#to look forward to after work. and perhaps having something to look forward to sounds simple... but for me it meant so much :') | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

earthlybeam · 1 day ago

Note

Hi! I absolutely adore your work and I’ve devoured it every chance I’ve had. I wanted to ask if you would be willing to do the elves (Haldir, Thranduil, Legolas, Lindir, and whoever else you want to add) having a elven partner who is a healer and is looking after them after an injury of some kind.

I’m a nursing student and this is like a dream imagine situation for me 🩷

Thank you so much for your kind words! 🫶 I’d be more than happy to write small prompts for you. Here’s a brief healing moment for each of the elves you mentioned, featuring you as their healer and partner: Thranduil, Legolas, Haldir, lindir versions below.

🍷𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓾𝓲𝓵

The hunt had begun with the quiet grace that was characteristic of Thranduil’s people. The dense forest, usually so full of life, was eerily calm this morning, a stillness that seemed to press against the senses. The Elvenking rode ahead of his party, astride his great elk, a majestic creature with antlers like the branches of an ancient tree. His crown of silver leaves sparkled faintly in the early morning light, a regal symbol that made him appear as much a part of the woodland as the trees themselves. For all his calm and collected demeanor, Thranduil was acutely aware of the strange quiet that had fallen over the forest. Birds were absent, and the air was thick with an unsettling tension. He narrowed his eyes, his sharp senses pricking at the hairs on the back of his neck. A faint rustling somewhere in the underbrush caught his attention—just the wind, perhaps? Or was it something more?

He shook the feeling off, urging his elk forward, confident in the power of his animal companion, who had always been steady and obedient. But today was different. A sudden, high-pitched noise broke the stillness of the woods. It was sharp and unnatural, a sound that seemed to slice through the calm. Thranduil’s elk startled, its massive body jerking under the pressure of the unexpected noise. The great creature reared, its hooves striking the air with panicked force, its broad nostrils flaring as it bolted forward, completely unhinged. Thranduil gripped the reins, trying to steady the animal, but the suddenness of the reaction took him by surprise. His usual command of his elk, honed over centuries of companionship, faltered in the face of the unexpected terror. He cursed softly under his breath, pulling on the reins with all his strength, trying to bring the creature under control. But the elk was frantic, its large body surging forward in an uncontrollable panic.

The forest blurred in a frantic rush of color as Thranduil fought to regain control. Trees flashed by on either side, their trunks becoming mere shadows in the chaos. His elk’s hooves thudded loudly on the ground, thundering with each panicked stride. Thranduil’s focus was razor-sharp—his mind calculating, analyzing—but the panic in the creature beneath him was becoming harder to quell. He could feel the animal’s muscles twitch, its body straining against the sudden onslaught of fear. Thranduil’s grip tightened on the reins, urging the beast to slow, to regain its balance. And for a brief moment, it seemed as though the creature might listen. The frantic pace began to slow, the elk’s breathing heavy and wild. But the moment of calm was fleeting. With a final, frightened lurch, the great elk skidded to a halt, the jarring motion coming so suddenly that Thranduil’s body was violently thrown forward.

Before he could react, his own momentum pulled him from the saddle. His heart skipped a beat as he was yanked from his perch, flung headfirst toward the unforgiving forest floor. His mind barely registered the collision as his head slammed into the thick, gnarled root of a tree that had risen just out of sight beneath the foliage. The world spun in an instant—bright stars bursting across his vision, the sharp sting of impact exploding in his skull. For a brief, disorienting moment, there was nothing but the feeling of weightless void. He could hear the rapid thud of his own heartbeat in his ears, and his mind fought to keep focus as pain rippled through his body. His breath came in shallow gasps, but his limbs refused to move. Everything felt… distant. Then, as the fog of shock slowly began to clear, Thranduil tried to push himself up, but his head felt as though it were encased in stone. His vision swam, and a thin line of blood trickled down his temple, mingling with his platinum blonde hair. The cold, rough texture of the tree root under his skull sent a jolt of reality through him, and he realized with a sudden clarity that he had fallen hard—far harder than he had intended. The once unyielding strength in his limbs seemed to falter, and for the first time in ages, he felt vulnerable.

His breaths came in uneven gasps as he tried to gather himself, his hands reaching out to steady himself, but the world around him seemed to waver like a fading dream. The moment of stunned silence was broken by the frantic cries of his hunting party, the sound of hurried footsteps and panicked voices drawing closer. “My king!” one of his hunters called, his voice trembling with fear. But Thranduil could do nothing but lie there, his once-proud composure shattered in the wake of the fall. His crown, symbolic of his power and pride, lay broken beside him, shattered pieces of silver scattered across the forest floor like remnants of a forgotten kingdom. And for the first time in centuries, the Elvenking—proud, untouchable, and fierce—was brought low.

The Elvenking’s hunting party had returned in chaos. His majestic elk, usually so composed and steady, had burst through the gates without its rider, Thranduil. Panic rippled through the gathering of elves, their faces pale as whispers of uncertainty and fear spread like wildfire. The sharp tang of alarm filled the air, a feeling so foreign, it tightened around your chest with unrelenting force. Without a word, you pushed past the gathering elves, your legs moving before your mind could fully catch up. You followed their frantic gestures, their pointing fingers leading you into the depths of the forest, each step heavy with the growing dread that something had gone terribly wrong.

The further you went, the more the forest seemed to have shifted—branches shattered underfoot, the ground churned, as if something had violently disturbed the natural peace of the woods. A sickening stillness hung in the air. And then, through a veil of broken branches, you found him. Thranduil lay sprawled across the forest floor, his form crumpled in a way that was far too unnatural for someone as regal as him. His platinum blonde hair, once gleaming like moonlight, was matted with blood, his crown shattered beside him as if it had been violently torn from his head. His face was pale, eyes closed, a deep gash on his temple still weeping blood. The sight of him, the proud and mighty king who had stood unyielding for centuries, brought low in such a manner, made your heart stutter. You froze for a moment, an icy wave of fear flooding your senses.

But that fear quickly turned into action. Dropping to your knees at his side, your hands trembled as you reached for him. His head had struck the ground with brutal force, the impact clear in the way his body lay unnaturally still. The forest around you seemed to hold its breath as you gently brushed the strands of hair away from his face, your fingers lightly grazing his cool skin. His chest rose and fell, a small, comforting sign of life, but the stillness of his limbs sent a shiver down your spine. “Thranduil,” you called, your voice low and urgent, though your throat constricted around the words. You needed him to respond. You needed him to fight. His eyes fluttered open at the sound of your voice, but they were not the sharp, calculating eyes you knew so well. They were dulled, unfocused, clouded with the disorientation of pain and the shock of his fall. The king, the great Thranduil, was not the figure of command you had always known in this moment. He was human, vulnerable, and it tore at something deep within you. He blinked a few times, his gaze struggling to focus on you as if the world around him was spinning out of control

Thranduil’s eyes fluttered open slowly, a haze of confusion clouding his usually sharp gaze. His brow furrowed, still trying to make sense of what had happened. The pain in his temple was blinding, the force of his fall nearly unbearable, but his pride—his unyielding pride—held him back from fully acknowledging it. He blinked a few times, trying to focus, trying to hold on to his usual commanding presence. The world around him was dizzy, but the sound of your voice cut through the fog. “Stay with me,” you pleaded, your voice trembling but firm as you gently cradled his head, lifting it slightly to inspect the injury. Your fingers brushed back his platinum blonde hair, your touch soft against his cool skin. It pained you to see him like this—vulnerable, fragile in a way he had never allowed himself to be. He was the mighty Elvenking, a figure of strength and command, yet now he was crumpled on the forest floor, his pride shattered almost as much as his crown. His lips parted weakly, his breath shallow as he whispered, “Do not fret, just little fall.” Even in this state, his voice held traces of that usual command, though it was laced with pain, his words faltering as he spoke. He wanted so desperately to push away your worry, to return to the stoic, indomitable figure that others looked to for strength. But beneath that facade, his body was trembling, and his pride was wounded as much as his head. “Do not fuss over me I’m no baby who needs coddling,” he continued, though there was no force in his tone, no strength left to push you away. His gaze, clouded with discomfort, met yours briefly, his eyes heavy with exhaustion and yet still trying to uphold his dignity. “It is nothing.” The words, meant to assure both you and himself, only highlighted the stark contrast between the proud king and the broken man before you.

You couldn’t stop the flare of frustration that stirred within you. You knew him—too well. You knew that his pride ran deeper than most things, and right now, his body was betraying him. His stubbornness was as sharp as his wit, but it could not change the fact that he had been brought low in the worst possible way. “It is not nothing,” you said, your voice soft yet firm, your hands still look at his temple, despite his protests. You moved with careful precision, the blood already matting his platinum blonde hair, the swelling at his temple alarming. You had seen warriors brought down before, but never someone so regal, so fiercely proud. “Even a king needs care.”

He winced sharply as the you touched the injury, his composure faltering for a fleeting moment as the pain surged through him. His breath hitched, his chest rising and falling unevenly as the pain took hold. His stoicism, once unwavering, broke for the briefest second, and you could see it in the way his lips pressed together tightly, his jaw clenched in an effort to maintain control. His pride had been wounded, not just from the injury, but from the fact that he needed help at all. For a moment, his regal composure seemed to crack, and he turned his head away from your gaze, as if to hide the weakness that had so unexpectedly overtaken him. Despite his discomfort, your presence brought him a strange sense of solace—though he would never admit it aloud. His pride fought against it, tried to dismiss the care you offered, but in that moment, even Thranduil had to acknowledge the gentle force of your touch. He allowed himself a brief, fleeting moment of vulnerability before the armor of his pride slowly began to close back around him.

Thranduil’s pride, still reeling from the injury, caused him to mutter bitterly, “This is… unseemly.” His words were laced with a mixture of frustration and deep embarrassment, emotions he rarely allowed to surface. The king, so accustomed to commanding and controlling his surroundings, was now reduced to a broken figure on the ground, his strength failing him. His gaze flickered away from you, as though to escape the softness in your eyes that only made the vulnerability of the moment more piercing. But as your fingers brushed against his cheek, gentle and steady, the tension in his body seemed to melt away, if only for a heartbeat. His eyes slowly lifted to meet yours, and for a fleeting moment, the great Elvenking was no longer a king at all—he was simply a man, raw and exposed, vulnerable in a way that was both foreign and strangely comforting. The fierce warrior, the monarch who demanded reverence, was now quietly surrendering, his gaze softening in your presence. “You are not unseemly,” you replied, your voice steady, though your heart ached to see him like this. His pride may have been bruised, but he was still the same being you loved—dignified, noble, and deserving of care. “You are my heart, Thranduil, and I will not let harm take you.” Your words rang clear, soothing the tangled storm of emotions that threatened to rise within you.

The faintest flicker of a smile ghosted across his lips, but it was brief—too brief. The usual strength in his smile was missing, replaced by something softer, something quieter, and it nearly broke you to see it. He may have been struggling to accept his fragility, but in that small, quiet moment, you saw him as he was: a king, yes, but also a man who needed someone to lean on, someone who would not abandon him. His fingers brushed against yours, a fleeting gesture that carried so much weight. It was a silent admission, a wordless plea for comfort and reassurance. Thranduil’s body relaxed ever so slightly, leaning into your touch as if it was the only anchor he could cling to in the vast sea of his discomfort. His pride still stood at the edge, watching from afar, but for now, he allowed himself to trust you—trust you in a way he had never allowed himself to trust another. Though his strength had yet to return fully, his trust in you was evident now—clear and unwavering. In this quiet moment, surrounded by the stillness of the forest, the great Elvenking, the fierce and unyielding leader of his people, allowed himself to lean on you. His pride did not allow for much, but here, in your care, he found solace. He found safety. And for once, Thranduil let himself be cared for, let himself simply be… yours. The journey back to the palace had been slow, the weight of Thranduil’s injury pressing down on both of you. Every movement seemed to send waves of discomfort through him, but the king made no sound of protest. His pride still held firm, though his body faltered beneath its weight. You walked beside him, offering support when necessary, keeping him steady with your touch.

Once you had him safely in the healer’s ward, you gently laid him on the cushioned table. The dimly lit room smelled of herbs and healing oils, the quiet hum of the palace a distant backdrop to the focus required to tend to the Elvenking’s wounds. His platinum blonde hair, though damp from sweat, had mostly dried, but the blood at his temple had matted in a dark patch, still visible under the soft glow of lantern light. You could tell that the impact of the fall had been severe, but it was the uncertainty of his condition that left you with a deep unease. Was it only the gash at his temple, or had something more sinister been inflicted upon him? You moved to his side, careful not to startle him. He was lying still now, his chest rising and falling in slow, steady breaths. His golden eyes, though clouded with fatigue, flickered toward you as you took your place at his side. He didn’t speak immediately, and the silence between you was thick, but not uncomfortable. It felt, in some strange way, like an unspoken acknowledgment of the gravity of the moment—of his vulnerability. The king was always a figure of strength, but now, there was only a man before you, needing care. Thranduil’s voice, though weak, was still firm. “You need not fuss over me meleth nin,” he murmured, his words almost automatic, a reflex born from a lifetime of pride. You leaned over him, your fingers gently tracing the edges of the wound on his temple, feeling the jagged line of it, the warmth of the blood beneath your touch. “I am not fussing, Thranduil,” you replied softly, your tone soft but steady. “You’re not just my king… you’re my heart. I will not let this pass without care.”

His breath hitched for a brief moment, and his eyes flickered with something unreadable. His pride battled against the helplessness of the situation. Thranduil had always been the one to protect, to guide, and now he was the one in need of protection. The thought brought a mix of sorrow and tenderness, and for a heartbeat, you almost felt his vulnerability more than the pain he bore. Your fingers brushed over his temple again, applying a damp cloth soaked in a healing mixture of crushed herbs and water. He winced, though only slightly, the movement barely perceptible. You frowned slightly, concern furrowing your brow. “I think you may have a concussion,” you said quietly, more to yourself than to him. “The fall was hard… it’s possible.” Thranduil didn’t respond immediately, but his gaze followed your every movement, the slight flicker of trust beginning to form. “A concussion… a king’s fall should not be so unceremonious,” he muttered with a weak laugh that was anything but mirthful.

You smiled softly, though your heart ached to hear his words, and leaned closer, your hand gently resting over his. “No, but even kings are not invincible.” He seemed to think on this, his lips pressing together in a thin line, as if weighing your words. Then, his fingers shifted slightly, brushing against yours, though the movement was subtle. The smallest of gestures, but in it, you could feel the silent agreement—his walls had lowered just enough to let you in, even if only for a moment. With great care, you began to prepare a mixture of healing herbs—ones that would ease the swelling and accelerate his recovery. You applied it to the wound carefully, your movements slow, deliberate, as you worked with both precision and tenderness. His breath deepened as the soothing mixture took effect, calming the burn of the wound. The swelling at his temple was still troubling, but you could feel it beginning to lessen under your touch, the soft magic you infused him with helping to mend the damage.

He let out a quiet sigh, and his body seemed to relax under your touch. “You always know what to do,” he murmured, his voice laced with a mixture of admiration and something more personal—perhaps a fleeting recognition of his dependence on you in this moment. You didn’t answer immediately, focusing instead on carefully binding the wound with a clean cloth, ensuring it was firm but not tight. When you were finished, you gently wiped the sweat from his brow and looked into his eyes, seeing a softness there that wasn’t often visible. “It’s not about knowing,” you replied, your voice low and reassuring. “It’s about caring. About being here when it matters most.”

Thranduil’s gaze softened further, and for a brief, rare moment, he allowed himself to simply exist in the quiet solace you offered. Even as the Elvenking, fierce and proud, he could not escape the fact that he needed you in this moment—needed the care and trust you gave him. The king, no matter how powerful, was still just a man in your eyes, and that truth seemed to settle over him like a quiet balm. His hand, which had rested beside him, moved slightly, brushing against yours again. The touch was light, but there was a weight to it—a sense of quiet gratitude that he did not express in words, but in the subtle tenderness of his gesture. As you finished tending to the last of the bandages, you stood back, looking down at him. Thranduil’s breathing had steadied, and the tension in his body had dissipated somewhat, though fatigue still clung to him. It would take time for him to recover, but for now, he was safe in your care. “You will heal,” you said quietly, more to reassure yourself than anything. “But for now, rest.” His icy blue eyes met yours again, and the faintest glimmer of something like trust, or perhaps even affection, flickered in his gaze.

“Rest… yes,” he murmured, his voice growing softer. “For once, I will listen.” With that, you settled into a comfortable silence, both of you aware that healing was not just about physical wounds, but emotional ones too. And for now, as his hand brushed lightly against yours, you knew that, in this moment, you had both found some small measure of peace. Thranduil’s lips twitched upward, and his voice, though still weak, took on a teasing edge. “With the luxury of my wine, of course.” You shot him a look, part amusement, part exasperation. “Always your wine, Thranduil,” you scolded gently, but there was a warmth in your voice. “You can’t be serious all the time, can you?” He smirked, a faint glimmer of the mischievous king you knew well. “It is a noble king’s prerogative to enjoy the finer things in life, my dear.” You shook your head, but a soft smile tugged at your lips as you brushed his hair back from his forehead. “I swear, you’ll never change. But don’t think I don’t love you for it.” He closed his eyes briefly, a contented sigh escaping his lips. “And I, you,” he murmured, his tone sincere, despite the playful words. And in that quiet, the two of you were content—one wounded but healing, the other tender and full of love. It was in these moments, as fleeting as they were, that you both found peace in each other’s presence.

🍃𝓛𝓮𝓰𝓸𝓵𝓪𝓼

The wind was fierce in the canopy that morning, howling between the dense branches of the great trees of Mirkwood, sending leaves and twigs swirling through the air like a flurry of whispers. Legolas had always been at home in these heights, his movements a symphony of grace and precision, his every leap and bound almost instinctive. He was the prince of the woodland realm, after all—one with the forest, capable of navigating the thicket of trees as if he were born to it. Today, however, the winds had a different temperament. They tugged at the branches, pushing them in ways that were foreign to Legolas’ usual rhythm. Despite the occasional gust, he pressed on, undeterred by the wind’s unpredictable nature. His target was just ahead—a large, sturdy oak that beckoned with its wide, curved trunk, an ideal vantage point to survey the path ahead of him.

With a quiet intake of breath, Legolas pushed himself from the branch he stood on, aiming for the next tree. His feet hit the bark of a nearby trunk, but the moment his foot made contact, the wind howled, sending the branch above him shaking. A sharp, biting gust knocked him off balance, sending his weight tipping too far forward. He flailed, trying to catch himself, but there was no saving his fall. His foot slipped and caught on something—a hidden vine that had been entwined around the branch, its tendrils nearly invisible beneath the thick leaves. The vine yanked him downward with terrifying speed.

Legolas had no time to react, his body twisting awkwardly as he plunged into the air. The ground rushed toward him with an unforgiving speed, the leaves and branches below offering no soft landing. He collided with the earth, his body slamming into the forest floor with a sickening crack, his breath knocked from his chest. The sharp pain that followed surged through his body, the unmistakable sound of snapping bone echoing in his ears. His left arm crumpled beneath him at an unnatural angle, and he gasped for breath, the world around him blurring as the pain spread like fire. For a moment, he simply lay there, stunned, his chest heaving with shallow breaths. The wind continued to roar above, but to Legolas, it felt muffled, as if the world had drawn a curtain around his consciousness. His arm was on fire, and when he tried to move, a sharp jolt of pain stabbed through his side. His ribs had taken the brunt of the impact, and he could feel the ache deep within his chest. Blood surged to his face as he struggled to lift his head, the taste of copper in his mouth.

He tried to focus, to push through the pain, but it was too much. His vision swam in and out, the edges of the world growing hazy. The forest seemed to grow distant, even as the familiar rustle of leaves and the distant call of birds lingered. But there, in the midst of it all, a familiar presence approached, cutting through the fog of his senses like a lifeline. “Legolas!” The voice called out, strained with worry. He tried to lift his head, to reassure you, but his muscles refused to obey. Instead, he clenched his jaw tightly and forced a weak, pained smile, as if to say that he was fine, that it wasn’t as bad as it seemed. But even to his own ears, it sounded hollow. The sharpness of his breath betrayed him, and the agony seeping through his side and arm was an undeniable truth. His body was broken, his pride wounded more than anything else. “I should have been more careful,” he murmured, his voice barely audible, his eyes darting toward you. He longed to stand, to be strong and invulnerable as he always had been—but today, the forest had proven him wrong.

You knelt beside him, your heart aching at the sight of the once-immovable elf now reduced to a figure of vulnerability, his chest heaving with every strained breath. The forest around you, usually a place of strength and safety, felt strangely hollow in the wake of Legolas’s fall. There was a heavy silence between the two of you, broken only by the soft rustling of the wind and Legolas’s pained breathing. His face, usually so full of resolve, was now marked by an expression you rarely saw—a mixture of frustration and helplessness. Legolas’s gaze met yours, and though he tried to muster a smile, it was weak, faltering. His pale lips trembled slightly, his eyes betraying the agony that racked his body. His pride, ever so strong, was struggling beneath the weight of his injury. You reached out, gently placing a hand on his uninjured arm, hoping to offer him some comfort, some reassurance that he wasn’t alone in this moment.

“You are careful,” you said softly, your voice unwavering. “This was simply misfortune. The winds… they are strong today, and the vines—” You shook your head, trailing off. “This is not your fault.” You could see the internal struggle in his eyes, the battle between accepting help and retaining his dignity. You didn’t want to add to his frustration, so you simply stayed by his side, offering your steady presence. The words felt inadequate against the weight of his pain, but you hoped the softness in your voice would reach him where words alone couldn’t. You stayed quiet for a moment, allowing the connection between you both to speak where words had failed. Legolas didn’t have to say anything; the look he gave you—so full of trust, of quiet acceptance—spoke louder than anything he could have voiced. Despite the agony clearly radiating from his body, he seemed to find solace in your proximity. His chest, which had been rising and falling in shallow, frantic gasps, began to steady a little. He let out a small breath, his eyes closing for just a second as if gathering strength from your touch. “I… I did not wish to fail,” he whispered, his voice ragged. “You didn’t fail, Legolas.” You kept your tone soft and steady, pressing your palm against his arm in an attempt to convey more than words ever could. “You’re here, and that’s what matters. We’ll take care of you. I won’t leave you.”

There was a pause, and in that quiet space, Legolas’s lips parted slightly, but he didn’t speak. His chest continued to rise and fall, and for a moment, you could see the flicker of something in his eyes—a deep gratitude, even if he didn’t voice it. You exhaled slowly, drawing yourself up and positioning yourself to support him. The forest was still swirling with the sharp gusts of wind, but they felt distant now, as if the world had narrowed to just the two of you. You could sense his reluctance to move, to allow you to help him, but you could also see the helplessness there. “Legolas, I need you to let me help you,” you said, your voice firm yet gentle, the way one would coax a wounded animal back to safety. “We need to get you back to the palace, to the healer’s ward. You need rest, and the proper care.” He shifted slightly, his face contorted in discomfort, but he nodded ever so slightly, accepting your words despite the obvious strain. “I trust you,” he whispered, though the words sounded more like a promise than a statement.

With a steadying breath, you gently helped him sit up, supporting his weight as you moved slowly to your feet, your hands moving with practiced ease despite the worry gnawing at you. His arm—broken and hanging awkwardly—made it difficult for him to move, but he leaned into you, trusting you not to let him fall. You felt his body shudder slightly with each step, and you pressed him closer to your side, your arm wrapping around his back to support him. The walk back to the palace would not be easy, and Legolas would certainly protest at every slow, painful step, but right now, the greatest comfort you could offer him was this—your steady presence and your promise that you would not let him go, not now, when he needed you most. The forest seemed to fade into the background, and all that mattered was the bond you shared, the understanding between you.

Together, you would face the journey ahead, the hardship of the return to the palace, and the healing that would follow. You only hoped the healer’s ward—or perhaps your own chambers—would be enough to ease the pain of his body, as you had already begun to ease the burden on his heart. The journey back to the palace had been slow, each step a painful reminder of Legolas’s injury. His body leaned heavily against you, his breath shallow and labored, but through it all, he made no complaint. He trusted you, and that trust seemed to be a steadying force between the two of you.

When you finally reached your healer’s chambers, the weight of relief was almost tangible. The familiar scent of herbs, the soft glow of candles, and the calming silence of the room provided a sense of safety you both needed. You gently eased Legolas onto the cushioned cot, making sure he was as comfortable as possible despite his injuries. His pale face showed the strain of the journey, but there was a flicker of gratitude in his eyes as he settled, his left arm resting awkwardly at his side. “Legolas,” you murmured softly, “I need to tend to your wounds now.” He gave a slight nod, though his gaze shifted to the fire in the corner of the room. His thoughts seemed distant for a moment, and you couldn’t help but wonder if he was still feeling the sting of his own helplessness. But then his eyes met yours again, steady, though still strained with pain. “I trust you,” he said, the words laced with quiet reassurance. It was a simple statement, yet one that carried so much weight—perhaps more than he realized. In those three words, there was a sense of surrender, of willingness to allow you to care for him in the way that only you could.

You moved to his side, your hands gently cupping his injured head. There was a deep gash at his temple, a result of the harsh impact when he fell. The blood had dried around the wound, leaving dark streaks in his golden hair, but the cut itself, though deep, did not seem to threaten his life. You carefully wiped away the dried blood, murmuring quiet reassurances as you worked. “Hold still, Legolas,” you instructed softly, applying a healing poultice to the wound. The herb mixture would help reduce the swelling and stop the bleeding. His muscles tensed for a brief moment, the pain seeping through him, but he didn’t flinch. His gaze remained locked on you as if seeking comfort in your touch. “You know,” he said after a moment of silence, his voice still strained but laced with that familiar elvish calm, “I’ve never been in this position before. To be so reliant on someone else.”

You paused in your movements, looking into his eyes. The vulnerability there was raw, a stark contrast to the proud, composed warrior you’d always known. “It’s alright, Legolas,” you said, your voice warm and steady. “Even the strongest among us need help sometimes.” He closed his eyes, a faint exhale escaping his lips. “I know. It’s just… hard to let go.” You allowed him a moment of peace, then continued tending to his wound, your fingers careful and gentle as you bound the head wound with soft cloth. Once that was done, your attention shifted to his left arm. The bone was sprained, and though the swelling had reduced since the fall, the joint was clearly stiff and bruised. You moved with practiced ease, easing the arm into a splint, your touch soft yet firm as you ensured the injured limb was held in place. Legolas’s breath hitched slightly when you adjusted the bandages, the movement clearly painful, but he remained still.

