…the most beautiful, amazing thing I’d ever experienced in my life.” 

You smile at the recollection, perking up.  “The joy I felt from that simple little bird, the smile it put on my face made everything else ebb away.  It didn’t change anything happening to me, but smiling…appreciating the smallest happiness…it made what was happening to me the smallest bit easier.”

You look down at the path you’re walking, smiling at the vivid green of the grass, the small puffs of white flowers drifting on the breeze.  

“My whole life, I don’t think I spent much time smiling. But now…..now, I smile because otherwise, I’d drown in the misery of my negative thoughts.  There’s so much negative, sometimes it’s too easy to be overwhelmed by it.  I just decided to change my perspective and to appreciate the smallest gifts I am given.” 

You hop and turn to him, reaching to grab his hand but at the last minute you remember yourself and stop.  

His startled look makes you giggle as you tell him, “Like the berries! You picked them for me…you thought of my well being.  Me…a silly human you are tasked with bringing back, you showed me kindness.  You made me smile.” you admit, shrugging and his eyes widen, then soften as he shakes his head.  

“I…do not think I’ve ever done so in my life.” he tells you and you just give him a big grin as you hop along beside him.  

“You’ve made me smile many times so far.  Your voice is soothing to me, beautiful like music.  It makes me happy.” You say, and he stops abruptly, blinking rapidly.  

“I cannot tell if you jest.” he glances over at you, wary as you beam at him.  

“I would never jest about that, I truly mean it.” you say simply and he starts to walk with you once again, seeming lost in thought.  

“Long after I’m gone, I hope you recall that you made at least one little creature smile in her last days.” You whisper and his head snaps over to you, seeming to process your words finally.  

“You…are aware of your imminent demise yet you don’t even attempt to escape from me?” he puzzles and you laugh, a mixture of sadness and delight at the thought.  

“You and I both know escaping from you isn’t possible.  I may be a bit naive and extremely clumsy, but I am smart enough to know this.”  

He only watches you, blinking as he nods finally.  

“Yet you still could try, if you wanted to live.”

You stop at his words, turning to frown at him.  

“I do want to live.  I really do.  But if I were to try to run, you would have to come after me, to recapture me.  You’d have to use your powers….I can sense how strong you are, even as a human.  I couldn’t do that to you.” 

He flinches in shock, “To me?” he merely asks and you nod, closing the distance between you to look at him, to make sure he understands you.  

“You’ve been used…treated like you’re only worth what only your powers can do for those who would exploit you. I would be forcing you to do the same, against your will.  From what it sounds like, the fae who raised you to be a tool only treat you as an object.  I….know all too well what that feels like, and I just…” your heart pounds from the memory of his story.  

“I will not push you into having to do their bidding any more than you already have to.  Despite being completely pointless- it’s not as if I can run and hide from you successfully…which means you would also have to do something that seems to cause you pain…or sadness.” he simply watches you, his eyes almost black as you speak.  

“I prefer to speak with you, to hear your voice, to learn about you, to-” your throat clenches at the words that want to come forth and your breath hitches.  

“I…accept the fate I’ve been given and want to make the time I have not memorable, not running from it.  I’m always running from something; this time…I’ve decided to face things and enjoy beauty where I can find it.  You’re my …companion at the end…I don’t wish to make you my enemy, nor do I want to abuse you like others do.” 

You finally stop, giving another shrug as you put your hands behind your back, turning to continue your journey.  “Sorry I didn’t have a short answer for you…” you purse your lips, wondering if you’ve annoyed him with your rambling.  

There is a comforting silence following your long explanation, the soft sounds of nature around you soothing as you breathe in deeply.  

You hear an odd creaking noise and turn to look at your companion oddly.  You glance down at his leather clad hands where the sound emanates and frown, noticing him clenching his fists.  

“Have I upset you? If I have-”

“No. Not you.” his deep growl sends a chill through your entire being at the rage you sense lurking.  

“Oh…” is all you say, unconsciously walking a bit closer to him.  

You notice his breathing is a bit rough under his mask and suddenly feel a wave of sadness for upsetting him, even if unintentional.  

“I’m sorry for saying so much, I overshared a bit.” 

His eyes meet yours and your heart stops as his eyebrows draw together, an expression of almost…sympathy in his eyes startling you. 

 “There is nothing to apologize for.  You have nothing to be sorry about…” his emphasis has your breath catching in your throat and your heart swelling.  

Was he…angry for you? 

