#i can’t choose between peace and family

[fr0gg13b413]

twisting my words so you can say that i hurt you. you have so little faith in me?? am i really a horrible person? you make me feel awful for wanting to live, for trying to live, for making space for myself so that i can live.

i wanted to have dinner with you, i wanted to talk and catch up.

i lasted one hour in that ghost ridden house.

[inbarfink]

So one of the cool and interesting ways ‘Steven Universe’ used to try and balance being both a series of 11-minutes episodes that each have their own satisfying emotional resolution and being an overarching story with complicated character arcs that take multiple seasons to resolve is the… I’m going to call it the ‘Not Quite Right Lesson’ episodes. Episodes where a character kinda learns a Very Important Lesson… but a more careful and retrospective look at the situation shows that what they learned is not Quite the Right Thing for them. They internalized something in that adventure which just ended up causing more Emotional Troubles for themselves farther down the line.

‘The Test’ is the most classic example. 

As a standalone thing, it’s just a sweet episode about Steven learning to accept that his caretakers are also flawed and confused and figuring this shit up as they’re going along just like he is, and then doing a nice thing for their sake.

But looking back at this episode, it is quite obviously the nadir of Steven appointing himself as the Family Therapist and repressing all of his problems so he could better help the Gems’ with theirs. Like, there have been some early warning signs for this Complex, but this episode is the one that really cemented that idea in his mind and probably the reason it took him like the Entire Rest of the Show Including a Post-Finale Season to really untangle it.

But… also, I’ve been thinking a lot about the episode right after that, ‘Future Vision’. I think it’s also a very important ‘Not Quite Right Lesson Episode’ for the character of Garnet, and to some extent, the Crystal Gems as a whole. In many ways, it is to the CGs' character arcs' what 'the Test' is to Steven's.

So in this episode, Garnet reveals to Steven the fact that she has Future Vision. She hoped that telling Steven a little bit more about herself and being honest with him will lead to a greater understanding and a greater bond between them… but it backfired. It just led Steven to become a total paranoid, terrified wreck stuck in a total existential crisis.

And it seems like the lesson Garnet learned is that… she should’ve never taken that risk at all. That it would’ve been better for everyone if she just kept Steven ignorant of the truth forever.

Extremely reinforced with the ending of the episode, where Garnet chooses to once again hide an uncomfortable truth (that he just came very close to dying again) from Steven, for the sake of his own ‘peace of mind’.

So, like, the Gems were already hiding uncomfortable truths from Steven since day one. “If you could only know what we really are” and all of that. But I think… With the actual truth of Homeworld encroaching on them more and more at this point of the story arc, this would’ve been a great time for the Gems to reconsider their attitude and actually Explain to Steven What the Hell is Going On. 

But instead, I think Garnet saw the events of ‘Future Vision’ as a reinforcement of the idea that there’s just some things Steven is Better Off Not Knowing. Actually being frank with him about Homeworld and the Diamonds and the War right there and then, that would have just overwhelmed Steven with fears and worries and would’ve ended up doing nothing but hurting him. And Garnet can’t accept that possibility, not again.

And so, Garnet, alongside Amethyst and Pearl, keep all these truths from Steven as long as possible. Only revealing bits of information when they have to. For Amethyst it’s about her emotionally-evasive attitude (also, she legit doesn’t know all of that stuff herself). For Pearl it’s about how she learned to romanticize Rose’s own fucked-up obsession with secrets. For Garnet, with her usually very direct attitude and preference for the most straightforward solutions, I think it’s very much the events of ‘Future Vision’ that were still playing in her head every time she had the choice to actually Explain something to Steven and decided not to. 

But that, indeed, was Not Quite the Right Lesson. While being bluntly and directly told by Garnet all about the Many Ways He Could Die caused Steven to go into an anxiety spiral and an existential crisis for an episode - the way the Gems have been consistently secretive and evasive with Steven ended up causing him so much more emotional grief to him in the long run. As all of these secrets ended up revealed to him in the most surprising, dramatic and traumatizing way possible.

And the secretive attitudes ended up driving a wedge between Steven and the Gems. 

Even after they promised to be more honest with him. Because the sight of Steven crying on the roof that day is one that Garnet can easily move away from. Because Garnet’s Not Quite Right Lesson was almost as difficult for her to unlearn as Steven’s own. 

But after the big confrontation at the start of the Zoo Arc, Garnet ended up being the most upfront about the Crystal Gems’ history. Almost overeager to share what she knows about the past.

I mean also, again, Amethyst just has less to tell and Pearl is hiding secrets for reasons beyond her control - but I think it’s also important to consider from the perspective of Garnet’s arc.

Because the fallout of the Pink Diamond Reveal is very much centered around Garnet (or, well, Ruby and Sapphire). That was the Truth that was hidden from her 'for her own good'. And at the end of the day, despite all the grief that unveiling that truth has caused

It has also brought them, all of them, a lot closer.

There's a reason why 'the Truth' is Garnet's Final Missing Piece in the movie. It is as central to her character arc in the series as Lesbian AngstTM grief over lost love is to Pearl.

And still, some remnants of the Trauma of 'Future Vision' remained...

After all, even the very last episode of 'Future' was centered around the Gems once again trying to hide things from Steven (at that case, their turmoil about him leaving) for his own sake

Even though it once again just caused Steven a whole lot of grief.

It's maybe notable that at the end of this episode, Garnet, once again, tells Steven what's waiting for him in his Future...

[adalitas-coffeebreak-corner]

Something's gotten hold of my heart

Remus Lupin x Slytherin!fem!reader

A/n: This is my first time writing for Remus, but I hope you'll enjoy reading <3 word count: 3k

Warnings: Insults, swearing, grade A parenting from Walburga, bullying, arranged marriage, smoking, family trauma.

Remus falls in love with a girl he knows he can't have, because she belongs to his mate Sirius.

Or so he thinks.

It had been widely known since sixth year that Sirius Black and Y/n Y/l/n were engaged to be married once they both graduated Hogwarts.

Despite both children being raised as pureblood heirs by their respective families, they equally shared their disdain for the ideology, hence the secret friendship that had remained between the two since childhood. Every moment they could find an excuse to hide away from their family’s social gatherings, they would. The two of them always appreciated each other’s company, free from rules and judgement. Sirius had for many years been Y/n’s support, comforting her when the topic of marriage arose from her mother.

Her parents had told her when she turned eighteen years old, she would be given away to whomever they deemed fit. As luck would have it, on her seventeenth birthday her mother informed her they had chosen the eldest son from the noble house of Black. Y/n figured it to be a halfhearted attempt from Walburga trying to save the family name, because of her “unruly” son.

When the engagement was announced, Sirius was quick to promise Y/N a chance for them to run away as soon as the wedding was over, a new start for them to be free from their parents’ clutches.

“Is it gonna stay like this forever Siri?” Y/n mumbled into the smoke leaving her lips. The young girl was laying on her back with her head resting on Sirius’ lap. The boy chuckled as he plucked the cigarette from her hand and took a hit. “What part, love?” He retorted. She let out laugh, smacking him on his chest, “Everything, the parties, the awful rhetoric, the manners… Us”

They had stayed that way for an hour, comfortably hiding out in Sirius’ room, far away from prying ears.

She suddenly found the ceiling an interesting place to advert her gaze, swallowing the lump in her throat. The boy could sense the sudden stiffness of her muscles, noticing the way her eyes stayed fixed in one place, as if she awaited terrible news. He guessed her reaction was appropriate, considering the uncertainty of her question, and the fact that he might not be able to provide the peace of mind she’d want.

“I think once we’re married, we can do whatever we want. No more expectations or fear around every corner. I think we can be happy” His hand swiftly handing the cigarette back to her.

The muscles pulling at the corner of her lip betrayed her words “I think you’re getting sappy Black” sitting up, looking at her best friend.

“Can’t help it love” He smiled. Sirius had always been better, yet not good, at being more hopeful than her, a trait he knew came from his friendship with James.

His words of comfort later, when her father had dragged her out to the common area to socialize later that evening, had stuck with her.

“As soon as we’re married, we can move far away and live whatever life we choose. Until then we just have to keep up appearances”

When term started it felt like a ticking time bomb, no amount of homework or trips to Hogsmeade could soothe her inner turmoil. It also didn’t help Sirius had less time for their late-night hangouts, having gotten himself into a routine of common room parties and hookups, Y/n constantly getting questioned by Pandora and Dorcas about her opinion regarding her future husband’s escapades, which led to Y/n spending more of her time hanging out with Regulus, Barty and Evan.

Nothing about Sirius’ personal choices bothered her, it rather suited the young witch perfectly, considering her heart only belonged to a certain friend of Sirius’, the lanky bookworm, who always had an essence of kindness, coffee and cigarette smoke wherever he went. Of course she had no real expectation of marrying for love, so she kept up her façade and remained content knowing she had been bestowed the best possible outcome. Her days mostly just consisted of playing pretend, being the perfect daughter and student, keeping her opinions to herself, never showing anyone (except Sirius) her true colors.

Therefore Y/n kept her interactions with the marauders to a minimum, rather watching from the sidelines, than ending up being the target for their next prank, even though she knew Sirius wouldn’t let that happen, even though there would be questions. In the rest of the Gryffindor’s eyes, she was only a vain, pretentious pureblood, and through Slytherins eyes, Sirius was a fallen son not worthy of marrying a girl of her “status”.

It was an unexpectedly warm day in September, during the beginning of their sixth year, when all her hard work fell apart, the first time she was alone with Remus in the library. His voice was soft as he approached her, nervously starting a conversation about the muggle novelle she had hidden beneath layers of books. It only took him a couple of months to slowly break down her guard, their little conversations beginning to become a weekly delight. By December her heart was skipping a beat every time she saw him, every waking thought somehow maneuvered its way back to him.

He had become her safe space now that Sirius was mostly gone.

He was calmer than the rest of his housemates, a trait she rather adored about him, and he never asked any questions about her family, which in this case was very appreciated.

Why Remus had approached her that day, he couldn’t quite figure out, or at least that is what he told himself. Sirius had written to him during their break a few weeks prior confirming his engagement.  At first Remus was angry, he couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that Sirius had gotten caught up in old pureblood customs. So, when he spotted her in the library, Remus had almost felt inclined to walk over and scold her, but he knew deep within himself that the pureblood princess herself most likely wasn’t ecstatic about the engagement either. He had almost turned around completely before noticing a familiar book cover.

He hesitated for a couple of seconds, watching her fail at hiding a worn-out copy of The Bell jar by Sylvia Plath. Remus had read the bell jar once in a muggle library close to his home.

From that moment he was intrigued.

On one specific occasion when Remus and y/n had their conversations alone in the library, conversing about random schoolwork and literature, he realized his feelings towards her. It was an evening after winter break, the two had been talking for hours, something about it seeming so serene. Remus had been going on about a series of pranks the marauders had come up with, as of late, hoping to lure a reaction from the usually proper girl.

“You should’ve been there, I swear” He chuckled leaning forward, a glint of mischief in his muted eyes. “It was brilliant”

Y/n’s eyebrows lifted, seemingly intrigued. “Well then, go on Lupin” her silence afterwards encouraging him, and so he did. “Theres this bloke, a year above us, Ravenclaw right” He cleared his throat, hands lifting, extending the dramatic effect. “Last week we caught him bulling a second year Gryffindor, so we nicked his wand”

Her lips twitched, but she stayed silent, clearly skeptical.

“You stole his wand? Damn Lupin you’ve let me down-“

He leaned closer, continuing.

“That’s not the best part dove” Remus smirked recalling the memory. “Stealing the wand after quidditch practice was easy but switching it with a hexed liquorish wand was the real prank” Her expression faltered for a second, but she didn’t interrupt.

“So transfiguration rolls around, Davies is asked by McGonagall to perform owl to opera glasses, he starts and nothing happens, so he tries for five straight minutes until the wand goes soggy, I swear! He starts screaming and McGonagall’s just standing there staring at him, honestly thinking he’s going insane”

She had finally burst out laughing, and it was like a dam had broken. It was soft at first, then full and genuine. She leaned back against the chair, her laughter echoing through the usually empty library, and he couldn’t help but smile at the sound. There it was—the sound he didn’t know he had been waiting for.

It was the first time he made her laugh out loud, and his heart almost exploded.

By the time March rolled around he realized he was in love with her. They had been standing by one of the bookshelves when their hands accidentally touched, and instantly he was a goner. But she was marrying Sirius, so instead of giving in, he kept their interactions hidden deep down and locked away together with his feelings for her.

And so, as the seventh-year starts, everything remained the same, except the heart of one Remus Lupin had been completely and utterly shattered.

"Moony, what's the matter?" Peter questions softly, the lanky boy hunched over his dinner plate in the great hall, looking positively destroyed. Before his "cleverly" thought out excuse, just the usual moon stuff, could leave his lips, James decides to chime in, almost on cue, the universe's cruel joke.

"Oi, Pads how does it feel to be the husband of the second fittest bird in our year?" James erupts, tilting his entire body towards the long-haired boy sitting to his left. "Only second to my Lily flower of course" he smirks, whipping his face equally fast to his right side, where he is met with the biggest eyeroll from Lily.

"We are not married yet Prongs" Sirius protests with a slight frown.

If they were to keep up the illusion, Y/N had to keep the appearances of a typical Slytherin, for the sake of her family name. Sirius therefore didn’t express much fondness for the girl, considering the confusion that would arise on behalf of his friends.

And most importantly, no one could know the truth, not even the marauders. James makes a face as he whistled. "Well, at least she's not your cousin" Sirius cringes, although it was true that he was almost promised away to own cousin, before the Y/l/n's promised away their golden child. He regrets telling that story to James.

Remus can’t help but tense his jaw, his grip on the utensils tightening. Yes, he know the rumors of the Y/l/n family being heinous purebloods, but that still didn't stop his heart from skipping a beat when Y/n walks into his line of sight. In his mind Y/n simply cannot be the monster many think her to be, not a monster like him, anyways. He shrugs the last thought out of his head.

He at least has the rest of the year to get used to the thought of his best mate getting married to the most beautiful, talented, intelligent- "Wretched is what she is" Sirius huffed, snapping Remus out of his thoughts, clearly having lost the last minute of their conversation. "Sirius, be nice to her, you are engaged after all" Lily pleads.

 The redheaded girl has been partial to the Slytherin ever since second year, where Y/n set fire to Barty Jr.'s cape for calling Lily a mudblood. Of course, Y/n played it off nonchalantly, but Lily could sense an anger behind her eyes at Barty's comment. "Yeah, Pads if you hate her so much, why don't you break it off?" Remus adds sharply, making the group turn towards him.

Sirius secretly hopes no one notice the guilt behind his cold facade. Speaking ill of his childhood friend never came to him easily. "Surely you haven't understood the concept of an arranged marriage dear Moony. Now, let’s drop it before I lose my appetite" he quickly responds, shoving a spoonful of food into his mouth, before changing the subject.

 .................

 Later that week, Remus has defense against the dark arts with the rest of the marauders. They are all heading down the naturally lit stone-built corridors when a loud smack echoes through the halls. The boys quickly gauge each other’s reactions before hurrying towards the sound, the scene in front of them making their jaws drop. Daniel, a particularly annoying Slytherin, is holding a hand to his, very red cheek, Y/n standing staring daggers at him. It takes all Sirius' strength to not run over and interfere, however Remus is already storming towards the pair, James lets out a yelp as he tries gripping Moony's uniform to pull him back.

 The small crowd of students mostly looked baffled, but the faces of most students adorning green look appalled. Daniel mutters something under his breath, until his gaze finds Sirius'. "Good luck with this one Black, a bloodtraitor and a tempestuous whore, surely a match made in heaven" he shrieks and storms off, the rest of the Slytherin crowd following hot in his heels, except for Dorcas, Barty (who just mostly enjoys the drama) and Regulus who stay behind looking between Y/n and Sirius.

It feels like an eternity for Sirius, standing there opening and closing his mouth, like a fish out of water, before y/n nods towards the younger Black, the four of them making their way up the stairs.

 "What the hell just happened?" Peter question, searching for any kind of answer. "My thoughts exactly, Wormtail" James add.

Remus' heart is beating exceptionally fast when the four of them stop at the door leading into the classroom, as their gazes find Y/n sitting next to Regulus who is gently holding her hand beneath the table. There is an air of comfort to his touch that Remus does not like. Apparently, he isn't the only one who noticed. Sirius looks uncharacteristically anxious at the sight of his younger brother and his fiancé.

Remus can’t quite understand Padfoot’s inner turmoil, getting jealous over the one person he supposedly can't stand? Remus can't figure out why it hurts him more, thinking Sirius after all, maybe doesn’t hate her as much as he previously thought. As the teacher comes down the stairs urging the students to open their books to page 119, they quickly take their usual spots at the back, except James who hurries up to sit next to Lily in the second row. Once the bell rings, Remus stays back, taking his time packing his books away into his satchel.

Y/n is still sitting where Regulus left her, looking deep in thought, while the teacher scolds her, taking away 20 points from Slytherin for punching another student. Daniel must’ve already snitched. Remus can only focus on the most perfect little crease adorning her face, right over her left brow. After the teacher leaves, he makes his way over. "It was some punch you threw; I- I mean I only saw the aftermath, but I assum-" "Why, are you talking to me Lupin?" She shoots back so quickly, Remus gets startled, adverting his eyes to the ground.

Looking back up at her, he mentally prepares himself for her wrath, but finds no fury or judgement in her eyes, she just looks.. sad.

It is almost like she hadn't even registered her own answer.

Three hours earlier...

"C'mon Y/l/n, we are going to be late for class!" Regulus yelled into the Slytherin common room, where y/n was seated next to Dorcas. The two Slytherins exchanged an amused glance. "You heard him minx, let’s get you to class" Dorcas sighed, getting up and dragging y/n with her. She let out a huff and smoothed out her uniform with one hand, while getting dragged by the other.

The friends met up with the rest of the group in the courtyard, Regulus now directing his sternness towards Barty, Evan and a couple of other classmates, finding his place on the ledge of the fountain. Barty Jr. smirked as he saw y/n, his eyebrows darting up behind his sunglasses, his tongue darting out to wet his lips before smugly muttering "So, how long until we have to mourn your union with the bloodtraitor y/l/n?”

She rolled her eyes, while the others laughed, moving ever so elegantly to sit down next to Regulus.

Regulus knew about Y/n and Sirius’ agreement, making him partially fond of his older brother for protecting someone he deemed a friend. Y/n had to tell him, for when the engagement was announced in Grimmauld place, Regulus refused to talk to her for about a week, thinking he would lose her, just like he lost Sirius. Dorcas shot Y/n a look, however her eyes stayed firmly trained on Barty, who had gotten comfy on his boyfriend’s lap. "As soon as seventh year ends Jr., why? Have you not gotten your invitation yet?" Y/n bit her lip, eyes sparkling as she watched Barty pushing the sunglasses down his nose, a slight smirk hiding the annoyance in his eyes as the rest of the group laughed, even Regulus seeming amused.

Y/n had to be careful around her classmates, answers well calculated, and most importantly contain a slight bit of contempt for Sirius, yet not enough for her parents to call off the wedding. Feeling total numbness in the presence of Barty jr, Evan, Daniel and even Severus, helped her a lot, even though their comments had hurt her the first couple of times, she reminded herself that beyond Hogwarts there was a world for her, where she could live free of the hate and judgement that followed most wizards.

The group started making their way to class, Y/n giggling at something Evan said, keeping her façade perfectly intact, a stark contrast to the buzzing in her head, and the fastness of her heartbeat.

"I can't wait to see what’s going to happen with Black; I mean do we really expect that ceremony to go smoothly?" Severus mocked, making Daniel cry out a laugh.

 You can do this Y/l/n, Just breathe, empty your head..

Fate had different plans, as the next sentence that left Daniel made her blood boil and her hands clench. "Look on the bright side Severus, at least you’re not the one marrying a good for nothing bloodtraitor, in my opinion pretty boy should just do Y/n a favor and jump from the astronomy tower, maybe his dimwits friends would follow alon-" Regulus' eyes widened, everything happening before he could interfere. Her hand almost cracked at the force behind her throw, sending Daniel's face flying backwards before one of the columns stopped his momentum, doing nothing to soften the blow.

 ..................

"It was some punch you threw, I- I mean I only saw the aftermath, but I assum-"

"Why, are you talking to me Lupin?" The words leave her before she has a chance to think.

Punching Daniel will surely come back to bite her in the ass, the realization dawning on her, she feels the heaviness of having to do damage control. All because of her stupid compassion towards Sirius and these stupid feelings towards his handsome friend- "I don't know, I guess I just wanted to make sure you are okay" the concern in his eyes almost make her break. Growing up in Y/l/n manor empathy was a foreign word and crying meant weakness.

 There was so much she had to unlearn with the help of Sirius. The raven-haired boy had just gotten out of the same toxic situation himself, moving in with the Potters over the summer causing an uproar from his family, despite Walburga's intent on keeping up appearances. Y/n had never seen Sirius as happy as that day, where he told her he had escaped. Of course, there were days of despair and guilt for leaving Regulus in that foul house, but it did consol the boy knowing Y/n kept tabs on the younger brother. "I’m fine" she hisses, finally packing up her books. "You don't seem fine" Remus challenges, making her freeze.

The classroom seems a lot smaller than it was a few minutes ago, and her bag feels heavier than usual. Her hands keeps fidgeting with the tabletop, every muscle in her body feeling tight as she tries to think of a response, coming up empty handed. Instead, she settles for staring at the bruise on her knuckles. After what felt like an eternity Remus' hand comes into her field of vision, gently covering hers in his, her eyes snaps up and her breath hitch.

He is so close to her; she’s almost afraid he can hear the effect of it on her heartbeat. She tries swallowing the lump in her throat, but the whirlwind of emotions, and the warmth of Remus keeps her from speaking. "I don't know why you punched him, but I am sure he deserved it" He mutters reassuringly, looking over her features as he continues explaining "but I also want to make sure you are okay-" "it's none of your business Lupin" she whispers, her small voice betraying her words.

He lets out a simple sigh, the air from his lungs tingling her lips, reminding her just how little space there is between their faces, she can easily close the space between them if she shifts her weight to the front of her feet, moving her head up to- "You're right, it's none of my business, I’m sorry for bothering you” Remus turns around, feeling slightly rejected.

[trulyumai]

to expect more from him

—pairing: Emperor Geta / Wife! Reader

—synopsis: you ask geta of his priorities and where his wife and unborn child rank in his world. are you truly surprised of the answer?

—warnings: geta being a dick, light angst.

—a/n: im back baaaaabyyyyy!!

The flicker of candlelight was the only illumination in the room, casting dancing shadows across the walls. You lay curled against Geta’s side, his arm wrapped around you, his fingers tracing slow, soothing patterns along your skin. It was a rare moment of peace, one that you had come to cherish amidst the chaos that always seemed to swirl around him.

His warmth enveloped you, the steady rhythm of his breath a comforting lullaby. There was a quietness between you, the kind that spoke volumes, and for a while, you allowed yourself to simply exist in it. This was the man you had once loved—before the weight of the crown, before the bloodshed and politics consumed him.

You closed your eyes, pressing your cheek into the firm expanse of his chest, feeling the quiet thrum of his heartbeat beneath your ear. You were at peace here. But a question had been gnawing at the edges of your mind all evening, and it wouldn’t let go.

“Geta,” you whispered softly, your voice breaking the silence. His fingers paused their gentle movements as he turned his attention to you, his hand resting on your back as he gazed down at you.

You took a slow, steadying breath. “If it came to it... would you choose me and the child over Rome?”

He froze. For a moment, the air between you thickened. The question hung in the space between you, heavier than anything either of you had ever dared to address. His eyes, sharp and calculating, flickered with surprise, and a quiet chuckle rumbled from his chest—a sound that was all too familiar, but now felt strangely hollow.

He let out a light, almost mocking laugh. “You think I would ever choose between you and Rome?” His voice was playful, but there was an edge to it, a condescension that was unmistakable. “I’ve built an empire, wife. I’ve fought, bled, and sacrificed for it. I can’t just walk away from it. From everything I’ve worked for.” His words were sharp, as though he were trying to convince not only you but himself as well.

You felt a chill settle in your chest. His laughter, meant to dismiss your question, stung more than you could have anticipated. You pulled back slightly, looking at him with a mixture of hurt and disbelief. “So, you would really choose Rome over your family?” Your voice trembled slightly, but you held his gaze, searching for any hint of the man you once knew.

The flicker of something darker passed over his face, but it quickly faded as he leaned back, a half-smile playing on his lips. “You know what Rome demands of me,” he said, his tone suddenly cold and detached. “You’ve always known.”

“Yes, I’ve known,” you said softly, a pang of sorrow twisting in your chest. “But I never thought you’d laugh at the idea of choosing your family. Us. Over it all.”

His gaze shifted, a sudden shift in his demeanor as he took a deep breath. “You think Rome will fall without me?” He laughed again, but this time there was something darker behind it. “It’s not that simple, sweetling. I’ve come too far to just turn my back on everything.”

You stared at him, your heart aching, the sense of loss settling deep inside you. He wasn’t the man you remembered. The man who had once promised you a future, the man who swore to protect you and your unborn child. Now, all you could see was the emperor, the mask of duty and power consuming him more and more with each passing day.

“That’s the problem,” you said quietly, your voice trembling now. “I don’t want to be a second thought to Rome. I don’t want to be your duty. I want to be your choice.” You paused, letting the weight of your words hang in the air. “But if you’re already making it clear that Rome will always come first, then maybe I should stop pretending that this is enough.”

