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fr0stf4ll · 5 months ago

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A court of Shadows and Moonlight - Part 1

paring; Azriel x reader

summary; In the wake of looming war and changing traditions, a gifted healer returns to the Night Court after centuries of wandering the continents. Tasked with stepping into Madja’s legendary role, she must guide reluctant healers, soothe wounded warriors, and face the entrenched prejudice of Illyrian leaders. But as she mends torn wings and broken spirits, an unexpected bond awakens between her and the Night Court’s enigmatic Spymaster. With rivalries simmering and a dangerous threat looming on the horizon, she must reconcile duty and desire, learning that true healing can extend beyond flesh and bone—if she dares to embrace the light hidden among the shadows.

word count ; 4k

notes; Yo everyone, I'm back with another fanfiction featuring our lovely Shadow Singer. Hope you all like it <3 Just a small reminder: English isn’t my first language, so I’ve tried my best. Enjoy the first chapter!

The dusk sky draped the House of Wind in soft shades of lavender and rose, its tall windows open to the gentle, jasmine-scented breeze of Velaris below. Rhysand’s office, spacious but not ostentatious, offered a panoramic view of the starlit city, where lanterns were beginning to glow and laughter drifted upward like a distant, cheerful hum. The high shelves, carved of dark wood, were lined with neat rows of books and rolled charts, their parchment edges softened by centuries of use. A low-burning lamp cast warm light over a desk scattered with papers, quills, and a half-filled inkpot.

Madja stood near the window with Rhys, both of them watching as wings and shadows moved quietly through the city’s streets below. The old healer’s posture was poised despite her age; her long, silver-streaked hair was bound in a simple braid. Time had etched fine lines around her eyes and mouth—soft marks of the centuries she’d spent mending flesh and bone, soothing pain, and whispering encouragement into the darkest hours of countless lives.

Rhysand kept his gaze on the vista beyond the glass, arms folded casually, the glow of faelight catching in his violet eyes. He knew Madja had come here for something particular. She wasn’t one to linger unnecessarily, nor did she shy from speaking her mind. The hush in the room was comfortable, respectful of the weight of the moment.

Madja cleared her throat softly, her voice as calm and steady as it had been through all the emergencies and late-night visits to the healing rooms. “Rhysand,” she began, her tone gentle yet determined, “I need to speak with you about a matter of some importance to me.”

Rhys turned his head slightly, giving her his full attention. “Of course,” he said, voice low and reassuring. “What’s on your mind?”

She inhaled and exhaled slowly, as though considering each word carefully. “I’ve served this court for a very long time. Longer than many remember—tending to soldiers, midwives, children, courtiers, High Lords and Ladies alike.” Her gaze drifted toward the city lights, as if recalling memories that danced among those glowing streets. “It’s been my honor and my purpose.”

Rhysand inclined his head, respect and gratitude shining in his eyes. “We owe you more than can ever be repaid, Madja. Your skill, your kindness... You’ve saved so many of us in ways we cannot count.”

She offered a small, affectionate smile. “I know my role has mattered. But Rhys,” she paused, and the name alone carried a lifetime of familiarity that few could claim with him, “I find that my hands are not as steady as they once were. My eyes grow weary by candlelight. My back aches after hours bent over the injured.”

A slight breeze stirred the curtains, and the scent of night-blooming flowers drifted in, a gentle reminder of how time moved ever forward. Rhysand said nothing yet, allowing her the space to say what she must.

Madja continued softly, “I believe it’s time for me to step back. To retire from my duties as the court’s primary healer.” She turned to face him fully, shoulders squared, but her gaze kind and open. “I’ve trained many capable healers over the years. The work will continue. The Night Court does not lack for talent or compassion.”

Rhysand exhaled quietly, pressing his lips into a thoughtful line. The notion of Madja not being there—her swift and sure presence absent from their healing wards—seemed strange. She had always been a constant, a quiet pillar in the court’s foundation. But he would not deny her what she deserved.

“Are you certain?” he asked gently, voice low enough that it felt like they were confiding secrets rather than discussing court affairs. “If you wish fewer hours, or only to train the younger healers, we can arrange that.”

Madja shook her head, a decisive yet kind gesture. “No, Rhys. I’ve thought this through. I’m old, my friend. Old, even by our standards.” A hint of dry humor touched her tone. “My future lies in rest, in tending a garden rather than wounded flesh. I wish to spend whatever years remain in quiet peace, perhaps in a small cottage overlooking a meadow or stream.”

In the quiet that followed, Rhysand reached out to gently clasp her hand, the gesture sincere. “We’ll ensure you have all you need. A place of comfort, security—whatever you desire. And know that you will always be welcome in these halls, never forgotten.”

Madja squeezed his hand, gratitude and affection shining in her eyes. “I expected nothing less. You have all grown into fine leaders, fine friends. It eases my heart to know I leave the court in good hands.”

Rhysand released Madja’s hand gently, taking in her decision with thoughtful acceptance. The room felt quieter, a hush that allowed them both to measure the weight of this change. He crossed his arms and leaned slightly against the desk, considering how best to carry out her retirement. There would need to be someone to fill her role—someone skilled, empathetic, and unshakably capable of handling whatever the Night Court might face.

“Have you thought about who might take your place?” Rhys asked softly, meeting her steady gaze. “I can’t imagine you leaving us without a successor in mind.”

A hint of pride lit Madja’s eyes, a spark of confidence in the future she was preparing to leave behind. “Of course I have. You know me better than that, Rhys. I would never abandon my post without ensuring someone could step into it seamlessly.”

Rhys inclined his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips, as if he had expected nothing less. “And who have you chosen?”

Madja’s grip on the windowsill tightened slightly, not in apprehension, but in anticipation of sharing something long-cherished. “I have someone perfect in mind. A child of the Night Court—an orphan of the first war against Hybern, in fact. I took her under my wing when she was very young, taught her the basics of healing and care.”

Rhysand’s brows rose, curiosity piqued. He could not recall all the children Madja had trained personally, centuries and centuries blending faces and names into a kind tapestry of service. “Who might this be?”

“Y/N,” Madja said, voice warm with fondness. “You may remember her. She was quiet but determined, always studying late into the night, always asking how to ease pain more efficiently or mend a broken bone with fewer scars. A true healer’s heart.” She paused, letting the memory breathe life into the silence. “A few centuries ago, she left the Night Court to travel among the other courts and even beyond Prythian’s borders—visiting unknown continents, I believe. All to deepen her knowledge and hone her healing skills.”

Rhysand searched his memories, vague images surfacing: a young, focused individual hovering near Madja’s side, attentive as a student could be. He had been too busy with rebuilding and healing wounds on a much larger scale then, but he remembered the name faintly, the glimpses of a dedicated figure slipping through the halls.

Madja continued, “I reached out to her a few months ago, requested her return. I told her of my plans, that I would soon step down and that I wanted her to take my place. She agreed. She should be arriving any day now, if my calculations are correct.”

Rhysand nodded thoughtfully, pressing his fingertips together. “So Y/N will take on your mantle,” he said quietly, more to himself than Madja. “If you trust her, then I will welcome her home with open arms. I know the court will benefit from such devotion and training.”

Madja’s smile deepened, an affectionate and proud curve of her lips. “She will do well, Rhys. She’s grown into a capable healer—perhaps even more skilled than I. She brings with her new techniques and knowledge from lands we can barely imagine. It is only fitting that someone so dedicated should stand where I once stood.”

Outside, the city’s laughter and murmurs drifted into the room. Rhysand and Madja stood in quiet agreement. As one chapter closed gently, another prepared to open. The Night Court, always at the crossroads of past and future, would soon meet the one who would continue its legacy of healing and mercy.

The winter air carried a quiet hush as you approached the gates of Velaris. The land slumbered under a light blanket of snow, crystals glittering like tiny fallen stars beneath the moonlight. It had been centuries since you’d last seen this city, and now each lantern-lit arch, each faint silhouette of distant rooftops, stirred memories long tucked away. The cold breeze nipped at your cheeks, but you were well-prepared: a heavy, fur-lined cape draped over your shoulders, its generous folds keeping out the chill. Beneath it, your traveling garb—leather boots crusted with frost, worn gloves, and trousers meant for long rides—hinted at the countless roads you had trodden in your self-imposed exile.

Your horse’s breath plumed in the crisp air, its dark coat standing out starkly against the snowy ground. Every hoof-fall was muffled by that thin layer of powder, giving the night an even gentler hush. Above you, the eagle circled again, a lone sentinel under a sky brushed with starlight and the faint glow of a crescent moon. It cried softly, its voice echoing in the stillness, as if announcing your return.

Velaris—once the place of your youth, where you learned the first steps of healing under Madja’s patient eye—felt both familiar and strange. You had wandered distant courts, continents with different climates and creatures, honing your craft and expanding your knowledge. Yet here, now, the curve of a familiar street corner, the warm glow of lamplight on old stone, tugged at your heart. It was nostalgia mingled with quiet apprehension, the weight of centuries settling gently on your shoulders. Back then, you had left as a young apprentice, uncertain and hungry for wisdom. Tonight, you returned as a seasoned healer, with secrets and skills gleaned from every corner of Prythian and beyond.

At the gate, a couple of sentries wrapped in thick cloaks watched your approach. The lanterns beside them radiated a comforting warmth against the frosty night. They noted your horse’s slow pace, your cape embroidered subtly with practical patterns, the saddlebags heavy with bandages, tonics, and texts. They glanced upward at the eagle, curious, but found no threat in this silent dance of traveler and guardian.

One guard stepped forward, voice muted yet carried easily through the still air. “Late traveler,” he said, respectful but cautious, “state your name and purpose.”

You drew the reins gently, bringing the horse to a stop, your dark mount stamping once on the snowy ground. A faint smile touched your lips as you pushed back your hood, exposing features sharpened by experience, softened by understanding. Even now, the cold flushed your cheeks slightly, and a strand of white hair slipped free, catching the moonlight.

“I am Y/N,” you said, your voice steady and warm, echoing with an old familiarity. “A healer returning to the Night Court. I believe I am expected.”

The guards exchanged a glance—this name carried weight, a quiet rumor of a healer summoned home by Madja herself. They stepped aside, allowing you entry, no further questions needed. Beyond them lay Velaris, blanketed softly in winter’s hush. You remembered it bustling with life in greener times, but even now, beneath the snow and distant laughter, you felt the city’s heart welcoming you home.

With a gentle press of your heel, you urged your horse onward. The eagle’s shadow passed over the gate, and then it soared above the rooftops, perhaps to find its own perch. A familiar scent drifted through the crisp night air—something like cinnamon and distant hearth fires. You took it in, remembering quiet evenings of study and healing in warm, lamplit rooms.

You had left as a student, eager and uncertain. You returned a master of your craft, ready to shoulder the responsibilities your old mentor had chosen for you. The quiet crunch of hooves in snow was the only sound as you entered Velaris, a place you had not seen in a hundred lifetimes, yet still knew in your bones.

As soon as you passed through the gates, you swung your leg over the horse’s side and dismounted with a practiced ease. The animal, sensing your familiarity, snorted softly, its breath making small clouds in the winter air. The snow crunched beneath your boots as you took the saddle in hand, leading your horse forward at a leisurely pace. A few onlookers spared curious glances—travelers weren’t uncommon in Velaris, but your arrival at this late hour and in these quiet conditions drew subdued interest.

You let your gaze drift, taking in the sights around you. Velaris had always been a jewel among cities, but under the moon and dusting of snow, it gleamed with a serene kind of splendor. Buildings of carved stone and elegant wood bore soft, golden lights that spilled onto cobblestone streets. The scent of fresh bread and distant hearth fires mingled with the crispness of winter. You noted subtle changes—new sculptures in gardens, fresh murals adorning certain walls, the hum of gentle magic woven into everyday corners. It had grown even lovelier with time.

You had heard the tales, even far away on foreign shores: the once-hidden city revealed to the world, the ferocious attack it had endured, and the grand victory that followed. Rumors traveled quickly among healers and traders, and from what you gathered, Velaris had suffered but risen stronger, its spirit unbroken. The idea that your old home, once so secretive, had been thrust onto the world stage still left an odd taste in your mouth. You’d never imagined such an outcome all those centuries ago.

And Rhysand—when you’d left, he’d only just ascended as High Lord after his father’s passing. You remembered him as calm, shrewd, haunted by new responsibilities thrust upon him too young. Now, you’d learned that he had reigned through wars and alliances, reshaping the Night Court into something more open, more formidable. Most astonishing of all was the whisper that a High Lady stood beside him, equal in power and rank. Such a thing had been unthinkable in the old days, when tradition and suspicion ruled the courts.

You ran a hand along the horse’s neck, both reassuring it and steadying yourself. Time had flowed like a great river, carving new courses in this land you once knew. The Night Court wasn’t just shadows and silence anymore—if anything, it hummed with a brighter, more inclusive magic.

A small smile tugged at your lips, though touched by nostalgia. You wondered if you would still recognize old acquaintances, if any remained. Madja, of course, you would know. She was the reason you had returned. But what about the healers who trained alongside you, or the courtiers who once sought your help for quiet fevers and twisted ankles?

Your breath fogged in the cold as you carried your saddle and led the horse onward into the velvety night of Velaris. In that soft hush, surrounded by lamplight and murmuring streets, you acknowledged what had been and what now was. A thousand changes had come to pass while you walked distant roads, yet here you were again—a piece of the past stepping into the present, ready to adapt and serve once more.

With a gentle tug on the reins, you guided your horse through Velaris’ winding streets until you reached a small inn known for accommodating travelers with mounts. The sign outside bore simple script and a painted image of a horse’s head, letting you know this was a place that catered to riders who needed both rest and a safe spot for their companions. A narrow stable area hugged one side of the building, the wooden stalls visible through an open arch, and the soft whicker of other horses drifted out into the cold night.

You tied your horse securely at a hitching post near the stable entrance, giving it a few soft strokes along its neck and murmuring quiet words of reassurance. The inn’s lights glowed warmly through its windows, promising respite from the chill outside. Carrying only what you needed for the night—your saddle and a small bag slung over your shoulder—you stepped up onto the worn threshold.

Inside, the inn’s atmosphere enveloped you like a comforting blanket. The interior was modest yet inviting, with low ceilings supported by dark wooden beams that lent the space a cozy, intimate feel. A large hearth crackled at one end, its firelight dancing across the polished floorboards and simple, sturdy tables. The scent of mulled wine and hearty stew drifted through the air, mingling with the faint tang of old wood and woolen fabrics. A few patrons sat scattered around, some nursing tankards, others finishing quiet meals, their murmured conversations melding into a pleasant hum.

Lamps hung at intervals along the walls, their warm glow illuminating the simple artwork—landscapes of rolling hills and starry skies, scenes that might be familiar to travelers who came and went. A rack near the door held thick cloaks and traveling staffs, and straw mats by the hearth encouraged weary wanderers to warm their feet by the flames.

Approaching the small counter near the fire, you found a stout figure in an apron waiting, brows lifting slightly at your approach. The innkeeper—a middle-aged fae with kind eyes and a no-nonsense posture—took in your travel-worn attire and the faint smell of stable hay clinging to your clothes without judgment.

“I need a room for the night,” you said, voice low but clear. You placed a few coins on the counter, enough to cover lodging and a decent meal. “And a safe place for my horse,” you added, gesturing out the door with a tilt of your head.

The innkeeper nodded, pocketing the coins and scribbling a note in a ledger. “You’ve chosen the right place, traveler. We’ve a stable hand on duty tonight, and plenty of hay and water for your mount. I’ll have your belongings sent up to your room—top of the stairs, second door on the right. Will you be needing dinner?”

The gentle crackle of the hearth made you realize how hungry you were. “Yes, please. Something hot.” The tension of your long journey began to ease as you spoke. Soon, you would have a warm meal and a quiet room, a moment to gather your thoughts before facing the days to come in Velaris.

The innkeeper nodded again. “We’ll have stew and bread ready for you in a moment. Make yourself comfortable.”