The thought has you dizzy with confusion and emotion.

“Thank you…for listening.” you breathe out, having to almost physically force your gaze from him, heat warming your cheeks.  

“You’re…welcome.” He responds, and you continue on as the sun slowly dips beneath the treeline, before you make your resting place for yet another night.  

Your pace was slow, but instead of rushing you, your fae companion was allowing you to set the speed.  It was as if he was allowing you as much time as you needed before your end.  

You couldn’t be more grateful, you think as your eyes close, sensing him nearby.

Your sleep is restless, drifting through memories of your time back in your cell.  The sounds harsh breathing in your ear, whatever creature was holding you beneath them tearing your flesh as they-

You awake to your own sobbing, shaking violently as you struggle to breathe.  

You’re curled onto your side, hot tears trailing from one eye to the other as you clutch the ragged material of your dress.  

It takes you a few moments to register the figure of ‘shade’, not even two feet from you, his crimson eyes seemingly on fire in the dim orange light of the sunrise. 

His hands were hovering near you, palms open, a look of concern on his brow.  

He doesn’t speak a word as your breathing slowly returns to normal, his nearness almost calming, bringing you back to reality.  

Sitting up, you finally unball your fist from your chest, your jaw aching from having been clenching it, probably all throughout your nightmare.  

Rubbing your face, you take a deep breath as you wipe at your damp face.  

“You were screaming.” His voice washes over you like a wave, instantly dispersing any lingering memory of your dream and you sigh in relief.  

“Sorry I-” 

His grunt stops you and you look at him in confusion.  

“You say that word needlessly, far too often.” he says simply and you let out a small laugh, realizing he’s right.  

“Habit, sor-” You put your hand over your mouth and let out a soft giggle.  

The sides of his eyes crinkle a bit and you almost gasp as you realize he may be smiling.  

Resisting the overwhelming urge to reach out and pull off his mask, you stand, brushing at the leaves clinging to your gown.  

“I suppose we should-” 

He turns before you can finish, pulling out a large leaf with berries on it.  

“Eat first.” He says, standing as you finally take his offering, staring at him in awe.  

“Thank you.” You whisper and he only nods as he walks a few feet away, seeming to look out at the path ahead. 

It only takes you a few moments to consume the food, then you’re standing and joining him.  

“Ready?” You ask and he just gazes at you for a moment before he gives you one nod, following as you set your slow, plodding pace for the day.

You are mostly silent, lost in thought as you travel, casting looks occasionally at your travel companion.  

Almost every time, you catch his eyes on you and his gaze never fails to warm you, your stomach doing little flips. 

As if subconsciously, you make almost double the amount of stops today as you normally have, knowing you must be getting close to wherever he’s taking you.  

During a particularly quiet bit of time where you’ve stopped to admire the view from the side of a cliff face, you watch as birds fly free and sigh in envy.  

There is water far below, and you can faintly hear the waves crash into the rocks lining the shoreline.  

Smiling as you close your eyes, you tip your face to the sun, basking in the mildly salty scent of the ocean. 

Upon opening, you can’t help but envy the winged creatures flying overhead. 

“Oh to be a bird…” you whisper under your breath, taking a step forward without thinking.  

There’s a sudden shift as the ground beneath your feet gives way, your small cry cut off as you plummet quickly towards the rocks below.

This is it, you conclude, your heart torn between sadness and elation as you fall to meet your death. 

Yet, instead of the bone breaking impact of the terrain of the shore, a familiar black cloud surrounds you, then you’re being clutched tightly in a pair of strong arms.  

Barely able to breathe, you just cling to him as he sets down onto the ground below, trembling as you try to recover your breath. 

“Are you alright?” he asks, and you glance up at him, grateful.  

“I-I think so…” you stutter out, grasping onto him as he looks around where you’ve both landed.  

“I’m sorry…I … “ you try to explain, but the concern in his eyes has you catching your breath.

“You…voluntarily touched me…” you realize out loud and he grunts in response, finally spotting a clear area to set you down.  

As he does, you let your arms linger around his neck, looking up at him affectionately.  

“Thank you.” you say softly, and he just watches you closely for a long moment, searching your eyes.  

Finally, he is the one to break the silence.  

“Why do you look at me so intently?” he asks, his intense gaze never breaking from yours.  

“I….I was wondering once more what you hide beneath the mask.” you tell him simply and he scoffs at you, removing your arms from around him, stepping back.  