“It’ll heal, Legolas,” you assured him quietly as you worked, your fingers deftly wrapping the cloth around his arm. “I’m not going to let it stay like this.” He let out a breath, as if trying to center himself, and then slowly nodded. “I know,” he replied, his voice tight but thankful. The final injury you needed to tend to was his ribs. You gently pressed along his side, the motion slow and deliberate. The bruising there was significant, a dark purplish hue spreading across the delicate skin of his side. You could feel the crack in the ribs, the sharp edges still unsettled, and you knew it would take time for them to heal. His breath hitched when you applied pressure to the area, the pain evident on his face, but again, he didn’t cry out. You paused, your hand resting gently on his side as you spoke in a soft, soothing tone, “I’ll use a salve to help ease the pain and help with the healing. But you need to be still. This will take time.”

“I’ll be still,” Legolas murmured, his eyes closing for a moment as he focused on the comfort you offered. “I trust you.” You worked quickly, applying the salve to the bruised skin and wrapping a bandage around his ribs to stabilize them. His body stiffened slightly at the tightness of the wrap, but there was no protest. Instead, he allowed you to continue, his focus solely on your hands as they moved with practiced care. When everything was done, you stepped back, giving him space to breathe and adjust to the healing that had just begun. He lay there, his chest rising and falling with each careful breath, his eyes now closed in rest. “You should rest,” you said quietly, your voice soft as you brushed a lock of hair from his forehead. “You’ve been through a lot, and your body needs time to heal.” Legolas’s lips parted in a faint smile, a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, but it was enough. “And you, healer, have done more than I could ever ask.” His words warmed you, though you kept your focus on him, watching over him as he drifted into a fitful sleep. In that moment, the world outside seemed distant, the forest’s winds now nothing more than a faint hum beyond the walls. All that mattered was the quiet, steady beat of his breath, and the knowledge that you would remain by his side, tending to him, helping him heal—body and heart alike.

🏹𝓗𝓪𝓵𝓭𝓲𝓻

The night had settled over Lothlórien, its deep shadows cloaking the ancient trees as the sounds of the forest murmured in the distance. Haldir, tall and regal in his elven armor, moved through the woods with his patrol, his eyes sharp, ever watchful for signs of danger. The crisp evening air seemed to hold its breath as his team of Marchwardens made their way along the northern border of the woods, silent as ghosts. The patrol was routine, at first, a quiet stretch of the forest where nothing out of the ordinary stirred. But the tension in the air was palpable — something was off. Haldir’s senses were finely tuned to the rhythms of the woods, and he could feel the disturbance before he saw it. The faintest movement caught his eye, a flash of unnatural dark shapes cutting through the trees, growing nearer. “Orcs,” he muttered under his breath, the words barely audible. He raised a hand, signaling his team to halt. The Marchwardens came to an immediate stop, crouching low behind the thick trunks of the trees, their eyes scanning the area. Haldir’s pulse quickened, but his mind remained as clear and focused as ever. There were at least six orcs—perhaps more—crawling like vermin through the underbrush. The smell of their foul presence was unmistakable, the rancid odor of their filthy bodies filling the air.

He turned to his team, issuing swift orders. “Wait for my signal. We strike in silence.” The elves melted into the shadows, their movements a blur of elegance and deadly precision. Haldir stayed at the front, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, the tip of his bow lightly brushing against his leg. The orcs were unaware of their presence, their crude voices rising in excited chatter as they drew closer to the border. Haldir’s keen eyes picked out a clearing ahead, and he knew the orcs were about to walk right into the trap. With a subtle nod, he gave the signal. The elves sprang into action. Haldir’s bowstring twanged as he loosed the first arrow, striking an orc in the chest, sending it tumbling backward. The rest of the patrol exploded into action, arrows flying with deadly precision, blades flashing as the elves descended on the orcs like a storm.

The orcs tried to fight back, but the Marchwardens were too swift, too skilled. Haldir darted forward, his sword a gleaming arc of silver in the moonlight as he engaged with the nearest orc. The beast growled in anger, raising a crude axe to swing at him. But Haldir was faster, parrying the blow with ease and cutting through the orc’s defenses with a clean, practiced strike. The orc dropped to the ground with a gurgled cry. In the chaos, Haldir’s mind remained sharp, his focus unbroken as he danced through the battle. But the orcs were numerous, and the battle raged on longer than he had anticipated. His body moved with a fluid grace, each strike and parry a seamless extension of his will. Yet, despite his skill and speed, the odds were growing against him. His team was in control, but it was a fight that would cost them. And that was when it happened.

Haldir moved to block a downward swing from an orc’s jagged sword, but the force of the blow sent a shockwave of pain through his shoulder. At that precise moment, another orc, hidden in the brush, loosed an arrow with deadly accuracy. The shaft of the arrow whistled through the air, striking Haldir squarely in the shoulder blade. The force of the impact was brutal — the arrowhead slicing deep into his flesh, the shaft snapping as it buried itself deep. The pain was immediate, searing through his body like wildfire. Haldir’s breath hitched in his chest as the wound flared up, but he refused to show any sign of weakness. His eyes narrowed as the battle continued to rage around him. He could feel the blood beginning to soak through his tunic, the warmth of it spreading quickly across his back. The arrow was lodged deep in his shoulder blade, and he knew it would take a miracle to remove it without further injury.But he did not falter.

With a sharp growl, Haldir twisted his body to face the orc who had shot him, his movements quick and purposeful despite the pain. His sword was already raised, and in one fluid motion, he severed the orc’s head from its body. The creature fell in a heap, and Haldir’s gaze swept across the remaining orcs. His hand was pressed tightly against his shoulder, but the battle was far from over. His thoughts were sharp, focused on protecting his team and ensuring the safety of the border. He fought with renewed fury, ignoring the pain in his shoulder, refusing to acknowledge the blood dripping down his back. The rest of the orcs were soon dispatched, their bodies falling to the ground in defeat. Haldir’s movements slowed as the adrenaline began to wear off, and the reality of his injury hit him all at once. His vision swam slightly, his body beginning to tremble with the effort of holding himself upright.

But even then, Haldir refused to show weakness. He turned to his comrades, nodding in approval. “The border is clear,” he said, his voice hoarse but steady. “Return to Caras Galadhon.” His warriors began the trek back, but Haldir lingered behind for a moment. His hand remained pressed against his wound, but he did not let his pace slow. The forest whispered around him, the pain in his shoulder growing worse with each step. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Haldir made the decision to return. His determination to complete his duty overrode everything else. He would return to the healing hall soon enough. But for now, the pain of the arrow in his shoulder was just another burden to bear. The border was safe. That was all that mattered. The evening air had grown still as the last rays of the sun melted beneath the horizon, leaving the forest draped in an eerie quiet. You walked with purpose toward the healing hall, your footsteps light and measured as you thought about the day’s duties. It had been an exhausting shift, but nothing you couldn’t handle. The soft rustle of leaves was the only sound, save for the occasional chirp of a bird as it settled for the night.

Then, just as you neared the hall, you heard them—footsteps. Slow, deliberate, with a familiar rhythm. Your heart skipped a beat as you instinctively recognized the tread. Haldir. The thought crossed your mind like a whisper in the wind, but the unease that followed it made you freeze. You didn’t need to see his face to know something was wrong. His presence, usually so confident, was off. When he came into view, your breath caught in your throat. Haldir, the proud and skilled Marchwarden, was walking slowly, one hand pressed tightly against his shoulder. There was an unnatural pallor to his usually composed face, his posture noticeably slumped. His steps faltered slightly with each movement, his free hand clenched at his side, almost like he was trying to hold himself together. You moved without thinking, rushing to him as the faint glint of blood caught your eyes. His usually pristine armor was marred by the dark stain seeping through the fabric. The sight of it made your heart sink, and you forced yourself to remain calm despite the flood of panic that threatened to overwhelm you.

“Haldir!” Your voice cracked as you neared him, your hand reaching out, unable to stop it. You could see the arrow now, embedded deep into his shoulder, its shaft jutting awkwardly from the flesh, the blood trailing down his arm. The injury was serious—too serious for him to be walking at all. His gaze flickered to yours, and for a brief moment, a sheepish smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He tried to appear unaffected, but the faint tremor in his eyes betrayed him. “It’s nothing,” he said, his tone too calm, too controlled, attempting to downplay the severity of the wound. You didn’t let him finish. Your hands were already at his side, your fingers gently brushing against the cold metal of his armor before resting over the blood-soaked area where the arrow protruded from his shoulder. A mixture of relief and frustration washed over you, but it was mostly the latter. “You think I’m blind?” you snapped, your voice sharper than you intended. “Haldir, look at you. This is far from nothing.” His jaw tightened immediately, that familiar stubborn set to his features. You had seen it countless times, but never in such an intimate moment. He winced slightly as you shifted his shoulder, his face betraying the sharp pain despite his attempt to hide it. His eyes locked with yours again, and for a second, there was a flicker of something—guilt, perhaps. Or maybe it was just pride.

“The orcs were dealt with,” he continued, his voice quieter now, but firm. “The patrol is safe, and I…” You cut him off, unable to keep your frustration at bay. “Stop it,” you said, your hands working quickly but with great care to steady his shoulder. “You should have returned to the healing hall immediately. You’ve put yourself in danger for no reason.” You tried to keep your voice even, but it wavered. The fear, the concern you had felt when you first saw him like this threatened to break through. “This arrow could’ve hit a vital organ, Haldir. How long did you walk like this?” His eyes lowered for a moment, and there was a pause—an uncomfortable silence between the two of you. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. “I didn’t want to worry you.” A lump rose in your throat. You could hear the weight of the words, the unspoken burden he had carried for so long. You shook your head, your hands still gently bracing his injury. “You don’t have to protect me from your injuries. I care for you, Haldir. Let me help you.” His gaze softened, but there was still a flicker of pride in the way he stood, as if this was a burden he was meant to bear alone. But his body betrayed him, the blood soaking through his tunic, his stance weakening. For a brief moment, you wondered if he would finally allow himself to lean on you, if the burden of his responsibility could be shared, if the trust between you both could be enough.

But instead, Haldir stood there, his chin lifted, eyes meeting yours with a quiet resolve. He might never admit it, but you could see it in his gaze. He wanted you to help, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask for it outright. You didn’t need him to ask. With You felt Haldir’s breath quicken slightly as you gently guided him into a sitting position, his face betraying the strain of the injury. His body had tensed when you first touched his shoulder, the sharp sting of the wound still fresh. The warmth of his skin and the blood that seeped through the fabric beneath your fingers reminded you of the urgency. “Just breathe, Haldir,” you murmured again, your voice steady despite the storm of thoughts swirling in your mind. You placed your hand on his shoulder, gently massaging to keep him as relaxed as possible. The last thing you needed was for him to tense up too much.

His gaze met yours, sharp and intense, even with the obvious discomfort. He didn’t say anything at first, but you saw the way his lips pressed together, the only sign of the pain he was in. His chest rose and fell with each shallow breath, but he did not flinch as you worked to ease the weight of his injury. Taking a deep breath yourself, you focused your attention on the arrow that was lodged deep in his shoulder, its shaft protruding from the skin. You could see the darkening stain around the wound, a stark contrast against his pale skin. The arrow had pierced through the flesh and muscle, leaving behind an ugly, jagged tear in its wake. It wasn’t just an arrow wound—it was a threat.

Carefully, you examined the entry point, noting how deep the arrow had gone. It had lodged near the shoulder blade, the shaft lodged at an awkward angle, which had likely caused the pain in his arm and neck. But from the way his breath caught as you probed the edges of the wound, it was clear it had caused more than just superficial damage. His body was already reacting—he was weakening, albeit slightly, as if the adrenaline was starting to wear off. “Haldir,” you said, keeping your tone as soft as you could, “I need you to stay still. This will hurt, but I need to remove the arrow now. It’s too deep for any healing to begin until it’s out.” His eyes flickered to yours again, that glint of pride still there. “I can manage,” he muttered, his jaw clenched in an attempt to stay composed, despite his obvious discomfort.

You nodded, not giving him the chance to protest further. You could feel the heat of his skin through his tunic, the erratic pulse beneath it—the fire of the wound was raging beneath the surface. Taking a deep breath, you reached for the arrow. Your fingers brushed against the shaft with delicate precision, trying to assess how best to grip it without making the injury worse. You would need to pull it straight out, carefully, with no jerks or sudden moves, or risk further damage to the surrounding tissue. The arrowhead had cut through muscle, and any force now could cause irreparable damage.

His breath hitched as you placed your fingers just beneath the base of the arrow, your other hand bracing his shoulder. You didn’t let your gaze leave his face, watching the muscles in his jaw tighten, a flicker of pain flashing across his expression. “I’m going to do it now,” you warned softly, your hands steady as you carefully began to pull the arrow out. It was a slow, agonizing process. As the arrow began to inch free, Haldir let out a strained breath, his body rigid beneath your hands. The tension in him was palpable, but he remained silent, determined not to show weakness. You couldn’t help but admire his resolve, even though it made your heart ache to see him in such pain.

The shaft finally broke free from the wound with a soft, wet sound. Blood welled up from the deep gash where the arrow had been, and you quickly moved to staunch the bleeding with a cloth you had brought. The arrowhead had embedded into his muscle, and though you had been as careful as possible, you could feel the depth of the damage. You knew it would require more than just cleaning; this wound would need stitches and time to heal properly. Haldir’s breath came in sharp, controlled bursts, his body tense but still under control. The faintest sheen of sweat dotted his forehead, but his eyes never left yours. He was fighting through the pain, but you could see the edges of his composure fraying. “I told you it was nothing,” he muttered with a crooked smile, despite the obvious discomfort.

You let out a soft laugh, though it was tinged with the relief of knowing you had gotten the worst of it over with. “You always say that,” you said gently, your fingers now pressing against the wound to slow the bleeding. “I’m not so sure you understand the meaning of ‘nothing,’ Haldir.” He shifted, trying to get more comfortable, but you could see his body waver with each move. It wasn’t easy for him to sit still, especially when the wound was so fresh. But you needed him still, so you pressed a little harder against the injury, keeping him grounded. “I’ll clean it up now,” you said, your hands moving methodically to wipe away the blood and debris that clung to the injury. “Stay still, this will sting.” Haldir gave a slight nod but didn’t complain. His resolve never seemed to break. Even though you knew the pain he was in, he never once asked for relief. You admired that about him—his strength, even when he could barely hold himself up.

You reached for another cloth, dipping it in a solution of water and herbs meant to disinfect the wound. Gently, you cleaned around the edges, careful not to touch too harshly. His face remained neutral, though the occasional tightness in his jaw gave away his discomfort. “Almost done,” you reassured him softly as you finished cleaning the area, before moving to apply a salve to help with the healing. For a brief moment, the air between you was still. The world around you seemed to fade into the background. There was only the soft rustling of the forest, the quiet hiss of Haldir’s breath as he relaxed, and the steady rhythm of your hands at work.

When you finally finished, you looked up at him, your hands gently wrapping the wound with a bandage. His face was still pale, but the tension had eased a little, and the pain, though still present, seemed to be under control. You met his gaze, the unspoken bond between you stronger than ever. “You’re going to be alright,” you said softly, your voice filled with quiet certainty. Haldir’s lips twitched, a faint smile tugging at them despite his exhaustion. “I trust you,” he replied, the words soft but genuine. And as you finished tending to his injury, you felt a wave of relief wash over you. Not just for his recovery, but for the promise in his eyes—one you intended to keep.

🎻𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓭𝓲𝓻

Lindir had always moved with an innate grace, his every step deliberate and fluid, as if the very earth beneath him conspired to support his movements. He was known for his poise and precision, the quiet elegance with which he carried out his duties. Today was no different. In his arms, he carefully balanced a stack of scrolls—ancient texts, maps, and records critical to Lord Elrond’s ongoing studies. These documents were important, and Lindir, ever dutiful, had taken it upon himself to personally deliver them. He moved briskly through the stone halls of Rivendell, his brows furrowed slightly in concentration, intent on his task. His thoughts, however, were not solely on the scrolls. You had joined him as you both walked down the hallway toward Elrond’s study, offering light conversation as you spoke of evening plans. The air was cool, rich with the scent of old parchment and the quiet hum of Rivendell’s daily rhythm. The sunlight streamed in through the high windows, casting long shadows that danced on the stone floor. You spoke softly, the sound of your voice mingling with the distant sounds of elves working and laughing within the sanctuary of Rivendell. As you walked beside him, the quiet symphony of the day enveloped both of you in a calm moment. Lindir’s usual calm demeanor seemed impenetrable, his attention divided between the scrolls and your conversation, both important in their own right. He was a master at balancing the two, but fate, it seemed, had other plans.

As you neared the stone steps leading up to Lord Elrond’s study, Lindir’s attention momentarily drifted. His focus shifted to something in the air, perhaps a fleeting thought or a concern, and in that fraction of a second, his foot found an unforgiving edge of one of the ancient stones. His perfectly poised step faltered. Time seemed to slow in that moment. The scrolls in his arms shifted dangerously, as though mocking the very precision he prided himself on. With a sharp, startled gasp, Lindir tried to regain his balance, but it was already too late. The stack of scrolls flew from his grasp, the flutter of parchment sounding like the softest wind as it scattered through the air. He could feel his body tipping forward, his arms instinctively reaching out in a desperate attempt to stop the fall. But gravity, unforgiving and indifferent, took over. His body plunged toward the ground with a sickening thud, the impact reverberating through the stone corridor. His chest slammed into the ground first, followed by his arm—his left arm.

The stone steps beneath him, cold and unyielding, seemed to mock his usually smooth and graceful movements as he twisted in mid-air, trying to shield himself. But the fall was brutal. One of his arms hit the ground at an unnatural angle, a harsh, jarring crunch echoing in his ears as the force of his body weight drove it further out of position. His cry of pain, sharp and strained, was swallowed quickly by the cold air. The world around him spun, his senses overwhelmed by the sharpness of his injury. The scrolls—those documents he had carried with such care—now lay in a disordered mess around him. The faint sounds of paper rustling were drowned by the pounding of his own heartbeat. Pain surged through him, and the world tilted. His left arm throbbed, a radiating pain that consumed him, while the sharp sting of a cut on his forehead sent a wave of dizziness over him. The blood from the cut trickled down his temple, staining his usually pristine features, a cruel reminder of how easily things could fall apart. His face, normally serene, was contorted in an expression of agony, his once composed features now a mask of pain.

For a moment, Lindir could do nothing but lie there, dazed, trying to catch his breath. His mind raced, desperately trying to make sense of the sudden, chaotic turn of events. He could feel the cold stone beneath him, pressing against his chest, the sharpness of the injury in his arm pulling him back to the present. His breathing came in ragged gasps, but it was the pain, more than anything, that rattled him. His arm—a trusted instrument for countless tasks—felt like it no longer belonged to him, as though it had been twisted into an impossible position. He glanced down at his left arm, now pressed awkwardly beneath him, the unnatural angle sending another wave of nausea through him. His head swam, and his breath became even more erratic as he tried—too stubborn to admit defeat—to move, to push himself up. But the pain was unbearable. He winced, a low groan escaping his lips as he attempted to shift his arm, but all that came was a sharp, agonizing spike of discomfort. His entire body trembled as the pain overwhelmed him, yet still, he tried to maintain some semblance of control, his pride fighting against the onslaught of sensation.

“I… I’m fine,” Lindir managed to say, the words barely escaping through clenched teeth. His voice was tight, each syllable forced out, and the tremor in his tone betrayed him. He wanted to reassure you, to make it seem like the fall had not shaken him, that it was simply a minor inconvenience. But even he knew his attempt was futile. His arm, the position it held, the way he cradled it against his chest—all of it told a different story. The pain was too great for him to hide, but the embarrassment of having fallen in front of you, so clumsy and ungraceful, gnawed at him. Lindir, always composed, always perfect in his movements, now felt utterly helpless. The embarrassment of the moment was almost as painful as the injury itself. He could see the concern in your eyes, but even as you knelt beside him, you could feel the tension in his body. It was not the fear of injury that haunted him—it was the sense of failure. Of how he, ever the dutiful and careful elf, had fallen so easily.

Lindir’s calm, composed demeanor had cracked in that instant. Despite the unbearable pain, despite the injury, he fought to maintain his dignity, not wanting to show weakness in front of you. But his usual unshakable poise seemed so far away, lost amidst the swirling chaos of pain, embarrassment, and the sheer vulnerability of the moment. With a soft, almost imperceptible sigh, he closed his eyes briefly, his head dropping forward as the shame of the fall weighed on him. “I am sorry,” he whispered, almost to himself, as he lay there, fighting not to break down. The pain was more than he had expected, but it was the humiliation of his fall, his inability to stay composed in the face of an accident, that truly rattled him.

You knelt beside him, your touch gentle as you cupped his face, guiding his head back up so that your eyes met. His words cut through you, the depth of his shame reaching places you hadn’t expected. But you weren’t angry or disappointed—in fact, your heart swelled with affection for him, for the strength he showed even in this moment of weakness. “You have nothing to apologize for, Lindir,” you whispered, your voice warm and steady. “You didn’t choose this. Accidents happen, and they don’t make you any less than the elf I know. You’re allowed to be human, to be vulnerable, especially with me.”

You paused, your thumb brushing softly against his cheek as you continued, “You’ve always been there for me, no matter what. Don’t you think it’s okay for me to do the same for you now?” Lindir’s gaze softened, though the shadows of his embarrassment still lingered, tucked away in the corners of his eyes. But slowly, as he absorbed your words, he seemed to relax just a little more, the tightness in his shoulders easing. “You are so much stronger than you think,” you added, your voice gentle but insistent, “and you don’t have to carry the weight of everything alone. Not when you’ve got me.” You could see it then—the faintest flicker of relief in his eyes, His face was drawn, pale from both the pain and the embarrassment of his fall. His body trembled slightly, not just from the injury, but from the pride he fought so desperately to maintain. You could see the struggle in his eyes—he wasn’t ready to show weakness, not even to you. Still, you gently guided him back down, your hands firm yet tender, urging him to sit and take a breath.

“I’m going to help you,” you said, your voice soft but firm, offering him a reassuring smile even though your heart was racing in worry. Lindir didn’t argue, though the effort to keep his composure was clear in the way his jaw clenched. His eyes flickered toward the scattered scrolls, and his chest heaved slightly as he tried to push past the pain. He opened his mouth to protest, to insist on retrieving the documents for Lord Elrond, but you were already giving orders. “Someone, please take the scrolls to Lord Elrond for me,” you instructed to a nearby elf, who had paused upon hearing the crash. “I’ll take care of Lindir.” Lindir, ever diligent and intent on doing his duties, made a small, frustrated noise, but his eyes betrayed his true feelings—he was thankful for your intervention. He simply wasn’t willing to admit it, not yet. As the elf hurried off to take the scrolls, you turned back to Lindir. He winced as you pressed a hand to his shoulder, guiding him toward the healer’s ward, your voice gentle yet insistent.

“Come on, you need rest. It’s not just your arm,” you urged, trying to get him to focus. The injury to his head had begun to bleed more than you’d originally noticed, the cut on his forehead still weeping crimson, his usual pristine appearance marred by the blood. Lindir hesitated, then slowly nodded, his usual determination fading slightly in the face of his injury. As the two of you made your way to the healer’s ward, you couldn’t help but notice the exhaustion on his face, the way his steps faltered despite his best efforts to appear composed. His left arm hung at a strange angle, and each movement seemed to send another wave of pain through him.

Inside your healing chambers, you guided him to a chair by the low fire, the warmth of it offering a faint sense of comfort in the midst of the tension that hung between you both. You could feel the weight of his gaze, though he kept his eyes averted. He was embarrassed, not only by the fall but by the vulnerability of needing help. “Lindir, sit,” you said firmly, your tone brokering no argument. You could see the struggle in his eyes—the desire to appear strong—but his body had already betrayed him. He obeyed with a slight, reluctant nod, and you moved to fetch the supplies you needed. His breathing had slowed, but it was still labored, and his face was flushed with pain. You carefully began to clean the cut on his forehead, the small wound on his temple trickling blood. The moment your fingers brushed against the tender skin, Lindir flinched, his body tensing as though the slightest touch might send him over the edge. His eyes met yours, a flash of something unspoken passing between you—the quiet, unyielding trust he placed in you to tend to him, even when he would never ask for it.

“I’m sorry,” Lindir murmured, his voice strained, barely above a whisper. “I should have been more careful. I… didn’t mean to fall. I didn’t want to worry you.” You glanced up at him, surprised by his admission, but you said nothing at first. Instead, you gently pressed a cloth to his forehead to stop the bleeding, your fingers soft but certain. “Lindir, Accidents happen all the time. Don’t be so hard on yourself darling.” You softened the words, trying to reassure him even though the pain in his voice was cutting deep. You could see his eyes flicker with the weight of his pride, still trying to maintain that stoic façade. It was hard for him to show anything less than perfection, but you could also see his vulnerability there, hidden beneath the layers.

You moved next to his arm, kneeling in front of him, your hands steady but filled with the knowledge of the task at hand. His arm was broken, and it had to be set before anything else could be done. You could feel his body tense as you gently, but firmly, moved his arm into place, adjusting it to a more natural position. The pain must have been unbearable. Lindir’s breath caught sharply, his face twisting in agony, but he said nothing. His jaw was set tight, his hands clenched into fists, but not a word of protest came from him. He wouldn’t let you see the full extent of his discomfort, not even now. You glanced up at him, his eyes now closed, a bead of sweat tracing down his temple. “I need to set the bone, Lindir,” you murmured softly, trying to prepare him. You didn’t wait for a response before you began. Slowly, with gentle precision, you aligned the bone, pulling it back into place. Lindir’s body stiffened beneath your hands, his breath hitching sharply as he fought to keep the noise of pain buried within him. But you could hear it—the way his breath stuttered, the way his body quivered with the sheer effort of holding it together.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you secured the arm in a splint, wrapping it with careful attention. The moment you finished, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. Lindir’s arm was now stable, though you could see the exhaustion settling into his face. You rose to your feet, your hands gently brushing away the strands of hair from his forehead, and your heart ached for him. You could tell how much he wanted to be strong for you, how much he hated the feeling of being vulnerable. But in this moment, he had allowed you to tend to him, to be the one who kept him safe. And though he would never admit it aloud, you knew he appreciated it more than words could say. “Thank you my love,” he finally whispered, his voice hoarse from both the pain and the emotion that he had fought to suppress. “I… didn’t want to need this. Didn’t want to need help.” You smiled softly, your fingers brushing over his uninjured hand, the warmth of it a quiet comfort. “You don’t have to be perfect, Lindir,” you said softly. “Not with me.” For a moment, he didn’t say anything, just closed his eyes, allowing the silence to settle between you both. It was a small surrender, but it was all he could give in that moment. And for you, it was enough.

39 notes · View notes

theshadowsingersraven · 21 hours ago

Text

Just some POV to support OP: I don't think anyone here would doubt that I love Azriel. And I absolutely did this in my own writing.