For a moment, Geta didn’t respond. His expression had shifted—no longer playful, no longer cold—but instead filled with something you couldn’t quite place. Guilt, perhaps. Or confusion.

“I—” he began, his voice rough with emotion, but then stopped. His eyes softened, his earlier bravado faltering under the weight of your question.

“Do you think I don’t want to choose you?” he finally said, his voice quieter now, almost vulnerable. “Do you think I don’t see what we could have? What we should have? I’ve sacrificed too much for Rome, for this throne… I don’t know if I could walk away from it.”

You didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed at his words. At least now, there was no more pretense. At least now, he was being honest with you.

But that honesty brought no comfort, no certainty. “Then we’re not the same,” you whispered, your heart breaking. “Because if it were me, I wouldn’t hesitate.”

A long silence passed before Geta shifted beside you, his expression conflicted. “I need time,” he said quietly. “Time to think. But I will not let anything happen to you. Or our child. Not ever.”

And in that moment, you weren’t sure what the future held. But you knew that tonight, your world had shifted. You would never again look at him in quite the same way. Neither of you were the people you had been when you first fell in love.

You could only hope that, in time, he would see the truth. That love, true love, was worth fighting for—just as much as power.

[amethystarachnid]

Hey! I wanted to request Loki x reader fanfic. Can it be arranged marriage with slow burn au where the reader is a princess of a small kingdom who never thought she'd be marrying into a higher kingdom let alone Asgard. So is surprised when is betrothed to loki. She tried to give him benifit of doubt but we'll he acts like an ass and she decides to give it to him back equally. They both banter and throw sarcastic jibes during the courting period and after the marriage but over time they become friends and then lovers. Maybe She calls odin out on his bullshit and bias towards thor, and all the fun family dynamics with frigga and thor.

Thank you! And wishing you a happy new year!✨🍀

THE ROYAL LOVERS

⤷ LOKY LAUFEYSON

ᯓ★ Pairing: Loki Laufeyson x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, some angst and some fluff

ᯓ★ Requests status: open (only by asks)

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 11k (I dont think I can make it more slow burn than this lol)

ᯓ★ Summary: just what the ask said

ᯓ★ TW(s): nothing I think

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

You sit in the grand hall of your father’s castle, the sunlight streaming through the stained glass windows, casting kaleidoscopic patterns on the cold marble floors. The room feels heavier than usual, the weight of your father’s words pressing down on your chest. Betrothed. You turn the word over in your mind, trying to make sense of it, trying to figure out how this has become your reality.

“To one of Asgard’s princes?” you repeat, unable to mask the disbelief in your tone.

Your father nods, his expression grave yet tinged with pride. “Yes, daughter. This alliance is a great honor for our kingdom. A union with Asgard strengthens our position, ensures our prosperity, and secures peace for generations to come.”

Peace. Prosperity. You’ve heard these words countless times before, always in speeches or during court gatherings when foreign diplomats visit. Now they’re being used as the justification for altering the course of your entire life.

You swallow hard. “And which prince?”

A pause stretches between you, long enough for your heart to skip several anxious beats. Your father finally answers, his voice calm, though his eyes betray some unease. “Prince Loki.”

The name settles over you like a shadow. You’ve heard stories of Asgard, of its golden spires and indomitable warriors. Tales of its princes, too—Thor, the golden-haired god of thunder, beloved by all, and Loki, the sharp-tongued trickster whose reputation is far more ambiguous.

You straighten in your chair, forcing yourself to remain composed despite the storm building inside you. “I see. And when am I to meet this... prince?”

“Soon,” your father says. “King Odin and Queen Frigga have agreed to host a meeting at their palace. You will accompany me to Asgard in three days' time.”

Three days. That’s all the time you have to prepare yourself for the encounter that will determine your future. You nod stiffly and rise from your seat, excusing yourself from the conversation.

Once you’re alone in your chambers, the weight of it all crashes down on you. You pace the room, the rich fabrics of your dress swishing around your legs, your mind racing. Betrothed to a prince of Asgard. It sounds like something out of a storybook, but you’re no naïve dreamer. You know enough to understand the realities of political alliances.

Still, you can’t help but wonder: why would Asgard—a kingdom so vast and powerful it dwarfs your own—be interested in such a union?

Three days later, you stand before the shimmering Bifrost Bridge, its prismatic light almost blinding. The sight of it steals your breath, though you quickly compose yourself as the Asgardian guards usher you and your father toward the grand palace that looms in the distance.

The palace is even more magnificent than the stories described, its golden towers piercing the sky, its halls adorned with treasures from realms beyond your imagination.

You feel small here, insignificant. But you refuse to let it show.

In the throne room, King Odin sits atop his gilded seat, his presence commanding, even intimidating. Beside him stands Queen Frigga, her beauty and poise as striking as the rumors claimed. The sight of her eases your nerves slightly; she seems kind, her gentle smile a stark contrast to the stern expressions of her husband and the guards flanking the room.

And then you see him.

Prince Loki.

He stands a step behind his parents, dressed in sleek black and green, the golden accents of his attire catching the light. His dark hair is neatly combed back, his pale features sharp and angular. There’s an air of arrogance about him, a cool detachment that only adds to his enigmatic aura.

Your father bows, and you quickly follow suit, keeping your gaze fixed on the floor.

“Your Majesties,” your father begins, his voice steady. “It is an honor to stand before you. I thank you for welcoming us into your home.”

Odin nods curtly, his single eye fixed on your father. “We are pleased to have you here. This alliance is of great importance to both our realms.”

Frigga steps forward, her smile warm. “And you must be the princess,” she says, addressing you directly.

You lift your head, meeting her gaze. “Yes, Your Majesty. It is a privilege to be here.”

Frigga’s smile widens, and for a moment, you feel at ease. But the feeling is short-lived as you catch Loki’s gaze. He’s watching you, his expression unreadable.

“Loki,” Odin says, gesturing toward you. “This is the princess, your betrothed.”

The words hang in the air like a thunderclap. Loki’s lips curl into a faint, almost dismissive smirk. He inclines his head slightly but says nothing.

You suppress the urge to bristle. Fine, you think. If he’s going to be curt, so be it.

Frigga notices the tension and steps in, her voice soothing. “Why don’t the two of you take a moment to speak privately? Get to know one another.”

Your father nods in agreement. “An excellent idea.”

Before you can protest, you’re being led to a nearby chamber, Loki following behind you at a leisurely pace. Once the door closes, you turn to face him, your hands clasped tightly in front of you.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The silence is thick, uncomfortable.

“So,” you begin, forcing yourself to sound calm. “It seems we are to be married.”

Loki leans against the nearest wall, his arms crossed over his chest. “Indeed. Though I must admit, I find the arrangement rather curious.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Curious? In what way?”

He shrugs, his tone casual but laced with condescension. “Our kingdoms are not exactly equals. One might wonder what my father hopes to gain from such a union.”

The words sting, but you refuse to let him see it. Instead, you smile sweetly, matching his tone. “Perhaps he hopes I’ll teach you some manners.”

Loki’s eyes narrow slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before he regains his composure. “Manners? How quaint. I wasn’t aware my betrothed was a tutor.”

You take a step closer, meeting his gaze head-on. “And I wasn’t aware mine was a child.”

His smirk falters, and for a moment, you think you’ve won. But then he chuckles, low and amused. “You have spirit, I’ll give you that. It’s almost endearing.”

“Almost?” you echo, tilting your head. “I’ll take that as a compliment, though I doubt you intended it as one.”

Loki studies you for a moment, his green eyes piercing. “You’re not what I expected.”

“And neither are you,” you reply, refusing to look away.

The tension in the room is palpable, an unspoken challenge hanging between you. Finally, Loki straightens, his expression unreadable once more.

“This should be interesting,” he says, his voice quiet but carrying an edge.

You don’t respond, watching as he strides toward the door and leaves without another word.

When you return to the throne room, Frigga gives you a knowing look, as if she can sense the clash of wills that just occurred.

“I trust you had a productive conversation,” she says gently.

You offer her a polite smile. “It was... enlightening.”

Loki says nothing, his expression calm but his eyes glinting with something you can’t quite place.

As the meeting concludes and you prepare to return to your chambers at Asgard for now, you can’t shake the feeling that this is only the beginning of a battle of wits and wills. And for the first time since hearing of the betrothal, you find yourself almost looking forward to the challenge.

The news spreads faster than you’d expect. Within days of the announcement, the realms are abuzz with the most unlikely engagement of the century: Loki, the so-called “trickster prince” of Asgard, and you, the princess of a modest but proud kingdom.

You learn of the reactions secondhand—your father shares reports from neighboring realms, some of which range from incredulous laughter to outright disbelief. Even within Asgard, whispers fill the air. Servants, courtiers, even the warriors of the great halls exchange furtive glances as you pass, clearly wondering how and why such a union has come to be.

You, however, have no answers for them.

Forced to stay in Asgard for the duration of your courtship, you find yourself in a whirlwind of carefully orchestrated meetings, formal dinners, and—most excruciating of all—dates.

The first one is planned with all the subtlety of a lightning bolt. Frigga herself announces it over breakfast, her tone pleasant but brooking no argument.

“The two of you will take a walk through the gardens this afternoon,” she says, her serene expression giving no indication that this is a royal decree rather than a suggestion. “It’s a lovely day, and I’m sure you’ll find the fresh air invigorating.”

Loki, seated across from you at the lavish dining table, barely looks up from his plate. “Invigorating,” he echoes dryly, his tone implying that being dragged into the sunlight is the last thing he finds appealing.

You sip your tea, determined not to let him ruin your mood. “It sounds delightful,” you say, forcing a bright smile.

When the time comes, the “walk” is as awkward as you anticipated. The gardens of Asgard are, of course, stunning, with vibrant flowers and towering trees that look as though they were sculpted by the gods themselves. But the beauty of your surroundings does little to ease the tension between you and your betrothed.

“You seem thrilled to be here,” you remark as you stroll along a cobblestone path, glancing at Loki. He walks a step ahead of you, his hands clasped behind his back and his expression neutral.

“I’m beside myself with joy,” he replies without missing a beat.

You roll your eyes. “If you hate this so much, why not just tell your parents you’re not interested? I’m sure they’ll understand.”

Loki stops, turning to face you with an arched brow. “You think I haven’t tried? My father, as you may have noticed, is not particularly accommodating when it comes to matters of ‘duty.’”

You shrug. “Neither is mine. But at least I’m trying to make the best of it.”

“Ah, yes,” Loki says, his lips curling into a smirk. “You’re positively brimming with enthusiasm. Tell me, is sarcasm a custom in your kingdom, or is it just your natural talent?”

“It’s a survival skill,” you shoot back, crossing your arms. “Particularly useful when dealing with insufferable princes.”

Loki laughs—a genuine laugh, though he quickly masks it with a cough. “Touché.”

The rest of the walk is less tense, though the banter continues. By the time you return to the palace, you’re both mildly annoyed but also—if you’re honest with yourself—mildly entertained.

The dates that follow are no less eventful.

One afternoon, you’re coerced into accompanying Loki to the library, which he claims is his “sanctuary.” You quickly learn that by “sanctuary,” he means a place where he can hide from people and indulge in his penchant for mocking their intellectual inadequacies.

“You know,” you say, trailing your fingers along the spines of ancient tomes as Loki lounges in a nearby chair, “if you put half as much effort into being pleasant as you do into being smug, you might actually be tolerable.”

“Why would I aim for tolerable when I can achieve perfection?” he counters, not looking up from his book.

You grab the nearest volume and plop it unceremoniously onto the table in front of him. “Here. Enlighten me, oh wise one.”

Loki picks up the book, glances at the title, and smirks. “A Beginner’s Guide to Asgardian History? How quaint.”

You grin, leaning on the table. “Well, I wouldn’t want to overwhelm you with anything too advanced.”

For a moment, his eyes meet yours, and you swear you see a flicker of amusement there. Then he closes the book with a theatrical sigh. “Very well. Sit, and I’ll educate you—though I can’t promise you’ll retain anything.”

By the end of the afternoon, you’ve learned more about Asgardian history than you ever thought you’d care to know. And, despite his constant teasing, Loki is an excellent teacher.

Another date—a “ride” across the Bifrost on enchanted steeds—proves to be even more chaotic.

“Have you ever ridden a horse before?” Loki asks as you mount your steed, his tone suggesting he already knows the answer.

“Of course,” you reply confidently, though your grip on the reins betrays your nerves.

As the horses take off, galloping across the shimmering bridge, you quickly realize that Asgardian steeds are not like those of your kingdom. They’re faster, stronger, and seemingly unbothered by the laws of gravity.

You let out an involuntary squeal as your horse leaps into the air, soaring above the bridge for a heart-stopping moment before landing gracefully.

Behind you, Loki laughs—an infuriating, delighted sound. “Having fun, princess?”

“Shut up!” you shout, gripping the reins tighter.

By the time the ride is over, your hair is a mess, your heart is pounding, and you’re thoroughly mortified. Loki, of course, looks as composed as ever.

“Well,” he says as you dismount, his smirk firmly in place, “that was exhilarating. Shall we go again?”

You glare at him, brushing strands of hair from your face. “Don’t push your luck.”

Despite the constant banter, you find yourself… not hating his company as much as you expected. Loki, for all his arrogance, is undeniably clever, and his sharp wit keeps you on your toes. He’s also surprisingly observant, occasionally making remarks that reveal a deeper understanding of you than you’re comfortable admitting.

For his part, Loki seems to enjoy sparring with you, though he never lets on too much. There are moments when his smirk softens, when his eyes linger on yours a little longer than necessary. But just as quickly, he retreats behind his usual façade of indifference.

The days pass, and the courtship continues, much to the amusement of the palace staff and the frustration of your parents.

“They’re impossible,” Odin mutters one evening after dinner, watching as you and Loki exchange yet another round of playful insults.

“They’re perfect for each other,” Frigga replies with a smile, her gaze warm as she watches the two of you.

Perfect. You wouldn’t go that far. But as you lie awake in your chambers that night, replaying the day’s events in your mind, you can’t deny that something about Loki intrigues you.

And though you’d never admit it, you’re starting to think that this arrangement might not be so terrible after all.

The day of your wedding looms ever closer, and Asgard hums with preparations. The golden halls are adorned with garlands of flowers, banners bearing the crests of your kingdom and Asgard hang side by side, and the palace is abuzz with activity. Servants scurry to and fro, courtiers gossip behind jeweled fans, and Frigga oversees every detail with her characteristic grace.

You, meanwhile, feel like a tightly coiled spring, caught between nervous anticipation and the persistent irritation that comes from dealing with Loki.

If the prince’s attitude was difficult before, it’s positively maddening now. You’re not sure what changed, but he’s been colder, more distant, his biting remarks sharper than usual.

One day, as you’re walking through the palace gardens, you decide to confront him.

“Alright, what’s your problem?” you demand, stepping in front of him and blocking his path.

Loki arches a brow, clearly unimpressed by your attempt to corner him. “You’ll have to be more specific, princess. I have so many.”

You cross your arms. “Don’t play coy. You’ve been acting like an even bigger ass than usual lately, and I want to know why.”

His lips curl into a smirk, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “You flatter me with your concern.”

“I’m serious, Loki.” Your voice softens, though your gaze remains firm. “If I’ve done something to upset you, just tell me.”

For a moment, his expression falters, and you think he might actually answer you. But then his smirk returns, colder than before.

“Perhaps I’m simply preparing you for the reality of being married to me,” he says, his tone light but laced with something darker.

Your stomach twists, but you refuse to let him see how much his words sting. “Fine,” you snap. “Be an ass. See if I care.”

You storm off, leaving him standing in the garden, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

The tension between you only worsens with the arrival of Thor.

The golden-haired prince returns from a long mission, his presence immediately commanding attention wherever he goes. Thor is everything Loki is not—open, friendly, and effortlessly charming. He greets you with a beaming smile, his blue eyes sparkling with genuine warmth.

“You must be the princess,” he says, clasping your hand in his large, calloused one. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Good things, I hope,” you reply, returning his smile.

“Of course!” Thor’s laughter booms through the hall, drawing the attention of everyone nearby. “I can see now why my brother is so reluctant to share his time with you. He must be afraid I’ll steal you away!”

You laugh politely, though the comment catches you off guard. Before you can respond, Loki appears at Thor’s side, his expression carefully neutral.

“Thor,” he says smoothly, his tone deceptively light. “How delightful of you to join us. I see you’ve already met my betrothed.”

“Indeed, I have!” Thor claps a hand on Loki’s shoulder, grinning. “She’s delightful. You’re a lucky man, brother.”

Loki’s smile tightens, and you swear you see his jaw clench. “Yes,” he says, his voice a touch colder. “Lucky indeed.”

From that moment on, Loki’s demeanor shifts even further. He grows colder, more distant, and his once playful banter becomes outright cutting.

During a dinner with Thor and the royal family, you find yourself on the receiving end of one of his more caustic remarks.

“Tell me, princess,” Loki drawls, leaning back in his chair. “Have you been enjoying your time here in Asgard? Or is it too overwhelming for someone from such... modest origins?”

The table falls silent, all eyes turning to you. Thor frowns, clearly disapproving of his brother’s behavior, while Frigga gives Loki a sharp look.

You take a deep breath, forcing a smile. “Oh, it’s been lovely,” you reply sweetly. “Though I must admit, the company has been a bit... mixed.”

Thor bursts out laughing, while Loki’s eyes narrow dangerously.

“Well played, princess,” he says, his voice low and icy.

The tension between you only seems to escalate as the days pass, culminating in a heated argument the night before the wedding.

“You know,” you say, standing in the middle of the grand hall where the ceremony will take place, “if you’re so miserable about this marriage, why don’t you just call it off?”

“And bring shame to both our kingdoms?” Loki replies, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I think not.”

“Shame?” You scoff. “Oh, please. Everyone knows you don’t want this any more than I do.”

“And yet here we are,” he snaps, his eyes flashing with anger.

The argument spirals, both of you hurling insults and accusations until you’re both breathing heavily, standing far too close to each other.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The air crackles with tension, and you half-expect Loki to say something cruel, something to end the conversation once and for all.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he steps back, his expression unreadable. “Goodnight, princess,” he says quietly, before turning on his heel and walking away.

You’re left standing alone in the empty hall, your chest tight and your mind racing.

The day of the wedding arrives, and you wake with a mixture of dread and resignation. You’re dressed in an elaborate gown, the finest your kingdom has ever produced, and escorted to the ceremony by your father and a contingent of Asgardian guards.

The hall is packed with dignitaries and guests from across the realms, their eyes fixed on you as you make your way down the aisle. At the end of it stands Loki, dressed in black and gold, his expression a perfect mask of calm.

As you approach, you search his face for any sign of emotion, any hint of the man you’ve gotten to know over the past weeks. But he gives nothing away.

The ceremony proceeds smoothly, the vows exchanged without incident. But as you stand before the gathered crowd, your hand resting in Loki’s, you can’t shake the feeling that something has shifted between you.

When the officiant finally declares you husband and wife, Loki leans in, his lips brushing your ear as he murmurs, “The games begin, princess.”

You pull back slightly, meeting his gaze with a mixture of exasperation and amusement. “Bring it on, prince.”

The crowd erupts in applause, oblivious to the battle of wills raging between the two of you.

And as Loki leads you down the aisle, his hand resting lightly on yours, you can’t help but wonder what the future holds for this strange, tempestuous union. One thing is certain: life with Loki will never be dull.

The wedding feast is a blur of golden light, laughter, and endless toasts. Your smile is painted on, your cheeks aching as guests from every realm offer their congratulations. Loki plays his part impeccably, charming the crowd with his wit and occasional glances in your direction that are just shy of affectionate.

Inside, you feel like a tightly coiled spring, wound tighter with every passing moment. You know what comes after the feast. The thought sits heavy in your chest, making it hard to breathe.

The hour grows late, and when the last of the guests have finally departed, you’re escorted to the chambers that have been prepared for you and Loki. The halls seem longer than usual, the distance to your destination stretching endlessly as your nerves build.

When you reach the door, the servants offer you both polite bows before disappearing down the corridor, leaving you and Loki alone.

He opens the door, gesturing for you to step inside. His expression is unreadable, though his usual smirk is noticeably absent.

The chambers are stunning, of course—richly furnished and illuminated by soft, flickering candlelight. But all you can focus on is the massive bed at the center of the room, its silken sheets and embroidered pillows looking more like a throne than a place to rest.

Loki closes the door behind you, and you hear the faint click of the lock.

You stand frozen in the middle of the room, your hands clasped tightly in front of you as you stare at the bed.

“Well,” Loki says after a moment, his voice breaking the tense silence. “I suppose this is the part where we consummate the marriage.”

Your stomach flips, and you force yourself to turn and look at him. “I... I know,” you manage, your voice barely above a whisper.

Loki studies you, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly. Then, to your surprise, he sighs and moves to the nearest chair, sinking into it with an almost theatrical air of exasperation.

“Let’s make one thing perfectly clear,” he says, resting his elbow on the armrest and propping his chin on his hand. “I have no intention of forcing you—or myself, for that matter—into anything tonight.”

You blink, taken aback. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he replies, his tone dry, “that we don’t actually have to do anything. All anyone needs to know is that we sayit happened. As long as we both stick to the story, no one will be the wiser.”

Relief floods through you, so sudden and intense that your knees nearly buckle. “You’re serious?”

“Deadly,” he says, his lips twitching into a faint smirk. “I find the idea of spending the night in awkward silence far more appealing than the alternative.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, nodding quickly. “Alright. I... I agree.”

“Good.” He stands and moves to the other side of the room, unfastening his cloak and draping it over a chair. “We’ll sleep in the same bed—appearances and all that—but I promise to stay on my side. You won’t even know I’m there.”

You hesitate, glancing at the bed again. “Alright,” you say softly, your voice steadier now.

Loki changes into a loose tunic and trousers while you slip behind a screen to remove your elaborate gown and don a simple nightdress. When you emerge, he’s already lying on one side of the bed, his back to you.

You climb in cautiously, keeping to the very edge of your side. The mattress dips slightly under your weight, and you can feel the faint warmth of Loki’s presence, though you’re careful not to look at him.

The silence stretches between you, heavy but not entirely uncomfortable.

“Goodnight, princess,” Loki says after a while, his voice quiet but laced with his usual sarcasm.

“Goodnight, Loki,” you reply, your lips curving into a faint smile despite yourself.

The next morning, you’re awoken by a knock at the door. Loki groans softly, rolling onto his back but making no move to get up.

“Come in,” he calls lazily.

The door opens, and a group of servants enters, carrying trays of breakfast and fresh clothing. They’re followed by Frigga, who takes one look at the rumpled bed and your mussed hair and smiles knowingly.

“I trust you both slept well,” she says, her tone light but her eyes sharp with curiosity.

Loki sits up, running a hand through his disheveled hair and flashing her a lazy grin. “Like babes in a cradle, Mother.”

You flush, quickly busying yourself with the tea that one of the servants has placed on the bedside table.

Frigga’s gaze lingers on the two of you for a moment longer before she nods, clearly satisfied. “Good. The court will be eager to hear that the union has been properly sealed.”

You nearly choke on your tea, but Loki remains perfectly composed, raising an eyebrow at his mother. “Of course,” he says smoothly. “They needn’t worry about that.”

Frigga gives him a pointed look, then turns to leave, her skirts sweeping gracefully behind her.

When the door closes, you let out a shaky breath, your cheeks still burning.

“Well,” Loki says, leaning back against the headboard with a smirk. “That was convincing enough, wouldn’t you say?”

You glare at him, though there’s no real heat in it. “You could have warned me she’d ask.”

“And deprive myself of the pleasure of seeing you flustered?” He grins, clearly enjoying himself.

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips.

The rest of the day is a whirlwind of public appearances and well-wishes from guests and courtiers. You and Loki play your roles to perfection, standing side by side and accepting congratulations with polite smiles.

But every so often, you catch Loki’s eye, and there’s a flicker of something there—something you can’t quite define.

As the sun sets and the festivities wind down, you find yourself wondering if this strange, tentative partnership might become something more.

The passing weeks blur in a mix of royal duties, public appearances, and private moments that seem far too fleeting. You and Loki settle into an unexpected, but not unwelcome, routine. It’s not one born out of affection, nor of any deep romantic feeling—at least not on your part—but something else entirely.

It’s friendship, of sorts, though it has an edge of guardedness on both sides.

Loki is still as sarcastic as ever, his barbed words often making you want to throw a pillow at him, but there’s a subtle shift in his attitude. He doesn’t try to make you uncomfortable, nor does he push you into situations that force your discomfort. Instead, he lets the two of you share moments of quiet companionship, moments that pass without him demanding anything more than just… being together.

At times, you even catch him offering a rare, genuine smile when the two of you exchange witty banter, the edge of coldness in his eyes softening for just a moment before it’s hidden away again.

It’s those moments—small, fleeting—that make you begin to wonder if there’s more to Loki than meets the eye.

But then, every time Thor is around, Loki retreats into himself. His demeanor hardens, his eyes become colder, and the playful teasing he once directed at you disappears, replaced by something almost resembling disdain.

It’s frustrating. You had grown used to Loki’s sharp wit and dry humor, but around Thor, he becomes a stranger. It’s as though he’s a different person entirely.

It’s in those moments that you realize just how much Thor’s presence affects Loki. The way his brother’s easy charm and warmth seem to have earned him the favor of everyone around them, especially their father, Odin.