“Nothing worth seeing.” he tosses out, surveying the area around you.  

“I’d like to have my own opinion on that.” you state, walking over to him to take his gloved hand.  

He stiffens at your touch, but does not pull away.  

“You confuse me.” he says, not for the first time.  

“I confuse myself sometimes, so it’s okay.” you say, smiling tenderly up at him.  

As he turns his eyes on you again, your heart trips over itself as you feel the overwhelming need to see him, see his face, to remove the mask keeping you from seeing him.  

All of him.

You have nothing to lose, something inside of you states.

Giving in to the pulsing demand of your inner voice, you start moving before you even realize you are doing so.  

Reaching up, you push back his hood, but he steps away in alarm, putting distance between you both, his long dark hair shining in the sunset.  

“May I…” you extend your hand towards him, but his eyes register panic as your fingers brush his mask.  

“No.” he says brusquely, turning away from you.  

“Please…I…don’t know why but I -” 

His voice is soft but heavy with emotion as he shakes his head, his long strands falling softly around his face.  

“There is nothing you gain from seeing what lies beneath.”

“There is nothing I lose, either..” You whisper to him softly, reaching for him once more.  

This time he remains still, allowing you to approach.  

You watch the rise and fall of his chest as you brush back the softness of his hair, his eyelashes fluttering at your touch.  

“You do not need to lay eyes on the pathetic creature that this hides. The monster that I am.” 

“You’re not a pathetic creature nor are you a monster, not to me.” you say, grasping his hand.  

“Not to me. You’re more than that.”  

His ragged breathing is the only sound between you as you wait, his eyes searching yours.  

“You have treated me kindly, you’ve saved my life-” His eyes look pained at your words as he shakes his head.  

“I am only doing my duty, obeying my orders.” he bites out, but you see something deeper in the depths of his gaze.  

“You know I am going back to almost certain death.” you whisper and you can see him wince, his hand trembling slightly in yours. 

“I am not asking for you to free me.  I accept my fate…I have nowhere to run.” 

“Let me lay eyes on what you want to hide…let me see all of you. Take it as a dying woman’s wish.” his eyes flutter at your words, keeping them closed for a moment before he looks at you intensely.  

“You speak of your death so easily, as if it doesn’t matter.” he responds softly.  

You only smile up at him as the darkness closes in around you, the light of the moon illuminating his eyes.  

“Death is inevitable, and you’ve given me this precious time with you before I meet my end.  I’ll cherish every moment, every single second with you. In the time I have left…I want to see all of you.” 

You beam up at him, giving him time to take in your words. 

His eyes seem to filter through an array of emotions as you look at one another.  

Pain, fear, agony…

Longing. 

As you watch those beautiful eyes, they seem to settle as he lets out an almost resigned sigh.

“Why is it that to me, you shine brighter than the moon?” he asks suddenly, reaching out to cup your face. 

Your breath hitches at his touch and you lean into the caress.  

“How do you do this, light up everything around you?” he asks, and you just smile at him sadly, your hand cupping his as he brushes his thumb over the tear rolling down your cheek.  

“I’m only bright because you’re so used to the dark.”  You respond, but he shakes his head.  

“You’re much more than a light in the darkness.  You belong in an open field of beautiful flowers under the sun, not lighting up this oppressive night.”  

You know he’s not only referring to the shadows surrounding you, his words causing your heart to tremble, yearning even more for him. 

You can only press yourself into him, brushing back the long strands of dark hair as he swallows at your nearness.  

You can feel your very soul quiver as he wraps a strong arm around you, holding you close.  

“I much prefer the beauty of the things I can bring the light to.” you whisper softly.   

He closes his eyes and you let your hand slip behind his head, trailing your finger along the strap holding his mask in place. 

“Monsters lurk in the darkness.” he whispers in a low tone, his hand gently stopping you as he opens his eyes, the pained red bleeding into the black of his irises, almost begging you not to go any further.  

Your heart pangs at the undercurrent of distress in their depths, but you know inherently that there’s nothing for him to fear, that you only need to prove it to him. 

“I’m more afraid of the monsters that walk amongst the flowers than I ever will be of the creatures in the dark.” 

You unhook the strap and let it fall, noting the sheer agony within his eyes. 

He closes them tightly as the mask falls, revealing one of the most breathtakingly perfect faces you’ve ever seen. 

Blinking back fresh tears at his need to hide himself, you can only bask in the sight of him; his beautiful lips quiver slightly at your sharp intake of breath.

