#she loves them as if they were her own sisters

[zyafics]

can you write about rafe x sarahs bestfriend and reader keeps trying to get with rafe and he rejects her until he finally agrees and teases her around Sarah making reader nervous .. if you find a story like this LMK

truly didn't expect to write today, but ended up doing... this. hope you like it!

SOMEONE NEW | Rafe Cameron

MASTERLIST (Blurb)

Pairing — Rafe x Sarah's BSF!Female Reader

Content — best friend's brother, fluff, she falls first/he falls harder

Word Count — 1.1K

Song — Someone New by Hozier

“What gives?”

Rafe surprises you. Sitting on a barstool at the Tannyhill estate, you assumed when Rafe returned home, he would ignore you the way he had done all his life. For the past couple of years, you’ve harbored an embarrassing crush on him that amounted to nothing. Sure, you never outright confessed, but you assumed he knew.

He had to.

The way you always strike up a flimsy conversation during late nights in the kitchen from your sleepovers with Sarah. The way you would always try to convince Sarah to join him and his friends at parties—only to be rejected of an invitation. The way you would always search for him to fill your cup, or take you home, whenever you and the Camerons end up at the same function.

You never told him but the signs were there.

Yet, nothing happened.

After spending a summer in the Bahamas, you decided it was time to put yourself first. You changed the way you dressed, the way you style your hair, the way you put on your makeup. It wasn’t for him, it wasn’t to impress him—it was for you. A new version deserved a new update, a new way to love, and you’re pulling out all the stops.

Now, back in Kildare, you’ve resumed your presence at the Tannyhill estate. Sarah invited you over for a sleepover, but she’s currently out getting some of the snacks. Leaving you to your own device, in her house, with the return of her brother.

Whom you didn’t even realize came home.

It fucks with him.

Because he’s used to you, his little sister’s best friend, always gawking at him from across the room. Always fetching him a beer from the fridge, or blushing whenever he comes into your proximity. Neither of that has happened since your return and Rafe can’t lie and say the loss of attention hasn’t bruised his ego.

But it’s something else. Something magnetizing about the air around you. He doesn’t know if it’s the change in styles or the sudden wave of confidence you’re exuding, but it’s different, and it’s intriguing him like never before.

“What?” You ask, lips parting and releasing the chewed-up plastic straw you were sipping on. His gaze drops to the fullness of your wetted lips, the new shade of lipgloss making them appear more delicious than ever before. His heart slightly patters—what the fuck? He thinks to himself. What is going on with me?

“What’s going on with you?” He asks, and your brows pull together. They’re shaped, manicured, threaded, the way he likes his women. But what remains is that subtle dip between your brows, that boasts the look of innocence from your features, reminding him of the same naivety and shy-natured he always adored.

“What do you mean?” You say with a quiet laugh.

“You’re different,” he observes, his eyes tracing the openness of your clothes. You’re wearing a stylistic top, one revealing your navel, and a piercing on your belly button. When the fuck did you get that?

You tilt your head to the side, your doe-shaped eyes blinking at him with pure curiosity. “Is that a bad thing?”

“Sort of, yeah,” he admits. You shrink under this proclamation, shoulders tightening, your legs crossing on the barstool, revealing the pretty anklet on your feet, dangling, in a way that makes him imagine what they would look like over his shoulders.

You frown, jutting out your bottom lip, and looking to the floor. “I’m sorry,” you apologize quietly.

“Not—” He pulls back, trying to find the right words. “Not in a bad way. You’re not… you.”

You blink up at him, “Like what?”

You don’t look for me anymore, he concludes, but he finds it pathetic to say. Instead, he settles with: “You’re just different.”

You scrunch your nose at his words, the way they wrinkle, it’s so adorable, he wants to cherish that sight. Rafe finds the courage to ask, “And you’re quiet. You always wanted to talk to me; did some other asshole catch your attention in the Bahamas?”

“Why do you assume they’re an asshole?”

“Most men are,”

“You included?” You ask, tilting your chin to look at him in a sort of challenge.

“Yeah,” he admits after a long silence. “I’m the worst kind.”

It makes you laugh again. In that same carefree, airy laugh that comes with ease. Something about that simple sound unwinds his shoulders, and Rafe takes in the moment as if he can stretch it on for an eternity. Fuck, he thought. What is it?

“What’s so funny?” Rafe asks, his throat suddenly dry. He needs a glass of water, but it’ll be hell before he tries to move from this spot.

“Nothing,” you say with a soft smile, “Just… Self-awareness is always a good first step.”

“So you think I’m an asshole?” He asks, stepping closer. His leg knocks at your feet, causing you to shift your position in a way that accommodates him. You still do that, Rafe recognizes, you’re still making room for him.

Good.

You bobble your head in contemplation, “I don’t think it’s a lie,”

“I can be better,” Rafe declares.

“Sure,” you drawl, unconvinced.

“I’ll be better for you,”

The words came tumbling out without a second thought, and all the presence of air is stolen from your lungs. Your eyes widen into this impossible size, filled with such valiant shock, that you’ve never demonstrated before. He almost wishes he can take back his confession.

But Sarah returns, coming into the room to break the tense air.

“Leave her alone, Rafe,” Sarah snaps, dropping two plastic bags of snacks onto the kitchen island. “Don’t you have some whore to entertain?”

Rafe drops his jaw playfully. “Don’t call your best friend that.”

”I—“ Sarah reddens from the accusation, sliding her gaze apologetically to you, but you laugh it off, gently pushing Rafe’s shoulder, and forcing a gap between you.

He hates it.

“I know,” you answer, smiling at your best friend and shaking your head softly. “He’s being an asshole."

You cut a look over to Rafe with a knowing smile like you’re sharing an inside joke, before returning your attention to your best friend. Rafe had half a mind to grab your chin and force your focus back on him—the other Cameron. “Do you need help carrying anything?”

“Nope,” Sarah shakes her head, grabbing the bags with one hand and using her other one to grab yours. “Let’s go.”

You beam, radiating the same contagious joy as before, but with a new set of layers that Rafe wants to strip down and uncover. Sarah pushes him to the side and moves to the stairs, and as you’re dragged up the steps, you do something you’ve never done before.

You don’t look back.

And in that moment, he realizes, fuck, he might’ve liked you more than he was willing to admit.

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[be-xkyy]

Platonic Yan! Little Son

Warning: platonic yandere, possessive, jealous, crying, a little cute?, this is PLATONIC.

This is something platonic that I don't know why I wrote, since it's not part of my usual content... but the idea came to me and I wrote it in an hour or so, so here it is. 🤷🏻‍♀️🖤

Divider credits: @cafekitsune

Yandere Little Son who is a beautiful and energetic 5 year old boy, your only baby, your only son for now (forever) who adores his mommy, YOU, with all his heart.

Yandere Little Son who since he was a baby was always calm and happy in your arms, but only with you, since he would sob and scream at the top of his lungs when someone else grabbed him (including his father)

Yandere Little Son who despite everyone saying that he would become more independent and less clingy when he grew up, that didn't happen. Oh no. He just became more attached to you and when he learned to walk he started following you around (like a little duckling)

Yandere Little Son who took his first steps walking towards you, his first words were "Ma—ma!", all his drawings are of you and him (and a distant figure in a corner that according to your son's own words is his father. At least he added it... right?)

Yandere Little Son who was sobbing and screaming when you first took him to daycare, the teacher told you that all kids were like that on their first day and that your son would calm down when he was with the other kids. Only an hour later you received a call from daycare to go pick him up since he wouldn't stop crying.

Yandere Little Son who learns at home with a private tutor since he doesn't want to be separated from you at any time, he pretends to get along with the tutor in your presence only to kick her hard under the table when you go to the kitchen for lemonade (he gets upset when she takes it easy and doesn't give up)

Yandere Little Son who approaches angrily and kicks his father with all his might (it doesn't hurt) when he sees him kissing you, his little hands push him (without moving him even a millimeter) while he yells at him in a shrill voice.

"Get away from my mommy! Get away, get away!".

Yandere Little Son who every night sleeps in your room regardless of you putting him to bed in his room, he leaves his room to go to yours, climbs into bed and lays right between you and his father, he snuggles up to your side squeezing his teddy bear while asking you to tell him a story (he falls asleep halfway through)

Yandere Little Son who always wants to match your clothes, always helps you in the kitchen when you're cooking something (he ends up covered in flour) and always gives you flowers when you go out and even when you're at home he cuts the flowers from the neighbor's garden to give them to you (your neighbor comes to your house upset because your son pulled out all her daisies)

Yandere Little Son who started crying when he found out you were pregnant and had a little brother or sister, he sobbed clinging to you hiding his face in your stomach saying he doesn't want a little brother or sister.

"NO! Mommy... sniff— sniff... I don't want a brother or sister! You'll stop loving me and only want him! sniff—"

Yandere Little Son who lets you comfort him by taking him in your arms telling him that even if you have another child he will always be your baby, your first son, that you have special affection for him, he stops crying hiding his face in your neck even though your words calm him down, he takes his head out of your neck to look at you his little hands gently grab your cheeks.

"And if I don't like my little brother when he's here... can we return him? Give him to someone else who wants him... ok mommy?"

[rosiewitchescottage]

I'll certainly agree that it's laughable to suggest that Eowyn is merely pining because her 'crush' on Aragorn is unrequited.

When she finds love with Faramir, she realises what it was for herself.

She fears ' a cage ' and yes, we can be sure that what would have awaited women and children taken as war captives by orcs and allies of Sauron and Saruman, would have been the worst of hell.

Death would certainly have been better, and death in battle would have the honour of being in defence of her people.

But I also think that Tolkein might have been pointing out the nobility of female roles, in the way that Eowyn discovers after the war.

The People of Rohan are probably based on the Saxon/Norse Cultures.

A Shieldmaiden would be there to pass fresh weapons to a warrior.

Norse women were tough, outspoken, quite capable of defending themselves and their homes.

In direst circumstances, they and women of many other cultures picked up weapons to back up their struggling warriors.

But as far as possible women were kept away from the battle field.

Why? Because the future of the whole community depended on them!

Look at Eomer's reaction to finding his sister severely wounded on the battlefield.

It's not the calm, resigned grief of knowing that his uncle King Theoden died a warrior's death.

That's a natural part of the warrior life. Every battle may be his last moment.

It's a wild, animalistic, disbelieving howl of abject misery. This shouldn't be happening!

I think that whatever Divine Power was working against Sauron's evil was ready to make use of Eowyn and Merry's courageous readiness to fight, because they perfectly fit the loophole of who could destroy The Witch King of Angmar.

Merry is 'no man' so he's able to bring the Naz Gûl Chief to his knees. Eowyn is 'no man' and gleefully reveals herself, before she deals the death blow to this fiend.

But even though Eowyn now has the renown of having killed the Chief of The Naz Gûl. There's no sign that she's keen to go to battle again.

She's found a husband who loves her as she is. She won't be 'caged' as Faramir's wife.

Being a wife, hopefully a mother, the wife to King Elessar's Steward (and the first Prince and Princess of Ithilen) is an example of how the feminine role can be a noble, valuable one, in mutually loving and respectful circumstances.

Perhaps it was necessary for Eowyn to have her experience in battle, before she was able to appreciate that the role assigned to her during The Battle of Helm's Deep (helping to care for children and the elderly, tending wounds, feeding everyone) has its own unique dignity and worth.

Why does Eowyn want to die?

Because Aragorn won’t love her? Because she feels trapped in her feminine gender role?

These are the explanations we get in the text. However, none of the characters really acknowledge Eowyn’s darkest fear: being taken alive by the enemy.

There are some bad takes on Eowyn that boil down to patronizing her and downplaying the seriousness of her problems. People say that she had a naive desire for glory and Faramir teaches her that war isn’t actually fun. Then there’s the whole “Eowyn was a deserter who selfishly ran away from her duty” argument.

You can only say these things if you ignore how dire the situation was, how close Sauron was to winning, and how gruesome Eowyn’s fate would have been if he won. She knew that death or capture likely awaited her, and she knew that dying in battle was the least bad option. (She also knew her own worth and believed that she was too useful a warrior to be left behind with the civilians. And she was right.)

Eowyn’s actions are ruthlessly practical! She wants to die fighting because that’s better than waiting around for The Horrors. Let’s be real, Eowyn is too sensible to be suicidal over an unrequited crush.

Here are some of her most revealing quotes:

“All your words are but to say: you are a woman, and your part is in the house. But when the men have died in battle and honor, you have leave to be burned in the house, for the men will need it no more.”

“And those who have not swords can still die upon them.”

“Nor is it always evil to die in battle, even in bitter pain. Were I permitted, in this dark hour I would choose the latter.”

“But I do not desire healing…. I wish to ride to war like my brother Éomer, or better like Théoden the king, for he died and has both honour and peace.”

In the end, Eowyn only stops wanting to die after Sauron is defeated. Just before the Ring is destroyed, she tells Faramir:

“I stand upon some dreadful brink, and it is utterly dark in the abyss before my feet, but whether there is any light behind me I cannot tell. For I cannot turn yet. I wait for some stroke of doom.”

Eowyn can’t turn to light and life until the war is over. Hope is too painful; death at least offers “honor and peace.” This passage is so important because it EXPLICITLY links Eowyn’s despair to the outcome of the war and makes it clear that she is not simply having a meltdown because Aragorn rejected her.

There are two important moments where Eowyn is threatened with violence. The very first time we meet her, we are told by Gandalf that Wormtongue planned to turn her into a sex slave after Saruman conquered Rohan. Even though this threat is dismissed quickly, it’s a disturbing reminder of what could happen to Eowyn if Sauron wins.

Then we have the most triumphant moment of Eowyn’s story: her battle with the Witch King. Once again, Eowyn is not threatened with death, but with captivity and torment:

“Come not between the Nazgûl and his prey! Or he will not slay thee in thy turn. He will bear thee away to the houses of lamentation, beyond all darkness, where thy flesh shall be devoured, and thy shrivelled mind be left naked to the Lidless Eye.”

Eowyn laughs at him and makes sure to announce that she is a woman before killing him. Her victory is all the more satisfying because the Witch King has just threatened her with captivity, loss of agency, the violation of her body and mind—all threats that Eowyn has faced before. But the Witch King’s words continue to haunt Eowyn and us. He threatens to withhold death; and death is therefore framed as an escape, a gift. Eowyn is taken to the Houses of Healing, but she is obsessed with returning to battle and fighting until she dies.

When Eowyn says that she fears “a cage,” this is a brilliantly simple metaphor for the entire spectrum of oppression she has faced: from the well-meaning restrictions of her culture to the horrifying enslavement threatened by Wormtongue.

Once the war is over, Eowyn is able to laugh at her fears. She teases Faramir: “And would you have your proud folk say of you: there goes a lord who tamed a wild shieldmaiden of the North!” Her fear of being caged has been turned into a bit of flirtatious banter. She feels completely safe with Faramir, and the idea that he “tamed” her is nothing but a joke between them.

[goosewriting]

Hellow, I saw that you open request for joaquin torres 🤩

Like obviously we NEED this man FICS!

So, I am going to request about him please.

You are a civilian and in danger(?) Sorry I have not watched the movie so idk what are the dangers throught the movie. However, I love how joaquin saves you and your little sister maybe. He wants you to pay him in a date.

Additional, your little sister says "My sister is single".

Thank you so much ✨️💖

No Bribe Needed

summary: after getting saved by Joaquín, reader decides to ask him out for coffee.

relationship: Joaquín Torres x gn!reader

warnings: mention of blood and small injuries, car accident (no one gets hurt), language, fluff, kisses

word count: 6k

A/N: since bnw kinda happens all in one go, there’s nowhere to insert reader to put them in A Situation, so this one is set somewhere between tfatws and bnw. joaquín doesn’t give me the impression to be the kinda guy who expects to be “paid” with a date as a thank you, so i changed it up a bit. i think i still made it work though ;w; thank you sm for requesting, this one was very cute<3 reader’s sister is a teenager btw, i was thinking somewhere around 15yo maybe. 

[all masterlists] 🪶 [mcu masterlist] 🪶 [ao3]

(english is not my first language. constructive criticism and grammar corrections are very appreciated!)

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

After parking your car a couple streets over, you and your sister start the short walk to your favourite coffee shop. The barista knows your orders the moment she spots you from the window, and you exchange some smalltalk as you wait for your drinks. Once those have been acquired, your sister taking a big gulp through the straw with a delighted hum, you decide to sit outside at one of the tables. The weather is really nice today; sunny, but with a fresh breeze rustling the leaves in the trees providing shadow above you. 

Your sister is rambling about some gossip from her soccer group; there’s been a huge fight over a boy, apparently. You’re trying your best to keep up with the story and all the names, but a while after her chaotic retelling starts, your eyes drift to the side, where you spot a man sitting a couple tables over. He’s sitting alone, sipping on his cup, looking out to the street. Your eyes move on their own as they roam his features; from where you sit, you see the sharp profile of his nose and jaw, the way his bomber jacket accentuates his shoulders. 

You take a sip from your own drink, when the sudden call of your name brings you back to reality. With a slight flinch of surprise, you set down your cup and look at your sister. You blink a couple of times, and she narrows her eyes at you.

“What are you looking at?” she asks, instantly suspicious. 

“Huh? Nothing,” you say, daring one last glance to the stranger, then focusing back on the person in front of you. “You were saiyng?”

She cranes her neck, roaming the surroundings. Then she spots the man, and turns to you with a disppointed if not slightly disgusted face. 

“You know, you always tell me it’s rude to stare,” she says with a shake of her head like a disappointed mother. “Yet here you are, shamelessly checking him out in broad daylight.”

“I was not–!!” The man turns ever so slightly in your direction at the commotin, and you clear your throat. Once he looks away again, you give sister a pointed look. “I was not checking him out.”

“No, you’re right.” She brings her drink to her lips with a mischievous grin. “You weren’t checking him out, you were eating him right up, ogling even.”

“Oh my god, can you not?” 

Before you can say anything else, you hear tires screeching on asphalt, and both you and your sister turn your attention to the corner of the street. A van is making a turn at both a dangerous angle and speed. Within a split second it’s clear to you that it’s not gonna make it, and you let go of your drink, yelling at your sister to move, and make a run towards the building, grabbing her arm as you go to pull her with you. The van ends up driving full force into the lamp post right next to where you were sitting, the front part of the car bending inwards at the middle, and the structure bending over from the impact.

The door of the van opens and a man stumbles out, a trickle of blood running down his face. You instruct your sister to go inside the shop and wait there, and you’re glad that for once, she listens to you. So you approach the man, asking if he’s okay, already taking your phone out of your pocket to call 911. He holds his head, wincing when he touches his wound. That’s when you hear the police sirens approaching fast. But if the police is here already that means… this was a pursuit, you think, and as realisation hits you, the man notices you’re still there, and he harshly grabs your arm, his other hand producing a gun from under his jacket. 

“Hey!” a voice calls from behind you, and you turn to see another man appraoch you, with a gun of his own, pointed at the driver. Your mind reels as you try to make sense of the situation, and before you know it, two police cars arrive, the officers that step out commanding the man to let you go. But he only tightens his grip, trying to hold you still to point his gun into your side. Your body reacts and you squirm, trying to put as much distance between yourself and the firearm, which takes the driver by surprise. This leaves an opening, and the man from the cafe uses the opportunity to whack the gun out of the other’s hand, followed by a punch right in his face. The driver stumbles backwards, letting you go, and the policemen are quickly all over him, pushing him to the ground to cuff him. 

Trembling, you just stand there, looking at the scene, and your saviour puts away his gun. He carefully holds your shoulders, to guide you a little further away, and gives you a once over.

“Are you hurt?” he asks.

“Huh?” 

“It’s okay, you’re safe now. Are you hurt?” he reassures you.

“I’m–” You look down at your arm, a bruise forming where the other man had held you. You smooth over it with your fingertips and look up at him. Only then do you realise it’s the guy from before. Now that you can see his face properly, you’re almost breathless at how handsome he is, his eyes so full of genuine concern that you can’t hold his gaze, and look to the side. “I think I’ll live.”

You hear your name being called, and you turn to look. Your sister comes running and tackles you in a hug. 

“Are you okay? What was that?” she asks.

“It’s all good, they arrested him,” You bring your gaze back to the man. “You really saved me there, thank you, …”

“Joaquín. Joaquín Torres,” he responds to your implicit question extending a hand, which you take and shake, introducing yourself and your sister. Somewhere in your brain you register that his hold is warm and comforting.

“So, why do you have a gun? Are you a policeman, too?” your sister asks in a suspicious tone.

“No, I’m in the Air Force, actually. I just happened to be here on my day off,” he explains, looking down at her. Without missing a beat, your sister replies.

“Ah, a man in uniform. He really is your type,” she says, shoving her elbow into your side and shooting you a knowing side-eye. Your eyes open like dinner plates and you say her name through gritted teeth, your hand giving her shoulder a warning squeeze. She goes on to tell him you were totally checking him out earlier, but before she can add anything else, you place your hand over her mouth, finally shutting her up.

“I’m so sorry about her,” you apologise, then grab her face to make her look at you. “Go wait in the car, I’ll be right there.”

Joaquín followed this whole exchange with a suprised but amused smile. Your sister says goodbye to him and starts heading to the car, but turns aorund one last time once she’s out of reach from you.

“He just saved your life, you should totally ask him on a date as a thank you! You’re not getting any younger, you know!”