The stark contrast between the two brothers becomes painfully obvious during family dinners.

On this particular evening, you’re seated at the grand table in the palace hall, flanked by Frigga on one side and Thor on the other. Loki sits at the far end, his posture rigid and his eyes fixed on his plate. The tension between the two brothers is palpable, though it’s subtle, buried beneath layers of carefully crafted politeness.

Frigga chats lightly with Thor about his latest battle, her soft voice carrying through the room. You listen attentively, though a part of you can’t help but glance over at Loki.

You can feel the weight of his silence, the way he seems to withdraw into himself whenever Thor speaks. Loki only offers the occasional half-hearted comment, his tone distant, as if he’s not really a part of the conversation.

Frigga, ever perceptive, seems to notice as well. She glances between Loki and Thor, her expression one of quiet concern.

“Loki,” she says gently, her voice carrying the weight of unspoken understanding, “is there something you wish to add?”

Loki straightens slightly but doesn’t look up from his plate. “No, Mother. I’m simply… observing.”

You can’t help but notice the way his jaw clenches, his gaze still fixed on his food as though he’s avoiding looking anyone in the eye.

Thor, ever the optimist, tries to break the tension. “Come now, brother. Surely you have a better tale to tell than mine. You’ve always been the more… creative one when it comes to storytelling.”

Loki’s eyes flicker toward Thor, but the look he gives his brother is colder than you’ve ever seen it. There’s something there, something unspoken that hangs heavy in the air between them.

“I have no tales to tell,” Loki replies coolly, his voice flat. “Not tonight.”

The silence that follows is thick, awkward. You shift in your seat, unsure of what to say, and Frigga clears her throat, clearly attempting to shift the atmosphere.

“I’m sure Loki has many stories to share when he’s in the mood, Thor,” she says, giving her son a kind smile. “But for now, perhaps we should allow him the peace to enjoy his meal in silence.”

Thor seems to take the hint, though there’s a flicker of confusion in his eyes as he nods. “Of course, Mother.”

But you notice the way he glances at Loki one last time before he turns his attention to you. He smiles, his usual warmth returning.

“It’s good to see you again, Princess,” Thor says, his voice easy and kind. “I trust you’ve settled in well?”

You smile back, grateful for the change of subject. “Yes, thank you, Thor. Asgard has been… more than welcoming.”

Loki stays silent, his fork moving absently as he pushes food around on his plate. You try not to let your gaze linger too long on him, but it’s difficult to ignore the way he seems to withdraw further with each passing moment.

Later, after the dinner has ended and the courtiers have dispersed, you find yourself walking the halls of the palace, your thoughts a tangled mess.

Loki’s behavior continues to trouble you. It’s clear that there’s something between him and Thor, something deep and unresolved. You can sense it in the way Loki acts when his brother is near, the way he retreats inward, shutting everyone else out.

And then there’s Odin. You’ve seen it too—the way the Allfather seems to favor Thor in ways that Loki could never seem to earn. The way Odin’s praise comes effortlessly to Thor, while Loki is left in the shadows, forced to fight for every scrap of recognition.

You’ve begun to notice the small things—the way Loki’s expression shifts when Odin speaks to Thor, or how he watches them both with an almost painful intensity when they stand together.

It’s hard to ignore the dynamic between them. Loki’s desire to prove himself to his father, to gain his approval in a way that seems perpetually out of reach, is something you can’t help but empathize with.

But you don’t know how to talk about it, how to approach him without making things worse.

That night, after the dinner, you retreat to your chambers, the silence of the room settling around you like a weight. Loki is already there, seated on the edge of the bed, his back to you as he stares out the window.

The flickering light from the torch on the wall casts shadows across his face, making his expression seem distant and closed off.

You hesitate in the doorway, unsure of what to say. But the longer you stand there, the more the words seem to push their way out.

“Loki,” you begin, your voice tentative, “I know things have been… difficult lately.”

Loki doesn’t turn around, but his shoulders tense at the sound of your voice. “Difficult? You mean the constant parade of Thor’s victories and Father’s adoration?” His words are sharp, laced with bitterness.

You step further into the room, your heart aching at the venom in his tone. “I didn’t mean it like that,” you say quietly. “But I can see it, Loki. I can see how much it hurts you.”

For a long moment, there’s nothing but silence. Then, Loki sighs deeply, rubbing his temples as if trying to stave off a headache.

“I don’t need your pity,” he mutters. “I don’t need anyone’s pity.”

You take a careful step closer, your voice soft. “I’m not pitying you, Loki. I’m just… I just don’t want you to feel alone in this.”

He laughs bitterly, his shoulders shaking as he turns to face you. “You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t understand what it’s like to be cast aside, to never be good enough no matter how hard you try?”

You swallow hard, your throat tight as you look at him. “I don’t know what that’s like,” you admit, “but I know what it’s like to feel like you’re constantly trying to prove yourself to someone who doesn’t even notice.”

Loki’s gaze flickers briefly to yours, and for a moment, there’s a crack in his armor. But it’s gone almost instantly, replaced by that familiar coldness.

“I don’t need your sympathy,” he repeats, though there’s less conviction in his voice.

“I’m not offering you sympathy,” you reply firmly. “I’m just saying… if you ever want to talk about it—about anything—I’m here, Loki.”

He stares at you for a long while, his eyes unreadable. And then, with a quiet sigh, he nods once, his voice barely above a whisper. “Thank you, princess. But I’m not ready to talk about it yet.”

You nod, though your heart aches at the weight of his words.

“I’ll be here when you are,” you say softly.

Loki doesn’t answer, but the silence that falls between you is… less heavy somehow. Less lonely.

You’re not sure what the future holds for the two of you, but in that moment, you both find a small measure of peace.

And for now, that’s enough.

The days following your conversation with Loki are a strange blend of light and shadow. The weight of your words lingers in the air between you two, but there’s an undeniable shift. It’s subtle, at first—a slight softening in the way he looks at you, a rare but meaningful smile that occasionally plays at the corners of his lips.

But it’s clear, too, that there are walls around him, walls that are not easily torn down. You don’t press him further, content to let him open up in his own time, if at all.

Then, one evening, when the palace is quiet and the rest of the court is engaged in a distant gathering, Loki surprises you.

You’re walking down one of the many hallways, heading back to your chambers after a rather dull meeting with various nobles, when you hear his voice.

“Princess,” he calls softly, his voice carrying through the silence of the corridor.

You turn to find him standing a little ways down the hall, leaning against the stone wall with his arms crossed. There’s something different in his stance—less guarded, more… open, though he still holds that impenetrable air around him.

You raise an eyebrow. “Loki? What’s the matter?”

He shifts, a subtle but noticeable tension in his posture as if he's deliberating whether or not to speak. Finally, after a beat of silence, he steps toward you, his footsteps soft on the stone floor.

“I… I’ve been thinking about our conversation,” he says, his voice quieter than usual.

You give him a careful look. “What about it?”

Loki glances down, avoiding your eyes for a moment before meeting your gaze. “About my father.” His voice tightens slightly, but it’s not the usual bitterness. It’s something more raw. “You were right. I… I’ve been carrying a lot of things for a long time.”

You wait, not wanting to interrupt, giving him space to speak.

“I don’t know if I’ve ever told anyone this, but…” Loki exhales slowly, his breath shaking as if he's letting something go for the first time. “I’ve never felt like I was enough for Odin. For my father. Not in the way Thor is. Not in the way that he needs me to be.”

You step closer, drawn in by the vulnerability in his voice. “Loki…”

He shakes his head, as if frustrated with himself. “I’ve always tried to do everything he wanted. Prove myself, be the son he wanted. But it’s never been enough. Every time I think I’m close to earning his favor, Thor does something. It doesn’t even matter what. Odin just… adores him.” Loki’s words come out with a sharpness, like they’ve been pent up for years, and yet there’s an unmistakable sadness there.

You want to reach out, to comfort him, but you don’t. Not yet.

“Thor…” Loki scoffs, though it’s not with malice—more a mixture of frustration and helplessness. “He doesn’t try. He just is. And Odin… he praises him for every little thing. Meanwhile, I’m left to pick up the pieces, to try to carve out a place for myself. But nothing ever works.”

A knot forms in your chest as you listen to him. It’s impossible to ignore how deeply Loki’s words cut, how much he craves the recognition and love he feels he’ll never receive.

“I know it’s not Thor’s fault,” Loki adds, almost as an afterthought, as if the words pain him. “But sometimes, I just… I can’t help but resent him.”

There’s an ache in his voice that hits you like a physical blow, and without thinking, you step forward and place a hand on his arm.

“You don’t have to explain yourself, Loki,” you say quietly. “I can see how much this hurts you.”

His eyes soften for just a moment, a flicker of something—something like gratitude—before the walls go back up. But it’s a start.

“I know you understand,” he mutters, his gaze dropping. “It’s just… hard to admit, even to myself.”

The silence between you two stretches, but it’s not uncomfortable. It feels like a shared understanding, an unspoken bond that has formed between you.

“You don’t have to carry it alone,” you say softly, stepping back a little but keeping your eyes on him.

Loki looks at you, his expression unreadable. Then, with a small, almost imperceptible nod, he gives you a faint smile. “Thank you.”

It’s more than he’s ever said to you in any of your interactions, and it makes your heart flutter, though you don’t show it.

“Anytime, Loki,” you reply, your voice steady, though your hands are trembling ever so slightly.

The next day, Odin makes his usual rounds through the court, his presence like a weight hanging over everyone. He speaks with courtiers, listens to reports from the generals, and gives out orders. But as usual, his praise for Thor is effusive, his voice rich with admiration.

It’s when you’re walking through the hall toward the council room that you catch the conversation between Odin and Thor. They’re speaking loudly enough for you to overhear, and you can’t help but wince as Odin lauds Thor’s latest achievement.

“Thor,” Odin says, his voice full of pride, “you’ve done the kingdom proud. Truly, your battle strategies are unmatched. I’m so glad to see you take your place as the leader Asgard needs.”

Thor laughs, clearly pleased, though there’s no sign of arrogance in him. “Thank you, Father. But I couldn’t have done it without the support of my allies.”

Odin waves off the sentiment with a chuckle, his voice warm. “Your humility is one of your finest qualities, my son.”

And that’s when it hits you—how blatant the favoritism is. How obvious it is that Odin is always quick to praise Thor, but Loki, despite his brilliance, is always left in the shadows.

Your chest tightens with the unfairness of it all. You’ve heard whispers before—how Odin has always placed Thor on a pedestal, how his approval has always been out of reach for Loki.

You’ve seen it yourself, in the way Odin looks at his sons. Thor, with his easy smiles and loud boisterousness, is clearly the favored one. Loki’s quieter, more calculating nature doesn’t seem to earn him that same adoration.

And something inside you snaps.

You’ve had enough of watching Loki suffer in silence. Enough of the obvious bias that Odin so openly displays.

With a deep breath, you step forward, deliberately interrupting the conversation between father and son.

“Lord Odin,” you say, your voice steady and louder than you expect. Both Odin and Thor turn toward you, surprised by your sudden interruption.

Odin’s eyes flicker over you, but his expression remains neutral. “Princess,” he greets, his tone polite but distant. “What is it you need?”

You take a step closer, finding the courage you’ve never had before to speak your mind. “I think it’s time someone pointed out something that’s been bothering me for some time,” you say, meeting Odin’s eyes with unwavering resolve.

Thor looks at you, clearly surprised, but Odin’s expression doesn’t change.

“I’ve noticed,” you continue, “that you never seem to acknowledge your sons equally. You give Thor praise, constantly sing his virtues, while Loki…” You glance over at him, who stands with his arms crossed, looking more uncomfortable than usual. “Loki deserves the same recognition, and it’s time someone said it.”

Thor’s eyes widen at your words, and Odin’s gaze sharpens, though he doesn’t immediately respond.

“Princess, this is a matter between my sons and I,” Odin says, his tone calm but with an edge that warns you to back down.

But you don’t. “It’s a matter of fairness,” you say, your voice unshaken. “Loki is just as capable, just as brilliant, and he deserves the same respect as Thor.”

For a long moment, there’s silence, a heavy, thick silence that seems to hang in the air. Odin’s eyes study you carefully, as if deciding whether or not to chastise you.

But then, to your surprise, he lets out a slow breath. “Perhaps you are right,” he says, his voice thoughtful, though still carrying the weight of authority. “I will consider your words, Princess.”

You nod, your heart pounding in your chest as you turn to leave. You know you’ve probably made a powerful enemy, but for once, it feels worth it.

As you walk away, you can’t help but glance back at Loki, who is now watching you with a look of surprise—and something else, something softer.

Later that night, you’re in your chambers, lost in your thoughts when a quiet knock at the door pulls you from your reverie.

You open it to find Loki standing there, his usual composed demeanor in place, though there’s something different in his expression.

“Loki,” you say, surprised to see him. “What’s wrong?”

“I wanted to thank you,” he says, his voice low and sincere. “You didn’t have to do that. But you did.”

You shrug, trying to appear casual despite the flutter in your chest. “It was the right thing to do.”

“I know,” he replies, his tone soft. “But that doesn’t make it any less… meaningful.” He hesitates, then takes a step closer, his eyes meeting yours. “You’ve… you’ve done more for me today than anyone has in a long time.”

The words settle between you, and for a moment, everything is quiet.

You don’t know what to say. But somehow, it doesn’t matter. The air between you is charged, but calm, like a storm that’s waiting to break.

And then, without thinking, you step forward, closing the distance between you.

Loki’s breath catches slightly, but he doesn’t pull away. His hand brushes yours, tentative but warm, and that’s when you both understand.

You look into each other’s eyes for a moment, the words unsaid but understood, and then you kiss—softly, tenderly, as if this moment, this connection, is something you both desperately need but never quite expected.

It’s gentle, quiet, and everything in between, and for the first time in a long time, you feel as though the walls between you are starting to fall.

The day after you stood up to Odin, something subtle but undeniable changes between you and Loki. The lingering tension that had once surrounded him, the cold barrier he had erected between himself and everyone, especially you, seems to soften just slightly. He still wears that aloof mask he’s perfected over years of deflecting people’s attention, but there are moments when he looks at you differently—like he sees you, really sees you, as something more than just the princess he was supposed to marry.

But of course, Loki is Loki, and despite the small shifts, he’s still a master of maintaining distance. He keeps his emotions locked away as tightly as his wit, but you’ve begun to notice the cracks. Maybe it’s in the way he lingers a little longer when you’re together, or how he catches your gaze in passing, holding it just a little longer than necessary.

Despite the changes between you two, the world around you continues to spin, and your role as the Princess of Asgard, as Loki’s wife, only grows more public.

The next day, after an awkward breakfast with Frigga, where she kept giving you knowing looks and you were pretty sure you heard her suppressing a sigh, you find yourself walking through the gardens, trying to escape the subtle whispers of court life.

As you stroll among the flowers, you hear footsteps behind you. A familiar, booming voice calls your name.

“Princess Y/N,” Thor’s deep voice rings out, and you stop, turning to face him.

Thor looks even more like the golden child of Asgard today, his wide smile blinding and a glimmer of guilt in his eyes. “I’ve been meaning to thank you, for what you did yesterday. Defending Loki like that.”

You tilt your head, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“I never saw it, you know?” He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “The way Father favors me and how much it’s hurt Loki. I’ve always thought he was… I don’t know, distant, difficult. I didn’t realize I was a part of the problem.”

You blink, a little surprised by his sincerity. You’ve never seen Thor look so humble, so… vulnerable. It’s a stark contrast to the loud, boisterous warrior he usually presents to the world. “You didn’t know?” you ask softly.

He shakes his head, his broad shoulders slumping a little. “No, not really. And I’m ashamed to admit it. But I never thought about how he might feel when all the praise I get… it takes away from what he deserves. Loki’s clever, more than anyone gives him credit for. I see it now. I see how I’ve made him feel… less.”

Your heart aches a little. There’s so much more to Thor than the world gives him credit for, and perhaps there’s more to Loki’s pain than you even realized.

“Thor,” you start, your voice a little unsure but kind. “I think you need to tell him that. He needs to hear it from you.”

Thor gives a tight nod, the look in his eyes both heavy and sincere. “I will. But… I wanted to talk to you first, because I didn’t want you to think that I… I didn’t care.” He pauses, as if weighing his next words carefully. “I know you’re in a difficult position, Y/N, especially with Loki…”

You shrug lightly. “It’s not difficult. He’s my husband, Thor. I have a duty to him, yes, but I also want to see him happy. I don’t want him to feel this way anymore, either.”

“I understand,” Thor says with a soft smile. “And I promise you, I’ll try to make things right between me and Loki. But thank you. Truly.”

He offers a warm, brotherly smile and pats you on the shoulder, making you smile back, a little touched by the earnestness in his voice. It’s rare to see Thor so serious, but in moments like this, you realize just how much he cares about his family—even if it’s a little too late.

As the conversation dies down, Thor bids you farewell, walking off in the opposite direction to presumably find his brother. You remain in the gardens for a few more minutes, deep in thought. There’s a strange, almost bittersweet tension in the air now, an unspoken understanding of the dynamic between the brothers.

The next day, you find yourself walking the palace halls when you catch sight of Loki. He’s talking to a group of Asgardian nobles, but the moment he notices you, his demeanor shifts instantly. His sharp, emerald eyes cut toward you, his mouth forming a thin line. He says something to the nobles, and they scatter quickly, leaving him alone in the corridor.

You pause for a moment, unsure of how to approach him. But before you can decide, Loki walks toward you, his footsteps purposeful. You can feel the chill of his presence before he even speaks.

“What was that, then?” Loki’s voice is cool, his usual aloofness cloaking his words.

You raise an eyebrow. “What are you talking about?”

His eyes narrow. “You and Thor,” he sneers slightly, as though saying his brother’s name leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. “You two spent an awfully long time together yesterday, didn’t you? Talking about me, no doubt. What was it this time? His concern for my well-being?”

You bite your lip, taking in the sharp edge of jealousy in his voice. You feel a slight pang of guilt, but you stand your ground. “We talked about you, yes. But it wasn’t to criticize you, Loki. It was about… understanding.”

Loki scoffs, crossing his arms tightly over his chest, and his gaze shifts toward the floor. “I see. Understanding.”

“You don’t have to do this,” you say, your voice softer now. “You don’t have to push everyone away. Not me. Not him.”

Loki’s head jerks up, and his eyes flash with something unreadable. “I push people away because I know how this ends, Y/N. Thor always takes what he wants. He took Father’s love, and now he wants to take you, too.”

The words hit you harder than you expect, the raw, vulnerable emotion in his voice twisting something deep inside you. You take a step toward him, but he recoils slightly, his posture rigid.

“You don’t have to be afraid of that,” you say, your voice barely a whisper, but there’s certainty in it. “Thor won’t take me from you. I won’t let him.”

Loki’s eyes flicker toward you, the flickering of something darker in his gaze before he presses his lips together in frustration. “How can you be so sure?” His voice cracks slightly, and you don’t know how to respond, except to step even closer to him.

His face softens for a fraction of a second—just long enough for you to see how fragile he really is, how deeply the idea of losing you, losing anything, is etched in him. You place a hand gently on his arm, your voice even softer now.

“I know because we talked. Thor and I. He knows the way you feel, Loki. He’s going to make things right between you two. You don’t have to push him away.”

Loki’s jaw tightens, and you can see the battle within him, the struggle to trust his brother again. But then, something shifts in him, and his gaze softens, if only for a moment.

“I don’t want to lose you,” Loki admits in a low voice, the words barely audible, as though he’s afraid of speaking them too loud, afraid of what they might mean.

You reach up, gently cupping his cheek, your thumb brushing lightly over his skin, and he leans into your touch. “You won’t lose me, Loki. I’m not going anywhere.” Your voice is steady, and you see his breath hitch slightly as his emotions threaten to overwhelm him.

He looks away quickly, his throat tightening, but the tremor in his shoulders betrays him. “I don’t deserve you,” he mutters, barely holding it together.

“Don’t say that,” you reply firmly. “You’re not perfect. None of us are. But you deserve all the love and respect in the world. And I’m here, Loki. Always.”

He looks at you then, his expression softening with that familiar vulnerability you’ve seen fleetingly in the past few days, but it’s stronger now, more present than ever before. Without thinking, you pull him into an embrace, wrapping your arms around him tightly. For a long moment, he doesn’t respond, his body stiff in your arms, but then he exhales slowly, his breath shaky, and finally, he holds you back.

The weight of everything between you two finally lifts, and the walls crumble a little more. The steady rhythm of his breathing in your arms is all you need to know that he feels safe.

Later that night, when you retire to your chambers, Loki follows you, a quiet presence in the doorway.

You look at him, feeling something deep inside you—a need for closeness, for reassurance that everything will be okay. “Stay with me?” you ask softly, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you see something like relief wash over his face.

“I don’t think I can ever go back,” he says quietly, his voice laced with exhaustion, vulnerability.

You reach for him, and without another word, Loki walks into your arms, settling beside you on the bed. You pull the blankets up around both of you, and without a word, you curl up against him.

His arm drapes around you naturally, and you breathe in the warmth of his presence, the security of knowing that, no matter what happens, you

’ve found something real between you two.

“Thank you,” Loki murmurs softly, as if you’ve given him everything he’s ever wanted, even when you haven’t fully realized it yourself.

You smile, tracing circles on his chest with your fingers, whispering back, “No need for thanks. Just stay here, with me.”

The night deepens, and the world outside your chambers is cloaked in quiet, but inside, there’s an unmistakable warmth that envelopes both of you. Loki’s arm around you feels like the most natural thing in the world. As the minutes pass, you rest your head against his chest, listening to the rhythmic thrum of his heartbeat beneath your ear. There’s a comfort in the silence, in just being close to him. You feel safe here, as if this moment is yours and yours alone, something you both can keep in the quiet intimacy of the night.

Loki doesn’t speak, but the occasional brush of his lips against your temple is all the words you need. Each kiss is a small promise, gentle and soft, as though he’s trying to tell you everything his voice cannot. The warmth of his lips against your skin lingers long after he pulls back, and the weight of the past few months—the distance, the uncertainty, the doubts—slowly begins to dissolve. You realize now that it was never about the marriage contract, nor the obligations that bound you together; it was about this—this connection between the two of you that had always been there, waiting for the right moment to surface.

You kiss him back, tentatively at first, but as you feel him pull you closer, your kisses deepen. They’re slow and deliberate, as though you both want to savor this, to make sure it isn’t just a fleeting moment but a beginning. His lips are warm and soft, and every time they meet yours, there’s a spark—a connection that has been years in the making, one that now feels as though it’s blooming into something beautiful, fragile, and new.

The kisses grow longer, more meaningful, as if both of you are learning how to express the things you’ve kept hidden for so long. Loki’s hand gently cradles your face, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw, as if memorizing the feel of your skin. He deepens the kiss slightly, and you meet him with equal fervor, the world outside fading away until there’s nothing left but the two of you, tangled in the quiet intimacy of shared tenderness.

When the kiss finally breaks, neither of you moves, just breathing in the same air. Loki’s forehead rests gently against yours, and you can feel the warmth of his breath, still heavy with emotion.

“Stay here,” he murmurs, his voice low and filled with something you can’t quite put into words. It’s a question, but more than that, it’s a plea—a quiet request for this peace to last.

“I will,” you reply softly, your hand resting on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart under your palm. And you mean it, more than anything. You know that, in this moment, everything between you has changed.

The night goes on quietly, both of you finding comfort in each other’s presence, the soft and tender kisses gradually fading into the warmth of shared silence. It’s a perfect peace, a moment of vulnerability and connection that neither of you had ever expected but now can’t imagine living without.

As the days pass, the dynamic between you and Loki shifts. What once seemed like a forced relationship, something borne out of duty and circumstance, is now something more. The distance that once existed between you two has shrunk, replaced by an ease that only comes when two people begin to trust each other in ways neither expected. Your interactions are now filled with light touches, shared glances, and quiet smiles. There’s a softness in Loki’s demeanor that wasn’t there before—a gentleness that’s slowly replacing the walls he’s built around himself.

You see it in the way he looks at you, the way he seeks out your presence even when there’s no need for it. There’s an undeniable shift in his behavior, one that others notice, too.

Frigga, ever observant, notices the change in the air the moment she steps into the palace halls. She smiles knowingly when she sees the way Loki watches you during breakfast, his eyes soft and full of affection. It’s the first time she’s seen him like this in a long while—less guarded, more present. She watches you both from across the room, her heart swelling with a mix of pride and relief. For all the missteps and misunderstandings, she’s always known that the two of you could find something real.

Thor, too, sees the change, though he’s not as subtle in his observations. He slaps Loki on the back one afternoon, his booming laugh echoing through the palace halls. “Well, well! Looks like someone’s finally figured it out,” he teases, a wide grin plastered on his face.

Loki stiffens at first, but then the corner of his lips quirks up, a smirk that’s less mocking and more content than it’s ever been. “What do you mean?” Loki asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Don’t play coy,” Thor says, his tone playful. “I’ve seen the way you look at her. It’s about time, brother.”

Loki sighs, rolling his eyes dramatically. “I’m not in the mood for your commentary, Thor.”

But even as he says this, there’s a subtle flush to his cheeks, a fleeting moment of embarrassment that makes you chuckle softly. Loki’s pride may be as sharp as ever, but there’s a vulnerability there too, one that he tries to hide behind his biting sarcasm and quick wit.