“Perhaps the beings in the dark aren’t monsters at all,”  you whisper softly, “Just lonely creatures too afraid to show themselves to the light.”  

The tears clouding your vision finally begin to fall as you gaze in complete awe at his features, his body shuddering as your words seem to stun him.   

You watch his adams apple bob as he swallows, choking back a sob at his unwillingness to look at you.

“You're stunning.” you whisper as you find your voice, letting your fingers trace his jawline, the tips of your fingers skimming along his lips.  

“You should not hide yourself from others….from me.  Your voice is beautiful, as is this face you mask.” 

Your breath catches as he leans into your touch, cupping his cheek gently as you admire him.  

“You should proudly stand above all those who would look down on you and proclaim your right as a living being, deserving of love and kindness.” 

His eyes gradually open as you speak, warily studying your face for any signs of deception, confusion playing across his sculptured features.

His lips part as you bask in the brilliance of his beauty, the moon illuminating a single sparkling tear in the corner of his eye. 

Trembling as you take in the sight of him, you are flooded by emotions long forgotten overwhelming your very soul.

“Yeosang.” you whisper, the name coming from deep within you.  

“What-? What...does that mean?” He asks softly, his voice barely audible, his brows draw together in uncertainty.

Your fingers trace the graceful line of his nose, whispering across his flawless cheek; letting your fingertips brush the dark lashes as his eyes flutter at your touch.

“Yeosang…I cannot give you much in this world but…I can give you a name. In my world, “Yeosang” means ‘sound from a high point’ in one of the languages where I am from.” 

Your hand drops down, running a palm along his throat, eyes flicking up to watch a tear trace a line down his cheek. 

Your heart aches at the myriad of emotions in his eyes, and you long to have him understand what it is you see, visually and with your heart.

How deeply he moves you; what he has come to mean to you in such a short time together. 

What you yearn for him to believe; that he is worth something. 

“Use your voice for yourself. To me, you stand above them all, so I want you to see yourself as I do.” 

You lean in to place a soft kiss to his brow, and his arms tighten around you as his breath hitches at your words. 

“You’re no monster…you’re a radiant, magnificent being trapped and abused by those who fear you. You are only hiding yourself in the shadows.”  

He lets out a choked gasp as you press another soft kiss to his cheek,  

“Yeosang…it also means ‘everything’.” You tell him. 

His eyes are hooded as they play over your features, head down as he looks at you through those dark lashes.  

He pauses before he whispers, “Everything?” 

Tilting his face up to yours, urging him to look deep within your eyes.  A swell of emotion washes over you, and you give in to the words that seem to come from the very depth of your soul. 

“Yes, Yeosang. Because you are everything….my everything.” 

His lips part as your fingers entwine into his ebony tresses, guiding his mouth to yours.  

He lets out a small whimper as your lips meet, pulling you flush against him.  

His tongue traces the seam of your lips and you part for him, urging him to take whatever it is he wants.  

Slowly, gently he cups your cheek, brushing his gloved thumb over your skin, tilting your head as he deepens the kiss. 

On a small gasp, he draws back, a look of concern washing over his exposed features, his lips drawing down in a frown.  

“Am I hurting you?” he questions, fear evident in his eyes.  

You lean forward to press your lips to his once more, settling your forehead against his as you shake your head.  

“Not at all.  Your touch is everything I’ve ever wanted…needed…” you sigh, and his eyelashes flutter as you take his hand to place it on your chest, your heart thundering in the stillness.  

“Listen…” you whisper, your eyes steady on his.  

“For you.” 

His breath hitches as you place your hand on his chest, sighing softly as you feel the increasing rhythm with every passing moment.  

It seems as though your heart syncs to the tempo of his, yearning to merge, to fuse with his very soul.  

Your eyes lock with his, the silence surrounding you seeming to fill with ever growing symphony of emotion overwhelming you for this man.

The words leave your lips, without thought, just pure and simple.

Right.

“I love you.” 

Though said on the softest of whispers, his reaction is as if a thunderclap has broken him from his reverie, his eyes sharpening as he searches your face.  

Swallowing heavily, you breathe out, “I…barely know you, and maybe I’m insane...but it’s as if I was destined to always make my way to you.” 

Your words are barely audible, your cheeks burning at the confession. 

His sudden movement catches you off guard, fear threatening to claw it’s way up your throat, worried he will push you away; that you’ve made a mistake in voicing your feelings.  