“I said car!” You shoot her the best glare you can muster, given the embarrassment she just put you through. With a playful shriek she turns on her heels and runs to the car. You run your hand over your face with a sigh, daring to bring your eyes up to meet his. To your surprise he has a bit of a playful glint in them, and isn’t looking in total shock at you like you were expecting.

“She’s got spunk, huh,” he says, looking after where your sister left.

You huff a laugh.

“You have no idea,” you say, raising your brows to underline your point. 

One of the policemen calls Joaquín over, and he gestures he’ll be there in a moment. You fidget with the hem of your shirt, figuring that if your sister laid out the groundwork, you might as well play into it.

“You know. You did save my life back there. Can I get you a coffee sometime? Only of you want to, of course, I don’t want to overstep.”

“Sure, I’ll take you up on that,” he responds, and you swear you felt your heart hiccup. You glance at the time, an apologetic look crossing your face. 

“I have to bring my sister to soccer practice now, but… Are you free tomorrow?” 

“Yeah, I think so,” he replies with a smile.

You give a short breath of relief, and take out your phone to exchange your contact information, and he enters his number.  

“Great. I’ll text you. See you then.” You smile up at him, and turn to leave, but he adds something else.

“Are civil clothes okay or should I wear something else?” he asks, teasing evident in his voice. 

“Oh my god,” you mutter with a laugh, running your hand over your face. “I’m gonna kill her.”

“Take care,” he says after a chuckle, giving you a short wave.

“You too, bye,” you say, mirroring his gesture. 

As you walk back to the car, your heart skips every other beat at everything that just happened. Once you’re in the driver’s seat, you can feel the prying eyes on you. 

“Soooo..?” your sister asks from the seat next to you. You sigh, your grip tightening around the steering wheel. 

“We’re meeting for coffee tomorrow.”

She triumphantly pumps a fist in the air.

“If you end up dating, I want him to teach me to shoot a gun.”

“Hah! Absolutely not. In fact, if you ever pull a stunt like that again, I’m telling mom and dad to disinherit you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she ignores your comment with a dismissive hand gesture. “You’re welcome.”

With a shake of your head, you start the car and take off.

“Hm. We never got to finish our drinks,” she adds after a moment. “Can I go with you tomorrow?”

“No, but I’ll bring you something on my way home,” you offer.

“Then pick up some chicken nuggets and fries, too.”

“What am I, your personal food delivery service?”

“If you don’t, I’ll tell dad you fervently made out with an army man at the coffee shop.”

You come to a halt at a red light and narrow your eyes at her. You know she’s 100% serious. You sigh in defeat yet again.

“Fine, deal, you menace” you finally give in. “Sometimes you scare me.”

— — — — —

The next day, you meet up with Joaquín at the coffee shop as planned. After grabbing your drinks, you decide to enjoy the good weather, and take a walk in the nearby park. You tell him about your job and where you grew up, and he does the same. 

He’s just telling you a funny anecdote about one of his deployments when he gets a call.

“Oh, sorry I gotta take this.”

You recognise the screen on his phone to be a video call, and you expect him to walk a little farther away for privacy, but he keeps walking with you.

“Hey, man,” a deep voice says from his phone when he picks up. 

“Hey, Sam.” Joaquín swivels a little on his heels so you’re in the image behind him, and tells his caller your name. You raise your hand to give a little wave as you’re sipping on your drink, and almost choke on it when you see the face on the screen.

“Holy crap, is that Captain America?!” you say between coughs. They both chuckle.

“The one and only,” Joaquín responds, holding his phone in front of him again. 

“I thought you were at HQ for, you know, the thing I needed you to do.” Sam’s tone indicates he knows you’re still there.

“Allready done, amigo. Thumb drive is on my desk. The files were encrypted but, well. You’ll see for yourself. I had a… previous commitment, so I left a little earlier.”

Joaquín shoots you a little side glance with a smile, and you mirror him, heat prickling at your cheeks.

“I see how it is,” Sam says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “Have fun kids, but not too much fun.”

You bring your hand to cover your face, muttering “oh my god” under your breath as Joaquín laughs and says his goodbyes, then hangs up. 

You walk in silence for a bit, then you stop, and he halts as well, turning to face you.

“So, who are you really, Joaquín Torres?” you ask, playfully narrowing your eyes at him. You start counting on your fingers. “Charming, handsome, apparently a tech wiz, and you have Captain America on speed dial? You’re not secretly an Avenger, are you?”

“No, not by a long shot,” he retorts, holding up his free hand defensively. “I wish though. I have yet to convince Sam to introduce me to Ant-Man.”

You both laugh and just look at each other for a moment. The breeze moves the trees above and for a second, the sunlight hits Joaquín’s face just right, his eyes shining like honey, the freckles on his cheeks glistening against his skin. Before you can stop youself, you find yourself asking him out. 

“I know this was just to say thank you for yesterday, but I’d actually love to meet again. If that’s okay with you.”

He raises his brows in slight surprise, but it quickly melts into his signature smile which you just can’t get enough of. Scratching the back of his neck, he looks to the side for a moment, then his eyes find yours again.

“You took the words right outta my mouth. I was really hoping I’d get to ask you out first, though.”

“Oh, my bad. You want a do-over?”

“Sure,” he chuckles, then opens his mouth to say something but nothing comes out, and he laughs  nervously. Wait, is he really nervous? Because of you? The thought unloads an explosion of butterflies in your stomach. Finally he manages the question, “I was hoping you’d join me for a proper dinner some time?”

“I’d love to.”

“Cool, cool. Great even. Uhm, when are you free?”

You take your phone out to take a look at your calendar, and that’s when you notice the time.

“Ah crap, it’s this late already? I have to go pick up my sister from practice.” You down the rest of your drink and throw the cup into a nearby bin. Without giving it much thought, you place your hand on his arm, and you think you see his breath catch in his throat for a moment. “Today was lovely. Really. I’ll call you later so we can discuss a date and time, okay?”

With a sudden burst of confidence, you lean in to place a kiss on his cheek.

“Thank you for today, Captain,” you say with a little salute. “Catch you later.” You wave at him as you walk towards your car.

“Y-yeah, see ya.” He waves back, a silly smile spreading on his face.  

— — — — —

For your next meeting (dare you call it a date, even?) you decide to go to a restaurant. Joaquín took care of the reservation, telling you he’d pick you up, to which you texted him your address. Shortly before the planned pick-up time, he texts you saying he won’t make it on time, to instead meet at the restaurant, so you drive yourself.

You’re wearing one of your better outfits that you haven’t worn in a while, feeling good about yourself, if a little jittery because of the anticipation. It quickly dies down though, as you sit at the table for over half an hour, snacking on your third breadstick.

Finally he texts you, apologising that today’s mission went on much longer than expected and he won’t make it after all. You understand, but you’re also disappointed. On your way back home, you come to the realisation that being with someone like him, not just in the Army but also working closely with someone like Captain America, these things are bound to happen. You don’t come to a conclusion regarding how you feel about that, though.

Once you’re home, you change back into your lounge clothes. Since you didn’t actually get to eat anything other than some bread, you decide to make some quick ramen, indulging in your favourite toppings. Just as you’re about to pour hot water into the bowl, your phone rings. You see Joaquín’s name on the screen, and for a moment, you consider not picking up. But you’re not that petty, and you actually do want to talk to him, so you swipe over the screen to accept the call. 

“Hey, everything okay?” you ask, setting down the kettle.

“Are you home?” Joaquín asks. He sounds out of breath.

“Yeah, why?”

“I’m at your door.”

“What?”

You walk to the door and open it, and sure enough, Joaquín stands there, still panting slightly. The first thing you notice is the bouquet of flowers in his hand, and as you look up at him, you see the debris and dried blood on his temple.

“You’re bleeding!” you say, hanging up the phone and ushering him inside.

“I’m fine, I- I’m so sorry,” he apologises intently and you close the door behind him. “The mission didn’t go as planned, I really thought I could make it on time. I came here as soon as I could. I’m really sorry.”

You hold his gaze, full of warmth and guilt and something else you can’t quite place. But you’re sure he means it, so you give in with a sigh. 

“It’s okay,” you reassure him with a small smile. “Have you eaten yet?”

He looks like he wasn’t expecting your question at all, and shakes his head.

“Then go wash your face first, bathroom is to the right.” You gesture towards it with your chin while you take the flowers from his hands. “And thank you for these. I’ll put them in water.”

He leaves to clean himself up and you unwrap the flowers, taking a big glass to serve as a temporary vase. It’s a small and simple bouquet, consisting of multiple tulips in several colours. As you’re filling up the glass, you smile to yourself. When was the last time someone brought you flowers? 

Once Joaquín comes back, he takes off his jacket, placing it over the back of one of the chairs, and you indicate for him to sit down. Standing in front of him, you gingerly hold his face in your hands to inspect the cut on his temple. At least it isn’t bleeding anymore.

“I have something for that, hold on.” He can’t even protest before you’re rummaging in your bag, and you hold up some band-aids with a triumphant “a-ha!”. Taking a closer look at them as you stand before Joaquín, you giggle a bit.

“So, we have dinosaurs or farm animals,” you offer, holding up the two patterned band-aids for him to see, and he laughs. “Let me guess, you’re more of a dinosaur guy?”

“You know me so well already,” he says with a chuckle, turning his head slightly to give you better access. You chuckle, peeling the protective layer off the band-aid, and carefully place it over the cut. Then you lean down, placing a soft kiss on it.

“There, all better,” you smile down at him, and he looks up at you with so much adoration, you think you might faint. His face quickly morphs back to worry though, and he takes your hand in his.

“I really am sorry, I promise I’m better than this,” he says, and you believe him. 

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” you say, walking back towards the kitchen to heat up more water. “You want some ramen?”

“Yes please, I’m starving. I haven’t had anything to eat since this morning, I think.”

You click your tongue in mock disapproval.

“Well, that’s no good. Here.” You bring a second bowl of ramen, utensils and the kettle to the table where you take a seat next to him. After pouring the water, you cover both bowls. “Think you can make it 3 more minutes?”

He leans his head onto his hand, elbow propped on the table, and looks at you from the side.

“I think I’ll live,” he replies with a goofy smile, and he remembers that’s what you told him when he saved you from that one driver when you first met. Joaquín’s eyes travel down your arm to your wrist, where the faintest marks are still visible on your skin. His brows furrow a bit at the memory, but his eyes travel further, and only now does he seem to realise that you’re only wearing an oversized T-shirt and some shorts. He quickly averts his eyes, a blush creeping onto his face as he straightens up in his seat. His travelling eyes didn’t go unnoticed by you, and you squirm sligtly, heat prickling at your cheeks as well. 

“You know, I had picked out a really cute outfit for today,” you say, if only to break the silence, fidgeting with your fingers in your lap. “I was really looking forward to dinner with you.”

Joaquín lets his head hang in defeat for a moment, before bringing his gaze back to yours. 

“Any chance I can convince you to put it on again?” he asks with hopeful eyes, and you tap your chin like you’re thinking it over with a hum.

“Nope,” you conclude, and he looks a little bit dejected for real, so you add, “Next time, though.”

He sighs in relief.

“It’s good to know there’ll be a next time after today, actually.”

“For a moment I wanted to be mad at you but I couldn’t bring myself to be,” you admit. “The flowers were a nice touch, too.”

“Nice,” he mutters under his breath, like commending himself for a job well done. “It was a bit last minute, so they didn’t have much to choose from. I hope tulips are okay?”

You lift your hands to caress the fragile petals, humming in agreement. You do tell him what your favourite flowers are, though.

“Noted. Next time, then, I’ll get you the proper ones.” 

Your heart swells at the thought that he also wants there to be a next time, and he’s already taking note of these things. 

“Alright then, let’s eat before it gets too mushy,” you say, and you’re not sure of you mean the noodles or yourself. 

Over the impromptu dinner, you ask him about the mission he was on, and he tells you about it. Whatever he can tell you, anyways. Much of it is confidential, and he seems to gloss over a lot of details, possibly to keep it palatable to discuss it over food. 

Once you’re done with your meals, the conversation dies down for a moment. 

“So, what now?” you ask, hoping your tone conveys your desire for him to stay a little longer without sounding desperate. He gives a light shrug.

“Hmm, we could watch something?” he proposes, then goes ‘ah’ like he just remembered something, and turns a bit in his seat towards you. “Actually you mentioned something when we were at the park the other day, and it made me think of this one movie, I think you’d like it.”

Another blush creeps up your face at the thought that he paid attention and remembered details of your conversation.

“Sure, what platform is it on though?”

“Netlfix, I think.”

“Oh, I don’t have that one,” you say, considering restarting your subscription if only to watch a movie he recommended.

“We can use my account, no problem,” he proposes, and your face lights up. 

“Alright then, the remote is on the couch,” you say as you rise to your feet. “Go set it up and I’ll load the dishwasher.”

“I can help with that,” Joaquín offers, also standing up. 

“No no, it’s fine. But thank you.”

You pick up everything and bring it to the kitchen. Truth is, you need some distance between you two because you feel like you’re going to explode. Your mind is already filling with images of the two of you cuddling on the couch, one thing leading to the next… and you’re not sure how much more your heart can take. As he sets everything up, you finish cleaning up, doing your best to rid your mind of all the scenarios it’s coming up with at an alarming speed.

“You want dessert?” you ask after you’re done with the dishes, and take something out of the fridge.

“Always,” he says, and his response makes you chuckle.

You cut two slices and bring the plates with you as you walk to the couch, setting it down on the coffee table. 

“Thanks, what’s this?” he asks as he picks up the plate with curiosity, trying to make out what it is in the dim light of your living room.

“Strawberry shortcake,” you say, a sheepish smile spreading on your face. “I actually wanted to perfect the recipe a bit before letting you try it, but since you’re already here… Well, I hope you like it nonetheless.”

“You made this? For me?” he asks, surprise evident in his voice. The fork stops for a moment as it travels up to his mouth when he looks at you. You nod, and he takes a bite. You’ve tasted it, so you know it’s decent, not perfect. But still you hope he’ll like it.

“This is delicious, thanks,” he says, taking another bigger bite. You chuckle.

“Well, glad to hear that.” You take a bite yourself, leaning back a bit. “So what are we watching?”

He clicks onto the movie’s title card, and it seems to be a criminal thriller of some kind, an older one that you haven’t watched yet. He starts the movie, and you’re instantly immersed into the story. 

Joaquín is quick to finish his cake, leaving the plate on the coffee table and leaning back into the seat, sinking into the cushions. You feel him shifting a bit, his arm now outstretched over the back of the couch behind you, and you can feel the warmth coming off him in waves, seeping into your side. 

You take your time to finish the cake, paying attention to the movie but unable to not perceive him right there next to you. Once you’re done eating, you also lean back, but you misjudge your angle as you end up far closer than you intended. You can hear your sister’s voice in the back of your head, telling you to own it, so you do just that, and essentially cuddle into his side, with your head on his chest. He stiffens up only for an instant before bringing his arm over your shoulders, and you further curl yourself into him. 

Joaquín is a trained soldier so it makes sense for him to be fit, but only now does this occur to you, as you can feel his pecs and his bare arm on you. You really hope the TV is loud enough to silence your erratic heartbeat, which echoes in your ears, maybe even the whole room. 

You two stay like that for the remainder of the movie, only shifting every so often when one of your limbs starts going numb, but never separating. If anything, you keep curling more and more into him, until finally you drape your arm around his torso. After that, Joaquín doesn’t move an inch. 

Once the credits start rolling accompanied by some ballad, which you find a strange choice for the tone of the movie, you hear him sigh deeply. 

“You didn’t fall asleep, did you?” you ask him without getting up.

“What? No.” He blinks a couple of times, bringing his free hand up and running it over his face. His other hand is still holding you to him, softly drawing figures onto your bare arm and setting your skin on fire. “At least I don’t think so.”

You hum in acknowledgement, neither of you wanting to be the first to disrupt your position. 

“What time is it?” he asks suddenly, wriggling underneath you, trying to get his phone out of his pocket. With a chuckle, you fully lean back to give him some space. Activating his screen, he curses under his breath.

“It’s really late,” he remarks, leaving all further implications in the air.

You bite the inside of your cheek, unable to look at him given your inner battle of whether to ask him to stay or not. After a moment he sits up a little straighter.

“I have to be at HQ early tomorrow,” Joaquín says. “I… I should go.”

“Right…”

He motions to stand up, but you hold his hand and he remains seated.

“Wait.”

You immediately have all of his attention.

“A part of me wants to ask you to stay,” you start, and you swear your whole face is surely on fire right now. You avert your gaze from him and look at your hands holding his instead. “To stay the night, I mean. But I also don’t want to rush anything.”

Somehow you manage to bring your eyes back up to his, and he’s looking at you with so much affection and understanding, you fear your heart might burst straight out of your chest.

“I really like you, Joaquín, and I want to do this right,” you finally say.

“Well, that’s actually great to hear.” He brings his other hand up to cup your face. “Because I really like you too.” He pauses for a moment, gaze flickering down to your lips. “I really do have to be up early tomorrow, but I think I still have a couple more minutes.”

“The movie is already over,” you say, barealy above a whisper, your faces starting to inch closer and closer. “What should we do?”

“I can think of several things,” he replies just as softly with a lopsided grin, and your stomach does a summersault. You can feel his breath on your lips. “But right now, I kinda just really wanna kiss you.”

“Then you better hurry up.”

Joaquín’s lips find yours, and everything around you ceases to exist. His kisses are warm and slow, and they taste like strawberries. He kisses you like he’s got all the time in the world, his tongue peeking out to run over your bottom lip, and you gasp. The hand that cupped your face goes to cradle the back of your head, holding you closer as your mouths move together. His other hand runs down the side of your body, slipping underneath your thigh to pull you up sideways into his lap, finally coming to rest over your hip. Your own hands are on his chest, grabbing a fistful of his shirt.

When he breaks for air, his lips travel to your throat, peppering it in small kisses, and you giggle at the sensation. You pull back a little and hold his face in your hands, both of you sporting drunk smiles.

“I’ll make you all the cakes you want if you promise to kiss me like that again,” you blurt out, breathless, and he laughs, burying his face in the crook of your neck with a sigh.

“I was planning to anyways, but I’ll take the bribe.” He softly bites down where your neck and shoulder join, then places a kiss over the mark, and you shudder, taking a shaky breath. You gingerly hold his face again to make him pull back and look at you.

“Thank you for coming by after all. I mean it.” You smooth your thumbs over his cheekbones, and his eyes flutter closed a bit at the sensation.

“I just really wanted to see you,” he says, planting a kiss on the tip of your nose, then goes to stand up, lifting you with him. You hold onto his shoulders with a squeak of surprise and he laughs, gently letting you down again to stand on your own legs. “I better get going now, or I might not want to leave at all.”

Taking his hand in yours, you walk him to your door, picking up his jacket on the way.

“Sorry again for today, I’ll make it up to you,” Joaquín says as he puts on his jacket, and you adjust the collar. 

“You already have,” you pull him to you, kissing him one last time, and he melts into you. When he pulls back, he sneaks one more peck to the corner of your mouth. “Now go back to saving the world. I’ll be here when you get back.”

“I’ll text you tomorrow, okay?” he remarks, momentarily bringing his hand to yours to give it a squeeze. Before you open the door, you suddenly remember sometihng.

“Oh, wait, before I forget!” you exclaim, hurrying to your bag to find something. Joaquín watches with curious eyes as you step back to him, holding out a card of sorts. He takes it to inspect it, and when he realises it’s a collectible card with Sam’s face on it, labelled ‘Captain America’, he laughs heartily. 

“My sister asked if you could get that signed for her,” you say with a sheepish smile.

He rises a brow at you, an amused smile playing on his lips.

“I told her that the other day Captain America called you,” you remark, bringing your hand to your mouth with a gasp as you realise your mistake. “Oh crap, that wasn’t confidential or anything, right?”

“No, no, it’s fine. I wouldn’t have taken the call in front of you if it were,” he says, tilting the card back and forth sideways in his hand, the low light of your apartment shimmering on the holographic pattern; it’s a rare one. He looks up at you again with a boyish smile. “Besides, I kinda wanted to impress you with the call.”

“You don’t need to do that, I already think you’re amazing,” you admit, your face burning up again, and even he can’t hold your gaze at your words, looking to the side momentarily with a smile. You’re quick to add, “It did impress my sister though. In fact she said if you can get that signed, she’ll officially give her blessing for me to date you.”

“Really?” Joaquín says, perking up immediately, and he carefully slips the card into the inner pocket of his jacket. “I’ll make sure to get that ASAP, then. Anything else I can get her?”

You laugh, glad that he’s set on winning over your sister. Not that it would be too hard, anyways. She acts tough (and slightly deranged at times), but you know she’s a kind soul when it counts. 

“Actually, she has a soccer game next weekend,” you tell him. “Bring her the signed card and some chicken nuggets, and she’ll pledge her undying loyalty to you.”

“I see the bribes run in the family,” Joaquín remarks, and you can’t help but laugh. Yeah, you might have been the one to teach her that. He leans in to place one last lingering kiss on your cheek as he opens the door. “Text me the details and I’ll do my best to be there.”

“Will do. Good night, Joaquín,” you say your goodbyes, leaning onto the door frame as he leaves towards the staircase of your apartment bulding.

“G’night.” He winks at you and leaves.

You close the door, leaning back onto it and letting out a sigh. Yeah, you’re positively smitten. A second later, you grimace and laugh at yourself at the realisation that you kind of owe this to your sister and her big mouth. You might have to bake a whole cake just for her as a thank you. 

