#prowess the testament

[newsfromthefront]

2024.2.15

In one month, on March 16th, the Official SXSW Nerdcore Showcase returns to Flamingo Cantina with a killer lineup. Looks a lil something like this:

[bahadurislam011444]

Unveiling the Best SEO Worker in Bangladesh: Driving Digital Success

[escapismsworld]

The Ancient Theatre of Epidaurus in Greece is a remarkable testament to ancient Greek artistic prowess and classical architecture. Built in the 4th century BCE, this meticulously designed amphitheater features exceptional acoustics, allowing even faint whispers to be heard from the highest seats. It was primarily used for Greek tragedies and comedies, highlighting the cultural significance of theater in ancient times.

📸: Dimitrios Pallis

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

1971 FORD MUSTANG BOSS 351

Wow, what a classic! This stunning white Mustang is a sight to behold. Let's dive into ten amazing facts about the Ford Mustang Boss 351:

1. Distinctive Styling: The Boss 351 featured unique styling cues, including a shaker hood, side stripes, and a front grille that set it apart from other Mustangs.

2. Powerful Engine: The Boss 351 was equipped with a 351 cubic inch V8 engine that produced a substantial amount of horsepower and torque.

3. Racing Heritage: The Boss 351 was designed with racing in mind and was a formidable competitor on the track.

4. Collector's Item: Due to its rarity and performance, the Boss 351 is a highly sought-after collector's car.

5. High Auction Prices: Original Boss 351s have sold at auction for millions of dollars, making them one of the most valuable classic cars.

6. Resurrection: In recent years, Ford has revived the Boss 351 nameplate for modern Mustang models, offering enthusiasts a chance to experience this iconic performance package.

7. Shelby Connection: While not officially a Shelby car, the Boss 351 was influenced by Carroll Shelby's design philosophy.

8. Enduring Popularity: The Boss 351's timeless design and legendary performance have ensured its enduring popularity.

9. Iconic Status: The Boss 351 is considered one of the most iconic Mustangs of all time, a testament to its racing prowess and distinctive style.

10. Driving Experience: The Boss 351 offers an exhilarating driving experience, combining raw power with precise handling. So, what are you waiting for? Get behind the wheel of a Ford Mustang Boss 351 and experience the thrill of driving a true automotive legend!

[leyiorr]

heian era satoru is a god among men. gifted with the looks and prowess of the deities - he alone bares the title of 'the strongest'. with the ability to distort and expand space itself, there are few who hold a candle to him, let alone foolish enough to challenge his authority.

he's gorgeous, the kind of beauty that only higher beings possess. every contour of his skin is sculpted to perfection, every line carefully painted, pale skin a testament to the star from which he was born. behind bandages that cover the upper half of his face are the jewels he called eyes. not two like the normal person, but six, proof of his inhumanity. they're an arctic shade of blue - icy and cold.

as a ruler, he is far from merciful. he does things according to his own rulebook, and anyone who steps out of line does not live to tell the tale. corpses are unable to talk, unfortunately.

his personality is of the worst kind; he's cocky, arrogant and self-indulgent. it's especially noticeable when he's in battle. he enjoys the high and thrill of bloodshed, and he encourages his enemies to fight with everything they have. toppling their pride feels better that way.

he has no need for a wife or concubines, no matter how many women throw themselves at his feet or how many are offered up by their parents. his absence at marriage meetings becomes the norm, and the most eligible bachelor quickly becomes unattainable.

he stands alone in all of his glory, pleas for wife and future heir falling on deaf ears. no matter how much the elders try to convince him he is adamant - he will not have either.

that is, until his six eyes catch sight of you.

you - aphrodite's personal creation. from the first look, satoru is hooked.

he makes a weak attempt to swallow - he's oddly parched. he isn't sure what is; be it pure, innocent curiosity or the deeper, more sinister seeds of obsession, he allows his feet to move like moth to flame.

he looks at you like he sees god, like the perpetual ticking of time has come to a halt. like he's in the presence of divinty.

you greet him like everyone else, bowing in respect and calling him by his title. 'your majesty'. it doesn't sound right on your lips, he thinks. so he requests for you to call him by his first name and you do, who are you ro refuse your ruler?

but satoru? satoru, god, satoru forgets to breathe.

he's ready to tear out his beating heart and place it in your hold already. he's sure you'd take good care of it.

the syllables that make up the name 'satoru' have never sounded more beautiful. with a voice honeyed and dipped in sugar, you introduce yourself, and your name ricochets off the bone of his skull before it buries itself in the tissue of his brain known as memory.

he has never lowered himself for anyone but if you asked he'd be on his knees in an instant.

he sets about courting you. you find roses dyed a deep royal blue on your balcony, along with a note from their sender. the finest jewelry find purchase on your dresser - probably from villages he'd massacred - and the newest silks rest against your figure (your favourite garment is eerily similar to a woman's who had badmouthed you in satoru's presence). all from him. you deserve the best, after all.

he takes note of your likes and dislikes, ever fascinated by how expressive you are. he's infatuated, but it doesn't feel half bad. instead it feels like it's what he was made to do. he's convinced that you and him were written in the stars; that the gods themselves would envy him for taking you as his own.

and you? you revel in your newfound power over the most powerful person of your era. you'd asked him once if he'd kill for you and his answer was instant. a simple yes.

perhaps your personality is as twisted as his, but it felt so good.

[two-white-butterflies]

silver spring | coriolanus snow

Description: Coriolanus Snow knows that he shouldn't have ended up this way. He knows that he was destined to be something better. The woman sleeping beside him is a testament of his reckoning, Lucy Gray is a ghost that he tries to forget. (Snow and Reader's marriage told through the cold beliefs of Coriolanus.)

Pairing: young-president!coriolanus snow/wife!reader

Warning: childbirth, major character death, angst, snow is haunted by lucy gray's memory.

"Time cast a spell on you But you won't forget me." - Fleetwood Mac.

[...] He was glad about the erasure. It was just another way to eliminate Lucy Gray from the world. The Capitol would forget her, the districts barely knew her, and District 12 had never accepted her as their own. In a few years, there would be a vague memory that a girl had once sung in the arena. And then that would be forgotten too. Goodbye Lucy Gray, we hardly knew you.

"Are you alright?" you cleared your throat seeing him in deep thought. There was always something mysterious inside the man that you married - he was always deep in thought. "You came to visit?" he seemed disinterested in what you had to say. "I-they told me that you didn't eat dinner yet," you managed to choke out.

He was very clear and precise. He told you that he couldn't stand you - that he hated you, and it was the very reason that you were wed.

An amused chuckle exits his mouth. "Aren't there more important things to have your attention?" he raised an eyebrow, staring at you up and down with that incredulous stare.

You seemed to amuse him - to some extent.

"- like running our household or gossiping with your friends." he mused, returning back to his paperwork. His statement made you feel awry, you were never the one to listen to gossip - the suggestion that you should do that only cemented the fact that he didn't know you - didn't bother enough to know you. "I was worried that you'd starve without dinner." you took another step forward.

He shakes his head.

"I will not die without dinner." he scoffed - dismissing you.

It was late at night when Coriolanus stumbled inside your room. By then, he could hardly make out the outline of your body on the bed.

He couldn't believe that the woman he hated - had finally become his wife. "Coriolanus," you mumbled - eyes trying to adjust with the dim light. "Did I wake you?" he removed his jacket, surprised at his tone. "N-No," you stuttered. A meek prey against him.

You moved slightly, leaving him enough space to lay beside you.

Coriolanus was surprised that you slept that quick - though, perhaps he was also thankful. He didn't want to create a reason for small talk. Your purpose in his life wasn't to be loved - it was to create children, and to strengthen his political prowess.

The moment he set his eyes on you - he vowed to never love or care for you. He couldn't afford to love again. He knows what love feels like - Lucy Gray manipulated him, both body and soul. Until now he doesn't know if she is truly dead. He wishes that she is.

He is snapped away from his thoughts again.

This time, you wrap your arms around him. His eyes widen in surprise, he opens his mouth to speak but he relents seeing your sleeping figure.

He may hate you, but it does not stop him from finding you beautiful.

It was a few months later when he sees you again - this time with good news. "They tell me that our child is the size of a small ball." you smiled, reaching for his hand and placing it on your stomach. This was one of the few moments where he showed his love. You were sat on his lap, almost inhaling his scent at the proximity.

It was all for show, you thought. He had guests in the courtyard, and they could see you from the window.

"I've thought of names, but I wanted you to choose too." you continued, licking your pink lips. Oh, Coriolanus wanted nothing than to kiss those lips right now - but alas, his ambition ruled him. "What are they?" he continued rubbing your belly.

"Brutus, if it is a boy and Lucy-"

"No, not Lucy. Something else." he demanded, interrupting you. "Josephine," you quickly replace and he nods.

"- but if there are other names that you prefer, you may choose." you stared deep into his eyes. "You bleed, you decide." he whispered, his hands trailing up to your neck. "Kiss me," he suddenly demanded.

"What?" your eyebrows merged into each other.

"There's people watching, kiss me."

And you obeyed him.

"As pure as the driven snow," you mumble while soothing the pain in your stomach. "What did you say?" Coriolanus raised an eyebrow. "Our child is as pure as the driven snow," you repeated - almost seeing his face in a dream. "Where did you come up with that?" he chuckled, slowly used to your company.

"You mumbled it in your sleep." you responded, continuing to write on your journal. "Well, I can't remember saying that anymore." he shrugged, feeling paranoia gnaw at his bones.

Lucy Gray, let me live.

"It sounds familiar, it's from that tribute - I watched her then, but its been so long I can't even remember." you chuckled, Lucy Gray Baird, the songbird from District 12.

You were enamored by her - intrigued by her voice. Your husband seems to be the same. "Is that why you wanted to name our child Lucy?" he questioned, her name tasted bitter on his tongue. "No, of course not - you'd never approve." you scoffed.

"Why wouldn't I? I don't know Lucy Gray personally." he lied once more, maintaining his narrative. "You told me that the Games were created to remind the Districts of what they are - animals." you remembered, not fully believing his speech. "You would hate me if I named our child after an ... well, someone that you hate."

"Good, and don't mention Lucy Gray ever again." his eyes narrowed.

part two >>

[thisblogisaboutabook]

Bitter

Azriel x Reader - One Shot - Angst

Elain orders a couple shots. Azriel’s ex serves her.

“Now I’m sick in the head and it’s not even my fault”

She laughs as she approaches the bar. Lovely, beautiful, kind. Gods, she smells like honey and roses too. She even says “please” as she orders two shots of Patron.

I’m almost surprised, Patron for such a flowery thing. The most girls like her typically order are Lemon Drops. A sugar sweet rim with a bit of sour beneath.

I’m sure he encouraged her. Tequila, his drink of choice for the ladies. The clothes fall off easier that way.

I’d know.

Four years, four years I’d worked here and never gone home with a customer.

Until the Shadowsinger.

He had those sad brooding eyes that you can’t help but want to fix. Hazel irises that seeped into the marrow of your bones like a cancer, seeking out the guarded depths of the soul.

“He’s been gone for nearly fifty years now.” He’d say as he threw back another two finger pour of whiskey - neat.

“The court isn’t the same without him. Even from a business standpoint, our imports are lacking. Which is fine, but it’s a testament to the effect the High Lord has on this court.” I’d reply as I poured him another.

“Yeah…..” he’d trail off. My heart clenched at the emotion disguised by a stoic facade, the slight feathering of his jaw before throwing back the next shot.

I’d take care of a few other patrons, returning back to the Shadowsinger with another round from the occasional guest who’d send him a shot. Despite the “Illyrian bastard” reputation he blasted, he’s revered in Velaris, he fares quite well in the bedroom. What’s the classic phrase? Tall, dark, and handsome? Yeah, he’s got all that. That and a tragic backstory, a perfectly symmetrical face, and the highly gossiped about wingspan.

Females and males alike line up for a chance to have those scarred hands wrapped around their throat. A chance to win his heart through sexual prowess and witty one liners.

I didn’t even want him. Perhaps that’s what caught his eye. A customer who tipped well? Of course he was that. I gave him a free shot once for being patient while an influx of customers waved dollar bills at me desperate for their next shot in advance of the rest of the queue.

The nights that he sat at the bar extended later and later until it became routine for him to pop in, take a seat, and shut the place down- all from the shroud of wispy shadows.

When was the first time he fucked me in the alley? The first night he walked me home? The first night my cat curled up behind him as my head rested in the crook of his arm?

“It’s not serious.” I told myself as I came to depend on him like heroin. He sure as shit didn’t make it feel that way.

There were plans. Plans for what we’d do together when things settled down.

Rosehall was beautiful in the spring but a winter wonderland in December. Even the Illyrian Steppes had lovely secrets if you knew where to look. He couldn’t wait to cradle me in his arms as those membranous wings took flight to all the wonders he’d share with me.

There was the attack on Velaris. My apartment building was wrecked. He never came to check in.

Then the war came and I understood.

I was certain he was busy.

But I didn’t see him again.

Until tonight.

And here she is. Warm and lovely, she tipped well before walking back to the table with those two shots of Patron. I told her they were on the house.

I want to hate her. I want to loathe him. It would make me feel better, right?

But being bitter leaves the soul weathered, so I pour another shot, serve the next customer, cash out, and saunter home.

And if a stray shadow lurks in the dark as I wander, that’s not my business anymore.

—————————————-

Tags:

ACOTAR General: @lilah-asteria @thecollegecowgirl @mochibabycakes @nickishadow139 @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @ahaha0246

[mysunshinetemptress]

For England

Alexia Putellas x lioness!reader x ocdaughter!reader

Warnings: Fluff

Even before Melia arrived, Alexia and you had joked about the future. Would we have a mini-me in a Spanish jersey, mimicking her mama's stepovers, or a fearless lioness with your crunching tackles? As it turned out, Melia was a curious mix. From her first kick of a ball, she'd proudly rock a jersey split down the middle, the Spanish crest battling for dominance with the Three Lions As Melia toddled around, she'd proudly rock a mishmash of kits. Or sometimes it would be an oversized Spain shirt drowning her tiny frame, the next a miniature Lionesses jersey that barely covered her knees. You both knew, deep down, that she'd eventually choose a side.

 She was very proudly called "Amorcito," she was your love in a smaller version, a mix of the cultures you both so desperately loved and just like the love that brought you both together.

However, by the age of three, Melia's allegiance became undeniable. The turning point came during the Euros. She was mesmerised by the Lionesses' attacking prowess. Sat alongside your wife as she watched excitedly her passion only seemed to build with every goal an elicited joyous shrieks, every tackle a passionate fist pump. When the final whistle blew, crowning England champions, Melia danced with unbridled glee, waving a miniature Lionesses flag like a warrior queen. 

 I expected a flicker of disappointment, maybe even a playful jab. After all, she was a Barcelona legend, a "Culer" through and through. But instead, a wide smile stretched across her face. Later that night, as Melia slept soundly in her England-themed pyjamas, Alexia surprised me again. With a mischievous grin, she pulled out a brand new Lionesses jersey, emblazoned with "Melia 10" on the back.

"She is a Culer mi vida," she said, her voice soft, "that is my legacy, that is my career, not La Roja. But family? Our family supports each other, no matter the colours we wear on the pitch But supporting England, the lionesses, your team, cheering for your country, her country? That's a love that runs deeper than football."

Her words struck a chord. Melia's choice wasn't a rejection of Alexia's heritage, but a blossoming of her own. It was a beautiful testament to the power of sports to unite families, even if they cheered for different teams.

The World Cup final, with its clash of loyalties, only solidified that realisation. Melia, both yours and Alexias Amorcito, defied expectations throughout the tournament with her continued wear of England jerseys as well as the St George crest painted along her cheeks and her red and white ribbon tied into her ponytail.

Your heart lurched as you saw Melia freeze in the tunnel, her small hand gripping Alexia's Spanish jersey like a vice. The roar of the crowd was a distant echo in the tense silence. Alexia’s warm smile, usually contagious, faltered at the edges. Melia's eyes, brimming with tears, locked with yours.

Alexia, ever the teammate, knelt beside her, a gentle smile on her face. "Hey, Amoricito," she said, "It's okay, you look beautiful. Just a few steps, and then you can change after the walkout, alright?"

Melia, however, remained rooted to the spot, her tiny chin jutting out. Tears spilled down her cheeks, blurring the red and yellow stripes of the Spanish jersey. "I'm English, Mami!" she cried, her voice cracking with frustration. "I can't walk out with you! I'll let them down!" Alexia looked down at Melia confused "Who down Amoricito" "I'm English, Mami, not Spanish! I'll be letting the lionesses down, I'll be letting Mama down" she cried, her voice cracking.

Alexia sighed her voice a soothing balm. "Amoricito," she began, "we all love you, no matter what jersey you wear. You just need to walk out with us, then you can change, okay?"

Melia shook her head, adamant. "But I want everyone to see I'm cheering for England!" Her lower lip quivered, threatening to spill over.

Alexia exchanged a helpless glance with you. it had been planned to perfection this little moment between you all a cute family moment, a symbol of international unity on the biggest stage. Now, it was unravelling before the world's eyes. Your gaze darted towards the tunnel entrance, where the announcer's voice boomed, signalling the imminent walkout. Time was ticking and Melia wasn't letting up or calming down.

Taking a deep breath, You rushed over and knelt beside them your daughter might have been born in England and loved the country with every ounce of her heart but she was so much like Alexia in looks and personality. "Hey, Amoricito," you said softly, your voice laced with calm. "It's okay, sweetheart. We know you love England, the girls know you love England. But remember, Mami is Spanish and she wanted to include her favourite girl during this moment, but this walkout is for both teams, for both of us, for our family and, for everyone who loves football."

Melia sniffled, her lower lip trembling. "But the badge," she hiccupped, pointing at the Spanish crest emblazoned on the jersey. "It's not right."

A warmth bloomed in your chest. Her fierce loyalty, even at this tender age, filled me with pride.

A quick decision had to be made. Glancing at Alexia, I saw a flicker of understanding in her eyes. She squeezed Melia's hand gently. "How about this," Alexia offered, "You walk out with me, but when we get to the national anthems, you can stand with Mama and the lionesses, okay? English and Spanish."

A flicker of hope sparked in Melia's eyes. She looked down at the Spanish jersey, then back at you. "Can I?"