Instead, his eyes remain locked onto your as he yanks at his gloved hands, shedding the leather quickly before he reaches for you once more.  

You shudder as he tentatively traces his fingertips along your cheek, brushing away the fresh tears.  “I fear that words can do no justice to how you move me…they can only pale at the vibrant way that you’ve set me ablaze.  The words that spiral through my mind can never explain the profound strength of how I’ve come to cherish you.” 

Your heart aches at his admission, closing your eyes to the flood of emotions that wash over you, the stream of tears flowing freely as he holds you.  

Your mouths meet once more as he pulls you to him, seeming to pour every ounce of himself into the kiss he breathes into you.  

Your hand covers his as he cups your cheek, marveling at how gentle he is, how delicately he touches you.  

“Yeosang…” you murmur against his lips and his breath catches, his tongue rolling against yours as he lets out a soft moan.  

“Say it again.” He demands and you smile against his mouth, letting your hand reach up to comb through his long silken strands.  

“Yeosang. My Yeosang.” The emotions coiling in your chest, your stomach seem to coalesce into an urge so strong, so powerful that you can’t deny them.  

“Make me yours, Yeosang,” you gasp out, as if the words are speaking from your very soul.  

Your trembling is noticeable in your voice and he lets out a shaky moan as you press yourself against him.  His arousal is unmistakable as he slips his hands down your back and you gasp at the way your body responds to him.

His eyes flare open, a deep scarlet filled with lust and concern as he shakes his head at you.  

“I will not do such a thing after what you’ve been through.  Not after-” his words are hushed with a touch from your fingers, even as his hands find purchase on your hips.  

Brushing your thumb along his lower lip, you blink slowly at him, smiling gently.  

“There is nothing here besides you and I, just the two of us. You need not concern yourself about harming me in such a way..  I am making the choice.  I am choosing you.” 

His eyes soften at your words, and he lets out a soft sigh, parting his lips to take your thumb into his mouth.  

“I…want you more than I have words to describe….. yet…” his eyes shift and you furrow your brow at his hesitance. 

“I will not force you into anything-” you tell him, suddenly worried that you’re the one crossing the line here. 

“No-I want you.  I truly, truly want you…” his hands tighten on your hips as he lets out a shaky breath, hips pressing forward as if to prove his point.  

You swallow heavily at his words, heat rising up your neck as well as pooling between your legs.  

“But?” you ask him, trying not to do anything to push your own needs, holding as still as you can, to not influence his decision.

“I-” his eyes are still averted, his throat working.  

“I have never…been wanted…been with-” 

His eyes dart back to yours and you can’t help a small curl of your lips at his admission, at the rosy tint to his beautiful cheeks.  

“Is that your only concern?” You ask him softly and he blinks slowly, nodding as you run your hand over his shoulders.  

“Yeosang…” you whisper, rocking your hips gently against him, gasping at his reaction to you.  

His head tilts back, fingers digging into your hips, then your ass as he slips them down to pull you harder into him. 

You lean down to press a kiss to the hollow of his neck, letting your tongue tease at his pulse as you roll your hips against him.  

His deep, throaty moan just heightens your need for him and you dig your nails into his shoulders. 

“If that is the only reason you hold back, then let me assure you.  I want you, Yeosang.  I will show you everything, if you want to make me yours, for I intend to make you mine if you’ll let me.” 

His entire body shudders against you and his soft growl has your eyes rolling back.  

“Let me show you how I love you. Let me show you what it means to be loved.” you whisper, kissing up his neck, nibbling at his earlobe.  

“Please-” he whimpers and you press your cheek to his, eyes shuttering.  He hands halt their exploration, holding you in place as he draws back to study your eyes.

“Do you trust me?” He asks softly and you nod without hesitation. 

“Then hold tight to me.” he whispers suddenly and your arms tighten around him without question.  

“Don’t be afraid…” his voice seems to come from everywhere as you’re surrounded by a black mist, suspended within.  

Closing your eyes, you feel a sense of euphoria as weightlessness takes over, a low melodic hum seeming to come from all around.  

Before long you’re released from the mist and you open your eyes to watch him solidify in front of you as he reaches out to steady you.  

“What-?” you begin but your words are cut off at the intake of breath when you realize where he’s brought you.  

The sound of the small waterfall you’d bathed in days ago draws your eye, the canopy of trees above letting in the brilliant light of the moon.  