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[redheadspark]

Azriel

character a is getting nursed back to health when they realize they’re in love with the person nursing them to health— or, that they in fact love someone else

A/N - This is great! Thanks for requesting this, anon!

Heal

Summary - You were healed in the night by someone you did not expect

Warnings - Fluff!

“How are we feeling today?”

“Better, thank you Madja,”

“I figured you would be on the mend, just not this soon.  Your recovery must be some kind of record,”

You hummed as Madja was becking your pulse with her wrist, the rest of her body was still with her medicine bag perched on the nightstand and opened half-hazard.  Her tools were out and about, herbs stuffed in vials and potions labeled and half full along the top of the nightstand as well as gauze stained in dried blood and semi-wet towels thrown on the floor.  There is clear evidence of your previous night and what you went through to heal.

Last night was hell for you, literal hell since you were on the brink of death.

The Battle was long and torturous, King Hybern was threatening the lives of all the Courts and all the lives that were lost in the shuffle.  As a member of the Inner Circle and Mor’s sister, you were in the fight to help your people and your Court.  It was such an easy decision for you to jump into the fight, even with the hesitation of the Inner Circle.  Not that you didn’t know how to fight, you were trained in fighting since you left the Night Court with your twin sister in tow.  Both of your childhoods were filled with hate and pain and anger, thanks to your family and what they inflicted on you both.  Mor got the worst of it, the abuse she was was enough for you to leave with her to Night Court to find peace again.

You found it, after some time of healing and making a new life with your twin at your side.  Being with your cousin who was the High Lord, you found that safety you’ve always wanted.  After Rhysand came his two childhood friends: Illyrian Commander Cassian with his boyish charm and playful nature.

And the Spymaster and Shadowsinger: Azriel

You two grew to each other like moths to a flame.  Perhaps it was your gentler nature compared to your twin that made Azriel comfortable with you, or maybe it was your kindness that seemed to spew out of your pore, but a friendship with you was naturally growing.  You found him to be kind and less of a terror than others said for him to see not to mention a fan of some of the books you are reading and going on long walks with you to get to know you.  He loved hearing about your interests and the pair of you joking about the others, which in return made you get feelings for him over time.

His protectiveness, loyalty to your cousin and Night Court, his handsomeness that shone even in the night, his smile that would melt any icy heart, plus much more.  Yet deep within you felt like he was merely a few inches away from you, a bit too far that you could not reach him.  Maybe it was because he worked for your cousin and had a massive job on his shoulders, or that your own twin was weary of you being so vulnerable with someone else.

But you couldn’t help it, you were in love with him.

Still, you had a duty to your Court, to protect it and its citizens.  Which was when you asked Azriel to teach you how to fight.  Your own father never let you learn since it was the place for a female.  Mor defied him on her own, though you were more hesitant to go against him.  Now that you weren’t with your father, you wanted to know how not just to fight but to defend yourself in a time of need.  Azriel, tough bit reluctant with the notion of you ever being in the line of danger, showed you enough to get your hands dirty and also have skills under your belt.  You were thankful for him showing you how to defend, though it could have been more of an excuse for you to be closer to him. 

Maybe it was, and maybe you were falling harder for him all the more.

“You are lucky,” Madja explained as she looked at some of the wounds that were still along your neck and your arms, her trained eyes were fixed on the discoloring where you were hurt, “Some of these could have been fatal.”

“How so?” You asked in curiosity.

“This one,” Madja said with a pointed finger to the deep wound on your arm, “An inch to the left would have hit an artery and you’d bled to death on the field.  There was poison in your bloodstream when the Shadowsinger brought you here,”

Last night was a bit fuzzy: One minute you were slicing through some of the soldiers who were in front of you with ease.  The next minute you were stabbed and you felt so much pain that it made you cry out.  The pain was all over you, inside and out. Almost blinding, like you were lowered in a roaring fire, and as your sword fell from your hand and you fell to the ground ground, the last thing you saw before you passed out was Azriel.

Who was rushing to you and attempting to call out your name?

“He was here tending to you all night,” Madja explained as you looked from your wound to her in shock.  That was news to you, then again you were out cold from the moment you passed out on the field to when you woke you earlier that morning.  Mor was with you when you woke, tears were in her eyes as you blinked at her slowly and she hugged you gently.  Thankful her twin and better half were alive again, even with her twin being pale and looking like hell while encased with pillows and satin sheets.  Between those times was fuzzy for you, almost like you were stuck between dream and reality.  

Mor told you that you were a lucky bitch to be alive and you were not allowed to die on her again, to which you agreed but you asked her more about what happened.  She filled you in with everything: Rhysnad nearly dying but was saved by Feyre, Cassian almost losing his wings from a brutal attack, King Hubert losing his head to the Archeron sisters, it was all to drink it and yet seemed like a fantasy.  But in the end, the Courts were safe, Night Court was safe and well again.  

You were sad to have missed it, but grateful to be alive.

“Azriel…he helped me?” You asked sheepishly.  Madam hummed as she moved to her potions and herbs, placing a few leaves into a bowl to grind into a paste and then adding a few drops of her potions into the bowl to thicken the paste.

“He was here from the moment you were placed in this bed until this morning when I arrived,” She explained, painting some of the paste on your wound with her fingers as you were listening intensely to what she had to say, “He would not leave your side for a moment.  I was swamped with the sound back at the battlefield the I could not come and tend to you.  Thankfully the Spymaster had some knowledge in keeping you alive.  You wouldn’t have been in worse condition if it wasn’t for him,”

You tried to picture it in your mind, Azriel at you’d side like a wet nurse and making sure you were safe.  It felt like it was not in his nature at all, his patience or lack of did not fit in your mind.  You were thinking of excuses: he had other things to do, he had to make sure security was well taken care of for Night Court, he had to help the Illyrian soldiers who were hurt.

But no matter how many excuses you were thinking of, they didn’t matter.  He stayed with you.  All night. And keeping you alive.

What did happen, while you were passed out in exhaustion and in pain, was Azriel, in fact, tending to you.  He filled a bowl of water to wash off most of the dirt and grim still caked on you, dressed the wounds that he could with ease, and tried to lessen the wounds that were a bit more hazardous.  Perched over you in candlelight, his eyes never left you and his attention never waved.  Even when Feyre carefully brought in food for him to eat and Mor sat with him for a few moments before she too left for bed, Azriel was still tending to you as if it was just the pair of you in the world.

He watched him in the wee hours of the morning as you slept, seeing your chest rise and fall, how your hair was braided to the side thanks to Mor and her skilled fingers in your locks, he did think of you as beautiful.  Azriel too and feelings for you, from the moment you met her and Mor so long ago. When Mor was a spitfire you were a calm breeze, your smile lit any room you walked into, your eyes reminded him of the seas high above on a moonless night, and the way you made him feel loved with your gestures and words. 

He fell for you hard, and Azriel was afraid of living in a world without you.

“There, you should be on the mend for now,” Madja explained as she was finishing her pastern your wound before she started to pack her medicine bag, “Now, I want you in bed for the best of the day to going your strength back.  I’ll make sure you get your meals and the proper rest that you need.”

You were about to thank her when there was a knock at the door.  Both you and Madja looked, seeing a head poke into the room.  You beamed, seeing it was none other than Azriel there with a soft look on his face.  Your heart was beating so fast from the sight of him, now knowing that he was with you all night to make sure you would stay alive.  

That flutter in your chest was on overdrive.  

“I wanted to bring you breakfast since I knew you were awake,” He explained, coming into the room a bit more to show that he was carrying a tray filled with breakfast food.  A coffee cup with steaming coffee, buttered toast with scrambled eggs, sausage and bacon, it all looked perfect.  But you were mostly focusing on Azriel who was looking rather happy to see you awake.  Madam chuckled as she grabbed her bag in hand.

“Well done keeping her alive, Shadowsinger.  You would have been a good Healer if you weren’t working for our High Lord,” She commented Azriel blushing from the compliment while she walked to the door, “Just keep her in bed for now, you can handle that, can you?”

Azriel nodded as she slipped out of the room, leaving the two of you alone in the room.  You were watching one another, fondness filled the room like a mist.  It felt like a page was tuned in your book, in your life, where he was intertwined.  Love there was, fizzling under your skin as he smiled at you and nodded once. 

“Hello,” He hummed.

“Hi,” You replied.  And as he watched you eat your breakfast, it was a permanent shift that would forever change the pair of you for the rest of your lives.  Especially since you two would be married within the next year and let your love blossom from there.

The End

[mixispicklix]

I've always been a gym rat. Jake, my best friend since 5th grade, his dad owned the local gym. I always got to work out for free. By the time we hit high school, I had six pack abbs and bulging biceps. I started working part-time at the gym my junior year of high school. It didn't pay much, but I loved it. Jake didn't want any part of running his dad's gym. In my senior year of high school, Jake's dad sat me down and made me an offer. He would help me with college. My parents couldn't afford to send me. I would take business courses and learn what it takes to run a business. I would work for him learning how his business was run. After I graduate, I will work for him full-time. Three quarters of my pay would be in cash, and the remaining quarter would be paying him back for college and buying a stake in the gym. By the time he retires, I will have enough of a stake to take over ownership of the gym and pay him a monthly retirement salary. Just after graduating, I took over managing the gym. What I didn't count on was him getting hit by a drunk driver while jogging a block from his house. He was surprisingly wealthy. He left everything to his son Jake except the gym he left that solely to me. I thought Jake would be mad, but he told me he knew all about it. His dad had discussed it with him before he changed his will. We hugged, and I told him he had a free membership for life. I slowly started transforming the gym into a family oriented workout place. I still kept the weights and sparing arena for the hard-core gym rats. But I also added workout and yoga instructors and offered family oriented exercise classes. I put in a pool for water aerobics. Business was taking off like a rocket. I put an ad in the help wanted section of the paper for someone who could teach both fitness and yoga classes and manage the scheduling. A few days later, in come the McMannuss sisters. I tried to explain I only needed one person, but they said they were a package deal. Something in my gut told me to take a chance, so I hired them both. They both would teach classes, but I made cookie, yes that was her real name, the manager. Cookie and Macaroon were worth their weight in gold. They both hated their names, Cookie insisted on being called CK, and Macaroon insisted on being called Mac. Woe to the person who called them by their full names. One day, a fight broke out in the free weight section of the gym. I went over to break it up. One of the guys who were fighting came up behind me and hit me in the back of my head with a weight and knocked me out cold.

When the medic revived me with an ammonia stick, I saw CK and Mac standing over me practically crying. When I asked what happened, they said after the guy hit me, they called the police and they arrested the guy. When the cops ask to see the security tapes, CK and Mac got really nervous. When I saw the video, I was shocked. After the guy hit me, CK and Mac came running over, and they took out all five guys who were fighting. Mac had the guy who hit me by the neck holding him with his feet off the ground with one hand and was shaking him like a rag doll screaming she was going to rip him apart with her bare hands. It took three people, including her sister, to make her let go. At the end of the day, two nervous women came into my office and wanted to talk to me. They were scared I was going to fire them. I got up and walked over to each of them, gave them each a hug and a kiss on the cheek, and thanked them for having my back. I asked about the crying when I came to. They both confessed to having a crush on me. I said I had been wanting to ask each of them out on a date but couldn't decide which one. They both stripped off their workout suits and said that wasn't a problem. They always shared everything. Then they got on either side of me and said. "The only question is, are you coming on your own, or do we pick you up and carry you to bed. Either way you are in for the night of your life."

[just-some-random-blogger]

Tormented Spirit | 18

Part 1 [...] 14 15 16 17 18 19

"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 4k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, slow burn, DD:DNE, emotional constipation, pregnancy, miscarriage, panic/anxiety attacks, suicidal ideation, attempted suicide, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: im tryna finish this fic fr | cross posted on ao3

@arabellasleopardcoat @prettybiching @astrogirl01

Thunder and lightning conversed in the halls as another Targaryen is born. Alicent had started her labors at the hour of the owl and a servant came to rouse you. Daemon, barely meeting a deep sleep since his return, nearly smothered the girl who had come to alert you of your sister's condition.

Helaena was born amidst a storm. It was rather poetic, thinks Daemon; the child inflicted the same weather over his heart.

You loved her dearly. You loved her as much as you loved your beloved Aegon. Alicent was grateful for your presence. You were more than a welcome reprise and a steadfast support during this time. Still, she was careful not to burden you with too much, as the image of you holding your own babes flash behind her eyes each time she sees you hold her hers.

It tears at Alicent to see you with Aegon, and now Helaena. As much as she knows being with them heals you, she can't help but worry it also chips away at you in equal fervor.

It goes without saying this worry is tenfold to Daemon. As greatly agitated he is with how frequent and prolonged your visits to your sister and her children were, he choked it down and allowed you your space, your sacred privacy. He could not bear to see you behold the babe anyway.

Helaena, to you, was as much as a storm, your eyes were nary dry when you held her. Daemon had watched you once, you examined her fingertips and ears, smelled her feet and cheeks, traced her nose and brows. You laughed only to cry. Once was enough.

Viserys, in all his gladness to see his third born, tried to comfort him, but the you-will-have-this-joy-soon was not a welcome sentiment, nor was it comforting.

He only had ill-thoughts.

The gods supplied you your lost children through your younger sibling.

"How fares he?" Daemon asks, mostly himself as he walks towards the blood wyrm— he finds he could not lately call Caraxes that, as his scales were uncharacteristically blanch.

Daemon did much to drown out his melancholy, and yet it seemed to follow him wherever he treads. Even now, his mount was just as ill as he, if not worse.

"Ñuha dārilaros," a dragon keeper walks over to him, "Caraxes ēza daor ipradārin." My prince, Caraxes has not eaten.

The prince frowns as he brushes his hands on his mount's face. Caraxes, at least, acknowledges Daemon's presence with a huff, but it does not ease his worry, "kostagon ao sylugon naejot mazverdagon zirȳla ipradagon arlī?" Can you try to make him eat again?

The dragon keeper nods, "hen rhinka." Of course.

Daemon watches as three live goats are offered up to Caraxes. They bleat in front of the beast's face, unaware of their doom, and yet it seems there was no doom, as the creature turns away in disinterest.

Daemon huffs and pats his mount's cheek, "ao qopsa run," he walks into Caraxes's direct line of sight, "gaomagon jaelā nyke naejot kisikagon ao nykēla?" He stares at the dragon, who seemingly grumbles. The prince draws Dark Sister. You difficult thing. Do you want me to feed you myself?

With swift strokes, Daemon slays one, two, and three goats, their blood sputters on the ground, pooling by his shoes; he cares little for it. He sheathes his sword and grunts as he lifts a severed head to his dragon's maw.

"Ipradagon," the prince commands. Eat.

Caraxes turns to his master, sniffing the air.

"Ipradagon, valītsos," Daemon speaks like a father to his petulant son. His sigh of relief and irritation is of the same fashion as he watches Caraxes stretches his tongue towards his arm. Eat, boy.

The sound of the goat skull crunching between dragon teeth is, in truth, disturbingly loud, but to Daemon, it was a noise most welcomed. He raises a brow as Caraxes lifts his head a little, parting his large jaws in a rather submissive manner.

Daemon is unable to withhold his eyeroll, but the quickly picks up the two other heads on the floor, "fussy thing."

After Caraxes swallowed the crisp goat heads, he opened his mouth again and made a soft screech at Daemon.

The dragon keepers watch the prince and his ride, feeling relieved the creature is finally feeding, and of course, wholeheartedly enamoured by their dynamic.

Daemon was not having it, "gaomagon nyke jurnegon hae aōha urnerys?" He places his hands on his hips, which only made Caraxes whine more. Do I look like your keeper?

Caraxes grits his teeth and huffs, nudging his rider with his snout.

He makes a face at the screech, especially because the exhale was laced with foul dragon breath. With a poing to the felled goats the dragon keepers move forward and pick up the bodies, ready to throw it into the dragon's mouth. Except, before they could get close, Caraxes screeches, causing Daemon to flinch and scold his mount for his loudness. The dragon keepers immediately heed the warning, and drop the goat body, stepping back.

Daemon topples and pushes his dragon back in annoyance. Regardless, he bends down with a huff and picks up the largish goat with a grunt. Caraxes gratefully feasts on his meal once he's fed it.

Daemon grumbles and repeatedly swats Caraxes on the neck, "iksā hen qogron." You are out of line.

Caraxes responds only by opening his mouth again.

"Bah," the prince makes a face, "ao iēdrosa emagon hubre isse aōha relgos!" You still have goat in your mouth!

The dragon remains still, mouth agape.

As true as he could say his vexation was, there was truer affection in Daemon as he watched his dragon eat. He was glad to be needed by Caraxes. In fact, it fed an emptiness in him that was left gaping by his wife.

Daemon groans sharply and struggles to feed him the other two carcasses, but does manage it in the end, much to the satisfaction of his prissy dragon.

Through all this vexation and affection, there remained a worry within Daemon that only blossomed when Caraxes rolled over after swallowing his meal. Part of him wishes that it was all a ploy, and the astute creature wanted only to receive more attention, but he knew if that was the case, the blood wyrm would act more volatile rather than torpid.

He sighs.

His wife.

He strokes Caraxes's scaly cheek.

You would undoubtedly still be in Halaena's nursery, though you should really be having lunch. Daemon frowns as Caraxes leans into him. He sighs and wonders if he could ever merit such affections from you. He would feed you like Caraxes, if need be, without a single complaint.

The sun shines through the halls of the Keep, and yet he grows icier the closer he gets to Helaena's room.

Daemon instructs that if anything happened or if Caraxes refuses to eat again, he be alerted immediately. With that, the prince bids his dragon goodbye and cleans the goats’ blood off himself.

"Uncle."

He slows when Laenor approaches. Daemon silently nods in regard.

The young prince asks him if he's off to see you then adds, "she is presently in the solar with the Queen and her children. I've just come from there."

"Ah," Daemon nods slowly, "I see."

"They are having biscuits," Laenor offers, "you ought to join them for a snack."

The prince clears his throat, not necessarily liking that he was being told what to do. Still, Daemon nods, "ēza ñuha ābrazȳrys ipradārin? Iksis ziry sȳrī?" Has my wife eaten? Is she well?

"Se sikagon hen dārilaros ēza maghatan zirȳla rōvēgrie kirimves se teptan zirȳla kustikāne, nyke pendagon," Laenor's face softens. The birth of the princess has brought her great joy and given her strength, I think.

"Yes, but..." Daemon shakes his head, "it is not so simple as joy and strength."

Laenor nods, "you should go to her."

"Does she want me?"

He huffs and shrugs, "I do not know, uncle."

Daemon nods, neither do I.

It is quiet in the solar, save for the sound of your voice. It's a wonder no one heard the creaking of the door as Daemon entered, but then again, he too would be so deeply engrossed in your singing if you ever humbled with a song.

Still, as Laenor and he part, Daemon heads to the solar, wanting nothing more than to see you.

He already knew Helaena would be in your arms with Aegon nearby, but he did not know a Cargyll would be by your side instead of your sister. The brazen knight was not only carrying the prince in his arms, as if he was his father, he gazed upon you with such apparent warmth, as if he was your husband.

"— so come rest ye all safe and sound," you sing, stroking Helaena's forehead gently.

Aegon sleepily sighs. His back was pressed against the Kingsguard's chest plate and was sat on his forearm like a chair. He reaches out to your cheek, "again."

"Again?" you chuckle at the boy, "but I've sung it mayhap one hundred times over, my love."

Aegon whines, "again."

You sigh and brush his cheek, "oh, my sweet darling."

The boy leans into your touch and makes your heart melt.

"I will sing if Ser Erryk sings with us."

Daemon grips the doorknob tightly.

Erryk makes a sound, "I will wake the poor princess with my voice, and you know it."

"Tis only true because you are weak with numbers."

"Nonsense," you hum, "you've sung me to sleep more times than I can count."

Daemon gulps uncomfortably.

You chuckle.

Daemon feels like he's being ground alive.

"Again!" Aegon whines rather loudly.

As Aegon fusses, you're left with little choice but to give in to him, lest his sister begin to fuss with him. You softly begin to sing, rocking your darling niece in your arms as you did so, "the fishes swim in seas of blue-"

You and Erryk are quick to hush the boy.

"And dragons breathe fire so red," Erryk harmonizes with you, "all the birds sing sweetly for you, so come rest ye darling wee head."

Your separate melodies blended incredibly together; the richness of your voice seemed to belong with the richness of his. It was fucking unbareable.

"The apples grow up the trees, and flowers rise up from the ground. All the stars shine brightly for you—"

You, Erryk, and Aegon turn to Daemon when he shuts the door with rather excessive force. Daemon clenches his jaw and tries to control the trembling of his hand, "īlen ivestretan aōha hāedar iksin kesīr." I was told your (younger) sister was here.

You face him, still rocking Halaena, "īles... ziry sepār geptot naejot emagon iā kōdrion." She was... she just left to have a bath.

"Mmm," Daemon makes a noise as he slowly walks over to you, "emagon ēdā iā kōdrion tubī?" Have you had a bath today?

You slowly nod, "kessa." Yes.

Daemon grips his hand and nods, "emagon ao ipradārin?" Have you eaten?

"Kessa, lēda ñuha hāedar." Yes, with my younger sister.

"Se aōha mīsior?" he says, eyes trained on you. And your guard?

You take a moment to respond, "... kessa."

Daemon sucks a sharp breath, turning to the said man, "you may go, Cargyll. I will stand as ward for my wife."

"And what of later?"