"Absolutely," You confirmed, relief flooding through you as you looked back at your teammates and your own mascot you had abandoned trying to calm your daughter down.

As the announcer's voice reached a crescendo, the tunnel doors swung open. Alexia took Melia's tiny hand gripping it tightly, as you placed a kiss on her head and squeezed Alexia's hand before grabbing the hand of your mascot.

The pre-game formalities flew by in a blur. As the teams lined up for the national anthems,  Alexia crouched down and winked at Melia. "Ready to change sides, Amoricito?" she asked playfully Melia smiled grabbing Alexia's hand before pulling her towards you and grabbing your hand with hers as she stood proudly in between you both, her tiny voice joining the chorus of "God Save the King," Your heart swelled with pride, a mixture of maternal love and admiration for her courage.

Melia, her smile now radiant, let go of Alexia and raised her hands to be lifted up by you laughing as you kissed her cheeks. "Just hold on for the win, Mama," she whispered, her eyes sparkling. "For England!"

"Maybe next time, we'll walk out with you wearing an England jersey, leading the English fans in cheers."

Melia's eyes sparkled. "Really?"

"Absolutely," you promised.

[shadowgale96]

I don’t know if it’s ever stated, but I partially see XL’s tendency to wear white as another nod to his martial prowess. A martial God who wears white is like a fine chef wearing white.

A testament to a good chef is having clean white attire despite having a job where they can easily get dirty. To wear white when you’re likely going to battle someone is a bold choice unless you know your opponent is outmatched and won’t have the chance to stain your clothes 

[happilyhertale]

The Rogue Prince - Daemon Targaryen x wife!reader

Summary: After a stressful day that leaves Daemon in a bit of an angry mood, you decide to give him some relief. But in a different way than you usually do.

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x poc!wife!reader

Warnings: Smut; 18+; NSFW; Minors do not continue reading!

Author’s note: Hey you (: A one-shot Daemon story requested by Anon 🖤 It took me some time but I hope you like it! English is my second language, please forgive me if I made any mistakes (:

Word count: 3.5 k

Other stories of mine

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You didn't have to look up, just the way the door slammed open was enough of a sign for you to know - Daemon was pissed. He entered without knocking, his armour clattering against itself.

In a mixture of snorts and grumbles, your husband strode into your chambers. As you lifted your gaze, your warm hazel eyes met the captivating intensity of his purple eyes, sending a shiver down your spine. Your curious gaze wandered further, discovering the mess of dirt and the almost macabre pattern of dried blood clinging to him. Uncertainly, you put aside the book you were engrossed in and approached Daemon, who was already in the process of freeing himself from the constricting confines of his armour. But before you could approach him, a piece of his armour flew into the far corner of the room.

"It will not improve your mood if you damage your armour," you say gently and help him to open his armour.

He just looks at you and his gaze makes you shiver a little again.

"What do I care about this fucking armour?" he hisses.

You look at him and your hands continue to work on the buckles and remove the chest piece.

"You want to tell me what happened?" you ask quietly.

There is a brief silence in your chambers and you use the time to admire his muscular chest, visible under his shirt. His body does not fail to bring you to ecstasy.

You look into his eyes again as he begins to speak.

"None of these idiots in this council understand the importance of cleansing our city of these filthy criminals! Not one!" he hisses.

You nod at him and try to concentrate on his words and not let his body distract you.

Your hands continue to work on the buckles of his armour.

"The city is full of disgusting creatures. They steal, they kill, they rape and none of those cunts at that council table give a shit!" he continues to hiss.

"But you do," you say softly and his eyes meet yours.

"I will teach these people to fear the golden cloaks again," he says in his deep voice.

You smile slightly and take off the last piece of his armour. Your fingers begin to take off his shirt.

"First we have to clean you up," you say gently.

Daemon's soft chuckle, markedly different from his previous behaviour, resounds through the air as he spreads his arms and asks you to release him from his shirt. His shimmering silver lengths fall over his shoulders, framing the network of scars etched into the skin of his neck and nape. These battle-scarred marks, created by victories and fire, are revealed in all their glory.

Your fingertips run tenderly over these well-deserved scars, your soft olive hue a striking contrast to his pale skin. You relish these imprints of his commanding prowess on the battlefield, each scar telling its own story, a testament to his unwavering leadership qualities. Daemon watches the movements of your fingers and notices how your gaze is fixed on his chest, unable to avert your gaze.

"Are you sure you just want to bathe me?" he murmurs, and your gaze jumps to his eyes.

You smile slightly, "Yes, I do," you say seriously and take his hand, leading him into the adjoining bathroom. Daemon grunts in disappointment, but lets himself be led along. The bath is quickly prepared and warm steam rises from the tub.

Daemon stands next to the tub of hot water and begins to open his trousers. As they slide down, you can see his already hardening arousal, but you avert your gaze and go to a small dresser in the corner of the bathroom.

Daemon watches you, a grin on his lips.

"Oh come on... You can't ignore my needs like that..." he says, but you interrupt him.

"Into the warm water with you," is all you say as you look through small bottles on the dresser to find the right one. You have these little vials from your home in Dorne, filled with different elixirs, and this time you want to put him in the right, stimulating mood.

Daemon grumbles something unintelligible, but obeys and gets into the tub. His gaze is fixed firmly on your back.

"Will you at least keep me company?" he asks, and you can hear in his voice that he is getting impatient.

You turn to him and smile, "No... at least not in the water," you say softly.

With two bottles in your hand, you stride to the bathtub. In the soft, flickering light created by candles, Daemon's gaze fixes on you and you can see an unspoken desire in the depths of his eyes to just grab you. But instead of giving in to temptation, his hands grip the edge of the tub. He leans back slightly and lets you pleasure him, a sign of trust he has only in you.

You kneel behind him, set the vials aside and carefully remove the hair ribbon from its silken lengths. As the ribbon gives up its hold, his hair falls gracefully over his shoulders. The once shining silver strands, now clouded with dirt and sweat, literally crave your touch. You gently begin to work water into the lengths, and the soothing rhythm elicits a contented murmur from Daemon as his eyes are gently closed.

Your hand wanders to a vial, its lid giving way with a soft, melodic pop at your careful touch. At this slight disturbance, Daemon's eyes flicker open to take in the unexpected intrusion.

"What's that?" he murmurs. You smile slightly, "Lavender oil... I like it when your hair smells fresh," you say soflty.

Daemon reflects your soft smile, "All right... If my Dornish princess wants me to smell like a silly bush from the garden, I don't think I could refuse," he mutters. With a smile, you apply a few drops of oil to his shiny silver locks and enjoy the feel of his long strands gliding through your fingers as the accumulated dirt runs effortlessly down.

After pampering him with your grooming, you rise and hand Daemon a towel. With a synchronised movement, he accepts the towel, and as he dries himself, you return to the bedroom with the other vial of elixir. Daemon follows you silently, his shapely form wrapped in the loosely hanging towel.

"Now you're going to take care of my needs?" he says to you, a cheeky smile around his lips. And at that moment you notice the bulge under the towel. You smile, "Lie down on the bed," you say.

Daemon's smile widens, like that of a child who finds an unexpected, delicious treat. He complies with your request and lies down in your marital sanctuary - the very bed where he makes you squirm and beg every night. But this night it will be different.

With an expectant gaze, Daemon watches your every move. How you slowly take off your dress and walk towards the bed. You crawl onto the bed and his hands reach out longingly to pull you close.

But you push them away, "Hands by your side," you say and move to sit astride him. Daemon looks irritated, but he obeys. You take the bottle and open it while Daemon watches you closely.

"More lavender oil?" he asks, "You know I'll have trouble commanding my men if my whole body smells like a flower bouquet" he says.

With a soft chuckle, you murmur, "Not a hint of lavender..." as the delicate scents of osmanthus and patchouli dance around you, washing you with their stimulating embrace as you place a few drops of the oil on your warm palm. Daemon's eyes remain fixed, transfixed by your hands as you set about the task of massaging the oil into his powerful chest.

"And I don't think you'll have any problems commanding your men.... No matter how you smell..." you say softly.

Daemon can only growl slightly as he slowly feels the effect of the scents and his arousal presses harder against you. You can feel a slight movement of his hips as he tries to grind against you. You stare into his eyes as your hands continue to glide over his skin.

"Don't move," you say to him. Daemon grunts, but he obeys - again.

You hear his breathing become more irregular as your hand turns to his belly. Slowly you massage the oil into the muscles of his belly, but your hands are unstoppable. You sit up a little and release him from the towel and his hot length springs free. It twitches wildly as you begin to rub his pubic hair with the oil. It twitches even more wildly as your hands turn to the shaft of his cock, which almost invites you to let yourself sink onto it. Daemon grunts impatiently, wanting to move his hips again, to somehow get close to your cunt.

"Don't," you just whisper, and your hands begin to wander up and down. You hear him gasp, see his hands gripping the sheet beneath you tightly. Your hands slide faster as his member literally pulses. Daemon breathes faster and faster as he chases his climax and you can already see the first drops of his release coming from the tip of his cock. You lean down and lick them away and hear him hiss.

"Woman, you will be my death," he whispers breathlessly. You just look up at him, grinning a little, and bite your lip. Your hand slides up and down faster.

It also increasingly excites you that he could just grab you, push you onto the bed and thrust into you, but he does not. He lies there and lets the feelings and actions wash over him.

When suddenly you feel a strong twitch in his member and Daemon spurts his hot seed onto his belly. He grunts loudly and watches you pump the last drops of cum out of his cock. He breathes heavily and closes his eyes briefly. His head falls back on the pillow.

"I think I need to take another bath..." he mumbles.

But you only smile, "I'm not done with you yet," you whisper. Daemon opens his eyes and looks at you in irritation.

You notice how he slowly softens in your hand, but it is not over for you yet. Slowly you slide further down and push his legs apart. You kneel between his legs and your hand gently moves along his shaft again. Daemon hisses slightly as you lean down.

You take his softening member into your mouth and begin to suck. The remnants of his cum unfold their salty taste on your tongue, but you love the way he tastes.

Daemon gasps, "What are you doing?"

But you just grin slightly and push him all the way down your throat.

"Gods...", Daemon gasps, but you notice that he is getting hard again.

But then, with a pop, you release his cock from your mouth. He is breathing heavily and still looks irritated, his cock hard again and standing in all its glory.

Daemon's heavy breath echoes from the walls of your chambers. You move and lie down beside him. You bite your lip gently and lean forward, kissing his neck softly. Your tongue is like pure fire that hits his skin and could cause new scars. A hot, arousing fire. His hips rise again with arousal and his hand reaches for the back of your head to move your head down. But you stop caressing his neck and look at him. You shake your head resolutely and Daemon pulls his hand back grumbling.

His voice fails in his throat and nothing more leaves his mouth as he slowly loses control. A growl sounds from him and his back arches slightly as your hand begins to caress his chest.

A moan escapes him as your nails leave light marks on his skin.

"Stop it, love," he murmurs. "You're driving me crazy" But you see his cock twitch wildly and you know he doesn't want you to stop. His hands reach into the sheet again and you know, that it's taking all his will not to grab you. Gently your lips graze over his neck as your fingers gently move down, teasing him. You feel the remnants of his previous climax and you see him bite his lip as you slide through it. His eyes are closed and you can see him enjoying this. Your fingers gently caress his abdomen, following the light hair to your destination.

A moan escapes him again. His hand suddenly reaches for your arm and you gasp softly, feeling his fingertips dig into your arm, showing you how much you're already teasing him. But you are not finished yet.

Daemon tries to concentrate on staying calm for your sake.

Once again, you can't stop your fingers from stroking his pubic hair as your smile widens. You watch his expression as you caress him.

A sharp intake of breath comes from his throat. He feels nothing but your touch. His fingertips dig further into your arm, but he finds it hard to stay still. You feel his muscles twitch and he just wants to pull you closer to him and take control of the situation so he can use your body as he wants.

But he forces himself to stay still. He forces himself to enjoy the passive role for once.

Your fingers gently graze the tip of his hard manhood. You bite your lip as you feel it twitch. As you close your fingers around the tip and the twitch shoots through your fingers.

"Ops...", you say softly, with an air of innocence, but Daemon knows you are not innocent and it's impossible for him not to react to that – a soft hiss escapes him.

His back arches slightly upwards and he grips your arm even tighter. His head turns towards you. His eyes are still closed, but you feel his lips seek yours. But you let him suffer. Let him feel what it is like to be on the receiving end of something like this.

"Is this what I put you through every night?" he suddenly asks softly, still keeping his eyes closed. You hear a slight breathlessness in his voice.

You smile again, "Yes... Every time you tease me..." you whisper.

You feel at your fingertips how his arousal continues to make itself felt, and the drops wet the tip of his cock.

"You like that, don't you?" you whisper.

He responds with a low growl, as if he's too busy enjoying it to reply with words.

His fingers disengage from your arm and sink to the bed, holding them still. It works up to a point. But you see his fingers clench into fists again and again.

You lean forward again and gently kiss his neck. Lightly you let your teeth sink into the skin. Again you hear a slight growl.

But still your fingers do not touch his hard member. Teasingly you only stroke his tip, refusing to embrace it completely. You feel it twitch violently again and again. Almost desperately it wants you to touch it. And again a moan escapes Daemon's throat.

You notice his breath quickening, and your own smile turns into a wicked little grin.

His fingers clutch the sheets on the bed as his muscles tremble slightly. You can feel the tension building inside him.

"Stop it... stop..," he murmurs, his voice strained by the desire to just grab you.

You continue to nibble on his neck. Your fingers, meanwhile, are stroking his pubic hair again, your caress growing rougher.

"Would you like me to touch you?" you whisper. With this question you have sealed his fate.

You see him contort his face almost painfully, trying to resist his urge. It would be so easy for him to give in, to just turn and take you as he wants. You see the inner struggle in him. The Rogue Prince who never begs, never bows to any command. The dragon who needs control over every situation. But still you see his breathing quicken, his muscles tremble slightly, he moistens his lips.

"Yes..." he whispers after a while, almost defeated.

But then his fingers move to your hips, wanting to grab you and force you closer to him. You slap his hand away.

"No, Daemon. Get your hands off me," you whisper warningly in his ear. You underline your momentary power and nibble lightly on his earlobe.

Your fingers now find their way to his balls, your fingernails gently scratching the now taut skin and he hisses again.

It's a struggle for him to take his hands off your hips. He doesn't want to. But he obeys.

You continue the torment, your fingernails almost driving him mad.

"You know you'll pay for this, you little pest," his voice sounds a little hoarse.

But with each word his voice grows softer and is now just a low murmur as his body continues to tremble with desire. You have the power over this moment, and you know it. You smile just slightly, knowing you will pay for this, and a feeling of anticipation spreads through you.

"Please," he murmurs suddenly. His breathing is quick and heavy. Right now he is nothing more than your plaything. The Rogue Prince on the verge of begging.

You bite his neck again, "Please, what, my love?" you whisper as your fingernails continue to tease his balls. He hisses again. His hips jerk a little, desperate for a touch.

His mouth opens and closes as he tries to find words to say what he wants. It's all gasps and moans and deep, animalistic noises now.

"Please... I need more...," he finally murmurs weakly. He can't say much more, he wants you too much. You know it. He knows it. You both know it.

A low grumble escapes his throat as he hisses again. He clenches his teeth as you grab his balls. He tries to take a deep breath to keep his voice low, but he can't stop his voice from shaking. "Touch me...", these are the only words he manages to say.

Your hand continues to grip his balls, squeezing them gently.

You kiss his neck, "My Rogue Prince...", you whisper.

He is silent now, looking at you with half-closed eyes, his breathing heavy.

You continue to kiss and nibble on his neck as your hand holds him tight, enjoying this newfound power over him. "If you keep this up, I swear we won't leave this bed for at least twelve hours. And I will make you suffer,“ he hisses, his last attempt at exuding dominance.

You smile at him, your fingers now slowly stroking along his shaft.

"I wouldn't mind," you whisper.

His hard manhood is dripping with precum. Your hand wanders along his hard manhood. It twitches violently as you rub the pecum over its tip. He gasps and grunts.

"Oh, you like that, don't you?" you whisper as you nibble on his neck again.

"Yes...!" Daemon suddenly groans. You're playing with fire and you know it. Your teasing only drives him closer to his climax without you actually touching him. But you embrace him fully now, and the sudden rough touch makes him grunt loudly. Your hand wanders up and down, your other hand starts massaging his balls again.

"Then come for me, love...", you whisper. You are also breathing harder by now as your hand slides along his hard manhood. He is moaning uncontrollably by now, his manhood twitching. His eyes are closed and his hips are twitching.

His fingers dig deep into the sheet as he makes sounds you didn't think he was capable of. But his moans turn into hisses as your hand works faster.

He pulls your head towards him and kisses you fiercely, almost desperately. He holds nothing back now and you let him.

"My wife. My Dornish princess. My queen. I am yours. Only yours.", Daemon gasps and you feel the twitch move from his balls up into his cock.

And then he comes. Again his seed spurts onto his belly, while your hand does not slacken in its movement. You're still kissing him and he moans and whimpers into your mouth.

Daemon releases the kiss, still breathing heavily, his eyes closed. Softly he whispers your name, smiling.

"You're cruel, you know that? Cruel and beautiful," he whispers.

You giggle softly and watch the movements of his face. After a few deep breaths from him, he suddenly moves. So suddenly that you gasp slightly. Your eyes grow wide as he suddenly hovers over you. You stare into his violet eyes, his cum dripping onto your soft, olive skin, creating a complete contrast. Daemon slides his finger through it as it continues to drip, just as you did on his skin before. A dark grin on his lips.

"I'm going to make you pay even more cruelly for this..." he murmurs and before you can say anything, his lips meet yours and his hand finds its way between your thighs. Your whimpers echo through your chambers as his hand grips your cunt roughly.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Tag list

@aemonds-wifey @hoshi-miharu-blog @arryn-nyx @aemonds-eyeball @praline357 @melsunshine @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @lauftivy @valeskafics @dreamlandcreations @hopelesswritergall @wetbitchlibrary @sylasthegrim

[nayziiz]

Our Home | CS55

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x reader (she/her)

Warnings: Very soft & fluffy

Author's note: I'm trying something a little bit different with shorter form fics, so please send through any requests or feedback. These one shots will likely not have a second part unless it really speaks to me to continue with it. Thank you!