You thanked them quietly and made your way toward a table near the fire. Settling down, you let the warmth seep into your bones. Outside, the snow continued to fall lightly, dusting the night-silenced streets. Inside, the inn’s modest comfort wrapped around you, a gentle reminder that, for all the changes beyond these walls, solace could still be found in simple things: a crackling fire, a hot meal, and a secure place to rest.

You thanked the inn’s attendant who brought your things upstairs—your saddle and bag neatly placed in one corner, your personal items laid out on a small bench. As soon as the door closed, you set about making yourself comfortable. The tiny room was modest but cozy: a single bed with a thick quilt, a wooden chest for your belongings, and a narrow door that led to a private washroom. The lamp on the bedside table glowed softly, illuminating rough-hewn beams overhead and the simple woven rug underfoot.

The bath you drew was warm and fragrant, a rare luxury after so many months on the road. You sighed as the hot water embraced your tired muscles, steam rising to blur the edges of the lamplight. Every ache and tension slipped away, replaced by a gentle calm. You lingered there longer than you intended, letting the warmth and quiet stillness soothe the raw edges of your journey.

Eventually, you stepped out, drying off with a towel that smelled faintly of lavender. Pulling on more comfortable clothes—soft trousers, a loose tunic, and thick socks—you immediately felt lighter, more at ease. Settling into the single chair at the small desk, you opened your sketchbook. The pages bore neat sketches of rare herbs, diagrams of organs and nerve clusters, annotations in your own careful handwriting describing remedies learned in distant courts. You added a few more notes now, clarifying a technique you’d picked up in the Winter Court for combating frostbite injuries—how their healers used crushed frost lily petals to reduce swelling.

You’d barely finished jotting down a final sentence when a gentle knock sounded at the door. Crossing the tiny space in a few strides, you opened it to find the innkeeper’s assistant holding a tray. The rich aroma of stew—savory and warm—wafted into your room. You offered a quiet thanks, voice hushed as if not to disturb the hush of the night. The assistant nodded politely and retreated, footsteps receding down the hallway.

Placing the tray on a small round table by the window, you pulled up the chair. The stew steamed before you—thick and hearty, with chunks of root vegetables, tender meat, and herbs that reminded you of home. Next to it was a small loaf of crusty bread and a pat of butter, already soft enough to spread easily.

As you dipped your spoon and brought the first mouthful to your lips, the flavors bloomed across your tongue—rich, comforting, and exactly what you needed. Your gaze drifted past the rim of the bowl to the window. Beyond the glass, the Sidra River shimmered softly under starlight. Snowflakes drifted lazily through the night, catching in the glow of distant lanterns. Across the water, the Rainbow—Velaris’s famed artistic district—was lit with gentle hues, colors blending seamlessly into the darkness.

The scene was a masterpiece of tranquility: the star-flecked sky, the quiet city, the snow falling softly as if trying not to wake the world. You savored another spoonful of stew and leaned back, allowing the moment to settle around you. Here you were, in a city you’d left centuries ago, come home to take up a mantle left by your old mentor. So much had changed and yet this moment—warm meal, quiet window, gentle snow—reminded you why you returned. Comfort, safety, purpose, and memory woven together in a tapestry of starlit peace.

You finished the last of your meal, wiped the bowl clean with a piece of bread, and gently pushed the tray aside. The steady warmth of the stew had settled in your stomach, making your limbs feel pleasantly heavy. Outside, the snow continued its quiet descent, dusting the rooftops and the narrow streets with sparkling powder. The lamplight in your room seemed softer now, the hush of the winter night wrapping around you like a familiar old cloak.

Rising from the small chair, you crossed the room and extinguished the lamp on the bedside table. Only moonlight and the reflection from the snow-blanketed city remained, sending faint silver shapes dancing along the floorboards. You slipped beneath the quilt, the scent of wool and lavender drifting from the linens. The mattress gave slightly under your weight, a gentle cradle after so many hard beds and forest floors.

Your thoughts drifted naturally to the meeting you’d have the next day. Madja’s voice echoed faintly in your memory—her gentle, steady guidance so many years ago. Tomorrow, you would see her again, no longer as a wide-eyed apprentice, but as a seasoned healer returning to take up her mantle. The idea hummed softly through your mind, a mixture of anticipation and a quiet, nervous pride.

The distant murmur of Velaris lulled you: the soft creak of settling beams, the whisper of the Sidra’s current, the faint call of a night bird. Within moments, the fatigue of long travel and the comfort of a true bed smoothed away the edges of wakefulness. Your eyelids grew heavy and closed, shutting out the gentle glow of stars and snow.

Wrapped in warmth and memory, you drifted into sleep, secure in the knowledge that tomorrow would begin a new chapter—one you were finally ready to embrace.

don't hesitate to comment if you want to be added to the tag list ;)))

#azriel fic #azriel x you #azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #acotar fanart #acotar #rhysand #azriel acotar #cassian #a court of thorns and roses #acotar x y/n #acotar x reader #acotar x you #acotar fanfiction #azriel shadowsinger

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brittle-doughie · 1 year ago

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The beasts, sealed away, punching the air while Y/N cookie accepts Elder Faerie’s proposal and the wedding after.

Today is not a good day for the Beasts

You tell him that you do. That you wished to be married to him, now and forever.

The faerie priest asks if Elder Faerie Cookie will do the same.

“I do. Truly, I want nothing more then to be by your side, through the darkest of hours and the brightest of peaks. You, the wonderful cookie who helped saved the Silver Kingdom. And me, the guardian of the silver tree. Together, we may watch over this land as King and King/Queen.”

Shadow Milk Cookie is seething. Hell, all of the Beasts were as they watched from their prisons.

“HOW?! MY PLAN WAS PERFECT! HE…ALL OF THEM WERE SUPPOSED TO LOSE!”

Red Spice Cookie, from within their prison, is trying with all his might to break free. Rage is all he could feel, it feels like his own dough is burning from the sight…

Mystic Flour Cookie sighed solemnly. It looked like Shadow Milk Cookie had failed to convert you fully, a shame that you saw significance in these lesser cookies. Why settle for less? It was beneath a cookie like you.

Cut them all down. That was the plan Silent Salt could conjure up in their head. Destroy every single cookie in their way, reduce them to bits. Remind them why there can only be few cookies that could protect you and it would certainly not be Elder Faerie Cookie…

The other Beasts should be lucky they don’t share a prison with Eternal Sugar Cookie, who’s currently in emotional agony as she struggles to brute force her way out of her prison. She has to watch the brightest light she’s seen getting married right before her eyes. It made her want nothing more then to BURN THE WHOLE KINGDOM DOWN weep into her hands, unable to think of anything else but to MUTILATE ALL OF THEM think of you and what could’ve been…

#brittle answers #cookie run x you #cookie run x reader #cr x reader #cookie run #crk x reader #cookie run kingdom x reader #cookie run kingdom #cr kingdom #shadow milk cookie #shadow milk cookie x reader #burning spice cookie #red spice cookie x reader #eternal sugar cookie x reader #yandere eternal sugar cookie #mystic flour cookie x reader #silent salt cookie x reader

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peachyprophets-blog · 4 months ago

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DROWNED LOVE. LET ME SEE YOU AGAIN...

Epic x reader

CW: Hint of death, EPIC spoiler warning, polyamorous relationship, female reader, English is not my first language.

Description: You are with Odysseus and his men in the war against Troy, you have known Odysseus for a long time. You are his steady partner and Penelope, Odysseus' wife, you have a committed relationship with each other. Since you are a warrior, you insisted on coming along to help in the fight.

PREV / PART 2

Reader POV:

When we attacked Troy, I stood on top of the walls and shot the Trojan soldiers with my arrows. I heard the screams of the soldiers who lost their lives in the fight for their kingdom. When Prince Hector fell and the battle began, everything seemed to stand still for a moment, all eyes were on the balcony that led to Prince Hector's chambers. When you turned your gaze to the balcony, you saw your captain and the man who made your heart beat faster. Odysseus of Ithaca, and in his arms he held something wrapped in a blanket, while you tried to make out what was wrapped in the blanket you heard a deep voice from nowhere warning that the child was a threat and that there would be no one to save if he let the child live. Child? Which child? This question was buzzing through your head until I realized what was in my captain's arms, a newborn. It was the son of Prince Hector, Astyanax. Before I could see anything else about the newborn I could hear Odysseus saying, "I'm just a man" to himself and the child. Before I could do anything else I just saw him let go of the fabric that the newborn was in, my gaze followed his path to death, not even a scream escaped the little boy as he got up and made his way into the underworld. I turned my gaze to the battlefield, all the soldiers and other members of Troy lay lifeless on the ground, the battle was won. I was standing right next to Poletis, a good friend of Odysseus and me, I slowly looked over at him, "it's done" I could just about manage to say, the pressure and burden that the war had weighed on all of us was lifting from us, the next goal was to go back home, to our homeland, back to Penelope and Telemachus. Poletis nodded at me before we walked from the wall to the others, we waited for Odysseus until he gave us his next instructions. We followed Odysseus on the way to the ships, when all the men were distributed to the ships, Odysseus gently took my hand and pulled me onto the ship. "I'm glad you're okay, now we just have to go back home and everything will be perfect" he said in a gentle tone as we stood next to each other. "Captain?" came the voice of Eurylochus, the second in command after a few days. "We've been on the road for days, the food is running low and the others are getting hungrier." His voice was filled with concern. Odysseus turned to him and discussed the next steps with him. I was lying in bed in Odysseus' cabin, not quite awake yet, I slowly sat up and got dressed. As I made my way onto the deck I heard Odysseus and Poletis on their way to explore an island. I was standing next to some men who were impatiently waiting for their captain and his best friend to return. As some men set out with Eurylochus to look for the two of them, a whole hour passed. When Odysseus returned with Eurylochus and a few men, I looked for Poletis, who was nowhere to be found. A bad feeling gripped my heart when I saw the red ribbon that Odysseus had tied around his forehead, which Poletis had actually worn. When everyone was on the ship, Odysseus, who was standing a little way away from me, called out, "Remember me, I am the reigning king of Ithaca, I am neither a man nor mythical. I am your darkest moment, I am the infamous ODYSSEUS." My world was spinning as the ship set sail again. I sat on the floor after Eurylochus had told me everything that had happened, from the lotus eaters to the Cyclops and Poletis's death. This information rocked my world, Poletis was a friend that no one could replace, he was there for me when I had problems, it was easy for him to make me smile, yet his way of seeing the world was ultimately dead. Eurylochus moved away from me to give me peace, I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn't notice a frame of somone aproaching me.

A/N: HEYYY , I hope you liked my first Post, I already work on Part 2 so it would be nice of you say if you liked this one ;>

#epic the ithaca saga #epic the musical #epic odysseus #epic the musical x reader #odysseus x reader #odysseus x penelope #greek mythology #greek mythology x reader #poseidon #poseidon x reader #epic x reader

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asidian · 10 months ago

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I nattered on about this a while back as an addendum to one of my other posts, but it got a little lost since it was a reblog, and the idea of it's stuck with me, so I wanted to come back to it again and expand on it a little.

One of the major themes of Dead Boy Detectives is that the good you do comes back around.

It surfaces and resurfaces throughout the series. The instances in the final episode are the most spelled out for the viewer, but there's one example that lives at the very heart of the show that isn't quite so obvious on first glance.

When Charles dies, Edwin is newly returned from hell. The show doesn't specify the timeline aside from that he escapes hell in the same year he meets Charles, 1989, but overcoming that much trauma within a year is a big ask any way you slice it. He's spent seventy years in survival mode. He's got to be a wreck, still.

At this point, he hasn't had time to develop any complicated leniency schemes to keep himself out of hell. Certainly their detective agency hasn't been formed yet. It comes later, in 1990.

For the entire rest of the series, Edwin has a least a partial ulterior motive for the good he does. He takes on cases and tries to make an impact for their clients at least in part so that he can build himself up such a shield of decency that if he ever gets dragged back to hell, he can try to plead his case. He's so ashamed of this that he doesn't admit it out loud until he's forced to by magic.

But when he meets Charles, none of that plan is in place yet. Here he hasn't taken the time to sit down and work out a plan at all. Here the agency doesn't even exist.

He sees this boy in the attic, beaten and freezing and huddling in a corner, and he comes to offer the only thing he thinks he can: light.

And when he realizes he can give more than that – when he realizes that Charles can see him, and what that means – he stays and gives more. Comfort, and kindness, and company, in the very darkest hour of all.

He takes one look at how battered Charles is, and he tells him, "I shan't hurt you."

And it is a big deal.

Arguably this one line is the very best thing he could have said to Charles in this situation, and Edwin, who struggles with people, who has spent seventy years in hell, who is still trying to sort through his own trauma, takes one look at this boy who has been beaten soon-to-be to death, and he knows that intuitively.

And to Charles? It must have meant everything. Charles has spent his entire life trying to be good enough. He smiles and struggles to please. He does the best he can for whoever he can, and for his entire life, it has never been enough. He's been hurt, over and over again, for failing to live up to his father's impossible standards or guess at his impossible rules. His so-called friends turned on him and murdered him for trying to keep them from hurting someone else.

He's on the verge of tears, alone in the dark, dying.

And then Edwin steps up carrying the metaphorical and literal light in the darkness, and one of the very first things he ever says is, "I shan't hurt you."

That's the baseline. That offer comes when Charles isn't putting on a show. He's not being brave, or strong, or charming. He's hiding in a corner, quietly freezing to death. But here comes this boy anyway, with a light in the darkness and a promise not to hurt him.

It's a moment of simple, honest kindness – of Edwin doing good because he sees someone and he wants to help.

And to Charles, it makes such an impact that he gives up his afterlife for this boy. He spends the next thirty years stepping in front of things that would do him harm. He keeps the lantern and brings it with him, when he comes to save Edwin from hell.

It's that very first moment of kindness, in the attic, that sets into motion the events that result in Edwin's rescue.

That one moment of genuine good, with no furtive selfish side intentions, comes back around to save him. He only knows Charles at all because he stopped to help. Charles only didn't pass on to his afterlife because Edwin was there for him.

And then, all those years later, Charles sets out like Orpheus down into hell to get his best mate back.

That good has come around again. That light in the darkness, literally and figuratively both, is there for him in his lowest moment because he offered it to someone else when they desperately needed it.

And that's beautiful.

#dead boy detectives #dbda #dbda spoilers #edwin payne #charles rowland #payneland #meta commentary #netflix

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magicalmutants · 3 months ago

Text

God Loves You, But Not Enough to Save You

Demon!Sukuna x Priestess!reader

wc: 2.3k

Warnings: true-form!sukuna, dark themes, religious themes, suggestive, mentions of blood + bloodsucking, implied madness/psychosis, MDNI!!

A/N: happy Valentine’s Day to the FREAKS!! This is my first foray into something a little bit darker so pls lmk if I missed any warnings and also it’s my first time really actually writing for sukuna so pretty pls be nice to me 🥲👉👈

Devotion was sweet. Warm. It was candlelight flickering along the temple walls and robes sweeping along stone floors. It was the smell of herbs as they burned in offering pyres. It filled the air of the stone temple on the hilltop like incense curling in soft tendrils around the altar at which you laid the bowl of sacrament. The sounds of devotion, the smells. seeping into the stone, into the skin.

Your devotion seeped out from your very being, like honey. Smooth and sweet, heavy and golden. Your devotion lived in the sound of your whispered prayers, in the gentle press of your hands and knees as you knelt at the altars of your Gods.

Devotion was pure. Cleansing. It was the feeling of the cool waters with which you performed the ritual of sanctity. It was the way you moved through the small temple like a ghost of your own making, light footed and reverent. Your devotion was steadfast, it was unquestioning. It wove its threads into the very fibers of your being. You worshipped like you breathed; your devotion was unwavering. Constant.

And yet devotion was also silent. It did not answer when your prayed. It did not reach back when you raised teary eyes and trembling hands up to the heavens. The Gods received, but they did not offer anything in return. They did not give. They watched from up high, distant as the very stars, content in their silence.

(If they watched at all)

Sometimes in the stillness of the night, crouched in worship by the light of the moon, lips forming so sweetly and reverently around your prayers, hands clasped before you, head bowed, you wondered if they cared for you. If they saw you.