You turn to Erryk. Daemon grinds his teeth, "what of later?"

"I understand that you do constant visits to the pit, my prince. If you are urgently needed to go there, then princess will be forced to go with you and-"

Aegon begins to wrangle out of Erryk's grasp. The knight promptly sets the boy down, "the only business I have as a knight is to safeguard your wife," he rises and nods, "your grace."

"My business is my own," the prince bristles, "do not speak to me of my dragon or my wife, as if it is your business."

The way he says your wife irks him to no end. Daemon draws in a deep breath in the hope it would calm him down.

"Anne!" a small voice calls. Horse.

Daemon looks down and finds Aegon raising a small wooden figurine of a horse, repeating in High Valyrian, "anne!"

Aegon seems to be handing the toy to Daemon. Daemon feels ill. He mutters softly, "iā sȳz anne, valītsos." A fine horse, boy.

Aegon beams and reaches out to his uncle, as if he wanted to be carried by him. Daemon feels sourness rise to his throat as he bends down to pick the boy up. His stomach rolls when he smells him; he smells faintly like you. Aegon pushes the toy gracelessly to Daemon's face, hitting his nose unintentionally on the way, "fast."

Daemon pulls his head back, "kessa. Anni issi adere." He bounces him slightly, "adere, hmm?" Yes. Horses are fast. Fast, hmm?

"Adere," Aegon mutters softly.

You watch your husband and nephew. Where Daemon once believed the boy to be his son and offered him warmth, he now offered him reluctant and half-hearted interactions.

Daemon nods, "sȳz." Good.

You could not blame him, in fact, your heart hurt for him. You oft wondered how Aegon was to him, perhaps a casual but flesh-grating reminder of what you've both lost, or maybe a physical manifeststion of the Lord Hand's schemes. You don't talk of such things, and you don't think you ever will. Helaena's birth has only wedged you further apart.

"We should bring them back to their nursery," you speak, making Daemon turn to you, but you turn to Erryk. His heart feels like it was being sawed in half. You shift Helaena in your arms, "Daemon and I can go by ourselves."

Erryk lifts his chin reluctantly before nodding, "shall I tell my brother to continue with his shift?"

You turn to Daemon, raising your brows.

Daemon turns from you to Erryk, "I will manage."

The walk to their nursery is filled with chatter, thanks to Aegon and his wooden horse. Daemon is amazed by how many words the child knew in both common tongue and High Valyrian. He evidently loved mixing both speeches together.

Erryk clenches his jaw and nods, "as you command."

"And princess with zaldrīzes—" Aegon babbles as his toy horse runs across Daemon's chest. Dragon.

"What did the princess do?" asks Daemon, eyes on the boy.

"Sōvegon!" Fly!

You chuckle and Aegon makes a roaring sound.

Daemon pulls a dubious expression, "se dārilaros kostagon sōvegon?" The princess can fly?

Aegon nods, "DRACARYS!"

You laugh a little louder. Daemon's breath hitches at the sound, his violet eyes immediately landing on you. You reach a hand to Aegon, brushing his chin, "Caraxes really left a mark on him."

Daemon watches you pull away. He longs to be touched similarly, "his soul nearly left his tiny body. His fearful screams nearly rendered us all deaf."

You snort, raising a brow, "he was overwhelmed, as would anyone be the first time they meet a dragon."

"I was not."

You huff and turn to Helaena, "rijes aōt." Congratulations.

Daemon smirks softly.

As you drew near to the nursery, you find that Alicent was on her way back to the solar. You smile at her and she smiles back at you, though her expression slightly dampens at the sight of Daemon.

"Sister," Alicent greets you, reaching out for Helaena. You gently hand over her daughter and she sighs, kissing her forehead. She gives you a look, "will you join me as I breastfeed?"

You shake your head, "I..." you motion to Daemon, turning to him as well. You don't know what to say though.

Daemon finally puts Aegon down and the boy gratefully goes up to his nursemaid by the door to his room, showing her his wooden horse. Your husband speaks, "I would like to have my turn with her."

You rub your hands together.

Alicent turns to him only to turn back to you to smile softly, "yes... I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yes, of course, my love," you rub Alicent's shoulder.

Daemon watches you pull away. He feels his own shoulder grow cold.

It remains silent until you break it, "where to?"

Alicent retreats into her children's nursery. You and Daemon walk off in silence.

Daemon turns to you, "hmm?"

"Where are we heading?"

He stares at you. He gulps at the sight of your skin, of the furrow of your brows, of the baby hairs framing your face. He knows that you smelled so good, that you were so warm, that you were so soft. What torment it was that he could not simply touch you.

Your brow raises, "Daemon?"

"Hmm?"

You stop in your tracks.

His heart stops. He begins to slightly panic, especially due to your expression.

"If you wish to visit Caraxes in the pit, I will not stop you."

He says nothing.

"It's just that if you must go there in haste, I will not be able to keep up," you rub your hands, "as Erryk menti-"

"Please," he raises a hand, "do not name him so cordially."

You press your lips together.

"Pray, do not mention him at all," he lowers his hand.

You raise your brows and slowly shrug, "as you wish..." you motion vaguely, "but are we to go to the pit?"

You turn to your hands as you think, "is he quite unwell?"

Daemon shakes his head, "if you wish it. I saw him just before coming to you."

He watches you fidget with your fingers.

"I do not know if my presence is welcome," you slowly look up at him, "perhaps I will make him more ill."

Daemon furrows his brows, "you would not."

"... what's more, perhaps I am the reason for his illness."

Daemon's brows tighten further. The sentiment gnaws at his rib. He tilts his head as he shakes it.

He crosses his arms instead and huffs, "you believe your tiny being is the cause of illness for a creature a hundred times your size?"

You watch him shuffle in his spot, and you realize rather quickly, he did not know whether or not to reach out for you. He doesn't.

"... one need only a few drops of poison to kill."

"You speak as though your blood is poison."

You look away, shrugging once more, "it might as well be."

"Yet it is not so," Daemon finds himself chuckling incredulously. The sound makes you turn back to him with a hardened expression; it softens his own. He gives into himself and takes your wrist, "I-"

The feeling of you flinching makes him tense.

He sighs and continues slowly, "I... highly doubt that if you were poisonous, your presence would cause people— Aegon, Helaena, Alicent... your damned wards, to bloom."

Daemon measures your reaction. He does so with such singlemindedness, he does not realize he was rubbing your pulse. It causes your skin to prick with gooseflesh.

"You've made even Laenor think so kindly of you," he slowly releases your hand, "why would he bother if you were so... perilous?"

He notices the way you rub the area he touched as though you had been burned. He tries not to take it to heart, but everything you do goes straight to it. You blink rapidly to avoid from tearing up, "pity."

"Pity?" Daemon repeats, jaw hardening at your rapidly increasing sorrow. He mutters softly, "you would paint the world so generously and believe so many souls sympathize with the sorrows of others than simply believe you are not poisonous?"

You chuckle dryly and turn away, rubbing your eyes, "I would-"

"You are lovely."

You turn back to him, wiping your face.

"I-" he starts, choking on his spit, "I love you."

Your lips wobble.

Daemon is winded when you reach for his cheek. A shiver runs down his spine as he immediately presses his hands atop yours. He leans into your touch, his eyes searching your own.

You frown and rub his chin, "apologies..." you sniffle, "I do not mean to cause you such misfortune."

Daemon stops your attempt to pull away, "a prince is nary misfortunate."

You pull away after a prolonged moment of staring.

You do not know why you both end up in dragon pit. You find it was a rather bad idea, as the sight of Caraxes sprawled on the floor like a soggy piece of parchment made your stomach curdle.

Daemon leads you towards him and Caraxes barely perks at the sight of you. He does huff though when Daemon presses your hand to his snout. You frown at him, "ñuha mijegindita valītsos." My poor boy.

Daemon turns to you and ponders if perhaps the gods made his mount this way so that he could have a reason to share such tender moments with you. The gods give as they take.

"Do the keepers know what is wrong with him?" you ask Daemon.

He merely shakes his head.

You sigh and rub Caraxes gently, "never mind it. I will keep you in my prayers."

All the prince wants to do in this moment is to embrace you, but all he does is wonder if he was in your prayers... and worry if you still prayed the same terrible one.

[marscardigan]

family line, part iii

ellie williams x fem!reader

family line masterlist

summary: falling in love with ellie was easy. it was harder to hate her once you knew she was the one hunting your sister.

word count: 2.7k

warnings: this fic doesn’t follow the original plot of the last of us part ii. canon typical violence. no use of y/n.

You’d always loved the stars. They made you feel closer to the people you lost, a silent reminder that, somewhere, they still existed. Even at the stadium, where you spent most nights alone, you had never truly felt lonely under them.

It had been a full day since you found yourself in the theater with Ellie and Dina. And while you felt a some kind of safety—at least from the brunette’s side—you missed your sister terribly. Without her, the nightmares returned. That’s why you were on the rooftop, staring at the endless sky, forcing yourself to breathe through the suffocating anxiety.

"You should come inside."

The voice nearly made you jump. You turned to find Ellie leaning against the door frame, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

"We don’t have enough meds if you catch a cold," she added, voice clipped but not entirely unkind.

You dropped your gaze, not wanting to meet those sharp green eyes. The panic still hadn’t left you, and forming words felt impossible.

Ellie shifted, clearly growing impatient. "Did you not hear me? Get inside."

Your chest tightened, breath coming in shallow gasps. The edges of your vision blurred. Your lungs refused to expand properly, and the weight pressing against your ribs grew unbearable.

Ellie stepped closer, but her posture changed. The irritation in her stance softened into something else you couldn’t quite decipher. A warm hand settled on your back, hesitant at first, then firmer, grounding.

Ellie knew what was happening. Hell, Ellie knew it better than anyone.

She didn’t say anything, didn’t push. She simply stayed there, her presence steady as the stars above. The minutes stretched, then an hour, maybe longer—until, finally, your breathing slowed. Until the grip of your panic loosened enough for you to lift your gaze to hers.

You whispered a quiet 'thanks', but if she did hear it, she didn’t acknowledge it, didn’t nod or brush it off. But the next morning, something in the air between you had shifted. Everyone could feel it.

Ellie had been pacing near the back of the theater for the past twenty minutes, muttering curses under her breath as she fiddled with something. The occasional thud of her fist against a wooden surface and the frustrated grunts told you whatever she was doing wasn’t going well. You’d been minding your own business—sorting through supplies Dina had left in a storage area—but the noise was starting to get on your nerves.

You turned your head slightly, peeking at her from the corner of your eye. She was hunched over a radio, eyebrows furrowed, jaw tight, fingers twisting the knobs in a futile attempt to get a signal.

You knew that look.

"That thing's not gonna fix itself just because you glare at it," you finally said, leaning against the wall, a small smile plastered on your lips.

Ellie stiffened, her head snapping toward you, "I got it."

"Sure, because that's working out great for you."

She scowled. "Fuck off."

You rolled your eyes but stayed where you were. She kept turning dials, adjusting wires, tapping the side of the radio like that would somehow make it magically start working again. Every few minutes, she’d pause and listen, only to get more irritated when all she heard was static.

Five more minutes passed before she let out a sharp exhale and shoved the radio away from her like it had personally offended her.

"Piece of shit," she grumbled.

You watched her for a second, then sighed. "Let me see."

Ellie gave you an unimpressed look. "What?"

"The radio. Let me see it."

Her fingers drummed against the table as she considered it, eyes flicking between you and the broken equipment. You half expected her to snap at you again, but instead, she scoffed, grabbed the radio, and shoved it into your hands.

"Fine. But if you break it, I’ll kill you."

You smirked. "Noted."

Sitting down, you turned the radio over in your hands, examining the knobs, wires, and the cracked casing. Ellie hovered nearby, arms crossed, watching your moves.

"You hit it a few times, didn’t you?" you asked.

She shifted her weight. "What? No."

"Ellie."

"…Maybe."

You shook your head and got to work. The wiring was all messed up, which explained why it wasn’t connecting to any frequencies. A few frayed pieces had come loose, and some of the internal components were slightly misaligned. Nothing you couldn’t handle.

Your fingers moved instinctively, twisting wires, reconnecting the right circuits, adjusting the battery placement. It wasn’t much different from fixing up your bombs and gadgets back at the stadium. A few minutes later, the soft hum of static filled the air.

Ellie’s head snapped up. "No fucking way."

You didn’t look at her, adjusting one final dial before a faint voice crackled through.

Ellie lunged forward, grabbing the radio from your hands, her face instantly more alert. She turned away, focusing entirely on the device as she fiddled with the settings.

You stretched your arms, smug. "Told you it wasn’t impossible."

Ellie didn’t respond.. You figured she was just relieved the radio worked now, but you didn’t think much of it. Why would you?

Shrugging, you stood up and left her to it.

If you had known what she would eventually use that radio for, maybe you wouldn’t have been so quick to help.

Ellie and Dina had returned from their daily supply run earlier that evening, but something was off. You could tell the moment they stepped inside the theater. Dina looked exhausted, her shoulders slumped, her movements sluggish, and she kept pressing a hand to her stomach like she was trying to steady herself.

The freckled girl, on the other hand, had been eerily quiet. No sarcastic remarks, no sharp glances in your direction—just this rigidness in the way she carried herself, like she was holding something in.

It wasn’t until later, when you were somewhere else in the building, that Dina finally told her.

From the other room, you heard Ellie’s voice, louder than usual, sharp with disbelief.

"You’re what?"

You frowned, pausing mid-step.

A beat of silence, then Dina’s softer voice followed, trying to soothe her. You couldn’t make out everything, but you caught the important part—Dina was pregnant.

Your stomach twisted.

You debated going back, but it wasn’t your place. Whatever was happening, they needed to figure it out themselves.

So, you stayed away.

Later that night, when things had settled and Ellie had cooled off enough to stop pacing the theater like a caged animal, Dina found you.

"Ellie’s going out again tomorrow."

You raised an eyebrow, "Sure."

Dina shifted, biting her lip before continuing. "I can’t go with her."

Something about the way she said it made your stomach drop. You stared at her, not wanting to be the one to say out loud what the brunette was thinking.

Dina’s gaze flickered to the side before settling back on you. "I want you to go instead."

You blinked. "Huh?"

She sighed, rubbing a hand over her face. "Look, I know you two don’t exactly get along, but you held your own back there. And you…" she hesitated, then exhaled. "You saved my life. I trust you."

You scoffed, leaning back against the wall. "Yeah, well, she doesn’t."

Dina gave you a pointed look. "Ellie won’t like it, but she’ll have to deal with it."

That didn’t sound very reassuring.

"She doesn’t even want me here, Dina."

Dina rolled her eyes. "She’ll survive. Just… go with her, alright? Watch her back. It’s dangerous to go outside alone."

You hesitated, thinking about how Ellie had snapped at you the day before, how she looked at you like she was still waiting for an excuse to kick you out.

But then you thought about Dina, about the way she held her stomach earlier, the exhaustion in her eyes.

You sighed. "Fine."

Dina gave you a small, grateful smile. "Thanks."

Somewhere across the theater, Ellie sat alone, sharpening her knife. She had no idea what she’d be in for tomorrow.

You were surprised when she didn't fight against your company, and just accepted it by ignoring you at first. Both of you left the theater in mere silence, as she walked ahead, barely acknowledging your presence. You kept your hands tucked into your pockets, eyes on the cracked pavement as you followed her.

Ellie didn’t want you here, that much was obvious. But even as she kept her distance, you could feel her gaze on you, analyzing your every move.

"So… you really haven’t been outside much, huh?"

You turned to her, brows furrowing at the remark. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

Ellie shrugged. "Just that… your hair’s all down. And it’s not exactly short."

You blinked, unsure where she was going with this.

"Infected could grab it. Get you killed."

"Oh." The realization settled uncomfortably in your stomach. "Right. Uh… thanks for the advice."

Five minutes later, as Ellie returned from rummaging through an abandoned pharmacy, she found you waiting with your hair pulled into two simple braids.

"Better?" you asked, flashing a proud smile.

Ellie scoffed, barely sparing you a glance before continuing forward.

Silence was nice, but after a while, it kind of became suffocating. You were just about to say something—anything—to break it when Ellie suddenly spoke.

"You ever shoot a gun before?"

You hesitated, rubbing your fingers against your sleeve. "…Not exactly."

Ellie stopped so fast that you almost ran into her. "Not exactly?" She turned, her brows furrowing. "—but you saved Dina, right?"

"I mean… I did, technically. But it was kind of a lucky shot." You cleared your throat, not being able to look at her, "I hate to break it to you, but I really don't know what I was doing."

Ellie's expression was blank, as if she'd just crashed down.

You shifted uncomfortably. "The clicker was right in above her, and I—I may have closed my eyes when I pulled the trigger."

Ellie blinked. Once. Twice.

Then, she let out a sharp, incredulous laugh. "You closed your fucking eyes?"

You crossed your arms, suddenly offended. "Hey, I still saved her, didn’t I?"

Ellie groaned, dragging a hand down her face like she was in actual pain. "Jesus fucking Christ."

You frowned, and Ellie turned, muttering something under her breath before storming off the path. You hesitated before following, watching as she stepped into a clearing between two abandoned buildings.

She slung her rifle off her shoulder, turning to you with an exasperated look. "Okay, no. We’re fixing this right now."

Your stomach sank. "What?"

She held up her hands. "Do you or do you not want to survive out here?"

You hesitated. "I mean—"

"Do you or do you not?" she repeated, sharper this time.

You swallowed. "…Yes?"

Ellie tossed her rifle onto her back again and pulled out the pistol holstered at her side. She turned it in her hands before offering you the large gun.

You looked at it warily.

She rolled her eyes. "It’s not gonna bite."

You grabbed it, surprised by the weight. It felt heavier than you expected, awkward in your hands.

Ellie took a step back and pointed at a rusted stop sign a few feet away. "Alright. Shoot."

You squinted. "Just… like that?"

"Yes, just like that."

You frowned, adjusting your grip before raising the gun. You lined up the shot as best as you could, finger hovering over the trigger—

BANG.

The shot went wide, bouncing off the edge of a crumbling brick wall.

Ellie dragged a hand down her face. "Oh, for fuck’s sake." She took a few steps forward, closing the distance between you. "Your stance is wrong. Here—"

She placed her hands on your arms, adjusting the way you held the gun. You stiffened at the sudden contact, but she didn’t seem to notice.

"You’re gripping it too tight. Loosen up." You tried, you really did, but the nerves didn’t help.

Ellie sighed, stepping behind you. "Alright, straighten your arms. Line up the sights. And breathe before you shoot."

You did as she said, inhaling through your nose, exhaling slowly.

Ellie’s voice was lower now, steadier. "Now, squeeze. Don’t jerk it."

You pulled the trigger.

The shot rang out, and this time, it actually hit the stop sign—off to the side, but it was still a hit.

Ellie hummed, pleased by now.

Even when you arrived to the theater, your arms still ached from carrying Ellie's stupid rifle all the way back. You were a better shooter than when you left. And it was all thanks to Ellie.

Now, the two of you found yourselves huddled in the dimly lit theater, an old wooden table between you, covered in scattered materials—wires, broken bottles, and chemical compounds Ellie had looted earlier. Dina was still asleep in the couch, neither of you wanting to wake her up. That left just you and Ellie, working in near silence, the only sounds being the quiet clinking of supplies and the occasional flicker of a match.

Ellie had been eyeing some of the chemicals earlier, her fingers brushing over the labels as if deciphering a puzzle.

"You don’t know how to make proper explosives, do you?" you teased, breaking the silence.

Ellie scoffed, not looking up. "I know enough."

You grinned. "Yeah? Show me."

She hesitated for a second before grabbing a few ingredients, ignoring your teasing ton and how her belly reacted to it, and started mixing them together with a little too much confidence. You winced as she poured too much alcohol into the mixture, watching as it fizzled weakly.

"Okay, stop—just stop." You reached over, steadying the jar. "You're gonna blow us up before you even throw that thing."

Ellie narrowed her eyes at you. "Like you could do better."

You rolled your eyes, pushing her hands aside as you took over. "Watch and learn, rookie."

Carefully, you measured out the ingredients, balancing them with practiced ease. Ellie watched, arms crossed.

"You need to balance the chemicals," you explained, pouring just the right amount of a compound into the mixture. "Too much, and it'll fizzle out. Too little, and it won't even light."

Ellie leaned in slightly, watching your hands work. You struck a match, letting the flame hover over the mixture. A controlled whoosh of fire flared up,.

"Huh," Ellie muttered, clearly impressed.

You smirked. "Now you can thank me."

She rolled her eyes, but there was the faintest twitch of a smirk at the corner of her lips.

The quiet stretched between you, but for once, it wasn’t uncomfortable. You both continued working as you crafted bombs, reinforcing them with whatever scrap you could find. Neither of you spoke much, but then again it didn't felt like a tense silence, and neither of you felt uncomfortable then.

At some point, Ellie stretched her fingers, cracking her knuckles. "This better not be a waste of time," she muttered.

You snorted. "Trust me, it won’t be. You’ll thank me when this saves your ass."

Ellie shot you a glance, something unreadable in her expression, before going back to her work.

The hours passed, and the night deepened. At some point, you glanced over at Ellie, watching the way the dim light flickered against her face, highlighting the freckles dusting her cheeks. She was concentrating, brow furrowed, jaw tight. Even in her frustration, she looked—

You shook the thought away.

Instead, you clung to the moment, silently willing the night to stretch on forever, as if staying in that basement could freeze time itself. Little did you know, Ellie was thinking the exact same thing, even if she tried to ignore the feeling fluttering inside her chest.

taglist !