Masterlist

Carlos was a meticulous planner, a quality that permeated every aspect of his life, including the most significant moments. The proposal to his better half was no exception. Knowing her aversion to public displays of affection, he crafted a scenario that was intimate, heartfelt, and entirely personal.

Their routine bike rides had become a cherished tradition, a time for them to escape the hustle and bustle of everyday life and simply be together. Carlos recognized the significance of this shared activity and decided it would serve as the perfect backdrop for his proposal.

As they pedalled along their familiar route, Carlos couldn't help but steal glances at the ring tucked securely in his pocket, a symbol of his unwavering commitment to the person he loved most in the world. He waited for just the right moment, biding his time until the setting felt just as perfect as the sentiment behind his proposal.

When they stopped to address the issue of tire pressure, Carlos seized the opportunity to transform an ordinary moment into something extraordinary. With a steady hand and a heart full of love, he knelt down before her, the words he had rehearsed a hundred times over finally spilling forth in a rush of emotion.

In that quiet, secluded spot, surrounded by the beauty of nature and the warmth of their shared love, Carlos asked the question he had been longing to pose. And as her eyes filled with tears of joy and her lips curled into a radiant smile, he knew that his meticulous planning had paid off in the most perfect way imaginable.

For Carlos, the proposal wasn't just about popping the question; it was a reflection of his deep understanding of her desires and his unwavering commitment to making every moment they shared as special as possible.

Navigating the intricate world of wedding planning can be a daunting task, but she and Carlos had found a harmonious approach that played to each of their strengths. With her sister and his mom by her side, the process felt more like a collaborative celebration than a burdensome chore.

She took the reins, drawing upon her organisational prowess and meticulous attention to detail to create a vision that reflected both of their personalities and desires. From selecting the perfect venue to curating a menu that would tantalise the taste buds of the guests, she threw herself into the planning process with passion and determination.

Meanwhile, Carlos stood steadfastly beside her, offering unwavering support and a listening ear whenever she needed it. While he may not have been as involved in the nitty-gritty details, his presence was a constant source of reassurance and comfort, reminding her that she was never alone in this endeavour.

Together, they navigated the inevitable ups and downs of wedding planning, leaning on each other and her trusted confidantes for guidance and support. And as the big day drew nearer, they found themselves more in love than ever, united not only by their commitment to each other but also by the shared experience of bringing their dream wedding to life.

Carlos's gesture was nothing short of extraordinary—a testament to his thoughtfulness and unwavering commitment to her happiness. With the wedding on the horizon, he embarked on a mission, fueled by love and determination, to find her the perfect home in Barcelona, a place where her dreams could take root and flourish.

Together with his father, Carlos scoured the city, poring over listings and exploring properties with a discerning eye. He wasn't just looking for any house; he was searching for a sanctuary, a place that would not only meet her practical needs but also speak to her heart and soul.

With each potential home they visited, Carlos envisioned the life they would build together within its walls—the laughter shared in the kitchen, the quiet moments stolen away in the garden, the memories that would be woven into the very fabric of the space.

And then, finally, he found it—the perfect house, a hidden gem nestled in the heart of Barcelona, brimming with charm and character. From the moment he laid eyes on it, he knew that this was the place where their future would unfold, where their love story would continue to unfold with each passing day.

Carlos's plan was set into motion with precision and care, his excitement barely contained as he orchestrated a trip to Barcelona under the guise of a family visit. Little did she know, this journey held a secret purpose—one that would soon unfold in a whirlwind of surprises and heartfelt moments.

As they boarded the plane, Carlos's anticipation bubbled beneath the surface, his heart pounding with the thrill of what was to come. With each passing moment, the excitement in his eyes grew, a telltale sign of the surprise he had in store for her.

Upon arriving in Barcelona, Carlos seamlessly blended the visit with his family into the fabric of your trip, effortlessly steering the conversation away from any suspicion. He was a picture of composure, his every move calculated to keep the surprise under wraps until the perfect moment.

As Carlos guided the car through the winding streets of Barcelona, she couldn't shake the feeling of excitement that hung in the air. The sun cast a warm glow over the city, illuminating the vibrant colours of the buildings and infusing the atmosphere with a sense of possibility.

As they pulled up behind a gated compound, curiosity bubbled within her, mingling with a hint of apprehension. Carlos helped her out of the car, his hand warm against hers as he led her towards the imposing entrance. With each step, her anticipation grew, the mystery of the moment hanging heavy in the air.

“What's this?” she asked, her voice tinged with surprise as she took in the sight before her. Carlos's gaze softened, a smile playing at the corners of his lips as he turned to face her.

“I thought we could start house-hunting, see what the market is like,” he explained, his words carrying a note of excitement and anticipation.

She blinked in disbelief, her mind struggling to process the unexpected turn of events. House-hunting in Barcelona? It was a dream she had shared countless times, but she never imagined it would become a reality so soon.

With a sense of wonder and excitement coursing through her veins, she followed Carlos and the real estate agent inside, her heart racing with the thrill of what lay ahead. As she crossed the threshold into the unknown, she couldn't help but feel grateful for the man by her side, whose love and thoughtfulness knew no bounds.

After twenty minutes of exploring every nook and cranny of the house, Carlos found her standing in the spacious kitchen, her eyes alight with wonder as she admired the gleaming countertops and state-of-the-art appliances. With a tender smile, he approached her, his arms open wide as he wrapped them around her from behind.

“So, what do you think?” he asked, his voice filled with anticipation as he waited for her verdict.

“It's huge,” she replied, her voice tinged with awe as she took in the expanse of the room. Carlos chuckled softly, the sound reverberating through the air as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

“You like big homes, no?” he teased, his words laced with affection.

“Yeah, I do, especially if we want to start a family in a few years,” she replied, her voice soft with the weight of her dreams.

Carlos's eyes sparkled with affection as he took in her words, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of his lips. And then, with a sense of determination in his gaze, he dropped a bombshell that left her speechless.

“I bought it,” he declared simply, his voice tinged with excitement.

“What?” she gasped, her heart pounding in her chest as she struggled to comprehend the enormity of his words.

“I bought this house for us,” Carlos repeated, his voice filled with certainty and unwavering determination.

“You're joking, right?” she questioned, her tone tinged with disbelief as she searched his eyes for any sign of jest. Carlos's smile faltered slightly at the disbelief in her voice, a hint of uncertainty creeping into his expression.

Carlos's hand found hers, his touch warm and reassuring as he met her gaze with a mixture of affection and concern. 

“You don't like it?” he asked, his voice soft with genuine concern. She shook her head, a small smile tugging at the corners of her  lips as she reached up to cup his cheek.

“I love it, but Carlos, you should have told me, baby,” she murmured, her heart swelling with love and gratitude for the man standing before her.

Carlos's admission tugged at your heartstrings, his words washing over you with a wave of emotion. You reached up to gently stroke his cheek, your eyes shimmering with tears of gratitude and love.

“I wanted to surprise you. I didn’t want the house-hunting to stress you out, but I also wanted to buy you a house as a thank you for everything you do for me, for the late nights, the early mornings, the travelling, giving up your job to be by my side,” Carlos confessed, his voice filled with sincerity and love.

Her breath caught in her throat as she listened to his words, feeling the weight of his appreciation and devotion settle over her like a warm embrace. In that moment, she was overwhelmed with a profound sense of gratitude for the man standing before her, whose love knew no bounds.

“This is our home, honey,” Carlos said softly, his voice filled with warmth and sincerity as he gazed at her with affection. “It may be empty now, but it’s already filled with love. I know it doesn't matter where we live or what it looks like, but I really want to build a home with you. I want it to be the place I always want to be, because you're there.”

Tears welled up in her eyes at his heartfelt words.

“Carlos,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion as she reached for his hand, intertwining her fingers with his. “You don't have to thank me. Being by your side, supporting you in every way I can—it's all I ever want to do. And this... this house, it's more than I could have ever dreamed of.”

“And that's why I want to marry you,” Carlos added with a coy smile, his eyes sparkling with affection as he looked into hers.

In that moment, surrounded by the promise of a future filled with love and possibility, she knew that this house was more than just a building—it was a sanctuary, a haven where their love could take root and flourish, where every corner would be filled with the echoes of their laughter and the warmth of his embrace.

And as she stood hand in hand with Carlos, gazing out at the blank canvas before her, she felt a sense of excitement and anticipation for the journey that lay ahead. For in each other's arms, she knew that you had found the true meaning of home—a place where love dwelled, where hearts entwined, and where every moment was a testament to the beautiful bond they shared.

[thedensworld]

Case 143 | K.Mg

Pairing: Detective!Mingyu x reader

Genre: action, romance, ex Au

Summary: Mingyu and Y/n are exes. One day, they have to work a case together and it makes the situation uncomfortable for both teams. Besides for the rookie, Hansol.

Breathless and with his heart pounding against his ribcage, Mingyu pushed himself to keep running. Every inhale felt like fire in his lungs, but the adrenaline pumping through his veins kept him going. The urgency of catching Kim Jiheon, the elusive drug dealer he had been tracking for weeks, was consuming him.

His legs threatened to give out beneath him, protesting each step he took, but the thought of letting Jiheon slip through his fingers was unbearable. Alone and racing against time, Mingyu cursed under his breath as he sprinted towards the harbor. His team, blissfully unaware of the unfolding situation, was probably enjoying their dinner, oblivious to his urgent call for backup.

Frantically, he dialed the rookie of his team, Hansol, hoping beyond hope that his message had been received. Mingyu needed everyone at the harbor, and he needed them there now. The distance seemed endless, each stride feeling like an eternity as he fought against exhaustion and desperation.

As Mingyu finally reached the harbor, his eyes scanned the area, searching for any sign of his team. But there was nothing. Doubt crept into his mind. Had Hansol even relayed his message? Was he truly alone in this race against time?

Despite the doubt gnawing at him, Mingyu clenched his jaw, refusing to give up. With determination burning in his eyes, he squared his shoulders and prepared to face whatever lay ahead. Kim Jiheon would not escape him, not this time.

Fortunately for Mingyu, his years of dedicated workouts and cardio had honed his body into a well-oiled machine, allowing him to chase down Kim Jiheon with impressive speed and agility. Even as fatigue threatened to overwhelm him, he pushed himself harder, driven by sheer determination to apprehend his elusive target.

It was a testament to Mingyu's resourcefulness that he had managed to uncover Jiheon's plans to ship out tonight. Yet, despite his strategic prowess, a pang of frustration surged through him as he realized his own clumsiness had led to him misplacing his gun at the worst possible moment. Shooting Jiheon's leg would have simplified matters, but fate seemed to have other plans.

The sharp crack of a gunshot shattered the night air, sending Mingyu's heart racing as Jiheon crumpled to the ground, his leg now wounded and useless. Relief flooded through Mingyu as he spotted the familiar figure holding the pistol, their timely intervention saving the day.

With a steadying breath, Mingyu hurried to Jiheon's side, his movements deliberate as he secured the handcuffs around the criminal's wrists. A mixture of triumph and exhaustion washed over him as he delivered a sharp slap near Jiheon's gunshot wound, a small act of retribution for the chase that had left him soaked with sweat.

As a car and a bike approached, Mingyu watched with a mixture of relief and anticipation as the people inside sprang into action, swiftly attending to the fallen Jiheon. "Nice shot, captain!" one of them exclaimed, praising the biker who had delivered the decisive blow. Mingyu's eyes met hers as she removed her helmet, her intense gaze locking onto him.

There was a palpable tension in the air as she approached Mingyu, her scowl evident even from a distance. Despite the exchange of the gun between them, her anger seemed to simmer just beneath the surface, casting a shadow over the otherwise triumphant moment.

Effortlessly catching the gun she tossed to him, Mingyu couldn't shake the feeling of unease that lingered between them. Even as he rose to his feet, his body still thrumming with adrenaline, her continued displeasure weighed heavily on him.

As their eyes met once more, Mingyu couldn't help but protest, "Don't look at me like that." He rose from his brief respite, his voice tinged with defiance.

She rolled her eyes in response, her frustration evident. "Like what? Like looking at an idiot? Yeah! I am looking at an idiot who dropped his gun while running. Why are you even here? It's my case!"

Mingyu coughed, feeling the weight of her words like a punch to the gut. "It's related to my department, so it's natural for me to investigate it as well."

She shook her head, her tone firm. "It's one hundred percent on the Narcotic Department. Violence and Crime have zero relevance to this case. Also, your team doesn't have an investigation permission letter. So whatever you're doing right now, it's not under the office regulations," she explained, her words cutting through the tension like a knife.

"Good you're not dead," she muttered under her breath before swiftly donning her helmet.

Mingyu's heart sank at her dismissive words, but he refused to let his pride get the better of him. "Can I join you?" he asked, stepping forward.

She turned to face him, her expression unreadable as she removed her helmet. "Where's your car? How could you even get here in the first place?" she questioned, her voice tinged with disbelief.

Mingyu hesitated for a moment, feeling a pang of embarrassment at his lack of preparedness. But as he met her gaze, determination flickered in his eyes. "I found a way," he muttered, his resolve unwavering despite the obstacles in his path.

Mingyu didn't waste time with words. Instead, he reached for the helmet in her hand and the key, determination shining in his eyes. "Let's go," he said, motioning for her to join him on the back seat.

"Riding without a helmet is illegal, Kim Mingyu. We're police officers," she reminded him firmly.

A smirk played at the corners of Mingyu's lips as he tilted his head, meeting her gaze with a sense of camaraderie. "Well said, Ji Y/n. We're police officers."

*

Mingyu stood at the front of his team, his expression stern as he addressed each member in turn. With their heads bowed and hands folded behind their backs, they listened intently to his lecture, knowing they had failed their leader.

For seven minutes, Mingyu recounted the events of that fateful night, emphasizing the gravity of the situation had he been left to face danger alone. His voice carried a mixture of disappointment and frustration, each word punctuated by the weight of missed opportunities and the consequences of their negligence.

Hansol, the rookie whose distraction had led to Mingyu's solitary struggle, felt the weight of guilt settle heavy in his chest. The memory of the grandmother he had helped with directions now felt like a betrayal, a selfish act that had left his team leader vulnerable and alone in the line of duty.

As Mingyu concluded his lecture, his gaze swept over his team, the disappointment in his eyes unmistakable. Yet, beneath the reprimand, there was a glimmer of determination—a resolve to ensure that such a lapse in communication would never happen again.

Mingyu's commanding presence filled the room as he addressed his team, his eyes sweeping over each member with a sense of authority. "I want you to summarize an essay about how important teamwork is in our field and the role of the leader," he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Without hesitation, Lee Seokmin, Seo Myungho, Boo Seungkwan, Lee Chan, and Choi Hansol snapped to attention, offering a crisp salute as a promise to fulfill their leader's directive.

As Mingyu's gaze lingered on Hansol, a sense of disappointment flickered in his eyes. "And Hansol," he added, his voice firm. "Face me after doing 20 laps of a run."

With a nod of acknowledgment, Mingyu dismissed his team, the air thick with the unspoken promise of accountability and unity in the face of adversity. They had learned a valuable lesson, one that would shape their future actions and reinforce the bonds of trust and solidarity among them. Mingyu turned on his heel and made his exit, leaving the room buzzing with a newfound sense of purpose and determination. Each member of the team knew that they had a responsibility to uphold, not only to their leader but to each other as well.

A shout erupted from Seungkwan, his voice echoing through the room, "I'm relieved that I'm not the rookie anymore, but I feel bad for Hansol." His frustration was palpable as he reached for the book sitting untouched on the bookcase for what seemed like ages—a self-improvement book on leadership and teamwork bought by their team leader, Kim Mingyu.

Lee Chan flopped onto the couch, exhaustion evident in every line of his body. He leaned back, his eyelids heavy with fatigue. "Then do his assignment instead," he mumbled, the remnants of their beef dinner lulling him into a sleepy stupor.

Seungkwan's fingers traced the embossed title of the book, his mind racing with conflicting emotions. Relief mingled with guilt as he thought of Hansol, burdened with the weight of being the rookie. Mingyu's gesture was well-intentioned, but it only served to highlight the disparities within their team. As he flipped through the pages, Seungkwan couldn't shake the feeling of unease gnawing at him.

Myungho gently tapped Hansol's shoulder, offering reassurance in his touch. "It's not totally your fault, Hansol. That case isn't officially ours, so even if we're losing it, it wouldn't be our responsibility," he explained calmly to the younger member.

Hansol's brow furrowed in surprise, his eyes betraying his confusion. "But didn't we work hard on that case? Is it really okay to just let it go like that?" he questioned, his voice tinged with a mixture of disbelief and concern.

Myungho nodded understandingly, his expression empathetic. "We assumed there might be a gang involved in Park Jiheon's case. But his capture definitely isn't in our hands," he clarified, his tone gentle yet firm as he tried to alleviate Hansol's worries.

Hansol sighed, a weight seeming to lift from his shoulders as he processed Myungho's words.

Seokmin chimed in, his voice carrying a sense of solidarity as he echoed Myungho's sentiments. "Don't worry about Mingyu, he just wasn't in the mood," he reassured, his tone soothing as he tried to ease any lingering concerns.

Chan's hands met in a soft clap of realization, his eyes widening with understanding. "Right? He's never scolded us that much before. I was really worried when he called. But then, when I saw him arriving on bike earlier..." Chan trailed off, a knowing smile playing at the corners of his lips. "I knew," he concluded, his voice filled with certainty.

Seungkwan chuckled, his laughter ringing out in the room. "I saw them too. Kim Mingyu, our team leader..." he began, a hint of amusement evident in his tone as he recalled the sight of Mingyu's unexpected mode of transportation.

Sensing that the conversation was veering off track, Myungho interjected, his voice carrying a sense of urgency. "Let's finish our assignment before midnight," he urged, directing everyone's attention back to the task at hand. With a determined stride, he made his way to his desk, ready to dive into the work.

Seokmin reached out to Hansol, his offer of assistance laced with genuine concern. "Hansol," he called out, his tone gentle yet firm. "You can start your run. I'll take care of your assignment." The weight lifted from Hansol's shoulders as he breathed a sigh of relief, gratitude evident in his expression. He offered a quick word of thanks to Seokmin before hurrying out into the backyard, his mind already racing ahead to the looming encounter with their team leader.