So you closed your eyes, priestess’ veil fluttering about you, and prayed harder. Your knees ached from the harsh stone of the floor and the incense at the altar had long since burned out. Still you prayed. You prayed until the first glimmers of sunlight streamed in through the windows and cast a golden glow on the statue you knelt before. Worshippers from the nearby village came to make their offerings of fruit and tributes, asking for blessings in return. Still you prayed.

———————

Sukuna watched from the shadows of the dawn as it turned to early morning, and then to high noon. His red eyes never strayed from your form as you knelt there, hour after hour, so pure in your devotion, the light of your faith burning with a desperate beauty.

It had been centuries since Sukuna had been so captivated by the faith of such a devout little thing as you. To the Gods you offered everything, happy to waste away in the service of those who remained cold and distant, ungrateful as they were. They did not know as he knew, how their silence had begun to grow deafening in the growing hollow emptiness of your soul. Perhaps they did not care.

Sukuna knew what you whispered into the dark when the long nights closed in and you felt utterly alone. He knew what your heart silently yearned for. He knew what lay in the deepest, darkest recesses of your soul. He knew what lived in the dungeon where you condemned all the ugliest parts of yourself. He felt the yearning that even you did not have the words to describe. He felt a hunger there, carnal and gaping. One that matched his own. You were made for him, and he would have you— of those two things he was sure.

———————

Sleep rarely came easily to you these days, and when it did it was a feverish torment of low, aching whispers in the night, threatening—no, offering— to devour you. It was filled with the ghosts of touches that lingered on your body and a shadow that lingered in the back of your mind long after you woke with a sickening revulsion in your stomach and a shameful dampness between your legs.

You had begun to feel a presence nearby when you prayed, sometimes so stifling that it made the rites catch in your throat. Still you prayed, your devotion unwavering. Constant.

(If not a little tainted)

———————

Sukuna seethed from his place in the shadows. He watched as you lit pyres, recited hymns and laid offerings at the altars of the undeserving with fervent hands. With every passing night of being rebuked his appetite only grew. Why did you continue to lay your soul bare to beings that cared nothing for you? Why did you refuse him so? Why would you not offer the sweetness of your devotion to one who could reward it tenfold— nay, a hundredfold? Have his tempting promises to satisfy your desires not been enough? My, my. You were a pious little thing, weren’t you?

———————

Night fell and once again, a troubled sleep claimed you.

(Troubled, and yet no longer altogether unwelcome)

Something was different tonight. Your dreams, usually formless shadows of temptation and desires forbidden, took shape when you closed your eyes this time. His figure flitted in and out of your mind, waiting at the corner of your eye and disappearing when you turned you look.

Vague pieces caught your eyes. Hair the color of a cherry blossom in spring and eyes the color of flesh laid bare. How many eyes were those? How many arms? Rippling muscles, broad shoulders, black markings leading from his arms and torso to a face handsome and yet unworldly. Gleaming teeth behind plump lips. Fangs bared in a large mouth. Two mouths? A wolfish and terrible beauty. Striking and petrifying. He held you in a realm between waking and slumber. Nothing was real, and yet everything was.

Then, a voice. Reverent and seductive. Sweet and sickening. It reverberated all around you.

“You are beautiful when you pray,”

Fear grips your heart, and yet something deep inside you stirs and reaches towards the shadows where he was hiding.

“Show yourself!” You whip you heard around, peering into the darkness, as tendrils of shadow caress you, leaving a feverish heat on your body in their wake.

“Tell me, little saint, do they truly deserve your devotion?” The voice whispers from behind you.

You turn around and there he is. Smiling. Predatory. The maw in the middle of his torso gapes, its tongue running over the fangs therein. He reaches for you, taking hold of your waist and shoulders as he pulls you towards him, lifting you up towards his face.

You thrash and turn your face away. This is a test. You are being punished for giving shape to the wretched desires you bury deep within.

“Look at me,” he growls, his third hand coming to grip the back of your neck. His hands are massive, fully restraining you as he holds you against him. You feel the mouth of his torso move against where the heat pools in your lower abdomen, as if restraining itself from tasting you.

He forces your head to tilt up towards him, the fingers of his final hand coming to stroke the side of your face, ever so softly. You stare at him, completely immobilized and refusing to speak.

(A voice in the darkest corner of your mind tells you to submit)

“Will you let me taste you, little saint?” His lips ghost over your skin, hot breath tickling your jaw and neck as he presses closer.

Your devotion is unwavering. Constant. No temptation is worth more than that. You are being tested.

You wake. The sun shines on your hot skin and you feel sticky and befouled.

(And more than a little disappointed)

You felt unseen eyes track your movements around the temple that day. You arranged the sacred fruits in their silver bowls, traced the carved sigils with practiced fingertips, and knelt before the altars with the ease of someone who had done this a thousand times before. You rang bells and performed blessings for the villagers. But the voice refused to leave.

It lingered in the silence between prayers, in the evening stillness of the temple halls when all the villagers had left. It lingered in those fragile moments between wakefulness and sleep. Sukuna spoke your name like a secret only he knew, hungry for devotion.

(You began to crave the moment you could close you eyes the end of the day)

You no longer slept in your bed, favoring instead to sit trancelike at the foot of the goddess of protection until you slipped into the realm of waking dreams.

The long nights had begun to blur together into a long fever dream of half remembered whispers and touches. A series of shadowy passages in the labyrinth of your mind where your resolve had begun to slowly wither.

And yet you prayed, hungry to devote yourself. You performed the rites and knelt before the altars of the Gods, reverent eyes cast upwards through the translucent material of your veil, hands clasped and lips reciting hymns and prayers up into the heavens as they had done for years. Your devotion was unwavering. Constant.

(The villagers had long since abandoned the temple on the hill where the priestess whispered the name of the Demon King of Curses during her prayers instead of the Gods’)

Night after night and day after day, your resolve crumbled further with every stolen moment of sleep. Every whisper of your name that slithered into your mind. Every touch that set your skin ablaze. Every corrupted prayer, every hymn.

And then finally, when the sun had begun to chase away the chill of winter and the cherry trees outside bore blossoms the color of the Demon King’s hair, on that perilous cusp between nightmare and waking, the veil between worlds tore open.

There, emerging from the darkness in the shadowy reaches of the temple, stood Sukuna. His form as fluid as smoke and as hulking and predatory as in your dreams, yet every bit of him was tangible. You turned from the statue of the goddess you were kneeling before and stood up.

The moonlight danced over his features, his eyes promising unholy devotion. He moved towards you with a languid certainty. You watched, unmoving. Every step he took was a silent declaration of his triumph over your piety and reserve.

“Will you not kneel before me, little saint?” His steps reverberated on the stone floor. “I have heard every secret plea, every silent yearning. I have walked into your realm to claim you. Do I not deserve your devotion? His voice echoed in the empty temple, deep and possessive.

He stopped in front of you, and watched your glassy eyed stare with a dark, triumphant amusement. He reached down towards you and lifted your veil, folding it over the top of your head.

“Show me your faith,”

You stared up at him, taking in the unobstructed sight of him. Here he was, standing before statues of beings who had never given an ounce in reciprocation for all the years of devout piety you had given them. Here was someone who listened. He had heard. He had answered. He had come for you.

Slowly, with graceful, trancelike movements, you lowered yourself onto your knees with the ease of one who had done so a thousand times before. Your hands clasped in front of you, eyes never leaving his face, even as the mouth on his stomach bared its fangs in a wicked grin.

He gazed down as you prayed not for your Gods, but for the consuming promise of his presence. Slowly, he reached for you.

“Will you let me taste your tender devotion, little saint?” His voice was sweet and thick like honey as it slides down your throat before it chokes you. All you can do is nod.

He lifted you up, holding your body horizontally, one hand supporting your head and neck and one each under your back and legs. The fourth caressed your body, the feeling sending electricity crackling in its wake. He swept away the hair from the side of your neck and watched as your throat was laid bare before him, bathed in the glow of the moon. He lowered you to the mouth at his torso, which salivates as it makes a hole in your neck before greedily licking and sucking the blood that begins to seep from it. You gasp at the feeling.

As he feeds from your neck, somewhere between the realms of loathing and ecstasy, you wonder what you had done. Had you let yourself fall into the thrall of a creature that would consumed you?

(That would love you)

Is it better to be devoured or to be ignored? What is devotion, if not the desire to be remade in the image of that which you love? That which you would give yourself over to completely? That which you would become one with?

In a moment of clarity, the sanctity of your vows as priestess comes back to you and you find yourself stricken. What had you done? Maybe it isn’t too late. You glance up towards the statue you had spent the night kneeling under but see only red eyes and glinting teeth smiling down at you. Perhaps now that you have tasted that which you craved, your desire can be banished backed to the unholy dungeon from whence it came and you can still be saved.

His large mouth detached from your side, and his tongue slides out to soothe the punctured skin of your throat. His four large arms continue to shift around your body, pulling you upright and closer, ever closer. His touch is cold, your body hot. Desire, and devotion. He brings you up to his face, lips ghosting over yours as scarlet droplets slide down your neck. You shiver.

(There is nothing left of you to save)

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beckyninja · 2 months ago

Text

Goodbyes

Pairing: Demetrian Titus x FemOC (formerly FemReader)

Warnings: Much Spiciness! MDNI

Description: After their victory over the forces of Chaos, Titus is finally recognized for his valor, honored... and given a less than welcome order.

I play fast and loose with canon events in this one, folks. Hope you don't mind too much. Also, after much consideration and input, I've decided to turn my Reader into an actual OC.

Meet Sera del Monte, Titus's serf and lover. (And feel free to ask any questions you have about her!)

This is a continuation of my Titus series. You can find the previous chapters on my Masterlist.

“Lieutenant Demetrian Titus, your decisive actions have saved this system from ruin.”

Your heart leapt at the Chapter Master’s words. On a walkway overlooking the hangar floor, you watched Demetrian, your Demetrian, stand before the Company. As usual, his face showed little emotion. But you saw the straightening of his shoulders.

“And so it is with great pride, that I now present you with an honor worthy of your deeds.”

At your side, Vesta gasped. “Oh, Sera! Those are….”

“The Laurels of Victory.”

You pressed a hand over your mouth. Demetrian had told you of this coveted award, an honor few Ultramarines ever attained. Tears filled your eyes as he received his now-gilded helmet from the Captain.

If anyone ever deserved this, it’s you.

“Let every warrior of the Adeptus Astartes see that here stands the true measure of a son of Guilliman.”

As the Ultramarines shouted out their battle cries, saluting the man you loved with all your heart, you felt a slim arm slip around your shoulders and squeeze.

“Such an honor to serve such a man.” Vesta whispered, a grin lighting her face.

You could only nod, not trusting yourself to speak past the lump in your throat. Looking back down, you drew in a startled breath to see Demetrian’s face uplifted toward yours. He’d been gone when you awoke at the start of the day cycle. You’d worried he wouldn’t know of your presence at the ceremony.

But now, even from afar, his eyes burned into yours. You put all the emotion you could into your smile.

I am so proud of you, my love.

***

He shouldn’t have looked at her. Titus knew he invited questions doing so, questions he could ill afford to answer. But he couldn’t help himself. And so, for a brief moment, he stared into the rich darkness of her eyes, saw the tears there, the smile.

Throne, the pride.

His hearts felt on the verge of bursting from his ribcage. He wanted nothing so much as to charge to where she stood and sweep her into his embrace, to let all his brothers know the woman whose compassion and devotion inspired him to such deeds.

My Little Healer. My Sera.

The heavy tread of the Chapter Master brought him back to reality.

“Forgive me brother, that it took me so long to bring you home.”

The words rocked him. “My Lord, that-”

“Fierce was my wrath when I learned of your detention.” Calgar’s face was grim, anger sparking in his single eye. “In their arrogant suspicion, the Inquisition failed to realize the truth,” the anger faded, “that no evil will ever overcome a devotion such as yours.”

Titus couldn’t breathe. His mind spun back over his centuries of torment and exile, the wounds he’d endured. Wounds of the soul. Sera had begun the healing, giving him strength to endure his darkest hours, and now the words of the Chapter Master….

He was whole again.

“Thank you, my lord.”

Calgar continued, “There is a mission. It will take you away from the 2nd Company for a time.”

“As you command, Chapter Master.”

In years past he would not have felt any hesitation. Now, he hoped this mission could be completed quickly. He didn’t relish the idea of uprooting his Little Healer yet again.

She deserves stability.

“The Brother Chaplain will brief you. It was he that suggested you for the task.”

Alarms rang in Titus’s mind.

***

You paced the floor of your and Titus’s quarters. Every surface gleamed. You’d replaced the sheets on the cot, set out fresh candles, even managed to acquire an amount of new, more fragrant incense. You reminded yourself to thank the supply serf who’d given it to you.

His robe was rather ragged. I could mend it for him.

Stepping into the attached lavatory, you examined your face in the mirror. Earlier, Vesta had chased several serfs out of the communal showers just so you could have a moment’s privacy to wash.

“This would be easier if we simply used my pass code to the Astartes’ baths.” She huffed, working the shampoo into your hair.

You ran your brush through the honey-brown locks. Perhaps she’d been right. And yet, uneasiness still filled you when you remembered the first time.

Thank the Emperor nothing came of it. Maybe that sound was just a noisy pipe after all.

You pushed the thought from your mind and nodded at your reflection. Bright black eyes, clean, recaf-colored skin several shades lighter than it had been before you entered service. Just about as presentable as a serf with only two changes of the exact same robe could be.

After today, Titus deserved you at your very best.

Any maybe, just maybe, he’d be willing to indulge me a little? I have some ideas-

The familiar slide of metal on metal had you rushing back into the main room.

“Demetrian!”

He’d changed out of his armor. You took a moment to appreciate the way the casual robes emphasized his muscular form. His helmet, laurel crown glinting in the candlelight, hung from one hand. You smiled at him. Your gaze slid up his chest, only to stop short when you saw his expression.

“What’s wrong?”

Titus stared down at you, the eyes that had been so full of light earlier, now blank. The muscles in his jaw worked.

You approached and laid a hand on his stomach, feeling the tension beneath the fabric. “What happened?”

He stepped past you and sat heavily on the cot, setting the helmet to one side. You moved between his spread thighs. He didn’t look at you.

“Demetrian?” Reaching out, you brushed his leathery cheek with your fingertips. “You’re frightening me.”

“I’ve been assigned a mission.”

“All right.” You shook your head. “I don’t-”

“I leave on the morrow.”

An iciness stabbed through your gut. “You mean ‘we’, don’t you? Demetrian?” He didn’t respond. “I’m your personal serf. Where you go, I go.” You tried to turn his head, to get him to look at you.

Finally, he did. “No, Sera. I go alone.”

***

“Titus. Lord Calgar has informed you of your assignment?”

Titus’s jaw tensed as he nodded. As ever, the Chaplain’s modulated voice held a note of scorn.

“Good. You will be briefed when the Sword of Calth departs on the next day-cycle.”

The alarm bells still rang. “I am told you recommended me for this mission, Brother Chaplain.”

“I did. You have done well.” The words dripped with venom. “You have won the trust of your brothers and the Chapter Master. But know this Titus: the stain of suspicion never completely fades.”

Titus clenched his fists. He should have known.

“No matter where you go,” the Chaplain growled, “I will be watching you. Should you falter on the path for even a moment,” he removed his helmet.

It took all of Titus’s centuries of self-control to mask his shock.

Leandros’s hate-filled eyes stared back at him. “I will show no mercy. This mission is a test of your commitment, to see if you truly remain free of any and all… temptation.”

Titus’s blood ran cold. He swore he saw a flicker of dark satisfaction in his former battle brother’s gaze.

“And you will undertake it alone.”

As he saw the heartbreak in Sera’s eyes, Titus cursed the man he’d once fought alongside. He pulled her to him and rested his chin atop her head. Hot tears soaked through his robe.

“I have spoken to Brother Apothecary Callistus this day. You will report to the Apothecarion tomorrow.” He ran his hand the length of her back. “He is a decent man. He will treat you well.”