@kaykeryyy @vahnilla @autisticintr0vert @leavemeinthewater @alexandra-001 @liasxeatt @urge-to @catrapplesauces @jhyoos @womenlover0 @sevyscoven @antobooh

[your-favourite-yapper]

Mary macdonald hcs (sorta modern au) bc I love her*

Used 2 be bullied in primary school

Not that bad but she just was Not Liked

Has 2 younger siblings and raised by a single dad

Changed schools after begging her dad 2 let her

Watched some 2000s hs movies to learn how to be "cool" bc she didn't have an older sister or someone to tell her how to do that

Is now tech "popular" BUT

She still feels Not Enough

She's mean 2 ppl her friends are mean to

And nice to the ones her friends are nice to

Bc all it sound take was one wrong word, one mistep

And she'd be the weird chubby kid in school noone sat next to again

TRIES HER FUCKING HARDEST AND THEN SOME STUDYING

noone rage studies like her

She gets good grades but is always top 5 nvr top 3

Has cried once when she got 98% in Chem

Not in friend of her friends tho

Doesn't like crying bc she prides herself on being "perfect" mary

The one who always has her homework done and takes 6 APs and is in 5 extracurricular and is the head of 3 of them and is always in some sort of competion or event and is always w perfect hair makeup outfit and is always composed

Has MANY friends but 2 main friend groups

The valkries and like her "popular" friends (emmeline flo chastity)

Lowkey Dislikes most men as a default

"No one wanted to play with me as a little kid

So I've been scheming like a criminal ever since

To make them love me and make it seem effortless"

^^ that's her

Definition of faking it till u make it but she's "made it" and is still faking

Has minibusses every few wks on whether she even knows her "real" personality

Doesn't care abt fashion THAT MUCH

But she knos every microtrend since the 1960s

Half black and half white

And defo went thru a phase where she told ppl that she was acc only like 1/4th black

Bc all the popular girls in the movies aren't black

Teenage Girl

She spends 4hr every day on hair and makeup b4 school

Will always feel like the Odd One Out

Does Not kno how to read social cues

Loves acting dumb or clueless

Type girl to study for 8hrs for a test then act like she didn't even kno there was a test

Wants to major in robotics

(Mainly bc no1 would expect it and she loves the feeling of vindication she gtes whe she shocks ppl who assume shes dumb)

Low middle income family

But doesnt correct her friends when they assume shes upper middle

Has not been in a designer mall

Style is "boho vintage" and preppy pink

The "boho vintage" is clothes she sewed together instead of buying new ones

She just Gaslight every1 into thinking they were b9ught

Loves her friends to bits and pieces

In primary her friend group was odd numbered so every1 would pair up and leave her out

Now it's even w marlene lily dorcas and her and flo emmeline chastity and her

V territorial of the number of ppl in the group

Once when lily was getting a bit TOO close to alice mary pretended alice sent her death threats and alice gets bullied sm she has to leave the school

Either doesn't offer any personal info to anyone

Or tmis sm u get second hand embarassment

"I wish I wasn't such a narcissist

I wish I didn't really kiss

The mirror when I'm on my own

Oh God, I'm gonna die alone" <- also her

Actively oversexualizes herself to hide the fact that she's scared of sex

Has beef w sirius and peter

Peter bc he's the only person in her hs who was in her primary and so he knos what she was like then and she's terrified he'd told the marauders abt that (he lowkey forgot lol)

Highly problematic

Tries her hardest 2 be nice

But she just isn't

Has stolen countless girls bf

Only to dump the bf 1wk later

And start flirting w the girl

5" 5.5

Loves her hair

She's rjl coded but forces herself to be sob coded

Acc LOVES gory horror movies

Loves ice cream but generally prefers savory > sweet

The og Mirrorball girlie

Tried to start a diary for some "self discovery" but stopped after she realized she was faking it there too

Attractiveness = 75% looks and 25% (fake) confidence

"Please im a star....im a star im a star im a sTAR"

the type of person to Not Say Anything when 1 of her friends make a joke she finds annoying/hurtful and then slowly gets more and more mad at them till she ghosts them

Her aura is somehow both toxic green and pink

Is still v much Scarred from primary so even tho she loves her friends she still has "back up groups" she'd go 2 if her friends unfriended her

Has ghosted 2838383893 ppl

Lowkeg a misandrist

Loves to bake

"I just wanted them to like me 🥺🥺" <- her after destroying her perception of self

Cant cry properly bc she can only think of how stupid she probably looks

"Theyre probably going to cheat on me....i should cheat first"

Ways to show love quality time

Ways to recieve love words of affirmation + phy touch but even tho she gives the best hugs u can't hug her wo 3 days warning

Acc v funny

Like constant banger after banger

Looks like a cinnamon roll thinks she could kill you is a cinnamon roll

Pink lipgloss

Always thinks she takes things a Bit Too Far (she acc kinda does)

like her friend could be shit talking someone and she spends 30min talking abt how disgusting that person is and how gross they are and insults them and reads them to filth. (She doenst even hate that person )

hey I should yap -> pvershares for 2hrs -> wait no ew (post yap clarity) -> cool and mysterious era (20 minutes) -> hey I should yap

Genuinely loves her younger siblings but uses up all her energy at school so at home she's v much a bitch to them

Ev she can't even say I love u to them

Can't even sound the words out

Gen believes she ruined them

Loves : chappell mitski and sabrina

Pathological liar

Lies for no rzn at all

Fav color is yellow

Says it's pink

Loves summer

Says she loves spring

Chat she's a good person when it rlly counts I promise

ev she leaves hs

!! And she gets into her dream uni

Yay!!

And then...

Uh oh

U kno the thing that happens when ppl who were popular in hs can't make friends in college

Yea that's mary

But eventually ?? She gets better ??

She goes out on silly walks

And goes 9ut her home wo a detailed 20 step guideline on what to do and how to act

And takes shitty pictures

And forgives and forgets !!

And she grows closer to the valkries !!

And sings shitty karaoke shittily in shitty pubs

And she forgives peter

And she wears more yellow

and she calls her siblings every other day and doesn't have to pretend to be interested

and listens to "cringe" girly talk podcasts bc they acc help her

and it doesn't matter if her laugh is now a tad bit too loud and if its more like a snort

and if her hips grow a bit bigger

Bc she's Human

She lives n breathes and walks and she Healing omigod shes Healing

she starts living for the experience of living and doesn't view herself in 3rd perspective

and she's seeing w her eyes and not the eyes of others and wow

and in one of her classes she gets an 89

And she cries abit but it's Ok!!

bc she still learned

And mare friends in that class!!

And she was ok she was ok she was ok

she gets her 2nd choice internship

And celebrates messily w all her friends

but when the 1yr internship is over she doenst get a perm job

But it's ok!!!

Bc it was an experience she experienced in her lovely life !!!

U kno those tiktoks that go "me making straberry pancakes bc life didnt end when i was 16"?

Thats her

She dates a girl (!!!)

And they communicate

And she holds her and is held by her

And go on silly cirnge dates

And have meaningless convos

And then they break it off amicably

But it's ok!!!

Bc it was an experience!!!!

"And I couldn't be sure

I had a feeling so peculiar

This pain wouldn't be for

Evermore"

And then she gets invited to an interview at her 1st choice job

And she stares at the building from across the street

And realizes

She Made It

And she closes the street in her yellow pumps

And she's thinking abt what she's gonna write in her journal today and thinking of all her friends and it's all ok now and and OMIGOD IS THAT A TRUC-

she gets run over ://

And dies ://

She would've gotten the job :/

If she hadn't uh died ://

:/

*not as much as my wife @mrstellmeafuckingsecret

[fuckyeahisawthat]

Okay I've been thinking about this second addition ever since you wrote it and today I went back to find it. Because I think you can still see the bones of how Viktor and Jayce were originally intended to parallel not Vi and Caitlyn but Vi and Jinx. The sisters and the "brothers."

Vi also gets pulled between her loyalties to her sister and to her romantic partner and the worlds/ideas they represent. A lot of her internal conflict in the show comes from her feeling like she is being forced to choose between the people she loves and being unable to do so. Vi and Jayce both deal with the person they love going to the "dark side," as it were; being transformed almost beyond recognition through something terrible and traumatic happening to them. They both deal with thematic question of: is this still the person I love? What do I do with the fact that they did terrible things? Is the person I love metaphorically dead now, or are they still in there somewhere? And I think Jinx and Viktor have a lot of their own parallels in terms of questions of agency and how much they're shaped by trauma/control or manipulation by outside forces vs. making their own choices, plus the parallel of wanting to help but unintentionally causing destruction.

Of course the two relationships were never going to read exactly the same, because that would be boring, and because Vi and Jinx are literal sisters who share a history of loss and adversity. Viktor and Jayce meet each other as adults coming from different worlds; the circumstances of their relationship certainly leave it open to a romantic reading even if the show hadn't made it so goddamn gay. But then they did. They made it so so gay.

If I had to guess I would say this happened through a combination of the dynamic you described above (cishet male showrunner stumbles ass backward into writing The Gayest Shit Imaginable) and various members of the cast and crew starting to actively ship it over the course of production. Which is why you have this mix of things that are insanely romantic while Not Technically A Romance (ie. "you saved my life as a child in a way that inextricably bound our destinies together so that one day I could save you from a fate worse than death") and things that fall under "this was obviously planned and intentional and there is no heterosexual explanation for it."

I feel like so much of the silly Mel vs. Viktor discourse when it comes to Jayce would be resolved if people realized that the plot was originally conceived as a basic morality play arc with Mel as the devil on one shoulder and Viktor as the angel on the other for Jayce.

The bones of Jayce's plot in Season 1 is of a good-guy scientist who is tempted by the allure of politics and fame, with a beautiful femme fatale politician seducing him towards power on the one side and his humble 'brotherly' relationship with his scientific partner representing Jayce's 'true self' that he is drawn away from by her machinations. It's a very, very old school, reductive, male-centric plot that literally boils down to "bros before hos".

It even makes sense for S2, with Jayce overcoming his corruption arc in S1 and returning to his "bro" only for his prior sins to tragically launch Viktor's own corruption arc as the Machine Herald only after Jayce has learned his lesson.

And then the Arcane writers and Fortiche subverted this plot. Here's how:

They made all three characters multi-faceted adults with their own agency and motivations. None of them are puppets for the others or, if they are, the time one character spends controlling the choices of another becomes part of that controlling character's sins that must be atoned for (namely, Jayce resurrecting Viktor against his will, Mel manipulating Jayce against his will, Viktor trying to control everyone against their will).

For example, they made Mel complex and interesting and a good person in her own right. Yes, she still has elements of the beauty, danger, and allure of a femme fatale but by making her her own person with her own plot and motives, none of which are malicious (at most, they are self-serving until she changes her views on Hextech and how best to bring peace to Piltover).

Jayce is still torn between Mel and Viktor but he also fully has his own agency, as many are quick to point out. He is often dragged around by the manipulations of others too (Mel yes, but also Marcus, Vi, and Ambessa influence Jayce into bad decisions). Part of his arc is learning how to be true to himself and his own goals after his time spent in the Anomaly future. But, even there, you can still see the bones of the original morality play arc, where the "Good Ending" for Jayce is to go back to his lab partner "bro" and bring both of them back to being true to themselves.

Viktor isn't just helplessly standing by while Jayce ignores him. In fact, Viktor often deliberately cuts Jayce out of his experiments. He doesn't tell Jayce about the Shimmer, or the self-experimentation, or even about Sky's death until after Jayce resurrects him with the Hexcore. Viktor has agency, he has his own goals, and while he frequently chastises Jayce for abandoning their shared dream in what I believe is another hint of the bones of the original morality play plot, he also has his own flaws and his own journey to go on independent of Jayce.

Much of the silly bickering I see between Mel and Viktor fans comes down to who "deserves" Jayce, who is "erased" by not ending up with Jayce, whether or not Mel is manipulative, or if Viktor thinks about Jayce at all when he's busy pursuing his own goals, and I think all of those are absurd arguments.

Mel is manipulative, it is part of the bones of the morality play plot that has her as the antagonist, but they made her so much more than that, that I think it's an active disservice to the character they made to reduce her story down to whether or not she ends up with Jayce. I get why people get hung up on it, because I do believe it's the core of the first draft of her plot, but the richness of her character comes from moving beyond that. Indeed, in S2, the least important part of her character is her relationship to Jayce. She has her own stuff going on.

Whether or not Jayce is a victim of manipulation or whether or not he pursued power for its own sake is also showing an understanding of the basic, core plot they built the richness on top of. Jayce was seduced by Mel's manipulation and he did grasp after power, but they enriched his character by making his goals more noble and more tragic. He's always trying to fight for Viktor, for Hextech, for their shared dream, and for making Piltover a safer, better place, but how he goes about it often makes matters worse until he learns, grows, gains wisdom, and makes terrible mistakes he arguably can never make up for fully.

Jayce also isn't fully a victim of Mel's manipulation, just as she is not fully a mastermind able to control his every move. He breaks away at a certain point and makes his own (poor) decisions in ways that frighten her and make her regret her actions, until he grows enough to recognize the wisdom in her advice (though he later grows again and recognizes the original manipulation, which leads to him breaking up with her in 2.08 because Mel's sins are still there and they are the reason she and Jayce don't have hope for a future together once he realizes he can't trust her because actions have consequences in Arcane).

As for Viktor, he doesn't like Mel. In that, I think we again see the original morality play roots, with him as the angel on the shoulder disliking the devil who is seducing Jayce. But they enriched his character by having him respect Jayce's choices even as he may have privately disapproved of them, and to have his own arc to worry about with his failing health, and his other flaws like intellectual tunnel vision/naiveté, and his tendency to self-isolate in the face of his terminal illness. He has his own stuff going on.

They also subverted the morality play arc to a certain extent by having Viktor stop being the angel in S2. Indeed, the framework more or less falls away entirely and it become Jayce trying to save Viktor from himself, and from Jayce's own mistakes of not destroying the Hexcore, while Mel is busy with her own story of politics, war, and magic.

Anyway, I hope some of this makes sense. But I think if people just recognized that yes, there are elements of Mel as a bad guy in the fabric of the story, of a story where Jayce is in a balancing act between his demons and his angels, but that good writers came in and layered real people over these simplistic plots, made it so Mel's story isn't just about Jayce, Jayce's story isn't just about getting corrupted by a femme fatale, and Viktor's story isn't just about being abandoned by Jayce, and thus elevated the trope beyond its tired-out, simplistic roots, there'd be a lot less wank.

[thelov3lybookworm]

Teddy Bears

Summary: She... doesn't dislike him?

•○●⛦●○•

Word Count: 2186

Warnings: tiniest bit of angst? no angst? idk but it is kinda chaotic lolll i love it

A/n: based on this request 😋 @mellowmusings ily thank you for giving me this idea hehe I HOPE U LIKE IT POOKIE 🥹

also @potatoplace and @sapphicmsmarvel, dedicated to u two cus i love u lots ur the best 🥹

(also something funny to distract tato from cramps hehe)

ANYWAYS, ENJOYYYY!!!🥳🥳🥳

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

If there was such a thing as Fae Going Mad List, Azriel was sure he’d be on the top of it.

He was not sure how to describe the feeling of helplessness that he had been feeling for quite some time now. Some days, it was barely a speck of awareness in the back of his mind. The others, he didn’t even want to leave his bed. It took sheer willpower, his shadow’s encouragement, Cassian’s constant nagging and the hope that maybe, that day would be the day Y/n finally gave him anything other than her signature condescending glare that she wore when it came to him that got him out of his pity party most days.

The fact that the person evoked such feelings in him did not care also gave him a bit of a reality check, enough to break out of the haze of self hatred.

Remember the plan.

Azriel glanced sideways at the little shadow that floated next to his ear as he climbed up the steps to the training ring, brows furrowed. Of course he remembered the plan. Or whatever half assed thoughts he called a plan, anyways.

Waking up, he had been filled with dread and determination, telling himself that enough was enough, today was the day that Y/n will have to tell him the reason she always had her nose turned up at him, as if she could not be bothered to look at him without contempt.

The training ring was mostly empty, as it usually was when the sun was high in the sky, except for two figures on the far end towards the edge. Cassian’s wings towered over the two, casting shade onto the smaller figure sat beside him.

Once again, the sight of the back that should have been proudly carrying her own set of wings stabbed a dagger of guilt into his heart, making Azriel wonder if he should even have the right to talk to her.

After all, it had been his fault she had lost her wings.

It was well known that after a female became eighteen years of age, her wings had to be cut off. Knowing the traditions, Rhysand had gathered Cassian and Azriel and decided that one of them had to be with her at all times of the day. She had been like a sister to Rhysand, and the only friend outside of each other, so the need to protect her was not questioned.

The day it had happened, Azriel had been on his resting day after a week of training. Back then, none of the three Illyrians were allowed to train on their rest days, or else the Lady of Night would have their arses.

Naturally, Azriel was supposed to follow Y/n around.

Of course, she didn’t want him to.

"Azriel, I am not a baby. You will leave me alone-"

"I won’t."

She huffed, pausing her angry march up the side of a hill she was trekking to get water from a nearby river. "You will."

Azriel glared right back. "It is my duty to Rhysand. I-"

"Fuck off!"

She had thrown a wooden bucket at him, fury radiating off of her, and it had infuriated Azriel, how she acted like she was oh so better than him. He knew she was, sure, but it maddened him all the same.

And in a bout of frustration, Azriel spread his wings as far as they would go, then beat them and flew off, back towards the house where he planned to spend his ‘rest’ day doing exactly that and not wasting precious time on someone who was too ungrateful to accept protection.

Deep in his heart, he had dreaded the future, somehow knowing he would live to regret his decision.

And he did. Regret and shame had become best buddies of the shadowsinger, following him around more closely than his shadows did. If only he had not listened to her, he could have saved those beautiful wings he wished he had the chance to cherish.

But thinking about his shortcomings and faults was not going to help him today, so he pushed those thoughts in the back of his mind, to be picked up and inspected later. For now he needed to focus.

What’s your problem with me?

Why do you not like me?

Why do you always fight with me?

How can I make it up to you?

Azriel repeated the words in his head as he marched towards the edge of the ring, pushing his shoulders back and lifting his wings. Eyes focused, fists clenched.

When he was almost upon the two, Y/n turned, lips parted as if mid-sentence. She stared at him, dissecting each part of him with just a glance. Disarming him with just a glance.

And all words flew out of Azriel’s head. The only that remained were extremely unhelpful.

She’s beautiful.

No, what was it?

How’s your problem with me?

"Hey, Az."

Azriel blinked, nodding at Cassian, not missing the sight of the smirk on his brother’s face as he stood. Cassian ignored the lack of words from Azriel and walked closer, clapping him on the shoulder and leaning in to whisper. "Lover boy finally got balls?"

Azriel shot him a sharp glare, pulling his shadows closer to himself. "Shut up."

Cassian grinned lazily, lifting his hands placatingly before walking off, whistling an infuriating tune.

The same one Azriel had mentioned reminded him of Y/n.

Asshole.

Azriel watched Cassian disappear through the archway into the dim interior of the starwell, swallowing, before turning back to Y/n, who was drawing her legs back up over the edge, beginning to stand.

Those thighs-

"Wait-" She paused, glancing at him. Azriel swallowed, feeling his stomach flip and trying his best to ignore it as he moved closer to Y/n. "I wanted to talk."

"To me?" She mumbled, brows raised. Her voice did things to him, as it always did, but the surprise in her voice distracted Azriel.

"Well, do you see anyone else here?"

She scowled, lowering her legs back down and letting them swing. "I have no obligation to listen to you, you know. Being nice would do you a favour."

Azriel sighed, settling down next to her, faintly noting how the sun was hitting her back, making her hair look a shade lighter. He also noted the way she was squinting to see, peering up at him.

That wouldn’t do.

He spread his wings, lifting them slightly until she was sitting in their shadow. He did not miss the quick glance she shot behind her, nor did he miss the slight widening of her eyes and faint blush on her cheeks.

That could be from sitting in the sun too long,but Azriel liked to think the reason for her blushing was him.

"I’m sorry."

She hummed, turning her head to stare down at the city. "What did you want to say?"

"I…" he paused wondering how to go about this, then decided it would be best to get straight to the point, seeing as Y/n herself had mentioned, she had no obligation to listen to him and could very well walk away if he beat around the bush. "I just wanted to know why you dislike me so much."

"Why do you ask?"

"Because I’d like to know and maybe apologise. I’m tired of this- this cat and mouse chase."

She snorted. "What’s the point in apologising if you have to ask me about the mistake you made?"

Azriel looked down at his lap, chagrined as much as he was frustrated. "I cannot remember what I did, I am sorry. Please tell me?"

Surprise flickered over Y/n’s beautiful features before she straightened, clearing her throat. "Oh, um… you said please."

Azriel raised a brow. "And?"

"I didn’t think you would, this is a surprise."

Immediately, Azriel felt his lips turn down at the corners. "You’re so funny."

She smiled coyly, the fire in her eyes was at complete odds with it. "Do you or do you not-"

"Fine, fine. I’m sorry."

She huffed, shaking her head. "Now you’ve annoyed me and I don’t want to tell you."

Frustration bubbled over, and Azriel pushed to his feet, glaring at her when she tilted her head back, confused. "Have a good day, Y/n."