As Hansol disappeared from view, the air seemed to crackle with anticipation. Each member of the team understood the importance of their roles, the weight of their responsibilities hanging heavy in the air. With determination etched on their faces, they set to work, united in their mission to meet the deadline and prove their worth as a team.

*

"I've read your report on the potential Cubic involvement in Park Jiheon's case, and I truly appreciate your astuteness in uncovering this," Chief Park acknowledged, his tone conveying a mix of admiration and seriousness. "However, I can't simply assign this case to your department without the Narcotics Department's involvement, especially considering it's already under their investigation," he explained, his words carrying a weight of deliberation and careful consideration.

As Chief Park's gaze shifted to Choi Seungcheol, the Head of the Violence and Crime Department, the room fell silent, all eyes turning to await his response. Superintendent Choi's expression remained composed, his mind already racing through the implications of Chief Park's words. With a thoughtful nod, he prepared to offer his insight, knowing that the decision ahead would shape the course of their investigation and the fate of their team.

Seungcheol's gaze shifted to Mingyu, his words carrying a sense of reassurance. "There are cases that require the expertise of special teams from different departments, sir. It's quite common in our line of work. If involving our team will expedite the process, then we should proceed," he stated confidently, his tone firm yet respectful as he laid out their rationale.

Chief Park nodded thoughtfully, acknowledging Seungcheol's explanation. "Alright, I'll speak with Superintendent Yoon about this matter and keep you both informed," he confirmed, his expression reflecting a blend of contemplation and gratitude. "Thank you so much for your input," he added, appreciating the insight offered by his dedicated team members. As the conversation drew to a close, the room buzzed with a sense of anticipation, each member silently hoping for a favorable outcome.

Mingyu and Seungcheol strode out of the Chief's office in unison, the weight of the conversation lingering heavily between them. Frustration etched lines on Mingyu's usually cheerful face, his hand harshly rubbing at his forehead in a futile attempt to erase the tension. Seungcheol, observant as ever, couldn't ignore the sudden shift in his junior's demeanor.

"What's wrong?" Seungcheol asked, his own irritation growing as he tried to decipher what had dimmed the usually bright spirit of his junior.

Mingyu shrugged, attempting to downplay the turmoil brewing within him. "It's alright," he muttered, though the strain in his voice betrayed his attempt at composure.

Seungcheol scoffed, unable to contain his sarcasm. "Yeah, everyone can tell you're alright," he quipped, hoping to coax out the truth behind Mingyu's facade.

The jest halted Mingyu in his tracks, his gaze snapping towards Seungcheol with a mixture of surprise and irritation. "Really?" Mingyu's brow furrowed, his frustration momentarily eclipsed by confusion before realization dawned upon him. "That's not funny, sunbae," he retorted, the tension between them palpable as they stood locked in a silent battle of emotions.

Seungcheol motioned for Mingyu to halt in front of a cooler, offering him a soft drink. Mingyu nodded gratefully, sinking onto the nearby bench as Seungcheol handed him a can of coke.

"Are you going to be alright working with Y/n?" Seungcheol asked directly, his concern palpable in the air. Mingyu shot him a sidelong glance, his mood evident in the gesture.

"What? I'm just worried, okay? You both are my juniors and used to be under my team." Seungcheol explained.

"I know," Mingyu mumbled, his head dropping as he stared at his shoes. He sighed heavily. "It's been messing with my head. I can't seem to stop thinking about her."

Mingyu looked up at Seungcheol, his expression a mix of frustration and self-doubt. "Even last night, I lashed out at my team for not capturing Park Jiheon. We worked tirelessly on the case, even though it wasn't our responsibility. It was... selfish."

"I feel like such an idiot, sunbae," Mingyu confessed.

Seungcheol paused, considering his words carefully before responding. "Professionally? Yes, you made mistakes. But we can't ignore matters of the heart, Mingyu. We're police officers, yes, but we're also human. We feel things deeply. Sometimes, our emotions cloud our judgment."

Mingyu chuckled weakly. "It's surreal to hear reassurance from you, Seungcheol sunbae. I remember when you used to chew me out back in my rookie days."

Seungcheol scoffed, folding his arms. "Rookies are always in for a rough ride," he said with a wry smile, pointing a finger skyward.

"If working with Y/n is going to worsen things for you, then maybe you should assign the case to another member. I hear Myungho is a great profiler," Seungcheol suggested.

Mingyu nodded slowly. "I'll think about it."

As they stood in the quiet of the break room, the weight of Mingyu's dilemma hung heavy in the air, each man lost in his own thoughts.

*

"From today, the two of your teams will work together on the case given. Don't get distracted; Cubic might be more than we've known." The chief's words echoed in the room as the teams filed out.

Seungkwan and Chan exchanged subtle signals, while Seokmin and Myungho struggled to maintain their composure. Hansol, the only one oblivious to the tension, glanced at his leader, silently asking, "What's going on, sunbae?"

"Let's arrange a meeting tonight. My team will share everything we've found related to Cubic," you announced, stopping abruptly to address Mingyu.

Mingyu nodded and motioned for his team to proceed ahead. "Let's have a talk," he suggested, prompting you to instruct your team to head out first.

"We're talking," you said firmly once everyone had left. Mingyu rolled his eyes at your sudden display of petulance.

With a sigh, Mingyu began, "Let's not make everyone uncomfortable."

Your frown deepened. "I haven't done anything."

Mingyu hesitated, biting his lip before continuing, "I mean—"

"The way you speak makes everyone nervous," he clarified.

You shrugged nonchalantly. "That's just how I communicate. I thought you knew that."

"However," you added, your tone becoming more serious, "I'm sorry, but you can't tell me what to do unless it's about the case. You're not my boyfriend."

With that, you turned on your heel and walked away, leaving Kim Mingyu standing there, frustration evident on his face as he watched you go.

*

Mingyu, you, and Wonwoo entered the academy at the same time and were assigned to the same team upon graduation ten years ago. Working under intense pressure with Seungcheol as the team leader, the three of you quickly became inseparable. Mingyu and Wonwoo were always there to help you maintain your composure, making sure you didn't impulsively shoot anyone you caught, given your renowned marksmanship.

Mingyu, the athletic and brain one, carried the team with his impressive deductive skills, which had caught Seungcheol's eye during your rookie days. He had an uncanny ability to piece together the most obscure clues, turning chaos into coherent narratives that led to countless breakthroughs in your cases. His strategic thinking and physical prowess made him the backbone of the team.

Wonwoo, on the other hand, was a jack-of-all-trades and thrived on challenges. He was always willing to take the biggest risks, whether it was infiltrating dangerous territories or going undercover in high-stakes operations. His versatility and daring nature complemented Mingyu's methodical approach, creating a dynamic and effective duo.

For Seungcheol, having the three of you on the same team was a stroke of fortune. Your combined skills and unwavering loyalty to each other made the team formidable. Seungcheol knew he could rely on you to handle the toughest cases, confident that you would always have each other's backs, no matter the danger.

Wonwoo vividly remembered the day Mingyu panickedly ran down the hospital aisle after hearing you were injured during a mission to intercept a gang transaction. The two of them stood helplessly by your hospital bed, staring at your weak form with a broken leg and arm.

From that day forward, Mingyu and Wonwoo promised never to leave your side. You made the same promise to them.

"You two are dating?" Wonwoo asked, watching as you and Mingyu nodded excitedly like puppies.

"Finally." A sigh of relief escaped from Wonwoo's mouth.

Surprised by his reaction, you asked, "You knew?"

Wonwoo scoffed, "You were the only one who didn't realize how smitten Mingyu has been with you all these years."

You turned to Mingyu, who was blushing furiously at Wonwoo's words, his cheeks tinged a deep shade of red.

"Anyway, let's get some meat tonight. I'll pay," Mingyu declared, trying to shift the focus away from his embarrassment.

Just then, another figure stirred, startling the three of you. Seungcheol, who had been dozing at his desk, rubbed his eyes and stretched.

"Am I invited?" he asked, his voice slightly groggy.

The mood lightened as you all began discussing the evening's plans, the camaraderie and affection between you all evident. Despite the pressures and dangers of your work, moments like this reminded you why you were a team—why you were a family.

*

It's been a few weeks since you and Mingyu started working together on the case. The atmosphere was not as uncomfortable as it used to be, but everyone could still sense the underlying tension between the two leaders. Although you and Mingyu didn't feel that way, the rest of the team couldn't help but walk on thin ice around you.

The investigation had already uncovered Cubic's involvement in the narcotic industry and the powerful figures behind them. Mingyu and you had serious discussions from time to time, meticulously arranging every detail of the operation. The years of the close relationship you once had before it broke three years ago were now a distant memory, masked by the professionalism you both maintained.

Despite the professionalism, there were moments when the past seemed to seep through the cracks. A shared glance, an unspoken understanding—remnants of what once was. These moments, though fleeting, didn't go unnoticed by the team.

During one of the sessions, as you pored over maps and files, you couldn't help but recall the days when teamwork came effortlessly between you and Mingyu. Back then, your synergy was unmatched, a force that propelled your team to solve the most challenging cases.

Now, as you both focused on taking down Cubic, the stakes were higher than ever. The complexity of the case demanded absolute focus and collaboration. You admired Mingyu's analytical skills, his ability to connect dots that seemed unrelated, and his unwavering dedication to the mission. It reminded you of why you had once fallen for him.

Mingyu, on the other hand, found himself occasionally lost in thought, reminiscing about the times when your relationship wasn't just professional. He admired your courage and precision, your knack for getting to the heart of a matter with unerring accuracy. But he also knew that the past was a closed chapter, and what mattered now was the mission at hand.

As the team continued to unravel the tangled web of Cubic's operations, you and Mingyu found a new rhythm in your collaboration. The hints of rivalry that others perceived were, in truth, a testament to the high standards you both held each other to.

"Sunbae!" Seungkwan burst into the meeting room, his urgency drawing the attention of both you and Mingyu.

"Hansol and Jihoon were captured by Cubic," he announced, breathless.

"What?" you and Mingyu exclaimed simultaneously, immediately moving towards Seungkwan, who held out his phone, showing a picture of Hansol and Jihoon tied up, their faces bruised and bloodied.

"No..." you whispered, covering your mouth in shock.

Mingyu glanced at you, his expression a mix of frustration and concern, before turning to Seungkwan. "Gather everyone immediately," he instructed.

Seungkwan nodded and hurried out of the room.

"I'll inform the superintendents and the chief about this," Mingyu said, already reaching for his phone.

"We need to find them immediately," you told Mingyu, your voice trembling with urgency.

"We will save them. Please, calm down," he reassured you, his hands gripping your shoulders tightly.

As everyone gathered in the meeting room under Seungcheol's direction, they quickly got to work, tracking through CCTV footage, emails, phone numbers, and transmissions to pinpoint Hansol and Jihoon's location.

"How about the ring?" you asked Jun, one of your team members.

"What ring?" Mingyu inquired.

You showed him your ring. "We programmed GPS into our team rings."

Jun shook his head. "It was left in a small alley in Itaewon. Seokmin and Myungho have already checked it out."

You sighed, your foot tapping anxiously on the floor.

"Itaewon?" Mingyu asked, frowning. He recalled Hansol mentioning he was heading to Sadang, Dongjak. "Where was he last before he was captured?" Mingyu asked Jun.

"Dongjak Bridge," Jun replied.

Mingyu rushed to his desk, rifling through papers. "If they were captured at Dongjak Bridge and the GPS was discarded in Itaewon, it means they made a U-turn," he deduced. "Their nearest area from Itaewon would be Gwangjang."

You bit your lip at Mingyu's deduction and immediately instructed Jun to track the CCTV footage around Myeongdong.

Seungcheol received a call from the district station and made eye contact with the two of you. "Alright, we'll be there," he said, hanging up.

"The car that captured them was seen around Gwangjang Market. Jun, find any abandoned buildings there. Mingyu, Y/N, you two drive to Myeongdong,"

*

Mingyu stood motionless in front of the ICU, his eyes fixed on the doors, while you were crying on the floor after the incident during the mission. A bomb had exploded in the hotel while your team was attempting to catch a serial killer.

You had been trapped in the perpetrator's trap, tied up in a room with a time bomb ticking down. Wonwoo had been trying to save you, but he knew he had to get the bomb away from other people.

"No, don't," you pleaded as Wonwoo prepared to pull the strap of the time bomb.

"You need to get everyone out of this building. I'll take the bomb to a higher floor," Wonwoo instructed, his voice steady despite the gravity of the situation.

You shook your head, desperation in your eyes. "Let's get down together." You grabbed his arm, but he stood firm.

"Save the people and do what I said. We have five minutes," he urged.

You looked at him, tears streaming down your face, before gradually stepping away. You watched as Wonwoo sprinted towards the emergency stairs, determination etched on his face. You then turned and began evacuating everyone, your heart heavy with fear and hope.

"I'm sorry," Mingyu mumbled as you both waited anxiously for news about Wonwoo's condition. Reports had indicated that he was badly injured and would require several surgeries.

You stood up, frustration and sorrow evident on your face. "You left us!"

Mingyu took a deep breath, his shoulders slumping with regret. "I'm very sorry."

In a surge of emotion, you grabbed his collar and shouted, "You saw me in trouble, but you ran off to catch that bastard! You lost sight of your priorities!"

Mingyu nodded, his face reflecting the realization that he had made a grave mistake by abandoning his injured teammates.

"Hey... Stop it," Seungcheol said, his voice heavy with exhaustion and stress. He stepped in and gently pulled you away from Mingyu.

Just then, the doctor emerged from the ICU, calling out Wonwoo's name. The news he delivered was something no one had been prepared for.

You fell to your knees, overwhelmed by the weight of the doctor’s words. Mingyu leaned against the nearest wall, his face hidden in his hands, unable to escape the guilt that consumed him.

Seungcheol, the team leader who had just lost a member, stood nearby, grappling with his own overwhelming sense of failure. He could not shake the feeling that he should have done more, that he had let his team down in their darkest hour. The weight of the day’s events hung heavily over everyone, casting a long and painful shadow on the team.

*

You and Mingyu immediately ran to the abandoned building where Hansol and Jihoon were being held captive. The rest of the team followed closely, their weapons at the ready. As you neared the building, Mingyu's phone rang. It was a call from Seungcheol. Mingyu signaled for everyone to stop moving when he heard Seungcheol's urgent voice, "Stop everyone. He wants to meet Y/N."

Mingyu's eyes locked onto yours as Seungcheol continued, "Yoo Yongchul wants to meet Y/N only."

Mingyu relayed the message, and you muttered a curse under your breath, "He hated it when I took down his men last week." The pieces clicked into place—this was why Hansol and Jihoon had been captured.

"Tell him that Y/N will be with me," Mingyu instructed Seungcheol before ending the call. He quickly briefed Myungho and Jisoo to lead the team while you and he headed upstairs.

"Be careful," Myungho whispered as he took his position, his eyes filled with concern.

With a nod, you and Mingyu moved cautiously up the stairs, the old wooden steps creaking under your weight. The air was thick with tension, every shadow a potential threat. Your mind raced, strategizing how to handle Yoo Yongchul and secure the safe release of your teammates.

Reaching the designated floor, you saw a dimly lit room at the end of the hallway. Mingyu placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. "We’ve got this. Just stay focused."

You nodded, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. As you entered the room, the dim light revealed Yoo Yongchul standing in the center, a sinister smile on his face. Hansol and Jihoon were tied up in the corner, their faces bruised and eyes filled with a mixture of relief and fear upon seeing you.

"Here we are. Did you bring my men?" Yoo Yongchul, the leader of Cubic, greeted you with a smile that stood in stark contrast to his grim-faced men, who held weapons aimed at Hansol and Jihoon.

"You let them go, and we'll talk," you replied, your calm tone surprising even Mingyu.

Mingyu's eyes widened as you pulled out your gun, unloaded it, and let the bullets clatter to the floor. You then tossed the gun aside, followed by your knife and handcuffs.

"What are you doing?" Mingyu whispered, alarmed.

Yoo Yongchul motioned for his men to release Hansol and Jihoon. Mingyu immediately moved to their side as they were pushed towards you.

"So, what do you want?" you asked.

"Let's pretend we never sold narcotics," Yoo Yongchul said smoothly. "Detective Kim knows what we've done, right? We just own a few nightclubs and do some debt collecting."

You smiled, a dangerous edge to your expression. "Nightclubs aren't enough, so you got your hands dirty with 'candy' from Russia? How does the money from selling narcotics feel?" Your taunt hit its mark, and Yoo Yongchul's smile vanished. He grabbed a gun from one of his men and aimed it at you.

Mingyu, Hansol, and Jihoon, who got their gun from Mingyu, quickly raised their guns, ready to protect you.

"Thank you for this invitation, Yoo Yongchul," you said, your voice steady.

Sensing your intent to capture him, Yoo Yongchul fired at you and immediately ran. Hansol and Jihoon sprinted after him, but Mingyu stopped when he noticed you were bleeding.

"You didn't wear a vest?" Mingyu exclaimed, shock evident in his voice. He quickly directed everyone to move through his radio, but you motioned for him to join the others in pursuing Yoo Yongchul.

"No, I'm not leaving you here bleeding," he insisted, gently lifting you into his arms and heading downstairs.

"I'm heavy," you whispered weakly, your hand pressed against the wound on your stomach to stem the bleeding.

"Shut up, it's not like I’ve never lifted you before," Mingyu retorted, his tone a mix of frustration and concern.

You winced in pain, the reality of being shot for the first time hitting you hard. Your recklessness in not wearing a bulletproof vest during the mission now seemed like a grave mistake.

"Please, stay awake," Mingyu urged as he descended the stairs, his voice trembling slightly. He could feel your strength waning with each passing moment.

As he carried you, Mingyu's mind raced with thoughts of your shared history and the countless times you had saved each other. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing you now. "Just a bit further," he whispered, more to himself than to you, as he pushed through the pain and fear gripping his heart.

With the help of the district station, Yoo Yongchul and his men were successfully captured. Seungcheol saw Mingyu holding you and immediately ran to assist. Quickly getting you to the paramedics, Mingyu watched anxiously as they tended to your wound.

"She didn't wear a vest?" Jihoon, who was also in the same ambulance on the way to the hospital, was shocked to find out his leader was injured.