As the days go by, your connection to Loki only deepens. The two of you spend more time together, finding moments of quiet solace amid the chaos of palace life. You talk—about everything and nothing at all. You learn more about each other in those quiet, unspoken moments than you ever did in the months before. It’s in the way he brushes your hair out of your face when it falls in your eyes or how he looks at you when you laugh at something absurd he says. It’s in the way he remembers small details about you, like the way you take your tea or how you always tie your shoes in the same knot.

The change doesn’t go unnoticed by the people around you. The courtiers whisper about it, the nobles gossip behind their fans. They notice the way Loki looks at you when you enter the room, how his eyes soften when you speak. They notice how the two of you sit together at dinner, heads close, sharing small private jokes no one else seems to understand. The shift in the way he treats you is almost palpable, and it doesn’t take long for the rest of the palace to catch on.

But the real surprise comes from the children.

It starts innocently enough. One evening, as you walk through the palace gardens with Loki, you hear giggling in the distance. When you look around, you see a group of young children playing near the fountain. They stop as soon as they notice you, eyes widening before they run over to you, their faces alight with excitement.

“Princess Y/N!” one of them exclaims, a little girl with bright red hair. “Is it true that you and Prince Loki are really married now?”

You raise an eyebrow, surprised by the question, but before you can answer, another child chimes in.

“Yes! I heard you two are so in love!” The child’s voice is full of awe, as though this is the most magical thing they’ve ever heard.

Loki scoffs, but there’s a teasing glint in his eyes. “I assure you, we’re simply fulfilling our duties. Nothing more.”

But the children aren’t convinced. They gather around you, bombarding you with questions. “When will you have babies?” one of them asks innocently.

You blush deeply, not quite sure how to handle the question. Loki looks absolutely mortified, but there’s an amused edge to his expression.

“Well,” you start, unsure of what to say, “we haven’t really discussed that yet. But we’re very happy.”

“Oh, I bet you are!” another child giggles, clearly not taking you seriously. “You two are always together now. You must be so in love!”

Loki looks at you in mild horror. “What have we gotten ourselves into?”

You laugh, feeling the warmth in your chest spread. “I think we’ve just become a fairytale, Loki.”

The children’s excitement doesn’t end there. The next day, they’re playing again, this time reenacting your supposed “love story” with elaborate costumes. They insist on calling you and Loki the “Royal Lovers of Asgard,” and you can’t help but smile at their innocent enthusiasm. It’s impossible not to see the joy they find in the idea of your relationship, an idea that, in their eyes, is full of magic and wonder. The way they view you both—so wrapped up in this imagined romance—is innocent and sweet, and it makes you realize how far you and Loki have come.

As the days go by, the children’s stories spread throughout the palace. The courtiers begin whispering more frequently about the Royal Lovers, and soon enough, even the servants are in on the tale. You and Loki have become the subject of countless stories, both real and imagined. The court’s expectations of your relationship have shifted, but for the first time, it feels like you’re not just playing a part anymore. You’re both actively shaping this life, together.

And for all the teasing from Thor and the gossips from the children, there’s a part of you that feels proud of what you’ve built. It may have started as a duty, a contract forged by fate, but now it feels like something more. You and Loki are no longer bound by obligation alone. There’s affection, there’s trust, and there’s something deeper—something far more real.

It’s not the fairytale the kingdom expected, but it’s yours. And somehow, that feels perfect.

part 2 with royal kids? ;)

[galactic-magick]

I Love You, I'm Sorry: Viktor x Reader

Based off of this reply on my last Viktor fic:

@lillycore : Duddee, imagine after the final scene between Viktor and Jayce they just disappear (I refuse to believe they both died, I’m just going believe, until it’s confirmed, that they simply teleported somewhere else), leaving reader alone without a chance to confront Viktor and believing they both died. So now, reader is left to pick up the pieces of her closest friend and love of her life gone, while believing Viktor no longer loves her (he does though, he was just a little confused with everything, but he still loves her)

Words: 1.2k

Author's Notes: Thank you all so much for the notes and kind words on my last Viktor fic, it truly means the world to me as a writer to see so many people touched by my writing. I hope you enjoy this equally devastating part 2.

They’re gone. They’re really gone.

No family, no friends, not a single loved one of yours survived this damn war. All this world has done is take, take, take.

You’re haunted by the last time you saw your beloved Viktor—completely unrecognizable. He had turned himself into a monster, disappearing with Jayce trying to save him. You didn’t even get to say goodbye, you didn’t even get to tell him you still love him.

Or ask if he still loved you.

You don’t know what would hurt less, believing he stopped loving you, or believing he did everything he did while loving you.

-

“Why can’t she hear me?” Viktor shouts into the void. He’s been calling your name for what feels like an eternity, his voice no longer carrying to your world.

Jayce puts a comforting hand on his shoulder, “You don’t have vessels to speak through anymore. She probably thinks we’re dead. Well, maybe we are…”

“No, no, this can’t be the end,” Viktor shakes his head vigorously. “I have to get back to her. She...she needs to know I love her. She needs to know I’m sorry.”

He falls to his knees amongst the stars, cursing himself for everything. How could he choose the hexcore over you? Why didn’t he seek you out when he survived the explosion? How did he let himself descend so far into madness that he forgot about your importance to him?

He’s now desperate for you to hear him, pleading the forces that bind his consciousness to this astral plane for another chance. He searches this dimension he’s come to know so well, looking for a loophole or tear in the fabric, but it’s no use. Everything has been closed—his supposed eternal consequence for his abuse of power.

Jayce saved him from himself, a feat he will forever be indebted to him for, but what is the point of redemption if he cannot live it out in his own flesh?

Would there have been a body left for him anyway? Would you still have loved him as the monstrosity he became?

Why must he still be cursed with the full vision of the universe? He sees you continue your life so clearly, but he can’t touch you, can’t speak to you. Your form shines the brightest light he’s ever seem in this dimension, an achievement that is not easily matched. He wonders if you can feel him reaching out to you, some sort of spiritual pull back to him. He will do anything to find a way to talk to you again.

-

You’ve been having dreams—dreams you can’t explain. Ever since Viktor’s disappearance, he’s tormented you day and night, constantly occupying your thoughts without mercy. You can hear his voice, but it sounds so far away you can never make out the words. You just wish it would all stop. You wish you could just erase him and all of the pain from your memory.

Sometimes you still feel a presence, the feeling you used to feel when he was in the same vicinity with you, admiring you from across a room. It’s a familiar warmth that used to wash you with peace, whereas now it makes your heart ache. You suppose it’s a normal symptom of grief, subconsciously denying that he’s really gone.

You start to go through his things he left at your house, beginning with his various textbooks and notebooks he would bring over for studying. Seeing his scribbles and handwriting again brings tears to your eyes, a single drop falling onto the paper as you read.

You blink a few times, seeing a couple of letters on the page start to glow. You must be seeing things, hallucinating from sleep deprivation. You close the journal and open it again, but the glowing letters are still there.

You grab a separate piece of paper and write down each glowing letter, finding fifteen total.

“I - L-O-V-E - Y-O-U - I-M - S-O-R-R-Y”

This isn’t happening. It can’t be.

-

“It’s working! She got my message!” Viktor exclaims.

“How...how are you doing that?” Jayce asks.

“Tiny rips in space—not big enough for either of us to escape through—but certainly big enough to briefly touch that reality,” Viktor pauses, still waiting for a response from you, but it doesn’t come.

-

You close the journal and sob, praying for an end to this misery. Your mind is playing tricks on you, deceiving you to a level you never thought possible. Must you be haunted by this forever? Must you endure the aftermath of this trauma?

You open it once again, the letters still glowing, but they start to fade right in front of your eyes. A new set of letters begin to glow, so you write those down as well.

“I-T-S - M-E - D-A-R-L-I-N-G”

And then another set of letters.

“P-L-E-A-S-E - T-A-L-K - T-O - M-E”

Maybe you’re not imagining.

You’ve heard of magicians who can converse with the dead, and the possibility of other dimensional planes and universes. Viktor himself had some theories about it, although he never pursued proving them. Could it really be possible that your beloved was speaking to you?

“Viktor?” you say out loud. “Are you...are you alive?”

“I - D-O-N-T - K-N-O-W”

The pencil drops from your hand again as your head falls to the table. His consciousness is somehow alive, clearly, but there’s no way he can explain to you where he is and how to get him out one letter at a time. You’re nowhere near his level of intellect—even if he explained how to rescue him like you’re five years old—you fear you still would mess something up.

“Viktor...I can’t do this. You can’t do this to me,” you sigh, daring to look at the words again. “You abandoned me, and now my life is a living hell because of the destruction you helped cause. I want nothing to do with your war and stupid glorious evolution. So if you’re not here to take me away from this life, please go away.”

The same original words start glowing again, brighter each time they sequence:

I love you, I’m sorry.

I love you, I’m sorry.

I love you, I’m sorry.

“Love doesn’t do what you did. Love doesn’t abandon its humanity for power.”

Please forgive me.

“I do forgive you for everything, Viktor. That’s exactly why I need to forget about you, because I will never stop loving you and hurting for it if I don’t.”

With blurry eyes, you close the journal and throw it into the fireplace, regretting it almost immediately. You grab a stick and pull it out, your tears falling onto the soot-stained cover.

“Please, just...find a way back to me.”

I will.

[novaursa]

hello

Can I have a fem!twin sister Jace, Where she always knew that Hardin was her father and she really loved him, but Daemon kinda take her as her heir and daughter.

She got engaged to Aemond but after Lucerys death they cancel it and during the war she don’t know what side choose. She really love her « husband » but her loyalty goes to the black (maybe because of daemon)

She ride Cannibal and goes to the battle of rooks rest but Aemond and Vhagar can’t attack her.

Idk how you can end it but I’m sure you can do it 🫶🏼♥️

Cursed in Flames

- Summary: You face Aemond at Rook’s Rest. And Dance of the Dragons is never the same again.

- Pairing: niece!reader/Aemond Targaryen

- Note: For more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Word count: 3 000+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

The news reaches you like a shadow across the sea, darkening the horizon of your mind with its terrible weight. You are standing on the cliffs of Dragonstone, watching the waves crash against the rocks far below, when you hear Daemon's footsteps approach. The air is filled with the scent of salt and storm, and the sky above is a heavy gray, mirroring the turmoil in your heart.

You do not turn to look at him immediately, sensing the gravity of what he is about to say. You have always known Daemon’s stride—deliberate, commanding, yet with a subtle grace that betrays his Targaryen blood. It is the same stride he had when he came to you as a child, kneeling before you and whispering tales of dragonfire and ancient Valyria, the stories that shaped your dreams and nightmares alike. But this time, there is something else, a tension in his movements that you have rarely seen, a tension that makes your heart clench in your chest.

"Your brother," Daemon begins, his voice as cold as the wind that whips around you, "is dead."

The words slice through you, sharper than any blade, and you feel the ground beneath you sway as though it, too, has been struck. For a moment, the world stops. The roaring of the waves, the howling of the wind, all of it fades into a deafening silence that drowns you. The image of Luke—sweet, gentle Luke—flashes before your eyes. His bright smile, his laughter that could fill even the darkest of days with light, now extinguished.

You finally turn to Daemon, your eyes wide with disbelief, as if willing him to say it is a mistake, a cruel jest. But Daemon’s face is set in stone, his violet eyes hard and unreadable.

"Aemond," he continues, his voice dropping to a low growl, "killed him. Vhagar devoured Arrax. There was nothing left."

A gasp escapes your lips, and your knees threaten to buckle. The storm inside you breaks free, a torrent of emotions—grief, rage, betrayal—rushing through you all at once. You clutch your chest, as if trying to hold your heart together, but it is no use. The pieces are already shattered, scattered to the winds.

"Aemond," you whisper, the name a curse and a lament all at once. The man you were once betrothed to, the man who had once held your hand in a secret alcove of the Red Keep, who had once whispered words of love and promises of the future—he is now a stranger, a monster. How could he? The question rings in your mind, but there is no answer, only the hollow echo of your heartbreak.

Daemon watches you carefully, his expression unyielding. He has never been one for softness, not even with you, his niece whom he raised as his own daughter. But there is something in his gaze now, a flicker of something almost akin to sorrow. He steps closer, placing a hand on your shoulder. His grip is firm, steadying.

"This engagement is null," he states, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Aemond is no longer your betrothed. He is an enemy of our house, an enemy of yours."

You nod, though your mind is barely able to comprehend the words. The engagement had meant something once, a bridge between the two branches of your family, a hope for peace. But that hope has been dashed upon the rocks like a ship in a storm. There is nothing left but the wreckage.

"He was once... everything to me," you confess, your voice trembling. "How could he do this, Daemon? How could he kill Luke?"

Daemon's eyes narrow, a flash of fire in their depths. "Aemond is a creature of rage and pride, blinded by the lust for power and vengeance. He cares for nothing but his own glory, his own twisted sense of honor. Whatever feelings you thought he had for you, whatever feelings you had for him, they are ash now."

You bite your lip, trying to suppress the sob that threatens to escape. But it is futile. The tears spill over, hot and bitter. Daemon pulls you into a tight embrace, his arms a cage of protection and power. He has never been one to coddle you, but in this moment, he offers you the only comfort he knows how to give—his strength, his presence.

"We will make them pay, all of them," Daemon murmurs into your hair, his voice dark with promise. "For Luke, for our family. This war will not end until the debt is paid in full."

You nod against his chest, the pain in your heart hardening into something colder, sharper. Aemond’s face lingers in your mind, the way he looked at you when you were children, the way his eyes darkened with something more when you were older. But that is all it is now—a memory, a ghost of a past that no longer exists.

You pull back from Daemon, wiping your tears away with the back of your hand. Your heart still aches, but there is a new resolve in you, a determination to survive this, to fight for your family, for Luke.

“I will not forget,” you say quietly, your voice steady now. “But I will not let it destroy me, either.”

Daemon nods, a glimmer of approval in his eyes. “Good. We Targaryens are made of fire and blood. Remember that.”

As you stand there, the wind whipping through your hair, you let the words sink in. Fire and blood. That is what you are, what you have always been. The storm may rage on, but you will not be broken by it.

Cannibal’s distant roar echoes through the skies, and you lift your chin, feeling the fire within you begin to burn anew. Aemond may have taken Luke, but he has not taken your will, your strength. You will rise from these ashes, stronger than before. And when the time comes, you will face him—Aemond, the man who was once your betrothed, now your enemy—and you will show him what it truly means to be a Targaryen.

The wind bites at your face as Cannibal’s wings slice through the cold air. You’ve always felt most alive in these moments—when you are at one with the beast beneath you, the two of you merging into a single entity of power and purpose. You are no longer just the daughter of Princess Rhaenyra and the secret of Harwin Strong; you are a force of nature, the rider of the wildest and most feared of dragons. Cannibal roars, a sound that shakes the sky, and you cannot help but feel a grim satisfaction as you see Rook’s Rest below, knowing what is about to unfold.

Aemond Targaryen waits, hidden in the clouds atop Vhagar, the ancient dragon’s formidable presence a weight on the horizon. Aegon is beside him, perched on Sunfyre, whose golden scales glitter like a false promise in the pale daylight. They expect Melys, Rhaenys's scarlet queen, but what they get is something far more dangerous. Something personal.

Your heart beats a war drum’s rhythm in your chest as you approach, hidden by the sun behind you. They don’t see you coming, not at first. And when they do, it’s not Aegon who reacts but Aemond—his shock visible even from the distance. You can imagine his single eye widening, his lips parting in disbelief.

"It cannot be…" he breathes, low enough that only Vhagar might hear him. His thoughts spin in confusion and regret, the memories of what you once were to him clashing with the reality of the battle about to unfold. He’d thought you were lost to him, that the broken engagement was a final, irreparable severing of your fates. But now, here you are, as fierce and untamable as the dragon you ride.

Cole signals Aegon, and the elder brother does not hesitate. Aegon gives Sunfyre his head, and the golden dragon surges forward with all the arrogance and bravado his rider commands. The roar that splits the sky is not just from the dragon, but from Aegon himself, taunting, dismissive.

"Come to burn, have you?" Aegon shouts over the wind. "You’ll find this fire too hot!"

But you don’t respond with words. Cannibal lets loose a torrent of flame, a blackened blaze that reeks of burnt flesh and bones long devoured. The sky darkens with the ash of it, and Aegon’s confidence flickers like a candle in a storm. You feel the heat radiating off your dragon, the primal joy of the hunt thrumming through your bond.

Aemond watches, frozen in place. "Aegon, no!" he shouts, but his voice is swallowed by the roar of dragons and the rush of wind. He can only watch as the two dragons clash.

Cannibal is a creature of nightmares, his blackened scales absorbing the light, making him seem as though he is forged from shadow itself. He dives at Sunfyre with feral speed, his jaws snapping inches from Aegon’s arm. Sunfyre counters with a blast of flame, but Cannibal’s agility is unmatched. He twists in the air, dodging the fire as if it were a mere inconvenience.

Sunfyre is beautiful, a dragon that could have inspired a thousand songs. But beauty is no match for brutality. Cannibal rips into Sunfyre with a savagery that leaves you breathless, his claws tearing through the golden dragon’s wing, nearly severing it from his body. Aegon’s scream echoes in the heavens as he struggles to keep control, the pain of his dragon searing through their bond.

"Aegon!" Aemond roars again, urging Vhagar to move, but his dragon hesitates, sensing his rider’s turmoil. Vhagar is the mightiest of dragons, older than the rest, her wisdom far beyond Aemond’s years. She feels his conflict, the war inside him, and it makes her pause.

You see Aemond’s struggle, the way his grip tightens on Vhagar’s reins, the way his gaze locks onto you even as his brother is mauled in the sky. For a moment, you wonder if he will join the fray, if he will strike you down as he did Luke. But then his eye meets yours, and you see something unexpected—fear, not of you, but for you. The realization sends a cold shiver down your spine, but you don’t have time to dwell on it.

Cannibal snaps his jaws around Sunfyre’s neck, dragging the dragon down toward the ground. They crash through the trees, Sunfyre’s scream a thing of agony as he thrashes, desperately trying to free himself from the relentless assault. Cannibal’s fire ignites the forest below, turning the world into a hellscape of flame and shadow. Sunfyre’s golden scales are marred with blood and soot, his body a broken thing beneath the ferocity of your dragon.

Aemond watches in horror, his mind torn between duty and something far more dangerous—his heart. "Vhagar," he murmurs, "we have to stop this…"

But Vhagar, ancient and wise, does not attack. She circles above, watching, waiting. She feels the bond between her rider and the girl who should have been his wife, and she knows this is a battle not just of dragons, but of souls.

Finally, with a roar that shakes the heavens, Vhagar descends. Her massive form blots out the sun as she lands, the earth trembling beneath her weight. She crashes into Cannibal with all the force of a falling star, but she does not strike to kill. Instead, she pins Cannibal beneath her, her jaws snapping inches from his throat. The wild dragon thrashes, but Vhagar’s strength is unmatched. She holds him there, a warning, not a death sentence.

You feel Cannibal’s fury, his frustration, but also his grudging respect for the older dragon. The battle is over, for now. You sense Aemond’s hesitation, the war raging within him as he prepares to dismount.

But he doesn’t move, not yet. He looks down at you, at the girl he once loved, the girl he might still love, and his world tilts on its axis.

For the first time since the Dance began, Aemond Targaryen does not know what to do. And as Vhagar holds Cannibal pinned beneath her, you both realize that this battle was never just about dragons.

It was always about you.

And it always will be.

The ground rushes up to meet you as you leap from Cannibal’s saddle. The impact is brutal, a shockwave of pain that ripples through your body as you hit the earth with a resounding thud. The air is forced from your lungs, and for a terrifying moment, you can’t breathe. You gasp, struggling to draw in even a sliver of air, your vision darkening at the edges. But you force yourself to move, to push through the pain. You cannot afford to be weak now, not with him approaching.

Aemond’s boots crunch on the scorched ground as he strides toward you, his expression unreadable. You see him through a haze of pain, your vision slowly clearing as your breath comes in ragged gasps. Instinctively, you push yourself up, your muscles screaming in protest, but you will not be caught helpless. Not by him. 

Before you can fully regain your footing, Aemond’s arms are around you, capturing you in a firm, unyielding embrace. His chest presses against your back, his grip like iron as you struggle against him. The more you thrash, the tighter his hold becomes, but he doesn’t hurt you. His voice, when it comes, is a low, soothing murmur in High Valyrian, a language that wraps around you like a soft cloak.

"Beloved, be still in my arms," he whispers, his breath warm against your ear. "Calm down." 

The words are tender, almost loving, and they cut through your panic like a knife. His grip doesn’t loosen, but it no longer feels like a prison. Instead, it’s a strange comfort, his presence grounding you as your breath slowly returns to normal. The fight drains from your limbs, leaving only the exhaustion and the ache of what’s just happened.

When you finally stop resisting, Aemond’s grip eases, and he gently turns you to face him. You expect anger, fury even, for what you’ve done to his brother. But as you look into his eye, you find something else entirely—uncertainty. He stares at you as if you’re a puzzle he cannot solve, his usual confidence shaken.

"Aegon…" His voice is rougher now, tinged with something that almost sounds like regret. "You just struck down the King."

The words hang in the air between you, heavy with the weight of what they mean. Aegon Targaryen, the King, your uncle—his blood is on your hands now, as much as Cannibal’s. But you feel no guilt, only a cold, burning anger that flares to life at Aemond’s accusation.

"Like you killed Luke," you snap back, your voice laced with venom. The shadow of your father, Daemon, looms large in that moment, his defiance, his unyielding spirit echoing in your words. "You think I care for your brother’s crown when you stole my brother’s life?"

Aemond’s lips twitch, the barest hint of a smile forming as he watches you, admiring the fire in your eyes. It’s as though he expected this from you, and it pleases him to see you still have that flame burning within. He takes a step closer, his expression softening into something dangerously close to affection.

"Always so fierce," he murmurs, his voice dropping to a tone that is meant for you alone. "Just as I remember. Just as you’ve always been."

You can’t decide whether to move away or to stay rooted to the spot. His presence is overwhelming, intoxicating, and despite everything, a part of you aches for the connection you once shared. Before the bloodshed, before the war tore you apart. But the uncertainty gnaws at you, and you remain still as he reaches out, his hand brushing a strand of hair from your face.

"Even now, I find myself drawn to you," he admits, his tone almost wistful. "Your strength, your fire... It’s what made me want you then, and what makes me want you now."

His words lull you, and despite yourself, you feel the tension in your body begin to ease. There is something in his voice, something genuine, that pulls at the frayed edges of your heart. But before you can fully comprehend what is happening, a shout cuts through the moment.

"My Prince!" Ser Criston Cole’s voice is sharp, commanding as he approaches. His armor is still bloodied from the skirmish, his face set in a stern mask. "Seize her! She is an enemy, a traitor to the crown!"

Aemond stiffens, the tender moment evaporating like mist in the sun. He turns to face Cole, his expression darkening as he steps protectively in front of you. 

"I will do no such thing," Aemond says coldly, his voice hard as steel. "She is mine."

Cole looks shocked, his eyes widening in disbelief. "Prince Aemond, this is treason. The girl—"

"Is to be my wife," Aemond cuts him off, his tone leaving no room for argument. "We will wed in the tradition of Old Valyria. She will be my queen."

Cole’s face pales, his eyes darting between you and Aemond as if he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing. "This is madness," he insists, his voice rising with urgency. "The council will never accept it. The people—"

"The people," Aemond snaps, his patience wearing thin, "will accept what I tell them to accept. And if they do not, they will burn for their defiance. As will anyone who dares stand between me and her."

The threat is clear, and Cole flinches, realizing the seriousness in Aemond’s tone. He knows better than to challenge a dragon when its fire is so close to the surface. But still, he tries once more, his voice lowering in an attempt to reason with his prince.

"Think of the consequences, my prince," Cole urges, almost pleading now. "This could tear the realm apart."

Aemond’s gaze never wavers as he replies, his voice chillingly calm. "The realm is already torn apart. If it must burn, then it will burn with us as its rulers."

You watch the exchange with a mix of awe and dread. Aemond’s declaration sends a shiver down your spine, the weight of his words settling heavily in your chest. He’s serious—deadly serious. And in that moment, you realize there’s no escaping the path that has been set for you.

Aemond turns back to you, his expression softening once more as he reaches out to take your hand. His grip is firm, but not forceful, as though he’s offering you a choice, even if you both know that choice was taken from you the moment you leapt from Cannibal’s saddle.

"Come," he says softly, his voice a stark contrast to the fury he directed at Cole. "Let us finish what was started so long ago."

You look up into his eye, searching for some hint of deception, some sign that this is all a cruel trick. But all you find is resolve—and something else, something that looks very much like hope.

Before you can answer, Vhagar releases Cannibal, the great dragon rising from her position with a low, rumbling growl. Cannibal stirs, but he does not attack. Instead, he rises slowly, his eyes locked on Vhagar as he acknowledges her strength, if not her dominance. There’s a truce in the air, fragile as gossamer, but for now, it holds.

Aemond squeezes your hand, his gaze never leaving yours. "Together," he murmurs, his voice filled with a dangerous promise. "As it was always meant to be."

And as you stand there, caught between what was and what will be, you realize that there is no turning back. Not for you, not for Aemond, not for the realm. The dance is far from over, and now, it will be danced to a different tune—a tune of fire and blood, of love and hate, of destiny and defiance.

And you will dance it with him, until the very end.