He turned away, knowing he should stay and let her bully him to her heart’s content, but telling her, again and again, how he wanted to repent and make things up to her, being vulnerable enough to let her take jabs at him and not fight back was unfamiliar. It made unease crawl under his skin.

It made him worry that if he let his mask drop enough to make her comfortable talking about what had bothered her, she’d see how weak, how pathetic he was and be disgusted.

Maybe this whole plan was useless, pathetic.

"Az- wait!" He paused, glancing back at her. "I’m sorry, I went too far."

Azrie ducked his head in a shallow nod, looking away from her.

"You were trying to make things right and I- I’m sorry."

Azriel shook his head. "It’s fine. You have the right to-"

"That’s right! I do." Brows raised, Azriel turned back to her, surprised at the sudden change in her tone. "You did the worst thing ever to me and never apologised. I have the right to be angry."

Azriel swallowed, nodding. "I shouldn’t have left that day. I should have apologised and begged for forgiveness sooner."

When she didn’t say anything Azriel lifted his head, scared of her reaction. But she simply stared at him, brows furrowed and eyes narrowed. "What the hell are you talking about? Shouldn’t have left where? When?"

"Your wings? This is about that, no?"

Her eyes widened, lips parting. "Oh my- mother, no! Not at all, no, Azrie! Why would I ever- you dumb male, I would never hold something like that over you!"

Azriel swallowed again, unable to look away from her. "Then- why not? If I hadn’t left, you wouldn’t have lost them-"

"And maybe I would have lost something more precious. Everything happens for a reason. Maybe if I hadn’t lost my wings that day, Rhys wouldn’t have made rules to ban wing clipping his priority. I do not care about that. I am not mad about that. What I am mad about is far more important than that."

Azriel blinked, shifting on his legs. "Oh… then what made you dislike me, if not that?"

She rolled her eyes before poking him in the chest. "You fucking stole my teddy bear and pushed me after you did."

Azriel blinked, then blinked again. "I- what?"

"And you still haven’t given it back to me."

Azrie’s lips parted, then closed, then opened again. At this point, he was trying to remember if someone had mixed up some sort of drug in his food, because what in the hell?

"I- I don’t remember."

She huffed, wrapping her arms around herself. It took all of Azriel’s willpower to not look. "Of course you don’t remember, asshole. I was playing with my toy, and you snatched it from me, and when I fell, you didn’t even help me up."

Azriel stared at her, incredulity dripping from his voice as he tried to hold in a snort but failed. "Y/n, are you being serious?"

She scowled, pushing him back. "Stop laughing. I am being serious."

"I’m not laughing!" Despite the words, Azriel’s lips twitched, lifting.

She huffed, turning away. Azrel instantly felt bad, so he lunged to grab her hand, tugging lightly.

"Sorry, sorry. I will get you that teddy back, yeah?"

Y/n peered at him, frown still in place. "What if you don’t?"

"I will."

The burn of a mark made Azriel wince, making him pull back the lapels of his shirt. There, over his left pectoral, was a small mark in the shape of a bear. Just amazing.

"Hmm. I believe you, then."

Azriel refrained from rolling his eyes, feeling himself break out in a fond smile. "So am I forgiven?"

"Give me a reason to forgive you."

"I’ll get you three new teddy bears."

Her eyes lit up. "Really?"

He nodded dutifully, placing a hand over his heart. "Really."

She smiled then, the sight ethereal, almost otherworldly in its beauty. Azriel couldn’t help but stare at her lips. They were so- so beautiful, mesmerising, he wanted to-

No. Stop.

He forced himself to look up into her eyes, his focus finally shifting to his rapidly beating heart. He could almost win a racing competition, he was sure.

Y/n smirked at him, a knowing look in her eyes before she turned, heading to the stairwell, and this time, Azriel said nothing, just watched her go.

Right before she disappeared through the archway, though, she paused, glancing back. "By the way, I never disliked you. It was just funny seeing you squirm. See you later, shadowsinger!"

Azriel blinked. So all that… effort, for nothing?

She’s funny.

A shadow whispered.

Mother help me.

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

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[astraeus-tree]

In Celebration of Your Birthday

Batfam x Reader (Platonic)

It's my birthday (releasing this as soon as it hits 12am hopefully) so I wanted to write a little drabble Disclaimer(s): Unfortunately there's no Steph, Babs or Duke and they're all probably OOC

Today felt like chaos incarnate, countless things had already happened, yet it was only midday.

You hadn’t woken up on your own, no. Damian was there, waking you up from your peaceful slumber at the ungodliest hour of the night and demanded you to get ready already. You had slowly done your morning routine, still fatigued by sleep, but Damian had rushed you, saying it was dire that you needed to be fast.

When you had finished, he dragged you down to the batcave, excited about whatever he has planned. He shoved your vigilante costume to you and started getting dressed into his Robin uniform.

“Dami? What the hell is going in?” You dressed in your costume, alarms raising in your head.

“We’re going on patrol.” He had finished getting into his costume swiftly, now standing with crossed arms waiting for you to finish.

“It’s not even my turn?” You questioned.

“Just follow me.... Please?” You sighed, he knew you could never deny it when he asked like that

“Alright, lead the way then.”

The patrol was less of a patrol and more of a game of tag with the rooftops of Gotham as your playground.

When the first rays of light first showed, he had quickly led you to the highest point of Gotham: the top of Wayne Tower. When you had finally caught up to him, he was sitting, patting on a place next to him for you to sit in, and so you did. The rooftop was the perfect place to watch the sunrise. The sky had been painted with various shades of orange, like it had been dipped in gold.

He had leaned his head on your shoulder, wrapping his arm around yours and you held you arms around them.

“I’m grateful to have you as my sibling [Name].”

Damian had whispered to you, and you felt your heart swell. You pulled him in closer, ruffling his hair.

“I love you too, you cuties. What’s with the clinginess today though?” You asked, confused as to why he was suddenly acting more clingy than usual. In response, he only looked at you weirdly, as if in disbelief, then stayed quiet. You left it at that.

The two of you had stayed there for a few minutes, until the sun was fully up, and you could see some people already starting their day. Then, you two had went back to the manor, and he left, saying his goodbyes and off to do his own thing.

As soon as you had went up from the Batcave, Cassandra was there, ready to greet you. She had been in her ballet clothes, and pulled you into one of the many rooms of the manor, saying that you two should perform a duet, her dancing and you playing the violin.

And so you did. However, you were so focused on her dancing that you messed up several notes, but she didn’t mind and kept dancing with grace. The duet had lasted several minutes, yet you were so captivated by your little sister’s dancing that it had felt like it was only a few seconds. You were so proud of how far your little sister had come with her ballet dancing.

She had left not long after, but not before saying “I’m glad I’m your sibling, [Name].”

Dick was next with this weird behaviour from your family. He had come up to you while you were resting in your room. He had been sent on a mission, but wanted to see and talk to you before starting it. It was quick, definitely not as long as the other two, but no less impactful to you.

With so much stuff happening around you, you had honestly forgotten it was your birthday. It was no wonder why everyone was suddenly acting weirdly.

You loved them all dearly, but with so many interactions happening so early in the morning, you were already drained. You had been walking around the manor when you spotted Tim laying on the floor of the living room, taking a nap. Tired, you joined him, cuddling up next to him.

Tim had briefly woken up when you laid next to him, but he didn’t move and let you get yourself comfortable as he went back to take a nap.

Alfred had seen you two as he was cleaning around the manor—not that it was unclean, it was just his daily routine— and smiled when he saw you two. He placed a blanket over the two of you and placed a Do Not Disturb sign near the living room to warn the others, who knew exactly what it meant at first glance.

You had woken up a few hours later. Tim had still been taking a nap by that time, so you decided to let him sleep peacefully. He must’ve hear you moving though, because you swore you head a small mumble that sounded like the words ‘I love you.’

Once again, you were taking a walk around the manor when you stumbled into another one of your family members. Though it was unusual to see Jason in the manor, you guessed he was here for your birthday as well.

This time, you were the one to initiate the clingy behaviour. You had opened your arms wide, silently inviting him for a hug. You could see the hesitation in his face before he decided to throw it away and envelop you in an embrace.

“I love you [Name].”

“I love you too little bro.” You two had stayed like that for a while, letting silence overtake the both of you. After all, actions spoke louder than words.

When you had finally let go, you ruffle his hair before he went to go do his own thing.

Your father had called you into the batcave that night before dinner, saying he had a gift for you. Your father was standing in the middle, clearly waiting for you. The lights behind him were dim, clearly hiding something.

“[Name].” He stated plainly.

“Dad? What’s going on?” That was when the lights behind him had turned on and showed a collection of various different weapons behind him.

“I know you’ve been wanting to try out other weapons than your usual one, so your siblings and I have been working on this project for a while now.” You felt your eyes tear up. You had mentioned that in a passing conversation with your father during a patrol once, you never would’ve guessed he would even remember it.

You ran up to hug him. “You really didn’t have to do this, just you being here was everything to me.”

“I wanted to do this for you, you’re my child.”

Later, your whole family had given you a surprise party for dinner. It was small, definitely not as grand as the balls that the Waynes would usually host, but it was perfect. It had everyone you loved and everything you needed.

This is very much inspired by Rizzanon's Batfam February, especially Dami's part lmao

It was supposed to have Jon in it as well but it felt unfair to include him but not anyone else so I had to get rid of him 😔

No song for this title so that's why it's very basic lmao

Have a great day/night everyone <3

[crazycat010]

I found you

Gojo Satoru x reader (soulmates AU)

IN WHICH: Gojo finally finds his soulmate, after being given a very unlucky way of connecting to them.

fluff, angst, y/n is insecure about her looks and powers, her colleagues are worried sick about her. Almost-dying thoughts. Talks about death (fight and curses being killed), blood and scars. Fight between y/n and her friend.

Reader is written about as a female and there are references to her clothing. Happy ending.

word count=6.103 words

“Ahh” Gojo hissed, grabbing his face in pain, when was it going to end?

Another blow, this time directed to his abdomen, made him double over in pain.

“Gojo-sensei! Are you okay?” Yuji gasped, checking to see if he was okay.

“Yeah, don’t worry! M’fine.” The teacher laughed it off, used to the feeling.

“You sure got an unlucky way of connecting with your soulmate.” Maki added.

He shrugged his shoulders. He was one of the strongest, if not the strongest sorcerers alive, he came from a rich family, had many friends at Jujutsu High and a never ending list of women of all kinds who would do everything to even go on a date with him! All in all, he considered himself lucky, yeah, maybe his parents hadn’t been the best, being married for convenience and not love, but his mother loved him and his sister was very dear to him.

Nonetheless, everyone who learned his way of connecting with his soulmate cringed sorrowfully, pitying him: he felt most, if not all, the pain his soulmate felt. Though it was probably the same for his other half, it really made his life more difficult. It was like they were constantly getting beaten up for some reason, while he tried in every way possible to not hurt himself as to not pain them more.

With his students, he was headed to the entry of Tokyo Jujutsu High School’s complex, where he would meet with the students and teachers from the Kyoto College.

He’d heard a new teacher had recently arrived, but he didn’t care about it much. He had resigned from trying to reach his soulmate a long time ago, after many years spent searching.

He had gotten quite tired, and decided it would be better to let fate do his own thing. Was he gonna meet his soulmate soon? Had he already met her? Was he ever going to meet her?

Those question remained unanswered, and the ‘soulmate’ case closed.

After a long walk, they’d finally reached the meeting point. He had never realized the grounds were so big…

They were met with the usual group: the two teachers Gakuganji and Utahime and the students Mai Zenin, Kasumi Mia, Noritoshi Kamo, Aoi Todo and Mono Nishimiya.

Gojo looked around, expecting to see another teacher, but was found with nobody else.

Not having to hear the question, Utahime had already answered: “The new teacher had… some jobs to finish. She should arrive this evening.”

“Oh, okay! Well, let’s head to the school grounds so we can have a proper catch up!” Gojo said happily, masking yet another strong blow, this time aimed to the back of his neck.

The trek in the Foothills of Mount Mushiro was unusually quiet.

Seeing Gojo’s confused expression, Utahime said: “The kids have grown quite attached to our new teacher. They’ll get back to normal once she’s back.” She told him calmly, almost as she was reassuring herself.

“So, what’s up with this new teacher?” Satoru couldn’t help but ask, interested in this new mysterious figure.

“I promised not to do any spoilers, but I’ll tell you this: she’s very patient and kind, even more than me. The only problem is, taking care of everybody else, she often forgets to look after herself, getting injured because of her Cursed Technique. That pretty much sums up her entire personality, so I think you two will get along nicely.”

“Oh so they’re a she?” Gojo implied, smirking.

Utahime rolled her eyes, chuckling.

“Anyways, it’s good to know we’ve got someone else on our side. I bet you care a lot about her.” He replied.

“We all do…”

The dinner was filled with the usual laughter and chaotic environment, created by the Kyoto Sister-School Goodwill Event. Yet Gojo could sense something was off: while most of the students were able to fake it and enjoy their time, Utahime, Mai and Todo looked nervous and uptight, waiting for something to happen.

Suddenly, Mei Mei said, taken back: “She’s here.”

Mai and Todo sprinted towards the door, Utahime and the rest of he students following closely.

Even the old Yoshinobu had gotten up and was slowly heading towards the entrance door.

“Hellooo…Ahh!” Said an unfamiliar voice, before hearing a loud thump of bodies falling over.

“I swear if you ever scare us like that again, we will kill you. And that’s final.” Mai said to the unknown figure in a stern voice, opposed to her comforted look.

“Todo?” Asked the girl, searching for help.

“I’m on her side on this one.” Answered the black-haired boy.

“C’mon, not even you Utahime?” She asked again. Utahime raised her hands up, showing she was also on the green haired girl’s side.

“We’re glad you’re back, Y/n-sensei.” Said Kamo, offering a hand to get her up to her feet, while Yoshinobu simply nodded.

“We sure are!” Said Mika and Nishimiya, reaching for their teacher in a fond group hug.

‘So that’s the mysterious teacher…Y/n. That’s an unusual name, but I like it’ Gojo thought, heading to the new sensei to properly greet her.

“So you must be the new teacher everyone’s talking about!” Said Gojo.

“Y/n Y/Ln, it’s nice to meet you.” She replied.

“Gojo Satoru, and the pleasure is all mine.” Said the smug teacher, going for a simple handshake since he’d noticed her hands were entirely covered by black leather gloves.

‘The new teacher looked, weird. Not in a bad way though. She had silver straight hair, cut short just below her chin, with a huge side bang covering the left side of her face. Her eyes resembled her personality, a sparkly silver adorned by big lashes and complimented by a pair of thin brows of roughly the same color. She wasn’t short, but she was just around Utahime’s height, so the difference between her and Satori made her lift her chin upwards in a cute way, in order to face him directly. Her clothes were torn apart, leaving her in a black leather suit that covered her entire body, a neck warmer on her neck and chin and a belt with small weapons, matching gloves and combat steel-toe boots. She was full of cuts and what looked like blood and dirt and prominent a eye bag could be seen on her right side of the face.’ Gojo eyed her cautiously.

“Well, I’m sure you must be famished by now, so why don’t we go back to the dinner table and get a new seat for miss Y/Ln here.” Shoko interrupted the oncoming silence.

“Don’t worry. I was able to grab something to eat along the way. Nonetheless I’m very tired, so, if you don’t mind, I’ll head to my dorm to wash off the dirt and get some rest.” Y/n kindly turned down her offer.

“I’ll show you the dorms.” Utahime intervened, grabbing her by her arm with force.

“Don’t worry, I saw where they were com…” The silver haired girl tried to stop Utahime, but was met with an icy glare even Gojo had rarely seen on his ex-classmate’s features.

“I said I’m showing you the dorms. C’mon let’s go.” She ordered Y/n, who couldn’t do anything but comply, getting pitiful looks from her students.

The evening continued nonetheless, no sign of Utahime’s return.

‘That just means we’ll get to meet the new kid tomorrow’, Gojo shrugged it off.

The next day, Y/n was finally able to join the others for breakfast, having been patched up the night before by a very angry Utahime.

She knew what she had done the other day was risky, telling everybody to go so she could single-handedly defeat the three first grade curses, but she wasn’t gonna risk anyone else getting injured, that’s just who she was like.

She knew Utahime would’ve gotten furious and mad at her for making her worry and scolding her, but, in reality, she was happy knowing there were people who really cared about her well-being.

That morning she ate almost twice her daily portions: she had lied the day before, in fact, she hadn’t eaten anything since the past breakfast, but she didn’t want to intrude in the meal or, especially, she didn’t want to have to take off her gloves or any other part of her suit to eat.

Underneath all that fabric, her body was constantly full of bruises and cuts, which concentrated on her arms and the cause was her Cursed Technique.

YOUR (Y/N’S) POV

“Soo, Y/Ln. How are you feeling? You looked pretty rough last day.” Gojo tried to initiate a conversation with you, after you’d finished eating and were casually strolling around the campus to show you were all the main facilities were located.

“I’m fine, thanks. And please, call me Y/n.” You responded, smiling.

“That goes for me too. Anyways, I’m glad you’re doing good, you should’ve seen your students and co-teachers yesterday, they were worried sick.” He replied.

“I’m sure they were.”

“Well, you got me curious. What happened?” He asked, trying to not invade your privacy but at the same time get to know you more.

“Let’s just say, on our way here, we got caught up with some curses. They weren’t that strong, but I decided to finish the job myself while the others came here.” You answered.

“What grade were they? What do you mean by some?” He questioned you.

“They were…three first grades.” You said, a bit embarrassed for some reason.

“What? I mean, wow! You managed to take them all out on your own! I don’t mean to come as judgy or stuff, but when they’d told me a new teacher had arrived at Kyoto High, I didn’t really expect someone that strong.” He said, shocked.

“Thanks, I guess…? I kinda get that a lot!” You replied, chuckling to yourself and shoving your hands in your pockets.

You wore a simple navy blue hoodie and black tight jeans with a pair of white and blue sneakers with silver gloves covering your hands.

You had always been very insecure about your scars, being basically covered in scratches and those squiggly white lines. When you didn’t wear gloves or you exposed your scars in any way, you always got weird or pitiful stares from those around you, so, a couple of years ago, you’d decided it would be in your best interest to hide them.

You started absentmindedly fidgeting with your necklace, until Gojo interrupted you in your actions: “What’s up with the gloves? If you don’t mind me asking.”

You were used to people asking that type of questions, so you replied how you usually did: “My hands get cold.”

He stared at you, unamused. Many people figured that was a lie, but they usually dropped the topic at your response. Instead, he questioned you further: “Are you sure?”

You rolled your eyes, not knowing if you were more irritated or amused by his investigative nature. All your friends knew about it, and he looked like a pretty chill guy, so, it wouldn’t hurt to tell him.

“Okay, fine. It’s because of my Cursed Technique. It’s called Glass Veil.”

He seemed intrigued by it, asking you: “I’ve never heard of it before. How does it work?” 

You decided to explain it further: “it’s exactly what it sounds like. I create barriers made of transparent, glass-like cursed energy. They can reflect attacks, bend light to make me invisible, or distort space to create mirages. Sounds great, right? Yeah, well, here’s the catch. My defenses aren’t invincible—if an attack is too strong, the barriers shatter, and I feel every bit of that damage. Cuts, energy recoil, you name it. And if I try to reflect something too powerful? My own body starts breaking down from the strain. Oh, and those mirages? They don’t just mess with my enemies—they mess with me too. Use too many, and suddenly, I can’t tell what’s real anymore. If I push myself too hard, my entire technique collapses like shattered glass—leaving me completely defenseless. So yeah… it’s powerful, but if I’m not careful? It’ll kill me before my opponent even gets the chance.”

He looked at you, amazed. “Woah. I didn’t know techniques like that existed. I’m sorry for you though, it must hurt when you fight.”

“Yeah, well, you get used to it.”

“You know you shouldn’t. You should ask for help if fighting off curses becomes a threat to your safety.” He scolded you.

“Thanks…I-I mean, I don’t know what to say. I really appreciate it, Satoru.” Yes, you had many friends that worried about you, but this felt different. You were happy to know you’d made a new friend. After knowing how your technique worked, most tried to change the argument or make it about themselves, making you wonder if you’d said something wrong.

“But hey, enough about me. What do you have to tell me?” You asked.

“Well, I think you know pretty well how my Cursed Techniques work.” Gojo replied.

“Yeah, but, I’d like to hear more about how you manage to use them.” You inquired further.

“Okay, so, basically…” He had looked surprised at first, but in the end, started telling you everything. He talked to you about the basics of his techniques, then began to trail off about how he’d learned them and how he used them in fights. You’d talked so much it had already become lunch time, when, somehow, the topic became the thing you feared the most: soulmates.

You’d heard of all types of ways someone is connected to his soulmate and finds him, there were the most romantic ones, like where the other’s first sentence to you is written on your forearm; the more unique ones, where one would switch bodies with the other on a certain date; or the more creative ones where flowers sprouted in the point the other would first touch you or bump into you. You’d read so many books about it, wondering if you’d ever be able to find your soulmate.

You’d tried anything, yet you never found any red strings, or markings on your skin.

The main difficulty was, you didn’t have any signs of knowing if your soulmate was alive or not. I mean, you sometimes felt intense pain in parts of your body, but you were convinced it was simply because of your Cursed Technique and how you often over-worked yourself, which looked like a pretty good explanation for those around you.

“Do you have a soulmate?” Gojo asked, coming to a stop.

You were in front of a beautiful lake with the sun and a soft breeze helping you relax.