Loving a character doesn't just mean blindly wanting surface good things for them. It can also mean wanting them to face the music for their actions and becoming better for it. This is how I handled Azriel rightfully feeling shame for how he treated Lucien:

Azriel deserved that. He knew he deserved that to the point where he felt an apology creeping up his throat. But his pride snatched hold of it before the traitorous words could leave his lips.

Lucien sighed. “Perhaps one day you can view me as Solara does—a friend. Not just a cage thrust upon Elain, demanding her compliance. I've never thought badly of you until now, Azriel.”

Friend.

Azriel was purposely hurting Solara’s friend, purposely choosing each word as if it were a torture instrument. As if he were no better than the witch she'd sacrificed so much to kill. And a part of him knew that, deep down even then. How disgusted would she be when she learned of the other aspects of his work? For how Azriel was speaking to her friend? Solara would be furious, so disappointed, and—

“I…” he found himself fumbling for words he had no desire to say, but everything in him screamed that he needed to say something. Needed to remedy the harm he caused, even if it was only for the spiteful words he'd just spewed. “I couldn't do what you do. If I were in your position…it would kill me. I do not know how you are not miserable.”

“I never said I wasn't. It doesn't particularly feel good to see your mate falling for a male who gets to be around her. Who she can actually tolerate. Not that you have to worry about that with your mate. You had the privilege of knowing her, being her friend first. You knew what her laugh sounded like and how she liked her coffee before you tasted her fear and panic. I was not so lucky.”

Azriel averted his gaze, keeping his mask of indifference in place despite the tempest of emotions whirling in his chest. The shadows hung off of him instead of curling up like normal. They were probably as exhausted from this day as he was.

As their gazes finally met again, Azriel didn't say anything—couldn't, really. It's not as though Lucien was wrong.

After a pause, the russet-haired male sighed. “I'm not going to lie to her for you, Azriel. That's all I'm saying.”

“Understood,” Azriel murmured, his nostrils flaring slightly, wings tucking in tighter.

Lucien turned on his heel and made his way toward the front door. Azriel watched him close his hand around the ornately carved knob, and then he found himself taking a slight step forward. Found himself saying despite his pride's protests, “I judged you sooner than what was wise. You…You are an honorable male. More honorable than me, I think. By a large margin.”

It wasn't an apology. The Mother knew he was too prideful to apologize, but this was something, at least. And though he doubted this was what his shadows had in mind when they told him about singing the truth, they seemed to perk up a little. Azriel also knew that it was a rather lackluster comment despite the fact that it was enough to give Lucien pause. He heard the slightest sigh come from Lucien, and he looked over his shoulder back at him.

As he pulled the door open, the emissary said, “Well, I believe that is perhaps the one thing we agree on. Farewell, Azriel.”

Azriel’s hands flexed at his side. He deserved that, too, really. Deserved every word from Lucien's mouth, and deserved worse, probably. But he had to keep trying—had to do better. Be better. Even if it was just so he could stand next to his mate and not feel like he was so undeserving of her and the fire she embodied. The fire that seemed to warm and melt every frigid layer of ice he put around himself. And if Azriel wanted any of this to go well, he needed to at least feel like the male Solara would finally find underneath all those protective, icy walls was more than his scars, his anger, and his bitter jealousy. Azriel wanted the male underneath it all to be worthy, no matter what it took.

I really want Azriel to know and feel for himself the depth of the mating bond, so that he feels shame, true shame, for what he did to Lucien.

#pro azriel #pro lucien #azriel acotar #pro lucien vanserra #lucien vanserra

120 notes · View notes

siconetribal · 2 days ago

Text

Beyond the Bookshelves (10)

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Warnings: The gates of heaven have finally been opened, Loki doesn't know makeup, and when you work above and beyond your pay grade.

Summary: You’re a Resource Management Specialist at S.H.I.E.L.D. normally referred to as “The Librarian”. You’ve been assigned the nightmarish task of digitizing all the physical resources currently owned by the agency, with a few new computers and one extra helper.

A/N:

Sorry about the delay. I ended up getting more tasks for work right after traveling abroad. It was a scramble to get the last 2 months caught up.

Please comment/like/reblog. If you’d like to be tagged moving forward, please let me know! (If I missed any tags, please let me know, I’ll add you right away!) I’d also greatly appreciate it if rebloggers remember to add the tags (or some at least).

The lovely banners used in this fic are from @cafekitsune.

If you’re new to the story, please check out the master post for the rest of the chapters.

The doors opened. The library doors swung open without any resistance, no blaring alarms or the ear grating computer voice that incessantly disturbed his times sneaking in. He was actually allowed to enter the library once more.

“Good morning, let me know if you need any assistance!” A familiar voice called out. A sweet voice that triggered Loki, setting his rage aflame and quickly overshadowing the joy of having his access given back to him. His icy blue eyes narrowed as he crossed the threshold and quickly strode up to the semicircle reception desk that forced him to remain roughly three feet away from the villainous woman who left him stranded. He stood tall, looking down at her, ready to scold her, but there was something off about her.

Her face looks pale, but her cheeks are quite red. What sort of makeup style is this? He scrunched his nose in distaste, no attempt to hide his look of displeasure, as Y/N finally looked up at him. She was saying something, but her voice sounded odd, stuffy and nasally. A dark shade was visible under her eyes. He took a step back from the desk, unsure what was wrong with her. Perhaps I should reconsider working with this odd person. Her sense of professionalism is questionable.

“Hello, Loki?” He reflexively grabbed the hand waving in front of her face, but quickly released it at her wince.

“What?” He cleared his throat and straightened up his posture.

“Glad to see you back on Earth. Well, you’re back in the library, free to browse and rent as you used to.” She grinned, but the happiness did not reach her eyes. False niceties, something he was used to seeing. What else should he expect from some odd stranger? Why did it hurt? He balled his hands in to fists to keep from rubbing at his chest to ease the dull ache that blossomed over his heart.

“Yes, thank you,” he kept his tone flat, formal. “I’ll summon you if I need any assistance.” He waved at her dismissively as he turned and wandered into the maze of shelves filled with books.

“You’re welcome?” Y/N raised a brow, rolling her eyes as the younger prince disappeared from sight. Plopping back into her chair, she softly groaned at the soreness that throbbed through her back and hips. Her eyes burned, only a slight reprieve coming from when she squeezed the heavy lids shut. “I really should’ve stayed home today.” She muttered, fumbling under the desk for the small bottle of painkillers, popping two pills with a swig of water. “Rent isn’t going to pay itself, though.” She forced herself to sit up and carefully rolled and rubbed her neck. She shook the computer mouse and woke the monitor. “Let’s make sure the files are properly being shared between locations.” She muttered under her breath, forcing herself to stay awake.

Time was finally running smoothly, as it was meant to be, as Loki finally finished the book he left off on and began a new one. The sunlight shone through the floor to ceiling windows beside his favorite little nook, giving a warmth to the room. Everything was as it should be. Quiet and perfect. No needless ford conversation, unwanted company, and petty animosity. He was able to breathe and simply be. Finishing his second book, he closed it with a soft thud and stretched. A passing glance at the clock had him sitting up in an instant.

“Nearly two already? I’ve been here far longer than I thought.” His schedule was fairly light today since the mission was being replanned and his training session was cancelled due to other members being sent out on missions or having other debriefings. “The dinning hall should be quieter now, and anyone who would think of talking to me should be long gone.” He smiled at his luck, returning the book to its proper place with a snap of his fingers as he stood and left the library.

Yes, all was right with the world once more and luck was finally on his side. Even the stares and whispers of the other agents could not dampen his mood as he made his way to the cafeteria with a slight bounce to his step. A small tune was poised on his lips, ready to be hummed in his sudden abundance of happiness when something odd caught his attention. He frowned at the small crowd of people that lingered at the entry. Had he been wrong about the time? He checked his phone for the time, and his frown deepened.

No, fifteen to two, the cafeteria should be quieter. So why are there so many people and blocking the door? He slowed his space to a near stop.

“What’s going on?”

“Someone fainted.”

“Fainted, where, here, when?!” He rolled his eyes at the bits of conversation he could hear.

If you’re unable to care for yourself, you should not be here. Such poor care makes you a liability, not an asset. He audibly scoffed, grabbing the attention of the crowd, which quickly parted for him. He wanted little to do with such useless gossip, and their fear of him was an asset at this moment. As he began to make his way through the path made for him when a familiar voice caught his attention. It was weaker than before, just as stuffy. He froze, looking down to see the librarian.

“I’m fine, just got dizzy.” She forced a smile that once again did not meet her eyes.

“Y/N, you literally passed out and fell to the floor!”

“I’m fine, just tired from all my travels.” He watched as she used the wall to stand and push herself off of it, only to stumble forward. To his surprise, and everyone else’s, his arm shot out and caught Y/N before she fell forward.

“Librarian, get a hold of yourself.” He scoffed, ready to move his arm, but her lack of response and full weight on him made him pause. “Librarian, what game are you playing?” He stepped closer and turned her, so his arm was hooked around her back. Her eyes were closed, breathing was labored, and her body was on fire. It dawned on him then that her look was not a makeup choice. She was severely sick and was currently unconscious. “Librarian, get a hold of yourself!” He gently tried to shake her awake once more, to no avail. He called out once more, and a slight groan from her eased some of the worry that gripped at his heart. Hooking his other arm under her knees, he vanished in a flash of green and black as he turned on his heel. Captain America would have to excuse him for the use of magic, he was taking a team member to the medic after all.

Tags: @vbecker10 @huntress-artemiss @softestqueeen @thegodofnotknowing @princess-ofthe-pages @firedrakegirl @rcailleachcola @cabingrlandrandomcrap @lotrefcp @lwtannie @jainaeatsstars @msdjsg7 @tom-hlover @kneelingformyloki @gruftiela @gigglingtiggerv2 @kats72 @mischief2sarawr @evalynanne @wolfsmom1

30 notes · View notes

suddencolds · 4 months ago

Text

. not snz

on healing and on fear (tags)

#(typed this up at 3am and scheduling for later) no one needs to read this 🙏#today i went back to the site where i got injured back in may to partake in a sport which i haven't touched at all since the injury #and i think what struck me was the realization that #i don't know if i'll ever be able to stop being scared again :')#for a time climbing was very special to me...#it was one of the only ways i could feel myself improving so tangibly when improvement is usually so difficult to track #i liked seeing myself get better at something 😭 i liked going with friends and puzzling over the same problems... i liked having something #to look forward to after work. and perhaps having something to look forward to sounds simple... but for me it meant so much :')#for the first couple months after the injury i couldn't wait to get back into it #and then one day i woke up and i was just afraid #the fear feels so much more tangible now that i know i am not overreacting... it's awful knowing that in a way i was right to be afraid #i always knew there were risks associated; i have always been cautious #but i had just been starting to learn to be braver 😭#and fuck... today i stood there and looked at the wall and thought. how can i ever not be afraid again?#how can i go back to how things were before? when i loved this? when i could tell myself that - despite the fear - it was meaningful to try #i wanted to come away with the takeaway that i could take things slowly and get back into climbing - maybe precisely because #i remember so keenly how i loved it - but how could it ever be the same?#😭 i know this is just part of growing up but #in some ways i am tired of growing up... :') in some ways i just want that joy as it was then #delete later probably #i suppose i haven't lost anything but typing this made me sob for something i couldn't quite name

12 notes · View notes

entitled-fangirl · 5 months ago

Text

Direwolf.

Cregan Stark x wife!reader

Summary: Cregan's direwolf is spoiled by the reader.

A/n: Based on ask! Also I'm running a fever, so I'm praying this makes sense

Masterlist

.....................................

"Perhaps it was an idiotic thought from the start," Cregan mutters as he views the sight before him.

His sweet wife sat on the ground of the dining hall, lavishing their dire wolf in affection.

Well, Cregan's direwolf.

Well, it was supposed to be Cregan's.

He had found the wolf not long before he became the Lord of Winterfell. Now, after almost seven years with the animal, their bond was inseparable.

So when Cregan's wife joined the mix, Cregan was nervous.

But she had a love for Dark Night, as did the large beast for her.

"I find it sweet," the Maester said with a light smile. "It is important the two get along, isn't it? Better than fighting for your attention, I'd wager."

"That's the thing," Cregan sighed. "Neither of them needs my attention. They're content on their own."

The maester chuckled, looking at the sight of the woman and wolf before excusing himself.

Cregan walked to the pair, holding his hand out to his wife. "C'mon, sweet girl."

Y/n looked up with a smile and took his hand, brushing off dust from her skirt as she did so.

Dark Night let out a low coo, sitting up and nuzzling at her thigh.

"Seems I'll have to fight for even a moment with you," Cregan smiled as he tucked his face into her neck.

She let out a soft giggle. "Don't be so upset, Cregan. You know you always have my heart."

He chuckled with her, pulling away and leading her to the dining table, pulling out her chair before sitting across from her.

The two talked of mundane things as usual: their day, the problems of the North, ideas they had, anything and everything.

Finally, Cregan tilted his head with a furrowed brow. "What are you doing?"

She looked at him with wide eyes, as if caught in a horrid lie. "N…nothing."

He simply stared, his hands resting atop the table. "Are you feeding Dark Night under the table?"

She reaches to pick something off of her plate, lowering it below the table. "No?"

He leaned back in his chair with an incredulous look and a chuckle, "You little minx. He eats enough, you know that."

"Well, yes, but," she gave a shrug. "He just looks at me so pitifully, I cannot say no."

She reached up to grab more, but Cregan stopped her, "Don't."

She paused, "Cregan-"

"-Do not spoil that damn dog. He is fine."

Before long, Dark Night's large head weighed down on Cregan's lap from under the table, a longing look in the animal's eyes.

Cregan looked down at him with a tight lip and a shaking head, "Your methods may work on our sweet girl, but you will get nothing from me."

The wolf nuzzled in more, trying to get Cregan's attention still.

Finally, Cregan waved his hand out at the wolf, "Get. Go on. You have already been fed today."

Dark Night accepted the defeat and left the dining hall, an obvious annoyance in the way he walked.

"Now," Cregan sighed. "Let us try to speak again."

…

A few hours later, Cregan entered their chambers in pure exhaustion.

The day had been longer than he had hoped, and he wanted nothing more than time with his wife.

Seeing her curled up on the sofa next to the fireplace warmed something inside of him.

He came from behind, leaning down to place a kiss on the crown of her head.

She hummed, looking up from her book. "Hello, lovely."

A small whine sounded in the room.

Cregan's brow furrowed as he scanned the room for his wolf.

"Why is he on the bed?"

She leaned forward, looking over her shoulder to see that the wolf had indeed found a comfortable place on their bed. She shrugged, "He was there when I got here. I didn't have the heart to move him."

Cregan gripped her shoulders from behind, gently massaging them. "I've had this wolf years, and never has he even been allowed the notion that being upon the bed was allowed."

She smiled as she looked over her shoulder at Cregan this time, "He's been so wonderful today. Let him stay."

He leaned down to her ear, a teasing smile across his face, "Why should I?"

She let out a hum. "Please, Cregan."

"Please what?" He teased.

Her head leaned back against the back of the sofa, "You know what you're doing, Lord Stark."

He smirked, leaning up and moving to the bed, "Up."

Dark Night lifted his head to look at Cregan.

Y/n immediately gets off of the couch, "Cregan."

"I mean it," he complains. "That dog cannot run this castle."

"He's not," she comes as she moved to Dark Night, petting his fur.

"My love, he-" Cregan froze completely, eyeing the dog. "A collar? You've bought him a collar?"

She smiled sheepishly. "Perhaps."

Cregan crosses his arms, looking up at the ceiling for a moment as he bit the inside of his cheek in thought. "Gods, you're gonna be the death of me."

"He's being so sweet, Cregan. Look at him!"

Cregan looked down, seeing his sweet wife practically laying on the large animal.

He shook his head, a large smile coming across his face. "As long as there is still room for your husband."

"Oh, always, Cregan."

…

Cregan woke up in the night, pulling at the blanket that would not move. He leaned up on his elbows, seeing the giant dire wolf that laid on his wife's feet, holding the blanket down underneath him.

Cregan heaved a great sigh, but inside, he really didn't mind.

He was glad the two greatest things in his life cared for each other. It made his occasional absence to the Wall less guilt wracked.

He knew they'd keep each other warm until he came back.

.....................................

Taglist: @twinkletwinklenotastar, @kidd3ath, @yujyujj, @misswynters, @cosmosnkaz, @sithapprentice, @kaniromi, @lovemesomevesey, @its-jackie-bb, @8812-342, @thorins-queen-of-erebor, @kingdomzeldaquest @nyxbranwenn, @callsignwidow, @a1lexh-blog, @alyssa-dayne, @ethereal-athalia, @ashovertheriver

#fanfiction #cregan stark x reader #cregan stark x you #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones x y/n #game of thrones imagine #cregan stark x y/n #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfiction #cregan stark imagine #cregan x reader #cregan stark #cregan stark fanfic #hotd cregan #cregan fanfiction #house of the dragon fanfic #hotd fanfic #drew drools over cregan stark

3K notes · View notes

pellucid-constellations · 9 months ago

Text

To Feel At Home

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: Winnowing out from Under the Mountain, you know you need to find him—it doesn't seem real, to feel so at home.

Word count: 1.1k

Warnings: Angst

a/n: A little angsty piece because I can't stop writing for some reason. I hope you enjoy :)

Main Masterlist ♡

On shaking legs, you pressed forward. Rhysand was still at the Moonstone Palace—still in Mor’s arms and coping with the impossible. You had made to stay, but Mor had given you a shake of her head that conveyed more than any words could have.

Mustering up the morsel of power that had returned to you after Amarantha’s death, you winnowed to Velaris.

Not in a good spot. You hadn’t had access to your power in over five decades and much of Rhysand’s wards were still in place. Given the circumstances, getting yourself to some random alley at the edge of Velaris was a feat.

The sun was blinding, invading your senses that had gotten so used to the darkness Under the Mountain. You brought a hand up to cover your eyes and trekked on.

No more winnowing.

You had tried—it hadn’t worked.

As you walked, stumbling through families taking strolls and having normal days, you searched within you for that golden thread. It had been absent for longer than it had been alive, your time as mates barely reaching a decade before your disappearance.

You sifted through the pain and grief and loneliness, desperate for the relief you would find once you felt the weight of him.

Nothing yet.

He had to know things had changed Under the Mountain. Even amidst the secrecy and the hiding, you knew he would check. His shadows would cross continents to find you.

But—you stressed, as you made it to a main road lined with cobblestones—that could mean he went there. Azriel could be under that mountain at this very moment, searching through the fae still sorting out their lives before they went home.

And you were here.

You had no reason to panic.

You were home, safe, alive; you had more reason to feel at peace than you had in the last 50 years. But if Azriel wasn’t here…

Your breath came out in short pants as your fingers found purchase on a wall. But you kept going, kept watching your feet as they stumbled past each other, just to have the chance of seeing him.

There were no shadows yet.

They always found you first.

You weren't sure how much time had passed—seconds, minutes, hours all lost their meaning under Amarantha—but the shadow of the mountain that held your home was soon cast over your body. You gasped out uneven breaths and pressed a hand to the towering figure, to the entrance that held the ten thousand steps you had every intention of climbing.

Your body would surely fail.

The last five decades had not been kind.

With a determination fueled solely by desperation and hope, you began the tunneled pathway to the harrowing climb, but then you stopped at the entryway.

A broken rendition of your name met your ears, so cracked and ruined you could have passed it off for something else.

But you knew that voice, the way the vowels flowed and connected.

Another broken sound permeated the air, this time from your own lips.

You couldn’t look. You wanted to, ached to, but you couldn’t. So much anticipation led up to this moment. And you were different now, a fraction of the person you had been all those years ago.

“Y/n, my love, look at me,” Azriel begged, the lowest you’d ever heard him speak. But you hadn’t heard him speak in so long, so perhaps you were misremembering. “Please.”

You couldn’t.

Moving was impossible.

Your legs began to shake at the sound of footsteps, and then your knees gave out.

A loud sound vibrated against the tunnel walls as your hands slapped against the floor. On the ground, steps away from the only person who could fix this, your waterline filled with tears.

But you didn’t have time to second-guess or run or wonder if this was all too much. You were gathered into a strong pair of arms, pressed into a firm chest that smelled like home, and tears made paths down your cheeks. They flowed in damp trails in silence, Azriel holding you closer and closer until you weren’t sure space existed between you.

His nose pressed into your hair.

His chest rose and fell in uneven patterns.

More silence. You felt your body begin to rock gently back and forth.

This wasn’t real—it couldn’t be.

You had resigned yourself to never seeing him again many years ago. Even as you ran through the streets of Velaris without your breath or your reasonable mind, you hadn’t expected to find him. This was a dream, Azriel wasn’t here, it was only a cruel play on your mind.

Someone was trying to hurt you, and it was working.

Maybe Amarantha had finally gotten Rhys to crack.

Maybe this was his doing, his manipulation of your deepest hopes.

Something was moving against your ear, soft and rushed and incoherent. A hand smoothed back your hair. You kept rocking.

“You’re okay.” Words filtered through ringing. “You’re okay. You’re okay. I’m here.”

Over and over. On a loop.

Something encased you. Darkness followed—you were used to darkness.

The pattern of the words lulled your heart back to a normal rate. Tears continued to fall. Your breath was shaky.

“I love you so much,” Azriel broke the repetition, shocking your system. “I love you. I love you—”

A sob wracked your body, the first real sound to leave your mouth. Azriel shushed you in response, but when he buried his face in your neck you felt the wetness of his own cheeks.

This had to be real, it had to. There was no other alternative. You wouldn't survive feeling this way just to be thrust back into that nightmare.

It had to be real, it had to—

“It is,” Azriel choked out. He pulled back, your face in his hands, his expression conveying a picture of pain and love and disbelief. “It’s real, angel. Gods, you’re so beautiful. I never thought I’d—” Words cut off and restarted. “I tried so hard to get to you.”

His forehead met yours.

This was real.

You felt the shadows wisp along your skin.

You could never feel them in dreams.

“I missed you,” you croaked, voice so unused to the words. “So much.”

Azriel squeezed his eyes shut only to open them after not even a breath. Desperate not to lose sight of you. Anguished at the thought of missing the picture of you in his arms.

“I’ve missed you more.”

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #azriel x female!reader #azriel fanfic #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #acotar fanfiction

1K notes · View notes

anantaru · 9 months ago

Note

thigh riding with diluc while he’s working on his office on dawn winery 🤤 he’s busy with work but he could never deny his darling some pleasure

⊹ ‧₊˚ ᰔ cw. thigh riding, touch starved diluc <3, fem! reader

scarlet hair tousled, red cheeks resembling that of strawberries and a shirt with a couple buttons opened, all accentuated by a sheen lace of sweat around diluc's sharp collarbones as he exhales shakily into his chest.

parted lips, lidded eyes, the master of the dawn winery certainly believed that in the beginning, this was a good idea, not to mention easy— barely a sweat, right? he thought to himself, no work he had to actually participate in while you're the one showing him how your soft folds press and drag against his clothed thigh, your whines octaves higher the more you glazed your wet pussy over the aching fabric.

and you press forward, press back, arch your back as he looks at you, his face tilted to the side when you pull your shirt up to reveal your tits and erected nipples, all the while beginning to play with one mound— squeezing and squeezing your breast so filthily that he shamelessly moans as his dick throbbed in his pants.

he was thinking that fuck; i want to fuck you, fuck you so much, want to flip you against the table and pull my dick inside you so hard, it will make you see stars baby it will.

yet of course, diluc, your sweet diluc, always angelic and gentleman alike— wasn't one to choose those particular words, they weren't in his vocabulary.

perhaps, they were barely used, yet they were there.

you wrap your arms around his neck and enjoy the rough treatment of fabric on your sore folds, tits messily pressed into his chest now, eyes glimmering with desire to cum.

diluc thought to himself that what would be the odds, if he would just skip his paperwork and sufficiently stretch your hole like you deserve before he spreads white strings of his cum onto your sore walls— didn't someone once claim that having something hot and sticky plastered onto something sore would help aid against the soreness? or maybe he just made that up right now.

dilic's thigh desperately changes angles, nudges up and helps you prolong your sweet pleasure as two warm palms graze at your hips, keeping you steady on his thigh before he groans again— sounding absolutely desperate, almost like a pathetic man, so touch starved that it killed him inside.

your toes curl when he rose his leg up to faintly brush over your clit, until he could see your sticky fluids mess up his pants. it's so hot, no, scrap that, you were, you were the hottest, most beautiful, fuck, he cannot find words to describe you.

not only that, but after a while, the master of the dawn winery was on the brink of turning wrecked and feral— diluc now, started touching himself helplessly, fondling with the obvious bulge in his pants while watching you. always watching you.

he grinds needily into his palm until the hot splash of you cumming all over his thigh made him, at the same time, batter his cum inside his messed up boxers, wet strands and ropes of his seed, showing a wet splotch imbedded into the dark fabric.

ah well, you know what comes next, don't you? because diluc cannot work like that? don't be silly. he might as well just make his filthy dream come true.

#genshin impact x reader #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #genshin x reader #diluc x reader #diluc smut #genshin x you #genshin impact x you #genshin drabbles #diluc x you

2K notes · View notes

s4toruz · 2 months ago

Text

snowy night - oneshot

summary: satoru and you are about to go home after your unsuccessful first date, but the car breaks down, making you stay there on a winter night, with no heat and angry glances.

tags: gojo x reader, fluff, winter fic

warnings: none, just swearing

word count: 1.7K

awkward, painful silence sat in the car as you and gojo were driving home from the unsuccessful date you two just had. outside the snow wasn't just gently falling, but pouring from the sky, clouding the windows too, the sun was setting on the horizon, pinkish light illuminating the landscape before you.

your arms were crossed, your gaze looking through the window with slightly narrowed eyes as you try to ignore the white-haired boy sitting next to you with the wheel in his hands and pout on his lips.

you barely even remembered what exactly started the arguement between you two, but you were certain that it was his fault and without an apology, the date shouldn't continue. him acting like the annoying, stubborn person he is, just continued the bickering further, not thinking it would really end the whole date.

well it did.

"going on a date together was a stupid idea to begin with" you think with a quiet huff as your grip on your coat tightens.

all your friends were nagging you to go on a date already, shoko stating that she could see the 'chemistry' between you. well it seems like she's blind, because even when you all are spending time together, you and gojo just cannot get along. never.

could he make you ever smile? yeah that happened sometimes. did you notice that sometime's he's acting like he wants to catch speifically your attention? of course you did. did some of your conversations live rent-free in your head? perhaps.

but.

does that mean that you have to go on a whole ass date just to continue the endless cycle of pushing eachothers buttons? absolutely not.

"are you thinking about how you want to apologise?" he looked at you from the corner off his eye, a suppressed smile tugging on his lips.