[ceilidho]

prompt: IKEA soap/reader fic. PART 4. (read 1, 2, 3) tags: dubcon; nsfw

-

You only realize after the fact that you may have miscalculated in thinking that this could be a one-time thing between the two of you. 

After listening to Johnny bitch and moan during the Christmas party about having to take time off work to spend the holidays with his very religious family, you delude yourself into thinking you’ll finally be able to have some peace and quiet around the store. Not literally, of course. Working during the holidays is always a recipe for exhaustion—parents coming in at the last minute to demand toys that have long since sold out, fights breaking out in every other aisle as customers fight for the last palatable set of Christmas ornaments and boxed fruit cake. 

You’re not delusional enough to think that work will be a piece of cake, but you are selfishly a little happy that you’ll finally get some time to breathe without Johnny hovering over your shoulder at all hours of your shift. Seasonal shoppers are as exhausting as always, but you get to sit alone in the breakroom with a cup of coffee in the morning right before your shift without someone staring at you or breathing into your personal bubble. 

Johnny spends his entire time off blowing up your phone, sending you pictures of his childhood home, calling you during your breaks, and sending you weird videos that seem to have been filmed entirely in the dark where you can’t see or hear anything apart from some weird squeaks and one loud grunt at the very end of the video that sounds kind of like—you close the video.

You spend the first few days of January dreading his return. The day of is like a shock to your nervous system, the whole morning spent pouring coffee with a trembling hand. 

“Hiya gorgeous,” he purrs when you clock in for your shift. You’re somewhat used to Johnny sneaking up behind you, so you don’t flinch this time when you feel the length of his body press up against you at the time clock. 

“Johnny, it’s seven in the morning,” you mutter out through pursed lips, shoulders stiff when he puts his hands on them and digs his thumbs into the tender points of your back. You bite back a moan.

“Missed ye, kitten. Cannae believe I went a whole week without hearing you purr.”

He could’ve phrased that a thousand other ways, but he just had to choose the one that would make you wince. He digs his thumbs in again, trying to push the moan out of you, but you tamp it down. You hold back a shudder when he plants his nose onto the crown of your head and inhales, drawing your scent into his lungs. 

“Where’ye assigned ta today? Jeff owes me a favour—gonna ask him if I can spend the day with ye so we can catch up.” 

You go still when he drops a firm kiss to the side of your head. “I’m…not sure. I haven’t checked the schedule yet.” It’s a half-lie. You may not have checked the schedule yet, but you know from having briefly chatted with your manager this morning in the parking lot where you’ll be spending most of your day.

Still, it means that you get to shake off Johnny for a bit. “Lemme go check for ye, okay, hen? Stay here, a’right?”

You watch him jog off down the hall to the breakroom before finally leaving. It’ll be better for you if you’re gone before he comes back. 

The first hour of your day is spent on softlines until Priya in jewellery randomly comes down with a chill and gets sent home early, forcing you to cover her section. Usually that wouldn’t be such a bad deal—it means you get to spend your shift helping people try on bracelets and rings, restocking the earring display, and leaning against the counter for hours at a time. It’s not a particularly busy station.  

While you're assigned to the jewellery section though, Johnny pops out of nowhere as you're helping a customer contemplating a birthday ring for his fiancé. With the kind of confidence that you’ve come to expect from Johnny, he uses your hand to model some of the rings, but this time it feels oddly weirdly intense. When he slides the first ring onto your finger, you can feel the way he holds his breath, even shudders a bit. He presses himself right up against you behind the display counter, hardness pressing against your hip. 

It doesn’t take long for your customer to leave. Johnny’s demeanour is off-putting, concerning even. You can’t fault the guy for being rightfully repulsed by the way Johnny crowds up against you like you’re alone together. 

“What are you doing?” you hiss through your teeth.

“Cannae help it, hen. I ken ye wanna wait, but it jus’ makes me a bit emotional seein’ my girl wearing a ring I put on.”

He blinks down at you with big, blue eyes, the picture of innocence. You should’ve anticipated there being a danger in letting Johnny stew over that on his own. Of course he’d come to his own conclusions, even one as deranged as thinking of your hook up as a step towards dating. You can’t help but side eye him. 

“We—we’re not a couple, Johnny.”

He cocks an eyebrow. “Ye just let anybody eat you out in the supply closet then? S’that right?” It’s said rhetorically, like he knows the answer already. You flinch at the slight though.

“That was—” you cut yourself off to take a breath, an ache growing behind your forehead, “—that was a…it was a one-time thing. You can’t just act like we’re dating.”

His lips turn down in a pout, displeasure rippling across his face. You brace yourself for the inevitable argument, for shit to hit the fan, because obviously that’s what’s brewing under the surface. You brace yourself for worse too because when you happen to glance around, you realize how few people are actually milling around in the area. 

Then, instead of losing his temper, Johnny’s eyes grow smoky, heavy-lidded, and the pout lifts into a lazy, playful grin. “A’right, kitty, no’ dating then. That’s fine wi’ me.”

This time it’s you that frowns, staring up at him dubiously. “…Really?” It feels too sudden, quicksilver. Johnny’s fiery by nature, short tempered on his best days and more likely to grit his teeth and bear the displeasure of not getting his way than happily giving into it. His sudden smile is at odds with the version of him that exists in your mind, furious at you for denying him. 

Maybe you’ve got him all wrong. 

The gleam in his eye betrays nothing, however. “I swear.” He leans closer to you then, fingers fiddling with the name tag pinned over your chest on your work vest, straightening it. “Doesnae mean we have ta give the rest up though. Ye liked what we did in the closet, right, hen?”

It feels like he’s sucked the air out of the room, as big as it is. “I thought we weren’t going to talk about that.”

“Och, c’mon, kitty,” Johnny breathes, hunching just a little over and into your space, making the moment feel private, just the two of you. “Had to talk about it eventually. Did ye just expect that everything would go back to normal after ye let me eat ye out? Hey—” he catches you when you try to make a move to step away from him, wrapping a big hand around your wrist and tugging you closer to him, “—listen, kitty—it doesnae have to be anything serious, right? That’s what’s making ye all jumpy and nervous? I’ll lick your pussy, free of charge. Dinnae need any labels. How’s that sound, kitty? Dick on demand?”

It should repulse you. The way he speaks to you is crass, crude. His voice is hushed, haggard, fur stretched taut over stone—and yet, your hands tremble, just a little. It tempts you. Purring Scottish burr, lapis lazuli eyes, bristle cheeks that you still remember scraping up your inner thighs. He’s a package you can’t imagine sending back.

“You won’t get…you promise not to get weird about it?” you ask.

His smile curls up, impish. “Cross my heart, kitten.”

Maybe you’re delusional enough to think that you can have your cake and eat it too. There’s a voice in your head telling you to face the facts, but you disregard it as if you haven’t been working with Johnny for months. As if you aren’t aware of his penchant for saying or doing anything to get his way. It’s maybe naive of you. 

All you know is that he smothers a laugh when you tell him you’ll think about it. Knows he’s got you right where he wants.

You don’t fight when he drags you into the single-stall bathroom towards the end of your shift, letting him position you in front of the mirror before sinking to his knees behind you. Forces you to watch the way you come apart on his tongue, not giving you his fingers until you beg him to, the whispered plea a hairsbreadth away from becoming a scream. 

“Oh, did she miss me?” Johnny breathes, a happy laugh in his voice when he runs the broad side of his tongue over your entrance from the back. “Fuck, look at that. Winked at me ‘n everythin’. Hi darling, missed ye too.”

You don’t think you’ll ever be the same after hearing that come out of his mouth. You go hot all over again when you clench involuntarily, equal parts turned on and horrified. He sniggers before trying to cram his whole tongue up into you. 

There’s a moment of panic when Johnny draws up behind you after making you come and you hear him undo his pants. There’s nowhere for you to go with your pants still looped around your ankles, underwear pulled all the way down as well. You hear yourself hiss a startled Johnny when he slots a fat cock between your thighs, staring dumbly at the reflection of him behind you. At your back, he seems massive, lean and trim but towering over you, broad. 

He shushes you. “Dinnae be selfish, hen—gotta get mine too. Jus’ gonna fuck your thighs, dinnae fret.”

You squeak when he pushes your thighs together forcefully, dragging his cock over your folds to wet himself. Watching Johnny fuck is nothing like staring down at him when he eats you out. He pants harsh and ragged into the side of your head, nips at your ear. The glint in his eyes goes animalistic, vacant. Human desire recedes, subsumed into the animal part of his brain with the single-minded need to fuck. 

The only thing keeping him from driving up into you, accidentally or not, is the way you keep your thighs pressed together. A warm, tight channel for him to push his cock into. Thick fingers dig into your waist, sure to leave bruises. You wince when lean hips pound against your backside, growing frantic as need overtakes him. You flirt at the edge of panic, certain that at any second, he’ll pull your thighs apart and nudge the head of his cock up into you. 

“Jus’ like that, fuck,” he grunts. “Be a good little fuckin’ girl and jus’ let me—”

His tongue lolls out on a particularly rough thrust, hands groping over your belly and up to your chest, slipping his hand under your shirt and bra to pinch your nipple. He twists it mean, nasty, until you have no choice but to grunt through grit teeth, eyes watering. You feel like a doll meant for his pleasure, no choice but to grip the sides of the sink and let Johnny use you until he comes. 

“Fuck,” Johnny groans, eyes going half-lidded. “Love makin’ this pussy come. Love gettin’ her all messy and wet. Lettin’ me between your thighs even when I make ye nervous—fuck, ‘m gonna come, ‘m gonna—fuck, fuck, fuck—”

White come stripes the sink in front of you, thick and viscous. Paints the inside of your thighs as well when he drags his hips back until just the head of his cock sits nestled up against your sex. Hyperconscious of where it tags your inner lips, that there’s no barrier between the two of you, just come and skin. 

The full body shake shocks you, a ripple from your heels to the top of your head. 

His free hand grasps you by the hair when you try to slip away. “Ye gonna clean up your mess, baby?”

You glance back up at his reflection in the mirror, trying to suss him out. Shark-like eyes meet yours. Something you’ve seen in glances before finally staring back at you with full force. You reach for the paper towel dispenser with a shaking hand. 

“Nah,” Johnny scolds, giving you a shake. “With your mouth.”

The command hangs in the air, no joke or laugh to undercut it. His eyes read serious to you, still dark. No leniency present in the blue. 

You stare down at his come on the sink, slack-jawed. “You don’t seriously mean—”

“Jus’ kidding, silly,” he chuckles, giving a teasing bite to your earlobe and tugging. The tension in the air disperses. “Got ye, huh?” 

You force a laugh. “Yeah…got me.”

[antinousletmehit]

˚₊‧꒰ა Chapter 23 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

୨୧┇pairing: Telemachus x reader

୨୧┇warning: hold them down happens, WRITTEN PRE ITHACA SAGA‼️⚠️‼️

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ───

The dim candlelight bathed Y/N’s room in a soft glow, the silence between her and Antinous nearly suffocating. She sat cross legged on the bed, fiddling with a loose thread on her tunic, while Antinous leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, his face unreadable. It was one of the rare moments where the tension between them wasn’t outright hostile—yet.

After what felt like an eternity, Antinous exhaled deeply, breaking the quiet. “So… you and Telemachus,” he started, his voice surprisingly even. She froze, her fingers stilling. She glanced up at him cautiously, waiting for the inevitable eruption. But it didn’t come. Instead, he just stood there, watching her with a mix of frustration and resignation.

“What about it?” she asked, her voice soft but defensive.

Antinous rubbed the back of his neck, clearly trying to keep his composure. “I just don’t get it, N/N,” he muttered, using the nickname he only ever said when he wasn’t trying to start a fight. “Of all people, why him? You know who he is, what his family represents.”

She narrowed her eyes, sitting up straighter. “What his family represents? You mean what you think they represent.”

Antinous pushed off the wall, his voice low but sharp. “Don’t act like I don’t have a reason. He’s Odysseus’s son. That name alone should be enough for you to understand. You know how I feel about Odysseus, how I feel about Telemachus’s titty sucking ass.”

“Because he’s in the way of your stupid plans to court Penelope and play king?” She snapped back, her voice rising slightly before she caught herself. She exhaled and softened her tone. “Antinous, it’s not a competition.” She watched him carefully. “This isn’t about me and Telemachus, is it? It’s about your pride. It’s always about your pride.”

Antinous turned to her, his jaw clenched. “You don’t get it,” he said, his voice tight. “Do you know what it’s like to be so close to something, to have a shot at power, only for some brat who doesn’t even want it to cockblock your way? Telemachus doesn’t deserve what he has. And now you’re… involved with him?”

She sighed, shaking her head. “You’re making this about you when it’s not. Telemachus isn’t Odysseus, and he’s not trying to take anything from you.” She paused, her gaze softening. “And he’s not some power hungry maniac like you’re making him out to be. He’s kind. He cares about me.”

Antinous scoffed but didn’t argue. Instead, he pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly fighting to keep himself calm. “Look, I’m trying to be civil here. I don’t want another fight.”

She blinked, caught off guard by his admission. “You’re… trying to keep the peace?”

“Don’t make a big deal out of it,” he muttered, glancing away. “I just… I can’t watch us keep tearing into each other every time that brat comes up.”

Her expression softened further. For all his bravado, there was something vulnerable in the way he avoided her gaze. “Antinous,” she said gently, “I know you hate him, but he’s not your enemy. And I’m not choosing him over you.”

He finally looked at her, his expression conflicted. “You already have,” he said, but there was no venom in his tone this time—just exhaustion.

They sat in silence for a moment longer before Antinous sighed again and straightened up. “Just… don’t let this ruin you,” he said quietly, before turning toward the door. “And if it does, don’t expect me to clean up the mess.”

With that, he left, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

——

The air was tense in the great hall, where the suitors had gathered under Antinous’s command. They lounged with feigned ease, but their eyes betrayed the simmering chaos bubbling beneath the surface. Antinous stood at the center of the room, his sharp gaze sweeping over the gathered men. His tone, calm yet deadly, sliced through the air.

“You’ve all seen it,” he began, his voice commanding. “None of us could string Odysseus’s damned bow. That woman,” he spat the word, referring to Penelope, “thinks she can toy with us. But we will not be humiliated any longer.” He slammed his fist onto a nearby table for emphasis. “We take control. Today.”

Eurymachus, lounging lazily in his seat with a goblet in hand, raised an eyebrow. “And what’s your grand plan, Antinous? Try and string the bow one more time?” His tone was laced with mockery, though a flicker of nervousness passed through his eyes.

Antinous smirked darkly. “No. Forget the bow. Forget the axes. We don’t need Penelope’s little games. The real threat is her son. Telemachus.” He paused, letting the name sink in. “You all know it as well as I do. He’s her favored one. If he returns to Ithaca alive, we’ll never get our chance. She’ll prop him up as Odysseus’s heir, and we’ll all be tossed out like yesterday’s scraps.”

The room filled with murmurs, the suitors exchanging uneasy glances. One of them, Ctesippus, leaned forward. “What are you saying, Antinous?”

Antinous’s smirk turned cold, his voice low but forceful. “I’m saying we end this. When Telemachus’s ship docks, we ambush it. We’ll overwhelm his crew, hold him down til the boy stops shaking, while I slit his throat. Then we cut him down into tiny pieces and row him down to the great below. When anyone asks where the prince is, only we’ll know.”

A heavy silence fell over the room. the suitors intrigued. Eurymachus leaned back in his chair, regarding Antinous with a mix of curiosity and excitement. “You’re talking about killing the prince of Ithaca,” he said slowly. “Do you have any idea what kind of firestorm that would unleash?”

Antinous glared at him. “Who’s going to stop us? The people? They’re too spineless. And Penelope? She’ll have no choice but to submit once her precious son is gone.” He sneered. “In fact, once we’ve dealt with Telemachus, we storm her room. Hold her down while her gate is open, while we get a taste, while we share her spoils. I will not let any part go to waste!”

The words hung in the air, heavy and menacing. the suitors nodded in agreement, their greed and desperation clouding their judgment. Eurymachus broke the silence with a sardonic laugh. “You’re bold, Antinous. I’ll give you that. But do you really think Penelope will just fall into line after we kill her son?”

Antinous shot him a withering look. “She’ll have no other option. The people won’t rise for a dead boy, and she can’t rule alone. She’s a woman. She’ll have to accept one of us, or Ithaca will collapse.”

Ctesippus, emboldened by Antinous’s confidence, stood and raised his goblet. “To Antinous’s plan, then. Let’s finally end this game and take what’s rightfully ours.”

The other suitors hesitated for a moment before raising their goblets as well, some with enthusiasm, others with clear reluctance. Antinous’s smirk grew wider as he watched them fall in line. “Good,” he said, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “Prepare yourselves. When the ship docks, we strike.”

As the suitors dispersed to ready themselves, Antinous remained in the hall, his gaze dark and unyielding. He had waited too long for this moment, and nothing—not Telemachus, not Penelope, not his sister, not even the gods themselves—would stand in his way now.

——

Y/N stood frozen in the shadow of a column outside the great hall, her breath caught in her throat. She had only meant to pass through unnoticed, but her curiosity got the better of her when she heard Antinous’s voice cutting sharply through the room. Now, she wished she had kept walking.

Her heart pounded as she pieced together the plan Antinous had laid out. The ambush. The murder. The body thrown to the sea. Her lover—Telemachus. Dead. Her stomach churned violently, and she pressed her trembling hands to her mouth to keep from gasping aloud. She could barely hear the rest of the suitors’ laughter and agreement over the sound of blood rushing in her ears. He can’t mean this… He wouldn’t— But then the venomous tone Antinous had taken about Telemachus echoed in her mind.

Odysseus’s son. The one standing in his way.

She had long known her brother’s ambition, how his hatred for Odysseus extended to Telemachus. She knew his anger festered like an open wound. But to plan an outright murder… to take her love from her… Her legs felt weak, and she leaned against the cold marble for support. Just when she thought she couldn’t stomach more, the conversation shifted, and Antinous spoke of Penelope in a way that made bile rise in her throat.

“Then we’ll hold her down while her gate is open, while we get a taste, while we share her spoils. I will not let any part go to waste!”

The words burned in Pandora’s ears. This was the same man—her brother—who had fiercely shielded her from these same suitors’ leering gazes and vulgar comments. The same man who would break their noses for even hinting at touching her. And now here he was, speaking of Penelope, another woman, with the same callous disregard. As if Penelope’s worth was nothing more than her ability to secure his ambition.

It made her sick.

She took a shaky step back, her thoughts spiraling. Antinous had always been her protector, her fierce shield in a cruel world. But how could she reconcile the brother who had fought for her with the man standing in that hall? The man who would talk about Penelope like property, who would murder her love without a second thought?Her throat tightened as the memory of Telemachus’s laughter echoed in her mind, of the way he’d held her before sailing away. Her hands clenched into fists, and she wanted to scream. Wanted to march into that hall and demand to know who this man was pretending to be her brother?”

But she didn’t. Not yet. Not while her heart still ached, torn between the Antinous she loved and the man plotting the destruction of everything she held dear. She turned and hurried away, silent tears streaking her face. If Antinous thought she would stand by and let him do this, he was wrong. She wouldn’t let him destroy Telemachus, Penelope, or her. Not without a fight.

@procrastination20 @jackiepackiee @barrythestrawberry041 @blessedbyahuntress

@f3r4lfr0gg3r @permanently-nothere @eyuunho @jackintheboxs-world

@simpingmyassoff @sunshinewhosketches

@sugarlillycookie @kaguraaaa @doodle-with-rhy

@0anodite0 @cocosparkel @tati-the-fangirl

@dazedemery @tsmaruchan @xo-cuteplosion-xo

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

Mz. Bitch's Masterlist

Started: 2/24/24 Last updated: 2/1/25

Due to inline link limits, please click on the story name to start reading and follow the chapter links. Thanks little darlings! Love y'all!

MARVEL

Bucky Barnes *One shots Sex Pollen My Alpha Got Nothing On You +parts Movie Night Please Come Back Vibranium & Stainless Steel Shy Dream Girl A little help from my friend Angry baby? Throw It in the Dishwasher +parts The Boss +parts I.T. Time to Heal A Very Cutesy, Very Demure Halloween Regrets & Apologies Quite a Workout +parts Overheard Oh Sister Let's Go Down Little Sea Storm I may be a real bad boy...but baby I'm a real good man Zhihn moya Flirty A Bumpy Ride +parts Fire! Lots of Love +parts Things Are Not As They Seem It's Been a Long, Long Time La Muerte Deja Vu Soldat Blood and...Balsam? Slow, Sexy Mornings Moody Bucky Made of Dreams One bed *Series Breaking the Class Ceiling **Finished Bucky Barnes is a middle class clerk. He needs to marry well to take care of himself and his father. Y/N Y/L/N is the heir to a millionaire fortune, who is blunt, no-nonsense, flirtatious, and looking for a partner. Everyone is vying for her hand. Can Bucky ever win? Pretty Pointy Smile **Finished Bucky was born different, and has been judged for it ever since.  His father has had enough and sells him to the circus.  The acceptance and love of his newfound family, and the beautifully fierce ringmaster, help him realize he’s not the monster everyone else made him out to be. Sugar Mama **Finished Bucky is overworked and struggling to get by.  The bills are piling up and he’s consistently in the red with no end in sight.  Y/N is a billionaire’s daughter, entrepreneur and philanthropist having a hard time finding true friends or love.  She has a proposition for him. Marriage of Convenience **Finished Y/N’s father is gone, and he leaves it all to her.  But in 1880s Oregon, she can’t own land without a husband.  Under the threat of it all being taken away by a land hungry Sheriff, what’s a girl to do with no prospects?  Maybe one of the cowboys on the farm can help… The Temptation **Finished Father Barnes is devout, steadfast, and undeterred by flirtatious congregants.  So why does this fallen angel tempt him so?  You cannot serve two masters.  Will he choose God, or his heart? Norsemen & Anglo-Saxons **Finished Princess Y/N has a secret that her parents are ashamed of.  A conquering Viking chief recognizes the gift she has.  Will they be able to bring peace between warring people, and maybe find love along the way? Stranded **Finished Tossed overboard and lost at sea, Bucky washes up on an uninhabited island.  Injured, lost and scared, with little to no wilderness training, he fights to survive.  But is he really alone? The Fuck Up **Finished Bucky fucked up.  A few times.  Will his best friend ever be able to forgive him?

Naughty Nanny **Finished Bucky had a lovechild from a one night stand.  He barely even remembered it, and was surprised to find a baby on his doorstep 9 months later.  But one look at that little girl and he knew she was his and that he’d die for her.  The only problem was, he knew nothing about babies, and being an Avenger meant he couldn’t just drop everything and be a dad full time.  Then he found the perfect nanny…or so he thought. Run, pretty girl, run **Finished Even with the safeguards put in place after the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D., the remaining Avengers find themselves on the run after the American government falls into disarray.  The code word is sent, and they’re officially fugitives.  Bucky makes a run for the safe house set up for emergencies like this where the Avengers are told to meet up, but on the way saves the pregnant agent turned payroll specialist that he was partnered with.  Will they make it before she goes into labor?  Or at all?

Pretty P.A. **Finished Y/N has been the personal assistant to the most influential and famous fashion model agency director in the industry for the past 13 years.  They’ve decided to retire, and are leaving the agency in the hands of their protege and former model, Bucky Barnes.  He seems plenty qualified, and Y/N is excited for a chance to work with him.  Change always takes time,  but the new insanely hot boss is distrustful and hesitant towards her.  The Gorgon **Finished The village nearest the mountain by the sea has a generations-old tradition of offering sacrifices to the monster in the mountain to gain favor and keep its wrath away from the people.  Every person starting from the age of 15 has to take a turn in making the journey up the mountain to the mouth of the cave once a year to drop off the gifts…and it’s a journey that some never come back from.  Y/N took her turn when she was 15, and now the rotation has come back to her again.  If the gift isn’t given by the autumn solstice, there’s no telling what harm the creature will wreak onto the people.  With a seemingly insurmountable obstacle in her way, will she make it to save her and her people?  Can a monster have a heart? Dreamboat **Finished Y/N, her brother Steve, and his best friend Bucky all moved out West for a new start after Y/N was almost caught up and hurt in a rival gang fight.  Steve wasn’t in shape to fight in the war, but Bucky was drafted.  While out West, Y/N finds herself in trouble again from the local bar owner.  Steve is suddenly drafted for an experimental division of the army, but leaving Y/N alone isn’t an option.  Bucky comes home needing help, and Steve comes up with a crazy compromise.  Sweet Pumpkin **Finished Bucky is struggling with the dating world and knows that if he ever hopes to have a serious relationship, that he needs to get through his touch deprivation issues.  It’s not that he doesn’t want to touch people, or them to touch him, but after decades of pain he doesn’t know how to accept physical intimacy from others, or how to give it himself.  He hires Y/N, an intimacy coach and professional cuddler, who comes highly recommended.  Will his heart be able to distinguish between a service given versus real love?

Yes Mama **Finished Bucky Barnes has made quite the name for himself in the underground mob boss world.  But he’s not the boss.  Just the face of the Family. 

A Pirate's Life for Me **Finished Captain Bucky Barnes and his crew on the Armored Star are the most fearsome pirates in the known world.  They’ve given the British fleet a run for their money as they try to free the enslaved and take from the rich, but they could have never guessed how the British empire would retaliate against them.  When a new pirate ship appears and lays waste to all in its path, will Bucky and his crew be ready for the wrath of a woman scorned?