“Not that I know of. They might as well be dead or have never existed. I never got any signs actually.” You said, voice lowering.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Satoru said, staring at his shoes sadly.

“What about you? I’m sure you got a beautiful lady or dude waiting for you at home.” You shrugged off the heavy burden that had weighed on your shoulders since forever.

“Pft. I wish!” He replied.

“Wait really? Did you get any signs?” You asked, surprised.

“Yeah. I can feel part of their pain, at least the physical one.” He said, chuckling.

“Oof, that must be painful!” You said.

“Yes, it is. I just wish I could find her, or him for that matter. I’ve been searching for years.” He confessed you.

You went to give him a pat on the back, telling him encouragingly: “I’m sure you’ll find them, sooner or later. I may have not known you for much, but you seem like a pretty good guy, and after all you’ve done as a Sorcerer, you deserve to have a happy ending more than anyone.

He looked taken back at your words and hugged you tightly, crying a bit in your sweater.

You caressed his broad shoulders, giving him small reassuring pats, and telling him not to worry, your heart subtly breaking at his broken state.

Breaking the hug, he wiped his eyes and sniffed, feeling like a weight had been lifted from him with his confessions.

Grabbing a tissue from your pockets, you wiped his beautiful eyes, getting lost in them for a second.

You then offered it to him to blow his nose, and he took it gratefully, thanking you.

“Blimey, it’s already 1:15 p.m.! We’re late for lunch!” You said panicked, looking at his watch.

Laughing, he took his hand in yours with a nonchalant: “Don’t worry, I’ve got it.”

In the blink of an eye, you’d been teleported right outside the dining hall, where he kindly opened the door for you and held it in a very gentlemanly way.

Thanking him, you quickly reached your seat at the table, in between Mai and Utahime, who both wore the same scolding look as ever, to which you replied with a tight lipped smile.

That afternoon, the students’ training was planned, in order to make the last preparations before the competition days.

You sat on a bench near the practice grounds with Gojo, asking him about his students and their cursed techniques.

The day ended quickly, and you soon sent all your students off to bed, in order to regain all their strength back with a good night’s sleep and be in perfect shape for tomorrow’s team competition.

The next day, tension filled the air heavily and all the students were silent, reorganizing their mind and thinking about the strategies they had  practiced yesterday.

You didn’t know what the Tokyo students had in mind, but with your students you had elaborated an intricate and intelligent plan that used everyone’s abilities: Mono would be the jolly, controlling from above on her flying broomstick the situation and occasionally helping on the grounds, Miwa would work in pair with Mekamaru, focusing on the trio formed by Panda, Yuta and Inumaki; Todo had taken upon himself the responsibility of Yuji Itadori; Kamo would concentrate on Megumi and Mai on Nobara and Maki.

You’d explicitly told them not to engage combat unless needed, focusing on the task at hand, which consisted of killing 14 curses scattered across the forests of Mount Mushiro.

You teachers were to gather in the main classroom, where you would know what your students were doing thanks to Mei Mei’s crows.

To say you were anxious was an understatement, but Utahime told you to calm down and that everything was under control in case something went wrong.

The teams had until midday to defeat the curses, and then the team with the most points would’ve won.

Everything was going smoothly, the teams having killed 6 curses each and not fighting against each other too much.

That was, until Mei Mei lost contact with her crows. It was obvious someone, or something, had killed them.

You immediately panicked, scared your students could get hurt by what had finished Mei’s crows. The other teachers were on alert as well, instantly dividing their jobs between who would rescue the kids and who was going to fight off the curse.

Mei Mei had been able to get back one crow, which helped you all realize the problem at hand: there were around 5 special grade curses and many lower-grade curses.

You had planned for Gojo, Yaga, Yoshinobu and Mei to fight off the curses while Utahime, Nanami and Shoko were going to help the students.

They were going to divide themselves into groups for the different areas of the High School: Gojo and Mei would take the eastern side of Mount Mushiro, Yaga and Yoshinobu the Western. There was only the section surrounding the dormitories left, but before you could offer yourself for the job, Utahime grabbed you by the wrist: “You’re not going anywhere.”

“What?” You scoffed.

“You’re not joining the fight, you’re already injured.”

“You don’t get to tell me what to do.” You replied cockily.

“You don’t get to choose after all your reckless decisions.” She shouted back, the room going silent.

“They’re my students too, so if you think I’m just gonna sit here while they risk their lives out there, then you’re wrong.”

“Why do you have to be so difficult?”

“Hey Utahime, calm down. We know you’re right but we have other things to discuss right now.” Gojo tried to make the girl relax.

“No you shut up! Y/n don’t you dare step out of that room! Do you understand me?” She said.

“I already told you I’m going and there’s no stopping me!” You replied, moments away from becoming the angriest you had ever been.

Impatient, she lashed out at your insolence:“YOU’RE GOING TO DIE!”

“YOU THINK I DON’T KNOW THAT?” You yelled back, the words slipping out of your mouth before you were able to register it.

Everybody’s heads turned to you, making you feel uncomfortable, so you decided to just go outside and do your job: “I’m going to fight the curses located near the dormitory, if someone else has got anything to say, tell it to the wall, at least it may listen.”

You shut the door loudly behind you, not caring about their shocked expressions or Utahime’s blank stare: you were utterly furious, who was she to tell you what to do? You were a grown-up sorcerer, you knew the risks of your job. She had no reason to lash out at you that way, she may have been worried, but it’s still your students we’re talking about; besides, your bruises had already completely healed and you were well-rested.

Thinking back to it, though, you felt sorry to have screamed at her, she hadn’t deserved it: she was only worried about you, but it sometimes got too much; you would apologize later.

You started running to the site in the uncomfortable sweater. You certainly hadn’t expected an attack that day, so the outfit wasn’t the most appropriate: you wore a baggy pink hoodie with a plain black sports Bra underneath and a matching pair of black leggings with your usual boots and gloves.

Along the way, you met a few small curses, bringing them down one by one without even having to use your powers, slicing them in parts with the small knives hid in the boots.

Reaching the dormitories, everything seemed oddly quiet and ordinary around you, until you sensed a tremor in the ground.

What was happening? You looked around as the ground rumbled and shook, a huge crack filled with water opening a few feet away from you. Out of the blue (literally), emerged a towering, humanoid figure with a body made of black, swirling water, deep-sea corals, and glowing abyssal fish embedded in its skin, its face masked by an eerie, translucent jellyfish-like veil.

You rapidly formed a glass shield around you to protect you from the high-speed water whips that came from the creature’s limbs.

You didn’t recount ever facing a curse like this before, but you figured it was nature-based.

In the bat of an eye, the whips started coming from all directions, rendering you unable to do anything but protect yourself in any way you could.

You formed a glass sphere around you, in order to get complete coverage while you studied the curse’s powers and thought of a plan to end him.

However, you weren’t given the time to think, as a water field surrounded your figure, pressure rising at unmatchable speed while the temperature and the oxygen decreased.

You had to be swift: you were already in a glass bell-like structure, where the oxygen would’ve run out quickly, so your biggest issue at the moment was to keep breathing.

Feeling another tidal wave coming to hit you, you made up a fallback plan, using the strong force to make the glass bell explode from within, sending shards of glasses flying and temporarily stopping the curse from attacking you because of the great quantity of cursed energy that had hit him.

You regained fighting stance in that short period of time, but weren’t able to react as another huge wave crashed over you, swallowing you whole. It would’ve been useless to create another shield, as it would’ve shattered in pieces, causing you severe feedback injuries and tiring you even more in the effort.

You felt like you were in a maelstrom, unable to breath and consequentially think properly, losing consciousness against the high pressure and not feeling your limbs because of the intense cold that had surrounded you.

You regained your vision, once the curse had stabilized the whirlpool in front of him and cleared a small tunnel, barely big enough for you to start breathing again.

He smirked at your unresponsiveness, your head throbbing and heavy: what if Utahime was right? Maybe you shouldn’t have come here, maybe you shouldn’t have tried to save your students, becoming a dead-weight to the other sorcerers who could actually provide help to those in need. Maybe you weren’t enough and you shouldn’t have ever considered becoming a jujutsu sorcerer. You should’ve stayed with your parents, attended a good school and got a financially rewarding job, ignoring the monsters you saw while walking around the city center and forgetting about the small light balls you had been able to create since you were a kid.

You could’ve prevented this, but deep down, you had always known it: you were born alone and you were going to die alone. You couldn’t wish for your friends or family’s help: your family loved you dearly, but, not being sorcerers, they didn’t understand you; Utahime and the rest of Kyoto’s sorcerers only took you under their wing out of pity, nobody saw you as anything else but a loner who liked hurting herself. You weren’t going to have a happy ending like Gojo or Utahime deserved, you were never going to find your soulmate.

Accepting your fate, a smile found its way onto your cracked lips, tears flowing freely from your eyes and merging with the surrounding water.

“I knew you were an easy prey the moment I saw you. How could anybody this helpless become a sorcerer? If you’re afraid of your own looks, how do you expect to be able to save everybody? You can’t fight! You were never meant to become a sorcerer, you’re just a harmless little girl who’ll die alone and unloved, forgotten by her very own friends and family.”

You knew it was the end, yet you weren’t scared. Exhaustion took over you as the Abyssal Curse, ‘Shinkai’, as you remembered him from a book in Kyoto’s library, ultimated his domain expansion: The Midnight Trench.

Suddenly, you were surrounded by void, you started struggling to breath, lungs feeling flooded and bones crushing under the increased water pressure and cursed energy barriers.

Then, a group of sea-monsters like you’d never encountered before, attacked you, devouring you from limb to limb, ripping your body to pieces as your mind felt like it was about to explode.

You saw your friends’ faces and your past’s happy memories started filling your head: you saw your parents bringing you for the first time at a Luna Park, Utahime comforting you after a bad training, Shoko curing your cuts, Mai and Todo offering you your very first Takoyaki, Gojo hugging you so tightly you felt like you couldn’t breath…

You couldn’t breath. YOU COULDN’T BREATH!

You had to get out of here, you were too young to die! You still had to save your students, find a real purpose in life, make your family and friends proud and happy but, most importantly, you had to find your soulmate! You couldn’t let your family, Utahime or your other colleagues down and you had to prove the curse wrong: you could fight and you sure as heck were going to!

You tried to remember what you had read about this particular curse: their domain expansion was characterized by hallucinations like the one you were having right now. You concentrated on your powers, when immediately a thought came to your mind, making you laugh: ‘You were the one who created mirage-like illusions! This curse had no chance against you whilst it used your own cursed technique!’

Simultaneously, you created a new mirage of yourself and made the real you invisible, thanks to the small light that reflected into the oceanic void.

As the curse started attacking the illusion, you saw a ray of sunshine from above: that was it! You’d found an exit!

You decided it was time to test that little gadget Mechamaru had built inside your boots: clicking a small button, a soft gush of wind came out from your soles, slowly lifting you in the air.

A soft breeze caressed your face, body warming with the sun rays, clean air filling your lungs: you had made it out! Concentrating on what you had to do now, you suppressed temporarily your ecstasy, knowing it wouldn’t have taken long for the curse to discover the deception.

You remembered these kind of curses usually took their cursed energy from water sources they couldn’t depart from, unless they didn’t mind losing a substantial portion of their powers.

Looking around, you noticed how a blue gluey trail connected the curse, still focused on their small domain, to a water fountain near the dormitory.

Sprinting towards it with all the strength you had left, you closed the pipe in order to stop the water from running and cutting off Shinkai’s water source.

The curse visibly tumbled, the energy they had previously used for their techniques and domain being drained from their body.

“Hah! You escaped, you insolent little girl. I should’ve known. Well, what are we gonna do now?”

You kept silent and invisible, circling him as he kept his back on you, eyes trained where the whirlpool had been until seconds ago.

Having reached the perfect spot, you revealed yourself: “I’ll kill you and all your stupid friends.”

“I’d like to see you t…”

His sentence was cut short by you slicing his head off with a sword made out of light.

The Jelly sphere rolled onto the ground, the body collapsing on itself and becoming a pool of suspiciously dark water, before evaporating completely.

You sighed, but the happiness was shortly lived.

Not only were the grounds near the dormitory a complete mess, but also you were full of cuts and bruises, your head so heavy it felt like it was about to fall off.

On your right arm, a huge gash had appeared, blood dripping copiously and drenching your torn apart hoodie. You decided to take it off, ripping a piece with which you would have wrapped your forearm, and throwing away the remaining pieces, leaving yourself in the sports bra.

Your legs and abdomen weren’t in a much better state, clothes ripped to pieces because of the explosion you’d created at the start of the fight, and you were thankful you couldn’t take a look at your back even if you wanted to, knowing it was probably reduced even worse than your front.

Not finding anyone near your position, you headed towards Mount Mushiro, were most of the students were located, along with the teachers and the curses.

You put one foot in front of the other, trying not to let your dizziness get the best of you, when pain shot in your left leg, as if you’d twisted it badly. Soon, you felt the same pain on your back and your left arm, falling to your knees as you gasped for air. It didn’t come from your cuts; it was different, like it came from the inside. You got a sense of deja-vu…Had you ever felt like this before? You were sure you had. All of a sudden, you remembered the mysterious pain you’d felt many times when you were younger.

As everything clicked into place, your conversation about soulmates with Satoru flashed in front of your eyes. You fought back the joyous tears that threatened to spill from your bruised eyes, a ray of hope appearing in your mind. Had you found your soulmate? If so, what did the pain mean? Was he okay? A sense of worry and anxiety washed over you, as you ran up the stairs of Mount Mushiro, heading to where loud battle noises came from, your heart beat increasing rapidly.

Not wasting any time, you bolted towards Gojo’s location, relieved at the vision of him beat up, but with the same smirk as ever. A huge dead curse’s body rotting behind his glorious figure.

Before coming out of the woods, a small voice in the back of your mind remembered you your scars were all exposed by then to anybody who looked in your way. What was he gonna think of you? Would he repel you for your looks? Would he hate you and be disgusted by you forever, not giving you a chance to prove your theory?

But then, you stopped listening. You stopped listening to the small devil that had haunted your past since you’d discovered your cursed technique, reminding you about how you didn’t fit in and weren’t liked by anyone.

You decided you were done giving in to your fears and letting them win over you: you only decided how you were going to live your life, and you sure as hell didn’t eat to hide your true self ever since, if you could.

Feeling free from the Cains you’d bound yourself to, you jolted towards an oblivious Satoru in a hug that sent you both flying on the ground.

“What the…?”

A confused look passed his face, soon followed by a mix of anger, worry and relief.

“What did you think you were doing? Running off alone to challenge a special grade? Are you freaking insane? You’re hurt! You shouldn’t…”

Sensing something was wrong, he halted in his words.

You were a complete wreck, full of blood and dirt, sobbing incessantly and body shaking feverishly, your hands gripping his suit like he was going to fly away any time, yet a sincere smile painting your features like a small kid who’s been gifted candy.

“Hey, hey. Shh, shhh. Don’t cry, it’s okay! I’m fine, you’re fine, we’re all fine!” He soothed you, caressing your bare back with his left hand, holding you tightly with the other hand, still sat on the ground.

“Do you wanna tell me what happened?” He asked in a patient, father-like tone.

You slowed down your sobs and trembling, sniffing every minute or so, your throat feeling dry and blocked.

Not enough brave to look at him in the eyes, you asked him: “Do you trust me?”

“Of course I do.” He answered, lifting your chin up in order to look at you in the eyes.

Your side bang had moved behind your ear, revealing an ugly scar that ran across the left side of her face, from her eyebrow, along her eyelid, to her rosy cheek, wet with tears.

You had chosen that haircut specifically to hide that repulsing scar, yet, when he saw it, he didn’t flinch or appear disgusted. Rather than that, he looked…intrigued, almost happy to have seen a side of you you usually hid from others.

He’d also noticed how you didn’t have your hoodie or your gloves anymore, and he felt somehow relieved: you trusted him. Besides, to him, you’d never looked more attractive.

“Turn your infinity off.” It wasn’t meant to sound like an order, but to Gojo it seemed rather bossy, yet, confused, he complied nonetheless.

As you felt your skin touch, for the first time ever, a warm chill rand down your spine and a burnt feeling spread across your left hand’s ring finger, where a marking had appeared: ‘Satoru Gojo’.

He looked at his hand, finding the same marking as yours, but with your name written instead.

He stared at you lovingly, contemplating whether to kiss you or not.

He recounted the years spent searching for you, the pain he had felt and the loneliness that had graved on him until the day he’d met you, deciding to go for it.

You were both dirty and stinky, though it still somehow felt beautiful, more than you could’ve ever imagined.

It was slow and passionate, full of raw emotions that couldn’t be kept at bay anymore.

Finally, as you two detached, a new feeling washed over you, one you’d never felt before: love.

You’d finally found your soulmate, as he’d found you, and you knew you would both love each other to whatever end.

Thank you for reading, I hope you liked it. You're welcome to come check out my account and my other posts and/or make requests :) (MASTERLIST) Do NOT plagiarize this or any of my content.

Do you think I should make a part 2?

Love you guys! See you soon!😘

Written by crazycat010 © 2025 crazycat010

[onebadassunicorn]

Love Lies

pairing: Azriel x Reader

content warnings: angst, talk of revenge, death, and mind manipulation,

word count: 3.8k

Permanent taglist: @motheroffae @tele86 @demon-master-zero @thegoddessofnothingness @rosecobollway

Azriel permanent taglist: @kathren1sky-blog

Taglist @sinfully-yoursss @sillyfreakfanparty @phoenix666stuff @ quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @hellohauntedturnstudent @love-over-fears @kk191327 @i-am-infinite @historygeekqueen @yourdarkrose @fr0stfall @dnfhascorruptedme @azzydaddy

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

********

Chapter 21

Lucien stood frozen, staring down at Elain’s lifeless body.

The room was eerily quiet now, save for the occasional drip, of blood pooling onto the floor from Elain’s mouth

His heart pounded against his ribs, his hands still curled into tight fists at his sides.

Even though he had just severed the last connection between them, even though he had loathed her for what she had done, for who she had become—

He still felt it.

Still felt the weight of her death pressing into his bones.

Still felt the finality of it.

His breath hitched, his vision blurring as his chest constricted with something sharp, something unbearable.

And then—a hand landed on his shoulder.

Warm. Steady. Unyielding.

"Lucien."

The voice was deep, rich, filled with quiet understanding.

Helion.

Lucien let out a shaky breath, his knees nearly giving out.

"I—" his voice broke.

A single, ragged sob tore from his throat, his body collapsing under the weight of it.

He didn’t care anymore, didn’t care that he had to be strong, that he had to be composed.

Didn’t care that he was standing in the blood of the female who had once been his mate.

Didn’t care that he had just killed her with his own hands.

Helion caught him before he could fully collapse, guiding him to sit on the edge of the couch near the fire.

The High Lord of Day Court kept his arm around his son’s shoulders, his golden-brown eyes soft with rare, paternal understanding.

"I never wanted it to end like this," Lucien whispered, his voice thick, hoarse.

His hands shook where they rested against his knees, and he stared at them like he didn’t even recognize them.

Like they had become something foreign. Something monstrous.

"But I saw no other choice."

Helion nodded, his grip tightening slightly. "Because there wasn’t one."

Lucien squeezed his eyes shut, his chest heaving.

"After I severed the bond months ago, I finally felt free," he admitted, barely above a whisper. "And after seeing what Elain has done to my friends, I should feel… relief."

He let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. "But all I feel is the weight of what I’ve done."

Helion exhaled slowly, his expression grave.

"You did what had to be done, Lucien," he said evenly. "Elain wasn’t going to stop. Not until both Y/N and Azriel were dead. There was no other way."

Lucien let out another shuddering breath, his hands curling into his tunic, his mind spinning.

"Even so," he muttered. "Feyre and Nesta…" He trailed off, his stomach twisting violently. "I don’t know how they’ll ever forgive this."

Helion’s jaw tightened, but there was no hesitation when he spoke.

"They’ll be hurt," he acknowledged. "But once Rhys tells them what happened—once they hear how Elain almost killed Azriel, how Y/N could be dying as we speak—" He paused, his expression dark. "They’ll come to the same conclusion."

Lucien swallowed hard, his throat aching with emotion.

"I just…" He exhaled shakily. "At least they won’t have to watch their sister hang. At least they won’t have to watch her die in person."

Helion’s gaze softened slightly.

"It’s probably easier this way," he murmured. "To let her go."

Lucien let out a slow, measured breath, nodding absently.

But it didn’t change the ache in his chest.

Didn’t change the weight pressing down on him like an iron chain.

Didn’t change the way his mind kept replaying the moment over and over again—the moment he had wrapped his hands around Elain’s throat, the moment he had snapped her neck as the life drained from her.

Helion studied him closely. "What is it?" he asked.

Lucien swallowed. "It was Y/N."

Helion arched a brow. "What do you mean?"

Lucien ran a hand through his hair, his voice distant. "I saw it the moment she told Elain to take the tunic off."

His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. "She had already made up her mind. She was going to kill her."

Helion’s brows furrowed slightly, but he didn’t interrupt.

Lucien let out a humorless breath, shaking his head. "I planned on stopping her."

Helion’s brows rose slightly. "Why?"

Lucien clenched his jaw. "Because I didn’t want her to have Elain’s blood on her hands."

His amber eyes darkened, his chest tightening as he continued. "I was afraid that Rhys would exile her. That Feyre and Nesta would demand justice for their sister."