"are you?" you glare back. "because if one should apologise that is you and you only."

he just looked back at the road, not ready to admit defeat, but deep down knowing that maybe he shouldn't have tried to make you jealous. at least not on the first date.

"i have nothing to apologise for" he then answered with a shrug, immediately regretting the descision. why was it so hard to just apologise to you? he didn't understand.

"nothing?" you scoff. "you know-"

before you could continue on with your scolding, a loud, sudden sound comes from the front of the car, making you jump a little. the vehicle started to slow down on the snowy road until it eventually stopped, gojo pulling in over just in time.

"what happened?" you glance at him as he's trying to start the engine again, without any success whatsoever.

"no idea" comes the not so helpful answer before gojo opens his door, getting out of the car. "stay inside."

you watch him open the car hood, looking into the car. you follow him, standing next to him in the ankle-deep snow and staring at the vehicle. you place your hands on your hips and lean forward in the hope of seeing something.

"what are we looking at?" you ask.

"i told you to stay inside, it's cold here" he says grumpily, not answering your question.

"oh, so you're suddenly now worried? or just missing that waitress?" you say with a scoff which makes him grin a little.

"so you did become jealous! i knew it!"

"i did not. now stay silent and fix the car, make yourself useful!"

he hums, looking into the vehicle like he is concentrating on something, then back at you.

"i have no idea how this works" he says.

"are you telling me that we're stuck here?" you say every word slowly, frustration penting up in you.

"exactly!" a big smile spreads on his lips. "don't worry, i already told shoko to come and get us."

you narrow your eyes a little bit. the wind was blowing hard, your hair blowing in your face, you felt like you're about to become a snowman if you stand there for more than two minutes.

"then why are we even standing here gojo??"

a dramatic gasp escapes his lips, hand on his heart theatrically.

"c'mon love, not the last name!! did this date mean nothing to you?" he whines.

"you didn't answer my question!" i cross my arms, looking around. we really are in the middle of nowhere. not even street lights were around, it was starting to get dark.

"it's adorable to watch as your cheeks turn red from the cold" he finally answers, not surprising you the least.

"i can't help but feel like you're still trying so hard!"

"and the problem with that...?" his smirk widened, making you a little angrier. if he could've just apologised for flirting with the waitress, you two would be in a so so much better situation, but no that's where he draws the line!

you just leave him there before he could say anything, you get back into the car on the backseat, shivering as you already feel the temperature of the car lower drastically, windows becoming somewhat icy, the seats feeling hard and cold too.

you look around for any blankets but get interrupted by the white haired annoyance, dropping himself on the seat next to you.

a sigh of frustration leaves your lips, crossing your arms as an attempt to warm yourself up while staring outside through the window once again.

the car was pulled over in a quite pretty area, a forest covered in soft snow, the lonely branches of the trees holding the weight quietly, a few crows sitting on them before all of them opens their wings, flying away and only leaving two behind. the restaurant he brought you to was higher on the mountain, making the landscape from there even more beautiful.

of course he had to fuck it up.

the moments were slow, every second lasting decades as you two sat in silence, cold running on your body, the shivering was now undeniable.

you glanced at him, he didn't make any effort to warm himself up, he even took off his coat. suddenly unwanted thoughts started to invade your mind, talking about how warm his body must be.

"aren't you cold?" you ask after a few minutes.

gojo's blue eyes meet yours, at first, for a teeny tiny second he seems like he'll smile but then just pouted instead, his hands fiddling with his clothes. if he just held your hand in his, that would probably make the cold more bearable.

"why? you worried?"

you huff, turning your head away again. you knew that your worry was exactly what he wanted at that moment.

"you're just crazy" you answer, expecting the conversation to continue but he doesn't say another thing.

you look at him again, but as soon as you do, he wraps his black coat around you, trapping you with it and pulling you into his arms, your head against his chest, a small yelp leaving your lips.

his body felt warm, but yours started to feel a little bit warmer somehow. the stiffness leaves you seconds later, even though you try not to melt into the hug too much.

his arms were holding you close, his head rested on top of yours, his heartbeats seemed to speed up even if just a little bit.

"gojo-"

"don't even start a sentence like that" he interrupts you with an almost childish frown on his face.

"you have three seconds to say that before i push you away and drag you into that forest." your voice is threatening but somehow he still managed to hear the smile in your tone that you tried to hide with every fiber of your body.

"c'mon, don't be cruel!" gojo whined, glancing down at you.

"two..."

his grip around you slightly tightened as if he was afraid that you'd really pull away.

"one-"

"fine, i love you!!" he said as fast as he could, his gaze turned away.

your breath hitches, eyes widen at the sudden confession, you feel like you've been slapped in the face, in the best way possible.

"you what?" you ask, trying to steady your voice.

at least being cold definetly wasn't your number one problem anymore.

"isn't that what you wanted to hear??" he questions dramatically, raising his voice a little.

"i wanted a fucking apology!" disbelief in your voice as you match his tone.

a few moments of silence comes as he is just staring at you, blinking slowly. you had to admit he looked quite adorable like this, big blue eyes looking at you, a small blush creeping on his cheeks.

"oh!"

you can't help but chuckle at his reaction, a grin appearing on your face.

"so you love me?"

"and if i do?" he huffs.

"then, satoru" you start out, already seeing his expression light up when you finally say his first name. he just loved how it left your lips so effortlessly yet with so much kindness. "you're extremely lucky because i may be feeling the same way."

"i knew it!" he says smugly, trying to forget that he ever questioned it. of course you love him. "from day one."

you raise one eyebrow, glancing up at him once again.

"day one i wanted to strangle you."

he pouts again.

"and now?"

"i still want to strangle you" you say. "but now with a little affection."

he chuckles, pulling you so close that you're basically sitting on his lap at this point. he hides his face in the crook of your neck, his hair in his face, arms around your body as he is still trying to warm you up.

big snowflakes started to fall from the sky, the storm quieting down. all you could feel was his body hugging yours warmly, his scent filling your mind, fogging your rational thoughts as you melt into his embrace.

time slowed down but you couldn't been happier.

"say it" he mumbled eventually.

you sigh, eyes closing while a smile is spreading on your lips.

"i love you too."

after those words, you slowly start to feel like your eyelids are becoming heavier, all the adrenaline from the frustration leaving your body. your breathing becomes relaxed and before you drift into sleep, you have to admit, maybe shoko was right about this whole thing after all. maybe it could work out.

haii!! i hope you had a good time reading this, it's the first fanfic i've ever written so sorry if it's not that good! also, english is not my first language so if i made a mistake feel free to correct me (^-^)

comments are appreciated!!

m.list || navigation

406 notes · View notes

sovasleepy · 7 months ago

Text

jealousy (valorant x reader)

[ chamber, gekko, sova, omen x gn!reader ] — in which valorant men get a little jealous

tw: jealous and a little overprotectiveness but they’re (mostly) healthy about it. a little cursing for some flavor. random guy flirts with you in chamber's but hes not creepy about it. different guy is also creepy in omen's but its not talked about in detail. chamber makes a sexual joke in his.

CHAMBER ━━━

hot take: he’s so protective at all times idc idc

but he hides it so so well

he’s absolutely enamored by you, there’s no denying that. that’s only half the reason why he tries to show you off so much though

the other reason is because that means he is showing you off as his. he’s staking his claim on you in his own odd little way, but it works and neither of you mind it too much

━━━━━━

“are you sure this shirt doesn’t make me look weird?” you asked, tugging at the material.

as much as you loved it, you couldn’t quite tell me if it was ‘you.’ you stepped out of the changing room of the store you were in and into the hallway, where chamber sat patiently waiting. he loved a fashion show if it was yours, after all.

he pretended to inspect it thoroughly, leaning forward in his chair and narrowing his eyes.

before he could answer, however, a different voice sounded out. it came from the door next to yours, where a different man had walked into the hallway to look at his own clothes.

“it looks good,” he spoke, smirk creeping its way onto his face. “but i imagine you’d look good in anything, huh?”

both you and chamber sat still and quiet for a few beats, as if registering what had just happened. the line was well delivered, but seriously? could he not tell that you were with chamber?

“well,” chamber spoke loudly. “they do look good in anything. and in nothing. we could see how you look when the shirt is on our bedroom floor, how’s that, ma cheri?”

you attempted to ignore the warmth that rose in your face, but failed. again, you were stunned. the opposing man blanched and retreated back to his changing room, where he quickly shut the door.

“come now, love. i think a thousand dollars in one shopping trip is enough, no? or should we stop by one more store?” chamber was overly loud once again.

and lying through his teeth, as well — you’d come to retrieve a single shirt for an event. that said, you couldn’t help but laugh as the occupant of changing room next to yours fumbled over himself, apparently knocked something down, and released a string of curses.

he didn’t have to know chamber was lying, and you didn’t have to know chamber was lying because he knew he’d earn a laugh from you.

GEKKO ━━━

gekko has like. a normal amount of jealousy?

he’ll bite back the small senses of it whenever you’re giving another guy a little more attention that he would like you to

or he’ll politely explain to you that he doesn’t really like you doing something because of how it makes him feel and you’ll talk it through

not because he doesn’t trust you, he just needs that extra little reassurance

if you’re willing to give up doing something to give him that peace of mind? all the better. if not? he can work on it, no questions asked.

overall 10/10 v good communication skills i love him

━━━━━━

you could tell that gekko was uneasy. from the way his nails picked at his fingers and the constant bouncing of his knee, to the avoidance of eye contact and the way his speech was quiet and mumbled, gekko’s demeanor screamed something was wrong.

you watched him carefully as you sat back down at the table. again, his eyes didn’t move from the place they were locked onto.

a few moments passed as you thought of what could have been wrong. the two of you were at some company party, with loud music coming through the speakers and an unholy amount of people piled into the room. everyone was dressed formally in either dresses or suits, their makeup done perfectly and not a hair out of place.

maybe that’s what was wrong. perhaps the music was too loud or his suit was too tight.

“mateo?” you had to yell over the music, despite wanting your voice to be soft as you spoke to him.

he finally looked up to you, soft eyes scanning your face. he didn’t speak, but he hummed to acknowledge you audibly.

“is everything alright? you seem a little off.”

the question seemed to stun him for a few moments as he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth and looked back down to the table. after a deep breath, he finally answered. “i just felt a little… i dunno. saying i was jealous feels a little funny, but there was this guy earlier you were talking to? he was kinda tall, darker hair. and uh- anyway, you went to grab a drink and he seemed to be really funny i guess. you didn’t stop laughing the entire time you were talking and before you left he kissed your cheek.”

you thought about it for a second, trying to recall the interaction, before you let out something like a laugh.

“he’s from mexico, he told me it was a common thing there? i dunno. i’ve known him since i joined the protocol.” you said, smiling at him. “it’s nothing, but if you don’t like it i’ll tell him next time. i highly doubt there’s gonna be any hard feelings about it on his end. is that alright?”

he nodded, sending you a soft smile. his face had relaxed significantly in the past few minutes. "thank you, amor."

SOVA ━━━

he rarely gets jealous,, he thinks

he has a hard time exactly placing the emotion, and it’s mostly shrouded in protectiveness more than anything

he loves you, he knows you love him, and there is not a doubt that trickles into his mind

…..for the most part, anyway

there is the occasional time when that warmth spreads in his chest and the overwhelming urge to take you under his wing spawns, only to realize you aren’t in any danger

so why does he feel the need to protect you?

━━━━━━

sova had never had any ill-will toward phoenix. the two of them weren't particularly close, but they had worked and lived together for long enough that they were closer than one might expect.

maybe thats why sova agreed to play games with he and a few others the other night. they played stupid ice-breaker games, despite mostly having known each other for years. a few embarrassing stories of his friends' youth were shared, including the time jett ate brownies without knowing weed was baked in, and the time raze got caught sneaking out in her teens.

at some point, sova was asked who he had feelings for. it was the late hours of the night, and you had long since passed out on the couch next to him. he'll never figure out how you slept through the laughing and talking, but you did. without saying a word, sova had smiled softly and nodded over to you.

there were a few gasps, and then there was the laughing and cheering of a few others. phoenix held out his hand, to which jett passed him twenty bucks with a disgrunted face. evidently, they had had a bet about his feelings.

little did he know that telling them--phoenix, in particular--about his feelings toward you would go on to be one of the worst decisions he could have made.

ever since that night, phoenix had made it his goal to flirt with you as much as he possibly could when sova was around. he would send the russian a wink and a smile after every interaction with you, driving the stake deeper. though you thought he was just being friendly and joking around, the interactions never failed to spark a sick feeling in his gut.

and currently, he was almost at his limit.

he was normally fairly calm, but his patience with phoenix had been run thin over the past few weeks and the interaction between you two was getting a little too close for his comfort. not that he had some sort of claim over you; you weren't dating, so why did he have this feeling?

"could you hand me my water?" you asked from your spot on the couch. you gestured to the bottle of water placed in front of phoenix, who was sitting beside you.

he watched as phoenix took your hand and brought it gently up to his lips, planting a kiss on your knuckles. "anything for you, my love." his voice was dripping with sultry as he spoke.

in a few quick steps, sova got up and grabbed the bottle before phoenix could. he stepped around the coffee table and handed you the bottle, sending a glare over to phoenix when he stepped away. the other man raised his hands in mock defense and leaned back into the couch. with a sly smile, he positioned his arm around the back of the couch and pulled you into his side. you laughed, but didn't push away.

"ok, fine." sova finally spoke. he had been glaring daggers at you and phoenix for the better part of two hours, and you couldn't figure out why. "what the hell is it for, phoenix? why are you doing this?"

you leaned up from where you were leaned against the man in question. "doing what?"

phoenix smiled impossibly wider and leaned forward. "yeah, doing what?"

sova grumbled. he huffed and took a moment to collect himself. "leave, y/n." he looked at you and his eyes softened. "please."

despite the look he sent you, you weren't leaving. you crossed your arms in defiance and glared. phoenix's hand came up to rub your back.

"that!" sova finally spoke again. this wasn't how he wanted to confess to you, but so be it. "i told you weeks ago that i had feelings for y/n and you have since made it your life's mission to flirt with them. you don't have the same feelings for them, so why? what do you gain?"

phoenix, painfully calmly, got up and walked to the other side of the room. "for one, you finally confessed. don't have to deal with your 'longing gazes' anymore. secondly, jett now owes me twenty more bucks."

OMEN ━━━

omen would like to pride himself in the fact that he was rarely jealous.

insecure? sure. a little self-depreciating? of course.

but jealous just wasn’t him. as much as he was dissatisfied with himself, he had full trust in you.

however, that didn’t stop the rare inkling of a feeling that you truly would be better off with someone else, especially when they flirt, and even more so when you don’t notice

━━━━━━

one more time. that was all it was going to take.

just one more time for that guy to slide his hand up your arm, one more stupid joke to roll off of his tongue, one more laugh from you. omen knew he didn't exactly initiate physical touch all that often, but that doesn't mean he dislikes it. he would kill right now to have that be him, for you to be so close to him, for you to be laughing at his every word like you were laughing at that guy's.

he had told you that he would come with you to grab some supplies. a kingdom worker had been at the facility at the time, however, and the two of you seemed to be getting along perfectly well. to hell with the company you had asked from omen, he supposes.

and of course there it was again, his arm coming up to rest gently on your back as he guided you down another hallway. omen was a few steps behind the two of you, not that either one of you seemed to be paying him any mind.

fine. he could go back to his room.

his disappeared into a cloud of smoke, materializing again in the darkness of his own room. the events of the last thirty or so minutes replayed in his mind, a taunting loop of your smile as you looked at the man responsible for it. its not that he hated seeing you smile -- he loved it. but it was a different thing entirely when you smiled so big because of a man he could never be. maybe in another life, but not now.

the thoughts swirled in his head for what felt like hours. it was likely barely half an hour in reality, being that it took fifteen minutes alone to get up to his room from where the two of you had been before and likely another few to finish your work.

finally, a knock on the door of his room regained his attention.

"come in." he spoke, not looking away from the ceiling tile he'd been fixed on.

"what the hell is wrong with you?" you asked, clearly angry.

the phantom sat up, looking over to you incredulously. "what?"

"why the hell would you leave?"

"wasn't interested in watching him flirt with you." he was curt, as always.

"oh, yeah," you said dramatically. you were walking over to him now, standing in front of him. "because i was enjoying it so much. loved it even more when my boyfriend got tired and left me alone with him."

oh. that makes more sense than you blatantly hitting on him in front of your own boyfriend.

"really? sure seemed to find him so funny."

"because what am i supposed to do? tell him that he's not funny and to shut up?"

"you could have told him not to touch you."

"i did! and you didn't see me brushing his hand away and walking faster so he wouldn't rest his hand on my back? or were you too busy wallowing?"

the reality of this set in on him suddenly. he really had been too caught up in his own mind to realize what was happening. he had left you in an uncomfortable situation all because he was too stubborn to listen to what was actually happening.

"i'm sorry." he finally spoke.

"its okay," you sighed, and crawled your way into his bed. "i'll file a report or something later. we deserve a nap."

821 notes · View notes

mononijikayu · 4 months ago

Text

if the world was ending, i’d wanna be next to you — itadori yuji and ryomen sukuna.

“You’re scared, little one.” Sukuna observes, voice low and taunting. “Quite a face I’ve never seen in a long time.” Your heart pounds, every instinct screaming at you to run, to get away from him. But something roots you in place, the inexplicable connection between the face you loved and the one you now feared, pulling you in two directions at once. “How low you’ve come, little one.” he continues, his voice dripping with amusement. “Really? A green boy like him?” He leans in closer, his presence suffocating. “An insult to your standards, little one.”

GENRE: alternate universe - canon convergence;

WARNING/S: spoilers for jjk chapter 271, not safe for work, angst, fluff, one sided romance, eventual romance, conflicted feelings, hurt/comfort, reincarnation, happy ending, hurt, physical touch, character death, mourning, loneliness, pain, grief, afterlife, internal conflict, future, letting go, depiction of moving forward, depiction of one-sided relationship, depiction of rebirth, depiction of internal conflict, depiction of complicated relationship, depiction of character death, depiction of canon related violence, depiction of loneliness, mention of grief, mention of illness, mention of loneliness, depiction of happy end, true form! sukuna, itadori yuji, reincarnated concubine! reader;

WORD COUNT: 11k words

NOTE: this was highly requested, that concubine reader from the other woman has some closure and freedom and happiness in her next life. well, this is it. i feel like after having read chapter 271 completely, i feel like this was also a good sort of closure on sukuna's character. as ive said, i wasn't satisfied much, but i decided to write a path of my own here. and i hope you like it!!! i love you all <3

main masterlist

the other woman masterlist

if you want to, tip! <3

kayu's playlist, side 1500;

THE PAST WAS SOMETHING THAT INTRIGUED YOU. You used to wonder if you had a life before this one. The thought lingered like a shadow on quiet nights, gnawing at the edges of your consciousness. You were always curious: Was it a good life? Did you laugh often? Were you loved? And in the end, did you grow old surrounded by warmth, or did your story close abruptly, lost to the currents of time? These questions, though unspoken, echoed through your mind like the turning pages of an unfinished book.

Yet, it’s in moments like this—simple, undemanding, and unexpectedly tender—that those questions fall away. You realize that the answer doesn’t matter as much as you once thought. You and Itadori Yuji, sitting side by side, the air filled with the sound of his laughter, his energy contagious and effortless. It's not always what you do together, but how he has a way of making everything feel lighter, even when life is at its heaviest.

In these instances, where time seems to slow down and the weight of the past dissolves, you’re reminded that perhaps the life before—if it existed at all—was not as important as the one unfolding now. This is where the heart finds its peace. Being with Yuji, you feel that indescribable warmth. It’s the warmth of being cared for, the joy of connection, the quiet happiness of simply being. Moments like this feel like the reward of a life well-lived, even if the past is a mystery.

Maybe in another life, you were loved. Maybe you weren’t. But in this one, as you sit here with Yuji, you feel blessed in a way that transcends time, as if this companionship, this simplicity, is enough to fill whatever came before.

You glance over at Yuji, who’s still laughing, the corners of his eyes crinkled in that way that makes him look so carefree, so utterly at peace. It’s moments like this that make you forget about the world outside.

“You know, Yuji,” you say, leaning back a bit, “sometimes I wonder if I had a life before all of this. Like, did I have a good life? Was I happy? Did I do anything important?” Your voice trails off, unsure if you’re even making sense. It’s one of those thoughts that sounds bigger in your head, harder to explain aloud.

Yuji pauses, the smile still lingering on his lips but his eyes now softening as he looks at you. “I dunno about a past life,” he says, shrugging in that easy, nonchalant way of his, “but I think it doesn’t really matter, right? I mean, what’s important is now, right here. And… if you’re happy now, then that’s enough, isn’t it?”

You look at him, surprised by the simplicity of his words. Yuji always has a way of cutting through complicated feelings with such earnestness, and it hits you every time.

“Yeah, but what if I didn’t get that? What if I didn’t get the chance to be happy then?” you say, not sure why you're pushing the point. Maybe you want to hear more of his optimism, that unwavering belief in the present.

Yuji thinks for a second, rubbing the back of his neck. “Then… maybe that’s why you’re here now. To have those moments. To feel that happiness.” He grins suddenly, almost sheepish. “And hey, if that’s true, then I guess it’s my job to make sure you’re having a good time in this life.”

You smile, something warm settling in your chest. "You think so? That’s your job now?"

“Yep!” Yuji says with a bright nod. “And honestly? I think I’m doing pretty good at it, don’t you?” He nudges you playfully, and you can’t help but laugh.

“Yeah,” you admit, feeling lighter. “Yeah, you’re doing a pretty good job.”

Yuji leans back, satisfied. “See? No need to worry about the past. We’re making good memories right now. And who knows, maybe in the next life, we’ll be laughing about this one.”

You chuckle at the thought, realizing he’s right in a way. The present, with all its little joys, is more than enough. And with Yuji by your side, it feels like it always will be.

Itadori Yuji was your opposite—he was vibrant, bursting with energy, like the sun at its highest peak. Where you were quiet, thoughtful, perhaps a little reserved, Yuji was a whirlwind of light, so bright it was impossible not to be pulled into his orbit. He was the type of person who loved easily, fiercely, without hesitation. In the short time you had known him, it felt like he had illuminated parts of you that you didn’t even realize had been in shadow.

Six months. That’s how long he had been in your life, and in that brief window, Yuji became your biggest friend. He was the kind of friend who made you forget your worries, who could turn a mundane moment into something extraordinary just by being there.

You weren’t sure when it happened, but somewhere along the way, your feelings for him deepened into something more. You didn’t just care for him, you were falling for him. His smile, his laugh, the way he’d look at you with such unguarded sincerity—it all crept into your heart before you had a chance to stop it.

But then, as suddenly as he had entered your life, he was gone.

You mourned him in the rawest sense, the grief hitting you like a wave, unrelenting and suffocating. You had barely begun to process what he meant to you, and now you were left with nothing but memories. Memories that once brought joy now twisted into something painful, aching. The world felt dimmer without him, like someone had extinguished the light you had grown so accustomed to.

You grieved the moments you never had, the confessions that were never spoken. You grieved the time you lost and the love you never got to fully express. And in the quiet, lonely nights, you found yourself missing even the smallest things—his goofy grin, the way he’d always try to cheer you up, the warmth he carried with him wherever he went.

Itadori Yuji had changed your world in just six months, and now, with him gone, you didn’t know how to go back to how things were before him. Maybe you never would.

And now, you stand face to face with someone else. Someone you didn’t know—someone that terrified you. Ryomen Sukuna. The King of Curses, wearing Yuji’s face but twisted into something cold and malevolent. His presence was overwhelming, a suffocating aura that made your skin crawl, your heart race in dread. The Yuji you had known, the boy you had fallen for, was nowhere to be found in the dark, calculating red eyes that now gazed at you.

But as you meet Sukuna’s gaze, there’s something strange—something unsettling in its familiarity. Amidst the malice, the sadistic smirk, and the chilling sense of power, there’s a flicker of something that shouldn’t be there. Something… almost tender. A subtle glint of fondness that feels utterly out of place in someone like him.

Your breath catches in your throat. It doesn’t make sense. Sukuna should have no reason to look at you this way, no reason to show anything other than contempt or amusement. And yet, there it is—just beneath the surface, a strange warmth, a recognition.

He steps closer, and you instinctively take a step back, fear surging through you like ice in your veins. This wasn’t Yuji. This wasn’t the boy who made you feel safe, who filled your days with laughter and light. This was a monster. A curse. But the way Sukuna’s eyes linger on you, the way his lips curve in a slow, deliberate smirk—there’s something disturbingly familiar in it. A haunting echo of the person you lost.

“You’re scared, little one.” Sukuna observes, voice low and taunting. “Quite a face I’ve never seen in a long time.”

Your heart pounds, every instinct screaming at you to run, to get away from him. But something roots you in place, the inexplicable connection between the face you loved and the one you now feared, pulling you in two directions at once.

“How low you’ve come, little one.” he continues, his voice dripping with amusement. “Really? A green boy like him?” He leans in closer, his presence suffocating. “An insult to your standards, little one.”

You swallow, throat dry, unable to tear your eyes away from his. “You’re not Yuji.” you whisper, the words feeling like a betrayal, even though you know they’re true.

“No.” Sukuna agrees, a dark chuckle escaping his lips. “I’m not. I’d rather not be. But…” His eyes narrow, that strange fondness flashing again, almost as if he’s toying with something deeper. “It’s far better that it is I in front of you.”

Your chest tightens at his words, the weight of them sinking in. It’s impossible, and yet… something in Sukuna’s gaze—something about the way he looks at you—makes you feel like, in some twisted way, you’re still staring into the remnants of Yuji. Or perhaps the remnants of what could have been.

“Stay back!”

“How cruel, little one. When I was your life.” Sukuna says, almost thoughtfully. “You grieved for him. A brat. And yet, here I am, standing right in front of you. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

His words feel like a cruel mockery, slicing through your defenses with the precision of a knife. Yet, amid the taunts and the darkness that envelops him, there’s an undercurrent of truth that stings—a painful reminder of everything you’ve lost. You find yourself grappling with an unsettling confusion, a whirlwind of emotions that makes your head spin.

This is a monster, you remind yourself. A malevolent being born of curses and chaos. You do not know him, no matter how he tries to push, no matter how his eyes—those dark, swirling eyes that resemble Yuji’s—seem to reach deep into your soul, searching for something buried within. You’re scared. Scared of the implications, scared of the truth that threatens to unravel everything you thought you understood.

You had wanted Yuji back—longed for him, missed him so much that it hurt. The ache in your heart was a constant companion, an echo of laughter and warmth that once filled your days. You had spent countless nights wishing for a miracle, hoping to see that familiar, infectious smile again. But now, faced with the twisted reality of what stood before you, you weren’t sure if you could handle the price of that wish.