The Witch and The Doctor **Finished Bucky thought he could make a difference, getting a medical license and trying to change people’s minds.  But the 1600s New World is a harsh place with cruel people.  After being accused of witchcraft he makes a run for it, facing the dangers of the woods and the rumored witch that lives within them.

Sugar & Spicy Books **Finished Y/N is an accomplished writer who is newly divorced, and out of fear of the unknown, moves back to her small hometown she swore she’d never come back to.  She comes across her best friend that never left, who helps her out of a tough spot.  Will old feelings arise?  Or is she just too big for such a small place now?

The Professor's Aid **Finished Bucky has one last year left of college.  He has tutoring/teacher’s aid credits he needs to fill to graduate, no matter the subject.  He applies to be the Women’s Studies professor’s TA, thinking maybe he can skate by easily, until he meets the no-nonsense, large and in charge, pretty as sin professor who is hotter than expected.

Marriage Problems **WIP They’ve been married for 19 years, their 20th anniversary coming up soon.  Older, busier, and stuck on the repeat of their daily lives, Y/N and Bucky are struggling.  Their marriage is good, but feeling rocky the last few years as they’ve settled into this stage of their lives.  Can they get their spark back?  Or is it better to do the unthinkable, and move on without each other?

Peter Parker *One shots Emotional *Short Series Tasty **Finished Peter just wanted to have one night of fun.  Then that night of fun almost killed him.  Now it won’t stop haunting him.  And he’s loving it. 

*Series The Young Duke **Finished Queen Y/N is running out of time.  At 35 years old she has to marry and make an heir to the throne, but all suitors so far have been unsatisfactory in one way or another.  Duke Peter Parker is the young Duke of Queensland, and his family is on the brink of ruin due to his parents’ failures and famines throughout the years.  He needs to find an advantageous marriage to save his family’s estate, so when an invitation from the Crown comes, he jumps at the opportunity.  Will it be a match?

Steve Rogers *Oneshot Sex Pollen An Evening Stroll

*Series My Queen **Finished Steve Rogers is the newly inherited Duke of Brooklyn, struggling to fix the mistakes of his parents while enduring an overbearing, matchmaking mother.  He has no intention of anything romantic in his future, but will a forced love connection with the Queen change his mind?

Fortuna Major **Finished Steve Rogers came home from World War II shell shocked and overwhelmed by the place he once called home.  After losing his mother he and his injured best friend Bucky decide to find a quieter, slower way of life to heal from the war.  They head out west until they hit Fortuna, California, and get jobs in the lumber industry.  Steve comes across a local lodging for miners and lumber workers, and falls head over heels for the female owner who takes no man’s shit. 

Stucky *Oneshot Three's Company

*Series Emerald Hallow **Finished Steve Rogers wants to move on.  He wants to forget Peggy, and dive into the 21st century.  But this man of the past doesn’t know how to navigate being an Alpha in a modern world of skittish Omegas.  He prides himself on his self control, never wanting to harm or scare them, until something just smells too damn good. And he's not the only one who smells it...

Actors

Sebastian Stan *Series A Patient Man **Finished Sebastian swore to never fall for another co-star again. Until Y/N drops into his life.

[obito-in-disguise]

| Arranged marriage! Itachi x Reader |

-Itachi must choose between massacring his clan or marrying the hokage's granddaughter.

“Itachi, you’re not here to report this conflict is miraculously over I suppose?” Hiruzen rasps out, noticing the slightly vacant expression on Itachi’s face before taking another puff of his pipe. To make himself feel better, Itachi often assumed the substance in Hiruzen’s pipe was crack.

“There was nothing I could do about it, the elders have decided to overthrow the village… tomorrow night”

The room went silent for a solid minute, the atmosphere as thick as a fog. Hiruzen sighs glancing at Itachi’s kneeling form before him, his shoulder’s slumped and his fists clenched.

“Stand up Itachi, we knew this was coming...I suppose you know what you have to do now” Itachi gets up, his head still down, teeth clenched and his shoulders shaking in panic. Why did it have to end up this way? Why did he have to be the one to take care of it? What was going to happen to Sasuke?

Hiruzen glances over Itachi’s distraught form with pity, he knew it was incredibly unfair and selfish to ask the boy to dispose of his clan for the sake of the village. Nevertheless, Hiruzen had a duty to protect the village’s interests above anything else. His mind drifts as he smokes his pipe, there was another way out of this he had though of but it was a gamble, he personally hoped it wouldn’t have to come up.

“Itachi, it saddens me to have to ask this of you, you are like a son to me” he turns around and sits on the window sill “so I offer you two choices today, dispose of the Uchiha or...marry my granddaughter”

“…what?”

Hiruzen lets out another puff, giving Itachi time to process his words. “Marry your granddaughter” Itachi repeats almost dumbfounded.

“A union between you and one of my own will force a personal stake for both the Uchiha and the village to maintain peace”

"..."

“...and how would you guarantee I just don't dispose of her” Itachi’s cold voice rings out, Hiruzen glances at him. It’s a plausible question, Hiruzen can’t argue with that. “then you would give me the reason I need to forge ahead with the execution of the Uchiha clan for good” He replies just as cold, the old man was far from stupid, he knew Itachi couldn’t feel all rainbows and sunshines towards him considering what he had put the boy through, but he had to remind Itachi of his place.

“Our new familial bond will enable me to advocate more for your clan’s interest without protest from the village, It is exactly what we need to show your clan that they will always have a stake in this village”

“…”

“You have until tomorrow morning Itachi. The fate of the village is in your hands”

So here he was in the living room of his new marital home, gifted to him by Hiruzen, getting ready to meet his new...wife, the mission paperwork in his hands long forgotten.

Of course it had come to this, if this was what it was going to take to maintain peace and save his clan, Itachi was going to do it. His thoughts raced as he sat on the living room couch, he had no intention of cozying up to this stranger who was probably going to be a spy, after all that was exactly what Hiruzen made him do. He planned to get another apartment far from here, where he would use the excuse of missions to be as far away from her and the marriage as possible.

Knock knock.

Itachi stiffens, she was here. Despite his completely calm expression, he felt his stomach twisting. His life would never be the same after this, he wondered what she would be like and desperately hoped she planned to keep her distance like he did. He walked over to the door slowly, each step felt like torture, he wished this was all a dream and that he would suddenly wake up. His pale hand reached for the door handle and slowly twisted it open.

A girl stood before him, she was noticeably shorter and seemed to be nervous, her gaze was fixated on something distant as she chewed her lip while twirling a strand off her hair absentmindedly. "Hello” he greeted, making her nearly jump out of her skin. Very absentminded, he noted with a slightly disapproving look. Nevertheless, he pushes his displeasure away and holds out his hand politely, “you must be Y/N Sarutobi, pleasure to meet you”

She shakes his hand clumsily, still rattled from earlier “The pleasure is mine Itachi-san.” He gives her a once over before silently side stepping her, her eyes follow him in confusion as he grabs her luggage in the hallway, lugging it in. “oh! Thank you Itachi-san, you didn’t have to” “Just Itachi is fine” he responds without looking back at her before dragging the luggage into their shared room. The thought of sharing a room makes him cringe but once again, he pushes the thoughts aside. He’s doing the sake of those he loves, he repeats.

She stands in the living room fidgeting. He seems cold, she muses taking in the living room. It was small and quaint, the perfect starting house for a new couple. She considers taking a tour round the house but freezes once Itachi re-enters the room. He sits at the table, resuming his mission paperwork not even sparing her a glance. Really? She thinks as she awkwardly stands in the middle of the living room, was he just going to pretend like she wasn’t here? She sighs, walking forward tentatively and taking a sit at the table opposite from him.

Her eyes travelled over his features, he was very…pretty. His long lashes framed his obsidian eyes as he read, the stress lines that travelled along his face surprisingly added to his charm. Her eyes continue to scan him, taking in his dark hair tucked away into a low ponytail before moving back over to his eyes. She gasps when her gaze meets his own, his expression unrevealing and his mouth set in a straight line. “Nice hair” she awkwardly tries to explain why she’s staring at him, cringing as soon as the words leave her mouth. Itachi keeps looking at her for a few seconds before going back to his paperwork.

She nearly groans in embarrassment before shifting awkwardly in her seat, why was he making this so hard? “I’ve heard a lot about you Itachi, your reputation precedes you” she tries again. “Is that so?” he replies not even looking up “yes” she chuckles “you’re quite the superstar at my workplace.” He finally glances up “and where is that?” his interest piqued. “I work at the villages intelligence department, in the hokage’s tower” she responds, happy he’s finally being responsive.

“Intelligence department…” He gives her a once over, clearly not convinced, his eyes going back to his paperwork “Did your grandfather introduce you?” He asks almost innocently but she could feel the venom behind his words, her smile quickly drops from her face. She was used to the nepotism accusations, her grandfather being the Hokage and all but it hurt to hear it from him she didn’t even know why, they had only known each other for a couple of minutes. Her anger only grew the more she stared at him. She decides to confront him on his behaviour, someone needed to put him in his place.

“Why’re you being so rude? I’m just trying to make this w-“ “perhaps I should remind you of what 'this' is” he interrupts her sharply, dropping the paperwork abruptly “this, is nothing more than an arrangement, it is not a fairy tale, it is not a love story. Sorry to inform you but there will be no warm discussions or pleasantries exchanged here” he finishes, nearly gritting his teeth.

She stares at him in shock before retorting. Politeness be damned, she tried to make this work. “Remember that reputation I told you about? It was about you being an asshole! and boy were they right” she scowls, struggling to keep her need to say more incheck. Itachi doesn't take to kindly to her remarks, a cold expression washing over his face before he closes his eyes. When he opens them again his usual obsidian colour swirls into the pattern of the sharingan “I couldn't care less what you think about me but…I would be more than glad to confirm that reputation right now” he states menacingly, standing from his chair.

She gasps standing up as well, scrambling back at the sight of his sharingan. Perhaps she should’ve watched her mouth, she was no shinobi after all, she was a mere civilian. Itachi walks toward her frightened form as she slowly backs away, her eyes wide with fear. She walks backward until her back hits the wall, swallowing as she stares at the angry uchiha in front of her. Itachi may be cold but he wouldn’t do anything to hurt her...right?

A scuttling noise rings out from the hallway, causing her to glance in the direction of it, her heart rate picking up. Her old co-worker emerges from the shadow of the hallway, his form contorted as he speaks “you’re so used to always getting want you want” another co-worker emerges still disfigured “your job, your house, your marriage” “everything was handed to you on a silver platter so you should just know your place!” another disfigured co-worker appears yelling at her with a mangled voice, it was like they were repeating all her insecurities straight from her head.

She screams in terror as she looks to Itachi, half in bewilderment and half for help. Itachi stands in his previous spot unmoving, continuing to stare her down. The pieces of the puzzle comes together as it dawns upon her that she is caught in one of Itachi’s gentjutsu. Her breaths come in shallow gasps “I’m sorry Itachi, please stop this” she cries clutching her head as the taunting voices get louder “you should just disappear!” “go away! Run back to grandpa” the voices yell at her. She sobd sliding down unto floor, covering her ears as the voices become painfully louder “stop it Itachi!” she yells over the voices through her tears.

He finally snaps out of his hateful daze, releasing the gentjustsu. His eyes fall on her sobbing form slumped on the floor. She glares up at him through her tear-filled vision “you’re a jerk” and with that she races toward their shared bedroom, slamming the door.

Itachi sighs as he sits back on the couch, deactivating the sharingan. He rubs his face with his hands, glancing in the direction of the bedroom door where her muffled cries were coming from. He sighs again, perhaps he took it too far, he only wanted to scare her into not trying to be friendly with him but ended up torturing her. He gets up slowly and walks towards the bedroom, determined to apologize to her. He was angry, angry at the situation, angry at Hiruzen, angry at his clan but he didn’t need to lump her in. He was going to try to make things right.

Part 2 out neow

I wanted to make Itachi as canon as possible. I may make a part two but this time, there'll be lots of fluff and Itachi won't be as mean lol.

Enjoyed the story? check out more of my other Naruto fics and more stories! Requests are open! and don't forget to leave a like, comment or reblog pookie♡

[angel1010xx]

ｃｉｇａｒｅｔｔｅｓ

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Pairing: Sanji x Reader

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You hated cigarettes.

Cigarettes were stuffy and overwhelming, the scent lingered for hours, and the smoke made your lungs feel closed up. They were complete bombardments to your senses, and genuinely? You felt as if the world would be better off without them. Smoking is a bad habit, after all. Why would anyone willingly choose to give themselves lung cancer and an early grave?

The Thousand Sunny was having a lively night. Brooks was merrily serenading the crew, while each of them were on their own missions. Zoro was drinking (to death, probably, how was his liver still functioning?), Usopp was reliving the latest battle with Luffy, Franky, and Chopper (with embellishments, of course, not that his audience would be able to detect them), and Nami and Robin were sucked into their books (they were so perfect, the crew hardly deserved the gift of their presence). That just left Sanji.

Running around, fawning over “Nami-Swan,” and lighting yet another cigarette.

Yes, he was a phenomenal chef. Yes, he was doting and chivalrous. Yes, he was charismatic and consistent, and it was so hard to find a man that to actually abide by a moral code. But God, he was perverted. He was unbearable. And he reeked like menthol.

Sighing, you crossed your wrists over each other and leaned on the railing of the ship. The Grand Line was dangerous, but it was beautiful when the moonlight reflected across the water. The sights, the wind in your face, and the freedom made all the trouble worth the adventure. You were apart from the main crowd, opting for some personal space at the front of the ship. The Straw Hat crew was your family; and true to life, everyone needs their elbow room sometimes, even from the ones they love most. 

Approaching footsteps interrupted your peace. Looking over your shoulder, you spotted Sanji walking towards you. Great, you thought. He gazed at you with a slight tension in his brow. “The fish is ready. Are you going to eat?”

“In a little bit, yes,” you responded. “I just wanted some fresh air and quiet right now.” Sanji settled in, standing beside you, mimicking your pose by also leaning against the railing. “I hope you come down soon,” he spoke in a low voice. “Our princess-warrior needs her strength just like the rest of us.” 

A smile tugged at your lips. “I’m scared, Sanji,” you whispered, choosing to open up to him. “The world is changing. I worry about my people at home. I know there’s ample resources and military force to keep them safe, but…” you trailed off, eyes shifting from focusing and losing focusing on the sea waves. Sanji let out a hum, and pulled out a cigarette and a light. You cocked your head towards him, this time with a slight lip curl. “You just had one. Do you really have to smoke another one, right here?”

He let out a puff of smoke and a chuckle. “Mon amour, we all have ways of dealing with our stress.” 

Sanji shifted to face his body towards you, but kept one arm on the railing. “You can’t sit there and worry about your people all day and night. I see it on your face every time I look at you. It practically breaks my heart,” he paused to place his free hand on his chest. He broke out into a warm smile. “Right here and now, princess, you are safe, and they are safe too.” 

You let out a deep breath, doing your best to soak in his words. “Thank you, Sanji.” He let out another hum, put out his cigarette, and brought you in for a hug. “Of course, mon amour.”

Yes, he smelled like menthol. Yes, you had a hard time breathing. But he also smelled like cologne. He was warm, and the feeling of his breath down the side of your neck made you shiver. A thought came into your mind for a split second—what would it be like to taste the cigarette, if you were to press your lips to his own?

It’s a fine line between love and hate, after all. 

[benjinotes]

too sweet for me // strong family hcs ?

omg i was waiting for this! (modern au, reader is dating benjicot) based on this!

rhaenyra and harwin had a happy marriage for several years and had four children together: jace, you, luke, and joffrey.

eventually, they chose to have a peaceful divorce, maintaining a respectful and supportive relationship for the sake of you and your brothers.

even after the separation, your parents made a concerted effort to have dinner or lunch with you regularly, ensuring they stayed involved in your lives.

as their only daughter, harwin and rhaenyra make a concerted effort to engage in activities with you, ensuring you don't feel left out. they always dedicate time to try hobbies you enjoy or simply spend quality time with you.

they always spent christmas and other celebrations together with all of you, to avoid forcing any of the children to choose between their parents. although daemon isn't fond of this arrangement, he accepts it for your mother's sake.

you are extremely spoiled by your parents in every aspect of your life, as well as by your siblings and even your stepfather, although he wouldn’t admit it openly. whether it’s a holiday or not, you always receive rewards, whether you pass a test or not, because no one in your family likes to see you sad. :(

and since we're talking about spoiling, we can’t overlook your maternal grandparents! aemma and viserys adore pampering their grandchildren and especially enjoy having them visit. they simply want to keep their grandchildren close.

you and your siblings often argue about who is the grandparents' favorite. (it’s you)

speaking of siblings...

you and luke are the middle siblings in the family. you're just a year younger than jace and three years older than luke, which means you and jace have a closer bond.

although you have a closer relationship with your older brother, this doesn’t mean your bond with your other siblings is affected—in fact, quite the opposite! luke often turns to you for help with his homework or advice on girls or boys—who better to guide him than his older sister, right?

joffrey, on the other hand… he’s a bit of a troublemaker, and you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve had to help your mother when he wouldn’t calm down or screamed until his throat hurt. but despite his chaotic behavior, he’s so adorable that you can’t stay upset with him. i mean—have you seen his little eyes? 😞

jace is a different case. you and him were always close; you were like his shadow, and he was like yours, always going to your school events just as you go to his games. he is your best friend and advisor, however—oh boy—he’s extremely protective. (harwin is proud of this)

and when you started dating one of his friends, his protectiveness skyrocketed to 200%.

jace had to do his best to control himself and avoid hitting someone when he saw you and benji kissing near the college locker room. you swore you had never seen him so red with anger and embarrassment; it was a sight you will never forget.

it was a memorable moment for you, since annoying your brothers always made you laugh, and seeing your boyfriend embarrassed for the first time felt like a double gift.

yet, you still begged your brother not to say anything to your father, fearing that he might remove benji from the team. and even though you knew it was unlikely, you weren’t willing to take the risk.

however, it didn’t last long, as within two weeks your father discovered that his beloved daughter was dating one of his players and called him into his office for a little talk. benji pissed himself.

it was a simple quiz that your dad already knew the answers to. but hey, as a coach, he only had those answers for his job; he felt it was his duty to play the overprotective father too—after all, you’re his baby!

wait until harwin finds out that his baby fucks with her boyfriend; at any change she has —

anyways — your mother, on the other hand, was thrilled when you told her you were dating. however, from the warning glance she gaves benji time to time, it was clear she wouldn’t hesitate to run him over with her car if he ever harmed her only daughter. (jokes on you, rhaenyra, but i think benji would prefer being run over rather than hurting you.) after all, you were her little girl. :’(

as incredible as it may seem, luke, despite witnessing harwin, jace, and even daemon’s murmurs of disgust at the sight of you and your problematic boyfriend, he actually liked him, which made you quite happy.

joffrey also liked benji, but that wasn’t much of a surprise to you, given that he seemed to like anyone who gave him attention.

your family was quite chaotic, but you loved them for it, and perhaps that was why benjicot was so nervous about the dinner your mom had invited him to.

part 2 preview

[playboysaleen]

Through Ash and Iron (12)

Jinx x Reader x Caitlyn

This is actually the last chap for a few days cause this is actually where i stopped (oops). So soak it in and reflect cause baby this writers block aint it- Summary: Through Ash and Iron plunges you into the heart of Piltover’s gritty streets, where you’ve always felt the weight of your family’s failures. Rejected from the Junior Enforcer Program, your anger burns brighter than ever—until one fateful punch changes everything. The eyes of Piltover’s elite may look down on you, but it’s the wild eyes of Jinx that truly see you. She’s chaos personified, and you’re drawn to the destruction she promises. But that’s not all. Caitlyn Kiramman, a poised enforcer with a soft spot for rebels like you, offers you a chance to rewrite your future—if you can control the rage you can’t seem to escape.Torn between the order Caitlyn represents and the dangerous freedom Jinx offers, you stand at the crossroads of two worlds. As your power grows, so does the tension between these two women. One promises a chance at belonging, while the other ignites a fire you didn’t know you had. But the choices you make will change everything—not just for you, but for both cities teetering on the edge of war. Who will you choose? And how much of yourself will you lose along the way?

Warnings: Violence duh, gay panic(lol), cursing, all that jazz (whatever you seen in Arcane is what you gon see here)This is also a slight AU.(She/her)

Cant even lie i cringed a bit on some of these things but fffffuck was i down bad these last two weeks for jinx and caitlyn.

Word Count: 9.3k

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The soft hum of your lamp illuminated the small trinket in your hands. It was a delicate piece, carefully crafted with intricate gears and a tiny painted bird that reminded you of Isha’s wide-eyed curiosity. The brush in your hand moved with precision, adding the final touches of vibrant blue to the wings. You smiled faintly to yourself, imagining the way her face would light up when she saw it.

The apartment was quiet, the kind of silence that felt comforting. You were alone, but not lonely. The promise of Jinx, Caitlyn, and Isha arriving later for dinner filled you with a rare sense of peace. For now, the soft clinking of your tools and the faint scent of fresh paint were your only companions.

But then, everything shifted.

It was subtle at first—a faint prickle at the back of your neck, a sensation you couldn’t quite place. Your heightened senses, a gift and curse of the shimmer in your blood, suddenly flared to life. The comforting silence was no longer still; it felt heavy, oppressive. Every sound, even from the distant streets below, seemed amplified. The faintest intake of breath, too close, too foreign, sent a jolt through you.

You didn’t hesitate. In a blur, you sprinted for the balcony window, your body moving on instinct as the front door exploded inward. A shimmered soldier burst through, their massive frame colliding with the doorframe as they entered.

The apartment became a war zone in an instant.

You vaulted through the open balcony window, your feet barely touching the ground as you scaled the adjacent rooftop. The soldiers followed, their movements unnaturally fast, but you were faster. The rooftops became your battlefield.

One soldier lunged at you, their hand swiping inches from your shoulder. You twisted mid-air, your boots catching the edge of a railing as you flipped onto the next roof. The sound of their heavy boots pounding behind you pushed you forward, your muscles burning but refusing to slow.

A second soldier closed in, their arm outstretched to grab you. You ducked low, sliding under a low-hanging pipe and using the momentum to kick their legs out from under them. The soldier hit the ground hard, and you didn’t wait to see if they got up.

The chase continued, your movements precise and calculated as you weaved through obstacles. You scaled walls, leapt over gaps, and sent two more soldiers sprawling with swift, brutal strikes. But then, you felt it—a sharp impact to your side.

The advanced soldier.

The blow sent you crashing through the roof of your apartment. The world spun violently as debris rained down around you, your body slamming into the floor with a force that knocked the air from your lungs. Pain radiated through you, sharp and unforgiving.

You tried to push yourself up, but your arms shook, and you collapsed back to the floor. Your vision blurred as the advanced soldier loomed over you, their massive frame outlined against the light filtering through the hole in the roof.

Before you could react, they grabbed you by the neck, their grip like a vice. You clawed at their arm, your muscles straining as you fought to free yourself. They lifted you effortlessly, your feet dangling above the ground.

With a roar, the soldier hurled you through the balcony doors. You landed hard on the handmade patio, the wood splintering beneath you. Memories of quiet moments spent here with Jinx, Caitlyn, and Isha flickered in your mind—laughter, conversations, warmth—all of it now reduced to shattered wood and broken glass.

You forced yourself to stand, your breathing labored. Your eyes burned with anger, glowing a fierce purple as the shimmer surged within you. But before you could act, the soldiers stilled.

Mel stepped forward from the shadows.

She was calm, poised, her golden robes catching the faint light of the shattered apartment. Her expression was unreadable, but the glint in her eyes was anything but.

“You really are extraordinary,” she said, her voice smooth and measured. “More powerful than I realized. I’ve seen you hold back time and time again. For them.” She gestured lazily toward the horizon. “For Caitlyn. For Jinx. Belittling yourself. Dimming your own light to protect theirs.”

Her words dripped with venom, cutting deep.

“Tell me,” she continued, taking a step closer, “how does it feel to give everything to two women who will never truly understand you? Who hold you back from being what you’re meant to be?”

The insult hit like a dagger. The anger in your chest ignited into a roaring inferno, and without thinking, you charged.

You moved faster than should have been possible, your body a blur of motion as you closed the distance between you and Mel. But just as you leapt toward her, the advanced soldier intercepted you, their massive hand wrapping around your neck once more.

You struggled, your hands clawing at their grip as you fought to free yourself. But they were relentless, their strength overwhelming. Mel approached you slowly, her gaze cold and calculating.

She reached out, her fingers brushing against your face, a gesture as mocking as it was intimate. “You’re wasted on them,” she murmured. “But don’t worry. Soon, the world will see what happens when the Commander of Piltover’s forces and Zaun’s most infamous rebel find out I have you.”

Her words sent a wave of rage and hopelessness through you. You roared in defiance, your voice raw and desperate. But Mel simply nodded to the soldier.

The soldier’s grip tightened. Pain exploded in your head, and the world began to spin. Your struggles weakened as darkness crept into the edges of your vision.

Your body went limp.

Your arms fell to your sides, your fingers twitching once before they stilled. The last thing you heard before the darkness took you was Mel’s voice, calm and triumphant.

“Bring them.”

Jinx strolled next to Caitlyn with a rare calmness about her, her hands tucked into the pockets of her jacket. Isha walked between them, occasionally glancing up with her wide eyes, splitting her attention between the two women. For once, there was no tension. No insults. Just the quiet sound of boots and shoes hitting the pavement as the trio made their way toward your apartment.