She sobbed. “Why, Demetrian?”

He buried his nose in her hair. “Could I bring you, I would, Little Healer. But it has been forbidden.”

“By who?”

He gritted his teeth. “The Chaplain.”

A sharp gasp. She pulled back, looking up at him with wide, wet eyes.

“Does he… could he-?”

“We would know if he did.” He cupped her face in his palm. “But he may suspect. I have been too careless, Warp damn it!”

She placed her hands on his chest, bewilderment in her eyes. “Why do I feel there’s something you’re not telling me?”

He sighed. No time to reveal everything now, but she deserved at least a few answers.

“Do you remember when I told you I had once endured a false accusation?”

A bittersweet smile flickered across her lips. “The day you saved me.”

He felt a corner of his mouth lift in response. “Yes.” The half-smile faded. “The Chaplain was my accuser.”

“Emperor, save us.” Her face paled.

Titus lowered his head until his forehead rested against hers. “Stay far from him, Sera.”

“I will.”

“Swear it!”

She seemed taken aback by the intensity in his voice. “I swear. By the Emperor, I swear.”

If Leandros hurts her, a growl rumbled deep in his chest, I will kill him.

Titus looked into his Sera’s beautiful eyes, down her cloth-covered body. Only a few hours before his departure, and he didn’t dare waste them.

He would have her one last time.

He slotted his mouth against hers, swallowing her surprised gasp. Tugging her robes from her shoulders, he salivated at the sight of her revealed form. His hands mapped her curves.

Strange. He’d seen her, felt her, a dozen times now, yet the thrill grew no less. The sensation of his fingers sinking into the plushness of her hips, her thighs, her belly… it still stoked a hunger.

He released her mouth and buried his face in her neck. “So soft.”

A breathless laugh. “You say that every time.”

She didn’t understand. He lived surrounded by the hard, the harsh, and the jagged. To feel her smooth roundness under his skin was a blessed relief. One he’d spent most of his life as an Astartes not knowing he needed.

He slid his hands up her torso, pausing just at the top of her ribcage. There he waited, needing to know she wanted this as much as he.

Her small hands stroked over his, urging them up… up… until they cupped the heavy swells of her breasts.

Titus gave a rumbling groan and leaned back. He watched her arch, eyes closing as she pushed her chest further into his hands. The delicate flesh gave beneath his scarred, calloused fingers. He kneaded, thumbs running over her hardening nipples.

Throne of Terra… the sounds she makes….

How had he gone centuries without the feel of a woman’s breasts in his hands? So many sensations he’d never dreamed of before. Only for a tiny baseline woman to utterly upend his ordered life and show him what he’d been missing.

“Ohhhh, Demetrian.” Her teeth sank into her lower lip as he moved his thumbs in slow circles.

He knew what she liked. The thought sent a flood of pride through him. He could spend hours like this, tracing his hands over the body she willingly surrendered to him. But there wasn’t time. There was never enough time.

So Titus stripped himself of his own robe and laid her back against the thin mattress. But when he moved to settle atop her, a small hand pressed in the center of his chest.

“W-wait.”

He froze. In his ardor, had he hurt her in some way? All it would take was a single careless motion on his part.

She must have recognized the look on his face, because her hand shifted to cup his cheek. “Nothing’s the matter, love. I just… I was wondering….”

He followed the blush blooming across her face and chest. When she looked away, he tilted her head back.

“What is it?”

She gnawed her lip. “There’s something… I once heard that… um, can we try something new?”

She’d already shown him all the pleasure two bodies could experience together. What more could there possibly be?

When she finally managed to tell him what she wanted, amidst much stammering and a deepening blush, his eyes widened.

“With…my mouth?”

She covered her face with her hands. “No, no, never mind! We don’t have to! Throne, I just thought- Demetrian?!”

Grasping her sides, his fingers meeting around her soft middle, he slid her further up the cot, shifting himself down at the same time. His hearts pounded as her center came into view. Already her inner thighs glistened with moisture, the fragrance threatening to overwhelm his olfactory system. He stared for a long moment, breathing her in, thoughts racing. This was unfamiliar territory.

Yet he would never admit defeat.

“Demetrian? If you don’t want to-”

A frontal assault.

Spreading her thighs, he buried his face between them and drank like a man dying of thirst. He lapped without skill or direction, yet the sounds she made told him he was doing something correctly.

Pursue objective.

Titus’s hands found her hips and pulled. He felt the pressure of her pubic bone against his face. His nose brushed a small, familiar bud and she squealed.

Target acquired.

Her bucking hips nearly slipped from his hands when he drew his tongue across the nub.

“Demetrian!”

He felt fingers dig into his hair, the sensation sending his eyes rolling in their sockets. He licked faster, then slower, judging his efforts by the volume of her cries and the pleasurable sting of her little nails against his scalp. He plunged his tongue deep within.

Her body tightened, her cries reaching a familiar pitch.

Victory… Emperor be praised….

Titus feasted. Only when her whimpers sounded more of pain than pleasure did he relent, rearing up onto his knees and looming over her. He felt her juices drip over his chin.

She lay trembling before him, thighs still splayed, hands pressed over her face. Her breasts rose and fell as she panted.

“Throne,” he rasped, “I could live a full millennium and never tire of this sight. Was that what you wanted, Little Healer?”

“Mmm-hmm.” Hands falling to her sides, she gave him a shaky smile. “D-did you… like it?”

He searched for words. Something to explain exactly what she made him feel. The pleasure he took in giving her pleasure. The pride. The love buried so deep he’d swear it was etched upon his bones.

Warp damn it. I am no poet.

“I did.”

Her face nuzzled against his throat. He braced himself with a forearm above her head, the other hand curling around her hip.

“Tired, Little Healer?”

“A little.”

“Should we stop?”

Her whine brought a smile to his lips. In one fluid movement he surged up over her, sliding the hand at her hip under her rear, lifting her lower body until it ground against his throbbing length.

“Sera….”

***

You trembled at the press of him against your fluttering core. You always trembled. No matter how many times you gave yourself to him, you believed you always would. Even more so when he growled your name.

Have I ever told him what that voice does to me?

Desire flared anew in your lower belly. You planted your feet on the mattress and pressed yourself harder against him. Part of you felt shamed by the action. So eager, so lustful. Then he groaned and all thoughts of modesty fled.

“Demetrian, I want you!”

Hooking his hands beneath your knees, he pressed them up and back. The stretch burned, but oh, did you love it. A single thrust and you split wide for him. The hot, aching fullness drove a shuddering gasp from your lungs.

He gasped your name again. “Sera!”

You were ruined. No mortal man could match this. You belonged to the Angels now. To this Angel.

Moans fell from your lips as he began his rhythm. Strong and smooth and oh so deep. His huge hands held you to him with a tenderness that brought tears to your eyes. Craning your neck, you watched his face.

Eyes shut. Jaw slack.

This mighty Angel of the Emperor had dropped his guard, made himself vulnerable, all because of you.

You ran your hands along his impossibly broad chest. You traced each scar, each neural port, marvelling at the sheer strength and power of him. He should terrify you. And yet you never felt safer than when you lay shadowed by his bulk.

He was your protector, your shelter, your love.

For the thousandth time, you blessed the Emperor’s generosity in sharing one of his chosen warriors with you. For the thousandth time you vowed to be worthy of such a gift, to return Titus’s devotion with every fiber of your being.

Words mingled with your moans. “I’m yours, Demetrian. Yours. All yours.”

He snarled. His thrusts quickened, losing some of their rhythm. A knot tightened in your belly. His roar drowned out your scream as he filled you.

And that was only the beginning.

Time lost all meaning, devolving into wave after wave of pleasure until you couldn’t even wail his name anymore. You felt his mouth at your breasts, his teeth at your neck, his hands everywhere as he turned and twisted you as he pleased.

Your nostrils filled with the acrid tang of Astartes sweat, mingling with the salt of your own. Tears ran from your eyes, drool from your lips. Your lower body grew sodden.

More. More. Please!

At last, with a final groan and flood between your thighs, Titus collapsed beside you. Dazed, you barely felt him drag you up onto his chest, like he had that first night, so many nights past.

“Mine.”

His rumbling purr sent a shiver down your spine. All you managed to do in response was tilt your head until you looked into deep blue eyes, hoping he could read the message therein.

I love you.

What were you going to do without him?

You awoke still cradled in his arms. “Mmm. Demetrian?”

“Yes, Sera?” His voice held no trace of sleep.

“How long have you been awake?”

A sigh. “Too long. I should not linger.”

Your body tensed. Part of you hoped his words last night had been part of an awful dream. Reality shattered those hopes.

“You’re leaving.”

“I must.” The metal of his neural ports rasped against your skin as he sat up, still holding you. “Never before have I hesitated to do my duty.”

In the low light of a few smoldering candles, you reached up and touched his face. “You should go.”

His embrace tightened, then released. You stood and searched for your far flung garments. You didn’t want him to see the tears in your eyes. This would not be the last time duty took him from your side.

I refuse to be a hindrance.

“Sera.”

“I’ll be alright, Demetrian. Vesta speaks highly of her lord and I….” Your throat closed.

A thick, muscled arm wrapped around your waist and drew you back to his chest. You felt him press his face into your mussed hair, heard his deep inhales.

He’s taking my scent.

A thought sparked. “Demetrian, give me a moment.”

Fetching the little shears from your sewing kit, you rushed to the lavatory. It took mere moments to braid a lock of hair and snip it close to the roots. You returned to Titus’s side and held out the token.

“It’s all I can give.”

The braid looked impossibly small in his hands. He cradled it as if afraid it would disintegrate.

“This is a gift beyond price.” The solemnity in his voice made you blush. “And it must be reciprocated.”

“You don’t have to-”

He held up a hand, and you fell silent, watching as he lifted his helmet. You cried out when he wrenched a golden leaf free of the embedded laurel crown.

“Demetrian, no!”

Slipping to one knee on the metal floor, he took your hand and pressed the leaf into it. “I made an oath once, to never let you come to harm. I make another now.” A deep breath. “I, Demetrian Titus, Lieutenant of the 2nd Company of the Ultramarines, Son of Guilliman, swear to you, Sera del Monte, that I will bear your token always. It will be a symbol and a reminder to return to you. Though all the daemons of the Warp stand in my way, I will return.”

Your tears ran freely. “Oh, Demetrian.” You pressed the leaf to your heart. “I will string this around my neck, and it will be my symbol and reminder to wait for you. I will never falter.”

That is my oath.

***

Titus felt your presence, like a little shadow, trailing behind him as he made his way to the hangar. He brushed the new reliquary tied at the waist of his armor. It contained a treasure more holy to him than all the bones and relics of all the saints combined, heretical as that might be.

How he wished he could pull you into one of the many alcoves lining the walls and taste you one last time. Yet, he knew if he surrendered to such impulses, he would never leave.

And his duty awaited.

Your footsteps halted at the top of the stairway leading down to the hangar floor. He forced himself not to look back as he made his way toward the Chapter Master’s Thunderhawk.

Movement to one side caught his attention. Sgt. Gadriel and Brother Chairon.

“Brothers,” he clasped their hands, “I am called to serve elsewhere.”

Chairon spoke first. “You will be missed, my lord.”

“I will not forget the blood we have drawn together.”

“Nor shall we.”

“I owe you both a debt.” Titus felt a surge of affection for his squadmates, his brothers. “You have restored my faith in brotherhood.”

“We shall await your return.” Gadriel’s expression was almost mournful.

Suddenly, an idea formed. “I would ask a favor of you both, if I may.”

An eager light came into the blond Ultramarine’s eyes. “Of course, brother.”

Titus gestured to the top of the stairs, where his Sera stood. “I have been instructed to leave my serf behind. She has been reassigned to the Apothecarion.”

“The little one will be left alone?” Chairon frowned.

Gadriel did as well. “You… wish us to look after her, brother?”

“There is no one I would trust more.”

The sergeant looked embarrassed. Chairon nodded.

“She will come to no harm under our watch, my lord. I swear it.”

Titus felt a weight lift from his shoulders. Stepping back, he struck his breastplate in the Ultramarine salute.

“Courage and honor!”

His brothers repeated the cry, and Titus walked to the Thunderhawk’s lowered ramp. He did not see the skull-helmeted figure loom up behind the woman he loved.

@remembrancer-of-heresy @solspina @sleepyfan-blog @moodymisty @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan

@bispecsual @kit-williams @cosmic-cryptid-from-beyond @adhd-fandom-hyperfocus @lemon-russ

@justeverythingnothingelse @scriberye @bleedingichorhearts @c-u-c-koo-4-40k @mooniequeen

@passionofthesith @noncon-photobomb @sinistermojo @b-rabbitboss @vyzz-undercover

@missmannequin @rivalriotrenegade @iloveoutlinesiswear @jaghatai-khock @hatsubara-8chan

@justanothermemestrider @meervalv0 @grimdark-raccoon @garlickedbreads @riokunova

@ailujsenutna @emiemiemiii @astrohymn @synfiction @soul-of-leya

@n0cturn4 @mgrm99 @seirensou @zamzmak @elita1

@ilovewolvezz @primordialsneeze @summersong2262 @nereidof40k @ahrianee

@sunsetlobster @nekotaetae

As always, comment if you'd like to be added/removed from the Taglist.

#warhammer 40k #space marines #space marine x oc #demetrian titus #demetrian titus x oc #oc: Sera del Monte #marneus calgar #leandros #gadriel #chairon #ultramarines

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crowsofdarkness · 4 months ago

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Soldat: Chapter One

-gif not mine. credit to owner-

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Female Agent! Reader. Slight Steve Rogers x Female Agent! Reader

Content Warnings: language, 18 + implied smut, angst, fluff, kidnapping, violence.

Summary: Agent Y/N has worked alongside Steve Rogers at SHIELD for some time all while keeping a dark secret from everyone. Until one day that darkness faces her head on and she's forced to make a choice. Continue fighting along side Captain America? Or find her home once again with Soldat?

Authors Note: This was originally published on my old blog as a trilogy so I will be in the slow process of adding it to this blog. This is the first of the trilogy and will take place during The Winter Soldier. If anyone is interested in being tagged, let me know!

A soft breeze came through the curtains in my living room as my eyes scanned the same sentence in the book that was placed in my lap. The sentence that I had reread four times now. Closing the book with a groan, I set it on the other end of the couch and grabbed my phone from the coffee table in front of me.

No new messages.

I pocketed my phone while pulling my bottom lip between my teeth. Worry etched in my bones as I realized that I hadn’t heard from Steve in over 48 hours. He never went that long without sending some kind of message back to me. It was supposed to be a simple “save the hostages from a ship in the middle of the ocean. It’ll take a day tops.” Steve words. So here I was, two days later wondering what the hell went wrong.

“Stupid ankle,” I cursed my sprained ankle as it was the reason I couldn’t go on the current mission.

I had tweaked it a few weeks back and Steve wanted to make sure it was 100% before going back in the field. No matter how hard I tried to convince him I was fine, Steve could tell in the small limp that I was lying.

I’d been on Team Captain America for almost a year now, Nick recruiting me because of my background. Three years on New York Swat and almost five as a secret agent for the FBI. There was more to my past, which helped mold me into the agent I was today but that was a part of my life that I kept hidden from everyone, including Steve. There was a time in my life where I was at my lowest and darkest; however, as much as that moment in my life caused me many emotional and permanent scars, I don’t think I would be where I was today.

My finger ran over a small scar on my wrist as I thought back to that time, years ago, and my skin quivered as those memories came back. A dark, cold room with only one bed and the looming fear of when the next time would be when I would see him; would it also be the last time? Would my end be near?

“Christ, I haven’t thought of him in years.” I shuttered, pushing those thoughts away and tried to think of Steve.

In the year that I had been working side by side with him, Steve and I had become incredibly close. Soft touches, hushed conversions just between the two of us, and stares that never went unnoticed. We weren’t official, afraid of it getting in the way of work so we would never make it past first base; hell we never even made it close to first base.

Tired eyes read the clock that hung above the fireplace and a soft sigh left my lips. Calling him would be a waste of time because I knew he never kept his phone on him while on the field, it always stayed on the jet, so I decided to send him a text.