Hansol, sitting beside Jihoon, looked on in concern as you slowly closed your eyes. "Ma'am, please stay awake. We're on our way to the hospital," the paramedic urged.

Mingyu's hand immediately found yours and squeezed it tightly. "Hey... stay awake... please," he begged, his voice filled with desperation.

"It's hurting," you whispered, your voice barely audible. Mingyu nodded, his face a mask of concern and guilt.

"Mingyu, thank you," you whispered, your voice growing weaker. "Thank you..."

Mingyu shook his head, hating the way you kept thanking him in this dire situation. "Stop it!" he said, his voice breaking.

"I'm so tired," you mumbled, your eyes fluttering. "I miss Wonwoo."

"Sunbae!" Jihoon exclaimed, his voice filled with disapproval and concern, speaking up on behalf of a speechless Mingyu.

Mingyu's heart clenched at your words, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. "Stay with me," he pleaded, his voice cracking. "We can't lose you too."

The ambulance sped through the city streets, sirens blaring. The paramedics worked tirelessly to stabilize you, their faces grim with determination. As the hospital came into view, Mingyu's grip on your hand tightened, a silent promise that he would never let you down again.

The ambulance doors flew open, and the medical team rushed you inside. Mingyu followed closely, his eyes never leaving you. "She's going to be okay," he told himself, the words a mantra he desperately needed to believe. "She has to be."

*

Hansol, Jihoon, Seungkwan, and Myungho sat waiting anxiously in front of the surgery room. Their eyes kept darting to Mingyu, who stood steadfastly by the door, not moving an inch since you were taken in an hour ago.

"I don't know what exactly happened, but I watched him in the ambulance," Hansol said, looking over at Jihoon. "He looked so worried. Like he was afraid something terrible would happen."

"I know... everyone can see he still loves her," Seungkwan sighed.

Hansol frowned. "What do you mean? They were together?"

Jihoon glanced at him. "You didn't know?"

"He's new," Seungkwan informed Jihoon.

"They were together until three years ago, before they were promoted to team leaders. It was Jihoon hyung, Myungho hyung, Mingyu sunbae, y/n sunbae, and I was the maknae. Seungcheol sunbae was the team leader," Seungkwan explained.

"We lost a member during a mission. It was their best friend," Jihoon added somberly. "I don't know all the details, but the rumors about their breakup started after that. However, I always knew that Mingyu sunbae never truly left Y/n sunbae's side."

The group fell silent, the weight of the past and present hanging heavily in the air. The surgical room doors remained closed, and every passing minute felt like an eternity. Mingyu's unwavering presence by the door was a testament to his feelings, a silent promise that he wouldn't lose you, no matter what it took.

"What is wrong with you, actually?" Those were the first words out of your mouth after days of not speaking to him. It was almost midnight when he drove you home after Wonwoo's funeral. Unable to bear the thought of leaving you alone, he stayed.

"What is wrong with you?" you asked again, this time in a whisper.

He knew exactly what you were referring to, but the guilt weighed heavily on him. He couldn't stop hating himself every time he remembered that he was the cause of losing Wonwoo and almost losing you as well.

"You've always been the one to prioritize other. How could you go when you saw me tied up in that room?" you continued, your voice cracking with emotion.

Mingyu held his head down, unable to meet your eyes. Deep down, he knew the reason behind his actions, and it made him hate himself even more. He remembered the frantic moments of trying to find, where the culprit had taken you, with Wonwoo while the rest of the team focused on evacuating the area.

"Did something happen to you?" Your question pierced through his thoughts, bringing tears to his eyes. You were too good for him, he thought. How could an angel like you exist for someone as flawed as him? He was betraying you, for God's sake!

"There are only two spots, Detective Kim," he remembered Chief Hong's insinuation. It was promotion time. Mingyu, Wonwoo, and you had dedicated your lives fully to the work. However, there were only two promotion spots available, and they were likely for him and Wonwoo.

Competently, Wonwoo and he were better detectives. But everyone knew you were fit for a leadership spot. Honestly, none of you didn't deserve the place.

"Detective Jeon definitely has a spot. Honestly, I have high hopes for you, Detective Kim. However, the superintendents have been discussing Detective Ji's performance in leading several cases," Chief Hong had said.

Mingyu’s mind replayed the conversation. The promotion meant everything to him. It wasn’t just about recognition; it was about proving his worth, his dedication. But that ambition had clouded his judgment, leading to choices that he now regretted deeply.

You sighed at his silence, frustration boiling over. "You left me in danger and now you're keeping things from me," you said, your voice trembling with hurt. "I guess seven years wasn't enough for you? For us?"

Mingyu shook his head. "That's not what I meant."

"Then tell me! We lost Wonwoo, for god's sake! How could you stay silent like this, Kim Mingyu?"

Mingyu was startled; it was the first time he'd heard you raise your voice at him. He looked at you, eyes widened in shock. Why was it always about Wonwoo? When was it going to be about him? When would he be prioritized?

"You shouldn't bring up Wonwoo. I'm having a hard time too," Mingyu said, his voice cracking. He stood from the couch, grabbing his black suit from the funeral.

"It's always about him, right?" Mingyu mumbled, his words heavy with bitterness and pain, before he walked out, leaving you alone in the silence of the night.

The echo of his departure hung in the air, leaving you with a hollow ache that felt impossible to fill. The chasm between you and Mingyu seemed wider than ever, and the loss of Wonwoo weighed down on both of you like an unspoken curse.

*

Mingyu stood somberly at the funeral with his team, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. In this industry, people came and went, and the harsh reality of that truth weighed heavily on his heart. He tapped one of your member, Jisoo's shoulder, silently urging him to stay strong amidst the recent turmoil.

After the funeral concluded, Mingyu found himself heading to your apartment. The familiar path brought a wave of nostalgia. He remembered all the times he had crashed at your place, finding solace and comfort within its walls. Your apartment had always felt more like home to him than his own, mainly because it had you in it.

As he stood outside your door, memories of laughter, shared meals, and late-night conversations flooded his mind. The warmth of your presence, the way you made everything better just by being there—it all came rushing back. With a deep breath, Mingyu stepped inside, hoping to find some semblance of the connection you once shared, even amidst the pain and unresolved issues that now lingered between you.

"Wake up," Mingyu said softly, shaking your shoulder. "I brought you lunch. It's past time for your medicine."

You groaned and stretched like a cat, wincing as the still-healing wound reminded you of its presence. "How's Jisoo?" you asked, feeling guilty for not being able to attend his father's funeral, Regional Chief Hong.

Mingyu prepared the food on your nightstand and handed it to you. "Even though we knew he hated his father, he's still his father. Jisoo's holding up as best as he can."

You sighed, taking the plate from him. "I wish I could've been there for him."

Mingyu sat beside you, watching you carefully. "He understands. We all do. Focus on getting better. That's what matters right now."

You nodded, grateful for his understanding. "Thank you, Mingyu. For everything."

He smiled, gently squeezing your hand. "Always."

You shook your head. "I really mean it. Thank you for always being there," you said sincerely.

Mingyu looked at you, stunned by your words. "You knew?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

You nodded slowly. "Everyone knows."

Mingyu's face flushed slightly. "I know you weren't that stupid for stepping over regulations, helping with my cases," you mentioned as you took your first spoonful of food.

You frowned slightly. "It doesn't have green onion. You remembered?" you asked, surprised.

Mingyu rolled his eyes. "Of course I remembered."

You chuckled and playfully slapped his arm. "Stop acting like that to women!"

Mingyu raised his hand to pat your head, smiling softly. "Only for you."

You bit your lip, trying to stop yourself from saying something. However, Mingyu noticed it and said, "Just say it."

You sighed and set the food on the nightstand before turning to face him. "You know what happened to Wonwoo is not your fault, right?"

Mingyu shifted uncomfortably on your bed, his eyes wandering. There was a pregnant pause before he finally spoke. "I—I don't know. I—I just can't stop thinking and blaming myself."

You reached out and took his hand, feeling the tension in his grip. "Mingyu, none of us could have predicted what happened. Wonwoo made his choice to save everyone. He was a hero, and you did everything you could."

Mingyu's eyes met yours, filled with anguish. "But I should have been there. I should have done more."

"You were there, and you did everything you could," you insisted, squeezing his hand. "We all did. This job, it comes with risks, and we all knew that. Blaming yourself won't bring him back."

Mingyu sighed deeply, the weight of his guilt still pressing down on him. "I just wish things had been different."

"We all do," you whispered. "But we have to keep moving forward. For Wonwoo, for each other, and for the team."

Mingyu nodded slowly, his eyes still clouded with grief. "I know. It's just hard."

"It is," you agreed. "But we're in this together. We'll get through it, one step at a time."

He looked at you, his expression softening. "Thank you. For everything."

"Always," you replied, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. "Now, let's finish this food before it gets cold."

Mingyu managed a small smile, the first hint of light breaking through the darkness. "Okay. No green onions, just for you."

You chuckled, the sound a small but significant step toward healing. "Just for me."

*

It was nearly 3 a.m. when you and Mingyu decided to step out of the office together after a long night shift. You had just finished your leave and had fully recovered, while Mingyu had been dealing with everything related to Cubic over the past three months. Despite the challenges, things were looking up—especially now that he had you to come home to.

Everyone was thrilled when Mingyu finally revealed that you two were back together. Seungcheol, ever the perceptive leader, was the first to know. His response was typically Seungcheol: "I sensed that would happen." Meanwhile, the rest of the team, who had been watching Mingyu wander around like a lost soul since your separation, were ecstatic. They couldn't stop showering him with playful, embarrassing comments.

"My wish for today is that I won't see you running, on your first day back at work, catching some bastard," Mingyu said, a hint of a smile on his face as he placed an order for the two of you.

You both decided to stop at an old restaurant nearby your place. It was open 24 hours and served home-cooked meals—a usual go-to spot for you, Mingyu, and Wonwoo after night shifts. The owner, recognizing you both, was surprised to see you weren't alone this time.

"I'm so sorry for your friend," she said gently. "Here's a house service."

She handed you a plate of mandu, Wonwoo's favorite appetizer. Mingyu and you smiled gratefully at her before savoring the familiar taste.

"Shit, I didn't expect this atmosphere," Mingyu mumbled, hiding his face in his hands, still chewing on the mandu.

You reached out and touched his arm gently. "I know. It's... different without him."

Mingyu nodded, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "This place... it was our spot."

You sighed, memories flooding back. "Yeah, it was. But I'm glad we came. It feels like he's still here with us, in a way."

Mingyu took a deep breath, lowering his hands to look at you. "I'm really glad you're back. I don't think I could have done this without you."

You smiled softly. "I'm glad to be back too. And we're going to get through this, together."

As the two of you sat there, sharing a meal and memories, the weight of the past few months began to lift. It wasn't easy, but you both knew that as long as you had each other, you could face anything the future held.

Once you two finished, Mingyu, who was facing the window, saw someone running while another followed. He cursed under his breath and lowered his head. You noticed his reaction and tried to look back.

"Promise me you won't get involved," he said, reminding you that your shift was over.

But then you saw Jihoon and Jisoo running in pursuit. You immediately stood up. "I have to go," you said, darting outside to follow your team members.

Mingyu sighed, pulling out his card to pay for the meal. The owner, noticing your sudden absence, approached with a curious look.

"Where's she? Did she leave already?" the owner asked.

Mingyu smiled wearily. "She's got a criminal to chase," he replied playfully before stepping out, scanning the area to find your whereabouts.

As you ran to catch up with Jihoon and Jisoo, the familiar adrenaline surged through your veins. Mingyu followed close behind, unable to ignore the pull of duty despite his earlier promise.

The chase was intense, but with Jihoon and Jisoo leading the way, you quickly caught up to the suspect. Jihoon tackled him to the ground while Jisoo expertly cuffed him. You arrived just in time to help them secure the scene.

"Nice work, team," you said, breathing heavily. Jihoon and Jisoo both gave you grateful nods, their expressions a mix of surprise and relief.

Just then, Mingyu arrived, slightly out of breath. "Nice job, everyone," he said, his tone a bit sharper than usual. Jihoon and Jisoo looked at him, then at you, confused.

"Wait, did Mingyu sunbae just follow you here?" Jihoon asked, raising an eyebrow.

You glanced at Mingyu, who looked slightly offended. "Yeah, we came together," you admitted.

Jisoo's eyes widened. "Together? Like, together-together?"

You nodded, a small smile forming. "Yeah, we're back together."

Jihoon and Jisoo exchanged surprised looks. "And you didn't think to tell us?" Jihoon teased, though there was genuine curiosity in his tone.

Mingyu crossed his arms, clearly still a bit annoyed. "Yeah, why didn't you tell them?" he asked you pointedly.

You sighed, rubbing the back of your neck. "I was going to, but there was never a good time. And then, well, this happened."

Jisoo grinned. "Well, it's about time! We've been wondering when you two would finally get back together."

Jihoon chuckled. "Yeah, the whole team has been rooting for you guys."

Mingyu's annoyance softened, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I guess we could've been more open about it," he admitted.

"Definitely," you agreed, reaching out to squeeze his hand. "From now on, no more secrets."

As the night continued, the team settled back into their routine, the camaraderie and shared purpose stronger than ever. You and Mingyu were back together, and despite the challenges ahead, you knew you could face them as long as you had each other.

[redvexillum]

Laughter and the warm, heady aroma of rich Cajun spices twirled in the air, wrapping around your senses like a comforting blanket on a crisp Louisiana evening. The slight dip in temperature heralded the arrival of autumn, a season that changed the vibrant landscape into a tapestry of oranges and red. Through the dusty window of Alastor’s cottage, a stark red light from the setting sun streamed in, illuminating the man himself: tall and lanky, with slightly curled brown hair that danced around his ears, and warm brown eyes that sparkled with mischief.  

“My love,” he said, stepping closer, his voice thick as honey and just as sweet. “I must say, I am absolutely ecstatic that you finally decided to join me this time.” 

His proximity stirred a mix of emotion within you, and you wrinkled your nose as a heavy metallic tang pierced the air – a scent so out of place amidst the inviting spices and laughter.  

With a playful smile mirroring his, you leaned in, feigning innocence as you whispered, “You know, it’s a bit challenging to ignore that…unusual bouquet you’ve got going on. What’s that, a new cologne?” 

Alastor chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that never failed to send a shiver down your spine. “Ah, that would be my secret ingredient,” he teased, the corners of his mouth curling into a sly grin. “I’ve always had a penchant for the hunting arts, you see. A little blood adds flavour, don’t you think?” 

You pushed aside the insidious whisper in your mind that noted how this man always seemed to carry an undercurrent of something dark and unsettling beneath his expensive cologne. You glanced over the pile of vibrant, red, raw meat on the counter – a testament to his hunting prowess.  

The meat gleamed under the soft glow of the cottage’s flickering light, an odd sight during these trying times of the Great Depression. But then again, Alastor was a popular radio host, and with fame came a certain indulgence in life’s luxuries.  

“Luxuries indeed,” you murmured under your breath.  

Suddenly, warm hands framed your face, pulling your gaze into the depths of Alastor’s whisky-brown eyes. His devilish, charming smile ignited a warmth in your heart that spread like a wildfire. At that moment, you were captivated by a man you knew you were forbidden to love.  

He was a man whose world was miles apart from your own.  

Yet… 

Yet, here you were, hidden among the thick, twisting trees of the bayou, far from prying eyes. Here, perhaps, the love that others labelled as deranged might find a place to breathe freely.  

Looking at him, a weight of guilt squeezed your heart. "I’m sorry I kept cancelling at the last minute, Alastor, I –" you began, your voice trembling with the heavy, suffocating shroud of unspoken truths. But before you could finish, his gentle finger pressed against your lips, absolving of your crime of almost abandoning him.  

“It’s quite alright, my dear,” he replied, his voice smooth like dark chocolate, rich, thick, and silky.  

Your words of further apologies were lodged inside your throat. No matter what you said to him next, it wouldn’t change the truth of your current situation.  

You and him had different social standings, but moreover, there was the looming shadow of your engagement to another man, the one your parents had chosen for you. The one who was, by all appearances, a good match, a respectable future governor.  

“Let’s just enjoy this moment, just the two of us, darling,” he said, his voice resonating like the warmest notes of a jazz melody. He was truly born to be a radio host, whose words could make even the most stoic hearts flutter – if only they could overlook the darker undertone of his physical attributes.  

Reaching up, you clasped your hand around his, pressing your cheek against the warmth of his inviting palm. It felt like a small rebelling against the world, against your parents, a taste of freedom, a taste of love you longed for – hungeredfor.  

“Okay,” you murmured, inhaling deeply, the earthy scent of the bayou mingling with the intoxicating scent of the sharpness of his cologne. You exhaled slowly, releasing the anxiety and guilt that once clung heavily to your heart.  

Just for this moment, you wished to forget about propriety and the expectations of being the perfect wife-to-be. Just for this moment, you wanted nothing more than to be with Alastor, the man who adored you with all his heart, just as you adored him in return.  

“Now,” he said, slipping his hand away from your face and spinning back to the pile of bleeding, red meat. “I’ll handle this, and if you could be so kind as to peel the potatoes, my darling!” His voice was chipper and jovial, a perfect contrast to the weighty atmosphere that usually surrounded you. You watched in admiration as he wielded the knife with a master that only came from years of experience – his fingers moved with precision and confidence.  

Humming in agreement, you reluctantly turned your attention to the bowl of potatoes. Picking one up, you grasped a small knife, its blade glinting under the softer light. You began to peel the rough skin away while suppressing a giggle as you recalled telling Alastor that you’d never been taught how to cook. Alastor had looked at you as if you grew a second head back then.  

But, you had never told Alastor why you weren’t taught how to cook like other proper homemakers. After all, your sole purpose was to be given away like a prized horse to an affluent man. Your only duties were to remain beautiful in his arms and bear his children.  

You quickly pushed away the bitter feelings that crept up your throat and stung your nose. Instead, you focused on the memory of Alastor being shocked at your admission. “We simply cannot have that! I shall schedule us a date where I can track you my favourite recipe – my mother’s jambalaya!” He had said with his eyes twinkling with glee.  

The soft humming of a tune brought you back to the present moment, the sweet melody from Alastor floated through the air. You lost yourself in the rhythmic task of peeling the potatoes, focused on the repetitive motion of the knife gliding through the skin.  