Could this—this—be the cost? A piece of Yuji entangled in a form so horrifying, so devoid of the light he once radiated? The very thought makes you recoil. You want to reject it, to deny that any part of Yuji could reside within Sukuna. But the familiarity in Sukuna’s gaze, the hints of fondness mixed with malice, make it impossible to ignore.

You take a shaky breath, grounding yourself as you try to separate the remnants of your grief from the reality before you. “You’re not him, stop. Stop talking!” you say again, more forcefully this time, but it feels like a hollow declaration. Deep down, you know it’s not enough. The monster in front of you wears Yuji’s face, and it shakes you to your core.

Sukuna steps closer, his presence a dark shadow looming over you, and you can’t help but feel trapped in this moment. You wonder if you should flee, escape the suffocating tension that surrounds you, but something keeps you rooted. It’s as if a part of you is drawn to this interaction, compelled to understand, to confront the tangled web of loss and longing that you’ve been avoiding.

“Tell me, little one.” Sukuna murmurs, his voice low and almost teasing. “What is it you miss about him? The laughter? The heroism? Or is it simply the idea of what he represented—hope?”

His words pierce through the fog of confusion, and you find yourself grappling with the truth of them. What did you miss about Yuji? Was it just the memories of the boy who filled your life with laughter, or was it something deeper—a feeling of safety, a light in the darkness that made everything feel manageable? The longing you felt was so raw, so visceral, but now it felt tainted, complicated by the monstrous form before you.

“I don’t know…..I….” you admit, your voice cracking under the weight of your emotions. “I just know that I wanted him back. I wanted him to stay.” The admission slips out before you can stop it, a soft confession echoing in the heavy silence.

Sukuna watches you closely, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. “And yet here I am, standing in his place.” he says, his tone laced with dark amusement. “Perhaps you should reconsider what it is you truly prefer, little one.”

His words hang in the air, heavy with implications you’re not ready to confront. The dread creeps back in, entwined with that lingering curiosity. You realize, with a shiver, that this moment is a threshold—a chance to either run away from the painful truth or face it head-on. You don’t know what it means for you or what it might cost, but deep down, you understand that avoiding Sukuna will not bring Yuji back.

Caught in this whirlwind of emotions, you stand there, heart pounding, feeling the walls close in around you. The weight of grief and longing collides with fear, and you can’t shake the feeling that in this moment, every choice you make could lead to something irrevocable. The haunting question lingers: What if you truly do remember? And what would that mean for both Yuji and the monster that now embodies him?

Sukuna smiles, a slow, dangerous curve of his lips, and somehow, even through the fear, you feel it—the remnants of Yuji still flickering in the dark recesses of this cursed form. And it breaks your heart all over again.

You swallow hard, your heart pounding as you look into Sukuna’s eyes, those dark, unsettling orbs that seem to mock everything you once knew. But you force the words out anyway, your voice trembling but determined. “I don’t remember you.”

Sukuna snickers, his laughter low and taunting. It sends a chill down your spine, as if he’s amused by some private joke you’re not in on. He leans in slightly, tilting his head, his smirk widening into something more dangerous, more possessive. “Is that what you tell me after all this time, little one?”

The way he says it—so familiar, so intimate—makes your breath catch. It’s like he’s speaking of something only the two of you should know, something hidden beneath the surface of your shared history. But how? You’ve never met Sukuna before. And yet… something in his voice, in the way he calls you little one, stirs something deep inside you. A flicker of something you can’t quite place, something buried.

You take a step back, shaking your head, trying to keep your composure. “I don’t know you. You’re not Yuji, you’re not….” you say again, though this time it sounds more like a plea. A desperate attempt to hold onto the truth, to make sense of the chaos swirling around you.

Sukuna’s grin only deepens. He watches you with a look that’s far too knowing, as if he can see right through your confusion, right through your walls. “Oh, but you do, little one.” he purrs, his voice dripping with dark amusement. “Perhaps you just don’t want to remember.”

Your pulse quickens as his words settle over you, heavy with implications. His gaze feels like it’s piercing through you, dredging up memories you aren’t even sure exist. Could there be something you’re missing? Something you’ve forgotten, or worse—something you’ve buried?

“Look at you, little one. More fragile than what you had been.” Sukuna continues, his voice lowering to something almost dangerous. “Pretending you don’t know. But your eyes betray you. You know me. Maybe not in this life… but somewhere, deep down.” He lifts a hand, lazily gesturing to himself. “You’ve always known me.”

Your chest tightens at the weight of his words, at the way they seem to pull you into something far more complex than you can grasp. You feel torn, the familiar pull of Yuji clashing with the terrifying presence of Sukuna. There’s a part of you that wants to run, to escape whatever this is. But another part of you—the part that feels that flicker of recognition when he speaks, when he looks at you—keeps you frozen in place.

“I don’t…” you start, your voice faltering. “I don’t understand.”

Sukuna laughs again, that low, predatory sound that makes your stomach churn. “Of course you don’t. But you will, in time.” His eyes gleam with something dark and possessive. “I’m not going anywhere, little one. So you’ll have all the time in the world to remember.”

Your hands tremble at your sides, the fear still coursing through you, but now there’s something else. Something far more dangerous than fear—a curiosity, a pull you can’t explain. Even though you know you shouldn’t, you’re drawn to him, to the way his words tug at something deep inside you, something lost.

Sukuna takes another step closer, his presence overwhelming, his gaze never leaving yours. “And when you do remember,” he whispers, his voice dropping into something almost tender, “you’ll realize that it’s not this brat you mourn, little one.”

Your heart skips a beat, the words hitting you like a punch to the gut. You want to deny it, to push him away, to convince yourself that the darkness in Sukuna’s eyes holds no truth. But you can’t shake the unsettling feeling that maybe, just maybe, there’s a twisted truth in what he’s saying—something buried so deep inside you that it makes your skin prickle. And that terrifies you more than anything else at this moment.

“You have better memory than that.” His voice is smooth, a honeyed drawl that curls around you, laced with a sinister undertone. He steps closer, and you can feel the warmth radiating from his body, a heat that’s both inviting and suffocating. His breath brushes against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine, and you find yourself caught in his gaze—those scarlet eyes gleaming with an intensity that both captivates and horrifies you.

“Try to remember me.” he continues, the words dripping with a twisted sense of familiarity, a beckoning that both draws you in and repels you. There’s an almost playful cruelty in his tone, as if he knows the power he holds over you in this moment—knows that your heart is already torn, straddling the line between longing and fear.

You swallow hard, your throat dry as you grapple with the conflicting emotions swirling within you. The essence of Yuji—the boy who brought light and laughter into your life—now feels irreversibly entwined with the dark curse standing before you.

The memory of his warmth, his laughter, and his unwavering kindness feels like a distant dream, overshadowed by the reality of Sukuna’s presence. And yet, the way Sukuna looks at you, the way he carries himself, evokes echoes of the boy you loved. It’s confusing, maddening, and all-consuming.

“Don’t you want to know what’s buried inside you?” he taunts softly, leaning in even closer, as if sharing a secret only you can hear. “What really lies behind that grief? The truth of your feelings? Your past?”

You shudder at his words, feeling as though he’s reaching into the deepest corners of your mind, teasing out thoughts you’re not ready to confront. The idea of facing whatever remnants of Yuji’s essence are hidden within this creature, this manifestation of all your fears and sorrows, makes you want to flee. But the truth is, you’re caught in a web of curiosity and dread, tethered to the boy who once filled your heart.

“Stop it.” you whisper, your voice shaking. “You’re not him. You’re not Yuji.”

Sukuna chuckles, a low, rumbling sound that reverberates in the stillness around you. “Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong. I wear this brat’s face, little one. And I am here —whether you want to accept it or not.” His scarlet eyes bore into yours, a challenge lingering in the air. “And whether you like it or not, he’s a part of me too.”

The weight of his words settles heavily in your chest, a visceral truth that makes you want to scream. How could he say that? How could he twist the memory of Yuji into something so dark and cruel? But as you stand there, heart racing, you realize that he’s right in a way you’re terrified to explore. The grief you feel is a testament to the love you once shared, and now that love has taken on a new, twisted form.

As Sukuna’s presence looms over you, you feel the tension of this moment wrapping around you like a shroud. The air is thick with uncertainty, and you’re caught in a battle between wanting to retreat into safety and an insatiable desire to confront the truth lurking just beyond your grasp.

“Good night, little one.” he repeats, the command soothing and commanding all at once. “And when you wake, perhaps you’ll see things more clearly. I promise you, it will be… enlightening.”

With those final words, he steps back, allowing you to breathe again, but the weight of his gaze lingers. As he fades into the shadows, you’re left standing there, your heart pounding in your chest. The fear that grips you is palpable, but beneath it lies a flicker of curiosity—a yearning to understand what lies hidden within, to uncover the truths that connect you to both Yuji and Sukuna.

You know you should feel safe in your denial, but as you process everything, you realize that the only way forward is to confront this new reality. Whatever it takes, you have to know what Sukuna means, what truth lies within you, and what it might reveal about the love you lost and the monster that now stands in his place.

A THOUSAND YEARS HAD PASSED AND YET, HE THINKS A LOT ABOUT THAT LAST WISH. It was Ryomen Sukuna’s hope that you would not be reborn like this. After the years of misery he had put upon you, such loneliness and bitterness — this is not what you deserve. In the depths of his cursed heart, he had wished for you to have a better life—a life filled with warmth and love, a life free from the shadows that clung to him.

He had imagined a future where you would thrive, where your laughter would echo in the halls of a home filled with joy and not tied to the darkness he embodied. He wanted for your hope to come true, for you to carve out your own path, one that didn’t intertwine with his own cursed existence. So that you may be free from the cage of him, and fly away.

Yet, here you were, standing in the remnants of a life he had never wished for you. A life as a sorcerer, a role steeped in danger and darkness, where you faced the very curses he had once commanded. And most of all, you found yourself in adoration of his vessel, Itadori Yuji—the very embodiment of what Sukuna had wanted to keep separate from you.

Every day was a constant reminder of that bittersweet reality. You had grown to love the brat, the boy whose spirit shone brighter than anyone else’s, whose laughter brought light to the darkest corners of your heart. He had an infectious enthusiasm that made the world seem a little less heavy, a little less daunting. And now that he was alive, Ryomen Sukuna could only watch as you found the joy that he could not give you.

“Hey! Are you coming or what?” Yuji called out, his voice cutting through your thoughts. He stood a few paces ahead, hands on his hips, a bright smile lighting up his face. “I thought we were going to train today!”

You couldn’t help but smile back at him, your heart swelling at the sight of his excitement. “Yeah, I’m coming!” You jogged to catch up with him, the momentary rush of adrenaline distracting you from the weight of your thoughts.

As you fell into step beside him, you felt the warmth of his presence, the way he made the air around you feel lighter. “You really are too slow sometimes, you know?” he teased, nudging you playfully. “I mean, I know I’m faster, but you’ve gotta at least try to keep up!”

“Please!” you laughed, shaking your head. “You’ve been training longer than I have. I’m just trying not to trip over my own feet!” The banter flowed easily between you, but even in this moment of lightness, you couldn’t shake the nagging sense of Sukuna’s presence lurking just beneath the surface, a shadow that never quite left you.

“Speaking of tripping, you’re not going to freak out again when I show you that new move, are you?” Yuji’s expression turned mock-serious, eyebrows raised. “Because last time, I swear I thought you were going to lose your lunch!”

“Okay, that was one time! I told you I wasn’t ready for a backflip!” you protested, recalling the embarrassment of that training session where you’d ended up flat on your back. “Besides, you can’t just expect me to be a natural like you!”

Yuji laughed, the sound bubbling up from his chest and enveloping you like a warm embrace. “Hey, you’ve got potential! I mean, you did get back up after I knocked you down. That counts for something, right?”

His encouragement filled you with a warmth that momentarily pushed aside the darkness threatening to creep in. He was everything Sukuna had hoped you would find—kind, brave, and full of life. Itadori Yuji’s laughter echoed in your mind, a stark contrast to the chilling presence of the curse that loomed behind you, hidden yet always felt, a constant reminder of the complexities entangled in your heart.

Yet, in the depths of Sukuna’s being, a flicker of something unexpected stirred—a faint, bitter jealousy. He had often wondered if he had ever truly felt envy regarding the affection you held for that brat, as he so often referred to Yuji in his darker moments. A part of him questioned whether he was conscious of the pain he had caused you, the heartache that clung to your spirit like a shadow.

“Do you even understand what you’ve done to her?” he mused silently, as if you could hear him echoing in your mind.

There was an awareness in him, a recognition that you had somehow managed to love all of him, even the twisted, cursed side of his existence. Perhaps that was what stung the most—knowing that you had opened your heart to him and, in doing so, had become entwined in a relationship that was more chaotic than he had ever intended.

But even amid that jealousy, he had no regrets about his feelings for you. His love for Hiromi—the one who had filled his heart with warmth before darkness overtook him—remained unwavering.

That love had been pure and innocent, a light that could never be dimmed by the shadows he had embraced. He could not deny it, nor would he wish to. Yet now, watching from the sidelines, he felt an ache in his chest, a realization that he could never be the one to bring you that same joy.

In the quiet corners of his mind, he harbored a secret wish—a hope that he could have made you smile like this. So vibrantly, so free of grief. A happiness so clear that one could see it gleam in your eyes, untainted by the complexities of his existence. The laughter you shared with Yuji resonated in a way that he could only dream of, a melody of innocence that felt forever out of his reach.

“What would it take?” he pondered, the thought lingering like a ghost. Would he ever be able to evoke such joy? Or was he forever condemned to dwell in the shadows of what he could never be?

Sukuna’s thoughts spiraled, twisting through memories of moments shared with you—soft smiles, fleeting touches, and the warmth of your laughter that once danced around him like sunlight. The contrast was stark; he had only ever known how to wield darkness, to embrace fear and chaos, while Yuji seemed to thrive in the light. The way you looked at Yuji, filled with admiration and affection, was a dagger in his chest, a poignant reminder of the connection he could never replicate.

Yet, in that moment of reflection, a different feeling began to take root—a deep, abiding wish for your happiness. Perhaps the greatest act of love he could offer you now was to allow you to chase that joy, even if it meant stepping aside, relinquishing his hold on your heart. You deserve every ounce of happiness, unencumbered by his darkness.

As you stood there, laughing freely, the shadows that had haunted him felt a little less suffocating. He knew he could not change who he was, nor could he rewrite the past, but perhaps he could shift his focus from his own pain to the happiness that blossomed in front of him. He wanted to see you flourish, to break free from the chains of sorrow he had inadvertently wrapped around you.

“Thanks, Yuji. I really appreciate that.” you said, your voice softer, the sincerity in your tone catching his attention. Your face flustered and shy. It was a face Sukuna had never seen from you.

“Hey, you don’t have to thank me. We’re friends, right?” His eyes sparkled with genuine warmth, but beneath that, you could feel a hint of concern lurking. “You know, if something’s bothering you, you can tell me. We’re a team.”

You paused for a moment, the gravity of his words settling over you. Sukuna knew that you wanted to share your fears—he could see it in the way your lips parted but never released a sound, in the slight tremble of your hands as they hovered between reaching out and retreating. It was written all over your face, the tension in your furrowed brow, the flicker of uncertainty in your eyes. Sukuna knew you too well, after all the years you'd lived together. He understood every unspoken word, every hesitation, even when you couldn’t bring yourself to voice your thoughts.

But this time, things were different. You didn’t remember any of it—not the life he had spoken of, not the shared moments he swore existed. The memories he claimed you both cherished were nothing but a void to you, a distant fog where nothing came into focus. Sukuna knew that too. He wasn’t oblivious to the confusion in your expression whenever he spoke of the past you shared. You couldn’t recall the way your lives had intertwined so deeply, and that lack of recollection gnawed at you just as much as it pained him.

And yet, despite your lack of memory, despite the blank slate that your mind had become, Sukuna still knew you. He could sense the turmoil bubbling within you, the words that remained trapped in your throat.

They were right there, on the tip of your tongue, waiting to be released, but fear held you back. What if speaking those fears out loud made them real? What if your confusion, your lack of memories, created a rift between you that couldn’t be mended?

Sukuna’s gaze never wavered from you. His usual harshness softened, if only slightly, as if silently urging you to speak. He understood that what you were facing was beyond your control, but he wanted you to know that he was still there, that he would wait. No matter how long it took for you to find your voice, to trust him again—even if the memories never returned—Sukuna wasn’t going anywhere.

“I… I’m fine, Yu.” you finally replied, forcing a smile. “Just a lot on my mind, you know? Training always helps clear it up.”

“Alright, but I’ll be here if you need me,” he said, his tone earnest, making your heart ache at the kindness in his eyes. “We’ll figure it out together, I promise.”

As you walked alongside him, the weight of Sukuna’s presence felt more like a lingering shadow, a reminder of your complicated reality. That was very much obvious to him. The joy you found in the brat’s company was intoxicating, but it was intertwined with the fear of what Sukuna represented—a darkness that loomed over everything you cherished.

But in that moment, as the brat’s laughter filled the air, you resolved to focus on what you could control. You would embrace the light he brought into your life, even if it meant wrestling with the shadows of the past. For now, you would fight alongside him, a sorcerer in your own right, finding strength in your love for him and the hope that one day, the shadows would fade into something less consuming.

“Okay, enough talking! Let’s go!” Yuji said, breaking you from your thoughts as he took off, racing ahead. You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound spilling out of you, bright and free, as you chased after him, if only for a moment forgetting the weight of the curse that loomed over your life.

You had become a sorcerer not merely to fight curses, but to protect what you had come to cherish. It was a decision that had grown within you over time, shaped by your encounters and the people you had come to love. You weren’t driven by blind heroism or reckless ambition.

No, it was about preserving the bonds that had become precious to you, about standing your ground in a world where curses threatened the very fabric of those connections. But this choice—this path—you had taken wasn’t what Sukuna had ever wanted for you.

Sukuna never believed in foolish ideals like heroism or self-sacrifice. To him, they were weaknesses, things that would only lead you into harm's way. And that was what unsettled him most. He hadn’t fought for you, protected you, only to see you willingly step into danger for others. In your past life, things were different.

He had kept you safe, shielded you from the horrors that roamed the world. Under his watch, you didn't need to lift a finger. You were his to protect, a treasure he wouldn’t allow the world to tarnish.

But now, things had changed, and not in ways he could easily control. A part of him resented the world you had been pulled into—a world filled with curses, death, and peril. He especially resented the boy. Itadori Yuji.

Ryomen Sukuna had watched it happen—watched as Itadori had unknowingly nudged you towards the life of a sorcerer. It wasn’t malicious on Yuji’s part. The boy had only meant to encourage you, to bring out a strength he saw in you. But to Sukuna, that encouragement was nothing more than an invitation to danger. Yuji had no idea what he'd set in motion. And Sukuna couldn’t forgive him for that.

In your past life, Sukuna had made sure you were safe. There had been no need for you to risk yourself in battle or face the horrors of the world head-on. He had taken care of everything. You didn’t need to be strong; you didn’t need to fight. That was his role—to crush anyone who threatened you, to be the shield that protected you from harm. It was his way of keeping you close, of ensuring you never had to suffer.

But now, standing in this new life, all he could do was wonder—how could this brat, this boy, possibly take care of you? How could he, with his limited power and naive ideals, protect you the way Sukuna once had? It infuriated Sukuna to think that Yuji believed he could guide you in this treacherous world, when in reality, he was the one who had exposed you to its dangers in the first place.

Ryomen Sukuna clenched his fists, his thoughts simmering with frustration. You had been safe before, with him. But now, he feared that this world of curses you had chosen—this world where you now stood alongside Yuji and the others—would one day rip you away from him. And Sukuna wasn't sure he could bear that.

Sukuna felt a twisted sense of validation in the aftermath of Shibuya. It had been him—not Yuji, not any of your so-called allies—who had saved your life when everything went to hell. The moment the curses descended, the city had become a chaotic battlefield, one where even the strongest sorcerers struggled to hold their ground. But not him. Not Sukuna.

He had watched it unfold, his sharp gaze tracking the danger closing in on you, and in that split second, everything he had warned against crystallized. The fragility of your humanity, the danger you had willingly embraced—it all came to a head.

You had faced curses far beyond what you should have been dealing with. It was the recklessness, the vulnerability, the need to prove yourself as a sorcerer that had led you to the brink of death. And for what? To protect others? To fight alongside those who weren’t worthy of your devotion?

In that critical moment, when you had been on the verge of being overwhelmed, it wasn’t Yuji or any of the other sorcerers who had come to your aid. It was Sukuna. His power had surged through the chaos, his strength unmatched, obliterating the curse that had dared to lay its hand on you.

He had kept you from being crushed, from the fate that would have surely claimed you had he not intervened. The irony wasn’t lost on him—that in the midst of this world you had chosen, it was still his power that protected you, not the one you had turned to.

Sukuna could almost laugh at how right he had been. Your decision to become a sorcerer, your reliance on others to protect you—it had all crumbled in the face of reality.

In your past life, you had never needed to face this kind of danger, because he had kept you safe. It had been him who ensured your safety, him who made sure the world’s darkness never touched you. And now, in this life, despite everything that had changed, the outcome was still the same: you needed him to survive.

He hated to admit it, but a part of him reveled in the fact that you couldn’t escape his grasp. The boy, Yuji, had tried—tried to pull you into a world where you could stand on your own, where you didn’t need to rely on Ryomen Sukuna’s power.

But Shibuya had proven otherwise. The truth was undeniable: there was no escaping the fact that Sukuna was, and always would be, the one who kept you alive.

His crimson eyes lingered on you as you lay unconscious, the aftermath of the battle leaving you battered and bruised. He crouched beside you, his expression unreadable.

There was no warmth in his gaze, no affection—only a sense of possession. A sense of knowing that you were a part of him. Whether in this life or the last, it didn’t matter. The world could change, your memories could fade, but the fact remained: Sukuna had saved you, and he always would. No one else could protect you the way he could, and in the end, he was the only one who truly understood that.

"You see now, don’t you, little one?" he murmured, his voice low, almost to himself. "No matter how far you run, no matter what life you choose, you’ll always come back to this. To me."

There was a finality in his words, a certainty that rang through the empty streets of Shibuya. In his eyes, this moment only reinforced the bond between you, one forged not out of love, but out of necessity, out of survival. And though you may never remember the life you once shared, Sukuna knew that as long as you walked this path, you would always need him.

And then, in the stillness after the battle, Sukuna froze.

A pulse of cursed energy rippled through the air, faint but unmistakable. It was old, ancient even, yet familiar in a way that twisted something deep inside him. For the first time in a thousand years, Sukuna felt her presence. Hiromi.

Sukuna's mind recoiled from the realization, the pulse of cursed energy stirring something long-buried within him. The sensation clawed at him—ancient, familiar, undeniable.

Hiromi.

His heart, or what remained of it, twisted with an emotion he hadn't felt in centuries. He had thought it impossible.

But there it was, a presence like a faint echo that had finally resurfaced after a thousand years. His eyes narrowed, scanning the distance as if he could pinpoint the exact location of the cursed energy.

Without hesitation, his body moved on instinct, the need to chase after that familiar presence overwhelming him. He didn’t even spare a glance back at you. The urgency consumed him. You’ll be fine, he thought to himself. You were unconscious, battered but alive—safe, for now.

“Uraume.” His voice was cold and commanding, cutting through the still air. Almost immediately, Uraume appeared at his side, their faces calm and collected, as if they anticipated his order even before he had spoken it.

“Sukuna-sama.” Uraume bowed slightly, eyes flicking toward your limp form lying on the ground.

“Take care of them for me.” Sukuna instructed, his tone flat, devoid of emotion. It was an order, not a request. His eyes were already fixed on the horizon, his mind far from the present moment.

Uraume nodded without question. “Understood.”

With that, Sukuna turned his back on you, his form disappearing into the distance with terrifying speed. You were unconscious, vulnerable, but he left you without hesitation. Because even now, after everything, it wasn’t you that occupied his thoughts. Not fully. Not entirely.

As the wind whipped past him, his mind raced, trying to process the flood of emotions that came with sensing Hiromi’s energy after so long. It felt like an eternity since he had last known that presence—familiar yet distant, like a memory from another life. He clenched his fists, the anticipation mounting as he closed in on the source of the cursed energy.

But beneath the rush of adrenaline, Sukuna felt something else, something darker—guilt. It was fleeting, barely noticeable, but it was there, nagging at the edges of his mind. He knew he was a hypocrite.

He had kept you by his side, held you close, and claimed you as part of his world. You had become entangled in his existence, and yet, despite everything, despite the way he protected you, he could never love you. Not in the way you might have wanted. Not in the way that mattered.

Because love had always been reserved for someone else.

Hiromi.

The name echoed in his mind, sharp and clear. Hiromi had been everything to him in a way that transcended time. Even after a thousand years, Sukuna could feel it—that deep, consuming affection that had once tied him to Hiromi like a chain. He didn’t need to question it, didn’t need to doubt. Hiromi was the one he loved, the one he would always love. That had never changed.

And yet, as he chased after the familiar energy, a dark, bitter thought rose in his mind. He had kept you close for so long, but not out of love. It had been care, yes, concern even—but not love. You were valuable to him, a piece of his life that he refused to let the world destroy. But love? No, that was something you would never receive from him. That part of his heart had been taken long ago.

He didn’t regret it. Not for a second.

As he raced toward the source of Hiromi’s energy, Sukuna's lips curled into a slight, dangerous smile.

“Hiromi…” he whispered under his breath, a mixture of longing and hunger in his voice. “After all these years, you still haunt me.”

The urgency in his steps betrayed his growing anticipation, but beneath that, another feeling simmered. A strange unease. Sukuna knew what this meant—what it would mean for him, for you, for everything. He was a hypocrite, and he knew it all too well.

He had spent lifetimes keeping you close, ensuring your safety, binding you to him with his strength. He claimed you as his, possessed you in a way that transcended time and memory. He protected you, watched over you, but love? No, love had never been part of the equation.

Sukuna was no fool. He cared for you, yes. There was a connection, a bond that had grown stronger over time. But it wasn’t love, not in the way most would understand. He knew that. It had always been about control, about ensuring that you remained part of his world, tethered to him by the invisible threads of fate.

You had chosen a path filled with danger, and he had allowed it, begrudgingly, because he didn’t want to lose you. But he did not love you. Not in the way that mattered. Not in the way that consumed him.

That kind of love was reserved for someone else. Hiromi.

The name reverberated in his mind like an old song, the memory of a time long past. Hiromi had been the one he loved, truly loved. The one who had held his heart, back when he had one. The connection between them was something deeper, something far more potent than what he had with you. It was raw and ancient, a passion that transcended lifetimes.