I should have figured it would take you longer than a day without me.-Y/N.

I didn’t even have a chance to set my phone down because a few seconds later it was buzzing and Steve’s face appeared on my screen, indicating he was face timing me.

“Thank god I actually look somewhat decent,” I muttered before hitting the green button, accepting the call.

Steve’s bright smile warmed my heart as I took in his appearance. Soot covered his forehead and chin, his typically styled hair was a mess, almost falling in his eyes as those tired blue eyes stared at me.

“Hi,” I breathed.

“Hey yourself. What time is it there?” Steve questioned.

I looked at the clock before my gaze rested back on Steve. “Just past 6 in the morning. How’d the mission go?”

Steve leaned back in the chair of the jet and ran a hand over his face, unbeknownst to him smearing the soot over his face. I suppressed a giggle, not wanting to let him know.

“You’re cleared to go back on duty. Starting three days ago.”

“I told you! We could have been finished days ago and you wouldn’t have needed me to water your plants.” I joked.

Steve shot up. “You have been watering them, right?”

The seriousness in his voice made me roll my eyes.

“Oh my god, grandpa. Yes, I did water your plants. You know, I forget that you’re 95 years old then you act like that and suddenly it all comes back.” I said with a small smile.

“You love me,” Steve gave me a smug smile.

My heart flipped. You have no idea.

“So when are you going to be back?” I changed the subject.

“The jet is landing at SHIELD in a few hours. I have to do a few errands but then I’m all yours,” the softness in his smile warmed my heart.

“The usual?” I asked.

“I’ve called in the pizza. It should be ready to go by seven.”

“I’ll bring the beers then,” I smiled

Every time we complete a mission, Steve and I would meet at his place for pizza and beers. It had been our tradition for the past year, no one else from the team joining.

Just us.

Steve’s lips moved as he was about to say something but a certain redhead appeared from behind him, coming into view.

“NAT!” I yelled, “I miss you!”

Her smile mirrored my own.

“You are forbidden from ever taking leave again. This one almost forgot his shield.” Natasha pointed at Steve.

“I did not!” He defended.

“Oh Stevie, what would you do without me?” I cooed and noticed his cheeks burned red.

We stared at each other for a few seconds and if feeling some type of tension between us, Nat shook her head before ruffling Steve’s hair.

“You’ve got something on your face.”

Steve looked closer into his phone and I swore, his cheeks were a deep crimson now.

“You let me talk to you like this the entire time?” Steve questioned, quietly thanking Nat who gave him a towel.

I shrugged. “I thought it was a cute look.”

“Maybe if you stopped giving Y/N bedroom eyes, you would have noticed how dirty you were,” Natasha teased.

“Nat!” I scoffed, feeling some warmth spread to my stomach.

“What?” She shrugged, “Someone has to call him out."

Shaking my head with a laugh, I gave them a small wave goodbye and told Steve I would see him later.

I ended the phone call with a sigh and felt excitement spread through my veins as the thought of being alone with Steve kept creeping in the back of my mind.

“Where the hell are you Rogers,” I grumbled as I checked my phone for the fifth time since arriving at his apartment twenty minutes ago.

I had called and texted him wondering when he would be home but was met with silence. My fingers slid over his door frame before peaking under the doormat hoping to find a spare key but nothing.

“You’re damn lucky you’re cute,” I cursed when I checked my phone yet again.

“Talking to yourself?”

Spinning on my heels towards the voice, my heart leaped when I saw Steve ascend the staircase, wearing the brown leather jacket that looked so good on him. He had the box of pizza in one hand and was messing with his keys in the other.

“I left my spare key at home. You should really leave another one somewhere.” I noted.

“I do,” he nodded towards his neighbor across the hall, “Kate has one.”

“Oh,” I sighed.

As if the Gods’ wanted to torture me more with the thought of Steve’s neighbor across the hall, she came out from her apartment. Adjusting the laundry basket on her hip, she smiled towards Steve.

Jealous eyes watched as they chatted, Steve flirting almost effortlessly with her. She giggled at a lame joke he told and I scoffed, crossing my arms over my chest. My shoulders slouched in anger when Steve invited her over to join us.

“I don’t want to impose,” she looked between Steve and I.

Steve quickly shook his head. “No, we’re just friends.”

My heart dropped to my stomach. “Yeah, friends.”

“Maybe next time. I’ve got a load in the wash.”

Steve agreed the next time and I had to turn away as he hugged Kate.

“You could have been a little nicer to her,” Steve asked as he leaned against his door.

“I’ve been waiting almost a half hour for you. I’m tired and hungry so sorry I didn’t feel like being friendly,” I snapped but immediately apologized when I saw the hurt flash across his face.

“It’s been a really long day,” I sighed while pinching my eyes shut.

“Hey, it’s alright.” Steve pulled me into his chest and left a soft kiss to the top of my head. “I’m sorry I’m late. I was visiting a friend at the V.A center.”

My brows rose. “The V.A center?”

Steve nodded. “Yeah, Sam. I met him a few days ago. He’s nice, I can set you up with him if you want?”

“No thanks,” I scrunch my face, “I can find a guy by myself.”

“How’s that working out for you?” Steve joked.

Scoffing, I gave him a slight push and I nodded towards the door. “My pizza is getting cold.”

He laughed but his body froze leaning an ear against the door.

“What?” I questioned.

“My record player is on.” Steve glanced over to me.

I leaned my ear against the door but shook my head, “I don’t hear anything.”

“You don’t have super soldier hearing,” Steve teased. “Did you leave it on?”

“I swear I turned it off when I left the other day.” I promised.

Getting into Captain America mode, Steve shielded me as he slowly unlocked the door, pushing it open. I slipped my knife out of my boot as I followed close behind. The music vibrated off the walls as Steve grabbed his shield from its place on the wall. The knife flipped in my fingers with ease as we reached the living room and saw the slouched figure sitting in the chair.

Nick Furry.

“I don’t remember giving you a key,” Steve sighed while leaning against the wall.

“Did you really think I would need one?,” Nick defended while sitting up, “My wife kicked me out.”

“I didn’t know you were married,” I admitted.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” Nick admitted.

“I know, Nick. That’s the problem,” Steve declared while turning on the light.

Goosebumps pricked my skin when I took in Nick’s appearance. He had a giant gash to the side of his head and blood was dripping down onto Steve’s chair. I wanted to ask what happened but he held up a finger to silence me while he turned off the light. Nick typed a message into his phone before showing us.

Ears everywhere.

Steve and I shared a look before our eyes glanced around the apartment. Steve tensed up next to me, the anger of being watched rose from within and he cursed under his breath. All of his private moments suddenly weren’t so private anymore.

“I’m sorry to do this but I had no other place to crash,” Nick showed us a new message on his phone.

Shield Compromised.

“What the fuck,” I cursed.

“Who else knows about your wife?” Steve continued to play along, in case it was true that his apartment was bugged.

Nick stood with a groan and limped over to us, clutching his side. “Just my friends.”

Just us. The new message on his phone read.

Steve scoffed. “Is that what we are, Nick?”

“Steve,” I warned, “Now isn’t the time for whatever beef you have with him.”

“That’s up to you,” Nick admitted.

The floor beneath our feet shook as a scream erupted from my throat when the wall behind Nick exploded in gunfire. Steve grabbed my waist and pulled me into his chest as we watched in horror as Nick’s limp body fell to the ground.

“What the fuck?!” I yelled.

“Get away from the window!” Steve demanded, pulling Nick’s body in the hallway with us.

He went to look out the window to see if he was able to see the shooter but Nick grasped his arm stopping him.

He opened his hand and a hard drive sparkled from the light outside.

“Don’t. Trust. Anyone.” Nick sputtered before passing out.

“Steve, what the hell is going on?” My voice quivered with fear.

Before Steve could answer, his front door busted open and Kate walked in, gun armed and aimed.

“Captain Rogers, I’m Agent 13, Shield Special Service.” Kate said, walking further into Steve’s apartment.

“Kate? What the hell are you doing here?” I questioned.

“I’ve been assigned to protect Steve,” She defended.

“On whose order?” Steve snapped.

Kate set her gun down before nodding towards Nick. “His.”

Steve and I shared a look and giving him a slight nod, I turned my attention towards Kate. “You should call it in, Agent.”

“Foxtrot is down and unresponsive. I need EMT’S.” Kate ignored me as she talked into the radio.

“Do we have a twenty on the shooter?”

Steve peaked around the corner and grabbed my hand, pulling me with him. “Tell them we’re in pursuit.”

Not asking any questions, I let Steve wrap his arm around my waist as we ran through the window, literally, and felt the ground vanish beneath our feet. Glass shattered around us as we landed hard on the floor of the building across the street.

“Ow, that’s gonna leave a mark,” I groaned, rising to my feet taking off in a chase after the shooter.

Steve was just a few paces ahead of me while the shooter was on the roof above us, his heavy footsteps echoing through the empty offices. Steve busted through doors and glass windows, making it easier for me to keep up with him.

“There has to be a staircase to the roof somewhere!” I yelled before I watched through the window in front of us as the shooter jumped down onto the roof of the building in front.

“We’re going through the window, aren't we?” I semi whined.

“Yup!”

Suddenly, Steve barreled his way through the window rolling onto his knees and threw his shield at the shooter. The broken glass crunched beneath my boots as I came to a sudden halt when my eyes landed on the man who had caught Captain America’s shield mid throw.

Long brown locks.

Blue eyes.

A metal arm.

My mouth ran dry while my hands shook, unable to move out of the way as the shield came flying back towards me. Ears rang in silence as the blood drained from my face, memories of that same metal arm slamming into me like a brick wall. The same man that I thought of earlier for the first time in years was standing right in front of me, in the flesh.

“Y/N!”

Steve’s voice brought me back as I fell to the ground with his body on mine. With the shield gripped tight in one hand, his other gently cupped my cheek. Steve pulled my face to look into his eyes; however, I couldn’t focus. I ignored the feeling that took over my body when Steve pressed his hips into mine, unknowingly, and licked my dry lips.

My past life had just barreled into me; a private part of my life that absolutely no one knew about and suddenly, I was very terrified of them finding out.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #sebastian stan #bucky barnes and reader #the winter soldier #marvel #the winter soldier x reader #the winter soldier smut #bucky barnes x agent!reader #james barnes smut #james barnes imagine #james bucky barnes #james barnes #james buchanan barnes #soldat bucky barnes

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midnite-c6 · 4 months ago

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After reading ur patient!namgyu fanfic I was just wondering if you could pretty please w a cherry on top write a fic about Seowan !! Doesnt have to be doctor x patient, I just need more fics w my beloved Seowan 🔥🔥 have a great day/noon/night!

i haven't seen any fics about seo-wan, it makes me so sad, but here's oneDJFH also, i added squid game tags because i want more nam-gyu lovers to see roh jaewon's character in daily dose of sunshine!! FIRST NON SQUIDGAME FIC .. my fav schizo TT.

kim seo-wan x reader !! <3 warnings: fluff , angst ?! , mentions of mental illness </3

つ⁠｡⁠☆ he's your study buddy!! both of you couldn't pass the exams the first time and you guys bonded over that. the two of you would sit next to each other when the professors lecturing about a lesson, since you both share the interest of being determined in passing the exams this year, there wouldn't be alot of talking during a lecture, but afterwards he's actually quite talkative!

he would also share his notes, giving you a bunch of sticky notes, all of them would have silly random doodles and small comments about how "you can do it!"

you manage to even hang out with him after classes ..which still includes studying, but you told him he needs to let lose, even for a little while. eating noodles in those small shops on the sidewalk, visiting libraries, and if you feel like your falling behind in studies, he would share the other side of his headset, making you listen to the lecture he found on youtube.

a new store would open up right next to the university, because the lessons were tiring and obsessing over the tests is unhealthy, the two of you decide to explore. it was actually a computer-shop.

since then, it's been you and seo-wan's new hobby, to play videogames for hours after lectures, how you were practically his pocket healer, how you two can't play alone without the other right by their side.

this newly-shared interest has gotten you two alot closer, you'd even ask him out, gratefully, the feelings are mutual, kim seo-wan is a simple man. now there'd be long sessions of kissing inside his small apartment, cosplaying, the two of you didn't have alot of money, but this was enough.

video games became a part of your life, one to escape reality. but unfortunately, this hit a little bit harder for kim seo-wan. you'd notice how he wouldn't take the time to study anymore. of course, as the concerned lover you are, you would remind him all the time, but he just wouldn't budge.

his parents were nice, they'd always treat you like you were family, even cooking dinner or lunch for you whenever you come over. since you haven't seen seo-wan in awhile, you'd ask them, only to find out your boyfriend has been sent to a psychiatric unit.

you would visit him everyday, telling him about your day, and asking about his. his day was filled with thinking of you, playing ping-pong with the other patients, and this fantasy world he lives in. but whenever you were too busy to visit, he'd be extra depressed inside the hospital and says he has ran out of mana. </3

you were always intrigued whenever he would tell you about his visions. his stories contain that you were truly his 'mediator', and that you're there in his life to save him. "this is very unprofessional, oh my dear.. mediator, but i'm inlove with you, for you make me look forward to explore even the darkest caves or the highest mountains." he'd take your hand to place a soft kiss on-top. he had forgotten your previous relationship before, atleast he still loves you in the new world he's living in.

you'd end up taking the test without him, but you'd never talk about it in the hospital, you know he needs more time.

in the end, you two agree upon each other to fight the fire dragon together, whatever the future may hold. because, as he confidentally says: "once i've saved up enough mana and leveled up all my armor, i choose you to come with me. you're the only one i can trust in defeating the fire dragon. i will protect you with all my life, my dear mediator!"

i'm sobbing just thinking about this bye ☹️☹️☹️ was gonna do nsfw parts too as i usually do but like i was too up in my feelings LMAOFHBRK trust im gonna post sum nsfw story next 🤞🏻

#squid game #squid game 2 #player 124 #nam-gyu #squid game x reader #squid game season 2 #nam gyu #namgyu #daily dose of sunshine #kim seowan #kim seo-wan #kim seowan x reader #nam-gyu x reader

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merlinmylove · 2 months ago

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Living nightmare on Ao3

Arthur drinks a sleeping potion and he is trapped outside his own body, wandering the room as a ghost.

“Ah, Merlin,” Lord Agravaine is cheerfully calm as if he hadn’t just been caught attempting regicide. The blade was still pressing against Arthur’s throat.

Blood of my father on Ao3

The Darkest Hour rewrite: Merlin saves the day by revealing his Dragonlord ancestry.

“A single drop of my blood is worth more than the life of a High Priestess.”

«How brave, young dragon. So you do challenge me after all. Very well. But are you sure you’re willing to part with such a precious thing? You might save your Prince’s life tonight, but tomorrow when you return to Camelot he will demand that you burn at the stake for your powers.”

Of Mice and Kings on Ao3

Morgana transforms Arthur into a small mouse in a fit of rage. As a mouse, Arthur must now find his way back to Camelot and his friends, in the hope that they can help him. Thankfully, he has a manservant who adores small animals.

“Hello, little one!” Merlin used the same high-pitched voice that he usually used on babies and kittens. Arthur would never admit that he found it adorable.

Leaving Camelot on Ao3

"Speak treason against my uncle again, and I swear you can join yours in exile forever!” Arthur's voice thundered across the throne room.

“There will not be any reason for banishment, sire. I leave Camelot willingly.” Merlin didn’t bow. Nor did he look back as he walked out of the throneroom, leaving a heartbroken Arthur behind him.

#My writing #merlinmylove #how are all of my fanfics bamf merlin lol #I made posters for my fics bc i’m bored #bbc merlin #merlin #arthur pendragon #merlin fanart #once and future idiots #merthur #merlin emrys #bamf merlin #merlin fanfic #merlin fic rec

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licityvibes · 10 months ago

Text

Can You Hold Me?