“I…wanted to bring you somewhere you seemed to enjoy…where you laughed…” he whispers and you turn to look at Yeosang full unmasked, standing before you. 

Your heart feels as if it’s going to leap right out of your chest, and tears flood your eyes as you process where you are.

That he thought to bring you here. 

His intense eyes study you, seeming almost nervous as he watches your reaction.  

Closing the distance quickly, you reach out to cup his face in your hands, unable to contain your bright smile.  

“Are you happy?” He asks softly, his fingers tentatively brushing away an errant tear that slips from your eye.  

“Nothing could make me happier than being here with you, right at this very moment.” You respond, and his lips part as he watches you laugh in delight.  

“Then I…am ….happy as well.” He says, his brows drawing together at the seemingly foreign emotion.  

You can only blink away tears as he reclaims your mouth, wrapping your arms around his neck.  

His lips are soft and gentle as he tilts his head to deepen the kiss, splaying his hand over your lower back.  

Your tongue eagerly seeks his out, your fingers reaching up to comb through his soft, silky black hair.  The low hum seeming to emanate from his chest spurs you on, pressing yourself ever closer to him. 

The ache of desire for him shocks and captivates you, an almost forgotten feeling and it causes you to tremble uncontrollably.  

Your entire body thrums with anticipation as his hands begin exploring the length of your back, his fingers tracing your spine as he rubs his thumbs up your sides.  You bask in the sensation of being in his arms, at every single wanted touch he gifts you.  

“Tell me…once more..” He whispers between kisses, his hands slowly bunching the threadbare gown you’ve washed far too many times.  

“Tell me you want this…that you want…me…” he continues as you wrap a leg around his thigh, tilting your head back as his lips trail down your jaw.  

“Yes…yes I want you, I want all of you…” 

Your words seem to unlock whatever he was holding back and suddenly you’re beneath him, his arms on either side of you as he gazes down at you with those deep crimson eyes.  

The blades of grass are soft, tickling your skin as you part your legs, as his hands slip beneath the hem of the fragile down, his fingertips tracing up your naked thigh.  

A soft moan bubbles out of your throat at his touch, the longing ache for him causing you to tug at his shirt.  “All of you-” you gasp out, yanking, pulling at his clothing, at the straps keeping him from you.  

A frantic moment is spent as he helps you, removing his belts, then his shirt.  His long hair surrounds his face as he looks down at you before he lunges to capture your lips with his once more.  

The rush of the waterfall seems like nothing compared to the rage of need between the two of you, as he gently yet firmly presses against you; as you desperately urge him on.

“More-please- '' you gasp, and his fingers comply, pulling the material of your dress up over your hips, his hand splaying over the flesh of your stomach.

“Anything you want-anything-” He whispers, his teeth nipping your bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth before he trails kisses down your jaw.  

“I need to feel you-” you murmur, your hands skimming down his back to yank angrily at his pants, and he quickly sheds them. You get a quick glimpse of his naked muscled form above you before he returns his mouth to your throat, sucking and licking the sensitive flesh as he pushes your flimsy gown higher up.   

With a grunt, he pulls it up over your head, then tosses it to the side.  His dark eyes scan your bare chest hungrily before he returns to exploring your mouth with his.  

As his body settles against you, the welcome weight of him pressing into you, you let out a loud moan.  His hips jerk as his rigid length rubs along your damp slit, a strangled cry escaping his throat as he presses his face into your neck.

Running your hand along his spine, you place soft kisses on the crown of his head, holding him as he shudders in your arms.  

“So much…” he whispers, humming softly as you feel moisture against the skin of your neck.  

“Take your time…I’m right here…” you reassure him gently, trailing your fingers through his hair.  

The melody of the night surrounds you as he breathes into you, the moonlight illuminating your naked entwined bodies as he slowly raises his head, lips parted as he gazes down upon you.  

“As am I, precious.” His voice echoes through your mind, his rich warm eyes engulfing you as he rocks his hips forward.  

His words shake you to your core. Your back arches as the underside of his cock slips through your folds, your longing moan melding with his low gasp.  As his arms slips beneath you, you wrap a leg around his hip, meeting his movements with your own.

Your eyelids flutter as he rocks his hips, his tip rubbing along your clit as he watches every reaction, eyes glued to your face.  

“Soft…” he hums, voice deep and low as his cock pulses against you, “So warm and soft…” he looks down between you as he wets himself with your moisture.  

“Your scent is making me dizzy…” he whispers, his hand delving between you to gather the pooling liquid seeping from you, from his touch, his words.