Ryomen Hiromi had been his equal, the one who had understood him in ways no one else ever could. And now, after centuries, Hiromi’s cursed energy was stirring again, calling out to him across time.

Sukuna felt the sharp contrast between what he had with you and what he had once shared with Hiromi. You were his, yes—but in a way that was almost pragmatic, transactional. He cared for you, protected you because you were his responsibility, someone he would never let the world destroy. But it wasn’t the kind of love that set his soul ablaze. Not like Hiromi had.

And that truth didn’t bother him. He didn’t regret it. He didn’t regret holding you close while reserving his deepest, truest love for Hiromi. That was how it was meant to be. You and Hiromi occupied different places in his life, and that was something he had long accepted.

As he sped through the streets of Shibuya, his mind was a storm of thoughts. He knew he was leaving you behind, abandoning you without a second thought to chase the echo of someone he had lost long ago. And yet, he couldn’t stop himself. The pull was too strong, the memory of Hiromi too powerful to resist. You were safe. That’s all that mattered.

But Hiromi… Hiromi was everything.

Sukuna knew, with absolute certainty, that no matter what he had with you, it would never compare to what he had with Hiromi. And he didn’t need it to. He didn’t want it to. He had spent a thousand years in the shadow of that love, and now, with Hiromi’s cursed energy suddenly awakening, all he could think about was reclaiming what had been his—what had always been his.

As Sukuna moved through the city, his chest tightened with anticipation. He was a hypocrite, yes, but he had no regrets. He would protect you, care for you, but the fire that burned within him was for Hiromi alone. You were never meant to hold his heart—not the way Hiromi did. And for that, Sukuna was unapologetic.

This was who he was. This was who he had always been.

Meanwhile, Uraume knelt beside your unconscious form, their expression unreadable as they gently lifted you into their arms. They glanced in the direction Sukuna had disappeared, their lips tightening slightly.

"Always leaving." Uraume muttered quietly, more to themselves than to you. They knew better than anyone what Sukuna was chasing, and why he hadn’t hesitated to leave. "It’s never enough, is it?"

They looked down at you, a strange softness entering their gaze.

"You’re fortunate he cares for you as much as he does." Uraume added quietly, though the words felt hollow. Because they knew, just as you might someday come to realize—Sukuna’s heart belonged to someone else, someone from long ago.

And no one would ever replace that.

HE HAD NOT REMEMBERED WHAT HE THOUGHT THE FIRST TIME HE DIED. But this time around, he did. As Ryomen Sukuna lay on the ground, his once-imposing form crumbling, the weight of his own mortality pressing down on him for the first time in centuries, he felt something stir in the space around him. A soft, familiar presence, like a breeze carrying the scent of a life long forgotten. It was not a presence he had ever felt in a long time.

He opened his eyes, and there you were. Your past self, standing before him as though summoned by the final moments of his life. You were just as he remembered, yet different—there was a lightness in your eyes, a peace he hadn’t seen in so long. And as you approached, there was no anger, no bitterness, no pain. You smiled at him. A gentle, almost wistful smile, as though all the years of cruelty, all the darkness that had passed between you, had never existed.

“Sukuna–sama.” you greeted softly, your voice carrying an odd tenderness, as though you were greeting an old friend.

He stared at you, confused, his chest tight with an unfamiliar emotion. The weight of his sins, the centuries of violence, grief, pain and manipulation—all of it should have driven you away. And yet here you were, standing before him, smiling as if nothing had ever been wrong. As if he had never hurt you. As if you hadn’t hated him for it.

“You’re really here….little one.” Sukuna rasped, his voice rough, but there was a vulnerability in it he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in a thousand years. “After everything...you’re still here?”

You nodded, kneeling down beside him, your gaze soft but resolute. “I’m here, Sukuna–sama. But we both know this is the end, don’t we?”

He grunted, dark scarlet eyes flickering with both amusement and bitterness. “So it seems.” He paused, the weight of what was to come settling in. “And now what? What happens next? You’ve come to watch me die, little one?

You shook your head gently, your expression unchanged. “No. I came to say goodbye.”

A silence stretched between you both, heavy and profound. Ryomen Sukuna’s breath grew more labored, the energy draining from him faster now. His dark eyes never left yours, trying to read you, to understand what this moment meant. You were supposed to go wherever he was, you would follow. Words were wind and yet, your actions — they said other things.

“Goodbye, huh?” he muttered, his lips curling into a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “And what am I supposed to do with that? After everything…after all these years, little one?”

You hesitated, looking down at your hands before meeting his gaze once more. “I need you to let me go, Sukuna–sama.”

Sukuna’s eyes darkened. “Let you go? I’ve kept you for a reason, little one. You’ve been mine for longer than either of us can remember.”

You exhaled softly, shaking your head. “Not anymore. Not this time.I can’t love you like this, Sukuna–sama. Not like I did before. That love—it’s gone.”

His jaw tightened, a spark of anger flashing in his eyes. “And why is that? Because of him? Because of that brat?”

He didn’t need to say the name. You both knew who he meant.

You didn’t flinch. “Yes. I love Yuji now. I had…I had been reborn now, Sukuna–sama. He’s who I’ve chosen. He’s who I am in this life. And I want to be happy, Sukuna–sama. Truly happy.”

Sukuna scoffed, his lips curling into a bitter smile. “Happy, huh? That’s what you want?”

You nodded, your voice soft but firm. “You always said you wanted that for me, didn’t you? You kept me close because you said you wanted me safe. But I don’t want to live like this anymore. I don’t want to be bound to something that doesn’t exist—something that’s only pain and emptiness.”

Sukuna was silent for a long moment, his breath shallow, his eyes narrowing as he stared up at the sky. “So that’s it then? After everything, you’re just going to walk away?” His voice was laced with bitterness, but beneath it, there was something else—a resignation, an understanding that this was inevitable.

You reached out, gently taking his hand. The gesture surprised him, and for the first time in a long time, Sukuna didn’t pull away.

“I want to let you go, Sukuna–sama.” you said softly. “But I need you to let me go too. So we can both be free.”

His eyes flickered with something unspoken, a quiet turmoil that even he didn’t fully understand. For so long, he had kept you tethered to him, not out of love but possession, out of the need to control, to keep you as part of his world. And now, here you were, asking him to release you from the very chains he had forged. Asking to be separated from you, forever.

“You think it’s that easy?” Sukuna whispered, his voice hoarse. “After everything we’ve been through, after all the years…”

“No, no.” you replied gently, a small ghostly smile on your face. “It's not easy. I know that much. But it’s what needs to happen. We’ve both held on for too long. You and I—we’re not meant to be like this anymore.”

Ryomen Sukuna’s eyes searched yours, and for a moment, he saw something he had long since forgotten. The softness, the kindness in your gaze—the person you had once been before all of this. And he knew, deep down, that you were right.

He had kept you close out of fear. Fear of losing the one thing in his life that had ever mattered, the one of the very few people who had ever made him feel something beyond the void of his existence. But you were no longer his, and he was no longer yours. It was never meant to be. He knew that from the beginning.

With a deep, labored breath, Sukuna closed his eyes, his grip on your hand loosening. “Fine, little one.” he rasped. “Go. Be with him. Be happy. It’s what you want, right?”

A tear slipped down your cheek as you smiled at him, the sadness in your eyes mixed with a profound sense of peace. “Thank you, Sukuna–sama.”

For a moment, you both sat in silence, the weight of all those years of history between you. And then, quietly, you leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. He lets the warmth echo through his flesh. He didn’t want you to let go, he didn’t want you to leave him. And yet, he had to let you go.

“Goodbye, Sukuna–sama.” you whispered. “Be free. Choose your path too.”

With that, you stood up, turning away from the man who had once held your heart, leaving him to the twilight of his life. You didn’t look back as you walked away, knowing that this was the end of one chapter, and the beginning of another. You will never find each other again.

Ryomen Sukuna watched you go, his vision fading, a strange mix of regret and relief flooding through him. He had let you go, and in doing so, perhaps, for the first time in his long, twisted life, he had let himself go too.

IT WAS ODD, THIS PLACE. And it was where all souls go. At least that’s what his father used to say to him. Sukuna had not believed it then. But here is the proof. Here is the truth. The path of souls stretched endlessly before him, an ethereal twilight where time held no meaning and silence enveloped the realm.

Ryomen Sukuna’s hand held firmly to Uraume’s own, though Uraume’s presence beside him was faint, as if they too were fading into the beyond. Uraume, after all, was too young to understand it all yet.

And he didn’t want to distress them. His crimson eyes scanned the surreal landscape, not for the first time wondering what came next. Death had always been an abstract concept for someone like him—feared by others, but never himself. Yet here he was, on this path, somewhere between existence and oblivion.

He felt a pull, a presence just ahead, and as they walked, familiar figures began to emerge in the mist. Among them, Mahito lounges carelessly, his usual playful smile twisted with curiosity as he looks over at Sukuna.

“Well, well,” Mahito said with a chuckle, “It’s been a while, hasn’t it, Sukuna?”

Sukuna glanced at Mahito, but his eyes were drawn past him, pulled to a figure he hadn’t expected to see again in this realm. Hiromi.

Hiromi stood a few paces away, her form illuminated by the soft glow of the path. Her presence was calm, unwavering, as though the centuries of separation between them had not dulled the bond that once existed. She smiled at him—a small, knowing smile, one that held both understanding and a quiet challenge.

"It’s been a long time." you said, your voice cutting through the haze of memories that clouded his mind. You had appeared beside Mahito, your eyes softer now than when you last spoke to Sukuna.

It had been a lifetime ago—literally. But here, in the land between worlds, there was no more need for pretense. It had been so long since you both had been truly honest with one another.

Sukuna’s expression softened slightly, though his sharp edges remained. He wasn’t one for sentimentality, and yet, standing here, he felt something stir within him. He inclined his head to you, acknowledging your presence, but his gaze drifted back to Hiromi.

“Hiromi.” he said with a quiet intensity, his voice lower than usual, almost…reverent. Uraume, sensing the moment, quietly stepped back, releasing his hand.

Hiromi stepped forward, her dark eyes locked onto Sukuna’s. She looked just as she had the last time he had seen her, centuries ago. The weight of their shared past hung in the air between them, unspoken but ever-present.

“It’s been too long….Sukuna.” Hiromi said softly, her voice carrying a quiet warmth. She looked at him with that same measured calm, though there was something in her eyes, something that had been left unsaid for far too long.

Sukuna remained silent for a moment, taking in the sight of her. He had never been a man to reflect on his emotions, to consider the consequences of his actions beyond immediate gratification or power. But here, now, on the path of souls, stripped of the pretenses of life, there was a clarity he couldn’t ignore.

“What path will you walk, Sukuna?” Hiromi asked, her voice steady but soft, as though she already knew the answer.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Sukuna smiled—a small, almost imperceptible curve of his lips. It wasn’t the predatory grin he was known for, but something quieter, something…honest.

“A path with you.” he answered, his voice carrying the weight of every century that had passed. There was no hesitation in his words, no mask to hide behind. Here, in this liminal space, he could admit what had always been true. “Even if there will be nothing between us.”

Hiromi’s smile deepened, though her eyes were tinged with something bittersweet. “Even if there’s nothing?”

Sukuna held her gaze, his expression uncharacteristically vulnerable. “I was bound to you the moment I met you. You know that too well, don’t you?”

His words were simple, but they carried the weight of a lifetime—perhaps several lifetimes—of unspoken truths. He had never been one to voice such sentiments, not in life, not when there was always another battle, another conquest, another way to assert his dominance over the world. But here, stripped of all that power, all that ambition, there was only the truth.

Hiromi’s eyes softened, and she reached out, her hand brushing lightly against his. The touch was fleeting, but it was enough. She didn’t need to say anything; the silence between them spoke volumes.

Mahito chuckled softly behind them, amused by the display but wise enough not to interrupt. “So, Sukuna…..” he teased back. “Even a human curse has your attachments, huh?”

Sukuna shot him a glare, but there was no real malice in it. “And what of it?” he muttered, though his usual venom was absent.

Hiromi gave a small laugh, shaking her head at Mahito before returning her attention to Sukuna. “It’s not attachments that hold you down.” she said softly, her eyes reflecting the soft glow of the path around them. “It’s what you choose to carry.”

“And what are you carrying?” Sukuna asked, his voice quieter now, the question more personal than he’d intended.

Hiromi’s eyes held his, the connection between them clear and unbreakable, even in this world of shadows and souls. “Only what I choose. And now, I choose peace.”

She let her hand fall from his, the warmth of the touch lingering between them. The path stretched out before them, infinite and unknown, but somehow, less daunting with her beside him. It was just like back then. When they were together. Happy. At peace.

Sukuna nodded, a rare understanding passing between them. He had been many things in his life—cruel, selfish, a god of calamity—but here, now, there was only one thing that mattered.

“I’ll walk with you then.” he said, his voice firm. He looks at Uraume. “Both of us will.”

Hiromi smiled, the kind of smile that held centuries of history, of pain, of love, and of letting go. “Then let’s walk together.” she said simply.

And for the first time in a thousand years, Ryomen Sukuna felt something other than hunger, other than rage. He felt…whole.

epilogue

You and Yuji were crouched behind a row of bushes, peeking over the top like kids playing hide and seek. Except, instead of hiding from a grumpy neighbor, you were hiding from a low-grade curse that looked like a giant, angry turnip.

"Okay, so what’s the plan?" Yuji whispered, his face way too serious for someone talking about vegetable-based curses.

"I was thinking... you distract it, and I’ll sneak around and exorcise it fully." you replied, glancing at the turnip monster, which seemed to be getting more agitated by the second.

"Alright, alright. I got it." Yuji said with a determined nod. Then, after a beat of silence, he looked back at you, his usual playful grin sneaking onto his face. "You know, we make a pretty good team….They were right to assign us together for missions, hm?”

You chuckled softly, feeling your heart skip a beat despite the fact that this was the least romantic setting possible. "We do, don't we? Not many people can take on turnip monsters with such finesse."

Yuji grinned, then cleared his throat awkwardly. "Hey, uh, while we’re on the topic of being a good team, there's... there's something I’ve been wanting to say."

Your eyes widened a little, curiosity and nervousness stirring in your chest. "What is it?"

"Well, it's just... I like being around you. Genuinely…..It’s….I just….I like…I like spending time with you." Yuji said, rubbing the back of his neck, his cheeks turning a little pink. "Like, a lot. More than just the 'let's-fight-curses-together' way."

Your heart started racing, and you could feel your face getting warm. "I... I feel the same way." you admitted, trying to keep your voice steady even though your insides were doing cartwheels. "I’ve liked you for a while, actually."

Yuji blinked in surprise, then broke into the brightest, most ridiculous smile you’d ever seen. "Wait, really? Do you like me? Like, like me?"

You nodded, biting back a grin. "Yeah, I like you. A lot."

For a moment, the two of you just stared at each other, grinning like idiots, the turnip curse temporarily forgotten. Laughter echoes from Yuji and then you, and all at once, there was some harmony. The peace that you both had been craving to have. The joy that comes with being together.

"Man, I should’ve told you sooner!" Yuji said, looking like he was about to burst with happiness. "We could’ve been doing all this curse-fighting and dating at the same time!"

You laughed, your nerves fading as the warmth of the moment settled over you. "Better late than never, right?"

Yuji nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah! And now that we’ve got that out of the way, I say we finish off this turnip monster and then—"

Suddenly, the turnip curse let out a loud, disgruntled roar, reminding you both that, yes, you were still on a mission.

"Right, curse first, dating later," Yuji said quickly, scrambling to his feet. "Let’s do this!"

In a blur of movement, Yuji launched himself at the turnip, giving you the perfect opening to come around the side. With a swift, precise strike, you exorcised the curse, watching it dissolve into nothing.

Yuji jogged back over to you, grinning. "See? Told you we’re a good team."

You smiled back, feeling a rush of affection for him. "Yeah, we are. And from now on, we’ll be a good team together—on missions and in life."

Yuji’s smile softened, his brown eyes locking with yours in a way that made your heart flutter. "I like the sound of that," he said, his voice a little quieter but full of warmth.

You reached out, taking his hand in yours. "Come what may, right?"

"Right." Yuji agreed, squeezing your hand gently. "No matter what happens, I want to be by your side. Happy. Together."

And with that, the two of you stood there, hand in hand, as the remnants of the curse faded into the wind, feeling lighter than ever—ready to face whatever came next, as long as it was together.

511 notes · View notes

galedekarios · 1 year ago

Text

one thing that really tugs at my heartstrings while going through the epilogue files a bit more is how desperately gale wants to stay in touch with the protag (unromanced) and the friends he's made on their journey together.

not only has he talked to his students about the protag and their adventures at length, he invites the protag to be a guest lecturer:

Player: I found the love of my life. I'd say I'm pretty happy. Gale: And I couldn't be happier for you. A fitting reward for the sacrifices you made in getting here. Gale: I've told my students plenty of tales about our escapades. You're something of a hero to them, you know. Gale: I'd be delighted to introduce you to my current cohort - as a guest lecturer, perhaps? I'm sure they'd have plenty of questions for you.

he is also happy to invite the protag to his tower for the duration of their stay:

Player: It would be my pleasure. Gale: Excellent. I knew you wouldn't be able to resist the allure of sharing your expertise. Gale: Of course you'll be most welcome to stay with me in my tower. Tara the Tressym: Ahem. Gale: My apologies, Tara. That would be our tower.

and even if they should refuse his invitation to be a guest lecturer, he hopes they'll at least consider coming to visit him in his tower in waterdeep:

Player: I'll respectfully decline. Sounds too much like hard work to me. Gale: I totally understand. Perhaps our exploits might be a little on the mature side for my students, come to think of it... Gale: Still, at the very least you must come visit me. I've a pantry full of Waterdhavian delicacies and a delightful bottle of Elverquisst with your name on them... devnote: Attempting to persuade the player to visit him, really wants them to come [if the player is illithid] Player: My diet is more... cerebral these days, Gale. You'll need to rethink your menu. Gale: Say no more. There's a wizard in Blackstaff's anatomical department who owes me a favour, no questions asked. All diets will be catered for. I can hardly wait. [if the player rejected to become an illithid] Player: Good food and good company? Now that I can manage. Gale: Excellent, excellent, excellent. I can hardly wait. devnote: Relieved you've accepted his offer

[end of convo for both] Gale: It will give us plenty of time to catch up on your adventures. Gale: I'm very curious to know what you've been up to these past months, but I suspect the telling of that tale would keep you tied to me all evening. Gale: So, in the spirit of selflessness I encourage you to mix and mingle for now. We've time enough to come. devnote: Looking forward to staying in touch with the player

he's crushed if the protag refuses:

Player: Sorry, Gale. I don't think that's going to happen. Gale: Oh. Well, no matter. Dinner alone can be every bit as enjoyable as with company. devnote: Deflated, trying not to show it Tara the Tressym: Alone? And what am I - a stuffed toy? Gale: Please - enjoy the rest of your evening. devnote: Deflated, trying not to show it

this all ties into another little moment after this first conversation.

if the protag has talked with gale already and has hugged him, there's a second, shorter conversation, in which gale gets choked up as he reminisces over how the party is together once more:

Gale: I can't believe this is real. I never thought we'd gather like this again. devnote: Taking in the moment, appreciating it Gale: It's quite... ahem, yes really quite lovely. devnote: Getting a bit choked up, trying to hide it/breeze past it

tl;dr: gale loves his friends so very, very much and hopes they'll allow him to be able to stay in contact with them.

#gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #ch: gale dekarios #vg: baldur's gate 3 #series: baldur's gate #meta: mybg3

2K notes · View notes

novaursa · 5 months ago

Note

Good evening, can you write about daemon x little sister

If we can see their relation evolved from really protective brother to lover obsessed.

He was always protective of her, he doesn’t like that Viserys come close to her. And when she grow up he scared every men that came closed to her.

She was supposed to married a Lannister but Daemon could not accept it and take her to dragon stone. Everyone thinks she’s dead because they never see her again but when Daemon came back to King’s Landing, he’s not alone but with his sister wife and their children.

Dragonblooded

- Summary: You always belonged to Daemon. And when Viserys gave you away, the dragon took what was his.

- Pairing: sister!reader/Daemon Targaryen

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

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Word count: 5 000+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

The sound of laughter echoes through corridors, a joyful melody that bounces off the ancient stone walls. You are no older than five, your golden-silver hair, so much like your mother’s, trailing behind you as you run through the hallways. Your small feet tap lightly against the cool floor, your tiny hands reaching out to grab at the air, chasing an imaginary butterfly.

"Come here, little dragon!" Viserys calls out, his voice warm and inviting, as he pretends to chase after you. His laughter is softer, more measured, but it carries the same affection that glows in his eyes. He is gentle, your eldest brother, always careful not to frighten or startle you. At ten years old, he already shows the signs of a future king—kindness, patience, a quiet strength that soothes those around him.

You turn, giggling, and reach out for him, and he catches you with ease, lifting you into the air. "I have you now!" he declares, spinning you around in circles, your peals of laughter mixing with his.

"Viserys, higher!" you plead, clinging to his tunic, your small face lighting up with glee.

But as Viserys twirls you again, you catch sight of another figure standing just beyond the doorway, watching the two of you. Daemon, your other brother, leans against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest, a frown tugging at his lips. He is only two years younger than Viserys, but where Viserys is gentle, Daemon is fierce, his eyes always smoldering with an intensity that belies his young age.

He steps forward, and though he doesn’t say a word, the air between you shifts, a tension that even you, in your youthful innocence, can sense. Viserys notices too, lowering you to the ground but keeping a protective hand on your shoulder.

"Daemon," Viserys greets, though there’s a hint of wariness in his voice. "We were just playing. You can join us, if you’d like."

Daemon’s gaze shifts from Viserys to you, and his frown deepens. "She’s my sister," he says, his voice low, almost possessive. "I don’t need your permission to play with her."

There’s a beat of silence as the two brothers stare at each other, a silent battle of wills. But before it can escalate, you tug at Daemon’s sleeve, drawing his attention down to you.

"Daemon, play with me!" you say, your eyes wide and pleading. You adore both of your brothers, but there’s something about Daemon that always draws you to him—perhaps it’s the way he looks at you, like you are the only person in the world who matters to him.

His expression softens the moment he meets your gaze. The hard lines of his face melt into something gentler, something only you seem to bring out in him. Without a word, he scoops you up into his arms, holding you close. You wrap your arms around his neck, resting your head against his shoulder, and he presses a kiss to your temple.

"She’s tired," Daemon announces, his voice brooking no argument as he starts to carry you away. You peek over his shoulder at Viserys, who watches with a resigned smile.

"I was only playing with her," Viserys says, but there’s a note of understanding in his tone, an acknowledgment of something that has always been between you and Daemon—something he will never quite share with you in the same way.

Daemon doesn’t respond, his attention solely on you as he carries you through the halls. His grip on you is firm but gentle, his warmth seeping through his clothes and into your small frame. You yawn, your eyelids growing heavy, and snuggle closer to him.

"Rest now, little sister," Daemon whispers, his voice soft in a way it never is with anyone else. "I’ll always keep you safe."

And in that moment, as sleep begins to claim you, you know it’s true. You may be Viserys’ beloved little sister, the youngest and most cherished of the Targaryen children, but you are Daemon’s before all else. In his arms, you feel safe, loved, and most of all, his.

The years have passed, and you have grown from a spirited child into a young woman of striking beauty. Your silver-gold hair cascades down your back in soft waves, your violet eyes—so reminiscent of the Valyrian ancestors—shining with a quiet intelligence. Your resemblance to your mother, Alyssa, is so uncanny that it often leaves those who knew her breathless, lost in memories of the past. You are the pride of House Targaryen, a true dragon in both blood and spirit.

The lords of the realm have taken notice of you, their eyes lingering a bit too long as you walk through the halls of the Red Keep. Whispers of your beauty have spread across the Seven Kingdoms, and it seems that every highborn man with a title to his name seeks your hand in marriage. The attention is overwhelming, though you do your best to remain composed, as you were taught. Still, you cannot ignore the way your heart flutters with nerves when you catch their lingering gazes.

Today, you find yourself in the gardens of the Red Keep, the sun casting a warm glow over the roses in bloom. You stroll through the maze of greenery, the scent of flowers filling the air, when you hear the soft murmur of voices behind you.

"My lady, you are a vision," one of the young lords says as he approaches, his tone smooth and rehearsed. He is tall, with dark hair and a confident smile that seems to have charmed many a court lady.

"Lord Caron," you greet him politely, inclining your head. "You are too kind."

"I speak only the truth," he insists, stepping closer. "You grow lovelier with each passing day, my lady. The realm is fortunate to have you."

You offer a tight-lipped smile, trying to mask your discomfort. Though you are used to such flattery, it always feels hollow, lacking the warmth and sincerity you crave.

Before you can respond, you feel a familiar presence behind you, a shadow that has always loomed large in your life. Daemon steps forward, his eyes cold as they fix on Lord Caron. There is a tension in his posture, a barely restrained fury that makes the young lord falter, his confident smile wavering.

"Lord Caron," Daemon says, his voice a low rumble, "I believe my sister has endured enough of the sun today. She is in need of rest."

Lord Caron glances between the two of you, clearly weighing his options. But the sharpness in Daemon’s gaze leaves little room for argument. He bows stiffly, offering you one last smile before he retreats, his footsteps hurried as he leaves the garden.

As soon as he is gone, Daemon turns to you, his expression dark and unreadable. "You shouldn’t be out here alone," he chides, though there is an edge to his voice that you have rarely heard before.

"I wasn’t alone," you reply, meeting his gaze evenly. "And I can take care of myself, Daemon. I’m not a child anymore."

His eyes narrow slightly at your words, as if the thought displeases him. "You think I don’t know that?" he mutters, his gaze sweeping over you. "I see the way they look at you—the way they covet you. They are like vultures circling above a feast."

You blink, surprised by the venom in his tone. "They are only being polite," you say, though even as you say it, you know it’s more than that. The attention you receive is not just polite—it is predatory, something you have tried to ignore but cannot entirely dismiss.

"Polite," Daemon scoffs, taking a step closer to you. His presence is overwhelming, a mix of anger and something else that you can’t quite place. "They want to marry you, to own you, to take you away from me."

You look up at him, your heart skipping a beat at the intensity in his eyes. "Daemon, I’m not a possession," you say softly, though your voice wavers slightly. "I will marry one day, and when I do, it will be my choice."

His jaw clenches, and for a moment, he says nothing. The silence stretches between you, heavy and charged, until finally, he speaks, his voice low and dangerous. "No man will ever be worthy of you. No man will ever deserve you. You are mine, and I will not let them take you from me."

You stare at him, your breath catching in your throat at his words. The possessiveness in his voice, the raw intensity of his emotions—it’s more than just a brotherly concern. There is something deeper, something darker that simmers beneath the surface, and it both frightens and intrigues you.