✶ Pairing: tennis player! Kim Hongjoong x therapist female reader ✶ Word count: 10,8 k ✶ Warnings: cursing, traumatic past, mentions of death, mentions of alcohol use, a lot of angst, a little suggestive at the end

✶ Summary: You had chosen to become a therapist, but why? So that you could help others, and at the same time escape your dark and traumatic past. One day, the problematic tennis player Kim Hongjoong comes in for a session, and everything changes from then on as you find solace and understanding in your traumatic pasts.

✶ A/N: Yoo, I'm back omg, I officially graduated and now I'm an unemployed nobody yaayy. So about this story...I'm not quite satisfied with my writing in it and I don't expect much from this, I just needed to write it because it kind of helped me through tough times. And I just realized writing angst helps me get through my anxiety lmao. Oh and just to add, I have no idea about psychology I kind of improvised the whole process so sorry if it’s not how it is going.

So buckle up ig, I wanted to make this very angsty but ended up making it rather fluffy lmao, so enjoy! Okay byee! (divider)

(p.s. This song inspired the title and it perfectly describes Hongjoong's feelings, I recommend listening to it hehet.)

Human's minds are pure chaos. Within each person lies a world as complex as our physical reality. There exists pure happiness alongside deep darkness that can both consume and strengthen. It's hard to escape the maze of rusty, huge walls that separates us from our sanity. Sometimes people desperately need a guiding hand that belongs to a person and runs along the dark maze, pulling them out of the dark labyrinth of thoughts that slowly destroy them.

I was a helping hand in hundreds of people's lives. People came to me shouting for help desperately or sometimes they were too stubborn to ask for help so I needed to convince them first to trust me, so they could let me lead them out of the dark.

I was a clinical psychologist, I fixed people's minds. It is a hard task, everyone has their unique story, and their own problems that can drive people crazy. And I needed to prevent that. All the process looked like a brain surgery, it just didn't need steel tools and extravagant knowledge of the different kinds of nerves and muscles. I couldn't just cut out people's brains like the doctors and fix things like that. A brain surgery could take up to 7 hours, but if I needed to save someone from the dark, dirty maze...that is impossible for them and for me to help in that short of time. It needed years. Years of trying to show the way out into the light that sometimes comes with the biggest hardships. To put together the lost pieces so they can be their old selves. But the thing is, they could never be their old selves again, just little pieces of it. Sometimes they can overcome it alone, sometimes they accept my helping hand and sometimes...they don't make it out of the dark ever. Those are the hardest journeys of my bumpy road.

I always felt like my life's purpose was to help people overcome their fears. I liked to dive deep into people's minds and play with the strings of their nerves, to find out their deepest, darkest secrets that they only told me. All the time someone confessed their feelings, when they opened up to me, I felt like a Goddess to whom people whispered their biggest sins. It was like they told me their Sea of Confession.

And why did I like it? Hearing people's dark thoughts made my mind concentrate on their problems, so I could run away from my own problems, from my own dark thoughts that hunted me in my nightmares, until my mind was tired enough so it could finally go blind.

I could fix people, but who fixed me?

I was in a hurry as I sipped from my morning coffee next to a quick breakfast that I made in a hurry because of course I overslept and now I was late for work. As I was sitting in my small one-room flat, I drank the last drops of coffee from my mug, quickly grabbed my keys, and turned off the TV that was a white noise on my chaotic morning.

Before I turned the TV off, I saw that the news was about some 26-year-old professional tennis player who got into a scandal, that was speeding through the highway drunk and nearly causing an accident. I heard about this player a few times on the news, he was always in some kind of trouble, like being drunk during an interview or shouting at a reporter after he lost a game, these attitudes of his made his fame slowly fade through the years as people started to judge him, because of his behavior.

I saw a few of his interviews, where he just seemed as bored as a prisoner in a cell, he spoke with people like they were some kinds of slaves. Something was up with him, I knew it—I was a therapist—he had a reason because people don't go insane just because they want to. I was sure it was deeper than the effects of being a professional tennis player dealing with fame.

He fought with some demons just like all of us.

The news also said that they just took his driver's license and the problem was solved, just because he was an athlete and had money. Our world was very fair. I scoffed at that after I quickly turned off the TV and glanced one last time at the full-body mirror, checking if my white shirt was perfectly ironed, which I paired with a grey, tight skirt that barely reached my knees with black heels, I pulled on my grey blazer that fitted with my skirt and left my cozy flat to step out into the air full of the breeze of spring.

As soon as I parked my car I hurried straight to my office, my first client was already there waiting for me in front of my door that held my name 'Dr. Kwon Y/N'.

"Ah, sorry for being late, but the traffic was horrible, my apologies." I quickly took out my keys from my purse and opened the door.

"It's okay, I know it can be the worst." My client smiled at me, his blonde hair fluffy from the morning hours, black framed glasses sitting on his tall nose, his dimples showing from the curve of his lips. His name is Song Mingi and he has been going to therapy for over a year now, he experienced a horrible trauma and it takes time to get over it, step by step but he is going to fight his demons.

"C'mon in." I smiled at him genuinely.

I stepped into my office, which looked comforting, and full of warm colors, that being orange, brown, and all shades of red. I wanted to make this room look like a place where people who are coming to my office, feel safe, to feel that whatever they tell me, stays there. The walls were painted warm orange. The furniture was brown, in the middle of the room there was a brown armchair with some orange stripes and in front of that, there was a sofa with the same colors, where my clients could lay down or just sit comfortably. On my left side, there's a big window and on the ledge, there are some green indoor plants. My main purpose was to give them a place where they can feel comfortable.

I sat on my armchair as I waited for Mingi to get comfortable.

"So how are you feeling today, Mingi?" I crossed my legs and all my attention was on the man in front of me, trying to listen to his thoughts and feelings that confused him.

Noon went by quickly and I had a little break before my next client came, so I went to the nearby bakery to buy some fresh baked bread. As I was walking back to my office, finishing the bread I bought, I got a text from my assistant, saying my next client was already here so, I needed to hurry back. Today was not my day that is sure. I kind of started to speedwalk, and that turned into running. I just hated it when my clients needed to wait for me because that didn’t seem professional.

As soon as I stepped into the building trying to catch my breath because of the running. I spotted a man who leaned against the wall in a black hoodie the hood was over his head, where a few blonde strings of his hair fell onto his forehead and his hoodie was paired with ripped black jeans.

"Good afternoon, sorry for being late!" I approached the strange man; it was his first time being here.

He quickly snapped his head up and looked at me with a bored and quite sharp expression. "Finally, I've been waiting for ten minutes already." He sighed staring at me with deadly eyes.

It didn't surprise me when my clients offended me and made me the wrong person. It was common when people didn't want to say anything at all to me or to be everywhere but here. Throughout the years I learned how to handle these kinds of people.

As our eyes met, that was the moment when I recognized this man, pictures from all over the media and the news appeared in my mind of the professional tennis player Kim Hongjoong.

I bowed my head a little as a sign of my apology. "My apologies, come in!" I opened the door with that and went in, to sit down in my armchair. He followed me with a disgusted expression as he looked around the room, and plopped down to the sofa. He was laying on his back with his legs pulled up, shoes still on, hands interlaced over his stomach, and closed his eyes, with his hood still on. I analyzed every little movement of his because it told me hundreds of things about him. I knew he wouldn't talk to me much, so my job was to read his moves. It was the kind of situation where we won't talk a lot because he just doesn't want to be here, it could be even that someone forced him to come here, or he just opens up with difficulty.

I was a tolerant woman and I knew, I needed to make him trust me.

"My name is Dr. Kwon Y/N, nice to meet you. Kim Hongjoong, right?" I asked with a warm voice as I crossed my legs and opened his files on my laptop that was on my legs. As I quickly glanced through his file, I immediately understood the reasons behind his behavior.

"Yeah. Can you stay quiet, I want to sleep." He said with a low voice, his eyes still closed.

I was in plenty of situations like this, sometimes people don’t know what is respect towards the other. You just needed to make them respect you.

"Well, you are not here to sleep right now, Hongjoong." I just looked at him with a knowing smile, because the next thing was that he opened his eyes and turned his head to look at me.

"Well, I don't want to talk." He turned his head back to stare at the ceiling.

"We don't have to talk about your problems or feelings, only if you want. But firstly, we are here to feel comfortable and to trust each other." I said, closing my laptop and leaning forward to place it on the small table that separated us.

Hongjoong just scoffed at that. "Yeah, right."

I leaned backward folding my arms. "What is your favorite color?"

He looked at me again with a confused expression. "Are you kidding me? Are we in kindergarten or what?"

"We have to start somewhere, aren't we?" I raised my eyebrows at him with a smile. I needed his attention and this was the best solution.

"It's black I guess." He said with a bored expression.

"Favorite animal?"

"Squirrel"

"Oh, that's an unusual one." I smiled. He just shrugged.

"Favorite place to go on a vacation?"

"I don't really have time for those things."

"But if you had time?"

He rolled his eyes. "Probably Greece."

"Greece is beautiful, I agree."

"Why did you choose tennis?" And here we are, the real-deal questions started now. I hoped he fell into my trap with the previous questions.

The question surprised him, but he just shrugged. "My dad showed it to me when I was younger and I immediately felt a connection with it." It was a short answer but told me a lot of things. Passion from childhood—noted.

"Something you like doing, other than tennis?"

"Nothing." I stood silent because I saw on his face he was thinking. "Probably driving. But I fucked that up too." His features changed to anger. It seemed like he was mad at himself. It was good. At least he knew something was up with him.

"You can get it back, it's not permanent," I said to him, trying to calm him with my soft voice.

"Well," he suddenly got up in a sitting pose and stared at me like it was my fault. "That was the only thing that could clear my head and I lost that too because I fucked up." He raised his voice, his expressions mirroring pure anger, that was pointed at me, but at the same time I knew he just couldn't face the mirror and to fully blame himself. At least he showed emotion, that was always a good sign, even if it were bad emotions.

"Sometimes people need to lose something that brings them joy, so they'll learn to live without it and find other things that bring them joy," I said seriously, looking deep into his eyes, trying to find a little light in them.

"Stop this bullshit, cliché speech. It's not true. When you lose something important to you, that will never come back." He was leaning over his knees with his elbows, his hands interlaced. He seemed vulnerable for a second, I saw a really broken part of him, that was going to be tough to put together, but there was no impossible task for me.

We weren't talking about driving I knew it; it was just easier to speak in metaphoric sentences.

"Yes, there are situations when that something won't ever come back, but that doesn't mean we have to destroy ourselves and live in self-pity for the rest of our lives." I just needed to stay calm and only beam positivity, even when people shouted at me, blaming me for everything.

"No, you don't understand." He stood up and buried his face into his hands in frustration. "I can't do this." He said and went to the door without looking at me.

"Thank you for coming today, Hongjoong! See you next time!" I told him quickly before he angrily slammed the door.

I sighed as the silence swallowed me. Being a therapist is one of the hardest jobs on earth. It is physically but especially mentally stressful and it can eat you alive if you let it. It not only affects your feelings, that you kind of have to close out every time you have a client, but you also have to transform into them and imagine yourself in their situations and their feelings. And these different types of feelings can really overwhelm you, it's cruel.

But in the end, when I see in people's eyes, after some sessions, that they changed and are trying to be better, it fulfills my heart, that is when I say, it is worth the ups and downs that come with it.

Hongjoong wasn't my first client to act like this; they were difficult to handle and required patience. However, I knew he would calm down one day, and we could have a sincere conversation.

That night I dreamt about a little boy's face, eyes full of passion, that looked so familiar but I still couldn't recognize it.

Hongjoong came back the next day and after. He was calmer than the first time. He slowly opened up to me, as we talked through the hours of the sessions, sometimes it went well, sometimes it was rather quiet, but we made progress.

"What does tennis mean to you?"

"It's my everything, that is what is left for me in this world. But I feel like it's slowly not enough to keep me here."

"Maybe you should try something new out."

"I'm only good at tennis, I tried to do sports like football, but I wasn't that passionate as for tennis."

"Do you want to give up on tennis?"

"I don't want to, but... I'm getting so bad at it because my feelings are eating me alive. I'm not the old unstoppable Kim Hongjoong who beat everyone who came his way."

"Fighting against your feelings won’t solve your problem. This is why you should speak about them."

"What if I don’t want to?"

"How does the media affect your feelings?"

"I don't give a fuck about the media, those are some fucked up people whose lives are so boring they need to bump their noses into other's life."

"It's a really good point of view, I agree they don't know the real reasons for people's actions, only what they see. But you can't say it never affected you."

He stood quiet for a second, thinking. "It affected me when they talked shit about my close ones."

"Do your friends support you?"

"Yes, I have only a few friends, but they support me in everything. Especially Wooyoung, who is like my brother."

I nodded. "Does Wooyoung live here?" Before he could say anything, I added. "Just if he's close enough so you can talk or hang out if needed."

"He lives in the city, we play football a lot of times together and hang out after for some drinks."

"Do you like to drink?"

"Who doesn't?"

"Replying to a question with a question. I see. You are learning from me." I smiled at him just to elevate the mood.

I saw a very little curve appear on his lips. We were heading in the right way.

"But back to my question. You know you did a lot of things while being drunk."

"Well, that is my only escape from this fucked-up world."

"But you know it affects other people as well, for example when you nearly caused an accident driving while being drunk."

"Do we really need to talk about this? I know I messed up, okay? You don’t have to shout at me for being stupid." His mood swings were like a child's—one moment he was cooperative, and the next he was angry for no apparent reason.

"Why did you become a therapist?" He asked, looking sincerely curious. It occurred a lot of times when my clients tried to ask things about my personal life and I only thought it was fair to reply to them but keep the boundaries in their place.

"It wasn't even my dream until 5 years now, the idea came suddenly and I realized I always liked to talk to people about feelings and give them advice," I said keeping eye contact with him as he was sitting in front of me.

"Did you always live here?" He asked, leaning back on the sofa.

"Yes." I smiled at him.

"Do you like it here?" I wasn't surprised by his questions, there was always a moment when people realized they didn't know anything about the person sitting in front of them, to whom they confessed their deepest feelings.

I looked out the window on my right and thought about the question. "I think, I do. Do you?"

"I hate it." He looked down at his hands when I turned my head back to look at him.

"Why?"

"Because a lot of shit things happened here."

"So why are you still here?"

He shrugged. "I don't know, I have nowhere to go."

"Maybe, you could go to Greece." I smiled at him.

"Yeah, maybe." He lifted his head to look at me a visible smile appearing on his lips.

"The night they caught you drunk in your car, what did you feel before?" I brought back that case because we needed to talk about that so I could understand what went through his head that night.

"Anger, heartbroken?" To my surprise, he answered, without getting angry at me. Maybe it was one of those good days of his.

"So you thought drinking and speeding through the highway would solve them?"

"I didn't think anything at all. I just needed to clear my head and that seemed the best solution."

I nodded. "Do you regret doing it?"

"Of course, I do…"

"That is a good sign. Sometimes we consciously won't admit our mistakes. But you did Hongjoong and that is a very big progress."

It was a dark, rainy day, with clouds obscuring the sun's feeble attempts to warm the world after a freezing winter. I was at work, having already seen a few clients. Some sessions went smoothly, while others made me wish I could run to the ends of the earth.

And when Kim Hongjoong came in, it continued. We made a lot of progress throughout the weeks. It went well. But something happened again because when I saw Hongjoong I felt like it was like the first time he came in. No emotions, just the bored face, and the I-don't-give-a-fuck-attitude. It felt like we started everything from the beginning like we didn't even speak the past few weeks.

"What's on your mind?" I started, hoping I wouldn't play with the string of his nerves.

He sighed. "I don't want to talk today." He leaned back on the sofa and stared at the ceiling.

I nodded. "Alright, we don't have to."

I just opened my laptop and started to reply my emails that I haven't had the time to reply to. But it was also a tactical move, I knew he would feel bothered because I didn’t pay attention to him.

I felt his gaze on me after a while. I looked up from my laptop, adjusting my glass as my eyes met with his. His expressions were confused rather than angry.

I lifted my eyebrows. "Yes?"

He looked away, seeming a little shy after being caught staring. "So, we won't talk?"

"You just said you don't want to talk."

"I know but it's strange sitting here and not talking."