But then, in a moment of distraction, your clumsy fingers slipped. The sharp edge of the knife sliced through your delicate skin with a sudden sting. “Ah!” You yelped, instinctively pulling your hand away as searing pain bloomed from the cut.  

Crimson rivulets flowed quickly down your fingers, staining the pristine white flesh of the potato. Food was a scarce luxury in these times, and you hated the thought of wasting it so carelessly. "I’m so-" you began, but the words faltered as you felt a wave of dizziness washed over you. Seeing blood had always made you feel a bit queasy.  

Alastor turned sharply, concern etching itself into his features. “What happened?” He asked, rushing to your side, the joviality of moments before replaced by urgency.  

“It’s nothing,” you assured him, though the pain pushed with every heartbeat. “Just a little cut.” 

He took your hand gently in his, his warmth enveloping you like a balm against the pain. “Let me see,” he said softly, his voice dropping to a soothing tone, lulling you into a state of momentarily calm.  

“Oh, my!” Alastor’s voice purred, his grin wide, yet his brow furrowed in playful concern. “My little clumsy girl, whatever will I do with you?” He sighed in an exaggerated tone, a mix of teasing and amusement lacing his words.  

You rolled your eyes, exasperated but endeared by his over-the-top theatrics. "Yes, yes, Alastor. I’m quite clumsy. As I’ve told you many times, I’m not exactly well-versed in the art of cooking–" 

Your sentence was cut short by a sharp intake of breath as his hand closed around your wrist, his grip firm but tender. He pulled your injured finger closer to his face. The suddenness of the touch sent a spark of warmth coursing through you, igniting a flush that spread across your skin.  

His eyes darkened, pupils dilated, as he inspected the cut with an intensity that made your pulse quicken. “Quite a deep cut, indeed,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, as though the sight of your blood stirred something primal within him. His adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, and the heat of the moment hung thickly in the air between you.   

“Alastor?” You whispered, your voice barely audible, the weight of his attention making it difficult to speak. He had never touched you like this before; usually, it was your hand that sought him, your fingertips that brushed his arm with hesitant affection. This shift in dynamic left you breathless.  

With a slow, deliberate exhale, he pressed your injured finger against his lips. The warmth of his mouth ignited a dizzying mix of sensations. The pain from the cut flared briefly, but was soon overshadowed by the soft pressure of his lips, the tender heat of his breath against your skin. His lips moved, painting themselves crimson with your blood, and your heart raced, overwhelmed by the strange intimacy of it.  

His eyes never left yours as he hummed softly, the vibration of his voice sending a shiver through you. His tongue, warm and wet, traced the length of your finger, slow and deliberate, as though savouring every inch of your skin. The soft sounds of his mouth moving over your finger filled the small kitchen, a rhythm that seemed to match the rapid pounding of your heart.  

You gasped when he gently took your finger into his mouth, his tongue curling wickedly around it with a slow, languid grace. The mixture of pain and pleasure was dizzying, and you found yourself unable to tear your gaze away from the sigh of him – devouring your finger, alternating between soft, gentle sucks and firmer, more insistent strokes. The sensation was maddening, leaving you teetering between the sharp edge of discomfort and the intoxicating allure of his touch.  

Every flick of his tongue, every caress of his lips, seemed designed to unravel you, to make you surrender to the moment. The air between you crackled with unspoken desire, the heat of it enveloping you both, drawing you into a world where status, propriety, expectations all dissolved into nothingness.  

Nothing mattered but the press of his lips, the warmth of his breath, and the undeniable pull that connected you.  

Heat rushed to your cheeks, an overwhelming warmth that left your skin tingling as you watched the once-proper man before you indulged in something so…raw. His moans, barely audible, danced with the soft, wet sounds of his mouth working over your finger. His thick dark lashes brushed against his tanned skin, his expression serene, almost lost in the act. 

“Alastor…” Your voice cracked, surprise and something else – something unfamiliar – swirling low in your stomach, tightening with each passing second. You shouldn’t be feeling this. The intimacy of it was unexpected, almost forbidden, and yet…you couldn’t pull away.  

His eyes snapped open upon hearing your voice, piercing through the haze that had settled over your thoughts. Your finger was still between his lips, slick with warmth. His eyes arrested you as he let your finger slowly slide out of him, agonizingly slow, the wet trail glistening under the flickering amber lights in the kitchen. His hand lingered on your wrist, gentle but firm, holding you there as his gaze traced every detail of your face.  

The familiar grin curled at the corners of his mouth, the same charming showman’s smile you had fallen for, back when you were just another listener entranced by his voice on the radio. But here, now, something was different – darker, more…animalistic. A sense of danger, maybe, or hunger.  

You swallowed, your thoughts in disarray, but you forced yourself to speak, breaking the tension. “I thought we were supposed to be cooking, but…” you paused, feeling the heavy weight of his stare, the heat of his presence. “It looks like you’re ready to devour me instead,” you chuckled, the sound weak, betraying the nervous energy thrumming through you. 

Alastor remained silent, his grin frozen in place as his eyes darkened to near black, absorbing every flicker of light in the room. There was something unsettling about his stillness, the way his expression didn’t quite match the energy that pulsed between you.  

And then, in a voice that barely rose above a whisper – smooth, low, and stripped of the transatlantic accent you were used to – he answered.  

“Perhaps I will.”   

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[thewulf]

I Choose You || Legolas

Summary: Request - Hii hope you're having a good day, is it okay if I request a Legolas x reader where reader is Gandalf's granddaughter and joined the fellowship on their quest to destroy the ring? They both slowly fell in love with each other along the way and when the incident in Moria happened where Gandalf dies, Legolas comforts her.

A/N: Thank you for the amazing request! Had a blast writing this as usual :) It's a lil long, so enjoy!

Pairing: Legolas x Female Reader

Word Count: 5.5k +

TW: Talks of war/death, war, death, orcs, general LOTR triggers

You stand silently amidst the gathered council fading into the background as best you could. The murmur of many voices echoing softly through the vaulted halls of Rivendell. The air is crisp, filled with the mingling scents of ancient scrolls and the distant freshness of autumnal leaves. Elves, men, dwarves, and even a few hobbits have come to discuss the fate of Middle-earth, their faces marked by concern and resolve.

Your grandfather, Gandalf the Grey, stands at the center of it all. His presence both commanding and comforting. You’ve always admired his wisdom and strength and today, more than ever, you feel the weight of your lineage. You are his granddaughter, gifted with a touch of his magical prowess and a deep love for the mysteries of this world.

As the debate swirls around you, Elrond, the lord of Rivendell calls for silence. His gaze settles on the small golden ring laid upon the pedestal. It’s simple form belying its terrible power. The task is clear though the path is fraught with peril: the ring must be destroyed in the fires of Mount Doom. "We must form a fellowship," Elrond declares. His voice resonant and clear. "Those who will take this burden upon themselves and walk into the shadow to see this evil undone."

A hush falls over the council. Eyes turn, some in fear, others in anticipation, seeking those who might step forward. This is the moment you’ve prepared for, not just since you arrived in Rivendell but throughout your life under Gandalf’s tutelage. With a breath that steadies your resolve you step forward. The rustle of your cloak is like a whisper against the stone floor and several members of the council turn in surprise as you move into the circle of light cast by the morning sun through the high windows.

"I will go," you say, your voice firm and clear. "For the love of my grandfather and for the safety of middle earth. I will see this quest through to its end."

Murmurs of approval ripple through the room and Gandalf meets your eyes across the circle. There’s pride in his gaze and a touch of sorrow, knowing well the dangers that lie ahead. But in this moment you see also the unspoken bond between the two of you. An acknowledgment of the shared commitment to what is right, no matter the cost.

Legolas, a prince of the Woodland Realm, nods to you with respect clear in his bright eyes. Beside him, a stout figure grumbles under his breath, yet Gimli the Dwarf gives a curt nod of assent, recognizing your courage. Beside them a young hobbit named Frodo, who is to be the Ringbearer, looks on with wide, earnest eyes. It is for him, and for all who call this land home, that you pledge your strength. As the council disperses to prepare for the journey you stand beside Gandalf feeling the ancient power of Rivendell around you and the even older strength that lies within your own heart. This is just the beginning you know but you are ready. For the Fellowship, for middle earth, for Gandalf.

You will face whatever comes, together.

As the Fellowship journeys south from Rivendell the path grows increasingly treacherous, winding through craggy mountain passes and shadowed forests. The air is crisp and the first frost of winter sparkles on the leaves. Your companions walk close together. Each step a testament to the weight of the task ahead.

Aragorn leads with a steady hand, his ranger skills essential as the terrain becomes more challenging. Beside him, Boromir of Gondor often lends his strength. His booming voice echoing off the stone trying to keep spirits high among the group, especially the hobbits—Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin—who find amusement in the smallest wonders along the way. Like the frost patterns on the leaves or a particularly stubborn squirrel.

Legolas glides effortlessly beside you. His elven grace a stark contrast to Gimli who stumps along with a determined scowl, his axe ever at the ready. Despite the solemnity of your mission the elf and the dwarf have already begun what seems to be an endless competition, each trying to outdo the other in tracking skills, strength, and the telling of tall tales.

One balmy afternoon as the path narrows along the edges of a steep ravine the rivalry comes to a head between the two of them. Gimli insists he can clear a particularly large fallen tree with a single vault much to Legolas’s skepticism.

“Watch and learn, Master Elf,” Gimli grunts as he began to back up for a running start. Legolas watches with an arched eyebrow, clearly very amused by the red headed dwarf travelling beside him.

Just as Gimli begins to charge forward you step in placing a calming hand on his shoulder. “Perhaps, Gimli, it would be wiser to assist each other over the obstacle rather than compete with others. After all, the road ahead promises ample challenge for both of your strengths.” You smile warmly down at the ambitious dwarf set out to prove himself.

Gimli stops mid-stride puffing out his chest a bit as he turns to you, then to Legolas. “Hmm, perhaps you are right, lass. What say you, Legolas? Shall we make this journey a test of our cooperation rather than our competition?”

Legolas’s lips curve into a smile. His eyes sparkling with a newfound respect. “I believe our companion speaks wisely. Let us proceed together.” He offers his hand to Gimli who looks at it for a moment before shaking it heartily.

As the journey continues you find yourself often mediating and bringing lightness to tense moments. One evening as the Fellowship gathered around the campfire you recount a humorous anecdote from your days studying under your grandfather. Making sure to mimic Gandalf’s stern voice and dramatic gestures. The group erupts into laughter, the sound carrying through the trees and lifting the spirits of all including the hobbits who clap delightedly and ask for more stories.

Aragorn, sitting across from you nods appreciatively. His eyes meeting yours with a silent thank-you for the lightness you bring. Boromir chuckles, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes clearly more at ease. “You have the gift of your grandfather. Not only in magic but in spirit.” Aragorn comments, his voice warm in the chill air.

Legolas who was sitting beside you leans closer and speaks softly, “Your wisdom brings much-needed peace. And your humor is a light in dark times. It is a rare gift.”

You meet his gaze. The firelight cast dancing shadows across his features. All elves were beautiful but there was something about the Price of Mirkwood that drew you in. “We all carry our gifts, Legolas. Yours is your unerring optimism and sharp eye. Gimli’s his steadfastness and heart. Boromir’s his valor. Aragorn’s his leadership. And the hobbits’ their enduring cheer. Together we are stronger than each individual.”

As the nights grow longer and the path more daunting the bonds within the Fellowship deepen, fortified by shared challenges and your quiet efforts to understand, and support each other. In the quiet moments Legolas teaches you Elvish songs of old. And Gimli shares tales of the great Dwarven halls, their voices blending into the night creating a tapestry of friendship and hope.

As the Fellowship delves into the ancient depths of Moria the air grows thick with the mustiness of ages and the weight of stone. The walls echo with the memory of Dwarven voices, now silent. The path is lit only by the faint glow of Gandalf’s staff. Gimli moves with a mix of reverence and sorrow. His eyes reflecting a deep familial connection to the lost realm of his kin. The narrow passages twist and turn leading you deeper into the mountain’s heart. The quiet is oppressive, only broken by the occasional drip of water or the scuffle of a boot on stone. Tension mounts with each step and even the normally unflappable Legolas seems taut, his eyes scanning the shadows.

All too suddenly, the dark stillness erupts into chaos. A low growl escalates into a deafening roar as the Balrog, a creature of fire and shadow, reveals itself. The ground trembles beneath its weight and the air sears with heat. Gandalf steps forward his face set with grim determination. “Lead them on, Aragorn,” he commands. “The bridge is near. Do as I say! Swords are no more use here!” Your grandfather cries as he gives you a sharp look. Obey. You must listen to him now.

The Fellowship rushes forward driven by fear and the urgent need to escape, but you hesitate, your heart torn as Gandalf faces the monster alone. As the others cross the bridge of Khazad-dûm you watch, helpless, as Gandalf confronts the Balrog. His staff was raised, a brilliant light flaring to meet the darkness.

“You cannot pass,” Gandalf declares. His voice echoing powerfully. It sends a shutter down even your spine.

The Balrog advances and with a defiant cry Gandalf strikes the bridge with his staff. It crumbles sending the creature plummeting into the abyss. But the Balrog’s fiery whip lashes out, catching Gandalf’s leg, pulling him towards the edge. With a calm but utterly sad glance back at you, he murmurs, “Fly, you fools,” before falling into the darkness below.

Shock paralyzes you momentarily, tears blurring your vision. The others tug at you, pulling you away from the crumbling edge. As you flee Moria the loss of your beloved grandfather hits you. A deep ache that seems to echo through the empty halls. Outside, under the grey, mourning sky, the Fellowship collapses in a clearing. Each member grappling with grief. Your knees give out and you sink to the ground, overwhelmed by sorrow. Legolas is at your side in an instant, his presence a silent solace. He does not speak, but his hand finds yours, squeezing gently. A clear reminder that you are not alone.

Gimli joins you. His own eyes rimmed red. “He was the greatest of us all,” he says gruffly with his voice thick with emotion. “I am honored to have walked beside him and I vow to you, we will see this quest through. For him and for all our sakes.”

The words are a balm to your spirit even as you could not reply. Words were too hard for you now. You lean into Legolas, his strength supporting you. You mourn the loss of the only thing you knew. Legolas and Gimli by your side reminding you that even in the depths of loss, the bonds of friendship and love hold firm.

You manage to whisper a weak "Thank you," before the sorrow overwhelms you once more. Tears flood your cheeks, each one a memory, a moment shared with Gandalf that you'll never experience again. Overcome, you turn into Legolas's side, seeking the comfort that only close, physical presence can provide.  Though he was not typically fond of physical touch he does not hesitate to comfort you. He wraps his arms around you, his embrace firm and unwavering. In this moment your need transcends his usual reservations, and he holds you close. A silent sentinel in your hour of vulnerability.

His hands are steady on your back, one arm around your shoulders, the other at your waist, grounding you as your grief spills forth unchecked. Legolas's heart aches for your loss and though he may not express his emotions openly his actions speak a clear language of care and adoration. As you cry into his side, Legolas rests his chin atop your head. His gaze was fixed on the distant horizon where the last light of day gives way to twilight. He feels the weight of your sorrow as if it were his own, yet he knows he must stand strong for you.

Legolas knows that the road ahead will be fraught with further trials but for now, he offers you all that he can—protection, comfort, and an unspoken promise that no matter what lies ahead, you will not face it alone. In the stillness that wraps around you and Legolas there's a respectful pause from the rest of the Fellowship. They were giving you a moment to collect yourself under the cloak of Legolas's support. Aragorn, ever attentive to the needs of his comrades, notices the depth of your grief and the comfort Legolas provides. He understands the significance of this moment, the necessity of mourning and the importance of support in such times.

Standing a short distance away Aragorn speaks quietly with the hobbits making sure everyone is ready to continue but delaying their departure ever so slightly for your sake. His leadership is subtle. His decisions shaped by a deep understanding of his people's emotional and physical stamina.

After a brief moment, Aragorn looks over, his eyes meeting Legolas’s over your bowed head. There’s a silent communication between them. A leader’s acknowledgement and a friend’s gratitude for the support given to one of their own. Aragorn’s face softens, his respect for whatever was forming between you two clear in his gentle nod.

With a deep breath, signaling both readiness and respect, Aragorn approaches. His voice is soft yet carries a necessary urgency as he speaks. His words meant to soothe but also to remind of the path ahead. “We must move on for night will not wait for us and neither will our enemies,” he spoke with his tone conveying both compassion and resolve. “Take the time you need but remember we must not linger long.”

Legolas gently helps you stand straighter his arms still offering support. As you wipe away the last of your tears, strengthened by the comfort you’ve received, you nod in understanding. Legolas gives you a reassuring look. His eyes promising continued support and then he gently releases you. He was ready to stand by your side as you all prepare to resume the journey. With a final glance at Gandalf’s last stand you and the Fellowship gather your gear and set off once more into the fading light. The memory of Gandalf a guiding light that pushes you forward through the darkness.

Emerging into the sunlight of the world again does little to lift the sorrow of the Fellowship which soon deepens with Boromir’s tragic fall at Amon Hen. His valiant defense of Merry and Pippin against the Uruk-hai, though ultimately costing him his life, marked him forever a hero in the annals of your journey. The loss of such a stalwart companion leaves a void in your heart and within the group, casting a pall over your spirits.

Driven by a fierce determination to honor Boromir’s sacrifice, you, Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli give chase across the plains of Rohan to rescue Merry and Pippin from their captors. The pursuit is grueling. Pushing each of you to your very limits. The landscape of Rohan is vast and relentless, but the tracks are clear, guiding you unerringly toward the thick fringes of Fangorn Forest. The hope of rescuing the hobbits fuels your weary bodies onward even as your hearts ache with the memory of Gandalf's fall and Boromir’s courageous end.

As you follow the trail into the shadowy depths of Fangorn a sense of ancient watchfulness grows. The forest feels alive, old beyond reckoning, and filled with secrets. It is here among the whispering trees that the unexpected happens. A figure steps out from the shadows garbed in white, his presence bright against the dark underbrush. The shock of seeing what you believe might be Saruman stops you in your tracks. But as the figure approaches the energy changes—the air around him shimmers with a familiar warmth and power. Not the cold malice of Saruman.

"Gandalf?" Legolas breathes. A note of awe mingling with disbelief.