"Daemon…" you begin, but he cuts you off, his hand reaching out to cup your cheek. The touch is surprisingly gentle, his thumb brushing over your skin as if he’s memorizing the feel of you.

"You are my sister," he says, his voice rough with emotion. "You are the only person in this world who matters to me. I will not let anyone take you away, not Viserys, not any of those lords who think they can lay claim to you."

His words send a shiver down your spine, and you find yourself leaning into his touch, despite the confusion swirling in your mind. "I am not leaving you," you whisper, your voice barely audible. "But Daemon… this is not—"

"Don’t," he interrupts, his thumb pressing lightly against your lips to silence you. "Don’t say anything that will ruin this moment."

His eyes bore into yours, and you feel a heat rising between you, a dangerous pull that you know you should resist but can’t. Daemon has always been the center of your world, but now, you realize, he is something more, something that both terrifies and excites you.

For a long moment, the world seems to stop, and it’s just the two of you, standing in the garden, the air thick with unspoken words and forbidden desires. Then, as if sensing your hesitation, Daemon leans down, his lips brushing against your forehead in a gesture that is both tender and possessive.

"I will always protect you," he vows, his breath warm against your skin. "No one else will ever come between us."

And as he pulls away, you find yourself nodding, unable to voice the turmoil inside you. Because deep down, you know that what he says is true—you are his, and in some twisted, inevitable way, he is yours as well.

The wind howls around the towering battlements of Casterly Rock, the seat of House Lannister. Below, the sea crashes against the cliffs, the waves like thunder as they break upon the ancient stone. You stand on a high balcony overlooking the expanse, your heart heavy with the weight of what is to come. The golden light of the setting sun casts long shadows, and though the view is breathtaking, you find no solace in it.

The marriage to Jason Lannister had been arranged swiftly, a decision made by Viserys in a moment of political strategy. It had all happened so fast—one moment you were in King’s Landing, the next you were being sent across the realm, far from the comforts of your home, and even further from Daemon.

Jason Lannister is a man of means, a wealthy and powerful lord, but he is not the man your heart longs for. Despite his handsome features and polite demeanor, he leaves you cold. You do not love him, nor do you wish to, but the weight of your duty had left you with little choice but to obey your brother’s command.

Tonight is to be your wedding night, a thought that fills you with dread. The thought of sharing your bed with a man who is a stranger to you, despite his politeness and charm, makes your skin crawl. You had always imagined your wedding night to be something sacred, shared with someone you truly loved—someone like Daemon. But such dreams seem so far away now.

As you clutch the stone railing of the balcony, you hear the faintest sound of wings cutting through the air. At first, you think it’s your imagination, a product of your desperate longing. But then the sound grows louder, more distinct, and your heart begins to race.

In the distance, you see it—Caraxes, the Blood Wyrm, his massive wings beating against the darkening sky, his crimson scales gleaming like fire in the dying light. On his back, you spot a figure clad in black and red, his silver hair streaming behind him like a banner. Daemon.

He’s come for you.

Your breath catches in your throat as you watch him descend, the great dragon’s roar echoing through the air as he nears the fortress. Panic and excitement mix within you—Daemon, your beloved brother, has come to take you away, to rescue you from a life you never wanted.

Caraxes lands with a deafening thud in the courtyard below, his long neck arched as he lets out another earth-shaking roar. The guards and servants scatter in fear, unprepared for such a display of raw power. You waste no time, gathering your skirts and racing down the steps toward the courtyard, your heart pounding in your chest.

By the time you reach the courtyard, Daemon has dismounted, his presence commanding as he strides forward with purpose. He looks every bit the rogue prince, his eyes alight with determination and something far more dangerous. He spots you immediately, his expression softening for just a moment before hardening once more as he glances at the keep behind you.

"Daemon!" you cry out, rushing toward him. He catches you easily, his arms wrapping around you in a protective embrace that makes you feel safer than you have in weeks. The scent of him—salt, leather, and dragonfire—fills your senses, and you cling to him as if he were the only thing keeping you tethered to this world.

"I’ve come to take you away," he murmurs into your ear, his voice rough with emotion. "You belong to me, not to some Lannister dog."

You pull back slightly, searching his face, your own heart torn between relief and fear. "Viserys… he ordered this marriage. He’ll be furious if you—"

"Let him be furious," Daemon interrupts, his eyes blazing. "You are mine, not his to give away. We will go to Dragonstone, and we will marry in the traditions of our House. Fire and blood—that is our way, not these weak southern bonds."

Before you can respond, you hear the clattering of armored boots and turn to see Jason Lannister approaching, flanked by a dozen guards. His face is pale, though he tries to maintain a confident air as he confronts Daemon.

"Prince Daemon," Jason says, his voice steady but laced with underlying fear. "This is madness. She is to be my wife by order of the king. You cannot simply take her."

Daemon’s lips curl into a dangerous smile, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of Dark Sister, the Valyrian steel sword that has tasted the blood of many a fool. "Can’t I?" he says, his tone mocking. "You think to keep her here, hidden away in this golden cage? You think she will ever be yours, truly yours? You’re a fool, Lannister."

Jason stiffens, but to his credit, he doesn’t back down. "This will bring war," he warns. "If you take her, Viserys will have no choice but to act. The realm will not stand for this."

Daemon laughs, the sound dark and menacing. "Let the realm do as it will. I’ve never cared for the opinions of sheep. You think you can threaten me with war, boy? I am war. I have fought in battles you cannot even imagine. And if it’s bloodshed you seek, I will gladly spill it."

Jason falters, his bravado crumbling under Daemon’s intense gaze. "I…I only seek what was promised to me," he stammers, clearly trying to find a way out that doesn’t end with his blood staining the courtyard. "If you take her, I will not pursue her. But I will require compensation for this slight. The Lannisters will not be insulted without recompense."

Daemon’s eyes narrow, and for a moment, you fear he might draw Dark Sister and end Jason’s life right then and there. But instead, he takes a step closer to the lord, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.

"You dare to speak of recompense?" he hisses, his face inches from Jason’s. "She is worth more than all the gold in Casterly Rock, more than your entire house. There is no recompense for what you tried to steal from me. But I will leave you your life, if only because I have more important matters to attend to."

Jason’s face drains of color, and he takes a stumbling step back, nodding quickly. "Yes… yes, of course. Take her, and may the gods be with you."

Daemon doesn’t spare him another glance. Instead, he turns to you, his expression softening as he reaches out to take your hand. "Come, sister," he says, his voice gentler now. "Let us leave this place. We will wed on Dragonstone, and no one will ever come between us again."

You nod, your heart swelling with a mix of relief and trepidation. Daemon leads you toward Caraxes, his grip on your hand firm and reassuring. The dragon lowers his massive head as you approach, and with Daemon’s help, you climb onto his back, settling in behind your brother.

As Caraxes takes to the sky, the wind whipping through your hair, you cling to Daemon, feeling the power of the dragon beneath you and the warmth of your brother in front of you. The world below falls away, and with it, the fear and uncertainty that had plagued you for so long.

As the Red Keep disappears into the distance, you lean close to Daemon, your voice barely a whisper. "Thank you for coming for me."

He turns his head slightly, his eyes meeting yours with a fierce intensity. "I will always come for you," he vows, his voice full of conviction. "You are mine, and I will never let you go."

And as you soar through the skies on the back of the Blood Wyrm, leaving Casterly Rock and all its golden confines behind, you know that he means every word. The path ahead may be fraught with danger, but as long as you are by Daemon’s side, you are willing to face whatever comes.

For you are his, and he is yours, bound by blood and fire, as it was always meant to be.

The tourney grounds outside King’s Landing are alive, a sea of banners fluttering in the wind, each representing the great houses of Westeros. The air is full of the scent of sweat, horses, and the faint metallic tang of freshly forged steel. The tournament held in honor of the impending birth of Viserys' child has drawn knights and lords from across the realm, all eager to witness the splendor and skill of the finest warriors in the Seven Kingdoms.

King Viserys himself sits upon the royal dais, a smile of pride and expectation on his face. He has every reason to be joyous today—the maesters have assured him that this time, his wife Aemma will deliver a son, a true heir to the Iron Throne. But there is an undercurrent of unease in the king’s heart, a shadow that lingers at the edges of his happiness, for it has been years since he last saw his beloved sister.

Not a word has come from Dragonstone since that fateful day when Daemon stole you away, defying the king’s will and igniting a scandal that has only grown with time. Rumors have spread like wildfire, each one more outlandish than the last—tales of dark rituals, of dragons terrorizing the Narrow Sea, and of a brood of Targaryen children raised in exile, far from the eyes of the court. But none of these rumors have ever been confirmed, and Viserys has learned to silence any mention of you in his presence, the wound too deep to bear reopening.

As the king watches the jousting field, his thoughts drift to you, wondering where you are, how you have fared all these years. He tries to push the thoughts away, focusing instead on the spectacle before him. But then, a murmur runs through the crowd, growing louder as the people begin to turn their heads toward the sky.

Viserys follows their gaze, and his breath catches in his throat.

There, descending from the clouds, is a dragon—its great wings casting a shadow over the tourney grounds as it circles above. The creature’s scales shimmer a deep, blood-red, and its roar is like the rumble of distant thunder. There is no mistaking the beast or its rider.

"Caraxes," Viserys whispers, a mix of shock and something else—something like hope—rising in his chest.

The dragon lands with a thud just beyond the field, the earth trembling beneath its weight. The crowds part, a mixture of awe and fear on their faces as Daemon Targaryen dismounts from the dragon’s back, his presence as commanding as ever. His silver hair, untouched by time, glints in the sunlight, and his dark cloak billows around him like wings as he strides forward.

But it is not Daemon alone who captures the attention of the gathered lords and ladies. For behind him, gracefully descending from Caraxes, is a figure draped in black and red, a crown of silver-gold hair flowing down her back—you.

Gasps ripple through the crowd as they recognize you, their whispers growing into a chorus of disbelief and astonishment. But you pay them no mind, your eyes fixed solely on the dais where your brother, the king, sits in stunned silence.

You walk toward him with the poise of a queen, your hand resting protectively on the head of a small boy who clings to your side. His hair is a pale silver, much like yours and Daemon’s, his eyes wide with curiosity as he takes in the spectacle around him. Another child—a girl with your likeness—follows close behind, holding onto Daemon’s hand with an air of confidence that belies her young age.

When you finally reach the dais, the entire tourney ground has fallen silent, all eyes on this reunion that none had expected. Viserys rises from his seat, his face a mask of disbelief, his hands trembling as he reaches out toward you.

"Sister," he breathes, his voice thick with emotion. "Is it truly you?"

You nod, your eyes meeting his with a mixture of longing and caution. "It is I, brother," you reply, your voice soft but steady. "I have returned."

Viserys hesitates, his gaze shifting to Daemon, who stands beside you, his expression unreadable. The king’s eyes then fall to the children, and his heart twists with a sudden, overwhelming mixture of emotions—joy, sorrow, anger, and relief all at once.

"And these…" Viserys begins, his voice faltering as he looks at the boy and girl, "are your children?"

"Our children," Daemon corrects, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. There is a proud, possessive note in his tone as he looks at you and the children, as if daring anyone to challenge his claim.

The boy, sensing the attention on him, steps forward, his small chest puffed out with pride. "I am Aegon," he announces, his voice clear and strong. "Aegon of House Targaryen."

"And I am Rhaella," the girl adds, her violet eyes sparkling with the same fierce determination that burns in Daemon’s. "Daughter of Prince Daemon and Princess Y/N."

Viserys looks at them, his eyes filling with tears he can barely contain. "Aegon… Rhaella…" he murmurs, reaching out a hand to them. "My niece and nephew."

But before he can take another step, Jason Lannister, who had been standing nearby, watching the scene unfold with barely concealed anger, speaks up. "This is an outrage!" he exclaims, his voice carrying across the silent grounds. "This man stole the king’s sister and has kept her in exile for years, and now he parades her and their bastards before us as if we should welcome them!"

A hush falls over the crowd, tension crackling in the air like a storm about to break. Daemon’s gaze snaps to Jason, his eyes narrowing into slits of cold fury. He releases Rhaella’s hand and steps forward, every inch the dragon that he is, his hand resting on the hilt of Dark Sister.

"You dare speak of my children in such a way?" Daemon’s voice is deadly quiet, each word laced with barely restrained rage. "You, who couldn’t even keep what was never yours?"

Jason’s bravado falters, but he presses on, his pride wounded. "They are illegitimate! Faith of the Seven doesn't acknowledge such unions!"

Daemon’s lips curl into a predatory smile, and in one swift motion, he draws Dark Sister, the Valyrian steel blade gleaming wickedly in the sunlight. He moves with the deadly grace of a seasoned warrior, closing the distance between himself and Jason in the blink of an eye.

"Speak another word," Daemon hisses, the tip of his blade hovering just above Jason’s throat, "and it will be your last."

Jason freezes, the color draining from his face as he stares into the eyes of the rogue prince. The crowd watches in breathless silence, the tension palpable. You can feel the eyes of everyone on you, but your focus is on Daemon, on the way his hand steadies, his grip sure and unwavering.

"Daemon," you say softly, taking a step forward. Your voice, gentle yet firm, cuts through the tension. "He is not worth it."

For a moment, it seems as if Daemon might ignore you, might spill blood here and now just to make his point. But then, slowly, he lowers the blade, his eyes never leaving Jason’s terrified face.

"Remember this, Lannister," Daemon says, his voice low and menacing. "The next time you speak ill of my wife or my children, I will not be so merciful."

With that, he sheathes Dark Sister and turns away from Jason, dismissing him as if he were nothing more than an insect. The Lannister lord stumbles back, pale and shaken, and quickly retreats, disappearing into the crowd.

Viserys watches all of this in stunned silence, his eyes wide as he takes in the scene before him. When Daemon turns back to you, his expression softens, and he takes your hand in his, pulling you close.

"We are here now, brother," Daemon says, his tone more measured. "We are family, and nothing will change that. Not time, not distance, and certainly not the words of a fool like Jason Lannister."

Viserys looks at you, his eyes searching yours for answers, for reassurance. "Why now, sister? After all these years… why return now?"

You look at him, feeling the weight of all that has passed between you, the distance that had grown and the love that had remained. "Because I could not stay away forever," you say softly. "Because you are my brother, and I have missed you every day. And because our children deserve to know their family."

Viserys steps forward, pulling you into an embrace that is both warm and desperate, as if he fears letting you go again. "I have missed you too," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. "More than you could ever know."

Daemon watches the two of you, his eyes flicking between you and Viserys. For a moment, you see something unguarded in his expression—something like relief, though quickly masked by his usual aloofness.

"Let this day be a new beginning," Viserys says, finally pulling back and looking at Daemon, his tone almost pleading. "For all of us. Stay in King’s Landing. Be at my side. Let us be a family again."

Daemon’s eyes harden slightly, as if considering the weight of Viserys’ words. He glances at you, searching your face for any sign of what you might want, what you might ask of him in this moment. For years, you have been his anchor, the one person he would follow anywhere, the one person whose opinion could sway him.

You meet his gaze, and though your heart swells at the thought of reuniting with Viserys, of your children growing up surrounded by family, you know what Daemon is feeling. King’s Landing has never been kind to him. It has always been a place of politics, betrayal, and intrigue, a place that tried to mold him into something he was not. And yet, the desire for peace between the brothers, for some semblance of family, tugs at you.

Daemon’s grip on your hand tightens slightly, and he turns his attention back to Viserys. "You speak of family, brother," Daemon says, his voice carefully controlled, "but it was you who sent your own blood away, who sought to wed her to another man against her will."

Viserys winces at the memory, guilt flashing across his face. "I made a mistake," he admits, his voice pained. "One I have regretted every day since. I thought I was doing what was best for the realm, for our family. But I see now that I was wrong."

Daemon’s expression remains inscrutable, but the tension in his posture seems to ease slightly. "And now you want us to stay," he says, not quite a question, but more of a challenge.

"Yes," Viserys replies earnestly, stepping closer to you both. "Stay. Let us rebuild what was broken. You are my brother, and she is my sister. We should stand together, not apart."

You feel the weight of the moment pressing down on you, the air thick with the potential for reconciliation—or for more conflict. You squeeze Daemon’s hand, hoping to communicate your own longing for peace, for a life where your children can grow up knowing their uncle, their heritage, without the constant threat of exile hanging over them.

Daemon glances at you, his eyes softening as he reads the unspoken plea in your gaze. He exhales slowly, as if releasing a great burden, and finally nods, a small but significant gesture.

"We will stay," Daemon says, his tone firm but not without warmth. "But make no mistake, Viserys—I will not be made a tool in anyone’s game, not even yours. We come as equals, or not at all."

Viserys nods, relief washing over him. "Equals," he agrees, his voice thick with gratitude. "As it should be."

The tension that has hung over the tourney grounds like a storm cloud begins to dissipate, the atmosphere lightening as the onlookers realize that the confrontation they feared will not come to pass. Instead, there is a sense of awe, of history in the making, as they witness the reconciliation of the Targaryen siblings.

The children, sensing the change, tug at your hands, their eyes wide with curiosity and excitement. "Will we stay here, Mother?" Rhaella asks, her voice full of wonder. "In the big castle?"

You smile down at her, brushing a strand of silver hair from her face. "Yes, my love," you say gently. "We will stay, and you will have your uncle Viserys and many others to meet."

Aegon’s eyes light up, his young mind already racing with possibilities. "And will we get to see the Iron Throne? Will we be able to ride our dragons here?"

Viserys, hearing the boy’s excitement, kneels down to their level, a warm smile spreading across his face. "You will see the Iron Throne, and much more," he promises, his voice full of affection. "You are both of the blood of the dragon, and this is your home as much as it is mine."

Daemon watches the interaction closely, a flicker of something like contentment in his eyes as he sees Viserys embrace his role as uncle. There is still wariness in him, a reluctance to fully trust after so many years of betrayal and bitterness, but there is also a sliver of hope, kindled by the presence of his children and the woman he loves.

As you and Daemon stand beside Viserys, the king rises and takes both of your hands in his, his eyes shining with the beginnings of tears. "Thank you for coming back," he whispers, his voice full of emotion. "Thank you for giving me a chance to make things right."

You nod, squeezing his hand gently. "We are family, Viserys," you say softly. "And family is worth fighting for."

Daemon, ever the rogue prince, adds with a smirk, "Just remember, brother, that dragons cannot be tamed. We are here because we choose to be, not because we must."

Viserys chuckles, a sound full of warmth and brotherly affection. "I wouldn’t have it any other way," he says, pulling you both into a rare embrace that speaks of years of lost time and the possibility of a future where the Targaryens stand united once more.

As the sun sets over King’s Landing, casting the tourney grounds in hues of gold and crimson, the three of you—Daemon, you, and Viserys—stand together, a family reunited at last. And though the path ahead may be uncertain, for this moment, there is peace, and there is hope, both of which have been hard-won.

And as you look at the faces of your children, who gaze upon the world with wonder and excitement, you dare to believe that this peace might just last—if only for a little while.

#house of the dragon #hotd #hotd daemon #hotd x female reader #hotd x y/n #hotd x reader #hotd x you #daemon targeryen x reader #daemon x you #daemon x y/n #daemon x reader #daemon targaryen

797 notes · View notes

beenbaanbuun · 5 months ago

Text

it begins - opposites attract universe

a small snippet from back when darling was nothing more than a sugar baby :)

——————————————————————————-

“you look—”

“tired? miserable?” you cut hongjoong off as you toss yourself down on the rug that the man had noticed you’d taken quite a liking to. honestly before you came he was wondering whether he should move it to one of the unused guest rooms; it is quite an old thing, after all. upon seeing how much you adore it however, he can’t quite bring himself to shuffle it even an inch to the side. he knows his husband is inclined to agree…

“i was going to say overworked, but i suppose tired and miserable works too,” he chuckles lowly. something about you has him doing that so often, finding himself amused by you even when you’re not in the room. there have been so many late night recently, just him and seonghwa lay together sharing stories of how you’d brightened their day.

“well if i look overworked it’s my bosses fault,” you lift an arm to shield your face from hongjoong’s watchful gaze, but even with that extra layer of protection you can feel him staring at you with that an unfamiliar look in his eyes. he’s been looking at you like that an awful lot recently; seonghwa too.

you wonder if they know that the way they watch you has changed? eyes shifting from lust to something strange that, if you didn’t know any better, you might muddle up with adoration. each time you catch it you have to scold yourself a little, warning yourself to not let your heart swell too much. you’re here on nothing more than a business arrangement; your company for their rewards. at the end of the day, that’s all this is.

but as you shift your arm just enough for you to peek at the suited man, you find yourself realising that this moment is worth more than anything they could give you. the money, the clothes; none of adds up to more than the sight of hongjoong staring down at you with such a bright smile on his face. a smile that you know you caused.

maybe that’s why you still have your job, despite the fact that you haven’t needed it for a while, or why you still wear all your old tatty clothes from before you met them on that fateful night in the club. maybe this whole thing has nothing to do with the money at all.

maybe it never has.

“that’s a pretty dress, lamb,” you hear a second voice enter the room, a pretty pair of black stockings passing briefly through your periphery. knowing seonghwa, they’re thigh high with little lacy details in his thigh, far too high up to be revealed without pushing the hem of his skirt up. “although i must admit, i don’t recall ever buying you anything so long…”

it’s a pointed comment, letting you know that he’s well aware of the fact that you’re not adorning any of the clothes they’ve provided for you. he means nothing by it, and you’re well aware of that fact, but you still can’t help yourself from sighing at his words.

“i can’t wear any of the clothes you buy me to work,” you reply, “i don’t want a trip to HR just because mommy and daddy insist on me showing every inch of skin i have.”

and perhaps that was the wrong this to say because as seonghwa sits down gracefully next to hongjoong, he lets out a little dismissive scoff. as you let you gaze shift from hongjoong’s face to his? you notice that his expression matches the sentiment of the sound. fed up and dismissive, but not angry. never angry.

“and how is work, little lamb,” his words are sharp, “i heard you telling hongjoong you felt—what were the words you used? ah yes, tired and miserable. good day then?”

“seonghwa—”

“what?” he interrupts, “am i not allowed to speak your mind on issues that concern me? tell me, lamb,” he leans forward, elbows on knees and knuckles digging into his cheek, “should i not worry about what our darling does with her spare time?”

you freeze, not entirely sure of the meaning of the cadence of his voice or the words that it speaks. he’s always called you his, or theirs—after all, that’s what they pay you to be. never before has he said those words so possessively, though.

“cara mia,” hongjoong warns; something that you’ve never witnessed him do with seonghwa before. the taller man takes no notice of him, though, his eyes firmly rested on you.

“tell me, lamb,” he purrs dangerously, like a lion about to pounce upon its prey, “what are you here for if you’re not going to make use of our gifts? you are our sugar baby; why do you keep returning here if you don’t want to accept our part of the deal?”

your body sits up on its own; an automatic reaction to the uncomfortable tension that sits over the room like a heavy fog. you know the answer to seonghwa’s question, as you fear he does, but you daren’t say it. once it’s out in the open, there’s no taking it back. maybe that would be a good thing, to finally have your feelings out there, your soul lay bare for them. with seonghwa’s expression do unreadable, and hongjoong’s turning to worry, you’re not so sure.

“seonghwa—”

“tell me,” he cuts you off, “because if you don’t, then darling, i’m not sure i’ll be able to live with this uncertainty.”

oh.

is this it then? you either tell them that you feel more than you should or this whole thing is off? for all you know, they might call it off once they hear what you say. they might kick you out, scolding you for growing feelings where there clearly shouldn’t be any. they might roll their eyes and dismiss you as if you’re nothing but dirt on the bottom of your shoe before telling you that this arrangement won’t work anymore.

perhaps more than that, though, is the possibility of them ignoring it. acknowledging your feelings and moving on as though nothing has changed when in reality, everything has. before you thought you could make it through this with those feelings kept a secret, but if they’re going to be out in the open, then you’re not so sure. after all, a rejection is closure, ignorance is not.

“i enjoy your company,” you say, hoping it’s vague enough to satisfy his curiosity. he narrows his eyes and you can tell it’s not.

“you can enjoy our company and still take our gifts,” he says, voice short and impatient, “the two aren’t mutually exclusive.”

you take in a shuddery breath and you can’t lie, part of you is tempted to crawl closer to them just to satisfy your nerves. everything seems okay when you’re bundled up in their arms.

“seong—”

“lamb,” he snaps, “please, just tell me whatever it is that you think you cannot. even if it’s not what we want to hear, i can assure you that nothing bad with happen,” a manicured hand with nails as red as blood reaches forward to catch your chin. you melt into feeling, even the slightest of touch being enough to make things seem just a little better. “you’re far too special for us to allow anything bad to happen to you.”

and just like that, your walls come crumbling to the floor. you shuffle closer to the pair, desperate for something more. you get that something in the form of hongjoong’s hand in your hair. he scrapes his nails against your scalp, humming appreciatively when you melt against the touch, eyes fluttering closed and lips parting. seonghwa, despite his desperation, can’t help but take the opportunity to trace your lower lip with his thumb, tugging it back just before you can resume your usual habit of taking it into your mouth and suckling upon it.

“nothing bad,” hongjoong repeats his husband’s words.

“your company,” you say, voice quiet and breathy as the touch of your two sugar-parents melt you down to nothing, “it means more to me than the gifts ever did. i can go without the clothes and the money, i—” you stop yourself, unsure whether you should let the next few words slip from your tongue. in the end, you know that you’ll have to, but perhaps you can relish in these few seconds in which your secret actually remains just that; a secret.

“you?” seonghwa urges, his hand flattening out against your cheek to stroke it. “what about you, lamb?”

you take a second, maybe two, to build yourself up for the plunge. it feels as though you’re stood on a pier, staring into the murky depths below. your don’t know what’s beneath the water, but what you do know is that seonghwa and hongjoong are already down there. they’re waiting for you to jump; to join them in the only abyss. you want to take that leap, even if you have no clue how deep the water really is. perhaps you will hit something and break your legs, but as you stare into seonghwa’s eyes you realise that they were telling the truth. nothing bad will happen when they’re there to catch you.

“i don’t think i can go without you,” you mutter, “and i think that’s been the case since the very beginning.”

“without us?” seonghwa asks as if the statement isn’t clear as day. what more could he want from you? “you mean to say that this isn’t what we thought it was?”

“well, it was still sugaring,” you try to appease him. he simply shakes his head with a smile.

“but if we’re in it for your company, and you’re in it for ours,” seonghwa breaks eye contact with you for just a moment or so. there’s an almost giddy look on his face as he glances towards the man he married and it remains once his eyes are back on you, “is this not just a relationship? are you not just ours?”

you suppose he has a point.