"We can talk."

He just nodded, his lips forming a thin line. He was dressed in all black again—black jeans and a black T-shirt, along with a black cap that hid his eyes. With his tattoo ‘No1likeme’ on the inside of his upper arm peeking out.

I observed that when he was in higher spirits, he tended to wear brighter colors such as orange and beige. Conversely, when he dressed in all black, it signaled that he might not be feeling his best.

"What do you want to talk about?" I asked with my full attention on him.

He shrugged. "I don't know. What's your favorite color?" He looked genuinely interested, his eyes slightly hidden beneath his cap, making his gaze darker.

"Look around and try to figure it out." I smiled at him.

He slowly lifted his head and hummed his eyes scanning the whole room, taking it in, analyzing. I was watching him the whole time, his sharp jawline and characteristic nose on the sight.

"Is it orange?" He asked, his attention back on me.

I chuckled. "It is, it wasn’t impossible to guess."

He smiled at that too. Whenever he smiled, it was like witnessing the world's eighth wonder—a unique and rare occurrence that could rival any God’s smile.

"What is one word you don't like?" I asked.

"Love. It's just so overrated." Again, his expression changed as he was staring down at his hands thinking.

"Don't you love someone?"

"It's not that I don't love. It's just…" He adjusted himself on the sofa straightening up a little. "It's just doesn't embrace truthfully how I feel."

"How would you express it then?"

He paused, carefully choosing his words. "I treasure the people I feel close to. Everything they give me, whether it's gestures or words, they're little treasures that I keep deep in my heart, like in a small chest. And from that chest, I give to others. It might sound silly, but that's just how I feel." His voice sounded uncertain as if this were the most vulnerable moment of his life.

My heart started racing, and I began to feel what he felt, causing my heart to ache.

"It is a very unique and beautiful way to think of love, it’s not stupid at all," I said understandingly.

"But sometimes no matter how much you treasure the people you love, life takes them away anyway." He slowly stood up and walked to the window as his voice came out unsure.

I stood quiet because I knew he wanted to keep going. He ran his fingers through his blonde hair. "What did I do to deserve this?" The fingers in his hair grabbed his hair and pulled it as I saw his back only. "I fucked up." He raised his voice.

I stood up but refrained from approaching him, knowing he could explode at any moment.

"What happened Hongjoong?" I asked with a calm voice.

"I couldn't say goodbye to her." His voice sounded weak like he was crying.

"To whom?" Tears appeared in my eyes as well, this was the most difficult topic of my life I could never speak easier about this even if it was the hundredth time.

"My little sister." He whispered his shoulders moving up and down as he was breathing heavier. "I couldn't keep her safe." He yelled and in a fit of rage, he swept the plants off the windowsill, sending them crashing to the floor. The pots shattered, and soil scattered across the room.

I trembled from the sudden sounds of the shattered pots my heart pounding in fear. I saw a lot of situations throughout my career, but this—never.

"I couldn't keep her safe and now she is gone." He calmed down a little as his knees got weak and he fell on the ground his face in his palms.

My breathing grew heavier. There were strict boundaries between therapists and clients—any personal connection was strictly prohibited. But... how could I stand by while he was broken on the floor with shattered pots and dirty soil around him?

I approached him slowly and knelt beside him, extending my hand toward him as he stared down at his hands, lost in his own thoughts. I hesitated, afraid to touch him, but I knew I had to take the risk. When my hand gently landed on his shoulder, he lifted his head to look at me with wide eyes.

"It's okay it's not your fault, Hongjoong. Life can be cruel and make us believe it is our fault but sometimes we can't do anything to stop what was already written." I carefully lifted my hand towards his face to wipe his tears. As soon as I realized what was I doing I quickly withdrew my hands. But before I could do that, he grabbed my wrist and held it against his face staring into my wide eyes.

"Can you hug me?" He asked with an unsure voice.

"Y-yes." My heart wanted to jump out of my chest because I knew I couldn't do such things, I couldn't bond with my clients emotionally, but it was just too late because we had so much in common with Hongjoong it was impossible not to.

I slowly wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him close. The scent of sweet caramel filled my nostrils, instantly calming me and prompting me to draw him even closer. His hands encircled my waist, gently lifting me as I settled into his lap. And I let him do it without a word, my only intent was to bring him comfort.

"How could I forgive myself?" He whispered into the crook of my neck, wetting it with his tears.

"Time will make you believe it wasn't your fault, trust me. Time heals everything." My hands unconsciously started to caress his back when he nuzzled his nose into my neck.

"I couldn't say her goodbye." He whispered weakly.

Tears welled up in my eyes as memories of my own began to flood my mind. Memories that I dig deep down so I won't ever have to remember. A little boy's face I saw every night in my dreams. A little boy's face, that slowly faded away.

"She's watching you from above," I whispered weekly.

And then someone shut the door outside and reality hit me suddenly making me jump out of Hongjoong's lap.

"My next client is here. You should go. Thank you for coming," I said, avoiding his eyes, and realizing the line I had crossed. I walked over to another door where supplies were kept, kneeling to begin cleaning up the mess he had made.

"Let me help you, please. I'm so sorry, Y/N!" I closed my eyes, hearing my name. He kneeled next to me to gather the shattered pieces but I didn’t let him.

"You don't have to help me. My next client is here, so please leave," I stated flatly, glancing at him without showing any emotion. He stared at me wide-eyed, as if unable to believe what I was saying. Then, he dropped the pieces he was holding, stood up abruptly, and left the room, slamming the door behind him. I trembled at the sound, and tears began to stream down my face uncontrollably. But I couldn't allow myself to break down here when others needed my help. I wiped away my tears, took a deep breath to compose myself, and began cleaning up the mess.

To my next client, I appeared as an always smiling and understanding woman, offering advice that could save their life. But who would save mine?

After that day, I thought I would never hear from Hongjoong again. Perhaps he felt he had opened up to me only to have his feelings disregarded. I respected his emotions, but they overwhelmed me, and I was hesitant to deepen our connection. It didn't seem fair. Yet, he returned and acted as if nothing had happened on that dark, rainy day. We resumed our therapist-client relationship, asking each other questions as if he hadn't cried on my shoulder just a few days earlier.

It was a Friday evening when my last client left, it was late in the afternoon the sun was slowly disappearing, switching places with the moon. I locked the door of my office and left the building to sit in my car.

When I shut the door, sudden emotions hit me like a train that had no breaks. I needed to grab the steering wheel. All day I needed to put on a mask and smile for the people who needed reassurance and tell them only positive things that made them feel better.

I needed to keep my emotions in, which flooded like water crushing into a dam's cement walls. I needed to keep them back and just make that wall thicker, and stronger so it won't break. But there were already some thin cracks on it.

I breathed in and out slowly. This day was the worst of the year in five years. Today five years ago I lost my little brother in a bus accident that was a fault of a man driving drunk. And that school bus was just there at the wrong time, taking the lives of many little kids who were the most innocent human beings on earth. I broke that day, just like my parents, who still did not process what happened. Life was unfair and I blamed God, destiny, and everything I could just so it could be better. But it didn't, it happened and I just couldn't do anything at all. My little brother was the sweetest thing in this cruel world. He was only 7 years old, but he was so smart and kindhearted compared to his age. He simply did not deserve this fate, just like the other kids who died that day. Since that day, I see his face in my dreams which are sometimes nightmares, as the accident is playing in my head, even though I wasn't even there when it happened. But his face slowly disappears in my dreams, it's starting to get blurry and I was terrified on the fact, slowly I won't even remember his face.

Psychology was the thing that saved me from burying myself in the dark. Studying distracted me and after I finished college, I settled for a job that was being a therapist and hearing other people's problems and dark thoughts—which sometimes scared me to death—but after working in this field for 5 years now, I realized this is just people—people who only need help, a helping hand that guides them towards the light. In the process of guiding them, I slowly helped myself out alongside them, their thoughts and problems being the priority of my life, distracting me from my real problems.

But on that day, I couldn't hold it back any longer. After gathering myself, I drove to the cemetery with a bucket of flowers in hand. The cemetery appeared dark, reminiscent of scenes from horror movies, with only a few faint lights illuminating the path ahead. I knew the way to my little brother's grave as well as I knew the back of my own hand. The weather was chilly, and I hugged myself tightly for warmth, clutching the bucket of white lilies.

When I reached my little brother's grave, I couldn't contain my emotions any longer. Everything I had been holding back broke through like a dam bursting, and I fell to my knees, crying uncontrollably.

"I miss you my little bud." My tears wetted my cheeks, the moon above illuminating my brother’s grave as I whispered into the quiet. My sobbing echoed through the dark and quiet cemetery. I had never truly had friends who could be there as shoulders to cry on. It's one of the reasons being a therapist is challenging. Friends often come to see you as the sole stable point in their lives, where they can vent about their struggles and expect reassurance and advice without offering much in return. The problem was they only saw me as their therapist-friend. Over time, I grew accustomed to it and began to cut ties with those who were only friends with me for this reason.

I was still kneeling on the dirty ground, miles away from the real world as I just stared at my little brother's grave that said 'Rest in peace forever, our brightest star'.

"Y/N?" I heard a voice that seemed strange but a voice I felt like I had known my whole life.

I glanced to my left and saw a man standing there in dark clothes with a hood on. Blonde strands of hair partially hiding his eyes.

"Hongjoong?" My voice came out weak, almost like a whisper. I quickly wiped my tears away, it was a habit of mine, where no one could see me in any vulnerable state.

"What are you doing here at this hour? You'll get cold." He stepped closer with a confused expression.

"I—I just… visited my little brother." I couldn't take my eyes off him as he slowly kneeled next to me, the universe now turning as the other time it was me kneeling next to a broken Hongjoong. He looked at me with a broken expression and slowly reached his hand to wipe my tears away.

"I'm so sorry for your loss." He whispered, cupping my face into his hands. "It could have been difficult when I spoke about my sister. You are so strong, Y/N." His voice was filled with concern, his eyes watering as I broke again and started to cry again. For myself, but for Hongjoong’s loss as well.

"Come here," he said, pulling my head closer to his neck so I could breathe in his sweet caramel scent, which enveloped us both. "It's okay, let it all out. You deserve to." He gently stroked my hair, then slowly slid his hands behind my thighs and lifted me onto his lap. I settled onto his lap, wrapping my arms around his neck and burying my face into the crook of his neck. Throughout, he continued to caress my back and hair, whispering reassuring words that melted my heart. Gradually, his calming caramel scent helped me feel better.

"Let's get out of here, you are shivering." He said putting distance between us to look into my eyes, I just nodded, as he slowly took off his black hoodie, and despite my resistance, he helped me wear it. It made me look small, its sleeves hiding my hands, but it was so warm it made me forget how cold I had felt. He slowly lifted me off his lap and helped me up like I was a porcelain.

"And what are you doing here at this hour?" I asked looking up at him as he held my waist.

"Visited my sister." He gave me an understanding smile.

"Oh, they are in the same cemetery? Then they have company at least." I smiled, imagining his sister and my brother playing around, even though I never saw her.

"Yeah, I am sure they are having fun." He smiled genuinely. "Did you come by car?" He asked as we started to walk towards the exit in the dark and terrifying cemetery, while he was still holding me by my waist, scared I might fall at any moment.

"Ah, yes," I replied, trying to ground myself back in reality. I hated when people saw my vulnerable side and perceived me as fragile as glass.

"Let me drive you home, I won't let you drive in this state." He said looking at me with concerned eyes.

"I'm okay, I can drive. And you don't even have a driver's license Hongjoong." I looked at him and frowned.

"I don't care I won't let you go home alone." He seemed determined and I was too tired to fight against him.

So I let him drive my car, to where I lived even though he had no available license, but he didn't seem to care about that so neither did I. We managed to arrive at my place without the police handcuffing Hongjoong on top of my car and I felt relieved at that.

"Thank you," I looked at him grabbing the handle. I was tired and I just wanted to get a warm shower and collapse into my bed. "You can take yourself home I'll get my car tomorrow." I chuckled as I said to him.

Hongjoong chuckled at that too. "Now you are not scared I'll get arrested?" He smiled sweetly which warmed my cold heart.

"Sounds like a you problem. If you get arrested, I'll just say you stole my car." I lifted my hands with a teasing smile.

"Hah, of course you would," he remarked, reaching his hand quickly to pinch my cheek. "Okay, but only if I can take you somewhere tomorrow," he added, leaning back in the driver's seat.

I looked at him confused. "You know we can't do that."

"Why?" He asked mirroring my expression.

"Because you are my client?" I asked my brows furrowing further.

"And you think I give a shit about that?" He leaned closer to my face as he whispered it.

"But then I won't be able to hold your sessions anymore," I tried to say, attempting to create some distance, but finding myself frozen in place, the words nearly escaping me.

"I don't care, I just want to be with you." He said leaning even closer, our warm breaths melting together.

"You barely know me," I stated.

"I'm going to change that." He whispered onto my lips and then leaned back looking at my slightly blushed face satisfied.

"I'll text you, sleep well!" He said with a confident smile, winking at me.

"How do you know my number?" I asked him frowning.

"Dear, you are my therapist." He said with a shit-eating grin.

"Well, not anymore," I replied, rolling my eyes with a smile that I couldn't suppress. I stepped out of my car, only to watch it roll away. A sincere smile spread across my face as I saw him drive off.

Might Kim Hongjoong be the person who saves me?

The next day, Hongjoong texted me that he would pick me up at 6 p.m. and told me to wear comfortable clothes. Unsure of what he meant exactly, I opted for sweatpants, a white crop top, and white sneakers. I also brought along my black sweatshirt, as the weather was still cool in the middle of spring.

When I stepped out of my apartment and went down to wait for Hongjoong, I looked up at the sky and it was slightly cloudy, it might rain in the evening and before I could run back to get an umbrella Hongjoong was rolling near the sidewalk so I could jump in.

"Hello there." He smiled at me sweetly taking me in with his gaze.

"Hi," I said, nearly blushing under his sharp gaze. I quickly glanced at him and noticed he was wearing black shorts that reached his knees paired with a white T-shirt. We were unintentionally matching.

"Okay soo," He looked at me unbuckling his seatbelt. "I think you should drive because I don't want to risk it anymore." He chuckled a little embarrassed.

I chuckled at that too. "As you shouldn't, I told you." I opened the passenger seat's door to switch places. When we met at the front of the car, he pinched my waist and quickly sat in the passenger seat smiling.

"Buckle up Mr. Kim, if you want to survive," I said with a teasing voice buckling my seatbelt.

"Yes, my lady!" He saluted as I laughed loudly.

I started to drive as Hongjoong told me the directions where we were going because I had no idea where we were going and he didn't want to tell me so I just drove where he said.

In the meantime, we carpooled a bit, because it's a must, and we both love shouting along to music. I put on Beach Weather's "Chit Chat," and we belted out the lyrics together.

"So come on, get your fix now, now, now"

"You drive me crazy with that"

"Chit chat do you want that"

"Or wanna take me home tonight?"

"I thought I told you, I really need you sugar"

"I'm going supernova"

When we arrived at a parking lot, I looked around, trying to figure out where we were. My jaw dropped when I realized.

"Are we going to play tennis?" I looked at him wide-eyed.

He chuckled sweetly. "Yes, if it's okay with you. Do you know how to play it?" His smile never left his lips and I loved it.

"Hmm, let me think…" I looked straight as we were still in the car. "I actually hate tennis." I side glanced at him waiting for his reaction.

He gasped forming an 'o' with his mouth. "Really? How dare you Kwon Y/N?" He seemed like he couldn't believe what I said, but this was the truth, tennis just seemed boring looking at it on the TV.

"Maybe, but just maybe you could change that." I smiled at him as I opened the door and got out of the car.

He got out as well and went to the back of the car to get his equipment and there was also a basket which I assumed was for a picnic.

"Ahw, is that a picnic basket?" I looked at him leaning against my car.

He closed the rear door with the basket and the equipment in hand and he slowly approached me hovering over me.

"Is there any problem with it?" he whispered; his lips so close to mine that I could feel his warm breath. His caramel scent enveloped me, making my knees weak.