Crying out as his fingertips explore your cunt, he shudders as his eyes lock back onto your face.  “This…?” He breathes out, his thumb flicking back over your clit, gasping along with you as you moan at his touch.  

“Yes! Oh…god…” you whimper as he draws his hips back, the head of his cock pressing firmly against your eager entrance.  You can feel his body tense as he feels your walls give slightly, halting with just the tip against you.  

“You…asked me to..make you mine…” he shudders, eyes slowly closing, then opening to stare deeply into yours.  “Do you truly wish to be mine?” 

His question moves you; on the very verge of claiming you, he has enough concern for you to check once more.  

To worry, to care.

You’ve never wanted anything more in your life.

“I long for nothing more…I want…no…” you whisper, your voice shaking as you reach up to cup his cheek “I need you more than I need breath.” 

He licks his lips and seems to glow with radiance at your confession, the silvery light of the moon illuminating his glorious face.  

“As you wish.” He hums softly as he pushes forward, causing you to cry out in bliss as he finally joins with you. 

The sensation of him stretching you rips a moan from your throat, your pleasure only heightened by his gorgeous features contorting in pure ecstasy as he fills you slowly.  

You watch him struggle to keep his eyes open, to watch your every reaction as he buries himself within you.  Shuddering, his lashes flutter as your walls grip him tightly.  

You lift your hips, rocking them gently beneath him as you bask in his every expression. 

How his nose scrunches; how his lips part as his hips begin to move in time with yours. 

“Mine…” his voice catches on the word, trailing off into a deep moan.  

“Yours.” Your response seems to free him from any lingering hesitance as he brings his fingers up to his lips, his tongue flicking out to taste the moisture on them.  

“FUCK-” His crimson eyes flash open as he thrusts forward, crashing his mouth against yours, letting you taste yourself on his eager tongue.  

Wordlessly, he begins to set a steady pace as you wrap yourself around him, encouraging him with every touch, every breath.  

His low moans grow louder as he draws yours out, the sound of your bodies meeting melding with the sound of the environment around you.

The rush of the waterfall, the hum of the chirping insects serving as an ode to your union, your cries intertwining with his to create a melody that is playing out between the two of you.  

“Yeosang-!” you sing to him, his deep throaty cries lost in the flesh of your throat as he licks, then nips the skin.

“I-I love you-” he growls almost too low to hear but your soul resonates as if he screamed them to the heavens.  

Your cries reach a crescendo as his sharp teeth nick your skin, the steadily building coil in your womb exploding at the heated sting of your skin being pierced.  

Tightening your arms around him as he marks you, wave after wave of rapture shaking your body, he continues to pound into you.   

“M-mine-” he stutters, licking the fresh mark, soothing it with kisses. 

His words are cut short as you guide him into a roll, his eyes widening as his back is now on the plush grass beneath you.  

“As you’re mine-” you gasp, still trembling from the powerful climax.  His hands settle on your hips as you grip his shoulders, settling your thighs on either side of his.  

Your eyes hold his as you rock your hips, reveling in how they roll back as your wet heat trickles between you, as your cunt grips him firmly as if to never let go.  

“I love you-” you moan as you lift yourself, drawing out his deep moans as you slide back down.  

“You’re my everything, Yeosang…” you murmur, arms wrapping around his neck as he sits up to claim your words with his mouth.

“Always.” He whispers as his hands slide down your back to cup your ass, lifting you, guiding you faster, harder down onto him.  

Throwing your head back, your eyes flutter open to gaze at the brilliant moon, memorizing this sacred moment; joined with him, his melodic voice filling the empty reaches of your soul as his body fills yours completely.

His lips capture your nipple as your movements become desperate, his fingers digging into the flesh of your ass.  The searing sensation as he sucks harshly at the sensitive nub has you crying out loudly, tears pricking your eyes.  

“More-louder-for me-” He rasps out, and your eyes dart down to see his eyes locked on you above him.  

Clenching ever tighter around him, you give in to him and release your voice into the night sky, crying out wordlessly as you ride him.  

His own frantic cries mix with yours as your fingers wrap into the strands of his hair, pressing your forehead to his as you feel him begin to tremble violently underneath you.  

“Come for me-” you beg him harshly, your breath hitching as you shake in his arms.  

“With me-” you urge as his eyes hold yours, his moans becoming low whines; his crimson eyes darkening as he finally chokes out your name.  