“is that what you want me to be?” you ask.

“more than anything, dove,” hongjoong replies, “is that what you want to be?”

“yes,” it’s a simple answer, but it says all you need to say, “more than anything.”

#ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez oneshot #ateez fluff #ateez scenarios #ateez fic #opposites attract universe #hongjoong x reader #seonghwa x reader #matz x reader

427 notes · View notes

placeinthemiddleofnowhere · 4 months ago

Text

Reign Down on Me - Part 10

Pairing: Ghost x Hybrid!reader (eventual poly!141)

No use of y/n or mention of gender/race

Summary: Reader is a wolf hybrid in a world that treats them like second class citizens, given a horrible start in life after being thrown into the military with no preparation. After years of struggle, they're finally taken away from their base by Ghost, now a permanent member of taskforce 141 reader struggles to come to terms with the fact that perhaps there's a life there for them - if only they reach out and accept it.

Warnings: hurt/comfort, Angst, abuse mentions, self doubt, violent scenes

A/N: sorry this took so long, but i hope y'all enjoy! Can't wait to hear what you think of it 💕

-🐺-

“Gaz.”

You pretended to still be watching the TV while you called on the sergeant. Up till that point he’d been scrolling mindlessly on his phone, but out of the corner of your eyes you could see him look up. Meanwhile the couple that had been on the screen were still locked in a passionate embrace - giving you a perfect excuse for your question.

“You’ve had like…girlfriends or boyfriends or whatever while you’ve been serving, right?”

At first he snorted.

Finally you turned around and met his gaze properly, steeling yourself against the grin that was threatening to break out on his face. He quirked his lips for a moment while his eyes remained fixed on you, alight and shining at the idea of you wanting to talk about relationships. It froze you in place for a moment, tense at the idea he’d see right through your reason for asking or had overheard you and Rudy talking throughout the week.

“I have. Why you askin’?” He finally said, actually turning his body fully into the conversation.

“I just wondered if it was difficult. You know - to maintain a relationship.”

“It’s not easy. Our jobs make us unreliable, not present - even if we’re in the same place sometimes, tired, grumpy. I reckon my exes could write a book with things to moan about,” he laughed. “To be fair though I could’ve tried harder with em. I think I’m just a bit too deep in the job right now to make something properly work outside of all this, you know?”

“So none of them were other soldiers then?” You asked, tilting your head.

“Nah. That’d be a fuckin nightmare! Imagine trying to find time for each other while you’ve got two different fucked schedules, then there’s having to make sure you’re not in the same units so you don’t get hit with punishments for fraternisation and all that shit.”

You instantly turned away and nodded, zoning back in on the TV again. The couple were trading sly smiles while they passed by each other at work, the fuzzy music played softly and sent your ears flicking at the sound. It was your hope that the subject would be dropped then, but even you weren’t stupid enough to think that would be that.

“Why the sudden interest in relationships then?” Gaz asked, leaning his arm against the couch and propping his head on his hand.

It didn’t matter how much you pretended to love whatever the show was, or how far forward you sat, you couldn’t evade Gaz’s sites. He was there in the corner of your eyes, filling the space like a prowling jungle cat. The only way you were getting out was through the conversation.

“Well…I’ve never really been in a relationship or had the chance to be in one. None of us hybrids really got on that well at Branhaven and I sure as shit wasn’t gonna shack up with any of the handlers. Now that I live with you guys though, I thought maybe I’d have a shot at having…something someday,” you said quietly, giving him a brief glance back.

“And I’ve just shat all over your parade,” Gaz said, raising his eyebrows.

“Pretty much,” you answered with a faux huff. “Dick.”

Gaz’s breathy laugh brushed past your ears. It forced you to turn back to him fully, so that you could properly behold the soft brown hues of his creasing eyes. Even in the dingy space that made up the los vaqueros rec room, his eyes were so warm.

“Have you really never been with anyone?” He asked, letting a hint of a frown settle on his face.

“Nope,” you shrugged.

“Ever kissed anyone?”

“Hm…does kissing someone on the cheek in nursery count?”

“Hell no,” Gaz laughed. “Who were you kissing in nursery anyway you little Casanova?”

“His name was Shawn. His family was moving away and he was the only other hybrid in my class, so he was the only one I really played with. We both gave each other a kiss on the cheek goodbye. I was far from a ‘Casanova’,” you said indignantly, already crossing your arms in protest.

“I’m sure it was very sweet, but that’s definitely not a real kiss,” he shrugged.

“Didn’t realise you were the arbiter of kisses.”

“I don’t need to be the arbiter to say you gotta do it like them,” he said, signalling at the lovers on the TV, “to have it really count.”

“Well shit, I’ve never had that happen at my job.”

The couple were now fucking quite ferociously in the supply cupboard at their work. Paper and trays were flying and shelves were being rocked, but nevertheless they faced no interruption despite the storm they were creating. Even just breathing as heavily as they were would’ve had them kicked out in real life, you thought.

“So you’ve never fucked anyone either then? You’re like a full proper virgin, apart from your Shawn love affair of course.”

You rolled your eyes at him.

“Didn’t say that,” you shrugged.

“What?”

“What do you mean ‘what’?”

“You shagged someone, but you never kissed?”

“It wasn’t like we were doing it because we really liked each other,” you supplied. “We both just agreed we’d scratch a mutual itch and go our separate ways after.”

It went almost exactly as clinically as how it sounded too. Even thinking back to that night where you’d both snuck off to the bathroom together, you could only remember the giddy joy you felt at actually getting off with someone else instead of feeling anything for the other hybrid. Which was a good thing too because it wasn’t like you’d ever seen him afterward. You’d never been sent back to Norway again.

He’d shucked off his clothes and told you to do the same, confirming you still wanted to do it. He’d so nicely asked “you still want to fuck, yes?” And barely said a word more, only a few “harder”s or “no, like this”. You’d both been pressed up against that cold concrete corner, hands grasping through the dark, and trembling bodies quietly drinking in each others attentions while making sure to stay as quiet as possible in fear of waking up your superiors. He’d been more experienced, so he’d gotten you off first and then he finished, only taking a moment's breath before wiping himself off and putting his clothes back on. He’d left you alone to collect yourself soon after.

“Well that shouldn’t count either,” Gaz said, after you’d given him an overview of your experience.

“What? But we actually did it! We both came and everything.”

“Came and then went! Sounds shite,” Gaz groaned. “Shaggin’s meant to be fun. Not just ticking each others boxes and then walking off.”

“Damn, you’re really not letting me have anything here,” you smirked, refolding your arms again.

“Because you’re supposed to really want it off the person you’re with, like be able to kiss them and talk and laugh and stuff. If I’d had someone bark instructions at me and then leave me straight after I’d feel like it was part of our job or something.”

“Almost my whole life’s been this job, it’s not like I ever thought I’d get anything like you’ve probably had. When I finally got old enough to even have sex I’d already been working for years. Sex like that is the only way I get to get off with someone,” you explained, trailing off a little at the end when you thought back to Rudy revealing more about he and Alejandro.

So what you were saying wasn’t strictly true. However it wasn’t like you were going to reveal to Gaz that you’d been picturing you and various match ups in the 141 to a degree where you were struggling to concentrate at least daily now. Every interaction with Price and Gaz had felt charged with a thousand volts of electricity where it hadn’t necessarily been before.

Price could be shifting you out the way while he walked by you, putting his hand against your back and you’d practically melt into it. Gaz had ruffled your hair condescendingly after you’d gotten the all clear for your hip from the doctor and your scalp had tingled for the rest of the day after. Then there was the phone call you’d had with Ghost…hearing his voice rumbling down the line made your stomach do weird little flips and had your tail wagging the whole time even while he was chastising you for losing control.

You blamed it all squarely on big stupid Rudy. Rudy who had been training with you on the matts the day before, targeting your sore hip the whole time while divulging little details of he and Alejandro’s relationship.

He’d told you about how they grew up together on the same street. Trained together. Fought together. One day Rudy had almost been killed, trying to protect Alejandro so fiercely he’d jumped in front of a bullet for him. Then after he’d had his shoulder patched up, he’d apparently gotten tired of Alejandro’s lecturing and found a creative way to shut him up.

When Rudy had suggested you try something similar with your team, now that you were constantly getting heat for your injury, you’d gotten as hot as a lava rock before tumbling off the edge of the matt. Your distraction had been fully taken advantage of by your smarmy wise-ass opponent who’d decided to throw you from the fight.

“So now that you’re with us, you think you’ll be able to find someone to fuck you properly then?” Gaz asked, pulling you back into the room so hard you were left blinking back at him without response.

You tried to respond to that with anything other than a high pitched whine. Though you decided to stay silent when you realised that was impossible.

“Jesus, your face. You’re getting all embarrassed just at the thought. You’re such a virgin.”

“I am not embarrassed! And I’m not a virgin!”

“Yeah you are, you’re doing that thing with your ears!” Gaz grinned.

“What thing with my ears?” You whined.

“They always go lopsided when you’re embarrassed, one always points up and the other one folds back all awkwardly. Juuust like that,” Gaz said, quickly snapping a picture with his phone.

“Hey!”

Gaz turned the phone so that you could see. The ear situation was exactly as he described, while your mouth slanted into a displeasured frown and your eyes were set hard into the screen.

You smacked his phone from his hand so that it landed on the couch. From there you used the opportunity to snatch it up, quickly scrabbling against the old material to prize it up. Just before you could delete it however Gaz dove on top of you, easily overpowering you and prying the phone from your clawing hands. Your back was pressed flat onto the couch cushions, your body straining as his full weight sat on top of you, angled so that he could fend of your legs with his body, hold back your hands with one arm and use his one free hand to secure his phone.

“Gaz, get off! I’ll bite you!” You protested, voice going squeaky as he kept you pinned underneath him.

“You wouldn’t dare,” he laughed, holding his phone high above your head. “Price would go mental at you.”

“What are you doing?” You huffed, almost getting a bit of leverage over his forearm until he shunted it back fully into place and squashed your arms in the process.

“Taking some lovely pictures for Ghost. The man’s been desperate for updates while we’ve been away, you know,” Gaz said, clearly typing something while he still fended you off.

“Don’t send him pictures! Ah, Gaz! That’s it, I’m going nuclear.”

You flung your head up and licked all down the length of his arm, slobbering down the full bulk of it and sending him recoiling. A satisfied grin lit your face when his phone fell down the back of the cushions. You then twisted your body, managing to use the nasty surprise and the momentum so that you could reverse the position, landing on top of him while he was squashed to the couch. Though you almost faltered when you saw him below you, you still kept a good drip. You managed to hold him there a moment, looking down at him with all your mixed feelings twisting their way through your gut.

“That’s fighting dirty, Pup,” Gaz huffed, not bothering to struggle now that you were on top.

Both of you breathed heavily, you could feel Gaz’s heartbeat rattling quickly below you. It was pounding heavily against your legs from where you sat above him. Your own heartbeat hammered erratically, growing more wild at the compromised position.

“I’m a hybrid! I need the element of surprise to have the upper hand,” you said, trying desperately to keep to the topic at hand.

“Colour me surprised then.”

“And me. What the fuck are you two playing at then, eh?”

Both you and Gaz whipped your heads round at the same time, meeting the irate eyes of Price. You felt your ears lower immediately and clambered off of Gaz, awkwardly looking away while you fixed yourself. Gaz’s smile had dropped, but he didn’t worry about looking sorry. He flipped himself up and tilted his head.

“Nothin’, just messing around. What’s up, Cap?”

“I’ll thank you both to not get yourselves injured doing anything stupid, please,” he said sternly.

“Sorry, Sir,” you mumbled, ears still laying flat against your head.

“None of that,” Price grunted. “I need to send you both off today. I’ve got some contacts I’m going to get in touch with, but I trust that you two can manage some reconnaissance without me. That alright?”

“Course, Sir,” Gaz answered.

You nodded along with him.

“Good. Go get something to eat and get ready to head out.”

“Is it just the two of us going?” Gaz asked.

“No. Your company is waiting in the canteen for you,” he said, a sly smile beginning to form across his lips.

Immediately you got a sense that you were going to like the group you were going out with. Your tail twitched and your ears perked up, Gaz and Price couldn’t help but laugh at your reaction. Though when you shot Price a look to confirm your suspicions he leaned back and sobered, nodding his head at you as if to answer your question.

It’s him. You thought.

You raced up from the couch and away from the booming laughter, who’s echoes followed you down the hallway. After bolting like a wild stallion and flying past multiple shocked people you burst into the little canteen and looked around slowly until your eyes zeroed in on your target.

It didn’t take long for you to find the black balaclava, the familiar scarred mouth below revealed so that he could eat the steaming rice and vegetables on his plate. His big body was angled away from you, talking to his mohawked companion and blissfully unaware of the presence about to attack him.

“Ghost,” You whispered to yourself.

You couldn’t hold yourself back. As conscious as you felt of all the other people spread throughout the room, you weren’t able to let them stop you from running up to Ghost and wrapping your arms around him and whining.

“I’m gonna assume that’s you, Pup. Otherwise Rudy’s gotten awfully sweet on me.”

Hearing the low timbre of his voice was enough to get your tail into a frenzy. He was really there and you were getting to hug him. Even better - he soon stood up and brought you round to his front so that you could snuggle up under his chin. His scent filled your whole body, your lungs burned with him.

“You’re here,” you sighed, adjusting into the bulk of him.

“Jeez, I’m feelin a bit left out, Pup. I’m here too,” Soap said from behind you.

“You don't appreciate my hugs, MacTavish.”

“Says who?” Soap said, a smile evident in his voice. “Get over here, you wee shite.”

He grabbed you then, forcing you from Ghost and wrapping his big stupid barrel arms around your body. Even while being crushed you had to admit that you loved the attention. It also meant you got to face Ghost, even if you had a silly grin plastered all over your face and a wag in your tail that wouldn’t leave. Nothing got you more excited than seeing the coy smile he wore just for you.

“Missed you too, Pup,” Ghost said, angling his head toward your tail.

“Really?”

“Mhmm,” he murmured, his voice silky smooth in your ears. “Been lonely walking around without my little shadow.”

“Then you should’ve come sooner,” you huffed, finally breaking free of Soap’s arms.

Soap flashed you a cheeky smile, his eyes glimmering brightly at you as if all his past fears had been allayed. Absence really does make the heart grow fonder, huh. Though you didn’t get to dwell on that for long.

Soon enough you were yanked back onto Ghost by the collar, forced to sit astride his massive lap and face him directly in the eyes. The fact the top half of his balaclava was still secured only made his stare more intense, the bright pools of his eyes practically spitting off heat they focused so hard. No matter how hard you scrabbled against him, he kept you like that, pinned onto him with no other choice but to face him down.

“You shouldn’t have taken yourself off to the kennels, naughty Pup,” Ghost said lowly, breath hot on your cheek. “The reason I wasn’t here sooner was because I was busy undoing Price’s mess these past few days. You don’t ever make decisions like that without me there again. You’re my responsibility, mine to look after - not Price’s, not Gaz’s, not anyone else's. Do you understand?”

Your mouth went dry, you were still actively squirming in place. You didn’t understand the sudden shift in his demeanour. He’d never treated you like that before. He’d never grabbed you or spoken to you with such a menacing tone. Nevertheless it felt like he was holding your collar like he was about to stick a gun to your head.

Your ears had flattened and your tail had calmed, nervously twitching as it dangled to the ground. After taking a nervous gulp, you nodded. Mood thoroughly soured.

“I just thought it’d be better if I got it over with… Price tried so many ways to get me out, I thought they’d make it worse if I fought it.”

“Yeah? Well I've Sorted it now, I was never gonna leave you in that little prick’s care so that he could hurt you and do whatever he wanted just to prove a point. This,” he said, jingling your handler tag, “means that I have a duty to you, and you have a duty to me. We look out for each other - we’re legally bound together for as long as we live. Part of that means that you don’t go off taking orders from whoever slings their rank around. Okay? Don’t put yourself in a position to get hurt just because you’re used to assuming that’s the right thing to do.”

“Ok,” you said meekly, nodding hard despite the grip Ghost still had on your tag.

He huffed out a breath, finally exhaling after his tirade and releasing you. All the heat in his eyes died and suddenly they were back to crinkling jewels. You had to blink back at them just to know that you weren’t seeing things. He’d looked so angry…no,that wasn’t really it, was it? He was hurt, annoyed maybe. The way he’d been speaking was desperate, in only the way Ghost could sound desperate. Making sure that his point hammered home.

Your shoulders sagged and you let your ears cautiously spring to a neutral position, finally summoning the courage to look away from him. The noise of all the other diners floated back to you, forcing you to look around to see if anyone had paid much attention to your scolding. Apparently not, Ghost had been quiet enough so as not to attract much attention beyond a few stray stares.

“Hey,” Soap said, reminding you that he was still sitting across from you. “You know he’s only getting on at you because he was running around like a mother goose tryna keep you from those wankers in 104.”

You turned to him, grateful for an excuse for someone else to look at. Even while remaining heavy hearted at upsetting, his words had perked you up a little. You could feel your ears raise a little more above your head.

“Mother goose?” you repeated back, a smile rising on your lips.

“Oh yeah, he was flapping around like crazy. Giving it ‘If anything happens to Pup, I’ll shoot the fucker responsible. I don’t care if its just a hair out of place, mark my words, Johnny. They’ll be bloody unidentifiable!’,” Soap said, doing one of his dreadful Ghost impressions.

It made you laugh if nothing else. Ghost groaned from behind you, but pulled you further into him, and further into his scent. You breathed him in and sighed, nuzzling underneath his chin and into your favourite spot. Even if he had just told you off like a bad dog, you couldn’t hold it against him. All that mattered was that you were back together again and he had somehow managed to solve your little situation.

Which did make you wonder…how the hell did he manage to pull that off? And how lastingly mad was Ghost going to be.

“Ghost?” you mumbled into his collarbone.

“Mm?”

“How long are you going to be angry with me?”

Most important question comes first naturally.

“I’m not angry with you. I just needed to get my point across. Somehow I’ve got to look after you, but you make it really bloody difficult when you’re always off flying into trouble,” he grunted. “First I’ve got to deal with the kennel debacle and then I’m getting a call from Price telling me you got yourself shot. Feel like I’ve hardly had a minute to breathe with everything going on.”

“Not to mention you’ve got that fuckin’ parade thing to look forward to now,” Soap snorted, pointing his fork in Ghost’s direction.

“Parade thing? What?”

Ghost was about to explain, but Gaz and Price turned up before he could open his mouth. Gaz took his place next to Soap, setting his tray down on the table before bumping his shoulder. Price sat between you all and smiled to himself when he saw you curled into your handler. He handed you a tray of steaming hot chicken and rice after he’d set his own in front of him.

“Happy now?” Price asked.

“Mm, almost,” you dead panned. “Apparently Ghost has to go marching off to some parade though.”

“That’s a negative. We have to go marching off to the parade and demonstration day, Pup. Both of us.”

Your ears dropped back again and you drew back from Ghost’s side just so that you could eye him directly. What did he just say? You couldn’t work out why on earth anyone would want you in a military parade. Your tail was broken. You were awful at drilling. How on earth was this going to work?

“Uh…say what now?”

“Time to polish up your dancin’ shoes, sparky,” Soap grinned. “Face left! Forward! Stop! Find your center!”

Soap’s drill sergeant impression, complete with leg movements, landed like a lead balloon. Gaz elbowing him did very little to relieve its weight. You breathed out a bone weary sigh and collapsed against Ghost.

“Just leave me in the kennels to rot.”

“Now, now, Pup. That’s not the attitude,” Ghost chuckled. “Where’s my - ‘oh thank you Ghost, you’re my hero’ speech?”

“I musta left it behind in my non-parade trousers,” you glowered.

Price laughed a rich laugh, luckily just in-between eating. The others all sported smiles that did nothing to make up for the annoyance that was plastered all over your face.

“What’s the big deal? All you gotta do is a little frog marching and a bit of demo on how you work?” Gaz said, trying to reassure you.

“The ‘big deal’ is that I don’t wanna be a spectacle for the general public to gawk at,” you said sourly. “Ive seen parades, because I’m usually too beat up to be called into them mind you, and they suck for hybrids! We have to dress up all fancy in those silly little harnesses and dumb berets and then we get dragged around like animals on stupid gold rope leashes. Then as if that’s not embarrassing enough they’re gonna make me growl and bark in front of everyone to show off the ‘fearlessness of our fair British troupe in the face of agression’ - no thanks.”

“I hate the growlin’ thing,” Soap muttered, sticking a forkful of chicken in his mouth.

“Well it’s still better than getting beat up by the 104 for a week, Pup,” Price said, directing his fork toward you.

“You say that, but i bet if you were in my shoes and after doing all that drilling had a bunch of stinking civvy kids tryna touch your tail and their dumb parents tryna ruffle your ears - you’d say something different.”

“I won’t let anyone touch you, Pup. I promise,” Ghost soothed. “We just need to get through the day and then I’ll get us out of there.”

“And how are you even gonna be in the parade when you can’t show your face?” You asked, throwing up your hands at his balaclava.

“They’re permitting me a neck gaiter.”

“You allowed to wear a skull one?” Soap asked, his lips curling into a bemused smile

“Unfortunately not, I was told it had to be plain,” Ghost shrugged.

“Of course you asked,” you said, rollling your eyes but smiling despite everything.

“Well it’s only down to me asking that got you this replacement gig in the first place,” Ghost reminded you before shunting you onto a spare seat. “Now eat your lunch and stop your whining. If I have to hear anymore complaints I’ll make you wear a muzzle. I’ll find a pink sparkly one with charms on it and all.”

You folded your ears back at that, mouth gaping at the threat. He wouldn’t dare! Or would he? You looked between him and Price and huffed when they gave nothing away behind their serious expressions.

Only when you started shovelling food in your mouth did they both start laughing and shaking their heads between each other. It made your cheeks burn, but you kept quiet and busied yourself with the delicious canteen food that you were sure to miss on your return home. It was better to focus on that than earning yourself a telling off for glaring at your superiors over your plate.

“I’m surprised they let you off with a little parade instead of sacrificing Pup for the week,” Gaz said thoughtfully. “Who’d you have to go asking to get that kind of trade off, LT?”

“Well it wasn’t just the parade, I was supposed to go apologise to the father and do a little grovelling too.”

“And how’d you worm your way out of that one, ay?” Price asked, already groaning before hearing the answer.

“Who said I wormed out?”

“You said ‘supposed to’ Ghost.”

“Well you see, Captain - the benefit of never showing my face is that no one really has any way of telling that it’s really me when I ‘reveal’ myself,” Ghost said smoothly, a smile apparent in his voice alone. “Ergo, doesn’t necessarily need to be me that turns up to apologise.”

“Oh, you bastard,” Price chuckled. “I’m not covering for you if they work out what you did.”

“No need, I got a message to say it’s all handled.”

-🐺-

The light was just starting to drain from the land, the orange glow of the sun smattered the ground with withdrawing tendrils of light. They washed across the pale dirt, stroking it with their warmth before retreating somewhere behind the darkness. Slowly and then all at once the sky went from orange to black.

“I assume you’re excited to go home now that you’re not going back to the kennels,” Rudy said, breaking the easy silence that had fallen between you.

You nodded an answer, but didn’t say anything back.

The other hybrid had been relatively quiet since you’d arrived, apart from asking what the news was from Soap and Ghost, he hadn’t said much else. He’d instead made a point of exaggerating just how tired he’d been from the night before, only showing you the hickey that flamed up around his collar bone as he yawned and stretched.

He’d been sleeping for most of the rest of the journey to the watch point. After being out and actively looking for the target for a few hours however, the two of you had gotten more restless, fidgeting and shifting how you sat every few minutes.

Still, you kept your eyes across the horizon and your ears pinned forward. You didn’t want to mess up anything else after everything you’d been called out for so much already. You were especially aware of the fact that Ghost and Soap were only a few meters from you both as well. This was the last situation you wanted Rudy baiting you in.

“You ever been in a parade before?”

“No,” you answered, shifting the leg you were sitting on and flicking your eyes out over the ground.

“They’re not too bad. The ones here anyway, you do a little showing off and then you get some free food..”

“Do they make you guys walk on a harness and bark at the men too?” You asked dryly.

Rudy threw his head back and laughed. The sound caused a small smile to break out on your face and you shook your head at him for the disturbance. Nevertheless the smile stayed on your face while you continued to keep watch.

“You British hybrids have to put up with a lot, hm?”

“You don’t know the half of it,” you said sourly.

“I know enough…” Rudy replied, seemingly trailing off as he spoke.

You looked away from the spot you’d been boring a hole into with your eyes only to glance at Rudy’s face. It took on that serious hard look again, his lips stony and his eyes cast far away.

“You’ve worked with a lot of us then?”

“A decent amount.”

“Take it you’ve not met anyone half as charming as me, yknow - since you were all grumpy about working with me the first time.”

He snorted at that.

“None of them have been anything like you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You have some life about you, it’s a good thing,” you saw him shrugging in your peripherals. “Most of them are quiet, angsty. Half of them look like they’re glad to die when their superiors send them off just to protect themselves. The other half just seem dead already.”

His words stole anymore words from coming to your lips. You knew exactly what he meant - that used to be you after all. The old you would never have done anything like you’d done on your last mission for any of your previous superiors, would never have let the beast inside you rage. You had to be clear enough to protect yourself. You spited them too much to be willfully suicidal, you’d rather see them die instead of you.

Now that had all changed. Ghost had only just reprimanded you because you put yourself in harms way, but even still you knew you’d rather die for any of your team than have them go instead. With that thought in mind, your back prickled with a chill that shivered through your whole nervous system.

“You don’t have to tear yourself apart just to be a good soldier, Pup. I hope being with the 141 for any amount of time has taught you that all that doesn’t even matter. We get to have lives too, you know? Get your job done and keep yourself and your boys alive, fight so that you get to come home and actually live. Find out what makes you happy and do things that you like because there’s so many of us hybrids that are used like bullets and so many humans that are so happy to discard us once we’ve hit our targets. Fuck anyone that tells you you’re disposable. We have just as much right to be here as anyone - remember that.”

You blinked back at him. A faint buzzing rang through your ears, a shrill little hum that tried to force tears from your eyes while it snatched at your heart. A low growl threatened to loose from your throat, bark at the enemy, fend off those pesky emotions.

No, he wasn’t attacking you. He was just speaking the truth.

“Do you wanna take over as my therapist?” You muttered, having to clear the lump from your throat before you could spit even a word out.

He laughed wryly at that and muttered something under his breath. “I’m just saying… you could’ve ended up like anyone else you got trained up with, but you didn’t. Don’t waste your new life stuck on what things were like. Make something good out of it.”

#reign down on me #simon ghost riley #Simon Riley #Ghost #mw2 #ghost x reader #Hybrid!reader

329 notes · View notes