Helion listened intently, his eyes filled with a rare fatherly concern.

"I knew that if Y/N was exiled…" Lucien exhaled sharply. "Azriel would have to choose."

His voice cracked on the last word. "And I didn’t want that for her."

Helion’s gaze softened. "You told her she always had a place with you."

Lucien nodded. "I did. And I meant it."

His throat ached as he thought of you, of how you had stood in that room, unflinching, ready to end Elain once and for all. "But I didn’t want her to have to carry this."

His hands shook slightly as he clenched them into fists. "I didn’t want her to lose everything because of this."

Helion’s golden-brown eyes softened as he gripped Lucien’s shoulder firmly.

"You’re a good man," he said, voice low, steady. "You did what had to be done. And I am proud to call you my son."

Lucien let out a long, shaky breath, finally closing his eyes.

The weight of his actions would never fully leave him.

But at least now—he wasn’t carrying it alone.

*****

The moment Rhysand and Azriel winnowed back to the House of Wind, chaos erupted.

Azriel collapsed to his knees, still holding you in his arms, his wings flaring wide, his entire body shaking violently.

Blood.

So much blood.

It soaked his hands, his tunic, the floor beneath him—

His shadows screeched, writhing wildly as if they could reach into your wound and pull the pain away.

"Madja," Rhysand sent through the bond with Feyre, his voice edged with pure, raw panic. "Get Madja to the House of Wind. NOW."

Feyre’s response was instant. "What happened?"

"Elain—" Rhysand cut himself off, glancing at Azriel, at your ashen face, at the blood pooling beneath you. "Just be ready."

Azriel let out a low, guttural noise, something broken, raw, unhinged as he cradled you against his chest, rocking slightly.

"Stay with me, love," he begged, his voice hoarse, shattered. "Please—please, don’t leave me."

Your eyes fluttered weakly, unfocused, your lips parted as you tried to form words that wouldn’t come.

He pressed a trembling kiss to your forehead, then your temple, then your bloodied lips.

"Don’t go where I can’t follow," he whispered.

Rhysand was pacing, breathing hard, his magic crackling around him like a violent storm.

He had seen death before.

Had felt it, smelled it, tasted it.

And he knew it was too close now.

Too close to taking you.

"Madja’s waiting," Feyre sent through the bond."We’re ready."

Rhysand didn’t hesitate.

With a burst of power, he reached for Azriel and winnowed all three of you straight into the infirmary.

Madja was already there, standing over a table prepared with herbs, magic-infused water, and surgical instruments.

Feyre, pale and trembling, stood behind her, Nesta at her side.

The moment Azriel hit the floor, he let out a strangled sob. "Help her," he choked, voice raw, pleading. "Please, Madja, help her!"

The healer rushed forward, her eyes scanning your wounds, her face grave.

"Lay her down," Madja commanded, voice firm, steady.

Azriel didn’t let go.

Couldn’t let go.

Couldn’t stop shaking, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t—

Rhysand knelt beside him, gripping his shoulder.

"Az," he said gently, urgently. "Let her go. Let Madja save her."

Azriel let out a guttural sob, his entire body shaking as he carefully, gently, laid you down onto the table.

Your head lolled to the side, your breath coming too shallow, too slow.

Your fingers twitched, weakly reaching for him.

He grabbed them instantly, pressing your knuckles to his lips.

"I’m here," he whispered. "I’m not leaving you."

Madja got to work.

Azriel didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t breathe.

Because if he did—

If he let himself think, let himself feel—

He would lose himself completely.

*****

The infirmary was too quiet, the air thick with tension and sorrow.

The sound of shallow, struggling breaths filled the space, punctuated only by Madja’s urgent whispers and the soft clinking of surgical tools.

And then—

"Mother above."

Feyre’s voice shook, barely above a whisper as she stepped into the room.

Her eyes widened in horror, landing on your still, broken body on the healer’s table.

Azriel was standing motionless at your side, his hands covered in your blood, his wings trembling, his face carved from raw, unrelenting grief.

Feyre took one, shaking step forward, her throat tightening painfully. "What happened?"

Her voice wavered, and she turned to Rhys, her violet eyes pleading.

Rhysand exhaled slowly, heavily, his shoulders sagging beneath the weight of it all.

"Come here," he murmured, extending a hand toward her.

She hesitated for only a moment before stepping into his arms.

Rhys pressed his forehead to hers, closing his eyes.

And then—he let her see everything.

Every moment.

Every brutal, harrowing second.

The memory poured into her like a tidal wave, drowning her in the truth.

She saw you, alone at the cabin, unaware that Alatar was coming for you.

She saw Rhys winnowing in at the last second, freezing the warlock in place before he could take you.

Saw Alatar smirking as he admitted to manipulating Azriel, to warping his mind, to forcing him to forget you—to fall in love with Elain.

Saw Alatar laughing as he revealed that the spell was nearly complete and that once Azriel consummated his bond with Elain, you would be erased from his memory forever.

Saw Rhys mist Alatar into oblivion, but not before the damage had been done.

Then—the Winter Court.

She saw the doors bursting open.

Saw Azriel standing in his room, his tunic half unbuttoned, Elain clutching his clothes to her bare skin, her smirk cruel and triumphant.

Saw you standing in the doorway, eyes full of pain and betrayal, pleading with him to remember you.

Saw Azriel looking at you as though you were a stranger.

Saw his words strike like a dagger to your heart—"I don’t know you."

Feyre flinched in Rhysand’s arms, gasping as the memories continued to flood her.

She saw Helion arriving, saw him breaking the spell.

Saw Azriel’s horror as he realized what he had almost done, what had been taken from him.

Then—Elain’s final, desperate act.

Saw her sneering at you, refusing to give up.

Saw her driving Truth-Teller into your stomach.

Saw her twisting the blade, whispering in your ear—"I always win."

Saw her lunging at Azriel, ready to kill him too.

Saw Lucien catching her mid-air, snapping her neck without hesitation.

Feyre ripped away from Rhysand’s grip, stumbling backward, gasping.

She clutched her stomach, as if she had felt the blade herself.

"No—" she choked, tears spilling freely down her cheeks.

Her hands trembled violently, her breath ragged, broken. "Elain did this?"

Her voice was barely a whisper, strangled and filled with disbelief.

Rhysand’s expression was grave, his eyes shadowed with grief. "Yes."

Feyre stared at him, shaking her head, unable to comprehend the depth of her sister’s cruelty.

"She—" she swallowed hard. "She would have killed them."

Her voice cracked on the last word.

Rhysand nodded, his fingers brushing a stray tear from her cheek. "She would have."

Feyre’s breathing turned shallow, frantic. "She wasn’t always like this."

Her voice broke, fresh tears slipping down her cheeks. "She was soft. She was kind. She used to sing to flowers and—"

She squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head violently. "How did this happen?"

Rhysand pulled her tightly against him, his hand cradling the back of her head.

"It doesn’t matter now." His voice was low, but firm. "What matters is that it’s over."

Feyre let out a shuddering sob, burying her face into his chest. "I failed her," she whispered.

"No," Rhysand said immediately, pulling back to cup her face in his hands. "You did everything you could. This—this was her choice. Not yours."

Feyre sniffled, her lips trembling as she turned her gaze back to you.

You were so still.

Too still.

Madja was working feverishly, her hands glowing with healing magic, sweat beading along her brow.

Azriel hadn’t moved from your side, hadn’t stopped murmuring soft pleas into your ear.

Feyre stepped closer, her heart clenching painfully. "Will she—?" Feyre's voice quivered.

Rhysand sighed, his gaze locked on you, on the male who loved you more than life itself. "We don’t know."

Feyre let out another quiet sob, her shoulders trembling.

"She’s my family too," she whispered. "I can’t lose her."

Rhysand wrapped an arm around her, holding her tight. "Then let’s hope she fights."

The heavy oak doors of the infirmary burst open, and Nesta stormed inside, her steely gaze scanning the room.

Her breath was ragged, her posture tense, her battle-honed body vibrating with barely contained energy.

She had felt it.

The shift in power. The lingering scent of death in the air.

She had felt Elain’s soul leave this world.

And she had come for answers.

Her icy blue-gray eyes flickered to the healer’s table where you lay, too still, too pale, your body trembling under Madja’s ministrations.

Nesta’s stomach twisted violently at the sight of you, but her voice was calm, firm, demanding. "What the hell happened?"

The tension in the room thickened, heavy as stone.

Rhysand let out a slow, deliberate breath, stepping forward, his violet gaze dark, unreadable. "Nesta—"

"Tell me," she snapped, eyes flickering between him and Feyre. "Now."

Rhysand exhaled again, then reached for her mind. "Look."

Nesta stiffened.

And then—her mind filled with the truth.

Every brutal moment.

The cabin.

Rhys arriving just before Alatar could take you.

Alatar revealing his true plan, the spell on Azriel, his manipulation, his deal with Elain.

The Winter Court.

Azriel with Elain, holding her, touching her, saying he didn’t know you.

Helion breaking the spell.

Azriel remembering everything, the horror on his face.

Elain’s smirk, her refusal to surrender.

Elain’s knife sinking into your stomach, her twisting it.

Her attempting to kill Azriel, only for Lucien to step in and end her.

The images faded, the connection severing.

Nesta staggered back, clutching her head, her breath shaking.

Her face was blank, unreadable.

She said nothing for a long, agonizing moment.

And then—she spoke, her voice quiet, strained. "She did all of this…?"

Rhysand nodded. "Yes."

Nesta's hands clenched into fists.

"She poisoned Azriel," she murmured, her tone empty, cold. "She altered his mind."

Rhysand didn’t move, his expression grim.

"She tried to kill them both." Nesta swallowed hard, blinking rapidly as she processed everything.

Her sister.

Her sister had done this.

Had gone so far down a path of destruction that there had been no turning back.

Had nearly killed you.

Had tried to kill Azriel.

And then Lucien…

Nesta’s head snapped up. "Lucien killed her."

Rhysand inclined his head. "Yes."

Nesta’s breath hitched.

For a long moment, she said nothing.

And then—she closed her eyes, inhaled deeply, and when she exhaled, it was steady. "I understand."

Rhysand blinked.

Even Feyre’s breath caught.

Nesta’s expression was unreadable, but her hands—her hands no longer trembled.

"You do?" Rhysand asked cautiously.

Nesta nodded, her blue-gray eyes hardening to steel.

"Elain wasn’t going to stop," she said simply. "She would have kept coming for them."

Her voice was flat, emotionless. "Lucien did what had to be done."

Feyre swallowed thickly, stepping closer.

"Nesta—" she started, but Nesta held up a hand.*

"I’m not angry," she said sharply. "I’m sad. I’m—" she hesitated, her throat working as if she was struggling to find the words.

"She was my sister." Her voice wavered just slightly. "And I loved her."

Her jaw tightened. "But I will not excuse what she did."

She turned to Rhysand, her eyes burning with cold fire. "If Lucien hadn’t done it, I would have."

Feyre let out a soft, broken noise, her face crumbling. "Nesta, she was—"

"She was gone," Nesta interrupted, her tone final. "Long before tonight, Feyre. We lost her a long time ago."

A heavy, aching silence settled between the sisters.

And then, Nesta turned back to you. "Is she going to make it?"

Azriel let out a quiet, strangled sound, gripping your hand even tighter, his voice hoarse, barely a whisper. "I don’t know."

Nesta’s gaze softened.

She moved closer to the healer’s table, her fingers lightly brushing your forehead, smoothing back your hair.

"You have to fight, Y/N," she murmured. "You’ve survived too much to let that miserable excuse of a sister take you down now."

Her lips pressed together tightly, and she glanced at Madja. "Do whatever it takes to save her."

Madja nodded once, her magic pulsing around you.

Nesta turned back to Rhysand and Feyre, her face unreadable.

"Tell Lucien I want to speak with him."

Feyre hesitated. "Nesta—"

"Just tell him," she repeated, her voice sharp as steel.

Rhysand and Feyre exchanged glances, but neither questioned her further.

Nesta inhaled deeply, rolling back her shoulders, straightening herself.

And when she spoke next, her voice was clear, decisive.

"It’s time we bury Elain Archeron."

And with that, she turned and walked out of the infirmary, never once looking back.

*****

The House of Wind loomed before him, its towering spires sharp against the evening sky.

Lucien exhaled slowly, steeling himself before stepping through its halls.

He had come to check on you.

To make sure you were still breathing.

To make sure you hadn’t slipped away in the night.

He couldn’t bear to lose you too.

His boots echoed against the stone floors as he made his way to the infirmary, the air thick with tension and the lingering scent of blood and magic.

The moment he stepped inside, his amber gaze swept across the room.

And then—he saw you.

You were pale, so pale, lying beneath the glow of Madja’s healing magic.

Azriel was at your bedside, gripping your hand, his wings pulled tight against his back, his shadows coiled protectively around you like a living shield.

He looked like a male on the edge of breaking.

And Lucien understood that feeling all too well.

Azriel’s hazel eyes flickered up, locking onto Lucien’s.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

And then—Azriel cleared his throat, his voice hoarse, raw. "Thank you."

Lucien blinked. "For what?"

Azriel’s throat bobbed, his grip on your hand tightening slightly. "For helping her."

He inhaled sharply. "For believing that I truly love her."

Lucien studied him for a long moment.

Then—he sighed.

"She’s my best friend," Lucien murmured. "And I will protect her as long as I am living."

Azriel nodded once, his jaw tightening, his gaze falling back to you.

Lucien looked to Rhysand, who stood near the healer’s table, arms crossed, his violet eyes shadowed with exhaustion.

"I brought her body with me," Lucien said, his voice quiet.

Rhysand’s gaze sharpened. "Elain’s?"

Lucien nodded. "She’s in the morgue for now."

He let out a slow, measured breath.

"I fully expect to be exiled from the Night Court for good," he continued. "After taking the life of the High Lady’s sister, I know there is no place for me here."

His voice was steady, resolved. "I am ready to face whatever comes."

A heavy silence settled over the room.

And then—soft footsteps echoed behind him.

Lucien turned.

Nesta and Feyre stood in the doorway, their expressions unreadable.

Lucien inhaled sharply, bracing himself.

Feyre took a small step forward, her hands clasped before her. "You brought her home," she murmured.

Lucien nodded. "She deserved a proper burial."

Feyre’s violet eyes shimmered with unshed tears, but she merely nodded. "Thank you."

Lucien’s lips parted slightly in surprise.

He had expected rage. Expected grief-laden screams.

But instead—gratitude.

And then—Nesta stepped forward.

Lucien straightened, preparing himself.

But Nesta only sighed, shaking her head.

"I wish it hadn’t come to this," she said softly. "But I understand why it did."

Lucien stilled. "You do?"

Nesta’s icy blue-gray eyes flickered to your still form, to the faint rise and fall of your chest.

"Elain was never going to stop," she said simply. "You knew it. I knew it. And deep down—Feyre knew it too."

Feyre flinched slightly, but didn’t deny it.

Lucien swallowed hard. "I took your sister’s life," he murmured. "I won’t ask for your forgiveness."

Nesta’s jaw tightened.

"Good," she said. "Because you won’t get it."

Lucien’s stomach twisted.

But then—she exhaled. "But I won’t condemn you either."

Lucien blinked.

Nesta’s gaze flickered back to you. "She would be dead if you hadn’t stepped in."

Her voice was steady, unwavering. "And if that had happened, I would have killed Elain myself."

Feyre let out a shaky breath, her fingers curling into the fabric of her tunic.

"I don’t know how to feel," she admitted. "She was my sister. But she was also a monster. And I don’t know when she became one."

Her voice broke slightly on the last word.

Lucien exhaled slowly. "Neither do I."

A silence stretched between them.

And then—Feyre lifted her chin. "I won’t exile you, Lucien."

Lucien stilled, his eyes widening slightly. "You—"

"You did what had to be done," Feyre interrupted. "And you brought her home."

Her voice was gentle, but firm. "You are still welcome in the Night Court."

Lucien’s breath hitched.

He had been so ready to walk away.

Had prepared himself for banishment.

Had accepted it.

But now—this.

A second chance.

A chance to stay.

A chance to remain by your side.

His throat tightened, emotion constricting his lungs.

"Thank you," he murmured.

Feyre nodded, blinking back the tears in her eyes.

Nesta merely exhaled, crossing her arms. "Elain is gone," she said. "And now, we move forward for Y/n."

Chapter 22

[pixelchills]

Can you tell us some fun facts about dolldrops?

Oh, gladly! I can include some in-universe facts and facts about the real-life dolls!

In-universe (fictional):

Dolldrops have been in their doll bodies for over 10 years now (7 years with Mrs Flora, 3+ years with Chill).

Sunny is left-handed and has a squeaker in his right hand. Moony is right-handed and has a squeaker in his left.

The dolldrops are ageless. They act like responsible adults in some areas of their lives and like kids/babies in others.

They pretend to get married at least once a month.

Sunny is a frequent giggler and loves anything that has him included (except check-ups).

Moony has a very ticklish spot on his back where the hook used to be in their old body.

The Dolldrops were eventually legally adopted by Chill and changed their names to Sunspot and Moonbean.

Moony gets rid of any bugs that come inside the house. He chews them up and then spits them to the bin.

Sunny runs everywhere. He only walks when he's feeling down (or holding hands with Moon).

Moony sometimes sucks his thumb.

Sunny is much clumsier than Moony for some reason.

They're both cuddlebugs.

They both love watching Bluey.

Sunny has tiny solar panels inside his rays that make him the more energetic of the two.

Moony sometimes chews cables.

Sunny does most of the chores in the house.

Moony has lazy cat energy, Sunny is more like a small, excited dog.

The real life dolls:

They're sturdy enough to stand on their own.

They're constantly gaining more clothes because I am hopeless when it comes to baby clothes lol.

The dolls have their own drawers for clothing and 'their toys'.

Moony is gonna be a lot quicker and easier to do than Sunny. Sunny's rays took most of the time because they had to be hand sewn.

They've grown a little bit from their original size. The original dolls were 50cm tall but currently Sunny stands at 64cm (with rays).

Sunny weights approx. 1 kg.

My husband and I often pretend that Sunny is our super annoying toddler son (and we blame him for all the stuff that goes missing/gets broken).

Everytime hubby and I leave the house we say: "Dolldrops, you're in charge! Take care of the house while we're gone."

I wish to give the dolls voiceboxes/speakers somewhere in the future.

Hubby wants to make them a small ballpit.

The irl dolls are also traumatised by a vacuum cleaner: my best friends was helping me with Sun's rays and then started to hoover around to clean the dust. She bumped the table where Sun's rays were waiting and one of them fell straight in front of the hoover, which sucked it in XD We joke about Sunny being afraid of her now lol.

Everyone in my family loves them; my mum says they're her "grand-dolls"; my nieces want to always see pictures of the dolls when I see them; my sister compares Dolldrop Sunny to our grandfather's "muse", which was a monkey plush (grandpa was also an artist).

Thanks for the question, it was fun to come up with these! 🥰

[sturniololuvz]

Love your fics!!! Can you do one were the triplets little sister is dating Nate, and they get into a fight and they aren’t on speaking terms, and the triplets invite him over to hang out, it’s rlly awkward and the triplets catch on that there fighting and try to get them to make up with a game, or something, at the end they make up

okayyyyy

“Making Up the Sturniolo Way”

Sturniolos + Nate x sister

Warnings : none

Y/N and Nate had been fighting for the past two days, and the tension was unbearable. They weren’t talking, barely even looking at each other, and the triplets had definitely noticed.

At first, Nick, Matt, and Chris thought it was just a small disagreement that would pass, but after two days of Y/N rolling her eyes at Nate and Nate sighing every time Y/N entered the room, they knew something was up. So, naturally, they took matters into their own hands.

“Yo, Nate, come over. We’re hanging out,” Matt texted.

Bringing him over without telling Y/N was risky, but they needed to do something. When Nate arrived, Y/N was in the kitchen getting a snack. The second she saw him, she froze.

“What is he doing here?” she muttered under her breath.

Nate sighed. “Oh, great.”

The triplets exchanged looks. This was bad.

Chris clapped his hands together. “Alright, we��re playing a game.”

“I don’t feel like—” Y/N started.

“Didn’t ask,” Nick cut in. “We’re playing, so sit down.”

They sat in a circle in the living room, an awkward distance between Y/N and Nate. Chris grabbed a deck of cards and started dealing.

“Alright, we’re playing ‘truth or dare,’ but with a twist. You have to do whatever the card says, no backing out.”

They started off lighthearted, but when it was Y/N’s turn, she pulled a card that said: “Say something nice about the person across from you.”

Unfortunately for her, that person was Nate.

She groaned. “I hate you guys.”

Nick grinned. “Rules are rules.”

Y/N sighed and crossed her arms. “Fine. Uh… I like that you always make time for me, even when you’re busy.”

Nate glanced at her, surprised. He softened a little before pulling his own card. “Hold hands with the person to your left for a full minute.”

His left? Y/N.

Chris nearly choked trying not to laugh as Nate hesitated. “Do it,” Matt urged.

Reluctantly, Nate reached out, and Y/N let him take her hand. At first, it was stiff and awkward, but after a few seconds, she relaxed.

By the end of the round, the tension had faded.

As the game continued, Nate and Y/N started bickering, but in the way they always had—teasing and playful. By the time Chris dared them to hug it out, they didn’t even hesitate.

When Nate pulled her in, Y/N mumbled against his chest, “I missed you.”

“Missed you too,” he whispered back.

The triplets smirked at each other. Mission accomplished.