You squint, hardly daring to believe it to be true. As he draws closer, clarity dawns, and recognition floods your senses. Overcome with emotion you shout, "Grandfather!" and sprint toward him. Your heart swelling with joy and relief.

Gandalf opens his arms wide, and you crash into his embrace. The impact strong yet comforting. "My dear child," he murmurs. His voice warm and welcoming as he wraps his arms around you. His cloak envelops you with a familiar scent of pipe-weed and the road clinging to the fabric grounding you in the reality of his return.

"Yes, it is I," Gandalf responds gently, now looking down at you with sparkling eyes, "but as Gandalf the White. I come back to you at the turn of the tide. Stronger and renewed. Just as our hope must now be."

The grief at Boromir’s death and the shock of Gandalf's return blend into a complex tapestry of emotions. The initial shock gives way to a festive air as relief and joy wash over Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli. They join in, their earlier despair replaced by laughter and words of amazement, forming a tight circle around you and Gandalf.

As Gandalf explains his battle with the Balrog and his subsequent rebirth his words filling the gaps in your understanding and rekindling hope in your hearts. His return not only signifies a miraculous second chance but also invigorates the Fellowship with renewed purpose and determination. With Gandalf's guidance now as Gandalf the White you all feel a renewed sense of purpose. The path forward is still fraught with danger but with Gandalf returned, and in memory of Boromir’s bravery, you are reminded that even in the darkest times there can be resurrection and hope. Together you prepare to resume the quest, stronger and more determined than ever.

"Your guidance has been sorely missed, Gandalf," Aragorn says. His voice steady but thick with emotion as he joins you. He captures the mood of the moment, channeling the Fellowship’s relief into focus. "What should we do? Frodo and Sam are gone to Mordor. Merry and Pippin are captives of the enemy." Gandalf releases you from the embrace but keeps one hand on your shoulder, grounding, and comforting. He surveys the small group with a decisive gaze and the air around you seems to thrum with renewed energy and urgency.

"We will split our efforts," he declares. "Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, and you," he nods at you, "will pursue the orcs who took Merry and Pippin. Every second counts and your skills will be crucial in navigating this perilous chase."

You try and protest, but he shakes his head continuing along. "Meanwhile, I shall seek aid from the Ents of Fangorn," Gandalf continues, turning to look at the dense woods behind him. "Their strength will be necessary in the wars to come. We must rally all allies for the shadow from the East grows ever bolder."

As plans are made Legolas stands close by your side, his presence a silent vow of protection and partnership. You feel his hand briefly squeeze yours. A gesture of support that sends a surge of warmth through your heart that he had done so many times before.

"You have grown much, under shadow and trial," Gandalf remarks. Looking at you with a blend of pride and affection With the reunion drawing to a close and the path forward set you all prepare to leave. Gandalf’s return has not only brought back a beloved mentor and friend but has reignited the flame of hope within your heart. Together you feel ready to face the challenges that await knowing that the bonds of friendship and duty will guide you through the darkest of times.

As you traverse the expansive lands towards Rohan the camaraderie within the group deepens, each member adjusting to the rhythms of travel and the complexities of intertwined destinies. Amidst these dynamics your relationship with Legolas finds new ground. The elven prince, always serene and composed, begins to show a more attentive and tender side in his interactions with you. His glances linger longer and his conversations, once filled with tales of ancient elven lore, now often drift towards thoughts and dreams of the future, your future.

It’s during one of the long nights while camped under the vast, starlit sky near the borders of Fangorn Forest, that Gimli noticed the growing tension between you and Legolas. He decided to give you both some space. With a knowing wink and a gruff voice Gimli volunteers for the first watch, his tone unusually gentle. "I reckon the night is best shared with stars and heartfelt words, not an old dwarf's snoring."

Grateful, you share a smile with Legolas as Gimli settles a little distance away, his back to you, affording you a semblance of privacy. Legolas turns to you with his blue eyes reflecting the starlight, and for a moment he simply looks at you as if contemplating a thought long held in silence. "I have seen many wonders in my long life," he starts, his voice soft and mesmerizing under the night sky. "But none compared to the courage and kindness I've seen in you. In these trying times you have become a light guiding me."

Your heart flutters at his words, and you feel a warmth spread through you. "And you, Legolas, have been my solace. In you I find peace amidst turmoil. A joy that even the darkest shadows cannot diminish." He smiles. His gaze intensifying with affection and something more, something unspoken yet palpable between you. Then, in a move that surprises you both for its boldness and its intimacy, Legolas shifts closer and gently pulls you into his side. It's a daring gesture for an elf, particularly one as reserved as Legolas. But it feels right as if many paths had converged to bring this moment into being.

The warmth of his body against yours, the protective embrace of his arm—these are things you never expected to find so far from home. "It seems we have found comfort in one another's presence," he says softly. "Would that we might find a way to keep this light alive… no matter what lies ahead?"

"I would like that very much," you whisper as you leaned into the strength of his embrace.

The two of you sit under the blanket of night talking softly of dreams for a peaceful future and the immediate plans for the days to come. The reality of the quest remains but for now, under the stars, you both allow yourselves the luxury of imagining a life beyond the war. Both of you bound by a newfound affection that promises to grow with each passing day.

At Helm's Deep the air is thick with the tension of impending battle. The great fortress, built into the deep folds of the mountain, stands as the last bastion of hope against the relentless march of Saruman's forces. As the sky darkens and the torches flicker against the night you stand on the ramparts beside Legolas watching the sea of enemies gathering in the distance.

Legolas turns to you, his expression clouded with concern. “You should not be here,” he says softly. His voice barely above the howl of the wind. “This battle... it is not like the ones before. I fear—”

“I know,” you interrupt, understanding his fear but meeting his gaze with a resolve that mirrors the steel of the swords of your comrades below. “I know what this battle could mean for all of us. But I must stand with you, with all of you. There is no other place for me now, Legolas.”

Seeing the determination in your eyes, Legolas's expression softens and he pulls you gently against his side. It was a bold move for him, especially in such a public setting. “Then we will face it together,” he says squeezing your hand tightly as a silent promise passes between you.

The night deepens and the enemy’s drums beat a terrifying rhythm that seems to match the racing of your heart. Legolas pulls you closer. His eyes searching yours in the dim light. “No matter what happens tonight, know this,” he whispers, his voice steady despite the chaos swelling around you. “I love you. I have loved you amidst the shadows of our journey, and I will love you beyond the reaches of time.”

Your breath catches at his words. The simplicity and depth of his confession anchoring you amidst your fears. “And I love you,” you repl. Your voice strong even though you felt so weak. “Whatever may come, whatever we face… we face it together.”

As the battle commences the air fills with the clash of steel and the cries of warriors. You fight back-to-back, Legolas’s arrows finding their marks with deadly precision while you fend off attackers with sword and spell.

Gimli joins two of you, his axe a blur as he protects your flank. “Ha! I’d like to see them try to break this line!” he bellows. His voice a rumble of thunder over the din of battle.

The hours stretch. Each moment a lifetime but you fight with a clarity borne of love and the will to protect not just middle earth but the futures you hope to share. Legolas’s presence is a constant reassurance. His quick glances amidst the fray a reminder of everything worth fighting for.

As dawn breaks the tide of battle shifts. With Gandalf’s timely arrival and the charge of the Rohirrim, a new hope is rekindled. The enemy falters and breaks. Exhausted but alive, you, Legolas, and Gimli regroup, your bodies weary but spirits lifted by the victory, however costly it may have been.

Standing amidst the ruins of the battle you all share a look of relief and unspoken understanding. The war is far from over, but the strength of your bonds, the depth of your love, and the courage of your friends give you the fortitude to press on, to fight another day. With Legolas watch the sunrise, the light washing over Helm’s Deep painting the world in hues of gold and red. A daily rebirth, a reminder that after darkness there always comes a new dawn.

After the long shadow of war finally lifts with the destruction of the One Ring the world begins to breathe again. Minas Tirith stands gleaming under the bright sun, its banners waving in a joyous breeze. The streets are filled with music and laughter as people from all corners of middle earth gather to celebrate the victory. The air is sweet with the scent of blossoming flowers brought forth by a spring that signifies not just the changing of seasons but the dawn of a new era.

You, Legolas, and Gimli stand on a balcony overlooking the jubilant city with a cup of fine wine in hand. The Fellowship has been honored by kings and lords, sung by minstrels, and cheered by crowds. But in this moment, the three of you share a quiet moment that speaks of deeper bonds forged in the fires of your shared trials.

Legolas looks out over the city, his eyes reflecting the green of the fields below. “The world is changed,” he says thoughtfully. “I feel it in the earth, I smell it in the air. The darkness that once threatened to swallow us whole is now but a shadow of the past.”

Gimli nods. His eyes twinkling under his bushy brows. “Aye, and it’s time for more pleasant journeys,” he chuckles. “I promised you both a tour of the Glittering Caves, did I not? And I intend to keep that promise. You’ll find no finer sight beneath the mountains, mark my words!”

“And I,” Legolas adds turning to you with a gentle smile, “would have you both come to Mirkwood. The forests have suffered in the darkness. But they recover, much like us. There are places of such beauty and tranquility that they deserve to be witnessed with friends.”

You sip your wine, letting the rich flavors linger on your tongue as you consider the future. “And what of you?” Gimli asks, looking at you with an expectant raise of his eyebrow.

“I think,” you say slowly, smiling at the possibilities that stretch before you, “that I would like to see more of this world that we have fought so hard to save. From the forests of Mirkwood to the caves of the mountains and perhaps even beyond. There’s so much to explore, so much to learn.”

“And so much to rebuild,” Legolas adds. “Wherever we go we carry with us the legacy of those who fought beside us. Those who fell, and those who lived to see this day. Gandalf’s wisdom, Aragorn’s courage, and even Frodo’s quiet determination—they remain with us, guiding us forward.”

Gimli raises his cup, and you and Legolas do the same. “To the future,” Gimli declares heartily.

“To peace,” Legolas adds, his voice warm.

“To friendship,” you conclude. The three of you clink your cups together, the sound crisp and clear.

As the celebration continues below you lean against the stone railing admiring the city sprawling at your feet. Around you the laughter and music rise to the starlit sky, and you feel a profound sense of contentment. The road ahead is uncharted, but you face it not as a lone wanderer but as part of a fellowship that has endured the darkest of times to see the brightest of days.

With Legolas and Gimli by your side you know that whatever adventures lie ahead, they will be filled with joy, discovery, and the unbreakable bonds of friendship. This is not the end of your story but the beginning of a new chapter, one that you will write together.

As the celebrations in Minas Tirith begin to quiet down into a gentle hum of merriment and the evening deepens, Gimli, with a knowing grin and a subtle nod towards Legolas excuses himself to “inspect the integrity of the ale supply,” leaving you two alone on the quieter side of the terrace that overlooks the city’s sprawling, illuminated gardens.

Legolas watches Gimli depart and then turns to you with a serene expression. His eyes reflecting the myriad lights of the city. He reaches into the folds of his tunic and pulls out a small, exquisitely carved wooden box. “I have something for you,” he says. His voice low and filled with a tender emotion that sends a thrill through your heart.

You watch, curious and expectant, as he opens the box to reveal a pendant. It’s a delicate piece, shaped like a leaf but crafted with such intricacy that each vein in the leaf is visible. It shimmered with a light that seems to emanate from within the silver itself.

“This is a leaf from the Mallorn trees of Lothlórien,” Legolas explains as he carefully lifts the pendant from the box. “Galadriel herself gave this to me before we departed and though I cherish it... I believe it was always meant for you.”

He steps closer. His presence so familiar and yet so heart-stirringly profound at this intimate moment. “In the elven tradition,” he continues, his eyes locked onto yours, “to give such a gift is to choose a companion. To offer a token of one’s heart and soul. I give this to you not out of obligation but from a free and willing heart. I choose you and it’s you I wish to be with through all the ages of this world.”

He pauses while holding the pendant up between you. His eyes searching yours for an answer, a confirmation of your feelings. You nod gently, overwhelmed by the emotion in his gaze and the significance of his gift.

Legolas smiles, a soft, joyous curve of his lips, and delicately clasps the pendant around your neck. His fingers brush lightly against your skin as he secures the clasp sending shivers down your spine. The metal feels warm as if charged with his affection and presence.

“I cannot promise that the road ahead will be free from hardship,” Legolas says softly while drawing you close so that your foreheads touch lightly, “but I can promise that you will never walk it alone. Where you go I will follow. And where I go I hope you will be by my side.”

“Legolas,” you whisper. Your voice thick with emotion. “There is no one else I would rather have by my side. No one else I would want to share my path with. I choose you, too, today, and always.”

Without hesitation Legolas leans in to capture your lips in a kiss. It’s gentle at first. A tender meeting that speaks of mutual respect and deep affection. But as you respond the kiss deepens, becoming a profound expression of your shared love and commitment.

The world around you—the city of Minas Tirith, the sounds of celebration—fades into a blissful quiet. In this moment wrapped in Legolas’s embrace, you realize that while the war might have brought you together it is love that will lead you into your future. Beneath the stars and above the glowing city you share a promise of a thousand sunrises to come. Each one a new day to explore and cherish the world together.

Taglist Sign Up: @loving-and-dreaming @kmc1989 @memeorydotcom @matisse556 @buckylov3r @taygrls @ah-blossom @hardballoonlove @rosiahills22 @djs8891 @guacam011y @illisea @il0vebeingdelulu @hiireadstuff @kenn-spencerswifey @avada-kedavra-bitch-187

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

1970 Plymouth Superbird

The 1970 Plymouth Superbird: A High-Performance Engineering Marvel

The Plymouth Superbird is a quintessential example of automotive engineering and design focused on aerodynamic efficiency and raw power. Developed primarily for NASCAR competition, the Superbird's distinctive appearance, characterized by a prominent rear wing and elongated nose, was driven by functional considerations rather than aesthetic preference.

Equipped with Chrysler's potent V8 engines, including the legendary 426 Hemi, the Superbird was a formidable force on the racetrack. While its performance capabilities were exceptional, its practicality for everyday use was limited. Consequently, production numbers were relatively low, contributing to its status as a coveted collector's item.

Despite its short production run, the Superbird's impact on automotive culture and performance benchmarks is undeniable. It remains a symbol of the golden age of American muscle cars and a testament to Chrysler's engineering prowess.

[norikuna]

GOO GOO MUCK #3 — jujutsu kaisen x reader choose a storybook to open. aka my mythos take on jujutsu kaisen.

you've turned the page to: CHAPTER III. RYŌMEN SUKUNA go back to the table of contents.

as if he heard me, he smiled. and his face was like the sun. (the song of achilles / madeline miller)

prologue. → at first, a humble servant, now capturing the attention of the king of curses. suddenly, you're caught between fear, desire, and a really irritating demon with a bad attitude.

excerpt.. one of the guards’ brows lifted, as if you’d said something unexpected. the other, still doubtful, scowled. "and what would you know of sukuna's laws?" you privately thought sukuna's laws would be quite simple. if it moves, beat it with a stick. if it moves again, let's grab a sword and hit it twice as hard.

pairing. demon king!ryomen sukuna x villager!reader (sfw but suggestive!)

song inspiration. goo goo muck — the cramps / i can see you — taylor swift

warnings. sukuna is very much himself, rude and dubious and evil. kissing, making out, mentions of blood and injuries and war. word count. 4.6k!

a/n. im actually so happy w this one lol i was having a bit of a giggle writing it. consistent plot? what is that?

ask/comment/dm to be added to a taglist 🩵

mp3. when the sun goes down, and the moon comes up, i turn into a teenage goo goo muck!

they had bound your wrists with iron chains, biting into your skin and doing little to still the tremor of fear that seized you. the villagers around, or at least what remained of them after sukuna's merciless invasion, shuffled forward in exhausted silence, carrying that eerie pall of defeat. you dared not look at the faces of your people around you, sensing that each set of eyes held the same mute dread that coursed through your veins.

and sukuna's fortress was an ugly, wicked thing. no doubt a testament to his dominion and dark prowess. but one could only avert their gaze from the jagged black stone that tore through the depths of the earth, and iron maw of a gate that glistened with dark stains that you dare not name.

a tall and severe figure stood waiting beyond the threshold, tall and severe, draped in robes of silky onyx that swept against dead leaves. a member of sukuna's household, no doubt, and he had eyes of dying embers.

it seemed that everything in this estate was dead, or dying. you could only hope that you would not join the pile of skulls that clattered in rough-strewn piles on the pavement.

"you all belong to the king of curses now," he intoned in a voice of polished steel, "you will serve him with unwavering obedience, and if you do not..." the man trailed off, splayed his fingers against his neck — and he suddenly bared his jugular upwards and your stomach lurched at the sight. lines and rows of stitches, sickly healed, where one's throat might have been cut. a walking corpse.

"act rightly, or lose your head. he has little patience for insolence or error."

and so, you were led through winding halls, walls of dark stone and low-hanging torches. the air was thick with a strange, almost metallic scent of thick blood and burning coals.

at length, you passed a vast and open chamber, a throne room that was unlike any you could have ever imagined. granted, you came from a small village, and thus, had not seen a throne room before so the bar was already quite low.

massive pillars framed the space, rising up like trees, branching and curling towards a ceiling lost in shadows. gathered around the centre was a council of some sort, hulking and dark curses of varying forms, from towering demons with sharp, ridged spines — to giant warriors with dented armour, from the scourge of warfare.

and at the heart of them, seated upon an iron throne wreathed in dark filigree, and dazzling red stones, was sukuna himself. the king of curses. he was massive, even in respose, broad shoulders and four thick arms that were drapes across the arms of the throne. you weren't quite sure where to rest your eyes, on his shock of dusty-rose hair, or the sharp set of eyes that were the colour of dried, old blood.

you felt a shiver of terror crawl down your spine, before curling at the base in loving tendrils, freezing your limbs in place. and then, with a heart-stopping clarity (though none would believe you), his gaze seemed to fall upon you. for a single, unbearable moment, you were certain he was looking directly inti your soul, with a gaze as sharp as a blade and as hot as a forge. you felt every muscle in your body clench, a sharp ache spreading through you.

but just as quickly, you were shoved forward, and his gaze fell elsewhere — almost bored. the rest of the newly enslaved muttered and murmured nervously as they led you onwards, down yet another corridor.

devilry and villainy aside, sukuna needed to hire a new interior design team. because this many corridors and needless, steep stairs were just unacceptable.

still, you felt those eyes burning in your memory, like four brands seared into your mind and the hollow of your chest.

they finally ushered you into a small chamber, little more than an alcove carved out of stone and lined with rows of rough, wooden pallets and blankets as coarse as burlap. here, you were instructed to remain until summoned to serve, the harsh whispers of the overseers reminding you to act “rightly, obediently, silently,” words that had already begun to feel like a new set of shackles.

and so, life in the palace of the king of curses was like treading on eggshells, and you had learned early on (after losing the contents of your stomach several times, watching brutal executions) that to speak out, or draw attention was a risk. one that could end with chains, or worse.

yet today, as you walked the winding corridors, a commotion caught your ear, and you had slung your basket on one hip — peering around the corner. you had turned to see katsuro, gentle and quiet, being held roughly by two guards, his slight frame no match for the iron grip of their clawed hands. one of the guards was sneering down at him, his expression gleefully cruel. poor katsuro was only two winters younger than you, and hardly built for the life of a warrior, rather a sweet and shy scholar.