You’re both lost in each other’s gazes as his arms wrap around you; pulling you down onto him with inhuman strength as he loses himself in you, to you.  

The explosion of his voice spirals you into your own orgasm as he bursts, the torrent of his climax mixing with yours in a raging flood.  

His cries are frenzied as he empties himself deep inside of you, his cock throbbing as he clutches you tightly against him.  

Your head spins at the power behind your joining, the sensation of floating, suspended beyond space and time.  

Only this moment matters, this singular piece of your life, in his arms.  

Together.

Connected.  

Time seems to fall back into place as the noises around you slowly return, a low hum resonating through your body from Yeosang’s as he holds you against him.  

Finally, after an eternity of silence, you allow yourself to speak.

“I love you.” 

The warmth of his gaze says everything as his lips claim yours.  

His hands and mouth speak louder than any words as you give in to him once more, again and again through the long, blissful night.

“I will not return you.” 

Yeosang stands staring off into the distance as you rise, the morning sun appearing to form a halo around the beautiful fae man.

His words cause your heart to stutter, halting your movements as you go to pull your worn gown over your head.  

“-w-what?” you say softly, as hope begins to bloom in your chest.  

Facing away from you, his shoulders tense, he merely shakes his head, turning to gaze at you. His eyes are full of love, concern, weariness as gives you a gentle smile.

“I refuse to surrender you to -” he can’t seem to bring himself to say it, turning away from you to look off into the forest.

The bright sounds of birds echo through the clearing, the peaceful ambiance of the morning accentuated with the musical cascade of the waterfall.  

You walk up behind him, tracing your fingers down his arm before entwining your fingers with his.  He looks down at your hand in his, his profile a glorious sight now that he's abandoned his mask.

He turns to look at you, pain in his eyes mixed with a longing you understand all too well.  You both know all too well that with hope, with dreams come obstacles.

Obstacles that threaten the very happiness you've both just discovered within one another, and your chest tightens with terror at what may threaten it.

Yet right now, your only with is to stay with him, for him to stay with you. 

Forever.

“What...what about those you told me of? Will-will they come for you?” You ask him softly as he pulls you into his embrace, as his beautiful crimson eyes softening at your concern.

“That matters little, compared to what awaits you if we return.”  He hums, pressing a kiss to your forehead.  His deflection doesn't go unnoticed, though.

A frown tugs at your lips, a sudden pang of fear causing you to clutch him tightly.

“Will they hunt you down?” You ask breathlessly, hoping he will deny it, yet knowing the truth already.

He inhales slowly, looking away once more as he lets out a long sigh.  “That is not something you need to worry about, precious.  I will not let any harm come to you, not as long as I draw breath.” 

“What about the harm that can come to you?” You shiver at the very thought, how he could be hurt...killed.... because of you.  

His gaze rests on your worried features, those crimson eyes hardening in resolve, studying yours as he cups your face in his hands. 

“Whatever harm may befall me, nothing will keep me from protecting you with my very life. I swear it upon my very soul.” His lips brush yours as his gaze darts down to the mark on your neck.

“We belong to one another, and nothing in this realm or the next will keep us apart.  I won't lose you, nor will you lose me. This I promise you.”

“Where is he?!” the captain’s voice reverberates through the keep.  “I sent him out to bring her back ages ago! How dare such a wretched creature not obey his master with haste?” 

All within earshot cower from the rage oozing from the giant fae, and those within the room tremble at his wrath. 

“How hard is it to find a simple human? A small, fragile female doesn't stand a chance. He should have been back within days. How long has it been?” He turns to a small boggart in the corner.  

“Three weeks, my liege.” the creature's voice rasps out, eyes darting around in fear.  

“Three weeks?” The captain’s hands clench tightly as his jaw tics.  “Never before has he failed to complete his tasks immediately. Shade knows his place among us, he wouldn't fail to fulfill a mission."

"He knows the punishment that awaits a simple delay... there is only one answer." His momentary silence seems to cause more terror than his previous outburst.

The dry laugh that escapes the large fae is laden with venom, sharp enough to cut.

"It seems that our obedient hound is trying to break his leash."

The air is tense as the lesser fae wait on their captain's orders.

“It’s time to show him who he answers to.  I’ve long been too lenient with that vile monster.”

He turns to rake his eyes over the fae gathered in the large room, black eyes oozing rage as he gives his command.

“Bring me that rabid mutt’s head. It’s time for the hunter to become the hunted.”