“You know,” Jinx started, her voice carrying her trademark teasing edge, “this whole thing? Us hanging out together like one big happy family? I didn’t think I’d hate it as much as I thought I would.”

Caitlyn smirked, adjusting the strap of the bag slung across her shoulder. “Don’t get too comfortable. I still have a list of reasons why I can’t stand you.”

“Oh, yeah? Go on, Piltie,” Jinx shot back, her grin widening. “Make my day. Let’s hear it.”

“Where to start?” Caitlyn mused, tapping her chin dramatically. “The explosives? The chaos? The constant threats to my life?”

“Pfft,” Jinx waved her off, leaning down slightly to nudge Isha. “Kid, you think I’m a threat, don’t you?”

Isha giggled silently, her blue hair bouncing as she reached up and slipped her hand into Caitlyn’s. The unexpected gesture stopped Caitlyn mid-retort. She looked down at the small hand gripping hers, the soft, trusting eyes staring up at her, and something in her chest tightened.

Jinx caught the look, her teasing expression softening for a moment. “Guess the kid likes you, Piltie,” she murmured, her voice quieter now.

Caitlyn squeezed Isha’s hand gently, her lips curving into a small smile. “I like her too.”

They walked in comfortable silence for a while, Isha now clutching Caitlyn’s hand as Jinx walked slightly ahead, her gaze scanning the streets around them. “You know,” Jinx said after a moment, “maybe we should… I don’t know, do this more often? All of us. Together.”

Caitlyn glanced at her, surprised by the suggestion. “You mean… spending time together?”

Jinx shrugged, trying to play it off. “I mean, don’t get me wrong. You’re still annoying as hell. But… they like it. You know, being with both of us. And I guess it’s not the worst thing in the world.”

Caitlyn chuckled softly. “High praise, coming from you.”

As they approached your building, Isha let go of Caitlyn’s hand and started to run ahead. Jinx smirked. “Hey, careful, kid!”

Isha’s foot suddenly caught on something, and she stumbled, nearly falling. Caitlyn was quick, lunging forward to catch her before she hit the ground. “Got you,” she said softly, lifting the little girl into her arms.

Jinx frowned as they both looked down at what had tripped her. It was one of your tools—scratched, familiar, and out of place. Caitlyn’s expression shifted immediately, her sharp eyes darting toward your apartment building just a few meters ahead. Her breath caught in her throat as she saw it.

The patio.

Your handmade rooftop patio, the one where you spent countless quiet moments with them and Isha, was in shambles. The wood was splintered, the furniture overturned, and jagged glass glinted in the fading sunlight.

“God,” Caitlyn whispered, her grip tightening around Isha as her heart raced.

Jinx’s hands balled into fists as she stared at the wreckage. “No. No, no, no,” she muttered, panic rising in her chest.

They sprinted toward the scene, Isha clinging tightly to Caitlyn as the two women climbed the stairs and burst into your apartment. The devastation was worse up close. The door hung off its hinges, the walls were scorched, and debris was scattered everywhere.

“Y/n!” Caitlyn called out, her voice trembling despite her effort to stay calm. She set Isha down carefully and began searching through the wreckage.

Jinx was already tearing through the room, her hands shaking as she pushed aside broken furniture and shards of glass. “Where the hell are you?” she shouted, her voice cracking.

Isha wandered toward the center of the room, her wide eyes scanning the chaos. She picked up a small trinket—the one you’d made for her—and held it tightly in her small hands.

“Y/n?” Caitlyn called again, her voice more frantic this time. She was holding it together for Isha, but tears pricked the corners of her eyes.

Then, a faint sound broke through the silence.

“Mama.”

Both women froze.

Isha’s voice, barely a whisper, carried through the room as she clutched the trinket to her chest. She was searching, her small lips forming the word again. “Mama.”

Caitlyn turned away, unable to hold back the tears as she covered her mouth with her hand. Jinx scooped Isha into her arms, holding her tightly as her own tears slid down her cheeks.

“Isha…” Jinx whispered, her voice breaking. “We’ll find her. I promise.”

Caitlyn’s gaze fell on the broken glass near the balcony. Among the debris was a faint smear of purple blood, its unnatural glow catching her eye. Her stomach twisted, the sight confirming her worst fears.

“She’s hurt,” Caitlyn murmured, her voice hollow.

Jinx turned to her, Isha still in her arms. “What?”

Caitlyn pointed at the blood, her jaw tightening. “She’s hurt, and someone took her.”

Jinx’s expression darkened, her tears drying as a fierce determination took over. “I know who it was,” she said, her voice low and dangerous.

Caitlyn straightened, wiping her face as she stepped closer. “Who?”

Jinx’s grip on Isha tightened. “Mel.”

The scene began with a heavy steel door, the kind that sealed away secrets too dangerous to surface. Deep in the bowels of Mel’s tower, beyond layers of cold stone and mechanical locks, the air was oppressive, stifling. Muffled sounds seeped through the cracks, but as the door came into focus, the noise grew louder—violent banging, chains rattling, and primal screams that echoed with fury and defiance.

Inside, the room was cavernous, more like an abandoned auditorium than a cell. The floor was slick, faintly reflecting the dim light of a single, swaying bulb. In the center of it all, you struggled against heavy iron chains. They coiled around your wrists and ankles, tethered to thick metal anchors embedded in the walls. A heavy collar wrapped around your neck, its chain rattling every time you moved, forcing you into a bowed posture that left you vulnerable.

Your body was bruised, cuts lining your exposed arms, but it was your eyes that radiated defiance. The electric purple glow swirled like a storm, flickering with rage as you strained against the bonds.

Across the room, Mel sat leisurely in a sleek, high-backed lounge chair, her golden attire catching what little light the room offered. She crossed her legs elegantly, a goblet of wine in her hand. She observed you with a look of utter satisfaction, the corners of her lips twitching as if suppressing a smirk. She reveled in your fury, your unrelenting spirit, and the raw power you exuded even in chains.

“I must say,” Mel drawled, swirling her wine, “you’re quite the sight. All that anger, all that fire. It’s… intoxicating.” Her eyes lingered on you, tracing the lines of your tensed muscles and the veins that pulsed faintly with a purple hue. “Those eyes of yours—they glow so beautifully when you’re like this. It’s almost like they were made for me.”

You growled, the sound animalistic, as you tugged at the chains again. The metal groaned under the strain, and a faint creak echoed from the wall. “Mel,” you spat, your voice dripping with venom, “the moment I get out of these chains, I’m coming for you. You won’t make it out of this room alive.”

Her laughter was soft, almost amused, as she set the goblet down on a nearby table and leaned forward, her elbows resting on her knees. “Oh, sweetheart,” she purred, “you’re already mine. That anger? That hatred? I own it. And, by extension, I own you.”

She tilted her head, her golden eyes narrowing slightly. “Though, I wonder… what would dear Caitlyn think if she saw you like this? Or Jinx?” She let the names hang in the air like poison, watching with glee as the chains rattled violently when you surged forward.

“You don’t get to say their names!” you roared, the sound reverberating through the empty room. The chains tightened, straining against the metal anchors in the wall. The sound of creaking steel filled the space, and for a brief moment, Mel’s expression faltered. But only for a moment.

She stood, her movements slow and deliberate as she approached you. From her pocket, she produced a small vial of shimmering liquid, holding it up between two fingers. The vibrant purple inside seemed to glow unnaturally, swirling hypnotically within the glass.

“This,” she said, her voice dripping with mockery, “is what you’re meant to be. This little vial holds your full potential. The true you.” She stepped closer, her heels clicking against the floor. “But look at you. Cowering, leashed like a puppy.” Her words were sharp, designed to cut deep. “Isn’t that what you are? A loyal little pet for Caitlyn and Jinx?”

You staggered back, pressing yourself against the cold wall as if the shimmer itself burned. Your chest heaved with fury, your teeth bared. “I don’t need that poison!” you spat. “And I’m no one’s pet.”

Mel’s smile widened as she closed the distance between you. Her hand shot out, gripping your chin firmly. Her nails dug into your skin as she tilted your face upward, forcing you to meet her gaze. Her golden eyes roamed over your face, lingering on the fresh wound on your lip. Slowly, she swiped her thumb over the blood, the touch invasive and mocking.

“I wonder,” she murmured, leaning in so her breath ghosted over your lips, “how far your loyalty really goes. What would they do if they saw you like this? Would they still love you?”

You snarled, your body trembling with the effort to pull away. “Get your hands off me!” you roared.

Mel didn’t flinch. She stopped just short of kissing you, her lips inches from yours, her smile never wavering. “So loyal,” she whispered, her voice both mocking and admiring. “It’s almost endearing.”

Then, she stepped back, her hand falling away from your face as if releasing a toy she had grown bored of. She turned to the shimmered soldier standing silently in the shadows. “Show them how to behave,” she commanded, her tone cold and authoritative.

The soldier moved immediately, his massive frame looming over you. Before you could react, his fist collided with your stomach, the force knocking the air from your lungs. You gasped, your body jerking against the chains as another punch followed, this one aimed at your ribs. The sound of cracking bones filled the room, but you didn’t scream. You refused to give Mel the satisfaction.

“You’ll regret this,” you hissed through gritted teeth, your voice strained but defiant. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Mel watched from her chair again, her eyes gleaming with amusement as the soldier continued. “Oh, darling,” she said, raising her goblet in a mock toast, “I’m counting on it.”

The days passed in a blur of pain, rage, and exhaustion. The dim, cavernous room had become your prison, the chains your constant companion. Each day was a test, a battle against the oppressive weight of the restraints and the unrelenting presence of Mel. She visited often, her golden robes glinting faintly in the pale light as she lounged in her chair, always watching, always waiting for you to break.

You didn’t make it easy for her.

The first time she mentioned Caitlyn and Jinx, you lunged forward, the chains straining against the anchors in the wall. The metallic groan filled the room, the sound of your strength testing its limits. "Say their names again," you barked, your voice sharp and venomous, "and I’ll make sure they’re the last words you ever speak."

Mel only smirked, her chin resting lazily on her hand. "Oh, darling," she drawled, "do you think they’re even looking for you? Caitlyn’s busy saving Piltover, and Jinx?" She tilted her head, her golden eyes glinting with malice. "She’s probably found someone else to play with by now."

Your roar echoed through the room, a sound of pure fury. You jerked against the chains, the collar around your neck biting into your skin. But before you could lunge any closer, the shimmered soldier stepped forward. His massive hand struck like a hammer, slamming into your side and sending you crashing to the ground. The pain was sharp, but you didn’t cry out. You wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.

"Such a temper," Mel mused, standing slowly and approaching your crumpled form. "It’s almost... charming." She crouched beside you, her fingers brushing the edge of your jaw. You flinched, your eyes glowing fiercely as you glared up at her.

"You’ll pay for this," you spat, your voice low and seething. "Every bruise, every insult—you’ll pay."

Mel laughed softly, the sound dripping with condescension. "And yet," she said, leaning closer, "you’re still here. Still chained. Still mine." She straightened, her gaze cold and calculating. "But let’s see if we can’t find a way to teach you some manners."

She motioned to the shimmered soldier, who stepped forward again. His fists were like battering rams, each strike a calculated effort to wear you down. You took the blows silently, your body screaming in protest, but your eyes never lost their defiance.

It wasn’t until she mentioned Isha that something inside you snapped.

"That little girl," Mel said, her voice soft and deliberate, "I wonder if she even knows you’re gone. Or if she’s already moved on. Children are resilient like that, don’t you think?"

Your entire body tensed, the glow in your eyes intensifying as your breathing became ragged. "Don’t," you growled, your voice barely above a whisper. "Don’t you dare talk about her."

Mel’s smirk widened, sensing the shift in you. "Oh, but she’s the key, isn’t she? The one thing that keeps you tethered. Such a sweet little thing. It would be so easy to bring her here. To show her what happens to disobedient pets."

That was it. You roared, surging forward with a strength that surprised even the shimmered soldier. The chains rattled violently, the wall cracking slightly under the strain. Mel stepped back slightly, her composure faltering for a split second, but she recovered quickly, a glimmer of satisfaction in her eyes.

"Finally," she whispered, stepping closer as you slumped, exhausted but still defiant. She reached out, her fingers brushing against your cheek. "There it is. The fire. The rage. I knew you had it in you."

You jerked your head away, glaring up at her. "I’ll never be your pet," you hissed, your voice raw but steady.

Mel leaned down, her face inches from yours, her golden eyes boring into your own. "We’ll see," she murmured. Her hand trailed down your jaw to your neck, her touch invasive and infuriating. "Everyone has a breaking point. Even you."

When she finally straightened, she motioned to the shimmered soldier. "Teach them some respect," she ordered coldly.

You spat at her feet as the soldier approached, your chest heaving with fury. "You’ll never win," you snarled. "They’ll come for me. And when they do, you’ll wish you never touched Isha."

Mel paused, her gaze flicking back to you. Her smile was icy, her voice almost a whisper. "I think I’ll bring her here," she said, tilting her head. "Just to make sure you behave."

Her words hit like a blow, and for the first time, a flicker of true fear crossed your face. You struggled against the chains, yelling threats and curses as the shimmered soldier advanced, his massive fist raised.

But as the blows rained down, one thought burned in your mind, brighter than the pain, brighter than the rage: They will come for me.

The chaos within Zaun was unparalleled. Streets that once simmered with the quiet tension of survival now burned with uproar. Jinx stood atop one of the towering buildings, her purple eyes glowing with fury. The radiant hue pulsed, reflecting her emotions as she overlooked the city below. Her hands were clenched into trembling fists, her knuckles white, as her mind raced with thoughts of you.

Her voice carried like a storm. "No stone unturned! No corner untouched! Find them!" she bellowed to her people, her voice echoing across the jagged streets. "Anyone who knows anything, I want to hear it! NOW!"

Her loyalists scattered, even those who feared her more than they respected her. The sheer power emanating from her, the glow of her eyes, was enough to send shivers through the bravest. Even the rebels who had long opposed her rule bent under the weight of her rage, searching tirelessly for any trace of you.

On the other side of the city, Caitlyn’s office was a hub of frantic energy. Papers littered every surface, maps strewn with red markings of places searched. Enforcers came in and out, relaying reports of dead ends, but she refused to stop. Her pristine uniform was disheveled, the buttons at her collar undone, her hair tied back messily. Her eyes, dark with exhaustion, burned with the same determination as Jinx's.

"Double the sweeps in the lower districts," she ordered sharply, slamming her hand on the table. "Every alley, every abandoned building. If it’s big enough to hide a body, I want it searched."

"Commander, we’ve already—" one of the enforcers began, but Caitlyn cut him off with a glare that could silence a storm.

"Do it again," she snapped. "And again, until we find them."

The fire in her voice left no room for argument, and the enforcer nodded before hurrying out. Caitlyn leaned heavily on her desk, her hands gripping the edge as she stared at a map of Zaun and Piltover, her mind racing. "Where are you?" she whispered under her breath, frustration etched into her features.

Vi moved through the streets of Zaun with a purpose, her jaw clenched and her fists wrapped tightly. She was paired with Sevika, a partnership neither enjoyed but both knew was necessary. The tension between them was palpable, but they set their differences aside for one reason: you.

"You’re slowing us down, Vi," Sevika grunted, glancing at her over her shoulder. "Do you always walk this slow, or are you just trying to annoy me?"

Vi shot her a glare. "I could say the same about you, tin-arm. Just keep moving."

Despite the biting remarks, the two worked in tandem, questioning anyone who looked suspicious, chasing leads no matter how thin they seemed. Even Zaun’s most notorious dissidents, those who opposed the alliances you were trying to build, found themselves cornered and interrogated.

"If you’re hiding something, now’s the time to talk," Vi growled at one man, pinning him against a wall.

Sevika loomed beside her, her mechanical arm whirring ominously. "We’re not playing games. You tell us what you know, or I make sure you regret it."

Caitlyn’s quarters were eerily quiet despite the chaos outside. Jinx sat across from Caitlyn, her leg bouncing restlessly. The silence between them was thick, broken only by the sound of papers shuffling as Caitlyn reviewed reports. Isha sat in the corner, clutching the trinket you’d made her. She hadn’t spoken or smiled since you vanished, her wide eyes now dull and distant.

Jinx finally broke the silence. "This… waiting around. It’s killing me."

Caitlyn sighed, leaning back in her chair. "It’s killing all of us. But we have to keep our heads clear if we’re going to find them."

Jinx’s eyes flicked to Isha, her expression softening. "The kid… she’s not herself."

"None of us are," Caitlyn admitted, her voice heavy. She hesitated, then added, "They mean so much to her. To all of us."

For once, Jinx didn’t respond with a snide remark. Instead, she looked at Caitlyn, truly looked at her. "They mean everything to me," she said quietly. "I know it’s the same for you. So maybe, just this once, we try to work together without killing each other?"

Caitlyn met her gaze and nodded slowly. "Agreed."

A commotion downstairs snapped them out of the moment. Shouts and muffled arguments echoed up to the quarters. Caitlyn stood abruptly, grabbing her firearm. "Stay here with Isha," she instructed Jinx.

"Like hell I will," Jinx shot back, already following her.

They hurried downstairs, finding Vi and Sevika in a heated exchange with the enforcers at the entrance. "You’re not authorized to be here!" one of the guards protested.

"Let me through," Vi growled, her fists clenched. "I’ve got information."

Caitlyn stepped forward, her voice cutting through the noise. "Stand down. Let them through."

The enforcers hesitated but obeyed, and Vi and Sevika wasted no time stepping into the room.

"We found something," Vi said, her voice low. "Singed. He’s working with Mel. And…" She hesitated, glancing at Jinx. "They’ve got shimmered soldiers."

Jinx’s eyes widened, the purple glow flickering faintly. "And?"

Vi sighed. "I think they have them. In her tower. Deep down, somewhere."

Jinx was already moving toward the door. "Then what the hell are we waiting for? Let’s go."

Caitlyn grabbed her arm. "Wait. We need a plan. If we rush in—"

"We don’t have time for plans!" Jinx snapped, pulling away.

"Enough!" Sevika barked, silencing them both. "We move now. We can argue about strategy later."

Caitlyn reluctantly nodded. "Fine. But we’re doing this together."

They turned back upstairs to gather their gear, but the moment they entered Caitlyn’s quarters, the air changed.

Isha was gone.

Caitlyn’s heart dropped, her eyes darting around the room. "Isha?"

Jinx was already searching, her movements frantic. "No, no, no. She was right here!"

Caitlyn’s chest tightened as she noticed the open window, the faint breeze stirring the papers on her desk. She clenched her fists, her voice trembling. "They took her."

Jinx turned to Caitlyn, her purple eyes blazing. "We get them both back," she growled. "No matter what it takes."

—

The days blurred into a haze of agony and exhaustion. The shimmered soldier’s “corrections” had left you battered and weak, each session pushing you closer to a breaking point you swore you’d never reach. Your face bore fresh bruises, your lips split, dried blood crusted at the corner. Your arms, once strong and sure, trembled as you tried to remain upright. The chains rattled softly with your every shuddering breath, reminding you that you were far from free.

Mel sat a short distance away, her posture relaxed in a lavish lounge chair that belonged more in a palace than this dank, hidden auditorium deep beneath her tower. She observed you with that maddening smirk, sipping from a goblet as if attending a show. She had made a sport of taunting you. Every mention of Caitlyn or Jinx brought your anger roaring back, every implication that they’d abandoned you sparked another desperate attempt to lunge forward. The chains would screech, and the soldier would punish you anew, leaving you wheezing and cursing.

“That temper,” Mel murmured, leaning forward with a feigned concern painted over her arrogant smile, “it suits you more than the docile hero they think you are.” She twirled a strand of hair around her finger, eyes half-lidded in delight. “You’re only stalling the inevitable. They’re not coming. They’re busy playing house, doing what they do best—forgetting.”

You snarled, your voice raw. “Shut your mouth. They’re looking for me, and when they find out what you’ve done…” Your threat trailed off into a cough, your strength waning.

Mel tilted her head, her laughter low and indulgent. “How adorable. Such faith.” She was about to continue when the heavy door groaned open. The shimmered soldier stepped aside as a Piltover enforcer tossed a small body into the room.

You felt your heart stop. It was Isha. She stumbled forward, confusion and fear distorting her usually bright eyes. Her small frame trembled, and she looked so out of place in this grim hall. The enforcer backed away, merely watching her, as if awaiting orders.

You strained against the chains, ignoring the pain slicing through your shoulders and wrists. “Isha!” you managed, your voice cracking. Your cheek was pressed against the cold tile floor, and you could barely lift your head, but you had to let her know you were here.

Isha turned at the sound of her name, her gaze sweeping the room until it caught sight of you, chained and broken. You watched her face crumple—there was shock, and terror, but also a heartbreaking relief when she recognized you. She clutched a small object in her hand, the trinket you’d made her before all this began. Quiet as ever, she took trembling steps forward, each one a struggle against her own fear, until she knelt beside you.

“Mama,” she whispered so softly that no one seemed to catch it but you. It broke something inside you—your anger wavered, your eyes stinging with tears. She pressed herself gently against your side, hugging you with all the might her tiny arms could muster. Your vision blurred as you tried to comfort her without words, your entire body aching to protect her.

Mel stood, approaching with slow, deliberate steps. You tensed, trying to shelter Isha behind you despite your chains. “It appears I’ve struck a nerve,” she said, her tone syrupy sweet. “Don’t worry, I won’t hurt her—if you see reason.”

You bristled, fury refueling your battered form. “You brought a child into this? You piece of—”

Mel raised a hand, and the shimmered soldier took a step closer, warning you to choose your words carefully. “Let’s talk arrangements,” she purred. “I want you. Your loyalty. Your hand… in marriage, shall we say? We can unite under one roof—a councilor and a… what are you again? A hero without a cause?” She laughed lightly. “If you marry me, I leave them alone. All of them. Jinx, Caitlyn, this precious little one.”

Your swollen eyes widened, horror etched into every line of your face. “You’re mad,” you hissed, voice trembling with disgust and anger. Marry her? The idea was so vile it choked you. You tried to shake your head, your neck chain rattling. You couldn’t form words.

Mel delighted in your shock. She reached out as if to stroke your cheek, a twisted parody of tenderness. Isha, terrified but brave, tried to stand between you and Mel, pushing at the woman’s arm with tiny hands. Mel snarled softly and slapped Isha away. The crack of that slap echoed like a gunshot in your heart as Isha tumbled onto you, clinging to your broken form, her cheek red and stinging. Your rage exploded into a roar, purple sparks flaring in your eyes. The chain rattled violently as you surged forward, but the soldier yanked it back, forcing you to choke on your fury.

Mel stepped back, her face calm but her eyes dancing with glee. “Isha, is it? She’s quite protective. Almost like a daughter.” She let that sink in, enjoying the despair on your face. “If you’d just cooperated, this could have been simpler. Marry me, and none of this would be happening. You’d be at my side, revered, adored.” She sighed theatrically. “But no, you cling to them—and to your misguided ideals.”

Your chest heaved. “I’d rather die by your mother’s hand than marry her filthy, corrupted daughter,” you spat with every ounce of venom you had left, your voice scraping your throat raw.

Mel’s hand lashed out, slapping you hard enough to snap your head to the side. The metallic taste of blood spread across your tongue. She grabbed your chin roughly, leaning in close so that your noses almost touched. “You will marry me,” she hissed, her voice low and chilling. “I’ll break you piece by piece until you beg for it.”

She released your chin and spun on her heel, robes whispering against the floor. As she strode away, she tossed an order over her shoulder. “Make sure they understand who’s in charge here.”

The shimmered soldier stepped forward. You braced yourself, shielding Isha as best you could, though you were helpless in these chains. The soldier’s blows rained down, each one a hammerstrike of pain. You grunted, your voice rising in furious oaths and hollow promises of revenge. Through the haze of torment, you managed to twist your body so Isha wouldn’t see the worst of it. She clung to you, trembling, tears falling silently.

“I’ll get us out,” you murmured to her between gasps, voice muffled and choked. “I promise.”

But the soldier’s blows only intensified, and you could do nothing but endure.

In the loading docks of Piltover’s industrial district, the air was thick with the smell of oil and metal. Wooden crates were stacked high, and the clank of moving machinery provided a constant, metallic soundtrack. A Piltover officer, helmet tucked under his arm, scanned the area with tired eyes. His name was Garrett, a junior enforcer known for his eagerness to please but never quite rising above mediocrity. Today, he wore exhaustion like a second skin—he’d been running checks on shipments non-stop, searching for any clue of your whereabouts.

As he moved between crates, he nearly bumped into a man wearing an unfamiliar armband—a deep gold emblem marking him as one of Mel’s own officers. The man looked worse for wear: disheveled hair, sweat staining his collar, and a certain wildness in his eyes.

“Hey,” Garrett said, steadying the man by the shoulder. “You okay? You look like you just ran halfway across the city.”

The officer shot him a glare, but it lacked conviction. “Not your concern,” he snapped, trying to maintain some dignity. But Garrett’s presence seemed to crack something in him. He glanced around, confirming no one else was close. “Had a… meeting,” he said, his voice dropping to a hush. “With her.”

Garrett’s brow furrowed. “Her?” He paused, lowering his voice instinctively. “You mean Mel?” The name carried weight—Mel Medarda was a councilor known for her cunning. Her involvement meant big trouble.

The officer rubbed the back of his neck, wincing as if recalling something painful. “Yeah. She’s got that hero locked down, deep in her tower. It’s… not pretty.”