"Not at all, it’s sweet," I whispered eyeing between his eyes and lips as I bit my lips. He looked so hot like this; I didn't know if I could keep it up anymore.

"Then let me teach you how to play tennis," he said, leaning close to my ear as he nuzzled into my neck. "God, I love how you smell," he whispered. At that moment, I needed air, feeling like I might faint. It felt like being a teenager again when my first crush approached me, leaving me uncertain if this was good or not.

I would've never thought I was going a date—I guess it was a date—with the professional tennis player Kim Hongjoong, who always seemed like an asshole in the videos I saw of him, and my first impression as a therapist wasn't also the best of him, but the truth is, he is just a lost man in the middle of his twenties who had none left in this world only tennis was the only thing that kept him going, that slowly slipped through his hands as well. But I really hoped he was going to find his way back to the passion that kept him going and I am going to help him find the way back to the light not because this was my job, but because in this short time, I started to care for him, not like I cared for my other clients, it was deeper and something invisible connected us that I couldn't name.

The tennis court was empty, illuminated by streetlights, with Hongjoong heading to the entrance to switch on the five floodlights. The court glowed green and a light shade of orange, divided by a net in the middle. I stepped onto the field, looking around in awe, as I had never been on a tennis court before. To our right were the seats where the crowd would cheer for the players. I was certain that one day I would be sitting there, cheering for Hongjoong with all my heart if everything went the right way.

"So," Hongjoong broke the silence. "Do you like it?" I turned as I saw his sweet smile.

"It's okay, I guess," I teased with a smile. I noticed he had already started unpacking the things he brought from the basket, laying a blanket near the net. He looked so sweet like this.

"I didn't know you were the romantic type," I said slowly approaching him, kneeling next to him to help him unpack all the food and sweets he brought.

"Well, it depends on the person." He side-glanced at me as he sat down on the blanket.

"Oh, should I feel special?" I sat down next to him, our shoulders slightly touching as I looked at him with serious eyes.

He looked back at me, tilting his head to the side and giving me a sharp glance. At that moment, I realized how close he was. His blonde hair perfectly highlighted his sharp eyes, and his cheekbones had a slight pink tint. My heart started to race, my body felt hotter than ever, and he hadn't even kissed me. I wondered if I could survive a kiss from him. I glanced at his thin lips, curved slightly in a smile. Up close, his face looked even more chiseled. He was so handsome that I finally understood why he was a famous tennis player. It wasn't just his skills; it was also how incredibly good-looking he was.

"Will we eat sometime or you will stare more?" Hongjoong's voice brought me back from my inner thoughts and as I realized I was staring the whole time I felt as my face got a little warm.

"Don't get over yourself, you did the same." I chuckled as I looked at the food and picked up a sandwich with ham and salad.

"How could I have not stared?" His voice came out low as he picked some green grapes and threw them into his mouth.

"Oh, shut up," I said, playfully bumping him with my shoulder as he chuckled.

"Make me." He leaned closer and smiled at me teasingly.

I laughed at that. "Does this work on other girls too?" I asked, hiding my mouth behind my hands as I tried to swallow the sandwich, nearly choking in the process.

He shrugged. "Don't know, haven't tried it."

"So, the bad guy image you created, isn't true?" I said looking at him suspiciously, finishing my sandwich.

"The media created that image, not me." He looked ahead as he supported himself on his hands behind his back, his legs straight.

"It must be hard, like…" I glanced at his side profile. "They follow every step of yours and they are waiting for you when are you going to make a mistake."

"It was hard at the beginning, there weren't anyone beside me, I was all alone…" He leaned forward and pulled his legs up his elbows on his knees. "But I got used to it with time and didn't give a shit about them."

I did the same, pulling my knees to my chest and hugging them. "Your parents…what happened with them?" I looked at him with soft eyes. "If you don't want to talk about it, it's okay."

"No, no, I want to. It was a long time ago…" He glanced at me briefly before looking down at his hands in front of him.

"They both died in a car accident when I was only 16. Just before the accident, I had started playing tennis. My dad encouraged me to play, and I couldn’t be more grateful for introducing me to this sport. After the accident, my sister and I were sent to an orphanage." His voice faltered slightly. I reached my hand toward his back and gently caressed it. "They even separated us because of the age gap. She was only 5 back then. We didn't have any relatives who could adopt us. So, I waited two years until I could take Byeol with me."

"It must have been difficult, you were only 18 and taking care of her and yourself at that age…" I looked at him as tears welled up in my eyes. This man went through hell and he was still here smiling.

"Yeah, well, she died too, in another accident... How is any of this fair, Y/N?" He rested his head on my shoulder, and I gently brushed my fingers through his hair.

"It's not fair at all. Nothing is fair. But we just can't do anything, we have to keep moving for them right?" I traced my hands from his hair to his cheeks, to his jaw to pull him up so I could look into his eyes.

"Right?" I asked him again caressing his cheeks.

"Right." He smiled genuinely at me.

He sighed and stood up. "Okay, enough of the sad moments. Let me teach you some real tennis," he said, offering his right hand to help me up. I accepted it, and he pulled me to my feet.

"So, this is your side and the other is mine." He pointed at the other side of the field and went to grab the rackets and the tennis ball.

"What if we play a game?" I asked, observing his reaction.

"What game?" he asked curiously.

"We ask each other questions every time we pass the ball," I suggested.

He looked excited and agreed, saying, "I'm in."

With that, he handed me one of the rackets. "You have to hold the racket like this," he began, explaining the main rules of tennis quickly and enthusiastically. The way he explained it, I almost felt like starting a tennis career (though I won't).

We started passing the ball to each other, and at first, I wasn't very good at it. But with practice, I improved, and soon we could pass the ball to each other at least five times without it going out or accidentally hitting Hongjoong. We were making progress.

As we played, we asked each other questions, gradually getting to know each other better. I had so much fun the whole time; I couldn't remember the last time I laughed this much. In recent years, my life hadn't been filled with happiness and laughter. It was all about work and making my clients happy.

It was never about me, but I realized I couldn’t have a life were I just serve people, trying to fix them, my happiness was also important and Hongjoong made me realize this, even though he was the same—his worldview was similar to mine. We always saw our little siblings in the back of our minds, even though they would've wanted us to be happy, but we were too stuck in self-pity and how life was unfair, we didn't notice how much we destroyed ourselves. So, we just need to put it behind us, they are always going to live in our hearts, no matter what. We are going to live for them.

As we passed the ball to each other and jogged in place, I started feeling like I might collapse. I wasn't the fittest person on earth, and after half an hour of playing, I was tired. We were so engrossed in the game that we didn't even notice the dark clouds gathering above us. It wasn't until a sudden rainstorm caught us off-guard that we realized, standing there soaked in the middle of the field, looking at each other and laughing.

Instead of caring about the rain, we continued playing. But then I cheated by not hitting the ball back properly, and Hongjoong jumped over the net that separated us, chasing after me. I screamed like a 12-year-old, our inner children coming to life as we ran, our sibling-like spirits taking over. But I didn't stand a chance—he caught my waist from behind and twirled me around. I laughed so hard from the surprise and joy that I couldn't stop.

"Got you!" He chuckled, as he took me down and hugged me from behind as we both were soaked the rain still pouring.

Then he slowly turned me around to face him. He was smiling so sweetly, his wet blonde hair glued to his forehead just as my hair. He reached his hand towards my face to brush off a string of wet hair behind my ear. His fingers tracing down from my ear to my neck, then to my jaw up to my lips where waterdrops dropped down to my already soaked top. He traced my bottom lips gently wiping the drops away. Our expressions turned serious, every goofiness leaving our soul as we both stared at the other taking in the other as the rain made us more beautiful. He looked so breathtaking with the passion burning in his eyes, his lips parted and the waterdrops that were on his lips made him more attractive. As his hands cupped both sides of my jaw, he slowly started to close the distance between us.

"I wanted to kiss you since the first time I saw you." He whispered onto my lips, his eyes never leaving mine.

"It didn't seem like that." I teased him with a slight smile.

"I'm sorry…" He leaned his forehead against mine.

"Just shut up and kiss me!" I said to him seriously.

He chuckled and finally closed the distance not even thinking a second, his lips crushed into mine like it was destined to each other. Our lips moved in synchrony as I could taste the rain that still soaked us with its full power, but I couldn't mind, because at that moment I didn't feel anything except Hongjoong's lips on mine, that tasted like sweet caramels mixed with the taste of rain. It felt like I was in paradise, as his hands moved from my jaw down my spine to my waist, he grabbed it and pulled me impossibly closer to him, our bodies melting together, closing the rain out. It felt like a relief, kissing him like my soul finally found its peace. When one of Hongjoong's hands dug into my hair at my nape, I unconsciously parted my lips and his tongue immediately found its way into my mouth as I wrapped my hands around his neck deepening the kiss. I felt like I might faint between his arms, as I had no oxygen left and he just simply made me feel weak like I could slip through his hands easily. But his arms held me strongly like a pillar and made me feel safe.

When we separated, he leaned his forehead against mine, out of breath and soaked till bone he leaned again towards my lips and gave little pecks onto my wet lips like he couldn't get enough of me.

"Let's go, we are going to catch a cold even though it might be too late." I smiled up at him, my hands still around his neck.

"Can I take you to my house?" He asked with a sweet smile his voice barely hearable because of the rain as his hands were still on my waist holding me close to his body. "Well technically you are going to take us to my house but you know." He chuckled.

"Yeah, let's go," I said, pulling away from him, still feeling the effects of the kiss that had made my legs weak. It was strange kissing Hongjoong, yet at the same time, it felt like the most natural thing in the world. I never imagined someone could make me smile the way he did that day.

Since my little brother passed away, I often felt undeserving of happiness. But today, this realization hit me hard. He would have wanted me to be happy, not to dwell in self-destruction. I tried to be happy, but I never felt truly happy, and I wasn't sure if that was even possible. However, right now, with Hongjoong by my side, I felt like I was on the path towards happiness.

When we arrived at Hongjoong's house, I was utterly fascinated. I already knew he was wealthy, being a professional athlete, but the house I saw surpassed all expectations—truly, I'm not exaggerating. It was colossal, almost like a modern castle. The exterior boasted white walls with expansive windows, sharp architectural features, and a garden adorned with delicate garden lamps. I even caught sight of a pool in the back.

Parking the car in the garage, we entered through a door that led directly into the living room—a space that was larger than my entire apartment. The main colors were black and white, with touches of brown. In the center of the room sat a black couch flanked by armchairs on each side. Opposite the sofa was a massive TV that seemed bigger than me. The walls were adorned with Renaissance paintings of various landscapes, which I admired until Hongjoong brought me some clothes, urging me to shower and change out of my soaked attire that clung uncomfortably to my skin. I hesitated to sit on the luxurious-looking couch, opting instead to explore the expansive space.

Moving slowly towards the fireplace—because of course, there was one—I observed the framed pictures displayed there. I guessed correctly that the photos were of Hongjoong with his little sister, and a picture of his parents when they were younger. Nearby were trophies he had won, along with a photo of a younger Hongjoong on a tennis field, beaming proudly while clutching a trophy larger than himself. His smile in that photo was so joyful and proud it touched my heart deeply. At that moment, I resolved to bring back that carefree Hongjoong—the one who only cared about winning games and making his little sister and parents proud. I wanted to see him smile like that again.

And when my eyes narrowed further it stuck on a framed picture that felt both familiar and strange at the same time. I had this picture at my home, framed but this picture was in Hongjoong’s house. My heart began to race, and I felt light-headed. The picture showed kids smiling happily to the camera with so much happiness, radiating pure joy. But I couldn't smile, because my little brother stared back at me from that picture.

"Here are some clothes that may fit you, I hope they are okay." I heard Hongjoong's voice behind me, but it seemed so far away I could barely hear what he said. I felt like suddenly I couldn't breathe, my lungs were full of air but I couldn't get myself to breathe it out. It stuck, just as my world stopped, at that moment and I couldn't believe what I saw.

Then I suddenly felt hands on my shoulders that brought me back to Hongjoong's living room, as I was still staring at the framed picture.

"Hey, are you okay?" I heard Hongjoong's worried voice on my left, as he was still holding me, turning me to face him, by my shoulders.

I slowly tilted my head up to meet his gaze, and I didn't even notice tears were falling down my cheeks, Hongjoong's concerned eyes met mine, filled with worry and uncertainty.

"Did something happen Y/N?" He reached his hand towards my cheeks to wipe my tears away.

I could finally breathe out the air that was stuck in my lungs and slowly reached my hands towards the picture bringing it between us. "I-is…w-was this your sister's class?" My voice came out unsure and weak as I felt I couldn't breathe again.

Hongjoong slowly took the picture from my hand, his expression softening into a slight smile. "Yes, she's in the middle. They took this on the day of the accident," he said quietly, pointing at his little sister in the photograph. His smile carried a tinge of sadness.

That was when I couldn't hold back anymore. I broke down, sobbing uncontrollably. Hongjoong looked at me with wide eyes, clearly bewildered by my sudden outburst. But as I gazed at the picture again, I realized something shocking—next to his little sister was a smiling boy who was unmistakably my brother. They were holding hands. It couldn't be true. It couldn't be that we both lost our siblings in the same accident and that they were friends, perhaps even best friends.

I buried my hands in my face as tears streamed down, my legs giving way beneath me. Before I could collapse completely, Hongjoong caught me and held me in his arms. I felt hollow, like an empty box that once held cherished memories but was now vacant. We both ended up on the floor, with Hongjoong holding me close, whispering comforting words and gently stroking my back and hair as I sobbed into his neck.

After a while, I began to feel a bit calmer. I realized it was best to explain to Hongjoong why I was crying before he thought I was irrational.

My hands reached towards the framed picture on the floor and my fingers traced through the middle where our siblings were holding hands. "This is my brother next to your sister. They are holding hands." I pointed at my brother on the picture whispering it in a weak voice.

Silence hung heavy between us, and when I didn't hear a response, I lifted my gaze to find Hongjoong's head tilted toward the picture in between us. He was staring at our siblings captured in that moment. Gently, I reached out and touched his jaw, turning his face towards mine. His eyes glistened with tears that rolled down his cheeks, each one precious as it traced a path across his face. With my thumb, I wiped away the tears and then embraced him tightly, climbing onto his lap. His arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me close to him, offering comfort and solace in our shared grief.

"At least they are together up above," I whispered into his ears as tears fell from my eyes again. It was me now, who tried to comfort him, as he did before without any word. I caressed his back then my fingers brushed through his blonde hair from his nape his hair was still a little wet. I put a little distance between us and leaned my forehead against his. "Are you okay?" I whispered it close to his lips.

"At least they are together." He repeated my words. "And we are here for each other too." His hands found their way up to my jaw and cupped it as the barely lit living room lights illuminated his face.

"We are," I whispered as I smiled at him slightly.

Then he pulled me closer to his lips as he cupped my face and I immediately felt at ease as his lips sealed against mine with passion I never felt in my life. Caramel scent embraces us with warmth, our soaked clothes are long forgotten. His lips moved against mine with a burning desire that whispered a promise between us to be there for each other forever.

The next thing I know is me being pushed against the wet wall of the bathroom, the water falling on us from the shower head above us, Hongjoong's lips on mine, our saliva mixing with the water, our hands interlaced above my head as we kissed each other with fire even the water falling on us couldn't stop the burning desire we felt for each other as his lips found their way down my neck, sucking on it, leaving little love marks here and there, as quiet moans escaped my mouth. The bathroom's walls echo the sounds our mouths made. As he whispered words into my ear that promised us a bright future together as we united our faith.

Two souls destined to meet, to heal from the sorrow their siblings' deaths left in their lives. Two souls that were destined to each other so they could find their way back to life, that is full of vibrant colors again, together.

A/N: Soo, that happened, lol. I just wanted to tell you I might write a part 2 for this story, only if I feel it tbh, because it is really just the beginning of their story. I have already some ideas of how I could continue it because let's think about it. Hongjoong is famous and lives in the media, and the paparazzi always find out everything so how would the media affect their relationship?

(Ateez masterlist)

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