"you made a mistake, little human," one guard hissed, his fangs bared in a twisted grin that would do his reflection in the mirror no favours at all, "sukuna demands perfection, and you will learn the price of failure."

katsuro's face had gone pale, his dark eyes wide with fear and you could see his hands trembling, most likely mirroring your own at the moment. it was not fair, the 'mistake' had been minor, a missed steps in the protocol for cleaning the great hall for the evening's feast. you were certain that sukuna was too busy terrorising the weak and bathing in blood to notice that the wrong number of lanterns had been strung up.

driven by something reckless within you, you stepped forward before you could think better of it.

"wait!" your voice rang out, catching the guard’s attention. their eyes fixed on you, surprised at the audacity, and your heart pounded in your chest.

they were probably excited that instead of one human to torture, they would get two.

but you stood firm, lifting your chin to meet their gaze, ignoring how your gut was working overtime to make you nauseous. "punishing him so harshly for a minor mistake — would that truly serve sukuna's purpose?"

the first guard narrowed his eyes at you. "and who are you to question his purpose?"

"i am not questioning it,” you tried to reply smoothly, carefully choosing your words like your life depended on it (because it did), “but rather, i’m considering it from his perspective. the king of curses values loyalty and productivity in his subjects, doesn’t he?"

you didn't quite appreciate how the guards were rolling their eyes in your one moment of courage, you just couldn't have anything around here.

"if the servants are in constant terror of the slightest mistake, they won’t be able to perform their duties effectively. fear is powerful, yes — but so is loyalty. if they feel a measure of mercy, they may serve him more willingly, rather than cowering with each step."

one of the guards’ brows lifted, as if you’d said something unexpected. the other, still doubtful, scowled. "and what would you know of sukuna's laws?"

you privately thought sukuna's laws would be quite simple. if it moves, beat it with a stick. if it moves again, let's grab a sword and hit it twice as hard.

"a great deal, actually,” you replied with a steady gaze, but with a lie basically dancing on your tongue. "every decision is weighed, every outcome calculated. a punishment too severe for a minor fault? it's…," you tried not to say stupid, "...wasteful. if katsuro is punished to the point of uselessness, that is one less pair of hands, and the workload falls heavier on the rest of us." you dared a glance around, noting a few other servants lingering, listening with furtive, hopeful expressions. "wouldn’t it be better to maintain strength among his servants? for his grander plans?"

frankly, you were just pulling words out of thin air. making things up and lying to such an extent that your mother would grab a bar of bitter soap and wash your mouth out. still, one had to be an opportunist to survive.

the guard holding katsuro faltered slightly, glancing at his companion. It was clear they weren’t accustomed to reasoning, and though they looked unimpressed, they were not entirely unmoved.

"fine," the taller guard growled, loosening his grip on katsuro with a snarl. "this one’s lucky you spoke for him. but if he slips up again, no clever words will save him."

with a final warning glare, the guards stalked off, leaving katsuro visibly shaken but unharmed. relief flooded you, and you could suddenly breathe again, and you moved to steady him, as his eyes glistening with gratitude.

"thank you," he murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

had you turned around and paid more attention to the shadows, you may have noticed the king of curses standing with all four arms crossed, biting the inside of his cheek. he never liked those guards anyway.

the morning air had been crisp, a rare light filtering through the stone walls of the estate as you were woken by unexpected news. you were...summoned? not to some distant hall or remote chamber of, but to the throne room — sukuna's command. the message itself was terse, and impossible to interpret, but you had been wrapped in a cloak and ushered out the door.

and there you stood, among three other summoned servants. each one pale and quiet with apprehensions as you gathered at the base of the throne's towering dias.

sukuna sat sprawled across his throne, two arms flat and still against the arms of the throne, and the other two holding his head up — as if this was the most boring task in the world. but his eyes, all four of them, scanned you and the others with a look of dull interest, and he almost seemed to sigh, rolling his eyes in open exasperation.

"so," he began, and his voice was a low and raspy tone, "you four are my new...personal attendants?" the king of curses leaned back, half-amused and half-irritated.

you felt a prickle of irritation beneath your skin at his obvious disdain, it was not like any of you had been gunning for the job anyway. but you held your tongue, reminding yourself that it was better to stay silent than risk having your sliced and pickled head served on a bloody platter for sukuna's morning snack. still, he noticed your reaction, his lips quirking into a slight smirk as he arched a brow.

"something to say, little servant?" and sukuna's tone dripped with mockery, as though he were daring you to speak.

"not at all, my lord," you replied, managing to keep your voice steady. "merely… adjusting to the honour of being here."

sukuna snorted, barely containing his amusement. "honour," he repeated, as if the word were a joke. "tell me, did they threaten you to get you here on time, or did you simply decide to be obedient today?"

you did not like this bad attitude, but frankly, you lacked three major things when it came to battling sukuna. an immortal soul, an array of weapons, and a spine. so you tamped it down, a faint, thin smile tugging at your lips. "i would have come either way, my lord. threats or no threats."

you would swear that his eyes glinted with a mix of surprise and interest, though he rolled his eyes again as if unimpressed. "spare me the heroics," he muttered. "i need obedience, not gallantry." he looked you over with a critical eye, his gaze lingering on you a moment longer than necessary. "and i have no use for someone who can’t keep up."

"what a shame that would be for me," you replied, the retort was sharp on your tongue before you could stop yourself. and you felt your heart coil up in fear once more, while you were certain your brain was chasing your tongue around with hammers.

sukuna's gaze narrowed, and a faint, fanged smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "careful, servant. i don’t particularly like attitude from those under me."

you dipped your head, averting your gaze just enough to keep from meeting his eyes directly, you didn't want to lose your lunch. "noted, my lord. i’ll be sure to remember that…if it pleases you."

for a moment, he merely looked at you, his expression inscrutable. then he let out a low chuckle, a sound that sent a shiver through you, something dangerous and thrilling laced in its depths. "very well, then,” he said at last, sounding almost amused. "if you’re so eager to please, you’ll start by attending me closely — very closely. i do like being pleased."

how crass.

you swallowed, catching his faint smirk as he dismissed you all with with a lazy wave of one lower hand, but not before he smiled at you. a cruel and wicked curve of his mouth, but it felt like the heat of a thousand suns. whatever game this was, he intended to play it with you — on his terms.

over the next following weeks, sukuna's summons became frequent and baffling, his demands were a tangle of trivial tasks and strange whims. he seemed to relish keeping you guessing, testing the limits of both your patience and your compliance.

he would call for you in the mornings to help arrange his robes — an affair in which you found yourself having to climb onto a small wooden box to even reach his shoulders, carefully smoothing the crimson and black fabric over the width of his frame. with his arms stretching out from every side, you had to manoeuvre and balance each fold with precise care. and sukuna just watched you intently, an amused smirk tugging at his red-wine lips as you struggled, muttering instructions that barely felt necessary.

yes, you knew how to tie a simple knot.

in the evenings, he’d request you make him tea — a task simple enough, but then he’d take his time to drink it. each sip was drawn out, his gaze occasionally sliding over to meet yours, one brow arched ever so slightly, a smug satisfaction radiating from his silence. he would take another long, slow sip, before turning back to the window, as you shifted your weight from foot to foot, wondering if it was acceptable to launch boiling water at the king of curses. just as a treat.

and then you had been summoned to his chambers to polish a set of blades that had seen their fair share of battles, surely the one that took the lives of your own village, and you shuddered. the blades were heavy, each one forged with a dark, tempered steel that seemed to drink in the dim candlelight. as you worked, your hand slipped, and the edge of one blade sliced through your skin, leaving a sharp, stinging pain and a line of red across your palm. you hissed under your breath, pressing the wound to your tunic as the blood quickly seeped through your fingers.

"stupid," came his voice from behind you, sharp and cold as steel itself. you turned to see sukuna watching, leaning against the doorway with an expression hovering between annoyance and satisfaction, as though your injury were just another way you’d managed to disappoint him, and now he could unleash his tongue upon you. "are you intent on making a mess of my things, or are you simply that clumsy?"

you opened your mouth to retort, a spark of irritation flaring, but bit it back, too exhausted to argue. "it’s just a scratch, my lord," you replied, though the blood was beginning to drip onto the rich furs sprawled across the floor. you quickly wrapped your hand in your sleeve to hide it, hoping to avoid further scorn.

but sukuna must have seen. he let out a low sigh, crossing the room in a few slow strides, and took hold of your wrist, and surprisingly, without a grip that would snap your bones. for a moment, he simply stared down at the cut, his four eyes narrowing with something that looked suspiciously like...regret.

"how ridiculous," he muttered, more to himself than to you, and with a curt wave, he pulled out a cloth from under the blades. but his hands were large, and searing with heat, as they held yours with a shocking deftness as he bandaged the cut.

you dared a glance up at sukuna, only to find his expression unreadable, his gaze focused intently on the task at hand. when he finally spoke, his voice had lost its usual harshness, his tone quiet, almost distant.

"try not to stain the rest of my furs with your carelessness next time," he said, though the words lacked their usual bite.

you wondered if it had finally happened, he'd really lost his mind. there had been no threats of disemboweling, no burning, no being trampled under horses while he ate peaches in the shade of his favourite tree (yes, his threats were that specific).

you murmured a huffed response, more of a mumble, suddenly feeling quite stifled. but sukuna's hands lingered on yours for just a moment longer than necessary, his gaze distant yet searching, as though seeing something he hadn’t expected. then the king of curses drew back, the walls you’d glimpsed in that moment quickly slamming back into place as he straightened, stepping away with a curt nod.

“just go, get some rest before you inconvenience me more," he muttered, barely looking at you now, his tone cool and dismissive. but for the first time, it seemed as though he were hiding something, something even he didn’t quite know how to name.

the air in sukuna's quarters was thick with the scent of burnt incense and faintly lingering smoke, a reminder of the battles he waged just hours ago. as you moved quietly about the room, collecting and folding the strewn garments, you glanced at him, sullen and seated on the edge of his bed. a dark, odious blood was seeping through the bandages wrapped tightly around his torso, three jagged wounds crossing his chest and back where the arrows had pierced. though the arrows were long removed, the gashes looked raw and angry, staining the linen with every breath he took.

sukuna noticed your stare, and with a small, reluctant grunt, he beckoned you over. "the bandages…" he muttered, voice heavy with fatigue but his tone demanding. "fix them, redress them. i don't need another healer bumbling over it."

you swallowed, nerves prickling as you gathered fresh cloth and approached him. you so hated wounds, and the sight of blood but it was better than seeing your own spilled for defying him. sukuna remained still, watching you through half-lidded red eyes, his body larger than life, his skin faintly gleaming in the dim light. but he leaned forward slightly, allowing you to reach the wound. with slow, careful hands, you unwrapped the old bandage, then pressed the clean cloth to his skin, feeling the solid warmth radiate from his chest, searing your fingertips with its intensity.

as you worked, wrapping the bandage around his vast, muscular torso, you did your best not to breathe, not with each breath of his matching the rise and fall of your own. and you tried to ignore how his eyes were flickering over you with an intensity that made your heart stammer.

when you finished, the king of curses didn’t move. instead, he brought his hand up, fingers grazing your chin as he tilted your face to meet his. and the pads of his fingers dug into the skin of your jaw.

"tell me…" he began, his voice low, each word a slow murmur. "do you see me as a monster?"

your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, the words were lost to you. his hand remained firm on your chin, holding you in place as you searched his face — the high cheekbones, the strong jaw, each line and scar a mark of the warrior he was, of the warlord who had taken everything from you. you closed your eyes briefly, feeling the ghosts of flames from your village flicker in your memory.

"it’s… hard to forget what you did," you replied, your voice a whisper, yet steady. "it’s hard to forget that you burned down my village."

a flicker of something — anger, resignation — crossed his face. sukuna let out a long, quiet exhale, a shadow of bitterness touching his voice as he said, "a tiger cannot change its stripes. being a beast is in my nature. i am what i was made to be. you cannot expect elsewise from me, nor would i try to promise it to you."

you held his gaze, your heart beating harder. "i know that now."

his thumb brushed softly against your jaw, lingering. there was something dark and magnetic in his gaze, a glint of restrained hunger that sent a thrill through you, a pulse of awareness that you were crossing an invisible line. maybe someone had hit you on the head, messing with your cognitive awareness. he leaned forward, his face mere inches from yours, his breath warm against your skin as his two sets eyes dipped to your lips.

for one heart-stopping moment, you felt his mouth ghost near yours, a feather-light touch as though testing, hesitating. the world around you seemed to vanish, leaving only him, and his dangerous restraint.

but then, he drew back, jaw set as he tore his gaze away, his hand dropping from your face as though burned. he said nothing, his expression now closed, guarded, as if he, too, was reeling from whatever had just passed between you. you took a shaky step back, pulse racing, not daring to break the silence as you quickly left the room, with some false excuse of disposing of the old bandages (you were going to ask someone else to do it for you).

sukuna's attention had grown increasingly overt, his dark gaze trailing you with a possessive weight whenever you entered the throne room or crossed his path in the vast, torch-lit corridors of his palace. whispers fluttered among the other servants, the concubines, and the court. it was impossible (and almost embarrassing) to ignore the quiet looks and questioning glances they cast your way.

still, a demon could never be expected to be patient forever, and he had sought you out, appearing in the corridor as you were preparing to leave his chambers. his large hand moved to your waist in a firm, claiming gesture, pulling you to him without hesitation, as though he was unbothered by the curious stares around him. you briefly wondered at how just one arm could snap your spine in half, but his touch was almost...fragile.

"you’ve intrigued me," he murmured, his eyes blood-red, glinting as they locked onto yours. "in a way no other has. why do you deny this?" his tone was brusque, but you would have lied if you had said you did not find satisfaction in the way his voice had a snapping plea buried in it.

but sukuna's cruelty was an undeniable part of him; every scar he bore and every command he uttered reminded you of the power he wielded and the danger that simmered just beneath his surface, one that could ravish nations and empire-states. anger, fear, attraction — they were tangled so tightly together you could scarcely tell them apart.

"am i meant to be flattered?"

sukuna chuckled, a low, dangerous sound that resonated through you. "so i am a monster, am i not?" he murmured, his tone almost teasing, yet a sharp intensity flared in his eyes. he leaned close, his face inches from yours, his voice a gravelly whisper. "a monster who could crush you, break you, make you kneel if i so desired…"

you swallowed, fighting the quickening of your breath, but held his gaze, your words biting. "then why don’t you?"

for a moment, he seemed almost stunned, his eyes searching your face. slowly, sukuna reached out, and with an uncharacteristic tenderness, the king of curses had tentatively placed a hand on your cheek, his thumb tracing a gentle line along your jaw, just as it had done all those weeks ago. "because," he murmured, "you’re the only one i’m compelled to protect."

your heart slammed in your chest, every part of you at war, caught between terror and something far more dangerous, a yearning that he, and only he, seemed able to awaken. he drew you closer, his lips brushing over your temple, voice barely a whisper, rough and unguarded.

"don’t you see?” he continued, his tone softer, aching, and you wondered if the king of curses would ever deign to beg. "it’s you i crave, you who won’t bow so easily. and i…” he exhaled, as though he had to fight against his very being to snap out the words, "find myself undone."

the intensity in his gaze was pulling you in, daring you to come closer, to test the fire you’d spent so long resisting, the fire that you had long been ghosting your fingers over, letting it lick your fingers. you could feel your pulse thrumming as sukuna drew nearer, his towering form casting a shadow that made you feel both caged and protected.

"you do realise," he murmured, voice a deep rumble, "that i’ve thought of this — of you — every night."

your breath hitched as his words sank in, and you attempted a weak laugh, faint in the air, "your enemies would kill to see you so undone."

one of his hands brushed up your back, pulling you closer, aligning your body with his in a way that left no space between you. with another arm, he tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze, his red eyes dark, "i would kill my enemies if they ever laid their eyes on you, in a way that i did not decree."

sukuna's breath was warm against your lips as he leaned down, inch by torturous inch, his mouth hovering just above yours, and you could see the light refract from his pearly fangs, "you have no idea the restraint it’s taken to hold back from this."

and his lips brushed against yours, just a whisper of contact, but enough to ignite something within you. and then, as if some unspoken barrier shattered, his mouth claimed yours in a kiss that was searing and fierce, pouring all his pent-up longing into that single moment. he moved with raw intensity, his mouth firm, demanding, yet achingly tender as he explored every inch of your lips, making you gasp with the force of it, stoking a heat lower within you.

you felt his two remaining arms circle you, anchoring you securely against his chest as he deepened the kiss, pressing you firmly to him. his fingers splayed across your back, drawing you impossibly closer, and you realised with a shiver that you liked the way he held you — possessive, unrelenting, as if he’d never let go.

and so, though you'd never admit it, you melted into him, your hands reaching up to grasp his shoulders, feeling the hard muscle beneath his robes. his lips moved with a rhythm that left you breathless, his kiss filled with a heat that left you weak, pliant in his arms. he pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and half-lidded, a soft, dangerous smile curving his mouth.

"you’re mine," he murmured against your lips, his voice low and filled with an almost reverent awe. and this time, you leaned up to catch his mouth, enjoying that for the first time in written history, the king of curses had purred.