Garrett’s heart sank. The hero. You. He remembered you—he had initially disliked you, or at least he’d claimed to. But now, hearing this, something twinged in his gut. He tried to keep his tone dismissive to mask his unease. “Huh. Good. If they were causing problems—”

The older officer gave a knowing smirk. “You say that, but you look a bit… pale. Too invested?”

Garrett’s spine stiffened. “I’m just tired,” he lied. “Long day.” He caught a few words as the officer continued: “If the hero had been married to a councilor—if this whole… fiasco is discovered—Piltover would burn. It wouldn’t be Zaun this time. It’d be Piltover at war with itself.”

Garrett’s eyes widened. Married to a councilor? His mind raced at the implications. If Mel was scheming something so twisted, it would destabilize everything. He forced a shrug. “Well, Mel’s plans, not my business.” Then he excused himself, trying to appear unconcerned, though his mind was buzzing.

A short time later, Garrett ended up at the main checkpoint, where the chaos of the joint operations between Piltover and Zaun was at its peak. He spotted Jinx there, pacing, her purple eyes ablaze with fury and desperation. He swallowed hard—she was not one to approach lightly, but he had to get this information to someone who could act.

“Jinx—” he began, stepping forward with hands raised in surrender.

Before he could finish, Jinx moved like lightning. She grabbed him by the collar and flipped him onto his back, knocking the wind from his lungs. In an instant, she was atop him, hair spilling forward, her eyes glowing fiercely.

“You’ve got some nerve,” she hissed, pressing a forearm against his throat. “What do you want? I know who you are—Garrett, right? You gave them grief before. Trying to talk to me now?”

His heart hammered. He’d never felt smaller, more terrified. “I… I have information,” he managed, voice strangled. “About them.”

Jinx’s grip tightened. “You think I trust you?” She seemed ready to snap his neck when a gentle hand touched her shoulder, and she froze.

Caitlyn stepped in, her eyes still carrying that cold edge but tempered with a calm authority. “Jinx,” she said softly. “Let him speak.” The tension drained slightly from Jinx’s frame as she leaned back, still straddling Garrett but no longer pressing down. She tilted her head toward Caitlyn’s hand, as if drawn by the simple kindness of the gesture. Reluctantly, she let Garrett up, though not without a warning glare.

Caitlyn crossed her arms, her voice cool. “Alright, talk. Make it quick.”

Garrett rose shakily, rubbing his neck. “I… I heard something from one of Mel’s officers at the docks. They said the hero is locked in Mel’s tower. They mentioned… something about Mel wanting marriage, a twisted plan to keep them under her thumb. If it gets out, Piltover might—”

Caitlyn’s eyes widened, shock washing over her features. “Marriage?” Her voice almost cracked. “She can’t be serious.”

Jinx practically snarled, pacing a few steps away. “That bitch wants to marry them?” She slammed her fist against a crate, splintering the wood. “I’ll kill her. I’ll tear her apart for even thinking—”

Caitlyn helped Garrett steady himself. “Thank you,” she said curtly, “You’ve done well. Now, you should prepare. I’m going to need every enforcer I can get.” Her tone suggested no argument. Garrett nodded, confused and a bit relieved, and hurried off to follow her orders.

Jinx watched him go, then turned to Caitlyn, frustration knotting her brow. “What the hell are you going to do, Cupcake?” She tried to mask her worry with anger, but the tremor in her voice gave her away.

Caitlyn ran a hand through her hair, her jaw set. “Something very hard,” she admitted quietly. “For all three of us. It’s risky. But it will save them—and Isha.”

Jinx took a step closer, tension thrumming between them. She knew Caitlyn well enough to understand the gravity of that statement. “Don’t keep me in the dark,” she demanded, but her voice softened. “I’m in this with you.”

Caitlyn nodded, meeting Jinx’s gaze with unwavering resolve. “I know,” she said softly. “We all are.”

They turned to go back upstairs to gather what they needed, only to find Isha gone. In her absence, the air thickened with dread. Jinx’s eyes flashed again, fury returning, while Caitlyn closed her eyes briefly, steadying herself. They would find you. They would find Isha. And somehow, they would stop Mel’s twisted plan.

You barely had the strength to sit upright, your body aching with every breath. The constant beatings had ceased for the moment, leaving you in a lull of pain and exhaustion. Your back rested against the cold stone wall, your head lolling to one side. Isha clung quietly to your arm, her small body pressed close as if proximity alone could shield her from this nightmare. You whispered faint reassurances, quiet words meant for her, but a part of you needed them too. You told her it would be okay, that you’d figure something out. Every syllable felt like a plea to the universe for mercy.

When the enforcer stepped out, leaving you and Isha alone in that hollow silence, you managed to crack open an eye. Isha began fumbling in her pockets, her tiny hands producing small tools and bits. Confusion mingled with amazement as you realized what she was doing—trying to pick the locks. With painstaking care, you moved your chain-bound wrists closer to her. She worked with surprising skill, her eyes narrowed in concentration. Each click of metal teased hope into the stagnant air.

You whispered her name softly, voice rough with emotion. “You’re so good at this… Jinx’s little minion, aren’t you?” The faintest flicker of a grin tugged at your swollen lips. Isha looked at you, her eyes brightening slightly, and she let out a small, breathy sound that might have been a laugh if it weren’t so cautious.

With a final, delicate twist, the chains fell away, clattering softly on the floor. Freedom felt unreal. You scooped Isha into your arms, hugging her tight despite your bruises. “Thank you,” you breathed, voice trembling. “We’ll get out of here, I promise. It won’t be easy, but hold on tight when we run.” She nodded, her silent determination shining in her eyes.

Hurriedly, you repositioned yourself, chains draped loosely around your ankles as though still secured, just in time for the enforcer’s return. Isha retreated to your side, feigning calm. The guard looked at you both and sniffed dismissively. He had no idea what was about to happen.

Isha, holding leftover scraps of stale bread she had been given as a meager meal, suddenly flung them at the guard. Her tiny arm’s throw was more defiance than danger, but it was enough. The soldier stiffened, scowling at her insolence. He advanced, intent on disciplining the child. The moment he reached for her, you moved like a coiled spring released, your newly freed hand snapping up around his neck. Purple sparks danced in your vision, fury ignited. He had no time to react before you lifted him from the ground by sheer, desperate strength.

Your voice was a snarl, low and dangerous: “Touch her again, and I’ll send you to hell myself.” With a grunt of pure rage, you hurled him against the nearest wall. The thud of his impact shook dust from the ceiling as he slumped, unconscious, crumpling onto the cold stone floor. Isha rushed to your side, her eyes wide, but you touched her hair gently. “It’s okay,” you whispered, voice tight with adrenaline. “Let’s go.”

You scooped her up again, holding her to your chest. She clung to you like a baby monkey, arms around your neck, face pressed into your collarbone. The shimmer in your blood surged. Pain became background noise. You were moving before you knew it, darting out the large cell door, your footsteps echoing through dim corridors. Guards shouted, startled, fumbling to raise their rifles, but you were a blur. They tried to form a line—too slow. You crashed through them, sending them spinning like toys. One’s gun clattered uselessly as you batted it aside. Another swung at you, but you ducked and used your momentum to hurl him over a railing. Your muscles burned, tears welled in your eyes from pain and fear, but you kept going. You had to.

You reached a grand hallway with a towering exit, only to stop short, your boots skidding on polished marble. A flood of soldiers waited at the main entrance, their weapons ready. Isha gasped softly against your chest, and you tightened your grip. Your heart hammered. You cast about desperately, spotting a staircase winding upward into uncertain heights. Without hesitation, you took it, each step a test of endurance as you carried Isha and fled from overwhelming numbers.

Outside the tower, chaos was brewing. Caitlyn, flanked by her enforcers, stood at the main gates, demanding entry. Her posture was rigid with determination, her face set in grim lines of fury. She barked orders, her voice echoing over the crowd, insisting they let her inside. Jinx was beside her, eyes ablaze with wrath and worry, a small throng of Zaunites behind her shouting insults at the guards. Sparks of tension danced in the air. The crowd hissed and spat, voices raised, fists waving. They wanted you back—every faction, every loyalty aligned for one cause.

Inside, a muffled explosion rocked the mid-section of the tower, sending a tremor through the ground. The enforcers at the gate hesitated, fear slipping into their eyes. They rushed back inside to respond to the new threat, leaving Caitlyn and Jinx on the verge of a confrontation with no one to stop them. The pair shared a look—dread and hope mingled. This was their chance.

You climbed higher, a frantic rhythm of footfalls. Bullets whizzed past, pinging off railings and walls. You threw open a door at the top, stumbling onto a broad balcony. The setting sun bathed Piltover in a golden haze. The city spread below like a jeweled tapestry. But you were cornered now. The soldiers massed behind you, rifles raised, their barrels gleaming. Isha whimpered softly in your arms, and your heart cracked. You tried to gauge your escape, your eyes drifting down toward the bay below. A dizzying drop. If you jumped, what then?

You glanced over your shoulder at the lines of soldiers. Mel parted them like a queen crossing a courtyard. She stepped forward, chin high, eyes bright with twisted pleasure. “This is it,” she said, voice cool as wind. “Surrender now, come with me. I can make it easy for you.” She paused, a hint of a sneer curling her lips. “Or refuse, and I’ll ensure Jinx and Caitlyn suffer. I’ll make them pay for your defiance. I’ll rip Isha from their arms, and you’ll watch, helpless.”

Your heart pounded, rage swelled. You bared your teeth, eyes blazing violet. “You can burn in hell,” you spat. “I’d rather die a thousand times than be your pawn. You have no idea what I’ve endured. You can’t break me.”

Below, in the gathering dusk, Jinx and Caitlyn had finally pushed their way into view of the towering structure. A crowd had formed, gasping at the scene above. Caitlyn spotted you first, high above them on the balcony, soldiers pressing in. Jinx saw Isha’s small form clinging to you. Panic gripped them both. Jinx screamed your name, voice ragged, and Caitlyn slapped a hand over her own mouth, tears streaming silently. They were too far away, too powerless, forced to watch as fate played out.

You glanced down at the crowded streets, saw the horrified faces. You looked at Isha in your arms, her big eyes filled with trust and fear. You felt Caitlyn’s soul from afar, and Jinx’s fierce love, pressing against your heart like an anchor. You whispered softly, voice cracking with tears, “I love you—I love you all.” Time slowed, and the world narrowed to a single choice.

The soldiers cocked their rifles. You snarled and turned, your muscles coiling. In slow motion, your body moved. A foot on the railing. A leap into empty air. Isha clung to your chest, her small arms locked around your neck, eyes squeezed shut. You twisted midair, determined to shield her from the impact as much as you could. A shot rang out, a soldier panicking, pulling the trigger. Mel shouted, “Don’t fire!” too late. The bullet hissed through the air, but you had already committed to your fall. The city’s roar muffled, replaced by the wind’s howl as you plummeted thirty stories down toward the bay.

Caitlyn and Jinx screamed, voices tearing from their throats. Caitlyn’s knees buckled and she sagged against a post. Jinx’s eyes were wild, tears coursing down her cheeks. The crowd below watched in dread, some crying out. In that eternal second, your body spun gracefully in the air, the shimmer in your blood igniting in a flash of purple radiance. But you could not fly. Gravity was merciless.

Your back slammed into the water of the bay like hitting concrete. The spray fanned out in a shimmering arc. Thirty stories, three hundred feet, a fall that no one should survive. Your figure vanished beneath the waves, Isha clutched to your chest.

Above, on the balcony, Mel stared down in shock and fury. The soldiers parted nervously, some looking unsure. Below, Jinx howled like an animal wounded beyond reason, and Caitlyn pressed her trembling hand over her mouth to stifle desperate sobs. The crowd murmured prayers and curses. The day dimmed as if the sun itself mourned, casting long shadows over a city that had just witnessed something terrible and perhaps final.

In that final image, as the ripples in the bay spread outward, everyone held their breath. The world paused, uncertain and grieving, as the sky darkened, and no one knew if you would ever surface again.

Sevika and Ekko skidded to a halt on the wet stone ramp by the bay, breathless and desperate. The salt spray and smell of rusted metal clung to the air, the water’s surface still rippling from the impact just moments before. Even before Ekko could reach the edge, Vi had already plunged in, the sound of her body hitting the water echoing in all their ears. Ekko followed without a second thought, his own heart pounding as he dove beneath the choppy surface.

A tense silence stretched, then Ekko emerged, coughing and sputtering, but victorious. He cradled Isha against his chest, the little girl choking on mouthfuls of water. Sevika rushed to them, her mechanical arm hissing softly as she eased Isha from Ekko’s trembling grip. She turned Isha on her side, patting her back firmly, coaxing the child to spit out the brine and breathe. Isha’s eyes fluttered, her small body shivering, but alive.

Moments later, Vi surfaced, her short hair plastered to her skull, eyes wide and frantic. In her arms, limp and pale, was your body. Ekko’s relief soured into dread at the look in Vi’s eyes—there was no spark of hope, only grim determination. She hauled you onto the ramp, water dripping from every seam of your clothes, your limbs hanging slack. A dark, ruddy stain spread across your back, and it didn’t take a doctor’s eye to see it was a bullet wound.

On the upper walkway, a contingent of Caitlyn’s enforcers and Zaunites alike watched with silent dread. Some moved aside involuntarily as they saw your lifeless form laid on the cold, wet ground. When Caitlyn and Jinx arrived, Sevika barked an order, “Nobody passes!” The enforcers at first stepped in front of them, out of protocol, but Jinx snarled, and Caitlyn wielded her authority like a blade. Jinx’s purple eyes blazed, and Caitlyn’s voice cut through all objections. “Move,” she said, her voice edged with frantic resolve, and they parted like frightened animals before a predator.

Caitlyn stumbled down the slick stones, pushing past Vi and nearly knocking her aside. She dropped to her knees beside you. The world seemed to slow to a crawl—the muted thunder of the crowd, the distant cries and clanks of Piltover’s machinery fading into a dull hum. She placed her trembling hands over your chest, starting compressions. Water ran in rivulets from her uniform sleeves as she counted under her breath, her hair clinging to her cheeks. You were so still, so pale, the purple hue of your veins dulled to a sickly pallor.

“Come on,” she pleaded, voice breaking. “Come back to me. Please.” Tears blurred her vision as she pressed down rhythmically, her arms shaking with each push. “We need you—we all do,” she whispered, choking on sobs. “Jinx… Jinx loves you, and so do I. Isha needs you, she needs her—” Her voice hitched, and her words came out in a desperate tumble. “We can’t lose you now. Do you hear me? You can’t leave us!”

Jinx hovered just behind Caitlyn, tears carving silent paths down her face. She held Isha, who had awakened just enough to watch with frightened eyes. The child clutched Jinx’s shirt, still too weak to stand on her own. Jinx tried to calm her, tried to be strong, but a whimper escaped her throat. She’d never looked so vulnerable, the hot rage drained from her, replaced by raw anguish.

Vi tried to put a hand on Caitlyn’s shoulder, to steady her, but Caitlyn shrugged her off violently. “They’re not gone!” she shouted, voice hoarse. “Not gone, do you hear me?” She refused to stop the compressions, even as her muscles threatened to give out. Her tears fell onto your cold skin, mixing with the salty water. “Medics!” she screamed, her voice carrying over the hushed crowd. “Where are the medics?!”

At last, the medical team arrived, clambering down with their stretchers and gear. They tried to reach you, to place you on the stretcher, but Caitlyn huddled over you like a lioness guarding her cub. “No, I’ve got this,” she insisted through tears, pressing her ear to your mouth as if hoping to feel the faintest breath. She refused to let them approach, arms flung wide, even as her voice cracked, “I can save them—I can—”

Vi’s arms encircled Caitlyn from behind, pulling her gently but firmly away. Caitlyn fought, sobbing openly now, her cries muffled by Vi’s shoulder. “Don’t take me away,” she wailed, “I can’t leave them.” But Vi’s strength held her steady, tears glistening in her own eyes. “We have to let them help,” Vi whispered, her voice strained, “Please, Caitlyn… please.”

Jinx watched, teeth clenched, her own tears silent now as Isha pressed her small face into Jinx’s neck. The child trembled, clinging to the trinket that had fallen from your pocket. Jinx swayed gently, whispering incoherent comforts to the girl, but her eyes remained fixed on your limp form as the medics finally lifted you onto the stretcher.

The crowd parted, people craning their necks in horrified fascination. Some covered their mouths, others whispered prayers, and still others turned away, unable to bear the sight. The stretcher bearers hoisted you carefully, water still dripping from your clothes, blood seeping through. The medics’ faces were grim and focused, their steps measured in the silence that followed.

As they carried you away, the city seemed to hold its breath. High above, the tower loomed, its silhouette etched against a bruised sky. Below, the watchers—enforcers, Zaunites, Jinx, Caitlyn, Vi, Isha—stood suspended in a moment of collective despair. Each step the medics took with your body felt like an unbearable eternity.

Caitlyn, still cradled in Vi’s arms, swallowed hard. She watched the stretcher disappear into the haze of city lights and medics’ lanterns, her heart writhing in her chest. Jinx held Isha tighter, tears sliding silently down her cheeks. The child peeked over Jinx’s shoulder, eyes hauntingly empty, as if understanding too much for one so young.

The world moved in slow motion, every gesture weighed down by sorrow and uncertainty. The echo of your desperate struggle lingered, and the question hung unanswered in the humid Piltover air: would you return to them, or had Mel’s cruelty sealed your fate forever? --------------------------

So, yeah...

I read a post about someone explaining a fic pet peeve where they cant stand how an author can make a book about the main character having so much power, strength and all those things along the lines but makes them so weak and puts them through hell. Like whats the point of making them like that just to make them so small and weak. OKAY? Heros are not someone you can just put in a book and expect them to be this pretty little perfect thing. IMMA PUT THIS MF through some shit. Cause if you follow along and understand the show you already know this damn MAIN CHARACTER is going to go through some shit.

Sigh, it made me upset and hella insecure to keep posting cause damn? just.....keep scrolling? But even if i didnt fall in that, (i did.....LOL) Y/N baby you get no kinds of breaks. I mean you are dating the most dangerous (and insane if i might add) criminal in Zuan and the motherfucking Commandor of the goddamn Piltover Army. What you think I was gonna do? Put you up in the house to cook and clean? Baby this is Arcane! MF you gon see what its about when you fuck around (with jinx and cait) and find out. My case is closed. Thank you for reading. Working on the new chap as we speak. Thank youuuuuuh

[blessingofthestars]

“The love Lilia has for silver is different than malleus”

“Lilia found peace with silver not malleus”

“it’s not true love between malleus and Lilia”

…wtf? Are we reading the same story???

Lilia the one who hatched malleus

Lilia the one who’s love hatches malleus

Malleus, for whom Lilia chooses to adopt silver so he can be an example for?

Lilia who sung lullabies and told malleus bedtime stories

Lilia who chases after malleus and dressed him up

who teaches life lessons to

Have cotton candy too

who soothed tantrums and pats his head

etc

malleus who recalls those moments just as fondly

like for fucks sake, they can’t say it publicly, but we know Lilia raised and loved malleus

and why isn’t it said publicly??? did you read book 7??? Lilia’s whole dream arc showed why and what happened.

and silver and malleus had no idea

Sebek even calls Lilia, malleus’ family.

I wonder if we read the same story

[rinniereads123]

One-Shots

SOME OF THESE STORIES ARE MATURE! READ THE WARNINGS AND TAGS BEFORE YOU READ!

Last updated 01/06/2025

★ - personal favorites | masterlist | other recs

scary? my god, you're divine - @sinner-as-saint

Your marriage to Bucky Barnes was crucial in stopping the rivalry that had been getting rather violent recently between the two families. You agreed to it. But there was one little problem. Although people knew of Bucky as being a ruthless, fiercely loyal, and feared hitman, no one had ever seen his face. In the rare occasions when he’d been seen out during assignments, it was rumoured that he always wore some sort of mask which covered most of his face. So you ended up marrying a man, and had no idea what he looked like. But surely that wouldn’t be an issue. It’s not like his one touch would get you addicted. Who cared what he looked like? It’s not like you could grow to love someone like him anyway… right?

yours to hurt, yours to love - @purple-babygirl

They had a deal. She would surrender her control; he would take it. Love had no place in such a relationship, did it?

Come Find Me - @bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky

You get left behind on a mission, and Bucky goes to save you.

★blurred lines - @ellemj

When choosing a female agent to send back in time to gain young Sergeant Barnes's trust, everyone's in agreement that it should be Sharon. Until Bucky, the man that you barely get along with, speaks up and lets everyone know that it could only be you.

Shared desires - @veltana

You and Bucky decide to explore something new with Steve.

The Push and the Pull - @delaber

There’s nothing Bucky wants more than to be with you - and for that reason alone, he has to break both your hearts.

Little Bookworm - @heytheredelulu

Your boyfriend can’t think of anything more adorable than watching you read. One night while you’re in the shower he picks up the book you left on the nightstand: “Haunting Adeline by H.D. Carlton” and thumbs through it, very quickly realizing just what kind of books his sweet little bookworm is really into.

Anywhere Away With You - @thevillainswhore

Old ghosts from your past threaten to disturb the peace you’ve made with your new life. Will temptation steer you away?

★The Ties That Bind Us - @thevillainswhore

Even though Bucky is your ex-husband, you still have to see him often because of your shared son. But the heated tension, the spark that is still very much alive after your divorce, finally reaches its peak when you come home from your date.

Warrior/Worrier - @delaber

After a mission gone awry, Bucky finds himself on your doorstep in the middle of the night.

Pink in the Night - @d0wnb4df0rf1cm3n

Some interesting rumours have been circling around about Bucky. Little do you know, it's kinda your fault.

Love Hurts - @urdepressedslut

You and Bucky get into a heated argument, things are said and done and now he won’t speak to you. You don’t think you can handle him ignoring your existence.

in losing grip, on sinking ships (you showed up just in time) - @mellowsaturns

When the Avengers pick up unusual activity, they realize that not all of Hydra was destroyed. One unidentifiable face sends the team into a frenzy but Bucky knows it. He could recognize those eyes anywhere.

I Hate You - @ellemj

After ending up on SHIELD's radar, you're moved into the tower against your will. Of course, you can't stand the one man that you have the most in common with.

One More Night - @marvelouslizzie

You and Bucky Barnes are fuck buddies for a while. The problem is you have feelings for him but you don't think he reciprocates and it just makes it impossible to continue your relationship. Little did you know how much he wants you and how hard he's trying to keep it casual.

The Things We Carry With Us - @pellucid-constellations

You were injured on a mission and didn’t tell anyone, leaving your already rocky relationship with Bucky crumbling. Was it really hate he harbored for you, or was it something else? 

Control - @bucky-bucket-barnes

John Walker makes the dire mistake of messing with Bucky’s girl. This misstep causes a major fight to break out between the two, ending in nothing but blood and rage.

I Can Save You This Time - @pellucid-constellations

It’s the 4th of July and you’ve never been more sick. Turns out you aren’t the only one in the compound that stayed home from the celebration.

Shaken Up - @jamesbuchananxsteviegrant

Steve and Bucky find their girl passed out.

Under Pressure - @banditthewriter

Y/N hides a nasty injury from the team until they know everybody is safe, and then they collapse. Bucky worries about Y/N.

Injuries - @flowinglocksofbuck

you get injured on a mission and Bucky freaks out

Wicked - @str-spangled-banner

You were injured during a mission two weeks ago and put to much pressure on your healing wounds, doing more damage than you thought possible. Bucky fears he will lose you.

Necessary Evil - @bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky

Y/N gets seriously injured and Bucky takes care of her.

fingers fantasy fulfilled - @purple-babygirl

If Bucky's doll wanted his metal fingers then that was exactly what she was going to get.

Lavender - @wkemeup

Not every nightmare is the same and Bucky doesn’t always wake up as the man you know. 

Give Me A Sign - @lostgirlmuseum

Bucky asks the universe for a reason to live. The universe delivers you.

Fulfilled Fantasy - @sergeantbarnessdoll

Y/N admits to Bucky that she wants to have a threesome so he has Natasha help fulfill her fantasy.

Hottest Night of Your Life - @bossbtch1

Bucky and Steve joined you for a night out at the club, but things took a dark turn when a stranger spiked your drink. Bucky and Steve were more than willing to "take care" of you.

Sharing is Caring - @sad-not-glad

Soft Dom! Steve x Sub! Bucky x Dom! reader

My Queen - @adrinktostopyourthirst

The post-battle energy rush needs a release. Suddenly, there's a willing soldier at your disposal.

all the apple cider and no more haunted houses - @witchywithwhiskey

you and bucky barnes have a love-hate relationship—you love him and you believe he hates you—but when your friends insist on going to the scariest haunted house attraction in the area, the experience ends up forcing your real feelings for each other out into light

my everything - @mrsbarnesblog

The last thing that Bucky ever expected to see was the love of his life from the past trapped in one of the Hydra bunkers in the cryofreeze chamber. Yet here he was almost two days later, staring at your still unconscious body through the window at the medical wing, imagining the horror and disgust on your face when you found out that he was no longer the innocent and happy boy you knew before.

you were mine just yesterday - @notafunkiller

It's been a while since your break up with Bucky happened, but you're still not over him. You try to move on, go out, and have fun with your friend, Steve, but you end up in the same bar you two went to often. It also just happens that Bucky is there too, with Natasha by his side. It doesn't take long for you two to end up getting into old habits.